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Ma had a type.
“I thought my eardrums were going to explode—not that Pandora’s Box is bad, Dad signed them for a reason, and are you really at a metal concert if you don’t think your head’s going to explode? You know who I’m really keeping my eye on, though? Chargebolt.”
The woman sitting across from him waited for Katsuki to answer. To give her something, anything, to latch onto, but that would have made this date too easy, and Katsuki didn’t do easy.
“Chargebolt, huh?”
She sat a little straighter. “Know him?”
Katsuki huffed a laugh, reaching for his wine glass. It was almost a shame. Jirou Kyouka had shown up to a Michelin-starred restaurant in leather, tattoos, and steel-toe boots, painting a startling figure in a sea of Louis Vuitton, Armani, and Dolce and Gabbana.
That made her interesting. Katsuki liked interesting.
Unfortunately for Jirou Kyouka, Katsuki’s foray into the opposite sex had been very, very brief.
Katsuki swirled his wine. Kyouka’s father owned one of the largest record labels in Japan. The idea that a studio princess like her hadn’t yet crossed paths with an up-and-coming heartthrob like CHARGEBOLT was almost laughable.
He could feel her watching him, waiting. Maybe even wondering if tonight had been a bad idea. He weighed the pros and cons of leaving her in suspense.
“Went to high school with him,” he said finally. Kyouka’s mouth parted in surprise, but Katsuki beat her to the punch before she could do more than draw a breath.
“Total dunce.”
She snapped her mouth shut.
A waiter hovered by the table, offering more wine. Kyouka silently held up her glass.
Also unfortunately for Jirou Kyouka, Ma’s blind dates had a pattern to them, like a pathogenic virus.
Stage one: awkward silence.
Kyouka swallowed a too-large gulp of wine, her eyes watering. She opened her mouth, closed it again, angling herself toward the stage, where a lone violinist had begun a lilting, dreamy song Katsuki didn’t know the name of. Something Christmas-y. Romantic. Kyouka crossed her arms over her chest like a shield, glancing at him once, twice, before biting her lip, giving up on whatever slim chance they had of rekindling conversation. Katsuki gritted his teeth.
Stage two: accepting the inevitable, painful reality that this date was going to feel a lot longer than it lasted. Katsuki checked his smart watch.
Ten minutes in. Fifty to go before he not-so-politely excused himself.
He rubbed his temples; he was going to need something stronger than wine. He raised a hand to signal the waiter when he caught movement in the corner of his eye. Not one of the honeybee waiters hovering from table to table. Katsuki stiffened, but Kyouka hadn’t noticed, her attention fixed on the stage, eager for a chance to look anywhere else. For that, Katsuki was thankful, because Ma stuck out like a splash of lavender paint in a shoulder-pad studded blazer, a wide-brimmed hat, and white, Gucci sunglasses that swallowed half of her face, like the probing, all-seeing eyes of a praying mantis.
Not one of her better disguises.
He not-so-discreetly flapped his hand in a shooing motion. Ma’s mouth curled into a perfect, red-lipped frown, her hand fluttering to the pearls at her throat before jabbing her fork in Kyouka’s direction. It was a gesture that said, I didn’t dress up like your great-grandmother tonight just to watch you do this to me. Again.
She smiled disarmingly when the couple across from her stared, spearing her filet mignon with enough force to make them wince.
Katsuki hunched in his seat, scrubbing a hand over his face. Wonderful. He could see the headlines now: Twenty-eight-year-old heir to Bakugou Designs accompanies date with special guest: his mother.
Fucking hell.
He was making a face. He could feel himself making a face. The kind Ma wouldn’t take too lightly to and the tabloids would love. The perks of having both your parents design not only for the high fashion world, but for the biggest department stores in Japan. Everyone knew Katsuki’s face, or at least had seen it in passing. The modelling world’s little golden child who photographed exclusively for his parents’ lines, becoming an unfortunately popular face the older he got, graduating from department store ads to larger retail campaigns and TV appearances, earning him Teen Style’s Heartthrob title four years in a row.
If he didn’t feel like ending up on the cover of a gossip mag, Ma had to cool it.
