#bkdk cw: angst with a happy end, no quirks, chefverse

"Midoriya, that's a wrap for you. Head on out, I'll do the prep for tomorrow."

Izuku nodded. His body was grateful, but as soon as his feet hit the pavement outside the storefront, anxiety seized in his chest.

He had been working a double at the restaurant, and the adrenaline high from running the kitchen on their busiest night was rapidly fading off. The optimistic part of him would like to say that this was exactly where he wanted to be: a three-star establishment in Tokyo,

learning from some of the best chefs in the country--but in reality, he felt hollow. It was hard to ignore something your brain was screaming every time you had a chance to just--stop. His apartment was only a few blocks away, but his feet felt like lead.

It wasn't the only thing close by. If he wanted to make the trek back home, he would have to walk past the izakaya where he worked. Izuku looked at the neon digital clock on the adjacent building and sighed.

Usually, he would be in the kitchen doing prep work until dawn, well past when the izakaya would close. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't pulled overnights on purpose the last few months just to avoid running into him. Not that he would, right?

Katsuki's hands would be tied up with customers--he wasn't one for breaks after all. But Izuku knew that in the summer the glass sliders of the small bar would be open. He would be able to hear Katsuki's voice shouting over his staff, calling out orders, greeting new customers in

that aggressive, ill-mannered way that had ironically earned him a devoted following. The mere thought of it made his throat tighten. He considered turning around and begging his boss to let him stay. Just a few more hours. Just until dawn.

Swallowing his self-pity, he clenched his fists and decided to get on with it. He was exhausted, and tomorrow was his only day off for a while. As a compromise with himself, he crossed the street, just to put some distance between
him and the lit storefront--

maybe it would muffle the sound, maybe it wouldn't. Either way, he had to get home. Or rather, his bed. That was the only thing there waiting for him. It couldn't really be called a home if there wasn't anyone there to welcome you back to it.

Izuku fought off the temptation to smack himself in the head as he weaved through the crowd. Not that it mattered, most likely. By this time, everyone was either too exhausted or too drunk to care. All he wanted was to stop thinking.

His mind was so loud, and it only ever went back to one thing. Kacchan. The last words they said to each other. The last time they made love. The last time he saw his face. All the anger, resentment, betrayal.

/"You're just in my way. Always have been. So get out of it."/

And he did. He found a new place. Settled into his new job. Tried to forget. Tried to get on without the warmth of Katsuki at his back when he went to sleep. What did that feel like, anyway? His mind couldn't recall any longer, but his body still needed it.

So every night he would stack pillows behind him, wrap himself in a heated blanket, and do his best to pretend it wasn't pathetic. It was just necessary. Everyone grieved differently, after all.

And he still had to go through the motions, even though it still felt like he hadn't moved from that spot at the edge of the bed where they broke each other's heart.

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TBC. This is a work I've had saved for a while but haven't posted. If you enjoy it and would like more, please consider donating--as I have recently turned 26 and am drowning in the cost of subpar US healthcare ;v; http://www.ko-fi.com/yanderriere 

As the izakaya drew closer in his periphery, Izuku did his best to keep his eyes to the pavement. He chanted mantras in his head, recited the season's new menu, tuned into the bustling conversations of the salarymen who passed.

Anything to save him the pain of having to hear Katsuki's voice.

They were both exactly where they wanted to be. After years of studying and slaving away. After sacrificing sleep, precious moments with family.

After sacrificing each other.

This was it. The pinnacle.

So why then did it feel like absolutely nothing at all?

Izuku couldn't decide what would be worse: Katsuki feeling the same, or Katsuki moving on.

He passed the izakaya. His thoughts must have been too loud, because he couldn't hear a thing.

Something pulled in his chest, begging him to turn around and listen. Maybe it would help him sleep if he could just hear a bit of his voice. Just one more time. So he could overwrite the last words they said. So maybe they wouldn't be ringing in his ears whenever the quiet came.

