Chapter Text
The weather is mild, finally different from what the scorching heat of the previous week. The sun is barely out and Katsuki could nearly go back to sleep. That would’ve been true if it wasn’t for the fact that his mother slipped into the room. He knew what was next as he kept his eyelids shut. The blinds were instantly lifted, and a loud voice followed.
“Wake up, you fucking brat!”
Katsuki groaned in response. By the time he gets up, the figure already retreats from the room. He fumbles across the bedside table to locate his phone, but failed. He then takes the time to view his surroundings. He had begged that daylight saving had miraculously decided to end on a random day in April and that his alarm clock would read 7:30.
Oh.
It’s 8:00. He’s supposed to be leaving in 5 minutes--and it's the start of the second semester.
He leaps out of bed and throws on the first shirt he sees—a black Metallica shirt—and the same dark blue jeans he wore yesterday. He slips on his beat-up Converse from his sophomore year and grabs his jacket that’s hanging off his doorknob. It’s a nice, lightly scuffed bomber jacket with a wilted rose design on the back. He received it as a gift a while ago. He brushed his teeth on the way out, spitting the paste as he rushes, already having decided he would have to skip breakfast. His mom would be sitting at the counter ,and he really couldn’t afford another lecture about being late. She already didn't like the way he dressed knowing her had far better options--but this was comfortable to him.
He quietly rushes towards the door. As soon as the lock clicks, he dashes down the neighbourhood. Katsuki Bakugou is athletic despite his appearance. Sure, he’s definitely not the next Olympian, but he's noticeably built—if he stopped swallowing himself under the layers. He kickboxed competitively… or at least he used to. The last time he had stepped into the ring? He himself couldn’t even remember. He’s too worried about making it to the bus stop. He couldn’t stop to notice the uneven wedge in the sidewalk. Before he knows it, his foot makes contact. The world shifts. For a split second, everything pauses as if the world’s holding his breath with him.
Then it retaliates.
Hard.
The wind pushed backwards on him, shoving each of his blonde spikes behind his face—He was thrown forward, plummeting face forward into the harsh asphalt. Balance was gone, and gravity had done the rest.
For every action—
there’s an equal and opposite reaction.
Right now, the pavement wins.
Never would he have thought that he would be thinking of a science topic whilst being launched into a sidewalk.
For a second, Bakugou just stays there—cheek pressed against the rough pavement, eyes squeezed shut. He sinks into the ground. If anyone else were watching, he’d probably look deranged. Or dead. No doubt about it.
Still, the sidewalk is oddly comfortable. He knows he must get up if he actually wants to get to school. He exhales and pushes himself up onto his elbows.
That’s when he realizes.
there is someone watching.
A voice spoke.
“—oh my god, are you okay?” The voice was close. A little too close. He knows this voice from somewhere; he just can’t pinpoint it. Not that it mattered. He also can’t even bring himself to look up out of pure humiliation.
What do you mean someone just watched him basically cuddle the sidewalk?
There’s a pair of shoes in front of him. 100% not his. Too clean. A second passes, maybe a second too long.
“Hello?”
Shit. He hadn’t responded. Bakugou swallows his pride aside and raises his head a little too quickly, looking up to see the mystery person. He squints slightly until his vision adjusts.
Of course.
Izuku Midoriya. Standing there like it’s the most serious situation he’s encountered in his life. Their eyes meet, and Bakugou can’t miss the sympathy laced in his expression and concern written all over his face.
Bakugou doesn’t know him like that—not really— but he knows of him. Everyone at Yuuei does. He’s the kind of person nobody has a reason to dislike—the concept of charm in human form. The kind that teachers wouldn’t think twice about trusting. The kind that smiles at people in the hallway like it means something.
To be honest,
it’s a little annoying.
The boy still just standing there with his backpack slung over one shoulder, brows furrowed in that genuine, concerned way his mother always looked at him. It was in a way that made Katsuki's stomach twist uncomfortably.
His eyes—wide, honest—scans Bakugou’s face like he’s checking for actual injuries, his mouth already forming another question.
He doesn’t move to answer right away. The mild spring air feels too cold against his flushed face, the sun barely strong enough to warm the pavement beneath him.
“Yeah,” he mutters finally, voice rough and clipped. He pushes himself rest of the way up, pushing dirt off his jeans with more force than necessary.
