Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A fist knocked on the door… hesitant. He never did anything hesitant. But he usually heard from him. He always heard from him. Izuku wasn’t one to not reach out…

He waited, counting to ten. Listening for any movement. Watching for any light in his unusually dark apartment. The light in his living room was always on. Izuku had fucked with the wiring just so that the lamp stayed even if he moved to another room. But it was dark in there. His foot bounced against the pavement. Jesus… where the hell was he?

“Deku.” He pounded on the door harder. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he was out, but no messages all day? No calls? They haven’t gone a day in the past six years where they haven’t talked. Even if it was a two-minute phone call. They still talked! What the hell is this radio silence?

“Deku! Come on, answer the door!” His fist pounded harder, his voice rising to a louder volume. More and more time passed, a stone growing in his stomach. Rolling uncomfortably.

His knees were shaking. He shouldn’t be shaking. It’s bullshit to shake because one nerd didn’t talk to him all day.

It shouldn’t matter that Izuku didn’t call. It really shouldn’t. But the stone kept rolling. Unease growing. Dark apartment, no phone calls, accident on the tracks… That something worse was happening just under his nose. Just out of reach, right behind the heels of Izuku. What was he missing?! Was this some sick prank?

Greeted by silence, he stared a few seconds at the door… if it were a prank, Izuku would have popped out by now with a smile on his face. He would have welcomed him inside and then regaled him about his day. He shouldn’t have to look forward to listening to this shitty nerd's day!

Katsuki moved without thinking. To the apartment's window. Simple and boring like the rest of the windows down the row of Izuku's apartment complex.

He could break the window. Wrap his jacket around his hand, feel the glass splinter under the mass of his fist. It would just be a count of three…

But would that make matters worse? What if Izuku's negligence means something? What if he said the wrong thing, and this is Izukus' message to him? To leave him the fuck alone. That he didn’t want anything to do with him, and he should just leave and order some booze to find sat beside his door when he got home. And forget Izuku. Maybe that’s what he wanted… to be forgotten. They definitely had the technology to…

Breaking his window would have the opposite effect. If Izuku was upset, breaking the guy's window would be a bigger can of worms to worry about.

But the worry stayed. Creeping up like an itchy throat. Seconds away from reeling out a heaving bark followed by a long line of coughs. He needed to know he was safe. The air was cold out here, the rain soaking through his socks. Izuku could catch a cold if he stayed out here too long. If he were even out here. And that idiot never bundled up enough. The air was even too cold for him, and he ran hot. Sitting just on the verge of a shiver. He hated the rain.

The breath around him dusted just past his lips, looking at his reflection in the mirror, expecting Izuku to look through the glass back at him, his wide eyes searching his own. His confused face making his eyes even wider. And making his nose scrunch, disrupting the spattering of freckles. His hand coming up to unlatch the window. For his voice to slide clear as the window opened on the track… he’d ask him- no, tell him to ‘Get the hell out of the rain, Kacchan.’ In his bossy, but too exasperated to really chide voice. One day, and he already missed it. What the hell is wrong with him? Missing a voice…Maybe it was just the mundane of it all he missed…

But emptiness and darkness were all that sat. No Izuku left to be found. The stone in his stomach curved down a hill, picking up the pace.

Well? He can ask for forgiveness later.

Feeling the chill as he tugged off his jacket, wrapping the material around his hand, reeling it back and into the glass, hearing a satisfying crack..

12 hours earlier

He felt the bed beside him, just gray sheets in its place. He could've sworn...He had to have been there the night before…. They’d talked… had they talked? His eyes traced the threads, the undipped mattress, and the lingering cold...

Must've been another dream. They'd been getting more and more real recently. But that felt... real.

Katsuki shook his head. A short ping rang out, motion-activated to lift the blinds in the morning. His bedroom door opened for him, no creaking. Just sleek and sharp, a white void of personality.

There was a time when he had to open his blinds himself, Open doors, and keep a track of his schedule. He didn't have to have it lit on his arm. The lights that are embedded under his skin. Sure, he was young when all the changes happened. But he knew what it was like before... Before Prime Minister Shigaraki took over control of Japan.

Before their houses were so pushed together, the entire city block felt like a joint home. Just with different doors. When he wasn't tasked with what to do every day. Or the systems in place that pushed him toward manufacturing. The government itself, trying to keep the world from blowing up.

Katsuki sighed, moving to the mirror, his arm ached. His schedule was stricter today. Every task scrollable down his arm. He remembered when he first got it. His mother and father's hands in his. Not as a way to comfort. But, a way to pull their kicking and screaming six-year-old into the chair for them to insert the chip into the back of his neck. He'd always felt off about it. Even all these years later... But having the world at his fingertips was, admittedly, powerful.

He was supposed to move to the kitchen. Make his breakfast. It stood stark on his arm.

8:05, make breakfast and coffee.

He hated the schedule. And he hated the prepackaged meals they'd provided, devoid of the taste and flavor from the meals his mother used to make. A mass-produced product, Full of adequate nutrition for someone of Katsuki's weight-to-height ratio. The chip tracks that as well, adjust accordingly as Katsuki changes. Puberty was a bitch for that.

Instead of eating the spat he hates, he stood with the ache in his forearm, an aftereffect of deviating from schedule, waiting for it to reconfigure itself. He stared into the mirror, lights turning on and shifting all by itself, the mirror, once black, now alight, reflecting over his face.

His mother's face stared back at him.

Same blonde hair, same red eyes, same grumpy pout. But he looked rested. And that's all that really mattered to him at the moment.

He looked down at his arm; the aching had stopped, he'd divulged, but as fast as he moved, so did the changes. As if it didn’t matter in the first place what his decisions were anyway. Now it reads, Brush teeth, wash face, make coffee, Open Monday's package, eat nutrients from Monday's package provided by the Commission... So on and so forth. Overtly specific, too many tasks just for his morning alone to follow. Not that he ever listened to the schedule. He had his own internal schedule that the system had to grow accustomed to. Ache be damned.

He skipped the prepackaged meal. It's not like he's wasting anything. He'd find it removed from its space in his kitchen cabinet by the time he got home anyway.

As tasks righted themselves, Brush teeth, wash face, make coffee, get dressed. There always followed a pinch of heat as they dropped off the main list. The tight burn added to the routine for him now.

Upon opening his closet, clothes were already waiting for him, hanging in the space. gray jacket, gray shirt, Comfortable gray pants, Shoes meant for walking, the soles soft for comfort.

Gray was the easiest color for them to make, too. Most everyone wore gray. Aside from a few upper class who were lucky enough to get white and blacks.

The fabric was always soft. Probably a way to appease the masses from the boring color scheme. At least they'd be comfortable...

Once dressed, he slipped on his shoes, said goodbye to his apartment, scanned his fingerprint to lock it behind him, and headed to the station.

The drive was long, there was a problem on the tracks, and he'd seen the officers on the scene, their red lights flashing from outside the window. The incident being something he zoned out of when the people beside him were whispering about it. Someone had gotten onto the tracks, and that's all he needed to know. There was no surviving a hit from one of the bullet trains...

He didn't need to worry about people outside of his vicinity anyway. It's not his concern for what people do with their time or their lives.

He fiddled with his thumbs all the way to his station, fewer and fewer people in the cabin than when he started. Usually, Izuku called him at this time. At what The Nerd had happily named, 'the lonely time...' Like it mattered to Katsuki if he had someone in his ear or not. But no call came.

'Damn Nerd probably overslept.' He thought with a snort, but he waited for the call nonetheless.

As the train came to a stop and announced the arrival at Shizuoka station, he stood, dusted his pants, tapped around on the glowing signs on his skin, pulling his circular buds into his ears. He heard a small ding, and his music began to play.

It was rainy outside the station, the streets were wet, reflecting the shimmer of the world above them. The only color he's seen in the city is that of artificial light. He pulled up his hood, walking down the endless glass windows of Shizuoka. It was bustling with people. Shizuoka always was. News reports were placed on massive screens on the buildings, yet it didn't seem of any note. The weather and new interesting technological advancements. They rarely covered anything real. No one would hear a thing about the man on the tracks. The screens were meant to distract from the real world, not accentuate it.

It wasn't his business what nonsense people used to distract themselves...

...

His shoes squelched, sounding down the halls, the tile beneath his feet repulsed by the rubber. With every step, another irritating squeal. All the way down the hall till he stood in front of a large glass door. It beeped at his entry, shining a blue light just beside the door handle. He placed his fingerprint there. It failed once. Twice, and finally after the third try, he wiped his hands against the pants. The material, barely catching the moisture that inhabited there. His nerves always increased his sweat, and it didn’t help either that his hands liked to burrow into his pants pockets every chance he could.

Finally, on the fourth try, the door slid open, back to their home his hands returned. The hallways were all familiar. Long stretching rooms, built for practicality. And just as cheap as they could make them. The longer the hallways stretched, the worse it got.

After all, the only eyes seeing this place were the workers themselves.

He made it to the workshop. Pulling out his buds, the whir of a fan could be heard, echoing off the dull metal of the room. Everything was extra quiet today..

His workspace was clean, well put together, and even his gloves had a spot. Then his belt, extra tools, were laid in place there, along with his buds. He'd need those to get through the day...

Stepping out of the workshop, he moved to the main space, into the testing room. It was pitch black, with sleek walls and floors of the same type and color. Expect a little light flickering on at first sight of motion.

"Flik, you on?" His voice echoed along the walls. The light bounced and expanded, the main lights of the room dimming onto a bright white.

"Hello. Katsuki Bakugo." Spoke the room, its blue light moving around the walls like a pair of eyes.

"How can I assist you today?"

"Flik, we're going to do another test run, okay?" He stepped forward to the middle of the room, holding his arms out and lifting his head.

"Of course, Katsuki. Test run in 3... 2..."

A headset, dropping from the ceiling, attached to his head, providing some pressure around the circumference. He waited, hearing a ding once the headset connected.

"1..."

He opened his eyes, now in a different setting, like the room had dropped away from him. Floating in blackness.

"Still here with me, Flik?"

There was a beat of silence, but Flik responded.

"Still here, Katsuki."

He stepped around the voided space, the blackness provided that he was somewhere and nowhere at the same time.

"Alright, we'll start with something simple. Show me Shizuoka station."

With a ding, the world spread around him. gray walls and blue arrows pointing to the scanning booths, all too familiar, all too real. He continued to walk towards the train, the very one he took today.

"I'd doesn't look awful. Was this made through image configuration? Or through my unconscious mind?"

The train doors opened and he stepped in. The trains inside was just as he'd seen it this morning. He stayed standing, holding onto the handholds. Even the items themselves were tangible. He tugged a bit on the handle, letting out a surprised hum.

"A mix of both," Flik responded.

He waited for the doors to open again. Flik followed suit, controlling the world around him.

"The unconscious mind mixed with muscle memory is showing success..." He mumbled, feeling the walls. The tiles, real and tangible enough.

"Ready to try another space?"

"On your call, Katsuki."

He nodded, stepping away from the wall to stand in the center floor. The roar of the train flooded his ears; he had to yell to be heard.

"Show me America, New York City." He'd never been to New York. Flik would have to rely on image processing to fill in the blanks and spaces that didn't exist in Katsuki's mind.

"Any specific time you'd like?" Flik asked, the image around him already starting to shift.

“Last Tuesday. Noon.” He turned on his heel, picking a random time, yet still reachable for the alternate reality system. As he turned, the world grew around him. Big bundles of people, stuck like sardines, pressed shoulder to shoulder, wriggling to and fro. They were right about the city that never sleeps. Everyone has a place to go, even if it's just wherever their feet may take them.

He watched the sardines for a few moments. Some had multiple fingers and warped faces. Something that Flik should be smarter at fixing. Just as he opened his mouth to tell it. They fixed themselves as they got closer. Six fingers became five. Warped faces became regular semi-attractive ones that he himself would see walking down Okinawa.

Someone stepped past him, knocking his shoulder.

Immediately, it’s like he’d shrank a few feet. Envisioning race car wallpaper and a bed to match. Something so far reminiscent of the past.

A quick view of blonde hair. He could've sworn he saw...

"Mom?" He called, but the woman continued to walk through the crowd of people. "Hey Hag! I'm talking to you!" He called again, pushing people through the crowd. He recognized that face anywhere because that was his face.

"Flik, report! What's happening?" He moved through the crowd, americans scowling and scoffing as he pushed further until his hand landed on his mother's shoulder. Her same purple cardigan was there beneath his hand. The face turned, first faceless, but features grew in seconds. Katsuki's own face reflected in it, just like this morning's mirror.

"The image configuration showed blurs of people. I filled in the cracks for you."

Flik had failed; he needed exact moments, not placeholders.

"Power down."

He watched his mother's face raise an eyebrow at him, almost there, though her jaw betrayed her. That was Katsuki's jaw. His father's jaw. Flik was making copies of a copy.

"Katsuki-" Fliks' robotic voice sounded around his ears.

"I said, Power down!"

He watched everything darken, watched his mother fade from its image. Slowly, the headpiece loosened, his consciousness returned, and he removed the circlet from his head.

"To report. Trial one: Success, Trial two: Undecided." Flik said.

Katsuki scoffed, running a hand backwards through his hair.

"Trial two was a fail. Turn off memory configuration. Send a message to Hatsume about image processing. She needs to tweak it. We can't always depend just on the mind." He bit out, already making for the door to return back to the workshop.

He slid to the computer, opening Fliks' file. He needed a working prototype in a week, and if Flik couldn't even make a proper copy from Katsuki's mind, much less create a person from the image configuration, it would be of no help to the officers and administration.

He inspected the code, tweaking things here and there. Running tests here and there. All failing.

Hours passed, eyes glued to a screen, ignoring the ache in his arm. He was close to something; he had to be.

A warm cup pressed to his cheek jolted him out of his thoughts. He jumped back quickly, greeted by a bark of laughter. An all too familiar sound.

