i really really tried to cut it down but oh well

Chapter 7: Merit

"Did you ever get scared that everything was going to go lousy unless you did something?"
—J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

Katsuki knew of the tension in the air and the elephant in the room. It was in the form of a hovering housemate who tittered from one decision to another– step forward, step back; reach out, pull back; speak, stay silent.

He knew of the turmoil that plagued Izuku. Yet, he did not find it himself to care enough to take the first step in providing any form of reassurance or appeasement.

No… that wording wasn't correct.

Katsuki just didn't find the energy to hand-feed this man who unknowingly (yet knowingly) nosedived into the turbulent waters of his past.

Normally, he'd snap at Izuku. He'd tell that cosplaying angel shitbag to "stop dithering like a shoujo manga girl and spit it the fuck out." The man in question would snap a retort back, and it'd go on for a while until Katsuki slammed the door or removed his hearing aids again.

This wasn't normally. This wasn't the usual. This wasn't a passing frustration of the day.

It was Katsuki, for the first time in months (years), letting the ball go in Izuku's court. No guards to prevent a shot. An open court. A winning game.

He wasn't blocking out Izuku, ignoring the man, or explicitly offering an olive branch. No, Katsuki didn't go back to their 'normal' from 'before,' nor was he up to the daunting task of creating a 'new normal' to move on from it.

It was up to the other man– this self-proclaimed guardian of his who swore to fight for and save him– to take the step Katsuki wouldn't– couldn't do.

So when Izuku would call him with just a barely hidden tremble in his voice– "Kacchan."–, Katsuki would raise or turn his head and meet pine green eyes. He wouldn't feign ignorance as he'd done 'before.'

"What?" he'd ask, and for a second, he'll be suffocated by the tension that lay waiting for a good strike in. For a second, he'd dig his nails in his palm to hide the trembling he couldn't control.

Even an utterly submissive prey would resist, if only for a second. There'd be a twitch that couldn't be controlled or quelled. Then, a spark would light up for a fraction as instinct reared its head. The action that took place in that second– only that– couldn't be erased by willpower and determination alone.

No matter how strong he viewed himself, even Katsuki was human. Even he was bound to instinct that was formed and honed before anyone could discern what was left or right; identify which was food or not; know the time when light or dark came.

But then Izuku would open his mouth, and nothing would come. It'd close again. The man would visibly abort and give Katsuki a shaky smile and say– "It's nothing. What are you reading/watching/doing?"

For the first week since Katsuki left Musutafu, that was what Izuku did. In the morning after, Izuku had called his name, and Katsuki had responded. Then the man shut his mouth, smiled, and opened it again to wish Katsuki a good day at work.

The same series of events occurred in the afternoons Izuku dropped by the agency.

And also in the evenings when he would come home to a chaos-less apartment.

Katsuki wanted to be annoyed instead of relieved at Izuku's uncharacteristic indecisiveness. Where was the idiot who'd been a persistent thorn in Katsuki's side for well over a month, probing and prodding at his inner demons?

He wanted to experience frustration instead of gratefulness that came at the end of every encounter where things continued to be left unsaid and questions left unasked.

Still, the time spent by Izuku working through his turmoil was time spent fruitfully in Katsuki working through his own.

So with every day and instance of "Kacchan," "What," and "It's nothing," Katsuki got more time to think. The silence of the world that had always seemed daunting when he removed his aids seemed welcoming now.

There would usually be one or another that took enough of his attention– in or out of hero work. If the TV was on, he'd be usually keeping an ear and eye out to snippets worth taking note over– the news, round-table discussions, crime statistics, etc.

But as said earlier, this wasn't the time for 'usually.'

So Katsuki thinks. With Izuku's continued hesitance in making a move, he kept still and allowed the worries– new and old– to rock him to and fro.

There'd be no sinking into them, no.

While Izuku lay on the couch at night and predictably tossed and turned, Katsuki would be lying on his back with half-lid eyes. He wouldn't be awake or on the way to sleep– not quite. Instead, he'd be stuck in that dreaded in-between that stretched mere hours of darkness and eerie silence to more than what humans could bear.

The blinds were drawn tight, and spring was full of cloudy nights, but Katsuki continued to see the montage that rued these nights.

