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"Fuck no."
"He means we'll do it." Deku was all smiles in the face of death that took the form of his hero partner.
Even with Katsuki wanting to trade his quirk for laser eyes so he could make a goddamn hole into the nerd's empty skull, Deku didn't entertain the threat. With practiced ease, he gave their PR manager (who might rival Katsuki in sweating) a reassuring smile.
"It's for funding, right?"
The man nodded, eyes darting between shining green ones and burning red ones. He gulped and cleared his throat, voice still cracking a little as he spoke.
"Yes, Deku-san… While donations are still quite plenty from well-wishers, we can only do so much with them to cover our growing daily costs. So, well," The PR manager for the Wonder Duo agency dabbed at his forehead, skittishness turning into exasperation. "This offer's too tempting to not take."
"And it's too much bullshit to fucking even consider."
The sick curl of satisfaction Katsuki felt at seeing the man flinch was quickly stomped over, though.
Literally.
"Son of a bi–"
It was creepy with how little to no hesitation Deku had when he lifted his boots (with fucking iron soles) and stomped on his vulnerable leather knee-high ones.
Repeatedly. With that angel-like smile on his face, that didn't see any problem in sending Katsuki's little toes to hell.
Like the creep and two-faced asshole he was, Deku ignored the slew of swears, and threats to destruction and dismemberment that flowed from someone right beside him. His smile turned reassuring to the very pale PR manager who returned a (forced) smile of his own.
"Don't worry! We understand and we'll get to work, Tanaka-san! It's only right we do this for the agency. It's time we do our part in shouldering the costs, no?"
"We fucking save lives, shithead. Ain't that enough of a goddamn payba– ack!"
While Katsuki nursed what felt like bruised and borderline broken ribs from being elbowed (with reinforced elbow pads, fuck), Deku beamed all the while.
He never got around to getting rid of wanting to beat the shit out of this nerd, and he thought that was a very foolish oversight on his part. That was, if the swollen toes and difficulty breathing told him anything.
Maybe Katsuki should've hitched that ride along with Mirko and gallivanted the fuck out of Japan when he had the chance. Maybe then he wouldn't be pathetically nursing wounds in a chair that saw better days while Deku made promises for the both of them to–
"We'll do our best to release the DynaDeku perfume line, Tanaka-san! Because that's what heroes do!"
Fuuuck.
香-香-香
Katsuki felt like someone hypnotized him at one point in his life. Actually, at a very specific point in his life that he still remembered.
The sky had been blue and clear. All clouds then had been blown away to the distance of a past that they beat out of the present. What remaining trees that were left standing were lush green and served as vibrant beacons heralding the turn of luck and seasons.
It'd been quiet then, save for his own ragged breathing. Katsuki felt the rattling of broken bones in his chest–misplaced, jostled–with every breath he took. A mix of dirt, blood, and sweat covered every part of him and it was fucking disgusting because that must be a mutant blood furball in his mouth.
Thinking back, having a weird thing in his mouth must've added to the hypnotizing hypothesis he had going on.
Because it was fucking weird when, instead of noticing the soreness in the arm he raised into a victorious fist or the rubble remains of the grand battle under his shaky feet, he couldn't hear anything but Izuku's voice.
Katsuki was pretty sure Deku got a quirk–amidst all that boss-level crap–that made everything else not matter in that moment of victory when his ears rung with–
"Be my partner, Kacchan."
–and there was nothing else for his mouth to do but move and voice out words he still denied to this day came from him.
"Fucking duh, Izuku."
A decade later, with a bag of a week's worth of his laundry being hounded upon by people in white coats, Katsuki regretted.
(And he wanted to come back to that hypnotizing hypothesis he swore he would fucking prove before explosions had enough with tearing through his arms and moved onto his heart)
"See? Aren't you glad I forgot to do the laundry this week, Kacchan?"
"You never do laundry on any week. I hate you. Go die."
Deku–also known as Public Enemy No.1 in Katsuki's head–laughed, throwing his head back. The rambunctious sound echoed in the lab, overpowering even the whirring of mad scientist machines and the treadmill the fucker was running on.
What the hell was all this crap?
"It's state-of-the-art technology patented by Apalategui and Université de Havre that Miya Shinma bought off this year," Shamelessly, Katsuki just grunted in response to his slip-up (that may or may not have been deliberate). "We're hoping that with this, we'd be able to bottle both of your scents into perfume for the market, Dynamight-san."
"Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight."
Shamelessly, too, the white-coat perfumist gave him a service-industry smile as she made a show (that was definitely deliberate) of fishing out one of Katsuki's All Might-themed boxers and flung it to the 'denied' pile.
Bitch.
"Kacchan," Deku chided as if he knew that this time, Katsuki meant the 'slip' of the tongue (which he did very much).
With him and white-coat girl still having a glaring contest (of course, staring's too passive for him), Katsuki didn't turn towards Deku. Though that didn't stop him from hearing the way the nerd's brows furrowed and how he pursed his lips.
"They're helping us too, you know? Don't call them names, it's rude."
"Rude's my middle name, shitty Deku."
"You're Japanese, Kacchan. You don't have a middle name."
"Well, you're a goddamn hero, dipshit, and I don't see you complaining about stripping down to your boxers, running on that goddamn treadmill, and being a lab rat for these madshits."