He swallowed down bile. He needed a drink. As much as he disliked alcohol, the taste of stomach acid was much worse. The convenience store wasn't much farther, and then after that, he'd be home.

Just a bit farther.

The lights of the store were blinding and stretched well

beyond the doors, painting the moist grey concrete in white. It smelled like cigarettes. He kept his eyes down. There were a few crushed into the ground at the feet of a man, likely the one responsible. His loafers looked familiar.

"You look like shit."

Izuku's eyes snapped upward and were greeted by a tired, crimson stare. He stood frozen, mouth wanting to move but refusing. What was he doing here? Wasn't it peak hours for his bar?

He noted the bags under Katsuki's eyes, as well as the hard lines etching his normally unfazed expression.

"I could say the same for you."

The man glared at him.

Smooth.

Then again, why bother with niceties? They were exes.

But he couldn't help but kick himself as the pathetic part of his brain whined that maybe if he were kind, if he put on a smile, Katsuki would return it. They could catch up. They could go home, together. He could throw out all those pillows.

Izuku looked away and forced himself forward. Maybe he didn't need alcohol tonight. Everything would be fine if he just kept walking.

"Oi."

He stopped.

"...do you need something?" the words tasted like ash on his tongue.

Katsuki was quiet for a moment as he put out his cigarette and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Something he did when he was nervous.

"You were gonna go in there, right?"

Izuku sighed. There was no getting out of this, was there? Maybe he should just be honest and tell him it felt like he was being stabbed every time he looked him in the face. What more harm could be done?

"Yeah. But I changed my mind."

Katsuki sucked his teeth.

"Tch. Still a goddamn coward."

He dug his nails into the moon of his palm. Yeah, he was a coward. So what? Everyone was at least a little scared of pain.

And that's what this was, painful.

At least if he heard Katsuki's voice from the restaurant, directed at someone other than him, he wouldn't have to hear the contempt in it.

"What do you want, Kacchan..? To torment me? Are we back to grade school now that you can't bend me over?"

The venom rolled off his tongue so easily. It almost felt like a win, like catharsis, until he looked up and saw the shock and pain in Katsuki's eyes.

The bile was back. This time he couldn't force it down.

So Izuku kept walking, even as Katsuki called behind him, even as he could feel his loafers clipping the back of his heels. He rushed into the alleyway and hunched over, vomiting onto the stray pamphlets littering the ground.

"Oi, Izuku, what the--you haven't been taking care of yourself at all, you little shit--"

Katsuki's voice went in and out as the sound of his heaving drowned it. Tears spilled down along with the contents of his stomach. It wasn't much. He hadn't been eating.

If he were more lucid he would be thankful that the sobs could be blamed on the pain of his wretching.

Tiny black dots danced in Izuku's vision. He was so tired. He just wanted his bed, with all its useless pillows.

"Kacchan, p-please.. take me home."

And everything went dark.

Okay it's breakfast time for Yandie! Posting this in smaller parts because today is a busy writing day. If you enjoyed and would like more sooner, please consider donating to my ko-fi! http://www.ko-fi.com/yanderriere 

When he came to, there was an odd pressure on his back.

At first, he thought it was his pillows--until he reached behind him to pull them closer and felt the warmth of smooth skin on hard muscle.

He tried to twist away, but found himself locked in.

The events of the night before trickled to the forefront--and he swallowed, then nearly gagged at the foul taste in his mouth.

"Kacchan..?"

His captor grumbled and pulled him closer, burying his face in the back of Izuku's nape before inhaling deep.

Izuku flushed at the feeling of Katsuki's lips just below the baby soft curls at his hairline.

"L-le... let go, stupid. I'm going home."

"That's exactly where I brought you. Stupid."

That was a lie. This was not his home. It wasn't even the apartment they used to live in.

He could tell from the shape of the windows.

