People Like Us

Apparently it's Celebrate Bisexuality Day today, so hooray for bonus content!

Not gonna lie this started out as an original story thing that never went anywhere so I ended up rewriting it as a fic lol. Just call it some kind of alternate universe where their history is a little more than just childhood friendship? I didn't think too hard about how the backstory would work idk 🤣

CW: Implications about homophobia by unseen background characters

Katsuki stepped off the bus into the warmth of a crowded city street, lit by flickering street lamps and buzzing with endless engines and voices, all blurring into one. He knew most people thought he was insane for it, but he loved the cramped feeling of it all, loved being surrounded by concrete skyscrapers and dirty alleyways. It all just felt right to him. No one looked at him as he began his walk, at least not for more than the second it took to not walk into him. They just got on with their lives and left him out of it, let him fall into step with a mob of people like he belonged there, like he wasn’t different. He breathed a little easier, in the city, where no one jeered at him for walking the wrong way or using the wrong word.

It only took a few minutes for him to reach the street he’d been looking for, the map on his phone pointing him to a plain concrete building that he probably should have visited more often, in recent years. He’d promised to stay in touch, back when he’d been fifteen and dragged across the country for his dad’s new job. It had always been Izuku who had made the effort, though; who had started the conversations and made the occasional visits. Katsuki had been too busy trying to fit in, making new friends and keeping his mouth shut when he wanted to argue with them, so he wouldn’t have to start over again, so he wouldn’t get the same glares and whispers he’d gotten as a kid. Izuku hadn’t liked his new friends, hadn’t liked the way Katsuki constantly silenced himself for them, when he'd once been full of fire. So eventually he’d stopped bothering to try staying in touch, after Katsuki had yelled at him one too many times for being overly involved, for telling him what to do. Katsuki should have done better, he knew that, but he hoped maybe he could make up for it now.

If Izuku even answered the door for him.

He hadn’t called when he’d left town, to ask if it was okay to show up. He still wasn’t sure if that was for fear of the answer, or trust in getting the one he wanted. Or maybe some weird combination of the two. But was showing up unannounced really his best idea? What if Izuku had moved? Katsuki was pretty sure he’d have heard something, but it was possible. What if Izuku wasn’t even home? It was long after his work hours had ended, sure, but maybe he’d stayed late, or gone out with his friends, or gone grocery shopping. And more importantly, what if Izuku just didn’t want to see him?

Squaring his shoulders, he took that last step, bridging the gap and bringing his fist down on the familiar door. He knocked twice, pausing before he added a third one, just to prove to himself that he didn’t regret the first two. He’d already made his choice, really, when he’d bought a bus ticket and packed up his things; it was too late to chicken out. He just had to have a little faith in his childhood friend, trust that whatever his reaction was, the two of them could work through it. Together.

Footsteps moved toward him, and Katsuki held his breath, bracing himself.

The door swung open, and there he stood, exactly the way Katsuki remembered him. Tall and freckled and green-haired, though it was admittedly a little longer than Katsuki had last seen it, with eyes still the same bright shade of green, rimmed with dark shadows that said he’d been staying up too late or working far too hard – or both. Izuku stared at him for a second, then his eyes widened, a smile slowly spreading across his lips that made Katsuki breathe easy again. That smile had always made him feel warm, and safe, and wanted.

Katsuki opened his mouth, trying to get out a “hi”, or ideally something that sounded a little less stupid coming from someone who had showed up unexpectedly on their old friend’s doorstep. His voice failed him, though, and instead he just stood there like an idiot, silently begging his brain to do its job.

“Hey,” Izuku said, so calmly and softly, like it was just another day hanging out with his best friend, like it hadn't been years. “Long time no see.”

Katsuki laughed. It came out a little breathier than it usually would, a little more frantic, like he’d almost forgotten how to laugh. But still it came out, and he felt himself relax a little, even with Izuku’s eyes on him, taking in his crumpled clothes from the long bus ride and the lumpy backpack struggling to contain everything. Izuku just waited, patient as ever, even though Katsuki knew he didn’t deserve it.

“So?” Izuku asked, when Katsuki had composed himself again. “What’s going on?”

“I just... couldn’t handle it anymore.”

