Work Text:
He’s so soft with Kirishima, Katsuki couldn’t stand it.
It made his teeth itch, his lip curl, he’s so fucking uncomfortable that he almost wanted to kick himself in the face for the weakness. Maybe after he kicked that fucker from the future.
Katsuki, in the beginning, was proud and fucking weightless with it. His future self was big and broad and had the same mean curve to his mouth that kept away the weak-willed and weak-stomached. He didn’t show it, because he didn’t want to be compared to anyone, let alone the 30-year-old version of him, but Katsuki was pleased. He liked how the rest of 1-A seemed to straighten up and stare at the man he would grow into, at the scars carved across his forearms, at the one starburst behind his right ear, onto his scalp, that made Deku wince, his creepy little brain probably already thinking of all the scenarios that would drive Katsuki to set off an explosion so close to his head. Shit, even Katsuki couldn’t decide if he felt thrilled or repulsed by the sorts of things his older self must’ve seen that would turn his body into a battleground despite the heavy, covering fabric Katsuki chose for his hero uniform.
He had caught Kirishima’s eyes during the morning session, casually, just by cocking his head and tipping back.
Katsuki would never get tired of the way Kirishima looked at him. He could destroy mountains on the admiration in the other boy’s wide eyes alone.
Then they got to afternoon training, with the entirety of 1-A still clucking about time travel and Katsuki even though they should have been focusing on the round-robin sparring All Might had announced for the day.
His future self, without much argument, agreed to help supervise the sparring. He hadn’t actually said much, Katsuki noted, choosing instead to let Aizawa tell his story. Now, during training, he was watching and giving concise and quiet feedback. He had yet to make his way to him and Kaminari. In fact, his future self had looked at him only once, eyes cool and assessing as Aizawa introduced him to the class.
Katsuki felt his palms heat up and he almost wanted to launch Kaminari across the gym, except that the dunce was barely fighting back as it was and he probably was hoping for Katsuki to put him out of commission so he could toddle back to Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber and gossip about Katsuki’s future self. And Katsuki refused to give him the satisfaction.
“I don’t want to say he’s nice,” Kaminari said slowly, protective glasses on his forehead. “But if you’re one extreme and Midoriya is the other, he’s definitely somewhere closer--”
“Finish that thought,” Katsuki growled, “and I will blow up those dumb shoes you just bought.”
“Dude! Those are limited edition--”
“Don’t care.” Katsuki didn’t even look at him, eyeing his future self walking away from Icy-Hot and the invisible girl. He was approaching Kirishima and Ponytail now, who also were half-heartedly circling each other.
“Is nobody taking this shit seriously?” He huffed, watching as Kirishima ignored Ponytail’s wide-open torso when she smacked at him with her staff, absolutely no finesse today.
Kirishima turned his head, saying something to his future self, the other boy’s open and cheerful even as his forehead hardened under the metal staff. His future self’s expression barely changed, only Katsuki knew the difference because it was his face, but his eyes…
His eyes went soft, and his mouth went soft, before he shook his head and, even from this distance, Katsuki could read the almost hidden Eijirou on his future self’s lips before he turned away to the next pair.
-
Two days later and Katsuki was fucking sick to death of seeing his future self lurking around. He’d always be around for afternoon training, sometimes showing up at mealtimes like Katsuki hadn’t been cooking for himself since he was 10. He just showed up, in black trousers and a black, long-sleeved shirt that must have been Aizawa’s because it was too small for the shoulders Bakugou will soon have.
This version of Katsuki had fewer edges, less bite, so his classmates flocked to him easily. He always said the right thing, never more, never less. Katsuki figured at some point someone’s lecture in diplomacy would stick; he may not always take criticism or direction well, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t consider it. If unsolicited advice can get him to the top faster, Katsuki wouldn’t forget it.
And during it all, even surrounded by the entire class, his older self would just watch. Inevitably, his dark eyes would find Kirishima and stay.
Katsuki had taken to eating on the roof and making dinner while everyone was at the cafeteria just to avoid the pretender.
