Katsuki's apartment had taken on the frantic energy of a military command center over the days leading up to the mission. Katsuki, who turned out to be a freakin' master chef when the mood struck, was bossing around pots and pans like it was nobody's business. The people in the apartment were an odd assortment, but Katsuki had to admit it was beginning to feel like they fit together in an odd way.
The tantalizing aroma of Katsuki's culinary masterpieces - tender, spiced meats coupled with vibrant sizzling veggies - served as a temporary antidote to the suffocating anxiety. Finishing the final touches on his makeshift banquet, Katsuki scanned the chaos. Hawks rummaged through cupboards like a trespassing raccoon; Izuku and Kaina indulged in a spirited conversation that threatened to transcend Katsuki's tolerance for intellectual banter. Aizawa, Mirai, and Momo hunched over schematics in the living room, resembling conspirators more than allies. Shoto shuffled through documents like a man on a Where's Waldo quest.
Katsuki's instincts roared to life as his eyes landed on Hawks' hand, inching towards a succulent piece of grilled chicken. "Oi! Hands off! You touch my chicken, and you'll be the main course!"
Hawks backtracked, hands airborne, and a cocky smirk plastered on his face. "Just admiring the chef's work, boss."
Leaning against the kitchen counter like a disgruntled scarecrow, Dabi sighed. "Would've preferred a rabid raccoon as my partner over him," he murmured, making no effort to whisper.
"C'mon, prince of gloom. Lighten up," Hawks retorted with a cheeky wink.
"My charm is simply... understated," Dabi shot back, the scowl on his face deepening.
As the unconventional team congregated around the table, Dabi shed his sour demeanor for the sake of business. He narrowed his eyes at Hawks and started the tactical rundown for the impending charity ball.
"I have you on my roster as security detail," he said, his stern glance adding an unspoken 'don't botch this.' "Your actual task is to ensure Katsuki and Izuku receive their earpieces. They're their lifelines. Aizawa's puppeteering from behind the scenes - so they need those pieces."
In response, Hawks shot a sloppy salute, but Katsuki spotted the glint of unyielding determination beneath the jester's mask. Hawks was a sharp blade, always prepared to strike.
Finished with setting the table, Katsuki joined the eclectic ensemble to eat. He observed each member, each critical to the imminent operation, this motley crew of varied backgrounds and diverse talents.
As they continued to dig into the food, Katsuki noticed Izuku's expression change. His green eyes seemed to focus on something far away, as if he were looking back through time. He talked about the charity balls, how they were when All For One was in charge, and how he expected things to be under Tomura.
Dabi, meanwhile, rummaged through a drawer and produced a marker. He made his way to the dry erase board situated against the far wall and started sketching a rough layout of the estate. Katsuki found himself engrossed as Dabi outlined rooms, halls, and passages, giving shape to Izuku's words.
"The estate is the face of the operation. The charity ball is happening on the main floor," Izuku started, pointing at the top of the sketch. "But what we're really interested in is what lies beneath the estate."
Dabi circled the basement area and divided it into sections. "Right beneath the estate, we have the Gold Level. This is where illegal auctions are held, run by Wolfram Silverstein. He's dangerous, so it's best to avoid any confrontation with him," Dabi added.
Katsuki's forehead creased as he tried to make sense of this new piece of information. "How do they keep track of who has access to the lower levels?" he asked, his tone laced with frustration.
"They give special guests colored pins. Anyone without a pin will only be allowed in the main estate," Izuku said.
Katsuki made a mental note.
Izuku's finger moved down the board to the next section. "Below the Gold Level is the Red Level. This is where the illegal fights take place. Tomura has required me to go into the ring to fight as his representative. It will keep me busy for the first two nights, but should give Katsuki time to look around."
Katsuki's face grew tense. "I'll find what we need, so don't die in the meantime."
Kaina gave Katsuki a reassuring smile, her cheeks stuffed with the grilled chicken he had cooked. "Don't worry, Bunny is the reining champion. It's the other fighters who need to worry."
