Chapter Text
Pool balls crack on the outskirts of his hearing. The lights are dim. The music cuts through the air like a quiet heartbeat.
Katsuki leans against the wall, a bottle in his hands. He brings it up to his mouth, taking a deep swig.
He came out to be supportive. He came out to show that it doesn’t bother him. He’s here to be a good friend. And yet, no matter the things he should do- the things he has to do- now that he’s here, it’s so much worse than he’d ever imagined.
Everyone is here, of course. Ei, Hanta, and Denks are off in the corner playing darts. Shouto and Iida and Shouji are sitting at a table, nursing beers and catching up. His friends are dancing. Drinking. Smiling.
And god, he knows he’s being antisocial standing in the corner like this- immature- pathetic- but tonight, he doesn’t really care. He doesn’t feel like socializing right now, and more than that, he knows he would absolutely bring down the vibe of any conversation he joins if he even tried.
No, it’s best that he stays here, out of sight- out of mind. Quiet and out of the way.
It’s for the best, because when the itch grows unbearable- when he ignores his best judgment and looks out of the corner of his eyes again- he sees them. Deku and Ochako. Out together. Officially. As a couple. For the first time.
They’re sparkly. Shiny. They almost glow. It’s the kind of incandescent happiness he’s pursued his entire life- the sort of glittery self-assurance he’s never gotten to feel.
It almost hurts his eyes.
He shouldn’t stare. He should look away- mind his business. He should.
But despite all the things he should do, he can’t make himself look away, slowly digging his own grave shovel by shovel as he continues to watch them through narrowed eyes.
The two of them are talking quietly at the bar, drinks in hand, smiles on their faces, clearly a little tired from fielding questions and well-meant congratulations for the past two hours.
And noticing them finally alone for the first time all night, that’s when Mina, seeing an opportunity, breaks away from the dance floor and bounds up to them.
Bright and bubbly as ever, she gives them each a hug, her smile sparkling and genuine as she offers her own congratulations.
Katsuki watches them both smile and thank her, a bit modest- a bit shy. He watches Deku look down at his girlfriend with this easy, loving look.
Feeling eyes on her, Ochako looks back up at him. She blushes. She grins.
And Katsuki has to fight against a sudden heave.
He gets it. Honestly, he does. She’s a good person. Kind. Smart. Anyone with a brain stem can see what an undeniable catch she is.
His hand clenches tight around his beer.
And god, she’s so pretty, all pink like that. Feminine and lovely and sweet. She looks so natural wrapped around Deku’s arm. She looks so sure in it. She makes it look right.
And more than that, this-? It’s exactly what Deku deserves; something easy after so many years of hard.
After everything he’s suffered, Deku should have someone like her. Someone soft. Someone gentle and kind. Patient. Loving.
Katsuki glares down at the ground, the beer going sour on his tongue as each of Ochako’s obvious virtues hitting like a combo punch: her sweetness and charity such a glaring contradiction to his own faults and mistakes that it’s almost laughable.
God. What was he thinking? It was stupid to think that he ever had a chance- nothing but his usual brand of blind delusion to think that he, with his dirty hands and angry soul, could ever have something so good.
And he knows that. He does.
But.
His hand clenches around the bottle so tight that he hears a tiny crack, the glass spider webbing out from the crush of his palm.
But Deku was supposed to be his. He was supposed to see. He was supposed to see the suit and understand everything. He was supposed to run into his arms and hold him and cry with joy. He was supposed to apologize for all the years of blindness. He was supposed to rise onto his toes and kiss his mouth and whisper ‘Kacchan’ in that way that makes him feel whole.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to love him.
But he doesn’t.
It’s never going to be.
No matter what he does, it’ll never be enough.
And though his heart has literally been exploded before, the pain that accompanies that realization is so sharp that he almost feels dizzy- so breathtaking that he has to reach out and clutch the nearest table to keep himself upright.
It’ll make it worse- he knows that it will- but masochist that he is, Katsuki glances back at them, ready to be hurt all over again, when suddenly, Mina says something else- something that makes Ochako go red.
Deku’s eyes go wide and shimmery. His mouth twists all wobbly and affectionate. His face swims with emotion- flushes with color. He looks down at her like she’s the sun in the sky. He’s got a hand around her cheek and he’s leaning down-
-and then, he’s kissing her- he’s kissing her-
-And the world suddenly turns black. Katsuki feels his heart crunch like a dry leaf. Bile shoots up his throat and into his mouth.
