Chapter Text
Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t remember Izuku. He can hardly recall faces from the past--specifically people in his old schools; they glisten and gleam like someone’s shoved his head underwater and he’s staring up into a dozen or so watery faces. It only solidifies the fact that these no name extras are nothing but fleeting images, soon to be forgotten in the sea of phantoms that he passes by daily on his way to work. Point is: Katsuki doesn’t think of the nerd, the nerd isn’t in his life anymore, and he continues on with his head held high on his shoulders and a challenging twinkle of his eye.
He doesn’t remember Midoriya Izuku, childhood pushover and “useless” nerd until nearly a decade after the incident, and Katsuki is suddenly flung into a whole new world of confusion, anger, and despair.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He’s standing in line, scrolling on his phone in some overpriced coffee shop (the closest one to his job) one morning at approximately 6:38 am when the bell chimes another tired customer’s arrival. Katsuki doesn’t bother heaving his exhausted, irritated eyelids up to see the new bastard that came in for some daily dosage of pure caffeinated adrenaline to start the day.
Katsuki’s never been much of a nosy asshole. While others may turn their heads over in some slight curiosity, Katsuki stays planted in his spot, eyes glued to the screen because no one has ever been on par with the spiky blond, and no one has ever caught his attention and held it, so obviously, this new background character would be under the same treatment as everyone else.
The line passes by swiftly. Other than one annoyed businessman--who chatted insistently on his phone for some pompous job that paid more than it should--briefly complaining about the lackluster customer service to his asshole fuckbuddy on the other line, there was little hold up. Katsuki gruffly states his order to the overworked college student (six shots of pure espresso in whatever coffee this wannabe Starbucks sells), relays his name, pays in crumpled one dollar bills, and shuffles over to the tall bar like stools overlooking the inside of the “kitchen”.
It’s the same old, same old, except for the fact that he completely missed a soft gasp after he gave his name to the cashier, and had he turned slightly to the left, he would have caught unmistakable dark hair and shimmering, wide eyes. Life is dumb like that, he supposes, watching some dumb new meme Kirishima’s sent him and tapping his foot against a beam underneath the table.
Katsuki snatches up his coffee when his name is called, eyes still downcast onto his phone and headphones buzzing out some playlist Sero wrangled him into listening to on Spotify. He’s about ten feet away from the exit of the damn place when a broad shouldered, wide chest blocks his view. Katsuki is hunched over (“You’ll get back problems, Katsuki!”) from habit when he finally looks up, a snarl of demand on his lips and a perpetual glint of challenge in his narrowed bloodshot eyes.
Instead of barking out a harsh order for the asshole to step aside, Katsuki weakly wheezes out a pathetic sound, like air whooshing out of his lungs after someone punched him in the stomach. Someone might as well have knocked him out with a sledgehammer, he thinks wildly, sweaty palms and erratic heartbeat his only conscious.
“Um,” the stranger says shyly, scratching the back of their head in polite sheepishness. Katsuki can only gape, coffee nearly slipping out of his hand and onto the delicately clean floor below.
“This sounds strange, but,” the stranger continues as they tug at their lip with blunt teeth. Katsuki is certain he looks like someone mangled him, stuffed him through a meat grinder and deposited his dead remains in front of his mother’s doorstep. There’s this awful sweep of his stomach, and the blond is fairly certain that if this continues, the empty remnants of last night’s dinner will somehow reappear in his stomach for him to projectile vomit it out.
He’s too shocked to snap at the other to get on with it already. The other person rambles a bit (a little too familiarly) before catching themselves and clamping their jaw shut. Finally, after what feels like an eternity and a half, the dark haired stranger speaks. Their voice is soft, quiet, like if they spoke any louder, Katsuki would lose half his shit (he was tempted to at this point).
“Are you Bakugou Katsuki?” Katsuki snaps his mouth shut. He narrows his eye at the familiar looking fellow before critically examining the other. Something seems to click, and Katsuki is breathless with sudden shock, with brewing anger (conditioned into him like the mundane routine of his boring life), with something he can’t--won’t name.
“What’s it to you?” Katsuki sneers, crossing his arms as best as he’s able to while awkwardly holding onto a steaming cup of coffee.
“O-Oh!” The not-so stranger deflates. Their shoulders dip down, much like the smile wiped clean off their face, and Katsuki can’t quite explain the sudden weight of--dare he say it-- guilt slamming into his gut like a speeding truck.
“Sorry, I just thought--maybe you--I didn’t think--” The other scrambles to find purchase in their words. Katsuki eyes them impatiently, knowing that if he’s not at the restaurant in the next five minutes, one of the Terrible Trio will definitely find him in this hipster garbage shop talking to someone he positively wishes would leave before dragging him to work in some embarrassing display. Last time it was a clown suit (lord knows how or why Mina had that on her) and before that, a wheelbarrow. Katsuki is not going to suffer another round of the twisted game his friends play on this week’s “How to Embarrass Your Boss/Friend in Public During Rush Hour”.
“Spit it out, shithead. We don’t all have fucking time like you seem to have. Got places to go, people to hate, shit to do. Either say something or get the fuck out of the way.” Katsuki growls in hopes of this “old flame” (more like old pain) getting the hint and kindly fucking off.
The stranger’s eyes widen. Then, an almost fond, endearing smile curls across their lips like Katsuki’s ungrateful princess of a cat does whenever she’s in a sunny patch. Katsuki’s heart thuds painfully in his chest, and not for the first time, he wishes he could gut that feeling (or really, any feelings at all) like a fish.
“You really haven’t changed, Kacchan.” Katsuki inwardly flinches like he’s been struck. On the outside, however, Katsuki merely narrows his eyes to slits once more with his lips peeled back in a snarl. He presses into the other’s space and finds immense satisfaction in the slight height advantage he has over the loser.
“Who do you think you--”
“Cafe mocha for Midoriya!” The barista accidentally interrupts, voice echoing into the store and confirming Katsuki’s fears that yes, this is indeed real and Midoriya Izuku was standing in front of him in the flesh with the same damn emerald eyes and darker matching hair. The only difference is there’s no familiar smattering of freckles all across Mido--Deku’s face; the once bright smile has dimmed down a little with age, worn out and battered from the shitstorm life throws at people.
Katsuki considers hightailing it out of the store. He considers dashing out of the store with an alarmed cry from other customers and Deku’s pathetic shouts for him to wait collecting behind his back. However, the blond is unable to really do anything when Deku tilts his head slightly, eyes pinning him with a knowing look, and casually brushes scarred hands over the top of Katsuki’s shoulder. In the wake of Deku’s skimming fingertips lays a blazing trail of fire slowly burning down the forest of calm Katsuki halfheartedly persuaded himself into.
Deku returns shortly, a quirk of his eyebrow the only sign of surprise that Katsuki actually waited for him. Katsuki’s scowl only deepens, but he’s still too shocked at the new appearance of his once childhood something that Katsuki didn’t want to touch with a twelve inch stick. The reappearance of Deku only seems to stir a storm in his chest, and the unbidden hatred and anger rise up like a phoenix from the ashes of his fucked up past.
As if sensing the onslaught of fiery danger about to shoot off, Deku grabs the taller male by the wrist and yanks him over to the door and out of the crowded shop. It’s been five minutes, Katsuki briefly muses before the burning of his wrist arouses him from his thoughts and the roaring typhoon of his rage rears its ugly head onto him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here, Deku?!” Katsuki growls. Deku’s silence and unwavering eyes only fans the flame of his ire, and Katsuki crushes the coffee in his grasp with fueled strength.
He quickly remembers his anger management teacher showing him breathing techniques and murmuring about distractions that could possibly deter him from his wrath. It was no small feat to resist pouncing on Deku and beating him to the ground, but Katsuki abstained with an angry sip of his lukewarm coffee.
Deku sighs, breaking the silence first. “You really haven’t changed, huh?” The dark haired man’s hand cards through his hair; his unruly bangs flop inelegantly back onto his forehead after his hand passes through, which only seems to infuriate Katsuki more.
Katsuki’s never touched the topic of why Deku pissed him off so much, even to this day. He’s not too sure why he’s doing it now, even after not seeing or hearing from the bastard for about eight or nine years, and the implications of why he’s a distressed mess after meeting with Deku after so long doesn’t bode well with him.
But despite everything--his heart thrumming louder than a car’s engine purring, the disbelief and raw ache of his chest at seeing Deku, the confusion, the obligatory anger like an old habit rising into him, the quaking of his bones--Katsuki is almost glad, relieved to see that Deku is still Deku: the muttering mess of a boy that could barely catch up to Katsuki’s radiance.
“And you haven’t changed a bit, fucking nerd. Still a fucking pussy?”
