Chapter Text
Bakugou Katsuki's p.o.v.:
Summers for Katsuki meant cicadas, festivals, watermelons, and photographs. And not the kind you click on cell phones and spam on social media. Nope. That would be too easy for the nerd. Oh no, it was a proper manual SLR (Katsuki was both amused and annoyed that the information had stuck to his brain even now, but being followed around by said shutterbug yapping about exposure and focus will do that to you) with all the bells and whistles. He was sure the nerd had even turned his room into a dark room for developing his own films at some point and it was only after Aunty Inko put her foot down that he gave up on that venture.
Katsuki had, for the most part, been his primary subject and model. He would be lying if he said he didn't like the attention (he was pretty fucking self-aware, thanks a lot) but he would rather shave half his head than admit it. Over the years, he wondered if it was his outward indifference and feigned annoyance that had driven the nerd away. Rationally, he knew it had something to do with his dad passing away and Aunty Inko needing a change of scenery to cope with it all. But he wondered if Izuku would stayed if he had been a little more amiable to his dedicated photographer. Or maybe, it was that one summer afternoon that everything fell apart.
It had been five years since Izuku had disappeared from his general vicinity and his life. The first few days, he felt unsettled. It was so damn quiet, without the constant soft mumbling he was used to tuning out as white noise. But he gritted his teeth, told himself it was just another person and moved on. He studied more than he needed to, graduated top of his class, and got into one of the top universities in the country to study chemical engineering, with a minor in.... photography.
If anyone asked him why he chose photography, you would get one of two answers, depending on how close you were to him. If you're someone he wouldn't snap at for sitting next to him in the cafeteria or would let you bully him into going out on a Friday evening, Katsuki would shrug and say, "I don't know, everything else looked fucking lame." If you were anyone else, you'd probably be told to your head out of your arse and mind your own fucking business. But regardless of who you were, you wouldn't know why he carried around an old manual camera with a frayed green strap in his backpack. Or why he sometimes got a faraway look in his eyes watching giggling kids playing by the river in summer, trying to catch cicadas.
It had been seven years, and Katsuki the now grad student was just starting to move on, when his bike, his brain, and his heart (almost) came to a screeching halt when a familiar shock of green hair ran into the road after a puppy.
"Oi, what the fuck, dude?? You tryna get killed or something, go do it in front of someone else's car!!" The walking-broccoli (that was the first thing that popped up in Katsuki's brain, and the guy did look like one, with his light green tshirt...does the print just say "T-Shirt"??? and forest green curls sticking up in every direction.) Broccoli picks up the squirming puppy gently and turns to face him, "Hey, I had good reason. I couldn't let this little guy become roadkill and I'm sure your day would have been worse too knowing you made puppy jam on your way to work...or school, whatever. So, unless you're some kind of animal murder enthusiast, quit being an asshat!"
Katsuki would be more offended, but he was a little preoccupied thinking, "What the fuck, holy shitfuck it really is him. Wait, how did that pipsqueak get this fucking buff? Wait, how tall is he? Imma put a dent in something if the nerd is fucking taller than me now!!" He wondered if Izuku recognized him, well of course he doesn't, he's wearing a fucking helmet, but then he wondered if he even remembered, or wanted to see him again.
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Midoriya Izuku's p.o.v.:
Wait, what just happened? Izuku was confused. One moment, he was berating a stranger for not putting animal welfare above traffic laws and the next, the kinda fit (hot, his mind supplied unhelpfully) helmeted stranger sped off without another word.
Wait, did I hurt a literal stranger's feelings? Shit, shit, shit...
A squirming fluffy mass in his arms shook him out of his reverie. Anyway, Izuku thought, let's get this little guy sorted for now.
. . . . . . . . .
Izuku’s friends told him he was an optimist. He remembers that time Shoto came wearing sunglasses to class and upon being asked why, the latter had answered, “Midoriya’s too bright and I have a migraine,” with the most perfect deadpan Izuku had ever seen someone execute.
But, the general consensus was that Midoriya was too kind for his own good and must be protected. Unfortunately, a lot of bullies seemed to have the same opinion, except that they considered his good-naturedness a weakness and him, ‘prime punching bag material.’ In fact, it was somewhat out of necessity that he had begun working out, tired of having to hold back a furious Ochako in high school from trying to square up against a 6’3” college delinquent one too many times.
