Chapter Text
There were a lot of things Katsuki Bakugou wouldn’t want published in an official court room transcript. The main topic: his anonymous online alias.
The one thing he prided himself on: making said alias anonymous.
The contents of his online persona were, for the most part, consistent with what he thought on a daily basis. People admired his crass nature and the fact that he largely didn’t give a shit about what the masses thought. This was most prevalent in the fact that he was now considered a published author.
Of the most infamous fanfic to ever be marketed as original fiction. Ever.
Katsuki Bakugou, otherwise known as the user Dynamight on all variety of social media, could be dubbed the longest-running Deku fan in the entire goddamn, pathetic world. He would go so far as to say that he knew Deku down to the exact minute he was born despite that information never being shared on the celebrity’s Wikipedia page.
There were a lot of aspects of Deku’s life that Katsuki personally contributed to the general knowledge of the fanbase. It was for this reason that Deku’s fan-made wiki page could be considered more accurate than the official one—depending on how much or how little you trusted the user who went by Dynamight.
Granted, he had a reputation to uphold. Some of his early contributions to Deku’s fanbase couldn’t be taken back, but since then he’d gotten into the habit of making contributions through a variety of separate accounts lest he be accused of being somehow related to Deku. He very nearly hadn’t recovered from the sibling accusation several years back. How else could Katsuki possibly know that Deku had a birthmark on his inner thigh without either having A) insider knowledge or B) Deku’s leaked nudes which absolutely definitely didn’t exist (otherwise Katsuki would have already had his hands on those!).
The only reason this birthmark knowledge was confirmed had everything to do with the fact that Katsuki’s reputation as an eerie accurate “guess-maker” in the fanbase had made it to mainstream media. Some journalist with a death sentence took his word as God’s and had the nerve to ask Deku in an interview about the birthmark. Deku had blushed profusely and stammered, “Wh-Where did you hear that?”
And Katsuki had watched in horror as the journalist made a flippant comment, her blush equally as eminent. She reads my work, Katsuki had concluded in the safety and privacy of his childhood bedroom.
Since then, he had been more cautious with the details he provided in his fanfiction. Of course he didn’t know Deku personally—the bastard lived in London half the year, and Katsuki wouldn’t be caught dead in the same room as that self-righteous Harry Styles wannabe! What was he doing in London for, anyway! Basic bastard. London was overrated. Katsuki definitely didn’t want to go there anyway.
Granted, if Katsuki had that sort of money, he, too, would book a one-way ticket out of his shoddy hometown flat that was far, far too close to his parents’ place.
Katsuki sighed at the absurdity of it all. To think that at one point, he had fallen into the trap laid by year seven assholes in secondary school. His peers’ disdain for Deku’s stardom had led him to believe that enjoying the bastard’s music was for prissy girls in pigtails. How different his life would be now if he had gone on with that hiatus and never picked at Dynamight’s fanfiction account again like some wilted leftover on his dinner plate…
“Did you even hear me?” his mother said from the other end of the phone.
Katsuki startled out of the fog of misery. The incessant voice at the back of his head was pestering as it always did, only with each day it grew louder and stomped heavier. “If you don’t write now, you’ll miss another update!”
“No—Could you repeat that?” he said.
“I need your help pitching the Christmas tree.”
Katsuki’s mind wiped. Had he blinked and missed his entire holiday? His heart beat faster in his chest and it sent a flush of panic through his system. The one chance he had at catching up on all of his projects that had been forced to the wayside by goddamn school work—!
He checked his calendar on his class schedule.
Definitely not past Christmas.
He squeezed his eyes shut and forced his brain back on track. “Why are you pitching the tree?” he said. “Didn’t you and dad just buy it?”
“We did, but all the needles fell off and—Christ, they’re everywhere! I need it out of my house, and we have guests arriving soon and—”
Katsuki pushed to his feet and swiped his coat off of its hanger by the door. “Mum, don’t worry about it. I’ll head over early and take care of it. Be there in five.”
“Make it seven so you don’t slip on the damn ice!”
“Mum, there’s no ice.”
