#ykwim jane austen type vibes

[comradekiwi]

bkdk regency era au confession request for @bakutogabaku :)

The castle halls were bustling with movement, maids and cooks and butlers shuffling to and fro as they prepared for the ball. It was easy to get caught underfoot, if you didn’t know your way around.

Fortunately, Izuku knew his way around quite well, and narrowly avoided crashing into a tray of cakes by ducking under it and into the hidden alcove behind the winter tapestry, the giant one of the Bakugou’s ancestral home. Izuku heaved a great sigh of relief, untensing. The crowds got a bit much for him, sometimes. He was only here to see Kacchan, anyway.

A hot hand gripped the back of his head. “Deku?”

Izuku startled, whipping around swiftly to the beloved sight of his childhood friend, if vague and blurry in the dark. Good thing Izuku would know those shoulders anywhere.

“Kacchan? I thought you’d have snuck out to the roof by now.” That was where he had been going, before the busy movement had overwhelmed him.

“Got sidetracked, same as you, it seems,” Kacchan said, sliding to sit on the floor. Izuku sat across from him, eyes adjusting to the dim light. Katsuki drew a candle up out of nowhere and lit it, setting it next to them against the wall of the small space just big enough for them to sit without touching.

Kacchan did not love crowds either, skilled as he was in commanding them. But he’d never admit to hiding from them, no, it was always “regrouping” or “getting sidetracked,” to Izuku’s endless endearment.

“Pity. The wind is lovely today. Good I found you, though, or I’d be sharing our picnic with my own self,” Izuku laughed, digging through his satchel for the lunch parcels his mother had packed for him and Katsuki.

Kacchan straightened up, the sight making Izuku’s heart clench, Kacchan in his regal adornments sitting up earnestly at the mention of his peasant mother’s homemade food. “Auntie made it?”

“Mm.”

“Fuck yeah,” Katsuki grinned wildly, teeth white in the dimness. Izuku decidedly did not swoon at the gleeful stretch of his large mouth, instead focusing on finding the fruit he knew he’d thrown into his bag.

“Wait–” Kacchan interrupted, staying his hand. He reached over to put everything Izuku had taken out back into his satchel. “Give me your coat.”

Izuku looked at the coat rolled up and clasped to his bag, then at Katsuki, deadpan.

“Kacchan, it’ll never fit.” Much to Izuku chagrin and secret delight, and Katsuki’s amusement and much more vocal delight, they were no longer around the same height like they’d been as children, Katsuki instead towering over him by at least a foot. And he was still growing. Curse his dragonsblood genes.

“It’s not for the chill, dumbass,” Kacchan rolled his eyes, “Just give it here.”

Izuku handed it over obediently, watching as Kacchan fashioned it into some sort of blasphemization of a shawl.

“Brilliant. I’ll let your mother know you’re all set for the ball, then,” Izuku giggled.

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki grouched, pushing Izuku with a hand to the face, “and let’s go.”

A picnic elsewhere, then. Izuku loved those.

Izuku peeked out the tapestry; the crowd had not lessened in the slightest, which meant too many people around for anyone to notice the prince, but also more people who could potentially notice the prince. Izuku glanced back at Kacchan, who had removed his own fancy coat, doing his best to look inconspicuous. Izuku glanced down at the coat in his hands, the rich material and embroidery twinkling in the candlelight.

“What are you going to do with–” Izuku was cut off as Katsuki shoved the outerwear at him abruptly, mumbling something while looking away. “Huh?”

“Put it on,” Katsuki repeated, a bit louder, staring Izuku down. “They’ve seen you in my things enough times to not pay you any mind. And it will distract them from me.”

