The room felt thick with an uneasy tension as Izuku and Shoto stepped forward; the projector flickering to life to reveal an image that made Izuku's heart tighten—the solemn, haunted eyes of Eri staring back at them. It was both foreign and yet familiar to the curious child he had come to know. It was a testament to Chieko's influence that any amount of light had returned to the poor girl's eyes.
Murmurs filled the room as heroes leaned in, their focus sharpening as the gravity of the situation settled over them.
Izuku shuffled the documents before him, his fingers brushing against the edges of papers that felt heavier with implication than their physical weight suggested. Clearing his throat to dispel the silence that had momentarily claimed the room, he began, his voice a steady beacon amidst the storm of anxious thoughts raging within.
"In our search, we located a hideout that a yakuza member had been using in the area," he said, motioning towards the documents splayed out like an open wound, revealing the depth of Eri's plight. Photographs, sighting reports, and a city map marked with X's that traced a path ominously close to where they now stood. As the heroes in the room red their own copies in their hands Izuku could see the reality of the situation settled over their faces, a tangible shift in the atmosphere as the implications of who Eri truly was and the Yakuza's possible interest in the young girl.
Shoto took the cue, his demeanor calm yet underscored with an urgency that mirrored the gravity of their findings. "These marks on the map," he pointed out, his finger tracing the trail of X's, "they seem to stop a few miles away from the school. We're not sure how old this information is, but this could be the reason the Yakuza has been moving closer to the school."
Aizawa, silent up to this point, brows furrowed in thought, finally spoke, his voice cutting through the thick air with precision. "These reports," he began, pausing to glance over the papers Izuku and Shoto had presented, "they seem to suggest her reversal quirk is not only powerful, but unstable..." His voice trailed off, eyes scanning the room, gauging the impact of his words.
Izuku nodded, stepping forward to bridge the gap his mentor had left open. "Yes, that's correct," he confirmed, his voice firmer than he felt. "The reports have pages missing, so I can't say for sure, but it's safe to assume they want her quirk. Honestly, it's a miracle she's been able to hide so long undetected."
As the information sunk in, the room transformed into a battleground of ideologies. Izuku stood still amidst the turmoil, watching as heroes—seasoned adults he had looked up to—voiced their thoughts on Eri's presence and her potent, yet dangerous, quirk. The air was thick with contention, as perspectives clashed, blurring the line between protector and warrior in their midst.
Midnight's voice emerged strong amidst the chaos, a lighthouse guiding them back to their foundational purpose. "Let's not forget, our priority is the girl's safety. We need to ensure she's safe, above all else," she asserted, her conviction piercing the gathering fog of contention.
Yet, her words found challenge by a broad-shouldered hero, who viewed Eri's quirk through the lens of tactical advantage. "But think of the leverage her quirk offers. If the Yakuza wants her, it's for a reason. That power could be our trump card against All for one," he argued.
This assertion was countered by concern from another veteran, her face a map of scars. "And if her quirk falls into the wrong hands? The destruction could be catastrophic. Moreover, harboring her here could paint a target not just on her back but on all of ours," she pointed out, her concern casting a shadow over the notion of bringing Eri into their fold.
Amidst the clashing views, two sides emerged—one rooted in the duty to protect, and the other in the pragmatism of war. Izuku's heart swayed with the argument for protection, bolstered by seeing Mirio's nod towards Midnight, his stance clearly on the side of safeguarding Eri's well-being.
Yet, through it all, Aizawa remained silent, his focus anchored to the documents before him. His quiet, an enigma in itself, added a layer of suspense, making his forthcoming judgment all the more critical.
Izuku, who had remained an observer in the flurry of opinions, felt a pressing urge to understand Aizawa's stance. The gap in the conversation was his to fill. "Aizawa-sensei," Izuku began, his voice steady yet imbued with the weight of his concern, "do you... do you plan to use Eri's quirk against All For One?"
Finally, he stood, and the room gradually fell into a hush, all eyes turning to him. "I've heard your concerns," he began, his voice steady and authoritative. "Any focus on weapons should be the drug that we can use against All for one. And while I understand the strategic value of Eri's quirk, we cannot — we will not — treat her as just an asset."
The room held its breath, waiting.
