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The days turned into weeks, and the rhythms of UA High continued unabated. Despite the persistence of Izuku's attempts to reach Katsuki, the latter's defenses remained formidable. Katsuki had adopted a new coping mechanism—one that involved throwing himself into his training with a relentless fervor. It became his way of controlling what he could, an escape from the emotional turmoil he faced.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky turned a dusky purple, Izuku entered the training grounds to find Katsuki already hard at work. The intensity of Katsuki’s movements was palpable, each strike and maneuver executed with a fierce precision. Izuku watched from a distance, noting the determined look on Katsuki’s face.
The field was deserted except for the two of them. Katsuki’s breath came in sharp, measured bursts, his muscles straining with the effort he was putting into each exercise. It was clear that he was pushing himself to his limits, using physical exertion as a way to drown out the emotional weight he carried.
Izuku approached cautiously, his eyes never leaving Katsuki’s figure. “Hey, Kacchan. You’ve been at this for hours. Maybe you should take a break.”
Katsuki grunted in response, not slowing his pace. “I don’t need a break. I need to get stronger. I’ve got a lot to make up for.”
Izuku’s concern deepened. “It’s great that you’re committed to your training, but overworking yourself isn’t going to help. You need to take care of yourself too.”
Katsuki’s jaw tightened, his movements becoming even more aggressive. “I don’t need you telling me what to do. I’m fine.”
Izuku watched as Katsuki’s face flushed with exertion, his usual bravado masking the strain he was under. “I’m not here to tell you what to do. I just want to make sure you’re alright. You’ve been pushing yourself harder than ever.”
Katsuki’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Why do you care so much? It’s not like you’re the one suffering.”
The words stung, but Izuku remained calm. “I care because I’m your friend, Kacchan. And friends look out for each other. If you’re hurting, I want to help.”
Katsuki’s movements faltered for a moment, the intensity of his actions giving way to a brief moment of vulnerability. He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting Izuku’s with an expression that was both defiant and uncertain. “I don’t need your help. I just need to keep going.”
Izuku’s gaze softened, recognizing the pain behind Katsuki’s words. “You don’t have to do this alone. You’ve been through a lot, and it’s okay to let others in.”
Katsuki’s eyes darted away, his defenses reasserting themselves with renewed vigor. “I said I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”
Izuku nodded, taking a step back but still keeping an eye on Katsuki. “Alright. I’ll be around if you change your mind. Just remember, you don’t have to carry everything on your own.”
As Izuku left the training grounds, he couldn’t shake the feeling of concern that lingered. Katsuki’s relentless drive was both admirable and troubling. It was clear that he was using his training as a shield, a way to avoid confronting the pain and loss he had experienced. Izuku knew that breaking through Katsuki’s walls would require more than just patience—it would require understanding and support.
The following days continued in much the same way. Katsuki threw himself into his training with increasing intensity, and Izuku remained a constant presence, offering support without pushing too hard. He respected Katsuki’s need for space but remained steadfast in his commitment to be there for him.
One afternoon, as Katsuki collapsed onto the grass after an especially grueling workout, Izuku approached with a bottle of water and a towel. Katsuki’s face was streaked with sweat, his breathing ragged. He took the water and towel, his fingers brushing against Izuku’s in a fleeting moment of contact.
“You really need to take it easy,” Izuku said softly. “Your body can’t keep up this pace forever.”
Katsuki took a long drink, his eyes closing momentarily. “I just can’t stop. If I stop, I’ll have to face everything I’ve been trying to forget.”
Izuku sat down next to him, his expression sympathetic. “You don’t have to face it alone. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Katsuki’s eyes opened, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The struggle within him was evident, the weight of his grief and anger a burden he carried every day. “You don’t get it. It’s not just about forgetting. It’s about making sure I don’t fall apart.”
Izuku nodded, his voice gentle but resolute. “And pushing yourself to the brink isn’t going to help you stay together. Sometimes, facing things head-on is the only way to truly heal.”
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken emotions. Katsuki’s defenses were starting to show signs of strain, and Izuku’s persistent support was beginning to make a difference, even if Katsuki wasn’t ready to fully acknowledge it.
As the sun set, casting a warm glow over the training grounds, Izuku remained by Katsuki’s side, offering a steady presence in the midst of the turmoil. The path to rebuilding their friendship was fraught with challenges, but Izuku was unwavering in his commitment. He knew that breaking through Katsuki’s walls would take time, patience, and understanding, but he was ready to face it all.
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YOU ARE READING
Behind The Walls ✔️
Hayran KurguDisclamer:I don't own any of the characters or the images used in this book, all credit goes to Kohei Horikoshi and owners There were two childhood friends whose bond had once been unbreakable but had since fractured under the weight of loss and...
