In which Katsuki falls in love with a stranger, where chance and passivity are cruel things.
It took him all of three seconds to understand what was happening before it was too late.
The sun set and stained the riverbanks a crimson, mingled with grieving fallen leaves. Withered blades of pale yellow grass stuck the powder of snow beneath park benches and cracks in the asphalt.
a hero in impatient waiting grew exhausted by the lethargy of the evening, anxiously waiting to burst into some kind of trouble. His resolve carried him through almost all of patrol, as he gruffly tipped his head at a few admiring fans (mostly the kids; not that he'd ever admit that to anybody).
His eyes wandered to a coffee shop perched comfortably between a wax figure/candle store, and a cake shop—spotting a figure swaying their way out the door. They stopped to prop it open with their foot for the next couple strolling in—wafting the steam from a mug they carried.
Bakugo felt the strongest, dumbest inclination to stare after the figure, as if he had nothing better to do.
With an uncomfortable shiver, the pro hero turned his attention, and stomped forward to chastise a couple of kids playing around in the streets.
Another long day of nothing but petty crimes and peaceful patrols, another dollar; Bakugo slowly slipped into routine. It didn't really matter to him one way or the other—though, he really preferred more action. He silently urged for something to happen, and soon; he was starting to feel a little restless.
The precipice of winter bit at the sleeves of his pro hero suit, and Katsuki turned down a familiar block, searching the line of shops for somewhere to pop in for a quick break.
He spotted a little studio establishment, set with windows in the very front. They let the foliage peak in and bend toward the warmth flooding through and out the cracks. The plants directed him to the next door over, to the front of a bakery. His eyes swept over the lights, but his nose took in the buttercream and glazed doughs before anything else could register.
Bakugo's stomach rumbled in anticipation.
It's not exactly like he could say no to that.
The door bell jangled as the hero entered, quiet chatter buzzing through the warm atmosphere. He placed an order with a gruff, ladened-with-exhaustion voice, doing his best to subtly hide from the obvious stares he got from the passersby in the cafe. Their googly eyes should be something he's used to, but he didn't think he'd ever get over it.
The ogling barista had heard his order enough by then, he practically had it memorized—he did—and it was ready in under a minute. Katsuki briefly wondered if he'd had it ready before he'd even walked in.
"I saw him mixing it up as you crossed the street a moment ago."
Bakugou swiveled in his step, throwing a glance at the person who had spoken.
You tapped the rim of your steaming mug, slouching comfortably forward to give the hero a teasing smile.
The crowd cheered around the scene of Katsuki triumphantly planting the sole of his boot on the back of an assailant most deranged and self-pitying. He leaned in with popping and sparking hands, focused completely on staving the thrashing person underneath him, their quirk whipping in and out to grab whatever they could to get them out of this defeat.
It was all for naught, of course, but Bakugo had to give them props for spirit.
He straightened upon the arrival of the authorities, their forces moving in to restrain and book the weakly hostile villain. Bakugo gravitated toward The Guy with The Clipboard to give his verbal report, hardly sparing the swelling crowd a sideways glance. The cheers of the police and eased onlookers grew, and beat an already ironclad mantra into the shoulders of the Pro Hero.
Though their praise did absolutely nothing to hurt his ego, Katsuki itched to move along on his way and pick up patrol. Villains wasted no time at all in seizing any opportunity they could—he couldn’t afford to be complacent for even a moment, knowing anything could be happening the more time he wasted thinking about it.
He was just about to give a short nod and placating two-fingered wave to the adoring people before launching over the rooftops, when he stopped.
A familiar pair of eyes twinkled awe-stricken, and an annoyingly captivating still smile jumped out amongst a crescendo of his name chorused in eagerly coarse voices. You clapped your hands together gently, silently cheering for the hero at the center of it all.
It wasn’t a moment Katsuki would ever be able to put into words; just knowing that it probably felt like what the first grain of sand falling in an hourglass did, the first snowflake of an avalanche—the first fallen petal of autumn.
