Chapter Text
"You look like shit."
Katsuki looked up from his coffee, which was probably cold by now, and squinted at the figure sliding into the booth across from him.
"Thanks. You look like a stalker. Did you follow me here?"
Izuku ignored him, signaling to a waitress for his own order. He looked... good. It was annoying, because that was becoming more of a common occurrence these days. Bright button-down tucked into even brighter jeans, those ugly red sneakers he refused to throw away. He was a splash of color against the cafe's muted walls.
"I didn't follow you, I texted." Izuku pointed out, settling in. "Three days ago."
"I've been busy."
"Doing what?"
Katsuki stared at him. What had he been doing?
The truth was: nothing. Absolutely nothing. He'd woken up a couple months ago and then... it was today. Somewhere in between there had been meals he didn't remember eating, showers he didn't remember taking, a job application he'd started and finished in the middle of the night.
He remembered reorganizing the apps on his phone by color, but he doubted anybody wanted to hear about something as bleak as that.
"Living." Katsuki said finally. "Being a functioning member of society. Adult stuff."
Izuku's face was not impressed. "Kacchan, you're eighteen and retired. Your biggest decision this week was probably what instant ramen to buy."
"...It was beef," Katsuki muttered, frowning at the way Izuku giggled.
The waitress dropped off Izuku's tea. Katsuki watched him doctor it—two sugars, a splash of milk, stirring counter-clockwise. They had done this a thousand times in a thousand different lives. He took the first sip, leaving a smear of residue on his upper lip.
"So," Izuku said, licking it away. "Where have you been? Really."
"Here. There. Around."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the one you're getting."
"Look," Izuku set the spoon down with a huff. "I think we should talk."
The gray static that lived behind Katsuki's eyes flickered. "You're dying." He declared.
Izuku blinked. "What?"
"You have like, three weeks to live" he leaned back, arms crossing over his chest. "and you wanted to tell me in person so I'd feel obligated to cry at your funeral."
"What? No!" Izuku hissed, glancing around to make sure no one heard. "Why is that always your first guess?"
"Because you get this stupid look." Katsuki gestured vaguely at Izuku's entire face. "Like you're about to ask me for a kidney."
"I'm not dying or asking for a kidney. I just..." Izuku trailed off, fiddling with the string of his tea bag. His voice softened. "I haven't seen you in a while. I just wanted to see if you were... y'know. Doing okay."
"What do you want me to say? My blood pressure is normal, I took a shit this morning, and I haven't killed anyone. That's peak fucking performance."
"Kacchan—"
"I'm fine, Deku. I'm just... enjoying the quiet life or whatever."
Izuku looked at him with those green eyes that saw too much—and for a second, Katsuki was terrified he’d reach across the table and peel the skin back to see everything underneath. But Izuku just sighed, the tension in his shoulders dropping.
"Okay," he said, even though they both knew it wasn't. "Okay."
They sat in silence for a moment. Katsuki forced himself to drink the cold coffee.
"So," Izuku chirped, forcing brightness back into his voice. "I've got news."
"That so?"
"Yup. Big news." Izuku’s cheeks tinted pink. "Uraraka is visiting this weekend, she wanted to know if you were free for dinner. She really wants to meet you."
Katsuki wrinkled his nose. "That sounds awful. Why the hell would I do that?"
"Wow, don't sound so excited."
"Shut up, I just don't feel like third-wheeling so you assholes can have date night."
"It's not a date— it's a friendly dinner."
"With your girlfriend."
"That's not—" Izuku huffed. "It won't be like that. Uraraka is really nice. You'd like her if you got to know her. Just... think about it, okay?"
"Right. I'll ... let you know." Katsuki stood up, digging crumpled bills out of his pocket and tossing them on the table. "I gotta go. Job interview."
"Wait, now? You're interviewing somewhere?"
"Yeah. Some receptionist gig. Don't wait up."
He didn't wait for a goodbye. He walked out into the gray afternoon, the bell on the door jingling behind him, and tried to ignore the feeling of Izuku's eyes burning a hole in his back.
The office was white.
White walls, white desks, a white light that buzzed with a trapped fly or two. Katsuki sat in a chair that was too ergonomic, facing a woman whose smile was somehow tighter than her bun.
"So, Mr. Bakugo." She flipped a page on his resume. It was sparse. Too sparse for someone who used to be famous. "It says here you were a model for... quite a while. Why the career change?"
Katsuki shrugged. "Wanted something different."
"I see. And what skills do you think translate from modeling to a receptionist position?"
"I uh, showed up on time. Did what I was told. Didn't complain." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Same stuff, different uniform."
The woman's smile twitched. "That's certainly one way to put it. Can you tell me about a time you faced a challenge and how you overcame it?"
Katsuki bit his lip and thought to himself.
He could tell her about the time Jeanist took him to an after party, where he drank for the first time.
Or how in that same night, Jeanist let the CEOs of their sister companies have him one by one—how he ended up in some countryside clinic because he needed stitches for how badly he got ripped open, and how he braved it out without shedding a single tear.
He could also tell her that "overcoming" wasn't really the right word, 'cause you can't overcome something that never ends. You just... age out and become too old to be useful.
