Archive of Our Own

Katsuki glared at the spot on his arm. It hadn't been there earlier in the day--he would have noticed it if it were. It was small, as if someone had just dabbed him with the tip of a marker but one: it was not washing off and, two: he would have killed anyone who came that close to him with an open marker. He'd been working all day and the garments were undergoing their final checks before getting packed up: no one should have been running around with a marker anywhere near them. There was always the possibility that it was a tiny bruise, but that didn't seem likely.

No, the far more likely explanation was that it had come from Katsuki's unknown and previously unheard-from soulmate. Wasn't that just a pisser?

Katsuki swiped at the spot once again with soap, hoping to wash it off, yet it stubbornly remained. If it was a mark from his soulmate, it would fade in time, and at least it was small enough that no one would notice it. But the placement bothered him: the inside of his forearm, close to the elbow, as if someone had thought to begin a message, then stopped. Or, perhaps they had inked an entire message and the dot was the only thing to come through because of distance or the time of their meeting or one of a hundred other unknowable reasons. And Katsuki didn't really want to know, wasn't even all that curious.

He'd set aside his soulmate search years ago.

Partly because of what Deku had done when they were children: the whole incident had soured him on the whole idea of the search. Not that it was Deku's fault, not really. They'd both been in second grade and totally enamored by the story of two upperclassmen. The story went that Togata-senpai had taken Amajiki-senpai's arm and written the words "I love you" on his arm and together they watched the same words appear on Togata's arm. The two had been soulmates since the fourth grade and had always looked so unbearably happy together. Deku had wanted the same thing--hell, even Katsuki had been a little jealous--which led Deku to play a trick on Katsuki that his undeveloped mind couldn't quite comprehend at their age.

After the story of Togata and Amajiki became a grade-school legend, almost everyone began writing on their skin and checking to see if it showed up on any of their classmates. Deku had been clever enough to note where and what Katsuki had written and then meticulously copied it over on his own body. For nearly a year, Katsuki had believed Deku was his soulmate, that they were the next Togata and Amajiki: childhood friends who had turned out to be soulmates. But something had made Katsuki skeptical and he'd drawn something on his shoulder and kept it hidden until Deku changed for gym class. When he didn't see the mark on Deku's shoulder, he confronted him and the whole story came out. Deku had cried, said he didn't want anyone else for his soulmate besides Katsuki. And honestly, Katsuki had thought he wanted the same thing: at seven years of age, he couldn't imagine spending his life with anyone else. But now that they were both older, it was a story they could both laugh at now. And, of course, Deku had found his soulmate years ago. The wedding was planned for this summer.

But mostly the reason Katsuki had given up looking was because in over twenty years, Katsuki had never caught a single letter or word written on his skin that he hadn't inked himself. Over time, he'd just gotten the idea that he didn't have a soulmate out there. It happened: some people simply weren't compatible with others and Katsuki's explosive temper often drove people away from him. He'd dated, of course, even partied and hooked up on occasion. He wasn't missing anything. Who really needed a soulmate anyway? He had his work and he had his fun. A soulmate would take time away from both and he wasn't ready to give up either at the moment.

So why would this stupid dot appear on his skin now?

"Katsuki!" His mother's voice reverberated through the studio, making Katsuki curl his upper lip at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. "Get your ass back to work! We need to have everything ready to go on the van!"

"The van isn't coming for two days, you old bat!" Katsuki hollered back. "I haven't finished inspecting all the pieces yet, just hold your fucking horses!"

A fist pounded on the bathroom door, making Katsuki scowl as he dried his hands and arms on a towel. "Get out here right now, you little shit! This may be your first show but it's my money and my name you're trading on, so you better get your ass in gear!"

As if he needed that added stress right now. He rolled down his sleeve, pushing the tiny dot out of his mind. He had too much to worry about right now than the possibility of a soulmate finally making an attempt to find him. He'd started working for his parents' business right out of high school and learned all the ins and outs of the fashion industry: this weekend was his debut runway show, an entire line of clothing all of his own design. This coming weekend would make or break his career in fashion.

He did not have time for mysterious marks on his skin just now, much less a soulmate.

His theoretical soulmate, however, seemed to have other plans.

Each night leading up to Katsuki's first show, he found new marks on his arm, always in the same place. Never a full character, but a few lines like they were about to write something, then stopped. Then almost as soon as the old marks were fading, new ones would appear, always in the pale skin right beside his elbow. At another time, Katsuki might have found it intriguing or at least amusing, but the night before his first dress rehearsal, a marked-out scribble appeared on his arm and he lost his patience. After loading a covered rack of clothing into the back of the transport van, Katsuki grabbed the closest pen he could find, then scrawled a message on his own arm:

"If you have something to say, then just fucking say it already!"

Then he capped the pen, tossed it away, and got back to work.

He was too busy for this shit right now.

~*~^~*~

Shouto gasped, the pen falling from his fingers as the message appeared in jagged, angry characters: "If you have something to say, then just fucking say it already!" It took up the length of his forearm, the letters bold and stark on the inside of his left arm.

"Shouto!" The shout came from just outside his bedroom door, a split second before the door was flung open. Shouto snapped his arm against his chest, hiding the writing. His father burst in, the familiar disappointed scowl on his features. "Your fitness instructor said you left an hour early again today! How do you expect to be ready for this weekend if you aren't fully conditioned?"

Shouto kept his face passive, hoping his father wouldn't see his elevated heartbeat in the pulse of his neck. "I didn't leave early. My instructor told me I was over-conditioning and let me go."

