Chapter Text
“Bakugou!”
“What?!” Katsuki snapped back as his boss's grating voice disrupted the mental tally he was keeping of the bottles of different alcoholic shit still in stock. Fucking asshole. Now he had to start his count of those disgusting Grolsch bottles all over again.
“Come back and walk the floor!” Aizawa shouted.
“I’m busy!”
“I don’t care, just jot down what you’ve got and come here. It’s getting busy and I need more people on the floor.”
Katsuki carefully held back the flood of profanities building on his tongue. Aizawa had reminded him countless times to keep the cursing to a minimum within earshot of guests, and the fucking caterpillar was the closest thing to a tolerable boss he’d had. He actually allowed Katsuki to use his normal vocabulary, not restricting his admittedly colorful language, when the diner was closed. Katsuki’s penchant for swearing in every other sentence had gotten him fired from many jobs before this one.
But tolerable boss or not, the fucking idiot was the one who’d asked him to make a list of their stock in the first place, and since being in the back meant being away from the extras indulging in disgusting fried shit on a random Tuesday night, Katsuki had been enjoying the menial task.
Guess his mental break was over now. He pushed up the sleeves of his white button-up shirt and walked outside, back into the overwhelming chaos of over thirty voices clamoring to be heard by their companions, of extras looking down on him for actually working a job instead of just wasting money on food they could have made at home.
“Please check the booths in the back,” Aizawa instructed him as he poured a drink for a couple sitting at the bar. “See if they’ve already placed their orders.”
“Why can’t Kirishima do that?” Katsuki grumbled, scanning the room for the signature red hair of his friend. He couldn’t find it.
“Kirishima is on the phone with an event organizer who has rented the entire place for next Monday. They’re paying us good money to host a party here, so I want them to have a pleasant experience, and Kirishima is the best at customer service,” Aizawa explained as he handed Katsuki a notepad and a pen. “You’re taking over his tables until he’s back.”
Katsuki scowled but took the notepad anyway, flipping through the pages until he found a blank one. Forcing the most fake smile known to mankind onto his face, all teeth and burning eyes, he made his way to the booths next to the windows.
All were occupied by guests, most of whom were already stuffing their faces with greasy food and engrossed in conversations. He walked past two tables, noting down refills where necessary, before stopping at a table without any food or drinks on it.
New guests.
Katsuki sighed, grabbing a cleaning cloth from his back pocket and quickly wiping the table. Once done, and the table met the sketchy sanitary requirements once again, he stepped back, notepad at the ready.
“Welcome to Eraser’s Edge Diner,” Katsuki said, his smile strained as he assessed the patrons. It was a guy and a girl, possibly a couple, though they would have to be on one of their first dates because the guy looked too awkward and the girl not lovey-dovey enough to signify a relationship.
The girl smiled at him, her high ponytail of black, almost blue, hair flowing over her shoulder. She had a picture-perfect body, even Katsuki, whose soulmate was very much male, could admit that.
The guy, on the other hand, was weird as fuck. He had two-toned hair, white and red, divided by a messy middle part. Fuck, Katsuki just noticed that his eyes were also two different colors. He wondered if it was some heterochromia shit or if the guy just made really shitty hair dye choices.
Noticing the two staring back at him expectantly, he finished his familiar script. “I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you two anything to drink or eat?”
The girl ordered a Chardonnay, and Katsuki quickly jotted it down. He stared at the paper, pen at the ready as he waited for the guy’s order so he could move on to the next table, but nothing came.
Katsuki looked up, trying to figure out where the delay was coming from, only to find the guy staring at his arm. His right forearm. The one that bore his brightly colored soulmark which had been revealed by him pulling up his sleeves earlier.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, this dick must be a Deku fan. One who recognized the top-selling artist’s soulmark. And one who was apparently prepared to fight the artist’s moral battles for him as well.
Katsuki really didn’t want to deal with this tonight. “Got anything to say, fucker?” he barked, any attempt at insincere kindness long forgotten.
