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Eijirou is eleven when the Bakugou family moves into the house next door, a three-storey building that’s all glass and pristine white walls. Not only is he eleven, but also very, very itchy, and he kind of can’t wait for his mom to stop talking the blonde lady’s ear off so that he can skate down the street and do ollies with Denki.
Their neighbourhood is a small one, a quiet one, the kind where its inhabitants have known each other since forever. There’s the short, bald guy, for instance, who used to throw eggs at the local high school with Eijirou’s dad when they were kids. A couple blocks down, a beady-eyed woman whom Denki’s cousin blew off to get hammered at a rager. And the street before that, a terrifying old crone who apparently had an affair with Mina’s (dead) great-uncle.
Of course, there are better stories; these fall short of the best ones by a lot more than a mile.
“Mom, can I puh-lease leave?” Eijirou whines as the conversation drags on, feeling incredibly annoyed. And incredibly bored.
“Honey,” his mom murmurs to him in a warning tone, but then the blonde lady is clapping her hands and saying, “Oh, I have a son your Eijirou’s age! I think they’d make good friends, him and your little boy.”
At this Eijirou perks up, because hell, yeah, it’d be fun to have a new gaming buddy. Not that Denki’s awful at Soulcalibur. Unfortunately, her son doesn’t seem to share any of his enthusiasm, not one bit, because the first thing he says to Eijirou upon first sight is: “Tch, piss off.”
His name is Katsuki, and the scars on his knuckles say he’s always getting himself into fights. He’s got hair like a Pomeranian dog, and a smile like sharp glass. He’s exactly the kind of boy Eijirou’s mom shouldn’t let him hang out with; cruel-mouthed and mean, he probably never misses his target when he throws a punch.
Looking at this boy reminds Eijirou of ticking time bombs. Of dynamite, of steel. Of a firework set to explode. He even smells like an explosion: full of firelight, and smoke.
“Hey, wanna be my friend?” Eijirou grins at Katsuki as he sizes Eijirou up the way he would a foe. Cold, calculating.
There’s that noise of disgust. And then Katsuki is spinning on his heel to move away. Up the hallway, and out. The way he moves, Eijirou notes, it is just like fire, too: slow, dragging, scorching everything in his wake.
Eijirou takes that as a no.
And a challenge, as well.
♢
At school, they’re put in the exact same classes, so this means they’re seeing each other practically every single day. Even though Katsuki came in late, he still manages to catch up with blinding speed. He aces his tests. Hands in his work on time. Gets stickers on his homework packets.
He quickly carves out a reputation for himself, but it is not of the good kind—as Eijirou had pretty much expected, considering that attitude of his.
“Bakugou’s coming, guys!” a girl on the playground shouts as Katsuki comes shuffling right in, with his newfound cronies flanking either of his sides.
The other kids halt. And then scream. It’s a flurry of motion, limbs catching on limbs, feet tripping over feet. They’re out in a few seconds, one, two, going, then gone.
The new monster of the playground, come to claim his throne at last.
“Eh, what a jerk,” Mina snorts, and yeah, Eijirou agrees.
Katsuki’s first real fight comes when he takes to picking on Midoriya. It is quick to become routine, him swiping his shoes, turning his shirt inside out, and blowing up in his face. It’s easy enough to tell, that Midoriya just wants to make nice, but Katsuki was born for battle, not for playing at being friends.
The teachers are swift to break off the torment, but the damage has been done. Like the recoil of a rubber band, an infuriated Todoroki snaps and then soon he and Katsuki are brawling, Denki cheering them on.
“Don’t encourage them, dude,” Eijirou says, shaking his head.
Denki just shrugs, though there’s a guilty set to his mouth.
♢
“You okay, Midoriya?” Eijirou asks one day after school.
Midoriya’s lips are smiling but his eyes, they are not. There’s a band-aid on his cheek. A bruise on his chin. That is all the incentive it takes for Eijirou to clap him on the back, and hurry back home.
♢
Katsuki has managed to destroy two ant-hills by the time Eijirou finishes pedaling over the bridge. There is no one else with Katsuki, just his weapons, some rocks.
And that ever-present scowl. Razor-sharp, and angry.
“Hey, bro, can we talk?” Eijirou says, easing his bike into a stop.
