Archive of Our Own ^beta

American traffic is a special kind of annoying. Luckily, Kacchan insisted on driving. Unluckily, Kacchan can’t read the location signs very quickly. That’s alright, though; Izuku is a master navigator! It’s just that, um. The highway exits are, er…

Confusing. 

“It’s fine,” he comforts Kacchan, twitching with his own brand of stress. “We can take the next exit and still get there.”

“Fucking stupid ass won’t let me transfer lanes,” Kacchan seethes. “Busted-ass twenty-lane monstrosity. What the fuck…”

He pats Kacchan’s arm. 

“And they fucking drive on the wrong side!”

“Kacchan will pull through,” he replies. “Kacchan is the best!”

Kacchan mutters something under his breath. Izuku sympathetically squeezes his bicep, feeling it release a modicum of tension.

The jet lag has not being kind to either of them. Kacchan’s definitely not been his best self and Izuku is sure he’s hardly in top form, either. It doesn’t help that on the flight, there was a quirk accommodation that necessitated that their cabin be kept at 30C for the whole trip. Izuku had to fight everything in him not to start tugging out his sweaty mess of hair by the third hour.

Well— Kacchan provided some assistance, slapping his hands away. His patience grew thin as paper by the halfway mark, though. Both of theirs did. He had to excuse himself to the bathroom to try to self-soothe in private as best as he could, a few times. Wasn’t exactly easy when they were seated in the center of a jumbo plane with three strangers on either side of both of them. Sleep was nearly impossible; he mostly just drifted in a despondent haze, clinging to his backpack in his lap while Kacchan stared resolutely at the flight path with a tight jaw.

It’s okay, though, because here they are now! In America. Izuku’s been a few times, though only ever for work. This will be his first time abroad anywhere for personal reasons. The tickets had shocked him when Kacchan provided them, saying something about anniversaries and birthdays and how it’ll be an all-in-one present.

Which reminds him, their anniversary is coming up. Ah. He hopes Kacchan likes the present Izuku got him; it seems more than a bit underwhelming, now. He’d bought Kacchan some new running sneakers after meticulously combing through reviews for about a week and a half. He ended up on the exact same brand Kacchan has been wearing for the past decade. They look almost identical to his current pair.

“Good job, Kacchan!” he cheers when they manage to make their next target exit, Kacchan’s knuckles white around the steering wheel. “You’re so cool under pressure!”

“Izuku,” he snaps, “the map. Where the fuck am I going?”

“Oh!” He pulls up his phone, squinting at the GPS. “I’ve got you Kacchan. So you’re going to want to turn right at the upcoming intersection and…”

The hotel parking lot brings out a new slew of rude language from Kacchan, but they manage to park the rental with little trouble, relatively speaking. Izuku carries both their suitcases and his backpack while Kacchan grumbles the whole way to the front desk, hands stuffed in his cargo shorts.

The concierge greets them with a bland, “Hello. How can I help you?”

“We have a…” Kacchan pauses, brow furrowing with thought. That quickly transforms into irritation. 

“I got it, I got it.” This is something Izuku can do! He steps past Kacchan, speaking in English, “Um, hi! We have a reservation.”

The concierge looks down at her monitor. “Under?”

“Bakugou is the last name,” he tells the concierge. “Um. B-A-K-U…”

“Found it,” the concierge replies. “Lemme get your key cards.”

Izuku hops on his heels, excited. “Thank you!”

Just a minute later, he brandishes two plastic cards as he turns to Kacchan, who snags them both, stuffing them in his pocket. “Floor?”

“Fourth!”

Kacchan’s eyelid twitches. He starts toward the elevator while Izuku picks up their bags, scuttling after him. “Thank you very much!” he calls to the concierge. “Thank you!”

“How do you still have any energy?” Kacchan grumbles as they wait for the elevator to come down.

“I think I hit my second wind, is all. Or my third! I’m not sure.”

Kacchan grunts, jamming his finger against the up button on the elevator again. “Good job with the hotel staff shit. And the signs. And the airport. And all that.”

“Oh! Um. Ha… It wasn’t a problem, Kacchan.”

The elevator doors slide open. Kacchan stomps in, scrutinizing the buttons before hitting the fourth floor. He gives the wall a look of distaste. “’S a lot to do any of this shit, especially in a foreign language.”

“It’s fine, Kacchan.” He sets their suitcases down and hugs his backpack to his chest. “I’ve been talking in English most of my life with…” He trails off, eyes stuck on the buttons. 

Kacchan wraps an arm around his shoulders, squeezing. “You excited for the convention?”

“Y-yeah.” He swallows. “Um. I’m super excited to see Condor. I’ve been wanting her autograph for five years, now.”

The elevator dings.

Kacchan steps out as the doors open, ruffling Izuku’s hair as he passes.

Izuku squawks indignantly, grabbing their suitcases and chasing after.

“Oi! Don’t jump!”

He stops, propping himself up on the very soft and very big mattress. “Sorry, Kacchan. I got so excited.”

Kacchan sets down their bags. “I know. ‘S fine.” He stands, stretching his back with a groan. “What do you wanna eat?”

He chews on his lower lip. “Um. Hamburger.”

Kacchan rolls his eyes. “Seriously? You had one in the airport.”

“The one in the airport wasn’t very good…” It made his stomach hurt, so he had to stop. Kacchan refused to eat the other half. 

“More reason not to eat another.”

“No, there’s probably a really good one nearby! Chichi said there’s a chain in California that—” He stops.

Kacchan sits heavily on the bed, bouncing him slightly. “We can try another burger tomorrow. What else do you wanna eat?”

He rubs Bunmight’s ear.

“Izuku. What else do you wanna eat?”

He swallows. “Mexican.”

Kacchan grunts. “Ugh.”

“Kacchan, you just feel that way because you ate at a bad place when we were in New York! You’d really like it.”

“I hate that sausage shit.”

“You don’t have to have chorizo!”

Kacchan sighs. “Whatever. Just find a place on the map. Nearby.”

“We’ll probably still have to drive,” Izuku points out. “Or pay for a taxi.”

Kacchan rubs his face.

“Or we could get room service.” He shifts. “We’re both pretty tired. Maybe that’s the best idea.”

“Thought you had a second or third wind or whatever.”

“Sure, but Kacchan hasn’t had his!”

Kacchan flops onto the mattress. “Are you fucking kidding me? I think I’ve gone through seven or eight ‘winds’ or whatever.”

Izuku drops beside him, scooting until he’s on his side next to his face. His breath ruffles his hair. Lying next to Kacchan on a clean, foreign bed feels so intimate. “You really didn’t sleep at all on the airplane, did you, Kacchan?”

“No,” he bites out.

“Then maybe we should do room service.”

“We ain’t getting any touristing done with that.”

“That’s okay! This whole trip is about having a good time, right? It’s not about seeing all the tourist stuff.” He shifts, reaching out to rub the center of Kacchan’s chest. His thin cotton-blend shirt feels good under his palm, his beating heart even better. “Besides, we’ll be at the convention tomorrow. That’ll be a lot, especially with the time change. We should get as much rest as we can.”

Kacchan grunts, tangling their fingers together over his sternum. “Fine. Look up the menu for this shithole.”

“Sure! …You’ll have to let go of my hand, Kacchan.”

Kacchan’s eyes slip closed. “Check in a few minutes.”

Izuku’s smile softens. He sinks against the mattress, nudging his nose against Kacchan’s jaw. “Okay, Kacchan. In a few minutes.”

Their anniversary is September eighth. There’s no special reason for it; it’s just when their time off aligned and they’d had enough PTO built up to take a week off (with their pagers on) to visit a little town in Hokkaido to hang around onsen and enjoy each other’s company.

It’s also the only week that Izuku’s dad could get a flight to Japan, so that was a major factor. Kacchan had made a stink about it, even though it was an advantageous time for them as well. He never liked it when Izuku took Papa into account. At the time, Izuku had secretly considered Kacchan jealous. He knew Kacchan knew about his dad, by that point, but it never felt real enough to fully discuss. Or— Well, Izuku didn’t think so. So that meant they didn’t talk about it. Which he considered fair, at the time. It was his dad, after all.

Anyways, Los Angeles Hero Con happens every September on a holiday weekend. Kacchan maintains that holding a convention near a holiday is incredibly stupid, but from what Izuku can see, it’s not a very big deal of a holiday, relatively speaking. It’s not like it’s a Christmas con or something crazy like that.

He’d always wanted to go; Papa used to promise to take him if he was good, back in the day. Then, when he reached adulthood, Papa used to suggest he put in PTO to go to it with him. It never worked out, unfortunately.

To say that he was surprised when Kacchan dumped the tickets on him during his thirty-fourth birthday would be an understatement. He was beside himself. Firstly, because Kacchan has gone on the record multiple times that he absolutely despises missions in America. Secondly—and more crucially—Izuku had no idea that Kacchan knew about Los Angeles Hero Con.

I know all sorts of shit, Kacchan had sneered when he’d brought this up. And, well, he supposed that was true. Kacchan certainly did know all sorts of shit.

Some part of him—a part he feels very guilty about—wonders if Kacchan is trying to replace his dad after some fashion. This is not a new thought; he’s had it since Kacchan and he started dating. Kacchan just never liked Papa. Even when they were kids, he never addressed his dad nearly as politely as he addressed his mom. After they started dating, he became insufferable about him. And when they got married, well…

Izuku took great pains to keep the two separate. They wanted nothing to do with the other, of course, but he still made sure they rarely had to acknowledge their existence  wherever possible. Not that it was a huge problem with Papa; he was always very polite and accommodating toward Kacchan, but Izuku always had the sense that Papa wasn’t the biggest fan of him. Though that very well could have been as much Kacchan’s fault as his dad’s, since Kacchan made a point of being unnecessarily clingy with Izuku whenever he was around, even before their relationship progressed to solidly romantic.

Honesty is a big cornerstone in their marriage now, after…everything. It’s crucial. So he does bring this up with Kacchan, with regards to the whole “special vacation in America to go to a heroics convention that only Izuku gives a shit about” deal and the whole “Izuku’s dad offered to take him to this convention for years and now, for very obvious reasons, will never do this.”

Kacchan had been pretty blunt in response. Which was appreciated. It was. It hurt, sometimes, but it was better than the awkward, cloying denials they used to dance around for years. “Of course I’m jealous,” Kacchan said, barreling through Izuku’s stuttered flurry of questions. “No, I had no fucking idea about your dad’s weird date plans with you.”

“I— Kacchan, they weren’t date plans!”

“Your dad wanted to fuck you,” Kacchan said, which hurt really bad to hear. “Of course they were gross-ass date plans.”

“I don’t like you saying that,” he replied.

“Your dad was a sicko,” Kacchan said. “That any better?”

It was better. It still sucked, but it was better. “It’s a little better. I don’t like that, either.”

“Well, neither of us like what he did to you.”

That was true.

“I already got the time off for both of us,” Kacchan said. “Consider it my combo present for your birthday and our anniversary.”

“Oh. That’s… I mean, I’d like to go, Kacchan, but what are you getting out of it? You hate traveling.”

“You always ask the stupidest fucking questions.”

“And you don’t answer them!”

Kacchan clenched his jaw, bracing himself. Then he muscled out, “I like seeing you happy.”

Izuku blinked. “…Kacchan, that’s very sweet.”

He grimaced, looking away. “Yeah, yeah. I’m a soft-hearted, super romantic husband.”

“You are,” he agreed.

Kacchan groaned. “Piss off.”

