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The world is splitting apart.
Katsuki jolts awake like somebody’s grabbed his brain stem and yanked. His mouth is dry, head pounding. Vision tilts and swims, blinding in daylight tones. Even with the curtains barely apart, the room is painfully bright.
The world is not ending, but his phone is ringing. Blearily, he flops over onto his stomach like a beached whale and shuffles forward, heaving along his dead weight until he manages to grab the phone on his nightstand.
“What?”
The voice that answers is almost amused. “Wow, touchy. Shouldn’t I be the one who’s mad?”
He blinks hard, trying to force himself into a sharper form of consciousness. A name is on the tip of his tongue, but it doesn’t emerge out of the haze. Defeated, he pulls the phone away and squints at the contact. Shinsou Hitoshi.
Why is Shinsou calling him at—he stares. 12 p.m? He went to bed last night at seven. Did he really sleep that much?
“Bakugou? You alive?”
Katsuki coughs. It takes a second to shape the abstract concept of human speech into words, and another to send the message to his mouth along frayed nerves. “What do you want?”
“Did I get the time wrong?”
“The—” None of this makes sense, and he’s not convinced it’s his own fault. “What?”
There’s a long pause. “Is everything okay?”
“I was sleeping.”
Another pause. Longer this time. “Look, I can’t get a read on you. You’re in your room, right? I’ll be there in five minutes.”
He hangs up before Katsuki can ask him to explain what the hell is happening.
He’d asked about the time. Maybe they were supposed to work on a group project, though Katsuki doesn’t recall anything like that. They barely even talk, except for when Katsuki’s kicking his ass in joint training or being provoked into answering one of his stupid remarks then finding himself handcuffed to a pole. Then there was that one time at the hospital last month where Katsuki ran into him next to the waiting room vending machine and they commiserated about the cheap coffee, but the connection thread linking that to today is very, very thin.
Bracing a hand on the headboard, Katsuki maneuvers himself upright, squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught of light and pressure. Being awake sucks most days, and this is no exception. However, his room is a mess, despite the fact that he hasn’t done much lately except sleep, and he refuses to let Shinsou see this.
Five minutes later, someone knocks on the door.
The room is passable, but Katsuki most definitely is not. He jerks towards the bathroom, the bed, the closet, but none of them seem like good options. Grey shirt on its fifth day of reuse and baggy sweatpants it is.
He takes a deep breath, swipes his hands through his hair, and opens the door.
Shinsou looks good. More than that, he looks put together. Black jacket, straight jeans, nice sneakers. He’s even wearing a silver necklace, and his messy hair is somewhat tamed in a way that betrays effort. The smell of cologne wafts past the entrance.
He cracks a grin. “Well, I feel overdressed.”
With a sigh, Katsuki steps aside to let him in. A glance at the mirror shows his own unappealing reflection. Standing next to Shinsou, he looks like a disheveled chick fresh out of the egg.
Katsuki sits on the edge of his bed, wondering if there’s a subtle way to fix his unruly hair. “What’s going on?”
For the first time, uncertainty flashes over Shinsou’s face. As if this whole situation needed to get weirder.
The awkward silence stretches on, and Katsuki’s confusion is rapidly edging into irritation. He’s tired, and sleepy, and a whole bunch of other synonyms that make going back to sleep vastly preferable to whatever the fuck this is.
“Okay. I’ll tell you, and then you can hit me if you want, and we’ll pretend none of this ever happened,” Shinsou says. “Do you remember the party last week, in the B dorm?”
A vague picture of lights, colours, and frosted red velvet cake comes back to him. “Sort of.”
“I was out in the garden because it was getting kind of hot, and then you came outside. Said your head hurt and you needed some quiet.”
It doesn’t sound familiar, but it sounds like something he would say. Nowadays, at least.
Shinsou continues. “Normally, you’re always with your friends, but since you were alone, I figured it was my chance. So I asked you out.”
All the puzzle pieces, finally slotted together, crash down on him like a truck. “And I said yes.”
“And you said yes.”
The red-hot emotion in Katsuki’s chest is pure, unadulterated mortification. “And that was today.”
Shinsou laughs, leaning against the closet and crossing his legs. “You got that pretty fast.”
All the efforts of his doctors and physical therapists were in vain, because right now, Katsuki’s wishing for the sweet release of death. Even if he hadn’t thought about Shinsou much before, he can see why he said yes. He’s got a sexy voice, strong features, and he isn’t afraid to give back as good as he gets. The fact that he was brave enough to ask Katsuki out, something nobody else has ever done, speaks for itself.
