Katsuki

Chapter 5

The roof is red and there are a ton of stuff out in the front yard, mostly sports stuff. Katsuki walks up to the door and slams his fist on the door a couple of times. It only takes a couple of knocks for the door to swing open, revealing a grinning red head.

"Hey Bakubro! Fancy seeing you here!"

Katsuki glares, shoving the bag of pastries into his arms.

"Cut the shit Kirishima. What do you want."

Kirishima Eijiro, his best friend. Not that Katsuki would ever be caught dead saying that. The red head takes the bag of pastries, his grin not faltering.

"I'm inviting some friends over to my house later! Wanna join?"

They both already know the answer, except one of them hopes it will change this time around. Unfortunately for him, it doesn't.

"Hell no."

Kirishima pouts, folding his arms. His red T shirt is of a wizard that is pretty popular, one of the red heads favorites. The Crimson Riot T shirt is faded and is clearly worn a lot since it barely fits him anymore.

"Are you sure? You know you're always free to come and join us! I get that sometimes they could be a little, you know, but it's not personal! They just aren't used to how you are yet and don't know that-"

The problem with Kirishimas friends is that they don't really like Katsuki. Some of them are fine, like soy sauce, dunce face, and racoon eyes, but the others are too shitty for Katsuki to put up with.

"Shitty hair, shut the hell up. I got shit to do."

Kirishima looks at him sadly, then nods, a small smile on his face. His red hair is turned down since he was not feeling up to styling it today, still messy from waking up.

"Right."

Kirishima trails off for a moment before patting the blonde's shoulder.

"Maybe next time."

Katsuki shrugs it off and walks down the way he came, leaving the red head standing at the doorway. He makes the walk back to the bakery.

The next day, Katsuki is delivering some pastries to a house close to the woods. The morning had been pretty normal (Like every single other fucking day) so he wasn't hoping for much.

Which turned out being a good idea because when he knocked on the door, made the delivery, got the money, and started to walk away from the house, nothing special had happened.

The soft wind moved against him, carrying the smell of the sea and the town. He had this sugary sweet smell that always followed him around, no matter how much he tried to get rid of it.

It wafts up to his nose as he shoves his hands in his pockets, keeping the money safe. He glances at the trees to the left of the house, the road cutting off into split directions, away from the cluster of trees.