Sick to his stomach and blurry at the eyes, he turns away with a grimace, managing to catch it just in time, the craggy palm of his hand clapping over his mouth with barely a second to spare.
His tongue is flooded in it, hot and sour and disgusting. His throat burns.
But he doesn’t want to draw any attention- certainly doesn’t want to be seen hurling on the ground in front of all of his friends. So, somehow, through sheer strength of will, he makes himself swallow it back down. Somehow, he’s able to force it back inside.
The irony is not lost on him.
Relieved to have avoided disaster, he brings his hand away from his lips slowly, letting out a sharp, rattling exhale.
Blinking the sting from his eyes, he brings up his bottle, knocking back a mouthful, swishing it around, and quite literally swallowing it down.
He takes a few breaths, deep and slow. Closes his eyes and lets the ebbing waves recede.
But then, with the immediate danger past, he suddenly remembers something important- remembers that he is in a crowded bar full of his friends and loved ones.
Immediately on edge, he looks up again, eyes darting around in a wide arc.
Shit. Did anyone see that? Did anyone notice?
But thank god, upon a quick scan of the crowd, he finds that everyone’s eyes are still on the blushing couple, oohing and aahing and simpering over their affection. And that’s good.
He’s ready to let out a sigh of relief. Ready to fade back into the background and continue mourning in solitude-
-But just as he’s about to do just that, he freezes.
Because across the room, two amethyst eyes stare at him over the rim of his glass, the twinkle in the dark almost taunting him.
The pupils expand with interest. The brows pitch high.
And with sudden horror, Katsuki realizes that he had failed- that someone had watched his little breakdown. Someone had seen.
His stomach suddenly twists again, the gnawing bite of heartbreak suddenly overcome with anxiety and panic. Sweat breaks out across the back of his neck as he connects those hawkish eyes to their owner.
Shinsou. Shinsou saw. Of all the people in the room, it was him: Shinsou the observant. Shinsou who always sees everything.
And if the invasive, pensive look he has on his face is any indicator at all, then it’s clear: he knows. Not just that he was nearly sick in a crowded bar, but what he was sick about.
And if Katsuki knows him (and unfortunately, he does), he’s got about two minutes to get out of here before Shinsou stalks over and spends the rest of the evening taunting him for his little slip.
Because in all their years of knowing one another, he’s never been able to resist teasing him or mocking him. Never.
And usually, it isn’t that big of a deal; never more than good-natured jabs and ribs. Usually, he can roll with it and mock right back, all playful and snide. It’s just what they do. Their thing.
But god, not tonight. Playful or not, well-meant or not, he doesn’t want to be mocked about this. Not this.
So, already planning his exit, he quickly slams the rest of his beer, setting the bottle down on the nearest table, turning away, ready to run-
-But he doesn’t get the chance.
Footsteps ring in his ears. Air whooshes past his face. And suddenly, before he can even take a single step, a large hand clamps down around his wrist, holding him in place. A voice calls his name, low and soft.
“Katsuki.”
His breath catches. He immediately breaks out into goosebumps.
It’s jarring to hear his given name out of Shinsou’s mouth. And even more than that, the tone is unexpectedly…tender. Meaningful. Rich and smooth.
He feels his entire body unintentionally shudder under the weight of it.
But never one to expose his belly, he shakes it off as much as he can, planting himself down, his face still pointedly fixed on the ground, jaw gnashing as he snarls, “What.”
To his surprise, the grip around his wrist actually eases, the hold almost gentle.
There’s a pause, heavy- thick- before Shinsou responds.
“...I saw that.” He whispers secretively.
Katsuki immediately bristles, his brain scrambling to prepare a defense- something he can use to throw Shinsou off the scent-
-When suddenly, all of his plans are violently derailed as that purple head leans close and he whispers the last thing he’d ever thought he’d hear.
“...Are you okay?” He asks softly.
Katsuki freezes. For a second, he wonders if he should pinch himself. But no, he’s not dreaming. He’s awake.
And so, he tilts his eyes upward, utterly confused- completely bereft.
“...Why?” He asks, his voice thin with genuine curiosity.