Izuku blushed furiously at all the implications of that statement that Katsuki obviously did not mean and probably had not even considered, false as they were. Izuku in Katsuki’s clothes was simply a natural byproduct of the two of them growing up together, impromptu sleepovers in the castle, and Izuku’s slightly smaller stature when they were children that allowed for uninhibited clothes-sharing. Or, rather, clothes-giving, given Katsuki’s birthright of plenty and Izuku’s modest upbringing. Queen Mitsuki always thought he looked simply adorable in Katsuki’s clothes anyway, and the young prince Katsuki had never shared the sentiment but had always pushed his clothes onto Izuku anyway, often brusquely, often with pink cheeks. Izuku thought he was so sweet, to care about Izuku like that, even if he did not want to be vocal about it.

(Izuku was not poor, either, not by any means, but everyone was some degree of worse-off compared to the royal Bakugous.)

(The maids did not even talk, accustomed to the little green-haired boy adorned in their prince’s things as they chased each other around the castle with wooden swords and tiny battle cries. New servants learned quickly to expect a freckled face in random corners, reading or writing or sketching, leaning on their prince’s shoulder or chattering at him while he trained. It was the way of the world, to see a golden head held high followed by the curly one trailing after it, or next to it.)

Their current mission was a success, Izuku slipping out of the alcove swamped in Katsuki’s expensive coat and through the crowd like a minnow, stopped only once by one of the kindest butlers, who gave him a once over and a knowing smile before slipping two tarts into his hands and nudging him off. All the while, Kacchan must have ducked his way through the halls too, because Izuku found him leaning on the wall just inside the doorway of the stairwell leading up to their favourite tower.

Kacchan swept his gaze over his figure (as if checking for injuries – Kacchan was so silly sometimes), nodded to himself, and swept away up the stairs, dramatic as if waving his formal cape behind him. He did not look back, knowing Izuku would follow, which he did, rolling his eyes at his back.

They settled down by a huge open window overlooking the grounds, half next-to and half in-front of each other, so they could enjoy both the company and the view at once. Izuku unpacked their food again, handing Kacchan a parcel and avoiding staring at his strong fingers deftly untying the string so tiny under his hands.

Izuku turned his face to the sun, enjoying the air. Every part of the kingdom had its charm, but Izuku had a bit of bias for the castle grounds, perhaps because he spent half his childhood here running around. Something about the sectioned off luxury set him at peace, like nothing could harm him here on the Bakugou’s property.

“Izuku,” Kacchan said suddenly. Izuku looked up, moderately alarmed at his serious tone. Katsuki had his face turned away from him, eyes stubbornly fixed on something in the distance.

“Yes, Kacchan?”

Izuku squinted. Was… was Katsuki blushing?

The prince cleared his throat, fumbling for words uncharacteristically. Izuku was definitely alarmed. “Is something wrong?”

Kacchan finally looked at him, looked into his eyes for a second before the pinkness on his cheeks deepened and he looked away again, picking at his food.

“Izuku.” He said again. Izuku leaned forward, watching him plaintively.

Katsuki glanced at him and away quickly, squeezing his eyes shut as the pink spread. “Fucking – stop that.”

“Stop what?” Izuku wasn’t doing anything.

“Your stupid– nevermind,” he huffed, shaking his head and seeming to steel himself.

What in the world? Katsuki never had any issue telling him anything. Impatient, Izuku pushed, “Kacchan, what’s going o–”

“How would you court someone?”

All the blood in Izuku’s body curdled into ice.

What?

“How would I..” Izuku swallowed. “Oh, have you… have you finally found someone?”

Every year, around the time of the Sun Cycle festivities, Auntie Mitsuki would always ruffle Katsuki’s hair and jokingly ask when he’d get around to finding a future royal consort. Kacchan would always smack her hands away and glare, almost too sharply for the question at hand, and the queen would laugh and laugh and swing an arm around Izuku, who was usually present, and try to goad him into joining her in teasing his best friend. Izuku would laugh too, though increasingly weakly as the years passed and he grew more and more hopelessly, irrevocably, tortuously in love with Bakugou Katsuki. He had a feeling the queen knew about that, too, given how she always eyed him a touch too long whenever she brought up the subject of Kacchan’s future partner, features calculating. Izuku had grown alongside Kacchan enough to have picked up on skill of inscrutability necessary in the Court, but little got past Auntie Mitsuki, especially when it concerned her sons.