"Hmph!" Todoroki Enji didn't seem satisfied with his response, but then, Todoroki Enji never seemed satisfied, period. "If that were the case, you should have reported to your acting coach and run lines. Your emotional range could use more practice!"

Shouto's blood surged for an entirely different reason than the writing on his arm, but the last thing he wanted right now was a long, drawn-out argument. He needed to make his father go away so he could figure out what to do about the message his soulmate had sent him. "My coach already drilled me on runway shows earlier this week. He said a neutral expression was fine and that I should moisturize before bed then night before."

"Yeah?" Enji's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You using that cream I got you? With the diamond powder in the recipe?"

Shouto hid a scowl beneath a blank expression. "I'm about to. Did you need to stay and supervise my moisturizing routine?"

"Don't give me that attitude!" Enji jabbed Shouto in the chest with a blunt finger. "It's thanks to me and all the hard work I put you through that you can get jobs like this runway show! If you put more effort in with your trainer and your coach, you'd be landing movie gigs, not just cameo TV work and modeling jobs."

Shouto felt his blood boil, but this was an old argument, one they'd had time and time again. No point in rehashing it now, not when Enji might see the writing on his arm: nothing would set him off more than finding out that Shouto was finally corresponding with his soulmate. If the vulgar message on his arm could be construed as "correspondence." So he squelched the urge to argue and instead cast out for something that might satisfy his father enough to make him go away.

"I signed up for an audition next week," Shouto offered, more to make his father go away than anything else. "The lead in a romantic comedy. The director said he's looking forward to meeting with me."

"Hmmm..." Enji stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Well, it's something at least. What's the director's name? I'll make a call for you."

"I'd rather earn it on my own," Shouto said, keeping his voice mild. He was trying not to say that he lost more roles when his father contacted the casting team in advance--that would only start the argument he was trying to avoid. Please don't let the writing fade before Dad leaves, Shouto begged silently, his arms crossed protectively over his chest. Don't fade, not yet.

Enji growled out another hum, then nodded. "It's good to let you try out for roles on your own, I suppose. You should hurry up and moisturize. It's late already."

Shouto waited until the door was shut behind his father before letting out a breath and staring down at his arm again. The writing was still there, slashing and angry. Which meant his soulmate must have seen the tentative marks on their own skin from Shouto's aborted attempts to reach out. Which meant he did, in fact, have a soulmate.

Todoroki Enji was one of the top actors currently in the entertainment industry and what he'd wanted more than anything was a film-family legacy. His oldest son had burnt out on films early and was currently the family's cast-out black sheep, possibly a druggie or a delinquent or both. Shouto's sister had decided she had more of a passion for writing and refused the spotlight, his other brother only wanted to work on independent films, much to Enji's chagrin. Which meant Shouto was Enji's last chance for a legacy child and even though Shouto had never really cared for acting, he had apparently inherited enough of his mother's good looks and his father's presence to actually shoulder the legacy his father so desperately desired. Perhaps if there had been something Shouto wanted more, he would have refused the burden of his father's dreams, but as it stood, he had no passions of his own and acting was as good as any other career, really.

But it came with a very strict lifestyle: three hours of working out each day, strict dietary guidelines, acting coaches, accent coaches, even singing and dancing coaches on occasion. He wasn't allowed to perform any sports that might leave bruises on his body and he had to look perfect every time he left the house, just in case a photographer caught a snapshot of him. And, above all, he had to appear available in order to keep his untouchable heartthrob status as an actor and model.

Which meant he wasn't allowed to have a soulmate’s scribblings showing up unexpectedly on his skin.

It hadn't happened often, much to his father's relief. Back in grade school, Shouto remembered seeing the marks of a phantom pen appear on his hands and arms, but rarely was he able to discern them as words or images. Just a line here, a scribble there, and usually faintly at that. When his father saw them, he'd cover them up with skin-tone makeup, hiding them from cameras and interviewers. He'd warned Shouto that meeting his soulmate young could upset his career and that a true soulmate would wait until he was older and more settled. And who wouldn't love finding out that they were the soulmate of a movie star?

It was good advice, especially during his teenage years when interviewers had begun asking him about it and whether he was searching for his soulmate. He'd given them the lie his father had told him to tell: that he had no soulmate, but he was still hoping to one day "meet the one." It had worked like a charm for his popularity, but it was actually a depressing thing to say day after day. Especially since the writing had stopped years ago. What if something had happened to his soulmate? What if...what if it wasn't a lie anymore? What if he really didn't have one?

And so Shouto had decided to take the chance and write out a message. See if he got one back.

Except, he never knew quite what to say.

Every time he'd tried to write something, his mind had turned up blank. Writing "Hi" just seemed stupid, but writing "Are you there?" made him seem needy. He thought about just writing about himself, but that seemed conceited. He thought about asking questions about his soulmate, but was that rude? He'd started and stopped for the past three nights, wondering why it should be so difficult to try and say anything to the person who was supposed to complete him. Shouldn't it be easy, if he truly had a soulmate out there?

Shouto swallowed, tracing the letters on his arm. "If you have something to say, then just fucking say it already!" What did this say about Shouto's supposed soulmate? It at least meant they'd noticed Shouto's abandoned efforts the past few nights. And perhaps they were short tempered, or maybe they worked in an industry like Shouto's where they had to hide their own marks as well. The angry slash on the characters and the tone of frustration...did that mean his soulmate was male? Or was he simply projecting? He'd worked with women who spoke roughly and were ill-tempered, so he couldn't be sure either way.

