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A Place Where Nobody Dared To Go

Summary:

When your father is Endeavour, it's inevitable that you develop bad habits. Some worse than others, and harder to quit. Sometimes, you don't even know that you need help.

Notes:

hi everyone! i made a new account to post this, my first bnha fic!

this is a more detailed summary of the plot: shouto has a bad, self destructive habit left over from his days of being trained (abused) by endeavour. he doesnt even realize how bad or unhealthy it is. when he fails to show up to momo's party katsuki goes to collect him. lots of angst, hurt and comfort, because that is absolutely my shit. trigger warning for descriptions of self harm (using shouto's quirk)

Chapter 1: Xanadu

Summary:

Xanadu by ELO

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Momo’s parties have become something of a tradition since they graduated. They’re held every six or so months, at her huge holiday home on a private beach. They last days, and everyone is expected to show up for at least a few days over the week.

 

Katsuki hates them. His dumbass friends always force him to stay over at least on the first night, something about missing the big full class sleepovers they had back in the dorms. Katsuki thinks it’s fucking dumb, but even he can’t handle Mina, Denki and Eijirou’s combined pouting (Hanta just gives him that indulgent, expectant look, like he already knows Katsuki will give in. Fucker.)

 

So, here he is, the fourth biannual Class 3-A reunion shitfest. It’s always overly fancy on the first night, giving everyone a reason to dress up and look nice. Katsuki is content with a silk red shirt tucked into his black slacks, but he’s probably the most casually dressed person here. Deku is wearing a fucking tuxedo, for shit’s sake. Hanta walks up to him, equally overdressed, with a pair of high-end sunglasses holding back his long hair.

 

“Hey Kats,” he says with that shit-eating grin, that hasn’t changed a bit since high school. “You seen Shouto?” Katsuki frowns, pushing off the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“No. He’s not here yet?”

 

Hanta shrugs. “I guess he’s just late. He’s not responding to my texts though.”

 

“When does he ever?” Katsuki snorts. Hanta smiles at him and wanders off to talk to Tail Boy. Katsuki sighs and checks their group chat. Shouto hasn’t messaged to say he’ll be late, and he is, with a quick survey of the room, the only one not here. Even Aizawa-sensei is here(he only ever stays till around 11 AM, and he claims it’s only for the free alcohol. The smile on his face as he chats with Shinsou and Denki makes that seem like a big fat lie, though.)

 

Katsuki opens his contacts and presses on Icyhot, calling his phone. It doesn’t even ring – just goes straight to voicemail. That’s… okay, that’s abnormal. Shouto is a fucking nerd, he always picks up on the first ring.

 

“His phone is probably just out of charge,” comes Deku’s cheerful voice. He looks utterly ridiculous in the navy and black tuxedo, way too fucking fancy, but with his curly hair as fuck all messy as usual. Katsuki makes a noncommittal grunt.

 

“You know Half ‘n Half always has his phone charged.”

 

“Don’t worry so much Kacchan!” Deku claps him on the shoulder and starts directing him to where All Might is sitting on one of the many plush couches, talking to Yayarouzu and Jirou. Katsuki wrenches out of his grip and glares at him half-heartedly; Deku only grins. Little shit’s grown a pair of balls over the years.

 

The night goes on as it usually does; fancy hors d’oeuvres, cocktails, catching up, about half the class getting embarrassingly drunk. There is only one key difference. Shouto doesn’t come.

 

It shouldn’t be such a big deal – except when you live the lives everyone in this house did and do, then you find yourself sticking incredibly close to your friends. Even Katsuki has to admit most of the class has grown on him enough that he knows all their names, and sometimes even uses them. Even when just one of them is gone, things feel… unbalanced. Katsuki gets questions about Shouto all night, and he knows Deku, Momo, and Hanta are fielding the same question too, considering they’re the ones who usually keep tabs on the asshole, who is shit at communicating. Everyone seems concerned, but there’s nothing on the news to indicate Shouto has fought a villain or been injured, and it’s more likely that he’s rejecting their calls than that his phone isn’t charged. He might just have gotten swamped with paperwork or some shit. It happens.

 

Still.

 

Katsuki is fucking worried. And he doesn’t want to be.

 

He has never wanted any of this; the friendship, the closeness, the dependence. The care. But he has it and now he wants to protect every person in this room, even fucking All Might, arguably the greatest hero of all time. Even Deku, the current number five hero. They all wormed their way into his stupid heart, even fucking Icyhot, with his blank stares and inane comments, his soft breathy laughs and tiny half-smiles, his sarcastic eyerolls and warmth. Why isn’t he here?

 

“Ei,” Katsuki touches Eijirou’s hip, and he turns from his conversation with Invisible Girl and Kota, who continue their conversation about squirrels without the redhead.

 

“What’s up?” Eijirou asks, eyebrows upturned and red eyes wide and earnest. Katsuki feels a sense of calm rush through him, and relaxes his pose.

 

“I’m gonna head off. I want to check on Icyhot.”

 

“What? You can’t! We can’t have you and Todobro missing from the sleepover!” Eijirou grabs his hands, turning those damn puppy eyes on him. Katsuki feels like he just kicked a stray dog.

 

“I’m just going to his apartment to check on him. If all goes well, I’ll be coming right back with Shouto.” Eijirou furrows his brow and sighs.

 

“Okay.” Katsuki gives him a slight smile and squeezes his hip before turning away. He grabs his coat on the way out and climbs into his car. It’s a three-hour drive. Katsuki sighs again, wonders when he got this soft on the goddamn Half ‘n Half Bastard. Truth is, he’s been in love with Shouto since they were seventeen, and everyone and their grandmother knows about it. Everyone except fucking Shouto, the oblivious asshole. Katsuki lets out a growl and hits the accelerator.

 

 

Shouto’s phone is ringing again. It’s Kaminari this time. Shouto hits reject. He swallows and turns back to his work, blinking hard as spots danced in front of his eyes. He presses his left hand harder into the welt on his right thigh, pumping more and more heat into it until it’s burning.

 

Hold it. Hold it. Hold it Shouto, you worthless child.

 

With a shuddery gasp, he lets go. His head is swimming with the pain, and the welt on his upper thigh is just getting shinier.

 

God, has he really become so fucking weak since the last time he did this?

 

Anger shudders through him without warning and he grits his teeth, warming up his hand till it is wreathed in the hottest flame he can call up. It’s so hot he can feel his face sweltering, his eyes hurting at its brightness. And then it sputters out.

 

Because he is a coward.

 

You useless boy. How will you be the best when you can’t even handle your own power?

 

Shouto holds back the sob that threatens to escape him, and holds his right hand to the welt now, rapidly cooling it down until it aches.

 

He isn’t sure what this training is ever supposed to accomplish. His father made him do it since he was about ten – choose a spot on his upper thighs, and burn and freeze himself for as long as he can. It is some kind of pain endurance thing, but Shouto thinks it is more like some way to control him. To pressure him to show his bravery, prove his worth.

 

In the end, it doesn’t really matter what Endeavour had intended when he made Shouto do this training. It became habit. As good a distraction as any. His breath heaving, Shouto swaps hands and superheats the wound he has just frozen. It’s all he can do to hold back a scream.

 

He does not expect a knock on his door.

 

His hand flinches away at the sudden loud banging (who on earth is banging so loudly on his door this late in the evening anyway?) and the sudden loss, as opposed to his usually carefully eased down and slowly removed actions, causes a wounded whimper to tear from his throat.

 

Weak!

 

“Shouto!” A familiar gruff voice, laced with an unusual concern, shouts. Why is Katsuki here!? Shouto jolts up, and immediately falls back down. He hasn’t stood up from his seat since he began the endurance session, maybe an hour ago. It is the third session today. He fucking hurts. “I hear you in there! Open this fucking door before I blast it off its sorry hinges, Half ‘n Half Bastard!” Shouto lets out a shaky breath. Shit.

 

“Okay,” he calls back weakly, so that Katsuki won’t make good on his threat. He closes his eyes, counts to three, and stands up. He sways on the spot for several moments, unsure if he would pass out from the sheer pain pulsing from his injury, sending his whole body into involuntary convulsions and cold sweats. When he remains conscious, he carefully, carefully, pulls on his sweatpants and limps slowly to the door.

 

“OI, what the fuck is going on in there!”

 

“Shh!” Shouto swings the door open and hisses at Katsuki. Who is dressed weirdly nicely. He leans heavily on his left leg, and tries not to look too stiff. “It’s late, and I don’t want noise complaints because of you again.”

 

Katsuki huffs out a breath – amusement, indignation, possibly both – and gives Shouto a strange look. “What do you want?” Shouto prompts.

 

“Fuck you mean, what do I want? You’re the one ignoring all your messages and calls, not showing up to the fuckin’ reunion shit. What the fuck, Icyhot.”

 

Shouto’s eyes widen in realization. How in heaven did he forget? Momo’s party. Crap. “You—” he swallows and flicks his tired eyes up to meet Katsuki’s. “You drove all this way for—?”

 

Katsuki growls. “’Course I fuckin’ did. Not like you to not show up.” He’s worried.

 

You idiot, now you’re burdening your friends with your shit too.

 

“I-I’m sorry,” Shouto starts, then clears his throat. Fucking stuttering, really? “I completely forgot. And I’m… very sorry you had to drive all this way. If you go back to the reunion, I hope you’ll wish everyone well for me.”

 

Katsuki gives him that strange look again. “You’re coming with me,” he says, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Pack a fuckin’ bag, Halfie.”

 

Shouto panics. He can’t—can’t be around his friends, the people he cares about so much and who care about him, when he’s like this. This, this is—they won’t understand , they’ll worry, they’ll ask questions—

 

“Fuck is wrong with you,” Katsuki snarls. He steps forward, like he’s trying to come into the apartment. Shouto thinks about the bloody bandages and tissues in the garbage can and floor around his desk. He slams the door closed. “WHAT THE FUCK, ICYHOT!”

 

“S-sorry.” Shouto manages. His breathing is staccato, and he is beginning to feel ill from how long he’s been standing on his injured leg. He tries to come up with an excuse to get out of it, something Katsuki will believe but that won’t worry him enough to ask more questions, and…

 

He comes up blank.

 

“I’ll just pack a bag.”

 

That, like everything Shouto is doing at the moment, is slow. He has to take regular sitting breaks, just for a few moments, so he doesn't pass out. It’s a pain. And Katsuki is impatient. By the time he’s ready and has his overnight bag on his (left) shoulder, Katsuki sounds about ready to grab Shouto by the ankles and drag him out.

 

He opens the door and Katsuki gives him a look. “Finally,” he says with a roll of his eyes, before he eases Shouto’s bag off him and onto his own shoulder. Shouto freezes. Did he notice that he is carrying the weight awkwardly? Is he favouring his left leg too obviously? But Katsuki just raises his eyebrows and indicates down the hall with his chin before he turns around and starts walking. Luckily for Shouto, Katsuki still prefers to walk ahead of people, and doesn’t make a fuss of Shouto hanging back.

 

Shouto limps like his life depends on it.

 

They exit the elevator on the basement carpark level and walk over to Katsuki’s car, and Shouto feels like he is going to die. Sweat clings to his brow, and he’s scared with every step he takes that his shuddery, uneven breathing will alert Katsuki that there’s something wrong. Instead, Katsuki just tosses his bag in the back and opens the passenger door for him. Crap, how is he supposed to climb into Katsuki’s stupidly big car without being overly awkward about it? While Katsuki is looking directly at him?

 

Katsuki notices his hesitance, and rolls his eyes.  

 

“You’re such a princess about big cars, I swear to fuck.” And then he. He picks Shouto up.

 

Shouto cries out at Katsuki’s grip, but plays it off as shock, and Katsuki just grins ruthlessly at him as he easily lifts Shouto up and into the passenger seat. “Katsuki—”

 

“Yeah yeah, I’ll buckle you up too, princess. ” God, but that grin is wicked as all hell. Why Katsuki loves teasing him like this so much, Shouto may never know. Rather than think too hard on it, he simply lets out a long, tired breath, and rearranges his leg to a subtly more comfortable angle.

 

They had been on the road for only a few minutes before Katsuki says, “now, how exactly does one fucking forget about Momo’s party?” Shouto hangs his head. He feels terrible about it, and if he’d remembered it was this week, he wouldn’t have started his endurance training today. “Especially since even I know Dunceface and his brood have been talking about it for days already. How did you not notice?”

 

“I. Deleted the app,” he says hesitantly. Before Katsuki can jump to conclusions, he gives what he hopes is a convincing lie. “It was getting too loud, and I needed to concentrate on work. I guess I forgot to install it again.”

 

Katsuki sighs. “Man, I fucking wish I can delete that damn app. Or at least the groupchat. Remember when Four-eyes would kick me every other day for swearing? I miss those days.” Shouto laughs lightly. It feels weird to do so; usually when he’s doing his endurance training, he isolates himself from everyone for a few days. It’s just him and his quirk and the pain. It is very weird to not be completely, abjectly miserable.

 

 

Shouto is acting strange. Mind, Shouto’s baseline is strange by most normal standards. Katsuki’s too. But it’s like he’s—stiff, or distant, or something. A bit like how he is in first year, but Katsuki can still feel that underlying softness and warmth that Katsuki has come to associate with Shouto’s typically fairly monotone voice. Shouto is probably busy with hero work, as they all are. Being a rookie hero is basically shit tonnes of patrolling, busy work, paperwork, and for someone like Katsuki who’s aiming for number one, lots of press, social media, and event engagement. It’s a lot, and most of it isn’t even hero work.

 

He knows Shouto is aiming high too, knows his father has hired him a social engagement team (considering how incapable Shouto is with anything social media related), and while that must take pressure off, it probably means he has more time for stressful work.

 

Of course, Katsuki can't ask about any of that, because Shouto fell asleep twenty minutes into the drive (the urge to pull over and take photos of his cute, scrunched up sleeping face is almost more than Katsuki can resist.)

 

Katsuki sings along to his music softly and avoids potholes, chops five K off his speed, and arrives back at Momo’s secluded beach home (more like a mansion) around 1 AM. Which means everyone would still be awake, but Aizawa-sensei and All Might would be gone already. He pulls up and turns the engine off, which is apparently enough to jolt Shouto awake. He looks around with wide eyes, shoulders drawn up, until he sees Katsuki. He relaxes, posture shifting until he is leaning to his left.

 

“I fell asleep,” he states.

 

“Astute as ever,” Katsuki smirks.

 

He helps Shouto out of the car with both hands on his waist. Usually when Katsuki tries to help like this, Shouto would shrug him off with that gloating slant to his eyes. Katsuki can’t help but wonder why he’s allowing his touch now – maybe he’s just tired? Whatever, not like Katsuki is complaining.

 

Is that creepy? Is it weird that Katsuki would take any opportunity he can to touch Shouto?

 

Yeah, kinda is.

 

Oh well.

 

By the time they enter the house, Shouto far enough behind that Katsuki can’t see him, the party has gotten both more out of hand and more relaxed. Most everyone has changed into pyjamas, but Katsuki can see not one, not two, but in fact three separate drinking games going on. He can also see Ojiro making out with thin air, and a glance down at the fluffy, sheep-covered PJs confirms it is indeed Hagakure that he’s sticking his tongue into. It still looks super weird.

 

“I have the candy-cane bastard!” He yells over the drunken ruckus, and every head turns, and every person lets out a great big cheer. Katsuki barks out a laugh when he turns and sees Shouto’s shocked face. As always, the guy has no clue how much everyone loves him. Crowds quickly form around Shouto to greet him and interrogate him, and Katsuki drifts off to get them both a drink. Jirou is leaning against the bar, one of the few not crowding Shouto.

 

“Good job,” she drawls. Tipsy. “He forget us or some shit?”

 

“Yup.” 

 

Jirou laughs. “He would.”

 

Katsuki grins wolfishly and brings his drink up to his mouth. Shouto isn’t taller than most of the class anymore, like he has been throughout high school. He’s a few inches shorter than Katsuki (which is, in Katsuki’s opinion, a sign from god), but Katsuki can still spot his candy-cane looking ass through the group of ex-classmates surrounding him. And he looks… tired. Overwhelmed. Strained.

 

“Time to save you mans?” Jirou teases, and Katsuki whacks the back of her head. “Hey!” She cries indignantly, but Katsuki is already walking towards the crowd.

 

“Ay, back up motherfuckers. He’s tired and shit, leave him be.” He watches the crowd dissipate, returning to their games and… activities. Only Tapeface, Deku, and Ponytail remain. Shouto shoots him a look, eyes kinda scrunched up, and Katsuki recognises it as a look of gratitude. He silently hands Shouto his drink.

 

“Actually yeah, you look super tired Shocchan. Are you okay? Do you wanna sit? Here, come sit on the couch.” Shouto allows Deku to pull him along to the couch, moving awkwardly, like he’s embarrassed. He sits on the dark green couch gingerly, nursing his drink, eyebrows furrowed. Generally being super weird about something extremely regular. Katsuki understands now why the general feeling of discomfort is still hovering about his ears. There is something off about Shouto.

 

Katsuki shrugs it off and sits on Shouto’s left (it is a well-known fact that he uses Shouto like a human heater), presses against his arm and leg and feels all fuzzy and shit. Hanta gently punches Shouto’s arm in farewell, and Shouto gives him an exhausted, tiny smile. Hanta walks over to Mina and kisses her cheek.

 

“I can’t believe you deleted the app,” Momo sighs.

 

“I believe it!” Deku laughs, sitting on an ottoman in front of Shouto. “Shocchan’s never really cared for it.” He glances to where Denki, Eijirou, Shinsou, and Shoji are playing some kind of game with their hands, that appears to involve a lot of slapping. Shoji is winning. “And Denki tends to text… a lot.”

 

“That’s why most people turn the notifications off,” Katsuki rolls his eyes.

 

“You can do that?”

 

Yamomo, Deku and Katsuki snort out fond laughs and Katsuki wraps his arm around Shouto’s shoulders and squeezes lightly. “Dumbass,” he says, trying to put as much affection into as he can.

 

Katsuki can readily admit that he has changed a lot since high school. What he can’t admit as easily is that most of that change is thanks to Shouto; the closer they got, the more Katsuki tolerated him, the more he liked him. There were so many things about Shouto that he couldn’t help but fall in love with, too many to name. It was at once both about the hundreds of tiny things, and also the big picture they formed into. And the more Katsuki loved Shouto, the more he changed. The more open he got, the kinder. His friends had teased him endlessly about his superbly obvious crush, and eventually instead of screaming at them to shut up, he was rolling his eyes with a huff.

 

Somewhere during all that, the need to touch Shouto was born.

 

It was obvious that Shouto wasn’t used to it. Even now, he has tensed under Katsuki, before he shifts and wiggles and relaxes under his arm. It always makes a pretty brush dust his cheeks, his ears, the back of his neck. Katsuki is obsessed. He starts drawing patterns on Shouto’s right upper arm, and he feels the boy shudder.

 

The night goes on; people come and chat to Shouto and Katsuki on the lounge. At one point an extremely drunk Eijirou comes over and leaves a big sloppy kiss right on Shouto’s cheek, which makes everyone except the boy in question die of laughter. Over the hours, Shouto sinks deeper and deeper into Katsuki, making his heart skip several beats. Occasionally he will jolt back awake from his dozing with a gasp. It is way too fucking endearing.

 

“Princess,” he nudges the boy. It’s around 4 AM, and people are finally starting to lay out mattresses, pillows, and blankets around the huge living room. “Hey. We need to get you into a better position.” Katsuki starts shifting Shouto, trying to pull his legs up onto the couch.

 

Ah ! N-no no no, stop, please dad, I don’t want to!”

 

Katsuki freezes. So does Deku, who’s nearest to them and hears the tiny protests. “Is he dreaming?” Deku murmurs, coming over and moving Shouto’s hair from his head. “He’s sweaty.”

 

“Nightmare,” Katsuki growls. About Endeavour. God, he hates that fucker. “Do we—should we wake him up?” 

 

Deku purses his lips. “That might make it worse. We should probably just make him comfortable?” Katsuki nods sharply and stands, gently leading Shouto’s head down to a couch cushion as Deku reaches for his legs.

 

He picks up the left one first, and Katsuki helps twist his body till he is on his back. Shouto looks… almost sick. He is pale and sweaty, and Katsuki wants to wake him up, but the boy is already so tired, and he doesn’t want to disorient or embarrass him. Deku touches Shouto’s right leg. His entire body quakes, a strangled whine quiet enough that only they can hear presses between tightly closed lips.

 

“His leg?” Deku asks. “Did Endeavour… do something to his leg?”

 

“That man did something to all of Shouto,” Katsuki snarls. Deku sighs and carefully pulls Shouto’s right leg up onto the couch. Shouto writhes and whines the whole way, gasping in what seemed to be pain. It is certainly painful for Katsuki, who can barely refrain from smashing something with all the anger and helplessness he feels. How can somehow hurt their own child so badly that that pain echoes in their dreams even years later?

 

Katsuki bares his teeth and drags over the nearest mattress, heedless that Aoyama is already on it.

 

“Sacre bleu! Baste!”

 

He sets up beside Shouto’s couch, watches for a few minutes as Shouto’s pale face twists with pain even in his sleep, before he sinks down with a sigh. He doesn’t know how to help, how to make it stop. All he knows is to be close.

Notes:

this chapter has been updated as of 18.7.21

Chapter 2: Waiting For You to Arrive

Notes:

hello! i was so excited about this fic, and the amazing comments, that i already wrote the next chapter! i hope you guys like it :))))))

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Shouto wakes up to a dull throb echoing around his body. It’s dark, but he remembers whose couch he has been sleeping fitfully on. With a great amount of effort, he drags himself up into a sitting position and glances around the room. Light is beginning to filter through the cracks of the curtains, illuminating the snoozing silhouettes of Shouto’s… friends.

 

Right beside him, curled towards his couch, is Katsuki. The plains of his face are even and smooth as he takes deep, even breaths. Shouto feels something flare in his chest, and he closes his eyes.

 

He needs to be alone—the pain in his leg and the lightness in his chest are too contrary, it’s all too strange. Shouto tries to stand up from the couch as carefully as possible, but he still ends up panting with pain. But this is good, surely this only enhances his endurance training, right? As a hero, he has to be able to function even with a serious injury. Not that this is a serious injury. It’s just a burn.

 

He picks his way between the mattresses, sleeping bags and bodies and all but collapses onto the toilet after he makes it to the bathroom and locks the door. He shucks his pants and inspects the injury. It’s ugly, an angry raised lump about the size of his first, in the middle of his upper thigh. The edges are a sickening mottled colour, while the wound itself has formed blisters that must have popped overnight, forming scabs. His thighs are full of the scars of previous training sessions, so many that they have started to overlap.

 

He takes a deep, calming breath, and touches the wound with his left hand.

 

Pain thunders through him and he doubles over, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

Don’t make a sound. Be quiet, Shouto. You don’t want to worry your siblings, do you?

 

When the initial wave of stomach-turning pain subsides, he begins heating his hand up, warmer and warmer until it’s burning.

 

It is excruciating.

 

But he doesn’t cry out. Because he is strong. It’s good training – to be able to withstand great pain without making a noise, useful for villain fights. You can’t betray your own pain, and have a villain exploit it. And if you’re hiding, screaming or even whimpering can give away your position in an instant. A feeling of pride begins to pump through him alongside the pain as he switches hands and begins rapidly cooling down the wound.

 

He flinches when a fist pounds the door, although this time he doesn’t remove his hand.

 

“Yes?” He asks, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

 

“You takin’ a shit or something Icyhot? You been in there since I woke up.”

 

As much as Shouto doesn’t want to use that excuse—“Um, yes.”

 

He hears Katsuki snort and step away. “Lucky Ponytail has like sixteen toilets in this place.”

 

“Yes,” Shouto agrees, willing Katsuki to leave without any more questions. Unfortunately, Katsuki has never been the type to walk away without an investigation.

 

“Is ‘yes’ the only word you know, Halfie?”

 

“…Yes.”

 

“Are you fucking around? Hurry up and get out, I need to take a piss.”

 

“You yourself just pointed out how many toilets this house has.”

 

“So? This is my favourite. It’s big and airy and closest to the living room. You got a problem with that? You gonna deny me my favourite toilet, hah?”

 

Damnit. Why is he like this.

 

“It’s occupied, Katsuki.” The man is quiet for a few moments, before he hears a quiet sigh, and a little thunk.

 

“Shouto. Are you okay?”

 

Shouto freezes.

 

No, he literally freezes. The hand that has been gently easing off the cold from his wound in preparation to remove it entirely instead flares with frost, and shit, shit that fucking hurt, he just froze his entire thigh.

 

“Fine,” he says, but it sounds terse and strained even to his own ears. “I’m okay, Katsuki.”

 

Another pause, even longer this time.

 

“I don’t believe you.” Shouto remains still, as he uses his left hand to slowly heat the ice encasing his leg. A small puddle forms on the tile beneath him. He wishes he hadn’t come. He wishes he’d told Katsuki that he was busy, or he has a mission, he wishes he lied. He doesn’t want his friends to feel bad, and especially never wants to be the one to make them feel that way. They should always be smiling, and happy, and healthy, and it’s Shouto’s fault that Katsuki sounds so sad, so worried. It’s all Shouto’s fault .



Katsuki rests his head against the door, eyes closed and heart doing something awful in his throat. When he woke up and Shouto was gone, he had this… this sense of danger.

 

He has discussed it with Deku before—it’s something a lot of pro heroes develope, this paranoia that something is terribly wrong. In most cases, it’s useful, helping a hero with their work, making them cautious, making them smart. But sometimes, it can become something that affects a hero’s whole life, leaving them paranoid that danger awaits after every turn.

 

Deku and him both struggle with it, the feeling that something bad is going to happen, or is happening, even when they’re just lying in bed, safe and sound. And Katsuki is feeling it now too, this overwhelming feeling that something is wrong with Shouto. He can’t tell if it’s a real worry or not, if he’s getting himself worked up over nothing or if Shouto genuinely needs help.

 

He thumps his head against the door again, as if that would make it any clearer.

 

“Shouto,” he says again when the boy doesn’t reply. “Please come out.”

 

“No.”

 

Katsuki straightens suddenly, giving the door an incredulous look. “What—Sho, what the fuck is wrong with you?” He bites out, and immediately regrets it. He’s going about this wrong, he’s making things worse. Damnit.

 

“Just leave. Please.”

 

He doesn't want to. He doesn't’ know if he should, or even if he can. Should he listen to his instincts? Or listen to the words actually coming out of Shouto’s mouth? Shouto has never sounded like this before. At least—not in a while. It’s how he sounded before the sports festival, how he sounded when he casually explained his horrifying family history to Deku as if it is just an inconvenience, as if he isn’t truly, deeply hurt.

 

Katsuki recognises it for what it is; a defence mechanism. But Katsuki isn’t like Deku, can't just magically say the right words and make everything better. He’s too scared he’ll just make things worse. God fucking damnit, what is he supposed to do?

 

“Okay,” he says quietly. He doesn’t want to. Fuck, all he wants to do is bust down the door and make whatever is hurting Shouto stop. But what if he makes it worse? Katsuki isn’t soft, he isn’t gentle, he’s loud and brash and he would never forgive himself if he made Shouto hurt worse. “Just. If anything. If you need anything or want to talk to me, or. Y’know, whatever. You can. I mean—I mean, I’m... Here for you. Yeah?” Nice verbal vomit there, Katsuki. Fucking hell.

 

“Thank you.” Katsuki puts his hand against the door one more time, before walking away. It sounded like a cursory thank you. Like Katsuki has just said bless you after a sneeze – polite, but not exactly genuine. Just a platitude, something you say because you know you should. Shouto doesn't mean it.

 

Katsuki walks back to the living room, where a few more people are awake, blearily rubbing their eyes or chatting softly. “Oi, Shitty Hair.” Eijirou looks up from his phone screen with a smile.

 

“Hey, good morning Bakubro! What’s—” his face shifts, his smile no longer carefree and warm. “What’s wrong?” Katsuki looks away, the look of open concern on Eijirou’s face almost too much for him. He juts his chin sharply, and Eijirou stands up. Together they go to the balcony, and the cool, salty air somehow already feels better.

 

“Something’s wrong with Icyhot,” he says, biting his lip and glaring at the ocean like it called his mother a bitch. “And he won’t—I don’t—” He looks up at Eijirou helplessly. “I want to make it better, but I don’t even know what’s wrong in the first place, and if I don’t know what’s wrong, how can I help him? And what if I just make it worse, and he hates me? What if—”

 

Katsuki’s panicked ramblings (who is he, fucking Deku? ) are cut off by Eijirou wrapping him in a tight hug that Katsuki immediately melts into with a relieved sigh. Nothing feels better than Eijirou’s patented Kiri-hugs. How can anyone feel safer than when they’re in the loving, beefy arms of the Sturdy Hero, Red Riot? It is literally impossible to not feel comforted by them, at least a little bit.

 

“Chill out bro, you’re spiralling. Do you need to do some breathing exercises?” Katsuki shakes his head against Kiri’s soft pecs. He already feels so much better, and begins to preen when Kiri runs his hands through Katsuki’s hair. “It’s okay. Maybe Shouto just needs this?”

 

“A Kiri-hug?” Katsuki frowns into Eijirou’s chest, and feels it rumble with laughter.

 

“No man, a Baku-hug! If anyone can cheer Todobro up, it’s you!”

 

Katsuki sighs sadly. “I don’t know. Just… hug me for a bit longer?”

 

Deku finds them a bit later, and giggles at the sight of Katsuki wrapped in his boyfriend’s arms. “Group hug?”

 

“No--!”

 

“Group hug!”

 

It becomes a group hug.

 

 

Momo is a clever, well-adjusted person, so Shouto isn’t even surprised when he finds a first aid-kit in the bathroom cabinet. Disinfecting and wrapping his leg is something he hadn’t found a chance to do yesterday, before Katsuki took him here. The disinfectant stings worse than Shouto expected, and he hisses in pain.

 

“Shouto?”

 

See, this is why he does this training when he has three or four days to himself. “Hello, Hanta,” he says, trying to keep his voice cheerful as he begins to wrap up his wound.

 

“You alright?”

 

“Yes. I…” Shouto has never been a fantastic liar, and his brain is betraying him right now. “Uh, I stubbed my toe.” Real convincing.

 

“Aw dude, that sucks! Do you need an icepack? I’ll go get—”

 

“N-no, it’s—”

 

And that’s how Shouto ends up sitting on the couch, right leg elevated, with Hanta and Momo fussing over his foot and trying to figure out the best way to lash an ice pack to Shouto’s foot.

 

“You do know that’s my ice side, right? I can just—”

 

“Nope!” Hanta says, way too pleasant.

 

“Using your quirk to heal yourself will only make you more tired!” Momo chastises. “You only need to do that on the field, in emergencies! It’s bad practice to waste your energy on a stubbed toe.”

 

Shouto stares at them both, watches as they find a good position and begin using Hanta’s tape to secure the ice pack to his (completely fine) foot. The ice pack itself is wrapped in a Hearing Hero: Earphone Jack merch tea towel. Momo has a thing for collecting her girlfriend’s merch.

 

“Thank you,” he says hesitantly, looking up at his friends with suspicion. Why are they being so insistent on helping him, anyway?

 

“Oh gosh, Shocchan, are you okay? What happened!” Izuku rushes over—he must have been outside, Shouto realizes as he watches Izuku drag Kiri and… and Katsuki over from the balcony.

 

“I’m fine,” he replies, unable to resist glancing at Katsuki. His face is clouded over with a thunderous frown, arms crossed over his chest, looking at Shouto with the intensity of a storm. “I stubbed my toe in the bathroom,” the lie comes out more easily this time, and that only makes Shouto hate himself more. “It barely hurts, but Momo and Hanta insisted.”

 

“Will you still come to the beach later?” Izuku kneels at Shouto’s side, his green eyes huge as he looks up at him. “It would suck without you.”

 

And what is Shouto supposed to do with that? He gives Izuku a tiny smile. “Yes, I’ll still come.” Kirishima whoops and wraps an arm around Izuku’s waist. The two started dating about a year ago, surprising everyone. They had never seemed that close in high school, more sticking to their designated squads. But after both becoming sidekicks at the same agency, and both doing hero exchange in Korea, they became much closer. Shouto often can't help but wonder how the relationship worked between them, considering that they are both straight up sunshine.

 

But they just seemed… brighter, when they’re with each other. Like their smiles are bigger, and they share that joy with everyone around them. Izuku had once confided in Shouto that he thought Kirishima was handsome and amazing, even in high school, but didn't really realize how much he liked him until Kirishima hugged him after a successful mission. It made Shouto feel warm. It still did, looking at them is like looking at a pair of stars, and he can't help but be bathed in their light.

 

Shouto glances at Katsuki, and even his face has opened up, storm clouds parting, as he watches his best friends’ happiness like a pleased parent.

 

His best friends.

 

And suddenly the whole world swoops again, and Shouto looks down. He has to remember his place. He is no one’s best anything, all the people he loves have people of their own that they love more. Shouto is—peripheral. His chest feels tight, and he can barely hear the others as they discuss what games they want to set up at the beach.

 

He didn't think anyone would notice his absence from the conversation, until Katsuki sits beside him, movements careful, like he’s scared to jolt Shouto, scared to hurt him. Wishful thinking.

 

“Will you swim?” He asks, and his voice is grim, the kind of voice that should be reserved for your husband doesn't make it.

 

“No,” Shouto answers. “But I’ll sit on the beach. I. I don’t want to miss it.” It feels strange that that’s true.

 

“Then I’ll sit with you,” Katsuki decides, and panic stirs in Shouto’s gut.

 

“No,” he says again, more adamant this time. “I don’t want to ruin your day.”

 

Katsuki tilts his head, gives him a strange look. “Why would being with you ruin my day?” He asks, like the concept genuinely confuses him. Shouto’s breath hitches, and he has to look away; when Katsuki is genuine, and kind, and sweet like this, it makes Shouto feel so weird. Back in first year, he would never have thought he would become friends with the terrifying Bakugou. Certainly never even entertained the thought that they would one day be on a given-name basis, or that Katsuki would send him cute cat memes for no reason, or that Katsuki can be kind and gentle with him. Never thought he’d end up having to push down those weird feelings that threaten to drown him whenever Katsuki touches his waist or gives him that wolfish smile.

 

Katsuki is as bright as a star too, and Shouto, Shouto would just make him dimmer, make him shine less.

 

“You should have fun with your friends.”

 

Our friends,” he corrects, and slowly, like the gesture is hard for him to make, like Shouto is a deer who’ll flinch away if he approaches too fast, Katsuki reaches out and touches his cheek, the part where burnt flesh gives way to healthy skin. The touch is so light, and delicate, and all the things Shouto never thought Katsuki was capable of, all the things that made Shouto feel like he’s drowning. “Sho, you’re my… friend. And I want to be with you, too.”

 

And somehow, that hurts worse than the burn on his thigh.



Notes:

btw if any one wants to chat about this story or about bnha in general, im kazeohiku on tumblr and kazeohiku_ on twitter! and im always up to chat! im way more active on tumblr tho
chapter updated as of 18.7.21

Chapter 3: Your Arms Alive

Notes:

hey! this chapter contains manga spoilers concerning dabi so like... if you dont know about all that firstly are you even in this fandom, and second maybe don't read until you've caught up on the manga! thank u and please enjoy !! my fingers are frozen from typing so long :))))

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“You can’t go to the beach in tracksuit pants,” Yaomomo insists while Jirou smirks from behind her. “You’ll swelter! You’ll overheat, Shouto!”

 

“We are talking about the guy with the quirk that lets him regulate his own temperature, right?” Katsuki interjects, sharing an amused glance with Earphones.

 

“Regardless,” Momo says, giving them all a very motherly look, “Shouto, you should wear shorts. It’s a beach after all.”

 

Shouto has a harsh slant to his eyes, staring at Momo in a way Katsuki has never seen before. He looks calculating, which is weird, because Shouto usually has about zero thoughts behind those mismatched eyes. He’s an open book, insofar as his blank expression is often reflecting a blank mind. “Fine,” he says finally, and it sounds like he’s been tortured into it.

 

“You don’t have to,” Jirou allows, “not everyone is comfortable showing off their body.”

 

“He’s always gone shirtless and with shorts though,” Momo disagrees with a frown. “Did something happen? Is there—”

 

“No,” Shouto says firmly, not letting Momo finish her thought (although Katsuki very much would have liked it if she did, because he feels like he’s going crazy). “It’s fine. I’ll just borrow some shorts.”

 

Momo smiles, looking pleased with herself. Shouto and Denki have a similar build, so Shouto borrows some of Pikachu’s swimmers (he always brought spares, after one too many times of losing his clothes on vacation), and it is certainly entertaining watching Shouto’s eyes widen at the sight of the pineapple and sunglasses covered shorts.

 

“They suit you!” Denki decides when Shouto changed. He looks uncomfortable as hell as he approaches their little group, the last people to head to the beach. He’s limping, so Katsuki assumes his stubbed toe probably hurt more than he let on. Denki is right; the boardshorts suited Shouto way more than they should have. They are bright and colourful and made Shouto look very festive, not to mention Katsuki feel a certain way at the sight of the shorts clinging to Shouto’s waist. He has an open button up on too, this one borrowed from Eijirou, making it way too big. Even that is somehow adorable and hot all at once, and suddenly Katsuki wishes he’d volunteered to lend Shouto a shirt, because the thought of Shouto wearing his clothes…

 

Katsuki clears his throat, which seems to draw everyone’s attention away from the blushing body of one Todoroki Shouto. Katsuki steps up to Shouto’s side as they all start walking to the beach. The boy’s limp is pronounced, and he walks with slow, purposeful strides, like every step takes concentration.

 

“Should I carry you, princess?” Katsuki jokes with a grin. Shouto exhales in a way Katsuki recognises as an amused laugh.

 

“Maybe just be my crutch,” he replies with a cheeky tilt of his lips. Katsuki huffs and carefully wraps his arm around Shouto’s waist, feeling his heart rate spike at the contact. Shouto’s arm slides over Katsuki’s shoulders, and the boy lets out a sigh of relief. “Sorry, it’s just. My toe.”

 

“Don’t apologise!” Katsuki rushes to say, before promptly kicking himself. Way to sound desperate as shit, dumbass. “Idiot,” he adds, as if that would somehow make him seem less weird. Shouto just offers him a closed lip smile.

 

The beach is fucking loud, since it seems that everyone in the class, even fucking Shinsou, has decided to play Marco Polo. The warm air is filled with Iida’s loud calls of Marco, and the answering polos said in all manner of different ways. Mina screams at the top of her lungs, and then dives behind Hanta and laughs maniacally as Iida, rashie wrapped around his head, ambles their way. Deku calls out polo in a loud, clear voice, and Iida changes directions, only for Deku to activate his quirk. Green lightning reflects on the water as he swims faster than a fucking dolphin, causing everyone to groan and yell at him for cheating. When Deku comes up for air, he gives them all a shit eating grin and shrugs his shoulders with a simple, “so stop me.”

 

The small group that stayed behind at the house – Katsuki, Shouto, Momo, Jirou, and Denki – sit down on the patchwork of picnic blankets laid out on the sand. Shouto looks at the blankets the same way he looked at algebra. Katsuki could almost see the calculations swirling around his head.

 

“Alright Icyhot,” Katsuki grunts. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

 

Shouto frowns at him, opening his mouth to reply.

 

“Uh-uh. Look, I’m gonna pick you up, and sit down with you. You can either cooperate, or you can suffer. Ready?” It looks like Shouto is about to complain, but before he can Katsuki carefully and easily sweeps him up into a princess carry, grins the most self-satisfied grin he has ever grinned when Shouto reaches forward to clutch at Katsuki’s bare chest, and settles down onto the blanket with Shouto in his lap. “There. Easy, huh?”

 

“You’re crazy,” Shouto tells him point blank, and Katsuki throws his head back and laughs. He feels like he can do anything with Shouto this close to him, with the warm, solid weight of his body against him. He feels invincible. “Are you going to put me down?”

 

“Do you want to be put down?” Katsuki asks. His voice is still light and amused, but he suddenly feels a bit serious. Like this might be a dangerous game he’s playing – like maybe he won’t like Shouto’s answer.

 

“Obviously.”

 

And fuck, did that sting way more than it should have. Of course he wants to be put down, of-fucking-course he doesn't want to spend any longer than he has to in Katsuki’s arms. Katsuki manoeuvres Shouto off his lap and onto the blanket beside him, mindful of his foot. Even so, Shouto inhales sharply and shuts his eyes tight.

 

“Shit, did I hurt you?”

 

“N-no, I’m okay. Just flexed my foot accidentally.”

 

Katsuki relaxes a little, then immediately feels embarrassed at how obvious his concern was. Goddamn, being this close to Shouto is a fucking rollercoaster that can only end in an emotional breakdown.

 

“Thank you,” Shouto says, whole body angled towards Katsuki. “For helping me,” he clarifies at Katsuki’s raised eyebrow. “You didn’t have to.”

 

“’Course I did,” Katsuki smiles. He tries to keep the fondness out of his voice, but when faced with Shouto’s open gratitude it’s hard to not just kiss the bastard right then and there. Katsuki is clearly losing his mind. “I’m uh—I’m gonna get us some of the picnic food.”

 

“Kats—” Shouto starts, grabbing Katsuki’s sleeve before he can walk away. “B-Bakugou-san.” Katsuki twists around to stare down at him incredulously.

 

“Fuck did you just call me, Halfie?”

 

Shouto looks so vulnerable, looking up at him like this. His head is tipped back, revealing more of the damaged skin around his left eye than he usually lets show. He is biting his bottom lip aggressively, practically chewing it to bits. And his eyes—Shouto’s eyes have always been the most expressive part of him, which is probably why they're usually hidden. Those blue and grey eyes, so beautiful and unique and stupid, are slitted, like Shouto is preparing to flinch away.

 

“Why are you… after my rudeness, why are you still being nice to me?” Katsuki feels his heart break, and he finds himself once again cursing Endeavour’s name. How did he manage to fuck Shouto up so bad that the kid genuinely thinks Katsuki would hate him so much after a relatively tiny incident? Especially for Shouto, who usually openly bantered with Katsuki, was always the first to bite back. Why is he so insecure now? Because he had really been angry, instead of just playing?

 

Katsuki drops to a crouch in front of Shouto, and puts a hand on his knee. Shouto flinches. “Icyhot. What happened this morning—it doesn't make me hate you, or some shit. I’m not gonna make you stop using my given name, never gonna make you stop.” Love the sound of my name on your lips too much to ever let you stop. “I know something is up with you, and you lashed out because of that. I used to do that shit all the time,” he laughs softly at Shouto’s deadpan, no-shit expression. “You would know. So… I’m worried. About you. You’re hurt, and you’re not acting like yourself, and I just. I want you to know I’m here. If something happened, if you need to talk… I care about you. We all do,” he gestures to the group at large, where Jirou is pelting Denki in the head with strawberries and Round Face appears to be attempting to drown Four Eyes.

 

“We’re your friends.”

 

There is such an open look of devastation on Shouto’s face that Katsuki thinks he's going to cry.

 

And then he does.

