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You’re you

**** katsuki never put much thought into some of the things he did. he thought about what to eat before his workouts, what different types protein would be best for his body type. he thought about what his next class might be over so he could take the chance to take a glance at his notebook or study before hand so he never fell behind. he thought about what he could add to his suit to accommodate his quirk and his quirk itself and what moves he could adapt into his already complex strategy. what he didn’t think about, was his love life. or lack of, really. being self centered and all consumed with your own life and your own goals had consequences, anyone with a brain bigger than a walnut could tell you that. katsuki knew that he’d likely live a more solidarity life, but he didn’t really mind. he preferred it, if anything. he had friends— loud and fucking obnoxious ones— so he wasn’t completely alone, but he didn’t do romance. reading manga and rolling his eyes over romcoms he secretly enjoyed was one thing, but the possibility of pursuing or allowing himself to be pursued was a completely different topic. part of the reason katsuki never had the ability to even think about the chance about love was because, one: katsuki shut down every angle of romance that came into his personal life. random confessions? poor girls were shouted at. confessions from people he knew? katsuki would scoff and stomp off. and two, katsuki didn’t ever stray from the friends he already had. he was so adamant on remaining where he was with his social life that the only other things that excelled were his skill, strength, and intelligence. that was it. so, yes. katsuki wasn’t happy when his friends introduced him to some stray fucker they had decided to take into their group, and in other words, this stray was you. feminine. that was the first thing he thought of when he saw you. you were taller than jirou and a bit taller than kirishima, but still shorter than him. your features were sharper in some areas, but your lips were feminine like a woman’s. your shoulders were broad, but something was just… off. your hand was extended as if to shake, but katsuki’s own were shoved resolutely into the pockets of his sweatpants. you got the hint and scrunched your nose, and he found that you looked like a rabbit momentarily. “who the fuck is this?” katsuki grunted, sliding his gaze to mina. “i’m right in front of you, ya know. you can ask me my own name.” you said, and something about your voice made him eye you warily. it was natural, he thought. but there was a rasp there that wasn’t entirely normal. like how a boy before puberty sounded. katsuki was the one to scrunch his nose this time. “you’re fucking weird.” was all he said before he turned on his heels and stomped up to his bedroom. **** months. it took months for katsuki to even begin to warm up to you, but when he did, you were the one he was around the most. you were funny. you got his sense of humor. you shared common interests like spicy food and instruments, and the way you spoke to him made him feel like he was taking a nice bath after a terrible workout. you were a constant presence he wanted in his life. he was still put off by you, because, well. he was aware something was off, he just didn’t know what the hell it was. and because of his growing feelings. because katsuki had spent so long with a one direction focus that he didn’t know what the fuck to do about his own goddamn feelings. granted he never had. but he genuinely didn’t know this time. he couldn’t even pretend to be an optimist about this or find a solution in the end because he didn’t know. he was fucking lost. it made him a bit of a dick. he gave you snide, awkward comments and shitty insults that very obvious became more bark than bite. like last wednesday, he had nicked himself using a kitchen knife while cooking some fuckass protein loaded meal because you came into the kitchen. you walked in and he got fucking distracted. and as a result of his distraction, he got pissed. “motherfucker— this dirty little shit,” he was mumbling under his breath, ableist to the fact you had walked over and peered around his bicep. “you cut yourself?” you asked, tone carrying just enough worry that he wanted to choke you out for existing. “no,” was he stupid? he was literally bleeding. “it’s nothin’.” it was a cut you stupid fucking blonde bastard. you scoffed at him, rolling your eyes and turning you back to him. he glanced over his shoulder, brows furrowed, but didn’t speak. you were rummaging around in one of the far drawers, mumbling to yourself about how you had put something in there, and when you picked up some neosporin and a bandaid, he knew what you were going for. “oi, i said it’s nothing,” he rumbled, deciding to be a defensive brat. “no one’s going to judge you for having a damn bandaid on your finger.” you retorted, and he felt sweat build in his palm, half tempted to blow your face up. he didn’t. he wanted to, but not enough. you grabbed the base of his wrist, and your thumb brushed over where his wrist bone curved near the base of his thumb. he noted another thing that was off. he could feel the callouses on your hands against his knuckles, but your hands were too soft. like round face or mina’s. “you’ve got some girly fucking hands, you know that?” katsuki mumbled, his tone lowered to a rumble since you were close enough he didn’t have to speak so fucking loud. he watched your hands hesitate, and for a second he wondered