“You say that and then you’ll crack your skull open like your aunt!”
Katsuki sucked in a sharp breath. He had even heard about that on their local news—everyone around him had. With the amount of flowers being sent to his aunt’s house, any normal person would have thought she died.
“She got, like, two stitches. Everyone’s blowing that out of proportions,” Katsuki insisted.
“Two stitches that wouldn’t have been there if she hadn’t been in such a hurry.”
Katsuki decided that of the hills he was willing to die on, Auntie’s fall last week was not on par with whether or not Deku topped or bottomed.
“Alright, alright. I’ll go slow,” Katsuki promised, and his mother thanked him in her condescending, sing-song voice before hanging up.
Katsuki pushed his feet into his trainers and tugged the backs up over his heels. He stuck his laptop in his half-packed backpack and topped it with his toiletries for that evening. The snow was dense and fluffy beyond the apartment building awning, and so early on in the evening, the street lamps were already turning clusters of the snow orange in their glow.
Katsuki shuffled along, hands in his pockets and eyes on the sidewalk. The dusting of snow already seemed to be melting.
He spent the walk thinking about a comment someone had sent early that morning when Katsuki had been deliriously overdue for eight hours of sleep. As frustrated as he was about peoples’ criticisms, and as much as he could flaunt around the, I’m-a-published-author-with-a-goddamn-editor-so-I-don’t-need-to-listen-to-you! card, he wasn’t an idiot.
He slapped his fist down on his open palm. If I just look at it objectively! he thought as he had that entire day. If he were reading the fic with no prior knowledge, he, too, would interpret it the same way. Now… it was just a matter of mending the plot in a way that wouldn’t jeopardize the main character’s entire personality in the process.
Katsuki grimaced. Wasn’t he the main character?
God, he thought, because for one brief instant in this ludicrous reality, he saw himself through a third-person lens and thought to himself, I really am a loser.
Luckily, no one in his life aside from his agent, editor, and those privy to his publication contract knew. He knew it was only a matter of time before speculations surrounding his book being picked up by goddamn Netflix would make his identity a hot topic.
He’d avoid all of it if he could help it.
Katsuki came back to reality at the sight of the cars on the street. Most were dusted over with snow—all except for two on the curb outside of his mum’s place that he had never seen before. His mum’s car was in the driveway and looked more white than green now.
His mum’s neighborhood was densely populated, and with the neighbors jutting up close enough to reach out a window and touch the siding of the neighboring house, Katsuki didn’t doubt that the neighbors were also having visitors. It was Christmas, after all.
Katsuki tapped his shoes off on the concrete steps. The stoop light flicked on and an instant later, the door swung open.
“Katsuki!” his mum cried, and squeezed the living hell out of him as he crossed the threshold.
“Can’t breathe—” he grunted, and took a deep breath the moment he was released. “I saw you last weekend.”
“I know, I know. You live so close—you need to visit more often!” she chided, swatting him on the back.
He kicked his shoes off to the side and noted the fact that there were three pairs he didn’t recognize.
“Are grandma and grandpa here already?” Katsuki asked, pointing to the shoes.
“Oh, yes. They’re getting set up in the guest bedroom—let me take your bag so you can take off your jacket,” she said, and Katsuki passed it along.
His mum scurried off to the kitchen with it as Katsuki hung his coat in the closet. There was holiday music playing on the living room speakers, and when he looked, a tarp had been laid down across the corner of the room. Indeed, the blue plastic was hidden under a heavy layer of brown needles.
The music followed him along the heavenly path to the stew that was boiling on the stovetop.
“Smells good,” he complimented as he rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “I’m gonna take care of the tree in a sec. Bit late to rush it since grandma and grandpa are already here,” he said.
His mum swatted him away from the spoon before he could take a sip. “It’s not done yet!”
Katsuki rolled his eyes and let his mum take over. The second he turned, he startled at the sight of someone sitting at the kitchen table. At first he assumed it was his dad, but his dad definitely did not have black hair like that nor did he wear it in a hair clip.
“Jesus Christ,” Katsuki gasped, hand over his chest.