 

Tears fill his wide eyes as he stares at Katsuki, until he closes his eyes tightly and turns away, bringing up his hands to angrily rub away the tears. “Hey, hey.” Katsuki catches his wrist, pulls his hands away. “Look at me,” he says softly, voice affected by his own emotions. When Shouto keeps his head resolutely turned away, Katsuki puts a hand on his cheek and makes Shouto face him. Shouto’s eyes blink open in shock, making more tears stream down his face. He doesn't make a sound.

 

“It’s okay,” Katsuki whispers, nearly choking. “It’s okay. You can cry.” And then Shouto’s face does something Katsuki has never seen. His eyebrows scrunch up and his damaged lips part around a nearly soundless whimper, and he throws his arms around Katsuki.

 

Katsuki can feel the eyes of his ex-classmates on his back as he kneels by Shouto’s side and holds him as his shoulders shake. He has never seen someone cry this hard so quietly, and he tightens his arms around Shouto. He murmurs placations, and hopes to fuck that he is doing this right as he threads fingers through Shouto’s (stupidly) soft hair.

 

“You’re so good, I got you, not going anywhere Halfie. I have you.”

 

 

Shouto has no idea what's wrong with him. No idea why Katsuki, who is all things brash and loud and rough, is holding him so tightly as he cries. No idea why his quiet reassurances have sent him into hysterics. No idea why it feels so good to cry.

 

In the past, crying had been dangerous. Endeavour hated it when his children were loud, hated it even more when they were emotional. It sent him into rages to see Shouto cry during a session, or even hear him sniffling in his room after. He would throw the door open and say if Shouto has the energy to complain, he has the energy to keep training.

 

Shouto first learned to cry silently, to put a pillow against his face and squeeze himself into the corner of his closet. Later, he learned to not cry at all.

 

So this is...

 

It feels so wrong, but at the same time, he doesn't feel scared. He isn’t terrified of his father’s fiery temper, no. He feels… safe. Which makes sense, considering he's surrounded by nineteen of the nation’s most promising young heroes. But it isn’t that, it isn’t even that he knows Endeavour is hours away, and hasn’t tried to hurt him in years.

 

It's Katsuki. His warm body against Shouto’s, strong arms holding him close and soft chest pillowing his head. His sturdy, rough hands, usually used for destruction, are instead running gently, comfortingly through his hair. His soft words, his even breaths—Shouto needs to calm down. He tries to emulate Katsuki’s calm breathing, until eventually he can breathe in without breathing out a sob. As the tears stop coming so steadily, and as the big, gulping, gasping breaths subside for something more normal, exhaustion washes over him and he slumps into his friend.

 

“Katsuki,” he mumbles against the blond’s chest. He feels him shift, and realizes he's turned them so that the others wouldn’t see his blotchy, tear stained face. The others. Oh god, he just broke down into tears in front of everyone, didn't he? He groans and digs his face into Katsuki more, determined to never come out. How can he look any of them in the eye after this?

 

Katsuki laughs, and the gentle sound reverberates through him, making Shouto feel light. “You know, I think I’ve seen everyone in this class cry. Even Shinsou cried a bit when Denki asked him out. Saw Shoji cry when he thought he killed a moth. The nerd cries all the damn time still. I’ve seen Tsu-chan cry of home-sickness.”

 

Katsuki takes a deep breath, and Shouto moves with him. Clings harder.

 

“Never seen you cry before.” Shouto sighs and pulls back, just enough to look up at his friend, to try and figure out what his expression is. He expected a lot of different, terrible things; disappointment, disgust, pity. But all he sees is this fragile, unbarred fondness, that makes Shouto’s breath all hiccuppy and fills his eyes with stars. Katsuki looks down at him, tilting his head to the side. His red eyes betray the smile in his voice as he says, “I’m happy you trust me.”

 

And Shouto breaks all over again.

 

“Can we—”

 

“Go back? Yeah. I’ll help you up.”

 

Shouto refuses to look back, refuses to acknowledge anyone but Katsuki, because the second he thinks too hard about the fact that every single one of his friends just watched him shatter into little pieces, he is going to throw up. His leg pulses in pain, irregular and sharp like it's trying to keep him on his toes. Somehow though, it hurt less than it had before he cried.

 

Katsuki supports him as they slowly walk back towards the house, whereupon Shouto is deposited upon a stool while Katsuki begins making soup.

 

“Ponytail'e always stocked,” he says, voice still that soft, private cadence that makes Shouto feel fluttery. “Could make the nerd some katsu for dinner.” Shouto wraps his arms around himself and listens as Katsuki calmy speaks about… totally inane stuff. It's comforting, makes Shouto smile to himself. He's glad Katsuki isn’t pushing him for details, gladder still that he seems happy enough to stay with Shouto even after his… embarrassing display .

 

“Are you… not going to ask?” Shouto interrupts while Katsuki lightly raved about the avocadoes Momo has (hopefully he isn’t going to put that in the soup though). Katsuki turns to him, eyebrows bunched up over piercing red eyes.

 

“It’s up to you if you want to talk. Not gonna force you, Icyhot.” The nickname makes Shouto puff out a soundless laugh.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Katsuki’s face, furrowed and concerned, breaks into a self-satisfied grin. “Yeah, anytime Halfie.”

 

The soup is delicious, and so are the sandwiches Katsuki makes for them both. Even so, Shouto finds himself only able to nibble like a chipmunk as they watch some kind of variety show on the enormous T.V in the living room. Shouto isn’t really paying attention, finds Katsuki’s barked out laughter more entertaining anyway. They sit close, Katsuki against his left side as always, Shouto’s head on his friend’s shoulder.

 

Shouto has never been very touchy-feely, in fact had pretty much forgotten the simple joy of being close to another person by the time he entered high school. But one of the many side effects of becoming friends with Izuku, Ochako, and Tenya is physical affection. Izuku is very clingy, likes linking arms even if they're just walking from the cafeteria to their classroom. Ochako likes to kiss everyone on the cheek as a greeting and a farewell, likes holding hands and swinging them. Tenya is the most intense, giving out suffocating hugs and painful back pats at any time.

 

As he got closer with Momo and Hanta, he found that they had their own habits with touching. Hanta often boops his nose or slaps his back, and when they sit together on a couch Hanta has a fondness for stretching out and putting his feet in Shouto’s lap. Momo is all subtle touches to the shoulder or hand, comforting or concerned.

 

But none of his friends touch him the way Katsuki does.

 

Or… well, they do. It isn’t like Katsuki does anything particularly different, in fact they barely even hug. Katsuki would hold his waist, touch his hip or the small of his back. Sometimes he touches his hair, always curious and amused by the colours. When they sit together like this, Katsuki always presses himself completely to Shouto’s left, seeking out his warmth like a cat stretching in a patch of sunlight.

 

But when Katsuki touches him, it feels different. Shouto can't understand it himself, much less explain it to someone else. He just. Likes Katsuki’s hands, and arms, and chest, and face. Even likes it when Katsuki insists on holding his hand and bringing it into his own pocket during winter, grumbling the whole way about the stupid cold. Shouto could never tell if the red on his cheeks and nose was from the cold, or from the handholding.

 

Right now, pressed up against Katsuki, blanket on their laps, arms tangled and Shouto’s head on Katsuki’s shoulder, he feels better than he has in weeks.

 

“Can we talk?” Shouto whispers, fear lancing through him. Katsuki immediately turns down the program they're watching, even though Shouto knows he’d been enjoying it. He doesn't move, doesn't try to face him, which Shouto appreciates. He doesn't know if he can look Katsuki in the eye right now.

 

“Yeah, Sho. I’m here.”

 

The simple words that had been repeated into his hair as he sobbed into Katsuki’s chest send a sweet zing through him, and he breathes in.

 

“I went to see my brother.”

 

Silence.

 

And then— “Natsuo?”

 

Shouto shakes his head.

 

“Fuck, Sho. You…”

 

“His e-execution is coming up.”

 

“Finally,” Katsuki says emphatically. Shouto chokes on his breath, eyes darting to the other’s fiery gaze. “Shouto. He deserves it.”

 

“He is my brother.” Shouto can’t keep the anger out of his voice. Katsuki recoils. “Kats—”

 

“He’s also a fucking serial killer who kidnapped me, in case you forgot.” Katsuki hisses. His voice has gone cold and stony.

 

“I-I know! But. Katsuki, I still—still remember how he was, growing up. My big brother Touya, who doted on me and sh-showed me how to make shapes in our fire, who wanted to protect me from dad. I can’t—I had to know if he was still… Touya.”

 

There's a beat, and then Katsuki prompts, “and?”

 

A shiver wracks Shouto’s body. He's shaking. Katsuki moves closer, putting his hand gently on Shouto’s. “Sho.”

 

“He’s… It’s so hard, Katsuki. He’s so… so different. I know he died… left… when I was really young, but the Touya I knew was so… good. And kind. Why else would we all have mourned for so long? He wasn’t a monster in the making or something. Dad… it’s his fault, but it’s. My fault too. For being born better.” He sounds bitter. Katsuki’s other hand is on him now, holding his knee. Like he needs to physically hold Shouto together, or he would rattle apart.

 

“You were a baby,” he disagrees, and Shouto shakes his head.

 

“He blames me. Hates me as much as he hates d—Endeavour. Said… said he should have wiped out the foul Todoroki legacy when he had the chance.”

 

No more tears come. Shouto just sits there and shakes.

 

After Touya… Dabi, had finally been caught and imprisoned, he was sentenced to death. He was a serial killer after all. It’s not like the result was shocking, but as much as Shouto understands that this is the justice system working as it should, another, darker part of him still wants to save Touya. Still wants to take him away and help him, prove to everyone that his big brother is still in there.

 

Because Touya hesitated . He didn't kill Shouto when he could have, and that’s how they caught him. Because he is still Touya.

 

“Shouto. He hesitated to kill you. He doesn't hesitate with anyone else. He is a murderer, whether he’s Touya or Dabi doesn’t matter. He could have killed me.

 

A shocked whine leaves his lips without warning, and he clamps his mouth shut.

 

He visited Touya five days ago. He has been burning himself every day since.

 

Training, training. Just training.

 

The wound on his leg poundeds, echoes the word. Training, training, training.

 

“I know,” he whispers finally, twisting to look Katsuki in the eyes. He's surprised to find tears clinging to blond lashes. Katsuki blinks and sighed, using his thumb to get rid of them. He expects Katsuki to keep going, to list all of Dabi’s crimes, to remind him of all the people Shouto loves who nearly died at that man’s twisted hands. Instead he just sighs again.

 

“I know you know. Why didn't you take anyone with you?”

 

“Natsu and Fuyumi are… weird, about Touya, I don’t know. I could never do that to my mother, and Endeavour…” Shouto shrugs helplessly. “I don’t even know how to talk to him anymore.”

 

“Shouto,” Katsuki’s voice is sharp, and Shouto looks at him quickly. “Why didn't you take me ?” Shouto’s lips parted.

 

“You would have—”

 

“Of course I would have come. Shouto. Shouto I—”

 

He cuts himself off with a pained look. Shouto wants to reach out and smooth out the plains of his face.

 

“I would have come.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“S’okay,” Katsuki sighs and rubs a palm over his eyes. “This is fucked.”

 

Shouto exhales a light laugh. “Yeah.”

 

“But… Thank you. For telling me.”

 

Shouto shrugs, trying to play at casual. “I guess.”

 

“Have you told anyone else?” Shouto shakes his head. “So you’ve just been wallowing alone for days. Didn't Deku already give you his shitty self-care talk?”

 

Shouto laughs again, nudges Katsuki with his knee. “I’m slow to learn.”

 

“You’re just slow.

 

“I’m in pain, and you’re insulting my intelligence.” Katsuki grins at him brightly, shoving his arm.

 

“If the day ever comes when I don’t, assume I’m fucking compromised and send reinforcements.”

 

Shouto doesn't know how Katsuki manages to make him laugh, proper laugh even, after talking about something so bleak. It makes him feel peculiar, feeling joy on the tail of such black despair. All he knows is to be grateful for Katsuki’s presence.

 

“Thank you,” he says through his laughs. Katsuki’s face turns serious for a moment.

 

“You know I’d do anything for you.”



Notes:

also im kazeohiku on tumblr and kazeohiku_ on twt! please talk to me about angst and todobaku and bnha
chapter updated as of 18.7.21

Chapter 4: The Old Familiar Sting

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Shouto has many habits left over from his upbringing. It makes sense, or at least Izuku told him it does; he spent seventeen years of his life in that household, in that childhood, and has only had the last two years to grow accustomed to life without the constant threat of violence. Izuku says it’s okay if he recovers slowly, because all progress is good progress.

 

Shouto keeps this in mind as he awkwardly climbs onto the roof.

 

The day before ended with Shouto falling asleep on Katsuki’s shoulder, and waking up to his friends cooing and taking photos while Katsuki rolled his eyes and grunted. From there everyone settled in for some anime that was confusing but fun, and returned to the beach for an evening swim. Shouto stayed with Katsuki though, and thoroughly destroyed him in Uno (he won five times in a row before Katsuki decided the rules needed to be changed).

 

It was a good day, even though Shouto felt weird after crying so much. He hadn’t remembered how the effects linger, and very much disliked spending the rest of the day feeling like a soggy tea towel. Katsuki made him a lot of tea during the day and kept insisting he had more soup, something about hydration. Shouto secretly thinks Katsuki just liked the way Shouto complimented and thanked him every time, if his self-satisfied smile was anything to go by.

 

Shouto is sitting comfortably on the roof now, a flat edge over a French window providing the perfect perch.

 

Shouto breathes in deeply, letting the crisp, cool air of the early morning fill his lungs. He repeats the action several times, enjoying the sting of the cold and the strange, purple light everything is bathed in.

 

The early morning, so early it is still dark, has been a refuge for Shouto. The whole Todoroki household would be asleep, and Shouto could comfortably spend a couple hours just… sitting. That wasn’t something his father ever allowed; he had to be studying, or training, or sleeping. Simply existing meant he was being lazy. But up there, on those freezing slanted tiles, watching the sun come up and slowly sizzle the roof… it gave him a sense of serenity he never had when his father was around. No one at home ever found out, he was always back down in time to ‘get up’ for school.

 

But something about the invigorating chill, the perfect, still quiet broken only by birdcall, even the air itself feeling fresher, newer… Shouto has never stopped finding comfort in it. He doesn't do it every morning, and it's getting more and more uncommon with his schedule that he has time to do this, but he finds himself taking the elevator up to the roof of his apartment building whenever his mind feels too full. Like it does now.

 

Because everything is so wrong.

 

Shouto understands that things change, he had that talk with Izuku, he even had it with Aizawa-sensei. He understands that the behaviours he learned that were necessary to survive back then might no longer serve a function now that he’s out. That he might change.

 

He just didn't expect Katsuki to change so much.

 

And he has, a lot. He's different to how he was in third and second year, and completely different to how he was in first. He:s still Bakugou—still brash, loud, confident, quick to anger, grumpy. But he isn’t hurting like he did back then, isn’t bottling up every good thing he feels and sealing it away. He lets it show. He smiles at Shouto, a smile he has come to adore; all sharp teeth and glinting eyes, a look so quintessentially him. He only hesitates a little in heart-to-heart talks. He engages in heart-to-heart talks.

 

Shouto likes it. He likes him, liked him back then, likes him even more now. The question is, why does Katsuki like him, too? Why did Katsuki forgo every opportunity to swim yesterday, in favour of spending time with Shouto, looking after him, feeding him, helping him walk? Why did he even let Shouto fall asleep against him? He should have pushed him off, called him gross, just left. But instead he stayed. He let Shouto drool all over his arm! Shouto doesn’t get it. Why is Katsuki being so kind? Is he being gentle because of the stuff with… Dabi?

 

Shouto scrunches his nose up and lets out a shaky breath. The cloud of misty air he exhales is a familiar sight, and he delicately activates his left side, pumping heat around his body. That must be it… Katsuki thinks Shouto can't handle himself. His breakdown yesterday must have been more intense than he thought. Katsuki must be worried it will happen again… Shouto frowns in frustration. He doesn’t need Katsuki’s pity, doesn’t need him to walk on eggshells. Doesn’t want the kindness if the caveat is I feel bad that you feel bad about your serial killing, kidnapping big brother’s upcoming death.

 

The sun is up, and suddenly Shouto is too hot.

 

“Shocchan? You up here?”

 

Shouto’s head snaps to Izuku as he pokes out the window. A big grin lights up his freckly face as he catches sight of Shouto, and he promptly launches himself out of the window and up to Shouto with a lot more grace than Shouto had clambered out with. “Morning!”

 

“Good morning, Midoriya.”

 

“Aw, c’mon. What’s up? You feeling okay?”

 

Shouto fights the urge to tell Izuku everything. It has been a strong urge ever since they met, after all.

 

“I’m fine,” he says. Izuku raises an incredibly unconvinced eyebrow.

 

“You know that sounds like bullshit, right?” Shouto jumps and turns wide eyes on his best friend. Izuku laughs. “Sorry, Kiri swears a bit more than me, but I guess it rubbed off!”

 

“I suppose he would say you sound manly,” Shouto sniffs and looks away. The sun is getting higher and higher, brighter and brighter. With a controlled shiver, Shouto activates his right side and pumps cooling air between their close bodies. He notices Izuku sigh in relief.

 

“Yeah, he would. He’s so funny, he calls so many things manly, literally just the other day he called a gossip rag with us kissing on the front cover manly.” He lets out another sigh, half exasperated, half dreamy. “God, where does he even get that from? Did his mums call him manly all the time when he was little or something? I should ask him, I bet there’s some kind of funny story there… Hey, wait! Stop it!”

 

Shouto gives Izuku an innocently confused look.

 

“Drop the look Sho, I know you’re trying to distract me with my own boyfriend. We were talking about you.”

 

“Were we?”

 

“You—ugh.” Izuku laughs and punches his shoulder. “Look, there is a reason you confided in me years ago, and again and again after. There’s a reason you told me what going on the roof early in the morning means to you. Talking about things is good and healthy Sho, even if it’s not me, just talk to someone. Like Kacchan.”

 

Shouto turns to his friend sharply, lightly playful smile dropping off his face. “Why Katsuki?”

 

Izuku blinks and frowned. “Uh, ‘cuz you guys are close? After me, he’s your closest friend, right?”

 

Is he? Shouto has never really thought of it that way. He has categories, like best friend, close friend, friend, co-worker. But Katsuki… huh, weird. Shouto has never really put him in any of those. He couldn’t be his best friend, that was Izuku’s job. And close friend doesn’t seem right either. As often occurs, Katsuki defies reasoning. Shouto wonders why his stomach does that funny swoopy thing at the thought.

 

“I don’t want to bother him,” he says finally, nibbling on his bottom lip and trying to avoid the split in the middle. Last thing he needs is more blood.

 

“Trust me Sho, you wouldn’t be bothering him.” Izuku grins and claps his friend on the shoulder. “Right. How about we surprise everyone and get started on breakfast?” Shouto nods, then yells in a very undignified manner when Izuku grabs him under the arms, activates his quirk, and jumps three stories to the ground where he floats to a gentle stop. Izuku just called it the express way down.

 

 

 

Katsuki sits up and rubs his eyes. There's a weight on his legs, and when he kicks them he hears Denki yelp.

 

“Dude!”

 

“Fuck you doing, sleeping on my legs. Creep.”

 

“I have a boyfriend!” Pikachu complains, and Katsuki just grunts and wiggles till he is completely free of the little cling-on. How Shinsou handles that every night, he has no clue. It's like sleeping with a poorly trained golden retriever.

 

“Smells good,” he grumbles with a deep breath. He follows his nose to the kitchen, where he comes upon a scene he's never seen before. Shouto in a pink and white frilly apron sitting on a chair in front of the stove and sizzling bacon. Deku, in an apron that says what’s cooking good looking? flipping pancakes like he was born to do it. And finally, Shinsou putting a cartoon of eggs one by one into the sink, which is filled with water. His apron is covered in sunflowers, which somehow seems the most incongruous. “What’s cooking, good looking?” Katsuki asks incredulously by way of greeting.

 

Deku turns and grins at him, catching a pancake perfectly without even looking. Shitty fucking nerd, when did he get so coordinated? Or good at cooking for that matter? “Morning Kacchan! American-style breakfast!” Deku says, turning back to the stove he's huddled in front of with Shouto.

 

“Wasn’t asking you,” Katsuki grumbled. “Asking Shouto. He’s way hotter than you, damn nerd.” Shouto turns around and stares at him like he just called his mother a MILF.

 

“What?”

 

“What?” Katsuki repeats, smirking. “I said what I said.” He turns away before he can feel too embarrassed, because he's Bakugou Katsuki for shitting fuck’s sake, and he will not blush right now. “God, Mind Fuck here too huh? What the hell are you doing to those eggs.”

 

Shinsou stares at him, the bags under his eyes as pronounced as ever, purple hair only marginally more stylish than it was in high school. “Making sure they’re in date.”

 

“You kidding? Ponytail always stocks this place up before we come.”

 

Shinsou continues his deadpan stare.

 

“You got me. I can’t cook. I just want to look busy so Deku doesn't make me clean something.” Deku laughs good naturedly, but Katsuki knows he is three seconds away from whipping Shinsou’s ass. So Katsuki decides to be kind and save him.

 

“Your boyfriend’s an adulterer,” he says with a casual half smile, eyebrows raised. Deku squeals and drops the pancake he was flipping obnoxiously, Shouto’s shoulders jump. Mind Fuck himself is the only one with no visible reaction.

 

“Denki. Is what he says true?”

 

Katsuki looks behind to see a sleepy Denki swinging his eyes between them like a fucking dumbass owl.

 

“W-what!? No! Toshi! Of course not! I slept with him, that’s—”

 

Katsuki nearly kills himself laughing when Shouto of all people lets out the scandalized gasp.

 

“KAMINARI!” Deku screams, while Shinsou watches on, impassive save for the smirk on his face.

 

“NOT LIKE THAT! OH MY GOD! I WOULD NEVER CHEAT ON HITOSHI! AND DEFS NOT WITH KATSUKI OF ALL PEOPLE!”

 

And suddenly Katsuki’s temper flares and he rounds on the discount Pokémon with fire in his eyes. “Take that back! If you were gonna cheat on Mind Fuck with anyone, it should be me! I’m hot, we’re friends, you’re clingy as fuck anyhow!”

 

“Are we really doing this,” he hears Shinsou mumble.

 

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you commit adultery with me!” Katsuki demands.

 

“I mean—what is--! Todoroki,” he says emphatically. Katsuki freezes.

 

“What?” Shouto says. It's becoming apparent that what is the only word the Half ‘n Half bastard knows.

 

“Is that really the only reason you wouldn’t legitimately cheat on me with Bakugou? Because he already has—”

 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP,” Katsuki roars before shit could go too far. Shinsou smirks at him like the evil little gremlin he is.

 

“I’m confused,” Shouto murmurs, and Deku pats his head comfortingly.

 

“We know,” he sighs.

 

“Why the fuck are you bitches so loud,” Mina demands, slouching into the kitchen, her slippers (that bore her own plushified face) slapping the tiles loudly. “It’s too damn early for your bullshit Kats.”

 

“We were discussing Denki cheating on me,” Shinsou says evenly. At some point he must have made coffee, because he is smiling behind the rim of the mug.

 

“Lmao, as if. That boy is so whipped for you. Should hear him go on about you when he’s sloppy drunk.”

 

“I have,” Shinsou is full-on smiling now.

 

“Can we please stop talking about me like I’m not here?” Denki whines. Shinsou, Mina and Katsuki all say no simultaneously.

 

Katsuki sniffs the air suddenly and darts around the kitchen island. “Move, Icyhot, you’re burning the goddamn bacon.” And he hates that even when he's saying something that should only have anger attached to it, and maybe frustration, he can still hear the fond edge to his own voice. When Shouto takes too long to move, Katsuki just pushes in front of him, only just managing to save the bacon and flip it over in time.

 

He hears Mina’s wolf whistle, and glances over his shoulder to see why, but—she's looking at him?

 

“Give poor Shocchan some warning before you give him a lap dance, Blasty!” Katsuki looks down, only to realize Shouto is… staring directly at his ass. Which is about an inch away from his face. Which is burning red, by the way. And then Shouto looks up, and his eyes are filled with something hot, and Katsuki feels his heart climb into his oesophagus. He may have stopped breathing.

 

“Uh,” Shouto says.

 

“Oh my god,” Deku groans, before grabbing the back of Shouto’s chair and dragging him away. “I swear, one of these days… if they don’t…” he mumbles as he retreats. Shout is still staring at him.

 

“The bacon is burning,” he says, as if that makes anything better.

 

Mina, Denki and Shinsou all give him the exact same look.

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

Over the next twenty or so minutes, the rest of their friends gather in the kitchen. Feeding this many nineteen-year-olds is never an easy feat, but Katsuki has about five years of experience by now. By the time he's able to sit down to his own breakfast, decidedly far away from Shouto, most of the rest of the class is already finishing up.

 

Deku and Eijirou sit close together, laughing at the faces they are each making out of eggs and bacon on their pancakes. Pink Cheeks and Ears are throwing bits of leftovers up for Tsu-chan to catch with her long tongue, while Glasses chastises them for playing with their food.

 

“So,” Katsuki says loudly, managing to draw most everyone’s attention. He looks at Ponytail. “What’s on today’s schedule? I usually don’t stay for the second or third day.” He refuses to elaborate on why this time is different, although he can feel Shouto’s gaze on the back of his neck like a brand.

 

Momo smiles and pulls out a diary from god knows where, creating a pen with the simple ease of flexing her wrist. She jots something down and draws her pen across the page several times. “Well, today is usually for hiking, there’s a great trail just up the hill. Takes us through some woods, up the mountain, to a great lookout!”

 

“The fuck, why did no one ever tell me you went hiking? I fucking love hiking!”

 

Silence. Which is fucking difficult to achieve in a room of twenty teenagers. And then, Aoyama, apparently the only one brave enough, speaks up.

 

“Bakugou-san, please take no offense, but you turn a nice stroll into a training session. It is not a race to ze top, as you seem to think.” Katsuki glares at the guy, who has only recently come back from Paris and is sounding more idiotic than ever.

 

“Fine, I’ll go slow so you idiots can keep up. And if you can’t, I’ll just leave you behind.” They all shrug at that, and he gives Deku a challenging look.

 

“What about Shocchan?” Tsu asks suddenly, chewing on her fingers and looking at Shouto with worried eyes. “Can you hike? Isn’t your foot hurt?”

 

All eyes are on Shouto in an instant, and it is immediately apparent how uncomfortable it makes him. His shoulders draw up and looks at his feet. He’s gone pale. “I’ll just stay behind, it’s okay.” It's quiet for a moment, and it looks like Shouto’s bitten his lip hard enough for it to be bleeding again.

 

“I’ll stay with him,” Katsuki says, even though he’d been looking forward to the hike.

 

“No,” Shouto refutes, and suddenly he isn’t looking small and shy anymore. His eyes are bright and determined, the set of his shoulders more aggressive. “No one is missing out just because I stubbed my toe.” His voice is strong at first, but sputters out towards the end. Katsuki finds himself wishing he had sat near Shouto, if only so this conversation wouldn’t be shouted over everyone’s heads. And also maybe so he could touch his knee and just. Make sure he's okay.

 

Katsuki’s mind still swirls around their talk yesterday, as much as he tries to keep it confined to the same dark section he put memories of his kidnapping. “Sho,” he tries, keeping his voice as gentle as he could, so that maybe Shouto would hear that he genuinely doesn’t mind staying back with him. But for some reason, the kind tone makes Shouto go stiff. And he looks… angry. A proper, deep frown set over his features.

 

“It’s not a discussion. I’m not a baby, I can be alone for a few hours. Go on the hike.” And his voice really brokered no argument. Katsuki nods, slightly numb from the harshness in Shouto’s tone and the anger of his words. The conversation continues around him, everyone quickly deciding Shouto is right. Katsuki looks down at his cold breakfast.

 

Did he do something wrong? He doesn’t mean to imply Shouto can't take care of himself. He just. Wants to help. Wants to be with him, most of all. Especially now, when he knows Shouto’s instinct is to isolate himself. He swallows, and reminds himself that they're coming back. Shouto would only be alone for a few hours, just like he said.

 

Fuck, is Katsuki being… Too clingy? Has Shouto finally noticed how many extra touches and smiles and words Katsuki has for him? And he… doesn’t like it? Damnit, get a grip. Katsuki stands up jerkily, leaving his unfinished breakfast and heading back to grab some clothes for walking.

 

As always, it takes a while for everyone to be ready to go, and by the time people are heading out the door Katsuki has been actively avoided by Shouto three times.

 

He really fucked up, didn't he?

 

Maybe he can ask the class reps if he can blow up the ocean. Just a bit. He's getting sweaty.

 

The walk is good. He knew it would be—hiking has been his go-to way to let off steam and clear his mind for years. He does end up outpacing everyone, as expected, but it's a hike not a stroll, damnit. Usually in similar circumstances back in high school, his friends would always keep up with him, because for some bizarre reason, they actually liked being near him. But Mina is riding on Hanta’s shoulders, making them a slow and poorly balanced tower; Denki and Shinsou are doing that god awful we’re boyfriends but we flirt like strangers who just met shite; and Eijirou, usually his most reliable friend, is stopping every few metres to help identify plants with Deku. The pair of idiots put enough flowers in each other’s hair that it practically takes up their whole heads.

 

So Katsuki walks ahead. He walks fast and steady, picking his way up sheer cliff faces rather than taking the well-worn path. It's more exciting that way, plus he’s always liked rock-climbing.

 

But however fast his legs are carrying him, his mind is moving faster.

 

As always, his thoughts are all about Shouto. About the little bit of flirting that morning, the so-called ‘lap-dance’ he unintentionally gave Shouto, the way the boy blushed so hair his skin blended in with his scar. It had been good, Katsuki finally felt like maybe Shouto was interested in him too… until it all went to shit.

 

Katsuki should have expected it really, nothing good ever came to him without a but attached. Shouto had sounded so angry with him, more so than he ever has, and Katsuki can't quite figure out why. Usually when Katsuki pisses someone off, it's on purpose. He doesn’t know how to go about figuring out why his words, softer and kinder for Shouto than they are for anyone else, had annoyed the boy so much. Is it just Katsuki’s clinginess, or is there something more? Is he just touchy after yesterday’s events? Is he just that desperate to be alone that he felt he needed to be firm about it?

 

“FUCK!” Katsuki bellows as his, frankly drenched, hand slips off his next hold, and he falls a few metres to the ground. “Fuck, shit, ow, goddamn it!” He yells, rolling down the steep hill he just climbed up, branches tearing at his skin. He reaches out and grabs the thickest tree near him, only for it to snap. He slams into a boulder with a groan.

 

Shit.

 

He lets off small explosions, eating up the nitro-glycerine slicking up his palms. He has nicks all up his arms, and fuck does he regret the tank-top, but luckily only a couple are deep enough to bleed. Even so, he needs to go clean them. No telling what gross shit is in his wounds right now, tryna fuck his day up even worse than it already was. He hauls himself up and picks his way through the underbrush and slowly back towards the path – he hadn’t realized how far he’d strayed. In fact, he has apparently gone so far that no one heard his yelling. Or at least, no one who is concerned enough to come looking.

 

His back aches as he makes his way to the beach house, and the blood is beginning to congeal on his arms. Where does Ponytail keep the first aid kits? He pushes his sweaty hair off his forehead and grimaces at the dirt in it. He’ll definitely need a shower too.

 

He wonders idly where Shouto is. It isn’t exactly unusual that he's this quiet, but he did expect him to be watching T.V or something.

 

And then, a sound, short, sharp – echoes through the otherwise silent house. Katsuki frowns and follows the noise. It could be anything, it is too quick and soft to know—and then another noise.

 

“Ah, oh god, sh-shit—!”

 

“Shouto!” Katsuki yells, and he is sprinting.

 

“Kats—nononononono don’t come in, stop, please you—”

 

Katsuki bursts through the bathroom door, breathless and with his palms up, explosions cracking, ready to fight because it's Shouto and he sounds hurt—

 

Shouto is alone in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat. Bloody bandages half wrapped around his thigh. His eyes are huge and desperate, and he is panting, gasping.

 

“Sho? What’s going on?”

 

 

Notes:

hi again! hope yall liked this chapter! if ya did pls leave a comment and a kudos it would meant the world to me uwu
as always, im kazeohiku on tumblr and kazeohiku_ on twt! feel free to swing by and chat!! i love talking about this story, todobaku, and bnha is general!
chapter updated as of 18.7.21

Chapter 5: Endurance Training (Aching)

Summary:

Aching by Lowhi

Notes:

tw/ some kinda gruesome? wound description
if u guys can think of any main tags im missing pls let me know!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“S-stop, please, don’t look, Katsuki!”

 

He ignores Shouto, rushing over and falling to his knees beside him. His hands are shaking as he reaches up to inspect the area, but Shouto recoils.

 

“What is this? Did someone hurt you? Why didn't you say anything? Dammit, Shouto!” Shouto cowers from him, but Katsuki is too angry to notice. “Show me the injury,” he demands when the boy refuses to move his hands. “Fuck is wrong with you!” He growls, wrenching Shouto’s hands away and unwrapping the remaining bandages. Shouto gasps in pain, scabs peeling off and blood running down his thigh as Katsuki lifts the bandage off, trying to be gentle. As soon as he sees the wound, his stomach rolls.

 

“Katsuki, please, I’m fine, I don’t—don’t need help, I can deal with this, it’s nothing.”

 

“You call this nothing?” Katsuki whispers, feeling sicker the longer he looks. It's a burn, that much he can tell, but it's so… he doesn't even know, it's just so fucked up. It's disgusting, and it looks painful as fuck, yet here Shouto is, tryna tell him he's fine. “Sho, this is so fucking bad. How did you get this? Have you had it this whole time?”

 

Katsuki looks up, tries to meet Shouto’s eyes. The boy flinches and whips his head away, whole face scrunched up. Katsuki’s heart thunders in his chest. Why is he reacting like this? If this was just an injury he got in a villain fight, why wouldn’t he just go to the hospital? It looks… really bad. Katsuki has never seen a wound like it before. “Oi – Icyhot. Fuckin’ look at me. How did this happen?”

 

There is a pause, Shouto takes a few deep breaths. “Just an accident. I’m taking care of it. You don’t—”

 

“Stop tryna make me leave, ‘cuz it ain’t fuckin’ happening. Were you putting on antiseptic?” Shouto stares at him, his face tight and drawn in pain. Finally he nods at the sink beside them, and Katsuki grabs the little first-aid kit.

 

“What about you?” Shouto asks, voice weak. Katsuki can't help but scoff.

 

“These scrapes ain’t shit compared to this. Let me take care of you, okay?” Shouto looks away again, and Katsuki sighs. He puts some antiseptic cream on a clean wipe and begins dabbing at the edges of the wound, guilt overwhelming him every time Shouto shudders in pain, or makes those tiny noises. He has no idea if he's doing this right, he really isn’t the kind of hero that personally attends to people’s wounds—unlike Shouto. “Um. Should I… burn cream?”

 

“It’s fine, I can take it from here,” Shouto grinds out. Katsuki holds back an eye roll. Like hell he can. He looks at the wound again, studying it more closely. It is definitely a burn, but it looks frostbitten, and it's pock-ridden with scabs and burst blisters, yellowing around the edges. Katsuki tries to be as gentle as possible while rubbing the burn cream in, using his other hand to rub soft circles into Shouto’s hip. How does a burn end up frozen anyway? What villain can even get close enough to Shouto to cause this kind of damage? And there’s certainly no natural way for this to happen. Katsuki sits back on his calves as he puts the cream back in the kit. He pulls out a roll of sterile bandages, idly glancing at Shouto’s thigh as he does so.

 

And that’s when he notices.

 

Shouto’s thighs are covered in scars.

 

Big ones, deep, some with raised white ripples. Katsuki had been so focused on the bright red burn that he hadn't noticed the more faded grey, pink, and white scar tissue all over Shouto’s thighs. And they all looked like healed versions of Shouto’s current injury.

 

Katsuki blinks, and all the pieces fall into place.

 

And Katsuki explodes.

 

Shock blitzes through his skin, horror and disgust twisting his guts until he has to cover his mouth, convinced he's going to vomit. He rears back, stumbles onto his feet and towers over Shouto.

 

“What—What the—WHAT THE FUCKING SHIT, YOU’RE DOING THIS TO YOURSELF YOU CRAZY BASTARD? WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THIS, ARE YOU INSANE? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?”

 

He screams at Shouto from the other side of the bathroom, chest heaving with anger, but mostly with fear. How long… How long has he been doing this to himself? With no one noticing? Why is he doing this to himself? Katsuki tries to calm down, tries to quell the terrified rage that is about to come spewing out of his mouth.

 

“Shouto,” he gasps, and it sounds as broken and ragged as he feels. When he finally calms down enough to see his friend’s face, he realizes the boy is cowering from him, arms up in a defensive position, whole body curled up small and angled away from him. His shoulders are trembling. “Fuck, Sho, I’m sorry.” Katsuki rushes back, kneels in front of Shouto, hands an anchor point on the boy’s knees. “I didn't mean to yell, I’m sorry, I just—I’m really fucking scared and confused right now. Can you help me out?”

 

This is how Katsuki speaks to little kids at rescue sites, or panicking people he just saved from a villain. He hopes it works on Shouto now as he wills his steady warmth and even breathing to help Shouto calm down too.

 

He's reacting this way because of him. But also because of Endeavour. Because Katsuki… Katsuki sounded like his abusive shit of a father.

 

“God, Sho, I’m so so sorry. I promise, I didn't—I won’t yell anymore, okay? Please look at me. Please talk to me.”

 

Slowly, Shouto’s shoulders stop jumping. His position relaxes, his hands now just covering his face, rather than ready to defend himself from a punch. “Thank you,” Katsuki quietly encourages. He is reminded of the hours he used to spend with Deku and Kiri, where they would play traumatized victims or panicky civilians and Katsuki would practice not… screaming in their faces to grow a pair and calm the fuck down.

 

Somehow, the soothing voice and comforting words come so much more easily when it's a scared Shouto he's talking to.

 

Katsuki tries not to look at his friend’s legs. Tries to tamp down his own panic, for the sake of helping Shouto. It's not easy. He still wants to yell and scream and blow up any and every motherfucker that made Shouto do this. But this shit isn’t about him.

 

“Hey,” he prompts, one hand leaving Shouto’s knee and curling around the boy’s slender wrist. He doesn't try to tug it away, just holds him gently. “Can I see your face? You don’t have to look at me. It would just help me if I could see you right now.” Slowly, Shouto’s grip on his own face loosens, and Katsuki is able to pull his hand away. “Hi, Sho.” The boy glances at him, eyes rimmed in red, dried tears on his cheeks, lips bitten to bleeding. “I’m sorry,” Katsuki says, maybe too forcefully, because yelling at Shouto like that had been a major fuck up. “I shouldn’t have gotten upset. I scared you, and I’m sorry.”

 

Shouto’s shoulders stiffen, and he looks defiant suddenly. It's good to see an expression so much more… Shouto-like on the boy’s tear-swollen face. “I’m not scared,” he disagrees. “If I got scared—that would be pathetic.”

 

Katsuki seizes up, accidentally tightening his grip on Shouto. “That’s not you, Shouto. That’s your old man. Don’t let his ugly words come out of your mouth, you got it?” Shouto just stares at him. “Sho. Is this because of him? Did he… teach you? To self-harm?”

 

“It’s not self-harm,” Shouto refutes immediately. Katsuki raises his eyebrows. “It’s… he…” Shouto swallows and looks away. “He called it endurance training.”

 

“That fucker ,” Katsuki hisses, barely able to get a hold of his rage before it flares into something uglier. That fucking monster deserves to be behind bars. He deserves to be executed right alongside his fucked up eldest son.

 

“K-Katsuki, I’m fine. It’s not… self-harm. It’s a form of training, so it’s okay.”

 

Katsuki’s heart aches. Shouto sounded so… sincere. Like he truly believes that. Katsuki listens to the drip-drip of the faucet for a few moments, makes sure his voice can come out calm and reasonable.

 

“That’s bullshit,” well that failed. Katsuki squeezes Shouto’s knee, tries to remind himself that this isn’t about him, that he needs to help Shouto right now, and become an inconsolable mess later when he can hide it. “Do you think any of us do that shit? You think that I—that I explode myself? And call it endurance training? Shouto, you're hurting yourself. The method doesn’t matter, the end result does. You are using your own quirk to hurt yourself. That’s not okay. Your father fucking lied to you.”

 

Shouto is silent, and Katsuki chances a glance back up to Shouto’s face. Huge tears pool in his eyes, lips trembling with half-aborted sobs. As soon as they make eye-contact, the tears are streaming down Shouto’s face.

 

When Katsuki was little and he got hurt, his dad would always kneel in front of him and wipe his tears away with the back of his hand, smile at him and call him brave. Katsuki reaches up, hand trembling, and carefully wipes at the tears streaming down Shouto’s face, the backs of his knuckles moving against warm, soft skin. Shouto watches him, then tugs his wrist out of Katsuki’s loose grip. He leans forward, and makes the same gesture as Katsuki.

 

He wipes away tears that Katsuki hadn’t even noticed slipping down his hot cheeks. He breathes out shakily, tries to calm down, but only manages to make more tears come out. He presses his eyes shut, embarrassed. He's supposed to be looking after Shouto, not making this about him, damnit!

 

“Why are you crying?” Shouto asks, his voice barely above a whisper. It sounds thick and wet, and Katsuki feels his shoulders jump with a suppressed sob. Fuck, get it together.

 

“I’m sad,” Katsuki breathes out.

 

The bathroom is cold. The tiles under his bare feet send a frigid chill crawling up his legs on wicked sharp talons. He can easily balance out the ice in his blood with his heat, but somehow he knows that using his quirk right now would end badly. There are way too many emotions warring inside him, he feels dangerous and volatile. But nothing could have prepared him for the wall of feelings that slams into him when Katsuki says those two words.

 

Like with most things relating to Katsuki, his words were blunt, straightforward, and honest. There is no obfuscating the truth, no dancing around it. He is… sad. And it's Shouto’s fault. This is why he never wanted his friends to find out. He knew they wouldn’t understand, knew they would react badly. But now that it's actually happening—Shouto feels an overwhelming sense of relief.

 

He doesn't have to hide from Katsuki anymore. The thought makes his whole body weak, a similar feeling to after a big fight. The relief and shock and joy hitting all at once, body finally giving in to exhaustion. How long has Shouto maintained his fighting stance? How long has it been since he could relax like this?

 

Shouto closes his eyes and presses his face into Katsuki’s hand, which shifts to lay open on his cheek. It is warm and welcome and makes Shouto absolutely melt. He has no idea why such a simple gesture fills him up with so much light.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, tired sounding. He is so tired.