His hand twitched at his side, the muscles in his wrist moving all of their own accord. Katsuki fixed you with a stare to hold a planet in place, raising his fingers in the most miniscule waves as his mouth twitched in an even smaller smile that was thankfully not lost on you.
It took him all of three seconds to understand what was happening before it was too late.
Of all of the shouts of his name and the raging reverie from the crowd, your quiet veneration left a noticeable thump in his chest.
Katsuki broke free of the shared spell and leapt into the skyline.
There was a marked secret between one of the Top Heroes and an ordinary person such as yourself existing in a palpable way only the two of you could experience. Whether one could accredit it to fate or chance, the overlap in routines left an unusual intimacy not unlike falling in love with a song one would hear at that one specific part of the day, or growing attached to that one smell of freshly baked something on your way to work. Like how you’d never learn what the song was called, or what it was the shopkeepers were baking, for fear of losing the magic behind knowing it so personally at an alluring distance.
There were some days though, where the song would come on in a completely different setting than ordinary, the smell catching and making Katsuki's head turn sharply as though his name had been called.
He’d heard your voice not but a few times in passing, but it was strikingly familiar enough to pick out at any decibel of din, he was sure.
Your discernible figure stood lightly curled over potted plants lining a white linen clothed table. Children with lopsided caps and too-big mittens reached eagerly for the pale lilies and snowdrops you sifted through.
It was cold—even by Katsuki’s standards—but he swore he had never felt so warm just looking at something. You were smiling like you had the sun in your chest, the rest of the world a foolish mortal realm all the more unawares of such divinity on Earth.
Bakugo had a rare moment off. Unable to sit still at home, he threw on a hoodie and a pair of jeans—the epitome of casual wear—tucking his hair into the hood, and began to leisurely traipse the streets he would usually be blasting through. He’d sworn he’d seen every nook and cranny they had to offer, but he was finding the value in slowing down to be rather worthwhile.
He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised to see you standing there, as if he expected to know what you did with your time. But he is.
It’s like finding a patch of wildflowers growing through a crack in the sidewalk. Something so mundane and plausible, yet nonetheless stunning.
You laughed at the completely innocent demands of the children beside you, elated as they received little pots of hope of their own. The old man and woman accepting your payment chuckled good naturedly, eyes crinkling at the different stages of joy darting in and out of their booth.
Katsuki watched as you exchanged final words of goodbye, turning to observe the group of kids at the end of the street whoop loudly, floundering arms in the air to convey their thanks. Your head tilted in modesty, accepting their happiness with a graceful radiance Katsuki wondered if he was the only one seeing.
As though you could feel his attention, you spun around to meet his eyes directly.
He gave you that look again and you leaned forward invitingly, waving the hand that held a lily and snowdrop pinched between your fingers. Katsuki smiled and you didn’t realize his eyes could set you on fire too.
It was a quieter morning when Bakugo saw you again. You held a fabric bag in your hands, strolling with purpose down the sidewalk towards the marketplace. He almost lost you amongst the sea of people and swooping buildings that gradually bled into the city's shopping district. You paced yourself carefully, weaving in and out with a precision he found to be delicate.
It was unnerving how quickly you had stolen his focus, especially now, when he should be focusing on patrol.
He scanned the area, assessing the biggest problem to be traffic—foot and vehicle—before deciding tedious urban affairs were not his problem.
Bringing his eyes back to you—you had made it further down the street than he was ready for—and realised his time was ticking by.
“Fuck it,” he growled, and started off down the walkway, pursuing a very heroic duty to briefly involve himself in the life of one particularly maddening citizen.
To little too soon, there was a deafening BOOM somewhere in or around the street. The asphalt rumbled beneath the wave of foot traffic, a congregation stumbling in all directions—anywhere to get away from the thunderous cacophony.
