If there's one thing more villainous to Katsuki than, well the villain… it's the goddamn press.

They are like a murder that swarms; they have a tendency to pick at what's there to find what's not, collectively and individually, dissecting and clawing away at facts until it's fiction, milling fiction until it's fact and when there's nothing left to tear away at, they move to their next prey and swarm again. It's not always like this; there are some who take facts and run with them because it's enough , a necessary evil he reminds, but they are far and few apart.

Still they gather, predator and prey, with the intention of eating him alive until they've had their fill, this he knows. He also knows there would only be one to leave the ring, because no ones makes a meal out of him. It's a mark against his hero record though, a blight on his otherwise clean slate. He's learned this the hard way in his earlier years—the reminder fresh whenever they gather, some of which know he can't attack and use it as all the excuse to push him harder.

It's the one con of being a hero, Katsuki thinks.

It is also times that he's silently thankful to have a partner on his right, because they have learned to push him to the sidelines, file to the front and take the force of their claws. It's the one time he lets anyone be his shield, bench him, or otherwise fight his battles because (and only in this fashion he will remind) it's something they are better than him at. He doesn't like to people, so they make it where he doesn't have to.

So he will stand off to the side, much like he is now and just watch. Under the veil of a smile, she deals blow after blow, fire in her eyes as she dares them to take her fact and twist it to fiction. Her answers are blunt, forceful, with a flare because nothing gets these assholes blood pumping like a good story. Always polite. Always backed in truth.

There is never once a time they've disrespected her name and he thinks there never will be a time they will. She plays her hand too perfect, they know it. She knows it.

Damn near half an hour and it's only then they've had their fill, leaving them behind and off to the next poor sap who get caught in their ring. He reaches her side just as she takes a breath, then two, then three, letting the tension melt away and fall to the debris ridden dirt they stand in. There is a pause, a companionable silence that's shared between them and he waits, because he knows what's coming up next. Three, two, one.

"Those. Damn. Asses! They never know when to quit!"

It almost brings a tear to his eye, the side of her they'll never be able to use against her, the side he will protect at all costs. Expletives fall from her lips the same as they do from his and he's in momentary shock. He looks at her sideways, just watching the fire spew and for a moment, he has no words. I thought I had a potty mouth, which he does, he knows he does, but still.

When she says fuck, he's in awe.

It's only seconds before laughter bubbles to the surface and when it reaches her ears, she swats at him with all the force left in her arms and when she misses, it serves only to make him laugh harder. "Oh you shut up, too," she chides but with little bite, the corner of her own lips turning faintly. She walks away, and he falls into step with her, bearings gathered shortly thereafter.

"That shit took longer than needed," he mentions when he pulls out his phone, a scowl present because it, like himself, is covered in residual crap. He dusts it off with his glove the best he can, which isn't much but he can at least see the screen this time. "Tell him I said hi."

He clicks his tongue in feigned annoyance, but when she looks off to the side, his fingers are quick to squeeze in her message alongside his before he hits send. He thinks she doesn't see it. She does. "Could just tell shitty hair yourself when we get there." But she won't, she never does. "That's the opposite direction, Katsuki." He's not surprised by her answer at all. It's the same banter from their every time working together, just different dialogue. Still he tries, because never let it be known he doesn't give a hundred and ten percent to something he wants.

"You could just start working there." It's not a whisper, but it's also not with the same derogatory tone he is so accustomed to using—flat, because there is very little that gets any emotion he's forced to use, but not without feeling. A silent, albeit hopeful, request. She recognizes it, as she always does, because she knows him like he knows her. "I could."

"But you won't."

He knows it's coming because it always does but fuck, if it doesn't still sting every time. She doesn't mean it in any way other than the innocent acknowledgement that it ultimately is with the idea that crosses her mind every time he says it and he knows this, because it's not like her to be anything other than honest, even if in the end, someone is hurt. "You know me so well." He does, so painfully well in fact that, as time and time again has proven, he knows that if he were to look at her, he'd see the pain in her eyes mirror the pain he feels.

When she stops walking he follows suit, the crossroad they always seem to come to in more ways than one. To her left is the path always taken; one she follows, one foot in front of another, that leads her to a familiar place—one she knows well and clings to despite how she looks onto her right, longing but never chasing.

She knows it'll be there if, at any point in time, her grip were to loosen.

