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Izuku likes to plan his days.
Not because he has to, though being unprepared as the Symbol of Peace does invite media slander and a very disappointed mother, but because it makes things easier.
He likes having a mental pillow fort of color coded to-do lists and backup meal plans. If the weather app says seventy percent rain, the green raincoat’s already by the door. If his favorite ramen shop burns down, don’t ask, he’s got backup rankings, complete with bonus categories like “most generous with scallions.” If they’re all closed? 7-Eleven. Three onigiris labeled A, B, and C.
Sometimes he thinks logistics would’ve suited him better than hero work.
His calendar is basically a best friend, each day a tight negotiation of time, energy, and expectations. Patrol at seven? Wake at five, thirty minutes of stretches, fifteen for breakfast, then a hot shower. Not cold, Katsuki says cold showers are for cowards. If there’s a villain takedown? Double prep time. Triple if Katsuki’s involved, he refuses to follow any schedule Izuku painstakingly builds, as if showing up early to a planned ambush is cool and not wildly irresponsible.
Izuku keeps planning anyway. He’s got contingency spreadsheets for things no one should have spreadsheets for, what to do if his phone dies and he’s stuck outside with no charger, what to do if he hits traffic and misses his 10 a.m. protein bar window. He gets weird without seventeen grams of protein by then. Ask Ochako, she’s seen it.
His apartment is organized within an inch of its life. Everything’s labeled, even the labels have sub labels!
So obviously, just like every other life altering, brain melting, soul rearranging moment in his twenty-five years, when Izuku Midoriya realized he was in love with Katsuki Bakugou, the first thing he did was sit down and plan for it.
It wasn’t cinematic. No sky opening, no music swell, no time stopping epiphany. It was quieter, like watching a sunrise he didn’t know he’d been waiting for, sudden and golden. A realization that didn’t strike so much as settle, permanent, kinda like gravity.
There’s actually a rumor online, that being the Number Four Hero means he’s drowning in admirers. And yeah, okay, it’s not untrue. People smile at him on the street, reporters do call him charming, oh, and last week someone told him he had a very biteable neck, which was… flattering? But well, popularity doesn’t mean skill.
He is, frankly, terrible with women.
Not from shyness or even nerves, it’s just that, within three minutes, he always manages to bring up Katsuki.
Like the relationship he had with Ochako. She’s a dear friend, a fantastic person, incredibly strong. They dated for three days. He brought up Katsuki fifteen times. Fifteen. She counted. She told him. And she, in turn, wouldn’t stop talking about a different blonde.
“So you like blondes?” she asked once.
Izuku had blinked, halfway through describing how Katsuki’s shoulders flex when he lifts debris.
“Do I?”
She looked him dead in the eyes. “Do I?”
In the end, they realized they were projecting weird, unexamined feelings and called it. The person who made his heart stutter in high school wasn’t the one. Just the first, and maybe that was enough for fifteen-year-old Izuku. But not now. Now it’s Katsuki. Rewiring his brain around the shape of him, building a language out of his footsteps, watching him walk down a hallway lit by late afternoon sun and thinking, stupidly, oh, he glows.
And apparently? That’s not normal. Izuku learned that the hard way.
He once, with his whole chest, looked Ochako in the eye and said, “Kacchan’s kind of like a walking solar flare, huh? He glows, like all the time. Especially when he’s angry. The sun loves him I guess.”
And she, very gently, very kindly, said, “Deku, he looks like a guy. Like, a random guy. You could walk into any gym and find at least three other guys who look exactly like him.”
Izuku had stared at her, betrayed.
“Are we seeing the same person?”
He doesn’t understand it. To him, Katsuki is incandescent. The embodiment of rage in motion, yeah, but also precision and control and strength and heat and something like gravity. He’s the kind of person someone orbits without realizing they’re doing it.
But apparently to everyone else, he’s just Katsuki Bakugou.
Izuku disagrees. But whatever, they’ll see it one day.
Right now, he’s got a plan to write, a confession to schedule. With contingencies, obviously.
Plan A: Confess like a functioning human. Preferably after a spar, when Katsuki’s still glowing from adrenaline, maybe over drinks, or katsudon. Something casual. Say: “Hey, Kacchan… do you ever think about us? Like… not as friends?” Brace for impact.
Contingency A.1: If he says “What the fuck?”, laugh. Deny everything. Pretend to get a call, leave mid convo talking to All Might. A.2: If he just stares: wait five seconds. Then execute smoke bomb exit. New name. New life. Consider farming.
Plan B: Letter in his locker, something honest but vague. Contingency B.1: If it disappears, initiate search protocol. Backup under couch. Emergency copy with Shouto, under strict emotional neutrality. B.2: If he never mentions it, deny it existed. Gaslight. Letter? What letter? Destroy all known copies. Frame Kaminari.
Plan C: Posthumous confession. Leave a sealed envelope labeled FOR KACCHAN (ONLY IF I’M DEAD, DON’T BE NOSY). Contingency C.1: If he doesn’t die but gets injured enough to milk sympathy, ask Recovery Girl to say he has 24 hours to live. Get the confession out tearfully. If rejected, miraculously recover the next day. Blame adrenaline.
Look, he’s Izuku, planning is how he copes.
Step by step. Outcome by outcome. A full emotional evacuation plan in case of heartbreak. He’s plotted the confession, the follow-up, the mutual pining spiral, the theoretical shared toothbrush scenario. Even the version where Katsuki just… doesn’t punch him, and they keep eating lunch together like nothing happened.
Izuku plans for every possibility, even the ones that rip him open a little.
In one scenario, he can imagine telling Katsuki how he feels and gets rejected. Kindly, maybe. Or not. Katsuki’s not cruel but he is Katsuki. He might scoff, walk away. And Izuku will nod. Swallow it. Smile a little too wide. And carry on.
Because what else can he do? There is no universe where he doesn’t love Katsuki Bakugou. There’s no alternate timeline, no possible divergence, where he stops. It’s written into the core of him, as constant as gravity. As inevitable as morning. He’ll love him silently if he has to. From across a training floor, maybe even from the other side of a press conference microphone. He’ll love him in the way he already has for years.
A little pathetic, but that’s kinda the thing, that’s the trap.
Because Izuku, for all his plans, is about to learn what life has taught him 100 times already, but he still hasn’t really internalized. That no matter how well he plans, life does not give a single flying fuck.
JULY 15 - 05:00 A.M.
Izuku’s day begins, as always, with hope and processed sugar.
He wakes up at five on the dot, stretches, breathes in through the nose, out through the mouth, then pads barefoot into the kitchen. Breakfast today? Power Crunch MAX. The rebranded All Might cereal, featuring exactly zero fiber and roughly half a kilo of nostalgia. It's a crime against Katsuki’s gut brain ideals. Izuku doesn't care. If he dies choking on a marshmallow shaped like All Might's left bicep, so be it.
Except today, something clinks in the bowl. Nestled between puffs of imitation grain is a tiny, gleaming Golden All Might. Three inches, arms raised in a glorious victory V, a tiny saint of childhood dreams. It's a limited edition, only ten ever made across all of Japan.
Izuku stares at it. “Oh my god.”
He clutches it to his chest. He may be twenty-six today, but he is absolutely going to cry over a cereal toy.
It is his birthday, but that’s not why today matters.
Today is the day. The day he confesses.
And so, he eats the rest of his cereal in a trance, toy propped against his juice glass. After his shower, he towel dries his hair one handed and studies the calendar taped to his bedroom wall. Circled three times in red on today’s date: HERO GALA - 5PM. Also: tell Kacchan you like him, you absolute coward.
If things go well, this’ll be the best birthday gift he’s ever given himself.
To-do:
– wear the good suit
– bring gum
– confess feelings
– don’t die
Easy. He’s halfway out the door, Golden All Might on top of the fridge, when his phone buzzes.
Briefing today. Extra heads. Don’t be late.
Izuku frowns. Briefing? That wasn’t on the agenda. Which is, honestly, a problem. He was supposed to be early to double check patrol assignments and hyperventilate in the stairwell while rehearsing his confession. He sighs and checks the time. Tucks his phone back into the compartment of his suit.
JULY 15 - 07:49 A.M.
The agency lobby’s quiet when he walks in, which is suspicious, because the moment he pushes through the main briefing doors- He stops. Everyone’s here. Ochako, perched on a desk with iced coffee. Shouto, in the corner. Kaminari waves. Sero’s mid-yawn. Kirishima’s flexing his muscles to someone. Iida’s already lecturing a blank screen.
Okay. Not just a meeting, then. Something bigger.
Still, his eyes move automatically. The way they always do, like a magnet looking for true north.
And there he is. Kacchan.
He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, neck collar popped. His summer outfit clings to him, sleeveless, of course. Fabric tight across his chest, the kind that shows every twitch of muscle. The cut of his shirt dips, just a little, reveals a sliver of armpit— Izuku does not look.
Not directly, or… at least not for long. Not more than three seconds. Okay, five. But that’s it.
Katsuki’s mellowed out over the years. And Izuku’s so stupidly proud of him for it he sometimes wants to cry. Not that he’d admit it to Katsuki’s face, because he doesn’t have a death wish, but he thinks about it all the time. Honestly, sometimes Izuku thinks Katsuki’s more emotionally mature than he is. But Izuku tries, he really does.
But emotions are... complicated. Crying is easy. Processing? Not so much.
“Kacchan!”
Katsuki barely nods, just claps his hands once, real loud.
“Alright, shut up and sit down. Izuku, front and center.”
Katsuki starts the briefing. The screen on the wall flickers to life. It’s the usual, a wall of headlines and half pixelated photos, scattered maps, looping CCTV clips. Based on the screen, there were heroes missing. Some were found, but most are different, they appear to not want to come back, not from wherever this villain took them.
Izuku’s hand goes up. “What’s the quirk? What are we working with?”
Katsuki doesn’t look at the others. “You’re not working, you’re staying in the agency.”
“Wait, what? Why?”
Katsuki clicks the remote. New footage appears.
It’s a broadcast, the morning news. Izuku recognizes it. 7:27 a.m. He remembers walking to work at the time. On screen, one of the anchors is standing, stiff as stone, a woman's hand on her shoulder. She has red flowing hair, her outfit is stitched together. On her neck was a white lace choker, a clock in the center, ticking.
“Good morning, Japan. Or maybe just, good morning, Hero Deku!”
Izuku stiffens.
“You can all relax, I’m not here to make threats or take hostages, and I don’t need explosions to make a point. I just want to talk to him. You see, I’ve watched this broadcast more times than I can count, same headlines, same sparkling lies, heroes in suits pretending to be symbols while the real ones get buried and forgotten. I used to want to stand beside them. I believed in the charts and the rankings and the glittering promise of it all.”
The camera zooms, and she tilts her head slightly, the reporter trembles under her hand.
“But then I started watching closer, and the cracks started showing. Heroes who rescue with one hand and pose with the other. I thought maybe I was being too harsh, maybe that’s just how it works at the top. But it’s not just the leaders, is it? It’s the whole system. I used to think the truth still mattered, that being a hero meant something.”
The clock on her neck keeps ticking, ticking, ticking.
“Then I realized, truth isn’t profitable and heroes shouldn’t bleed, so they keep pretending. They smile and shake hands and filter their grief. And you, Deku, you’re the crown jewel, aren’t you? The real one. That’s what they say. So if there’s even one honest hero left I need it to be you. Show me something real. Oh, and happy birthday, see you later.”
The video cuts out.
JULY 15 - 09:24 A.M.
Izuku bolts the second the doors shut behind the last of the heroes. He hits the corner, half skidding on the tile, just as the elevator doors start to close. His hand slips through the gap, and the doors hiss back open. Katsuki’s inside, arms crossed, and eyes already narrow.
