Chapter Text
He gets the invitation in the mail in the late summer.
Normally, he hates big events like this; pomp and circumstance and pointless drama, but loath as he is to admit it aloud, Katsuki actually likes weddings.
Because honestly- honestly- what’s not to like?
Sure, there’s a bunch of extraneous bullshit involved; too-tight suits and over-gelled hair and cards that nobody reads and favors that end up in the trash and overdone proclamations of love and all that gushy shit that overpaid pop stars croon about-
-But on the other side of the coin, there’s booze- food- music and dancing- friends joining together and acting foolish in the name of love or whatever.
And that’s enough, he supposes; enough that when he tears open the pretty, calligraphed paper envelope and reads the invitation, he eyes it with a soft sort of fondness rather than an all-too-in-character outburst of disgust- picking up his phone and immediately RSVPing ‘yes’ without a moment’s hesitation.
The invitation was expected- inevitable, really. They had all known that Aizawa and Mic would eventually tie the knot- knew it since first year- but unsurprisingly, the war had dampened things somewhat.
After all, when the end of the world is staring you in the face- the end of society itself looming- thinking about a wedding seems trivial- foolish- almost insulting. With so much at stake, such matters had fallen by the wayside in favor of the greater good- the bigger picture- the world at large.
But things have gotten better- so much better- and here they are, almost four years later, finally nearly back to normal; celebrating love- hell, celebrating hope.
The entire class had been invited, of course, all twenty of them dropping everything to attend- flying in from all over the country- hell, the world- from all of the different places they had settled in the rebuilding of society.
He’s not too proud to admit that it had been good to see them all- really good- even as he’d scowled his way through friendly slaps on the back and affectionate hands on his shoulders and hugs that he pretends not to like- endured his way through beaming smiles and invasive questions and annoying but appreciated well wishes.
But eventually, everything settles. The ceremony, beautiful and short and succinct, ends- the reception begins- food is served- the music begins to play- people begin to drink and dance- and slowly but surely, his friends peel off into groups or couples to enjoy the evening’s festivities.
And that’s how Katsuki finds himself in a circle with his old high school squad, talking and laughing and joking around- the atmosphere easy and familiar as Kaminari begins to tell the group about his newest squeeze.
“-And shit, I thought I’d hurt her-!” He grimaces, “But-,” His face curls into something sly, a single, blond brow raising suggestively, “-it turns out, she actually likes being shocked.”
The entire group goes silent for a beat, eyes flicking to each other as they take in the meaning behind it- Mina giggles into her hand- Ei flushes scarlet-
“-And that,” Sero calls, blessedly interrupting as he sips the dregs of his vodka, “-Is my cue to go get another drink.”
Ei and Mina shake their heads in agreement, clearly grateful for the segue, following behind him as he turns away from the circle.
Denki scoffs loudly, chasing after him.
“Oh come on, Sero, you’re no fun.” He whines, pouting out his lower lip.
Sero’s mouth cracks into a wide grin as he reaches down and flicks Denki on the nose- an action from yesteryear that makes the corner of his mouth twitch.
“-And you’re too much fun.” He scolds, giving him a nudge, breaking into a laugh as Denki harmlessly bats him away. He turns over his shoulder. “-Coming, Bakugou?”
He shakes his full drink at them.
“Nah, I’m good.” He cocks his head towards the bar. “G’head.”
And at that, they make a beeline to the bar, leaving him alone at the table.
Fun as it all is, he’s grateful for the moment of peace; a moment to just take a breath and look around the room and savor it.
Tokoyami, Jirou, and Shinsou, his self-named ‘Goth Squad,’ are hanging back in a corner, quietly talking over their drinks.
Another glance.
Sparkles and Toru and Ojirou and Sato are squishing themselves into the frame of the photo booth in the far corner of the room, their heads adorned in goofy-looking hats and glasses, their faces twisted into deliberately stupid expressions.
His eyes continue, finding Mina, Sero, Kami, and Ei cozying up to the bar, clearly bickering about something; God knows what, exactly-
-And then to Deku, Cheeks, Tsu, and Glasses; dancing like a bunch of fools in the middle of the floor- careless and exuberant and utterly shameless.
He smiles into the rim of his beer.
There had been a time in his life when he’d have mocked them ruthlessly for it, but not now. Not after everything they’d been through- not with how close they’d all come to disaster- to death.
Joy- true joy- is a precious thing; too valuable to be wasted on pettiness and pride. He’d learned that lesson the hard way; through blood and tears- the scars of it laid as evidence on the skin of his chest.
So, older and hopefully wiser, he simply takes it in; his eyes dragging right and left-
-only to find one body- one solitary person remaining at a table on the opposite end of the hall- deliberately placed away from everyone- as far from the dancing as one can be; the two-toned hair of Shouto Todoroki sticking out like a sore thumb even in the low light.
He’s focusing intently on the other side of the room towards the dance floor, unblinking and unmoving, (which isn’t that weird, not for him, anyway)-
Katsuki frowns.
-But why is he alone?
