Work Text:
The drumming against the window shouldn't have been such a big deal. It was just water, after all.
But to Izuku, every heavy thud felt like a knock on a door he wanted to keep locked. He shifted under his blankets, the fabric feeling scratchy against his skin.
The UA dorms were built like a fortress, but the concrete walls of Heights Alliance felt weirdly thin tonight. Aizawa had been pretty blunt. Nobody leaves until the storm clears out because of the crazy wind and flying debris.
For most of Class 3-A, this was just an excuse to stay up late and mess around in the common room. For Izuku, it was more like being stuck in a room with his own head. He shifted under his blankets, the fabric feeling scratchy against his skin. He used to actually like the rain. When he was a kid, it just meant putting on his yellow raincoat and All Might boots to jump in puddles.
But now, that sound triggered a chill that he couldn't shake off, no matter how high he turned up the heat.
It’s just a storm, Izuku. You’re in your room. You’re totally safe.
His mind kept drifting back to that mess of a time in their first year—the months where he blamed himself for putting his friends in danger that led him to flee UA. Those nights where he was alone, the dirt stuck under his nails, and the way the rain would soak into his suit until he felt like he was wearing a wet rug. He could still remember shivering under the jagged remains of old buildings, trying to keep his food dry while his breath came out in shaky puffs.
Back then, the rain wasn't just weather. It felt like it was trying to wear him down.
A sudden loud crack of thunder made the glass shake, followed by a flash of lightning that turned his whole room bright white for a second. Izuku jumped, his heart thumping way too fast. It was already 11:00 PM, way past when he should’ve crashed, but his eyes were wide open and stinging.
Every roar from the sky felt like a reminder of how small he’d felt out there on the streets. He knew he was a third-year now. He was way stronger and had friends who wouldn't let him wander off like that again.
So why does my chest feel so tight?
He stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows of the rain droplets race down the walls every time a streetlamp or a lightning bolt caught them. His room, usually a cozy spot filled with hero posters and notebooks, felt suffocating tonight.
He could almost smell the wet asphalt and the metallic tang of blood that had been his constant companions during his vigilante days. It was honestly frustrating. He’d done so much work to move past that, to learn to accept help, and to finally be part of a team again.
Yet, the second the sky turned gray and the pressure dropped, he was right back in that damp alleyway, wondering if he’d ever feel warm again. The contrast was what really got to him—he had a comfortable bed and a roof over his head, but his skin still felt that dampness that no amount of towels could ever truly wipe away.
The silence of the dorms during the storm made everything ten times worse. Usually, he’d hear Kirishima laughing down the hall or the muffled sound of someone’s TV. But tonight, everyone seemed to be tucked away in their rooms. The isolation was a huge trigger.
I can’t just lie here and let my brain spiral.
His legs moved on their own as he slid out of bed. His feet hit the floor, and he was almost surprised the carpet wasn't a puddle. He needed to find a distraction before the sound of the rain convinced him he was back in the ruins of the city.
Izuku realized his throat felt incredibly dry, like he’d been swallowing dust for hours. He tried to tell himself it was just the nerves, but the thirst became impossible to ignore. He hesitated, looking at his bedroom door as if it were a barrier he wasn't allowed to cross.
It’s fine, Izuku. It’s been years. You’re safe here.
Shigaraki was gone, All For One was nothing but a bad memory, and there were no more villains waiting to snatch him or his friends away. He was a third year at UA, not a ghost haunting the streets of a broken city. Taking a deep breath, he finally grabbed the doorknob.
He stepped out into the hallway, and for a second, his heart sank. The corridor looked different in the middle of the night, darker and stretched out so far it felt like it might never end. Every time the lightning flashed through the distant windows at the end of the hall, the shadows of the doors seemed to jump and grow. It felt like walking through a tunnel that was slowly narrowing around him.
Don't look at the windows, just keep walking.
Luckily, as he neared the stairs, a light began to bleed into the hallway. The common room and the kitchen lights were still on. Class 3-A had collectively decided to leave the downstairs lights on whenever there was a storm, a silent agreement made after they’d all realized that none of them really liked the dark anymore. Seeing that light made the air in his lungs feel a little less heavy.
It was a reminder that he wasn't the only one who needed a bit of extra comfort when the world outside sounded like it was falling apart.
He reached the bottom of the stairs, his footsteps barely making a sound on the carpeted floor. The common room was empty. He headed straight for the sink, needing the mundane task of pouring a glass of water to prove he was actually here and not back in his nightmares. His hands were still a little shaky as he reached for a glass, the clinking of the cabinet door sounding way too loud in the quiet building.
Izuku downed the water in messy gulps. The cold liquid hitting the back of his throat was a huge relief, and for a second, he actually felt his shoulders drop a few inches. He leaned his weight against the counter, letting out a long exhale. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe life wasn't so bad after all—he had a home, he had food, and the war was over. He stared at the empty glass, trying to convince his heart to stop trying to kick its way out of his chest—
And then, the world just... blinked out.
