Chapter Text
The fields spread out before them, the wind caressing the grasses and flowers in a manner that brought them to life, brushing against one another like a sea of gold. The sky was void of clouds, allowing the brilliance of the spring sunlight to cast its glow upon every corner of that summit. In the clarity granted via such sunlight and the dissipated fog, faded hues of reds, blues, violets were visible for perhaps the first time on the stonework of those old temple ruins.
As lovely as the setting was, Maharo thought that perhaps the most beautiful part of it was the scene unfolding ahead. Cast under a curtain of brimming and lively wisteria flowers, her fathers stood clad in elegant white suits, facing one another. Between them stood Auntie Ochaco, holding an open book in her hands, and donned in a lavender dress that cascaded down to her ankles. Her warm brown eyes were soft as she looked upon the pair, slightly flushed cheeks beaming with pride as she recited words from the text. When her soft voice fell into silence, she nodded down at Katsuma, who stepped forward, brandishing a small pillow with two golden rings. Her dad’s celestial green eyes were bright, creased in warmth and happiness as he accepted the rings.
There were a lot of people here; most Maharo recognized. Grandma and Grandpa were off to the side, hands clasped together as they watched the ceremony. Beside them were her uncles Hitoshi and Neito. Auntie Tsuyu, Auntie Mina, Uncle Shoto and Uncle Eijirou were all near the front of the ceremony, serving as the groomsmen and groomsmaids. In the eaves were Dad’s other friends – Mr. Denki, his friend Kyouka and her wife Momo. There was the older girl, Imari, from Deku’s martial arts classes.
There were also some people she didn’t recognize. Next to Imari stood a weary looking man in a suit, his onyx hair laced with silver and pulled back into a half bun. In spite of the tiredness in his flat eyes, and the seemingly apathetic expression on his face, he was just as put together as the rest of them. Closer study revealed that rather than being indifferent, a heavy burden of emotions lay behind those dark eyes, nearly shimmering with a bursting measure of pride. Beside him, there were several others — a blonde man with glasses, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, and then some people that Maharo hadn’t properly met but recognized as her dad’s friends from work.
“Forever,” Came Kacchan’s voice, more soft spoken than she’d ever heard it. Maharo’s honey eyes snapped back to the ceremony, just in time to catch the unwavering devotion swimming in his ruby gaze.
Staring right back, with an expression equally as enraptured, Deku finished for him; “I’m yours, and you’re mine.” The freckled danced across his face, beaming with nothing short of love. Once, she’d questioned the candor of such raw kindness and warmth in a person, but over the last year since they’d been adopted, it had become apparent that that’s just how her dad was.
Dad.
She tested the word in her mind, tossing it around. Maharo debated whether she should call him that out loud, for once, instead of just in her head, before wrinkling her nose.
Better not. Had to keep him on his toes, after all.
There wasn’t really any fog or mist on the summit that day. As such, when Maharo spotted what appeared to be a small cloud of it, curled just at the base of the wisteria tree, behind where her dads stood, it drew her attention. As though compelled by an unseen force, her gaze lingered on that small cloud, frowning slightly. It was faded and shifting, difficult to look at or make sense of for some reason. Honestly, it was weird .
Nobody near it seemed to pay it any mind. A cursory glance around revealed that everyone else’s eyes were on the ceremony, seeming oblivious to the odd shifting mist beside it. But perhaps strangest of all, when Maharo glanced back to that odd cloud, for the briefest of moments, it looked different. Under those wisteria flowers, the white fogginess seemed to brighten and cascade around a form like a waterfall of moonlight. Maharo straightened her posture, honey eyes narrowed now in rapt attention as the image shimmered and faded.
It might have been an odd trick of the eyes – it had only lasted for a moment, after all. But during those fleeting seconds, Maharo thought – no, she swore – the mist had taken the shape of a girl. A familiar-looking girl, with moonlight colored hair, a blissful smile, and round ruby eyes.
