DECEMBER

Izuku absently scrolled through his hero news app, bored out of his mind. His students went out on their work studies, and though he felt a bit like a proud parent watching his children leave the nest, he was also dreading the week without them. He never realized how loud his life was until it was quiet. He was so bored, so restless, that he almost missed Haneyama and Murasaki discussing his love life. Almost. He wasn't fond of the shipping charts, but it amused him that they cared so much about his happiness.

He sifted through more of the same news. Uraraka performed a badass villain capture, and so many articles are about her versatility with cheesy titles like More Than A Rescue Hero or feminist pieces about her low rank because she wasn't a man. All true, of course, but it wasn't anything Izuku needed to read about to reach that conclusion.

Then, Kacchan's face was staring back at him from an article titled Trouble In Paradise? Izuku knew his impulse control was abysmal, but even he was impressed by how quickly he pressed the button. Izuku balked at the paparazzi pictures of Kacchan and Tidal together. Stolen moments. Hands just barely touching, soft looks, a rare smile curling the corners of Kacchan's mouth. It felt wrong, seeing that smile out in the open. For a long time, Izuku was the only one with access to that look. He felt like he owned that look, that curve of Kacchan's genuine smile, and he threw it away over his own insecurities.

The article was a bit of a timeline, really. It catalogued all the little clues that led Japan to believe Ground Zero and Tidal were in a relationship. It concluded with proof—a recount of an interview Kacchan gave the night the rankings dropped, an interview Izuku had watched on HeroTube at least thirty times, hating himself the more he watched it. Then, to Izuku's utter shock, the words on the page took a turn.

Though Ground Zero opted to take the relationship public, Tidal has left Japan. Recent news from America, and sources within the Pink Riot agency have confirmed that Tidal has taken on the mantle of running his family agency back in New York. There's still no word on whether or not Ground Zero and Tidal are pursuing a long distance relationship, but the frequency with with the recently dubbed #2 pro has been working, points to a tentative no.

Izuku all but fell off his desk chair, one thought pulsing through his head in time with his heartbeat.

Kacchan is single.

Kacchan is single.

Kacchan is fucking single, oh my god.

And then, Izuku realized that fact should have no bearing on his life. He let Kacchan go. He pushed him away a long time ago, and he was finally coming to terms with the fact that they were never going to happen. It wasn't in the cards. Kacchan had moved on and Izuku should do the same.

Still, it didn't change the fact that Izuku wanted to reach out to Kacchan. He wanted to know he was okay. He wanted to tell him I'm here.

But that was selfish. He hurt Kacchan, and he had no right to insert himself back into his life, especially at a potentially emotionally vulnerable time.

He just… had to let it go.

Right?

Wrong. Izuku knew damn well that he was wrong. He had enough experience fucking up the whole course of his life to know when he was about to do it again. He had to reach out. He had to be there. He just didn't know how to do it.

JANUARY

Izuku approached Shindo's new agency feeling unwelcome and out of place. Yes, he was invited. Yes, he RSVP'd, and Shindo sounded tentatively pleased that he was coming. Still, Izuku felt like he was walking into a war zone in his underwear—exposed and unprepared. He really wished he had someone by his side. Izuku took a deep breath, and pushed through the double doors.

The room was bathed in soft light. He admired the high ceilings of the reception area—or what was supposed to be the reception area. Tonight, it was filled with well-dressed people, milling around with glasses of expensive alcohol. Izuku couldn't help the slow smile spreading across his face. Estranged as they were, he was proud of Shindo. He was happy to be sharing in this moment with him, even if it was from across the room.

He should go say hello, but his nerves kept him firmly planted where he stood, hiding behind a fake plant and pretending to eat from the nearby buffet table. That is, until Shindo sidled up beside him.

"Hey," he said, more casually than Izuku could ever manage. It'd been so long since he'd heard Shindo's easy, smooth voice that he jolted at the sound, and nearly choked on an elegant crab cake. Luckily, he choked it down before Shindo had to perform the Heimlich maneuver.

"Hi," he screeched—literally. It echoed in the room. Shindo smiled at him, and it was a little too soft, a little too knowing for the moment. It was like they were teenagers again—Izuku freaking out, and Shindo grounding him with nothing but a look. Izuku's heart pinched in his chest.

"Hi," he said again, quieter this time, a bit more sane.

"Mind if we talk in my office? I promise that isn't a flex—I just want to talk away from everyone for a minute."

Izuku laughed. It was a wonder Shindo could be so casual. He nodded, hoped for the best, and followed behind Shindo as they walked to the frosted glass door across the room. The second the door clicked shut, Shindo started in, as if he knew he'd have to go quickly before Izuku started panicking. He really knew him too well because Izuku had the same thought, and spoke up at the same time.

"So, how've you been?"

