Work Text:
Some nights are scary.
They’re pitch black and full of violence, wind tearing at trees and shingles and coats as people try to hurry inside their homes, too familiar with the kind of damage a storm can really do to stay anywhere in its path unprotected. The only breaks in the oppressive blackness are the sharp flashes of lightning from the clouds, and even those don’t provide relief from the dark so much as illuminate the world just enough to turn innocent street signs and picket fences into twisting, terrifying creatures.
They’re nights where you’d expect something terrible to happen.
Tonight is not one of those nights.
The air sits pleasantly still, cool, but not so much so that it is uncomfortable, and the sliver of moon in a sky barren of clouds provides just enough light between the street lamps that none of the shadows seem too threatening to a passerby.
Not a bone in Katsuki’s body feels anything but a passive contentment as he turns to step off the sidewalk and into the grass of his front lawn. Or his parents’ front lawn, not that he could be bothered to remember that, what with the way they made a habit of traveling, sometimes for months at a time. At least it gave him the liberty to wander about the house without prying eyes. He can decide what’s appropriate to wear to school his damn self, thank you very much, and black seems to suit him.
Deku likes when he wears black, anyway.
The handle on the door sticks a little, like it always does, so he tightens his grip and forces it open to the dark hallway just beyond the doorstep, empty, a little desolate, even. There’s a break in the dust on the hardwood to the right of the doorframe where his boots go every day. They’ll go there again tonight, after he washes them off.
He remembers at the last second not to kick the door closed, lest the mildly scuffed white paint get any stains on it. His mother will berate him about if she ever decides to turn up.
His boot laces catch on his fingers, dragging and skidding against the stickier spots of skin as he pulls them loose. After a moment’s hesitation, he decides to pull the laces out completely so that he can throw them in the wash with his other clothes. Cleaning them will be easier that way.
With the ankles of his boots pinched between two fingers and his thumb in a light grip and the laces dangling over his shoulder, he climbs the staircase, socked feet padding quietly upwards and sliding a little on the wood when he pivots at the top of the staircase to turn toward his bedroom.
He lingers there and glances toward the window inset at the end of the hallway, where a sliver of moonlight just barely glints off the glass and shines in his direction.
—
Katsuki was trying, and failing, to fall asleep when he first heard the noise. Just a quiet, rhythmic tapping from the hallway outside his bedroom door. He assumed it was a tree branch, the wind could be pretty strong at night, so he rolled over and ignored it when it happened a second time. And a third.
The fourth time it happened, he sat bolt upright and threw the bedcovers back, stomping into the hall with a scowl on his face, a scowl that deepened when he saw the very human figure crouched on the overhang outside the window at the end of the hall. His feet fell heavy on the floor as he made his way over, fully ready to tell whatever teenager thought this was a funny prank to fuck right on off, but he stopped a few feet away from the glass when the figure looked up at him, eyes huge and green and innocent in a perfectly porcelain face.
A face, Katsuki might mention, that was home to a smattering of freckles and plush lips held in a soft pout.
A face that could only be described as the most gorgeous fucking face he’d ever seen.
Another apt descriptor, he realized a second after, was absolutely pitiful.
Katsuki took the final step toward the window, and opened it just a crack so that he could ask the boy what the hell he was doing tapping on people’s windows at one in the morning, but he had hardly opened his mouth to ask when he was cut off.
“Are you gonna let me in?”
Again, pitiful. The boy’s sweet voice sounded almost lost, like he had already anticipated rejection and was prepared to have to face the chill of the wind for the rest of the night. Katsuki felt that chill, now, with the breeze that managed to sneak in through the gap between the glass and the windowsill, and he shuddered with it, almost regretting not grabbing a sweatshirt on his way out of his room.
He snapped his mouth shut and, against his better judgment, pulled the window open wider, wide enough that the boy could fit through, and stepped back to give him the space to do so.
He almost tripped over his own feet, though, at the boy’s answering smile. It was the purest smile he’d ever seen, all sunshiney joy and sharp, stark white teeth that glinted in the moonlight. Something twisted in the space beside his heart, and he felt it skip a beat.
He stayed silent as the boy climbed through the window, an odd, eerie sort of grace to the way he moved, and his smile was so bright that Katsuki didn’t notice the lack of a shadow beneath the boy’s feet when he finally settled, leaving the window open behind him.
Katsuki cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from that pretty mouth, fighting the blush that felt so much warmer on his cheeks with the contrast of the cold seeping in through the open window. His voice was steady, but a bit rougher than usual with sleep and something else that he didn’t want to name.
“Come on, let’s get you something warm. You must be freezing.”
