Chapter Text
The shriek of Katsuki’s alarm clock pierced the early air like a well-aimed dagger. From a haphazard slump in fluffy pillows, one sleep-crusted red eye blinked open, and immediately shut again at the pain of daylight. Katsuki pushed himself up on his elbows, and took a second to swallow the nausea that rose when he moved his left shoulder. Fuck. It was probably still dislocated.
The man slammed a fist into his alarm without looking and ran a bandaged hand down over his face. He still had scorch marks on his skin, ash sealed under the layers of cloth. The winding gauze was messy and fraying loose at the edges - he hadn’t had time to seek out medical attention the night before and had wrapped it himself, blind and angry, in his dark bathroom. He could see where blood had soaked through the material, a dark brown crust in the gaps between his fingers. Even typing up his report later was going to be a bitch.
Pure morning light filtered through the thin linen of his curtains, falling along Katsuki’s meticulously clean bedroom. Shoes lined up neatly by the door. Novels and manga shelved by height order in the bookcase. The old hero figurines he’d collected as a teen in a perfectly straight line at the top of his desk. Identical white shirts, black blazers, and slacks hung in the closet on uniform hangers. The only things out of place were the mussed-up sheets, and the disheveled young man climbing groggily out of them.
His legs swung around to tuck himself into slippers on instinct. Katsuki’s morning routine never wavered, no matter what kind of night he had. Get up, piss, brush your teeth, put your suit on. Cook like 5 eggs scrambled all to hell with hot sauce. Holster your gun. Line your inner suit pocket with gear just in case. Head into work, where you’ll probably get fired from the only job you’ve ever wanted to do.
Facing himself in the harsh artificial light of the bathroom, Katsuki scowled at the bags under his eyes and the unnatural pallor of his skin. He looked like shit, and he couldn’t even feel bad about it, because he felt like shit too. He scrubbed his teeth without his trademark ferocity, spitting dejectedly into the sink. It felt like a small punishment. The cold water on his tired face was refreshing, but it didn't do much to quell the irritation he felt rising in his blood.
It only grew with each step he took, picking out another boring ass shirt and boring ass jacket and boring ass tie. Wrestling angrily with the noose he’s required to wear to the office every day, he glared at himself in the mirror. His fingers twisted amongst themselves, bandages making it difficult to maneuver the fabric into a knot. His nail slipped and dug into a nasty burn on the palm of his hand, and Katsuki cursed loudly, slamming his fist on the counter.
Yesterday’s mission had been so fucking bad.
Katsuki’s eyes closed despite themselves. It was supposed to be a standard assignment, just reconnaissance. He and two other agents were just going to stake out a potential drug deal taking place at an abandoned automobile factory - they were there to mark down any new information, keep an ear out for the location of the gang’s hideout, and bring their findings back to plan a future sting. The thugs they were watching were dangerous, sure, and the Agency had had their eye on them for a while, but it was a strict “Do-Not-Engage” mission.
Obviously, Katsuki had engaged.
So fucking stupid.
A full-force shootout raged after he’d charged in. When Katsuki had been distracted in close combat with one of the gang members, he’d been thrown bodily across the courtyard and had fallen hard enough to dislocate his shoulder. Fortunately, at the time he was left otherwise unharmed. Unfortunately, he’d landed in a discarded fuel tank, and Katsuki had been decked head to toe in explosives. He’d set off a chain reaction of bursts so violent that part of a neighboring building had collapsed.
The perps got away, the agents stationed with him were injured in the destruction, and they hadn’t gotten any new information. No casualties, thank god, but Katsuki knew how the Pro Agency operated. The mission was considered a complete failure, and every red line of it traced back to Katsuki Bakugou. He was a loose cannon on a good day, and it was only his combat expertise that had ever saved his foul mouth from being fired. Now even his skill was called into question. He’d never been a charmer. There were no words that he would be able to dredge up to excuse himself.
He exhaled a ragged breath and went to make his shitty eggs.
***
“So,” Aizawa said, dropping neatly behind the desk where Katsuki sat rigidly. Aizawa’s face gave away nothing of his emotion - no anger, judgment, reproach, or relief. Katsuki, for his part, was sitting as straight and proper in his chair as he could possibly manage, determined to be the fucking epitome of respect. He was focusing very hard on not tearing 10 clean holes into his dress pants with his tightening fingers. “Yesterday was fucking terrible.”