 

He opens his eyes, looks down at where Katsuki is still kneeling in front of him. He is unprepared for the strained smile the boy gives him. “Sho, fuck. Don’t apologise.” Katsuki lurches forward, pressing his forehead to Shouto’s lower thigh. He feels himself tense and relax; physical contact has always been… easier with Katsuki. And right now, he welcomes it with open arms. His hand finds the back of Katsuki’s head and threads in his messy hair. “I want to help you,” he says, and Shouto can feel the words against his skin. He wonders if anyone has ever been so direct with him.

 

“I think. That I might be beyond helping. I’ve been like this for so long.”

 

Katsuki shakes his head, the soft strands of his hair tickling Shouto’s palm.

 

“Never say that to a hero. I’m gonna save you no matter what, okay?”

 

A small laugh leaves Shouto’s lips, and it is so odd how Katsuki manages to bring him back from the edge with a few touches and words.

 

“Okay.”



Notes:

sorry that this took awhile and is shorter, but tbh it was really hard to write! when this fic is complete i will most likely be going thru and re-editing everything and changing somethings sorry im rly sorry if this chapter kinda sucks, but hopefully i can improve it later! ty as always for reading, ur comments on the last chapter were so great i loved reading them all! and don't forget, follow me on twitter (kazeohiku_) where i talk about my fics, bnha, anime, and all kinds of things! i really need friends hah,,
chapter updated as of 18.7.21

Chapter 6: I Glow Pink

Notes:

AAAAAAAAA

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“You’re… not going to tell anyone, right?” Shouto turns his head to look at Katsuki, who frowns up at the seafoam blue ceiling. They migrated to the master bedroom upstairs, silently but mutually deciding they both had a great need of an insanely soft bed.

 

“You don’t want anyone else to know? Not even Deku?”

 

Shouto feels ill at the mere thought of how Izuku would have reacted in Katsuki’s place. All he knows is there would have been a whole lot more crying… and there had already been a lot of that. “God, no. It’s bad enough that you know. I never wanted…”

 

“Let me guess, you never wanted your friends to see you like this or whatever shit.”

 

Shouto bites his lip. It's difficult to gauge how Katsuki is feeling, and that in itself is strange. He has the kind of face that displays any and all expressions to their full extent. Shouto can usually tell his friend’s moods with just a glance. But right now, Katsuki’s face is… blank. And Shouto really, really hates it.

 

“Do you… Am I…” Shouto cuts himself off, trying to think of the correct words. “Do I disgust you…?”

 

“What!?” Katsuki flips over to his side, then pulls himself up so he's on his hands and knees beside him, blank face giving way to frustration. Shouto can't help but smile up at him weakly. Even when he's angry at him, Shouto prefera this. “No, dumbass, of course not. I just…” Katsuki lets out a growl of frustration and sits back on his knees, scrubbing a rough hand through his hair. His bicep flexes, and Shouto nearly warns him that his band-aids are going to pop off. “I’m not good with this shit. If it was Deku, or Kiri, or even fuckin’ Tape Face, they could handle this way better than me.”

 

It's Shouto’s turn to sigh in frustration. He sits up, supporting his torso with his arms behind so that he can put his face near Katsuki’s. He had inherited that from Fuyumi, probably; using closeness to express sincerity. Whenever Yumi told him something important, she would kneel on the ground and put her hands on his cheeks, put her face close to his and look into his eyes. Shouto always knew it was serious if she did that.

 

So Shouto puts his face close, nose nearly nudging Katsuki’s, and gently holds Katsuki’s burning face. His cheek is so warm, and Katsuki is staring down at him with enormous eyes. Shouto smiles. It's tender and warm-hearted, and Shouto tries to ignore the weirdly fast pounding of his own heart. He's only imitating Fuyumi, right? He takes a deep breath, looks into Katsuki’s wide, deep red eyes.

 

“I’m glad it was you, Katsuki. If anyone had to find out… I wanted it to be you.”

 

And Shouto didn't really know that until he said it. It is painfully, obviously true, but Shouto has always been so preoccupied with ignoring his feelings and pushing his friends away that he never realized it. It feels like a burden halved, like his own chest is lighter for having shared his heart.

 

Katsuki remains very still. His lips have parted, and his breath is coming in heavy pants, like he just ran up a hill. Shouto tips his head to the side curiously, wondering why Katsuki looks so… is it shock? But the good kind. Surprised, but more intense. Whatever emotion it is, it looks adorable upon Katsuki’s face.

 

“Um.”

 

“FUCK!”

 

Katsuki screams and whirls around, hands thrust out in front of him like the mostly confused Tsu-chan at the doorway is a diabolical criminal.

 

“Damn it, Tsu. How they fuck do you get so quiet!?” Katsuki growls. Shouto sits up more, enough that he no longer needs to lean on his arm. Katsuki’s back is to him, and Shouto can see the way his shoulders rise and fall with every breath. His arms look strong and bronzed, emphasised by the tight black tank top he insisted on wearing all the time, even after all of Class 3-A, some of 3-B, and even Aizawa-sensei, had signed a petition begging Katsuki to not wear it anymore. Denki and Mina had pressured him into signing it, even though he actually thought it looked really good on Katsuki.

 

“That’s the point, Todobro! It’s too dangerous! I can’t focus at all whenever he wears it, my marks are literally getting worse.”

 

“See, Shouto-kun? That’s why we need your vote! Denki’s graduation is on the line!”

 

“Wasn’t that always questionable?”

 

Shouto shifts and his wound burns anew, and Shouto’s mind is torn away from… wherever it was going.

 

“What are you guys doing…?”

 

“None of your fucking business, Froppy!”

 

Shouto wonders why Katsuki looks so flustered. Why is he acting like this is all such a big deal? Shouto is just trying to be as genuine and sincere as possible, so that Katsuki would never question himself like that again. Katsuki is meant to be bold and brash, self-doubt is just… Shouto never wants to see him like that.

 

“We were just talking,” Shouto explains, and Tsu-chan’s eyes flicked to him.

 

“I’m sure you are, kero,” she ribbits. Shouto frowns and Katsuki makes a noise like he's being strangled. Tsu just laughs and turns to walk away. “Just wanted to say we’re back, it started raining. Deku is worried about you.”

 

“Tell him to fuck off,” Katsuki replies easily. Tsu leaves and Katsuki turns back to him, his eyes full of something Shouto can't identify. It’s how he looks at Shouto when he touches him, though. Maybe he wants a hug?

 

Shouto opens his arms expectantly.

 

“What… what the hell are you doing, Icyhot.”

 

“Hug,” is all Shouto says by way of explanation. It's clearly what Katsuki wants, but if he says that he might scare him away. Like a cat, you have to let him sniff your hand and come to you. Katsuki givee him an adorably lost look before he apparently deflates, all the tension he hadn’t noticed in his shoulders melting away as he crawls over to nuzzle against Shouto.

 

He is so warm. Shouto sighs and lea his mind drift as he slowly relaxes. He hadn’t noticed how exhausted he was until he has Katsuki’s body against his, warm and solid and so very comforting.

 

Katsuki knows his secret.

 

At the thought, his heart rate spikes and he feels the panicky thoughts start to push at the edges of his mind. It's only being able to tighten his arms around Katsuki that prevents the thoughts from tearing his mind apart, stopping his father’s voice from dragging him further down.

 

Don’t let his ugly words come out of your mouth.

 

Shouto swallows and angrily holds back the tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. No more crying, for god’s sake. He hasn’t drunk enough water for this.

 

It is true though, isn’t it? That even though he's been away from his father for two years, he still finds the man’s words and philosophies dictating his choices. He hasn’t so much as spoken to Endeavour in months, and yet he hears his voice every day. How did Katsuki pick up on that?

 

“Sho?” Katsuki’s voice is muffled from where his face is buried in Shouto’s ribs, the vibrations echoing in his chest.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“We… we gotta talk about this more. But we can wait till after Momo’s party. For now, let’s just relax. Alright?”

 

Shouto wills his heart to not do anything stupid, because Katsuki would surely know. “Yeah,” he whispers, looking forward to the rest of their stay while dreading when they have to go home. “Can we sleep like this, Katsuki?” His voice is even quieter now, barely sound at all. When his friend doesn’t answer, Shouto looks down. All he can see is the crown of Katsuki’s golden head, his strong arm thrown over his waist, other hand curled into his shirt. His curled-up legs are warm against Shouto’s. He's already fallen asleep. Shouto smiles and yawns, lets his body relax, and falls into that snug embrace.



Katsuki wakes up to a mouthful of silky hair. He had dreamt about frolicking in the softest field of grass in the world, evenly split between red and white.

 

Usually, Katsuki awakens explosively. His dreams tend to be about villains and injuries and fear, and coming into wakefulness means he's jerking from a painful dream death. Makes for unpleasant mornings; he’s been called a demon for how angry he is after waking up.

 

It has been years, or maybe it's never even happened before, since he woke up naturally. He can feel the dim, watery light that distills through the windows, a deep orange against his eyelids that tells him that he slept till sunset. He shifts with a content moan, curling his arms tighter around...

 

Around...

 

Hang on.

 

Hang. The fuck. On.

 

Katsuki only barely resists the urge to shriek and fling himself out the nearest window when his mind finally regains enough cognitive function to realize the thing he is cuddling so tightly, the thing that is so warm and soft and welcoming, is Shouto.

 

During their nap, their positions had managed to change enough that Shouto’s face is against Katsuki’s neck, his hands clutching the front of his tank top, one leg literally thrown over his hip.

 

Holy fucking shit.

 

Their bodies are so close, so intertwined, surely this is what it feels like to wake up in a lover’s embrace.

 

Katsuki starts at the thought, and Shouto snuffles against his neck, Jesus fuck that’s so cute, and shifts against him. Katsuki simultaneously wants to exist in this moment forever, and also launch himself into the sun. Catapult himself to the next dimension. Is he taking advantage of Shouto? Even if he was the one who wanted the hug (Katsuki straight up thought he was going to die when Shouto opened his arms up like that, small half-pout twisting his lips, like a puppy who wanted to be held—), and even if Katsuki had been asleep when their position changed, isn’t this creepy of him? Isn’t he wrong for letting this happen when he knows his feelings for Shouto are the least platonic kind?

 

Eject me straight into Thirteen-sensei. I’m ready to perish.

 

“Mm… Kats?”

 

Scratch that. I will live forever. I will never die. I am the most powerful man in the world.

 

“Y-yes.” Did his voice just fucking break? The human body is surely not capable of handling this much love for another person without kissing them.

 

“Ah… sorry, did I make you uncomfortable? I curl up in my sleep.” Shouto doesn’t wait for an answer, retracting his leg and sitting up with a flinch. “Ow,” he whispers.

 

“S’fine,” Katsuki dismisses, reluctant to remove his arms from the love of his life’s waist. He does anyway, and as soon as their last point of connection separates, Katsuki is freezing. “Does it hurt a lot?”

 

Shouto shrugs and looks away. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

 

Katsuki sighs, rubbing a hand over his still sleep-stiff face. “Fuck off with that shit, if you’re in pain then say something. Ponytail must have painkillers ‘round here somewhere.” Katsuki goes to stand up, but Shouto’s hand darts out and latches onto his shirt. His eyes are intense, all the sleepy warmth gone from his body.

 

“Don’t say anything about my leg,” he says, and his voice is cold and hard and Katsuki hates it.

 

“I fuckin’ know, damnit.” Then Katsuki mentally slaps himself and angles himself toward Shouto again. “Sorry,” he blurts quickly. “I won’t say anything, I promise. I’ll tell her I woke up with a headache.”

 

That cold look melts from Shouto’s face, and he just looks relieved. “Thank you.” Katsuki nods and leaves the room. He resists the urge to look back, to burn the image of Shouto, small, sleepy, and tangled up in the sheets of the bed they just shared, into his mind. He'll probably never be able to look at Shouto again without thinking about it.

 

As it is, he can't get that out of his head. When Shouto… leaned up and held his face. And smiled at him. So fucking soft and gentle, so close, so close he could have just moved just a single inch and been able to kiss Shouto stupid. His eyes were so beautiful and earnest, his words so fucking genuine that Katsuki wanted to throw up and die but also maybe live forever.

 

I’m glad it was you, Katsuki.

 

He has never felt so full. Full of what, he doesn’t know. Just… full to bursting.

 

The muted sound of his bare feet against the wooden stairs echoes down the hall, and he sees Kiri poke his head out around the corner. His look of curiosity bursts into a delighted grin, all shark teeth and eyes slitted in happiness.

 

“Bakubro!” He launches himself at Katsuki, who luckily has experienced enough of Eijirou’s tackle hugs that he doesn’t lose his balance. “Oh my god, did you and Todobro really kiss?!?!”

 

Katsuki chokes. “HAH!? Fuck did you hear that! No! No, what—”

 

“But Tsu-chan said...”

 

“That fucking frog,” he growls, pushing Kiri away and stomping toward the living room.

 

“Katsuki?” The voice is small, but loud enough that Katsuki freezes in his tracks. He twists around to see Shouto standing at the top of the stairs, leaning heavily on the wall, hair all mussed up and clothes twisted. Katsuki swallows as a million scenarios dart through his mind—is this what it would be like if he and Shouto lived together, and he got up to leave early? Would Shouto look like this, so tender and fragile? Katsuki shakes the thoughts from his mind.

 

“Yeah, I got it. Gimme a sec.” All his anger evaporates in an instant, like dew in the first morning sun. Kiri’s head swings wildly between the two, and as soon as Shouto limps away from the stairs the redhead rushes him.

 

“Holy fuck, does you sleep together!? Tsu-chan said not to bother you guys, but I didn’t think—”

 

“Fuck off Shitty Hair. You know that he doesn’t see me that way. We just napped in the same bed.” Absolutely no cuddling at all. “Anyway. Where’s Ponytail?”

 

Kirishima gives him a dubious look, clearly wanting to demand more answers, but just lets out a huff of angry breath. He jabs Katsuki in the chest; “We will be talking about this more! Momo is in the kitchen making dinner, I think.”

 

Turns out Momo is idly producing peelers. The breakfast bar is apparently being transformed into a potato peeling factory line. Twenty teenagers need a lot of mashed potatoes, he guesses. “Hey,” he touches Momo’s arm lightly and she turns to him with a concerned look.

 

“Bakugou-san! We were really worried… Tsu-chan says you’re fine, but—oh my goodness, what happened to your arms!? And, oh my, you’re absolutely covered in bruises!” The potato peeling teens, including Deku, all look at him with worry.

 

“Kacchan, it’s not like you to fall while hiking,” Deku says, immediately hitting the nail on the head, the observant know-it-all fuck. “Is there something on your mind?”

 

Re-friending Deku was a fucking mistake.

 

“I’m fine, Jesus. Just fell off a cliff, nothing compared to fighting a villain,” he rolls his eyes even as Momo gasps.

 

“A cliff!?”

 

“Yes, fuck! A cliff! Can you please just give me some damn painkillers.”

 

“O-Oh, of course! Here, they’re just over here…” Momo leads him to a high up medicine cabinet. She creates a stepping stool from her upper thigh, blushing as she holds her skirt up – as if Katsuki hadn’t been subjected to her first hero costume for a whole year. “By the way, it seems it’s going to storm later tonight and all tomorrow. Everyone will probably be leaving after dinner.”

 

Ah. So he’s going to have to drive Shouto home and have that… conversation sooner than expected. And that’s fine. It would have happened either way. But… they had reached this strange floaty area, where they both know, but don’t really have to acknowledge. Where they can just fall asleep and not worry about…

 

Shouto’s self-harm.

 

Shouto self-harms.

 

And suddenly all his residual warmth flees, and a pit opens in his stomach. His chest aches, and he reaches up to grip the fabric of his top over his heart.

 

“Right. Thanks.”

 

He takes the pill bottle from Momo and stalks away, heedless of her concerned calls.

 

Shouto… hurts himself. He burns himself. He’s done it for years. No one ever knew.

 

How many times has Katsuki spoken to him while he has an open wound on his legs? How many times has he been lonely and in pain while Katsuki had no clue? How long… Fuck.

 

Katsuki is snarling like a fucking dog, quickly losing his control.

 

How can Shouto do this to himself!? How can someone so strong, so amazing, feel the need to hurt themselves? Katsuki just doesn’t fucking get it. And Shouto is smart, too. Damn smart. He should fucking know better, damnit!

 

Katsuki reaches the master bedroom and shoves the door open. His anger clouds his mind, he barely even sees Shouto as he thrusts the bottle at him.

 

“Ah… I can’t take pills dry, can you get me a glass of water?”

 

“Get it yourself.” Katsuki snaps. God—god damn it. Shouto looks up at him, hurt flashing across his face before he turns away with a stilted nod. He leaves the room, and Katsuki sits on the bed heavily and buries his face in his hands. Get it together, Katsuki. He can’t be cruel to Shouto right now. He doesn’t want to be. But he can feel it building in him, that need to lash out, that need to hurt. He hates it, hates himself even as his temper flares when he remembers all the scars on Shouto’s thighs.

 

Shouto returns to the room, and from his floor-directed gaze he can see Shouto’s uneven gait. He stares at the boy’s All Might socks when he comes to stop in front of him. And then Shouto’s hands are in front of his face, two pills in one and a glass of water in the other.

 

“Momo said you fell off a cliff,” he says. “You must be in pain.”

 

Katsuki wants to fling the pills away, wants to shatter the glass against the wall, wants to yell at Shouto to not pity him, to not act like Katsuki’s pain in any way measures up to his. Instead he just takes the pills and swallows them. He gulps down the water.

 

“It’s not as dramatic as it sounds,” he sighs. The bed dips beside him, and Shouto slowly, carefully, presses his left side against Katsuki’s body. His heart flutters, his eyes close, he breathes.

 

Somehow, just Shouto’s touch is enough to quell the monster in his mind, the man he hates becoming. Katsuki greedily pushes closer to Shouto’s heat, gulps in his scent – he always smells vaguely like a woodfire – and shudders. “M’sorry.”

 

“Why did you act like that?”

 

His voice is so quiet. Katsuki scared him.

 

“I just. I’m angry that you… feel like you have to hurt yourself.”

 

“That’s not why I do it,” his voice is stronger now, frustrated. Like he has justified this shit to himself a million times, like he’s so fucked up that he really believes that this is just another kind of training . Katsuki promised he would save him, but he doesn’t know the first fucking thing about actually doing that. Clearly he’s already making things worse. Damnit. “I told you. It’s training, it’s a distraction. Like when you go to the gym.”

 

“Yeah, which is beneficial to my body. You’re weakening yourself.”

 

“You’re wrong.” Shouto grinds out, voice venomous, and Katsuki’s head jolts up in shock. It’s the kind of voice he doesn’t usually hear from Shouto, at least not outside a fight. Is this a fight? “I’m making myself stronger.”

 

“Didn’t I already fucking tell you? Don’t let Endeavour’s disgusting words leave your mouth! I know that’s not how you feel!”

 

“How would you know!? No one else could ever understand.”

 

“You sound like a goddamn child, Shouto.”

 

Shut up.

 

“Fucking make me, bastard. You know I’m right!”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Katsuki. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

And then he leaves.

 

He wonders if Shouto regrets his kind words from earlier yet. He probably wishes that anyone other than Katsuki found out. Damnit.

 

He sits on the bed for a while, stewing in anger and fear and worry until it’s just too much. So he decides to climb out the window. The wood on the outside of the house is slick with rain, but Katsuki is a good climber, contrary to what the bruises and cuts all over his arms would have you believe. He reaches his car and texts Kirishima. The rain is coming down heavy, dark clouds obscuring the last of the sunlight.  

 

It’s barely two minutes later when his best friend jogs outside, umbrella open above his head. It’s covered in tiny cartoon versions of Jirou’s face. He hands Katsuki his backpack.

 

“Are you sure you wanna leave like this?” He asks gently. “You know no fight is big enough to get between you and Todoroki.” Katsuki shakes his head. He wishes that was the case, but he isn’t so sure anymore.

 

“I don’t know Eiji. I just…” He shakes his head again, like that would dispel the shit swirling around his mind. “Just make sure you get Shouto home okay. I’ll see you later.”

 

Eijirou pulls him into a quick but tight hug. He stands under Momo’s bright umbrella as Katsuki starts the car, and he’s gone by the time Katsuki glances at his rear-view mirror. His only soundtrack as he drives alone is the rain steadily pounding the earth.



Notes:

hey :) pls comment it feeds my ego and thus enables me to write faster, turning into a fic robot capable of writing 10 million words per minute :) ty
chapter updated as of 18.7.21

Chapter 7: Come Close My Eyes

Notes:

hiiiiiii!!! pls be aware that this chapter includes a fair bit of blood and some scenes and mentions of throwing up, so if that's something you dislike, pls be careful! it's not super detailed but keep your safety first!!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Shouto’s breath comes fast and uneven. The throbbing in his leg tells him he wouldn’t be getting anywhere fast, so he ducks into the empty sitting room next door and collapses into the first available armchair.

 

Fuck Katsuki. He thinks he knows everything, knows better than Shouto. How can he? He hasn’t even known for a full day what Shouto has lived with for fifteen years. Shouto was an idiot to think that Katsuki finding out might not be a terrible thing.

 

Isn’t this exactly what Endeavour warned him about? Why he had to keep it secret from Fuyumi and Natsuo? Because they just… wouldn’t understand. They would be worried and angry and try to stop him, even if Shouto told them he didn’t want to stop.

 

Did he want to stop?

 

Shouto shuts his eyes so tight he starts seeing starbursts. He can feel tears on his cheeks, which he swipes away angrily. What did Endeavour always say? Tears are a sign of weakness that a hero cannot show.

 

Don’t let Endeavour’s disgusting words leave your mouth! I know that’s not how you feel!

 

Shouto starts. Why does he have to remember those words now? Better yet, why does Katsuki keep saying that? Why does he assume that Shouto is letting that man’s thoughts dictate his life still?

 

Shouto pauses. He draws his damp hand away from his face and stares at the shiny wetness.

 

The room is quiet, only the faintest sounds floating up from downstairs. Muffled and distant. His own breathing is loudest, makes the room feel small and close. It reminds him of cowering in his closet, trying his best to cover up the sounds of his crying so that his father wouldn’t make him train more.

 

Once, Shouto was a first responder on the scene of a massive building collapse. A child with a gigantification quirk had lost control in the underground carpark, and the high-rise condos lost its supports. It was a disaster, the building had been filled with families and most died before anyone could get there. In that huge area of decimated rubble, strewn with the most domestic objects turned into items of sheer tragedy, Shouto could hear a little girl sobbing. It was faint and far away, but she was screaming and bawling. Thanks to that, Shouto was able to find her and move the rubble away safely.

 

She was crouching in a tiny ball, somehow mostly unhurt. Hee face was bright red from her wailing. And when Shouto scooped her up, his words of comfort awkward and stilted, she clung to his hero suit. Her cries had stopped, and instead she was sniffling against his chest.

 

“It’s okay now, a hero is here. I was able to find you thanks to your cries. You did really well. Thank you for helping me save you.”

 

When had Shouto forgotten that most of the words from his father’s mouth were poison? How is he still struggling to overcome that man’s programming?

 

God, he nees to apologize. Katsuki was right, and Shouto was just too much of a stubborn idiot to see it. Earlier that very day, Shouto had told Katsuki that he was beyond help. Katsuki had told him to never say that to a hero. It was thanks to Shouto’s cries that Katsuki found him in the bathroom, right? He said he would save Shouto no matter what. When has he ever broken his word? When has Bakugou Katsuki ever backed down from a challenge?

 

Shouto stands up, determined now to set things right. He limps to the bedroom they had shared. Oddly, the window is open, blowing in cold sea air. Katsuki is nowhere in sight. He must be having dinner with the others, so Shouto carefully heads down the stairs. He would need to redress the wound soon, but maybe Katsuki can help him? It’s so much easier to lean back and let him carefully and gently wrap his injury. Less awkward manoeuvring and painful jostling. And something about the way Katsuki’s warm fingertips brush the skin of his upper thigh sends tingles right up to the pit of his belly. He lets a fond smile curve his lips, and enters the loud kitchen and dining area with a much lighter mood.

 

Shouto was sensitive and defensive, but surely Katsuki understands that right? He just had his deepest, most hidden secret revealed to one of his closest friends. It made sense for him to be a bit touchy, right?

 

“Oh, Shouto,” Momo smiles at him, eyes as soft and kind as ever. She always reminds him of Fuyumi, which maybe is why he always feels his guard both drop and raise around her. The urge to give in and tell her everything is just as strong to keep her in the dark to protect her feelings. He gives her a strained smile. “Sit down, we’re about to serve dinner.”

 

“Where’s Katsuki?” He asks, looking around. He isn’t helping in the kitchen, nor is he sitting at the table. A quick look determines that he isn’t in the living room either. Maybe he’s gone down to the beach? But it’s raining, not even Katsuki is insane enough for that. “I don’t see him.”

 

“Oh, isn’t he upstairs?”

 

“Uh,” Kirishima’s awkward and apologetic voice interrupts, and Shouto turns to face the tall man. He’s rubbing the back of his neck, red eyes darting all over the place before finally settling on Shouto. “Katsuki had to leave early. He’s, er, sorry he couldn’t say goodbye. Izuku and I will give you a ride home, if that’s alright.”

 

The words washed over Shouto at first. They don't make any sense, he can't even understand it when he repeats it in his own mind. It’s just—it’s nonsense. “What?” He asks, voice a bit wobbly. His eyes stare straight at Kirishima’s chest.

 

“Katsuki left,” Kirishima repeats. And oh. That’s…

 

All the slightly good feelings that had been steadily lifting his mood dissipate in a second. He is left feeling hollow and numb. He peers blankly but he doesn’t see anything.

 

Katsuki left.

 

He left…

 

Because of him?

 

Because Shouto drove him away.

 

Shouto yelled at him. Swore at him, even.

 

He is just like his father.

 

Shouto says nothing, he just turns and flees. His leg burns as he takes the stairs way too quickly; he can feel the healing scabs tear open again, can feel hot blood well up and spill from around the bandages. It drips on the floor as he heaves himself into the nearest bathroom. He stumbles as he yanks his pants off, letting out a barely audible sound of pain when he lands awkwardly on the floor, leg sticking straight out and stretching his burn uncomfortably. He rips the bandages off, cringes at the sight of the blood seeping onto the pristine tiles. He should clean that. This isn’t his home, he’s messing up Momo’s stuff, ruining it, Momo doesn’t deserve to be treated like this!

 

Why is he like this? Why does he only hurt the people he cares about!? Katsuki left because he yelled at him. Because he’s cruel. It’s all Shouto’s fault.

 

He lets his palm heat up until it’s hot enough to burn his own hand. He brings it down to the wound, and—

 

And…

 

And lets the flame go out.

 

“No…” he whimpers. He snaps his mouth shut, smacks both hands on it. Did he lock the door? Lock the door, Shouto. Drags himself across the floor. Blood streaks over the tiles and he clicks the lock. Safe.

 

Why did Katsuki cry when he found out? Why did he get snappish earlier? Because Shouto made him sad. Made him angry. Because he hurts himself.

 

If he ever… ever found out that Shouto did this because he—

 

Shouto blanches. He almost feels ill.

 

No, no—he does feel ill. He lurches to the toilet and barely has time to flip the lid up before he’s throwing up.

 

What is he supposed to do then? With this, this revolting feeling swirling around his gut, this hatred and anger squeezing him so tight he can barely see. His vision swims and he presses his forehead to the cool toilet seat.

 

Where is Katsuki now? How is he feeling? Is he thinking about me?

 

A gentle, polite tone echoed off the bathroom walls, and Shouto drags his head up. Sweat sticks his hair to his forehead, the smell of his throw-up strong and acidic and making him feel sick all over again. His whole thigh is a blank-out of feeling, although he would probably need more painkillers soon. That same noise chimes again, and Shouto sluggishly realizes it’s his phone.

 

Maybe it’s Katsuki. Check it, quick! Don’t miss him!

 

It’s a missed call and a text message. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Katsuki must hate him, right? Maybe he left because he wants Shouto to hurt himself. He must hate him, after the things he said. He was mean . Why was he like that? The text probably says he wants nothing more to do with Shouto. He doesn’t want to open it anymore. He doesn’t want to know. If Katsuki is abandoning him—he’d rather just sit on these blood-slicked tiles forever and drown in his own sick.

 

He opens the message anyway.

 

Katsuki: I’m coming back

 

Shouto stares at his phone. He stares so long that the characters started to look like nothing more than strange, dark lines. He can barely see as he taps out a response.

 

Shouto: hurry pleaas

 

 

Katsuki is a complete fucking idiot.

 

He’d barely been driving for twenty fucking minutes before he realized what a colossal dick he was being. He’s already pulled an entirely illegal U-ie by the time he’s demanding the stupid little woman in his phone to call Shouto.

 

“Okay Carla,” he says. But evidently his inflection isn’t the exact same as it is when Kiri forced him to set up this dumbass thing, because it doesn’t respond. “Fucking hell! He could be—he could be hurting himself right now! Because! Fuck, because of me! HEY, CARLA!”

 

“What can I help you with, Bakugou-san?”

 

Right. He had yelled when he set up the stupid digital assistant in his phone.

 

“Call Shouto!”

 

“Do you want to call Todoroki Shouto angry-crying-face-emoji from your contacts?”

 

“Yes, fuck!”

 

“Please don’t swear at me. Calling Todoroki Shouto angry-crying-face-emoji now.”

 

Katsuki seethes. The rain is picking up, thick sheets pouring over his car, nearly as solid as walls. His windscreen wipers are going as fast as possible, and he can still barely see. Luckily it seems like he’s the only asshole stupid enough to be driving in this shit.

 

The phone rings, and Katsuki’s hands tighten on the steering wheel.

 

It rings again. And again.

 

And went to Shouto’s default voicemail, rattling off his number and asking him to leave a message after the beep. Or use speech to text to send a message.

 

That would be better, right? It would appear on his lockscreen, right?

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shouto. Shouto . I’m coming back.”

 

 

Shouto doesn’t know how much time has passed since he replied to Katsuki’s message. Enough time that his blood has stopped slowly leaking out. Enough time that he has curled up on his side on the bathmat, and is just staring, sightless, at his phone screen.

 

Maybe Katsuki would message again soon.

 

How long has it been?

 

No one has knocked on the door. No one has come looking for him. They don’t even know that there’s a problem. He is such a mess. When did he get this useless? What is wrong with him?

 

His phone sings at him, and this time Shouto picks it up immediately.

 

“Sho, thank god.”

 

Why does it feel so good to hear Katsuki’s voice? Like life flushing back through his body, like he is coming unstuck, like he is… a person again.

 

“Katsuki,” he says, and his voice is weak and slow and so, so pathetic. “Please…”

 

“Fuck. I know, Sho. I’m nearly back, just tell me where you are.”

 

“Bathroom,” he murmurs, then remembers how many bathrooms this place has. “Nearest our bedroom.” It’s a crude description, makes them sound too intimate, but it is the fastest way to explain his position.

 

“Okay. I’m coming. Can you stay on the line until I’m there?”

 

“Mm.”

 

“Okay. I’m parking now. Shouto. Are you still there?”

 

“Yeah. Can you come to me?” Shouto’s eyes close and open so slowly. He is so exhausted, despite only recently waking up from a nap. “Please…”

 

“Shit, fuck, of course. I’m nearly there, nearly with you.”

 

Shouto can hear other voices through the phone, one that sounds distinctly like a surprised Kirishima. Katsuki must not have told him that he was coming back.

 

“It’s already storming too bad to be on the roads,” he hears Katsuki say, though his voice is distant. Weirdly enough, it’s comforting just to hear him speaking normally. Something about it soothes all the ache and sick in him to a barely there beat, easily masked by his heart, easily ignored. “Sho, I’m here. Unlock the door, yeah?” Shouto sighs and forces himself up. He stands on extremely unsteady legs, feels the warm flush of new blood oozing out as he jostles the uncovered wound again. He unlocks the door.

 

And there he is. He’s really wet, his spiky hair flattened down to cover his eyes and ears. His clothes cling to him and he looks really small, with that distraught look in his usually fiery eyes. Like the water doused them too.

 

“Fuck,” He hears Katsuki curse in front of his and from his phone. He’s looking behind Shouto, who turns his head. Oh yeah.

 

“Don’t worry,” his voice comes out blank, “it’s just my blood.”

 

“Jesus, Sho. Did you—because of…?”

 

He shakes his head, suddenly more awake. He can't—can’t let Katsuki blame himself. “Didn’t. Couldn’t. It opened up again, when I ran up the stairs.”

 

“Oh god, Shouto. Look, I’ll clean you up. Okay?”

 

Katsuki carefully steps into the bathroom, closes the door behind him. He still has that devastated look in his eyes. Shouto doesn’t like it. Hates it, even. Hates even more that he is the cause.

 

“Lock the door,” he whispers, instead of saying any of the millions of things he really wants to say. Because he’s a coward. Katsuki turns those haunted eyes on him then, and makes a show of locking the door. Like an adult theatrically checking their child’s cupboard for monsters. Shouto sinks to the floor, but Katsuki catches him. His hands on his skin, cool against feverish and warm against freezing, ground Shouto more than anything else. Like an anchor, like a perfect balance. He slowly leads Shouto to the toilet. “Wait,” he warns too late, and watched as Katsuki’s face screws up in disgust.

 

Even so, he just flushes the toilet and closes the lid, sets Shouto delicately down upon it. He crouches next to him and with a shaking hand, pushes his bangs off his forehead. “Are you sick?” He asks, and again Shouto feels like a child with a concerned parent. He doesn’t like making Katsuki feel this way. This isn’t how friends are meant to be with each other. But he doesn’t know what else to do. Only Katsuki can help him. No one else can ever know.

 

“Don’t think so.”

 

“Sho… I’m so fucking sorry I left. It was. Such a stupid, petty thing to do. I thought I needed—needed time, or space, or whatever the fuck, to kinda understand and deal with this all. But. You’re right in front of me. You were right in front of me. And I hurt you. I left when I should have been by your side, I made you…”

 

“No, please, stop.” Katsuki’s jaw clicks shut, and Shouto takes a deep breath. “It’s not your fault, it’s mine. I’m burdening you with my problems. I understand why you left.”

 

“S-still—” Katsuki stops, clearing his throat. Puts that beautifully hot palm on Shouto’s cold knee. He shivers in relief, leans back. “It was cruel of me to leave. And I want to stop being cruel to you. I want… need to help you. I fucking hate seeing you like this. I got frustrated… when I should be trying to be fucking patient.”

 

“Patience isn’t exactly what you’re known for.” Shouto tries to joke, but it comes out serious and monotone.

 

“Fuck that,” Katsuki bites back, but it doesn’t seem like he’s angry with Shouto. “I’m capable of anything, got that? I won’t leave your side again. I’m not backing down, and I’m not gonna let you go through shit alone. You fucking got that?”

 

Shouto smiles. He often thinks this, but it is so very strange that even after feeling absolutely dreadful, a few words from Katsuki can make him smile.

 

“I fucking got it,” he whispers, and it’s well worth it for that brief flash of an amused smile. Katsuki stands up, starts gathering stuff from the cabinets.

 

“God bless Ponytail for having First-Aid shit in every bathroom in this damn place. I’m gonna take care of you and get you to bed.”

 

“I should clean up…”

 

“Stand for three seconds and then talk to me about how you should be doing anything but resting. I’ll handle this shit, don’t even fucking worry about it.”

 

“But… it’s my mess.”

 

“And I like cleaning. So shut the fuck up and let me take care of you, alright?”

 

Shouto letz out an airy laugh. He’s so glad Katsuki came back.



Notes:

thank you so much to everyone who commented on the last chapter!!! i hope you guys enjoy this one too~~
btw, with the way the rest of this fic is plotted out, there might be some explicit nsfw scenes. would yall rather me put that in the main fic or make little accompanying one-shots for the explicit stuff and keep this fic rated M? please let me know, i really don't want to upset anyone who went into this not planning for any explicit stuff!!
the way i write my stuff is i have a very general idea, and i flesh it out and plot it by actually writing!! so i generally dont have stuff planned out, i just go where i feel the story is taking me. and where it had led me might get a lil steamy!
but if yall think that it's a bad idea, i can just make it implied here and actually write the explicit bits in one-shots
i hope i explained that well?? anyway thank u guys again for reading and leaving kudos and comments!! i appreciate it so much
chapter updated as of 18.7.21

Chapter 8: Paper Cranes

Notes:

hi guys <: this chapter may be a bit later than you were expected because i've joined the todobaku ficfest!! im really excited about it and i've met so many amazing writers, and i can't wait to share my fics with you all (we reveal them on halloween!!) i hope you guys love this chapter as much as i loved writing it <3

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Katsuki does take care of Shouto. He wipes his legs down with a cloth dampened by warm water, so very careful to not use any unnecessary touches to his thighs or to bump his leg too much. He lets the bath fill up as he cleans the blood streaks from the rest of the bathroom. It’s strange and morbid, how easy it is to clean up the evidence of someone’s pain. How he could just… spray it down and wipe it away and no one would ever know. He leaves the room, only after assuring Shouto he is just going to go eat and bring the boy some food while he bathes. He hears the lock click. He leaves his palm against the door, stands there till he hears the water slosh. He just needs to make sure Shouto doesn’t fall. Make sure he isn’t lying, about not hurting himself.

 

He probably lingers too long.

 

His legs feel like they’re made of metal as he comes back down the stairs. Eijirou is on him in an instant, concern rolling off him in waves.

 

“Is… everything okay? I thought maybe he would want to be alone, but then I wasn't sure…”

 

“It’s okay, Kiri. Don’t worry. I’m just gonna eat then bring him some food, alright?”

 

Eijirou leaves him be, goes back to the movie the others are watching. Katsuki watches for a few moments as Deku adjusts his position and Eijirou dips into his lap. The way his friends melt into each other has always left a sharp bittersweetness stinging at the back of his throat. How could it be so easy for them? So mutual? How is that fair? Why are they allowed to have… everything that Katsuki wanted?

 

He shakes it off. Now is not the time to be getting worked up into that familiar frenzy. It can only lead to one place, and he needs to remain calm and level-headed. He needs to be clear in order to support Shouto.

 

The others left their portions in the oven to keep them warm, and Katsuki eats his standing up, leaning against the countertop.

 

He is the only person in the world that knows what Shouto is doing to himself. Has been doing to himself. For years. How did he never catch on before? How has Katsuki never noticed? He aggressively mushes up his potato, before shovelling it into his mouth. Stop it, this isn’t about you, fuckhead.

 

When he finishes his meal, he brings the other plate, along with cutlery and a water bottle, back up to the room Katsuki is quickly beginning to refer to as theirs . Dangerous territory. Shouto must still be in the bath, so he sets the meal down on the desk in the corner and makes his way back to the bathroom. He knock.

 

“Hey, Icyhot,” he tries to keep his tone light. “Ya decent?”

 

There’s a splash and a quiet, “nope.”

 

“Get out soon. Too much moisture is probably… not a good thing for your injury.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Katsuki sits down on the bed to wait. He tries to keep his mind empty. But he has never been very good at that. Does Shouto truly think that what he’s doing doesn’t classify as self-harm? What can Katsuki say to convince him otherwise? He wishes he had some kind of quirk that could just… make Shouto see this how he does. Understand how awful it is. How much it hurt.

 

But it must hurt him worse.

 

I’m being selfish.

 

He gnashes his teeth and stands up, walks over to the desk. Looks through the drawers. Bingo. Printer paper. He moves Shouto’s quickly cooling food and sits down. He folds the paper, corner to side. Cuts off the excess. Folds it again, and two more times. Accordion fold. Fold that up, and over, and open it… like that… then flip and do it again. Fold that in on both sides, flip, pinch, fold up, pinch… pull the tail back. Fold the head into the neck. Make sure it can stand.

 

He places the completed paper crane on the desk, and breathes out a sigh.

 

“What’s that?”

 

Katsuki jumps, his knees hitting the underside of the desk. “Shit, Shouto! How long have you been standing there?” He demands as he twists around to face the boy. His mouth goes dry at the sight.

 

He has a towel around his hips, exposing his lithe and well-muscled torso. The skin there is pale, interrupted by scars from battles long since won. Water drips down the dips and curves of his body and disappears below that damned towel. Looking higher, Shouto is staring down at him curiously while towelling off his damp hair. It’s getting slightly shaggy, curling at the ends from the heat. Katsuki has never wanted to touch something—someone—more in his life. Shouto tilts his head in that stupidly endearing way. “Well?”

 

Katsuki shakes himself out of his slack-jawed staring, and glances back at his paper crane. “It’s origami,” he says, as if that explained everything. Then he snatches it up and shoves it in his pocket. “Uh. I’ll leave while you change. You can eat at the desk.”

 

Shouto looks at him curiously. Katsuki just hightails it out of there.

 

His feelings are so… so… disgusting. How can he be thinking about how attractive Shouto is when he knows all the shit he’s struggling with? What the fuck is wrong with him. He stalks over to the study, his hands starting to shake. The anger seems nearly impossible to pin down. It keeps slipping away, deeper, worming its way around his bones and squeezing. It’s fucking insidious. He wants it gone, this dark sludge that threatens to drown him from the inside. He collapses in the desk chair, finds more paper and scissors. Starts folding.

 

Aizawa-sensei showed him this when he was sixteen. Katsuki had started to hate himself more and more, hate the anger that welled up in him and made him lash out at the people he cared for the most. He has been doing it all his life, and he is fucking lucky as shit that the people who latched onto him in the first year of high school somehow knew not to take the awful shit he sais to heart. But near the beginning of second year, he had had enough. He needed help. And the only person he could ever ask for it was the man who had risked his own life way too many times to protect his students.

 

“Aizawa-sensei?” He had stayed behind their last lesson, indicated to Kirishima and the others that he needed to ask sensei about some marks. Go on ahead, I’ll be right there.

 

“Bakugou. Can I help you?”

 

“I.. yeah. P-please. I hate… being so angry all the fucking time. And never knowing what to do with it. And hurting—hurting my friends because I’m—I just need to be better.”

 

Aizawa had given him this look. It was so soft, so gentle. Full of this quiet kind of affection that Katsuki had only ever received from his father. He smiled at Katsuki, beckoned him closer.

 

They met after class a few times a week after that. They mostly talked, but sensei also taught him breathing exercises and calming techniques. Told him that if he was feeling destructive, he could rip up some paper. If he was feeling frustrated, he could go to the gym and beat the hell out of a punching bag.

 

“How about this. I taught Eri this just a week ago… It's fun, it clears your mind, and it’s constructive. Even Hitoshi seems to enjoy it.” Aizawa pulls out a sheet of paper. It is covered in white and pink flowers against a golden background. He hands Katsuki a similar one, with a red background. “Follow what I do…”

 

Katsuki had wanted to complain. Wanted to call Aizawa an asshole for thinking that something his fucking seven-year-old daughter does to stave off a tantrum wouldn’t work on an adult (he really did think he was an adult back then, huh). And he did. He yelled at Aizawa. He stormed out.

 

And the very next day he called Mina something so horrible it never fails to make him want to punch a window out and feel the glass in his knuckles.

 

So he went back to his sensei, asked him to help again. He didn’t apologize. He couldn’t. but he could learn.