And then one day you're sitting in a white office trying to remember why the fuck you're even here in the first place.
He could tell her all that, and watch her pretty, perfectly assembed face twist in on itself. Or he could say:
"I uh... had a fight with a coworker, once." He scratched his cheek, avoiding the woman's eyes. "I wasn't good at getting along with people when I was younger. Had a lot of anger problems." He looked through the window, watching the city beyond. "I made the other guy cry n' got in trouble. Had to go to counseling and stuff." He shrugged again, trying not to fidget. "But it helped a little. So. That was a challenge. And that's how I overcame it."
That was the most awkward monologue he's ever delivered in his life. She jotted it down on her stupid clipboard and Katsuki felt about an inch tall.
The truth was, the fight wasn't really a fight, just Katsuki throwing a temper tantrum because that kid—what was his name?—Todoroki. Because Todoroki was getting better gigs than him. It didn't accomplish anything and ended with Jeanist's hand around his throat.
"Right..." She closed his resume, folding her hands beneath her desk. "Your background is... a concern, though, I must say. I saw that you attended college for a semester, but didn't graduate. You don't have any other schooling aside from that, is that right?
Katsuki's jaw tightened. "That's right. It wasn't for me."
"And the gap since then—"
"I took time off. Personal stuff."
"I understand." She would never understand. "And your references..."
"Jeanist." The name sat in his mouth. "He was my manager. He'll vouch for me."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "You're listed as retired, but he'd still be a reference?"
"He's..." Katsuki paused. What was Jeanist to him now? A name in a contact list he never called, that's what. A check that came every month with no return address. "We're still in touch."
"I see." She wrote something down. He had a feeling it wasn't positive. "Well, Mr. Bakugo, we have a few more candidates to interview. We'll contact you by the end of the week."
Katsuki knew how to take a hint.
"Right." He shoved his hands into his pockets and stood up. No use making himself look more pathetic than he already did. "Thanks for your time."
Katsuki keyed open his apartment with an uncomfortable pit in his stomach. Was this what he was doomed to do? Spend a lifetime trying to be a normal, unremarkable person, when he could never forget how much he once shined?
He didn't even need the goddamn funds—there was more than enough in his savings, plus the hush money every month. He could survive without working for years, probably. But he didn't know what to do with his life anymore, and he was tired of feeling like a jellyfish, just bobbing around at the mercy of some invisible current.
He collapsed onto his bed like a deflated balloon. He should eat something. He should shower. He should do a lot of things, actually.
Instead, Katsuki found himself pulling his curtains shut. Of all the things he could be doing, this was what he wanted least. He really, really didn't want to, but maybe it was leftover nerves from today. He locked his bedroom door—then made sure it was locked again, just to be sure. The lights couldn't be on for this. He didn't know why, but he couldn't bear being seen, even if the only pair of eyes in the room were his.
His clothes stayed on. That was another rule, too. He could touch, but not see.
He took a deep breath and pulled his laptop onto his lap, fingers already moving across the trackpad.
The site was familiar like a favorite sweater, the search bar even more so. The words had been typed in so many times the letters were probably fading off the keyboard.
He scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled.
Most of the videos were wrong. He realized that when he fifteen and saw that they were all fake. Fake sets. Fake lights. Fake people. The performers looked into the camera with artifical seduction, their moans timed and measured. They wanted to be there. There had been a time when that was enough, when Katsuki could pretend that what he was watching bore any resemblance to real desire, but he didn't know who that version of himself was anymore.
He needed something specific. He'd know it when he saw it—the feeling of wrongness in just the first few seconds, when hands pushed away and the sounds were choked and the tears were real.
A video caught his eye. He watched the thumbnail load in and let out a shaky sigh.
These were the ones that got it right.
These ones felt like someone had reached into his mind and pulled out his most rotten, hidden memories. The people in the videos were more honest and more alive than he could ever be.
The video was grainy, clearly amateur. A young boy—legal, he always checked, always—on a bed with someone above. He was saying something. Wait, I don't know if I—
Katsuki watched with aggressive detachment. He wasn't there, not in this room and not in the video. He couldn't be there. He didn't have to associate himself, if he didn't want to.
He pulled a pillow from his bed and pressed it against his face, listening to the sounds of sobs like an addict. His eyes fell on his arms. They were pale and soft, untouched by sunlight. He never got around to going to the beach like he always wanted to.
Focus, Bakugo.
The inner voice wasn't his. He couldn't remember the last time it was.
The pillow slid down to his chest, pressing against his pounding heart. The boy in the recording was still struggling, but his voice sounded weaker. The crying had turned hiccuppy and breathless. This was when he allowed his body to do what it was trained to do.
The longer he rutted his hips forward the more the feeling built, but he made himself hold out. He was so hard he could cry, wait—no, he already was. The tears rolled down his cheeks, pooling into his ear where they cooled off unpleasantly, but he didn't care. This wasn't for him to enjoy. That was the most important thing to remember.
This boy on the screen deserved to be watched with respect. He was doing something difficult and brave. Important, even if the viewer only knew him for a few minutes. Katsuki didn't blink at all, barely took in air as his thighs tensed. Just one more minute and it'll be over. Just one more minute. He didn't deserve anything until the boy did. He—
Buzz.
