If I Had One Wish

Chapter Fifty Four

Chapter Fifty Four - An Uncontrolled Fist 

"I'll tell you about it if I ever get it straight in my head."

Ernest Hemingway

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

To say locker rooms weren't awkward between these two would be a lie. The previous comfortability with each other's bodies because they were both guys was now, in all truth, sort of gone.

Because, seriously, did Izuku always have that muscle defining his legs into registered lethal weapons, those abs, those broad shoulders and that trail of curled pitch black hair going down below his stomach, further and further until he was forced to look away? And did Katsuki always have that thin waist giving away into an hourglass figure and flexing biceps, that large chest which flexed dangerously when he got angry and veins in his neck that were defined when he yelled?

They were both on opposite sides of the room, faced away from each other in embarrassment that was almost tangible. Izuku's blush burned so bright it stood out against the red of Todoroki's hair which hung beside him when he bent to buckle his boots, Shoto covering Izuku's left and Iida on his right. Katsuki was better at controlling his expression but Kirishima could see the wideness of his eyes and the faint flush to his ears, lost in an array of thoughts he never thought he'd be able to think and he'd obviously not care to share out loud.

The class was training that day, against the same class as last time after making a few rounds with class B in prior days. However the locker room was never this quiet. Katsuki and Izuku remembered at the same time what happened last time they were pivoted against class C and paused. Midoriya was zipping up the front of his hero suit, Katsuki tugging his belt between the loops of the winter outfit. They both paused, glanced at each other curiously, then turned away. Izuku grew taller, more confident when in his hero outfit, tugging on the gloves over the skintight teal fabric clinging to his toned arms and being the first one outside.

Katsuki stumbled after him a little while later, toying with his own gloves. Aizawa said he wasn't to use his gauntlets during training so he was stuck with his own firepower for now instead of built up sweat. Not that he minded, he liked a challenge especially since it was cold and he couldn't generate as much sweat until he started moving around. Hand to hand combat, their teacher had said.

He narrowly avoided class C's curious gaze, specifically a pitch black one, jogging past them to catch up to Izuku. The air was frigid, the cacophony of complaining teenagers from both classes accompanying the sound of swirling wind and the crunch of snow.

"God, I hate this fucking cold." Katsuki growled the minute he found Izuku somewhere on the field, arms crossed and face tucked into the large boisterous collar of his winter suit. Izuku raised a brow of reply, eyes refocusing to show he had been lost in thought upon his arrival. "How the fuck do you live in that thin suit, die."

"I don't get cold easy." Izuku murmured, standing in front of the slouching blonde, tugging the mask down from his spiky hair to adjust it over Bakugou's eyes. His touch was warm, contrasting the chill of his skin even through his air-force gloves. His teal suit clung to his body so damn tightly, stretching over the area where more packed muscles were like his shoulders and thighs, sticking to his forearms. There was clearly not much left to the imagination, the pants loosening below his hips to give the poor bastard some dignity. Katsuki wasn't aware he was staring until he finished slowly. "I told you this."

"And I don't believe it."

Their breath fogged before them, more of class A coming out of the locker rooms to join them. The teens grouped around the duo, looking around. Izuku's hands dropped, to give Katsuki space but they remained somewhat close to each other, emerald eyes scanning their surroundings. There were cheap neon orange plastic pylons outlining boundaries, two large white metal goalposts rusted with age and rain on either side of the field, Aizawa in the middle of the grassy plain, stark black against the snowy white raining down in thick clumps. In his hand, a ball.