A bright smile turned shaky sent his way. The slight ache in his shoulder and the glow of pride at the sight of sprawled limbs left in his wake. The smell of smoke mixed into the pungent stink of fear. Flaming words spilled into an unwilling throat and forced into poorly guarded ears. Mockery. Then–

A note. Stinging bruises, nail scratches, and a swelling handprint on his face that should've stayed forever but faded as all marks would. The heart-wrenching cry of old gray over young black. A grave with one marker. And soon, two. Finally, three.

When the montage ends and the promise of a dreamless sleep drag Katsuki under, he thinks he hears something.

It's something he didn't expect to hear in the dead of night and within the confines of his room. There was a scent too. Familiar and unfamiliar, but natural in its accompaniment to the sound that rocked his eardrums.

It was–

The catch and spark of fire on incense and the ringing of bells with no clanger as it welcomed a murderer by association onto its lands where the wicked may rest but never welcomed to stay.

–and with them, Katsuki choked on memories he once thought were long buried in the abyss of waves.

It was a mistake to think that just because he wouldn't sink didn't mean he wouldn't drown.

The scent of incense replaced the air he breathed, and the sound of impossible bells replaced the sound of his heartbeat. Still, amidst all this that was stretched in those mere hours, Katsuki remained immobile as sleep dragged him under.

In the cover of the night, instincts were dull, and resistance comes to a fraction too late.

What words or questions were supposed to be screamed out became lost in the morning of another day where Izuku hesitated, and Katsuki waited.

Katsuki didn't wait for long. Though 'long' for him may be a bit different from the usual take of the word.

In this convoluted and drawn-out waiting game of chicken, 'long' may have been when they reached the end of the first week, and they were both far from resolution. Or 'long' might've been when the second or third week passed and went, with Katsuki getting closer and closer to sinking.

So for him, he did not wait long. Not too long. Not long enough for him to fully sink and be truly absolved from salvation.

It was late by the time Katsuki got off of work. After another day spent doing patrols and diffusing HR troubles with incompetent as fuck interns, seeing the door to his office ajar wasn't met with hostility as it should've.

His instincts didn't act up– didn't make his guts churn or make the tiny hairs on his arms and the back of his neck raise up. He just needed to enter. And so he did.

It was laughable how different his attitude now was to the Katsuki of a mere months ago who would've raised hell if the potted plant nearby looked weird. That saying of "you never really know what life's got in store for you" was having a real good time toying with Katsuki's life.

He wasn't overdramatic since, as he entered his office, and as it was a few months ago, there Izuku was.

Katsuki would've felt a sense of déjà vu if the sight before him wasn't… different. Different in the sense that instead of sitting arrogantly in his desk chair ("warming it up" his ass), Izuku awkwardly stood at the corner where the floor-to-ceiling windows ended and the different cabinets and shelves started.

Gone was the white and battered kimono-haori getup paired with striped hakama (clothing that Support was still analyzing). There was no annoying click-clacking of the single-toothed tengu geta worn by feet donning split-toed socks.

This was no invasion of a stranger.

It was just a visit from a man who turned at Katsuki's arrival and finally decided to show the hero his resolve.

Izuku smiled and let go of Pochi's shiny leaves (an actual corn plant named in homage to its deceased plastic counterpart).

"Hi, Kacchan. Done with work?"

"Do I look like I'm done with work?" Katsuki grunted and strode over to his personal locker, turning his back to Izuku. "No, wait, don't answer that. It's a rhetorical question, idiot. What are you doing here?"

"I was just here the other day, Kacchan."

They both knew that wasn't what Katsuki was asking. He clicked his tongue and began disarming his bracers.

"No shit, asshole. I meant here when you told me earlier that I wasn't going to see you until, what, either 'super-duper late at night' or 'really really early morning' today."

"Ah. Right," Izuku chuckled, and even without turning around, Katsuki knew he was rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "I did say that, huh."

"That's what I just fucking told you, Deku. Maybe you really are as old as you say you are with that shitty memory of yours."

Izuku let out a forced laugh at that, and any indication of further conversation (as they would've 'before') died out. Katsuki already had an inkling of why the man was here. It had always been the same objective for the past times when Izuku tried to get them alone.

As always, Katsuki feigned innocence and continued going through the routine motions perfected throughout his hero career of setting aside his volatile uniform.

