like a revolving door
Katsuki Bakugo x fem!Reader
Seeing you at Shotoâs celebratory get together for reaching second place in the hero ranks should evoke no feelings from Katsuki, right? Even if he hasnât seen you in three years. Even if he might just want you back a little
Tags/CW: exes to ???, emotionally constipated Katsuki (just how I like it), angst with happy ending, making up, kissing, conversations about sex but no smut, making out in Katsukiâs car, takes place during MHA: more (but I made it a bit fancier), men who yearn are men who earn
The bathroom is too hot.
Steam still clings to the mirror even though Katsuki cracked the door open nearly ten minutes ago, and now every surface still has that damp, sticky feeling that makes his skin itch. The air smells faintly like eucalyptus from the stupid overpriced shaving cream Kirishima convinced him to buy last month, mixed with clean soap and the sharp metallic scent of running water. His apartment is quiet except for the constant buzz of the fluorescent light above him and the rough scrape of the razor dragging slowly down his jaw.
âShitâFuckââ
He hisses through his teeth the second the blade catches unevenly against his skin. A sting blooms near his chin, followed by the bright bead of blood surfacing almost immediately.
Katsuki glares at himself through the fogged mirror like the reflection personally pissed him off.
âGreat.â
He looks fine. More than fine, honestly, which somehow only irritates him more.
His hair is freshly trimmed, the ash blond strands still slightly damp from his shower, pushed back messily from his forehead. The sleeves of his black compression shirt cling to his shoulders and arms while the expensive button-up he plans on wearing hangs neatly from the bathroom door beside pressed slacks he spent way too long picking out earlier. Even his watch sits carefully beside the sink instead of abandoned somewhere random like usual. The entire thing feels too deliberate. Too polished. Too much like he gives a shit.
Which he doesnât.
Obviously.
Except his stomach has felt weird since he woke up this morning.
Not nervous. Definitely not nervous.Â
He canât pinpoint the exact moment he clocked off hero work or how much time he spent at the gym so he could show off a pump tonight, nor can he try to convince himself it isnât for the reason he doesnât want to admit. He just wants to look good.
And thatâs it. Simple as it sounds. No reason for him to choke on stuttering breaths.
The razor scrapes harder against his jaw this time as he rinses it aggressively under the sink. Hot water rushes over his fingers, turning the tips of them pink.
The celebration dinner is stupid to begin with, if you ask him.
Shoto gets ranked top two after the downtown incident last month, Endeavor immediately turns it into some flashy media spectacle about family legacy and hero society, and somehow all of Class A gets invited because the public still eats up that âgolden generationâ garbage years later. Old classmates pretending they all still keep in touch more often than not. The entire thing sounds exhausting.
But youâre gonna be there.
Thatâs the problem.
For all he cares, itâs beenâwhat? Three years?
Three fucking years since heâs properly seen you.
Not in passing through articles online. Not blurry photos people tag him in accidentally after hero events. Not hearing your name mentioned by Mina or Sero every couple of months when they gossip over drinks.
Actually seeing you.
As in, In person.
Close enough to touch.
Because when him and you were no more, instead of running back to him like youâd always do, you moved out of Japan, got a job somewhere else in the world. You blocked him on all socials, blocked his number âeven the agency landlineâ and for a while, he didnât care to contact you. He didnât care to check up on you, because who checks up on someone who said they wished they never met you? He went out of your life as quietly as you went out of his. Not caring if his last words hurt you, like you did.
Katsuki braces both hands against the sink and stares downward as water drips steadily from the faucet. His reflection blurs at the edges from the steam still clouding the glass, turning him into something distorted and unfamiliar.
Pathetic.
The worst part is he doesnât even know what version of you is walking through those doors tonight.
Maybe youâre angry.
Maybe you barely look at him.
Maybe youâve become one of those calm, polished heroes that smile perfectly for cameras now, the kind that know exactly how to navigate crowded rooms without making enemies out of everyone in them.
Or maybe youâll look through him entirely.
That thought digs somewhere unpleasant beneath his ribs.
Fair enough, honestly.
He earns that.
The memory still crawls up on him sometimes when it gets too quiet. Usually late at night after patrol when heâs too exhausted to keep his thoughts from wandering somewhere ugly.
In all honesty he did try to talk to you. Last year, after he found out he wasnât blocked anymore. But he was angry, vulgar, everything youâve ever said you hated about him. And for better or for worse you had only told him you knew heâd never change. And he had left it there, not pressing anymore, not needing anymore proof to accept you just werenât coming back.
Maybe this is why he wonât wear the polished clothes heâs picked out for tonight. Maybe the Nike sweats he tumble dried this morning and a t-shirt will make him look more casual, put together in a way fancy clothes wonât.
Because tonight is casual to him. It should be, at least, amidst picking up Kirishima and Izuku in his new car. He shouldnât even care that youâre going to be there.
He keeps staring at himself anyway.
Like maybe if he looks long enough, heâll suddenly figure out why this feels so fucking strange.
The bathroom light washes his skin pale while steam curls slowly around the edges of the mirror, softening the sharpness of his reflection. Katsuki barely recognizes the version of himself standing there sometimes. Not because he looks differentâhe does, obviously, older and broader and rougher around the edgesâbut because somewhere between twenty-two and twenty-five, the anger inside him changed shape.
Less explosive.
Much more exhausting.
He reaches for the towel hanging off the counter and drags it roughly over his face before tossing it aside. The nick near his chin still stings faintly. Tiny. Irritating. His eyes flick toward the button-up hanging from the bathroom door again, then away immediately.
Abso-fucking-lutely not.
The idea of showing up looking like he spent hours trying to impress you makes something hot crawl up his neck. It feels pathetic now. Worse now, somehow, after standing here spiraling like an idiot for nearly forty minutes over a dinner he doesnât even want to attend.
Katsuki grabs the hanger off the door and shoves the expensive shirt deeper into the closet on his way back into the bedroom.
Fuck that.
The softer lighting from his room settles easier against his eyes compared to the harsh fluorescent buzz of the bathroom. Outside the windows, the city glows orange and blue beneath the darkening sky, traffic crawling between towering buildings while distant sirens echo somewhere far below. His apartment sits high enough that most nights the noise blends together into background static.
Tonight it all feels too loud.
He yanks open a drawer harder than necessary and pulls out the black t-shirt he wears for training. The fabric stretches tight across his shoulders when he changes, outlining muscle built from years of relentless schedules, combat drills, patrols, sleepless nights at the gym whenever his head gets too crowded to sit still inside his own apartment.
Not for you.
Obviously.
The thought comes so defensive it almost makes him scoff at himself.
The sweats are clean at least. Black Nike joggers fresh from the dryer this morning, soft at the inside, fitted enough that Kirishima once called them âboyfriend material clothesâ before Katsuki threatened to blast him through a wall. Casual. Comfortable. Like he isnât thinking about tonight at all.
Like he didnât spend an embarrassing amount of time earlier deciding between watches.
His jaw tightens again.
This is ridiculous.
Youâre just another person he used to know.
Thatâs it.
Three years changes people. Hell, maybe you arenât even the same woman anymore. Maybe you cut your hair shorter now. Maybe you picked up some accent overseas since your Japanese seemed too weird the last time you talked. Andâ and maybe, like the thoughts that used to consume him before he ever reached out to you last year, thereâs somebody else waiting for you back home after tonight, somebody softer than him. Somebody easier. Someone your shared friends know about but wonât let him know of.
That thought lands badly, like he woke a dragon from a millennial slumber. His chest immediately feels too tight for it.
Katsuki snatches his car keys off the counter before he can sit with the feeling any longer.