He repeated the shooing motion, a little too viciously. The senior couple to his right stopped eating to gawk. Katsuki shot them a toothy grin and a wave. They lifted their chins to watch the violinist, whispering to each other and pretending not to have noticed.
Ma was waving now, her white gloves flashing in Katsuki's periphery until he finally glanced over. What? he mouthed. Ma jerked her chin toward Kyouka, clapping her gloved hands together in a silent clapping motion. Chop, chop.
Katsuki rolled his eyes. What number was Kyouka again? Seventeen? Sixteen other what do you do for fun’s and do you believe in prenups?
Once Ma sank her teeth into an idea, there was no shaking her free.
He could only imagine the chaos that would ensue if she ever figured out he was gay. A constant barrage of have you met so-and-so’s son and do you have plans tonight? Now you do, with a very handsome man.
Katsuki silently thanked his high school girlfriend for the camouflage. If only Camie could see him now.
The violinist ended their solo to a spatter of polite applause, drifting immediately into a dreamy rendition of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. On any other day it might’ve been romantic: the low-light. The candlelight gleaming off the champagne flutes. The real evergreen wreaths and velvet bows. The stupid ten course meal. Kyouka, leaning against the back of her chair, resting her chin in her palm, a small smile on her mouth as she whispered the lyrics under her breath. A soft side of her someone else should be appreciating. An uncomfortable feeling squirmed in Katsuki’s chest.
How much longer was he going to do this?
How much longer did he want to?
Their waiter materialized out of the candlelit gloom to serve another course. Katsuki covered the top of his glass when more wine was offered, his throat dry. He cleared it with a cough.
“He’s a good guy,” he blurted. Kyouka tilted her head.
“What?”
Katsuki gritted his teeth. “Chargebolt,” he amended. “He’s a fuckin’ goof, but loveable.” He grinned. “Still a dunce though.”
Kyouka turned in her seat, crossing her legs at the knee. She popped her chin in her hand, squinting at him. “I don’t know if I believe you.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Went to high school with the guy.”
“Yeah? Have other famous classmates I should know about?”
A thought pricked at him. High school. All its mess and emotional drainage. Shit he’d excised like a cyst after graduation. Faces he hadn’t thought about in years. Assholes. All of them.
Except.
Katsuki sipped his wine.
Except that wasn’t true, was it? There was Izuku, the one constant in his life since diapers. Eijirou and Mina, two of his best friends since college, and—
The uncomfortable feeling in his chest squirmed back to life.
Katsuki brushed the thought away. How was it that ten years later, there was one person he thought about? One person he wondered about when the nights stretched a little too long, or he found himself a little too drunk. A little too lost.
The feeling in his chest reached into the pit of his stomach. Katsuki rolled his shoulders. Shook it off.
“Do you?” he countered. “Have famous classmates? C’mon, name like yours, I’d find it hard to believe if you didn’t.”
Kyouka smiled, tracing the rim of her glass. “Well, now that you mention it—”
“Wait!” The silhouettes of a couple from one of the tables in front of them suddenly stood, their voices rising over the music, attracting more than a few curious glances.
“Talk to me first.”
“No, I—I really can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”
The woman turned on her heel, tripping over the leg of Kyouka’s chair before she could weave between their tables. She lurched. Katsuki shot up from his seat, but Kyouka had already caught her, a hand bracing her elbow. Their eyes met, Kyouka helping her to her feet, and for a moment, Katsuki swore the restaurant ground to a halt.
Ahead of them, Ma lowered her sunglasses.
Holy shit, Katsuki thought. I’m an extra on my own goddamn date.
Kyouka hadn’t released the woman’s arm, her pale face pink. They were still watching each other, the stranger's mouth slightly parted in surprise. Katsuki narrowed his eyes. There was something familiar about her; he'd seen her before. An actress? Influencer?
“Are you—?” Kyouka began, but another voice, deeper and edged like steel, cut her off.
“Momo!”
Katsuki stiffened.
He knew now where he’d seen that model-perfect face. The cover of Teen Style. Seventeen. Retail ads. A movie or two. Once, right next to him in a mall display. Yaoyorozu Momo, teenage modeling sensation once-upon-a-time, only child of a tech millionaire well on his way to billions, and—
“Are you alright?”
Not alone.