Because to her right is where he is, and where he will remain. To the right is his path, one he forged from the ground up, when the world decided early on to leave him behind because of what they thought they saw in him. To the right is hopes realized and dreams cast in fire and ash. "I love working with you," she starts, even as her body turns towards the left, one step taken, "but I also like working with 13; always have. You know that." He does, and it's why he follows her when she faces the left, as she always will, even if its temporary for him. Still, he will wear a grin, tried and true, because she likes working with 13, but she loves working with him.

"Yeah, I get it Round Face," and he steps ahead of her, looking over his shoulder with the same smug curve that always finds his lips when she has to keep up. "Doesn't mean I'll stop asking."

She knows he won't, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

He doesn't press on the matter as they make their way down the street, and she doesn't push back on it either. They walk, side by side, and when they reach the building that signals the end, it's much too soon. He groans audibly and, like it always does, it makes her laugh. "Same time tomorrow?" Katsuki reaches for his phone, swiping through and when he stops, he groans again. "Can't," not that he doesn't want to, but, "with Shitty Hair downtown."

Ah, right. How silly of her to have forgotten.

Ochako hums, hair falling as she tilts her head back, eyes to the sky. The stars are vast across the navy canvas and sparkle against the dark in the sky, the dark in her eyes. He notices, transfixed by the way they draw him in and he can try to break free but knows, in the end, he can't. Not now. Possibly not ever. "How about the day af—"

"Day after."

Ochako turns her head, brow furrowed because the answer comes too quickly. "Are you sure you're able?" He scoffs, knowing he's caught because somewhere in the back of his mind where coherent thoughts form, he also knows he's missing something — something that takes place on that day, sometime, and not involving her. "I'll fucking make it so if I have to." And he would, because he always does. "I shouldn't be surprised."

It's not the first time he's made time, likely won't be the last and while he thinks he's slick, she knows exactly what he's doing. She'll never tell him though, only smile and let him keep thinking he's so very clever. "By now? No you shouldn't." He's proud of himself, the confidence oozes from him and she laughs, breathless and oh so tired. She raises one hand, balled into a fist and waits. "Day after it is then." He meets her fist with one of his own, tapping lightly.

And when her fingers splay out, in what he considers a poor attempt at an explosion, he couples one in his hand because this is how its done, Round Face.

Ochako faces the building, back to him, and sighs. She's drained; he can tell. Because it's the same tension he feels in his muscles as he forces himself to stand, the same exhaustion that has him hunching forward and ready to kiss the ground. But he waits until she takes a step, never before, and only then will he pivot on his heel and leave. "Oh, and did you tell him I said hi?" Katsuki tosses a hand in the air, waving her off. He did, but no way in hell he's telling her that. "Do it yourself." The last thing he hears is her laugh.

And oh, how he soars alongside the sound.

xXX

He's ready for a damn nap.

It takes far too long to get through the mass of people inside the agency, far too long to debrief, far too long to avoid Eijirou when he asks how Ochako is doing (smug look and all) and far too long to get the fuck out. Katsuki revels in the quiet as he walks down the street, silently thankful for the gust of wind that keeps him alert and awake.

His apartment comes into view and he can feel himself getting heavy, ready to fall on any given surface he seems comfortable enough. Key in lock, the door swings open and darkness greets him, comforting and unnerving all at once. Katsuki reaches for his phone, squinting his eyes because the light is too damn bright, and sends a quick message—a house emoticon, as he always does when he makes it home for the night.

He's down to his boxers in record time, a previously discarded pair of sweatpants quick to hug the curve of his hips as he falls face first into bed. A growl shakes the silence, and his stomach churns. It goes ignored, because he's too tired to care and when it growls at him again, he's quick to growl back. Comfort envelopes him, his body sinking into its sweet embrace and every muscle, once taut and coiled, unwinds and falls limp against the covers.

Fuck it, I'll eat in the morning , the very few hours left until then.

Sleep claws at his eyelids, screaming at him to let them shut but he does everything in his power to keep them open. Katsuki stares off to the side, vision blurred and minutes (how many, he's not quite sure) pass by before anything happens. When it finally does, he breathes a sigh of relief, a low about fucking time falling from pursed lips.

Katsuki reaches for his phone, once again cursing how the screen is too bright, how his body is too heavy, how he's too damn tired. Still, he smiles because she's made it home, a single house emoticon followed by three z's, safe and sound.

Only then, does he let sleep swallow him whole.