Work Text:
Must run on love, because we can't afford gas.
—Joy Harjo, from An American Sun
1.
Recently, Katsuki had made a discovery about the way he was perceived by others, becoming aware of some untapped charisma he’d been completely blind to until this very moment.
By manner of cosmic telepathy, the people who know Katsuki personally—his friends and coworkers, and even his parents—all of them have decided amongst themselves to push forth the wrong idea about him. More to the point (and for reasons beyond his comprehension), no matter how he may choose to behave, somehow, he was always considered a good guy, a pleasure to work with, an excellent friend to have—that was what Deku said. But what the hell does that guy know anyway?
If you were to ask Katsuki’s mother, she'd probably say that under the layers and layers of bluster, and behind his admittedly short fuse, he really does care deeply about the people he loves. In the past, she’d made embarrassing comments about the soft, tender heart Katsuki had inherited from his father. But of course, Katsuki never took any of that as a compliment. In fact, he'd argue that being the way that he was, was not only a total burden, but a huge, inconvenient weight on his conscious. In short terms: it sucked ass!
After, it was to blame for why he was in this predicament now, why he was (un)willingly housing a runaway in his single bedroom apartment, despite the limited space, and the distinct lack of privacy. Apparent-fucking-ly, he was too goddamn nice for his own good.
Worse yet, he was the very last person to realize it.
2.
There's a television channel that airs American sitcoms from a decade ago. Every night, Shouto has fallen asleep on the couch to the sound of generic, pre-recorded laughter. (He enjoys them way more than average adult should, and has a complex about sitting in complete silence.)
When that happens, Katsuki can't help but feel shitty about just how little Shouto knew of the outside world before they'd met. How limited his exposure was to things most kids got a kick out of, things like arcades and extra sugary-sweet blue Kool-Aid. As children, it had been so much easier to simply not take notice. Too absorbed in the wonders of his own world to worry about someone else’s lack of one.
Now, he watches Shouto’s hunched back shake from laughter while he scarfs down cup ramen on the living room floor, without any pants on, nursing a glass of dessert wine.
(It's well after midnight on the one Saturday off Katsuki gets every other week, and he can come up with at least ten different ways he should be spending it besides babysitting a grown ass man. Here he is trying to survive under the crushing weight of capitalism and Shouto is seemingly none the wiser.)
On the kitchen counter a stack of papers sits precariously at the edge and although Katsuki was supposed to be using this rare free evening to work on his thesis, he’d gotten roped into helping Mina grade papers for their professor, and was wading through the backlog of essays written by freshman stem majors who desperately needed to pick up a book every once in a while. Seriously, this writing is atrocious.
Shouto makes a loud slurping noise, forgoing all the proper etiquette and table manners programmed into him as a child. Katsuki sort of gets it. If he'd had a childhood like Shouto’s, one devoid of certain childish freedoms, he would probably do the same. Be as rebellious as ever. Forcibly unlearn all the things that didn’t suit him.
However, slurping is still gross as hell.
“Oi, could you be any goddamn louder?”
Shouto peers at him from behind his fringe, “Sorry,” he says with a full mouth.
Since escaping his parent’s estate in the hills, Shouto had carved out a space for himself amongst the regular folk here in the city. No more butlers and maids at his beck and call. No more father dearest leaving threatening voicemails on his cellphone. No more private education or summers in Europe. He was more grounded now, and less like the super-douche everyone thought him to been.
(Often his quiet nature had been mistaken for snobbish arrogance, and since his immense wealth had already separated him from the rest of his peers, Shouto had no real friends to call his own. Except for Katsuki, of course.)
While it hasn’t been long since he made the transition, Katsuki can tell that Shouto has embraced his new life with open arms. Maybe a bit too much, even.
If he’s honest, he isn't sure it's been all cotton candy and rainbows. Shouto has slowly become a well of questionable habits, not just the drinking, or taking the occasional smoke when he thinks Katsuki isn’t paying attention or staying up all night just to sleep through the afternoons.
Shouto is just lucky he’s rich and has no obligations to attend to. Unlike the rest of the struggling world.
Friend or not, Katsuki would’ve really ripped into him about needing to think for the future—about how he’d need to get off his ass and get a job if he was serious about crashing here.
