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As most insanities in Katsuki’s life do, this one starts with Mina casually strolling into his dorm to throw herself across his bed. A routine enough occurrence for Tuesday Cross Stitch Night. Right down to the fact that she’s three minutes late.
Katsuki grunts at her in greeting. His typical way of saying ‘I’m almost done with this problem’. He expects her to groan and complain.
Instead, he gets a disgustingly lovelorn sigh. Which is, frankly, ridiculous. There’s absolutely nothing to lorn over and hasn’t been for a year and a half! Katsuki would know considering the suffering he underwent to get Mina and her girlfriend together. Unless…
Mildly alarmed and trying not to show it, Katsuki glances at her from the corner of his eyes. After assessing the shit-uation, he finds her both lacking in despair and cross-stich materials. Annoyed, Katsuki beans her in the head with an eraser. Right in center of her pouty forehead.
His friends and their fucking dramatics, Jesus Christ.
“Oi, Pinky, how is this supposed to be a bitch and stitch, if there’s nothing to stitch?”
Mina’s squeak trails off in a whiny whine. “Kanae is usually supposed to bring them but she isn’t coming today.”
“Yeah, and so it was your responsibility,” returns Katsuki, flicking a paper clip at her nose which she fails to bat away with another squeal.
“I’m too sad,” Mina sighs, elongating the last word as she rolls over. Then, Mina shoves her face into Bakugou’s pillow in a level best effort to smother herself. “Goo vye cwoo wood.”
Katsuki jumps up to yank the pillow away, “Hey, hey, no killing yourself with my stuff! I don’t want your freeloading ghost to haunt my shit!”
“Katsuki, let me die, I’m suffering—”
“Yeah, from idiocy.”
Bakugou succeeds in retrieving his pillow. Ultimately saving his property from an ill-fated exorcism related death. Mina sags into his bed, almost seeming to deflate, accepting her misfortune of continued existence.
Katsuki beans her with the pillow too.
“Rude,” Mina deadpans, jolting to a sitting position with a mock severe expression on her face. She wags the re-acquisitioned pillow at him passionately. “Keep treating me like that and you’ll never get to hear the gossip I got!”
“I don’t want to hear your shitty gossip if you can’t even be bothered to bring the supplies,” Katsuki retorts. Nonetheless, in the same breath he snags the basket of supplies from under his bed and jabs Mina none so gently in the sides with it. “Scoot the fuck over, asshole.”
Ashido obliges, sitting up and scooting over so they can both sit comfortably on the bed with their backs to the wall and legs outstretched. Excitement seems to infuse her as her hands flap away, “Oh, oh, do tell, is it another Denki episode?”
“Who said I had anything to say?”
“You woulda made me go get the stuff if you didn’t.”
Bakugou quickly snatches the project he’d started last time and beings furiously stitching.
“’M busy, you go first.”
All life seems to go out of Ashido’s eyes as she lets out an unearthly groan. The sort that makes Bakugou wonder if she’s attempting to expel demon. Her body goes boneless and she keels over into his shoulder. In a gently and calculated manner so as not to interrupt his stich of course. Even hell couldn’t save her from his wrath if she ruins his cross-stich.
“I am so tired of Deku and Todoroki right now, like, you have no idea.”
Bakugou snorts. “Tired of what?”
“Like you don’t know!”
Katsuki gave her a single raised brow in response. Mostly because, no, he didn’t know. Slightly because he’s majorly a petty bastard.
For, even if Mina had decided to draw on her eyebrows today, she completely lacks the ability to return the gesture. Which irritates her on an irrationally fundamental level. He knows it does. She knows he knows it does because she always scrunches her nose when she’s irritated and Katsuki is nothing but observant.
In short, perfectly acceptable payback for her forgetfulness earlier.
Except, her nose does not scrunch. Not even the tiniest wrinkle. Instead, Ashido gives him the sort of dead-eyed vacant stare that wouldn’t look all that out of place on their caterpillar-esque homeroom teacher. It’s mildly horrifying when combined with her otherwise cherubic like face.
