these hands of ours

“Kacchan, you..”“I what?”“You’re acting just like back then.”“Back when? When I kicked your ass every day because you were glued to my back like a fucking pest? When you always looked at me with those eyes and I hated it? When I beat you to a goddamn pulp every time you stood up to me and played hero because all you were was a useless, quirklesspiece of shit? Say it, Deku. Say you’re afraid I’m going to hurt him.”“Kacchan!” There was so much pain and guilt reflected in those crimson eyes, like fires that have been burning for centuries, desperate to be put out. Izuku could see himself within those pain ridden irises, like he was the twist of cotton that started the fire, and Katsuki was holding the match. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do; when he was the center of all the rage, what could he say? (Alternatively: Katsuki Bakugou is forced to feel his feelings when the irony of life brings something to him that he wishes to protect more than himself, and the guilt is eating him alive.)