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“This is taking forever. I'm going out for a smoke", grumbling, he turned away from Moonface and the worm named Deku, who had chosen him as his friend. And Katsuki never managed to get rid off.
Uraraka sipped impatiently at her Coke. For which she had paid an outrageous amount of money, only to find it watered down. Slurping, the straw slipped from her mouth. “Really?” He looked at her annoyed, and she gave in. “Okay, but don’t take too long. It’s about to start any minute!”
He rolled his eyes and looked at the stage, where a “Please wait” message kept running over and over on a huge screen. “Yeah, just like it should have started thirty minutes ago.”
Now she rolled her eyes. “If you miss Shouto coming on stage, it's your own fault, Kats.”
“I think I'll get over it." Grumpily, he squeezed his way through the row of young girls who were waving their little red and white light sticks far too enthusiastically and already singing the lyrics of these stupid lovesongs. Out of tune, far too loud, but full of confidence. Good Lord. Why had he agreed to come along?
He didn't even like the artist they were about to see — if he showed up, that is!
Shouto. Tsk. Japan's biggest pop star. Uhh... So, so important that he kept his fans waiting for almost an hour. And now it was Katsuki who was trapped here in what was probably Japan's largest concert hall, full of annoying, loud, and above all impatient fans. And he didn't even like pop music! To him, it wasn't even real music, just an annoying trend.
As he tried to leave the vast hall, he stomped across the sticky floor, probably covered in cola, grumbling discontentedly because he had surely ruined his new shoes. Well, even though he didn't like pop music, the rest of Japan obviously did. Very much so.
Shortly before he reached the hall's exit – after fighting his way through the crowd of fans for almost ten minutes – another announcement came over the loudspeaker. Just like the previous three times. 'We apologise. The performance will be delayed by another ten minutes. Thank you for your understanding.'
A disappointed murmur rippled through the huge concert hall, carrying all the way out into the hallway. Well, at least he could go for a smoke now without missing anything. Not that he would mind.
He was surprised that none of the security guards stopped him, but apparently they were all busy powdering their little pop star's ass so he would get on stage, allowing him to stroll relaxed through the hallway and to a side exit.
He forcefully pushed open the first door leading outside and stepped out. Instead of fresh air, smoke filled his nostrils. Apparently, someone else had already taken advantage of the opportunity before the show started. If it started at all. By now, he had serious doubts about that.
With one hand, he reached purposefully into his pants pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes before walking a few steps further so he wouldn't be standing right next to the door.
With a quiet sigh, he leaned against a railing, put a cigarette in his mouth, and searched his pockets for a lighter.
Shit.
It was in his jacket, which he had left in the cloakroom. Damn.
“Smoking is prohibited here,” came a voice from the side.
“Very funny,” he muttered, his eyes searching for the other person who was obviously trying to mess with him, and pausing when his gaze lingered on the other person's face.
An almost perfect, pretty face. Red and white hair, every strand sitting absolutely perfectly. Two different-colored eyes – one blue, one gray – looking at him curiously. His forehead wrinkled. Wasn't that... Shouto? The singer who was supposed to be on stage? For about an hour now.
“Shouldn't you be inside?” he asked, perplexed.
The other person merely raised an eyebrow, almost reproachfully. “Shouldn't you be inside?”
Katsuki looked at the other man. If he wasn't a cosplayer or another fanatic fan, then Japan's most popular pop star was standing right in front of him, staring at him openly. Ochako would tear his head off if she found out he had exchanged two words with Shouto. So he did what he always did. “I don't like your music.”
Shouto didn't look particularly surprised. He just took a drag on his burning cigarette and tilted his head. “Then what are you doing here?”
“Well, I am smoking while waiting for the fucking singer to get his ass on the freaking stage. What are you doing here?”
“Mhm...”, exhaling, he hummed. Light smoke rose in small clouds that mixed with the air and disappeared after a short time. “Hiding?”