He pointedly ignored the obvious question: should he respond? Because then he'd have to come up with the answer to the next question: what would he say? And that was the whole core of the conundrum, wasn't it? He had no idea what to say and his hesitance to say anything had apparently pissed off the love of his life.

At least I know I have a soulmate, Shouto thought to himself, grudgingly beginning his moisturizing routine at his vanity. Whenever the writing on his arm caught his eye, he couldn't help but smile. I can wait until I meet them; if they're out there, then there's no need to hurry.

~*~^~*~

It was finally the weekend of Katsuki's first runway show and he wasn't nervous. No. He was pissed off that things weren't going exactly perfect--totally different from being nervous.

First, the venue he'd rented was far from ready: the previous event hadn't been properly cleared and now there were two sets of workers both trying to do tear-down and set work, and they kept getting in each other's way. Second, the spotlight Katsuki needed was busted, so there were electricians on a scissor-lift in the middle of everything, blocking traffic at one of the main entrances while they fixed it. And craft services was over two hours late to arrive. If there wasn't lemon-and-strawberry spa water available when the models started showing up, they might all just quit in a dramatic huff--Katsuki had seen it happen more than once when helping out with his parents' runway shows.

And he'd spared no expense on the models: he needed big names to make sure his first independent line got enough press. He'd even managed to wrangle a few up-and-coming actors whose image fit the clothing and would boost attendance at the show. Katsuki needed to keep the models happy until showtime or else he was sunk.

At least the clothes had arrived in perfect condition. Katsuki supervised the unloading of the garment racks himself, checking beneath each dust cover to ensure nothing had gotten stained, ripped or wrinkled during the transit. Most of it would likely have to be steamed tomorrow, before the show, but for a dress rehearsal, everything appeared to be in order.

Katsuki was pacing around the scissor-lift and snarling at the electricians when the models first began arriving. He'd given his mother the task of ensuring they were shown to their vanities or dressing rooms in the back, as well as shown the outfits they would model in the show. The horde of makeup and hair artists were already on site, matching color palettes and styles to the models and the outfits. Katsuki's father had been sent on an errand to gather the ingredients for spa water; Katsuki was going to write the most scathing review on the craft services vendor's website. The rest of the venue couldn't be completely set up until the scissor-lift got out of the way.

"How long does it take to change a fucking lightbulb?" Katsuki shouted up the lift. "Is it gonna be finished by tomorrow, or should I check back with you next week?"

"Just a little longer," a bored-sounding voice called down.

"Excuse me?"

Katsuki waved off some extra trying to get his attention. "You've been saying that all fucking day! How hard can it be to unscrew a fucking bulb and shove a new one in?"

"There's a wiring issue, kid, it's not that simple."

"Pardon me, but are you--"

"Wait your goddamn turn," Katsuki snarled, shrugging off a light tap on his shoulder as he grabbed the legs of the lift. "It's not that simple, my ass! The old light blew, all you need is a fucking new bulb! If you need me to come up there and show you, I'll--"

"Don't touch the lift, that's dangerous!" The electrician Katsuki took to be the supervisor (there were three fucking electricians at the top of the lift, yet no work seemed to be getting done) glanced over the side to look down, then froze. "Oh, hey! You're Todoroki Enji's kid aren't you? My daughter loves you! Can I get your autograph for her?"

"The shit are you--" Katsuki broke off suddenly and wheeled around, finding himself face-to-face with his show's headliner, Todoroki Shouto, a household name thanks to his father's acting career and a bona fide hottie. And probably stuck-up to boot. The young actor looked a bit mystified by Katsuki's gruff brush off, his heterochromatic eyes wide, his skin luminous, his bi-colored hair neat and perfect. Katsuki cleared his throat and tried to put on a pleasant expression. "Hey. You lost or something? The rooms are backstage."

"No, I found my room." Fuck, did all actor-models smell like money? Katsuki hadn't been around enough to know, but this one sure did. "I'm told you're the director of this show and the creator of the line I'll be modeling. I wanted to have a word about your inspiration and the overall tone you wish to convey."

Was this normal? Katsuki thought back, wondering if his parents had ever been approached by one of their models to ask this question. Usually his mother waited until the practice-walk to shout instructions at the models, or if there was a general theme, she announced it in the backstage area with all the models gathered. But Todoroki was a bigger name than most models, even if this was the younger Todoroki, so perhaps the expectation was different.

Shit, this was one of those situations that called for "decorum," which was something Katsuki wasn't very good at. It didn't help that Todoroki was even more gorgeous in person than he was in the portfolio his agent submitted for the show. Katsuki rarely found himself tongue-tied as a cuss-loaded question worked in ninety-nine percent of all situations, but he couldn't risk offending the star of his first-ever fashion show.

Dammit, he needed a soft-hearted and kind second, like Masaru was for Mitsuki. Maybe he should have been nicer in his message back to his soulmate; perhaps the person who completed him would be able to manage these situations for him.

"Uh, I was gonna go over, like, style and presentation a little later with everyone backstage," Katsuki said, choking down swear words. "Craft services is late, sorry about that, but someone should be setting up the water coolers soon."

"I'm not worried about that," Todoroki said, tone low. His expression was fairly bland, not giving Katsuki any sort of clue on how to handle him. "I have some questions about the clothing you've selected for me. It would help if we could go over the selections together."

Fuck! It was bad enough that Katsuki had to select Todoroki's wardrobe based on his agent's recommendations. If this fucking diva was going to trash his clothing line, Katsuki's first show would be ruined. But he couldn't risk pissing the star off, either, so what the fuck was he supposed to do?

