Work Text:
There are only five days left before Izuku’s mom is due to visit their new house and Katsuki needs a new suit.
Izuku said he didn’t need one but Izuku’s favorite shirt is a T-shirt that says T-shirt on it—therefore, he has no fucking business giving Katsuki any sort of opinion on his wardrobe. Katsuki needs a new suit. All of his existing suits don't suit the occasion. Too dark, too red, too funeral-coded, too press conference sleek, too public, too heroic. He needs a suit that screams son-in-law. Something that will make Inko take one look at him and think: Maybe I will allow this boy to keep seeing my son after all.
“I don’t think any suit is going to work a miracle,” Shouto says. Katsuki’s hands pop and crackle. Shouto raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you were so stressed. I was joking, if it makes you feel any better.”
Katsuki’s teeth feel raw. He’s been grinding his teeth without realizing. His dentist is going to throw a fit. “I’m not stressed.”
“You’ve aged five years since I saw you last week.”
“I have not.” Katsuki is only twenty-four. Does he look twenty-nine now? Inko’s going to think he’s a bully and a cradle-robber. Izuku already has a severe case of baby face. She’s going to call him a disgusting groomer and disqualify him as her son-in-law. He closes his eyes to ward off the nausea. “Fuck. Are you serious?”
“Wow."
“What?”
“Okay. Should I put you in contact with a therapist?”
“I don’t have enough time.” Best Jeanist was right. He should’ve listened three years ago when Jeanist told him to get a therapist and work on his issues. Instead, he said a lot of things that included phrases like fuck you and know-it-all boomer and I have a career plan mapped out on a specific timeline, so quit sticking your pointy nose in my goddamn business.
Past Katsuki was fucking shortsighted. Stupid asshole. He didn't see the need for therapy because ranking top ten on the hero charts was so much more important—and look where it got him. He’s twelfth on the list and he’s going to die single because he has a fuckload of psychological and mental issues he has to carry into a meeting with his prospective mother-in-law.
Katsuki kicks a trash can and yells, “Fuck!”
“Would it help you to spar before we go in?”
“I said I don’t have time,” Katsuki snaps even though he really fucking wants to. Sparring with Shouto is always massive stress relief. Katsuki fights dirty but Shouto meets him blow for blow in a way that inevitably results in minor property damage by the end of each match. Few people are able to push Katsuki hard enough to let instinct take over.
It’s a luxury he doesn’t have right now, though; he needs a new suit.
“You sure this tailor is good?”
“I’ve been a regular for years,” Shouto assures him, pushing Katsuki inside. “He’ll be quick with your measurements. Delivery arrives within three days. Relax. Otherwise, your dentist is going to kill you. My dentist keeps gossiping about what a nightmare you are.”
“What the fuck? Why are our dentists talking to each other?”
“They’re married. You didn’t know?”
No, he didn’t know. Who the hell asks their dentist about their marital situation? Shouto clearly does. Fuck. Maybe this is the reason why he’s unofficially ranked most desirable son-in-law, and Katsuki is…nowhere near number 1, to put it bluntly. The tight knot of despair in his stomach grows larger. Might be an ulcer. He hopes it’s an ulcer. He could use the excuse to speedrun therapy and fix himself.
“I need this suit to be the best,” Katsuki says. “I need this suit to blow all other suits out of the fucking water, okay? If you introduce me to some half-assed tailor, I’ll kill you and revive your scarred ass and kill you again. Then, I’ll explode your coffin and throw rocks at your grave until I kick the bucket, do you understand?”
“Stop stressing yourself out before you give yourself a heart attack. Also, my ass isn't scarred.”
“Do you ever listen to me?”
Shouto says, “You're like a small dog who bites my ankles,” whatever the hell that means.
The tailor, irritatingly, is thorough. He measures Katsuki’s legs, the span of his chest, and the width of his shoulders. He makes Katsuki spin slowly, taking notes. He tells Katsuki to stand in his typical stance and asks whether he dresses left or right.
“Like which arm I put through my sleeve first?” Katsuki asks, confused. Shouto chokes on a laugh. Katsuki shoots a furious glare at him.
“No,” Shouto says, before he explains that dressing left or right means which side Katsuki’s penis hangs in his fucking boxers. Like Katsuki was supposed to know that. Fucking rich boy.
So, anyway. Thorough.
Selecting fabric and stylization takes ages. Shouto and the tailor delve into serious conversation for something like four hours. Assistants bring in a minimum of fifty different options. Shouto touches them all and asks Katsuki, “How does this one feel?” Katsuki is pretty fucking useless in this regard, so he keeps saying, “I don’t know, like fabric,” and Shouto goes, “Hmmm,” before molesting another piece.
Eventually, Shouto and the tailor come to some sort of sleek navy compromise. No vest, since that would make him look too stiff, paired with a black tie to maintain a sense of formality.
The tailor asks, “Should we add a pocket square?” He takes one look at Katsuki and shakes his head. “Ah, no, ignore me. I don’t think that'll be necessary.”
Katsuki isn’t sure how to feel about that.
Afterwards, Shouto takes him to a nearby coffee shop to recharge. Katsuki inhales his Americano and feels marginally more human.
“That was fun,” Shouto says, pleased. “We should do this more often.”
“I don’t even know what we did,” Katsuki says, honestly.
“That’s okay. It was a nice outing. You said you’re meeting Momo later?”
“Yeah.”
“How has that been going?”
Momo’s been giving him etiquette classes for two weeks now. Mostly, it’s been her telling him to do things and him trying not to say that’s fucking stupid for ninety minutes. Then, she reminds him that he’s the one who asked for lessons and he shuts the fuck up and does whatever she orders him to do until the cycle inevitably repeats. She’s a pretty effective teacher. Katsuki has learned a lot about flower arrangement and fork placement.
“S'okay, I guess,” Katsuki says instead of mentioning all that.
Shouto hums. “What time are you meeting her?”
“Seven.”
He’s got two hours to kill. His skin itches at the thought of waiting. He should go home and clean. If there’s so much as a dust particle on the fridge handle when Inko comes, he’s going to blow himself up right then and there.
He has to rearrange furniture, too. The couch could be in a better spot. Currently, it’s against the wall facing the TV, but sometimes the sunlight catches the screen all wrong. Additionally, the basil plants still need to be watered, the dishes need to be reorganized, the cutlery needs to be polished—
“To clarify, you’re meeting Izuku’s mom,” Shouto says. “Not, I don’t know, Momo’s grandmother?”
Momo’s grandma would be easier. Momo’s grandma wasn't there to witness Katsuki being a prime piece of shit from the ages of four through fifteen. He has less than two days to make an impression that wipes out eleven years of negative memory. “Deku’s mom,” Katsuki starts, then he has to grip his skull and take very deep breaths.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so stressed,” Shouto says. He slurps at his coffee loudly because he’s a smug asshole who enjoys Katsuki’s misery. The ice rattles. “Can I take pictures?”
“Fuck off.”
Shouto takes pictures.
—
eraserhead’s favorites
Hello, I am Todoroki Shouto. 5:17 PM
@everyone Exhibit A: Behold, a rare portrait of the specimen better known as Bakugou Katsuki in a state of heightened distress.
[10 images attached]
hot pink 💓 pinned a message.
track star 5:17 PM
He does indeed seem very distressed!