“I’m fine. I just tripped.”
A beat passes.
The green-haired boy doesn’t step back.. If anything, he leans in a fraction, that sympathetic expression deepening as he tilted his head slightly, eyes soft with what looked like genuine worry.
“Are you sure..? That looked like it hurt. Your cheek’s… kinda red—“
He hesitates.
“Here, let me—“
He reaches out instinctively like he’s about to help brush something off, but stops short when the blond flinches back a step, putting more space between them.
Bakugou's jaw tightens. “I said I’m fine. Now drop it, fucktard.” he repeated, sharper this time, wiping his cheek with the sleeve of his jacket as if he could erase the whole moment.
Midoriya let out a nervous laugh, but it stopped just as fast as it started, cutting off awkwardly in the quiet street air. What looked like regret instantly washed over him—at least to Bakugou.
“Sorry,” he blurts quickly, his hands waving around frantically . “I didn’t mean— I just—“
He just trails off, the words hanging unfinished.
Fuck is he even doing?
Before he knew it, he felt himself letting out a short, humorless snicker, the sound scraping remnants from the back of his throat like sandpaper. He turns to view their environment—the street—for no real reason. Anything to avoid looking into his eyes because..
The green bastard's concern was real.
Too real.
They barely knew another; but here he was, leaning in, reaching out, acting like he actually cared.
So what was the angle?
Was there something beyond that look? His stomach panged with curiosity. He had to know.
His skin crawls. The hairs all over his body stand up as if lightning had struck, sending an uncomfortable prickling sensation across his arm and neck, but he maintained composure forcing his face to stay neutral.
“What exactly do you want?” Katsuki mutters as he shoved his calloused fingers into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the morning chill and the unwanted conversation.
The other person blinks, with a sense of uncertainty clouding his features. He definitely hadn’t thought that far ahead.
“Uh—nothing. I just,” he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck in an awkward gesture, blankly glancing off to the side before locking his eyes back into Katsuki's crimson pairs. His lips purse in an awkward yet friendly smile. “You look like you had… a rough morning, I guess?”
Katsuki’s steps falter for a moment, just long enough to register it. His expression tightened before he let out a quiet, almost disbelieving scoff in response.
A rough morning? That was one way to put it. He’d ate the sidewalk like a brainless loser, and now this goody two-shoes bastard, of all people—was standing here acting like they were old friends who chatted about bad days over coffee.
Bakugou shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the scuffed toes of his Converse scraping against the concrete.
The spring air carried the faint smell of damp grass and distant exhaust, but it did nothing to ease the prickling discomfort crawling up his spine.
It didn’t add up.
Midoriya should’ve left by now.
But he didn’t.
Most people would’ve laughed, snapped a quick photo for the group chat, and kept walking because people never go out of their way for someone like Bakugou. He kept to himself, showed up to class when he felt like it, talked to people however he pleased, and definitely didn’t radiate “talk to me” energy. So why was he?
“Yeah, well… shit happens,” Bakugou muttered, his voice low and gruff as he finally met the greenette's eyes again for half a second— the unique shade of viridian—before glancing away toward the bus stop sign a block down. The digital display was already counting down. He needed to move, but his legs felt strangely heavy, like the embarrassment was anchoring him in place.
Midoriya rubbed the back of his neck again, the motion almost sheepish, and gave a small nod. “I get that. Mornings can be rough sometimes.” He paused, then added with a hint of hesitation, “I’m heading the same way if you want to walk together? The bus is probably almost here anyway.”
Bakugou blinked, caught off guard. Walk together? The words hung in the air between them, simple and casual, yet they felt loaded. His mind immediately started picking them apart. Why offer that? They weren’t friends and won't be anytime soon.
They’d maybe exchanged ten words total in the last year—mostly in group projects that didn't go well because of his own remarks. Midoriya had his own circle: the easy-smiling, teacher’s-pet types who actually seemed to enjoy school. Bakugou was just… a lot.
The explosive ash-blond with the Metallica shirt and the perpetual scowl who tripped over sidewalks.
His stomach did another uncomfortable flip. The idea of walking side-by-side with someone who looked at him like that—with actual care—made his skin feel too tight, like he was suddenly aware of every scuff on his jacket and every spike sticking out from his messy bedhead.