—
Katsuki turns from the window and absentmindedly pushes his bedroom door open with his free hand, making sure to lock it when it shuts behind him. He almost takes the time to wonder why he even bothers. After all, it isn’t like he has any neighbors that care enough to come check in on him. Not anymore, at least.
The thread of introspection passes between one breath and the next, and he tosses his boots through the open door to the ensuite bathroom, heavy rubber soles making a decidedly solid thunk as they hit the tile.
He doesn’t bother with the lights yet, there’s plenty enough light coming through his window for him to undress, as it’s a task that doesn’t require much in the way of seeing.
He feels a small bit of relief as he shucks his shirt. It hadn’t been terribly uncomfortable, but it was starting to dry to his chest in odd ways, and peeling that off to expose his skin to the cool air loosened the small knot of irritation that had been starting to grow behind his sternum. He supposes he should be a bit more upset at the state of his shirt, he notes, as he tosses it into the half-full laundry hamper in the corner of the room, but honestly, it’s just a shirt. He’s sure he can get another that’s similar to it if he really misses wearing it that much. Unlikely that will happen, though.
His jeans fared a bit better, but not by much. Perhaps they’d be salvageable with a bit of baking soda and lemon. After all, good jeans are a bit harder to come along than a t-shirt. He’ll remember to try that later.
With the loss of his jeans, though, Katsuki becomes more aware of the chill in his room, and goosebumps break out over his chest and shoulders and thighs, and he glances around the room furtively.
—
“-don’t understand what they don’t get about the words ‘fuck off.’ Stupid fucking assholes keep trying to talk to me, or convince me to stay after school to study, or ask if I want to hang out. How many fucking times do I have to say no for them to get it?” Katsuki rambled, words falling off his lips in a halfhearted attempt to sound annoyed, when it really didn’t cause him any trouble. What’s the worst that happened? He said no and they backed off until the next day.
Katsuki knew he was just trying to fill the silence. Deku never talked much. Though there always seemed to be thoughts racing behind his eyes, he was a decidedly taciturn boy, but Katsuki never felt as if he was being neglected. He loved the way Deku looked at him when he talked, preened under the attention and just happy to be the center of the boy’s focus, so he continued.
“As if they could be half as interesting as you. They’re fucking boring, and I would much rather-”
He cut off with a sharp inhale when Deku’s fingertips touched his cheek, burning cold on his skin. He felt his eyes go wide, mouth still open from where it had been forming the next word before it died on his lips, and he tilted his head up at where Deku stood over him, gaze so soft and fond and just shy of concealing the hunger in his eyes.
“Katsuki.”
Katsuki shuddered violently, and he couldn’t tell whether it was from hearing his name in that voice, in that sweet tone that made his stomach drop to the bottom of his gut like a stone, or if it was from the way the temperature of the room took a sharp downward turn when Deku opened his mouth.
He didn’t move his eyes from Deku’s, couldn’t bring himself to tear them away. His eyes were so green. Unnaturally green. There wasn’t a color in Katsuki’s world that could come close to being so vibrant. They were beautiful. He was beautiful.
Deku shoved him back, and Katsuki hit the mattress with a muffled thump, not even considering putting up any sort of resistance. Deku paid no mind to the cold of his hands as they crept under Katsuki’s shirt, fingers pinching and soothing over old and new bruises alike, flicking just a little too hard against Katsuki’s nipple. His fingertips dug into his skin as if he was trying to claw his way through flesh with brute force to get to the only beating heart in the room.
Katsuki thought it wasn’t so bad. He could be warm enough for the both of them.
—
The little spark of excitement dies in his chest when all he sees is the backdrop of his room, no sign of green eyes and white teeth anywhere in the shadows. He pushes aside the little balloon of disappointment that blooms in its wake. After all, Deku will be back soon. Katsuki just needs to focus on getting cleaned up for right now.
With all of his clothes now safely in the laundry basket and no longer at risk of soiling the carpet, he steps onto cold tile and flicks the bathroom light on, immediately wincing at the intensity of the LEDs. The white lights sting at his eyes. He isn’t used to the brightness, hasn’t been for a while. He frowns and squints up at them, promising himself he’ll get them changed to the softer yellow lights one of these days. He has the time.
—
The days are bland. That’s the only word Katsuki can think of that fits what it feels like to wake up, to go to school, to walk back home with the sun glaring in his face.
He doesn’t understand what the big hype about the sun is, if he’s being honest. There are so many poems and songs about sunrise, sunlight, sunshine, but the only thing the sun ever makes him feel is mildly annoyed. It only bleaches the color from everything, turning gold into beige and navy into a faded denim color. It outshines all the stars, turns a glittering night sky into a flat canvas of blue with one singular defining feature: itself.
He shoves his hands deeper in his pockets and squints against the light, brow furrowed deep in an attempt to protect his retinas. His trip home is directly west, and of course he gets out late afternoon, so he gets the treat of the sun directly in his fucking face every goddamn day.
