Chapter Text
Katsuki stared down at the pink swim trunks in horror. The fabric was covered in little cartoon doodles of surfboards and pineapples.
“Eijirou, you can’t be serious.”
But Eijirou was serious.
Apparently, there was no point in being a tourist if you weren’t going to dress like one.
And this particular set of trunks was particularly essential, since they ‘matched’ Eijirou’s blue ones (sharks in scuba gear).
Katsuki took a deep breath.
How did he get into this mess?
If he were pedantic, he’d probably start the story from the moment he woke up—describe the dissonant tones of his alarm and how he buried his face deeper into the pillow for a minute longer, willing himself to face the day.
If he were poetic, maybe he’d trace the problem back to his ninth grade algebra class. The sun would be shining through the windows just-so, catching the dust motes like glitter and bokeh and giving the boy sitting in front of him some sort of prophetic halo.
But Katsuki was neither. He was a goddamn journalist, and that meant his words were sharp and efficient.
It was Hawks' fault.
After all, he was sitting in Hawks’ office when it started. The meeting wasn’t unexpected, but it wasn’t exactly welcome, either. The newspaper was downsizing.
Technically, they weren’t laying anyone off—corporate was emphatic about that—layoffs were horrible taboo things that happened in the US and other western countries, at businesses less loyal and respectable than the Musutafu Times.
That sounded nice and everything, but at the end of the day they were incentivising people to quit. Leave, and get a severance package. Stay, and get your workload increased. About 10% of the staff seemed to be choosing the former, which left the latter to pick up the slack.
If Katsuki were in it for the money, the choice would be easy—take the payday and move on. Newspapers were dying, anyway. That’s what everyone was saying.
Hawks seemed to agree. “I know it sucks,” he said, “but we don’t have much of a choice. Young people don’t read the paper anymore, they go online. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”
Maybe not, but he could tell it to Katsuki’s four years at uni getting a journalism degree. To the student loans he was still paying off.
“And anyway,” Hawks went on, picking up a pencil and flipping it between his fingers, “you don’t have to think of it as the paper getting smaller. Think of it as the paper getting better. The people who leave aren’t as committed. Those of us who stay will run a tighter ship. Honestly, it just paves the way for more opportunities.”
He caught Katsuki’s eye on the last word.
“Opportunities?”
“Sure. I know I’m supposed to be convincing you to leave, but I’ll save that for your peers. You’re good, but given enough time, you could be great. I want you to stay.”
Katsuki sat up straighter. “Okay. But what’s that mean exactly?” he asked. “Opportunity-wise?”
“Well,” Hawks said conspiratorially, closing the manilla folder with Katsuki’s severance offer and leaning in. “I do have one thing you might like. It’s not the hard-hitting investigative-type story you’re always looking for, but it’ll definitely get you some exposure.”
“I’m listening.”
“Flashfire.”
Katsuki must have made a face because Hawks went on. “Shouto Todoroki’s new movie. The premiere’s in three days and I want you there.”
Well, shit. That made more sense. Hawks knew they went to high school together. Is that why he was offering? Either way, it wasn’t a bad assignment. Not particularly exciting, either, but he’d get paid to spend a few days out of town. “Where at?” he asked. “Tokyo? Kyoto?”
Hawks grinned. “Los Angeles.”
If Katsuki had coffee, he’d be spilling it. “Los Ang—” he choked on the word. “Since when do we cover international premieres?”
“Since Mera took early retirement, making me the new managing editor.” Hawks leaned back in his seat. “I told you. Downsizing doesn’t equal downgrading. Now that we’re cutting the dead weight, we can afford better stories. And this is only the start. We need to modernize. Create a real digital platform, not just throw our content online and hope for the best. If we want your generation to actually read it, we need to write about the things they care about. The things that—”
Hawks kept talking but Katsuki wasn’t listening. He should have been. Any other day and he would have been. How often had he railed to his parents about the state of the industry? He had opinions, goddammit. He had ideas.