Katsuki must have done pretty well for himself after inheriting the izakaya because, from what he could tell from the bed, his new place had stained flooring and a much higher ceiling.

Izuku looked down at himself.

Relieved to find he was still in clothes, although clearly not his own, he laid still, counting the half-asleep breaths against his neck.

Sweet torture.

How long would it last until Katsuki woke up fully and let him go?

Deciding he would much rather pull the plug himself, Izuku pushed him away seriously--definitely not one to be outdone when it came to physical strength.

"Enough. Where are my clothes?"

Katsuki sat up, keeping his eyes trained on him, "I'll tell you once you eat."

Bastard.

Katsuki somehow herded him away from the door and towards the tall black marble island in the kitchen. As he ignored the metal clanging of steel pans being removed from the cabinet, Izuku took the opportunity to survey the new space.

It was an open kitchen, similar to their last apartment's set up, and fondly he recalled the way the smell of Katsuki's food would torture their friends as they hung out in the living room. It made his heart clench and only added to his desire to run away as fast as he could.

"Kacchan I want to go home. I'm glad to see you're doing fine, but this is too much for me."

If dodging the issue wasn't working, then he may as well be honest. Although from the way Katsuki continued to ignore him, that wasn't going to fly either.

He sighed and rested his chin on his hand as he did his best not to stare at the way the blond's muscles flexed beneath the black straps of his apron.

"Is that.. the one I got you last year..?"

The man cracked an egg on the side of the counter and dropped it into a mixing bowl,

then turned slowly to reveal the print on the front: "If You Can't Take the Heat, Get the Fuck Out of My House"

Izuku snorted despite himself, then smiled, relaxing ever so slightly. Katsuki turned back around and resumed cracking eggs,

but the tips of his ears were pink, and he could see the way the peaks of his cheekbones rose with his own tiny glimmer of a grin.

As usual, Katsuki moved fast. Before he knew it, there was a spinach, feta, and tomato omelet on a plate in front of him.

Izuku salivated, but his attention was stolen away when the blond laid his own plate down across from his own. He stayed standing.

"Eat, nerd."

Although he was tempted to look up, the other man's cleavage was sticking out from the top of his apron, and

Izuku really didn't trust himself. So he dug in, cutting the soft egg with his chopsticks and lifting it to his mouth.

Creamy, savory, refreshing.

His cheeks ached with the deliciousness. Without warning, the tears began to drip off his eyelashes onto the counter.

In his opinion, Katsuki was truly wasted on simple bar food, but that was what he loved. Curry, udon, yakitori. Earthy, hearty foods, surrounded by drunk patrons who were too inebriated to mind his bad manners and tendency to lay on the spice.

He choked past his emotions, "It's good. It's really good, Kacchan."

The blond crossed his arms over his chest. He hadn't started eating yet, seeming to get his fill from watching Izuku.

"I was wrong."

Izuku paused, mouth full.

He chewed slowly, then finally looked up, tears still wet on his face.

What did he say? He was wrong?

Never had he heard that phrase come out of the stubborn man's mouth. For a moment he thought he had imagined it, but the way Katsuki's expression was utterly wrung with regret

proved that to be untrue.

"I was wrong, Izuku. I knew it the moment you walked out the door but..."

Izuku swallowed again, wordless. He turned to his plate and continued eating, his idle hand clenching the thin fabric of the loose night shorts he was borrowing.

They, too, were familiar. They were one of the only shorts of Katsuki's that fit him, and he'd worn them on many a lazy day off together.

He waited for Katsuki to continue, but he didn't.

"But, what?"

He knew that he was pushing the issue, but something about the way the blond trailed off made him irritated.

Irritated, and curious.

It was true that they had both been in the wrong when they had their fight that day.

Cruel words were exchanged on both sides but--Katsuki had the final word. He cut the cord between them, irreversibly.

Or so he thought.

TBC

Yandie needs a naaaaaap. Been up all night.