Something in Deku’s eyes flashes, and it’s neither pain nor sorrow that settle into the murky depths of the man’s swimming eyes. He’s almost unrecognizable to Katsuki, with long hair pulled back into a tiny ponytail and a shaved undercut that almost looked cool and the slimmer curve of his jaw, of the lost baby fat from his cheeks and the confident posture that rivalled Katsuki’s. The lack of freckles all over his face confuses the hell out of Katsuki, but he’ll never admit it.
“No, but it wouldn’t matter what I say to you anyway.” Deku coldly replies. The smug fucker is the one to drink deeply from his own coffee this time, eyes daring Katsuki to refute him, to rise up to his challenge and beat the nerd until he was black and blue and underneath his feet, grovelling. Katsuki, never one to back down from anything, throws back his head to guzzle down the rest of his medium sized coffee and tosses the can into the trash can next to the store.
He regards Deku with a wild, animalistic glint of his eye and a mocking smirk to bait the other. “You. Me. Fight to the fucking death.” He promises with a cocky quirk of his eyebrow. Unfortunately, Deku does not respond to his threats nor does he show any signs of even hearing Katsuki. The once arrogant, toothy grin on Katsuki’s lips is crushed under Deku’s indifferent stance.
“I’m not here to fight you, Kacc--Katsuki.” Now Katsuki is the one who looks like he’s been pushed onto the ground. “I just saw you and thought, ‘hey, wouldn’t it be cool to say hi to an old friend’ or something. I really thought we could, I don’t know, catch up or something.” With each word, the past guilt Katsuki has been suppressing for so long inches higher and higher until it’s a tsunami wave threatening to wash him off his goddamn high horse.
Deku sighs, a bitter crackle of his breath as he fixes Katsuki with a sad, sad smile.
“I guess I was wrong.” Katsuki’s face sours. He wants to apologize, to wipe off that depressing grimace and finally admit his faults to Deku aloud. But, Katsuki is still the same asshole he was years ago, back in middle school when his replaceable lackeys and he decided to bully Deku for really no good reason (but then, when has bullying ever had a good reason?).
So instead of asking for forgiveness and apologizing like he should so he can finally sleep content and without memories of a young boy crying on the ground in front of him, beaten and near death, Katsuki sneers and flips Deku off.
“Fuck you.” He says, something not quite like anger boiling beneath his skin, “You’re fucking wrong. I’m not who you think I am, and I’m not going to sit here on my ass while you fucking insult me and blabber stupid shit like you always do.”
Deku throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. “See? This is why I don’t bother talking to you. God, Hitoshi was right.” The name sounds familiar, but Katsuki’s never been good at deciphering names when he had his own system of name calling. Hitoshi could be anyone. Cake Boss guy? The emo whose hair looked suspiciously like a bird? The frog chick?
“You didn’t bother talking to me again because you’re a goddamn pussy who’s too afraid to fucking talk to me.” He juts out his chin as provocation but Deku only stares at him, unimpressed.
“No, I didn’t talk to you because you’re an asshole.” Well. He wasn’t exactly wrong about that. But it didn’t make the words any less harsh.
“You wanna fucking run that by me again, bitch?” Katsuki readies his stance into a fighting position as he closes in on Deku with large, balled up fists ready to brawl. He’s itching to punch something--mainly himself--and his pride won’t fucking stop for one moment, so Katsuki looks like the bully he once was.
Deku stands tall, visible, not like the nerd who used to cower at the sight of raised fists. A warm pit of fire lights in the taller man’s stomach, and he’s crossed with the feelings of almost pride and definite irritation.
“No.” Deku responds, short and simple. He elaborates, “I’m not going to fight you because frankly, I’m sick and tired of trying to either fight you or run away from you. Why do I even bother trying to be friends with you again when you obviously don’t want us to be?” Deku laughs, the brittle sounding thing high pitched and a slap to Katsuki’s face.
“I’m done. I don’t know why I bothered talking to you in the first place.” Something akin to panic scrapes its nails on the back of Katsuki’s arms. Before he’s even aware of what he’s doing, his arm shoots out to Deku’s turning back and lands on the crook of his elbow. He tugs, softly, unsurely, and looks away from Deku’s bright eyes, wet with frustration.
“What? Want to yell and curse me out for no reason?” Deku spits with an ugly crinkling of his face. Katsuki’s heart stings with guilty needles spearing through the beating organ. He’s aware that Deku is trying hard not to cry in front of him and that his next few words could lose him someone he’s known for a long time and possibly result in a bitch slap right across his face.
Katsuki grits his teeth. “No. I…” He struggles with his words because Katsuki never knows what to say or how to apologize or how to be nice without some form of insult in his words. His pride stabs him in the side with its bull horns, but Katsuki pays it no mind. He spits the words out like poison, tasting tar and sour milk on his tongue.
“I was… wrong…. in... hurting you.” Katsuki’s hand is still on Deku’s arm. He doesn’t care. “I was a,” he grit his teeth, “dick to you. I took out all of my anger on you and that wasn’t fair, even though you should have fought me back too, you coward. Then you wouldn’t stop following me for some reason like some demented masochist, even when I kept pushing you away--” A snort cuts him off from his intense rambling.
Katsuki glares at Deku, whose body is turned to fully face Katsuki and give him his undivided attention. A tiny, crooked smile steals Katsuki’s breath a little while it unfurls into a larger beaming grin once the shorter male realizes his old friend’s (?) ruby gaze is on him. Deku brushes a little closer, hand falling on top of Katsuki’s, who finally remembers his position. Katsuki snatches his hand back up with a snarl and too pink ears.
“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic, the ass. “Continue?”
“Fuck you.” That’s enough feelings for Katsuki for one day. He’s filled his “nice” quota enough for Kirishima to be proud of him (not that he needs the fucker’s approval in the first place).
Deku giggles. It sounds like what joy feels like if Katsuki was a goddamn pathetic romantic--so Deku’s giggles just sound like fucking laughter that everyone does when they’re happy or whatever.
“Katsuki--”
“Don’t call me that.” Katsuki snaps before he really thinks about his words. Deku’s eyes widen again, shiny and round like the full moon as glee and another emotion that Katsuki can’t recognize lights up on the other man’s face. Before he can take back his words, Deku leans in unbearably close with twinkling eyes scrunched up in unadulterated happiness aimed straight at Katsuki. His heart squeezes and flutters like the traitor it is, and Katsuki is swept away by how much he’s lost in those eight to nine years.
“Kacchan.” Deku mutters, eyes never leaving Katsuki’s. “Kacchan. Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan--”
“Alright, already! I fucking get it.” Katsuki grumbles. Deku hums pleasantly, staring up at Katsuki with his hand grazing the blond’s own sweaty one and fingers skimming on the back of his palm--Katsuki is about to catch the teasing fingertips and maybe, just maybe, lean in closer to the new scent of spiced tea and clean laundry and the old scents that reminded Katsuki of hot summer days in their youth, staring up beyond the old apple tree next to their apartments as they talked about everything and nothing--
“Bakubro!" Oh for fuck’s sake.
Katsuki whips around to the familiar call of one of his unfortunate accomplices. He immediately starts yelling at Kaminari, who jogs up to him wearing goddamn Mario cosplay with the whole overalls, mustache, and stupid red hat and all. Beside him, Katsuki can sense the small snort of laughter from Deku and the way he leans in closer until their shoulders are barely touching.
“What the fuck are you wearing, Pikachu?!” Katsuki demands, cringing as Kaminari bounces up to him and attempts to wrap his ugly gloved hand around Katsuki’s shoulder. Kaminari pouts when he’s denied a side bro hug, but instantly catches onto the dark hair of someone familiar with a small “o” on his lips.
“Nevermind that, Katsuki. Who is that?” Kaminari peers over at Deku with scrutinizing eyes. He’s a little too close for anyone’s liking, and Katsuki makes that abundantly clear when he shoves Kaminari back from an uncomfortable Deku. He glances away when Deku fixes him with a thankful smile while Kaminari whines at him.
“Wait…” Katsuki’s mildly surprised that Kaminari’s brain hasn’t been fried yet from all the thinking he’s been attempting in the past two minutes. “Is that…? Holy shit.” Katsuki glowers at his kind of friend as the other blond scoots a little closer to Deku and places a filthy gloved hand on the dark haired man’s shoulder.
“...Midoriya?” Deku just nods weakly, a half timid smile on his face. Kaminari’s eyes widen. “Holy fucking shit bro. You got hot.” Deku squeaked. Katsuki smacked his friend’s hand off of the other before Deku imploded or something.
“Uh… Thanks? I think?” Deku blinks in slight confusion. He may have outgrown his old chipmunk cheeks but Deku’s puppy face was still almost identical to his younger face.