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, fingers curling around nothing. “I’m fine on my own,” he said, the words coming out sharper than he meant.
But even as he said it, he didn’t immediately turn to leave. Part of him wanted to bolt toward the bus stop and pretend this whole sidewalk disaster never happened. Another part—the smaller, more annoying part—wondered what would happen if he didn’t.
Midoriya didn’t push. He just stood there, backpack still slung over one shoulder, expression patient in a way that only made Bakugou more suspicious.
The gentle morning light caught in his curls, making him look annoyingly put-together compared to Katsuki's rumpled, dirt-streaked self.
The silence stretched for another beat, awkward and heavy with everything Katsuki couldn't bear saying.
Finally, the other gave a small, understanding shrug, though his eyes still held that same soft worry. “Okay. Just… make sure your cheek doesn’t swell up or anything. Ice helps.”
Bakugou let out another short huff of air—half scoff, half laugh he didn’t really feel. He nodded once, curt and noncommittal, then started walking again, shoulders still hunched against the morning chill and the weight of the bastard's gaze on his back.
As he moved down the sidewalk, the faint sting on his cheek reminded him of the fall with every step. Behind him, he could hear footsteps fall into a matching rhythm—not too close, but not pulling away either. Bakugou didn’t look back. He told himself it was because he didn’t care.
But the question kept looping in his head, stubborn and unwelcome: Why the hell did the loser bother?
He pushed these thoughts away, replacing them with his own footsteps.
They’re a little loud.
He doesn’t care.
If it annoyed Mr. Nice Guy, he would say something. Otherwise, he can deal with it.
He continues walking, not looking back once. He doesn’t need to. His senses were still up to par anyway. The second pair of footsteps were following behind him—steady. Not rushing, but not exactly falling behind either.
Of course.
Everything about Midoriya was steady—his life, his grades, his stupidly put-together—everything.
Fucking irritating.
In the background of his thoughts, he hadn’t registered the distant sound of a bus countdown as the stop came into view at the end of the block. The digital signal blinks faintly in the morning sunlight. Only then, he realized the numbers were already counting down.
00:12…
00:11…
Shit.
He exhales sharply and starts moving again, faster this time. Behind him—there were footsteps struggling to catch up.
Still there.
Of course.
“You’re gonna miss it,” Midoriya says, a little breathless as he catches up beside him.
“I know, shut up.” Bakugou mutters, the word coming out tighter than he intended. The sign drops lower in number.
00:05…
00:04…
Katsuki picks up his feet, pace rapidly increasing—basically running now. He could not handle walking beside this guy any longer than necessary. He just needs to make it.
Needs this whole thing to be over.
Behind him, he hears the footsteps accelerate in response.
“Hey—wait—“ The trailing boy calls, a little breathless from the speed walking, his voice carrying a hint of urgency over the slap of shores on the pavement.
Katsuki refuses to stop, ignoring both the voice behind him and the burning sensation that begins in his calves, a sharp heat spreading throughout his muscles with every stride. He rounds the corner just as the bus pulls up, letting out a sigh of relief that fogs faintly in the cool morning air.
But that was his mistake.
The doors hiss open with a mechanical sigh, and for a second it looks like he might make it before the doors shut again. His heart gives a quick, hopeful lurch.
Then—
the doors close.
Right in front of his face, the heavy panels sliding together with finality. The fuck?
The bus pulls away, its taillights glowing dull red as it merges back into the sparse morning traffic.
The driver didn’t even spare a glance. Isn't it their job to stop for pedestrians? He was literally right there, close enough to see the worn vinyl seats through the glass. It would only take like—three extra seconds for him to launch himself onto the bus. Why did he let his guard down? His eyes flashed red, matching the taillights of the bus in the distance.
Bakugou stands there, jaw tight, hands at his side whilst watching it disappear down the street, shrinking smaller with every passing moment. His fingers curl into his palms before he realizes, nails digging crescent-shaped marks into his skin. He took a deep breath, steadying breath, the cool air filling his lungs but doing little to loosen the knot in his chest.
…great.
There’s a second where everything just sits there. Quiet. Still. Of course that would happen.
He tilts his head slightly to remove some hair from his face. He could hear the sound of birds chirping and distant car honking.
