Fuselage

☆~☆ Chapter 4 ☆~☆

The store was dark.

Katsuki snorted, slowing to a walk. Everything was dark.

And he was tired. So fucking tired.

Only 5:46 and he'd already finished his morning run right in front of the All-In-One. The sky had just begun to fade a pinker shade of purple. The smell of a warm day crested on the faint breeze; hung on the wet air carrying over from the lake just down the road. Curious he stepped off the overgrown path, shoes patting on odd pattern on the white-washed porch. Wiping the grime off a window pane he peeked inside.

The shelves were bare but for a few boxes and cans he couldn't make out. A sun faded cardboard cut out advertising bait stared at him from feet away.

"Creepy." Katsuki muttered, trying not to breathe in the must and dirt from the window frame.

"We don't open for a few more weeks, my boy." A hand descended on Katsuki's back.

"Jesus!" He leapt into the air, hackles raised. "What the fuck-?!"

Thin blond hair was tied back into a ponytail, a hand moved to cover his mouth as a breathy laugh quickly dissolved into ragged coughing. Katsuki watched the skeletal man wipe blood onto his shirt, a habit based on the stains in the same area; brown and rusty. He breathed deep, groaning, rubbing his sternum - his shirt billowing out around him.

"This is my shop." He explained, bony hands motioning, veins protruding. "The kid who used to work it for me left for college, but he comes back in the summer. Good kid. You'd like him I think."

"No, I wouldn't."

"You say that, my boy, but-"

"I'm not," Katsuki stepped forward vaguely menacing, "your boy."

Dull blue eyes widened in surprise, the smile faltered for a second, then resumed. "Ahh, you're the pilot everyone is talking about. I've watched you fly. Temper matches the style." Withered blond hair flopped as he nodded on a comically thin neck. "From my perch."

Katsuki took a step back to see the plastic chairs and umbrella on the roof. "Good God."

"It's a good set up." Still the freak grinned, showing off pale gums and brittle teeth. "I used to be one of the best. You could be too-"

"I am." Katsuki hissed. The fucking nerve of this assh-

The man shook his head, "No. Not with that attitude. Too proud." A key moved to a lock, clicked. The door swung open. "Not like you are. But you won't see that for a while yet I can tell. You're good. Natural raw talent."

Katsuki wanted to preen under the words, instead felt himself sinking in the backhanded compliment. He followed the ailing man into the store, covering his mouth as dust billowed with their steps. He wasn't curious about the old man. Not really... not worried either. Katsuki couldn't quite understand why he followed him inside the shop.

To kill time? The place looked like shit, it was obvious the sick fucker couldn't keep up with the daily cleaning. Katsuki resisted the urge to wipe his hands off on his clothes and bury them deep in his pockets.

"Young Bakugou?" The old man stopped at the register, pulling out a dust rag and vacuum.

Katsuki squinted, head raising as it clicked. "You're Yagi."

"Ah, that's right." He coughed again, pulling out a medical mask from under the counter. "I was disappointed to hear you wouldn't restore the plane. It's-"

"A donation, yeah." He yanked the cloth from the old man. "You're fucking frail. What's wrong with you?"

"Cancer." His hands trembled. "I was in remission but they found it again last month. I do pretty good for myself considering. Family agreed I should just... let it happen my way this time."