"Our first step is to ensure her safety, to bring her out of harm's way and into a secure environment. That is non-negotiable," he declared, his intense gaze sweeping across the room, leaving no doubt about his commitment. "As for leveraging her quirk, if and when we find her, that decision will be made when she is old enough to decide for herself."
He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in, then added, "We're in a new world where villains are the majority, let's not forget as heroes our values and morals are what keep us from becoming the villains we fight against."
The atmosphere shifted, a mingling of relief and unresolved doubts. While not all seemed fully appeased, Aizawa's unwavering stance drew an obvious line firmly in the sand.
Izuku watched, a tightness in his chest easing slightly. Aizawa's words were a balm, a reassurance that, for now, Eri's humanity was recognized above her utility. It was a stance Izuku could stand behind, a glimmer of hope that perhaps he and Chieko could trust Aizawa with Eri's care.
After the meeting, Izuku arrived at the storeroom, which had become a makeshift haven for Eri, and took a deep breath, readying himself to relay the weight of the meeting's outcome. Chieko and Eri, seated on an old, dusty sofa, turned their attention towards him, the air thick with anticipation.
"Eri, Chieko," Izuku began, his voice steady but warm, "I've just come from a meeting with Aizawa and the other pro heroes." He paused, ensuring he had their full attention before continuing. "We discussed... well, about finding you, Eri, and what it might mean going forward."
Chieko's eyes narrowed slightly, a clear sign of her protective instincts kicking in. "And what did Aizawa say?" she asked, her tone edged with caution.
Izuku met her gaze, understanding the depth of her concern. "He... he was thoughtful about it. Aizawa-san said Eri's safety is the top priority. He mentioned that while your quirk is significant, any decision involving you will be with your consent when you're older and... if you're willing."
Eri, who had been following the conversation with the silent intensity unique to her, finally spoke, her voice small but clear. "Does that mean they won't make me do anything I don't want to?"
"Exactly, Eri," Izuku replied, offering her a reassuring smile. "Your safety and what you want matters most. Aizawa-san was very clear about that."
Chieko's expression softened slightly, but the hesitation lingered. "I want to believe that, Izuku. I really do. But trusting them completely... it's a big step. We need to be sure it's the right decision for Eri."
Izuku nodded, his heart heavy with the gravity of their situation. "I understand, Chieko. It's not a decision to rush. We can take our time to think it over."
Eri, looking between Izuku and Chieko, reached out, placing her small hand over theirs. "I trust you," she said, looking at Chieko. "I'll be okay with what you decide."
"I'll support whatever you decide, Chieko," Izuku finally said, squeezing her hand gently. "We'll figure this out together."
Izuku's mind drifted back to another point of discussion from the meeting. "Actually, Aizawa-sensei seemed interested in something else," he mentioned, shifting slightly to face both Eri and Chieko more directly. "It was about the drugs developed by the Yakuza... the ones that can nullify quirks."
Eri's reaction was immediate, a flicker of recognition in her eyes that Izuku hadn't missed. He hesitated, realizing the potential depth of what they were about to delve into.
"Eri," he started, carefully, "do you know anything about those drugs? The ones that can take away quirks?"
There was a pause, heavy with unspoken words, before Eri nodded slowly. "My... my quirk was used to make them," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "The temporary ones. I don't know if they were able to finish making the permanent ones. I escaped before that."
Izuku felt a chill run down his spine at the revelation. The strategic value of such a drug against their enemies was immense, but the ethical implications were dizzying. The thought of Eri's quirk being exploited in such a manner made his blood boil. Yet here she was, sharing her burden with remarkable calm.
"Permanent removal of a quirk..." Chieko echoed, her expression hardening at the thought. "If they were successful, that could be a game changer for the heroes."
Izuku's mind raced, weighing the implications. "That's what Aizawa is hoping for, more than Eri. He seems interested in using that against AFO. So don't worry, Eri, we won't let anyone use you or your quirk against your will again. That, I promise."
Eri looked up, her eyes searching theirs for the reassurance she so desperately needed. It was Chieko who moved first, closing the distance to envelop Eri in a gentle embrace. "You're not alone anymore, Eri," she murmured, her voice steady and sure. "We'll keep you safe. You're part of our family now."
The warmth of Chieko's words seemed to radiate throughout the cramped storage room, washing over Eri's slight form huddled in the corner. Eri, with eyes wide and glistening, nodded slowly, a fragile smile breaking through as she leaned into Chieko's embrace. "Okay," she whispered back, her voice barely audible. It was a moment of pure, unspoken understanding, a promise of safety and belonging.
