Catch Your Breath (BAKUDEKU)

16

The sunlight filtering through the curtains the next morning felt harsher than usual, as if nature itself was scolding Katsuki for the confessions he'd made the previous night. He stirred in bed, reluctant to face the aftermath of their argument—their first real fight as a married couple. Beside him, Izuku lay peacefully, oblivious to the storm raging inside Katsuki. Guilt tugged at his heartstrings, like an insistent violinist, at the sight of Izuku's peaceful countenance, marred only by the faint shadows under his eyes.

Katsuki carefully extracted himself from Izuku's grasp, taking care not to disturb him, and slipped into some clothes lying haphazardly on the floor. Fuck, what a mess I've made. It wasn't just the physical chaos strewn around the room but also the emotional turmoil that had torn apart the delicate equilibrium between them. The weight of his apology hung heavy in the silence as he quietly prepared breakfast, his movements mechanical. The sizzle of bacon and the comforting aroma of coffee failed to alleviate the tension suffocating their once-warm sanctuary.

Plates in hand, Katsuki hesitated before entering the living room, where he found Izuku awake, gazing out the window with a faraway look in his eyes. Setting the food down on the coffee table, Katsuki sat beside him, the distance between them suddenly feeling like miles. They ate in strained silence, each bite tasting like ash in Katsuki's mouth. His heart pounded like drums at a festival parade, waiting for Izuku to break the suffocating silence first. But he didn't.

Katsuki mentally berated himself, knowing that it was up to him to initiate the conversation. He cleared his throat nervously, "About last night..."

"Yeah?" Izuku muttered gruffly, not bothering to turn from the window. His tone was like ice water thrown on Katsuki's fragile attempt at reconciliation. Katsuki gritted his teeth, anger simmering beneath the surface of his guilt-ridden exterior. Rude fucker. Can't even look at me after everything we said last night? But he swallowed his retort, remembering the pain he'd seen in Izuku's eyes—pain he had caused.

"I meant it, you know," Katsuki persisted, his voice softer than he intended, "About...about needing you to help me carry it." His hands clenched around his fork, twisting it into a mangled mess of metal. "I'm sorry for pushing you away...for making you feel like...like you weren't enough."

Silence stretched taut between them, strangling the air in its suffocating grip. Katsuki could practically hear the ticking of the clock on the wall mocking their silence. Finally, he set his plate aside, unable to force another bite past the knot in his throat. "Izuku," he spoke his name carefully, like it was a fragile piece of glass on the verge of shattering, "Look at me."

Izuku hesitated for a moment longer before slowly turning to face him. His usually bright eyes were clouded with hurt and exhaustion, but there was something else—something like resignation. It stung more than any of his fiery retorts ever could.

"I know you're mad at me," Katsuki began, voice trembling slightly, "And you have every right to be. But please...don't shut me out completely." He reached out tentatively, resting his hand on Izuku's bandaged arm, wincing at the reminder of his own recklessness. "I can't...I can't fix this alone."

Katsuki's heart leapt into his throat as he noticed the crimson stain slowly spreading across the pristine white bandages encircling Izuku's arm. Panic ignited like gunpowder in his veins, obliterating all traces of lingering anger and awkwardness in its wake.

"Fuck!" he cursed, his voice cracking with concern. His hand trembled as he gingerly touched the fabric, confirming his worst fear. Warm, sticky wetness coated his fingertips. "Izuku, your bandage—" He cut himself off, unable to finish the sentence. His mind raced back to the night before—the fight, the fall, the sickening crack of bones breaking. Guilt clawed at his insides like a rabid animal, tearing apart any semblance of composure he had managed to maintain.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." His voice trailed off as he stared at the evidence of his carelessness staining their white sheets, his mind flooded with images of Izuku lying broken on the cold hospital floor. "Fuck! I did this!" His thoughts screamed in a vicious cycle of self-loathing.

"I'll fix it," he stammered, jumping up from the couch, desperation fueling his movements. He rushed into the bathroom, rummaging through the medicine cabinet for gauze and bandages, his hands shaking like leaves caught in a storm. How could he have been so selfish? So consumed by his own grief that he'd caused Izuku physical pain?

Returning with the first aid supplies, Katsuki found Izuku struggling to stand up, his face pale and sweat glistening on his forehead. "What the hell are you doing?!" Katsuki barked, alarm lacing his voice. "You're hurt!" Izuku's stubbornness only fueled Katsuki's worry, memories of countless injuries Izuku had hidden during their training resurfacing like unwanted specters. Katsuki knelt before him, gently gripping his wrists to keep him seated.

Izuku's eyes met his, a storm brewing in their emerald depths. "I can handle it," Izuku ground out through gritted teeth. "I've done it plenty of times before." His words stung, reminding Katsuki of all the times he had pushed Izuku away when he needed him most. Why the hell does he always have to be so goddamn stubborn? Katsuki's thoughts roared internally, frustration warring with concern.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to speak calmly. "I know you can, Izuku," Katsuki admitted, gentleness foreign on his tongue. "But...can you let me do it this time?" Izuku's resistance faltered at Katsuki's pleading tone, confusion replacing the stubbornness in his gaze. He knew Katsuki better than anyone; he knew that admitting vulnerability and asking for help wasn't something Katsuki did easily. After what felt like an eternity, Izuku nodded stiffly, resuming his seat on the couch. Katsuki swallowed the knot of emotion lodged in his throat, kneeling beside him as he carefully unwrapped the bloodied bandages.

As Katsuki carefully peeled away the blood-soaked bandages, he froze, the air evaporating from his lungs. Underneath the angry red bruises and fresh wounds from their fight, faint, pale scars etched themselves into the canvas of Izuku's arm—silent testaments to battles fought alone in the dark corners of his mind. Katsuki's heart shattered at the sight of them.

His hands shook violently, threatening to drop the ruined bandages. The scars mirrored the ones Katsuki hid beneath layers of fabric and bravado—scars born from the same monster that clawed at their souls with merciless talons. Guilt and despair twisted inside him, constricting his chest. He hadn't just failed to save Izuku from physical pain last night—he'd failed to notice his silent cries for help all this time. Consumed by his own darkness, Katsuki hadn't seen Izuku struggling to find the light.

His throat constricted, choking on apologies and promises that seemed insignificant in the face of Izuku's suffering. He forced himself to meet Izuku's gaze, searching for any trace of the bright, optimistic boy he'd fallen in love with amidst the storm brewing in his eyes. "Izuku..." Katsuki breathed his name like a prayer, a plea for forgiveness and understanding. "Why didn't you tell me?"