Sep 1, 2018
Now that everyone has gotten their copies of the zine, these are my two pieces from Mirrors. I did illustrations for the angst and fluff fantasy aus! you can read Those Who Remain (angst) on ao3✨
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Bolivia
seen from United States
seen from Dominican Republic
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Trinidad & Tobago
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Mexico
seen from Moldova
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Brazil
seen from Slovakia
seen from United States
seen from United States
Now that everyone has gotten their copies of the zine, these are my two pieces from Mirrors. I did illustrations for the angst and fluff fantasy aus! you can read Those Who Remain (angst) on ao3✨
IZUOCHA PREVIEW!!
Sneak Peek of my entries por @bnha-mirrors zine!! Each illustrations goes with an amazing story, written by @minaaashido y @scheelelillies for Fluff and Angst respectively :) Check out the zine is full of great writers and artists!
BNHA Mirrors KatsuDeku Angst Preview!
I had the great honor of being able to write for the BakuDeku angst category for @bnha-mirrors ! It was a lot of fun working with such great talent, and I’m really glad I got to be a part of such a neat project. I was also interviewed by @the-wonder-duo blog in relation to it! Without further ado, here is a preview of the first 1,000 words of my story, We are Wanderers Still! If you like it, please consider supporting the project and buying a copy!
=====
Izuku Midoriya dies at age fifteen, and the world is none the wiser.
His body is inundated in a halo of blue flowers, half-buried beneath the gentle flow of a stream, and more a garden than a child when police at long last discover him.
There had been a smile upon his face, warm in its innocence despite the decay evident in the skin, just beneath the cover of fluttering petals. They called him lovely, hauntingly welcoming even in death.
When Katsuki arrives at school, shaking an epoch of fatigue from his shoulders, he catches a glimpse of Izuku’s mother inside the principal’s office, just off the side of the entrance. Her posture is slouched, her face stricken with rivulets of tears that seem endless. The faculty crouches around her, bogged with a heavy veil of sympathy, and Katsuki’s heart stirs within his chest. He pauses for only a moment.
He learns of Izuku’s fate soon after, and a heavy weight comes to rest in his gut. His classmates explode in murmurs around him, hushed waves of noise that creep into the static in his ears like ocean tides to settle throughout his mind.
Beneath a layer of reservation, Katsuki’s bones rattle in his skin. He turns his head to catch a glimpse of the seat behind him, weighted in its emptiness, and never to be filled again.
It’s not long before a classmate places a vase of flowers on the desk. Katsuki can’t tell their type, only that they are not the ones growing beneath the shaded trees and drifting under the current he had discovered. They seem hastily picked, like an afterthought, wilting under the harsh sunlight and meager water left in the vase.
None of it seemed genuine, in any way. It was unfair.
He and Izuku had not been friends for years, yet somehow his thoughts are driven by a halo of green hair, curved along a round plane of soft, freckled cheeks. He’d not given Izuku the time of day for as long as he could remember, though he thinks of sheepish laughter, and a smile of verdant sunshine.
Katsuki’s mother cries when she hears the news, and he feels an ache in his heart that is heavy and empty all at once.
He dreams of Izuku for the very first time, asleep in a garden of peach flowers that twirl languidly in the breeze. His chest is split in two, from which blossoms he could only guess the names of spill forth, budding a garden from a carcass.
Katsuki wakes breathless with tears on his cheeks, and a fleeting hint of a name buried deep within his throat.
=====
“Katsuki.”
Over the calm steam from the morning coffee, his mother’s stare seems older than it has ever been. He sees the crow’s feet begin to pull at her eyes, frown bearing creases etching in the contours of her face. Katsuki wonders when she had begun to show her age, and how he'd missed it, as he had missed other important things in his life.
Mitsuki doesn't wait for his response, continuing as she had been, “Izuku's funeral service is this weekend. I promised Inko that we would go.”
Katsuki stares into the swirling wooden grain of the table and imagines the cooling touch of moss soaked tree bark beneath his fingertips. Sunlight dapples off his arms, the sound of a river floods his mind, and Izuku is there, lips parted as if to say—
“Katsuki.”
Life returns to him again. Katsuki observes the perimeter of the kitchen as if he'd reached within his own heart to pull the threads of his soul free from winding about his bones. It is a jarring feeling, one he could never truly understand. He sighs over the sound of scraped chairs, and poured coffee, and finds Mitsuki has not eased the intensity of her stare when he returns.
“Look, I'll fuckin’ be there, alright?” He retorts, sinking back into the chair like a weight, heavier than when he'd left.
He takes a deep breath over his mug, and he smells what he is sure is the Earth, dirt after a cooling spring rain, and not the drink he had poured. After closing his eyes, in a memory beyond his understanding, Katsuki hears the soft echo of a laugh, familiar and strange.
The coffee mug remains on the table, untouched, and Katsuki nearly forgets his bookbag on the way to school.
=====
There is a forest that runs along the back of his home, one he had always revered as holding an ethereal sort of mysticism. Katsuki walks at the edge of the clearing, teetering halfway beyond the wooded shade of the trees, and thinks, surely that could never be Izuku’s resting place. A small brick wall divides the street from the trees, hardly scraping against his knees now, but an insurmountable wall when they had been children. In another time, Izuku would be there, his clumsy hobbling and timid voice, creaking like old floorboards and hovering just in the range of Katsuki’s periphery.
Katsuki would turn to offer him words of encouragement, his confidence invoking a small fire of determination in his shy friend.
“Don’t let those shitty bullies get to you, dummy,” he’d say, “you’re way better than them.”
Izuku had been a selfless soul. Quiet, kind, carried his heart in his arms to present to any who asked. They were friends, years ago, when the world seemed far less callous, when he could hold Izuku’s hands and feel no guilt, no anger.
Katsuki extends his arms to the side, as he once had as a child to balance himself upon a ledge, and swears he feels something grasp the spaces between his fingers.
He feels eyes from all directions bear down on him, an omnipresent scrutiny that leaves a sensation of exposure blooming beneath his skin. An invisible hand pushes against his chest, reaching through the skin to rest against his lungs and push air out in one harsh breath.
BNHA Mirrors KatsuDeku Fluff Preview
I had the pleasure to participate in @bnha-mirrors with so many talented writers and artists, and our category (KatsuDeku) was also interviewed by @the-wonder-duo, which was pretty neat, not gonna lie. We’ve been given the green light to share a preview of our pieces, so here you have it! If you like it, please consider supporting the zine and buying a copy.
Without further ado, let’s dive in!
Hidden Between the Lines
It was a day like any other in U.A. Class 1-A of the hero course was currently in their free-study period, which meant that the students were doing what they knew best: everything but studying. Some social clusters had already formed at the back of the classroom, not even pretending to be working, but most stayed in their seats. Izuku sighed, weary. He liked free-study period, because that meant he had some free time to gather his thoughts and prepare his lessons. However, for some reason or another he always got distracted in the end, hardly ever getting anything done. And why was that, one might ask?
Izuku’s face was buried deep in one of his notebooks when he heard a pointed cough. He rose his eyes just enough to see one of the students raising her hand with an eager smile on her face, the kind of smile that promised nothing good.
“Midoriya-sensei!” she exclaimed, bouncing on her seat. “I have a question!”
And there it went again. Sighing a bit to himself and kissing his concentration goodbye, Izuku closed his book and smiled. “Yes, Tamao-san?”
“Could you tell us some stories from when you studied in U.A.?” she asked, resting her body weight on her folded arms.