He'd already changed out of his uniform and cleaned up the kohl residue around his eyes by the time Izuku decided to break the silence. Well, more like the man needed to break it or risk losing this opportunity (aka, one Bakugou Katsuki) who was already walking out the door.

"Ah, Kacchan, wait!"

Katsuki stopped one step past the door. He turned slightly to look over his shoulder. An eyebrow was raised, and his scarlet eyes snapped to pine green eyes.

Izuku smiled. It was still shaky– a bit reminiscent of the ones from the past weeks of hesitation and waiting–, but different in that–

There was a lack of turmoil that still rocked Katsuki against the night's cover of darkness and silence.

"Want to have a drink with me, Kacchan? It's a bit overdue, don't you think? I'll pay!"

Katsuki had been waiting for weeks. The tension brought by such an oppressive silence weighed more and more on his shoulders by the day– more so in the night when he lay on the bed and pressure crushes his chest.

Katsuki had been waiting, and yet he opted to dither and digress, leaving Izuku hanging. Seconds turned to minutes, and the last slips of daylight were leaving them bit by bit. In every second that stretched, so did the distance between the two of them.

Would waiting a little more be so bad?

Katsuki wanted to wait a bit more– just… a bit. Maybe he could wait out this storm that's been due for nine years. Perhaps then the montage of ill-gotten memories he'd always had front-seat tickets to at night would eventually retreat and become dreams and nightmares meant to be forgotten.

He'd gotten this far in doing nothing for nine years, after all. What was a little bit more?

Katsuki let out a breath. The last golden ray of the sun for the day shone for one last bright moment before going under the cover of clouds and mountains. But before it did, it touched upon the two of them– Izuku and Katsuki– briefly.

Vanilla blonde hair that carried with it a lingering scent of smoke uniquely borne from explosions turned a brilliant gold. It was a contrast to the illuminating silver it'd turn into when hit by moonlight. The scarlet eyes hidden beneath stray bangs caught on and turned salmon pink, with their gaze still on pine green ones.

And Izuku… well, what else could Katsuki describe the picture the man posed as other than angelic? With his back turned to the light, the shadows cast on the floor and all around the room seemed bigger– grander. It was as if they were making up for what could not be shown.

Yet still, even as a being bigger than Katsuki was, Izuku waited. His hand– wretched, wrangled, warm, and covered in scars of old– remained outstretched and offered.

It was an act of supplication that Katsuki could easily stomp on with a simple step out of the door, declaring the end of the opportunity.

Easily, he could. Easily, he might.

With newfound ease, Katsuki opened his mouth and said–

"Just don't pass out on me, nerd."

–because Katsuki heard the impossible bells and smelt the incense that stunk of burnt flesh again.

Easily, he could. Easily, he might.

But easily, he would not.

Halfway into his first drink, Katsuki realized that no, Izuku wasn't going to jump right into it.

The familiar buzz of alcohol was already being beaten away by the fast metabolism of his quirk, and it was with that still clear head that he discerned that Izuku wasn't planning to do anything of the sort.

With a modest (ignored) glass of chuhai by Izuku's side, Katsuki watched, dumbfounded, as the man dispelled the tense atmosphere spanning a few weeks by sucking the life out of edamame skins.

Wiping the foam of the beer from his lip, Katsuki slammed his glass back on the table. Judging by how there wasn't a single crack, the izakaya they went to really was 'hero-catered.'

He glared at Izuku. "What, you invite me for a goddamn drink, and you're just gonna stuff your shitty mouth with edamame?"

Izuku made a giant motion of swallowing the beans whole (there must've been more than ten) before answering, "I may be human now, Kacchan, but I'm still your guardian angel. So I'm not drinking! Someone needs to make sure you come back home in one piece, you know."

"The fuck do you think that chuhai's made of, Deku? Even though it's, what, 97% soda water, shochu's still there, idiot. And there's this thing called a taxi, you know."

"What if you get kidnapped, Kacchan? What then, huh?"

Katsuki knew from the higher pitch of Izuku's voice that the man's concern was genuine. Still, he couldn't help but snort and wave down a server for another round– beer for him and edamame for this bean-hungry idiot.

