Archive of Our Own

14th April, 7:50 pm

“Fuck! Just tell him to give me a kiss or something, I don’t care!” Katsuki exclaimed, turning around to glare at his intern. 

“But sir, I don’t think that’s what he-”

“Can’t you fucking see I’m busy right now?!” Katsuki demanded, gesturing to the state of disarray in his office. 

Papers strewn about, something akin to a conspiracy board haphazardly tacked up on one wall, and the five mugs of coffee all drained on his table. It was clear Katsuki was in the midst of something, a case, probably from the looks of it, but as scary as it was to disturb Dynamight while he was working, it was worse to tell Deku he was busy. 

“I know what the nerd wants,” Katsuki continued, turning away from the kid to look back at the board. “Tell him I don’t want a party or a gift or anything, we’ll celebrate next year, now get out.”

She scrambled out of the office so fast, Katsuki wondered if the cloud of dust he saw was a result of being overcaffeinated or a secret quirk she was hiding. He rubbed his temples as he collapsed back onto the couch in his office, six days to his birthday, ten days to find the culprit for his case, and Katsuki was ill-prepared for both. He knew why he was struggling so much with it; it wasn’t like the crime itself was anything new or particularly difficult. The only thing that really put him in such a treacherous position was that it had to be assigned to him on his birthday. 

When he was younger, Katsuki loved his birthday. He was the centre of attention; everyone had to talk about how much they liked him and what they liked about him. He got presents; he got to eat cake and sweets, and his mom was nice to him all day. Yes, when Katsuki Bakugo was nine, his birthday was his favourite day of the year, but as he got older, he grew less comfortable with reminders that he was ageing. It wasn’t anything vain or superficial like what Pinky used to complain about back in school, and it wasn’t a fear of death like Round Face. 

His fear was more about the feeling that time was running out. 

Katsuki had a plan for his life; he had goals and dreams, and most importantly, he had a schedule. The first time he felt that plan waver was when Izuku got into UA, and ever since, it had been slowly moving off track, pushing him back and forcing him to reassess things. As much shit as he talked about not caring about the hero rankings, he wasn’t a robot! 

Of course, he cared about how the people he was determined to help saw him. Of course, it hurt when all anyone did was call him an angry monster and get in his face to provoke him. Katsuki stood up with a groan, bending as far as he could to crack his back while he hit call on one of his speed dial contacts.

“Shitty Hair, are you free?” Katsuki asked once the call connected. 

“Hey, man! Yeah, just packing up my shit.”

“You’re done already?”

“Katsuki, it’s almost eight. What are you still doing at the agency, dude?”

“Had a case,” Katsuki grumbled, moving to pack up his own things. He already knew what would happen next; there was no timeline where his friends let him stay overtime and work into the night if they were aware he was planning to. 

“You’re not going to get anything done running on fumes, let’s get a drink!” Kirishima exclaimed happily. 

“Shouldn’t you be telling me to get some sleep?” Katsuki asked, rolling his eyes as he pulled on a windbreaker. 

“You can sleep better if you’re a little drunk, don’t be a fucking loser, I’m downstairs.”

“Jeez, Red, when did you become so vulgar?” 

“ME?” Kirishima all but screamed into the phone at the accusation, “Calling me vulgar when Hero News Weekly couldn’t air your last interview because of how much you curse is crazy work.”

“That’s just a rumour,” Katsuki grumbled, the tips of his ears getting hot as he entered the elevator. “Fuck you, I’m hanging up.”

“'Cause you’re in the elevator, don’t try and act hard-” Kirishima’s knowing voice cut off when Katsuki ended the call and slipped his phone into his back pocket. 

He wasn’t the biggest fan of drinking, but it was nice once in a while, and he hadn’t hung out with Shitty Hair one-on-one in quite some time. Katsuki sighed and zipped up his jacket, craning his neck in an effort to try and get the knots building there out. True to his word, Kirishima was standing out front in jeans and a tank. Katsuki rolled his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked out to join his friend. “Put on a fucking jacket, it’s windy.”

“I’m fine, Bakubro,” Kirishima insisted, bumping his shoulder with Katsuki’s. “So what’s going on with the case?”

They walked side by side to a small bar down the street, discussing cases and friends. Katsuki half listened as Kirishima filled him in on the disasters of couple dancing classes as they walked, his mind drifted back to the conversation he had with his intern. Well… conversation was a stretch, more like him yelling and the kid nodding frantically. He groaned internally; he would have to apologise to her tomorrow. Katsuki could not afford to lose any more interns. 

Drinks went as they always do, with whoever Katsuki was with carrying most of the conversation and leaving him with the freedom to just listen. He was always grateful that his friends seemed happy to take the brunt of the conversation with him. It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy speaking or that he didn’t like hanging out with them; he just preferred to listen at the end of the long day. 

Kirishima was perfect for that. The man could talk for hours with no end in sight, jumping from topic to topic with a sort of ease Katsuki had always envied. It was a regular night, too many beers, too many plates of Karage and Tsukemono and as always, too many attempts to get Katsuki to sing. 

What threw him off was when Kirishima stepped outside after getting a text. 

Kirishima was notoriously an oversharer; he had next to no boundaries. He would take personal calls in the middle of crowds, he would talk about doctors' appointments when strangers were around, and he once sent a picture of a rash on his inner thigh to the group chat to get an opinion. Eijirou Kirishima did not step outside to make a call, and when he returned, bouncing on the balls of his feet, it set Katsuki’s nerves on edge. 

“What is it?” Katsuki asked, peering at his friend through narrowed eyes. 

“What’s what?”

“Why are you so excited?”

“Can’t a guy just be excited to hang out with his friend?”

“Something's up,” Katsuki persisted, though with the haze of alcohol, he couldn’t be a hundred per cent sure what it was. He cursed under his breath and drained the rest of his beer when Kirishima refused to elaborate, stubbornly insisting that nothing was up. 

They stayed together for another hour or so, Kirishima’s momentarily strange behaviour becoming an afterthought as the clutter on their table got worse. The two men finally paid the bill and stumbled out as the crowd began to shift from office workers to college kids. They walked, clinging to each other, down the street to their respective apartment buildings. 

“Goodnight, man,” Kirishima said, once they had reached the crossroad that separated their ways home. He slapped a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder and stared at him, getting a little too close to his face for comfort.

“What the fuck, Red?” Katsuki asked, trying to lean back, to create some distance, but before he could, wet, sloppy lips were pressed against his cheek. Katsuki barely had time to react before his friend pulled back with a beaming grin on his face. He brought his hand up to his, now wet, cheek, trying to hold back the smile that was threatening to spread across his own face. Katsuki opened his mouth to speak, but found he could only stutter through unintelligible noises, which, of course, caused Kirishima to bend over laughing. 

“That’s one,” Kirishima teased once he was finally upright again.

“W-what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Katsuki demanded, rubbing his hand over his cheek, trying in vain to hold onto the warmth of the affectionate gesture. 

“You’ll see Bakubro, see you!” Kirishima called out and jogged off to the right. He disappeared around the corner, leaving Katsuki alone. 

“What the fuck?” Katsuki whispered to himself, blinking hard as he tried to figure out whether the kiss was a figment of his drunken imagination or not. He rubbed his cheek harder, even pinching himself just to make sure, but there was no way around it. One of his best friends had, seemingly for no reason at all, lobbed a big, sloppy kiss on him. 

-

15th April, 10:00 am

“Kirishima kissed me last night,” Katsuki said, breaking the silence he had been in all throughout the first half of their morning patrol. As he looked around at his friends, the reactions weren’t what he was expecting. Kaminari and Mina were giggling and kicking each other while Jirou had that look in her eye like she knew something he didn’t. “What?!” Katsuki snapped. He hated that look.

“Why are you telling us?” Jirou asked, leaning back on her hand on the rooftop they were perched atop. 

“Yeah, we all kiss each other all the time!” Kaminari added, one of his hands pushing Mina’s forehead away as he talked. 

“No, the fuck we don’t,” Katsuki exclaimed in disbelief at their nonchalant attitude. No one kissed Katsuki except Izuku and his parents… and maybe Mina and Jirou when he was drunk enough… and it’s possible Kaminari’s kissed him on a dare once… but that’s not what mattered! 

“That doesn’t matter!” He insisted, sitting up and punching his own thigh, “It was so out of nowhere, he just kissed me on the cheek and disappeared.” 

“Huh,” Mina muttered before leaping across and knocking Kaminari onto the ground. Once she had him pinned, she turned to Katsuki with a wicked smile, “That’s 3-0 for me.”

“Noted,” Katsuki nodded, making a notch in the notebook he kept in a small pouch at his waist to keep track of Denki and Mina’s ongoing game of tag. “Now back to-”

“Stop overthinking it so much, Tsuki,” Jirou said, rolling her eyes and standing up. She crushed the plastic cover of her snack and slipped it into her pocket before walking over to stand behind Katsuki. “Besides, even if it is something, wouldn’t it be fun?” Jirou asked, bending down so her face was upside down in front of his.

“Wha-” Katsuki didn’t even have time to ask her why the fuck she was being so cryptic before he felt soft, warm lips pressed against his forehead. When Jirou pulled back laughing to herself, he shot to his feet, stuttering once more as he tried to ignore the heat atop his ears. “Oi!”

“Kachaaan~” Kaminari’s voice rang out from just behind him with that teasing lilt that always meant trouble. When Katsuki turned around, he found himself flanked by both Pinky and Sparkplug. The two of them grabbed his chin from both sides, holding him in place before kissing him on both his cheeks. 

“Aww, you’re blushing so much!” Kaminari exclaimed once they pulled him back and let him go. 

“W-what are you assholes doing?!” Katsuki demanded, covering his cheeks with his hands in an attempt to hide the bright red stain that had taken over his entire face. 

“That’s four Tsuki,” Mina said, skipping over to join Jirou at the edge of the building. “Keep count, okay?” With that final cryptic message, Mina jumped over the side of the building, using Acidman to land safely below. Katsuki turned to face the other two, but Kaminari was already clinging to Jirou’s waist, and her prosthetic earjack was wrapped around a nearby pole. 

Jirou checked the strength of her jack with a pull before turning to Katsuki. She laughed once more at his confused, flushed face and winked, “Have a safe shift,” and Jirou was gone with Kaminari holding on to her. 

-

15th April, 1:00 pm

By the time Katsuki made his way over to Shoto’s agency for their scheduled Tuesday afternoon meals, his heart had finally calmed down. He figured it must have something to do with his shitty friend group; they were always trying to trip him up and embarrass him. He just needed to watch out for Tapeface; there was no way he would let them win whatever game they were playing. 

“Katsuki!” Shoto called out, waving Katsuki over to a table in the far corner of the cafeteria near a couple of potted trees. 

“HalfnHalf,” Katsuki mumbled, sitting down opposite him and tossing the bento boxes on the table. “Don’t you live with your sister? Why the fuck am I making lunch for you, hah?” 

“Well, she doesn’t have time,” Shoto said, taking the bento Katsuki always used for him. 

“Neither do I?” Katsuki asked incredulously, throwing a pair of chopsticks at him and opening up his own box. “And you know how to cook, asshole!”

“But you make it so nice,” Shoto pointed out as he reached over to take the pickled cucumber in Katsuki’s box. 

“Keep yer fuckin’ hands to yourself,” He grumbled, though he made no move to stop Shoto. In fact, from the way the corner of his lip tugged upwards, it was pretty clear he enjoyed this routine banter with his friend. 

“So,” Shoto started, bringing an egg roll to his mouth, “how’s your day been?” 

Katsuki ate half of one of the onigiri in his bento before replying, frowning the whole time. “Weird fuckin’ shit’s been happening to me all day, man.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Like all my weird friends are trynna kiss him, it’s fucking scary!”

Shoto chuckled and shook his head, a response that would usually befit him, but this wasn’t normal news. Katsuki had never said those words to Shoto before, and there was no real reason for him not to be shocked. Katsuki squinted, pointing at the other man with his chopsticks. 

“What?” Katsuki asked.

“What, what?” Shoto asked right back, raising his eyebrows as he continued to eat. 

“You know something,” Katsuki stated, “about what the idiots are doing. Did Hanta tell you? What are they doing? Sho, tell me before I go insane.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Katsuki.”

“Yes, you do,” he insisted, putting down the chopsticks. “They’ve been…” he trailed off, his ears getting hot at the memory again. “They’ve been kissing me,” he whispered, leaning across the table to ensure nobody else heard it.

“That’s so nice,” Shoto replied, putting his own utensils down to smile at his friend. “Getting kissed is such a warm and nice feeling, don’t you think?” Shoto asked, batting his lashes the way he does when he’s being obtuse on purpose. 

“You’re the fucking worst,” Katsuki grumbled after a prolonged moment of eye contact, during which Katsuki decided Shoto was not going to crack. 

They ate, mostly in silence, for the rest of the meal like they usually did. These lunches were never about catching up or trading stories, but more so, they could both have a moment of peace in an otherwise busy schedule. A moment to sit with a friend and just be comfortable in someone’s presence with no effort to mask or put on airs. 

By the time they finished their meal, Shoto was ready to retouch the topic of kissing, “Do you dislike it?”