Katsuki’s shoulders lift, in preparation for a fight. He looks alight, every jagged corner of his, made aglow by bold dusklight. A boy, shaded red-gold. Burning in the same colour, too.
Eijirou starts with the easier things. The simple ones, the little ones. Then he segues into the problem, and that fully activates Katsuki’s defensive mechanisms. That red darkens, turns ugly.
Turns confrontational.
Katsuki’s fist clenches. And there it is, the flex before a swing. The knuckle-pop before the crack of bone.
“Dude,” Eijirou says, in his most placating tone. “I’m not scared of you. But you are kind of scaring everyone, and it’s just not cool, y’know? And Midoriya, well, the poor guy’s had it rough. Lay off of him, that can’t be so hard to do.”
There’s a hand grabbing the front of Eijirou’s shirt. Pulling, yanking. “Shut. Up,” Katsuki spits out, eyes wide and glaring. “Why are you so goddamn annoying? Each and every time, I swear.”
Eijirou swallows. Stares him down unblinkingly, unwaveringly. And then the grip is disappearing, Katsuki shoving him away. He ambles down the street, hands shoved in his pockets, kicking at everything within a five-metre radius.
(Katsuki doesn’t really bother anyone after that day. Leaves Midoriya alone after Eijirou’s fifth repeat, with Todoroki’s help. Stops around the thirtieth.
Well, almost.)
♢
Katsuki takes to avoiding Eijirou for the rest of the year. Sixth grade comes along, and soon it is the beginning of seventh. By then, Katsuki’s cut off his “buddies”, pretty much cemented himself as Mr. Forever Alone, and if anything, he seems more prone to lashing out.
He glares at people in class, violates dress code, and props his feet up on desks. He talks back to teachers, has the world’s worst potty-mouth, and worse, there’s rumour of him being involved in a delinquent gang.
Despite all this, he still does exceptionally well in school. He is never, ever late, and his notes are always clean. His writing is a little like Momo’s—slightly cursive, narrow-spaced, pretty—which is strange, because it goes against his whole image.
A boy, apathetic to a fault and slipshod.
Despite the constant rejection, Eijirou still tries getting Katsuki to thaw.
And some progress, he does make.
There are days when Eijirou earns the finger instead of a pointed silence for saying hello, and that’s a start, he supposes. A bad one, but a start, nevertheless.
“I think he just hates you,” Denki points out as they’re sitting on a curb licking Kool-Aid popsicles. “I mean, you messed up his homicidal agenda in elementary school. Ha, he is never gonna let up. You might as well be chasing your own tail, bro.”
“Well, at least he noticed me,” Eijirou says idly, wondering what Katsuki is doing right now. If he’s alone on this sunny weekend, or if he’s out with his parents on a grocery-run.
“If you really want him to notice you, ask him to get ice cream with you,” Mina suggests with a devious smirk, and Eijirou gapes, because okay, that’s the equivalent of lunging yourself headfirst into the deep-end.
Denki stares, horrified. “And risk getting a leg torn off? That’s crazy talk, Mina!” He points his popsicle at Eijirou. “Tell me that you’re not going to do it. You fool. You imbecile—that’s French for stupid, by the way. Aoyama’s words.”
Just as Eijirou is about to assure him that of course, not, he doesn’t want to die, Mina is rolling her eyes, saying, “Dummy, that’s also an English word.”
“It was French first, you crouton, ” Denki argues, and with that they lose Eijirou.
♢
Denki’s good for a lot of things, but using him as a study buddy is simply not one of them. Eijirou thought he’d learned his lesson after the Fiasco with Jirou and Sero, thought he’d smartened up.
Sadly, that was not case.
So it is why Eijirou is in detention right now. Sulking in a corner, glaring holes at Denki’s miserable face.
“Look, I just ran out of ideas, okay? The essay was just too hard, so I used yours for inspiration,” Denki is protesting, waving his hands around, “and how was I supposed to know that Botticelli wasn’t like a famous classical chef? The Gordon Ramsay of the Olden Days? His name sounds just like pasta. I mean, vermicelli, Botticelli? Same thing, yo. Imagine, him going off like, ‘oh, this pasta is not as limp as your dad’s dick yet, young Pastacito, you just failed this test —shit, sorry!” Denki stops at the teacher’s warning glare.
“You could’ve Googled it,” Eijirou mumbles sourly, shifting his gaze to the clock.