His hone buzzes again from the kitchen table as he passes by. Probably Kirishima. Maybe Deku. Maybe another last-minute reminder about tonightâs schedule.
He ignores it.
The kitchen still smells faintly like coffee from this morning, dishes abandoned beside the sink because he hasnât had enough energy lately to care about cleaning immediately after meals. Thereâs protein powder spilled near the toaster from breakfast. A hoodie tossed over one of the dining chairs. Tiny signs of somebody actually living here instead of the spotless, polished apartment magazines keep trying to photograph whenever reporters sneak glimpses during interviews.
For a second, his eyes drift unconsciously toward the balcony.
You used to stand out there all the time. Especially during storms.
Wrapped in one of his hoodies with your arms folded over the railing while Musutafu lit up below you in blurred neon reflections. You always complained the city looked lonely from this high up.
Katsuki used to think that was stupid. Now he gets it.
His throat feels strangely dry.
âFuckinâ hell,â he mutters under his breath.
The worst part is he genuinely has no idea how tonightâs gonna go.
Maybe youâll smile politely at him like heâs an old coworker and heâll have to be casual about greeting you, though he doesnât want to.
Maybe youâll avoid him altogether.
Maybe Minaâll force everybody into some obnoxious group photo and suddenly heâll be standing beside you for the first time in years pretending his heart isnât punching against his ribs hard enough to bruise merely at the thought of it all.
Or maybeâ
Maybe youâll just look heavenly good.
Thatâs the real problem, honestly.
Because he already knows you will.
Not because of makeup or clothes or whatever expensive shit pro heroes wear to these events now. You always looked good to him in ways that annoyed the hell out of him. Half-asleep in his shirts. Sitting on his kitchen counter eating takeout straight from the carton. Yelling at him from across the apartment while he ignored you on purpose just to hear you get louder.
Three years later and his body still remembers stupid things about you automatically.
The sound of your laugh.
The weight of your legs thrown over his lap.
The smell of your peachy shampoo lingering on his pillows after arguments where one of you stormed out dramatically only to come back two hours later.
Katsuki grips his keys tighter.
Nope.
Heâs not doing this tonight. Heâs not showing up already halfway dragged into the past because of somebody who made it painfully clear they didnât want him in their life anymore.
That should matter.
It does matter.
And honestly, he understands why you left.
Back then he was still angry at everything. Angry at hero society. Angry at himself. Angry at how badly he wanted somebody and how terrified he is of needing them at the same time. Every conversation between you eventually turned into him snapping before you can get too close to whatever ugly thing sits underneath his ribs.
You called him cruel once.
Not loudly. Not even during a fight.
Just tired.
And somehow that had struck him worse than any screaming ever could. Thatâs when it clicked to him, that no matter how much you said you saw the good in him, you never truly could. Even if one of your last sentences to him was that you loved him, he didnât believe you could ever love someone you thought was cruel, someone you wish you never met.Â
Katsuki locks the apartment behind him harder than necessary before heading toward the elevator.
The hallway lights flicker softly overhead while he waits, fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh. His reflection stares back at him from the metal elevator doorsâbroad shoulders, tired eyes, black compression shirt clinging too tightly against muscle that suddenly feels more like armor than confidence.
Casual.
Tonight is casual.
Just old classmates catching up. Nothing more.
Then his phone vibrates again.
EIJIRO: donât be weird tonight bro
A second message immediately follows; something about sitting shotgun in his new car.
Katsuki stares at the screen for a long moment. Then another vibration.
IZUKU: Kacchan are we still meeting downstairs in 20?
His jaw flexes hard enough to ache.
Because somehow, despite everything, despite all the years and silence and blocked numbers and ugly last conversationsâ
A part of him still feels twenty-two again. Twenty-two and convinced that no one could love the way he expressed himself.
______
By the time Katsuki parks outside the izakaya, the knot in his stomach has already settled into something meaner. Sharper. Musutafu glows around him and his friends in streaks of reflected neon against rain-dark pavement while a valet moves between cars beneath the izakaya entrance. The place itself is ridiculously upscale even if it is just traditional, all warm golden lighting spilling through enormous glass windows and polished black stone.
Kirishima lets out a low whistle from the passenger seat as he climbs out. âCanât wait to see everyone.âÂ
âShut the fuck up,â Katsuki mutters automatically, already slamming the car door closed harder than necessary.
Cold evening air immediately brushes against the back of his neck. Somewhere nearby, traffic hums steadily through the city while muffled laughter spills from the izakaya entrance every time the doors open. Izuku smooths anxiously at the sleeves of his suit beside the car, glancing toward the building with that same nervous energy heâs carried since high school.
âDo we think Todoroki planned all this himself,â he starts, adjusting his tie, âor do you think Endeavor hiredââ
âDeku,â Katsuki interrupts flatly, shoving his hands into his pockets, âif you start analyzing anything, iâm leaving.â
âI wasnât gonna analyze theââ
âYou literally were.â
Kirishima snorts loudly beside them, and normally the familiar bickering would loosen something in Katsukiâs chest. Tonight it barely registers because his attention keeps drifting toward the entrance before they even reach it, heartbeat strangely steady in a way that feels worse than panic. Like his body already knows something his brain is still trying to avoid.
The hostess opens the doors with a practiced smile, and warm air immediately wraps around them alongside the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses. The restaurant is crowded with heroes, old classmates that are lingering discreetly in sorted tables near the back, all surrounded by polished wood and amber lighting that makes everything glow soft and expensive.
Katsuki barely notices any of it.
His eyes find you almost instantly.
Of course they do.
Youâre seated near the center of the room beside the girls, half-turned toward Mina while Ochaco laughs at something across the table. The lighting catches warmly against the side of your face, softening the curve of your expression while gold jewelry glints subtly against your skin every time you move. Your hair is longer now than the last time he saw you in person, falling over your shoulders while one hand curls loosely around a sake glass. You look comfortable there. Relaxed. Like you belong in rooms like this now.
And for one awful second, Katsuki genuinely forgets how to breathe.
Three years vanish instantly beneath the weight of recognition. His body remembers you before his brain does, something visceral and humiliating tightening beneath his ribs before he can stop it.
Fuck.
You look different, but not enough to feel unfamiliar. Older, maybe. Sharper around the edges in the way everybody becomes sharper with time. Thereâs confidence in the way you sit now that wasnât fully there before, something steadier beneath your posture. You carry yourself like someone whoâs finally learned how to exist without apologizing for taking up space.
Then Mina notices them entering.
âOh my god, finally!â she calls immediately, waving dramatically across the room. âYou guys are late as hell!â
Several heads turn at once.
Including yours.
Katsuki feels it immediately, that split second your eyes land on him from across the room. It happens so fast he almost convinces himself he imagined it. No widening. No visible surprise. No anger flashing across your face. Your gaze settles on him briefly before moving smoothly toward Kirishima instead.
âOh, Eiji,â you smile warmly, standing slightly from your pillow as the group approaches. âHi.â
The knot in Katsukiâs stomach twists tighter.
Kirishima grins instantly. âThere she is. Damn, itâs been forever.â
âIt literally has,â Mina groans dramatically. âThis bitch abandoned us internationally.â
You laugh softly at that, embarrassed enough to duck your head slightly.
The sound lands somewhere dangerous in Katsukiâs chest.
Ochaco immediately stands to greet Izuku while the others start talking over each other all at once, greetings and questions colliding noisily together after years apart. You converse with everyone easily. Kirishima gets pulled into a quick side hug while you squeeze Ochacoâs hand excitedly across the table. You ask Izuku about agency work overseas, laugh when Kaminari nearly trips over a table trying to sit down, you smile politely at Jirou when she teases your accent sounding slightly different now.
