Chapter Text
Morning light filters through the bedroom blinds. A black sheet hangs crooked over one corner, casting the room in darkness. The floor is littered with crumpled soda cans and the molding remains of late-night binges. The air is heavy with stale snacks and body odor. A groan, muffled by blankets, comes from the confines of the crumb-laden bed.
This is Katsuki Bakugou’s life.
It wasn’t always. There was a time when the future had looked simple. Bright, even. Katsuki had grown up confident, tipping into arrogance once his quirk manifested and the praise started rolling in. He had assumed that was how the world worked: talent noticed, rewarded, and elevated. That was, until middle school.
Aldera Junior High was a threshing floor. The strong rose, the weak were discarded. Katsuki had never doubted which side he’d land on. He’d expected to come out gleaming, inevitable, with all the irrelevant extras looking on as witnesses to his greatness.
Then his classmates began to present.
Secondary genders had always been background noise to him. Alphas, betas, omegas. Yet another social hierarchy separating the wheat from the chaff. With his temper and his drive, Katsuki had never questioned where he’d fall. Alpha. Obviously. It was just another distinction. Another point in his favor.
The first student to present was a quiet girl who sat by the window in second period. Halfway through the lecture, she let out a small, distressed whine and doubled over, clutching her stomach. A cloyingly sweet aroma flooded the classroom. Sharp, mocking titters rippled through the room as the teacher ushered her to the nurse’s office.
That was the day Katsuki first noticed the lines being drawn.
After that, it spread. One by one, his classmates began to fall into their designations. Alphas were met with praise and respect, sometimes begrudging and always with an undercurrent of envy. Betas barely registered, their presentations as mild as their scents. Omegas drew attention whether they wanted it or not, alternatively teased or coddled depending on their rung on the social ladder.
Soon class became unbearable. Honey and magnolia, tobacco and bergamot, musky patchouli and sharp ginger, all bleeding together until the school mandated scent patches for presented and unpresented alike. Katsuki could recall one instance — a memory he’d sooner forget — upending a trash can onto Deku’s desk, laughing as garbage spilled everywhere. Joking that it’d match the garbage stench Deku was bound to end up with.
Karma has a fucked up sense of humor.
The day Katsuki presented was the worst of his life. It had started off normal. Easy laughter, his feet kicked up on the desk in front of him as he relaxed before class. One of his lackeys was mid-snicker when they suddenly choked, hands flying up to clutch at their nose.
“Eurgh!” They’d gagged. “What is that smell?” The room went quiet. Someone laughed, sharp and disbelieving.
“It smells like Doritos.”
It couldn’t be him.
The class began to seek out the source of the offensive odor. Another voice jeered, louder. “Stale Doritos!” The scent patches on Katsuki’s skin burned uselessly. Eyes turned to land on him as the smell seeped out, thick and unmistakable.
Cutting laughter swelled. Students were pinching their nostrils shut. Someone retched.
Katsuki scrambled from his desk and bolted for the door, vision tunneling. This couldn’t be happening.
“Kacchan-“ A single glimpse of wide-eyed Deku — fucking Deku — was the last thing Katsuki saw before he fled.
He never went back.
The doctors had a clinical term for it: Malodorous Scent Presentation. Katsuki was an alpha. One with a strong, obtrusive scent. Everyone avoided the word unfortunate, but it hung in the air like wafting Doritos.
His parents tried everything. Mitsuki demanded answers, constantly harassing the staff for alternative treatment plans. Masaru came home with handfuls of humiliating medical pamphlets titled things like “Your Scent And You: Coping With M.S.P.” and “Alphan Hyperhidrosis: When Your Scent Glands Won’t Quit”.
Nothing worked. Medical grade patches, deodorizing sprays, and scent neutralizers would break down in hours. His nitroglycerin-infused sweat counteracted the nullifying agents, overpowering everything. Dietary plans, anticholinergics, injections straight into his glands, all ended in failure. He couldn’t even get on suppressants, prescription after prescription causing rashes and hives.
Eventually, they stopped trying.