Katsuki flinched, almost dropping the laptop. No. He couldn't handle any interruptions, not now, when he couldn't breathe. He needed to keep going, he needed to focus.
Buzz buzz.
He ignored it. He had to ignore it. Whoever was texting him could wait.
Buzz.
But then again, nobody texted him these days except for one person who he'd ignored enough recently.
Katsuki bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. It coated the back of his teeth, the rest of it swallowed down with saliva, which almost helped that tight feeling in his throat. He wasn't in the right frame of mind to talk to anyone right now, least of all...
Buzz.
Jesus Christ. Fine.
Katsuki wiped at his eyes with a shaky inhale and sat up, putting the pillow away and grabbing his phone. Everything below his waist was aching, begging for him to go back, but he'd been doing this for years. He was good at ignoring all the feelings that were too big and too wrong.
That was the last rule, the one that overruled all the other ones. He could always stop whenever he wanted.
izuku: 'howd the interview go !!'
izuku: 'kacchan?'
izuku: 'no good? :(('
Those were sent an hour ago, apparently. The next ones were the buzzing he heard.
izuku: 'lemme in'
izuku: 'cmon kacchan its cold outside'
It took an embarrassing amount of time for Katsuki to realize that 'let me in' meant he was here. As in, Izuku was outside his apartment. His brain stuttered, trying to shift gears from the place he'd been—nowhere, suspended in time—to this reality where he'd have to make himself look presentable.
Knock knock
He closed the laptop shut harder than necessary, then glanced over at the clock on his wall and did a double take. It was after 7pm. Had he really let himself slip that much?
Knockknockknock
"I'm coming, fuck," he muttered.
Katsuki crossed the apartment on unsteady legs. He caught a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror—hair disheveled, skin sallow—and forced himself to breathe. His hand went to the small dish by the door where he kept loose change and, crucially, candy.
A strawberry lollipop. Whenever it felt like he was losing control, he could suck on it and let the sweet fruitiness ground him. It was pathetic, but it was better than the alternatives.
He stuck it into his mouth before pulling the door open.
"Surprise?" Izuku said sheepishly, holding up beer and what smelled like takeout. "Brought a peace offering."
Katsuki blinked, trying not to look like he'd just been crying for an unknown period of time.
"Er—" Izuku's smile faltered almost immediately. "Are you... were you sleeping?"
"No." Katsuki stepped aside, jerking his head toward the interior. The lollipop shifted in his mouth as he spoke around it. "Get in before you let all the warm air out."
Izuku slipped past him, bringing with him a gust of color and life, enough to make the static recede into silence. He smelled like cold air and car exhaust and something underneath that was just him, something Katsuki's body recognized before his brain did.
"Sorry for stopping by unannounced." Izuku shrugged off his coat, draping it over the kitchen chair. His jacket was orange. Why was everything he wore so bright? "I tried to text you, but you didn't answer."
God, how many times would Izuku have to say those words in this lifetime? Katsuki really needed to stop pretending that his notifications were just a noise and not a social obligation.
"I was busy." He grabbed a beer, avoiding Izuku's eyes. "Shouldn't you be finishing your homework or something? You know, something more productive than bothering me."
"Finished it." Izuku shrugged. "Plus, Mom's out with friends tonight and the house is too quiet." He glanced at Katsuki, eyes soft and sincere. "I figured yours might be too."
They ate on the couch because Katsuki didn't own a dining table.
He'd never seen the point. Who was he going to eat with? The television sat across from them, turned to some random channel just for noise. The evening news was wrapping up.
"...the weather in Mustafu is going to be bright and sunny this week. Commuters can expect light traffic throughout the morning hours..."
Katsuki's eyes flicked toward it briefly before returning to Izuku's hands as they moved—chopsticks to mouth, mouth to napkin, napkin to table.
"You're staring." Izuku eventually hummed, not looking up.
"You've got sauce on your face."
Izuku swiped at his chin and missed.
"Other side."
Swiped again. Missed again.
Katsuki sighed and reached across, thumb dragging across the corner of Izuku's mouth. The touch was practical—except for the way Izuku went very still. His chopsticks hovered mid-air, breath catching once, before he cleared his throat.
"Thanks. Ah—thanks."
He still wasn't looking at Katsuki when he said it, gaze fixed firmly on his food, but the flush crawling up his neck was visible in the lamplight. It spread like sunset.
Katsuki pulled away, dropping his own chopsticks to the table. "Dumbass," he muttered, just for something to say. "Can't even eat without making a mess."
By the third beer, Izuku got loose.
He always did when he drank. He talked with his hands more, laughed easier, and let his head tip back against the couch cushion until he was staring at the ceiling. The television droned on, something about local politics, neither of them paying attention.
"She's great," Izuku said, for what might have been the third time tonight. His eyes were half-lidded, warm in the low light. "Uraraka. She's... she's perfect, Kacchan. Really."
"You said that already."
"She's brilliant. And she's funny—like, actually funny, not fake funny. She's kind to everyone, even people who don't deserve it." Izuku gestured vaguely at nothing. "She's the whole package. Everything anyone would ever want."
Katsuki took a slow sip of his beer. "But?" He asked because he could tell there was one there.
