Chapter Text
Katsuki huffs, forcing his legs to move him forward around the court. He probably should’ve learned his lesson about not yelling at Aizawa by now; the man is not intimidated by angry seventeen-year-olds. But Katsuki is stubborn, and running laps around the volleyball court is good practice, anyway.
He’s nearly finished with the third lap when the final bell rings. Shit, when did it get so late?
“Kacchan!” The most obnoxious, annoying, hideous voice called from the far side of the gym. Katsuki inhaled slowly, preparing himself for the nerd’s endless mouth-spout of bullshit.
“Want me to drive you home?” Deku asked once he’d caught up to the blond. “It’s no problem, I swear!”
Katsuki closed his eyes. He knew he had to be nicer to the boy who was practically a brother to him—but why did he have to be so damn annoying? A million explicatives came to mind. Fuck off, Deku. Kiss my ass, Deku. Deku, I would rather die before accepting a ride from you.
In the end, all he said was, “I don’t need your stupid charity.”
Walking home as a second year has to count as one of the most humiliating things in the world, Katsuki thinks. Having failed the test due to ‘extreme road rage and possible underlying psychological conditions,’ he has no other choice. But it’s sort of peaceful at times. Especially now, in early September, when it’s just cool enough not to chill, and the sidewalks are scattered with crunchy fallen leaves for Katsuki to step on.
He shifted his backpack forward, which was a little awkward considering his volleyball bag was slung across his stomach. Eventually, Katsuki was able to reach his right arm into the side pocket and fish for his tangled earbuds.
He hissed when a mechanical pencil stabbed him under the nail, hobbling back when some asshole decided to honk their horn at him. Idiot. Pedestrians always have the right of way, or whatever.
Just when he’d finally grabbed hold of the slippery little fuckers, every god above must have decided now was the time to drag Katsuki down to hell. Something slammed into his side, hard enough to force a shameful yelp from his mouth.
Katsuki lands awkwardly on his right arm, which is still somewhat buried in his backpack. His chin hits the ground soon after, skin scraping clean off against asphalt.
It’s pain like he’d never known, pulsing through his arm. Shit. He tries to straighten it out, which is about as effective as unlocking a welded-shut door. Shit.
He manages to roll himself onto his back and stare up at his attacker.
A shitty red car.
Who the hell would choose to drive that thing?
Well—he knows one person who drives a shitty red car, but he would never be caught dead running into a fellow classmate. Which leaves Katsuki with a list that comes up empty.
Katsuki groans, letting his head fall back against the ground. He should probably be more careful, considering his brain has been jerked around enough already. But he can’t find it in himself to care. His arm doesn’t look broken, which is good—though, it certainly doesn’t feel like it should. Damn it, if only he could stand up and get home.
“Hey, hey, can you hear me?” Somebody asks, gently grabbing Katsuki’s mangled chin.
He frowns, focusing his eyes, and suddenly his day becomes exponentially worse. “Oh, my god.”
Today, his shitty red hair is down, hitting just above his shoulders; that’s Katsuki’s least favorite style. He wants to reach out and touch it, to see if those stupid red strands are really as soft as they look.
He realizes belatedly that the loser is still talking. “-so sorry, I completely forgot to check my mirrors, I can’t believe it. Holy crap, man, you’re bleeding! Please say something if you don’t say something then I’m just gonna keep talking and also I’m a little scared you might have a concussion-“
“Kirishima,” Katsuki grits, and, shit, that makes him look like a creep because they’ve never even spoken.
The redhead seems to fumble for words. “Um, yes—yeah?”
“Asshole.”
The silence is long and thoughtful. Kirishima’s annoying eyebrows draw together, and his mouth curves in a frown. “Okay,” he says, and Katsuki isn’t really listening, distracted by the thought of Kirishima’s mouth. “Come on.”
“Huh?” Katsuki pulls his gaze away from abnormally sharp teeth and towards abnormally red eyes.
“I’ll give you a ride home! It’s the least I can do!” And then he smiles.
Katsuki is a stubborn person who doesn’t accept charity from others. There’s nothing more offensive to him than knowing someone sees him as somebody who needs help—or wants it.
But, he figures, it’s only fair that Kirishima drives him home after ramming into him with his ugly car.
That’s the only reason.
“You’re sure you’re not hurt at all?” The redhead asks again, glancing over at Katsuki.
“Nope.”
Truthfully, his arm feels like it’s about to fall off the bone, but he would never let himself look weak in front of Kirishima—because he doesn’t want to look weak in front of anyone, not that Kirishima is special, or anything.
“Left at the next turn,” Katsuki grumbles. He’s tucked himself into the door, face pressed against the cool glass of the window. It’s nice to see the leaves changing colors. Even nicer on early-morning runs. The thought slightly dulls the blond’s burning—probably broken—arm.
Katsuki’s gaze wanders to the boy on his left.
He’s had this dream so many times before, though it’s never started so violently: Kirishima, driving him home with a content smile on his face. One hand drumming against the wheel.
Katsuki’s face burns, and he shoves his face back into the window. He can’t remember the exact moment his hatred for Kirishima developed, but it must’ve been absolutely horrible. At the same time, though, he knows the redhead is too much of a saint to do anything that’d piss Katsuki off to this degree.
“Hey, you live near Ochako!” Stupid hair remarks with a stupid grin, “I knew I recognized this street.”
Katsuki bristles. “What the hell do you mean, Ochako? You know that prick?”
Kirishima frowns, nodding slowly.
“She’s annoying and boring.” His nostrils flare. “And her and Deku have something going on, so don’t even waste your time.”
The boy laughs. It’s the most irritating sound Katsuki has ever heard. “You don’t have to worry about that, trust me.”
And now Katsuki’s spiraling. Just what the hell does thatmean? Is Kirishima, like, together with Round Face? Are they in a throuple? Why would the stupid bastard want to date either of them?!
“Stop the car.”
“What?” Kirishima seems startled; Katsuki has no idea why that might be.
“I said, stop the car. Now do what I say or die.” Katsuki repeats. He’s always been quick to anger, but for some odd reason, it seems as though that switch has been flipped up to a thousand.
Kirishima looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Good. He pulls over. Katsuki gathers his things with only one arm. The idiot looks like he wants to say something important, but it’s just another bullshit apology. Katsuki mumbles a goodbye—and there’s probably a ‘thank you’ somewhere in there, but he couldn’t say for sure.
As he limps down the street with a probably-broken arm, two backpacks, and a fucked-up chin that might be in need of stitches or something, a stupid, annoying, shitty, lovestruck grin breaks out on Katsuki’s face.