"Uh, yeah, just give me a sec here." Maybe if he could buy a little time, he could ask his mother for some advice. Even though he doubted the old hag would have anything useful to offer, a screaming match with her would at least help him blow off a little steam before he had to kowtow to the pretty starlet. A metallic clink from above drew Katsuki's eye back up to the top of the scissor-lift, where all the electricians were clustered on one side, peering down at Todoroki. Katsuki seethed, ready to let loose an angry tirade, when a booming voice cut through the auditorium.

"Shouto!" Was it Katsuki's imagination, or did Todoroki's mask of calm slip into a moue before he turned to face the stage. "What are you doing? I told you that the show's director needed to come to you! Not the other way around!"

Fuck, what was the top-grossing actor in the business doing at Katsuki's fashion show? Okay, yeah, sure, he was Todoroki's father, but still--Todoroki was no child-actor anymore, he didn't need his fucking father there to hold his hand. Right? But it wasn't as if Katsuki could afford to piss off either one of them: the younger Todoroki could ruin his show, but the older Todoroki could likely ruin his entire career.

"I wanted to be polite, Father," Todoroki said, voice calm. "I asked you to wait in the dressing room so I could handle this myself."

"Then handle it!" Todoroki Enji demanded, stomping down the steps from the stage. His eyes swept the ill-prepared venue once before lighting on Katsuki, but when he spoke, he was talking to his son. "Did you get an explanation for those drab colors? I won't have you modeling anything that disrupts your image."

Fuck it, that did it. Katsuki stormed forward, forgetting, for an instant, how much power the country's number one actor actually held over him. "For your fucking information, I picked those colors based on the fucking agent's recommendations. If you have a fucking problem with that, take it up with the goddamn agent! And I don't give a shit who you are, this is a closed-fucking show! If you're not a hired model or craft-fucking-services, then get the fuck out of my venue!"

"Listen here, brat--" Todoroki Enji only got as far as jabbing a meaty finger into Katsuki's chest when a snap and a flash blinded them both.

"Oh, that's a good shot." Katsuki's mother smirked over her phone. "Threatening industry newcomers, Todoroki-sama? That's not going to look too good for your image, is it?"

Enji turned red in the face as he glowered at her, but he took one shuffling step back from Katsuki. "I haven't given you authorization to use my image as--"

"Ah, but this is a fashion show and anyone in the auditorium is giving consent to be filmed and photographed," Mitsuki argued, grinning malevolently. "That was properly outlined in the agreement your son signed, and it's also printed on every ticket sold for the show." She flashed the photo on her phone, which did look fairly damning. "I'd be happy to go over the finer details of the contract with you, Todoroki-sama, if you'll accompany me backstage."

Enji fumed for a moment, glaring darkly at Katsuki's mother, but if there was one person on earth who could resist being intimidated by such a man, it was certainly Bakugou Mitsuki. He cast a final smoldering, warning glance down at Katsuki, then turned towards the stage, obviously deciding that image control was more important than pushing around a debuting fashion artist.

"Katsuki, why don't you go take a break for a minute?" Mitsuki continued, still grinning wickedly. "You look like you need a breather. Don't worry, I'll take care of everything here." At that, she cast a glance up at the electricians, all of whom had stopped working in order to watch the drama down below. It was almost comical at how quickly they jumped back to the task of fixing the spotlight.

"I don't need a break," Katsuki growled, torn between being angry at his mother for upstaging him, and gratitude for the way she had quickly defused the situation with Enji. "I need to fucking call the catering company again and finally go back to talk to the--"

"I could use a break," Todoroki said, his quiet voice nearly lost beneath the sound of the electricians working and the argument between Mitsuki and Enji. "I know a coffee place nearby. Pleasant atmosphere, quiet and discreet."

Katsuki glowered at him, not certain of the young actor's intentions.

"My treat." Todoroki tilted his head ever so slightly towards his father. "As an apology."

"Fine," Katsuki grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. He could use the caffeinated pick-me-up anyway. And it was nice to know that Todoroki, at least, didn't go in for the overpowering intimidation his father seemed to prefer. And he was gorgeous besides: might as well take advantage of one of the few perks of his job. He let Todoroki take the lead to a coffee shop just around the corner from the runway venue.

~*~^~*~

Shouto hated his father for insisting on accompanying him to the runway venue, but felt endlessly grateful for the excuse to talk to the show's designer one on one. That moment when the blond beauty lost his cool and told off his father--Shouto was pretty sure he'd swooned right then. And then there was his vulgar, angry way of talking that just...did something to him. He'd always been told to be careful of his image, never show his emotions or true feelings, to be calm and polite at all times. It was somehow cathartic to see someone simply be who they were without fear of repercussions.

And also... Shouto couldn't help but think of the angry message that had appeared on his arm the night before. It had faded by the morning, but he'd traced the characters so many times they felt worn into his skin. He recalled exactly how clear and concise the writing came through...that only happened when you were close to meeting your soulmate, didn't it? Otherwise, the writing might be blurry or incomplete. Did that mean...?

Shouto glanced over shyly at the fashion designer, who just happened to be glaring at him through narrow, deep red eyes. Shouto glanced away hurriedly, embarrassed to be caught staring. He cleared his throat and called on his acting training to keep his voice steady and calm. "You are Bakugou Katsuki, right? The designer of the line I'll be modeling?"

"Yeah, that's me," Bakugou said, his voice low, almost like a growl. "Sorry about the shitshow so far. It'll be better by dress rehearsal time, I swear."

