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It’s seriously getting weird. No, it’s already weird. It’s been weird.
Has it always been weird? He can’t tell. It didn’t feel weird at first. It made sense: they got paired up for an English project and wrote it sitting on his bed instead of at a table in the common room. Was that weird? It’s been noisy as hell down there since almost everybody moved back to the dorms. And it’s not like they could go to Deku’s room, it’s full of creepy All Might stuff even these days.
All they did was sit there and compare notes and when they finished he took out his laptop and typed it all up. He was slow, but so is Deku, and it was good practice for his arm. None of it felt weird at all. It felt normal. It felt so normal.
That was two weeks ago. What’s weird is the night they handed it in, Izuku knocked on his door again. It was the same time as before, during that space in the day after dinner where everyone’s cramming or playing video games or something. He opened the door and Deku was standing there with his books in his arms. Katsuki had just put on his slippers to go downstairs. Instead, he opened the door wider and let him in. He sat on his bed, a pencil already in his hand.
And Katsuki just keeps letting him in. That’s the weird part. He should be telling him to get lost. But he hasn’t, not for two weeks. He’s wearing tracks in the carpet with his pacing, but now that he knows that Deku’s gonna knock, he can never seem to focus on anything beforehand. It’s not just weird. It’s stupid. He should tell him to get lost. He should tell him to fuck off.
There’s the knock at the door. The same time as usual. Katsuki freezes. He could tell him to fuck off. He crosses the room and opens the door.
Deku stands there, just like he did yesterday and the day before and the day before, notebooks still in his arms, still half-smiling. “Will you take a look at this essay?” he asks, breezing in. “I can’t figure out a better way to phrase the conclusion and it has me rethinking my whole thesis statement.” He actually sounds pretty concerned.
Katsuki watches him step out of his slippers, sit on his bed, and spread out his books. Sometimes he’s hard to look at directly. Kinda like a bare lightbulb. He shuts the door, frowning. “Don’t you know to just rewrite the intro?”
“Well, the intro isn’t that great either, that’s the problem.”
The printed pages are already dotted with corrections in green ink. Katsuki snatches them up, his frown turning into a scowl as he reads. He sits on the bed, leaving space between them. “It’s fine.”
“Fine?”
“It’s whatever.”
“Whatever?”
“Yes, nerd, it’s fine, whatever. You got your intro, your thesis statement, your paragraphs, your evidence, your conclusion, hell, even the damn works cited page is formatted right.”
“It—” Izuku’s hand twitches like he means to snatch the pages back but he stops at the last second. Katsuki holds them out to him anyway. “Yeah? You sure? I’m not sure on all the points, I should’ve found another source for the last one, but the literature on Quirk Affairs from more than forty years ago is really patchy….”
“Oi, it’s only supposed to be 2500 words!” He throws the pages down after counting them. “You asshole, you’re making the rest of us look bad.”
He himself has barely managed to scrape together 2550 and doesn’t have nearly as many sources. He hadn’t thought it was a bad paper, it’s good enough to get at least an A-. But he can practically already read Aizawa’s notes in the margins: ‘Sloppy’ ‘Ok’ ‘Not your best.’ Maybe even a ‘Really?’ when he sees his last source.
It’s getting hard for him to care about the longer assignments. Maybe he’s getting senioritis a few months early. Maybe it’s because this idiot is eating up all his studying time. Maybe it’s because he knows he isn’t headed to university after graduation, and where else do you need to write 2500 words on the socio-economic developments in a post-Quirk-boom Japanese society? Maybe he’s just tired. His arm hurts.
The idiot in question brings his knees up to his chest and raises his eyebrows in an I highly doubt that type of way. He holds out his hand. “Let me see yours, then.”
“I haven’t printed it yet, it isn’t due til Wednesday, you try-hard.” Though, now he’s starting to really rethink that last source.
“You could email it to me.”
“Why? So you can plagiarize my best points?”
“Oh, come on.”
“You’re not slick. Besides, Aizawa is gonna kick your ass when he sees how much extra you’re makin’ him read.”
His green eyes get bigger. “Wait, you think so? Will he take points off??” He grabs his essay and scans it frantically.
Katsuki shrugs, feeling a pang of guilt for making him worry. “Nah. I mean, in the rubric he just said write at least 2500 words, nothing about going over.” This seems to relax him a little. “Doesn’t mean he still won’t kick your ass.”
Izuku sighs, laying the essay back on the bedspread. “I guess I can ask him on Monday, just to be sure.” He leans back against the pillow shoved in the corner. “Or… maybe I’ll email him tomorrow.”