 

And so Aizawa showed him. How to fold, flip, pinch and shape. How to understand what made the frustrating bits so difficult, how to fold through it. How to make a little paper crane, able to sit in the palm of his hand. And they sat there together and made crane after crane until Katsuki could do it without instruction, until the steps felt so natural that he could do it with his eyes closed. But he doesn't. He likes making each of them as perfect as possible, each fold as firm and even as the last, till the tiny paper creature in his hand is the best one he has ever made, every single time.

 

He has never forgotten it. A few days after that first time, Aizawa gave him a stack of colourful origami paper in all different sizes. The next time Katsuki felt that rage rising up, felt like he was going to scream at the next person he saw, he just went to his room, sat at his desk, and added to his already growing collection of paper cranes.

 

It’s the perfect way to get his mind clear and focused on a simple, repetitive task, that no matter how many times he does will always take a level of concentration to get just right, to make it suit his exacting standards.

 

As he sits in the cold quiet room of a barely familiar house that isn’t anybody’s home, he folds cranes until all he can think of is how to get the next one’s tail straighter, whether he should make the wings fold higher or lower.

 

It isn’t until a knock on the door that he blinks and the fog in his mind dissipates. “Katsuki? You never came back… oh. You’re making more origami.”

 

Shouto comes into the room, stops beside Katsuki. He’s wearing clothes now, thank god, and Katsuki thinks (or maybe hopes) that his limp is a bit less pronounced than it was earlier. “They’re cute,” he murmurs, and Katsuki’s hands twitch. Shame makes his cheeks rosy, but this is Shouto. Shouto who would never call him embarrassing or childish for indulging in this. Katsuki continues to fold his current project. When he speaks, he keeps his voice low.

 

“They’re paper cranes. In high school, Aizawa-sensei showed me how to make them. When I need to distract myself, and focus on something else for a while… I make more.”

 

He finally glances into Shouto’s eyes. He only sees confusion there, no judgement or amusement. Of course, he knew that would be the case. Shouto’s default state is pretty much gentle confusion. But he wants Shouto to understand. “Come on, sit here. I’ll show you.” He stands up and lets Shouto take his seat, and kneels on the plush carpet beside him. He leans in close, and starts to fold another crane. “So, first you fold it in half diagonally. Then you flip it and pop out this little crease… and then see, it’s really easy to fold it in half landscape right? Then you sorta pinch it like this… and it wants to fold, because of the creases we put in. see?”

 

“Yeah,” Shouto breathes out. They’re close enough that Katsuki can feel the balmy air on his cheek. He smiles and continued.

 

“Mm. So for the next bit, we’re gonna wanna fold these flaps in, and this one down… make sure you crease well, because these folds will guide the next stage. This is called a petal fold… it’s probably the hardest part to get perfect. You unfold all of that, then kinda pull this up… and bring those edges in.”

 

“It looks hard,” Shouto says, sounding concerned.

 

“It is, I’m more used to it now but you still have to put all your attention into it to get it just right. Okay, now we flip and do the other side…”

 

“You’re really good at this.”

 

Katsuki laughs quietly. “I’ve been doing this shit for like, three years now,” he explains with a shrug. “I’ve probably made thousands of these little bitches. Now we fold in these edges… do the same to the other side… and then we pinch. See? We kinda bring these bits together? And crease there, pull those bits up… pinch again. And look, we have our crane’s body! Easy as shit, right?” He turns his wide grin on Shouto.

 

“Wow…” Shouto genuinely sounds like he’s in awe, and Katsuki feels an unapologetic pulse of affection. Love. God he loves this boy, this incredible boy who does such amazing things, and yet is so entranced by something as simple as a paper crane.

 

“Yeah. Now we fold down the wings, and we pull the tail and neck till they meet the edge here… and last step, we fold the head. Pinch it in a little so it stays… and there.” He hands Shouto the little crane to look at. It’s plain, made from simple white printer paper, but it’s folded crisply and evenly. It is as perfect as all the others Katsuki has folded. “You can have that one,” he says with a little smile. “Which means I’m one shorter of another thousand, but it’s okay.”

 

“Why does having a thousand matter?” Shouto asks, looking up from the little bird he is admiring closely.

 

“Don’t you know the legend? If you fold a thousand, the gods will grant you any wish you want.”

 

When Katsuki hit his first thousand, he wished Shouto would fall in love with him. He hadn’t ever really believed the legend, but he knew it was surely false after that. It has been years since that wish, and Shouto is no more in love with him now than he has ever been. Still. There’s no use in not trying, right?

 

“Oh… can I try?”

 

“Yeah. Your first one won’t look as nice as mine, because I’m perfect as hell, but the more you make, the better you’ll get.”

 

Katsuki watches Shouto’s slender hands pick up the next pre-cut paper square. He folds it like he’d been shown, not quite perfectly aligned but close enough. Katsuki talks him through the next steps, shows him without making creases when he gets lost, and cheers when he does his first petal fold.

 

“It’s really hard,” Shouto frowns.

 

“It’ll be worth it,Halfie.”

 

He folds, and flips, and folds, and pinches, and eventually, he has a little paper crane sitting in the palm of his hand. The folds aren’t as clean as Katsuki’s, and the lengths are more uneven, but Katsuki still tells him that it’s beautiful.

 

“I wanna do more,” he murmurs, frowning still. “Wanna make them better.”

 

“Sure. I’ll do more too.”

 

And that’s what they do. Katsuki loses all sense of time as he kneels on that study’s carpet, barely feeling the strain in his muscles from the awkward position. It’s probably well after a suitable bedtime, but all he can do is focus on his hands, the paper, and Shouto. Even though he’s usually hyper aware of Shouto’s presence, and feels like a self-conscious idiot because of it, now he only finds contentment in his companionship. The sounds of his soft breath, the flashes of pale skin and white paper in the corner of his eyes.

 

They don't talk. When Shouto forgets a step, Katsuki demonstrates the next one until he remembers. When they complete another crane, they simply add it to their separate piles. Katsuki notices that the crane he made Shouto is on a different part of the desk.

 

A scream from downstairs (very clearly Denki, which means neither of them are concerned) breaks their haze of concentration. Shouto startles, looking around like he forgot where they were, what they were even doing.

 

“How long has it been?” He asks. Katsuki shrugs.

 

“Dunno. Did you like it though? Did it help?”

 

Shouto turns his chair towards him, last crane only in its infant stages. “What do you mean? Help with what?”

 

“With… I don’t know, the urges?”

 

 

Shouto stares at Katsuki, unseeing. The urges. Did it help?

 

Sharp pain suddenly stabs his thigh.

 

Did it help?

 

He nearly whimpers.

 

Because he hadn’t even noticed—the way the itch and the buzz, the sting and the urge had been so very far away that he almost forgot it was there at all. That urge to pick the scabs off, to make the wound bigger, to make it last longer, to hurt more more more. He’d barely even felt it.

 

His next exhale is choked, and he doubles over, hands clutching at his chest. “Katsuki,” he gasps.

 

Katsuki’s hands are on him in a second. One on his elbow, the other on his cheek. The points of contact burn into his skin in the best way possible, anchorage points. Are they keeping him afloat, or stopping him from drifting away?

 

“Sho, what happened? Are you okay!?”

 

Shouto squeezes his eyes closed, feels a few tears on his cheeks. “I didn’t… Didn’t even feel it, Kats. I wasn’t thinking about it, wanting more, wanting to make it worse so the scar would be bigger and last longer… fuck. Thank you, Katsuki.”

 

Katsuki grips his elbow tighter. His hand falls away from his cheek and goes to rub at his knee, below his injury. “Yeah? I. I hoped it would be like that. Sensei showed me so I could manage my anger, so that whenever that feeling comes up I could like… make it into something constructive. Have physical evidence of the anger leaving my body. I really. Really hoped it would help you.”

 

Shouto finally looks up, tries to uncurl. He feels so bizarre. It feels both wondrous and terribly wrong at the same time. This position, at least, is becoming familiar. Katsuki kneeling before him, hand on his knee, open concern on his face. The expression had been such a rare one, before. Reserved for bad injuries from work, not the floors of bathrooms and the self-inflicted wounds of a damaged fool.

 

“Katsuki… when I. When I got angry at you, earlier. I’m sorry. I just…. What you said was true. It is self-harm. And I know I should stop. I—I know that, I have known that, for a while. Probably since I was old enough to understand it for what it was; another one of my father’s manipulation tactics.” He feels Katsuki’s grip on his knee tighten. “But it… it feels so good . I don’t know how to explain it, and I know it’s not normal. But I like it. And I like the scars. And that’s why I pick them open and do it for days, because I want the wound to last, the scar to not fade. The longer it stays… I don’t know. It’s so hard to explain without sounding insane.”

 

“You don’t sound insane. I promise. I don’t—I don’t really understand it myself, I’ve never felt the urge to hurt myself really. What terrifies the shit out of me is the urge to hurt others.”

 

“I’m not scared of it,” Shouto shakes his head. It really is impossible to explain. The way he knows that it's wrong even as he does it, yet the way he makes excuses around it, manages to convince himself that it’s good, right. That if he hurts himself now, the thing he can’t control, the thing he hates, will shrink in the face of blooming ache. Or that he deserves to be punished, that he is sick and disgusting and that this is simply what he deserves. Or that it was training, just endurance training, not a symptom if it’s training. Or that he’s a coward if he doesn’t do it. That it’s a sign of bravery, to be able to hurt himself over and over.

 

He knows the thinking is flawed. But when he’s hurting himself, he can't see past that.

 

“There’s something wrong with me,” he whispers, and it’s the first time he says it aloud. He has thought it to himself countless times, but actually admitting in as many words, much less to someone else, is something he’d always been far too afraid to do.

 

“It’s not your fault. Your father— Endeavour is the only one to blame for all this.” Katsuki pauses. He looked angry, but then he puts both his hands on Shouto’s cheeks. They are warm, and they feel as smooth as the paper they’ve been folding. He looks into Shouto’s eyes. Shouto gazes back into his. Still that same burning red, the colour of embers flickering from a woodfire. They have always been so interesting to look at, but right now Shouto feels like he himself is being seen too deeply. He tries to look away. “Hey. I need you to listen to me right now. Look at me. I said I’d help you, but it’s a two-way street. I need you to help me too.” Shouto slowly meets the scorch of his eyes again. “That’s it. Hi, Sho.”

 

“Kats…”

 

“I am telling you the truth. If your father hadn’t hurt you so much when you were growing up, if he hadn't taught you to hurt yourself, I doubt we would be having this conversation right now. You have… trauma. I do too. You know, after the slime monster attacked me they made me go to therapy. After the kidnapping too. It sucked and I was really shitty to my therapists, but I know enough to know that when you get scared really badly, when you go through something awful, it doesn’t always just... go away.”

 

“But I don’t even live with him anymore. I thought—thought I’d be okay, after I moved out.”

 

“I guess getting better is more complicated than that. But I’m here. I’m not gonna let you go through this alone, got that?”

 

Relief washes through Shouto, and the thump of his heart is nearly painful. He tries to say thank you, but it comes out strangled. Swallows, tries to speak again, but Katsuki is already standing up. Shouto’s cheeks are cold, where his friend’s hands used to be. He misses their warmth. “We should go to bed. Um, I can sleep downstairs, and—”

 

“You said you wouldn’t leave me alone,” Shouto accuses, and his voice comes out urgent. He doesn’t know why, really. Just knows he hated it so much when Katsuki left. He doesn’t want to feel like that again.

 

“But I…” Katsuki picks at his jumper and sighs. “Wanna share the bed?” Shouto nods and Katsuki rolls his eyes. “What are you, a puppy? Wanna sleep on my feet?” Shouto scrunches his nose up in distaste, and Katsuki laughs. “Alright, come on. let's bring our cranes with us too.”

 

Once they’re both ready for bed, Shouto realizes why Katsuki has wanted to sleep downstairs. Accidentally falling asleep in the same bed is one thing. Doing it on purpose is wholly another. They are far away from each other, which is easy on such a big bed. Yet the distance between them feels so… wrong. Shouto feels cold. He wants Katsuki’s warmth. Even though he is fully aware he can self-regulate his temperature, Katsuki is just... Better.

 

“I’m cold,” he mumbles. Katsuki groans in response. “And the thunderstorm is loud.”

 

“You really are a puppy. Fine, come here.” In the dark, Shouto sees Katsuki lift his arm in invitation. He shuffles over, possibly too eager, and clutches Katsuki with a content sigh. “You’re warmer than I am!” Katsuki complains. Shouto hums and burrows deeper.

 

They are quiet together for a while. Shouto wonders how he’s so comfortable like this. He tries to picture anyone other than Katsuki, and it makes him cringe. It would be too… strange. It’s okay if it’s Katsuki.

 

“Are you still awake?” Shouto whispers into his friend’s chest. He feels Katsuki’s affirmative grumble more than he hears it. “You said earlier that you’re traumatized… by the times you were attacked by villains. I’m sorry I didn't realize.”

 

“Shit, Sho. I’m sorry I didn’t realize about you, too.”

 

“Are we gonna leave tomorrow?”

 

He hopes not. He likes being in the same house as Katsuki. It feels safe and… warm. Everything about Katsuki is warm. Like a fireplace in winter.

 

“If the storm’s calmed down.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Get some sleep, Shouto. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

And Shouto knows that’s true. So he buries his cold nose in Katsuki's neck, and he sleeps.



Notes:

as always, if ya wanna chat feel free to leave a comment here or talk to me on tumblr (kazeohiku) or twitter (kazeohiku_)!
chapter updated as of 18.7.21

Chapter 9: Purple

Notes:

i hope you all enjoy this chapter! it has definitely taken the longest to write
btw! there is some explicit stuff in this chapter so in order to skip:
Katsuki is going insane (scene start)
He needs to leave (scene end)
pls lmk if this was helpful to avoid the explicit bit, i've never rly done this before!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Katsuki wakes up cold. Which is odd, because he’d been so warm when he fell asleep. He huffs out a sigh, turns over to look at Shouto and… oh, he must have left. Maybe that’s why Katsuki is so cold. He rolls out of bed, heaves himself up and scrubs at the sleep in his eyes. Maybe Shouto is in the bathroom?

 

So Katsuki searches, every room upstairs and downstairs, and doesn’t find hide nor hair of his boy. Is he okay? Is he injured? Does he need help? Katsuki’s mind supplies every awful scenario, and by the time Katsuki bursts out the front door his heart is fluttering with anxiety.

 

There’s no way he left on his own. Everyone’s car is still here, and with a leg injury Shouto would have to be insane to try and walk anywhere too far—maybe he’s on the beach? Katsuki twists to stomp down and have a look.

 

“Katsuki?”

 

He jolts.

 

“What the fuck—Shouto?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Where the fuck are you?”

 

“Look up.”

 

Katsuki’s head jerks up and there he is. The strange purple haze of the too-early morning casts him in the light of a statue, highlighting his marble curves and coruscating off his hair, the white practically glowing, the red nearly lavender. He is sitting on the roof, or more accurately, on the outcropping of a window frame.

 

“Idiot! What the fuck are you doing up there!” Shouto gives him a muted smile, and hums. With a frustrated growl, Katsuki starts to scale the wall. It’s lucky that he’s such a good climber, because he’s pretty sure if he used his explosions to blast his way up there, he would be dealing with eighteen murderous ex-classmates. He sits down heavily beside Shouto, who’s staring serenely into the middle distance like he knows he looks like a statue. Unattainable, lovely, distant. Katsuki does a quick visual check, notes that Shouto seems stable, his leg isn’t twitching nor is blood visible through his white sweats, so Katsuki sighs and relaxes. “Reckless,” he murmurs for good measure.

 

Shouto looks over at him, and he looks more himself than he has in a while. His shoulders are kinda slumped and his eyes look droopy with exhaustion though, and Katsuki worries that he hasn’t slept well.

 

“I just climbed out through the window,” Shouto says, voice calm and even. Katsuki doesn’t know if he prefers this, or if he missed that soft, private voice from the night before. Gentle and muffled by his face being pressed into Katsuki’s chest. He swallows.

 

“And remind me, why? Who the fuck sits on the roof at ass o’clock, Candy Cane?”

 

Shouto lets out an amused little breath, and Katsuki grins with pride. “I do. Just… look.” Katsuki turns to look at Shouto. He looks ethereal, bathed in the strange half-light of dawn. Like he’s from another world, too beautiful to be a human. His eyes shine and his skin looks soft and smooth, except for the deep red scar burning nearly maroon. It only serves to make Katsuki swoon harder. And then Shouto’s eyes—god, those eyes— flick to his and they're confused. “Kats, don’t look at me; look at the sky.”

 

Katsuki’s face blazes and he swings his head away so fast it is a wonder he doesn’t manage to fling himself off the roof. He gazes out at the horizon, tries to remember how the Katsuki who isn’t desperately, pathetically, unforgivably in love with Shouto would respond to that. “I know, dumbass.” Nailed it.

 

It is really early. Whatever the specific time is, it’s early enough that the sun isn’t visible in the sky yet. Did Shouto come up here just to watch the sunrise? That’s kinda sappy.

 

Wait, is Katsuki about to watch the sunrise with Shouto?

 

That’s. That’s romantic, right?

 

Katsuki’s cheeks burn hotter than the new sun as it splits the horizon, and steals Katsuki’s breath away.

 

“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” Shouto’s voice is quiet, nearly reverent. Katsuki can't help but look at him again, the newborn sun lighting his face with bright, vibrant colour, nothing like the cool tones that had turned his face to water nymph. Now he looks like a sun god, blazing with flame so hot that Katsuki is sure he’ll burn up too.

 

“Yeah, really beautiful.” He whips his head away again before Shouto can notice. Katsuki means it though. Shouto is so, so beautiful. And it makes his heart ache.

 

“It stopped raining,” Shouto comments thoughtfully, finally ripping Katsuki from his shameful thoughts.

 

“No shit,” he manages to choke out.

 

“I guess… that means you’re going home?”

 

“Yeah, we’ll probably leave after breakfast.”

 

“…We?” There is a hopeful twist to Shouto’s words that makes Katsuki raise his eyebrows.

 

“Obviously. I’m your ride, aren’t I?”

 

Shouto hums, and Katsuki is momentarily distracted by his smile, more precious than any jewel, a smile etched into Katsuki’s shitty brain. It never fails to make him feel lighter than air, especially when he is the apparent cause.

 

“Okay. Take me home.”

 

Katsuki nearly falls off the roof again.

  

 

Shouto hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep until he’s waking up to the car’s engine turning off, and a gentle hand on his knee.

 

“Sho, hey. You up?”

 

Shouto rubs his eyes, wearily wonders why it’s only when Katsuki drives him that he manages to sleep through the whole ride. By all accounts, Katsuki is a reckless driver. Maybe it’s something about his odd mix of overly cheerful pop songs and dark heavy metal with lyrics so screamed and distorted that Shouto can't understand a single word, whether it is in Japanese or English, that somehow lulls him into a deep sleep. He somehow doubts it.

 

He nods, blinking open and seeing Katsuki’s sleepy face looking at him with concern. “What?” He asks softly, finally sitting up.

 

Katsuki shrugs, begins to get out of the car. Shouto does too, and the second he’s on his own two feet Katsuki is at his side. “Think you must have been having a bad dream. You were all sweaty.” Shouto touches his own head and grimaces, pushing his bangs back so they wouldn’t stick grossly.

 

“Sorry.” Katsuki just shakes his head and takes his elbow to lead him to the elevator.

 

“S’fine. Fuck, why’s it gotta be such a long drive. Barely midday and I wanna go the fuck back to sleep again.”

 

Shouto laughs quietly. “You can have some of my coffee.”

 

“You have coffee?” Katsuki gives him an incredulous look.

 

“I’m an adult,” Shouto defends. “We all have coffee.”

 

His own lack of coffee-drinking becomes obvious when the grounds are unopened and the only setting he can use on the machine is the hot chocolate one. Shouto’s embarrassment served to only amuse the other man, who feels it necessary to tease him endlessly for his so-called ‘adult-ness’.

 

“Isn’t it more indicative of my maturity that I don’t rely on caffeine?” Shouto grumbles.

 

“Absolutely not the point, Halfie.”

 

“Okay, so what is the point?”

 

“You claimed that having the capacity to make coffee meant that you are an adult. So what does it say about you if you have the ability, but don’t actually drink the stuff, huh?” Katsuki takes a sip from his (extremely bad smelling) coffee, and Shouto scoffs. His leg is starting to get sore, so he shuffles to the living room and collapses heavily on the couch.

 

While on the one hand it’s comforting to be back in his own space, he can't help but miss all his friends (their goodbyes had come in the shape of tight hugs and were very teary and dramatic, much to Katsuki’s explosiveness) and dread being alone again. His apartment isn’t very big, but it feels absolutely enormous in his isolation, like he’s living in the cavernous maw of some beast intent on eating him whole.

 

“It says I don’t care and I just want hot chocolate.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, prissy boots.”

 

Prissy boots?”

 

“That’s what you get for making your guest not only get his own coffee, but also your hot chocolate.” Shouto rolls his eyes, even as he exhales with humour.

 

“Come on then house slave, I’m an impatient master.”

 

Katsuki apparently has no come back for that, though Shouto does hear what sounds like someone slamming into a counter. Then swearing at what presumably is a hot beverage spillage. Shouto smirks to himself. At least while Katsuki is still here, he can be okay.

 

He hums appreciatively when Katsuki hands him his drink, and instinctively snuggles up to his friend when he joins him on the lounge. “I miss the beach,” he admits softly. “Don’t want to go back to work.”

 

“You won’t,” Katsuki says. Shouto turns to frown at him, and Katsuki only frowns back. “Shit Shouto, you have a fucking leg injury. There’s no way you’re fighting like that!”

 

Shouto only sighs. “I’ve survived worse.”

 

It’s quiet, only the sounds of them sipping their hot drinks. The warmth of the drink still can barely compare to the warmth seeing into his right side where Katsuki’s arm and leg were against his. That’s odd, in and of itself. Katsuki always sits on his left to steal his heat, and calls him a frigid bitch when he has to touch his right side. 

 

Then Katsuki’s hand drops down, hovering above where they both knew his injury is. Shouto’s heart beats fast and dirty, hummingbird in a rib-made cage. Then Katsuki puts his palm against the wound and Shouto turns his face into his friend’s arm.

 

It’s so weird.

 

It’s wrong, of course.

 

When Katsuki starts to rub the area, gentle as anything, Shouto can’t contain the whine that escapes him.

 

He has no idea what this feeling is.

 

It hurts, but the pain is a dull throb compared to the light scintillating up his spine, the electricity buzzing low in his gut.

 

“Shouto.” Katsuki’s voice is so deep. So heated and low and gravelly and Shouto lets out a shuddery breath.

 

What is wrong with him?

 

“Stay home. At least for tomorrow. I’ll come see you and make you food after my patrol. Understand?”

 

Shouto nods into Katsuki’s side. He feels like he’s on fire. Katsuki’s hand continues to lightly rub on and around the wound, massaging the sides of his thigh. It feels heavenly, and Shouto wants so badly. What, he doesn’t know. Just knows that it fills him up, this unnamable desire, and threatens to burst him at his seams. 

 

“Katsuki,” his voice comes out broken and needy and he has no clue what the hell is happening to him, only that he either needs Katsuki to stop what he is doing immediately, or keep touching him forever.

 

“Icyhot, I’m gonna use your bathroom before I drive home, okay?”

 

He doesn’t even get a chance to respond— what would he even say? Beg Katsuki to keep touching him? To never leave him, to not take his heat away?— before Katsuki is gone.

 

Just as he pointed out last night, Shouto is fully capable of regulating his own temperature. So why does Katsuki always leave him feeling so… unbalanced? His thigh tingles, phantom touches sending shivers scintillating from his legs into his hips, waist, chest. He feels like a live wire. He drinks some hot chocolate, and his hand is shaking. Calm down, Shouto. Your feelings are too obvious. Whatever those feelings are.

 

 

Katsuki is going insane.

 

It must have been a mix of exhaustion from waking up so early and driving so long, plus the caffeine buzzing in his veins, that made him reach out and touch Shouto like that.

 

And Shouto liked it. He had—he had fucking whined for it, so sweet and soft, had said his name like it was a prayer, and curled into him, clung to his arm as Katsuki massaged his inner thigh, then let his hand ghost back over the wound, could feel the heat of it even through Shouto’s pants, could feel the way Shouto quivered when he circled his finger around it.

 

Katsuki’s pants are too tight.

 

He deals with the problem fast and dirty, biting his lip with the guilt and pleasure of it as he touches himself over Shouto, in Shouto’s bathroom, in his apartment, wrapped up in Shouto Shouto Shouto until he comes with a gasp.

 

He needs to leave.

 

He is so—this is so— wrong. On every level. He’s obscene, taking advantage of Shouto like this; he needs to go.

 

He flushes the toilet and washes his hands, shame pulsing under his skin like a second heartbeat, like another creature sharing the same body.

 

Shouto is in the kitchen washing their mugs when Katsuki comes out.

 

“Hey,” his voice is rough, and he clears his throat. “I’m heading home. Can you, uh, promise to call in sick tomorrow? You need more time to heal, yeah?”

 

Shouto doesn’t look over at him, head angled down at the sink like it holds all the answers of the universe. He continues scrubbing out the same spotless mug.

 

“I understand,” is all he says.

 

Katsuki wants to hug him, wants to touch him again and hold him close, wants to fall asleep in the same bed with Shouto’s cold nose against his neck. God, he wants so much.

 

He turns and leaves without another word.

 

 

 

Katsuki is patrolling alone today. He’s usually paired with one of the more level-headed heroes who can supposedly contain him, but one look from Best Jeanist and he’s plopped in the safest district in the city to mope the streets alone.

 

Shouto is still at Endeavour Agency, although his shitty dad no longer runs it, thank god. They’re far enough away that their paths rarely cross during work, so Katsuki can only hope the other boy is upholding his promise. His leg had split open from just running up some stairs, he’s in no shape to be fighting a villain.

 

It’s mostly a boring patrol of nodding to civilians and smiling (more like grimacing) at children. He’s in the middle of breaking up an argument between two women with shark tail quirks when his phone rings. He checks to see if his agency is gonna actually let him work today, only to see Shouto’s contact photo. It’s a beyond average photo of the boy slurping on soba noodles, but never fails to make Katsuki’s heart grow three sizes. He bites his lip and frowns at the screen. Why would Shouto be calling him now? Maybe something’s wrong? Katsuki sighs and resolves to call him back after his shift. He’s tired, and he’s busy, and as much as he knows he should be making Shouto his priority, he just needs to focus on his job right now. He mutes the phone and returns to the two women. “Okay wait, so who stole whose fish food??”

 

“VILLAIN!”

 

Katsuki twists around to the source of the scream, and his eyes instantly zero in on a huge, insanely quick woman charging like a bullet through the outdoor shopping mall. She destroys everything in her path, only moving for brick walls. She creates craters with every heavy footfall, and Katsuki’s palms are already popping.

 

“MOVE, GET OUT OF THE WAY!” He bellows to the bystanders. Then, more quietly, “I fucking got this.”

 

Controlled explosions propel him into the villain's path. He ruthlessly lets off an AP shot, streamlined gauntlets shaking from the force of it.

 

The woman keeps charging.

 

Katsuki can make out her details the closer she gets; her head is a strange shape, like a wedge of flesh with eyes. It seems to cut through wind resistance like a knife, and she looks completely unaffected by Katsuki’s attack. Fuck. Katsuki launches himself up, well aimed explosions angling his body exactly how he wants it. As the villain passes directly under him, he creates a massive explosion that rocks the mall. He hears someone scream. When the smoke clears, the villain is gone.

 

There’s no way he exploded her to bits, he was too far for that. She was just… gone.

 

“FUCK!” He curses, before pulling his phone out. He stands panting in the middle of the mall, phone against his ear as it rings. People gradually begin to pop out from behind buildings and storefronts. He makes sure no one is injured, and starts talking as soon as his call is picked up. “It’s Dynamite,” he barks out. He can’t even tell what direction the villain went in. “Had a villain run in at the Jakku Mall, she got away. From what I could tell, she’s fast and strong. Weird head.”

 

“Yeah, we’ve had a few calls about her. I’m shocked she’s reached Jakku Mall by now.”

 

Katsuki rolls his shoulder, bites back an unnecessarily rude remark. “Well she’s fucking gone now. Do you know where she is?”

 

“Hang on--crap, Tise, what’s going on? Shouto?”

 

Katsuki stills. All the jittery fidgeting, the nervous shuffling of his feet, the anxiety ridden readjustments of his costume. All cease the second he hears that name.

 

God, no. Please don’t let this be happening.

 

“Dynamite, we’ve just received word that Pro Hero Shouto has engaged the villain--”

 

“Where.”

 

“Shit, uh, Tise?”

 

Another voice appears on the line, more urgent and harried. “Dynamite, go to Downtown Omashu. Now.”

 

That far already? His own blasts ring in his ears as he catapults himself up, sailing over buildings and staring down at the streets below. His breath is fast, too fast, and there’s a chilly kind of panic tightening around his heart. After a beat, he pulls out his phone and plays the voicemail Shouto left him.

 

“K-Katsuki, really, I can’t--didn’t want to call. Know you’re busy. But I can’t be alone right now, or I’m… I’m gonna train.”

 

The word had never felt so macabre. 

 

“I’m going on a walk, but I’m not gonna work, because I--I promised you.”

 

There’s a few shaky breaths, and the message ends. Everything inside Katsuki wants to explode, his head is pounding and he can feel his mouth twist into a snarl.

 

Fuck, why hadn’t he just picked up the stupid phone? Maybe then he could’ve--god, he doesn’t even know, but he could have done something. He’s trembling with it, the aimless rage.

 

Please, please let Shouto be okay.

 

He spots the fight easily by the enormous wall of ice that nearly brains him when he soars over a wide building. His head turns in every direction, searching desperately for his boy.

 

Then he sees him--them. 

 

The villain is covered in frost, half encased in ice. As Katsuki watches, she breaks out of its hold and charges at a small, limp figure.

 

“SHOUTO!” He screams. The hero is crumbled on the ground, legs beneath him but hands held out in front. He shoots fireball after fireball at the woman, but they seem to glance off her strangely. Katsuki lands with an ice-shattering slam. There were no civilians in the area; Shouto had cut them off with the icewall; effectively sealing himself in too. There are no other heroes on the scene.

 

Katsuki barrels towards the villain.

 

He has to get there in time, before she can hurt Shouto, before she can kill him--

 

There’s a bone-curdling cry.

 

But it’s not Shouto.

 

The woman has a huge icicle protruding from her left shoulder, and she’s scrabbling at the bloody hole with pink hands. Shouto pushes himself up. Makes it about a metre before his leg buckles, and even from his distance Katsuki can hear his anguished cry echoing off the slick blue cylinder containing them.

 

“KATS--D-Dynamite! Her back is vulnerable!”

 

Katsuki gets a hold of himself long enough to flash Shouto his trademark bloodthirsty grin. “Good tip, Icyhot.”

 

The villain has managed to break off the icicle in her shoulder, and has turned front on again. Katsuki blasts over to Shouto, quickly murmurs the plan in his ear, then readies himself for the woman’s inconceivable speed. In a small area like this, the speed is both her advantage, and her--

 

She starts charging like a bull, and Katsuki barely has time to realize that her whole body is that strange wedge shape. An icicle from Shouto on the left and explosion from Katsuki to the right sluice off her, and an instant later she’s right in front of them. 

 

With a bang and a muted snick Katsuki and Shouto burst out of the villain’s path, and she stampedes right past them. They only have a couple seconds--less probably--to twist around and attack her exposed back, enough to incapacitate but not kill her. Shouto hurls fire-wreathed ice spears--that’s new--while Katsuki sends miniature snap-bangs to the back of her head. She lurches forward, calves impaled by burning spears and head cracking forward, and she slams into a wall of solid ice.

 

Another hero appears--some lady with a red hat--and declares that the villain’s out.

 

Katsuki rushes to Shouto’s side.

 

There’s blood covering his legs, flowing freely from the wound and staining the asphalt under him. He’s pale and sweaty, and Katsuki finally notices what he couldn’t see from afar; great big cuts slashed across his burn, his pants hanging in bloody rags. The pattern is strange, until Katsuki realizes that that fucking bitch took a bite out of Shouto. 

 

“Fuck,” he moans, feeling bile sting his throat. God, he’s gonna be sick.

 

“Kats, don’t-- gak-- don’t let the medics take me. They’ll see, they’ll know--”

 

“Are you fucking in sane, you damn half n half bastard!? Do you have a goddamn deathwish?”

 

Shouto’s hand shoots out and grasps the front of his hero costume, dragging him down till their faces are level. 

 

“Take me home and fix me, Katsuki. Don’t you dare let anyone see this.”

 

His voice is as cold and hard as diamond, and Katsuki knows that if he doesn’t do as Shouto demands, he’ll be iced out forever. 

 

“Fucking hell, Sho. This is--this is a lot to fucking ask.”

 

Shouto’s smile is faint, his laugh evasive. “When have you,” he breathes in sharply, face creasing with pain, “when has Bakugou Katsuki ever backed down from a challenge, huh?”

 

Katsuki swears. Shouto is fucking serious. Damn him. He scoops the boy up, bids him to hold on tight, then blasts off. He hears calls but they’re already fading as he uses his right hand to create well aimed explosions, his left clutching Shouto as tight as possible. It’s a jerky ride, but it only lasts a minute before Katsuki decides that they’re far enough. He sets them down in what appears to be an empty street, closer to Katsuki’s place than Shouto’s. Doesn’t even let Shouto complain before he’s sweeping him up in a princess carry.

 

“Shut the fuck up. If I’m gonna play medic, I’m goin’ the whole nine goddamn yards, ya hear me you candy cane fucker?”

 

Shouto presses his nose into Katsuki’s neck. It’s warm, a point of nearly burning contact against his clammy skin. The contact calms the frenzied beating of Katsuki’s heart, his breaths become more stable, and he holds Shouto closer, tighter.

 

“Didn’t even say anything yet,” Shouto mumbles, and Katsuki grunts. 

 

“Didn’t have to. What kinda princess doesn’t like being carried, huh?”

 

Shouto just noses against his neck with a soft sigh.



“I think I’m ruining your costume,” Shouto frowns. He can feel the hot slick of his blood seeping into Katsuki’s clothes, warm and wet.

 

“Sho, honey, if you think I’ve never had blood on my costume you’ve got another thing coming.”

 

“First princess, now honey? Am I really such a damsel in distress?”

 

Katsuki snorts, and it fills Shouto with that familiar light. Even though he’s in, like, a crazy amount of pain, it feels nice to be able to alleviate some of Katsuki’s obvious tension. He knows his friend is really worried about him. He doesn’t want to make it worse by acting like a dead fish in his arms.

 

“Didn’t I save you?”

 

Shouto starts, annoyed. “Are you kidding? We worked together! If anything, I weakened her for you.”

 

“But I came up with the plan, you couldn’t have done it without me!”

 

“Another hero would have shown up!”

 

They argue until they reach Katsuki’s apartment. Given that it’s the early afternoon in a residential area, the place is deserted. They make it to Katsuki’s apartment unimpeded, whereupon Shouto is skilfully placed on a stool in the kitchen.

 

“Not the bathroom this time?” He tries to joke, but Katsuki just gives him a flat look. “...Too soon?”

 

Katsuki’s grunt sounds closer to amused than frustrated, so Shouto counts that as a victory.

 

His thigh bleeds sluggishly from where the villain’s teeth had scraped him. He’d gotten away soon enough that he wasn’t missing a chunk of his legs, but apparently the villain had been able to smell blood or something. As soon as she saw him she was focused in on his upper right thigh, strange nostrils flaring. She had barrelled forward like a bull and thrown herself at him. The pain had been bright, a single match lit in a dark cave, blazing instantly. 

 

As the adrenaline had kicked in, it had become more numb. Now though, the pain is starting to come back full force. Especially the cuts that intersected with his burn.

 

Those ached so unspeakably that all Shouto could do was press his lips in a tight, thin line and try not to pass out. 

 

“Here, painkillers. Strong ones too. Eat up,” Katsuki gives him the pills, and before Shouto can even ask for water, there’s a glass under his nose. Shouto gratefully flickers his eyes up to Katsuki’s, before taking the medication. The effect isn’t instant, but even just the knowledge is enough to ease the grim line of his mouth. A second later, Katsuki sinks to his knees, a first aid kit in hand. He puts it on the floor. “First, let's get you out of those pants, halfie.”

 

Shouto grimaces the whole way, even though Katsuki does his best to not jostle or bump him. As soon as they’re off, Katsuki’s hand is rubbing soothing circles into his hip, just above his underwear. His slanted red eyes are focused as he uses his other hand to tenderly dab antiseptic on cuts that are no longer bleeding. Every time Shouto pants with the pain, Katsuki pauses, presses his lips to Shouto’s knees and murmurs praise against it. 

 

His back is arching with the pain, breath coming out in strangled gasps, and yet those lips on his skin send a thrill to his belly, and then he’s moaning for a different reason. 

 

“K-Katsuki, please.

 

“I know, shit Icyhot I know it hurts.” Shouto looks down at the boy through half-closed eyes, tinting his vision red and white as his eyelashes flutter. Katsuki’s face is a mask of frustrated emotion, eyebrows furrowed even as his hands are steady. He’s dabbing at something, but the painkillers have kicked in and Katsuki was right, they are damn strong. And now all Shouto can do is shudder in pleasure as Katsuki’s touch both soothes him and ignites him.

 

Ah, shit.

 

Shouto’s passing out. That must be why everything was at once too bright and incredibly dull, why his pain had faded to buzz and Katsuki’s warm fingers against his dewy skin felt like tiny stars going supernova, explosions skittering up to his belly. 

 

The world fades to purple, and Shouto does too.





Notes:

hi there! if you've been reading this fic up till now, jsut wanna let ya know that i've done an overhaul of all the prev chapters - the tense is now present, i've adjusted certain sentences and changed some words, and added some small details. nothing major that needs a reread tho! just in case u were confused uwu
as always, follow me on tumblr (kazeohiku) and twitter (kazeohiku_)
one day i will learn how to link these, but today is not that day
drop a comment or a dm if you liked this chapter ~

Chapter 10: Like Real People Do

Notes:

im not playing, this shit is achingly domestic. is my own wistful longing for someone to cuddle coming through? is it obvious how touch-starved i am? perhaps. anywho enjoy as i project onto my boys like a motherfucker

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Shouto is asleep in Katsuki’s bed.

 

He barely even noticed the weight of Shouto’s body in his arms when he carried him in, now beyond accustomed to having the boy there. That in itself was dangerous. 

 

The image of Shouto curled on his side in Katsuki’s t-shirt and boxers (Katsuki tried his best to not look or touch too much as he stripped Shouto of his bloody clothes, feeling disgusted by his own desire the whole time), hair feathering over Katsuki’s pillow, under Katsuki’s blanket, in Katsuki’s bed. 

 

This is dangerous. 

 

He grunts and forces himself to turn away. It wasn’t that late in the day, the work of getting Shouto home and fixed up probably only took a half hour. His phone is full of notifications, and he knows he’s gonna be in so much shit for dereliction of duty, or whatever the fuck shit they put him on probabtion for this time. He knows that he’s in the wrong here, and worse yet, he can’t even explain it without risking Shouto.

 

Either way, he needs to get back out there. He ignores the blood drying on his costume ( Shouto’s blood ) and leaves to catch the train back to his agency.



He’s not surprised when he catches an earful from his superiors, although when they tell him to come in on his next day off rather than put him on probation, he’s delighted. He fucking hates probation. 

 

“Oi, Bakubro!” Katsuki turns at the sound of Denki’s voice. He would never admit it out loud, but a sense of calm and relief leaves his legs feeling like jelly. He grunts in acknowledgement as the blond catches up. “Hey, you okay? I saw that shit with that Hammerhead lady. You going back out there?”

 

“I’m fine, and yeah. What, you wanna join me or some shit?”

 

Denki grins and tugs at his leather jacket. “You know it bro!” They walk out of the agency together and Katsuki follows Denki’s lead, evidently heading uptown to the more commercial district. “Hey, you sure you’re okay? It’s really not like you to just take off after a fight… and with Todoroki…?”

 

“Denki.”

 

His friend’s head practically snapped with how quickly he whipped it back to stare at Katsuki, dumbfounded. Hearing his first name on Katsuki’s lips, and so serious too, was evidently unusual enough to warrant a look of total and utter bewilderment.

 

“Drop it, alright? It’s… not my position to say anything.”

 

Denki continues to stare at him like he’s lost his mind, and for all Katuski knows, he has. He has been more calm, caring, empathetic, all that shit, in the last few days than he has in the rest of his years combined. He could feel it like an itch in the back of his mind, this voice telling him how weird and wrong this all was. How he was absolutely treating Shouto with more care than he could ever conceive of giving to another soul.

 

It was a fucking wonder that Shouto, oblivious asshole that he was, managed to see it all as completely platonic. Katsuki ground his teeth, fingers twitching with the need to choke someone out or fold a delicate paper crane. “Let’s just do this shit, Pikachu.”

 

Denki shot him a relieved look, and like that they continued their patrol.

 

 

Unfortunately (although it was probably for the better), the patrol was uneventful, beyond some crowd control and a kid using his quirk to entertain a cat. Back at the agency and changing after showers, Denki leans with his back against some lockers while Katsuki tugs on his sweats. “Kacchan--”

 

Katsuki growls at the nickname, which only makes Denki smirk. The smile fades to a more serious, thoughtful look.

 

“We all know how you feel about Todoroki.”

 

Katsuki’s glare turns fiery, and he advances on his the boy. “This better be going somewhere good, duncehead.” 

 

He holds his hands up in a placating gesture, like Katsuki’s a rabid cat that needs taming.

 

“Hang on dude, just let me finish. I obviously don’t know like, the story or the context or anything, but at Momo’s and now here, it just seems like you’re spending a lot of time with Todoroki? And now you’re like… keeping his secrets for him, and it’s getting you in trouble at your job, and like… I guess what I’m tryna say is, I hope you’re not getting so caught up in your feelings for him that you’re losing sight of your own goals.”

 

It’s like there are ants crawling under his skin. He scratches at his wrist, breathes out shakily, before looking Denki in the eye. All he can see on his face is concern, and yet rage wells up in Katsuki and spills caustically out his lips.

 

“Don’t talk about shit you couldn’t hope to understand. I don’t need your help, nor do I want it. Keep your nose out of my fucking business.” He jabs Denki in the chest to emphasise his words. “Leave. Me. The fuck. Alone.

 

He leaves Denki behind, regret and rage mingling under the skin of his hands. He stops by the training room and beats the shit out of a punching bag, until his bones start to ache and there’s bruising on his knuckles.

 

He doesn’t feel better.



By the time he gets home, his whole body is a dull point of pain, and his eyelids are drooping. He drags himself to his bedroom, more than ready to collapse, until the blurry outline of a snuggled up Shouto dazzles him enough that he stubs his fucking toe.

 

“Shit,” he hisses, hopping out of the room and trying to keep his string of curses to a quiet minimum, in the hopes of not waking the boy.

 

Shouto had looked so angelic.

 

Is this what it would be like coming home to his lover after a long day?