Shinsou pulls back a bit. He silently thinks it over. His brow wrinkles in displeasure as if annoyed to be questioned on something so obvious.
“Because you don’t look okay.” He responds, oddly concerned. His mouth flattens into a deep, worried purse. “You don’t look okay at all.”
Katsuki’s stomach, already so tender, does a helpless, little flip.
Fuck. This is bad. Away- he’s gotta get away. He’s gotta get out of this conversation and back to where it’s safe- back to where things make sense.
He takes a step back to do just that, yanking until his arm goes taut in Shinsou’s hold.
“I’m fine.” He grits, trying to wriggle free.
But Shinsou, so observant- always prepared- doesn’t let him. His grip suddenly tightens on his wrist like a noose, holding him firm, not letting him run.
“No.” He shakes his head seriously. “You’re not.”
But then, almost as if he suddenly realizes that he’s being too firm, he lets out a long, slow breath, his voice softening, almost tender as he leans close and whispers, “That was…hard to watch.”
Katsuki feels his hackles rise tall, his body almost vibrating in its desperation to get away.
“What?” He asks rudely, tugging again, “Two nerds sucking face?”
His lip curls, his tone going sharp and cruel.
“You’ll live.” He spits up at him acidly.
It’s shitty. Rude. Mean.
And honestly, he expects Shinsou to snit back- to be shitty back- to release him and tell him to go fuck himself (he’d deserve it)-
-but to Katsuki’s utter horror and complete surprise, he doesn’t. His voice goes oddly sad. Unexpectedly caring.
“No.” He shakes his head somberly. “You. It was hard to watch you.” He clarifies.
And then, with a deep exhale, he gives him a pitying look and says, “That was clearly painful for you.”
Katsuki is so surprised that he can’t even think of anything snippy to say; so surprised that he just stares up at Shinsou like he’s seeing a brand new man.
And perhaps seeing a rare opportunity in this novel silence, that’s when Shinsou draws closer, the iron ring of his hand easing around Katsuki’s wrist into a gentle hold, the pad of his thumb stroking comfortingly up the inside of his forearm.
His eyes drop low. His voice goes butter soft.
“Have you told anyone else how much this is hurting you?” He asks seriously, “Izuku being with someone else?”
Katsuki chokes.
That confirms it: he knows- he knows-!
And yeah, that’s bad- really bad- but he almost can't even concentrate on it because what is this? They don’t do this.
It doesn’t make sense. Why is Shinsou being so kind?
Now, true, he always hears others gush about him- Deku and Denki and such- but never having seen it firsthand, and with no prepared defense, he finds himself speechless.
Completely caught out, he flusters for a moment, trying to find something to say-
-But quickly finding that there is nothing safe to say, he reverts to old bad habits, pulling out of his hold, his eyes sharp and tongue sharper as he looks up and hisses, “Why do you care?!”
But Shinsou doesn’t rise to the bait. He doesn’t get defensive. He doesn’t scrap back. He just sags into his wide torso like his shoulders are too heavy, looking down at Katsuki with a soft, weary look.
“Do I need a reason to care about a friend?” He asks quietly.
It’s an arrow to the gut. A curb stomp to the heart. And in all of five seconds, Katsuki suddenly feels like the biggest asshole that’s ever lived.
Abruptly drowning in a sudden wave of guilt, he immediately tries to backpedal- to spin it with humor like they always do.
“Yeah? And are we friends?” He asks weakly, too cowardly to look at him.
Shinsou lets out a heavy, irritated breath.
“Don’t do that.” He chides, sinking into a hip. “You know we are. We fuck with each other, sure, but you know I care about you.”
It goes quiet. Shinsou’s face suddenly pales.
And then, as if realizing that perhaps, Katsuki doesn’t know, he leans closer and says, “You do know that, don’t you?”
Katsuki sighs. His shoulders sink.
Because it’s true. He does. Of course, he does.
He tells him so.
“...Yeah.” He answers quietly, “I do. I do know.”
Katsuki watches the relief physically drip down that broad back. He watches Shinsou’s face ease out of that tight look. And that’s good. Because no matter how awful he feels- no matter how much his heart is breaking- he doesn’t want to hurt him. Not after he’d taken the time to come over here to check on him like this.