"You looked really focused. I just had to break it." The man laughed, setting the coffee cup down. He was a builder. Hatsume handed him most of the heavy lifting. His black hair hung over his forehead, but his toothy smile outshone the drab appearance.

"Then why interrupt me if I'm so focused?" Katsuki huffed, sitting back in his chair. Tucking a foot underneath his leg. His eyes strained from lack of blinking and the excess light.

The man, Eijirou Kirishima, shrugged. His smile increasing.

"You skipped lunch, man. I was just checking on you." He leaned against the desk, glancing at Katsuki's screen, where five different documents were open on the main screen alone. "What are you doing anyway?"

He glanced at the documents himself, pushing them into place on the screen so they lined up evenly. “Flik failed a test today, so I’m reconfiguring it.”

Kirishima raised an eyebrow, looking over it all. “Didn’t Hatsume say he was working at full capacity? She said everything was in order.”

“Yeah, well, Hatsume clearly didn’t do deep enough testing. Flik failed round two of mine.” Katsuki gruffed, drawing a finger against his nose, satisfying the discomfort that was rising.

Kirishima passed him his coffee, taking a deeper look at the schematics.

“Weird, she said he was perfect. Practically ready to ship off to headquarters…”

With a scoff, Katsuki stood, nodding towards the testing rooms. “Come see for yourself, then.”

They didn’t say much on the way there. Kirishima mainly filled the sound for them, and once again, they were there with Flik.

The machine flickered to life, the glowing blue light following them.

“Hatsume, check you out today like I asked, Flik?”

They waited for a response. Kirishima bounced his fingers against his pockets.

“Flik?”

They watched the blue light bounce back and forth and then vanish.

“What the- Flik, power on.”

It didn’t. Kirishima stepped forward, moving to the control panel, pushing on it to let the latch pop open. Katsuki, in turn, kept trying the voice functions.

“Flik, power on.” He waited, then kicked the wall with the tip of his shoe. Hoping a little brute force would work, like his dad's old car. “Goddamn it, Flik! Power on!”

There were some sparks on Kirishima's end, and the room itself descended into darkness. Katsuki groaned, kicking the wall a few more times for good measure.

“Goddamn stupid, Artificial Intelligence, stupid fucking robot.” He cursed, his own frustration settling in with each kick.

The darkness lit, encapsulating the walls, sparks, and colors filled the space. Bouncing off the walls in lime green bolts of lightning. It could have been beautiful. If it was planned.

A myriad of colors grew and expanded, so bright and so fast they had to squint into the space.

“Turn it off!” The rubber soles slipped across the room as Katsuki met him at the control panel. Flipping switches and tugging chords.

The lights flickered once, the green returning, the heat from the control panel sinking through and burning his skin, reddening his hands.

A roar of pain released from his throat, his hands jolting back, wrapping around his chest to find the cave of his armpits.

“I’m going to go and grab Hatsume!” Kirishima hollered, running out of the room, his steps hardly heard through the static noise that filled the space. It grew so loud that his ears began to ring.

Using the back of his hands, he held his ears. It was pitiful, really; the backs of his hands weren’t doing shit to help. Instead, they just provided a bit of pressure to focus on besides the pulsing in his own brain.

He had read somewhere about an internal frequency that lives within each human being. Maybe whatever is happening with his stupid robot is searching for an internal frequency. To wreck his body, turn him into mush. To explode him from the inside…

Whether that was actually the case. He was pretty certain whatever was happening to Flik wasn’t because of his reconfigurations from earlier. This presented like a direct attack.

The ringing never stopped, but he certainly didn’t. Large steps carried him forward, fighting to keep him upright. To fight his stupid gray clothes from wrinkling on the floor when he eventually would topple over.

The sound continued, bones rattling, the noise so intense, so papitating that the feeling shook in his chest. Like rock music. This isn’t rock music, however. This is something trying to puncture straight through anything living. The shaking didn't stop when he collapsed against the wall, yelling from the sheer amount of pain in his ears.

Just as fast as it came, the sound completely fell away. Leaving just the ringing to recover from. The only thing overpowering that is the sound of his own heartbeat and his breath coming out in uneven heaves.

The white lights stayed, shining into every crevice of his features. He could dive into it. Swim amongst the milk. Bathe in the endless light. Spots danced in his vision the brighter the light grew.

More flickers happened. Everything flicked finally to black. Except for one thing that fought through the shutdown. Words appearing right in front of his face, each letter no bigger than his fist. Hidden news.

This wasn’t meant to be gawked at by strangers on the streets. It was for the builders and developers themselves… Was it a warning?

He read the words, tracing them over and over again. Mind racing for a clue. Who would be smart enough to do this? To take over their AI system that's being presented next week? To have the right passkeys to hack into the mainframe. Someone ballsy enough to push away any fear that they had of their government…

The words, bold in red, floating right at the height of his nose.

Read: “I am here.”

All alone, the lights finally shut down completely. Two sets of footprints sprinting down the halls. But he kept his eyes forward. Looking for Flik to reappear.

No blue light.

It’s been nine months of work. On a stupid robot. A stupid system that failed his tests today. After nine months. Said system that they cleared to be presented to the commission next week couldn’t be found.

“Flik.” His voice came out hoarse.

No Flik.

He sighed, putting his head in his hands. Katsuki never failed. At least, not often. All his life, people told him how amazing his intellect was. How he’s going to do great things. A Bakugos work never fails. They don’t get stolen out from under him like a fucked up game of take-away.

He wasn’t a failure. He just wasn’t. He couldn’t let himself be. But the tears that rimmed his eyes, stinging in their entry, made him feel like one. He’s not crying over a goddamn robot. No matter how long he took on it. The late nights. Notes he scribbled on borrowed notebooks… He’s not crying over spilled milk. Even very important, very expensive milk.

“Bakugo?” Kirishima spoke hesitantly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He had to fight to keep from tensing.

“It’s okay, the original file is corrupted, but we have the copies you saved.” Another hand on his other shoulder. The voice belonged to Hatsume. Whose pink curls enveloped her face, turning her head to peer at Katsuki with those green eyes that made him too uneasy for his own liking. Having gotten them surgically altered to increase her eyesight. The scoped look had him stepping back, nerves jumping up his spine. He never got used to them. It gave him the willies. ‘Willies’, the phrase being stolen from Izuku…

He shrugged both off with a scowl, stalking up and out the door.

“I already know that. Don’t go thinking I don’t know what shit is on my own monitor.” He spat, false confidence carring his strides. Dressing him for success, albeit shakily. The other two followed.

Hatsume blabbered on about next steps. But he wasn’t listening. He had his own steps to take. Retrieve the old files, bring the stupid robot back, and run the tests till they can send it off to the commission and forget all about it. And then check his phone. Izuku should have called by now.

He stomped back to his computer, those extras at his heels. But there was no blabbering. They waited. Praying, hoping that they could save their project.

Sitting at his desk, his jaw dropped.

The only file that wasn’t corrupted was a very early version of it. That they couldn’t fix and get to the place they needed it by next week. They had less than a week. Five fucking days.

His computer keyboard sped in a curve across the room, slamming into the wall. A few keys, popping off. The sound they left behind was like his mother’s hairpins she constantly knocked over when she did her hair in the morning. He’d hear it, just as dawn cracked and the morning blue would flood his room.

“Fuck!” He yelled, blood pumping, hands moving without thinking; he really needed to hit something. It itched beneath his fingertips. He wanted to hear resounding pops. To focus so much of his energy into his hands that explosions careened out of them. Except no explosions came. Just his sweaty, angry hands reaching for his computer screen, threatening to wreck it all down.

But those things needed saved. He needed to dislodge from the situation before they lost everything. Kirishima was already on it, pulling him back by the elbows, putting himself between Katsuki and the computer.

Katsuki panted, just staring past his shoulder as best he could. Straight to the screen..At the one file that needed months of work. Months that they didn’t have.

Hatsume ran to the corner of the room to see if the keyboard was fixable.

Kirishima held his shoulders, breathing slowly, trying to tell him how to breathe. To calm down.

Why should he calm down when months of work flew out the window from an unknown hacker- fucking up their work. All his work! Work that they will never get back.

Maybe if he looked at him for long enough, tear his eyes into the other, he’d get the hint that being an idiot wasn’t helping right now. He didn’t need to breathe; he needed to hunt down that stupid fucking hacker and really corrupt them.

He was never really good with his anger. Always chided for his large explosions. The number of fights he’d gotten in. Just like the previous times, the pot was simmering over the stove. Bubbling drastically as his sizzle echoed.

Kirishima, regrettably, didn’t move, his hands keeping Katsuki in place on his shoulders. Control layered in a sheer fabric of sweetness. Squeezing ever so subtly at his shoulders. Red eyes staring right back, watching Katsuki continue to huff out breaths till it evened out. Somehow it had worked. He’d calmed him down even though he’d fought back.

He blinked once. Twice. Shoulders drooping. Kirishima kept his eyes on him. Patient but stern.

For the first time in his life, he felt a little.. Nervous under that gaze. That pissed him off. Really pissed him off.

“I’m fine! Okay? The stupid monitor is in one piece.” He bit, breaking the contact, his eyes moving to Hatsume.

“Did it survive?” He asked, and Kirishima's hands slipped from his shoulders. Sliding feather light down his arms. Not purposeful, the touch broke off after the point of his elbow. Though the tingling from the callouses still lingered. The texture he could find himself chasing…

Hatsume responded with a snort, holding the dinky bit of plastic, half the keys missing. “Well…I know what you’re working on tomorrow.”

…

His hand collided through the glass. It hurt more than he thought it would, even with the jacket wrapped around it. The impact made his face scrunch.

That seemed hard from what he’d seen in old movies.

Bullshit movies.

“Deku? You in here?” He called into the quiet space, pushing broken glass forward to the carpet. Enough to make a hole for him to crawl through. How much was a pane of glass? 49,000 yen or something like that? He’ll cover the price of the window, especially if Izuku is mad. He’d personally reinstall it. If Izuku was mad enough. Looking back at the broken window that..yep, he’d install it. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d reinstall it. Though, mid promise to himself, he wandered into the living room. The scene made him pause…

Notebooks thrown around, things scattered across the floor. His lamp tipped over. His favorite lamp. The one he wired himself to keep on in the evenings. Bent from some sort of impact. His eyes traced the floor, to the walls, to the open back balcony door. He’d told him to lock it. Of course, the idiot didn’t listen.

He told him yesterday. Was it yesterday? Or… a few before that? His brain has been foggy all day…Either way, he told him, and Izuku just chuckled, rolled his eyes, and moved to flip the lock. Mumbling about him caring too much, which resulted in a crumpled-up notebook paper being tossed at his head. With a resounding cackle to follow it. They’d spent the rest of the night bickering about side projects…

He’d ignored every time Izuku looked at him that night. Only tentatively glancing back when he knew Izuku's eyes weren’t there. He knew the uncertainty if their eyes did meet. He grew to loathe the lurch that bloomed in his stomach. An all too warm feeling. Making him sick and giddy at the same time. It’s been like that since they were kids. Scared to chase but too stubborn to release. One of them would eventually backpedal. That’s how it always was… But what were they backpedalling from?

It didn’t matter now. From the looks of it, Izuku left.

The sobering thought carried him to each room, peeking into closets and drawers. Even under his bed… No Deku.

Someone must have taken him. Wrapped their hands around and pulled. Pulling a scared and screaming Izuku with them. He’s probably so alone and scared. Shaking and crying for help.

Katsuki's feet carried him to the balcony. Searching for anything to clue him in on where Izuku may be. He’s smart. Even if he was surprised, he’d leave something. He had to leave something. He couldn’t just leave without a sign. He begged for a sign…

There, crumbled in the corner of the door, soaked with rain, was a notebook page. Once unwrapped, his eyebrows raised.

They were his own notes. Katsukis notes. Listing the benefits that Flik had to offer. Some stupid prep for when they presented it to the commission.

All his list was present. But one there was circled. Right near the bottom in Izuku's yellow highlighter.

‘Finding People’

What or, who was Izuku looking for?

Or what if this was a message from him? A message just for Katsuki. A foolish thought, but Izuku would have left it. Right?

Make him the one to find him. If anyone could, he’s the best candidate. If anyone knew Izuku Midoriya, it was Katsuki Bakugo.

Chapter Text

He’d been working on new Flik,  oh so eloquently titled ‘New little guy’ by Kirishima, for over forty-eight hours. People are usually found in the first forty eight of those. But nothing had popped up. Izuku hadn’t popped up.. He reported Izuku missing right after he left his apartment. Tampering with a potential crime scene before any of the boys in blue could find it there. Taken notebook after notebook tucked underneath his arm, exiting the same door with the same window he’d broken to let himself in.

Those were Izukus' notebooks, sure. But plenty of them were on ‘loan’ now to him. His scribblings were on there. His scribblings about his job. About Old Flik… So he needed them. Maybe they’d speed up the process…

They had…just not as much as he’d like.

He scrapped the scribbles about the fails, kept the things that worked. He probably hadn’t slept in hours. And none of these were pages that Izuku touched! No hint or clue giving anymore indications of where he might have been taken to.

A project up in smoke, a best friend; who knows how many miles away now, and now he's hungry. A miserable concoction for an already angrier-than- most man. His screen flashed red for the hundredth time that evening. He hadn’t stopped at his apartment since he left for work Friday morning. The day after he discovered Izukus disappearance. He needed a shower. And a break. His right arm was trembling, raw and overused from all the writing he’d done atop the notebooks. Of his already neat and organized notes on his missing friends abandoned notebooks. Fourty eight hours. Izuku really was missing…

Maybe it was all just a dream. He’d wake up from this fucking nightmare, roll over in bed, feel the cold space of the sheets beside him like he’d done Thursday, and fix his entire weekend. Izuku is home and safe, door locked. And Flik is up and functioning, ready to present. No malware to be found warped in its files. And Katsuki, with a full night's rest. He hadn’t rested. Of course he hadn’t. Not after Izuku went missing. Everytime he’d closed his eyes Izuku started back at him. Green motionless, freckles no longer dancing as he face stretched into one of his constant smiles. So he couldn’t rest. Not now, Not with Izuku gone. If he wasn’t distracting himself with the ‘New Little Guy’, he was scouring over the notebooks to find just what Izuku was thinking when he circled that item on the list.