Suddenly, footsteps.
MIdoriya jogs up to stand beside him, slightly out of breath. He catches himself, resting his hands on his kneecaps.
“Wow,” Midoriya says quietly, straightening up a little. “That was—“
“Cut that shit out.” Katsuki butts in, the words sharp and immediate.
Midoriya's expression falters, his head dropping in clear defeat. His hands lift slightly in a small placating gesture.
“Right. Yeah. Not saying anything.”
Radio silence.
“So, did we just—“
We?
“Yes, we did.” Katsuki cut in, flatly. He’s sick of this—sick of the whole morning unraveling in slow, humiliating increments.
Midoriya exhales, regaining composure and allowing his hands to drop to his sides, fingers flexing once before stilling.
“…okay. Cool. Cool.”
Bakugou spares a sharp glance toward the latter, partially closing his eyelids to signal his undying frustration—similar to a scowl.
“Cool?” He stresses, the single word laced with disbelief.
Midoriya paused. He then shrugs, a little sheepishly. “I mean— not cool, but… at least I’m not the only one? Imagine that!” He chuckled awkwardly. Bakugou looks away. That shouldn’t have made him feel any better about this predicament.
But it does.
Barely.
He shifts his weight uncomfortably, already turning in the other direction ready to leave. The next bus wasn’t for another twenty minutes. On top of that, the ride also takes time. He doesn’t have twenty minutes.
Not like this.
Not here, draining his social battery.
There was a thick silence.
“Guess we’re walking,” Midoriya says, like he’s stating the obvious. It’s clear he’s trying to break the string of silence that continuously falls between them, but it’s unnecessary. Katsuki pauses. He could just go alone. Scratch that—he should go alone. That would make the most sense here.
…
He doesn’t push himself to say anything. He feels his mouth gape open, but no words follow. Just starts walking again, plunging himself back into unspoken solitude.
Right,
Left,
Right,
Left.
There’s a sudden beat.
Then the other pair of footsteps fall in again. He’s gotten used to them. Their pattern. It’s light, like the sound that pours from a guitar when plucking above the fingerboard.
His hand brushes against something in his pocket.
AirPods.
Right.
He forgot he had those.
His left hand reaches further in, grabbing them and pulling them out hastily. He flips the case open, slipping one in— yet pauses on the second one. The idiot obviously liked conversation, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt to at least know what he’s saying and try engaging. Katsuki sighs under his breath and leaves one out.
Just in case.
He pulls out his phone covered with a black phone case, thumb already moving to open the Spotify app. It’s decorated with countless playlists— most he would make in his free time at home.
It was rare for him to go out unless Raccoon Eyes begged and pleaded for him to “have a taste of the humidity swirling in the air,” or to “touch grass.” He settled for his school playlist, his body visually calming .
The sound of (We Were) Electrocute travels through his singular AirPod, filling his right ear—drowning out part of the world—but not all.
Not him.
Katsuki continues walking.
He doesn’t care to look behind himself. But this time, he doesn’t tell the boy to leave either.
The sidewalk stretched ahead under the mild spring sky, cracked concrete and occasional patches of grass pushing through the seams.
Katsuki kept his gaze forward, the single AirPod feeding him a steady stream heavy drums and distorted guitars that helped blunt the edges of the morning.
Every few steps, the sound of Midoriya's lighter footsteps synced up with his own—like they were unconsciously falling into the same rhythm. It was subtle at first, then impossible to ignore.
It was distracting.
Like Midoriya kept inserting himself into Bakugou's space without even asking.
The music thrummed low in his right ear, a steady anchor against the morning that refused to go smoothly. Bakugou kept his gaze locked on the sidewalk cracks ahead, counting them like some pointless distraction.
Was walking beside him like this was normal—like they did this every day? The guy had his own friends, his own perfect little routine. There was no reason for him to stick around after the bus fiasco.
Yet here he was, matching pace without complaint.
Another long stretch of quiet dragged on, filled only by distant traffic and the occasional bird call.
Bakugou’s left hand twitched toward the empty AirPod still in his case, but he didn’t put it in. Not yet.
Midoriya cleared his throat softly, the sound cutting through the silence like an attempt to test the waters. “You know… if we keep this up, people might think we’re training for a synchronized walking competition or something. Medal’s probably waiting at school.” He chuckled at his own joke. Loser.
