Work Text:
Valentine’s Day. What a load of horseshit. Shitty commercialised mess of a holiday which people only give a fuck about because of the promise of fake romance and tasteless chocolates. If you love someone, you don’t shout it from the rooftops only one day a fucking year—Katsuki would rather detonate himself than do that. No, your true love deserves to be reminded of that every day for the rest of their lives.
“Are you sure you’re okay to look after—”
“God, for the millionth time: yes, I will keep an eye on your cat tonight while you and Denim Head go and bump uglies.” Katsuki rolls his eyes at Edgeshot, throwing his head back with an impatient groan. They’ve talked about this fifty fucking times—it’s almost like Edgeshot doesn’t trust him or something.
It’s a testament to how close Edgeshot and Katsuki have come that Edgeshot doesn’t even bat an eye at Katsuki’s crude language or impatience. With a blank expression (read: well, he’s got his fucking mask on, how is Katsuki supposed to know what he’s doing with his mouth?) and a comforting glint in his eye, he chuckles and brushes his arm against Katsuki’s playfully. “Thank you, Katsuki. I’m just worried about leaving her on her own. She’s so young and it’ll be the first time that neither myself nor Tsunagu are there with her.”
Despite the loud and busy Musutafu streets around them, it’s not any less difficult to follow the conversation. Katsuki’s mask is down and he’s out on patrol with Edgeshot, both with a travel mug full of searing hot sencha in hand, and Katsuki’s heart is full like a glowing ember refusing to burn out. It’s not like him to get caught up in feelings—not outwardly, at least—but watching his mentors settle into their new dynamic as an official couple fills his heart with a warmth that isn’t due to his explosions. They’re high school sweethearts, having danced around each other for years, and now? Now it’s all out in the open, they’ve never looked happier. Katsuki isn’t an expert on what love looks like, but if it meant the way that Jeanist’s eyes soften whenever Edgeshot speaks, or the way that Edgeshot seems to carry himself just a little bit lighter when Jeanist is around… well, maybe there’s something to it after all.
It makes Katsuki feel… hopeful. A concept which might’ve made him gag a few years ago, but is now floating just outside of his immediate reach, something to aspire to. Watching Edgeshot and Jeanist together reminds Katsuki of another pair of idiots from UA who dance around each other and never quite get the timing right.
His train of thoughts comes to a grinding halt when the voice of a young girl speaks behind them. “Dynamight-san? Edgeshot-san?”
The pair turn to see a girl, no older than 17 by Katsuki’s guess, sheepishly twirling her lilac hair around her index finger and clutching a notebook close to her chest with the other hand. With a violent blush on her cheeks, she stammers, “I’m—I’m really sorry to bother you both, I’m sure… I’m sure you’re very busy…”
Fuck sake. Katsuki hates the nervous ones. It’s actually painful resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
“...I was just, uhm, it’s okay if not! But I was wondering if I could get… a…. Uhm… an autograph, maybe? It’s just that I’m such a big fan—”
Honestly, thank fuck that Edgeshot has some people skills; like flicking on a switch, Edgeshot’s eyes immediately crinkle with kindness and he steps towards the shy young girl, sweet as fucking pie. “We would be honoured! Thank you for supporting our endeavours. Who should I make it out to?” He asks, carefully prying the notebook and pen from her trembling hands.
“Uh—Yui,” Yui replies, nodding so hard that her head might fall off.
Edgeshot scrawls his name and a short message onto a blank page of the notebook, blabbing some kind of shitty small talk that Katsuki had zoned out of, before passing the paper and pen over to Katsuki. He glances down and takes the pen and book from Edgeshot, turning to Yui again and swallowing thickly. Grimacing, Katsuki puts on his fakest PR smile and asks, “So, do you wanna be a hero when you grow up?”
Big mistake. Yui opens her mouth as if to reply, when suddenly her hair glows a luminescent pinkish-red, almost radioactive. Her expression fades instantly and that panic causes Katsuki to jump into red alert, in a combat pose ready to pounce.
And then, as quickly as it happened, Yui’s hair returns to lilac.
“Well that was fucking weird.”
“Katsuki, lang—”
Edgeshot stills.
