Chapter Text
‘You need an outlet for your anger, Katsuki.'
That’s what his mother had said.
On more than one occasion over the years.
It felt a little ironic coming from Mitsuki Bakugou, especially since Katsuki's first memory involved her going nuclear in a grocery store when some guy dared to cut the line in front of them.
He could still remember peering out of his stroller and seeing his mom screeching like a banshee; fists balled and teeth bared as she let rip at the suddenly timid man.
He’d found it quite funny in the moment.
When Katsuki’s own fiery temperament reared its head, his parents hadn’t been overly concerned.
They’d called it ‘boisterous’ once upon a time, back when he’d smash his action figures together against a chorus of “Die! Die! Die!” with a maniacal grin on his face.
It was only when he got a little older that it became more of a problem, apparently.
They'd tried to stifle it by taking his video games away and limiting the time he was allowed to spend watching TV, they’d even enrolled him into music lessons so he could ‘channel his rage into something creative’ and he’d actually gotten pretty good with the drums but it didn’t seem to suppress any of the outbursts everybody was so worried about.
Katsuki didn’t share their concerns though, he didn’t see an issue with how he behaved. He was a straight-A student, he’d been accepted into UA, and with a quirk like his how couldn’t he be a little explosive? It was in the name, it came with the territory.
He never thought it was a problem.
Katsuki didn’t care when his junior high teachers condemned his poor attitude, he didn’t care when his parents would criticise his bad language, he didn’t even care when Mr Aizawa had ensnared him in that binding cloth on their first official day at UA because, sure, Eraser Head was a pro but he was still only one person and Katsuki couldn’t please everybody.
But then came his first lesson with All Might.
He’d lost the exercise to Deku of all people. Because he’d been impulsive. Because anger got the better of him.
Katsuki had embarrassed himself in front of his idol.
He did it again at the sports festival, earning himself the honour of being strapped to a concrete pillar with a muzzle on his mouth like he was some kind of rabid animal with no self-control.
The public had seen. The pro’s had seen. And his name had ended up beneath Todoroki’s on Aizawa’s internship offer chart.
That wasn't how things were supposed to turn out. He was the winner, he was supposed to garner the most interest but, allegedly, the pro’s took issue with his behaviour like everybody else.
He’d said they were weak if that put them off him, and a part of Katsuki actually believed that but doubt was beginning to gnaw at his insides and he couldn’t help but wonder if he needed to get a handle on himself, if maybe he was the problem after all.
Although that gnawing doubt subsided when Best Jeanist reached out with an internship offer.
Katsuki had been smug when he got the news, more than a little pleased with himself because a pro in the top five had recognised his potential and wanted to work with him. It provided the assurance he’d been searching for and made it harder to question his methods because if such a high-ranking pro wanted him as an intern then clearly he was doing something right.
But, as it turned out, Jeanist had a lot to say about his conduct.
He’d told Katsuki he had a ferocious nature and needed to work on his image. He'd told him to speak nicely with the public and make them feel safe. Katsuki had tried, he really had, but those kids on their patrol route just had to bring up the sludge villain and he’d lost his cool.
Somewhere behind the ridiculous denim collar, Jeanist had mused about him—probably assuming that the dialogue would be lost beneath the children's crying but Katsuki caught every word.
“It’d be one thing if he channelled all that passion into becoming a hero but at this rate he could turn out quite poorly…”
And that, that had actually stung.
He couldn’t manage his emotions, he couldn’t keep his anger in check and, for the first time, Katsuki realised that he needed to make a change.
If the pro’s had a problem with how he behaved then he wouldn’t get very far because, whether he liked it or not, they'd be his colleagues one day and he had to get things under control if he wanted to make it to the top.
Katsuki had worked up the courage to talk to his father about it. He'd acted as if Jeanist’s analysis hadn’t bothered him, mentioning it as a passing comment like it was totally insignificant and hadn’t made his stomach drop.
His dad had grinned his agreement nervously, typically meek and nodding along as if it was the most obvious assessment he’d ever heard.
“He might be onto something,” he’d said sheepishly. “Don’t worry, it’s probably just hormones. You’ll mellow out soon enough.”
Hormones…
Katsuki had sat with that for a while.
It sounded like such a cop-out, and maybe it would've been a year ago but right now it felt like the theory could actually have some merit.
He’d been perpetually horny for months, knee-deep in libido to the point of distraction. He’d had urges before, sure, but this was different, it was disruptive and relentless and it boiled into aggression so fast.
Every little thing pissed him off. He was always on edge, always angry. No matter how often he… well, released his frustrations, it never seemed to do the trick, it didn’t quite scratch the itch. But maybe if he could claw at that tingle and really soothe it, then perhaps he’d be more clear-minded.
Katsuki had mulled it over—going back and forth so many times he’d lost count, eventually deciding against it because the idea was so moronic.
But then he'd had his final practical exam, he'd gone in all guns blazing, mistake after mistake, too much anger, too much impulsivity.
Deku had ended up lugging his unconscious body over the finish line because Katsuki couldn't keep it together for one dumb exam.
Things had to change. He'd finally taken the plunge.
Which is why he was sat on a quiet street in the outskirts of Musutafu, glaring up at the hotel with a knot in his stomach and his pulse thumping in his throat.
Katsuki chewed at his lip, afflicted with a very uncharacteristic sense of apprehension as he waited on the low bench and bounced his foot against the sidewalk.
