Chapter Text
The flash of the paparazzi's cameras was a constant, strobing heartbeat. Katsuki Bakugou leaned against the sleek hood of his sports car, a scowl etched onto his face that the media interpreted as brooding sex appeal rather than profound irritation.
"Dynamight! Over here! Give us a smile with your lady!"
"Lizardy! How does it feel to be dating the most explosive hero in Japan?"
Setsuna Tokage, ever the performer, laughed—a bright, chiming sound that carried over the noise. She looped her arm through Katsuki's and leaned into his side, tilting her face up toward his.
"Oh, you know," she purred, her voice pitched for the reporters, "he keeps me on my toes! Never a dull moment!"
It was their cue. Katsuki looked down at her, and for the benefit of the lenses pointed at them, his scowl softened into something approximating smoldering affection. He dipped his head, capturing her lips in a kiss that was all showmanship—a calculated angle, just the right amount of passion, held for exactly three seconds before pulling back.
The camera shutters went into a frenzy. The crowd of fans behind the barriers screamed their approval.
DYNAMIGHT AND LIZARDY: FIRE AND SCALES! THE HOTTEST NEW HERO COUPLE!
The headline practically wrote itself.
Katsuki didn't look at the crowd. He opened the car door for her, a chivalrous gesture that was part of the script, and slid into the driver's seat. The moment the doors were closed, the performance ended.
The silence inside the soundproofed car was a vacuum.
Setsuna let out a soft sigh, pulling down the visor to check her lipstick in the mirror.
"Well, that should keep them fed for a week," she said, her tone now flat and businesslike. "Your 'brooding rebel' thing is really working for them. Lean into it harder next time."
"Tch. Whatever," Katsuki grunted, pulling away from the curb with more force than necessary. He didn't need her notes on his acting.
They drove in silence for a few blocks before she spoke again.
"My ranking jumped two spots this month. The 'Dynamight bump' is very real." A note of genuine satisfaction colored her voice. "My merch sales are up thirty percent."
"Good for you," he muttered, eyes fixed on the road.
"It's good for us," she corrected smoothly. "Your Q-score is through the roof. The 'tamed bad boy' narrative is a goldmine. The Commission loves it. They're talking about giving you that solo international mission you wanted."
He didn't respond. The rewards—the higher rankings, the prime missions, the public adoration—were supposed to be the point. They were the consolation prize for the gaping hole in his chest. Most days, they felt like ashes.
Twenty minutes later, they were in a private booth at a high-end cocktail bar, the kind with dim lighting and prices that ensured no paparazzi would ever get in. Two glasses of expensive whiskey sat between them, untouched.
This was the real ritual. The debrief.
"The narrative is solid," Setsuna said, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. "We're passionate but competitive. We keep each other sharp. It's a good look. Better than the..." she waved a hand, searching for the word, "...the melancholy lone wolf thing you were doing before."
"I wasn't melancholy," he snapped.
"You were moping," she said bluntly, taking a sip. "And it was terrible for brand synergy. This..."
She gestured between them.
"This is clean. It's easy. People get it."
He knew what she meant. People didn't get them. What they had was... complicated. A history so tangled it was impossible to unravel. A partnership so seamless it felt like a single mind in two bodies. A love so all-consuming it had terrified him into self-sabotage.
This—the arrangement with Setsuna—was simple. Transactional. It asked for nothing he wasn't willing to give: his time, his image, a few staged kisses.
It worked for him. It had to.
She studied him over the rim of her glass, her sharp eyes missing nothing.
"You know, for a guy who's supposedly dating the most interesting woman in the top twenty, you're incredibly boring company."
"You're not paying me to be interesting," he shot back. "You're paying me to be your damn boyfriend prop."
"Touché." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. She leaned forward slightly. "You never talk about him, you know."
The air in the booth went cold. Katsuki froze, his glass halfway to his lips.
"Who?"
"Don't be dense, Bakugo. Deku." She said the name like it was a curiosity. "The great 'Power Duo.' The childhood friend. The one you can't stop looking at during press conferences when you think no one's watching."
Katsuki's grip on the glass tightened.
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Isn't there?" she pressed, her voice dropping, not with malice, but with a journalist's curiosity. "The way you two were... it wasn't normal. Even for rivals. It was..."
"It was nothing," he interrupted, his voice a low, dangerous warning. He slammed the whiskey back in one burning gulp and stood up, throwing a wad of cash on the table. "We're done here."
He didn't wait for her response. He turned and walked out, leaving her alone in the booth.
He stood on the sidewalk, the cool night air doing little to cool the sudden, hot shame that had erupted inside him. The mask was supposed to keep those questions out. The lie was supposed to be airtight.
But Setsuna was too clever. She saw the cracks.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking, the image of the staged kiss already fading, replaced by the memory of a different kiss—one in the rain, born from vulnerability and salvation, that had tasted like truth.
A truth he had traded for a lie that was starting to feel tighter every day.