welcome to the porn a twitter village raised! (don't worry, you'll see.)
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bit of a barrier to entry: a *lot* of this chapter will probably go over your head if you haven't read at least the main story in this series, 'a feat equal,' and its direct sequel, 'appendix c: galling hypocrite bastard,' first.

enjoy~!

Katsuki sees Uraraka plenty after his release from government custody: he's there when she undergoes neurological and genetic regenesis via freaking massage therapy (seriously, what infinitely improbable set of circumstances leads one to figure out a quirk that fucking specific?); and following the couple of days it takes for her to gradually regain the feeling and motility in her arms and legs, he attends a handful of her physical therapy sessions to ward off curious onlookers and glare murder at her trainer for the slightest perceived fuck-ups; and once she's discharged from the hospital, he and Eijirou twice make the trek across town to Frogger and Uraraka's too-small apartment to drop off overdue paperwork and accompany her to her complex's shitty, underequipped excuse of a 'gym' for some low-intensity conditioning and light cardio.

In fact, he's seen Uraraka at least once a day, everyday since he obtained the necessary permissions –fucking red tape bullshit—to visit her.

But after that first night, Katsuki hasn't had a fucking second alone with her, and it's starting to fray at his goddamn nerves.

At the hospital, her folks are a ubiquitous presence, and doctors and nurses are in-and-out running tests and consulting with her about her PT regimen all the live-long fucking day, and at any given time, at least one (usually more) among a rotating gallery of their clingy fucking idiots are also on-hand, aggressively wasting space in his general direction.

Then, with Frogger out of town, on loan to an agency somewhere down south, Uraraka's parents follow her back to her place to help her out around the house, wanting her to take it as easy as possible in the final stages of her recovery. So they're there, hovering (and in her old man's case, openly staring him down), both times Katsuki comes calling (which is, incidentally, why he invites Eijirou along in the first place: to be his attention-deflecting parent buffer).

It's not like he doesn't fucking get it. She and her family have just gone through a harrowing ordeal together –who the hell is he to begrudge her folks wanting to spend more time with her?

Besides, she probably needs the extra looking-after, and fuck knows he can't volunteer for the gig: he's got his own mountain of paperwork to scale, and he's picking up as many patrol shifts in Uraraka's neighborhood as he can, since targeted revenge strikes are statistically much more fucking likely following major incidents…particularly, he knows, gritting his teeth against the reminder of his deepest shame, when the heroes embroiled in those incidents rack up a body count.

Hell, between work and avoiding the press and cooperating with the mob of government entities clamoring to pass the costs for the Registry's loss off onto one another and attending Shrink Wrap's niece's turtle's birthday party (per the conditions for an unspecified 'discounted rate' Deku negotiates in his absence), he can barely spare the time it takes to visit her the twice that he does.

But, shit. Katsuki's got three years –probably more, if he's honest—to make up for, and he's impatient to get started already, except they haven't had a moment to themselves in eleven days, so he can't. Even as unexpectedly in favor of PDA as it turns out he is, and as generally accepting of him as Uraraka's parents seem to be (her dad's laser-focused, razor-tipped scrutiny notwithstanding), this shit is too new and undefined for him to be overly familiar with her in their –or anyone else's—presence.

Meaning their interactions, for the past eleven goddamn days, have been strictly professional. Strictly platonic. Strictly hands-off.

Consequently, he's at fucking peak agitation when Uraraka walks into the office –arm-in-arm with motherfucking Four Eyes, talking animatedly and looking cutesy fucking chic in a sheer-sleeved, wine-red blouse, black tights under black shorts, and ruby flats. Her hair's pulled up into a stylishly mussed bun, forelocks swinging free to frame her face, accentuating its roundness; and there's an unmistakable, glossy shimmer to her lips as she smiles that draws his gaze and fucking ruins him, because she looks a fucking vision and she's there, right the fuck in front of him, finally sans parents, and he still can't fucking touch her.

They're at work, surrounded by prying, interfering idiots, and they haven't had time to figure out what the hell they're even doing, much less negotiate his new privileges, so it doesn't fucking matter how much he wants to march across the room, shove that betrothed-to-a-demon fuckinto a wall, and drag Uraraka into the nearest breakroom –or restroom, or utility closet, whatever the shit's closest—for an overdue and urgent 'conversation' (that can take whatever the hell form it damn well needs to). Bottom line is, none of that's a fucking option.

Goading ol' Backfire over there into a sparring match, however, is well within his rights –which is as good a justification as any other as far as he's concerned, given that he's already stomping toward the unsuspecting pair, in flagrant breach of his own injunction against that action specifically.