Katsuki bowed his head.
They were in Aizawa’s office, deep in the underground belly of the Pro Agency Intelligence facility. Katsuki had been in here many times for mission briefings, planning sessions, and scoldings not unlike this one. The room itself was sterile, almost entirely devoid of personal effects - barring the scant few photos Aizawa had on his desk of his husband and adopted daughter. Filing cabinets and bookshelves of notes lined the walls, and an impressive display of capture weapons was arranged directly behind Aizawa’s chair, though it was more function than decor. It was cramped, but tidy.
The rhythmic tick of a clock somewhere in the room thudded strangely in Katsuki’s head and it set him on edge. This far underground the air was stifling and so, so still.
A deep, dissatisfied sigh echoed across the desk to Katsuki’s ears, and he risked the glance up.
“What were you thinking, kid?”
Katsuki’s teeth dug into his cheek in pulses. “I thought I had it handled-”
“And you very clearly did not,” Aizawa cut in smoothly. His hands steepled on the desk atop a disarray of files and papers. Aizawa kept the lights in his office warm and sleepy to protect himself from eye strain, but it was distracting in moments like this. It felt like there should be a spotlight, an interrogation force, maybe a steel table, or someone hitting their hand threateningly with a stick.
“Two agents are on leave because they were injured in yesterday’s attack - an attack that should have been avoided entirely. The perps walked, and now we have to start over from scratch while their organization gets the chance to regroup - and they at least suspect we’re onto them. This was a recon mission, Bakugou. We had no reason to engage the targets in any capacity. What on Earth caused you to rush in like that?”
Katsuki’s nails scraped a harsh line up the fabric of his pants before balling into fists. He growled lowly as flashes of the conversations he’d overheard resurfaced like jagged driftwood in a flood.
Aizawa studied him carefully. “You’re a hothead Bakugou, but this is strange even for you. What did you hear?”
Katsuki swallowed thickly, and the words spit out of him. “They were - they were discussing some of the stuff they were doing. Their crimes.”
“I know it’s not an excuse,” Katsuki stopped himself when Aizawa moved as if to respond. He took a big deep breath, remembering the office-mandated anger management sessions he’d been forced to take the year prior. He continued through gritted teeth, “And I take responsibility,” The word grated out of him. “For my actions. But…”
Katsuki’s head whipped up, suddenly desperate for Aizawa to understand. Those thug's words had echoed in Katsuki’s head for the last 24 hours, and they’d probably continue to haunt him long after. “If you could’ve heard the way they were talking. They were so fucking gleeful.”
Katsuki shook his head back and forth, fingers interlocking tightly, shoved between his knees in a move that brought his shoulders up around his ears.
“It’s way fucking worse than we thought. They’re doing human trials of a new strain of their drug. Kept talking about how painful it was when the high ended. And they’re just taking people off the fucking street! Desperate people, people who don’t have another choice. Promising things they won’t live to see.”
Katsuki pressed his thumb intentionally back into the burn on his palm.
“They- shit, Aizawa, they were talking about how they were testing it on fucking kids -”
Aizawa held up a hand, stopping the downpour of angry words. His tired black eyes flicked almost imperceptibly to the picture on his desk of his daughter, and the barely there tension in his shoulders petered out, just a little. Aizawa’s lips twisted to the side ruefully and he let silence fill the air between them for a few seconds.
“I understand why you did it.” Katsuki’s head raised slightly, but he kept his eyes trained on the floor. “I understand, emotionally, why you did it. But we’re professionals Bakugou, and we deal with hard and sensitive situations every day. You can’t let them control how you act. You can be a part of the fight to make these bad circumstances go away for people, but only if you play your cards right.”
Aizawa’s eyes were bloodshot but scrutinizing. For all his bluster, Katsuki Bakugou had made great strides in his time as an agent at Pro. In the early days, he was all but banned from any delicate missions. He’d tended to let his anger get the better of him, which was not the attitude the agency looked for. Foreign emissary protection, heists, recovery missions, military intel, you name it and Pro Agency did it. Bakugou had made it far in the initial combat courses, and Aizawa had been the one to stick out his neck and say he believed that the kid could make a great intelligence officer with the proper instruction. There was a determination and diligence to him that shone, even under that rough and demanding exterior.
