The limestone walls still held the day's heat, radiating against his skin as Izuku stepped onto the gravel path. The sharp mineral scent of wet stone and crushed herbs filled his lungs, grounding him in the present as he walked beside Katsuki—their fingers laced together like they'd been doing it their whole lives. Ten minutes late. The words echoed in his skull, but they felt hollow, weightless.
The group had gathered near a stone archway draped in white roses, and heads turned as they approached. Eijiro’s face lit up first, relief and warmth bleeding into his grin. "There you two are! We thought you got lost."
Mina elbowed him, her smile knowing, and Izuku felt heat creep up his neck. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Katsuki's thumb traced slow circles on the back of his hand, steadying him before the words came out.
"Lost? Nah." Katsuki's voice was rough, but there was no edge to it. "Just took our time." He didn't elaborate, didn't need to—the way Izuku's curls were still slightly damp from the shower, the faint flush on both their cheeks, told the story they weren't ready to tell. Denki let out a low whistle, and Hitoshi just raised an eyebrow, but no one pressed.
Ochako appeared through the cluster of guests, her brown eyes warm and her smile glowing. She wore a simple white dress that flowed around her, and she looked like she was floating. "Izuku," she said, her voice soft, "you made it." She glanced at Katsuki, then back at him, and something in her gaze shifted. "I'm really glad you're here."
Himiko appeared at her side, golden eyes gleaming with a feral delight that made Izuku's pulse skip. She looped her arm through Ochako's and tilted her head, her grin sharp and amused. "Late to your own ex-girlfriend's wedding, Deku? That's so on brand." Her voice teasing with an edge.
Himiko's grin lingered, sharp and playful, but before Izuku could stammer a response, Ochako tugged her fiancée's hand gently. "Leave them alone, Himi. We've got a wedding to start." The words pulled everyone into motion, the group shifting toward the stone archway where white roses wound around pillars. An officiant stood at the far end, a simple wooden arbor draped in ivory chiffon waiting beneath the darkening sky. Someone—Mina, probably—started herding them into order, and Izuku felt Katsuki's hand tighten once before letting go.
The processional began with a soft string quartet. Himiko walked first, arm linked with a woman Izuku recognized from photos as Ochako's mother—round-faced, teary-eyed, beaming. Himiko's grin had softened into something almost shy, her bouquet of wildflowers trembling slightly in her grip. Izuku's chest ached at the sight. He'd never seen her look vulnerable before. Then Denki and Hitoshi stepped forward, Denki practically bouncing, Hitoshi's perpetually tired face softened into something fond. They split at the arbor—Denki to Ochako's side, Hitoshi to Himiko's—and the music shifted.
It was their turn. Katsuki's hand found his again, warm and sure, and Izuku's lungs forgot how to work. The aisle stretched in front of them, a strip of white petals scattered on ancient stone, and Izuku couldn't look away from the man beside him. Katsuki's sharp profile, the way the fading light caught the gold in his hair, the slight tension in his jaw that Izuku now knew how to read—not anger, not impatience. Nerves. For him. For them. Izuku's throat tightened.
"Ready, Deku?" Katsuki's voice was rough, low, meant only for his ears.
Izuku nodded, managing a breath. "Yeah, Kacchan." They started walking, and the world narrowed to the rhythm of their steps, the brush of their shoulders, the way Katsuki's thumb traced a slow circle on the back of his hand. It felt like a secret. Like a promise. Like a wedding march of their own, hidden inside someone else's ceremony. Izuku's chest swelled until he thought it might crack open, and when they reached the arbor, he made himself let go of Katsuki's hand—but his gaze refused to follow the same command.
He moved to stand beside Denki on Ochako's side. Katsuki crossed to stand beside Hitoshi on Himiko's side. But their eyes locked across the aisle, and Izuku couldn't break it. Couldn't breathe. Katsuki's crimson gaze held his steady, unflinching, and something raw passed between them—something that tasted less like a lie and more like the truth Izuku had been swallowing for years.
Shoto and Eijiro walked next, mismatched but comfortable. Once in their places Shoto's heterochromatic gaze scanned the crowd with quiet precision before settling on Touya as he begun his walk. Eijiro grinned at Mina beside the tattooed man, wide and unguarded, and Izuku caught the flash of a future proposal in his friend's eyes. Then Mina and Touya took their places as maid and man of honor, the air filling with the scent of crushed herbs and the weight of anticipation. The quartet paused, a single breath held, and then swelled into the opening notes of the wedding march.