“Is that a tattoo?” the half-and-half bastard asked with a low, emotionless voice, nodding toward Katsuki’s arm and directing the girl’s attention toward it too.
“None of your fucking business.”
“You know,” the guy started, “I really despise people who fake soulmarks of celebrities.”
Katsuki laughed, harsh and barking. “I really couldn’t give less of a fuck about what you despise or not.”
That got the guy’s attention, making him finally look up into Katsuki's eyes, head tilted. “Shouldn’t you be more polite as a waiter?” he asked, a bit of confusion lacing his voice.
The laugh that followed was a bit less grating than Katsuki’s previous one. “Only to the people that deserve it,” of which there were disappointingly few, Katsuki added mentally. “And besides,” he continued, “you clearly already formed a negative opinion of me, and were unlikely to tip me anyways, so why the fuck would I even bother?”
“You seem unsuited for the service industry,” Half-and-Half said deadpan, forcing Katsuki to let go of a sincere chuckle.
“Shouto!” the girl tried to interfere.
“He’s right, Ponytail,” Katsuki said easily, stopping her misplaced efforts.
The guy smiled at that, exchanging a look that conveyed a clear ‘see!’ with the girl. Fuck, when the bastard had first mentioned his soulmark, Katsuki had been completely prepared to verbally tear the guy apart, accepting the inevitable loss of his job that would likely follow, but now he was starting to feel amused by the Half-and-Half asshole.
“I agree, by the way,” Katsuki told him uncharacteristically.
“What?” Half-and-Half frowned.
“I also despise people who tattoo fake soulmarks on their bodies to scam artists into thinking they’re their soulmate. It’s a fucking disgusting and selfish act that can ruin not one but four people’s chances of meeting their actual soulmates,” Katsuki explained, voice low and gruff.
“That seems hypocritical coming from you,” the voice was emotionless again, eyes on Katsuki’s still bare soulmark.
Katsuki forced his sleeve down aggressively, covering up the mark. “What do you want to drink?”
“Green tea.”
Katsuki nodded, jotting it down, even though he doubted anyone had ever ordered green tea at a diner before. It was fucking absurd. He tucked the notepad away in his back pocket, gesturing towards the menus already on the table. “Menus are right in front of you. I’ll be back soon with your drinks. Just let me know if you decide on any food by then.”
He started to walk away but then hesitated, turning back to the guy one more time. “It’s not a fucking tattoo,” he told him, though he didn’t need to explain himself to this random extra. Without waiting for a response, he walked away. He couldn’t give a fuck about whether the bastard believed him or not.
Back at the bar, he handed the paper with the order to Aizawa.
“You okay?” the man asked.
“Fucking peachy.”
Katsuki was elbows-deep in the dishes when a hand on his shoulder startled him away from his task. “Fuck!” he jumped up, fully prepared to lecture Shitty Hair on not announcing his presence, but when he looked around, it wasn’t Eijirou standing behind him. “Half-and-Half?”
“What?” the guy in question looked at him with a tilted head. The idiot did that often.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Katsuki growled, gesturing to the dish pit. “This is staff only.”
“What did you just call me?” was all the bastard said in response, ignoring Katsuki completely. “Half-and-Half?” The nickname sounded absurd in his deadpan voice.
“I give the guests nicknames,” Katsuki explained bluntly. “Makes it easier to remember who ordered what, and whether I’ve already helped someone.”
“And I’m Half-and-Half why?”
“Your hair.”
“Oh.” A pale hand went up to the locks in question.
“What the fuck are you doing here? You’re not allowed back here,” Katsuki said, taking back control of this weird as fuck interaction.
“I needed to talk to you, and your colleague said you’d be back here. He gave me permission to come in.”
Katsuki groaned. “Let me guess, the guy you talked to had red hair? Spiked up with way too much hair gel?”
Half-and-Half nodded. “Yes. He took over our table after you took our drink order. But I wanted to talk to you.”
“Why?” Katsuki growled. “I thought you despised people like me?”