Just as Katsuki's within spitting distance, though, Uraraka detaches from Four Eyes with a little bunny hop and a double fist pump, fire in her eyes.

"Fated battles are never easy," she begins, with an almost comical intensity, while Katsuki rolls his eyes at Uraraka elevating yet another social encounter to the 'fated battle' tier, "but you're strong, Ten-kun; you're a survivor." Four Eyes mimics her fisted fighting pose and nods once, stiffly. "You can do this!" He nods again, more vigorously now.

"Y-you are correct, Ochako-kun!" Four Eyes' delivery is as stilted and severe as ever, but there's a sliver of hesitation in it, a high note of quivery panic, suggesting he's suffering some degree of mental distress. And that's fucking delightful –enough to stay Katsuki's advance, at least for the moment. "This is a happy occasion, and undoubtedly M-Me-Hatsume-kun's family will be lovely! All will be well!" Uraraka shakes her head affirmatively, and claps a pinky-popped hand on Four Eyes' massive forearm in solidarity.

"Hold on to that optimism, Ten-kun! And remember, we're behind you every step o' the way!" With a resigned, if faraway, look in his eyes, as though he's going off to die at war, Four Eyes executes an abrupt about-face and robots back the way he came, exiting the agency not two minutes after he entered.

It's a weird scene, but one that manages somehow to satisfy Katsuki's spontaneously-manifested, Megane*-directed schadenfreude, and to reinforce how well and truly fucking sunk he is, that his main takeaway from this performance is the insight that Uraraka's too fucking cute to exist.

The instant Four Eyes turns away to confront whatever miserable destiny awaits him, Uraraka also pivots –directly to face Katsuki, like she already knows he's there (probably she fucking does, as he'd made no effort to menace his way across the office quietly)—and beelines for him, pointedly smiling and extending greetings to everyone in the room but him as she approaches.

Katsuki stands rooted to the spot, feeling caught out, cornered, and fucking electrified at the prospect that he might be in trouble.

Uraraka's exchanging meaningless pleasantries with Hanta when she reaches him, so she neither looks at nor speaks to him as she hooks an arm around the crook of his elbow and leads off, gently steering him toward the hallway. In the interest of expediting their escape, Katsuki lets Uraraka smooth operator him the hell outta there, keeping his mouth judiciously fucking shut while the peanut gallery of shitbrain extras congratulate her and welcome her back.

As they cross the threshold into the hall, Uraraka waves, promising to hang out and catch up with everyone soon, and then finally, finally, it's just the two of them, alone together in an empty corridor.

At a sudden, inexplicable loss, Katsuki begins to sweat. He's had several days to obsess over what he might do to her –hell, what they might do to each other—when they get a minute to themselves, yet now that the moment's actually here, his mind is blank-slate, one-with-the-damn-universe fucking empty.

He sneaks a downward glance, and meets a wide, warm smile doing an absolute shit job of hiding the murder in her eyes.

"We're being nice to Ten-kun today," Uraraka chastises, "and the next couple days after." There's no mistaking this as anything other than the unconditional directive it is, which gets his blood pumping in anticipation of the swift retaliation she'll deliver when he pops off with whatever shithead contrarian remark occurs to him first.

Except…nothing ever pops off. Instead he watches her, and listens intently as she explains that Four Eyes' parents are meeting Target Eyes' for the first time over brunch to formally discuss the unholy engagement, and that 'poor Ten-kun' is a nervous wreck about it. If Katsuki knows what's good for him, she continues, all spun-sugar sweetness, he'll forget whatever beef he's got with 'Ten-kun' and leave well enough alone.

Even setting aside his growing aversion to Uraraka being on first-name basis with seemingly fucking everyone in her social circle save him, Katsuki is having a bad time: the endearing brightness of her smile makes his fucking chest hurt, and the darling dangerousness of her tone as she threatens to 'send him to space' if he steps out of line wrenches hot like a knife to the gut.

Which is bullshit. None of this shit is new to him; she wears smiles like he wears a furrowed brow (i.e. reflexively), and this definitely isn't the first time he's been on the receiving end of her chipper-sunshine intimidations, either.

So why the gratuitous fucking ache?