The joke hung there, lame and forced, landing with all the grace of a brick in a puddle.
Bakugou didn’t laugh. He didn’t even crack a smile—he grimaced, one word hanging in the air.
Embarrassing.
The words just sat awkwardly between them, making the silence that followed feel even heavier, more suffocating. He could practically feel Midoriya wincing at his own attempt, the energy shifting into something even more strained.
The quiet stretched longer this time—ten, fifteen steps of nothing but their mismatched footsteps and the faint hum of music in one ear. Bakugou's shoulders tightened, the bomber jacket suddenly feeling too warm against his skin. He waited for the other boy to give up, to finally peel off and head his own way. But no. The footsteps stayed right there.
“Are you always this quiet, or is this new?” Midoriya tried again, his voice lighter this time, carrying that same easy, persistent charm that made everything about him so damn irritating.
Katsuki let the question linger unanswered for another few beats, the awkward pause blooming into something almost tangible. He could sense Midoriya glancing sideways at him, waiting, that hopeful energy radiating off him like heat from the pavement.
“You talk a lot,”
Katsuki finally muttered, the words low and dry, barely cutting through the morning air.
The greenette's footsteps faltered for half a second, then caught up again. A soft laugh escaped him—warm, unbothered, like the rejection had barely grazed him.
“Yeah, I’ve been told that.”
Midoriya noticeably swallowed. There was a slight pause.
“But y'know, usually people answer me.”
Bakugou cranes his head to look at Midoriya briefly. He hastily turns back to look ahead and continue walking. Cocky now, aren’t you.
“Maybe they like you.” Bakugou didn’t have anything else to say.
Midoriya blinks.
“…you don’t?”
He teased, voice light and easy, clearly excited about the small crack he’d made in Ricardo’s armor.
The response came quick, teasing, and Bakugou caught the way Midoriya's face lit up with the widest smile, genuinely cheesing from ear to ear as if he had just handed him a compliment instead of a brush-off. It was bright and open in the pale sunlight, the kind of smile that looked completely at ease with the world.
“…Didn’t say that either. Your ears working?” Katsuki scoffed, amused eminent. He realized he was taking quite long to reply to the latter.
Katsuki pretended not to notice his smile, staring hard at a faded “No Parking” sign on the corner, but a small, reluctant chuckle slipped out under his breath anyway.
The thought had slipped in before he could put a stop to it.
His smile is cute.
He shut it down immediately, heat crawling up the back of his neck.
No.
He wasn’t doing that.
Not with this guy.
Not today.
Midoriya's grin only seemed to widen impossibly at the tiny reaction, his eyes crinkling with playful triumph.
The awkward silence tried to creep back in, but broccoli's presence kept chipping away at it, persistent and steady like everything else about him. Bakugou didn’t put the second AirPod in. He told himself it was just because the music was enough for now.
They continued down the block, the morning light growing a little stronger, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. Bakugou's cheek still stung faintly from the fall earlier, a reminder of how this whole mess had started.
The song shifted into something heavier as they walked.
The opening bled through Katsuki's right ear, that low, brooding guitar tone wrapping around the lyrics like smoke—dark and gritty, the kind of track that settled in your chest and stayed there. No wonder Jirou played so much. Katsuki had been told many times to try guitar, but he preferred to stick to his drums.
He let the music pull him in, the familiar weight of it easing some of the leftover sting from the missed bus and the sidewalk disaster. His shoulders loosened just a fraction, steps falling into a steady cadence that didn’t demand anything from him.
Midoriya kept pace beside him, the silence between them stretching out again in long, uneven waves. Not every gap felt crushing now, but the quiet still had teeth—moments where the only sounds were their shoes on the pavement, a distant lawnmower humming a few houses over, and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees lining the street.
Katsuki didn’t mind it.
Silence was easy.
Silence didn’t ask questions or expect him to fill the space with useless small talk.
Midoriya, apparently, had other ideas. And it pissed him off.
After another prolonged stretch where neither of them spoke, Midoriya tilted his head slightly, glancing over with that same easy curiosity. His eyes caught on the white stem of the AirPod still visible in Katsuki's right ear.
“What are you listening to?” He said, voice casual but genuinely interested, like he’d just noticed a detail worth commenting on.