Izuku's hand dropped to his lap. He was quiet for a moment, watching the condensation roll down his bottle.
"But I'm sitting here ... even though I have an 8 A.M tomorrow, and I can't think of anywhere else I'd—" He stopped himself, mouth snapping shut. "Sorry. Sorry. Drunk thoughts." He gestured again, waving the thoughts away like smoke. "Ignore that."
Katsuki must have gotten loose too, because he leaned back against the couch and said quietly, "You can tell me stuff, you know."
It was a dangerous thing to say. He knew that. They both knew that, and they both knew that the invisible line they never crossed was getting blurry now, smudged chalk in the rain.
Izuku turned his head to give him a curious look. "That's rich coming from you," he murmured defiantly.
"The hell does that mean?"
Izuku smiled, but it wasn't very happy. "It means you don't open up about anything. You never tell me anything that actually matters. You just—" He made a frustrated noise, hands flailing. "You shut me out. Every time."
Katsuki felt like Izuku was prodding a bruise he didn't know was there. "I don't shut you out." He shifted in his seat. "I just... don't talk about bullshit."
"Bullshit?" Izuku raised an eyebrow. "Is that what this is?"
"This is—" His brain fumbled to keep up. "—just drinking."
"Okay." Izuku sat up, looking suddenly determined in that genuine way of his. "Tell me something then. Something real, and I'll tell you something." He held Katsuki's gaze. "Deal?"
Katsuki stared back, caught in the sudden intensity of his voice. "What are we, five? I'm not playing truth or dare with you, Deku."
Despite his words, Katsuki was already calculating the risks and benefits in his mind. He was more than a little buzzed, and the way Izuku was looking at him was making it hard to concentrate on anything sensible. He was looking at him like he wanted to be heard.
"It doesn't have to be anything big. You can start small." Izuku's fingers fidgeted on the couch, restless. "I don't care."
Katsuki heard himself say, "You go first then."
Izuku paused like he'd been expecting a fight. "Really?"
"Don't make me repeat myself."
"Oh." Izuku chewed his lip, face scrunching up thoughtfully. "Okay. Okay, uh." A pause. "My... first kiss was in middle school," he said finally. "With this girl."
Katsuki sat there, waiting for more. When none came, he prompted, "And?"
"Well, nothing really happened after that." He shrugged. "I mean—she kind of just sprung it on me. I didn't even really know her, but I think she thought I'd say no if she asked, so—" Izuku smiled sheepishly. "I was a little shocked, I guess. I didn't know what to say to her, afterwards."
Katsuki stared at him. "That's it?"
Izuku bristled a bit. "I mean... it was my first kiss, so I thought it was... important, or whatever."
There was a beat of silence. Izuku's eyes were averted, fixed on a stain on the carpet. His voice dropped.
"She was older than me," he continued quietly. "High school senior, I think. She made me hold my breath until she pulled away."
It took a long moment for Katsuki to realize what he was hearing.
"Made you?" he repeated.
Izuku shrugged again, but his shoulders had tensed. "I mean, I didn't exactly want to. She just... told me to. And I did, because she was older and I didn't know what else to do." He laughed, but it was hollow. "Weird, right? I didn't even realize until years later that it was kind of..."
He trailed off.
Katsuki's mouth was dry. He'd spent so long believing that people like Deku didn't experience bullshit like that—the kind of ugly, complicated things that he'd been taught to live with. He'd carved out a space inside himself where the dirty things lived, and he'd convinced himself that space was his alone.
But here was Izuku, sitting in the glow of a floor lamp, admitting that he had a space for the dirty things too.
"Your turn," Izuku mumbled before Katsuki could say anything.
Katsuki cleared his throat, trying to think through the buzzing in his mind. He could have given Izuku a piece of useless information and been a coward, like he'd planned to.
But he didn't want to be a coward right now. Maybe it was the strange energy in the air. Maybe it was the thought of Izuku admitting that he'd felt powerless, and the sudden, aching need to admit it back.
"I... get pretty bad nightmares sometimes." Almost every night. "Like, really bad. I usually can't go back to bed afterwards, so I end up just lying there. Sometimes I can't think about anything besides them the next day and..."
He exhaled through his teeth, suddenly aware that Izuku was staring at him like he might have been an alien.
"You asked."
"I did." But he didn't look upset, just very quiet. "I'm sorry that happens."
Katsuki shrugged. "It's whatever. I'm used to it by now. Your turn, nerd."
They went back and forth like that for a while, the game developing its own rhythm.
Izuku told him about the time he failed his first college exam and cried so hard he made himself sick. Katsuki told him about the time when he was eight and stayed after school for three hours, waiting for his parents to remember it was parent-teacher conference day. (They never came. He walked home in the dark.)
Izuku told him about the feeling of being invisible in middle school, how he'd started talking to himself just to fill the silence. Katsuki told him about the feeling of being too visible, how the cameras made him feel like he was being eaten.
Each confession was a small key turning in a lock. It brought them closer together on the couch, until their knees were touching. At some point Katsuki found his arm resting along the couch cushions, just behind Izuku's shoulders.