“Okay.” He leaned over, giving him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll have to see which panels are worth attending. Ooh, do you think they’ll let you talk at one? You’d get flocked with adoring fans in a second, Kacchan!”

“Don’t push your luck!”

Kacchan really was the sweetest.

The mattress is very firm, after several hours of lying on it. At first, he’d been too tired to give much of a care about it, but now that he’s awake and wiping sweat off his heaving clavicles, he’s very aware of the various qualities of this bed.

It’s also too big. Kacchan has curled up on his side so far from him, his back a black sliver in the dim light.

Izuku slips out of the bed, bare feet curling against the scratchy, thin carpet. He hugs Bunmight to his chest, circling around the side until he can see Kacchan’s face, the smooth lines of his sleeping eyelids. His finger reaches out to lightly trace the silvery scar running along his cheekbone before pulling back.

His heart is beating very hard, skin tacky with sweat and nerves. This normal. He’d rather not have these sorts of nights while on vacation, but it is what it is.

Tenko-chan—

He swallows thickly, grimacing. His legs shuffle to the bathroom, slipping inside and clicking on the dim nightlight above the sink once he’s sure that the door is closed as tightly as it’ll go. The tiles are very cold. He thinks about grave stones. He decides to stop thinking about grave stones. He thinks about urns. He tells himself to stop thinking about urns immediately.

His body folds in on itself slowly, knees pressing quietly into the floor as he kneels over the toilet, petting Bunmight’s head as he lifts the seat. The plastic clicks as he lowers his arm, staring at the water sitting in the porcelain. A boy stares back at him. Not a boy. A man. Somebody who got to grow up to be a man. Somebody still alive.

He doesn’t really feel anything, to be honest. There is guilt, of course. More than that, memory. He’s a killer. This is an objective fact about Midoriya Izuku. He killed a man when he was in high school. He saw a little boy trapped in the grasp of a man pressing in on his bones, sticking himself into every vulnerability that little boy had, and he decided to snuff them both out at once.  That is what he did.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, rubbing Bunmight’s ear with a nervous thumb. You don’t deserve to be here, he thinks. You deserve to be in the ground. You shoved your arm into his mouth like he was nothing more than a rabid dog and you—

—gave Tenko-chan a present!

He groans softly, jerking forward to vomit. As awful as these nights are, there is a horrible relief when it reaches this point. When it’s just his body hurting. All animal. There is no language swimming in the depths of his blood anymore, only pain and waiting.

He gags, throat burning, nostrils stinging as he chokes and heaves again, his puke thin and stringy from the room service he’d had with Kacchan. Kacchan refused to eat any French fries, but Izuku had wanted them.

He grimaces, spitting grainy bits of potato into the toilet with clumps of thick, viscous drool. His heart settles a little, throat raw. His skin feels cold.

The overhead light clicks on.

Izuku hisses, ducking his forehead against the rim of the toilet bowl. Everything is sharp and white, oddly sterile in its blindingly reflective surfaces. He closes his eyes, shoulders curling.

“Izuku?” he hears, the voice raspy with sleep.

He sniffles back bile and nods, not trusting his throat.

“…Oh.” Footsteps slap against the tile. Izuku flinches when the toilet flushes, water specking his hair. A hand presses into the crown of his head, fingers carding through. “You done now?”

“Mmhm.”

“Kay,” Kacchan says. “Let’s brush your teeth and go back to bed.”

“Not tired,” he admits, voice thin.

“Gotta get our sleep schedules sorted out.”

“Okay.” He still isn’t tired, though.

Kacchan slips his hand out of his hair, nudging him. “Come on. Up.”

He nods, gathering his body under shaky legs. His free hand slaps against the toilet as he climbs to his feet, tucking his head against his chest.

“Lemme see.”

Izuku keeps his eyes closed as he tilts his face up. Kacchan gently grips his jaw, turning his neck back and forth. Then he lets go, tugging Izuku to follow him. It’s only a few steps before a hand presses to his chest, stopping him. He hears the sink run for a bit. Then a warm, wet cloth presses to his eyes, wiping. It sweeps down to his nose.

“Blow,” Kacchan says.

He blows.

The washcloth falls away, then comes back, dabbing at his mouth and chin. “You still look like shit,” Kacchan says, “but it’s better.”

Izuku hums.

“Okay. Now brush your teeth.”

Izuku hugs Bunmight with both arms, shaking his head. He hates brushing his teeth.

“Not negotiable, Izuku. Brush your damn teeth.”

“Kacchan can?” he suggests, voice soft.

A sigh. “Izuku.”

He opens his mouth, splaying his tongue.

He hears Kacchan mutter something darkly under his breath, but he’s too foggy to properly latch on to the words. Something about a dirty trick even if he doesn’t mean it or something like that.

He waits in the dark.

Kacchan’s fingers return, cradling his jaw as the toothbrush reaches back to press into his molars. He shudders, a whine slipping up his throat at the taste of spearmint. He hates it. Hates it so much. Gross. “Yeah, yeah,” Kacchan says dully, unimpressed. “This is what you’re getting if you’re not gonna do it yourself. Hold still, nerd.”

Izuku holds still. He’s very good at that.

The brush slides over the tops of his bottom teeth before slipping between his cheek and his gums, scrubbing lightly. It doesn’t feel good, but it’s a passive thing. Izuku simply has to stand here and take it. That’s easier. He is good at taking it.

The toothbrush retracts. Kacchan taps at the nape of his neck. “Bend and spit.”

He does.

“Gonna do the top, now. Then the roof of your mouth and your tongue.”

“Can’t do the roof,” he says. “‘M ticklish, Kacchan.”

Kacchan’s index finger presses against his lips. He obligingly opens. Kacchan wants his mouth, so he’ll give it. He’s learned to be good at giving his mouth. He can take a hand if Kacchan wants. Reaching all the way down his throat.

The toothbrush returns, scrubbing at his top row of teeth. It’s very unpleasant; Izuku hates things in his mouth. He hates the taste of the toothpaste, too, and the rough texture of the bristles. But most of all, he hates things in his mouth.

“I’m gonna brush your tongue,” Kacchan warns.

Izuku widens his jaw, letting it droop past his lips.

Kacchan mumbles something before his grip tightens on his jaw. The toothbrush saws against him, rough and quick. Izuku squeezes Bunmight to his chest, heart hitching. But as soon as he does, it’s gone. Kacchan pats his cheek. “Bend and spit.”

He does.

“Open your eyes. Lemme see you.”

Izuku squeezes them tighter.

“Izuku.”

He opens his mouth again.

“No. Close your damn mouth. Open your eyes.”

He closes his mouth. He peeks up at Kacchan, the world narrow and blurry through his lashes.

Kacchan leans in, furrowing his brow. “Where you at?”

“Huh?” He blinks, looking at Kacchan fully. The bathroom light washes him out, giving him an otherworldly sheen.

Kacchan sighs lowly. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

He nods, shyly reaching out to take Kacchan’s hand. Kacchan gives him a little frown before he closes his fingers over Izuku’s. His heart thrills in his chest at the contact, shuffling after him. Kacchan doesn’t turn off the bathroom light, instead opening the door all the way and continuing to the bed.

“Was just a regular one,” Izuku says. His own voice sounds underwater to him, the pronunciation stilted and slow.

“It wasn’t,” Kacchan replies. “Lie down.”

“Oh.” He sits down on the bed. Kacchan nudges him. He lies down. On his back. He wriggles, making sure his butt is flush to the mattress. He gnaws on his bottom lip, hugging Bunmight to his neck.

Kacchan groans as he gets into bed beside him, flopping onto his side. “Check in with me, nerd. Where are we?”

“We’re in a hotel,” he replies, words slopping together. He frowns. “I sound funny.”

“We’re in a hotel,” Kacchan agrees. “Who’s here in this room?”

“Um. Me an’ you. Izuku and Kacchan.”

He nods. “Yup. Izuku and Kacchan.”

Izuku blinks slowly. He pets along Bunmight’s tummy. “My head feels funny.”

“You’re dissociating. The fuck was up with that toothbrush shit?”

“Mm?”

“This is why I hate brushing your teeth for you. I’m saying no next time. Ain’t worth it.”

“Huh?”

Kacchan rolls his eyes. There’s derision there, but below that, something worse. Something pained. Izuku doesn’t know what it means. His thoughts are sticky. He doesn’t have the energy to consult his Kacchan Expression Catalog. “We’ll talk about it later. ’S adult stuff.”

“Oh.” He hums, rubbing Bunmight against his cheek. “Okay, Kacchan.”

“So it was a normal dream, though?”

“I dreamt I killed Tenko-chan.”

Kacchan nods. “That was the dream?”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “I did kill Tenko-chan. So it was kind of a memory, too.”

“You want a hug?”

“Yes, please.”

Kacchan lifts his arm.

Izuku scoots over. It’s a slow process because he needs to make sure his butt stays against the bed. Kacchan’s brow pinches as he watches him wriggle over.

“What’re you thinking about?” Kacchan asks, breath hot against Izuku’s temple as he wraps an arm around him.

“Nothing,” he replies honestly. “When I woke up, your back was to me. But your face was very pretty.”

Kacchan sighs, hugging him tighter. “Try to go to sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

“I said try.”

He stares at the sharp line of light cutting up the side of Kacchan’s head. His hair glows against his temple like a cluster of lit sparklers. “Okay.”

He tries.

The convention center is packed. That’s to be expected, of course—it’s one of the biggest professional heroics conventions in North America, if not the biggest—and the hotel is awash with all sorts of pros and enthusiasts in various states of costume. From the local heroes to the international figure heads, Los Angeles Hero Con is stuffed to the brim with every kind of hero and fan.

“Oh my gosh, Kacchan, look!” Izuku whispers, squeezing his backpack against his chest. “Heliman! I promised Uraraka-san I’d get his autograph for her if I saw him.”

Kacchan sighs. He tucks his face further under his baseball cap. Well— It’s Izuku’s baseball cap, technically, but Kacchan has claimed it for himself over the years. “Fine. Gimme your phone so I can snap a lame ass picture of you two.”

He pouts, handing over his phone before he swings his backpack onto his shoulders. “Hi! Heliman! It’s so great to see you here! I’m a big fan and my friend is too, and I was wondering if…”

By midday, Izuku has entered into a kind of stupor that Kacchan refers to as ‘nerd drunk.’ They went to two single-hour panels—Breaking Into Heroics PR and Accessibility Technology and the Heroics Sector—which were both extremely underwhelming, before swinging back to the main atrium where Izuku filled his notebook with signatures from heroes he recognized and unknowns alike. He’s amassed a solid five pages now of various scrawls.

“Come on,” Kacchan says. “We gotta eat something.”

“We would have missed lunchtime, back home,” he observes, glancing at a clock. By a lot. Wow. He’s just been so excited!

“Exactly. Let’s grab some shit from one of the food trucks.”

He nods, smiling. “Sure! Oh! Look, Kacchan, there’s Vietnamese!”

“Hell no.”

He pouts. “Fine. Which one do you want?”

Kacchan shrugs. “What’re the options?”

Ah. That’s true— Kacchan speaks English decently, but he’s not great at reading. Izuku hums, lifting himself to his tiptoes to look around. “So… We’ve got a Vietnamese food truck; some kind of American food—burgers and stuff, I think; more American food—pizza—”

“Pizza’s Italian.”

“This is American Italian,” he insists, eyes roving over the trucks. “Um, looks like Mexican—”

“American Italian is Italian, dipshit.”