“Don’t start-”
Too late. Izuku steps in.
“We can’t do this,” Izuku blurts, “You know we can’t.”
Katsuki doesn’t look at him.
“Ever since we opened this agency,” Izuku tries again, stepping in front of him now, chasing eye contact, “We said, no, you said, we patrol together. Always. Zero solo field time unless it’s absolutely necessary, and even then, there’s the relay protocol-”
“Jesus, Izuku-”
“-and you made the spreadsheet! You said if we split up and something happened to one of us, the other wouldn’t just be late, they’d be too late. Your words. Too late. You promised. You said we’d be together out there.”
“Izuku-”
“You remember the last time we were separated?”
Katsuki shuts his mouth. And well, Izuku remembers. Every breath of it.
“I’m not doing that again,” Izuku says, shaking his head. “I can’t.”
Katsuki rubs his face, “They didn’t even see the quirk, Izuku. Whatever it is, it’s not physical. No trace. All we know is what it does. And the ones that girl got? Some came back, yeah. But not all. And the ones who did… they’re not right. Something’s off. Like they got rewritten while they were gone. And no one knows how to fix it. I can’t… I can’t see that happen to you. I won’t allow it.”
The elevator dings softly. They don’t move.
“So no,” Katsuki says. “You’re not leaving the agency. You’re staying.”
That’s it. End of conversation.
“You made that rule.”
“It’s not a debate.”
“Kacchan-”
“No.”
Izuku shuts his mouth, because if he keeps going, he’ll sound like he’s begging, and begging never works on Katsuki.
What he needs is a workaround, a compromise. Something rational. “I could go with Shouto-”
Izuku stops. No, Katsuki won’t go for that. Too much ice, not enough control.
“I could stay at the perimeter-” Izuku stops again. No, that’s exactly where the villain’s been striking. Too exposed.
“I’ll rig a tracker-” Too easy to cut the signal.
His mouth opens, then closes again. Brain stalling, logic unraveling. It’s doing that thing again, the thing where emotions get so loud he can’t think straight, not around Katsuki, not when it’s about losing him. Because when it comes to Katsuki, Izuku can’t reason his way out. He wants to, desperately, to argue cleanly and bullet point a compromise into existence, fix it the way he fixes everything else.
Izuku tries again. Just one word this time. “Please.”
The word Katsuki can’t stand hearing from him because it means Izuku is scared. And maybe it’s something in his voice, his look. Because Katsuki looks at him, really looks, and something loosens in his posture. His jaw relaxes by a degree.
“You shut the hell up,” Katsuki mutters, rubbing his face again like this is the worst idea he’s ever had. “Stay behind me. Don’t move unless I say so.”
Izuku nods, fast. “I will. I mean, I won’t. I won’t move. I’ll be quiet. I’ll be so quiet. You won’t even know I’m there.”
Katsuki shoots him a flat look. “I always know you’re there.”
Izuku smiles. Because where else would he rather be than right next to Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight?
JULY 15 - 12:17 P.M.
Izuku would rather be in their agency than right next to Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.
Izuku would love to say he’s thrilled to be on the roof of some five story department store. Really, he’d love to. Especially since he’s next to Katsuki. Which, under normal, non doomed, non targeted circumstances, would make this a great day. Maybe even a fantastic one. But he’s an idiot. A big, green haired, stupidly in love idiot.
Because sure, the agency was safer. He knew that. Katsuki knew that. Everyone knew that. The hallways had ten reinforced rooms and a Katsuki installed, Mei upgraded full body force field system that could activate in 0.4 seconds. He could’ve just sat in the conference room and watched the mission on his tablet like a good little benchwarmer. He should’ve.
But no. He had to go with Kacchan.
And now, here he is. Inside a dome.
A dome made of nothing and everything, like wet glass stretched over sunlight, shimmering faintly in the air. A perfect sphere with a boundary that stops five steps before the elevator shaft, and within it, time has gone completely still.
Katsuki, frozen mid chew, one eye squinting against the sun, a bread roll half lifted to his mouth. Some bugs, suspended mid flight. Even the steam rising from Katsuki’s coffee is frozen. Everything is frozen.
Except Izuku. And her.
She stands across the rooftop, arms outstretched. A clock ticks at her throat, she’s smiling too wide. Her fingers are too warm when they wrap around his in an almost polite handshake. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this, you’re exactly how I imagined! I’m such a big fan!”
Izuku stares. He does not panic, rather, he engages. Contingency 7: De-escalate.
“I… I see.”
“I’m top of my class, did you know that? Prodigy, apparently. It’s a lot of pressure. I mean, prodigy of what? Rewriting temporal law? Losing sleep over flawed quantum drift theory?”
Izuku gives a careful nod. His heart is going 300 bpm. He wants to look at Katsuki. He doesn’t.
“My friends and I had this dream. We were gonna change things. Be real heroes and do something that mattered.” She stops, eyes locked on him. “And then I saw you, and I knew, I had to find you.”
“So you… wanted to meet me?”
“Of course! Who wouldn’t?” She tilts her head. The ticking grows louder. “But just meeting you wouldn’t have made a statement. You see, hero culture is all about statements, grand gestures, speeches in the middle of disasters. You know the drill. If I wanted your attention, I had to do something unforgettable.”
Izuku tries not to grimace. “A letter would’ve worked.”
“Maybe. But you wouldn’t have listened like this.”
The dome hums softly. Izuku is still calculating. The time it would take to reach Katsuki, the force needed to break the dome, and the odds of surviving either.
“You’re the last one,” she says, “The only one who still looks like a hero. You cry in public, it’s beautiful.”
Izuku blinks. “It’s, what?”
“You’re real, Deku. You feel things, show them. You don’t hide behind cameras. Not like the others.”
“I…” Izuku swallows. He wants to disagree, because crying is easy, processing not so much, but she keeps going.
“I had a friend,” she says, voice lowering. “We built something together, for our sports festival. Something we were proud of, and it was amazing, so when there was a villain attack nearby, we tried to help. And well, I miscalculated. Just one variable. She paid for it.”
Izuku’s stomach turns.
“And no one mentions her now. They congratulated me for the project, it was just my name they put on it. Told me to smile. Smile for the camera,” She chuckles, grabbing her face, stretching her smile so hard it looks like it hurts, “And that’s when I knew, hero society doesn’t want the truth. They want the illusion of justice. The comfort of a smile.”
The ticking grows louder.
“But you, you could be the difference. You could show us something real.”
She lifts her hand to the clock at her throat.
“My name is KhronoGlider. Can you show the world what it means to be real, Hero Deku?”
She twists the side of the clock. A quiet click. Light flares, a beam that drops from the dome’s center like a guillotine made of sunlight. It hits him square in the chest and feels like nothing. It takes him a second to stumble, before everything goes black.
JULY 15 - 2:18 P.M.
Izuku wakes up with his face in someone’s lap, which can only mean two things.
One, he’s dead. And heaven is a rooftop where Katsuki Bakugou is the first angel he sees. Or two, he got knocked out again, which tracks, judging by the dull sting across his cheek.
“You punched me?”
“You were out cold for two hours, dumbass,” Katsuki says. “What was I supposed to do? Let you nap?”
Izuku sits up slowly, trying not to think about the fact that his head had been on Katsuki’s thigh.
“What the hell happened?” Katsuki asks. “You were fine, then boom, face first into concrete.”
Izuku hesitates. “She was here. KhronoGlider. And, everyone else was… frozen.”
Katsuki’s already standing, tensed. His gauntlets click as he primes them, whole body coiling like he’s going to launch himself off the edge of the roof and chase her down on foot if he has to. Izuku quickly scrambles to his feet, catching his arm.
“I’m fine-”
“Like hell you are! You just collapsed, Izuku!”
“I don’t feel bad,” Izuku says, “There was no fight. She just... wanted to talk.”
Katsuki stares at him like he’s lost his entire mind.
“She said…” Izuku swallows. “She wanted me to be real.”
Katsuki scoffs. “The fuck does that even mean?”
Izuku really wishes he knew.
JULY 15 - 5:04 P.M.
The Hero Gala is, unsurprisingly, extra.
Massive chandeliers, waiters with glitter trays, giant screens flashing rankings and ad reels. Most of them feature Ochako, now the face of skincare and hover sole shoes. Izuku stands near the back with a too tight tie and a champagne glass that’s both a coping mechanism and a poor dinner substitute.
Across the room, Katsuki’s wearing a dark orange suit that somehow makes his shoulders look broader and his waist narrower and why is that allowed. The fabric’s textured with subtle florals that catch the light when he moves, almost like they’re blooming across him in real time. A sleek black tie cuts down the center of his chest, precise and perfect, and his hair is smoothed back with just enough styling to make him look like he belongs on a billboard.
He’s standing by the buffet, mid conversation with Best Jeanist and Edgeshot, married, by the way, which is still one of Izuku’s favorite surprises of the last year. Whatever they’re talking about is clearly bad. Katsuki’s jaw is tight, the same way it gets when he’s about to throw something. And Izuku? His chest twists in sympathy like it always does.
If Katsuki’s upset, he’s upset. That’s just physics now.
A waiter glides by with drinks. “Happy birthday, sir!”
“Thank you.” Izuku downs the champagne in one go. It doesn’t help.
He makes his way over, well, stumbles a little, because of Katsuki's hips, and promptly crashes into Edgeshot’s elbow.
“Uh, sorry-”
“Midoriya,” Edgeshot says kindly. “Happy birthday.”
“Twenty-six,” Jeanist adds. “A powerful age. May you grow with dignity and restraint.”
Izuku snorts. “Unlikely, but thank you.”
Katsuki says nothing, just watches him, arms crossed, mouth unreadable.
“If Kacchan said I’m in danger, I’m really not,” Izuku rushes out. “She just talked, no fight. She said weird stuff, wanted me to be, like… ‘real.’ Whatever that means.”
Jeanist hums. “To be real is to exist without performance.”
Edgeshot leans in, deadpan. “Beautiful, sweetheart, not helpful right now though.”
Katsuki opens his mouth, definitely to curse, but a mic screeches slightly at the front of the hall, pulling everyone’s attention. Hawks clears his throat from the elevated stage, “Evening, everyone, I’ll make this quick since I know you all wanna get back to pretending you’re not competitive about your rankings-”
A couple of heroes chuckle.
“-but first, thank you all for being here tonight. The Hero Gala’s not just about stats and charts and who looks best in a suit, though I gotta say, some of you are killing it tonight. It’s also a celebration of the work we’ve done, the lives we saved, and the risks we’ve taken.”
A silence falls on the crowd. Then Hawks smiles again.
“And hey,” He adds, “It also happens to be the birthday of one of our brightest. So if you see Deku tonight, wish him a happy twenty-sixth. The kid’s somehow still modest about being a legend.”
A spotlight swings. Izuku’s face takes up the whole damn screen. He waves, feeling awkward.
And then, the swarm begins. Handshakes, pat on backs, even a few arm brushes that feel like soft punches, and birthday greetings, lots and lots of birthday greetings. He smiles, he nods, he laughs, too loud, too much. And all the while, he’s scanning the room, panic crawling up his spine. Time is ticking.
JULY 15 - 9:53 P.M.
“Looking for someone?”
Izuku almost runs past Shouto by the door. “Bakugou’s on the balcony, he said he needed air.”
Izuku doesn’t even say thank you. He just runs towards the balcony. By the time he gets there, the air is sharp and cold, biting at his skin. Below, the garden glows. Above, stars and a quiet moon. Leaning on the railing, Katsuki. Izuku stands frozen, just… looking. He’s beautiful like this.
“What’re you doing up here?” Katsuki asks without turning. “Should be inside.”
“I wanted air too. Mind if I…?”
