Chapter Text
There are tears on Katsuki’s face when he wakes up in the middle of the night. It’s dark outside his window, rain patterning against the glass. The moon peeks through his curtain, illuminating his room in pale white light. His cracked window allows wind to push against his curtains. The fabric flutters, and for some reason the silhouette feels vaguely feminine, moving in some snake-like dance, and he has to turn away.
The wind is howling too, but even that sounds womanly. A greeting in the night, a request. A demand. A promise that something tonight will happen, and he had no control of it.
He sniffles to himself, body trembling as he slowly blinks himself to full consciousness. Wisps of his dream are still clinging to him, and he wishes so badly that they weren’t. It’s making a heat boil under his skin, between his thighs.
‘C’mon starlight, come sleep in my bed tonight.’ He turns on his side and buries his face in his pillow. He didn’t want to think about this tonight. He just wanted to sleep.
‘We’ll sleep later, but right now, don’t you wanna feel good. Don’t say no, starlight, you know you want it.’ More tears fall, and that isn't the only wetness he wishes wasn't there. He’s no longer trembling, but fucking shaking now. He hated these dreams, and he was usually good at keeping them away.
But when he got so pent up, went so long without fulfilling that itch, they would creep back up. Seeing her yesterday didn't help, bringing a torrent of memories back to the surface. All of them serving as a reminder that he was just a dirty fucking thing that-, he whines as he roll over, and something nudges at his legs. Looking down, he sees that his blankets have bunched up near his thighs.
The fabric is shifting against his bare legs, soft touches like hands, parting them and making their way inside of-.
“Stop it,” he whispers to the woman in the wind, the spirit in his sheets. His entire room was becoming a reenactment of that night, those weeks, a cruel reminder of his being. And since this was a retelling, the details did not change, and neither did the response to his pleas.
‘See, doesn’t it feel good, starshine?’ The noise that falls from his lips is one he wishes he could take back. Because in this situation, any sound was a permission. An allowance for more, a dirty whisper of consent.
His hips move on their own accord, and he hates it. He feels like the past is still there, looming above him. His memories are like a puppeteer, controlling his body and mind. That’s what it feels like, what sex feels like, all the fucking time. Not something he wants, but another action that his past can control.
He wishes he could cut the strings, but he couldn't. It was an endless cycle of desperation and necessity, hating what he needed, hating what he got. It was a permanent part of him, a part he couldn't shake. It had wormed its way under his skin, sinking claws into every aspect of his life. So much of his mental energy went to controlling these fucking urges, his relationships ruined, based soley around this one thing.
‘But you love it don’t you. Love thinking about me when-.’ No. She’d never said that, this was his own mind now. Hiding his own thoughts behind a mask of her voice. Because maybe if this truth was wrapped up in her cadence, it would be easier to push away, pretend it wasn't there.
“Please,” he cries, though the request has no strength. His voice wavers like a flame in the wind, taking the heat from his words and leaving them a pile of sodden ash.
He feels so fucking dirty. Sweat is gathering along his hairline, dripping down and soaking into his pillow. The people around him had always put him on this pedestal, but nights like this knocked him off. Reminded him that he was no more valuable than a dollar bill. Something said to be priceless, but being passed around from person to person made him dirty, covered with grime until he was unrecognizable.
A noise rises in his throat and he chokes on it, a mix between a sob and moan that gets buried in the cushions of his bed. And this was the nastiest part, wasn’t it. The fact that it didn't matter how bad it was, how much he didn't want it, that his body sought it out nonetheless.
More fabric bunches between his legs, and all it does is make him cry more. All he can feel are hands, ghosting over skin and pushing against his-. He shudders, hating how his motions quicken.
“I don’t- stop.” They don’t stop, the hands never stop. She would push him down, take what she wanted, uncaring of the way she broke him with every touch. But at the same time Katsuki felt like this was deserved, especially at the time. All the time he spent hurting others, it made sense that a dumb slut like him would-
“Fuck,” he cries, body shaking as he flips completely onto his stomach, slipping a warm hand between his legs. In this position, he finally has the leverage to do what he needs. It's quick and dirty, and he hates himself the entire time he does it. He warms his hand up with his quirk until it physically burns, right on the brink of being too much.
‘C’mon starlight, just a little more. You’re right there babygirl, c’mon, do it for me.’ And for some reason that's what pushes him over that edge. Has him falling right into that pit of spikes and rocks and sharp things that dig into his skin, a piece of shit deserving of such a painful finish. Small explosions pop against his thigh, and he cries out in pain, riding it out.