One minute passes. Five. Then ten.
God, Eijirou is so bored. And miserable.
The door reopens at a quarter to four, and in strolls a scowling Katsuki, all fire and anger. There’s a teacher trailing behind him, and she’s got a reproachful hand on his shoulder. A quick exchange happens, and Katsuki is sent to sit besides Eijirou.
The detention monitor takes Denki to another room because him talking is simply not conducive to his whole redemption arc.
“Hi,” Eijirou says, wondering what kind of trouble Katsuki is in. Definitely not plagiarism. Most certainly the roughhousing problem.
He gives Katsuki a smile. Katsuki reddens. He freezes for a moment, almost dazed, before the spell breaks, and all goes back to normal. “Hmph,” Katsuki huffs, instead of growling it out.
Eijirou coughs to hide a grin. “What, no fuck off today?”
“I was—I was getting to that,” Katsuki seethes. “Fuck off. See? There, I said it.”
The grin comes out, full-force. Katsuki averts his gaze, and the pencil in his hand snaps cleanly in half.
(For some reason, Katsuki starts stealing glances at him as they’re walking out their homes every day after that.)
♢
Eighth grade swings by, and Eijirou takes up football. He’s installed as a wide receiver, and he practices his passes most every afternoon after school. Denki gets put as a tight end, Midoriya as quarterback, and it all works out well.
Katsuki’s kind of his friend now. Or at least, from Eijirou’s side, he is.
Since Denki and Mina are out of the question when it comes to peer tutor sessions, Eijirou decides that Katsuki would do; Momo’s got Jirou to worry about, Midoriya already promised to help Uraraka out, and everyone else is far too busy.
Plus, Katsuki’s not as bad as he used to be. He doesn’t swear rudely at Eijirou anymore, or ignore him. He makes for a good combatant in Mortal Kombat, and trust him to make all the bad choices in Heavy Rain.
(“Fucking Jason, my ass,” Katsuki growled at the very beginning.)
They’re halfway through the storyline of Okami when Eijirou realizes that he and Bakugou? They’re no longer kind of friends. They are friends.
Friends who talk to each other on a regular basis. Friends who hang out often. Friends who help each other out.
(Yeah, Katsuki agreed to help Eijirou with his studies. And he’s a pretty good teacher. Impatient at times, but thorough. Methodical. Like he actually wants to see Eijirou succeed. He’s never half-assed this.)
It’s when they’re messing around in Twilight Town in Kingdom Hearts II that Eijirou sees Katsuki smile for the very first time. It’s not so much a smile as it is the upward quirk of a mouth, but still.
“Dude, we gotta save our munny, we need more potions,” Eijirou says, watching Katsuki navigate the area.
He’s letting Katsuki have a turn, because it’s normally Eijirou who does the gameplay.
“Okay, fucking whatever,” Katsuki says, and there’s that small-smile. Barely-there but—
Oh God. It’s … cute. Not Midoriya cute, obviously. It’s a Katsuki type of cute, wire-edged and shot through with ground glass. Still dripping with gasoline. Easily ignitable.
Eijirou’s cheeks warm. His pulse stutters, speeds up. And Katsuki’s smile is the only thing he can think about for the rest of the night. The curve of it, the weight, pressed up against his eyelids.
♢
Eijirou dyes his hair red when he turns fifteen, and consents to Mina’s breakdancing lessons after heavy-duty persuasion. Denki comes along with a whine, and the Sero is hopping on the bandwagon, Jirou not far behind. They’re half-hearted at first, but it doesn’t take long before they can pull off semi-decent toprocks and drops.
“Shitty Hair,” Katsuki murmurs, apropos of nothing, one day. Watching Eijirou idly pass a ball back-and-forth using his knees.
A teasing edge slips into Eijirou’s voice. “Oh, you like my new hairdo? Didn’t think you would,” he says, urging the ball’s arc to rise by adding a little more bounce.
“Shut up, I don’t. I hate it, actually,” Katsuki says, but there’s no bite to it. No venom. If anything, there’s a bit of shyness. Or maybe Eijirou’s just imagining things.
Eijirou says, “Hey, um, wanna see me practice my windmills later on?” while grinning at Katsuki.
Katsuki shrugs, and Eijirou sends him two finger-guns, but the movement somehow causes the ball to veer off trajectory, smacking right into Eijirou’s face.