All this to say Izuku had considered the possibility of the queen actually pushing Kacchan to find a consort and found it lacking, so he had put the fear out of his mind, convincing himself the action was out of rationality rather than desperate self-preservation.

It seems he had been horribly, horribly mistaken.

Katsuki was clearly blushing now, face red and eyes slightly too-wide, even as he mustered up a face of impassiveness from some depths of practice from years in court. His clenched jaw and red face were the only things giving him away.

Izuku waited in the pause with bated breath, world at a standstill.

“...Yes.” Katsuki said, finally.

Ah.

Izuku’s heart cracked right down the middle, the pieces falling weightlessly out of his chest and over the tower ledge with nothing to catch them. Ah. Of course. How foolish of Izuku to think this day would not come, when Kacchan could so easily find someone as glorious as he, someone worthy of his affection and his future, in this wide and vast world.

Izuku swallowed tightly and promised himself not to cry in front of Kacchan.

“That’s. Nice.” He mumbled, then winced. Very subtle, Izuku. “Um! I would get them flowers probably, maybe, and …”

Katsuki was listening attentively, watching Izuku’s face and nodding along with more focus than he usually ever gave publicly to his stories.

(Not that he didn’t listen. He always did, just was almost shy about it, always doing something else as he lended an ear, sometimes working in pretense, sometimes actually. He seemed to get a lot of work done when simultaneously listening to Izuku, which was probably half of why Katsuki always dragged him along whenever he had duties to fulfill or training or homework.)

But seeing Katsuki devote such single-mindedness now, attentive in a way he rarely was, broke Izuku’s heart that much more, ground it into a fine dust. This must be very important to him, if Kacchan was taking it so seriously.

Izuku was torn between purposely sabotaging him, and helping him like a good best friend. Unfortunately, Kacchan’s happiness was the most important thing to him, and this was clearly something he cared about deeply, so despite the devil on his shoulder (that sounded suspiciously like Kacchan, actually), Izuku chose the latter with aching fingers.

“...and I think asking is good. You can ask them what they like and make it happen, they’d probably like that,” Izuku finished, letting out a quiet breath. Please no more.

Katsuki looked contemplative. “What about if it was you?”

Oh sweet mercy. “Huh?”

Katsuki cleared his throat, still horribly pink, and graciously did not laugh at Izuku’s squeak. “If someone asked you what you liked to be courted with. What would you say? Hypothetically.”

Oh, Kacchan, this was just cruel. Asking Izuku to fantasize about being courted by someone when the only person he’d want to be asked by was sitting cross-legged in front of him, asking for advice about courting someone else entirely.

Izuku stuffed his face with rice to stall and give himself an excuse in case he sounded choked up when he spoke. “Er, let’s see…” Oh, good, he sounded normal. “Well, one time Prince Todoroki tried courting me–”

Katsuki sat up straight immediately, face turning to stone. “He what.”

Izuku shivered at the deep rumble of his voice, and rolled his eyes. “See, this is why I didn’t tell you.”

Kacchan was notoriously possessive over his things, and Izuku liked to pretend to himself that his inclusion in that list could be in a romantic context, even if it was most certainly not. In truth, he’d kept notice of Shouto courting him away from Kacchan in a bid to keep up the secret fantasy of a jealous reaction in his head, to avoid Kacchan’s reaction in real life from squashing that hope. He would, Izuku knew, likely lash out in a possessive rage simply because he saw Todoroki as a threat for some reason, and not because it had anything to do with Izuku. And, if it did, it was simply because Kacchan had not really changed much from the four year old who had stomped up to Izuku under the willow in the town square and declared him his.

Izuku supposed he hadn’t changed much either from the four year old who had stood under the willow in town square and agreed.

In the present time, Kacchan leaned into Izuku’s space, seething. “You tell me everything.”