"Perfumists," white-coat girl corrected.
The perfumist gestured to a co-worker who wheeled away the 'okay' pile before standing back to her full height, turning to Katsuki. "And, like I already explained earlier, while scent that clings onto clothing is what we use, it'll be better to get fresh samples."
Katsuki couldn't help the shudder that ran down his spine at the word. Samples.
Trust Deku–who may or may not have hypnotized Katsuki into the whole Wonder Duo business–to pull him into this sketchy as fuck PR gig that resembled having a contract with a sperm bank than a perfume lab.
He should've fucking known that the words 'trust' and 'Deku' shouldn't be in the same goddamn sentence unless there was a 'don't fucking' before it.
White-coat perfumist girl cleared her throat.
Katsuki sighed and looked off to where Deku looked to be running up a goddamn wall with how high the incline was, not looking even close to breaking more than a single sweat.
(He begrudgingly applauded the tenacity of these mad scientists, who immediately sucked up that lone drop with a pipette)
Maybe he could still book it. Katsuki could treat the memory of this day as a nightmare he'll have priests at the local shrine exorcise from his mind.
Yeaaah.
Katsuki held out his hand, palm up, and the smell of burned sugar with the budding hint of smoke permeated throughout the room.
"I ain't a goddamn hamster, fuckers, so hurry it the fuck up."
香-香-香
Katsuki knew he was loaded. Maybe not like fucking Ponytail (what was with that Victorian-style furniture) or Icy Hot (tearing apart the floorboards to replace it with tatami was vandalism, dammit), but more than most.
He didn't flaunt it during his school days. Katsuki never invited others over to a house obviously in a well-off residential district or entertained the choice of wearing high-end brands. Call it out of character, but what right did Katsuki have to flaunt cash he didn't earn?
Still, he was loaded.
And Deku–the sweet, darling parasite–fucking knew it. Why else would he practically shove a goddamn apartment key in Katsuki's face back when they graduated from U.A., face flushed and smile blinding?
The act of exploding the doorknob of said apartment and locking out said parasite now seemed justified. After all, judging from how he shouldered most (all) of the rent, it was more Katsuki's apartment, right?
That ingenious plan turned stupid real quick when Katsuki realized that Deku was a bunny with muscles and that the cost for the broken hinges and singed doorknob would fall on him.
Fuck.
"Kacchan, I really don't understand the problem. It's just some PR work! Completely harmless and benefits everyone," Deku mumbled in between stolen sips of the simmering soup. "Plus, it's technically your fault that the agency's funds are in the red every month."
Katsuki stabbed the thick slice of inariage and waved it menacingly at Deku. "My fault? I'm not the one who walked in on a scene and decided, oh hey it's been a long time since I buried and dragged a villain's face in asphalt for a kilometer, Deku."
Hero Dynamight brandishing a knife–tofu on the end or not–would've looked more intimidating if it wasn't for the frilly apron tied snug around his body. It'd definitely deal a hair-raising effect if there wasn't amateur stitching (care of the shitty kids at the orphanage) that depicted small versions of him and Deku with flowers in their hair.
Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, who? Deku, who? Katsuki only saw a broke hero duo with half being a goddamn dysfunctional leech.
Deku chuckled nervously, and for a moment, Katsuki thought it was due to fear. Or perhaps the beginning of shameful embarrassment at his own destructive tendencies that rivaled Katsuki's.
How the public still fell all over themselves, coo at Deku, and call him 'adorable' and 'innocent summer child' even after the stunts he's pulled was a fucking mystery.
(Again, another thing to note for the hypnosis theory)
Then, in waiting for an "in my defense, Kacchan" or an "I already said I'm sorry, Kacchan", the nerd opened his goddamn mouth and wrecked Katsuki's expectations.
"Kacchan, the udon noodles are burning and I'm pretty sure I fed the last packet we had to this family of strays a few nights ago. But, uh, that's fine!" Glaring red eyes followed how scarred fingers deftly plucked the piece of inariage off the knife and waved it around. "Tofu diets are trendy these days!"
Katsuki had spent the entire day being prodded at like a lab subject. He spent too many minutes sympathizing with lab rats who probably just wanted to live normal lives but got stuck in shitty mazes with stupid traps and molding cheese.
Katsuki was tired. He wanted to curl up on the couch, shout at idiots who don't know how to cook mapo tofu, and sleep on a full stomach.
Instead, he ended up impaling the kitchen door with a knife after he threw it at Deku's retreating form, ultimately giving up on the kitsune udon to make some mixed rice for one.
Only for one because Katsuki was sure he would've stayed loaded if it wasn't for him accepting that goddamn apartment key, signing their hero partner contract (among many others), and taking in practically every hero that popped up on Deku's nerd radar in their (very) broke agency.
香-香-香
Katsuki forgot what was it that made him blow up their apartment's doorknob and cause Deku to break the hinges until four days later.
In his fucking defense, compartmentalizing information was the skill every hero had to have if they didn't want to fucking die.
