Chapter Text
Giving Izuku the suit had gone… well. From what Katsuki could tell, at least.
It’s weird, Katsuki thinks, to have been working so hard for something so long, and then suddenly the pressure of it all is gone.
Vanished.
Obliterated into thin air as soon as All Might had handed the briefcase over.
He could see it land into thick, scarred hands, and the pro heroes that had once been Class A, and still Izuku’s friends, took that as the signal to burst out from the building and barrage over to him.
All Might had insisted that they all be there for it. Katsuki, though, had prickled at the thought. He hated to admit that he’d been nervous, but shit, he absolutely was.
(He’s sure the class has figured out why. They’ve figured out all of Katsuki’s twisted desires and hopes and his absolute desperate need for Izuku to reach his dreams. He knows they know how much he’s poured into making the suit perfect. He hopes that Izuku won’t figure it out, won’t be able to see the way Katsuki accidently tucked I love you I love you I love you into all the little details, all the pockets and gadgets and crevices.)
(Or maybe Katsuki does want him to figure it out. Maybe he needs him to.)
If Izuku didn’t want it, if he saw the suit and rejected it, even though Katsuki knew that chance was incredibly low, it would fucking destroy Katsuki.
And if Izuku did like it, if he smiled or cried or thanked them, Katsuki wasn’t all that sure that he could keep his stupid feelings contained.
It would’ve been devastating either way, honestly.
But, well, Izuku had said he liked it. And Katsuki held out his hand, even though they weren’t going anywhere right then and there. He hadn’t been able to restrain himself. Katsuki, like a dumbass, had no plan—just really wanted that hand in his.
Izuku had taken it anyway, and laughed when Katsuki set off an explosion just large enough to launch him into the waiting arms of their classmates.
What an idiot Katsuki was, falling for an even bigger idiot, with the biggest heart known to man.
Katsuki huffs a laugh to himself at the irony of everything.
The U.A. staff had set up everything for a surprise party in the teacher’s dormitories, and that’s where everyone is now. Partying, drinking, and Katsuki’s confident that, even with his tired ears, he’s hearing Kaminari give karaoke a god-awful attempt.
He’s sure Izuku’s in there, smiling and laughing and brightening up the whole damn room.
Katsuki couldn’t bring himself to stay in there. He’s like a stupid bug, drawn to a light that will exterminate him. He had to get out, into the open night, before he was too entranced by freckles and warmth and Izuku.
He sits out on the front steps of the dorms, in his Dynamight costume but sans all gear. He fiddles with the cap of a water bottle, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to do now that his seven-year project is complete. He tries to look at the stars and not think of the way Izuku’s eyes glistened in elation when he’d seen the suit.
“Did you think I wouldn’t try to find you?”
Like the fucking moon caught in the Earth’s orbit, Katsuki’s helpless to do anything but turn around and follow Izuku’s gravitational pull.
He sees Izuku in the hero suit for the first time. It nearly chokes Katsuki, the reality of it all. That Izuku’s going to come back. That he looks so right, so complete, in hero uniform. That Katsuki finds him unbearably, painfully handsome, in a way that makes his heart clench.
Izuku’s too dangerous, and Katsuki’s too weak.
He needs to redirect.
“The party’s for you, dumbass. Get back in there.”
But Izuku does no such thing. Because of course he doesn’t—he’s never listened to Katsuki a single day in his life. Instead, he looks at Katsuki with eyes that look at him in wonder. And Katsuki worries, suddenly, that maybe the party really wasn’t enough of a distraction.
“What about you? Are you coming back in?” Izuku asks.
Katsuki feels… dumb. Out-of-place. He doesn’t know what to say here, now that he’s bore his soul for the nth time in front of this man.
“Ain’t much of a party person, Deku,” he answers. It’s quiet in the wind. Quiet against the roaring celebration just a few steps away.
“Using my hero name again?”
All your names are hero names, he thinks, and it kind of makes him want to hurl.
But out loud, he only asks, “It bother you?”
Izuku shakes his head. There’s a smile on his face, and it’s so soft and small that Katsuki’s heart squeezes at the sight of it.
“From you, both are fine. Deku or Izuku. Whichever you’d like.”
Katsuki tries stupidly hard not to blush at the comment. It’s something Izuku could say to anyone. And to Katsuki, it doesn’t matter which name he uses— they both somehow feel too intimate. Both fuel fire in Katsuki’s throat, and boil blood in his veins. It’s violent, the way he wants to keep the syllables of his name safe.
“Kacchan,” Izuku starts, before Katsuki can think of anything to say, “thank you for the suit. I love it.”