Tossing back the last of his first drink, Katsuki finally answered, "First of all, I don't buy your 'no drinking' thing. This country's third in the world for alcohol intake, so just say you're a fucking lightweight and go."

"Go where? I thought you agreed to drink with me!"

Katsuki waved him off, exasperatedly rolling his eyes. "It's an expression, idiot. Second, my quirk takes it for me to literally down a whole shelf's worth in one go before I get drunk. Don't go worrying your shitty head about me being too drunk off my ass."

Izuku opened his mouth to say something– most likely a quip of sorts about "how do you know how much it takes for you to be drunk, Kacchan," but Katsuki beat him to it.

"And last," drawled Katsuki. "I'm a hero, Deku. Even tipsy, I could take down any idiot who'd try to kidnap me and get back home to tuck myself in before you could even think of calling the cops. So don't fucking worry."

The corners of Izuku's lips tugged up into a wry grin. Then, ducking down and appearing fascinated with one of the many edamame in those scarred hands, Izuku whispered softly. Katsuki almost didn't hear it.

"I can't do that, Kacchan… I'll always worry over you– for you. Always. Even when you don't want me to… especially then, I'll continue worrying over and for you until you do."

When Izuku looked back up after a few moments passed with no snarky remark from him, Katsuki had already averted his gaze.

Their positions were reversed again– Izuku's gaze boring into his face, and Katsuki acquiring a sudden fascination with the condensed dew forming and falling from the lip of his beer glass and down along the transparent container to create a pool that drenched the wooden surface.

Even after all this time of being subjected to Izuku's declarations– insane, shameless, and bold as they were– Katsuki still wasn't used to it.

There was rambunctious laughter from a nearby booth that shook both of them– Izuku more obviously than Katsuki. The man let out an "eep" and a drawn-out moan of "no!" when, in Izuku's surprise, the little plate of edamame was turned over.

Letting out a breath and a snort, Katsuki brought his gaze back to Izuku. It was jarring to do so, but the whiplash and slight regret from the decision was washed over by the perfect arrival of the buzz of alcohol.

He stared, stupidly, at pine green eyes that met his dead-on. Izuku was grinning wide with those big round eyes that sparkled and declared victory– that, "aha, I made Kacchan look."

Katsuki's hand around the beer handle flexed and a warmth spread through his chest. It started tiny– just a spark. A tingle picked up and raced through his fingertips and down to his little toes.

Then the spark flared, and he found it hard to breathe, eyes stuck on winking freckles and glowing eyes not at all diminished by shadows cast by servers passing by. The heat– fire dried his throat and mouth; snapped at the tendons of his hand and made them twitch; poked and prodded at his chest, increasing the rhythm of the beat.

It was weird to be feeling something like that when he wasn't even close to tipsy or drunk. 'It' was something he didn't see coming– definitely not now in a tight secluded booth of an izakaya where if he willed it, he could have their knees brush against each other.

If he wanted to, he could acknowledge how 'it,' despite Katsuki just having one drink (and a half now), made it feel like he'd downed a bucketful with just a smile and soft words from Midoriya Izuku.

Katsuki turned away and clicked his tongue, nabbing a green shell and squeezing out the bean. "That's called a stalker, shitty Deku."

He plopped the otsumami in his mouth and began chewing it, much to Izuku's ignored protests. He hoped it'll occupy him if but for a moment.

Maybe another drink wouldn't be so bad. Maybe then Katsuki would have something– any fucking reason– to use in explaining his flushed face, racing heart, and the twitch of fingers spurred on by an urge to touch that came out of nowhere.

(It was a lie that it came from nowhere as 'it' would've had nowhere else to be borne from but him)

Katsuki reached out for his glass, and it wasn't there. Blinking, he followed the shiny trail of condensations borne from fluctuations in temperature on the table to across from him and up to–

"Urgh, you humans really like this stuff?" Izuku wrinkled his nose, grimacing as he set down Katsuki's drink on the table. The man wiped the foam from Katsuki's drink that gathered on his lip, missing a few near the corner of his mouth.

Katsuki swallowed the edamame bean down his dry throat. "It's for adults, Deku. 'Course you wouldn't like it."

His voice was a bit hoarse when it came out, and he froze when he heard it. Trailing his eyes back to Izuku's own– when did they even fall on those shiny lips– he did so slowly. Fearfully.