Everyone stood. Izuku's focus stayed pinned to the back of the aisle, where Ochako appeared on her father's arm. She was radiant—simple white dress, flowers woven into her chestnut hair, a smile so pure it hurt to look at. But Izuku's heart didn't ache for her. It ached for the man across the aisle, the one whose eyes had never left his face, not even as the bride approached.
The vows were soft, intimate, the words carried away by the evening breeze as Ochako and Himiko faced each other, hands clasped. Izuku heard fragments—"I choose you," "every version of you," "forever, even when forever is hard"—but his mind was elsewhere. His body was elsewhere. Every nerve was tuned to Katsuki's presence, to the way Katsuki's chest rose and fell, to the way his lips parted slightly when the officiant pronounced them wives and the small crowd erupted in cheers.
Ochako kissed Himiko, and the world exhaled. People began to move, shuffling toward the reception hall a room over, laughter and chatter spilling into the cool night. But Izuku stayed rooted. He watched the guests filter out, watched Eijiro clap Katsuki on the shoulder before disappearing through the arched doorway, watched the last of the petals settle on the empty aisle. The arbor stood silent, the officiant gathering her papers, and then they were alone—just Izuku, and Katsuki, and the weight of everything unsaid.
Izuku's heart was a wild thing in his chest, hammering against his ribs as they stood alone beneath the arbor. The last guests had filtered out, their laughter fading into the cool evening air, and the space between him and Katsuki felt sacred, charged, alive. He watched Katsuki's chest rise and fall beneath his perfectly fitted suit, watched the way the fading light caught the gold in his ash-blond hair, and something inside him cracked open.
"Kacchan." His voice came out rough, stripped of everything but truth. He stepped closer, close enough to smell the cedar and faint salt of Katsuki's skin. "I need to tell you something. Something I should have said years ago."
Katsuki's crimson eyes widened, just a fraction, and Izuku saw the fear flicker there—the same fear that lived in his own chest. The fear of saying it, of breaking the fragile thing they'd built, of losing everything. But the need to speak was stronger. It burned in his throat, demanding release.
Izuku reached up, his fingers trembling as they cupped Katsuki's jaw. The stubble grazed his palm, a familiar roughness now, and he pulled Katsuki down into a kiss that wasn't careful or measured. It was desperate and open-mouthed, a confession in itself. Katsuki's hand found his waist, pulling him closer, and for a moment the world dissolved into the heat of their mouths and the rhythm of their breath. Izuku pulled back just enough, his forehead pressing against Katsuki's, his voice a broken whisper. "I've always—"
"Katsuki!" A voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and familiar in all the wrong ways.
Izuku's body went cold. He turned, and there he was—Neito Monoma, walking toward them with that polished smile that never reached his grey eyes. He was overdressed, as always, a designer suit that cost more than Izuku's monthly rent, gold glinting at his wrists and throat. He looked at Katsuki like Izuku didn't exist, like the kiss they'd just shared was invisible.
"I was hoping I'd run into you." Neito's voice was smooth, practiced, the kind of voice that had been perfected in boardrooms and cocktail parties. "You look incredible, Katsuki. Time has been kind to you."
Katsuki's hand tightened on Izuku's waist, a possessive anchor in the sudden storm. What the fuck is he doing here? Izuku's mind raced, his confession still burning on his tongue, unfinished, unheard. How did Neito get an invite? He wasn't friends with anyone here. He was just the ex who'd made Katsuki's life hell in the final months of their relationship, the one who'd been so jealous of Izuku's friendship with Katsuki that it had poisoned everything.
"Monoma." Katsuki's voice was flat, a door slamming shut. "Didn't know you'd be here."
"Surprise." Neito's grin widened, and his gaze finally slid to Izuku—a slow, dismissive sweep that made Izuku's stomach clench. "And you brought your little friend. How... sweet."
Neito's smile didn't waver as his grey eyes raked over Izuku with the clinical precision of someone cataloging flaws. "I was hoping we could catch up, Katsuki. Just the two of us." His hand reached out, fingertips brushing Katsuki's sleeve, a gesture so intimate it made Izuku's stomach turn. "There's a lovely little terrace out back. Private. We could have a real conversation, like old times."
