⋆.ೃ࿔ we were supposed to grow up together
katsuki bakugou x reader ⋆·˚ ༘ angst?
when they were seventeen, the future had always seemed embarrassingly simple. there was no reason to question it.
they'd graduate. become heroes. get good enough that their names meant something. of course, katsuki would be the number 1 pro hero of japan. they'd find an apartment somewhere in the city where they could both get to their agencies without spending half their lives commuting.
maybe get a dog, maybe not.
katsuki said dogs were too much work.
she said that was exactly why they should get one, “you're the one who's gonna walk it.”
“i'm not walking a dog at six in the morning.”
“you're not getting up at six either.”
he'd rolled his eyes, but he wasn't completely opposed to the idea.
that was how most of their plans had been. half serious, half made up on the spot. still, they believed in them.
one evening after training, they sat on the steps outside the dorms, sharing two juice boxes while the sun set behind the buildings. she rested her head against the railing. “we're gonna grow up together.”
katsuki glanced at her, “of course.”
he said it like there wasn't another possibility.
years later, the same city looked different from the windows of a pro hero agency. everything looked bigger, the buildings, the roads, their names on the advertisements.
especially their schedules.
there had been a time when seeing katsuki at the end of the day was as ordinary as taking off her shoes. now, sometimes, three days passed before they managed to have dinner together.
they were both busy. very busy. an emergency. a press conference. training. a late patrol. someone had been injured. someone needed backup.
there was always something, and they kept telling each other they understood. because they did understand, that was the problem. neither of them had done anything wrong.
then, the opportunity came on a thursday afternoon. a hero agency overseas wanted her for a long-term collaboration.
at least six months, or possibly longer. it was the kind of offer she'd once imagined she'd spend years trying to get. she read the email three times before calling katsuki.
he answered on the fourth ring, “what?”
there was a muffled noise on his end. probably equipment being moved around. “what happened?”
she smiled despite herself, “i got an offer.”
she told him about it and explained the details.
she laughed softly, “you didn't even think about it.”
“what's there to think about?”
“we'd be on opposite sides of the world...”
she looked down at the email still open on her laptop, “you'd really be okay with that?”
she didn't have an answer.
he continued, “you've wanted something like this for years.”
she looked out the window.
she could hear someone calling for him in the background.
neither hung up. finally, katsuki said, “call me tonight.”
she stared at the screen for a while and wrote an email back. she accepted the offer.
the first month was easy, they called every night, sometimes for hours.
she'd prop her phone against a glass while she made breakfast while he'd sit on the edge of his bed after patrol, still in half his gear, getting ready for bed.
they talked about stupid things, agency gossip, bad food and people they'd both found annoying that day.
they could handle six months. they'd handled worse.
then the calls started getting shorter, and shorter.
she'd finish work at midnight and find three missed calls from him. but once she found the calls, he'd be asleep by then.
she'd call back in the morning and he'd be halfway through patrol.
sometimes they would promise to talk later. but sometimes, later never came.
messages became shorter too.
she kept telling herself it was fine, and, technically, it was because nothing was wrong. which somehow made the growing distance harder to point at.
six months became eight. eight became a year.
the overseas agency offered her a permanent position but she didn't accept yet.
instead, she called katsuki. it was nearly two in the morning for him. he answered sounding half-asleep. “what?”
she sat on the edge of her bed. “i got another offer.”
he rubbed a hand over his face, “you should.”
she stared at the floor, “you think?”
“don't just tell me what you think i want to hear.”
he went quiet for a few seconds, “i'm not.”
“then what do you actually think?”
“...i think you should take it.”
her throat tightened, “and us?”
finally, he said, “i don't know.”
he didn't sound angry. she closed her eyes. “right.”
she looked at the phone, “what?”
he exhaled, “i don't know how we're supposed to do this.”
she swallowed, “neither do i.”
that was the first honest conversation they'd had about it in months. they talked for another hour about them but not about whether they still loved each other because they both did. that part wasn't complicated. they talked about everything they'd stopped saying. how lonely it had gotten, how conversations started to feel like a job, how neither of them wanted the other to give up something important. she laughed quietly through the tears she'd been trying not to let fall, “we were supposed to grow up together, katsuki. you remember that right?”
then katsuki said, “i know.”
his voice cracked slightly. she looked down at her hands. they stayed on the phone until they had nothing left to say. when the call ended, they didn't say goodbye.
years passed and she stayed overseas.
both of them became better heroes.
they were on top of the charts in their countries and had made quite the name for themselves. it was everything they had dreamed of.
then, she eventually moved home.
he eventually stopped checking his phone whenever he saw her name mentioned in the news. time did what time always did.
and then... they met again at a hero conference. they hadn't known the other would be there.
she was standing near the back of the room when she heard someone say her name. she turned quickly to see katsuki there. he had gotten older but still unmistakably him.
his eyes flicked over her for a second before he nodded, “hey.”
he glanced at the badge around her neck.
“you're with shiketsu's international division now?”
“yeah. transferred back a few months ago.”
“didn't know that.” he said.
“wasn't exactly public.” she said softly.
someone called him from across the room and he glanced over. “i've gotta-”
“yeah.” she nodded and gave a small polite smile.
he started walking away but stopped a bit, “you got time after?”
she looked at him, “for what?”
they sat in a cafe two blocks from the conference center. nothing about it felt like the cafes they'd gone to when they were younger. the tables were smaller, the shop was cramped but the coffee was better.
katsuki complained about the people near them and she laughed. they talked for almost two hours about work, old classmates, people they hadn't seen in years and their agencies. they talked about everything except them.
“did you ever get the apartment?” she asked.
he looked at her. “what apartment?”
“the one we used to talk about.”
he shrugged. “never found one i liked.”
she smiled. “that's probably for the best.”
she traced the rim of her cup, “i never got the dog either.”
she laughed, “why? you still hate dogs?”
“who said i hate them? but they are loud.”
“you are loud.” she said, pointing at him.
"yeah so one of me is enough." he said.
then the waitress came by with the bill and they left the shop. katsuki shoved his hands into his pockets.“you heading back to the hotel?”
she looked at him. “you don't have to.”
he shrugged so so they walked side by side.
at the corner, she stopped, “this is me.”
“i'm glad you're doing well,” she said.
he looked down the street, then back at her. “i'm glad you came back.”
he hesitated, “you happy?”
she thought about it, about the life she'd built, the people she'd met, the things she'd done. the person she'd become, “yeah. i guess so.”
he smiled faintly, “most days.”
she laughed under her breath. she stepped back, “i should go.”
she turned and walked a few steps. for one stupid second, she almost looked back but she didn't. behind her, katsuki stayed on the corner until she disappeared into the crowd.
they had grown up, just not together. and maybe that was the part that would always be a little sad, not that they had failed. or that they had stopped loving each other.
just that the two kids sitting on those dorm steps had been so certain there was only one way their story could end.
they hadn't been foolish for believing it.
at seventeen, forever had felt like something they could simply decide on.