Seeing nothing but amusement on Izuku's face as the man finally reached for his own drink of chuhai made something twist in Katsuki's chest. There was relief, of course. But the trickle of it was nothing compared to the bitter knot of disappointment that knocked his breath off.

Of all the times the nerd had to be so fucking dense, it had to be in this department that not even Katsuki was oblivious in.

Unaware of Katsuki's urge to throttle Izuku and still with amusement playing on his features, Izuku raised a brow. "You know I'm millennias older than you, right?"

"Says the one who cried over Doraemon the other day."

As Izuku– innocently unaware of the conflict that lasted less than a second between Katsuki's heart and mind with his body as the battlefield– went on another one of his non-stop speeches about the classic children's daytime show, Katsuki used it to down water instead of beer. The slimy feel of edamame beans slipping down his throat helped too.

'It' was nothing but a side-effect of the drink known to lower inhibitions. Therefore, nothing. Fucking nothing.

'It' was nothing and wouldn't be entertained again.

The respite of water was short. Two drinks turned to another two. And another. Beer turned into highball. Highball turned into pure whisky.

This was why Katsuki didn't go to enkais or indulge himself in the bottles sent to him by well-wishers.

In drinking, time was an absent concept for him. So what seemed like seconds that passed since he was listening to Izuku talk about newly debuted heroes was actually a quarter of an hour that barreled into a discussion of the new addition of mackerel pineapple croissant in a local bakery.

By the time Katsuki complained about the pain of taking care of "two Dekus," the warm ambient lights of the izakaya had shifted and turned into the blaring blinding ones of his– their apartment.

He wasn't sure how exactly he got those lights to shift into the warm-toned type that raced along the cornice and spread out softly, but he must've done something right to stop their assault on his eyes.

Or maybe (and the possibility was more logical) it wasn't him who did it but his still sober companion who was only slightly flushed despite deciding to match Katsuki in drinking.

At one point, Katsuki knew he voiced out (not whined) this unfairness of Izuku's far-from-being-inebriated state, but with his tongue heavy and the capacity for words lost to drunks, he wasn't sure if he got to ask it.

Again, time was a strange thing when alcohol came into play.

One moment, Katsuki was struggling to undo the laces of his combat boots by the genkan, and the next, he was sprawled out on something fluffy. Soft. It felt suspiciously like the blankets that were supposed to be in his bedroom and not out in a pile on the living room floor.

"You sober yet, Kacchan?"

"Fuck off," Katsuki grumbled and blindly grasped for a pillow (yes, it was definitely from his bedroom) to hit Izuku with. "Fuck you and your cheater ass."

Izuku chuckled. "I didn't cheat, Kacchan."

"Shithead, you told me you don't fucking drink."

"Ah," said Izuku teasingly. "But I never said that when I do, I get drunk."

Failing with his first attempt (it turned out Izuku was on his right side, not his left), he tried for a good ol' fashioned punch that proved detrimental more to him than his target.

More so to him because the movement caused whiplash and a fucking headache.

Katsuki's outstretched hand in the form of a very loose fist was caught by another, and it took a lagging while for him to realize that Izuku was holding his hand. Their fingers were interlaced, palms flush against each other, and warmth locked in-between.

Suddenly, thoughts of whatever had led him to his predicament now fled his mind. The familiarity of the motion– the ease those fingers slipped into his, and the space that others had failed to fit into filled just like that– jarred a memory in his mind.

Before he knew it, he was asking something that didn't make any sense.

"When did your hand get this small, Deku?"

Lolling his head to the side of the blanket-pillow-cushion pile, Katsuki blinked and watched Izuku.

The man was propping himself up on his elbows with the rest of his body sinking into the blankets. Izuku's head was ducked, and from the awkward angle, Katsuki could see those pine green eyes focused on their held hands. The stupidly knotted tie had been long discarded somewhere between the entryway and the kitchen with one of the decent shirts Izuku owned now with a few buttons popped off the top.

The shadows cast by the soft lighting didn't let Katsuki have much of a decent view of Izuku's face. Still, he felt the rough pads of fingers idly tracing his knuckles– admiring, studying, honoring.

"What do you remember my hand as like, Kacchan? Do you remember? Is that why you asked?"