Izuku ran his scarred hand through his unruly hair. “I don’t see how this is related to your studies, if I’m being honest.”
“Come on!” she whined childishly. “You never tell us anything, Midoriya-sensei! We’re curious to know more about you. Our homeroom teacher is the number one hero Deku, but we barely know anything.”
“That’s true, sensei,” another student quipped.
Before Izuku could calm them down, all the students had joined the interrogation. Izuku gaped at them, not even managing to think of an appropriate answer for all the rapid-fire questions that kept coming his way.
And, of course, all of them were extremely personal. They asked him about his school crushes, if he had dated any of the now pro-heroes, and the love interests of some of them — even if they focused mostly on pro-hero Shouto. Izuku had no idea what they wanted to do with that information and, quite honestly, he was afraid to ask.
Suddenly, the door slammed open, startling them all into a temporary silence. Everyone stared at Bakugou Katsuki as he stepped inside the room and leaned on the doorframe, crossing his arms. No one had the right to look so cool while scowling at everyone in the room.
After gazing at all the students who had fallen oddly silent in his presence, his eyes landed on Izuku and sent the still-gaping teacher a small smirk. “The director asked me to fetch you. He had something he wanted to discuss.”
“I will be there after I deal with my class,” Izuku answered, oddly collected after being so flustered not even a minute ago. “Thank you for telling me, Bakugou-san.”
Katsuki shrugged and straightened up. “He looked like he was in a hurry, so better get moving, shitty Deku.”
“In a minute.”
Katsuki half-shoved his hands on his pockets and turned to leave. However, he stopped to throw the students a chilly look. “I hope you don’t use the unsupervised time to slack off. This is not a children’s playground.”
“Yes, sir,” the class answered in unison.
Katsuki clicked his tongue in answer and closed the door behind him with an even louder bang. Izuku flinched slightly at the loud noise, and saw some of his students jump from the corner of his eye. Right, he needed to talk with Katsuki about his behaviour in front of the students. Again. And he had to stop treating the school installations so roughly.
The quiet spell that had fallen on his students suddenly vanished, and they started chatting with each other again. They all complained about Katsuki’s harsh words, and some of them grumbled that they didn’t know how he was still working there, what with how he made them suffer in hero training.
Katsuki always knew what the students’ weaknesses were and, unlike others, he had no qualms in tossing them directly into dire situations: student has a fear of spiders? Flood the stadium with spiders. Two students not getting along? Toss them in a pit so they have to work together to get out. Student is lagging behind the others in track? Rent some hellhounds from Hounddog.
Most students dreaded that behaviour. Some others, mostly girls, mumbled that his bad boy attitude was somewhat hot.
Izuku smiled to himself, shaking his head; Katsuki would love to know what his students thought about him. That way he would have the perfect excuse to push them more in their lessons, with accompanying “knowing” taunts. He could even picture his devilishly smirk when he did it.
Reminding himself that he had to get moving, Izuku hastily picked up his books, checking twice to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind. As he was about to leave, though, Tamao rose her hand again, catching his attention. He stopped, and smiled encouragingly at her.
“Yes, Tamao-san?”
“Are you going to complain to the director about Bakugou-sensei’s behaviour?”
Izuku blinked in surprise. “Why should I do that?”
“He was so mean to you! He has no right to treat you like that, Midoriya-sensei! And he even insulted you!” She slammed her hands on her desk. “Are you going to allow him to treat you like this?”
Izuku frowned. When had Katsuki been mean to him? Unless she was talking about the nickname he had used, Izuku couldn’t think of any other moment when Katsuki had insulted him. He almost laughed; adult Katsuki was nothing compared to his teenager self. If he had still behaved the way he did back then, more than half of the class would have a stroke.
He answered her with a secretive smile. “Don’t worry about it, Tamao-san. ‘Shitty Deku’ is just a nickname.”
And that’s about all that I can show you. Again, if you liked it, please check out the whole Zine. It was amazing to work in such a fulfilling project.
BnHA Mirrors: Rarepair Fluff Preview
Over the last few months I have had the absolute pleasure of writing the Rarepairs Fluff installment for the @bnha-mirrors zine! Thank you to my editors extraordinaire, Cara and Liana, who helped make this fic the best it could be, and to Saygin, who created the wonderful artwork which will be accompanying it in the zine! ♥
Get your pre-orders here! | all zine participants and creations
SUMMARY: When “All Might” drops the secret of his true form, Hizashi wants to make sure Yagi Toshinori feels like he’s wanted at U.A. in any form he is. In order to achieve this, Hizashi finds a list on “how to make your new coworkers feel welcome” and is determined to try every single one.
Repeat: Every. Single. One.
First Impressions
Hizashi Yamada was late for school.
This was notable for two reasons: because Hizashi was thirty years old, and also because the school year technically had not yet begun.
It was the fifth of April, and Principal Nedzu had a nice little staff meeting scheduled for 11:00 AM. However, Hizashi had had a grand total of two hours sleep last night, and therefore should not be blamed for squeezing in as many extra snoozing minutes as he could.
He swiped his staff card at the main gate at 11:05 AM and raced across the forecourt to the main building. The hallowed corridors of U.A. were deserted at this time of year, so he excused himself for running like he had a pack of villains on his tail. He skidded around the last corner just as Principal Nedzu was closing the staff room doors. With an extra burst of speed, Hizashi leaped past the diminutive principal into the staff room, screeching in victory.
“Shut up, you goddamn cockatoo,” groused Sekijirou from the other side of the long conference table. Beside him, Best Friend In The World Aizawa Shouta gave Hizashi the evil eye. Knowing him, he’d had as little sleep as Hizashi.
Hizashi mimed zipping his lips and blew a kiss at Sekijirou. Rounding the end of the table, he slipped into an empty seat between Shouta and Kayama. “So, have I missed anything?” he asked in a stage whisper, leaning toward Kayama.
She snorted. “Not yet. Nedzu’s being cryptic again.”
The principal-in-question hoisted himself up onto the table by way of Ishikawa’s concrete lap. “Ah, Kayama-san, I plan to explain myself in just a moment! Now that Yamada-san has joined us, we are waiting on only one more guest. Would anyone like some tea while we wait?”
Hizashi ran a mental head-count. “Everyone from the Hero Department is here. Who else are we expecting?”
Nedzu smiled. Widely. “You’ll see!”
Shouta shifted in the seat beside Hizashi. “You’ve found someone for the Foundational Hero Studies class.”
The principal ignored the question, pouring himself a cup from the steaming tea set at the end of the conference table. “Nobody would like some tea? It’s hōjicha—very nice.”
Hizashi’s phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. He checked the notification. It was already ten past. “So when’s this guest of yours coming? I wouldn’t have run so fast if I’d known we’d be waiting anyway!”
“Very soon, unless he’s been waylaid. Which is not unlikely, I must admit.” Nedzu passed a cup to Recovery Girl, returning Hizashi a blunt-toothed grin. “Do not worry, Yamada-san; this is simply an introductory meeting. You will be able to return to your bed soon enough.”
Hizashi cackled. “Wow! Don’t call me out like this, Principal!”
Shouta elbowed him in the ribs. “Volume, idiot.”
Hizashi turned to respond, but the sound of heavy footsteps out in the hallway cut him off. He leaned in over the table, eagerly watching the door while everyone else at the table valiantly pretended they didn’t want to do the exact same thing.
“Ah, here we are.” Nedzu set his teacup down on the tray. “The door is open, my friend!”