“Pretender? Only you would get pissed off at meeting your future self,” Sero sighed. “Big Bakugou is pretty chill.”
“‘Big Bakugou?’” Katsuki snarled. “What the fuck--”
“He’s, like, several centimeters taller than you.”
“Shut the fuck up, did I ask?”
“You kind of did,” Kirishima said mildly, stretched out next to Katsuki. Katsuki was aware that he could reach over and tug him even closer. “And it seems rude to call him Old Bakugou. He’s only 30.”
They’re in the dorms, sprawled out on the couches in the sitting area. Kaminari, upside down and with the charging cable of his Switch 3 in his mouth, grinned. “We could call him Pro Hero Bakugou and you Kaachan.”
“Hah, so you want to die today--”
“King Explosion Murder and Blasty?”
“Bakugou 1 and Bakugou 2?”
“Bastards!” Katsuki let his palms crackle, but Sero and Kaminari only howled harder, throwing out more names (“Bakuman and Bakuboy?”) until even Kirishima couldn’t hide his grin anymore and dissolved into laughter, falling into Katsuki’s spot when the boy shot to his feet to better threaten the other two.
-
They weren’t allowed to ask the pretender any questions about the future, under pain of expulsion (or worse, Aizawa had grinned, a terrible dark thing that made the entire room go cold), but that didn’t stop his classmates from crashing by the apartment the school administration granted the pretender. Katsuki refused to go, but the rest of his dumbass friends decided to give him a detailed rundown of all the stupid questions they asked.
“Aren’t you curious? Even a little bit?” Round Face asked, cornering him in the kitchen where Katsuki was supervising Kirishima and stopping him from opening the rice cooker too soon. He had no idea why Kirishima needed to make onigiri at 7:45 p.m., but Katsuki didn’t want to be woken up at 8:15 p.m. by the fire alarm again so here he was.
Katsuki scowled at her, spatula held like a dagger and ready to stab Kirishima in the sternum if he wouldn’t stop trying to peek at the rice. Kirishima, recognizing that Katsuki wasn’t going to relent, pouted and turned to start shredding seaweed for the wrapping. “What’s there to be curious about? I already know I’m the Number 1 hero.”
Uraraka frowned. “Isn’t there anything you want to ask him?”
Katsuki cracked his neck, chin jutted. Sero and Kaminari had been bothering him earlier about the same thing. But there wasn’t anything he needed to ask, needed to confirm.
He chanced a look at Kirishima, eyes flicking over the small bump of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw. The boy was back to hovering by the rice cooker, watching the slow countdown on its digital display.
“You could ask him if you ever master Todoroki’s sister’s mapo tofu?” Kirishima suggested, the strong muscles of his back bunching as he shrugged. Katsuki thought of the pretender’s eyes on Kirishima and scowled.
“You couldn’t even taste the difference!”
“Mm, but Todoroki could.” The rice cooker beeped and Kirishima immediately flipped it open. “He said yours had too much salt.”
Uraraka, perched on the counter now and studying the jar of pickled plums Kirishima had found somewhere in the back of one of the cupboards, added, “Hers was also less oily.”
“You didn’t even try it!” At Kirishima, who’s got his hands hardened and poised to dive into the steaming rice. “Fucking give it a minute. Go chop up the plums or something.”
“Can I have an onigiri, Kirishima?”
“Of course!”
Katsuki set to work, spooning the rice into a bowl so it’d be easier to scoop out. Kirishima hadn’t even started chopping the plums so he decided to tackle that since Kirishima probably wouldn’t chop them fine enough. Besides, it seemed that Kirishima wanted to actually shape the onigiri.
“What’re they for anyway?” Uraraka, not helping at all, leaned back as Katsuki began to chop. "I've never seen you cook before."
“They’re for Future Bakugou,” Kirishima said, not noticing Katsuki’s knife skidding off the chopping board. Thankfully, Uraraka didn’t notice either.