Finding people..

That feature was meant to identify suspects on major traffic lines that the cameras just couldn’t reach. Help catch glimpses of activity and replay the scene from a first-person perspective. What could Izuku possibly need it for?

Questions wracked his brain. Keying in code and scribbling over notebooks. Trying test after test. Build after build. His arm, burning, with every task for his day, swiping away dismissed. He hadn’t completed one in three days. His arm hadn’t gotten the message. He’s clearly not using that feature presently.

Sometime between hours fifty and fifty-two since Izukus' disappearance, Kirishima came with a delivery of coffee. Passing one to Katsuki with a smile, one that didn’t hide the biggest, most annoying, sympathetic look he’d ever seen in his life.

“How’re you holding up over here?” Kirishima kept that same look as he pulled up a chair, eyes nervously bouncing over Katsuki. The same look of thinly veiled pity pressed deep lines into the center of his eyebrows.
Katsuki paid no mind to the coffee. Not after he saw his face. He didn’t need anyone's sympathy. They had a brand new robot to build in just a couple days' time, two now to be exact, with an endless pile of notes and a trail to Izuku leading nowhere…

How would you guess he was holding up?

“ Fine.” He mumbled out, trying out another configuration, entering it only to have it do jack shit. Maybe the keys really were broken from when he’d tossed it the other day…
Kirishima's chair squeaked, and he pressed the hot coffee cup against Katsuki's cheek. His eyes shut willingly as the heat seeped into his skin. His eyes were so tired. They’d been locked on a screen for hours, then locked on that dumb robot. Dry crept painfully in the edges, red piercing the corners of his scleras.

Nothing would be better than closing his eyes. And once he opened them, everything would be complete; they’d have a working robot, and he could drift back to sleep. Sleep for a week. Maybe he’d worry, Izuku. Find him pacing around his apartment, having crawled through the goddamn window since his locks opened with his fingerprint. Then he’d have to hear all the shit Izuku wanted him to do. Like eating the bland meals and drinking tasteless water.

Except Izuku wasn’t here to worry. He’s the one who’s worried here. He never worries about anyone. Especially Izuku.

“You look….” Kirishima trailed off, trying to find the words to describe him in a nice light.

“Tired? Yeah. I know,” he grumbled, taking the cup from Kirishima's hand, already tilting it back to drink.
The chair squeaked again as Kirishima sank down to his elbows, leaning towards Katsuki.

“I was going to say ‘Haunted’ but… tired works too.”
His words were met with a silent glare. The cup in his hand meeting with the table. The liquid already halfway gone.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about me.” Katsuki snarked, glancing towards the other from the corners of his very tired eyes.

Kirishima just shook his head, eyes moving from Katsuki's face to the cup. He knew not to expect things from him. To stand beside Katsuki is to make space for him. Tuck into the space he gives you. Mold to fit him. Not the other way around. But it felt worth it. Being cramped and achy never felt so good…
“Nah. I’m not worried. Just…” His eyes stayed on the cup, trailing back again to his eyes. “Delivering some coffee.”

Katsuki snorts, leaning back in his chair. It’s just the two of them in the room.

He’s better at one-on-one. Never one for groups. He doesn’t have to fight for the spotlight or endure the eyes that inspect him. Waiting for his strong facade to crumble.

One-on-one, he’s able to be himself. Kirishima makes it so easy, too. He feels human in his eyes. That he’s more than the future. He’s just a twenty-five-year-old boy. He doesn’t challenge him. He accepts what's placed in front of him. He just takes what he’s given.

He likes it. More than he’s willing to admit.

“Coffee delivery isn’t your job.” He responds, nodding back to the cup.

The cup being the only thing he can really keep a focus on right now. Red meeting red felt like falling. A bullet train driving its force into his chest.
“Yeah, but… It gives me an excuse.” Kirishima shrugged, his eyes brave, searching to connect his red to another's.

“And what’s that, huh?” He asks, daring to turn his head to him.

“To check on you.” Kirishima smiles, resting his chin on his hands. “Someone's got to make sure you don’t destroy our whole project.”

Of course, that's what he was here for. Babysitting.

“So you’re recon.” His tone drops bitterly. “I’m not going to wreck the whole thing. I’m not a fucking ticking time bomb.”

“I never said you were.” Kirishima shifts, sitting back in his chair. “I was joking.”
Katsuki snorts, sipping from his cup again. He liked how Kirishima made it. Just a little bit of cream, so the bitter taste lingered in the back of your throat. Only if he could inject the caffeine into his veins, maybe he’d get the stupid robot done.

“It really was a joke. I actually…” He trailed off, trying to make up his mind. Just as Katsuki looks back at him, he sees the man take in a sharp breath, nodding shortly to himself before navigating his attention back to Katsuki. “I actually make you coffee as an excuse to visit you over here.”

He looked nervous. That more was being said than what his tongue had allowed. But Katsuki just chuckled to distract from the unease swirling in his gut.

“You don’t need coffee to say hello.” He made a special show of taking a sip. What was he doing? Why wasn’t he entertaining this conversation…“Though… it gets my attention.”

Kirishima's smile stretched. Big and toothy, practically sharp. His eyes bright. “Really?”

His own eyes rolled, finishing off the liquid in his cup.

“Really.”

He didn’t think Kirishima's smile could get any bigger, but it stretched wider. A strange view, the man was usually more timid. The first year working with him, he’d stuck to himself. Coming in, doing his job, and leaving. No friendly coffees or playful banter.
He must have gotten comfortable. Maybe building Flik in a team helped with that. A sense of community.

The dark hair hanging limp around his ears didn’t seem to suit him either. For someone so bold and confident when it comes to his emotions. He seems to hide away. Trying to keep unnoticed.

It’s a pity. He could be handsome if it weren’t for the ill-fitting hair.

“Any damage to the testing room?” Katsuki asked, leaning into his hand.

Kirishima shrugged, finishing off his own cup. “Nothing much. Some wiring had to be replaced here and there, and the breaker box needed to be replaced. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
Katsuki chuckled, eyes beginning to droop. “Yeah? Is it all functioning?”

“Well, he responds to basic commands, but all his functions aren’t up and running. It seems most of the damage came from the system itself. Flik isn’t physically affected. Everything is up and running, including the headset. And it can drop them upon command, and I adjusted the fall speed just in case and-” Kirishima continued on, though it fell on deaf ears. Katsuki's eyes slipped closed, consciousness shifting far away from his workroom and Kirishima. 

It wasn’t a dream. It felt like a memory. It was cloudy, the two had planned a trip to the beach. Away from their parents, away from the stress they were bound to face tomorrow. But it was about to rain, which means the waves weren’t meant to swim through. Katsuki dug his toes into the sand, Izuku beside him. They hadn’t ‘talked’ in… Years. Izuku just left a beach-themed note on his window the night before, asking to meet.

Katsuki, stupidly, arrived. Invitation in hand. Tossing it at Izuku's feet and plopping down beside him. They used to go to this beach as kids. They’d go all the time. Finding shellfish, trying to fight against the never-ending tide, laughing when it toppled them over.

“What do you want, Deku?” He tried to keep his voice harsh. Just like his mother. Mimicking her same commanding tone. Pride bloomed in his chest as he saw the nerd flinch.

“I…” Izuku started, hugging his knees to his chest. The salt whipped at both their faces. “I don’t have anyone else to talk to about this.”

He watched the tide for a few seconds. It swelled forward, crashing to the sand, rippling outwards in white seafoam. Crossing further than the last water's edge did. But it was dragged back again. A never-ending battle in competition with the other waves. Fighting for first place, only to get pulled back by sheer force.

He hummed. It was short, but it was an acknowledgment nonetheless.  The waves continued to crash. They would crash until the moon disappeared. They didn’t crash just for him. Or for Izuku. Its nature that pushed it. Maybe it’s nature that pushed them too…

“It’s just…” He dragged his hand through his hair. Green pulling back into a mossy sea of curls. Brown freckles speckled bright over the surface of his forehead.

“How are you so sure you want to be an engineer?” His voice was small… bordering on uncertain. “You’re so sure of yourself, Kacchan. You’re so sure of your future.”

Why was he entertaining this? Even though his pride flooded like the growing waves beside them in his chest at Izuku's praise… This was Deku. Shrimp Deku. Plain Deku. Nothing defining about him, Deku.

“Why do you care?” It came out harsher than he wanted. He knew so by the echo that reverberated back to him. His tone was cutting. Only interrupted by the cut of the sea. He watched as Izuku shrivelled into himself, pulling tighter to his knees. The pride continued to ebb and flow within him.

The nerd fumbled for something to say, burying his face into his knees, breathing deep, confidence-inducing breaths.

“Just- just. How are you so sure about what you want to do for the rest of your life? We’re only fourteen.”
The sand shifted, and he slipped down, lying against the sand. Was this conversation really worth his time?
What else would he be doing instead? Bumming around? Messing with the new additions to his parents' house?
The conversation with Izuku might just be the next best thing there is to do besides sitting in silence, all alone.

“Right now, it’s the only option that seems worth it.” He took a breath. Maybe that will suffice. He waited a moment for a response, but when silence fell against the sand, he continued on. “It will give me recognition in this world. And when I’m at a certain point, I’d be the one in charge of the advancements. I’d be the one calling the shots around here.”

The clouds in his view moved as the earth continued to spin. It’s nature that will stay ever present despite the technology threatening to tear it down. Even if the grass gets torn and the trees fall away. The clouds will be the last to stay, until the air falls flat. Nature will press forward. Would Deku be the one to press forward?

“I will be the one who creates our daily life.” He held up his hand in an ‘L’ shape, corralling a bundle of clouds. Framing his hand like it was a picture. Lights in his skin blinked. The list on his arm provided no comfort. Just a nagging reminder. The chip in his neck gave him nothing good but an ache…He could change that. Get rid of the chips and the schedule. Make life worth experiencing without the ache.

Izuku stared on at him, the waves covering up all the sound. The silence stretched, though he found peace in it rather than the unease from before.

“You’re amazing.” It was soft. Delicate and hopeful. Spilling out of his lips like he meant it. Why would he mean it if Katsuki's been nothing but cruel to him? It’s pitiful, really.

When Katsuki turned his head, he found Izuku's eyes first. They locked on each other, as the world changed their view around them. Staying on that green. The green was a constant.

It was always like this. An ineffable bond, that hurtful words, bruises, and split lips couldn’t dissipate. No matter how far they drifted away, somehow, nature would pull them back. And uproot everything Katsuki had ever planned for himself.

He’d always have Izuku no matter how much he pushed. However many bruises he managed to leave. How many goodbyes he tried to say.
Maybe this is his own hell. This is his reminder that the floor could crumble beneath him, and standing out above him would be Izuku. Useless Izuku. Deku. Standing there, stepping in to save the day.

What a cruel reminder. Just how easily he can be forgotten by the world if Deku stays here, ten steps ahead of him every time.

“I know I am. I’m a Bakugo.” That's all he responds with. Not a thank you.  Or how much that means to him. That he’s glad that Izuku views him like that. He prefers it. Wants to be seen by Izuku in that way. Like he’s some higher being.
Untouchable and unreachable.

“I mean it.” Izuku laid down beside him. Staring up at the clouds. Katsuki should move. He should shove Izuku. Demand he leave. That he doesn’t want to catch whatever Deku has that makes him so Deku.
But he doesn’t. He lets their shoulders brush. Watches the rise and fall of the boy's chest. Following up the line of his throat, only to see a sea of green pooling to his own. Forcing to watch the nerds smile stretch.
“You’re so motivated for everything you do. Nothing's going to stop you until you reach that point… I’m envious, really.” He shifts to face him, lying on his side, arm tucked beside his head.

“Here I am, no clue for my future. And here you are with a ten-step plan to ruling the world.” Izuku chuckles. The waves continue their roar beside them.

That coats him in a lasting kind of warmth, one that creeps up his neck and burrows deep in his stomach. He wants to laugh, kick his feet, and roll Izuku into the sand. But he just watches him, lets hands twitch till he tucks them under his head, to face Izuku.

“Don’t you have options?” He asks, watching Izuku shrug his shoulders, eyes dropping.

“I do… but, they don’t feel like they fit me.” He mumbled again, nibbling on the dry skin of his lip.

“Fit you?” The other questions.

“My mom wants me to become a teacher because I’ll get to help people. And I do. I want to help people. But… I don’t think it’s as impressive as, yknow… fixing the world.” He replied, the pout on his bottom lip pressed further, and he could see the sand that stuck to his skin. He should brush it off. He looks stupid.

He himself has sand… sure. He’ll probably never get every grain from this out of his hair. But Izuku looked stupid, freckled cheek coated in a hazy layer of sand.
“Okay. Sure, Auntie wants you to do that. But… what do you want to do?”

Izuku shrugged. “That's the issue. I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.” He snorted.

Izuku blinked, caught off guard by the stern response. “Kacchan, I’m serious, I don’t know-“

“And that’s utter bullshit,” Katsuki interjected, pulling up to his elbows.

“Kacchan-“ He tried to interject, brows diving down to try and meet the center of his nose.

“You want to be an engineer. We’ve-“ He corrected himself. “You’ve wanted to be one since we were kids.”

“But that’s…your thing. Everyone knows you’re going to. You’re going to change the world.” Izuku follows suit, resting up on his elbows
.
He’s right, of course. Once he sets his mind on something. And this is something he’s had his mind set on since they were kids; he’s going to do it.

And he doesn’t share. He’s never been good at it.

Maybe this is all just to rub it in Izuku's face. That he’ll come out on top, leaving him behind for once.

