Can I↲
Tedy
"Can I trust you? Does your smile hide lies? Can I jump in, and close my eyes . . . ?"
≡
[ Two Years and Eleven Months Ago ]
It was days like this—when the heart weighed heavily in its cage with a low buzzing pulse, twisting over-emotional thoughts into the brain—when time was both an enemy and an ally. There were those unfortunate souls who begged for more time, time to finish a paper, time to get some sleep, more time left with a loved one. Only to never receive the one simple thing they wanted nothing more to have—and then there were the fortunate people amongst the crowd who got what they wished for.
Katsuki Bakugou was not one of those fortunate people.
No, in fact, the young seventeen, soon to be, eighteen-year-old was the exact opposite.
His limbs ached with desolation and numbed pain as he lay silently in his bed. The mid-morning sun glistened like a waterfall of light into his room, cascading down his blank expression like a halo. And for a split heart-breaking second, he imagined it was the halo—the halo of his love, his best friend, his angel—of his Izuku attempting to cheer him up. But he pushed those thoughts aside, deeming them too silly.
The distant clatter of pots and pans clanging sounded from downstairs in the kitchen, no doubt his father and adopted siblings trying yet again to brighten his face with homemade breakfast. A breakfast which they usually burnt due to Kaminari's carelessness.
Katsuki turned to his right, back stiff and aching, and his hand lightly roamed across the vast space. He had never noticed how large his bed was until now. Well, as large as a full-sized bed could get. The young man had grown so used to waking up halfway off the bed, a small-framed body draped across him and drooling on his back. Katsuki longed for the mornings when Izuku had sprawled himself across his chest—awakened by a mop of emerald curls.
He shuddered: cold. Again, he never noticed how cold the house was in the morning.
Finally, he let his eyes slip close, delving into his daily 'ritual' of denial. Becoming perfectly still, he imagined a clear image of Izuku's face in his mind, slightly shielded by the light the curtains let in. Absolutely breathtaking. In those few minutes, he allowed himself to trick his mind into thinking it was all a dream, that Izuku was alive and resting happily in his arms.
A dimpled smile perked properly on his cheeks, which were dusted with freckles and blush. He imagined how deep and groggy his voice got in the mornings, eyelids fluttering slowly as he adjusted to being awake.
And slowly a taunting smile would replace his soft one as he'd whisper. "Good morning, Kacchan," planting a soft kiss to his cheek, his lips, his neck.
Two large pools of amber-red eyes unwillingly flew open, ending his daydream and setting him back to his reality. Izuku was dead and there was nothing he could do about it.
His door creaked open and Katsuki braced himself for the onslaught of carefully crafted speeches his father would give him and the tentative hugs his siblings would bring along with him. However, instead, he was faced with his brother, Shinsou, alone and quietly teetering back and forth on the threshold.
"You gonna keep looking like a dumbass or are you going to come in?" Katsuki quipped, shooting him a weak smile.
"Does it bring you joy to be such an ass all the time?"
Katsuki sat up, feeling the weight on his face as he slipped on his usual façade. "Why yes. Yes, it does."
Shinsou was quiet as he sat down on the left side of the bed, padding softly at the empty pillow where Izuku's head once rested. Truth be told he stopped crying over it weeks ago—not that he was over it, hell none of them were—because he had no tears left to cry. He had exhausted his supply of tears and all he was left with was a carved out hole in his heart where his 'brother' used to be.
"I'm not gonna ask you how you're doing . . ." he began softly, ". . . because you're just going to give a bullshit answer like 'I'm fine'. But you're not fine, and sitting here wallowing isn't going to help you,"
Katsuki flinched yet remained silent, tearing his eyes away from his brother and rolling over. "Well, thank you for that Dr. Phil. Maybe you can bring in my future life coach too?" he scoffed.
"Katsuki drop the damn act," Shinsou growled, shoving his hands roughly against Katsuki's back.
"Go away, Hitoshi,"
Shinsou, with a determined look set on his face, shoved him once more—this time a little harder so the boy's body rattled. Katsuki had stayed in his original spot, swatting his hand behind himself to smack the other boy.
