If Only

"Kacchan," he heard.

Katsuki almost gave himself whiplash as he looked towards Izuku, startled and hopeful at the same time. Izuku had regained consciousness.

However, he was bound to be disappointed. Izuku's laid motionless on the bed, not a sign that anything had changed. He should've known better than to hope. Katsuki's hand unwittingly clenched down on the bedsheet. Looks like he'd wanted to hear Izuku's voice so badly that he'd hallucinated it.

Katsuki swallowed, feeling distressed.

"Please, Izuku," he whispered, as if sharing a secret only between the two of them, "I'll do anything for you to come back. I deserve to suffer for what you've gone through, but you must come back to me first. Please. Please, Izuku."

The time seemed to pass by in a blur. It was silent. Muted. He felt like he had been transported back in time to Izuku's apartment. Katsuki had always been prone to noise. His life was basically filled with sounds and explosions. Izuku's noisy muttering in the classrooms, laughter and shouted words.

The silence rang loudly in his ear. It was deafening. It was so, so quiet. Katsuki latched onto the fact that he could hear Izuku's steady breaths. He hated the silence more than ever, but he loved it at the same time.

He could still hear Izuku's breathing, and he'd never been so relieved.

Katsuki felt like his soul was quiet. He felt chill and frost running through his veins. He felt like he was trapped in a dark void. It was consuming him. Devouring his thoughts, his emotions. Engulfing him in silence. The shadows of his heart were coming back to haunt him.

It taunted him.

The voice mocked him. Telling him what he could have done. Whispering the words, if only you'd been home quicker, if only you were a better person, if only, if only.

Katsuki felt like he was stuck. He was trapped in the never-ending loop of distress. The thoughts churned incessantly within his mind.

When he tried to distract himself with something else, he realized that the hospital room was just shades of white, and he fucking hated it.

Katsuki recalled that he'd once heard a person describe white as a shade, not a color, but he'd scoffed at them. To the him back then, white was obviously a fucking color, but who knew the day would come that he'd take back his words. He'd never experienced the feeling that only white could bring.

Some said white was the color of purity, of innocence. Maybe it was just him that felt this way. The shades of white felt like they were burning. It felt like it was scorching itself on his retina. Even the room was rejecting him. Was he so sure that Izuku wouldn't as well? It felt like the room was asking him: How dare he blemish the innocence? How dare he press his black heart on the white of Izuku's, marring it forever? Staining it black, black, black.

Looking at Izuku trapped in this white hell, Katsuki thought to himself that if he could, he'd whisk Izuku away, bring him back to comfort, to a life filled with color and joy. He'd give Izuku whatever he wanted and would stay by his side to right his wrongs.

A life without Izuku…he couldn't imagine it, nor did he want to.

As he thought about a happier life, the darkness once again consumed him. It whispered about how he wasn't worthy. Everything was his fault. Even if he wanted to, he didn't have the right.

The thought felt like barbed wire on his heart. It dug in, causing pain, causing blood, causing wounds. He bled and wept silently. He was battered, damaged, and he deserved it. Barbed wire clung to his heart. The dark thoughts were never far away. The moment he tried to think of something else, sharp edges cut him, bled him.

There isn't a day that it doesn't hurt, Izuku had written. He wondered to himself if this is what it was like. If this could even compare a fraction to the hurt that Izuku had felt, had experienced. If this was his road to redemption, he would gladly take it.

Katsuki couldn't rip his eyes away from Izuku. He traced over messy, green hair. Eyes that were shut closed, faint marks under his eyes. Pink lips that were barely parted, freckles on his cheekbones. Frail hands, delicate wrists, his body relaxed.

He suddenly thought that this was the most peaceful he had ever seen Izuku. In his presence, he always seemed to be cringing away, almost as if anticipating the blow, the hurt.

Katsuki felt the barbs around his heart squeeze a little tighter, leaving him breathless.

How much? How much have I hurt you?

Katsuki felt a scream build at the back of his throat.

He took a ragged breath and forced himself to keep breathing.

Each breath felt like a punishment, especially when he recalled that Izuku might have taken his last. He felt both better and worse. Punishment felt like repentance and solace at once.

Katsuki must have passed out without knowing, because the next thing he saw was the nurse looking at him disapprovingly.

He stared at her blearily, things weren't making sense to him.

Suddenly, he felt something twitch against him.

Things snapped into clear focus.

Did he just imagine that?

Katsuki glanced at Izuku, both worried and hopeful. Had he felt Izuku's fingers twitch, or was he just overthinking it again?

"Izuku?" he said hesitantly, "Izuku, can you hear me?"

He heard the nurse quickly leave the room, presumably to call the doctor.

There was no response.

No further twitches.

Nothing.

Had he just imagined it after all?

Katsuki felt despair overwhelm him.

Heaven and hell were next-door neighbours. He felt like he'd soared into the vast skies of heaven, only to be struck down mercilessly and plunge into the depths of hell.

He felt numb.

Katsuki fell back into the void of silence. He listened to the breaths Izuku took. He counted them.

Suddenly, he realized something that had been pinging at the back of his mind. Izuku's breathing was slightly different from before.

He had felt that twitch. He wasn't dreaming!

The relief gushed over him like a tsunami. It was unstoppable and unavoidable. It was as if a bright star had lit itself in the dark void he'd been in. It shone its light gently for all and none at the same time. It was far, yet it was near. So close, yet so far. It evaded him by the edge of his fingertips. It was tangible and intangible at the same time.

Wake up!