Katsuki can’t handle the way Izuku’s lips form around the word “love”. His heart stutters, and he has to look away before he’s drawn in too hard, wants too much.
He’s a fucking coward. This, he knows as a crushing fact, as he helplessly looks at the sidewalk that leads up to where he sits. The lights that line the path have swarms of bugs fluttering around their brightest parts, stuck forever in the illusion, never able to leave the warmth and also never close enough to reach it.
Katsuki spends too many moments watching those bugs flicker in the reflections. He wonders if they’ll keep hitting the plastic, pounding on it in search of warmth until they inevitably perish.
“We all pitched in,” Katsuki says, eventually. It’s the truth, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. That’s how he’s always been around Izuku. Weak.
“All Might said you were the heart of it.”
The water bottle in Katsuki’s hands crackles under the force of his fingers. He leans his face down into the crook of his elbow, suddenly angry and exhausted and relieved, and for some reason, unbearably sad.
“It’s a goddamn miracle All Might didn’t blab about One For All earlier than he did,” Katsuki spits, trying to hide the hurricane of emotions swirling inside him. “Can’t seem to keep his mouth shut about fuckall. Also, what the hell is with that phrasing? Goggles did most of the work.”
Then Izuku is right there next to Katsuki. He doesn’t have to see to feel how close they are. There’s a barely-there creak in the suit as he takes a seat just next to him. Katsuki feels like his arm is scalding from the closeness, even though Izuku’s own covered arm is still an inch away. It’s too much, already, and it burns.
“Kacchan, how long?” Izuku asks. With his ears covered by his own arms, Katsuki can’t manage to figure out what tone that was said with. And yet, somehow, he imagines there’s something deeper to the question—something he doesn’t have the strength to address on his own.
He imagines that Izuku’s asking him “How long have you loved me, Kacchan?” And Katsuki would struggle to breathe, but Izuku would be persistent, he’d chase the answer, he’d make Katsuki finally say it out loud. “Kacchan,” he’d start again, and Katsuki would beg for him to shut up, “how long have you—?”
And then Kacchan would answer, “Forever, I don’t fucking know, Izuku, I—I just know I need you by my side.”
But that’s not what Izuku’s asking. Something in Katsuki’s mind reminds him of that harshly.
So he chokes out, “I’ve been brainstormin’ the suit since I knew the embers were disappearing. Started actual construction the second year going pro.”
“…Why did you do it?” Izuku asks. Katsuki refuses to look at him. Cowardly, again.
And what is he supposed to say? That he loves him so much he aches with it? That he misses him so much he doesn’t even care about the rankings? That all he’s ever wanted is them, side by side, for the rest of their lives?
“Why do you think?” is what he come up with, instead.
Izuku leans forward, trying to catch a glimpse of Katsuki’s face. Katsuki holds his breath.
“…I already forgave you, Kacchan.” Is what Izuku says, and he sounds almost sad. “You didn’t owe me anything.”
And Katsuki’s world starts to fade away, because Izuku still really doesn’t see. After all that, after the suit, after dying for him, Izuku still doesn’t even for a second think that Katsuki did this out of anything other than guilt.
…What more can Katsuki do? Especially when it’s clear that his love isn’t enough?
Izuku just keeps talking, oblivious to Katsuki’s struggles, driving the stake further into his heart which each passing word.
“It’s all kind of sudden, too. I don’t know what to do next, now that I have the suit. I’d never planned to be out in the field ever again—where would I even start?”
It’s a chance, and Katsuki grasps at it desperately.
“You could… join my agency.”
Our agency. Deku and Dynamight. Like we’ve always wanted.
“Oh. Well, thanks for the offer, but…”
And with that one word, every hope shatters.
“—But I’ll have to think about it first.”
And the thing is, this just confirms for Katsuki something he never even let himself consider. That this dream is something Izuku’s moved on from—he grew up, and left Katsuki behind—and now it’s only Katsuki dwelling on silly childhood wants.
But damn. He’d wanted it so bad.
“Okay,” he whispers. It feels sticky, stuck in this throat.
“Midoriya!” Sato shouts from the door. “Come on! We’ve got cake!”
“Coming!” Izuku shouts. And then he stands up, brushes the dust off his pants, and says, “Anyway, thank you again, Kacchan. See you inside!”
And then he’s gone.
Katsuki’s… in shock. He feels cold. There’s no way that just happened, right?
He just… sits there. He imagines how it would’ve gone if Izuku really had seen him—if he’d paid enough attention to figure out why Katsuki made the suit.
If he’d actually asked “How long have you loved me?”