"I fear this repeats, saying that we can't guarantee any amnesty if you kill someone," Momo warned.
Izuku nodded, his green eyes steady.
Next, Dabi pointed to another section. "The Pink Level is right below Red. Madam Magne, one of Tomura's most loyal, runs human trafficking operations here. This level is heavily guarded."
Momo and Hawks were on edge at this, but it was Mirai that voiced their question. "That's where the girls will be?"
Dabi confirmed with a nod.
Momo's eyes narrowed. "We have to gather as much evidence as possible and shut it down."
"Don't worry, we will." Katsuki said.
Finally, Dabi pointed to the lowest section. "The Black Level is the innermost sanctum. This is where Tomura will broker deals and negotiations with high-profile criminals and politicians. It's also where your departments Commissioner will be."
Izuku added, "This will be Tomura's first official meeting as the head. The security is going to be extremely tight."
Katsuki noticed Mirai and Aizawa perk up at this, exchanging glances. As much as everyone wanted to take down Tomura's operation. They had a particular interest in taking down Mirai's boss, who had been the catalyst in corrupting their department.
Katsuki interjected, "What about our accommodations? This is supposed to be a three-day event, right?"
Izuku nodded and gestured to the upper floors on the sketch. "Guest rooms for those attending the events will be on the second floor."
"However, Tomura has arranged for you and Izuku to stay on the third floor." Dabi said.
Dabi marked a spot on the third floor and then marked four more on the farthest side. "This is where Izuku's room is located, and it's on the same floor, but Little Eri, Izuku's friends, and Tomura will stay in the opposite wing."
Katsuki looked at the sketch, his eyes analyzing every detail. He clenched his fists, determination burning in his gaze. "We need to be stealthy and swift. This mission is going to be intense, but we have to succeed. For everyone's sake."
They all nodded in agreement, a sense of unity and resolve forging among them. There was no denying it; they were up against giants in the shadows, but his decision was set and as he glanced over the faces of his mismatched team, their eyes blazing with resolve.
Katsuki's gaze landed on Shoto, who had been a classmate in high school. His dual-colored hair was as distinct as ever. Shoto's expression was thoughtful, his eyes drifting between Katsuki and Izuku.
As the conversation lulled and they took a break to finish their meals, Shoto was the first to change the topic. His voice had that same even cadence Katsuki remembered, but his words bore genuine curiosity.
"I find it fascinating how different you two are," he started, a hand lazily pointing toward Katsuki and Izuku. "Katsuki, you went into law enforcement, while Izuku—"
His eyes flicked to Izuku, who simply sat there with an inscrutable expression. "Well, your path was a bit less… conventional. I can't help but wonder how you two were friends back in middle school."
Katsuki felt his ears get hot. Goddammit, why did Shoto have to bring this up? He gruffly responded, "Izuku wanted to be a detective, too, back then."
That got Dabi's and Kaina's attention. "No way," Dabi said, staring at Izuku. "I can't imagine you in a police uniform, Bunny. You're way too ruthless for that."
"Yeah," Kaina joined in, her eyebrows raised. "I couldn't picture you writing speeding tickets and telling people to have a nice day."
Katsuki's irritation was mounting, but he was also fiercely protective. "He would have made a damn good detective!" Katsuki almost snarled.
A soft chuckle escaped Izuku as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I feel like that kid, the one who dreamed of being a detective. He's someone else. Like a distant memory." Izuku's voice was a whisper, as if it could vanish at any moment.
Katsuki's fists clenched, but his voice lowered. "You're still that person. Somewhere in there, you're still him. That's why you're here, helping us."
There was a hush as Katsuki's words settled over the room. Izuku's gaze met Katsuki's, and for a moment, there was a silent acknowledgment, an understanding that only the two of them could fully grasp.
The room was alive with the scuffling of papers and the soft clinking of cutlery against plates as everyone tried to eat while discussing the operation. Food and marker scents merged in the air, similar to the differences between them.