True, he’s an introvert- always has been- is usually not the center of the action, instead electing to watch quietly from the sides of parties and banquets and galas- content to observe and learn-
-But usually, someone stays with him; Tsu- Koda- Shoji- Shinsou- a fellow introvert to keep each other company as the louder, wilder heroes dance and sing and drink.
But tonight, no one is beside him- not even a member of the nerd squad- and even though a part of him cautions that Shouto probably wants to be alone- is probably isolated by choice- another part of him burns with it.
It feels wrong.
Looking again, he can make out Shouto’s face- his expression. It’s a look that he’s seen on him a thousand times over the years; an expression of wide-eyed curiosity- of bewilderment- of childlike wonder- his fingers drumming against the sides of his thighs like he desperately wants to join but has no idea what to do or how to do it.
And for some reason (he’s not sure why), it twists something within him.
Looking at him, he secretly wonders to himself if Shouto had ever been to a wedding before- if this is all new to him- if he, in usual form, is huddled back there out of fear of embarrassing himself or making some sort of accidental faux pas out of ignorance.
He doesn’t mean to make a big deal of it- honestly- doesn’t mean anything by it at all, but suddenly, looking at him and his soft face and his wide, eager eyes, the abrupt, unexplainable urge to go to him is so strong that his chest burns from the inside out.
-And fuck, he must be getting soft, because before he can change his mind or give anyone a chance to stop him, he grabs his beer, refastens his jacket (like a class-fuckin’-act), and makes his way over to the solitary body at the empty table across the hall.
He doesn’t make any attempt to soften his steps, and yet, Shouto starts a bit as he comes into his peripheral vision (almost as if he was the last person he expected to see), the action minute and nearly missable as Shouto’s face remains carefully blank and unreadable.
But it doesn’t deter him as he strides forward, half-sitting- half-leaning onto the chair to the left of him, taking a long, deliberately-nonchalant swig of his beer before speaking.
“What ya doing over here, halfie?” He asks, making his tone even and blase.
It’s purposefully done; not wanting to sound accusatory, or worse, pitying. Shouto had always hated when people looked at him like that- like he was something broken- like some sort of disfigured thing to be coddled and condoled.
Having seen it many times over the years, he knows how that kind of interaction would affect him; how he’d shrink into himself for protection- those mismatched eyes going dull and grey- the barely-there but always present tic in that sharp jaw-
-But surprisingly, it’s incredibly, noticeably absent now. In fact, he doesn’t even appear to have heard him at all, only staring out into the crowded dance floor with an expression of, fuck, longing-?
Whatever it is, it’s fuckin’ weird, enough that he tries again.
“Oi-! Halfie-!” He calls.
And this time, it must work, because Shouto’s eyes tilt upward, peeking innocently at him through his bangs.
“Hm?” He asks, a bit dazed, “Oh, just…observing, I guess.”
And yeah, that’s pretty classic Shouto; always watching and never getting to-
Katsuki frowns; the thought of it twisting something in his gut.
“-By yourself?” He prompts, leaning over him. “What, don’t want to dance with the rest of the nerd squad?” He nudges him in the shoulder with his hip. “Trying to look cool or something?”
It’s clearly meant to be an innocent, playful jab; something to rile him up- to egg him into one of their world-famous little spats- (get that awful look off of his face)- but to his surprise, Shouto’s eyes never break from the dance floor, his head beginning a slow, gentle shake.
“No, I-,” He breathes, his words suddenly stopping short.
Conflict flickers across that cool face before he apparently finds the words, tilting his chin up until he’s looking right into his eyes, bashful and…shy-?
“-I don’t know how.”
Katsuki’s hand pauses on the way to his mouth; loathing the way a tiny spark suddenly cracks through his veins.
Ugh.
Damn it. Motherfucking goddamn it.
He looks down at him; at his friend- his mouth going tight.
Shouto is a rising hero- a beacon of light within a community- a force of goddamn nature- one of the most powerful people he knows-
-So why does this shit break his goddamn heart-??
He scrambles for a response; for the right thing to say.
Keep it light. Humor. Deflection.
“What-,” He scoffs, sipping at his beer, “-you didn’t attend some richie-rich dance lessons growing up? Like Momo did-?”
Another nudge, redirecting Shouto’s gaze toward where the woman in question is draped into Jirou’s arms, their stance practiced and perfect like they’d stepped out of a ballroom.
And damn it, it doesn’t seem to work- the visible corner of that mouth tightening like he’s holding in a pained sound.
“...No.” He eventually answers, not looking at him, “We had the money, sure, but…”
He shouldn’t let himself be led like this- shouldn’t care so much- but the curiosity is too tempting.
“...But-?” He prompts-
Shouto frowns.
“My childhood was a bit more…grim.” He explains softly, his hands worrying at the outer seams of his suit pants- a gesture Katsuki knows from years of experience- one that shows that he’s anxious.
A visible swallow.
“...My father didn’t see any reason to expose me to the arts.” He finishes, toneless and soft.