Katsuki glances over, smirks, “Idiot. I’d never mind.”
Relief floods him. He steps closer, stands beside him, hands resting on the railing. Neither too close, neither too far. Izuku calms himself down and thinks of his rehearsed speech. He’s been perfecting it since yesterday. He opens his mouth to deliver it, but then Katsuki speaks.
“A year ago,” he whispers, “Didn’t think we’d end up here.”
Izuku pauses, “Why?”
“I thought hero work was done for you. And if you’re done…guess it’s over for me too. It just doesn’t make sense without you, I guess.”
Izuku’s chest aches, tears immediately blurring his vision, tears he didn’t count in his speech outline. It was supposed to be neat. So Izuku clears his throat, steps closer on the balcony, close enough that their sleeves touch, warmth flickering through the contact.
“I thought the same,” he says quietly. “This suit…this hero path…it was amazing, but learning it took forever. And I guess I hadn’t realized how badly I needed someone beside me, until you and everyone else were.”
Katsuki snorts. “You sap. I’m glad you’re number four. Makes it sweeter when I knock you down next year.”
“Yeah?” Izuku bumps his shoulder. “I was aiming for number one, actually.”
And after, they fall into a groove, easy and comfortable. Their laughter mingles with the night air as they tease about drills, hero rankings, who spilled coffee on who’s suit. And as night hums around them, as they’re stuck in their own little orbit, Izuku glances at his watch.
JULY 15 - 11:11 P.M.
Too late again. Katsuki lets out a slow yawn, “Guess it’s time to go.”
He turns to leave, but Izuku calls out, quick and helpless.
“Kacchan.”
Katsuki pauses, looks back. Expectant. Izuku’s brain does backflips.
He wants to say everything, all of it, all at once. The late night thoughts, the fact that no version of the future feels right if it doesn’t have Katsuki in it. He wants to just get it out, to stop carrying it like a secret he never asked for. But the words don’t move, instead they sit there, stuck behind his teeth, tangled up in every excuse he’s made to keep pretending it wasn’t this serious. And so Izuku swallows hard, says nothing.
Then, he settles for, “You looked really good tonight.”
Katsuki blinks. There’s a beat too long between his breath and his answer, like he was bracing for something that never came. Then the corner of his mouth curls, slow and crooked.
“You idiot.” He flicks his thumb toward the stairs, looking away, “C’mon. I’m driving you home. Don’t give me a reason to worry.”
Izuku laughs, following. “You worry too much.”
“Yeah. And?”
JULY 15 - 11:48 P.M.
Izuku closes the door behind him by the time he gets home. He grabs a fresh pen from his desk, marks a big X on his calendar for today’s date.
Tomorrow’s square he squiggles in: Try again. Confess today.
He pads to the bathroom, brushes his teeth, and takes a bath. Back in his room, he slides into bed, and his phone buzzes before he can flick off the light. He squints at the screen, a message from Katsuki.
If you feel anything, come to my apartment immediately okay?
Izuku taps back fast.
Goodnight Kacchan, stop worrying!
He gets a reply.
Happy birthday, Izuku.
Izuku smiles, rolls onto his side. Tomorrow, he’ll try again.
Izuku likes to plan his days.
Not because he has to, though being unprepared as the Symbol of Peace does invite media slander and a very disappointed mother- Wait.
Hadn’t he already eaten this cereal?
Izuku's eyes drop to the bowl. And there it is, gleaming, gold, impossibly familiar. The tiny figurine, Golden All Might. Only ten ever made. He recognizes it instantly because he found this yesterday. Didn’t he? Still, he doesn’t panic right away. That would be inefficient, and he’s nothing if not a man of systems. Routine is how he stays upright. So he walks to his calendar, glances at it. Frowns. The note he made last night is gone.
Instead, he sees today's date, that does not have a big red X, which he for sure marked last night.
JULY 15 - 05:00 A.M.
Not July 16, like it should be.
“No,” he breathes. “No, no, no-”
Izuku tears through his apartment like a man possessed. Checks his fridge, the TV, the news. Opens the group chat, sees the same messages. His last night conversation with Katsuki is gone. Izuku stares. Stomach churning, mouth dry, eyes wide. His breath starts hitching, hitching, hitching.
“Oh, fuck.”
JULY 15 - 05:00 A.M.
JULY 15 - 05:00 A.M. (LOOP 1)
JULY 15 - 07:49 A.M. (LOOP 1)
He decides to test it.
Same as yesterday. By the time he got to the agency, he spots Ochako, perched on a desk, Shouto in the corner, Kaminari waves, Sero mid yawn, Kirishima flexing to no one in particular. Iida lecturing a blank screen. It’s the same. It's not just close, not similar, not deja vu. Exact.
Izuku stops just by the door. His eyes drift, almost unwillingly. A pull he can’t ignore. And there, like yesterday, was Katsuki.
"Kacchan?"
Katsuki barely nods, just claps his hands once, real loud.
“Alright, shut up and sit down. Izuku, front and center.”
That Is the exact sentence he said yesterday. Izuku doesn’t move.
Not at first. Because he is computing, he is calculating, he is internally screaming. Still eventually, he moves because his feet are traitors, and Katsuki’s voice does something to his nervous system that overrides common sense. He sits at the front, tries to breathe like a normal person.
The briefing begins. And ends. Just. Like. Yesterday.
JULY 15 - 12:17 P.M. (LOOP 1)
They’re on the rooftop again. Katsuki’s eating that same bun. Same bead of sweat sliding down his neck, his coffee cup on the ledge, steam frozen in place as the dome descends.
Time stops and everything freezes. Katsuki doesn’t blink. And Izuku, standing five steps inside the sphere, watches it happen with the resigned horror of someone realizing his entire life is now playing on loop. She appears. KhronoGlider. The clock on her neck ticking, her smile ever too wide. She doesn’t speak at first, but when she tilts her head and looks at him, her eyes catch it. The recognition and the fear, ant that bitter, helpless understanding.
“Oh,” she says, delighted. “It’s already repeating for you, isn’t it?”
Izuku’s breath catches in his throat. And even if he doesn’t answer, he doesn't really have to. She can see it all over him.
“How do I stop this?”
KhronoGlider raises a brow, mock thoughtful.
“Stop it?” She taps the face of the clock on her throat, one perfectly manicured nail trailing along its rim. Tick. Tick. Tick. "Hm."
"I-"
“You make it sound like punishment,” she says. “It’s not. This is an opportunity.”
“Please,” Izuku tries again, more desperate now, stepping toward her. “Just tell me how.”
“I did,” she says. “I told you yesterday, didn't I?”
He stares. She leans in, voice low, sharing a secret meant only for him.
“Be real.”
She twists the clock, and the beam falls. Izuku doesn't even bother to fight it this time.
Some part of him already knows. Tomorrow is coming.
And it's going to look exactly like today.
Izuku likes to plan his days.
Not because he has to, though - No, no, no.
JULY 15 - 05:00 A.M.
JULY 15 - 05:00 A.M. (LOOP 1)
JULY 15 - 05:00 A.M. (LOOP 2)
Izuku blinks at his ceiling like it holds answers. It doesn’t. Just like yesterday, he wakes, walks to the kitchen, grabs a bowl and his cereal.
Clink! The noise of inevitability, a tiny golden figure. He doesn’t need to look. He already knows exactly where it is, nestled in the middle of his cereal. Golden All Might. Again. If this were a normal week, he’d have three of them by now. Three! Which would have made his entire birth month the best month ever. But no. It’s always just one. One per day. Same figurine. Same cereal box.
This is real. He’s stuck. The loop didn’t break yesterday because he did everything the same.
And if he keeps doing the same thing, the same thing will keep happening.
He looks in the bowl and stares it down.
"You're laughing at me, aren't you." It glints. “Okay. Fine.”
He stands. And here it is, the plan, not a full plan, more like a reckless hypothesis.
If he does something different, the loop might respond. If he breaks the rhythm, even a little, maybe time will twitch.
And at this point, even a glitch would mean something.
He brushes his teeth with his non dominant hand. Doesn’t stretch, skips his shower, because that’s probably what Past Him would do, right? Just in case it’s about order. He digs the ugliest hoodie out of the back of his closet, the one Katsuki once said made him look like a rat, and wears it proudly. He skips the suit, grabs some sweatpants, wears slippers, doesn't even brush his hair. He’s trying to be chaos incarnate, or at least mildly inconvenient.
Disrupt the pattern, give the loop something it doesn’t expect.
And maybe, if he’s lucky, it’ll give him something back.
JULY 15 - 09:24 A.M. (LOOP 2)
Izuku's been thinking about it. Be real. The words have been rattling around in his brain. Be real. Be real. Be real.
What feels real? Not his stats. Not his image or the way the media talks about him like he’s some kind of miracle, nor is it his stupid, curated smile.
But this. This is real.
This feeling in his chest that flares every time Katsuki so much as clears his throat, that ache that’s been nesting between his ribs for years. The stupid flutter in his stomach when Katsuki calls him Izuku, the way he knows every version of Katsuki’s walk without having to look. His feelings. They’re real, aren't they? Maybe that’s it, that’s the key. KhronoGlider isn’t some quantum extremist, maybe she’s just Cupid with a time quirk. The worst kind of matchmaker.
Maybe this is the opportunity she meant.
“Don’t start-”
“I like you.”
Katsuki stills, no, he actually locks up, whole body forgetting how to move for a second. Then, slowly, he faces him, eyes wide.
"What."
Izuku finally looks at him. "I said I-"
“You’re fucking with me.”
“I’m not.”
“Is this-” Katsuki’s voice is sharp as he shakes his head in disbelief. His mouth pulls tight, voice rises just slightly, like he's trying to keep it from cracking. “Is this supposed to be funny? You think this is how you get out of staying here?”
Izuku flinches. “No! No, that’s not, Kacchan, I’m not-”
But Katsuki’s already turning away, pacing three angry steps across the tiny elevator.
“You think I wouldn’t notice you acting off all morning? What the hell is this? A joke? A test?”
“It’s not, Kacchan, I swear, it’s not like that. I just… I meant it.”
Katsuki turns back, furious and red eyed and raw. “Meant what, Izuku?”
“I like you."
Katsuki looks at him like he’s been hit. And then, quieter, “You’re not fucking going.”
Izuku swallows. “Kacchan-”
“I said you’re not going,” Katsuki snaps. “You stay. That’s final.”
The elevator dings. Katsuki storms out.
JULY 15 - 12:17 P.M. (LOOP 2)
Izuku was not permitted to leave the agency. The rooftop stays empty.
KhronoGlider never shows.
JULY 15 - 5:04 P.M. (LOOP 2)
Katsuki does not attend the Hero Gala.
Izuku never gets to confess again.
Izuku likes to plan his days. He just wishes the universe would stop giving him the same one.
JULY 15 - 05:00 A.M. (LOOP 3)
He stays at home.
JULY 15 - 07:59 A.M. (LOOP 3)
Izuku isn’t expecting a knock on his door.
And he’s definitely not expecting the door to rattle in its frame like someone’s trying to punch their way through it. But the second it happens, the second something booms outside, his stomach drops in that weird fizzy way it always does when danger’s near or when Katsuki shows up unannounced, which, statistically speaking, are usually the same thing. He stumbles to the door, still half-asleep, hair a mess. And when he opens the door, yeah, he kinda already knows.
Katsuki is standing in the hallway in his sleeveless summer uniform. Izuku tries his hardest not to let his eyes wander where it shouldn't.
“You’re fucking kidding."
“Hi,” Izuku tries, voice still full of sleep. “You… Why are you slamming my door?”
“You didn’t come to the agency,” Katsuki growls, shouldering past him, “You didn’t answer your phone. What the hell, Izuku?”