What is the reason?
hot pink 💓 5:17 PM
he’s meeting izuku’s mom in like a week remember
LMAOOOOOOOOO
@allmightfan014732 can you please set up like a secret camera or something on the day of for no particular reason at all
froppy! 5:17 PM
That would be an invasion of privacy
they call me scotch tape because, well 5:17 PM
why would it be an invasion of privacy if hes in the chat
if he doesnt argue thats basically agreeing to be recorded right
froppy! 5:17 PM
In that case I would also like to see the recording
Darkness Becomes Me 5:18 PM
Seconded.
snow white 5:18 PM
wait what if izuku’s mom doesn’t agree???
momo-chan 5:18 PM
@.gemg I ran into a few issues at my meeting and now my schedule’s totally thrown off. I’ll be ten minutes late, sorry!
they call me scotch tape because, well 5:18 PM
damn u know i didnt rly think about that
deku kisser 5:18 PM
im going to kill all you fucking extras if im still alive in a week
@momochan k
rock hard 5:19 PM
meeting for what????
deku kisser 5:19 PM
WHO THE FUCK CHANGED MY NAME AGAIN
dynamight enjoyer 5:19 PM
i did!! i thought it was cute
i told you to not be so stressed about meeting my mom
Professional Juggler 5:19 PM
If you’re talking about Katsuki and Momo, Momo is teaching him manners.
dynamight enjoyer 5:19 PM
she already knows you remember
deku’s mom likes me better than katsuki 5:19 PM
I think that’s the problem Deku-kun
Hahahahahahahahaha
Professional Juggler 5:19 PM
If you’re talking about Katsuki and Izuku’s mom, I think it is an engagement dinner.
rock hard 5:19 PM
ohhh
deku kisser 5:20 PM
next time we spar im killing you dead
rock hard 5:20 PM
aw
deku kisser 5:20 PM
not you
rock hard 5:20 PM
yay
deku’s mom likes me better than katsuki 5:20 PM
As opposed to what??? Killing me alive????
I’m Deku’s mom’s favorite and you wanna kill me??
Really??
Hahahahahahaha
Hello, I am Todoroki Shouto. 5:21 PM
[1 image attached]
Katsuki blew up a table.
We got banned from the cafe.
:(
track star 5:21 PM
If you reimburse them for the damages and explain the situation to them calmly, it should be okay!
If not, I will talk to them on your behalf.
Hello, I am Todoroki Shouto. 5:21 PM
:)
—
One of these days, the Bakugous are going to finish a conversation without it devolving into a screamfest. Today, however, is not that day.
“I’m just asking you,” Katsuki yells into the phone, “for one fucking favor!”
“Is that really how you're gonna talk to your mother?” His mom hollers back. There’s a worried mumble from his dad and his mom mumbles something he can’t make out. She comes back to the phone, irritation soothed for the time being. “You’re really freaked out over this?”
“I told you, I’m not freaked,” Katsuki snaps. Izuku, folding clothes on their bed, mouths you are so freaked. Katsuki flips him off. Izuku smiles like Katsuki gave him a bouquet. Ugh. Fucking nerd. Now he’s deflated too. “I just—one favor, okay? I’m not freaked. Just one phone call’s all I’m asking for, shit.”
“Don’t fucking curse at me,” is his mom's reflexive response. Katsuki rolls his eyes. Three guesses as to who he learned it from and the first two don’t count. “It’s not going to do anything, Katsuki. Listen to me. You’re screwed. Accept it.”
“I’m not screwed.”
“If it makes you feel any better, you’ll have us at the wedding,” his mom says, the nasty implication being that someone else’s parent won’t be. Katsuki takes a deep breath to yell but his mom cuts in before he can. “I’m just kidding, goodness. Fine. I’ll give her a call, alright? But I’m not promising anything.”
“I never asked you to promise anything.”
“This boy. Look at our son, Masaru. Still yelling like I’m not going out of my way—”
“Oh, like it’s a real fuckin’ hassle to call your best friend for the past five hundred years—”
“What did you just say?”
The phone is neatly snatched out of his hand before he can finish. “He means you’re as beautiful as ever,” Izuku says. Even without the call on speaker, he can hear the way his mom’s voice switches from the banshee screech into a honey-thick coo. Katsuki considers blowing up the fucking place, new furniture be damned. Izuku knees him in the thigh and rolls out of bed, taking the phone with him. “Yes, I’ve been well. How about you? What—of course I would ask! I saw your latest picture on your profile. The plants we sent look—”
The door shuts behind him. Katsuki sighs. His mom will probably put in a good word, something along the lines of: Inko, my son’s a piece of shit, but he’s not that bad, so maybe give him thirty seconds before you write him off forever. That’s the most he can ask for.
In the meantime, Katsuki contemplates the pile of laundry left on the bed. Izuku has left it for him to finish again. Not to mention, the shirts he did fold are going to crinkle in all the wrong places. Goddamn pain in the ass. With a grumble, Katsuki reaches for Izuku’s folded shirt and refolds it the right way.
—
“Okay, stop,” Ochako says. She stretches out his cheeks until his eyes water against his will. “Stop looking like you want to kill me.”
“I do want to kill you,” Katsuki grits out.
“Okay, well, stop looking like it,” Ochako says, and slaps his cheek gently. Katsuki scowls. She slaps his cheek again. “I said stop. Your face is going to ruin things the moment Deku’s mom steps through the door. Smile. I know you know how to smile, we have photographic evidence where you don’t look like a crazy son of a bitch. Smile.”
Katsuki tries. He really does. He strains his cheeks and bares his teeth in his best nonthreatening expression. I’m really good with children, he tries to say with his grin. One time I saved a cat from a tree. I’m All Might’s other successor and that means I can’t be that bad. I swear, Izuku's in good hands with me.
Ochako’s expression can’t be interpreted as anything other than undiluted horror. Katsuki immediately gives up.
“Fuck,” he snarls.
”No, wait,” Ochako says. “Okay, we can do this. Just…just be really happy. Think about a happy moment. When was the last time you were happy?”
“When I finally tossed that motherfucking serial arsonist in pri—”
“Not that. Happy. I said happy. Not violent. Like, domestic happy thoughts. Like warm blankets and cuddling and, I don’t know, cooking with Deku and petting puppies and cookies and rainbows.”
“I don’t cook with Deku. He burns water. We had to move because he burned our apartment down.”
“It’s a— I am trying to help you, alright, work with me here.”
Katsuki groans and bangs his head back into the wall. “I’m fucking trying. Not everyone can be as giddy and happy as you. I don’t know how to do this shit.”
“Is that what you’re going to say to Deku’s mom?”
“What? Obviously fucking not, I—”
“Then get your act together, Katsuki. Stop the pity party. You wanna impress Deku’s mom, right? Give it your best shot.”
“I am giving it my best shot.”
“Nope. You’re whining.”
“I’m not whining.” Ochako gives him a pointed stare. Katsuki grumbles under his breath. She’s such a massive bitch. That's why he asked her for help and they both know it. “Okay. Fine. Happiness and rainbows.”
“Yeah. Happiness and rainbows. Close your eyes. Think about being at peace. Calm. You’re not smiling to impress Deku’s mom, you’re smiling because you’re a really good guy and you just have to show it, okay?”
“Bullshit,” Katsuki says immediately.
“Not bullshit,” she counters, and flicks him on the nose. He scowls. “No. Smile. Think about—I don’t know, living with Deku forever. Waking up to his smile. Ring on your finger. Joint taxes. How’s that make you feel?”
Katsuki sighs. She’s really trying, he knows it, so he exhales slowly and imagines it. It’s pretty fucking easy, since he’s been imagining it on and off for about a decade now. The tension in his shoulders loosens. He would wake up to Izuku's scarred hands stroking through his hair. Izuku will trace the curve of Katsuki’s cheeks, mumbling under his breath about how Katsuki has no bad angles because he’s a weirdo who's obsessed with him. They'll watch All Might movies late into the night together on the loveseat. Wrestle in the living room often and probably scare their cat. Order takeout from their favorite place on the days Katsuki’s hands are too sore to cook. Kiss and fuck and share the rest of their days together. It would be like reaching the summit of a mountain just in time for the sun to bathe its gentle rays over the horizon.