Right now, head still bowed slightly in deference, and a clear glint of regret in his eyes, the young man was almost unrecognizable as the boy Aizawa had met in general training. The boy had looked him, a seasoned professional, in the eyes and told him that one day he’d surpass Aizawa, and everyone else in that room. That he’d be the greatest spy in the world. And he was close to doing it.
Close, but not quite there.
“You rushed in without planning properly, and it cost us the mission.” If possible, Katsuki’s shoulders hunched more. Aizawa continued, “But, you’re getting another chance.”
Katsuki looked up at that, red eyes flashing like a slashed artery in the low light.
Aizawa stood, picking up a thick manilla folder as he started to pace slowly around the room.
“We’ve got a new assignment and it’s big. It’s a classified-level client that requires a lot of discretion. It’s extremely high stakes, there is potential for violence to break out, and a large civilian presence is involved. We need someone highly trained who can be discreet and unseen. We need someone fast, strong, thorough, and above all else, an expert strategist. Someone who knows their strengths and weaknesses and sticks to their plan, but is also able to adapt as the situation does -”
Katsuki was already nodding, getting to his feet. “Absolutely sir, I won’t let you down -”
“And that person is not you, Bakugou.”
Katsuki’s expression soured instantly. “Hah?!”
Aizawa flipped the manilla folder open coolly, rifling through stacks of papers before pulling out a smaller folder labeled “Confidential.” He didn’t give Katsuki’s angry posture a second glance, sliding the folder across the desk to land neatly in front of the other chair.
“You’re being assigned a partner on a trial basis. They’re not there to listen to your orders. You are not their superior. You are equals. This is a partner, Bakugou, and that means strategizing and working with the others on your team for once.” Aizawa leveled Katsuki with a pointed look.
Katsuki remained standing, posture stiff and hands flexing unconsciously at his sides, aching to fiddle with the explosives normally strapped around his belt.
“Sir, with all due respect, I do my best work alone. Yesterday… notwithstanding. If the mission is as important as you say it is, we shouldn’t be trying anything new.” He spit the words as politely as he could manage, but they ground out of Katsuki like he was pulling teeth.
Aizawa scratched the side of his neck in consideration, settling back into his desk chair. “You have a good point. A point I made to the Commission in your hearing this morning.”
Katsuki’s ears rang at the words ‘Commission’ and ‘hearing’. Fuck, had he come that close to being fired? He slumped back into his chair, frazzled.
“Unfortunately,” Aizawa continued monotonously, “this was the only path forward they agreed to. You’re too volatile, Bakugou. You’re a damn good agent, and you’re quick on your feet, but sometimes you leave your brain behind. The Agency says that unless you can practice more foresight on missions, you’re out. This was the compromise.”
“So what’s the plan?” Katsuki spit, “You’re just gonna pair me up with some random extra on a high-stakes mission to what? To ‘smooth out my rough edges?’”
Aizawa regarded him blankly. “Yes, essentially.”
Katsuki scoffed and looked to the side, pushing his chair further from the desk to lean on just the back two legs, head tilted to the ceiling.
“No one else in Espionage can keep up with me.” He sounded like a child, but it was true. His reflexes and instincts were leagues above most people in his department. Except for Kirishima, but he was on leave from active duty for a badly broken leg - better these days, but certainly not mission-ready.
“Good thing we have other departments, then,” Aizawa drawled in that infuriating apathy. “You’ve been assigned a top agent from the Recovery and Kidnappings sector. This kind of mission will require other expertise that, frankly, you don’t have much experience in. Based on both of your histories with the company, it’s likely that you went through general training around the same time as your new partner some years ago. It’s our… hope… that you’ll work well together.”
Katsuki’s eyes flickered back to Aizawa’s face without his permission. The bedraggled older man looked deadly serious, even though Aizawa largely didn’t have a different state of being.
He flipped open the file in front of Katsuki. “Does the name Izuku Midoriya ring any bells to you?”
***
Katsuki’s chest rose and fell in steady, gulping gasps as he leaned his forehead against the pleather of the punching bag. Sweat prickled uncomfortably at his hairline, freezing coldly on his heated skin in the refrigerated air. The Pro Agency training room was even deeper underground than the offices, the press of earth on all sides keeping the air chill and damp. Most of the lights in the room were off - it was still early, technically before the gym was even open.