Katsuki looks up at the stars. They remind him of Izuku, just like anything bright does. When his vision starts blurring, he sort of thinks the stars are the freckles of the night sky.
Then Katsuki laughs. A brutal, awful thing that scrapes past the lump in his throat.
“It’s pathetic,” he tells the sky. “I can’t even dream of being number one without you.” His head droops, and now his voice bounces off of the concrete on a one-way-trip to nowhere. “I just couldn’t tell you with words. And you don’t understand my language.”
In a world where Izuku understands, where he can finally see all of Katsuki—Kacchan—and realize that he’s special to him—maybe things would’ve gone differently. Maybe everything wouldn’t hurt so much.
“Damn Deku. You damned nerd,” he sniffs as his lungs hitch, “Why couldn’t you figure it out?”
And that’s when Katsuki realizes. The sadness he’d been feeling—it’s everything he’d pushed back while working toward the suit. He never had the time to stop and think about how much he missed Izuku, how much he lamented the fact that Izuku’s quirk was gone. And he never let himself believe in this outcome, where Izuku doesn’t want the future that Katsuki does.
He never wanted to consider that this could happen, but it was inevitable.
Katsuki didn’t even need his love to be returned. Even just being by his side as heroes, it would’ve been plenty. He thought, maybe, that at least was something he could have.
And Katsuki really doesn’t know what to do now other than cry some more.
A few minutes later, the door opens again. Katsuki doesn’t bother to look up, not until the person opens their mouth.
“Hey.”
“Whatdya want, IcyHot?” Katsuki notices that his voice sounds tired and scratchy. He can’t find it in himself to really care.
“Are you okay?” The nosy bastard asks. Katsuki sighs.
“I’m just pissed,” he answers, looking back at those same damn bugs.
“No. You’re sad,” Shouto says, and it would be infuriating if Katsuki had any energy.
“Fine, Shouto,” Katsuki agrees. “Yeah. I’m really fucking sad.”
The thing is, he and Shouto have gotten pretty close over the last several years, though Katsuki would only begrudgingly admit it. Besides himself, Shouto invested the most money into Izuku’s suit, and is the number one person he went over the concepts with before sending it to the engineers.
Also, Shouto may be nosy, but he’s not chatty. Not like Katsuki’s other friends are. And even though sometimes he misses obvious things, Shouto’s a lot more observational than one would initially think.
Which is why Katsuki knows exactly what he means, when Shouto asks—
“Did you tell him?”
Katsuki breathes, and ducks his head into his arms.
“Didn’t have to. I know he doesn’t feel the same way. Because—”
I wouldn’t have hesitated, Katsuki can’t help but think bitterly, if he had been the one asking me.
There never would’ve even been a choice.
Shouto hums.
Another thing Katsuki’s come to respect about Shouto, is that he knows how to appreciate the quiet. He doesn’t offer shitty reassurances, and doesn’t give advice. He just sits there, and lets Katsuki think.
Katsuki knows, threadbare and barely but he knows, that he’s going to be grieving this loss of Izuku for a while. How does one pick up the pieces after working so hard for something, wanting something so bad, for eight years? Hell, he hadn’t even renewed the lease on his apartment, and it runs out on the first of the next month. He was thinking that maybe he’d find a nicer place closer to his agency, now that he’s got some funds freed up, and he was going to see if Izuku maybe wanted to… spilt the rent. Be roommates.
(Or be something more. But that really was just a dream.)
“You’ve got a spare room in your apartment, right?” Katsuki asks, though he’s not sure himself why that’s what comes out of his mouth first.
Shouto blinks. “Yeah.”
And maybe Katsuki really should go home and go to sleep before he says anything more. Maybe he needs to reevaluate everything, and think with a clearer head.
But fuck it. He just had his heart squashed beneath ugly-ass dress shoes that should’ve been ugly-ass red-sneakers. Maybe he deserves to be a little impulsive.
“Shouto,” he starts, “want to be roommates?”
Shouto blinks, again. His head tilts, and his voice has a slight teasing tone, “You sure you want to spend that much time with me? You used to say being around me makes you lose brain cells.”
Katsuki snorts. “And being around me that much might make you more of an asshole. I’m a major dick, sometimes. Take that into consideration before you decide.”
Shouto huffs a small laugh, and then he smiles. Quiet falls into the night, and Katsuki almost thinks Shouto thought he was just joking. But after several minutes, he speaks again.
“Sure, Major Dick,” Shouto says, “Let’s be roommates.”
Shouto laughs at his own stupid joke, even after Katsuki shoves him so hard he nearly falls off the step.
