(Katsuki...Should be hurt. He doesn't remember why, but he knew he should be hurt. And he knew he shouldn't be feeling as good as he does right now. He's scouring Izuku for any injuries, but then his eyes are fixated on that hand coming toward his face. He doesn't make any move to jerk away. Instead, he just winds up fixating on the scars of Izuku's palm that somehow felt like the most familiar thing in this room.
Then Izuku grabs his wrist, and that's okay too. He's still staring at Izuku's hand, trying to think of why the hell...
He looks back up at Izuku, looks to the TV he had decimated, and then around the foreign room.)
I have no idea. (Honestly. He curls his shoulders inward, bracing his body, shifting closer to Izuku without even thinking about it.)
Do you remember that clown bitch? I think she - she brought us here. (At first Katsuki sounds uncertain, but then by the end of it, he's positive.)
Dunno how. But she did. She said she gave us memories, right? About lives we never lived. (But Izuku felt familiar. His brows stitch together and he looks down at Izuku's hand again.)
And that we agreed to be here. I sure as hell don't feel like you're a fake memory though.
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Then Izuku grabs his wrist, and that's okay too. He's still staring at Izuku's hand, trying to think of why the hell...
He looks back up at Izuku, looks to the TV he had decimated, and then around the foreign room.)
I have no idea. (Honestly. He curls his shoulders inward, bracing his body, shifting closer to Izuku without even thinking about it.)
Do you remember that clown bitch? I think she - she brought us here. (At first Katsuki sounds uncertain, but then by the end of it, he's positive.)
Dunno how. But she did. She said she gave us memories, right? About lives we never lived. (But Izuku felt familiar. His brows stitch together and he looks down at Izuku's hand again.)
And that we agreed to be here. I sure as hell don't feel like you're a fake memory though.