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None of it should have happened.
Katsuki had watched the whole fuckup, heart in his throat and face carefully blank, as Shinsou’s team had dropped the ball hard and let their brainwasher be cornered. Shinsou just barely scraped by in a one on one against Todoroki, gaining control through the smallest, confused, “What?” It was no small feat considering how tight lipped the kid was on a normal day.
The second All Might called the victory though, Katsuki could breathe again, the edge of a smirk on his lips and something impossibly warm in his chest. That sharp wit and sharper tongue could give Katsuki a run for his money.
Then Shinsou turned his back on the camera and everything went to shit.
The room's attention locked onto the black, swirling starburst etched into the reddening skin revealed under the charred fabric and a sudden, shocked murmuring went up around the room among those who had seen Katsuki's mark.
The world-shattering revelation was, as ever, ruined by a useless, broccoli headed nerd as Deku gasped and those big, green eyes sought him out.
Katsuki cleared his expression, turned, and marched away out of the observation room. He had known. The confirmation wasn’t necessary, but it was still a hard punch to the gut. It was him.
In the hall, skin clammy and head spinning, he leaned against the wall for support and just barely held back the heaving of his stomach.
The opening of the door had him straightening up like nothing had happened. He had never wished so hard that it was Kirishima coming after him.
“You saw it, right,” Deku asked, eager like Golden Age All Might had traveled back in time to see him.
Katsuki, too trapped in his own head to do anything of substance but get the hell out of here, turned his back and said, “It doesn’t fucking matter.”
The confused pitter pattering of Deku’s feet followed him, relentless.
“But he's your soulmate, Kacchan.”
He rounded on this annoyance with a snarled, “I didn't ask for a fucking soulmate!”
Deku rocked back, still confused, but didn’t give ground, further fueling Katsuki’s ire.
“But–”
“Would you just shut up for once in your useless fucking life?” He grabbed Deku’s shirt in tight fists and lifted him onto his toes. “I know you've always looked down on me cuz I've got a soulmate and you're free to do whatever the hell you want, but–”
“What are you talking about?”
“–I don’t answer to anyone! Got that, Deku?!”
He threw the kid back with a rough shove and started walking blind to anywhere but here.
The fight with Todoroki was a huge milestone for Hitoshi, but all the class could talk about was his soulmark and Bakugou storming out, ever the predictable asshole.
All he’d wanted was to be alone and rid himself of some of the tension in his limbs, but then the last voice he wanted to hear said, begrudging, “You shouldn’t be working yourself like that.”
Hitoshi ignored him, spite a sharp bite on his tongue. Bakugou was probably right, but Hitoshi would rather do this for another hour than admit it.
“Hey, idiot,” he was closer now, his hand reaching for Hitoshi’s shoulder, “didn’t you hear me? You’ll get hurt.”
In a sudden fury, Hitoshi ripped his arm away before Bakugou could get a finger on him.
“Why do you care? You don't even want me!” The words got louder with each until they broke and tears were sliding down his cheeks.
He turned away, disgusted with his soulmate and ashamed of himself for caring when Bakugou so clearly did not.
“I never said that.”
The gruff words stopped him, but Bakugou wasn’t looking at him, scowling at the wall like Hitoshi wasn’t even worth his time.
“You didn't have to.”
“I didn't think you were this fucking dense,” Bakugou snapped, mean and defensive.
Hitoshi was done listening to this. He grabbed his stuff and started for the door.
“I thought you'd get it,” Bakugou yelled after him. “Everyone's been telling you your whole fucking life that you're destined to be a villain because of that Quirk, but you're going to be a great goddamn Hero instead.”
He didn't want it to, but the confidence with which Bakugou said that, like it had never even been a question, sat warm in his heart and he turned back.
“So what?”
“So, I'm not gonna be fate's bitch and I’m not gonna be yours either.”
They might have been speaking different languages for the sense that made to Hitoshi. “The hell are you talking about?”
“Just,” Bakugou struggled for a second, his fists clenching and unclenching. Then, “We’re supposed to just lock eyes and be together forever? It’s fucking bullshit! I don't even know your goddamn name.”
“Hitoshi. Shinsou Hitoshi.”
Bakugou met his flat tone with the grinding of teeth. “That’s not the fucking point and you know it, asshole.”
“Then tell me, what is the point, Bakugou? Because I’m clearly missing something here.”
“What do you even want from me,” Bakugou’s frustrated shout echoed around them.
Hitoshi didn't know how exactly to articulate the feeling, how much he just wanted that warmth and comfort he caught glimpses of anytime they brushed, what he would give for the belonging he’d never had anywhere but knew he’d find in this emotional cactus of a boy.
His voice was softer and gentler as he said, “I don't know, but wouldn't it be nice to find out?” He hiked his bag further up on his shoulder and held out his other hand. “Come here.”