“I despise people who fake soulmarks. But you said it wasn’t a tattoo, implying that it’s a real mark.” His voice was as flat and emotionless as all his other sentences, but Katsuki’s eyes widened nonetheless.
“And you believe me?” he asked skeptically.
“Should I not?”
“You don’t even fucking know me.”
“Yet you don’t strike me as someone who’s dishonest a lot.”
“Fuck,” Katsuki dragged a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends to make a sharp sting of pain go through his scalp. The sensation reminded him that this truly absurd conversation was actually happening right now. “I can’t deal with this here,” he muttered, grabbing a towel from the side and drying his hands. “We’re taking this outside,” he told Half-and-Half, tossing the towel in a corner and removing the apron wrapped around his waist.
“I’m taking a cigarette break!” he shouted toward the bar where Aizawa should’ve still been working.
As expected, Aizawa’s face soon appeared around the corner of the door to the dishwashing station. “You don’t smoke, Bakugou.” He said dryly.
“If you fuckers get a ten-minute break to ruin your lungs, then I get a ten-minute break to put some fresh air into mine.”
Aizawa just waved him off, his eyes falling on Katsuki’s unwelcome conversational partner. “You’re not supposed to be back here.”
“Kirishima let him in.”
That was enough for Aizawa to disappear back into the diner with a deep sigh. Katsuki could hear him mutter something about ‘problem employees who ignore sanitation guidelines’ under his breath as he left, making Katsuki grin.
He turned back to Half-and-Half, gesturing toward the back door that led to the rear parking lot and the trash containers.
The fresh air was a nice change from the heavy frying fog that hung in the diner’s kitchens, and Katsuki took a deep breath. It was already fully dark out, even though it was only eight in the evening. Katsuki hated that about these winter months, the sun set too early and rose too late. It made for many dark hours that just made everything look depressing as fuck.
Next to him, he could hear Half-and-Half also taking a deep breath. “It’s nice out here. Quiet,” he remarked.
“I know,” Katsuki replied shortly.
“It gets noisy in a full restaurant,” the idiot continued. “And you only realize it when you finally leave the place again.”
Katsuki didn’t say anything to that, and silence fell.
“I don’t do well in noisy environments,” Half-and-Half continued when he realized Katsuki wasn’t going to speak. “It’s a result of my upbringing. I grew up in a very quiet and empty house, so noise is still a bit of a shock sometimes.”
“I really don’t care about your tragic past, Half-and-Half,” Katsuki interrupted before the guy could delve further into his sad backstory. He leaned backward, letting the brick wall of the diner support him instead of his feet. His head, too, fell back against the cool stones and he stared up at the cloudy sky.
“It’s Todoroki. Todoroki Shouto,” Half-and-Half, or Todoroki, said, stepping in front of Katsuki and obscuring his view of the parking lot.
“Bakugou.” Katsuki responded, not bothering with his first name. They weren’t on that basis yet, and they probably never would be.
“You’re Deku’s soulmate.” Wow, this guy was clearly not someone who beat around the bush.
“What do you care?” Katsuki responded, raising his eyebrows as he stared at Todoroki with a challenging glare.
“Let’s just say that I have a personal interest in helping Deku find his real soulmate.”
“What,” Katsuki rolled his eyes, “don’t tell me you know the world-famous artist. You trying to tell me you’re his friend or something?”
“Yes,” Todoroki said simply.
“Don’t fucking make me laugh.”
“I really don’t care whether you laugh or not.”
“You’re a literal one, aren’t you?” Katsuki grinned.
“Has to do with my ‘tragic past’ as you called it,” the guy said matter-of-factly, as if he was talking about the weather. “Can I see it?”
“What?”
“Your soulmark. Can I see it?”
“Want to check if I'm lying, if it truly isn’t a tattoo?” Katsuki growled.
“Yes.” Todoroki’s tone remained deadpan. “Is that unexpected?”
“No,” Katsuki had to concede. “It isn’t.” He rolled the slightly wet sleeve up above his elbow. His hand accidentally touched the mark, gliding over it as he moved the sleeve. It sent a shiver through his body, and he found himself staring at it for a moment.