Unaware of what his daughter had witnessed, Katsuki pulled back from the kiss, hand clasped with Izuku’s. It was an odd blessing, for the day to be so clear of the clouds and mist that was normally signature to this location. Katsuki had thought once that he’d preferred those clouds to fall to his feet. As he took in the now visible sight surrounding the summit that he’d never before seen – the rolling meadows, the sunbeams scattered over crying cliffs – he felt differently.
Katsuki didn’t need to feel like he’d surpassed the heavens. He felt content with his feet planted right here on earth, surrounded by the people he loved the most.
—
One night per year, hundreds of high class society members would fly into Japan from around the world for an annual awards gala, sponsored by Bakugo Industries. CEO’s, infamous actors and actresses, even the occasional politician – anyone who was anyone coveted the opportunity to make an appearance at this gala. The only way to gain entrance was via exclusive invitations printed on the finest of materials, with names of the invitees scrawled in delicate calligraphy. Camera flashes would be going off all night long, the occurrences and awards given out during this event among the most coveted in the upper class, promising to make the news for months after.
Millions of dollars were spent on a single night of pomp and circumstance; each attendee donned in statement pieces more outlandish than the last, each in an unspoken competition to one up the person next to you. Every face was carefully crafted in a mask, every movement laced in perfection and refinement, prioritizing the appearances of a perfectly polished personality and passive aggression.
In short, it represented everything that Katsuki hated about the affluent life he grew up with.
“The Midoriyas. Welcome,” The doorman rumbled, accepting their invitation. Even at a glance, Katsuki recognized the high quality fabric of the employee’s suit, finely pressed. He wore a silky black top hat, his eyes obscured as he dipped his head in respect towards them. In the dramatic lighting of the banquet hall entrance, the only features Katsuki could make out were sharp lines of his jaw and a soft twitch of the man’s lips. Even so, there was an odd familiarity to his voice, prompting Katsuki’s gaze to linger.
At Katsuki’s side, Izuku smiled warmly towards the doorman, greeting him just as cheerily as he would any other person, and ushered Maharo and Katsuma forward. Once they passed, the doorman lifted his chin, finally casting light upon his face to meet Katsuki’s questioning gaze.
A sly smirk tugged at those sharp features, and the man winked.
Katsuki’s eyes widened in recognition. Before he could so much as say a word, however, Izuku voice carried from up ahead. Sparing one final glance back at the doorman, whose face had returned to the professionally polished mask as he greeted the next attendees, Katsuki hurried after his family.
Katsuki had been to this gala before, back when he was Bakugo Industries heir. Taking in the prim posture and tight lipped smiles of a young baroness they passed by, he resolved that he certainly hadn’t missed it. His lack of willingness to conform in adolescence was often the source of most of those disparaging articles about him, and even when Mitsuki managed to get them taken down shortly after, he remained the talk of the community for months after.
But Izuku had been invited. He was a candidate for some sort of award, ‘most influential’ something or other, and, uncharacteristically, he’d asked for Katsuki to come with. Normally Izuku wouldn’t ask something like that of him, knowing how much he disliked that scene he grew up around. That said, there was no chance in hell Katsuki wasn’t going to support his husband. Mitsuki had also personally demanded he make an appearance, but her surprise at his lack of protest was palpable.
Their steps echoed on the sprawling marble staircase, and Katsuki's ever-present scowl morphed into a faint smile as Katsuma raced Maharo up to the top of the steps. Their giggles made for a much more pleasant noise than the ambient piano music that resonated from the ballroom up ahead. It was a nice change of pace. If he had to be here at one of these events again, Katsuki was grateful that at least he had his family with him.
His smile slipped slightly as he took in the enormous space. Giant, ornate pillars arched from the floor to the ceiling. The entirety of the ballroom was lit with not one, not two, not even three, but five exquisite crystal chandeliers that Katsuki knew damn well were worth more than his weight in gold. Golden satin tablecloths stretched across every one of the tables, small numbered cards placed in the center of each.