Every single light in the dorms died instantly.
The suddenness of it felt like being shoved into a deep hole. One second he was in a warm kitchen, and the next, he was standing in a suffocating void that felt way too heavy against his skin. Izuku’s blood ran cold, the temperature in the room seemingly dropping twenty degrees the moment the power cut.
Shit.
He hated the dark. He’d always had a rocky relationship with it, but the trauma from that messed-up year had turned it into something much worse. In the dark, the walls didn't exist anymore. In the dark, he wasn't in a safe dorm. He was back in the ruins of Jaku or the skeletal remains of Musutafu, waiting for something to lung out.
A jagged crackle of lightning tore across the sky outside, turning the kitchen a ghostly blue for a split second. Then the thunder hit, so massive it felt like it shook his very bones. Izuku could swear he could hear his own pulse thundering in his throat. His hands started trembling violently, the glass in his grip feeling like a block of ice. His skin felt clammy and cold, and the familiar terrifying sensation of the world slipping away began to take hold.
Oh no. Not now. Please, not now.
It was a jagged reminder that while the war was over, the battle inside his head was still raging.
Izuku desperately felt around the counter for a flashlight, his movements clumsy and panicked. He felt like a complete idiot for leaving his phone upstairs.
Over the last couple of years, he’d picked up this weird habit of just leaving his phone behind when he wandered the dorms. After smashing so many of them during his patrols and seeing how much those repairs hurt his wallet, he’d forced himself to stop being glued to the screen.
But right now, that choice felt like a death sentence.
Even with the occasional flash of lightning from the storm, Izuku felt like he couldn't see a single thing. His vision started to blur, turning into a hazy white as his lungs refused to take in a full breath. It felt like the air in the kitchen had turned into thick smoke. He tried to take a step, but his knees felt like it was made out of water. He stumbled backward, his back hitting the edge of the counter with a dull thud.
The impact jarred his arm, and the glass slipped from his numb fingers, crashing onto the tile floor with a sharp shatter that sounded like a gunshot in the dead silence—it was the final straw.
Izuku slid down the side of the cabinet, his hands flying to his ears as he tried to block out the sound of the rain, the thunder, and the ghosts of his own memory. His hands pressed so hard against his ears that his knuckles turned white, but he couldn't drown out the sound of the war.
Every heavy droplets of rain on the roof transformed into the sound of crumbling skyscrapers and the rhythmic, terrifying beat of Nomu wings. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the darkness behind his eyelids was even worse.
He wasn't in the UA kitchen anymore. He was back on that floating coffin of a battlefield, the air thick with the smell of ozone and burnt hair, watching the world he loved turn into a graveyard.
His chest heaved in shallow bursts and no matter how hard he gasped, it felt like there was no oxygen left in the world. His whole body was trembling so violently that his teeth actually started to chatter. He felt small, he was no longer the capable hero everyone looked up to.
He was the broken kid who had been forced to carry the weight of the entire planet on his shoulders before he was even old enough to drive.
Images flashed through his mind like a horror movie on loop. He remembered the sickening sound of his own quirk flickering out for the last time, the empty feeling in his chest when the embers of One For All finally went cold. He remembered the exhaustion of fighting Shigaraki for days on end, his muscles screaming and his mind fracturing under the pressure.
Please.
And then, the memory he tried hardest to bury surged to the front—the sight of his own arms being severed, the spray of red against the gray sky, and the agonizing heat that had followed before the rain chilled everything into a terrifying silence.
Please please please.
The rain. It always came back to the rain. He remembered how it felt on his skin as he lay there, broken and bleeding, while the entire world watched through a lens. Billions of people had seen him fall. Billions had seen him lose everything just to give them a tomorrow.
Please, make it stop.
The weight of those eyes felt heavier than an empty room, pressing down on his shoulders until he felt like he was being crushed into the floor tiles. He felt so exposed, like the storm was currently peeling back his skin to show the unhealed mess underneath.
"Please," he choked out. "Please, make it stop."
He was so lost in the ocean of his own brain that he didn't hear the heavy footsteps approaching from the common room. He didn't see the faint glow of a small spark cutting through the shadows.
All he knew was the cold and the sensation of arms but never quite felt like they belonged to him again. He was drowning in the middle of a dry kitchen, his fingers digging into his scalp as he waited for the next explosion that he was certain was coming.
He was in his third year, he was supposed to be a hero, he was supposed to be okay. But in the middle of a power outage, with the sky screaming overhead, he was just a boy who had seen way too much and didn't know how to carry it anymore.
“—Zuku.”