"Uraraka thinks I'm studying right now." Izuku admitted and turned his head, his face inches from Katsuki's. "And I don't want to be anywhere else. That's the problem."
"Is it a problem?" Katsuki asked, his voice rough.
"It is when it means I'd rather talk to you than my girlfriend." Izuku's breath was warm on Katsuki's face. It smelled like beer and something sweet. "She deserves better than this. Better than... me sitting here, wishing I was..."
"Wishing you were what?"
Izuku let out a shaky breath. "You know what."
"I don't." Katsuki's heart was hammering against his ribs. "Say it."
"I can't." It would take the smallest, easiest motion for them to be doing something other than sharing breath and secrets.
Katsuki's mind was spinning, his thoughts a jumble of want and no and yes, all mingled up together. He wanted to lean in. He wanted to run. He wanted to do both at the same time until his body split in half.
"I should leave," Izuku whispered suddenly. "I should... this isn't fair to her. This isn't fair to you."
"Izuku."
"We're drunk, Kacchan. You're drunk and—"
"Shut up."
"But—"
"I'm right here." Katsuki couldn't take his eyes off of him if he wanted to. "I'm right here, Izuku."
Izuku made a broken sound in the back of his throat. He leaned forward, just a fraction of an inch.
It was enough.
Katsuki's hand finally moved from the cushion, sliding into the hair at the nape of Izuku's neck. It was soft. He tugged, gently, tilting Izuku's head back. Their noses brushed.
"Kacchan..." Izuku breathed, his eyes fluttering shut.
They stayed there, suspended. A hair's breadth apart. Katsuki could count the freckles on Izuku's cheeks.
Still, the TV droned on, unnoticed.
"...in other news .... has been arrested today ... following an investigation of tax evasion and financial fraud. authorities have confirmed that the investigation has expanded..."
He was so close. Just another millimeter and he could taste the beer on Izuku's lips.
"...reports indicate that significant evidence was recovered during the initial raid in Hakamata's home studio, including digital files linking the suspect to allegations of misconduct involving minors..."
The words burst through the haze in Katsuki's head. He froze, eyes snapping wide open.
"Kacchan?" Izuku murmured, confused by the sudden stillness.
His body moved without his permission, drawn like a moth to light, head turning slowly toward the TV.
The screen showed a picture he couldn't quite believe at first. It was Jeanist, flanked by police. Jeanist. He wore a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, like he'd been yanked right out of bed. He didn't look like the terrifying, powerful man Katsuki remembered, just ... a man.
The headline scrolled across the bottom: FASHION MOGUL ARRESTED IN MUSTAFU.
"That's... that's Jeanist." Izuku murmured, his hand dropping from Katsuki's shoulder. "Kacchan, that's your—"
"—We're receiving reports that the alleged victims were as young as eleven ... police are asking for any potential witnesses to come forward ..."
The reporter's voice faded into a whine. Katsuki's stomach didn't drop, but he felt the grey static come rushing back in, filling the space where Izuku's warmth had been.
Izuku went completely still next to him.
He was staring at the TV, then at Katsuki, then back at the TV. Processing it in real-time. Katsuki could almost see the gears turning, the connections being made.
allegations of misconduct
involving minors...
minors.
Katsuki watched the pieces snap into place and waited for the inevitable. The look of disgust and surprise and horror on that open, honest face. The way his eyes would go wide and then wet the moment he connected all the dots.
Time seemed to slow down, just like it did so many times before during photoshoots—when Jeanist's hands started moving and Katsuki had to go somewhere else, somewhere far away.
"Oh." Izuku said quietly. "Oh."
Katsuki had thought of this moment a thousand times before, and then a thousand times more.
He used to think of it as a kind of nightmare fuel, a boogeyman that lived under his bed. After the painful sessions especially, he'd think about all the worst things that could happen, so they couldn't come as a surprise. The different ways Jeanist would get caught and everyone's reactions—the I always knew something was off about that guy.
Now, he realized that the worst moment couldn't possibly have been predicted.
Tax evasion. Financial fraud. The rest... the rest was just a footnote. An afterthought for the masses, years of childhood for Katsuki. Everything he'd kept hidden for the better part of a decade, the parts that nobody would ever care about except the two of them, were being reduced to a few words on a screen.
Throughout all of his late-night musings, he'd never imagined how quiet it would be.
"Kacchan." Izuku sounded small. "I didn't—I thought there was something going on. But, but I didn't—"
The words fell like burnt stars between them, bursting through the atmosphere and into his living room.
Katsuki kept his eyes glued to the floor. "I never told anybody." He managed to get that much out. "So it's not your fault. You couldn't have known."
"But I—I should have—why didn't—"
There wasn't an answer to give. No matter what Izuku asked, he was never going to feel better. The screen cut to a different channel. Some stupid soap opera now, two attractive people arguing about some bullshit. Life was consistent like that, always moving on, no matter how much you were stuck in the moment.
"Don't do that." Katsuki’s voice was sharper now. "I don't need you to fuckin' pity me, Deku."
Izuku lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Katsuki and pulling him into a crushing hug. He pressed his face into Katsuki's hair and squeezed, then squeezed some more.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." There were tears now. They soaked into Katsuki's shirt, so warm they nearly scalded. "It's okay. You're okay. We're... I'm here. I'm here."