“Kacchan. Don’t interrupt, please. I’ll lose my place. Um, Mexican and then there looks like there’s ice cream.” He frowns. “Ice cream isn’t lunch food?”

“Say that to you when you’re in a mood,” Kacchan says.

He shoots Kacchan a scowl. “Kacchan. Be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” he replies. “Let’s grab pizza.”

“I want Vietnamese.”

“The hell? Thought you wanted Mexican, last night.”

“We can get Mexican for dinner. I want Vietnamese, right now.”

Kacchan shakes his head. “Fine, we’ll just split up.”

“Kacchan, you can’t eat a pizza by yourself; it’ll give you diarrhea.”

“Fuck, your filter is nonexistent. Fine, then help me eat it.”

“But I don’t want pizza.”

Kacchan looks to the sky. “We’re stuck, then.”

“Stuck?”

“Vote’s tied.”

“Nuh-uh!” he retorts, holding up his backpack. “Bunmight didn’t get to vote.”

Kacchan scowls. “Bunmight? He’s just gonna agree with you!”

“Not always!” Usually, though, yes. Naturally.

“Oh yeah?” Kacchan says flatly. “Then what does Bunmight vote?”

“Bunmight votes for Vietnamese!”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course he does.”

Izuku nods, hugging the backpack against his chest. “Of course, because it’s the best option.”

“Damn thing can’t even eat…” Still, Kacchan trails after Izuku as he heads for the Vietnamese food truck.

Kacchan pokes at his bánh mì, scowling.

Izuku hums, stuffing the rest of his into his mouth. “’S th’re a pr’bl’m, K’ch’n?”

“No. Fucking swallow before you speak.”

He swallows. “Is there a problem, Kacchan?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully.

Kacchan reaches over, grabbing Izuku’s bag. He rests it over his knee, setting the bánh mì on top. “Jet lag’s getting to me.”

Izuku hums. He’ll give Kacchan credit; that’s a pretty believable lie. “If something’s wrong, Kacchan—”

“I can tell you,” Kacchan says. “Uh huh.”

“Yeah. You can tell me.”

“You remember last night at all?”

He blinks. “Um. I had a panic attack. I think I woke you up? Sorry about that.”

Kacchan hands the bánh mì over. Izuku takes it, situating it in his hand and taking a bite while he watches Kacchan unzip the backpack and pull Bunmight out. He sets him on his thigh, leaning against the bag. “Sometimes I wish this thing actually could talk to me.”

Izuku rears back. “Bunmight?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean…I can talk to you, Kacchan.”

“You wanna be his translator? That it?”

A soft, confused laugh leaves him. “No? I mean— I guess I could, but technically anything Bunmight says to me is just me talking to myself, right?”

“Technically,” Kacchan echoes.

“Kacchan, what’s this about?”

“I changed my mind,” he says. “I’m hungry. Give it back.”

Izuku hands the bánh mì back over. He watches Kacchan eat. Neither of them says anything more.

Diving back into Los Angeles Hero Con is a whirlwind. Izuku admits, he’s a bit shellshocked by the time he totters back to Kacchan after a very fruitful new batch of signatures. He got Rebel With Cause’s signature! The Rebel With Cause!

“There’s no way these people are half as famous as you act like they are.” Kacchan hands him back his phone.

Izuku shakes his head, swinging his bag back around to hug against his chest. “No! Rebel With Cause is the rockabilly western American hero. I could never hope to compete!”

Kacchan rolls his eyes. “Sure, whatever.”

Izuku zeroes in on the bag sitting beside Kacchan by the wall. It’s dark blue and opaque. “What’s that, Kacchan?”

“Huh?”

“The bag.” He points.

Kacchan bends down to snatch it up. “Nothing.”

Izuku cocks his head. “It looks big.” The plastic strains around it. Heavy. Hm.

“Lay off, Sherlock. You’ll see it in the hotel, probably.”

Probably.

“Okay,” he says, making a show of setting his eyes somewhere else.

Kacchan checks his watch. “Just about dinner time.”

“Kacchan, it’s barely five.”

“I said what I said.”

Izuku gives him a fond, exasperated smile. “Okay. Mexican, right?”

“Yeah, sure. You got one picked out?”

“Ah. …No.”

“Izuku.”

“I’ll look while we walk to the car!” he buries his nose in his phone.

Kacchan wraps an arm around his shoulders and helps direct him while he stumbles against Kacchan’s hip, considering their options.

Izuku punches his pillow, grumbling when it slowly fills back with air.

“Are you done throwing your dumb little tantrum?” Kacchan asks, kneeling by his suitcase.

“It’s not a tantrum,” he replies. “I just can’t get this pillow into a shape I want!”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“Kacchan. I’m an adult, right now.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t. You probably have more dumbass tantrums when you’re an adult.”

“Kacchan.”

“Quit sulking. I got something for you.”

He twists. “Huh?”

The blue bag drops on the bed with a thump.

He shuffles over on his knees, peering at it. “I can open this?”

“No, I just threw it on the bed for you to stare at.”

He pouts, reaching inside. When his fingers encounter soft fur, he stops, eyes wide. “Oh. Is this…?”

“Take it out and look.”

He reaches in with both hands and wrestles out a strangely heavy plush sheep. “Oh wow,” he says, turning it around. Its little knitted eyes stare back at him from under its mess of fur. “It’s so soft.”

“Yup.” Kacchan stands before the mattress, arms folded over his chest.

“It’s for me?”

Kacchan gives him a look. “Who else would it be for?”

Izuku hugs the stuffed animal to his chest. The synthetic fur is very soft. He digs his fingers in. “It’s heavy.”

“’S weighted.”

“Hm?”

“Like, it’s got beads or some shit in it.” Kacchan gestures. “Go on. Lie down.”

Izuku leans until he’s lying on his back. The toy presses on him. It’s solid in his arms, like holding a cat that doesn’t mind getting squeezed. His heart thumps slowly, nerves loose and easy. It feels like a lesser version of when Kacchan lies on top of him. “Oh,” he marvels.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm. It’s really nice. Thank you, Kacchan!”

Kacchan sits down on the bed, shuffling until he’s lying beside him. He drops a hand on the stuffed toy. “Heard these things help with shit.”

“Ah. I guess that makes sense. It’s kinda like when you lie on me, you know? Not as good, but it’s still really nice. Like if I had a fat cat on me or something.”

He snorts. “We’re not getting a cat.”

“No,” Izuku agrees. “We’re not home enough. We’d have to get two. Or three. But even then, they’d probably get lonely without us, since cats form—”

Kacchan kisses him.

Izuku hums, reciprocating. He hugs the toy tighter, craning his neck when Kacchan licks against his lips. Honestly, he’s not the biggest fan of open mouth kissing—it’s wet and he’s never really sure what to do—but Kacchan likes it and he doesn’t get bothered when Izuku passively laps at him instead doing some arcane tongue dance.

When they pull away, Kacchan drags him closer, pressing his face into the crown of Izuku’s head. His hand trails down to stroke his hip, thumb rubbing against his adonis belt.

Izuku blinks. “Kacchan, are you horny?”

“Fuck off,” Kacchan replies, slipping his hand into Izuku’s shorts to palm his soft cock. “You wanna have sex?”

He perks up. “Can I eat you out?”

A groan. “Fine. But then you’re railing me with Fa Jin.”

“Yes, Kacchan!” He scrambles off the bed, setting the weighted stuffed animal on the pillow beside Bunmight. He shucks his shorts, hopping in his boxers as he dislodges his socks. “Did you pack lube in your bag or mine?”

“Mine.”

He hums, rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth to build up some kinetic energy. Kacchan definitely wants Fa Jin in Izuku’s hips, but he can’t fault him for giving him a little surprise while he’s rimming him, too.

“My boner’s dying, Izuku. Fuckin’ hurry up.”

He pulls out the lube from the bottom of Kacchan’s suitcase with a triumphant smile. Of course Kacchan would wrap something like this in three pairs of plain gray boxer briefs. “Oh no! I can blow you to get him back to fighting spirit, Kacchan!”

“Don’t talk about my dick like it’s a person! And no! You fucking suck at giving blowjobs.”

“I could get better with more practice,” he offers, clambering onto the bed.

“You’ve had years of ‘practice’,” Kacchan says flatly. “You are not getting better.”

Privately, Izuku thinks Kacchan just doesn’t prefer blowjobs. Which is fine because Izuku hates giving them. They aren’t very compatible when it comes to kinks, but in terms of giving and receiving, they certainly are. Kacchan likes anal stimulation and Izuku really, really likes providing it.

“Hi, Kacchan’s cute little butthole,” he sighs when he lifts Kacchan’s hips.

“Don’t fucking talk to my asshole!”

He nuzzles against the puckered bit of silky skin, humming. Kacchan smells especially clean here. And he’s a little loose. “You were fingering yourself in the shower?”

“Die.”

“Cute,” he murmurs, licking a long stripe up his perineum.

When his charged tongue darts in, Kacchan smacks the top of his head and shrieks.

He wakes up with Papa pressed against his back. This is not unheard of, though it’s not very common. Papa is warm and big behind him, hot breath rustling his knotted mess of hair.

He’s only in his underwear. That sets him on alert. He quickly takes stock of his limbs. Nothing hurts. Not even his useless— Not even his butt. Papa must not have ripped him open. But if he didn’t do that, what did he do? How did they end up in bed?

His body feels loose and easy, actually. Izuku frowns. His arms are curled around a very soft, heavy mass of fur. And Bunmight.

Ah. Bunmight. That must be what happened. Bunmight stopped Papa from ripping him open.

No, Bunmight says.

No? Izuku whispers in his head. If he talks and Papa hears him, he knows he’ll be in very big trouble. It’s important to be quiet.

No, that’s not Papa! Silly, Papa is dead.

His stomach floods with ice.

When he sits up, Kacchan’s arm slides off of him. “Kacchan,” he whispers urgently, shaking his bare shoulder. “Kacchan!”

“Mmwhat,” Kacchan grumbles, pressing his face into the pillow.

“Kacchan,” he whispers, “Chichi’s dead!”

Kacchan’s eyes snap open.

“Wh-what am I supposed to do?” He sniffles, hugging his arms against his bare chest. “Mama’s a widow, now! I’ll have to support her! I can’t get a job! I still haven’t learned all my kanji.”

Kacchan sits up, grabbing his arm. “Izuku. Calm down.”

He bites his lip. Kacchan is so strong and cool. He’ll know what to do.

“Sh. Sh, calm down. Sh.”

He swallows, wiping his eyes. “M’kay, Kacchan. M’kay.”

“He died a while ago,” Kacchan says.

“What?” he asks, voice hitching. “How—?”

“A car accident. Hey. Sh. Hold onto this. Hold it.”

Izuku winds his arms around the heavy stuffed animal. He’s very soft. He presses on his thighs and tummy. Kacchan reaches over and settles Bunmight on top of him, squishing him under Izuku’s chin. “H-his name’s Sheep, Kacchan.”

“The stuffed animal?”

“Yeah.”

“Creative name.”

He sniffles. “’S just his name.”

“You didn’t pick it?”

“No.” That’s silly. “His mom did.”

“Oh, so his mom named him, not you?”

“Uh… Uh huh.” He swallows thickly. “M-moms pick out babies’ names…”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Kacchan sits next to him, rubbing at the nape of his neck. It’s bare. Izuku’s back is bare.

“C-can I? Um. Put on a shirt, Kacchan? Please.”

“Sure,” Kacchan says. His voice is easy and confident. Kacchan is so cool. Izuku’s so lucky that they’re friends. He leans over the side of the bed and grabs a t-shirt, handing it over.