"I'm so sorry about everything. I've wanted to call you for a while. I just—"

"Panicked?" His smile was easygoing. It calmed some of Izuku's nerves. Izuku nodded.

"How have you been, Izuku? I've been thinking about you, you know. I just didn't know how to reach out."

"I'm… fucked up. I fucked up, Shin, but I'm working on it."

"Fucked up, huh? Is that a therapy term?" He asked. It was definitely a joke because his smile was still in place, and—unbelievably—Izuku actually laughed.

"You could say that."

"Well, I've never had a problem with that. You've always been my best friend. That's not gonna change. I want us to keep being friends."

Izuku felt small and unworthy of Shindo's kindness, his forgiveness. Izuku wasn't entirely the only one at fault for the collapse of their relationship, but it felt that way whenever he really thought about it. It was the same thing that happened with Kacchan. History repeating. Izuku didn't want to keep living the same tragedies.

"Even if I start dating someone?" He blurted out. Kacchan was never far from his mind lately. That article had given him hope. He was waiting for the right time to act on it.

"Yeah. Honestly, it was never going to work with us. I was trying so hard to make you feel something you didn't and… well, it backfired."

"It wasn't your fault," Izuku said instantly.

"I'd say if we're calculating who's fault it was it'd be a 70-30 situation."

Izuku huffed a small laugh that was quickly turning into a weepy sob. This was so much more than he ever could've hoped for.

"Which one am I?"

Izuku sniffled and wiped his eyes. Shindo gave a sad smile.

"I change my mind about that every day."

"Well, then maybe it should just be 50-50. It's only fair."

"I'm willing to go halfsies," he said, smiling gamely.

Izuku missed that easy banter they once had. He hadn't even realized it'd gone away when sex entered their relationship. Sex swallowed up everything he loved about his friendship with Shindo, and he hadn't even noticed until it was too late.

"I just really want to be friends again. I'm so sorry."

"We never stopped being friends. We just needed some space."

"You're the best."

"I know. That said, I can't guarantee I'll be nice to Bakugo. Civility might be all I can manage at the moment."

"What makes you think I was talking about Kacchan?"

"I could just feel it. You guys were like magnets. It made me crazy. Eventually, I realized that I just had to… bow out." He shrugged.

Izuku could tell that it still made him sad. Love, or the loss of it, never really stopped hurting. He thought that if he just never loved anyone, he wouldn't have to hurt. He was wrong, of course, and he'd hurt others in his attempt to guard himself.

"How've you been?" He asked around a rising lump in his throat, desperate for a subject change.

"Really good. I've got the new agency and I'm seeing someone," he said, smiling softly.

"Anyone I know?"

"Yeah," he said, looking away and blushing a bit. "Sakura."

"As in, my old partner?"

He nodded. Izuku could tell just by the blush on his cheeks that he really liked her. Shindo cleared his throat.

"You seem to be in a better place too."

Izuku nodded, and rubbed his eyes. He was crying, but it wasn't a bad cry. It was a relief. Relief that he'd been allowed to mend this, however difficult or awkward it might be. It gave him more hope. Maybe he could mend things with Kacchan too, someday.

"I'm doing well. I've been painting. It's helped me a lot—I've been thinking about opening a gallery, or maybe just renting studio space somewhere. I'm running out of wall space and I keep tripping over my supplies in the apartment," he said.

It wasn't something he was actively planning to do, just a fleeting thought really, but he wanted people to see his paintings. He wanted Kacchan to see them. In a way, it felt like everything he painted was for him or about him. He put so much of himself on those canvases, and he wanted people to know him when they saw them. He was tired of people never knowing him. He was tired of pushing people away.

"I'd love to see your paintings. Let me know if you go through with it."

"I've got some things I need to do first."

Shindo gave him a knowing look.

"Don't wait too long."

FEBRUARY

Izuku was painting again, pushing paint around the canvas haphazardly. He wasn't sure what he was making, he just… needed to do something. The last month or so left him feeling on edge, impatient. Izuku was a tightly wound spring, and he wasn't sure what he needed.

Hours passed and the formless colors and brush strokes were starting to make sense to him. He was painting something. Someone. Izuku knew what he wanted. He wanted Kacchan. He's always wanted Kacchan, and he had waited too damn long to do something about it. He stares at the half-finished painting—the explosions of red eyes and white blond hair. Even when he was avoiding the issue, Kacchan was always there.

He couldn't wait anymore. Tidal was out of the picture—officially—and Izuku made excuse after excuse to delay talking to Kacchan. He wanted to give him space, time to grieve his abruptly ended relationship, but really, that was just his fear speaking. He didn't want Kacchan to reject him, but thinking about being rejected on a loop was starting to be worse than actually being rejected. He was waiting for a perfect moment, but he was starting to realize that perfect moments didn't happen on their own. They required action and purpose and being with the person that gave it the potential to be perfect in the first place.

