To Love, To Lose, To Leave

Chapter Nineteen

"I'm going to set up about halfway towards the exit, Midoriya," Todoroki says through the earpiece. "Try to lure him in by the big bridge, I'll be on one of the nearby platforms."

Izuku brings a hand up to the earpiece. "Sounds good, Todoroki." He continues his unhurried, tenseless stroll, hopping over a long pipe that seems to stretch out into both sides of the mess of pipes and columns.

If I was about to fully use One For All, I'd be at the exit in five seconds, Izuku muses to himself. Using it at a hundred percent like that would probably cut down my time big time, though, so—

A piercing sensation slashes through Izuku's head, bringing him to a halt.

Danger Sense.

Izuku forces himself to keep walking, breath tensed.

Kacchan is nearby.

Izuku starts to hum a mindless tune, keeping his head staring ahead while looking around only with his eyes, forcing his gait to remain unhurriedly unsuspecting.

Kacchan probably doesn't know if Danger Sense picked up on him or not, since it's never done that before. Izuku swallows the lump in his throat. I should—

Danger Sense sends another sharpness through Izuku's head, bringing him to jump, duck, and roll out of the way of an ear-deafening explosion.

That was an explosion from one of Kacchan's gauntlets.

As the smoke began to clear away and Izuku regained his footing, Kacchan stepped through into Izuku's line of sight.

Izuku's breath catches in his throat, and his heart—longing, aching, hurting—swells in his chest.

Kacchan.

It's started getting chilly, so Kacchan—along with most of the class—had begun to bring out their winter costumes.

The tight, form-fitting fabric clung to Kacchan's arms, outlining every dip and bend of muscle, stretching across his shoulders. The collar rests just below his lips—pretty, soft, loving lips—and the fabric didn't falter in tightness anywhere else, accentuating his chest and waist. His grenades, though more condensed in size, still start just below the bend of his elbows, stopping at his gloved hands. The wind from his explosion continues to rustle through his hair—an ashy blond, spiky in shape and soft to the touch. Izuku's lost count of the number of times he's run his hands through them.

In Izuku's opinion though, Kacchan's best feature is his eyes.

Even after the injuries from the second war that left the crimson in Kacchan's eyes cloudy and faded, Kacchan's eyes have remained one of his most attractive features to Izuku—thinly piercing in shape, and the most breath-taking shade of red Izuku's ever seen; fiery, a blazing thing, bright and so consumingly alive and steadfast, with small specks of shining gold that you could only notice if he let you stand close enough, and for long enough.

For the last ten months, Izuku's been allowed that—to let himself right into Kacchan's space, bring his hands up to cradle his face and thumb over the rough texture of Kacchan's scar, let himself drown in Kacchan's eyes and tell him just how pretty he is—

"You taking a stroll like you're on a goddamn picnic, huh?!" Kacchan snarls, snapping Izuku out of his thoughts. "You giving me pity fights now, Deku?!"

Izuku's heart aches in his chest.

Ah.

No more Izuku, huh?

This shouldn't surprise me, but—

Kacchan lunges himself at Izuku, right hand coming up.

Feigned right hook—!