 

No, not really. If it was, he wouldn’t hesitate to crawl in the bed after his boyfriend and wrap him up. Keep him safe and warm, all his till morning.

 

It was a silly fantasy, unrealistic given that they both work the same long, uncertain hours. It would more likely be one of them staying up biting their nails, hoping that once again, the other comes home.

 

Katsuki shakes the thoughts from his mind, and steps through to the living room, where his body finally gives out on him and he falls bonelessly on his couch. He flicks the television on to watch the news, seeing as he’s out here. He goes glassy eyed until replay footage of his and Sho’s fight with that villain - Hammerhead, apparently - is aired with commentary that he tunes out. He’s well aware of his own moves and technique, and how flawlessly he executes them. He’s more focused on the helicopter close-ups of Shouto.

 

“I looked pretty bad, huh?”

 

Katsuki jumps and twists to see Shouto, standing behind the couch and swaying unsteadily, pale.

 

“Fuck halfie, sit your ass down. Looking like you’re about to pass the fuck out again.”

 

Shouto rolls his eyes, but does as Katsuki says. Immediately Katsuki is leaning over, glancing at Shouto for permission briefly before pushing his boxer shorts up and unwrapping his leg enough to see his wound. He grimaces upon seeing it, huffing out a frustrated breath.

 

“My stitches are shit.”

 

“You were never great at first aid.”

 

“Fuck off, I was fucking fine at it.”

 

“Not the best though,” Shouto teases, a glint in his eye. He turns back to the T.V.  “I just wanted to get groceries…” he laments.

 

“So you didn’t… decide to do hero work after all…?”

 

Shouto sends him an affronted look. “Of course not. I promised you. I just…” he sighs and starts rubbing the red skin around his wound. “Was gonna hurt myself again if I stayed there with nothing to do.”

 

Ice pierces Katsuki’s heart. He hates that Shouto feels this way, like he’s out of control, helpless to his own urges.

 

“I was hungry and I only had junk food at my place, so I went out to get some proper food… wanted, wanted to make you dinner.”

 

Katsuki’s heart unfreezes just like that, and he releases a disbelieving laugh. “Fuck would you wanna do that for? You don’t cook.”

 

“Wanted to,” Shouto protests, looking petulant and pouty. Cute. “For you. Like… to thank you. You’ve done so--so much for me. And now even this… did you get in trouble?”

 

Katsuki rolls his shoulders and begins to rewrap Shouto’s leg. The news program has given way to ads, the staticy light washing them in a strange blue, kinda like they’re underwater. It gave everything a nostalgic, photographic energy. Like they were living in a memory, like this moment had already passed. 

 

“You don’t need to thank me,” he says finally, leaning away and focusing his eyes on an advertisement for a vacuum cleaner. Not as good as his own. “And it’s fine, don’t worry your pretty little head, alright you Icyhot bastard? If I couldn’t handle it I wouldn’t be here right now.”

 

Shouto is quiet for awhile, and Katsuki resolutely stares at the T.V, afraid of what he’ll see on Shouto’s face. Which is bullshit, because Bakugou Katsuki isn’t afraid of fucking anything.

 

But Shouto was always the exception to the rule, he muses as he feels a warm, solid weight settling against his side. A hot shiver runs up his body, and he dares himself to look.

 

Shouto is looking up at him through red and white eyelashes, eyes full of something he doesn’t care to identify. “Thank you,” he whispers with so much sincerity that Katsuki has to look away. He grunts and slides his arm around Shouto’s shoulder, pulling him closer, closer, closer. 

 

Dangerous. 





“It smells good,” Shouto comments. His leg throbs, but he refuses to go lie on the couch like Katsuki says he should, because he would rather watch Katsuki make them breakfast and have to sit on a stool, than languish on a couch and miss Katsuki’s face. Was that weird? Probably, but he’s tired and drained enough that he can’t bring himself to care anymore. 

 

“It’s not hard to please you,” Katsuki snorts, and Shouto feels… something shiver through him. He lets himself smile gently as he slumps down at the breakfast bar. 

 

“Not my fault you’re a better cook than Fuyumi.”

 

“OI! Don’t fuckin’ disrespect your sister, I’m not half the damn cook she is.”

 

“You are.”

 

“I’m not!”

 

“You are.” Shouto insists.

 

“Are we really doing this right now,” Katsuki groans into their breakfast. 

 

“You’re the one refusing to accept the truth.”

 

“Fuck off halfie, Fuyumi could cook me under the table.”

 

“I don’t even know what that means.”

 

Katsuki continues to grumble even as he seasons their breakfast to what Shouto suspects must be perfection.

 

Shouto’s phone goes off in his pocket, and he pulls it out with a sigh, assuming it was his agency trying to berate him, or beg him to come in. Burnin’ runs the agency now, which is probably the only reason Shouto has stuck around as long as he has. The only issue is that she looks up to him way too much, still treats him like the son of the boss, rather than a hero in his own right. Which means that Burnin’ is convinced Shouto ss necessary all the time.

 

Luckily, or unluckily considering Shouto’s compromised wellbeing, it’s a text from Fuyumi herself. 

 

Yumi: Shouto, mum’s birthday is coming up. Sunday after next we’re meeting at her home. Heads up, Dad will be there. Please come this time, mum missed you last year.

 

His heart hammers in his ears as he rereads the text, face settling into that familiar mask, the neutrality that has always been his greatest friend and worst enemy, protecting him from everything; the good and the bad. 

 

“Hey candy cane ass, wanna pay attention and actually eat your breakfast?”

 

Shouto’s shoulders jump, but he doesn’t look up. He takes in a deep breath, tries to reason with himself. Tries to tell himself that this is fine, even though he knows it’s not, he knows it’ll make him hunger for pain, crave to tear himself apart. He wants to right now, wants to slip his nails under the edges of the sickly, scummy scab till red red blood wells up in bubbles and leaks, slides down his thighs, drips on the tiles. Wants to bite down on his tongue as he burns open skin, cauterizes his wet wound, revels in the all-consuming agony until there’s no other thoughts in his shattered mind.

 

“Shouto. Fuck, Sho, what’s wrong? What’s going on in that mind, huh? Talk to me.”

 

There’s a hand on his chin, and he drags himself kicking and screaming back to reality, looks up to see Katsuki’s scared red eyes.

 

That’s right. He’s with Katsuki, in his home. Wearing his clothes, even. His shirt has a skull on it, and it smells like the washing liquid Katsuki uses; it smells like Katsuki. The scent of citrus and caramel left lingering in his nose and on his mind after he’s gotten close, rested on him, been held by him. He takes in another deep, rattling breath, tries to hold that scent, like it’s a physical thing. Tries to let it cloud his mind and smoke out the urges, the trembling of his hands, the compulsion to pick, burn, ruin.

 

“Katsuki,” he breathes out, relieved. Saved again, apparently. “Can I ask you a big favour…?”

 

Katsuki stares at him, face weirdly unreadable, shuttered against Shouto’s searching eyes. He sighs and sits on the stool beside him, shoves some bacon into his mouth. “Anything.”

 

Thank god for Bakugou Katsuki.

 

“It’s my mum’s birthday in two weeks. I need to go, but my dad will be there…”

 

“Why the fuck will that asshole be there? Didn’t he lock your mum up in a hospital for like, most of your life?”

 

Shouto shrugged restlessly, poked at his own bacon. It really did smell delicious, but suddenly, Shouto wasn’t very hungry.

 

“I don’t know why they insist on it. It’s some bullshit charade. Mum and Fuyumi say it’s important to be together as a family, but Touya isn’t even going to be alive this time of year, so what’s the point? They’re play-acting like it will somehow mean that our family isn’t fucked to hell.”

 

His chest is heaving, and he’s glaring daggers at his bacon, like it did something wrong.

 

“Fuck, I don’t know if I’ve ever heard you swear that much in your life,” Katsuki laughs, breathy. Shouto peeks at Katsuki, feels his shoulders slump and his stomach warm at the sight of a toothy grin stretching across Katsuki’s face. “I get it though. You want me to come along so you can survive your family shitshow, yeah?”

 

Shouto nods shame-facedly. “I know I’m asking a lot of you, more than a friend ever should--”

 

“Fuck off halfie. I’m gonna help you, so drop it.” Shouto frowns and turns back to his breakfast. That Katsuki made him.

 

Why was Katsuki so kind to him? So willing to help him, despite how desperately pathetic he was? It was a well-known fact that Katsuki hated weakness. So why did he indulge Shouto? 

 

He belatedly took a bite of bacon, and gasped in delight before shoving the rest in. “Katshki, sho good!” He moaned around his mouthful.

 

“Shut the fuck up when your mouth is full, rude bastard.”

 

Shouto just smiled happily from around his bacon.



Shouto spends the rest of the day at Katsuki’s place. It’s nice; not huge, more suited to just one or two people, but it’s covered in things that just scream Katsuki. His kitchen is well stocked, and he has these fancy knives and pans that are spotless (like the whole place, actually). He had bookshelves in his small study, some shelves full of books, others full of merch. Vintage All Might figurines, the first runs of his Dynamite merch, even a pair of jeans signed by Best Jeanist. Shouto snorted when he saw that, couldn’t help but tease Katsuki about still being a hopeless fanboy for the man he works with. His bedroom is more orderly, organized closet and bed with grey and black sheets, and fleece blanket that Shouto takes to carrying around his shoulders. His T.V is big, not as big as Shouto’s, but Shouto’s had been an exorbitant gift from his father, meaning he didn’t actually use it often. Mostly out of spite. Partly because he tended to prefer reading manga to unwind.

 

Katsuki drives him home later in the afternoon, and Shouto misses him as soon as he drives away, after a funny, bashful half wave, half hug. Awkward, and silly considering all the times they’d cuddled. He misses his home, the windows on the walls, the smells wafting from the kitchen, the comforting sounds of old, oddly violent cartoons playing in the background as Shouto and Katsuki make little paper cranes. Katsuki even gave him a huge stack of coloured origami paper to take home, so he can distract himself when the urges come, just like Katsuki showed him.

 

He starts making cranes nearly as soon as Katsuki leaves.



He stays off hero work for a few more days, Katsuki coming to visit him whenever his shifts end. They’ve been friends for awhile, but never this close, never seeing each other on a daily basis. On Wednesday, he comes over around noon with Chinese take-away and they gorge themselves while watching shitty reality T.V; one of the few things Shouto uses his television for. Katsuki acts disgusted, but he’s yelling at the screen not even ten minutes into the program.

 

“Oh, come on! Him? Bitch, that motherfucker told you your head looks like a foot. You can do so much better!”

 

He turns to Shouto, livid, who just nods in encouragement. 

 

Quirkless Dating is the program that’s on this time of day, although Shouto thinks it might be a rerun. They set a bunch of pretty people up in a house and make them hide their quirks so that the contestants fall in love uninfluenced by quirk bias. The girl Shouto’s been rooting for, Daria, is actually quirkless. A dude with some sub-par ability to manipulate dust guessed that she had a mutant type quirk that made her head look like a foot.

 

Katsuki is very unhappy when Daria admits that she likes men who are mean to her.

 

“Daria, are you fucking kidding me! That man is clearly an abusive fuck!”

 

“She must have some deeper issues to work out,” Shouto muses.

 

Katsuki snorts, “daddy issues, maybe.”

 

“Hmm. I mean, I have daddy issues too, but I’ve never been tempted to date a walking flake of dead skin.”

 

Katsuki nearly laughs himself off the couch.



They keep that routine for a couple days; Katsuki bringing food, take out or home-made, and just kind of… hanging out with Shouto. He wonders if the blond truly realizes how much help he’s being, how much Shouto appreciates it. It’s hard for him to be constantly thanking him, not to mention that Katsuki seems to find that annoying, so Shouto tries to show him the only other way he knows; through touch. He jumps at any opportunity to cuddle, even going so far and standing beside him and holding his hand when Katsuki brought groceries over to make them some stir fry. He makes Katsuki stay the night half the time, insisting on being the little spoon.

 

He might be obsessed with Katsuki’s touch. He’s not sure exactly why, why he finds his friend’s heat and warmth so addictive. Why he feels himself both relax and burn when Katsuki relaxes into his hold, or wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him closer. He’s always hesitant at first, but he always gives in sooner or later. He likes it too; that much is obvious. So Shouto tries to put all his gratitude and affection into his touches, tries to express physically just how much this means to him, just how much Katsuki means to him. He hasn’t hurt himself since the last time, and although it’s hard to resist the urges when he’s alone, the knowledge that Katsuki will be back as soon as he can keeps him strong.



A week passes like that, until Friday night comes and Shouto brings an overnight back, ready to spend the whole weekend at Katsuki’s. He’s going back to work on Sunday, thigh healed enough that he can almost walk without limping. It’s incredible how quickly something can heal when you just… leave it alone. 

 

Katsuki still has patrols, and apparently he’s been put on a task force that starts on Sunday. Something about a series of suspicious building collapses. But Shouto is happy to use his punching bag (it’s usually in storage, but Katsuki set it up for him) to try and get back into shape after a week of eating, sleeping, and not very much else. He can see the muscle tone in his stomach has already faded, the chub in his cheeks is back, and it only makes him want to burn himself all over. So he puts that anger into his fists and punches it out.

 

Very Dynamite of him, if he thinks about it.

 

By the time Katsuki is home (and isn’t that nice? Being the one that Katsuki comes home to? It fills him with some ineffable feeling that leaves him feeling lighter than a balloon. Helium, probably) Shouto is fresh out the shower and folding cranes at the breakfast bar. 

 

“I’m home,” Katsuki calls, slamming the door behind him. 

 

“Welcome home,” Shouto replies warmly, standing up and opening his arms to his friend, who gives him this strangely desperate, tortured look, before he drops his bag and sweeps Shouto up in a hug so all-encompassing that Shouto gasps. “Are you--?”

 

“M fine. Got you.”

 

Shouto clings to Katsuki harder, blinks tears out of his eyes.

 

Why is he crying? Stop it now, Shouto. Men do not cry. 

 

Shouto tries to wipe the tears in his lashes away as quickly and subtly as possible. “I didn’t watch the news. Long day?”

 

Katsuki shrugs, and Shouto feels the movement with his own body. “There was a--another building collapse.”

 

Katsuki’s hands are shaking against his back, Shouto realizes. A sick feeling starts to build in his stomach. 

 

“No earthquake?”

 

Katsuki shakes his head. “This can’t be natural. It’s always residential high rises, middle class. No earthquakes, or even trembles. Someone is doing this - maybe a group of people.”

 

Shouto thinks back to the incident last year, the devastating ruins of what was once a building full of families, hundreds of people perishing in pain, barely any survivors. 

 

“Oh, Katsuki.” He whispers. 

 

Shouto is not good at comfort. He’s not good at most things, but comforting others is definitely a weak point. But Katsuki is trembling in his arms, and Shouto has just realized that he’s still in his hero uniform, sans grenades, smudges on his face, the smell of smoke and dust clinging to his hair. 

 

Katsuki needs comfort now. He came straight here for it. For Shouto.

 

Shouto walks them backwards until Katsuki’s knees hit the couch, and falls compliantly, Shouto settling on top of him. Katsuki’s hands hover around his waist, eyes wide and wild, full of burning embers and stars, looking up at Shouto like he’s something celestial. Shouto brings his hands up, cautiously touches Katsuki’s temple, where little flyaway baby hairs soft as down meet the heated skin of his face. When Katsuki doesn’t recoil, he lets his hand smooth up and into his hair, fingers threading through the tufts and spikes of his blond hair. It’s soft, softer than one might expect, and feels like silk between his hands. He scrapes his blunt fingernails over Katsuki’s scalp, doesn’t really know why he does so, but he’s rewarded with Katsuki’s moon-round eyes fluttering closed, a songs like relief escaping his pink lips as he chases the touch. Like a kitten, Shouto smiles to himself. He doesn’t speak; wouldn’t know what to say. Knows that today, Katsuki was too late. Today, Katsuki couldn’t save everyone. Knows that there is nothing anyone in this world can say to ease the ache of that, the guilt. The guilt of feeling guilt. The raw, raw devastation. 

 

So he just tries to be there, to be the solid weight that grounds him, as Katsuki has done for him more times than is fair. Katsuki is practically purring under his ministrations, and for a moment it’s hard to reconcile this content creature in his arms with the wild boy he met four years ago. But then the moment’s gone, and it’s just Katsuki. It’s always been Katsuki.

 

On Monday, Burnin’ is all over him, fussing and demanding if he got over his stomach bug, if he’ll be one hundred percent today, all before he’s even changed into his hero costume. 

 

“I’m fine, I swear. I just want to do my job.”

 

Burnin’ gives him a serious one over before nodding sharply. “Right. Then I want you to man this street.”

 

“Just the one street…?”

 

“I’m sure you know what happened on Saturday.” Shouto gives a jerky nod in confirmation. After they went to bed (without having dinner), they snuggled to sleep. Shouto had woken up alone, to a snappish Katsuki telling him he was in his way and a bowl of cereal for breakfast. He understood, really, that Katsuki was still reeling from the day before, that one relaxing head scratching session wouldn’t be able to make all the guilt and self-hate go away. Still, Shouto missed his good-bye grasp, as he’s taken to calling it. It involves Katsuki and Shouto briefly grasping each other’s hand, making meaningful eye contact, and squeezing. It’s weirdly nice, even if Shouto thinks a hug would be more acceptable. But no, hugs are for coming home, apparently.

 

“We can’t let that happen again, so we’re putting heroes on each street with buildings that are likely to be targeted. I need you on the lookout for anything suspicious, and to be there on the scene as soon as possible if something does happen. Got it?”

 

“Got it.”

 

“Good, get changed.” Shouto turns to leave, that familiar pleasure of being useful, necessary, and good at his job making his mind clearer than its been in weeks. “And Shouto,” Burnin’ calls after him, and he looks back curiously. “Glad you’re okay,” she grins, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up. He feels something inside him melt; something he wasn’t aware was frozen. 

 

“Thanks, Kamiji.”



As high of alert as Shouto is, he can’t help but feel bored. It’s midday on a deserted suburban street, and he has seen… old people. That’s pretty much it. All the kids are in school, their parents working, and the only people with time to kill are the pensioners. And Shouto, apparently. He hasn’t seen hide nor hair of any suspicious activity, and he’s pretty sure he’s getting eye strain from pausing to squint into dark garages. 

 

Inevitably, his mind wanders.

 

His leg hurt. The more the minutes trickled by, slower than the millionth geriatric on a walker Shouto has seen in the last hour alone, the more he aches, the weaker his leg feels, the more desperate he is to sit down. He feels sure that he wouldn’t get in trouble for walking up the street to the Lawsons on the corner to sit in the window and slurp microwaved convenience store soba, but his paranoia is getting the better of him.

 

If he stops paying attention for even a second, and that’s the second someone strikes, Shouto will never forgive himself.



It’s not till around 3.30 that something different happens; the great wave of children suddenly pouring through the street. It’s almost overwhelming, especially when so many of the kids stop to stare up at him in awe, tug on his costume, ask inane questions that receive extremely matter of fact replies. He’s trying as best he can to keep an eye out for anything that could be classed as out of the ordinary, and that’s when he sees a lone adult swimming through the sea of hip-height junior high students. He appears to be holding hands with a little boy, which in and of itself is pretty unconcerning.

 

What catches Shouto’s attention is that he’s wearing a grey hoodie that shadows his face in what can only be called obviously suspicious. He can’t be a parent; if it were common for parents to get off work early and walk their children home, there would be more than just one hoodie-clad individual. An older brother perhaps? Maybe even an unemployed father?

 

Nothing yet indicates that Shouto should insert himself into the situation--until the man looks up, catches sight of Shouto, amber eyes glinting like a cat’s in the dark for a split second; and then he turns and runs. 

 

Shouto swears under his breath, tries to take off after the guy, who is physically shoving ten year olds out of the way like a classically evil Disney villain, but he can’t use his quirk to catch up with so many civilians around. He swears again (Katsuki’s influence, clearly), before he gives up the chase. He can’t leave this street anyway, nor can he conveniently and safely use his quirk. Instead, he walks quickly back to the little boy, who is easy to pinpoint given his mutant quirk. In a few words, he looks like a cross between a pterodactyl and a shaggy dog. The other children give him a wide berth, like they’re afraid of him. He’s looking at the end of the street where the man disappeared. His eyes are enormous, with weird puddle-shaped irises.

 

“Hi,” Shouto smiles at him, making the kid’s long, beaky head whip towards him. Those funky eyes widen when he focuses on the pro hero, and Shouto drops to a crouch in front of him. The kids that were previously glaring are now looking on with jealousy. “I’m Shouto,” he introduces, probably unnecessarily. “What’s your name?”

 

“F-Fukawara Taichi,” he murmurs. His voice his strange, not quite human. Shouto just tilts his head and smiles wider.

 

“You’re a really cool looking kid, Taichi-kun.”

 

The boy’s expression is hard to read, given that his face is mostly beak and fur and huge, puddly eyes, but if Shouto had to guess, he looks desperately pleased. 

 

“R-really??”

 

“Yeah, I really think so. Hey, Taichi-kun, could you do me a huge favour and answer a couple questions for me? It would be helping me out a lot.”

 

Taichi nods his head vigorously. 

 

“Okay. Who was that man with you? The one holding your hand?”

 

Taichi’s eyes light up. “Oh, that’s Houkai-nii!”

 

“Your brother?” Shouto clarifies, even as he squints at the name. Collapse. Decay. It’s not a name at all.

 

“Oh, not really! But I met him in the park, and he’s super nice and all, and today he wanted to walk me home! He’s really curious about my building.” Taichi’s puddles get a little… puddlier, in what Shouto assumes is confusion. “I dunno why tho. The parking garage is really boring!”

 

The parking garage. 

 

Suddenly Shouto wishes he had the nerve to knock over school kids in his pursuit of a villain, but he’s not sure even Katsuki would do that.

 

“Can you tell me which building is yours, Taichi-kun?”





Katsuki has been in this meeting since lunch ended. And on his day off, of all days.

 

There’s no new information, and everyone is just going over the same shit time and time again, like they’ll suddenly have a fucking revelation. Isn’t this the definition of insanity? Goddamn it. If they were gonna call him in, they could at least let him have a street to keep tabs on, actually put him in the field. He actually fucking rocks at strategizing, but he’s also not the first option most people choose when it comes to being in a task force. He tends to be a frontline kinda guy.

 

“Can this meeting be over already,” he groans. Best Jeanist gives him a sharp look that says don’t embarrass me . It’s an intra-agency meeting, including the bastards at Endeavour agency and Miruko’s hero agency. Which, of course, means fucking Deku is sitting on his right, jiggling his leg like he’s inherited his boss’ bunny fidgeting. 

 

Deku sighs, scribbles something down in his notebook and slaps it shut. He stands up, and whatever loser police dude they have in on this stops droning on about shit they all know already.

 

The perp or perps target residential, middle-class high-rise buildings. Usually, the cause is so lost in the destruction as to be indiscernible. There doesn’t appear to be a pattern to when it occurs, and it seems that theirs is not the first city to experience it. Apparently, this has even been linked to a couple incidents in Korea. So far, one building has collapsed in their city, and one nearly did in the greater area. It caused enough damage that five people died, but the infrastructure held up long enough for an effective evacuation. It really wasn’t enough to work with. And repeating the names of people who lost their lives in the incidents is only making Katsuki ache to be back home, Shouto in his lap, hands in his hair. He shivers involuntarily at the memory.

 

“This is getting us nowhere. We’ve been here for four hours, and have nothing more now than we did at the beginning.” Deku announces to the room at large, and everyone pays him attention. It’s kind of amazing, how much confidence Deku has gained over the last few years. Katsuki would never say it to the nerd’s face, though. Unless he was particularly sloshed.

 

As if the universe needs to slap the guy down a few pegs, the door bursts open and in walks Shouto. Katsuki is on his feet in seconds, eyes raking over his body, checking for injuries or any signs of distress. Instead he just sees a fucking terror of a little kid hiding behind his leg, and his equally bizarre parent. 

 

Burnin’ jumps up too. “Shouto? What the hell are you doing here? You should be--”

 

“I know,” Shouto acknowledges shortly. “I have information pertinent to this investigation.” He smiles down at the little kid now, a small but encouraging smile, fond almost. It’s fucking adorable, but Katsuki shakes that thought from his mind. “This is Taichi-kun.”



In the end, the meeting lasts till well after six. It’s one of the most exhausting days Katsuki has had in awhile, and all he did was sit on a fucking wheely chair and glare. 

 

He considers the fact that if it weren’t for Shouto, they might have another hundred civilian deaths on their hands.

 

Flashes of Saturday surface suddenly, and his stomach lurches concerningly. 

 

He had thrown up twice on his way home after that. 

 

Hadn’t been able to bring himself back to the agency.

 

If he’d just been a little faster--a little better--

 

“Kacchan?”

 

Deku’s worried voice penetrates the fog settling over his mind. 

 

“You look really pale. Let's wrap this meeting up guys, we all need to eat and rest.”

 

Katsuki momentarily hates Deku for having confidence enough to forcibly end this monster of a meeting. Mostly, he adores him silently for finally ending this cruel, if unique, torture. He spares Shouto a longing glance, which is missed due to the guy being engaged in a deep conversation with Taichi about heroes. Katsuki decides it’s an okay reason to be ignored, and follows Deku out of the office. 

 

“How’s the cafeteria here?” He asks, sending Katsuki a curious, tired smile.

 

“Too fuckin’ fancy for a hero agency.”

 

“Sounds perfect.”

 

“Hang on, I’m just gonna--bathroom.”

 

Deku nods, slumps against a wall. Looks as exhausted as Katsuki feels.

 

He wonders if this brings up shitty memories for Deku. From when he and Eijirou did their exchange to Korea and managed to get a building dropped on them. Probably not, considering his concussion made the whole thing extremely blurry for him.

 

Katsuki shudders at the memory, that feeling of helplessness that nearly overwhelmed him when Eijirou called him from a hospital pay phone and explained what happened.

 

He splashes icy water on his face and gasps at the very necessary shock to his system, sweeping it through his hair till it’s dripping into the sink he’s hunched over.

 

“Kats?” 

 

A smile quirks his mouth.

 

“Hey. Nice dramatic entrance, by the way.”

 

Shouto laughs and steps past him to the next sink. Katsuki notices his tiny limp; he’s clearly trying to hide it, and probably would have if Katsuki wasn’t looking for it specifically. 

 

“I was impatient. I had to wait for ages, till Taichi’s parent came home. Otherwise I would probably get charged with abduction of a minor.”

 

Katsuki snorted and shook out his damp hair, just as Shouto splashed his own face. When he straightened up, Katsuki had to actively resist licking his lips as he watched pearly droplets slide tantalizingly down Shouto’s skin. 

 

Fuck, he really must be tired as fuck.

 

“Right. C’mon, gonna get dinner at the caf with Deku.”

 

Outside the bathroom, Deku’s eyes light up when he sees them. He’s on the phone; “mmh. Yeah, just have the leftovers. I’ll be home soonish. I know. I miss you too, baby.” Katsuki makes a retching sound, and Deku rolls his eyes. “Oh, just Kacchan being a dick.”

 

“Oi!”

 

“Ei says hello.”

 

“Tell him I said to fuck off.”

 

“Kacchan says he values your friendship very much.”

 

Both Shouto and Katsuki reel back at the piercing shrieks emanating from the nerd’s phone.

 

“FUCK OFF, I DIDN’T FUCKING SAY THAT SAPPY SHIT, SHITTY HAIR!”



For the next week, Katsuki and Shouto both get assigned to pacing a single street, on the lookout for suspicious behaviour, and in particular a man in a grey hoodie with amber eyes. Especially if he’s with a young child. Houkai. A man whose M.O appears to be grooming isolated kids with strong quirks. Fucking gross. 

 

Luckily (or perhaps unluckily) the man doesn’t strike again. Katsuki does end up yelling at people for littering more than he has in a year, but for now it’s like the encounter with Shouto scared the guy off. Katsuki just hopes to god that the asshole doesn’t try and leave the city. There will be no escaping from Katsuki’s particular brand of justice.

 

Before Katsuki can really process it, Sunday has come, and he’s standing in front of the mirror desperately wondering if slacks are more appropriate than jeans for a family dinner. 

 

Katsuki has never met Shouto’s mother, Todoroki Rei. The last time he even saw Natsuo was a couple years ago when he picked Shouto up from the hospital. It’s like a meet the family scenario, except he kinda already has, and he also knows that family’s horrifyingly sordid past, and is also fully aware that their mere presence is enough to drive Shouto to self-harm. And also, Shouto isn’t even his fucking boyfriend. And he never will be.

 

So yeah. That’s where Katsuki’s head is at right now, holding up the only two nice shirts he even owns. The one he wore to the last hero gala he attended, and the one he wore to the one before that.

 

His wardrobe truly is a barren place, and he suddenly understands Mina’s utter exasperation with him, especially considering that his parents work in the fashion industry.

 

He finally settles on the black button up with pale orange, red and yellow orchids printed on it. He tucks it into a pair of blue jeans, thinks about how proud Best Jeanist would be, and puts on his black leather belt.

 

He looks good.

 

He looks fine. 

 

Plus, he needs to pick Shouto up soon. Stupid half and half would have gone on public transport otherwise.



He’s shaking with nerves when he pulls up to Shouto’s complex. He shoots off a quick I am here. text, and hopes it makes Shouto laugh. Because as nervous as he is, he can bet that Shouto is doubly so. So he schools his expression into his trademark scowl, does a few quick stretches, wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans (something he has long stopped feeling gross about). 

 

Shouto steps out the front door of his building, gives Katsuki a little wave. He looks…

 

Ah, fuck.

 

He looks so damn good.

 

Something as simple as a large baby blue shirt unbuttoned over a white V-neck, paired with tight black sacks, looks absolutely incredible on him.

 

Would he wear that on a date?

 

Bakugou Katsuki, shut the fuck up now.

 

That second voice sounded suspiciously like his mother.

 

Shouto slides into the passenger seat, all long graceful limbs and fluid movement. It seems like his leg isn’t bothering him so much at the moment.

 

“Hi,” he greets. He’s not smiling, although he does look at Katsuki’s shirt with interest.

 

“Sup, candy cane bitch. Looking suave. You ready?”

 

Shouto sighs and faces forward as Katsuki throws his car into gear. 

 

“Ready.”

Notes:

can you fucking believe that the only thing i actually had planned for this chapter was some exposition abt their couple weeks together and sho's family dinner??? and i didn't even reach that. it is 2.15 and i simply cannot go on, plus this thing is a chonker already. i hate myself dfuuhsjkfjvslv
n e way thank u as always for reading, leaving kudos and comments! it all means a lot to me that you're enjoying my work. love you all!!! also i will try???? to have a more regular update schedule soon i promise

Chapter 11: The Todoroki Family Dinner (Surrender)

Notes:

I'm so sorry for the super late update! I'm expending a lot of creative energy for my uni classes, so my fics have kind of been on the backburner. But I'm back now and here to serve up a healthy dose of awfulness! enjoy your wretched meal

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The home of Rei Todoroki is not large. It’s probably smaller than Katsuki’s apartment, even though it’s a stand alone house. Even so, her living room is spacious enough that Katsuki and Shouto can sit on the loveseat (don’t think about it) opposite Enji, and Natsuo can sit cross-armed on the recliner like a large, unhappy gargoyle.

 

Fuyumi is late, and it is awkward. 

 

Katsuki taps his foot on the ground. Shouto picks at a loose thread in his shirt. Enji rubs his beard, looking seriously down at his phone. Natsuo glares a hole in the side of his head.

 

“I’m gonna go help Rei with dinner,” Katsuki decides, standing up with vigour and hopping over to the kitchen like the devil is on his tail. He knows he came here to help Shouto, but he also isn’t exactly a fan of familial tension so extreme it feels like getting electrocuted in water.

 

Look, Katsuki knows what it’s like to have an imperfect family. But next to the Todorokis, the Bakugous are the fucking picture of a healthy family dynamic… and that’s saying something.

 

“Oh, Katsuki.” Rei smiles at him, and Katsuki can’t help but smile back. She’s a tall woman, with long white hair, that same pure snowy shade as Shouto’s right half. It’s tied in a bun at the back of her head, pale wisps escaping to frame her round face. Her eyes are tired, a darker grey than Shouto’s, and she’s wearing a blue apron with snowflake patterns. Very on brand, Katsuki thinks. “Were the boys being a bit…”

 

“Hopelessly awkward? They sure fuckin’ are.” Katsuki huffs, before slamming a hand over his mouth. “I mean, fuck, I probably shouldn’t swear, shit--”

 

Rei just laughs, and the sound is as delicate and twinkly as a tiny snowflake turning over and over in the cold sunshine of a winter morning.

 

She really is the ice to Endeavour’s fire, huh?

 

“Don’t worry, Katsuki. I’ve been hearing about your foul mouth for years at this point.”

 

Katsuki chokes on his apologies, and feels his cheeks start to heat up. Way to be fucking embarrassing as shit, Katsuki. 

 

“I guess Icyhot talks about me a lot, huh? Makes sense, I’m fuckin’ awesome.” Rei gives that delicate laugh again, then turns back to the oven, bending down to check its contents. “Need any help? It’s kinda messed up that you’re cooking your own birthday dinner.”

 

Rei waves him off airily, blows some hair out of her face and straightens up. “Oh, not really. I missed cooking my own meals in the hospital. Also, I’m only making part of it; Fuyumi’s bringing the rest.”

 

“Shit, it’s a potluck? I should have brought more--”

 

Rei’s hand, cold and slim, lands on his shoulder and squeezes softly. “Katsuki, you already brought homemade matcha ice cream for dessert, we couldn’t possibly ask for anything more delicious or thoughtful.”

 

And what the fuck, Katsuki’s cheeks are heating up again. Something about the way Rei instantly warmed to him, hugged him before he even had a chance to introduce himself. The way she tried to include him in conversation, and gives him commiserating looks when her husband and son start barking at each other like fucking dogs.

 

“Go on, head back to Shouto. I’m sure he’s missing you already.”

 

Rei gives him a little push, and Katsuki weirdly feels like he’s nine, not nineteen. He does as Rei says, compelled to obey her by some unnamable motherly magic. Just as he reaches the living room, he hears Fuyumi’s familiar voice call out from the entryway, and Katsuki rushes to help her with her bags. 

 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she huffs, cheeks ruddy from the unseasonable chill outside. “One of my students threw up on his friend, and it was a whole big deal--” she laughs when Katsuki snorts, “--I barely had time to finish this up!” She leans in closer then, eyes furtive as she glances down the hallway. “How’ve they been?” 

 

“Honestly? Awkward as shit.” 

 

Fuyumi sighs, and that’s when Todoroki Enji walks down the hall.

 

The thick red scar that bisects his face has faded since he first got it, but it’s still his most immediately noticeable feature, now that he’s abandoned the dumb as hell fire beard crap. His blue eyes are bright and sharp, his neck nearly thicker than his head still despite not even being a pro hero anymore. 

 

He looks like a father, and Katsuki hates him. 

 

Burns with that anger even as he steps back and watches Enji hug Fuyumi.

 

If she knew, if she and Natsuo and Rei knew the way Enji’s… lessons are still, after all these years, fucking with Shouto’s head, he doubts they would be half as civil. If Shouto had even fully comprehended his own situation before Katsuki kinda forced him to admit that his fucking endurance training was nothing more than self-harm, he probably still wouldn’t have told his family. Katsuki knows Shouto is a deeply private person. He hates showing his weakness.

 

At least, to anyone but Katsuki.

 

He stands back as the Todorokis greet Fuyumi with hugs and cheek kisses. 

 

“What do we need to do to prepare that?” Rei asks, pointing to the package Katsuki is still holding. 

 

“Oh, just pop it in the oven for a bit. Shouldn’t take too long!” As Fuyumi finally hangs up her jacket and changes into house slippers, she takes a step out of the genkan and gently lifts the bag from Katsuki’s arms. “Thanks, Katsuki! It’s really nice to have you here, I bet mum was super looking forward to meeting you!”

 

Katsuki just grunts and looks away, making the teacher laugh. He’s sort of been in contact with Shouto’s sister since they met that one other awkward family dinner when he was sixteen and was both impressed and angry at how good Fuyumi’s cooking was. They mostly just occasionally sent each other recipes and pictures of the food they had made, but in all honesty it was probably one of the most civil relationships he’s ever had. 

 

“Go sit in the lounge boys, we’ll be right back.” The women disappear into the kitchen (Katsuki thinks it has more to do with a surreptitious conversation than about the food--Katsuki had held that bag of food, and it was warm), and they file back into the Living Room of Hopeless Awkwardness. 

 

“So, Shouto,” Enji booms, back ramrod straight even as he sips from a tiny, flowery tea cup. Katsuki doesn’t miss the way Shouto tenses up beside him; wants nothing more than to touch his leg, give him some show of comfort.

 

Unbidden, the memory of Shouto pushing him into the couch and sinking down to straddle his lap rises in his mind until he nearly has to put a cushion on his lap from the inappropriate (disgusting and immoral) thoughts. 

 

“I saw that you took a week off. Are you well?”

 

Shouto’s voice is as monotonous as ever when he replies, “just a stomach bug. Wouldn’t have been very heroic of me if I got my whole agency sick.”

 

Enji makes a disparaging harrumph sound that sets Katsuki’s teeth on edge. 

 

“I thought I trained you better than that, boy. Getting sick for a whole week is--”

 

“Dad, shut up.” Natsuo interrupts sharply, angry grey eyes daring Enji to chastise him. Enji glares back, but ends up folding his arms and apparently giving in. 

 

He shifts closer to Shouto, tries to be subtle in the way that he presses up against his right side. It’s colder, and Katsuki will readily admit that he usually steals the heat from his left. But he doesn’t want his right side to get lonely, or for Shouto to think that he only gets close to him for the warmth his quirk allows for. Maybe it’s a dumb thing to worry about, especially since Katsuki is fully aware that Shouto is never going to feel the same kind of concern back for Katsuki. At least, not the way Katsuki truly wants from him. 

 

For now, he’s guiltily content to give Shouto’s right side some love, and he feels Shouto’s rigid form melt into him little by little.

 

“I’m glad you’re better now.” Natsuo continues, like Enji hadn’t spoken at all. “And you’re back to work right? I read something about that building collapse on Saturday…”

 

Katsuki shivers, hopes his casual scowl remains unaffected. 

 

“Bakugou,” Katsuki nearly flinches, hates how his name sounds twisted by that man’s filthy mouth, “you were a first responder on the scene, isn’t that correct? Can you--”

 

“It’s an open investigation,” Shouto interrupts. “We can’t talk about it.”

 

“Oh come on, that’s--”

 

“You’re not a hero anymore, Enji.” Shouto’s voice is hard, and when Katsuki dares to chance a glance at his face, he’s surprised to see a fiercely protective glint to Shouto’s eyes. Something settles warmly in his stomach. “You are no longer entitled to this information.”

 

As if sensing the building tension, Fuyumi and Rei return, taking the third couch, leaving Endeavour sitting alone. 

 

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Rei smiles calmly, but Katsuki doesn’t miss the way she cuts Enji a hard look. Katsuki has never met her before today, but he can barely believe that this woman; strong, calm, and steady, spent more than ten years living in a hospital. “Fuyumi was just telling me about one of her students!”

 

With that, Fuyumi launches into a story about her student’s insane quirk which gives him the godforsaken ability to create sludgy green baby versions of himself, and how he uses that quirk to constantly terrify and prank everyone around him. Katsuki likes the kid. By the end of the story of how Fuyumi learnt about this quirk (she sat on her desk chair only to feel something strange and stick - and promptly screamed when she stood up and saw a tiny poison-green baby poking its tongue out at her) the whole room is laughing, or at least chuckling - such is Todoroki Fuyumi’s power.

 

The oven dings, and the Todorokis plus Katsuki drag themselves into the dining room. Katsuki sits beside Shouto, tries to ignore the traitorous section of his hippocampus that decides to fixate on the fantasy of what if Shouto was my boyfriend? What if I was here not as an emotional crutch, but an emotional crush? Would his family treat me differently? Would I be able to hold Sho’s hand under the table? 

 

Natsuo places his meal before him, and Katsuki bites out a thank you, trying in vain to control the colour of his cheeks. “Looks great,” he grunts, and spears what appears to be a curry-soaked potato with the poise of a sixth-grader. (He knows he shouldn’t use chopsticks by stabbing them into things; his mother has been telling him as much since he was still in nappies. Still though, the satisfaction of stabbing remains an unmatched one, and Katsuki will take all the legal opportunities he can.)

 

“I hear you’re quite the cook yourself, Katsuki. What do you think of this?”

 

“Not spicy enough,” he replies automatically and shoves a potato into his gob, and hopes he chokes on it. Instead of getting chastised, Rei laughs.

 

“He’s crazy,” Shouto volunteers, and something sticky sweet clogs up his throat at the weird kinda fondness in Shouto’s voice. It’s not what you want, Katsuki. It’s never what you want it to be. “He thinks anything less than five chillies is weak.”

 

“I would die,” Natsuo laments, and Fuyumi laughs. 

 

“None of us have good tolerance.” Fuyumi says, gesturing to herself, Rei, and Natsuo. “Because of our quirks. And Shouto was always half…”

 

“Don’t,” Shouto warns, smiling into his curry. Fuyumi laughs again and Natsuo reaches over to shove Shouto. It’s nice, seeing Shouto interact with his siblings in such a normal way. He knows well enough that Shouto was kept isolated for the majority of his young life, and especially after he got his scar. He remembers the first family dinner he went to with the Todorokis (resists a cringe at the memory), how Shouto could barely speak to his siblings normally. It makes a strange kind of pride rise in Katsuki.

 

“Dad and Touya always loved spice though,” Fuyumi continues, smiling idly. 

 

But in an instant, because of that one name, the whole room goes cold and quiet. The loudest sound is that of Endeavour carefully laying down his chopsticks. Shouto has gone rigid beside him, and Katsuki gets to witness real time as Fuyumi’s smiling face transforms into one of abject horror at her own slip-up. “A-anyway,” she tries, and Katsuki already knows it’s hopeless when Enji opens his stupid mouth to deepthroat his foot.

 

“Do not mention that name under my roof.”

 

“Enji, this is not your home.”

 

“Why shouldn’t we talk about him? He’s still our brother, no thanks to you--”

 

“He is a villainous murderer who tried to kill me and your brother several times Natsuo, you can’t seriously still think--”

 

“I went to see him.”

 

Silence drops like a sheet and Katsuki slowly puts some chicken in his mouth. What a shit-show this is turning out to be.

 

Of course, the room breaks into argument once more. Louder now, somehow.

 

“Damnit Shouto, we agreed--”

 

“Well, it was a stupid agreement--”

 

“Why didn’t you bring us? You know we wanted--”

 

“What was he like…?”

 

Fuyumi’s voice, the quietest of them all, somehow speaks the loudest. All other voices cease, and all eyes turn to Shouto, and fuck it, this might be a trainwreck but he can’t let Shouto be alone right now. So he shuffles closer under the guise of adjusting his pants, and slides his hand onto Shouto’s knee. The boy freezes and relaxes just as quickly, tension draining from his shoulders. He looks down.