His breath stuck in his throat, and Katsuki’s jaw worked around the silence. He kicked out the words through his teeth. “You know I can cook, right? That means so can he.”
Kirishima didn’t look at him, but Katsuki could see the pink flush steal down his face, down his neck. He ducked his head, like that would stop Katsuki from staring. “I know,” He said after a moment, looking at the lump of rice in his hand. “It’s dumb.”
Uraraka jumped in, still looking surprised nonetheless. “It’s not dumb! It’s exactly like you to care for your friend, even the grown-up, mature version of him.”
At that, Kirishima looked up finally, the smallest grin on his face. It faltered when he looked at Katsuki. “I just thought that you might like something home-cooked since it’s not like he can go home.” He explained, softly, like Round Face wasn’t sitting right there, a front-row spectator to whatever declaration Kirishima was going to make. “Since you can’t get that, I thought I could do the next best thing.”
The plum was now mush under his blade and Katsuki had no idea what to say. Heat prickled in his face. Just like Kirishima to stop him cold.
“If you--or any of my friends got thrown somewhere in time, I’d hope that you’d find some version of me that would be manly enough to try and help.” Kirishima laughed, softly, so softly. “Even in this kind of small way.”
-
He’s so soft with Kirishima, Katsuki couldn’t stand it.
It started with Kamino, with Kirishima a beacon in the night sky. His hair, his eyes, the demand in his voice as he threw out his hand and offered the best option Katsuki could take, back to the wall, hand reaching towards his face.
It started at USJ, with Kirishima at his side, confident, vibrant. In Katsuki’s memories, Kirishima’s stance was strong, actions sure. Katsuki wished he had taken a better look, had given more of a shit about the boy who’d eventually erode his defenses down enough that he could get in.
It started with the Sports Festival, with Kirishima demanding Katsuki look at him and see exactly what Kirishima had, an unwavering spirit, a desire to win. With his feet planted, Kirishima was a fortress, impenetrable, broken down only by time. With diligence, endurance, Katsuki would see him become a mountain, unshakable, unbreakable.
It started with a late night, Kirishima refusing to go back to his own room, whining for another movie, another cocoa, for Katsuki to let him on the bed, the floor was so cold, bro.
It started with the provisional licensing exam, Kirishima shoving him out of the way because Katsuki was too blinded by that extra’s taunts, his mind half a dozen steps ahead to his victory to notice that he had yet to strike. Kirishima was always thinking about him, always seeking him out, entering his orbit until Katsuki thought that it would just be them, until the end.
It started with camping, with a nightmare, Kirishima crying out Katsuki’s name, the crack of his voice so familiar to Katsuki that he couldn’t bear it, couldn’t handle knowing that Kirishima screamed in the dark, too. That he dreamt about that night, still. Even mountains hid fissures, subterranean caverns so dark that few could find the bottom.
-
Katsuki followed Kirishima to his older self’s apartment, even though it was late, even though he had to show up with Deku and Icy-Hot at Endeavor’s agency the next day. He had an English short story to review, diagrams to finish because Kirishima was a visual learner, and he needed to order more of that new detergent that did a better job at neutralizing his sweat-soaked clothes and smelled less shitty. He followed Kirishima to his older self’s apartment because Katsuki broke up with Kirishima, but this other Katsuki looked at Kirishima like time only made things worse, that distance really did make the heart grow fonder.
And Kirishima had made him onigiri.
(Kirishima had even put aside three onigiri for him, wrapped in plastic and set in the fridge with a sticky note that had Kirishima’s name on them. Because no one dared to eat Kirishima’s food, not when it was understood that all anyone had to do was ask and Kirishima would give them all of it. Had Kirishima put Katsuki’s name on it, Kaminari would have taken all three and eaten them for fun.)
Hands shoved into his pocket, Katsuki stayed quiet and he could tell it unnerved Kirishima. The other boy kept looking at him, biting his lip, bento pressed against his chest like Katsuki might grab it and blow it up. But he remained quiet, knocking twice on the apartment door.