Only…Hawks had said ‘Los Angeles.’
Los-fucking-Angeles.
“…aaand I’ve lost you.”
“Sorry.” Katsuki shook his head. “This isn’t just because I know Todoroki, is it?”
“‘Course not.” Hawks waved a hand. “Though that’s a connection we probably should’ve utilized long before now. I’ll definitely make sure we give you priority in covering his stories in the future.”
Katsuki frowned. Sure, it felt better knowing that wasn’t the reason he’d been chosen. A lot of their classmates had gone on to bigger things, but most of them had ridden the nepo baby’s coattails to do it.
Still.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I appreciate the offer. Hell, I’ll go home and pack my bags right now if you want me to, but—don’t you usually cover this ritzy stuff?”
“I mean. Sometimes. But with the new promotion and everything, I couldn’t possibly—”
“You? Pass up on LA? Please.”
Hawks crossed his arms. “Just ‘cause I’m fast-tracking you doesn’t mean you get to turn the tables on me. I’m not the story here.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Katsuki smirked. “Something’s definitely not adding up. ‘Cause now that I’m thinking of it, you’ve covered all the Todoroki stories I can remember.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t all of them,” Hawks grumbled.
“And weren’t you spotted cozying up to the older brother last time you were in Tokyo?”
“Baku—”
“What happened? You hook up and then ghost him? Or was it the other way around?”
“I—” Hawks opened his mouth and shut it again. Laid his head on the table in defeat. “What do you want from me?” he groaned. “I’m already giving up LA. You need my dignity now, too?”
Katsuki laughed. If Hawks were any other boss, he’d never be getting away with this. But the little shit had been up in Katsuki’s business for years. “You can’t exactly blame me, not after all the grief you’ve given me over Eijirou.”
Hawks lifted his head, eyes glinting. “Speaking of dear Kirishima—”
Oh, here we go.
“I might as well mention you’re allowed a plus one.”
“I—what?”
Hawks sat back up, grin firmly in place, and looking for all the world like the bird of prey he was nicknamed after. “Who’s at a loss for words now?”
“I’m not at a loss for—” Katsuki shook his head. “I just—why a plus one? Accounting would never agree to that shit.”
“Accounting didn’t.” Hawks shrugged. “I paid for all the extra stuff myself, and at this point it’s non-refundable.”
“You bought tickets for the brother? Couldn’t he have got them himself for free?”
Hawks didn’t bother denying it. “He may have indicated he likes when people buy things for him. You know, instead of assuming his father or brother will pay for everything.”
Well, damn. Now Katsuki almost felt bad.
“But!” Hawks went on. “I don’t even care—not if this finally gets you and your hot roommate—”
“He’s not my roommate.”
“—your hot neighbor you share a house with—”
“It’s a condo. It’s two condos. There’s a wall between—”
“Isn’t there a door inside connecting them? Like a pair of those creepy conjoined hotel rooms?”
Katsuki grimaced. “The previous tenants were a young family and the husband’s mother. They needed an easy way to go back and forth so they could take care of her when she got older.”
“Tell me again.” Hawks leaned his face into his hands. “Which one of you ended up in the mother-in-law suite?”
Katsuki ignored him. “It was cheaper to rent them together, okay? We got a good deal.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“So we’re not roommates.”
“You’re not a couple, either. Doesn’t stop either of you from acting like it.”
“We don’t—”
“You cook for him, he bakes for you. You share his home gym. He uses your printer. You have a profile on his HBO and he has one on your Netflix. Do I need to keep going?”
Technically, the Netflix was Eijirou’s and Katsuki had paused the HBO subscription for Apple TV, but he had a feeling pointing that out wouldn’t really help him win this argument. Especially when the Apple TV switch was just so he could—
Katsuki’s phone dinged.
He felt his face go red at the name on the notification and made sure to keep his screen angled well away from Hawks’ view. The last thing he needed was to give the guy any more ammunition.
