TW: depictions of violence.

·•●01●•·

There was a slight haze to the air as Katsuki came to, the sound of cloth rustling beneath his movements as he shifted.

His memory was a mess of fragmented recollections, not a single shard of his conscious seeming to mesh with the other.

As in, nothing made any sense whatsoever.

Where he was, how he got there, or better yet--why he wasn't able to move.

Blonde lashes fluttered helplessly with the added physical disorientation, not to mention utter bewilderment.

His vision finally focused on his lap, since his gaze was dipping low instinctively.

He'd fully regained consciousness by then, and boy, did he wish he'd stayed passed out.

Pale, toned legs squirmed against the bare tile, as Katsuki began to struggle against the restraints latching him to the footboard of a bed that wasn't his.

Dawned on his lithe frame was nothing but an oversized dress shirt, that--yet again--didn't belong to him.

The situation became thoroughly obvious rather quickly, leading Katsuki to conclude that this wasn't just a nightly hunt gone wrong.

Just as he'd begun to panic, a light clatter rang out from a neighbouring room.

Katsuki... Wasn't alone.

He'd given the small chain cuffing his wrist to the metal frame a few more tugs--each attempt carried out in vain.

Shit, he thought, gritting his teeth.

Trying to escape on his own accord was pointless... Onto plan B.

"Oi, I know you're there, fucker."

An intense sense of unease overtook the atmosphere, as the prior silence only seemed to weigh heavier.

Katsuki held his breath when he heard footsteps come nearer, acknowledging that the person they belonged to no longer cared to go unnoticed.

The thumping from heavy brogues implied a monstrous stature; a difficult opponent for Katsuki in his current state.

"What kinda piss-ass fuck slinks in the shadows like some sorta roach?"
Katsuki was on the verbal defense, banking on the fact that this person was armed with nothing but their bare fists.

"You've got quite the lip there,"
Polyester-coated legs came into Katsuki's frame of view,
"For a creature that's at my mercy."

Oh, this fucker.

"Say that while looking me in the eyes, bitch!"

Katsuki thrashed, eager to stir his company into a slip of judgement.

The man adorned a peculiar mask, one that curled at the edge like that of a pointed of snout.

His expression was unreadable, face only visible from his eyes up.

"Well, since you asked so politely."
The man finally stepped into the harsh central lighting, fiddling with the white gloves that clung to his spindly digits.

Katsuki bit back a cocksure smirk--he'd gotten this bastard right where he wanted him.

His eyes darted around for a source of coolant or airflow, but even the windows had been shut in an effort to retain as much privacy as possible.

Good.

"And you're staying all the way over there for what, exactly? You know that it just makes you look pathetic as hell, right?"

The man shook his head in an amused disbelief.

What an utter fool Katsuki was; provoking a powerful enemy like that.

He drew nearer, until he stood within a solid foot of Katsuki's reach.

He bent over, planting a mocking caress of pure spite onto Katsuki's cheek.

"You don't scare me–"

With his free hand, Katsuki clamped down onto the man's outstretched wrist, tugging him towards himself with the most strenuous force he could manage.

With the his face now inches away from Katsuki's, the latter took it upon himself to carry out the final step of his ploy.

The man hadn't time to register the tongue that swiped across the side of his face with an unapologetic ease.

Katsuki bore a complacent expression as the man recoiled, hardly bracing for the sharp, cold strike of an open palm against his cheek.

"How dare you contaminate me with your filth?"
The man grunted, swiping a gloved hand over his damp jaw.

Katsuki rolled his tongue against the roof of his mouth, deepening the taste of the stranger's salty sweat.

"How fuckin' ironic, the bitch is bad at bitch slapping."

His eyes flickered up to his assailant, now a bright, vivid scarlet in colour.

The man began to backpedal, scoffing in fearful disbelief.

"Wha–Who the hell do you think you are?"

There was an abrupt snap, sourced from the copper chain that bounded Katsuki to the article of furniture.

Sheets of ebony sprouted from his spine, obsidian horns slowly curling from either side of his frontal skull.

He began to further stumble--both verbally and in his movements--as Katsuki slowly rocked to his feet.

"What the hell are you?..."
He gulped, losing his composure out of sheer terror.

Katsuki's eyebrows furrowed with a sarcastic pity,
"Whatever your spineless ass fuck-face fears most. My options are pretty flexible, you know."

He hummed, fingers aching to satisfy their natural desire of tearing into enemy flesh.

'Damn,'
Katsuki thought,
'this was going to be one long-ass night'.