“Kaminari, right?” Said Mario cosplayer blinks at the recognition. He scrambles to Deku’s other side--probably to check him out at a different angle--to ask a few questions, to which Deku happily answered back. Katsuki’s scowl worsens the longer they ignore him in their own perfect little world.
“Dude, it’s been forever! Man, the last time we saw each was like, what? Ten years ago?”
“More like eight and a half.” Deku doesn’t seem to mind the close proximity of Kaminari, who appears excited and downright smug to be so damn close to the nerd. Katsuki practically puffed out fire and smoke from his nose as he inched towards Deku and subtly knocked Kaminari’s hand off of Deku’s shoulder like a cat knocking over a glass mug off the table.
Kaminari shoots Katsuki a knowing, infuriating smile that the latter wishes he could punch off. God, this was gonna be a long fucking week.
“Sorry to cut this short, bro, but me and Katsuki gotta go! We have a restaurant to open and other adult things to do.”
“Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to keep you guys from your jobs!” Deku bites his lip guiltily. Kaminari coughs, distracted at the sight.
“It’s fine, bro. We don’t open for another half an hour.” He pats Deku on the shoulder once more before they exchange numbers while Katsuki can only watch on like some sort of third wheel on a shitty date between a Mario cosplayer and a--presumably--die hard Mario fan.
“It was nice seeing you again, Kaminari!” The blond grins, glancing at Katsuki from the corner of his eye before invading Deku’s space with a long hug. Deku, in all his pure innocence, blinks in confusion before returning the hug with a little less enthusiasm. They only stop the hug fest when Katsuki kicks the back of Kaminari’s ankles with a low growl.
“Come stop by the restaurant some time. Trust me, someone will be very happy to see you.” Kaminari side glances to Katsuki in the most obnoxious, obvious way. Fortunately, Deku takes it all in stride and only amiably agrees before turning to face Katsuki.
“You’re still an asshole,” is all Deku says, and that’s enough for Katsuki to respond in kind with a harsh, “The fuck did you say?!” while Kaminari shat out his kidney from laughing too hard. But then, a mixture of childhood and future scents mingle pleasantly in his nose and Katsuki is stuck with a warm figure pressing into his own as an arm wraps around him.
“I’m glad to see you again, Kacchan. Even if your personality needs work.” Katsuki’s chest burns. He ignores Kaminari’s wink and teasing grin.
“Fuck off, Deku.” He grumbles against the nerd’s ear as he slowly wraps his sweaty hands across the shorter man’s back. Deku pulls back shortly, an unreadable twinkle of his eye bewitching Katsuki.
“It’s Izuku.” He corrects, and isn’t it strange for him to insist on Katsuki calling him by his first name? Katsuki’s heart leaps into his throat as De--Izuku regards him with steel eyes and a confidence that smolders in Katsuki’s stomach like whiskey on the back of his throat.
“Whatever, Deku.” Izuku rolls his eyes and lightly smacks Katsuki on his shoulder. When meeting the taller male’s glowing crimson eyes, Izuku childishly stuck out his tongue before taking out his device--wait, what the fuck?
“Is that my fucking phone?”
“Yup.” Izuku somehow manages to crack his password after two tries, which was either a testament of how well Izuku knew Katsuki or how easy Katsuki’s pass code was to decode. Either one is shitty to Katsuki, so he ignores the details easily enough and flips off Kaminari, who’s been gesturing to Katsuki with a finger going through an “o” shape he made with his other hand while Izuku fills out his contact information into a new contact page.
And naturally, because Izuku does not waste any time at all, he messaged himself using Katsuki’s phone (while the male was distracted mouthing death threats to his friend) before slipping the device back into Katsuki’s jacket pocket and stepping away.
“Well, I’m not going to keep up anymore of your time.” Izuku smiles at Kaminari before facing Katsuki with another unknown sparkle of his emerald orbs.
“Bye, Kaminari. Bye, Kacchan. See you later.” And in a tiny move that was oh so fucking casual, Izuku glides his fingers across Katsuki’s neck to the ball of his shoulder. He pat his shoulder afterwards before heading off to wherever while Katsuki stood stock still, the tiny slackening of his wound up shoulders the sole indication of his surprise.
“Dude.” Kaminari stares at him in equal parts pity and bemusement. “You have it bad.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The facts are these: one day, Bakugou Katsuki decides to open up a restaurant with the help of his not-best-friend Kirishima Eijirou; secondly, Katsuki--in all his brash manner--names the restaurant “Explosion Murder McGee” before Eijirou swiftly changes it to “Sugar and Spice” or some cheesy cafe name while Katsuki’s back is turned; thirdly, Katsuki makes the wretched mistake of hiring basically all his friends (dubbed the “Bakusquad” by an overzealous Mina) to help; and finally, Katsuki may or may not be having some midlife gay crisis over an old… friend who just stepped back into his life again.
When he arrives at the restaurant/cafe/food shop/whatever with a snickering Kaminari in tow, Mina, Kirishima, Sero, Satou, Hagakure, Aoyama, Jirou, and Ojirou are already seated in a long table (consisting of two square tables pushed together into one) with expectant faces at the duo’s entrance. Katsuki glares at them suspiciously, especially when Kirishima bolts up from his seat next to the head of the table to wrap a friendly arm around the shorter male, not unlike his boyfriend’s previous actions.
“Katsuki!” Kirishima bellows as a greeting, followed by the rest of the group’s watered down versions of “hello’s” and “hi’s”. Katsuki elbows Kirishima sharply in the ribs as his own special greeting, leaving behind a wheezing redhead while his boyfriend guffaws at the other’s pain. Katsuki slides into his designated seat with nods at his somewhat friends and tries not to grimace at the frilly tablecloth draped over the tables.
It’s Brunch Friday: when all of their collective group mashes in enough free time from their busy schedules to collectively gather around someone’s table (typically in Katsuki and Kirishima’s restaurant) for a crude version of some Sunday church brunch. Sometimes more people show up--usually from the same class stuck together since high school--while other times, only the staff working at Sugar and Spice partake in the weekly ritual.
“Thank fuck you’re finally here.” Jirou says with her usual “I don’t give a flying fuck” attitude. “I swear to god, I have a shift in like half an hour at that hipster coffee shop, and then an interview later today. I wasn’t going to wait another second for your slow ass.”
“Fuck off. I’m here now, so just fucking eat and shut up.” Katsuki snorts at the flipped bird he receives at his crass words; Jirou doesn’t waste any time scooping as many pancakes Satou has made as possible onto her plate, prompting everyone else to begin eating as well.
“Heard from a certain someone that you saw Izuku,” Mina sings from directly across Katsuki as she waves a piece of bacon skewered onto her fork. Katsuki glares at her through slitted eyes, but Mina is too accustomed to his prickly exterior to find any sort of threat in his expression. The pink haired girl shoots him a shit eating grin as the rest of the group connects the words to their brain (aside from Kaminari, who was the one to tell the gossip machine in the first place--Katsuki reminds himself to pummel the other’s ass in Mario Kart later).
Kirishima nearly chokes on his sausage (how fucking ironic, Katsuki thinks) but Kaminari swoops in to deliver a karate chop onto his back. Next to Kaminari, Jirou snorts through a mouthful of blueberry syrup and pancakes; Hagakure nudges Jirou with a wicked gleam of her eye and giggles some smarmy gossip into Mina’s ear afterwards. The girls exchange some sort of odd agreement that comes off as a warning to Katsuki--judging by the pitying looks the other guys send him, he’s not alone on that thought.
“Did you just say Izuku? As in Midoriya Izuku?” Hagakure asks, batting her eyelashes at Mina with an all too innocent smile scorched on her face. Mina nods with an exuberant grin.
“Yeah. Got the pics from Denki and everything.”
“Pics?” Katsuki echoes furiously, snapping his head over to glower Kaminari to death. Kaminari makes some sort of pathetic “eep” sound as he ducks behind his boyfriend to escape the murderous intent nailed onto him.
“You’re so dead, Denki.” Sero casually comments, grinning when Kaminari whines at his betrayal. Sero puts his hands up in mock defense, “Hey, I’m not the one taking pictures of Katsuki’s middle school crush.” The raven haired man is the one on the receiving end of Katsuki’s deathly stare this time, but he only shrugs and continues chewing on a devilled egg.
“WHAT.”
“Ahh, young love. What a time to be alive. Why, back then, I had--” Aoyama starts. He’s rudely and quite frankly interjected by Mina wildly waving her phone back and forth as proof of Katsuki’s dumb crush. On the screen, in the highest, brightest light setting possible on the smartphone, is a fucking picture of Katsuki hugging Izuku before they said goodbye.