But Katsuki gets nothing.
At first he tells himself maybe you just havenât gotten there yet. Maybe itâs awkward. Maybe youâre nervous too and trying to settle into the conversation before acknowledging him properly.
Then Kirishima nudges him lightly with his elbow.
âOi,â he mutters under his breath, âsay hi, silly.â
Katsukiâs jaw tightens immediately.
His eyes flick toward you again, but youâre already sitting back down beside Mina, smoothing your sleeve absentmindedly while listening to Momo speak. Completely relaxed. Completely normal.
Like he isnât even there.
Something hot immediately crawls beneath his skin, but it doesnât feel like anger. Anger wouldâve been easier to deal with. Easier to understand. This feels uglier than that.
Because you arenât being cold.
You arenât glaring at him or avoiding eye contact dramatically or making the tension obvious for everyone else at the table.
Youâre just indifferent.
Clean, casual, effortless indifference that makes it painfully obvious youâve already figured out how to exist in the same room as him without it affecting you at all.
Katsuki pulls form to his seat harder than necessary across from Kirishima, the sharp scrape of the table flinching away from him against the floor briefly cutting through the table conversation. Nobody reacts except Mina, whose eyes dart toward him automatically before flicking carefully toward you.
You donât even look up.
Jesus Christ.
His chest suddenly feels too tight.
âYou look good, by the way,â Mina says suddenly, leaning dramatically against your shoulder. âLike suspiciously good. What the hell are they feeding you overseas?â
You laugh quietly, almost embarrassed by the attention. âLiterally just less stress, probably.â
The joke lands casually around the table. Kaminari laughs. Jirou snorts into her drink. Ochaco starts teasing you immediately about abandoning Japanese work culture.
Nobody else notices anything strange about the comment.
But Katsuki does.
Of course he fucking does.
Less stress.
Like loving him had exhausted you so thoroughly that leaving the entire country became the healthiest thing youâd ever done for yourself.
His fingers curl tighter around the edge of the menu sitting untouched in front of him.
âStill working with that rescue agency?â Izuku asks curiously.
You nod. âMostly disaster relief now, yeah. Itâs quieter than here.â
âQuieter?â Kaminari repeats incredulously. âWhy would you want quieter?â
âBecause some people enjoy peace,â Jirou answers dryly.
âExactly,â you laugh.
And there it is again, that strange feeling pressing heavier against Katsukiâs ribs every time you smile. Because you do seem peaceful now. Not forced. Not pretending. Actually peaceful.
Your posture stays relaxed through every conversation. Your smile comes easier than he remembers. Even your voice sounds lighter somehow, no longer carrying that constant tension that used to sit beneath your words whenever the two of you argued. Back then, loving each other always felt loud. Intense. Like every conversation teetered dangerously close to becoming a fight neither of you knew how to stop once it started.
Now you just seem⊠calm.
Katsuki suddenly feels too large in his seat. Too rough around the edges for this version of you. His broad shoulders, his obnoxiously loud voice, the constant restless energy simmering beneath his skin all feel painfully obvious in comparison to the quiet ease you carry now.
Mina notices it first.
Her eyes flick carefully between the two of you once. Then again.
Her smile falters slightly.
Because now itâs becoming noticeable to everybody else too.
You still havenât acknowledged Katsuki properly once since they entered the izakaya.
Kirishima notices next, judging by the awkward way he shifts beside Katsuki before clearing his throat.
âSo, uhâŠâ he starts carefully, eyes darting between you both. âCrazy seeing everybody together again, huh?â
âMm,â you hum politely before taking another sip of your drink.
Thatâs it.
No tension sharpens your voice. No bitterness leaks through your expression. Nothing about your reaction feels forced or emotional at all. Katsuki Bakugo has somehow become just another former classmate sitting at the table across from yours instead of the man you once shared a bed and apartment and entire future with.Â
You used to tell each other that by the time youâre twenty-five youâd surprise your friends and old classmates by popping a kid out of the blue in one of these events. You used to laugh at the thought of him flaunting a baby bump on you, dreaming that youâd hide your engagement ring from everyone until it was the right time to announce youâd get married.
In another life, it may have been different.
Instead of that, you and him are forcibly strangers now; the realization settles, once again heavily in his stomach.
At least showing hatred towards him would mean he still mattered enough to ruin your evening.
This indifference feels like being erased entirely.
______________
The longer the night settles around the izakaya, the more Katsuki realizes he completely misjudged what this dinner was supposed to be.
Not some polished, high-class event packed with cameras and stiff hero society bullshit.
Just an izakaya. Despite how fancy it is.
A crowded, noisy, familiar little place tucked between glowing Musutafu storefronts where the tables are too close together and the air smells like grilled meat, fried oil, spilled beer, and cigarette smoke clinging faintly to old wood. Somebody in the back is laughing loud enough to echo over the music while waiters squeeze through narrow spaces carrying trays overloaded with skewers and drinks. Half the groupâs jackets are already tossed carelessly everywhere.
Casual.
Comfortable.
The kind of place Class A used to practically live in after internships.
Which somehow makes this worse.
Because you fit into it too naturally even if youâve missed the majority of it.
Time passes eerily as Katsuki watches from across the table while Mina complains dramatically about agency interns stealing her skincare products, and you laugh so easily at something dumb Kaminari says that for a split second it genuinely feels like no time has passed at all.
Except it has.
He notices it in tiny things.
You donât interrupt people as much anymore. Back then you used to talk over everyone whenever you got excited, eyes bright and hands moving while you argued passionately about absolutely everything. Now you lean back when people speak, quieter in a way that feels more intentional than shy. You still smile the same, though. That part hits him unexpectedly hard.
Same slight squint around your eyes. Maybe a few subtle wrinkles now, that still manage to look good on you.
Same habit of hiding your laugh behind your drink or your hand sometimes.
Itâs awful how quickly he notices all of it.
A waiter slides another round of drinks onto the table, glass clinking loudly against wood.
âBakugo,â Sero grins from farther down the booth, already flushed pink from alcohol, âyouâve been weirdly quiet all night. You sick or somethinâ?â
âIâm always quiet,â Katsuki answers flatly before taking a long sip of beer.
The table immediately erupts.
âThat is literally not true,â Jirou snorts.
âShut up! It is!â
âMe when I lieâ Mina snorts.
âYou used to start fights with strangers in restaurants,â Kaminari points out.
âCorrection,â Kirishima says, grinning, âhe used to start fights with strangers everywhere.â
âI remember that guy at karaokeââ
âHe deserved it.â
âYou didnât even know him!â
Katsuki barely listens.
Because across the table, youâre smiling into your drink again, shoulders shaking slightly with quiet laughter while Mina nearly falls sideways into Ochaco from laughing too hard.
And you still wonât look at him.
Not really.
Your gaze passes over him occasionally in that absent, polite way people acknowledge furniture in crowded rooms, but nothing lingers. No awkwardness. No tension. No visible effort to avoid him either still, which somehow stings too much.
Itâs like you already adjusted to his presence within the first five minutes of arriving.
Meanwhile he feels painfully aware of every movement you make.
The way your rings tap softly against your glass.
The faint crease between your brows whenever you listen closely to someone speaking.
The small scar near your wrist he remembers kissing once while you laid half-asleep across his chest.
His stomach twists hard enough to make him irritated with himself all over again.
This is fucking ridiculous.
âBakugo.â
His head lifts automatically.
Momoâs looking at him from across the table. âDid you hear me?â
âNo.â
âI said,â she repeats patiently, âShoto wants everyone at his agency anniversary event next month too.â
âAbsolutely not,â Katsuki answers immediately.