He lays there in silence save for his breathing, body still shaking. The come down is awful, nausea swelling in his stomach, bile rising in his throat. Tears are still streaming down his face, and he hates what that wetness reminds him of.
It brings to mind her long, wet tongue, licking over his cheek. His tears, though less viscous, reminded him of her venom and saliva coating his cheeks, and suddenly he felt like the dirtiest thing on the planet.
He stands, hating how his boxers stick to him, sliding wetly against his skin. Even in the barely illuminated light of his room, he can see that his sheets are wet too, and suddenly his entire room feels disgusting. He wishes he would just use his explosions to set everything on fire, but Aizawa and Yamada would probably kick him out for something like that.
The next best thing was stripping his bed of their sheets, walking them over to the washing machine. In the dead of night, the machine felt so loud, and he hopes he doesn't wake anyone up. He grabs new covers, going back to his room to make his bed.
With his bed made, the only thing left to do is take a shower. Even in the hallway with no windows, he can still hear the rain outside, falling faster than before. He’s still achy and sensitive, and his thighs brushing against each other as he walks isn't helping. All he can hope is that a scalding hot shower will make him feel clean again. He pushes open the door to the bathroom, pausing at what he walks into.
Shinsou’s head turns towards him at the sound of the door opening, eyes wide as his gaze locks on Bakugou. Katsuki’s eyes widen too, taking in everything he’s seeing. The lights are all off, but the shower is running. Shinsou isn’t in the shower though, is actually fully clothed, and was just sitting on the lidded toilet, staring at the running water.
“What-?” he starts, but stops when Shisnou turns away, wiping at his face and tugging at his shorts. Only then does Katsuki realize the boy had been crying, and that only makes him more confused.
“Sorry,” Shinsou rasps, getting up and cutting off the water. Katsuki watches him fumble with the shower handle, hands shaking so violently it takes him three tries to turn it off. With the shower off, the silence is so loud it makes them both grimace.
“Are you… okay?” Katsuki asks, head tilted to the side. Shinsou’s eyes rake over his body, and Katsuki gets suddenly self-conscious about his appearance. There's a small window above the shower that allows the moonlight to trickle into the room. This light illuminates the tear tracks on his cheeks, the glistening wetness on his inner thighs. Shinsou’s lips purse.
“Are you?” Katsuki flushes, hugging his towels firmer against his chest. He was-well, as fine as he could be. Sure he kind of wanted to fill up the bathtub and hold his head under the water until life drained from his body, but he always felt that way- at least a little bit. But he didn’t feel like acting on that urge like he had when he woke up, and that's the biggest win he was going to get that night.
Shinsou takes a step in Katsuki’s direction, shorts shifting and bunching enough for Katsuki to notice two things. First is the scars decorating the teens legs. They’re thin and pale, paler than the teens' already milky white skin. Most of them are faded, some raised, some flat and untextured.
But there are three cuts on his thighs that are actively bleeding. Thin pink lines covered in crimson liquid, pooling up by the cut and dripping down his legs. They don’t look too deep, but they’re also bleeding too much to be completely surface level. Shinsou tugs at his shorts when he notices Katsuki staring, and that only makes his second problem more noticeable.
The bulge isn’t too bad, but now that Katsuki notices it, he couldn’t not notice it. Shinsou messing with his shorts in an attempt to hide the cuts are what's making it worse, fabric stretching over him and making Katsuki grimace in embarrassment.
Looking up at Shinsou, there’s also an embarrassed flush on his cheeks, but his eyes don't convey that emotion. His lavender eyes look flat, almost emotionless, and his white pupils are unnerving in the darkness of the room. “Don’t tell dad,” the teen says, and the words are coated in so much desperation it makes Katsuki wonder how bad Shinsou is really doing.
“I’m not suicidal or anything, you don’t have to worry. But dad still can’t know. You can’t tell him.” Shinsou is serious, he can tell. On one hand, the teen being so adamant about him keeping this a secret would be concerning. But on the other hand, he was in no position to be snitching on Shinsou. That would put him in a position where he had to explain why he was even awake, why he was in the bathroom to catch Shinsou in the first place.
“I won’t tell,” he says, and Shisnou’s shoulders visibly lose their tension. “But you can’t say shit either, okay.” Looking back down at his legs, Shinsou frowns.