“Tch, you’re such a fucking dumbass,” Katsuki says, pressing a thumb to Eijirou’s reddening cheekbone. The contact—the proximity—blossoms in Eijirou a flare of heat.
But Eijirou does not comment on it, so as to not scare Katsuki off.
♢
If Eijirou didn’t know how they became friends, he most certainly doesn’t know how they got to the casually-hanging-out-everywhere stage. The whole town’s pretty much infinitely more accessible now, since Katsuki finally swapped his bike for a motorcycle the minute he got cleared for his license.
The first time Katsuki let him on his motorcycle was a pretty terrifying experience.
(“So, do I just grab your waist or something?” Eijirou asked, blushing at the thought of pressing up against him.
“Yeah, unless you want to fall off and die,” Katsuki said. He’d been nonchalant about the whole concept.
Eijirou swallowed. “So if we were in Aladdin, I suppose this is the part where you ask ‘Do you trust me?’ and I say ‘Yes,’ and you decide to show me the whole world.”
Katsuki stared at him, blankly. “Do you want a ride or not?” He lobbed the helmet at Eijirou’s head. Eijirou made a smooth catch. Even managed to roll it along his arm, shoulders, then other arm, before catching it with his other hand.
“Sick move, right?” Eijirou said with a bow, trying to quell his building nausea.)
The ride itself had been an interesting experience. Almost a little like flying, maybe, with the speed Katsuki was gunning for. Pushing the limit but not crossing it. Living life on the edge, close to knifepoint. The undercurrent of danger, always electrifyingly nearby.
Now, they’re sitting in a rundown diner that’s all flickering neon lights and checkered tiles, poking at steaming plates of hash and syrupy pancakes. Eijirou is cracking stupid wisecracks. Katsuki is rolling his eyes but looking amused all the same.
Katsuki leaves to use the washroom after they run out of coffee.
Eijirou signals a waitress for more, and as she’s refilling their mugs, she’s saying, “That your boyfriend? Good catch; he’s a handsome one.”
Eijirou chokes. “What—no! No, it’s not like that. We’re just—we’re just, um, friends,” he says, because that is the truth. They’re friends. Friends. Nothing more, nothing less.
Her eyes, a night-dark shade of brown, gleam. “Hm, I could’ve sworn there was something going on between you two.”
Eijirou is still sputtering by the time Katsuki returns. Still blushing, still thinking. Her words have caught on something building up at the back of his mind, illuminating it. Giving its amorphous form a true shape.
“What’s up with you?” Katsuki says, always so quick to observe anything amiss.
Eijirou schools his features into nonchalance. Says, “What? Pfft, it’s nothing,” and stuffs his mouth with more meat.
They finish their food, and afterwards Katsuki takes him to the crest of a hill. A hill that overlooks the whole town, that’s the best viewpoint Eijirou’s never seen before.
The sky is the darkest shade of indigo up here. Powdered through with stardust, and fading into light navy nearing the moon. They’re all glimmering, the constellations. Twinkling like fireflies. The glow of the streetlamps lining the streets softens the harsh, unyielding line of the horizon, and the thousands of golden lights winking up at them from down below are like stars by themselves, too.
The moonlight transforms Katsuki’s body into a series of details: pale, smooth skin; high, full cheekbones; dusk-red eyes; toned arms; and mouth a careless, boyish downward slant.
Boy, made white-blue by moonlight. Elegant, beautiful.
And then suddenly Eijirou is seeing Katsuki in a very different light. A light that reminds Eijirou there is even a sort of grace to Katsuki’s movements whenever he fights. A surety, a swiftness. Something dissonant with his abrasive words, that conflicts with his harsher dimensions.
Katsuki has always seemed like a boy of war—rough, crude, ungainly—but the moonlight has turned him into a creature of elegance. All smooth lines, and hewn out of marble. Serrations blunted by this varnish of beauty.
Katsuki framed against the town is almost like a juxtaposition: a classical sculpture thrust into the heart of dull suburbia.
“I go up here so that I can throw shit around or shout in peace,” Katsuki says. “Like, no one even fucking cares what I do in this place.” He swipes a rock off the ground. Bends his wrist, as though to test the heft. “Wanna give it a try?”