Katsuki speared a piece of chicken with his fork as Aizawa continued his line of questioning. "What about All For One's organization? The one you were a part of. How does it compare to Tomura's?"
Izuku swallowed a bite of his food and put his fork down, while Dabi took over in answering Aizawa. "It's different. All For One's organization was like a ghost, whispered about in dark corners. Tomura's is… messier, like a bull in a china shop."
Mirai leaned forward, his eyes sharp as a hawk's as he watched Izuku. "How did you get involved in all this?"
Izuku's gaze dropped for a moment, then he cleared his throat. "I told Katsuki before. I joined when my mom was sick, thinking I'd be fighting in a few illegal matches, regular fights," he said, his voice low. "But I got pulled in deeper than I could have ever imagined. I had to do things I'm not proud of, just to survive."
Izuku's voice was like the calm before a storm, but his hands betrayed him. Katsuki noticed how Izuku's fingers gripped the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles were white. The room seemed to constrict around them, as if the shadows of Izuku's past were closing in.
Dabi and Kaina, who were sitting close to each other, exchanged a glance and then nodded in silent agreement, seemingly aware of Izuku's history.
"But I was good at it. I was good at surviving, and I climbed up the ranks. All For One took special interest in me," Izuku added, almost absentmindedly spinning his fork on the table.
There was a murmur of doubt around the table. Katsuki observed as the team exchanged skeptical glances. Aizawa, with a crease in his brow, voiced his concern. "Are we certain that taking down Tomura will be enough to put the organization back into hiding? It seems like we might just be dealing with a symptom and not the disease."
Dabi interjected, his tone almost bored with the questions. "They're like a hydra," he said pointedly. "And All For One's organization is smart. They know how to lie low, and they know the value of a sacrifice."
Kaina chimed in, her voice firm. "Tomura's brashness is like throwing a lit match into a powder keg. They'll drop him to save themselves, no question."
A quiet determination settled over Izuku's face. "We just need to provide the push. Once we take care of Tomura and his close associates, All For One's organization will have to retreat. They won't risk open confrontation; secrecy is like a cloak they wrap themselves in."
Momo glanced at the board with Dabi's sketches, her expression thoughtful. "So, we focus on gathering the evidence against Tomura and his followers, hitting them hard and fast. We expose them to where All For One's organization has no choice but to sever ties with them."
"Exactly," Izuku confirmed, his voice a razor's edge of conviction.
Katsuki watched as the team's hesitancy evaporated, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose.
"And how do we know for sure that someone else won't take the empty seat?" Shoto asked, his voice icy, slicing through the newfound resolve.
The room was tense; the shadows seemed to grow darker and the unknown situation pressed down on them. But Izuku remained unyielding as he set his cutlery down, his eyes locked on Shoto.
"Tomura is a special case. His familial connections to All For One made him brazen enough to take the seat without explicit direction from his father, and a few took that as enough approval to side with him. But no one else would have the guts to try without his direct approval. Only All For One can choose his next heir, and the organization won't move until then," Izuku said, his voice ringing with certainty.
There was a moment of silence, and then the room was ablaze with activity again. They laid out the plan, assigned roles, and considered contingencies. The soft scratching of pens and the rustle of papers filled the room. As they added the final touches to their plan, Katsuki felt a shiver run down his spine. They were on the precipice of something monumental.
He glanced at Izuku, his eyes locked on the sketches of the Main Estate with fierce determination. They were walking a dangerous path, but Katsuki knew that with this team, they had a chance.
They would fight, and they would win.
As the meeting came to a close, the room cleared out. Katsuki leaned against the kitchen counter, nursing a glass of water. The dim lights flickered, casting long shadows that danced around the room. His mood was sour, a potent mix of concern for Izuku and frustration at the complexity of the situation.
His attention wandered. He unintentionally caught snippets of conversation from Todoroki and Mirai, who stood huddled in a corner, their voices low. His heart rate quickened as he eavesdropped.
