Chapter Text
Katsuki slouches in the passenger’s seat of the moving van and tucks his freezing hands into his pockets, trying to preserve what little body heat he has left as his mother cranks the AC even higher. Yeah, April’s been pretty hot so far, but twenty-seven degrees hardly justifies turning the truck into a walk-in freezer.
Some shitty pop song from her childhood plays over the tinny, crackling speakers, and despite its volume, he can still hear the pop-crack of her gum every few seconds.
It’s been like this for at least an hour. And with the AC on max? Katsuki’s at his breaking point.
He leans forward and turns on the heat.
“Hey! What the hell, brat?” his mom grips the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white.
Katsuki holds up three fingers, putting one down each time he lists off an item. “AC, crummy old people music, or gum.”
She glances away from the road and stares at him in confusion.
“Choose,” Katsuki says.
She cranks the AC back up. “This one's a classic!”
“Classic?” Katsuki scoffs. “This bloated, old corpse of a song?”
“No son of mine will tarnish the good name of the Wild, Wild Pussycats!” Great, now she’s shouting. “I’ll have you know your father and I saw them in concert the night I conceived you!”
“Oh my god, gross. Stop trying to change the subject!” Great. Katsuki’s shouting, too. This whole stupid car is a nightmare of sensory overload. He turns the music off, slamming the button harder than he needs to. “Can’t do this shit for another four hours.” He mumbles, looking out the window at the zooming countryside and cloudless sky.
His mom sighs. “Fine. Go ahead and choose something else.”
Mindlessly he flips through the radio stations, settling on an upbeat rock song that came out a few years ago.
Snap. Pop. Snap. Snap.
Ugh, how was Katsuki stupid enough to pack his headphones in the back? They were in a rush to get out of the city before the morning traffic got bad, but still. He decides to let the gum popping go. Having his choice of music is a major victory.
“Excited to start school tomorrow?” his mom asks.
Katsuki shrugs.
“It’ll be a lot better than your old one.” Her voice is quieter, more careful now.
“Yeah. It better fuckin’ be.” Katsuki buries himself in his hoodie, squeezing his eyes tight like it’ll stop the deluge of memories from the worst moments of his life.
“Hey.” His mom places a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not gonna happen again, okay? Moving back is gonna be good for us.”
“If anybody I knew back then goes there…”
“With as hard as it is to get into UA? I doubt it,” his mom soothes. It’s hardly the first time they’ve had this conversation. “This is a completely fresh start. Chin up, kid.”
Katsuki rubs at his eyes. She’s probably right; he knows that. But it doesn’t combat the first day jitters. The what ifs that sound in his brain.
The four hour trip takes three-and-a-half with his speed demon of a mother. As the Musutafu skyline comes into view, Katsuki's heart pangs with nostalgia. Even if he never returned to his old childhood neighborhood, he spent almost every school break at his grandparents’ house until he turned fifteen.
He should've kept going, not thought about how he was too cool, too old, had too many “good friends” he wanted to hang out with instead.
Biggest mistake of his life.
When they pull onto the street where his grandparents live, the tinge of longing transforms into anxiety. He hasn't seen Baba and Jiji in almost a year. And based on what his mom said, well…
They pull up in front of his grandparents’ modest, compact two-story home, Katsuki's mother hitting the curb three times, sweating all the way, as she parks. As Katsuki climbs out of the van, Baba opens the door, waddling as fast as her double knee replacements allow.
“Hey, kids!” She sweeps them into a strangling hug that a woman of her age shouldn't be able to manage. “How was your drive? You hungry? We had gyudon for lunch. Let me heat it up for you before we start unloading.”
Both Katsuki and his mother know better to argue when Baba offers food.
“I just want to unload the essentials today, Mom.” His own mother peels herself out of the vice grip. “I'll do more tomorrow while Katsuki's at school, and we can finish up once he comes home.”
Baba peers at her overtop her big, round glasses. “Bad idea, kid. This neighborhood’s in the shitter.” She grabs them by the wrists and ushers them into the house.