Slowly, Mina says, “Tired of their sheer obliviousness when it comes to their mutual affections for one another?”
Bakugou pauses in his stitching, looks up, and blinks.
“You’re fucking me.”
A beat.
Ashido blinks back. “You’re fucking me.”
Both of Katsuki’s eyebrows go up at the sheer incredulity this dawning revelation invokes.
“They have literally been pining since the first sports festival—how do you not know this? You are literally the matchmaker here! Half the class has gotten together because of you and you missed these oblivious idiots?!” shouts Mina.
Her arms wave wildly about to express the sheer disbelief as she rants. A stray limb knocks Katuski’s cross-stitch and he doesn’t even have it in him to be mad because the fuck.
“You’re serious?”
“You’re serious?”
“The fuck you are!”
“The fuck I am!”
“Get the fuck out—”
Ashido drops her face into one hand holding up the other to stop Katsuki. She looks utterly defeated. Devastated. Absolute dismay bleeds from every line of her body.
“Katsuki, they’re literally all over each other all the time. Physically if not spiritually. Please, please, tell me you’re not serious or I’m seriously going to have to impale you to put me out of my misery.”
“Deku’s a touchy fuck!” Bakugou points out a touch defensively.
One, because that’s a correct and thus valid point.
Two, there’s no way the nerd developed a crush on IcyHot of all people without Bakgou’s knowing.
Mina rolls her eyes, flapping a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, but Todoroki reciprocates.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes right back. The action dripping such potent disdain that Mina’s eyeroll wouldn’t even dare show its face at the eye-rolling competition for shame. No one out sasses Bakugou Katsuki in his house.
“Don’t act like Frogface and Chipmunk Cheeks aren’t chummy with him all the time. The other two sleep, literally sleep, together with him.”
“Duh, cause Tsu and Todoroki are, like, platonic soulmates and Ochako is totally Tsu’s romantic soulmate and that’s just how they be, but they have to ask! Deku doesn’t and it doesn’t bother Todoroki at all! I know because I asked Ochako who asked Tsu who asked Todoroki and then Tsu told me.”
Mina throws him a triumphant look, coming in strong after her sound sassing defeat.
Katsuki deflects her attack and comes in hot with an unimpressed look akin to a particularly picky pug presented with subpar dry kibble after being on a decadent wet food diet for ten years straight.
“I’m ninety-percent sure the nerd’s his first best friend,” Bakugou points out.
Read as: first positive figure in his life that is solely positive with no ugly trappings like trauma, guilt, guilty trauma, or all of the above.
“And what about the homoerotic yearning tension that’s ‘thic’ with only one ‘c’ because that’s all there’s room for when the two of them so much as look at each other?”
Bakugou squints. Put on the back foot. Because, well, he had noticed that.
However, Katsuki is also friends with one Kirishima. Which, if their friendship has taught him anything, it’s that friendship is exactly fifty percent lifting one another up—figuratively and literally—and fifty percent (homo)erotic subtext.
Katsuki says as much only for Ashido to give him a noncommittal wiggly hand gesture.
His argument crumples like so much wet tissue paper. Not even the high-quality soft kind with excellent absorbency and some lotion for soothing irritated skin. Just plain negative five ply kids’ birthday party napkins tissue paper printed with five-years-ago’s most popular kid friendly character.
“Fuck,” declares Katsuki emphatically while Mina crosses her arms and nods triumphantly. “What the fuck.”
“I know,” groans Mina slumping forward. “Aren’t they supposed to be smart, observant heroes? At this point they’re practically skull-fucking every time they meet eyes, and they still haven’t figured it out!”
Katsuki grimaces. Honestly, he’s not entirely how first-year him ever sized up those two as competition. They’re as competent as doormats. As intelligent as door nails. If other forms of alien life came to visit the planet Earth and met those two, they’d firmly believe humans an unintelligent lifeform who came into the role of dominant species by cataclysmically dumb luck.
God, he has so much work to do.
“I’ll fix it,” Katsuki says as if his success is as factual as the rising of the sun.