He had filled out nicely by the time he graduated and could very well hold his own against stupid beefy dickheads, (thank you very much Ochako’s chihuahua energy). Not that he had had to worry about bullies as a grad student, everyone was far too busy either going through stacks and stacks of books at the library, getting hammered at parties and knocking out 30-page essays the night of submission, or cramming for exams. But he liked his build now and felt secure in it. And, according to Ochako and Tsuyu, his butt looked great in some fitted denim and it was a shame he preferred hiding those assets in loose-fitted cargo pants 80% of the time.
A trip to the vet revealed that the puppy was microchipped and 45 minutes later, the doors to the clinic opened to a harried mother and her frantic-looking kid, who burst into tears the moment she saw the dog in Izuku’s arms. The dog also began squirming harder, and when he put it down on the ground, raced immediately into the little girl’s arms.
The mother thanked him profusely, explaining that her daughter had forgotten to close the sliding door to the garden and the puppy had gotten out. The little girl had walked up to him, still sniffing, and solemnly handed him a lollipop, two weirdly colored rocks, and a Pokemon sticker- her most important possessions, in return for finding her dog. He had tried to give them back but the girl was adamant, her eyes threatening to fill with tears again. So, after a nod from the mother, Izuku had the clinic with his new-found treasures and a lot of dog fur stuck to his clothes.
He took the evening bus to the university and jogged towards the campus, planning to take a shower and settle down for a cheesy movie and some instant ramen maybe. School didn’t begin until next week, so he had the whole weekend to laze around and do as he pleased before things got hectic again. Izuku had always been interested in photography and films, and as he grew older, that interest developed into a passion for journalistic filmmaking.
So, like everything else he’d ever been interested in, Izuku put his heart and soul into devouring anything and everything on the subject, watching documentaries, reading theoretical studies and elaborate exposés, and religiously following world-renowned journalists. He even managed to do a story on the effect frequent earthquakes had on the Japanese countryside, painstakingly stitching together the testimonies and interviews of victims of all ages- as part of his term project in his final semester in college.
Now, he wanted to go into the specifics of investigative journalism and the technicalities and legalities of obtaining footage of conflict-ridden regions, both domestic and international, and was doing getting a diploma for the same. His mother had wanted him to continue with his studies, maybe get a nice, stable, safe job at a television studio or production house in the city. But Izuku knew what his heart wanted and even when he had been small and defenseless against older, cruel kids, he had not once doubted himself or his convictions.
One more year, he thought to himself.
As he walked into student housing, he noticed the same dark, sporty-looking motorcycle from earlier in the parking lot.
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Bakugou Katsuki’s p.o.v.:
Katsuki lay sprawled out on his best friend’s (not that he would ever admit it) futon, brooding about the earlier interaction, while said best friend sat powering through another level of some shooter title.
What the fuck was that? Why did I turn tail and run like a goddamn fucking criminal?? But damn, never thought I’d see the nerd again…
“Yo Bakubro, what’s up man?”, Kirishima Eijirou’s curious glance broke Katsuki out of his reverie.
“Nothin’.”
“You sure, big guy?” Eijirou persisted. “You’ve been staring at my curtains for the last fifteen minutes like you wanna set fire to them.”
“I said I’m fine, Shit-for-Brains, now fucking quit asking me bullshit.” Katsuki paused, taking a deep breath. “Fuck this, I’m going home. See ya Monday, Shit-for-Brains.”
“Heh, already? C’mon man, I didn’t piss you off that much!!”, Eijirou pouted.
“Nah, you’re fine. It’s almost 7 anyway, you losers have curfew and it’s not like I can stay the night over here.”
“Why not??!”
“Bold of you to assume I’ll sleep in this dump”, Katsuki smirked at the redhead as he stood up and stretched, heading towards the door. Just then, the bell rang. Without thinking much, he opened the door, to emerald green eyes staring straight at him, widening slightly.
Katsuki's heart screeched to a halt, skipped two beats, and seemed to take off at breakneck pace to make up for lost time.
“Kacchan!”, Izuku squeaked.
“Deku.” The nickname slipped out before he could help it.
“Oh hey, Mido-bro! A manly as ever!”, Eijirou greeted from behind Katsuki. “Meet my best bro, Bakugou Katsuki. He’s a bit rough around the edges, but don’t worry, I promise he doesn’t bite.”
“Fuck off, Shitty-Hair”, Katsuki mumbled, refusing to meet the greenette’s eyes. “I’m going home.”