Katsuki finds himself going stock still, his beer bottle once more hovering just shy of his mouth’s reach.
Ah, shit.
Shit.
He came over here to cheer the fucker up- never meant to go down this road; didn’t mean to dredge up old, painful memories- and especially not at a fuckin’ wedding, of all places.
He looks down furtively, searching him for some clue of what to do- what to say- how to backtrack from the painfully awkward situation he’d unwittingly stumbled them into-
-When his eyes suddenly catch the wide expanse of the bar on the other side of the large, ornate ballroom- the shiny, crystal glasses upon it sparkling in the flashing neon light- shouting out at him like divine providence- like a giant sign from above that’s saying ‘here, you asshole, I’m throwing you a bone.’
So he takes it.
He downs the dregs of his beer quickly; slamming the bottle on the empty table.
“Tch.” He scoffs, grabbing Shouto under the elbow and hauling him upward to his feet. “Come on.”
Shouto, tall as he is and utterly unprepared for the sudden motion, trips over himself in his haste to find his balance, sputtering a bit as he’s led along by the iron wall of muscle dragging him.
“What- where are we going?” He asks, looking to and fro for some sort of idea- maybe even for help.
And sure, he can understand why.
He used to do this frequently in high school: would stalk up to him, grab him by the arm, and pull him out of the dorms and away from whatever he happened to be doing whenever he needed a sparring partner or just needed to let off a little steam- often as Shouto or whoever happened to be around him would loudly protest-
-But clearly, that’s not what he’s doing now.
He clicks his teeth at him impatiently.
“The bar.” He answers stiffly, cocking his head toward it as they move.
Shouto blinks.
“Bar-?” He asks, and then, seeing it approaching, he adds, “-Oh, you mean for alcohol.”
He could almost snort at it.
What a goddamn square.
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “You clearly need it.”
At this point, Shouto manages to regain control of his feet, but surprisingly, doesn’t protest or fight as Katsuki drags him through the crowd, only obediently following and asking:
“Why?”
He tries to suppress the urge to be an asshole when he turns and grins.
“Liquid courage.” He answers wryly.
Shouto’s face twists with confusion.
“Is that a drink of some kind?” He asks, nose wrinkling.
“Is that-?” Katsuki begins- “-Tch, no, idiot. It means that when you drink, it makes you feel a little braver.”
Shouto blinks again, his head tilting in a way that’s far too goddamn cute for someone as terrifyingly powerful as he is.
“Do I need to be braver?” He asks, pursing his mouth, “I usually don’t have a problem with-”
“Well-,” Katsuki interrupts, his patience dwindling, “-If you want to dance with everyone else and not sit in the corner like a fuckin’ weirdo, then, yeah, probably.”
He doesn’t mistake the soft gasp of surprise behind him or the way it makes the hair on his nape raise.
“Dance?” Shouto asks, “-Me-? ”
He grips him tighter, pulling him forcibly through a throng of people chatting on the sidelines of the dance floor.
“You gotta learn sometime, right?” He shrugs, “Why not now?” And then, looking back over his shoulder at him with a scowl:
“-The fuck is stopping you?”
Shouto’s mouth opens and closes thoughtfully before he apparently gives up the fight, his arm going lax under Katsuki’s fingers.
“I suppose.” He agrees.
And fueled by this small victory, he doubles his efforts, weaving their bodies through the crowd.
“Then shut up and come on.” He orders, bringing them up to the edge of the bar, his eyes making a quick scan of the selection on offer.
There’s wine and beer, and he supposes that might be an okay start, but he can’t imagine Shouto being too keen on the flavor of either.
Truthfully, they can be an acquired taste.
He scans further. He could do hard alcohol- something easy- maybe vodka mixed with a sugary soda; that would get the job done- but that might be a lot for him to-
-An idea suddenly materializes.
He turns to Shouto with a challenging smirk.
“You ever do shots, halfie?” He asks, all mischief.
Shouto’s face goes blank, almost befuddled; the expression so funny and so out of place on his fine features that it almost makes him fuckin’ snort.
“No-?” He answers-
He opens his mouth to tease-
-when another thought suddenly appears.
The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that he’d never seen Shouto with a drink. Even at third-year parties and agency get-togethers when the rest of them had been sneaking beers and covert bottles of cheap vodka, he’d never seen him with anything other than a soda or perhaps the flute of sparkling cider that they’d been offered at the agency when they were still underage.
He gives him a hard look.
“You ever drink before?”
Shouto frowns; his brows furrowing as he tries to think.
“Denki snuck me some champagne when we graduated-,” He explains, “-and…I had some earlier, during the toasts.”
His face curls as if remembering something unpleasant.
“-The bubbles made my nose itch.”
Katsuki stares at him.
Jesus-fuckin’-Christ, how is he real-??
How can someone so strong- so stoic and deadpan-
-be so goddamn precious-?!
No wonder Deku and Cheeks are always cooing over him all the time.
But he has a goal- a job to do- so he pushes those thoughts out of his head, busying himself by turning back towards the bar and flagging down the bartender.