"We'll need to keep this under the commissioner's radar," Todoroki was saying, his brows knitted in concentration.
Mirai's face wore a look of concern. "This will be easier said than done. What about the paperwork? The warrants? We can't just barge in there with no legal backing."
Todoroki's lips curled into a confident smile. "Leave that to me. I've built some connections over the years, including a few judges who owe me favors."
Katsuki snorted, but a part of him felt relieved that there were people like Todoroki and Mirai who knew how to navigate the legal maze.
His focus shifted back to the layout that Dabi had drawn, now pinned to the wall. He scrutinized every detail, his fingers twitching with the urge to get things moving.
With a deep breath, he moved closer to the dry erase board. His fingers drummed against the surface as he went over everything one more time. The margin for error was slim, and the stakes were higher than anything he'd faced before.
His mind raced, discarding what made little sense and holding onto what might give them an edge. All the while, a nagging voice in his head kept questioning if they had overlooked anything.
Absorbed in his thoughts, he barely noticed when Izuku approached him. His former childhood friend stood silently for a moment before speaking.
"Kacchan, you look like you're trying to set something on fire with your glare," Izuku commented with a hint of amusement.
Katsuki grunted but didn't look away from the layout.
After a pause, Izuku added in a softer tone, "We'll get through this."
Katsuki finally turned to face Izuku. His stern expression softened just a fraction. They had come a long way from the children they used to be.
"Yeah," Katsuki muttered. "We will."
The night ended with everyone promising to meet back at Katsuki's place on the night of the Charity Ball. The apartment was hushed, bathed in the soft glow of the living room lights, as the faint scent of rain wafted in through an open window. Katsuki, absorbed in cleaning up the kitchen, could hear the faint rustling of papers. He peered out to see Izuku on the couch, sifting through documents with a focused expression. The earlier frenzy had left the apartment feeling strangely vacant, the calm somehow unsettling.
After setting the last dish into the rack, Katsuki wiped his hands and made his way to the living room. Izuku was immersed in the sea of papers scattered across the coffee table, but Katsuki's arrival seemed to pull him from his focus.
"Let's take a break, Izuku," Katsuki suggested, his voice a gentle contrast to the tension in the room.
With a nod, Izuku set the papers aside. Katsuki noticed the visible relief on Izuku's face as he leaned back into the couch, sinking into the cushions.
As they sat together, their shoulders just brushing, a comfortable silence washed over them. The light flickered, playing on their faces as the atmosphere shifted. Katsuki broke the silence with a pensive expression.
"You remember what Shoto said earlier, about how different we are?" he started. There was a hint of vulnerability in his voice.
Izuku looked at him and nodded.
"I don't care what paths we took or what mistakes were made. Accept it, Izuku, you're still a good person. You always were. You made mistakes, but you're back where you belong," Katsuki insisted, his voice earnest.
Izuku remained silent for a moment, then spoke softly, "Knowing your past mistakes isn't the same as being redeemed from them, Kacchan."
Katsuki was firm. He refused to let Izuku wallow. "You're here now, aren't you? You're fighting with us. That's what matters."
Their conversation shifted from the heaviness of their pasts to childhood antics and schoolyard dreams. They spoke of the adventures they had, the scraped knees, the races down the streets, and how the world seemed so vast and full of possibilities.
A sharp, measured knock at the door pierced their reverie. Katsuki's eyebrows furrowed as he pushed himself off the couch to go check.
"It's probably the packages from Tomura," Izuku said.
As he opened the door, a courier in uniform handed him a well-wrapped box before leaving with a curt nod.
Katsuki, curious and slightly wary, tore open the package on the coffee table. Inside, laying above the wrapping of their outfits, he noticed the pins they were meant to wear. Each was a monogram of Tomura Shigaraki's initials, adorned with a deep red ruby right at the center. It was garish, flashy, and made Katsuki's taste recoil.
The light from the room caught the ruby, making it glint ominously. The red seemed too vivid, too bloodlike. Katsuki's fingers brushed against the stone, and for a fleeting moment, he felt as if a chill ran through him. His gaze shifted to Izuku, who was staring at the pin with a complicated expression.