“Hm?” Katsuki asked, looking up from his seat to where Shoto was leaning against the table. 

“The kisses, are they making you uncomfortable?” He asked once more. 

“Oh,” Katsuki trailed off for a moment, the memories of his friend's lips pressed against different parts of his face flashed through his mind unbidden. He felt his cheeks get hot at the realisation that no, he didn’t mind. In fact, the only reason it riled him up so much was that he couldn’t make sense of the rush of endorphins that went through his body at the affectionate gestures. “...No.”

“Then why are you complaining, Katsuki?” Shoto asked, rolling his eyes and playfully punching Katsuki on the shoulder. He bent down, leaving his box on the table to tie his shoelaces as he spoke, “It makes you a little embarrassed, but if you secretly like it,” he said,  looking up now and leaning on his knee, “just enjoy it.”

“I guess,” Katsuki mumbled, his eyes focused on packing the bento boxes back up. 

If Katsuki was paying attention to Shoto, though, he might’ve noticed how close the other man was or the mischievous grin on his face, but alas. When Shoto grabbed Katsuki’s hand and brought the back of his palm to his lips, Katsuki had to clutch the table in a white-knuckled grip so he wouldn’t squeal. Shoto’s lips were the perfect temperature, Katsuki decided then. Warm, but not to a sweaty degree, cool but not frigid. The scratchy skin of his lips brushed against the soft surface of Katsuki’s hand, and for three seconds, it was like he was in a fairytale. “W-what the fuck?” He choked out when Shoto finally let go of his hand and stood up. 

“That’s five.”

-

When Katsuki walked into his apartment that night, his nerves were on edge. A buzzing sensation overpowered the usual exhaustion of being a hero all day. He could still feel the lingering evidence on the spots of his skin that his friends had touched. He shook his head, rubbing his cheek for what was probably the tenth time that day, the spots his friends had kissed. It was weird; he wanted to decide it was weird, just some stupid game they were playing. Probably some bet one of the idiots made, and Shoto was the only one outside his group to say yes. Everyone else would definitely have turned it down. 

Katsuki scoffed as he leaned against the kitchen counter, glass of water in hand, as he considered the possibility of the others not turning it down. He had training with Ochako tomorrow and then patrol with Hanta and Neito. He would have to watch out for Hanta, but the other two would never in a million years try to kiss him. Katsuki could get through whatever game his friends were playing; he would win. He didn’t know how he was going to do that or if there even was a way for him to win, but there was no way he was going to lose to a bunch of idiots and their kisses. He forced his mouth into a scowl as the memory of Shoto kneeling in front of him flashed in his mind, followed by Kyouka’s beaming face upside down in front of him. He could hear the way Mina and Denki had giggled at his blushing face and the guffawing laughter that had left Eijirou’s lips when Katsuki sputtered and froze up. 

Maybe it would be okay to lose. 

-

16th April, 4:00 pm

“You’re not paying attention,” Ochako chided as she ducked out from under him and circled around to kick his knees out. “I could take you out right now.”

“In your dreams, Cheeks,” Katsuki snapped, taking a second on his knees to catch his breath before spinning around and grabbing her calves. He pulled, in an attempt to throw her off balance, but Ochako used the momentum to flip back onto her hands, kicking him in the jaw as she straightened up once more. 

“Loser says what?” She asked, laughing as she watched Katsuki sit up and rub his jaw. “What’s gotten into you? Usually, you last a few more minutes before I put you on your back.” Ochako tossed Katsuki his water bottle before sitting down in front of him, her legs criss-crossed. 

Katsuki scowled at her teasing before draining his water bottle and lying on his back with a loud groan. He draped a hand over his eyes, considering the pros and cons of telling her what was going on, but before he could actually make a decision, Ochako was kicking his shin. 

“Oi!”

“Tell meeee,” Ochako whined, continuing her kicking until he finally sat up with an exasperated sigh. “Stop trying to avoid it, it’s not going to work!”

“You’re the most annoying person I know,” Katsuki responded, smacking her feet away from him. 

“Not when Denki’s your friend.”

“Fair.”

“Now tell me why you’re such dogshit today.”

“What’s with all of you and cursing so much?” Katsuki muttered under his breath and stood up once more. “Fine, I’ll tell you if you beat me in the next one.” He threw his bottle to the side of the ring and cracked his neck, crouching low and making a ‘come and get it’ motion with his hand. 

“Digging your own grave,” Ochako said, rolling her eyes as she jumped up. 

Ochako assumed her own stance, her knees bent and legs apart enough to give her better balance. Ochako and Katsuki had been sparring partners for years. When she first asked him to fight hand-to-hand with her back in school, it was clear that their difference in strength put her at a disadvantage. For about five years, Katsuki won ninety per cent of their sparring matches, but while he prioritised improving his aerial fighting, she worked on becoming the best at hand-to-hand. Now, the only person who could really keep up with Ochako in the ring was Shoji, and a lot of that was due to his sheer size. 

Regardless, Katsuki was still her favourite person to spar against. He never took her for granted or went easy on her, and always respected her enough to keep fighting, even when she was coughing up blood. 

Katsuki never let his guard down around her. 

Katsuki was the first to move, defaulting to his right hook fake-out and waist grab move, which he always used when he was distracted. Ochako scoffed at the predictable move and ducked low, tackling him by the knees and forcing him onto his back. She twisted his left leg back, enough to disarm without hurting him, before smirking and sitting on his stomach. “I win.”

“Get off,” he grumbled, grimacing slightly when she dug her fingers into the area below his ribs. 

“Tell me why you’re distracted first.” 

“It’s fucking stupid.”

“Most things with you are,” Ochako pointed out, squinting her eyes and leaning forward until she could feel the heat of his skin. “You’re getting nervous.”

“Am not,” Katsuki muttered, averting his eyes from her. If it weren’t for the uncomfortable way she was digging her fingers into his ribs, Katsuki would have noticed the wicked smile on Ochako’s face. He would have noticed that her lips were poised inches away from his forehead if Katsuki had been paying attention at all; he might have been able to win this round. 

“You thinking about the kisses?” She asked, her breath ghosting over the skin of his forehead and making his eyes snap back to hers. Katsuki yelped and then blushed at his own reaction to how close Ochako was, his hands moving up to shove her off. Before he could, she planted a short kiss on his forehead, digging her fingers in deeper for good measure. “Aaaand six,” Ochako said, jumping off him, a smug look on her face. 

“I hate all of you,” Katsuki forced out, smacking her offered hand away to stand up on his own. He turned away from her, taking a conscious effort to hide the growing warmth on his cheeks and the smile threatening to give him away. 

“Aww, don’t say that, Grumps,” Ochako teased, flicking the back of his head with her finger. “I know you secretly live for the attention.”

-

16th April, 7:00 pm

The problem with dying at sixteen, among other things, is that your parents will suddenly become very weird about quality time. The only condition his mother had made when he decided to move out at 21 was that he had to come back home for dinner one night every week. Something he figured they would enforce for a year or two and then get over had become their longest-standing tradition. 

A tradition that, the older he got, the more Katsuki appreciated. It was nice to have a port in the storm, to know that no matter what else changed around him, once a week, every week, there would be a place set at his parents' table for him. 

As Katsuki waited outside their door, he rubbed absentmindedly at his forehead, the ghost of Ochako’s surprise kiss still lingering. It was getting heavy, the weight of all this affection being suddenly lobbed at him. 

“Doors open!” Katsuki heard his mother's voice travelling out of the cracked window and reached forward to push it open, only for the door to swing wide anyway. 

“Katsuki!” 

“Hey, Dad,” Katsuki murmured, bracing for the inevitable hug that always followed. 

Like clockwork, his dad reached out and pulled him in, wrapping his arms around Katsuki’s shoulders and holding him close. Katsuki counted in his head, his own hands placed loosely around his waist. Five seconds passed before Masaru stepped back and held him at arm's length, looking over him like he was trying to see into his mind. 

“You look good,” Masaru decided, squeezing his shoulder before letting him in. 

“Thanks,” Katsuki mumbled, rubbing his arm as he kicked off his shoes at the door. “Smells good, what are you making?”

“Tonkatsuki,” Masaru replied, taking Katsuki’s gym bag from him and walking deeper into the house. “Your mom's making-”

“Miso,” Mitsuki cut in, walking out into the hall. She was drying her hands on a dish towel, but her eyes were focused entirely on Katsuki. Scanning him from head to toe like Masaru, but with one subtle difference. 

While Masaru looked to make sure he looked happy, Mitsuki checked to make sure there was nothing wrong. She waited for him to enter before reaching out, one hand gripping his chin as she turned his face this way and that. It was routine, something she’d always done, only now it was a little more awkward considering Katsuki had long since outgrown her. He was at least a head taller now, and Mitsuki had to reach up to inspect the way she always did; it should have been uncomfortable, should have been awkward and forced, but Katsuki simply sighed and slouched so his mom could do it comfortably. 

“You’re not sleeping,” She said, her tone inviting no argument. “I’ve told you to sleep properly; you’ll burn out if you keep pulling all-nighters.”

“Ma-”

“No,” she cut him off, too, and Masaru chuckled behind her. “Come inside, food’s almost ready. Check the rice.” 

And she was already on her way back to the kitchen. Short, simple, none of the warmth that came from his father, none of the drama that filled his interactions with Auntie Inko. Katsuki preferred it that way. He walked into the kitchen, fitting into the space as if he had never left, and measured out three portions of rice into three identical bowls. All blue porcelain, all worn from years of use and each one fitting in the palm of his hand like time had weathered them into place. 

Katsuki liked that too. 

His house was predictable. His father was overly invested and emotional, his mother preferred to keep things short and loud, almost clinical to anyone looking in, but comfortable to Katsuki. Safe. Reliable. It had always been that way, even when he was a little boy and ran through the halls like he was trying to set fire to the wood under his feet; they had remained the same—all except for one thing, of course. Nine years ago, when the world had shifted on its axis, and Mitsuki and Masaru had to watch their little boy blow himself open on a battlefield, something had changed in their house. 

Mitsuki, still loud as ever, had softened just a smidge; barely noticeable, really, but Katsuki noticed it. She didn’t yell as often, didn’t default to blaming him for mistakes, checked in more, asked questions, and listened when he replied—most of the time. Masaru had changed, too; it had been suffocating at first. Something about seeing his son die had brought out his instinct to smother, and Katsuki had tried for as long as he could to stomach it. To grit his teeth and swallow the irritation that flared when his father would call for the fourth time that day or show up at UA just to “check in”.

It had been Mitsuki who put a stop to it. Katsuki still didn’t know what exactly she said to him; all he knew was that one day, he had let it slip to her, and the next, Masaru had backed off. Still there, still kind and attentive and watching like something could slip and go wrong at any moment, but he had calmed. 

Over the years, that sudden shift in their patterns had changed, settled into something new and familiar once more, and Katsuki would be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate it. There was a togetherness in their home now, a sort of reliance that Katsuki was always safe here, even if he screwed up, even if the world turned its back on him, he would always have a warm plate and a made bed. That was more than most people had, and Katsuki had sworn to himself to never forget that. 

They worked in unison, moving around each other like water flowing through long since decided pathways, and ten minutes into Katsuki’s arrival, the table was set. They still sat the same, Mitsuki at the head of the table, Masaru and Katsuki on either side, passing dishes back and forth. Katsuki pretended to hate it when his mother put more rice on his plate and rolled his eyes when his father asked about his friends, and they fussed and asked anyway. 

“How’s the case going?” Mistuki asked, her chopsticks pausing for a second near her lips as she watched for his reaction. 

Katsuki shrugged, stirring his soup, “Fine.”

“Oi,” She replied, “is it classified or something?”

“No…” Katsuki furrowed his eyebrows, looking at his mother through the corner of his eyes. 

“Then don’t lie.”

Katsuki bit back a sigh; he always felt young when he returned. It wasn’t that he didn’t love them or appreciate them; it was more the heaviness that lingered in the air when you’re an adult, and your parents continue to push and prod. 

“Just stuck with a dead end is all,” Katsuki muttered, not seeing much use in arguing with her once she’s set her mind to something. “One of my contacts went silent, and I can’t figure out where a handoff happened.”

“Hmm,” Mitsuki hummed, “you don’t have any other leads?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be stuck,” Katsuki snapped, clenching his teeth as regret set in immediately. “Sorry,” this had become part of their new normal as well; apologies slipped out as easily as the anger, “I just need to solve this before it gets handed off to someone else.”

“Why?” Mitsuki asked, her eyes now back on her food. 

Katsuki blinked, “Cause it’s my case?”

Mitsuki snorted, Masaru smiled softly and reached over to squeeze his wife's hand before turning to his son. “It’s a case, Katsuki. You solve it, or someone else solves it, it doesn’t matter as long as it gets solved right?”

Katsuki shook his head, tightening his grip on the soup, “What kind of shit hero am I if I can’t even solve a simple museum heist? No. It’s my case, and I need to be the one to solve it.”

“And who exactly are you trying to prove that to?” Mitsuki asked. 

“I’m just–” Katsuki cut himself off, trying to count the grains of rice in his bowl as he fought back the urge to start the argument they’ve had so many times already. “It’s not about proving anything,” he lied, “I just have to fix it.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Mitsuki countered, “you never did. You can just be.”