[Eijirou] running behind schedule today
[Eijirou] don’t think I’m gonna be home in time for dinner
[Eijirou] you can watch pluribus without me if you want
[Eijirou] sorry
[Katsuki] don’t sorry me
[Katsuki] wait that sounded mad
[Katsuki] i’m not mad
[Katsuki] just don’t be sorry, k
[Katsuki] it happens
[Katsuki] pluribus can wait, i don’t like tv shows as much without you
God, he sounded pathetic. Wrap it up, Katsuki.
[Katsuki] and don’t worry about dinner, it’ll still be there whenever you get home
Eijirou didn’t immediately heart any of his messages, which was a little out of character, but then, he had said he was running behind. Katsuki decided not to worry about it. He re-pocketed his phone and turned back to Hawks.
“That your boy?” he asked sweetly.
Katsuki rolled his eyes. “That was my friend. Friends can fucking text, okay? Friends can share things.”
“You share a google calendar!”
“So do Togata and Amajiki.”
“Yeah! Because they’re dating!”
And okay, sure, Katsuki could admit he walked right into that one. “I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s not like you have to prove anything to me. I already know we’d be perfect together.” He sighed. “But Eijirou doesn’t feel the same way.”
Hawks shook his head. “I don’t get it. I mean, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Has he really told you he’s not into you, point blank and to your face?”
“He’s said it to other people when I was standing right there.”
“Yeah, but did he mean it or was he just keeping face? Because from where I’m sitting—”
“Stop.” Katsuki put a hand up. “I know you mean well, but—just stop. Okay?”
“Alright, alright,” Hawks said. “I’ll leave it alone—for now—but the extra tickets and everything are still yours. Use them or don’t, it’s up to you.”
Katsuki nodded. “Thanks. Anything else you need from me before I head out?”
At that, Hawks’ eyes lit up—never a good sign—and he pulled a new folder out of his top desk drawer. “Well. There is one more thing.”
***
username: YuusukeAdmin
password: password123_1
Dear Yuusuke,
I accidentally left my lucky shirt out to dry last night, so I’m afraid it’s haunted. What should I do?
Not So Lucky
“Fuck my life.” Katsuki threw his head back on the couch and covered his eyes.
Between Yuusuke & Me.
This was his punishment for trying to keep authentic journalism alive at a mid-level newspaper instead of selling out on YouTube.
(No, he didn’t think all YouTube journalists were sellouts.)
(But, yes, some of them were, dammit.)
And maybe he’d just always wanted to work at a real newspaper? With an actual building. With actual paper. Was that so much to ask?
Apparently, it was. Because apparently he was now responsible for Musutafu Times’ shitty advice column—and he wasn’t even allowed to change the name!
“It’s what people are used to,” Hawks had said. “They write to talk to Yuusuke.”
“They write to talk to whatever schmuck of the week is in charge of it,” Katsuki grumbled. “And the name doesn’t even make sense!”
Hawks rolled his eyes at that. “Yuusuke means ‘helper.’ It’s an advice column. I don’t know what you want, Bakugou. It’s just a play on—”
“I know it’s a play on words. I’m not an idiot. The problem isn’t that it’s cheesy as fuck—it’s that it makes no grammatical sense. ‘Yuusuke’ is supposed to sound like ‘you’ but it actually refers to the advice columnist. So it actually ends up being, like, ‘Between Me and Me,’ instead of ‘Between You and Me,’ which breaks the whole damn—”
Hawks nodded along while Katsuki continued ranting. “Did you know the original Yuusuke wasn’t even named Yuusuke?” he asked when Katsuki was done. “It was the name of her cat.”
“That makes it even worse!”
“Look,” Hawks said, “I know it’s dumb. I had to handle the column myself a few years back and my boss didn’t let me change the name, either. But, hey–if it helps, just consider it a rite of passage. One day you’ll be on the other side and handing it off to some poor underling of your own.”
That hadn’t helped.
But then, it hadn’t really mattered, either. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice.