"These are tacky as hell," Katsuki muttered, holding up the pin with visible disgust.
Katsuki's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the clothes that had been delivered. His own suit was an over-the-top ensemble with an absurd amount of frills - something that he found utterly repulsive. However, amongst the flamboyance, an emerald green shirt caught his eye. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that the shirt was decent enough.
Across from him, Izuku was examining his own outfit, which was in stark contrast to Katsuki's. It was a simple, sleek black-on-black suit. Sophisticated, even. Katsuki couldn't deny that it suited Izuku's demeanor and frame. Izuku's eyes softened as he glanced at his reflection, lost in thought, before he shrugged, his lips curving into a resigned, if not slightly amused, smile.
The deliberate difference in their outfits gnawed at Katsuki. He realized Tomura had intentionally chosen the frilly, excessively flashy suit for him to mock and belittle him - casting him as Izuku's ornamental arm candy. His scowl deepened.
Izuku glanced at Katsuki and couldn't help but chuckle at his disgruntled expression. "What's the matter, Kacchan? Don't like your suit?" he teased, eyeing the garish ensemble.
Katsuki shot him a glare. "Like hell I'm wearing this clown outfit," he growled. Katsuki's gaze then landed on the emerald shirt again. He sighed. "But this shirt is okay, I suppose," he admitted with a shrug.
Izuku grinned, his eyes twinkling. "You could probably pull it off, though," he mused. But seeing Katsuki's expression darken, Izuku raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. The emerald shirt it is."
Katsuki grumbled something under his breath and put the shirt aside to use with one of his own outfits. The suit, however, he shoved back into the box like it had personally offended him. Which, in a way, it had.
As they folded the clothes and set them aside for the next day, Katsuki's attention shifted to Izuku's hair. It had grown out and was falling haphazardly over his forehead. Katsuki felt an urge to engage in something normal amidst the tension and plotting that had filled their day. Something as simple as giving Izuku a trim felt almost cathartic.
"Hey, Deku," Katsuki said, his voice softer than usual. "How about I cut that mop on your head? You look like you could use a trim."
Izuku looked surprised, but a small, genuine smile spread across his face. "Yeah, that sounds nice, Kacchan."
In the brightly lit bathroom, Katsuki carefully draped a towel over Izuku's shoulders, his gaze focused on the unruly hair that fell over Izuku's forehead. The room echoed with the quiet snip-snip of the scissors and the low hum of the exhaust fan.
Rain pattered softly against the window as Katsuki moved around Izuku, his movements measured and purposeful, a stark contrast to the storm that was brewing outside their haven.
"Hold still, nerd,"
Katsuki grumbled, brandishing the scissors. A sense of focus settled over him, a calmness that came from performing a mundane task in a world that was spinning out of control.
Izuku snorted, a quiet chuckle rippling through the air. "Only if you promise not to cut my ear off, Kacchan."
Their words, casual and teasing, sparked a wave of nostalgia that was both comforting and bittersweet. They fell into their old rhythm easily, bantering and reminiscing about their shared past. They discussed school and reminisced about childhood hangouts, even copying some old teachers. The tension that had been present earlier seemed to have evaporated, replaced by a warm familiarity. Laughter echoed in the small space, the sound bouncing off the tiles and filling the room with a sense of homeliness.
It was in this ordinary moment that something shifted between them. Amidst the simple task of cutting hair, they found a moment of temporary insulation from their past and the looming mission. As they shared jokes and memories, Katsuki saw the echoes of the boy he remembered from the man Izuku had become.
Katsuki wouldn't let anyone, not even Izuku himself, convince him that the determined, good-hearted kid he grew up with was gone.
As Katsuki set the scissors down and stepped back to survey his handiwork, satisfied with his work, he brushed his hand across the freshly cut locks. Izuku's newly trimmed hair suited him, giving him a clean, rugged look.