The spell wears off like water spilling. Eijirou doesn’t know he finds it in himself to say, “Sure, whatever,” as he turns feverish with the knowledge that he is fucked.
♢
“Dude. I know you have a big gay crush on Bakugou,” Denki accuses him as they’re watching the members of their team perform a bootleg, then a blitz.
It’s much too cold a day for football training, the world overcast and damp, painted the silver-grey of fish scales. Denki’s words should feel like a death sentence, but instead they taste like hope. And that?
Is a really strange feeling to have.
Eijirou shrugs, hopeless. It would do him no good to try and defend himself at this point. “Poor me, huh? Bet he doesn’t even like me back,” he says, watching the coach blow his whistle to call a time-out.
Denki hums, “Well, you won’t know unless you confess. And you’re probably stupid enough to do it,” and Eijirou glares, because he is not making things any better. “What?” Denki snorts. “It’s true! Mina said that just last week you straight-up told Bakugou, ‘Wow, you’re so amazing, bro’. That’s gay as fuck, my guy. Gaaay.”
Despite the gloom, Eijirou feels oddly buoyant. There is a bright promise in the air. And Eijirou’s cells burst with it. They overflow, even.
Eijirou finds Katsuki sitting by the bleachers after practice, like he knew he would be. And yeah, Denki’s right, Eijirou’s stupid enough to take the next step.
He asks Katsuki out to the school’s movie-themed dance that’s coming up this weekend. He says it as casually as he can. Like he’s merely asking Katsuki to swing by his place for a Die Hard marathon. “It’s a stupid request, I get it, but it seems like everyone’s going. I don’t want you to miss out,” Eijirou says, twisting his hands.
Katsuki stares. Wrinkles his nose. Then he is shrugging, rolling his eyes and saying, “Yeah, alright, what fucking ever,” and Eijirou beams—positively beams—because this agreement, coming from Katsuki, is like getting a hug from someone else.
♢
The others find out at lunch the following day, and it’s all Mina’s fault. Eijirou should have never trusted her. Denki, too; he’s batting his eyelashes at Eijirou, playing at being him.
“We are in looove with each other,” Denki sing-songs, as he and Mina hold hands, pretending to be a couple. “Hello, everyone, I’m Kirishima Eijirou, and yes, I take this man, Bakugou Katsuki, to be my lawfully wedded—”
“Stop it, guys,” Eijirou whines, embarrassed, and his blush only deepens when Mina and Denki lean in to wrap him in a hug.
At their table, Midoriya tries not to laugh. Todoroki just blinks. Jirou cringes. Uraraka, Momo, Iida, and Tsuyu share glances, and Sero starts doubling over.
♢
There’s someone shining a very insistent light through his bedroom window.
“Psst!” a voice hisses, loudly.
Eijirou rubs at his sleep-crusted eyes. He parts the curtains and finds Katsuki staring at him from across. The window unlatches with a click, and a warm breeze stirs Eijirou’s hair. “What’s up?” he says with a yawn.
Katsuki watches Eijirou for a whole minute. Then, upon realizing what he’s done, he quickly averts his gaze, blushing, fiddling with something. “I just—here, you can have your dumb hoodie back.” The hoodie catches on Eijirou’s face. “And—and don’t leave your fucking shorts here next time! My room is not a dump!” And then the shorts.
“Good ... night?” Eijirou ventures.
Katsuki’s window slams shut in response.
♢
Soon enough it’s Friday, which means they’re having the dance, and everyone’s dressed up like they walked right out of a film-set.
Eijirou has already seen a couple of Han Solos in math class, and one Star-Lord in chem. Sero thought Iida was supposed to be James Bond, but it turned out he just wanted an excuse to wear a suit and tie without feeling too out of place.
“Do I look like a discount Jaeger pilot?” Denki says, as he adjusts his costume with a miserable look. “I’m bummed out that the armour didn’t come out right. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted Amazon.”
“Not even that. You look like clearance,” Jirou snickers, and she and Denki commence Round One of their daily arguments.
Eijirou came in as Sharkboy, and it had taken a massive amount of bribery, getting Katsuki to be Lavagirl. He’d wanted to come only as himself, but Eijirou went like, “That’s so not fun, dude, you gotta be in costume. I mean, c’mon, where’s your school pride?” and, in response, Katsuki chucked a controller at his head but protested no more, which, in Katsuki terms, meant a grudging yes.