A man shouldered his way past Katsuki, the sharp bite of his cologne hitting Katsuki like a blunt force, or worse. A memory.
The feeling in his stomach squeezed like a fist.
He really should have had something stronger to drink, because he would have recognized that head of stupid red-and-white hair anywhere.
What was that he’d told himself about high school and emotional drainage? That he’d excised it like a cyst and never looked back?
Katsuki scoffed.
“Todoroki fucking Shouto.” Katsuki leaned against the table with a smile he knew was too sharp for playing nice. “Whaddaya know.”
There was a word for the people that burned through your life like a Roman candle. Hot, bright, leaving you awestruck from the sparks before it all faded and you realized you were alone in the dark with nothing but a charred, empty shell to show for it.
For Katsuki, that word not only had a name, it was dressed in a button-down and smelling exactly like the type of man Katsuki would let throw him around a room.
He sucked on his teeth. Shook his head.
“Fuck me.”
Roman candle guy’s head turned, revealing a face Katsuki hadn’t seen outside of gossip mags since graduation. “Excuse me?”
A burst of adrenaline shot through Katsuki’s chest.
Todoroki Shouto. Heir to Todoroki Corp, a textile company Ma liked to pretend wasn’t her rival in business, Katsuki’s annoying high school nemesis, and—
He let the thought fizzle out before it could form, his heart kicking up another notch. Or maybe he was getting sick. It was hard to tell.
He saw the moment Shouto recognized him; the small, almost imperceptible way his eyes widened before shuttering into the signature icy glare Katsuki remembered, his face settling into that perfect marble mask the media went nuts for. The burn scar mottling the left side of his face only added to the appeal, his eyes, one gray, one blue, so startling that even years later, Katsuki nearly forgot to breathe.
He looked away.
That fucker.
Momo made a sound, a hitch in her throat, and suddenly those eyes were elsewhere. Katsuki sucked in a breath, the restaurant bursting back into focus.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Momo laughed, cradling a broken stiletto in the crook of her arm. Kyouka bent to reach for the snapped stem.
“Are you sure—?”
“Here, let me—” Shouto reached for her, and Katsuki raised a brow when Momo’s tight smile cracked. She held up her hands.
“I said I’m fine.”
Kyouka dropped Momo’s hand. Shouto stepped back, nodding stiffly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He didn’t look at Katsuki.
It was fucking maddening.
“I’m sorry,” Shouto said, in a voice so low Katsuki strained to hear, “for interrupting your night.” He met Katsuki’s gaze, glanced away, as if he were a stranger on the street. “Excuse me.”
He was gone before Katsuki could think of something witty, or cutting to say, disappearing through the glass doors that promised a frosty, outdoor rock garden.
Katsuki grimaced. What did he care anyway? High school was years ago. Todoroki was a stranger now. A stranger whose flustered girlfriend was still standing in front of him, as if all her fine motor skills had crashed. The twisting, ugly feeling in Katsuki’s gut reared its head again. He bit the inside of his cheek and sighed.
“You alright?” he asked gruffly. Momo didn’t reply, biting her lip in a valiant attempt not to cry. A twinge of remorse curled through Katsuki’s gut. He relaxed his shoulders.
“Look, if you—”
“I’m so sorry,” Momo interrupted, bending to remove her other shoe. She froze when Kyouka held out her stiletto stem.
“You sure you’re alright?” Kyouka asked again. Momo’s expression softened.
“It was nice seeing you again, Kyouka.” She nodded at Katsuki and smiled, her eyes still gleaming with unshed tears, as bright as the chandeliers overhead. He saw then why Shouto—and Kyouka—could only stare. It wasn’t just her face, her height, or the glossy black hair tumbling down her back, or even the way her dress clung to her hourglass figure.
It was the way she smiled, kind and gentle, genuine, even when it was sad.
The anger slowly brimming in Katsuki’s chest retreated, leaving only a headache in its wake. He felt tired. Made of lead. Ready for the night to be over.
It was easier to hate conventionally attractive business princesses when they didn’t cry like Yaoyorozu Momo.
“Good night.” She left quickly, weaving barefoot between the tables to the bar. Kyouka gaped after her, the stiletto stem still in her palm. She opened her palm to stare at it.