And, even as exhausted and worn down as he feels, Katsuki can’t help the way his lips pull into a small smile, too.
Going back to his own apartment was honestly depressing as hell. Katsuki was too aware of all the ways he’d been holding space for Izuku to one day join his life—like the way he’d never bought much to fill the empty space on his countertops, because he knows Izuku loves to hang onto everything, and figured he’d be putting his things on the counter one day.
He comes home from work one day.
And then the next.
And then he starts packing.
He technically has a few weeks left before his lease is over, but… the silence of his apartment has a new harrowing feeling of loneliness that Katsuki only started noticing once he knew Izuku would never be joining him there.
…Anyway, it only takes a few mornings for Katsuki to box everything of his up. It takes several trips to get everything into the new space. When he first drives up to drop off some things, Shouto gives him the spare key with hardly a word.
Shouto doesn’t make any comments about how it’s early. He doesn’t complain about Katsuki’s stuff being everywhere. He doesn’t ask anything, except, “Since we’re sharing an apartment, can we also share your car?”
Katsuki had snapped at him for such a stupid comment. Shouto had been fucking with him, obvious by the twitch of his lips. Katsuki had thrown a dish towel in his face as retaliation, which only made Shouto’s smile wider.
Within a few days, all Katsuki’s stuff is moved, and he closes the door of his old apartment for the last time.
Moving in with Shouto isn’t much of a hassle at all, really.
Shouto really is someone Katsuki gets along with well, especially since he’s gotten over a lot of his inferiority issues back in high school. But, since high school, he hasn’t lived with anyone, and an apartment is in much closer quarters than the dorms were, so he’s expecting some bumps and bruises.
Like how he’s expecting to get pissed when he found most of the “food” Shouto had in his apartment was frozen meals because the fucker is too incompetent to cook real meals. Or, he’s expecting that he’ll have to fight over the TV when he wants to watch something.
He’s not expecting to have to teach Shouto how to play MarioKart.
Katsuki’s not super into it, but with the free time now that he’s taking fewer shifts (less expenses without the suit to pay for, and all), he’d bought a Switch and started playing some games again. Several times, Shouto’s come into the living room and just stared at the screen as Katsuki played. He never said anything, though, so neither did Katsuki.
One morning, just a week or so after moving in, Katsuki walks out to leave for work, and sees Shouto clicking through the different menu options.
“Katsuki, how do I get to the races?”
Katsuki briefly thinks about yelling at him for using his things without permission, but really… he doesn’t care. He’s lucky Shouto let him move in at all, so he’s trying to keep that in mind.
So Katsuki clicks to get him into the Grand-Prix menu, setting the speed to 50cc for Shouto.
“What does Grand Prix mean?”
“How did you not fucking learn this when we lived in the dorms?”
Shouto huffs. “Sorry, there was a little bit of a war going on. And then recovering from a war. And then—”
“Yeah yeah, I get it.” Katsuki rolls his eyes, then explains, “This is the character selection screen. Don’t pick Princess Peach—she’s mine.”
Shouto looks over the screen for a minute or so, but Katsuki’s not really sure why because he just ends up picking Mario, anyway.
“Really?” Judgment laces Katsuki’s tone. “That’s like the most basic character there is.”
“It’s his game, Katsuki.” Shouto explains. “Someone should be him.”
Again, Katsuki rolls his eyes.
They get through the car selection screen, and then to the races. Katsuki selects the Mushroom cup for him.
“Hold ‘A’ to move forward. Steer using the joystick.”
Shouto starts moving, rolling along. He’s got his tongue poking out the side of his mouth like this is taking all of his concentration, and he keeps moving his arms as if that’ll help him steer. The look of it on a twenty-five-year-old is hilarious, and Katsuki just barely manages to keep himself from laughing.
Shouto’s in third place, crawling up the ranks, smiling, and doing quite well for his first race ever, and then—
Someone hits him with a red shell.
“Wait, what the hell?”
Shouto looks so personally offended it finally makes Katsuki cackle.
He slaps a palm on Shouto’s shoulder in a mix of mocking and sympathy.
“Welcome to MarioKart, bitch.”
Now Shouto’s leaning forward, pressing A so hard as if he believes that will help him go faster and regain lost ground. As entertaining as this is…
“Alright, I gotta get to work. Later, loser.”
Shouto waves his hand over his head in dismissal, but doesn’t actually say anything.
Katsuki makes it to work, and is greeted with a new stack of papers—all requests to intern, or be sidekicks.
Despite popular belief, he doesn’t immediately throw them all into the trash. He goes through each one, looking into the specific quirks (he keeps notes of the ones he thinks Izuku would find interesting) as well as the wording of their requests.