Izuku felt Katsuki's arm tense beneath his touch, saw the muscle jump in his jaw. But before Katsuki could speak, before the explosion that Izuku knew was building in his chest could detonate, the words left Izuku's mouth of their own accord. "Oh, right—I should, uh, I need to find Ochako. Probably should congratulate her before the reception starts." The smile on his face felt like a mask made of glass, fragile and ready to shatter. He was already pulling away, already stepping back, already making himself small. Why am I doing this? Why am I always doing this?
Katsuki's hand shot out, catching his wrist. "Deku." His voice was low, rough, a warning wrapped in something softer. His crimson eyes burned into Izuku's, searching, and Izuku felt the truth trembling on his tongue—I don't want to leave, I want to tell him to fuck off, I want you to choose me—but the habit of years was too strong. The need to be liked, to not cause trouble, to smooth over every rough edge so no one got hurt. So he smiled wider, brighter, and gently pried Katsuki's fingers loose.
"It's fine, Kacchan. Really." The name came out steady, but his hand was shaking as he pulled it free. "You two have a lot to talk about. I'll find you later." He turned before he could see Katsuki's face, before the cracks in his voice could betray him, and walked toward the stone archway where the last of the guests had disappeared. Each step felt like crossing a chasm, the space between him and Katsuki stretching into something vast and cold.
Neito's voice carried after him, smooth as polished glass. "How thoughtful of him. You always did attract the selfless ones, didn't you, Katsuki?" Izuku's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached, but he kept walking. He could hear Katsuki's response—low, sharp, a blade wrapped in civility—but the words were lost to the evening breeze, swallowed by the distance he was creating with every step. Just keep walking. Don't look back. Don't let him see you break.
The reception hall loomed ahead, warm light spilling from its open doors, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses washing over him like a wave. Izuku stopped at the threshold, his hand braced against the cool limestone, and let his forehead fall forward until it touched the stone. The rough texture pressed against his skin, grounding him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. His confession was still burning in his throat—I've always loved you, Kacchan, I've always loved you, I've always— and now it was trapped there, choked by the sight of Neito's hand on Katsuki's arm, by the memory of that dismissive gaze, by the voice in his head that whispered you don't deserve to say it anyway.
"Izuku?" The voice was soft, familiar, and he opened his eyes to find Ochako standing a few feet away, her bouquet still clutched in her hands. She'd changed out of her wedding dress into a simpler cream-colored gown, her hair loose around her shoulders, and her brown eyes were creased with concern. "Are you okay? You look... you look like you've seen a ghost."
Izuku straightened, forcing another smile onto his face, and it took everything he had to hold it there. "I'm fine! Just needed a minute. The ceremony was beautiful, Ochako. Really. I'm so happy for you." The words tumbled out in a rush, too fast, too bright, and he saw Ochako's eyes narrow with the familiar suspicion of someone who had known him too long and too well.
"Where's Katsuki?" she asked, glancing over his shoulder. "I thought you two were glued together tonight."
Izuku's stomach clenched. "He's... uh, he's catching up with Neito. Actually, why did you guys invite him? He's not exactly close with anyone here." The question came out sharper than he intended, a blade wrapped in casual curiosity, and he saw Ochako's expression shift into something almost predatory—excited, eager, completely misreading his discomfort.
"Oh, I told Himiko to invite him." She beamed, tapping her fingertips together. "I thought it might be good for Katsuki. A little push in the right direction. I hope they can work things out."
Izuku's brain stuttered. Work things out? He broke Kacchan's heart. Made him feel small. Made him feel like he wasn't enough. "What do you mean? They had a bad breakup, Ochako. It was ugly."
Her smile softened into something pitying, and she reached out to touch his arm. "I know. But it's been years, Izuku. And honestly? It's kind of sad watching him still be so pathetic over you."
The words hit him like a physical blow. Pathetic over you. They didn't make sense. They ricocheted through his skull, fragments of memories slotting together like a puzzle he'd refused to solve for years—the way Katsuki's eyes tracked him across every room, the jealousy that simmered beneath every explosive outburst, the way he'd said Never in the dark of their hotel room, a promise wrapped in something raw and terrified. Oh. The sound didn't leave his mouth, but it echoed through his chest, vast and hollow and suddenly, impossibly full. Kacchan loves me. He's always loved me.
Ochako was still talking, her voice light and conversational, as if she hadn't just detonated his entire understanding of the past decade. "I mean, agreeing to pretend to be your boyfriend for a whole weekend? That's not something a guy does unless he's still hoping, you know? It's a little desperate." She laughed, soft and dismissive, and Izuku felt something cold settle in his gut.
