Izuku was used to hospitals.

He was used to the pasty white walls and sterilizing scent of isopropyl, the shiver that ran through him at the touch of cold metal instruments grazing his skin, and the rock-solid hospital beds that always left him with a sore bum on his way out. He was used to hospitals, and yet…

Here he was, December 31st, 11:49 PM.

Bedridden.

Stuck.

Trapped.

He was all alone on New Year's Eve. The one night he had been looking forward to for the entire year. The one night where he had hoped to finally relax and let himself enjoy something for once, finally get to let go of all the horrible things he had been through this year, and finally leave behind this year to start fresh, anew. But, of course, something had to go and ruin it: his tonsils.

After the war, U.A. worked harder than ever before to make the school a happy place for its students. Every holiday, every tradition, every means for celebration would now be an all-out festivities extravaganza, and New Year's was no exception. They would be hosting a fireworks show for all the students to see and countdown to, one with confetti, streamers, everything.

And how would he be celebrating? Well, he wouldn't be counting down, that's for sure. The tonsillectomy they had taken him in for had left him with possibly the most excruciating throat pain he had ever experienced, even after going through what his doctor had called "the worst case of tonsillitis" he had ever seen.

Izuku sighed. What could he do now? Well, he had a couple of options, he decided. He could:

A: Continue to watch the U.A. New Year's countdown livestream on his phone, as his friends and classmates all celebrated together on-screen,

B: Wallow in self-pity,

or C: Cry. Pathetically.

He chose Option C.

Hot tears began to gather in his eyes, paving streams down his cheeks and past his chin. He gasped for air as his nose began to close up, globs of snot flowing freely onto his upper lip. The droplets felt salty on his tongue, creating a nightmarish combination of feelings, considering his flu-induced tonsillitis. But there was no helping it, when it rained, it poured, and when Izuku cried, you could water a whole botanical garden with the amount of tears he shed.

He cried and cried and cried. And then, amidst all his ugly sniveling, he heard it: a familiar voice coming from down the hall. But disbelief told him he was just hearing things, so he quieted down and listened.

"Thank you so much Mr. Dynamight, my daughter's going to be ecstatic, really."

"Yeah it's fine. Where did you say his room was again?"

"I'll frame the autograph, honest."

"Sure, do whatever you want."

"And the selfie, too!"

"OK, I get it! Just show me his room already," the familiar voice boomed.

"Yes, of course, right over here."

The conversation took a pause as footsteps from down the hall echoed louder and louder until they, too, went quiet, seemingly just outside his doorway.

"He's right in here. Thanks again."

"Yeah, don't worry about it. Just don't tell anyone I was here."

"Will do."

Then, there was complete silence, save for the soft hum of electricity. Izuku waited with bated breath, still not entirely convinced this visitor was here for him.

But he was wrong. In the next second, he heard his visitor take a deep breath, a step, and then a knock at his half-open door.

"Hey Izuku, are you awake?"

That's when it hit him.

Oh my gosh, I have boogers all over my face.

He scrambled for the box of Kleenex on the table beside him, stuffing tissues up his nose and frantically rubbing all the gunk off his face, but it was too late. Katsuki walked in as soon as he had rolled up two tissues, and plugged each of his runny nostrils shut with them.

"You look fucking horrible," he stated, matter-of-factly.

That's easy for you to say, Izuku thought. He felt a blush begin to burn his face from embarrassment. The blond's muscles had filled out even more in their final years at U.A., and he had been on the receiving end of some very generous looks from other girls at their school and out on patrol, even getting asked for his number, on a few occasions. Of course, this all happened before they discovered his true personality.

"What are you doing here?" Izuku whispered. He winced at the gravelly sound his own voice had taken on, post-surgery.

Katsuki huffed and crossed his arms, seemingly offended. "Use your brain, you damn nerd! What do you think I'm doing here?!"

Izuku stared at him, baffled. He couldn't possibly be here just to visit, could he? Out of the kindness of his own heart?

Yeah, right.

"You'd better not make a big deal out of this. I just didn't want to be at the school. It was too loud. Too many people."

He nodded his understanding so as not to speak, green curls bouncing on his head.

