𝔸 𝔾𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕎𝕒𝕤 𝕆𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕖 💥𝔹𝕒𝕜𝕦𝔻𝕖𝕜𝕦💥

Butterflies

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Chapter 8

In the following days, Katsuki's attempts to visit Izuku at the hospital crashed and burned. The entrance seemed to bear an unseen barrier, triggering a prickling discomfort that ran through his body like an electric, making him want to bail. It frustrated the hell out of him, but instead of facing it, he threw himself back into his daily routines, hoping to drown out the chaos.

A letter was sent out, announcing the return of school next week. So, Katsuki hit the Betta gym, a perfect motivation to get him back on track. Sunday evening, as he wrapped up his one-armed reps on the pull-up bar, he realized something was off, like a crucial element was missing from his usual gym routine. Kirishima cranked out his set, but Katsuki's eyes were fixated on the leg press machine, a spot usually owned by Shoto and Izuku every Sunday.

A scowl carved itself on Katsuki's face as he gripped a barbell. The realization slammed into him—it was Izuku's absence screwing up the whole vibe. Sunday wasn't just gym day; it was leg day, a day Izuku never skipped. Katsuki could almost see that green-haired idiot strutting around with that half-and-half bastard.

His scowl deepened with each rep, the memory of Izuku's vacant spot gnawing at him. The mental replay of Izuku and Shoto clowning around the leg press machine on Sundays painted a vivid picture of the void. Grasping the barbells, he tried to focus on the weights, attempting to distract himself.

But as he pushed through his reps, a sudden flashback seized him. The laughter that echoed in his mind morphed into pained cries and desperate gasps for air. The vivid recollection of not only the collapse but the ICU overwhelmed him. Izuku's pale face, and the haunting sound of the nurses doing CPR, fighting to keep him heart beating—all rushed back, intertwining with the electric discomfort lingering for days, intensifying the knot of anxiety in Katsuki's chest.

"Hey, Bakubro, you good?" Kirishima's voice cut through Katsuki's trance, hauling him back. Katsuki's eyes snapped away from the leg press machine, meeting Kirishima's concerned gaze. "Haaa? Of course, I'm fine, Shitty Hair. Why wouldn't I be?!" Katsuki barked with a shaky tone, attempting to veil his true feelings.

"You know, Bakubro? You seem a little...off today. Docile even.." Kirishima remarked gently between his sets.

Katsuki's temper detonated at the observation. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN!" he roared, pivoting and smacking Kirishima on the head.

Kirishima chuckled, seemingly unphased by the outburst. "I mean, you haven't been your usual self," he said, a touch of genuine concern in his voice. "Could it be related to how Midoriya is doing?"

"Don't bring that bastard up," Katsuki shot back, his voice low and venomous.

Kirishima raised his hands in surrender, aiming to cool the heat. "Alright, Bakubro, whatever you say, but if you need to talk, I'm here—"

"I'm not some helpless extra, got that! Go die!" Katsuki snapped, cutting Kirishima off before he could offer more support. Towel in hand, he stormed toward the locker room, the gym-goers shooting curious glances at the sudden commotion.

Katsuki was fed up with the constant inquiries about his well-being since the damn war. It felt like everyone was wondering if he was okay or if Izuku would make it. How the hell would he know? He hadn't set foot in the hospital room since his panic attack. The hospital's entrance became this giant no-go zone, and it wasn't because of some stupid fucking game.

In the locker room, Katsuki let out a frustrated growl, punching the wall with his uninjured hand. Irritated by the thought of being seen as anything less than the strong, fierce hero he prided himself on being. But deep down, he couldn't deny that something was bothering him, gnawing at the edges of his mind like a persistent itch he couldn't scratch. The image of Izuku hooked up to machines and fighting for his life lingered briefly, and the muscle in his jaw feathered — He didn't want that shit on his mind. didn't want to be vulnerable to anxiety and panic. It was a bad look.