“-Fucking ‘course, they do.” He whispers under his breath, turning back, “-Don’t worry. “I’ll get you a real drink.”
Shouto’s face twists, almost like he’s ready to argue, when the bartender strolls up.
Katsuki calls out his order over the sound of the loud music.
“Two shots.” He shouts. “Tequila.” And then, with a glance to Shouto and back, “-With salt and lime.”
The bartender nods his understanding, turning away to pour their drinks. Once he’s out of earshot, Shouto nudges him on the shoulder, head tilted in curiosity.
“What is-?” He begins to ask-
“-A real drink.” Katsuki finishes for him, flashing him a quick look out of the corners of his eyes.
The bartender quickly returns with two shot glasses full of golden liquid; salt and lime sitting neatly on the rim.
Katsuki reaches down and picks it up confidently and Shouto attempts to do the same, but try as he might, his face betrays him.
“What?” Katsuki asks, noting the look of concern.
“Aren’t drinks supposed to come in fancy glasses?” Shouto asks, wrinkling his nose as he gives it a small sniff. He recoils a bit, giving Katsuki a withering look. “This smells like gasoline.”
Katsuki chuckles.
“-And it tastes even worse.” He explains with an arrogant grin. “You’re a pitiful little newbie, so I got you the training wheels.”
If it were possible, Shouto looks even more confused, his eyes flicking from the glass and back.
“Training-?” He asks, “What do I-??”
Katsuki holds up a hand.
“-Watch and memorize.” He instructs, “Salt.” He pantomimes licking the salt off of the rim. “Shot.” He pretends to shoot it. “Lime.” He holds it up to his lips like he’s going to bite it. “You got that-?” He asks, looking him over.
Shouto blinks, but nods his head in agreement.
“Yes, I think so.” He murmurs, going through the steps one more time. “Salt. Shot. Lime.”
Katsuki nods.
“That’s right.” He holds out his glass. “Now on the count of three.”
Shouto mirrors him, clinking the glasses together.
“One, two, three.” He counts down.
Then, in perfect unison, they lick the salt, shoot the shot, and bite the lime.
It’s actually pretty good shit; one of the nicer tequilas he’s ever tried, and he shouldn’t be surprised- Mic did always have good taste when it came to anything party related-
But Shouto isn’t faring nearly as well; the burn of alcohol apparently surprising him. He chokes, but only a bit, biting down hard on the lime to dispel the sensation.
Only wanting to kind of be a dick, he suppresses the urge to cackle at the way Shouto’s eyes water. He nudges him.
“Not bad for your first one.” He praises, watching with amusement as the pained look in Shouto’s eyes quickly dissolves into something sly and challenging.
“-At least you were honest about the taste.” He responds, his voice a bit raspy, turning, grabbing a glass, and filling it from a nearby pitcher before downing it in a heavy swig.
Katsuki shrugs.
“It grows on you with time.” He explains, and then, leaning against the bar; “How do you feel now?”
Shouto goes still, his hands flexing and shoulders shrugging- almost like he’s doing a mental inventory of his body.
Satisfied, he turns to Katsuki with a small smile.
“...Warm.” He murmurs.
Katsuki grins.
“Good.” He crows proudly, turning back toward the bartender, “We’re doing another.”
Shouto’s eyes go comically wide.
“Another-??” He asks-
“What, you afraid?” Katsuki teases, turning back to him-
-But even he balks a bit as he sees the concern in those mismatched eyes- the obvious tension in his shoulders and jaw.
Ease up.
He leans in, making his voice gentler.
“Nothing to be concerned about.” He assures him. “Even for a new drinker, someone of your size won’t be too affected by two shots. Just drink some water and eat some dessert and you’ll be good. Probably won’t feel a thing and if you do, it’ll be slight.”
The anxiety on Shouto’s face melts away with every word.
“You’re sure?” He asks.
“As a heart attack, halfie.” He smacks him playfully on the bicep. “Just pace yourself and you’ll be fine. No more than a drink per hour or some shit.”
And then, leaning on the bar like he owns it:
“Hell-,” He laughs, “you actually drink enough to get drunk and I’ll take you home.”
Shouto’s head whips over, eyes incredulous.
“Really ?” He asks, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing-
“Yeah, sure,” He shrugs with smirk, “-why the fuck not.”
Shouto turns back to the bar, hiding his face behind his hair-
-But his body speaks for him; his posture going lax and easy as the bartender sets down another round between them.
“...Okay.” He whispers.
They both reach for their glasses again, clinking them together, and then, without a word or a countdown, they repeat the process, each of them dropping the lime in their glass in near-perfect tandem.
To his credit, Shouto doesn’t choke this time, his face cool and impassive, even as his upper body does a tiny, little shiver as he swallows.
Adorable.
He turns to Katsuki.
“Now what?” He asks.
Katsuki leans against the bar for a moment, scoping out the dance floor with sharp, scrutinizing eyes. A familiar song is playing; one with a heavy beat that would be good to dance to. And even better, there are lots of people on the floor. It would be easy to blend right in, even for a newcomer as tall and long-limbed as Shouto.
