Chapter Text
Katsuki won the second-year sports festival. It was close, closer than he’d like to admit, but he blew up Todoroki and then Deku, fair and square. Like most of the popular fights from the festival, they end up online. Class 2-A’s reputation as shining hopefuls and villain bait had kept the cameras firmly focused on them the whole tournament. The fights with the highest view counts are Ashido and Todoroki’s and then Katsuki and Todoroki’s. Which he thinks is dumb because they aren’t even the fight for first place, but whatever. Sometimes it just means that the class gets stopped by curious busybodies when they’re out in public. Mostly though, it means that wannabe villains and crooks think they can mouth off when they get caught in the act.
Which is why Katsuki is so pissed that the kiss catches him off guard, because it’s not like the wannabe crook hadn’t been loudly talking about Katsuki’s televised wardrobe malfunction for the last ten minutes, it’s just that he had thought the asshole was only trying to embarrass him. In a moment of suspended disbelief, he’s mad because it feels like he fell for a trap he didn’t even know was there.
Then the bank vault slams up against his back, and the tight grip of a hand pins his shoulder down as the criminal breaths into his mouth and—
Katsuki’s reflexes kick in past the roaring in his ears and his knee jerks up harshly to nail the guy square in the balls. An explosion rips its way out of his palm knocking him away for good measure.
“The fuck you think you’re doing?!” Katsuki yells heart pounding, angry but also genuinely baffled.
The crook doesn’t get back up, whimpering into the linoleum.
He scans the bank quickly, but none of the other heroes seem to have noticed. All Might continues to escort the hostages away from the crime scene and Deku is a blur of green lightening as he bounces around the boss with a gun quirk. For a surreal second Katsuki feels like he should be able to call a time out—red fucking flag for unsportsmanlike behavior, but then the bank teller who’s still in the vault with him muffles a little scream behind her hands as another crook climbs in. And Katsuki snaps back to it. Zig-zags his way through the bank disarming and disabling the rest of the crooks in the time it takes Deku to finish off the gun quirk with a fancy flitter of his leg.
It wraps up anticlimactically, the police move in from where they are stationed on the street, and Deku turns to him eyes sparkling and holds up his glove for a fist bump. Which Katsuki ignores. For a moment he imagines brushing past him to tug on All Might’s suit sleeve and pointing out the crook on the floor still grabbing his balls to— to what? Katsuki’s cheeks flush and his stomach sours. Bringing it up now that it’s over feels stupid. What would it even matter when he had already handled it.
Katsuki licks his lips in a nervous gesture he rarely allows himself. Reflexively bringing a hand to his mouth when the sharp tang of blood hits his tongue.
“You busted your lip?” Deku questions in that overly observant way of his, as he lowers his fist.
Over his shoulder Katsuki can see the bank teller giving her statement to the police. She catches his eye and a strange look passes over her face before she looks to the ground, her brown bob moving to cover her eyes. It’s the gesture that pings Katsuki’s mind with a cold realization—she’s embarrassed for him. His stomach squirms riotously and a small voice in his head wonders if it’s because he was stupid enough to be caught by surprise or if it was because the crook was a man. He throws his hand away from his face in disgust.
“Asshole got a lucky hit in.”
Katsuki resolves to forget about it as quickly as possible, determines to spend the rest of the day not thinking about it. Not the question of why he had moved to guard against a punch and instead received a kiss, or why he’s still embarrassed by it three hours later, or even why no one else had seen it—if he had wanted someone else to see it.
The punching bag swings back and clips him in the chin in a gesture that lands him flat on his ass. His palms explode against the gyms polished wood in two sooty burns as a closed mouth scream works its way past his bared teeth. Then he kicks his legs out churlishly when that doesn’t feel like enough.
For a moment the only sound is of his heavy breathing and the bag’s lazy swing as its metal chain creaked rhythmically.
Then overly polite clapping breaks out across the stadium seating and Kaminari lets out a shrill whistle from where the class is taking a water break. Aizawa raises an eyebrow and tosses him a packet of Neosporin wrapped in gauze for his chin.
“Four out of ten.” Sero drawls with a sardonic shake of his head as Katsuki unrolls the gauze and daps at his face. “You could tell his heart wasn’t in it.”
“Does that mean he’s having a good day or a bad day?” Todoroki asks to himself, having never learned to leave Sero’s bait in the trash where it belongs.
“Pretty sure we’d need to ask a more studied expert for that one.” The mischievous twinkle in Sero’s eye turns into a joyful snort when Todoroki looks to Deku expectantly.