“There you go,” Ochako says, satisfied.
—
Lost fucking cause. All Might hadn't given him solid advice until he was under the threat of imminent societal collapse and as much as Katsuki thinks this whole greeting thing is going to drive him into an early grave, it’s not actually life-threatening.
Regardless. “That’s all you have for me?” Katsuki demands. “Stand your ground? Really?”
“I’m not quite sure what other advice I can give you, young Bakugou,” Yagi says. He at least has the decency to look remorseful. “I did meet with Izuku’s mother and convince her to leave Izuku’s care in my hands, yes, but it—”
“Yes. That.”
“Hm?”
“I’m telling you to tell me how you did that. Tell me exactly what you did and said.”
Yagi pauses. Thinks about it. “If I recall correctly,” he says, thoughtful, “I got on my knees and begged.”
“Begged,” Katsuki says in disbelief.
“Shamelessly,” Yagi agrees.
“That’s not standing your ground!”
“Well, young Bakugou, standing your ground does not always mean physically standing your ground. Sometimes, you must do everything within your power to prove your resolve and your unwavering soul.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. I had functioning knees, so why shouldn’t I lower myself and beg? The matter of Izuku’s education was my utmost priority. My pride and shame weren't factors in the equation when I remembered that.” Yagi peers at him. “Whatever it is you want from Izuku’s mother, is it worth less than your pride?”
Katsuki is speechless.
“That could be the case, of course. A young man’s pride is not something to be sacrificed on a whim. If you decide that Inko’s approval—or whatever it is you seek from her—isn’t worth the sacrifice, that is your decision to make. I doubt anyone will give you a hard time about it.”
Katsuki’s fists clench and unclench. Yagi doesn’t miss it.
“What troubles you?”
All this wishy-washy shit. It’s giving him a headache. Katsuki could get on his knees and beg. There’s no fucking reason why he can’t if All Might could. He could do it. But now, All Might’s telling him he doesn’t have to out of pride and sacrifice or some shit. He’s getting a migraine.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know what Izuku’s mom wants from me. I don’t know how to convince her—how to make her—” Katsuki cuts off. “I don’t know what to do.”
Yagi’s eyes gleam. “Just be yourself,” he suggests, then pauses. “Or don’t. Try standing your ground. If that doesn’t work, begging works too. Failing that, you can always call me for a midnight hike. I heard those are trendy nowadays.”
“You’re just lonely,” Katsuki says, accusatory.
The barb has zero effect, as usual. Yagi brings him in for a bone-crushing hug. His voice lowers to a comforting rasp. 100% sincere. “You will be okay, Katsuki. I swear it.”
Lots of people grow out of their childhood heroes. Katsuki hasn’t grown out of his and he probably never will.
“I want that written and notarized,” he says, muffled. Yagi laughs, refusing to let go before Katsuki.
—
The night before Izuku’s mom arrives, Katsuki can’t sleep. He tries everything. He tidies the living room, downs a melatonin pill, watches a boring-as-fuck nature documentary, scrubs the bathroom tiles, bakes a dozen chocolate chip cookies, vacuums, downs another melatonin, gets Izuku to fuck him, takes a lap around the complex, showers, and tosses and turns in bed for twenty minutes before Izuku finally has enough. He fumbles for Katsuki’s chest and presses firmly, as if he can push Katsuki into the depths of sleep through sheer force of will. No luck. Katsuki’s heart is racing like it wants to kill him.
“Kacchan,” Izuku mumbles. It’s way past his bedtime. It’s way past Katsuki’s, but tonight his body isn’t getting the fucking hint. “Is this about my mom?”
“No,” Katsuki says, completely unconvincing.
Izuku doesn’t call him on it. His eyes blink open. “Hey,” he says. “C’mere.” Katsuki’s feeling real fucking low. He buries his face in Izuku’s shoulder like a goddamn baby. Izuku pats his head and rubs circles into his back. “Does my mom scare you that much?”
“No.”
“Okay, good, because that’d be weird. I mean, I don’t think you’ve even heard her yell. I haven’t heard her yell, really, except for when she gets mad at me in the hospital.”
“You deserve it.”
“See? You both love me. She knows that. Why are you so worried?”
Katsuki works his jaw, trying to get the words out. Izuku presses a sleepy kiss to his forehead.
“Don’t be so nervous, Kacchan. Go to sleep. Everything will be okay.”
Katsuki has to get this out or he’ll die from shame. “She knows me,” is all he can manage. Izuku stops patting. Katsuki exhales and continues. “She’s seen it. Everything.”
“Kacchan.”
Katsuki rolls away. He’s not trying to be a self-pitying loser, but there’s no way he deserves Izuku’s comfort right now, not about this. “If I was your mom.” He has to clear his throat before he can finish. “If I was your mom, I wouldn’t even look at me.”
“Well, you’re pretty easy to look at,” Izuku says, trying to tease, but it falls flat. Izuku reaches for his hand and Katsuki lets him have it. “Kacchan. Hey. She knows it was years ago. And it’s—I mean, it’s my mom. I love her and I’d die for her, but I’d die for you, too—”
“Can you not talk like that?”
“Wrong choice of words,” Izuku acknowledges. “I’d do anything for her, but I’d do anything for you, too. She wouldn’t stop me from doing what I want or being with someone who makes me really happy. She won’t need an hour with you to see that. Stop worrying.”
“I made your life a living hell,” Katsuki says, because it’s true.
“You have a big ego, Kacchan.”
“Izuku.”
“Not everything was your fault and not every problem I had in life was caused by you. Stop acting like it was.”
“She won’t forgive me,” Katsuki says, low.
“She’ll love you,” Izuku promises, and beams. “Trust me. It’ll be okay.”
Izuku’s stupid toothy smile. It’s the same as when they were kids, but he’s grown into it properly, radiating confidence, certain that everything will be alright. It’s a real hero’s smile. Some piece of shit who bullied you for it and a dozen other things, Katsuki thinks. I won't forgive him until the day I die.
—
Katsuki wakes up and locks the fuck in.
Shower. Skincare. He chugs a protein shake and slices apples while Izuku blearily retrieves plates and forks. They chew in silence. Katsuki runs through his mental list of tasks while he finishes the last of his shake: lint roll the suit, spritz on his sample of Shouto no. 5, remember he placed the car keys by the door. He cleaned the house the night before, so he can leave as soon as he finishes changing. He’s going to pick up Inko at the station, cruise through traffic, return home, and cook while Izuku and his mom bond over feeding neighborhood ducks and the like. He will be on his best behavior. He’s going to blow her out of the fucking water. When he presents his plan to Inko about proposing to Izuku sometime later this year, she will nod through tears and give her blessing. She’ll come to the wedding and Izuku will bawl like a baby. Their friends will laugh and coo at him and Katsuki will use the distraction of Izuku’s attention-hoarding tears to shed a few of his own, unnoticed.
Okay. Katsuki’s fucking got this.
“Kacchan,” Izuku mumbles. He reaches over the table and grabs Katsuki’s hand. The tapping stops. “You’re going to burn a hole in the table.”
Disfigured tables are not part of Katsuki’s plan. He scowls. “Your fidgeting infected me. This is your fault.”
“You're so cute. Please don't have a panic attack. It’s only my mom.”
It’s only my mom, Izuku has the audacity to say, like Midoriya Inko is not judge, jury, and executioner on the matter of Katsuki’s fucking happiness, but sure, whatever. It’s only Izuku’s mom.
“I shined your shoes for you, by the way,” Izuku says.
Katsuki stops scowling. Fuck. He’d forgotten to shine his shoes.