“You didn’t tell me you found someone,” Izuku shot back automatically, then winced at Kacchan’s taken aback expression. “Sorry.” He could feel dread curdling in his stomach, a creeping, sick fear that this heartbreak would turn into resentment, into the poisoning of his closeness with Kacchan, into a growing, necrotic distance between them until they were but estranged former–

“No, I’m… sorry.” Katsuki said lowly, and Izuku’s head whipped up, shocked. Kacchan rarely apologized out loud, preferring to show remorse through action.

He looked conflicted, rubbing a hand through spiky hair, rings glinting. “Is this– is your courtship with that bastard the same kind of thing, then?” Kacchan muttered, as if the words pained him.

Same– oh. Kacchan thought he’d kept Todoroki a secret for the same reason Katsuki had kept his own romantic interest a secret. For how precious and genuine it felt, probably.

“No, no, Kacchan,” Izuku hurried to amend, hating himself for it, for still pretending he meant anything to Kacchan worth apologizing for a courtship over. “It was nothing. He only tried to court me, I had little interest, and we parted as friends.”

Katsuki sat back reluctantly, grumbling something about “calling it” and “stupid fucking Todorokis.” He took a minute to calm himself, and Izuku waited patiently, well accustomed to Kacchan’s gradually developed ritual for dealing with his temper. After all, Izuku had helped him come up with it.

Kacchan finally breathed out slowly and reopened his eyes, looking into Izuku’s waiting ones. He cleared his throat. “Well?” he prompted. “What did the bastard do when he… then.”

Izuku stifled a giggle at his clearly still-grumpy pout, and at the jolly memory. He loved the prince of the neighboring kingdom dearly, if platonically, even more happily now that they’d discovered that was mutual. “There was a bouquet of roses, if I remember correctly. And an invite to accompany him in his fancy carriage to go into town. Oh, and Shouto–” here Katsuki’s eyebrows shot up at the familiar use of a given name– “Shouto bartered with his father to let him stay an extra week here in return for extra training, which was sweet. You know how he hates that.”

Once, when Kacchan and Izuku were quite small, they had pranked the Lady Ayako, sneaking a skunk-stink-soaked handkerchief into her purse in the middle of court. Among such respectable and high-class company she could not possibly make expressive faces in revulsion, out of propriety. Meaning Izuku and Kacchan got to giggle from the shadows, peeking from behind a massive curtain, as the Lady attempted to stifle her automatic twisted faces of disgust in the name of etiquette, resulting in the truly hilarious expression of what looked like, ultimately, constipation.

(The Lady Ayako had been a neutral figure in their lives, until she had one day turned up her nose at Izuku’s lovingly well-worn vest and made some snide remark about the quality of the young prince’s company. Coincidentally, Kacchan had devised the skunk prank the next day.)

(Perhaps even more curiously, when Uncle Masaru had swept back the curtain and unearthed the giggling children, he had merely frowned at them and sent them to bed with naught but a stern word about spying on people. The perpetrators of the smelly clutch were never found, and Lady Ayako was politely asked to leave early.)

Katsuki, at present, bore an expression remarkably similar to Lady Ayako’s that night.

“What a regular fuckin’ Romeo,” Izuku thought he heard him mutter under his breath.

“I could do way better than that,” Katsuki announced, loudly. Izuku smiled at him fondly.

“I’m sure you can, Kacchan,” he said, very bravely ignoring the broken pieces of his heart rattling around petulantly. “Whoever you ask will love whatever way you do it, because Kacchan’s amazing.”

I wouldn’t need anything, Izuku did not say. You could confess with a blade through my heart and I’d still collapse from happiness more than anything else. I would take anything, anything–

“When will you do it?” Izuku asked aloud, cutting off his internal spiraling.

“Hmm. Tomorrow,” Katsuki said decidedly. Izuku choked.

“To– that’s so soon! Needn’t you prepare?”

Katsuki shook his head, looking out over the grounds, eyes distant. “I have everything I need.”

…tbc :)