CRASHOUT CENTRAL!
synopsis: katsuki has no idea if you like him or not
notes: bubbly + affectionate reader. umm implied hetero girl i think? but could also apply to not hetero i have no idea im sorry im just writing. idk if men crashout the way girls do but i like to think so. a lot of excessive unnecessary swearing bc it's katsuki. this is so ooc bc lets be fr when does katsuki talk abt *puke* feelings
he’s pacing.
shirtless. agitated. hair all mussed from his own frustrated hands.
kirishima’s lying on his bed with his hands behind his head, watching his best friend spiral for what has to be the third time this week.
“she said i smelled good,” katsuki huffs, whirling around. “who says that? who just..! says that to someone?”
“people who think you smell good?” kirishima offers helpfully.
katsuki glares at him like he’s the dumbest person alive. “she said it while huggin' me. and she said it in that sweet fuckin' singsongy voice.”
“right.”
“and then laughed when i didn’t say anything back. all fuckin' giggly and stupid.”
“you like when she’s giggly and stupid,” kirishima points out.
katsuki makes a noise in his throat. “not when i’m trying to figure out if she’s in love with me or just likes everyone.”
kirishima hums. “well. she is kind of a naturally affectionate person.”
“exactly!” katsuki snaps, flinging his arms out. “what if i’m just one of her little fuckin'.. plushies she likes huggin' or some shit? what if she’s going around being all sweet and smiley with everyone and i’m here thinking she wants to marry me? like, seriously. i've seen her cuddle with fuckin' pinky and round cheeks too, and she's always so.. giggly! and when i think she's flirting, she says it so fuckin' casual. like it's nothing. and i must be fuckin' delusional to think that it's anything more.”
kirishima snorts. “well, ashido and uraraka are both girls. and she doesn’t cuddle me the way she cuddles you.”
katsuki freezes.
“…you think?”
“bro, she lies on top of you like you’re a mattress. more than that, she like really curls in to you. no one does that platonically. that's just not a thing.”
katsuki makes another miserable groaning sound and throws himself down into the beanbag chair like he’s been wounded. he drags his hands down his face, muffling a scream into his palms.
“i don’t know anymore,” he mutters. “she calls me ‘kats’ like it’s just a nickname but then she’ll say it in that soft fuckin' voice like it’s something else. she’s always touching me and smiling and calling me cute but she does it so casually, like it’s just her being her. i don’t know what’s real. i don’t know if i’m hallucinating. i think i’m losing my goddamn mind. like, it's the tone. she goes all 'aweee, thanks kats!' in that stupid fuckin' sing-songy tone. i hate it! fucking..!” kirishima has no idea what katsuki's trying to punch to death. the air, maybe?
after watching him flop around like a dying fish for a moment, he offered gently, “why don’t you just ask her how she feels?”
katsuki sits up. furious.
he says nothing, but kirishima can tell what he's trying to say just from his look.
“well then,” kirishima shrugs. “guess you’ll just have to keep suffering.”
and katsuki does. every time you brush your fingers over his knuckles or play with his hoodie strings or grin at him from across the room with that stupid sweet look in your eyes, he suffers. quietly. dramatically.
because he wants you to mean it so badly.
but he has no idea if you do.
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