 

“He was--cruel. But I could…” He glances at Katsuki then, and he grits his teeth, expecting the worst. “He was still in there. He’s just hiding.”

 

Katsuki lets out a sigh. Damnit, Shouto. 

 

“We can’t let him die!” Natsuo insists.

 

“He’s killed more than--”

 

“And it’s your damn fault!”

 

“Natsuo,” Rei warns, but it goes unheeded, as her soon-to-be eldest son stands up roughly. His force sends his chair skidding backwards into the wall, and the framed family photographs rattle. Shouto’s hand goes to snatch his, and he grips him so tight it almost hurts. 

 

“He was mentally ill, Dad, and you did nothing! And then he--”

 

Enough!” Enji roars, and Shouto flinches so spectacularly into Katsuki that he nearly jumps himself. Instead, he loudly clears his throat.

 

“This is awkward,” he starts, trying to make his tone placating and honest, trying to remind the warring father and son that they have a guest here, and to please be civil, for my sake at least--

 

“Is this why Shouto brought you?” Enji demands, turning his knife-sharp attention on Katsuki. Well, his plan to de-escalate the situation is a bust. He opens his mouth, probably to curse the man out, but doesn’t get a chance. “Have you become so weak that you need the support of your little boyfriend in order to tell us about your betrayal? On your mother’s birthday no less!”

 

Something cold and glinting slides down Katsuki’s spine. And then Shouto speaks.

 

“He’s not my damn boyfriend, Enji! And he’s here because I thought, maybe if I brought someone along, you wouldn’t fight like animals! And we could have a nice time, and celebrate mum’s birthday together! Mum, why did you even invite him?” Shouto turns to his mother then, and Katsuki is sure she replies.

 

He’s sure that the angry, slicing conversation continues on around him. But Katsuki doesn’t hear it.

 

That cold thing that slid down his spine dies on his back.

 

He’s not my damn boyfriend.

 

It wasn’t new information, not by any means. Katsuki had been constantly reminding himself for the past few weeks that as much as he wanted, and god did he want, that this was nothing more than comfort and support that he was providing Shouto. That when he came home, broken and distressed, and Shouto put him on the couch and touched him till he felt whole again, he did so to comfort. To support. It was not, it was never, what Katsuki wanted.

 

But hearing Shouto deny it so vehemently, like it was something unthinkable, throws the time they’ve spent in each other’s company recently in such sharp relief that Katsuki nearly chokes on it. How many times had they fallen asleep in each other’s arms? Woken up tangled up on one of their beds? How many times has Shouto sat and spoken in early-morning tones while Katsuki made their breakfast? Coming home to gentle hugs, watching trashy T.V and old cartoons together, folding paper cranes when hands begged for violence, and touching each other when they begged for kindness.

 

Katsuki had known that he was walking a dangerous path.

 

He thinks back to Denki’s warning a week or so prior; I hope you’re not getting so caught up in your feelings for him that you’re losing sight of your own goals. 

 

At the time, he just snapped at Denki. Was cruel to one of his dearest friends, and then ignored him every time they ran into each other afterwards, which was a lot of times. His ears are ringing when he thinks about the fact that he hasn’t seen Eijirou since Momo’s party. They usually meet up once every few days, and for weeks now Katsuki has been hanging up on his best friend because he needed to what? Continue to indulge in his pathetic, impossible fantasy? Continue to insinuate himself into Shouto’s life in the vague hope that one day Shouto would return his feelings? Or really , the slimy ugly thing dead at the base of his spine tells him, really, you just wanted him to rely on you enough that he couldn’t live without you. 

 

Katsuki jerks up suddenly, and the Todorokis argument pauses all at once so they can stare at him like he’s the rude one here. And for once, he really isn’t.

 

“Bathroom,” he says, and it comes out as a strange wheeze. He doesn’t even know where the goddamn bathroom is, so he just legs it to the living room, which is empty and dark. His breath comes heavy, and he presses a hand to his chest, a dull ache beating there alongside his heart. Fucking hell. As much as he reminded himself constantly that Shouto would never love him back--fuck it was easy to delude himself into little imaginings, little hopeful, naive puddles of what if, of maybe someday. Oh, he really fucked up, didn’t he?

 

Everyone else was right. Katsuki has been in love with a boy who doesn’t even know what love is. Shouto is perfect, and beautiful, and funny in this quiet, biting way that Katsuki adores. He’s strong as fuck, and only stronger in the face of all he’s survived. He’s everything Katsuki has ever fucking wanted, and…

 

And it’s time for Katsuki to move the fuck on.

 

He jumps when a hand touches his elbow. “Rei?” He breathes out, the woman smiling at him in the dark. The lines around her eyes look deeper now.

 

“I can’t make them stop,” she sighs, looking back at the hallway that leads to the dining room. The echoes of a row can still be heard, though the distinctions of the words are lost to the rush of blood in Katsuki’s ears. “I was gone too long. I was barely a mother to Shouto at all.” She shakes her head, and uses her loose grip on Katsuki’s arm to lead him to the longest couch. They sit together, and Katsuki numbly wonders why Rei is talking to him right now. Just like Shouto said, Katsuki’s not here to be a part of things. He’s not here to get to know Shouto’s family or enjoy some time together. He’s here as a buffer, as a means to maintain civility. Shouto could have brought anyone.

 

Should that make him angry? He thinks it should. But anger is comforting. An old blanket he often wraps around himself, more familiar than his mother’s hug or father’s kind eyes. Anger has been his security blanket since he can remember, but now, when he needs it most, it flees him. And leaves him feeling… blank. 

 

And even through all this, through everything, Katsuki still has the nerve to be grateful that Shouto brought him, and not any other friend that he could have asked. Because Katsuki’s not here to be Katsuki. He’s more of a pawn than he’s ever been.

 

Rei sighs into the dark cool air of the living room. A breeze flies in through the half-open window, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Katsuki dully realizes that it’s nearly autumn. 

 

“They just don’t listen to me, they’re so set in their ways. It was just the four of them for years, so I suppose it makes sense.” She reaches up to fiddle with a necklace hidden under her blouse. “Touya kidnapped you, didn’t he?”

 

Katsuki makes an aborted half-wince at the sudden and brutal mention of that… incident. He’s worked through it. It was years ago now, and while it’s certainly the longest Katsuki’s ever been held captive by villains, it hasn’t been the only occurrence. But in the end, it still led to the destruction of the greatest hero ever, so… yeah, maybe Katsuki’s still a little fucked up about it. He nods jerkily in confirmation, and stares straight ahead.

 

“Shouto told me about it. He had been so worried about you - and that was well before he ever called you his friend.” Rei sighs again, something she seems to do often. “Do you think he should be executed?”

 

Jesus, this lady doesn’t beat around the bush. Katsuki’s breath catches, and he remembers back to sitting on a different, comfier couch in a beach house, Shouto by his side, arguing about whether Dabi deserves to die for his crimes or not. “He’s murdered a lot of people,” he says, instead of answering. Because apparently he’s being a fucking coward tonight. 

 

Rei nods gently. “He has. It’s still hard to believe - it’s been years, and I can still remember so clearly when I saw that video he made. It was blow after blow. My son, whom I believed dead for over a decade, was alive. But then, next revelation, he’s alive and he’s a villain. And he’s the villain who's been constantly putting Shouto and his classmates and countless others in danger. A villain responsible for taking away lives.”

 

Katsuki feels like he should be comforting the woman in some way, but he’s terrified that moving will shatter everything. Like he’ll break apart if he tries to comfort anyone right now. He thinks he might be breaking apart anyway.

 

“Shouto cares about you a lot, you know.” Katsuki blinks into the darkness, like the silhouette of a half-shadow coffee table will hold the answers for him. “More than I think he’s ever cared for anyone.” The words rush over Katsuki.

 

“Maybe,” he allows, and his voice is wobbly. He hates himself for it and vows to pummel his punching bag till he collapses as soon as he’s home. “Sorry. I know we’re in the middle of--”

 

“Go,” Rei says kindly. “This was clearly an ill-thought out birthday idea.” She smiles ruthlessly, and Katsuki fights against the urge to ask if she’s okay. Like, for fuck’s sake, it’s the woman’s birthday, and all her family can do is shout at each other. “Natsuo or Fuyumi can take Shouto home. I’ll make your excuses.” Katsuki nods shakily, and scrambles to his feet, all flickering flaming energy. 

 

“Uh, thanks, Mrs. Todoroki.”

 

“Call me Rei. You’re having a tough time at the moment, right?” Katsuki squints at her, and she just smiles that enigmatic smile and leads him to the door, hands him his coat. He changes from the house slippers to his sneakers without answering, but that seems to be all the confirmation Rei needs. “He’ll come around. Chin up.”

 

And then she hugs him, and ushers him out the door, and Katsuki walks to his car with leaden feet. Because he doesn’t think Shouto will come around. Because if there was ever anything that would make him fall in love with Katsuki, it would be spending the last few weeks together nearly constantly, and touching each other with gentle hands, and falling asleep together.

 

If Shouto doesn’t feel anything for him now then he never fucking will.



He uses his phone’s virtual assistant, Carla, to call Denki when he’s nearly home.

 

“Katsuki? You like, never call. What’s wrong? Did you kill someone? Do you need help hiding the body?”

 

Katsuki snorts and rolls his eyes. He really chose his friends well, huh? Or well, they chose him, he supposes. He shakes his head, breaking at a red light. “I wish.”

 

“Uh.”

 

“Just--just let me say some shit right now, okay?”

 

“Um, sure?”

 

“I’m hopelessly fucking in love with Todoroki Shouto,” he says first.

 

“Yes Kacchan, we’re all very much aware.”

 

“Right. And I’ve just spent the last like, two and a half weeks constantly at his house, or him at mine, and like falling asleep with him in my arms, and coming home to him and shit.”

 

“Is this why you snapped at me the other day? Oh shit, wait, you guys aren’t like--”

 

“No,” he interrupts before Denki can finish the caustic thought. “No, that’s the fuckin’ issue Pikachu. He doesn’t give a fuck about me. Or, well, not romantically, at least. And I guess I finally fuckin’ wised up that even when we’re like this, it’ll never be what… what I want, with him.”

 

Denki makes a little noise of understanding and sympathy. “Shit, Katsuki.”

 

“Yeah. So I guess I realized. That I--fuck, that I need to move the fuck on.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel, and he doesn’t loosen his grip until they slip. He wipes the nitroglicerin sweat onto his jeans as he parks in his building's underground parking. “So what I’m asking is.” He pauses, throws his head back against the seat. “Set me up on one of your shitty fucking blind dates, duncehead.”

 

Denki lights up, and Katsuki closes his eyes against it.

Notes:

so ya'll... wanna guess who denki's gonna set kats up with? 👀
as always you can find me on tumblr at kazeohiku, and on twitter as kazeohiku_

Chapter 12: Your Heart Has Teeth

Notes:

hey! been a bit, but got a new chap for you now. there is some semi-explicit sexual content here, so if you wanna skip that:
“Wanna work it off back at my place?” - scene start
Katsuki isn't answering his phone - scene end
additionally there is some heavy self harm talk in this chapter, so as always please be careful!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Shouto fucked up. 

Didn’t he? 

He fidgets with a loose thread in his pants, idly thinks about Best Jeanist, and then his thoughts spiral back to Katsuki, inevitably.

He had lied to Enji, when he said that he only brought Katsuki as a buffer. It wasn’t true, but if he let on how much Katsuki meant to him, he feels certain his father would find some insidious way to exploit that weakness, and use Katsuki against him. There’s not a chance in hell that Shouto would ever let Enji get his claws in his… friend. His very close, very dear friend. 

But what if Katsuki thought he was telling the truth? What if he somehow managed to make Katsuki think he was anything less than essential ? Damm, he really messed this up. Is this how he shows his gratitude for Katsuki going out of his way to care for him? Shouto is the worst. How could he let this happen?

He knows that Rei’s gentle excuse on Katsuki’s behalf was a lie. He had extra paperwork and an early morning? Shouto knows for a fact that Katsuki always finishes his paperwork as soon as possible. Unlike Shouto, he never lets it pile up, because he’s responsible and clever and actually has some time management skills (unlike Shouto).

No, this was on Shouto. He managed to chase Katsuki away. His fingers twitch.

“I’m sorry,” Natsuo says, and Shouto glances at him. He nearly forgot that Natsuo was beside him, driving him home. “I shouldn’t have let him get to me, especially with your friend over.” He laughs, self-deprecating, and pushes a hand through his white hair. “I just--I can’t help but fight with him.”

Shouto lets out a slow breath, and nods. “It’s not your fault. Mum shouldn’t have invited him.”

“Exactly,” Natsuo snaps, wild eyes catching Shouto’s for a second before turning back to the road. He looks vindicated, and Shouto wonders how stringently he argued with Rei and Fuyumi about this. With Shouto left out, of course. Because he’s too fragile . “Mum doesn’t get how bad it was. How bad he was. It’s probably our fault for not telling her the… gory details.”

“She knows enough,” Shouto says, and that’s probably unfair. But as much as he loves his mother and is glad that she’s a much more stable figure in his life (and in her own), he’s still angry that she let this happen. 

“Hm. And then Fuyumi - she still wants us to forgive him. To be a family again. We haven’t been a fucking family… ever.”

“He doesn’t deserve our forgiveness,” Shouto hisses, and the pure poison in his voice must shock Natsuo, who swivels an open expression of surprise on him. Then he nods, turns to face forward again.

“Yeah, you’re right. He doesn’t.”

 

Shouto sits cross-legged on his bed and stares at his phone. Should he text him? He should, right? Or maybe a call. That’s more personal, right? He needs to explain himself, and make sure Katsuki is okay, and…

And he’s really close to doing something he thinks he’ll regret. He needs Katsuki, and he knows Katsuki would be upset if Shouto needed him but didn’t ask for help. So he clicks on the contact with shaky fingers, puts it on speaker phone. Katsuki picks up on the second ring.

“Hey. You alright?”

Something warm and glittering overwhelms Shouto, and he’s quiet for a second. “Are you?”

He hears a snort, but it feels sort of… wrong. Off, somehow.”I’m fine, Icyhot. I’m sure Mrs… I’m sure Rei told you why I headed off early. I am sorry about that, though.”

His voice seems thick and insincere. Shouto wishes they were together, wishes he could see Katsuki’s face right now. “You never forget to fill out paperwork,” he says softly, scratching at the skin around his wound. The stitches have been taken out, but it’s still stupidly itchy. 

“I guess I was distracted by dinner tonight.”

“S-sorry.”

“Not your bad, Sho. Your family is…”

“I know.”

“...Yeah. So, you good?”

Shouto hesitates for a moment. 

It’s now or never. He should tell Katsuki how he is, ask him to come over, apologize for the shit he put him through tonight, and they’ll go back to the easy, soft routine they’ve both fallen into together.

But something seizes in his chest.

He can’t describe it, this tightness. It is not unfamiliar, in fact it feels more at home around his heart than Katsuki’s joy ever has. 

Did he deserve to let Katsuki make him happy? If he wasn’t making Katsuki feel like that too?

“Yeah, just… shaky. I should let you sleep.”

The other line is quiet for a moment too long, and not for the first time, Shouto is wondering when hesitance became something Katsuki is capable of. 

“Thanks. Goodnight, Shouto.”

Confused and disappointed, and confused by his disappointment, Shouto frowns.

“Okay… Goodnight.”





“Denki.”

The boy gives him an innocent smile, and holds his hands out, palms out. “Two heads are better than one? Or… five heads are better than two, I guess?” That innocent smile shifts to one of self-satisfied delight, as the rest of Katsuki’s band of idiots clamour to get past their main idiot and enter Katsuki’s (empty, desolate, disastrous without Shouto in it) apartment. 

It’s been a week since that ill-fated family dinner, and while Katsuki goes to check Shouto after his shifts, he leaves soon too. He feels like an asshole for it, hopes to any god available that Shouto will be okay despite Katsuki’s admittedly lackluster focus, but he can barely stand to look at him without that hateful crush of emotions threatening to show on his face. And more than anything, he doesn’t want that. This situation is only tolerable thanks to Shouto’s ignorance.

“Come on dude, let us in! We’re gonna have a tournament for your heart!”

Katsuki stepped back, wordlessly giving into his insane friends. Mina whooped, Hanta punched him in the shoulder on the way past, and Eijirou just gave him this jubilant, radiant smile that hit harder than Hanta’s fist. 

“Okay, chill the fuck out. It’s just a date.”

“Just a date!” Denki mocks, pitching his voice up dramatically and whirling on Katsuki, pointing accusingly right at his chest. But as dramatic and loud as his electric friend always is, Katsuki can tell he’s toning it down for him. There’s this sympathy humming under his every word, and Katsuki kinda hates it and kinda loves it. He knows Denki wouldn’t have shared the shit about Shouto with the others, even if he literally took the time to make sure their days off all aligned for them to all see Katsuki today. Denki’s been pestering him to let him set Katsuki up since… since pretty much the entire time they’ve known each other. Mina is almost as insistent.

He heaves out a sigh and lets them set up in the living room, and refuses to feel anything as his eyes skid over the spot on the couch that had somehow become Shouto’s. 

 

“No way. That guy chews with his mouth open, Katsuki would kill him immediately.”

“Oh come on, Kat’s not that shallow!”

“No, he’s just not that patient.”

These fuckers literally brought printed pictures of their blind date suggestions.

“Is this even a blind date anymore…” He grunts to himself. Unsurprisingly, only Hanta hears him and shoots him his trademark grin. Usually, Hanta is able to keep the others in check, but it seems like even he brought his own players. Eijirou’s words, not his.

“Kacchan, what do you think of this guy? Handsome right?” 

“Pikachu, Kiri is right. If he chews with his mouth open, I will absolutely kill him.”

Denki pouts, and puts mouth-guy in the trash pile. Mina’s words, not his.

“I’m gonna win this, watch.” Hanta leans over to Katsuki, speaking low enough that he can’t be heard over Mina’s high-pitched, rapid explanation for why she chose that fucking bald windy guy from when he and Shouto were in their remedial classes with the Shiketsu assholes.

All attention swings to Hanta as he slams a printed, laminated photo of… some guy, down on the coffee table.

He’s handsome, Katsuki notes. And… familiar?

“Kaibara Sen,” Hanta announces, that blank smile sharpening at the wide-eyed looks he receives. “Otherwise known as pro-hero, Spiral.”

That’s why he recognizes the guy - he was in Class B for their entire high school careers. 

“Why him?” Eijirou asks curiously.

“Yeah!” Mina chimes in, “make your case, and we’ll put him in the trash!”

Hanta laughs and leans back, calm, confident, and casual as anything. Even Katsuki’s getting curious. Hanta seems so certain that he’ll win their weird little tournament. 

“Sen’s my buddy. I hang out with him sometimes. He’s calm and collected, but he’s passionate and diligent about his hero work. He’s strong in his own right, and getting more popular lately. Not just because he’s hot, but because of his cool attitude and his no-nonsense villain takedowns.” Jesus, did Hanta fucking memorize a speech or something? “Because he’s chill, he can balance Katsuki well. He’s hot, and Katsuki’s hot - get the hell outta here with your uggos, Kiri -” Eijirou squawks indignantly, but Hanta just smiles at him and continues, “and they have it in common that they’re serious pro heroes and both of them love training way too much. Sen is also really fun to play games with and just be around. I think he and Kat would get along well.”

Everyone stares at Hanta. 

Katsuki picks up the little laminated headshot of his potential not-so-blind date. He is really good looking, in a classic kind of way. Darker skin, messy black hair, and lazy eyes that seem to pierce right through the photo. He’s the only one not smiling.

Katsuki doesn’t pay a tonne of attention to heroes ranked below him that aren’t his friends, so he can’t say he knows much about Kaibara as Spiral. He does remember the guy’s cool hero costume though, and all those years ago during their first joint training when Kaibara gave Ojirou a run for his money in close combat.

“Alright,” he says, interrupting an argument he’s been ignoring. “I’ll go on a date with him.”

Hanta bellows out his victory, Mina wails her failure, Eijirou throws himself into Katsuki’s arms, and Denki gives him this weirdly careful look. Katsuki lets himself smile at his friends’ enthusiasm, and takes a moment to send out some gratitude for the amazing people in his life before he grunts and makes the lunatics settle down.





Katsuki doesn’t spend the night anymore. He doesn’t invite Shouto over either. He only stays long enough to deliver Shouto some food and check his injury. It’s healing well, but the itch hasn’t gone away. The urge to open it back up, to keep it bleeding so it’ll never fade to scar and eventually disappear, gets stronger day by day. But he never touches it. He knows anyway, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this injury will never completely fade. Not after the claw that bisected it left that deep wound. But it will be a scar.

His fingers are shaky and twitchy all the time, and he bizarrely feels like an addict going without his fix. But he’s not addicted to drugs, and he’s not addicted to hurting himself. That would be ridiculous. 

Even so, his coworkers have started to notice that his hands are always unsteady. He’s had more concerned inquiries in the last week than he’s ever wanted to field. 

To add to that, his family is all constantly messaging him. All separately. He doesn’t open the messages, doesn’t want to bother with any of them, even though he knows it’ll worry them. He knows he’s being a dick, but he doesn’t want to deal with them right now. Or ever, preferably. Why couldn’t his family just… function? Everything is like pulling teeth with them.

 

Katsuki knocks on the door, and Shouto knows it’s him because it’s really more of a rhythmic pounding that doesn’t stop until Shouto unlocks the door. Katsuki shoves a bag of still warm food into his chest. 

“I made extra for you, but I wanted to give it to you while it’s still warm, so--” He steps back, like he’s gonna leave already. Without even coming in, or talking to Shouto, or checking his injury. Panic rushes through him.

“You’re going already?” He asks, and winces at the desperateness in his own voice. Katsuki frowns, rubs the back of his neck and looks away.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I have dinner with someone tonight, so.”

Shouto stares at him.

What the hell?

Dinner with someone?

Shouto blinks, mute. Katsuki gives him this helpless, harried look. 

“Sorry, but I really gotta go. I wanted you to have a home-made meal though, I know you would have just had instant ramen or some shit…” He shrugs.

Shouto misses touching Katsuki. They don’t hug goodbye anymore, or execute the clasp upon greetings. Katsuki always seems like he’s in a rush, or like every second with Shouto is painful. Like he wants to get away as soon as possible. It’s a far cry from when they used to linger for as long as possible, not wanting to leave at all. 

What changed? What did Shouto do wrong? How can he fix it? But Katsuki acts like there’s nothing to fix, like he’s just busy. But he’s always busy. He’s just stopped making time for Shouto, and Shouto hates it.

And now he’s having dinner with someone.

And that--well. He supposes it could be with a friend. But if that were the case, wouldn’t Katsuki just say who he was eating with? And anyway Katsuki never goes out! Not unless it's some group event he's been corralled into attending.

So what gives?

And then Shouto realizes he's just been staring instead of thanking Katsuki for the food, food that he went out of his way to cook for him. Even if things are kinda weird right now, at least it's obvious that Katsuki still cares.

"Uh, thank you for the food. Have… fun."

A look almost like guilt flashed across the other boy's face, and a cruel kind of vindication flared up inside him.

"You know, I can just fucking cancel my shit tonight, if you need me." Katsuki blurts out, and Shouto nearly recoils. He's shaking his head immediately, because even if he doesn't quite understand how he's feeling right now, he knows for a fact that he would never want Katsuki to cancel his plans just to look after poor, fragile Shouto. It's just, Katsuki's never had plans.

"No, I'm fine. Just surprised you're being social, that's all." 

Katsuki snorts and rolls his eyes. "Fuck off, Icyhot. See you tomorrow."

And like that he's gone, walking back to the lift without a backward look. Shouto is left clutching the only evidence that his friend still cares about him like a comfort blanket, standing in the doorway of his too big, too empty home. 





Why does Katsuki feel like he’s betraying Shouto? They were never together. Shouto would never even think to consider that, but even so--why did he look so devastated when Katsuki told him he was going out for dinner? Katsuki tries to stamp out the niggling doubts and the useless guilt swirling about in his gut as he climbs into his car. He has about half an hour to go home, get ready, and get to the date. 

Denki booked the restaurant for them, because even though his pick didn’t win, he was determined to be the one to officially set up the blind date. It was an upscale place with a French name that Katsuki forgot as soon as he heard it. He just needed the address anyway.

 

Once he was home, he was faced with the same dilemma he’d had nearly two weeks ago, when he was trying to get ready for what ostensibly became the worst night of his life. 

Denki and Mina might be rubbing off on him a little too much.

Luckily (or perhaps unluckily), unlike last time, this time he had a team of overly dedicated weirdos who took it upon themselves to stack Katsuki’s wardrobe with nice, first-date worthy clothes. So now it wasn’t a toss up between two equally awkward choices, but between way too many actually alright choices.

Mina had given him frankly too many pairs of dark, ripped up jeans, with the explanation that they suited his aesthetic (he was just shocked to learn that he even had a discernible aesthetic at all) and made his ass look great. Katsuki had snapped that he wasn’t trying to make his ass look good, even as he twisted around to observe his own rear. (Mina was right).

Eijirou, for his part, provided stuff way more within his weird fashion sense - sleeveless hoodies, super tight long sleeved shirts, and crocs. Katsuki chose to ignore these options.

Denki had given him some graphic tees (because of course he was the kind of guy who was certain that a funny fandom shirt was a fantastic choice for a first date), but also a cool dark green bomber jacket that Katsuki pulled out thoughtfully.

Hanta, bless him, was his only idiot with a decent head on his shoulders. Even if the head was an annoying one. Slacks, button ups, plain undershirts, and a pair of dressy but still casual sneakers. 

But maybe the jeans wouldn’t be a bad choice.

 

He arrives at the restaurant exactly on time, in Hanta’s sneakers, Mina’s least skin-exposing jeans, Denki’s bomber, and Hanta’s silky, slate grey button up. And okay, yes, maybe with one of Eijirou’s black thermals under it. It was getting cold after all, and Katsuki refused to acknowledge that having each part of his outfit for his first ever date being something each of his friends picked out for him personally was weirdly comforting. 

“Reservation should be under Bakugou Katsuki,” he told the waitress, eyes scanning over the place. It was nice, way nicer than Katsuki would have chosen, but he knew he wouldn’t see Kaibara, even if he was here already. At his request, Denki had booked them one of the private booths, which was the only reason Katsuki agreed to this ridiculously fancy (and expensive) place. He let the waitress get over her shock of seeing the number ten hero just casually walk into her place of work, before she finally led him to the booth in the back. It was a step up, and with tall walls Katsuki could only see a narrow slice inside the booth.

“Thanks,” Katsuki grunts. He pulls out his wallet and shoves some notes into the lady’s shaking hands. “For keeping quiet about anything you see her tonight.” She squeaks, nodding fervently. 

“O-Of course Mr. Dynamite, sir!” She scurries off, and Katsuki rolls his eyes, slipping into the booth. Kaibara isn’t here yet, and Katsuki idly picks up the menu, before scrunching up his nose.

What the hell, why did Dunceface get them a seafood restaurant? Katsuki isn’t really a picky person, but he does not enjoy seafood. Maybe if it’s doused in enough hot sauce…

“Hah, that frown hasn’t changed at all since highschool.” Katsuki jumps, slamming his left knee into the bottom of the table with great force, and gritting his teeth against the litany of curses he so desperately wants to unleash on the table. At least it has the good sense to be bolted down, or else the damn thing would have been sent sailing.

“Oh damn, sorry. I didn’t mean to shock you.”

Katsuki rubbed his sore knee, and looked up, meeting eyes with Kaibara Sen. A man he never thought about for more than a few seconds ever, prior to all this. He is attractive, although his lazy half-grin reminds him of a more genuine Shinsou. 

Katsuki shrugs, and then shuffles around the booth so Kaibara can sit. He’s dressed nicely too, well-pressed slacks, pointy shoes, and a white shirt with black line patterns. A light wash denim jacket shows off the man’s nice shoulders. Broad, but not Eijirou or Tetsutetsu level broadness. 

“It’s fine. I was just looking at the menu.”

“Must be a bad menu,” Kaibara laughs, and Katsuki finds that the airy laugh is kind of nice. 

“Seafood,” he grunts unhappily. 

“You don’t like seafood?” Katsuki shakes his head, and Kaibara snorts. Unlike his well put together appearance and pretty laugh, his snort is ugly and boyish. Katsuki finds himself grinning back at him. “Why the hell’d you choose a seafood restaurant then?”

Katsuki sighs, fiddling with the frayed edge of one of the holes in his jeans. “Denki - Kaminari - chose the place. He insisted, as our matchmaker.”

Kairbara frowns, and picks up his own menu. “But Hanta’s the one who got in touch,” he says.

“Yup,” Katsuki pops the P, and pours over the menu intensely. “But I asked Denki to set me up, so he wants all the credit I guess.” Kaibara laughs again, and this is easier than Katsuki thought it would be. He thought that he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about Shouto, and feeling guilty, but it’s surprisingly easy to get lost in Kaibara’s charming smile and disarming wit.

Katsuki ends up ordering the spiciest dish he can, and requesting extra hot sauce. Kaibara laughs at him and orders something that, when it’s delivered, looks at Katsuki with its eyes still in its dead head. Kaibara laughs at Katsuki’s shiver of revulsion and fear, and tells his fish that it’s rude to stare.

Honestly, it’s going way better than Katsuki dared to hope. Kaibara is easy to get on with. Just like Hanta said, he’s easy going but can get serious when the situation calls for it. He speaks about his hero work and training with the kind of genuine passion that Katsuki has always adored in men. (So what if he once had a tiny crush on Iida Tenya? And before that, on his older brother? It’s literally no one’s business).

 

When they’ve tucked away their mains and their dessert, and drunk plenty of bubbly and frothy alcohol, Katsuki slaps his card down on the bill and leans back with a heavy sigh.

“Oof. That’s gonna take a bit to work off,” he says. He’s already running through how he can alter his training regiment tomorrow, when a warm hand settles at the side of his neck. His eyes widen and immediately focus on Kaibara’s face. He’s flushed, probably from the bright red drinks he was putting away all night, but his eyes are clear. 

“Wanna work it off back at my place?”

Low heat fizzles in Katsuki’s belly, and he finds himself leaning into Kaibara’s touch. 

He’s had sex before - nameless extras who took him to bed because he was Dynamite, not because he was Katsuki. The last time he even felt this turned on was when he let himself go too far, touching Shouto’s soft inner thigh and making him whine so sweetly. The shame that clouded him as he quickly pulled himself off into Shouto’s toilet.

He buries those thoughts, lets a mask fall over his features, and tilts his head down till his lips hover just over Kaibara’s. 

“Sounds like good exercise,” he murmurs, dark and deep. He doesn’t miss the way Kaibara bites his lip, eyes bright and quick. 

“You’re not at all what I expected, Bakugou Katsuki.” Their lips meet, hot and heavy. Not the kind of pretty, sweet kiss one might expect from a first date. Katsuki hopes he doesn’t regret going this far with his date this soon, but for now he just wants that pleasant, all-encompassing white-out of pleasure, and Kaibara is hot, and there’s no way his dick is small.

They only stop kissing when they hear a squeak and a clatter from the entrance of the booth. Their waitress looks at them with big eyes, and Katsuki holds a finger up to his lips.

 

Kaibara got a taxi to the restaurant, so he directs Katsuki to his apartment. A valet takes his car to park it, and looks terrified by Katsuki’s mild threats. Kaibara lives in what Katsuki would consider a fancy apartment block, considering that his date was greeted by name by the doorman. But he doesn’t get much time to look around, with Kaibara dragging him to the elevator and slamming him into the wall to kiss hard at his mouth as soon as they’re moving.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Kaibara pants into Katsuki’s mouth, lips bitten red as they stretch around a delighted, devilish smile. “Your ass looks great in those jeans. Always knew you’d be good.”

Katsuki laughs as he’s pulled out of the lift, and laughs some more as Kaibara struggles to get his key in the hole. “Hope that’s not an indication of what’s coming,” he teases playfully, pushing a hand through his already thoroughly mussed up hair. Kaibara finally gets his place unlocked, and shoves Katsuki through the door with wide eyes. They’re pretty much the same height, so all Katsuki has to do to chase those lips is lean forward. 

He doesn’t think about how he would have to lean down to kiss Shouto, or how Shouto would have to rise up to his tiptoes. 

“You bottom?” Kaibara asks breathlessly when he pulls away.

Katsuki is already pulling his jacket off. “I switch.”

“Oh fuck,” the guy whines. “Seriously, you’re so hot. I’m so glad I agreed to this date,” Katsuki smirks. He’s not above a bit of ego stroking after all. 

“Come on Kaibara, show me what you can do with that quirk, huh?”

“Sen,” he says, starting to unbutton Katsuki’s shirt. “You call me Sen when I’m fucking you, okay?”

The change is so instant, and Katsuki is achingly hard. He hasn’t been topped in so long. 

“Kay. Call me Katsuki then.”

They leave a trail of clothing as Sen slowly leads him to the bedroom, progress hampered by their frequent pauses to undo flies, admire bodies, and make out some more.

By the time they get to the bedroom, Sen is impatient, yanking open his drawer for condoms and lube. “Gonna fuck you so good, hero,” he smirks above Katsuki, and Katsuki lets out a playful, porn-y moan that has Sen devouring him in a second.

 

Katsuki wasn’t wrong about the size of his dick, by the way.






Katsuki isn’t answering his phone.

Which is fine!

Shouto is fine. He knew Katsuki was busy tonight anyway, so what did he expect?

It’s just--

The itch. 

It’s gotten worse, and it’s hard to ignore, and Shouto has run out of paper, and he has nothing to do with his hands.

He could talk to someone - anyone - other than Katsuki. But he doesn’t want to. Izuku, Tenya, Chako and Momo would all know something’s wrong immediately. And they’re the kind of friends who insist he talk about his feelings. So it’s easier to hide them from his friends, even if he feels bad about it. And he’s been ignoring his whole family for two weeks now, and to suddenly call one of them now would ruin that. He’s - he doesn’t know. Punishing them, or something. Something stupid.

Because Shouto is pathetic.

He really is, isn’t he? He forgot for awhile, because Katsuki was such a good distraction.

Maybe at one point, he even believed that he was an okay person who didn’t deserve to hurt.

But the itch is so fucking strong , how is he supposed to deny it any longer? He’s not a strong person, he never has been.

It was always going to happen - he was always going to slip.

So he sits in the corner of his bathroom, skin quickly going numb as he lets go of his usually carefully maintained temperature control. The tiles are getting frosty, and his loose sleep shorts and oversized shirt aren’t doing anything to keep the chill out.

Katsuki will still check though, he usually does. He says he’s making sure Shouto is healing well, but he thinks Katsuki just doesn’t trust him to be strong. 

Expects that Shouto will slip.

Where can he do it so that Katsuki won’t see? Both legs are out of the question. Anywhere that clothes might expose too. So his best bet is his torso - but not somewhere that will inhibit his hero work.

See? This comes so naturally. He’s in his element, he’s best like this. It really is like training after all, his mind as well as his body.

He settles his left hand on his hip, same side. It’s less awkward than reaching around.

He closes his eyes, and sinks into that pleasant, painful familiarity as he burns through his shirt.

He was never meant to get past this anyway. 

Notes:

i hope you guys liked this chapter! were you surprised by hanta's choice? let me know in the comments or on my tumblr (kazeohiku) or twitter (kazeohiku_)~
thank you guys for reading i love you all

Chapter 13: Dear Jealousy

Notes:

long time no see! while i won't explain much, I will apologise. hope yall enjoy the chap either way!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Katsuki wakes up in unfamiliar arms. Heavy and too long and caging him in. Suffocating breath on his neck. Feet touching his legs. Too warm, it’s all too warm. He shoves away from the offending body and practically falls off the bed in a heap. 

 

“Fuck,” he huffs, skating a hand through his disastrous hair. His lower back has that familiar satisfied ache, but he doesn’t feel good right now.

 

Last night – last night was good. Sen was really good. And now, it’s morning, and it’s all too bright.

 

He forces himself to stand, tries to find his phone amongst his discarded clothes. Because even though he just spent the night with another man, all his thoughts are a repeating alarm of Shouto, Shouto, Shouto. 

 

He finds his phone and scrolls through notifications as he hops around trying to redress quietly. Sen must be a deep fucking sleeper because Katsuki has crashed into more furniture than he would like to admit. The group chat with his idiots is busy.

 

Denki: do ya’ll reckon mr blast man is getting dicked down as we speak

 

Hanta: if i know sen at all then yeah

 

Eijirou: should we really be discussing this? It’s private! But also, katsuki, if you’re reading this i hope you had fun and i hope you wore the crocs! I got orange just for you

 

Mina: if he wore the crocs, he absolutely did not get laid

 

Katsuki rolls his eyes at his friends. So fucking gross. And then he notices three missed calls from Shouto. Oh no. Oh fuck, oh god no–not again. He has to get to Shouto. Part of him whispers that rushing to his crush’s aid is not a good way of getting past said crush. But fuck that. No matter what happens, Shouto will always be someone he cares about. He cares about Shouto so fucking much. Whether it’s romantic or platonic doesn’t matter. 

 

Katsuki, mind made up, is about to leave a note for Sen when arms curl around his front. He stiffens up. A kiss is placed on his nape. “Morning,” Sen grumbles, voice deep from sleep. His breath stinks. “You’re an early riser, huh?” He jokes, and then his hand starts to dip down, like he’s going to––

 

“Actually, I have shit to do this morning.” Katsuki forces out. Sen’s arms retreat, and Katsuki is sure he imagines the intense feeling of relief. “Sorry. I didn’t exactly plan to spend the night.”

 

Sen grins, lazy and self–satisfied. “Yeah? Sure coulda fooled me.”

 

Katsuki laughs mechanically. He needs to get out of here. “So, uh, this was…”

 

“Really good.” Sen decides. “When can I see you again?” 

 

Katsuki blanches. He’s not even totally sure why he’s shocked – he just never saw himself as second date material, maybe. “Um,” he says, frowning.

 

“Oh! How about this. The Hero Gala is coming up and if I attend single for the third year in a row, my friends will never let me live it down.”

 

“Hero Gala,” Katsuki hums. “In two weeks, right?”

 

“Yup. You better look as pretty as you did last night.”

 

Something in Katsuki cringes. But, well, he has no reason to say no, so… “Yeah, that sounds good. I have a car if you need a pick up.”

 

From there, they organize the finer details and exchange numbers, and Sen gives him a smelly kiss at the door. Katsuki practically sprints to the sidewalk and is about to hail the first cab he sees when a flashing neon sign catches his attention. 

 

He follows it to a soba shack, kind of rundown for the surrounding suburb, but clearly a hole in the wall favourite. He orders cold soba, gets an earful about it being Autumn, and insists anyway. He’s not about to show up to Shouto empty-handed.




Shouto didn’t sleep. It’s Sunday, his usual day-off when he sleeps in and does nothing important. Except for the couple weeks before that unforgivable family dinner; Katsuki didn’t let his motivation flag. He would wake him up early to work out, then make breakfast for him. Then together they would sit in Shouto’s study and do some paperwork.

 

This Sunday is already ruined. 

 

The guilt of relapse (he did some research into it and now he knows all the Official Terms), the frantic urge to hide it from Katsuki (if Katsuki even cared anymore) the at once familiar and foreign ache on his hip; Shouto had seriously messed up. And all because what? Because he was as weak and pathetic as always. As soon as Katsuki drew back, let him have some independence, he immediately spiralled and did something stupid. 

 

So, so stupid. 

 

And then there’s that familiar knock at the door, and Shouto curses himself all over again. He calls out a lacklustre ‘just a second’ and hobbles to his bathroom. He splashes water on his (tired, gaunt) face, pushes it through his (limp, greasy) hair, and adjusts his (old, baggy) clothes so that there’s no possible way that Katsuki will see the newest injury.

 

Then he sock-slides to the door, takes a second to wipe the pain off his face and replace it with a bland, neutral expression. He steadies himself and opens the door. 

 

He’s not ready for what he sees – Katsuki in what can only be described as a rather sexual, if creased, outfit – ripped up jeans, a cool jacket, dressy shirt. His hair is even more of a spiky mess than usual, tangled and even a bit flattened on one side. Shouto recognises that, at least, as his I Just Woke Up look. His crimson eyes are narrowed and he has some bruising on his exposed clavicle. In his hands is a takeout bag. 

 

“Hi,” he grunts, sounding tired. “Brought you some food.” Shouto nods and holds his hands out. This is how it’s been going lately, after all, their new, awful routine. An impersonal handoff as a harried Katsuki rushes to wherever he must be, while Shouto is left with a gaping hole inside him that no amount of homecooked meals can fix. This time, though, Katsuki hesitates. He rocks on his feet, then says; “Can I come in?”

 

Shouto nearly jumps. In his eagerness to throw open the door and step aside, he slips in his socks. In an instant, Katsuki is there, catching him around the waist. The takeout bag is abandoned on the floor as Katsuki tugs Shouto back up, and close, and Shouto can’t help it. He has missed this, missed Katsuki, so much. More than he thought possible. So he wraps his arms around his friend, settles his forehead on his shoulder, and breathes Katsuki in.

 

And promptly flinches back.

 

“You stink,” he accuses. Katsuki looks like a deer in headlights for a second before he rolls his eyes. He turns his head to the side, and Shouto frowns when he notices more bruising on his neck.

 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Mind if I use your shower? And borrow some clothes.”

 

“Okay,” Shouto says. He nods and collects the takeout bag to leave in the kitchen. Then he finds some clothes that will fit Katsuki and leaves them outside the bathroom door for him. 

 

He sits on his lonely couch and decides to message the smartest person he knows.

 

Shouto: Izuku, what does it mean if someone comes over on a Sunday morning looking like they are still wearing last night’s clothes, and like they’ve just woken up, with what look like bruises on their neck and collarbone? And also they smell awful?

 

Izuku: hi shocchan! Haven’t heard from you in awhile, glad ur doing ok. In my experience, that would mean the person probably stayed the night at someone’s place. The bruises are probs hickeys

 

Izuku: to clarify, i mean that person probably slept with someone the night before.

 

Shouto’s heart stops. Katsuki… 

 

The dinner he had to go to. It was a date after all… and evidently, a successful one. Admittedly, Shouto doesn’t know much about dating, sex, or any of that. He’s just never had that sort of interest. But it makes sense that Katsuki does. Maybe he does this a lot, but he stopped in order to look after Shouto. And maybe he thought Shouto had gotten better, could look after himself enough that Katsuki could go back to his life.

 

Something in Shouto despises the idea of Katsuki… being with someone in that way. He frowns at himself.

 

Shouto can’t let him know he relapsed. And he definitely can’t let on that he knows about Katsuki’s… adventures last night. But he can’t stop that strange anger clawing up his throat.

 

Shouto: And what does it mean that I’m angry about that?

 

Izuku: oh… hm. Angry how? Can you explain more?

 

Shouto makes a frustrated noise. He knows Katsuki takes long showers on a Sunday morning, so he feels safe clicking on Izuku’s little contact icon and calling him. Izuku picks up on the first ring.

 

“Shouto, hi! How are you?”