Later on, when they are heading into the gym, Katsuki growls out, “We look so shitty. And stupid.”
Eijirou steers him away from an incoming Midoriya before he snaps again. “Duh, that’s the whole point of this day. Plus, look on the bright side, so does everyone else,” he says consolingly.
Katsuki brushes him off to grab some punch, and Eijirou waits by the wall, watching the strobe lights spin overhead. The others arrive soon enough, and it’s quickly shaping up to be a noisy party.
Todoroki whispers something into Midoriya’s ear, and then Midoriya is saying, “Yeah, I’m coming, Shouto.” He is still looking at his phone while allowing himself to be steered away.
Denki claps a hand over Eijirou’s shoulder. And stage-whispers: “That’s the title of their sex tape, by the way. Oh, and speaking of doing the do—”a devilish grin breaks out across his face—“ten bucks says they’re gonna have a quickie in the closet.”
“Oh my God,” Eijirou says, inching away from Denki, and Mina snickers. “Don’t be gross.”
Katsuki returns after a few minutes. Eijirou ditches his annoying friends to join him, not without receiving a few hoots as he does so.
The night melts away in a sugary rush. There’s dancing, and music. An argument between Tarzan and Spiderman, over there in the corner. Stale chips, and some more crappy food. Bad audio, dim lighting.
Katsuki broods, the entire time. Eijirou sighs, finds himself feeling a little awkward when the music track shifts.
Into a slow, romantic song.
People start pairing up. Start swaying under the now violet lights. Giggling, whispering.
And then, there’s a hand. On Eijirou’s shoulder.
It’s Katsuki—Katsuki, with reddening cheeks. A mouth, pressed in a thin line. Eyes, darting every which way.
He looks almost nervous. Hesitant. This expression—it’s at odds with his usual gruffness.
“You okay there, buddy?” Eijirou says softly, thinking that maybe Katsuki wants to leave now. He squashes down a small flare of disappointment. He’d expected this, after all.
Katsuki just nods, and when his mouth opens, “I want to leave” is not the sentence that comes tumbling down but an invitation. An invitation, to go on the dancefloor. Katsuki says this like maybe, just maybe he genuinely wants him to.
Eijirou gapes, then beams.
Accepts Katsuki’s hand.
It turns out to be a terrible dance, because it’s like they’ve both got two left feet. Katsuki is too stiff, too disjointed with his motions, and Eijirou’s apologizing every five seconds for stomping on Katsuki’s shoes. The gym still smells like dirty socks, and everywhere they go they are jostled by limbs, and costume parts, and more goddamn limbs.
Despite all this, Eijirou’s never felt happier; his heart is practically soaring up into the clouds.
Once the song ends, the crowd disperses, settling back into a buzzing sameness.
“Wanna get out of here?” Eijirou asks, and Katsuki nods, grateful.
And so they go outside.
The stars are beautiful out here, tonight. Sparkling like crushed diamond. They are spread out overhead like a thousand million bobbing lights. A dusting of glitter.
The breeze is cool, brushing against Eijirou’s skin. Smelling of damp earth, of dew-speckled grass.
Eijirou turns his head to say something to Katsuki.
Then, he finds that Katsuki’s face is close to his. So, so close.
This close, Katsuki’s eyes look soft, like they’ve never been. Crimson, given a mercury-luminous, starry sheen.
The warm bubble in Eijirou’s chest expands. His lips blossom into a smile. His hand finds Katsuki’s, and they interlace.
And soon, their mouths are finding each other, too.
This kiss is not the stuff of fairytales. It is kind of like a fight, every step of the way. A jab, a cross, a swing. Katsuki kisses with fire, with the same type of determination he channels into most things. He kisses Eijirou like Eijirou is the goal, and he is overcompensating, for all the times he didn’t take matters into his own hands.
For all the times he could’ve kissed Eijirou but didn’t.
It is a graceless fumble of two people still learning how their mouths should fit together, where their hands should go. Eijirou is needy, and overeager, and Katsuki lets him set the pace. Lets him take whatever he wants.
They only break apart when they are both red in the face from lack of air.
“So, Mario Kart at my place tomorrow?” Eijirou gasps out, and Katsuki kisses him again.
(Later on, they won’t end up doing much of Mario Kart.)