Izuku never imagined perfect moments happening on the sidewalk in paint-splattered jeans in the middle of February, but it was all he was going to get. He made a mad dash to Kacchan's apartment, praying he was there. Kacchan was on his way out when he finally got to the building. He'd just walked out of the lobby doors, looking at his phone, an orange coat wrapped around him. He startled when he noticed Izuku, breathless and messy, and not dressed nearly warm enough for the weather.

"Deku?"

Izuku had to fight a smile. Ever since he'd started signing his paintings as Deku, the name felt less like a condemnation and more like a secret, special thing. An alter-ego. It meant he got his note. Maybe he kept the painting, too.

"Are you going somewhere?" Izuku asked, panting.

"Kirishima's," he muttered, pocketing his phone. He looked terrified and wild, and Izuku remembered how Shinso described his expression at Iida's party. It made sense now, and even though it wasn't the way Izuku himself would describe love, he knew it was still there when he looked in Kacchan's eyes. Whenever he imagined this moment in his head, Izuku thought he might clam up. He thought he wouldn't know what to say, but that moment never came. The words flooded out of him without hesitation.

"I love you. I love you so much, and you were right about everything, and I'm so, so sorry."

Kacchan stared for some time, his expression changing every few seconds with minuscule tics only Izuku would recognize. A slightly creased brow, a minute pout on his thin lips.

"What are the rules?" Kacchan asked, quiet and reserved and closed off like he'd never seen him before. He was frozen where he stood, waiting for Izuku's reply.

Izuku let himself cry. Over the years, he'd gotten much better at suppressing his tears, but he didn't want to now. He was feeling too much. Izuku moved to cup Kacchan's cheeks. They were warm under his palms despite the wintry chill in the air, and Izuku felt a thrill shoot up his spine when he didn't immediately pull away.

"No rules this time, Katsuki. I mean it."

Kacchan said nothing, but he gingerly took hold of Izuku's hands, a strong grip around his wrists.

"I want to establish some rules. I want to know what I'm getting into," he murmured, leaning toward Izuku just so. Izuku was confused, but he figured he deserved this. He had a lot of trust to rebuild. Izuku would do anything.

"Like what?"

"All or nothing, Izuku. I wanna hear you say it," he said, his voice dark and thick with emotion. His thumb rubbed circles on Izuku's hands, still pressed to Kacchan's face, and he turned his head slightly to pressed a soft, hopeful kiss into his palm.

"All. Full stop. There's no other option for me."

Izuku hardly finished his sentence before Katsuki's lips crushed his. Their teeth clicked together and Katsuki's arms folded him in a crushing embrace and it should've been uncomfortable and suffocating, but it felt like the first full breath he'd had in years. He was cresting above stormy waters after a shipwreck. He was watching every planet in the sky align. He was holding fate in his hands and bending it to his will. It hardly mattered to either of them that they were shamelessly making out in broad daylight, in front of god and everyone else, on the front steps of his apartment building.

Izuku pulled away, just enough to ask a question.

"Did you keep my painting?"

Katsuki roughly pulled him back to him in another searing kiss, a warm hand on the back of his neck. He nodded, his mouth too occupied for verbal responses at the moment. When he spoke again, it was directly into Izuku's open mouth.

"Do you have more?"

"Tons," he answered, breathless and flushed.

"I want all of them," he growled, and Izuku had to smile. Was this another rule?

"Everything is yours. It always was."

"Can I hold your hand in public?" Kacchan murmured against Izuku's neck.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he murmured into his mussed up hair, giggling when Kacchan's breath tickled him. Kacchan chuckled into the shell of his ear and Izuku's stomach dipped.

"Can I post about you on Winstagram?" Izuku asked, and it was little more than a breath but Kacchan was close enough to hear it. He wanted him this close for the rest of their existence.

"Once a week minimum," Kacchan growled and bit his salt-stained cheek. Izuku laughed, peppering kisses against his whole face. It was then that he realized Kacchan was crying too. They were both so stupid to have waited so long for this.

"Can I tell everyone you're my boyfriend?"

"Only if I can tell everyone how much I love you."

"Ditto, nerd. I love you so fucking much."

And if there were a thousand pictures of them on Winstagram within the hour, they were too busy, and far too happy to give a fuck.

—

Izuku was laying on top of him, still intimately connected with him, when he started to cry again. It wasn't a bad cry, though, Katsuki could see that much in his bright eyes. It was the necessary release of something too big for one person to carry.

"You alright?" Katsuki asked, thumbing away a stray tear on his cheek. Izuku smiled at him, a bit bashful.

"It just feels good to let this out. I was so scared of showing you how much I love you—I was afraid of how much I already loved you in such a short time."