if that was a sensitive topic. “girly dudes bother you?” you asked in turn, and his brow twitched. “i didn’t call you girly, dumbass—“ “but men with femininity bother you?” you pressed, and katsuki stopped talking, eyeing you warily. what the fuck were you tryna get out of him? he didn’t think what he had said was necessarily insulting, and if it was, you were one sensitive fucking guy. he didn’t fuck with sensitive guys— much like deku, they were too soft for him. “i didn’t say that.” katsuki grumbled. “no, but you make comments like that. you realize if it were someone else, it could’ve been taken differently, right?” katsuki frowned. was he getting scolded? so help him god he would eraticate this entire fucking dorm- “like, hell, i dunno, what if you said that to a guy who liked being feminine? or a woman who liked be masculine? or a gay guy, or a queer woman, or a trans man?” okay, woah. katsuki stared down at you, noting the fact your expression wasn’t angry, but wasn’t necessarily happy. he bit his cheek, clicking his tongue and turning his chin away. you still had his hand in yours. he could feel your thumb in his palm. and the second he felt his ears begin to burn, he snatched his hand away. “okay, fuck, i get it. my bad.” katsuki muttered, stepping around you. katsuki made a mental note to deep dive into lgptq research, for more than one reason. one, because he was a man. and he liked another man. and it set him off, mainly because he knew no other guys that liked a fucking dude. so yeah he felt a little off center. research about all of it wouldn’t help— you brought up queer women, gay men, and trans people, so he might as well note it. knowledge was power, and katsuki greedily wanted to be strong. the only other person he was willingly to talk to about any of this romance and stupid romcom drama, was kirishima. sure, the guy was stupid fucking loud, but he knew how to be quiet and he was a good dude. he knew when he needed to listen. “he fuckin snapped at me talking about how if i called a gay dude feminine or a queer woman masculine it could seen as offensive,” katsuki ranted, fueling his annoyance and confusion into venting to kirishima. “and then he brought up trans people— like holy fuck, i’m sorry i pointed out the fact he had soft hands. he could’ve just said he used lotion or something??” katsuki waved his hands, brows draw in, very visibly conflicted and confused. kirishima was giving him a really weird fucking look. it was somewhere between surprise and also confusion, but then it was one of.. empathy? pity??? katsuki didn’t know. “you don’t know?” kirishima asked. no. katsuki basically just said that. “know what?” kirishima hesitated, and katsuki flared up. “you cannot ask me something like that and just not fucking tell you, you motherfu—“ he snapped, small pops emminating from his palm as he grabbed kirishima by his shirt. the redheads hands lifted unsteadily and placatingly, his eyes squeezed shut as to avoid the sparks coming from katsuki’s skin. “he’s trans! that’s why he said that.” kirishima waved his hands to defend himself, but katsuki’s grip had loosened enough for the other to open his eyes. katsuki’s expression was one he didn’t usually wear. his brows were straight, jaw tighter than usual, and those usually angry eyes looked conflicted. “so what?” katsuki pressed. the blonde did not know enough to understand well enough. “he was born a girl, katsuki. he transitioned.” katsuki let go of kirishima’s shirt. “but he’s still a fucking dude, ain’t he? why’s he getting upset over shitty little comments?” kirishima pressed his lips together. “look, it’s uh… it’s good that you’re so supportive- as you should be! but he isn’t biologically a guy.” kirishima said. katsuki frowned. kirishima gestured down. “i fucking get what you’re saying, dumbass!” katsuki snapped. he did, he just didn’t know how to process it. so you were trans. what the fuck off it? you were still a guy to him and obviously everyone else, so why the fuck were you getting mad at him? he genuinely couldn’t find where his comment was bad enough to spark the kind of reaction you had, but fuck if it was that bad, he’d apologize. **** okay. bad news. you avoided katsuki like he had the fucking bubonic plague. first of all, that pissed him off. second, it made him feel lonely. because out of all the other fuckers he had for friends, he preferred your company. and you were denying him of it. but katsuki was a stubborn, stubborn man. he had been since he was a kid. shit didn’t change just because he was 18. it took him about two weeks to actually catch you, and when he did, it was in the walkway of your guys’ dorm floor. “hey—“ he started, but you stepped right the fuck around him. his brows drew in, immediately aggravated once again, his left hand extending to grab your wrist. “dude, i’m tryna fuckin’ talk to you,” he tried again, but you snatched your wrist away and unlocked the door to you bedroom. yeah, no. katsuki was not going to build the courage to apologize just to get denied. hell-to-the motherfucking-no. you opened your door, stepped inside, and katsuki caught the door before it closed. he hesitated actually opening the door, staring at the floor for a long second beforehand. you were avoiding him because of something he said. right? he found out what was probably the cause of it from someone else. fuck. apparently the time he took was long enough for you to ignore his presence again, because when he stepped inside, your relaxing shirt was halfway on your head. the door clicked