It wasn’t all that dark out despite the late hour. Light pollution had slunk in from the city centre and was hanging low in the sky, nullifying the weak glow of the streetlamps and sucking away the stars.
There were low-rises squashed together along the narrow roads, more residential than the central districts with far fewer people. Katsuki had passed one or two bars on his way into the neighbourhood but they lacked the neon signage of the larger haunts across town; an absence of echoing bass and patrons stumbling out of the doors.
It was good, it's what he'd wanted. More low profile, further from home. He was less likely to be recognised here.
If he could go inside.
He was annoyed at himself for hesitating. He should've just strolled right in and not taken a seat to think things over because now he was losing his nerve. He was braver than this, more resolute, he just needed to get his legs to move because he wasn't going to get a chance like this anytime soon.
Final exams were over, internships were all wrapped up, Katsuki had the whole weekend free. He needed to return to school on Monday for Principal Nezu's end-of-semester address and then he'd be heading to their training camp a few days later but Katsuki had the entirety of tonight and Sunday wide open before any of that required his attention. And with his parents away, it had worked out perfectly.
He just had to get up and go in.
But the sheer quantity of sweat on his palms would’ve been enough to trigger the most brutal explosion he'd ever mustered.
Katsuki eyed the bus stop a little further down the street. It was taunting him, offering the option to turn back. It was only a twenty minute ride home, he could be in bed by midnight depending on traffic. Maybe that's what he should do because this was definitely a dumb idea…
But, no.
Katsuki Bakugou was no coward.
He’d gone toe-to-toe with villains, he’d participated in a sports festival that was broadcast across the country, he’d ambled into the UA entrance exam without so much as an elevated heart rate. He didn’t get scared or shy away from anything. He’d made a plan and he was going to stick to it.
Katsuki stood, stuffing his hands into his pockets and heading across the road to the hotel before his brain had the chance to catch up and talk him out of it, heart pounding so loud that he was pretty sure somebody could see the palpitations thundering against his sternum if they got close enough. He walked fast, focused on the doors in front of him rather than the stuttering monologue swirling around inside his skull that was insisting he turn his ass around and go home.
He felt a swell of nausea prod at him as he pulled the door open but Katsuki refused to turn back. He’d get tonight over and done with and then he’d return to his normal life with a better mindset, a little less angry, less of a liability.
It was going to make him a better hero, it was going to propel him right to the top where he belonged.
…
The hotel wasn't the fanciest but it was fine—a carefully curated mix of sleek surfaces and grey tones, modern on a budget and doused in a thick layer of furniture polish.
Katsuki spied a woman manning a large reception desk up ahead of him but he averted his gaze, not wanting to make eye contact and draw attention to himself as he swung a sharp right and made his way into the restaurant just off the lobby.
He’d been anticipating bright lights and the clatter of cutlery, loud conversations and a crowd of diners, but the room was fairly quiet.
It was dark in there, maybe even darker than it had been outside, only illuminated by a cyclic row of sconces that were straining to be seen amongst the gloomy greys. There were just a handful of people inside, some at tables, some gathered around a narrow bar. It wasn’t busy by any stretch and the vast majority of patrons were hunched over drinks in booths with hardly anybody eating.
Katsuki bit at the inside of his cheek as he glanced around the tables.
There were only three people in the entire restaurant who looked like they were alone; a woman with long hair and bright lipstick sipping at something with an olive in it, a man in a suit who was pouring all of his concentration into a newspaper, and one more.
At the back of the room, facing away from everybody else and tucked inside one of the booths, was another figure.
From where Katsuki was standing it looked like the person was wearing a hood, face angled down as they stared at their drink, or phone, or whatever, Katsuki couldn’t make it out.
Maybe that was him.
There was definite nausea now, crawling around somewhere high up in his oesophagus. It made him want to turn on his heel and leave but…
Katsuki Bakugou was no coward.
He balled his hands into fists and moved forward, weaving through the mostly empty tables.
Katsuki hesitated for only a second before marching directly to the booth, eyeing the stranger who had yet to look up at him.
“Hitoshi?” he demanded, sounding far more aggressive than he’d intended.
Old habits, and all that.
The same nausea coiled in his stomach as the person—guy—glanced up and Katsuki’s ribs seemed to close right around his lungs as he got a look at the person he was there to meet.
‘I’m sort of… unique looking. You’ll know it’s me when you see me.’
Katsuki’s eyes widened as he took in the guy’s appearance.
The message had been an understatement.
Unique was not incorrect but it had hardly prepared him for this. Mutilated would have been a more apt description.
There were dark scars under his eyes, hanging there like somebody had stitched purple drapery to each corner of his waterline. Those same marks stretched across his chin and up his jaw as if the guy had tugged a blotted surgical mask onto his face but it didn’t stop there, the scars crept down his neck too, disappearing somewhere beneath the jacket he was wearing.
His wounds looked close to black in the dim light, uneven and extensively damn mangled but, more shocking than the horrific damage to his skin were the thick silver staples holding it all together, jammed into his flesh where the scar tissue met with unblemished alabaster.
This guy was the definition of terrifying. He looked like the malformed brainchild of Mary Shelley and Edgar Allan Poe.
But…
Katsuki knew he was staring, he knew he looked shocked. He couldn't exactly help it when the guy was ready to leap off the pages of a Lovecraftian horror.