·•●❈●•·

The rhythmic, heavy droplets of water that dripped from cracks in the ceiling were far less than pleasant, nearly driving Izuku to snap his brush in two.

He couldn't concentrate.

He'd been having what felt like the worst artists' block known to man for the past three weeks, which couldn't have happened at a worse time since he'd yet to complete his final piece for his first exhibit.

His supposed 'theme' was Life or Death, the perspective of implementing destruction before creation in his paintings.

It was a running concept when it was a fresh idea in his mind, but at this point his creative motivation was all but nonexistent.

His canvas lay bare and dry, not a single droplet of paint having been placed thus far.

Izuku was just about ready to start throwing random blotches of paint at the material until something clicked, when his phone started to vibrate beside him.

Picking up the buzzing cell, he'd read the caller ID--somewhat pleasantly surprised with whom he recognised as his best friend.

"Yo," he answered with a semi-enthusiasm,
demeanour shifting slightly so that his tone was convincingly optimistic.

"Midoriya! You picked up! I'm surprised, since I'd figured you'd be working on your paintings."

Izuku scoffed with a breathy chuckle.

Leave it up to Eijiro to remind you just how behind you were.

Izuku figured that it was probably subconscious, but even so, Eijiro was quite the airhead when it came to the discretion of his peers.

"Well, I'm free now. What's up?"

"Ah, Kaminari and the others wanted to know if you were free to go for a lime."

Ah...Sounds about right.
It was these rare, spontaneous invites that'd take Izuku back to his late highschool years, as opposed to his life as a man dawning his mid-twenties.

He hardly went out with friends anymore, mostly ever leaving his house for gym days and the occasional grocery haul.

Neither of which required him to actually socialize.

"Mm. I'll...Think about it."
He lied.
He wasn't planning on going  either way--Eijiro would try to convince him to come if he'd made that audible, though.

"Ah...Okay. Just wanted to let you know, you know?"

Izuku inwardly sighed.
He loved his friends--he really did--but sometimes, their concerned undertones while weakly implied, still came off as overbearing when he was at his lowest.

"Yeah, I understand. Well...Good night, I guess."

"Mhm...Good night, man."

Izuku hung up, placing his phone atop the acrylic-stained oak desk.

He was ready to pick back up his paintbrush and hold it in his hands until something happened, when yet another call was coming through across his still unlocked phone screen.

Ah.

It was Ochako.

Izuku almost didn't answer, but knowing the brunette, she'd probably call back another fifteen times at minimum--and he wasn't about to give her yet another reason to lose her mind until they next saw each other.

He begrudgingly set back down his paintbrush with a sigh.

This was going to be a longer night than anticipated.

·•●❈●•·

Izuku swept his tongue between chapped lips, strobes of violets and magentas bouncing from wall-to-wall.

The luminescent beams from the cheap light-machine gave the space the energy of the glorified birthday party of a sixteen-year-old.

The pungent smell of booze and cigarettes bombarded the immediate senses, leaving very little up to the imagination as to what goes on at these events.

That, along with the endless variations of body sprays and 'suggestive' perfumes, almost seemed to choke up the atmosphere with a dense wall of superficiality.

This is exactly why Izuku didn't like clubs; the endless facades and personas that he could never keep up with.

"You're fucking wasted."

Well, that and the fact that his best friend was the only bartender in town.

Izuku shifted his posture slightly, propping himself against the bar to evade the possibility of sliding off his stool.

"I wouldn't...Use those exact words, Ei."
He slurred.

"What the hell, Izu? Can't you tell when you've reached your limit?"

Izuku shot his hands up in surrender.

"You know what? You're absolutely right."
Izuku countered, promptly flicking back one last shot of tequila with a grunt, tasting the earthy, semi-sweet flavour as it washed down the back of his throat.

Eijiro sucked his teeth despondently, officially tired of Izuku's antics and half-ready to throw his ass out onto the pavement.

Although Ochako may have been the one who dragged Izuku out to Off Set in the first place, Izuku was a grown-ass man that should've known where to draw the line.

Then again, she was probably the reason Izuku was guzzling booze like a fucking bear in the first place. 

She kept pressing Izuku to get a girlfriend since she had this fantasy that all of her friends and their significant others would become some big, happy family--or something along those lines.

She couldn't bare to watch one of her friends get used to being alone, since, to borrow from her, "Nobody liked the lonely uncle at family gatherings."

And bringing him to go fucking clubbing was the best solution, huh?
The redhead sighed with a gentle sway of his head, refocusing on Izuku to find his stool empty.

Garnet irises flickered with a sudden worry, as he shot a glance over the abundant crowd people.