Katsuki flexed his fingers around Izuku's hand and received a squeeze in return. "Would you believe me if I said yes?"

Izuku chuckled softly. "The fact that you're even asking is already an answer for me."

"So?" asked Katsuki. "Will you still answer me, nerd?"

In place of an answer that he didn't expect to get, he watched as Izuku leaned down and brushed his lips against Katsuki's knuckles. They lingered before pulling away. Izuku turned his head, and finally, Katsuki could see him.

The feeling from that brief contact (he can't– won't allow himself to recognize it as regret) passed through him briefly. 'It' would've lingered more and perhaps made more of an impact if the alcohol hadn't set all his senses alight– everything he felt now was leveled and equally intense.

The question of what would Katsuki have felt if that wasn't the case burned as every possibility does with liquid courage in his veins. But just the same, 'it' sizzled out just as quickly.

Tonight was not the night for such thoughts. If it was to go his way, it would never be the fucking time– ever– for such.

Looking at Izuku, he couldn't help but focus on hooded pine green eyes that patiently met his own.

There had always been something different about the angel's eyes. When the light would hit them, a plethora of green shades would erupt– darker, lighter, ethereal.

But, most of all, Katsuki saw them as he saw them now–

Old.

Izuku gave him a small smile. "I'll always tell you what you need to hear, Kacchan. That's the least of what I owe you. That's a promise to you that I've never broken."

When Katsuki asked when the man made him that promise, and if there were others that Izuku had broken, all he got was the same small smile paired with eyes that turned older.

He stopped asking after that.

Instead of another question or another senseless comment, Katsuki told of a story.

He was never much of a storyteller, and there were parts where he paused even when he shouldn't have. Still, he tried as best as he could, and as much as his muddled mind and loose tongue now allowed him to do.

It was a story that many others must've experienced as well. If not as the central character, then peripheral ones serving as witnesses to one or two things similar to it. After all, almost everyone had experienced the rocky path that was school.

Katsuki told of a story that happened in one. Of two boys with big dreams, but only one had the platform to the stairs to reach it.

The boy without had to make do with the small things at his disposal– stacks of notebooks filled with letters written in blood, bottles carrying sweat and tears, and shoes worn with only threads of hope holding the split-open seams together. Bit by bit, the boy struggled to reach the platform and hoped for a chance to step on it.

Then the boy with gave him the chance to do so. He'd wrung the boy without by the collar and let him have the barest of steps on the platform. And the boy without wept at the ecstasy of that one step.

He did not get to take another step. He was not allowed to by words in the form of spears that tore through him from all sides. The boy stumbled and bled. His blood-soaked through notebooks, bottles, and shoes. And it took just a careless light push for him to fall.

That was where the story ended– of two boys who had big dreams, but in this world where ascension platforms were fought tooth and nail for, there could only be one left standing on them.

By the end of it, Katsuki's voice was almost gone. The blessed darkness of the night was being broken into by the dawn's light. It was only a matter of time before this moment was shattered.

So he rushed.

He squeezed Izuku's hand. Katsuki choked over the onslaught of words that must– needed to get out before they couldn't anymore.

"Do you think the boy who pushed when he should've stopped has the fucking right to apologize? Well, Deku? Do you still think I– he doesn't deserve to fall too?"

Something he now tiredly recognized as tears streaked down the sides of his face until the cushions beneath his head darkened. Some pooled into the conch of his ear, and it took a tug of his hand– a jarring flurry of movement– to dislodge the deafening block that mimicked the sensation of drowning.

With his hand– warm, secure, and wanted– Katsuki was pulled from the depths and saved.

He was in Izuku's arms again. Déjà vu reared its head once more as his tears fell on Izuku to shoulder again. Their hands were still together– tight and unwilling to let go. Even with Katsuki's superior height and stature, at this moment stuck between the woes of the night and the rebirth of the day, Izuku seemed bigger– familiar.

Had he been held like this before? Wasn't the hand in his supposed to be bigger, smoother, and lacking scars?

The nagging questions that prodded at his memory flowed out with his tears and were forgotten.

Mulling over the past wasn't to be hurried into an avalanche– it had to be broken piece-by-piece with the patience of an excavator and the tenacity of a miner.

One at a time.