"I'm sure it will be." Shouto meant for that to sound reassuring, but as soon as he said it, he realized it could be misinterpreted for sarcasm or doubt. He cleared his throat again and considered the menu boards above the barista station. "What type of coffee do you drink?"

"Black, four sugars." Katsuki narrowed his eyes at the boards. "This isn't the usual kinda place I get my coffee at, though."

Ah, it was a little boutique-y, now that Shouto thought about it. They were in the heart of the cinematic district, which meant the coffee shops catered to high-end clients. There was nothing as simple as a "black coffee" on the menu board. But at least he knew no one would be trying to sneak a photo of him here: half the price was paying for the discretion of the employees, so no one would be begging him for an autograph.

"You might enjoy the blue mountain blend," Shouto suggested. "Do you mind if I order for you?"

Bakugou shrugged. "Do whatever you want."

While the barista poured a steaming mug full of rich-smelling, fresh-pressed coffee for Bakugou, Shouto hesitated over his own order. He knew he what he was supposed to get: a cold tea, sweetened with natural honey and nothing else. But he also knew what he wanted: a rich and sweet latte, the kind that would mess with his diction if he were reporting for a session with his acting coach. But modeling didn't really require any speaking, so maybe he would be safe with the latte?

In the end, he caved and got the tea. All the milk and sugar might make him bloat and that was the last thing he needed before hundreds of photographers began snapping photos of him.

Bakugou stirred sugar into his coffee while Shouto waited for his drink. It was impossible not to stare at him: with that strikingly blond hair and that muscular build, Bakugou could have been a model himself. Of course, his face seemed eternally pinched in anger and those black gauge earrings were definitely a no-no for most models, but really, that only heightened his level of hotness. The barista had to call Shouto's order twice to get his attention. Once again relying on his acting to hide his embarrassment, Shouto selected a table for two, half hidden by the leafy fronds of a plastic plant. Bakugou fell heavily into the seat across from him, eyes still hooded and angry-looking.

"So?" Bakugou asked, swirling his cup of coffee to let the steam vent. "Is there a fucking problem with the clothes?"

"I didn't get much of a chance to look at them," Shouto admitted, cupping his hands around his mug. "I did approve all the images sent through my agent; it all looked fine to me. My father can be...protective."

"A dick," Bakugou muttered at the same time as Shouto said "protective." Shouto hid a smile. "My bad. It's not like I can talk. That was my old lady who took that photo."

"I did note the resemblance," Shouto admitted. "Do your parents help with all your shows?"

Bakugou shrugged, his eyes on something distant. "It's sort of like a family business, I guess. This is my show and all my designs, but they did help me pay for it. I'd like to get out on my own, but, y'know. It's tough."

"I do know." Shouto dropped his eyes to the table. It would likely have been impossible to break into the acting world without his father's name, but at the same time, it would be nice to see what he could accomplish on his own, without his father making demands on his behalf all the time. He glanced across the table through his eyelashes, thinking about asking if Bakugou had found his soulmate already. When he found those red eyes trained on him, he glanced away again, feeling warmth on his cheeks. "I liked the designs you sent. I thought they fit my image rather well."

"So then what the fuck--I mean, what got your dad so upset?"

Shouto nearly smiled at Bakugou's attempt to speak civilly: he already had a preference for Bakugou's direct, swear-word laden speech. "He didn't like the colors. He thought I should be modeling something...flashier."

Bakugou scowled. "Your agent said you liked neutrals, so that's what I picked for you. You wanna do something flashier, I'm gonna have to stay up all night fixing shit."

"I do prefer neutrals," Shouto said quickly. "I saw that you had picked blacks and grays and dark blues, all very much to my liking. I'm sorry I didn't get much of a chance to look at the outfits before my father got himself in a temper."

Bakugou was silent as he took a long sip from his coffee. He exhaled long and slow afterwards, as if savoring the taste. "Fucking parents."

"Fucking parents," Shouto echoed, feeling a small thrill of rebellion by saying something so uncouth out loud. He shot another veiled look across the table, met those ruby-colored eyes, then looked away again. "Would you tell me what, ah, inspired you for this particular line of clothing?"

"Money, to start my own business," Katsuki replied offhandedly. He smirked as he met Shouto's eyes across the table. "What? Was I supposed to say the Tuscan sunrise or some shit?"

Shouto covered a laugh by taking a sip of his too-bitter tea. "No, I just suppose I'm used to designers saying something flowery, like they were trying to bring attention to the over-fishing of tuna, or recreate the motion of ocean waves, or something along those lines."

"I have PR people who handle that bullshit." Bakugou shrugged. He was wearing a collared shirt with his sleeves rolled up and every time he moved, Shouto was searching his skin for a hint of writing, but it was nothing but empty canvas. "I think officially this line is about 'fresh beginnings' and 'natural lifestyles' but nah, I wasn't thinking about anything like that when I designed it."

"Have you--" Shouto cut himself off as those eyes, like warning signs flashed over to meet his. "Have you thought about incorporating themes into your future lines?"

"Not really." Bakugou slouched in his chair, hooking one arm over the back of it casually. "I just wanna create what I wanna create. I don't even really care if anyone likes it or not." He chuckled ruefully at himself. "Guess that's why it's taken so long to get my parents to back a show for me. This is probably the first one that didn't suck."

