𝔸 𝔾𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕎𝕒𝕤 𝕆𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕍.𝟚 💥𝔹𝕜𝔻𝕜💥

Chapter 38

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Cracks In His Armor

Katsuki woke up to the dim light of the sunrise creeping through the curtains, casting a muted glow across the room. His alarm clock beeped annoyingly, dragging him out of the remnants of sleep. A sense of unease tugged at him, a knot forming in his gut. Something wasn't right. He shifted in bed, senses snapping to attention, and his gaze landed on the empty space beside him. Izuku wasn't there.

Panic

A surge of anxiety shot through Katsuki's veins like a bolt of lightning. He bolted upright, his heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to break free. His eyes darted around the room, wild and frantic, searching for any sign of Izuku. Memories clawed their way to the surface—dark, ugly memories of when Izuku had nearly been destroyed by depression. He could still see it, like it was yesterday: the vacant eyes, the hollow voice, the damn near lifeless shell of the person he cared about most. The weight of that time, the fear of almost losing him, slammed into Katsuki like a tidal wave, adding fuel to the fire of his panic. Not again. Not fucking again.

He had to find him.

Driven by a need so deep it felt like it was tearing him apart, Katsuki leaped out of bed, feet slapping against the cold floor. The chill seeped into his bare soles, but he didn't give a damn. His only thought was to fucking find Izuku. He sprinted down the hall, his mind a mess of worry and worst-case scenarios, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

Izuku's name was half-formed on his lips as he reached the entrance to the living room. He skidded to a halt, eyes widening with a flood of relief that nearly knocked him over. There, on the couch, bathed in the soft, early morning light, was Izuku, fast asleep.

The panic that had been strangling him only moments ago began to ease, leaving him feeling shaky and drained. Katsuki took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside. He approached the couch cautiously, footsteps slow and deliberate, not wanting to wake Izuku—not after the kind of day they'd had yesterday.

As he got closer, his eyes flicked to the television screen, still on, casting a dim glow over the room. The news was playing—of course it was. And there it was again, that damn footage from yesterday—the bullshit with the paparazzi—was being compared to old footage of Izuku from years ago, like they were trying to burn the image into everyone's brains. Katsuki clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together. They were showing Izuku's anger, his eyes blazing, his body radiating that dangerous energy. And then they cut to old footage—Izuku from years ago, a kid with stars in his eyes, hope practically shining off him like a damn beacon.

The anchors were talking, their voices full of shit and armchair psychoanalysis, dissecting the difference between the bright-eyed hero-in-training and the man who had lost so much. They questioned if he'd lost his way, if he'd strayed from the path of heroism. They act as if they knew him, like they had any right to judge his life, his choices, like it was some goddamn reality show for them to pick apart.

Like they had any fucking clue. Like they knew anything about what he'd been through.

Katsuki's blood boiled, his fingers curling into fists so tight his nails dug into his palms, the sharp sting barely registering over the rush of anger. Who the hell were they to judge? To act like they knew a damn thing about what Izuku had gone through, about the sacrifices he'd made?

With a flick of his wrist, Katsuki grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, silencing those bullshit voices before they could spew any more crap. The room fell into blessed silence, broken only by the soft, steady sound of Izuku's breathing. Katsuki's eyes went back to him, taking in the sight of those puffy dark circles under his eyes, the exhaustion clear as day into his face.