“Thank god,” says Mina with the tone of someone washing their hands of the ordeal. Someone with no more stake in it than a blade of grass. Without a care as to whether the issue became resolved. “By the by, you mis-threaded here.”
Bakugou curses at the stitch she pointed out, moving to fix it immediately.
He doesn’t need her support anyway. He’s goddamn Bakugou Katsuki, Destroyer of Single-Living, and he will get those two headless chickens together no matter the very reasonable, bargain rate cost!
He will fix this.
Bakugou does not, in fact, fix it.
It starts out simply enough, as all things destined for the depths of hell do—good intentions and all that.
Since they’re so gone over each other, Katsuki figures that giving them the right atmosphere will surely do the trick for him. He finds a middle-ish restaurant, one high enough to have the right atmosphere but not one so high class Dumbass Number One breaks his brain over thinking all the food he knows nothing about, tells Dumbass Number Two he’ll be paying, and that three of them are going to go out to dinner whether they like it or not.
Exactly in that order, too.
Two days later, since it is a fancier restaurant, they’re dressed up just a notch below business casual—not a single tacky as hell ‘fancy shirt’ t-shirt to be seen. (Katsuki had made sure of it, through use of Kirishima). Katsuki even got Mina to do Halfie’s hair (all though as far as Todoroki knows Mina attacked him with hair gel and threatened to cut his throat if he messed it up) so he only looks half—ha—as scruffy than usual. Katsuki is of course dressed up as well, but even he knows when not to upstage the main event and had gone for a look so casually dressed up, he may as well be reclining on a lawn chair.
The lightning is perfect. Not bright and especially not dim, like half the restaurants think is romantic but only leaves you squinting unattractively. Instead diffuse in a way that illuminated everything from the centerpiece of red roses and white lilies to accented green tablecloth and seating in a softer light.
All three of them make it to the venue in one piece and on time, even!
The three of them take their seats, Deku chatting amicably, Todoroki listening attentively, and Bakugou pretending to focus intently on the menu while discreetly setting up a text to Ashido for their planned phone call. Katsuki sees victory so clearly like finely spun glass. Eight minutes for Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum to figure out what they want and get ready to order, then Mina will call him crying absurdly loud about a fight she and Yukino ‘had’, putting relationships on the other two’s minds, and clearly Katsuki could never leave his good friend in a lurch so he’d leave without a so much a by your leave grumbling at Mina to calm down.
The idiots would continue dinner since they’d already ordered, and everyone knew not to waste food even in peripheral earshot of Bakugou. Alone with only each other, subtle hints of romances poking at them from every direction, there’s no way at least one of them won’t confess!
Katsuki counts down the minutes before folding his menu away just as the other two do after some low murmuring, right on schedule. He’s just about to call the waiter over—
“Er, Kacchan?”
“What.”
“Maybe we can wait just a minute more?” asks Midoriya, shifting a little uncomfortably.
Bakugou stares back placidly, venomous tone anything but. “Why?”
“Ah, well, you see, it’s just, me and Todoroki have something to talk about with you—”
“Well, apparently, you waited this long so why can’t you wait a minute more—”
“But we really—”
“Come on, nerd—"
If this interruption went on any longer Katsuki’s bedtime would be at stake and he would not have that. No sir.
“Midoriya and I wanted to say we appreciate the sentiment but we both just think of you as a friend,” interrupts Todoroki, voice mild as milk.
Katsuki’s entire world collapses into a singularity of confusion. His mouth gapes, his eyebrows lose their eternal furrow to disappear into his hair line, and his gaze is four steps away from murderous for once. Peripherally he’s aware of the clock ticking down but it’s all he can do to look back and forth between the two across from him silently.
On his left, Deku, with that annoying I’m nervous but I want you to stop noticing I’m nervous anxious fidgeting of his hands and the not unkind but nonetheless determined set of his brow and jaw. On his right, IcyHot, meeting his gaze with equally blank eyes hands steepled in front of him—and what the fuck, what is he trying to be some B-level movie villain?
“What,” Bakugou barely manages to croak out.
“Midoriya and I—”
Katsuki shuts that right the fuck down with an entirely impolite use of his quirk because, no. He’s not certain he survived hearing it the first time, but he knows he won’t survive the next.
