Spring Green is much too yellow, Sea Green is far too pale
Cornflower's way too mellow, so I'll try again and fail
There's no way I can capture, the way you make me feel
One look from you is rapture, whether Blue or Green or Teal
“If there’s one colour that’s all greyed out, that’s your future husband’s eye colour. Or wife’s,” adds Yuki, nodding her dark curls matter of factly and puffing out her cheeks. “My mommy said so.”
The other kids mumble and nod in agreement, the girls giggle excitedly.
“But I can see all the colours!” Midoriya exclaims.
This causes great excitement for the room of four year olds, and they take turns looking into Midoriya’s eyes until Yuki points out there’s no reason for everyone to be doing it, only if you can’t see green.
There’s three kids in the class who can’t see green, and they fervently peer into Midoriya’s freckled face, to no avail. Katsuki glares from where he’s playing with a mini basketball and hoop set on the other side of the room.
The excitement and attention dissipates, and everyone eventually returns to their games and talking about quirks—which are much more exciting than soulmates if you’re four.
Katsuki rolls his eyes as Midoriya bounds up to him, pointing a small finger at his own round, bright eyes.
“Can see you green, Kacchan?”
Katsuki blinks at the other boy. His eyes flick to the colour chart on the wall, pinned next to the names of the days of the week and the weather, crayon caricature suns dutifully yellow. The colours have their names underneath.
Red and green are both sepia, boring brick beiges, though red is darker and green is paler. Purple just looks like blue.
He looks back at Midoriya, and tells the truth.
The other boy looks crestfallen.
(He tells the truth, but. It’s not the whole truth.)
The forest they used to sneak into, the tennis turf of their junior high, the grocery store’s produce aisle. The christmas trees and girl’s red lipstick. They just aren’t anything, to Katsuki.
Blue is maybe his favourite colour. The ocean and the sky are truthful.
If you count black as a colour, not a shade—that’s probably his favourite. It’s got no colour anyway, and that’s why it’s his favourite.
There’s no difference between the colour of Deku’s hair, and the colour of Uraraka’s.
Deku looks at him time and time again with those big round eyes, the same colour as Katsuki’s dad’s coffee. He wonders what they really look like.
He snaps when anyone brings up colours or soulmates.
What’s it matter anyway, he sneers. Mind your own fuckin’ business. You think I care about soulmates? I’m gonna be the number one hero.
Deku never asks.
He thinks maybe, the other understands. Deku will sheepishly explain to their classmates, if prompted, that he can actually see all the colours.
“I think maybe we met when we were super young, a-accidentally. Which kinda sucks, because I might never know who they are—wouldn’t recognise them—” Deku gets flustered and flushes under his freckles. Some people seem embarrassed to have asked, but a few, like Uraraka and Kirishima just smile and reassure him. You’ll find them one day Deku, I’m sure!
“Deuteranopia,” the doctor repeats.
“And what’s that? You’re saying my boy’s got something wrong with his eyesight?”
The poor doctor seems to recede a bit.
“Well, actually, his vision is 20/20! Very good! It’s his colour vision, you see. Deuteranopia is also called green-blind—the sensitive cones in your eyes that pick up medium wavelengths just aren’t present. A deuteranope can only distinguish two to three different hues, whereas somebody with normal vision sees seven different hues. Or, six, until you meet your soulmate,” they end with a chuckle that barely pacifies Katsuki’s mother.
Katsuki feels like some kind of freak, to have it named.
This isn’t supposed to be him. He’s supposed to be fucking perfect.
“Can it be fixed?”
“You can see red, right?” Deku asks. His head of dark curls is lolled into the table of the common room where they’re studying.
A year ago Katsuki might’ve bit his head off, but.
He’s distracted for a moment by Kirishima’s laughter as he and Kaminari wait for the elevator up to their rooms. Kirishima’s hair is red, he’s heard, but it just looks like a much darker version of Kaminari’s to him.
“Yeah, I can see red,” he lies, and continues to scribble in his calculus notebook, keeping his eyes on the pale page.
“Still can’t see green?” Comes Deku’s voice.
“Nope,” Katsuki says, not looking up.
“Have you met your soulmate yet?” The optometrist asks conversationally, smiling with expensive teeth.
Katsuki readjusts in the chair, slumping his back against the leather again and splaying his arms out.
His unfriendly tone just warrants another smile from her.