(Pikachu getting in that jab about him being the oldest among them was something that guaranteed a one-way ticket to being crushed and folded like a soda can then exploded to outer space)
The impaled kitchen knife on the kitchen door the morning after remained a mystery that he easily brushed aside. He could spend another day wondering what was it with knife marks covering the kitchen door. Katsuki had more important things to do in his day-to-day: packing their bentos, whipping up breakfast from leftovers, filling a pot with water to dump it over Deku's face, and throwing away another broken alarm clock.
Four days later was a repeat of everything else except for two things. One, it was his off day. Two, he was losing a glaring contest with the small box he picked up earlier from the receptionist.
Katsuki did not want to open it.
Fuck, if only that chirpy redhead who screened his and Deku's mail didn't stop him, then it wouldn't even be inside the apartment.
He opened it.
(Tore through it like a rabid animal, hoping he could accidentally destroy whatever was inside)
Sadly, it seemed those white coat fuckers expected that it'd be Katsuki who'd open the box first. Or perhaps they remembered how they were potentially sending delicate glass samples to the No.1 and 2 heroes of Japan.
Whatever the case, it left Katsuki swearing under his breath and cradling his hand to his chest after the (failed) attempt at punching the shit out of it.
Stupid, paranoid nerds.
With an ice pack on his bruising knuckles, his uninjured hand fished out the quaint notecard that was placed daintily among bubble wraps and foam peanuts.
Thank you for availing of our premium service, Hero [redacted] and Hero [redacted]. As per the contract, we at Miya Shinma have sent you both samples of the output from the initial extraction process. Please keep in mind that while groundbreaking, this process is still relatively new, so please expect some discrepancies. If you have any complaints, you may reach us at 03-0420-0715!
The reasonable thing to do at this moment, Katsuki knew, was to put the card back in the box, 'close' it, and go back to keeping the apartment together. It was only right to wait for Deku–that constantly smiling criminal mastermind–to come back and be the only one involved with this mess.
Let that idiot nerd out with the white coats and sniff the hell out of the perfume samples like a weirdo.
Katsuki had nothing to do with that because he had the common sense to know that sniffing at a replicate scent of himself? That'd be a straight downhill slide to cuckooville.
And that was (had been) the plan.
Once again, someone needed to explain to him how he went from halfway to going back to air out the comforters to taking the green-tinted glass tester in hand.
(It's the hypnosis, a voice whispered from the recesses of Katsuki's mind)
The tester was a delicate, small thing. Attached to a ceramic cylinder that contained what he assumed was the perfume proper was a funnel-shaped glass. They placed barely noticeable diffusers at the center, making anyone who handled it really need to stick their noses in there to take a whiff.
Katsuki was very much aware of the red-tinted glass tester in the corner of his eye that lay snugly in the box. He wasn't blind.
But theories that he might be crazy weren't far off when–just like the time Deku's broken hand was there for Katsuki to take–he brought the green-tinted sampler closer.
He swallowed around his dry throat. The muscles of his neck seized up; tense. He could hear his teeth grind, the locking of his jaw, and the gusts of air coming from flared nostrils.
With every centimeter closer, came the louder drum of Katsuki's heart in his ears. He felt every fucking beat of the traitorous organ against his chest, warmth coiling and spreading like minor explosions across every inch of him.
(It reminded him of green lightning sparks that always lighted the way home.)
Whatever neanderthal thoughts were running through his mind didn't reach him. Not with the haze clouding everything and anything except for what was getting closer and closer to him.
Katsuki's other hand was gripping at the edge of the kitchen island, and there might or might not be cracks forming along the faux marble. The scent of burned sugar and smoke was thick in the air, yet it seemed to have a life of its own with how it didn't dare interrupt… whatever the hell this was.
The tip of his nose brushed against the center of the cone, and he stopped. His already dry throat became parched so much so that not even swallowing around it made it better. The incessant drumming of his heartbeat tore at his eardrums, the rhythm lulling him more and more into this.
With half-lid eyes, and parted lips that let out soft pants, Katsuki took in a deep breath.
And immediately gagged and threw the glass tester far, far away from him.
"What the fuck?!" Katsuki growled and, still glaring at the shattered mess on the kitchen floor, fished out his phone and dialed.
It took three rings before a chirpy voice answered him.
"Hi! This is Miya Shinma Japan, how may I help yo–"
"What the fuck, you goddamn nerds?!" His phone cracked a little, and a couple of explosions went off in his other. That'd usually be a cause for concern, since phones were getting way too expensive nowadays.
But not fucking now when there were more serious matters.
"What bullshit did you pull with Deku's scent, assholes?! It smells nothing like the goddamn nerd!"
Like that.
香-香-香
"How about this one, Dynamight-sa–"
"No."
"I got it! It's like this, ri–"
"Do you even fucking know what 'got it' means, asshat?"
"Dynamight-san, you didn't even take a second to smell it–"
"I don't need a fucking second to know how much you nerds are fucking up this contract," Katsuki threw the glass tester back, watching another white coat extra fumble and try to keep the expensive things intact. "I don't need no more of your shitty failures ruining my nose."
He was not being a nitpicky lil' bitch as helpfully inputted by Sero and the others who shouldered through his essay message in the group chat.
Katsuki was… just being reasonable about the contract that both sides fucking agreed to (with his forced consent) in pointing out how lacking this shitty company was in meeting the terms.
Yes. That's exactly what he was.