Instead, Katsuki had kept his lips sealed, rendered speechless when Shouto had shoved a designer duffle bag full of what could only be his entire inheritance into Katsuki hands the night he showed up on his doorstep teary-eyed, sweaty, and looking like he’d run all the way there.
(“The fuck? Todo—Shouto?!”
“Katsuki, long time no see. I, um, I need a place to stay for while. Can I stay with you? I have money!”
“….What? Why?? Hold on—don’t just barge in.”)
That was months ago, and they’ve been reunited ever since.
Shouto gets up to dispose of his bowl, then stops at the edge of the kitchen entry, “So, I meant to tell you this morning, but I won’t be home tomorrow night. Got a date thing.”
Katsuki blinks at him. The desire to ask “with who?” comes instinctually, but he swallows it back and shrugs in response. He has his dignity after all. He nearly curses when, Shouto leans over his shoulder, catching him off guard. Katsuki gets a nose full of chicken soup mixed with his natural scent. He’s ridiculously cold too.
“The hell, what happened to personal space?”
“Humor me. I didn’t get enough hugs as a child.”
Katsuki shifts his weight from one foot to the other, bearing the brunt of Shouto’s seventy kilos on his back, “Why the fuck are you taking it out on me?”
“Does it bother you?”
Katsuki wants to scream an emphatic “yes!” But that would be a lie. He sighs, letting himself be squeezed.
“No… not really.” He can’t stay annoyed at Shouto for very long, and it’s been that way since they were five. (It’d be like glaring at a puppy, a clingy little puppy with big, bright, clueless eyes.)
“Alright, that’s enough. I need to finish this.”
Shouto releases him with a huff, and says—as if he’s in any position to lecture Katsuki on anything, “You work too hard, you know.”
Katsuki flips him off. “Yeah? And you don’t work nearly enough, now beat it.”
3.
Katsuki is returning home from a faculty meeting, climbing onto the elevator in his apartment building, when he gets a phone call from Shouto's older sister.
Her number isn’t saved but she’s the only person from Shouto’s family who has his direct contact. Plus, he would recognize that area code anywhere. For a moment, he debates whether to answer. In the months they've lived together, Shouto had avoided talking about his family, and Katsuki had figured it was better to leave it alone than get in between the drama. He does remember Fuyumi being sort of nice, if not a little bossy when they were younger and she was tasked to look after them.
Still, he watches as the call goes to voicemail. Out of sight, out of mind. He’s got his hands full with one Todoroki, he doesn’t need another one.
Later, when Shouto comes home with a piercing kit and a look of determination on his face, Katsuki knows the night is going to be long.
“The fuck am I supposed to do with this?”
Shouto frowns at him, “Help me,” then, as if remembering his manners, “Please?”
Katsuki crosses his arms, frowning back for good measure, “Why are you even home? Did your shitty date fall through?”
“...Something like that,” Shouto evades the question, and terribly at that, which only makes Katsuki’s brows crease even more. “Can I get a hand with this? I’ve never done it before.”
“Neither have I asshole. God, give it here.” Katsuki snatches the package out of Shouto’s hands and reads through the warning label. “If we do this, your sister is gonna have our asses. You know that right?”
“You don’t actually care what Fuyumi thinks.”
“No. But you do.”
Shouto hums, twisting the red side of his bangs between his forefinger and thumb. His hair is getting longer. He might need a cut soon.
“I’m old enough to make my own decisions, aren’t I?”
“Dunno, ‘cuz I’m seriously doubting that right now…”
Resigned to his fate though, he nudges Shouto towards a chair with his hip and settles himself between his parted legs.
Shouto looks him straight in the eye and it throws him for all of five seconds.
“Hope you’re ready, princess. This is gonna hurt like a bitch,” Katsuki murmurs with a hint of glee.
He’s stretching the truth a bit here. It shouldn’t hurt more than a pinch, some discomfort at most, but he can’t help relishing in the queasy look on Shouto’s face. Serves him right.
4.
Shopping for himself is Shouto’s latest venture. Usually, his clothes (and almost everything else he owns) are ordered directly from catalogues or shipped over in PR boxes or gifted by foreign designers who want him wearing their latest pieces.