 

“Frustrated,” Shouto grinds out.

 

“Heh, yeah, okay. I get you. So can you explain a bit more? What’s the situation? I don’t want to give you the wrong advice.”

 

“Okay.” Shouto takes a moment to organize his thoughts. “I was upset when this person told me they were going to dinner with someone last night. Then this morning they come over in these nice clothes, with, um, hickeys, and they smell like – gross. And now he’s––they’re––showering. And then I messaged you because it’s really strange, and when you said it meant he must have had sex with someone last night I wanted––” He pauses to breathe. “It made me really annoyed. The idea of someone else touching him like that – I don’t… I don’t know why. But I don’t want anyone else to see him like that.”

 

There’s silence on the other line. Then a quiet holy shit. “Okay, yeah, that sounds like jealousy. You don’t want anyone else to see him like that, to touch him. Anyone else but you, right?”

 

Shouto nearly chokes on his saliva. “What?” He demands. Then he scales his voice down and hisses into the phone. “What on earth are you talking about? No! It’s not––not like that!”

 

“Shouto… is this about Kacchan?”

 

Shouto hangs up on him. Which is quite possibly the rudest thing he’s ever done to Izuku, but Katsuki just stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, and Shouto thinks Izuku would probably understand.

 

Shouto stares.

 

He has never cared a whole lot about physique. It’s not generally something that interests him. He only keeps his own figure up for hero work. But seeing Katsuki right now, his blond hair dark and slicked back, water dripping down his shoulders and over his abs, strong, powerful hands knotting the towel skilfully as he crouches to retrieve the clothes Shouto left him. The muscles in his thighs tensing and relaxing with the movement. 

 

Shouto is getting hard. Shouto is – getting turned on? 

 

What the fuck. What the fuck.

 

Shouto is asexual, isn’t he? At least, that’s the result that comes up when he’s researched how he feels. Or really, how he doesn’t feel.

 

But he has felt this before, hasn’t he? It hits him suddenly, the memory of sitting beside Katsuki on this very couch, the man’s deft fingers rubbing at the wound on his thigh, dipping down to stroke the inside of his leg –  he had buried his face in Katsuki’s shoulder and whined and felt strange. But it had been more than that. He just wasn’t in the right headspace to realize it at the time. He probably still isn’t, but now he has the mental image of Katsuki touching someone else like that. Of someone, other than Shouto, seeing him with nothing but a towel around his waist. Or even less. 

 

Shouto feels like the entire world has just upended and deposited him on his ass. Because god help him, he thinks Izuku must be right. Shouto is jealous. 




When Katsuki is refreshed, dressed, and out of the shower, he still doesn’t feel much better about… well, everything. Waking up in Sen’s arms felt like an awful betrayal. Shouto snuggling into him for the first time in so long , only to recoil at his scent, felt like a slap in the face. And suddenly, the thing he’d managed to keep his mind off last night is back with a vengeance; comparing Kaibara Sen, his first date, to Todoroki Shouto, the man he was still fucking in love with. 

 

And when he does, he fidns there is no comparison. In every category, Shouto is better. Which is nothing against Sen, of course – he’s a chill guy, who’s clearly interested in Katsuki, and yet.

 

And yet.

 

Katsuki drags himself from his quicksand thoughts and focuses on the here and now. Shouto is sitting on the couch, staring blankly at his phone. The soba on the counter is untouched. Katsuki makes a quick decision and lowers himself (only a bit gingerly) beside Shouto, who jumps and angles his phone screen away. Those blue and grey eyes flutter up to his, wide and a bit wild.

 

“Do I smell less offensive now?” Katsuki jokes. Shouto frowns and leans in, taking a breath. 

 

“I guess,” he says, sounding grumpy. Katsuki laughs at his antics. He feels light, lighter than he has in a week, just sitting by Shouto, content, not going anywhere. He won’t rush away this time. Moving on from Shouto doesn’t have to mean leaving a friend behind. He swallows and reaches out. He touches Shouto’s hair. It’s a bit dirty, lacking its usual shiny lustre, and suddenly Katsuki remembers the missed calls from last night.

 

“You okay?” He asks, sliding back into gentle affection like he never left. “I’m sorry I missed your calls last night.” Shouto stiffens up at the mention, shrugs. He relaxes when Katsuki pushes his hair back. He feels weirdly like he’s cheating on Sen, but at the same time, like this is one of the only times he’s ever touched Shouto without the constant fear that he’s acting on bad urges. Like it’s okay to touch Shouto like this now because he has something going on with someone else. Ugh, what a stupid, complicated fucking mess. “Can I see your wound?” He asks next.

 

He receives silence, and instantly there are alarm bells ringing in his head. He settles a hand cautiously on Shouto’s right knee. “Icyhot?…Sho?” The boy slumps then, and a cool hand is placed over Katsuki’s. A thrill runs through him. Fuck, did he miss touching Shouto like this. Being touched like this. Shouto nods, and without letting go, Katsuki shuffled around till he slides off the couch and kneels before Shouto. He pushes up the boy’s loose shorts. His burn/cuts are healed enough that they no longer require bandages, and Katsuki takes a moment to assess them before checking to make sure there are no new injuries. He looks up from his investigation and meets Shouto’s hooded gaze. “Why’d you call me last night?”

 

Shouto looks directly at him. Doesn’t even hesitate. Shamelessly, he says; “Because I missed you so much.”

 

And Katsuki falls all over again.




The weeks that follow are almost back to normal. More often than not, whenever both are free, Shouto and Katsuki are together. They work hard, though the task force dealing with the villain now known as Houkai has slowed down. Shouto now has several streets in a suburban area that he patrols on school days. He also has begun spending some time with Taichi. Even if they can’t completely eradicate the threat of Houkai, at least they can ensure that his likely targets won’t be as easy to manipulate. 

 

Shouto’s burnt hip heals slowly. In an effort to stave off the desire to hurt himself again, he picks at the scabbed-over boils, widening the edges of the wound as much as he can. Katsuki hasn’t caught on, but he has brought him more origami paper – like he can sense the itch in Shouto’s fingers. 

 

Like Shouto said, they’re almost back to normal. Except now, Shouto is seeing Izuku once in a while, who is insisting on as much information about Katsuki and their ‘relationship’ as Shouto can give in order to dole out the most accurate advice. On the other end of the scale, Katsuki spends more time on his phone, smiling down at text messages and leaving little bleeding nicks in Shouto’s armour. 

 

They never discuss that day again. Katsuki never tells him who he was with. Shouto never asks. He never tries to glimpse Katsuki’s phone on one of the many times he smiles fondly down at something on it because even as he fills with impotent, useless jealousy, he knows Katsuki would never forgive him for invading his privacy like that.

 

And now it’s Friday evening, and he’s at Momo's house with Izuku, Ochako, Tenya, Tsu-chan, and Jirou, all tearing through closets of clothes personally tailored for them to find an outfit for the annual hero gala. Tsuyu and Jirou volunteered to remain on hero duty tonight though, so they’re mostly just sitting on one of Momo’s many luxurious lounges critiquing Shouto and his friend’s choices.

 

“That’s too stuffy,” Tsu says, thoughtfully tapping her wide finger against her lip. “I think you would look more approachable in something looser.” Shouto glances down at his outfit choice, some fitted three-piece suit that did admittedly make him feel like some CEO. 

 

“But isn’t it a super formal event?”

 

Jirou answers this time; “I once went to one of these things in jeans. You’re hot, they’ll eat you up no matter what.”

 

“I’m not that attractive.” She snorts, then waves him back to his designated room. On the way down the long, wide corridor, Izuku pops his green fluffy head out of a door. 

 

“Psst! In here!” Shouto quirks his lips at Izuku’s attempt at subtlety. “Hey! Okay, so, I sorta raided your room. Sorry. But, if I know Kacchan, which I do, then this is the perfect outfit for tonight.”

 

“I’m not trying to seduce him,” Shouto protests, even as he accepts the bundle of clothes Izuku shoves at him. 

 

“Why not?” Izuku demands. Shouto has no answer for that, so he retreats to his room to change. This time, when he goes out for Tsu-chan and Jirou’s verdict, they are both speechless. Jirou initiates a slow clap.

 

Later, Kirishima arrives to pick up Izuku. Not long after that, Momo kisses Jirou goodbye, and together they pile into the limo Momo owns. Tenya is all frenetic energy and nerves; he’s been trying to improve his image. He’s very concerned that when Tensei was his age, he was way higher in the popularity ranks. Ochako is attempting to soothe him, but it doesn’t quite work when she’s laughing so much. Beside him, Momo sips some champagne (the limo has a bar) and pouts. If one didn’t know her well, her expression was neutral, even pleasant. 

 

Shouto knows her well. 

 

“You know Jirou doesn’t like these events,” he says, hoping that the words are helpful as he frowns at his friend. He’s known Momo the longest of all his friends, and even though he can tell her moods apart rather easily now, he’s still usually at a loss to address them. 

 

Momo sighs, a dramatic if delicate little huff. Her manners remain impeccable, even when she’s moody and mad at her girlfriend. “Even Bakugou is bringing a date this year. How will it look for me to show up without Kyouka?”

 

“Wait,” he says sharply. He even manages to stop Tenya and Ochako’s conversation with his tone. He can’t really bring himself to care. “Katsuki has a date?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Ochako says. “I heard about that. Didn’t Sero tell you about it, Yaomomo?”

 

Momo nods seriously. “Yes, he mentioned that Bakugou would be accompanied to the gala this year by pro hero Spiral. Remember Kaibara Sen from Class B?”

 

Tenya makes a noise of recognition. “Yes, he was a diligent, if slightly too playful, student. I always admired his focus, however.”

 

Shouto feels like his head is underwater. 

 

Kaibara Sen. 




Katsuki is holding hands with someone. In public. It’s sweaty and he hates it, can feel the urge to spark off the nitroglycerin building up. The hotel hall that the gala is held in each year is as ridiculously fancy and full as always. Katsuki fucking hates these things, but if you’re a pro hero looking to climb the ranks, you basically have to attend. The outfit you wear to the gala can be solely responsible for raising or dropping your popularity rank. It’s shallow as fuck, and the fact that bringing a date usually makes your rank go up is an annoyance that Katsuki hasn’t dealt with till now. 

 

Sen is standing beside him. The asshole must have in-soles because he’s like three inches taller than him. He’s wearing a gaudy navy suit covered in red and lavender roses. Pants and jacket and shirt, all in the same awful, over the top style. All because Sen wanted to ‘match outfits’ – so Katsuki is wearing a waistcoat with the same design, with navy slacks and a shimmery silver blazer. He’s wearing annoying, pointy Italian shoes, and enough cologne to choke a whale.

 

Sen is a guy with a lot of friends, apparently. They’ve been at this thing for maybe ten minutes, and on their way to their designated table (thankfully the same table that Izuku and Eijirou are at) they’ve already been stopped by five different people. They ostensibly stop to talk to Sen, whose magnanimous smile is totally different from the chilled out grin from their date. They always act shocked to see Katsuki with him, then make some inane comment about ‘taming’ or some bullshit. Like Katsuki is some wild animal. Sen just laughs. Katsuki doesn’t know why he ever found that airy laugh attractive; it’s nothing but obnoxious. 



It’s been another half hour. They have just made it to their table, shared with Hanta and Mina, Denki and Shinsou, and Yaoyarozu and Shouto. He blinks in surprise at the last couple. Hadn’t Eijirou promised that he would be seated beside Katsuki? 

 

Not that he’s complaining. He smiles properly for the first time that night upon seeing Shouto – and then nearly loses his shit at his outfit. A loose, midnight blue silk blouse with a dark red rose and green vine motif tucked into tight black slacks. A slim silver belt accents the dark ensemble. 

 

He’s matching Katsuki. More than that, he’s matching him better than his actual date is. And he looks – fuck, he looks so good. The pants accentuate Shouto's delicate figure, cinching in deliciously at the waist, the loose top adding a graceful flow. The colours compliment his bright hair, his eyes shining brilliantly. Shit, is he wearing makeup? Fucking hell.

 

He barely regains enough of his senses to quit staring like an idiot loser and sit down beside his date, who's already chatting happily with Hanta. 

 

“Fuck are you doing here,” he grunts out quietly to Shouto, who turns towards him with a critical look. Except he's not looking at Katsuki, but past him – at Sen. There’s something in his eyes, something Katsuki can’t quite identify. 

 

He looks away from Sen, and that hard expression melts into a soft smile. A smile just for Katsuki. His heart flounders in his chest. “I asked to switch with Izuku and Kirishima,” Shouto says, as if that actually explains anything. Before Katsuki can chew him out for his bullshit non-answer, he continues; “I wanted to sit with you.”

 

Oh. 

 

Wow.

 

Okay.

 

Chill, Katsuki. Breath. So what if the knowledge that Shouto went out of his way to be near him for the sheer desire of being with him reignited a fire he had been trying so hard to put out. So what if that incendiary inferno was threatening to burn away any and all of his progress. He can handle this. He’s Bakugou fucking Katsuki, for shit’s fucking sake. 

 

“Stalker,” he retorts. And then, like a mature man with a semblance self-control, he turns away. It takes almost everything in him, but he turns and tunes into the conversation between Sen and Hanta, and involves himself. He mostly just adds barely helpful comments, and sometimes he just outright tells them their taste in manga is shit.

 

Through it all, he feels Shouto’s presence at his side, a burning pillar that will consume him whole if he lets it. He won’t let it.

 

When the dinner courses are served, Sen ceases his conversation with Hanta and puts his head close to Katsuki’s. “Let’s hope it’s not seafood,” he jokes. Katsuki snorts, and Sen grins at him, leans closer. “Maybe we’ll have to ask the staff for some hot sauce.”

 

And then there’s a hand on his thigh. But it’s not Sen’s.

 

Katsuki whips around to look at Shouto, who is quietly eating the tiny first course as though his hand isn’t clutching Katsuki’s upper leg. 

 

“Yeah, maybe,” he says absently as he turns back to Sen, trying to ignore Shouto’s searing touch. 

 

“Or maybe you’re hot enough on your own,” Sen teases. Katsuki gasps. Not because of Sen’s shitty flirting, fuck no – because Shouto’s grip tightens. It’s reminiscent of the one day, a month ago now; Katsuki running his fingers over Shouto’s wound, his inner thigh, feeling Shouto tremble and gasp against him. As Shouto trails his hand higher, Katsuki goes to desperately shove food into his mouth, only to discover he’s run out. Stupid tiny serving sizes, fuck. 

 

He nods along, tries to keep up his end of the conversation with Sen. And then, Shouto’s hand leaves, and he’s freezing suddenly. He darts a glance at Shouto, bereft but still furious and desperate to know what the fuck is going through that asshole’s head. In the past, touches like that have been only (almost only) to offer comfort. When Shouto pushed him down and straddled him, it was to ground him, to put him back in his body, and remind him what was important.

 

There can be no such reason for this. Shouto is calm. There is still an unidentifiable stiffness to him, but Katsuki can read him well enough to know that he’s otherwise relaxed. He’s not stressed or falling apart or itching at the seams. 

 

There can be no reason for this.

 

At least, none that fits the narrative that Katsuki set up years ago, that was all but confirmed by Shouto himself at that cursed Todoroki family dinner.

 

Nothing on Shouto’s face gives away his intentions, so Katsuki shrugs it off and chats idly with Shinsou across the table about how Aizawa, Present Mic and Eri are doing. He’s vaguely aware of Shouto’s presence beside him, half listening into his conversation with Momo. But they’re just talking about like, day-trading and investment and other mind-crushingly boring shit that he can’t pay attention for more than a few seconds before wanting to stab his own eardrums put with a salad fork.

 

Finally, the next course arrives. It’s slightly larger than the first. He’s about to dig in when Sen leans in and his hand lands on the back of Katsuki’s neck.

 

“Hey,” he murmurs huskily into Katsuki’s ear, and he full body shivers at the tone, reminded of the night they spent together. “Did I tell you yet how fucking hot you look?”

 

Oh my god. Katsuki blushes down to the root of his hair like a fucking school child. He has literally never been flirted with in public before.

 

“‘Cause you do. I want to eat you out – I mean eat you more than this food.”

 

“Sen,” he growls. What the fuck is this guy trying? They’re quite possibly in the worst place for this kind of display. Is Sen an exhibitionist or some shit? Not that Katsuki kinkshames – he’d just like to be given a fucking heads up, maybe a you good? before he’s involved in someone else’s sexual fantasies.

 

“We could ditch this whole thing, I brought lube, booked a suite upstairs––”

 

“Excuse me, Katsuki?” Sen’s low voice and warm mouth retreat from his ear, and Katsuki, relieved and eager, turns towards Shouto so fast he actually cracks his neck.

 

“What’s up, Sho?” 

 

“Do you know where the bathroom is?” Shouto’s face is hard and closed off. He’s glaring at Sen again. It suddenly strikes Katsuki that this is exactly how he’d behave if Shouto brought a date (one that wasn’t one of his friends) to the gala. Is he jealous? But no, that’s ridiculous. He’s said a few times that he misses Katsuki. And maybe his wound is bothering him? It shouldn’t though, should be scarring over by now. What if there’s a new one though? Did Shouto relapse? Fuck. 

 

“Yeah. C’mon, I’ll show you.”

 

Sen gives him a plainly reproachful look. Not Katsuki’s fault the fucker’s tryna come onto him at an event with more press than food. He stands up, and before he can think twice, offers Shouto his arm. If he has self-harmed again, it may be difficult for him to walk right now. Shouto takes it, and Katsuki feels himself relax for the first time that night as he leads Shouto out of the noisy hall and down a dimly lit corridor to one of the less frequented bathrooms. He opens the door for Shouto, then locks it behind them.

 

“You okay?” He asks.

 

At the exact same time, Shouto says “What was that guy’s deal?”

 

Katsuki pauses. They stare at each other for a couple beats. Shouto looks… angry? And maybe protective?

 

“That was just Sen. Kaibara.” He corrects himself. 

 

“He was all over you.” 

 

Katsuki squints, then rolls his eyes. “I know it’s a difficult concept to swallow, but some people do find me attractive.” And then he feels bitchy, and sighs out, “what’s wrong, anyway? Are you hurt, or…”

 

Shouto glares at him. He folds his arms over his waist, like he’s trying to close Katsuki out. Or like he’s trying to hold himself together. Maybe both?

 

“Is that the only reason you came?” Shouto asks.

 

“Hah?” Katsuki wracks his brain, tries to think what the hell the half n’ half bastard is on about. “What are you talking about?”

 

“Did you only come with me to make sure I hadn’t self-harmed?”

 

Katsuki recoils. The question is blatant and straightfoward, which isn’t unusual for Shouto, but on this topic – it’s fucking odd. Does he suspect Katsuki’s ulterior motive finally? Katsuki stiffens. 

 

“Why else would I come?” He deflects. Shouto’s eyes widens. Then he looks away. Katsuki is struck with the sudden and inexplicable feeling that he has just said the exact wrong thing. Still, he forces himself to continue the charade. “So? Are you hurt or not?” 

 

“I’m fine,” Shouto snaps. “Next time, maybe let someone know that your boyfriend likes to slobber on your ear at dinner parties. Then I won't feel the need to rescue you from something you clearly enjoy greatly.”

 

With that, Shouto shoves past him and leaves the bathroom, door banging closed behind him.

 

What. The. Fuck. Was that. Katsuki is left blinking at the empty bathroom, attempting to understand what any of that was. The only solution that made sense was that Shouto didn’t like seeing Katsuki with Sen. 

 

But why the fuck not? Shouto’s not interested. He’s made that goddamn clear, that he could never be interested in Katsuki. So what gives?

 

Katsuki shoves away from where he’d been leaning, and glares at his reflection in the mirror. 

 

Fuck Shouto. 

 

Katsuki was trying to fucking help him, as always. If seeing him with Sen was such a big fucking issue – then he’d just have to get goddamn used to it.

Notes:

shouto being a cryptic lil bitch and expecting katsuki to just Get It? more likely thank you think
and yes it has been a very long time. I've been focused a lot on stuff for my career, but I do still love this fic and intend to stick with it til it's complete please be patient and forgive me my abysmal update schedule!

Chapter 14: Fall

Summary:

Fall by Ymir

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

To be frank: Katsuki is fucking sick of Sen fucking Kaibara. And he kinda feels like an asshole for it. Sen hasn’t changed that drastically since that picture-perfect first date. He’s laid-back, flirty, and constantly complimenting Katsuki. But Katsuki just feels – nothing. Nothing but an irrational contempt which is so against his nature to hide. He has started having dreams about exploding Sen into another country just to get him to stop grabbing his ass in public.

 

So yeah. That’s not going great. On the other hand, at least his other most intimate relationship is going strong.

 

Yeah fucking right.

 

Katsuki sighs. He’s patrolling around a couple parks known to be popular hang-out spots for kids around Taichi’s age. Right now, they’re totally abandoned. Swings squeak in the breeze, the occasional parent with a pram or old folk with a dog walk by, but during the school day these places are mostly barren.

 

Katsuki checks his phone for any news updates, any villain battles he can distract his unravelling mind with. And he knows he shouldn’t hope for some menace to society to lose their shit and try to, like, blow up a mall or hold a bridge hostage. But it would at least be better than this: Sen blowing up his phone with unsolicited semi-nudes, and Shouto’s staunch and unyielding silence.

 

It’s been a few weeks since the gala, and Shouto has ignored all his texts other than sending healing progress pictures of his self-harm injuries. No caption either. When Katsuki tries showing up to his place with a homecooked meal, Shouto is always seemingly ‘not home’. Give him a freaking break. His hearing might be a bit fucked-up from all the blasting, but he can still hear Shouto’s goddamn mouth-breathing right on the other side of the door.

 

He lets out a frustrated growl and sits heavily on a park bench. There is still at least another half hour before the grade schools let out, so he calculates that he can afford a minute, maybe two, of wallowing in his thoughts.

 

His phone buzzes—a text from Shouto. As always, it’s a picture of his wound. Not that it can be called that anymore: it’s scarred-over, pink, and healed. Maybe Shouto really just doesn’t need him anymore. Maybe he’s proving a point, that is shooting straight over Katsuki’s head, in a bitchier way than Katsuki thought him capable of. Regardless of why, Katsuki hates it. He misses Shouto. He wants to talk to him about inane shit, watch dumb old cartoons or reality TV with him, fondly call him an idiot while teaching him how to do something basic in the kitchen. He wants to touch his hand, his hair, his waist, his thigh, he wants to see him. He just wants Shouto back.

 

Instead he has this.

 

Sen: hey babe, I’m coming in hot off a shitty shift. Gonna enjoy wrecking that tight little ass of yours tonight ;)

 

Katsuki wants to fucking gag. Christ. He told Sen he switches, and then made the mistake of bottoming for him at all, and now that spirally asshole seems to think that Katsuki is some little sub-bottom human fleshlight he can fuck whenever he pleases.

 

Katsuki: Sorry. I’m working late at the office tonight.

 

Sen: aw, again? :(

 

Sen can sad-face emoji all he fucking wants.

 

 

Later, after a predictable nothing happens at the park other than little kids fawning over pro-hero Dynamight, Katsuki is lying face-first on Eijirou’s couch.

 

‘I dunno, Bakubro, it sounds pretty simple to me.’ Eijirou sits on the floor in front of him, occasionally poking body parts (possibly to ensure Katsuki hasn’t suffocated in pillows yet). Katsuki groans and sits up, glaring around the stupid homey room like it personally offended him. He remembers going shopping with those idiots, actually with like half of Class A, picking out the comfiest armchairs, the coolest wall-art, the biggest TV. It’s a mismatched amalgamation of ten different people’s jumbled-up tastes, and Katsuki honestly kinda fucking loves it.

 

‘What’s simple about it?’ He grunts out. Eijirou raises an eyebrow at him from his position cross-legged in the floor. Katsuki seriously doesn’t know how he successfully manages to maintain the moral high ground, not only while literally below him, but also while wearing sweatpants with unholy, stretched-out images of Deku’s abs and biceps and triceps and other various muscles all over them. It was a joke birthday gift from Mina. Eijirou cried over how much he loved it.

 

‘So…you’re really frustrated with the way Kaibara is treating you, and you miss Todobro. You think Todoroki is avoiding you because he doesn’t like Kaibara. You also don’t like Kaibara. But you’re staying with him because…what? Some misplaced sense of pride?’

 

‘Fuck off,’ Katsuki mumbles.

 

‘No, seriously man! Don’t you think that this is just…cruel? Not just to yourself, but to Kaibara. You realise you’re stringing along a guy who really likes you, right?’

 

Katsuki stops glaring at a porcelain frog (one guess who chose that, no prizes) and stares instead at his best friend. His crazy insightful, relationship guru best friend. He huffs a self-deprecating little laugh and buries his face in his hands.

 

‘I’m such a goddamn idiot.’

 

When Eijirou doesn’t reply, Katsuki looks up. ‘Hey. Aren’t you s’posed to comfort me now? Tell me I’m not an idiot, “stop the negative self-talk,” all that shit?’

 

Eijirou cracks a rueful grin. ‘It’s just, you kind of are being a bit of an idiot.’

 

When Katsuki falls apart on Eijirou and Deku’s stupidly comfy couch, Eijirou is there in an instant to hold him together. He’s also there when Katsuki composes a break-up text to Sen, coaches him through balancing out his harsh realities with bits of kindness, and even counts him down to press send. He’s there for the awful call afterwards. When Katsuki blocks Sen after that, Eijirou is there to tell him he did the right thing. Katsuki seriously couldn’t ask for a better friend. He wonders what he did to deserve someone as kind, amazing, and patient as Eijirou, and then he quits the negative-self talk and directs his attention to the future.

 

 

 

Shouto is maybe a tiny bit obsessed. He’s been a lot of things lately: angry, resentful, guilty, jealous, petty—but more than anything, he’s been obsessed. He has read every single article about Dynamight and Spiral, Katsuki and Sen. He has alerts set up on his phone (Momo showed him how) for any new posts about Katsuki. And all the while, he ignores the man’s increasingly desperate texts.

 

Why does Katsuki even keep trying, anyway? He’s clearly very happy with his handsy, grinning new boyfriend. Katsuki’s boyfriend. Even just thinking the words leaves an acidic taste on his tongue. He glares at the most hateful of the tabloid pictures he’s saved to his phone. It’s a shot from behind, after Sen and Katsuki took down a strength-augmented villain who had been threatening the CEO of the company they’d been fired from. It was while they were giving a statement to the press. Or at least Sen was. Katsuki had just stood there (yes, Shouto watched the broadcast. Several times) and glared off to the side. It was such a stark contrast to how he usually did these statements, all irreverent snark and careless power. Shouto hadn’t realised it at first, but he recognised it now: Katsuki was always cool, in control, and undeniably sexy.

 

(Shouto may have also done some research into what Izuku calls ‘demisexuality’. Apparently, those who go a long time without being attracted to someone have trouble identifying when they are. It explained…a lot of things.)

 

Anyway. The interview itself had been bad enough, what with all the annoying comments about how ‘tame’ Dynamight had become, but paired with the tabloid shot of Sen’s hand on Katsuki’s ass—Shouto had destroyed his training room that day. Then he had called Izuku and ranted for an hour.

 

It hadn’t made him feel any better.

 

He’s shocked from his jealous glaring when the phone starts buzzing in his hand. He’s been called in for a Houkai taskforce meeting, the first in a while. Shouto chews his lip and picks idly at his hip. The wound there is mostly healed, so Shouto doesn’t have much left to work with, but he still tries to tear off the scabs as soon as they form. It’s a satisfying process, but he tears his nails away as he goes about changing into his hero outfit.

 

As a pro-hero, Shouto watches the news closely—and not just the news involving Katsuki. If there had been another Houkai attack, he’d have known about it before now. Maybe the meeting’s been called in order to disband the taskforce? It would be frustrating if Houkai had managed to flee the country, but if he did then it would be out of their hands.

 

He calls a cab and heads to the Best Jeanist Hero Agency, jittery with nerves, knowing he’s going to see Katsuki, knowing it’s unavoidable. Not sure if he’s desperate to see him or desperate to run away. Come on Shouto. Being a hero always comes first. His father’s advice settles him in some perverse way, and his hands ache to fold and press and smooth paper out into a pretty crane. He has noted over the last couple months that when his father’s advice starts to make sense, it’s generally an indicator of his declining mental health.

 

He makes it to the agency, and he does not have a deep sense of foreboding. Not at all. He walks up the stairs to the fifth floor. He does this out of a sense of athleticism and cardio, not in hopes of avoiding Katsuki on the elevator. He silences his phone. He does this so he can focus on the meeting, and definitely not because he’s tired of seeing gossip rag articles about how the cool, calm Kaibara has finally tempered the hot-headed, boorish Bakugou. He goes to the bathroom and sits on a heated toilet seat (he is somewhat jealous of the class and comfort of this agency, compared to the cold, spartan furnishings of the Endeavour Agency) for ten minutes. He does this because he is constipated. Not emotionally. And certainly not because he is dreading being in the same room as Katsuki. Katsuki ‘why else would I come’ Bakugou. Katsuki with the boyfriend.

 

Shouto’s feelings war, spikes of dread cutting through rivers of longing, jealousy rearing a great green claw and swiping at his guilt. He regrets what he did in that bathroom, he feels awful about his petty behaviour. He hates that Katsuki confirmed his worst fear: his concern goes as far as his wellbeing. He is not interested in Shouto as a person, because now he has a boyfriend. He hates Katsuki for making him feel this way.

 

He hates him almost as much as he loves him.

 

 

 

The meeting is slow to start. Shocker. With all the bureaucratic nonsense and the pointless kowtowing to other agencies, Katsuki will be surprised if the damn meeting starts at all. Deku is chatting away in his right ear, Best Jeanist is politely engaging Mirko in a conversation about the fashion industry and mutant-type quirks, Burnin’ is boisterously explaining her new costume’s features to a starstruck intern.

 

Shouto is also here.

 

Katsuki is striving to ignore this, but how the fuck can he? His eyes slide entirely against his will to Shouto no matter how hard he tries. And Shouto seems to be having no such issue. When he walked in with Burnin’, he didn’t so much as glance at Katsuki. Now, he’s flipping through the incomprehensible and dense ‘briefing’, those winter-summer eyes steady, his mouth a small, flat line.

 

Katsuki misses his smile. Is that weird? Anyone would tell you that Shouto is not a smiley guy. Katsuki would tell you that – but then he spent a couple weeks of domestic freaking bliss with him and realised that when he’s happy, looked-after, well-fed and satisfied, Shouto is all smiles. Dazzling, shiny, easy. Tiny, so tiny, and sometimes you wouldn’t even know that it was a smile unless you knew Shouto well.

 

Katsuki knew Shouto well. Now he’s not so sure.

 

Despite everything, the meeting begins. They do their usual ‘house-keeping’, then the guy leading it, some shitty extra of a cop with a long, flesh-coloured snout, says, ‘So let’s get right to the point. We have compelling reason to believe that Houkai has fled the country and is now hiding in China. We have taken steps to warn the Chinese authorities about this. However, it also means this taskforce, apart from a few key members and consultants, will be disbanding.’

 

Frustration sizzles on Katsuki’s skin. Instinctually, he glances at Shouto—who is already looking at him. The shock of the eye-contact, of those pretty, clever eyes on his, acknowledging him, finally acknowledging him—Katsuki burns for it. Then Shouto calmly turns away.

 

But there had been so much in that gaze, and a lot of it was complicated, unidentifiable – but some Katsuki recognised. The dullness to the edges, that scary flatness that Katsuki has come to realise means Shouto is retreating to a dangerous part of his own mind. It might be futile wishful thinking, but Katsuki also thinks he saw something there—some longing. Fuck. There’s no was he can let this opportunity pass by. No way.

 

He knows what he has to do.

 

 

 

Captain Ridou drones on. As Shouto had thought, the taskforce was disbanding. A simple enough premise for a meeting. Shouto thinks there must be some kind of time quota to these meetings though, because Ridou doesn’t not stop nasally explaining every unnecessary detail of the Chinese pro-hero scene and how the villain will be dealt with there for another hour. Apart from one searing second of accidental eye-contact with Katsuki, the meeting has been interminably dull.

 

‘So, to finish up, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for your hard work on this case, particularly Shouto, without whom we wouldn’t even have a name for this monster.’ Shouto feels his face flare up with heat, and pumps his right side’s cooling to even himself out again before anyone can notice. Everyone in the meeting looks at him, offers thanks and congratulations, while Burnin’ smirks smugly beside him. Shouto frowns, nods, and avoids looking to Katsuki for—for an eye roll, a head shake, some commiseration. He doesn’t even really know. Just that his first instinct it to seek out Katsuki. It’s an instinct that will be troublesome to quash.

 

The meeting draws to an unceremonious end. As much as Shouto wants to sprint out of there, hide in his sad, empty apartment, and never be seen again, he must shake hands and give thanks and exchange pointless niceties. He can hear Izuku doing the same across the room; Izuku is doing a much better job than Shouto is. He can also hear, try as he might to tune out his deep, abrasive tone, Katsuki somewhere behind him; Katsuki is doing a much worse job than Shouto is. It’s almost certainly intentional. And he gets it—this is a frustrating outcome. In the end, they just spooked Houkai into running away. There is no guarantee he won’t strike again, but even then, it’s so out of Shouto’s hands that all he can do is not let grief and guilt and impotency overwhelm him if more people die because of a villain he couldn’t stop.

 

He makes some barely there excuses and escapes the room, which has suddenly become unbearably hot and close. He needs air, needs to clear his mind. He almost wants to just run home. Or maybe see Taichi. It is a consolation whenever he spends time with that bright, curious little kid; the knowledge that he at least saved that boy is usually enough to keep darker feelings from consuming him. Instead, he finds a door leading to a balcony and lets himself out. He leans on the tall railing and closes his eyes, enjoying the crisp autumn breeze that whips at his hair, this high up.

 

He doesn’t hear the door open until someone clears their throat. Dread claws up his throat; he stamps it down. He cannot quite quell that traitorous flair of hope. Pointless, cruel hope. He turns around.

 

Katsuki stands there, looking so unlike himself—unsure, twitchy. It makes Shouto’s heart lurch. Did I make him look that way?

 

Katsuki clears his throat again, then in a too deep, effected sort of voice he says, ‘Hey.’ He clears his throat a third time. ‘Hi. Shouto.’

 

‘Bakugou,’ he acknowledges coolly, even as everything inside him screams. It’s almost a form of self-harm, this forced, frigid distance from someone he loves so much. Especially when those feelings are so strange, new, terrifying—especially when he knows that, being the way he is, he is unlikely to stop feeling this way for Katsuki. And even more unlikely to do that nebulous, vague labour of ‘moving on.’

 

Katsuki flinches and Shouto hates him for it.

 

‘Uh, yeah, I probably deserve that.’

 

Shouto hates him.

 

‘What do you want?’

 

‘Just, just wanted to see how were—’

 

‘You know how I am. I send you those pictures don’t I? I thought that was all you cared about.’

 

Katsuki stares at him. His crimson eyes are so bright, and the way the wind moves through his hair reminds Shouto how feather-soft it felt to run his hands through it.

 

Shouto wishes he hated him.

 

‘I didn’t mean what I said, back there.’

 

Shouto quirks an unimpressed eyebrow. Those chaotic, conflicting emotions of regret guilt anger hurt are rising up again and Shouto can only control one by pushing them all down. He lets only his cold disdain shield him from Katsuki’s open vulnerability. He folds his arms around his middle, scratches at his scabs through his outfit. ‘Back where? You’ll have to be more specific.’

 

‘In the stupid fucking bathroom at that goddamn hero gala shit, okay? Christ, Sho, you’re not making this easy.’

 

‘Why should I make it “easy”?’

 

Katsuki squares his shoulders, takes a thunderous step forward, then just as explosively—he wilts. Like those videos of a flower growing from seed to bloom, he is a timelapse study of righteous anger to utter exhaustion.

 

‘Because I’ve missed you so much.’ Katsuki throws his words back at him, from those weeks ago, and Shouto can feel himself breaking. More than anything he just wants Katsuki, Katsuki in his life, holding him, talking to him, cooking with him, loving him—just Katsuki.

 

And then there is an ear-splitting CRACK like a huge iceberg smashing into a mountain. For a second nothing happens, and the world is simply this: the unending reverberation of a sound so intense it becomes timeless. Then the building shifts. And then the Best Jeanist Hero Agency begins to fall.

Notes:

don't settle in too quick, next chapter is posting after I edit it!

Chapter 15: Foundations of Decay

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Panic slices Katsuki into two versions of himself. On the inside he is curled up into a ball, rocking back and forth, terrified. On the outside, he is unshaken and calm. But he sees his internal terror reflected in Shouto’s bulging eyes and too-quick breath.

 

‘Hey,’ he says, and he closes the distance between them to put his hand on Shouto’s shoulder. Shouto’s eyes flick to his, bright and afraid, and Katsuki speaks to him low and fast. ‘Hey. Stay calm. This is a building full of heroes who know what they’re doing. Okay? We’re going to save the interns and the civilians and we’re going to get out, and it’ll all be over. Everyone will be safe.’ Shouto stares at him, unspeaking. ‘Nod if you understand me, Sho.’

 

Shouto nods, a jagged and uncertain thing, but then he takes a deep breath and repeats the action. ‘Yes. I understand. Lets go.’ So they go. The building shudders and groans around them as they burst back inside, the interior startlingly warm. Katsuki doesn’t know why, but it just feels wrong that it should feel so cosy in here – the hallway tilts at an alarming angle and an aesthetically placed pillar starts to crumble. And yet, it is warm.

 

Katsuki also expected terrified chaos organised by professional heroes – double than the usual, thanks to the taskforce meeting. Instead they are greeted with an unsettling stillness, apart from all the shuddering and crumbling. He looks around frantically, then shoves into the meeting room.

 

Everyone is still there—the police officers, the sidekicks, the interns, even Deku and Best Jeanist and Mirko. They’re… asleep. Or nodding off. More stringed-together noises splice the air into a rattling symphony of destruction, so loud that Katsuki slams his hands over his ears, and yet everyone in this room looks like they’re about to take a fucking nap.

 

‘What the shit?’ he demands.

 

‘Quirk,’ Shouto says, darting forward to check Deku. He tilts the man’s head back, looks at his eyes, then throws over his shoulder: ‘this must be how Houkai does it.’

 

It hits Katsuki then, this awful realisation. Why the buildings Houkai targets never seem to evacuate in time, why the rate of survival is so dismally low. His quirk must allow him to put people into this vulnerable, half-conscious state, and then he uses a manipulated child with a powerful quirk to start the foundations crumbling. That, too, must be why the heroes never arrive in time. Because there’s no one to tell them a building is starting its slow and fatal collapse.

 

‘Fuck.’ Katsuki says. Then again, ‘Fucking fuck.’ Desperate tears sting his eyes, he pulls at his hair. ‘Christ, Shouto, how the fuck can we save this many people?’

 

Shouto returns to his side. He is still breathing rapidly, and he clamps his hand onto Katsuki’s forearm. ‘Katsuki,’ he says.

 

‘Oh,’ Katsuki laughs, a little hysterical, half-losing his mind. ‘So we’re back to Katsuki?’

 

Shouto’s eyes soften. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he whispers, and then he shakes his head. ‘Please. We have to put that aside and work this out, yes? My ice is well suited to rescue. I’ll create slides and try to get out as many people as I safely can. However, it’s likely that Houkai is nearby; possibly he is still in the building. If we can knock him out, his quirk may be cancelled.’

 

Katsuki frowns as he realises what Shouto is getting at. ‘You wanna split up?’ Shouto’s face falls, and so do his tears. Katsuki hadn’t even noticed them until the first couple slip from his red and white lashes and tremble on his chin. Then he darts forward and kisses Katsuki’s cheek.

 

Katsuki’s whole world rocks—metaphorically and literally. ‘You know it’s the most logical solution. We don’t have time, Katsuki. Go.’

 

Katsuki wants. He wants so fucking badly. To grab Shouto’s face and give him a real kiss, to tell him how much he desperately, pathetically, brilliantly loves him. To hold him and never let go. Instead he nods, turns, and runs. The building shudders around him, plaster wall buckling. He hears the distinctive sound of Shouto’s crackling ice, and he does not let himself look back. He dodges chunks of falling ceiling, hates himself already for how long he took to jump into action – what if people have already lost their lives? Because he was scared to leave Shouto?

 

Fuck.

 

He sprints for the stairs, then uses carefully controlled explosions to propel himself down and take corners at sharper angles than he ever could on his feet. All of these building collapses, even though their causes were buried with their residents, they all originated in the basement. So Katsuki flies there now, mind racing with statistics, guilt, strategies, and a constant background hum of Shouto Shouto Shouto.

 

Shouto, please be okay.

 

He pushes aside that fear, lets his analytical brain take over. He soars past ajar doors exposing scenes of his quirked co-workers sleepily sliding around. He tries to not pause, tries to tell himself that getting them awake and alert is the best way to help them. He mostly succeeds.

 

By the time he reaches the basement, the shuddering and shaking and wild swinging has made him stomach very upset, and he feels like his vision has been turned to shitty-shaky-cam mode. It’s hard to focus on anything past his own heaving breath, but he shakes of the fog of panic and dread and lets his senses take over. Smoke and debris hanging in the still air obscure most of the lowest level; paired with the flickering, dim lights, he can’t rely on his eyes at all.

 

So he closes them.

 

He listens.

 

For a few moments, all he hears is his own heartbeat, and the sound of his world shaking apart around him: creaking, groaning, cracking splitting—the sounds of a ruined foundation.

 

And then he hears it.

 

It’s tiny and faint at first, but—he hears it again. It’s definitely there.

 

The distant sob of a terrified child.

 

Katsuki rockets towards the sound. He squints against the dust, and sets down uneasily when he’s near enough to see the two indistinct silhouettes. He presses his mouth and nose into the crook of his elbow. He starts to sneak up, steps quiet and covered anyway by the cacophonous sounds around him.

 

As he gets closer, it’s easier to peer through the haze and make out the two forms more solidly. A reedy guy in ratty jeans and a hoodie, and a smaller figure with ragged, shaggy wings and big, puddly eyes.

 

Taichi. He’s taken Taichi.

 

This fucking bastard.

 

The little boy’s wings are bloody and messed up, and the man holds a gun to the back of his long head. He’s sobbing steadily, even as his hands elongate into massive, deadly claws. They’re absolutely huge, way too big for his little body.

 

‘Please,’ he begs in that warbly voice Shouto has spoken so fondly of.

 

‘Do it!’ Houkai snaps, and jams the muzzle of the gun against Taichi’s skull. ‘Don’t be worthless. What’s the point in you having this quirk if you don’t use it, huh? Use it to tear down these foundations of a decaying, rotten society!’ The boy sobs harder, then he rears his hands back in a way that must take all his strength. In the flashing half-light, Katsuki can tell what his target is. One of the few remaining support pillars.

 

Big explosions are way too dangerous right now, Katsuki runs more of a risk of damaging the support structure even more or hurting Taichi than he does of accurately hitting Houkai.

 

Lucky for him, this fucking predator relies on grooming children and using his quirk, and not his muscles.