But…
From what he could tell, there was some black hair splayed out across his forehead—either that or it was the shadow of the low hood. And his eyes were blue, a unique shade of turquoise with the pigment clawing its way through the low light.
They seemed like the brightest thing in the place, contrasting so abruptly with the dark scars and gnarly metal.
This person was probably the stuff of nightmares for most.
But…
For some unfathomable reason, Katsuki was sort of into it.
The guy was pulling it off. He looked pretty good.
Katsuki couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was wrong with him. He must’ve had some issues way more serious than the occasional bout of rage if this sort of thing was palatable.
What could’ve happened in his formative years for him to find that strangely attractive?
The worst part was, beneath all the damage, Katsuki could actually pick out the remnants of somebody who would've otherwise been good-looking in a more conventional way but that wasn’t what captured his interest.
It was the defaced skin and the abundance of metal, it was the anomalous horror of the guy that had him struck.
An eyebrow seemed to raise below that ambiguous fringe.
The man looked deeply indifferent which was odd considering he had every right to cuss Katsuki out for just gawping at him like he was a freak show attraction. He probably qualified as such but that didn’t make it any less rude.
Whatever, Katsuki was no stranger to rude.
“Hitoshi?”
His voice was low and gravelly.
Katsuki frowned at himself.
Since when did he get hot for guys that looked like they were working as an extra on a low budget horror movie? Freddy Krueger never had that impact on him… but he refused to pull at that thread, hurriedly assuring himself that this was far less cliché than swooning over gym rats or the ultra groomed boyband type.
“Yeah, Hitoshi,” he barked, thrusting one finger out to point at the weirdly hot creature. He may have been attractive in the most bizarre way possible but that didn’t mean Katsuki had time for pointless questions. “That’s your name, right?”
The man stared at him, bright eyes half-lidded. It made him look bored.
“Sorry, wrong guy.”
Katsuki faltered.
Well, shit.
Was this really not the guy? Had he marched up to the wrong person?
'Unique' had been applicable but it certainly didn't do this person any justice, maybe he wasn't Hitoshi after all. Then again, perhaps he was and just didn't like the look of Katsuki in the flesh, why else would he be sat alone in a hotel restaurant if not to meet somebody?
Unless, of course, he was just staying up in one of the rooms and had decided to come down for a drink…
“Seriously?” Katsuki demanded, the aggression had withered away considerably. This was so damn embarrassing.
Those staples glinted in the scarce light.
“'Fraid so,” Patchwork said, and he started drumming his fingers on the table top.
Katsuki glanced down, belatedly realising that there were more staples lined up on his wrist like a loose bracelet. The guy spoke again.
“You here for a blind date?”
Shit.
He was such a moron. He’d gone up to the wrong damn person and outed himself to a stranger.
It wasn't like he was scared—obviously, if this guy turned out to be some kind of knife-wielding maniac then Katsuki would be capable of defending himself, he more than likely had the most powerful quirk in the place but he couldn’t afford to make a scene.
He was fresh into UA and didn’t have a hero licence yet, even if he could argue self-defence it would be a damn sight more difficult to explain why he was in a hotel so late on a Saturday night with his parents out of town.
Honestly though, Katsuki wasn’t all that worried about his safety. It was the sheer embarrassment of it all that had him on the defensive.
“No,” he snorted, doing his best to sound incredulous.
“That so?” the guy queried in his raspy voice.
Beneath all that boredom there actually seemed to be something close to amusement toying at his features, it was lifting the corners of his lips towards a smirk.
Katsuki’s blood boiled.
“Yeah, that's so!” he fired back, and his face twisted into a scowl.
Around them, the conversations were beginning to trail away and Katsuki could feel eyes on him as the other patrons looked over. He was being too loud, which was normally his M.O. but at that moment he wanted to keep a low profile. He cleared his throat, quieting down a little and scrambling for an excuse.
“I’m here on business,” he lied.
Terrible excuse. Not remotely plausible.
In front of him, the blue gaze dipped, swiftly travelling over the entirety of him before snapping back up again.
“…In a hoodie and sneakers?” the man asked, all drawly and slow like it was a real chore to talk.
Katsuki felt his eye twitch.
“It’s informal, you dumb bastard,” he seethed.
A shot of air huffed out of the guy's nostrils as he scoffed and Katsuki would have been oh-so ready to kick his ass were it not for the fact that he became momentarily distracted by the three silver studs adorning his nose.
“If you say so,” the man shrugged, and he settled back into his seat, brushing his thumb over the neck of his beer bottle as he retreated into bored indifference once again.
Katsuki swallowed difficultly.
Good.
Fine.
Whatever.
He was glad this wasn’t the person he’d arranged to meet, the guy was all kinds of gross and that smirk had really pissed him off.
It didn’t matter that he was maybe misguided enough to find him attractive in a very twisted kind of way, Katsuki didn’t like how he seemed to get a kick out of him between stints of severe boredom.
He unclenched his jaw and shot the idiot a glare.
“Shut up.”
It wasn't the most eloquent response but it would suffice.
Katsuki didn't offer the chance for a reply, he simply turned and strode up to the bar, disguising the humiliation that was hot on his face as he clambered into one of the high stools and narrowed his eyes at the bar top.
That hadn’t been a good start.
He could feel his pulse in his neck again, he could feel the heat biting at his cheeks.