He resists the urge to burrow under the blanket and pretend none of this never happened. “Sorry. I’m on a lot of meds. My memory’s shit.”
“I know,” he says dryly. “I asked you whether you would forget, and you said, ‘I’m Bakugou Katsuki, of course I won’t forget’.”
Past Bakugou Katsuki was an idiot.
This is pitiful. If Shinsou actually liked him, he can’t anymore. Not after seeing him in this sad state, with salty snack packets strewn over his desk and a suspicious stain near the hem of his shirt.
Maybe it was hopeless from the start. Katsuki doesn’t remember ever thinking about Shinsou beyond noticing how strong his abilities are, even though he didn’t receive nearly the amount of training his other classmates have. A lingering stare here and there at his arms, well-built after all that work with Aizawa. His voice, but they’re all superficial things. Not like resting his cheek in his hand daydreaming in class.
Does Shinsou like him that way? He did ask Katsuki out, apparently, and dressed up nice for it. Called him to find out where he was instead of writing him off completely though it might have been the smart thing to do considering that everyone’s aware Katsuki would be a shitty boyfriend. He’s not even a good date. Technically, he isn’t a date at all.
“How long did you wait?” he says finally.
“About ten minutes at the gates before I called you.”
Well. That could be worse, at least.
If Shinsou were pissed, this would be easier. Katsuki could start a fight and kick him out, then skirt awkwardly around him until graduation, when they could then fuck out of each other’s lives forever. The prospect of his disappointment is a lot harder to face.
“If you want me to go, I will,” Shinsou offers. “We can pretend all of this never happened. No pressure.”
It doesn’t sit right. Partially because he made a commitment and it feels rude to back out on that, but mostly because with Shinsou looking like that, going out with him is starting to sound pretty fucking good.
“No,” he says firmly. “Let’s go out.”
Shinsou smiles, and it fills Katsuki with a strange kind of warmth. “Now? Not that you don’t look hot all the time, but—” He looks Katsuki over slowly in a way that almost makes him laugh. “You’ve been better.”
“I’m not much fun today,” he admits. His mind keeps playing hot all the time on repeat. “I was gonna sleep in late. And stay in bed.”
“That’s alright with me.”
“It is?”
“If you still wanna hang out today,” Shinsou amends. “I’ll plan something for another day, too. Real nice, like you deserve.”
Katsuki looks down at the floor, trying not to smile. “Yeah. Okay. Stay.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He glances at his watch. “Are you hungry?”
The medications leave him perpetually nauseated, but according to his doctor he should avoid skipping meals, and in any case he doesn’t want to leave Shinsou hungry, so he nods.
“Good. New plan. I’ll order in, and we can watch a movie.”
“Okay. Just—” He holds up a hand to stop Shinsou, who was about to start talking again as he often is. “Can you get out and come back in, like, ten minutes?”
His mouth shapes what is almost certainly a question, but something in Katsuki’s face must ward him off because he just gives a salute with surprisingly good form instead and slips out of the door with an, “Alright. Ten minutes.”
Katsuki bolts for his bathroom and switches on the tap in the sink, swiping water over his arms, neck, and chest. Some more to tame the worst of the frizz in his hair, then he turns his attention back to his room. Passable isn’t good enough. In three minutes, he manages to get it looking tidy, even if he has to shove some stray items in his cupboard to be organized later. He uses his last few minutes to make the bed, check himself in the mirror one more time, and then swap out the shirt with the stain for a black tank top that shows off his arms.
This is about as much as he can do right now. Putting on jewelry, cologne, and a sexy outfit just to sit in his bed would be absurd, especially considering the state Shinsou just saw him in. At least now he looks like he was having a lazy Saturday afternoon and not floating somewhere between life and purgatory.
Another quick look-over, and he throws open the windows, letting in a fresh breeze.
Behind him, the door opens. Shinsou’s got on a surprised look, glancing around the room, then back at Katsuki. He will definitely make fun of him, and then Katsuki will never go out with anyone ever again and spend the rest of his life thinking about how he managed to fuck up something so simple.
Before all of that can happen, Katsuki blurts out, “Don’t laugh at me.”
“That’s a hard ask,” he says easily. “But I’m not laughing.”
“I—” He doesn’t know how to explain himself, and when that happens, it makes everything get weird and tangled up in his throat. “I’m not a total dick, you know. It’s not like I wanted to be sleeping when we were supposed to go out.”
Shinsou smiles, warm and effortless. “I know. If it makes you feel better, being able to make fun of you forever is much better than our original plan.”
Katsuki should hit him. He looks down, rubbing a hand over the traitorous twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You’re an asshole.”
