𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓗𝓸𝔀 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 𝓖𝓸𝓮𝓼 | Katsuki Bakugou x Male reader

Chapter 7

Happy new year everyone 

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A leather bag filled with food and a flask of hot tea. A pair of fur-lined gloves that Keigo left behind. Three twigs, broken from the naked trees, lying in the snow, pointing in the direction (M/N) would travel. This was what he left for Shoto at their usual meeting place on the first Sunday after the Harvest Festival.

(M/N) continued on through the cold, misty woods, breaking a path that would be unfamiliar to Shoto but was simple for (M/N)'s feet to find. It led to the lake. He no longer trusted that their regular rendezvous spot offered privacy, and he would need that and more to spill everything to Shoto today.

That is if he even showed up.

If he didn't, (M/N) would have to risk going to his house in the dead of night. There were things he had to know. Things (M/N) needed him to help figure out.

Once the implications of what (M/N) was seeing on the mayor's television hit him, he made for the door and quickly walked down the hall. Just in time, too, because the mayor came up the steps moments later. (M/N) gave him a wave, to which the mayor returned, and then he left.

As (M/N) trudged through the snow, he saw the mockingjays hopping about on branches as they picked up on other birds' melodies, replicated them, and then transformed them into something new.

As always, they reminded (M/N) of Wendy. He thought of the dream he had the last night on the train, where he followed her in mockingjay form. He wished he could have stayed asleep just a bit longer and found out where she was trying to take him.

It was a hike to the lake, no question. If he decided to follow (M/N) at all, Shoto was going to be put out by this excessive use of energy that could be better spent in hunting. He was conspicuously absent from the dinner at the mayor's house, although the rest of his family came. Rei said he was home sick, which was an obvious lie. (M/N) couldn't find him at the Harvest Festival, either. Natsuo told (M/N) that he was out hunting. That was probably true.

After a couple of hours, (M/N) reached an old house near the edge of the lake. Maybe "house" was too big a word for it. It was only one room. (M/N)'s father thought that a long time ago there were a lot of buildings - some of the foundations were still prevalent - and people came to them to play and fish in the lake. This house outlasted the others because it was made of concrete. Floor, roof, ceiling. Only one of the four glass windows remained, wavy and yellowed by time. There was no plumbing and no electricity, but the fireplace still worked and there was a woodpile in the corner that (M/N) and his father collected years ago. (M/N) started a small fire, counting on the mist to obscure any telltale smoke.

While the fire was catching, (M/N) swept out the snow that had accumulated under the empty windows, using a twig broom his father had made him when he was about eight and played house here. Then (M/N) sat on the concrete hearth, thawing out by the fire and waiting for Shoto.

It was a surprisingly short time before he appeared. A dead wild turkey he must have encountered along the way was hanging from his belt. He stood in the doorway as if considering whether or not to enter. He held the unopened leather bag of food, the flask, and Keigo's gloves. Gifts he wouldn't accept because of his anger at (M/N). (M/N) knew exactly how he felt. He had done the same thing to his mother after all.

(M/N) looked into his eyes. His temper couldn't quite mask the hurt, the sense of betrayal he felt at (M/N)'s engagement to Katsuki. This would be (M/N)'s last chance, this meeting today, to not lose Shoto forever. He could take hours trying to explain, and even then have Shoto refuse him. Instead, (M/N) went straight to the heart of his defence.