“I, um... I overslept?”
It sounds fake, and it is fake. The truth is he didn’t know what to do today, and then he blinked and it was already too late. Katsuki’s already pacing his living room, muttering to himself, boots tracking dust across the hardwood. Speaking of which, Izuku glances down at himself. He's still in his boxers, his All Might boxers, an old one with the faded print and slightly saggy waistband. Nothing else. He silently grabs the nearest pillow from the couch and holds it to his chest.
“Why the fuck weren’t you at the agency?” Katsuki asks again, spinning to face him, “We had a briefing, Izuku. We had shit to discuss. Important shit. Remember?”
Izuku exhales slowly through his nose. He knows what they were supposed to talk about, KhronoGlider’s little morning monologue in that hijacked morning news special. Still, Izuku’s tired. Not physically, but emotionally? Existentially? He’s flatlining. The kind of tired that comes from reliving the same hope over and over and watching it crack in a new way each time. There’s only so many times a man can scream into the time space continuum before it starts sounding like white noise in his own head.
Izuku sighs. And immediately, Katsuki stops being angry, his expression changes. The worry cuts through clean.
“Wait. What’s wrong?”
“I…” Izuku starts, then falters, rubs at his face, pillow still clutched with one arm. “I’m in a time loop.”
Katsuki stares at him.
“Uhm,” Izuku gestures vaguely, “I’ve been living my birthday on repeat, three times now. Woke up to the same cereal toy, the same texts, same everything. She, KhronoGlider, hit me with her quirk. She told me the only way out is if I’m real.”
There. Out loud. For the first time. And sure, maybe he should’ve eased into it, built some context, laid some groundwork before dropping this kind of news in the middle of his living room, but the moment it’s out, he doesn’t regret it. He just braces, because he expects disbelief, maybe even laughter. Katsuki’s never been good with the weird stuff, the sorta metaphysical. Izuku takes a breath, and lifts his face to look.
Katsuki isn’t laughing. “So that’s why you’ve been acting weird."
“I'm kinda panicking."
“Yeah, I figured.” Katsuki’s voice softens slightly. “You okay?”
Izuku sits. Well, he kind of folds into the couch, still hugging the pillow against his bare chest, boxers riding up slightly as he tucks one foot under his thigh. The room is quiet except for the buzz of the AC and the rustle of Katsuki’s cargo straps as he paces once, twice, then reluctantly sits too. Katsuki's leans forward, elbows on knees, a crease between his brows that’s been there since he walked in. Izuku stays quiet, for maybe thirty full seconds.
“I keep trying to do something different,” Izuku says, “To break it. And every time I think I’ve figured it out, I loop back."
“What’s it feel like?”
“What?”
“The loop, when you wake up. What’s it like?”
Izuku thinks for a moment. “Like déjà vu but, it's not scary. Just... really lonely.”
“Why you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why’d she pick you?”
Izuku stares down at the couch cushions. “I think… I think she thinks I’m honest. That I’m still trying.”
“Trying what?”
“To be a hero, a good one, and not just for the cameras. Just… for real.” He laughs, hollow, “Yeah well, she picked the wrong guy for that. Me? Be real? I’ve been stuck on the same sentence for three days."
Katsuki hasn’t said anything in a while, then, he asks.
“What sentence?”
Izuku blinks. “What?”
“You said you’ve been stuck on the same sentence for three days.”
Katsuki doesn’t look at him when he says it.
And oh. Right. That. In theory, he could say it. He wants to say it. But the words feel hot in his chest, pressing up against the back of his throat. And he knows it should be simple. I like you. Three words, three easy syllables. He’s said harder things on national television. But this? This is the one thing he can’t seem to get out of his mouth. He already said it, in the elevator yesterday, and what did it get him? Being left in the agency, an empty rooftop. a Katsuki that didn’t believe him. Which… fair. If it had been anyone else, he’d have thought the same.
But now? Now it feels like something heavier, as if he says it again and it doesn’t work, that’ll be it. Game over. And yet, Izuku glances sideways and Katsuki’s here, sitting in his apartment, in his living room. Waiting. Katsuki came to check on him, left work early to come here. And that means something, doesn’t it? His fingers curl tighter around the edge of the pillow in his lap. He tugs it up higher, tucks his chin into it, tries to act normal. What would saying it even fix? What would it do?
A simple I like you didn’t work.
But Izuku wants to say it anyway, and it's not because of the loop. He wants to say it because it’s true, been planning to say it because it’s always been true.
Because Katsuki is sunlight through glass, infuriating and beautiful and Izuku’s known him since they were five, watched him grow sharper and kinder, more reckless and careful all at once. Because he wants to wake up next to him one day, and Katsuki makes the world feel like it’s not falling apart, even when it is. The way he never half asses anything, even when it’s stupid. The way he brings backup gloves to patrol but forgets to eat. Or the way he watches out for people without ever saying that’s what he’s doing, when he doesn’t even realize he’s kind, as if it embarrasses him to care.
Izuku’s seen it, how Katsuki treats civilians after a big fight, how he walks the perimeter twice, just to be sure, and how he checks in on the victims even when there’s no report due. He’ll snap about it, act like it’s protocol, but Izuku knows better. It’s not that Katsuki’s easy to be around, sometimes he’s not. He’s stubborn and loud and sometimes mean without meaning to be. But he shows up, every time. Even when it’s hard and even when it costs him.
Honestly, Izuku's tired of pretending that liking someone this much is something he can plan his way around-
And oh. Oh.
Izuku breathes in. It feels like drowning, and then flying.
“Oh.”
Katsuki looks at him. Izuku presses his face into the pillow, muffles a laugh that sounds a lot like panic.
“Oh my god, Kacchan.”
“What?”
“It’s not-” He exhales. “I thought… I thought I liked you."
Silence. Katsuki shifts like he’s about to stand, palms bracing on his knees, already pulling himself up.
“Right,” he mutters, not looking at Izuku, voice low and just a little too casual to be anything but fake. “Sorry I’m not really… likeable.”
Katsuki frowns at the floor, and for a second, he looks younger. That same tight pout from when they were kids, from when he lost a spar and blamed the mats, from when his All Might keychain snapped off his bag and he didn’t talk for a whole hour, from when someone on social media made a comic about him being a small bomb shaped creature, and he was so mad no one called him cute. Izuku remembers all of it. Of course he does. Katsuki wants to be liked. He wants to be understood, and maybe that’s the scariest thing of all because everyone thinks he doesn’t care, that he’s too mean or too loud to want something soft like that. But Izuku’s always seen it, the way Katsuki lingers when someone praises him, and how he remembers every compliment, even the way he pretends it doesn’t matter when it clearly does.
Izuku moves without thinking, leans forward, heart pounding so loud as he grabs Katsuki's wrist, stopping him.
“I don’t like you.”
Katsuki blinks.
“I think…” Izuku swallows, suddenly breathless, and pushes through it anyway. “I think I love you.”
Katsuki stares at him some more. The tiniest bit pink at the tips of his ears, and maybe a little bit lower, creeping up his neck.
“Kacchan?” he says, and then, “You okay?”
Katsuki breathes out, very slow. “What the fuck.”
Izuku beams. “I know. Awful. Terrible timing. But you did ask.”
“No, that, what the hell does that even mean? You think you love me?” Katsuki’s voice jumps an octave, which he never does unless he’s panicking, which is hilarious because his hands are clenched on his knees and his whole face is pink now. Full cheeks, and even his ears. “Are you, are you insane?”
“Maybe,” Izuku admits, leaning closer on the couch, which makes Katsuki flinch, just slightly, "I do love you, Kacchan."
“You’re not allowed to say that to me.”
“I’ll say it again.”
“Don’t.”
“I love you, Kacchan.”
“You bastard-”
Katsuki stands, turns too fast like he’s about to bolt for the hallway, and Izuku lunges instinctively, grabbing his wrist before he can escape. They kind of… freeze there. Katsuki glaring at him, red all over, Izuku staring up at him, mouth stupidly curved into a smile he cannot suppress.
“You don’t love me,” Katsuki mutters, but it’s soft now, shaky, not quite an argument, more like he’s trying to convince himself. “You’re just, this is some loop brain damage. You’re having a a fucking stroke.”
“I’m not.”
“You think you love me, but you don’t.”
“Kacchan,” Izuku says, gently, completely serious now, “I will literally kiss the floor you walk on. I think I’m too far gone.”
Katsuki lets out a strangled noise. “Stop talking.”
“Make me.”
"Shut up."
“You love me a little.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“Fuck off.”
“I’m right though.”
“…Shut up.”
JULY 15 - 5:04 P.M. (LOOP 3)
Izuku thinks, this might be it.
The loop doesn’t feel like it’s breathing down his neck today. They both didn't leave his apartment, and they both didn't attend the Hero Gala. They did not meet KhronoGlider.
Today, it's just him watching Katsuki manhandle a mixing bowl. And, well, that feels like progress.
The whole place smells like vanilla, which is coming from the oven, where a cake, an actual homemade cake, is currently rising. Katsuki didn’t ask permission. He just stomped into the kitchen, opened a drawer like he’d been here a hundred times, and started cracking eggs. He hasn’t looked Izuku in the eye since his confession. Izuku is sitting at his table, just watching Katsuki stir something aggressively in a bowl. He’s been muttering to himself the whole time, pacing from fridge to counter, his entire face still red.
“I still don’t get it,” Katsuki mutters suddenly, “Why the hell would you love me, anyway?”
“Are you expecting me to say ‘oh, good point, never mind,’” he says. “I won’t. So you’re kinda stuck with the answer.”
Katsuki glares over his shoulder. “You didn’t answer.”
“Because you’re the only person who’s ever made me want to get better just so I could meet you where you are."
Katsuki’s back goes stiff. He scoops the batter a little too hard and some of it hits the counter.
“I was awful to you.”
“I was annoying,” Izuku offers. “We were kids.”
Katsuki turns back to the bowl. “I still call you names.”
“You do.”
“I insult your face.”
“My face can take it.”
"I made your middle school years horrible, Izuku."
“I know.” Izuku shrugs. "You died for me, Kacchan. Everything's kinda forgiven after that."
"I died for Japan-"
"Oh, shut up," Izuku grins into the floor. “Also, your hands look really hot when you knead dough.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“I’m just saying,” Izuku singsongs, watching him. “If I were a cake, I’d be honored to get mixed by those hands.”
Katsuki groans, “This is actual torture."
"You're baking a birthday cake for me, Kacchan."
“This is for me, dumbass.”
“You’re really sweet.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re sweet and flustered.”
“I will throw this cake at your head.”
“You won’t. You love me.”
Katsuki slams the spatula on the counter and looks at him, finally. Face so red he might spontaneously combust.
JULY 15 - 9:53 P.M. (LOOP 3)
Katsuki is still in his apartment.
The cake is gone, or mostly gone. There’s one slice left on the coffee table, a little lopsided, icing smudged from where Katsuki cut it. Izuku had three pieces. Katsuki had two and pretended to complain the whole time about how he made it too sweet and a little too massive, like he wasn’t the one who made the thing from scratch. Now they’re on the couch, again, a full two feet of space between them, as if they get any closer, something irreversible might happen.
Katsuki is angled toward the TV, remote in a death grip, eyes locked on the news. The volume’s low, closed captions on, some talking head goes on about patrol coordination and a surprise villain attack in Saitama, but Katsuki’s not really watching. He’s existing in the general direction of the television to avoid looking directly to his left, which is where Izuku is. Where Izuku is very clearly facing him, legs curled up on the cushion, chin resting on one hand.
He’s been staring at the side of Katsuki’s face for a good seven minutes. And he’s not even trying to hide it anymore.
Why should he? This is technically still his birthday. There are no rules.