"I mean it, Hitoshi, drop it."
The younger promptly ignored his brother's wishes, opting for shaking his shoulders rapidly. "No, you're right—" his motions came to a stop, "—I will stop. I mean obviously, you've already moved on and don't care that Izuku is dead, huh?"
Internally, Shinsou cringed at the lie that had just flowed off his tongue. He knew that wasn't true, he knew his brother cared deeply for his deceased friend—but he wanted . . . needed a reaction out of him. For Katsuki's sake.
"Excuse me?" Katsuki was up in record time, hands rolling into fists at his sides.
"Well, it's just," Shinsou got up, walking around the room and picking up a few objects from Katsuki's desk. "a normal boyfriend would still be mourning. But clearly, since you're fine I guess you never really cared for Izuku, right?"
With narrowed eyes, Katsuki scoffs. "I know what you're doing and it's not going to work,"
"You don't care that you guys got into a fight before he died,"
The blond's heart hammered away in his chest, an onslaught of blood flooding his cheeks with warmth as he swallowed thickly.
"You don't care that you never got to see his body,"
He's just trying to make you upset, Katsuki had thought with closed eyes. He's just trying to make you upset. He's just trying to make you upset. He's just trying to make you—
"You don't care that he died thinking you hated him!"
Katsuki's hand shot over to his pillow, grabbing it and throwing it as hard as he could manage at the boy before him. A hot stream of tears stained his cheeks, his whole body vibrating from his sobs as he held his arms around his torso.
"You don't think I know all that?" he screamed, the words ripping through his chest. "Huh, you don't that shit eats me up inside? I fucked up and before I had a chance to make it right Izuku died!"
The elder gasped as he choked on a sob, fingernails digging into his skin until crescent moons bloomed within the flesh. The rims of his eyes were coated a light red as salty tears spilled over the mounds of his chapped lips. Just saying the words aloud was . . . a relief and torture all at once for him.
"I miss him, Toshi . . . I miss him so much I can't fucking breathe!" Katsuki's words came out in a tear-filled whisper. "Every day I wake up and have something reminding me that he won't come back, so don't sit here and tell me I don't give a damn that he's gone. You don't know what it's like—Eijirou and Denki are still alive, you still get to wake up in their arms. What about me?!"
It was quiet between the two boys. Shinsou let out a wavering sigh as his throat constricted, growing thick and threatening to spill tears from his eyes. Tears that never came, no, he needed to be strong for his big brother. He needed to let him know it would be okay.
Sitting down beside a crying Katsuki, Shinsou did the one thing he rarely does: He hugged him. "I know it's hard. And yeah I still have Denki and Eiji but . . . we all lost someone, Kat, all of us did. We grew up with him, he was like our brother—dad practically lost a son, how do you think he's doing?" he sniffed, "But doing this . . . shutting us out . . . you know damn well Mido wouldn't have wanted this,"
It was true. Katsuki could practically see the boy now, hands on his hips and lips pressed into a thin line as he scolded Katsuki for his recent behavior. "Kacchan, they've been nothing but supportive for you—despite how they feel. Can't you try and see things from their perspective?"
"I miss him," Katsuki rasped through his curtain of tears.
Shinsou sighed, burying his face deep into his brother's hair as a single tear rolled down his own cheek. "I know . . . I know,"
[ Present Day ]
Katsuki wasn't exactly positive at first who had come bounding after him, who placed a hand on his shoulder and lightly shook it. That is until a monotonous voice whispered in his. "You know, you really had me fooled there, jackass."
The elder pivoted on his heel, only to realize how close he was to the other male. "Not now Sho . . . I'm busy—"
"—Busy pushing away your ex-boyfriend who you told me was dead?" Shoto raised an eyebrow, a taunting smile slipping on his face for only a brief second. "What's that all about?"
Katsuki paled, the palms of his hands collecting an unnatural amount of sweat as he slowly rubbed them on his pant legs. For a split second he pondered lying to the boy, but quickly dismissed the thought . . . for lying had gotten him nowhere in the past few months. Besides, Shoto knew better than to believe a lie from him.
"It's a long story," he swallowed thickly, shaking the memory of Izuku's hurt and scared face from his mind.
