Katsuki made it to the UA dorms on sheer stubbornness alone.

His legs were giving out, his vision was darkening, and it felt like someone was squeezing red-hot vices around his chest. Every step sent pain through him, but he kept going, teeth clenched, not allowing himself to stop.

He didn’t think about the consequences.

Didn’t think about words.

Didn’t think about what he would say.

He just knew where he was going.

The door to Midoriya’s room was slightly open.

Katsuki didn’t even knock.

“Deku.”

Izuku turned sharply, as if he’d felt him before he even heard the voice. His eyes widened in shock when he saw Bakugo.

“Kacchan?! You… you look awful,” Izuku jumped to his feet. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Shut up,” Katsuki breathed, taking a step forward.

The coughing hit him suddenly. He doubled over, gripping the edge of the table, coughing so hard tears sprang to his eyes. Yellow petals, stained with blood, fell into his palm.

Izuku went pale.

“Is that… is that hanahaki?..” his voice shook.

Katsuki laughed. Crookedly. Painfully.

“And you’re fucking perceptive.”

He didn’t look at Midoriya. If he did, he’d break.

“Kacchan, why didn’t you tell me right away?!” Izuku stepped closer, then froze, unsure if he was allowed to touch him. “This is… this is dangerous!”

“No shit,” Katsuki rasped. “I know, Deku.”

Silence hung between them, heavy and suffocating.

“Is this… because of someone?” Izuku asked quietly.

Katsuki lifted his gaze to him.

Izuku looked the same as always. Worried. Kind. Sickeningly sincere.

“What do you think?” Katsuki growled.

Izuku froze.

Understanding came slowly, but when it did, his breath hitched.

“Kacchan… I… I didn’t know,” he whispered. “If I had known—”

“Don’t,” Katsuki cut him off. “I didn’t come here for pity.”

He took another step, until they were almost touching.

“I came because I don’t want to die thinking you were just a mistake.”

Izuku was trembling.

“Kacchan…” he raised his hands and finally touched him—carefully, as if Bakugo might fall apart. “You’re not a mistake. You never were.”

Katsuki felt something inside him crack.

He yanked Izuku toward him and kissed him.

The kiss was desperate, uneven, tasting of blood and tears. But Izuku responded immediately, without hesitation, holding him tight as if afraid to let go.

The coughing eased.

The pain in his chest weakened.

Katsuki pulled back, breathing hard.

“If you’re lying…” he exhaled. “If this is pity—”

“I love you,” Izuku interrupted, not letting him finish. “I have for a long time. I was just… scared.”

Katsuki closed his eyes.

It went quiet in his chest.

On the floor lay the last yellow petals—and no more appeared.