"I'm sure that's not true," Shouto hurriedly assured him. Damn, but he wanted to ask Bakugou about his soulmate. Maybe he could casually ask Bakugou out for dinner and see how he responded? Or maybe that was too subtle: Bakugou might think he just wanted to speak about business without understanding it to be a date. How could he be clear? Was it impolite to simply ask about someone's soulmate? But then, what if he brought it up and it turned out that Bakugou was not, in fact, his soulmate? Wouldn't that just make things awkward between them? How did this thing normally work, anyway? How could he tell if Bakugou was even interested in him that way?

"Look, if you got something you need to say, just fucking say it already," Bakugou said with a weary air. "Not that I haven't enjoyed the break at all, but I do have a show to put on."

"Yes." Shouto smiled at his tea, unable to look up at Bakugou for the blush he felt on his face. "Yes, I think I'll do just that."

~*~^~*~

On that cryptic note, they each finished their drink and headed back to the runway venue, where, by some fucking miracle, the electricians had finished fixing the main spotlight. Katsuki promised to meet Todoroki backstage to go over the wardrobe right after he checked in with the stage crew operating the lights. He made them run through each lighting sequence twice before grudgingly accepting that they knew what they were doing. He checked the music once, then went backstage to check on the rest of the show.

His father met him there with a clipboard and a list of questions and suggestions. His mother was keeping order among the models, directing them to their vanities and explaining how the hair and makeup should look for each person. Craft services had finally shown up, though Katsuki still planned to write a nasty review--once the show was over, of course. He still needed them for the night of the actual show. He helped himself to a plastic cup of cucumber water, the icy chill of it making him shiver and roll down his sleeves. After checking in with his mother and answering some questions of the bullpen models--the models who didn't qualify for their own private dressing rooms--he finally managed to make his way to Todoroki's dressing room.

He knocked twice before opening the door, halfway anticipating another argument with Todoroki Enji. Luckily, the only Todoroki in sight was the younger one, along with someone who probably did his hair and makeup for him.

"Ah, Bakugou." The actor's smile was small, but seemed genuine. He thanked and dismissed his attendant, saying he wished for a moment to go over the outfits with "Director Bakugou." "Did you see to the lights?"

"Yeah, looks like it's all gonna work." Katsuki went to the rack of clothing, drawing out the first outfit he intended for Todoroki to model. "Since you're the headliner, you're the last model for each individual line, starting with casual and working up to formal evening wear. So the first outfit is--"

"You can explain it to me while I put it on," Todoroki said.

"What the--" Katsuki looked up, then sharply looked away. Todoroki was unbuckling his belt! Was he just going to change while Katsuki was in the room? Maybe that was normal for actors--hell, Katsuki had watched models change in and out of clothes ever since he was old enough to start helping his parents backstage, so this shouldn't affect him at all, but--but Todoroki was all kinds of beautiful and a full-on celebrity besides! Shouldn't he call back his attendant to help him change? Katsuki coughed into a fist, keeping his head turned away. "You don't have to try these on right now, anytime tonight would be fine so I can make sure the fit is right."

"We have some time before the rehearsal, don't we?" Todoroki asked, inquisitive. "I would rather check the fits while you're here. After all, you are the one who designed all of these."

Katsuki cleared his throat. "Want me to step out while you change? I can get you some water, or maybe some tea or some shit."

"No, this is fine." Todoroki's face looked bland, as if he did this all the time. And maybe he did; Katsuki had never been on a movie or TV set before. "What's the first piece?"

Katsuki tried his best to focus on the clothes and not on Todoroki's body--he was pretty sure it was unprofessional to ogle anyone while they dressed, but even moreso for a hired model. He focused on details to keep his mind off his raging libido, things like the width of Todoroki's cuffs (over slender, narrow wrists), the fold of Todoroki's collar (over sharp, defined collarbones), and the length of his inseam (and the heat emanating from--)

Katsuki just about short-circuited. He'd never had inappropriate feelings for models before, not while they were working. Sure, he'd dated one of or two of the models who worked for his parents, but that was different. This was different. He couldn't say exactly how, but somehow...it was.

At least Todoroki was a professional. He asked questions about the outfits, pointed out places that needed to be hemmed, and made suggestions about hair and makeup for the show. Katsuki tried to answer all of it to the best of his abilities, but before long he began to sweat. The air in the room felt stifling and he felt all too close to the gorgeous actor. Luckily, they were coming up to the final outfit, the last piece that would be featured in Katsuki's debut showcase, the piece he'd actually designed after he knew Todoroki would be the one wearing it. Katsuki pinched the front of his shirt to let some cool air rush in against his skin, then turned to present the suit to Todoroki.

"This is the last one and since it's the last piece, I wanted to ask you to do a double-turn at the end of the catwalk, once with the jacket on, then again after taking the jacket off."

"I remember this piece." Todoroki grasped Katsuki's wrist to pull him closer, rather than taking the hanger. The touch sent shivers racing up Katsuki's arm, down his spine and straight to his groin. "I loved the double-layered vest, I was hoping you'd find a way to feature it."

Katsuki swallowed. "Yeah. 'Cause the first thing you take off at a formal event--"

"Is the jacket," Todoroki agreed, still holding Katsuki by the wrist. "Oh?" Todoroki was staring at Katsuki's arm. Had he spilled something on his sleeve? Or was he simply noticing how sweaty Katsuki was? "What's this?"

Todoroki's free hand traced something on the inside of Katsuki's arm, making goosebumps erupt on his sweat-chilled skin. For a minute, he didn't understand what Todoroki was asking, but then he sat it, beneath the thin, sweat-damp fabric of his shirt: writing on his skin.

Katsuki's heart rebounded against his breastbone, making him lose a breath. His soulmate was writing to him? Now? Of all the fucking times?