“I only ask because this procedure will reset your vision completely. A couple clients have gone into an understandably distressed state when they realised they couldn’t—couldn’t see the colour of their partner’s eyes anymore.”
Losing the colour, well. That means one thing. It means your soulmate has died.
“We realised then that it was just an effect of the procedure—as soon as they got home to their partners they were able to see their colour again. Quite sweet, actually, the last lady—she had terrible cataracts—even phoned in afterwards to say it felt like they met for the first time again.”
Katsuki says nothing.
“But that won’t be a problem for you.” She can’t stop smiling apparently, and he’s beginning to hate the whitened orthodontic work.
He grunts his agreement.
He feels a bit nauseous, to tell the truth. He blinks his eyes a couple times, and something like vertigo or shock flips his stomach.
He looks at his mother and—
He looks at her again. Real carefully.
After a minute, he manages, “Your eyes.”
“They’re uh.” He feels heat creep up his neck in an ugly flush. “I don’t know what the colour is called,” he mutters, looking at his sneakers, familiar black. “...They’re pretty.”
He hears a sniffle. He’s never seen his mother cry, and he’s not sure he wants to.
“It’s red,” she says, her voice is full of love, “and yours are the same colour.”
Katsuki looks at himself in the little rectangle mirror on the white washroom wall of the clinic.
His eyes are red. They’re not brown. They’re bright and fierce.
He sucks in a breath as he hears his mother calling him back.
“Here, take a look at our colour chart,” beams the nurse who’d been talking to his mother, her hand offering out a little set of cards on a metal ring.
Katsuki looks at the first colour. Red, yes, he knows this one now. He likes it a lot.
Orange, also a lot nicer than he imagined, not too wildly different.
Yellow—he knew yellow. He was fucking sick of yellow.
He flipped it over roughly.
That’s what the kanji read, beside the little printed square of what was supposed to be a colour. Midori... Midoriya. Same kanji, even, not just phonetic matches.
His heart twists and shakes. Because he can’t see green. It’s all… desaturated. Just grey. And that can’t be right.
His mother and the nurse are looking at him, smiling like sentimental old women, and he guesses they take his pause as normal, just a boy taking in a new colour for the first time.
He flips the card.
Blue. (He’s bored of blue.)
Purple. Purple is new. It’s rich and exciting.
Pink is also nothing like he’d imagined. It’s so pretty. So warm.
He hands it back to the nurse, muttering a thank-you.
Their car is red. He stares at it like a giant fucking knob. The grass is still gray. He’s losing his mind.
His mom is still trying to hide her smile. He hasn’t said much.
“So, which colour can’t you see?” She grins at him in the side seat. Her lips are dusty pink.
He narrows his eyes and looks out his window, chin in hand.
“None of your business, old lady.”
She slaps his knee.
“Don’t talk to your mother like that. Brat!”
He stays the night at parent’s house. It’s a Thursday. All Might wears blue and red in his bedroom poster. The colours look so good together.
Katsuki’s feeling addicted, fascinated, by new colours. He’s almost bitter that he can’t see green, because he so desperately wants to.
He lies with his back on the sheets. Something coils in his chest, hot like a blast. Because it’s a crazy idea, a hopeless hope, but. He just wonders. Because his soulmate has green eyes. And the boy he might have fallen a little in love with, has green eyes. And wouldn’t that be lucky.
But there’s no way in hell that Katsuki would be Izuku’s soulmate. Not after being a huge, big headed jerk to Izuku half his life. Izuku’s soulmate was probably all light and bright like him, soft and smiley and everything Katsuki wasn’t, everything Izuku deserved.
And yet, still.
He fell asleep thinking of the moment tomorrow that he’d see Izuku. Wondered what might happen when he looked into those eyes.
He’s dropped back at the dorms early the next morning, and he puts on his uniform but it feels unusually scratchy and too-hot. The tie is red.
He clicks his door shut, and nearly runs into Eijirou, who’s coming out of his room next door.
Eijirou’s hair is. Really fucking red.
Eijirou smiles but his brows knit together.
“Is there something in my hair?”
Katsuki swallows, shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Yeah, those ridiculous spikes. Let’s go, or we’ll be late for class.”
Aizawa looks at Katsuki with straining, bloodshot eyes. Which is normal, except for his teacher knows. ‘Cause they needed to approve leave for his procedure. And they paid for half of it. ‘Cause it was a disability that could interfere with his hero career, apparently. Is he gonna be disarming bombs? Flying planes? Well, shit.