Again, with his stupid fucking mask in the way, Katsuki can’t see shit about Edgeshot’s facial expression, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that his mouth is open like a damn trout and he’s staring at Katsuki in pure, unbridled horror.
“What?” Katsuki frowns. “What are you gawkin’ at me for?” His body twists round toward Yui again, “Why is he—?!”
She’s gone.
She’s running down the fucking street.
Jesus fuck, Katsuki’s been hit by a mystery quirk and the perpetrator has fled the scene, he is going to fucking blow something up—
He’s done. Katsuki is so fucking done. With a defeated sigh, he turns back to Edgeshot and asks flatly, “Alright, no sugar coating it. What’d she do to me?”
Edgeshot looks as though he’s seen a goddamn ghost, and there’s a semblance of pity that Katsuki thinks he can see. “I think you need to look in a mirror. Your… Scars. They’re different.”
Different?
Shit. It can’t be that bad. It’s Valentine’s Day. She’s probably just made his scars look all love-heart shaped or some shit.
It is that bad.
Katsuki stares in the mirror of his agency bathroom. Blinks. Rubs his eyes. Splashes some cold water over his fucking face. Blinks again.
Nope. His eyes are not fucking deceiving him.
The scar on Katsuki’s cheek, the horizontal one from the war… is now… vertical. Coming from below his eye. In the right-hand corner of his forehead also sits a brand new scar, spanning from his hairline down to about halfway down his forehead.
Hastily, Katsuki yanks his gloves off with his teeth, and his horrors are confirmed yet again. The bright fluorescent bathroom lights overhead makes every new line and mark on his skin stand out in a cruel clarity. Hands marred with thick, raised scars, twisting like vines over Katsuki's knuckles and fingers.
These aren’t random. Katsuki recognises these scars anywhere.
They’re Izuku’s. Katsuki has Izuku’s scars.
Why does he have these? It’s obviously relating to that girl’s quirk, but Katsuki can’t wrap his head around why he has Izuku’s scars painted on his skin and not, fuck knows, Edgeshot’s? Edgeshot was there at the time Yui’s hair went batshit, so it’s not a scar-swap quirk, at least not in the conventional sense. But then, what the fuck is it? Some kind of emotional imprint? A connection-based swap? It sounds like something the damned nerd would analyse to the point of orgasm, but Katsuki doesn't have that kind of patience.
(Fuck sake, Katsuki, stop thinking about Izuku having an orgasm! Focus!)
Is it proximity? No, he'd have acquired Edgeshot's scars in that case.
Time of exposure? That doesn't track either, unless there was some kind of delayed effect.
Maybe it latches onto significance—shit, that would be annoying. What even counts as significant anyway? Is it mutual, or one-sided? Because if it's one-sided and it picked Katsuki, then—no, nope, not going there. Fuck that.
Thoughts flood into Katsuki’s brain like a series of AP shots—relentless, chaotic, and impossible to fucking ignore.
And then one nasty thought in particular forces its way in like a parasite.
If Katsuki has Izuku’s scars, then what if Izuku now has Katsuki’s?
His blood runs cold.
Okay, Katsuki takes a deep breath and grips the sink in the bathroom hard. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, he thinks to himself. One step at a time.
First point: What link would Izuku have to Katsuki? He pondered about significance, but he hasn’t got any proof of that. He hasn’t actually seen Izuku in person in about a week, so it’s likely not related to frequency of time together.
Oh, god, it’s not anything to do with masturbation, is it? Katsuki’s—
—Forcing that out of his brain as quickly as he can. He’s not fucked himself on a dildo thinking about his osanamajimi, thank you very much. Not at all.
Second point: Maybe… Maybe it’s something romantic, even if the thought twists Katsuki’s gut something awful. It would be hilariously, pathetically ironic if it was something about swapping his scars with the scars of somebody he’s crushing on (read: hopelessly in love with), especially on today of all days.
Third point: Katsuki needs to go and warn Izuku. Right the fuck now.
Contrary to what he originally thought, going back to UA as an adult isn’t that weird to Katsuki. He wondered at first if it would fill him with a strange sense of dread going back to those halls, being reminded of… better times? (Were they better? He did… like… get kidnapped and die. And his idol beat the shit out of him so hard that he vomited. But those experiences, and that school, moulded him into who he is today). Still, it has a familiar calmness to it when he walks through the halls to Izuku’s classroom, albeit his gut twisting in an ugly way with every step closer.