(No, he wasn't being a 'Karen' or whatever obscure reference Raccoon Eyes was trying to make)
The white-coat girl who Katsuki remembered being there the first time (who judged the questionable mix of konbini cup noodles and vendo chuhai stains on his shirt) sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.
She waved away her colleagues who had shuffled into a line before Katsuki, sympathizing with the disheartened and frazzled expressions on their faces.
With tired eyes of her own and not at all attempting to hide her exasperation, she faced Katsuki.
"Dynamight-san, I understa–"
"It's Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight."
It was a testament to the obscurity of the whole situation that she didn't bother mustering the energy to roll her eyes anymore. Instead, she just sighed again.
"Yes. Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight-san. I understand where you're coming from–in scrutinizing the terms of our contract–but, please, meet us halfway here," With an almost-whine, she choked out her plea. "Please, just tell us exactly how Hero Deku smells like and we can fix it."
"And do your jobs for you? Fat chance."
Katsuki was just making an excuse, and he knew it. This whole tiresome endeavor of grilling perfumists about everything they were doing wrong wouldn't bear anything fruitful until he told them how to get it right.
But knowing that he was just making excuses didn't immediately mean that he knew why he was making them.
All Katsuki knew was that the moment he smelled Deku's perfume sample, the fabricated scent curling into his nose, it wasn't it. The smell was nothing close to his hero partner of a decade who he still had to push to the bathroom to brush his goddamn teeth in the morning and wash his face at night.
It didn't remind him of the Symbol of Hope as promised in the contract.
(More importantly, it didn't remind Katsuki of green eyes that turned bright when calling him that infuriating childhood nickname from better times, nor did it make him feel that weight of a back against his that bore the lives of others as he did)
It was fucking easy for Katsuki to keep saying "fuck no," but another thing entirely to make him pinpoint what exactly was wrong with it.
He kept the white-coat girl's stare for a long while; him with his arms crossed over his chest and lips stubbornly sealed, and her with scrutinizing eyes that were looking for something.
She was the first to draw her gaze away, but, as she muttered under her breath about 'possessive heroes,' it made Katsuki have this nagging feeling that he didn't win.
Well, whatever. It'd be these nerds who were lining up again in front of him with new concoctions who'd be the ones who'll keep losing repeatedly.
(Why that made his lips tug into a ghost of a smile and a satisfying rumble sound out through his chest was a complete mystery)
香-香-香
As much as Katsuki denied being nitpicky, he was, in fact, that.
He only wanted the best of everything. All Might merchandise? He wanted it mint-conditioned with certified autographs and personalized dedications. Food? The spiciness level needed another zero to that ten and still be savory.
The only exceptions were clothes and gadgets.
Call it an act or rebellion or some shit, but Katsuki didn't care for luxury brands to drape off his body when it could be his enemies' guts instead. Playing the latest gadgets? Why bother pressing shitty buttons for a simulated fight when he could do it in real life?
So, yeah, whatever. He was picky. About friends. Schools. Who he worked with. Where he lived (that dorm situation was a nightmare).
But Katsuki was only nitpicky or being a 'Karen' when he already had an established routine on these things he'd gotten used to.
Of course it'd be goddamn Deku of all people who'd wreck all of that.
"Um, Kacchan?"
Katsuki grunted.
Deku nervously chuckled and turned slightly, looking over his shouler. He gave Katsuki a smile, confusion plastered all over his face.
The nerd really looked so stupid sometimes (always).
"Are you, um… What are you, er… That is–!"
Katsuki clicked his tongue. "Spit it out, nerd."
Despite Deku's inability shut up, the nerd looked like he wanted to do anything but spit out whatever was on his mind.
Katsuki watched from his position almost flush against Deku's back and nose, brushing against the under-shaved part of dark green curls. His gloved hands were still in the middle of zipping down Deku's shitty costume (something even after all these years, he still asked Katsuki to help him out of, ugh).
All-in-all, a pretty normal position to find them in after a harrowing day of hero work at the agency's locker room.
Except for this tiny detail.
"Are you…" Deku cleared his throat, and Katsuki's eyes followed the spread of a flush from his exposed back and up to his neck, the red making freckles pop up here and there. "Are you sniffing me, Kacchan?"
Ha.
What?
It rarely took long for words to sink into Katsuki's mind. It was already a hard-wired instinct at this point to take in information, process it with x2 speed like videos in MeTube, and act accordingly.
Today, it seemed, was an exception since it took a solid minute of Katsuki freezing mid-sniff against Deku and Deku, letting this torrent of regret of even speaking at all drown the both of them before the words sunk in.
He didn't know if it was a good thing that he had this default reactionary system.
"So what if I fucking am, ha? What, is it a goddamn crime now to sniff people, Deku? What are you, a lawyer?"
He'd be more proud that he could say anything at all if his voice didn't crack right in the middle of this (very poor) attempt to defend himself.
"It's your fucking fault I'm even doing this, Deku! If only you did your fucking part for those white-coat nerds right then I wouldn't have to be all over you like a goddamn dog to see how wrong they are–are you… are you laughing, you shitty nerd?"
Deku resolutely turned back around. "No."
"… I can see your body shaking, you asshole."
Already found out anyway–and taking advantage of a Bakugou Katsuki whose mind was still rebooting–Deku let go like the fucker he was.