The familiar lightning bolts stared back at him.
It was a beautiful soulmark, in Katsuki’s biased opinion. It was huge, stretching from his elbow all the way down to his wrist. Two bolts of lightning, but nothing like the simple bolts drawn in cartoons, proper lightning strikes, like those you see in rare nature pictures.
Just raw power and beauty.
They started at his elbow, one a burning orange, almost blinding, the other an electric green, glowing just as brightly. They twisted around each other as they made their way down, all jagged branches branching outwards like veins of light, forking into a million little pathways.
The bolts almost appeared alive, dancing and crackling on Katsuki’s skin, casting an ethereal green and orange glow over his entire forearm. And somehow, while starting from two singular sources, Katsuki’s palm was hit by countless little endings.
He turned his arm to Todoroki, revealing the mark and baring his soul.
Todoroki stepped forward, his hand hovering over the mark but not touching it. The fucker correctly sensed that touch would not be accepted. “What are you going to do now? How are you going to prove it isn’t a tattoo?” Katsuki growled.
Tattoos and soulmarks were notoriously hard to discern from each other. Tattooing technology was just too good, and too many tattoo artists had no problem with faking a soulmark if they were paid enough for it. Katsuki had seen too many people bearing his soulmark at Deku’s concerts to know that fact very well.
“It looks real,” Todoroki said eventually. “But you’re right. I have no way of knowing whether it’s real or not.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, pale fingers moving quickly over the smooth screen until he’d pulled up a Google image of Deku’s soulmark.
Katsuki had to stifle a loud inhale at seeing the image again for the first time in years. He knew it fully, every last detail. The people in the background, heads turned as the famous person in their midst walked past. Deku, green curls wild in the wind, sweat darkening his shirt in various spots as the weather proved warmer than the idiot had probably expected. Green eyes irritated as they stared straight into the camera lens, spotting the paparazzi disrupting his rare private time.
And his soulmark, revealed by a carelessly pushed-up sleeve, clearly visible in the hastily shot photo.
That picture had changed his life. For better or for worse, Katsuki still didn’t know. It had brought a whole lot of chaos, heartache, bad decisions, and financial loss with it, though.
But Todoroki didn’t care about what kind of feelings that particular picture caused Katsuki; he was just using it to compare the position of the two marks. “They seem to be in the same place,” he said simply, before going back to his home screen and opening the gallery. He went to his favorites, scrolling until he found the picture he was seemingly looking for.
It was a close-up. Of Deku’s soulmark.
Fuck.
This guy had a close-up of Deku’s soulmark. This was the real deal.
He zoomed in, placing his phone next to Katsuki’s arm. The picture was sharper than any picture Katsuki had ever seen of Deku’s mark. It showed every detail, every last branching line, and every shade of orange and green. Shadows and twists that were only blurry pixels on the infamous paparazzi shot.
“If it’s a fake, it’s a very well-done one,” Todoroki said. “It’s identical to Izuku’s.”
“Izuku?” Katsuki knew that Deku was just a stage name and that his real name was Midoriya Izuku. C’mon, the guy was his soulmate, of course, Katsuki had googled the fuck out of the artist. But he’d never actually heard someone refer to Deku as Izuku. He expected it to sound awkward as fuck, but it sounded natural in Todoroki’s voice. “You really are his friend, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“You in the city because of his tour?” Katsuki asked, referring to Deku’s concert happening in Baltimore tonight. It had sold out the day the ticket went up for sale, and Katsuki hadn’t even bothered trying to get in.
“Yes,” Todoroki nodded. “Like I said before, I dislike loud noises, so concerts aren’t really my scene. Izuku and I have plans to meet up tomorrow morning, but Yaoyorozu invited me out for dinner tonight. Which brings us here.”
“Fucking huge coincidence,” Katsuki muttered under his breath.
Todoroki seemed to have heard him. “I know,” he responded. “But isn’t that a good thing? They always say fate will help you meet your soulmate.”
“Don’t tell me you believe in that shit.”
