My Omega

Chapter 6

               Remastered: January 20th, 2025

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The arcade was still loud, the shrill sounds of laughter and video games vibrating through the air, but for Katsuki, it was like everything was muffled. He could hear the buzzing lights and the echoes of his classmates enjoying themselves, but he couldn't focus on any of it. His mind kept circling back to Izuku.

They had walked here together, surrounded by their friends, but now the distance between them felt like a chasm. Katsuki's heart was tight, and the frustration boiling inside of him was getting harder to control.

He didn't know when it started—this tension between them—but it had built up over the last week. Izuku had been back in his life, but it didn't feel like he was really there. It felt like something was missing. Like they were stuck in some awkward in-between place, and Katsuki wasn't sure if it would ever feel normal again.

Katsuki couldn't shake the image of Izuku talking to Yamada, his mate, on the phone earlier. Even though Katsuki hated to admit it, that feeling—the one that made his stomach twist every time he saw Izuku glance at the screen, every time he heard him mention the name—was eating away at him. Yamada. His mate.

He couldn't escape the feeling that he didn't have a place in Izuku's life anymore. That maybe he never really had one to begin with.

The bus ride back from the arcade was awkward. Katsuki sat in the back, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his mind a storm of confusion. He tried to look anywhere but at Izuku, who was sitting a few seats ahead, eyes glued to his phone. But no matter how hard he tried, his gaze kept drifting back to him.

Izuku's phone buzzed again, and Katsuki caught the name on the screen before Izuku could slide it back into his pocket: Yamada.

A sharp, almost painful, sensation surged through Katsuki's chest. He clenched his fists and looked away, but it was like his mind couldn't stop repeating the same words. Yamada is his mate. Yamada is his mate. What was Katsuki even supposed to do with that?

His frustration reached its boiling point.

The bus made a turn, jolting them slightly, but Katsuki stood up, almost without thinking. He stalked to the front, heading straight for Izuku, who was still glued to his phone. Katsuki's voice rang out in the quiet bus, cutting through the low murmur of conversation around them.

"Izuku," Katsuki started, his voice colder than he intended. "We need to talk."

Izuku looked up, his face unreadable. He'd already gotten used to this, hadn't he? This back-and-forth, the way Katsuki would always try to drag things out, try to make them confront the past.

Izuku sighed, his hand running through his messy hair. "What now, Bakugo?" His voice was sharp, and there was an edge to it. Katsuki had never heard him sound so... irritated.

"Don't give me that," Katsuki snapped, a bite of anger slipping into his words. "You've been acting like everything's fine, like nothing's changed. But you and I both know it has. So why the hell do you keep avoiding me? What the hell is going on?"

Izuku's expression hardened, the warmth in his eyes turning into something colder, something more guarded. "I'm not avoiding you, Katsuki," he replied, his voice tight with restraint. "I'm just trying to move forward. I thought you'd get that by now."

"Oh, I get it," Katsuki shot back, his words sharp. "You're too busy for me now. Too busy with him—" He gestured vaguely toward Izuku's phone. "You and your perfect little life, your perfect mate. What the hell do you want me to do with that?"

Izuku's eyes narrowed, and he stood up from his seat, facing Katsuki directly. "What I want, Bakugo, is for you to let go of the past," he said, his tone no longer patient. "I'm not the same person I was when we were kids. I can't be that person for you anymore. Things have changed, and I don't expect you to understand it all, but you need to stop holding onto this idea of what we were."

Katsuki felt the heat in his chest rising. "So that's it? You're just going to throw everything away? Just because you've got a damn mate doesn't mean I have to pretend everything's okay!"

Izuku clenched his jaw, clearly losing his patience. "I'm not throwing everything away, Katsuki! But you're the one who keeps holding on to a version of me that doesn't exist anymore. You can't keep demanding that I be the same Izuku you knew when we were kids. I'm trying to find my own path. And you're not helping by clinging to the past."

The words hit Katsuki harder than he expected, a blow to his pride. His fists clenched tighter, but before he could speak, Izuku continued, voice quieter but still firm.

"You don't get it, do you? You keep pushing me, keep thinking everything will be like it was before. But it's not going to be like that. I'm not your old Izuku anymore, and I need you to respect that. I need you to respect my boundaries."

Katsuki stood there, stunned, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Izuku's words were like cold water, and it took him a moment to process them. For the first time, he realized how much he'd been holding on to the past—the idea of Izuku, of them, that didn't exist anymore.

He wanted to argue. He wanted to shout that it wasn't fair, that he hadn't changed, that he still cared, but as he looked at Izuku's expression, he saw the truth in his eyes. The distance, the space, was real. And he had to face it.

"Fine," Katsuki muttered, his voice thick with frustration. He turned on his heel, heading back to his seat. But before he could sit down, Izuku's voice stopped him.

"Katsuki." Izuku's tone was softer now, but still firm. "I'm not saying I don't care. But I can't keep doing this. You can't keep pushing me to be something I'm not anymore."

Katsuki didn't turn around, but his jaw tightened. "I get it," he said through gritted teeth, sitting down with his back to Izuku. "I'll stop."

Izuku sighed heavily, a long, drawn-out exhale that made Katsuki's chest tighten. But this time, there was nothing more to say. They were both caught in a space that felt too big, too wide to bridge. The weight of the conversation lingered in the air, an unspoken understanding between them.

Katsuki stared out the window, his hands clenched into fists. He wasn't sure if he was ready to let go of everything that had once been so familiar, but maybe, just maybe, he didn't have a choice.