Izuku looked at his reflection before giving a small nod of approval. His eyes were distant for a moment, perhaps reflecting on how much had changed. They separated after Katsuki leaving the bathroom to give Izuku privacy while he rinsed off the stray hairs.
Katsuki made his way to his room and stood in the stillness. He stared at his gun and badge. They sat at the table, symbolic of his life as a detective, a life he was about to deliberately put on hold. Each piece of metal was a testament to his dedication, his years of tireless effort, his sacrifices. Katsuki had worked his way up the ranks, earning every accolade through blood, sweat, and stubborn determination.
But now, he was being asked to relinquish them. To give up the badge and gun that had become an extension of his identity, all in the name of going undercover. Memories of past cases flickered through his mind, the lives he had touched, and the justice he had sought.
The plan was sound. As Izuku's lover, he'd be permitted to accompany him to the charity ball, a gathering that would be teeming with potential evidence against Tomura. He'd have a front-row seat to the actions of the criminal underworld, an opportunity to gather what they needed to take down the current organization.
But it meant proving his loyalty to Tomura, showing that he would sever his ties with law enforcement. And while he understood the necessity, the weight of his decision sat heavy in his chest.
As he picked up the badge, tracing the engraved lettering, he allowed himself a moment to grieve the impending loss. The badge, a symbol of justice and honor, felt like a part of him. He could almost feel the weight of his gun in his hand, the cool metal familiar and comforting, reminding him of the countless times he stood as a protector.
Katsuki didn't have to turn to know that Izuku stood in the doorway. The air in the room seemed to shift, becoming dense with unspoken words and history. The faint scent of rain wafted in, mixing with the underlying notes of cedar from Izuku's soap. His presence felt like a balm to Katsuki's raw nerves as he set his badge and gun back down.
Slowly, Izuku entered the room. His green eyes, the color of leaves bathed in the morning dew, were unwavering as they met Katsuki's. His expression was open and vulnerable, with a determination etched across his face that Katsuki hadn't seen in ages. When he spoke, his voice was a soft whisper, cutting through the heavy silence.
"We'll make it through this, Kacchan," Izuku murmured. His words were reminiscent of times long gone, of scraped knees, whispered promises, and shared dreams, back when they were just two kids and the world wasn't such a goddamn mess.
Something snapped in Katsuki. Before his brain could catch up with him, he surged forward, his lips crashing into Izuku's in a desperate kiss. Katsuki released his years of pent-up emotions, fears, and longings. Katsuki clung to Izuku, drawing strength from him like a man starved of air.
As their lips parted, a trail of heated breath lingered between them, connecting them with an invisible thread of desire. Katsuki's hands, trembling with longing and anticipation, trailed along Izuku's waist, drawing him closer. Their bodies moved in perfect sync, stumbling backward until they found solace in the bed's softness. Katsuki straddled Izuku's waist, their mouths crashing together once more in hunger and desperation.
Katsuki found solace in Izuku's touch, his warmth.
But just as he allowed himself to lose control, Izuku hesitated, his lips pulling away with a hint of reluctance. Confusion and longing filled Katsuki as Izuku swiftly and decisively flipped them over. He loomed over Katsuki, his breath coming in soft pants, and the air seemed charged between them. Their eyes met, searching, and Katsuki saw a flicker of something more profound in Izuku's gaze.
"We can't," Izuku's voice was filled with resolve. He pulled away and sat up, establishing a necessary distance.
Frustration surged through Katsuki's chest. The intensity of their connection had always been a dance of power and surrender, and in that moment, Katsuki refused to give in as he had before.
Breaking the heavy silence, Katsuki's voice trembled with vulnerability. "Izuku, I want more than just this. I want us to be more than this constant back and forth. I want..." His voice trailed off, unable to fully articulate the depths of his desires.
Izuku's gaze softened. His fingers traced patterns on Katsuki's cheek. "Katsuki, I... I need time," he whispered, his voice tinged with sadness.