“Deku does.”
“Figures,” Katsuki rolled his eyes.
“What I don’t understand though,” Todoroki said, ignoring Katsuki’s remark, “is why you haven’t come forward earlier. Especially if your mark is the real one and you’ve known since the pictures first leaked.
“What?” The word burst from Katsuki in a wave of shocked laughter. “You don’t think I’ve fucking tried?” He pulled his arm away, pushing his sleeve back down and buttoning his cuff. “Fucking hell, you think it’s easy? Should I just have walked up to Deku and told him he’s my soulmate?”
Todoroki’s eyes widened at the sudden animosity in Katsuki’s voice. “I merely meant,” he began, but Katsuki didn’t give him the chance.
“You know, your reaction to seeing my mark was really fucking common,” he spat. “You’re not a unique little snowflake in thinking it’s a fake. You’re not even in the top 100 of people who’ve attacked me for being a disgusting human being that fakes a soulmark,” Katsuki laughed bitterly. “I’ve been called every synonym of repulsive more times than you can fucking count.”
“I’m sorry,” there was an actual hint of emotion in Todoroki’s voice. “You tried?”
“When Deku’s mark leaked, I was twenty, just like Deku. So of course, I fucking tried. All around me, people were finding their soulmates, and I just found out mine was the fucking best, just like I’d always proclaimed as a kid. A bigshot singer who’d just had his second album go platinum. I was fucking ecstatic.
“So I searched all his sites, found the contact information of his manager, and all his business links. But those were meant for fans, of course, so that never reached him. His manager never fucking responded either, so those were dead ends. I approached him on social media, but that never got me anything except ridicule from peers who thought I was another desperate fan. Fucking extras should mind their own business,” he muttered the last sentence under his breath. “That’s when I found out Deku was being approached by tens of thousands of fans from all around the world, all claiming just like me that they were Deku’s soulmate.”
“Yeah,” Todoroki breathed deeply. “It was bad when the pictures first leaked. Izuku had to turn off all his social media accounts for months, not able to handle all the photoshopped pictures or tattoos sent his way.”
“I fucking get that,” Katsuki’s voice was laced with irritation. “But that really doesn’t make it easy for his actual soulmate to approach him. I even sent him a fucking letter, on paper and everything. It was just as useless as everything else.”
“Did you try to get into contact with him physically?” Todoroki asked. “Maybe through a concert?”
At that, Katsuki couldn’t help the laughter that escaped him, laughter at the insane branch of fuckery that he called his life. “I did,” he said between chuckles. “Wasted all the money that I could find on following him around the country and going to as many concerts as I could. Even fucking bought some overpriced VIP tickets for a meet and greet once.”
“You met him?” Todoroki frowned.
“Nah,” Katsuki shook his head. That would have been too easy. “Got banned from all future concerts at one of the first ones, before I could even attend the one that I had VIP tickets for.”
“You got banned?” The disbelief in Todoroki’s voice was gratifying to hear. But not satisfying enough to make up for the hurt that particular train wreck had caused.
Katsuki could remember that concert like it was yesterday, and it had been horrendous. He’d had tickets near the stage, and he’d thought that if he only made his way backstage as far as possible, and explained his situation to a security guard, they’d understand. It had been horribly naïve.
After nearly getting lost in the labyrinth of corridors of the venue, he’d finally found a door that seemed to lead to the backstage area, a big burly security guy standing guard in front of it. Katsuki had approached him confidently, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater, soulmark on full display as he shoved his right arm in the guard’s face.
He doesn’t fully recall what he’d said to the man, probably something monstrously stupid and arrogant. Something like, ‘I’m Deku’s soulmate, so if you fucking know what’s good for you, let me through.’ Not exactly a statement that would have endeared him to the guard, to say the least.
The guard had grabbed him by the arm, glowered at the mark, before hauling him into a room a few corridors further. A room filled with people all bearing the same soulmark on full display. That had been a stark reality check.
