Work Text:
This, Katsuki thinks as he mounts his moped, is rock bottom.
He’s just lucky that his work uniform comes with a hat or he’d probably be splashed across the front page: U.A.’S VALEDICTORIAN AND UP AND COMING HERO, DYNAMIGHT, CAUGHT DELIVERING PIZZAS.
Admittedly, that headline would probably be generous. There’s nothing up and coming about being ranked 67th on the charts. He’s still below Native for fuck’s sake! Not that it’s his fault. He’s a damn good hero but, with no agency backing, it’s practically impossible to pay for everything out of pocket. He barely has enough to cover his water bill.
Sure, he’s unwilling to bat his eyelashes for commercials like Creati or go on talk shows like that degenerate Mineta, but that’s not even a hero’s job. He’s in the business of winning fights and saving lives, damn it! And he’s not going to sell out, even if that means delivering pizzas between shifts to make ends meet until he becomes number one.
The drive to the customer’s house is a long one. The house isn’t even technically located in the city; the delivery fee must be outrageous.
As he meanders along the road at about half the speed he can fly, Katsuki debates the pros and cons of throwing himself on Best Jeanist’s tender mercies and re-joining his denim clad sidekicks. Pros: it would be good for his image, get him more publicity, and pay better. Cons: the last time he saw Best Jeanist, Katsuki swore he didn’t need his help and he’d make it on his own... And he might’ve called Jeanist's acid wash jeans ugly. But in Katsuki’s defense, they were ugly. He was honestly doing him a favor.
When he finally arrives at the gate, Katsuki shuts off the company moped, getting off and going to the intercom. He presses the button until a voice crackles through the speaker.
“Who is it?”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Pizza delivery.”
“Just a sec.”
The gates begin to swing inward and Katsuki leans his moped against the kickstand before unstrapping the pizza box from the back of the bike and heading through the gates.
He makes his way up a gravel path surrounded on either side by carefully tended gardens. Katsuki has to wonder who the heck can even afford a property like this in Japan, much less right outside of Musutafu.
Katsuki wonders what he’s about to walk into; with any luck it’ll be a villain stupid enough to live large on stolen money. Then, at least, Katsuki could end this miserable shift by kicking ass.
Balancing the pizza box on one hand, he knocks with the other.
“If you don’t answer the door in five minutes, I’m outta here!” he shouts.
Frankly, once his shift ends, Katsuki doesn’t give a damn if All Might himself opens those doors. He’s going home, making himself Cup Noodles with egg, and passing out on his futon.
But All Might doesn’t answer the door.
Someone much, much worse does.
“Sorry about the wait. I was just—Kacchan?!”
“DEKU?!”
The last Katsuki heard from his sources—namely, the old hag—Deku was traveling the world in his own private jet, making speeches about his quirkless success story, donating huge chunks of money to charity, and reading to at-risk youth with “villainous” quirks. The typical shit you’d expect from Deku.
“Wow, Kacchan. You look great!”
Katsuki glances down at his garish red and blue pizza delivery uniform, then up at Deku’s beaming face. The worst part is he sounds like he really means it.
“Just take the pizza,” Katsuki snaps, shoving the box into his arms. He can feel himself turning red from the sheer humiliation of this whole exchange.
Deku is just about the last person on earth—no, scratch that. Deku is the last person on earth Katsuki wants to see him like this.
It had been bad enough hearing about it in high school. For days the hag wouldn’t stop talking about how Deku had created some nerdy app with live updates of hero/villain fights taking place all around the city and, eventually, once Deku got the funding, the entirety of Japan.
It’s basically become a staple of modern living, marketed as the perfect app to help you navigate through your busy day without interruptions. Of course Katsuki knows the real reason why Deku made the app was so that hero fans everywhere could stalk their idols. But, regardless, Midoriya is now a household name in the tech industry.