Katsuki looked up at his father and saw the tension in his shoulders, how tightly he was squeezing Mitsuki’s hand and finally turned to face her. She was staring down at her bowl too, teeth clenched. 

“You’re a hero,” Mitsuki continued, like she too was fighting something as natural to her as breathing, “that was never in question. Never will be. Stop forcing yourself to revert to old patterns because of things you outgrew.” 

Katsuki stared at his mom, blinking in surprise at her words. Blame came so easily to Mitsuki that it was almost a second language. Be better, do better, try harder, don’t stop, push further; those were the rules of his home, and for as long as he had conscious choice, they were the tenets he had lived his life by. 

“Ask for help, Katsuki,” Masaru added, squeezing Mitsuki’s hand once more before returning to his meal. “You’re too good to burn out because you didn’t.” 

The rest of dinner passed in relative silence, a few questions or stories here and there, but the weight Katsuki had carried into his parents' house seemed to have lessened, the load manageable now. The next attack came in the kitchen, drying dishes while his mother washed them. 

“I know you blame me,” Mitsuki said, her voice stable but measured like she was forcing the words out. “For how you turned out.”

Katsuki scoffed, “And how did I turn out, Ma?” 

“Tired.”

Katsuki’s hands stilled for a moment, just a second really, but that one word burrowed into his chest and rooted. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Mitsuki replied immediately, handing him the final dish. “You’ve been trying to prove something since you were a boy,” she continued, turning to face him now, “I don’t know if it's that you’re strong enough or heroic enough or just that you’re good enough, but you have, and…” Mitsuki took a deep breath, “And more than some of it is probably to me but I just– I want you to know you’ve never had to prove anything to me.”

Katsuki almost rolled his eyes. 

“I know, I know, it’s easy to say now,” Mitsuki snorted and stepped closer, urging him to put the bowl down and look at her. “But I mean it, I may not have acted like it back then, but you’ve always been enough. You always will be.”

Before Katsuki could respond, her palm was warm against his cheek, and she leaned up on her toes to press a soft kiss to his other cheek. “I love you, Katsuki,” she whispered against his cheek and stepped back, her eyes suspiciously misty. “Go on,” Mitsuki muttered, turning back to wipe down the counter, “don’t drive once it’s dark.” 

Katsuki stood there for a minute longer, staring at his mother like something monumental had happened, like a kiss on the cheek had shifted the bedrock he usually stood on. He nodded, his body reacting before his brain could make sense of it, and walked out of the kitchen, grabbing his keys off the counter as he went. 

“Leaving?” Masaru asked. He was cleaning up the dining table when Katsuki walked out. 

“Uh,” Katsuki turned to look back at the kitchen, at his mother's back, her shoulders still tight like she was holding something, herself, together. “Yeah.”

Masaru nodded and put the cloth down, “I’ll walk you.”

Katsuki listened in detached silence as his father told him something about a highway being closed for construction and to take a different diversion from the one the road authorities had recommended. Masaru had always thought highly of his directional ability. 

“Katsuki,” he called, stopping at the doorway. 

“Got it, Dad,” Katsuki responded, already unlocking his car. “Go around the diversion, not through-”

“Not that,” Masaru laughed. “Are you okay?”

Katsuki blinked, caught off guard once again. “I- uh, yeah, I’m fine.”

Masaru nodded and stepped up, hugging him again. “Good,” he muttered, patting Katsuki on the back. “Your mom kiss you?” He asked, holding Katsuki’s shoulders now. 

Katsuki furrowed his eyebrows, a familiar danger response in the back of his head tingling at the mention of the kiss. He nodded anyway, almost bracing himself for some kind of attack. Masaru laughed at his guarded stance and shook his head, “Always careful, aren’t you?” 

He pulled Katsuki down about an inch before pressing his lips to his forehead, a few strands of Katsuki’s hair getting caught in between. The kiss was longer than Mitsuki’s, firmer, like Masaru wasn’t afraid of what it meant. 

“Eight now,” Masaru said once he released his son. “Get home safe.”

The count only registered once Katsuki had already pulled out of his parents' driveway. The fucking kissing game, he thought, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. 

If his asshole friends had somehow managed to rope his parents into it as well, Katsuki wasn’t safe anywhere. He grumbled under his breath, turning the music up as he tried to focus on the irritation at being bested by them again rather than the warmth that had built during dinner and had now filled his body like a persistent bug. 

-

17th April, 10:30 am

Katsuki watched as his boyfriend answered yet another question about the Quirk Magnification Theory. He was off to the side, leaning against the wall by the door as his eyes followed Izuku’s movements. The way his hands flailed this way and that, almost like if he gestured hard enough, he would be able to make them see what he was trying to explain. Izuku always talked like that. Hands moving wildly, eyes darting around because he got nervous if they stayed in one place for too long, talking a mile a minute until he ran out of breath; it had been a familiar pattern since they were kids, and something in Katsuki’s chest warmed to know it persisted even now.

It was a Friday. 

Ten thirty in the morning on a Friday, and that always meant that Katsuki Bakugo would be in attendance in Izuku Midoriya’s classroom. More accurately, Pro Hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight would be standing beside Deku Sensei at the front of a UA classroom for his regularly scheduled guest lecture. The topics shifted, the classes changed, and the students moved on, but Katsuki remained beside Izuku. As he always would, as he was always meant to be. 

Katsuki had finished his portion about five minutes ago. Critical Quirk Theory this time, and Izuku had asked if “Kacchan would please trace the development of your quirk through your family tree so the kids can have a real-life example of how quirks compounded to become more powerful each generation.” Of course, Katsuki had agreed immediately and called his mother that very night. There weren’t many things he wouldn’t do for the stupid nerd; he was just grateful Izuku didn’t ask for anything too crazy.

Now, Katsuki was watching while Izuku tried to wrap the lesson up. He failed every time. It wasn’t that Izuku didn’t know how to rangle his class; it was more that he himself got lost in the excitement of discussing quirks and heroes and, most recently, criminology and how it applies to hero society. If left to his own devices, Izuku would probably take one class for hours on end, something that had happened once in his first year teaching, and Aizawa had to reprimand him for. 

“Oi,” Katsuki called, interrupting the flow. He tapped his wristwatch when Izuku looked over. Wrap it up. 

Izuku’s ears turned pink, and he nodded, clapping his hands together as he apologised to the student he was cutting off. Katsuki snorted to himself, still the same twitchy nerd, he thought fondly. Izuku took about ten minutes more to finish his lecture and assign homework for the day, after which he slinked over to where Katsuki waited. 

“Thanks, Kacchan,” He muttered, smiling up at Katsuki almost bashfully. They had been together for nearly two years now, and still Izuku smiled like he couldn’t believe it was real, still reached for Katsuki like he might evaporate if he moved too fast, still kissed him like it was the very first time; sweaty and shaky under the canopy outside UA. 

“Dumbass,” Katsuki replied, reaching out to wipe ink off Izuku’s jaw. “You’re gonna get in trouble with Eraser again,” he reminded his boyfriend, “and I’m not going to talk you out of it this time.”

“Aww, Kacchan, I’m not that bad!” Izuku pouted indignantly, “There’s just… so much to talk about.”

“Mhm,” Katsuki hummed fondly, his fingers lingering on Izuku’s face. “You always say that.”

“'Cause it’s true!” 

Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Nerd,” he said again, giving Izuku’s face a final squeeze before releasing him. “I’m gonna go see the old man before heading out.”

Izuku nodded, “He should be in his office, or check the field outside, if not, he likes to wander there sometimes.” 

“He thinks he’s still 40,” Katsuki shook his head. “Should be sitting at home, not tiring himself out.”

Izuku bit back a smile and leaned into Katsuki just enough to pull his attention back to him, “Stop fussing over him, Kacchan,” Izuku chided. “He’s our mentor, not some old man.”

Katsuki huffed, “You encourage him too much.”

“Someone has to balance out your hovering,” Izuku retorted, kissing the back of Katsuki’s hand. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Tch,” Katsuki looked away, his ears reddening at the kiss. “Can’t,” he mumbled, “got night patrols with Hanta and Neito. Sunday night,” he promised, squeezing Izuku’s hand back. 

“Mm, alright,” Izuku hummed, smiling in that soft and easy way that made Katsuki’s heart skip. “Go save the day then.” 

Katsuki rolled his eyes again, “Like I need you to tell me to do that.”

Izuku laughed in response, shaking his head and ushering Katsuki out the door, “Go, Kacchan~”

And Katsuki listened, as he always did, as he always would. It was only when he was already walking to the fourth floor that the lack of a count registered. Izuku had kissed his hand and yet– no counting, no competition. Maybe Izuku wasn’t part of the game. Maybe his friends hadn’t gotten everyone to play along. Katsuki tried to straighten his shoulders at the thought, tried to force pride into the fact that his partner didn’t want to play a game designed to overwhelm him with affection, but to his disappointment, all he felt was a persistent sense of worry. 

Did Izuku not care enough to play the game?

Did Izuku not want their friends to know that he was affectionate?

Did Izuku not want to commit to something bigger than the two of them?

Katsuki shook his head as he approached the double doors. This wasn’t the time to spiral over insecurities he knew, deep down, were unfounded. He had a father figure to scold. Katsuki’s finger brushed against the corners of the plaque on the door; “Principal”, it read. He knocked twice, waited, and when he heard nothing in response, pushed the door open just enough to peek inside.

“Of course,” Katsuki huffed and turned around, already coming up with a speech in his head as he walked down to the hill behind the school. 

Toshinori was smiling when Katsuki got there; he was seated on the grass, a file open in front of him, but entirely focused on two squirrels a little ways away. Katsuki waited for a moment, finding it harder and harder to keep the scowl on his face as he watched. The squirrels seemed to be arguing, or something of the kind, pushing a nut back and forth. It was almost comical, the way they were moving, animated like they were putting on a show for the old man watching them. 

“Oi,” Katsuki finally spoke, breaking the serene silence and stepping into it with his usual abrasiveness. “Shouldn’t ya be in yer office?” 

Toshinori didn’t even turn around; he simply patted the grass beside him. “The office is stuffy,” he replied as though it was the obvious answer. “I prefer it out here.”

Katsuki scoffed but dropped down beside his old teacher anyway, legs folded and tucked under him like a kid. “You’re gonna get grass stains on your fancy pants.” 

“Always worried about me, aren’t you?” Toshinori asked, shaking his head as a fond chuckle spilt from his thin lips. “I’m not that old, you know?”

“You’re pushing seventy,” Katsuki reminded him. “That’s old enough that you shouldn’t be out here alone. Especially with your heart.”

“My heart is fine, Katsuki,” Toshinori replied, reaching over to pat his knee. “Besides, fresh air is good for the system.” 

“Won’t be good for your system if you fall over,” Katsuki grumbled, pulling blades of grass out as he spoke. “I thought you were gonna start using the walking aid?”

Toshinori laughed at that, out loud and heartily, like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. “Young man, I am not that old just yet.”

“It’s not–” Katsuki paused, gritting his teeth to calm himself down. “It’s not about your age. Your body isn’t what it used to be. You spent nearly fifty years breaking it over and over and pushing it beyond its limits. You almost got torn in half for gods sake!” 

“My boy,” Toshinori began, his voice softening considerably. He squeezed Katsuki’s knee, waiting until he met his eyes. “I know,” he said, “I know that my body isn’t young and spry anymore, and that a serious fall could be extremely dangerous, but I am not being reckless.” 

Katsuki snorted, but he didn’t interrupt, just twisted a handful of grass between his gloved fingers. 

“This isn’t anything more than me enjoying the life I am so lucky to have,” Toshinori continued, “the life you made sure I got to live when you saved me.” 

Katsuki froze; he hadn’t expected Toshinori to bring that up. They rarely ever discussed the war, but Katsuki saw it every time he looked up at his old mentor. He saw the way All For One had raised All Might above his head, pulling him apart as he tried to rip the man in half. Katsuki remembered how his ears had still been ringing, and the pain in his body had screamed when he moved. He remembered when Izuku caught him, black whip reinforcing his broken arm as Izuku swung him at All Might. He remembered the collision, wrapping his arms around the man he had once believed he ruined, and he remembered the way his battered and barely beating heart had soared when All Might coughed and thanked him. He remembered all of it. He just hadn’t known that Toshinori thought of it too. 

“Not about that,” Katsuki grumbled, looking away again. “I just don't want to see you get hurt. Especially if ‘Zuku and I aren’t around.” 

Toshinori was quiet for a few seconds after that, eyes returning to the squirrels who had solved their quarrel, it seemed. He watched, the corners of his eyes crinkling with smile lines that had long since become permanent. 

“Katsuki,” he began, soft and quiet in the voice Katsuki had heard once many years ago, now when Toshinori placed his hand behind Katsuki’s head and pulled him close. When he apologised for putting too much pressure on him, when he promised to see him as a child too, and when he told Katsuki that he was a hero too. “I’m okay,” Toshinori assured the man beside him, who, suddenly, looked too much like the sixteen-year-old who had once shoved off his concern, “I’m not going anywhere just yet, you don’t have to worry about losing me.”