“YOU CAN’T DENY YOUR FEELINGS, Katsuki!” Mina exclaims. Satou, who’s been quiet during this whole ordeal, quickly snatches the phone from Mina to inspect the picture. He hums in approval before handing the phone to Aoyama, who then proceeds to have it snatched from by Sero, then Ojirou, then the phone is tossed over to Kirishima before Katsuki can grab at the damned thing, and so on, and so forth. It was like a goddamn show and tell crossed over with monkey in the middle with Katsuki as the monkey and everyone else as viable players.
“That was pretty gay, Katsuki.” Sero remarks with a teasing grin.
“Shut the fuck up, tape boy.” Katsuki fumes.
Two years ago, Katsuki might have detonated on the spot with enough passionate fury to fuel a trip to the sun and back. Now, the blond is consciously aware of his detrimental anger issues, and yeah, he’s still a dick, but he’s still working on it. So instead of actually grinding Sero’s head into the ground like he so desires to, Katsuki envisions the pure satisfaction of Sero and Kaminari and Mina’s deaths like a twisted villain from some psychological crime show.
“You can’t really say anything, babe. You’re hella gay too.” Kirishima, the known wingman who’s alway had Katsuki’s back for some inexplicable reason, retorts. Sero shrugs in a “what can you do” manner; nobody misses the tender look shared between him, Kaminari, and Kirishima, but no one bothers dwelling too long on it either.
“Aren’t we all a little gay?” Hagakure ponders aloud, to which Jirou snorts for the millionth time today and guzzles down a glass of orange juice.
“Sweetie, we’re all wildly fucking gay in this table.” The emo looking chick pauses. “Well, except for Satou because he doesn’t like to label himself.”
“Thanks, Jirou.” Satou nods to Jirou, who nods back in mutual respect. The tender moment between platonic friends is severely crushed under the heel of Mina’s hyperactive energy as she raises up her glass for some mock speech.
“Everyone in favor of not being straight--or labelled--say ‘gay’ or ‘aye’!” The rest of the table sans Katsuki raise their glasses of differentiating liquids (some more questionable than others) for a playful toast with varying shouts of “gay” or “aye” and one “LEEEROYY JENKIINS!” from fucking Kaminari. Kirishima forcibly raises up Katsuki’s hand--which so happened to be holding onto his coffee--for this disgusting display of team camaraderie and bonding that Katsuki swears he left behind in high school.
“Well that was touching and all, but what about Midoriya?” Aoyama nearly preens under all the attention suddenly bestowed upon him like a prince receiving the king’s crown. His hand that was previously cupping his chin gestures to Katsuki, then Mina.
“Wait a second,” Ojirou, the voice of reason and Katsuki’s new best friend calmly interrupted, “Not to try to divert the attention away from Katsuki’s hopeless crush, but…” Nevermind. Traitors, the lot of them.
“Have any of you heard anything from Midoriya in the past eight to nine years?” That causes everyone to stop their ministrations in thought as every single one of them attempts to conjure a blurry image of what old Izuku once looked like. Nothing much comes up other than a mess of wild, dark hair, a thousand freckles like solid stars, and a shy, blinding grin directed towards everyone.
When one considers Izuku, they imagine vivid sunshine streaming in through rows of bursting emerald trees after a serene April thunderstorm, of curling up on a comfy couch in blankets, your favorite book, a mug of tea, and Lana Del Rey playing inside while the oceans of clouds cried tears of life. However, his face is no more familiar than peering out of heavily raining windows, and the group simultaneously wondered if Izuku was anything more than a flickering memory, precious and delicate like a candle’s flame.
“Not really.” Sero admits first. The group mumbles in agreement as one while Katsuki strains to remember the old adventures he created as Izuku easily slid in behind him, always the loyal follower. His mind feels fuzzy, like he swallowed a whole capsule of pills and was currently on a misty drug trip before he started puking blood out of his ears.
He’s only aware of the pained faces embedded into his mind from years of guilt and countless nightmares of Izuku diving head first off of a looming building or Izuku walking farther and farther away to be hit by an incoming train--the one that carried him away from Katsuki--and everything was his fault--
“--ki! Katsuki!” Kirishima’s hand folded over Katsuki’s shoulder. His solid grasp on the blond fractured the nauseating daydream into pieces; he could finally breath again, wild eyes surveying the area as everyone but Kirishima chatted happily about god knows what. Kirishima’s brown eyes (that bordered red in certain lighting) were narrow in concern, fingers digging into Katsuki’s arm like the steadying constant his friend is.
“You okay, man?” Kirishima muttered, which was moot point really when Katsuki could catch the number of distinct peeks at him, each of his friends trying not to be too obvious with how they were just as worried as Kirishima. They all knew--and agreed--that Izuku’s a sensitive, almost irascible subject for Katsuki, so they never quite dwelled too much on it (until now, when the man literally dropped into their laps with a hardened look, but the same goddamn man he once was).
Granted, all of them currently in the room were never really close to the other, but when Izuku suddenly vanished with no inkling of his whereabouts or why he left in the first place, the indistinguishable pain when he withdrew from them was shared between them all. Their class was by no means tiny, but everyone enjoyed each other’s company. So when no one heard from him for weeks, years even, the sense of relief and anger from finally, finally hearing from Izuku was tangible to every single one of them.
Even the ones closest to him knew nothing about his sudden decision. His phone number suddenly stopped working, his house vacant from the rushed move, and the class realized that Izuku was gone, and he was gone for good. Uraraka cried the hardest, feeling betrayed and upset and everything in between; none of the others really shed a tear, but his absence, his empty seat in the classroom, was reminiscent to ripping a bandage off a bloody wound.
Everyone despaired, huddled in silent murmurs to placate the hurt they shared. However, no one quite blamed themselves like Katsuki did.
He would spend the next eight to nine years reflecting on every little spiteful thing he’s said, every little brush off, every little punch, kick, violent act Izuku’s suffered through because of him. At first, it was not quite remorse he felt, but more of a betrayed fury that simmered beneath his skin like a volcano ready to erupt. His pride amounted to much of the denial he suffered for the past nineteen years or so, but now that he’s wrangled the damn thing, made it submit to him after nearly losing all his friends, Katsuki is less of his past and more of the future he possesses.
Still, the world is about to crumble beneath his heels, and it’s all thanks to Midoriya Izuku.
“‘M fine.” Katsuki murmurs, feeling his throat constricting as Kirishima saddles him with a skeptical side eye.
“...Right. Well, we gotta open up shop soon, and Jirou’s gonna be late to work. Ojirou is leaving too, something about an appointment.” Kirishima informs him. The blond nods; he feels like he’s been sucker punched a few times too many, and the breakfast he ate is a firm weight of bricks dragging his stomach down to the floor.
“See you guys later.” Jirou salutes with two fingers on her forehead. She throws a sympathetic, apologetic look at Katsuki for good measure before sauntering out of the store with her headphones (usually slung around her neck 24/7) already over her ears.
Ojirou follows at a slower pace, a benevolent upturn of his lips present on his unassuming face. However, he’s always been an easy going, determined person that has fretted over people dear to him like a parent, and for that, he’s earned Katsuki’s respect.
“I might not be able to see you guys next Friday.” Ojirou confesses, a shy scratch of his cheek and the blooming pink covering his face a hint of why he couldn’t meet up with everyone next week.
“Oh, oh! Are you going on a date?” Mina pushes through a talking Hagakure and Sero to noisily throw herself into the conversation. Kirishima steps to the side good naturedly to allow Mina a spot in the little circle they’ve created. Katsuki scowls at her, but otherwise doesn’t verbally say anything about her nosy tendencies.
“Uhh,” Ojirou drones on into awkward silence as his answer; he doesn’t have to anyway--the telltale signs of a rosy blush blossoming to his ears is enough. Mina squeals, launching into a straight interrogation of who the lucky person is, where the date is, etc. Ojirou is becoming more and more bewildered with the onslaught of questions until Kirishima kindly butts into her frenzy.
“It’s fine if you don’t want to tell us, Ojirou. We’ll maybe see you on Sunday for Mario Kart?” Ojirou nods in obvious relief.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Thanks, guys.” He nods politely to all of them with a wave. “See you all Sunday.”
“Bye! Tell me more later!” Mina yelps past Kirishima’s bulky body.
“Hmm.” Katsuki grunts, one hand raising up as a signal of goodbye.
“Later, bro.” Kirishima’s large grin nearly encompasses his face, moreso when Kaminari squeezes in with his arm curling around his boyfriend’s waist. Aoyama shoots a wink and a two fingered salute to Ojirou’s retreating back while Sero and Hagakure wave. Satou is already in the kitchen preparing desserts and whatnot for the day--the only responsible one out of the bunch--but he shouts out a goodbye to Ojirou as well.