Katsuki’s older self opened the door. He didn’t look surprised at all, which made sense since he probably remembered this same scene playing out from when he was 16.
He looked like he just got out of the shower, hair still damp and half covered with a towel. Sleep shorts and no shirt, Katsuki could see an ugly scar sprawled across his stomach. There were smaller ones, puckered ones and jagged ones, but this one was the biggest. The skin was raised and pink, faded more as it radiated away from his ribs.
Kirishima took a sharp breath, clenching his teeth and looking up. Clearly there was a question on the tip of his tongue, but the pretender didn’t let him ask it, just took the bento from his arms. “You know I can cook, right?”
“Oh, you sound exactly the same.” Kirishima said, looking back at Katsuki as he slipped into the apartment. His older self cocked his head, looked down on him, and Katsuki sneered.
“We have class tomorrow, Shitty Hair. Come on.”
Kirishima has already disappeared into the apartment and Katsuki sighed, prepared to go drag Kirishima out by his seasonally-inappropriate jacket. His older self stepped into his way, and Katsuki could feel something in his chest twist. What does this pretender think? He’s not above fighting himself; Deku, that asshole, would argue Katsuki does it all the time.
“You regret dumping him yet?”
-
Katsuki’s in a bad mood for the rest of the week, starting little fights and being generally uncooperative to the point where even Kirishima looked exhausted.
“What happened to his character development?” One of his classmates asked. From the corner of his eye, Katsuki could see Kaminari throw his hands in the air with a fuck if I know .
It didn’t help that Kirishima decided he wanted to keep cooking for the pretender. Except for this time he didn’t come to Katsuki for help, he’d ask anyone wandering into the kitchen if they’d be willing to taste test the food. Katsuki would only find out later, when one of his classmates would gush about how Kirishima was learning to cook or how Kirishima was making cute bentos for someone.
(Sometimes, sometimes, Kirishima left him a bento in the fridge. It was small, just enough for him to eat on the train to his internship. Deku looked a little too knowing the first time he pulled it out, looking down at a mix of shrimp and vegetable rolls. Todoroki had just hummed, closing his eyes and saying, “Kirishima let me try some of the shrimp earlier. I liked them.”)
The worst part was that all Katsuki had to do was ask Kirishima to stop. He could say it in passing, he could grab Kirishima’s sleeve and tell him to knock it off, stop fussing . I already rejected you, why do you keep trying--
And Kirishima would stop without argument. He might turn red, get pissy, tell Katsuki he’s a dick, but he’d stop and Katsuki would never have to stay up thinking about how even when he’s given Kirishima every opportunity to stop giving a shit, Kirishima would once again find his way over the hurdle.
He choked on the words each time.
Katsuki’s walking ahead of Half-n-Half and Deku, just fast enough that he can’t hear their bullshit but not so fast that the two bastards might jog to catch up. His forearms ached and all he wanted was to crack an egg into the soup he made over the weekend and drink it peacefully in his room.
Just as he was about to take the dorm steps two at a time, Kirishima exited, pushing the door open with his shoulder, turning to reveal two big tupperware held to his chest. Hair down, nose already turning red in the cold, wearing his backpack, Kirishima caught sight of the three of them and grinned.
“There’s some leftover curry and rice in the kitchen, if you want.” He said, hooking his foot in the door to keep it open. “It’s pretty spicy though, so maybe be careful.”
Katsuki watched Deku and Todoroki thank Kirishima and enter the dorm. Kirishima glanced at him expectantly. When he didn’t move, Kirishima let the door shut and bounded down the steps.
“You look so exhausted, man. Why don’t you just go inside and eat?”
Katsuki refused to even answer that, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as he followed Kirishima towards the old man’s apartment.
Kirishima could keep up a one-sided conversation all day, on anything and nothing. He recounted how Fatgum took him and Tin Man to a daycare today, how one brat’s quirk awakened when he sneezed and suddenly was hovering half a meter off the ground. Scared, he had started crying and floated even higher until Kirishima tugged him down and quieted him.
