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It’s 3am and nothing feels real.
Izuku stares blankly at the shelf before him and tries to figure out what food is going to be the easiest to scarf down while standing over his kitchen sink. Or maybe on the walk home. If he can finish whatever he buys on the five minute trek back then he can collapse into bed the moment he gets in the door. Win-win.
The convenience store is quiet except for some nondescript music playing over the speakers, too soft to identify. Izuku hadn’t seen a clerk when he’d come in, entrance heralded by the tinkling of bells over the door, but he’s sure they’re around here somewhere. Hopefully, anyways. Izuku hasn’t eaten all day and if he doesn’t get something in his stomach in the next ten minutes he might actually cry about it.
It’s been a long day, to say the least. He’d been called in by his agency early this morning and then spent all day dealing with a hostage situation downtown. It had required extensive use of his quirk when negotiations had failed after hours and hours of talking, and he feels battered and bruised all over.
At least nobody had died. A few injuries, but nothing life-threatening.
Izuku’s vision swims a little and he catches himself swaying where he stands. Right. Food. He grabs a four pack of onigiri off the shelf and calls it good. It might not have much nutritional value, but it’ll quiet his grumbling stomach at least.
He’s heading for the drinks, rounding a display of chips, when he realizes he’s not alone. At first his exhausted brain assumes it’s just the store clerk, but a moment later he notices that they’re not wearing a uniform, and are similarly browsing the cooler shelves.
They’re broad, and tall, and something about them is so familiar it makes Izuku’s chest ache with a suddenness that knocks the air from his lungs. It’s something about the blonde hair, overlong and curling against a pale nape, the casual stance, hands jammed in pockets and shoulders slumped, the narrow waist and curved biceps.
Kacchan his brain screams, and Izuku stumbles into the nearest display, sending packets of cookies sprawling in all directions.
The person turns around and all the embarrassment Izuku might have felt over the blunder vanishes at once. Because it is him. It’s Katsuki.
“Deku?” His voice is deeper, a little rougher around the edges, but somehow still the same. He’s also grown into himself, tall and strong and trim, a shadow of what might be facial hair all along his jawline. It’s been five years after all, of course he’d look a little bit different.
That desperate ache in Izuku’s chest blooms into something sharp and agonizing.
“What the hell are you doing here? It’s 3am, you should be asleep.”
And suddenly that bloom grows razor sharp claws and fangs. Anger hits Izuku so strongly it almost knocks him over. Five years and those are the first words Katsuki says to him? Like nothing has happened and they’re still eighteen, running into each other randomly when they should both be in bed because they have school in the morning.
No. No, absolutely not.
Before Izuku even recognizes it he’s turning on heel and stalking out of the convenience store. There’s silence in his wake, no call for him to stop or slow down, and he fights back an onslaught of tears. He’s spent half a decade crying over Katsuki already, he doesn’t want to do it anymore.
He’s halfway home before he realizes the package of onigiri is still in his hand, smashed into unrecognizable shapes from his grip.
oOo
The thing is, they’d been close. Once upon a time. When things were better, simpler.
Izuku has a million memories of curling up in Katsuki’s bed, the sound of the dorm and other students distant beyond those four walls. He remembers the warmth of sleeping curled up with Katsuki, remembers the soft press of lips, the scrape of teeth, the press of nails against sensitive flesh. Discovering each other and themselves all in the same breath, their lives intertwining so perfectly, so beautifully, that they often moved as one.
And then Katsuki had ruined it, ruined absolutely everything.
Izuku has been mourning for five years. He’s tossed around the idea of what he might do if or when Katsuki ever returns, but has never come to a single conclusion. Does he pretend nothing ever happened? Does he ignore Katsuki outright? Move away and put more distance between them? Beg him to come back and finally fill the weeping, bloody hole he left in Izuku’s heart?
Despite his exhaustion Izuku doesn’t sleep well that night. He tosses and turns for hours, and each time he feels like he’s finally starting to drift off he jerks back awake again. Dawn climbs the walls of his bedroom slowly, inevitably, and Izuku stares bleary-eyed at his ceiling until his alarm finally goes off.
He has the day off thankfully, after yesterday’s fiasco, but even still Izuku half wishes he could go in. If just to get his mind off of things. Instead he spends all day moping around his quiet, empty apartment in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and his boxers.