“It’ll take some time for it to kick in,” He explains, turning to him and gripping him around the forearm. “-but I say let’s go dance.”
He smirks up at him, cocking his head towards the dimly lit dance floor.
Shouto’s face goes pink, his heels digging in as Katsuki begins to pull.
“You-?” He sputters. “Me-? Us-?? Now-??? ”
He tilts a brow at him; a flicker of annoyance momentarily overwhelming his magnanimity.
“What, you got a problem dancing with me or something?” He asks defensively, his tone harsh enough to make Shouto go still.
“-No ?” He answers weakly- like he isn’t sure what the right answer is- but it doesn’t really matter because Katsuki is strong and not taking no for an answer.
“Then quit dragging your fuckin’ feet and come on.” He growls, gripping him by the arm and yanking.
Shouto obeys, dutifully keeping stride, but he still leans towards him and whispers:
“-Don’t I need more time for courage or something?”
Bakugou clicks his teeth in impatience.
“Don’t be a such a pansy.” He scolds; breaking through the outer circle of dancers- making their way into the center- surrounded by loud music- lights- other people-
-when Shouto’s hand reaches out, grabbing him back, the sudden touch pulling his gaze upward.
His face is pale- his brows pitched high with worry- his mouth a downturned line as he leans in just enough-
“Bakugou, I-” He murmurs, “-I don’t know what to do.”
And despite his sink-or-swim approach, he finds that hard, iron shell around his center cracking just a bit at the tone- at the vulnerability- the bald anxiety in it.
He doesn’t want to coddle him, sure, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to hurt him; doesn’t want him to be nervous or afraid. This sort of thing can be daunting even without having Shouto’s particularly thorny bag of past traumas-
-So instead of giving him shit or scolding him, he just lets out a long breath, taking pity as he leans up onto his toes toward his ear.
“I’ll let you in on a big fuckin’ secret, halfie.” He whispers.
Shouto’s eyes dart down; his body going very, very still.
“-Nobody knows what to do.” He laughs, his arm gesturing in a wide arc around them. “There’s no way to do it right or wrong. Just feel the beat in your bones and let the music fuckin’ move you or…something.”
Shouto blinks, unimpressed.
“Move me.” He repeats, deadpan.
Katsuki feels his cheeks heat.
“Or fuck, I don’t know,” He grunts, “-look around and watch everyone else. Copy them or whatever.”
And without another word, he lets himself fall into the music, dancing slowly to the beat.
For a moment, Shouto stands still in the middle of the floor; his mismatched eyes flicking to and fro- watching the movements of the people around him like he’s watching a battle- taking them in with that incredible scrutiny- that impeccable logic-
-And then, like the snap of fingers, he does as he’d been bid- launches into movement- his body beginning to gently sway along with the rhythm and-
Katsuki blinks.
Huh.
He’s actually not bad.
Getting more comfortable by the moment, Shouto cracks his eyes as he continues to move, looking distinctly more at peace as he turns to Katsuki.
“I understand about the beat now.” He smiles. “I can feel it.”
A wolfish grin despite himself.
“Good.” He flashes him a thumbs-up. “Keep it up.”
So he does.
The song shifts into something faster- something more intense- and somehow, that bastard almost instantly falls into step- his limbs moving seamlessly- gracefully-
And he feels that all-too-familiar ire rising up within him.
Goddamn it, he wasn’t actually supposed to be good-!
Fucking halfie- being naturally talented at nearly- goddamn- everything.
He could be a dick- he could- but not wanting to crush this new, unexpected confidence, he digs deep inside himself for a crumb of benevolence, turns to him, and calls:
“Shit, halfie, you’re a fuckin’ natural!”
And then, half-obscured with neon lights and bathed in a pool of darkness, Katsuki sees it: a flash in those mismatched eyes- a flush on those high cheeks- a curl to that mouth- an unmistakable expression of pleasure- of bliss- the look of a man finally getting something he desperately wanted.
And then, before he can blink, Shouto is abruptly looking back- looking right at him with that cool, indecipherable gaze that seems to delve into him.
Katsuki momentarily forgets about the music- the dancing- forgets about everything and everyone around him- inexplicably drawn into that face- the peace in it- the joy.
For the briefest flash of a second, it’s just the two of them; just him and Shouto-fuckin’-Todoroki, his former classmate- his rival- his friend-
“Sho-!” Ochako squeals, bounding in between them, the soprano pitch of her voice severing through the moment like a knife through butter as she launches herself around him into a vice-like embrace.
And suddenly that moment is gone; the world coming back into dazzling color and thundering sound so quickly that he has to blink to make sure he didn’t imagine it.
“Oh my gosh, you’re on the floor-!” She beams up at him; excited and flushed- taking his hands into hers and squeezing. “Wanna dance with me-?”
And oddly, Shouto doesn’t answer right away- no- instead, he glances up at Katsuki- almost as if he’s asking for…permission-?
He blinks.