Crap, this was awkward.
He kind of felt compelled to glance back at the scarred up anomaly and flip him off for good measure but Katsuki had a feeling he’d just be met with another bored stare or, worse yet, an airy smirk. He wasn’t sure if he could resist the urge to send a fistful of nitro glycerine into the already messed up face.
“What can I get you?”
Katsuki bristled, the bartender had made his way over and was watching him expectantly.
He hoped nobody in the restaurant had made any sense of that exchange. Not that he gave a crap what anybody thought of him, least of all the moron in the booth.
Gulping back the embarrassment, Katsuki cast his eyes over the bottles of liquor lined up behind the bar.
He wasn't interested in anything like that, he was already out doing something substantially dumb and he wasn't about to add alcohol to the mix. Plus the last thing he needed was to get carded and thrown out of the place, Stitches would probably find that funny and it would also mean that Katsuki had gone out for nothing. He needed to stick around and wait for the real Hitoshi.
“Just a water,” he muttered.
The barman nodded and turned away, grabbing a tall glass and scooping some ice into it.
Katsuki relinquished a low breath.
He was royally pissed that he’d been thrown off kilter by creepy-hot booth guy when he was already unusually edgy. He had to focus, he needed this to go off without a hitch so he could clear his head and move on—so he could shrug just a tiny portion of that anger away and have a better shot at excelling and becoming a truly great hero. He was going to be at the top some day.
That was all he wanted, it was all he’d ever wanted.
A presence sidled up beside him.
Katsuki looked over instinctively. A combination of surprise and annoyance wrinkled his nose as he was greeted by Booth Guy's scarred profile.
He wasn't wearing his hood anymore, the black hair was mussed up around his horrifying face to reveal a collection of silver rings hooked over the cartilage of his ear. Katsuki fumed, distantly noting that the guy had a good jawline and then quickly deciding that it probably wasn't difficult to achieve when the skin was stapled taut across his bones.
"The hell do you want?" he raged.
Booth Guy didn't turn to face him but his head rose slightly and Katsuki realised he was being stared at via the mirror mounted behind all those bottles of liquor.
The bastard still looked bored.
And tall. He was pretty tall. His posture was appalling though.
"…What?"
Katsuki scowled again.
"Why did you follow me up here!?" he demanded.
If the guy was going to ridicule his allegedly inconceivable business meeting then he'd end up with even more extensive injuries than the ones he already had.
"Follow you?"
There it was again, that hint of amusement. Katsuki was furious.
"I'm getting another drink," Booth Guy said flatly, and he gestured towards the empty bottle in his hand. "…That's sort of how bars work."
Condescending asshole.
As if waiting on standby to help enunciate his point, the barman deposited Katsuki's water in front of him before turning his attention to the walking skin graft. Said skin graft placed his order wordlessly, nodding at the empty beer bottle while Katsuki watched the exchange through the mirror with his teeth grinding together.
He definitely hated him.
Booth Guy caught his eye in the reflection and turned to face him properly, indifferent chunks of turquoise still mostly obscured by what must have been the world's heaviest eyelids. Katsuki was getting incredibly fed up with him.
"What!?" he hissed, also glancing away from the mirror to sling daggers at the marred face.
Booth Guy was silent for a moment, save for his fingertips tapping against the bar. The staples shone as he opened his mouth but then his gaze moved beyond Katsuki and his lips hitched into another light smirk.
"I think your business partner's here," he said.
Katsuki’s brow creased in confusion for a shamefully long second before he caught on. The nerves returned full force and his chest seized once more as he turned in his seat, eyes scrambling to the entrance of the restaurant and…
Ah, crap.
His head swivelled back around and his shoulders hunched as he planted his forearms on the bar top and did his best to appear inconspicuous.
There was no way that was Hitoshi.
There was no way that was a person in their early twenties.
It had to be somebody else.
Perhaps they were just staying in one of the rooms, perhaps they were legitimately here on business… at eleven-thirty on a Saturday night.
Okay, the story definitely sounded improbable but whatever. It wasn’t like Booth Guy could prove it.
“Denki Kirishima?”
Katsuki was genuinely tempted to brain himself against the bar.
That was the name he’d given out. Which meant the decrepit individual who’d been stood squinting into the restaurant was, in fact, Hitoshi.
Katsuki peered to his left.
He was in his late forties—at least. Definitely not twenty-three like he’d claimed on the app. And unique looking? Yeah, accurate. He was wearing a shocking purple suit and his dark hair was slicked back against his skull to reveal the biggest forehead Katsuki had ever laid eyes on.
To make matters worse, there was an abundance of sweat glistening across the expanse of skin, somehow sparkling in the muted light. Beneath his chin, an ascot had been tucked into the collar of his shirt but it did little to cover the jowls sagging at his jawline. A grin stretched his thin lips apart.
Katsuki quite literally groaned.
“No, sorry,” he replied, unwittingly parroting what Booth Guy had said to him earlier, only this time it was spoken in a completely belligerent tone.
He didn’t give a crap if he sounded rude, or if it was obvious that he just didn’t like the look of this geriatric. He wasn’t the type to sugar coat, especially when it came to people who lied about which century they were born in.
The sly grin didn’t falter even as Katsuki turned away and set his gaze on the water in front of him. There was already condensation forming on the outside of the glass and it bore a disturbing resemblance to Hitoshi’s brow.