“That’s–” Katsuki paused. He didn’t have anything he could say. He couldn’t refute it without lying, couldn’t shrug it off without making it obvious that was the problem. So, he stood up instead. “Come on,” he muttered, offering Toshinori his hand and carefully lifting him to his feet. “The sun’s getting to you.” 

Toshinori laughed again, dusting off his pants and placing his hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. “Your birthday’s coming soon, isn’t it?” 

Katsuki nodded, his jaw clenching at the reminder of the dreaded day. 

“Any plans?” 

Katsuki frowned, “Going out with the girls and Iida and Izuku’s after. It’s on a Monday, so just— work,” he said, gesturing vaguely with his hands. 

“Don’t overload yourself,” Toshinori reminded him, taking on the same stern tone Katsuki had used with him earlier. “Birthdays are important, so is rest.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki mumbled, crossing his arms, “stop lecturin’ me!” 

Toshinori shook his head, chuckling fondly. “Do this old man a favour?” He asked after a moment. When Katsuki raised his eyebrows suspiciously, Toshinori just pulled him in, close again, forehead pressed to his, the space between his collarbones this time and placed his hand on the back of Katsuki’s head. “You’re a good kid. Don’t forget that.”

Katsuki’s fists clenched on reflex, his muscles tightening in his shoulders and eyes screwing shut like if he didn’t relax into it, if he didn’t accept the affection, it would cease to exist. Alas, that’s not how things worked. Toshinori kept Katsuki close, fingers threading his hair until a few seconds felt like a lifetime, and Katsuki had no choice but to relax into it. 

Maybe it was the complete overload of his senses, or maybe it was the way his muscles had relaxed so far he couldn’t even think of moving fast enough; whatever the case, when Toshinori bent down to press his lips against the top of Katsuki’s head, he had not expected it. He didn’t even register it until the old man stepped back, and Katsuki watched his lips move. 

“W-what?” He managed to ask, raising his hand to rub the spot that was now buzzing with warmth. 

Toshinori laughed again, something more teasing this time, almost like he was in on a joke Katsuki hadn’t caught up to yet. 

“Nine, my boy. Nine.” 

-

17th April, 3:00 pm

Patrol was probably the best part about being a hero, though Katsuki wouldn’t admit that to anyone else. The big boss fights were fun, and sure he loved seeing the people he saved but there was nothing quite like walking the same route he had memorised years ago and checking out while the world moved on autopilot. He loved being able to just remove himself from his body sometimes and exist inside his head, away from the noise, from the way people looked at him and the questions they asked. 

He would sign things, smile awkwardly for pictures if he had the time; even help out the rare grandma crossing the street or a cat stuck in a tree. It wasn’t like he didn’t like his community; he just knew them. Katsuki had been walking these streets for so long, getting to know these people; their needs and wants, when they played up the drama just for a little attention, how to avoid the people who lingered too long trying to chat, which spots were most likely for small squirmishes to start. He knew it because he had done the work to learn them, and now, thanks to that work, he could retreat into his head while his body carried out his routine almost like it was muscle memory. 

So, yeah, Katsuki loved patrol. Unfortunately for him, today was not one of those patrols. 

“Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight!” Hanta yelled as he swung down from a street light he had been perched on.

Katsuki closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before he was tackled; and he would be tackled, he knew he would be. Neither Hanta nor Denki could ever catch him in public without physically throwing themselves at him, and despite his stated distaste for it, Katsuki always caught them.

“Oof,” Katsuki grunted, steadying Hanta by the waist and pushing him off. “You know there are other ways to say hi, right?”

“Ah, but none quite as fun,” Hanta retorted, grinning wide, all thirty-two teeth on display. “We’re here for joint patrol!”

“We?”

“Yes, we,” A new voice chimed in from behind him. “Don’t you read your patrol briefings? What kinda hero are you, Dynamight?”

Katsuki grit his teeth, “Mono- Phantom Thief,” he greeted, correcting himself as he turned. “I don’t need to read patrol briefings.”

Hanta laughed, walking forward to throw an arm around Katsuki, “Of course, big shot Pro Hero number 5 doesn’t need to know who he’s teaming up with. The rest of us lowly extras will keep track of that for you, your highness.”

“Piss off,” Katsuki muttered, shoving Hanta to the side again, but he refused to budge. “That’s not what I meant, you dick.”

“All hail, King Explosion Murder God Dynamight!” Hanta continued, using the two-inch height advantage he had to tighten his arm around Katsuki’s neck as he gestured with the other. “Soon to reach late twenties status, about to age out of his prime years.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, “I’m turning twenty-six, not eighty,” he muttered, driving his elbow into Hanta’s stomach and finally escaping from his chokehold. “You should’ve gone into the movie business.”

Hanta groaned softly, clutching his side like it hurt more than it did. “Oh, Dynamight-sama,” he continued, always committed to the bit, “if you thought I was handsome, you could’ve just said that directly to me.” Hanta straightened up, turning away bashfully, “You didn’t have to go to all these roundabout techniques. I’d love to be your side piece.” 

“You’re insufferable, I hope you know that,” Katsuki replied, making a show of dusting Hanta off his shoulders. “I wasn’t scheduled with anyone today. What did you two do?” 

Monoma looked shocked at the accusation and pressed a hand to his chest, making Katsuki groan as he anticipated the next round of dramatics. He put his hands up, cutting off whatever monologue Monoma was sure to begin if he let him. 

“Never mind,” Katsuki stated, already turning around to continue his patrol route. “I don’t care why, just– don’t be irritating.” 

“Oh, we wouldn’t dream of distracting you,” Hanta replied, snickering. 

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed at his phrasing, and he turned to squint at Hanta once he fell into pace beside him. “Why’d you say it like that?” He asked, eyes tracking the movement of his friend's hands and mouth. Hanta was the only one left in their group of friends, The Bakusquad, as Mina so eloquently deemed them one day many years ago, to take part in the game. He was the only one who hadn’t kissed Katsuki yet, and it didn’t matter if Katsuki had decided he didn’t hate it; he wasn’t about to let them win. 

“Say it like what?” Hanta asked right back, tying his hands behind him, grin still splitting his face in half. 

“Like that,” Katsuki repeated. “Distracted. Why would you distract me?”

Monoma punched Katsuki’s shoulder lightly, “You’re paranoid,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I am not paranoid,” Katsuki retorted. “These freaks are up to something, and I’m not going to be caught off guard again.” 

“Ouch,” Hanta exclaimed. “I would never do anything to harm you! Scouts honour!” 

“You’re not a fucking scout,” Katsuki grumbled, “we’re Japanese.”

“And Japanese people can’t be scouts?” Hanta asked, feigning offence, “Wow, Dynamight. I didn’t take you for a racist.”

Katsuki pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to breathe through it. “I’m not. A racist.” He managed to get out through clenched teeth. “Stop being fucking annoying.”

“You know,” Monoma began, picking up where Hanta left off with ease, “the fetishisation of the romanticisation and the sexualisation of identity is the real problem-”

“Please stop,” Katsuki almost begged, his ears practically ringing at the thought of listening to another made-up lecture that went nowhere and meant nothing. This was another tactic that had become extremely popular amongst his friends. They would string together the biggest words they knew and try to overwhelm him with sentences that made absolutely no sense but sounded like they should. 

“They’re baiting you,” Kyoka’s voice rang in his head, and a memory of her explaining through tears of laughter why their friends had become so much more irritating in completely innocuous ways surfaced. 

Katsuki bit the inside of his cheek and forced himself to keep walking. He wouldn’t fall for it today. He knew what they were doing, he knew the patterns, and if he let himself get distracted by their bullshit, Hanta would definitely use it to his advantage.

“How long?” Katsuki asked, ignoring the tail end of Monoma’s lecture. 

Monoma blinked, “How long what?” 

“How long are you two going to follow me around?” Katsuki clarified.

Hanta laughed at that and threw his arm around Katsuki again, “You know, we’re Pro Heroes too,” he said, “we’re patrolling. Just like you, Great Explosion Murder God.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki mumbled, halfheartedly struggling against the heavy arm on his shoulder for a minute before giving in. “We’ll see. You’re not getting me to drop my guard.”

“Paranoiid~” Monoma sang, slapping Katsuki’s shoulder. He shrugged when Katsuki glared at him, “Need to power up, buddy, and you’re such a useful energy source.” 

Katsuki grunted but didn’t complain any further. There was no point, never with these two, with most of his friends, really. He had just learned to accept that everyone he loved liked to live their lives as if they were on a stage at all times, and Katsuki was the unwitting audience member they always pulled into the spotlight. He sighed to himself and tried to tune out whatever Hanta and Monoma were discussing now. He missed Kyoka. 

-

There are many situations in which one can be mindful of their surroundings and wary of their friend's actions, during class being one, a training exercise or a night out, being others. Unfortunately for Katsuki, twice now, if you’re keeping track, the unexpected appearance of a fifty-foot hamster was not one of those moments. 

It came out of nowhere, one minute they were staring ahead at the relatively calm cityscape of Musutafu and the next the frame filled up with red fur and muscle and giant pitch black eyes. The screaming started immediately, as it always does in civilian areas, and the three heroes moved into positions. One look at the monster before them, and it became clear the thing wasn’t on a rampage; it wasn’t trying to take over the city or kill the people. It looked scared, like it hadn’t expected any of this and still saw the smaller creatures around it as predators. All the playfulness from earlier melted away as they fell back into the role of battle-hardened veterans. Calls for backup were sent to all three agencies, and the trio got to work without so much as a word exchanged between them.

Sero slipped off Katsuki and swung over to where the screaming was clearest. He set up a parameter, using his tape to cut off the public from the giant hamster he mentally named Hamu. Sero was charming in a way that required no explanation or effort. He could flash a smile and make even the toughest biker weak in the knees; he could talk his way out of any situation, no matter the danger, and when it came down to it, there was no one quite like Sero Hanta to calm and control a crowd. 

Katsuki and Monoma went straight for the hamster, both equipped with Katsuki’s Explosion and both prepared to take the thing down if necessary. Until a voice no one ever wanted to hear during a monster fight screeched above the rest. 

“HE’S MY PET! DON’T HURT HIM!” The voice of a little girl, no older than seven, hit the two heroes like an arrow right through the brain. They turned around to see Hanta jogging over with a little girl in his arms, and who they assumed was her father, following. 

“What?” Katsuki asked, his eyebrows knitting together. 

“He’s my pet,” The girls insisted, pointing at the giant animal now trying to drink from the water fountain in the centre of town. 

Monoma turned to look back at the hamster before facing the girl's father, “You got her a fifty-foot hamster?”

“It wasn’t fifty feet when I got him!” Her father snapped, face flushed from embarrassment or exhaustion; it was hard to tell. “She–” the man looked at his daughter and gestured to the heroes, “go on, Hana, tell them what happened.” 

The girl, Hana, chewed on the inside of her cheek and showed the heroes her hands. “I got my quirk last week,” she explained, “and I didn’t mean to, swear! Anko was in the way!” 

Katsuki frowned, looking down at the black spots on her palms, “What happened to your hands?” 

Hana tried to explain again, words failing her as tears welled up in her eyes and she turned to her father, helpless. The older man sighed and nodded, reaching to take Hana from Sero. “Her quirk is size manipulation. We haven’t figured out the specific yet, but it seems to be an offshoot of my mother's. She could make herself bigger or smaller on demand. Anything Hana touches with the blackened portion of her right hand changes into the size of whatever she’s holding in her left.”

Monoma whistled, impressed already. “So what were you holding in your left hand for it-”

“Anko!”

“Anko,” Monoma corrected himself, “my bad. For Anko to get to that size?”

Hana shook her head, clutching the front of her shirt tight, “Nothing!” 

“Hana,” her father urged, squeezing his daughter softly. He turned to the heroes again, “She’s not supposed to touch things without wearing her gloves until we can figure out how to control, but she picked Anko up and-”

“I didn’t mean to!” Hana insisted again, her voice wobbling. 

“That doesn’t matt-”

“Hana,” Katsuki spoke, cutting her father off. “You’re not in any trouble,” his voice quiet, not soft exactly but unmistakably gentle. “Quirks are hard for everyone when they first show up. I blew up my bed when mine first manifested. Cellophane over there couldn’t figure out how to use his tape without getting it stuck until he was eight.” 

“Slander!” Hanta exclaimed, grinning when Hana turned to him with wide, wet eyes. “Don’t tell anyone that,” he stage whispered to the little girl, making her giggle softly. 

“You know Deku?” Katsuki asked, pulling her attention back. When Hana nodded, he continued, “Well, when he first got his quirk, he was so bad at using it he would break his own bones, and he once threw a ball so far it disappeared into space.” 

Hana’s eyes got even wider if that were possible, “Honest?”

“Honest.”

Her eyes flittered between Katsuki and her pet hamster, who was now being herded by sidekicks who had been dispatched from all three agencies, waiting for their bosses to intervene. 

“Don’t hurt him,” She pleaded again, meeting Katsuki’s eyes directly this time. “It’s not his fault.”

Something in Katsuki’s expression shifted, and he nodded, his eyes taking on the kind of seriousness he didn’t have even addressing the Hero Commission. “Don’t worry,” he said, “we’re heroes. We save people, we don’t hurt them.” 

