Chapter Text
Time changes no one, and people change over time.
Katsuki Bakugou is currently Top 15 in ranks, and he will not stop until he achieves his dream of becoming the first of everything. But that was his naive, immature little self speaking; by now he has learned to view that if you keep looking down, you will not see above, and reaching it seems impossible.
Maturing is one. Growing is second. Or the other way around—because everyone has their own pace, owns their own size of shoes to walk, and has their own lengths of steps, and nobody is in sync with anyone. Katsuki walks with heavy boots, fast-paced—yet he is still not able to grow, to reach. Maturing is crossed. Growing is next.
UA had done its job to him; it sculpted him into a tank, highlighting the very muscles he had, drawing new prominent veins across his arms, and leaving scars that had healed but never mended enough to fade, yet enough to paint nightmares vividly—so much so that he preferred to have it claw and rot within his fractured heart.
Nightmare is a damaged solace. Dreaming is a masked saint. And nightmares have kept Katsuki in obsidian wings, thoughts consuming and creeping on his skin like a paralytic parasite. But Izuku Midoriya was there, somewhere in his thoughts, hidden behind rose-tinted glasses he mistook for transparency.
It had started a few months after joining UA, did Katsuki have that lingering afterthought of his childhood best friend? Friend. Or ‘whatever’ he’d title. Katsuki had reduced Izuku into something timid back when they were younger, in excuse of being unworthy of a vessel for a quirk. It irked Katsuki, with how determined and kindhearted he remained despite his sharp edges. A blade fails to penetrate a soft steel.
It would not be a surprise if the ash blond simply discarded the thought of remembering him. And he did, for a while. Until Izuku Midoriya had crept his way into Katsuki’s head, haunting him with Izuku’s every detail: his ugly green hair, round idiotic eyes, his light freckles, and his beautiful irises.
And so Katsuki had no other choice but to allow that ghost to haunt him like a widow. Except Izuku is very well alive and attends a normal school, and he has no fucking idea how he is.
He believed he truly locked the idea of Izuku Midoriya ever stepping foot into his sanctuary of abomination (mind); he even started to forget the placement of every little freckle he had. Who even remembers that? Right? Occasionally, Katsuki would think of Izuku in his time in UA, never short enough of an interval that he didn’t think of him for one day—and certainly not long enough to last a day.
During graduation, Katsuki wished that Ghost would’ve been there, walking with him, with his bright smile that would so happen to illuminate the whole room, to share their intertwined dreams and call each other Kacchan and Deku.
A might outcome, he often thinks about.
Now, Dynamight has been getting his ass blasted with the increase of villain activities, crime scenes he had yet to look in on, and paperwork for opening his own agency. Of course, this was the life he had spent with sweat and blood just to have—but it is no less than a pain in the ass despite the enjoyment he gets.
“Are you fucking serious?” he grunts to the end of the call. Urgent: Need to get there immediately, whatever that police officer said. A third one in a single day—unbelievable.
But still, he had made his way to the scheme, which was two blocks of walking distance from his agency. He had barely gotten the chance to slide his pen on his paperwork today, and it had pissed him off, well, irritated him. Although, curiosity perked up when he was informed the police department has a new chief police officer after the previous one was shot dead by a villain—condolences.
Arriving outside the building, he was met with a rather exploded part of the skyscraper; to the side of it, tapes had already surrounded the perimeter with multiple police officers conversing about the scene, Katsuki hoped.
Sirens continued to wail around his eardrums, and reporters flashing cameras at the other end of the building increased even more when he lifted the tape and went under it. Eager for headlines.
A police officer stood alone amongst the rampage, writing in his notepad—proper posture, some peculiar accessories to his uniform that the others didn’t have. Which he quickly assumed was that new chief he has yet to meet. Stepping to the side of the man in uniform, he began, “What does your notepad say, sir?”
God forbid, Katsuki felt a particular anticipation when the chief took off his police cap and turned to him, as if that man couldn’t hold the excitement of sharing his findings and theories. On his soul, Katsuki familiarised himself with that shade of green strands, neatly styled under that symbol of justice, the deep shade of forest green with two locks coloured a tone of vines.
Izuku Midoriya, wearing a police uniform—better yet—a chief's. And he looked good in slightly tight stitching, too good to be true, too loose for Katsuki’s liking.
“Deku?!” the Pro Hero exclaimed. This Deku was… definitely different. Not as he had envisioned in his head, not as what he had created in his masked saints; honestly, better.
Izuku was not that childhood friend Katsuki recalled, but time changes no one, and people change over time.
This adult Deku has biceps that challenged his, a defined jawline that intimidated his, and he's as tall as him, safe just a few inches, he’d bet on.“Kacchan?” Izuku replies to his shock. “Oh, wow—it really is you.” He puts his pen away in a shockingly relaxed manner.
Weird. If we’re talking about the last time they’ve ever seen one another, Izuku would have practically pounced on him, repeating his questions and worries. But this one? Toned down, less usage of words, not enthusiastic, a complete contrary to how Katsuki had engraved him.
“You’re the new chief?"
“Yes? Is it so surprising?”
“The fuck? Of course it is! I haven’t seen you in years—and our reunion seems to appear with you being a police officer. I wouldn’t have thought.”
“Dynamight, you’re being unrealistic. We’re adults with jobs now; you can’t seriously believe I am the same as you remembered? Has UA softened you?” He rolled his eyes at Katsuki’s behaviour, flipping to a page in his small notepad.
Softened? Indeed, not. If ever, that school had taught him a lot, from improving his quirk usage, bellowing extras, and justifying versatile excuses to think of Izuku.
That run of thought dispersed when Katsuki realised something crucial. Dynamight? Where was his ‘Kacchan’? Has Izuku always been this formal—this strictly overworked professional? Is Katsuki nothing special to him anymore?
Not that it matters.
Izuku forgets their previous conversation and begins to speak about the report instead, and his own ideas of what-ifs and possibilities that could’ve led to this scene unfolding.
Katsuki doesn’t quite hear any of that.
Izuku’s lips moved meticulously as he spoke of his findings, pulling Katsuki’s eyes towards them. Each syllable, each pursing, each thin line of his lips, a hypnotising symphony only he could have heard. His snow-dusted freckles, which used to be light and barely visible, were now plastered much more evidently, like strawberries.
Those emerald eyes appearing to be gemstones now that the sunset peeked over the horizon, splaying an orange hue across Izuku’s face. A kiss from the somnolent Sun, Katsuki wished he could too. The same pair of irises he had countlessly dreamt of, largely thought of, and frequently wished to look at him once more.
Except instead, Katsuki received a hard slap of Izuku’s notepad on his head for gazing at his face far too deeply. Or for looking at his lips, he doesn’t really know.
And Izuku hates him with all his guts.