Chapter Text
Bakugo Katsuki was gifted from an early age. He learned to crawl in only a few months. He could walk by the time he was a year old, and was babbling nonsense before he turned 2 but what was remarkable about him was his creativity.
The boy had talent the second he picked up a crayon and started scribbling pictures of things he liked. When he was old enough to properly hold a pencil, the boy would scribble and draw whatever it was that came to mind, his imagination was endless.
They weren't Picasso paintings, no, but for a 3 year old, they were impressive. His parents encouraged it greatly, getting him whatever it was he would point at at the art store, spoiling him to the point of giving him his own little art corner
And at the age of 4, he drew what would be his muse for the rest of his life.
It was on a fresh new notebook he was scribbling in during class, not even the sketchpad his mother made him bring. He never liked drawing in those much, they never gave out his best works.
On this lined paper, he would scribble for hours. Random thoughts and colors on paper. Pairs of eyes of varying expressions.
Then one pair of eyes started forming a face. Then round chubby cheeks. Wild scribbles of hair. A gentle smile.
It was an adorable little doodle. But something was missing
Without much thought, he dotted on 8 little freckles. 4 on each cheek, perfectly shaped like diamonds.
Katsuki stopped for a second, ruby eyes staring at his creation. It was a doodle. A little scribble he usually made during class. But the boy found himself itching to finish his work.
He didn't think much of it, grabbing the first crayon he could reach and colored the hair and eyes forest green. At least that's what the label said.
Katsuki liked that color. He thought it fit well with his drawing. In fact, he liked this drawing a lot.
Pride swelled within his chest as he stared at his finished artwork. He liked this feeling. I felt better than the praise he would usually receive from people around him
It wasn't long before he was drawing this little character again. And again. And again
Different expressions. Different sizes. Some with bodies, most only went down to their shoulders
And with each drawing, his heart would soar
This was his forever muse
As he grew older, a new determination filled him. He wanted to get better. He wanted to paint his muse into perfection. He told his parents this, and though confused by his childish imagination, they encouraged his passion
He got art supplies galore
His room was made to accommodate any creative activity he so wished to do. He was enrolled into art classes when he was old enough to go. Katsuki even studied on his own, looking up everything and anything online that could help him improve his skills
He was a bright burning flame of passion
With each medium of art he dabbled in, with each new skill and technique he learned, he would always ALWAYS draw his muse. And with each passing art piece, the image grew up with Katsuki, refined itself, and slowly became more real.
In different mediums and styles, his muse would smile so bright. And each time Katsuki's heart would flutter for reasons he never thought to understand
At the age of 12 though, a switch had flipped, and that feeling in his chest started to become annoying. A constant throbbing. A pain he couldn't understand and was afraid of
It was during class while he was scribbling his muse, that one of his classmates would comment on his art. He was used to their usual remarks
"you're so talented!"
"It looks so pretty!"
"I wish I could draw like that!"
"Could you draw me?"
It all angered him to no end
But today was different
"Who are you drawing?"
It was an innocent question, but a new one. No one really questioned who or what he drew, just commented on how it looked
He glances at the extra then back at his sketchbook. Big bright eyes stare back at him as he doodles his muse
And realization hit him
He didn't know what to call this character
His source of inspiration
He always just called him his muse, but it would be a pain in the ass to have to explain what a muse was to this extra
It was useless
Useless
"It's just Deku"
From then on, that was what Katsuki called his muse
Deku
It was an odd name but it fit well in Katsuki's young mind. He technically didn't need his muse. He could draw a number of different faces and people. He could create more muses, draw whatever it is he saw fit
He didn't need Deku
Yet he continues to draw him
And soon, at the age of 13, he felt the need to HURT Deku
Maybe it was the hormones of his growing teenage body. Maybe it was the annoying questions he continued to get that became more insistent when he became the 'art kid.’ Maybe he just needed a way to vent his frustrations
He didn't know, all he knew was that drawing Deku sad gave him a new feeling in his chest
It hurt
He hated it
It made him angry
It made him hurt Deku more through his art
It was a cycle of pain and anger he put himself in.
A creative hell.
He started venting through his art in the broken form of his once beloved muse. He drew him crying, he painted abstract images of his pained face. He drew him in poses of hopelessness and anguish.
And with each passing artwork, the pain continued to claw at his heart.
He was hurting himself and was too proud to see that. So he blamed his muse
He blamed Deku
And soon stopped drawing him
It was only logical. Why continue this painful cycle? What was the point?
This proceeded throughout highschool. He had his head so far up his ass at this point after getting into the best arts school in Japan
He thought he was the best. His works were filled with so much raw emotion, and his skills were vast and polished for his age
So being critiqued by his more experienced teachers teachers
Seeing the passionate creative individuals in his classes
Having to witness students years younger than him create works the bestest his own
It tore at his pride and ego
If destroyed his world view
It shook his core
It made him afraid
It made him hateful
Anger. Disappointment. Resentment. Doubt
Pain.
Pain.