'Dammit. Where did that idiot go?'

·•●❈●•·

Izuku's head slumped flat against the cool steel surface, forcing him to let out an exasperated groan as he lavished in the soothing relief that it inspired.

He didn't even know what he was supposed to be doing here; getting basically dragged out into public against his will, Izuku was evidently socially incapable at these sorts of events.

Best case scenario, he'd get shitfaced and forget his first name, before getting a ride back to his apartment from literally anyone that wasn't a psycho-murderer.

Worse case, he'd have to be the one to listen to Ochako's incessant stories of lousy exes and her crappy domestic life with only one drink in his system.

So far, things seemed to be going smoothly.

Ochako was lost somewhere in the sea of strangers with her girlfriends, while Izuku just sat and observed–which was, admittedly, uncharacteristically creepy on his part.

He'd never had much trouble with dates before, since a lot of girls adored his approachable nature and physique.

In the end, however, they were all driven away by his off-putting personality and slow advances, before there was any real connection.

Don't get him wrong--it wasn't as if Izuku was abstaining, he'd just much rather get to know someone before getting between their legs.

You know, the boring way.

Of course, now that he was finally out of his apartment, the last thing he wanted was someone looking to change him for their own selfish justifications.

Much less some one-night stand.

He sighed in exasperation, eyes wandering in favour of no direction in particular.

Conscious thought seemed to progressively deteriorate, just as the crowd of energetic individuals seemed to suddenly slow down in motion.

The sound of smashing glass and coarse yelling snapped Izuku out of his drunken stupor, as he bristled at a back-breaking speed.

The crowd seemed to part suddenly, filtering to allow the commotion to proceed uninterrupted, save for the odd few who merely gasped and shuffled away.

"Gettin' ballsy now, aren't we?"

A prominently vexed lank of a man latched slim digits at the base of another's jaw, fingers curling inward on the skin until it was visibly painful. 

His eyes were remarkably wide, retaining a perpetually bloodshot stare and giving him an overall maniacal appearance. 

A larger, robust man who seemed to be his muscle nervously prodded at his shoulder.

"S-Setsuno, I don't think we should–"

Golden locks shifted slightly as the man snapped his head in the direction of his pathetic oaf of a crony.

"Shut up, Hojo!"
He hissed, redirecting his attention back to the young man whose jaw he had clutched within spindly fingers.

"Wanna say that again, dollface?"

As his patience grew thinner, his grip gradually tightened.

Vermilion orbs bore holes into his assailant, glare fixed and unchanging.

Izuku had never seen a man in such a position that stood as unfazed as he did.

It was just then, that Izuku noticed the glass shards of a broken bottle that lay scattered at his feet.

They'd thrown a bottle at him, and he'd yet to even flinch.

'Ballsy indeed,'
Izuku thought, pushing off of the table with the confidence of someone who broke up scuffles like this daily.

To clarify--he didn't.

Although, it was more a one-sided fit of demented passion if anything, since it wasn't as if this man's threatening demeanour was being reciprocated.

"Oi, I'm talking to you, slut!"

The man exclaimed, daring to come across as at least a little bit threatening.

He instead flinched at the hand that had suddenly clamped onto his shoulder.

"Okay, that's enough."

Izuku slurred, momentarily cupping his lips since the rum seemed to be disrupted by all of the unanticipated movement.

The shorter of the two grit his teeth with a low growl of annoyance.
"Fuck off!"

Izuku slid out the way just in time for the stranger to throw his full body-weight behind what was supposed to be a fatal punch, before stumbling to the floor clumsily due to his lack of impact.

"Jesus. You're really bad at this, huh? Or did you have a couple drinks yourself?"

Izuku meant to make polite conversation, but obviously came across as more condescending.

"Do you want your fucking head on a pike, jackass?"

"Not really, no."
He shrugged.

Setsuno's jaw clenched, teeth forced into an irritated grit.
He'd had enough lax respect for one night.

"Well, you're making it sound pretty fucking entic--"

"Hey, do you know where that guy you were threatening went?"

Izuku disregarded the hinted danger completely, somewhat dazed but conscious enough to be concerned for a vulnerable stranger that was potentially in harm's way.

Is this guy crazy?

Before the blonde could even object, Izuku was already making his way out of the club at an ample pace.

Fuckin' Bastard...

"A-Aren't we gonna go after him?"
Hojo stammered out, earning a death glare from Setsuno as he finally got to is feet.

The gaunt man adjusted his collar and sleeves, releasing a shallow grunt as he chuckled,

"That bastard's gonna get what's coming to him."

·•●❈●•·