Kaminari groans. âDude, you say no to everything.â
âBecause everything sounds terrible.â
âSee?â Mina points accusingly toward you. âThis is why our sweetie over here escaped the country. Weâre emotionally exhausting.â
The comment is obviously meant as a joke and the table laughs.
Even you smile.
But Katsuki feels the words land somewhere unpleasant anyway.
Before he can stop himself, his eyes flick toward you.
For the first time all night, you finally look directly back at him.
It lasts maybe two seconds!?
Three, max.
Then, when Kirishima opens his mouth itâs as if he canât stop being a moron. Like he never could have guessed what the context of âtime and placeâ is. He points at you, then Katsuki.
âRemember when you guys sneaked out during the winter festival and everyone thought you were kidnapped?â
The entire table immediately erupts.
âOh my god.â
âThey were gone for HOURSââ
âBecause SOMEONE turned their phones off,â Kaminari wheezes.
âYou guys came back looking guilty as hell,â Mina accuses dramatically.
Katsuki feels his shoulders tense instantly. He sees you shrink into a timely creature in your seat.
Back then, youâd dragged him behind the gym building because you were freezing and irritated and insisted his body temperature was âunnaturally useful.â He remembers pinning you against the wall afterward just to shut you up after you laughed at how red his ears got.
He remembers kissing you until neither of you could breathe properly.Â
The memory hits hard enough to feel physical. Youthful kisses, teenage loveâ he remembers how it felt when he kissed you first and when he had kissed you then. He remembers making out in your dorm late at night when he shouldâve been resting his injuries after the war.
Around the table, everyoneâs still laughing.
Except you.
Youâve gone still beside Mina, fingers tightening almost invisibly around your drink before you take another sip.
Then, calmly, casuallyâ
âSo,â you interrupt smoothly, turning toward Ochaco and Tsuyu instead, âhowâs hero life treating you two?â
Clean cut. Effortless for anyone who canât read behind your eyes.
The conversation immediately shifts away from the topic entirely.
Like you did it on purpose. Like the memory embarrasses you now.
Katsuki drops whatever sits at the top of his tongue like it stung too much to be spoken out loud. Like he was given a sound reminder that his words are always unnecessary.
___________
Everyone eventually becomes too careless despite the fragility of the situation.
Alcohol warms the tables steadily, loosening voices and posture until conversations start overlapping loudly across the cramped izakaya booth. Kaminari is practically hanging halfway over Sero now while arguing about hero rankings nobody else cares about, and Kirishimaâs laugh keeps booming loudly enough to earn irritated glances from nearby tables. Even more empty beer glasses crowd together beside greasy plates streaked with sauce while waiters weave expertly through the narrow aisles carrying fresh rounds of skewers and drinks.
Normally Katsuki would be right in the middle of it all.
Tonight he barely said a word, even if he found himself at your table for some reason.
Because every single time the conversation drifts naturally toward old memories involving the two of you, you choose to redirect it before it can fully land.
Always subtle enough most people probably donât notice.
But he notices.
Every single time.
When Mina starts retelling the beach trip where the two of you once again disappeared from the bonfire for over an hour, you smoothly interrupt to ask Jirou about her latest music project overseas. When Kirishima almost brings up the apartment you used to share in the heart of the city, you casually wave down the waiter and ask if anyone wants another round of drinks before he can finish the sentence.
And the worst part is how effortless you make it look.
You arenât visibly uncomfortable. You arenât tense or bitter or awkward every time his name comes up paired with yours. You navigate around him cleanly, naturally, like youâve already spent years learning exactly how to exist comfortably in spaces where even if Katsuki Bakugo is present, he can simply be erased.
The notion starts irritating him more with every passing minute. It sits tighter beneath his ribs by the second. Makes his heart beat in fragile, irregular beats.
A doctor had once told him to keep track of arhythmic beats like this.Â
Tonight he does not. But usually, he does.
Across the table, you tilt your head back slightly while laughing at something Ochaco says, fingers still loosely wrapped around your glass. The soft amber lighting from the hanging lanterns catches against your face warmly enough that Katsuki immediately looks away afterward, jaw tightening hard.
Then your phone lights up beside your plate.
His eyes catch it automatically, assumption quick to replace every spec of vermilion in his irises.
A name flashes briefly across the screen before you casually turn the phone face down against the table.
Itâs a nickname paired with a heart.
It could be a friend, but for that heâs unconvinced.
Something twists violently low in Katsukiâs stomach.
Immediate. Sharp enough to genuinely piss him off.
Three years.
Obviously thereâs somebody else now.
What the hell did he expect? That you spent years overseas grieving a relationship that ended with both of you saying things cruel enough to permanently carve into each other?
His fingers curl tighter around his beer glass.
Mina notices instantly.
Her eyes flick carefully between him and you before she awkwardly clears her throat. âOkay, wow,â she says carefully, trying to laugh through the tension, âthis table energyâs getting kinda weird.â
âOnly because your face gets louder every time you drink,â Jirou answers dryly without looking up from her glass.
âNo, seriously,â Mina insists now, glancing more cautiously toward Katsuki. âEverybodyâs acting strange.â
âNobodyâs acting strange,â you answer calmly before finally looking directly at Katsuki for the second time all night.
And somehow that feels worse.
You really are fine. Not pretending. Not secretly emotional underneath the surface. Fiâne. Almost too cold.
You are completely, genuinely fine sitting across from him after three years apart.
Something reckless rises inside his chest almost immediately.
âYou got somethinâ to say?â Katsuki asks suddenly, attention fully turned to you. âThen say it to my face.â
For once, he manages to keep your eyes in his.
The table quiets.
Not completely, but enough that nearby conversations and clinking glasses start bleeding awkwardly into the silence between your group.
Your brows pull together faintly before rising. âWhat?â
âYouâve barely looked at me all night.â
âWhy would I?â
When you respond, Kirishima visibly winces beside him.
âBakugo,â he mutters quietly under his breath.
An effort for calmness that pays out fruitless soil. Katsuki barely hears him now that the irritationâs already pushing its way out.
âNo, seriously,â he continues, eyes locked onto yours. âWhatâs the deal?â
The atmosphere around the table shifts immediately.
Mina looks horrified. Izuku suddenly looks like he wants the floor to physically open beneath himâhe hasnât said anything about you up till now. Not on the phone, not in the car when Katsuki snapped like broken glass at every single thing. He didnât even say anything about you when Katsuki told him that if he treats everyone like theyâre special, then no one really is special to him. (When does Katsuki ever get so emotional?)
Even Kaminari goes quiet for once.
You stare at Katsuki from across the table for a long moment, expression unreadable beneath the warm restaurant lighting. Then you blink slowly before setting your drink down carefully against the table.
ââŠThereâs no deal. You made sure of that.â
The calmness in your voice instantly makes his irritation worse.
âYouâve been ignoring me all night.â
âNo,â you answer evenly, âIâve been talking to everyone.â
âExcept me.â
The silence afterward settles heavily between you both.
Around the table, nobody moves. The noise of the izakaya suddenly feels distant compared to the pressure building in the booth. You lean back slightly in your seat, eyes finally holding his properly instead of sliding politely past him like earlier.
âWhat exactly are you expecting from me here, Katsuki?â
The question catches him off guard immediately.
Not because of the words but because of the exhaustion in your tone that has completely replaced anger.
âI dunno,â he answers flatly, defensive before he can stop himself. âBasic acknowledgement maybe.â
You stare at him another second before letting out a small breath through your nose. Not dramatic. Not emotional. Just tired.
âI said hi when you walked in.â
âNo,â Katsuki says immediately, âyou said hi to Eijiro.â
Kaminari audibly mutters âoh my god, bets. Bets now!â under his breath before Mina immediately kicks him hard beneath the table.