He’d flicked on the light switch that made dim, spotlight-like dots appear intermittently in the ceiling. Katsuki preferred to train in the dark. It sharpened his senses, and was good practice for being in the field when he couldn’t always rely on having light to guide his actions. Shadows tended to trick you, if you weren’t prepared.
Fists wrapped in gauze hit the punching bag in quick succession. Left, right, left. Inhale on the rest, keep your fists up by your face. Uppercut, throw an elbow, duck, and kick. Anger flashing, Katsuki let out a yell, rearing back to punch with all of his might. The bag swung jerkily and pain bloomed in Katsuki’s knuckles as he heaved with feeling, catching the bag with both hands to steady it back in place.
Fucking of course he’s paired with fucking Deku.
Katsuki gritted his teeth in frustration and moved to wrap a second layer of padding around his knuckles. His hands weren’t fully healed from the mission last week, and he’d be damned if he fucked them up more, with the next one’s deadline leering only a few days away.
Aizawa hadn’t listened to his protests in the slightest. He’d tried being angry, threatening, and even pleading at one point, but the older man had shot him down point blank and said it was this way or the highway. So here Katsuki was, trying to get his aggression out before the mission briefing with his new partner.
Partner.
The word made something heavy sink in his gut.
“Kacchan?”
The voice came from behind him, in the direction of the open door. Katsuki couldn’t see him yet, but he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. There was no one else in the world who would still call him that.
“Meeting’s upstairs, Deku, and not for hours. You get lost?” Katsuki said, not looking over his tensed shoulder at the other man. He focused all his attention on the wrap of the gauze over his palm. Without meaning to, he pulled it too tight and cut off the blood flow to his fingers. He had to start again, cursing under his breath.
“I wanted to see you before then, and I thought you might be here.” There was a smile curling around the words as they floated through the air. “You always did like working out early in the morning.”
Katsuki hated that Izuku still knew him so well, after all this time.
He ripped off the end of the gauze he’d finished wrapping with his teeth and stuck a piece of athletic tape on to hold it down. Katsuki grabbed his water bottle, just to do anything with his hands that didn’t involve turning around and immediately punching something. His shoulders were stuck around his ears, and he felt that familiar anger that always burned just under the surface around Izuku.
“Get it out of your system now, Deku. You came here to gloat, right?” Katsuki spat with venom. There was an undercurrent of insecurity in his voice, and he flashed with anger at it internally. His free hand flexed unconsciously, in and out.
“Wha- Kacchan, what? What would I have to gloat about?” Izuku sounded surprised. His voice was deeper than it used to be. Katsuki could hear the shift of the other man’s feet on the floor, like he’d taken a step back in shock.
“Don't act fucking stupid - ” The words died as Katsuki spun hotly, and laid his eyes on Izuku for the first time.
It had been a few years since Katsuki had started at Pro. Three, at least. In all that time, he had never seen Izuku - around the offices, at work functions, in the break rooms. Granted, Katsuki tended to avoid all unnecessary social interactions with his coworkers. He already had a group of barnacles who’d attached themselves to him and called themselves his “friends”, and he definitely didn’t need any more.
His last memory of Izuku was of the scrawny, scrappy, excitable guy he’d seen across the room that first day of the Pro entrance test, before they’d been separated into their chosen specializations. He’d seen the green-haired young man talking animatedly to a few other hopefuls with big dramatic gestures, his ramblings obvious even when Katsuki had been too far away to hear a word of it.
It had felt like a gut punch to see him then, too. There was a split second, where Izuku’s eyes had wandered the room and locked onto him. Crimson and clover, a hundred feet apart. Katsuki had watched Izuku’s eyes widen impossibly more, with excitement or anger Katsuki couldn’t tell, mouth opening to form his fateful nickname.
Katsuki had turned away so he wouldn’t hear the sound.
Izuku at that time had been all lean muscle, but even with that the others in the room were visibly stronger than him. Katsuki had watched out of the corner of his eye when Izuku’s group was led through a separate door, one green head still craning over his shoulder to look Katsuki’s way. He’d mentally snorted knowing that Izuku was going to get his ass handed to him as soon as he had to spar with anyone. He’d sincerely doubted that Izuku would make it through the rigorous combat that just the initiation was going to put him through. Katsuki had never known if he’d made it into Pro. He’d never wanted to confirm it.
(Was he afraid that Izuku had made it? Or was he afraid that he hadn’t?)