“I ended up telling a bunch of five-year-olds about how I cut my eye when my quirk manifested,” Kirishima laughed, hefting the tupperware up as they made their way out of the elevator. His scar crinkled when he laughed. “What were you doing when your quirk manifested? You didn’t blow up the jungle gym, did you?”
“I was playing,” Katsuki admitted, the sour lump in his throat getting bigger the closer they got to the door. “Felt my palms burning and then saw the sparks.” All the kids around him had hovered for a closer look, oohing and aahing. Deku had looked like Katsuki brought down the stars.
The door opened before Kirishima could knock and there he was, again, looking at Kirishima and only Kirishima.
“Get in here.”
They ended up staying because the pretender asked if Kirishima had even eaten dinner yet and Katsuki wasn’t about to let Kirishima stay by himself.
-
They were barely official, barely out of the puppy stages of affection. None of their friends even knew. The most they did was exchange close-mouthed kisses in Katsuki’s room, Kirishima squirming when Katsuki put his hands up his shirt. Kirishima was still bruised from the raid, scars spider-silk thin across his body. The medics had been thorough, but even the worst wounds never completely faded. Kirishima didn’t like it when Katsuki touched them, like he didn’t think they were worth Katsuki’s focus, which was stupid because every part of Kirishima was worth it.
Kirishima would put his head on his shoulder and Katsuki would proofread his essays, thinking about how much he wanted to put his hands on Kirishima’s waist, his thighs. The thoughts were nearly overwhelming. Katsuki may never have given much thought to sex or romance or love, but the easy way Kirishima just gave in made him hot, like his hands weren’t weapons, like if Kirishima wasn’t fast enough Katsuki could blow a hole in his chest.
In the end, it wasn’t Katsuki’s hands that did the worst damage.
“Boyfriends?” Katsuki sneered, like his derision could be louder than the slam of his heart. “What kind of kiddie shit is that, Kirishima?”
Kirishima, a fortress when he planted his feet, just looked at him, jaw set. Mulishly, he said, “The kind of kiddie shit I want. Be my boyfriend, Katsuki.”
Fuck. Fucking fuck. Kirishima never did settle for anything less than what he wanted and would throw himself off a ledge to get it. Katsuki inhaled sharply.
“I didn’t think you wanted an entire proposal, Eijirou.” He was still on the bed, Kirishima having hopped to his feet when Katsuki tried to take off his shirt. Kirishima had already jerked him off once, probably still had the bruises on his thighs when Katsuki came because Katsuki was holding him so tight.
Kirishima wasn’t rising to the bait. He never did, letting the worst of Katsuki’s words fade away into the silence as he stared him down with hard eyes. “I want a lot with you, Katsuki.” His name again, shit, Katsuki how could ever go back to being Bakugou now? “But I’ll settle for this, right now.”
Kirishima still had baby fat on his cheeks and that, coupled with his big eyes, made him look more boyish than the others in their class, despite the cut of his muscles, the sharp edges of his body. He was lean, would probably get broader because he was working out and eating more. His quirk needed him to be heavy, so he could hold back an attack, not like Katsuki’s quirk which needed him to be fast and flexible so he could lead one. All together, Kirishima always looked soft without his quirk, but tonight he was a cliffside. He wasn’t going to take Katsuki’s hits.
Even though Katsuki wanted Kirishima by his side, wanted to kick his ass to the top when Kirishima doubted himself because there were few others Katsuki wanted to stay so close, Kirishima was asking for something Katsuki didn’t know he could give, and the uncertainty pissed him off.
Boyfriends. Commitment. Like it wasn’t enough that Katsuki tutored him, fed him, held his fucking hand through the night even though it’d take an extra second to wind up and hit an intruder--Kirishima wanted more . He wasn’t going to settle, and Katsuki was the last person who had the right to ask him to settle.