Your fingers tap once lightly against your glass before stilling again completely.
Then, finally, something shifts in your expression.
And itâs not sadness.
Just plain right resignation. Like youâve already given up.
âYou want honesty?â you ask quietly.
Something inside Katsukiâs chest tightens instinctively.
Because now everybody at the table is looking literally anywhere except the two of you. Kirishima suddenly becomes very interested in his drink. Ochaco stares fixedly at the condensation sliding down her glass. Even Sero awkwardly clears his throat under his breath.
âFuck yeah, stop playing games.â
You hold Katsukiâs gaze the entire time when you speak again.
âI ainât got shit to say to you in front of everyone.â You say, bluntly, âbut since you say we donât have to play games, I didnât ignore you because I hate you,â you continue. âI ignored you because every single time I look at you, I remember the last conversation we had.â
The words land directly against his sternum. Heavy. Sharp like a swirly blade and enough that for a second he genuinely forgets how to respond.
The memory crashes back immediately whether he wants it to or not.
Rain hammering against pavement outside the apartment.
You crying so hard your voice kept shaking despite how badly you tried hiding it.
Him saying things he knew would hurt before they even left his mouth.
You standing there afterward like heâd physically reached inside your chest and twisted something apart with his bare hands.
âI wish I never met you.â
Katsuki remembers that part perfectly.
Worse, he remembers exactly what he said right before to make you say it. Something cruel. Something calculated. Something along the lines of âyouâre lying to yourself when you say you love me.â
Because back then hurting each other always came easier than admitting how badly neither of you wanted things to end.
Across the table, your expression remains composed, but now he notices the strain sitting carefully beneath it. The effort itâs taking you to stay this calm. To keep your voice level instead of letting old wounds split open in front of everyone.
âIâm not trying to make tonight uncomfortable,â you continue more quietly now. âI came because Iâm back in Japan and I missed everyone. Thatâs all.â
Everyone.
But not specifically him.
The distinction settles ugly and heavy enough inside his chest that he and everyone else in this room are short of words
The atmosphere around the table changes only when the emergency hero alert rings on everyoneâs phones.
Around you, everybody moves at once.
Years of training erase the awkwardness almost instantly. Drinks abandoned. Jackets pulled on. Conversations cut short mid-sentence while tables scrape across wood flooring. The emotional wreckage sitting between you and Katsuki gets shoved violently aside beneath instinct and urgency.
You stand automatically too.
And for one humiliating second, relief floods through you so fast it almost makes your knees weak. Because now you donât have to stay sitting across from him anymore.
You donât have to survive whatever expression is currently sitting on Katsukiâs face after what you just said.
You donât have to keep pretending your heart isnât beating so hard it physically hurts.
The group spills out into the cold Musutafu night in a rush of noise and movement. Sirens already echo faintly somewhere ahead, reflecting red against rain-slick pavement while civilians stop to stare at the sudden crowd of pro heroes flooding onto the sidewalk.
You breathe in sharply the second cold air hits your lungs.
It helps. Barely. Your hands still feel shaky and so fucking stupid..
Because the worst partâthe genuinely humiliating partâis that none of what you said was a lie.
You did ignore Katsuki because looking at him hurts.
But not in the way everyone at that table probably assumed. Everyone, including him, thinks itâs because you stopped loving him.
And honestly thatâwouldâve been easier.
The problem is, that standing across from Katsuki after three years still feels dangerously close to standing too near an open flame. Like one wrong moment of weakness could drag you straight back into him before you remember all the reasons you left in the first place.
And Godâyou wanted to.
Thatâs the pathetic part.
The second he walked into the restaurant tonight, broad shoulders filling the doorway, looking so pretty even if all the boyish charm had abandoned his face for good, while his eyes immediately found yours across the room, something inside your chest reacted so violently you almost forgot how to breathe.
Three years.
Three whole fucking years.
And your body still recognized him instantly.
You hated that.
Hated how good he looked. Hated how familiar his voice sounded. Hated that even now, after everything, some traitorous part of you still wanted to walk straight across the room and touch him just to prove he was real. Kiss him so you at least be able to go back to your friends overseas and let them know you got the kiss of closure youâve been wanting so desperately.Â
But you knew better now.
You had to know better now.
Because loving Katsuki always felt like standing too close to an explosion and convincing yourself the heat wasnât burning you alive.
You pull your hair back quickly while jogging after the others down the crowded sidewalk, the heels of your boots striking wet pavement hard enough to ground you back into the present. Neon signs blur overhead while people move aside hurriedly at the sight of pro heroes rushing past.
Beside you, Ochaco glances over briefly.
âYou okay?â
The question is gentle enough to make your throat tighten unexpectedly.
âYeah,â you answer immediately.
Too quickly.
Ochacoâs expression softens in that awful way people look at wounded animals they arenât sure how to help. That facade that all heroes put on when theyâre helping a missing child find their mommy.
You look away to let her go before she can say anything else.
Ahead of the group, Katsuki is already moving faster than everyone else, irritation practically radiating off him in waves while sparks crackle faintly against his palms. The familiar sight hits somewhere deep in your chest with painful precision.
God.
There he isâ Still carrying himself like the entire world personally offended him for existing.
And somehow you still love him enough it makes you feel sick.
You wonder briefly if he knows.
If heâs always known and if so, why heâs denying it.
Maybe thatâs what made the breakup so unbearable in the first place. Katsuki understood exactly how much power he had over you, and every time he got scared of needing someone that badly in return, he lashed out before you could hurt him first.
________
The robbery cleanup drags longer than expected.
Statements. Damage reports. Civilians needing reassurance. Media helicopters circling overhead long enough to become irritating background noise.
By the time everything finally settles, the sky above Musutafu has turned that heavy shade of black and blue. The streets are quieter now, washed silver beneath streetlights while exhausted civilians slowly reclaim the sidewalks. Neon signs remain glowing in the background of it all.
Katsuki feels wrung out.
Not physically, though. Physically heâs fine. His heart, at least, has finally stopped palpitating. Itâs everything else which isnât his heart that's clawing at the inside of his chest thatâs making him tired.
After an agonizing thirty minutes of broken communications on splitting the bill with everyone else, he gets dragged into easy conversation.
âAlright, alright,â Kaminari groans dramatically while stretching his arms over his head. âIâm officially declaring tonight cursed.â
âYou declare everything cursed,â Mina replies instantly.
âBecause everything is cursed.â
Kirishima snorts beside them while Izuku adjusts the strap of his gauntlets. âAt least nobody got seriously hurt.â
âYeah,â Katsuki mutters distractedly, digging his car keys from his pocket.
His mind hasnât stopped replaying the familiar sound of your voice through your conversation for the past twenty minutes. The kind of familiar that dug straight under his skin and stayed there.
Katsuki hates how much those words affected him. Hates that part of him wanted to turn around and ask what the hell that tone meant after everything thatâs happened between you before leaving for his hero duties.
Instead, he shoved it down where everything else goes. The pit of his dropping stomach.
The group behind him, after enthusiastically rejoicing and pleading for even a sight of his car, reaches the parking structure entrance together with him, footsteps echoing faintly through the concrete levels while fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Minaâs still talking about how good the food was. Kirishimaâs half-listening while Denki complains loudly about tomorrowâs paperwork.
Normal. Everything feels painfully normal again.
Izuku has already left to chase after Ochaco. Katsuki gets to go home with one less friend to lash out on and half a heart.
âLater, man,â Kirishima says to a far away Izuku raising a hand.
Katsuki barely listens while waving him off with a lazy flick of his hand.
Then he sees you. And every thought in his head immediately cuts clean in half.