“Merry Christmas, Katsuki,” Auntie Inko said. She looked smug as hell wearing that smile for someone who was forced to wear a bandage wrap like a headband.
“What’re you doing here?” he said without thinking. He couldn’t control the speed of his heart anymore. It was racing down M1 and would have been going a manageable speed had he been warned ahead of time!
And spent the entire day preparing for it!
Auntie Inko was the one facet from Katsuki’s childhood that remained a constant. He had learned early on to coach himself into ambivalence towards her son, lest he be accused of fishing for information. It didn’t help that when he was in secondary school, his mum teased him and called him a classic fanboy.
Yet another reason on Katsuki’s old list that convinced him that enjoying Deku’s music career was lame and not for him.
Katsuki closed his eyes and amended, “I mean, not that I don’t—I just wasn’t expecting you to visit what with the, uh…”
“The head injury?” she said, smiling.
He nodded awkwardly. He noted the steam rising from her tea cup and the pot in front of her. He took a seat and poured himself a cup with (mildly) shaky hands. “How is it?”
“I’m doing better, thank you,” she said.
“That’s good. We were worried,” he said.
“Oh, yes, a lot of people were… I didn’t expect little ol’ me to make headlines,” she laughed, hands cupped around her tea. “My son was so worried…”
Katsuki punched the part of himself that leapt up like a feral dog at the mention. Years of practice kept him cool, calm, and collected on the outside while internally, there was a goddamn animal reeling to be let out of its cage.
“I imagine so,” Katsuki said. “Are you gonna spend the holidays with us this year?”
She had done so a handful of times, namely those when Deku was on tour with his band in recent years.
“I hope so,” she said. “You don’t seem like the type to keep up with the news. And I know it’s been a while, but you remember my son, right?”
If by ‘remember’ you mean write millions of words of fanfiction about him, then yes, Katsuki thought.
“I try not to look into it much. Don’t know what you can trust from the media anyway,” he said offhandedly. Just that week Deku had been rumored to be dating some prissy costar in a movie he cameoed in. Katsuki knew it was all horseshit.
At least, he hoped it was.
He wasn’t sure what he’d do with himself if it came out that Deku was seriously dating anybody.
“That’s probably for the best,” she said with a sweet, rounded smile.
And then, out of the office door, a man built like a goddamn fridge stepped through. Or rather, ducked through on his way into the dining room.
Katsuki stared at him and the fact that this complete stranger was carrying his backpack.
Katsuki stared at him in mild horror as he finished zipping up Katsuki’s backpack and set it on the chair beside him without saying a word.
“What the he—Who the hell are you?” Katsuki said. He snatched his bag back and added, “And who the hell gave you the right to rifle through my shit?”
“Katsuki!” his mum scolded.
“He’s clean,” the refrigerator said.
Clean? Katsuki thought. He scoffed and said, “Yeah, as if I smoke. What the hell is this, mum? I told you I quit—”
“Katsuki, please, this isn’t about that,” she sighed.
“Like hell it isn’t!” he shouted.
He shoved up to his feet and swiped his bag back onto his shoulders. The refrigerator shuffled to the side to avoid him as he made for the living room.
He wasn’t going to argue with his mum over his smoking habits when they had guests over, anyway. As if he’d smoke with his grandparents around, let alone Auntie Inko, anyway!
His mum called after him, and he turned just to bitch her out about hiring some rehab jock to pat him down when—
—when he instead saw Deku, alive and in the flesh, standing in the archway.
Katsuki’s shoulders dropped and with them, the straps of his backpack. He scrambled to catch its fall as unbridled energy popped like sparklers up from his stomach. It gathered at the knot in the back of his throat like bile.
“Deku,” Katsuki said.
Katsuki never thought his mum’s kitchen lighting could look so angelic until a celebrity, a pop idol, Hollywood’s golden boy was standing there eclipsing it with his perfectly undone black curls.
And that smile—innocent but altogether fiendish by the way it scrounged up Katsuki’s will to live.
“Hi, Kacchan.”
a/n: o my gosh omg omg it’s happeningggg :3 NOW KISS!!! 💋