He could still so vividly see the looks on his friends’ faces as they said all those stupid things, oblivious to the way Katsuki balled his hands into fists to contain himself. He could still hear the taunting, when he’d tried to speak up, tried to tell them it wasn’t cool. He wished he’d had the fire in him to argue about it, like he once had, but the three voices had all been in agreement, as they’d laughed about it like it was no big deal, and made fun of him for being so touchy. His one voice hadn’t felt like enough to argue with. He’d been alone, rejected without them even knowing they were doing it, and instead of fighting back he’d just shut his mouth and not interjected again.

“Come in,” Izuku said, when Katsuki didn’t continue. “It’s a long trip, I know.”

Katsuki winced. Izuku had made that trip multiple times over the years, for him. Katsuki had never returned the favour.

“I’m a shitty friend,” he said, following Izuku into the hallway. “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe sometimes,” Izuku admitted. “I was too.”

Truth be told, Katsuki didn’t remember Izuku ever being less than perfect. All he’d ever remembered was the laughter when they were together, the way they could talk for hours and feel like no time had passed, how he’d never gotten tired of Izuku’s company, no matter how much time they’d spent together.

“How long are you in town?” Izuku asked.

“I’m not going back.”

Izuku stared at him, and Katsuki couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes, this time.

“I’ll find somewhere to stay tonight,” he continued. “But I had to come here first. Had to come see you.”

Izuku closed the front door behind them, and Katsuki shrugged off his backpack to leave beside it, sighing with the relief it brought. He’d left a lot of things behind, but what he’d wanted to keep had still turned out heavy, at least when he was carrying it all on his back. It felt good to let it all go for a while.

“You can stay here, if you want.” Izuku started down the hallway as he spoke, letting Katsuki follow. “It’s just me now, so there’s plenty of space.”

Katsuki winced at the blatancy of it, but he supposed Izuku had had plenty of time to get used to it. It was the visit he most regretted not making, the one for the funeral, when Izuku had needed a friend by his side and Katsuki hadn't delivered. He didn't even remember why he hadn't gone, anymore. Katsuki's parents had gone, had asked if he wanted to come, but for whatever stupid reason that had made sense to him at the time, he'd turned it down.

His dad had been one of the only people Katsuki had talked to before leaving town. He’d expected him to be upset, but he’d been surprisingly happy for him. He’d just asked about Katsuki's plans, asked if he’d even had any, and Katsuki had mumbled something vague in an attempt to cover up the fact that he hadn’t thought that far ahead. Izuku’s name had been in there, though, and that had made both his parents grin. He knew he was lucky to have a supportive family, after the things he’d heard and seen in that town. Kids were getting kicked out of their homes for expressing themselves, people had been smacked around for holding hands with the person they loved in public, even Katsuki’s own “friends” had made those shitty, narrow-minded comments, over and over again, as if the people they criticised were worthless just for being different. But Katsuki’s parents had just grinned, when they found out Katsuki was going back to see the guy he cared about. He was one of the lucky ones, for sure.

His mother had even sat beside him as he packed his backpack, watching as he carefully wrapped his books in bubble wrap and tucked them into the bottom of his bag, and complaining, as usual, about the order he packed his things in. She wasn’t the only one; people had always told Katsuki he packed his bag wrong, that you were meant to put the heaviest things in the middle, where they would sit better on your back. The idea of loading heavy books on top of lighter items, potentially much more fragile ones, had never seemed right to Katsuki, though, so he’d continued to do it his own way, the way that felt right. There weren’t many things of his own that he’d kept, growing up, but for some reason that one little thing had felt important to him.

I can’t do this anymore.

Those had been the first words out of Katsuki’s mouth when his mother had sat down beside him. He’d braced himself for the complaints, for her to rant about how good he had it, for an argument to ensue, but it hadn’t come.

I know. I always knew.

She had known him better than he’d known himself, apparently. Her eyes had never left Katsuki’s for more than a moment, and Katsuki had felt oddly exposed under her gaze. Her expression had given nothing away, but those eyes had seemed to peer right into his brain, reading his every thought as easily as the books Katsuki had been packing so carefully.

Izuku paused at the end of the hall. “I was just about to make dinner, have you eaten yet?”

“I haven’t, but I’ll sort something out for myself.”

“Don’t be silly, I’ve got it.”