The young man leaning casually against the doorframe to the training room could almost be a stranger if it weren't for those big jade eyes. And the fucking freckles, Katsuki thought stupidly, and wanted to kick himself for it.
Izuku looked strong. His shoulders were wide but compact, his t-shirt straining just a little over biceps that Katsuki would’ve never imagined the nerd having. He also, Katsuki noticed, distracted, must not skip leg day if the defined lines of his calves and thighs gave any indication. His jaw had sharpened and matured a little, making him lose some of that boyishness that he’d always carried in his cheeks growing up. His hair was still long and curly on top, but the sides were shaved. A far cry from the mess of verdant waves Izuku had sported their entire childhood.
What the fuck. When did Deku get hot?
Izuku smiled something quiet when their eyes met. “I’m just excited to work with you, Kacchan, that’s all.” He said sincerely. “It’s just like we wanted when we were kids.”
Something inside Katsuki snapped.
He threw his water bottle somewhere on the floor and marched over to where Izuku stood by the doorframe, gathering the fabric of his shirt in his fists and pulling them nose to nose. Izuku’s eyes widened at his fast approach, and he had to go cross-eyed to keep Katsuki in his vision, hands raising reflexively.
“W-woah, wait, calm down! I didn’t -” Izuku stammered.
“Let’s get one goddamn thing clear, Deku.” Katsuki felt the hot blood of anger rising in him like a tornado, like lava shifting between his bones. It thrummed in his ears, static crackling and drowning out all other thoughts. His hands tightened, the material stretching under the pads of his fingers, his knuckles brushing the heat of Izuku’s skin through his shirt. “I don’t need your fucking help, and I never have.”
Izuku swallowed, and Katsuki could feel his muscles shifting at the motion. His eyes in the shadows of the gym were a forest at night, tree limbs shifting in the wind, flickering back and forth between Katsuki’s.
“I know that.”
Katsuki’s teeth grit harder. “I’m perfectly capable of doing this mission all on my own, and I’m not going to let you hold me back.”
Izuku smiled small again, something sad tucked inside it. “I know that, too.”
“Well you just know fucking everything, don’t you Deku?” Katsuki growled and pushed him away, Izuku stumbling slightly before righting himself. Katsuki turned his back to him again, finished.
Izuku’s voice spoke up timidly behind him and Katsuki froze as the words registered. “I heard about what happened on your last mission.”
Katsuki glared at the wall, staying silent. He turned almost mechanically back to the punching bag. He slipped on big padded gloves that he’d forgone before, desperate for the pain to focus him. Katsuki started a steady rhythm of blows, attempting to push all thoughts of the other presence in the room out of his mind. Maybe if he ignored Izuku, he would go away.
“I’m sorry your teammates were injured. It was the Shie Hassaikai gang, right?”
Katsuki didn’t answer, just listened to the pulse of his heartbeat in his ears. He kicked hard at the bag, feeling the ache in his muscles greet him like an old friend.
“I did a… Well, I’m not supposed to talk about the specifics.” His voice floated closer through the air like Izuku had taken a few more steps into the room. “But I did a recovery mission with some hostages that their gang had taken a little while back. The kinds of things that we saw them doing was enough to make anyone lose it. They’re… despicable. It wasn’t your fault.”
Katsuki tilted his head up to the ceiling and closed his eyes, breath escaping in short puffs. The last thing he needed this morning was to be comforted. He didn’t really believe in God, but right now Katsuki could pray for strength.
“Deku,” Katsuki ground out. “I’m this close to just flat-out decking you if you keep talking.”
Footsteps echoed closer on the linoleum and Katsuki watched Izuku walk past him out of his periphery. Izuku dropped his bag- yellow, and falling apart, shockingly similar to the one he used to carry around in middle school and wasn’t that a mental trip - on one of the benches by the wall and skirted closer, still a few feet out of Katsuki’s reach.
He paused his assault on the punching bag, watching warily as Izuku seemed to flit through something complicated in his mind. He could see when Izuku reached an answer, something sparking right behind his eyes, a new set of determination in his jaw. It was the same look he used to get as a child, planning their imaginary heists. It made Katsuki bite his lip to hold back a growl.