“I’ve heard your claim twenty times already this evening, so sit down and face the consequences,” the guard had barked at Katsuki before shoving him towards an empty seat in the room. The man had been gone before Katsuki could even get a word in, and believe him, 20-year-old Katsuki would have had many choice words for that man.
The guard returned several times that evening, each time dragging in another person, another one claiming to be Deku’s soulmate.
They’d all sat there in silence, most in shame, Katsuki seething with boiling anger. He’d shouted at many people that night, most deserving it for fucking ruining his chances with his soulmate. Let’s just say, he hadn’t made any friends there, and the wait had been a very uncomfortable experience, even for Katsuki who normally couldn’t give less of a fuck about the atmosphere in a room.
Sometime after midnight, long after the concert had ended, a group of guards with what Katsuki had assumed was a manager had entered the room. She’d given all the people in the room a lecture on how faking a soulmark went against what Deku could morally forgive, and that he wouldn’t accept people who stooped that low at his concerts any longer, even if they were his biggest fans.
Katsuki couldn’t even blame the guy, since it was a good fucking rule that properly punished the people with the actual fake marks. The rule also served as a very efficient deterrent for any future fans thinking about faking the mark. Many people at the concert had posted about the punishment online, effectively reducing the number of people attempting to fake the mark at the next concert dates.
But it was ironic as fuck that the rule also resulted in the banishment of Deku’s actual soulmate from all future concerts. Not a day later, the money for all his future tickets had been refunded to him.
“They fucking put my name and pictures in the system,” Katsuki told Half-and-Half.
Todoroki clearly didn’t know what to say to that, and Katsuki wasn’t about to fill the silence with false platitudes.
“Hey,” the sudden appearance of Kirishima’s voice interrupted the tense silence. “Are you okay, Bakubro?” Shitty Hair asked, concern evident in his tone. “You’ve been gone for a while, and Aizawa sent me to check up on you.”
“I’m fine, Shitty Hair,” Katsuki said briskly.
“You don’t sound fine,” Kirishima said, walking up to Katsuki and placing a warm hand on his shoulder. He positioned himself next to Katsuki, presenting them as a united front against whom Kirishima must perceive as a threat. “Who’s this?”
“That’s Todoroki Shouto. A friend of Deku.”
Kirishima’s eyes widened at Katsuki’s words, doing an obvious double-take of the person standing in front of them. “Deku. Like the pop star, your soulmate, Deku?”
“Yep. That Deku.”
“Holy shit, Bakubro!” A wide sunny smile, unique only to Eijirou, lit up the guy’s face. “Have you shown him your mark?”
Katsuki nodded. “That’s what we were talking about before you interrupted us.”
“Does he believe you?” Eijirou asked. He turned to Todoroki. “You better believe him!” he threatened, even though Eijirou could never truly sound threatening. “He’s had the mark since we were kids, long before Deku’s leaked. Believe me, I would know!”
“He believes me, Eijirou,” Katsuki said before the idiot could say something sappy or some shit.
“Oh,” Eijirou frowned. “Why were you shouting then? That’s good news, right?”
“He was asking me why I hadn’t come forward with my mark earlier,” Katsuki laughed bitterly.
“That’s a stupid question.”
“I know.”
“I’m still here,” Todoroki interrupted suddenly, reminding Katsuki of that very fact.
“Can you help him get in contact with Deku?” Eijirou asked excitedly.
Todoroki looked at them, eyes switching from Eijirou’s hopeful ones to Katsuki’s own. He didn’t even want to think about what his eyes might convey. But the guy nodded, a small “I will try,” leaving his lips.
“Thank God!” Eijirou exclaimed immediately. “Bakubro had already given up. On his soulmate! Can you believe it?”
“You’d given up?” Todoroki frowned.
“I don’t fucking give up.”
“You stopped actively trying,” Eijirou protested.
“There was nothing left to fucking try. And I’m strong as hell on my own, I don’t need anyone else, so I wasn’t going to fucking break my bank trying to get something that might not even work out.”
“He’s your soulmate!” Eijirou said, an argument they’d had many times before.