Five years ago, he’d liked wearing Katsuki’s clothes whenever he got the chance. It’s probably why he likes baggy t-shirts so much now, even years later, but he can’t bring himself to think about that for too long.
He gets a few texts from friends over the course of the day but doesn’t bother responding to them. That is, until Uraraka calls him in the evening while he’s microwaving his dinner.
“Hello?” he answers, a little wary. It’s rare that any of his friends call, they all prefer text.
“Did you hear?” are her first words, and Izuku’s stomach churns. “It’s all over the news.”
“Hear what?” Izuku responds even though he’s pretty sure he already knows.
“Bakugou is back! He’s signed onto your agency isn’t he?” Her voice is lost somewhere between excitement and concern for Izuku. Katsuki had been her classmate and friend too after all.
“Yeah,” is the only word Izuku can seem to find. Does he tell her about the night before? The memory feels hazy and far away now, probably from sleep deprivation, and he wonders if it wasn’t just a dream. But he knows it’s not. If Katsuki is on the news then he’s really back, and already doing hero work to boot.
Uraraka sucks air between her teeth, apparently deciding concern is the better approach to take. Probably because of Izuku’s lackluster answer. “Ouch. Are you gonna be okay?”
He’s not really sure, honestly. The option of skipping town is still on the table in his mind, so probably not. “Of course,” he says, and forces himself to smile so it sounds more genuine. “It’ll take some…adjustment. But I’m over him, seriously.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line, and Izuku winces because clearly that wasn’t as believable as he’d been aiming for.
Finally Uraraka sighs loudly. “No you’re not. But that’s okay. You guys were…well, it doesn’t matter, but the point is that you’re allowed to hurt when you see him again. Just know I’m here, okay?”
“Thanks,” Izuku murmurs, and it’s probably the most sincere thing he’s said since he picked up his phone. “Really, I appreciate it.”
She hums and reminds him that the rest of their friend group would surely support him as well. “And speaking of them, I think I’m gonna have everyone over for dinner in a few nights. You’re not allowed to rain check, not even if the world is ending.”
Izuku laughs and agrees to show up. By the time he hangs up he’s feeling better about the whole situation, even if just a little. His friends were there for him when Katsuki first left, and he’s sure they’ll be here now as well.
oOo
Unfortunately, fate itself is conspiring against Izuku because the first thing he does the next morning is run straight into Katsuki. Literally.
He’d been coming into the agency, head down as he’d fumbled with his tie, still unable to tie it properly after all these years, when he’d collided with a seemingly solid wall where there hadn’t been one there before.
Warm, familiar hands, bigger than they used to be, grab his arms and steady him. Izuku cranes his neck back and stares up into Katsuki’s face, angular, firm, and squeaks audibly. One blonde eyebrow raises.
“Watch where you’re going, nerd,” the man says, playful, and Izuku feels like he might shake apart from the familiarity of it.
Instead he shrugs the hands off his arms and takes a step back. A big one. It makes Katsuki frown a little but so be it. Izuku needs space like he needs air right now.
“What’re you doing here?” he asks, then mentally slaps himself for it.
“I work here,” is the expected response. “Are you okay, Deku?” A brief pause and Katsuki’s face screws up a little. “Sorry, Izuku.”
Izuku jerks and blinks at him, thrown. Katsuki almost never calls him by his actual name. It’s always been nicknames for them, since they were kids. When he doesn’t respond, Katsuki's expression sours further. “Midoriya then? Fuck, it’s been five years, are you still angry?”
“What?” Izuku asks. Of course he is, but he doesn’t think they’re quite on the same page here.
“You ran off when I called you Deku the other night, figured you didn’t want me to call you that anymore.” Katsuki shrugs and he crosses his arms over his chest, trying to be casual. The tension in his jaw belays his frustration though.
For the first time, Izuku notices that Katsuki is wearing his hero costume. It’s been a while since he’s seen it and there are slight alterations that he picks up quickly, unable to help filing them away for later.
Unfortunately, the sleeveless look is still the same, meaning that Izuku is eye level with Katsuki’s bulging arms when he crosses them. Fuck, Izuku’s always been a sucker for Katsuki’s arms. It’s kind of a weird fixation he thinks, but he dares anyone to not be attracted to those biceps. If you like men it’s physically impossible.