He watched from the doorway as Izuku opened up the fridge, just hovering on the edge of Izuku’s little world, not ready to inject himself into it without being explicitly invited. There was still an edge to Izuku’s motions, a hesitation in every move he made, like he could feel Katsuki’s eyes on him. He lifted his hand a little too slowly, when he reached into the fridge, and stood a little straighter than looked entirely comfortable. Every so often, those bright green eyes darted Katsuki’s way, but he didn’t open his mouth.

“Mind if I use your shower?” Katsuki asked, when the silence grew awkward. “I smell like bus.”

“Yeah, go for it,” Izuku said. “Towels are in the hallway cupboard, use anything you need. Doesn’t look like you brought much with you.”

He wasn’t wrong. When Katsuki had packed his bag, he’d left most of his life behind. It had all felt unnecessary, like everything he’d bought had been for someone else, for someone he’d only pretended to be. Even the wardrobe rail had been hung with nothing but plain black t-shirts and grey hoodies, the drawers full of dark jeans and identical pairs of black socks. His world had been full of colour, once upon a time, but colour hadn’t blended in with the crowd, colour hadn’t made him feel like he belonged. There were a few things still hidden away in a box – a pair of too-small pants that had been the brightest red in the world when he’d bought them, but had faded after a thousand wears; a stack of singlets all splashed with neon colours and patterns, small enough that they’d be more like crop tops if he tried to wear them again now; two pairs of high-topped sneakers that he’d dyed by hand, with a bunch of his childhood friends – but everything newer, everything wearable, just felt like such a waste.

Everything that fit him, no longer fit him.

“Could I maybe borrow some clothes?” Katsuki asked awkwardly.

“Of course you can. Help yourself, you know where my room is.”

“Thank you.”

He took his time heading down the hall again, trailing his fingertips over the faded wallpaper, still chipped away in places where they’d been too rough or careless as they’d played. At his feet was the patch torn off by a remote control car, when they’d wanted to find out how fast it could go, only to be delighted when it faltered on the edge of a rug, tumbling and bouncing and smashing into the wall; his hip passed by the cluster of parallel slashes, from when they’d tried to smuggle a stray cat into Izuku's bedroom against its will; and his fingers swiped through a small dent, where they’d tried to quickly hide their stolen traffic cone behind their backs when his mother came home early, only to slam it into the wall instead. Katsuki was pretty sure she’d never forgiven him for that one; Apparently it had been his fault that Izuku wanted to look cool and be a rebellious teenager, and nothing to do with his lifetime of model behaviour and perfect grades making him feel like he’d been suffocating.

Izuku’s room was the first one he came to, door wide open as if it had been waiting for him to arrive. It lacked all the toys and games that had once been there, but still had the same blue walls that Izuku’s dad had painted for him on a rare visit home, after years of nagging, and the same fluffy, bright-red rug, beneath a new bed frame. The mattress was covered with black-and-white checked covers that Katsuki had seen in the background of an occasional video call, and had thought were so plain and understated compared to Izuku’s usual tastes. With the rest of the room around them, though, they somehow seemed to fit in perfectly. Even the smallest things in Izuku’s life all seemed to work together, everything adding its own little piece, to build someone so put-together that it made Katsuki feel weirdly proud of him. Izuku knew who he was, he’d never tried to change that, especially not for the sake of anyone else.

After a minute to refamiliarise himself with the place, Katsuki opened up Izuku’s closet. Inside, he found a brilliant mess of colours and patterns waiting for him, with no rhyme or reason to how anything was sorted, and no consistency to the designs and styles that had apparently caught Izuku’s eye. Neon jeans were spread across different shelves, bright shades of pink and yellow and green like they’d been made with the same ink as highlighter pens. A button-up shirt hanging at one end looked exactly like an oil spill on a concrete driveway, all shiny colours swirled together. Another, folded on a shelf, was shiny tiles in abstract shapes, outlined in black but filled with red, blue, yellow, like it had been made by a mosaic artist rather than a tailor. T-shirts were hung haphazardly on mismatched plastic hangers, plain colours in every shade imaginable, half of them with cheesy slogans or graphics across the front, but also zebra print, camouflage patterns, polka dots, and one streamers-and-confetti-looking abomination that reminded Katsuki of the carpet at an arcade. The entire wardrobe was chaos, a rainbow that had combusted within the confines of the wooden walls, full of life and energy and light.

And it was beautiful.

