The tailor’s shop was too warm, too quiet. Katsuki stood behind Izuku, his fingers brushing the small of his back to smooth the suit jacket. He felt the subtle tremor run through Izuku’s body, smelled his nervous sweat under clean cotton. His gaze caught their reflection in the full-length mirror—Izuku’s flushed cheeks, his own crimson eyes dark with a hunger he couldn’t hide. This close, the charade felt dangerously real, his thumb skating over the seam where Izuku’s top surgery scar lay beneath the crisp white shirt.
“Stop fidgeting,” Katsuki muttered, his voice low and rough in the cramped space.
“I’m not fidgeting,” Izuku whispered back, but his hands were twisting together in front of him. “It’s just… it’s a lot of pins.”
“It’s cotton and silk, Deku. Not a torture device.” Katsuki’s hands settled on Izuku’s shoulders, stilling him. The heat of him seeped through the layers. He watched Izuku’s throat work as he swallowed. “Breathe.”
Izuku took a shaky breath. His eyes, wide and green in the mirror, locked onto Katsuki’s. “Kacchan.”
“What.”
“I need… I need a way bigger favor than the suit.”
Katsuki’s hands didn’t move. “You’re not paying for the suit. That’s the favor.”
“No, I mean—” Izuku turned then, forcing Katsuki to drop his hands or hold on. The movement brought them chest to chest in the tiny room. Izuku’s freckles stood out against his pale skin. “The wedding. Ochako’s wedding.”
“Yeah. In two months. You need shoes, too? I told you, black oxfords, not—”
“I need a date.”
The words hung there. The hum of the shop’s ventilation filled the silence. Katsuki stared at him. “So ask someone.”
“I’m asking you.”
Katsuki barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Fuck no. I’m not watching you make sad eyes at Round Face all night.”
“I won’t!” Izuku’s voice pitched higher. He grabbed Katsuki’s wrist, his grip tight. “That’s the point. If I show up alone, she’ll think I’m not over her. She’ll pity me. Everyone will. But if I show up with someone… with you…”
“With me what, Deku.”
Izuku’s lower lip disappeared between his teeth. He chewed it, a nervous habit Katsuki had catalogued a decade ago. His words came out in a rushed, mumbling torrent. “If you came with me. As my boyfriend. My fake boyfriend. Just for the weekend. Then she sees I’ve moved on, I’m happy, I’m not some pathetic guy she left behind, and I can get through the toast without wanting to die, and—”
“Boyfriend.” Katsuki interrupted. The word felt like a stone in his mouth.
“Just pretend! You’re good at acting like you don’t hate everyone.”
“I don’t act.”
“Please, Kacchan.” Izuku’s eyes were glassy. Desperate. “You’re my best friend. You’re the only person I could… you’re the only one I trust for this.”
Katsuki’s jaw clenched so tight it ached. He looked at Izuku—really looked. At the earnest panic, the vulnerability he wore like a second skin. The fucking wedding invitation was a landmine, and Izuku was asking him to walk into the blast zone holding his hand. To pretend. To perform the one thing Katsuki had wanted, truly wanted, since he understood what want was.
He saw it then. The whole terrible weekend. The shared hotel room. The touches he’d have to invent and then forget. The way he’d have to watch Izuku smile at him for an audience, knowing it was just part of the show. A lie dressed up in the clothes of his deepest truth.
“You’re a fucking disaster,” Katsuki said, his voice stripped raw.
Izuku’s shoulders slumped. “I know.”
“Three days.”
Izuku’s head snapped up. “What?”
“I said three days. The rehearsal dinner, the wedding, brunch the next morning. That’s it. And you follow my lead. No arguing.”
“Yes. Yes, absolutely, Kacchan, thank you—”
“Shut up.” Katsuki turned him back toward the mirror, hands rough on his shoulders. He met Izuku’s stunned, grateful reflection. “Now stand still. I’m not letting you wear a poorly fitted suit to my own fucking nightmare.”
“Four days.” Izuku’s voice was a mumble against the mirror’s surface, his breath fogging the glass. “The bachelorette party is the day before the rehearsal. I was invited. Joint thing. Mina’s planning it.”
Katsuki’s hands, still gripping Izuku’s shoulders, went rigid. The muscle in his jaw jumped. “No.”
“It’s just a party, Kacchan. We’d go together. As a couple.”
“It’s a fourth day of this bullshit.” Katsuki’s thumbs pressed into the tense muscle at the base of Izuku’s neck, a gesture that could be read as possessive or punitive. He watched Izuku’s reflection—the way his green eyes darted away, the freckles standing out against his flushed skin. “Three. That was the deal.”
“I know, but… it would look weird if my boyfriend didn’t come to the pre-wedding party with me. Suspicious.” Izuku chewed his lip. “Please. It’s just a few more hours.”
Katsuki stared at the back of Izuku’s head. The scent of him—clean cotton, nervous sweat, something uniquely green—filled the cramped space. Four days. Ninety-six hours of living a lie that felt truer than anything he’d ever spoken aloud. A weekend of watching Izuku perform happiness for an audience of one, with Katsuki as his prop. His stomach turned, a hot coil of resentment and yearning.