So, aiming for some semblance of composure, he lets out a long, ragged sigh, a hand swiping tiredly over his face.
“But you don’t need to worry.” He asserts, digging deep. “I’ll be fine. I’m always fine.”
But when his hand leaves his eyes and he looks up once more, he finds Shinsou staring down at him, giving him a shrewd, narrow look that loudly calls his bluff without saying a single thing.
“...I’m sure.” He returns coolly, clearly not believing a single word. “But if you want help, I’m here.” He offers, reaching out and setting a heavy palm on his shoulder. “You just gotta ask.” He adds with a tiny, half-hearted smile.
Katsuki’s throat goes tight. His lips press. Abruptly self-conscious, he cravenly stares down at his shoes, because, for all their past bickering, it’s kind. Kinder than he deserves.
And with everything settled and nothing left to say, he watches through his peripherals as Shinsou pulls away. Watches him give one last, friendly nod in lieu of a goodbye.
And for some reason, watching him go like that? His stomach twists. His hands itch. He suddenly wants so badly to say something- do something, even though he doesn’t know what.
But it’s too late. Shinsou’s turning away. He’s heading back towards the bar- his other friends.
And Katsuki’s heart, already damaged, abruptly sinks like a stone, suddenly so cold- so desolate- so lonely.
Because for a moment- just a moment- he’d felt seen. For just a moment, he’d felt heard. Supported. Not quite so empty. Shinsou did that.
But now, he’s gone, and feeling that strange connection steadily slipping through his fingers, Katsuki watches him go, feeling the chasm inside him widening with every step he takes.
His dark hair swishes as he walks away. His big hands slip down into his pockets. His shoulders sink into their familiar hunch.
He doesn’t know what does it. He doesn’t really know why. But suddenly, something inside him snaps. Something breaks.
His legs twitch and his muscles tense and desperation floods, and before he can stop himself, Katsuki’s body is lurching forward and his hand is flashing out like the crack of a whip, grabbing Shinsou’s ratty jacket sleeve before he can slip away.
Everything screeches to a halt.
A set of violet eyes snap over a broad shoulder, wide and surprised. They search him for answers. In all the years they’ve known each other, he’s never seen him so shocked.
Just as surprised, Katsuki searches back, his gaze slowly drifting down in horror at the place where his hand is clutching tight.
He gulps loudly, cheeks flushing.
Oh, hell. Why did he do it?
He didn’t even realize that he was doing it until he’d already done it. Hadn’t known how badly he needed someone to talk to until he was walking away: how badly he needed his kindness- his company- his care.
And as it has so many times before, his body just moved on its own.
And that’s all well and good, but now, Shinsou is staring at him, confused. There’s nowhere left to run. No reasonable excuse to explain why he’d pulled him back like that. Nothing else to do but tell the truth.
And so, seeing the writing on the wall, Katsuki tries to be brave. He takes a deep breath, fights against the fear, and whispers it.
“I, um-” He begins.
He looks up, trying for strength and failing miserably.
“I want help.” He pleads quietly.
And then, pitifully, he adds, “Can you help me?”
Shinsou blinks. His throat bobs. His hands clench. He gives him this flabbergasted look as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
But then, he must hear it- it must sink in- because his face suddenly melts like butter, those sharp features going soft, mouth pressing tight as if his heart is breaking.
But it only lasts a second. Just one.
Suddenly called to duty, his eyes harden. His jaw pinches tight. Getting that look he always gets on dangerous missions, he quickly glances left and right to make sure that no one is watching, and when the coast is acceptably clear, he holds out his hand for Katsuki to take.
“Come with me.” He urges.
Katsuki looks down in apprehension. It’s a bad idea. He’s sure of it.
And yet, despite all his misgivings, he does it, anyway. He takes his hand.
Shinsou moves quick.
Without a word, he leads Katsuki away from the horrors on the other side of the room, guiding him easily through the throng of twisting bodies. His hand squeezes comfortingly every few moments as they curl through the crowd, those dark, violet eyes never once looking back as they press on.
And Katsuki follows him like Eurydice, his head down, heart trusting.
It’s an unfamiliar sensation letting someone lead him. And though part of him is sort of humiliated at being so passive, at the same time, he’s grateful. Because anything is better than what he’d left. Anything is better than standing and watching, helpless, as his dream dies before his eyes.