"What does it say, I wonder?" Todoroki said musingly.

"Probably nothing!" Katsuki pulled his arm free of Todoroki's grasp. Shit, fuck! Just when he'd been thinking he might have the courage to ask Todoroki out on a date. Now was the worst fucking time for his soulmate to decide to get chatty. Todoroki was giving him a strange look: there was really only one reason for writing to pop up on one's skin out of nowhere and Todoroki was probably about to assume Katsuki was searching for his soulmate--which would definitely put a damper on trying to ask him out. "My shitty soulmate or whatever just started sending me chicken scratch out of nowhere. Asshole never said a thing before this week, so it's not like a I give a fuck."

"Is that so?" Todoroki asked, an interested note in his voice as he undid the buttons of his shirt. "Would you 'give a fuck' if I guessed what was written on your arm?"

Katsuki snorted in disbelief. "Yeah fucking right. The fucker hasn't even sent a complete word yet, forget about--" Katsuki paused, his jaw dropping, as Todoroki let the shirt slide off his shoulders and down his arms, gathering around his hips and wrists. There, on the inside of his left arm, was a neatly penned message.

"I was just going to say that I think you are my soulmate."

His mouth gone suddenly dry, Katsuki undid the button of his cuff, fingers shaking. He rolled up his sleeve, baring his left arm. And there, undeniably, was the same, simple message, written in the same, flowing hand.

~*~^~*~

The fashion show closed to thunderous applause and the flash of camera lights. The second the spotlights went dark, Katsuki was wending his way through the throng backstage, dodging his parents and half-dressed models and sprays of champagne. There was only one place he wanted to be just then, only one face he wanted to see.

If he thought he'd been keyed up and nervous before his show started, it was nothing compared to how he felt just now.

He knocked twice on the dressing room door, barely waiting a moment before pushing the door open, then shutting it tight behind him. He kept his hand on the knob, scanning the room for anyone besides the two of them.

"I thought that went rather well," Todoroki commented, voice light as he finished hanging up the vest from his modeled suit. "I'll be surprised if the reviews are anything less than favorable. Although, I'm afraid my opinion might be biased."

Katsuki grinned and turned the lock on the door. "If it is a success, I guess that means I'll owe you one. You slayed that catwalk."

"If I did, it was thanks to your stunning array of designs." Todoroki's smile was sultry and secretive. He began unbuttoning his collared shirt, his fingers long and dexterous. "Have you given any more thought to...yesterday?"

Of course he fucking had. He hadn't stopped thinking about it since they'd confirmed it, each writing the other's name on their own skin and watching it appear on the other's. Katsuki had barely been able to concentrate on all the last-minute adjustments to the wardrobes last night, Todoroki's message catching at his eye every time he raised his arm. He'd fallen asleep staring at his own name written in Todoroki's neat hand. It was beyond belief: that Katsuki's soulmate was a highly attractive and surprisingly grounded celebrity.

Katsuki closed the distance between them in a few quick steps, taking hold of Todoroki by the arms. "The fuck do you think?"

Just as their lips touched, Katsuki felt Todoroki's arms circle his waist, drawing him in until their bodies were crushed together. Katsuki took control of the kiss, staking his claim with teeth and tongue. He ran his hands down Todoroki's sides, mapping the skin of his soulmate, of the person he'd had no interest in searching for, yet in just over twenty-four hours, he could no longer imagine his life without. Didn't want to waste another moment, another second, without him. Before he'd even realized it, Katsuki had backed Todoroki up against the vanity, shoving the chair out of the way and scattering the cosmetics, all to seat Todoroki on the ledge, to feel those legs wrap around him.

Todoroki moaned, his hips involuntarily juddering against Katsuki's. "We shouldn't. Not here."

"I don't wanna fucking wait," Katsuki growled, voice little more than a low rumble in his chest. "Unless you got somewhere else in mind where we can do this?"

Todoroki--no, Shouto--laughed as he pushed Katsuki's jacket off his shoulders. "There's no way I could sneak out of here, not with the photographers and the audience and my father all looking for me. At least in here, we can pretend like you're giving me notes on my performance."

"I've got your fucking notes right here." Katsuki ground his hips against Shouto's, making him gasp and moan, those clever fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

"I think you're going to be a bad influence on me," Shouto laughed before catching Katsuki's face between his hands and kissing him thoroughly. Katsuki continued to rock their hips together, Shouto's legs wrapped around his waist most agreeably. Shame they were both still wearing pants, really. Shouto broke the kiss, his eyes just a bit serious as he leaned back against the vanity's mirror. "I have to ask you not to send me any soul-messages when I'm working. Directors get really irritated when they have to stop a take for skin-tone makeup."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm the fucking chatty one," Katsuki said with a smirk.

Shouto huffed a laugh and carded Katsuki's short, spiky hair. "My father and my publicist think that having a soulmate will damage my image. But I don't want to hide this."

"I get it," Katsuki said gruffly. "If you need to wait to make this official, I can wait. As long as I can still see you."

"I think we can find a way to work that out." Shouto smiled coyly. "Perhaps I'll hire you as a personal tailor. That will give you a reason to visit, as well as an excuse to go to dinners and have private meetings. Will that work in the meantime while I smooth this over?"

"One condition."

Shouto gasped as Katsuki nipped at his neck. "Yes?"

"Get naked."

Shouto laughed, unable to stop even as Katsuki took his hand and pulled him to his feet. They kissed again, this time with Shouto's arms wrapped around the back of Katsuki's neck. When they broke apart, Shouto dropped his hands to Katsuki's waist, hesitating.