“That’s a hamster,” Monoma added helpfully, laughing when both Katsuki and Hana glared at him. “Kidding! Jeez, tough crowd.”

“Come on,” Hanta cut in, ruffling Hana’s hair before grabbing Monoma and swinging them both up towards the Anko. 

“Don’t worry,” Katsuki promised the girl, “we’ve got it. Just go stand behind the tape with everyone else.” 

He caught the tail end of the plan as he landed beside Hanta and Monoma, and his brain filled in the rest. “Phantom and I’ll corral it with explosions near its feet towards Tape Face, and he’ll wrap it up?” 

Hanta nodded, “You know my hero name is Cellophane, not Tape Face.” 

“Dumb name,” Katsuki replied, clicking a button on his gauntlets to change the blast size of his explosions. 

“Whatever you say, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight,” Hanta teased before jumping off the short building. “Bring him to the park!” He called out as he swung down the street to the large open park. 

Katsuki turned to Monoma, “You gotten any better at using my quirk yet?”

“It’s blowing shit up,” Monoma retorted, “not exactly rocket science, Dynamight.”

Katsuki scoffed, “We’ll see.”

It was over before it started. Monoma and Katsuki stayed close to the ground, letting off controlled, small explosions around its feet. Never close enough to actually hurt the hamster, but pushing it to where Hanta was waiting. Monoma stayed planted on the ground, despite his boasting, flying using Katsuki’s explosions was a skill in itself, and he was nowhere near able to fly and control the size of said explosions. Katsuki flew a little higher, around the hamster's hind legs, adjusting the heat and size of his quirk depending on whether the hamster followed the path they set out or not. 

Within a few minutes, they managed to drive it right into Hanta’s waiting trap. Anko found himself restricted the minute he stepped into the park, tall trees on either side, sharp branches and itchy leaves. That minute of instability was all Hanta needed to wrap up the hamster's legs in layers and layers of tape and bring it down on the soft grass bed. 

“Hell yeah!” Hanta exclaimed, dropping lightly to his feet just as Monoma and Katsuki closed in. “Poor thing must have been so scared.”

“It’s fine now,” Katsuki replied, “or at least, it will be.”

Monoma watched as their sidekicks and special units rushed in to transport the hamster out of the city before it broke free. “Be careful!” He called out, “There’s a little girl who’s expecting her hamster back.” 

Katsuki frowned, “Someone should-”

“I’ve got it,” Hanta cut him off, swinging over to where the special unit was preparing to move. 

They watched Hanta for a moment, trying to make out what he was saying to the people in masks, but it was too loud in the park now. A hand came down on Katsuki’s shoulder, and he turned to find Monoma staring at him. Very seriously. Eyebrows drawn tight together, lips pursed, a glint in his eyes like he was about to reveal some very important information. 

“...what?” Katsuki asked, bracing for earth-shattering news. 

“I have to tell you something,” Monoma replied. 

“Alright…” Katsuki tried to pull back, but Monoma’s grip tightened on his shoulder. “Say it then.”

Monoma looked around, squinting his eyes like he was suspicious of the crowd around him and leaned in even closer. “I can’t out loud,” he whispered, “just listen.”

Katsuki tensed, his skin prickling when Monoma’s breath fanned against the curve of his ear. He hated this. Hated how close they were standing, hated how open it was and how everyone was definitely looking at them now. He hated that his hair was standing on edge, that he was actually concerned about whatever Monoma was about to tell him. Monoma leaned in until Katsuki could almost feel his lips on the outer shell of Katsuki’s ear. He closed his eyes, waiting for a conspiracy, a plot, something that would warrant this level of closeness and caution, and then he felt something he had never once expected. 

The slippery, slimy texture of lip gloss against his sideburns, a loud smack of lips and suddenly his brain caught up reality to realise that Monoma, Neito Monoma, had just kissed him. 

“What the fu–” 

A second kiss landed shortly after the first, cutting him off entirely as Hanta came into view, dropping in upside down and inches from Katsuki’s face. He barely had time to brace himself before another wet pair of lips was planted on his nose. 

“Eleven,” Monoma declared proudly, standing at an appropriate distance now, hands on his hips. 

“Y-you fuckin’-” Katsuki stumbled through his words, all the calm he had built up around the game vanishing in the face of being caught so off guard. 

“Love you too, Dainama,” Hanta replied, shooting him a little wink. Hanta grinned, overjoyed as he watched Katsuki realise, in real time, that he had once again been bested.

-

18th April, 7:24 am

Katsuki didn’t want to wake up that morning. The night before, he had lain awake counting the events of the last four days, counting the kisses, tracking the people who had been involved and scowling to himself every time he felt his skin burn at the memories. 

Eleven kisses. Eleven different people had managed to catch him off guard in some way or another, whether it was physically holding him down or overwhelming him emotionally until he didn’t have space to be guarded; eleven different people had succeeded. Now, Katsuki wasn’t stupid. He had figured out by now what this was leading up to, or at least he had made an informed guess. No matter what Kaminari said, this wasn’t normal. His friends and family didn’t just kiss him randomly, and they definitely didn’t do it all at once as part of some kind of coordinated attack. 

No. This was something else. Something intentional, and as far as Katsuki could tell, it had to be leading up to his birthday. Which, if true, meant Katsuki had two full days left of this unique form of emotional warfare. He reached over and unlocked his phone, squinting at the bold numbers on the screen. 

18th April 

Katsuki went over his schedule for the coming two days, trying to find things he could avoid, ways to be on his own and ride this out without getting caught again, but as he scrolled through his calendar, the flaws of his plan became clear as day. 

18th April, 1:30 pm: Lunch w/ Best Jeanist @ agency

19th April, 9:30 pm: Drink w/ the girls + Iida @ Prik 

Unavoidable. Katsuki thought to himself with a sigh. It wasn’t that Jeanist wouldn’t understand; hell, he was probably the only person who would tell Katsuki it was fine, and they could reschedule, but Katsuki couldn’t do it. The knowledge that his mentor wouldn’t make a big deal out of it was what stopped him, the knowledge that if he really wanted to, he could. And the girls simply wouldn’t let him. There wasn’t even any real point in trying to worm his way out of birthday drinks with them; they would find a way to bring the party to him if he did. 

He lay back down with another heaving sigh. If they had managed to convince his parents and All Might, they would have definitely reached Best Jeanist, so that would be one today. Tomorrow night was planned with Mina, Kyoka, Yaomomo and Tenya. Mina and Kyoka had already gotten their kisses in; that left Yaomomo and Tenya. Katsuki wanted to believe that Tenya Iida would never kiss him; he wanted to believe that some friends simply would not participate in these kinds of games, but they had gotten to Monoma. If they could get Monoma, Monoma who practically bled superiority over the “childish and immature Class A”, no one was off limits. 

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, “if it’s going to happen, at least I can be prepared.” Katsuki sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He stared ahead, his eyes trailing over the spots on his body where they had kissed him. “They’re doing this to catch you off guard,” he told his reflection sternly, “if you don’t react, then it’s not fun for them anymore. Don’t let them see you sweat.” Katsuki nodded and stood up, his fingers closing around the phone tight, “You’ve got this.” 

His composure lasted about fifteen minutes. That was when his phone buzzed on the shelf above the sink, and his main sidekick’s voice came through. 

“Uh…”

“Spit it out,” Katsuki said, already rolling his eyes. 

“I don’t–” He could hear the way his sidekick swallowed hard like she was trying to figure out how to say what she needed to without getting thrown off a building. “You should check Twitter.”

Katsuki bit the inside of his cheek immediately. “Why?” he grit out through clenched teeth.

“Sooo, um… you’re trending?” 

“Are you asking or telling me?” 

“Please just check Twitter.” 

Katsuki sighed, “Stay on the line.” Once she squeaked out a response, he walked out to grab his laptop. 

“Are you-”

“Give me a minute,” he snapped, putting the phone on loudspeaker and tossing it onto his bed.

He didn’t have Twitter on his phone; he didn’t have any social media apps on his phone except for the most necessary messengers. Katsuki’s excuse was that he didn’t like the internet, he didn’t like how obsessed people were with what extras online say, but really? Katsuki was beyond weak to it if he had it on hand. Many years ago, he had all the apps: Instagram, Twitter, Reddit. If it housed the opinions and thoughts of every person alive, it would be in his phone, and Katsuki checked it obsessively. He would check stats, check comments, fan accounts and dedicated hater pages; any mention of him was of paramount importance. It had gotten to a point where he was hearing phantom buzzing, and his fingers would start twitching if he hadn’t checked his feed in over fifteen minutes. 

So he deleted them. Removed himself from the ever-circling spiral of the Audience, and he had never looked back. Life was better without it; he was a better hero and person without knowing how the public was constantly monitoring him. In some capacity, he knew it was happening, but not having it at the tip of his finger helped. 

“This better not be some bullshit,” Katsuki mumbled to himself as he logged into his secret account on his laptop. “What should I look up?” He asked, picking up his phone again. Silence stretched on the line for a few seconds too long, and Katsuki’s suspicion was quickly turning to worry. 

“Just search your name,” His sidekick finally answered. She paused for a moment and added, “Check Dynama” 

Katsuki’s chest tightened. Only his fans called him that; the ones who loved him enough to fight on his behalf, the ones who dedicated parts of their lives to him, got him tattooed on their body, covered their possessions with his face, the ones who loved him the way he had loved All Might. At least if it's them, it won’t be bad… right? Katsuki asked himself, trying to still the anxiety that rose in his chest as he typed in the nickname. 

Katsuki had expected a photo shoot, maybe some discourse about his ranking or an interview where he had been too mean. He had even expected people turning on him, throwing away their merch, burning his posters; he had expected a whole litany of things except for what actually filled his screen. 

#KISSINGDYNAMA 

Katsuki blinked. Once, twice, three times and only then did he rub his eyes. Still there. Still big and bold and embarrassing. He refreshed the page, and more showed up; the tweets under the hashtag seemed to double right before his eyes. 

“Wha-” 

“Someone started a hashtag,” his sidekick replied. 

“Is this… why?” He asked, scrolling through the tweets under the hashtag as though his finger had been possessed. 

“Um… for your birthday,” she said, “I think.” 

“My…” her words settled in Katsuki’s ears and made their way to his brain slowly; slower than anything else ever had, and once they did, they lit every one of his synapses up like they had won an arcade game. “The fucking kissing game,” Katsuki cursed under his breath. 

“Sorry?” His sidekick asked, but Katsuki was already moving to hang up. 

“See you at work,” He replied quickly, “see if they can’t find who started the hashtag.”

And the room plunged into silence. His fingers scrolled on the trackpad, clicking sometimes when he saw something that made him snort or his eyes widen in surprise. Katsuki sat there, scrolling, reading, scrolling, doubling back to read it again, begrudgingly saving art that made his chest ache. It didn’t matter what he came across, whether it was art drawn of him alone, with his friends, or with Izuku, or long threads talking about him as a hero, single tweets expressing how much they loved him, how much they wanted him to know he was loved; it didn’t matter what the subject of the tweets were, each and every one was tagged the same. 

#KISSINGDYNAMA 

Katsuki swallowed the uncomfortable gratitude building in his throat and forced himself to close his laptop. He needed to get to work. Needed to get up and get dressed, put this in the place he put all other forms of fanatical praise and move on. 

He couldn’t. 

“Twelve,” He whispered, his right hand rising almost as if on its own to clutch at the fabric of his shirt right above his heart. Katsuki didn’t know how he knew; he didn’t have anyone he wanted to text to check with, he didn’t even really want to know where it started, he just… “Twelve,” he repeated. Twelve kisses. 

-

18th April, 1:30 pm

Katsuki had decided he wasn’t going to fight this one, and he wasn’t going to try to avoid it either. Neither option had worked in his favour with any of the others, and Best Jeanist was… different. Special in a way even Toshinori didn’t feel. He wasn’t sure why; he had never been, but something had shifted when Katsuki refused to share his hero name until Tsunagu could hear it first. Something small and barely noticeable, but it had happened, and the stiff hero had become a part of Katsuki in a way he couldn’t explain. 

“How’s your case going?” The hero in question asked, sitting behind his desk at Genius Agency. 

“Fine,” Katsuki grumbled, instinctively reverting to his high school mannerisms as he picked at the meat in his box. “Confusing,” he added after a moment. 

“How so?” 

“It’s just–” Katsuki bit the inside of his cheek. “I feel like every time I figure out one thing, something else gets screwed up. It’s supposed to be easy.” 

Tsunagu raised an eyebrow, eyes now focused on Katsuki. “Easy? Since when have you wanted anything to be easy?”

A sound, almost a growl, echoed in Katsuki’s throat, and he angrily bit off a piece of chicken. “I don’t want it to be easy,” he clarified after swallowing. “But it’s supposed to be. It’s just a stupid heist. There was more than enough evidence at the scene; it was just one painting that was stolen, and the only reason I got the case is that the guy who runs the Museum is a friend of someone at the HPSC.” 

Tsunagu hummed thoughtfully and reached over to tap the back of Katsuki’s hand, stilling his aggressive movements, “What’s making it hard?” 