The door cracked open, and All Might stepped in. Hizashi sat up straight so fast his chair rocked back on its legs. “Holy shit!”
All Might paused just inside the door, turning his head toward Hizashi. He wore a bright yellow pinstriped suit instead of his trademark Hero costume, but everything else about him was so recognisable Hizashi half thought he was looking at a poster. The hair, the eyes, that grin—and oh boy, All Might was looking back at him. All Might was looking at him. Hizashi couldn’t look away.
Thankfully, Nedzu spoke up and held out a paw, drawing All Might’s attention. “Welcome, Yagi-san!”
All Might took it, delicately shaking his hand. “My apologies for my lateness!” he replied, his voice only a little less booming and exuberant than it was on TV. “By chance, my route took me past a convenience store robbery, so I stopped to lend a hand. I hope I haven’t delayed you too much?”
“Only ten minutes or so, five of which were also accounted for by our resident Voice Hero,” Nedzu said cheerfully, nodding toward Hizashi. For the first time in years, Hizashi felt a blush rising in his cheeks.
All Might’s grin, and his grip on Nedzu’s hand, loosened. “Oh, good. Good morning, everyone!” he said, turning to the table full of stunned teachers, “It’s a pleasure to be here with you today!”
“All Might will be joining our staff this year as our Foundational Heroics teacher,” Nedzu explained, his black eyes glinting as he poured another cup of tea. “Some hōjicha, Yagi-san?”
All Might took the offered tea with a polite thank you. Cupping it between two giant hands, he watched attentively as Nedzu introduced the rest of the teaching staff. The introductions weren’t anywhere near as awkward as they could have been—even Shouta made a token effort to be respectful. All Might nodded and shook everyone’s hands, paying attention with the sort of earnest, genuine interest that had made him Japan’s most popular Pro Hero. Nedzu skipped Recovery Girl, but judging by the familiar greeting that All Might gave her, they already knew each other.
“Now, there is an important matter to be discussed regarding All Might’s position here.” The principal looked up at All Might, who nodded, his ever-present smile slipping somewhat. “I will hand the explanation over to you, my friend.”
All Might stepped up to the end of the table. “Actually, it might be better to show you.”
He exhaled, and his seven-foot-two frame disappeared in a whirl of smoke that quickly dissipated, leaving behind a man who was all but unrecognizable.
- to be continued in @bnha-mirrors...
Apotelesma
yooo, this was my Kacchako fluff piece for the @bnha-mirrors zine. I ended up liking it so much that I’m making a whole mini series out of it called Eudaemonia, so, y’know. Here’s the bit that started it all!
You can also find it on:
AO3
Wattpad
FFnet
Quotev
Katsuki spends his evenings tallying sunsets and his nights counting stars.
He’s no good at astronomy, but he can sort of point out Orion’s belt, or follow Polaris to the handle of the Big Dipper and the back of Ursa Major. There’s something serene and surreal about the stars, about how they’re really just unfathomably large exploding balls of gas millions and millions of miles away, always out of grasp.
Sometimes he feels like he can reach out, close his hand around them, and watch them light up like explosives in his palms. Katsuki doesn’t believe in an afterlife, but sometimes he thinks he’d like to be a star when he’s through with mortality.
It’s a big dream for small town boys with lead bones and burning hearts, but Katsuki never listened to others, and there was no point in starting now.
He’s tired of the uniform existence of this border town, of routines he can’t break, and of mountain ranges that feel suffocatingly small no matter how many times he climbs them.
Katsuki thinks himself a phoenix, a free spirit, a lone soul aching to escape monotony. His mother likens him to a chained dog, viciously snapping at any who dare come too near, ignorantly craving for an outside world that he doesn’t know enough about to survive in.
Katsuki adamantly disagrees.
The first time he sees Whole Latte Love Cafe, he’s a high school senior fighting tooth and nail to get into a city college — anywhere, so long as it’s away from here. The door jingles, drawing his attention, and a round-faced girl rushes out, calling goodbye to someone inside before vanishing into the crowd.
Katsuki’s attention rests on the swirling neon sign that stretches across the upper building. If he’s being honest, the name pisses him off; what kind of losers would use a pun for the name of their cafe?
He barely pauses to think much of the cafe itself: a tiny, nondescript thing, tucked between a bustling office building and a clothing outlet where teenage girls flock like lambs, giggling about rumors behind their scarves.
The thoughts pass by the time Katsuki arrives home, but they resurface again later that night, when he’s in the middle of a paper and halfway through a sentence. Whole Latte Love, his mind unhelpfully supplies, and Katsuki’s pen snaps in his hand.
He comes to realize that his daily route takes him past the cafe twice. He walks the same path like clockwork, and he’s surprised he never noticed it before. The more he passes the more he pauses, steals glances out of the corner of his eyes, and stares at the bright open sign as he hesitates in his steps.
On a late Monday morning nearly two weeks later, Katsuki comes to a grinding halt in the middle of the sidewalk, pivots sharply on his heel, and marches into the building.
The warm air that caresses his face is a stark and shocking contrast to the nipping autumn breeze outside. Katsuki inwardly startles as the atmosphere — soft and warm and unfamiliar to a boy used to brutish things — nearly takes his feet clean out from under him.
“Hey!” The boy at the counter with too loud a voice, too brightly red-colored hair, and too sharp teeth enthusiastically greets him. “Welcome to Whole Latte Love! I’m Kirishima; what can I get you?”
Katsuki’s gaze finds the menu, the options written in swirling handwriting — one of the other baristas, he suspects. There are drink names he doesn’t recognize and emotions labeled with times and days of the week.
He opts not to question it. Kirishima is smiling at him expectantly, waiting on his order. Katsuki isn’t about intricate orders though; he loosens his scarf and orders a medium black coffee with two shots of espresso.
“Take a seat anywhere,” Kirishima says, whirling around to make the drink, “I’ll bring it to you!”
Katsuki turns away to find a seat.
The cafe is bigger on the inside, but humbled by walls swirling with photos, painted intricate patterns, and stereotypical coffee signs. Cushioned booths line the windows. Couches and bean bags are tucked in a corner, just out of view of the door, occupied by a cluster of college students who are either napping or studying. The students look exhausted, but they’re laughing as one doodles on his friend’s sleeping face.
There’s an older woman smiling nostalgically as she sits at the counter stool. Kirishima speaks to her as he’s making Katsuki’s coffee. The whole cafe carries the distinctive, sharp smell of coffee beans, but it mingles into the background among the upbeat music and occasional soft laughter.
Katsuki chooses a corner booth next to the window, drops his bag into the seat beside him, and settles in.
People are going about their lives beyond the glass window. This town is different for Katsuki; it’s large enough to have no shortage of residents, a decently large school, and even a college — but everyone follows the same daily routines, content with spending their lives in tedium.
But suddenly Bakugou Katsuki steps out of his habits and into this surreal place, where he doesn’t recognize a single person. Somehow, despite time and life and the world moving on around them, everybody in the cafe is smiling.
The soft thump of a drink against the table jerks him back to reality. Kirishima beams, and Katsuki briefly pauses to wonder what species this guy was for him to have teeth like that.
“My mom’s a mermaid,” Kirishima informs him cheerfully, “in case you’re wondering.” Katsuki glowers at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You were staring,” Kirishima replies with an ease that tells Katsuki that he’s had this conversation multiple times before, “and most new people are curious. I know half-breeds aren’t super common around here.”