The silhouette stretched out like Shigaraki’s decaying fingers, reaching for his throat. Izuku curled into an even tighter ball, his forehead pressing against his knees. “No!” Izuku pleaded.
“Izuku!”
Someone was calling his name, though Izuku couldn't actually process the words. To his messed-up brain, any voice in the dark was a threat. He let out a panicked scream, his voice cracking as he shouted “No!” into the empty air.
His survival instincts, sharpened by months of looking over his shoulder, took complete control of his trembling body. He started kicking out wildly at the blurry silhouette standing in front of him, his heels scuffing against the tile as he tried to get away from the danger. His fists swung blindly through the air, punching in every direction.
The figure didn't back off or hit him back. Instead, it moved forward. Suddenly, Izuku felt a pair of hands lock around his wrists. The grip was firm enough to stop him from flailing. The contact forced Izuku to snap his eyes open, his vision slowly clearing as a flash of lightning lit up the kitchen again.
Standing there was Katsuki. That familiar ash blonde hair was a mess, and those intense red eyes were staring directly into his. Izuku’s breath hitched. For a second, he just stared at those eyes—eyes he’d spent his whole life watching, eyes he’d been terrified were gone forever during that final war.
“Izuku!” His face was twisted into what looked like anger, but Izuku knew him better than anyone. Seeing Katsuki so solid and real started to pull the floor back under Izuku's feet. The grip of his own thoughts began to let go, replaced by the radiating heat coming off Katsuki’s palms.
“Oi. It’s me. It’s just me, okay? There’s nobody else here.” Katsuki didn't let go of his arms, keeping his voice as steady as could as he leaned in closer. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, and I’m definitely not going to hurt you.”
He waited until he saw Izuku’s pupils finally focus before he kept going. “You’re starting to lose it, so we’re going to fix it. I’m going to count, and you’re going to follow along. From one to three, you take a deep breath. On four, you let it all out. Got it? Start now. One... two... three…”
Izuku tried to follow the instructions, his chest stuttering as he attempted to pull in a real breath. He watched Katsuki’s lips move, focusing on the sound of his voice rather than the thunder shaking the walls.
On the count of four, he exhaled, feeling a tiny bit of the tension leave his shoulders. They repeated the cycle a bunch of times.
He’s really here. Izuku thought, his mind finally accepting the reality of the moment. Kacchan is alive. He didn't die in the ruins. He’s standing right in front of me, and he’s okay.
That realization did more to settle his heart than the breathing exercises ever could.
After a few minutes, when Izuku’s trembling had died down to just small shivers, Katsuki finally let out a frustrated huff. He glanced around the dark room, realizing they were still sitting in a mess of broken glass with zero light.
He made a move to pull his hands away, intending to find a flashlight or some candles, but Izuku reacted instantly. His fingers shot out, gripping the hem of Katsuki’s shirt with a strength that surprised both of them. “Don't go," Izuku pleaded, his voice sounding small and wrecked. “If you pull away, I’m scared I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again.”
The air in the kitchen grew still, the only sound being the relentless rain hitting the roof. Katsuki didn't snap at him to get a grip, and he didn't mock him. Instead, he let out a long sigh and sat down on the floor right in the middle of the kitchen, ignoring the glass shards. He took Izuku’s hand, the one still shaking and clutching his shirt, and guided it toward his own chest.
He pressed Izuku’s palm flat against the center of his ribcage, holding it there with a heavy hand. Underneath the thin fabric of his shirt, Izuku could feel it. A strong and stubborn heartbeat thumping against his skin.
“Feel that? It's not going anywhere,” Katsuki muttered, his voice dropping to a low rumble that Izuku could feel vibrating through his palm. “I’m right here, and I’m staying right here. I’m alive, you’re alive, and the rest of the world can stay outside for all I care.”
The warmth from Katsuki’s body seemed to soak into Izuku’s hand, traveling up his arm and finally thawing the frozen knot in his chest. It was the most honest proof of life Izuku could ask for. He closed his eyes, not out of fear this time, but because he finally felt safe enough to let his guard down.
They stayed like that for a long time, huddled together on the cold kitchen floor while the storm raged on outside. Izuku kept his hand pressed against Katsuki’s heart, using the beat as an anchor to keep himself from drifting back into the memories of the war. For the first time in hours, Izuku didn't feel like a boy left behind in the rain. He felt like a guy sitting in a kitchen with his best friend, waiting for the morning to come.
The silence between them wasn't awkward, it was the kind of silence that only comes after you've seen the end of the world together and made it out the other side. Izuku found himself leaning his head against Katsuki’s shoulder, the scent of caramel and spice acting as the final sedative for his frazzled nerves.
He knew they eventually had to clean up the broken glass and figure out the power situation. But for right now, the only thing that mattered was the heat of Katsuki’s skin and the fact that they were both still breathing.
He's here. We're both here.