"Well, I got—" Shoto shoved his sleeve up to check his watch, "—three hours before the gala starts. You better start talking,"
With a sigh, Katsuki gave him a rundown of the past three months. Going on to explain how he and the others assumed Izuku was dead only to figure out his mother faked the whole thing and the boy got amnesia. His brows furrowed as he explained how they all were still in the dark on Inko's motive for it all . . . for the woman was not up for talking and quite frankly at the moment they weren't up for listening.
Katsuki raked a hand through his hair. "Then when you walked in I guess he saw the box and we got into an argument about and he . . ." he trailed off, motioning his hand to the path Izuku had taken off on.
"Shit," Shoto heaved a deep sigh.
While the two were constantly at each other's throats due to their rivaling record companies, it was hard for them to deny the history they had with one another. Again, Katsuki had lied to Izuku when he told the boy what he had with Shoto was just a fling . . . Sure, they kept it a secret—but for a good few months, Katsuki almost found himself moving on and falling in love with the dual-haired male.
Clearly, things did not go as planned.
"I'm sorry," the words burned with bile as they stumbled out of Katsuki's mouth, but he knew an apology was due.
"For?"
"For everything when we were . . . ya know. Together," he whispered. Because in the end, it was Katsuki's unwavering love for Izuku that had gotten in the way of their relationship—he regretted it up until the day he realized the boy was alive.
Leaning against the wooden beam of the bridge for support, Shoto looks out onto the water. Tossing small pebbles in and watching the ripples that trickled into a roar. "I never blamed you. Damn, I feel like such an idiot though—life would be so much easier if you had shown me a damn picture of your ex when we were together. Midoriya and I have been friends for . . . well before you and I began seeing each other!"
"I told you his name!" Katsuki scoffed, folding his arms across his chest.
"You also told me he was dead," Shoto reminded softly, "As far as I was concerned it was another Izuku Midoriya. The name is pretty common,"
A quiescent silence fluttered through the air as the weight of Katsuki's previous decision finally weighed heavily on his chest. He let him go. Naturally, he had tried to convince himself that this was for the best—perhaps one day Izuku would be ready for him to explain. And if that day came and it made no difference . . . he would accept that. Izuku's happiness came above his own needs.
Always.
"So," the younger prompted, "why didn't you go after him?"
Katsuki shook his head, resisting the urge to throw the boy into the water below them. "Have you not been fucking listening? Imagine how confused and hurt he is right now, I just have to give him time and—"
"—Time?" Shoto scoffed, "I'm sorry, was three years not enough?"
"You know what I mean,"
The dual-haired male shook his head quickly, kicking himself off the beam to place his hands firmly on Katsuki's shoulders. If the boy weren't so damn aggressive, Shoto probably would have punched him by now.
"Okay, what if that isn't enough, huh? He's always going to have a piece of himself missing if you don't suck it up and tell him the full truth. You owe to yourself and to him—a love like the one you guys have . . . it's hard to come by," he smiled softly, "Besides I see the way you look at him."
Katsuki cambered his head with raised eyebrows. "How do I look at him?"
"You look at him like . . . like he's the stars and you're just now seeing him for the first time. And when you finally notice all of his beauty and warmth you smile, genuinely smile. But it makes you sad—it makes you sad because you realize the great space put between you and those stars. You realize you can only admire them from afar . . ."
Katsuki sighed, allowing the boys' words to fully process in his mind. He was right, as much a the blond hated admitting that, he knew the boy was right. Sure, he had an odd way of putting it but—it described how he felt around Izuku perfectly.
"Well, it's just like you said—" he leaned back against the wooden beam, allowing his defeat to take hold once more. "—there's a space between me and those 'stars'. There's no point in trying to achieve the fucking impossible. Maybe Izuku and I just . . . aren't meant to be together. Maybe it's a twisted fate,"
Shoto gave him a stern yet tired look. "Fuck fate! After three years of thinking he was dead, you found out he was alive—convinced him to pose as your boyfriend, even though he technically is, all while managing to get him to fall for you again. Does that sound like some twisted fate to you?"