“Um,” he says, and tries to backtrack the conversation. Right, Katsuki called him Midoriya. Everything in him flinches away from that. But he also can’t imagine having Katsuki call him Deku again. Not after five years of silence. “Just Izuku is fine.”
Some of the tension eases from Katsuki’s jaw and he nods, slowly. “Okay. I can do that.”
Izuku nods back and silence stretches awkwardly between them. More than anything Izuku wants to throw himself into Katsuki’s arms and forgive him for the past five years. He wants Katsuki back, wants to feel loved again.
But he can’t. He’s not a love struck teenager anymore. He’s a man, and a hero, and he’s not going to fall to his knees just because his old flame came back to town.
“Listen,” Katsuki finally says when Izukus starts to shift anxiously. “Can we sit down and just…talk? Not right now, I have to go on patrol, but maybe-”
Izuku catches sight of his handler over Katsuki’s shoulder and has to physically stop himself from using his quirk to bolt over to her. But he still swerves around the blonde with a hasty, “Gotta go!” and a little wave. Katsuki could have reached out and stopped him if he wanted, his reflexes are fast enough, but he doesn’t. When Izuku glances over his shoulder a moment after greeting his handler, the blonde is gone.
oOo
Uraraka’s dinner parties are always a good time. Izuku loves being at her and Mina’s apartment, and he knows she can’t help but invite their entire friend group. It means the apartment is full to the brim with laughter and warm bodies, gathered around the table, sprawled on the pink couch, lounging on pristine white carpet. Izuku never feels alone when he comes over.
There’s nothing unusual about this visit at first: Mina greets him at the door with a kiss on the cheek, and Todoroki scoots over on the couch to make more room for him. Uraraka is in the kitchen cooking with Iida’s help, and Tsuyu is busy trying to find a movie that might fit most of their tastes.
Izuku collapses next to Todoroki, feeling pleased.
It’s not unusual for Kirishima and Kaminari to be late, so nobody is surprised when they show up thirty minutes later, long after the movie has started.
What is a surprise is the third person trailing after them. Hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders high and tight, dressed casually in jeans, leather jacket, and a t-shirt so tight it leaves Izuku’s mouth dry. Is there ever a situation where Katsuki doesn’t look good? Izuku’s half convinced that it's impossible, like defying gravity (without a quirk, of course).
Izuku can’t see Uraraka’s face but he can hear the tight tension in her voice when she says, loudly, “Nice of you to tell me you would be bringing company.”
Not realizing the danger he’s in, Kaminari smiles widely. “Couldn’t leave our bro out now that he’s back!” Kirishima seems to know something’s up though because his smile is more tentative when he agrees.
Uraraka hums in the back of her throat, then grabs the two men by the wrist and tugs them very insistently across the living room and towards the bedroom. “A quick chat? Now.” The last word is low and threatening and both men go quickly, casting pleading/confused looks across the living room.
Izuku shrinks into the couch as they pass, and the room falls into an uncomfortable silence when the bedroom door slams closed behind the trio. Katsuki is still standing in the open doorway, alone now and looking like he’s not quite sure what to do about it.
Clearing her throat loudly, Mina pops up from beside Izuku. “Ignore my girlfriend’s awful manners. Welcome back, Bakugou. Do you want some dinner? Uraraka made it herself.”
Katsuki’s shoulders roll in a lazy shrug. “I could eat.”
While Mina goes to fix him a plate, Katsuki casually scans the living room, already full to the brim with people. There’s more room to be had on the floor, if Tsuyu and Iida didn’t stretch out quite so much.
But of course, because Katsuki is nothing if not difficult, he chooses to take Mina’s empty spot. Directly beside Izuku. And of course because there are two other people on a piece of furniture that could, under some definitions, count as a loveseat, it means they’re pressed together from shoulder to knee.
This close Izuku can feel the warmth radiating off of him, even through his leather jacket and jeans, and smell the familiar spicy-sweet of his nitroglycerin sweat.
Katsuki acts like nothing is different, leaning into the cushions and throwing a casual arm over the back of the couch. So close to being around Izuku’s shoulders that Izuku nearly trembles for the want of it.
“What’re we watching?” Katsuki asks.