As they pulled away, the heaviness that had lingered in the air began to dissipate, replaced by an almost tangible sense of camaraderie and hope. Izuku watched this exchange, feeling a warmth spread through his chest, a heavy contrast to the turmoil that had churned within him just moments before.
Leveraging the lighter atmosphere, Izuku realized it was as good a time as any to broach a subject that, until now, had been swirling in a swirl of confusion and uncertainty within him. Clearing his throat, he glanced between Chieko and Eri, the former's protective stance softening as her attention turned towards him.
"So, um, there's something I've been meaning to talk about... It's about Kacchan," Izuku started, the name alone enough to pique Chieko's interest, her posture shifting to one of acute attentiveness.
Chieko's eyes lit up with an almost mischievous gleam, and she leaned in, a clear sign for him to continue. "Katsuki, you mean? What about him?" Her tone was teasing, yet underlined with a genuine concern that only someone who had grown to be an integral part of their makeshift family could possess.
Izuku hesitated, the words catching in his throat as he tried to navigate the choppy sea of his thoughts. "Well, it's just that... we've had this, um, moment recently," he admitted, the corners of his mouth twitching into a nervous smile. "And since then, things have been... complicated."
The word 'complicated' seemed to act as a catalyst, sparking an eager curiosity within Chieko. "A moment? Like a romantic one?" she pressed, her voice rising with excitement. Eri, though not fully grasping the conversation's depth, watched them with a newfound interest, her earlier apprehension momentarily forgotten.
"Yeah," Izuku confessed, feeling his cheeks heat at the acknowledgment. "But it's not just that. There's all this history between us and it's caused Kacchan to avoid me and... well, it's a mess."
"I wasn't sure you two would ever reach this point," Chieko admitted, her voice laced with genuine surprise and happiness for Izuku. "But I'm glad. It's about time."
Izuku managed a small smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, the weight of uncertainty still pressing down on him.
The thought lingered in the air between them, an unspoken worry that Izuku couldn't shake off. Chieko, ever observant, caught the flicker of concern in his gaze and offered a solution, her voice light but determined. "You know, there's another get-together tonight. I heard through the grapevine that Denki managed to drag Katsuki along. Maybe it's a chance for you two to clear the air," she suggested, a hopeful note in her voice.
The prospect of facing Katsuki, especially in the informal chaos of a get-together, sent a ripple of anxiety through Izuku. Yet, beneath the apprehension, a sliver of hope sparked to life. "Maybe you're right," he found himself saying, the words renewed with resolve. "It could be a good opportunity."
Eri, who had been quietly listening, her eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and concern, finally spoke up, her voice small but filled with sincerity. "I don't know much about what's going on, but I hope you and your friend make up Izuku." Her innocent hope, untainted by the complexities of their situation, brought a gentle smile to Izuku's face.
"You and me both, Eri," Izuku responded, his heart warmed by the simple purity of her wish.
Chieko, seizing the moment as the conversation wound down, stood up with a purposeful air. "Alright, it's settled then. We're going to this get-together, and you're going to sort things out with Kacchan. Now go get ready, Izuku. I'll meet you there a bit later; I've got a few things to take care of first."
With that, Chieko ushered Izuku out with a gentle push, her expression a blend of determination and mischief. Izuku, now feeling a mix of nerves and excitement about the evening ahead, nodded in agreement before heading out to prepare.
Later that evening, as they made their way toward the venue, the coolness of the evening air enveloped them, a crisp reminder of the season's shift. Izuku cast a sidelong glance at Chieko, noticing the lightweight fabric of her clothes, seemingly at odds with the night's chill. "Aren't you cold?" he asked, his own breath forming in small clouds in the air.
Surprise flitted across Chieko's features, her eyes darting down to assess her choice of top and shorts. After a moment's consideration, she shook her head; her smile faint. "Honestly, I hadn't given it much thought. But no, I'm surprisingly comfortable," she responded, her voice carrying a warmth that belied the temperature.
As they approached the lively buzz of the get-together, the sounds of laughter and music greeting them from afar, Izuku felt the weight of the evening's potential outcomes resting heavily on his shoulders.
