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The day had been tiring—utterly exhausting. Katsuki needed a break to recharge, and nothing worked better than drinking. He would never admit that he loved days like this, simply because it meant he could drink and spend some extra time with Izuku by the end of the afternoon.
His hero costume was a little dirty and in need of some repairs, but nothing serious. Katsuki reached his office and removed the heavy grenades, tossing them into a corner and listening to them hit the floor. Who cares? He could ask for new ones whenever he wanted.
He shuffled through papers, replied to emails, checked a few forms, then shut his laptop and shoved it into his backpack. Slinging it over his shoulder, he locked the door. As he descended the stairs of his agency, his mind wandered. Every step was automatic. One after the other, he left the building and pushed open the doors to the street.
Musutafu wasn’t a big city, but it definitely wasn’t small either. Medium-sized. Not too chaotic, yet never truly quiet. Sure, there was crime—nothing too serious. Drug trafficking, assault. Always the same reports, the same incidents. It was boring.
Every damn day, the same thing. And why would Katsuki complain? He’d always wanted to be a hero.
Walking down the sidewalk, he opened his messaging app and sent Izuku a text, inviting the freckled idiot to their usual bar. And the reply—always the same: “Of course, Kacchan!” The blond never got tired of it. His routine might be exhausting and boring as hell, but that nerd made everything better.
The bar itself wasn’t much to look at. Nearly falling apart, countless leaks, and a door that screeched painfully whenever it was opened. What could you do? The beer there was the best! It just needed a renovation. A torn black awning decorated the raw entrance.
Katsuki leaned against the lamppost across from the place, waiting for his childhood crush. He would never admit that he’d always loved Izuku. Only Kirishima knew about that hidden love. Katsuki had always shown the signs—Izuku was just too stupid to notice.
The blond cooked for him, took care of him when the freckled one got sick, reminded him to eat, to take care of himself. And Izuku? He thought it was just “Kacchan going soft.” Slow idiot.
Speak of the devil—there he was.
His hair was messier than usual, his belt slightly loose. His dress shirt was open at the first few buttons, slipping out of his somewhat tight pants. His new, freshly polished shoes reflected the glow of the sunset. Izuku looked like a model, strutting just for Katsuki.
He had to fight the urge to jump at the green-haired man’s neck and leave a trail of hickeys. He cleared his throat, pretending indifference.
“Hey, nerd,” Katsuki called. Izuku looked up and smiled openly.
“Hi, Kacchan!” He shook his briefcase. “Sorry I’m late, I had to help some students with grading their exams.”
“Always late. Always helping others. You’ll never change, will you?” the blond mocked as he headed toward the crowded bar.
Izuku only grumbled before following Katsuki like a stray dog. The bar was loud, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes soaked into the walls for centuries. They walked up to the counter and ordered the usual.
“So, how was your day?” Izuku grabbed his glass and took a sip.
“The same shit. Patrols, arresting idiots who can’t even qualify as villains. Same script every time,” the blond cursed. “Seriously, is there no one in this city who knows how to be a proper villain?”
Izuku laughed softly, resting his arm on the counter and his head in his hand. His hair fell forward, revealing the freckles on his forehead.
“And you?” Katsuki asked, trying not to stare at Izuku like a damn creep.
“Oh, nothing new. One student threw up during the exam, and I had to clean it up and take him to the infirmary,” he huffed. “Kacchan, the smell was awful. I almost puked with him!” Izuku grimaced in disgust, gesturing wildly. Katsuki took a sip of his beer and smiled faintly.
Izuku rambled on about his students. He knew each of them like the back of his hand—like each of his scars. The alcohol weighed heavy in their systems, their bodies loosening, unconsciously seeking each other out.
Katsuki laughed at the green-haired idiot’s nonsense, shoved a hand into his face when he went off on tangents beyond human tolerance. His body wanted more. More contact. More closeness. He craved Izuku’s warmth. He desperately needed to press his lips to Izuku’s mouth.