"Wait—you knew?" His voice came out rough, stripped of the bright, performative cheer he'd been clinging to. "You knew it was fake?"
Her smile turned smug, almost condescending. "Izuku. Come on. Himiko and I figured it out immediately. The way you looked at each other was too stiff, too calculated. And honestly? It made me a little sad for him. That he'd go this far just to be close to you when you're clearly still hung up on me." She tilted her head, eyes soft with a pity that made his skin crawl. "It's okay. I know I'm not an easy person to get over."
The world sharpened. The cool stone against his back, the distant laughter from the reception hall, the scent of crushed herbs rising from the gravel—all of it snapped into crystalline focus. He looked at Ochako, really looked at her, and saw something he'd never noticed before. The way her confidence curled into arrogance. The way her kindness came with strings attached. The way she saw his heart as a territory she still owned, even after choosing someone else. She thinks I've been pining for her. She thinks Kacchan is pathetic for loving me. She thinks she knows everything.
His chest burned. Not with sadness, not with the familiar ache of rejection he'd carried for years—but with a hot, clarifying anger that made his hands tremble. Kacchan isn't pathetic. Kacchan is the bravest person I know. He's loved me in silence for years while I was too blind to see it, and I almost told him tonight. I almost said it under that arbor. And I'm going to finish what I started.
"Ochako." Her name came out flat, steady, and he saw her smile falter for just a fraction of a second. "I'm not still in love with you. I haven't been for a long time." Her eyes widened, and he watched her lips part, a protest forming, but he didn't let her speak. "And Katsuki isn't pathetic. He's the reason I'm still standing right now. The reason I survived this weekend. The reason I finally know what I want."
He stepped back, pulling his arm from her grasp, and felt the cool night air rush into the space between them. "Congratulations on your wedding. I mean that. But I have to go." He turned, his heart hammering against his ribs, and walked toward the stone archway where he'd left Katsuki alone with a ghost from his past. His confession wasn't trapped anymore. It was blazing in his chest, demanding release, and this time he wasn't going to let anything stop him.
Izuku's feet carried him fast across the gravel, his heart a wild drum against his ribs. The stone archway loomed ahead, and as he rounded the corner, voices reached him—sharp, cutting, unmistakably Katsuki's. He stopped short, hidden behind a pillar of rough limestone, his breath catching in his throat.
"—don't give a shit what you think, Monoma." Katsuki's voice was a blade, honed and lethal. "You think showing up here in your fancy fucking suit is gonna change anything? You think I've spent the last three years pining for your sorry ass?" A bitter laugh, hard and broken. "News flash: I haven't. I've been in love with someone else since before you and I ever happened. And I'll be in love with him long after you're nothing but a bad memory."
Izuku's hand flew to his mouth, muffling the sound that threatened to escape. He loves me. He's saying it out loud. To Neito. To anyone who'll listen. His knees felt weak, the world tilting on its axis.
"Then why are you even here?" Neito's voice was sharp, wounded, the polished veneer cracking. "Why pretend with him when you could have someone who actually wants you?"
"Because I don't care how pathetic it makes me." Katsuki's voice dropped, rough and raw, stripped of all armor. "I'll love Izuku until the day I fucking die. Even if he never loves me back. Even if I spend the rest of my life watching him fall for someone else. It doesn't matter. It'll never matter. He's it for me. He's always been it."
The tears came then, hot and sudden, spilling down Izuku's cheeks before he could stop them. He didn't try. He stepped out from behind the pillar, his footsteps loud on the gravel, and Katsuki's head snapped toward him—crimson eyes wide, shock and fear and hope crashing together in that single, unguarded moment.
"Izu—" Katsuki started, his voice cracking, but Izuku was already moving, closing the distance in three desperate strides. He crashed into Katsuki, his arms wrapping around his neck, and kissed him—hard, desperate, open-mouthed, with tears wetting both their faces. He felt Katsuki's hands find his waist, gripping like he was afraid Izuku would disappear, and Izuku pulled back just enough to breathe the words against his lips.
"I've always loved you, Kacchan." His voice broke, a sob and a laugh tangled together. "Since we were kids. Since before I knew what love was. I was just too scared to say it. Too scared you'd never feel the same. But I'm not scared anymore." He pressed his forehead against Katsuki's, their breath mingling, the world reduced to the space between them. "I love you. I love you so much it hurts."
