help me / bakudeku omegaverse /

Part 19

Katsuki didn't move.

Not for minutes. Not even when the fire in the hearth died down into low, flickering embers. He stood there, staring at the door Izuku had just walked out of, muscles locked, chest hollow.

The next knock made him jump.

It wasn't hesitant. It was practiced. Sharp.

"Bakugou Katsuki," came his mother's voice.

Katsuki sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face before striding across the room. He pulled open the door and stepped aside. Mitsuki entered, already frowning.

She looked around. Noted the still-burning hearth. The stillness. The unmistakable air of a room too full of regret.

"Where's the omega?"

"Gone," Katsuki muttered.

Her gaze snapped back to him. "What happened?"

Katsuki didn't answer. Not at first. His jaw tightened, and he turned away.

Mitsuki exhaled. "This is about what I said, isn't it? About the ultimatum."

"It broke him. And me," Katsuki said flatly. "He thinks he's the problem now. That he has to leave for me to keep the throne."

Mitsuki sat on the nearby couch. The weight of her mistake hung heavy in the air.

"I didn't mean for him to actually go, Katsuki. I said it out of fear—out of instinct."

"And you said it like a weapon. Like a line in the sand." Katsuki's voice was low, raw. "You gave me a choice. And he made it for me."

Mitsuki winced. "I never wanted to hurt either of you."

Katsuki rounded on her, rage bubbling up. "Then why say it? You knew what he's been through—how fragile he's been trying not to be!"

His anger dimmed under a wash of guilt.

"I lost it," he admitted. "I grabbed him too hard. I scared him. I never wanted to be that person."

Mitsuki's expression softened."You are your father's son," she said quietly. "Passionate. Hotheaded. Loyal to a fault."

Katsuki glanced up. It wasn't often she spoke of his father.

"You've never really told me about him."

Mitsuki leaned back, gaze distant. "He was the softest man I'd ever known. Smart. Too smart for war, really. He was our strategist—analyst. Never rushed into a fight. The kind who listened more than he spoke."

"Izuku's like that," Katsuki murmured.

She nodded. "Exactly. That's what scares me. I loved your father so much it hurt. And when I lost him in the war, it nearly killed me. Watching you fall in love with someone like him... I panicked. I don't want to see you shattered like I was."

They sat in silence.

"You're right," she added softly. "About what I said. I can't take it back, but... I can help you fix it. If he'll have you."

Katsuki's eyes lit with the faintest hope."How?"

She smiled. "Let me coach you properly this time. And teach you how to control those goddamn emotions."

For the next few weeks, Katsuki worked side by side with his mother.

She drilled into him the responsibilities of a chief—not just power and control, but compassion and restraint. She made him sit through mediation classes, tactical reviews, and worst of all, etiquette dinners.

"People want to follow someone they admire, not someone who loses it every time their emotions take a hit," she told him. "You can be strong and soft. That's what makes a good ruler."

In the quieter hours, she shared stories.

About her courtship with his father. About their struggles during wartime. How she once burned a general's hair off for flirting with her husband.

"He was mine," she said simply. "And I protected him the way you protect that omega."

Katsuki listened. Learned. Tried not to let grief and guilt devour him.

Across the palace, Izuku was a ghost of himself.

He stayed holed up in his room. Curtains drawn. Lights low.

The maids came and went with meals, most of which were left untouched. They whispered about how quiet he had become, how his usual soft smiles were nowhere to be found.

He didn't greet anyone anymore. Didn't offer thanks. He'd flinch when the bell rang for supper.He spent most of his time curled up in bed, or reading pages without remembering what they said.

The worst part was how empty he felt. Like his chest had been hollowed out, leaving only aching memories behind.

He missed Katsuki. Missed his scent. His presence. His warmth.

But more than anything, he missed belonging. For the first time in his life, he had tasted safety—and now it felt like it had all been a cruel dream.

Still, he didn't cry. Not really. The tears would come in little waves, then vanish before he could release them fully. He didn't know what he was waiting for.

Maybe a knock.

Maybe forgiveness.

Maybe the strength to forgive himself.

Back in the Queen Regent's quarters, Mitsuki paced with a clipboard.

"Alright, so no formal garden banquets—too stiff. And no crowded public spaces. He needs intimacy. Quiet."

"Picnic?" Katsuki offered.

"Already done," she said with a smirk. "This time, you're going for something bold. Let him see how much you know him. Maybe a telescope under the stars. Or a private music performance."

Katsuki's heart warmed at the thought.

"He likes to hum to himself," he said. "When he didn't think anyone was listening."

"Then we use that. Music. Stars. Soft things."

"And what if he doesn't want to see me?"

Mitsuki placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then you wait. But not forever. You've grown, Katsuki. Let him see that. And if he forgives you... don't waste a second."

Katsuki looked out the window.

The sun had begun to set.

He didn't know when the pain would stop, but at least now, he had a direction. A path forward.

Toward forgiveness.

Toward Izuku.