Katsuki scrutinizes him now, eyes narrowed. “Do you act like this with all of your customers?”
“‘Course! Most are regulars though. Anyways,” he flips his wrist to reveal a tattoo of numbers that look like a clock — the digits switch before Katsuki’s eyes and he quickly concludes that it’s a charmed tattoo for telling the time, “my shift is about over. Enjoy your coffee!”
Katsuki doesn’t watch him go, but he sees that round-faced, brown-haired girl come in. He hears Kirishima leave with an upbeat goodbye! and the soft chiming of the door’s bell. Katsuki leaves without so much as a word or a glance back when he finishes his drink, followed by the girl’s cheerful “Have a nice day!”
The cold gust of wind that greets him outside saps the cafe’s warmth straight from his bones.
There’s something about Whole Latte Love — with the name that pisses him off and the too-cheerful baristas and something warm, warm, warm and unfamiliar to the boy who dreams of holding stars in his palms — that draws him back, and he yearns.
Katsuki doesn’t allow himself to crave the idea of simple pleasures, the thought of touching another person. He doesn’t allow himself to want after material objects and things meaningless in the long run of life. He wants only for what he needs, striving only for his freedom. Despite this, something about the cafe makes him reconsider.
He visits again on a cold Saturday evening, ordering a pastry and a black coffee. Kirishima beams and the round-faced girl from before tips her head curiously at him, but she promptly turns back to her own task at hand.
Monday morning, he sits in the same booth, already beginning to find a sort of routine of coming here — and yet, nothing was ever the same. Kirishima still smiles until his shift is over, and is replaced by the round-faced girl whose name Katsuki still doesn’t know.
It’s always the same customers, but somehow the cafe changes every day. Sometimes Kirishima still comes to talk to him. Sometimes the round-faced girl addresses the college students, laughing along with them. Oftentimes, the lady at the counter stool is recounting a tale from her childhood, sometimes staring out the window as though her mind still lives in the past. Sometimes the sun reflects differently off of Katsuki’s drink, or he orders a different pastry, or three espresso shots instead of two. Sometimes, he sits and contemplates.
He catches himself thinking about going more frequently, and then, because he’s stubborn, ends up following through.
It’s Tuesday morning when he steps back into the cozy other-world of the cafe, hearing the familiar, soft jingling of the bell overhead. This time, he doesn’t see distinctive red hair or a sharp-toothed smile. A different voice greets him, one only vaguely familiar. The round-faced girl smiles warmly from the counter and Katsuki almost considers leaving; he’s all for change, but he doesn’t want to run the risk of a botched coffee order.
The couches are empty and the music is still playing overhead, upbeat and cheerful, filling in for the lack of life. He eyes the girl with her bob cut of brown hair and bright, wide eyes, who is hardly taller than his shoulders. In the end, he decides he’ll just have to hope she makes his order right.
“Oh,” she blurts, “you’re that guy who always gets black coffee and sits by the window during Kirishima’s shifts, right?”
Katsuki glowers, immediately taking back any benefit of the doubt he had given her.
“What’s it to ‘ya?” He replies sharply.
Her service smile twitches.
“I was just wondering.” She informs him, voice level. “What can I get you?”
Katsuki almost wants her to crack. “Black coffee,” he says, “two shots of espresso.”
Still smiling, she turns away to make the drink. Katsuki eyes the back of her head for a moment, noticing a heart tattoo behind her right ear shimmering from one color to the next. Just as Katsuki decides against questioning it, the bell chimes violently as two teens rush into the cafe; one with obnoxiously pink skin, the other with a black lightning bolt streaking straight through the side of his blond hair.
Both look panicked and out of breath as if they’d run a marathon, and Katsuki moves out of the way just in time to avoid being barreled through. The round-faced girl, seeming accustomed to this, warmly welcomes them.
“Ashido, Kaminari,” she greets the pink-skinned woman and the blond man, and when the bell chimes again and an entirely average boy enters much more lethargically, she adds, “and Sero! What brings you all here?”
“I need a frappuccino with two shots of courage,” Kaminari groans, draping himself over the counter.
“Same,” Ashido whines. “Honestly, just give me anything sweet, large, and with like three shots of motivation and one of energy. I have six assignments due tonight and I haven’t started on any of them.”
“Sero?” The round-faced girl asks. “What about you?”
The last boy just shrugs dismissively. “I’m here for moral support.”
“Alright,” she laughs, “let me finish this order and I’ll get yours done.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” Kaminari and Ashido breathe in unison.
Katsuki has already meandered back his usual booth, glare fixed on the obnoxiously loud group. By then he’s figured out who is who, but he still hasn’t caught the barista’s name. He recognizes some words from the menu — the lists of emotions marked with times and dates. Now that he thinks about it, they correspond to the round-faced barista’s shifts.
He watches the round-faced girl cross the cafe with his coffee. The other three stare owlishly after her, as if it hadn’t occurred to them that they weren’t the only customers present. The round-faced girl sets the drink down.
“Enjoy your drink,” she tells him with that easy smile before turning and marching back to serve the other two.
Katsuki ends up staying later than usual at the cafe that day, only managing to burst into his class right as the bell rings, red-faced with windblown hair and something new and heated burning in his eyes.
Katsuki goes mountain climbing the following day. Every Wednesday like clockwork, he attends his classes, gets home, and promptly changes out of his suffocating uniform into his climbing clothes. He bikes to the mountains that surround the town, and he climbs.
When he was younger, Katsuki pretended that he could scale the mountains and crawl right back down on the other side. He had planned to carry his bike with him and ride far, far away from this town and the shackles he’s known all his life. He’d climb over the mountaintops, away from his mother, away from his classmates, away from the people in this town with their identical smiles and small town mentalities.
Katsuki used to think he could touch the sky if he could reach the peak. Now, reaching the top is easy. Up here, he’s breathless, low on air, standing in the surreal space between life and death, earth and sky, freedom and bondage. Up here, he could just step up to the edge of the ledge, wonder if he’d sprout some wings — maybe he’ll get lucky and learn his mother is secretly a valkyrie. Up here, the air is cold and brittle and he can’t feel his fingers, but even through the cold lash of autumn wind, he can raise his voice, scream to the heavens, howl and curse and let out the damn bird that’s always beating on his ribs, and the wind sweeps it away each and every time. Up here, he’s the closest he can get to what he hungers for, the primal urges that drive him to kick and claw his way to the very top of the mountain and the chain of success.
But he’s still here, and lately climbing doesn’t feel like it’s enough.
No matter how many bruises and blisters he gets, no matter how many sharp exhales through his teeth, no matter how many Wednesdays he takes to the rocks to go up and up and away, it’s never far enough.
His heart is somewhere, somewhere out there, but his body is a weight, the epitome of the gravity that exists in all things in the universe, and it chains him to the ground. No matter how thin the air gets, no matter how faded the light becomes or how high he climbs, he feels like Sisyphus, eternally stuck rolling a rock up, up, up, only for it to come back down, down, down.
He goes home and washes the dirt from his face, stares at his rough hands while the shower drums steadily around him, and never feels satisfied.
He goes back to the cafe again on Thursday morning. Sure enough the round-faced barista is there, looking as though she’s expecting him. She beams and greets him as brightly as always, turning to make his usual drink as Katsuki takes his seat in the booth.
There’s a boy with red-and-white split hair here today, typing away on a laptop in the corner and paying no attention to his surroundings. Occasionally, he glances down at his phone with a little smile.
Katsuki opts not to question how this place stays open with the few customers it has.