Izuku walked between him and the bag- a very dangerous place for him to be when all Katsuki could feel was this swirl of complicated emotions. Shame, for being weak, for his public failure, all his insecurities proven true. Anger at the fact that Izuku was the one to sweep in and pick up his pieces, the one to see him beaten, the only person he’d ever let get into his head like this in the first place. A little regret tangled with the faintest trace of longing, at the years they’d missed apart, at not knowing anything about the life of a boy he once would’ve done anything for. And then anger again, at that different kind of weakness.
“Alright, Kacchan, let’s spar then.” The other man said calmly.
Izuku settled easily into a fighting stance. From up close, Katsuki noticed for the first time that Izuku’s arms and hands were absolutely littered with scars. Some looked like old burns, others maybe knife wounds, one on his upper arm that Katsuki could’ve sworn looked like a healed bullet hole. Just what the fuck had Izuku been getting into the past few years?
“What?” Katsuki asked, incredulous, shocked enough to forget to be aloof.
Izuku rolled his shoulders back, loosening them to prepare for action. His grin was different now, sharper. There was a new kind of light in his eyes that seemed almost manic, lit from within like a green lightning. It was an energy Katsuki recognized. He’d seen it in his own snarling face.
“You always preferred actions over words. You’ve clearly still got a problem with me, for whatever reason. If we’re going to work together, I’d prefer we get this over with now instead of on our mission.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes. “I’m not fucking fighting you, Deku.”
“Why not?” The smile this time reeked tauntingly of faux-innocence. His freckled cheek dimpled, just a little. Strong, gnarled fists raised and halted in the air. “Afraid I’ll win?”
A growl threatened to escape from Katsuki’s throat as he took a few steps back, giving them a bigger area for sparring. He peeled the boxing gloves off, grimacing at the small amount of blood seeping through his bandages. He tightened them as surreptitiously as he could. Izuku followed him into the circle beaming, stepping in time, starting to bounce his weight between his feet. Something in Izuku’s posture screamed of a hunger for action.
Katsuki couldn’t resist, a little deranged smile crooking the corner of his mouth. “You fucking asked for it, nerd.”
He didn’t give Izuku the chance to make the first move, launching himself full throttle at the green-haired man. Izuku let out a delighted sound that might have been a laugh, and dodged under Katsuki’s right hook easily, knocking an elbow against his upper arm to send it astray. Izuku went low, aiming quick successive jabs at Katsuki’s abdomen, and he had to drop his forearms lightning fast to block the blows.
“Still start with your right hand to hit, huh?” Izuku teased smoothly. Katsuki’s eyes widened, immediately switching gears to balance the offense and defense. He’d been kind of thinking that a spar between them would last somewhere between 10 and 15 seconds. He’d be damned if he let the nerd get him that easily. “Some things never change.”
Izuku was good. He fought like he was floating, light in his steps, agile and winding around Katsuki’s punches and kicks. Bouncing like a rabbit on the balls of his feet, settling expertly into the posture of moves Katsuki had spent years getting right. He moved like it was second nature, like he’d come out of the womb with boxing gloves and steel-toed shoes. It was infuriating.
They traded blows in almost perfect harmony. As agonizing as it was to see Deku of all people hold their own against him, the combat made Katsuki's blood sing. This was a dance and a battle all in one, and he couldn’t let his focus up for even a second, enraptured in it.
Katsuki swiftly kicked at Izuku’s knees, expecting it when the other man lifted up on his toes to avoid the contact. He hooked the curve on his foot around that stupidly muscled calf and jerked harshly, sending Izuku tumbling to the floor. He rolled sharply away, avoiding the stomp that Katsuki had been aiming at his stomach.
“You’re quick!” Izuku laughed, jumping back up in a little half flip that Katsuki refused to admit looked cool.
“No fucking shit, Deku.” Katsuki retorted, eyes scanning for an opening. He was moving on autopilot, a stalking walk that helped him to feel more like a predator than prey.
“So, uh, what have you been up to for the past, like, decade?” Izuku asked, rolling his body out of the way of the kick Katsuki had aimed at his side.
Katsuki huffed and pulled his head aside sharply, feeling the air by his ear move as Izuku’s fist just grazed his hair. “We’re not doing that.”
“Aw, come on, Kacchan.” Izuku’s teeth shone in the dim light. “You can’t blame me for being curious. I don’t know a thing about your life anymore.”
And I used to know everything about it, Katsuki could hear, left hanging, unsaid.
“I work here.” Katsuki groaned as Izuku landed a hit in his still-sore shoulder, right on the bruise. He grasped at it, trying to roll out the pain. “Obviously I’m a fucking spy.”