The bell for the door jingles as the door opens, then shuts. A peaceful calm washes over the group in the restaurant, that is, until Katsuki crosses his arms in an all-business manner and flips around to glare menacingly at each and every one of his staff members. For the most part, no one is too intimidated by their friend/unwilling designated group leader (other than maybe Kaminari; his ass has been whooped too many times both physically and mentally).
“Alright you fuckfaces. Let’s do this fucking shit.” Katsuki orders.
No one needs any further instruction. The two tables mashed together in some reenactment of the last dinner for Jesus are dragged apart and scooted back into their correct position. Mina boots up the cash register while Aoyama dutifully starts the coffee machines. Dishes are quickly washed by two people (Kaminari and Sero), leaving Kirishima to begin switching on lights and inspecting everything in the front of the restaurant/cafe (arguably more of a cafe, but no one bothers to correct Katsuki when he says that sounds like some real gay shit--nevermind the fact that he is also gay).
Finally, Katsuki hauls ass to the kitchen to finish prep for the daily special of the week (some jalapeno chicken wings paired with spicy french fries and a drink to boot) and help Satou with other baked goods. The cafe-restaurant combines both Satou’s amazing baking skills with Katsuki’s inability to cook anything that’s not spicy together to complete the ultimate “sugar and spice”--hence the name. It was honestly, genuinely a cafe with an interesting theme that no one really knew what to do with.
For starters, despite the name of the shop, the theme offered no “sugar” (probably some reedition of a grandma’s cottage or sunny diner vibes) or “spice” (maybe an autumn theme?) decorations or atmosphere. Instead, Katsuki foolishly permitted Mina, Aoyama, and Hagakure to “prettify” his restaurant baby, which resulted in three mixes of what can be described as “a hipster in Paris that so happened to be in space” appeal, courtesy of Kirishima’s less than helpful explanation to a fuming Katsuki.
But they make it work.
White fairy lights adorn the walls, colorful planets and stars hang from the ceilings, a looming picture of the Eiffel Tower stands behind the register, miniature statues of the Eiffel Tower sit idly next to a fake succulent plant on every table, pictures of past customers and dishes strung up underneath the fairy lights are held up by wood clothespins--all of the ornaments and knick knacks around the shop should clash. But somehow, with Sero’s surprisingly adept home decorating skills and a whole lot of “no’s” to Mina’s idea of dressing up like aliens, the shop looks decent. Katsuki might even say not half bad on a less shitty day.
And as Katsuki glances around, breathes in the tarts that are baking, listens to the playful banter of his companions, and drinks down yet another cup of joe, he figures there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It’s Sunday, appointed as Mario Kart Sunday by an unanimous vote of everyone but Katsuki, when the topic of which should not be named is brought up once more. Squished side by side in Kirishima’s tiny apartment living room with another dozen and counting young adults is not the way Katsuki’s serene weekend should go, but he’s not about to be harped on by either Kirishima or Four Eyes, nor egged on by Half-N-Half or Alvin (Round Cheeks/Face, if you will).
So naturally, Katsuki decides it’s only fair to take out his temper on his shitty friends by beating them all in Mario Kart and then in the next few rounds of Super Smash Bros. He’s finishing a round of football tossing Kaminari’s character, Ness, when Alvin casually scooches real close to him until their knees are touching and eew, gross; he’s gonna get cooties.
“So, Bakugou,” Round Cheeks begins as the Wii remote is yanked out of Katsuki’s grasp from an impatient Sero who’s ready to possibly maim Tokoyami, Half-N-Half, and Asui. Katsuki barely lets out a snarl before Alvin steals his attention once more with a calculated kick against his ankle.
“Want to fucking go--”
“No. No I don’t want to go out with you.” Round Cheeks says with a roll of her eyes. She grins too brightly, too innocently in the face of Bakugou’s twitching frown as he resists the urge to commit defenestration. “Anyway, that’s not what I came over here.”
“No fucking shit.”
“Shh. Stop being an asshole for like five seconds.” She shushes him. He growls back, low in his throat like a rabid animal about to descend his teeth on her jugular and rip it out. “I heard you talked to Deku?” The nickname is old. Only Katsuki and Dumb Face used to call Izuku Deku, and the brunette’s soft admission strikes a nasty blow against Katsuki’s stupid, fluttering heart.
He clicks his tongue, trying to avoid the hopeful expression on the girl’s face. Obviously, Izuku had neglected to contact his best friend (or friends, judging by how Half-N-Half eerily turns to stare him dead in the eye while his character, Marth, smashes Sero’s Donkey Kong into the void) to maybe--just maybe-- inform her that yes, he’s very much alive and not rotting in some ditch like the brunette kept insisting he was back in his first month of his vanishing act.
Same old fucking Deku. Knowing him, he probably was too guilt ridden to properly contact any one of his old pals, the one’s closest to him (ie. Half N Half, Round Face, and Four Eyes).
“Yeah? What of it?” Katsuki is almost 100% certain he’s not drunk enough for this conversation. Ol’ Chipmunk here looks five seconds away from breaking down into betrayed tears and using Katsuki’s nice t-shirt as her personal snot rag which, hello, is damn disrespectful and the blond’s not gonna take that in Kirishima’s damn apartment.
“How is he?” The brunette mimes faux nonchalance but Katsuki’s had enough time to deal with people’s bullshit and casual facades to peer right through her transparent mask. He throws her a bone anyway, simply to deter her from wiping her grimy fingers onto his sweats.
“Fine. Good. Shit if I know. I talked to him for ten minutes,” and half of that time was me being a fucking dick, “not ten slutty, slutty years.” Yaoyorozu whips her head over to stare at him weirdly, mainly in disbelief at Katsuki’s capability to actually meme. Jirou whispers something to her girlfriend before the two are back to cuddling and watching gay guys smash each other in a video game like the #couplegoals they are (Kaminari’s words, not his).
“He’s okay…” Round Cheeks breathes in soft relief. “Deku’s okay…” Another round of tears well up in her big, dopey eyes. Katsuki sucks in a slightly panicked breath because of his ineptitude at dealing with 1 human emotion (or any) but fortunately, Four Eyes catches on to her tears like the tear monitoring mother robot he is and ushers the brunette away under the pretense of asking where the bathroom is.
“I heard what you were saying.” Half-N-Half pops up out of nowhere and great, another Deku fan to deal with. Katsuki wonders when he’ll ever catch a damn break or if he’s stuck dealing with these sappy losers forever. The dual hair colored bastard replaces Round Face’s spot on the couch and traps him in with a steady challenging gaze before Katsuki can vault the couch and raid Kirishima’s fridge for some much needed beer.
On instinct, Katsuki meets the blank stare head on with his own narrowed eyes before scooting a little farther away from Half-N-Half’s body. The blond crosses his arms in annoyance.
“Where did you see Midoriya?” The ugly bastard questions, though it sounds more like a demand to Katsuki so he sneers at Half-N-Half and hopes the killing intent in his eyes will drive the other to fling himself off the building.
“Why the fuck should I tell you, bastard?” He smirks at the flare of ire in heterochromatic eyes: the only sign of emotion that Half-N-Half shows around Katsuki. Otherwise, the man is a blank slate the majority of the time, and the fact that Katsuki can wrangle something out of the emotionless robot tastes like brimming victory.
“Midoriya is my friend as much as he is yours. Though,” Half-N-Half sniffs haughtily, “that’s up for debate.”
Katsuki is a bit torn. On one hand, he could answer with rage. Maybe punch Endeavor’s son in the face a little. However, by even defending himself against the other’s words, Katsuki would make it seem like he really considers Izuku as a friend. Either option--owning up to his weird feelings (?) via satisfactory, justifiable punch to an asshole’s jaw or not saying anything/blowing it off that would later taste like sawdust guilt--did not sound appealing to Katsuki whatsoever.
So, of course, Katsuki just kind of sits there. He has no idea what expression is on his face or what picture he’s painting (clenched fists, hunched back, huddled turtle position), but whatever emotion he’s depicting seems to spook Half-N-Half into a less tense, hostile position. The dual hair colored male breaks the silence first with an awkward clearing of his throat.
“Sorry,” he says, sounding the least bit apologetic like the monotone bastard he is, “I know Midoriya is a… tough subject to bring up. He means a lot to us.” Katsuki opens his mouth automatically to dispel whatever notion Half-N-Half has of Katsuki’s confusing as all fuck relationship with Deku is, but the other male doesn’t give him a chance to interrupt.
“Midoriya helped me during the first year of high school. We’ve been friends since middle school, but things didn’t start becoming worse until I came out to my fa-- Endeavor during freshmen year. He immediately began…” Half-N-Half swallows deeply, a glassy eyed look befalling his face, “he began beating me.” He quietly finishes, gaze tearing away from the floor to something on the wall in an act of sad desperation.
If someone told Katsuki he would be a free psychologist for some guy he barely got along with, let alone tolerated eight to nine years ago, Katsuki would have laughed for ten minutes before spitting in that person’s face.