Bakugou looked at his hand for a long moment in suspicion before he met his eyes again and asked in challenge, “You gonna make me?”
Hitoshi didn't want that to hurt. Still, a new hole torn in his heart at this boy's hands, he turned away.
There was a sardonic laugh in his throat as he said, “Even my soulmate’s scared of me. Maybe I should have been a villain after all.”
“I'm not fucking scared!”
Hitoshi didn't look around this time, didn't want to see what expression was on Bakugou's face as he lied his ass off.
His own voice was dead as he activated his Quirk said, “Then prove it. Answer me.”
As the heavy silence behind him grew, the brief welling of hope died an agonizing death in his chest, turning jagged and heavy around his heart.
His hand was on the door and he had almost pushed it open when, “Fine! I’ll-”
Even as his control snapped around the other boy, he had to see it to believe it. He glanced back.
Bakugou hung in his control, eyes blank and muscles relaxed, awaiting orders. Contrary to what most people seemed to believe, there was no temptation for ill when using his Quirk. If anything, it brought a great rush of protectiveness and he had to always swallow back the first command that came to mind, take care of yourself.
He wished he’d seen the look on Bakugou’s face now, but his voice had been nothing but fear, shaking and loud and full of desperation.
Fighting the urge to step forward, Hitoshi said, “I'd never hurt you. Not with my Quirk. Not with anything.”
He dropped his control and held out his hand again.
Bakugou hesitated a long moment. Then he took a step back and shook his head. “No. I'm not doing that.”
Hitoshi was fully fed up with this stubborn ass now.
He swallowed back the words he really wanted to shout and said instead, “Fine. Do what you want, just stay away from me.”
Hitoshi had been losing track of time between working himself half to death in training and avoiding Bakugou or any mention of him. So, it might have been a week or several months later that his and Bakugou’s names appeared in All Might’s hand for the next capture battle.
“All Might,” Yaoyorozu said, raising a tentative hand, “are you sure this is the best pairing?”
“Yeah, maybe we should draw again,” Hagakure added.
Before their teacher, wavering, could get a word in, Bakugou was yelling over everyone, “Shut up, morons! I can handle this asshole and if he's going to back down from a fight, then he doesn't have any business being here anyway.”
“I guess,” Sero said, uncertain, “but you guys are soulmates, right?”
Bakugou stepped up to the taller boy and somehow still managed to loom. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
Hitoshi broke from his numbness then and started toward the industrial training ground without a word.
All Might called for the match to start and Hitoshi dropped himself, feather light, onto the catwalk above Bakugou. He had six escape routes already planned and, in this environment, he was nearly as mobile with the capture weapon as Bakugou was with his explosions.
He had the advantage of not announcing himself with every move, however.
A stealthy capture would be smart, but it wouldn't be satisfying and if there was one person he wanted to rile up, it was the boy prowling below him.
“Are you scared your soulmate having a villainous Quirk means they were right about you? Maybe that’s why you’ve been fighting this so hard,” Hitoshi drawled, throwing his voice in the echoing space so it might have come from anywhere.
Bakugou went still, on high alert, muscles tensed to dart off at the slightest hint of attack or opportunity. He was a well-honed machine, powerful and capable. (Beautiful.) Hitoshi wanted to hate him more than he’d ever wanted anything.
His voice had more venom and bite as he said, “I’ll bet the League will gladly take us as a package deal.”
Bakugou, scent caught, vaulted off a support pillar into the air. Hitoshi whipped his capture weapon out, every movement masked under a sharp blast and hid himself in a bank of shadows, his silhouette cut to pieces by the pipes along the ceiling.
Bakugou, irritation curling at his lip, stopped, perfectly balanced, on the edge of a beam like it was solid sidewalk.
“The more I think about it,” Hitoshi said in false wonderment, “the more it makes sense. Wanting to be a Hero was just fate making me its bitch so I’d meet you here, at UA, and drag you to the dark side.”
Bakugou’s eyes locked onto the shadows. Hitoshi dropped just as his soulmate blasted himself forward. He rolled to his feet on impact, ran, and then whipped himself around a corner.
He should have stopped talking, he knew it, but the adrenaline and fury had his mouth running for him, “That must be what the warm feeling I get around you is, victory. I’m going to get the next Number One Hero to go Villain. Does that make me–”
An armored boot slammed into his chest. Hitoshi’s concentration faltered as he hit the ground, breath gone, and slid for several feet. He could do nothing as the other boy straddled him, expecting capture tape and gloating. Instead, Bakugou grabbed the front of his uniform in both gloved hands and dragged him up.
“Just fucking stop!” Bakugou slammed their foreheads together like he meant to break both open and held them there, eyes screwed shut. “If you’re not my soulmate, they can’t use you against me. Don’t you get it?! If Shigaraki got his crusty ass hands on your neck right now and said it was join or watch you die, I’d be the best fucking Villain they’d ever seen.”