“I heard you, Halfie! What I’m asking is how in the fuck did you get that idea?!”
Midoriya shrugs, eyes darting nervously about, but his voice is steady as he rambles, “Well, Kacchan never really asks to go anywhere with us—well, not anywhere like this. And even if you did, you never take anyone to a restaurant since the food never measures up to your standards. You’d rather make it yourself. Not to mention this is a nice restaurant and the décor is clearly custom as demonstrated by literally every other table looking different from this. Plus, you’re the one who decided all of it—”
“—you thought this was a date,” Katsuki interrupts flatly.
“Erm, yes?” says Midoriya. Todoroki nodding beside him.
“A date I asked you on.”
Todoroki nods again.
“Because I had feelings for both of you.”
Midoriya hums an affirmative.
“And that I was going to confess those feelings. To you both. Here. Today. Right now. To you. Feelings,” hisses Katsuki, words becoming more strangled as his went on. It felt like a boa constrictor of sheer embarrassment attempting to crush his ribcage.
Todoroki tilts his head ever so curiously, “Weren’t you?”
Silence reigns between the three of them for several long moments while Katsuki hard resets his brain because fucking really?! They don’t notice each other pining for years but oh, Bakugou does one thing out of character and suddenly they’re romance detectives! If romance detectives made baseless accusations.
Bakugou bites the head of the snake of and rips its body to tiny, tiny shreds by taking his phone from his pocket and holding it to his ear.
“Pinky’s calling me,” he says, standing robotically. “Gotta go.”
“I didn’t hear your phone--?”
“Pinky. Is. Calling. Bye,” reiterates Bakugou forcefully.
Katsuki stares at each of them dead of the eye in turn before slowly spinning on his heel. Leaving the restaurant in what is definitely not a scurry but also probably not the leisurely saunter he wishes it was, dignity trailing like unwanted toilet paper stuck to his shoe.
Mina’s planned call comes in a minute later. Katsuki answers by screaming wordlessly for five minutes straight. To which Mina’s only reply is a deeply kindred sigh, “Oh, honey. I know.”
Luckily for the lovestruck idiots, Bakugou is never without a backup plan.
This plan takes a lot less finagling and requires significantly less interpretation on Todoroki and Midoriya’s part. Since Bakugou apparently had greatly overestimated their combined sapience.
Bakugou goes to the nearest flower shop, buys two bouquets, one for Deku with a from Todoroki tag, one for Todoroki with a from Midoriya tag, sets them up to be delivered on the same day, one at the dorms where Bakugou will make sure Deku will be, and one at the library where Kirishima and the goof troop will make sure Todoroki is. Boom. Bang. Done.
The next day rolls around, Bakugou keeps Deku thoroughly busy and planted in the common room of the dorms with an entertaining All Might movie marathon. Vigorous debate included.
At two twenty-two pm, the delivery person arrives.
Katsuki vaults himself over the back of the couch the moment the knock begins to sound. Knowing if he doesn’t get there before the rest of the screaming clowns, he unfortunately shared living space with did, it might never get to the intended recipient at all. But instead get caught up in an unfortunately destructive detective demonstration of class 3-A’s collective inability to hold onto a single brain cell longer than forty seconds.
Just as expected, Bakugou tackles Dunce, bypasses Spiderman, and slips under Emo Turkey. There are at least fifty more shouting gremlins behind him. The cut is uncomfortably close as Katsuki yanks open the door, yanks the delivery clipboard from one startled delivery man, yanks his pen across the paper in what might pass for a signature—you know, if you squinted with the lights off—then yanks the bouquet inside, elbowing and fighting grabby hands all the while. But in the end, only Katsuki holds the bouquet.
“DEKU!!” Katsuki shouts, ducking back the way he came. Elbowing Ghostie and vaulting Earphones, he lands on the back of the couch like an avenging angel of…couches. Or something. Unceremoniously he drops the bouquet which Deku can do nothing but catch. “PERSONAL DELIVERY.”