Katsuki's hands trembled against his waist, his voice a wrecked whisper. "Holy shit. Izu. Holy fucking shit." He pulled Izuku closer, crushing him against his chest, and buried his face in the curve of Izuku's neck. "You mean it? You're not—you're not just saying this because—"
"I mean it." Izuku pulled back, cupping Katsuki's face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears he hadn't even noticed Katsuki was crying. "I love you, Kacchan. I've been in love with you my whole life. And I'm done pretending."
Behind them, Neito stood frozen, his grey eyes wide, his polished smile finally gone. He opened his mouth, closed it, then turned and walked away without another word. Neither of them noticed. The only thing that existed was the heat of their bodies, the rhythm of their breath, and the truth finally spoken into the cool evening air.
Izuku pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead pressed against Katsuki's, their breath mingling in ragged, uneven gasps. "I love you," he whispered, the words spilling out like a prayer he'd been holding for years. "I love you, Kacchan. I've always loved you. I love the way your eyes crinkle when you're trying not to smile. I love how you smell like cedar and something sharp, like lightning about to strike. I love the way you say my name like it means something." He kissed him again, softer this time, a gentle lingering press of lips that tasted of salt and confession. "I love that you're here. That you stayed. That you've been staying for twenty years."
Katsuki's hands came up to cup Izuku's jaw, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones with a tenderness that made Izuku's chest ache. "Fuck, Izu." His voice cracked, broke, reformed into something raw and honest. "You're my whole goddamn world. You know that? You're the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I see before I fall asleep. You're in my bones. You're in my blood. I can't—" He stopped, swallowed hard, and when he spoke again it was barely a whisper. "I can't breathe without you. I don't want to." He pulled Izuku into another kiss, hungry and desperate, his tongue sliding against Izuku's bottom lip, tasting the tears that still clung there.
Izuku moaned into the kiss, his fingers tangling in Katsuki's ash-blond hair, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. The limestone walls of the archway held the day's warmth against his back, but all he felt was Katsuki—the heat of his body, the strength of his arms wrapped around his waist, the rapid thrum of his heart against his own chest. "Tell me again," he breathed against Katsuki's lips. "Please. I need to hear it again."
Katsuki's laugh was broken and beautiful, huffed out between kisses. "I love you, Deku. I've loved you since we were four years old and you looked at me like I was the sun. I loved you when you were too scared to talk to me. I loved you when you were dating her. I loved you when I was with him. I never stopped. I never will." He kissed the corner of Izuku's mouth, then his cheek, then his forehead, each touch a new declaration. "You're it for me. You're everything."
Izuku's tears came faster, but he was smiling—a trembling, watery smile that felt more real than any performance he'd ever given. "I used to think I didn't deserve you," he confessed, his voice hitching. "That you were too good, too bright, too much for someone like me. But I'm done believing that. I deserve this. I deserve you. And I'm never letting go." He kissed the line of Katsuki's jaw, the spot just below his ear where he could feel his pulse racing, and whispered, "I'm yours, Kacchan. I've always been yours."
Katsuki's grip tightened, possessive and desperate, his face buried in the curve of Izuku's neck. "Say it again." The words were muffled against his skin, but Izuku felt them vibrate through his entire body. "I need to hear you say it until I believe it's real."
"I'm yours." Izuku tilted his head back, giving Katsuki more access as his lips traced down his throat. "I'm yours, Kacchan. Every part of me. My heart, my body, my future. All of it. Yours." He gasped as Katsuki's teeth grazed his collarbone, a sharp, sweet sting that grounded him in the present. "I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to fight with you and make up with you and grow old with you. I want to be the reason you smile and the person you come home to. I want everything with you."
Katsuki pulled back, his crimson eyes bright with unshed tears, his expression raw and unguarded in a way Izuku had only ever seen in the dark of their hotel room. "You already have it," he said, his voice steady for the first time. "You've had it since the day I met you. You just had to be brave enough to take it." He kissed Izuku again, slow and deep, a seal on a promise older than either of them could fully understand. The world around them faded—the distant laughter from the reception hall, the cool night air, the scent of crushed herbs rising from the gravel. None of it mattered. The only thing that existed was the press of Katsuki's lips against his, the warmth of his hands on his waist, the steady rhythm of his heart beating in time with his own.
Here, beneath the stone archway with the stars emerging overhead, they had everything they would ever need.