He takes his seat and soon the teacher’s eyes fly off him.
He does not (he does) tense up as Deku and Kaminari walk into the classroom, promptly shuffling to their desks as they realise the time. Somewhere in the back of his head, some neural process takes in Iida’s too loud voice chiding them. His palms are sweaty.
He looks down at his book and tunes Aizawa out, waits for the bell to ring and for Ectoplasm to begin their maths period.
“Hey, Kacchan,” comes a familiar whisper.
He looks up to see Deku leaning back in his chair carefully. Ectoplasm’s eyes are on Yaoyorozu as she finishes an equation on the board.
A what almost hisses from his mouth, but it doesn’t. Because he’s winded, breathless like he’s taking a dive on a rollercoaster, no such thing as gravity and just the weightless and terrifying feeling of your organs not settling in your body as you plummet.
Deku’s eyes are.
Well, they’re green.
And there’s not a damn thing that Katsuki could say to you to describe them, because he knows of nothing to compare the colour to. Deku’s eyes will never be green like something else; everything green will be the colour of his eyes. Forests, pines, turquoise stripes on the UA uniform, ivy, limes, olives, grass, seaweed, jade. Just different shades of Izuku Midoriya.
All he can think right now is that those big, deep, flecked, multifaceted eyes? Are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Deku is giving him a funny, uneasy smile.
“Is there something on my face?”
“Yeah, a dumb look and a bunch of freckles. What do you want?”
Deku just smiles, horrible honey sweet in how cute it is, and Katsuki wants to slam his face down on the desk.
“Was just wondering where you were yesterday.”
“Mind your own business.”
Deku rolls his eyes, and turns back the front. Katsuki might hear the smallest of exasperated sighs.
Deku’s hair is green too. Those curls that smell so nice and heavy, look thick and glossy, they’re dark green.
Katsuki stares at the back of his head for what feels like the whole class.
Whole thing’s messed up, really. When you see your soulmate’s eyes for the first time, your worlds are supposed to change. But Deku had that moment before he understood it. And Katsuki had it far too late. Their moments weren’t in sync, probably a one in a million fuck up, if you ask him.
And so Katsuki feels like. A cut string. One sided. Like everything’s been turned upside down, but just for him, all because of some stupid colours.
Maybe it’s good, he thinks. Sweat drips from his jaw down to his collarbones and he curls the weight one last time before setting it down.
Maybe Deku can forget about the whole soulmates thing—some people do, they settle down and forget about the colour they can’t see. Deku could be happy with someone better. Katsuki wouldn’t come in and ruin it.
Another part of him—it’s selfish and jealous so he doesn’t want to listen anymore, knows his ego betrays him, but he hears it whisper—says that only he is good enough for Deku. That only he can make Deku the happiest.
The shower is cold, but he doesn’t notice that for half a minute.
The most truthful part of him—and bear with him here, because identifying emotions that display weakness is difficult—says that he’s scared. He’s just a seventeen year old who finally sees the sincerity of the supernova who’s growing brighter every day, who makes them both better every day. Their tentative friendship, the idea of soulmates, how that might change them—Katsuki isn’t quite ready. He doesn’t know how to say it, how to say anything.
Deku grins as he knocks Katsuki back on the mat and Katsuki snarls.
“6-5,” comes Deku’s triumphant voice.
Katsuki’s knuckles are red. Deku’s jumpsuit is in limbo between blue and green.
His eyes are the whole damn universe, condensed into a single shade, that Katsuki adores so awfully.
“Get fuckin’ ready to be decked, Deku,” Katsuki says as he stands.
“Bring it,” says the other boy.
Shouto hands a water bottle to Eijirou, where they stand ten feet way in their own mat space.
“Do you think this is their version of flirting?”
Katsuki tries to look like he’s not looking, but in the changing rooms when Deku peels off his jumpsuit, his eyes are drawn to the curve of his spine, the hard smooth muscles delving into All Might briefs that hug thick thighs, the way the silver and pink scars wrap fingers and wrists lovingly.
And crap, Deku is looking at him. Curious light dancing with uncertainty in those eyes. Still flushed in the face from training.
Katsuki snaps his gaze back to his own boots.
The 1998 version of The Ring flickers across the big screen in the 1A common room.