Dear Yuusuke,
I made my husband grilled salmon instead of tonkatsu for his birthday. Tonkatsu is his favorite, but it isn’t as healthy. And anyway, in my dream the night before, he told me I needed to watch what I eat. I thought that was rude and that he could use a taste of his own medicine. But now he’s upset and he left to have dinner with his parents instead of me, which is totally unfair. It’s not my fault he was rude to me in that dream. How do I make him see reason?
Annoyed
God. Were any of these worth his time? He knew he was allowed to skip some, and that he was supposed to flag any that were dangerous or inappropriate, but he still had to answer at least a few of them a day.
Dear Yuusuke,
I’m the guy that wrote yesterday about the haunted shirt, but I actually wore it on a date and it went awesome! Maybe the ghost is a lucky ghost? My problem now is that I accidentally cut my toenails in the middle of the night and that’s even worse luck than the shirt thing, right? It’s just that when I fell asleep, I left the light on, so when I woke up, I thought it was morning. And, ya know, I noticed that my toenails were long. What was I gonna do—not cut them? I mean, I wouldn’t have if I’d known it was night. But I didn’t and now I’m freaking out. Am I cursed?
Luckily Haunted but Possibly Cursed
He sighed. Whatever. If people could ask stupid questions, he could give stupid answers.
Dear Possibly Cursed,
Glad to hear you’re not haunted. Or that you’re luckily haunted. Personally, I don’t put much stock in the danger of nighttime nail-cutting, but what do I know? If it makes you feel better, I guess you can draw sevens on all your toenails? Or maybe soak them with some bath salts? Luck and hygiene all in one go—can’t go wrong there.
Katsuki hit ‘submit’ on the reply. Okay, that wasn’t so bad. He took a look at the next question and snorted.
Dear Yuusuke,
My next-door neighbor just bought their kid a tuba. So my question is: how long might one go to jail for stealing a tuba?
Tired of Tuba
Okay, yeah. He could definitely work with this.
Dear Tired,
I don’t know how much jailtime a person could get for stealing a tuba. I do know it’s more than you’d get for—oh, I don’t know—not stealing a tuba. Just something to keep in mind.
As far as alternative measures go, it’s not even worth bringing up the idea of talking to your neighbor, right? To see if they can soundproof the tuba-room? Or maybe limit the tuba-time? I mean, surely you would never write to an anonymous advice columnist before taking the most obvious step first. Right??
But hey, if you’ve done your due diligence and the tuba is still a problem, you do have one more option. And it happens to be my favorite.
Escalation.
They got a tuba? Great. You get a trumpet. Or a drum set. You can always find some secondhand instrument or another on Mercari or at your local recycle shop.
Now learn to play it. Badly. Do it in the morning. Do it at night. Do it whenever you damn well please. At this point, the tuba people will learn what the word ‘leverage’ means, and they’ll realize you have it.
Game. Set. Match.
He hit ‘submit’ again and cracked his knuckles. Okay, one more.
Dear Yuusuke,
I know you told me last time I wrote that I should just give up by now. And, I’m trying, but…how do you just ‘get over’ your best friend? If it was just some random person, I could cut them out of my life. That’s what most of the online advice says. To avoid them until the feelings pass.
And I did think about it. I’ve thought about it a lot, actually. About just backing away until our schedules don’t align anymore. But then they did something and it reminded me that I can’t cut out the worst parts of my life without also cutting out the best. Loving them does hurt sometimes. But other times, it’s my favorite thing in the world. And when it comes down to it, I know they love me, too. It’s not the same type of love, but that doesn’t make it any less real.
So. I don’t know. I guess this isn’t a question. Just wanted to say that I’ve made up my mind. I’m gonna accept the love that I have, and unless they give me a reason to leave, I’m gonna stay.
Some Kind of Loved
Katsuki swiped at his eyes. Was he…crying? Fuck, that hit too close to home. How could it not? He’d been in love with Eijirou since ninth grade.
And it just…never worked out.