If Deku wanted, he could probably make a few quick calls and have Katsuki blacklisted from every hero agency in Musutafu. And, considering how Katsuki treated him in Junior High, it doesn’t seem far-fetched to expect some kind of revenge. Best to leave now before Deku gets any ideas.
Katsuki tugs the brim of his cap down and says, in a gruff voice, “See ya.”
“Wait!” Deku says as he turns to go. He shoulders the front door open wider. “Do you maybe want to come inside? Catch up or something?”
Katsuki gives him a skeptical look from under the brim of his cap. Is this some kind of trap? A humiliation tactic? Does Deku want to brag? Make fun of Katsuki for not even breaking into the top fifty heroes since going independent?
Katsuki’s about to make some excuse to leave when his stomach growls.
Loudly.
“Uh,” Deku says, clearly biting his lip to stifle a smile. He opens the cardboard pizza box, revealing a delicious, greasy pizza topped with… ugh, pineapple and ham. Fuckin’ figures. Katsuki hates that it’s still more appetizing than another night of microwaved instant ramen. He swallows as his mouth waters, “Y’know, I can’t eat this all by myself...”
Katsuki wants to say no. He should say no. He and Deku alone together is a recipe for disaster; it always has been. And with the power no longer tipped in his favor, the fancy foyer to Deku’s house seems more like the gaping maw of a beast waiting to swallow him than anything else. But it’s a long drive back to his apartment where all that’s waiting for him is a mostly empty refrigerator, and he’s already dropped a couple pounds thanks to his current diet of whatever he can afford, which isn’t much. He can endure Deku bragging long enough to eat, can’t he? After all, they’re adults now. They can be mature about this. Probably.
“Guess one slice won’t kill me,” Katsuki mutters.
Deku’s smile grows to disturbingly wide proportions, teeth as straight and white as All Might’s, as he quickly shuffles out of the way and says, “Come in, come in! Make yourself at home.”
Katsuki toes off his shoes in the entryway, trying not to stare as he looks around. The living room alone is about twice the size of Katsuki’s apartment, and everything from the marble floors to the dark wood furniture is immaculate. Katsuki knows that isn’t shitty Deku’s doing, so he must’ve hired a maid or two. Or five, considering the size of this place.
He follows Deku down a hall that leads them into the family room, a large flat screen TV mounted on the wall in front of the couch above a fireplace. Deku walks into the adjacent kitchen, and Katsuki follows.
Deku sets the box of pizza down on a granite countertop with a few stools tucked beneath it and hurries to grab plates. Pulling a stool out, Katsuki takes a seat at the counter and pulls off his hat. He sets it aside, running a hand through the blond spikes of his hair. Almost immediately they spring back into their usual explosive formation.
Deku opens the fridge, glancing back over his shoulder at Katsuki.
“Do you want anything to drink, Kacchan? I have a couple different sodas, some juices, and—”
“Water is fine,” Katsuki cuts him off, not wanting to owe Deku anything else. It’s already embarrassing enough that he’s about to share the pizza he just delivered.
Deku grabs a soda (Katsuki makes a face; that shit is horrible for you) and beer for himself, then fills a glass with fresh water for Katsuki. He grabs some napkins—taking his sweet goddamn time—and Katsuki has to physically stop himself from tapping his fingers on the counter impatiently. He wishes Deku would hurry it up; his stomach feels like it’s trying to cannibalize itself.
Once Deku’s finally seated at the counter next to him, he places the water glass and beer in front of Katsuki, then grabs a slice of pizza for himself. Katsuki wants to be mad at the pity-beer being offered, but it’s not like he has much pride left to lose at this point.
Still, Katsuki reaches for a slice of pizza with deliberate patience. When he tugs the piece away from the rest, the cheese stretches before breaking. Katsuki doesn’t even bother picking off the pineapple, or even setting the slice on his plate. Instead he tips his head back and guides the pointy end of the slice into his mouth, biting down. Flavor explodes across his taste buds and Katsuki closes his eyes as a noise of pure satisfaction rumbles out of his chest. It’s been so long since he’s indulged like this. Their shitty, pedantic store manager never lets them eat the leftover pizza.