Fortunately, Katsuki didn't suffer from shyness. “Do you have a lighter?” he asked calmly, reaching for his cigarette. Maybe it was because he didn't like Shoto's music, or maybe it was simply because of Katsuki's bold personality and the fact that he didn't care about status. The emperor could be standing right there and he wouldn't care. “Then I won't tell anyone you're here.”
The pop star put his own cigarette between his finely curved lips, and Katsuki couldn't help but notice that smoking looked surprisingly natural on him. A little lascivious. Well, Shouto looked like a model posing for a cover, and he looked forbiddenly good. Maybe Katsuki didn't like his music, but he had eyes. Eyes that followed Shouto's long fingers. After searching his pockets, he handed Katsuki a lighter.
Their fingers briefly touched as he took it. Shoutos' were cold, and he immediately put them back in the pockets of his black leather jacket, which hung casually over his shoulders. He was wearing an unusual outfit. A white shirt with ruffles, one side longer than the other. Long white fabric hung down at the back, and he recognized black pants and boots that made his legs look even longer.
Katsuki inhaled the toxic smoke that he had been saying for months he had to finally quit, and almost instantly felt his nerves calm down. Shouto shifted from one leg to the other. He was taller than expected, had broad shoulders, and with his leather jacket, he looked a bit like a rock star from the 90s. A rock star who was going to shoot himself tonight.
“Who are you hiding from?” he decided to ask. Maybe he owed it to him for the lighter. Fire for small talk.
“Right now, from my dad,” he replied before looking up at the sky. “From my fans... and maybe a little bit from myself.” Katsuki grunted. That was definitely too deep for his taste. Shouto was going to shoot himself tonight for sure. Two curious eyes slid over to him and scrutinized him. “So why are you here if you don't like my music?”
“Got a free ticket and had nothing else to do.”
“Mhm. Fair enough.” Katsuki heard him inhale deeply and felt the smoke reach his nose. “To be honest, I don't like my music either.”
The fresh air was getting a little chilly. So he also put one hand in his pants pocket and regretted leaving his jacket in the cloakroom. “Then why are you singing it? Isn’t that stupid?”
Shouto tilted his head and looked at Katsuki as if he were stupid. “Because I have to?” It sounded so final, as if it were the most obvious thing in the whole wide world and only Katsuki was too stupid to understand it.
Now it was him who shifted from one foot to the other. He changed the hand in his pants pocket. “Because you have to? I thought that as Japan's biggest pop star, you could choose what you sing?”
Shouto grunted. Was Shouto even his real name, or was it a stage name?
Then he snorted with amusement. “That's a common misconception.”
Katsuki frowned. “Then— don't do it?”
Shouto shrugged, his gaze drifting beyond the railing to the sky. “I don't think that's a solution.”
“Your current solution is to hide out here.”
Shouto looked at the ground first before looking back at Katsuki. “Looks like it.”
Katsuki returned his gaze—and ignored the fact that he thought Shouto had beautiful eyes. He also ignored the fact that he thought such a pretty face shouldn't look so sad. “I don't know if you're aware of it, but there are probably two million people waiting to see you on stage.”
“You don't like my music. Why do you care?”
Shrugging, Katsuki took a deep drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke in Shouto's face. Not that it reached him, they were standing too far apart for that. “I don't, but I have two friends who are huge fans of yours and wanted to hear you sing tonight. Don't tell them I said that. Otherwise, they'll think I like them."
Shouto looked a little confused before he started to smile. And Katsuki felt something deep in his heart. Like a small flame flickering. The lighter he had forgotten. Damn. Was that a heart attack? Great.
He blinked and looked at the floor.
“What don't you like about my music?”
“The genre. And the fact that your songs always sound fake to me.”
“Fake?”
“You sing about love, but you don't sound in love. It's like a chef cooking without taste.”
The other grumbled thoughtfully before saying anything else. “What kind of music do you like?”