Izuku is smiling. “I knew you would forget.”
“And you didn’t remind me?”
“I have to win some battles, Kacchan. I thought you wouldn’t be so mad at me if I shined your shoes.”
“You’re actually the fucking worst,” Katsuki says, instead of something reasonable and normal like thank you or I love you. Izuku hears it anyway and beams ear to ear.
They finish eating and clearing the table. Izuku is marginally more awake, but that doesn’t mean he knows how to navigate the three thousand straps and zippers on his hero suit. Katsuki designed the first version of the line, which had a reasonable amount of buckles. Then Izuku got his hands on the blueprint and now it takes him forever to get into it.
“One of these days, you’re going to lose a fight because you left your ass unbuckled,” Katsuki mutters, fastening the straps on Izuku’s elbows. He feels Izuku drop a kiss on his head and bristles. He’s not a fucking cat. “Oi.”
“I won’t lose,” Izuku promises. “I have to come home to you, after all.”
Fucking sap.
Izuku sees him off with an overeager wave completely unbefitting of the dignity that comes with being the number four hero. “Don’t crash the car and die, Kacchan,” he calls.
Ridiculous. Katsuki has never received so much as a speeding ticket in his life and he isn't going to start now.
Traffic is light. 10 AM on a Tuesday means the morning rush is behind him. Katsuki arrives at the train station thirty minutes early and he spends ten of them inside his car, image training the conversation with Inko. I’ll take your bags for you. No. Too commanding. Let me take your bags for you. He won’t even be able to get the words out without gagging. Bags. He’s not a fucking caveman.
He gives it up as a lost cause and heads in. He won’t say a word and take them from her. It’ll be cool and suave.
The remaining twenty minutes tick by in agony. Katsuki checks his phone. Most of his friends—not the night shift ones—have woken up by now. Since they’re all a bunch of busibodies, they know Inko arrives today. He has a dozen texts ranging from u got this bro 💪 from Eijirou to Did you use my cologne like I suggested? from Shouto. Mina’s text reads, u don’t even have to tell us whether or not the meeting went well. if u send 💥 i assume that means i should call the mental health hotline, and if i dont get any texts that means u and deku are fucking it up (in bed). ok? ok!!
Ochako’s simply says, I’ll still be Deku’s mom’s favorite at the end of the day, btw.
Nosy assholes.
Katsuki ignores all of them in favor of sending a brief text to Izuku, reminding him to stay safe with the poison Quirk burglar on the loose. Izuku sends back about five million hearts. He’s probably texting whilst swinging through the air again, suicidal motherfucker. Katsuki is in the middle of drafting up a mini-essay on the very fucking real dangers of texting while distracted.
That’s when he hears a tentative, “Katsuki? Is that you?”
Katsuki’s head snaps up. Midoriya Inko is blinking up at him, ever the spitting image of her son. Or rather, the other way around. She looks tired, sporting wrinkles he doesn’t remember creasing her cheeks, but she’s got smile lines that give her a perpetual feeling of general happiness even when she’s not actually smiling. Which she definitely isn’t. She has duffel bags in both hands.
“Auntie,” Katsuki says. Fuck, he missed his timing to grab her bags. “Hi.”
“Izuku didn’t tell me you were the one picking me up,” Inko says, curious. She doesn’t sound like she wants to gut him in the middle of the train station, which is a step up from his image training. He takes the opportunity to tug her bags from her. Luckily, she lets him take them. “You’re so tall now. The last time I saw you was…”
“Graduation,” Katsuki supplies. He remembers that day. Cherry blossoms, bawling, the itchy suit.
He fastened Izuku’s tie for him that morning. They had a million photos taken by motherfuckers who didn’t know how to turn off the flash. Izuku insisted on taking one together, asked Katsuki’s mom to take it. Most embarrassing photo of his life. Izuku beamed at the camera like an actual hero. Katsuki stared at him like a fucking loon. His mom framed that picture and hung it in the living room—there’s nothing she loves more than embarrassing him.
“Graduation,” Inko says, her eyes lighting up. “You’ve definitely grown since then. I did see you on TV, of course. You’re so flashy, it’s impossible not to see you.”
Katsuki cringes. Flashy. That's certainly a way to phrase hostile to the public, but it’s not his fault reporters ask the stupidest fucking questions. What did you have for lunch today? How do you stay in shape? Shouto is participating in the charity fundraiser for homeless dogs, do you plan to join him? How are you feeling? Any comment on your relationship status with Deku, number four hero?
“I grew a few centimeters,” Katsuki says instead.
“I bet you must’ve had to get new clothes. You and Izuku, always updating your hero costumes.”
Conversation. Okay. He can do this. “Yeah, there’s all sorts of new tech coming out. De—Izuku and I like to improve whenever we can. We’re pretty hands-on about that kind of stuff.”
“I’m glad. It’s important to stay safe. Is this your car?”
His sports car is his pride and joy. His fucking baby, decked out in blazing crimson, tells the other loser cars on the road to get out of his fucking way. It was the first personal purchase he made the day he got his paycheck as an official hero. He’s still paying out of the gills for it. It’s cool, though, and that’s all that matters.
“Yeah,” Katsuki says. “You can hop in, I’ll put your bags in the trunk.”
He expects her to sit in the back. He’s never been a good conversationalist. If anything, she’ll probably want to treat him like a slightly haughty taxi driver more than someone she actually wants to share car space with. Not to mention, the back is decked out in state-of-the-art memory foam. Thirty-minute drive. He’s got this. She might even fall asleep.
Katsuki gets into the car, starts the engine.
Beside him, Inko says, “When did you get your license, Katsuki?”
Fuuuuuuck, says one part of Katsuki’s brain. Another part says, One explosion emoji for the mental health hotline.
“You’re not sitting in the back?” Katsuki manages to say.
“I like to sit in the front,” Inko says. “I get motion sickness.” Like Izuku. “Is that okay?”
“It’s fine,” Katsuki says, concentrating on pulling out of the parking lot so he doesn’t have to think about how much he wants to send that explosion emoji to Mina.
—
Midoriya Inko is a lot of things. Izuku’s mom, a great cook, the woman who taught Katsuki how to ride a bike. She took him and Izuku to a dozen All Might conventions, stayed in line with them for midnight drops of new figurines, and fought through rabid mobs to secure the shiniest trading packs. She kept him company in the hospital after Kamino when his mom went out for a smoke break. She’s a worrier. Easily frightened parent. Had the nerves of steel to watch Izuku fuck himself up battle after battle.
She is also, Katsuki is remembering, fond of talking.
“I was surprised to hear that you two moved in together after graduation,” she’s saying. “I knew Izuku must’ve gotten used to the company, living in the dorms and all, but I didn’t know he would get an apartment with you in Tokyo straight out of school.”
Moving in together was something of a necessity at the time. Izuku was—not that he’d admit it—in the throes of a spiraling depression, filled with the certainty that he’d be useless and forgotten without a Quirk to keep him memorable. Aizawa took the first line of attack, convincing him to teach at UA with his ability to analyze Quirks and inspire heroism. Katsuki finished the job by telling him he needed a roommate for an apartment located a convenient fifteen minute walk away from UA. “All the places here are two bedrooms and I’m not gonna room with some fucking extra,” Katsuki muttered.
It was humiliating, having to ask. It felt like he pried open his ribcage so that Izuku could peer inside his chest cavity and jot notes on the state of his pulsing heart, studying it with the same intensity he did Quirks. He did it for Izuku—and he really did need to save on rent if he wanted to develop Izuku’s suit in a timely manner.
“You don’t think I’m an extra?” Izuku said.
“Stop saying stupid shit and pack your bags already,” Katsuki said in reply, and that was that.