Katsuki whistled. “How much longer you think they got?” He sank back down into his seat, throwing an arm over the back of his chair, his heart still racing. “Think they broke up?”
Kyouka didn’t look at him. “She was crying,” she said quietly, as if she hadn’t heard.
Katsuki scoffed. “Yeah, well. Men are assholes.”
Kyouka placed the stiletto heel on the table, sinking slowly into her chair. She conjured up a small smile. “So. Famous classmates, huh?”
“What, Todoroki? C’mon, you had Yaoyorozu Momo.”
Kyouka’s face went pink, her smile soft. “We were close once.” Her voice trailed, her body angling as if she were about to look back toward the bar before thinking better of it. She reached for the origami swan napkin near her plate instead and shook her head, pulling it apart in three harsh tugs. “Once.”
A pang of sympathy speared through Katsuki’s chest. “Yeah.” He felt his own head turning, toward the glass doors, toward the man waiting outside them, now a stranger. He stopped himself.
Not his problem. He shrugged. “Shit’s hard.”
“You know that firsthand? You looked at him like you knew him. Like, knew him, knew him.”
Katsuki’s mouth twisted. “Fuck off.”
Kyouka’s eyes widened, an incredulous smile tugging at her mouth. “Oh, my God.”
Heat snaked up the back of Katsuki’s neck, his heart drumming in his chest. “So I knew the asshole in high school,” he bit out. “It ain’t news.”
Kyouka rose from her chair, seeming to make up her mind. “You know what? Screw it. I'm going to talk to her.” Katsuki’s eyes snapped to hers. Kyouka tilted her head, studying Katsuki in a way that made him feel exposed, seen. He shivered.
“This,” she waved a hand between them, “was never going to work, was it?”
Katsuki barked out a surprised laugh. “L’emme guess,” he mused, swirling the wine in his glass. “Bi?”
Kyouka popped a hand on her hips. “Yeah.” She cocked her head. “And you’re gay.”
Katsuki grinned. “I knew I liked you for a reason.” She snorted, finally giving in to the urge to look back toward the bar.
"Maybe while I'm at it, you should talk to Todoroki.”
A flash of something Katsuki didn’t quite know the name for ran up his spine. He licked his lips. He felt sweaty. Sick.
“Yeah,” he scoffed. “I’ll do that.”
Kyouka hesitated. “You think I got a shot?”
Katsuki jerked his chin toward the bar. “Depends on if you can run your ass over there in time. She won’t be hanging around waiting for a knight in shining armor all night.” Kyouka hummed, wringing her hands before saying,
“You could say the same for Todoroki.”
The uncomfortable squirming sensation in Katsuki’s chest came back with a vengeance. He laughed again, lifting his glass to his lips. “He doesn’t need a knight.”
Kyouka shrugged. “Maybe not.” Katsuki lifted his glass in a mock-toast.
“It was fun.”
“Only a little.” She smiled, gathering her coat. “Don’t wait too long. Like you said, no one's going to hang around waiting for a knight in shining armor all night.”
Katsuki shook his head. “Assholes, remember?”
She laughed, wandering away. Katsuki watched her get smaller and smaller, the lowlight nearly swallowing her whole, until finally, her silhouette stopped. Bent toward another.
Katsuki looked away toward the violinist on stage. The empty seat across from him. The glass doors on the far side of the restaurant, each thump of his heart beating to the rhythm of go, go, go. You know you want to. His throat felt dry. He wiped his hands on his knees. They’d gone cold, clammy.
He tried to remember the last time he’d spoken to Todoroki Shouto. Tried to remember what he’d even said and came up short. He only remembered how angry he’d been. How he’d thought his heart might explode, smear across the pavement if Shouto didn’t say something, anything.
He’d been seventeen. Everything felt like it might explode when you were seventeen. But twenty-eight was different.
Todoroki was different.
Katsuki swore. He should pay the bill. Walk away. Forget any of this had happened.
A memory flickered through his thoughts. The low hum of Shouto’s voice against his skin. Walking hand in hand down a pier at midnight. Sneaking over on weekend nights. Laughing under the sheets. Katsuki’s heart thumped uncomfortably against his sternum.
Go, it seemed to say. You’ll regret it if you don’t.