Izuku takes it. He wrinkles his nose at the smell. It’s musky. He doesn’t like that. Still, he doesn’t like having his bare back out, so he wriggles his way into it, head popping out the other end. He hugs Sheep and Bunmight against him again, rocking back and forth. “Thank you, Kacchan. When did Chichi die?”

“About a year ago,” Kacchan says. “A little more.”

Izuku lets out a soft sob, wiping his eyes on his forearm. “I thought he was in bed with me. B-but Bunmight said no, said Chichi’s dead.”

“Yeah.” Kacchan scoots a little closer. “Bunmight’s right. Did you wake up in bed with your dad a lot?”

He shrugs, pressing his chin against the plushies. “Sometimes.”

Kacchan’s face is unreadable in the low light. “What happened? When you were in bed together?”

Izuku shifts, squeezing his thighs together. “I… ‘M not supposed to say.”

“Who told you that?”

“Nobody. Just know I’m not supposed to.”

Kacchan’s mouth is a thin line. “Well, your dad is gone now. So he can’t get mad if you tell me.”

Izuku shakes his head. “Still not supposed to.”

“What about Bunmight? Do you tell Bunmight?”

He stiffens. “…Y-yeah. But that doesn’t count, ‘cause Bunmight is my bedtime buddy. He needs to know. Why is Chichi dead, Kacchan?”

“I told you. It was an accident.”

It was not an accident, Bunmight informs him. You know what happened. You just don’t want to think about it. That’s okay.

“Okay,” he whispers back. Bunmight probably wants to play games to forget, but he doesn’t know this room and he feels weird playing in a bed he doesn’t like.

“What was that?” Kacchan asks.

“Um. Bunmight said it’s not an accident, but that I don’t want to think about it, so…”

Kacchan hums.

Izuku rubs his cheek against Sheep’s fur. “Kacchan, why are we sleeping in a bed together?”

“We usually do,” Kacchan says. “You don’t remember?”

He shakes his head. He remembers. He doesn’t remember, at the same time. It all feels like a dream. His body keeps trying to inform him of contradictory facts. “I don’t… I don’t know this room. ’S weird.”

“Yeah, that might be throwing you off.” Kacchan shifts, tilting his head. “We’re on a trip together. This is a hotel room.”

He blinks. “Oh. That makes sense.” Los Angeles Hero Con.

“Come on. Let’s lie down and try to go back to sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

“That’s the jet lag. We’re in another time zone. We still need to try, though, or we’ll be tired when it’s daylight.”

That also makes sense. He lies back until his head thumps against the pillow. Sheep is heavy on his chest.

In the quiet, lying beside each other, he hugs the plushies tight. Bunmight nuzzles against his throat. It’s so dark. Kacchan lies ahead of him, a steadfast presence. His best friend in the whole world. “Chichi would take me to bed sometimes after we got square.”

Kacchan tenses. “Yeah?” His body seems unhappy, but his voice doesn’t sound upset.

“Mmhm. A-and, um. I don’t really remember what happened. I think we’d just take a nap.” His voice is raspy. “B-but Chichi would curl around my back and rub my tummy. I, um.” He bites his lip, voice petering out.

“What?” Kacchan prods neutrally.

“I didn’t like it,” he confesses to the dark. “Scared me.”

Kacchan doesn’t say anything.

“I— I was always scared he’d…do something. Dunno. Sometimes I thought I felt… Ah. I dunno. And he’d rub me and stick his fingers in my mouth and, um. I didn’t like it. Wasn’t as bad as when we were getting square, but it was still really scary.” He squeezes his arms tight around Bunmight and Sheep. “I know it’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” Kacchan says. “That does sound scary.”

“I’m just a scaredy-cat,” Izuku replies. “If it were Kacchan, he wouldn’t be scared. Kacchan isn’t scared of anything.”

It’s so quiet in the dark. He can hear Kacchan’s soft breaths. Can hear his own. “You’re brave.”

He furrows his brow. “No, I’m not. I get scared of stuff lots.”

“That’s what makes you brave.”

“Ah. That kind of cheesy line isn’t very Kacchan-like…”

“Oi. Shove it.”

His lips crack into a small smile. “That’s more like Kacchan.”

The stiff sheets shift as Kacchan rolls over. “You’re the bravest damn person I ever met,” he says, low and serious.

Izuku looks at him, or what little he can see in the dark. The faint sheen of Kacchan’s eyes. “You killed Chichi, didn’t you?”

“You don’t need to be scared anymore,” is all Kacchan says.

He blinks, lashes sticky with old tears. “You’re the only friend I ever had, Kacchan.”

“…That’s not true,” Kacchan replies thickly.

“Uh uh. Nobody at school likes me. I… Not even you. But I’m glad we were friends. I wish I didn’t make you hate me.”

“You didn’t.”

“Why’re you mean to me sometimes, then? Why’d you kill Chichi if you don’t hate me?”

“I’m mean because I suck,” Kacchan says, voice creaking. “And I killed your dad because he was hurting you and he wasn’t going to stop.”

Izuku shifts. “Kacchan doesn’t suck,” he chides. “Kacchan’s the coolest.” He reaches out, blindly patting a hand against Kacchan’s face. He lands on his neck first, then his jaw. “Chichi only did stuff because I was being bad. I don’t know how to be good.”

“You’re always good, Izuku.”

He frowns.

“Always,” Kacchan insists. His skin moves under Izuku’s fingers, the muscles of his jaw tensing and releasing. “Some people don’t understand that. I didn’t understand that, not for a while. But you are. You’re good.”

He blushes, feels the heat trail down his neck. Hearing that makes him feel sick and nervous and weird. It’s not true. Kacchan seems to think he’s saying something real, though. “Did we go to the funeral?”

“Yeah,” Kacchan says. “You cried a lot.”

That makes sense. “And Mama was there?”

“Everybody was there.”

He hums, patting Kacchan’s cheek. “Chichi was popular.”

“We were there for you,” Kacchan says.

“Why would you all do that?”

His breath sighs against Izuku’s grazing knuckles. “Because we care about you.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah.” He shifts. “Try to sleep now, okay?”

Izuku tries to trace the slope of Kacchan’s pretty face in the low light. His gaze falls off, though, each time. “Okay, Kacchan.”

“Can I hold you?”

He retracts his arm slowly, wrapping it back around Sheep and Bunmight. “If Kacchan wants.”

“What do you want?”

“If Kacchan wants to touch me, he can.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I don’t know the answer,” he admits. “I don’t…I don’t know things like that.”

Kacchan’s eyes shimmer. He doesn’t reach out. He keeps his hands to himself.

Izuku holds the weight against his chest and closes his eyes.

Day two of the convention is pretty uneventful. In a fun way, Izuku means. Plenty of autograph opportunities (he’s filled up another two pages, this morning alone) and neat cosplays from fans in attendance. Today has just been more of yesterday and yesterday was pretty great, so he’s more than content.

Plus, he got to see Condor! The Condor! American High Flyer of the Californian Wilderness, Condor! Isn’t that the coolest? She’s been in the top one hundred of American heroics for the past fifteen years and the number six hero of the Pacific Northwest hero charts for over a decade. And she said hi! To him! She wrote Hi, Deku! I’m a big fan! - Condor in his notebook. How crazy is that?

“You already showed me eight times.” Kacchan shoves Izuku’s notebook away from his face. “Damn nerd, you’re the biggest celebrity here. She probably wanted your autograph.”

He shakes his head. “No, she didn’t ask for it.”

Kacchan rolls his eyes.

Regardless of how the rest of the con goes, Izuku will consider it a fantastic success. Even if the last panel, The Future of Support Gear, had been so underwhelming that Kacchan had had to cover his mouth for him so he wouldn’t point out why the panelist was totally wrong about the history of suppression cuffs. He’s gotten to see so many amazing heroes and chatted in line with some very nice fans!

It seems the lunch struggle has reignited for yet another day, though. He swings his backpack around in his arms while they idle in front of vendors in between panels, watching Kacchan fumble through lists of nearby restaurants in the map app on his phone.

“I’m not getting any fucking bánh mì or tacos or whatever today,” Kacchan says. “We’re splitting a pizza.”

“Okay Kacchan,” Izuku says. “But when you get gassy, I’m gonna be pretty disappointed.”

“Idiot, I’m not gonna get gassy.”

“You will,” he replies. “Kacchan always gets a little gassy when he eats cheese.”

“You got statistics on that?”

“You know I do.”

Kacchan rolls his eyes. He opens his mouth, about to speak, before they both hear a shrill, “Is that Dynamight?”

Izuku’s head pops up. Kacchan, beside him, stiffens. A pair of white women have stopped to stare at them. A few other people milling about have slowed to take note, glancing back and forth.

“Kacchan,” he murmurs.

“Let’s get out of here,” Kacchan hisses. “Fuck.”

Izuku nods, standing straight. Unfortunately, before he can get a step in, the women approach. “Hi,” one says. “Dynamight, we’re pretty big fans! We didn’t know you’d be at this convention.”

“You don’t really do conventions,” the other one adds.

“He doesn’t,” Izuku says. “Um. Excuse me, I think you’re confused. We’re just fans visiting the convention. Do you mind if we go?”

They stare at him blankly.

“That isn’t Dynamight,” he says.

“He has the same scar,” one points out, brow furrowed.

Kacchan grimaces.

Shit. Izuku frowns, brain rapidly running through a series of potential dialogue paths. If he says this, they’ll probably say that, or maybe that, or maybe…

“Oh my gosh,” one of them says, “you must be Deeku.”

“Deeku,” he echoes blankly.

“The muttering! That’s totally Deeku.”

“Lots of people mutter?” he says, confused. “Like, it’s not a trait solely confined to me. —O-or Deku! If you mean Deku. I don’t know who Deeku is, but I’m assuming that you’re mispronouncing ‘Deku,’ which is totally understandable, considering that he doesn’t have an English hero name. I guess a localized hero name would be something like… Hm. That’s kind of tricky, actually. I’ve got to think about that, now—”

Kacchan grabs him around his arm and yanks him back, marching further into the rows of vendors. It occurs to Izuku that more people are looking at them, now. He hears whispers of “Dynamight” and snatches of “that’s totally Dynamight, dude!” and similar stuff. Shit. This really isn’t good.

“I’m sorry, Kacchan,” he says, turning to walk with him, keeping his head down.

“Why are you sorry?” Kacchan hisses. “They’re the damn extras who don’t know basic fucking etiquette!”

Hearing Kacchan gripe about “basic fucking etiquette” is a bit rich, but the situation is too nerve-wrecking for Izuku to find any amusement. “I shouldn’t have talked to them,” he whispers back. “I think I escalated it.”

“No, you were trying to save face for both of us. Fucking— Don’t do that shit. Not now.”

“What shit?”

“That self-deprecating bullshit. Come on.”

Kacchan drags him toward the wall of the dealers’ room. “Kacchan, they’re going to follow us here and corner us.”

“There’s, like, a private area near the back—”

“Kacchan, that’s the sex toy area!”

Kacchan turns, giving him a horrified look. “What the fuck do you mean? That’s what that is?”

“Yes! We can’t go in there if they know you’re Dynamight; our PR managers would join forces to strangle us! And put us on desk probation.”

“Then where do we go to shake these fucks off?”

Izuku glances behind him and the slowly growing crowd of gawking con-goers. “U-um. Well, I have a map in my backpack, but ummm…”

“Pull it out. We’re leaving.”