Six years ago. It feels like a different era.
“We're good roommates,” Katsuki explains. Roommates turned hero partners turned actual partners. Inko is looking at him. Heat rises in his face. Katsuki jerks the wheel a little too hard. The car screeches in protest, and Inko grabs the dashboard. He holds back a swear. “Sorry,” he says instead.
“Were you the one who brought it up first, or was it Izuku?”
“Me.”
She nods. “That makes sense. Izuku wouldn’t have asked anything of you.”
Katsuki bites the inside of his cheek so hard it bleeds.
Mercifully, Inko moves on to different topics. She asks him about hero work, his favorite part of the job (attaining absolute victory) and least favorite (reporters). She gets him to talk about that new tech he mentioned earlier. It’s easy to talk about because it’s interesting as fuck. He rambles about Hatsume’s latest innovations. The testing, the experimentation, the amount of times he had to stay overtime on a weekend because she wouldn’t let him go home until she tested one more thing.
“Izuku works with her too?” Inko asks.
“Yeah, Deku’s known her since high school, when—” He catches himself. “I mean, Izuku—Izuku’s known her since—”
“Deku,” Inko says.
“I meant Izuku. Sorry.”
“Katsuki.”
“I don’t say it like that anymore,” Katsuki says, suddenly frantic to explain himself. “It’s his hero name, Auntie, and I’m the one who gave it to him, but it’s not like—”
“Katsuki,” Inko says again, panicked, but he catches it too late, and he’s not driving straight anymore, since when the fuck was he not driving straight? Since when did he take his eyes off the road? He never fucking does that, he’s the best fucking driver he knows and he’s never gotten a ticket. It doesn’t matter. He slams the brakes with a loud, “Fuck!”
The car manages to screech to a halt, but not before he runs into the fucking stop sign.
—
The hero who comes after Katsuki reports to the police is one of Katsuki’s underclassmen, younger than him by two years. To make matters worse, he’s a massive Dynamight fan. The hero worship during UA was bad, but it's become ten times worse since Katsuki started climbing up the rankings.
The process of fixing the stop sign and putting it back up takes ten minutes longer than it should because of it. The fledgling hero—Ironboy, though Katsuki knows him as the scaredy cat with the glasses who bawled out of awe when Katsuki had to partner with him for his third-year project—stops every forty-five seconds to recount Katsuki’s last dozen fights. “That takedown was brutal,” he gushes. Katsuki grinds his teeth and tries not to look as irritated as he feels. “I couldn’t believe my eyes! I had to rewind the video like, fifteen times because I couldn’t understand that chokehold you pulled off, you know—”
“Ironboy,” Katsuki says, then grimaces. He needs a better name. “Ask your three questions so I can go. I’m busy.”
Ironboy lights up. It’s an old policy Katsuki implemented when too many underclassmen badgered him with questions and refused to leave him the fuck alone. Izuku asked him once why he allowed three questions rather than one, but even Katsuki knows that allowing only one question would be a dick move. Any hero worth their salt would ask three: the first to lay the groundwork, the second to investigate deeper into the first question, and the third to really hone the fuck in on what the first two questions didn’t answer. Good heroes could be deceptive like that.
Izuku called Katsuki soft for it, but if anything he was the soft one for not having a cap on questions at all.
Ironboy says, “Really? You’re still allowing three?”
“That’s two left.”
“Aw, don’t be like that, senpai!”
Luckily, Ironboy has his questions locked and loaded, and in no time at all Katsuki is free to slide back into his—thankfully undamaged—car in peace. He lays his forehead on the wheel. It’s not even noon. He feels like he’s been awake for thirty hours. He wrings his brain for something to say to Inko, who’s been waiting patiently and playing something that looks like Tetris on her phone. At least he knows where Izuku got his love of ancient games from. “Sorry for the wait,” he says. “We can go now.”
Delicately, Inko says, “Would you like me to drive, Katsuki?”
Katsuki exhales. He doesn’t even trust his baby with Izuku, but Inko has been driving for thirty years more than him, so he hands her the keys.
The rest of the drive back is uneventful. Inko stays quiet. Katsuki takes the opportunity to press his head against the window and replay the whole fucked up morning in excruciating detail, creating a mental list of fuck-ups. Ignoring her to text on his phone like a teenager when she first got off the train, that was bad. Forgetting to take her bags immediately, even worse. The countless times he slipped up and called Izuku Deku. The stop sign. The waiting.
Katsuki takes out his phone and texts her three explosion emojis. Mina sends back a simple, LMFAOOOOOOO.
Useless. He doesn’t know why he expected anything else.
They pull up to the apartment complex. Izuku is waiting at the lobby and waves the moment his eyes land on the car. He scurries over to grab Inko’s bags from the trunk and Katsuki elbows him away with a scowl.
Izuku grins. “I thought you were driving,” he says.
“And I thought you went to work,” Katsuki retorts.
“I went in for a briefing and Uravity exposed me to the whole room about my mom coming to visit, so I got kicked out for the rest of the day. Why was my mom driving?”
Asshole. He knows exactly why his mom was driving. Izuku is practically on a first name basis with every working hero. It would be a miracle if Ironboy didn’t message him about the accident himself. “Don’t act like you don’t know,” Katsuki says, ears warm.
“I do know, but I just wanted to hear it from you,” Izuku teases. His eyes go soft. “Kacchan. Are you okay?”
“Don’t be dramatic. It wasn’t a big accident.”
”Your car’s okay?”
“My car is indestructible and a thousand times better than your shitwagon, Deku.”
Izuku squeezes his hand. “Thank goodness for that—otherwise, you would throw a fit.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes—then, he remembers Inko. Shit.
She’s watching the both of them with an unreadable expression, like the face someone might wear when walking into a burglar cleaning their house. Which is. Fine. It’s absolutely fine.
They head upstairs and Katsuki makes a beeline to tidy up the guest room for what must be the twentieth time while Izuku and his mom chat about All Might. Bed, tidy. Windowsill, dust-free. Floor, already vacuumed. Nothing to do here.
He ducks into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his cheeks and points at the mirror. Get it the fuck together, Katsuki snarls at himself soundlessly, then he heads into the kitchen to start preparing lunch.
Curry should be good. Homey, packed with vegetables, filling, hard to fuck up. He’ll hold back on the spice today.
Halfway through chopping the carrots, Inko pokes her head into the kitchen. “Can I help?”
Katsuki almost drops the knife on his foot. “Okay,” he says after he processes that, and curses under his breath. Okay? Okay?
You are banned from saying okay, Ochako yells in his head. It’s either Thank you or I’d love that or No thank you, because you are a civilized fucking person, asshole. If you say okay one more time, I’ll kill you dead.
Izuku says he and Ochako should stop spending so much time together. Something about him being a bad influence. Bullshit. She’s always been violent and crazy. Everyone except Izuku knows it.
Inko hums, starting on the pile of potatoes, peeling them with the efficiency earned from decades of cooking. It’s impressive. One day, Katsuki’s gonna achieve that level of proficiency. He returns to the carrots. He and Inko make for a good team. She weaves around the kitchen, knowing exactly what needs to be done before he says anything. The curry is boiling on the stove in record time.
“Can I help too?” Izuku’s voice says.
“No,” Katsuki and Inko say in unison. She adds, “Thank you, sweetie, but it’s really okay.”
“Get out of my kitchen before you burn it down again,” Katsuki says.
“It was only once…”
Inko must feel bad for making her son look like a kicked puppy because she sends him on an errand to fetch fruit for dessert. “No rush,” she says. Izuku locks eyes with Katsuki. They have a silent conversation with eyebrows, head nods, and the tiniest twitch of their fingers, the gist of which goes:
Should I go?