“Hey, don’t be like that,” the fossil laughed.
There was no way he’d missed the hint, or the very blatant groan. He clearly had no self-respect. Katsuki rolled his eyes when he heard the cretin take a seat on the stool beside him.
“You match the description perfectly,” he persisted. “Let me get you something stronger to drink.”
Katsuki’s top lip lifted in revulsion.
“No. Go jump off something high.”
He heard a quiet scoff on his right.
The bartender placed another bottle in front of Booth Guy but it didn’t sound like he was leaving. Katsuki chanced a glance at the mirror, half expecting to lock eyes with him again but the idiot was more brazen than that, he was leaning against the bar side-on and observing the exchange like it was some kind of hilarious street theatre.
Perspiration Station laughed again and he must've shifted because Katsuki was hit with a wave of very strong, very cheap cologne. He grimaced, practically tasting the stuff as it caught in the back of his throat.
“You’re feisty.”
It was spoken with such a disgustingly creamy inflection, like this old man thought he was smooth, like Katsuki would actually be interested in him. The delusion was palpable.
Katsuki rotated his body in a very exaggerated way, eyes boring into Hitoshi’s.
“Not interested," he said. "Go back to the retirement home and bother somebody your own age.”
Hitoshi laughed. Again, a damn laugh. What was with everybody today? If one more person laughed or smirked at him, Katsuki would legitimately pop a vein.
That smile widened and revealed a set of monstrously white teeth.
“You’re lucky I like bratty,” Hitoshi grinned.
Okay, hero licence be damned. This creep was getting his face blown off.
A spark ignited in Katsuki’s fist, crackling harshly in his palm, but before he could open up his hand and show the persistent bastard who he was dealing with, Katsuki heard Booth Guy take a step closer.
“Is this guy bothering you?”
…Seriously?
Is this guy bothering you?
The cliché was unreal. It was so painfully unoriginal in fact, that Katsuki forgot all about the predator to his left and hurled a glare at the insanely vexing dude behind him.
“Back off,” he ordered. “I don’t need your damn help with this.”
The stapled hands rose in casual surrender.
“Wasn’t talking to you,” he said dryly and then he gestured towards Hitoshi. “That old bastard’s gonna keel over if you keep speaking to him like that. Should be careful.”
Katsuki stared at him.
Somewhere in his peripheral vision, he could see Hitoshi reel back in confusion but his attention was focused solely on Booth Guy because nobody spoke like that except for him.
He was so accustomed to dealing with people on the hero course who were opposed to snap judgements and rude words. At UA, he was surrounded by the unwaveringly moral, packed into a classroom with wannabe heroes who never stooped to disparaging remarks or disrespectful behaviour. They were all tenaciously courteous, except for him.
And now Booth Guy, apparently.
Hitoshi’s thin smile faltered and traces of a frown appeared amongst the sheen of sweat as Katsuki pinned him with a scowl so vicious it left no room for interpretation.
"You heard him," he said. "So leave before your feelings get hurt."
The man dithered for a long moment, probably realising that his attention was truly unwanted. He shook his head and those gaunt lips warped in displeasure.
“What a waste of time,” he simmered, as if the feeling wasn’t mutual.
He plucked at one of the purple sleeves to inspect his watch and huffed, glancing back at Katsuki with a sour expression on his drooping face.
It looked like he wanted to say something else, maybe insult or berate him because those blinding teeth crept out once more as he opened his mouth to continue but Hitoshi seemed to think better of it when his beady eyes swept behind Katsuki.
He shrunk back a bit, any further comments fading away in his throat as his teeth retreated behind the barely-there-lips. With one last timid glimpse over Katsuki’s shoulder, he slipped off the stool and made his exit without another word.
Katsuki closed his eyes and took a second to lament his failures.
This had been a damn catastrophe.
“So…”
And he still had another pest to get rid of.
“Business partner seemed nice.”
Katsuki’s pupils almost rolled into the back of his skull, sparks crackling at the tips of his fingers while he seethed as dramatically as possible.
“Like I said, I didn’t need your stupid help with that!” he snapped. “You’re so damn annoying, leave me alone!”
Booth Guy didn’t look remotely intimidated, which only infuriated him further.
With an indignant sigh, Katsuki stared down at his water.
This must have been why people always droned on about stranger danger, it wasn’t a case of getting lured into vans under the pretence of free candy, it was avoiding sweaty old men and trauma patients.
He was going to drain his glass as quickly as possible and get the hell out of there, maybe if he downed it fast enough the ice would induce bad enough brain freeze to trigger amnesia and he could forget this whole thing ever happened. Unlikely but whatever.
His fingers curled around the glass and he watched as the condensation caused tiny hisses of steam to waft up from his hands.
“Shouldn’t meet people online,” Booth Guy said, returning to his beer and looking into the mirror. “Gives them the opportunity to lie about who they really are.”
Katsuki had to hand it to him, the guy wasn’t a complete moron. He’d pieced everything together quite well.
It was irritating but he only had himself to blame, Katsuki had really screwed up by mistakenly approaching him.
That didn’t mean he'd take kindly to unsolicited advice though.
“Go choke on something,” he mumbled.
The pierced nostrils relinquished another huff of air and those blue eyes slid in his direction.
“Sorry your night didn’t go to plan.”
The muscles in Katsuki’s jaw flexed.