The skin contact and the admission were nearly enough to drown him, but his soulmate was still rejecting him.
After several long seconds of staring into the void with his heart flayed, Hitoshi scoffed, “Yeah, right. You’d just act like I don’t mean shit to you. Not like you’ve had any trouble so far.”
He shoved a suddenly rigid Bakugou off with one hand and stood. A breeze on his back and the burn of road rash told him his shirt was in tatters, his costume still being outfitted with better fireproofing.
It took a second for Bakugou to regain his wits and start to scramble up after, fury in those wild, red eyes.
“Hey–”
Hitoshi’s control was instant and all encompassing. The temptation to just leave him like that so they could both stop suffering was strong.
“Signal you lost.”
The buzzer sounded and Hitoshi released his control, making for the exit without looking back. He tensed at the sharp slam of heavy boots running up behind him.
“Hey, you can’t just walk away from me!”
Hitoshi rounded on him, a fist flying at his soulmate’s head as he snarled, “Why not?”
Bakugou barely ducked back in time, Hitoshi’s knuckle brushing his cheek. He settled just out of range in a loose, defensive stance.
“Maybe I wasn’t fucking done.”
“You’ve made it clear you’re real fucking done.” His lip twisted into an ugly cross between a grimace and smirk, the words earnest but still dripping with malice, “You think it’s not the same for me? Like I wouldn’t control anyone they wanted to do whatever they asked if it was for you? Like all of this doesn’t scare the hell out of me too? Get over yourself, you arrogant chicken shit piece of–”
“That’s exactly why–”
“You want this as much as I do!”
He held out his hand again in a gesture that felt far too final. Bakugou just stared at it, frozen.
Hitoshi counted to ten between deliberate breaths. Then he turned away, his heart in shambles but his resolve harder than ever. Each step was a little easier than the last, as though he were being untethered from a great weight.
He had almost stepped into the light, freer than he’d ever been in his life when a powerful hand spun him back around. Then his soulmate was kissing him like the world was ending. It was rough, unpracticed, and violent as any fist fight, but it was earnest as those arms wrapped around him like they’d never let go.
Then Hitoshi was clawing at Bakugou, just as desperate, something like a sob pressing on his control, making his breath sharp and his eyes sting.
Bakugou pulled back, shaking hand skating over Hitoshi’s face and neck as he muttered, “Don’t, don’t you fucking dare leave me. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. You’ll always be mine. Got that?”
Hitoshi pressed his forehead hard to Bakugou’s shoulder, fighting to hold down on his own tears, flowing without his permission.
“God, you’re such an asshole,” he snapped, the words near silent as they forced their way around the lump in his throat.
Still, he crushed Bakugou to his chest and wasn’t going to let go for days, if he could manage it.
Katsuki had been fighting this for so long, but giving into it didn’t feel like losing to fate. He’d won and nothing had ever felt this right.
They were laid out on his bed, tangled together as they’d been since they walked away from the training ground. The class had been texting them nonstop. Katsuki didn't care, but Hitoshi had his phone out, staring at it from barely a centimeter off his nose, like that was any way to look at something. It had no right being cute.
“What were you staring at,” Hitoshi asked, sleepy and content as Katsuki ran his fingers through his ridiculous, soft hair.
Katsuki didn't need to see his own gutted expression on the video to know the moment he was asking about.
“Your mark.” His fingers skated past the fabric to run over the skin, needing to see for himself again that Hitoshi's soulmark was deep black. “It started fading away.”
His gut clenched anew with raw terror and grief as Hitoshi walking away played before him again. The mark had been the red of a dying sunset and began to fade at the edges, disappearing as the connection he’d always had to this boy began to sever.
An understanding breath left Hitoshi. “I didn’t even know that could happen."
"I thought it would always be there no matter what shit I pulled because we’re meant to be or whatever. But," Katsuki had trouble swallowing, but he had to say this, "I couldn’t fucking do it, I couldn’t lose you.”
He tugged Hitoshi closer, forcing the taller boy on top of him so he pressed him into the mattress, his soulmate the only force holding him to earth. Hitoshi nuzzled into his neck and let out a long breath.
“Why,” Hitoshi asked after a quiet moment.
Katsuki hated that he had to ask, but it was his fault for not realizing sooner.
“Because we’re stronger together.” He took Hitoshi’s face resolutely between his hands and glared him down. “Look, I don’t need you. I want you. I would have wanted this without that stupid mark, but I wouldn’t have been able to admit any of this shit and I'd have fucking lost you.”
The saccharine softness in Hitoshi’s eyes was nauseating, but Katsuki could look at it all day.
Then he opened that smug mouth and said, “So, you’re not fate’s bitch, you’re the bitch fate pushed to get over his massive ego.”
“Shut up,” Katsuki growled.
He was about to shove Hitoshi away to save his pride, but the other boy tilted his head as he leaned in and, challenge in every syllable, said, “Make me.”