Youâre standing beside his car. leaning against it casually. Not waiting in some cinematic pose.
Just there.
Hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket while cool garage lighting spills softly across your face. You look tired now. More tired than you did at dinner. Hair slightly messy. Faint smudges of eyeliner still near the corners of your eyes.
Real. Thatâs the first thing that hits him. Just you. Waiting for him.
Kirishima notices you first from the whole group.
âOh, hi.â
Mina stops talking.
Denkiâs eyes widen slightly before darting rapidly between both of you like he accidentally walked into live explosives.
Katsukiâs pulse kicks hard once against his ribs and his neck.
You look at him quietly before speaking.
ââŠCan we talk?â
Simple words. Calm voice. And somehow they hit harder than that joke of an argument earlier.
Nobody moves for about two seconds. Then Katsuki clicks his tongue sharply without taking his eyes off you.
âOi.â
Kirishima straightens immediately. âYeah?â
âGet lost.â
Denki nearly chokes.
Mina looks openly offended. âWow? Rude.â
âI said leave.â
âActually,â Kaminari says nervously, already backing away, âI think thatâs a fantastic idea.â
Kirishima hesitates longer.
Katsuki notices it instantly.
The concern. The donât blow this up worse look sitting all over his face.
âTch,â Katsuki mutters. âIâm not gonna start shit in a parking garage.â
âThatâs not super reassuring when you phrase it like that,â Mina says.
You huff out the faintest breath beside the carâalmost a laugh.
The sound catches Katsuki off guard badly enough that his eyes flick toward you automatically. Because he forgot for a second what it sounded like when your amusement wasnât forced. Heâs forgotten what it was like when he used to make you laugh, being so caught up in the destruction of it all.
Kirishima notices too. Something in his expression softens before he finally sighs heavily and throws his hands up. âAlright, alright. Weâre leaving.â
âBut if either of you commits emotional crimes,â Mina warns dramatically while walking backward toward the elevator, âIâm intervening.â
âYou say that like youâre emotionally qualified to help anybody,â Katsuki shoots back automatically. âOr like you have to wait around here.â
âSee? This is why therapy should be mandatory for heroes!â
The elevator doors of the garage close over the sound of Denki cackling.
And then theyâre gone.
Silence settles almost immediately afterward. Not awkward exactly.
The parking structure hums quietly around you both, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead while distant traffic echoes faintly from outside. Somewhere farther down the level, water drips steadily from a pipe into concrete.
Katsuki shoves one hand into his pocket to stop himself from fidgeting.
You still havenât moved from beside his car.
Up close now, he notices the exhaustion sitting beneath your eyes properly. The careful composure from dinner looks thinner somehow. Like tonight finally wore through it.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. Thenâ
âYou really think I hate you?â you ask quietly.
The question lands so directly he almost flinches.
Katsukiâs jaw tightens automatically. âYou ignored me for four fuckinâ hours.â
âI ignored you because I was trying not to ruin my own night.â
That catches him off guard enough to shut him up briefly.
You look away first, arms folding tighter across yourself.
âI spent three years trying to get over you,â you admit quietly. âDo you understand how humiliating it is that seeing you again almost reset all of it instantly?â
Katsuki feels something sharp twist low in his chest.
Because your voice still doesn't sound angry. It sounds like youâre simple frustrated with yourself.
âI didnât know what version of you was gonna walk into that restaurant tonight,â you continue. âAnd honestly? I was scared that if I talked to you normally for even five minutes, Iâd forget why we broke up in the first place.â
The parking garage suddenly feels too small, too warm. Katsuki stares at you, heartbeat starting to thud harder beneath his ribs again in a way that has nothing to do with fighting anymore. He starts thinking of every single moment today where his thoughts remained the same as yours.
You laugh softly then, but thereâs no humor in it.
âAnd the worst part is,â you murmur, eyes dropping briefly toward the concrete floor, âI still wanted you to come sit next to me. I keep thinking I want the goodbye kiss that I never got. I can never fully leave you behind and I think itâs just because I donât want to. Last year when you messaged me, I found myself excited at the thought of us getting back together.
The words hit him harder than any fight tonight did.
Just honest enough to split something open clean down the middle.
Katsuki stares at you like he genuinely forgot how to move for a second. Because heâd prepared himself for anger; âresentment, perhaps. Even the mischellanious instant where youâd be maybe telling him you moved on and he was pathetic for still carrying pieces of this -you- around like shrapnel under his skin.
He didnât prepare himself himself for this right now in any of his overthinking scenarios.
You standing in front of him at nearly two two in the morning, exhausted and vulnerable and still admitting you wanted him back once too. The million dollar question is: do you still?
The fluorescent lights of the parking lot above you the two of you flicker faintly. Somewhere deeper in the garage, a car alarm chirps once before falling silent againâKatsuki barely hears any of it.
âWhen I saw your message,â you continue more quietly, âI remember staring at my phone like an idiot for an hour before answering.â A weak laugh leaves you. âMy friend literally had to pry it out of my hands because I kept rereading it.â
His chest tightens painfully.
Because he remembers sending that message.
Sitting alone in his apartment after patrol with alcohol burning down his throat while he typed and deleted different versions of I miss you for nearly twenty minutes before settling on something colder instead. Something easier.
âWhy would you fucking unblock me?â
Pathetic.
âYou sounded angry,â you admit softly. âBut I still kept hoping maybe underneath it⊠maybe you missed me enough to try again.â
Katsuki looks away sharply, jaw flexing hard.
He did.
Thatâs the worst fucking part.
He remembers pacing around his kitchen waiting for your replies like his life depended on them. Remembers the stupid spike of hope every time his phone buzzed. Remembers ruining the entire conversation because the second things started feeling vulnerable again, panic crawled viciously straight up his spine and turned everything mean.
Same old him as always.
âYou told me I never changed,â he mutters roughly.
Your expression shifts slightly at that. Not regret exactly. Something sadder.
âBecause you hadnât.â
The honesty stings immediately because part of him knows youâre right. Back then heâd still been treating love like a fight he needed to win before somebody could abandon him first. Katsuki drags a hand hard down his face before laughing once under his breath. Bitter. Exhausted.
âYeah,â he mutters. âProbably deserved that one.â
Silence settles again after that. Raw, void of the hostility every other silence between you tonight. However, this time, the hostility of any previous silence between you tonight, is missing. Everything is raw and open like an oozing, fresh wound.
Had that been the case, heâd known better of.
Youâre still standing near his car with your arms folded tightly across yourself like youâre physically holding your own chest together. Katsuki notices your fingers trembling slightly against your sleeves.
Youâre nervous.
That realization hits unexpectedly hard too. Because he also forgot what it felt like knowing he could still affect you like this.
âI hated you for a while,â you admit suddenly, voice quieter now. âOrâI tried to, at least, at least.â You shake your head faintly. âI wanted to, anyway. It wouldâve made moving on easier.â
Katsuki doesnât interrupt.
Doesnât trust himself to.
âBut then stupid things kept happening,â you continue, eyes unfocused now like youâre talking more to yourself than him. âIâd hear someone laugh like you at work and my whole day would get weird after. Or somebody would burn coffee and suddenly Iâd remember your apartment.â Another soft, embarrassed laugh. âThereâs this hero overseas that yells exactly like you during meetings. I almost walked out the first time because I started tearing up.â
Something dangerously warm starts spreading low in Katsukiâs chest.
Not ego. Not satisfaction.
Something worseâHope.
Small and so fragile and so, so terrifying. and plainlyâ
You finally look back up at him then, expression open in a way he hasnât seen in years.
âAnd honestly?â you say quietly, âI think part of me kept waiting for you to come after me.â
That one nearly knocks the air clean out of him.