When he saw the old galaxy-print hoodie, his choice was made. He’d seen Izuku wear it a thousand times in photos, over the years, when names he vaguely recognised from his childhood had tagged Izuku in their social media shots. It was worn a little thin, softened by the love, but the clouds and stars all printed in pink, purple, and blue were still just as vivid as the day Izuku had bought it – or at least the first time Katsuki had seen it, when he’d chuckled to himself at the colour scheme. Honestly, it suited Katsuki far more than Izuku. Izuku needed more colours, an entire rainbow, where Katsuki was content with just the three. Maybe Katsuki would just adopt it entirely, refuse to give it back; he had a feeling Izuku had been thinking of him as he’d bought it, anyway.

He found a pair of clean pants, too, then headed for the bathroom to clean up. It was all gleaming white tiles and freshly-washed towels, everything perfectly in its place. If he hadn’t known any better, he’d have suspected Izuku had known he was coming, had prepared the place for a guest to arrive. But he knew his parents wouldn’t have done that to him, would never have called ahead and taken away Katsuki’s chance to reunite on his own terms.

A small part of him still wondered, though.

In the hot shower, he quickly felt the tension seep out of his muscles, as if it were pouring down the drain along with the water. He breathed a sigh of relief, finally letting himself relax a little, with hot water beating down on his shoulders and a warm-enough welcome having brought him in. He’d known, deep down, that it would be that way; he’d never really been able to doubt Izuku for long. Things would be a little weird for a while, but Katsuki was ready to work on it, this time. He was ready to make an effort, to apologise, to talk about everything and figure out how to move forward together. As old friends, as new friends, whatever it turned out to be, Katsuki just knew he needed Izuku back in his life, especially while he figured out what that life was supposed to look like.

He’d thought it would be hard to drag himself out of that shower, once he’d gotten comfortable there, but instead he found himself excited to see what might come next, even relishing the prospect of the awkward conversation he knew was coming, where he explained himself and got permission to be a part of Izuku’s life again, in whatever form that might take. So he dried himself off and dressed in the borrowed clothes, his fingertips tracing familiar patterns in the walls again as he walked down the hallway.

“You look cute,” Izuku said, when Katsuki returned to the kitchen. “It’s nice to see you putting some colour back in your life, finally.”

“Shut up,” Katsuki said, smiling a little all the same. “What are you cooking?”

“Just omelettes. No butter or cheese or anything like that, figured I should assume the lactose intolerance isn’t something you grew out of.”

Katsuki felt strangely warm again, hearing that. He knew his cheeks were turning pink, and he wasn’t even entirely sure why. Sure, no one else had ever remembered that about him, even when they saw him every day of their lives and ate lunch with him throughout years of school or work, but he still knew it shouldn’t have been as big of a deal as it felt like.

Izuku brought two plates over to the table, and Katsuki joined him, his stomach growling when he smelled the food that was waiting for him. He hadn’t eaten all day, with everything that had been going on, and it seemed his appetite was finally catching up to him.

“So, do you want to talk about it?” Izuku asked, when they’d both settled in.

“They were all just...” Katsuki trailed off, taking another moment to think about his words. “Saying things, I guess. Not realising the people they were talking about included me, or maybe not caring if they did.”

Katsuki could see the way Izuku’s hand tightened around his fork, the way his jaw clenched, making no real effort to hide it. He was frustrated, angry even, but he didn’t cover up that fact – his emotions were his emotions, and he wore them proudly, never tried to pretend to be something he wasn’t.

“I always said your friends were too conservative for you,” Izuku said bluntly. “They finally took it too far?”

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t like he and Izuku had always agreed on everything, of course – they’d been teenagers when Katsuki had left, so they’d done their fair share of arguing. Never like what Katsuki had been through that morning, though, and they’d never laughed at each other for being upset, no matter how petty the reason might have felt. Arguing was just part of being human, wasn’t it? An inevitability, when you spent enough time with someone. It was how you recovered and moved on that mattered, and he and Izuku seemed to be experts at that part.

At least, they had been, a long time ago. He hoped they still knew how to do it.

“I hope you know I don’t expect to just drop in here like nothing has changed, like I haven’t been gone for ten years,” Katsuki said quietly. “If you wouldn’t mind me staying over tonight, I would really appreciate that. But I can go find a cheap hotel or something instead, if that’s better.”