He’s still looking for someone who doesn’t want to just “learn from his expertise”. He will only take the best of the best, and if they’re the best of the best they won’t settle for just learning. They’ll want to compete right up against him.
None of them match that criteria.
Not a single one.
And none of them have the name “Izuku Midoriya” at the top.
Katsuki sighs, and moves on to patrol.
When he comes home after finishing out his day, the first thing he notices is that Shouto is sitting exactly where he left him. The screen is bright, but the room is dark. He never turned on the lights after the sun went down.
“Have you been there the whole time?” Katsuki asks with a sneer as he toes his shoes off.
Shouto turns to face him, and he looks like absolute hell. The bags under his eyes are thick and gray, and his eyebrows are pinched in a way that definitely means he has a headache.
The first words out of his mouth are, “Baby Daisy is a bitch.”
Katsuki snorts, setting his things down on the counter.
“She kickin’ your ass?”
“Not anymore,” Shouto says, and his voice is scratchy in a way only screen-related dehydration can be blamed for. “I got good.”
Katsuki pulls out the groceries he needs for dinner, shaking his head. “Days off are supposed to be for rest, IcyHot. Not grinding video games for ten hours straight.”
“It was very productive,” Shouto mumbles, “I’ll show you.”
Katsuki clicks his tongue. He wasn’t planning on hanging out after work. Frankly, he’s tired every time he goes through a day as a hero now that he’s aware his chances to be alongside Deku are dwindling.
So his original plan was to just turn in early, and probably think about all he’s missing for a few hours until he fell asleep.
It’s practically routine at this point. Depressing as hell, but still… Katsuki likes his routine.
“What, are you scared I’ll beat you?” Shouto taunts, deadpan and unenthusiastic but no less irritating.
“Fine,” Katsuki agrees, even though he sees through the obvious goading. “I can stand to watch you get your ass beat.”
Shouto smiles at that—something too confident, which makes Katsuki actually a bit excited to prove who the better racer is.
“After we get some real food in you.” Katsuki adds.
The other man blinks as if he’s just realizing he’s practically been glued to the couch all day. Suddenly, his stomach growls, loud enough that Katsuki can hear it even though he’s in the kitchen. Jesus, just how did this guy survive when he lived on his own.
“Yeah, okay. Good idea.”
Katsuki makes some fish and rice for dinner—it’s simple, and easy, but Shouto eats it up like it’s something from a five-star restaurant.
Then they play MarioKart. They start with one cup, now on 150cc.
Shouto looks utterly betrayed when Princess Peach crosses the line in first place, cementing Katsuki’s victory. Katsuki laughs at him.
“Again,” Shouto demands, eyes wide and determined.
And they play again, and again, and again. Katsuki finds his cheeks becoming sore with how much he’s been smiling.
Finally, on the fourth race of their fifth tournament, an unfortunate blue shell takes Katsuki out on the last lap, and Mario (Shouto) scoots into first.
“You motherfucker!” Katsuki shouts, standing up and tossing the controller onto the couch.
“See? I’m getting better!” Shouto says, smiling wide and triumphant.
“Whatever,” Katsuki grumbles, “It was just a lucky shot.”
Shouto stands up too, and faces Katsuki. There’s something soft, but determined in the way he says, “Next time, then. I’ll prove to you that I’m better than you.”
Something like adrenaline zips through Katsuki at that.
Someone who will challenge me.
Then, Shouto puts out his hand.
Katsuki stands there for a minute, just sort of… thinking. He feels the twitch of a smile on his own lips, despite being exhausted, despite just losing due to a shitty blue shell.
He doesn’t shake the hand. Instead, he lightly slaps it away. Shouto doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, in fact, he looks completely content.
Well and truly grinning, Katsuki says, “I’ll believe it when I see it, IcyHot.”
Shouto nods. Katsuki takes that as a cue to finally head down the hall to bed.
So yeah… being roommates with Shouto really isn’t that bad at all.
Izuku declines the offer to join his agency, officially, a few weeks later.
Because of course he does.
Sitting through their reunion dinner, Katsuki had to watch as Izuku’s attention kept being drawn to a wide smile and round cheeks. He didn’t even notice the way Katsuki watched him. He didn’t even spare him a second glance.
Katsuki’s a moth drawn to a flame—a flame that’s lit for someone else.
Katsuki was always going to lose this one. He should’ve known better.
He stayed quiet at dinner, and then as much as he can during the car ride back. He doesn’t know what to say. He really, really doesn’t.
He lost. Izuku deserves to be happy, but fuck. This sucks.