“I don’t want to open my backpack when they’re staring at us,” he admits softly, sweat pricking his hairline.

Kacchan sighs. “Fine. I’ll body block you.”

“Kacchan, no—”

“I’m doing it.”

As soon as Kacchan shuffles in front of him, Izuku can hear the crowd start to aim questions at him. He unzips the backpack, stuffing his hand inside to the grab the map, knuckles brushing against Bunmight as his heart presses to his ribs. Ugh. Terrible. Absolutely terrible.

The map offers very little explanation.

“Are you really Dynamight?”

“Wow, it’s Dynamight! Say something in Japanese!”

“Do you have a panel?”

“Is it true you and Deku are gay married?”

“Heyyyy Dynamight!”

“Is it true you died?”

Izuku hears his own blood in his head, his body stiffening. The stench of mud and blood and ozone. Static crackles under his skin, buzzing in thin strips.

“Izuku,” Kacchan hisses.

He jerks awake, shaking his head. Think. The only exits from this room are where they came from, an emergency exit, and— “Th-the quiet room!” he realizes. “Kacchan, the quiet room is attached, just south.”

“The what?” Kacchan asks.

“Just follow me!” He swings his backpack over his shoulders and grabs Kacchan’s arm, walking swiftly down the aisle, ducking his head as he slips between attendees. Kacchan grunts behind him, the toe of his shoe occasionally clipping Izuku’s heel.

The sound of English prattling follows them. Izuku keeps his grip firm on Kacchan, skin to skin, and his eyes on the ground as he drags them to the quiet room.

A staff member is standing outside of it. They give the two of them a wide side-eye that Izuku meets for half a second before he looks down again and tugs Kacchan into the room with him.

“Dynamight, do you do autographs?”

“Dynamight—”

“Is that Deku?”

“Hi, Dynamight! Do—”

“If you’re going to make noise, you need to leave,” the person at the entrance says, voice firm. “This is the quiet room.”

The group of gawkers hum and haw, crowding closer. Murmurs of “we’ll be quiet” are rebuffed quickly by the con staff.

Izuku releases a shaky breath, dropping Kacchan’s hand. He wipes his sweaty palms on his shorts, eyes slipping closed.

“Fuck,” Kacchan whispers. “The hell is up with people?”

“You’re famous,” he replies, voice soft.

“So are you. Don’t see people jumping for your autograph.”

He turns, pointing to his own face. “I’m pretty plain. You stand out. Especially with your good looks.”

Kacchan makes a sour face at him. “Bullshit.”

Izuku shrugs. He can’t make Kacchan accept the facts. They’ve had this exact argument many times over. Basically whenever Kacchan has been mobbed in public. That’s why he wears Izuku’s baseball cap when they’re out on dates; he calls it his “fuck off hat.” Izuku calls it his Musutafu Minotaurs cap that his mom got him when he was twelve, which he has generously donated to maintaining Kacchan’s secret identity.

Still, people here had noticed him even with the cap. He supposes that’s because they’re super fans. And Kacchan does have a pretty distinctive scar on his face. Maybe Izuku being near him added an association that allowed them to connect some dots. Hard to say for sure.

“So I guess we just sit here until those losers leave.”

Izuku shrugs, taking off his backpack. He takes a bracing breath before releasing it, looking around the room. There’s only a small smattering of people hanging around. A couple are sitting at a table with their heads buried in their arms. There’s also somebody rocking back and forth in the corner. Maybe someone should tell them that that’s not socially appropriate behavior?

Kacchan grabs his shoulder. “Don’t even think about it.”

Izuku hums, turning back to him.

“Let’s just sit down.”

He follows Kacchan to the floor, curling his limbs around his backpack. He props his head on the top, fingers running idly along the straps.

“Fuck,” Kacchan says weakly again. He fists his hair, sighing.

“They’ll go away,” Izuku says. “Then we can go get pizza.”

Kacchan snorts. “Sure.”

“Yeah! I want a margarita.”

“Thought you didn’t want pizza.”

“I’m fine with pizza. I’m just not looking forward to your diarrhea.”

Kacchan lifts his head, giving Izuku a cold stare. “I’m not gonna have diarrhea.”

Izuku returns to petting his backpack, figuring it’s best not to press Kacchan on the issue. Pizza is the least they can do, considering the kind of stressful situation they’re currently in. So yeah, Kacchan can eat his pizza and stink up their hotel bed. Izuku can suffer in silence. He’s good at that.

“People are so damn pushy here,” Kacchan comments, voice low.

“Mm. I think that’s just a cultural thing.”

“Seriously?”

“Or maybe more of a convention thing,” he amends, eyes slipping closed. “People at conventions are a bit weird, sometimes. Or pushy. Or just awkward, in general. I don’t think most mean to be rude.”

It takes Kacchan a moment to respond with a, “Yeah.”

“They’re still there, aren’t they?”

A sigh. “Yeah.”

“Hm.” They’re probably snapping pictures. Izuku doesn’t like that; he hates having his picture taken without being asked. He hates it even more when Kacchan is photographed without permission, though. Absolutely despises that.

He discreetly shuffles over, butt dragging on the floor as he tries to find an angle that will be the best for body blocking Kacchan’s visage from these vultures.

A snort. “You’re so petty.”

He looks up, blinking. “Huh?”

Kacchan just gives him a mean little smile. Cute.

“What’s that mean?”

“You’re a dumbass.”

Izuku shrugs, idly slipping the top strap of his backpack into his mouth before settling again.

“Get that out of your mouth, heathen.”

He spits it out, rolling his eyes.

“There’s no way that tastes good.”

“Tastes like shit,” he agrees.

“So…”

“Give it another fifteen minutes,” he says. “They’ve got to leave eventually, right?”

“We could give you another exit,” someone says.

Izuku sits up. A person with a staff badge is standing awkwardly, arms braced on either side.

“What?” Kacchan asks.

“They said they could give us another exit,” Izuku replies in Japanese.

“Like, there’s a staff exit we can escort you through,” the staff member continues, shifting. “Figure this is kind of a special case… Just don’t tell anyone.”

“Fuck yes,” Kacchan says, rolling onto his knees. “Save us.”

They don’t go back to the convention after that. A bit of a bummer, but not a huge one. Izuku isn’t that invested in the rest of the panels for the three-day event and he’d rather keep Kacchan to himself and away from prying fans.

Instead, they grab lunch and hang out on the steps of a public building, after a weirdly quiet drive that concluded with Kacchan screeching about parking. The pizza is good. Really good. Kacchan is a genius, even if Izuku will be reaping the consequences later. They even get a big bottle of cola and share it, which Izuku thinks is quite romantic. Kacchan’s mouth touched that bottle!

“Fuck, you’re thirsty,” Kacchan comments, watching him suck down the last dredges.

He pops his mouth off, gasping. “I love sharing drinks with Kacchan.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course you do. Enjoy my backwash, sure.”

“I do!”

“Ew, nerd, what the fuck?”

“You’re the one who said it,” he points out, setting the bottle down.

“It was supposed to be a— Whatever.” Kacchan reaches out, tugging at Izuku’s backpack sitting between them. He slips his arm out of the strap, letting Kacchan pull it against his side. He unzips, setting Bunmight between them on the concrete.

“Kacchan?” he asks.

“Figured he deserved to get some air,” Kacchan says.

“Oh.” Izuku blinks, reaching out to rub Bunmight’s ear. “Yeah. He’s been cooped up all day.” He frowns. “…That’s a really weird thing for you to say.”

“Hah? What’s weird about it?”

“I dunno. ’S just weird for you.” He tries to piece together a sentence that won’t send Kacchan into conniptions. “You…don’t really acknowledge Bunmight a lot.”

Kacchan’s face gets red, but he doesn’t start spitting.

“Like, you’ve definitely been more involved with him since…” It hangs in the silence between them. Izuku’s lips tremble before he’s able to regain his voice. “And, ah. Since that, yeah. You’ve been nicer to him. But still. I guess I’m thinking about what you said the other day, too, about wanting to talk to him.”

Kacchan’s color makes a partial recovery.

“And you got me Sheep! Which was incredibly nice, Kacchan, but you don’t usually get me, um, how do I say this? You don’t usually get me stuffed animals or anything that’s, like, y’know, for me when I’m like that. N-not that I just like them when I’m like that, but, um. You probably know what I mean.” He lets go of Bunmight’s ear, biting his lip as he squeezes his hands together in his lap.

Kacchan shrugs, eyes darting to the side. He grabs Bunmight, holding him for a moment before pulling him onto his lap, idly fiddling with an arm. “I’m better about this stuff, aren’t I?”

Izuku blinks. “Stuff like… Like that?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean. I guess? You’ve always been mostly good about it, I think.”

Kacchan wears that one expression that means he doesn’t agree at all but he doesn’t feel like getting into an argument about it because it might make him cry. Izuku decides to be the bigger man and not point this out. “You just mumbled it,” Kacchan says.

“Oh. Shoot. Sorry.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He blushes, flustered. “Kacchan.”

Kacchan arches a brow.

“A-ah, anyways, yeah, let’s not argue about it. But um, that’s where I’m coming from. I think Kacchan’s been mostly good. And over the past year, he’s been…” Careful. Considerate. Izuku doesn’t want to say these, either, but apparently his mouth is just a big, clumsy idiot. He feels along the seams of his lips, making sure they’re closed.

Kacchan gives him a new look. It’s exasperated, though his mouth does that thing it does whenever he wants to kiss Izuku. Ah, that’s kind of hard to parse.

“Kacchan has been very intentional,” he settles on, lips brushing against his fingers.

“Intentional,” Kacchan echoes. “…Sure. I have been. Been thinking about all of this a lot, I guess.”

“Ah.”

He looks down at Bunmight, jaw tensing. “I guess it’s just…you’ve had this thing for years, right? Bunmight.”

“Since I was four,” he replies.

Kacchan nods. “Sometimes, this thing was the only friend you had. When you were going through all that shit.”

Izuku chews on his bottom lip, brow furrowing.

“Guess I’m thankful. Dunno. It’s weird to be thankful to an inanimate object—like you said, anything he’s ever said to you is just you—but it feels like…” He stops. “I don’t know why I’m acting like what I’m gonna say is a crazy concept. ’S not. I’m taking about tsukumogami.”

“Oh.” He sits up, cocking his head. “You think Bunmight is haunted?”

Kacchan grimaces. “Not haunted. I don’t even think he’s got a soul, but it’s just… It’s been on my mind.”

He taps his chin. “Bunmight isn’t old enough to be a tsukumogami, anyways. He’s nowhere close to a hundred years old! He can’t be much older than when I got him, I bet.”

He sighs. “I didn’t mean literally. I don’t think he’s actually a tsukumogami, shit. Like I said, just been thinking about the concept.”

“Ah. I guess.”

“I…owe him,” Kacchan grinds out.

Izuku cocks his head. “Bunmight?”

“Yeah.”

The wind ruffles their hair. Izuku considers Kacchan’s face. “…I don’t understand.”

“You wouldn’t.”

His brow furrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kacchan gives him a tired look. Izuku feels a nervous sense drip down his nape like old sweat.

“Do you want to go back to the hotel?” he asks, regretting his question.

Kacchan looks away, fiddling with Bunmight’s paws. “Parking’s good for another forty minutes. Like hell am I wasting that.” He stands, setting him back inside the backpack and zipping it up. “Come on. Let’s go do tourist shit or whatever.”