Katsuki’s face is still pink. His jaw’s tight, and every now and then, his ear twitches like he knows he’s being watched and is trying very hard to pretend he doesn’t notice.
Izuku, for his part, can’t stop smiling. It’s not even a smug thing, it’s just this… warm, ridiculous feeling that keeps bubbling in his chest. As if this is him realizing he's not in a time loop just to suffer, but maybe because the universe decided he needed a few extra chances to tell someone the truth. To say I love you and mean it, while also getting cake. And Katsuki's still sitting there, a little hunched, ears red, pretending the tv is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen in his life. Izuku can’t believe he’s real.
Katsuki shifts, lifts his hand to cover the side of his face, the exact side Izuku’s been ogling.
Izuku gasps, really dramatically, “Kacchan! I was staring at that.”
“Stop being a creep.”
“I’m not a creep, I’m in love.”
“That’s worse.”
Izuku laughs, loud and shameless, throwing his head back against the couch. “You’re so cute when you’re like this.”
“I’m gonna kill you.”
“No you’re not,” Izuku says, singsongy again, and leans in a little closer, nudging Katsuki’s arm with his knee. “You made me cake.”
“I regret it.”
“You blushed while making it.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re blushing right now.”
“I’m calling HR.”
“We don’t have HR.”
"I'm HR now."
Izuku snorts and presses his face into his arm to hide the noise. He can feel it again, that floaty, dizzy, awful, lovely thing that’s been sitting in his chest all day. That stupid spark that keeps whispering, this might be the one. This might be the loop that finally, finally, lets them out. Katsuki is still glaring at the TV, hand over his cheek, like he can will away the color in his face. Izuku grins at him through his forearm.
“You’re the cutest when you’re mad.”
“Say that again and I’m sleeping in the hallway.”
“I’ll bring you a pillow.”
“Fuck you.”
Izuku hums. “Not yet.”
Silence.
"Excuse me?"
JULY 15 - 11:11 P.M. (LOOP 3)
Katsuki did the dishes. All of them.
Now he’s standing by the door, hand gripping the doorknob, staring at the floor, Izuku behind him.
“Kacchan,” he says, “Do you still think I’m joking?”
Katsuki doesn’t answer at first. He just stands there, frown carved deep into his face. Then, slowly, he rubs the back of his neck.
“Are you really serious, Izuku?”
It’s quiet. As if he hates asking but needs to hear it. And Izuku smiles before he can stop himself. He walks closer in three quick steps, and then, because he can’t help it, because it’s Kacchan, because if he doesn’t say it right this second he’ll explode, he moves to cup Katsuki’s face in both hands and tips it down.
“I love you, Kacchan,” he says, close enough that his breath hits skin. “I mean it.”
Katsuki goes very still. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t punch him. But his jaw does tighten, and his ears do go red. There’s the faintest pout on his mouth, unconscious, probably. But he doesn’t speak. He just… takes it. Eyes flicking somewhere between Izuku’s lips and nose, never quite making it to his eyes. Izuku waits and hopes. Feels like maybe the loop’s going to snap again right here, cruelly, because that’s what it does, it resets just before it gets good. But the world doesn’t flicker.
Katsuki turns, opens the door, and walks out.
Izuku stands there, hands still half lifted, air cold against his palms. His chest twists, he lets his hands fall.
He frowns. Of course. Maybe that was it, maybe he was too much. Or maybe not enough-
But then the door doesn’t close. Katsuki turns, looking over his shoulder.
“I’ll tell you my answer tomorrow, nerd."
Izuku blinks. Katsuki smirks, “That way the time loop’ll be over, right? No way you’d let it repeat again without hearing my answer.”
JULY 15 - 11:48 P.M. (LOOP 3)
Izuku sleeps with a smile on his face.
Izuku likes to plan his days. But he wasn’t planning to wake up wishing he never left yesterday behind.
The sheets are too straight, the light’s in the wrong place, and the air smells like nothing. Izuku lies in his bed, still, fingers curled into the blanket like if he holds tight enough, the loop might not’ve snapped again. But it has, he knows it has. There's no warmth in the apartment that isn't his own. No dishes drying in the rack. It didn’t count. Last night, it didn’t count. And so he turns his face into the pillow and lets out the kind of sound only heartbreak makes.
He groans into his bed. "I was so sure that was the one."
He sits up and drags a hand down his face.
“Kacchan literally said he’d tell me today,” he mutters. “That was today! He promised. That should’ve counted!”
Izuku points accusingly at the ceiling, “Should I have cried?! I can cry more!”
No answer, obviously. The day goes on just the same as yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that.
Izuku slumps forward, face in his hands. He’s going to lose his mind. That was the perfect loop. Cake! A confession! Katsuki blushing so hard. He held his face! He said it to his face. What more does this stupid quirk want from him? He was being real wasn't he? He groans louder, flopping dramatically onto his bed, one arm across his forehead. “I love him. I love him and he almost maybe kind of loves me back and I still get a do-over? That's so unfair..."
And for the first time, he thinks: maybe he would’ve been okay staying in that yesterday a little longer.
JULY 15 - 07:59 A.M. (LOOP 4)
Izuku is expecting the knock on his door.
He’s definitely expecting the door to rattle in its frame like someone’s trying to punch their way through it. And the second it happens, the second something booms outside, his stomach drops in that weird fizzy way it always does when danger’s near or when Katsuki shows up unannounced, which, statistically speaking, are still usually the same thing. He’s already halfway to the door before the second knock lands, socked feet sliding against the floor, bedhead and boxers and all. And when he yanks it open, he smiles.
“You’re fucking kidding-"
Izuku pulls him inside. He fists Katsuki’s uniform and tugs hard, sends him stumbling into his apartment. Izuku's arms flung around his shoulders, and one second Katsuki's upset and yelling, and the next, he’s got an armful of a trembling idiot pressed tight against him and no idea how it happened. “The fuck, Izuku, what the fuck are you-”
Katsuki grabs him by the collar, like he always does when he’s about to blow. Izuku barely registers it, his brain's gone cotton soft, his chest split open. He’s shaking and he knows it, knows he probably looks ridiculous, but the tears come anyway, thick and messy and not the polite kind. It’s not crying so much as breaking. His breath snags somewhere between his ribs and it won’t come out right, and then somehow his forehead’s pressed into the slope of Katsuki’s shoulder, hot face against his uniform, and all he can do is hold on tighter. Katsuki’s hand is still fisted in his shirt, but it’s not dragging him away anymore. It just… stays. And Izuku, stupidly, selfishly, lets himself stay too.
Katsuki’s hands hover, awkward, and then, finally, they land. One on Izuku’s back, as he rubs a thumb in slow, unsure circles.
“What happened?” Katsuki asks, “Did someone- Did you get a call? Your mom? All Might? Did something happen?”
Izuku shakes his head into the fabric of Katsuki’s uniform.
Katsuki tenses more. “Then what, huh? What the fuck.... Why’re you crying like this?”
Izuku tries to talk. Opens his mouth then closes it, but no words come out. Just this low sound, muffled and miserable, like he’s trying not to be heard even as he falls apart. His face is hot. His chest aches. Everything aches. Because it was him, Katsuki had stayed. He’d cooked and blushed so hard Izuku thought it might end the loop. He’d promised him today, that he's gonna answer Izuku's confession.
And now he’s here, but not here.
Katsuki's voice is sharp again, his hands are confused again, his eyes don’t hold any of what they held just yesterday.
Izuku's so tired. He buries his face deeper into Katsuki’s shoulder, breathing him in like air after being underwater too long. “You didn’t remember.”
Katsuki tilts his head, confused and still clinging to panic.
“I just-” Izuku pulls in a breath, ragged. “I missed you. You were here, and then, now you’re not. And I know you’re right in front of me, but you’re not, and it’s not fair.”
Katsuki doesn't respond and Izuku keeps crying. He hates it, hates how it’s loud now, wet and uneven and undignified, but he can’t stop, because it’s his birthday. Still. Again. And this loop probably isn’t the one either. And Katsuki doesn’t remember the cake he baked yesterday, or the way he kept blushing, or the way he almost said he loves him back. Katsuki doesn’t remember the way Izuku said he loves him. Katsuki doesn’t remember any of it.
How many more times does he have to say it before it counts?
He’d meant every word. He meant it. So what else does he have to give?
Katsuki doesn’t pull away, nor does he scold him. He doesn't call him dramatic or useless or weird.
He just mutters, heartbreakingly kind, “You’re okay. I’m right here, dumbass.”
But he isn’t. Katsuki isn’t.
JULY 15 - 9:53 P.M. (LOOP 4)
Katsuki leaves sometime after lunch, saying he has to go check in at the agency or something, but he’ll text. And Izuku just nods like that’s fine. It isn't.
Izuku doesn’t move much after the door shuts, he just sits on the couch and maybe if he’s still enough, the world will feel different. It doesn’t. Time slinks by and the sky outside shifts slow, gold then gray then black. He watches it through the window, he doesn't even bother turning the lights on, nor does he open his phone, he doesn't eat, too. There’s nothing to do. Nothing else. He’s told the truth. He’s cried. He’s confessed. He’s fallen apart in Katsuki’s arms.
And he meant it. Every goddamn word.
So why isn’t it enough? What else is he supposed to do? What else counts?
Is he supposed to shout it louder? Break down harder? Pretend he doesn’t feel anything at all?
Izuku pulls a blanket over his lap and curls in on himself, forehead pressed to his knees. The TV’s still playing from earlier, but none of it matters. It's the same news as yesterday. He doesn’t understand the condition. Be real. What does that even mean now? He’s never been more honest, not in his whole life. He’s cracked himself open and laid it out in pieces, how he wants Katsuki, how he loves him, how it hurts. And still, the loop reset.
Still, he’s here. Still, he’s alone.
Maybe the villain was wrong, maybe there’s no truth deep enough to break the cycle, and maybe some people are just meant to stay stuck.
He closes his eyes and counts to ten, then a hundred, then a thousand. Just to hear something move, to feel like time hasn’t stopped again already.
It hasn’t. Not yet. But it will.
JULY 15 - 11:11 P.M. (LOOP 4)
Izuku opens his door, and for a second, everything’s quiet.
Katsuki’s standing there, freshly showered, hair still damp and clinging to his forehead, wearing a plain black shirt and joggers. He’s holding something.
A cake box, it's small and green, taped to the side are candles shaped like a 2 and a 6.
Katsuki looks to the side, scowls at the floor. “I had to go to the Hero Gala... So, I would’ve baked one, but I didn’t have time so I... Whatever. Here.”
He shoves the cake box forward and Izuku takes it gently, fingers brushing Katsuki’s without meaning to. When he opens it, there’s a little round cake, frosted green and lopsided, and in the center is a face, just a blob of icing with four tiny sprinkles on the cheeks.
“Are these…”
“They’re not."
“They look like my freckles.”
“Shut up.”
Izuku doesn’t stop smiling, and he can’t if he's being honest.
His smile stretches slow across his face, wide and full and a little shaky, and he's rying to hold in everything he’s feeling and failing miserably.
And it’s not just the cake, though it’s stupidly cute and lopsided and so obviously him it makes his heart clench. It’s not the freckles made out of sprinkles, or the fact that Katsuki’s pretending it isn’t personal. It’s that Katsuki came back. Even without context, and no memories of yesterday. This was just Kacchan, knocking on his door like he always will. He isn’t here because of some loop driven script or rewound affection. He’s here because he wanted to be, because even without remembering anything, Katsuki still came looking for him, and chose to show up.
And that’s when it hits Izuku, the trick. That’s why some of the missing heroes haven’t returned and why KhronoGlider’s loop keeps some of them trapped. The loops feels real. It gives them what they want. Perfected days, do overs, things said that were never said, people staying who never stayed. But not him, not Izuku.