shut behind him, and for a very long moment, katsuki didn’t have anything to say. he forgot what he had come to say to begin with. the cause? your chest. beneath your breast area were scars. on both sides. they weren’t necessarily gruesome, but they were noticeable to anyone. they were faded, which meant they could either be a good few months or a couple years old, but they were there. “uh,” katsuki started, feeling how heavy is tongue was in his own mouth. you tugged your shirt down the rest of the way, pushing your hair from your face. an’ that’s why he got a good look of you. you looked rough. he was actually starting to feel like a dick for what he had said. you lifted your chin, tilting your head to give him a look that made his skin crawl. you didn’t look mad, but you looked like you were battling some nasty fucking thoughts. “look, i’m sorry if what i said offended you,” terrible fucking start, and the way you scoffed at him concluded how stupid he felt. “i didn’t know until kirishima told me,” your brows drew in, and he realized that what kirishima did was considered an outing. or betrayal. “i pushed him to tell me.” katsuki continued, growing angrier with feeling like a fucking kid with apologies, and with the fact you hadn’t said anything yet. “i didn’t know, but i get it—“ “—no the fuck you don’t.” katsuki felt the blood in his veins rush a little faster beneath the skin of his throat, pulsing in time with his now quickened heart beat. you sounded angry. katsuki had heard you when you were annoyed and when you were irritated or exhasperated- but angry? anger itself irked katsuki when it came from you. not in a ‘i don’t like this’ (yes it did) way, but in a ‘this guys kinda scarin’ the shit out of me with how he’s looking at me i feel terrible’ way. “okay.” katsuki grunted. “i don’t get it, but if what i said is why you’re all fucking skittish and shit, then i’m sorry. i didn’t think it was that fucking bad—“ “you can’t apologize without defending yourself, can you?” katsuki frowned. “okay. i’m sorry.” he repeated, better this time. “it’s fine.” “no it ain’t,” he sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “you obviously got hurt by something i fuckin said, i’m tryna fix it, so if you could actually fucking talk to me about whatever it is- if my comment was offensive or if it has something to do with the trans shit-“ “what the fuck do you know about any of what i feel?” you scoffed at him. “i ignored you for two weeks and suddenly you get it? kirishima lets the cat out of the bag, and everything fine because you apologized?” “that isn’t what i meant and you fuckin know it—“ your brows drew in when he said this, and then up. you looked desperate for once, desperate to just fucking communicate something that was lodged deep enough in your throat you were choking on it, and katsuki, for once, had nothing to say. “i don’t know it. i don’t know what you do and don’t mean— fuck, i don’t know what anyone means anymore when they speak to me, katsuki.” your breathing heavied slightly, but it was quick. katsuki had had panic attacks before. if you were having one, he was really gunna flip his fucking shit. “when you didn’t know, you just thought i was feminine, right? a little girly for a dude? thought, ‘shit, his voice sounds funny’ or something like that, *right?*” right. he had done that. “and now you know. it all just clicks into fucking place, doesn’t it? but what you don’t get is how i don’t want it to. i don’t want you to know what i am and think, oh.. that makes sense. i want you to look at me— at who i am, and see me. me, man and all, not look at me and relay what i am.” you were breaking down, katsuki realized. “and don’t tell me you get it— you’re a man. you’re strong, popular, good lookin, hell, you were blessed with some of the best damn virtues, just with an attitude. but not me. i’m lower than you. i’m less than you because i wasn’t born like you. i’m told i chose this, you know? told i chose to be like this but i swear, you have no fucking idea how much i hate it. how much a hate myself for it— im looked at like a goddamn science experiment simply because i grew up hating who i was and yearning to be someone different. not someone stronger or better— someone *else.*” you were right. katsuki didn’t get it. your voice wavered, and katsuki felt his chest constrict, but his expression was angry. it was really all he knew how to show on his face. “i’m— *fuck,*” sniffle. a sniffle. yeah, no, katsuki wanted to spontaneously fucking combust. if you started crying he actually might. “i don’t want to be like this. i don’t want to be different, i want to be normal. i’m not like you, or kirishima, or any other guy here. i’m secluded. i’m not a man but i’m not a woman—“ “you’re a man.” katsuki stated, his tone monotone. “you don’t get it!” “okay, then i don’t fucking get it, god dammit!” katsuki shouted back, stalked like some petulant little fuck til his hands clapped around your ears, basically gripping your face. you looked stupid as hell, but he wanted to get something across. save to win, win to save, and katsuki desperately wanted to save you. “i dont get it,” he repeated. “but if some fucker like me can look at you, can know you and who you are— not what you are, you self deprecating piece of shit— than anyone else can. you’re a man.” katsuki grit, fingers flexing against the side of your head. “i hate myself.” katsuki’s brows furrowed. his chest ached and he really didn’t like it. “but you’re *you,*” katsuki argued. “and that’s just fucking fine, isn’t it?”