While Katsuki remained silent Shoto took that as the answer to his question, muttering a small exactly under his breath as he let the boy process. Because as much as Katsuki hated to admit it he knew the other male was right . . . after everything the two had been through he did, in fact, owe it to them both to try. He let him go once . . .
So, why the hell was he doing it again?
"I'm going to guess by the expression you've come to your senses?" Shoto smiled as he cocked his head to the side. "You have three hours before the gala starts . . . I'd start looking if I were you,"
And with that Katsuki broke out into a sprint. His penthouse was not that far from here, if he hurried he knew he would be able to catch up with the boy in time. As the picturesque woodland area dispersed into the usual chaotic city Katsuki ran across the street, bumping into a plethora of people on his way while muttering small apologies every now and then. What? Izuku was rubbing off on him again.
That is until a car honked at him and he flipped the driver off, paying no mind to the pedestrians that gave him sour looks. The wind was flush against his cheeks, painting them a light pink as he dashed towards the apartment complex. A rush of relief flooded through his belly as he ran into the lobby, heading straight for the elevator before the concierge stopped him.
"Mr. Bakugou?"
Katsuki reluctantly turned to look at the man with fiery eyes and his lips pulled up into a mini scowl. All of which the man promptly ignored.
"If you're looking for Mr. Midoriya he already came here . . . then left. He looked a bit upset," the man adjusted his name tag for what seemed to be the fifth time since they began their short conversation, fixing his hair in the window's reflection.
If Katsuki were not in a hurry he would probably have asked the man if he had OCD. But there was no time for any of that. "Where did he go?" he demanded, breathing coming out in quick pants.
"I'm not entirely sure . . . Oh! He kept muttering about a hospital?" the statement came out like a question, for the man was hoping it would lead Katsuki to a clue. What? After months of Izuku living there, the concierge had become somewhat of a silent supporter of their relationship.
The hospital?
. . .
. . .
. . .
Inko!
—————❖—————
As a disoriented and perplexed Izuku stumbled down the street—an ice-pack he stole from the fridge pressed lightly against his forehead—he set his jaw with determination. On the outside looking in, he realized why he was getting so many confused and concerned looks from other people walking on the sidewalk. There he was, tears staining his cheeks, ice-pack placed to his head, and a quivering lip.
Hell, he probably looked like he just escaped an abusive home or something. It's going to rain soon.
Izuku gazed up at the sky, frowning as he took notice of the dark clouds rolling in
But as the wind howled and gusts of leaves scattered across the ground, there was one thing Izuku knew for sure: He remembered Katsuki . . . He remembered Ashido, Shinsou, Sero, Kaminari, Kirishima, and Aizawa. He remembered them all.
Naturally, the memories he had managed to reclaimed were fuzzy and disorienting—however, they were enough to convince him that Katsuki had been trying to tell him the truth. And then . . . there was one memory over all of them that was clear and vivid. One that only his mother could properly explain to him, then and only then would he be able to go see Katsuki.
He winced as he walked into the hospital, curing the blinding lights for they did nothing to ease his pounding headache. There was a lady at the front desk, typing away lazily on the outdated computer with a frown. She gasped once she noticed Izuku, who had been standing there for a good two minutes unsure on whether or not to interrupt her.
"Goodness," she breathed out, "Okay, dear, why don't you tell me what happened and—"
"Oh, no. I'm not here for myself," he cringed as he tried to wave his hands, the muscles in his arms and back straining. Maybe he did need to get checked out. "my mother. Inko Midoriya? I need to see her,"
The young woman sucked in a breath, a guilty expression twisting her child-like features down as she checked the time. "Visiting hours ended an hour ago. But seriously, and I mean no offense, you don't look so good,"
"Yeah, yeah, I fell down the stairs. But that's not important!" Izuku dismissed, all while the receptionist looked at him horrified. "Please, I really need to see her,"
She bit her lip eyes zeroing in on the cluster of doctors just a few feet away, seemingly interested in their conversation. The woman had an inkling if she allowed Izuku to go on and see his mother there would be hell to pay later . . . like a diminished paycheck. She knew if it were her mother here she would want to see her too. And yet . . .