He could never say no. Not to him. Not to Izuku.
“You’re a fucking menace,” Katsuki growled, the words scraping his throat raw. He dropped his hands from Izuku’s shoulders as if burned, turning to fiddle with a pin cushion on the tailor’s table. The silence stretched, thick with everything he wasn’t saying. I love you more than life itself. And I will help you pretend to be in love with me.
“So… that’s a yes?” Izuku’s voice was small, hopeful.
“It’s a ‘shut the hell up before I change my mind.’” Katsuki snatched a stray pin from the carpet, his movements sharp. “But we’re setting rules. Real ones.”
“You already said I follow your lead.”
“This is different.” Katsuki turned back. His crimson eyes were dark, intense. “In public, you don’t flinch when I touch you. You lean into it. You look at me like you mean it. No nervously mumbling, no looking at your shoes. You sell it.”
Izuku swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Okay. I can do that.”
“And in private,” Katsuki continued, stepping closer. The heat of his body was a tangible force. “The second we’re alone, it stops. No hand-holding, no goodnight kisses on the cheek, none of that shit. We’re roommates. We’re friends. You got it?”
The air left Izuku’s lungs in a soft rush. He nodded, his curls bouncing. “Got it.”
Katsuki watched him. He saw the relief in Izuku’s posture, the way his shoulders finally unhitched from his ears. He saw the complete, devastating trust in those wide green eyes. Izuku believed this was just a favor between best friends. A performance. He had no idea he was handing Katsuki a live wire and asking him not to get burned.
“Good,” Katsuki muttered. He reached out again, not to touch Izuku, but to adjust the lie of the suit jacket where it draped over his shoulders. His fingers brushed the fine silk and cotton, then the warm skin of Izuku’s neck. He felt the shiver that raced through him. “Now stand still. The shoulders are still bunching. You want to look like a schlub in front of your ex?”
Katsuki’s fingers were still on his neck. Izuku could feel the heat of them, the slight tremor Katsuki would never admit to. The silence in the fitting room was a living thing, pressing in from the wool-lined walls.
“So,” Izuku started, his voice too loud in the quiet. He cleared his throat. “The… public touching rule.”
Katsuki didn’t move. “What about it.”
“How far does it go?”
“Far enough to look real. Not far enough to make me puke.” Katsuki’s thumb stroked once, absently, over the knob of Izuku’s spine. A betraying gesture. He snatched his hand back.
Izuku turned around slowly, forcing Katsuki to take a half-step back or let their chests brush. His green eyes were wide, earnest, and utterly clueless. “What about kissing?”
The word landed between them like a lit match. Katsuki felt it hit his gut, a hot, immediate flare. He stared.
“Everyone will expect it,” Izuku rushed on, his hands coming up to gesture nervously. “If we’re a couple. At a wedding. There’s going to be champagne toasts and slow dances and—and people will be watching. If we don’t, it’ll seem weird. Suspicious.”
Katsuki’s jaw worked. He could see it. The reception hall. Izuku in this suit, flushed and smiling up at him. The dip of his head. The part of his lips. The taste of him after years of imagining it. His cock gave a vicious, aching throb against his zipper, a traitorous pulse of want so sharp it bordered on pain.
“No,” Katsuki said, the word ripped from somewhere raw.
“Kacchan—”
“I said no.” He took a full step back, putting space between them like it was a firewall. “You’re trying to fucking kill me.”
Izuku blinked, confusion knitting his brows. “It’s just a kiss. For show.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.” Katsuki’s laugh was a short, harsh bark. He ran a hand through his spiky hair, his heart hammering against his ribs. If their mouths touched—if he got a single taste—he knew himself. He knew the dam would break. He wouldn’t stop at a chaste, closed-mouth peck for the guests. He’d devour him. He’d back him into the nearest closet, get his hands under this expensive silk, and fuck the living daylights out of the man he’d known since they were four. He’d ruin everything.
“Explain it to me then.” Izuku’s voice was softer now, probing. He took a small step forward, invading the space Katsuki had just claimed. “Why is a kiss the line?”
“Because it’s not a line, it’s a cliff.” Katsuki’s crimson eyes burned into him, all pretense of irritation stripped away, leaving something far more dangerous. “You want this to be convincing? Fine. I’ll hold your hand. I’ll put my arm around you. I’ll look at you like you hung the goddamn moon. But my mouth doesn’t go anywhere near yours.”
Izuku chewed his lower lip, a habit that made Katsuki’s vision tunnel. He looked down, then back up, a flicker of something uncertain in his gaze.
Izuku’s gaze dropped to the floor, his fingers twisting together. “Is it…” he started, his voice small. “Do I gross you out that much?”
Katsuki’s breath caught. “What?”
“You said it’d make you puke.” Izuku looked up, his green eyes clouded with a hurt Katsuki had never wanted to put there. “I know you’re gay. You’ve never even looked at a girl. Not once. Is it… because I’m trans?”