"Bakugou," she quietly beckons, snapping him back to the present as she drops his arm, slows to a stop near the entrance of the girls' locker room, and reaches up to run her thumb along the shell of his left ear. He flinches (he can't believe he fucking flinches), not expecting the contact, and Uraraka rectracts her hand as if burned. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you…" She trails off, but her gaze keeps compulsively flicking left, and it doesn't take a freaking mind-reading quirk to divine that she wants to ask after his hearing. Whether or not she will remains to be seen, as she's got a full-blown complex about the partial loss being 'her fault' (nevermind how moronic that fucking is), and can't seem to bring herself to do the actual asking.

Which is damn unfortunate for her, 'cause he sure as shit isn't going to volunteer the information. She wants to know, she's going to have to get the hell over it and use her fucking words. Katsuki's already tried explaining it was his own explosion and lack of foresight that caused the damage, and that it's fucking objectively not her fault, but she refuses to let herself be convinced.

Uninterested in enabling that needless guilty conscience crap, he's resolved not to share the good news –that his hearing has been steadily improving—until the day she inevitably loses her patience, looks him in the damn eye, and demands the information.

That day is not today.

Today, the question she asks is: "Have you not been sleeping?" She gestures toward her own face to indicate the bags under his eyes, and Katsuki doesn't answer because he's not going to lie to her, but he's also definitely not going to tell her the truth, which is that no, he he hasn't been sleeping, not for weeks.

Just like the last time she was seriously injured.

Except it's worse this time. On top of the constant, low-grade terror of not knowing if he'd be able to find the right combination of quirk fixes for Uraraka, and of having no guarantee those hypothetical fixes would work as advertised, he'd endured that fucking endless hell of an interrogation, during which he was tactically denied sleep for prolonged, exhausting intervals. And even in the narrow windows he'd been permitted to rest, every time he started to drift off, he'd see Mizu's defiant face–stupid fucking kid—in the instant before he stuffed an explosion directly into it. Or he'd see the Maven, eyes glowing with sinister light as she prepared to blow them all to hell. Or, he'd see Fissure's broken, blackened body, and relive the Freak's final, gasping breaths. In fucking surround sound. On loop.

After his release, the nightmares followed him home, and continued to deny him the peace of mind necessary to do much more than fitfully doze. So really, it ain't a matter of 'has' or 'hasn't' been: Katsuki can't sleep.

"Me, either," Uraraka confesses, ostensibly responding to the errant strand of thought in his brain. While he's gauging how bothered he should be with evidence mounting to support the notion that she's somehow a fucking psychic now, Uraraka shuffles forward half a step and wraps him in a hug.

Katsuki stops breathing.

As her arms wind tighter, the madness-steeped, sleepless tension begins to melt away, like she's physically squeezing it out of him. Eleven days of feeling strung out, on edge, like he's unraveling –unceremoniously fucking over.

Who knew the fix would be this easy? Or just how truly fucking starved he's been for her, that this is all it takes to restore his wrecked-to-shit equilibrium?

With hands that shake more from impatience than indecision, he cups her jaw on either side of her face and tilts her head back so she's looking directly up the swell of his chest into his eyes. Her lips part slightly in surprise, then soften into a small, tired smile.

She's fucking perfect.

Absently, Katsuki pinches a lock of her hair between his fingers and tucks it delicately behind her ear, content in the moment to simply drink her in.

…until, that is, Uraraka tips up on her toes, presses a chaste kiss to his mouth, and then bounces back onto her heels, grinning like an idiot. After that, the sequence of events gets a little…jumbled.

All he knows for sure is, one minute he is fucking spiritually shattering; and the next he's kissing her, hard and hungry, while she gently drags her fingernails across the tightening planes of his stomach, and shit but he wishes his damn shirt weren't in the way and that she'd do it harder—

*Megane - everyone here probably already knows, but just in case: 'megane' literally means 'eyeglasses' in japanese, but is also colloquially applied to a somewhat vague glasses-wearing character archetype that ranges from sinister to sexy and everywhere in between. the primary feature of the 'megane' is, unsurprisingly, dem fraaaaaaames~

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other notes:

-WHO HERE MISSED BAKUGOU POV? GOOD, ME TOO
-this first chapter is meant to do some emotional work/tension build; next chapter will feature hot make-outs and sexy wagers; and then at long last, we should arrive at the Lewding. i solemnly swear that i am packing up and moving to mars if this shit tries to stretch itself out past three chapters.
-this dipped a bit more into bakugou's PTSD than i intended, but i'm actually glad it did. three people are *dead,* to some greater or lesser degree *because* of bakugou and uraraka, and i like to think that's not something either of them would just *get over.* gotta get up in the guts of them there emotional/psychological consequences.
-see ya' next time, ya sweet fuckin' peaches~