At first he blamed it on Tomo, the guy Eijirou was already dating when they met. But when the two of them broke up freshman year of college, Katsuki was off at university and dating Shinsou. Of course, that relationship had crumbled pretty quickly after. How could it not? Eijirou always came first.
So when he found out Eijirou was getting a local teaching job after graduation, he decided to move back, too. The Musutafu Times was hiring, and that’s what his father read—what Katsuki used to read over his shoulder when he was little, dreaming of the day his name would be on the byline.
It’d seemed so perfect, then. With neither of them attached to anyone else, they’d finally get together. Right?
Only, they hadn’t.
It wasn’t for lack of time. As soon as they were back in the same city, they were glued at the hip—looking for places together, getting places together, spending so much time at said places together that it was getting hard to keep track of whose was whose.
And yet…
The worst part was, he had nothing to blame it on anymore. Not really. Sometimes he wondered if it was all the denying. They’d spent so many years—so many words—trying to convince their friends and significant others they were nothing.
Maybe this was just the manifestation of those words, the product of the seeds they’d sown themselves.
Or maybe—and Katsuki thought this most likely—maybe their words always had been the truth. Because maybe the feelings had been Katsuki’s alone.
He looked back at the message from the anonymous reader. Part of him wanted to skip replying, like he’d done with the first few. It wasn’t a question, after all. Just a quiet declaration of sorts.
Still.
“Dear Some Kind,” he typed, and then backspaced.
“Dear Loved,” he started again.
Dear Loved,
I’m not gonna sit here and tell you your decision to stay will be easy. God knows it won’t. It’s like being tied to an anchor, only no one can see it—or at least you hope they don’t. You try your best to hide it, but it’s hard, right? Like, everyone else is moving and you’re just stuck. Try to go farther away and the anchor pulls so tight it feels like your chest is going to explode. But you can’t get closer either. Dive down to your anchor and you’ll end up drowning.
So you just…exist there on the surface. Not too close. Not too far. And sometimes you wanna leave. ‘Cause when the storms hit, you’re just out in the open, entirely at their mercy.
But then, when the sun rises? When you realize that you’re parked on the most beautiful stretch of ocean there is?
How could you go anywhere else?
I don’t really know what I’m trying to say. This definitely doesn’t qualify as advice. But when I read your words, I felt less alone. And that’s something, right? Maybe, in reading mine, you can feel the same.
He was rereading the reply—trying to decide if he was feeling overly sentimental about it, or if it was actually worth submitting—when he heard keys at the door.
Fuck.
He couldn’t write all that. If Eijirou read it, he’d be outed in a second. He ‘selected all’ and was about to hit ‘delete’ when it hit him.
He hadn’t told Eijirou about the column.
He didn’t have to tell Eijirou about the column.
In fact, Hawks’d said he preferred if Katsuki didn’t tell anyone. That others knowing ‘broke the veil of mystique’ or something equally ridiculous. Which was whatever. Katsuki hadn’t been planning on shouting it from the rooftops or anything, but he had planned on telling Eijirou. He told him almost everything.
But maybe—
Eijirou shouldered his way through the door, dropping his bag with a thud on the genkan and slipping out of his shoes. He looked exhausted. Then again, he always did on Wednesday nights. In addition to teaching middle school math, he also supervised the programming club three days a week—and Katsuki’d heard the stories. The little bastards were supposed to be making simple games, but what they really wanted was to take over the world—or at least the school. Eijirou’d had to redirect their efforts on multiple occasions, reminding them it was a ‘programming’ club, not a ‘hacking’ club.
“Hey,” he said, smiling tiredly at Katsuki, “you’re here.”
“I’m always here,” Katsuki grumbled, closing his laptop.
Eijirou cocked his head. “But you knew I’d be running late.”
“Not like I was inconvenienced. What else was I gonna do, sit on my own couch? Besides,” he added, without thinking, “you feel lonely when you come home to an empty room.”
“I—what?” Eijirou’s face flushed.
Oh shit. “I mean…isn’t that what you told me at Mina’s birthday party?”