“You’re right. It is my thing.” And it can’t be Izukus. Or else Katsuki will be forgotten. Amounting to nothing and no one.

“See? And I don’t want- I can’t compete with you. I’ve got no shot.” Izuku replied, shifting to face Katsuki again, finding his eyes easily.

No shot his ass. Izuku worked the same way he did. Stubborn to a fault and driven to achieve his dreams.
The only difference is, Izuku had to wait for a miracle while Katsuki's life lay out for him. He just had to take the right steps.

“You’re right.” His words came out harsher than he intended. “Stay a teacher.”

He watched Izuku physically droop. Sink further into the sand, large, sad eyes flicking from one eye to the other..
“You…think so?”

“I know so.” He muttered back bitterly, turning his head to face the clouds. The shapes should bring him peace, but all they’ve managed to do is be a pleasant background for the rock rolling in his stomach. The jealous, guilt-ridden rock that seems to win out every single time.

The only way Katsuki would ever let Izuku win. Is if he was out of his way. If he disappeared entirely…
…
His eyes snapped open, his screen still blinking red from his last failed attempt on ‘New little guy’. Kirishima was nowhere to be found. But a weight was draped over his shoulders.

A jacket. Heavy and gray. Similar to Katsukis, that was hanging with his stuff a few feet away.

He scoffed, brushing the jacket off his shoulders. The idiot left his jacket when Katsuki's own was less than ten feet away.

On his screen, stuck to the corner was a note.

‘Hey Bakubro, didn’t want to wake you. You looked like you needed the rest. Don’t explode at me when you do wake up. -E’

He lifted his head off the desk. The room was dark, his arm ached, blinking tasks on his skin.
He groaned, pulling his hand down his face.

It was dark out. He didn’t have a robot ready. And one more day to do so.

Fuck. And the dumbass let him sleep.

The clock in the corner of the screen blinked at 3 am.
The light from the computer screen cast against the sticky note, dark lines showed on the other side. He reached for it, turning the note over.

‘Ps. You should let me yap you to sleep more often.’ The note read, the heat crept up his neck again, followed by a newfound annoyance. What the hell was Kirishima's problem?

Scoffing once again, he tossed the note into the waste bucket beside his desk. It drifted down to the metal, the only thing in the basket. Bright orange, almost shining against the dark basket
.
Sitting there, taunting him, was the note. Wasted time. A missing friend and an ache in the corner of his temples that would just not go away.

He tried to type. Let his hands try the next configurations on his list. Each one more unsatisfying than the next, one after the other blazing red after every test.

Except for one thing, that continued to catch his attention. To fight as he may, the bright orange at the bottom of the wastebasket demanded his gaze.
Maybe he was just really tired. That’s it. His eyes are drifting, and like a moth, it’s finding the light.

Though it didn’t take long for him to fish it out, he tucked the orange into a lower drawer beside his feet.
A few items clattered together from the force of the drawer being pulled open: old notebooks and loose staples, a green notebook, well well-worn cover, and bending pages.

He blinked once, then twice, and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

The notebook. Izukus notebook. The one he demanded that he center all his notes in one place after creating a large stack of papers and napkins, all with Katsuki's scribbles and mappings on them.
It had barely anything on it to begin with. Izuku had ripped out the front page and tossed it to him.

That was on month six of the project.

When things finally started to come together. When he believed they’d created Flik. Not just a heap of code and metal. But Flik. A fully functioning Flik.
And here it was. Notes on just how they accomplished that. How they reached the point they did.
The notebook did not need to lounge in that drawer anymore. It's turn was on the front lines. To let Katsuki inspect and peruse its pages, diligent as a soldier moments before a battle.

How did he forget it was here in the first place…

He jumped to work, searching for one configuration after the next. Some flashing red. Others flashing green and staying green. A good motivator to keep moving forward through the pages and pages of notes.

Two cups of coffee later, multiple useless pages tossed to fill up the empty wastebasket, He pressed forward on his final configuration, the final piece to the feature. Flik’s memory bank that had been so warped beyond belief.

That’s it.

He blinked at the green screen in astonishment. Laughing a little at himself. The configurations were correct. All he needed was this little notebook and a night. Thank god he had notes, and fuck him for not finding the notes earlier.

But Jesus Christ, it felt good to see green.

He stood, now wired. Goosebumps rising on his flesh from the anticipation.
The new little guy was functioning. At least, he hoped.
He moved out the door, a blue morning greeting him. His steps thudding faster as he got closer to the testing room.

Eventually, he was jogging. He couldn’t seek to get to the room fast enough. The morning sun just peaking out through the tall building. Celebrating him with their light.

Bathing him in its shine of warmth. His heart thudded, legs picking up, laughing gleefully. The force catching on his hair, pulling it back. Exhausted tears rimming his eyes.

The motion-activated lights followed his steps. He was sprinting now, chasing the light. Relishing in this brief moment of celebration.

He felt… light. The lightest he’d been in days. Maybe it was a delusion. Probably was. But he lived in it, cherished it, so much so that he sprinted past the testing room. Having to double back after skidding to an awkward stop.

Once inside the room, all darkness greeted him. Just like before. Just as it had in the past few days.
His heart sank. Watching the walls, looking for that blue light.

He stood there for a minute or more in anticipation. Watching for any sign of blue. Any sign of Flik.
Though the blue never came. All the tests showed green. What did he do wrong?
Except in front of him. A flicker. Not if blue, but of orange. Like a warm fire shining into his eyes.

“Flik?” He asked into the darkness, and the light bounced.

“Hello, Katsuki Bakugo.” The light bounced again, centering above him.

“Flik!” His smile grew. Holy shit. Flik was on! He was orange, but he was on.

He jumped up, tongue and teeth already making the words before they could register them.
“Status Report?” He asked, Flik bounced left and right beside his head. Bobbing back and forth like a ping pong ball.
“Memory- Functional, data collection- Functional, satellite imagery- Functional, facial and name recognition- Functional.”

He jumped again, letting out a few hoops and hollers. Flik followed as he jumped up and down.

“Hell yeah, Buddy! That’s what I’m talking about!” He cheered, stepping into the center of the room. “Ready for some tests?”

“Always, Katsuki,” Flik responded; the headset dropped down, hanging limply for him. Waiting to be taken and put to the test.

He slid it over his head; the band dug a bit into his scalp, but those are minimal mixes that the bigwigs can decide on. He’s just here to get the tech working properly.

“Where do you want to go?”

Where did he want to go? He wanted whatever had just happened down the hallway. To chase the light. To feel untouchable and unreachable.

Like all those years back at the beach.

“Irita Beach. Present day”

He opened his eyes, waves around him, it was like he’d remembered. There were overgrown plants on the corners. Same large rock mass to the left. The one he used to jump off of into the water, much to his mother's worry. But this beach, his beach. Stood out stark in front of him. But instead of sunset, it was the early morning light. The sea was still dark, the sun beginning to rise behind him.

“And this is the current moment?” He asked Flik, walking along the surface, the sand shifted at his feet. Despite being on the hard floor of the testing room. It’s shifted with him. Strange what the human mind believes just because the eye sees it…

“Yes. Current time, a few seconds behind.” The voice responded through his headset.
Beside his feet was a card. An old card, torn and waterlogged. Too familiar to be a coincidence.

He tilted his head at it. That’s out of place. He picked it up, so wet that it sagged in his hands. If he wasn’t careful, he could rip it.

The same paper crab and sandcastle greeted him. The sand, purposely made to sparkle by whatever greeting card company the nerd had bought it from, was now a dull gray from the wear and tear of it all.
There’s no way it had been here all these years. And in the exact place, too.

Slowly, he cracked it open. Finding it blank. Izukus scribbled writing from when they were fourteen wasn’t there. Why wasn’t it there?

“It’s blank.” He responded softly. His words were swallowed up by the waves crashing behind him. He blinked, feeling the disappointment sink, carving a hole that burrowed into his stomach.

“Yes, I am using satellite imagery for this recreation. I have no knowledge of what the card encapsulates. I could piece together the probability of it, if you’d like.” Fliks' voice resounded, the page moved around, putting a cheesy ocean-themed birthday pun on the right-hand side.

“I cross-referenced cards on the market with this design from a few years ago. This is what the card would have minus personal attachments.”

His card did have that, but Izuku had tried to scribble it out. Katsuki would have thrown the card away if he’d kept the cheesy message.

His card had a small note on the left corner and a time. A poor idiot boy requesting time and attention that Katsuki didn’t deserve to give.

And now that boy is gone. Lost and alone. Waiting for Katsuki to find him.

“And you’re sure this is the present time.” He asked Flik, dropping the card and pushing the headset off his head.

“As of 10 seconds ago, yes.” The light bounded, following Katsuki's footsteps along the floor, its orange color streaking a path to the door.

“And this card is there?” He asked, sliding the handle to open the door.

“Yes. Katsuki.” Flik was patient. A robot has to be patient. It knows nothing but that.

“Irita beach. Right now. Today?” He demanded again. It made no sense. Why would the card still be there?

“Yes. Today.”
He was out the door in seconds, barreling into Kirishima,  who was walking through the testing room doors at the same moment.
“Whoa, hey.” Their shoulders knocked, Katsuki continued his trek forward. He needed his jacket.

His jacket. Kirishima had left his jacket here. It was still on the floor in his workroom.

Kirishima double-backed, catching up with Katsuki.
“Good morning to you, too.”

“Fliks online.” He responded shortly, long strides carrying him down the hallway.

“Little guy is? That’s great!” Kirishima followed, with longer strides, keeping up easily.

“Get your stupid jacket too.” Katsuki spat, turning the corner, moving quickly around his workstation, and grabbing what he needed.

“How’d you know it was mine?” Kirishima continued to follow, right on his heels.

“It’s a size too big and there are oil stains on the sleeves.” He bit out, tucking his pages away. Ignoring the heat in his ears when it opened up to the drawer, the bright slip poked like a sore thumb. He hated the way Kirishima's smile grew once he saw it.

“Did you stay warm?” He grinned, running a hand backwards through his limp hair.

“Why did you let me sleep?” He slammed the drawer shut, bending at the waist to pull the jacket off the floor, rolling it into a ball and tossing it to Kirishima.

“You looked tired.” Kirishima slipped on his jacket, the oil-stained sleeves almost as dark as his hair. He looked almost shark-like like all gray and toothy. Dangerous suited him.

“Doesn’t matter. I needed to work.” Katsuki but back, logging off his computer, making sure everything was unreachable. He’s not going to have another hacking issue again. Not when they just got their work back.

“Well, Fliks functional isn’t he?” He chuckled, leaning his side against the wall, his sharp smile still ever present.

“It- okay, it is. But-“ It sounded dumb to his lips, fumbling for words. He’s not supposed to fumble.

“But you needed that sleep to get him up and running. Really, you should thank me.” The smile stayed constant, red meeting red, with a subtle head tilt to match. Much to his surprise, Krishima was being smug. So smug that heat continued pouring buckets across his skin, seeping home into his ears.  He turned his head roughly.

“For what?” His voice strained to stay level. What the hell was happening to him?

“For… being a harbinger of sleep… I guess.” Kirishima shrugged.

He felt his eye twitch.

“Whatever. Have Hatsume run some tests and double-check the internal wiring. I’m taking the rest of the day.” He pulled his backpack up to his desk, double-checking that he had it all. Keeping busy kept his mind occupied and not on Kirishima….

“To sleep?”A step forward made his head lift.. Red with red again. He swallowed thickly.

“Well…” He trailed off. Should he even mention it?

“Go home and rest.” His tone was firm, but the sharp smile stayed.

“I’m going to the beach.” He admitted, shrugging lamely. Seriously, what the hell was happening to him? Kirishima laughed, head shaking back and forth in disbelief.

“Not, like that. I’m looking for something.” He mumbled, tightening the strings on his bag, Kirishima shrugged

“Foreboding, I like it.”

One again he was reminded just of how alone the two were in the room. In the whole building. It was just the two of them. He didn’t hate it.  He just couldn’t focus on that right now.

“Don’t.”

“What?” Kirishima chuckled defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t glomp onto my business.” He fired back.

“I’m not.” Kirishima taunted.

If his eyes could roll further around his head, they’d get stuck there. “Whatever.”

“Hey, well… enjoy your beach time. Don’t get too sunburnt. But, good on ya for taking a rest. You’ve been working hard.” Kirishima smiled, tossing Katsuki's jacket to him. “We can hold the fort down over here. We’ll see you tomorrow for the presentation, okay?”

Katsuki nodded, slipping his arms through the sleeves.

“And do something with that hair.” Kirishima chuckled, taking a step out of the room.

Heat crept up the base of his neck, surpassing a delighted shiver at the others tease. The attention was gratifying
“You’re one to talk.” Katsuki snarked back, watching the boy and his mop of black hair disappear around the corner out of sight.

…

He stepped out thanking the driver who just gave him a nod and continued on its way.

One day he’d find a way not depend on travel. Maybe get a car of his own.

Maybe he’d engineer a way to fly wherever he wanted to. But nature wouldn’t allow that. Birds have wings for a reason… people belong on the ground.

The ground is constant. It’s there to catch what gravity refuses to hold. The ground, even shifts of sand, softens the blow of a long fall. softens the shove of a mossy haired boy and a bloody nose, finally standing up for himself.

He chuckled a bit at the memory. Distant. But purposeful. It was the day his amazement for Izuku shined through. They were only sixteen, Katsuki pushed him just a bit too far, and in their similar nature, he got what was coming to him. A broken nose, blood in his teeth but the furling of admiration through his pride had bursted through the floodgates.

Finally presenting what he already knew. To protect his heart, cause Izuku could so easily destroy it of he wanted to.

His thoughts dried out, catching the card in the sand, same as he’d seen it just an hour ago. Cold sea whipped through the air, stinging his cheeks and ears. One thing Flik couldn’t replicate in the simulation.