And Shinsou must know that, too, because, clever as he is, he takes him as far away from it as he possibly can, not stopping until the two of them are concealed in shadow, squished into a dubiously murky corner in the back where none of their friends are near- where no one can see what comes next.
And there, sequestered in the dark, Shinsou takes Katsuki by the biceps and moves him until his back is flat against the wall. He cages him in protectively, using his tall, wide body like a shield from the world around them.
It’s strange; he normally hates being pushed around like this, but even so, there’s an unexpected gentleness in Shinsou’s movements that he inexplicably trusts- a cool, quiet control that soothes his frazzled head- that sends soft, prickling tingles down his arms and back.
It’s different. Odd, sure, but also entirely wanted.
In fact, feeling those big hands on him, he quietly thinks that he might actually like it- might actually enjoy being moved like this. Or maybe he likes the attention. Or maybe he just wants to be looked after- fawned over- considered by someone.
He honestly doesn’t know.
But just as he’s beginning to adjust to it, this strange, new feeling- Shinsou, seeing the peace in his eyes- feeling the way his resistance wanes- takes it a step further. He reaches up and fits his hand beneath his jaw, tilting Katsuki’s chin upward, forcing their gazes to meet.
His eyes are dark. Expressive. And though he’s never really noticed before, pretty. Luminous and intense.
And, uh, close.
His heart flutters at the proximity. His mouth goes dry.
And before he can even begin to untangle what the fuck that means, he abruptly feels it: a pull in his chest. A twinge in his gut. Like his body is begging to be closer- like he actually wants to reach out and touch, too-
-But then, Shinsou’s face shifts, the heavy gaze morphing into a look he’s never seen before; soft- almost pitying - and fuck, it turns his guts.
Those warm feelings vanish. His stomach clenches.
Suddenly nauseous, Katsuki turns away with a sharp jerk of his chin, a wave of indignant fury instantly welling up inside him, eclipsing everything else.
How dare he look at him like that? How dare he pity him?
He’s ready to say just that- to push him away and call it off and bury himself head-first down into the Earth where no one can look at him again-
-When suddenly, before he can, there’s a single word slipping into his ear, low and rumbly in that deep baritone- calm and cool and trustworthy.
“Katsuki.” Shinsou whispers again.
Katsuki stares up at him.
Oh.
It’s just his name, and yet, it curls up his back like a wisp of smoke. His heart is in his throat. His toes are suddenly on pins. It nearly knocks him flat.
One word- one- and every nerve in his body is suddenly alight, tense and tight and apprehensive.
It’s the strangest thing. He doesn’t understand why he’s reacting this way- why his body is suddenly so alert. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because Shinsou is still looking at him, clearly waiting for a response, and so, even dry-mouthed as he is, he tries to give one.
“What.” He manages, his voice pitifully hoarse.
Shinsou doesn’t say what. He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t push or delve or interrogate.
No, he just reaches up, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, his fingertips warm and rough.
And then, with an exhale, he wraps his hands around Katsuki’s cheeks, closes his eyes, leans down, and kisses him right on the lips.
Katsuki freezes. His eyes blow wide.
It’s the last thing he’d expected- the very last thing. They aren’t like this. Shinsou has never shown this sort of interest in him. He’s never shown that interest in Shinsou. Shit, most of the time, they act like they can’t stand one another.
And utterly sure in that undeniable truth, his first instinct is to pull away: to yank himself out of his arms and ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing-
-But he doesn’t. He hesitates.
Because he suddenly finds that he can’t move. Because, despite the strangeness and the batshit ridiculousness of it, it’s actually sort of…sweet. Soft. Gentle and kind and all of the things that they usually aren’t.
And though the responsible part of his head says bad- no- wrong- another part of him, a soft, hurt, indulgent part of him, lays down his weapons and just… lets it happen.
Because it feels good. Because he hasn’t been kissed like this in years. Maybe ever. And though every bit of logic and self-preservation beats wildly against it, he can’t help it: he likes it.
It’s intimate. Special. Exactly what a first kiss should be.
And damn it, that’s what he wants. All he wants. He wants intimacy . He wants to feel special - wants to be cherished. Wants to be held. After all his years of pain and sacrifice, he wants to pour himself into someone’s hands and be loved for exactly who he is, even for just a moment-
-And though Shinsou is normally just about the last person he’d ever choose, for some reason, it works. It helps. It soothes.