Katsuki’s scowl deepened at the reprimand, but he put the chopsticks down nonetheless. “I keep hitting walls,” he said. “I figure out what path they took to get in, the exit route becomes muddy. I match three DNA samples to crooks in the system, and two of them show up as dead five years ago. It just doesn’t make sense, it’s like someone's messing with me on purpose.”

“Maybe someone is,” Tsunagu suggested. When Katsuki furrowed his eyebrows, Tsunagu continued, “Maybe, if it feels like everything is working against you, it is.”

Katsuki frowned, “That sounds like paranoia.”

Tsunagu laughed at that and shook his head, “You’re a Pro Hero, Katsuki,” he told the younger hero, “a little paranoia isn’t a bad thing. Besides, this isn’t about your friends or family, it’s work. Trusting your gut isn’t the same as going off the rails.” 

“But-”

“What’s your gut telling you?” Tsunagu asked, cutting him off and leaning forward on steepled hands. “Just off instinct, don’t think about it.”

Katsuki’s frown deepened slightly as he thought about it. What was his gut telling him? “It’s a fake crime scene.” Tsunagu nodded, urging him to continue. “The evidence was too intentional for it to have been left by accident, and…” Katsuki trailed off, recalling things he had initially found suspicious but discarded as overthinking, as trying too hard to prove he was smart. “And they weren’t caught on camera.”

Tsunagu raised his eyebrows. “What does that tell you?”

“If they were smart enough to figure out where the cameras were in such a big museum and plan their route around it, then they’re smart enough not to leave behind things like boot prints and blood samples.” Katsuki pushed the bento box aside and flipped open his little pocketbook, scribbling now as he spoke, picking up speed, “The exit route didn’t make any sense because we followed partial prints to a back door that led nowhere. It was just brick behind it, and according to the schematics of the building, that door was supposed to lead into a portion of the basement that was blocked off.” Katsuki stopped, tapping the back of his pen against the notepad. “It could be a quirk?”

“Asking or telling?” Tsunagu asked in response. 

Katsuki rolled his eyes, “Could be a quirk,” he repeated, firmer this time. “Or… could be a misdirect.” 

“You’ve already thought of that, though,” Tsunagu said.

“How do you-” Katsuki shook his head. There was no point in trying to figure out how his mentor knew the things he did. “I looked into the other doors and windows, but the windows are all sealed shut, the doors have cameras, and everyone who entered was seen exiting.”

“So, how’d they get in?” 

“Sunlight,” Katsuki said immediately, “we found scuff marks on the sides of the sunlight.”

“No one saw them come in?”

“I think they came in at night and stayed inside overnight, the painting disappeared during the work day, and alarms went off almost immediately, but no one saw anyone moving out of the building.” 

Tsunagu sat back, tapping his chin as he considered the problem. “Invisibility quirk?”

Katsuki shook his head, “The museum has safeguards against it.” 

“Hmm,” Tsunago twisted a small glass ball on his table, and Katsuki’s eyes went to it automatically. 

Hagakure’s merch, Katsuki wasn’t sure when and how Tsunago had gotten close to her, but ever since she started her agency, they had worked together pretty often. It was pretty dumb merch, Katsuki had always thought, but never expressed; a glass ball, what was even the purpose of something like that except to take up space? Still, his eyes followed the reflections of sunlight and the overhead bulb as Tsunago rolled it around. He watched as the ball slipped between the older man's fingers, catching light, shining like it was begging him to keep watching, seeming smaller and larger depending on where it was in movement. 

“What if–” Katsuki began, his eyes still on the ball, “What if it was a fake?”

“A fake?” Tsunago asked. 

“The painting,” Katsuki replied, dragging his eyes away to meet Tsunago’s. “What if it wasn’t the actual painting? What if they moved it out during the night itself, through the sunroof, left the boot prints and broken basement door latch as misdirects and put up a fake painting, something that could be turned on and off, to distract people?” 

“Possible, why do you think so?” 

Katsuki paused. His eyes flickered back down to the ball, then his notebook and finally settled on his mentor's face. He shrugged, “Gut feeling.”

The silence in the room held for a moment, just a second really, before Tsunago laughed, loud and hearty, before standing up and reaching over to ruffle Katsuki’s hair. “Good answer,” he said, his hand heavy against the back of Katsuki’s head. Tsunago held him there for a moment, “Any other gut feelings?”

Katsuki blinked, confused for another quick second and sighed. “You’re going to kiss me, aren’t you?”

“Bingo,” Tsunago replied, leaning forward to place a quick kiss on the crown of his head. “How many is that now?” 

“Thirteen,” Katsuki mumbled, blushing despite everything. 

Tsunago laughed again and sat down, “Finish your lunch,” he said, pointing to the forgotten bento. 

-

18th April, 2:00 pm

“Dynamight!” 

Katsuki stopped halfway to the elevators and turned around to find adopted father figure number three walking towards him. 

“Edgeshot,” He replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a man visit his husband?” Shinya asked, feigning offence as he made his way over. “What are you doing here?”

Katsuki scoffed, ducking away from Shinya’s hand reaching to ruffle his hair. “You got a monopoly on Tsunago-san or something?” 

Shinya shook his head and grabbed Katsuki by the shoulder anyway, checking him over the way he so often does before releasing him. “Had lunch?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki muttered. “You?”

“About to,” Shinya said. He paused, squinting slightly as he took in Katsuki’s relaxed posture. “Did you… have lunch with Tsunago?” 

“Yeah…” Katsuki trailed off, pulling back ever so slightly at the shift in demeanour. “Why?”

“He didn’t– do anything?” Shinya asked, gesturing vaguely with his free hand, the other tightening on Katsuki’s shoulder much like Monoma did yesterday. 

“Do–” Katsuki paused, squinted harder than Shinya and scowled. “Not you too.”

A smile split the older hero's face in half at the question as though he had finally received the response he expected from Katsuki. “Whatever do you mean?”

Katsuki let out a long-suffering sigh and closed his eyes, “Just get it over with, I need to get back to the agency.”

“So bossy,” Shinya replied, “I could just not do it, you know?” 

“I would love that,” Katsuki said, not yet opening his eyes. He knew Shinya wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily, knew that tone meant anything but honesty. 

“Yes, well,” Shinya leaned in and planted the fourteenth kiss on the side of Katsuki’s head, just above his temple. “Too bad.” Katsuki only opened his eyes once the warmth of his mentor's breath near his skin had disappeared. He hoped the warmth at the tips of his ears had stopped there, warmth. Unfortunately for him, Shinya chuckled and tugged lightly on his cheek, “You’re a little red there, Dynamight.”

Katsuki groaned and turned around, “Bye!” He exclaimed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he speed walked to the elevator, his lunch bag swinging against his hip with every step. He could hear Shinya laughing behind him, and the start of, no doubt, an over-exaggerated retelling to Tsunago. 

-

April 19th, 9:00 pm

Katsuki stood in front of his mirror, tugging at the bottom hem of his shirt for the umpteenth time. Drinks with the girls and Iida; not a big deal, it shouldn’t be a big deal. It wasn’t a big deal. And yet, Katsuki couldn’t help but feel a little nervous, like he was walking into an ambush, and in some ways, he was. The only difference was that he knew exactly what would happen. Well, maybe not exactly, but he knew the gist of it, he knew in what form the attack would come, he knew who would be deploying the final kill, he knew enough that his skin prickled with awareness. Katsuki had been trying, since yesterday afternoon, after Shinya cornered him, he had been trying to prepare for this. He knew he would be meeting with his friends tonight, and if the events of the past five days were any hint, he wouldn’t leave the club tonight without being kissed twice more. At least. 

He sighed to himself and fiddled with the buttons once more before grabbing his phone and wallet and walking out the door of his apartment. Not driving tonight, Mina had insisted that he had to drink. Something about it being his birthday and not drinking on his birthday being akin to a sin. He hadn’t listened to the entire speech, which had been around ten minutes long, but he had heard the threat tacked on at the end. Let loose and have fun, or I'll give all my joint patrols with you to Camie. That, he heard loud and clear. He shuddered to himself as he got in the cab. 

He liked Camie well enough; she was a good hero, and she could be funny sometimes, but she was just… a lot. And Katsuki didn’t know if he had it in him to listen to her chatter endlessly thrice a week after how overstimulated he already was. Katsuki sent a text to Mina, assuring her he was on his way and put his phone away. Just have fun, Katsuki, he told himself, watching the city pass outside the window. They’re your friends, it’s your birthday. Just enjoy yourself. You can relax at Izuku’s after anyway. Just have fun. 

Easier said than done, unfortunately. Katsuki’s leg was already bouncing by the time the cab pulled up outside the club. He didn’t like them on good days, clubs that is, there were always too many people, and the music was never to his exact taste, the drinks were overpriced, and there were too many unspoken rules that made him feel like bolting before it even started. Drinking was a chore sometimes, too; everyone he knew and loved thought of drinking as letting loose, as a fun and easy way for them to put down the stress of being heroes and just exist within the limbo of being all the way plastered and just sober enough to snap back if needed. Even Izuku enjoyed it. Izuku, who hated bitter medicine and couldn’t tolerate too much spice, could throw back shots like it was water. It wasn’t like Katsuki was a buzzkill; he never stopped his friends from enjoying themselves, and he did join in every now and then, but it just… wasn’t his thing. Never had been. 

Katsuki liked being in control; he liked knowing how he was behaving and always having complete control over it. The idea that he might do something his sober self would regret, say something with full confidence despite not being in his right mind… no, Katsuki shook his head as he paid and stepped out onto the curb. He wasn’t going to spiral over that stuff tonight. His friends had gone to a lot of trouble to secure their entry to this place, so he wasn’t going to ruin it by being a wet blanket tonight. He would drink what Mina put in his hands, dance to the music and pretend he enjoyed the electric base, accept the kisses that were sure to come his way, and most importantly, stay beside Kyoka. She always knew how to regulate him, even if it was just a touch on his arm or curling her pinky around his; she knew when he was going to blow, and she knew how to let just enough steam out before putting the lid back on so he didn’t. 

Just stick with Kyoka, he reminded himself again.

Bright pink curls topped with pink horns bounced over to him, followed by purple, black and blue heads all in a line, weaving their way through the already packed crowd waiting to get inside. 

“Birthday boy!” Mina exclaimed loudly, throwing herself at Katsuki, knowing full well he would catch her. Which he did. 

“Not my birthday yet,” Katsuki muttered, shoving off once he was sure she was steady. 

“Two and a half hours,” Iida informed them, patting Katsuki on the shoulder. “That’s close enough, isn’t it?”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, “Since when do you play fast and loose with time?” 

Iida coughed ever so slightly, fixing his glasses on his nose, “I promised Mina I would be more, uh, chill tonight.”

“That he did,” Mina agreed solemnly, reaching out to grab Katsuki by the wrist. “Come on, we’ve got VIP passes so we can skip the line!”

“Relax, Mimi,” Kyoka said gently, slipping between them to give Katsuki a moment to breathe. “Find your friend first, then we can stuff ourselves into the crowd.” 

Mina pouted a little, but only until Momo put an arm around her and promised to go with her. She turned back to smile at Katsuki, mouthing a Nice to see you, before steering Mina away from the group. 

“So,” Katsuki began, instinctively moving closer to Kyoka’s side. “It’s gonna be this all night?”

“Seems like it,” Iida replied, nodding as he checked his watch. 

“You waiting on someone?” Katsuki asked. 

“Uh, Utsushimi-san is supposed to join us,” Iida told him. 

“Camie?” Katsuki asked, his eyes dropping to find Kyoka nodding. 

“Hey, I tried,” Kyoka said, “but Mina said something about how none of us knows how to party, and she needed reinforcements to make sure everyone has fun.”

Katsuki snorted, “She’s consistent.”

“Always consistent,” Kyoka agreed, hooking her elbow around his and tugging him over to where Mina was waving them over now. “Come on, Iida, Camie knows the same person Mina knows. She’ll get in easy.” 

Iida looked around once more like he was considering walking down the street to try and find her. 

“Tenya,” Katsuki called, gesturing with his head. “Come on, man. She probably runs this street; you’re the one who’ll get eaten alive by college kids if you go off on your own.” 

Iida blushed a little, ears turning red, and he jogged over. They weren’t wrong. If there was anyone who knew Shibuya well enough to manoeuvre it blindfolded and dead, it was probably Camie Utsushimi.

“You guys are so slow, oh my god,” Mina drawled, ushering the rest of the group inside and blowing a kiss to someone who complained about them getting to go ahead before ducking inside. 

The club itself was loud. Great observation, Katsuki, he thought to himself as he tried to ground himself amongst the noise. It was dim too, that was his second judgment. There were colored moving spotlights, and every few minutes, white flashing lights would flood the space, but other than that, the club was dim enough that he couldn’t see the faces of people more than five steps ahead of him clearly. Katsuki felt a hand slip into his and squeeze. On his other side, something long and warm wrapped around his bicep. He didn’t need to look to know who it was; he had long since memorised the feel of Mina’s fingers and the squeeze of Kyoka’s earjack.

“You good?” Mina asked from beside him, her voice still loud but gentle in that way she only really got with him and Kirishima. Katsuki nodded, squeezing her hand back as his eyes drifted from door to door, checking exits and entrances like it was second nature. “Not too loud?” Mina asked again. 