“I am.” He takes a step forward, and anticipatory shivers rush down Katsuki’s spine. “And I know you would have tried, because you take everything you do seriously. You’re not really beating yourself up, are you?”
“No,” he mumbles. “I just wish you would’ve showed up in an ugly sweater.”
Shinsou laughs. It’s a nice sound. “Sorry to disappoint. I’ll make sure to wear my ugliest clothes next time.”
With the promise of a next time easing the pressure, he steers sideways and climbs onto his bed, shuffling aside to make room for Shinsou. They haven’t even done anything except talk, but having Shinsou in his bed, sitting next to him, is making his heart pound. It’s expressly against his doctor’s orders, who told him to steer clear of all kinds of excitement from sex to action movies, but it’s kind of hard to care now.
“What are we watching?” Shinsou asks. Katsuki just shrugs. “Alright. I’m picking something off my watchlist.”
He reaches for the laptop Katsuki left at the foot of the bed and switches it on, tilting it towards him so he can enter the password. He sets up the movie, then leans back against the pillows once it’s playing.
A few minutes into the movie, the food Shinsou ordered arrives. Sushi, packed neatly in little boats. He watches Katsuki take his first bite with the attention one might afford to the stoppage time of a tied football game, which is a level of pressure Katsuki might have protested if his brain didn’t have all the energy of a dried-out sponge.
“It’s good,” he says around a mouthful of spicy salmon.
Shinsou smiles. “It’s my favorite place.”
“What were you gonna say if I didn’t like it?”
“Todoroki recommended it,” he deadpans. Katsuki barks out a laugh.
It could be the mundane setting or the fact that he went from fitful sleep to having someone else in his bed in less than half an hour, but this doesn’t feel like a date. All the same, it doesn’t feel like hanging out with a friend. Not when he can’t focus on the movie—a spy thriller with a couple of Western actors he recognizes, the shitty, generic kind that makes just enough money to keep producers satisfied—because he’s caught up in a thousand possibilities, most of which are very plausible, and all of which involve Shinsou’s hands on him.
“Shinsou.”
Shinsou jolts, then looks at him with a sheepish smile. Katsuki snorts, glancing at the screen. He must have been pretty invested. “Sorry. What is it?”
“What were we gonna do?”
“On the date?”
“What else?” he says, and then regrets it when he realizes there are actually a lot of answers to that question.
Shinsou turns towards him, the side of his knee pressing into Katsuki’s thigh. Even through all the layers of fabric, it’s electric. “Well, you agreed to meet me at the gates at twelve. I said it was a surprise—which you weren’t very happy about, by the way.”
“I don’t like surprises,” he agrees.
“I know. That’s why I made it a surprise,” Shinsou says, unbothered. “I was going to take you to a nice restaurant. Great noodles. Not a great dessert selection, so after lunch, I would ask if you wanted to get ice cream.”
“I’m not a fan of ice cream.”
“Neither am I, but I’m also not smooth enough to think of a better way to get you to stay.”
His cheeks feel hot. It prickles down the neck, all the way to his fingertips. Warm with the urge to reach out and touch. Shinsou is right here. It would be easy to put a hand on his dark jeans. “So, ice cream. Then what?”
“Then,” he says, eyes glinting. “I’d walk you back to your dorm. Tell you about something cool I did.”
“Like what?”
“Like… After I got my provisional license, Aizawa called me in a couple of times to help out when he needed a villain subdued quickly.”
He didn’t know Shinsou was already doing hero work, though he does remember the day he got the provisional license since the class threw a party for him. Katsuki had sulked in the corner, still mad about failing the first time around. “Hm. Not bad.”
“Because you’re easily impressed,” Shinsou says wryly, “I’d tell you something else as I walked you to your door. Except I’m out of things you might find cool, so I’d tell you about my cat.”
Katsuki raises an eyebrow. “Your cat?”
“Technically, she’s not mine. She just wanders around the grounds—she usually doesn’t let people touch her, but she likes it when I do.”
The image of Shinsou kneeling down to pet a stray cat is obnoxiously sweet. Of course he’s the kind of idiot who thinks the only cool thing about him is his penchant for feeding stray cats rather than the fact that he’s developed his quirk enough that he can make people perform more complex tasks, from attacking their own teammates to unbuckling support gear, and can do it without breaking a sweat.
“Did it work?” Shinsou asks.
“Did what work?”
“The stories I chose from a shortlist that would make you think I’m cool but also very dateable.”