Katsuki’s face twisted into that signature scowl as they settled into their seats, brow pinched as he studied the detailed lettering on the cards. It was so damn excessive.
Katsuki fucking hated rich people.
A featherlight brush against the back of his hand caught his attention. Katsuki shifted in his seat, breath catching as he caught the softened, reassuring smile on Izuku’s face. Those celestial green eyes bore straight through him, flecks of gold shimmering faintly in the gala’s lighting. Looking into those eyes, for a moment, the rest of the world fell away.
Izuku’s own outfit was exquisite in its own right, but it wasn’t excessive. He was donned in a blazer that was deep green, with gold threading inlaid into the material on one side of the jacket in the image of a giant tree. He wore tailored slacks in the same color, and a similarly colored tie, with the highlights of decorative golden threading. Katsuki had been the one to help him put it on, because for the life of him the damned nerd still couldn’t do a proper tie. Katsuki shifted his hand, intertwining their fingers.
“Thank you for coming, Kacchan,” Izuku whispered breathily.
Katsuki rolled his eyes, trying to downplay his affectedness. “Yeah, well, you fuckin’ owe me one,” He huffed halfheartedly. From the glint in Izuku’s eyes, he could tell that his husband wasn’t buying it. He gave Katsuki’s hand a soft squeeze. “I appreciate it. And if you need to leave at any point–”
Katsuki scoffed. “I ain’t going anywhere. As long as you and the kids are here, I’ll be fine.”
“Here, Dad,” Maharo piped up. “I got your favorite.”
Katsuki glanced over, spotting the decorative glass she was holding out towards him, the liquid inside the cup fizzing with small bubbles. His sharp crimson eyes softened, and he released his hold on Izuku’s hand to ruffle her hair and accept the drink. “Thanks, kid,” Katsuki rumbled appreciatively, bringing the cup to his lips and taking a sip.
Though it had been a few years, Katsuki considered himself fairly well versed in the subtleties of high class society at these events. In order to bite his tongue and survive half of those mandatory attendances, Katsuki had taken to people watching when he wanted to pass the time and distract himself. Unfortunately, watching a bunch of rich snobs be incredibly fake and uppity only to be human when they thought no one was looking further fueled his hatred for the scene. That said, there were certain things he had learned while occupying himself in this manner.
For instance; body language. When one high class individual was speaking to another that they didn’t like, their features would be tense. Their smiles wouldn’t reach their eyes, and they would smile more tightly with their teeth, much in the way an animal would bare their fangs. When they were nervous or insecure, they would be more fidgety, look around more. When it was someone they wanted to impress, their body language would be more open and forward leaning. When it was someone they trusted, or if they were incredibly self assured, their shoulders would be relaxed.
Katsuki had grown used to most often witnessing the first examples at these events. Used to putting on a facade in these settings, it was rare for half of these people to be genuinely comfortable around others, unless they knew them personally. Occasionally, there would be an interaction that really pushed the buttons of those rich snobs, to the point where their very mask would crack and they could scarcely hold a smile. If Katsuki was lucky, he’d get to witness one of these people storm off in an effort to control their frustration. If he was even luckier, he’d overhear them arguing in earnest. Sometimes, a jilted lover would slap someone else, or spill their drink on another's shirt. It was like a goddamned telenovela.
That said, both ends of the spectrum were largely rare at these sorts of events. Nobody wanted to make a scene and risk their reputation being tarnished, and nobody really liked half the people at these damn places. As such, they would avoid long term rivals, minimize interactions with them, and everyone wore those stupid plastic smiles. They would go home to their stupid plastic lives without incident and boasting or complaining about the amount of attention on them, and consider the evening a success.
But for some reason, as this night dragged on and the speeches lulled into a background noise, Katsuki noticed something interesting. They were fortunate enough to be seated by themselves, which made the evening infinitely more tolerable than trying to socialize with some aristocratic bastards that Katsuki couldn’t be bothered to even pretend he gave a shit about. He imagined that Izuku or his mother must have had something to do with that, in efforts of making it easier on him.