Izuku squeezed Katsuki's hand, and even with the angel's face buried in his hair, he heard every word.

"What do you think's the point of apologies, Kacchan?" asked Izuku softly. "Who is it really for? Is it really to make the one they hurt feel better? Is it really something someone does to feel the pain of the one they wronged and find it in themselves to admit that, yes, what they did was a mistake?"

The hand holding his own squeezed and, unlike that time when Izuku wasn't Deku just yet, Katsuki squeezed back. The tears took most of his energy, so it was more of a twitch of fingers, but he hoped it was felt. He really hoped it was.

"Or," said Izuku. "Is it actually a selfish thing to do? Because apologies always carry a connotation of return with them– people want to apologize because they want to be forgiven. Then… isn't it just an attempt to prevent someone from giving the one they hurt due penance? Apologies are… it's– it's hard to imagine how simply saying "I'm sorry" can smooth over the lifetime of hurt that someone gave someone."

At that, Katsuki couldn't help but laugh.

That was the thing with human hearing– even with sobs tainting words, snot and tears mixing into his tongue that formed them– his voice, to him, sounded alright. Just a bit high-pitched. Just a bit gruff.

It was misleading on how it actually sounded like– that laugh– to Izuku.

"Then it means I'm damned, huh, Deku?"

"Damned…" Izuku pulled back slightly until their eyes met. Izuku's eyes, brighter now with morning light blessing them, were soft, forgiving, and everything that Katsuki didn't deserve to even look at. Izuku smiled and pulled at their intertwined hands to plant a kiss on Katsuki's hand again–

The hand that had hurt, pushed, and, if not directly, killed. It had left many numb and cold, so what right did Katsuki have to have it feel warm?

–and another wave of silent tears came in place of a whimper that Katsuki wouldn't let himself make. Not even when he felt the healing warmth of Izuku's heart.

"I don't think so, Kacchan," said Izuku softly. "That you're damned."

Izuku didn't pull away, so Katsuki felt every word branded on his skin. He felt the soft puffs of breath that raised the tiny hairs on his hand and up along his arm. Lips he'd thought would be chapped and rough were warm enough to make him believe them smooth.

Looking at Izuku now, Katsuki would think he was praying.

"I say all of those things, Kacchan, because that's what I've seen. I say, infer, and ask because even when in completely different situations, there's always a pattern to how humans work."

"But?"

He felt the smile first before he saw it. The hand that had been running through Katsuki's hair in soothing motions that sparked and doused memories of old from both– more from one than the other– moved to cup his face. The mix of raised and recessed scars wasn't shied away from but leaned towards.

"But, ultimately, it all lies with you, Kacchan," whispered Izuku. "As you said… it's all about intent."

"What are you asking, Deku?"

What do you want me to admit? What do you want me to flay myself for?

Izuku sighed. His thumb traced the apple of Katsuki's cheek in a motion mixed with familiarity and distance– as if unsure, still, of what he was doing. Katsuki wouldn't know. For someone so seemingly open, Izuku was hard to read.

Katsuki let go of his iron grip on Izuku's shirt and held the hand on his face. He squeezed it briefly before loosely holding onto the man's thin wrist dwarfed by the size of scars that almost replaced skin.

It only took a moment for Izuku to answer– to ask again. And a moment, too, for Katsuki to respond as he'd been preparing himself for the past few weeks.

"Why are you apologizing, Kacchan?" asked Izuku with a shaky voice. "Is it just as I said? So that you'll feel better, get that stain off your record, and begin anew? Because you think, even when you say you don't believe me, that this way you'll be 'safe' after death? Is that it, Kacchan?"

"No," Katsuki let out a breath; shaky, too. His hold on Izuku's wrist tightened, blunt nails digging into scarred flesh. "Of course not, dammit."

"How do you even know, Kacchan, that you're really saying "sorry"– apologizing– because you recognize that you did something wrong and not just because I made you think that it was?"

"I don't…" whispered Katsuki defeatedly. "I can't know. I– I don't know how to know."

He raised his eyes that had looked down amidst the onslaught of shame and fear that struck through him– both ugly feelings. Shame for not knowing how to give Izuku the answer he wanted from Katsuki. Fear for what he would see from the said man when he'd look back.