“That burn looks uncomfortable,” he points out. Looking down, Katsuki notices that he’d accidentally burned a handprint on his thigh. It peeked out enough for the raised and flushed red skin to be obvious. He shifts his stance, hating how uncomfortably the skin stings. He hadn’t noticed it until Shinsou said something, but now the pain was all he could think about. Instead of admitting that, though, he just shoots Shisnou a glare.
“Those cuts look uncomfortable.” Shinsou looks like he wants to say something, but instead of doing so, he just steels his expression, lips pursing.
“Whatever,” he says. “Can you get out the way?” Katsuki steps to the side and Shisnou leaves, his door clicking shut somewhere down the hall. Their entire exchange felt off, but he was too tired to get wrapped up in whatever the fuck was wrong with Shinsou.
Sighing, he goes to turn on the water, needing to clean himself off. He waits for a few minutes, turns the water up higher, and waits some more. When the temperature doesn't change, he quietly curses Shinsou for using up all the hot water, silently accepting the fact that he would have to take a cold shower as he strips off his clothes.
He washes himself off as quickly as he can, not wanting to look at his naked body at all. While he’s able to wash away the physical feeling of being dirty, the knowledge that he himself is an inherently disgusting being, has been permanently seared into his brain.
Before he can work himself up, he shuts off the water, toweling himself off and making his way back to his room. His teeth are chattering from the cold shower, and the cold wind blowing in from his open window isn't helping in the least. He’s quick to tug on some clothes, getting under fresh blankets and wrapping himself in their warmth.
As he slowly warms up, his brain quiets down, and exhaustion begins creeping up on him. He sighs, sinking deeper into his pillow, turning his head towards the far wall of his room. He looks out the window with lidded eyes, tired eyes.
Gleaming pinpricks of light stare down at him, and Starlight haunts him well into the night.
-
“Jesus you two look like death.” Katsuki blinks up from his plate, looking over at Yamada. His brain feels like it’s filled with cotton, and any thoughts are taking lightyears to process. Shinsou didn’t even seem to notice Yamada had said anything, just continuing to lean his cheek on his first, staring blankly at the table.
“Earth to Hitoshi,” Yamada says, waving a hand in front of his son's face. It takes Hitoshi a moment to register the motions, eyes flickering over to his father. “Are you ready to go?” the blonde man asks, smiling.
“What?” Shinsou asks, rapidly blinking as he forces himself to focus on his dad. Yamada’s face falls a bit.
“School,” Yamada says. “Are you ready to go?” Shisnou frowns, head tilting.
“I thought we were all staying home. You two are off today anyways.” Yamada gives a small, sympathetic smile.
“I’m still gonna drop you off and pick you up,” he says. “But you have to go to school, you can’t miss hero training.” Shinsou frowns, biting his bottom lip. There's a look of anguish in Hitoshi’s eyes that Yamada can’t see from his angle, but is painfully obvious to Katsuki.
“Can he come with us?” Katsuki blurts, shrinking a bit when all eyes turn to him. Yamada raises an eyebrow, not having expected such a request. He pushes on. “Um it’s just, I think I would feel better with everyone there, y’know. And um, he helped me a lot at the shopping center the other day, so maybe he would help at the court too?” Yamada looks between the two, pursing his lips.
“I dunno what’s going on with you two,” he says, suspicious. But then he sighs, giving a small smile. “But I’ll go talk to Shouta.” Katsuki breathes a breath of relief at that, watching as Yamada slips out of the room. He hums, turning back to his plate. When Shinsou’s voice rings out, he pauses, looking up.
“Hah?” he says, not having heard what that teen had said. Shinsou frowns.
“I asked why you did that,” he says. Katsuki just shrugs, sitting back in his seat.
“You look like shit,” he says honestly. “You also look like you’d rather kill yourself than be at school right now. Might as well throw you a bone.” Hitoshi hums but doesn't say anything, and Katsuki frowns. “What was going on with you anyways.” Hitoshi blinks, hands clenching and unclenching at his side.
“Just stuff,” he says eventually, words melting into a sigh. Katsuki frowns at that.
“ ‘Just stuff’ is enough to make you cut yourself?” he challenges. Shinsou’s eyes flicker, and for a moment that coldness from last night returns. But then his posture slumps, and his exhaustion is even more evident.
“Can we not talk about it?” he asks. “I’m fucking tired, okay.” Katsuki purses his lips, but nods.
“Now that you had time to sleep on it,” he starts. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’m being for real.” Hitoshi blinks up at him, like the mere thought of Katsuki being serious was impossible to grasp. And Katsuki appreciates that the man actually takes a moment to pause, to think about what Katsuki had asked.