It’s weird, sure, but maybe he’s just being polite?
So he just scoffs, jerking his head as if to say go ahead, I don’t give a fuck -
And Shouto nods once in return, looking down at Ochako with one of those soft, rare smiles of his, nodding his agreement.
“Okay.”
“Okay, let’s go!” She laughs.
Her smile is wide and pretty as she pulls him deeper into the crowd to where Iida and Deku are dancing (horribly, of course)- and even though he doesn’t mean to, he finds himself watching as Shouto turns away-
-Only to find Shouto’s eyes flashing back even as he retreats into the throng- looking back at him- deliberately at him- his eyes crinkled with deep warmth- with a permeating fondness that almost burns- his expression wordlessly whispering ‘thank you-’
And for some reason- he doesn’t know why- that soft look- the genuine gratitude in it- the unconcealed affection- makes him so itchy- so suddenly unbalanced that he finds himself instinctively tearing his eyes away from it- turning his back to him- instinct screaming at him to go and go now.
Unsure of what to make of it, he immediately obeys the urge; hightailing it off of the dance floor as quick as his legs can carry him.
This song sucks, anyway.
The party rages on.
Mic and Aizawa cut the cake together (red velvet, good choice), a few other pros give speeches (laughs from Ms. Joke- tears from All Might), and before he knows it, an hour or two has passed and Katsuki finds himself belly-up to the bar with his usual crew, sipping an aged scotch that Ei swears to the group is super manly or some dumb thing.
“No, seriously, there’s like, caramel notes in it or something!” Ei recites proudly, looking from face to face as his friends take their first sips.
The reactions vary.
Katsuki, not a little bitch baby, savors the deep burn- the smoke- the oak.
Sero, while clearly not a fan, sips slowly, trying to give it a fair shot (for Ei’s sake, of course).
But Denki, who is all-too-fond of drinks that are more or less fruit-flavored nightmares, swallows his sip with a noise of disgust, shivering from head to toe at the sudden burn of alcohol.
“What do you think?” Ei asks, bright and starry like a kid-
“Smoky.” Katsuki grunts.
“Boozy.” Sero laughs.
“Ei, this takes like a tree.” Denki grimaces, “-An angry, alcoholic tree.”
Ei actually puts a hand to his chest in an expression of pure offense, gasping like an old lady clutching at pearls.
Katsuki snickers.
“Maybe you’re just not manly enough to appreciate it, Sparky.” He nudges him roughly, sending dark brown liquid sloshing over Denki’s hand.
“Hey!” He protests, wrinkling his nose, “-There’s manly and there’s masochistic, and this, without a doubt, is-”
“Woah, is that-?” Sero interrupts loudly, peering through the crowd with squinting eyes, “-It is! Holy shit, it is-!”
“-Is what ?” Denki asks, rising up on his toes to see-
“-Todoroki-??” Ei exclaims, his mouth opening into a wide smile.
Katsuki’s head turns, and sure enough, Shouto is there in the middle of the dance floor, flanked on either side by Ochako and Deku, cutting a damn rug, his moves sharp and succinct and…good.
Fighting the sudden and sharp urge to smile, he shakes his head ruefully, taking another deep swig from the glass, letting the deep burn distract him.
Fuckin’ halfie.
Fuckin’ figures he’d be good at this shit without even trying. Bastard.
“I’ve never seen him dance before.” Sero tilts his head. ”Have you?” He nudges Ei’s shoulder.
Ei and Denki shake their heads, never looking away from him.
“He’s actually kinda good!” Denki grins-
“-Tch.” Katsuki scoffs loudly. “-He’s not that good.”
The group turns to him in slow, deliberate unison; Denki sidling in close.
“Don’t be a hater, Kacchan.” Denki ruffles his hair. “Green isn’t your color.”
He reaches up and smacks Denki’s hand away with a snarl.
“Oh, fuck off, Sparky.” His hisses, all acid and venom. “Eat shit and die.”
Denki opens his mouth, most likely to parry back with some bullshit quip, when Ei almost chokes on his scotch, one of his hands shooting out to point off into the distance.
“Yo, look-!” He gasps.
Katsuki turns his head and sure enough, Shouto and Ochako are suddenly at the bar together, Shouto’s tall form dwarfing hers as she leans over and orders from the bartender-
-who returns a moment later with two shots of tequila.
His heart thumps.
Oh.
“Holy shit.” Sero exclaims, his mouth cracking into a wide, toothy grin of approval. “He’s doing shots now-?”
“Since when does Shouto even drink?” Ei asks the group.
“...Since I bullied him into taking his first shot a few hours ago.” Katsuki explains nonchalantly, taking another sip of his glass, only to look up as the entire group turns to him in surprise.
Denki’s face curls.
“You didn’t.” He presses devilishly.
He shrugs carelessly in return.
Seemingly satisfied, the group turns back with just enough time to watch the two of them take their shots; Ochako letting out a loud whoop that carries even to where they stand.
“Huh.” Ei laughs. “Didn’t ever think I’d live to see the day.”