Booth Guy sounded sincere under all that rasp, far less amused and bland than before but that just made it worse. He wasn’t in the market for anybody’s pity.
“And how would you know what I had planned?” he stewed, finally taking a sip of water.
Screw drinking the whole thing, he’d choke down a couple of gulps and leave. Hydro-amnesia be damned.
“Well for starters, doubt you wanted to meet some pushy old guy.”
No shit. His powers of deduction were truly something to behold. Moron. But at least they’d both formed a similar opinion of Hitoshi in addition to their allied vocabulary.
Katsuki wanted to deny that he’d been there to meet anyone but Booth Guy knew damn well what was going on, he’d look foolish if he tried to reject the speculation. Still, it was embarrassing and Katsuki would have much preferred this whole ordeal be kept private.
Unfortunately, he’d blown that when he marched up to the booth and asked if the chronically bored jerk was Hitoshi.
The aforementioned jerk took a sip of his beer and Katsuki made a point of glancing away from the mirror when those bright eyes found his in the reflection.
“And given that you were here to meet somebody you’d spoken to online, I’m guessing your plan was to have drinks with someone more your type—at least. At most, you were looking to get laid but I won’t make the distinction.”
Katsuki felt his cheeks flare up with heat again.
Despite his reasons for being in the hotel and Booth Guy being, well, right on the money with his assumption, Katsuki had never really been spoken to like that.
He was still in school, guys in bars didn’t comprise any aspect of his social circle and this was the first time he’d heard sex discussed so casually. Or at all, really.
At Aldera, it had been talk of studies and maybe a guy in class would comment that they thought some girl was cute. At UA, it was all hero training and quirks. Sex wasn’t talked about and it was beyond weird being privy to a conversation where it was referenced like it was nothing.
His knee-jerk reaction was to deny the accusation, to insist that he wasn’t there to get drinks with anyone and he wasn’t there to get laid either but Booth Guy wouldn’t buy the former and denying the latter so vigorously would make Katsuki look like a child.
He snapped his teeth together, trapping any ill-prepared rebuffs. He didn’t need to deny anything even if it had felt reflexive to do so, why should he care what this person thought?
After a pause, Katsuki managed a bland 'whatever' and another gulp of his drink. He pushed the glass away, ready to leave and maybe break into a run the second he got outside, hoping that if he ran fast enough he could leave all these horrendously awkward memories behind; locked up beyond the hotel doors and left to die amongst the bad lighting and smell of furniture polish.
But Booth Guy was already speaking before he could hop off the stool.
“Night’s still young,” he shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be a total waste.”
Katsuki rooted around in his pocket and tugged out a few notes of cash, he tossed them down next to his glass.
“Oh yeah, how’s that?” he asked distractedly.
Something sulky pushed at this lips as he pulled his hood up and began clambering off the stool.
“Have a drink with me. I’m your type.”
One sneaker had been planted on the ground as Katsuki started sliding off the seat, the other still balanced on the metal footrest beneath him.
However, as he realised what Booth Guy had said, he lost his footing completely.
It felt like all his muscles just tensed up all of a sudden and his foot slipped off the metal bar very abruptly. He jolted, almost smacking his face on the wooden surface in front of him, cheeks scorching as pretty much every patron stopped what they were doing and looked over at him.
Booth Guy looked bored. Because of course he did.
…Had he heard right?
Captive audience be damned, Katsuki was busy questioning whether on not he’d got the implication correctly deciphered. Was Booth Guy into men?
Not that it mattered.
He was annoying as hell and there was no way Katsuki could tolerate him. The guy acted like the mere concept of being alive was too much hassle, constantly bored except for the times when he was gleaning amusement from Katsuki’s misfortunes. His personality was kind of atrocious.
Then again, personality didn’t necessarily factor into things. Tonight was supposed to be a one-off which didn’t really require a charismatic individual. But regardless, Katsuki wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
It didn’t matter why he’d come into the hotel, it didn’t matter why he’d been on the hook-up app, and it certainly didn’t matter that entertaining this freak could possibly help to avoid a wasted trip. No, it wasn’t going to happen, not after the weirdo had witnessed the disastrous Hitoshi incident and definitely not after Katsuki had almost knocked himself out on the bar.
The most egregious part though, was the assumption.
‘I’m your type’
Just who the hell did this guy think he was?
Katsuki had to admit, the confidence was admirable but it was also outrageous. Did the asshole think he was slick or something? A dumb line like that wasn’t going to work on him and sure, maybe some particularly screwed up part of his brain had decided that Booth Guy was okay to look at, but the expectation of that was so arrogant that it genuinely made Katsuki’s blood simmer.
“You think you’re my type?” he bit back, an incredulous sneer spread right up his cheeks. “Hate to break it to you, loser, but with a face like that I don’t think you’re anybody’s type.”
Katsuki knew he had a reputation of being a little blunt. Not the most tactful, not the most civil. He could be a total asshole, to be frank, but there was a very small chance he would’ve felt bad about that comment had the guy not been such an insufferable pain in the ass.
Sure, Katsuki made fun of people and went for the jugular on occasion but when it came to something as sensitive as horrific facial scars, he probably would’ve held his tongue. Not this time though, screw this idiot.
But there it was again.
That smirk. A flash of teeth this time.