Even without the fantasy, even without the loop, and even stripped of memory or motive- Katsuki will still show up, still find him, and he always will.
Katsuki laughs a few minutes later, as he nudges the door closed with his heel. He walks straight toward the kitchen.
“I’m making katsudon,” he says over his shoulder, already rummaging through drawers like he knows where everything is, and he kinda does. “I know you always have the stuff for it. Sit down or something. Birthday boy gets to be useless today. I’ll even do the dishes.”
Izuku doesn’t move. He’s still holding the cake, keeps staring at it.
Behind him, the sink runs. Katsuki is humming something low. A knife hits the cutting board in a clean rhythm.
“It was busy at the agency today, we talked about-” Katsuki stops, “Nah, I'll tell you tomorrow. Today's a special day, no thoughts for you, nerd."
Izuku’s heart stutters.
Tomorrow. He wants there to be a tomorrow.
At that, Izuku finally moves. Not all at once or in some grand romantic gesture or sweeping declaration. A quiet pull forward, and as if every step is a decision and his body is already making it before he can think to stop. One step, then another, then another, until he’s close enough to feel the heat of Katsuki’s body, the sway of his breath, the motion of his shoulders as he dices chicken. Izuku stands there, heart pounding, and he doesn’t even realize he’s reaching out until his fingers graze against Katsuki’s wrist.
Barely there, but enough to feel the pulse beneath skin, fast and strong and real.
Katsuki looks at him, smirks, “What-”
He doesn’t get to finish the sentence. Izuku turns him. Gently, but with a kind of certainty that startles even him. The knife clatters onto the counter as Katsuki lets himself be moved, wide eyed and blinking like he’s not used to being handled, like he doesn’t know what to expect from the soft, shaking hands on his arms. And Izuku’s breath catches, because he looks at him and something in his chest just breaks open.
Katsuki is standing there, flushed from the heat of the kitchen, a faint dampness still clinging to the tips of his hair. His shirt’s wrinkled from leaning on the counter. His hands smell faintly of ginger and soy sauce. And his face, his stupid, beautiful face, is tilted toward him like he’s trying to figure him out again for the very first time.
And Izuku… Izuku is so done.
He brings both hands up, cradles Katsuki’s jaw, thumbs pressing gently along the edges of his cheekbones.
Katsuki doesn’t move. He’s not glaring, not rolling his eyes or pulling away. He’s not saying anything at all. He just looks at him. Wide and steady, lips parted like he forgot how to close them. Pupils dark and blown, swallowing gold like he’s staring into something he doesn’t know how to hold. His eyes flicker between Izuku’s mouth and his eyes, back and forth, like a decision is forming in real time. He's shaking, and Izuku, he’s shaking, too.
“I love you,” Izuku whispers, "I love you, Kacchan."
Katsuki’s breath hitches. And still, he doesn’t speak. Instead, he's looking at him like he’s something dangerous and inevitable.
So Izuku does the only thing left that makes sense.
He kisses him.
And Katsuki doesn’t kiss back at first, he just lets it happen. A still point in the room, in the world, letting Izuku fall into him. Then, soft, barely a sigh, his mouth moves. Responds. And Izuku's knees go weak. His fingers curl slightly against the counter, tilts his head up and kisses deeper, slower still, like he wants to memorize the shape of it. The way Katsuki’s mouth opens for him without hesitation, how his tongue flickers against Katsuki's like he’s testing a language he didn’t know he spoke. They breathe each other in. One gasp becomes the other’s inhale. It’s not clean, their lips drag, wet and warm, mouths open and part and find each other again, can’t stand even a second of distance.
Izuku breathes out against his mouth, shaking.
“I love you,” he whispers, "I love you so much."
Izuku's thumb brushes under Katsuki’s jaw again, tilting his head just enough to kiss him deeper, closer. His other hand presses to his waist, gentle and guiding. He steps between Katsuki’s thighs without thinking, it’s instinct, there’s nowhere else he’s supposed to be. Their bodies align, chest to chest, hips brushing, breaths shared. And Katsuki lets him, his knees open wider, he shifts forward, wraps his arms around Izuku’s shoulders, pulls him in. Stay, they say. Don’t go anywhere. Izuku goes willingly.
“I love you,” Izuku says again, between kisses now, “I love you, I love you-"
He sighs into Katsuki’s mouth, trembling with it. Everything is soft. Katsuki’s lips are flushed and wet and parted, trembling slightly. Izuku kisses him again and again, messy and open and reverent, like prayer, an apology, as if he’s making up for every year he didn’t do this. Their mouths break apart just a little, only enough for breath, slick with spit. Katsuki’s lashes are low, his lips bitten pink and parted. And Izuku hovers there, watching him, barely breathing.
Their foreheads press, their noses bump, their lips brush once, twice, until Katsuki makes a small sound, quiet and low and almost like surrender, a whimper almost, and then he’s pulling him back in, arms around his neck, mouth against his again. Deeper this time. Izuku sighs into it. Katsuki shifts, thighs tightening where they rest on either side of Izuku’s hips. The motion is thoughtless, fluid, casual even. But then he locks them there, ankles hooking behind him, holding him.
And that’s it.
Izuku swears under his breath. His arms slide beneath Katsuki’s legs, lift him up in one practiced motion. Katsuki is heavier than he looks, but Izuku doesn’t mind. He wants the weight, wants to carry him, wants to prove he can. Katsuki lets him, wordless and sure, and it does something awful and beautiful to Izuku's chest. The kitchen fades, something clatters on the stove, steam hissing out of the forgotten pot, but Katsuki doesn’t flinch. Instead, he buries his fingers in Izuku’s hair and kisses him like the world can burn.
Izuku stumbles through his hallway, barefoot and dizzy, too caught in the heat of Katsuki’s mouth to walk straight. It’s a miracle he doesn’t knock into a wall. His grip shifts, hands sliding lower to keep Katsuki pressed close, and their teeth knock once, then again. Katsuki lets him, mouth wet and open, tongue dragging slow across Izuku’s lower lip before catching it gently between his teeth. Izuku’s knees nearly give.
A hand slides under the hem of his shirt, then up, warm palms on soft skin. Izuku exhales hard against Katsuki’s cheek, can’t stop himself from kissing the side of his face, his jaw, the curve of his neck when the fabric of his shirt starts to lift. Katsuki’s tugging, stripping him, hands sure and greedy. The cotton peels off his chest as they go, awkward and hot and wonderful, until it’s gone and Izuku’s bare to the waist, skin flushed and tight with want. Katsuki’s foot then curls around the waistband of his shorts, toe hooking in, pulling them down inch by inch. It’s messy and desperate, one sided undressing mid air. Izuku wants to laugh, but he’s too busy holding him up, too busy panting into his neck, teeth grazing along his pulse point. He swears he can feel Katsuki’s heartbeat in his mouth.
They make it to the bedroom. Somehow. Katsuki’s back hits the mattress with a soft thud and Izuku follows immediately, crawling over him, breath short, skin flushed, lips parted. He’s not saying anything. There’s too much in his throat and not enough room in his lungs to speak. Only action now, just this. Katsuki is beneath him, propped up on his elbows, watching him, and his hair is mussed and his lips are swollen and his eyes are so dark they don’t reflect the room, just the shape of Izuku hovering above.
Izuku kneels, shaky. He reaches out and grips the hem of Katsuki’s shirt, when his fingers hesitate, Katsuki helps him pull his shirt up. The fabric catches on his ribs, then lifts.
Izuku sees it. His scar. Jagged and faded but still there, shaped like something that shouldn’t have happened. It bisects the skin just slightly off center. His breath gets caught between his ribs, suspended, his lungs forget how to work. There’s no noise in the room anymore. Not even his heartbeat, and he knows that isn’t right because it was pounding a second ago. All he can hear is this empty space between them, and all he can see is that scar. The past crawls up his spine, familiar and cold-
Katsuki is reaching out, tugging gently at his hand.
He pulls it to his mouth, presses a soft kiss to Izuku’s knuckles. His mouth lingers there for a breath, guides it down, places it right over his chest. Over the scar.
Izuku feels it. Katsuki's heartbeat. Thudding under his palm, slow and real and alive.
Katsuki tilts his head, eyes heavy lidded and patient, and says quietly, “I don’t regret any of it.”
Izuku’s mouth twitches. Something close to a sob gets caught behind his teeth but doesn’t come out, and he shakes his head once, as if it’ll rattle the grief loose.
"I know."
Izuku leans in again, takes that same hand that kissed his, and kisses it back. Palm, wrist, fingertips. All of it. Izuku’s hands slide back to Katsuki’s chest, but this time with purpose. He pushes, gently, a quiet encouragement. Katsuki goes easily, lets himself be lowered until he’s flat against the mattress, blond hair fanned against the pillow like wildfire in bloom. His eyes don’t leave Izuku’s for a second. Izuku leans over him, kisses his collarbone, then lower, then lower still. Izuku's mouth is gentle as it moves across his warm skin. His lips brush just beside the scar, then just just above it. Then once, carefully, over the faintest edge of it.
Katsuki’s chest rises. Izuku pulls back, just enough to see his face, "Does it feel okay?"
Katsuki exhales through his nose, lashes fluttering once. He nods.
And Izuku kisses him again, slow and certain, over his heart.
Izuku knows even if Katsuki never says it, even if the doctors cleared him a year ago and Recovery Girl waved it off with one of her warnings, even if Katsuki walks like nothing hurts anymore. He knows that scar wasn’t the end of it, and that something in him beats a little wrong now, working overtime just to keep up. He knows there are mornings when Katsuki sits too still for too long, or nights when he breathes a little heavier after patrol, and Izuku pretends not to notice because Katsuki would never let him fuss. But he wants to, wants to crawl inside that heartbeat and protect it with his teeth.
Katsuki gave up everything once. His future, his life, the whole goddamn story he hadn’t even gotten to finish, without hesitation, without thinking, just because it was Izuku, with that stupid, stubborn love of his, quiet and all consuming. And Izuku’s only now realizing, like an idiot, that he’s been in love with him ever since. Now he wants to be someone who wakes up every single morning and listens for a heartbeat that shouldn’t still be there, and thanks the universe with his whole chest that it is. That he is.
Izuku drags his mouth lower, until he makes it to Katsuki's waistband and breathes. Katsuki's fingers twitch where they’re curled against the sheets.
Izuku tugs at the drawstring of Katsuki’s pants, pulls them down. Katsuki jolts, thighs tense. “There’s no need to-”
“Yes there is,” Izuku says, “I like being thorough, Kacchan. You know that.”
Then he spreads him open. Katsuki breathes out too fast, like the air’s been punched from his chest. One leg hooks slightly over Izuku’s shoulder and Izuku sinks to his knees on the mattress like it’s the most natural place he’s ever been. This has never been just a want, it's a gravitational pull. He licks once, flat and slow up the underside of Katsuki’s cock. Then again, tongue firm against the vein, until Katsuki’s hips twitch and his mouth opens on a breathless curse.
"Fuck-"
Izuku smiles around it, then he takes more. His mouth is hot, wet, and greedy. It’s not just skill, though he’s put in the research. Worship disguised as hunger and devotion buried under the smug little glances he sends up through his lashes. He wonders how they look, he can hear it. The soft stretch of his cheeks, the sloppy sounds echoing in the room, the way Katsuki’s thighs are trembling, the little whimpers and moans slipping past his mouth.
Izuku closes his eyes, moans back, lets it vibrate through him. Katsuki whines, and then his hand fists in Izuku’s hair, yanking, "Izuku-"
Izuku doesn't stop. He works him slowly, and Katsuki’s falling apart, unraveling at the seams, chest heaving, breath hitching every time Izuku presses his thumb just there at the base, keeps eye contact, sucks harder. Katsuki’s spine arches. “I’m, ah, shit, Izuku- Hng!”