Somehow the cafe becomes an immovable part of his life. He falls into sort of habitual days, Monday mornings, Tuesday mornings, Thursday mornings, Saturday evenings, sometimes Friday evenings, sometimes Sunday evenings. The revolving door of colorful people come and go, and Katsuki watches, listens, learns. The employee schedules are consistent — Katsuki always knows who is going to be there when he arrives, and generally it’s the round-faced barista.
Silently, he dubs her Round Face.
There comes a point where she starts trying to talk to him. Katsuki usually ignores her; he comes here to refresh himself and his burning desire to achieve his goals and get out, not to have a conversation. He comes here for the thrill that climbing the mountains used to give him, the weightless feeling that makes him think that maybe he has wings after all.
“Good morning!” She greets cheerfully, persistent as always, when he enters on Tuesday.
Katsuki caves. “Yeah, good morning or whatever, Round Face.”
She gapes at him.
Katsuki hadn’t meant to say that out loud but it’s too late to take it back, so he rolls with it. “Well, it’s not like you ever told me your name.”
“I—” She starts, and then falters abruptly, eyebrows pinching together. “Oh. I guess I didn’t.”
Katsuki is almost amused. He watches the way she touches the tattoo behind her ear in thought, and he wonders if it’s changing colors again.
“Well,” she continues, “it’s Uraraka Ochako. In my defense, you haven’t told any of us your name.”
“Bakugou,” he replies with an upward tilt of his chin, “Bakugou Katsuki.”
“Ka—” She frowns thoughtfully, as if the name is familiar to her, but then shakes her head. “Your usual, then?”
Katsuki is suspicious now. He’d never heard of her, but judging by the reaction she’d failed to hide, she’d certainly heard of him. They might go to the same school, since he doesn’t know all the students in his grade, but he doubts it.
He doesn’t push it, but he’s not going to let it go so soon. Uraraka Ochako. He’s going to keep her name in mind.
“Yeah,” he replies, “my usual.”
It’s just the two of them in the cafe right now, which is common for Tuesday mornings. Uraraka leans over the counter, clearly bored after bringing him his drink. She’s running her fingers along the top of some labeled bottle..
“What the hell is that?” Katsuki asks. The soft clinking of the bottle against the counter is starting to annoy him.
Uraraka lifts her gaze. “This? They’re uh, emotions. Sort of. Liquid emotions?”
“And you make them,” Katsuki concludes, then adds when Uraraka opens her mouth to undoubtedly question him, “given the way they correspond with your shifts.”
“You—” Uraraka tips her head, “you have our shifts memorized?”
“Regardless, why would you make emotion potions or whatever they are?”
Uraraka straightens, visibly brightening. “I’m an empath, so I can make emotions for people. The add-ins are a pretty big selling point for the cafe now. Maybe it’s finals week and they need a dose of calm or motivation, y’know? Maybe they have a speech and they need a shot of bravery. I don’t know what people’s lives are like, but I want to help where I can. Plus,” she continues, sheepishly averting her gaze, “I’m poor, and most of the money from the proceeds go to my family.”
He eyes the bottle. “You just give shots of it? What happens if someone wants a whole bottle?”
“I can’t sell entire bottles,” she replies, tucking it back on the shelf behind her, “you’d probably go psycho if you drank this whole thing.”
He thinks about it for a while later, about that little bottle of happiness she’d held in her hand. He doesn’t consider Uraraka Ochako a friend, but she’s not an indecent human being. He still wants to get out, but this place is okay.
He keeps going to the cafe.
Fridays and Saturdays are the busiest the cafe gets, Katsuki learns, but busy is normally anywhere from six to eight people. Most of them are high school students.
He recognizes Ashido one Saturday evening — Katsuki has since learned that she, a girl named Jirou, and a boy named Tokoyami, are also baristas here — the dark roots of her curly hair starting to show, but her skin is as pink as ever. He recognizes Kaminari, gesturing wildly to another boy with thick silver eyelashes. Kirishima leans over the counter to listen to them. Sero is there too, dozing against the wall in a beanbag. There’s a girl with long, bowtied hair sitting up in one of the stools, frog-like and distracted by the boy with glasses who appears to be lecturing Uraraka, arm slicing repeatedly through the air.
The energy is high despite the late hour; everyone is joking around. Suddenly a song comes on over the speakers, and Kirishima and Uraraka go still.
Kaminari’s silvery companion grins a sharp-toothed smile not unlike Kirishima’s, leaning over Kaminari to punch Kirishima’s shoulder. It jars the redhead out of his stupor, for he whirls around and tows Uraraka out from behind the counter, toward the middle of the cafe. Katsuki straightens up and lowers his drink to watch discreetly.
They’re dancing. Kirishima twirls Uraraka across the linoleum and she laughs, shoulders shaking and cheeks reddened by her wide smile. The others are cheering or clapping along — the frog girl smiles a faint smile, watching with her head tipped, and in the stool next to her, the boy with the glasses takes a drink of tea in an attempt to hide his smile. The silver-haired boy doesn’t seem content sitting back — he snatches a very surprised Kaminari and hauls him out to join them. Ashido laughs until Kirishima pulls her in, too, releasing Uraraka.
Uraraka leans back against the counter, smiling breathlessly, the fluorescents casting soft shadows around her. The light from the sunset bathes the room in oranges and yellows as the others laugh and twirl well through end of the song. At some point, they stop following the tune. Katsuki realizes every last person here is completely content with the way their lives are. They are free.
Katsuki’s chest twists.
He stubbornly returns his attention to his essay until Kirishima’s hand drops on his shoulder in a farewell as most the cafe inhabitants start filing out.
Uraraka is quiet now, a soft kind of happy, and Katsuki wordlessly watches her wipe down the counters. She looks up, but he doesn’t look away.
“You know,” says Uraraka, “we close in two minutes.”
“Do you want me to leave?” Katsuki retorts.
“I can take care of mys—”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Uraraka’s cheeks puff outwards and she goes back to cleaning.
Katsuki throws away the empty cup and pastry bag, stepping out for a breath of the night air. He feels Uraraka’s gaze follow him, but he only shoves his hands into the pockets of his outer coat, waiting just outside the door with his face nestled into his scarf. Katsuki doesn’t get cold easily. He has a naturally warm body, which came with perks and downsides, but it’s the last month of fall and winter comes on the breeze with every passing sunset, every rotation of Earth’s axis.
The bell chimes softly as Uraraka steps out, locking the door behind her.
She looks surprised by the cold, clad only in a sweater and a scarf. Uraraka rubs her arms, tucking away her keys with a fumbling hand.
“I didn’t realize how cold it’d gotten,” she laughs, breath forming white clouds in the air. “Which way are you going, Bakugou?”
“Dumbass,” he snaps, grumbling as he sheds his coat and tosses it at her. She catches it with a yelp. “You should know it gets cold at this time of year. We live in the mountains.”
“Wow,” she huffs, “what a gentleman.”
Despite her sarcastic words, Uraraka wastes no time yanking the oversized coat on, half-buried among the orange and black fabric.
She murmurs something resembling a thanks — Katsuki is tempted to have her repeat it, but he won’t push his luck. Uraraka almost embodies what he’s looking for — something free and open, something that rides on the wings of the birds but swallows worlds like a black hole, all consuming in its grace.
They aren’t quite friends, Katsuki keeps telling himself, but maybe they could be.