Katsuki looked up again, grumbling. No heart attack. “Not your pussy songs, anyway.”
“Pussy songs?”
"Well—pop music. Urgs. I like rock! And metal. A little post-grunge, but it really depends on the band. " Okay, he lied a little. Hidden among his collection of rock music was a CD with... ugh... sappy songs.
“Mhm,” he hummed. “Pop music wasn't exactly my first choice either, but after Touya took over the rock genre, pop music was all I had left. It suits my face—”
“Your face?,” Katsuki raised an eyebrow in confusion. What did one have to do with the other? “I didn't know you sang with your face.”
Shouto shook his head. “Natsuo never entered the business, Fuyumi does musicals, and Touya had rock music. I was left with pop music or acting, and... I was told I wasn't a good actor."
Katsuki's forehead wrinkled even more. “You were left with— huh? Wait. Touya, like Dabi from League?”
“Yes, that's my brother. Well, was. He died of an overdose last year.”
“I know. I had a ticket for the concert in Osaka— shit... I'm really sorry. I didn't know you were related. Sorry if I hit a nerve.”
“It's okay, he died doing what he loved.”
“Music?”
“Drugs.”
Katsuki suppressed a laugh but couldn't help snorting in amusement. Shouto smiled slightly, and for a brief moment, silence fell. They looked at each other for two, three, four seconds before Katsuki looked away and Shouto started talking again.
“Would you give my music a chance if... I sang something else?”
“What would that be?”
“Maybe...” He stopped when the door to the outside opened again and a tall, older man with red hair and a grim face stood in it.
“Shouto,” he began immediately, his voice deep and almost threatening. “Are you finally ready to perform?” His gaze wandered to Katsuki, stern and angry, but then he turned away as if he wasn't worth his attention. “You can't keep people waiting forever, it reflects badly on you.”
Shouto threw the cigarette on the floor and stamped it out with his foot. His whole posture changed. His shoulders were straight, and the gentleness that had been on his face just a moment ago was gone. “Yes, I am, but you're fired.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said you're fired.”
The man laughed. “You can't fire me.”
“You're my manager. And you're fired.”
“Shouto. You can't fire me. Stop with the childishness, you know yourself that it doesn't work that way.”
The man looked like he could eat children, but Shouto obviously didn't care. “I said you're fired. You can go. I'll do the show, but you're gone.”
“What kind of show do you want to do? I own all your songs.”
“Yes, and I hate every single one of them.”
With that, he simply pushed past the man and disappeared through the door.
Two seconds passed. Then he was met with a glare so intense that Katsuki feared he would die at any moment, but he let it bounce off him.
Whatever was going on here was absolutely none of his business. He didn't even know who that was. And he certainly wasn't going to be thrown off the terrace here. So he also stubbed out his cigarette, picked up Shouto's, and threw them both in the trash can. “Sorry, I have to go inside. The show is finally starting.”
Then he pushed past the man as well. He felt a nasty glare piercing the back of his head, but he didn't turn around. Shouto was nowhere to be seen in the large hallway, so he went back to the hall and pushed his way through the half-screaming, half-grumbling fans until he was back in his seat.
“There you are at last—well, not that it's started,” Deku grumbled disappointedly and sighed. Ochako's mouth turned down at the corners. The mood sank to rock bottom.
“I think he'll be here soon,” Katsuki replied.
“How do you know? They postponed it again two minutes ago, I'm starting to think—”
When sudden screams erupted and people began clapping and cheering, they turned toward the stage.
He spotted Shouto. Much too far away and much too small, because Katsuki's seat was somewhere further back, but the cameras were immediately focused on Shouto's face, so at least Katsuki was able to see him like that. So it wasn't a fever dream, and he had actually spoken to him.
Shouto took off his jacket and dropped it on the floor. With one hand, he adjusted his microphone, which someone had hastily put on him at the edge of the stage, and strode purposefully to the center.