Bakugou blinked, the question pulling him partway out of the music. He didn’t pause his steps, but his thumb hovered near his phone screen for a second before he answered, keeping it short.
“Would—Alice in Chains.”
Midoriya's brows lifted a bit, the name clearly not ringing any bells. He nodded anyway, processing it with that open, unjudging look that made Bakugou's skin prickle in a different way than before. “Alice in Chains… huh. Never really got into them. What’s it sound like? Or, like, what’s the song about?”
The question hung there without pressure, but it still felt intrusive. Katsuki shrugged one shoulder, the bomber jacket shifting against his back.
He wasn’t used to explaining his music to anyone —Shitty Hair and Dunce Face usually just stole his playlist and complained about the volume. “Grunge stuff. This one’s… kind of about choices, I guess. And people judging shit they don't fucking understand.” He kept it vague, not diving into the tribute angle or the raw ache woven through the verses.
The music swelled in his ear right then, Layne’s voice cutting in with that haunting edge, and Katsuki felt a small, private comfort in it.
Like the song got it—the mess of mornings, the falls you couldn’t take back, the way some things just lingered.
Midoriya listened without interrupting, his expression thoughtful as he absorbed the limited explanation. “Wow... that sounds intense. Do you usually listen to heavier things?”
He didn’t push for more details or act like he needed to pretend he knew the band. Instead, he just kept walking, matching Bakugou's pace without making it obvious.
Bakugou didn’t answer. He let the song carry him through another verse, the bass line vibrating low and steady.
Part of him wanted to slip the second AirPod in and disappear into it completely. Another part—the one that kept noticing how Midoriya didn’t fill every quiet moment with forced energy—hesitated.
The guy wasn’t trying to perform or fix anything. He was just… there. Walking. Asking simple questions like it was normal.
A group of kids pass them going in the opposite direction, loud and cackling as if they had the time of their lives. It’s 9 in the morning by the way. One of them glances at Katsuki, then at Izuku, like they’re trying to figure something out. Katsuki notices a girl whisper in another’s ear. The two get a little quieter—slowing their pace trying to observe the pair walking. They eventually pass.
He ignores it.
A block later, the school building finally appeared in the distance, its brick facade cutting against the sky.
Katsuki could already see a few scattered students trickling toward the entrance, backpacks slung low, voices carrying faintly on the breeze. Midoriya glanced ahead, then back at him with a small, lopsided grin. “Guess we’re almost there. You think we’ll make it before the first bell, or are we officially in ‘fashionably late’ territory?”
Midoriya huffed a quiet breath—not quite a laugh, but close enough. The environment was getting louder with even more students rushing into classrooms. He feels it before they even fully reach the entrance.
Like whatever this is—
is about to end.
He swallows. The messy head of curls noticed it too.
He knows he did.
Midoriya slowed slightly, and so did Bakugou. Despite the embarrassing encounter, it wasn’t crazy to say that they found a degree of comfort in walking together. They reach the edge of the crowd without saying anything.
Students move past them, brushing shoulders, talking too loud, laughing like nothing matters anymore.
Normal.
Bakugou should go his own way. That’s how this goes, right?
“Hey—“ Midoriya pauses. Katsuki glances into his eyes, causing him to hesitate. He’s waiting. Izuku quickly bats his eyelashes. Coming back to reality.
“I’ll, uhm… see you around?” He chuckles awkwardly.
“Yeah. Sure.” He replies flatly.
He turns to walk away. This feels oddly difficult. He takes the opportunity to throw in a last few words to the latter.
“…you know, you’re gonna be late. Dumbass.” He mutters, not bothering to stare directly into his eyes anymore, contrary to before.
Midoriya quietly laughs. “So are you.”
Another pause. Then, they split. Different directions, different classes.
Like they were supposed to.
Katsuki makes a few steps before noise swallows everything again and there’s a lump forming at the back of his throat.
Same as always. Same people. Nothings changed, really.
…
His steps slowed. Just a little bit. He looked at the ceiling. And a thought was already hanging at the top of his mind. Stuck.
It was that throughout this whole interaction—from eating shit to their “stroll”, there was one thing that’s clear about the other.
It’s the fact that...
Midoriya is so fucking corny.
…and somehow, Katsuki didn’t completely hate it.