Life was strange like that--with old enemies (?) evolving into awkward acquaintances. And although Katsuki is shit at emotions, shit at advice, and shit at not being himself, he’s still a fucking listener. Because no one ever listened to him when he was a shitty brat, playing it off as a “boys will be boys” kid-only, teenage hormone fueled phase that would surely pass when he became an adult. No one ever listened, and Katsuki may well be an asshole, but he’s not emotionless.
“Midoriya let me live with him for a while, and he made me realize a lot of things: it wasn’t my fault for being who I am and that I needed some form of help. I’m grateful for Midoriya being my friend and helping me. I just wish I could have helped him before he left.” Half-N-Half concludes. There are no tears in the other’s eyes, but he appears content, peaceful with the fucked up world when he spoke about Izuku.
Katsuki is impressed he didn’t interrupt Half-N-Half’s rant on why Izuku’s an amazing son of a bitch (he didn’t need to tell Katsuki twice) that affected everyone in the class with his selfless deeds and empathetic behavior. Maybe he was finally catching the epidemic of emotions everyone seemed to carry in their sleeve, or maybe the anger management classes were finally fucking working.
(Or maybe, just maybe, Izuku brought out the kindness in people’s hearts, the type that matches with his heart filled sleeves and never ending smiles. People saw Izuku and became inspired by him, wanted to become something almost like a hero, like he was.)
Whatever it may be, Katsuki doesn’t think too hard of the repercussions once he turns away and says, “No one asked you to spill your goddamn sob story.” His crossed arms stiffen as he quietly adds, “Endeavor’s an asshole. Least you’re not as shitty as him, though you’re a close second.” Which is as close as comfort as Katsuki can manage before he physically combusts or something.
Half-N-Half understands though. His eyes widen and his mouth drops into a small open “o” that’s still big enough for flies to creep right in.
“Oh,” Half-N-Half replies back. It’s a testament to both of their awkward social skills (or lack thereof) when they both step out of their comfort zone like that, but Katsuki is a tired twenty something year old that doesn’t want to fight everything anymore. They’ve matured, suffered. Katsuki may still want to punch everyone’s face in all the time, but he’s not stupid enough to cause that much mayhem anymore.
And Half-N-Half? He may complain about his daddy issues and not know a single thing about proper, normal social interaction, but he’s not a dickhead--not like the fake extras Katsuki’s met and known and left behind in his life. Besides, Half-N-Half has a mean right hook, which Katuki can begrudgingly respect.
So maybe they can turn another leaf. Become companions or something at least.
“I’m glad we talked about this.” Half-N-Half admits. Katsuki wants to argue that no, we didn’t talk about this, you did, but it’s moot point anyway. The other man’s voice is a little higher, softer when he talks, which might imply he’s grateful or joyful or something; Katsuki’s no miracle worker or mind reader.
“Midoriya is very important to me, and I know that you have a crush on him--” Wait. Hold on one damn second. Crush? Crush? A fucking crush on Izuku? What?
Katsuki stares at the Harley Quinn look alike as if the bastard admitted to shitting in Katsuki’s mouth every night, then using the blond’s spiky hair as toilet paper before professing his undying love to Katsuki. What in the fresh hell did he fucking mean crush?
“What the fuck?” Katsuki mouths more than says aloud. Half-N-Half fixes him with a half pitying, half disbelieving stare that comes off more condescending than anything. Frankly, Katsuki can’t hear or sense anything after hearing the forbidden c word come out from the poor bastard’s mouth.
“What the fuck do you mean I have a crush on him?” He demands. The spiky haired man’s whole upper body is facing Half-N-Half’s own while his legs are still facing forward; it’s an uncomfortable position but Katsuki is stuck between wanting to run away from this conversation and barging into Half-N-Half’s personal space to kick his ass.
“You have a crush on Midoriya.” Half-N-Half repeats but slower this time. He doesn’t blink as he adds, “As in you want to hold hands with him. Kiss him. Touch him. Be with him all the time. Is that not what a crush is?”
“I--” Katsuki splutters, feeling lost and furious and not himself at all in this moment, “I-- what? Of course I know what a damn crush is! Why the hell do you think I want to do any of those things with fucking Deku of all people?!” He shouts, ignoring the stares from the group who are suddenly piqued with interest at this new drama.
And unfortunately, Katsuki’s backstabbing mind is already popping out images of Izuku (the new one, who looks soft and sweet yet durable and strong) tilting his head back cause he can’t contain his bubbly laughter and the etching of his eyebrow as he mutters and mutters and mutters about things no one will ever comprehend.
Does he still drink a glass of cold milk after his too hot showers so he can grow taller? Does he stare at flowers too long--eat his food too slow because he talks so much? Does he still have trouble waking up in the mornings? I want to know, I want to know, the reckless, curious thing called his heart whines.
No! You don’t care, you don’t care, you don’t care! It’s just Deku. It’s just fucking Deku. He tries to scream back. He can be rational; he can be reasonable. His brain makes the equivalent of a childish pout while his heart is continuously whining. Warmth settles into his swooping stomach, like an annoying knot of hunger begging to be satiated.
But, I want to know, it says, a little louder this time so that it can echo across Katsuki’s body like a vibration. The futile attempt is stomped down, incinerated, slaughtered. Katsuki shoves the damn thing as far away from him as possible and returns to scowling darkly at Half-N-Half for some answers. The room is suspiciously calm, but he ignores it.
Half-N-Half blinks. “I’m quite amazed that someone who once made it his sole mission in life to be number one in academics can be this inept at something a kindergartner knows.” He quips dryly. Like Katsuki, he too ignores the snort from half the room and the hands clasped over mouths to stop the bubble of guffaws rising from the rest of the half’s mouths.
“HAH? ARE YOU CALLING ME STUPID?!” Katsuki untwists from his awkward sitting stance to clamber up to his feet, knuckles at the ready. Half-N-Half merely blinks again while maintaining the social etiquette of sitting straight and proper that his rich boy classes taught him.
“On the contrary, I am calling you slow witted and oblivious, which is slightly different from the definition of stupid. So, no. I am not calling you stupid.” Half-N-Half does not quite understand the definition of a rhetorical question, but no one bothers to call him out on it. It’s much more amusing for Katsuki’s threats and rhetorical questions to be lazily batted away anyway.
“Wanna run that by me again, fuck nugget? I will fucking rip your arm off and shove it up your goddamn asshole straight up your throat if you say it again. Do it. I fucking dare you.”
“As certain as I am that you will act upon your threats, this is getting us nowhere. Our original topic was about your crush on Midoriya.” Katsuki is about five seconds away from burning the damn apartment down.
“Holy fuck. I think I’m in love.” Mina giggles to Jirou, who just shushes her with some popcorn. Even Tokoyami is leaning forward to catch more of the drama while his boyfriend, Shouji, nods to Todoroki’s blunt words. Everyone else is caught between awe and amusement, specifically Kirishima, who is all too gleefully recording the whole conversation.
“FOR THE LAST FUCKING TIME: I DON’T HAVE A CRUSH ON THAT NERD!”
“A really compelling argument.” Half-N-Half retorts, and since when was the dour male this fucking mouthy?
“Shut up. I will fucking murder you if you continue.” Katsuki threatens through grit teeth. He bundles a fistful of Half-N-Half’s shirt within his palm to tug the asshole closer to him. Half-N-Half is, for the most part, completely unfazed at their close proximity and just stares back with less enthusiasm than a dead fish.
At that point, Four Eyes attempts to step in with a worried expression. Before he can loudly lecture the duo on basic guest civility and the merits of rainbow friendship, Kaminari clamps a hand over his mouth as Asui helpfully tugs him to sit on the ground to watch the gay shitfest happening.
“Is threatening me your way of showing denial? If you truly did not harbor any feelings for our friend, you would simply let this go.” Half-N-Half blinks before a metaphorical lightbulb dings above his head.
“Ah, I’ve been learning more about romantic relationships from these helpful books. Iida let me borrow them, but I’m sure he’ll allow you to look through them as well.” Katsuki is the one to blink this time; however, he’s more baffled than anything as Half-N-Half loosens his hold on the guy’s collar and moves away to search through his messenger bag. The room is dead silent. Everyone is watching him with varying degrees of curiosity and excitement.
However, no one but a proud Iida expects Todoroki to suddenly dig out an old worn copy of Volume Six of Lovely Complex. No one speaks a word as the situation settles into shocked brains. Todoroki, taking the silence to mean that this particular volume is unsatisfactory for some odd reason, huffs in as much irritation as his stony face can muster as he extracts two of the remaining books out of his bag.
“I also have the first two volumes of Kaichou Wa Maid-Sama!” He lifts up one book to indicate which one, but all Katsuki can see is red. “And volume three of Shugo Chara!”