What, are you gonna ignore your mom and not go?
I could if you wanted me to.
Don’t be stupid.
I’m serious, I could fake a sprained ankle.
No one is going to believe you refused to help your mom because of a sprained ankle, Deku—get the fucking fruit.
Okay, but call if you need anything.
Whatever.
Izuku leaves with a wave and a cheery, “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes!”
Katsuki keeps his eye on the pot of curry and stirs slowly, making sure it doesn’t burn on the bottom. Behind him, the rice cooker begins to screech.
Inko says, “Katsuki, do you think we can chat?”
—
Inko would be fantastic at interrogation. Izuku could learn a few things from her. His preferred method of interrogation was to toss out questions, wait for answers, and then ramble on with theories until suspects got pissed off or exhausted by his rambling and interrupted. Results varied from ten minutes to six hours.
Inko, on the other hand, is going to crack Katsuki in thirty seconds flat.
“You and Izuku,” she says. Katsuki tenses. “You aren’t living together as roommates.” It’s not a question, but he nods anyway. There’s a short pause. “I see. How long ago did this relationship start?”
He clears his throat. “Not long after De—Izuku started his hero career. Again, I mean.”
It happened two months after the fact, to be precise. Izuku spent eight weeks furious with Katsuki for robbing him of the agency to choose his life, forcing him back on the path of a hero, putting way too much time and money into the suit. Katsuki was so goddamn miserable—and more importantly, angry—that he almost got himself killed over it, at which point he woke up to Izuku glaring at him in the hospital.
“You are the worst, Kacchan. I can’t believe you didn’t involve me in a decision that would change my entire life,” he remembers Izuku yelling.
“Oh, fuck you. Like you didn’t leap at the chance the moment you knew what it was,” Katsuki replied loudly, elevated pulse setting off the monitor. Lots of back and forth. Screaming. Katsuki popped a stitch. Three nurses tried to kick Izuku out of the room, but he refused to leave. They had to call in Shouto and Hitoshi to mediate.
“You guys realize you’re really fighting over who loves the other person more,” Hitoshi said, exhausted, and that was—well. Fucking humiliating. Doubly so for how accurate the comment was. It made both of them freeze.
Shouto, in what might have been severely misguided kindness, added, “You love each other very much. It's tearing me apart to see my two best friends fight like this. Please kiss. I won’t leave until you do,” and he planted himself on the floor of Katsuki’s hospital room for eighteen hours until they did. Done deal.
Beside the point.
“You gave him that suit,” Inko says. Katsuki feels like a bobblehead with the amount of time he’s been fucking nodding all day. “Why did you? It couldn’t have been cheap.”
“He deserved it.”
“Yes. How long did you save up for it?”
“It doesn’t matter. I would’ve saved however long it took.”
“Katsuki.”
Katsuki clicks his tongue and immediately regrets it. He exhales. “Five years, give or take.”
“Hmm.”
“Anyone would’ve done it,” Katsuki says defensively, because it’s true.
He’s the one who had the idea first, but it’s like—fucking Isaac Newton. Law of gravity. He’s just the guy who discovered gravity, not the guy who invented it. It could’ve been anyone under that tree to watch the apple fall. Izuku becoming a hero again was just like that: an inevitability.
“Everyone else in our class was already thinking about it. They would’ve done it if I didn’t. I had a head start.”
A longer pause. “I’m not sure I agree,” Inko says eventually.
“What?”
“Did it have to be Izuku? I can’t get that question out of my head nowadays.” Katsuki switches the stove off and turns around, incredulous. Inko is sitting at the table, hands folded together in her lap. “He’s prone to injury,” she says. “He's clumsy. He's been smaller than most people his age since he was young. You might not understand, Katsuki, but as his mother—as a parent, there is nothing worse in the world than seeing your baby hurt.”
“I know.”
“You don’t, because you put him in that position. Day after day. You encouraged it, even. I’m not sure how to feel about that.”
“He’s a hero,” Katsuki says, disbelieving. “You can’t possibly—"
“He didn’t have to be,” Inko says, raising her voice. Katsuki’s head is reeling. This is not fucking possible. Izuku’s mom, of all people, can’t be saying— “He’s Quirkless. He was born like that.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Of course it means something. He was born to be a normal person. None of this hero nonsense, risking his life day in and day out, getting himself hurt. You convinced him. You changed him, you made him—”
“Deku—”
“His name is Izuku.”
“He’s Deku the hero,” Katsuki shouts, fed up, “and you can't deny that!”
Inko startles back. He should stop. The rational part of Katsuki’s brain is yelling at him to stop, but there’s a bigger part of him, like ninety-nine percent of the cells in his body screaming even louder to continue, to refute every awful thing Inko has just said about her son.
“He’s a hero. He’s always been a hero—long before I fucking knew him. He’s been a hero since the day he was born, way before he knew he was Quirkless. He went through hell and back. I hated seeing it, too, okay? I hated seeing him for a while, period, but that’s because he reminded me of everything I wasn’t. He was born a hero.”
“No one is born a hero.”
“You’re wrong. There are maybe two people I can list in this entire fucking world who were destined for it, and he’s one of them. He inspires people, he works hard, he gives hope to every hopeless piece of shit who has the miracle of looking at him. You don’t get to say—you don’t get to think that kind of shit about him, about your son—I don’t care if you’re his mom, that bullshit about him being your precious baby boy—I don’t care—”
”Katsuki,” Inko says, rising.
Katsuki clutches his chest. His heart will have to kill him to stop these words from coming out; there’s nothing else that will keep the truth in. “He’s a hero,” he manages to say, “and he’ll always be one, suit or not, whether I made him one or not.” His ears are ringing. He yanks out one of his hearing aids and says, louder, as loud as he can, “Don’t ever say that type of shit again. Never to his face. Never, do you hear me? It’d kill him to hear it from you, of all people, and he’s already dealt with enough to get here. You have no goddamn idea how hard he’s worked—and I won’t let you just, just talk like—”
“Kacchan,” Izuku says from the doorway.
Katsuki’s head snaps up. Izuku is staring at him, eyes wide.
Katsuki’s throat closes up. Fuck. Now he’s gone and fucked everything up. He squeezes his eyes shut and feels his breath shudder out of him, along with the rest of his body.
The rice cooker announces it’s finished with a merry jingle. Yeah, well, Katsuki too. He unclenches his fist and stalks out of the kitchen, trembling. Izuku reaches for his hand, but Katsuki shakes him off.
“Kacchan,” Izuku tries.
“Don’t follow me,” he rasps out. “I’m just gonna—I’m going out for a walk. Enjoy lunch.”
Izuku’s hand grips his and gives a squeeze. Are you okay? Stay until you feel better, at least.
Katsuki wrenches it away. Izuku makes a wounded noise. It takes everything in Katsuki to not say Don’t be like that, don’t look at me like that when I'm the problem, when I’m the one who fucked it up.
Still, he has to get one last thing out. “I’m not sorry about what I said,” he says to Inko, who he knows is listening, watching. “Whatever happens, I’m not sorry about one fucking word of it.”
Then, he leaves, managing to make it a block before his eyes start burning.
—
Katsuki ignores all of the texts and calls other than to text a simple I’m alive, chill out to Tenya, who will relay the message to everyone else like a good little drone. Predictably, it does nothing to stop the incoming messages. He doesn’t really care. He’s feeling too much self-loathing. Plus, the heart thing. He’s exhausted. He should go in for a checkup soon. He’s pretty sure he had a subtle cardiac event back at the house.
His ringtone breaks through the haze of exhaustion and misery. It's the only caller he would never reject even if he ignored everyone else.
“Young Bakugou,” Yagi’s voice says in his good ear and it’s fucking ridiculous how that’s what makes tears sting in Katsuki’s eyes.