Reluctantly, they separated. As they prepared for bed, the weight of their impending tasks mingled with the unresolved tension in the room. They silently agreed to rest, aware of their responsibilities and the emotions bubbling beneath the surface.
Katsuki listened to the steady rhythm of Izuku's heartbeat against his chest. It was like a lullaby, lulling him into a fitful sleep.
On the day of the Charity Ball, the sky unfurled like a resplendent tapestry, with rays of the dawn casting long, dancing shadows over the city. Katsuki Bakugo's boots clicked against the linoleum as he navigated the maze-like corridors of the police department. His heart hammered against his ribs as he clutched his badge and gun. The cold metal was not just a reminder of the decision that loomed ahead, but a physical connection of years spent walking these halls.
Around him, officers who never spared him a second glance now followed his movements like hawks. The atmosphere was thick, whispers swirling around like leaves in the wind. His comrades, Denki and Sero, exchanged troubled glances.
The door to Aizawa's office seemed imposing as he pushed it open. The badge now felt like the heaviest object in the universe, concentrating on his life as a cop and his identity.
Aizawa's gaze was like a physical force. His eyes, always so sharp, seemed tired. "Make sure you come back for this," Aizawa's voice was gravelly, and Katsuki thought he detected a hint of sorrow.
He wondered if Aizawa, who had seen so many officers walk in and out of this office, felt the weight of every badge that was ever turned in.
"I will," Katsuki whispered, more to himself than to his superior.
Kaminari and Sero were waiting outside, their expressions tight. "Is this about Kiri?" Kaminari's voice was strained.
Katsuki's chest constricted at Kirishima's name. He steeled himself. "No, it's not about him. I need time," he muttered. But even to him, the words felt hollow. He brushed past them, his strides purposeful.
As Katsuki walked through the city, the buildings towering over him; he felt both insignificant and unshackled. His thoughts were a whirlwind, images of his past, Kirishima, and the uncertain road ahead.
Katsuki opened the door when he arrived at his apartment. Pushing it open, he found Izuku inside, waiting for him. Izuku had clad himself in nothing but a pair of old sweatpants. His skin was still glistening from a shower, and he was sifting through the suits Tomura had sent over.
"Ah, Kacchan, you're back," Izuku greeted him, not seeming to be self-conscious in the slightest.
"Dressed to impress, I see," Katsuki snarked, glancing around the room. His eyes settled on the gaudy, frilly outfit Tomura had chosen for him earlier. He frowned.
"Getting a head start on deciding what to do about these suits," Izuku replied with a chuckle. "Dabi said we can't bring anything with us for security reasons. Tomura's providing everything we need during the event."
Katsuki's eyes narrowed as he remembered the hideous outfit. "There's no way in hell I'm wearing that thing," he growled.
Izuku looked amused. "We don't need to get ready until the others join us later tonight. But I wanted to strategize. What's your plan?"
Katsuki strode over to the suits, pulling out an emerald button-down that was among the selection. "I'll pair this with one of my own suits. Tomura can shove it if he thinks I'm wearing a frilly get-up."
Izuku's laughter filled the room. "You always know how to make a statement," he said, shaking his head. "I'll see if I can talk Tomura into letting us have some say in what we wear for the rest of the event."
Katsuki shot him a glance, acknowledging the support, though he said nothing.
They spent the next couple of hours in the apartment, talking through plans and discussing what they knew of Tomura's organization. Katsuki's gaze would wandered around the apartment, feeling the weight of the day's events—handing in his badge, cutting ties, however temporarily, with his former life.
"You'll get it back, Kacchan," Izuku said, softly. "We just have to get through this and then things can go back to the way they were."
Katsuki glanced at Izuku, who was now rifling through the suits with a thoughtful expression. His words left Katsuki wondering if 'the way they were' could include something more between them, something neither had dared to address.
The hours flew by as they waited for the others to join them. As evening approached, Katsuki felt the burden of what was ahead, but also a resolve fueled by a deep-seated desire to protect what he held dear.