The ferocity of nature. The sting and warmth that it delivers to every living thing.

He picked up the card again. Waterlogged, just as he’d seen it. Looked to have dried out and been soaked through again. How long has this really been out here?

Not long enough to destroy the artifact. But short enough to damage it.

It was harder to open in real time. Had to tear the corners just to open it.

But it arrived just as he’d remembered. Cheesy line scribbled out in thick black marker. Messy hand written message on the side, bleeding through, almost disappearing from the tide finding its pages.

Except right in the center. Sits his name.

Not a birth given one.

One given out of friendship. Of childish wonder.

There, in Izukus red grading pen was his name.

‘Kacchan.’

Chapter Text

He finds Izuku again in his dreams.
Except this time it’s no memory. Before, a memory had danced in his unconscious. But now the dance had changed; it had shifted. This wasn’t a memory, just a cruel joke.

Buildings spreading as high as the eye could see. Its glass panels reflecting the rest of the world around him. But when he lifts his head. All that’s left is himself, looking up into the glass. His own red eyes looked back at him, inverted from his place on the ground.

What’s worse than the reflected windows is the crowds brushing against his shoulders. Impatient pacing of the drones of people bustling to find a destination. Yet falling empty. Stuck in a cramped, slow squeeze, prolonged by passerby’s standing completely still. Delaying each journey onwards.

As he walked amongst the crowd, their heads would lift with his motion, following his stride. Large glassy eyes stared from all around him. Settling in their sockets to lock onto the blonde target. Everywhere he looked were the whites of people’s eyes, placing their attention on him, everywhere he walked. Unbroken and unbreakable.

Oddly, it reminded him of the New York test with Flik a few days ago. Where he’d seen his mother.
Except now… no blonde hair or purple cardigan in sight.
The sky itself seemed to catch wind of it. Darkening the dream with endless rain. Wet splatters against the pavement. Painting the gray clouds even darker.

He hated the rain. It soaked through too quickly. He was meant to see the sun. To run with it and chase the light. Though when he lifted his head, just dark gray covered it.

He was starting to hate the color.

He’d almost forgotten about the eyes, but when he looked back at the slow crawling crowd, it sank in again. Shocking his system, prickles drawing up to his knees. Floods of white irises straining to keep their silent gaze on him.

It shot up his spine uncomfortably. Leaving him raw for a few seconds to recover from the jolt of it all. But a flicker several feet ahead caught his eye. A gap in the whitened orbs. Through the sea of eyes and the windows reflecting himself, there was a head turned away.

A green mop of curls.

Good god, he could have sobbed. If he was the sobbing sort.
His feet picked up on their own, pushing through the crowds, past the large eyes of the sardines of people. But every step he took, Izuku took three more.

“Deku!” He yelled, picking up into a run. His feet hit the pavement in forceful thuds.

Shoulders and limbs, and legs, were all he could fight through. Knocking people away, stepping through them, weaving through the crowd that was only getting heavier. The rain splattered forcefully against his skin. Stinging his cheeks. Nature itself: trying to pull him back. To slow him down.

“Deku! Turn around!” He panted. The green-haired boy was running through the crowd that had miraculously split for him. Yet, closed as fast as they could ahead of the blonde.

Why did he have to be stuck here against his heels? He’s never once had to call for Izuku. Izuku stayed put. Deku was formidable.

Two miles away from his family home. Becoming a teacher. Always at family dinners. Always gifting everyone a smile, even when he didn’t need to.
Izuku was supposed to stay. He was supposed to be predictable.

“Do you even fucking hear me?!” Katsuki stumbled from the sheer mass of the people crowded around him. Stumbling over gray shoes and elbows.

He was going to kill that scrawny fuck the second he reached him.

His elbows pushed and shoved; these extras didn’t matter with their wide eyes and slow paces. There was just one person decidedly not looking at him that mattered more.

“I know you can hear me! Turn around, Coward!” He growled, catching his balance, the crowd swallowing up his frame. He pressed against countless limbs, large white eyes staring down at him, physically unbothered by his presence. That large mass slowly overlapping his view. Then silence.

The figures stilled. The eyes closed and transformed. Hardening immediately to statues. cold marble and stone trapped him in place—all except the boy ahead of him.

The coward did turn finally. Strong, defiant eyes found his. Green swallowing red whole. The view itself, crashing against the growing sands of his temperament. He looked indifferent. Indifferent to his entire existence. Like he was just another irritation in his day. A pebble in his shoe.

Katsukis has never been reduced to a pebble before.

Izuku shook his head. The same air he held when chiding one of his students. Except warmth wasn’t present. Just annoyance. That he was the cause. Katsuki was the annoyance Deku was trying to shrug off.

It left the two standing there amongst the stone figures. Their stone limbs and forms keeping Katsuki far away from reaching him. As they held each other’s gaze. Opening his mouth to speak, only to follow with the jolted view of his ceiling.

A gasp wracked through his lungs as he rose from his bed. The entire system on edge. Reaching for the space beside him again. He found the waterlogged card waiting there.

The ghost of a mystery taunting him.

…

The bathroom was quiet. The faucet dripped every minute or so. It’s not an issue that needs pressing. Really, it doesn’t. Though Katsuki has to hard blink at himself in the mirror with every little plink that hits the stopper.

He’s been dreading this. The meeting with the executives. Full of people he has to impress. People who need to buy his work. To claim it is worthy of something. Of course, it’s worth something. But is it great? Is it enough?

If it wasn’t enough, he would’ve rather just let the file be corrupted and moved to the next thing that was ‘enough’.

He woke up earlier than usual to pencil in the self-loathing. To give himself time to fix the mess of spikes. And the subtle realization that he hasn’t heard from Izuku in four days. That, Izuku is definitely gone. Maybe forever. And that whatever he’s thinking about Izuku in his unconscious mind is nervous that Izuku ran from him.

Him.

Dekus glower still hung behind his eyes when he closed them. He’d never seen that look on the nerds face before. It wasn’t real. He knew it wasn’t true.
But is this how he is going to see Izuku for the rest of his life? Through dreams and memories? Through indifferent looks? Is that the final look he’ll see instead of Izuku’s cheerful ones? The ones he’d grown to look forward to. Will he be haunted forever by the fear of losing…

His jaw clenched, gripping the sink as hard as he could.

No. Don’t do this.

He swallowed heavily, A hardened stone forming in his throat. He let his head droop. Biting back, shaking breaths. After he choked on the stone, he wracked a soft sob through his quivering lips.

Don’t do this.

Light dots speckled in his view, breaths heaving. His arms—shaking as his shoulders tensed up. a coiled band close to snapping. Pulled too hard, too fast.

If what was happening was happening…His knees would buckle soon.
Fuck.
No. No. He can’t deal with this today.
Tears burned on the edges of his eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. It doesn’t matter. Deku doesn’t matter. Let him leave if he wants to.

His heart squeezed, like someone pressed a straight pin into it. Impaling what little beats he had left to give. No. No. Don’t.

Letting out another choked sob, his knees buckled.

He was shaking, maneuvering to lean against the wall. His panting built to gasping breaths. Tingles running up his arms and face.

He can’t do this today. It’s not the time. He has to go. He can’t deal with this right now. He shouldn’t care. Why does he care?

It should be easier without Izuku. He doesn’t have to feel the guilt of living the dream Izuku wanted. An engineer, building the things they love. Mechanical excuses to help people.

Izuku should have left years ago. It would have been easy then. Before his heart shaped to fit him. In whatever way Izuku wanted to fit. He’d carved a space for him.

For him to lie in and stay within its confines.

He’d never done that for anyone. Not his mother or Father. Not his schoolyard buddies or work acquaintances.

It just had to be the one thing Katsuki needed that disappeared.
Fuck this. And fuck that useless Deku who deserted him.
He should be smarter than that to get his hopes up like that ever again.

He wouldn’t. Cause if this is what it feels like when they eventually leave… is it even worth the risk?

Katsuki wasn’t worth the risk. Clearly.

His sobs increased, tucking his head into his knees, breaths heaving…He let himself cry.

Whatever he was feeling. He’d release it now. Better here than in the meeting.

He rode out to the tail end of his panic. Squeezing stinging tears out of his eyes, his grip over his chest shaking. That hole in his heart, carved for the other shrinking slowly.

Finally, after minutes of painful stabs in his chest, he came down from it, with scattered spots in his vision. Shaking gulps and sobs out to catch in the hum of his bathroom fan. He followed the hum, syncing his breath with it till finally his breaths evened out.

He reached for the sink, pushing his shaking body up till he reached his reflection.

Hair shone bright blond against the bathroom mirror. His mother’s eyes looking back at him. Covered in sadness and panic. But most of all, exhaustion.

The back of his hands rubbed the salt off his cheeks. Watching the red rim of his eyes.

He always found tears subtly beautiful. He loved the redness that followed after someone would cry. The shine of their eyes. The pinky blotch of their cheeks and nose.

Maybe it was just Izuku’s tears that he found beautiful. A ridiculous thought. But he’d seen the nerd cry ever since they were kids. Maybe tears like that brought comfort. It was ordinary to him now.

Because all he sees before him is an ugly boy with puffy eyes, unruly hair, and bags of dark chasms beneath a sea of dangerous red.
He wasn’t meant for that subtle beauty.

His features were harsh. Sharp eyes, pointed nose, tilted jut of his jaw. And his hair.

Spikes, mapped around his head in their sandy fields of his scalp.

Just like Eijirou’s teeth… They provoked danger—an explosive brat who will do nothing but cause harm.
He didn’t appear to be presenting a work of technological advancement. Someone who did that was… more refined than him.

The Prime Minister of Japan was going to be there with his team.
And here he was, running late, with unstyled hair, coming down from a panic attack, and not a clue what to do with Izuku’s message.

It was just his name. What is he supposed to do with just his name? A nickname no less. Nowhere to guide him… but maybe a way to push him in the right direction?

…Ever the pessimist, hope didn’t find him this time. He pushed forward instead.

Opening the mirror cabinet, pulling out the gel.

He hated gel. It was sticky and smelt like a salon and never worked very well for him anyway.

His mother, though, would smother her hands in it and pull the sides of his hair back for every single one of their events.

…

He was eight. Her hands, running on the left side of his head. He’d already been told to hold still nearly eight times. All met with a little tug on his hair when he didn’t behave.

Their bathroom was tans and golds kept clean and stocked with rich creams and rubs. A yellowed marbled countertop, tan walls, and a large mirror reflecting Mitsuki Bakugou and her little boy, who was sitting on the counter. There was a clawfoot tub in the corner with white towels hung over it, all the metal: a rusty gold. A walk-in shower on the opposite end and a separate room, no bigger than a closet, for the toilet. Brown and white mosaic tile decorated the floor with soft white rugs beside the cabinets. Keeping morning cold off of his mother’s and father’s feet when they brushed their teeth in the morning. Following diligently the schedule on their arms.
His mother’s humming reverberated off the tiles as her hands continued to flatten down his spikes. Her own straight spikes curled elegantly around her face.

He’d hated the texture and the feeling of the comb pushing his spikes back. Flattening down the shape, his mother cut it in.

His mother’s smile curved, pulling rosy at her rouged cheeks. A rare thing, given that he learned his bad attitude from her.

She combed careful strands back, pushing his blonde tufts away from his face.

“Well, look at that, Brat.” She smiled, voice soft. Lilting musically from her warm red eyes and white toothed smile. “There’s a handsome little boy hidden under all that hair.”

He slapped her hands off him, giving her a great big scowl. She responded with a raised brow. “Really, Kid? It’s just an event. Think of all the treats you’ll be able to eat. And I’m sure your father will let you sneak a few extras from the table.”

Katsuki grumbled again. He wanted to play. To go out and run in the neighborhood with his friends. The rest of them were riding their bikes around, collecting more kids for games.

But he was here instead, smothered in wet and sticky gel, currently pushing his hair down to make an appearance for his parents’ stupid event.

Mitsuki sighed, buttoning up Katsuki’s shirt for him.

It was a white shirt with a black vest. She’d handed him a matching bowtie earlier, setting it on his bed to go and get herself ready first. That was her first mistake. First sign that the coast was clear, he hid it in the floor vent beneath his bed.
They knew he hid stuff in his pillow case and in his mattress, shoved things under drawers, and in his garbage can.
They hadn’t found Auntie Inkos’ ugly Christmas sweater she’d knit his entire family that he’d shoved into his vent in March, so that was the best option for the bow tie to go.

“It’s itchy,” Katsuki complained, tugging his collar from his neck. He’s always had sensitive skin. That followed him to adulthood. Sweaty and sensitive.

Mitsuki chuckled, setting Katsuki’s hair with the blow dryer. “Yesterday you said it was fine.”

“Yesterday it wasn’t itchy.” He mumbled, crossing his arms, glaring up at his mother.

“Well, what else would you wear, baby boy?” Mitsuki sighed, eyebrows pinching exasperatedly.

He scowled at the nickname. “I’m not a baby.”

He was eight. Eight. He wasn’t a baby. Closer to fourteen than an infant. And when he’s fourteen, he gets to choose his future. To find his path for what he’ll do till he drops dead. He’ll make mountains of money, own four cars that he’ll be able to drive, and have a wife and kids by the time he’s twenty-five. Like what everyone else does. Except he’ll do it better. 

Mitsuki clicked her tongue, pressing her lips to her boy’s forehead. “Don’t even think about it. You’ll always be my little baby.”

Glancing back in the mirror, his mother's lips left a mark on his skin. He hated lipstick. 
And with an audible scowl, he made it known. Quickly, with his sleeve, he wiped it, marking the sleeve red, blurring the kiss mark on his forehead. 

“Oh! No. Kid- why’d you do that? You’re wearing white!” His mother scowled, tugging his little arm to the sink.

They spent the next few minutes scrubbing his sleeve under the cold water. It was still a muddy pink by the time their arms blinked, their schedule telling them they had to go.