Bakugo cursed the timing, but readily welcomed the opportunity to do his job. His reflexes were quick, and he was heading in that direction looking for you anyway.
He paced the streets at neck-breaking speeds, zipping in projectile leaps from building to building. This not unfamiliar break in tedium brought him to the scene in record time.
It was a shaker quirk—not unlike Shindo Yo's, with notably less expanse and control and still no less dangerous—coupled with a man unleashing thorns like bullets shot out of a gun from his skin. Some were long, some were short, but altogether undeniably gruesome.
The latter pelted the way with needles projected from his twisted visage, while the former rumbled along behind, teetering already precarious parts of buildings. They rampaged a warpath straight through to a park, filled with scrambling targets.
Katsuki caught up with them easily, but remaining close was the problem. He wordlessly dodged and evaded, controlled explosions at his feet and sides growing into a dissonance the two villains couldn’t ignore.
It was quick and unforgiving, the shaker's hands coming down into the earth, her silent impudence maligning the aptitude of the Hero hot on her tail. Katsuki certainly hadn’t forgotten about the Porcupine firing wildly beside her, but became increasingly aware of his corralling civilians in with crossfire.
Bakugo leapt in an arch over their heads, cutting them off amongst the sparse trees dotting the area. The duo had apparently agreed on the fight reflex, and kicked an unfounded bravado into high gear. With a rumble here and a spike there, they tactfully split. Katsuki felt the tightrope at his feet.
Where are the trees? The people?
Clambering cries for help and screams of terror tumbled around them—Katsuki assessed the minimum of bystanders within radial distance, and counted on his fellow Pro Heroes to handle evac. He had to keep the minacious attentions on him.
He listened for the crunch of leaves as their shoes hit the shattering earth. They stilled, feeling proud of catching the great Pro Hero Bakugo Katsuki in a standoff, one on either side to tear his attention. All felt quiet, a juxtaposition to the chaos dripping from the conviction of the villains before him.
Until a figure moved from behind a tree trunk. It dashed soundlessly to a small figure on the other side of the clearing, a grand enough gesture to catch the eye of the Porcupine.
It took Katsuki all of three seconds to understand what was happening before it was too late.
A bloodcurdling scream fractured Katsuki’s burning calm, and the hourglass shattered.
He wished he could say time slowed down, that he could freeze and burn each movement where they lay and move quicker than they could exist. He wished he could say time slowed down, that his taciturn life with you extended even a few measly seconds. He wished he could say time slowed down.
The large spike pierced your chest in a flash and the world stopped.
Villains had leeway to be unpredictable, morals and laws and ethics and sentiment damned in pursuit of their goals, no matter how destructive and mindless. Break, break, break.
Heroes danced on the controlled precipice of power and righteousness, a duty to cater to law and order and justice and truth.
Katsuki incinerated the trees in a vengeful explosion, vaulting the two villains with force that landed them in an embankment. A series of deafening crunches, and they slumped. Useless.
The job was finished, and Katsuki leapt beside you.
The small figure was a child, shoved away into the snow, their tiny body shaking with utter fear. You knelt down, crimson cascading onto the pale white that had looked so inviting when the day started. You smelled of that something that bakery always made, warm and rich and safe. Now faded. Katsuki didn’t know what it was called.
He gently gripped your shoulders, pulling you into his arms like he’d held so many wounded before. Not the same, though. You fit perfectly.
“Hi there. You come here often?” you managed a weak laugh, blood staining the corner of your lip.
His throat was tight and his voice cracked, but he had to know.
“What’s your name, stranger?”
Your breath shuddered and you told him and he imagined a sky spilled with color. He felt a breeze on his face. There was that song, that smell again. Snowdrops and lilies.
“A little cold out, huh?”
He had found and lost that something all in a moment and you made small talk. He ground his teeth, his body shaking.
You smiled at him like the first time all over again, now an evanescing sun.