For just a second—it doesn’t happen so much anymore, though it used to happen a lot—Katsuki feels a wave of reverse déjà vu. Instead of feeling like this is something that’s happened before, the moment feels like something that could have happened, in some alternate history where he invited Izuku over to do homework together in middle school. A moment in a world where they studied on his bed just like this until his mom called them to wash up for dinner.
He makes a fist and squeezes until it hurts. “He’ll definitely kick your ass if you piss him off about it. Just leave it. It’s good.” Instead they have this. Whatever it is.
“You just said fine.”
“Yeah, and now I’m saying good. What, you want me to say it sucks?”
“You can if it does. I want honesty.”
Katsuki can’t help his sneer, but he tries. “Well, honestly it doesn’t suck. You want me to say fuck off?”
All Deku does is stare back. “You can. If I’m bothering you.”
Neither of them say anything until Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Yeah, as if reading your shitty paper is such a monumental inconvenience. You’re not that bad of a writer.” The room is warmer with two people in it. He gets up to crack the balcony door.
“Well.” Izuku looks down as he gathers the pages into the folder slot of his notebook. “If you want eyes on your paper before it’s due, I can give it a read—uh, if you want.”
He snorts and picks up his Bio notes on the desk. May as well try to study. “You’re not even getting the best marks in that class. I’d ask Yaomomo first.”
Izuku tosses his head as he opens up their math textbook. “In that case, I’m sure she’d be happy to help.”
When Katsuki throws himself onto the bed he makes sure to knock Izuku’s shoulder hard enough for them both to feel it.
This time, it doesn’t take as long as it usually does. One second they’re saying something stupid, the next they’re reading and highlighting quietly on their own, then the pen is rolling out of Izuku’s hand, his head falls back against the pillow, and he’s asleep.
Katsuki just lets him sleep.
It should piss him off. It does piss him off. Doesn’t it? He should wake him up.
He should’ve woken him up that first night, two weeks ago. And the night after that. And the night after that. He should’ve made them study on the rug or downstairs in the common room and flicked bits of paper at him if he started to doze. He should flick paper at him right now. He should tell Aizawa that he isn’t sleeping well again.
He should just ask him. What’s your deal?
But he doesn’t do anything. That’s part of what’s so weird. He just can’t seem to bring himself to do anything.
For a little while he ignores the fact that Deku’s sleeping right next to him and tries to actually study. That doesn’t last long. He watches him sleep, just for a minute or two, before reaching up to hit the overhead light switch. Izuku’s face relaxes slightly in the dark. Then he picks up their science textbook and pretends to read in the glow from the desk lamp.
Sometimes Izuku will wake up on his own, flustered, face red, trying to act like he only dozed off for a few minutes instead of almost an hour or more. Katsuki lets him. That’s when it’s easiest.
Lately, though, for the past few nights he’ll sleep as long as he’s left alone. Katsuki first started getting him up around nine and keeps pushing it later and later. He doesn’t want to bother him. He always seems to wake with a start, no matter how quiet or careful he is.
Once, maybe twice, maybe three times, he’s thought about leaving him there to sleep all night. He’s thought about dragging the extra blanket from the closet and sleeping on it with his sweatshirt as a pillow. He’s thought about the shape he’d have to contort his body to fit beside him on the mattress without touching. He once thought about fitting beside Izuku and not caring if they touched.
He stands suddenly and almost trips over Izuku’s slippers. Katsuki looks back, but he’s still asleep, he hasn’t even moved. It’s been months, but his hair is still growing back patchy and uneven.
What’s weird is that sometimes, sometimes when he’s sleeping and Katsuki looks at him, he has to watch to make sure his chest is moving. He knows he picked up the habit when they were all still in the hospital, but that was months and months ago. He knows he’s just sleeping. But sometimes he’s so still. Like tonight. His pen is on the comforter, a few inches from his hand.
Katsuki leaves it there and takes the books to his desk. He closes the balcony door and pulls himself into the tiny neglected bathroom. His reflection stares back ruthlessly.
It’s weird. He doesn’t want him to leave. Maybe he never wanted him to leave.
Shit.
He starts brushing his teeth, desperate to do something with his hands, even though it’s way too early to sleep, even for him. He takes his time carefully flossing and gargling mouthwash until his gums burn and splashes water on his face while avoiding his eye in the mirror. He dampens a cloth, the water as cold as he can make it, and hears a soft sound from the other room. He shuts the tap and abandons the flannel in the sink.
It’s dark, but he can clearly see that Izuku’s rolled onto his side, crushing his bad arm under his body. It looks awful. He shifts against the bed, his jaw clicking as his teeth grind.
“Izuku?”
He mumbles something into the pillow.