“I was drunk at Mina’s birthday party.” Eijirou looked mortified. “Is that why you always—?” He cut himself off and covered his face with his hands. “Oh my god.”
Damage control, Katsuki. You did this. Now fix it.
He slid the laptop onto the couch and went to stand in front of Eijirou. “Come on, you big baby. Quit hiding.”
“But it’s embarrassing.”
“Nah,” Katsuki said. “I’m glad you told me. I can’t help if I don’t know.”
Eijirou lowered his hands just enough to peek over the top of them.
“Hi,” Katsuki said.
“Hi,” Eijirou echoed.
“There’s some nikuman for you in the fridge.”
At that, Eijirou dropped his hands completely. “Oh my god, that sounds amazing,” he said. “You’re my favorite. You know that, right?”
“I know.” Katsuki moved aside so Eijirou could get to the fridge. “Now grab some food and tell me about your day.”
Eijirou hummed, one of the meat buns already stuffed in his mouth. He put the rest on a plate and popped them in the microwave. “I don’t really wanna talk about my day. Just—maybe later? Tell me about yours first. Were you still working when I walked in?”
“Yeah,” Katsuki said, setting a napkin and banana out on the counter for Eijirou. (Someone had to make sure the guy ate a fruit or vegetable every now and then.) “Remember how I told you all the staff were gonna have meetings with their supervisors?”
“Oh, was yours today?”
“Yeah, I—” Katsuki stopped, suddenly unsure what to say. He didn’t want to tell Eijirou about Yuusuke, not anymore. But he had to say something. “I, uh…I didn’t take the severance.”
“Well, I didn’t think you would,” Eijirou said. The microwave beeped and he grabbed his plate and the napkin and headed to the couch. “Did they give you a bunch of extra work, then?”
Katsuki hesitated, panicked, and then blurted out the first thing he could think of, “I’m going to LA.”
“You’re—what?”
“On assignment,” Katsuki said, in case that wasn’t obvious. “I’m covering the premiere of Todoroki’s new movie.”
“In LA? But you guys don’t do international premieres.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Katsuki sat down on the couch next to him. “But apparently we do do that now. And I’m the one doing it.” He grimaced at his own wording. “So…yeah.”
“Wow.” Eijirou set the plate on the coffee table. “That sounds—I mean, congrats, man. I’m sure that’ll be…” He trailed off, face unreadable.
“Ei?”
But Eijirou just smiled. “This is a great opportunity,” he said. “I’m really happy for you.”
Well, shit.
“Do you not want me to go?” Katsuki asked.
“What?” Eijirou’s smile broke. “Of course I do. I just said—”
“You just said ‘This is a great opportunity. I’m really happy for you.’” Katsuki used air quotes. “What the shit, Ei? You sound like a robot trying to pass itself off as middle-management.”
Eijirou snorted despite himself and then pulled his knees up in front of him on the couch, his ears turning red. “But I really am happy for you. I know how hard you’ve worked to get ahead and now it’s finally happening and—”
Oh.
The realization hit him square in the chest, followed up by a one-two punch of guilt and then horror. Guilt, because he should’ve seen this coming. If he’d stopped to think about it for even two seconds, he would’ve seen it coming. And if he’d done that, then he could have handled it better, could’ve had a plan, could’ve avoided making Eijirou feel—
Well.
Jealous.
And he hated it, because he knew Eijirou hated it. He wasn’t the type to be envious or begrudge others their good fortune. He was selfless and genuine and caring in a way Katsuki could hardly understand—the first to celebrate everyone else, and the last to celebrate himself. But that just made it worse, didn’t it? Because instead of letting those bad feelings change the way he felt about those around him, he just turned them on himself.
Eijirou’d never said as much, of course, but it didn’t matter. For all the smiles he tried to hide behind, the guy really did wear his heart on his sleeve, and anyway, Katsuki’d known him too long and too well at this point to miss it.
Which was where the horror came in.
Because there was only one way to fix it. And he could. He absolutely could. The extra tickets were still in his laptop case. It wouldn’t even cost anything.