That said, it seemed that at every table except their own, those masks were cracking. Tension was more apparent, people would get up more often out of frustration. After an hour or so of studying, Katsuki came to one conclusion.
Pretty much everyone was seated with those people they would normally so precariously avoid.
As much as Katsuki hated being involved in drama, he wouldn’t lie and say that he didn’t particularly despise learning about drama. It’s half of what got him through those early years as heir, after all. So, when one particularly distressed young man stormed away from his table in a barely controlled rage, Katsuki leaned over to whisper some half-assed excuse for leaving and about being right back, and rose up to subtly trail after the agitated man.
Katsuki waved off the wait staff holding out trays of delicate champagne flutes, barely sparing them a glance. Fortunately, rather than going off somewhere alone, the young man took the liberty of dipping into the restroom near the end of the banquet hall.
As Katsuki pushed through the heavy mahogany door, he couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose. One thing he’d almost forgotten about places like this was the excessiveness of the damned bathrooms. Truly, it resembled more of a fancy lounge; along the wall, the sinks were accentuated with that same lining of gold that the rest of the building seemed to favor. Crystal mirrors served for anyone interested in fixing themselves up or attempting to regain their dignity. A luxury, high end couch matching in the dramatic but modern color theme was placed along another wall. There was a god damned statue in the middle of the room, favoring the style of old greek stone carvings, in that the man was naked with his arm stretched to the sky as though reaching for something. Near the door, posture stiff and attentive, was another member of the wait staff, ready with a basket of towels and mints for anyone leaving the restrooms.
And – to Katsuki’s further disgust, the ornate crystal coffee table placed at the foot of the couch, featured a basket of complimentary cigarettes.
The man he’d followed was a slender gentleman, with narrow brown eyes and a head of curly brown hair. He leaned forward into the mirror, fingers tapping against the marble countertops, but in spite of his apparent agitation, his posture carried and air of arrogance and self-importance.
Keeping casual, Katsuki approached the mirrors, absentmindedly fixing his tie. Upon realizing he had company – the wait staff didn’t count, apparently – the man straightened, turning to face him. “Say, have we met before?” He inquired.
Great. Katsuki hadn’t wanted to make conversation with the fucker.
“Probably not,” Katsuki grunted, not bothering to glance over. “Rough night?”
The man groaned. “Don’t even get me started. Some impudent fool placed me next to my sworn competition and their absolutely airheaded excuse of a partner.” Katsuki felt the man’s eyes on him, studying him. He snapped his fingers, as though it were on the tip of his tongue. “You do look familiar,” He hummed thoughtfully.
“Doubt it. You run across a lot of scarred up fuckers?” Katsuki huffed.
“I wouldn’t say I normally associate with your type, no,” The young man chuckled, and great, Katsuki wanted to kill him already.
Count to ten. His nostrils flared, and he squinted his eyes shut. Well, this had been a mistake. So much for entertainment. It seemed in the presence of someone he could belittle, the fucker was just as snobby as the rest of them.
“The name’s Atsuhiro Sako, by the way. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”
God, the presumptuousness was too much. Granted, his name was familiar, ringing a long distant bell – probably from years ago, so he didn’t bother to try and decipher it. Instead, Katsuki shot a glare the young man’s way. Unfortunately, Sako missed it, having migrated to that luxury sofa and balancing one of the complimentary cigarettes between his fingertips.
“Care for a cigarette?” Sako inquired.
And, that was his cue to leave. Katsuki knew sometimes people would smoke in these bathrooms, but he often opted for the smoke-free options at these venues. Even the thought of that acrid smell filling up the room made his nose wrinkle in distaste.
“I don’t smoke,” Katsuki quipped, turning on his heels.
“Wait – I do recognize you,” Sako exclaimed suddenly. “I never forget a face – you’re Katsuki Bakugo, aren’t you?”