“Yesterday,” he starts. “Your reaction to that lady…” he trails off, zoning out for a second. He blinks rapidly, grounding himself. “It reminded me of my own shit. And it was shit I didn’t wanna think about. Which, y’know, made it a rough night. I see we were in the same boat.” Katsuki nods, eyes trained on Hitoshi as he tries to analyze the man's annoyingly vague answer.
In a rare moment of vulnerability, he sighs, sitting back and staring at Hitoshi. “Y’know,” he stops, turning the words over in his head. “You can talk to me. About your shit, if you wanna.” It’s quiet as he glares daggers at the table, embarrassment at the statement creeping up on him. When he looks up, he sees Hitoshi just gawking at him. He flushes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Or fuckin’ don’t,” he challenges, “see if I give a shit.”
Shinsou is quick to shake his head, scrambling to find his words. “No I- thank you, duh. And uh- same obviously.” He grimaces, embarrassed as he scratches behind his ear, absently playing with his hair. “I mean, we’re going to court because your mom abused you.” Shinsou flinches at the way he worded the sentence, having to physically keep himself from banging his head against the edge of the table. “So like- talk. To me-us. You can do that when- if you want. To- want to.”
The sentence is so broken Katsuki can’t help but snort, the sound evolving into full on laughter. “You practice that one in the mirror?” he asks, laughing more at Hitoshi’s flustered pout. It takes a moment, but Katsuki is eventually able to compose himself, though there’s still a happy buzz under his skin. “There’s not much for me to talk about,” he says eventually. “I don’t think I've really processed everything that's going on. It’s probably gonna hit soon, but I feel weirdly normal.”
Shinsou nods. “Yeah, the same thing happened when I first moved here. It took me like a month, but once I realized that I was here and that I was ‘safe’, things hit real hard. So like, don't hide your breakdown like I did. Dad and Papa are good people, you can trust them.”
Katsuki just hums, using a fork to push around his forgotten meal. “I know they are,” he says softly, eyes trained on the plate. “I just can’t do that yet- talk and shit. I dunno, It’s just too much too soon. I don’t work that way.” Shinsou hums, and the cadence of it makes Katsuki look up, eyebrows raised. “What?” he questions. Shinsou just smiles.
“Oh nothing,” he says, standing up with his plate. Katsuki follows, both of them tossing out their food and taking them over to the sink. “I just think you’re more open then you give yourself credit for being. You clearly already care about them, we can all see it. And they care about you, which is also very obvious. You can let them in, they don’t bite. Well, Papa maybe, but definitely not Dad.” Katsuki snorts, washing his dish and putting it onto the drying rack.
“I’ll try,” he says, and surprisingly, he actually believes those words.
“All they ask,” Shinsou says softly.
They walk back into the living room at the same time Shouta and Yamada walk in. The older men look surprised seeing them together, but Yamada just smiles. “You guys ready to go?” the oldest blonde asks. Shinsou tilts his head.
“I don’t have to go to school?” he asks. Shouta shakes his head.
“If Katsuki would feel better with you there, then you can come. But we leave now, we have to get there a bit early. Go put on shoes and a jacket, we’ll be in the car waiting.” Both Katsuki and Shinsou nod, going to their respective rooms and grabbing their coats.
They make it back to the living room, and when Aizawa and Yamada aren’t there, they make their way to the garage. The two are there waiting for them, garage door open and car already started. With Aizawa already in the passenger seat, there's no fight for shotgun, and they both make their way to the backseat.
“Ready?” Yamada asks, putting the car into drive. Hitoshi doesn't answer, and Katsuki realizes that the question was more for him than anyone else. He sighs, buckling his seatbelt and leaning back, eyes focused on the scenery outside his window.
“I don’t think i’ll ever be,” he replies, tired. It’s honest, yet somehow unexpected, not even Katsuki having thought he’d admit something so vulnerable.
“You’re still so strong for doing this,” Yamada tells him, an encouragement he feels hes heard so much over the course of his life.
“Well,” he says. “If this is where strength gets you,” he starts, referring to his impending court statements, “I think I'm good without it.” He can’t see it, but he knows his answer has yamada looking dejected.
Instead of the two men in the front saying anything, however, the car begins backing out the garage. The streets are empty, silent save for the sound of the tires on gravel.
“Alright,” Yamada says as he switches the car to drive. He glances at Katsuki, and the pure sympathy and care ib his eyes almost startles the younger blonde. There seems to be a collective intake of breath as the car begins moving, Yamada giving him a small grin.
“Let’s do this.”