The gathering itself was a familiar scene to Izuku, reminiscent of the last one they attended, filled with faces he now recognized, if not know, personally. It struck him, the realization that these teens, laughing and mingling around him, could have been his classmates under different circumstances. He watched them, a bittersweet feeling settling in his chest, wondering about the alternate path his life could have taken had he been accepted into U.A. before the attacks changed everything.
As they mingled among the partygoers, Izuku couldn't help but let his curiosity bubble over into conversation. "Doesn't it seem odd to you?" he asked Chieko, nodding towards a group that seemed particularly merry. "The adults... they seem absent. I thought they'd be more... vigilant."
Chieko, following his gaze, shrugged slightly, her expression thoughtful. "I guess, after everything that's happened, we're not exactly typical teenagers anymore," she mused, her voice soft but carrying a hard edge of truth. "Maybe the adults feel like monitoring us would be pointless. Or maybe it's guilt, letting us have these moments of forgetfulness."
Izuku hummed in agreement, his eyes sweeping across the room, catching snippets of conversations and laughter that seemed too loud, too forced. It was a semblance of normalcy in a world that had been turned on its head.
The aroma of freshly baked pastries and tangy spiked punch wafted through the air, mingling with the beats of a popular upbeat song Jiro was meticulously curating. The snack table was a vibrant display of treats, each more inviting than the last, catching Izuku's eye as they stopped for a drink. Sero, already making the most of the feast, waved enthusiastically at them, a sprinkle of crumbs in his wake.
"Hey, glad you could make it," Jiro said, lowering the music slightly to welcome them. "Chieko, right? Izuku's mentioned you."
Chieko's laughter was light, easy. "Only good things, I hope."
"Is there anything else Izuku could say?" Jiro teased, earning an exaggerated sigh from Izuku.
Sero, overhearing, managed to say between mouthfuls, "You gonna dance tonight, Chieko? Save me one, yeah?"
"Maybe," she replied with a playful ambiguity, her attention already shifting back to Izuku. "We should catch up with the others first. See you around!"
Pulling Izuku slightly closer, Chieko lowered her voice, a hint of mischief lacing her words. "About Kacchan and that kiss," she ventured, a knowing look in her eye, "think we should stir the pot a bit tonight?"
Izuku, momentarily lost for words, felt the familiar heat of a blush creeping up his neck. "I...um," he stumbled, darting a glance around to check for eavesdroppers. "Can we really do that?"
Chieko's grin was all the answer he needed. "Just follow my lead," she assured, linking their arms more firmly, guiding him forward with a confidence that Izuku found both daunting and exhilarating.
As they approached the group, their interaction seemed to draw the room's attention, laughter and conversations momentarily focusing on them. "Late to the party, I see," Mina chimed in, her tone playful.
Undeterred, Chieko wove them into the fabric of the gathering with ease. "We got held up. Izuku's been helping me a lot with training," she explained, her touch on Izuku's shoulder light but loaded with insinuation.
"Yeah, Chieko's really been improving," Izuku added, trying to match her playful tone despite the warmth flooding his face.
The moment was light, filled with the comfortable chatter of companionship, yet Izuku's eyes inevitably sought Katsuki.
Katsuki's attention seemed split, his conversation with Kirishima punctuated by brief, almost imperceptible glances towards Izuku and Chieko. His eyes, however, couldn't help but wander towards Katsuki, gauging his reaction to their playful banter.
The group's laughter and chatter filled the gaps, a blend of small talk and anecdotes that painted a picture of camaraderie forged in unusual circumstances. Yet, amidst the camaraderie, his attention was divided, pulled towards Katsuki, who seemed equally distracted, his gaze flitting towards Izuku and Chieko intermittently.
Despite the group's boisterous energy, there was an undercurrent of tension, most palpable, between Izuku and Katsuki. It was as though their unspoken words had created a bubble only they were aware of, noticeable in the quick, covert glances Katsuki sent their way.
Seeking to bridge the gap, Izuku leaned into the conversation with a genuine query. "How's the training been going, Kacchan?" he asked, hoping to elicit more than just a terse reply.
Katsuki's answer was brief, his gaze drifting past Izuku as if he found the paint on the wall suddenly fascinating. "Fine," he grunted, the simplicity of his answer belying the complex emotions Izuku knew were brewing beneath the surface.
