Katsuki had been released one day early for this shitshow?
Deku's mom had obviously been the decorator of Deku's eighteenth birthday party. Green and purple streamers intertwined and linked across the ceiling, with balloons of the same colors floating up in dozens upon dozens. Someone had brought their speakers and blasted their unbearably upbeat music as the sun had begun to set.
Auntie Inko had stuck around to bring out food for everyone, to flutter over Katsuki's healed injuries, and saw herself out after she grabbed an extra two full plates for Katsuki's parents next door. Then she disappeared and left these maniacs to inevitably trash her tiny apartment.
Naivety ran in the Midoriya family.
Speaking of, Katsuki had lost track of that little shit. Not that it mattered in this tiny space. He had to be in the kitchen, where Ashido's laughter boomed. Cramming twenty former classmates, plus extras from other classes and walks of life, in one tiny apartment, equaled Katsuki's idea of hell.
With a scowl, Katsuki slouched against the old, familiar couch of his and Deku's youth, unfortunately sandwiched between Ochako and Iida. Arms folded, his third drink clutched for dear life in one hand, Katsuki cast a despondent glance at Ochako.
"Are you in pain?" she asked, frowning, her cheeks as bright and big as apples with the hard ciders she'd been practically chugging.
"Only emotionally," Katsuki said blandly. "I –"
"Ground Zero!" Mirio barrelled through the crowd with his shit-eating grin. "There you are! I hear we're going to be part-"
"Who would be your partner?" Katsuki snarled, lurching to his feet – briefly thankful his back didn't give out anymore and he was in good, steady health – and stomped from the room.
Safety, reprieve.
Katsuki yanked open Deku's bedroom door and slammed it shut behind him. Eyes already shut, he leaned against the paneling and released a shaky breath. His fists trembled faintly.
Since when had this all become too much?
Since two weeks ago. Since endless, sleepless nights in the hospital had driven him mad. Since he'd stopped looking Deku in the eye because every time he did, he saw the person who hadn't recognized him and hadn't cared if he died quickly or in pain.
Don't do that again.
For the first time in a long time, Katsuki had instantly hated himself. Even as the words had spat from him like old blood, he'd begun to choke on their taste.
He hadn't meant, Don't scare me like that again. He hadn't meant, Don't hurt yourself like that again.
Katsuku had meant, Don't hurt me like that again.
Selfish.
When had he last been that terrified? He couldn't say.
But Katsuki knew he'd never felt that broken before.
On the inside, not the out.
Skin crawling, chest compressing without release, Katsuki pushed off the door and paced the short floor, pausing to stare at Deku's desk. The cork-board above it was littered with pinned photos from their years at school.
Mostly Deku's close friends. Ones very slowly becoming Katsuki's. Even Todoroki and Shinsou had taken to visiting him every couple of days in the hospital. They'd bickered the majority of the time, but it had been a break from the monotony.
He still didn't know how Shinsou had gotten his phone number, though. The cat memes were fucking relentless.
Without having to admit it out loud, Katsuki could quietly relent to the fact that Deku had brought a lot of good things into his world. His life felt more whole for it, full. Not that starved feeling in the pit of his stomach when he trained endlessly, pushing his body to its limits for lack of anything else to do.