“I stood my ground,” he says, hoarse. He furiously swipes at his face with his sleeve, feeling super fucking pathetic, like he’s back to being three years old and wailing about not getting the super rare All Might card. “Sacrificed my pride like you told me to. And I fucked it all up.”
Yagi takes this in. A heavy sigh. His voice turns quiet. “Was it worth it?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. There are other ways it could’ve gone down. Less yelling. Less swearing. The delivery could’ve been better.”
“Well, when we protect something we truly care about, it is understandable to lose our temper.”
“I think I gave myself a heart attack yelling so much.”
“Ah, I’ve been there. Do you feel pain from your chest to your left arm?”
Katsuki flexes experimentally. “Nah.”
“Unlikely, then. That’s good. Young Izuku is worried.”
“Don’t tell him where I am.”
“Of course. In the first place, I’m not sure where you are. I hear…wind?”
“Rooftop,” Katsuki says. He drops his head between his knees and shivers. He forgot a jacket. Ugh. “Some building. I don’t know. I kinda blacked out. That midnight hike is sounding real good to me right now, All Might.”
Yagi laughs. “I offered because I was feeling lonely.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Merely a joke, Young Bakugou. I’ll find my shoes and meet you where you are. A trek to the rooftop will serve as an excellent warmup.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t forget to check for cars when crossing the street.”
“You worry too much,” Yagi says, then hangs up. Katsuki sends his location and sets his phone down on the ground; it’s too bright. Makes his burgeoning headache a thousand times worse. He yanks out his other hearing aid. The ringing stops. Much better.
He loses himself listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, the too-fast race of his heart. Breathe in, out. Don’t remember Izuku’s mom’s face when you started yelling at her. Don’t think about all the fucked up shit she said. Don’t think about the noise Izuku made when you basically told him to fuck off and die.
The rooftop shakes. Katsuki raises his head and drops it again, groaning.
Red sneakers. Yagi is a snitch.
“Fuck off,” he mumbles. Izuku ignores him and reaches for him, sets a shaking hand against his pulse. Katsuki fumbles to shove him off. “M'fine. Just freaked out, that’s all. I’m not dying.”
Izuku’s voice snaps something. Probably a scolding.
“I can’t hear you.”
Izuku pauses. Both hands cup his cheeks. Izuku’s stupidly good blood circulation. It’s like his hands are fire against Katsuki’s face. He raises Katsuki’s head and makes him read the shape of his lips: What did she say to you?
Katsuki blinks. He couldn’t have read that right. “What?”
Slower, Izuku repeats himself, then in sign language for good measure. What did she say to you?
“What the fuck,” Katsuki says, disbelieving. “Deku. You’re being a terrible son. Don’t talk about your mom like that.”
Izuku frowns. She said something. You wouldn’t have freaked out like that otherwise. What did she say?
“I’m not telling you shit, it was a private conversation.” He puts his hearing aids back in before Izuku’s hands can get stiff from all the furious signing. “I’m serious, I’m not telling you anything.”
“It’s not very fair of you to keep secrets,” Izuku accuses.
“Yeah? You left your mom in the house. What’d you say to her before you went to hunt me down?” Izuku stays silent. Katsuki snorts. “Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought.”
“That’s different.”
“It’s not. Are you moving out?”
“What?”
“I guess I should say when are you moving out,” Katsuki amends. Izuku is staring at him, horrified. “What? You don’t wanna tell me how your conversation with your mom went, that’s fine. I get the gist of it, anyway. I don’t think it’s really fair that I have to move out, since I’m the one who got the apartment in the first place, but if—”
“Stop, stop, stop. What are you saying, Kacchan? Why would I move out? Why would either of us move out, why—” Izuku grabs his hand and, deeming it not enough, cradles it against his cheek. His eyes are watery again. Fucking crybaby. “Why are you saying that? No one is moving out. We’re staying right where we are.”
“You talked with your mom,” Katsuki says, to clarify.
“Yeah?”
“And…you’re not moving out?”
“What part of I’d die for you, do you not understand? Do you think I go around promising to die for anyone?”
Katsuki doesn’t dignify that with an answer because it doesn’t deserve one.
Izuku considers it. “Okay, bad example, but I mean it when I say that it would take, like, the imminent destruction of the world at large for me to even consider leaving you. You, of all people. There’s nothing that would make me, unless it was for your own good.” Izuku falters at that, and his hand lowers. “Unless…unless you want me to? If that conversation with my mom was so terrible it made you—”
“Izuku.”
Izuku’s getting desperate. “Whatever she said, it doesn’t matter—ignore her, the only person whose opinion matters in our opinion is us, okay, that doesn’t—”
There’s no stopping Izuku when he gets like this, so Katsuki yanks out his hearing aids again. He’s endured a lot of bullshit today, he’s not listening to Izuku spiral about a nonexistent problem. Katsuki leaving him? As fucking if.
The trick works. Izuku snaps out of it. Sorry, he says after a second. I’m done.
Katsuki puts them back in. “I better not hear another word, so help me god, Deku.”
“That’s my line,” Izuku says. “How does every conversation where I tell you off turn into you telling me off?”
“Maybe if you were better at this shit and didn’t go around being a loser who makes up problems. You’re really not moving out?”
“Stop trying to kick me out of my own house,” Izuku says, exasperated. “Let’s go home. I’m starving.”
“I told you to enjoy lunch.”
“You're crazy if you think I could enjoy lunch when you stormed out like that, crazy,” Izuku says, refusing to let drop his hand for even one second of the walk home.
—
Katsuki lobs the prospect of staying at Eijirou’s place as they enter the building. It’s not a bad idea. Eijirou has the best guest room set-up out of their entire friend group and not unlike an overgrown dog, he’s always excited to have guests over. Izuku presses the button for the elevator before he frowns at Katsuki.
“You should enjoy your visit with your mom,” Katsuki says, scowling back. “Go shopping and shit. Feed ducks.”
“I feel like you’re under some weird impression that the two of us act like forgotten Disney princesses.”
“You weren’t gonna feed the ducks?”
“What? I didn’t say that. Of course we were going to feed the ducks, but that’s not the point. You’re not leaving.”
Izuku’s hand squeezes, littered callouses and scars that are familiar in all the right places. One day, after Izuku is long dead, when there's a museum exhibit dedicated to him, Katsuki wonders if they’ll have a funny little factoid about that. Bakugou Katsuki held Midoriya Izuku’s hand so often that the shape of his own hands changed to hold it better. It feels like that some days, like their hands really do fit better than they used to.
“No one gets to chase us out of our own home,” Izuku says quietly. “No one.”
You said you’d die for me, but the same goes for me. You have to know that, Katsuki thinks. Aloud, he says, “Dramatic loser. What if I wanted to sleep over? Eijirou’s been bugging me about seeing the Superlady movie.”
“You hate the Superlady series.”
“I’m not saying I’d watch the fucking thing.”
“I’ll text Eijirou to get a toothbrush for me, too, then,” Izuku says, reaching for his phone. Clingy fuck. Izuku lets Katsuki snatch it without a word and smiles. “I knew you were bluffing.”
“I wasn’t bluffing,” Katsuki mutters, hot. The elevator finally arrives and they step inside. Izuku is humming a little song. It’s the opening to the new Red Riot-inspired anime. “Does abandoning your mom in our own fucking house for two days make sense to you? She came all this way. I’d cry if I was her, you hear me?”
The elevator lands on their floor. “I’m not letting you go that easily,” Izuku says, and Katsuki knows he isn’t just talking about visiting Eijirou.
Another squeeze before Izuku unlocks the door. Here goes nothing.