Katsuki pulled a chair from the corner over to Izuku's bed, beginning to make himself comfortable. Well, as comfortable as he could get in a hospital room chair.

"So, your dumb ass had the flu, huh? Told ya you shoulda gone to get it checked. Now you're tonsil-less."

Izuku rolled his eyes.

"I mean really," he began again, "you should know better than this. Who gets severe tonsillitis at the grown age of 18? Your first red flag should have been when it was getting harder for you to breathe. But, nooo, you're always 'just fine.' Seriously, it's common sense at this point."

Izuku frowned, the initial excitement of receiving a visitor now long-gone. "So you came here to lecture me and tell me about how you were right, then?"

Katsuki scoffed. "No, but I was totally right. And I already told you why I came here."

He's a terrible liar, really. He could have gone anywhere else. He could have gone home.

But he didn't.

"How did you get in?" Izuku questioned. He spoke in a soft whisper, trying not to irritate his throat any further.

"Bribed the front desk with a Dynamight autograph and selfie."

...But you hate taking pictures and talking to fans.

Izuku didn't know what else to say. What could you tell the guy you've known since you were kids, who you've fought together in a war with, when he was doing all these things that you know he hates doing, just for your sake?

An awkwardness settled in the room as they both struggled to find something to keep the conversation going, with little success. Izuku played with the hospital bedsheets, crumpling them up in his hands, and unfurling it, over and over and over. The rough fabric hadn't been very inviting when he first woke up, but now he seemed infatuated with it.

Katsuki finally broke the tension. "Let's watch the livestream."

The livestream. It was like somebody just punched Izuku in the gut.

He wanted to watch it, really, but he just couldn't. All his friends would be in the crowd, cheering and counting down together, enjoying the fireworks and basking in the thrill of a fresh start to a new year. He knew he should be happy for them, but…

Tears formed in his eyes again when Katsuki pulled up the U.A. YouTube page. The clock read 11:57 PM. It was a good thing those nasty tissues still hung out of his nose.

Katsuki sighed. "Alright nerd, are you gonna tell me what the hell you were crying about? What you're still crying about? If it's something stupid, I swear to God…"

"I—I just wanted to see the fireworks," he choked out between sobs.

"That's it? The fireworks? You've got to be kidding," Katsuki said, completely unimpressed. "You just got your tonsils chopped off, you're hospitalized with the flu, and you're alone on New Year's Eve, and fireworks are what you're worried about?"

Izuku nodded, unable to verbalize anything else. He reached over his bedside for some new nostril tissues, balling up the used, soggy ones in the palms of his hands.

"Okay, okay, stop crying. I'll get you your fireworks, so stop crying, dammit."

He stopped his sniffling for a moment, warbling out something nearly incoherent. "It's OK, Kacchan. You don't have to console me. It's partly my fault I'm here." He wiped away new tears with the backs of his hands.

"No, listen to me. Take this," he instructed, handing over his phone. It was now 11:59 PM. The livestreamed crowd was bustling with excitement, their cheers growing louder every second. A timer on the right side of the screen displayed 32 seconds to midnight.

"Count down when the crowd starts doing it."

"Kacchan, I really don't want to watch this."

"Just shut up and do it, you damn nerd!" he barked.

Yikes. That was all the convincing Izuku needed.

"20… 19… 18… 17…"

Katsuki did something funny, then. He leaned over the bedframe and placed his hands behind his phone Izuku was holding, palms facing the ceiling.

"12.. 11… 10… 9..." Katsuki started counting, too.

"8… 7… 6… 5…" Screams erupted from the crowd in anticipation. Escaped pieces of confetti began to rain down from the sky before they could be let go.

"4… 3… 2… 1…"

Izuku watched as tiny explosions popped in Katsuki's hands like his own mini, private fireworks show. The crackling sparks made his eyes shine like little universes, as he soaked in the beautiful sight in awe.

"Happy New Year," they said in unison, explosions still bursting between them.

"You gonna keep complaining, nerd?"

"No, it was… it was perfect."

"Damn right it was," Katsuki said, cocky as ever. "Better now?"

"Yeah… thanks, Kacchan."

"Yeah whatever, just give me my phone back. You're getting all your cooties on it."