#nex writes

They were pretty shitty the first time he drew them — a collection of gangly shapes that gave him the stink eye just for forcing it into existence. And Bakugou Katsuki was not shitty at anything, so of course he practiced all that hand anatomy shit (hand bones are weird as hell, by the way).

In the process of hundreds of badly scribbled recreations of Deku's little wrecked-up wigglers, he has come to realize something. Something very, very counterproductive to the reason he started this outlet in the first damn place.

He knows Deku's hands too intimately. Like, more than any person should know about their rival's hands.

Every scar is sketched down onto the paper straight from muscle memory. Each knobby, who-knows-how-many-times broken knuckle rough and so real on the pages of his journals. They're too large around shitty pro hero-themed pencils, with thick wrists and freckles dotting the back of tanned palms. And god, there's at least one of the fucking grabbers in every journal. Some are clenched fists, scuffed from the fight. Others are gentler, rough palms open and reaching out.

Sometimes Katsuki draws his own hand there. Brushing the tips of Izuku's fingers with his. Sliding them together, both broken and battered from years of use, each finger and dip between them the edges of a puzzle piece. And they looked… right. Like they had always fit together. Like two halves finally coming home. Or some shit.

So, least to say, Katsuki has a problem. A very holdable, tempting problem, and he's convinced that if God exists, they are laughing at his pathetic ass right now.

Well. Just don't let the nerd find out, right?

[Spoilers: the nerd would eventually find out.]