What’s he going to see when he enters the classroom? How will he react if Izuku has Katsuki’s scars? How will Izuku react to seeing his scars on Katsuki?
Bakugou Katsuki does not get scared. And yet, whatever he’s going to face behind that classroom door is going to change his future no matter how shit goes down, and it makes Katsuki feel fucking ill.
He barges in through the classroom door without a second thought, and… says nothing. Lets the sight of him say it all.
The moment Katsuki steps inside, the room falls silent.
Dozens of eyes stare back at him—wide, awed, confused.
A few kids flinch like they expect Katsuki to start yelling. Some of them look ready to piss themselves which, honestly, is fucking hilarious.
But Katsuki doesn't give a shit about any of them. His gaze is locked onto one person.
Izuku stands at the front of the room, mid-lecture, chalk still in hand. Dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, tie slightly loosened, and Katsuki prays to fuck that he doesn't get a boner right now.
There's that same old determined look in his eyes, but Katsuki barely processes any of it. Because the moment he sees him, really sees him, the breath is stolen from Katsuki's lungs. Time comes to a grinding halt.
The scars. Katsuki's scars.
The familiar burns and jagged lines that have been with him since the war, since hell—they’re on Izuku's skin. His right hand, the one Shigaraki crushed, painted with purples and pinks and bumpy marks. Under his eye, a pink scar lays horizontal across his cheek, also from the war. On his left forearm, a small white fineline sits not far from the wrist, not noticeable to many people, but a mark acquired when Katsuki was ten and he snuck up on his old man chopping onions.
They’re all there.
Every last one.
Izuku's face shifts from surprise to dawning realisation, green eyes flicking down to Katsuki's arms, his hands, his face. Katsuki doesn't need to say a word. He watches as Izuku pieces it together in real time, his eyes widening with every passing second.
His mouth opens as if ready to say something, but then the class starts muttering. Students exchange confused glances, and then immediately dart to one corner of the classroom in particular.
Katsuki's line of sight follows, and his gaze lands on...
"I'm sorry!" Yui squeaks from the far right corner of the room, shrinking in her seat, going bright fucking red.
"You," Katsuki growls, narrowing his eyes. "You hit me with your quirk and then fucking ran off!"
"Yui!" Izuku scolds her, looking mortified at the admission of running away. “Running away from a quirk accident is a crime—"
“I’m sorry, Midoriya Sensei!” Yui's eyes water and her lip begins to wobble when she finally shows her face again. "I'm really sorry! I got so nervous meeting Dynamight that my quirk activated and I honestly didn't even expect it to work and when it did I got so scared that I didn't know what to do so—"
"Shut up!"
"Yui." Izuku is pale. Why is Izuku pale?
"Izuku, what's her fucking quirk?"
"Dynamight-san, I'm so sorry!"
"Kacchan..."
"Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?!"
Izuku drops the chalk. He's like a statue. Still staring at Yui, he says blankly, "Tell him your quirk, Yui."
Katsuki is exasperated. With bated breath, he stares Yui down, blinking, scowling, waiting for her to open her fucking mouth and free Katsuki from the goddamn horrors.
Yui visibly gulps. She takes a deep breath and says, "...Soul Scars. It swaps a person's scars with their soulmate's."
Katsuki freezes.
His stomach twists. His whole body tenses up, but his mind is white noise.
No way. There’s no freaking way.
Soulmates.
He wonders if his rib cage might shatter under the speed and strength of his heart thrumming against weakened bone. Not just his rib cage—every bone in his body feels like it’s floating.
Izuku is… Katsuki’s soulmate?
Katsuki has a soulmate?
And it’s Izuku?
Some dumbass kid shouts, “Hey, Midoriya Sensei, your scars look just like Dynamight’s!”, as if the room needed some kind of verbal confirmation.
He doesn't dare look at Izuku. Doesn't think he can.