Would there be frustration of a graver kind than the ones Izuku had always openly shown Katsuki since they met? Would he even get to look at Izuku, or would the man not be able to take in the sight of Katsuki's pitiful and damned form?

Too many questions and speculations that he should've known wouldn't mean anything when it came to Midoriya Izuku.

There was no frustration, disappointment, or thinly veiled pity waiting for Katsuki. Instead, what awaited him when he finally faced Izuku was a smile.

Izuku was smiling at him– honestly, genuinely, wholeheartedly.

Fuck.

There was still that wrangled hand cupping his face gently, fingers catching tears that returned. Still, someone was holding Katsuki's hand, grounding him, and saying–

"That's fine. We'll get there, Kacchan," whispered Izuku. "I'll be here every step of the way. I won't leave you… not anymore, not ever again."

Katsuki couldn't stop the laugh from his lips. There was a sob and a cry mixed in, but he focused more on the laughter. He gave Izuku's wrist a slight squeeze. If it was a bit tighter– a bit too desperate for it to not be a dream or a figment of his imagination, Izuku didn't point it out.

"What a fucking stalker." Katsuki shook his head in disbelief, but there was this tugging at the corner of his lips and a lightness in his chest.

Salty drops landed on his tongue– tears that slipped into the crack between his lips that widened by the second. Katsuki raised their held hands and used them to lightly hit Izuku on the forehead.

That was better than the alternative that briefly crossed his mind– 'it' being no longer able to be attributed to the alcohol that'd been long gone. But, even the dense idiot that he was, Katsuki knew not even Izuku would mistake what a kiss would mean.

"Do angels even know how to apologize, ha? It's not like you lot have something to apologize for."

Izuku let out a breathless laugh at that and untangled their fingers to cup Katsuki's face entirely. Being left in the air, he let it fall between them with fingers pinching the fabric of Izuku's shirt. Just close enough to cling onto the warmth that rivaled explosions.

It was weird how he was still allowing this.

He had never been much for physical contact– had hated and abhorred it, really. Even the simple brush against his shoulder made him hiss and growl at the perpetrator.

Touching was a breach of something for Katsuki. It was a line not to be crossed. For him, such a thing was a slight towards his person. It was a thing not– never– to be allowed lest they think him so weak to let others into the space he carved only for him.

"Then, I'll give you an example, Kacchan," Izuku's voice was soft and soothing but rung in his ears and chest all the same. It was annoying. Katsuki couldn't hear anything else but it.

What more was the instinctive tightening of his hold on Izuku's wrist and shirt– that urge he couldn't ignore of pulling the angel closer. Especially when Izuku, that goddamn idiot, started to shake and let out whimpers.

It was annoying. Katsuki didn't want to hear or feel it as he pulled Izuku closer, shifting so he was a breath away from the man.

"I'm sorry," cried Izuku. "I'm so sorry for leaving you a bit too early– a bit too soon. I'm sorry that I couldn't be there even when I promised you I'd be forever."

Izuku wrapped his arms around Katsuki, and he let him. It was another reversal that Katsuki didn't mind.

This time, it was his shoulder being cried on; his body taking the burden of Izuku's weight; his heartbeat and breath being the calm amidst the storm that ravaged Izuku's own. Even with the stink of alcohol and sweat, he still managed to take in that scent of Izuku's– of the instance before lightning strikes and of dust after the rain had passed.

With a shaky breath of his own, he wrapped his arms around Izuku's shaking form and breathed in that scent of home and memories.

"I'm so sorry, Kacchan."

The dimmed ceiling lights above them had long been overtaken by the sun's rays heralding a new day. Katsuki's legs were numb from the awkward position of half being on the hardwood floor and on the blanket-pillow-cushion pile. His throat was scratchy, lips dry, and disgusting crusts built up at the corner of his eyes.

This was a far cry from any night spent or morning greeted that Katsuki could almost call "perfect" in his life, but he couldn't think of anything else but that to describe it.

Perfection, he thinks, was having Izuku in his arms. Perfection was this man– this stupid guardian angel of his– who shed tears, broke his voice, and taught Katsuki what it felt like to hear the words that most people brushed off but always, always craved–

"I'm sorry."

AN:

Otsumami = snacks eaten along with alcohol to prevent immediate inebriation. Edamame's the popular one (and cheap) when drinking beer