Izuku lets him know where he wants to be dropped off. Katsuki gets out with him, too, leaving the car running. Something tells Katsuki that this moment is important.
When they finally start to part ways, Izuku says, “I’ve been thinking about how blessed I am to have all of you in my life, still. Everyone in Class A is so important to me, but there’s one person I can’t stop thinking about.”
Katsuki hums, and his heartstrings tug. Stupid fucking hope rearing its head again.
“You treat everyone the same,” he decides to say. “It’s hard to tell who’s the most special. Just… If you don’t pay attention, you might be missing something right in front of you.”
One last hint. One last confession. If Izuku just looks at him, he should be able to see.
“Huh. You’re right, Kacchan!” Izuku says. And then he turns around.
He turns around.
Oh.
Katsuki watches Izuku walk away, with a “See you later” that feels too much like a final goodbye.
When he gets back in the car, the two idiots in the back are making a horrible attempt at singing along to the song on the radio. Shouto had gone home separately, so it’s just the old crew. They’re still tipsy from drinking at the dinner. Kirishima is in the passenger seat, and Katsuki can feel his eyes on him the second he sits back down.
“Hey,” his gravelly voice starts, “I’m sorry Midoriya said no.”
The void in Katsuki’s chest threatens to swallow him whole.
Hoping this conversation will end before it even begins, Katsuki grumbles, “Not your fucking fault.”
But Kirishima keeps fucking talking.
“Give him time. He’s just getting back into hero work, yeah? Maybe he’ll be ready in a few months.”
“It’s not about that,” Katsuki whispers, because Kirishima must know how Katsuki feels about Izuku—it seems everyone does except for the nerd himself. “That’s not all he rejected.”
“Oh,” Kirishima’s eyes widen as the information processes, “Ooooooh, bro. I’m sorry, man.”
Katsuki just shakes his head. He doesn’t want to talk about it.
Kirishima bites his lip and turns to look at the idiots in the back. They’re too caught up in their dumbassery to notice the conversation happening in the front.
“Hey, let’s go to a club or something—it’ll take your mind off of things.” Then, even quieter, he thumbs at the two in the back and adds, “I won’t tell them about this.”
Katsuki wants to say no. A club really isn’t his scene. He hates people and noise and chaos. But what’s the alternative? Go home and wallow in despair, think about how Izuku might already be kissing the “one person in the class he keeps thinking about”?
He maybe takes the next turn too fast, but whatever. He follows the directions Kirishima gives, and within minutes, an obnoxiously bright neon sign comes into view.
The others all already a little tipsy from the reunion, but they each order another drink as they sit down at the bar. Katsuki doesn’t drink—he has to drive after all, and he usually hates drinking anyway. But he’s miserable right now, and wishes he could. Just to forget, just a little bit.
The music pounds so loud he can feel it. His headache is increasing with each passing second. He can’t stop thinking about the way Izuku had been looking at her. At the way he had turned around and left.
At the way he said, “Sorry, I can’t.”
Ashido gets right up close to him so he can hear her, “Come on, don’t just sit here, have some fun! Distract yourself.”
She must’ve figured it out, too.
“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki snarls, but he knows it’s weak. He’s just so tired.
“Give it a shot. A little hookup always helps,” then she places one hand on his shoulder, and cups his other one as she gets really close to his ear to yell-whisper, “and that guy over there has been eyeing you for the last fifteen minutes.”
Katsuki’s eyes slide lazily over to the direction she’s implying, and sure enough, there’s a man there clearly looking at him. The man, now that Katsuki’s eyes catch his, averts his attention to make it seem like he definitely hasn’t been watching him.
Katsuki scoffs, and his gut pulls in an almost painful way. “No way in hell.”
Kaminari slings an arm over his shoulder and says, “C’mon Kacchan! Let him shoot his shot!”
The idiots don’t know.
They don’t know that it’s not like that for him. He doesn’t look at people and find them attractive. He doesn’t do hookups. He’s never slept with anyone, or even kissed anyone for that matter, because the only person he’d ever want to do that is currently ogling someone softer and sweeter than he’ll ever be.
He doesn’t notice until it’s too late. Ashido and Kaminari had slowly inched away, until they disappeared into the crowd again. Shitty Hair followed them, only turning back to give Katsuki what seems to attempt to be an encouraging thumbs up.
Bastards.
The guy takes the freshly open seats as an invitation to cross the room.
Katsuki elects to ignore him. Like fuck is he going to give a random extra his time. So he looks at his phone, feigning being busy, but there’s a notification from a text from Izuku.
Katsuki clicks on it while holding his breath.