They were still teenagers. Katsuki had yet to get his hero license, his carefully crafted strategy to get to the top had been derailed by his own weaknesses and here Kirishima was thinking about coffee dates and which of their friends would be the most surprised by their coming out.
It was stupid and unnecessary and Katsuki knew he’d give in to Kirishima in a heartbeat and that thought, that sudden realization sent his mind reeling, blinded by the sudden fear that he’d give everything up for Kirishima.
“I don’t want to be your boyfriend,” Katsuki had said, seeing Kirishima’s tears before they even fell.
(The next day, Kirishima had been fine. He’d slung an arm around Katsuki while they walked to the locker rooms. He had laughed when Katsuki raged at Kaminari for eating the last of the peanut butter, hardening his body when Kaminari dove behind him, seeking refuge. He called Katsuki his best friend on their way to the training grounds, saying that nothing would change and Kirishima wasn’t going to hold it against him, thank you for being honest with me.
After all that, after putting Katsuki on the spot like that, Kirishima acted as though nothing had changed. That it didn’t matter that Katsuki made him cry because he could bounce back to normal and Katsuki was the asshole left holding the pieces.
Katsuki had left the training grounds covered in soot and dust, hands throbbing, every muscle from his neck down twitching, bile on the tip of his tongue down to the pit of his stomach. Thank you for being honest with me .)
-
His future self spooned rice and curry into three bowls, serving Kirishima first and Katsuki next. He didn’t answer any of Kirishima’s teasing questions about the future, except to smirk and say that, last he checked, he was still taller than you, Eijirou .
Katsuki bit down onto the spoon, wanting to rend the metal in half under his teeth. Kirishima had just sulked, poking a bit of carrot left in his bowl until the old man traded bowls with him. The familiarity of the two shouldn’t get to him, but it felt like someone stepping on his chest.
“Don’t you like it?” Kirishima asked. “I added the potatoes before the carrots this time. They're cooked this time.”
“It’s good,” Came the response. How Kirishima thought they sounded the same, Katsuki had no fucking clue. When was the last time Katsuki’s voice made Kirishima light up like that?
“Needed more salt,” Katsuki cut in. Kirishima glanced at his empty bowl and then up at his face. “I didn’t say it was inedible.”
“In about five years you cut back on the salt,” His older self returned, bowl refilled. “Get out your notes, Eijirou. I know you have a make-up quiz tomorrow. Midnight is going to give you special detention if you fail.”
Katsuki hadn’t known that. “What the fuck Shitty Hair, now you’re slacking in the subjects you haven’t failed yet?”
“I read the wrong chapter,” Kirishima grumbled. “And I didn’t fail . I would’ve passed if the quiz was on chapter 17.” Taking out his notes, which are crumpled from being shoved into his backpack, Katsuki swore, Kirishima proceeded to ignore them both.
Katsuki settled into the couch, crossing his arms, closing his eyes. If Kirishima needed him, he’d wake him up.
-
Katsuki woke up to scratchy eyes and a dim room. The television was on, set to a 24-hour news channel that was showing weather updates. Kirishima’s notes were abandoned on the coffee table. The kitchen light was on, and Katsuki licked at his dry lips. Kirishima was probably there, it was time to drag his ass back.
His older self was in the kitchen, too, at the sink. One hand on the counter, wet, and the other on the curve of Kirishima’s cheek. Mouth on his mouth.
Katsuki couldn’t breathe.
“That’s really inappropriate,” Kirishima said quietly, putting space between them. His hand came to rub at his face, at the water the pretender left. He was pink, though, still touching his cheek. His lips. “You--Bakugou. We broke up.”
We broke up. Implying that Kirishima had a hand in their ending. Taking just another hit for Katsuki.
His older self laughed, more of a puff of breath than anything. It made Kirishima blush more. “I couldn’t help it,” He said. “It felt like I was back with my Eijirou. I’m sorry.”
“Do we,” Kirishima licked his lips. “Are we--”
“I was going to ask you to marry me.”
-
At night, Katsuki couldn’t sleep. Awake with the realization, even years later, Kirishima was still his.