Blankets and pillows are thrown everywhere, bits of popcorn on the carpet. Uraraka is covering her mouth with a hand, holding Tsuyu’s in the other. Denki is a jittering mess, crammed carefully between Mina and Eijirou, who both look terrified as hell themselves but are putting on brave faces and petting him reassuringly every time he jumps and crackles with static.
Katsuki’s knee is pressed against Deku’s thigh. It’s warm. It’s jumped once or twice.
Not that Katsuki was paying much attention to the movie (a certain someone’s proximity and after-shower softness was distracting him), but he wouldn’t have been scared, anyway.
Deku, though, his eyes were fixed on the screen, his fists were curled tightly around the blanket fisted in them, his body was tense and Katsuki was close enough to see a pulse ticking feverishly in his neck. Which was quite thick, now, actually, vein trailing down his jugular and Adam’s apple bobbing. He wasn’t shrinking, jumpy Deku anymore, but right now he was on edge.
Deku pulled his knees up to his chest, taking the blanket to his chin before burrowing his hands under it.
Which was, where Katsuki’s hands were. But in his pockets. He took the hand closest to Deku out of his pocket, and let it relax by his own thigh.
Half the class yelped, Denki, Uraraka, Yaoyorozu and Mineta shrieked, and everyone jolted a little as the jumpscare came, and the routine ticks of adrenaline pushed warm through Katsuki’s veins and—
And doubled, tripled, setting his body on fire, because Deku’s hand had found his, was gripping it tight. It was sweaty. It was warm. It was steady.
Katsuki stared straight ahead at the screen, and in his peripheral vision he could see Deku tilting his head to look at him, but he didn’t change his expression.
He squeezed Deku’s hand a little.
He held his breath.
A rough thumb rubbed along the back of his hand.
His heart thumped in his chest.
God, he was going to die. Of bliss. Of torture. This was the end.
After the credits started to roll, for a brief moment, damp curls smelling of sweet shampoo were on his shoulder, but it was such a short and fleeting thing that he thought he might have hallucinated it.
Deku’s fingertips may be calloused, but his lips. His lips are soft, pliant.
Their first kiss is like an imprint on Katsuki’s soul. It’s shaking, it’s wet, it’s gentle. It’s intertwined hands and a smile in the dark. It’s a secret, but not for long.
Katsuki looked around at the boxes, taped up and scrawled on and stacked. At the empty wardrobe. At the bare bed.
There was a little knock on the door.
“Come in,” Katsuki grunted, looking out his window at UA’s grounds. His chest felt tight, throat thick. Feelings sucked. Nostalgic feeling sucked ten times worse.
Deku’s voice was like soothing water on a burn. Kacchan in that voice was, an old friend. Just over a decade and a half old.
Katsuki turned and looked at Deku, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.
“All packed up, then,” Deku murmurs, hand on one of the boxes. “Me too.”
“So why’re you here bothering me? We were all gonna meet in the common room when we were done.”
Deku moves into his space, tugs at the cotton hem of Katsuki’s shirt and then smooths it down, breath coming out almost like a sigh.
Katsuki’s arms come up around Deku, and then there is a sigh. Green curls tickle Katsuki’s neck as Deku lays his head on his shoulder.
“Needed to see you,” comes the muffled confession. “Alone.”
Katsuki looks at the buildings below, knows them like the back of his hand. He aches a little, and he understands.
“Your speech was good,” he says into Deku’s crown of hair, rubbing a small circle on the other’s back.
“Thank you,” Deku sniffles, and uh oh, sniffles?
“Are you crying?”
His shoulder feels damp.
“Ugh, Deku, jeez. Stop that.”
“Sorry,” wobbles Deku’s voice.
Katsuki’s nose stings.
He squeezes his eyes and scrunches up his face for a second.
“Gonna make me start cryin’ too, dumbass,” he mumbles.
“Oh—” Deku pulls back to look at him. “Oh! Kacchan, don’t cry. Look, I’m fine. We’re fine.” He wipes his own eyes on the back of his hand, and smiles bright. “We should go downstairs, see who else is done. I’m getting pretty hungry for the katsudon the place we’re going to does. Man, is it good.”
Katsuki swallows. Those big green eyes are free of tears, but the eyelashes crowding them are a little wet and matted. It makes the shade of Deku’s eyes deeper, darker, brings out the flecks of hazel and teal.
“Your eyes are so beautiful,” he finds himself saying.