Kaminari can’t resist it. He’s the first one to burst out laughing, leading the rest of the group into boisterous laughter that shakes the floor beneath him. If he wasn’t laughing so hard, Kirishima would have worried about yet another noise complaint from his neighbors.
“So which one do you want to borrow? Bakugou?” Todoroki asks to the backgrond noise of hooting guffaws and pig like snorts. Katsuki is instantly in the strawberry-vanilla ice cream swirl’s goddamn ugly ass face as he snatches up the Lovely Complex manga and immediately deposits it in the trash with a fucking amazing slam dunk that would land him in the NBA.
“Rude. That’s a good volume.” Half-N-Half mildly comments at the same time as Iida screeching in the background at the love books he borrowed from his beloved older brother’s girlfriend being mistreated. Katsuki just blankly grabs the next shoujo manga ( Kaichou Wa Maid-Sama!), nearly breaks open the window wrenching it open, and flings it off of the fifth story they’re on to the sound of Four Eye’s horrified screams.
“TENSEI’S FIFTH FAVORITE MANGA SERIES!” Iida gasps as if Katsuki committed a crime worthy of the death sentence. “Bakugou, no!” He screeches as Katsuki flicks on a lighter from his pocket and inches the last wretched book up to the flame.
“Oh, wait.” Shugo Chara! is jerked from Katsuki’s hold. “I haven’t read this yet. You can burn it afterwards.” Half-N-Half states.
“NO HE CAN NOT!” Iida shrilly cries out. The poor man is torn between sprinting out of the apartment at full speed to find the castaway Kaichou Wa Maid-Sama! book and staying inside to keep a close eye on the destructive Katsuki and mellow Todoroki. The glasses clad male settles on fishing out the dirtied Lovely Complex! manga first, then politely/desperately asking for Uraraka to watch over the unpredictable boys while he enlisted Asui and Tokoyami’s aid in searching for the last book.
Katsuki glares at every single beaming face. Kirishima pats him on the shoulder as a good show of their best friend relationship and the years that Katsuki’s had to suffer with these goddamn assholes. Half-N-Half isn’t even around for him to beat up since the former wandered off to presumably find a quiet room to read his trashy “love” book more suited for little middle schoolers that called their puppy crushes their “one true love”.
“I fucking hate all of you.” Katsuki declares through grinding teeth. Round Face is the one to brave his foul mood, despite having been seen nearly breaking down the last time Katsuki interacted with her. The brunette solemnly placed her hand on his shoulder, a sage, wise gleam of her eye shutting Katsuki up. For now…
“It’s okay. We know you hate us. Good for Deku. He gets all of your looooove.”
Katsuki nearly sets the whole apartment complex on fire.
Needless to say, no more mentions of Midoriya Izuku are made that night.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
8:10 am. The day is semi-slow, which is not much of a surprise for a Tuesday. Things kind of pick up around lunch time, but for now, there’s only four other customers (who are regulars anyway) sitting in the cafe-restaurant and Katsuki’s already cooked their meal and served it to them. Fortunately, no one’s super picky at ass o’clock in the morning so he doesn’t really need to be back in the kitchen. The occasional customer will order a dessert to go, but other than that, no one else is really around.
Kirishima is in their office checking over bills and shit while Sero is tending to the customers and just chatting with them. Satou is back in the kitchen, probably baking up pies and cookies for the elementary school his younger sister is in, leaving Bakugou to man the cash register in the front alone. Hagakure, Aoyama, and Mina all work at other places as well; as for Kaminari, he’s off buying groceries and performing other chores for both the restaurant and his shared apartment with his boyfriends.
The bell chimes a new arrival, snapping Katsuki out of his bored thoughts. “Finally!” He grumbles under his breath as he stands up to his full height instead of slouching over on the counter (something about bad customer service, according to Kirishima). He’s about to manage a gruff greeting--some cheesy “welcome to Sugar and Spice” bullshit--that would no doubt sound half threatening, half bored but the image before him stops his half assed hello.
“Hi, Kacchan!” Midoriya Izuku, talk of the goddamn weekend and probably talk of the whole fucking gay community, waltzes into the shop in all his sweaty glory wearing one of those body builder tank tops in dark green (of fucking course), gray sweatpants, and running shoes. He’s walked straight out of one of Kirishima’s wet dreams apparently, and man is Katsuki glad Kirishima is in the office and not out here.
“Fucking Deku.” Katsuki greets back after a too long five second interval of staring like a weirdo. Izuku doesn’t show any indication of caring; he’s just smiling an older, wiser (hotter) version of his younger smile and standing in front of the cash register with ridiculously sculpted arms.
“Aren’t you going to fucking sit down?” Katsuki awkwardly motions to one of the empty tables, and Izuku lights up, as if suddenly remembering he’s in a shop that sells food and not like a gym or something. The dark haired man sheepishly chuckles before he chooses a seat next to the window closest to the register. And no, Katsuki’s heart does not flutter (nor does he eye Deku’s fucking ass which is pretty nice in those sweats).
Well, it’s not like the cafe-restaurant is busy either. And Sero does look a little preoccupied with the four other customers he’s attending to, even though he keeps his head on a swivel to stare wide-eyed and jaw dropped at Izuku’s new look. In other words, he’s shooketh.
Speaking of a new outer appearance, Katsuki can’t believe his goddamn eyes. There, carved innocently into his skin like it’s always been there, are tattoos on Izuku’s upper arms. Keyword: tattoos--as in plural.
On his right arm, a crimson, golden, and black medium sized milk snake curls around a pointed dagger as an array of colorful flowers surrounds the reptile. Black ink sprawls around the curve of his shoulder, but the image is almost fully hidden by the tank top Izuku’s donning. On the inside of his right arm, a lone black arrow is perfectly inked in the middle: there’s a compass star close to the feathered end of the arrow and notches going all the way down to the pointed end. Closer to the end of the arrow are three lightly dotted circles that branch outwards in varying sizes.
On his left arm, a decaying man (statue or real, Katsuki has no clue) is crumbling. The tattoo only shows up to a little past his collarbones while pieces are breaking off. Most of the man’s face is intact (nose, mouth, ears all perfectly fine), save for the eyes. In fact, before the nose, the rest of the face had already been disintegrated off; in place of the eyes and brain are two planets (Saturn and Jupiter, perhaps?) and a moon. A few sparkles surround the planets and nothing else. And finally, on the inside of Izuku’s arm is a straight line of moon phases, the dark ink a stark contrast to the lighter skin on the inside of his arms.
Katsuki barely stares more than a minute--still standing in place behind the cash register with his eyes glued to the door like an idiot--yet it feels like an eternity of drinking in the new Izuku and wondering what other new aspects have changed or been added to Izuku’s being.
However, Katsuki is aware that his job is more important than ogling a childhood… companion and then pondering a little too much over it, so he mentally slaps himself and marches over to Izuku reading the provided menu from a wooden holder on the table.
“What the fuck do you want to drink?” Katsuki brashly asks--more like demands--as he stands close to Izuku with his arms crossed and a permanent frown on his face. Izuku takes it all in stride and simply chirps an endearing, “orange juice,” that melts the blond’s insides into something foreign and fuzzy. He ignores it as he saunters off to retrieve the beverage.
“Psst.” Sero beckons Katsuki over with a wave of his hand. Katsuki pretends not to see him.
Sero groans, “Come on, Bakugou, don’t be like that.” Just in case, Sero blocks the entrance/exit of the kitchen door with his arms crossed seriously. Katsuki growls, which is not at all intimidating when he’s holding a glass of orange juice and water in both hands.
“If you don’t get out of the fucking way this goddamn instant, I will shatter your kneecaps and make you crawl to the damn hospital.”
“That’s Midoriya, isn’t it?” Sero questions. He’s learned not to respond to Katsuki’s warnings lest he wish for a possible example. The raven haired man steps forward to invade the other man’s space with a pleading gleam of his eye.
“Dude, I’ll let you go. I just need to know.” The almost possessed look on Sero is borderline creepy but Katsuki mainly just want to leave because he hates cold things and the watered ice and refrigerated orange juice is freezing his hands.
“Yeah, that’s fucking Deku. Now get out of the way, asswipe.” Sero gladly allows him passage for the sake of his intact kneecaps. As Katsuki slides by and kicks the door in front of him slightly to move through, he hears Sero’s mumble.
“God, he got so fucking hot.”
Katsuki walks away faster, not wanting to hear the gay laments of his polyamorous friend. Lord knows the three queer musketeers deserve each other but adding more would be the equivalent of shitting your pants while having a goddamn stroke.
“Here.” Katsuki set the glasses down a tad harsher than he should have. He practically hurls two straws at Izuku’s face. “Your damn OJ and some water for your thirsty ass.”