But Izuku? Izuku doesn't hesitate. He steps closer, and Katsuki feels it before he sees it. Feels the way Izuku's eyes soften. Feels the way his breath stutters like he's just realised something he wasn't ready for. Katsuki looks down at his feet because his heart can not cope with this.
"...We have each other's scars," Izuku says, so gently, so quietly that only Katsuki can hear. "I hadn't even looked in the mirror all day. Hadn't noticed I only had scars on one hand now."
Katsuki clenches his jaw and forces himself to meet Izuku's gaze, even though it feels like his chest is caving in. Takes a deep breath and prepares to see disappointment.
But when he looks up, when he actually finally looks at Izuku, he's not freaking out. Izuku isn't panicking or vomiting or spiralling or anything.
He's smiling.
It's the most genuine smile Katsuki's seen in years. It's real. Warm. He’s not seen Izuku smile like that since high school.
And suddenly, the tension in Katsuki's body drains and deflates like a burst balloon. Because... oh.
It's okay.
It's more than okay.
He exhales the breath he didn't realise he was holding. Something inside Katsuki shifts. His heart isn't crushing his chest anymore—something feels right.
A laugh bubbles up in Izuku's throat, soft and full and downright beautiful. "Guess we can't argue with fate, huh?"
"Tch. Like I'd let some dumbass soulmate quirk decide shit for me."
"Oh?" Izuku tilts his head with a shit-eating grin. "So you chose me, then?"
Katsuki's brain short-circuits.
On the other side of the classroom, Katsuki hears a squeal and a "Oh my god, are they flirting?!"
"DynaDeku canon?"
"I fucking knew it!"
“Um.” Yui raises her hand, stammering, and both men snap their attention to her so fast that she sinks back into her chair again. "The quirk’s not permanent."
He sighs. "So when the fuck does it wear off?"
Yui fiddles with her sleeves, cheeks burning again. "...It's tied to emotional recognition."
"Emotional recognition," Izuku repeats dumbly.
She nods quickly. "Yeah. Like—um—when soulmates fully acknowledge the connection. Then it'll reverse."
A long pause settles amongst them.
Then, some brat gasps. "Wait, does that mean if it hasn't worn off yet, then—"
Katsuki groans, dragging a hand down his face as the entire classroom erupts into excited whispers. Izuku, however, turns a hilarious shade of red.
And yet, he's still smiling.
"Got something to say, Kacchan?" Izuku teases.
Katsuki scowls, but he can feel his own cheeks heating up. A hundred teenage eyes on him, watching, waiting, but all Katsuki sees is Izuku. All he sees are those breathtaking green eyes and stupid mop of curls and Izuku.
He no longer wants to run. For once in his goddamn life, Katsuki doesn’t want to be an emotionally constipated kid about this.
And it’s fucking freeing.
"Fine," he huffs, stepping closer, so close that their scars—his on Izuku, Izuku's on him—are barely inches apart. "You—"
Katsuki can't finish his sentence because Izuku grabs the fabric of his hero shirt and pulls him closer and kisses him.
The whole class screams. He's sure he hears "Oh my God, they're in love!" and the sound of a phone camera clicking, but he doesn't care because Izuku—fucking Izuku—melts against him, clutching Katsuki as hard as he can, kissing him like it's something he's been waiting a lifetime for.
Maybe he has. Katsuki sure as shit was.
The kiss is warm and messy and way too fucking public, not at all what Katsuki had fantasised about, but when they finally pull apart, Izuku is laughing, bright-eyed and happy and—
Katsuki's scars are gone.
He blinks. His eyes dart back down to his own hands and sees the mangled mess of scars all over his right arm again, and Izuku's hands are back to the familiar striped pattern he's had and everything is right again.
It's the first time that Katsuki has ever thought fuck fate, but in the best of ways.
“Well,” Izuku breathes, forehead still resting against Katsuki’s. “Shame it took a quirk for us to get our crap together.”
Katsuki scoffs, but he doesn’t pull away. “Tch. You’d have never made a move.”
Izuku grins. “I didn’t see you growing a pair and asking me out, so maybe we’re both chicken.”
Katsuki flicks his forehead, making Izuku laugh. The students are still losing their minds in the background, but he doesn’t give a single fuck.
Maybe Valentine’s Day isn’t so shit after all.