He rolls his eyes and uncaps the antibiotic ointment, purposefully not watching as Deku sputters reflexively under the attention. Ever since the sports festival, the whole stupid class has been waiting for them to make some big announcement of friendship, like their expecting Katsuki and Deku to come in one day with a photo album of their childhood together and matching friendship bracelets. Katsuki sighs and daps antibiotic cream onto his chin. Sometimes he misses the brief window of time when the class thought he and Deku were bad for each other.
He knows his own group of idiots are especially invested in Deku’s current friendship status because he’s neither deaf nor dumb, and Kirishima and Kaminari are loud. He had caught them talking at the beginning of the semester when he was in the kitchen and they had thought they were alone in the common room.
(“—won’t admit he’s friends with us!”
“Ah, Denki you know he’s shy about that kind of stuff.” Kirishima paused thoughtfully. “Plus, I think Midoriya gets first dibs if he’s ever going to say it.”
Kaminari groaned dramatically.
“If we have to wait for Kacchan to say it to Midoriya first we’re never hearing it—)
It had annoyed him at the time that he could see their logic. He wasn’t purposefully holding back, and it’s not like he doesn’t care about Deku (Katsuki had to admit that to himself after the shit show that was first year) he just doesn’t want to—and then the thought scuttles away. Reserved in a way that Katsuki isn’t ready to examine.
Look things between him and Deku are good right now, he doesn’t have to say it for the nerd to know. Not that it’s anyone else’s business.
Deku’s mutterings catch his attention the way they always do and Katsuki turns to him like a sea captain heading into a storm.
“Kacchan also hurt his mouth at the bank robbery this morning, maybe he’s getting sick . . . ?”
Deku tugs on his bottom lip as the mumbles slips into incomprehensibility, the other hand at his elbow twitching like he wishes he had his journal to compare notes. Katsuki sucks in a breath, lungs warming with energy as something inside him finally relaxes and backs off, a feral grin painting his face.
“Big talk for someone who spent the whole robbery on one crook!” Katsuki crows, placing his hands on his hips and leaning forward. “What’s the point of all those gains if you’re just gonna dance around the bad guy!”
Deku always quick to fluster, pinkens with a mealy-mouthed sputter. But there’s no hesitation to meet Katsuki’s eyes and that chimes brightly in his chest—those green eyes on him. Katsuki sticks his tongue out in challenge.
And Deku trips into unrestraint laughter at the action.
“Just watch Kacchan, next time I’ll out do you!”
After dinner Katsuki lets Kaminari and Sero drag him to meet Ashido and Kirishima at the arcade, with the promise of being able to kick all their collective asses at the taiko drum game. Which he does.
But then he ends up in one of those cutesy photobooths, squished between Ashido and Sero as they poke his cheek and try to make him smile for the dog filter. Which he doesn’t. Until Kaminari reaches into the booth and shoves his hand into Katsuki’s armpit, tickling like crazy.
The screen shows a preview of the photos. Katsuki rolls his eyes and huffs. The first three have Ashido and Sero posing around Katsuki, hands up like paws and tongue stuck out to get the dog filter working while Katsuki sits dead center with a scowl on his face and floppy brown dog ears. The last one though catches Kaminari’s hand seconds after he begins tickling Katsuki, and the grin on his face crinkles his eyes and nose in the beginning of a cackle that’s all too familiar. Looks just like the hag. It would be oddly sweet if it wasn’t for the way his hands are sparking off, sending Ashido and Sero to opposite ends of the booth.
Ashido buys three copies of the photos and only gives Katsuki his when he promises not to blow it up.
Outside the booth, Kirishima wraps a lazy arm around his shoulder and waves the others off as they get back in to try out the cat filter.
“That’s a good picture of you guys,” He says, looking down at the strip Katsuki’s holding between his index and thumb pads, careful not to smudge the laminate surface.
Katsuki grunts and looks away.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Kirishima says smile clear in his voice, then he squeezes him quickly in a one-armed side hug.
“Always feels good to put extras in their place.”
Kirishima laughs and releases him. “For real though, you were in a funk this morning.”
Then doesn’t say anything leaving the silence for Katsuki to fill if he wants to.
“I’m over it.” Katsuki says because rehashing it goes directly against his own self-imposed repression. And also because hanging out with the idiots had made him feel better.
Katsuki looks over the neon lighting of the arcade, a clear sign that he’s done talking about feelings. The warm obnoxious pink lights had made Ashido jump up and down when they’d first arrived and she realized it made her skin glow, a wide blue toothed smile on her face that had Kirishima flushing. Well, his own feelings at least.
“Bet she would take a picture of just you two if you asked.” Katsuki tilts the reel of photos at Kirishima so there’s no misunderstanding.
