'hey jess go finish your other projects'
'no no i must write random introspective character crap'

If any of you are Icefall readers, I promise the next chapter is coming. For now though, here's this.

Katsuki hates Midoriya Izuku. Hates him with every fiber of his being. Hates him since the day they meet.

("Hi!" says Izuku. He's smiling the brightest smile Katsuki's ever seen. It's radiant, like the sun. Katsuki hates it. Katsuki loves it.

"Hi," says Katsuki. They're two years old. It's a sunny day, sunny like the look in Izuku's eyes.)

He's not sure when it started. They use to be friends, he knows. Back before he found out Izuku was weak, weak, weak. (Back before his anger spiraled out of control.)

("It can be read like 'Deku', see?" declares Katsuki, chest puffed out. "That means useless."

The other kids make impressed noises. "Wow, you're so smart! You can read already? Will you teach me?"

Katsuki is three and he is proud, proud, proud. The other children love him, and he loves the feeling of being loved.

He doesn't see the way Izuku's face falls, or he ignores it.)

Katsuki has always had his rage. But his fire fuels it, the explosions in his palms like the explosions in his heart. He's angry, all the time, even when there's no reason to be, and sometimes, in private, he'll wonder why. He'll wonder why, and he'll wish for control, but he never shows it and he never gains control.

Katsuki is always burning. He is a bomb in stasis, an explosion that was frozen in the act of exploding and will continue to combust for eternity. Never ending. Never dying. Just burning, burning, burning.

Katsuki is always burning and Izuku is always smiling. He is warm, and bright, and it hurts and it heals and it confuses. Katsuki wants him gone. Katsuki wants him to stay. He doesn't know what he wants, so he does the only thing he can. He rages and he screams and he makes life hell for Izuku, because he can't control his anger and Izuku is always, always in control of his own mind. He is smart, and he is persistent, and he has no quirk, but nothing stops him. Nothing slows him.

Katsuki hates him. Katsuki envies him. Katsuki is better than him but feels he has to prove it, even though clearly he doesn't. It's a fact, right? So why is he so angry when Izuku meets him every step of the way? Always rising to the challenge. Always dogging his steps, just inches behind.

Katsuki has the quirk and the attitude of a villain. Izuku has the indomitable spirit of a hero.

Katsuki is always burning.

"Ah, yes," says the teacher. "Midoriya is thinking of applying there too, right?"

It's like a match to a puddle of gasoline. Katsuki explodes.

As the rest of the class laughs and jeers, Katsuki is burning. He watches Izuku, and he is burning, and his emotions swirl about in a tempestuous whirlwind of flame, and all he can think is no. No, you will not rise above me. You will not take this from me.

Izuku is kind. Izuku is smart. Izuku is unbreakable.

Izuku has always been ahead, even when he was behind.

It's infuriating.

You will not take this from me, thinks Katsuki. You won't steal my victory. You can't.

He screams. He rages. He burns Izuku notebook and tells him to kill himself and struts off, every line of his body humming with confidence.

It's not enough.

Izuku applies.

Katsuki is full of flame.

His fists meet Izuku's face. His explosions blow up against Izuku's skin. He never lets the other boy talk, barely gives him the space to think.

" You're useless," he rages. " You are not better than me. You are not above me."

Izuku always, always rises to the top.

And Katsuki…

Katsuki is always cast to the side.

"That's a boy who's attitude would be better suited for a villain," say the voices around him.

"Wow, what a cruel person," float the whispers along his path.

"I can't believe he's actually planning to be a hero," are the murmurs that follow in his wake.

Katsuki balls his fists and screws up his face and pretends he doesn't care.

(Alone at night, he pounds his hands against the wall and screams and screams and screams.)

"You are not better than me," says Katsuki.

Izuku watches him with sad, green eyes. Watches him with the same eyes that have always, always watched him, with reverence or betrayal or hatred or pain.

"I know," he says.

Katsuki should be pleased at this.

(He's not.)

Katsuki is always burning.

Izuku is always rising.

They are broken on the battlefield. They are beaten. They are victorious. They breath together, exertion and exhaustion mingling into one exhalation and dissipating amidst the dust and the smoke.

Katsuki closes his hands into shaky fists.

"You're still not above me," he whispers, too spent to growl, too broken to scream.

Izuku turns towards him with those eyes. Those damn eyes, open and honest.

On this day, they are not sad. They are not proud, or pitying, or angry. On this day, Izuku's eyes are full of something Katsuki can't identify.

"I'm sorry, Kacchan," says Izuku.

Katsuki is always burning.

He buries his face into his hands and cries.

(The flames flicker. They flicker once, twice. Then—

—the flames die.)

Katsuki is an ember. Izuku is the kindling.

They hate each other. They love each other. They are enemies. They are friends.

But always, they are together.

Always, they are bound.

Katsuki watches a spark flutter through the air.

"I'm sorry," he whispers to the night.

No one hears him.

Katsuki is always burning.

That's okay.

Because now, Katsuki thinks he has a way to tame the fire.

Katsuki whispers an apology into the night and gains control.

Izuku's eyes: full of forgiveness.

And Katsuki's heart: heals.

"It's okay, Kacchan," says Izuku. Soft. Gentle.

Katsuki's hands spark. His blood boils.

Izuku hugs him and the flames freeze.

He is always burning. He is always burning. He is always—

(Katsuki's fingers curl into the fabric of Izuku's shirt.

He holds on tight and he doesn't let go.)

Katsuki and Izuku are different.

And yet...

they are bound.

You are not above me, thinks Katsuki, and he knows it's the truth.

Izuku is not above him, but Katsuki is not above Izuku.

They stand on the same ground.

They are equal.

Katsuki looks into Izuku's green eyes, watches the shattered pieces of his own resolutions fade into the air, blowing away on the wind like pieces of ash.

We are...equal, thinks Katsuki.

(Everything is different.

Everything is the same.)

Everything is...

everything is okay.