When he opens his eyes, Deku is staring at him. The years haven’t made his gaze any less intense. The back of Katsuki’s neck prickles with a sudden sense of foreboding, though he can’t put his finger on why. After all, Deku watching him like a creep is nothing new.
“So how’ve you been?” Katsuki asks, hoping the question will redirect Deku’s attention away from Katsuki stuffing his face. He reaches for the can of beer as Deku begins to talk.
“Me?” Deku says, and Katsuki resists the urge to roll his eyes. Is there anyone else in the damn kitchen? “Well, t-things have been good…” Understatement of the century, Katsuki thinks. His silence prompts Deku to keep going. “I’ve been traveling, which is something I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to do much of, and it’s been extremely rewarding! In fact, last week I actually flew out to...”
He starts babbling about the work he’s done recently in different countries while Katsuki grabs another slice. Luckily Deku ordered a large and doesn’t seem to mind that Katsuki is steadily devouring most of it in the time it takes the nerd to turn the conversation back around to him.
“Do you want another beer, Kacchan?” Deku asks, and Katsuki realizes his first beer can is empty. It wasn’t a small can either. Katsuki licks his lips. He shouldn’t since he has to drive back on that damn moped… but it’s been so long since he’s even had time to spare for a drink. Working two jobs, especially when one of them involves unpredictable hours, doesn’t leave much time for anything but stealing a couple hours of sleep.
“Sure,” Katsuki says, against his better judgment. He feels warm and content from the alcohol, the tension in his shoulders slowly draining away with the buzz.
Deku gets up and grabs another tall Sapporo can, setting it down in front of him before sitting down again. And is it just him, or is Deku sitting closer than before?
“So,” Deku says, propping one arm on the counter and leaning his face into the palm of his hand. Now that Katsuki’s looking, he acknowledges it’s a surprisingly nice looking arm. Muscular, with a light dusting of hair and an inconsistent peppering of freckles. Not to mention the expensive looking watch wrapped around his wrist… “What about you, Kacchan?”
Katsuki puts off the inevitable by taking a long sip of beer. He wonders if he should even gratify that question with a response. After all, he’s already sitting in a kitchen the size of his entire apartment, wearing the uniform for his minimum wage job, and gorging himself on the pizza he just delivered. Deku knows damn well how he’s doing.
“I'm fine,” he says because if Deku isn’t going to point out the obvious, then Katsuki sure as hell isn’t.
“You’ll work your way up to the top ten in no time, Kacchan! You’re an amazing hero.”
It’s like someone struck a match in Katsuki’s chest. He feels warmth glow there as Deku gazes at him with the same unabashed admiration he’s had for Katsuki since they were four. How long has it been since someone praised him like this?
The hero field is competitive and crowded, and even though Katsuki has an awesome quirk, he’s far from the only one. Standing out isn’t as easy as he expected it to be, but Deku is looking at him like he’s the brightest thing in the room.
“Of course I will,” Katsuki scoffs, bolstered by Deku’s confidence in him. He tosses back the rest of his beer, licking the lingering tang of alcohol from his lips.
“Kacchan,” Deku says, staring into his eyes. Something warm settles on his thigh, and Katsuki glances down to see Deku’s hand resting right above his knee, “can I show you something?”
Katsuki needs to go home. Work tomorrow is going to be grueling enough without staying out late, but the expression on Deku’s face piques his curiosity and he’s just buzzed enough to ignore his conscience nagging at him.
“Fine, whatever,” he says.
Deku beams and stands, hand lingering on Katsuki’s thigh longer than necessary before it retreats. Katsuki stands too, surprised by how light he feels on his feet. Two beers isn’t much, but then it’s been ages since he last had a drink.