Inko is sitting on the couch when they walk in, wringing her hands in her lap. She rises to her feet. Izuku kisses her on the cheek and heads for the kitchen, taking out bowls for the curry. Katsuki should go help.
“Katsuki,” Inko says. “Are you okay?”
She and Izuku are two peas in a fucking pod. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
She nods, not meeting his eyes. It’s basically the last thing he says to her for the rest of the visit.
Izuku takes his mom out to shop or visit cafes. In the meantime, Katsuki tends to the house and refolds all the laundry that he swears Izuku fucks up on purpose. He puts the suit back into the garment bag. It served him well for approximately five hours, which was probably longer than anyone was expecting in the first place.
Katsuki cooks lunch and dinner, goes on patrol, plays nice to the baby interns, and he doesn’t ask Izuku what he and his mom talk about when he isn’t there. He has an epiphany on the third day.
Izuku is helping him lace up his boots and secure his utility belt, the same as every morning for the past few years. Izuku gets out the plates, divides up the protein shake, mumbling to his mom about the latest neighborhood gossip while he links their ankles together underneath the table. That’s when it hits Katsuki, in the soft light of the morning, watching the sunlight spill over Izuku’s face.
Alright. Fuck it. It doesn’t matter what Inko has to say. She might tell Izuku to leave. Hell, Izuku might even listen—but what of it? This thing between them, it’s always been a game of tag. Chasing the other person. Playing catch up. Hunting each other down to the ends of the earth. Izuku could fake his death and Katsuki would be able to find him. It’s a cycle that’s gone on for years now and if Katsuki never manages to break out, so fucking be it.
“Wow, that’s creepy,” says Ochako, later on patrol.
“It’s almost romantic,” Eijirou says, trying to be nice.
“Imprinted on the two faces of the coin called love lies selflessness and obsession,” Fumikage says.
“That’s sweet,” Izuku whispers that evening, dropping a kiss on his nose. Katsuki thinks, Hell yeah it is. He knew Izuku would get it. “I’ll chase you until you get tired of me, too.”
“My stamina’s a million times better than yours, idiot. I don’t get tired of anything.”
Izuku, because he’s an asshole contrarian, starts listing on his fingers. “You get tired of reporters, the public, stupid questions, the houseplants that you didn’t pick yourself, brands of tea—”
“I don’t get tired of shit that matters.” He can’t bring himself to say the rest of the sentence, but he doesn’t need to. Izuku kisses him and holds him close. Katsuki goes to sleep like a fucking baby, secure in the knowledge that this is what the rest of his life will be. The smell of Izuku’s shampoo. Six houseplants. The collection of their friends’ hero merch sprawling out across the shelves along with notebooks filled from cover to cover. Pictures pinned to their fridge. Untidy shoes at the doorway. Laundry folded wrong. Too many futons in the closet for friends who never give enough notice. Familiar hands, familiar callouses. Izuku’s voice saying, I’m here, good morning, good night, where are you, let’s eat lunch together, wait for me, do you want curry for dinner, I’m home. I’ll never make you wait for too long, so stay with me.
—
On the fourth and last day of Inko’s visit, Izuku grabs the keys along with Inko’s bag. Inko says, “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind—if it wouldn’t be an imposition, would you be willing to drive, Katsuki?”
“I don’t know if—” Izuku starts. Katsuki shakes his head. Izuku stops.
“I can drive,” Katsuki says. He puts on a jacket and snags the keys from Izuku, who stares at him and tries his best to send a telepathic message about if this is really okay. Stupid fucking question. Katsuki would’ve ignored her if it wasn’t, and anyway, he isn’t assholish enough to ignore Izuku’s mom when she’s clearly making an attempt to extend an olive branch. He takes the bag from Izuku and slips on his shoes. “Your train leaves in an hour, right?”
Inko’s hands stop fidgeting. “Oh,” she says. “Yes.”
“We’re still okay to make it on time, but best to leave now just in case.” Katsuki likes to get to places early. Sign of dominance and shit. Behind Inko, he mouths to Izuku, Say bye to your mom, nerd.
Izuku bites his lip. Three seconds of all his neurons firing at max speed going through every possible branch of possibility. He sighs, pulling his mom in for a hug, whispering something in her ear, then he gives her a kiss on the cheek. “Drive safe,” Izuku says.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Katsuki says back, then they’re off.
Unlike the first time, he feels remarkably calm on the second drive with Inko. The world almost seems to be moving slower, at his own pace. Inko’s silence means nothing to him. He’s disaffected. He’s one with nature and shit.
He parks in record time and accompanies her to the platform. Katsuki sets her bag on a nearby bench and says, “I don’t know if you want me to wait with you—”
“Please,” she says quietly.
Katsuki nods. He sits down and waits with her. Minutes tick by. He checks his phone. Izuku has sent one message: Let’s order food tonight.
As fucking if, Katsuki texts back.
Five minutes until Inko has to leave.
As if roused by some invisible force, Inko takes a deep breath. Same habit Izuku has, like they’re bracing themselves for impact.
“You may not believe me,” she says finally, “but I truly had no intention of causing you or Izuku any sort of distress. I didn’t want to upset you. Either of you. I’m sorry that I did. I just wanted to see how Izuku was living out here, with you, and I got myself worked up about a lot of things.” She breathes in again, then admits, “I got myself worked up for no reason. All I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I kept seeing the past with the two of you when I shouldn’t have.”
Katsuki swallows, throat suddenly feeling tight.
“You picked me up in a suit,” Inko says, giving him a brief smile before looking down at her shoes again. “I haven’t been greeted by such a handsome young man in a suit like that since I was a girl myself. And you were so—so desperate to give a good impression. I thought there had to be a trick. You were talking so kindly to that hero, being responsible, being kind, and I—I didn’t believe it. Whatever you wanted, I didn’t want to give it to you, not after everything that I saw before—and it was petty, it was a small, shallow thought, but—” Inko breaks off and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. That’s not important. What I’m trying to say is, I’ve seen a lot from you these past few days.”
“And?”
“And you love my son in a way that I had only dreamed of.” Katsuki’s breath catches. Inko smiles at him, reaches over to hold his hands in her own. “You have to understand. When Izuku was growing up, I was worried for him, about who was going to take care of him. Who was going to see past what he didn’t have and love him for who he was. Of course, I—it was silly of me to worry about, looking back now—”
“No. He grew up the way he did,” Kind, gentle, unyielding despite his gentleness, “because of the way you raised him. It wasn’t a useless worry.”
Inko’s eyes shine with unshed tears. She sniffles. “Thank you for saying that.” Overhead, the intercom announces the train will be arriving in a minute. Inko wipes her face and laughs. “Oh, how silly of me. I should’ve talked about this sooner. I haven’t even said half—”
“It’s okay,” Katsuki says. He clears his throat and looks away, but squeezes her hand. “You can come again and tell me next time. Our guest room’s always open.”
Inko tugs him to his feet. He rises, startled, and nearly has a heart attack when she folds him in her arms in a tight hug. Izuku got this from her too, he realizes. This sort of rib-crushing hug. Some sort of insane declaration to keep him safe from the whole world, no matter who’s on the other side.
“Thank you for making him happy,” she tells him. She beams at him with watery eyes, kisses him on the forehead, and picks up her bag. She waves goodbye. Tentatively, Katsuki returns the gesture, and he doesn’t lower his hand until the train is long gone from the station.
A buzz from his phone. My mom said she boarded, reads Izuku’s text. Is everything ok?
Katsuki breathes in. Breathes out. Thinks about a tiny box hidden in a desk drawer at the office. He’ll pick it up on the way, he decides. No point in waiting a second longer. The papers will be signed before the day is out.
Everything’s fine, Katsuki sends back. I've got something to ask you. I’ll be home soon.