Deku the ungrateful fuck for some incomprehensible reason slumps into the couch like a sad deflated balloon.
“Kacchan…I thought we talked about this…”
Katsuki squints at him with an unfortunate creeping chill. A certain familiar chill if he could just put his foot on it—
“…at the restaurant…”
“OH, FOR FUCKS SAKE! LOOK AT THE TAG!”
“Oh…oh! It says it’s from…Todoroki? Oh my god…”
Finally, success. There’s absolutely no way this can go wrong from here. Bakugou gives himself a celebratory pat on the back because certainly no one else is going to. He then throws himself back onto the couch to watch the show.
“I…oh, Kacchan, what do you think this means?”
Katsuki presses the play button on the paused movie and shrugs a shoulder as carelessly as careless be. “Look at the flowers.”
Midoriya’s eyes flick between Bakugou and the bouquet uncertainly. Nervously, he bites a fingernail as he carefully sets the arrangement on the coffee table. He mutters aimlessly to himself for several minutes. With the patience of a saint, Katsuki refuses the urge to snap at him for it.
“I mean, I am looking at the flowers, Kacchan…But I still don’t understand what I’m supposed be seeing. Is it a code? A secret message?” Midoriya squints suspiciously at the heart patterned paper wrapped around flowers. He tilts the bouquet this way and that before a light goes off.
Finally, Bakugou thinks. The dawning crystallization of all his hard work is at hand.
“Oh my god, those new flower beds behind the dorms were a secret encoded message to a secret lesson to learn about codes wasn’t it? I knew it—oh, no, oh, no, no, no, what does it say Kacchan?! Is Todoroki in trouble?!” Deku inhales like he’s trying to suck his soul right out of the hands of the devil. “Wait, even more importantly, there was a secret lesson—and I missed it?! Aizawa’s gonna skin me, Kacchan!”
Katsuki’s eye twitches as he straightens up. He even pauses the movie even though the nerd’s seen this more times than either of them can collectively count. He’s a goddamn paradigm of consideration.
So, why is he being put though this hell?
“No, you idiot! It’s just plain flower language!”
Like a fire doused in every flame retardant known to man, Midoriya slumps with boneless relief. Bakugou is given exactly two seconds of reprieve before he perks right back up, voice rising several octaves into his ‘Katsuki Fanboy’ tone.
“Flower language? Kacchan you know flower language?” asks Deku, eyes bright with admiration. Then he blinks, tapping a finger curiously to his chip. “Wait, did you do the flower beds?”
In all ways but physical, Bakugou facepalms.
“What. Flowers. There. Deku,” Bakugou grits out.
“Oh there’s…uhm, magenta, uh, zinnias? I think. Pink and red roses, heather, forget-me-nots, and dandelions?”
“Lasting affection, honesty and love, thankfulness, true love and memories, faithfulness and happiness,” rattles off Katsuki exactly how he reads of a list of memorized ingredients.
Bakugou stares Deku down, daring the boy to misinterpret this. Deku’s eyes get wider and wider until they take up nearly the entirety of his head like a stereotypical alien. The boy’s mouth drops open. Arms go slack. Slowly, Katsuki sees a shift in Deku’s green eyes. Anticipation grows in his gut, butterflies tickling up his throat pressing against his teeth, trying to be released in a victorious howl.
(Katsuki forgot that butterflies were also warning signs.)
“Wow…,” breathes out Deku. Eyes taking on a suspiciously wet shine. A matching wobbly smile crawling across his face. “Todoroki…he must truly care about me—”
This is it; the moment of revelation has come like the crack of dawn—
“—as a friend!”
Those three words instantly instill a complex feeling in Katsuki. The sort of feeling as vast as it is varied. Simultaneously all encompassing like the gaseous nebulae of the outer reaches of space and a pinpoint eruption of nuclear fission. So grand and complicated the emotion, Katsuki finds there are not enough words in the Japanese lexicon, loan words and all, to describe it. As inexplicable, inexact, and incalculable as it is, it inexorably, like night snuffing the day, lead to a single, fierce desire in Katsuki.
That is, to introduce a chair to Deku’s head.