Katsuki much prefers the night. The darkness makes room for even the dimmest lights to shine, paints the world in rich blues and purples and greens. God, so much green.
Soft, deep green hair, and eyes that glimmer like emeralds.
Late afternoon, however annoying, means that the sunset isn’t too far away, so Katsuki tucks his head and trudges the rest of the way home to wait for night to fall.
—
As he waits for the water to warm, Katsuki finds himself staring in the mirror, his naked body littered with all manners of bruises and scratches and teeth marks. He feels his cheeks warm at the sight of them and can’t help but recall the memories of where they came from, clear in his mind as if they were playing on a projector in front of him.
He remembers Deku’s teeth digging into the meat of his chest, very nearly breaking skin and leaving vivid red and violet bruises in the exact shape of that wonderful, pretty mouth. Actually, if he looks closely enough, he can see tiny pinpricks of scabs where Deku had broken his skin. It wouldn’t surprise him. Deku had mentioned that he liked the taste of Katsuki’s blood.
Katsuki swallows.
He remembers Deku’s hands around his neck, ice cold but warm in a way Katsuki can’t even begin to explain, warm right in the center of his gut, warm in a way Katsuki rarely ever feels. The silhouette of those fingers are painted in fading shadows around his throat. He doesn’t think he could talk for a few days afterward, but he didn’t mind. Deku was really the only one he talked to, and he certainly didn’t have an issue with the hoarse rasp of Katsuki’s voice in those following days, so Katsuki didn’t mind either.
He remembers Deku’s fingernails ripping into the skin of his back, tearing him open and making him feel it. He twists his body and looks over his shoulder, now, to get a clear look at the lines now scabbed down his back, on their way to healing but not quite past painful.
Katsuki reaches across his body and under his arm to press his fingertips into one of those dark lines and smiles as the ache suddenly lances up his side at the pressure, just the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
—
If anyone had told Katsuki that a kiss could reduce him to a trembling mess, he would have laughed in their face and told them to piss off. And yet, here he was, shaking underneath the slow press of a pair of ice cold lips against his, struggling to get in a breath around the sickly sweet taste of Deku’s mouth but wholly unwilling to pull away even to breathe.
His hands gripped hard at Deku’s sleeves. Not pushing or pulling or yanking. Just gripping on as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. As if he was a planet in orbit, and Deku was his star.
Deku kissed like he was trying to tear Katsuki apart but had all the time in the world to do so, all sweet and slow and unyielding and so, so overwhelming. When he used his teeth, he didn’t hold back, and Katsuki gasped with what air he had left as those razor sharp teeth dug into his lower lip. Coppery blood flooded over his tongue, and he did his best not to choke on it.
Deku’s tongue pushed into his mouth as if to chase the taste of Katsuki’s blood.
It tasted sour, dry like ash.
Katsuki set both hands on either side of Deku’s neck and pushed Deku back from him, though he suspected the only reason he was successful was that Deku went willingly, curious to see what Katsuki had to say. His thumbs rubbed gentle circles on Deku’s jaw, soothing, tender.
“Is something wrong?” Katsuki asked. His voice didn’t shake, but it was a close thing.
He could smell it in the air, now, the acrid burning. Katsuki’s heart twisted behind his ribs. The last thing he wanted was for Deku to be upset because of him, and he pressed his forehead against the other boy’s, hoping the proximity would lessen Deku’s disquiet.
Deku turned his head away to look out the window.
Katsuki followed his gaze, confused.
“Do you want me to shut the curtain?” he asked, desperate to appease his lover and to draw Deku’s attention back to him.
“The little boy saw me.”
Katsuki shivered in the sudden cold of the room and held Deku’s face a bit firmer in his hands. There was indeed a young boy in the neighboring driveway, jovially skipping with a backpack, supposedly retrieved from one of the cars, bouncing on his shoulders as he made his way back indoors.
He noticed with a jolt that Deku’s eyes were on his again, so full of sadness and grief and something else, something subtle and sharp, that Katsuki’s own heart started breaking along with it. Deku might’ve been crying. Katsuki didn’t know if Deku had the ability to cry.
“He saw me. I have to leave.” Deku paused for a moment while Katsuki tried to calm his racing heart. “And I can’t come back, not now that they know I’m here.”
Panic seized Katsuki’s heart, his breath suddenly coming in shallow pants.
“You don’t have to- you don’t- you can’t leave! You can’t leave me!” Katsuki’s voice became shrill along the way as he realized that Deku might truly leave him alone.
His outburst fell dead in the room, loud and startling but over in an instant, back to the quiet that was only interrupted by Katsuki’s frantic breathing. His grip on Deku had only gotten tighter.