“Ah, ha ha! I mean . . . well.” Kirishima runs a hand through his hair, messing up his own spiked monstrosity. “I don’t really want to put that pressure on her, you know?”
He raises an unimpressed eyebrow at that.
“I’d rather just be friends than make her uncomfortable.”
“Manly.” Katsuki teases, shrugging off his over shirt to tie around his waist. It was an unusually warm fall, summer clinging greedily to September.
“It is manly!” Kirishima protests, “It’s not cool to shoehorn someone into a romance they don’t want. Especially since I’m fine with just being her friend.”
Seriously.
Katsuki raises a first and thumps it down on Kirishima’s crunchy hair, for someone who’s usually so good with people the redhead is being stupidly obtuse about Ashido’s own very obvious feelings. Not that it’s any of his business. But still . . .
At the mouth of the arcade a woman catches his attention and waves her hand in a come here gesture. Katsuki stares at her incomprehensibly for a second before he recognizes her.
Ah, Shit. It’s the bank teller.
“I’ve gotta piss! Go take photos with your dumb friends.” Katsuki says and pushes Kirishima towards the booth.
The redhead laughs and shoots him a look that says, my friends huh? which Katsuki graciously ignores, waiting until he’s in the booth to pivot and leg it over to where the bank teller is hovering on the edge of the arcade.
She bows politely in greeting.
“Thank you for what you did this morning.”
Katsuki isn’t expecting gratitude and it throws him for a second, his preemptive paranoia feeling silly in the face of her appreciation. His chest puffs a bit and a crooked smile sneaks past him. This is a part of hero work too. An old reel of All Might laughing boisterously after a rescue plays in his head before he ruthlessly stomps it out. Still feels good though.
“It’s fine. I’m a hero aren’t I?”
“You saved me.” She agrees. “I’m actually really glad I caught you. I wanted to apologize about what I saw at the bank.”
Well, fuck. There it is. He ignores the heat that springs to his face and twists his mouth into a scowl, suddenly very over being thanked.
“If you want to thank me, forget you saw anything.” Katsuki snaps. He darts a quick look around to make sure no one is listening in on their conversation.
“I won’t tell anyone,” She says instead, “but you should be more aware of people like . . . that.”
His eyes snap back to her, the advice prickling in a way he doesn’t like. Face souring further at the reminder of the crooks slimy tongue in his mouth. Does she mean pervy adults or men who like . . .
“What are you talking about?” He asks cutting the thought in half.
She twiddles her thumbs for a second before sighing and raising her eyes to look him in the face. “You’re a good-looking kid, so you need to be more aware about people’s intensions.”
Ew. That’s not something he want to hear that from anyone, least of all some stranger.
A small ache begins in his stomach. Katsuki looks around again to make sure no one is still listening. Kirishima’s loud laughter booms from the booth, and his shoulders tense up at the proximity. God, this really isn’t the conversation he thought he was going to be having.
“Why’s what other people want from me my problem?” He hisses, voice hushed and furious.
She gives him a look he doesn’t understand, like he’s being purposefully obtuse. Then she opens her mouth and pauses, clearly uncomfortable but forcing herself to get the next bit out. Weirdly determined.
“That man at the bank made it your problem.” She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just take it from me, men like that don’t care about what you want. You can’t give them the opportunity.”
“Opportu—He’s the one who cheated!” Katsuki sputters.
“You’re what, 15, 16? That’s too old to be this naïve.” It’s shockingly direct for how polite her speech had been up until now. “Listen. I’m trying to help you—"
She huffs in frustration before reaching out, as if to touch him, and Katsuki snatches her wrist. Finger inches from his chest. She doesn’t move for a second and neither does he, grip firm around her cool skin. Dread starts to line his stomach. Whatever it is she’s trying to tell him. It’s important enough for her to break social mores.
Katsuki swallows loudly, throat suddenly dry. Some new terrible adult understanding of the world is on the edge of unfolding and he instinctively wants to turn away from it. Rewind the clock. Anything to keep himself from another painful bout of bildungsroman.
Then she tilts her chin in an apologetic gesture and he lets his arm relax enough for her to hook a smooth finger into his loose tank top and tug a little.
“You have to be careful of this kind of clothing, some people will read it as an invitation.” she says it slowly, a reluctant messenger.
“My quirk is sweat based.”
“And mine is photosynthetic, that doesn’t mean people won’t still see skin as something it’s not.” She’s covered head to toe in an oversized sweater, fuzzy cardigan, and baggy jeans despite the heat. Formless and dumpy. In his hand, the cold skin of her sunless wrist shivers weakly.
“Just. Be careful.” She says sadly.
Then with a parting nod of her head she slips from his grip and walks away.