Tsuyu answers from the floor, some spy movie that doubles as a romcom, though Izuku hasn’t been paying attention to it in the slightest. He was just happy to be warm and comfortable around friends.
Now he’s going to be distracted for an entirely different reason.
Mina comes back from the kitchen at the same time that Uraraka and the boys emerge from the bedroom. Kirishima and Kaminari look suitably sheepish as they find spots on the floor to sit, and Uraraka looks like a stern mother as she eyes Katsuki and Izuku’s seating arrangement. Izuku tries to subtly wave her off. The last thing he wants is his friends ganging up on Katsuki and causing a huge scene.
If they just leave it all alone, maybe it’ll go back to how it used to be. Minus the part where Katsuki and Izuku were dating, of course.
Mina passes out plates to the newcomers, and everyone settles back in to watch the movie. The first few minutes are a little tense, but eventually the comments and ribbing start back up. It wouldn’t be a real movie night if everyone didn’t put in their two cents. They have to put subtitles on because some of them are just too damn loud to hear over. Kirishima and Mina, mostly, but the others get opinionated from time to time.
Izuku tries to lose himself in the story, tries to interact with his friends and respond to their commentary, but he remains unfairly aware of Katsuki anyways. Even his quiet breathing, inaudible over everything else, is still noticeable for Izuku.
So of course Izuku notices when Katsuki shifts his weight, pressing their shoulders tighter together for a moment as he readjusts. He does his best not to look over at what the blonde is doing and is proud of himself when he doesn’t. But not even a minute later there’s something being settled gently on his thigh, warm fingers brushing against him.
Izuku glances down at the phone in his lap. It’s open to a notes app, and there’s a single sentence written.
can we talk? please?
Izuku’s heartbeat kicks up several notches and he swallows hard. When he glances at Katsuki out of the corner of his eye, the blonde is leaning against the arm of the couch, for all intents and purposes watching the movie.
Izuku picks the phone up shakily. It’s stupid, talking like this right? Like a couple of teenagers trying to hide from their parents.
The phone itself is unfamiliar, a different model from the one Katsuki had when he left. A different number too, Izuku knows, because he’d called the old one endlessly that first year. It had only ever led him to a dial tone and a soft voice informing him that the number had been disconnected.
Right now? he types out, and slides the phone onto Katsuki’s thigh without ever touching him. It’s back not even a minute later.
yes. you can’t run away w/o making a scene
Okay, fair if not a little bit underhanded. Izuku squirms in his seat, suddenly anxious. what do you want to talk about? he types.
It takes a little longer this time, but he does get the phone back eventually. you never called, it reads, and Izuku’s teeth grind with sudden anger. He punches at the screen with his thumbs when he types up his response, and drops the phone into Katsuki’s lap aggressively instead of sliding it over.
I did! YOU changed your number!
I gave you the new one! Katsuki’s response reads, and Izuku’s head whips up so fast he swears he feels his neck pop. Katsuki is looking at him now, frustration clear in his expression. But he also glances around the room pointedly, silently asking if Izuku really wants to make a scene by yelling at him. Izuku grinds his teeth and turns back to the phone with a vengeance.
the hell you did. You left without saying ANYTHING kacchan. Gone, just like that, no number, no explanation.
Izuku doesn’t even bother to pretend to watch the movie anymore. His friend’s happy voices and conversation now feel like sandpaper on exposed nerves, and he can feel himself drawing up tighter and tighter with tension.
Katsuki’s brow furrows as he reads the newest message, and he’s slow to type his own. When he’s done he simply holds the screen up for Izuku to read.
you didn’t get my note?
It’s the last straw. “What note?!” Izuku demands out loud, furious and shaken and hurt and desperately wanting everything to stop. To be okay again.
“The one I left for you!” Katsuki explodes in turn. “You wouldn’t talk to me, and I had to leave, so I snuck in and put it on your desk. Didn’t you see it?”
Someone has paused the movie and all eyes have turned to the pair. But Izuku can’t feel the curious, concerned stares. He’s casting his mind back to the day when Katsuki left, to the anguish he’d felt, and the way he’d tossed everything in his room that reminded him of his boyfriend into the closest where it couldn’t be seen.
Including something on his desk. A piece of paper with his name on it in that familiar block text, perfectly neat from years of taking notes. He’d thought it had been a note Katsuki had passed him in class. Izuku usually kept them, mostly because they were so rare. Katsuki was nothing if not a dedicated student after all, no time for stupid things like passing notes. Usually.