To explore every inch of his throat. That was what he wanted. But he couldn’t. He didn’t have it in him. He was too much of a coward. Their bodies drifted closer without them noticing, until they were practically sitting shoulder to shoulder.
Each time Katsuki put his hand on Izuku’s face, the pushback grew weaker. His hand lingered longer than it should have. His body was begging for more contact—and he resisted. Katsuki wanted Izuku. Only Izuku. He wanted to confess, but the shame was stronger. And his ego wouldn’t allow it.
Alcohol coursed through their veins. They were loose, laughing at everything, unaware of the time. Izuku began rambling about music from decades ago. The bar’s playlist matched the mood perfectly as the first notes of Creep, Richard Cheese’s 2006 version, floated through the air.
“Kacchan! I need to dance to this!” Izuku jumped off the stool, hiccupping every few words.
“Hey, idiot. Don’t break anything—I’m not paying for your stupidity,” Katsuki warned, smiling softly at the clumsy body swaying to the rhythm.
Izuku moved his hips awkwardly, spinning and dancing without a care. He began singing the lyrics softly, but Katsuki read his lips, imagining the green-haired idiot was singing just for him. The idiot moved closer, singing louder.
“You’re so fucking special. I wish I was special,” the freckled man whispered to Katsuki, locking eyes with those blood-red irises without his voice shaking. He stepped closer, murmuring fragments lost in the song.
Katsuki held his breath when Izuku placed a hand on his hip, playing with the fabric, tugging it up and threading it between his fingers. His other hand pressed against the scar by Katsuki’s eye.
The blond didn’t even notice when Izuku had climbed into his lap, thick, strong legs wrapped around his waist. Izuku caressed his face, leaning closer and closer. Their lips nearly touched, hot, uneven breaths mixing. Izuku never looked away.
The alcohol seemed to drain from his body, the grip on Katsuki’s hips slowly loosening. He murmured the final verse, pain swimming in his eyes.
But I’m a creep
I’m a weirdo
He sang it to himself, standing in front of Katsuki.
What the hell am I doing here?
He cut the line short.
I don’t belong here
I don’t belong here
A single tear slid down his flushed cheek. The blond stood up from his stool as the next song’s notes filled the space between them. Katsuki didn’t think—he just started singing along.
He extended a trembling hand toward Izuku and whispered to the shorter man.
Wise men say
Only fools rush in
He stepped forward.
Izuku knew those lyrics. It was his favorite song. The freckled man froze, shock written all over his face.
But I can’t help—
The blond swallowed his shame and ego, singing louder.
Falling in love with you
Izuku took a step closer.
The rest of the song passed in a blur until it reached his favorite part. Katsuki smiled at Izuku and moved closer.
Take my hand
He gave it a little shake. Izuku laughed.
Take my whole life too
A reference, Kacchan?
For I can’t help—
Their hearts fell into sync.
Falling in love—
Izuku’s heart skipped a beat.
With you,
Katsuki whispered.
His heart thundered in his ears, blood pulsing through his body. He smiled shakily, ran forward, grabbed Katsuki’s outstretched hand, and pulled him into a dance.
They whispered the lyrics to each other. Bodies pressed together, arms entwined, feet tracing patterns across the floor. Katsuki’s hands rested on Izuku’s waist. Izuku’s hand slid to Katsuki’s shoulder, his head resting against his sculpted chest.
Katsuki lifted Izuku’s chin. Two blushing idiots. Izuku’s freckles threatened to burst right off his face. The blond wanted to kiss every single one—but he had other plans for now.
He leaned down, tilted his head slightly, and placed a hand on Izuku’s cheek. He waited. For a reaction. A sign.
Nothing.
Just soft, cracked lips pressing against his. Izuku was shy—not innocent.
He grabbed the blond by the neck and pushed his tongue into Katsuki’s mouth. Katsuki gasped, a breath escaping him at the unexpected move.
Their lips only parted when they were both out of air. Izuku buried his face in Katsuki’s chest. The taller man laughed and pulled him into a tight hug.
Finally.
Yeah.
Songs aren’t just random words and rhythms.
They’re confessions.