Katsuki’s shoulders stiffened. Great. Time to make a bet – was he recognized by those old articles, the newer bullshit Keigo had done, or something from even further back?
“It’s Midoriya,” Katsuki bit out.
“Oh? You were the Bakugo Industries heir, weren’t you? I remember us having a very colorful conversation years back at one of their parties – really left an impression.”
Fuck. Turns out it was option C. Now that he mentioned it, Katsuki did recall some uppity fucker pissing him off – and getting chewed out by the hag for it. That was before he’d even met Izuku, if he recalled.
“–Though, I suppose it would make sense that they might not want someone like you associated with their prestigious reputation.”
Katsuki whirled on the man, just in time to see the flick of a lighter catch the end of the cigarette.
Rather than filling the room with acrid smoke, however, sparks began to dance from the end of it, like a fucking sparkler . Sako let out a highly pitched shriek of surprise, tossing the sparking cigarette to the floor and scrambling backwards.
The bathroom descended into silence, save for the popping of the still sparking cigarette.
Katsuki covered his mouth, barely stifling the snort of laughter. His shoulders quaked, crimson eyes creased, and Sako looked up at him, affronted. “How dare you laugh at such a display of… of… infantile impudence!”
And for some reason, hearing the fucker speak and try to collect himself set Katsuki off. He tossed his head back, cackling wildly and clutching at his sides. Further agitated, Sako stomped the sparkling cigarette out, reaching for another and angrily bringing the lighter flame to the end. Rather than hold it up to his lips again, he had the sense to hold it out as he lit it.
That didn’t stop Katsuki from howling in laughter when that one started sparking violently as well, causing the man to, yet again, nearly jump out of his skin.
Sako’s face went red with anger, and he stomped to a stand, storming out of the bathroom. Katsuki was so distracted by the hilarity of the scene that he barely noticed the way the staff member’s weary violet eyes flashed with amusement in their own right.
“Ambien? The fuck are you doing here?” Katsuki gasped, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I thought Neito wasn’t coming this time.” He scanned his friend more thoroughly, brow furrowing at the way his hair had been tamed and colored to a more subtle black.
“He’s not. I’m just here to cause a little chaos,” Hitoshi drawled cryptically, leaning against the wall. “Got invited for a special request.”
A few more puzzles clicked into place – the numbered tables, the trick cigarettes. Katsuki frowned, recalling just who exactly had been playing doorman. “Oi, does this have anything to do with–”
“You should get back to your table, Blasty,” Hitoshi interjected, lips curled into a knowing grin.
It was with renewed intrigue that Katsuki did just that.
Now that it seemed there was something else afoot, he began to notice more and more things he hadn’t before. For example, the catering staff.
“‘Zu, do you know anything about this?” Katsuki asked in a hushed voice. “I swear I just saw fucking Stripper Heels passing out food, and Ambien was in the bathroom. The complementary cigarettes were rigged to spark like sparklers.”
Izuku’s forest green eyes danced with a knowing glint, but he only gave Katsuki’s hand a soft squeeze in response. “They were? That’s odd,” He hummed, smiling brightly as another member of the wait staff set their plates in front of them. A soft squeeze on Katsuki’s shoulder prompted him to glance up, spotting plush lips curled into a knowing smile. Like Hitoshi, Camie’s hair color was different and pulled back into an unassuming ponytail. Her makeup was also different, but it was undeniably her. Rather than saying anything, she parted with a wink towards Izuku and a lazy sway of her hips.
“B-b-bone ap–p-apple t-tea!” Katsuma exclaimed cheerily.
“It’s Bon Apetit , Katsu,” Maharo corrected, pointing her fork at the seven year old.
“I like mine better,” Katsuma signed stubbornly, sticking his tongue out at his sister.
“I agree, bone apple tea is superior,” Izuku chimed in, signing as he spoke.
Rather than immediately starting on his meal, Katsuki peered around at the other attendees. Many of them wore faces pinched in tight, uncomfortable smiles. Others seemed less bothered, but the majority of them were wearing expressions of either minor perplexity or distaste.