“I apologize for the wait,” he began. “I had to fire my manager... and leave my label.” As he bowed deeply, unrest began to stir in the hall. Loud murmurs spread around, and the faces of the others showed pure confusion. Then Shouto straightened up again and pulled up a tall stool to sit on. “It's like this... I don't even know where to start. I know that you were here... expecting a show. But I don't think I can perform it the way it was planned.”
“What is he talking about?” Ochako asked. “What’s going on here?”
Katsuki stared spellbound at the stage.
Shouto continued. “I am grateful that you have stood by my side for years, but I can’t go on like this. Because... the fact is, I don’t love what I do as much as I should. Music should feel right. But in recent years, my label has pushed me into a corner that I can hardly get out of. My creativity has been restricted, my decisions questioned, every little thing decided for me. Not for my own good, but to maintain a brand. The Shouto brand. I had a conversation today that opened my eyes. I can't go on like this. I can't continue doing what I hate. I can't sing what I don't feel. And if you want to leave now... I understand." Seeing every tiny emotion on his face on the big screen felt wrong. As if it were too private. Too intimate. Too open, when Shouto was so closed off. But maybe Shouto's facial expressions were so subtle that this was the only way to really recognize them. The hall fell completely silent. No one said anything. No one moved. “But for those who stay... well, this hall has been paid for. I'm not going anywhere. And if you want... I'll sing. I just don't know what to sing. My label owns the rights to the songs....”
The crowd began to cheer. He heard Ochako sniffle. Deku sobbed.
“Sing your favorite songs!” someone shouted from the front. The crowd began to chant his name. Not a single person left the hall.
“My favorite songs?” Shouto asked thoughtfully. “Hmm... I could do that.” He turned to his band, who stood behind him on stage, looking a little lost and not knowing what was happening. “Can I have a guitar?”
One of the men brought him one and Shouto took it. He began to tune it and strummed the strings to test them. As the music played, Katsuki felt a tingling sensation inside. He didn't know Shouto could play musical instruments.
“That should work...” Shouto looked up. The pretty face on the big screen behind him. He looked so human. So approachable. And at the same time, Katsuki thought that this stupid pop star looked like a heavenly being. He could throw up, the guy was so pretty. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity. It means a lot to me.” He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. Katsuki's heart skipped a beat. “I hope you like Kelly Clarkson's ‘Because of You’. I dedicate it to my father.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes.
♪
When there was a knock at his door shortly before midnight, the blond man considered getting a baseball bat to greet his uninvited guest, who had woken him from his sleep. He didn't necessarily live in the best part of Tokyo, but so far, burglars rarely knocked on doors beforehand. If it was his crazy neighbor again, who couldn't find his own door after drinking too much, he would punch him.
Ready to fight, he opened his apartment door, only to pause.
“How did you like my concert?” asked none other than Shouto, beaming with excitement.
“How did you know where I live?” Katsuki asked back. But the other just shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. He looked so free. His shoulders were no longer slumped, he seemed like a whole new person. A new person who had gotten him out of bed at night.
“Well?”
Katsuki looked at him disparagingly before stepping aside and letting him in. Shouto silently accepted the invitation and entered Katsuki's apartment. He hadn't really tidied up after coming home earlier. His shoes were lying abandoned in the hallway, which was unusual for him, and he had carelessly thrown his jacket on the couch before falling tiredly into bed. He hadn't necessarily expected visitors — or a break-in.
“You... somehow found out where I live just to ask me what I thought of your concert?” he asked after Shouto had taken off his shoes and was walking through his living room as if it were his own. Was this really happening?
“Looks like it. Yes.”
Somewhat perplexed, Katsuki followed him and scratched his head. Was he serious?
“Why?”
“Because... because you made me finally tell my father what I think,” replied the other, curiously browsing through Katsuki's collection of CDs and DVDs. “You were right... About the cook who doesn't like food. Today I sang what I felt. I want to know what you think about it.”