Izuku’s shoulders slump. Had he really missed something so important? Why hadn’t Katsuki just texted him, or left him a message online somewhere?
The answer is obvious. Izuku had blocked him in a fit of rage the night before. He couldn’t have left messages anywhere except in person.
Uraraka clears her throat loudly from the floor where she’s cuddled up with Mina. “Do you guys wanna…go talk this out in the bedroom, maybe? Not that we wouldn’t love to be in on the drama but uh, seems kind of personal.”
“Right, sorry,” Izuku says slowly, but can’t stand until Katsuki gently pulls him up from the couch. Even then he feels a little faint, unsure of himself. Still, he follows Katsuki into the bedroom and quietly shuts the door behind them.
On the other side he can hear the movie being resumed, though he’s sure his friends are gossiping right now and just using the background noise to reassure Izuku that he and Katsuki won’t be overheard. It’s an appreciated gesture.
He hasn’t had reason to be in Uraraka and Mina’s bedroom often, so with the lights out and only a dim streetlamp filtering in, he can’t tell what anything is. But it doesn’t matter. He has eyes only for the figure in front of him, so familiar Izuku would recognize it even if he was blind.
“Did you really not read it?” Katsuki asks.
Izuku shakes his head. “I…I didn’t know. I thought it was a note from class or something.”
That makes Katsuki huff, his stance shifting as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Figures. So what you’re telling me is that I waited years for you to finally message me, and you waited years for me to reach out to you instead? Let me guess, you probably thought I forgot about you.”
The words hit true and Izuku winces. He had thought that. At first, at his lowest, when he was drowning in misery over missing Katsuki, over anger that he would just leave like he did. And then later, as a reminder to himself that it was time to grow up and move on. If Katsuki had forgotten about him, then he could forget about Katsuki.
Clearly, he’d been wrong. Katsuki hadn’t forgotten.
Even more clearly, the logic hadn’t even worked in the first place. He’s pretty sure he could go his entire life and never forget Katsuki: the scent of him, his warmth, the curve of his smile, the sharp teeth visible when he smirks or yells, the way he had looked at Izuku.
The way he’s looking at Izuku right now.
Izuku finally manages to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “What did it say?” he asks, voice coming out soft in the semi-darkness. “The note.”
Katsuki rocks back on his heels for a second before he takes a step closer, then another. Until he’s so close Izuku can feel the heat rolling off of him in lazy waves. A familiar hand finds his face and something in Izuku breaks a little. He can’t help the way he leans into it, hungry for the contact.
“It said that I was sorry. That I should have told you sooner, but was too scared to. I thought you’d leave me if you knew,” Katsuki murmurs. His thumb rubs gently along Izuku’s cheekbone, and he has to fight the urge to cry. “I put my new number on it, and the address of the apartment the agency rented for me.”
He’d been gone on an assignment. Offered to him straight out of high school. He’d left only days after their graduation, but had known about it months beforehand since the agency had already agreed to sign him on. The same one had taken Izuku too, and he’d been ecstatic at first learning that they’d be working together.
Until Katsuki had broken the news to him.
They’d been curled up together in Katsuki’s childhood bedroom, half-asleep, sweaty and sated. Then Katsuki had rolled towards him and informed that he’d be leaving the very next morning. A different country, halfway across the world, a multi-year assignment.
Izuku had snapped. It had felt like violence, like betrayal. He can’t quite remember everything they’d said to each other, only that there had been a lot of screaming and even more tears. To this day he’s not entirely sure why Katsuki even took the job. Katsuki must have told him, of course he would have, but Izuku had been in no frame of mind to hear it.
By the time Izuku had calmed down, Katsuki had been long gone. Izuku had unblocked him everywhere, but after unanswered texts and realizing that Katsuki had changed his number, Izuku had been too scared to message him.
Five years had passed like that. Five long horrible years where Izuku thought Katsuki had abandoned him completely. From his perspective, Katsuki might as well have left just to get away from him.
Izuku takes a shaky breath and finally asks the question that’s been eating at him for so long now. “Why did you leave?”
Katsuki’s eyes close and he leans in, presses their forehead together. With his hand on Izuku’s face still, he’s all that Izuku can feel, can see, can smell and hear. Katsuki fills him completely.