Izuku holds him down with one hand splayed flat on his hip. Stay, Kacchan, let me have this.
When Katsuki comes, it’s with a guttural noise, something helpless and shocked, his body coiling tight. Izuku swallows some of his cum, not all, lets some spill out across his tongue, thick and hot, then pulls off with a gasp, panting, wet mouthed and hungry eyed. He probably looks wrecked and pleased and absolutely fucking delighted with himself. Then, he wipes the corner of his mouth, leans back, slides his own shorts down in one practiced motion. His cock is already hard and leaking. Katsuki’s eyes catch on it, stays there.
Izuku dips his fingers into his mouth, gathers what’s left of Katsuki on his tongue, then wraps that same hand around himself.
“I told you,” he says, breathless and proud, “I plan my days. And from now on... they’re gonna include this.”
His fist strokes once, then again. The wet sounds fill the room, quiet except for Katsuki’s inhale and the way Izuku watches him through it all. Izuku watches the way Katsuki’s hand wraps tight around his own cock, desperate and furious, working himself in time with the rhythm of Izuku's own strokes. Izuku moves, places his hands beneath Katsuki’s thighs, palms firm behind the knees, folding him up in a way that makes him sprawled open and sweating, muscles quivering, whole body on display.
Izuku noses at the crease of his thigh, presses a kiss there. Then lower. His tongue flickers out when he gets to that sweet warmth.
"F-fuck, what the fuck, Izuku-"
Izuku’s already there, his breath warm, and his tongue hotter. He licks a slow, obscene line over Katsuki’s hole, wet and purposeful. Then, he spreads him wider. His thumbs press into the backs of Katsuki’s thighs, hold him open, and he eats. Sloppy and thorough and completely without shame. He groans into it, starving, and Katsuki’s the last thing worth tasting in this looped and miserable world. Katsuki's hips twitch, knees trying to close and failing. He makes this noise, somewhere between a gasp and a broken moan. Izuku flattens his tongue, licks deeper, slower, then adds these little teasing flicks right at the center, Katsuki moves and strokes himself harder, his other hand buried in Izuku’s curls, pulling.
“Shitshitshitshitshit-”
Katsuki shudders. Izuku feels it, the second it happens, he cums again, gasping hard, back arched. His fist works fast around his cock, cum slick and hot between his fingers, some of it smearing up his chest, the rest dripping between them. His thighs twitch, knees shaking in Izuku’s grip. He moans, low and wrecked, and Izuku doesn’t blink. He watches him fall apart with greedy eyes, tongue still moving, softer now, licking him through it. And then, only when Katsuki is fully spent, only when the noise dies in his throat and the aftershocks leave his hands trembling, then, Izuku pulls back.
He kisses the inside of his knee, "I love you, I do."
Katsuki makes a sound like he’s about to argue. He doesn’t make it far. Izuku shifts up, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock. He reaches between his legs, gathers what’s left of Katsuki’s second orgasm from the mess on his stomach. He rubs it across his cock, then, he asks, "Can I, Kacchan?"
Katsuki nods, and Izuku leans forward, lines himself up, the tip of his cock brushing slick against the heat between Katsuki’s legs. And then, slowly, carefully, he pushes in.
And the world doesn’t loop. It opens. Izuku sees stars.
Katsuki's body gives just a little, then more, tight, hot, impossibly snug around him. Izuku gasps and clutches at the sheets near Katsuki’s ribs, every muscle trembling with restraint. He doesn’t thrust, just breathes with him. The stretch, the slide, the overwhelming feeling of being buried inside him for the first time. His chest folds over Katsuki’s, foreheads nearly touching. Katsuki’s still gasping quietly, every exhale puffing against Izuku’s cheek. One of his hands flutters up and tangles in the curls at the nape of Izuku’s neck.
“Holy shit,” Izuku whispers. "You're so tight-"
Katsuki makes a low, wrecked noise in his throat and lets his legs hook around Izuku’s waist. "Okay, you don't have to say all that-"
Izuku shivers from the way Katsuki feels, from the way he opened for him, from how Katsuki let him. And so he draws back, just an inch, pushes in again, and Katsuki swears, hand curling harder in Izuku’s hair, his hips chasing the motion like it hurts not to. Izuku groans into his skin, “You feel, Kacchan, you feel so good-”
Katsuki flushes, tears in his eyes, “Shut up and move!"
Izuku moves, rolls his hips just enough to hear Katsuki moan, a sound Izuku would trap in a jar if he could, just to keep it. He fucks him slow at first, savoring it, letting the tension climb again. And for Izuku, the planner, this moment is the first thing that’s ever made sense without needing to be written down. Gently, Izuku buries his face in the curve of Katsuki’s throat and thrusts harder. Slower. Then deeper still. Katsuki lets him, he moans.
"I love you, Kacchan. I love you."
Izuku can't stop saying it. He kisses his throat, jaw, the spot just beneath his ear that always gets a twitch. Warm skin, flushed and damp, drags his lips up the edge of Katsuki’s jaw, feels the way he swallows. It’s shaky, like he’s trying not to.
“I love you,” Izuku says again, "I love you-"
And when he pulls back, just enough to see him, he freezes.
Katsuki’s hands are over his face, covering his eyes, shoulders trembling a little. A breath stuttering out of his nose like he didn’t want it to escape.
“Kacchan?”
Izuku breathes, chest tight, breath catching like he’s forgotten how to exhale. His body stills, not because he’s afraid, but because Katsuki’s hands are shaking. fingers curled, knuckles pale where they press to his eyes like he’s trying to block out the world by force. And his chest is rising too fast, like every inhale is a battle he didn’t prepare for. His mouth’s open, lips parted like he wants to say something but doesn’t trust what might come out. Izuku doesn’t move, he just watches him, heart crawling into his throat, because this isn’t pain, nor is it shame or second thoughts.
It’s Katsuki, all fight and fury and breathless quiet, cracking open in real time. Not because he’s broken, but because he’s loved, and maybe no one’s ever stayed long enough to let him feel it.
Izuku’s heart breaks open.
“Hey,” Izuku murmurs, lips brushing over Katsuki’s temple, then down. A kiss to his cheekbone, his jaw. His hands find his face, gently pull his hands away. Katsuki resists for a second, but only a second. His palms fall to the mattress and his eyes are glassy and wet and red rimmed, and he looks like he hates it. "Hey, look at me, come on."
Izuku kisses him. Kisses each eyelid, left then right.
“Don’t hide from me,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to Katsuki’s. “Please don’t.”
Katsuki doesn't speak, maybe he can’t. His throat works but he’s trying to swallow it down, whatever it is. His mouth parts but no sound comes, but he doesn't pull away. Izuku rocks forward, slow, rolling his hips, deep. Katsuki makes a sound then, this broken, breathy thing that melts out against Izuku’s cheek. A moan that sounds too close to a sob, like he’s falling apart from the inside out. Izuku breathes into it. Feels it everywhere. They move like that, together, slow and warm, built on gasps and shivers and mouths brushing against mouths in the dark. There’s no rush. They have all the time in the world. Their bodies meet again and again, quiet and full and thick with heat. Izuku kisses him, mouth open, wet and slow, teeth barely grazing lower lip. And Katsuki kisses back like he doesn’t know how not to.
Izuku feels it. That pull, the unbearable sweetness blooming low and deep, coiling tight inside his spine as his hips stutter, his breath breaks, and he gasps against Katsuki’s lips, voice gone high and ruined. “Kacchan, I, Kacchan, I’m-”
Izuku's whole body locks, thighs trembling, breath falling out in broken stutters as he spills inside, buried deep. His fingers tremble where they hold Katsuki’s face, and he doesn’t stop kissing him. Not through the shaking, not through the high, not even when his mind goes white. He stays. Still moving, just a little. Gentle and slowed, soft as he can be. And when he can finally speak, when the air returns and the world tilts back into place, he whispers it again, "I love you."
Izuku falls on top of him, breathes in slow, the warmth of Katsuki beneath him anchoring him. He’s still inside, still wrapped around all that heat and ache, but the urgency's faded. It’s just warmth now. Skin against skin, a heartbeat under his cheek, steady and loud, lulling him under. He hums without meaning to, a soft, stupid sound of contentment. His legs are tangled with Katsuki’s, his arm is slung over his chest.
“Izuku,” Katsuki says, and it’s soft. Like he’s trying not to scare the moment off. “I also-”
Izuku doesn’t catch the rest.
His eyelids are too heavy. His limbs, useless.
Everything in him floats.
Izuku likes to plan his days.
But there’s no way to plan for waking up in a bed that doesn’t smell like someone who once knew he was loved, and doesn’t anymore.
JULY 15 - 05:00 A.M. (LOOP 5)
Izuku wakes up to silence.
The space beside him is empty. Sheets flattened, not even warm anymore, no dent in the pillow that isn't his. No smell of sweat and sleep and Katsuki. Just linen and the echo of a dream he can’t crawl back into. He stares at it, the blank space. Then his own hands, curled in the blanket like they’re holding onto something that isn’t there anymore.
No. No, no, no, no.
His breath hitches before he even feels it coming. Then it’s just there, a tight rush of air that punches out of his lungs, and suddenly he’s moving, fisting the sheets, dragging them toward him and that maybe if he pulls hard enough, Katsuki will be hiding inside them, maybe he slipped between the seams or tucked himself into a wrinkle and just forgot to say good morning.
But there’s nothing. Just the sound of fabric twisting in his hands and the slow, stupid rise of panic in his chest.
Izuku curls in, sheets clutched to his chest, breath coming too fast. The burn in his throat climbs, tears stinging before they even fall.
It doesn’t feel fair. It doesn’t feel real.
And so Izuku sobs. It just rips out of him. His whole body curls around Katsuki's absence, face shoved into the blankets that still smell like sleep and sweat and him, it didn't smell like something he wasn’t supposed to be allowed to have but somehow did, that smell's been snatched back. Time didn’t just rewind. It erased him. Scrubbed it all out like Katsuki hadn’t looked at him like that, like Katsuki hadn’t been touched, loved, and opened by none other than Izuku.
He wipes at his face, fails, then gives up entirely, nose pressed to the place where Katsuki should be.
"I had you," he whispers. “You were here. You were right here.”
The loop resets. The day begins. The bed is empty.
And he has to do it all again.
JULY 15 - 07:49 A.M. (LOOP 5)
“Kacchan,” Izuku says, quieter than he meant to, “Can I talk to you, please?”
For a second, Izuku thinks he’ll ignore him. That he’ll blow past it, keep barking orders, pretend not to notice the way Izuku’s voice cracked a little on the word please. That would be fair. Easier, maybe. But instead, Katsuki sighs, clicks his tongue, and turns to the room.
“Oi. We’re gonna talk upstairs. Don’t touch my board.”
Nobody questions it. Izuku follows before he can think too hard about it. They climb the elevator, top floor, their offices. Identical layouts, side by side. Frosted glass panels, names printed in neat block font. Pro Hero Deku. Pro Hero Dynamight. Katsuki usually goes straight into his, walks past Izuku’s like it doesn’t exist. But today, he stops and glances back first.
“Yours?”
Izuku nods. “Sure, yeah.”
Izuku tries not to fumble with the doorknob, and tries not to look too excited about Katsuki willingly stepping into his space. But it’s hard. Because as Katsuki walks in, Izuku realizes he’s never really looked before.
