The memory always smelled like rain and burnt sugar. In Midoriya’s mind, the colors of that afternoon were oversaturated, glowing with the kind of warmth that only exists in the lull before a storm. They were twelve, tucked into the hidden corner of the local park where the weeping willow branches acted as a curtain against the world.
He could still feel the weight of you leaning against his chest, your fingers intertwined with Kacchan’s. You were the bridge between them—the soft gravity that kept Katsuki’s explosive temper from drifting into cruelty and Izuku’s nerves from shattering into pieces.
"Three more months," you had whispered, your thumb tracing the pulse point on Katsuki’s wrist. "Three months until we’re thirteen. Until the Lula marks show up."
Katsuki had grunted, though he didn’t pull away. He never pulled away from you. He’d leaned down, pressing a lingering, surprisingly soft kiss to your temple before turning to Izuku. "Doesn't matter if the marks show up or not. We already know. It’s always been the three of us."
Izuku had beamed, his heart so full he thought he might float away. That day, they had shared a clumsy, three-way kiss—a promise sealed in the heat of a middle-school summer.
Then, the world broke. Your family moved across the ocean. The marks appeared—identical swirling patterns on all three of your collarbones—but you weren't there to stabilize the connection.
The present was much colder. Izuku’s back hit the rough brick of the UA gymnasium wall with a dull thud. Before he could draw a breath, Katsuki’s hand was in his hair, pulling his head back. It wasn't a caress; it was a desperate, jagged movement.
Katsuki’s eyes were bloodshot, the pupils blown wide with the "Lula Fever." When soulmates are separated or the connection is imbalanced, the brain begins to fray. The physical need for contact becomes a biological imperative—a hunger that turns into a sickness.
Katsuki didn't wait. He crashed his lips against Izuku’s, the contact rough and punishing. There was no love in it, only the frantic scratching of a man trying to keep his sanity from slipping through his fingers. He gripped Izuku’s shoulder so hard it would surely bruise, his teeth clashing against Izuku’s in a way that tasted like copper.
Izuku closed his eyes, leaning into it because he had to, but his mind drifted back to that willow tree. Back then, a kiss felt like coming home. Now, with you gone and Katsuki’s heart twisted by pride and resentment, it felt like a transaction. Katsuki bullied him in the halls, told him he was nothing, and then dragged him into shadows to use him as a tether to reality.
Katsuki pulled away, panting, the manic light in his eyes fading just enough for the sneer to return. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at Izuku with pure vitriol.
"Don't think this means anything, Deku," Katsuki spat, his voice trembling with the aftershocks of the fever. "You’re just a placeholder until I can get the real thing back. You're a damn glitch in the system."
Izuku slid down the wall as Katsuki stormed off. He touched his collarbone, where the Lula mark hummed with a low, mournful ache. Where are you? he wondered. Please, come back before he breaks me entirely.
The atmosphere in Class 1-A was uncharacteristically heavy. The USJ attack had left everyone on edge, the realization of their own mortality weighing on their teenage shoulders. Aizawa slunk into the room, his yellow sleeping bag dragging behind him like a molted skin. "Settle down," he rasped. "The school board decided that after the recent security breach, we needed to bolster the Hero Course. We have a transfer student. She’s been studying abroad under a specialized program."
Katsuki, who had been leaning back with his feet on the desk, froze. His nose flared. The air in the room suddenly smelled different—a scent he hadn’t truly caught in years.
"Come in," Aizawa muttered.
The door slid open, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis. You walked in, wearing the UA blazer with a quiet confidence that hadn't been there years ago. Your eyes swept the room, landing first on Izuku—who looked like he had seen a ghost—and then on Katsuki.
The silence was deafening. Kaminari leaned over to Kirishima, whispering, "Whoa, she’s gorgeous. Look at the marks on her neck... they're glowing."
They were glowing because you were within twenty feet of your soulmates for the first time in years. The Lula marks on Izuku and Katsuki began to pulse with a rhythmic, golden light, visible even through their shirts.
"I'm (Y/N) (L/N)," you said, your voice steady but underscored with an edge of steel. "It’s been a long time."
Izuku stood up so fast his chair flipped over. "(Y/N)!"
Katsuki stood more slowly, his explosions sparking involuntarily at his palms. "(Y/N)..." he breathed, the fever that had been clouding his mind for years suddenly lifting, replaced by a sharp, clear desperation. He stepped forward, his hand reaching out. He needed to touch you. He needed the sanity only you could provide.
You didn't move toward him. Instead, you stepped sideways, bypassing Katsuki entirely to pull Izuku into a crushing hug. "I missed you, Izu," you whispered loudly enough for the whole class to hear. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, and the glow between the two of you stabilized into a warm, constant hum.
Katsuki’s hand hovered in empty air. "Hey," he growled, his voice cracking. "What about me?"
You turned your head, looking at Katsuki with a coldness that felt like a physical blow. You had heard. You had seen the videos of the Sports Festival. You had talked to Izuku’s mother. You knew what Katsuki had become in your absence.
"I don't touch bullies, Katsuki," you said, your voice dropping an octave. "Until you remember how to be a human being, consider our bond severed. I’m staying with Izuku. You? You’re on your own."
Later that evening, the dorms were quiet. You were in Izuku’s room, the space filled with All Might posters and the comforting scent of home. You were sitting on his bed, your back against the wall, while Izuku leaned into your side. His mark was humming happily, but his face was clouded with a deep, gnawing worry.