Peals of poorly contained laughter echoed against the rows of lockers around them. Even with a halfway unzipped back turned against him, Katsuki knew what Deku looked like laughing.
Of course he fucking did. He knew what the nerd looked like, with unbridled rage and indignation burning in his weak body. Deku had borne him to witness how shoulders once hunched over on itself drew back strong and tall.
So yeah, it wasn't a fucking surprise that Katsuki knew how Deku looked like, ugly as he was, when he laughed–wide green eyes turning into crescents, apple of his cheeks full and flush with freckles, laugh lines and crows feet showing themselves, and lips splitting wide from one ear to the other.
It was because of that knowledge (privilege) that he only gave a half-hearted pinch (a tickle) at Deku's side before pulling the zipper of the green uniform all the way down. It's with the sound of Deku's still wheezing laughter that Katsuki also nipped at the still-flushed shell of the nerd's ear, tongue getting a brief swipe in.
If he nosed along Deku's neck and let the nerd's real scent clear up the fake ones, that'd been assaulting him all week, he didn't notice.
(Not that he would've known why even if he did, anyway)
香-香-香
It took less than twenty-four hours before Katsuki admitted defeat, beat up that overly confident part of himself, and dialed a number he last only called for New Year's greetings.
Okay it took more than that.
There'd been that stink of another failed concoction ruining his nose for the nth time and an explosive reprimand that made a loose-lipped white-coat extra mutter "if you hate the idea of sharing your boyfriend's scent so much, then just say so."
The phone rang twice before the call connected.
The proper etiquette in calling someone, Katsuki knew, started with pleasantries. Even a simple "'sup, you alive bitch" would suffice (even though it'd lead to a smack on the back of his head by an eavesdropping green-haired nerd).
"So there's this someone I'm smelling. Never bothered with what they smell like before. Not 'till now, anyway. And say I like how they smell. Like… example–just a fucking example–vanilla. That–that doesn't mean I like him, right? Could be that I just like, ugh, vanilla–fuck, why'd I use that as an example–, and not his stupid stinky ass. Right?"
Well, Katsuki wasn't really one for proper etiquette.
Not in that passive aggressive charity campaign he did for those shitty snot-nosed kids at the orphanage (who kept nagging him to grow his hair out so they can braid it), and definitely not as he dealt with this recent crisis.
It was a good thing he rung up the only person in his (tiny) circle of friends who didn't give a shit about proper etiquette either.
Icy Hot hummed from the other end and let out a contemplative noise. Even with him stationed all the way in Hokkaido, Katsuki could practically see the man set down his chopsticks.
(He was fucking sure the humorless dumbshit jumped at the opportunity to take up the post at Hokkaido for that shitty zaru soba.)
"Well," started Icy Hot. "What does this… someone smell like? From your swearing, you clearly don't enjoy comparing their scent to vanilla, so… try to see if you can reference to other commercial scents to have a point of comparison. It'll help to see and get an answer to your… serious problem."
There was a not-so-subtle jab there somewhere that wanted Katsuki to feel even a bit of remorse in interrupting his savory meal.
Just like any attack on his person–literal or proverbial and crap–, Katsuki dodged the hell out of it.
"What does h–they smell like?" Katsuki scoffed; a sound contrast to how his body reacted to the simple (but not) question.
In waiting for his friend to pick up the goddamn call and hearing Icy Hot's response, Katsuki'd been tense. His teeth ground together; canines against canines, and molars against molars. Fingers incessantly tapped against the TV remote clutched in his hand. His red eyes flitted from one point to another, unable to focus or settle; the cooking show on the TV screen, another one of Deku's stray socks by the couch, and the wilting leaves of the only living thing they had in the apartment.
If the landline went off or the door buzzer rang at that moment, it wouldn't be past Katsuki to expect a very lengthy letter from their landlord about how "it is not fucking okay to blast a hole in the ceiling no matter how scared you were of the movie."
(Of course the retort of 'if the capitalist jackass didn't want property damage then he shouldn't have rented the place out to heroes' always got shelved back considering him and Deku's negative bank balance)
In thinking over the various scenarios that'd result from Icy Hot picking up the call, it already prepared Katsuki to be more fucking tense and rigid.
He was.
"They…" The tension in his shoulders ebbed away. Fidgety fingers stilled, and his flitting eyes finally fixed on Deku's hero cabinet.
With half-lid hazed eyes and voice low and smooth, Katsuki let himself be led along by this soothing presence coming from the recesses of his mind.
(It wasn't roused suddenly from slumber. Slowly, hour-by-hour and day-by-day, it took the long route to reach a place where the sun shone)
"Th–He smells like…"
Katsuki wanted to dive into that literature-buff part of him and allude to distinct smells and sensations. He could say the fucking nerd smelled like freshly cut grass at the earliest breath of spring. Not the sort that made his ears bleed from the roar of the mower or the violating expulsion of nature's scent.
No… Katsuki was referring to the sort of grass smell that tickled his nose and stroked this urge to laugh, giggle, and smile as new life bloomed around. With a sharp intake and the fluttering close of his eyes, he'd see daylight stars in the form of freckles celebrating their wake from winter slumber.
Or he could use the fucking weather.