He follows Deku up a staircase to the second floor of the house then down a hall as Deku chatters away at him, pointing things out: the hallway bathroom, the guest bedroom, and a dark wooden door that leads into a spacious office.
Deku steps inside the office while Katsuki lingers at the threshold. It’s a circular room with bookshelves on nearly every wall. A large window looks out on the gardens behind a mahogany desk.
It’s… surprisingly grown up, considering Katsuki knows what Deku’s childhood bedroom looked like. It's like something out of an interior design magazine, though Katsuki still spots a couple framed posters hanging from the walls. Figures.
“So,” he says, already impatient to know why Deku brought him up here, “the hell did you want to show me?”
“Give me a second!” Deku says, rummaging through one of the desk drawers. Eventually, he pulls out a pair of… gloves? Really? That’s what Deku wanted to show him?
His expression must give away his thoughts because Deku says, sheepishly, “It’s just a side project I’ve been collaborating with Melissa on, but—”
“Wait—Melissa Shield?” Katsuki says. The current top inventor in the field of hero support tech? That Melissa?
“Yeah,” Deku says, like it’s no big deal, “we met at this tech convention a few years ago and—well, it’s kind of a boring story.” He waves his hand dismissively with a laugh, all humble and shit. Katsuki hates him a little. “Anyway, we came up with these power gloves; they double the substance of whatever quirk naturally comes from your arms or hands. For example, with your quirk it’d be like—”
“—my gauntlets but without the extra weight,” Katsuki finishes for him, already drifting closer to inspect them.
Deku has an excited grin on his face, and for once Katsuki can’t help but mirror it. He takes the gloves gingerly from Deku’s hands, running his fingers over them. They’re made of durable, sleek black material that looks like it’d stretch about halfway up his biceps, if he put them on. The lack of extra bulk would increase his speed and maneuverability in the air, and they’re—
“Perfect for stealth missions, right?” Deku says, as if reading Katsuki’s mind.
He has to hand it to the nerd, if these really work the way he says they do then he has every right to brag.
“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki says, rolling his eyes, “you’re the coolest nerd I know. Happy?”
Deku laughs. “Almost. Aren’t you going to try them on?”
Katsuki blinks and looks down at the gloves in his hands and then back at Deku. He thought the nerd only brought him in here to gloat.
“Seriously?”
Deku shrugs casually but there’s an eager glint in his eyes, the same fervent one Katsuki remembers from middle school.
“If you want to.”
“Are these even on the market?” he asks, making no move to try them on in an attempt to play it cool.
“Not yet,” Deku says, and temptation finally wins out. He knows how much Katsuki loves exclusive shit.
He starts pulling one glove on when he realizes his ugly polo shirt is in the way. Katsuki passes the gloves back to Deku before reaching back and gripping the collar of his shirt, yanking it off over his head in one swift movement.
He folds it and drops it to the floor, leaving him in nothing but a pair of baggy black jeans. He feels a surge of anticipation at the thought of wearing the gloves. His costume hasn’t gotten many upgrades since he graduated, just what he could wheedle out of Hatsume at a discount—which isn’t much—and whatever he managed to DIY.
“Let me,” Deku says, moving to stand in front of him. He takes one of Katsuki’s hands in his, and Katsuki can’t exactly say no when they’re Deku’s invention, so he stays still as Deku eases each of his individual fingers into the leather-like material.
Katsuki expects Deku to start babbling about the gloves, but he’s weirdly quiet and focused, treating Katsuki like he’s made of porcelain as he guides the glove over Katsuki’s elbow and up the curve of his bicep. They’re standing so close that when Deku leans forward slightly to tug the glove snug, his wild green hair tickles Katsuki’s cheek.