"I'm sorry sir, that's not possible—" she began scribbling away on a notepad, "—but if look here there's a room already waiting for you so you can get that nasty headache checked out."
"But I—" realization dawned on the freckled male as he took the folded up piece of paper between his hands. Scrawled out in pristine handwriting was: Inko Midoriya room 301 floor 5
Sending the woman a grateful smile he dashed off to the elevator, again, ignoring the blistering pain spreading from his head to the rest of his body. He lightly bounced as the numbers on the screen slowly went up going from one to five after a good minute of him being inside there. Usually, elevator rides never bothered him—but he was in a rush.
As he bounded down the hallways—shoes squeaking against the tiles, and dodging nurses with clipboards, and carts full of pills and hospital food—he found another splitting pain stretching through his head. It did not take long for him to realize it was, yet again, another memory pushing itself past the reinforced barriers his mind constructed. Fighting it . . . fighting it was pointless.
His father scowled at him with blazing eyes, hollow with hate for the young boy he helped create. In his eyes Izuku was no son . . . just an inconvenience for him—one that had to be dealt with properly. The man turned to Inko, that same look never leaving his features once as he stared the shaking woman down.
With a raised hand he strikes down on her, a scarlet patch blooming on her now throbbing cheek. "I've been gone for how many years, Inko? And this is what you do! You sleep with another man and allow our son to be—to be," he struggled to get the word out as he thought back to when he witnessed Izuku and Katsuki tangled in a passionate embrace.
"Please—" Inko whispered.
"—Shut up!" the man ordered, Izuku flinched at the noise. "We're leaving, and when we get to the states I'll have a friend there handle the abomination you allowed our son to become!"
With that Izuku waveringly got up, attempting to make a run for it down the hallway. But it was too late . . . he fell down the stairs for his father had pushed him.
Izuku groaned and writhed against the wall, ignoring the concerned words from the nurses who passed him. Yet he dismissed the pain once more, for it only fueled his confusion and anger as he began to connect the pieces. The missing pieces to the jigsaw puzzle of his mind—he needed to talk to his mother.
Now.
Using his hand to steady himself upright Izuku walks along the walls, watching as the floor swirled and swayed below him. Not again. Pushing himself forward he staggers to a halt as he gazes up at the cracked door before him: room 301 had been plastered in the middle of said door in bright bold black. He heard the beeping of machinery and the faint clatter of his mother rustling around filtering out the door. She froze as he walked in, her hand hovering above a box of medicine on the table nearby.
Scoffing under his breath he closes the door behind himself, tossing his ice-pack on the table, knocking the box from under her and onto the floor. His nose involuntarily twisted upwards as he entered, the blazing smell of medicine and hospital sheets burning at his nostrils. The smell flowed through his senses—threatening to bring along another memory he associated with such a smell.
He had to speak fast.
"Izuku," she huffed, vacant green eyes hardening. "where the hell have you been—?"
"You lied to me," he had surprised himself by how . . . threatening his words drifted out, but continued nonetheless.
Inko heaved a sigh, still disoriented from pain medications as she glared at her son. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Izuku slowly walked closer to the woman he called his mother, head pounding, heart racing, teeth bared tightly just as his fists were at his sides. Still, he knew so little about the true meaning behind the past three years—but it was enough . . . it was enough for him to know these web of lies his mother spun had eventually trapped him. Allowing him to see through the thin openings.
It was all a lie.
"What did my father do to me?" again, his words flew out as sharp and smooth as a knife. It reminded him of something . . . Kacchan. His Kacchan that's what it reminded him of. "You two were arguing, he was . . . he was going to take us to America—you let him push me . . ."
The woman paled, mouth parting to form a small o as she allowed her son to speak. For she was too afraid to stop it—too frozen with the realization that she had been caught in her lies.
Izuku paused a few inches in front of her, suddenly realizing just how much he towered over his mother. How much power he truly held over her now. "What. Happened?"
"It was your fault," she finally spoke after minutes of standing there like a gaping fish. Inko's voice lacked its usual shrill undertone, blank and robotic instead as she spoke. "The first time he left was when you were a baby . . . he was too scared to raise you so he left. I blamed you—I never let you know I did but, I blamed you."