Katsuki's response was a muted one. His usual fiery retort tempered into a silent, brooding huff, especially after Chieko's teasing jibe. "Why don't you join us next time? I bet Zuku could beat you in a match." Chieko quipped, her voice laced with a friendly jest that usually would have sparked a lively comeback.
Yet Katsuki merely huffed, the usual spark of challenge in his eyes dulled, a clear sign of his discomfort with the situation. His gaze briefly met Izuku's, a storm of unspoken words swirling in the depth of his eyes before he turned away, focusing on something, anything else.
The group's laughter provided a backdrop to these silent exchanges, with Shinso's recent training blunder becoming the highlight. Denki took the lead in recounting Shinso's accidental acrobatic feat while training with Sero, his exaggerated gestures painting a vivid, albeit embarrassing, picture. Shinso's glare in response to Denki's theatrics only added to the humor, drawing a collective laugh from the group.
Chieko, seizing the moment, leaned in toward Izuku, her voice low and laced with a hint of excitement. "He's definitely looking this way more than he should," she observed with a sly grin, her gaze darting towards Katsuki momentarily. "I think we're on the right track."
Izuku, caught in the whirlwind of their plan, hesitated, the flutter of uncertainty in his stomach. "I'm not so sure about this, Chieko. What if it backfires?" he murmured, his voice tinged with concern.
Chieko's confidence, however, seemed unshakable. "Trust me, Izuku," she reassured him, her hand finding his in a gesture of solidarity. "We're just nudging him in the right direction."
As their conversation continued, the playlist shifted, the lively beats giving way to a slower, more intimate melody. The change in music cast a new light over the room, the previously energetic crowd easing into a softer sway of movement.
Chieko's eyes lit up at the opportunity, a playful challenge sparkling within them. "This is perfect," she declared, her enthusiasm infectious. Without waiting for a response, she tugged gently at Izuku's hand, leading him away from the group and towards the dance floor.
The dance floor, bathed in the soft glow of the lights, felt like stepping into another world. The slower tempo of the song enveloped them, a gentle embrace that eased Izuku's nerves. Around them, couples moved with a grace that mirrored the music's ebb and flow, each step a testament to the song's tender rhythm.
As they found their pace, Chieko leaned in, her voice barely above the music. "Did you see Katsuki's face? It's like a storm's brewing behind his eyes."
Izuku sighed, his gaze inadvertently searching for Katsuki among the crowd. "Yeah, I just wish he'd talk to me... we could skip straight to making things better."
Chieko's laugh was light, a sound that seemed to dance on the edge of hope. "He will, Izuku. He's just... being Baku."
Their conversation drifted, easing into a silence that spoke volumes of the trust and understanding that had grown between them. As the song's tempo slowed, Chieko and Izuku's movements mirrored the shift—a gentle sway, a moment that allowed for reflection.
Izuku's voice was soft when he finally spoke, the words heavy with unspoken emotion. "Chieko... thank you for everything. With Katsuki, and just... being here."
Chieko's response was immediate, her grip tightening just a fraction. "Don't worry about. You saved me more than once. Of course I'd have your back."
The mention of the past, of the hospital, and the events that had changed the course of their lives brought a shadow across Izuku's features. "I'm sorry, Chieko... for everything you had to go through."
Her surprise at the topic's gravity didn't hinder her response. She pulled Izuku closer, wrapping him in an embrace that spoke more than words ever could. "Izuku, it wasn't your fault, you know."
Izuku held her tightly, the warmth of their embrace a deep contrast to the icy fear that always lingered in the back of his mind—the fear of failing those he cared about. "You really don't regret it, leave with us that day?" he asked, the vulnerability in his voice wrapped in the comfort of their embrace.
Chieko's shake of her head was felt more than seen, her voice steady and sure. "Not for a second," she affirmed softly. "I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't met you and Katsuki. We're in this together now, Izuku. We're family."
The gravity of their conversation, however, was suddenly pierced by Chieko's playful declaration, her voice a light in the solemnity of their exchange. "Looks like it's showtime," she said, her tone laced with an excitement that tugged at the edges of the moment they had woven together.
Before Izuku could process her words, Chieko's grip on his hand became a lifeline, pulling him back to reality. The transition from the dance floor's gentle ambiance to the crisp night air outside was a jolt, the sudden change charged with an energy that contrasted sharply with the serenity of their earlier dance.
"What's happening, Chieko?" Izuku found himself asking, caught in the current of her urgency as they navigated the spaces between the shadows and the soft glow of the school's exterior lights.