The thought haunted him until dawn, and even when he finally fell asleep, his dreams were filled with the memory of Kirishima’s mouth under his.
-
Kirishima continued to cook for him and Katsuki continued to follow him to the pretender’s apartment. He tried not to think about how Kirishima kept coming back, how Kirishima was choosing this 30-year-old version of Katsuki when the original was right there. He’d tell this version about his day, about how he saved a cat from a tree, how he saved an old lady from a mugger’s switchblade. Katsuki had to hear about Kirishima’s day secondhand and would have to wait years until Kirishima would tell him personally.
“I know his Eijirou is somewhere in the future, hoping that someone is taking care of his Bakugou,” Kirishima had said to him, a little snotty, when Katsuki refused to leave for the third time. Tonight’s meal was beef yakisoba. “I’m not going to disappoint him. And what kind of man would I be if I didn’t look out for my friends, even if they’ve been displaced in time?”
“I can take care of myself.” Katsuki had hissed, almost baring his teeth, and kicking at the door. “I don’t need you to mother me.”
“I’m mothering him ,” Kirishima retorted. “You can leave.”
So Katsuki stayed and stayed, falling asleep more than once on the couch to the sight of his older self looking over Kirishima’s shoulder, teaching him trigonometry with a more patient hand than Katsuki could. Katsuki was intimately familiar with self-loathing, but this was a whole new level, he thought, as Kirishima smiled, like that , at someone who wasn’t him.
-
“You’re the first one from our class to hit the top 10,” Katsuki’s future self snapped, so red and furious that even Katsuki tensed. Eijirou had teasingly asked if he ever hits the top 50. “No, Eijirou, fuck Aizawa’s rules, nothing fucking changes if I tell you this. You hold up a goddamn building for hours while civilians are evacuated. You hold up a goddamn building on your shoulders and spend the entire time telling me about this new barbeque place you found on patrol and how you want to go there for your birthday. You tell me to make a reservation now, like you’re running late and not trying to keep an entire tower block from collapsing--”
-
Katsuki’s best explosions always had the biggest wind-ups. Everyone thought his temper was a hair-trigger, but Katsuki knew it worked the same as his quirk. Just, no one ever saw the wind-up.
This explosion’s been building for a week, maybe longer. Maybe it’s been gathering strength since Kirishima stopped making him bentos. Maybe it’s been growing since Kirishima went back to calling him Bakugou and showing up on Thursdays to study.
The trigger was Kirishima thanking Todoroki for his sister’s mapo tofu recipe.
“He’s not going to be your boyfriend either.”
Kirishima stilled, hair still wet under his towel. Katsuki knew he was rushing, had the day off from his internship, and wanted to take the time to make mapo tofu for that dirty old man that Katsuki would become.
No one else was in the locker room. It was a Friday, and everyone else had already disappeared because they had permission to visit home for the weekend. Kirishima was going to stay, because his mother worked nonstop until New Years’ Day, spent a week with her son, buying him whatever he wanted, and then went back to work. Katsuki was going to stay because Kirishima was, too.
“Fuck you,” Kirishima said quietly, pulling the towel off. His hands were clenched into fists. “You’re the one who couldn’t man up and date me.”
Fucking-- “Is that what you think?” He took a step forward, slamming his fist sideways against a locker. “That I was a coward? You’re so fucking ungrateful, I do so much for your thankless ass--”
“Except put a name on what we are.” Kirishima’s in his face now, shouting. “You’ll cook for me, tutor me, walk me to physical therapy, kiss me under the sunset, get jealous when I pay attention to anyone who’s not you, but you won’t call me your boyfriend. If you’re not a coward, what are you?”
This. This was the fight they should’ve had. It shouldn’t have ended with Kirishima smiling and thanking him and going back to being his friend. It should have ended with Kirishima calling him out on his bullshit and Katsuki setting him straight. He and Deku worked out an understanding with their fists and feet, maybe the same would work here and they’d have a clean break, heal, and come back stronger. Maybe Kirishima would put him out of his misery, break his jaw, punch out all Katsuki’s tenderness so he could stop trying to figure out if any part of Kirishima actually wanted him.