Somewhere beneath Izuku's confusion and physical pain, a new ache bloomed inside of him. One he couldn't put a specific label on at the moment. So, he stayed quiet. He let her speak.
"Then we met Sho—Aizawa and Mic. Back then I guess they weren't together . . . I fell in love with Aizawa and he fell in love with me. And for some time that was enough to fill the hole your father left me with until you were fourteen I ran into him and we started talking again,"
Another brief flicker crossed the paths of Izuku's flummoxed mind, that flicker imprinting itself into another puzzle piece that had been scattered. He saved it for later—finding no other memory to coexist with it.
Inko stared blankly at the ground, and for some odd reason her speech sounded . . . rehearsed in some way. As if she had prepared to say this for a long time. The thought scared Izuku more than he would like to admit.
"Aizawa he . . . he wasn't happy and by the time you were fifteen, I introduced you to him—your father. He didn't like that you're gay—or the fact that I allowed you to date Katsuki. That's why we were going to leave so he could send you to . . ." she trailed off at the end, hoping Izuku could piece the rest together.
And he did.
His father was going to send him to conversion therapy . . . and then it hit him. Like a goddamn truck, it hit him. Every single memory, every laugh, every smile, every birthday, every touch. Izuku was drowning in these foreign memories—these moments that did not belong to him. He couldn't breathe as they swarmed and flooded his senses.
Blinking rapidly he fell to his knees, barely picking up on the worried words his mother gave him. If he had heard her over the noise and chaos flowing through his mind he would have scoffed at her.
By the time they were all done, there was only one thing on Izuku's mind: Katsuki.
There was a dull and tolerable ache where his head once throbbed and pulsed, and his mind buzzed with thousands of questions. Most of which were related to the well-being of Katsuki . . . the boy he hurt time and time again over these past few months.
Why hadn't he told him sooner?
Why keep it a secret?
Izuku thought he heard his mother calling out to him; he thought he felt the wisp of air that blew on his skin as she tried to touch him. But none of that mattered to him anymore. His body, mind, and soul reversed gears and he was on auto-pilot—going where his feet took him with an open expression plastered on his face.
"Izuku where are you going?" Inko demanded, trying to go after him only to realize she couldn't. Not unless she wanted to pull out the oxygen machine the doctors plugged in her nose. "Get back here—!"
But it was too late. He was walking—no, running out the door . . . he had to find him.
—————❖—————
His lungs burned and writhed as he ran down the rain-painted sidewalks, his once spiky hair now lay flat against his head—falling in his eyes. Droplets of water slewed down the sharp planes of his cheekbones, curling around his chin and falling freely behind him into the wind.
Katsuki cursed himself for not checking the weather when he woke up this morning. For his clothes were drenched and his skin slick with water and sweat.
The hospital lights blinked and illuminated through the thick sheen of rain and wind, carrying the smell of wet cement with it as Katsuki sprinted through the parking lot. So, far he had been to two hospitals in the area—all of which had no patient by the name of Inko there—he was hoping, praying that this was the right one. Especially after his attempts to call Izuku fell through . . . he wasn't sure what he would do if he couldn't find the boy.
He slid to a stop before he could reach the automatic doors, standing rigidly beneath the sky as its tears drowned him. Because there standing right in front of him, just as soaked as he was, was Izuku.
. . .
. . .
. . .
"Hi, Kacchan,"
HELLO CRICKET CULTISTS!!
THE LONGEST CHAPTER EVER I WROTE 5,158 WORDS GUYS. I'm so proud of myself I could cry.
We learned a lot in this chapter, and I know some of you will be triggered by the TodoBaku moment but guys . . . it needed to happen. In this book I've been trying to play around with the idea of a grieving man, Katsuki, and how he went about life after Izuku died. He was always going to try and find love again--but that would be a challenge especially if he loved Izuku so much.
Anywhoooo. Anyone wanna rant about this chapter? Feel free! (I just really love reading them. It's like I'm getting a look inside your minds.)
Questions?
Anything?
Until we meet again!!!