It was stupid. Asinine. He didn’t know Todoroki Shouto. Not anymore. Shouldn’t care, either. He’d had his handful of one-night stands and almost-relationships.
Maybe he just wasn’t cut out for it.
The back of his neck prickled. Ma, who he’d nearly forgotten about, was watching him, her sunglasses laid neatly on the table, her eyes glittering.
He didn’t have the energy to parse her expression.
She glanced over his shoulders. Back again.
Go.
Katsuki pushed away from the table, offered Ma a half-hearted salute, forced his stomach not to fall into a puddle on the floor, and turned toward the glass doors.
December in Musutafu bit through a peacoat like a motherfucker. Katsuki shivered, rubbing his hands together, rethinking every decision he’d made until then.
“Should'a let 'im freeze,” he muttered. “Asshole. Running out into the fucking cold—”
“I can hear you, you know.”
Katsuki tripped, spitting out a curse. Shouto was standing to his left, haloed in the soft glow of Christmas lights, each breath billowing around him like smoke, the wind tousling his hair. Katsuki sniffed, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Couldn’t find a nicer place to be angsty?”
He could see the hint of a smile curving Shouto’s mouth. “Didn’t expect you to come after me.”
Katsuki’s heart flipped in his chest. He swallowed. “Yeah, well. Wasn’t going to.”
Shouto made a soft noise in his throat. “It’s been a while.”
Katsuki didn’t answer, watching as the lights flickered, dancing in a pattern to the tune of softly playing Christmas music.
“I’m sorry,” Shouto said suddenly, and Katsuki nearly went into cardiac arrest before he continued, “about earlier. I hope I didn’t ruin your night.”
Katsuki’s stomach clenched, a flicker of anger roaring back to life in his gut. He sucked on his teeth. “Not everything’s about you.”
Shouto’s smile widened. “I hope not.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes. He watched the lights. Tried not to notice the other couple wandering through the garden, arm in arm.
He could feel Shouto watching him, a prickle running down his spine.
“Was Momo—?”
“Fine,” Katsuki snapped. He sighed. Relaxed his shoulders. “Kyouka’s with her.”
Shouto didn’t ask. “She’s pretty.”
“We’re not together, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.”
Another laugh. Low like a hum. “No, that doesn’t seem like you.”
Katsuki shot a sidelong glance at him. “Yeah? You still think you know me after ten fuckin’ years?”
Shouto cocked his head, those eyes finally catching on Katsuki’s. “I don’t know.”
Katsuki’s insides twisted. He tried not to notice how the tip of Shouto’s nose had turned pink. The way his hair feathered across his forehead. He hunched further into his peacoat, his heart hammering.
“Yeah, well, that’s your fault, ain’t it?”
Shouto didn’t answer. O Silent Night began to play, the rock garden winking in white, yellow, and blue.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Katsuki bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to sting. He shrugged. “We were kids. Kids do stupid shit.”
Like say I love you and it’s really us against the whole fuckin’ world, Sho. You watch. You and me. That’s all it’s ever gonna be.
“Yeah,” Shouto said. “They do.” He didn’t wait for Katsuki to answer before adding, “My whole future was arranged; Dad made sure of it. And you know, back then,” he laughed, shaking his head, “I hated him for it. I told myself I wasn’t going to do what he did, live the life he did, and I still ended up here. Still ended up losing you.”
A lump rose in Katsuki’s throat, the corners of his eyes stinging. He sniffed again, anger working its way through him like a cold sludge. He nodded. “You’ll freeze your ass off if you stay out here—”
Shouto exhaled, his breath steaming in a cloud. “I asked Momo to marry me.”
Katsuki’s stomach soured. He nodded, scuffing the edge of his shoe along the ground. “Am I supposed to say congrats or I’m sorry?”
Shouto smiled. “Neither.” He bent his head back, staring up at the light-polluted sky, purple as a bruise around the edges. "It would have been easy with her. Safe, but she still said no. I’m glad she did.”
Katsuki squinted at him. “You’re a fucking nutcase, y’know that?”
Shouto’s smile widened. “Yeah.” He watched the couple walking arm-in-arm turn back toward the restaurant. “Guess I am.”