Because this shows that he’s not alone. It shows that someone cares about him. That someone sees his pain. In a world where everyone else has seemingly abandoned him, there is at least one person who sees through his mask and into his ugly, black heart.
And though he’s sure it’s just the caring gesture of a good friend- positive that it’s nothing more than that altruistic nature of a kind person- he lets it happen.
Timidly, he parts his lips and kisses back. He clutches back into Shinsou’s arms, feeling the bunch of muscle in his palms- the masculine swell of his chest against his own.
Shinsou makes a soft sound into his mouth. He clutches his face in his hands. He slowly eases him against the wall until his back is flush- until their bodies meld together.
And it works. It works.
For all his sharp words and venomous little barbs, Shinsou’s tongue is clever. Soft. Slow.
The press of his body is soothing, like wearing a weighted blanket. His hands are kind and his lips taste like whiskey and cigarettes, and he kisses like his own pleasure doesn’t matter. Like Katsuki is the top priority; the only priority. Like he’d be content to do this- just this- for as long as needed; until he’s whole again.
It’s exactly what he needs. And against his better judgment, Katsuki feels his eyes roll shut in utter peace. He goes limp in his arms. He lets him do what he wants.
Shinsou is gentle at first. His hands wander carefully, as if ready for it to end any second; ready to be shoved away at one wrong move.
But Katsuki doesn’t argue or fight- doesn’t protest- doesn’t wrench himself away- and so, growing bolder by the moment, Shinsou doubles his efforts.
His kisses deepen. His hands clutch and paw as if trying to distract him with stimulation- to keep him guessing- to do whatever he can to keep his head focused on this and nothing else.
He closes those dark eyes, holds Katsuki fast, and begins to slowly peel away at him with each kiss, layer after layer silently dissolving into those big hands until all of the barriers are gone- until every bit of his pride has been steadily wicked away, leaving him bare and exposed like a raw nerve-
-And there, pressed against the wall, he’s suddenly not Dynamight anymore. He’s not even Bakugou. No, he’s Katsuki again; the same, angry kid from high school that had to watch his life get flipped upside down. The same furious, repressed person he used to be before war ripped him open and spit him out and taught him patience and peace. The pathetic, yearning mess that fell head over heels in love with his best friend and has never been the same again.
And Shinsou sees. Shinsou knows.
And though he’s usually a giant, incorrigible dick on his best days, he doesn’t tease. He doesn’t mock. Not a bit. No, he honors that vulnerability, holding him in his palms and almost rocking him in his arms.
And he kisses him. Way too gentle for how strong he is. Way too sweet for how bitterly they argue in public.
It’s as if he knows how fragile Katsuki is right now- as if he can somehow see that he’s moments from breaking.
And he’s right. Because with every deep kiss, the inevitable surges forward. Because this treatment, while well-meant, is too soft. Shinsou’s kiss is too kind.
It’s wonderful, but at the same time, it reminds him of all the things he can’t have- all of the things that have been ripped from his hands-
-And the moment he thinks of it- the emptiness- the loss- he realizes it: he is gonna break. All of his flimsy strength is cracking and he’s gonna break.
Because his dream is dead. His love is gone. The last ten years of his life have meant nothing. All the sweat and blood and tears and it means nothing. Deku is lost. He’s not coming back. It’s over. It’s dead.
And though it feels so good physically- sweet and comforting and safe- he feels the tears building before he can stop them. His chest stutters. His breaths crack. His hands tremble.
He hates to be seen like this- hates looking so weak- but god, he can’t help it.
The pain cuts deep. His toes skirt over the line.
And there, at the point of imminent rupture, he pulls himself away from Shinsou’s mouth with an anguished sound that could almost be a sob. He bows his head and buries his face in the hollow of his throat to hide his tears from the world. He clutches his jacket in shaking fingers like a lifeline.
And Shinsou?
He immediately wraps his arms around him and pulls him in tight, his chin setting easily on the crown of Katsuki’s head, his throat making a pained sound that rattles his heart as he wraps a big hand around the back of his neck and holds him.
And for the first time since they’d met all those years ago, Shinsou’s voice wavers.