Not financially, anyway.
There would be a price, and a steep one at that. The question was—was Katsuki willing to pay it?
“You can come with me if you want,” he said.
Because, of course. Because it was Eijirou. Because there was no price he wouldn’t pay.
Only Eijirou seemed to have glitched. He wasn’t frozen, per se, but his face was all scrunched up like he hadn’t decided which expression to land on yet.
“I mean, you do want to go, right?” Katsuki tried to sound casual, like it was no big deal. “Todoroki will be there, which means Midoriya will be there.” God, the nerd was probably gonna freak when he showed up. “And I think Kami and Jirou did one of the songs for the soundtrack, so they’ll be around, which means Yaoyorozu and Sero will be around.”
“And Mina.” Eijirou wiped at his eyes and then coughed—probably trying to play it off like he had allergies, the idiot. “Maybe Uraraka.”
“Could be a whole-ass class reunion.”
Kirishima laughed, but had to wipe at his eyes again. “Why’d our friends have to go and get all important?”
“Famous? Sure. Important?” Katsuki shook his head. “Todoroki plays pretend in front of a camera. Jirou and Kami sing. That’s—I mean, that’s good and all—and who am I to talk, I write words for a living. But what you do every day? That’s about the most important thing there is. You know that, right? I sure as hell couldn’t do it. The patience you have with those kids of yours—”
Tears were fully flowing down Eijirou’s face now—he wasn’t even trying to hide it at this point—but his smile, at least, was real. “Well, you know,” he sniffed. “That’s why I make the big bucks.”
Katsuki laughed. “Speaking of which,” he said, “that’s the best part. Other than food, maybe, you can pretty much come for free.”
Eijirou blinked. “Wait—what? How?”
Katsuki shrugged. “Before the shake up, I guess two people were gonna go?” Not a lie, but not exactly the truth either. Part of him wanted to explain the whole Hawks situation, if only for the chance to make fun of the bastard a bit, but that came dangerously close to implying the phrase ‘plus one.’ He couldn’t let Eijirou think he was trying to make it a ‘plus one’ situation.
Even if it kinda was.
Even if he wanted it to be.
He wondered if Eijirou was already thinking the same thing. His eyes were clear and he’d stopped sniffing, but he seemed to be considering. He was doing the whole lip-biting thing, the tip of one tooth just peeking out.
God, he was adorable.
Which was part of the problem. He’d managed—barely—to keep Eijirou from seeing how he felt all these years. But back in high school, their friends had seen right through him.
And if they showed up in LA? Together?
Maybe it’d be better if Eijirou declined. It’d certainly be easier. Easier to pretend. Easier to deny.
But not easier to live with. Eijirou deserved the world. Katsuki couldn’t give him much, but he could do this.
“We can take your picture in front of the Hollywood sign.”
Eijirou’s eyes lit up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll still have to check with the school. See if I can get the time off. Find someone willing to check in on my club kids.”
“You’ve covered for your colleagues how many times? No way they’re not gonna return the favor.”
Eijirou bit his thumbnail, thinking. “But…you’re sure you want me to come? I mean, you could probably take anyone you wanted and—”
“Seriously?” Sometimes Katsuki just wanted to take Eijirou by the shoulders and shake him. “Who the fuck else would I take?”
“I mean, you hang out with Hawks sometimes. And that girl with the fashion column.”
Well, yeah. His life was one big steaming pot of unrequited yaoi tea. He had to spill that shit somewhere, and Camie was a surprisingly good listener. Plus—and he’d never, ever admit this out loud, but—she was one of the few people he could stand to go shopping with. The girl could tell if something would fit just by looking at it on a hanger, she wasn’t afraid to haggle, and she could put up with Katsuki.
Still.
“You think I’d rather bring my boss?” he asked. “Or Camie? I mean, sure, we have fun together—but you think I could handle sitting next to her on an hours-long flight? She’d talk my ear off before we even left the runway.”