Katsuki could say that Deku smelled like air thick with tension brought on by thunderclouds, budding rain, and howling winds. He could call it suffocating and addicting. Say it was the sort of smell that with one take–one gulp–was enough to make his knees buckle from the rich tang of power threatening to burst his tastebuds.
(For while most people feared and cowered before power, Katsuki craved and coveted it. If not to be made his, then he'd offer everything–prostrate himself–to keep those eyes on him for as long as he's able)
Or if he wanted to keep that tidbit of his past nerdiness (sappy) days still a secret from Icy Hot, he could say that Deku smelled like something fucking generic.
Like… aftershave. A smell that reminded Katsuki that Deku was no longer a wide-eyed boy but a man who'd been at the vanguard of a war. Someone who grew stubble that prickled the back of Katsuki's neck when, in the bleary hours of morning, strong scarred arms would wrap around him as he cooked a (rare) breakfast for the day.
He could say that and more (and less), but he was just going in circles when the answer's been there right at the starting point.
(Knowing that the concept of beginning and end was blurry with Deku didn't seem as daunting as it did. As if it'd been there all along; waiting with kind eyes and welcoming outstretched arms)
"Home," Katsuki croaked out, voice thick with an emotion only now (after ten fucking years) he could name. "He smells like home, dammit. That goddamn nerd smells like fucking home."
–The sort of home that even when he ended up bathing in the blood of innocents whose fingers slipped from his, it'd be there waiting for him, ready to wash it off–
"Then," said Icy Hot with an undertone of finally. "You got your answer, Bakugou."
"Fuck."
Icy Hot hummed and the sound of slurping noodles was lost amidst Katsuki's muffled scream in one of his old hag's housewarming cushions.
(It did not fucking help that said cushion was an artful mix of green and red tones and son of a bitch. Did the hag know even before him?!)
香-香-香
White-coat girl blinked a couple times, the motion magnified by her glasses. It looked like she wanted to roll her chair back too (or maybe file for vacation or turn in her resignation letter).
Wisely, she schooled her face and gave Katsuki a service industry-smile. "Dynamight-san. May I ask what… this is?"
They devolved into another glaring session (more exasperated and coffee-deprived on her side) before the white-coat girl sighed again.
"Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight-san, may I ask what this is?"
Katsuki puffed out his chest a bit from the victory (no, it wasn't a petty win), patting the almost exploding duffel bag he dumped on the perfumist's lab desk.
"This–" He grinned. "–is the answer to your problems of failing in getting Deku's perfume right."
Seeing the (very) doubtful look on her face, Katsuki just pushed the bag closer and took a step back. He'd never gone hunting, but those animal shows on TV taught him enough to know that prey needed space (hence the deliberate stepping back), so they'd be more amenable to taking the bite.
In this case, a sniff.
He watched white-coat girl poke and prod at the bag with a pen for a few moments before–fucking finally–reaching for the zipper.
Of all the things Katsuki expected her to say when she dug out the first article from the bag, it fucking wasn't–
"Sir, this is your Cheetos-stained shirt."
And not–
"This is also your 'Best Disney Princess' apron," the perfumist waved another one of those damnations gifted by the orphanage to make her point. She sifted through more clothes and frowned.
"I'm pretty sure 90%–no, 99% of the clothes here are yours, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight-san."
Then, as if she thought that Katsuki–of all people–wasn't thinking that clearly, she spoke slowly as to a child.
Bitch.
"Sir… you know we're making a perfume line for both of you, right? Both you and Hero Deku? Your hero partner? The No.1 to your No.2?"
There was this litany of protests he had that comprised of "what the fuck, you weirdo", "why the hell'd you memorize my clothes" and "yes I fucking know that bitch." Katsuki was prepared to turn this goddamn building upside down with his lecture on how to treat clients, but apparently pride was in the driver's seat this time.
"He's the No. 2 to my No. 1 by next month, bitch."
So this was what he got after breathing the same air as Deku every day for ten years: infected.
Katsuki turned into a goddamn zombie with a brain that moved slower than his mouth and who did not have a line separating his thoughts from what he was saying.
Case in point: right fucking now.
"And," He shed off his jacket that still carried subtle hints of Deku's aftershave (from that morning hug the nerd somehow assimilated in their routine) and filthy bits of the fried rice the fucker inhaled that morning.
Katsuki dumped the thing on top of the duffel bag, crossing his arms with a brow raised.
"Did I fucking stutter about this being Deku's smell?"
香-香-香
The DynaDeku perfume line ended up being a hit.
By 'hit,' Katsuki referred to how the pre-order link crashed so many times that Miya Shinma had to push back the date. It also meant a sudden upsurge of visits to local shrines all around Japan in the days leading to the said date, with luck omamori selling out faster than All Might's fanmeet tickets had.
So yeah, it was a fucking hit. Their agency was no longer going under. No more almost-crying PR managers, sidekicks fighting for the last onigiri in the fridge, or interns having to sneak takeout from their school cafeterias.
Problem solved, and everyone was fucking happy.
Except for Deku who'd been out-sweating Katsuki all day, with the very ominous note left in his bento in blood (ketchup) of "WE NEED TO TALK."
Katsuki knew that little shit stuck around for two or three loops on the train before coming to their apartment when it was two hours past the end of Deku's shift that he heard the door open.