Today, however, he’d taken an uber to the shopping district in what he believes is a rather daring display of independence.
He’s eyeing down a pair of black studs for his new ear piercings when he feels something, or rather someone bump into him from behind.
“Oof! Sorry about that—”
Shouto turns over his shoulder, hand still poised to reach out for the item he’d been examining, “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“You sure I didn’t hurt you there?” The person grins at him, showing off a row of pearly white teeth with braces that make the person seemly oddly young despite the arm full of tattoos . The stranger tilts his head at Shouto, “Anything in particular I can help you with?”
Only then does Shouto notice the name-tag fastened to their uniform polo. HANTA SERO, it says in big letters. An employee. Shouto feels his hackles lower, then points to the studs, “Do you think these would look good on me?”
“Honestly? I think anything would look good on you,” Sero laughs, “You model?”
“No?” Shouto makes a face, unsure if he’s being teased or if Sero genuinely believed him to be a model.
“Could’ve fooled me. You’re really stunning. What's your name, by the way?"
“It’s Shouto.”
"Shouto. Nice to meet ya," he taps on his name tag, "I'm Hanta, but all my friends call me by my surname, so Sero's cool to use too. I like your vibe, Shouto, and that hair! It’s natural?” Sero reaches for something in his back pocket, procures a sleek, matte black card with his name, social media handles, and phone number embossed on it in shiny font. “I’m a photographer, freelance, but ya know how it is these days.” (Shouto doesn’t.)
Nevertheless, he accepts the card from Sero, the weight of the fancy card stock it’s made from heavy in his hands.
Truthfully, he's at a loss for words. He's so used to having others speak for him, it's kind of novel to be making a friend like this. He clears his throat and tries to come up with something clever to say. The best he can come up with is: “I guess I know who to call if I ever need my photo taken.”
Sero laughs out loud, leaning forward to take the black diamond studs off the shelf and hold them up the Shouto’s ear, “Yeah? …Or you could call me for other stuff too.”
5.
Between the hours of twelve and two in the morning, Shouto is beating back his anxiety and self-loathing with a stick and trying not to think about all the things he’s missed out on and whether he’s making all the right choices.
Life would be so much easier if every major decision could be made as easily as in those romance simulation games Denki is always playing.
Select one of three options for the best predetermined outcome. Then start all over until you get the one you want.
Shouto rolls over in bed and doesn’t pull away from Katsuki even though he’s breathing directly into his face.
Katsuki is a good person. He never gets credit for it, especially from strangers, and when you’re on the receiving end of his ire, it’s hard to see just how much he cares about the people he considers friends. Or even how perceptive and honest he is. Personally, Shouto doesn’t think he has a self-serving bone in his body.
He rolls onto his back, blowing air from his mouth and staring at the ceiling. His newly pierced earlobes are throbbing and he can’t seem to fall back asleep.
Under all the blankets, Shouto feels himself getting sweaty and decides to kick them down, welcoming the brush of cold air against his bare skin. Katsuki doesn’t need them because he runs warm but knows that Shouto is always cold. (See, he’s such a good guy. Perfect even.)
Beside him, Katsuki stirs but doesn’t wake. Good. He needs all the rest he can get and even Shouto wouldn’t dare rob him of that, knowing how much and how hard he works.
He reaches for the cigarettes he hides under the bed but thinks better of it. Maybe there’s something good on TV to watch to take his mind off things.
5.5
Katsuki had grown used to waking up to Shouto in his bed.
This morning, though, Shouto is nowhere to be seen and it feels weird that Katsuki isn’t being actively suffocated by a strong grip or that he doesn't find a strand of red hair clinging to his lip.
Shouto sleeps soundly on the couch, with the television playing some old, black and white cartoon.
Katsuki grabs his bag from the coffee table to head out. He’s got a tutoring session to host, and he can’t afford to be late. Yet he stops just short of the couch to watch Shouto drool onto the cushion.
“Gross,” he mumbles to himself, but struggles to fight the warmth spreading in his chest, like sugar on his tongue; whether Shouto is drooling all over the him, cuddling his back or snoring in his face, Katsuki can’t help finding it even the teeniest bit endearing.
