If he's anything like me - BakuDeku

I'm Not His

"Don't you think that's enough?" Katsuki asked, nudging Izuku's elbow.

Izuku nudged him back, and in the process, spilled a bit of the illegal clear beverage on the tiled floor. "Tch, you asshole. Look what you did, Kat."

"What?!" Katsuki hissed. "That was you!"

"Are you crazy? You just shoved into me and made me spill vodka all over the floor!" There was an evil tint in Izuku's eyes as he poked the rabid beast before him. "Pick on someone your own size, you big bully."

Katsuki's face paled. Izuku could tell he struck a nerve, which was definitely not his intention. He just wanted to tease this angry version of his best friend/crush, not make him cry. But Izuku knew better than to outright apologize. Katsuki would think he was taunting him, exposing the holes in his confidence and ripping them open to watch him bleed. Katsuki was going to suffer in silence, think about that one comment, that title of a bully, for months.

Izuku played it off, shoving his shoulder into Katsuki's, spilling a bit more of their stolen bottle of liquor. "Whoops. I guess we're both bullies."

Katsuki smirked, snatching the bottle and the red solo cup from the freckled boy. "You're a moron," he said, but his voice betrayed him. No matter the universe, Izuku always knew how to make Katsuki feel better. He and his jungle of green curls, his dozens of constellations of freckles, his soft emerald eyes that always had a glossy glaze over them, even when he was shining as bright as the sun– when he stopped to notice and think about it, just the sight of Izuku could make him feel better.

So as they drank the stolen alcohol and filled their stomachs with the slocshing, burning sensation, Katsuki really thought about it. Thought about Izuku. He was feminine, but in a very masuline way. This version of Izuku had plenty of scars along his thin but lean body, some big and some small, scattered and adjacent to his freckles. They were more condensed, smaller, angrier, around his inner forearms and wrists but became longer and more natural up his biceps. His shorts gave Katsuki a good view of the scars on his thighs and knees; it was obvious to tell which ones were from rough housing as a kid and which ones were self-inflicted. The bruise from the other day, when this Izuku first arrived in Katsuki's reality, under his eye and around his nose was fading quickly. There was a soft blush painted across Izuku's face, and Katsuki had the weirdest urge to reach out and touch him, see if he was as warm as Katsuki was.

Perhaps he was drinking too much. He had learned in school that alcohol can really mess up teenagers in the areas of the brain that control judgement, memory, and all that stuff.

"You're staring," Izuku whispered, plopping his drink down on the counter. Izuku had filled Katsuki's own red solo cup to the brink, and kept the bottle for himself. He poured in some honey to the drinks, making them easier to chug, and now his movements were sloppy and uncoordinated. His eyes were droopy and his smile looked like it was hanging on by a loose thread, bright in such a devious way, clinging onto his pretty face.

Katsuki's adam's apple bobbed in his throat.

"You're staring at me," Izuku continued, pushing back a hiccup. "And you're not being subtle. What's that about?"

Katsuki wasn't in his right mind. While he didn't feel dizzy, he was swaying softly side-to-side. His arms felt heavier, like they might tear off his torso and drop to the kitchen floor, and his feet were unbelievably light. The blonde really, truly believed that if he wanted to, he could sprint from here all the was to Izuku's reality and back without breaking a sweat.

He was wrong, of course, considering the fact that he was already sweating. (He kept rubbing his palms on his pants so he wouldn't blow up the place by accident.)