A Little Bit Quirky

Chapter 37: Saudade

A.N: Hey, I'm here with another chapter! Hope you enjoyed the last and plz comment/vote. Thank you so much for all the support and all your inspiring comments!!!  

Katsuki's P.O.V:
I suppose, after running through the tunnel for what felt like years, I had expected a fight on the other end, but when I came out on the other end, there was only a dark room.

Flashlights bob through the dark and groans and grunts of pain echo in the air. Two flashlights jump to mine and Todoroki's faces and I flinch, squinting my eyes. "They're over here!" Footsteps clatter across the floor and Class 1-A crowds around us, sighing their reliefs and bombarding us with questions. Aizawa hands Todoroki a flashlight and stares at Akira who has fallen asleep on his back, before glancing away. "Tend to the wounded." He tells the class, who reluctantly disperse. Heart hammering in my chest, I reach for Aizawa, a dull noise roaring in my ears. My voice trembles when I speak, but I don't care. Nothing matters except for–

"Izu...ku...?"

Aizawa nods, reaching out to place a hand on my shoulder. "He's outside. His injuries are very minor, but–" I push past the teacher, breaking out into a sprint and ignoring the calls of my name. My throat constricts and my eyes burn as I burst out of the warehouse and stumble through the grassy plane before me. A small tent is set up and medics zoom in and out of it like lightning. Stretchers line the grass in rows, filled with my classmates, but I'm only searching for one. Rushing towards the tent, I fling it open and pause, glancing around me. The area is split in three by curtains, and machinery and bandages are packed in so tightly, there's barely any room for me. Still, I push through the crowded tent and check behind a curtain and another. Finally I come to the last space and push aside the white curtain, terror clenching my heart. I should be used to this by now. I think. How many times has it been since this shitty bastard has nearly got himself killed. Always protecting others, never himself. What good of a hero will he be to anyone if he's dead–

Izuku.

He lays on the ground, a jacket curled up beneath his head, mop of ebony curls tinted green in the dim light as they spill onto the grass. His face is twisted slightly, brows pinched and freckled nose, scrunched up. His lips are drained of colour and he is so still, I have the sudden horrifying thought that he may actually be dead, but no, no. His chest is moving. He's breathing. He's alive.
I kneel beside him, reaching out to brush his sweaty bangs from his forehead and caress his cheek. Unconscious, he leans into my touch and I stare in wonder, as his contorted expression melts away. He releases a sigh, long and heavy, and nuzzles into my palm, breaths evening out. Slowly, I reach down and grasp his hand bringing it to my lips so I can gently, gratefully kiss his cool fingertips. Alive. I kiss the inside of his wrist, his pulse. Alive. I place his hand carefully on his chest and lean down. My hand continues to stroke his cheek, as I brush a finger along his lips, heart swelling when I feel his breath against my skin. I press a kiss to his forehead softly, so very softly that if Izuku suddenly awoke, he would think it just a gentle breeze brushing his skin.
Alive.
I lean back, but don't stray too far, one leg curled under me and the other stretched out by his head. I don't move him, don't try to wake him, even though I want to see his eyes, to hear his voice. For now he's alive and that's enough for me. Still stroking his cheek, touch feather-light, I study his features and that feeling, that inescapable swell of warmth within me rises, bubbling to the surface. Its so strong and so sudden that I finally speak the words I thought pride would never let me utter.

"I love you."

My voice is quiet, only meant for his ears. Even if he can't remember it, he has heard the truth, something I'm afraid I may never be able to tell him when he's awake. I want to say it again, to wake him and scream it at the top of my lungs, to kiss him, and sink into his warmth and worship him and become one with him. Only him. I want to repeat it over and over again, to ingrave it into his brain, into mine, but my throat is tight. Just once is enough, I decide. For now.
I smile down at him, chuckling when, even asleep, his cheeks flush and his expression lightens.