Pain
Suddenly, he wasn't the best
Suddenly, he didn't think his works were good enough
Suddenly, he was losing his drive to create
He did his best. He really did. He learned, he took criticism, he studied, he tried new techniques
But his drive was gone. His motivation was running thin, and it felt as though every time he picked up a pencil, his hand wouldn't move
He sat at his desk, scribbles of paper and paint scattered around the floor of his room. All filled with his desperate attempts to finish an assignment
But nothing he made was good enough
His portraits weren't good enough. They didn't look right. They didn't FEEL right
Wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong
With his desk lamp the only thing illuminating his room, Katsuki laid his face into his hands, frustrated and upset
Unmotivated and at the end of his rope
He didn't know what was wrong
In a fit of anger, he pushes himself to stand and he punches the nearest wall, rattling the sketchbooks that sat on his shelf.
He hears his mother yell for him to shut up and sleep. He replies with his usual "Shut up, old hag!" before his eyes catch a certain sketchbook that lays open on his floor
Well, a notebook. One with his first drawing of his muse
It lays on the floor, the lamp perfectly illuminating the old doodle.
Katsuki stands there and stares at those forest green eyes he drew as a child. The bright smile of his muse he used to draw day and night. The messy green curls he had perfected through muscle memory
And his chest fluttered
Oh
He remembers this feeling now
It's been a while
It... Felt nice
Deku made him feel nice
He kneels down, picking up the old notebook with delicate care and flips through his first drawings of his muse
They were horrible. God, it made him cringe at his younger self for thinking these were any good
But... His chest felt light at the sight
At the sight of his Deku
And soon, that feeling guided him
His body moved on it's own
He wasn't sure what possessed him. Maybe an art spirit had decided to have mercy on him and took over. Maybe his sleep-ridden mind puppited his body. He wasn't sure
All he knew was that when he woke up against his wall that morning, covered in paint and drool, the sight before him took his breath away
On his easel, being illuminated by the sunlight through his window, sat a painting of his own creation
His muse stared back at him.
Painted in forest green and bright orange, smiling with gentle caring eyes, cradling a scarred hand against his chest, dressed in a white button up shirt that looked as soft as silk
There the image of Deku greats him
He looked real enough to be alive
The wind blew through his open window
He hears an imaginary voice call to him
Like a whisper of a secret
"Good night"
Katsuki's throat felt dry, his imagination had a hold of his throat and he rasped out a reply
"Good morning"
Maybe it was his lack of sleep but he swore his painting giggled
—-------------
He carefully wrapped his painting and presented it that day
His peers were impressed by the raw emotion. By the beautiful freckled muse with a bright gentle smile.
As he went to read out his rushed paper about his work, he took one look at his title and glances at his painting once again.
He's not useless
He stares at the title he's written, and without thinking, changes the first Kanji
At the age of 16, Katsuki had refound his muse
"This is Izuku"
It felt strange rolling off his tongue
He felt that flutter in his chest again
This time, he wasn't annoyed by it
—-----------
College wasn't what Katsuki expected it to be. Well, he didn't expect much but it still baffled him
It was both easier and more difficult than highschool ever was, but he was glad a handful of his idiot brigade got into the same university he did, though in different courses
Their group consisted of different talents, and Katsuki, unfortunately, was dubbed the 'Brooding artist mom' of the gang
Idiots [Affectionately]
They weren't wrong though. Katsuki was an introvert at heart. His friends often find him alone somewhere sketching and listening to whatever it was he was interested in at the time.
Sometimes it was podcasts, other days audiobook, most days it was hour long YouTube essay videos about video games, and occasionally just the same song he was obsessed with played on repeat
But he was always consistently drawing one thing
Izuku
His source of inspiration
The imaginary muse that continued to fuel his motivation
His untouchable masterpiece
Or what the so called 'BakuSquad' likes to call him
"You drawing your imaginary boyfriend, again?"
"Shut up, sparkplug!"
Denki dodges the eraser that comes hurling at his head, laughing at Katsuki's pink ears and annoyed scowl
Okay fine
Fine, he'll admit, over the years as he drew Izuku to be his age, he'd grown to find his own art of him attractive
He started drawing him more adult
Sharper jaw
Bigger hands
A more defined yet elegant body
Izuku was an imaginary young man he had a crush on
But it wasn't a big deal!
Everyone drew what they were inherently attracted to. It was a fact. A subconscious thing most artists do when they create
It just so happens that Izuku was his type
Apparently
He was mature enough to admit that
It's perfectly normal
Besides, he wasn't real...
But every time that fact dawns on Katsuki, the blond feels his chest ache
Izuku isn't real
He will always just be on paper
His smile made of graphite
His hair made of acrylics
His eyes painted in oils
Freckles dotted on by hand
A muse that only Katsuki is able to perfectly replicate
Katsuki wanted him to be real
He wished he was
He would dream of Izuku day and night. Dream of his eyes twinkling, his mess of curls blowing in the wind
He dreams of what he would sound like
He thinks Izuku would sound timid. A constantly awkward tone in his speech. A stutter, maybe a lisp? Perhaps he murmures his words behind his hand when he's focused
What would his laugh sound like? Katsuki saw Izuku as an angel, a beacon of hope, but he couldn't help imagining him having an oddly manic laugh. The thought made him chuckle
What would he sound like saying Katsuki's name?
He wished he knew
—-----
It was on a tuesday evening when a new desire filled his chest
Katsuki sat in his room, staring at his most recent painting of his muse
Thoughts spinning in his mind
He wanted people to see his work
He wanted people to SEE Izuku
To show off the man he's only ever seen through his art
A man he wishes to learn more of instead of just see
He wanted people to see his muse
At age 20, Katsuki started posting his art online