“I’m going this way,” Katsuki finally informs her, once she seems to have settled into his coat. He jabs a finger to the right, back his usual way home, and then zips up the gray hoodie he’d had on beneath the coat. Uraraka frowns, glancing the other direction.
“I’m actually going that way,” she starts, but Katsuki cuts her off, pulling the fur lined hood of his coat over her head.
“Okay,” says Katsuki, “then let’s go.”
“It’s out of your—”
“I don’t care. I’m not letting you keep my coat. Besides,” he starts off in the direction she’d indicated, “maybe I’m not ready to go home.”
Uraraka lifts the hood so she can see properly, smoothing her hair beneath it and falling into step with him. He doesn’t slow his pace, despite having no idea where he’s going. Despite this, Uraraka keeps up well enough, her hands tucked into the pockets of the coat and her shoulder brushing Katsuki’s arm.
The roads are silent; there’s not a single soul in existence besides the two of them. The streetlights begin to flicker on, illuminating the quiet pathway and the clouds of white their breath form in the chilled air.
Uraraka takes a breath, gaze fixed on the sky. “Hey, Bakugou? Do you ever count the stars?”
Katsuki thinks all the time, but murmurs, “Why the hell would I do that? There’s too many to count.”
Uraraka laughs. “You’re a bad liar, Bakugou Katsuki. You’re the type of boy who would spend every night trying to count them, just because you want to know how many you have to try and catch.”
Katsuki is not an open book. He has never considered himself such and has always been careful not to be. Katsuki is always careful not to form attachments, not to let anyone give him a reason to stay behind or give anyone a reason to want him to.
And yet, this girl blows into his life with her black hole eyes and bob cut hair and sunshine smiles, regardless of his attitude or the fact that he still calls her Round Face. He opens his mouth to say something, anything to prove her wrong, but she’s quick to interrupt him.
“Everyone tries to count the stars,” she states matter-of-factly, “at least once.”
Katsuki almost wants to laugh. Whether it’s out of amusement or bitterness, he doesn’t know. “So what if I do? Maybe the stars are my only solace in this godforsaken town. Maybe I like the fact that they’re big balls of exploding gas out in space. Or maybe I’d rather be in space than here. How would you know?”
Uraraka smiles. “Well, then you do. Or don’t, whatever. If you want to leave, there’s nothing wrong with that. Your goals and aspirations are yours, and you should pursue them. For all we know, your place is out there in the world somewhere. But people like me — people like me, like Kirishima, like Ashido and Jirou and Kaminari and Tetsutetsu … All of our places are here. There was a time we all wanted to leave, I think. I know I wanted to. But my place is here. My place is at Whole Latte Love, serving coffee and helping my parents.”
Ah, Katsuki thinks. He can’t remember the last time someone told him that he should go if he wants. And god, does he want to.
Katsuki buries his mouth in his scarf. There’s a stinging behind his eyes and turmoil in his ribs.
“It’s comforting, though,” she continues, “to know that no matter how far anyone may go, or even if you may never truly know someone: we’re all connected by the material we stand on, the iron in our blood, the carbon and hydrogen and oxygen in our bodies, the calcium in our bones. We’re all connected by stardust, each and every last one of us. We’re all made of the same thing as the stars, and I think that makes us as mortal and natural as the universe itself.”
“One hundred billion,” he says, because her words strike something in him, and he isn’t yet sure what it is.
“What?” She asks, peering out at him from beneath his hoodie.
“There’s over one hundred billion stars in our galaxy alone,” he replies, halting in his steps and fixing her with a steady stare. “There’s parts of our universe we’ve never seen — never will see in our lifetimes, maybe in anybody’s lifetimes, but they’re out there and always out of reach. All I’ve ever wanted to do since I was a child was reach out and grab one of those damn stars. So yeah, I do count the stars. I count the stars, the sunsets, and the days until I can fly out of here.”
Uraraka smiles, takes his arm, and carries on down the sidewalk. “Yeah,” she murmurs, “I figured.”
Uraraka’s house is near the center of town, unlike Katsuki’s, which is closer to the outskirts. She leads him to a small apartment building and stops in front of one of the doors, turning to face him.
“Well, this is mine. Here’s your coat—”
“Hold onto it,” Katsuki blurts before he can think about it.
Uraraka opens her mouth to protest, but Katsuki puts up a hand to interrupt her.
“Bring it back to me Wednesday.”
“Wednesday?” She echoes, frowning. “You don’t come to the cafe on Wednesdays.”
“Oh,” he quirks an eyebrow, “you have my routine memorized.”
He takes pleasure in the way she goes red.
“I’m not talking about the cafe, idiot,” he continues, “I go climbing every Wednesday, on the mountain trails. I’m inviting you to come; which, by the way, I don’t do very often. Just give it back to me then. You at least know where the entrance to the hike trail is, right?”
Katsuki doesn’t wait for her response. He sprints home, spirited by the change of routine, the change of scenery, the feeling of the night air raking wiry fingers through his wild hair, the way the streetlights cast soft, yellow glows and dancing shadows across the sidewalk.
Katsuki spends his evenings tallying sunsets and his nights counting stars. He isn’t sure when he started counting how many times Uraraka Ochako smiles at him.
That night, as he runs home, cold air seeping into his lungs, sweat rolling down his throat, and a feral grin on his lips, he counts twenty.
It’s twenty-one on Monday when she blows into the cafe for her shift with a red nose, red cheeks, and dark, dark starlight eyes. It’s twenty-four by Tuesday, going up each time he lifts his eyes and meets her gaze.
Katsuki finds himself at the base of the mountains on Wednesday, gaze fixed on the shrouded peaks. She’s late, he thinks, and for a moment he entertains the fact that she might not come at all. Steady, light, and familiar footsteps cut through his train of thought, and Katsuki turns.
He counts twenty-five as she grins at him from beneath the coat he’d loaned her.
“Sorry I took so long,” she tells him, “are we going?”
Katsuki tears his gaze away. “Yeah.”
Katsuki doesn’t make a habit of underestimating or overestimating others, and he’s suddenly grateful for that habit when Uraraka keeps up with him with ease. She doesn’t break pace, doesn’t start breathing heavier until the air thins, and even then she finds a rhythm. Katsuki thinks himself a phoenix, all raging fire and simmering ashes, but Uraraka is a bird; a robin, a swan, an angel. Up here, where the air is thin and the world below hardly seems to exist, she is weightless, light, ethereal, and Katsuki is struck with the abrupt realization that he’s been sucked into her gravitational orbit for a while.
Uraraka beats him to the mountain’s plateau. When he pulls himself up over the side, she’s standing still, staring out into the shrouded area, into the sky, into the fields and beyond. She gazes out over the town, where the houses are only pinpricks against the landscape. Katsuki understands. Up here, it feels like the world is insignificant — a small, glittering feature against the backdrop of the universe.
Katsuki tips his head back and howls to the air. The wind takes it and runs, swirling over the mountain range and into the world where Katsuki so desperately wants to be. When he stops to take a breath, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, Uraraka is staring at him. Her eyes are wide, face flushed and shoulders moving with exhilarated breaths. She’s looking at him like he’s something new, something significant, something bright and blinding and unlike anything she’d ever seen.
But maybe he is. Katsuki doesn’t know; he just grins that feral grin, and when her lips tug up in response, he counts twenty-six.
Maybe, he considers, she’s a valkyrie, and he’s the soldier she’s chosen to let live.
“You can see Whole Latte Love from here,” she tells him as they prepare for the climb back down, “it’s so tiny.”
Yeah, he thinks, it all is.