“Same.” Denki admits, holding up his glass. “Here’s to growth.”
“Cheers to that.” Sero prompts.
They all nod their agreement, bringing their glasses together with a soft clink.
It’s probably pretty late now. Midnight? Whatever.
The party is beginning to die down; most of the old-time pros now long, long gone, leaving only the young heroes and the party animals.
The nerd squad is somehow still dancing; Sparkles and Toru and Sato having joined them sometime back, their already-awful dancing now descending into a pulsing circle of wild, flailing limbs.
The rest of his usual group is still at the bar, joined up by a few members of Class B.
Fatgum, with his impressive metabolism, is the lone sober hero; talking to Rock Lock and smiling fondly as Hawks snoozes on one shoulder- Ms. Joke on the other- Mt. Lady and Kamui Woods draped like kittens over his lap.
And speaking of laps-
He and Mina, getting tired and buzzed and needing a break from the action, had stolen off a while ago to talk in a quiet corner some time ago; his head now resting on her lap as they sprawl across a lush banquette- her pink fingers stroking through his hair as he sips a drink and listens to her woes.
“She sounds like a backstabbing bitch.” He grunts, sitting up a bit to take another sip- trying to avoid drowning himself in tequila.
Mina begins to nod voraciously, her fingers stilling in his hair.
“That’s what I said-!” She exclaims, clearly pleased that he’s agreeing with her, “But everyone else was all ‘no, no, she’s just misunderstood. I’m sure she didn’t mean it-’”
He almost sputters on his drink, looking up at her with a scowl.
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” He asks disbelievingly, “She practically had her tongue in Ei’s ear at the Christmas party.”
Mina’s face tightens into a grimace; her nose wrinkling in distaste.
“That’s what I said!” She pouts, puffing out her cheeks.
“Whatever, fuck her.” He hisses, settling himself back down onto her lap. “Anyone with half a brain knows that Ei is too loyal to you to even look at her fake, ugly, fucking fac-”
There’s suddenly a presence in front of him; a crackle of green lightning and a sharp, high scolding voice.
“Kacchan-!!” Deku barks, immediately at his side, his expression unhappy, his hands firmly on his hips.
He nearly leaps out of his goddamn skin at it; almost spilling his drink all over Mina in surprise.
“Jesus shit, nerd, what-??” He barks, sitting up quickly, his head spinning a bit from the liquor.
Deku’s expression deepens into a very uncharacteristic, very deep frown.
“Did you get Shouto drunk-??” He asks; the murderous expression utterly out of place on his gentle face.
Katsuki blinks once- twice.
Mina actually snorts into her hand.
“Oh, shit.” She giggles, looming down over him. “-Did you ?”
Katsuki’s brain- a bit sluggish from the drinks- struggles to answer for a moment- but then, it slowly comes back to him.
He pushes himself up to sit, nearly spilling his drink as he slowly turns himself upright.
“I didn’t get him drunk.” He protests, giving a small shrug, “I may have taken a shot or two with him at the beginning of he reception-”
Deku crosses his arms over his chest, his brows drawing downward.
“Kacchan.” He scolds darkly.
“-What-??” He asks, flinging his arms wide. “That was hours ago. And it was totally innocent. He was looking all sad and stiff while everyone danced and I thought a few might help him loosen up- join the party.”
For a moment, Deku scans his face with a hard, terse expression, but seeing nothing but honesty in it, he sighs loudly, all of that harsh tension bleeding away, his arms uncrossing- hands going to his hips.
“Well, he’s loose.” He explains wearily, carding one hand through his hair. “Way too loose.”
A single green brow raises.
“-And he says that you’re going to take him home?”
Katsuki blinks- not understanding- and then it comes back to him- the promise he’d made to him at the bar- the one he’d never thought he’d have to follow up on:
“You actually drink enough to get drunk and I’ll take you home.”
Shit.
Shiiiiiit.
He groans; swiping one hand over his face before setting his drink down and slowly pushing himself onto his feet.
“Fuck, I guess I am.” He returns, wobbling a bit as he finds his balance.
Mina starts beside him, one of her hands coming to his forearm.
“Really-?!?” She asks, her expression entirely surprised.
He nods roughly, shaking out his shoulders.
“-Told him I would. Promised it.” He shrugs. “I’m nothing if not a man of my fucking word.”
To his relief, Deku seems satisfied by that, at least enough to make that awful mother-hen look leave his eyes.
“Good.” He smiles, ready to turn away-
-When he suddenly stops in his tracks, turning gentle green eyes upwards.
“-You need help?” He asks.
He could laugh. Leave it to Deku to dart over- all protective and fire and brimstone- only to return back to that pillow-softness the moment that he knows that his precious Shocchan is out of harm’s way.
He shakes his head.
“Nah.” He smirks. “My mess. I’ll clean it up.” He takes a step towards him, one large hand clapping down over his shoulder. “I got Halfie.” He jerks his head toward the dance floor. “Go have fun with the nerds.”