The event itself wasn’t for his parents, per se. It was a birthday party. The Prime Minister’s birthday ball. Everyone of worthy note would be in attendance. The adults would drink and be merry, while the children brought there would sit in their chairs, or find other kids to play with.

But he didn’t want other kids. He wanted his kids to be out on his bike with them. He heard them talking about splashing around in the puddles near Dekus house earlier. He wanted to be doing that.
It’s annoying how little control he has over his schedule.

His parents patted him into the car, his father, Masaru, shooting him a smile and a kind, ‘Ready bud?’

Only to be served with a glare.

Mitsuki laughed at their little son’s reaction, interlocking her hand with her husband. The car started its move, pulling from their home and taking to the roads. Katsuki watched as trees and neighborhoods fell behind him, replaced by busy streets.

“He gets that from you, yknow,” Masaru mumbled, rubbing his thumb over her hand. “You didn’t smile our entire first date.”

“That’s because you chose a god awful restaurant and we were sat next to the bathrooms.” Mitsuki raised an eyebrow, squeezing his hand softly.

The two adults fell into regular chatter. Including but not limited to. Thoughts they’d had for their day. Which acquaintances they are going to see there. Which then evolved into work issues.

His mother worked with textiles and clothing production. While his father served in the health industry as a general surgeon.

It was his mother’s work that had gifted them an invitation. She was the mind behind the gray. Clothes to provide everyone with comfort. Always believing that people shouldn’t have to worry about not having a shirt on their back.

While she preferred the design portion of it rather than production. This was a large opportunity for her and their family. Working with the commission and using her talents to help those in the community. To help all of Japan. She was ready to throw herself into work.

Color was still harder to come by unless it was in metals. But for their fabrics, they stuck with Gray, Black, and white.

Everyone in attendance would have those colors, a sea of them all at the Prime Minister’s ball.
The behavior had to match. After all, it was under the guise of Prime Minister Shigaraki that Mitsuki was given the position.

Prime Minister Shigaraki was old. Katsuki decided as much as they stood in the procession line to greet him.

The man stood tall, short cut, white hair, dressed all in black. He smiled, the lines indenting deep into the sides of his cheeks. His teeth, white and in perfect rows. The grin itself; too plastic and unsettling in nature.

He wasn’t the oldest he’d ever seen. But for a world leader, he’d decided, at his young age, that in a few years, the old fart would be nothing but dust.

“Hello there, little one.” He outstretched a hand to the young Bakugo, a slight tremor in his fingers. Having to lean down to even reach the young boy. People were ahead of them, chatting amongst each other, and behind them, waiting anxiously to meet such a figure.

This should be a moment of pride for the young Bakugo, yet chills ran up his spine instead.

Something in him poked to not outstretch his hand. Maybe if he did, he’d lose all form completely. He stared up, glaring towards that too wide to be comfortable smile.

He could yell. Slap the man’s hand away and say something scathing like, he’s two seconds away from a bald spot. But he knew these events. He couldn’t do that without a highly probable grounding. So he just stayed quiet.

The man caught on, wiping his hand against his jacket with a sheepish smile. “I see he’s wary of strangers. I don’t blame him.”

His mother sent him a glare and apologized profusely. Though his father just squeezed his shoulder.

“It is a good strength to have as a young boy. Being wary of things.” Shigaraki nodded, tilting his head down to Katsuki, offering a forced smile.

“But I assure you. I mean no harm, little one.”

…

He looked at his reflection again, flattening the sides of his hair back. Letting the gel do its work.

Even to this day, Prime Minister Shigaraki still sends chills up his spine. And every event his parents forced him to attend didn’t prove much better. He still never shook the man’s hand.

Today he’d have to.
Maybe that’s the reason he’s so nervous. Dealing with a childhood fear of a large man with an uncanny smile.

Ridiculous. He huffed, combing the gel through his hair, like his mom had always done.

He hadn’t seen his parents in a while. Maybe after the robot is all shipped out, he’ll go and visit, have dinner with them.

His dad would certainly like that.

He let his mind drift, hands working to flatten down his hair, blowing it dry in place to set it, only to add more gel again on top.

Looking back at his reflection… Hair slicked, puffy eyes calmed down. He looked like his father. He had his jaw. The thought alone made his head tilt.

Maybe there was a handsome boy under all of that hair.

…

Kirishima greeted him at the door. They were in the nicest part of the building. The front. Marbled floors, walls, and walls of windows. Nice couches and a bubbling water feature beside the receptionist desk.

Hatsume was already talking to their guests. Greeting casually, though the girl wasn’t very good at casual. She laughed a little too loudly. A twinge maniacally. He watched one of their guests take a nervous step back in response to her.

At least she’d cleaned up. Her loops of hair tucked into a nice bun, some professional black trousers with a black shirt to match.

Same as Kirishima. black trousers, black shirt. He’d buttoned it all the way, making him disappear into inky black all the way up his neck. He had to bite his cheek to keep from letting out a snicker at the view.

“Before you say anything,” Kirishima smirked. Chin raising in playful arrogance.
“I did my hair.” He turned his head, showing off the crude, slicked bun the dark-haired man had tried. At that, Katsuki really snickered.

“You look like an oil slick and a nerd had a weird baby.” His smile grew, and Kirishima rolled his eyes in response, passing over a coffee ready and waiting for Katsuki.

“Oh, but I’m not the only one with a drastic change.” Kirishima raised a brow, sipping from his cup. “How long did that take you?”

“Too long.” He huffed, taking a sip. The stress in his shoulders was easing just enough that the world seemed manageable now. He prepared it again just how he liked it. A little bit a cream with enough of a kick to wake him up.

He seemed to know just what he needed…

Something annoying crawled up his neck in the form of heat…

“Come on, let’s get this over with.” Katsuki nodded towards the small gathering over near the couches. Kiri picked up his feet behind him, matching stride across the way.

“You look good. Just… by the way.” The man mumbled, stride passing Katsukis. Unfortunately, the praise had him skidding to a stop. His cup sloshing in the process, catching the contents on the lid.

“What- huh?” His tongue felt too heavy. If he wasn’t careful, it would flap incessantly, and he’d fly away for good. “You, what? I-I mean, of course, but you- and it’s just gel if you really look at it. That’s it. I mean, all. It’s still— yknow?“ he wasn’t making any sense. And now he was rambling… someone just kill him already.

Kirishima just laughed, doubled back to drag him by his forearm towards their guests. What possessed him to say those things, let alone touch him? And why did he let him?

Eijirou Kirishima threw another smile his way. Tingles erupted in his spine once he saw it. Deciding right then, to himself, that he had a good smile. Good enough to let his eyes linger…

But that wasn’t important right now. Right? Right. They had a presentation to do. And right now, they weren’t pulling their weight, leaving Hatsume out to dry. Who in question greeted them with a nervous smile once they joined the group.

Upon inspection, there were four men there. A man with gray, almost blue hair. Skinnier than a bean pole, dressed in all expensive black fabrics and a deep red suit jacket. Also expensive. His eyes held deep chasms of marks and scratches.

The next was a tall man, fitted in a suit. And black gloves. Possibly their bodyguard, he was that tall. His hair was pulled back, purple. With a scar on his upper lip, He had a stern expression, keeping close to the group.

The next was a shorter fellow, skin so olive it almost looked green. And eyes so big, when he blinked, it was almost reptilian. With a wild head of purple hair that shortened as it reached the back.

And finally, another tall man, with dark splotches on his skin and a face full of piercings. Short black hair, pulled into a slicked bun, much like Eijirous. What was most daunting about the figure was his deep purple eye bags circling a sea of bright blue. The brightest blue eyes he’s possibly ever seen.

The greetings were regular. Hands upon hands, firm shakes, and forced but polite smiles. They made small talk but jumped straight to business when the skinny one, Tomura, sat down in the far seat. The head of the circlet of couches.

The rest followed.

And no Prime Minister to be seen.

“I will be acting as a stand-in for my father today. He’s indisposed at the moment, so I’ll be stepping in as a pseudo decision maker.” Tomura mentioned, his voice a pleasant scratchy sound. He probably smokes, Katsuki decided. A stupid fucking habit to take up.

The relief sank slowly. His nerves feeling less like firecrackers. The unnerving man wouldn’t need to be faced today. He could do the presentation without those eyes on him.
That was easy enough. Piece of cake.

Not long after explaining the process, the needs, and the day-by-day exploration of their bot, Flik. The seven of them stepped into the testing room.

Eijirou explained the controls, main motor functions, and ease. While Katsuki stepped up to the middle of the room, watching the four strangers survey the space.

“The plan is to get Flik into everyone’s chips. That way, he can follow up with you on the day-to-day.. Not just confined to a room. But for safety reasons, he’s in a stationary room now.” He continued to explain, smiling toothily at Bakugou. “But I’m sure you’d rather see what Flik can do, huh?”

The group fell to silence. Ready to watch the presentation. And Tomura nodded. Eyes flicking attention to Katuski. Who rubbed his sweaty hands against his pants and stepped further into the center, his voice carrying across the space.

“Flik, Power on.”

The orange light pinged to life, bouncing across the walls. He saw the taller man, Oboro Shirakumo, shift a bit, tilting his head at the bouncing light.

Katsuki smirked. He had their attention. He needs them to be eating out of the palm of his hand by the end of this.

“Ready to give them a show?” He called into the space, the headset already descending for him.

“Now…” Kirishima started. “Bakugo here, did all our trials and test runs. And maintained most of our coding with Hatsume, who directed final decisions and the physical wiring process. While I followed their direction in building the thing.”

While the sharp-toothed man spoke, Katsuki slipped on the headset. Following the blinking light till it stopped in front of him.

“Hello, Katsuki Bakugo. What shall we do today?” Fliks’ regular monotone responded.

The man grinned, rolling his shoulders out. Turning back to the group. He watched Tomura’s chin lift, an intrigued look spreading across his features.

He had him. He just needed to hold him there.

“Show me the room to start with. Then we’ll move on from there.” Katsuki smirked, failing to keep the smugness out of his voice.
…

He watched them exit, five bodies walking out from the testing room, Hatsume leading the pack. Katsuki and Kirishima stood behind, Katsuki’s eyes following the headset’s rise back up to the ceiling to be shifting behind a panel that returned to its place back into the wall.

He released a breath, a long, drawn-out sigh. It relaxed every chord and sinew in his body. They’d done it.

Made it something worthwhile. God, they blew it out of the water.

Kirishima walked forward, patting the other on the shoulder. His hand stayed, warmth sinking through his shirt. In response, Katsuki’s head turned, trailing up from the warm hand. Why the hell was it still there?

Eijirou fixed him with a smile and a small shrug. “I think we’ve got to celebrate.”

What was his issue? The other scowled, brushing off the man’s grip. “I’m not the celebrating sort.”

“One drink wouldn’t hurt.” Eijirou continued to smile, tilting his head softly at him.

“I don’t celebrate.” Katsuki huffed, feet moving to exit the room. Annoyingly, the other man followed.

“It doesn’t have to be a celebration, then.” He’d caught up to him, accidentally rubbing against his shoulder with his own. Katsuki stepped away from it.

“Just an excuse to get drunk?” He scowled, and his shoes squeaked across the hallway, which further drove his irritation. Fuck these stupid fucking shoes.

Kirishima followed along still. Like a needy dog. He blinked rapidly at him. But the man didn’t notice, just shoved his hands into his pockets as he spoke again. “Don’t we deserve that? After the weekend we’ve all had, it would be good for us.”

And godamn it, the easygoing personality the other presented made it a little bit harder to be mad at him. “

Yeah, our livers would love that.” He snorted, turning towards the workshop, beelinging for his stuff.

“Do we really need livers all that much?” Kirishima smiled, tossing his now-empty cup into Katsuki’s waste basket, eyebrow raising at the lack of a bright orange sticky note. Having yet to be tossed out. 

Jesus. This knucklehead. Katsuki sighed, rubbing the space between his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. “Yes, idiot. You do.”

“One drink then. That won’t harm anything.” Kirishima shrugged, placing his hands back into his pockets. Gray jacket hanging loosely on his left forearm.

“Why?” Katsuki snapped, crossing his arms over his chest, fixing him with a raised brow and a growing sneer. Mainly annoyed at himself for finding the other mildly entertaining.

“What?” Kirishima chuckled, thrown off by the questioning tone. 

“Why are you being so persistent? What if I don’t drink?” The sneer continued as tested a step forward. He straightened his spine to gain some sort of height against him. Though he still stood taller, his head tilted down to be level enough with him. Increasing his irritation.

“Well…” He thought for a few seconds, rubbing the back of his neck. Katsuki fought the eyeroll building up behind his eyelids. Eijiou smiled yet again. “…Do you drink?”

What kind of fucking question was that? But honesty spewed out instead, his eyes following up the nape of his neck where Eijirou just rubbed it. “Yeah.”

“Then…what’s the issue with asking a friend to drink?” He chuckled, tilting his head kindly at Katsuki. And the honesty continued to follow. 

“‘Cause you’re annoyingly persistent. It’s fucking weird.”

“Bakugo.” Kirishima laughed, slipping on his jacket. The gray was a stark contrast against his nice black clothing.

“What?” He snapped, moving to collect his jacket from its hook. He didn’t need to stick around here any longer.

“Will you get a drink with me?” Kirishima asked sincerely, eyebrows curving softly with his smile and warm eyes.

 

“I’m not good company.” His hand stilled on the hook, staring up at his jacket like it’s the jacket’s fault for his new persistent work accomplice.

“Shut up, yes, you are!” Kirishima pressed, leaning his his against the doorframe.

“Go get bug eyes to go. I’ll pass.” Katsuki mumbled, eyes still on his jacket. If he counted to ten, maybe he’d leave. Scurry across the tiles and far away from him.

Kirishima rolled his eyes now. “I wanted to ask you.”

He rolled his eyes back, finally releasing his jacket from eye jail, tugging it off the hook with a shrug. “Yeah, well, you got your answer.”