6.
From what Shouto can tell, Sero’s ultimate goal in life is to have as much a good time as humanly possible. When he flirts, Shouto can’t tell if it’s all in jest or if he’s being serious. Even so, he privately enjoys the fact that he’d made a friend all on his own, one outside of Katsuki’s friend group.
They go to an arcade, then Shouto invites him for a swim in the neighborhood pool. They lay out in the sun, and Sero makes him laugh until he’s breathless.
They return a little later than intended, around sunset, and Sero puts an arm around his waist to share his body heat. As if the air had already been primed for this moment, Sero leans in to kiss him in the middle of the foyer.
“W-Wait, this isn’t—” Shouto pulls back, feeling dizzy.
“Oh no, no, it’s my bad,” Sero scratches the back of his neck, “This one’s on me, sorry.”
Shouto nods, not knowing what else to say. He hands Sero the towel around his neck, “You look cold.”
He wonders if he’s made everything very awkward but true to form, Sero takes rejection in stride. He bumps Shouto his elbow, grinning, “Got anything good to watch?”
The next few hours are spent watching movies, one of those Lifetime films that come on in the middle of the day. Somewhere towards the end of it, Sero makes them both something to eat.
He’s in the kitchen, still shirtless from the pool, though much, much dryer, digging through the refrigerator with his short hanging off his hips.
That's the sight Katsuki comes home to and immediately blows up on them. Shouto hasn’t seen him get this upset since junior high, he’s a bit concerned.
“The fuck?!”
“Katsuki.”
“Who the hell is this guy?”
Sero raises both hands in mock surrender, “Shouto, you didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.”
“He isn’t my boyfriend.” Shouto says and that somehow sets Katsuki off even more. “This is the friend I told you about, the one I’m staying with.” He turns to where Katsuki is glaring like he’s trying to blow Sero up with his mind, “I’m sorry I didn’t ask for your permission first to invite guests. Things sort of just happened.”
“Warn me next time you wanna invite guys over to hook up.”
“We didn’t do… much.”
That doesn’t make Katsuki feel any better, in fact it makes him feel a hell of a lot worse.
“Fuck this, fuck it, I’m going to bed.”
Shouto feels bad, watching Katsuki’s back disappear down the hall, but he ushers Sero to the door even though all he wants to do right then is chase after Katsuki.
“Sorry for causing so much trouble,” Sero murmurs, “You gonna be okay, though?”
Shouto shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine.” But as he says this, he’s not convinced. Inside, his heart sinks.
7.
The problem with falling headfirst in love with your closest friend is how inevitable the ruin is, it’s a race against time until the final countdown.
How much longer do they have together like this? How much longer until it’s all over. Until a confession falls from his lips unbidden and unhindered and he is met with a blank, unseeing stare. How much longer until Shouto tells him he just doesn’t see him that way? Leaving Katsuki to stuff down every feeling of affection and love that walks the tightrope between platonic and romantic. He hates it. Hates the countdown, hates the not knowing.
In the end, when it’s all said and done, Katsuki wonders if he could still live with himself knowing he’d taken a sledgehammer to the one thing he’d care most about.
8.
“You’re all I have,” whispers Shouto.
At some point in the night, he’d crept into Katsuki’s bed, and Katsuki had woken up to the bed dipping and lips pressed to his bare back.
Katsuki remains still, groggy with sleep, and no real desire to still be angry anymore, “That’s not true.”
“It is.”
“Don’t be an idiot, idiot. You do have friends.”
“None of them are like you, though,” Shouto yawns, looping an arm around his hips; Katsuki is too tired to shove him off and he’s taking advantage, “You know me the best.”
“I think after tonight we’d be better off knowing as little about each other as fucking possible.”
Shouto throws a leg over him, “I don’t believe that to be true.”
8.5.
“If neither of us are married in the next ten years, we should just marry each other. We’d live together with our two cats and one dog. You’d have your dream job. I’d be home watching movies like usual. I wouldn’t stay up as much either because I know how you feel about getting your sleep. But I would sleep in your clothes 'til you came home. So, you’d know I was thinking about you.” Shouto looks up from his bowl, with a forlorn look in his eyes, “What do you think?”