Izuku: “Thanks for what you said, Kacchan! I told Uraraka about how I felt and it went great! :D”
No.
No no no no no.
This can’t be happening. Right? Fuck. Wait. Of course it is—Katsuki already knew this is where things were headed.
Why, again, is Katsuki so shocked by something that seemed inevitable?
He pockets his phone, and then presses his eyes into the palms of his hands and breathes.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
“Hey there. Mind if I buy you a drink?”
Oh right. The extra.
With a deep inhale, Katsuki forces the most uninterested, unaffected expression on his face, even though that single text has sent him spiraling once again.
“What’s in it for you?” He asks.
The guy shrugs, “I’m just trying to be nice. You’re too pretty to scowl like that.”
Katsuki scowls harder at that comment. The sleezebag just laughs under his breath.
“Well, fuck off with being ‘nice’. It’s disgusting.” Katsuki deadpans.
The extra doesn’t take the hint, instead still smiling.
“Well, damn. So, no on the drink… Would you at least dance with me a bit, before you leave?”
The man extends his hand.
Something in Katsuki’s chest seizes at the sight. It’s wrong, wrong, wrong. That hand isn’t knobby enough, and is vacant of scarring. The light traces of hair on his knuckles are brown and not green.
No. The hand Katsuki wants is busy holding someone else’s.
Suddenly, Katsuki stands up. He doesn’t take the hand, but—
If Izuku can move forward, why shouldn’t Katsuki do the same?
(It must be the lingering panic from the text that causes him to ignore the blatant discomfort of having that thought.)
“Fine.” Katsuki agrees shortly. “We’ll dance for one fucking song.”
He stomps his way into the crowd until he’s surrounded by people on all sides. The man followed him, and once they’ve found a little spot in the chaos, his hands land on Katsuki’s waist.
It’s still wrong. It’s supposed to be Izuku’s—
Stop thinking about him.
Katsuki rolls his hips into a grind. He’s never actually danced like this, but he’s sure he’s good at it. He’s good at a lot of things.
The man seems to like it. He uses his grip to hold Katsuki tighter—keep him in place. Katsuki feels like he might be suffocating, but it’s clear this man wants him.
Izuku doesn’t want you.
It smells bad in this mix of sweaty, gross humans. The music is making his head spin. The man’s touch is wrong, and Katsuki feels the vengeance of tears he’s held back try to spring back.
He hates this. Hates that Izuku’s out there enjoying himself with someone, someone that’s not him. Hates that he’ll be touching someone else, kissing someone else, and Katsuki will just be left behind feeling forever lost and out of place. Hates that the hands on him aren’t his.
Just stop. Stop.
“That scowl of yours is back,” the man comments, breath hot right against Katsuki’s face, “Can I kiss it off you?”
Stop stop stop!
But Katsuki nods.
The man looks like he just won something, but it’s a slimy grin. It’s not Izuku’s proud smile.
It’s not Izuku at all.
He leans in, and their lips touch, just barely—
And suddenly Katsuki feels sick.
His stomach turns and twists, and it’s all he can do to shove the man off of him.
“What the hell?” The guys exclaims, knocking into a few perturbed dancers as he tries to steady his feet.
“Drank too much,” Katsuki lies, “gonna vomit,” and that is the truth.
“Oh hell no! Not on me!” The guy shouts, and he doesn’t stop Katsuki when he barrels his way out of the crowd, and then out the front doors.
Katsuki gasps, nearly heaving in the fresh air. He’s shaking like crazy, world still spinning, and lips burning. He feels utterly and hopelessly wrong.
He wants to go home. He never should’ve come here, never should’ve let that man dance with him, never should’ve kissed—
Oh god. He really did just give his first kiss to some extra, instead of—
Izuku doesn’t want me, Katsuki suddenly thinks, so why do I still feel like I’m his?
Nausea threatens to eat him alive. With trembling hands, Katsuki manages to get out his phone and sends a message to the group chat. He can’t drive them home, not like this.
His friends will just have to figure it out.
Katsuki: “Leaving. Find your own ride home.”
It’s Kaminari that sends back, “Ooo are you gonna hook up with that guy? Have fun!!!”
Katsuki briefly thinks about chucking his phone onto the concrete, just so it will shatter into a million pieces.
He doesn’t. But it’s a close thing.
He gets in his car, shaky but numb. He doesn’t want to think anymore. He wants this horrible, awful day to just be over. He doesn’t want to burn like this.
He’s Katsuki Bakugou, Great Explosion murder God Dynamight, and he’s freaking out about something as stupid as a first kiss?