Because he wanted to.
God, he wanted to.
He remembers standing in airports during patrol assignments wondering what country you were in. Remembers opening your chat box dozens of timesâ knowing which one it was simply by how many weeks ago was your last conversationâ just to close it again before typing anything. Remembers seeing your name finally appear in his Instagram chat box instead of âUserâ and feeling his stomach drop so hard he had to sit down.
But wanting something and knowing how to hold onto it were always two different things for him.
Katsuki swallows hard before speaking.
âYou said you wished you never met me.â
Your face changes instantly. Pain flickers there, between your worried brows so quickly he almost misses it.
âI know.â
âYou meant it?â
âNo,â you answer immediately.
Too fast for it to not be honest. Katsuki would crack up a cocky smile if the sound of its admission didnât hook directly beneath his ribs.
You inhale shakily afterward, eyes dropping again.
âI said it because I wanted to hurt you back,â you admit. âAnd because youâd just spent an hour making me feel stupid and calling me a liar for telling you i loved you.â
The words land heavy between you both. Katsuki feels nausea twist unpleasantly in his stomach because he remembers that night perfectly now more than any other time.
Not just the fight.
Your face.
The way you looked at him like you were begging him to give you one reason to stay softer with each other instead of turning everything into a bloodbath.
And he had spectacularly failed, spectacularly.
âYou really thought I didnât love you?â you ask suddenly, quieter now.
And since the answer to your question is humiliating, Katsukiâs throat feels tight.
ââŠYeah.â
You stare at him for a long moment after that. Then you laugh again, but this time it sounds closer to heartbreak.
âKatsuki,â you whisper softly, âI moved across the world and still couldnât stop loving you properly.â
That one hurts.
Not in a bad way.
Worse.
Because suddenly all three years between you feel unbearably visible at once. Every missed call never made. Every airport not boarded. Every message typed and deleted. Every lonely apartment. Every night spent pretending this wasnât still sitting unfinished between you both. It never actually had to be that way.Â
Katsuki looks at you standing there beneath harsh garage lighting with tired eyes and shaky hands and too much honesty spilling out at once and realizes, with horrifying clarity, that if you were to claim your goodbye kiss; if you so as kissed him right now, he genuinely doesnât think heâd survive it quietly.
Neither of you says anything for a while after that.
The parking garage hums quietly around you, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead in uneven intervals while rainwater drips somewhere deeper in the structure with slow, hollow echoes. The city outside has started slipping into that strange hour between night and morning where everything feels softer around the edges. Traffic is thinner now. The distant sounds of Musutafu blur together into something low and tired beneath the concrete silence.
Katsuki can hear your breathing.
Not because the garage is particularly quiet, but because heâs standing too close to you again after three years and his body keeps locking onto every tiny thing automatically.
The way your shoulders rise slightly every time you inhale. The faint tremble still lingering in your fingers. The exhaustion sitting beneath your eyes.
You look nothing like the polished, untouchable version of yourself he built up in his head over the past few years. Standing here now, you just look human again.
Real enough to ache over.
To you⊠Does he look that way too?
âLetâs go, Iâll take you home.â Katsuki shifts his weight once before dragging a hand through his hair roughly. âWe should probably get outta here before Mina decides to come back and interrogate us.â
The corner of your mouth twitches faintly. âThat implies she never actually left.â
âSheâs probably hiding behind a concrete pillar right now.â
âShe absolutely is.â
The tiny bit of shared amusement loosens something dangerously fragile between you both.
Katsuki unlocks the car with a sharp click of the key fob. Then you glance toward the passenger side before looking back at him again, uncertainty flickering briefly across your expression like youâre second-guessing whether this is a good idea.
Honestly, heâs wondering the same thing.
Because every second around you tonight has felt like standing near something unstable with no self-control left to keep his hands off it.
Still, he opens the passenger door for you anyway.
You hesitate only a second before climbing inside.
The interior of the car smells faintly like leather, rain, and burnt caramel coffee from whatever drive-through Kirishima dragged him through earlier this week. Soft dashboard lights glow low against the dark while droplets of rain slide slowly down the windshield overhead. The city reflects across the glass in blurred streaks of neon and gold.
Katsuki rounds the front of the car slowly, pulse thudding heavier with every step.
By the time he slides into the driverâs seat, the air inside already feels too warm.
Youâre sitting angled slightly toward the window, arms folded loosely across yourself while the glow from passing streetlights softens the side of your face. Your makeupâs mostly worn off by now. Thereâs still a faint smear of eyeliner and mascara at the corner of your eye.
He has to physically stop himself from reaching over to wipe it away.
Silence settles again, but itâs different inside the car.
The enclosed space presses everything tighter together until even breathing feels too noticeable.
Katsuki rests one hand against the steering wheel without starting the engine. âSo what now?â
You let out a quiet breath through your nose before leaning your head back against the seat. âI donât know.â you sigh âI didnât really think this far ahead.â
âYeah,â he mutters. âMe neither.â
Rain starts tapping lightly against concrete again. Thin at first. Then steadier.
Your eyes drift toward the sound automatically. âIt always rains when we talk about serious shit.â
Katsuki snorts softly before he can stop himself. âThatâs because you always picked fights during storms.â
âI did not.â
âYou absolutely did.â
A small laugh escapes you then, quieter than before but real enough that something in his chest twists painfully around it. God, he missed that sound. Missed sitting beside you while conversations slipped this easily between silence and teasing without either of you forcing it.
A newer realization scares him a little; It would be so easy to fall right back into this. Too easy.
You turn toward him slightly then, knees shifting against the seat. âCan I ask you something?â
âTch. You usually do anyway.â
Your eyes narrow faintly at the automatic attitude, but thereâs no real heat behind it now. âWhy didnât you come after me?â
The question settles heavily into the space between you both.
Katsukiâs jaw tightens immediately.
Outside, headlights slide briefly across the windshield before disappearing down the garage ramp. He watches the reflections fade instead of looking directly at you.
âDidnât think you wanted me to.â
âThatâs not what I asked.â
Of course it isnât.
You were always annoyingly good at pulling honesty out of him even when he fought it.
Katsuki exhales slowly through his nose before speaking. âBecause I thought if I showed up and you looked happier without meâŠâ He laughs once under his breath, rough and humorless. âDidnât think I could handle that. Itâd just fucking prove iâm hard to love and youâre better without me.â
The space between you afterward feels fragile.
When he finally looks over, your expression has softened into something unbearably tender.
Fuck, fuckâFuck.
âYouâre an idiot,â you murmur quietly.
Thereâs no cruelty in it. Maybe a tad of acceptance. A smear of sadness.
Your eyes flick downward briefly then back to his face, and suddenly Katsuki becomes painfully aware of how close youâre sitting. The center console feels too small now. The air feels thick with old history and exhaustion and everything neither of you managed to bury properly.
His gaze drops to your mouth before he can stop it.
He notices immediately when your breathing changes.
Slight.
Barely there.
But enough.
The tension inside the car shifts all at once after that.
Not explosive and immediate, like heâs used to. Itâs slow and dangerous. Like something pulling tighter inch by inch.
Katsukiâs fingers flex once against the steering wheel. âTell me to stop looking at you like that.â
Your throat moves subtly when you swallow.
âYou first.â
Fuck. Shit!
The flirtiness in your tone hits him hard enough to feel somewhere low in his stomach.
Rain streaks slower down the windshield now, blurring neon lights outside into smeared ribbons of color while the heater hums faintly beneath the dashboard. The whole car feels suspended outside time somehow. Separate from the rest of the city. With nothing left to do but park at the side of the road, Katsuki swerves the steering wheel towards his new direction.
When he shuts off the engine, youâre the one who moves first.