Instead he reaches out, as if to grab her hand or her arm or her shoulder, and says, “I feel like—”
Uraraka meets his gaze, her eyes glittering like starlight in the setting sun, and Katsuki’s words die in his throat. He turns away.
Katsuki is always hyper-aware of time. He tracks his life by hours, by sunsets, by stars, and now by Uraraka Ochako’s smiles. He tracks his life by moments until he can finally take a one-way trip out of here, but lately he’s reconsidering the one-way part. He’s going to leave; that part is undeniable. But now people like Kirishima, like Ashido and Sero and Kaminari and Uraraka have wormed their way into his life, and Katsuki hardly remembers what it was like before. They’ve all found their places, somehow, in this town. They’ve all found a place where they’re happy to live out their lives, but Katsuki can’t say the same.
He can’t stay. But that doesn’t mean he can’t come back when he’s satisfied with his own life.
On Monday, the lights of the cafe flicker a few times in rapid succession, right as Katsuki is preparing to leave.
Uraraka frowns, hands pausing on the display case of pastries. She sighs, wiping her hands on her apron and straightening.
“The hell was that?” Katsuki questions.
“Just some dumb kids sapping electricity from the powerlines again.” She starts, then continues when she meets his piercing gaze. “They do it all the time.”
People think Katsuki reckless. He isn’t, normally. He’s got a reputation to uphold, and even if he doesn’t conventionally follow rules, he doesn’t make a habit of disobedience or skipping class.
Still, when he finds the kids in a nearby alley and launches himself at the nearest one, adrenaline pumping, fists swinging, body surging full of energy with each hit he takes — he concludes that sometimes, in the face of something bigger, rules are meant to be broken.
This power of yours, his mother’s voice echoes, is a blessing and a curse.
He thinks of people like Kirishima, who puts charms on their phones so they are returned when misplaced and time tattoos on their wrists, and people like Jirou, with earrings that translate languages and tongue piercings that allow her to speak them back. He thinks of Ashido with her city skin coloring fashion trends, and of the bird tattoo behind Tokoyami’s ear that starts chirping when he gets particularly antsy. He thinks of himself, of rough hands and lead bones and big dreams. He thinks of himself, of his ability, of a blessing and curse passed down from his mother.
He thinks of the heart tattoo behind Uraraka’s ear that changes color with her emotions. He thinks, ah, as one of the kids catches him particularly hard in the jaw. He wouldn’t do this for just anybody. It’s a fleeting thought in the midst of a fistfight, passed among racing adrenaline and a pumping heart. But it’s there nonetheless: a brief moment where he realizes that yeah, he’s started feeling something for Uraraka.
It’s gone as soon as it comes, but when Katsuki enters Whole Latte Love on Tuesday, bruised and aching, her smile makes it worth the world.
He expects the thought to come back, but not with the force it does. It returns with a fury, like waves cascading over his head. Sitting in his window booth aching and injured, Katsuki watches Uraraka over the edge of his coffee, the way the autumn lights cast warm yellow and white shades across her soft features, and becomes abruptly floored by the very thing he’d realized the day prior, but never given voice to.
He is decidedly, irrevocably in love with Uraraka Ochako.
Katsuki isn’t new to love, but he’s new to this brand of it — something that makes her suddenly become the most beautiful thing in the world, perfect in all of her imperfection and so inexplicably soft. He’s new to this brand of love that makes Uraraka feel like a comfort, that makes her feel like home.
I feel like—
Back on the mountains, he’d started a thought. He hadn’t known what he wanted to say then, but now the words came to fruition.
I feel like, he’d said, a part of my soul has loved you since the very beginning of everything. Maybe … we were made from the same star.
For a moment, he’s happy. But things seldom go so perfectly for boys like Katsuki.
On Saturday evening, Katsuki isn’t paying any attention when Midoriya Izuku wanders in. Katsuki hears the chime, but he’s occupied with completing an essay for his finals. It isn’t until he hears the distinctively light, jittery voice that he lifts his gaze slowly, dreading what he might see.
Uraraka is beaming, but it isn’t directed at Katsuki. Midoriya is at the counter, talking energetically with Uraraka and Kirishima. Katsuki thought he’d gotten over himself by now, but the abrupt realization that Uraraka seems awfully familiar with the bane of Katsuki’s existence makes his blood boil.
Katsuki’s anger is like fire. It’s the epitome of destruction, raging and consuming anything and everything in its path. Red filters the edges of his vision, crawling, swarming.
“Deku,” he snarls, and Midoriya’s words seem to die in his throat as his shoulders stiffen.
Midoriya turns, but Katsuki is already out of his seat. The entirety of the cafe has frozen, save for Katsuki, the very picture of fury, of a storm zeroing in on his target. When Katsuki clenches his fist the boy with the dual-colored hair moves first, putting himself between Midoriya and Katsuki. It startles Midoriya out of his trance.
“Kacchan,” Midoriya starts, “I didn’t, um, realize you came here.”
“Move,” he snarls at the boy standing between them, who meets his gaze coolly.
“No.”
“Todoroki,” Midoriya starts, only to flinch back when Katsuki snarls at him again.
It’s funny, Katsuki thinks, because his reason for hating Midoriya had long since been forgotten. The feelings of animosity linger despite this, and Katsuki can’t quite bring himself to throw them away. So no, he can’t say he has a reason for shoving Todoroki and wrenching Midoriya up by the collar, but Katsuki has come to find that a lot of times, there really isn’t a method to his madness.
Everyone else unfreezes simultaneously and suddenly, they’re all shouting.
Katsuki is hyper-aware of his hands and of the words everybody is saying. He watches through his peripherals as Uraraka launches herself over the counter, and as she braces her hands against his chest and shoves. He drops Midoriya as everything comes crashing back down.
Katsuki’s rage is like fire, but there’s a brand of sadness like ice that roots itself in his chest and makes a home.
“What is your problem?” Uraraka demands, eyes dark, too dark, expression too hard, too cold.
“He’s my problem,” Katsuki hisses. His rage is gone, but he can’t stop himself now.
Todoroki pulls Midoriya up, but Midoriya keeps looking back with something like pity in his eyes and Katsuki hates it. He growls, moving towards them, but Uraraka takes his arm in a vice grip. Katsuki is forced to watch Midoriya leave. Something simmers at the base of Katsuki’s throat, the edges of his eyes, swelling like a symphony.
When Uraraka lets go, Katsuki feels the cold where her touch had been. She marches around the counter to retrieve a drink — his drink — and shoves it into his hands.
“Listen,” she snaps, “I don’t know what your problem with Izuku is, but keep it out of here.”
Izuku. The name sticks like a threat, jealousy swelling in his chest. He doesn’t pause in tipping his head back and downing half the scalding coffee, ignoring the way it burns down his throat.
Calmness washes over him, but it feels off somehow. There’s an odd taste to his tongue, to his drink, and he pauses.
He catches sight of Uraraka’s hands, barely hiding a bottle beneath the counter, and her expression: observant, expectant. His chest wrenches.
Perhaps, he realizes, he doesn’t have as much of a reason to come back as he thought. He looks around, at the way they’re all watching him like he’s dirt, like he’s something that doesn’t belong. Katsuki’s never made a habit of listening to people’s opinions about him, but this time he’s inclined to agree.
Katsuki’s rage is red hot, blue hot, white hot. Katsuki’s anger is like ice, like sadness.
“How dare you,” he snarls, voice soft, cold, fixing Uraraka with a piercing glare and leaving the rest unsaid. After all I shared with you.