He turns down a street, when there’s the barely-there thought reminding him that he’s moved now. He lives in a different apartment.
The drive takes about ten minutes longer than it should’ve.
When he does get home, he’s by the door only long enough to throw his keys onto the counter and kick his shoes off, before he running to the restroom. He’s retching into the toilet within a minute.
That’s when the tears come. He’s actually sobbing like a little fucking child, hanging onto the toilet seat like it’s a lifeline. It’s painful, and awful.
Just when did he let himself get so goddam pathetic?
It’s only when the door creeks open that he remembers he doesn’t live alone anymore
He doesn’t even have the energy to be embarrassed.
“I kissed someone,” he explains weakly—not really talking to Shouto, but he doesn’t know what else to do except let the words tumble out. “I kissed someone who wasn’t him.”
God, he sounds like an actual child the way his voice shakes.
“Fuck. It was awful. Fuck.”
Shouto says nothing. He just reaches for the cabinet, and finds a washcloth. He runs it under some water for a few seconds, and then hands it to Katsuki.
Katsuki vigorously wipes at his mouth with the warm cloth—he rubs so hard he can feel his lips going raw.
Good. He wants to erase everything that man touched.
When he’s done, his arms fall, and he moves to lean his head against the cabinet. He feels more tired than he’s ever been. More, even, than when he’d been working double shifts just to make a little more cash for Izuku’s suit.
Izuku.
“I hate him,” he whispers. But really–
I love him, still. Despite everything.
Shouto still doesn’t say anything. Instead, he sits down on the cold tile, right next to Katsuki. Katsuki’s eyes are closed, but he can feel the warmth emanating from Shouto’s left side. The heat helps settle the shivers that had been racing though his skin.
After a few minutes, Shouto speaks up.
“The first time I went on a date with someone, I faked stomach issues to leave early.”
Katsuki chokes. He doesn’t know what he’d expected to hear, but it certainly wasn’t that.
He whips his head around to look at Shouto, trying to process why the hell he’d say something so out of left field.
When he meets his eyes, it clicks.
He’s trying to cheer me up.
Katsuki’s lips twitch.
“You faked shitting your pants to get out of a date? Why didn’t you just say you were on call and there was an attack somewhere?”
“…”
Katsuki laughs. With it, comes a few tears, but each one feels lighter than the last.
He laughs, and laughs, and thumps his head against the cabinet again as his lips wobble.
“You’re a fuckin’ mess, Icyhot.”
Shouto hums. He doesn’t seem offended at all when he says, “Takes one to know one.”
“Heh. Guess so.”
The silence settles again. Shouto makes no move to leave, and neither does Katsuki.
“You should’ve said ‘no’ when I asked to move in with you,” Katsuki says eventually, feeling more than just a little pathetic. “You didn’t know I was so fucked up over all this.”
“Yes I did. Your eyes had bags under them—I could tell you hadn’t been sleeping.”
Fucker really is more observing than he seems.
But if he knew that…
“Why’d you agree to it, then?”
“Because you’re my best friend,” Shouto says easily, “and if I can help, I want to.”
Katsuki’s heart does something fuzzy and gross at that information. He’s never really cared about labels like that— friends are friends, some are closer than others, it is what it is— but to hear Shouto blatantly say it feels… important.
And maybe kind of nice.
Not sure how to respond, he says, “I thought Izuku was your best friend.”
Shouto pauses at that. He pulls his knees up, and leans his arms against them while he thinks.
“We… haven’t been close in the last year or so.” He admits after a while. “Midoriya stopped reaching out. He’s been busy, I suppose. I haven’t heard a word from him since he got the suit, outside the class meetings.”
Katsuki’s stomach drops again. It’s been about the same for him, save for that text about Uraraka he’d sent earlier. It seems Izuku has been pulling away from everyone.
“That damn bastard,” Katsuki grumbles. “He doesn’t know what’s good for him.”
Shouto nods.
“I agree. He hasn’t seemed… truly happy, in a long time. I thought, with the suit—”
“You and me both, IcyHot.”
It goes quiet again. Exhausted, Katsuki sighs. This whole day has been draining in the worst possible way. He’s still not remotely okay, but this—
Shouto had helped, at least a little.
“Hey,” he whispers. It feels weird, what he’s about to say, but he is grateful. So. Blegh, whatever. With a grimace, he grits out, “Thank you. For this.”
Shouto huffs a laugh at Katsuki’s stunted thanks, and shoves his shoulder reminiscent of the way they did on the steps of U.A. a month ago.
“No problem, Major Dick,” he says.
And somehow, it makes Katsuki smile, again.