With a mischievous glint in her eye that reflected the night's capricious nature, Chieko propelled them forward, her determination a force unto itself. "Time to get your man," she announced, her voice a mix of conspiracy and thrill, pulling Izuku along with a resolve that brooked no argument.
As they hurried back into the building, Izuku's mind was a flurry of confusion and anticipation. The rush of the cool night against his skin did little to soothe the burning curiosity within. Chieko, with her enigmatic smile leading the way, seemed to be up to something, her steps light and purposeful.
The room they entered was a capsule of familiarity and foreignness all at once. The scene was almost a mirror image of a night that seemed both a lifetime ago and as fresh as yesterday. Blankets were spread out on the floor in a makeshift arrangement, and Izuku's heart skipped a beat at the sight.
"What's all this, Chieko?" he managed, his voice a mix of curiosity and apprehension, eyeing the cozy but confusing scene before him.
Chieko's answer was a playful shush. Her finger pressed to her lips as she cast a conspiratorial glance towards the door. "Just wait," she whispered, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
The sound of hurried steps approaching set Izuku's nerves on edge, anticipation tightening his muscles as the door slammed open, revealing a visibly shaken Katsuki. His eyes, wide with a storm of emotions, scanned the room, landing on the blankets with a mix of confusion and anger.
"What the hell is going on here?" Katsuki's voice was a controlled explosion, his usual composure fraying at the edges as he took in the scene.
Chieko, unfazed by his intensity, let out a soft chuckle. "Calm down, Baku. It's just a little prank," she said, her gaze softening as she looked at him.
Katsuki's scowl deepened, his gaze flickering between Izuku and the door Chieko was inching towards. "You think this is funny?" he growled, though the edge in his voice seemed to dull slightly in her presence.
"Lighten up," Chieko retorted gently, her smile warming the cold room. "Besides, isn't it about time you two sorted things out? We're all tired of the tension."
She gave the two one last smile as she patted Kacchan on the shoulder on her way out the door. He didn't even register his touch as he looked back at Izuku.
"I'll make sure no curious eyes followed you, so you two can relax and get to the happy part, yeah?" With that, she slipped out, her departure leaving a silence that buzzed with unspoken words and pent-up emotions.
Izuku, now alone with Katsuki, felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him. "Kacchan," he started, his voice barely above a whisper, "I—"
But words failed him, the room's charged atmosphere a tangible barrier to his thoughts. Katsuki stood rigid, the distance between Izuku and Katsuki seemed to stretch infinitely, a chasm filled with years of words unsaid and actions regretted.
Izuku, feeling the strain of their silent standoff, finally let his legs give way, settling onto the scattered blankets with a weary sigh. He raised his eyes to Katsuki, his gaze steady. "Are you done running away, Kacchan?" he asked, a hint of exhaustion lacing his words, mirroring the fatigue that clung to his spirit.
Katsuki's response was a sharp, almost startled glance, as if Izuku's resignation had pierced through the armor he'd meticulously built around himself. After a tense moment, he too succumbed to gravity, sinking down across from Izuku with a heaviness that seemed to pull to his very soul. He covered his face with his hands, a gesture so vulnerable that it took Izuku by surprise. The sight was a shocking contrast to the fierce, unyielding Katsuki he'd always known.
"What was all that with Chieko?" Katsuki's voice, muffled, tinged with something that sounded close to vulnerability. "Was there something...?"
Izuku couldn't help the tired chuckle that escaped him, brushing off the implied jealousy with a shake of his head. "No, Kacchan, there's nothing like that between us. It was all just…. a ploy, I guess. To get us here, talking."
Katsuki's reaction was immediate, a mix of irritation and relief. "Seriously? All this drama just to get me to open up?" He scoffed, shaking his head, though the edge of his voice softened. "You're impossible, Deku."
"I know," Izuku replied, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "But Kacchan, I... We need to talk. I can't stand you avoiding me anymore."
Katsuki seemed to deflate with Izuku's words, his posture slumping as he let his hands fall to his sides. "Fine," Katsuki finally grumbled, his gaze dropping to the floor before snapping back up. "You wanna know the truth? I was jealous. Insanely jealous."
Izuku blinked, taken aback by the admission. "Of Chieko and me?"