“You’re good,” Izuku said. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

Katsuki knew he had to be feeling ridiculously smug about it all, and he was completely unsurprised when a little smirk came out. Izuku had called it, after all. He’d questioned Katsuki’s choice in friends from the very beginning, and he hadn’t minced his words when it came to telling Katsuki exactly what he thought of them, the first and only time they’d met. He’d been saving up years of being right, and Katsuki couldn’t exactly blame him for a little bit of cockiness about it, especially when he wasn’t even saying “I told you so”.

“You can stay as long as you want,” Izuku clarified, when Katsuki didn’t answer. “You’ve still gotta find a job and everything, may as well have a decent home to come back to each night.”

He said it so easily, without a hint of reluctance or obligation in his expression or his tone, and Katsuki could have hugged him right then and there if it wouldn’t have spilled their food everywhere, and probably made things weird between them. It made him wonder why he’d waited so long to come back in the first place, why he hadn’t come running the moment he’d turned eighteen and become free to do whatever he’d wanted with his life. Maybe he’d forgotten how much he wanted it, how much he belonged there, after how hard he’d tried to be someone else. Or maybe he’d just been a coward, afraid to set out on his own. Either way, it didn’t matter now; what mattered was that he’d made it, even if it had taken him longer than it should have. What mattered was that he hadn’t lost himself to that act, that he could still go back to what he used to be, or become something new entirely. He knew a lot of people didn’t have that option.

“You’re too good to me,” Katsuki said. “I really am sorry. I know I screwed up, I should have made more effort, and I should have been here when... you know.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Izuku agreed. “You were my best friend. I thought you would’ve done more. Been here for me.”

His tone shifted as he said it, his jaw tightening and making his words come out a little rougher, a little more forced. Katsuki wanted nothing more than to reach out, to hold his hand or something, but he knew it was too soon.

“I should have,” he said. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, I know I’ll never be able to make up for that. But I’m gonna do everything I can to make things better, even though I can never make them right. If you’ll let me.”

“Hmm... I’ll think about it.”

Izuku smiled at him, and Katsuki felt his own one come out to match. It seemed like a long time since he’d smiled without having to force it, and any doubts he’d still held about his choice seemed to fade away, like they’d never even mattered in the first place. If Izuku could still tease him like that, there was still hope.

There were a lot of things he was going to have to do, in the days to come. He needed a job to support himself, so Izuku wouldn’t think he was just taking advantage of his kindness to freeload off of him. He needed to buy some new clothes, things he would feel more like himself again in, without having to share Izuku’s wardrobe all the time. He needed to go out and explore the city, to rediscover all the places that had once been mapped out perfectly in his mind, to see if his favourite stores were still open, and if the parks he and Izuku used to hang out in had been taken over by apartment buildings, and to discover everything new that had been added in his absence, learn about everything that had changed. But he had all the time in the world, now. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“Dad always said it was safer there, when I asked why we moved, why we stayed,” Katsuki said, when the silence between them grew long. “But maybe it wasn’t, not in... every way. Not for people like me.”

“People like us,” Izuku said, punching Katsuki in the arm lightly. “You’re good here, you know. You can use all the fun words now. Shout it from the rooftops, hang your flag from your window, no one will look at you differently for it. Not anymore.”

The fun words. Not the wrong words anymore, but the fun ones. He liked the sound of that.

He’d felt selfish, when he’d decided to come back to the city. He was abandoning his only family, running away from his “friends” so he wouldn’t have to tell them and face their scorn. He’d even apologised to his dad for it, for only caring about himself, before he’d left, but his dad had just laughed at him.

It’s not selfish. Go make the world a better place.

His dad had always had too much faith in him, had always thought he could do things that were far beyond his actual capabilities.

Even if it’s just for one person. Even if it’s just for you.

It seemed like the world was already a better place, Katsuki just hadn’t been living in it.

“Queer people,” he corrected himself. “There was less crime, there weren’t as many fights, but it wasn’t safe for queer people.”

“There we go,” Izuku said, his amusement clear in his tone. “That’s a step in the right direction.”

A step. Just the one, but that was all it took. One step, over and over, until he made things right.

“It’s good to be back,” Katsuki said softly.

“I’m sure it is,” Izuku said, nodding. “Welcome home, Kacchan.”

Life was suddenly looking a lot brighter.