Deku didn’t meet his eyes when he said, “They might tell people about me. They’ll try to hurt me.”
“I won’t let them. I’ll make sure they won’t tell anyone. No- I’ll make sure they can’t tell anyone. Just- stay. Please.”
Katsuki kept swinging from wild panic to stone cold determination, trying so hard to find a solution that would keep Deku here with him. He’d do anything. He’d make sure they’d never tell anyone anything ever again, if Deku asked it of him.
He’d do anything for Deku. What do a few strangers mean to him when pitted against the center of his universe?
—
Katsuki lets his gaze drift, taking note of each and every mark left by Deku’s hands, Deku’s teeth, and feels that familiar little flutter in the center of his ribcage. His eyes wander, catch on a newer, fresher set of deep scratches on his forearm, and the spell is broken.
He lets his arm drop, face falling back into a relaxed, neutral expression, and reaches behind the shower curtain to feel the water temperature. It feels warm on his skin, so he steps under the stream and drops his chin to his chest, letting the water flatten his hair against his head and stream down the contours of his body, pooling on the shower floor and flowing down the drain in pink-tinged swirls.
His hands run up his arms, over the fresh scratches, and his own blood intermingles with the other already being rinsed away.
He takes a few moments to rub away what he can with his palms, working the warm water into the drier, stickier spots to loosen it up and let it flake away. It’s easier to rinse off his hands than to treat a washrag in the same way he’ll be having to treat his jeans, later on.
His clothes had borne the brunt of the mess, but there was enough blood caked across his arms, his neck, his face to make the water run red for a few seconds, dull and rusty against the faded white of the shower floor.
—
It was easier than Katsuki had expected to get into the house; the front door had been left unlocked. He was careful to close it behind him quietly. After all, it would be so much more trouble if the family were to wake up before he even got started, and Katsuki was trying to make this a quick affair.
The kid’s room was easy enough to find, what with the posters and fake street signs stuck to the door. He pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside, shifting the Mossberg shotgun off his shoulder to rest the barrel in his left hand, right index finger resting just over the trigger.
The sound was deafening.
The boy’s body was so small. Katsuki took a moment to absorb this, and dully noted the spray of pink against the wall, the gaping, ragged wound where half the boy’s head used to be. A few chunks of flesh and bone had landed on the carpet between the bed and the wall.
Katsuki was snapped out of his momentary lapse in focus by the sound of heavy footsteps thundering down the hall.
He just barely caught a glimpse of the man’s panicked face as they met in the open doorway before Katsuki fired again, shredding through the man’s throat. He fell to the ground, gurgling and twitching and oozing blood from a neck that looked more like ground meat than anything human.
Katsuki didn’t wait around for him to fall still, didn’t have the time. A shrill scream pierced through his ears, already dulled by the shock of the gunshots, and his eyes snapped up to see a woman, the wife and mother of these dead boys, standing at the end of the hallway with a horrified expression that Katsuki couldn’t understand. She would be dead soon, too, so why was she so bothered? It wouldn’t be more than a minute or two before she could join them again.
She turned to sprint, and Katsuki leapt at her, tossing the Mossberg in favor of wrapping his hands around her throat.
The woman clawed at his wrists, face red and eyes bulging. She looked repulsive.
This was taking too long.
Katsuki let go with one hand to fumble for the knife in the pocket against his thigh, and his hand slipped up her jaw and off her face, so the only thing keeping her down was Katsuki’s body weight on her stomach and her own exhaustion. Katsuki jammed his forearm against her throat, slamming her head back into the floor with an audible, nauseating crack.
She stopped struggling.
His fingers finally found their grip on the knife handle, and he drove it into the woman’s chest, frowning at how shallow the stab wound was. Her flesh was tougher than he was expecting.
He lifted the knife and then brought it down harder, much harder than before, and felt it grind against her ribs as it tore through skin and muscle and bone.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Katsuki’s arm got tired enough, eventually, that his hand slipped off the handle when he tried to wrench it out of the woman’s body, and he realized that she had stopped breathing several wounds ago.
He sat back and caught his breath, the woman’s body warm and unnaturally still beneath him, her blood smeared across his hands and wrists, mingling with the splattered dots of her husband and son’s that had begun to drip down his arms.
Alright. Job well done.
—
He showers fast, efficiently, eager to get into bed. How will he hear Deku’s tapping at the window over the sound of the running water? No, it’ll be much easier in the quiet of his bedroom.
The towel he uses gets carelessly dropped onto the floor, and he absently notes the newfound spring in his movements as he pulls on a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt and makes his way over to the bed. He doesn’t even bother getting under the covers, just lays back with his head on his pillow and his hands loosely clasped over his stomach, and waits.
He wonders when Deku will be back.