Katsuki sits on the bed and reaches for him. “Hey. Deku.”
It’s not the first time he’s woken him up from a nightmare. They’ve had a long few years. But that’s mostly been at the hospital, or in the backs of cars, on couches, once or twice at the dinner table. This shouldn’t happen here. He lightly touches his shoulder, just like he had all those times before.
When he makes contact, Izuku’s body lights up green with the embers of his Quirk. His eyes are still closed.
Katsuki’s fingertips sink in a little tighter. “Hey, Deku, you’re—”
Izuku moves too fast to track. He’s just a green blur like always. His elbow hits him square in the middle of his chest with enough power to knock him off the bed. He hits the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him. He’s still gasping by the time Izuku scrambles over.
His face is white. “K-Kacchan, I—”
Even though he’s trying to regulate his breathing, Katsuki’s able to plant a firm and precise foot on Deku’s sternum, kicking him back onto the bed. He lands with a wheeze.
“Shut. Up.” It feels like a snarl. He’s still breathing heavily as he gets to his feet.
Deku is, too, his shoulders shaking. He tries again, “I’m s—”
“What is your fucking deal?” Katsuki should’ve asked weeks ago.
Deku ducks his head and shrugs. “I don’t… I…”
“Come on.” Katsuki’s voice is quiet but insistent. “Something’s up.”
“It’s—just dreams. Nothing new.”
“Dreams.”
“Yeah… you know. Always hard to fall asleep after.”
He does know. “Yeah.” He turns away and slams the bathroom door behind him.
He runs the tap as cold as he can make it. He still needs to slow his breathing, his heart is beating too fast in his chest. It’s a good thing Deku didn’t hit him that hard, a really, really good thing. His heart has enough issues as it is. He still avoids his eye in the mirror as he picks the flannel back up and soaks it through again. It’s too weird. It’s always been weird. He should’ve made them study on the rug. He should’ve talked to Aizawa. He should’ve—He should—
When he wrings out the washcloth his fingers are pink and white. He folds it in half and in half again. Izuku’s still there, curled on the bed. He hasn’t moved much except to bring his knees up against his chest and turn his face away. He’s still here.
Katsuki holds out the compress. “Here.”
“Oh, um.” He stares at it before taking it, then stares at it in his hand. “...Thanks.”
Katsuki grabs it back. “No, asshole.” It’s dripping everywhere. He throws himself down on the bed like he had before, forcing Izuku to scoot out of the way or be crushed again. “Like this.” He leans forward and presses it to his neck.
Izuku doesn’t flinch at the cold. He shuts his eyes. When he reaches up to take the cloth, their hands touch. It takes Katsuki way too long to realize how close he is, and even longer for him to pull away. Izuku’s hand is warm.
His heart pounds. Oh, shit. He shifts to put space between them. He’s made up a cold compress for half his classmates before but it’s always different with Deku. He can’t even think that maybe he didn’t notice, because of course he did. Izuku has noticed everything since day fucking one and he’s not stopping any time soon.
But he doesn’t do anything. It’s so weird. He holds the compress to the other side of his neck, then to his forehead. He opens his eyes and unfolds the towel to wipe his hands and when he looks up, his face is unreadable. “Thanks, Kacchan.” His voice is low. “Sorry about falling asleep.”
He has to say something. Now. Especially as he starts to move like he’s getting up. He should ask what his dream was about. He should ask if he has it a lot. He should ask him why he keeps coming back.
Instead he rolls his eyes again and pushes off the bed first. “I’m not servin’ you an eviction notice.” He grabs his pajamas and ducks into the bathroom again to change, leaving the door open.
When he comes back out, Izuku has pulled himself to the edge of the bed. His hands are knotted in his sweatshirt sleeves. He looks like he wants to say something but bites his lip instead.
Katsuki frowns. “What the hell were you dreaming about, anyway?” He keeps his eyes down as he asks, taking his time sorting their textbooks on his desk.
Izuku swallows. After a moment, he shrugs. “The usual.”
That means the war. He puts a few books away in his bag and a few on the shelf. He shuts off the lamp, leaving them in darkness for the time it takes him to pad over to the bed and turn on the reading light. It’s usually the war.
He untucks the bedspread on the wall side since Izuku’s still sitting on it. “I’m not kicking you out.” They both ignore that it’s still early. “You can leave or stay. You know the way back. But if you get caught out past curfew, keep me out of it.”
He gets into bed and pulls the blanket to his shoulders and faces the wall and tries really hard not to think about how it’s still warm where Deku laid on it. The mattress shifts.
Katsuki tries to ignore this feeling in his chest. He knows it’s a lot more than just his scarred heart muscles. He hears the sounds of papers rustling. He should do something. He should say something. He should turn around.