It didn't hit for a few hours afterward.
Katsuki had showered and changed into a softer pair of pajamas. He leaned his head against the wall beside his bed, staring blankly, the hours crawling by like minutes. He didn't know how Izuku managed to sit with him the entire time.
He was pretty sure this was what shock felt like.
"He's in jail," Katsuki repeated, his voice monotone. "They got him for tax fraud. But they found the pictures."
Izuku nodded slowly. He had, blessedly, stopped crying, but the occasional hiccup broke through his shaky breaths. "The news said... they said there were other kids."
"Yeah."
There was a small pause. Katsuki swallowed thickly, still staring at some invisible point in front of him.
"I think I knew." He admitted. "I don't—I didn't know for sure. I thought it was just my imagination making me paranoid."
He paused, absorbing his own words. "That's bad, I think. No, that's really bad, actually." Katsuki turned to look at him. Izuku had also changed into a pair of Katsuki's pajamas—they were too big on him. "Pretty shitty of me to ignore what I was seeing."
Izuku's gaze softened. "No. No, no, don't blame yourself, okay? You—you were a kid. You didn't have the ability to process something this big."
Katsuki forced out a bitter laugh. "How can I not? Even when I was old enough, he paid me." he bit out, bottom lip trembling. "Every month, so I wouldn't say a damn word. I took the money. I still take it. I didn't say a fucking word, and now he's only in jail because of taxes."
"I'm—" His voice broke. He took a moment to gather himself, inhales and exhales coming in harsh bursts. "I must be some kind of sociopath. That's what everyone's going to think. That I'm a monster. A—a liar. A psycho who lets these things happen just because I'm being paid. And maybe it's true, maybe I am, maybe I'm just like him. I don't know how I was stupid enough to think—"
He had to stop again, hands shaking. He wanted to cry, but nothing would come out.
Izuku opened his mouth and Katsuki waved him off before it could leave his lips. "Don't try to tell me it's not my fault. Don't you dare."
Izuku's head dropped. "Okay. Okay, then it is your fault."
Katsuki's eyes snapped to him. "Do you really think that?"
His mouth formed a tense line. "No. But you won't listen to anything else I say."
Katsuki couldn't argue with that, so he buried his head under his blankets, letting the soft material muffle his voice. "I'm so fucking tired."
Izuku scooted closer. His thigh was warm through the sheets. "So go to sleep." He urged him gently, "Sleep, Kacchan. It'll be better in the morning."
Katsuki stayed quiet. That must have been the biggest lie Izuku had ever told. Nothing was going to be better in the morning. Jeanist would still be arrested, the news would still be playing on every channel, and Katsuki would still be whoever this was.
"Okay." Izuku stood up, wiping his face. "I should... I should go now. Let you rest. I can come back tomorrow, or—"
"No." Katsuki's hand shot out, grabbing Izuku's wrist before his brain could catch up.
"I don't want to be alone," Katsuki whispered. The admission made his cheeks burn. "Don't leave."
"Okay. I'll stay on the couch. Do you have a futon I can—"
"Not the couch." Katsuki tugged him back onto the bed.
"Kacchan, wait." Izuku hesitated. "Maybe we should just..."
"I don't want to think," Katsuki suddenly blurted. "I don't want to be in my head right now. I can't... I can't even be in this body right now, Izuku. I need..."
He pulled harder and Izuku stumbled forward, falling into an awkward position on top of Katsuki, a tangle of long limbs and wide eyes.
"Touch me," Katsuki pleaded, and he didn't care how goddamn pathetic it sounded. He couldn't spend another minute wallowing. "Please. Touch me like I'm real. Make it so I can't feel him anymore. Just for tonight."
"K-Kacchan, you're not thinking clearly..." Izuku's hands came up to cup Katsuki's face, his touch achingly soft. "This isn't— you're reacting to the news. You're hurting. I don't want to take advantage of that."
"You're not." Katsuki leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut. "You're the one goddamn person I don't think is taking advantage of me." He opened his eyes. "And I know I'm not in my right mind right now, alright? But..." He swallowed. "I need to feel something good. You're good, Izuku."
Izuku's eyes searched Katsuki's face, his green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He looked at Katsuki's mouth, then back to his eyes. He bit his lip.
"This is a bad idea," Izuku whispered.
"I know."
"Uraraka..."
"I know."
"I don't... I don't have anything on me—I, um." Izuku stuttered, his face going red. "I've never..."
"I don't care." Katsuki pressed his forehead against Izuku's. "I don't care. I just— I need you."
Izuku let out a shuddering sigh, his resolve crumbling. "Okay. Okay."
He leaned in hopelessly, kissing Katsuki's forehead. His lips were warm, so damn warm, and Katsuki couldn't help but chase it, pressing closer, letting Izuku kiss his cheek, his jaw, his chin, his ear, and finally—his mouth.
Katsuki was immediately lost. It wasn't like anything he'd ever felt before—soft and sensual lips pressed into places he'd only felt fists and teeth. He whimpered at the unfamiliar feeling, lips parting in a gasp. It tasted like beer and the strawberry lollipop Katsuki had forgotten he'd been sucking on earlier.
