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The city never sleeps, Shouto thinks, lifting his glass to his lips. He takes a moment to savor his drink, truly experiencing it beyond taste, and sighs out his lingering tension. His muscles ache, and his body is heavy. But he feels good, undeniably.
Mismatched eyes wander over his companions. A crude smirk twists Katsuki’s otherwise handsome features as he antagonizes Izuku, but his eyes are calm, his posture relaxed as he reclines in the small bar’s corner booth—their corner booth.
These days, Katsuki’s fire burns brighter than ever, but the raging storm, all pain and anguish, from his teen years has faded. He’s lighter, weightless like Ochako’s activated her quirk on him, and he’s matured significantly. At least in Shouto’s opinion.
The media may have differing opinions on Katsuki’s bad boy image, but those that know him can see past the fresh ink and piercings. And beyond them lies a man who’ll never stop fighting to be the best but that can finally see the value in rising together.
It’s why the three can meet like this after a long day: Shouto, Katsuki, and Izuku all tucked into the corner booth, sharing stories and bickering like lifelong friends. Which, at this point, he supposes they are.
“Shou, tell this gorilla that my intern is definitely winning,” Izuku hiccups, one scarred hand wrapped tight around his empty glass, the other fisted on the table between them, his knuckles white and emerald eyes blazing.
“Let me stop you right there, Shitty Deku,” Katsuki cackles. “Halfie may be stupid, but he’s nowhere near as stupid as you. Fat chance your shitty kid beats mine.”
“Ha!” Izuku jabs a finger at Katsuki. “So you admit you care about your interns! I knew you were full of it.” His words trail off into incoherent mumbling, but his gaze never wavers from Katsuki’s face.
“When the fuck did I say that?” Katsuki scowls, though his voice holds no heat.
For all their drunken bickering, the pair are about as harmless as the kitten Shouto adopted last month. And while they still have claws, same as Miso, they hardly use them. Not like they used to back in school.
“Jus’ now,” Izuku demands. “You called them kids, which implies you think of them fondly.”
“Christ,” Katuski snorts, choking on a laugh. “You’re out of your damn mind. That makes no sense, you shitty nerd.”
“Okay, but…” Izuku releases Katsuki from his unflinching stare-down and swings toward Shouto with pleading, puppy dog eyes. “She’s still gonna win, right? Tell Kacchan he’s stupid. My kid is better than his.”
“I don’t know who’ll win.” Under no circumstances will Shouto get involved with the boys’ Sports Festival betting pool. And if that’s because he has a secret wager with several other former classmates regarding his own intern, well, that’s an entirely unrelated matter.
“As if.” Katsuki rolls his eyes and downs the rest of his drink. “You probably just don’t wanna pick a side. Coward.” He sniffs haughtily, crossing his thick arms over his chest.
Sober Katsuki is above passive theatrics, but Five Drink Katsuki is nearly as dramatic as Yuga Aoyama.
Izuku, on the other hand, is always possessed by that same fiery spirit of youth and wonder that got him through his U.A. years. Even now that he’s filled out, climbed the hero rankings, and amassed a considerable fan base, he’s still the same kid that cries when dogs die in movies. The same nerd that can’t stop geeking out over quirks and statistics whenever a new face arrives on the hero scene. The same friend that taught Shouto fire means rebirth.
Katsuki and Izuku have changed in many ways, but they’ve stayed the same in the ones that matter. They’ve become constants Shouto can rely on, and he wonders if they feel the same about him.
He’s changed too, after all.
“Don’t call Shouto a coward,” Izuku slurs, kicking Katsuki’s shin.
“You little shit,” Katsuki grunts, leaning across the table to flick Izuku between the eyes.
Izuku whimpers, and Shouto rolls his eyes. A wry smile tugs at his lips, threatening to convey his amusement.
“Keep this up, and they’ll kick us out,” Shouto chides. He says it on principle, knowing they’d never be asked to leave; the graveyard bartender is far too fond of them.
His words sound fuzzy even to his own ears, and he smacks his lips in thought, touching his cheek. His skin is hot to the touch—and not just on his fire side. Perhaps, he’s had one too many, too.
A soft giggle works its way past his lips, and he hugs himself gingerly, patting his arms with his fingertips.
“The fuck are you doing?”
Katsuki’s attention diverts to Shouto at the same time the flash goes off from Izuku’s phone. It’s aimed at Shouto, but he can’t be bothered to care. In fact, he doesn’t so much as register that Izuku has taken his picture, which will undoubtedly end up in the group chat by morning.
“Warm,” Shouto hums with a pleased smile.
“Idiot.” Groaning, Katsuki slumps in his seat. He rubs vigorously at his eyes and rests his head on the booth’s backing.
A curious finger finds Shouto’s cheek—on his cold side—and gives it a testing poke. “You’re melting,” Izuku whispers, pulling his hand back.
“Sweating more like,” Katsuki huffs under his breath. “The asshole’s face is as red as his damn scar.”
Shouto cannot confirm whether this particular claim is true or not. He does feel like he’s melting, though, so he nods meekly at Izuku to garner sympathy. Cooing, his friend pats him on the head.
If Shouto could purr, he would. He’s never more at ease than when he’s around Izuku and Katsuki. He enjoys a healthy dose of solitude when his schedule allows, but nothing compares to spending late nights with the pair, bathed in the bar’s inviting yellow light.
The sounds of nightlife trickle in from the street, but the trio is comfortable, content to laze in their booth. They’ll leave once Katsuki’s better senses return. Izuku and Shouto don’t mind running themselves ragged, but the hotshot blond will eventually jolt out of his stupor and cuss them out for ruining his sleep schedule.
Until then, they’ll continue lounging, enjoying each other’s company, and prattling on about whatever strikes their fancy. These moments are precious to Shouto because, while the city may never sleep, there are moments when it blinks. Times where everything slows.
And during those periods, where the world turns differently, he’s glad he’s not alone. He’s glad that, tucked into this booth, drinking cheap liquor with his high school friends, he can spend his nights with people that have come to mean the world to him.