“Dude.” He chuckled, a little disbelieving, though his smile didn’t wane.

“What?” he responded with an annoyed huff, shrugging on his jacket.

“I’m asking you out.”

Katsuki blinked. If you squinted, the loading screen would appear above his brow, smack dab in the middle of his forehead. Jacket still half on, having frozen once he slipped a sleeve on, eyes down to the tiles.

“Oh”

“Yeah, ‘Oh’.” Eijirou nodded, eyebrows sloping upward. “…Does that change it for you?”

Taking a deep breath, he let his eyes drift up to the other man. Red finding red.

He needed to get the fuck out of here…now.

But he just blinked, being honest again. “I… don’t know.”

“Oh.”

He swallowed hard. The idiot was no longer smiling. After he’d been smiling all day. Katsuki caused that. The guilt stone rolled counterclockwise in his stomach. He was working on being semi-nicer, too. And here he goes rejecting an invitation from a nice coworker with a nice smile, who he doesn’t completely despise…

“What the hell…” He sighed, whispering under his breath, running a hand down his face. “I could use a drink.”

The smile returned, perking up at his words. “Really?”

“Really.” He nodded begrudgingly, shugging back on his other sleeve.

Kirishima straightened up, slicking back his already slicked hair. Making sure it was presentable. “Cool.”

“Don’t get too excited.” He gruffed, fighting back a fond smile.

“Nah, I’m cool. It’s cool. It’s just a drink.” He shrugged, rubbing his hands against his jeans, immediately tapping his fingers against them. So much for trying to remain nonchalant.

“Just a drink.” Katsuki shrugged back, taking the lead to exit the workshop, back down the hallway with tiles that make his shoes squeak.

“Right.” Kirishima nodded, a smile beaming across his face.

“…Don’t make me regret this.”

“You think you will?”

They paused through the doorway, Katsuki taking a moment to think over just what a drink with Kirishima would entail. Lots of talking. Maybe he could drink him under the table. That almost sounds… fun. And he’d probably get his ego stroked. The smiley man seems to like him well enough to pay special attention to him. It’s new to feel wanted so openly and to allow it. But it’s not… bad in the slightest.

Just wondering when he made that switch in his mind to allow things like this…

He glanced at him, crossing back into the main floor of their building, and the outside world was out there past those doors. Where everyone else is sure to be. So just this once in the quiet, he let himself be honest. The other seemed to coax that out of him with his easygoing smiles.

“No.” He tried to shrug nonchalantly, only to stiffen up instead.

The smile Kirishima gave was nothing short of beautiful. Daunting. Borderline terrifying. But overwhelmingly beautiful. It made his heart stumble and stutter with every step they took to get outside.

The air was crisp, and fall would be setting in in the next few weeks. Dousing Okinawa in oranges and golds. Making everything look stuck in time. Limitless possibilities in the mundane.

Eijirou held the door open. He noticed. Gentleman out of nature, or was he just trying too hard to win over Katsuki’s affection? Manners don’t impress him. He’s not going to swoon over some common decency his mother had instilled in him. He wouldn’t be as easily bought. Not like he was earlier.

His gaze drifted from the man’s hands, up the oil stains of his sleeves, to the jut of his jaw, only to find the red of his eye and the gain of another smile. Warmth creeping up his neck once again.

But he pushed past it, raising a brow instead. “You got something to say?” 

The other kept his smile, shaking his head back at forth.
“No. Just… you’re perceptive in everything except other people.”

“What?”
“It’s not bad. You’re just-“ Though he was interrupted by a voice down the opposite way of the street.

“Bakugo.” The voice called, and when he turned around, he was surprised to see the Prime Minister’s son, Tomura, and the man with the piercings walking up to the doors again, cigarettes wrapped in both their right hands.

Katsuki nodded in response as the distance was broken between them.

Tomura fixed his jacket, then flicked some ash off his cigarette.

“I just wanted to tell you again, your system was… impressive.” The man’s eyes followed up to Katsuki from where it had lain on the shoulders of his jacket. He’d slouched his weight as well, slumping his shoulders over to curve his back. Red jacket wrinkling. He smiled, showing two rows of teeth. Not as perfect as his fathers, but equally as unnerving.

What was with the Shigarakis and giving him the immediate creeps?

“Thank you.” Katsuki nodded, putting his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

Tomura nodded, a delicate brow raising past his scratched eyes. “And if you’re ever wanting to take strides past this company, we’re looking for more candidates.”

That… was intriguing to say the least. But he could build a hope. Even if they offered a position, he’d be just another peon. But it would be a step up in their company. And peon status could only last a short amount of time before he proved how far below that position is from him. “As in?”

Tomura chuckled, taking an inhale of his cigarette, letting the smoke out through his nose. He looked like some skinny dragon puffing smoke that curled around his teeth. His smiling sneer growing.
“You seem like the type who wants to be the decision maker, not the peon… Is that a fair assumption?”

He nodded, raising his chin to escape the dragon’s curled breath, hating the smell wafting off the man. Bad fucking habit, smoking.

“Good. That’s what we like to hear.” He tapped the butt of the cigarette, letting ash fall to the concrete. Katsuki tried to keep his nose from wrinkling.

“We’ll be in touch.” He inhaled again, then his eyes flicked to Kirishima, standing off to the side, trying to mind his own business. But his eyes still drifted, listening to the two.

“You too.” He pointed loosely towards the dark-haired man. Kirishima gave him a grateful nod. It was enough of a goodbye as he’d care to give. Though Tomura turned back toward the blonde, letting his smoke waft out through puckered lips, blowing against his face. forcing him to inhale the sharp, dark smoke. The other had to swallow thickly to restrain himself.
All he really wanted to do was take the stupid cig and flick it to the concrete and cuss the skinny prick out. Stupid fucking killing stick.

But instead, he straightened his spine and watched Tomura’s smile grow, and tongue at the inside of his bottom lip, testing the new limits of his prospects. Seeing what makes them tick. Like Katsuki was a new game. Was career just a game to someone so high and mighty above him?

The thought only made him angrier as he continued to breathe in the assholes smoke. If this is how he wanted to play it? Then fine. He’s not choking on smoke today.

Though all he could see was the flicker of freckles and a sweet but teasing smile through it all. The blue-gray hair turned wilder and mossy green. A taunting, “What are you going to do about it, Kacchan?” Echoing through his ears, not the past, losing himself in a memory. Watching for a few seconds as Kirishima wishes Tomura and his pierced friend a good night, placing a steady hand on Katsuki’s back to walk them across the street.

Normally, he’d push the hand off, but he kept a gaze back to Tomura and the cigarette trapped between his fingers. He couldn’t focus. He could still smell the smoke, wafting off his skin from down the street. Maybe that was the smell off of his own skin now. Perhaps the scent carried through one little blow. Just like Izukus did. Months ago. Sinking through clothing he hadn’t broken down and washed yet.

…

He’d fallen asleep on Izuku’s couch at some point, notes scattered across his chest. His pencil was still in his hand, his schedule blinking slowly on his arm. Barely burning him.

The lights were still on in Izuku’s apartment, including the shitty lamp, Izuku loved so much. Everything was quiet and still. The window from the kitchen was open, along with the back door to Izuku’s apartment. Open just enough that he could see the nerd’s figure leaning against the railing.

Sitting up slowly, padding past the carpet, past the tile of the kitchen, and stopping at the metal frame of the door, he watched him. Taking a few moments for himself. Letting himself drink up Izuku in the quiet. Watching his hair tousle in the wind, the nervous quake of his hand.. He loved moments like this. To watch unabashedly. Hear him muttering under his breath, watch him cross his ankles as he stood, leaning more weight into one hip.

And there it was, a perfectly poised, halfway burned-down cigarette, bouncing in the boy’s shaky grip.

“When did you start smoking?” He grunted, crossing his arms over his chest, still soft from sleep.

Deku startled at the surprise, looking over his shoulder at Katsuki. Pulling his hand behind his back. Like it would do anything now. He’d already seen the sneak.

“Did I wake you?” The nerd asked, mouth opening long before he formed the words on his tongue.

“No.” He shook his head, letting it lean against the door frame. He hated how easily Izuku had tried to change the subject. Of course, they couldn’t be honest with each other like this. He wasn’t comfortable. Of course, Izuku wasn’t comfortable with him. How could you ever be truly comfortable with your bully? Who would be masochistic enough to want that?

“Oh, good.” Izuku nodded.

His eyes flickered to the hand behind his back, back to Izuku, back again to the smoke. “That shit will kill you, yknow.”

“Kacchan, it’s one cigarette.” The boy in question sighed, running his free hand through his hair. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, and when did you start?” The blonde asked, head tilting in arrogance as his eyes lowered to questioning slits.

“It’s a social thing.” Izuku shrugged, pulling the smoke out from its poor hiding spot. Deciding it was safe enough to give it a puff, blowing it out of the corners of his mouth, opposite of Katsuki.

“Yeah, it looks real social out here.” He responded dumbly, raising an eyebrow, an air of a smirk starting to spread.

The night wind was calm, the night sky almost purple, while the clouds drifted in a light periwinkle, the moon shimmered its elegance down on the two. Providing a quiet solitude for them to bask in without worries. Without constructs in place, except for their decided own.

Izuku continued. Nerves pricking up his spine to explain. Always having to explain the reason ‘why’ to Kacchan.
“It started out as a social thing. A few of the other teachers invited me during lunch one day…”

“And now you’re an addict.” He snickered, walking past the door frame to finally greet him on the balcony, smoke drifting slowly between them. Disappearing before it reaches their noses. Izuku responded to the jab with a teasing eyeroll, gifting a smile.

“Kacchan- I’m not.” He bit the inside of his cheek, his round eyes looking up at the blonde through a curtain of green fringe.

“Aren’t you supposed to tell your kids that smoking is bad? Fucking hypocrite.” He threw another barb his way, grin increasing. This was easy. This was them, bicker bicker until someone says something they’ll regret for better or for worse. Pulling into the riptide that is their relationship.

Izuku gawked, mouth agape, sputtering softly for a few short seconds, poking the stick in his hand towards the blonde. “No, I teach agency. Half their parents probably smoke anyway.”

“Still will kill you.” He snorted, leaning his hip against the railing. Summer was still in full swing. The night was finally cooling down at this hour. The breeze was the real kicker for a chill.

“One every once in a while doesn’t hurt,” Izuku responded, eyes rolling yet again.

When did he get so…aggravating? “Still awful.”

“Well, you’re not the one smoking it.” He lifted his chin, the moon’s light highlighting the apples of his cheeks. Freckles staining stars against his pale skin.

“Yeah, and you shouldn’t be either.” Katsuki fired back, motioning for the cig.

“I can make my own decisions.” He countered with a tilt of his head, brow raising. Almost countering with a challenge. One he readily accepted, stepping towards him.

“And I can tell you if it’s stupid. Which, it is.” Katsuki snarked, leaning himself forward, leading with a raised brow of his own.

“Kacchan-“ Izuku huffed, chin lowering.

“Put it out.” He barely gave the other person time to respond.

They held eye contact for a few long seconds. Finally, Izuku broke it with a soft scoff and a step backwards. “No.”

Katuski scoffed in turn, lowering his own head to izukus level, poking his side. “Where are your manners?”

That builds a laugh from the other. Cheeks stretching into a teasing smile. “You don’t get manners.”

“Huh? And why not, you evil shit?” Katsuki countered with another jab at Deku’s side.

Izuku recovered quickly, poking him back with his unoccupied hand and a pair of raised brows. “Because you’re you.”

He glared, smacking his hand away, scowl returning to his features. “Put it out.”

Izuku grins, taking a strong inhale, blowing it in his face.

“What are you going to do about it, Kacchan?”

“Keep you from killing yourself,” he coughed away the smoke, reaching for the cigarette, only to have Izuku pull it away, taking another forceful drag. Stopping to cough a bit.

“See? The more you fight, the more you fucking die.”

Izuku laughed, stepping back, taking another slower drag, and once Katsuki stepped forward, he blew the contents filling up his lungs into his face.

“Cut that shit out.”

Izuku laughed. Katsuki stepped forward, snagging his wrist, reaching for the cigarette. Only to have Izuku counter, pulling close to take a long drag through his string of snickers, tilting his chin up to blow his smoke towards Katsuki.

He pushed izukus face away, huffing through his nose. The nerd squawked at the unexpected shove, but wasn’t deterred from their closeness.
“You have a listening problem.” The blonde grumbled, tilting his head to peer down at the other.

Izukus’ smile grew, pulling closer, his free hand reaching out to grab the other’s arm to steady himself.

Katsuki’s head dipped further to trace the jutted bones of Izukus fingers with his eyes, only to trail them back to the others’ green.

Deku turns his wrist gently, the lip of the cigarette facing Katsuki’s mouth. Katsuki inhales once, saving to hold his breath, trepidation tightening his shoulders.

“Your turn,” Deku whispers, looking up at him, almost…expectant, closing the distance between them. Pushing to face him, toe to toe.

Katsuki’s eyes drop, watching the smoke filter up past both their heads, dropping his eyes back down to Izuku. Only to jumble the moment with a scoff.

“Shit stinks, get that out of my face.”

Izuku laughed, snuffing it out on the railing.
“Coward.”

“Don’t start.” He scowled, fixing Izuku with a look, only receiving a mirrored look in response.

The freckled boy is contemplative for a few moments, tracing the edges of the cigarette with his eyes, brows pulling together into a line as they hold Katsuki’s gaze. Softly, he speaks, “…I think I found the one thing you won’t do.”

It’s hard to look away from Izuku. It has been hard since their second year. The soft lilt og his voice makes his skull buzz comfortingly, he can’t help but match the volume, whispering into the space between them. An exasperated huff, exiting instead of izukus soft pulling tone. Apparently, all he can do is push. “Smoking a cig?”

He looks back at him, shrugging softly. Though something deep has been held hostage in his eyes.
“…Something like that.”