“Ya still with me, nerd?” Katsuki asked quietly, his thumb tracing a small, absent-minded circle on the back of Izuku's hand. He didn't sound impatient, he sounded like he was checking to see if the storm inside Izuku's head had finally passed.
Izuku nodded against his shoulder, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite how tired he was. He felt Katsuki shift slightly, settling in as if he had no intention of moving until the sun came up. And for the first time since the rain started, Izuku wasn't afraid of what the next flash of lightning would reveal.
Katsuki knew exactly how much Izuku loathed the dark. He wasn't stupid, he’d seen the way the nerd's eyes darted around every time a light flickered during training or how he’d linger in the sunnier spots of the gym.
With his free hand, Katsuki called up his quirk, letting tiny sparks pop and sizzle in the center of his palm. The crackle provided a glow that finally pushed the dim back into the corners of the kitchen. Izuku found himself focusing entirely on the tiny explosions dancing in Katsuki's hand.
And because of the way his quirk worked, his internal temperature started to climb that made him feel like a human electric blanket. To Izuku, the warmth was more than just physical comfort, it was a barrier against the chill of the rain that had been haunting him all night.
Realizing they couldn't just sit awkwardly among the glass shards forever, Katsuki shifted their position with a grunt of effort. He leaned his back against the sturdy base of the kitchen island, spreading his legs out to create a space for Izuku to tuck into. He pulled the smaller boy back until Izuku was settled firmly between his knees, his back pressed against Katsuki's chest.
The orange light cast long but they weren't scary anymore. Not when he could feel the solid rise and fall of Katsuki’s chest behind him.
It was quiet for a while, the only sounds being the distant roar of the storm and the soft pop-pop-pop of nitroglycerin hitting the air.
Izuku leaned his head back against Katsuki’s shoulder, his eyes fixed on the sparks. He felt a bit pathetic for needing this much help just because the power went out, but the judgment he expected from Katsuki never came. Instead, he just felt the heat of the boy who had once been his biggest rival and was now his most reliable anchor.
Eventually, the quiet became a bit too much for Katsuki to handle. He cleared his throat, the vibration rattling through Izuku’s back. “You know, for a guy who literally fought a god-tier villain in the sky, you’re acting like a real brat over a little electricity bill problem.” Katsuki muttered, his voice sounding uncharacteristically smug.
“If the rest of the class saw the 'Great Deku' curled up like a frightened cat because the fridge stopped buzzing, your reputation would be completely trashed. I’d have to start charging people for the footage just to pay for all the phones you keep breaking.”
Izuku let out a weak snort, the absurdity of the comment cutting right through his lingering anxiety. He felt a spark of his usual spirit return, fueled by the ridiculousness of Katsuki’s ego.
“I am not acting like a cat, Kacchan,” he countered, his voice sounding a little more like himself. “And my reputation is fine! Besides, you're the one sitting on a kitchen floor in the middle of the night making your hands glow like a cheap flashlight. I think we’re both a little past the point of looking cool.”
“Cheap flashlight? Watch it, nerd,” Katsuki snapped back, though there was a clear thread of playfulness in his tone. He purposely let off a slightly larger spark that made Izuku jump just a tiny bit. “I’m a high end, premium grade light source, and don't you forget it. You’re lucky I’m even letting you use my shoulder as a pillow. Most people have to pay for this kind of five star service.”
Izuku actually laughed then, turning his head slightly to look up at Katsuki’s sharp profile in the flickering light. “Five star service? You’re literally sitting in broken glass and you smell like a burnt bakery. I think I’ll give this experience a two star review on the hero forums.”
The banter felt like a warm bath, washing away the last remnants of the war. They started arguing back and forth about the 'quality' of the light and whose fault the broken glass was, their voices rising and falling.
Izuku had yawned as Katsuki’s chin rested near the top of his head, and though his arms were still propped up to provide light, Izuku could feel him relax. He wasn't pushing Izuku to get up or get over it, he was just staying. It was a silent acknowledgement of everything they’d survived together—the battles, the losses, and the scars that didn't show up on their skin.
Izuku realized then that he didn't need the power to come back on or for the sun to rise to feel okay. He just needed this specific, stubborn bomb of anger to remind him he wasn't alone in the dark.
Izuku let out a long sigh, his grip on Katsuki’s shirt finally going slack as he let himself go limp against his friend. The memories of the war were still there, tucked away in the back of his mind, and he knew he’d probably have to deal with them again the next time the sky turned gray.
But right now, sitting on a cold floor with his back leaned over a heart that refused to stop beating, the past felt miles away. He closed his eyes, let the scent of burnt sugar settle in his lungs, and felt the last bit of tension drain out of his body.
This is enough.
Izuku didn't need a grand apology or a perfect world. He just needed a hand to hold and a voice to tell him he was still here. As long as he had this, the rain couldn't touch him.