Kacchan gets moderately gassy, but no notable diarrhea. If it’s any worse than that, he’s staunchly keeping his secrets. Izuku takes note in his phone, silently reminding himself to add it to the spreadsheet later.

The sight-seeing is nice, even if Kacchan asks him to explain the pun on every single t-shirt in that one novelty shop only to reply, each time, with “I don’t get it.” It’s a tiny bit annoying, but also refreshing to receive some classic Kacchan charm. Kacchan really is the cutest, especially when he’s being a brat.

The drive back to the hotel isn’t terrible, either, though Kacchan invents new turns of phrase that Izuku certainly will not be putting in his Kacchan Language notes. Those deserve to fade into history.

As soon as they’re back their hotel room, Kacchan rips off his baseball cap, tossing it onto the bed. “Kacchan,” he admonishes, slipping off his shoes and setting them by the door, “my mom got me that.”

“Sorry,” he grunts, picking it back up.

Izuku sighs as he stretches, back popping. He bends down again to unzip his backpack, pulling out Bunmight and their water bottles. While Kacchan puts his baseball cap on the small dresser, Izuku sets everything in his arms on the nightstand. “Wow. That was a lot today, huh?”

“Fuck, that was so annoying.”

“You’re famous,” he says, crawling onto the bed and planting himself in the center.

Kacchan sits down heavily on the bed. “Scoot.”

“Mm.”

Undeterred, he settles himself against the headboard, slowly prying Izuku off of the duvet and rolling him onto his side. Once he’s found his position, he lets go, letting Izuku flop against his hip. “You’re heavy as shit.”

He hums, propping himself up on an elbow. He nuzzles against Kacchan’s throat. “Sex?” he asks.

Kacchan snorts. “Smooth.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Something slow,” Kacchan replies.

Izuku’s heart clenches at that.

“Real slow,” he says, lower.

Ah. He licks his lips, cock twitching in his shorts. “Okay, Kacchan.” His voice cracks. “M-me on top or…?”

“We’ll work that out when we get there, nerd.”

“Are you okay receiving, right now? Just. I know you had that pizza and—”

A pillow smacks his face.

“Kacchan!” he shrieks, writhing.

Too slow. He was too fucking slow, he—

He never actually called out to him. His throat had died. Arid and lifeless as the sacrifices surrounding him on every side. He never managed to say anything when faced with the reality of—

Kacchan. In front of him. Dead.

“Do you like your present?”

He stiffens.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder.

“All For One,” he murmurs.

“He was the closest to you. What response do you have to your ‘gift’? I was hoping for more thrashing and screaming, but…”

Something large inside of him swells, rancid and black. It crawls up his throat with spiny tendrils, its roots burrowed into his lungs.

“Since you definitely didn’t appreciate my last birthday present, I figured this would be more to your taste.”

He chokes on his breath.

“You didn’t even give me a kiss, last year, Izuku.”

“A-All For One, what—”

Except it’s not All For One. He knows it’s not All For One. It’s… It’s…

He whimpers, feeling hot hands grip hard around his hips. “Stay still,” chides behind him.

“O-Otouchan—”

“This is your fault,” clangs in the hollow of his skull. His vision rattles, out of focus and wholly fixated on Kacchan’s muddy corpse.

“I’m sorry!” he wails, voice raw. Kacchan, dead. Kacchan— “‘M sorry! Sorry!”

“No, Izuku,” Papa says, hot breath against the nape of his neck. Fingers wrap around his chin, feeding a thumb into his lips that depresses his tongue until he chokes. Something prods at the other door to his body. “Not yet. Keep looking.”

Then he’s lit ablaze.

“Shit! Izuku! Fucking— Calm down!”

He gasps, twisting in a mess of blankets, banging into a cage of arms on either side. Air doesn’t exist. His heart is so heavy and large in his chest that it has no room to beat. Kacchan is dead. Kacchan is dead and it’s his fault.

“You gotta let me go, Izuku.”

He blinks, eyes stinging. Above him hangs the face of Kacchan’s corpse. Static clings to Izuku’s limbs, the vines curling up Kacchan’s body and animating it. He forces his mouth shut, breathing hard through his nose.

“Izuku. Lemme go.”

He shakes his head, shoulders curling. If he lets go, the corpse will fall on him. Kacchan’s corpse. Kacchan’s body. Maybe he wants that, though, even if it’s bad. One last hug with Kacchan.

He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on his swollen heart. Stop it, he thinks. Let go.

A hand touches his cheek. He flinches, jerking away. “Papa, no,” he mutters weakly.

It’s quiet behind his eyelids. He can taste the black static down his own throat, filling the hollow cavity of his mouth with prickled burs. No entry.

“Izuku.”

He keeps breathing.

“Oi. Look at me.”

“‘An’t,” he murmurs, mouth full.

“…You got Blackwhip in your mouth?”

He sniffles, eyes cracking open just enough to see the swaying silhouette of Kacchan’s body.

“It was a dream, Izuku,” Kacchan says. “Was just a dream. You’re with me in a hotel room in Los Angeles. We’ve been going to a nerdy hero convention. You always wanted to go.”

The black stuff is all over, fisting the bedsheets into clumps at his sides. It wraps around his own body, tight around his thighs and tummy, plastering his clothes to his body. It’s even tighter around Kacchan, looped around his arms and chest and throat.

“Come on,” Kacchan says lowly. “Lemme go. I can help you calm down, but you gotta let me go first.”

He whines, shaking his head. The static presses past his lips now, keeping his mouth stuffed and inaccessible.

“Izuku. You trust me, yeah? It’s Kacchan.”

Of course he trusts Kacchan.

“Try to relax a little. Focus on another feeling. I get that you’re pissed—” He’s pissed? “—but if you let me go, I can give you a big hug, okay?”

Hug. He wants a hug from Kacchan. He wants a hug from Kacchan so bad. He whines, squirming and nodding.

Kacchan’s cold nose nudges against his temple. “Just chill. Come on. Chill out enough to let me go and then I’ll lay on you and help you calm down.”

He whines.

“How about we go to the beach tomorrow?” Kacchan says. “You wanted to see the beach, right? We could go tomorrow instead of Thursday.”

He sucks in a shuddering breath, eyes stinging with tears. “O-o’ay.”

“Yeah. What do you want to do on the beach, Izuku?”

His thoughts slowly pick their way along the tenuous thread of this new conversation. He breathes hard. “U-uh. W-wa’a…p’ay i’ san’…”

“Play in the sand? Yeah. That sounds fun. What about the water? Want to go in the water?”

“‘ay’e? ‘igh’ ‘e… ‘E col’…”

Kacchan nods. “Yeah, the water might be cold. You’ve gone in some pretty cold water before, though. I bet you’ll try to swim.”

His head sinks against the pillow in small increments. He blinks, lashes sticky. “I-if’s…un’er…um, u-un’er ‘en, I ‘on’ wa’a.”

“You don’t want to go in if it’s under ten degrees? Ten’s still pretty damn cold.”

“’S no’ so ‘ad.” He shifts, heart steadier under his ribs.

“How much is that in American degrees? You know the conversion?”

“’S fahre’hei’, Ka’an. U-uh. I ‘u’o…”

“Yeah, you do know. You’re good at math. Come on.” A thumb strokes his cheekbone, wiping tears from under his eye.

“F-fif’y. De’rees.”

“Yeah, probably. You’re really smart. Good job.”

He sniffles. “‘Ank ‘ou.”

Kacchan sinks onto him slowly, heavy and warm. Warm. Alive. Alive things are warm. Izuku shudders, swallowing around the black vines in his throat. “Bad dream?” Kacchan murmurs against his ear, voice gravelly.

“Uh huh.”

“That sucks.”

“W-was a’out ‘ou,” he manages, sniffling. “A’ou’ Ka’an.”

“Yeah? You wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head, eyes stinging.

Kacchan sighs, breath washing over Izuku. He sucks in the exhale greedily, trying to internalize some proof of Kacchan’s life. “Damn, your poor mouth,” he murmurs. “Blackwhip’s fucking you up right now.”

“Huh?”

Kacchan’s body is heavy over him. His thumb strokes along the corner of Izuku’s lips. The prickly vine in his mouth blocks him. The prickly vine won’t let anybody in. “Here.” He feels Bunmight’s matted fur press against his chin and neck. “Here’s your bedtime buddy. Just you, me, and Bunmight here.”

“An’ Shee’,” he points out.

“Oh. Yeah. Sheep, too. You want Sheep?”

“Hug,” he chokes out. “‘Es, ‘ease.”

“Okay. Here. On your other side.” Soft fur tickles his face, a heavy pressure on his shoulder. “A big hug. We ain’t going anywhere.”

Kacchan’s breath is warm against his face. Alive. Every point of pressure is proof of this glorious fact. Kacchan is alive. Not dead. Kacchan is alive.

He shivers, air flooding his lungs. With it, more tears. His arms wrap around Kacchan’s body, tugging him even closer. Bunmight and Sheep get squished between them. “You’re my best friend,” he sobs, ducking his head against Kacchan’s throat, grinding his cheek against his thumping jugular. “You’re my best friend, Kacchan. My best friend ever, in the whole world.”

“I know,” Kacchan says, voice rough. “I know. You’re mine, too.”

They hold each other close, inhaling in time with the other’s exhale.

Kacchan gets room service in the morning. A full American breakfast! With American pancakes and bacon and eggs and everything. It’s super yummy, though a bit greasy. Kacchan refuses to touch anything besides the eggs.

“Yum, yum, yum! Thank you, Kacchan!” He bites into another pancake, tearing it off his fork. It’s gummy in his mouth, dry going down. He likes it a lot!

“You got a damn stomach of steel or some shit,” Kacchan says.

“Mm! Thank you, Kacchan!”

“You already—” He sighs. “Yeah, yeah. I’m the greatest.”

“You are!”

Kacchan takes his plate away. “Okay. You ate enough of this junk. We gotta get ready to go out.”

He gasps. “We’re going out?”

He rolls his eyes. “We’ve been going out. Each damn day. To your shitty nerd convention.”

“Oh! Yes, thank you, Kacchan! This was such a fun trip! Minus yesterday, when people got really weird. I didn’t like that. They took pictures of you! I don’t like it when people take pictures of you.”

“Fuck, you’re a possessive freak even like this, huh?”

“Kacchan’s my best friend,” he replies. “I know everything about Kacchan; I keep books full of Kacchan facts.”

“I know,” Kacchan says.

He nods. Then Kacchan must understand how serious he is.

“We ain’t going back to the con right now. Nothing we wanna see there, anyways, and the extras are probably on alert, looking for my...distinctive face or whatever the hell you said, now.”

Izuku cocks his head.

“We’re going to the beach,” he says.

Oh!

“Yippee! Kacchan!” he cheers, rolling around on the bed. “Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan~!”

“Oi, knock it off! Giving me a damn headache!”

“Kacchan,” he whispers, sitting up with a smile.

Kacchan squints at him, a warning on his curled lips.

Izuku falls back against the mattress, grabbing Sheep off the pillow and curling his arms around him. He’s so heavy! It’s great. Kacchan is so good at giving presents. “My anniversary gift for you is pretty lame,” he admits, petting Sheep’s fur.

Kacchan rolls his eyes. “You could give me dirt in a can and I’d probably be happy.”

“Oh! Well, I didn’t get you that. I could, though.”

“No,” Kacchan says, sitting down on the bed. “Save it for next year.”

Izuku makes a mental note.

“You’re still in that space, huh?”

“What space?”

Kacchan gives him an unimpressed look.

Izuku curls his fingers into Sheep’s fur. “You mean like I’m acting like a baby?”