He wanted to ask him what he meant, to step further into the space between them. Whisper questions he’d only dream of having answered. Only if he knew what the right questions were…. Those that only Izuku could answer… if he chose to. But silence followed them after that. The suffocating kind that always followed after moments like that.

More silence followed, lit by the moonlight. Rejoining him at the railing, resting his elbows down so he could lean his weight into it.

Izuku mirrored by his side, looking down at his hands.

Izuku seemed to revel in the silence found. But he was drowning in it. Therefore, it continued to stretch until Katsuki broke it.

“What’s got you out here smoking? Don’t you know it’s late?”

“Just…” Izuku sighed, nibbling on his bottom lip. “Making up my mind.”

That wasn’t helpful. But blowing up at him wouldn’t help things. Calling him dense wouldn’t help things. So he bit down on his cheek instead. “About?”

Deku was quiet for several seconds, thumb tapping against his other hand.
“A lot of things.”

Jesus, it was like pulling teeth. “And?”

Izukus’s brows pinched, looking back at Katsuki. “What?”

“And? It seems to be troubling you. So what is it about?” He huffed, like it was the easiest answer in the world. Izuku should have known that.

“It’s just something I’m debating.” He mumbled, reaching into his back pocket, getting another cigarette. Katuski didn’t stop him this time. It looked like he needed it. And he wasn’t cruel to deny a guilty pleasure…anymore.

But that didn’t stop the wrinkle in his nose and the displaced glare when he watched him light it. Golden light shining against his cheeks and eyelashes. Only to be snuffed out seconds later. Leaving the bitter sting of smoke as an aftertaste. “And, what are you debating?”

Izuku exhaled shakily through his nose and shrugged his shoulders.
“Leaving.”

He… didn’t expect that. Izuku didn’t leave. His mom didn’t even vacation too far away from home. A few hours away was good enough for her… Clearly, it wasn’t enough for her son. “To go where?”

“Maybe south.” Izuku shrugged, inhaling deeply again, letting the smoke drift past his lips, watching it disperse past his view of the clouds.

“What does South have that here doesn’t?” Katsuki asked, absent-mindedly looking down at his hands. Working to pop his knuckles, humming when the cracks sound with the crickets.

“I don’t know.” Izuku shrugs again, and Katsuki’s eyes flick over to glare at his shoulders.

It irked him. There was no plan. Just a stupid desire. A desire away from everything they’ve built since their second year. And he just wants to, what? Toss all that progress away and leave? “Then what is there to consider? Just stay here.”

“There’s not much holding me here, and I’m young. Don’t people in their twenties go off and get some life experience..?” Izuku flicks off the ash, watching it tumble to the railing, only to search next for red eyes and a curved brow.

“Sure, some of them do. Others find their life experience where they’re at.” It’s Katsuki’s turn to shrug. To spend some built-up energy. Shake away the tension coiling in his shoulders. Though izukus next words make him pause. Biting the inside of his cheek so hard he could draw blood.

“But is it enough?”

That was it. Izuku is unsatisfied with his life. The work they curated. And he wants to leave. Of course he does. Katsuki’s friendship hsi company isn’t enough. Why the hell would it be? He’s right about life experience. He needs it. Katsuki just figured… no, he hoped, they’d do that together. On each other’s heels every step of the way.
A selfish wish he can’t hold over the other. Though he can’t help but pry.

“Depends on what enough is for you, Deku.” He tries to gruff, but out comes a strained whisper instead, Eyes already searching for the others’ own.

Another few seconds of silence, just the shuffle of bodies pressing together for warmth, shoulder to shoulder, leaning against the railing.

Izuku blows his smoke away from Katsuki, his only view, his profile. Effectively snapping the connection he was vying for. “There’s a program down there,” Izuku whispers back, eyes dropping down to her nervously tapping fingers. “I’d get to help people the way I’ve always wanted.”

The words tumble before he has a chance to even think through them. “Then what’s stopping you?”

Izukus head turned, finally looking up at Katsuki, eyebrows tilted up, a half pout on his lips.

“A lot of things.”

“Does your desire to help outweigh your desire to stay?” He whispers back

Their gazes hold. Another band is tightening between them, close to snapping against both their noses. But Izuku loosens it but leaning forward, stopping just short of Katsuki’s nose. Till reality pulls the band tight and the boy exhales, just short of his lips.

“…I don’t know, Kacchan.”

There it is again. Uncertainty. And the squeeze of his heart. And the ever constant experience of having Izuku pull him in, only for Katsuki to push back. What would happen if he tried to follow that flow?

“What would make you stay?” He whispers between them.

All Izuku does is look back at him. They sit there in the silence, trying to read each other’s features.

It’s a poor game trying to tell what the other is thinking. The game itself borders on cruel when it comes to the two of them; it always has.

But this heart squeezing isn’t out of anger and jealousy. It’s out of fear.
Because he knows the answer. There’s always been that answer, lingering in the corner of his mind to avoid. Something between them. Though unexplored. That as soon as he follows the flow. They’ll freeze… Uncommon to a working tide.

As quickly as the feeling swelled, it disappeared by the time Izuku sighed and snuffed out the cigarette, mumbled something about his mom needing help in the morning. Then, watching as he moved back towards the back door, he saw him pause to look back at him, something unreadable yet again in his normally expressive eyes.

“Sleep well, Kacchan,” Deku whispered, walking back inside, the sounds of his footsteps down the hall fading from his ears.

So did the smell of smoke as Kirishima shook him a bit, drawing him back to reality. Away from the weird taunting of Tomura and the ghost of an Izuku he can’t find again.

Just the comfort of red eyes and a sharp smile are all that’s left here to bring him back in.
…Maybe a drink won’t be so bad after all…It might be worthwhile to get his mind off of the plaguing that is Izuku Midoriya.

Though truly, he never could. Not when it ran in their natures to push each other around like the constant tide.
…
He pressed his thumb to his door, ready to unlock it. He hears the click, a gentle whir of the tech opening it for him. He didn’t have many drinks. A few, maybe. Enough to lighten his mind on his walk home, though sobering up happened all too quickly for him. The crickets beside his door, all singing their tune all too loud in his ears.

But most of all, he hears footsteps walking up. They’re gentle and pose no alarm.

The first thing he sees when his head turns is green. Green hair, half styled, the front pieces tucked back nicely for ease.

Underneath the shade of green bangs are big green eyes, same as Izukus, but no spattering of freckles to be seen.

Instead, it’s a plump woman with a grey cardigan and a nervous buzz about her.

“Auntie.” Katsuki breathes out, his hand slipping from the doorknob. His body moving on its own to turn to her completely.

She smiles, all warm and genuine, with a casual tilt to her head that Katsuki copies opposite her.

The light above them flickers overhead. Illuminating the unease in his stomach. Not from Auntie, but from the situation perched before him.

The question in both their minds.

Where is Izuku?

“Hi Katsuki, do you have a second?” Inko asks, stepping closer to the boy, her hands clutched tightly, to her purse. There’s a waver in her voice. Like she might cry. He already knows she will. Izuku wasn’t a crybaby by nature. That was inherited.

He nods, pushing in the door beside him, motioning for her to enter.

“Of course.” He responds, watching her toddle past him into his space.

Inkos has never been here. He didn’t even know Inko knew where he lived. He’d always gone there. To Izukus. Or Inkos.

His apartment was nothing special. It looked just like everyone else’s. Gray painted walls, white floorboards, white doorways, gray couches, a simple rug, simple screens, a simple kitchen with regular simple steel hanging lights.

Simple, simple. Simple.

The place hardly seemed lived in. He was much too tidy for that. The only space that he occupied in the house was Katsuki’s own room. He never went out to the living room. Unless Izuku was over, in which the other brought the clutter in.

Clutter wasn’t welcome growing up. Only necessities since there’s no need for anything frivolous.

He’d never learned to design anything either, thanks to the monopoly his mother had on their home. That was her playground. He couldn’t care less about what vase goes where or fuss over Katsuki smiling in the family picture.

He was used to an open space.

Inko and Izuku weren’t. Inko loved color, even if it was expensive now. Her home reflected that. Pumpkins and sea blues, peaches and tans painted their walls.

Inko’s own paintings on the walls and izukus messages pinned to the fridge. Shelves of trinkets everywhere. Trinkets that weren’t ever used. Seashells, pinned butterflies, and homemade gifts from Izuku. All for decor, aside from three separate bookshelves full of books.

It used to sicken him. Just how eclectic they were. Everything had a pattern or texture.
Izuku followed his mother’s eclectic habits with his messy apartment.

He used to hate it. Focusing on how much stuff there was everywhere? Why would two people need so much stuff? Especially stuff that just sits there?

But through time, the clutter provided a comfort. Inkos’ mugs of coffee with bright colors, hand-painted by herself. To Izukus paper creations, he’d hand him once folded. His favorite was the jumping frog he’d made last year from some old flyer tucked into Inkos’ door.

To warm blankets, with speckles of the rainbow woven in, placed over him and legs falling haphazardly into his lap in the quiet night, regaling stories and sentiments with each other. Like he was meant to sit there beside the both of them.

This colorful boy, so bright and beautiful, and his eclectic mother had shoved their way into his space and wrapped their hands over his heart in ways he couldn’t quite elaborate on. Too scared to delve into the subject itself.

But they brought him in, invited him to dinners, resting their heads on his shoulders. They trusted him in their colorful world. That he wouldn’t destroy it, explode it all to smithereens. Despite everything in him telling him to. They covered him in love and care, a round little bubble keeping his sharp ends from sinking too deep.

He grew to like it. The dinners weren’t suffocating anymore.

He became a regular at family dinners. It was the only time he didn’t eat the packaged food from the commission that was there.

Inko even knew his favorite food and packed him extras to take home at the end of the night. Even sent Izuku food when he couldn’t make it. Simply because Katsuki was family.

She made sure he knew that after all this time.
He made sure to appreciate that from her.

He still held onto the memory of his first dinner with them after he finally got his head out of his ass. It was a warm spring night. The crickets were chirping in Inkos’ flower beds. The woman was the most dedicated gardener. Izuku weeded it every Sunday for her too. But tonight, free of weeds, the crickets singing their song for them, Katsuki knocked on the door of the Midoriya household.

He and Izuku had made up two days prior. Lots of tears had been shed. He’d broken Izuku’s nose, watched the boy snap it back into place, followed by more blood running down his lip. That’s when he knew. Izuku had handled himself all these years. He’d fought back. That’s when he finally apologized. For the harsh words, shoving, and bruises, for the constant ridicule. He covered the boy’s nose with his sleeve, whispering somber apologies. It took breaking something for Katsuki to really know how to try and fix it.

And now, standing at the door of Izuku’s home, it opened. And Izuku, all smiles, tugged him into a hug. Which, in response, Katsuki patted his back once, then twice. And pushed him away.

Anything that didn’t involve punching him was progress…

Izuku had taken off his jacket for him, hanging it on a hook near the door. Inko had welcomed him in. Instructed where he put his shoes, then handed him a stirring spoon with a knowing smile.
“If you’re going to eat my food, you’ll be helping cook it too.” She responded sweetly, dragging the boy into the colorful kitchen.

In a matter of minutes, he was rubbing shoulders with them, music was playing off of an old player nearby, and Izuku was humming while he peeled potatoes. Inko, sweetly but sternly, instructed Katsuki on how to fold in the cheese. Which, how the fuck do you fold it in if it’s already…in there? He just needs to stir the damn thing, right?

He hadn’t said much to them either. Just dumbly nodded to all of Auntie’s instructions. Following through with them. Watching his body from an outside view.

He didn’t deserve this.

They did it anyway. Welcomed him anyway. It was easy for them.

It terrified him that one day that would change.

And it has.

Izuku left his mother behind. Izuku left him behind. He may never catch up.

And his mother came to him. The only person who knows him almost as much as she does.

Inko sat on his couch. He never sat on his couch, only when Izuku was here. She sent him a warm smile and patted the space beside her.

“Are you doing okay?” She questioned, a curve between her brows.

That in and of itself threw him for a loop. It doesn’t matter if he’s okay. Her son is missing. And slowly, he sank into the space beside her, inhaling yet another deep breath from the day. Silence stretched for a few seconds longer than Inko liked. Her hand pried Katsukis off his lap and into her hands.

“I’m worried about him, too. But he’ll be okay.” She responded calmly. Far too calmly for a woman worried about her missing son should.

He blinked rapidly before shakily responding, “What?”

He felt him squeeze her hand, big green eyes, just like her sons, looking up at him. Looking for some form of comfort. She started with him. Making sure he was okay before Katsuki even spoke. Always caring. Always worrying about everyone else but himself.

“It will be okay, Auntie.” Katsuki nodded. “…Are you okay?”

Her chin quivered, bottom lip trembling as she rubbed her cheeks free of salt. There they sat in the quiet. Inko openly wept, leaning into the boy.

“He didn’t tell me where he went, Katsuki.” She sobbed, her face in her hands. He nervously wraps his arms around her quivering shoulders. “That’s not like our Izuku.”

Our Izuku.

Our Izuku.

And she’s right. It isn’t like him. Izuku was supposed to stay constant. Never reach too far from his mother’s grasp or from Katsuki’s view.

The boy doesn’t say anything. Only responds by laying his cheek on her head.

“He didn’t tell you where he’d gone? At all? He tells you everything.” Inko sniffled, wiping at her flooding cheeks.

Izuku doesn’t tell him everything. Never has. He only tells enough to soothe. Like when he’d broken his ankle their third year, but still walked on it for a few days till Katsuki asked about the limp.

But Izuku could mask a limp.

Katsuki knows. If Deku didn’t want you finding things, you never would. His showing you his pain was a privilege.

If only Katsuki had treated it like that….

But maybe…there’s a limp along the way. A waterlogged note with his name. A circled paper right at his back door. A quiet evening with a cigarette…

“I think he’s gone south, Auntie.”