"I know. I was afraid too."

Katsuki had never been a soft, open person, but Izuku made honesty and sensitivity worth it. He knew he could tell him anything—he would tell him anything.

"Of what?"

"Getting angry. I realized I wasn't being myself around you because I was scared of showing too much of my temper or raising my voice. I didn't want you to be afraid of me again."

"You could never scare me," he said, cupping Katsuki's face like he was something precious, green eyes blazing. Then, he gave a wicked grin. "Besides, I think it's been made abundantly clear that I can take you in a fight."

Izuku laughed, and Katsuki flipped him over, so he was caging him in. He kissed his neck and growled while Izuku squirmed, giggling. He missed this, the easy conversation, the quippy banter honed by years of knowing each other.

"We're having a rematch, nerd, and when I beat you, I never want to hear about that shitty spar again."

"I love you, Kacchan," he said, rather abruptly. Katsuki had to smile. He nosed along Izuku's strong jaw, reveling in being allowed to love him again.

"Say it again."

"I love you, I love you, I love you."

"I love you too, Izuku."

"You can call me Deku. It doesn't hurt anymore… I've made peace with Deku," he whispered, fingers combing through Katsuki's hair. His heart was already full to bursting, and this sent him over the edge.

"My Deku," he whispered into Izuku's half-open mouth. They were so close that it was easy to kiss him again, to let his love pour out of him and into Izuku.

"I'm so sorry, Kacchan. I'm sorry I hurt you."

Katsuki shook his head. "Don't apologize. We're gonna do it right this time. We'll talk about everything. We have plenty of time."

If there was one thing Katsuki knew for certain, it was that these feelings wouldn't vanish or diminish with time and space. He would feel like this for the rest of his life. This was only the beginning.

JULY

Life with Izuku was moving fast. They'd both agreed that they'd waited far too long, and they were done wasting time. As soon as their leases were up on their respective apartments, they—meaning mostly Katsuki because of his superior salary—bought a three floor townhouse in the heart of downtown. It was equally close to UA and Katsuki's brand new agency. The first floor is all studio space. Katsuki had been encouraging Izuku to go through with opening a gallery for months, but he kept waffling on it.

In their short time together, as in, their short time actually dating, Katsuki had learned that sometimes Izuku needed far more than encouragement. Sometimes, he needed a swift kick in the ass to be sent over a metaphorical cliff. So when Katsuki found a vacant building three blocks from their house, he jumped at it.

That was a month ago. He had spent all his free time lately sprucing the place up, hanging some of his older pieces, getting everything in working order. Katsuki doesn't do anything by half-measures, so Izuku's first birthday spent with Katsuki would begin and end with something big. Namely, a new gallery, and—if he could nut up and do it—a ring.

Katsuki convinced him that they were just going to do a low key dinner and then head home for a night in. As far as Katsuki could tell, he suspected nothing. That is, until they got to their front door, and Katsuki rugged on Izuku's hand to keep him walking. He raised a brow in question, but Katsuki is determined to keep the secret until the last possible second.

"Let's go for a walk. It's a nice night," he said, smirking.

Izuku gave him a wry smile, but let himself be pulled in the direction of his gift. When Katsuki unlocked the seemingly abandoned building with his own key, Izuku finally spoke up.

"Are you going to murder me? I should've known you were just biding your time," Izuku, the little shit, joked.

"Shut up, nerd. I'm not sick of you, yet. Come on."

He pulled him into the dark, open room with little protest from his boyfriend. When the lights went up, the white walls of the room were bathed in a warm glow, his paintings the focal point. Their parents and all their friends huddled in the middle of the space and cheered.

"Surprise!"

—

Izuku was shocked that Katsuki could keep a secret like this from him, but for a relatively successful hero, Katsuki knew Deku to be oblivious most of the time. The nerd seemed to be floating on a cloud, high on the surprise and all the love for him in the room. He watched idly as the love of his life flitted around the room, chatting up Kirishima and Ashido, Iida and Sero, his parents, and everyone else in between.

"Are you gonna do it tonight?"

Auntie Inko sidled up to Katsuki and tucked her arm into his, leaning affectionately on him. Katsuki nodded and patted her hand.

"Soon," he said. She was the only one who knew what was coming. Katsuki felt like the little velvet box was burning a hole in his pocket. He wasn't sure if he should save that surprise for later, when they were alone, or if he'd rather share it with their friends and family.

All he knew for certain was that Izuku wouldn't say no. After all that had happened between them, all the things they put each other through, that thought—that absolute clarity about what they were to each other and where they stood—was all that mattered.

—

this is the end! i have a short epilogue prepared that ill be posting here in the next few days. thank you all for your kind reviews. i read eveey single one abut a thousand times.

xo katya