This close he can smell Deku’s cologne, clean and earthy and intoxicating, like sandalwood or musk. Deku doesn’t step back as Katsuki offers his other hand, just looks up at Katsuki through dark eyelashes, holding his gaze as he slides the other glove up Katsuki’s arm, fingers brushing Katsuki’s bare skin as he pulls the fabric as high as it will go.
It’s only when Deku finally steps back that Katsuki feels like he can breathe again, exhaling shakily into the silence.
What the hell was that?
“They look good on you,” Deku says, pulling Katsuki from the chaotic jumble of ‘what the fuck just happened’ running through his mind. Deku circles around until he’s behind Katsuki, guiding him toward a full-length mirror at one side of the room with a hand on his lower back. “See?”
Katsuki stares at their reflection in the mirror. The gloves do look good; they fit perfectly, but that’s not what holds his attention. It’s the way the two of them look right now. Katsuki, face a little flushed from the alcohol, and Deku behind him, studying the picture they paint in the mirror from over Katsuki’s shoulder with those intense, emerald green eyes.
Despite Katsuki’s powerful build, he looks weirdly vulnerable without his shirt while Deku is still fully clothed. When Deku catches Katsuki’s eyes in the mirror, he smiles, hands moving to rest on Katsuki’s shoulders.
“Perfect,” he says, hands sliding down until the tips of his fingers graze the material of the gloves. “You’d definitely make headlines if you wore these.”
Katsuki flexes his hands in the gloves, making a bicep-curl motion to test the flexibility of the fabric. It moves with him like a second skin. He admires how sleek the gloves are for a few more seconds before moving to take them off, a bitter feeling overtaking him at the thought of his own old, scuffed gauntlets. He won’t exactly be making headlines with something that looks like it was salvaged from a garage sale.
“Thanks for showin’ me,” Katsuki mutters, because they’re both adults and he can be mature about things.
Deku puts a hand on Katsuki’s wrist, stopping him from pulling a glove off entirely.
“Why don’t you have them?”
Katsuki blinks, not sure if Deku just said what Katsuki thinks he did.
“What?” he says, stupidly.
Deku gives him another one of those indulgent smiles, the hand on his wrist squeezing encouragingly.
“The gloves. They’re perfect for you, Kacchan. I want you to have them.”
“You’re serious?” Katsuki asks, hoping Deku can’t see how desperately he wants them.
“Very,” Deku says, and Katsuki almost feels like he’s going to cry or some shit. Instead he takes a deep breath and stands tall.
“I’ll put ‘em to good use,” Katsuki says, because thanking Deku for the gloves would be as good as acknowledging he’s accepting charity.
Deku finally lets go of him and walks back to his desk. Katsuki uses the opportunity to grab his shirt off the floor and slip it back on. He peels the gloves off and carefully folds them, holding them like Deku might snatch them back if he doesn’t keep them close.
“Here,” Deku says, handing him a white card embossed with gold lettering as they leave his office and start back down the stairs. “My business card. Call me if you have any questions or issues with the gloves.”
Katsuki grunts in acknowledgement, taking the card and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans.
He hesitates when they get to the front door, lingering at the threshold, not sure what to say after everything that just happened. Frankly the whole night feels like some bizarre fever dream.
“See ya,” he says awkwardly, about to turn to go when Deku leans in.
Katsuki freezes, body going rigid as Deku’s face gets closer and closer to his. He’s too shocked to do anything, but when their lips are inches away Deku turns his head, brushing a feather light kiss over Katsuki’s cheek.
When he leans back again, he gives Katsuki another one of those guileless smiles.
“Drive safe, Kacchan.”
Deku closes the door and leaves Katsuki standing on his porch, dumbstruck. It takes a minute for Katsuki to finally turn around and walk back to his moped.
As he pulls back onto the road, Katsuki tries to process the fact that Deku just kissed him. On the cheek, but still. But it’s probably just a habit, Katsuki assures himself. Deku must’ve picked it up while he was traveling in Europe or something.
It doesn’t mean anything, right?
Right?