He walks out.
--
Katsuki takes a different route to class.
Avoiding the cafe is easy, but the abrupt change leaves a yearning hole in his chest. The stars seem dimmer when he watches them, and the mountains seems empty. No matter how loudly he screams, the sky is silent and his pain remains.
And god, he thinks, what a mistake it was to fall for a girl who had the stars living in her eyes.
He evades Uraraka just fine, but he’s not so lucky with the others.
It’s Tokoyami he encounters first, crouching outside of a flower shop and talking to a bird. It flies away when it sees Katsuki, and he thinks about Uraraka on the mountains, arms spread against the wind. Then it’s Ashido, and she laughs joyfully when she sees him. Her face is splattered with paint and she’s racing alongside artwork of a bold, yellow lion as it sprints across the brick it’s painted on. Her smile is bright, broad, warm, but it’s not the one he wants to see.
There’s a familiar twist in his chest.
He expects to see Kirishima sooner or later, and sure enough, he catches sight of red hair in the nearby park.
“Hey, Bakugou!” Kirishima greets, waving him over.
He’s watching a group of children as they make friendship bracelets, charming them with simple spells. Katsuki sits beside him, slouching back. Kirishima leans forward, propping his elbows up on his knees.
“You’re gonna leave when you graduate, aren’t you?” He asks, but his gaze doesn’t shift to Bakugou.
“Of course,” Katsuki replies, “that’s always been the plan.”
“Will you come back?”
“I—”
With a start, Katsuki realizes that he doesn’t know.
“You know,” Kirishima continues, “we are your friends, Bakugou. That day — when you left, Uraraka cried. I don’t think she wanted anyone else to see, but I did.” He gives Katsuki a half smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again either — but like, you’re my bro, y’know? I had to hold out some sort of hope. You … You’re predictable, Bakugou. I figured I’d run into you eventually. You’re always chasing the sunset.”
“What’s that supposed to—”
“It means you know where you’re going. We all do, I think. We’ve got our gazes set on some prize in the distant future and it’s all we ever think about. But maybe you should stop and give your surroundings another look. Just while you’re still here, y’know? One of these days you’ll be out there and life’ll just pass you by.”
Kirishima gives him the chance to speak, but Katsuki stays silent.
So,” Kirishima stands, watching as the kids run off to play, “just give it some thought. This might be it. You gotta embrace little things when you can.”
He doesn’t watch Kirishima leave, but he hears the cheerful humming as it fades.
Midoriya finds Katsuki, despite Katsuki’s efforts to avoid him.
“Kacchan!” He shouts from down the sidewalk, and Katsuki’s gaze locks onto him.
Midoriya stands his ground, fists clenched and jaw set. “You’re acting like a child!” He announces.
Katsuki is not in the mood to deal with this. He sneers, marching towards Midoriya and expecting him to move, to flee, to cower, but he doesn’t budge. He holds Katsuki’s gaze.
“The fu—?”
“I said you’re acting like a child!” Midoriya repeats. “Whatever your problem is with me, don’t take it out on our friends! Everyone cares about you, no matter what you think.”
“I’m not—”
“Just listen to me for once!”
Midoriya raises his voice and Katsuki’s jaws snap shut. His gaze remains fixed on Midoriya, who stares him down unflinchingly. Katsuki doesn’t remember why he hated Midoriya Izuku, but he does know that something about him in this moment reminds Katsuki of himself.
For once, he listens.
“Look at the stars,” Midoriya starts, “just look at them. They’re the same stars as they were last week, last year, and last century. Maybe a couple have died, but the majority are still there. The same stars as when we were kids, wishing we knew what was out there, and the same stars as when we weren’t even thought of. In a hundred years, people might not even know who people like me or Ochako or Shouto or Iida or Ashido or you are. But Kacchan, everyone will know these same stars.”
Katsuki opens his mouth to speak, but Midoriya isn’t done.
“What I’m saying is that what matters is the here and now. Your future matters, but you can’t just pretend the present doesn’t exist. You can’t ignore what’s right in front of you anymore. I don’t care what you think about me — maybe it’s best we go our separate ways — but that doesn’t mean we can’t be civil with each other or our mutual friends. Yes, friends. They care about you, and I know you care about them. You don’t always have to follow the sun, Kacchan. Sometimes it’s okay to slow down and look around.”
Then, Midoriya smiles, tentatively reaching out a hand.
“Truce?” He asks.
Katsuki thinks about the stars, about the way that they’re really just exploding balls of gas far above them. Katsuki thinks about his life, existing in the blink of an eye in the course of the universe. Katsuki thinks about his feelings towards Midoriya, the animosity he carries. He thinks why?
Katsuki takes Midoriya’s hand.
Thursday morning, he finds himself back in front of Whole Latte Love.
“God,” he snorts, pushing open the door, “that name is still awful.”
Uraraka lifts her head, lips parted to greet him, but she falters when he meets her eyes.
“Bakugou,” she breathes, lip trembling.
Katsuki doesn’t even get a word out.
“I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have put the calm in your coffee! I wasn’t thinking about it and—”
Katsuki approaches the counter as she goes on, letting her talk until she runs out of words and is left staring up at him, looking guilty and nervous.
“Listen,” Katsuki sighs, “I’ve had some sense talked into me by a couple of people this week. I know when I’m in the wrong — I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have started things with Deku here, but I did have to right to get mad about the coffee — which I will forgive you for, but only on one condition.”
“Yes!” Uraraka says, perhaps too eagerly.
“Make me another,” he says, “but with a shot of courage.”
Uraraka looks vaguely confused, but she complies.
The cafe is as empty as always on Thursday mornings, and Katsuki is beyond grateful for that. Uraraka slides the coffee to him and Katsuki downs most of it. He feels the emotion settle into his chest like a balloon, lightening every part of him, watches the way Uraraka’s heart tattoo changes to a soft pink, the way she clutches the bottle of courage in her hand, watches the way the autumn sunlight casts soft hues of yellows and orange across her face and her wide, starlight eyes. Katsuki watches the way Uraraka watches him, lips parted and gaze unwavering, Katsuki watches Uraraka from over the edge of his coffee, like he did on the day he’d realized —
Katsuki lowers his coffee, leans over the counter, and presses his lips to hers.
Bakugou Katsuki spends his evenings tallying sunsets and his nights counting stars.
Now he counts how many times Ochako smiles at him, and how many times she giggles late in the night when they run through the town together, two parts of a star who found each other again.
Everyone!! Pre-orders for @bnha-mirrors zine are open until May 30 and we have a little cupon for this free kirishima bookmark!! Just enter the code and get your bookmark with the amazing (and hella huge) zine!! Go go go!! Click image to go to the store :)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Hey guys! I recently did a piece for the BnHA Mirrors zine, in the category of fantasy angst. You can read my piece on AO3 and FF.net! If you’re interested in purchasing a copy, which are on sale, feel free to take a look at their page, @bnha-mirrors.
Summary: The other paladins were gone, taken from the battlefield for reasons unknown. Tenya Iida, the last of his order, is left alone and disgraced, haunting the halls of a keep that begins to feel more like a prison than a home. Solitude is his only companion, and he drives away anyone that tries to enter Ironlace Keep. With madness snapping at his heels, Tenya knows it's only a matter of time before he is lost, too. But that all changes when a wily group of adventurers dare to enter his castle and uncover its secrets - and in the process, remind Tenya of what it means to be a paladin.