“It was supposed to be for us,” Katsuki says, voice hushed. “The pay was three times what I would have made here. I was…I was going to buy us a house. Let you pick it out and everything while I was gone. Then, when I got back, I was going to propose. Move us into it so we could be together. Always. Its stupid, in retrospect-”
Izuku chokes on a teary laugh. “It really was.”
Katsuki’s eyes open and he smiles, lopsided and beautiful. “Yeah, well, I was eighteen and stupid. If I had been smarter, I would have shared the plan with my beautiful, smart boyfriend so that he could talk me out of it.”
“Oh, I would have hit you over the head for even thinking about it,” Izuku laughs. The pain, the constant pain he’s been carrying for half a decade now is starting to ease. It won’t vanish overnight he knows, but…
“Do you still love me?” Katsuki asks, suddenly, and when Izuku refocuses he can see how intent Katsuki’s expression is. The earnest worry in the set of his mouth, his searching eyes.
“Of course I do. I never stopped,” Izuku breathes. “I…” Nothing will make up for the years he spent alone, thinking Katsuki had moved on without a second thought for him. But knowing that he’d had his own hand in their separation, that Katsuki had tried to bridge the gap the moment it had appeared, even if he’d been the one to cause it…well, it certainly makes him feel a lot more forgiving.
“You?” Katsuki prompts him from where he’d left off.
“I want us again. I want what we had before.”
Izuku can feel Katsuki’s sigh of relief against his mouth, and it makes him shiver.
“Good, good. I want that too. I thought…you never messaged me so I thought you hated me. Then I came back and you couldn’t stand to be anywhere near me.”
“Kacchan, I could never hate you.” His hands find Katsuki’s face in return, until they’re just standing there holding each other, foreheads touching, breathing each other’s air like it’ll be their last inhale.
Finally, Izuku can’t take it anymore. There’s more to talk about of course, too many hurt emotions on both sides to just leave it. But he presses forward and kisses Katsuki anyways.
Katsuki kisses him back with desperation, with a fiery intensity that Izuku missed so much. He doesn’t realize he’s started crying until Katsuki is soothing him, wiping tears from his face, kissing his cheeks. “Shh, I’m here, I’m sorry, I’m not going anywhere.”
Izuku chokes on a half-laugh, half-sob, and pulls him in for another kiss. With their emotions so high it’s only a matter of time before Katsuki has Izuku pinned against the bedroom door, their lips dragging against each other, tacky with saliva, tongues sliding into open mouths.
Katsuki grinds his hips forward with all the tension and wanting of five years, and Izuku nearly comes right then and there. He’s missed every single thing about this, and it feels almost surreal to have it again. Eventually he’ll want to slow it down, taste and touch every inch of Katsuki, convince himself that this is real.
But slow is for later. Slow is for when they’re not so desperate for each other, fingers turning to claws and leaving bruises, scratches, like they’re lost in a desert and the only water can be found within the other.
Izuku is almost there, right on the peak, grinding back up into Katsuki despite both of their pants still being on. Katsuki’s hand is on his thigh holding it up around his waist, making the angle almost perfect for the movements of their hips.
Then someone bangs on the door.
“I want you two to makeup as much as the next guy,” comes Uraraka’s, voice, “but if you two are having sex in my bedroom we’re going to have words. Strong ones.”
Katsuki sighs and drops his head to Izuku’s shoulder. They’re breathing heavily, and Izuku’s thigh is starting to cramp from being held up. He lowers it, and Katsuki’s hand trails up Izuku’s side.
“No sex, got it!” Izuku calls back, voice tellingly gruff, and Uraraka bangs on the door again for emphasis.
“Cockblock,” Katsuki mutters, and Izuku throws his head back against the wood and laughs. It turns into a soft moan when Katsuki takes the opportunity to kiss at his throat, nipping at sensitive flesh.
“What do you say we ditch these extras, hm?” he says, lips trailing up to Izuku’s ear. “I can show you the place I bought.”
Because of course he bought a house for them anyways. As much hurt was between them there’s no way they wouldn’t have come back together, eventually. They’re a pair, destined in every definition of the word.
“Yeah,” Izuku breathes, sliding his fingers into blonde hair. “Let’s go.”