Barely.
Just enough to lean a little closer and more tentative toward him. Youâre giving him room to pull away if he wants to.
Katsuki doesnât. Neither pull away, nor want to.
His hand reaches for your face almost automatically, rough palm settling carefully against your jaw like muscle memory never left him at all. The contact pulls a shaky breath from you instantly, and that sound alone nearly destroys whatever restraint he still has left.
He kisses you before he can think too hard about it.
And it feels exactly like coming home to something he convinced himself no longer existed.
Warm.
Familiar.
Devastating.
You make this tiny broken noise against his mouth the second the kiss lands properly, fingers grabbing instinctively at the front of his shirt like you need something solid to hold onto. Katsuki feels his entire chest cave inward around the feeling of you kissing him back just as desperately. His lips ache with buzzing numbness and he tries his very best to even remember the steps to a kiss heâs trained to fit perfectly into.
Three years of missing each other crashes together all at once inside that kiss.
His other hand slides against your waist, pulling you closer over the center console while rain drums steadily overhead. Your lips part against his almost immediately, breath shaky and uneven as the kiss deepens into something messier. Hungrier.
Katsuki kisses like heâs starving.
Always has.
Like every emotion he doesnât know how to say properly gets forced violently through his hands and mouth instead.
You remember that instantly.
He feels it in the way your fingers tighten against him. The way your breathing starts breaking apart every time he kisses you harder. The way you lean into him like you missed this just as badly as he did.
When you finally pull back for air, neither of you gets very far.
Your forehead rests shakily against his while both of you breathe the same recycled air inside the dark car. Katsukiâs hand is still cupping your jaw. Your fingers are still twisted tightly into his shirt.
With one swift movement, Katsukiâs hand forces your jaw right into his, your lips slamming against each other's once again.
The kiss turns rough immediately.
Not careless âNever careless with you.
Katsukiâs just overwhelmed by the sheer force of finally having you this close again after years spent trying to convince himself he could survive without it.
Your breath catches sharply against his mouth when he kisses you deeper this time, fingers twisting harder into the front of his shirt while the center console digs awkwardly against your hip from how far youâve leaned toward him. Rain continues sliding steadily down the windshield outside, blurring neon lights into streaks of gold and red across the dark interior of the car.
Katsuki barely notices any of it anymore.
All he can focus on is you.
The warmth of your mouth.
The familiar way you melt and tense at the same time whenever he kisses you too hard.
The shaky inhale you keep failing to steady every time his thumb brushes beneath your jaw.
His chest feels unbearably tight.
Because this isnât nostalgia anymore.
It isnât just memory. Youâre actually here. Actually kissing him back with enough desperation that it almost hurts.
A strained sound escapes him before he can stop it, muffled against your lips while he pulls you even closer over the console. His hand slips from your jaw into your hair, fingers curling carefully at the base of your neck like he physically cannot stand another inch of distance between you both.
You break the kiss first this time, but only barely. Only enough for more air.
Your lips still brush his when you speak.
âKatsukiââ
His name falls apart halfway through your breath, soft enough that he nearly loses whatever remains of his self-control entirely.
Because you still say his name the same way.
But now he knows it means something. He can accept it means something.
Katsukiâs forehead presses hard against yours while he tries and fails to regulate his breathing. The inside of the car suddenly feels too hot, thick with condensation and recycled air and of unresolved feelings collapsing violently into each other all at once.
âYou gotta stop lookinâ at me like that,â he mutters hoarsely.
Your brows pull together faintly. âLike what?â
âLike you and i willââ He cuts himself off immediately, jaw tightening hard enough to ache.
The words refuse to come out cleanly.
You stare at him for a second too long after that, your expression softening into something that almost looks painful.
âKatsuki,â you whisper quietly, âI literally just told you I couldnât move on.â
Yeah. He knows.
And somehow hearing it still doesnât feel real.
âBut if we yâknowânow,â he coughs âmaybe youâll regret it.â
His eyes search your face automatically like heâs trying to find evidence that this is temporary. That youâll wake up tomorrow and realize kissing him again was a mistake. That eventually youâll remember all the reasons loving him became unbearable in the first place.
The fear must show somewhere across his expression because your hand suddenly lifts toward his face.
Your fingertips brush against the side of his jaw where the faint razor burn still sits from earlier tonight, and the tenderness behind the touch nearly destroys him more effectively than the kissing did.
âKatsuki, are you talking about sex?â you murmur softly, whispering the last word extensively.Â
A weak huff of laughter leaves him despite himself. His lower lip pouts out.
âYou always get this line between your eyebrows whenever you get shy like this.â
Your thumb smooths unconsciously against the spot moments later like muscle memory. Katsuki feels his stomach twist painfully around the familiarity of it.
God.
He missed this.
Not even the kissing specifically. Not even the sex. (And heâs missed these two plenty)
Just this.
You knowing him so instinctively that his body reacts before his brain catches up.
âI wouldnât regret it. Iâve wanted it so much even though I was convinced itâd never happen again. I canât regret doing something that I want to do.â
Your words settle heavy enough in his chest that suddenly he needs to kiss you again before he says something humiliating.
His mouth crashes back against yours harder this time.
You make another soft noise into the kiss immediately, one that sounds dangerously close to heartbreak, and Katsuki swears he feels the sound straight through his ribs. His hand tightens carefully at the back of your neck while your fingers slide upward into his hair, slightly damp strands catching between your knuckles.
The angle is awkward across the center console.
Neither of you cares.
Your knee bumps clumsily against the gear shift while Katsuki leans further toward you, broad shoulders pressing you deeper into the passenger seat unintentionally from the sheer force of how badly heâs kissing you now. Every breath between you feels uneven. Messy. Shared.
Three years disappears frighteningly fast like this. Just temporarily drowned beneath the overwhelming relief of finally touching each other again.
Katsuki feels your hand trembling slightly where it cups the side of his face.
The realization makes him pull back barely enough to look at you.
Your lips are swollen now. Eyes glassy beneath the dashboard glow while your breathing comes apart in shallow bursts that mirror his almost exactly. Then your expression shifts suddenly, something vulnerable flickering across it fast enough to make his chest tighten again.
âWhat if we do this again?â you ask quietly. âWhat if we try again and it ruins us worse this time?â
The question lands hard because itâs real. Not dramatic or hypothetical. Youâre genuinely afraid. Because itâs been over three years since youâve kissed, even more since you were intimate with each other, since you held an actual conversation.
And honestly? So is he.
Katsuki stares at you in the dim car lighting while rain taps softly overhead, your fingers still resting against his jaw like youâre scared to let go completely.
Then, slowly, he turns his head just enough to press a kiss against the center of your palm,vermillion eyes locked in yours..
The gesture feels strangely vulnerable coming from him.
âI think,â he says roughly afterward, eyes still fixed on yours, too sceptical, âit already ruined us the first time.â His thumb brushes carefully against your waist, then, sensually across your ribs âDidnât stop either of us from wanting it again.â
It feels strangely fragile now that the adrenaline of finally kissing each other has settled slightly. Not awkward exactly. Just painfully real in a way neither of you can hide from anymore.Â
Neither of you seems fully willing to let go first.
You look mentally exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones and bleeds across the surface of your skin; heart beating fast, eyes wide open and desperate. Katsuki, for worse luck despite it all, probably looks the same.
Your eyes drift downward briefly before you let out a small breath through your nose. âThis is probably a terrible idea.â
Katsuki huffs quietly. âYeah.â
âBut I really donât care right now.â you admit âdo you?â
âHell nah!â
Katsuki Bakugo Masterlist
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Dividers by @/cursed-carmine
Love this ⥠10 out of 10