Midnight, with her hair pulled into a blonde, high quality wig, approached one of the tables nearby with a warm smile.
“Are you lovely ladies enjoying the food?”
“Oh, I’m quite fine,” A prim young woman answered, but her brow remained pinched. “I think perhaps I’m just not used to this… chef. It tastes quite different than I was expecting.”
Lying. She was lying, clearly trying to remain polite.
Midnight seemed pleased. “Yes, well, we’ve only brought the finest of dishes for our clients today. Our dinner supplies have been imported from several locations around the country, whipped together by an exclusive five star chef from a newly awarded Michelin star restaurant!”
The young woman’s face appeared to relax a little at that statement. “Oh, is that so? Well, I’m grateful for the opportunity to try their cuisine!”
Katsuki glanced down at the decorative dish in suspicion. Izuku and the kids were digging in without reservation, so he brought one of the chopsticks up to his mouth with a sauce coated vegetable, giving it a cautionary sniff. After determining it didn’t smell like poison, he popped the vegetable into his mouth.
There was nothing particularly wrong with it, per se. If anything, it tasted a little bland. Even so, Katsuki’s brow pinched. This certainly wasn’t the high quality meal he had often tried at these events. It tasted more familiar, like…
Izuku finished his plate with a delighted hum, reminiscent of all the other times he’d scarfed down a quick meal next to the kids. With just that pleased sound, Katsuki’s mind’s eye took him back to a time when his husband’s apartment was a mess of takeout containers and–
“It tastes like your shitty microwave meals,” Katsuki blurted out, eyes widening in realization.
Before Izuku had a chance to respond, the people at the front of the stage called his name for the award. Eyes sparkling, he rose to a stand, adjusting his suit and dabbing at his lips with the napkin. “Come up to the stage with me, Kacchan,” Izuku simpered warmly, holding his hand out.
Katsuki squinted at the outstretched limb in distrust. “It's your speech, Deku.”
“Yes, and I want you there,” Izuku insisted.
“But the kids–”
“Go, Dad,” Maharo interjected, shoving his arm with a light nudge. “I’ll stay with Katsu.”
Grumbling something under his breath, Katsuki acquiesced, taking Izuku’s hand and trailing after his husband towards the stage.
It wasn’t exactly standard, per se, but so far none of this night had been.
While a few odd looks were shot Katsuki’s way as he clung to the edge of the stage – he outright refused to step in the center with Izuku – no one stopped them. Izuku gratefully accepted the golden award from the host, turning towards the gathered crowd. His cheeks dimpled in that beaming, bright smile, the one that never failed to cause all of Japan and even Katsuki himself to swoon.
“I just wanted to start off by saying thank you, to everyone who made all of this possible,” Izuku started. Gone were the days of his stage fright; after years of working the camera, the bright, blinding lights of a camera’s flash and a spotlight were familiar territory. “If you had told me where I would be today, about seven years ago? I probably would have asked what you were selling – and pointed out that I couldn’t afford it.” He let out a chuckle, which some of the crowd laughed in tandem.
“But even though I’m the one who’s got this award, I wanted to take the time to appreciate the man who helped me get where I am today. My husband, Katsuki Midoriya. Who – might I add, just earned a Michelin star award for his work at the restaurant Cameo in Tokyo!” With that, Izuku turned towards Katsuki, his brilliant smile just as dazzling as the day it had first pinned him in place and stolen his heart.
A spotlight shifted onto Katsuki’s location on the stage. Cheers echoed from the crowd – notably familiar voices of his mom, Maharo and Katsuma, and his coworkers. As heat flushed high in his cheekbones, Izuku took a few steps towards him, holding a hand out. As though caught in a trance, Katsuki accepted it, allowing himself to be led to the center stage.
“You changed my life,” Izuku uttered genuinely, his eyes shining with emotion. “Like some sort of meteor, you crashed into my world and the shockwave of that broke me out of the cycle I was trapped in. Because of you, I can be free. I can live.”