Fresh anger pricked at Katsuki’s temples like a heartbeat. “If you’re fishing for sympathy—”
“I never thought I’d see you again,” Shouto whispered. Katsuki said nothing, his anger draining when Shouto waved a hand between them, as if Katsuki might break apart like a ghost. “I still can’t believe you’re here. We see each other after what? Ten, eleven, years? And it’s on the night I propose to the woman my father wanted me to marry? The one he arranged an omiai with when we were seventeen?” His smile cracked. He didn’t say the quiet part out loud:
The omiai that broke us apart.
“Funny how that works.”
Katsuki shrugged again. “Fate’s a bitch.”
“Maybe,” Shouto admitted, “but it brought me here.”
Katsuki snorted. “Fuckin’ sap.” Shouto laughed, bright and clear. Katsuki studied him out of the corner of his eye.
“You gonna keep hiding out here?”
Shouto finally looked down at him, the lights scattering across his face, and Katsuki’s breath caught for the second time that night. It would be so easy, he thought, to lean in. Shouto moved closer.
“Only if you keep hiding with me.”
Katsuki grinned. “Who says I’m hiding?”
“Your mother by the looks of it,” Shouto deadpanned. Katsuki swore, glancing over shoulder, but Ma was nowhere in sight.
“Follows me to every blind date like a creep.”
“And you don’t stop her?”
“What, and miss her next elaborate disguise?” Katsuki laughed. He shrugged. “Nah. It’s kinda our thing.”
“Your thing?” Shouto smiled. “You know, you really haven’t changed much.” He fell silent again, and Katsuki counted the times their shoulders brushed, his heart in his throat.
“And you have?” He knew Shouto heard the unspoken challenge. The anger. The hurt. Shouto watched the lights. Breathed in. Exhaled.
“Touya used to say, once they hear about the omiai, they don’t stick around. None of them do. Just watch. I treated it like some kind of test. Only I guess there never was one, was there? No test, no reason for me to prove we were different, that I was different, for me to put you in the spot that I did. It took a few years, but I figured out I don't only have to watch when someone walks away. Maybe that counts for something."
Katsuki didn’t answer, his eyes burning.
Don’t say it, he thought. He hasn’t earned it. This is your first time seeing each other in ten years—
Your first time in ten years, the little voice in the back of his head said. Since you walked out on him when he told you about the omiai.
“Too bad,” he blurted. Shouto quirked a brow, confused. “I mean the lights,” Katsuki said, jerking his chin toward the display. “Good date idea. Can see why Ma chose this place.”
Shouto smiled crookedly, humming in agreement. “It is. My father isn’t going to be happy when I show up alone tonight. Or at next week’s Winter Gala.”
Katsuki stole a sidelong glance. Warred with himself. Gave up. “What if I told you we could stir shit up, and still have the dates we’re supposed to be having? You don’t even have to go to the Gala alone.”
Shouto leaned closer, his voice pitching lower. “Depends. Do I get to see you later?”
Katsuki grinned, his heart beating so hard he wondered if Shouto could hear it. “C’mon, Halfie. Don’t tell me I’m that rusty.” He angled his chin up, watching the way Shouto’s mouth parted, breath cool and misting across Katsuki’s cheek.
“Whaddaya say? I’ll walk away right now if you say so. No hard feelings.”
Shouto brushed the tip of his nose across Katsuki’s cheek as he leaned in to whisper, “Walk away this time, and you’re not going to shake me so easily.”
“Good,” Katsuki said, tangling a hand in Shouto’s tie. “‘Cause I ain’t walkin’. Not when there’s so much to catch up on, see how much has really changed over the years.”
Shout laughed softly, catching Katsuki’s mouth before he could ramble. He tasted like red wine. Mint. Like the pier at midnight. Like hiding under the sheets.
Katsuki let himself get lost in it.
Ma was gone by the time they wandered back inside, nothing left of her but a cryptic have fun tonight text. Katsuki didn’t think too hard about it. That was Future Katsuki’s problem. Someone waved at him, trying to get his attention.
Kyouka had Momo’s hand in hers. Night, she mouthed, and winked, leading Momo out into the cold city streets.
Shouto slipped his hand into Katsuki’s, easy as breathing, even after all these years. “Ready?”
"Yeah." Katsuki squeezed his fingers. "Just you and me now.”
Artwork by lola