27 And Counting (Adult Katsuki Bakugou MHA)

1. It's Just A Dream

- Fuck that. - Katsuki frowned, throwing a delicate, decorated piece of paper on a pile of others. - Fuck Deku and his shitty bitch. Fuck them all. Just die already, you fuckers.

He took a cig from his jacket's pocket (as he barely came home and didn't have time to change clothes), lit it up and threw a match on a pile of papers. It took him five seconds to realise the pile was made of unpaid bills and some legal shit documents he couldn't afford to lose so stupidly. As for a beautiful wedding invitation from Izuku and his fiancée, Uraraka, neatly addressed to Katsuki Bakugou and Partner, he didn't care.

Fucking Broccoli.

Of course, he wouldn't invite Katsuki along with Kirishima. What's in the past, stays in the past. Of course, he wouldn't know who Katsuki was currently fucking, as this was subject to availability. Or, as the Number Four Pro Hero claimed whenever asked, he didn't have time for this bullshit like all other extras.

After the cig, pro hero washed out all the dirt and sweat from his bruised body, changed from his hero suit to some sweatshirts, tidied up a little bit (meaning: threw dirty clothes from the sofa to the floor), turned on the TV, and eventually fell asleep in front of the screen, with a bowl of microwaved tuna spaghetti on his lap.

- Put more strength to it, I know you can do it! - one of Mr CopyGuy's clones shouted in his direction. Katsuki focused all his energy into another explosion. He was tired but pumped up, full of energy, ready to prove everyone that he would be the greatest hero in the world, greater from All Might. Definitely greater than all those fucking extras that wasted the air around him by trying to become heroes. 

- Go on! Again! Don't lose focus! Again! Again! Stay steady, ground your legs, go again! Do you want to be the number one hero or not? - Mr CopyGuy kept yelling at the more tired and sweatier boy. Not that Bakugo cared - he WAS going to become the number one, no doubt. He just needed to focus and shoot a perfect explosion again. As he could feel the sweet taste of sweat drops around his lips, he licked them slowly. Only then did he notice his best friend staring in awe at the movement of his swollen lips. When their eyes met for a split second, Bakugo swore he would DIE in that very moment. He would swear someone turned on an air con, that's why he turned red and started sweating more. There was no other reason. Or was there?

Riiiing...

A loud phone ring woke the pro hero up.

Katsuki took five seconds to look around to understand what happened and why he was where he was.
In this empty, dirty apartment, his apartment. Not their apartment. Not his parents' apartment. Technically speaking, not even his, as it was rented on a 2 years contract.

The man sadly realised he's not 15 years-old, heavily training to become the best pro hero, having a massive crush on his red haired friend, ready to conquer the world once the U.A. is over. Who knows, maybe he would even find courage to confess? He couldn't stop thinking about Kirishima since the sport festival, he could imagine all these nasty things he could do with the red head once given consent... As per work, no stress at all. It would be only a matter of time for all pro heroes to realise how great Bakugou Katsuki is, and to send him tons of job offers. Of course, his mom and dad would be happy with whichever option he would choose, they would support him no matter what, wouldn't they? They're always there, aren't they?

Not this time. Not at this moment of his life.

Katsuki cursed quietly, realising he was now 27 years old, divorced, with a quite debt to pay off and without support of his father. Strictly speaking, he didn't have support from his mother either, as she still hasn't accepted him fully for who he was - both homosexual and pro hero, but, at very least, she was still alive. Yes, he IS a pro hero. He isn't number one, and it doesn't look like he could ever compete with this fucking Broccoli for the title again. His strength is slowly decreasing, his hair falling down, and his PTSD, an unwanted side effect of a hero's profession, is progressing rapidly.

- Who that. - he signed, putting a bowl with his late dinner on a table and going for another cig.

- My, oh my... Haven't you ever thought if you were nicer, people would like you more? - Kaminari's voice chirped on the other side, as per usual. Kaminari has come a long way from being, well, the class A's joke to one of the most efficient and disciplined heroes, and Katsuki truly respected him. So much, he gave him his personal phone number. And regretted it ever since. - Besides, how can you ask that, don't you have my number added to contacts or something? I thought we were the best bros!

- Sorry, I was sleeping. - Katsuki had no time nor energy for a clever diss at the moment.

- Yeah, yeah, whatever. Listen, I just wanted to ask you who you are taking at Deku's wedd...

- Your mother. - Katsuki spit out, turning off the phone.

This motherfucking thunder guy interrupted his sweet dream for that??? Tch. 'Why does he care? Why am I irritated? I'm not even planning to go. I'm pretty sure Kirishima will be there, though, maybe I could see him....' - Kat sighed at his own thoughts. What a pathetic loser he was, wanting to go to fucking Deku's wedding with that floaty bitch to glimpse at Kirishima once again... like he couldn't see him on TV or big posters across the city anyway. Number Three Pro Hero Red Riot Bulldogging His Way Towards Greatness, they would say. Fucking bullshit. Kirishima isn't even that strong, he's just a smooth talker, that's what he is. What a joke.

With that thought in mind, he dialled another number.

- Hello, Ms Bee? I think I would need some deep cleaning... Yes, again... No madam, I do respect your work, you know how busy I am... Yes, pay up front and access to the fridge, whatever. Just book me for the earliest slot available... Yes, tomorrow's perfect. Thank you, madam.

As the clock was showing around 10p.m., Kat moved from the sofa, put on some casual jeans and black sweatshirt, and left for some club. Not exactly some club - the one and only gay club close to his neighbourhood where he felt at least a tiny bit comfortable, given he knew all stuff and it was only 20 minutes walk from his apartment. No strangers, no judgemental looks, no surprises in the dark corner. 'Good vodka shot, maybe two, and who knows, if I'm lucky today, maybe even something more, and I'll be like a new person tomorrow. Everything will be better tomorrow'. It will be, it HAS to be. Tomorrow's always for the better. Right?