Katsuki wasn’t crying. There was no chance in hell he was crying. No, his eyes were just… watering because of the lights. Yeah, that was it.
Izuku turned away from him, back to face the crowd. He cleared his throat. “In the early days of our relationship, Kacchan taught me an invaluable lesson that I think everyone here could stand to learn. And, in a way, I like to think I taught it to him as well. He taught me to let go of those roles that had trapped me, to step free of my bonds and be myself. He taught me to take what I wanted, to let loose and live . And, with that in mind, can I just say–”
Izuku turned back towards him, those celestial green eyes mesmerizing, captivating, drawing him in with the depth of all the stars in the sky. Katsuki melted under that warm stare, that brilliant smile, that stunning constellation of freckles. The world vanished, the crowd around them falling hushed. For a moment, all that mattered was the man in front of him and his hand on Katsuki’s chest and those perfect lips saying–
“Tag, you’re it!”
It took Katsuki a solid second, as his mind buffered, and Izuku launched himself off the stage, leaping over the table below with the agility of a rabbit.
A solid second where he stood, flabbergasted and rooted in place.
A solid second where it dawned on him that Izuku was playing tag in the middle of a Bakugo Industries-funded national awards gala .
“Oh, your ass is on , Deku!” Katsuki roared with a feral grin, vaulting after him.
Deku weaved sharply around several appalled members of the crowd, but Katsuki paid them no mind. Rather, he gripped his palms to one of the backs of the exquisite chairs, launching himself over a gasping young woman. Deku had a head start, after all – he needed to catch up and cut corners somehow .
Rather than the ambient piano music stopping in the chaos, it began to take up a more light-hearted tune . Finally short on his tail, Izuku slid across an abandoned table, knocking the golden tablecloth and glasses to the floor and whirling around. Those celestial green eyes alight in mischief as he kept the abandoned table separating them. Katsuki started in one direction, and Izuku leaned towards the other. Katsuki tried the other side, and Izuku was quick to react, keeping that table-length between them.
Sometime during this brief stalemate, Katsuki’s gaze caught on the piano player, only about eight feet from them. His eyes widened in recognition as a familiar golden gaze shot him a wink – the same man that had been playing doorman at the beginning of the evening. Utilizing this distraction, Izuku flipped the table over, rushing off.
Katsuki cursed, sparing a brief, exasperated glance towards Keigo Takami – who clearly had something to do with the mischief of this evening. “I thought you didn’t fuckin’ play piano.”
Keigo’s lips curled into a cheeky smirk. “Learned just for you, babe,” He simpered, golden eyes raising past his shoulder. “Better catch up to your husband.”
Katsuki followed his gaze, spotting Izuku ducking into the kitchen. He cursed, launching himself across several more tables in an effort to catch up. In his periphery, he could see several others dashing and running from each other – mostly members of the Cameo crew, clearly having decided to join in the fun.
Having lost sight of Izuku, Katsuki burst through the entryway of the kitchen, stumbling to a stop to see piles upon piles of microwave meal kits compiling near the garbage cans. Standing over the countertops was Gran Torino, adding a decorative touch to one of the dishes. “I fuckin’ knew it!” Katsuki shouted, a wild grin playing across his face. The door at the far end of the kitchen slammed shut, and, attention drawn back to the clearly more important task at hand, Katsuki dashed across the kitchen, shoving aside the occasional Cameo extras.
Bursting out the door revealed an empty hallway. Katsuki whirled around, letting out a huff of frustration. He jogged down the hallway back to the main banquet hall, eyes peeled for his husband.
And that was when his eyes landed on the infuriated gaze of Mitsuki Bakugo, standing near the stage and desperately trying to temper the concerned members of the crowd.
An idea sprouted in Katsuki’s mind. Scanning the crowd, he spotted where Maharo and Katsuma were running from Mina. They dipped under a table to get out of her reach, and, oblivious to his location, slid right towards him. He clasped two hands on both of their shoulders, glancing between their widened honey colored eyes.