“Oh. Thanks, Kacchan!” Izuku catches the incoming straws with fluid ease, and he tears one open to stick into his iced water. With more concentration on his friend than necessary, Katsuki eyes Izuku with a deadpan stare as the other guzzles down the water, soft lips wrapped around the straw.
“You ready to order or what?” Katsuki demands after Izuku drinks half of the glass and a warm feeling threatens to erupt in the pit of Katsuki’s stomach. Izuku nods, rambling about not knowing which one to pick because “they all look so good”--which may or may not have stroked Katsuki’s ego like he was jerking him off--before flushing at his endless chatter and settling on pancakes, two scrambled eggs, two bacon strips, and a side of fruit.
Katsuki found both a blessing and a curse in returning back to the kitchen.
For one, he can escape odd feelings whenever he’s around Izuku for too damn long. It’s a strange mixture of guilt, anger, and something Katsuki never (if rarely) feels and would much rather stab to death, thank you very much. On the contrary, Katsuki walks one goddamn step into the kitchen and is whisked away by an exuberant Kirishima and Sero. Goddamit.
“Ow! Fuckers! I have to make this fucking easy as shit breakfast!” He mumbles the last part mainly to himself: “Fucking Deku; couldn’t even pick more of a goddamn challenge.”
“Bakugou, I am dying.” Sero announces with such seriousness that Katsuki does a double take. His eyes narrow when he doesn’t notice a single physical/mental thing causing Sero pain and, in Katsuki’s happy case, death.
“Is it true? Is Midoriya fucking ripped now?” Kirishima asks all too enthusiastically, and Katsuki rips away from their drooling gay selves to at least have Satou start on the pancakes.
“He’s a goddamn noodle, looking like an old grandpa who’s a second away from death.” Katsuki deadpans. Kirishima loosens his hard grip on him enough for the blond to wrench himself out of the harder grasp while he peels Sero off like string cheese. He wanders back over to his station in the kitchen to crack two eggs and beat them for the same scrambled mess Izuku’s always eaten since they were four.
“No, Midoriya is hot. Like he was really cute and shit back in the day, but now he’s hot. Do you get me, Ei?”
“Of course, Han.” Katsuki kind of wants to throw up. But he’s also strangely miffed at Sero’s description of Izuku as if Katsuki isn’t standing right here, listening to the gay bullshit spouting out of his friends’ mouths while he suffers from an existential crisis and a half while wondering how to act around someone he’s once bullied. Yikes.
The breakfast is completed in literally five minutes; unfortunately, that is enough time for Sero to describe to both Satou and Kirishima the image of one very hot Midoriya as if they couldn’t all get off their lazy asses and literally step outside of the kitchen door two steps to glimpse at Izuku. Goddamn idiots.
For that, Katsuki barks at them to return to work, sharply reminding Sero that there are still four customers he needs to attend to while eyeing Satou and Kirishima in warning. Satou shrugs; he’s not much for drama anyway. Kirishima, meanwhile, grins dazzlingly at Katsuki and follows him right out the door to Izuku’s table. Double goddammit.
When he returns with Izuku’s breakfast, the nerd is chattering with someone on the phone with the most tranquil, adoring look on his face that Katsuki’s ever seen. Izuku catches his eye and smiles secretively, whispering a few more line into the phone like it’s his lover before hanging up on the phone. The plate is nearly smashed into pieces against the table as Katsuki looms over Izuku’s form.
“Fucking enjoy.” He stomps away for good measure, but Kirishima’s hand shoots out to grab him by the crook of his elbow and next thing Katsuki knows, they’re both sitting across from Izuku while the man scarfs down the food in record time. Between compliments of the food and chewing, Izuku barely notices the silence conversation between the two “best friends” and the way one of their stares lingers on Izuku.
“So, how you doing, Midoriya? Any new updates? New job? New friends? New,” Kirishima’s grin grows wider as he flicks his eyes over to Katsuki, “lovers?” Katsuki shows his appreciation by stepping on Kirishima’s foot like it’s a cockroach. He mashes his heel against Kirishima’s foot for good measure, and the breathy exhale from the other is a pleasant sound to Katsuki’s ears.
“No, not really.” Izuku shrugs as he sips at his orange juice.
“Really? You were gone for like eight to nine fucking years and all you have to say is ‘not really’? Fucking hell.”
“Well, I guess technically I got a new job? I don’t really have a lot of friends other than Hitoshi, but he doesn’t count as a ‘new friend’. And I haven’t dated in over a year!” A darker edge teeters on his tone at the mention of his dating life but otherwise, his life is as uneventful as Katsuki’s, which satisfies his more competitive side that seems to flare up whenever Izuku (or Half-N-Half) is involved.
“Cool! Where do you work at?” Kirishima eagerly asks as he leans forward; Katsuki elbows him as a reminder of personal space once he notices Izuku shrinking back a bit but that just rewards him with a knowing, playful toothy grin from his friend.
“Uh, I’m a computer engineer, I guess? Well, more like a solo Geek Squad since it’s just me by myself when I work. So like whenever a company or someone has a problem with their computers, or really, any technology like printers and stuff, I end up going to the company or their place to fix it for them! It’s not really a fun sounding job though.” Izuku scratches his cheek with a sheepish, self-deprecating smile that he wears like a glove during the wintertime. Katsuki is all too familiar with it and his eyes narrow when Izuku peeks over at him.
“That’s still pretty cool man! You probably make more than we do anyway.”
“Ah, but this place is really cool! I like the lights and the ambiance! It’s nice! And the food is really good, which is a bonus--wait I don’t mean that in a bad way, I mean some places have good atmosphere but terrible food. Not that your place has awful food but not too many places nowadays have affordable food, nice ambiance, and actual good cooking! Oh geez, I’m rambling again, sorry--”
Katsuki snorts, mainly because of Kirishima’s dazed face (an aftermath of Izuku’s continuous ranting) and not because of how this part of Izuku has not changed at all whatsoever and it’s kind of endearing.
Izuku groans, burying his face into his hands. “I really need to work on that.”
“It’s chill, bro! You’ve always been like that and it’s not a problem, promise!” Kirishima is quick to reassure. Katsuki doesn’t outwardly agree but he will admit that the whole prattling thing is a huge part of who Izuku is. It almost hurts a little less knowing that eight to nine years of separation hasn’t changed Izuku all that much.
“Really?” Izuku peeks from behind his hands. Kirishima makes a hybrid noise of a squeal and a cough. “Oh, I’m glad then.” He sets his hands down neatly in front of him (they are littered in scars, Katsuki notices, and a sick, furious feeling simmers in his skin) as a smaller, appreciative smile blooms on his lips like watercolor dipping into water.
“Y-Yeah.” Kirishima responds, though he’s too charmed by the oxymoron of Izuku’s curling smile: soft against a landscape of harsh planes, gentle and brutally pretty at the same time.
“Just don’t be a fucking idiot that blathers on and on in front of strangers.” Katsuki adds. His advice is neither helpful or supportive and once the words are out of his mouth, he realizes the rude edge to it that has been drilled into him since childhood. Kirishima’s answering expression is to look both disappointed and sympathetic, which isn’t always the best combination to make you feel better after you literally stick your foot into your mouth.
Izuku’s grin dims down until a slight furrow appears between his eyebrows. He opens his mouth to say something, no doubt to verbally slap Katuki in the face for being a rude dickbag before the bell chimes loud and clear as the savior of Katsuki’s personal hell.
A young child about eight or nine years old wanders into the store. She’s (?) wearing a red bunny hoody that’s up and covering most of her hair. A few curly strands of black fan out of the hood as she stares up at each of the adults with vivid amber eyes that are familiarly haunting. Her eyes set on Izuku instantly and a smile, albeit miniscule, worms its way onto her tan face.
And Katsuki knows. He recognizes the tiny smile, the bright eyes (even if they are almost as dead as Half-N-Half’s, though they look more sleepy due to her age) that shine at finding something precious.
“I’m here, dad.” The little girl states with a hint of pride. She steps close enough for Izuku to turn and pull her right into his lap, a fond, loving look on his face as he presses a light kiss onto her forehead. She doesn’t squeal like other kids or whine. She’s silent as the night, and peers at the adults with eyes of a warrior.
“Kacchan, Kirishima.” Katsuki’s stomach butts at him, screaming. Acid is rising up into Katsuki’s throat like a balloon of smoke after a bomb plummets to the ground. In the corner of his eye, Kirishima sends him one last concerned look before smiling at Izuku. Katsuki barely pays them any mind for his gaze is glued to the little girl, whose unwavering stare back at him only causes the fog of acid to billow in his mouth with a nasty aftertaste.
“Meet my daughter, Reina.”
He falls.