He doesn’t often do the whole, compliment thing. Deku always flushes and splutters for words when he does, though, and it’s satisfying. Except for if Katsuki just says some dumb shit like, your ass is so juicy, and then Deku does all as previously mentioned but also tends to start hitting him with the nearest soft object, like a pillow.
He’s rewarded with a low blazing blush now, sneaking under freckles and Deku does stutter a bit, mumbling embarrassed things that Katsuki can’t catch, a habit he hasn’t broken.
Katsuki does catch the last bit, though.
They might be better if you could see green.
It sounds so sad. That for a second Katsuki feels bitter too, but then. He remembers it’s his fault, because he was too cowardly. He’s been lying—well, not lying , lying, but not telling the truth either—because he was scared. And maybe the thing he was most scared of was that Deku would want someone else, needed someone else, and so Katsuki was giving him that chance. The chance to be free of him.
“I can see green.”
Deku goes stiff in his arms.
God, he’s going to so pissed at me, Katsuki thinks, but so what? He deserves that.
Deku takes a step back and Katsuki lets him go, not sure what to do with his hands.
“I said I can see green. Your eyes.”
“Since when?” Nothing but Deku’s voice betrays him. It trembles, it fades, it hurts.
And Katsuki realises what this sounds like—to Deku, it sounds like, Katsuki’s found his other half, someone else, someone not Deku.
“No! I mean! Shit, ” he swears. “Deku. Deku, it’s you. I can see green because of you.”
Skin is paler, under freckles. Eyes confused, still wounded.
“What do you mean—since we were four—you always said you couldn’t.”
“It’s red-green colourblindness. I was colourblind. It only got—I had it, fixed, reset, last year. That day where I was missing and told you to mind your own business? That was. Yeah.”
Deku isn’t saying anything, so he just keeps going.
“So yeah, I was a freak, now you know. And that’s why you could see red all along. And when I—when I looked at you, and saw green, I—you didn’t have the moment with me, I wasn’t sure...you know, I was a real jerk to you, and I thought, this whole cock-up would just be. A chance for you to find someone better. But I guess you ended up with me anyways.”
“Kacchan!” Deku exclaims in dismay. He looks disbelieving and overjoyed all at once, and his fist comes down to hit Katsuki’s chest, thumping him once, twice, three times, and Katsuki just winces and takes it. Tears well up and liquify Deku’s eyes again. “You’re such an idiot! I can’t believe you!”
“Okay, okay, I know! I know. Stop that,” he growls, but it has no bite at all, and he pulls Deku in again, and Deku’s arms come around him tight too. “I know I was an idiot,” he rasps. “You have every right to be angry.”
“Idiot,” Deku repeats, huffing his word into Katsuki’s shirt.
Deku goes still for a moment, and Katsuki bites his own lip. He’s never actually, said those words to Deku before.
“I forgive you. S’only a little bit your fault. For not telling me sooner.” Deku’s breath is warm under his chin.
And then Deku starts to laugh. Small and shaky, but bigger and happier and breathier as he goes.
“What, what’s so funny?”
“It’s just—this whole time, and I was thinking—this soulmates stuff, was stupid.” Deku pulls away a bit and grins at him, watery. “I was gonna tell you I didn’t care, that I wanted you anyway. That it’s always felt like it should be you, but I didn’t know why it wasn’t you. But,” he laughs again, incredulous, “it was you.”
Katsuki kisses him, and Deku kisses him back, and their lips say one thing: forever.
The girl is crying, when he rescues her. Her knees and dress are dirty, she’s missing a shoe, her face is stained with tears. But she’s safe, so that’s what matters.
He just has to calm her down, and so he sits her on a bench and hears her hiccup, even as an explosive crumbling shock can be heard behind them. Deku doing his thing, probably. Katsuki will let him have the glory, this time.
“Hey, it’s okay now. Deku is gonna stop the bad guy, you know that?”
She blinks at him, and nods.
“Do you know why?” he prompts.
She nods again. “Deku always wins, an’ saves people, because he’s a hero,” she says timidly.
Katsuki smiles at her, and he sucks at this, but she seems okay. Distract her, come on.
“So, what’s your name? I’m Ground Zero.”
She giggles a little. “I know you’re Ground Zero, mister. I’m Aiko Nakamura.”
“What a pretty name. What’s your favourite colour, Aiko?”
“Blue,” she says shyly. “What’s yours?”
“Green,” he says, without a second thought.