And then, feeling wicked:
“After all,” He grins, leaning down, “-Cheeks has been eye-fucking you all night.”
Deku’s face goes tomato-red.
“Kacchan-!” He sputters, batting at him harmlessly with one hand-, “-that’s not- she hasn’t-!”
“-Oh come on, ‘Zuku,” Mina calls, leaning towards him with a shrug, “-She has-!”
Deku sputters at them both for a minute, his gaze flashing to Ochako.
She’s still in the middle of the floor, laughing and dancing and far too pretty in her dress. She notices them looking at her; flashing a gleaming smile and a wave- her eyes shining and enamored-
-And Deku, the awkward little nerd he is, quickly turns back with pink cheeks, one hand covering his mouth as if only just noticing for the first time.
“Bingo.” Katsuki croons, flashing a knowing glance at Mina.
Deku’s face screws into a pout.
“You guys suck.” He grumbles.
Katsuki can’t help but chuckle at the sullen expression on his face.
“Go on.” He urges, this time more gently, reaching out with one hand and giving him a push towards the dance floor. “Go have fun. I’ll text you in the morning.”
And as much as Deku appears to want to protest, he doesn’t, obviously seeing the sincerity on his best friend’s face. He sighs.
“Okay.” Deku concedes. And then, with a soft smile: “Be safe, Kacchan.”
“You too, nerd.” Katsuki retorts coolly, looking him up and down, his entire face curling as he watches his best friend choke at the subtext, his mouth opening to argue-
-Before wisely choosing not to engage- only throwing his hands up in surrender and turning away.
“Ugh.” He calls over his shoulder. “Good night.”
Alone, he turns to Mina.
“You got Ei?” He asks.
She nods, leaning languidly back into her seat.
“Yeah,” She smiles, “I’ll peel him and Sero away from the bar in a bit.”
He draws closer until he’s in front of her.
“Text me when you’re home.” He demands.
She turns warm, golden eyes upwards, squeezing him around the middle as one of his hands cups her at the back of her neck.
“Always.” She answers, the single word muffled as she hugs him close.
He finds Shouto at the table where he’d seen him earlier in the night, but this time, instead of finding him staring wide-eyed and wanting, he finds him face-down, one cheek pressed to the table cloth, his long arms framed around his head.
Deku was not kidding.
He comes to his side in slow steps, leaning down to his ear.
“Hey. Halfie.” He tries, poking him in the shoulder.
“Mm.” He stirs slightly- groans gently- obviously not wanting to be disturbed-
Katsuki frowns, raising his voice.
“Halfie.” He calls again, this time taking him by the shoulder and shaking him.
Another groan of displeasure, but no other movement.
Sighing loudly in impatience, he tries a different tactic, crouching down and leaning close to his ear.
He makes his voice gentle.
“-Sho.” He whispers.
And yep, that does it- Shouto’s head picks up a bit with a gasp of surprise- his expression bleary- his eyes unfocused- cheek indented with the pattern of the table cloth as he turns his head and tries to make out who called for him.
He blinks slowly.
“Baku-gou-? ” He stammers- slurs-
Ah, shit.
“Je-sus, you really are wasted.” He remarks, looking him over, and then, with a long, beleaguered breath:
“C’mon.” He shakes out his shoulders. “Deal’s a deal. I’m taking your drunk ass home.”
Shouto raises his head a bit more- blinks at him in confusion- and then, surprisingly, nods his approval.
“...Okay.”
He finds himself stilling in surprise.
Most drunk people don’t like being told to go home or calm down. In fact, the last time he’d had to cart a drunk Denki home, he’d nearly electrocuted him to death out of protest.
But truly, it doesn’t surprise him that Shouto, with his gentle nature, would be amenable to a friend helping him.
So he gets his arms under his armpits, using his legs to haul him up and out of his chair- and truthfully, it’s not easy.
“Fuck, you’re heavy.” He exhales sharply, relying on pure strength to get those long limbs in line as he forces him upright, “You been putting on more muscle or something?”
Shouto’s head bobs a bit in a slow, loose nod.
“Firepower-,” He mumbles, “-demands thrust- need more core-” A hiccup. “-stab-ility- so…” One hand flops uselessly in a weak imitation of a gesture to his stomach, “...muscle.”
And as objectively annoying as this entire situation is, it’s also kind of amazing to watch Shouto drunkenly attempt to explain physics.
His mouth cracks into a grin despite himself.
“Yeah yeah, I get it.” He responds, grabbing Shouto’s jacket and draping it over his arm, “Now use some of that damn muscle to stand up and walk for me, yeah?”
Shouto nods again, too heavy- too sleepy- too goddamn cute for how fucking stupid this is.
He could be a dick about it- he could- but this is sort of his fault, so instead, he just drapes one of Shouto’s long arms around his neck and begins to lead him slowly out of the ballroom.
To his credit, Shouto follows along obediently, only cracking one eye to mumble:
“Where’re we goin-?”
He chuckles.
“Home, Ice-for-Brains.” He retorts, guiding him down the hallway to the front door. “Taking you home.”