Once he started losing air, he made a desperate noise in the back of his throat and kissed him back harder, flipping their position and pinning him down.
"Tell me to stop," Katsuki whispered against Izuku's jaw, his hips grinding down. "Tell me this is wrong and I'll stop."
Izuku's hands came up to tangle in Katsuki's hair. He pulled his head back, forcing their eyes to meet in the gloom.
"It is wrong," Izuku murmured. "But I don't want you to stop."
Katsuki made a choked noise of relief and dove into his mouth again, kissing him hard and messy. For a fleeting second, something like shame twisted inside him—Izuku had a girlfriend, Katsuki was a mess, this was everything wrong—but then Izuku just groaned and helped Katsuki strip off their clothes.
"You're real," he whispered, thumbs brushing over Katsuki's collarbones. "You're here."
He fumbled with the hem of Izuku's boxers before a tentative hand encircled his wrist, stilling his movements.
"Wait, uh," He panted, "I told you, I've never... I don't really know what to do after this."
"I'll do it," Katsuki said. "Let me."
Katsuki knew this part. He could do it blindfolded—he has done it blindfolded, once, when Jeanist tied one over his eyes and left him to wait in a bed for one of the company's bigger investors. He'd been given a bottle of lube and the instructions to "make them believe you know what you're doing."
He had to suppress the wave of nausea at the unwanted memory. They had nothing on him. They could never have him again. He took control, kissing down Izuku's chest. "Just lay back, yeah?"
Izuku made a strangled noise, but fell obediently back against the sheets. "Okay," he breathed, "Yeah. Just, um, yeah. I'm gonna leave it to you, then."
Katsuki pulled down his boxers, then Izuku's, and he couldn't help but stare at the sight beneath. It shouldn't have surprised him, but it did—how Izuku was already leaking, hard and flushed, straining against his own skin. He'd never seen a dick that looked so... human. It looked honest, somehow. That was a very weird thought, he realized distantly, but he'd only ever seen the sterile, impersonal organs from the slack-jawed men he'd been made to endure. And he'd never been the one to go out of his way to touch.
"Kacchan?" Izuku murmured, sounding worried. "Are—are you okay?"
Katsuki shook his head. "I'm—nothing, just... you're so—"
His fingers slid between them, gripping both of them in his fist. The contact was sudden and they both hissed, hips twitching forward.
"O-oh wow," Izuku gasped, "That... wow,"
"It's just us, Izuku." Katsuki murmured, letting the words sink in, reassuring himself that it was the truth. "Just us. No one else."
"Only us," Izuku affirmed, and Katsuki believed him. His hand was gentle as it moved, stroking them from base to tip. His breathing was growing harder now, faster. "Kacchan, that feels—"
"Good?" Katsuki panted, "Yeah? You like that?"
"Can you go a little faster?"
They both groaned as Katsuki complied, "Yeah, yeah, I gotcha..."
Izuku was shifting under him, hips rolling up, desperate for friction.
"You're so—" Izuku gasped. "You're so beautiful, Kacchan, perfect." he rambled, eyes hazy. "You're perfect."
"No, I'm not." Katsuki managed a strangled groan. "I—ah—I'm so messed—"
"I don't care." He cut in. "I don't care. Just—keep going. Please."
Katsuki leaned forward to lick into his mouth, grinding down with a stifled whine. "Can I—can I put this in you?" He almost grimaced at the awkward phrasing, but he just couldn't find the words to be seductive right now. "Wanna feel you inside."
"Yes." The response was as immediate as it was breathless.
Katsuki shivered. He'd been expecting hesitation, or nervousness, or at least an inquiry for more clarification. But Izuku was just—just there, willing and open, and it almost made him come right then and there; the realization that Izuku trusted him this much. He had no idea how he even deserved to see him this way.
Katsuki shuddered out a breath, letting go of their cocks to lean back on his knees. "I don't, uh, have lube, so..." He brought his head down to his own fingers, sucking them into his mouth. He coated them as much as he could, staring at Izuku through his eyelashes to check the reaction.
Izuku watched him with a heavy-lidded gaze, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. There were no words exchanged, no questions of "Is this okay?" or "Is this what you want?" Just a silent understanding as Katsuki pulled the now slicked-up fingers out of his mouth and brought them down to Izuku's entrance.
It was a slow process, one that stretched both of them to the absolute limits of their patience. He watched Izuku's face for signs of pain, listening to the soft, gasping breaths.
"Good?"
Izuku nodded, face flushed and pupils blown wide as he added a third finger. "Yeah. Yeah, just... weird. Good weird." He echoed, his head falling back against the pillows. "I-I can... I can take it. You can... go in now."
Katsuki's breath caught. He positioned himself, hand gripping the base of his dick, and he leaned over to kiss him hard.
"I'll go slow," he murmured, "'Kay?"
"Yeah," Izuku replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "I like slow."
This was the point of no return. This was the moment where he was just as vulnerable as Izuku was. He was making himself seen, making himself real, and he could only pray that Izuku's hands and lips and body would do their job of convincing him that that was a good thing.
"Can you look at me?" He murmured when Izuku pinched his eyes shut. "Need to see you."