“I’m not a coward, Kirishima.” There’s no shirt to grab, and Katsuki knew if touched Kirishima, they’d destroy the locker room because Katsuki never moved without intent and Kirishima’s no pushover. “You’re the one who can’t let it go.”
Kirishima just stared at him, mouth open. When he tried to speak, it was just an ugly wheeze before he recovered. “Because I’m bringing Future Bakugou food? You think that I’m trying to win you back? I know you think everyone has some ulterior motive, dude, but I thought you’d realize by now I actually don’t. I just like you, every version of you, for some stupid reason.” He finished, the last few words said under his breath. “And I like to think I’m usually pretty good at understanding your particular dialect of Japanese, but I’m at a loss, Bakugou. I don’t know what you want from me and you’re not talking to me.”
Katsuki grit his teeth. He wanted to blow something up, just to cool the heat in his hands.
He wanted...
“I want,” He said slowly, “you to stop cooking for him.”
-
Kirishima stopped cooking. When Todoroki asked how the tofu turned out, Kirishima said he hadn’t had time to make it yet, but when he did, could Todoroki take some to his sister for her opinion?
Deku looked at him, mouth pursed, like he knew something, but Katsuki just scowled at him.
Kirishima also started to give him space, putting Kaminari between him and Katsuki, like he should have the day after Katsuki dumped him. He took on extra hours at his internship, invited himself to Class 1-B’s dorms, and stopped showing up on Thursdays for tutoring.
Sero asked what he did to piss off Kirishima. Kaminari joked that he was going with Kirishima in the divorce. Sero offered to split weekends in case Katsuki got lonely. Katsuki told them both to fuck off.
This was the break-up Katsuki wanted. This was the break-up he deserved.
-
His future self found him at the gym, standing directly in front of Katsuki’s treadmill.
“I forgot how stupid I was at 16,” He said. Katsuki wanted to fight him. “And no, we aren’t going to fight. I’d take you down without a single explosion and you’ll spend the next week stomping around and making Eijirou cry again.”
Katsuki slammed his hand down on the STOP button, leaving scorched plastic behind. He slid under the bars of the treadmill, sweeping his leg but his older self just side-stepped it.
“Dumbass, you think I didn’t do the exact same thing when the 30-year-old version of me stalked me to the gym?” He growled, walking away without seeing if Katsuki would follow. “Get the fuck up. Try to hit me and I’ll put you through a wall.”
They ended up in one of the smaller training rooms. Its floor was bare, dark blue mats hanging from the walls for students to grab. Older him stood right in the middle, a perfect target.
Katsuki resisted.
For a long while, though, his older self just stared at him, mouth twisted. Arms crossed, his older self just looked, familiar eyes flicking from the top of his head, over his arms, down to his feet. Like a mosquito buzzing, Katsuki wanted to wave away the attention. Self-reflection was already irritating when it was just him and his pre-sleep thoughts.
Finally: “It doesn’t get any easier. If you don’t get your shit together, you lose him.”
Katsuki lunged, because sometimes fighting was easier than the alternative. Sometimes fighting said more than actual words.
-
His future self returned to the future, after the longest two weeks of Katsuki’s life. He still has the bruise his older version gave him, a vicious left hook that actually made Katsuki’s world spin. True to his word, his older self didn’t use a single explosion in their fight, choosing instead to pin him to the ground, arm twisted behind his back, hand right by Katsuki’s own ear dripping sweat into his hair until Katsuki finished screaming at him.
“If you don’t get your shit together,” His older self repeated, each word hitting like a small bomb, “you lose him.”
-
The onigiri felt like such a weak gesture, three neat triangles with Kirishima’s name on them in the fridge, that Katsuki didn’t know why he even bothered until he saw Kirishima eating one as he and Metalhead sprinted to catch their train.
It was a start.