“You never act like a baby,” Kacchan says. He pauses, frowning. “Do you ever go that young? Like a baby?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Thank fuck. I don’t think I can diaper you.”

A startled laugh escapes him. He hides his burning face in Sheep. “Nooo, Kacchan! I’m a big kid who can use the potty, haha!”

“I know,” Kacchan replies. Izuku feels his hand land on his bare knee, fingers squeezing lightly. “Can we talk about this, though? Is this an okay time?”

He peeks up at Kacchan, curious. “Talk about what? My dumb head thing?”

“It ain’t dumb,” Kacchan says. “But yeah. That.”

“Okay. What do you wanna know, Kacchan?”

Kacchan’s eyes dart to him, then past. “Can I hold Bunmight?”

Izuku sits up, Sheep plopping heavily into his lap. He reaches behind him to grab Bunmight off the pillow, hugging him to his chest for a moment before passing him along.

Kacchan sets him on his thigh, frowning.

“Kacchan?” Izuku asks, cocking his head.

“Your dad always offered to take you to California, didn’t he?”

“Yeah! He said we’d make a special trip of it.”

“He never actually did, though, did he?”

Izuku hugs Sheep tightly against himself, curling over. “Mm, no. Was too hard with his job and stuff.”

“Was it gonna be a family vacation?”

“No, ‘cause Mama couldn’t get the time off. He wanted me to take a week off of school and come visit him in America.” He hums. “Like, anywhere! Not just California. He was over in, um, the east side of America a lot. Places like New York and New Jersey.” He brightens. “I can name every American state Chichi’s been to!”

Kacchan doesn’t look up from Bunmight.

“Kacchan?”

“You would’ve had a shit time if you’d gone to America with him. You know that?”

Izuku frowns. His throat tightens. “No,” he says, voice cracking. “No, we would’ve had fun! Chichi wanted to take me to restaurants and amusement parks and he was gonna show me a real American rodeo!”

Kacchan sighs, hanging his head.

“Is this because Chichi’s dead, Kacchan? Because yeah, it makes me really sad. So sad that I feel like I could cry forever and ever.” His throat gets worse at the admission. “I-I wish he could t-t-ta-ake me to a rodeo, but now he’s…he’s n-never gonna.”

“I’ll take you to a damn rodeo,” Kacchan says dully.

Izuku hugs Sheep tighter.

“I want him to stop,” Kacchan says, voice bare. “I just want him to get out of your head. Every fucking day, I gotta remind myself: he can’t ever touch you again. That’s victory. But when you have these nights where you don’t know who’s in bed with you, it’s hard to feel that way.”

Izuku presses his cheek against Sheep. “Does Kacchan need comfort?”

“No,” he snaps. “I’m not the one who fucking needs ‘comfort,’ here.”

“I think you do,” he replies. He lifts onto his knees, shuffling over the bed to Kacchan’s side. “I can give you a big hug if you want. That helps me. Kacchan’s hugs always make me feel lots better.” They helped him last night! He felt icky and scared, but Kacchan hugged it all away.

Kacchan exhales shakily, eyes slipping closed. “Yeah,” he says. His voice creaks. “Yeah, fine. I want a hug, Izuku.”

Izuku nods, leaning over to wrap his arms around Kacchan’s waist. He lays his head on Kacchan’s shoulder. “You don’t gotta be Chichi, Kacchan.”

He startles, looking down at him. “What?”

“I just worry that Kacchan feels like he’s gotta do all the fun stuff Chichi promised to do with me, now that Chichi’s dead. But he doesn’t have to! I like doing Kacchan stuff with Kacchan.”

Kacchan stares at him with wide eyes.

Izuku smiles, patting his chest. “Kacchan doesn’t need to be somebody else. He’s already the best!”

An arm wrap around his back, tugging him closer. He hums, wriggling until his knees press into Kacchan’s hip, Sheep smushed between them. Group hug!

He lifts his head. “Oh! Don’t leave Bunmight out.”

Kacchan nods, placing Bunmight between them. He hugs Izuku tighter.

They don’t go to the third day at the convention. There’s nothing interesting on the docket and they’ve already exhausted the artist alley and the atrium’s festivities. Izuku is loaded down with half a notebook’s worth of signatures (including Condor’s!) at this point. Instead, Kacchan makes good on his promise. They go to the beach.

The beach is great! It’s kind of cold, though. They don’t have any toys for the beach, either. Kacchan made them pack their swim trunks and some towels for this, but otherwise they’re just lounging in the sand while Izuku tries to dig a big enough hole to bury himself.

Not like that. Like for fun.

Kacchan watches him, taking impassive sips from his water bottle while Izuku roots around in the sand, alternating between scooping it out and kicking. “Are you seriously going to do that the whole time?”

“What else is there to do?” he asks, digging his elbows into the cold, dark brown sand. “Did you want to play a game?”

“I just wanted to chill,” Kacchan says. “Fuck, you always gotta do something or you get bored.”

“Well, yeah,” he says, confused. “Doing nothing would be pretty boring for anybody.”

Kacchan just shakes his head.

Izuku hums, flopping into his shallow pit. Not quite big enough yet.

“Sucks about the con.”

“I had fun! Minus, ah, that last bit, yesterday. That stunk, yeah.”

“I couldn’t catch what they were all saying. Was just fan shit, yeah?”

Izuku stiffens, throat bobbing. “Yeah,” he says. Is it true you died? “Yeah.”

Kacchan squints at him.

Izuku makes a show of burrowing deeper into the sand, wrinkling his nose. “We should have brought a bucket.”

“Why the fuck would we bring a bucket to the beach?”

“Sandcastles! And stuff. It’d be useful for digging my hole.”

“I ain’t gonna make sandcastles on the beach,” Kacchan says. “We’re not five.” He stops, eyes widening slightly. “Not like… Whatever. Yeah, a bucket is fine.”

Izuku knows what he means; it’s pretty much impossible for Kacchan to offend him on a good day. Still, Kacchan worries about the words he says. It’s a strange phenomenon to witness—Kacchan watching his mouth, Izuku means. Kacchan is very silly. “I know what Kacchan meant,” he says.

“Do you?” Kacchan asks, strangely brittle. “Do you ever?”

“Kacchan, what’re you talking about?”

“Whatever.”

“Kacchan,” he intones. “We gotta communicate and stuff.”

He rolls his eyes. Izuku thinks he hears him mutter something like Relationship advice from a ten-year-old. Great. He isn’t totally sure, though. “Thought you wanted to dig your hole.”

He brightens, sitting up. “Yes! I want it so deep that you can bury me! Um, up to my neck. Will you help me?”

Kacchan groans, sitting up. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’ll help. Sorry I said that mean shit.”

“It’s okay, Kacchan! Kacchan just meant that he’s too old for most games.”

“Old?” Kacchan echoes.

“Yeah,” Izuku replies, scooping out another armful of sand. “Kacchan’s ancient.”

“Oi, piss off. I’ll show you ancient. I’m burying you up to your ears!”

“Kacchan!” He laughs, falling back on the sand. Kacchan presses down on him in an easily broken hold. He doesn’t free himself, though. He doesn’t want to.

Kacchan gets him ice cream. Well— Functionally, he gets him two ice creams. Because Kacchan gets one for himself, but he doesn’t eat it, so Izuku gets to lick it up before it melts. They’re both super good! He loves vanilla. Kacchan got strawberry, but it’s the kind of strawberry that doesn’t have those icky seeds in it, so it’s good, too.

He hums, kicking his legs in the rental car while Kacchan grumbles about traffic. “45B, Kacchan.”

“These roads make me physically sick,” Kacchan mutters, turning on his blinker.

“Did you lose money by not going to the third day of the con?”

He makes a low, suffering sound.

Izuku taps his chin. “You must’ve, right? I think the tickets are, um, expensive.”

“Don’t fuckin’ worry about it.”

“I can pay you back. I— Have money, right? I got a job ’n stuff.”

“Izuku,” Kacchan says tightly, a warning.

He sinks into his chair, fiddling with Bunmight in his lap. “Sorry.”

Kacchan sighs.

“—Oh. Kacchan, another exit. Sorry.”

“Another exit,” Kacchan mutters darkly. “Of fucking course. Exits everywhere for these Americans.”

“Exits are not an American invention, Kacchan.”

“Yeah, I can fucking tell. They suck at making ‘em.”

“We got all sorts of big roads back home,” he points out.

“I’m also not fucking driving on them because we got damn trains! Fuck.”

Izuku shrinks, lapping quietly at Kacchan’s cast-off strawberry ice cream. Kacchan’s mad.

Not good. Not good at all.

He drifts after that, body bumping against the car door as he mechanically eats until the ice cream is all gone. Then he braces both his arms around Bunmight, forcing his body as small and rigid as it’ll go. It’s easier like that.

He doesn’t exist for a little while.

It’s fine.

The car door clunks, pulling away from him. He forces his body upright, the seatbelt sliding over his shoulder.

“Hey,” Kacchan says lowly, leaning over his seat. His nose presses into Izuku’s hair. “‘M not mad at you. Chill.”

He blinks slowly, lashes clumping. “Okay,” he whispers.

A warm hand cups his jaw, tilting his head up. Kacchan’s eyes inspect him. “Shit, you’ve had a bad couple of nights.”

“Sorry,” he says unintelligently.

“Don’t apologize.”

Sorry.

Kacchan’s lips thin.

Izuku hugs Bunmight, fingers worrying at one of his ears. “’S not Kacchan’s fault.”

“I know,” Kacchan says. “’S not yours, either.”

Izuku’s eyes slip closed. He rests his cheek against Kacchan’s palm, letting it cradle him.

“I got you the best damn gift. Your nerd heart is gonna burst outta your chest,” Kacchan says, dragging him through the unnervingly large parking lot.

“Kacchan, ‘m tired,” he murmurs, defeated. His head feels funny in a bad way. Kacchan calls it some big, long word that isn’t very Kacchan-like. Todoroki says that Kacchan pulls words like that off of Wikipedia and that’s why he sounds weird whenever he says them. Most of Todoroki’s theories sound very confusing or silly to Izuku, but he’s probably right with that one.

“Oi. Don’t be a brat. Pull through for one more good thing I got for you on this trip.”

He swallows back a retort. It’s always better to behave; he knows that. He was just expressing himself, which Kacchan tells him to do even if the thing he’ll say doesn’t make Kacchan very happy.

Well. He expressed himself and Kacchan acknowledged it. Now he can go back to trying to be a good boy.

Kacchan stops. He bumps into him with an oof, rubbing his nose. “Okay,” Kacchan says, turning with a barely restrained feral grin. Oh dear. He grabs Izuku’s arms, rubbing his biceps. “You’re gonna be psyched for this. Come on, nerd.”

Izuku hums, nodding. He tries to blink away his fatigue.

“Oi, we’re here.” Kacchan’s English is, as ever, adorably clunky. His knuckles rap on the side of a gray sedan. “You don’t need to be hiding inside of your car.”

A door thuds. “Just a precaution! I’m sure you saw, but some of the fans in there can get a little…overzealous.”

“Condor!” Izuku gasps. “Oh, hi! I saw you at the convention! You probably don’t remember, but—”

“Of course I do,” she says, sweeping her hair out of her eyes as she stands away from her car. “How could I forget meeting Deku?”

Izuku gapes at her. Condor knows his hero name! Condor knows him!

“Actually…” She holds out a pen. “I was wondering if you could sign something for my daughter?”

He manages to choke back tears for a second before the dam fails. “Of course! Wow!”