The morning after their argument neither of them know how to initiate an apology.
Katsuki’s one and only prayer is for peace and quiet. The way his life is set up means he’ll never, ever get that. He wishes the universe would stop getting his hopes up just to shatter it into a million pieces.
He leans across the table and mushes Shouto in the head, “Just eat your cereal, Shouto.”
He looks away with a pout, missing the way Shouto’s cheeks flush pink.
9.
Fuyumi stops by the apartment. And while Shouto should probably know better than to be surprised. He can’t help the way his heart leaps into his throat.
“Wait. Are those earrings?!!” She leans in close to get a better look.
Fuyumi is older than him by five years but she acts more like his mother than his older sister. His earliest memory of her is when she’d fed him watermelon the summer they visited their paternal grandparents following their mother’s long-term institutionalization.
He’s never told her that, because he doesn’t want to make her feel like she’s still responsible for him after all this time. Doesn’t want her to think he can’t do without her help. Their family dynamic isn’t perfect, and even Shouto with all his issues can recognize that much. Could be worse though, he supposes, but in the back of his mind he knows he’s just placating himself.
His sister plops down on their worn couch where prior to, Shouto had been dozing off to the sound of Divorce Court. He’s still in his pajamas.
“How are you holding up, Sho? You haven’t returned any of my calls, and Bakugou’s blocked me, probably.”
“I’m okay,” he sits on the floor near her legs out of habit, and lets her run her fingers through his hair. “I don’t think Katsuki would block your number, he just doesn’t know what to say to you.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“Can’t say I blame him. We’re kind of a mess, aren’t we?”
Shouto chews his lip. He hadn’t considered himself as burdensome. But maybe he had been bothering Katsuki this entire time. He doesn’t cook or clean or do much of anything to help out. As a matter of fact, he’s got the sneaking suspicion, Katsuki hadn’t been using the money Shouto had given him to take care of the bills either, so he’s not contributing in that regard as well.
“I see he’s been taking good care of you though. Look at these cheeks.” Fuyumi pinches his face, smiling softly. “You’re practically glowing. Is there something you want tell me?”
He tries to smack her hand away which does nothing but spur her on.
“C’mon Sho, you know you can tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Shouto nips at her hand, and only then does she surrender.
Fuyumi looks at him for a long time, contemplating, “Do you want it to stay that way?”
Shouto stares at his hands, gaze tracing over the life lines on his palm. A future where he and Katsuki are more than what they are now. Does such a thing even exist?
10.
Katsuki is getting ready for bed when Shouto comes by his door with the blanket from their couch cradled in his arms like a child. He doesn't know what's gotten into him, but he's been acting strange all day and Katsuki is beginning to get concerned.
He motions for Shouto to come in, lets him slide into bed right next to him, close enough that he can smell the laundry detergent off his shirt. Then Katsuki squints.
“Oi, that’s mine.”
Shouto blinks, looks down at himself, “Is it?”
“Ugh, whatever, just tell me what’s up with you so I can go to bed.”
“Nothing’s up with me.”
“Then what the hell is with the serious face? Who died?”
Now it’s Shouto’s turn to squint at him. “I—no one died, I just have something to ask.”
Katsuki fluffs his pillow, “Uh huh, what now?” He deadpans.
“I… I want you to be my boyfriend.”
They both freeze. Katsuki because he can’t have heard that right, and Shouto because Katsuki’s reaction is scaring him.
“This isn’t funny.”
Shouto gets up on knees, putting dents in the mattress and wrinkles in the sheets. “I’m not joking. Not at all.”
Katsuki can see it on his face. He means what he’s saying but even though Katsuki is hearing what he’s always dreamt of hearing, he still can’t help the niggling voice in the back of his mind. The doubt. Not of Shouto, but of himself.
“Can we talk about this in the morning?”
Shouto looks disappointed, but nods anyway. He goes to leave, but Katsuki grabs his arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“Stay,” he says, “Please.”
It’s the first time Shouto’s ever been invited in. Usually he has to force his way in or sneak in when Katsuki is sound asleep.
In his excitement, he comes barreling into Katsuki’s chest like it’s where he belongs and maybe it is.
Maybe it is.