It's the smell that brings Katsuki's memories of his childhood to the forefront first. Faint scents of vanilla and sage, fresh-baked bread, and lemon-scented cleaner. No doubt she gave the genkan a thorough scrub by the way it sparkles. Katsuki shuffles out of his shoes and stalks into the living room. It's always been dark, with only a few windows facing the street, but not dreary—never dreary. It's more like being wrapped in a blanket in the calm, quiet darkness of the night.
“The old man's napping.” Baba pulls them into the kitchen and scurries to the fridge, taking out a plastic-wrapped bowl. “You know what he says about getting his beauty rest.”
A smile tugs at Katsuki's lips as he takes his usual seat on the corner of the kitchen counter. Jiji's always been a grouch when he skips his naps. At least that hasn't changed.
Katsuki joins his mom and grandma at the table when the food's done, picking at his gyudon as the conversation quickly shifts to him. Which he normally hates, but it's just Baba asking, so he allows it.
“I can't believe my grandson will be a UA graduate!” She pours him a cup of green tea.
“Shiketsu was just as good,” he grumbles.
It's complete bullshit, but Baba doesn't know what happened there.
“Katsuki's really excited about meeting Yagi Toshinori.” his mom smiles.
Katsuki wants to bury himself in his food and not discuss his lifelong hyperfixation right now.
His grandma gasps. “That’s right! He got a teaching job there; didn’t he?”
His mom tilts her head up proudly. “And Katsuki's one of only ten students whose film submission qualified to take Yagi's advanced level course.”
If Katsuki’s cheeks feel hot, it's from the spice, not the embarrassment. “He's the greatest actor and director of our generation! And yours, too. It's a rare talent to be able to do both flawlessly. I'd be stupid not to sign up. And of course I got in! I make great fucking short films.”
His awards prove it.
“Jiji and I watched your submission at least twenty times!” Baba says. “Did you bring your All Might toys here?”
“They're collectible figurines,” Katsuki says, lowering his voice. “Only a couple.”
“Are you going to ask for his autograph?” Baba asks.
Katsuki grips his chopsticks tight.
“Is that All Might talk I hear?”
Katsuki lifts his head, grinning as his grandpa steps into the kitchen, his half-bald head shining from the overhead light.
“Jiji!” Katsuki jumps up and envelops him in a big, gentle hug.
“Hey, Sweets!” Jiji returns it with a shaky embrace, setting his cane against the table.
Katsuki's heart soars at the use of the old nickname, one he would allow only from his grandfather.
“Get your beauty rest, Dad?” Mom sweeps in for a hug of her own.
“Gotta maintain my youthful glow somehow.” Jiji pulls out a chair and joins them at the table, the crepe paper skin around his eyes crinkling with that soft smile Katsuki loves so much. “This old bitch drains the life outta me.”
“You don’t mean that, Okutou,” Baba says quietly.
“Like hell I don’t!” Jiji snaps.
A rare, uncomfortable silence falls across the kitchen, sapping it of all its usual warmth. This is one of Katsuki’s favorite places in the whole world, and yet…
He picks at his food, moving it around the bowl even though he can’t bring himself to take another bite. His mom talked to him about this a few weeks before the move, but actually seeing it play out… Katsuki really wasn’t prepared.
Mom came into his room while he lounged on his bed and scrolled his phone. She sat down at the foot of it, calm and serious.
Never a good sign.
He set down his phone and propped himself up on his elbows. “Oh, god. What.”
“Baba wanted me to talk to you about Jiji before we make the move. So you’re… prepared,” she said.
Katsuki’s heart dropped into his stomach. If she talked about it, then it was real. If she talked about it, he might have to accept that the Jiji he sees in three weeks' time won't be the Jiji from his childhood. Katsuki didn’t know if he could handle that.
But he had to. For his Jiji.
“Lay it on me,” he said.
Mom took a deep breath. “He’s in the middle stage of Alzheimer’s, according to the psychiatrist that I finally convinced your deep-in-denial grandmother to take him to.”
“I kinda figured.” Katsuki couldn’t meet her eyes.
