|•Bakubottom oneshot's•|

°Follow You° Dekubaku

Summeray : “I’ll follow him,” Deku says. “I’ll follow the trail of Kacchan until I die.”

ao3 author : All credits to | Mermaidmayonnaise |

Every Thursday at 3 PM when the bell signals the end of the school day, Katsuki goes to chess club.

He’s smart, and he knows this because he’s been told so his entire life. Being intelligent isn’t a prerequisite at Orudera Middle School, not by any means—it’s more of an enhancement, the little asterisk of gamma radiation. Not positive or negative... supercharged. Powerful. 

Dangerous.

Katsuki stares at Deku across the chessboard. The clock ticks in the empty room.

It’s not that Katsuki’s a chess nerd, or a nerd at all. Nerdiness is for useless Deku, with his nose in his books. He’s always scribbling something in those notebooks of his, lugging big textbooks in his bag that aren’t even for school.

“Make your move already,” Katsuki hisses at him.

Deku is many things: irritating, twitchy, sweaty. Katsuki calls him many insults, but not dumb. Deku’s anything but stupid. Katsuki’s loath to admit it, but he’s the only person who can come close to Katsuki’s genius in this sad excuse of a school.

Katsuki’s going to be the best, but it’s lonely at the top when everyone is so far below. Chess club is the best way to meet Deku discretely—the club is located in the wasteland of a physics classroom. Understandably, it has no other members. The people in eighth grade are more interested in talking about sex and partying than learning how to execute the Queen’s Gambit.

As his starting move, Deku pushes his pawn forward with a shaking finger. 

It makes Katsuki angry. Honestly, everything Deku does pisses Katsuki off. At least Deku’s firm in his resolve: tentative, but unyielding. He never undoes a move. Katsuki grudgingly respects that, but everything Deku does ignites him.

Katsuki slams his pawn forward a square. A bead of sweat rolls down Deku’s temple. They begin in earnest.

It’s intense. Their games always are—everything involving just them is always ramped up to the highest degree. Katsuki’s never been calm a day in his life, and Deku’s never done anything half-assed, so he matches him not in anger, but in intensity.

The only sounds are the squeaks of Katsuki’s chair as he shifts, Deku’s dirty sneakers scuffing the floor, and the clack of pieces on the board.

It’s too quiet, but Katsuki feels alive. He attacks with his rook and Deku counters with a complicated maneuver using his knight and pawn. They continue to battle slowly, turn by agonizing turn.

Katsuki furrows his eyebrows. Deku wipes at his forehead with his shirt while Katsuki drags his sweating hands along the pants of his uniform.

The clock hits half after, then quarter to. The pauses between their turns now take minutes. Katsuki’s not in the greatest position right now—Deku doesn’t have a clear way to win, but Katsuki has no way to counter. Vulnerable.

Katsuki reminds himself that he’s never lost. He can’t lose, and there’s no fear of doing so. If he’s never lost before, that’s because he doesn’t know how. Or rather—Katsuki always knows how to win. He’s smart, powerful. He was supposed to be born with only the best: good looks, a rich family, perfect grades, a huge house with a pool. He throws away love letters on the daily. They’re all written in different handwriting, but there are repetitions and rarely ever signed.