"Thought someone finally pushed your stupid ass in the tracks and they had to scrape your body off the rails, nerd."
Deku froze mid-tiptoe to his room and turned–achingly slow–to the scariest sight to mankind: an apron-wearing Katsuki with bangs pinned back, ladle in one hand, and arms crossed.
He chuckled nervously. "That's too morbid of a 'welcome back', Kacchan!"
"Would've been less morbid if you said 'I'm home' and not creeped in like the cowardly fucker that you are, asshole."
Shame flashed across Deku's face (as he fucking should) before he swept it away for something else.
The creases on his forehead smoothened, bushy brows easing (and reminding Katsuki he needed to clean up that mess). Deku's green eyes got lost again into crescents as a soft smile–wide as fucking ever–graced his face.
"I'm home, Kacchan," said Deku like an earnest prayer that Katsuki had been unknowingly accepting every time.
(Only now did he hear how the words sounded breathless and full of awe, as if the nerd couldn't help but thank a greater power for having Katsuki there)
Katsuki huffed and turned around, walking back to the kitchen. "Yeah, yeah, welcome back. Now make yourself useful and dice the green onion and beat the shitty eggs for garnish–after you wash up."
"Oh! Right!" Deku laughed sheepishly at the aborted movement of following Katsuki. "I'll be right out, Kacchan. Don't worry!"
Easier said than fucking done.
While cooking was this cathartic experience that allowed Katsuki to take a breather, the humidity just stoked at his nerves all the more. Which didn't make any fucking sense when it was probably (definitely) Deku who was freaking out in the shower.
(Yeah, the walls weren't as thick as their landlord advertised it was)
It also made little sense that his heart and stomach were being very uncooperative with the whole 'keep it cool' agenda. He was the one who wrote that menacing message in blood (ketchup). He wasn't supposed to be tempted to julienne the carrots and shiitake into oblivion instead of just dicing them.
"It's fucking fine, Katsuki," He muttered under his breath, sliding off the mutilated vegetables into the simmering pot of dashi broth and sliced salmon.
He dumped the ready-made konbini rice in a strainer, flicking the faucet to full blast. As he rinsed the rice, he kept muttering, "You're not fucking nervous. You're just going to tell Deku that–"
Hey, shitnerd. It turns out that instead of thinking of you as this insufferable leech God punished me with, you're actually a tolerable house pet. A dog. You're a fucking dog, Deku, and hey, just want to say that I wouldn't mind being your owner for, oh I don't know. Forever and even during our turn in hell after we've dropped dead?
The bubbling pot let out sizzles of protest from the ferocious manner that Katsuki dumped the strained rice. With him stabbing at their supposed dinner of zosui with a kitchen spoon, it'd end up more like fucking congee at that point.
(Not that it mattered since the shitnerd always took everything Katsuki offered with an open mind, eyes, and heart)
The knife made an almost painful cry when Katsuki abused it (again), the chopping board as its victim. Turning down the heat and placing the lid back on the pot, Katsuki glimpsed himself in the knife's reflection.
His bottom lip looked like it'd been fucking mauled, bits of skin missing from being pulled at. The bangs he pinned back were breaking free from bobby pins, most likely weakened from the humidity.
Fuuuck, should he have worn makeup or some shit? Maybe he should've gone for that emerald hairpin that had Deku's eyes glued to him that one time?
Fuck it, maybe those neets and perverts on internet forums had a point about the naked apron pla–
"What the fuck? No! Agh!" Katsuki tore the embedded knife from the chopping board and glared at his reflection.
(It was not fucking stupid to feel miffed about his reflection glaring back at him. What an asshole)
"Listen here, you shitbag," He glared at the distorted figure, voice dripping with venom that would definitely turn their dinner into a legitimate draught of living death.
"You're not nervous. Nope. Nuh-uh. It's that stinky nerd who's supposed to be pissing himself in the shower now."
His reflection was still glaring at him.
"You just need to fucking remember, Katsuki: it's shitty Deku's fault for smelling the way he smells like, that you're in this goddamn mess right now."
"Well, what do I smell like, Kacchan?"
Katsuki rolled his eyes. "Fucking obviously, Deku smells like h–"
Wait.
With robotic finesse, he tilted the blade of the knife in front of him slightly. The smooth surface caught the finicky lights of the kitchen and blinded him (literally) before showing him what he'd been looking for.
(Or, more accurately, what he'd been fucking hoping was just a figment of his imagination)
The reflection was distorted. Scratches on the knife's blade muted colors and twisted forms. Still, Katsuki could see with painstaking clarity the amused look on Deku's face.
That the nerd's reflection even waved at Katsuki like a goofy idiot was proof enough that yes, that was Deku's voice he heard.
And that, subsequently, Deku heard his poor attempt at a pep-talk with a knife as a mirror.
Briefly, Katsuki wondered if it wasn't too late to flick said knife and try another attempt at Get Out of Awkward Situations By Impaling their Heads with Kitchen Knives.
It was just too bad (for Deku and his stupid green eyes) that the pot took the opportune moment to whistle after the 10-minute mark.
Katsuki glared at reflection-Deku, still not turning around to face, well, the actual man. "Listen here, nerd. This ain't me running away, got that? This is me making sure your bottomless stomach won't end up eating me instead tonight."