There are pictures everywhere. Taped to the walls, framed on the desk, clipped to the edge of the bookshelf with little black binder clips. Polaroids, glossy prints, matte borders. The lighting’s soft in most of them, warm tones and uneven shadows. Some of the photos are quiet, almost mundane, crows on a power line, half a sandwich, the back of Shouto’s head during a particularly boring staff meeting. But most, most are people. Laughing, moving, real. Katsuki doesn’t speak at first. Just takes it in. Then he snorts.
“Didn’t know you were hoarding my face.”
Izuku flushes immediately. “I’m not, hoarding, okay maybe a little, it’s not like that.”
Katsuki walks to the desk, picks up a photo from one of the frames, then his mouth quirks.
It’s that one. Izuku’s birthday from when they were kids. Someone snapped it right as Izuku leaned in to blow out the candles, and Katsuki shoved him sideways and did it himself.
“You asked my mom for this, didn’t you.”
Izuku winces. “She sent me like six versions.”
Katsuki huffs out a quiet laugh. He stares at the picture for a second longer.
Izuku watches his fingers brush the edge of the frame.
“I’ve been learning photography,” Izuku offers, “I started a few months ago. I needed something to... I don’t know. Help me see things better.”
"And do you?"
"Hm?"
"See things better."
Izuku laughs a little, sheepish, like he didn’t hear it right. His fingers twitch against the edge of his desk and he doesn’t look at the photos. He knows the answer is no. He’s not seeing anything clearly. Not Katsuki’s eyes, not his own heart, not this timeline, he's been staring so hard at the big picture that all the details have bled out. He’s been looping. Not living.
"I…" he starts, and that’s all he gets out.
Katsuki's watching him.
“You should just say it,” he says, setting the photo back, “Whatever’s eating at you. You’ve been off.”
Izuku wants to say off is his default, but instead his mouth dries up because he can feel it. That old instinct crawling up his spine, the one that wants to say it’s the time loops, that he's been waking up and losing him for days. Izuku wants to say this is the loop he's supposed to confess to him again. But he can’t. He’s already lived the loop where he told the truth, and the clock rewound anyway.
Izuku isn’t stupid. He’s not going to scare him off with something that’s never helped.
So instead, he says, “I know there’s a villain.”
Katsuki narrows his eyes, but says nothing yet.
“I know she's looking for me. That’s what’s been messing with me."
"Alright. Today you're going to be-"
"No."
"No?"
"I want to meet her."
Katsuki makes a face. “Seriously?”
"Yeah, Kacchan. I think she and I need to have a talk."
JULY 15 - 12:17 P.M. (LOOP 5)
“Oh,” KhronoGlider says, delighted. “It’s already repeating for you, isn’t it?”
Izuku doesn’t answer at first. They're also in the dome again. But this time, it’s just him. Katsuki’s not frozen, he’s safe and watching somewhere far enough to not be in range, close enough that if Izuku fails, he’ll know it. That’s the part Katsuki hated, that he wouldn’t be in the room when it happened, but he trusted him enough to let him go.
“How many loops has it been for you now, Hero Deku?”
Izuku lifts his eyes to meet hers. “Five."
“Oh, darling,” she coos. “You’re supposed to be the last hero. The great one. You’re telling me you can’t figure it out?”
Izuku doesn’t flinch.
“You only have to do one thing,” she purrs. “One simple thing.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”
She tilts her head. “Then why are you still here?”
“Well,” Izuku says, "I didn’t get it at first.”
KhronoGlider doesn’t respond. She just lifts one brow. “Well. Tell me. Or are you going to end up like the others?”
He knows what she means. The others. The ones caught in their own little snow globes of time. All of them stuck, circling the drain of their best day, or maybe their worst.
Loops that don’t break because they don’t want to. Because what comes after is worse.
“I won’t,” he says, finally. “I’m not like them. They’re trapped in something they don’t want to leave. Something perfect. A moment they can’t let go of, even if it’s not real anymore. But my loop's not perfect. It’s tempting. It is. But I’m not staying because I want the past. I’m staying here... because I haven’t figured out how to move forward. But if I do..."
Izuku breathes deep, “If I figure it out, if I do what you want, will you let them go too? The others. The ones who are stuck.”
“I’ll do my best,” she says finally. “But… sometimes they stay because they want to.”
She doesn’t say it with cruelty. She just says it.
“I don’t think that makes it okay,” he says, “Even if it’s what they want, if it’s what makes them feel safe. If they don’t know how to leave, if they think that loop is all they’re allowed, that’s still a kind of cage.”
KhronoGlider doesn’t argue.
“I like to plan my days.” It sounds stupid when Izuku says it out loud, but it’s true. “I always have. I write stuff down. Color-code my notebooks. I know how long my commute is with or without a villain attack. I haven’t known how to not plan since I was four. So of course I tried to apply it here. To you. To this.”
To Katsuki.
“I tracked each loop. Remembered everything, what I said, what he said. I kept thinking if I got the variables right, if I found the right day, the right version of me, the loop will stop. But that’s not being real, and it’s definitely not love. That’s control, that's fear. And I didn’t even realize how scared I was, of letting go of the plan, of living something over and over and thinking it meant something, when it was just another consequence of how tightly I was trying to hold it all together. The loop exploited that. It wasn’t punishing me, it was just mirroring me. Resetting because I kept resetting. Because I wouldn’t stop trying to perfect it.”
Izuku laughs, breathless.
“I’ve been treating love like an exam, and that if I just study hard enough, do everything right, I’ll get the result I want. As if it’s something I can earn. But real love… it doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t care if the timing’s perfect, or if I’ve got a plan. It’s messy and confusing, and sometimes it hits too early, sometimes too late, and sometimes it’s just, quiet. But it still matters. That’s what being real is. It’s not about having the right answer. It’s not about being brave or good or ready. It’s just… letting go. Letting things happen without trying to control them. Letting yourself happen, even if it’s a mess. And yeah, love’s part of that, but it’s not the whole thing. Being real isn’t just about who I love, it’s about choosing, even when it’s scary. Even when I don’t know if I’ll get it back. Just because I want to, and because it’s real when I let it be.”
Izuku looks at her, at the way her fingers rest over the small clock hanging from her neck, like she’s holding time itself still just for him.
“And that’s what you were waiting for, right? Not some big performance from me, or proof that I’ve got it all figured out. You only needed a choice, one that’s not about fear, or guilt, or trying to fix everything. Just… because I mean it. Because I want to. No other reason.”
“Funny,” she murmurs, hands still on the clock, "She said something like that once. Not in words, but... in the way she looked at me when everything was already too late. I didn’t listen. I was too busy trying to rewrite the end. You didn’t rewrite anything, did you? You just... let it be. She always believed people could be real, if they let themselves. I never believed her. Not after what they turned her into. What they praised me for surviving."
Her voice softens, almost fond.
"This is what she meant, isn’t it?” A breath. “Looks like you figured it out before most. It’s their turn now. And... mine too.”
The dome breaks, and then in a blink, she's gone.
JULY 15 - 9:53 P.M. (LOOP 5)
Izuku likes to plan his days.
Not because he has to, though being unprepared as the Symbol of Peace does invite media slander and a very disappointed mother, but because it makes things easier.
There’s something about it, something comforting in the structure. Mornings for hero calls, afternoons for patrol, evenings for analyzing fight footage with sticky notes. He tracks everything, he likes knowing, predicting. He likes giving chaos a shape, even if it’s wrong sometimes.
But something he’s starting to realize, planning is useful, until it isn’t. Until it keeps him from doing things, or turns every maybe into a not yet, until his feelings rot in a filing cabinet labeled someday, when it’s safe to say it.
He thinks about that now, shoulder pressed to Katsuki’s own, the chill of the Hero Gala balcony seeping through his sleeves. Katsuki hasn’t moved, warm beside him, suit crisp, hair a little messy from the wind. Katsuki clears his throat. "You gonna tell me what happened with that villain or am I supposed to guess?"
"We talked, Kacchan."
"With a villain?"
“Yeah,” Izuku says, “She did release those other heroes, didn't she?"
"She still escaped."
"I think she's gonna come back to correct her mistakes, she just needs to... be real a little."
"Hah?"
Izuku shrugs. “It’s fine now.”
Izuku then closes his eyes, feels the weight of Katsuki’s presence beside him. The warmth of it. And he thinks, he really shouldn’t be watching the clock or calculating when to speak, or if it’s the right time, or if Katsuki will laugh or flinch or turn away. He shouldn’t be weighing odds or trying to solve for anything. He should just choose. Not with strategy or fear or a rehearsed line, tested against every version of Katsuki across every loop. He should choose with instinct.
And love. And no guarantee at all.
That’s the test, isn’t it? Not passing or escaping. Just choosing love over fear and letting it count.
After a long pause, Katsuki mutters, “It’s still your birthday.”
Izuku hums. “Yeah.”
“So make a wish or something,” Katsuki adds, eyes on the stars. “Just... end the day on a good note.”
Izuku turns to him, blinking. “A wish?”
Katsuki shrugs, turns to smile at him, one of those rare ones.
"I just… figured the day’s been heavy. You might as well end it with something that’s actually about you. Come on, there’s gotta be something you want today.”
Izuku blinks, then he says the first thing in his mind. No preamble, just the truth.
“Will you marry me, Kacchan?”
Katsuki chokes on air, turns to stare at him like he just lost his fucking mind.
Izuku beams, teeth and dimples and no shame at all. “Too soon?”
Katsuki opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and his whole face is going red so fast.
Izuku waits, and, for once, he doesn’t plan what comes next.
JULY 16 - 12:01 AM
"This is fucking crazy."
Tsukauchi stands in front of them holding a literal key.His expression is the same tired one he always wears when they pull him into nonsense, but his eyebrows twitch just slightly as he slides the key into the lock. "What’s crazy is that you called me at midnight to file a marriage license. Most people wait until the morning. You know, like normal citizens.”
“We couldn’t wait.”
Katsuki groans. “He couldn’t wait.”
“You said yes.”
“Alright,” Tsukauchi sighs, unlocking the door and waving them in, “Do you at least have what I need? IDs? Personal seals? Two witnesses? A pen that works?”
Izuku perks up, immediately digging into his pocket, “Yes! Yes, and-"
“You need two witnesses. I assume you brought, wait, are you calling Toshinori?”
Katsuki replies dryly, “He said he’d sign it digitally and mail it back.”
"Oh."
"Kacchan, you have the stamps, right?”
Katsuki grumbles and pulls two perfectly packed hanko stamps from the inner pocket of his jacket.
Tsukauchi watches the exchange with the blank stare of a man who’s interrogated serial arsonists and somehow still finds this marriage license registration more exhausting.
"Alright, come in."
The municipal office is quiet, just the soft hum of old lights and the scratch of pen on paper filling the space, and maybe it’s stupid, maybe it’s not how he thought it would be, but Izuku thinks it’s perfect. There's no crowds, no cameras, no big speeches, just them, and Tsukauchi, their extremely reluctant witness-slash-government-official-slash-unpaid emotional support, and a form from All Might. And they sit, sign, then stamp. Katsuki bumps their knees together when it’s done. A few tears are shed, some Katsuki’s, most of them Izuku’s, and on their way out, just as the door swings closed behind them, Katsuki reaches out and tugs him gently by the wrist.
Izuku watches him blink hard, willing his tears not to fall, but one escapes anyway.
“I love you,” he says quietly, eyes darting up to meet his. “I really do, Izuku.”
Izuku’s smile comes slow, trembling, too full for his face. He reaches up, thumb brushing gently over the tear on Katsuki’s cheek.
“I know,” he whispers, voice thick. “I love you too, Kacchan."
And then Izuku kisses him, not because he planned it, but because he doesn’t have to anymore.
Izuku likes to plan his days, but tonight, he didn’t.
And yet somehow, in the silence where a plan should’ve been, the future he wanted found him anyway.