"I haven't really done this," Shouto admitted shyly. "I mean, on TV sets or in commercials I have, but that's nothing like this."

Katsuki smirked. "Guess this'll be good experience for you then."

Shouto laughed--fuck, but Katsuki was never going to get tired of that sound. "I suppose when you put it that way, it's the only sensible thing to do."

Katsuki waited until Shouto tossed his belt aside and freed his shirttails from his trousers before working the buttons on Shouto's shirt--his shirt, really, as he was still wearing the last outfit modeled. Katsuki had thought he'd be a wreck after his first show: scrolling through social media, refreshing review sites, waiting to hear the latest news. But it was the farthest thing from his mind just now: his world had narrowed to this specific moment, with this person who, somehow, completed him. After tossing Shouto's shirt away, Katsuki leaned in, breathing in the scents of Shouto's skin: his subtle cologne, talcum powder and the faintest tang of sweat. He kissed the junction of Shouto's shoulder, the expanse of bare skin, teasing lightly with his tongue before making Shouto moan by biting down. Gently, though. His soulmate was an actor, after all--couldn't leave marks where someone might see them.

Shouto pushed the shirt off of Katsuki's shoulders, cool hands running down the length of his chest, stomach and sides before coming to rest on Katsuki's low-riding trousers. Katsuki felt the tickling tease along his waist, then wrapped an arm around Shouto, drawing him close as he stepped backwards out of his shoes. A quick grind of their hips, then he released Shouto before stepping back once more and dropping his pants. Shouto's eyes went wide, as if in surprise, but then he quickly followed suit, letting his trousers pool around his feet.

"Careful!" Katsuki hissed, stooping to sweep the trousers off the floor. "I spent all night hemming these, some of the stitches might not be tied off properly."

Shouto covered his mouth with a hand, heterochromatic eyes sparkling. "Really? That's what you're concerned about right now?"

"Listen, I don't care what you do with the rest of your clothes, but when you're wearing my clothes, you've gotta be respectful," Katsuki demanded, closing the distance between them again after draping the trousers neatly over the back of a chair. He'd even tossed Shouto's shirt over the clothing rack in the center of the room, just to keep it from wrinkling. In stark contrast, he left his own suit puddled on the floor; it had been a gift from his parents and custom tailored, but it wasn't one of his and therefore he didn't care to waste time on picking it up.

"How do we--Do you have--Is there--"

Katsuki hushed Shouto with a kiss, once again backing him up against the vanity. "We'll keep it simple this time. That okay with you?"

Shouto gasped a yes as Katsuki pulled him close with an arm around his waist. Shouto's hands felt cool on Katsuki's skin, nails lightly scratching, fingers grasping, pulse fluttering. While Katsuki would have preferred to go all the way, a dressing room quickie would have to suffice--after all, someone might come looking for them at any minute. And they were soulmates: they had the rest of their lives to take it slow and easy, didn't they? So he could settle for something quick and dirty just this once.

Shouto yelp-screamed when Katsuki's fingers dipped beneath the elastic of his boxer briefs, his own hand rising up to smother the sound. Katsuki chuckled as he stroked Shouto's stiff, warm length.

"Keep that up and someone's going to figure us out before you get a chance to announce it properly."

"Can't help--Oh, Katsuki!--I--"

Katsuki brushed Shouto's hand away from his mouth to kiss him. "That's it. Just keep saying my name just like that."

The blush that rose on Shouto's cheeks, neck and chest was incredibly dark on Shouto's pale skin, his heartbeat a rapid tattoo on his throat. His eyes were closed, his head tossed back against the mirror, yet his legs were wrapped firmly around Katsuki's waist, keeping him from stepping away. Not that he wanted to. In fact, he wanted to be held just a little closer...

Without breaking momentum as he stroked Shouto inside his boxer-briefs, Katsuki shoved down the waistband of his own underwear, then reached for Shouto's arm. He trailed his fingers down the well-shaped bicep, scraped his thumb over the sensitive skin inside the elbow, then lifted the wrist to his lips for a kiss. Shouto's eyes fluttered open just in time to widen in surprise when Katsuki curled those long, slender fingers around his length. He saw Shouto swallow hard, then, slowly, he firmed his grip, matching Katsuki stroke for stroke before his eyes went heavy and half-lidded again.

I can't believe this is my soulmate, Katsuki thought, watching the column of tender throat stretch long, eyes rolling back beneath heavy lids, sweat tracking down out of his previously meticulous hair. A gorgeous actor with a shy side, who could pretend to be cool and aloof even when he wasn't. Not that he thought it would be easy: he doubted anything about being an actor's soulmate was easy. But for now, he was looking forward to the challenge.

Shouto's legs tightened around Katsuki's waist, his thighs shaking, the ball of his throat standing out in stark relief against his arched throat. Katsuki grinned, his eyes never leaving Shouto's face in order to drink in every moment of the first time he made him cum.

Shouto shouted, the sound animalistic and uncontrolled. And even though his rhythm stuttered, Katsuki still came with Shouto's heels digging into his back. Before either one of them could catch their breath, Katsuki curled his hand around the back of Shouto's head and drew him forward, tongues tangling in a passionate but sated kiss. Still panting, Shouto rocked forward, resting his head against Katsuki's shoulder, his entire body feeling boneless and heavy, pressed against Katsuki's.

"Next time will be better," Katsuki promised, tracing fingers down Shouto's sweat-slick back.

"Well then." Katsuki felt Shouto smile against his neck. "We'll have to hurry up and get to next time, won't we?"