UA, once a foregone conclusion, was now completely out of reach. Katsuki slogged through the rest of his middle school curriculum from home, enrolled in an online high school program, and resigned himself to the life of a NEET. He couldn’t stomach the thought of stepping out in public, of the pitying stares and wrinkled noses. He cut contact with everyone from Aldera, ignored the influx of messages from his former classmates. He buried himself in distractions, gaming late into the nights and sleeping late into the mornings. Life kept going. Just not with him in it.
That brings him to today — the second-worst day of his life.
“KATSUKI! Get your ass out of bed!”
Katsuki groans, yanking the pillow off his face. “WHAT?!”
Mitsuki stands in the doorway, arms crossed. “It’s nearly noon. I have had it up to here with this shit!”
Her upper lip curls as she takes in the room. Discarded bags of chips, old containers of leftover takeout, piles of unwashed laundry. The aftermath of the previous night’s gaming marathon are strewn across his desk, next to a nearly empty lotion bottle and an absolutely harrowing pile of tissues. “You live like a raccoon,” she says flatly.
Katsuki stifles a yawn, scratching at an errant itch. “S’not that bad.”
“Tell that to the rock-hard socks I pulled out from under your bed after your last rut.” She turns. “Your father’s waiting downstairs. We’re going sit down and have a chat as a family.”
Nothing good ever follows a family chat.
Masaru’s already on the couch when Katsuki stomps downstairs, hands shoved in his pockets. He’s smiling too hard. “Hey, bud!” He starts. Katsuki is starting to get a really bad feeling about this morning. “Your mom and I just wanted to have a talk with you.”
Katsuki slouches onto the opposite sofa. “What.”
Mitsuki doesn’t bother easing in. “We have been patient, brat. You’ve been out of high school for over a year. You don’t leave the house. You have no friends. And you’ve just been-“
“Stagnating.” Masaru offers.
“Jerking off and playing video games.” Mitsuki corrects.
Katsuki chokes. “ExCUSE me?!”
“What your mother means,” Masaru rushes to soothe, “Is that you’re isolated, son.“
“Wonder why.” Katsuki mutters under his breath.
His parents exchange a silent glance. “You need to get out, Katsuki. Be around people your own age.” Mitsuki interjects firmly. “Either that, or you need to get a job.”
“A JOB?” This conversation is getting more dire by the minute. A job would cut into his raid time. A job would entail drowning himself in scent neutralizers and choking on a tie. A job would risk people smelling him. “I don’t have time for that shit! I’m BUSY.”
“You’ve been ‘busy’ for four years. So now you make a choice. You either start acting like a functioning member of society, or you get a job.” Mitsuki’s tone was final. “I’ve already made arrangements.”
“The hell did you do,” Katsuki snaps. “Marry me off?”
“Don’t be dramatic.” Mitsuki rolls her eyes. “I ran into Inko Midoriya the other day, and she mentioned her son Izuku has been struggling, too. The poor dear has terrible social anxiety. So we thought the two of you could meet up, catch up, and get out of our hair for a couple of hours.”
“Deku? You scheduled me a playdate with fucking Deku? Like I’m FIVE?”
Memories surface uninvited of a snot-nosed child tagging along behind him on the playground, crying over skinned knees. Deku was someone he’d always believed he’d outgrow.
He hadn’t planned on shrinking.
“I’m not going.” Katsuki snarls.
“You are. Or you’re going to take these applications-“ Mitsuki slides a stack of papers across the coffee table, “-and start filling them out. One way or another, you’re getting out of the house.”
Masaru keeps his eyes firmly on the carpet. Coward.
“Fucking FINE.” Crumpling the papers in his sweaty fist, Katsuki stands. “I’ll meet the nerd. ONCE. Then you’ll get off my fuckin’ ass?”
“It’s a start.” Mitsuki replies dryly. Katsuki storms out of the living room and back up the stairs. Mitsuki’s voice follows him. “Thursday! The coffee shop on Coruscant!”
Katsuki slams his door.
Definitely the second-worst day of his life.