Repeatedly.
(He has since been informed that this is the emotion one feels when angry. Also known as anger.)
((Somehow the goof troop’s experience with Todoroki is even worse.))
Luckily for everyone involved, Bakugou Katsuki also always has a backup for his backup. A backup-backup, if you will.
Since simplicity ran over the cat in the bag last time, maybe middling complexity will be key to letting it free. Taking it home, bathing it, grooming it, feeding and caring for it until it grew into a lifelong commitment with a house, a dog, a white-picket fence and 2.5 children.
(Or whatever floats the Pine Twins to eternal happiness. Katsuki won’t judge.)
Simplicity: if the two of them are made to kiss through orchestrated circumstances surely, they will thusly realize their feelings for one another.
Complexity: Bakugou has to track down a guy Dunce-bolt knows, who knows another guy, who knows a girl, who knows a nonbinary pal, who has a date mate, who has a sibling, who has a mother, who knows another mother, who knows the girlfriend of her son, who knows another guy with a particularly particular probability quirk.
Middling: orchestrating a spin the bottle game with a rigged bottle and getting the two to kiss.
Together: the perfect plan.
Mina, ever the mastermind, gets a small inconspicuous group of them together for an equally (false) conspicuous reason of matchmaking…Denki and Eijirou that is. As ever the supportive friend, it’s easy for Mina to convince Midoriya to come along as emotional support. It takes finagling, but Momo ever the life-saving co-conspirator, manages to get Todoroki to go along with it as well.
So, there they are: Mina, Momo, Eijirou, Denki, Shouto, Izuku, and Katsuki himself, sitting in close knit circle on Momo’s bed. A small lap desk in the center with one Absolutely Non-Brand Brown Soda Bottle that No One Would Recognize. There’s plenty of hemming and hawing and giggling and messing around, until Momo unleashes the full force of her chillingly polite smile and directs them back on task.
Momo starts them off, landing on Deku. It’s a lighthearted affair, Midoriya easily sliding over to peck her on the nose, to a chorus of good-natured heckling from the rest of the peanut gallery. Momo laughs and gifts him with one kiss to his cheek. Deku returns to his seat, hand settling on the bottle with earnestness. Everyone in the circle (minus one continuously distracted Todoroki) holds their breath as they watch him spin. The bottle of fate whirls and lands—predictably, since it’s rigged—on Shouto.
Immediately, in a manner witness only in anime, Shouto and Izuku light up in red. They blush so loudly that Aizawa, nearly on the opposite side of U.A.’s sizeable campus, picks at one ear.
The circle of friends, minus two dangerously oblivious fools, share glances of mutual miserable commiseration of the true ineptitude of their friends.
Slowly, like a turtle, Izuku awkwardly scoots his way to Shouto. An almost perfect replication of two steps forward and one step back. Rocking slowly and inevitably towards Todoroki, Deku offers easy going assurances that they don’t really have to kiss. To which Todoroki agrees but assures it’s equally alright if they do kiss. The two of them practically trip over each other in a looping record of well-meaning nonsense. This sends ripples of now blue-faced eye-locking through the rest of the room.
They’re across from each other now. Midoriya stares at Todoroki. Todoroki stares at Midoriya.
Momo, Mina, Eijirou, Denki, and Katsuki stare at them staring at each other.
What follows, not even Kouda would kind enough to describe it as kissing. Or even a kiss. It hardly even classifies as a peck. Calling it such would be to insult all other pecks, given freely in open affection. In fact, calling it peck would be an insult to anything and everything romance.
What follows is, in the strictest sense of terms, the two of them hitting each other in the face with their lips. Nothing more, no less.
If they hadn’t already been on the nail-biting edge of anticipation and used up every bit of oxygen holding their collective breath. The rest of the circle would have released a groan heard across the world.
Voice cracking, desert dry of hope or faith in her fellow man, Momo gently urges Todoroki to spin. Forgetting in her despair that the bottle is, again, rigged, so the two could only spin each other. Everyone else’s souls all but expelled from their body from the sheer horror that is watching these two dance around each other, so no one stops her. Katsuki can only watch as the bottle spins and spins and lands right on Izuku. The two again bleeding so much red, Aizawa, now several prefectures over, must fight the shiver that comes with the sensation of half a pack of elephants dancing over his grave.