Through the floorboards, you could almost feel the vibrations of the common room. But more than that, you could feel the jagged, agonizing pulses coming through the bond. Katsuki was downstairs, and he was suffering.
Izuku turned his head, his green eyes searching yours. He leaned in, catching your lips in a slow, deep kiss. It was everything Katsuki’s kisses weren't—gentle, sure, and filled with a decade of longing. But as Izuku pulled back, his hand stayed on your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip.
"(Y/N)... he's hurting," Izuku whispered. "I can feel it. It’s like his mind is on fire."
"I know," you said softly, looking away. "But he has to learn, Izu. He can't just treat you like a placeholder and then expect me to fix him."
Izuku sighed, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder. "I know he was awful. I know. But the Fever... it’s going to break him before he ever gets the chance to be better. He needs you. Please. Just... let him in? Make out with him? If we both hold him, maybe he’ll finally understand."
You looked at the boy you loved, the one who had every reason to hate Katsuki, yet was begging for his tormentor's salvation. You felt a pang of guilt, but the memory of the way he looked at Izuku with hatred in the gym yesterday, they way izuku slightly trembled when he yelled at Kaminari, instantly all that guilt was washed away.
"No, Izuku," you said firmly, your voice steady even though your own mark was beginning to throb in sympathy. "I’m not doing that. Not yet. He needs to realize that a bond isn't something you can just demand when you're hungry. He needs to apologize to you, not just beg me for a cure. I’m staying right here."
Izuku looked down at his lap, his shoulders slumped. He didn't push further, but the mournful pulse of his mark told you exactly how much it hurt to feel his other half rotting away in the dark downstairs.
The following weeks were a slow-motion car crash. You were inseparable from Izuku. You sat with him at lunch, you trained with him, and every night, you made sure he was "fed"—soulmate contact that kept his spirits high and his Quirk under control.
Katsuki was falling apart. Without you to balance him, and with you actively ignoring him, the Lula Fever hit him ten times harder. He became a ghost. He stopped eating. His grades slipped. He sat in the back of the class, staring at the back of your head with eyes that were sunken and dark.
"Kaminari, don't," Kirishima warned as the blonde boy started to head toward Bakugo. "He’s in a Fever state. He’ll blow the wing off the building if you touch him."
Katsuki’s skin was pale, his tremors visible. He watched as you laughed at something Uraraka said, your hand resting comfortably on Izuku’s shoulder. Every time you touched Izuku, Katsuki felt a phantom limb pain—the Lula mark on his chest burning like a brand.
He tried to corner you once in the hallway.
"(Y/N)... please," he choked out, leaning against the lockers for support. "I can't... I can't breathe. Just a hand. Just let me touch your hand."
You looked at him, and for a second, the old love flickered in your eyes. But then you remembered the bruises on Izuku’s arms and the way he flinched when someone raised their hand too quickly.
"Is that how Izuku felt?" you asked quietly. "When you told him to take a swan dive off the roof? Did you care if he could breathe then?"
Katsuki flinched as if you’d struck him. You walked away, leaving him trembling in the hall.
It finally happened after the combat training. The tension had reached its boiling point. Ground Beta was silent, save for the sound of heavy breathing. Katsuki had challenged Izuku to a fight—not a mock battle, but a desperate, raw confrontation. You stood on the sidelines, watching with your arms crossed, your heart aching but your resolve firm.
Katsuki swung, his explosions weak and smoky. Izuku parried, his movements fluid and confident because he was whole, while Katsuki was fractured.
"Why won't you fight back?!" Katsuki screamed, tears finally breaking through his mask. He fell to his knees, the Fever finally winning. His mind was a kaleidoscope of static and pain. "I hate you! I hate that you're always behind me! I hate that she looks at you like you're the only thing that matters!"
Izuku stopped, his green eyes softening. "Kacchan..."
"I did it because I didn't know what else to do!" Katsuki sobbed, his forehead hitting the concrete. "You were nothing, and then you were everything! And she was gone! I felt like I was drowning every single day, and the only way I felt powerful was by making you feel as small as I felt!"
He looked up at you, his face a mess of salt and soot. "I destroyed the only thing that kept me sane because I was scared! I’m sorry! (Y/N), I’m so sorry! Just... please... make it stop."
The silence that followed was heavy. The Lula bond isn't just about physical touch; it's about the soul. And for the first time in years, Katsuki’s soul was open.
You walked forward slowly. Izuku stepped aside, nodding to you. You sank to your knees in front of Katsuki. He looked at you like a man dying of thirst looking at an oasis. You didn't say a word. You simply reached out and cupped his face.
The moment your skin met his, a literal shockwave of golden light erupted from the contact. Katsuki let out a sound—half-sob, half-gasp—as the static in his brain cleared instantly. He lunged forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping around you with a strength that spoke of years of starvation.
You felt his hot tears against your skin. "Don't ever do it again," you whispered, your own tears falling. "Don't ever hurt him again."
"Never," Katsuki choked out. "I promise. Just don't leave. Don't leave me in the dark again."
Izuku sat down on the ground next to you both, leaning his head against your shoulder. Katsuki reached out a trembling hand, grabbing the back of Izuku’s shirt, pulling him into the circle. The three-way bond clicked back into place—not the perfect, innocent version from the park, but something new. Something scarred, complicated, and desperately resilient.
The sun began to set over UA, casting long shadows, but for the first time in a long time, the Lula marks weren't mourning. They were glowing.