Katsuki chuckled, “Wouldn’t be a club if it wasn’t loud, right?” He asked right back, a smile forming on his lips when Mina beamed at him in response. “Come on,” he said, tugging the girls forward a step, “I thought we were here to drink.”

Mina cheered, squeezing his hand once more before letting go in favour of shepherding their group to the bar. She was a natural in places like this, weaving and sliding through tight-knit groups, sprinkling an “excuse me” or “sorry!” as she moved. She reached back to catch Momo’s wrist, who linked her free hand with Iida’s and so on and so forth until they had formed a small chain. By the time they reached the bar, it became clear that they had no reason to wait for Camie since she was already there, seated on the bar table, leaning on one hand, a leg crossed over the other as she decided what people wanted to drink for them and told the bartender behind her. 

“Mina!” Camie yelled as soon as the accesorized yellow horns caught a spotlight that flashed past and jumped off the counter. Katsuki was sure he saw the bartender let out a breath of relief, but he didn’t linger on it. 

“Camieee!” Mina shouted over the crowd, waving her hand in the air and jumping for good measure. “You look sooo good!” She exclaimed once she was close to colliding with the other girl. “I love your skirt, oh my god, is that new?” 

“Isn’t it just?!” Camie asked, twirling for Mina’s benefit. “Convinced the wardrobe people at a shoot I had last week to let me keep it.”

“Ugh, lucky,” Mina grumbled, “they never let me keep things.” 

“That’s cause you have a boyfie and refuse to use your feminine wiles on people to get what you want from them,” Camie told her, booping her nose before her eyes finally flickered over to the rest of the group. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite group of heroes?” 

Kyoka snorted, “You say that to everyone, Cams,” She replied, stepping into the hug that followed. “Love the liner,” she added, pointing up at Camie’s eyes. 

“All you,” she replied, winking at Kyoka before moving to squeeze Momo tight, talking a mile a minute about everything she recognised about Momo’s outfit. 

Momo laughed, blushing right down to her neck at Camie’s signature focused attention. “I went to that boutique you told me about,” Momo replied, squeezing Camie’s hands back to get her attention away from her top. “You were absolutely right, they have so many brilliant vintage pieces.” 

They continued, seemingly lost in their conversation, until Kyoka tugged on Momo’s hand to ask her what she wanted to drink. Camie’s attention shifted immediately to Iida. She raised her hand and offered him a two-fingered salute, laughing when he blushed, “Nice to see you, big man,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. She looked him up and down, eyes narrowing slightly before nodding approvingly, “You clean up well.” 

Iida blushed even harder if that were possible and took his leave with some mumbled words, following after Kyoka to order his own drink. Camie’s eyes finally landed on Katsuki, who had been standing beside Momo awkwardly the whole time. 

“Birthday boy,” Camie greeted, her tone solemn, but the glint in her eyes was anything but. 

“Not yet,” Katsuki replied, folding his arms over his chest defensively when she stepped closer. 

“Didn’t see you online today,” she commented, almost casually. 

“Any reason for me to be online?” Katsuki asked, his mind already pulling up the pages and pages of wishes from fans. 

“Oh, nothing at all,” Camie replied, her grin wide and predatory now. “Just a lil somethin’ somethin’, someone green and excitable asked me to set up,” that got Katsuki’s attention. 

“Izuku asked you to?” he asked.

“Asked me to what?” Camie’s voice had pitched a little higher now, and she leaned forward, arms clasped behind her back. “Thought you didn’t see anythinggg~” 

Katsuki huffed, clicking his tongue against his teeth, “You and the fucking nerd,” he muttered in disbelief. “Everyone's out to get me this week.” 

“You’re such a grump,” Camie observed, giggling to herself when he glared at her. “You know what’s comin’ tonight, don’t you?”

Katsuki’s eyes widened slightly at that, “You too?” He asked, swallowing hard. He had not expected Camie; he was not prepared for Camie. 

She leaned closer, her breath warm against his skin and smelling slightly of vodka. Katsuki closed his eyes, screwed them tight, and clenched into a fist as he tried to prepare himself. He didn’t know her. Not like this. Not well enough to be okay with her in his space like this. And then she laughed, and the warmth was gone. Katsuki opened his eyes to see her clutching her abdomen, laughing so hard she was nearly bent in half. 

“My god,” she observed between breaths, “you’re, like, the most touch-averse person alive.” Camie straightened up after a moment, wiping fake tears from the corner of her eyes and pushing her hair back. “Don’t worry, Bakugo,” she said, shaking her head, clearly amused, “my part was just setting up your little hashtag. Not getting a kiss from me tonight, no matter how much you beg.” 

Katsuki stayed where he was for about sixty seconds longer, his heart still beating its way out of his chest as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. “I think I need a drink,” he muttered to himself, looking down at his hands as he eased them open. 

-

19th April, 10:00 pm

One drink turned into two, into three and within half an hour, Katsuki had counted two shots and one beer, and his feet were looser. So was his mouth. 

“Then?” Momo asked, leaning back against the counter as she listened to Katsuki talk. Kyoka was standing beside her, her back pressed into Momo’s side, and Momo’s arm wrapped around Kyoka’s waist. 

“Then?” Katsuki repeated incredulously, “Then those fucking monsters held me down and kissed me! Right there on the terrace!” He explained, pointing at where Mina and Kyoka were engaged in their own conversation. 

Momo laughed into her drink, her own general politeness dulled with drink. “Bet you blushed like a schoolgirl,” she teased him. 

Katsuki shook his head, “I absolutely did not!” He exclaimed, “I took that shit in stride.” 

“Liar,” Kyoka corrected without skipping a beat. “He was stuttering so hard he couldn’t even curse us out properly.”

“Oh fuck you,” Katsuki snapped, attempting to make up for his lack of composure now. “You just caught me off guard.” 

Momo raised an eyebrow, “So if you were prepared, you’d be able to take it well?” She asked, squeezing Kyoka’s waist and gently moving her off. 

“Tch,” Katsuki clicked his tongue, taking a long swig of his beer before slamming it down. “Hell yes, I would. Why?” He asked, straightening up and tilting his head back to look at Momo. “You trynna prove something, Ponytail?”

Momo laughed, her voice low and deep in that way it got when she didn’t have any cameras to perform femininity for. She took a step closer, tilting her head slightly, “Even back in school, that wasn’t your most creative nickname.” 

Katsuki scoffed, ignoring the way his skin prickled the closer she got. “Didn’t need to be creative, just needed to be accurate.”

“Hmm,” Momo hummed, her right hand rising to cup his jaw. “'Cause you can’t stand being wrong, can you, Katsuki?”

Katsuki swallowed the saliva building in his mouth and tried to straighten his shoulders, tried to make himself taller without getting on his tiptoes. “'Cause you’re so good at being told you’re wrong, little miss know-it-all.”

“Little?” Momo asked with a soft laugh, gentle in the way your mother would be, or a teacher who finds you amusing. Her grip on his jaw tightened just a little, just enough to make him falter. “So you’re prepared now?” She asked, the black eyes deep and dark like ink pots. They kept him stuck in place, like she was challenging him to look away first. Katsuki forced himself to maintain eye contact, stubborn to the very end. 

“Damn right, I am,” he managed to get out, his voice wavering imperceptibly despite the tough words. 

“And you won’t blush if I kiss you right now?” Momo asked again, leaning closer now. 

“Fat chance,” Katsuki was especially proud of himself for not stuttering in that moment. 

Momo’s smile twisted, something that could have been explained away as a trick of the light if you weren’t looking close enough. Something no one would expect from her, well, maybe except for Kyoka, and she leaned in the rest of the way. Her lips brushed against the thin strip of skin between the corner of Katsuki’s lips and his cheek. She lingered there for a moment, her hold on his jaw anchoring him even when his knees wobbled. When Momo pulled back, she did so with a laugh, amused now as she squeezed his jaw before letting go. 

“What was that about not blushing?” She asked, lips curved into a smirk as she returned to her place beside Kyoka. 

A litany of threats crossed Katsuki’s lips, but not a single one made it past his lips. This was… not the Momo Yaoyorozu he was used to; this was not the endlessly polite, infuriatingly careful girl he had spent the last ten years getting to know. Katsuki didn’t need anyone else to tell him what he looked like. He could already feel the way every square inch of skin on his body was warm and buzzing like he had been activated. He blinked a few times, Kyoka and Mina’s teasing barely reaching him as he stared, gobsmacked, at Momo. 

Finally, he put his hand out, “Well fucking played,” he said, voice a little rougher than he appreciated. 

Momo laughed harder at that and took Katsuki’s hand, “Pleasure doing business with you,” she replied, “fifteen.” 

Katsuki groaned when she reminded him of the count and nodded, pulling his hand back and accepting a new drink, something orange and pink at the bottom, from Mina. “This bullshit fucking game,” he muttered, “which one of you started it anyway?”

“Wasn’t it Eiji?” Mina asked, sliding up beside Katsuki, bumping her hip with his. 

“Ei planned this whole thing?” Katsuki asked, more than a little surprised that Kirishima had pulled that off. 

Mina blinked, silent for a second before she burst out laughing. “Oh my god no,” she clarified, “do you know how much work this was? Ei can barely plan his schedule properly without overlapping patrols.” 

Katsuki shook his head. That checked out, he thought to himself with a snort. He took a sip before curiosity spiked again. “Then who was it?” He asked. 

Mina and Kyoka shared a look, then a smile and then shook their heads in unison. Katsuki groaned. 

-

19th April, 11:32 pm

A small alarm buzzed on Kyoka’s watch, and she reached out to grab Katsuki, effectively stopping his awkward attempt at dancing. Katsuki raised an eyebrow. She mouthed something unintelligible, and Katsuki shook his head, trying to yell that he couldn’t hear her. Kyoka mumbled something else, and when Katsuki just shook his head again, she turned to the sky before dragging him off the dance floor. 

“Time to go,” she told him, still yelling slightly to be heard over the noise. 

“Already?” He asked, checking his own watch. 

“You don’t want to?” 

Katsuki shook his head, “Not that,” he clarified, “just– you guys always make me stay till one at least.” 

Kyoka snorted and patted his shoulder, “We’ve got strict orders for tonight, birthday boy.” 

Katsuki furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side. “For what?”

“Where to deliver you,” she answered, waving Iida over. 

“Deliver…” Katsuki muttered, the words slurring on his tongue. “I’ve gotta go to ‘Zuku’s though.”

Kyoka nodded, “Mhm, exactly.” 

Katsuki asked another question, or at least tried to. Before he knew it, Iida’s hand was around his waist and leading him out of the club. Kyoka kissed his cheek quickly, muttered something about that not counting before sending them on their way.

“Where we goin, Tenya?” Katsuki asked, leaning heavily against Iida’s side. 

“You’ll see,” Iida replied with a small chuckle. 

They spilt out onto the pavement outside the club, and Katsuki’s ears immediately popped from the sudden shift in decibel. It wasn’t quiet outside, not in the slightest, but compared to the speakers blaring inside the club, Katsuki felt like he had stepped into a library. He laughed in his throat at the thought, swaying slightly as he let Iida lead him to wherever they were going. 

“Yo, this is your car,” Katsuki astutely observed once they reached a sleek black Mercedes. 

“Excellent work, Katsuki,” Iida replied, holding his friend up with one arm as he opened the passenger door. He carefully poured Katsuki into the seat and buckled him up, fixing his shirt where it rode up just because. 

Katsuki waited until Iida got in and was buckled up too to start speaking. 

“You’re driving?”

“Yes, I am.”

“But you’re drunk.”

“I absolutely am not.”

“Oh… but you drank.”

“I had Coke.”

Silence held for a moment as Iida started the car and pulled out onto the street. 

“You came to the club to drink Coke?” Katsuki began again. 

Tenya laughed, “I came to the club for your birthday.”

“Mmm, my birthday’s tomorrow,” Katsuki pointed out, like he had caught Iida in a lie. He leaned forward and tapped on the clock display in the car. “See? Elevent thirty-five,” he said, “not my birthday yet.”

“I came to celebrate you then.”

“Hmm,” Katsuki considered that and sat back. “Alright,” he agreed, like that was an acceptable reason. 

Iida chuckled again and turned the AC up a little and switched on the stereo. They drove mostly in silence, with Katsuki drunkenly asking a question that went nowhere or pointing out something that meant nothing now and then. Iida answered everything with the same seriousness he would give to a mission briefing, taking care to drive without jostling him too much. 

“Heeeey,” Katsuki drawled as they pulled up to an apartment complex that was all too familiar. “This is ‘Zuku’s place,” he said, rolling out the window and leaning halfway out. 

“Yup,” Iida replied, quickly getting out of the car to make sure Katsuki didn’t fall out of the window onto his face. “You’re pretty drunk, huh?” he asked as he helped his friend out. 

“Nah,” Katsuki refuted even as his vision spun. “Just a little– loopy!” He exclaimed like that was the perfect word to trick Iida with. 

“Mhm,” Iida muttered, shaking his head. “Come on, Loopy,” he said, leading Katsuki into the building. “It’s a good thing you’re going to your boyfriend's place, huh?”