Booth Guy wasn’t offended. Not even a little.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not everybody's cup of tea,” he admitted smoothly, no hint of dejection in that raspy voice. “But a surprising amount of people are pretty into the scars. You’re one of them.”
Katsuki blinked, fairly sure that his mouth had fallen open in shock.
Where the hell did this walking corpse get the audacity!?
“Let me guess,” Patchwork continued, too fast for Katsuki to argue. “Over-achiever, always did well in school, always surpassing expectations. You’re pretty, no piercings or tattoos that I can see. I’m like a magnet for that sort of person.”
A magnet would be Booth Guy's worst enemy.
Katsuki planted his ass back onto the stool and something very malicious gripped at his features as he began compounding the most horrendous rebuttal in his arsenal; something about this guy being way off the mark with his pathetic psycho analysis, something about those staples in his face making him want to vomit, something so personal and harsh that even this smug moron would cry himself to sleep but…
Wait, had he called him pretty?
It shouldn’t have felt complimentary. Pretty was not the look Katsuki was going for. Pretty had never been something he wanted to hear. Hot? Fine, whatever. Handsome? Yeah, okay. But pretty? He shouldn’t have liked that, it felt oddly derogatory but then why had it thrown him off?
Irrelevant. Katsuki shook his head to banish the thought but Booth Guy was talking before he could get his words out.
“Woulda guessed all that even before you started ogling me at the table.”
Oh hell no.
Katsuki set his jaw and quickly found his bearings.
“I was not ogling you, you freak! I was gawking at you because your face looks like a melted waxwork!”
The melted waxwork took another swig of beer.
“No,” he responded flatly. “I get that too and I know the difference.”
Katsuki's eyebrows sloped down in the centre and he opened his mouth, then he snapped it closed when it became apparent he had nothing to say.
How did he reply to that? How could he deal with somebody more arrogant than he was? It was unprecedented.
Booth Guy leant back and rested his forearm on the bar top as he picked at his beer label.
He was way too casual.
“You came here to get a drink with somebody so get a drink with me.”
There was a pause. An insistence to be brutally rude. Another hesitation.
“…I don’t wanna get a drink with you,” Katsuki muttered, that ferocity just a whisper now, voice quieter like he couldn’t quite convince himself let alone the man he was speaking to.
He really didn’t want to prove him right, he didn’t want to spend the evening with somebody so ruthlessly egotistical but he’d come here with a purpose and Booth Guy didn’t have a sweaty forehead or a funeral plan picked out and paid for…
Patches shrugged and pushed away from the bar.
“Okay,” he said, taking his beer and heading back to the booth.
Katsuki stared after him, moderately surprised for a handful of seconds.
That was it?
The guy hadn’t even tried to convince him.
That thing in his chest that felt sort of like disappointment was promptly ignored.
Because Katsuki wasn’t interested anyway.
His gaze fell to the floor and he planted his foot once again, sliding off the bar stool for a second time.
He’d go home and erase tonight from his memory, it had been such a stupid idea in the first place. Hormones had got the better of him, his anger was totally under control, he didn’t need to calm down, he could be a great hero in spite of his prickly demeanour. Couldn't he?
He’d tried to find another outlet for it, he’d tried to stifle it. Wasn’t his fault things hadn’t worked out.
Although.
There was still a chance. And that chance was right there in the restaurant, sequestered in his booth and presenting the opportunity he’d been looking for.
Katsuki stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared at the door to the lobby.
Booth Guy was certified insufferable but he was bizarrely hot and Katsuki was at the hotel for a reason. He could overlook insufferable for hot if he really tried, if it meant getting what he came for…
He made his way across the restaurant with his water in hand, already annoyed at himself for giving this dumbass the satisfaction as he threw himself down into the seat opposite him with a dramatic huff, making no attempts to wipe the scowl off his face.
“One drink,” he gritted out, like it was a whole lot of effort.
Patches looked over at him, already relaxed in his seat and appearing totally disinterested. Katsuki was a little insulted, he'd been expecting some gratitude.
“Sure,” the throaty voice said, but then there was a pause, an indecision.
Katsuki’s pulse picked up again. Had this been a joke? Was he about to be told to get lost? He would blast what was left of the guy away if that was the case. He sat still, trying not to seem edgy.
“…How old are you?”
Katsuki’s mouth went dry but it was fine, he was never going to see this person again.
“Nineteen,” he lied.
The blue irises shrank away as Booth Guy’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny, as if trying to confirm it. Katsuki remained still, patiently awaiting the conclusion.
If his lie was uncovered then he’d take it as a sign and storm straight out of there. He’d go home and delete his profile on that stupid app and he wouldn’t even look at another guy until he was at least fifty.
After what felt like quite a while, that hint of a smirk came crawling back and, for the first time, Katsuki wasn’t annoyed to see it.
“I'm Dabi.”
“That’s a stupid name, by the way.”
Dabi did what had become incredibly typical and tossed him a bored expression. Katsuki returned the favour with his own well-worn routine and glared.
They’d been sat there for a while now, tucked away in the corner of the restaurant, and Dabi had proved to be just as insufferable as expected.
“Sorry 'bout that,” came the drawly reply, and one eyebrow lifted. He looked so cocky like that, it was infuriating. “Call me something else if you want. You’ve clearly got a long list of insults lined up.”
He was so damn smug. Katsuki definitely hated it, he was only letting it slide because these were unusual circumstances, he’d come here with a purpose.