"No idiot! Back then…. of you, Deku," Katsuki continued, each word seeming to cost him. "You didn't have shit... no quirk, nothing. But you kept going, kept aiming to be a hero. It pissed me off because... because it made me see my own weaknesses."
The room fell silent, save for the distant sound of the party outside. Izuku watched as Katsuki struggled with his words, a battle playing out on his face. It was a side of Katsuki that Izuku had glimpsed only in fragments, a vulnerability masked by anger and pride.
"Kacchan…"
"No, let me finish," Katsuki cut in, his voice steadier now. "I took it out on you because you represented everything I lacked. Your courage, your determination... it made me feel... less. And I hated you for it. For making me see what the type of hero I could never be."
Izuku's heart ached with the confession, a mix of pain and understanding flooding through him. This was the moment they needed a chance to confront the ghosts that had lingered between them for too long.
"Kacchan, I…" Izuku paused, searching for the right words to mend the fractures of their past. "I've always seen you as strong. You had such a drive to win that I never doubted you'd achieve your goal one day. I admired you, even when things were at their worst."
Katsuki's gaze lifted, a raw intensity replacing the uncertainty that had momentarily flickered there. "That's what I mean. Even at my worst, you didn't give up on me. You came back to look for me that day. Even after how I treated you, you didn't turn away. You were the hero I couldn't be when it mattered most."
The mention of that day—of Katsuki's deepest regrets—hung heavily between them. Izuku knew Katsuki seldom spoke of the pain tied to his parents, a loss shadowed by feelings of inadequacy. Though Izuku viewed the events differently, he understood some burdens were Katsuki's alone to bear.
"We both faced things we weren't ready for back then. But look at us now—we've grown, changed. I've witnessed your efforts, your growth, Kacchan. That's what's important," Izuku continued, his voice threaded with earnest hope. "Can we leave the past behind, not forgetting it, but moving forward from here? Together?"
Something unspoken yet profoundly understood passed between them in that moment. The tension that had once seemed insurmountable now appeared as a bridge to a new beginning.
The air between them felt charged, heavy with years of unresolved tension and unsaid words, but as Izuku reached forward, closing the gap with a kiss, it felt like a release—a beginning. Katsuki's resistance, once as steadfast as the walls he'd built around himself, melted away under Izuku's gentle insistence. This time, Katsuki stayed, his presence a silent acknowledgment of the shift between them.
Katsuki's voice, when he finally spoke, was a low rumble, a blend of a threat and a vow that only Izuku could decipher as a confession. "Let me make one thing clear, Deku. Leave, and I'll hunt you down. You're mine now, for better or worse," he muttered, the menace in his words softened by the underlying concern, a promise of protection and perhaps something more.
The surge of emotions enveloping Izuku was intricate, weaving together strands of joy, relief, and an overpowering sense of home. "Leaving has never been an option," he whispered, his voice heavy with emotion, a solemn vow to stay by Katsuki's side on the journey ahead, no matter the challenges they would face.
Gently, Izuku pulled Katsuki closer, inviting him to lie down on the spread-out blankets, encircling him with an embrace that felt like coming home. Katsuki's initial resistance wavered, a token protest at best, before he surrendered to the quiet warmth enveloping them both.
Unable to hold back, Izuku let a soft chuckle escape as he felt Katsuki tense against him. "You're blushing," he had whispered, his breath a warm caress against Katsuki's ear.
"Shut up, Deku. I'm just... not used to this," Katsuki had grumbled, his voice losing its usual edge, replaced by a softer, more vulnerable tone.
As they lay there, with Izuku nestled against Katsuki's side, a profound sense of contentment washed over him, a feeling of rightness he'd never experienced before. He planted a tender kiss on Katsuki's shoulder, a gesture that made Katsuki stiffen slightly, yet no objection followed.
"I've missed you, Kacchan," Izuku murmured, his words a confession of his own. "I don't want us to be apart anymore."
For a moment, Katsuki was silent, his breathing even, as though he were gathering his thoughts. Then, so softly that Izuku almost didn't catch it, Katsuki admitted, "I… missed you too."
Those quietly spoken words instilled a deep sense of tranquility in Izuku, a serenity that seemed to penetrate to his very core. With Katsuki by his side, it felt as though they could withstand any storm that came their way. As slumber enveloped him, Izuku's final thought was a silent promise to safeguard this delicate new beginning they had forged with all the strength he possessed.