“Yeah, but you work in Espionage! That’s so cool, the kinds of missions you do are super different from mine. I overheard someone recently say that statistically Espionage agents face the most combat out of any department!” Izuku continued animatedly. He wasn’t even out of breath, and that damn smile was still in place, even as Katsuki’s punch caught him on the jaw. Izuku just wiped at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, and kept grinning.
“It can get dangerous sometimes,” Katsuki admitted slowly. He and Izuku circled each other for a few moments, an orbit in motion.
Izuku’s mouth gained a rueful tilt. “I bet that’s why you like it.”
Katsuki stayed silent, because he was right.
“I’m going to be the best agent here.” He said instead. Izuku, who had stepped further into their imaginary circle, paused with his head tilted and eyes wide to listen to the declaration. “I’ve already nearly broken the record for most closed Espionage cases by an agent in their first 5 years, and I’ve only been here for 3. I’m not stopping until I’m number one. Of all branches at Pro.” He looked Izuku dead in the eyes.
Katsuki could tell that Izuku was delighted he’d answered at all, so he put a little more force into the kick he sent to sweep under Izuku’s legs. He hopped over easily, but Katsuki hit solidly into the fleshy part of his side while he was distracted.
“Shit,” Izuku wheezed, placing a hand there. Katsuki tried not to startle at the sound of the word falling from his mouth - Izuku had always hated how Katsuki had cursed as a child. Another thing that time had changed, it seemed. A deep inhale while Izuku righted himself, and he was back in.
The only sounds in the room were ragged breath, and the impact of flesh on cloth, on skin, on the floor. Katsuki could feel his sweat start to slick the bindings on his hands, damp fabric biting into the contortion of his palms.
“I think you can do it.” Izuku broke in suddenly.
Katsuki grabbed Izuku’s ankle mid air from an errant kick and twisted, sending a yelping Izuku spinning suddenly. “What?”
“I said,” Izuku panted from the floor, crab walking quickly backwards to stay out of Katsuki’s range, “I think you can. Become the top agent here, I mean. If anyone can, it’d be you.”
“You-” Make me so mad, Katsuki didn’t say. You get under my skin like no one else ever has. You burrowed there decades ago and you never left, you stupid, annoying, piece of shit.
“But,” Izuku cut in, huffing around something that was almost a smirk, “I’ll do my best to give you a run for your money, Kacchan.”
Katsuki clocked him in the nose. He doesn’t think he broke it, but it was still satisfying to see that green hair whip back, and scarred hands clutch at free flowing blood.
“Good hit,” Izuku beamed sloppily, even as sanguine liquid dripped into his teeth. He pinched his nose right in the middle, head tilted up, neck in a long smooth slope. Katsuki had the irrational urge to bite him there, and flushed when the implications of that hit him a second later. “You must still keep up with boxing, huh?”
Katsuki’s teeth ground together. Nothing he was doing was shaking Izuku in the slightest, and everything Izuku was doing was shaking him. It was infuriatingly like every other moment of their lives together, feeling like Izuku had the upper hand, like he was still looking down on Katsuki. Like Katsuki needed help, needed praise, needed direction. Like Izuku was holding all the answers, while Katsuki clawed and crawled for every scrap he could get.
Izuku managed to stop the blood flow, but it was still stark and smeared all the way onto his freckled cheek. Despite it, Izuku glowed. Katsuki had never seen someone look so innocent under a layer of blood, stars in his eyes, cocky tilt to his lips. The effect was ruined almost instantly when Izuku landed a heavy hit right in the divot between his ribs and Katsuki had to pause to wheeze. Shit, why was he ridiculously strong?
Katsuki’s head bowed slightly as he struggled to inhale, the air knocked from his lungs. Izuku waited patiently, and Katsuki hated it- the implication that he could easily take advantage of Katsuki’s momentary weakness. The little shit was letting him stay up on purpose. “Aren’tcha gonna ask about my work, Kacchan?”
“I’m not here to socialize. You started it with the fucking gabbing.” He tilted his head up to glare.
“Still, it’d be good for you to know my areas of expertise.” Katsuki stood unsteadily, shaking his head to clear it and raising his fists back up in front of his face. “I’ve heard we’re working on stopping a potential kidnapping, and that’s what I specialize in.”