“He’s a pop star, and I’m a guy working in a diner to pay my way through college. We lead different lives. I don’t know if something as vague as ‘meant-to-be’ can close that fucking insane experience gap.”
“But you deserve to try,” Eijirou said softly. “You want to try.”
“Damn it, Eiji,” Katsuki dragged a hand through his hair.
“You want to try?” Todoroki asked, pushing the issue.
Denial was on the tip of his tongue. A ‘fuck no, I don’t need something as useless and weak as a soulmate,’ but that wasn’t true. He wanted to feel those emotions others talked about. He wanted to have a person. He wanted his fucking soulmate. And Eijirou was right, he’d given up on ever experiencing that for himself, not with his soulmate.
And that was wrong, Bakugous didn’t fucking give up.
But on the other hand, did he truly want to try with Deku? Would Deku want him? He didn’t fucking know the guy, only what gossip rags published about him, what the internet claimed. He’d never heard anything from the guy’s lips that wasn’t polished over, organized by a highly-paid PR team, or at least, that’s what Katsuki assumed.
Who was Deku truly? What was real and what fake? And that’s not even considering the fact that agreeing to give this a shot meant accepting worldwide attention, stepping into the spotlight, and thus inviting the opinions of millions of Deku’s fans. Ones that would be jealous as hell.
Katsuki had never given a flying fuck about what anyone thought about him, and he was the fucking best at letting the words of others wash over him like water and come out completely dry. He was the strong as fuck, but was he strong enough for this?
Fucking hell, he sounded like a pussy.
What was he whining about? He’s been searching for his soulmate since he understood the meaning of the word. Why the fuck would he pass on the opportunity now? Because he was scared? Because it was suddenly getting real? Fuck no.
“I want to try,” he told Todoroki, a wide grin on his face.
“Good,” Todoroki smiled. “That’s good,” he repeated, although it sounded more like he was reassuring himself. “Izuku has been searching for you for a long time, Bakugou. And he thought he’d ruined any chance of meeting you. He’ll be so incredibly happy to get to know you.”
“Of course he’ll be fucking thrilled to meet me,” Katsuki responded, though it sounded less convincing than he usually did. And that was unfortunate because he only said it to make him seem less like a mess than this entire night had made him out to be. “So what now?”
“I’m seeing Izuku tomorrow,” Todoroki started. “If you give me your phone number, I can give it to Izuku after I’ve explained the situation. The rest will be up to him.”
“You’re not giving me his number?” Katsuki asked with a frown.
“No,” there wasn’t a single hint of doubt or apology lacing the word. “No, I will give Izuku your number or there’s no deal. Whether he chooses to trust us is up to him. Okay?”
Katsuki nodded with a slight scowl. He really didn’t have a choice, did he? But what if Deku was too much of a coward to reach out to him? Katsuki didn’t like putting his future in the hands of others. Still, he accepted Todoroki’s phone when it was presented to him with the address book open.
‘Bakugou’ he typed in the name box, before hesitating over it and adding ‘Katsuki’ in the first name box. After typing his number quickly and checking it twice, he handed the phone back.
Todoroki scanned the new info before his eyes went up to meet Katsuki’s. “I’m trusting you right now, Bakugou. More than I probably should. I’ve been taking your words as truth from the moment you served us because something told me that I could. Please don’t let that be a mistake, because trust me, I have money, and I have many friends with money. And money can achieve a lot of things, including making your life a living hell if it turns out that you’ve betrayed me, and in turn made me complicit in betraying Izuku.”
“I don’t lie,” was all that Katsuki responded. And that seemed to be enough, because Todoroki turned around with one last nod and walked away.
Katsuki watched him go before turning to Eijirou, who was staring back at him with wide eyes. “What a fucking asshole,” he complained. “Fucking dares to threaten me only because he’s fucking richer than me. Half-and-Half bastard!”
That made Eijirou’s eyes go back to a normal size, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “I don’t know, Bakubro,” he said with a soft clap on Katsuki’s shoulder. “I liked him.”
“You like everybody, idiot.”