“I want you to be prepared.” Mom set a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. “Just like every brain is unique, so is every case. Right now, Jiji has good days and bad days. On good days, he’s just more irritable than usual. He might say things that don’t sound like him, or he might get confused about things from his life. When I talked to him yesterday, he thought you were his son.”
Katsuki nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall ahead. The thought was as touching as it was sad. To be close enough to his grandfather that he confused Katsuki with his own child… he wondered how many people were lucky enough to have a grandpa like Jiji.
“Nights are a lot worse, though.”
Baba grabs Katsuki’s half-eaten bowl of food and dumps it in the trash before scurrying to the sink.
“Oi!” Katsuki gripes. “I wasn’t done with that!”
“Oh, shush—I just wanna take care of it.” Baba shakes the soapy scrub brush at him. “Start unpacking the van before it gets dark, or I might have another heart attack.”
“I’m going to call Masaru first and let him know we got here safely.” Mom takes her phone out of her pocket and starts thumbing through it.
“Don’t stay on too long—we need to get the car unpacked before the mosquitoes start coming out. I hate those little bastards!”
Mom sends Katsuki a droll, knowing look. Whether they like it or not, Baba’s going to ensure that every last sweater and knickknack is out of that damn truck before nightfall.
And so, they succumb to Baba’s unyielding authority, just as they always do.
Katsuki carries the last big box into the living room and sets it on the floor. He rubs his hands on his pants to wipe away the sweat and fans his tank top to circulate air against his midriff. He almost wishes for that sub-zero AC again.
“Damn, look at them muscles!” Baba says, glancing up from one of the boxes she’s nosing through.
Katsuki scowls at the praise. He works hard on those muscles. Harder than most guys have to, and his look better than theirs, thank you.
“What do you use to hide your tits?”
Katsuki clenches his jaw. Lets out a long sigh. “I don’t have tits; that’s how.”
She claps a hand over her mouth, eyes going wide as though she just realized what she said. Typical Baba. “Oh, lordy—I embarrassed you!”
“Ya know, Baba,” Katsuki puts his hands in the pockets of his baggy joggers, curling into himself a little. “Some people have this thing between their brains and their mouths called a filter.”
“I wasn’t born with one of those.”
Katsuki is well aware. Has been his whole life.
“Sorry, kid,” Baba says. “I’ll try to be more careful.”
“It’s fine.” Katsuki picks up the box again. “Gonna start carrying my stuff upstairs.”
“You want help?”
“Nah. Stay put and keep snooping through my mom’s shit.”
“I’m helping her organize—”
Katsuki snorts. “Sure you are, Baba.”
Katsuki’s room for the next year is essentially the small third floor of his grandparents’ house. As a kid, it had been his playroom when Baba and Jiji watched him while his parents were at work. Now, it’s a simple guest room with a semi-double bed and some ugly-ass floral paintings he’s going to have to put in the closet. But that’s a Tomorrow Katsuki task.
He sets down the box and lies belly-down on the bed, sinking into the quiet, not minding the stuffiness—it’s preferable to the embarrassment he suffered at the hands of Baba, anyway. Why the hell does she have to ask shit like that? Thank fuck she didn’t ask about top surgery—shit, she probably doesn’t even know what that is. She means well, but goddamn.
At the end of the day, Katsuki lucked the fuck out in the genetics department. Sure, he has a little extra tissue on his chest, but his upper body routine is killer, and as long as he keeps up with it (which he will, forever, thank you very much), it's not noticeable. Shit, the guys from his old school asked for his workout routines all the time.
Or at least, they did until…
Katsuki shakes the thought from his mind. He needs to start unpacking, take a shower, and get to bed early even though he knows there’s a good chance he won’t be able to sleep. How could anyone sleep the night before they start at UA and meet Yagi Toshinori?
The rest of his experience will probably be terrible, the excitement of having All Might as his film teacher does a lot to keep the more burdensome worries from his mind. Maybe he’ll even work up the nerve to ask Yagi Sensei for his autograph before the end of the year.
As he lifts himself off the bed, Katsuki lets in that pinprick of hope that tells him UA might not be as much of a nightmare as Shiketsu. Only time will tell.