He dropped to a roll as Izuku’s leg whipped through the air, a kick that was aimed directly at where his head had been seconds prior. He almost felt pleased with himself for dodging, until he got his feet under him and a solid punch landed directly in his face.
The inside of Katsuki’s mouth bled where his teeth cut into the flesh of his cheek. He turned his head to the side to spit out a stream of blood, not really caring about its landing spot, a dark stain on the white floor.
“I really couldn’t give less of a shit about what you do, or what you think you’re good at.”
“Don't be mean, Kacchan!” Izuku pouted sarcastically, sticking out his bottom lip and blinking quickly.
“Since when am I ever fucking nice, asshole?” He threw a punch and it went wide, over Izuku’s shoulder. A scarred hand reached out to wrap around his wrist, keeping him from drawing it back. It forced their faces close again, breaths mingling.
“You can be nice.” Izuku’s expression was suddenly, heartbreakingly sincere, eyes gleaming as they searched for something within Katsuki. He could feel it squirm up in his chest and he pushed it down with a shove. “You were nice to me.”
“Don’t do that,” Katsuki growled.
“What?”
“Don’t act like you fucking know me.” They’d stopped throwing punches, tension a stretched string between them.
“I’m just -” For the first time, there was a glint of real frustration in Izuku’s eyes. Something in Katsuki’s pulse sung at the sight of it, at the crack in Izuku’s composure. He dropped Katsuki’s arm and they stepped back, surveying each other.
Izuku chewed on his lower lip and his brows furrowed further. His knuckles cracked, seemingly reflexively. “We have a - a history. It’s stupid to ignore it, and it’ll get in our way in the field if we can’t cooperate! I’m telling you, if we can just talk -”
“And I’m telling you -” Katsuki stepped forward again, jabbing a finger into Izuku’s chest, hating how out of breath he was. “When we’re out there, in the field, just stay out of my fucking way. If you have to be there for me to keep my job, fine. But we’re not partners, and we’re not fucking friends.”
The silence that fell was ugly, but Izuku didn’t even have the good decency to look hurt by his words. If the shine in his eyes meant anything, he was more determined than ever.
“I understand.”
“Good -”
“But you need to hear me say this.” Izuku paused and locked gazes with the blond. He was flushed high on his cheeks, sweat on his brow, and a blaze of fire in his pupils. It was like staring straight through an eclipse, and Katsuki couldn’t look away even though he knew it would burn. “I am good at what I do. It took me a long time to be comfortable admitting that. I have experience that you don’t have, and I'm going to be an asset out there.”
Izuku hit him hard again on his injured shoulder. Looks like he had noticed the weakness. The momentum made Katsuki spin just slightly, gasping, and Izuku forced him fully around, pushing Katsuki to his knees and pulling his arm up behind his back painfully. It stung hot and sharp all the way up his spine, and he unwittingly let out a wounded exhale. The pressure immediately lightened, staunching the worst of the burn, but the strong grip stayed.
Katsuki’s head spun, a little woozy from the pain, but he struggled against the hold, throwing his head back to try to catch Izuku with a headbutt. Izuku clearly expected it, dodging as he let out an uncharacteristic growl and shoved Katsuki down, flipping him onto his back as he went.
Decisively, Katsuki was pinned, all the air whooshing out of his lungs as steady, strong hands held his arms to the floor above his head. The knees that pressed into Katsuki’s thighs weighed him down, and shifting his hips did nothing to dislodge them. Izuku’s green curls fell into the space between them, and for a moment there was only the sound of air, in and out, as they caught their breath. Katsuki tried to twist against the force on his wrists, but the scarred fingers flexed and tightened incrementally more.
“I’m not the enemy here, Kacchan.” His voice was soft, but it pierced the air all the same. “And you’re underestimating me. If you want this mission to succeed, you’re going to have to work with me, not against me, no matter how hard that might be for you.”
Katsuki started to scoff, offended at Izuku's insinuation, but his words died when the man shifted and stood, rolling out his shoulders above Katsuki. The dim lights of the training room fringed his green hair like a halo, the light wisping out the ends ethereally, and Katsuki’s mouth was suddenly very, very dry. Izuku turned away from him, grabbing his old ratty backpack on the way out of the room.
He threw Katsuki one last blinding smile. “Let me know when you’re ready to be a team player, okay?”
Katsuki stayed on the floor for a very, very long time.