“Twenty bucks if you can get grandma,” Katsuki hissed, all but stumbling from them as Mina steered towards him with a bright grin.
Mina was much easier to lose than Izuku had been able to get. Deciding to take a moment to catch his breath, Katsuki leaned against one of those ornate pillars, finally allowing himself to survey the damage they had caused to such a high society event.
Much to his surprise, there were more people joining in that he had anticipated. Food was spilled over luxury suits, tables overturned, and wild grins present on almost all the faces. It seemed that formerly put together and proper members of the upper class had finally shed some of their reservations in order to live a little, arms outstretched in chase and eager effort to get back at their rivals.
Mitsuki appeared to be in the minority of people who were still desperately trying to regain control of the situation. That is, until Katsuma raced up to the center, screeching to a stop in front of her and placing both hands on her belly. Mitsuki started as he quickly signed, “You’re it!” Then the pair raced off, a giggling mess.
Mitsuki gaped for a breadth of a heartbeat.
Then, something shifted. Her shoulders relaxed. She let out a bright, boisterous laugh, and kicked off her shoes. “Better watch out, brats!” Mitsuki screeched, tearing off after them.
Katsuki couldn’t help it; his lips tugged into a wide grin, and he crossed his arms over his chest. All discomfort of the evening had been shed.
If he’d had anything to do with it, this is how all of those uppity events would have gone when he was heir. Katsuki didn’t know what sort of strings Izuku and Keigo had pulled, but for a moment, he had to admit that they’d done something right.
A hand ruffled the top of his head. “You’re it.”
Katsuki turned just as Mina pinched his cheek, her expression victorious. “Izuku’s right over there, Blasty. I don’t think he knows you’re here,” She whispered conspiratorially, gesturing about ten feet away on the other side of the pillar.
Sure enough, the damned nerd was watching the pandemonium in his own right, head peered around the corner of his own pillar as he kept an eye on the scene around him. Katsuki kept his steps light, eyes narrowed in focus, all but forgetting Pinky.
Izuku stiffened as Katsuki’s shoes caught on the leg of a chair, dragging it loudly across the marble flooring. He whirled around, and his eyes widened as Katsuki froze in place. In an instant, Izuku leapt away – again, like a damn rabbit – but this time, Katsuki was much closer. He let out a victory cry, tackling his lover to the ground and pressing his palm against Izuku’s face.
“You’re it , bastard! I fuckin’ win!” Katsuki declared. His husband sputtered, before his entire frame began to quake with laughter. Still straddling him, Katsuki leaned back, cackling wildly.
Izuku’s laughter devolved into giggles, those bright green eyes creased in amusement as they both caught their breath. It was then that Katsuki noticed his husband’s face was covered in food from a stray spilled platter. He let out a huff, bringing a thumb up to swipe a crumb of the shitty microwave meal from the corner of his lips.
As he did so, suddenly something changed. The air went silent, save for the distant, warped sounds of the laughter around them. Izuku’s pupils dilated, his breathing falling shallow, and Katsuki’s smile softened. Distinctly aware of exactly how close they were to each other, Katsuki’s striking scarlet eyes danced searchingly across his husband’s face, lingering on those perfect lips.
Izuku’s gaze flecked down as well.
Drawn in by something like gravity alone, Katsuki closed the distance between them, pressing soft lips to his husband’s in a kiss. Izuku met him halfway, a hand raising up to card through Katsuki’s shock of blonde hair. Long eyelashes fluttered shut over those startling eyes. Warmth soared in his chest as lips moved against his own, drawing him in. Words unsaid laced themselves in every subtle movement and flick of the tongue.
I love you. I love you.
Caught somewhere between reality and some separate, ethereal place, Katsuki allowed himself to disappear into that moment of perfection that always tasted a little bit like forever.
𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕰𝖓𝖉
Many thanks to @Berrietto on twt who did this stunning commission for the fic!!