He doesn’t. He keeps staring at the wall until the reading light goes out. The door shuts quietly.
Katsuki closes his eyes.
He’s choking on his heart. He’s dying, again. He’ll die forever, over and over and over again.
Katsuki fights towards consciousness like he’s escaping a collapsing building, fighting as hard as he always fights. His lungs burn like they’re full of smoke.
A voice in his ear, “—Kacchan, you’re—”
He thrashes against the bindings around his chest.
“—Open your eyes!”
They fall away easily, but they’re not bindings, they’re skinny scarred arms. The dim room blurs and spins around him. Something wiry and solid is against his back. It’s—
Fuck. “Izuku?”
“I’m here.”
“Fuck.” He pushes away from him and rolls into the wall. The impact jars him further awake.
He presses his hand to the cool drywall, feeling his pulse in his fingertips. He has to calm down. It was just some dream. He takes a deep breath and exhales for a count of twenty. Just some nightmare.
He can't even remember it now. Only glimpses of black and red, the usual images, someone’s always dying: his mom, Kirishima, Aizawa, All Might, him, Izuku. The ground is always opening up beneath him, disintegrating, touched by Shigaraki’s decay. Red shoes disappearing into a pit of darkness. He’s always too late.
Katsuki rubs his face and takes another deep breath and opens his eyes to see Izuku sitting on the farthest edge of the bed, his own eyes huge with concern. There’s a trail of tiny holes in the collar of his faded blue AM shirt.
His own shirt collar is soaked in sweat. Fuck.
He swallows. “I heard you leave.” The tiny click of the latch catching.
“I did.” Izuku stands nervously. His pajama pants don’t match his shirt. They’re red and long enough to cover his feet. “I came back.”
When Katsuki doesn’t say anything, he takes two steps and escapes to the bathroom. The tap runs. The only light comes from the tiny reading lamp. Izuku must’ve switched it back on to help wake him up.
The room is too hot. Katsuki’s heart is still in his throat. He covers his eyes.
Izuku keeps coming back. He always has. It’s really not that weird at all.
When he drops his hands, he’s standing in front of him again.
Katsuki has lived through the end of the world a few times. That’s not what this is. He doesn’t know what it is.
Izuku still looks a little unsure, like he hasn’t spent the last two weeks napping in here for hours. A damp folded washcloth drips down his wrist. Katsuki almost laughs.
Instead of handing it to him, Izuku sits next to him on the bed. Then he leans forward and holds it to the side of his neck.
Katsuki shivers and closes his eyes. When reaches up to take the compress, his fingers hit the back of Izuku’s hand. It’s cold. Neither of them pull away.
The only thing Katsuki can think to do is cover his hand with his own. He can barely think at all, his brain is too distracted by how they’re sitting so closely that their knees are touching. He drapes the towel over the headboard and takes Izuku’s hand.
His face is hard to read. This is how it’s been all year, a mix of the familiar and alien, like his moment of not-déjà vu from before. “I’m sorry, I…” Izuku glances down. “I know you have your own stuff going on. I shouldn’t…” He looks like he wants to run, but he’s still holding his hand. “I shouldn’t expect you to just keep letting me in.”
“Izuku.”
“No, really, I…”
“I want you to stay.”
Izuku blinks.
Katsuki rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “I… I mean, you should’ve asked first. But you don’t have to leave. If you don’t want to.”
He squeezes his hand, and Deku shakes his head, then he laughs, softly, they’re both laughing and pulling each other close. Izuku tucks his face into his neck and Katsuki rests his chin on the top of his head. His hair is soft—did he know this already? He can’t remember ever touching it so carefully before.
“I just…” His breath warms his collarbone. “I’ve been having this dream. You’re in it. And when I’m around you…” He shrugs. “It’s better.”
“I know the type.”
“I probably gave you that nightmare, though, when I came back.”
Katsuki holds him a little tighter. “I’m glad you did.”
Izuku looks up at him, the reflection from the lamp shining brightly in his eyes. Then he yawns, and both of them laugh, and Katsuki pulls out the blanket that’s all ruched up and spreads it over them. There’s a lot of room when they don’t mind touching.
He reaches up to switch off the reading light. His alarm clock glows menacingly with the time, 2:47 AM. But it’s Saturday, and even though they have drills early, they’ll have the whole afternoon off to nap.
There’s a lot to talk about. And a lot of sleep to catch up on.
“Izuku?” He’s warm and heavy in his arms. In the red glow of the display, Katsuki can see that his eyes are closed, and he’s sleeping, as easily as if they were pretending to study.