Nevertheless, it pissed him off that he couldn’t rattle this guy.
Back in Aldera everybody was scared of him, he’d felt so powerful back then, he could make any of the other kids tense up in fear whenever he opened his mouth, he’d been a big fish in a small pond right up until he got into UA. Nobody there was scared of him, nobody scurried away when he marched through the hallways, they’d just laugh or roll their eyes when he said something vicious. It made him feel like an idiot even if they were all extras.
“Shut up,” he groaned.
Dabi's started tapping out another irritating little rhythm against his beer bottle.
He had nice hands, Katsuki noticed, briefly transfixed by the tendons rolling around beneath his skin until he caught himself and refocused his gaze on the untouched water in front of him. The ice had long since melted.
“Stop avoiding my question,” Dabi said.
Katsuki played dumb.
“What question?”
“Why try and meet somebody you’d talked to online, why not just go to a bar?”
Katsuki huffed.
“It’s easier,” he shrugged, because that wasn’t totally untrue.
It was easier in the sense that this was meant to be a sure thing, easier because he wouldn’t get carded for ordering a glass of water in a hotel restaurant but probably wouldn’t make it through the doors of a regular bar without having to show ID.
Also easier because whoever he was meeting here would already have a room booked to keep things less personal but Dabi didn’t know that. He hoped Hitoshi couldn't get a refund on the suite, the creep.
“Maybe for pushy old guys who wanna lie about their age,” Dabi accepted blandly. “Not for you, you’d get attention.”
Katsuki didn’t like his logic, didn’t appreciate that he'd called bullshit but it sounded like there’d been a vague compliment buried in the dialogue. He wouldn’t admit it but that might have buttered him up slightly and made him more willing to converse.
“…I don’t like bars,” he said.
Katsuki had never been in one, obviously, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t his thing. They were too loud, too many people, communal peanut bowls that were more urine than nut.
He needed somewhere quieter where he could be inconspicuous and seen by fewer people. He wasn’t ready for anybody to catch wind of what he was doing, he didn’t want anyone to know he was trying to get laid. That was private. It was his business and nobody else’s.
“Fair enough," Dabi rasped.
Katsuki plucked at his bottom lip. He wasn’t the type for chitchat, he wasn’t practised in civilised conversation but that was the done thing in these situations, wasn’t it? He didn’t know, he felt thoroughly unprepared for this and he probably looked very unprepared too—sat there with his arms folded and a frown burrowing under his fringe, slumped so far back in his seat that half of his spine was on the padded cushion, chin on his chest as he stared Dabi down.
A part of him just wanted to lay his cards on the table, to request that they go up to Dabi’s room and just do what he’d come here for but the idea of saying it out loud made him feel kind of sick. He wanted to but, crap, he didn't know where to start.
“…So,” he began, floundering for a long moment. Screw it. No, don’t screw it. Abort. “Why are you here?”
Dabi blinked at him.
“I’m having a drink.”
Idiot.
“Yeah, no shit,” Katsuki fumed. “But why are you in this city, you don’t exactly strike me as the corporate type so what is it, visiting family or something?”
“I live here,” Dabi replied, as if it was obvious.
Katsuki's frown deepened.
“Then why are you drinking in a hotel?" he asked. "There’s loads of bars 'round here.”
Dabi continued to look unshakably blasé.
“Closer,” he said. “I live five minutes away. Besides, was at a bar recently and didn’t exactly have a fun time. People are weird.”
Katsuki snorted.
“Weirder than you?”
“This guy was,” Dabi assured. “The girl too, she was psychotic.”
Katsuki shifted in his seat, if Dabi was baiting him with ambiguous details to get him interested in whatever the hell he was talking about then the guy would be disappointed. Katsuki didn’t give a crap about his exploits. He did, however, give a crap about his living situation.
Earlier in the evening, he’d assumed that Dabi was staying in the hotel. He’d figured he wasn’t from Musutafu, in town for a fleeting visit with a room booked upstairs but this changed the dynamic quite drastically.
Katsuki fidgeted, he knew most people in his situation would be fretting over certain logistics. If anything happened between them then it wouldn’t be occurring in the hotel, they’d more than likely go back to Dabi’s place and that would be risky for some.
Not for him though, he didn’t know what Dabi’s quirk was, or if he had one at all, but the likelihood of it being more powerful than his was slim to none.
No, Katsuki wasn’t concerned about that side of things, he was more worried about somebody in his home town knowing why he’d ventured out that night. He hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass.
But Musutafu was a big city, it’s not like they’d run into each other again. Clearly Dabi didn’t watch the sports festival either because there’d been no recognition when they met, this guy obviously liked to fly under the radar and that suited Katsuki just fine.
“You still haven’t told me your name, Denki Kirishima,” Dabi reminded.
“You don’t need to know it,” Katsuki said, regurgitating the response he’d given when they’d first set up camp in the booth together.
He needed to be as discreet as possible, needed to protect his image and make sure no scarred up skeletons came leaping out of his closet when he went pro.
Then again, all they’d done was talk so far, Dabi had offered to have a drink with him and Katsuki thought he understood the implication of that but no moves had been made. It was getting late too, barely anybody left in the restaurant as the barman began wiping down tables.
So it had been a total waste of time after all. Probably for the best if common sense got to have a say in the matter.
Dabi set his bottle down.
“Okay then, angry nameless stranger, my place?”