(Actually, she’d probably be a great travel companion. She wasn’t nearly as over-the-top with people she actually respected. But Eijirou didn’t need to know that.)
“Ei,” he said, “you’re the first person I thought of bringing—the only person I thought of bringing. Like, I know I’m Mister Congeniality over here and all, but—you’re kinda it for me, ya know?”
Oh, shit. Too real. Abort, abort.
“I mean, like, as friends,” Katsuki added in a rush. “Best friends. Like—there’s-no-one-else-in-the-world-I’d-rather-take-on-an-international-trip-but-we’re-still-just-friends kind of friends. You know?”
Well, that sentence had been a disaster.
And Eijirou’s ears had gone red at the tips but his face was doing that complicated thing again and—was he going to say no?
Fuck.
And now Eijirou was doing that thing that wasn’t exactly wringing his hands but wasn’t exactly not wringing his hands and—
Oh, shit. He was actually going to say no. Katsuki could see it happening, the way he grimaced before opening his mouth and—
“We can ride on top of one of those stupid tour buses,” he blurted before Eijirou had the chance. “Go look at those dumb stars painted on that one street.”
Eijirou raised an eyebrow. “Stupid buses and dumb stars?” he asked. “Wow. I’m so super convinced you actually wanna do those things.”
“I mean—I don’t really care,” Katsuki admitted. “But I think you might. And I want you to come, so…you know…”
Eijirou smiled. “I’m not sure I do, actually.”
“Ei—”
“Come on, Kats.” He draped one of his arms over the back of the couch and leaned into Katsuki’s space. “I know you know your way around words. Maybe just…try some on me.”
Katsuki’s breath caught. Was Eijirou—?
No. Obviously he wasn’t—wasn’t doing that.
He was just teasing.
Like Katsuki teased him.
Because that was a thing friends did.
But now Eijirou seemed to be taking pity on him. He leaned back into his own space. “You’re saying you’d ride a stupid tour bus—for me?”
Katsuki nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak at the moment—if he did, he’d probably end up saying something mushy and pathetic. And then he’d have to backtrack again and…
God, this conversation was a fucking rollercoaster.
“I’m saying come with me,” he finally managed. “Please.”
Eijirou swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing as he considered. “Okay, then,” he said. “I just have one condition.”
* * *
Katsuki stared down at the pink swim trunks in horror.
“Eijirou, you can’t be serious.”
But apparently he was serious.
When Katsuki agreed to his ‘one condition’—letting Eijirou help him pack—he assumed his wardrobe would be a little brighter than usual. He didn’t know it meant opening himself up to…whatever this monstrosity was.
Still, Katsuki couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Eijirou looked like he was having a blast digging through his closet, and if nothing else, it gave Katsuki an excuse to help him in return. God knew someone had to–the man was liable to pack twenty different hair products and forget to bring a single pair of socks.
Katsuki’s phone dinged. Another Yuusuke message had come in the portal. Lovely.
It dinged again.
[Ashido] oh
[Ashido] my
[Ashido] god
[Ashido] am I dreaming or did I really just get a text from eiji saying he’s going on a trip to the US
[Ashido] WITH YOU
Well, fuck. Katsuki looked up, and, sure enough, Eijirou was leaning against the closet doorway, smiling into his phone.
[Ashido] also?
[Ashido] please
[Ashido] for the love of god, Bakugou, if he tells me you two still aren’t together
She stopped typing.
And then started again.
[Ashido] fuck’s sake
Katsuki sighed. How was he going to do this? Only this morning, he’d been sitting in Hawks’ office—hoping for good news instead of bad. For a story—something undercover, maybe—something that could launch his career, that could change his life.
He’d hadn’t gotten that, not exactly. But he wasn’t sure this was all that different. After all, he had more secrets to keep now, didn’t he?
He slid the black trunks back in the suitcase, hiding them under his dress pants.
At this rate, he wasn’t sure which secret identity’d be harder to keep up. The advice columnist?
Or the platonic best friend?