"I close my eyes, you're always there"

.

.

.

.

.

Dreams were often fantasies invoked from the unconscious, which, when they arose, exploded with all their power until they impregnated themselves.

They created a new place, a place he could turn to when the sadness was so great that it was impossible for him to hide it.

This new place was created to reaffirm that nothing mattered if he didn't correspond to him, if the tear that pierced his soul, led to increase and also cause unbearable pain in his bed.

Because every time he saw him go, he would also go away from him, away to forget his essence. The essence that he could never have in his hands.

He would go to his made-up place, wanting that sadness no longer feel real, and it was so, because he realized what made him feel that way.

It was a mistake to have fallen in love with him.

An error coming from the unconscious, because in his own self, on his rational side, the consequences of his actions were pre-established, less the fact of falling in love with him.

Yes, everything but that.

So nothing was resolved in that regard. Nothing remained permeable, because things didn't happen.

It was nobody's fault, only his clumsiness and his fragile heart.

He sighed, guilt, that nobody could be labeled, or even blamed for a blunder like his, because after all, there were no reasons for the irrational, and lies for the truths.

If only he could open a door inside his unconscious to burn his pain, he would do it without thinking twice, because the feeling that seized his being was greater than his own unfounded words.

Dreams led to revelations, tokens of fantasy, tokens of his deepest desires, both good and bad, but Izuku only realized that he loved his childhood friend in silence. He loved him and that was enough to intimidate his sadness. His deep and desolate sadness.

What else could he do with those dreams?

Discard them?

Treasure them?

Izuku sighed again, knowing that sooner or later he would fall asleep and his imagination would come alive. Thus, every time he closed his eyes, there was Kacchan.

Close your eyes and see him so present, so tangible, so ethereal in his hands, so real that he looked like the real Kacchan, but it was not real, because when he woke up, Kacchan wouldn't be by his side at dawn, because Kacchan lived in another tune very far from his.

Kacchan didn't love him back, and Izuku knew it, because if it were that way, Kacchan would have reciprocated at some point when they were students at the U.A. but he didn't.

Izuku returned to his dreams to remind himself that his existence was once tangible. That at some point he spoke face to face with Kacchan, and he was even able to touch him, to brush his skin with his fingertips and feel how soft his skin was. He could smell his caramel scent (because Kacchan sweat nitroglycerin). He could have had him so close, so much that he took advantage of it at a distance, apart from not overdoing it with his feelings, which beat reluctantly every time he was with Kacchan.

However, they parted without saying more. Without knowing the other.

Izuku knew that Kacchan being the best, was doing excellent since his debut as a hero. Kacchan always had that ability to carry people at his mercy, with that facility to overcome any obstacle, the power of his voice and his presence.

Izuku's life had always fluttered around Kacchan, and even if they weren't together, he just had to close his eyes and Kacchan appeared with him.

Although Kacchan didn't love him, it was enough to go to his invented place and be by his side, enraptured in that enchanted world or material world, where he could enjoy him. The place could be anyone, because the only thing that mattered to him was that he was by his side, even though Kacchan was never his.

And maybe he never will be.

.

.

.

.

.

P.S. A short one-shot Dekukatsu,

It is pure narration.

Nothing concrete.