As soon as their eyes met, Izuku's hands were framing Katsuki's face, holding him close. "I'm here, Kacchan."
And it shattered through the last of Katsuki's defenses. He lowered his head to press his forehead to Izuku's shoulder, and with one careful push, he slid inside.
"A-ah—" Izuku gasped, "Ah, that's—"
"Is that—are you good? Should I stop?"
"Burns a little." He managed softly. Katsuki waited patiently, his arms trembling with his own weight. "Feels... full. I need a second. Can you—can you just stay still for now?"
Even if Katsuki wanted to move, he didn't think he could; the feeling of being inside someone was new, so very new, and the overwhelming warmth was just shy of dizzying. He felt like he'd die if he lost this newfound sense of belonging.
"Move," Izuku eventually grunted, his hips shifting. "Please, Kacchan."
His arms immediately gave out; he braced his elbows against the bed and pulled away just enough to set a slow, deep rhythm, just languid strokes rolling into Izuku's body.
They were too breathless to kiss again, so they just kept their faces as close as possible, watching each other's expressions with rapt attention. "Kacchan," Izuku was gasping softly, "I've got you, I'm not going anywhere."
Katsuki buried his face in the crook of Izuku's neck, his rhythm faltering as the pressure built. He was crying again, he realized. The tears were falling silently onto Izuku's freckles, and they'd probably be humiliating to acknowledge if it weren't for the fact that every part of this situation was already humiliating. It felt so right, though, with Izuku holding him so tightly. He hadn't known it was possible to feel this way.
"Sh-shit," Katsuki moaned, thrusting harder, chasing the feeling. "I'm—I'm so close," he breathed. "Can I, can I come?"
"Of course, Kacchan," Izuku said fiercely, wrapping his legs around Katsuki's waist to pull him deeper. "Don't need to ask me, just don't pull out. Please."
He sobbed as he reached his breaking point, spilling inside Izuku like he wanted, and for the first time in his life, the release felt like relief.
The morning came too quickly.
Katsuki woke up to his head pounding. His face was sticky, his body was sticky, his sheets were sticky. For a moment, he lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe.
Then he turned over, and found himself face-to-face with Izuku.
Last night came rushing back instantly, playing behind his eyelids in full color. Jeanist. The arrest. The news. The sex. Fuck, the arrest. And then... then...
But in sleep, Izuku's face was entirely relaxed, his expression soft and innocent. He looked completely unaware of the horrors that had been broadcasted to all of Japan yesterday. He looked peaceful.
He also looked like someone who had cheated on his girlfriend.
Katsuki's stomach lurched. What had they done? What had he done? This was a huge, awful, irredeemable mistake, right? Katsuki could lie to himself, but he couldn't lie to Izuku. And he definitely couldn't lie to Uraraka, who had been betrayed and didn't even know.
Izuku stirred, his nose scrunching as he blinked awake. For a moment, he looked confused—unsure of where he was, why the bed was different, why there was someone next to him.
Then his eyes focused on Katsuki, and he seemed to go through the same thought process that Katsuki had just been through moments before.
"....Hey."
"Hey."
They stared at each other for a moment, silent. Everything felt different in the morning light. The world didn't seem as harsh as before—or maybe that was just because Izuku was here, was still here, and hadn't run for the hills.
"I should—" Izuku started.
"Yeah."
"I have class at—"
"I know."
Izuku sat up slowly, the sheet pooling around his waist. Katsuki was ashamed that his first thought was Thank god I didn't leave any visible marks.
Then, he realized he did leave marks—fingertips on Izuku's hips, a scattering of hickeys on his neck and chest. They were barely even there, would probably fade by tomorrow, but the sight filled Katsuki with enough guilt to feel nauseous all over again.
It must have shown in his face because Izuku pulled a corner of the sheets up to hide himself.
"You should... you should go now." Katsuki heard himself say. His voice sounded flat to his own ears. "Do whatever you need to do."
"Is that what you want?" Izuku sounded like he could burst out crying any second. "For me to just... leave?"
No. The answer came to him immediately, viscerally. Katsuki didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to be in this apartment like a house pet with no owner—but that's what he was, and he'd made his bed. Literally. There was no option but to lie in it.
"It doesn't matter what I want." He muttered. "You have someone waiting for you who isn't... this." He gestured vaguely at himself, at the room, at the disaster they'd made of everything. "So go."
He wanted Izuku to stay, to fill the space with color and noise and life, to keep the silence from swallowing him whole.
But that wasn't fair. None of this was fair.
Izuku sat there for a long moment, his jaw tight. His hands were fists at his sides, knuckles white.
"Okay," he said finally. "Okay. But I'm coming back. Tomorrow. Or—later today, if you want. I'm not just going to... I'm not going to pretend this didn't happen."
Katsuki didn't have the energy to argue. "Whatever. Just—text me or something."
He watched Izuku gather his clothes, watched him dress in silence, watched him pause at the door with his hand on the frame. "Kacchan," Izuku said, not turning around.
"What we did... it wasn't just because of the news. For me, I mean. It wasn't." Izuku finally looked over his shoulder. "And for what it's worth... I don't regret it."
Katsuki's breath caught, but before he could think of what to say, Izuku was gone and Katsuki was alone.