Katsuki bites back a smile, even as heat spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Shinsou isn’t exactly being subtle, and it makes Katsuki feel like he’s someone that could actually be wanted. Desirable—and to Shinsou, who always brushes off his old general studies classmates that ask him out in the cafeteria. Who planned this to the tiniest detail but doesn’t look bothered in the slightest by those plans being derailed.
“They were decent.”
“Can I assume that means ‘amazing’ in Bakugou-speak?”
He lightly punches Shinsou’s thigh, but it backfires because now he’s thinking about touching it again. “No.”
“That’s too bad,” Shinsou says casually, not looking away from him, dark eyes intent. “When we got to your door, I would have been hoping for a kiss.”
His heart stutters and catches, stuck somewhere in the slow crawl out of his ribs. Sitting right here in his bed with the distant electronic sound of talking coming from his computer, Shinsou might actually kiss him. Will, if Katsuki just makes a move. Meets him halfway.
He takes the sushi boat from his lap and leans over to set it at the foot of the bed, turning back to Shinsou. Electricity’s humming under his skin. He’s dizzy, even beyond the perpetual lightheadedness his medications leave him with. He could close his eyes and sink right into it, so he does. Closes his eyes and waits.
A gentle hand cups his jaw, a little cooler than he expected. He wants to jerk away and lean into it. Wants this endless, terrifying anticipation to shatter and put him out of his misery.
Then Shinsou’s mouth is on his. Soft, slow. Katsuki probably hasn’t breathed in a solid minute and it’s stretching on and on. Time is a sunlit bubble that pulls apart like melted putty as Shinsou draws back.
A pause, then Shinsou smiles at him, reaching out to card his fingers through Katsuki’s hair. It feels good. “Am I the last person to find out how cute you really are?”
It takes the words a second to sink through the haze of disorientation. “Not cute.”
He brushes a kiss over Katsuki’s cheek. “You’re on a lot of meds. I don’t think anything you say can be trusted.”
Katsuki exhales, amused despite himself, and puts his hands on Shinsou’s shoulders. All those possibilities run through his mind again, slower now. Straddling Shinsou and licking into his mouth. Reaching into his pants. That might feel good, too, but Katsuki’s already pushing his limit just sitting up in bed; just the idea of moving his wrist is exhausting. It doesn’t curb the desire for it blooming in his stomach.
Shinsou doesn’t press for it, kissing Katsuki again at that same slow pace. It makes his head go fuzzy, and though he’s sick of the temporary damage his medications and surgeries have inflicted on his cognitive abilities, this feeling isn’t unpleasant.
“Bakugou,” he murmurs. “I’d really like it if you didn’t fall asleep right now.”
He presses both hands to Shinsou’s chest, frowning up at him. It feels weird to make that sort of face at someone who is only centimetres away. “I’m not sleeping.”
“The Bakugou Katsuki who doesn’t forget doesn’t get sleepy either, huh?”
If he were in a worse mood, he’d kill Shinsou for that comment, but as it is, the sight of that smile softens something in him. “Meds.”
“Right.” He presses his lips to the scar under Katsuki’s eye. “I think I kind of want to find out how this movie ends.”
The consideration Shinsou keeps showing him sparks that warmth in Katsuki’s chest again. As much as he wants to insist they go on, Shinsou’s right. He’s tired and he’d like to remember every detail of Shinsou’s face once he finally gets down to doing all the things he’s been thinking about for the last hour.
“I wanted that,” he says anyway. It comes out embarrassingly petulant.
“Well, if you pay attention to the movie instead of watching me—”
“Not that.”
“Oh.” Shinsou looks pleased, and that embarrasses Katsuki, too. “You know, I didn’t get a chance to plan this date. Maybe you should decide how it ends.”
Katsuki does make a decision. “We finish lunch. I sleep for the rest of the movie. Then you kiss me again.”
He laughs, and Katsuki wants to keep hearing it. “Then I kiss you again?”
“A lot.” He leaves the more unsaid, even though it’s burning in him. “And then you fuck off and plan a better date for tomorrow.”
Shinsou slides both hands into Katsuki’s hair and tugs him into a kiss that sears. Slow, coaxing his lips open and his limbs to jelly. A wet swell that makes his stomach flip like he’s jumped from a cliff, stuck in freefall.
“Tomorrow,” Shinsou murmurs.
The promise of tomorrow turns the time ahead of them into another leg of eternity. He wants it all now, wants to know Shinsou the same way he seems to have Katsuki figured out. Wants the yearning caught up in a sunlit room and messy sheets to turn deeper, hotter. Shinsou’s mouth on his neck. His body. Everywhere.
“Katsuki.”
The sound of his name takes his breath away. “Yeah?”
“Do you have a calendar I can jot that down in?”