Katsuki smiled, “Boyfriend,” he sighed like a teenager who had just been shown a picture of their favourite boy band member. “Yeah,” he agreed, “my boyfriend.”

Iida fought as hard as he could against the smile stretching on his lips and focused on keeping Katsuki upright. He was sure he would receive a threat or two to keep his mouth shut about this tomorrow morning, when Katsuki was sober again, but for now? For now, Iida had just decided to enjoy this. 

“Here we go,” Iida spoke as he knocked on a brown door. He could practically feel the excitement vibrating off of his drunk friend as they waited for the door to open. 

-

19th April, 11:58 pm

“Kacchan!” Izuku exclaimed as soon as he opened the door. “Tenya!” He added after a moment and reached out to take Kacchan from Iida. “You guys made it.”

Iida nodded, “Just in time, too.” he passed Katsuk over and chuckled a little at the funny picture they made. “Alright then,” he clapped his hands together and stretched one out. Katsuki looked down at it, frowning, and then back up at Iida, who just shook his head and grabbed Katsuki’s hand. He shook it, firm and controlled like everything else Iida did and then, the final rung in this ladder that had been so painstakingly built, he lifted Katsuki’s hand and kissed the back of his hand. 

“Happy Birthday, Katsuki,” Iida squeezed Katsuki’s hand just once before letting go and stepping back. “Sixteen.” 

Even in his inebriated state, Katsuki managed to register the count, and he groaned, turning to hide his face in Izuku’s hair, muttering something about stupid extras and stupid kissing games. 

Izuku laughed and tightened his arm around Kacchan’s waist. “Goodnight, Tenya,” he said, “thank you. Get home safe,” and closed the door with a soft thud. 

-

20th April, 12:00 am

“Hi, Kacchan,” Izuku says and turns around to rest both hands on his boyfriend's waist. He squeezes his sides gently, urging Kacchan to meet his eyes. “How are you feeling?” 

Katsuki reluctantly pulls his face free from where it’s hidden inside Izuku’s curls and looks down at the man standing before him, his gaze blurry and vision swimming, but soft when it meets Izuku’s eyes. “Hey, nerd,” he says, voice as soft as it could possibly be. “I’m okay,” he mumbles, reaching out to cup Izuku’s face. “You’re cute.” 

Izuku laughs. Loud and free like the sound of leaves ruffling when the spring breeze rushes in, or how a river crashes against rocks as it drifts past. Katsuki loves that sound. He’s always loved that sound, but he loves it more now. Loves it differently now, so he leans in, attempting to pull Izuku up the rest of the way. 

Izuku’s hands drag up to rest on Kacchan’s chest, stopping him mid-way. He chuckles again when Kacchan pouts, so he rises about half an inch on his toes and presses his lips to his unscarred cheek. “Want some water?” He asks as he pulls back. 

Katsuki’s eyes have fluttered closed, his entire body relaxing into the feeling of Izuku’s lips against his cheek. He nods, still halfway stuck in the space where nothing but the softness of his boyfriend's lips exists, and follows Izuku into the kitchen, his hand tucked into Izuku’s. 

“You’re so nice to me,” Katsuki mumbles and leans against the kitchen counter. He watches as Izuku fills up a glass, adding a hydration pack for good measure. “Always so nice to me.”

Izuku carries the glass over, shaking his head as he pushes it into Kacchan’s hand. “Drink,” he instructs and watches carefully until the glass is drained. “Feel better?” 

“Stop fussin’,” Katsuki complains, putting the glass aside and reaching out to circle his hands around Izuku’s waist to pull him closer. “You mad at me?” He asks, hiccuping slightly. 

Izuku’s eyebrows furrow for a moment, and he shakes his head, “Why would I be mad at you, Kacchan?” 

Katsuki hiccups again, “Don’t know,” he murmured, “feels like you are.”

Izuku frowns but doesn’t say anything else. He simply reaches up to wrap his arms around Kacchan’s neck, his fingers slipping into the hair at his nape, and he pulls him down. Katsuki comes without question, his eyes already fluttering closed as he expects that familiar warmth and weight against his lips. Instead, he feels that same warmth and weight pressed to his other cheek. Just above his scar, lingering there for a second too long before Izuku pulls back. 

“What’re you doin’ ‘Zuku?” Katsuki asks, tilting his head to the side, his arms still wrapped tightly around Izuku’s waist. 

“Hmm, kissing my boyfriend,” Izuku replies, tugging on a few strands at the back of Kacchan’s head. “Come on,” he continues, “I have something for you.” 

Katsuki whines when Izuku pulls away, but follows obediently, trailing behind, his fingers still laced with Izuku’s. They walk past the front door and through the short hallways into Izuku’s living room, which has been… redecorated. A surprised breath escapes Katsuki once he fully steps into the room and the changes properly settle. 

“Izuku…” Katsuki mumbles, turning to face him. “You… why?”

Izuku doesn’t speak for a moment, genuine surprise on his face at Kacchan’s question. Then, almost as fast as it appeared, it left, chased away by the kind of fondness you would find tucked away in the dustiest copies of love stories that were written when civilisation was still being built. He squeezes Kacchan’s hand and tugs him further inside. “'Cause it’s your birthday, Kacchan,” he says. 

Katsuki looks around again, at the soft orange lights strung around the room, at the way the couch has pushed back to make space for them to lie together on the ground, at the pillows and blankets stacked so it’ll be comfortable, at his favourite snacks and finally, his eyes drift to the cupcake sitting in the centre of the table. Orange frosting and a single unlit candle stuck in the middle. He turns back to Izuku, eyes ever so slightly misty, and he sniffles. 

“You’re too nice to me.”

“No such thing,” Izuku counters. 

“I don’t–” Katsuki pauses, looking around again, and his drunken mind can only come up with one sentence. One word he has carried around his entire life like chains wrapped around his neck and ankles. “I don’t deserve this.”

Izuku’s grip on Kacchan’s hands tightens immediately, and he shakes his head vehemently. “You can’t say that,” he says like he’s reciting an ancient law. “You don’t get to decide what you deserve, not when you can’t see yourself the way I do. The way we all do.” Izuku lets go of Kacchan, but only for a moment, because quicker than Kacchan can complain, Izuku’s hands return to rest against his chest. “You’re a hero,” Izuku continues, unbuttoning the top buttons of Kacchan’s shirt, his eyes locked onto the red of the man standing before him. 

“What are you–” Katsuki’s words still in his throat when Izuku’s fingers brush against his bare chest. Nothing else he wants to say seems willing to come out, to risk interrupting whatever Izuku is planning. 

“My hero,” Izuku says, undoing the final buttons and pushing the fabric off his shoulders until it falls to the ground. Izuku steps closer, if that were even possible and leans in, ducking his head slightly to press his lips against the scar on Kacchan’s shoulder. Like an explosion right where his left arm met his torso. “You saved me,” Izuku’s words are muffled against Kacchan’s skin, but they reach his ears regardless. “You’re always saving me, Kacchan.” 

“Izu–” Katsuki tries again, his hands hovering around Izukus's shoulders, unsure if he was even allowed to touch. Unsure if any of this was real.

“You saved everyone,” Izuku continues, nudging Kacchan back until he lands on the couch with a soft huff. “Again and again,” Izuku is kneeling now, between Kacchan’s legs, his hands resting on Kacchan’s thighs, and he leans in. Izuku’s breath brushes against the biggest scar. The one starts in the very centre of Kacchan’s chest and bursts outward like a firework, forever suspended in time and burned into skin. He closes the distance, and his lips meet Kacchan’s skin. “You saved them when I couldn’t,” he murmurs against the rough, healed-over skin. 

Katsuki’s entire body has gone stiff by this point. His eyes are closed, and his fists clenched by his sides as he lets the skin-prickling heat of Izuku’s lips wash over him. Izuku’s lips are soft, he registers, like they were recently exfoliated and moisturised. His breath is warm, and it seems to be forcing that very warmth into Katsuki’s frozen body, almost like it’s willing him to loosen, to relax. Katsuki almost cries when Izuku pulls back. 

“You’re a person,” Izuku lowers himself even more, pushing Kacchan back just enough for the skin of his stomach to stretch tight, and the scar on his lower abdominal area to become clear. “With flaws and issues. With problems you’ve fixed and things that come back. You’re a person in the same way I’m a person, in the way Toshinori and Kirishima and Ochako are people,” Izuku says and leans over Kacchan, his hands on Kacchan’s waist now as his lips brush reverently against the scar on his stomach. “You’re better than most people,” Izuku confesses against yet another scar that Kacchan got in service of him, in service of loving him. 

“D-don’t,” Katsuki finally manages to say, sitting up straight when Izuku sits upright as well. “I’m not.”

Izuku just shakes his head. “You are,” he insists, “to me, you are. Even back then,” Izuku continues, cupping Kacchan’s face, “even when you were cruel and I hated you. Even then, you were the best. You were everything, Kacchan,” Izuku leaned in, a sixth kiss landing on Kacchan’s forehead. “You are everything to me, Kacchan. You always will be.”

“Stop,” Katsuki pleads, covering Izuku’s palms on his face with his own. “Too much.”

Izuku shakes his head, “Not until you understand.” Izuku leans in again, and two soft kisses meet Kacchan’s eyelids, urging them to close. “You don’t know what it did to me,” he sits back slightly. Not nearly enough space for Kacchan to breathe, for him to close up, just enough to speak. “Seeing you that day, with the colour drained from your eyes, your skin drained of color, the blood around your mouth. I don’t even know fully what happened to me, Kacchan.” Izuku leans in and kisses Kacchan’s nose, his lips puckered almost cartoonishly as he places a small peck on the tip of his nose. “You’re everything to me,” Izuku repeats, “I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. I wouldn’t have survived the war if they hadn’t brought you back. I wouldn’t have survived everything after if you weren’t beside me.”

Izuku leans again, lips finally, blessedly, hovering inches away from Kacchan’s. “I would have died without you,” he whispers, “I would still die without you.” 

Katsuki sucks in a breath as the final confession falls like a bomb from Izuku’s lips, and with it, he closes the space. He can’t wait anymore, can't take any more of this kind of undisguised, loud affection, so he stops it. Or at least he tries to. Because when Katsuki’s hands fly out to grab Izuku by the sides of his face and pull him in, Izuku crashes against him like it’s where he was always going to be. Like his entire life has led to this moment, like it would lead to this moment every time they kissed. The devotion Katsuki tries to suffocate spills out of Izuku’s lips and into Katsuki’s own, lacing through their bodies in the form of golden light made into an unbreakable thread. It ties them together; when Izuku’s lips open and invite Katsuki’s tongue inside, the light flows between them like something primordial. Like something that had been set into motion before they were even born, before they even met, before two chubby toddlers ever stumbled into each other and became forever twined. 

Katsuki pulls back first, panting and flushed, the effects of the alcohol replaced entirely by a different kind of intoxication; one that's specific to Izuku. 

“What are you doing, Izuku?” Katsuki asks, finally able to string together a proper sentence, his voice still rough and heavy with emotion. 

“Kissing you,” Izuku replies, a soft smile taking over his face as he lets his hands fall to hold Kacchan’s hands again. “Twenty-seven kisses.” 

Katsuki blinks. He stares at Izuku as though trying to decode the words that he just spoke, like they were in a different language. “Twenty-seven–” Katsuki stops, and he counts. 

Eijirou

Kyoka

Mina

Denki

Shoto

Ochako

His mom

His dad

Toshinori

Hanta

Neito

His fans

Tsunagu

Shinya

Momo

Tenya

Sixteen kisses, he tallies in his head, his eyes still locked on Izuku’s face. Ever patient, ever kind, waiting for Katsuki to figure it out. Waiting for him to understand what this means. Then he counts again. 

His cheek

The scar on his cheek

The scar on his shoulders

The scar on his heart

The scar on his stomach

His forehead

His eyelids, both of them

His nose

His lips

Katsuki tallies it again, twenty-six now, he thinks and blinks. Izuku hadn’t not decided to participate. Izuku hadn’t been ashamed of being part of this game or of people knowing how much he loved Katsuki. Izuku had planned it. Katsuki’s thoughts drifted back to something that had sunk to the very bottom of his consciousness, a week ago, seven days, “Just tell him to give me a kiss or something!” 

“You–” Katsuki pauses because what can he say? What can he ask? Instead he squints his eyes and does the thing he knows how to, the thing he’s always known how to, “Twenty-six,” he says. 

“Huh?” Izuku asks, tilting his head slightly. 

“You said twenty-seven kisses,” Katsuki reminds him, “that was only twenty-six.”

For a second, Katsuki thinks he’s said the wrong thing; that he’s ruined everything Izuku had worked so hard to build towards because he couldn’t let the moment pass without a quip, and then Izuku laughs again. Like a spring breeze in the trees and a lake snaking through rigid stones. 

“You’re right, Kacchan,” Izuku says, raising Kacchan’s hands, still held in his own. “Always right,” Izuku leans down and reaches the finish line with a kiss pressed to Kacchan’s knuckles. To the space where his left hand meets his right in Izuku’s hold, and he stays there. “I love you, Kacchan,” Izuku mumbles against his skin, and when his eyes flicker up to meet Kacchan’s, there are tears reflecting in them. 

“Happy Birthday.”