Bakugou decides right then and there if he must watch that tragedy occur one more time, he will literally become a villain to commit crimes against humanity. Thus decided, he snatches the bottle and launches himself out the four-story window screaming.
(Un)luckily for his sanity, Bakugou Katsuki always has a backup for his backup-backup. And a backup for his backup-backup-backup and a backup for his backup-backup-backup-backup and so on and so forth, etcetera, etcetera, etc.
It’s a very long semester.
Four weeks, three-thousand yen, eight sunglasses, three windows, ten marshmallows, nineteen mistletoe, two wedding gowns, seventeen golden dress code violations, nine splinters, seven faked injuries, a hoard of feral dogs, and a common room couch later finds Katsuki shredding his last bits of sanity by the skin of his teeth.
Dogging his heels, the fish of defeat grins at him with too human teeth. It begs him to give up. To give in. But Katsuki will not. He cannot. Bakugou Katsuki is a born winner. He and he alone is the chosen prodigal son of the universe. Planets align for him. Bakugou will not bow to the whimsical whims of two…two…romantic troglodytes from the single cellular era!
Mind made up, Katsuki decides he needs a good bitch and stich to clear his head. He promises himself that this is it. This will be the last planned attempt and it will work. Those two tone-deaf lovebirds will get together. They will be fucking happy and grossly lovey-dovey! If they don’t, then Katsuki can only conclude that the world is a simulation run by aliens to harvest his electrical brainwaves as energy.
Or some such shit.
He sends a quick warning message to Mina, grabs his materials, and stomps his way to her room like war machine on a warpath.
The rest of the Class A Clown Act scurry away like clowns from the clown car, intuited by the unfortunate hive mind they seem to share, that Katsuki meant business. And they best make way or lose their clown license. He arrives just as Mina opens her door with over dramatic flair, directing him inside. The two of them wordlessly settle on a dedicated bunch of overtly gaudy shag carpeted bean bags.
Projects come out, thread goes into needles, and then the Rant begins. This is the sort of Rant that people write soliloquies about. An impassioned speech over which people would go to war or peace. A monologue of epic world destroying and world building proportions. This is the shit people write movies about.
Bakugou growls on and on, retreading misfortunes Ashido has been privy too and all those she hasn’t. There are an astounding number of attempts that he lays bare at her feet, each toil foiled by a pair of stubbornly brainless maniacs without a single atom of romanticism in their bodies nor a single base pair of a clue in their DNA.
Two hours and four cross-stitches later, Katsuki concludes his retched spew of romantic misfortunes with a resounding plea to All Might himself (for surely, for such misery to exist, god must be dead), “—What do I have to do, huh?! Drop an entire building on them!?”
Then alarmingly, Katsuki goes silent.
Mina waits for a moment. Maybe two. But Katsuki picks up neither his conversational nor stitching thread. Merely stares off into fourth dimensional space, silent. Still. Cogs of his brain audibly stalled in a crescendo of awful proportions.
Perking up like first daisy of Spring or like a dog’s ears before the storm, Mina nudges him with a foot. Leadingly she prompts, “Go on…”
But again, Bakugou does not reply. With an eerie silence reminiscent of an avalanche viewed from afar, Katsuki packs his materials and projects away. Mina can only look on as he turns to her, something unfathomably, unspeakably manic gleaming in his eye.
When Bakugou finally speaks, it’s a simple, ‘I’ll be back’ and then he’s gone like an avenging apparition.
Mina stares at the door, dumbfounded. Her own brain’s cogs audibly grinding to catch up. To process what exactly just happened. Like a squirrel on speed she shrieks with abrupt realization. Scrambling off the bed and after him with all the dignity and pose of someone chasing a loose goose, Mina screams futilely, “WAIT! KATSUKI, YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS!!”
[AlienQueen]: MCCHICKEN HAS MCFREAKING LOST IT