The words hung in the fabric-scented air, sharp as pins. “Would it be like kissing a woman for you?” Izuku finished, the question barely a whisper.
Katsuki felt something inside him crack open. “No.” The denial was instant, violent. “Fuck no, Deku. Don’t you ever think that.”
The silence in the fitting room was a physical thing, thick with the ghosts of words that couldn't be taken back. Katsuki stared at Izuku’s hurt, open face, and the crack inside him widened into a chasm, swallowing him whole. It dragged him back.
He was twelve. The middle school hallway smelled like chalk dust and cheap floor wax. Izuku stood by his locker, shoulders hunched, drowning in the pleated skirt and sailor-collar top of the girls’ uniform. His green curls were damp with sweat, his eyes fixed on the floor like he wished it would swallow him.
“You look like shit,” Katsuki had said, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Izuku flinched. “It’s itchy.”
“So don’t wear it.”
“I have to.” Izuku’s voice was a thin thread. “The rules…”
Katsuki looked at him. Really looked. At the way his hands kept pulling at the fabric, at the misery etched into every freckle. It wasn’t just discomfort. It was a cage. A wrongness that screamed.
“Fuck the rules,” Katsuki said, the conviction sudden and absolute. “Tell them you’re not a girl.”
Izuku’s head snapped up, eyes wide with a terror Katsuki didn’t understand. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because… they’ll say I’m lying. Or sick. Or—or that I’m just confused.” The words tumbled out in a desperate whisper. “They won’t get it.”
Katsuki took a step closer, lowering his own voice. “Do you feel like a girl?”
“No.” The answer was immediate, raw. “Never.”
“Then you’re not.” Katsuki said it like it was the simplest fact in the world. Like stating the sky was blue. “You’re a guy.”
He saw the shift in Izuku then. A fragile hope, breaking through the fear. “You really think that?”
“I don’t think it. I know it.” Katsuki’s jaw set. “Now come on. We’re going to the principal’s office.”
He’d marched them there himself. He’d done the talking, his voice loud and unyielding, while Izuku stood silently beside him, trembling. He’d argued, threatened, and bulldozed until the school relented. Izuku wore the boys’ uniform the next Monday. The first time Katsuki saw him in it, the simple black gakuran, something clicked into place in his own chest. A quiet, irrevocable truth.
That was the moment he knew. Not about Izuku. About himself. The relief on Izuku’s face was like sunlight. The way he stood taller. The shy, real smile. Katsuki looked at his best friend, a boy finally wearing the right skin, and felt his own world reorient. His heart didn’t stutter. It settled. Of course. It was always him. It was only ever him.
Back in the present, the memory was a live wire against his ribs. Izuku was still waiting, his question hanging like a blade.
“You were never a girl to me,” Katsuki said, his voice rough, stripped bare. “Not for a single second. Not even before you knew it yourself.”
Izuku’s breath hitched. “Kacchan…”
“I saw you. The real you. Stuck in that fucking skirt, looking like you wanted to die.” Katsuki took a step forward, closing the distance he’d created. His crimson eyes held Izuku’s, unflinching. “So don’t you ever. Ever. Ask me if I see you as a woman. You insult me. You insult yourself.”
Katsuki stared at the raw hope in Izuku’s eyes, the echo of that boy in the gakuran still vivid in his mind. The words were a blade in his own throat. He couldn’t say no. Not to that face. Not ever. With a rough sound, he closed the final inch between them and pulled Izuku into a hug.
It was stiff at first, all angles. Then he felt Izuku melt against him, a shuddering exhale warming his neck. Katsuki’s hand came up, clumsy, to cup the back of Izuku’s head. His curls were soft. He smelled like laundry soap and that nervous, clean sweat. “You idiot,” Katsuki muttered into his hair. “Of course I’ll do it.”
Izuku’s arms tightened around his waist. “Really?”
“Yeah. The whole fucking weekend. Parties and all.” Katsuki forced himself to let go, stepping back to put air between them again. His skin felt too hot where they’d touched. “But we need rules. Real ones.”
“Okay.” Izuku nodded, his eyes too bright. “Anything.”
“Like I said before hand-holding. Arm around the shoulder. That’s fine.” Katsuki’s voice was all business, a wall he was building brick by brick. “Kissing… we can do it. But only brief. Closed mouth. Minimal.”
Izuku’s lips parted. “You… you’re okay with that?”
“It’s for the act,” Katsuki snapped, the lie acid on his tongue. He reached out and pinched Izuku’s freckled cheek, hard enough to make him yelp. “This isn’t a romance novel, Deku. It’s a fucking performance. And you have no idea what you’re asking for.”
Izuku rubbed his cheek, but he was smiling now, a real, relieved, sunshine-bright thing that carved a hole straight through Katsuki’s chest. “I know it’s a big ask. Thank you, Kacchan. Seriously. You’re… you’re the best friend I could’ve ever asked for.”
The words landed like a physical blow. Best friend. The title was a life sentence. Katsuki felt his smile go rigid, a crack in the facade.
“Whatever. Don’t get mushy on me.”