Deku laughed and moved over to where the sprig of green onion was already sprawled out on another chopping board. "Whatever you say, Kacchan."
"Damn straight," Katsuki grunted. "Now go beat the shit out of that egg and dice the crap out of those green onions."
As much as he wanted to say that cooking with Deku over the past ten years got better and–if he was in a generous mood–resulted in toe-curling meals, that wasn't really the case.
Even now, he still had to rescue a couple of their still-surviving plates in becoming additional hazards to this safety hazard of a man. He couldn't even count how many fucking times they ended up eating food made with at least a drop or two of Deku's blood, the first-aid kit already having a permanent spot in one of their cupboards.
Cooking supposedly cathartic ended up having additional stress and frustration nine out of ten times when he added Deku into the mix.
But.
Katsuki held out his hand, fingers already wrapping around a bowl of beaten eggs he didn't have to ask for. With the last of the egg texture added into the pot, he moved aside–smoothly–, letting a scarred hand sprinkle the garnish of irregularly chopped green onions as garnish.
Still, the one out of those ten times always ended up more fulfilling than any other meal he'd whip up alone.
(It'd always better when Katsuki knew Deku was there by his side. An unspoken promise the man was fulfilling and that he, only now, was trying to uphold his end of)
Katsuki turned off the heat and the background noise of sizzling broth and a warm meal devolved back into silence.
Deku was by his side, a burning presence turned curious when he noticed Katsuki wasn't making any move to transfer the pot over to the dinner table. The man shifted and at the corner of Katsuki's eyes, he could see Deku open his mouth.
Too bad he was faster.
"You fucking stink, Deku."
"Eh…? What?"
Katsuki scoffed, eyes stubbornly glaring at the pot lid's black markings. "You smell like a burning kitchen greeting me after work 'cuz your ass doesn't know what 'cooked right' means."
He could feel a pair of green eyes boring into the side of his head. It wasn't lost to him either how the nerd was shuffling closer, his looming form (just a few centimeters, dammit) casting a shadow over Katsuki.
Through it all, Katsuki kept fucking talking.
"You smell like stinky red shoes at the genkan that's already filthier than the fucking Tokyo sewer with how often you've snatched it from the dry clean pile just 'cuz you don't want it to 'lose color.' Which is bullshit, by the way."
A couple of his bangs got loose, the humidity becoming too much for them to stay still. The hand Katsuki was raising to comb the stubborn fuckers back faltered, his body freezing.
With a shaky breath in and the return of his hand to his side, his stuttering heart started up again.
He just fucking hoped, as scarred fingers did the job for him, that Deku thought his skin was hot because of the humidity (and only that).
"Mmm," Deku hummed lowly against the shell of Katsuki's ear, the soft rumble of his chest reaching and echoing into Katsuki's own. "And? What else, Kacchan?"
He tucked the last of Katsuki's hair behind an ear, green eyes still boring into the side of his head.
"What else do I smell like, Kacchan?"
(No, that wasn't a fucking whimper. His legs weren't turning jelly, either. He was just… tired from standing around and cooking)
Stubbornly, Katsuki kept his eyes on the cooling pot of zosui in front of him. With a dry mouth and throat (because why else would his voice turn out breathless), he answered.
"You smell like–like poorly sun-dried clothes when I gave you just one fucking job to hang them for only a couple hours 'cuz I don't want another repeat of you flooding our place with detergent."
Deku laughed and Katsuki couldn't let go of the thought of wanting to hear it over and over again.
With practiced, gentle hands, Deku turned Katsuki to face him, green eyes finally meeting red ones. His hand–the one that lingered to play with the shaved edges of Katsuki's hair–moved to cup Katsuki's face, thumb brushing against the apple of his cheek.
Katsuki couldn't help but sigh into the touch, leaning into it as Deku wrapped an arm loosely around his waist.
(These arms and hands that were bathed in the same blood and sin that Katsuki took it upon himself to share)
Deku smiled softly, eyes looking at nowhere else but Katsuki. "Do I? Do I really smell like all of those, Kacchan?"
As much as Deku tried to lace the questions with an amused tone, presenting them jokingly, Katsuki wasn't an idiot. He heard the hesitation–slight as it was–underlying what was asking for something else entirely. He felt the way Deku's arm tightened around him, and the twitch of war-beaten fingers against his face.
Even now Katsuki could see the small flicker of all the ugly things that shouldn't be on Deku's face–doubt, fear, resignation, pathetic desperation.
What a fucking idiot.
It should be him who should wear those emotions like an oblivious idiot who was afraid and thinking–
Am I too late? Am I 10 years too fucking late?
Katsuki snorted and pulled at Izuku's cheek, grinning at the other's wince of pain. His grin turned softer, though. He allowed it to turn into a rare smile that made Deku's breath hitch at the sight.
Katsuki let his hand slide down to Izuku's neck, pulling the man down (just for a few centimeters, dammit) until their foreheads knocked against each other, tips of their noses brushing, and breaths mixing.
"Yeah, you fucking do, Izuku. You stink, you goddamn nerd."
"Heh, well," Izuku chuckled, pulling Katsuki into a decade-long overdue kiss. "You stink of home for me too, Kacchan."
And we wouldn't have it any other way.