Smugness always suits Kacchan. But it suits him especially well, now.

He knuckles his forehead, groaning. “I left your anniversary gift at our apartment.”

“I genuinely do not give a shit,” Kacchan replies.

“Still! You got me this amazing present and it’s our anniversary; it’s hard not to feel like a dud, right now.”

“You like getting presents,” Kacchan says. “I don’t.”

“Still!”

“We’re on different wave lengths. It’s that love language shit.”

“That stuff isn’t real, Kacchan,” he chides, setting Kacchan’s suitcase down by a vacant seat at their boarding gate. The space is packed with flyers, every other seat accounted for.

“You know what I mean.” Kacchan takes the seat, splaying his body across the limited expanse.

Izuku crouches by their carry-ons. “I do, but you know what I mean, too.”

“Yeah.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Did you see the look on that guy’s face when he saw you passport?”

“No. What?”

“Looked like he was gonna shit himself.”

He frowns. “Kacchan.”

“He knew who you were. Ha.”

He narrows his eyes. “Kacchan.”

Kacchan sticks his tongue out at him.

“Immature, Kacchan.”

“Look who’s talking.”

He grumbles, curling over his knees. His cheeks flush.

Kacchan stiffens. “…Shit. Didn’t mean it like that.”

“’S fine. I know what you meant.” He doesn’t really know what Kacchan meant, but he knows it wasn’t anything too mean. Only moderately mean.

“It’s just— I’m ribbing you. I fucking rib you; you know I rib you.”

“I know,” he replies, voice softer.

A sigh. “Izuku.”

“It really didn’t bother me, Kacchan. I think it bothered you more. Talking about it is getting me more upset, honestly.”

“I just want you to know that I don’t have a fucking problem with how you are,” Kacchan says, obnoxiously sincere. He’s doing that thing where he’s trying to force eye contact. Izuku doesn’t grant it purely out of annoyance. “Oi. Listen to me. Why are you getting pissy?”

“You can make fun of me,” he says. “That doesn’t bother me, Kacchan; I like it when Kacchan makes fun of me. You don’t have to treat me like glass.”

“When have I ever done that?”

Izuku blinks.

“Seriously, nerd. When have I ever treated you like some delicate flower?”

“Never, I guess,” he replies. “I just…feel like sometimes you worry about how to treat me, um, around that issue. And it makes me feel frustrated.”

“Well, that’s ‘cause sometimes I don’t know how to treat you when it comes to that.” Kacchan rubs his face. “This shit is fucking stressful.”

“It’s been a long trip,” he says, heart softening when he notices the discoloration under Kacchan’s eyes. “And you’ve had to put with a lot, Kacchan. Thank you.”

“Oh great, now you’re doing it. Okay. I’m callin’ a ceasefire.”

“What? I was being sincere, Kacchan!”

“So was I! Ugh. Fucking forget it.”

“Kacchan, I don’t want to fight! We had a nice trip.”

Kacchan waves his hand at him, looking away. “Then let’s not fight. Come here.” He pats his thigh.

Izuku flushes, rearing back. “Huh?”

“Put your head on my lap. Fight’s over.”

His head whips around. “Kacchan,” he whispers, voice strangled, “we’re in a very public place!”

“And we’re both tired as shit. I’m gonna take a nap. You can go dog mode on my leg or you can continue to squat there, fucking up your back.”

Face burning, he slowly lowers to his knees, shuffling between Kacchan’s thighs. No one’s looking at them. He tucks his backpack against his chest, slowly resting his cheek again Kacchan’s jean-clad thigh like lying his body over a live bomb.

Fingers find their way to his hair, petting the back of his head.

He hums, slumping. “Think this might be worse for my back, Kacchan.”

“Dogs don’t talk,” Kacchan mumbles.

Kacchan! What is the deal with him? World’s most vanilla man, but has no compunctions about having Izuku between his legs in the middle of a packed public space, telling him to go ‘dog mode.’ He barely ever lets him go ‘dog mode’ in the bedroom, but apparently Los Angeles International Airport is fair game. Absolutely ridiculous.

Kacchan’s fingers scritch against his skull.

Fuck, he is tired. And Kacchan is so warm. Kacchan is always warm. Always soft. And a dog bed, apparently. (Seriously, Kacchan. No kennel in the apartment, but oh, sure, lap time in LA! Incomprehensible. Crazy of him to say such a thing when Izuku clearly cannot deny it, given his proclivities. …Or perhaps that was the idea? Wait, was this a rare, legendary Kacchan manipulation technique?! Now that he’s thinking about it—)

“Can hear your brain,” Kacchan says. “’S keeping me up. Fucking chill.”

Izuku hugs his backpack tighter, feeling Bunmight’s head through the fabric, and closes his eyes.

“This was nice,” he says, once they’re settled on the plane. “I had a good time, Kacchan. Thank you.”

Kacchan grunts, buckling his seatbelt even though they still have at least ten minutes. Classic Kacchan.

Hardly anyone’s on the plane yet, actually. They’re seated in the back, near the left aisle and by the toilets. That’s convenient, especially since Kacchan still appears to be having slight issues with his insisted pizza experience. And, ah. Well. It’s a long flight. And Izuku always gets a bit fidgety when he’s under-stimulated.

“Have you ever wanted to have sex on a plane?” escapes him.

Kacchan hisses out a curse, slapping a hand over his mouth. “Nerd, what the fuck?”

“I just thought of it,” he says, muffled by Kacchan’s palm.

“No, I don’t want to have sex on a damn plane.”

He licks Kacchan’s palm. The taste is sharp and burns his tongue with a chemical-sweet edge. It nestles against the part of his brain that lights up wherever Kacchan is involved.

Kacchan wrenches his hand away with a scowl.

“Oh. Okay,” Izuku says, settling back against his chair. “I was just curious.”

Kacchan gives him a distrustful glare. “I ain’t doing any freak shit on a public plane, Izuku.”

“So maybe a private plane?”

“You somehow land a private plane and sure.”

“Even the piss stuff?”

Kacchan gives a miserable groan.

“Can we do the piss stuff for Christmas, Kacchan?”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“At least let me get you your boring anniversary gift first,” he replies, buckling his own seatbelt.

“You said it’s at the apartment. Don’t need you to get it.”

“Yeah, but you’ll never figure out where I hid it.”

“It’s in the bottom of your nightstand where you keep all your weird fake vaginas you know I won’t touch,” Kacchan says flatly.

“Wow! You’re so good at guessing, Kacchan… Wow…”

“I just know you, shit-for-brains.”

“Your present is in its own box, so don’t worry about it touching the Temptress Deluxe.”

“Eurgh.”

Izuku leans over, knocking his temple against Kacchan’s. “Seriously, Kacchan. Thanks for all of this. I had a great time.”

“Did you really?” Kacchan asks, a hint of vulnerability peeking through.

Shit.

Navigating the minefield of whatever the hell is going on in Kacchan’s head is never fun. He guesses that probably goes for Kacchan when it comes to him, too. It’s never fun, but he wants to. He always wants to. He supposes that’s what makes a relationship strong—working to bridge that gap between two people, always. Kacchan deserves the truth and the truth, this time, is good.

Izuku swallows, considering his words. “Yes,” he says slowly. “I really loved going to the convention and seeing so many cool heroes, even if the panels were kinda subpar and we skipped out on the last day. It was a really good time. And I loved spending time with Kacchan most of all.”

“Izuku, you had meltdowns every night.”

“It’s like we said,” he says, fighting down the urge to apologize or grow defensive. He’s been getting better at doing that. They both have. “It’s not my fault and it’s not your fault. It’s… It happens. I think the hotel room was challenging. You know I don’t sleep well away from our bed. But I really did have a good time, Kacchan. I know it was a stupid nerd convention, but I hope you did, too.”

Kacchan reaches over, squeezing his thigh. “‘Course I had a good time,” he says. “Just wanted to see you happy.” He pulls back. “We ain’t having sex on the plane, so find a better way to occupy yourself.”

“Hm.”

“You’re not doing anything nasty on this plane, Izuku.”

“Didn’t even occur to me, Kacchan!” Not exactly the truth. He pawed at himself a bit in the cramped bathroom on that awful flight in. It’s a self-soothing compulsion that he figured would go over better not sandwiched between strangers in a sweltering, confined space with a crying baby. It’ll probably happen again. He doesn’t like airplanes.

Kacchan eyes him.

“You know I have issues,” he whispers, flushing.

“Yeah,” Kacchan says, after a beat. “Yeah. Well, those are different. Do whatever you gotta do, I guess.”

Izuku gives a stiff nod, turning forward in his seat.

“Where’s Bunmight?”

He nudges at the backpack under the seat in front of him.

“Take ‘im out.”

“Hm? Kacchan, we’re on a plane.”

Kacchan bends down, reaching over to unzip Izuku’s backpack. “So? He’s been cooped up for the whole damn day.” He sits up, dropping him on Izuku’s lap. “Show some damn respect.” Kacchan leans back in his chair, eyes slipping closed. “He’ll probably help you feel better. I’m gonna take a nap.”

Izuku stares at him, idly petting Bunmight’s head. “Kacchan is very weird sometimes,” he murmurs.

“I heard that.”

“Mm.” He leans over, settling his head on Kacchan’s shoulder, letting his eyes slip closed. Pretty soon they’ll have to move for the rest of the passengers in their row and Kacchan will complain about flying coach before going down the rest of his list of grievances. He’ll go on about the air pressure in the cabin and the tilt of his chair and some baby babbling four rows ahead and a whole litany of other annoyances that wouldn’t have occurred to Izuku at all.

The thought fills him an exasperated fondness, his chest light. Soon, they’ll be home, where they can relax. Kacchan asked for another two days off for recovery; he’s smart like that. Izuku can’t wait to crash into their own bed, nosing at the divot of Kacchan’s bare spine, breathing in the smell of their bedsheets. That’s how they usually end up after long missions, tangled in each other by the time they wake up the next day. Then they’ll get to have some easy morning sex, Kacchan pliant under him and uncharacteristically sweet like he always is after a homecoming. Then Kacchan will insist on miso soup for breakfast. They’ll eat on their little porch, shoulder to shoulder, halfway into each other’s laps but never acknowledging it.

This isn’t a far-flung fantasy. It’s expectation built on experience. Kacchan and he really do live together. Kacchan and he are married. His best friend, his partner, his husband. The greatest hero and the most obnoxious menace and the sexiest person alive.

I’m sorry this trip wasn’t what you probably envisioned, part of him wants to say. I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Kacchan breathes slowly under his head to an even rhythm, unbothered.

Izuku acknowledges the regret and gently places it aside. He squeezes Bunmight against his stomach, cradling the back of his head. Kacchan really does love me, he thinks. This observation amazes him, every time. He’s starting to think it might actually be true. That Kacchan loves him thoroughly—not just the best him or the him he could be, but the person he is right now. All the people he’s been. He knows that’s how it is for him with Kacchan. He loves all his faces.

“I got you a pretty boring gift, Kacchan,” he says, readjusting his cheek against the bony curve of Kacchan’s body, “but I’m pretty sure you’ll like it.”

Kacchan grunts, slinging his arm over Izuku’s shoulders.  “Got my anniversary gift right here.”

His lips quirk. “Kacchan, that’s very cheesy.”

Kacchan grumbles something inarticulate, squeezing his arm.

Izuku leans into the hold, cracking an eye open to watch Kacchan’s chest rise and fall under his t-shirt. Yeah, he thinks, heart too full to hold. Me too.