“Fuck. What can I do?” He whispers wretchedly. “Tell me what to do.”
It’s thin. It’s desperate.
Katsuki grits his teeth tight, fighting against the sting of tears.
What can he do? What can he do right now?
Can he rewrite the last decade of his life? Can he make him fall out of love? Can he go back to the war and tell Edgeshot not to bother? Can he somehow reach into his head and erase his thoughts and feelings and--?
His eyes open wide.
He suddenly knows what Shinsou can do.
It won’t solve anything- is merely a Band-Aid over a bullet hole- and yet, desperate for connection- for someone to love him, even for just a while- he asks for it all the same.
He might refuse. Might turn him away. But at this point, what’s one more rejection? What’s one more loss? One more stab into his heart?
And so, he pulls himself away from his chest, looking up into those dark eyes with sudden conviction.
“Make me forget.” He whispers, almost begging.
Shinsou blinks at him for a moment, unmoving.
But then, it must sink in, because he suddenly draws back, his eyes bugging wide, his mouth dropping open.
He looks down in complete shock, searching Katsuki’s face to make sure he hadn’t misheard. But he didn’t mishear. That’s what he wants. That’s what he needs.
And caught halfway between hesitation and compulsion, Hitoshi sucks in a breath that sounds like it hurts. His mouth bobs open and shut. His eyes go pained.
“I-” He whispers, almost trembling, “-I’m not gonna use my quirk on you.”
Katsuki’s brows shoot high. He almost recoils.
“--No. ” He whispers abhorrently, shaking his head, almost horrified that the thinks he would even ask. “I don’t want your quirk. I want…”
The words die in his throat. He can’t say it.
But trying his best to communicate how he can, he brings up his hand, smoothing it up the hard line of Shinsou’s chest, rolling his hips forward in silent invitation.
It’s a language that needs no words- a gesture that screams without making a sound.
And luckily, Shinsou, so clever, understands immediately.
“Katsuki- ,” He whispers, breathless and thin, “-I- you can’t mean-”
But he does.
“-I do. ” He interrupts sharply. “I know what I’m asking. I know what it means. And you don’t have to, but-”
He’s trying to be strong, really he is, and yet, he can’t stop the sudden shake of his words- the damp sheen building in the corners of his eyes as he whispers:
“-But I just don’t want to be alone.” He breathes. “I’m so sick of being alone.”
Shinsou blinks at him, unbreathing.
And then, god, he gives him a look that damn near breaks his heart all over again: affection and emotion and empathy so strong that it warms him up from the inside out.
He gazes at him with those dark, dark eyes. He searches him as if looking for some sort of sign. And apparently seeing what he needs to see, his expression eases, his former apprehension blowing away on the wind.
He must make up his mind- must decide- because he swallows tightly, nods, and takes Katsuki’s hand into his own.
“...Okay.” He answers softly, squeezing it tightly, threading their fingers together, “I’ll do it. I’ll make you forget.”
He leans close, the puff of his exhale devastatingly warm on his lips- on the skin gone damp from tears.
"Can I take you home?" He asks gently.
Katsuki’s heart swells and breaks all at once. He nods gratefully.
And god, he’s so relieved- so damn weak from all the horrible heartbreak that he actually lets Shinsou reach up and wipe his eyes, calloused fingertips brushing too-tender across his ruddy cheeks.
It’s the sort of doting that no one had ever bothered to give; the sort of care he’s always been too stubborn to receive. But for some reason, he doesn’t mind it right now.
And with that settled, Shinsou puffs up tall, his shoulders squaring, his usual air of apathy suddenly taking on a hard edge of duty- of responsibility.
He looks around with sharp, scrutinizing eyes, making sure that no one is watching them. He wraps a thick arm around Katsuki’s shoulders protectively as if to shield him from a threat- from harm. It unexpectedly fills his body with heat.
And seeing a clear path out, Shinsou- Hitoshi- reaches down and carefully takes him by the elbow. He cocks his head toward the door.
“Let’s get you out of here.” He whispers.
And Katsuki doesn’t fight it. He trusts him.
He’s not sure how, but he somehow just knows that Hitoshi will keep him safe from harm- will protect him from any threat-
-And so, he nods his acceptance, shelters himself beneath his tall body, and lets Hitoshi lead him out the back door.