“I still want to know how you know where I live.”
“I'll only tell you that once you tell me what you think.”
Katsuki sighed, somewhat annoyed. “It was... good. Better than I expected.”
Shouto smiled. “Better than pussy music?”
He couldn't help but return the smile. “Significantly better than pussy music.”
They looked at each other for a moment. The mood felt strange. Katsuki was still slightly sleepy, Shouto was curious, impatient, but strangely open. It was weird, but Shouto didn’t feel like a stranger. More like someone he knew all his life.
“I had the feeling you meant the songs you sing.”
“I did. Those were my favorite songs.”
Katsuki took a breath before snorting. “Your taste is questionable, and you have daddy issues.”
“I know.”
“But it was good... more than good, even.”
“More than good?”
“Pretty good.”
“Pretty good.”
“Mhm. Pretty good. I liked that you took out your phone to look up your favorite songs on Spotify.”
“I have a list.”
“Is the list called Daddy Issues?”
“No, the list is called Favorite Songs, what else?”
“You should rename it.”
“To what?”
“Well ‘Daddy Issues, Therapy Urgently Needed’ would be very appropriate."
That made Shouto smile. “Yeah, maybe.”
Katsuki leaned back on his couch and watched the other guy take out a CD. Of course, it was the one Katsuki wanted to hide the most. He quickly took it out of his hand and put it away. “What's up with your dad?”
Shouto shrugged. “I don't know. He was pretty angry. There could be consequences. But I think I'm rich. I can afford the lawsuit.”
Katsuki snorted. “Well, then.”
“Maybe I'll start my own label, maybe I'll stop singing. I honestly don't know yet. But I'm glad I took this step. And... I have you to thank for that. And you don't even like my music.”
“Maybe I can get used to it. Today's concert wasn't bad.”
“Not bad? Really?” Unexpectedly, Shoto's stomach growled. “Oh... I don't think I've eaten anything today.”
“You haven't— ah, you know what. Come on, I'll make you something.”
“You'll make me something?”
“Something to eat.”
“You can cook?”
“Of course I can cook.”
“You don't look like you can cook.”
“And you don't look like you can sing.”
“Ouch... that was mean. I've been told I'm pretty good.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes. Then he realized that he was standing in front of probably the most handsome man in Japan, wearing boxer shorts and an old tank top, offering him something to eat in his small apartment. Shouto looked at him with a dumb look on his face.
“And I'm pretty good at cooking.”
“Can you make soba?”
“Any other requests? Tsk. Typical Nepobaby.”
Ignoring the fact that he wanted to entertain a little—or big—pop star in his pajamas, he stomped to the kitchen and started taking food out of the refrigerator. If he told anyone about this, they would have him institutionalized. And rightly so.
Shouto followed him. He curiously inspected his kitchen. “Do you live alone?”
“Yep.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I'm a medical student in my final year.”
“Interesting. So you're smart?”
“You could say that.”
“Are you single?”
Katsuki turned to him. “Why?”
Did he want to kill him after all? Pop star, slash, serial killer.
Shouto looked back. His gaze was slightly closed, maybe he was tired, he seemed so close, a small smile on his beautiful lips. So strangely human. Shouto was beautiful, gentle, and a little stupid.
“Because I have a feeling that my next love songs will be very serious... Because they'll be about you.”
“That... that's the cheesiest thing I've ever heard.”
Shouto smiled back at him. “That's a lie. I just read the song list on the CD.”
Somehow, the blond hadn't expected anything from the concert, least of all that he would meet his potential boyfriend. But here he was.
A stupid pop star in his small kitchen, waiting for Katsuki to make him something to eat — in his pajamas.
“I could start performing them right now. Should I start with Every breath you take or with Foreigners I Want to Know What Love Is?”
He laughed. “Oh, fuck you, please.”
Shouto began humming one of the songs, and Katsuki felt his heart beating faster. Maybe he wanted Shouto to show him what love is.