 

So Katsuki leaps.

 

Houkai shouts as Katsuki barrels into him and pins him to the ground. The gun goes skittering away into the murky, strobing depths of the basement.

 

‘Taichi, get out of here!’ He bellows.

 

 

 

 

Shouto has nearly gotten all the non-heroes out of the fifth level. He picks up one last intern, one who just earlier had been gushing over Burnin’ and Shouto and the Endeavour agency. Now she’s more like a zombie than that bright young woman. Her head lolls as Shouto gently but quickly places her on his ice slide.

 

He leaves the other heroes there, in the hope that Katsuki can take out Houkai and they’ll regain consciousness. It’s a longshot. They know so little about how Houkai actually works, and the chances of him still being in the building are slim already. The chances that taking him down will cancel out his quirk is hopeful, based on how many mental quirks work – but still, in the end, a guess.

 

A guess he could be sacrificing his friends and colleagues for.

 

He does not let himself linger, does not give in to his urge to save at least Izuku. Instead, he runs for the fourth floor, a wild sort of gratitude flaring in him—at least their stupid, utterly wrong meeting about how the threat is over had to be on the highest level of the building.

 

He makes getting to the next floor easier by icing up the stairwell. He slides into the open-plan cafeteria that he, Izuku, and Katsuki had eaten at after their first taskforce meeting.

 

And he is overwhelmed.

 

It is so full. He hadn’t let himself think about it. Friday, around dinnertime – all the people who work here, the interns, the staff, the receptionists, the physical therapists, the scientists, the support-gear engineers, the-the students – all having a rowdy dinner to wrap up the end of the work week.

 

He cannot save them all. Not on his own. Most of them are already on the ground, bunched up in drowsy piles, tangled in toppled-over furniture. A sob breaks past his lips and despair tastes like dust and ozone, but he blasts it away and gets to work. Makes another ice slide with a collection bowl at the end, and starts gathering armfuls of people. He prioritises the student interns, leaves the more capable sidekicks to last.

 

Suddenly, a huge chunk of the ceiling dislodges. It slams into the ground with such resounding force that it rocks loose other chunks. More sobs tear apart Shouto’s windpipe—there was a person there.

 

His quirk is next to useless here. What he wouldn’t give to have Sero’s tape, or Ochako’s zero gravity; he is flagging, his muscles spasming from overuse, but he pushes on.  He must.

 

He’s carrying two people under one arm and three under another when someone screams. Then someone else. Then the people he’s carrying start to squirm, and relief so powerful it nearly knocks him off his feet flood through him. He sets the people on the slide and they yell a bit more.

 

‘Everyone! The building is collapsing! I’ve created an ice slide to get safely away. Please leave as quickly as you can. If you can, help anyone who may be injured. There may not be much more time!’

 

Panicked shouting erupts around him, but the couple more experienced sidekicks who he’d left until last take control.

 

Shouto sprints over the piece of collapsed ceiling, it’s an ugly chunk of concrete, rebar jutting out like spikes. Please he thinks.

 

‘Please,’ he whispers aloud.

 

‘Help!’ a weak shout comes from the other side of the rubble, and he dashes over. A girl, just a student, is lying in the dusty mess. There’s a nasty gash on her head, and her eyes are unfocused. Her legs are trapped—likely crushed—under the concrete. Tear tracks streak through the grime on her face.

 

‘I’m here,’ he says, and it’s so useless. He can’t help here. Using his ice on something so unstable could just make things worse. His fire has no use whatsoever. ‘It’s okay,’ he whispers, and it feels like a lie.

 

The other heroes are awake now, at least. They’ll be able to evacuate the other levels much more efficiently than Shouto could. At least no one else will die because of him.

 

He does not, cannot, let himself think about Katsuki.

 

‘I am here!’ Izuku’s familiar cry cuts through Shouto’s layers of despair, and he whips his head up to see Izuku’s grimace-grin. He’s all All Might-bravado for the seconds before he sees Shouto, and then he falls right back into his huge eyes and shaking shoulders. Deku is an amazing hero. Deku is never unafraid. ‘Shouto!’

 

‘Please help, I can’t get her out, I don’t want to hurt her more—’

 

‘I got it.’ Izuku’s smile is wobbly and unconvincing. He’s got blood on his hands, a tear in the left side of his suit revealing a dirty cut. He lifts the rubble off the girl effortlessly and Shouto pulls her out. She cries, a weak, pained sound, then passes out. She’s too injured for the slide.

 

‘You have to get her straight to the hospital,’ Izuku speaks in a rush, eyes darting around, clearly planning and strategizing and considering a hundred different options at once. ‘And, can you get to Eijirou? Tell him I’m okay?’ Shouto opens his mouth to protest, because what? He can’t do that, he’ll be coming right back here—‘No, you’ve already—’  

 

More rubble and debris rain from the ceiling, and then a massive crack rips through the floor. Right under Shouto. In a moment of sheer panic, he throws the girl at Izuku, who catches her even as he’s screaming Shouto’s name. Shouto falls through the floor.

 

 

 

For a few moments—or is it minutes?—Shouto is convinced he’s dead. Everything is black. He feels blissful nothing. And then his limp body is plucked raggedly from the rubble, and pain rushes back in worse than anything. Worse than any iced-over burn, worse even than the Hammerhead villain’s claws raking through his unhealed wound.

 

‘Hey, I got you. It’s okay.’

 

‘Katsuki?’ he whispers, squinting one eye open.

 

‘Sorry,’ the man says. He looks down at Shouto with a devastated and devastating smile. It’s Kirishima. ‘Just me.’ Shouto blinks. Tries to look around a bit. He must have been out of it for longer than he thought, because the building is gone. Obliterated. He can barely think, he’s in so much pain, and what he can think is a one-track on repeat.

 

‘Where’s Katsuki?’

 

That’s when he notices the particular lines of Kirishima’s smile, that certain tone to his voice. ‘We—’ his voice breaks. He swallows. ‘We haven’t found him yet.’

 

 

 

Everything went to hell as soon as Katsuki yelled.

 

He should have fucking known better than to scream at a terrified child who had just been at gunpoint a minute ago.

 

Taichi shrieks an awful, piercing sound, something so inhuman and prehistoric to it. He smashes through the pillar, and apparently that was an important one, because shit goes really fucking haywire really fucking fast after that. Massive slabs of raw concrete studded with rebar and pipes dislodge. Katsuki is bizarrely reminded of his fight with Round Face in their first Sports Fest at school. He almost laughs, until he realises the biggest piece is about to fall right on top of them.

 

Katsuki thought that in a life-or-death moment like this, he would experience that prophesised slowing of time. It’d be real fucking welcome right about now. Instead, everything happens almost at two-times speed.

 

In a split second, Katsuki realises he can only save one of them.

 

He dives for Taichi.

 

He wraps the kid up tight and rolls them out of the way, aiming an explosion behind them. They skid out of the way just as the concrete smashes into the ground.

 

Houkai must die instantly.

 

A piece of jagged concrete shrapnel breaks off from the destroyed pillar. It falls like a guillotine and goes straight through Katsuki and into—

 

Oh god, Taichi.

 

 

 

‘Let me down!’ Shouto demands. He pummels Kirishima’s chest. ‘I have to find him!’

 

Kirishima is fully crying now. ‘You’ve got a broken leg and arm and possibly internal bleeding, Todoroki.’ He sniffs and smiles down at Shouto, picking his way across the ruined landscape towards a wall of wailing ambulances. ‘Kats would kill me himself if I let you go like this.’

 

‘I don’t care.’ Shouto heaves in rattling breaths. He thinks he probably has some broken ribs too, but he doesn’t say that. ‘It’s Katsuki. It’s Katsuki, Eijirou!’

 

‘I know,’ Kirishima chokes out. He does not stop walking. He does not let Shouto down. ‘I know.’

 

 

 

 

‘Dynamight…what’s happening? It hurts…M’ scared…’

 

Katsuki breathes in a ragged, ruined breath. ‘I know kid. I’m scared too.’

 

‘But I did what Houkai-nii wanted…so why?’ Taichi presses his beaked little face into Katsuki’s shoulder.

 

‘Houkai was bad. He hurt people. But he was a weak coward, so he used someone strong and brave like you.’

 

‘I d-don’t understand.’ Taichi clings to him harder. Katsuki smooths a burning, raw palm down the little boy’s back. ‘H-he always told me how…how mean his family was, n’ he said, said if I was his brother, if I was his new family he would be happy…so w-why did big brother hurt me?’

 

Katsuki’s tears are cold on the heat of his face. ‘Big brother was mean,’ Katsuki murmurs. ‘Someone hurt him, so he decided he would hurt lots of other people.’

 

Taichi just cries quietly against him.

 

Katsuki has to wait until the ruins above them stop shifting and settling, he knows that’s the safest way, but the wait is excruciating. Not just because of the very real terror that any shift could destroy the makeshift hollow Katsuki had rolled them to, but also because of the hole near his hip. A piece of thick, jagged concrete pierced through him, by his guess missing the most major things inside him. But it had gone right through him and stabbed into Taichi’s stomach.

 

Taichi doesn’t have regular skin—he’s made of something thicker, more like furry reptile scales than anything else—so it hadn’t gone too deep into him. But if Katsuki pulls them apart now, without a clear estimate of how long it’ll be before he can blast their way out, the likelihood of them both bleeding to death is somewhere in the realm of highly likely to certain. So they lie there, pressed together and hurting and so, so afraid.

 

Katsuki pets the boy’s strange, wonderful wings, and soothes him best he can. He isn’t accustomed to this, to comforting anyone other than Shouto in such a physical way. But he can’t say it feels unnatural. In a strange, selfish way, he almost imagines that he comforting a child-version of Shouto. A little kid with so much potential, manipulated and abused and exploited. He murmurs useless consolations to the kid, and shakes himself apart with terror that maybe Shouto didn’t get out in time. Maybe Houkai’s death hadn’t cancelled out his quirk—what if it was a time limit thing? What if his death meant nothing? What if Shouto died trying to save as many people as he could, and Izuku died not even able to help himself, let alone anyone else?

 

God. What the fuck would be the purpose of living without the love of his love and one of his oldest, closest friends? What’s the point in all this fighting, if not them?

 

This kid, he reminds himself. Eijirou. All the idiots. Mum, dad. Aizawa-sensei. All Might.

 

And so he takes a deep, terrified breath, and says, ‘Okay kid. I’m gonna get us outta here. It’s gonna be loud and scary and it’ll probably hurt a lot, but just hang on to me, and we’ll be alright. You got me?’

 

‘O-okay,’ Taichi squeaks, and Katsuki grins down at him.

 

‘That’s my guy. Let’s go.’

 

He shifts them to an upright position and it’s agony—he can feel the concrete shrapnel shifting inside him, tearing him up even more. Taichi’s guttural gasps of pain break his heart. This kid is too fucking young for this. And then he hates Houkai even more.

 

Good fucking riddance he’s dead.

 

He gets them as close to standing as he can in the cramped space. He keeps his left arm around Taichi, then stretches out his right arm above them. His palm fizzes and sparks with the size of the explosion he’s building up. But the bigger it is, the more likely he is to totally destroy the rubble above them, rather than just making it rain down on their heads. He grunts with the exertion, allows a last dumb wish that he had his gauntlets, and lets loose a scream.

 

He explodes.

 

 

 

‘Looks like your arm is broken in four places. You leg is broken only in two, lucky you. I’m afraid you do have six cracked ribs and two broken ones though. That’s a morphine drip in you, so hopefully that’ll ease the pain!’ The inappropriately cheerful paramedic smiles at him. She has some kind of analysis quirk that let her just touch Shouto’s skin and tell him what’s wrong with him. ‘Other than that, I don’t feel any internal bleeding. There are some superficial cuts and abrasions, but they’re the least of our worries.’

 

Shouto blinks at her. He tries to breathe through his mouth, the sharp smell of antiseptic stinging his already dust-and smoke-raw nostrils. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Can I go now?’

 

The paramedic’s smile drops in an instant. ‘You hero types,’ she chastises. ‘You aren’t going anywhere for a while, hon.’

 

Shouto is getting ready to say something biting and unnecessary when Izuku pops his streaky, filthy face into the back of the ambulance. ‘Shouto,’ he sighs in relief. ‘Thank god. Are you okay?’

 

‘I’m fine.’

 

‘He is not!’

 

Izuku glances between them and sighs. ‘Don’t be difficult Shocchan. You’re really hurt. Please let her help you.’

 

‘What about you?’ He asks quietly, indicating where Izuku’s bleeding on his head. Even just that gesture with his non-broken arm makes about twenty different bits of him flare in throbbing pain, in spite of the morphine.

 

‘Oh, me? Pfft, it’s nothing.’ He smiles, but it’s wobbly and doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

‘What about that girl?’

 

Izuku’s eyes widen, then soften. ‘Yeah, she’s okay. I got her to someone with a speed-enhancing quirk; she should be at a hospital by now.’

 

‘Good,’ Shouto sighs, letting his head rest back a bit. Izuku climbs into the ambulance and sits beside him, and only now does Shouto register how utterly exhausted he is. His head pounds, his eyes feel so heavy. The terror of the building collapse, the fear of splitting up with Katsuki, the frantic panic and rush of trying to save as many people as possible—and all this on top of that heated, confusing moment with Katsuki on the balcony, which itself was piled onto weeks of misery and isolation.

 

Shouto thinks he can finally, accurately use the phrase dead tired.

 

‘Is everyone—did we get everyone—’

 

‘All accounted for.’ Shouto closes his eyes in relief, so he doesn’t see Izuku’s face when he says the next part—but he hears the devastation in his voice all the same. ‘A-all but Kacchan.’

 

Before Shouto can panic anymore, a furious roar of an explosion sends the ambulance rocking wildly, dust and smoke spinning out like a mushroom cloud. Shouto gasps and sits up. He tears out his morphine drip and sprints out of the ambulance, ignoring the splitting, freezing agony and the Izuku’s screams. Because he knows that sound.

 

He limps as fast as he can to the origin in time to see a misshapen silhouette eject from the heart of the dust cloud on fiery shots, skidding jerkily through the air with well-placed explosions. The form tumbles down out of the range of the raining debris, but by now pro-heroes are onsite and taking care of the rest of it.

 

Shouto uses his ice to skate over to where the figure lies prone. Fear and agonising hope war in his broken chest and he throws himself the last few metres.

 

‘Katsuki,’ he chokes out. Because there he is. His face is squeezed up, but at the sound of Shouto’s voice he opens those burning eyes and focuses on him. He opens his mouth, but he’s so croaky that Shouto has no clue what he’s saying. ‘What? What is it?’

 

‘T-Taichi—’ Katsuki manages, before he cuts off into a rough fit of coughing.

 

Only then does Shouto realise why the form had looked misshapen. Because glued to Katsuki’s front is the tiny, strange shape of a little boy: half pterodactyl, half shaggy dog.

 

And then he notices the blood. All the blood.

 

Oh no. God, no.

 

‘H-help,’ he starts, but it’s so quiet it’s worthless. So he screams. ‘HELP! I need some help over here!’

 

Notes:

a double update! unheard of! ngl, i reread ch13 and got so invested in my own story only to realise that if I wanted more, I had to write it. thus is the tragic life of a writer

Chapter 16: Indigo Night

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

‘Is Taichi okay?’

 

Shouto wants to hit him. And then kiss him. And then cry forever and maybe die.

 

‘He’s fine. Focus on yourself. You have a hole in you.’

 

Katsuki coughs and the sound is wet. Shouto wipes at a spot of blood that forms in the corner of his mouth. ‘I have a lot of holes,’ he says, voice breathy and weak, that stupid self-satisfied smirk so small. That ruinous smile.

 

‘Shut up,’ Shouto whispers. He strokes Katsuki’s cheek. Can’t believe he’s doing it. It’s like when Katsuki came home after that awful day, destroyed and guilty, and Shouto just sat him down and touched him. It was something that would be wildly unnatural with anyone else. With Katsuki, it was the only possible option that made sense, that felt right.

 

Katsuki looks at him. His eyes are foggy, and every time the ambulance is jostled, he tenses in pain. Then the hand that’s not clinging to Shouto clings a bit harder to Taichi. They’re still connected by the red and grey shrapnel, though they’ve knocked Taichi out so he wouldn’t cry himself sick. Shouto’s heart aches for the kid. For Katsuki. For Katsuki who saved this child, who saved them all.

 

He can’t die.

 

‘Hey,’ Katsuki drawls, all fake, hopeless bravado. Shouto wrenches his eyes away from their wounds, focuses on those pretty red eyes. They’re fluttery and bleary, but Shouto finally understands now why he likes looking at them so much. They’re beautiful, yeah, but also—they’re Katsuki’s. And Shouto…Shouto loves him. ‘Don’t cry, Icyhot. Too…too good to cry. Not over me.’

 

Shouto’s chest hitches. His ribs ache; not even the fresh morphine drip has fixed that. He is too broken to ignore. But he can’t help the trembling sob that escapes him. He holds Katsuki’s hand with his, smooths a thumb over his raw palm. When he gets Katsuki home, when they’re both home, Shouto makes a note to put his burn cream on Katsuki’s hands.

 

‘I’m not crying because of you.’ He tries to look as blank as he used to, the mask that used to be so easy to pull on. He’s pretty sure he fails.

 

Katsuki’s breathing rattles. There’s certainly internal bleeding. He’s going to need surgery. Taichi too. Taichi seems so…small for surgery. Shouto tears his gaze away from their wounds again. ‘No?’ Katsuki teases. ‘Coulda fooled me. Why ya cryin’ then, hah?’

 

Shouto tries to think of a light joke, tries to remember how he and Katsuki used to tease each other back in school, the shoulder-knocking, blank-faced vs. smirking playful ribbing that always felt so natural and stupid and fun. ‘My entire body is broken.’

 

‘Oh my god,’ Katsuki chokes on his laugh. ‘That’s not fucking funny, you asshole.’

 

‘Don’t swear in front of Taichi.’

 

 

 

 

Shouto gets a private room, one specially for heroes, he guesses. The overly cheerful paramedic makes her bubbly return and tells Shouto not to rip his drip out again.

 

‘I will if someone needs saving,’ he says very seriously. She laughs and pinches his cheek; Shouto hates her.

 

Even with the morphine, he’s still in pain. Moving any part of his body inevitably makes some tiny muscle twitch in his broken arm or leg, or pulls at the stitches in his side, which then makes him gasp which in turn makes his ribs feel like they are actively breaking again.

 

Even with all that, the worst pain of all is the terror that Katsuki or Taichi or both won’t make it through surgery. Of course, Katsuki has been stabbed all the way through his body before (Shouto saw that one happen)—but how lucky can Katsuki be? To be stabbed like that so many times and for it to never hit anything too vital…and then there’s Taichi. Katsuki said he hadn’t been stabbed too deeply, but he was also only a kid. Even a light stabbing is incredibly traumatic, mentally and physically, to someone so small and young.

 

The more he panics, the more his breath picks up, the more his ribs hurt, the more he panics. He would give anything for some squares of paper to fold, but even that, he resentfully thinks, would be beyond his body’s ability right now.

 

‘Shouto!’

 

Shouto blinks out of his fuzzy headspace, focuses his eyes on something specific for the first time in…he doesn’t even know how long.

 

It’s Fuyumi, her eyes huge and teary, her lips trembling. She has a bouquet of bright yellow flowers, which she drops on the floor in her rush get to him. ‘Oh god,’ she murmurs. Shouto understands that reaction—he fell through the floor while a building collapsed over him. Aesthetically, he has looked better. He’s cut up and bruised and dirty, the nurses having only cleaned what was immediately necessary to sterilise; they have a lot of other injured people to worry about. ‘Are they taking care of you? It’s so busy, I didn’t even—’

 

Shouto just shakes his head, a movement that would be imperceptible to most, but this is his sister. She recognises it for what it is, sighs, and turns away. She only takes a few moments to compose herself, walking back to grab the flowers and shuffle them into an empty vase on the windowsill. She pulls a chair from the side of the room and sits by his bed.

 

‘They’re marigolds,’ she says with a strained smile.

 

‘They pretty,’ Shouto likes the delicate folds of the bright petals. He never used to get why people brought flowers to hospitals, even when he brought flowers when visiting his mother. He thinks he gets it now: how horribly depressing everything looked before. The spot of colour fixes nothing, but it’s a bit easier to not get lost in his dread and fear with them to focus on.

 

‘Mum’s coming soon, she just had to park the car. But Natsu is working, and Dad’s…’

 

‘I don’t want him here,’ Shouto grinds out, tense in a second at the idea of his father seeing him like this. He has worked for years to undo his father’s damage, but nothing can quite stop that twinge of anxiety at being injured around his father. Because being injured meant he hadn’t tried hard enough, meant he had to train longer, meant he was so destroyed that all he could do was curl up in his closet and sob into his arms silently.

 

‘I told him to stay away,’ Fuyumi admits, her voice quiet and sad. ‘He wasn’t happy, but you’re what’s important right now.’ He chews at his lower lip.

 

‘Oh, honey.’

 

Shouto looks up and feels warmth and calm flood his chest.

 

Mum.

 

She steps into the room, even though Shouto knows she has an uncomfortable relationship with hospitals, and swoops down to kiss his cheek. That’s when the tears come back, until he’s probably re-cracking some ribs with the force of his mute grief. Fuyumi holds his hand and his mum wipes the tears off his cheeks, and by the time shame wins over despair and the tears have stopped, a nurse has had to come in and given him even more painkillers.

 

‘How’s Katsuki?’ Rei asks, quietly petting his hair. Fuyumi is crying too, dabbing at her eyes with a cute handkerchief, and she’s just as silent as Shouto when she cries, and isn’t that just a punch in the gut?

 

‘I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything yet. I don’t…’ he lets out a shuddering breath, can feel the edges of panic creeping back in, because what if Katsuki has been dead for hours already, and Taichi bled out too, and Shouto’s here complaining about hurt ribs, and—

 

‘What colour is the ceiling Shouto?’

 

The non sequitur halts Shouto’s spiralling thoughts. He looks up.

 

‘Yellowish white?’ He glances at his mum for confirmation, and she gives him a slow nod. There’s a small, tired smile on her face. Her smile-lines are unpronounced.

 

‘Tell me about the items in the room, Shouto.’

 

Shouto recognises it then, a technique for dealing with anxiety attacks. He swallows, feels funny about his mum using therapy techniques on him, then begins. ‘There’s my bed, a chest of drawers, a vase of marigolds, an armchair, some machines, my drip…’ He lists off the items, getting to smaller and smaller details until his breath is even and his mind it a bit clearer.

 

‘Mum, Yumi…’ they both look at him, the force of their full attention as comforting as it is overwhelming. He sighs. ‘How do you know if you’re…in love?’

 

The women exchange curious looks, Fuyumi’s mouth gaping open incredulously, Rei’s eyes too knowing for Shouto’s liking. ‘Love has been…difficult for me,’ Rei starts. Her graceful hands make small, polite gestures as she speaks. ‘I thought I loved your father, for a short time. I thought I loved my parents.’

 

Little swirls of dust float lazily in wide beams of staticky streetlight that filter through the window. The bed beneath him is warm, the blanket scratchy. His mother’s hair becomes vintage gold in this light, her eyes a smoky quartz.

 

‘I didn’t know love until I met your brother.’ He and Fuyumi both know she means Touya. ‘And then the rest of you. Watching you grow from these funny little creatures into people with thoughts and opinions and preferences; I would have done anything for any of you.’ She looks away then, at the glittering marigolds. ‘But even love struggles to survive in such hateful environments, I’m afraid.’

 

Fuyumi puts her hand on Rei’s shoulder and squeezes. Their mother takes a deep breath.

 

‘Even when I couldn’t see you, Shouto. Even after we lost Touya. I did not love you any less. For me, that is love.’

 

Shouto imagines it, imagines being separated from Katsuki for a decade, or even…losing him entirely. And he knows without a shadow of a doubt that he would not stop loving him. He nods, then looks at Fuyumi, who furrows her brow in thought for a few moments, before exploding into a smile brighter than the marigolds haloing her hair.

 

‘I gave her a mayonnaise jar and told her she was so strong, she could definitely open it. She proceeded to try it for the next ten minutes. When she finally got it, it exploded all over her, but she just bounced over to me, covered in mayo, with the biggest smile on her face. Because she had opened it for me.’ Shouto and Rei stare at her, and she goes a little pink. ‘Yeah, that’s…when I knew I was in love.’

 

‘Fuyumi, that’s so cute! I can’t believe you never told us—’

 

‘I-it’s still a bit new, so I didn’t want—’

 

‘We have to meet her! When can we—’

 

‘I think the person I’m in love with loves someone else.’

 

Both women turn to look at Shouto, twin expressions of concern on their kind faces.

 

‘Honey…do you mean…Katsuki?’

 

‘W-what?’ Shouto goes to sit up, then groans and settles back down again. ‘How did you…’

 

‘It was fairly obvious,’ Fuyumi says, gentle as anything. ‘Sorry,’ she adds when she sees Shouto’s face.

 

‘Why do you think he’s in love with someone else?’ Rei asks next, something searching, almost interrogative about her tone.

 

‘He has a boyfriend.’ He can’t will himself to say more.

 

‘What, that Kaibara guy?’ Fuyumi asks, dismissive as she taps something onto her phone. ‘Bakugou broke up with him over text.’

 

What?’ He wheezes. ‘What are you talking about?’

 

Fuyumi offers him her phone, and he takes it with his good arm. It’s an article from It’s Hero Business, a schlocky but generally truthful hero gossip rag. He reads the headline aloud: ‘“Dynamight Breaks Spiral’s Heart Over Text: Gyrating Hero Spills All”, what the…’ He doesn’t know how to feel. Sometime between silencing his phone and now, Katsuki broke up with Sen. Or have they been broken up even longer than that, and it’s only just now coming out? According to the date, the article was released only an hour after their taskforce meeting started.

 

Katsuki broke up with Sen.

 

Katsuki is…single?

 

So there’s a chance?

 

Shouto doesn’t even know what he means by ‘a chance’. What’s he going to do, confess to Katsuki that he recently realised that he’s been in love with him for years? Katsuki, who doesn’t care at all about romance? But who dated Sen? But then broke up with him in what is, according to the article, one of the most brutal and callous methods available?

 

Would Katsuki even like him back?

 

Some dark voice inside him, which sounds suspiciously more like himself than anyone else, says what’s there to like about you? You’re just a clingy bore and even if Katsuki might have liked you, after what you pulled at the hero gala, there’s definitely no chance.

 

 

Shouto reads a bit more of the article.

 

What does it mean that Katsuki broke up with Sen? And then, after the meeting, tried to apologise for what happened at the hero gala? Does it mean anything? Is Shouto reading into things?

 

And then Recovery Girl hobbles in, and Shouto is slammed back into reality.

 

None of this matters if Katsuki didn’t even survive surgery.

 

Fuyumi and Rei make small talk with Recovery Girl, who kisses his leg but nothing else, and then just the exhaustion of the quirk-healing on top of everything else today knocks Shouto completely out.

 

 

 

 

Katsuki surges into consciousness like he’s been punched there. In an instant he’s gasping, choking, flinging out his hands and searching for what had become a familiar weight. He’s blind and deaf and weak and so fucking scared it kills him. Heaving breaths slam through him, and there’s a burning pain near his left hip; this is disregarded as unimportant. He tries to climb off the bed, because there’s someone—someone important—but they’re holding him back, these clamps on his arms, and noises are starting to come back in this great big wall of sounds, of screaming machines and screaming people, and the light is so bright, that must be what’s blinding him but it doesn’t matter he needs to leave he needs to find—Taichi, Shouto, Izuku, he needs—

 

 

 

 

The next time Katsuki wakes up, he feels sluggish and floaty. There is something weightless about his body. ‘I better not be fucking paralysed,’ he growls through ten layers of grit. His throat feels like it’s made of sandpaper.

 

‘Kacchan!’

 

He cracks an eye, and sure enough, there’s the little green nerd. He disregards this and focuses on his surroundings. The walls are covered in murals of giraffes and elephants and a bunch of farmyard animals and butterflies. This does not clear up where he hell he is. ‘Where the fuck am I?’ he grinds out, but he’s so full of…something that it comes out slurred like he’s half-way past drunk.

 

‘We’re at the hospital, Kacchan.’

 

Katsuki lolls his head back to look at Deku, who’s sitting on a disproportionately small chair and wringing his hands together nervously, and raises a tired but unimpressed eyebrow. ‘The fuck kinda hospital room is covered in this many butterflies, Deku.’

 

‘W-well, we’re in paediatrics,’ he says, then bites his lip. ‘You, um, wouldn’t let us take you too far from Taichi.’

 

Katsuki bolts up, then clutches a hand to what he guesses must be one of the stitched-up new holes in his body. ‘Fuck,’ he groans, then shoots a hovering Deku a look. Immediately, Deku is there helping him sit up. Then he points to a bed, much smaller, on the opposite side of the room. ‘Taichi,’ he says, barely above a whisper. ‘Is he…?’

 

‘He’s okay,’ Deku says, and his smile is real, so Katsuki believes him. ‘I guess you don’t remember, which makes sense, you were pretty out of it at that point and honestly I’d be surprised if you did remember, but then again you—’

 

‘Izuku,’ Katsuki hisses.

 

Deku jumps and flushes and bites his lip. ‘Right, sorry, I’ve just had like two coffees to stay up and all. Anyway, when they were taking you to surgery, you said to get him Recovery Girl’d, not you. She wasn’t super happy about it, since she had to prioritise who needed healing the most…um, so after she did Shocchan, she did Taichi! So he’s just sleeping it off, y’know, takes a lotta energy, especially for a kid—’

 

‘Sho’s okay?’ Katsuki interrupts.

 

‘Oh yeah! I was with him a bit ago. He’s still asleep, Recovery Girl healed his broken leg, but—’

 

‘I wanna see him.’ And then Katsuki makes the mistake of standing up. He’s instantly so dizzy and sick that Deku has to catch him and sit him carefully back down. ‘Fuck is wrong with me?’

 

‘Kacchan, you were stabbed with a dirty piece of concrete. You were in surgery for hours for internal bleeding. You have so many drugs in you.’

 

‘I don’t fucking care.’ He has to see Shouto. He doesn’t remember much, but he knows Shouto was really hurt too. Maybe hurt worse than him. And he just—he just has to see him. To confirm he’s okay, and alive, and—

 

‘Okay,’ Deku says, and it’s full of such gentle understanding that Katsuki wants to roundhouse kick the sincerity out of him. ‘I’ll ask Eijirou to get you a wheelchair.’

 

With that, Deku is on the phone to a way-too-happy-to-help Eijirou, who brings up a wheelchair and an energy drink for Katsuki. Katsuki gulps the drink down and feels slightly less like the walking—wheeling—dead. As frustrated that he is that even standing is too much for him right now, Katsuki still feels a little pleased at how easily Eijirou and Izuku accommodate him without making him feel…small. It’s nice. They help him into the wheelchair, but mostly let him do it on his own. They don’t even complain when he starts moving around on his own, grateful at the independent movement the chair grants.

 

‘You’re already a pro,’ Eijirou says with a spiky smile, but Katsuki can tell he’s exhausted. Probably running on caffeinated tea and too many energy drinks. His hair has lost most of its height; he doesn’t seem to notice. When Izuku reaches up to run his fingers through it, Eijirou’s eyes turns puddlier than Taichi’s and Katsuki turns away.

 

Right. Izuku was in that building too; Izuku was injured too. He can’t imagine how Eijirou would feel, knowing his boyfriend was going through something so dangerous and traumatic…again. So he wheels himself over to Taichi’s bedside.

 

This is when he notices Taichi’s parent, though he has no idea how he didn’t notice them before, perched on an armchair (that must be why Deku had that crappy plastic kid’s chair: he’s given the only armchair to Taichi’s parent) and watching him with piercing eyes on either side of their beak. Their eyes aren’t puddles like Taichi’s, so Katsuki guesses he must have gotten those from his other parent.

 

‘Hi,’ Katsuki grunts, feeling awkward and bashful.

 

‘Hello, Dynamight. Thank you. For saving him. I am…so grateful.’

 

There’s something stilted about their Japanese, like they’re not a native speaker. Katsuki wonders where they’re from. He shakes his head. ‘Taichi’s a good kid. Glad he’s okay.’ They exchange handshakes, and Katsuki wheels closer to touch Taichi’s wings fondly. ‘Sleep well, kid.’

 

Then he wheels back to where Izuki is tucked under Eijirou’s chin and says, ‘get a move on lovebirds. Unless you want me wheeling myself down there unaccompanied? I sure as hell ain’t against that.’

 

‘No way,’ Eijirou gasps; Deku rolls his eyes. Katsuki smirks. Deku leads the way out and to Shouto’s room, while Eijirou half pushes Katsuki and Katsuki tries to wheel himself despite his building exhaustion. He just has to see Shouto. Then he can relax and sleep, safe in the knowledge that Shouto and Taichi and Deku are all okay, and Houkai is dead and not going to randomly drop the hospital on them. Although…

 

‘Hey, did they find Houkai’s body? Can’t imagine he looks pretty after being smooshed, but still.’

 

He watches Deku and Eijirou exchange an uneasy glance.

 

‘Not yet,’ Izuku says, a fake cheeriness in his voice that sets Katsuki on edge straight away. He narrows his eyes. ‘But they will.’

 

‘Yeah!’ Eijirou chimes in. ‘It’s just a lot of rubble to shift, you know?’

 

Katsuki doesn’t say what he’s thinking, which is that he blew a hole not too far from where that fucker got pancaked, so it can’t be that much rubble. Instead he grunts and stops wheeling himself. He glares at Eijirou until he takes the hint and starts pushing Katsuki’s chair.

 

Houkai isn’t his problem right now. Won’t be a for a fucking while, considering his injuries. And he knows. He knows that he’s dead. No one could have survived that. Fucking no one.

 

‘Here we are!’ Deku cheers, throwing a grin at him and Eijirou, before holding open the door for them both. Eijirou wheels him into the bland room, and his eyes first dart to a vase of golden flowers. Then he focuses on the other people in the room: Rei, Fuyumi, an incredibly exhausted and harried-looking Natsuo. And, finally, Shouto.

 

His heart rate kicks up at the sight of the man. He looks so small, child-like almost, sleeping deeply on his back with a clear, calm face. His arm is in a cast, and Katsuki can see bandages peeking out from under his hospital clothes. His leg is elevated. Eijirou parks him by Shouto’s uninjured arm.

 

‘Um,’ someone says behind him.

 

‘Clear out!’ Someone else hisses.

 

‘We’ll, uh, leave you guys be, okay?’

 

Katsuki nods absently. He doesn’t take his eyes off Shouto’s face. His hair is a mess, but his face has mostly been washed. There’s small, superficial scratches on his left cheek and chin, and some above his eyebrow. Nothing that will scar. His lips, dry and chapped, are parted slightly as he breathes, little puffs of warm sweet air. Katsuki reaches out and pushes some hair from his face, trailing his hand down Shouto’s cheek, the side of his neck.

 

‘I love you.’ He says it so softly that Shouto probably wouldn’t hear it, even if he was awake. Katsuki closes his eyes, and rests his forehead against Shouto’s. Just breathes with him. He says it again: ‘I love you, Sho.’ He repeats it, over and over, quiet and private and more for himself that anything else. It feels good to say, even if it’s not going to change anything. His relief is so strong it makes him feel floatier than the morphine. He nuzzles his face against Shouto’s and sighs and smiles and cries, and eventually, sleeps.

Notes:

oh my! what's that! another update!? why, mel, you're spoiling us! how unheard of!

yes, yes I know I am an incredibly magnanimous and wonderful author. you are all very welcome for the food.

and no, I have no idea why after six months I suddenly write three chapters in like 2 days. don't question the process bc at this point I think I just exist and am motivated at the whim of some greater force

Chapter 17: I Want You

Notes:

the xanadu playlist!
check it out i made a Spotify playlist...

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Shouto wakes up slowly. Awareness comes to him in patches: here the beeping machines, here the vase of marigolds, here the golden head resting by his.

 

Then comes the pain. It’s not overwhelming, but blunt and constant. He tries to shift into a more comfortable position, but it only serves to knock a groan out of him. His ribs ache, his arm hurts, dozens of small cuts and scratches sting along his skin. But there’s a warmth by his side, a brightness, and he leans into it. He touches the warmth, and realises it’s blond. And spiky.

 

Katsuki.

 

Relief hits him like a building to the chest, and he sort of knows how that feels.

 

‘God,’ he whispers, voice shredded and broken. He pets Katsuki’s soft hair again, his dirty fingernails standing out against the soft strands. ‘Thank god.’

 

He's okay. He's actually okay. He's here.

 

Katsuki’s head is resting by his, half-snuggled into his shoulder. The position must be uncomfortable to sleep in, and Shouto suddenly worries that Katsuki shouldn’t be here. Didn’t he just have hours of surgery? He should be—he doesn’t know, in his own bed, with his own drip. Something. So he reaches a bit further down, skates his fingertips over Katsuki’s warm neck, and grasps his shoulder. He gives it a gentle shake.

 

Katsuki makes a sleepy grumble, and god Shouto is so relieved he’s okay. So glad that he survived, that they could have this again—this thing that Shouto couldn’t admit till now that he missed so badly. Watching Katsuki wake up, slow and pouty like a kitten. Or waking up to the explosive blond sleeping soundly, softly, beside him. It soothes something in him that has always felt like a ragged edge.

 

‘Katsuki. Hey. You need to be in your own bed.’

 

Katsuki’s shoulders stiffen for a second, then relax. And then up comes his fluffy head with the squinty, sleepy eyes and the already in-place scowl. He mumbles something unintelligible and shakes his head a bit. The fog of sleep clears and those crimson eyes land on his and widen.

 

‘Sho,’ he breathes out. ‘Hey. You’re awake, fuck. How are you—are you feeling okay?’

 

Shouto frowns. His hand feels cold where he laid it back down on the bed, but then it’s warm again and held tight and Shouto nearly explodes with joy when he realises that Katsuki is holding his hand. He squeezes, and Katsuki squeezes back. He’s still frowning, eyebrows bunched up unhappily, eyes round in concern. Shouto wishes he could smooth him out, like unfolding a paper crane.

 

‘I should be asking you that. The injuries you sustained were much more life-threatening.’

 

‘Shut the fuck up, Icyhot,’ Katsuki growls out. ‘Do you need more morphine? Should we get Recovery Girl back? She’s probably had enough rest by now, and you’re—’

 

‘I’m fine.’ Shouto’s voice is flat. ‘Are you?’

 

‘Idiot, of course I am, I don’t—’

 

‘Katsuki. Please. I thought—I thought you were going to die. I thought I wouldn’t…wouldn’t see you anymore.’

 

Katsuki pauses. His frown crumbles and he picks up Shouto’s hand, presses it to his chest. The feeling of his heartbeat, strong and steady under their interlocked hands, finally lets Shouto breathe.

 

‘I’m okay, Sho. So’s Taichi. You can still see me. I’m right here, okay?’

 

‘Okay,’ Shouto breathes out.

 

They sit like that for a while. Shouto working on keeping his breathing light and shallow, Katsuki holding his undamaged hand and breathing with him.

 

‘So,’ Shouto starts. Then pauses. He looks away, then back. Katsuki raises an unimpressed eyebrow. ‘How have you been, lately? Besides recent…events.’

 

‘You gotta be fucking kidding me, Half n Half.’

 

Shouto shrugs. ‘It’s been a while.’

 

‘I know that.’

 

Silence again. Briefly, Shouto wonders where his family went, or where Katsuki’s parents are. Then Katsuki speaks again, and he finds he doesn't really care about that stuff.

 

‘I know I already apologised but…I’m still fucking sorry. I messed up, and I made you think I didn’t care about you, and that’s—so fucking untrue it’s not funny, and then not seeing you or talking to you these last few weeks has fucking sucked, Shouto, but I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t. I need you to tell me, please.’

 

He sounds desperate. He looks desperate.

 

Shouto feels like such an asshole.

 

‘I agree, that the last few weeks…fucking sucked. I’m sorry for acting like a petulant child instead of communicating what I wanted.’ He stops then, gathers himself. Considers the situation. Is this really the best time and place? After a traumatic event landed them both in the hospital with painful injuries, in a public room anyone could access?

 

He finds he doesn’t really care about any of that either.

 

He tugs his hand away from Katsuki’s chest and lays it on his cheek instead. Rubs his thumb just under his eye. Watches the way Katsuki melts into his touch.

 

‘And what I wanted was…is…you.’ He feels more than hears Katsuki’s sharp inhale. ‘Seeing you with Kaibara made me realise how I feel about you. how I’ve felt about you for a long time. But you were in a relationship, and I—’

 

‘I’m not!’ Katsuki says, rushing to push himself closer. He seals his hand over Shouto’s, nuzzles his cheek into his palm more firmly. Like a cat. ‘I-I dumped him, and I didn’t really like him anyway—it’s, fucking stupid, but I…I was being petty too, staying with him to, to spite you, or some stupid shit, but I’m not—not with him. Anymore.’

 

Katsuki swallows, and Shouto watches his Adam’s apple bob with the movement.

 

‘I know that now. And that’s why I decided to tell you this at all.’

 

‘And…what is it exactly that you’re telling me, Sho? Please, I need you to be real fucking clear.’

 

Shouto leans forward. The pain in his ribs does nothing to stop him from closing the already small gap between them. He kisses Katsuki’s cheek, like he did when they split ways hours and hours ago. He pulls back in time to see Katsuki’s eyes flutter closed. And then he presses a kiss to his lips and he feels electric. Or like both his sides have spontaneously activated on their own, freezing him over only to set him on fire again. But really, it just feels familiar somehow. It feels natural.

 

‘I’m telling you that I want to be with you. I want to date you, go out with you, kiss you all the time and hold your hands and wake up next to you. I want to be your boyfriend. Katsuki, I…I love you.’

 

Katsuki’s eyes open, twin flames burning into Shouto with such intensity that he almost looks away. But he can’t, can never look away again. He doesn’t want to ever stop seeing Katsuki.

 

‘You fucking asshole idiot moron,’ Katsuki chokes out finally, coarse and rough and so sweet. ‘I love you too. I want—fuck—I wanna be your stupid fucking boyfriend too.’

 

And then he beams, that wild feral grin that is so terrifying and brilliant and alluring and it’s all for him, it’s all for Shouto. And they kiss again, for longer, and it’s so perfect, so right, and Katsuki’s hands are framing his neck and Shouto thinks he’s crying, thinks they’re both crying, and Katsuki mumbles, ‘I can’t fucking believe it took getting a building dropped on us. Fuck, Sho,’ and Shouto laughs because it really is so stupid, but Katsuki is his boyfriend now, Katsuki loves him too and it’s gonna be okay.

 

They’re going to be okay.

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

FINALLY!
I hope this isn't anticlimactic, after all the build-up
and sorry for the shorter chapter! it just felt like this scene should be on its own, you know? there will be more to come, though we are down to the last couple of chapters now
please let me know your thoughts in the comments I crave them <3 and I read every comment! but I do take a while to reply because talking hard. anyway, i hope this chapter wasn't a letdown. love yall!