Chapter Text
A grumble escaped Katsuki’s teeth as he scratched tediously at his sketchbook.
“Fucking shading…” he lifted his charcoal pencil from the paper and pressed his finger down to smudge one of the lines, when he lifted his hand however, he saw an ugly mark pressed into the paper from ash that had spread to his palm. “FUCK!” with a drawn-out shout he slammed his pencil down on the table and abruptly stood out of his chair. “God damn it to hell I fucking hate this stupid fucking shit. Whatever.” The last thing he wanted to do right now was sit there trying to scrub the hundredth palm mark off the intricate drum set sketch he’d spent the last few hours on. He rubbed his hands on a cloth hung at the corner of his work desk and reached for his phone.
Interest now peaked, Katsuki followed the link to read more about the competition. It was as simple as it sounded, create an original cover of the song and submit it to be judged, then if you are one of the top three you get to perform the cover and two additional songs of your choice as his opening act for his final show.
Katsuki decided that with his skill no matter what genre he made the cover, he was pretty much guaranteed a spot as an opener. Some may argue that thought process was conceded but to that, Katsuki thinks- am I wrong? Music was Katsuki’s native language, his sixth sense, his superpower. If anyone was going to make a kick-ass cover and win it’d undoubtedly be him.
He took a seat on the corner of his bed, positioned his acoustic guitar on his knee, and began to strum out the melody.
The song is a hall-of-fame American classic, a mysterious lonely Western tune that has insane artistic potential Katsuki can capitalize on. A few options stick out more than others- 1, like Jirou suggested, a plain old electric guitar cover- something he expressly excelled at. Well, he only had one real option- because why would he do anything other than what he’s best at?
—
Izuku jittered as he read the announcement from All Might. It would be his biggest dream come true to play at the same show as the greatest musician of all time! He immediately sprang into action thinking of all the ways he could rearrange the melodies and lyrics to create something unique and fun while still paying homage to the original. Initially, he had pop-ifyed it. Making it sound electronic and catchy but something about it was flat and unmemorable. He racked his brain for days thinking of what kind of genre would stick out most to the judges who would be listening to thousands of karaoke covers. Then his mother accidentally saved the day.
“Izuku baby!” She called from down the hall of the homey apartment. “I wanted to watch Mamma Mia for movie night tonight, what do you think?” ABBA! That’s it! I’ll give it some 80’s groove and a strong bass line and- “I think you’re a genius mom!”
With some sprinkles of piano and a groovy bass line, he had a masterpiece. He listened to it for hours on end tweaking every little note and rhythm until he had a song worthy of being played before All Might’s.
Izuku loves music. He loves the collaboration and creativity that it encourages, he loves the wide range of sounds and genres that were possible, but most of all he loves it as an emotional outlet. Everything he felt had a song to go with it. Every nice mood matched some breathtaking song and every sad feeling matched with a heart-shattering song. He loves lyricism; the real aspect, the storytelling aspect, the poems, and the rhymes. And he loves to create- he believed it was his true calling to make music and he had been developing his skills for as long as he could remember. Whether it was in the recording studio at his high school or singing karaoke as a toddler.
His mother had always told him he had the voice of an angel. That if sound could heal she would never die as long as he sang to her. Did Izuku agree? Of course not, but people always say that you are your harshest critic… actually- Kacchan was probably Izuku’s harshest critic. At least his own mind gave him some leeway if he was pitchy because he was sick or if he was playing a little off-tempo, but never Kacchan.
“Stupid Deku always dragging…”
“Deku! You’re pitchy again you idiot!”
“Why don’t you just quit if you’re gonna be this damn bad huh Deku?!”
Of course, these petty jabs wouldn’t get to him so much if the insults ended there.
"You wanna be a star so bad? I've got a time-saving idea for you. If you think you'll have fame in your next life go take a swan dive off the roof!"
Those few words brought Izuku a lot of unnecessary pain during his early teen years. He’d find himself in these horrible waves of hopelessness that maybe he should take up a different hobby or go to school for a different job. In fact, that’s why he is going to college to become a doctor- because enjoying music, to Izuku, is not attached to fame or money. Sure if he blew up out of nowhere he’d love to pursue it professionally but he’d given up on chasing crazy chance things like that.
Maybe that’s why he entered the contest in the first place. For a chance to taste, for just a minute, the sweetness of fame, of having a screaming audience, a giant stage, a glam squad. Then he can move on to college. To realistic, achievable careers, right Kacchan?
“Huh?” Izuku was frozen with his phone glued to his ear.
“You won Mr. Midoriya! You’re in the top three that will get to open for All Might!” A man with a slight British accent spoke brightly from the speaker of his phone. Izuku had nearly completely forgotten he even entered All Might’s contest, so now, on a Wednesday night, hearing that he won said contest?! Izuku shook his head, took a breath, and tried to contain himself for long enough to actually respond to the man.
“I- oh my god- I can’t believe it, I mean when do I send in my songs? When do you need me there by? Is there a dress rehearsal or should I just show up to the performance a few hours early? What do I wear? What do I bring? Who can I bring with me? Can I buy a ticket and stay for the show? What a-”
“Let me stop you there Mr. Midoriya.” Izuku ceased his frantic nervous question ramble and sat down to take a few deep breaths as he listened to the man on the phone. “We will be providing you and your plus one with VIP Lounge Tickets so you may watch the show after your performance. Expect an email soon with precise details about how and when we need your two additional songs. They may be covers or original works. We will have a dress rehearsal the morning of the show and you will have the rest of the time backstage to get ready with as large of a crew as can fit in your dressing room. I would say three people maximum. We will be covering the transportation for you and your plus one to the stadium and back home. Generally, Mr. Midoriya, expect a few emails detailing all of this, and once again congratulations on being selected for this opportunity!”
“Yes! Thank you I-”
“Now I really must get going on to calling the next winner, have a lovely night Mr. Midoriya!” By the time Izuku fully processed the words the man had said to him, the phone had clicked and the call had ended.
“Oh my god… I won, I’m gonna perform… with All Might. All Might! The All Might! MOM!” He sprung onto his feet and dashed out of his bedroom. “Mom! I won! The contest to perform with All Might I won!”
“Oh, my baby! I’m so proud of you Izuku!” She too bounced up and met him in a very tight motherly hug. Reality finally caught up to him completely, and Izuku sobbed into his mother's shoulder as he reciprocated her affection enthusiastically. “Oh I knew you could do it Izuku, I can’t wait to see you in that big packed stadium; singing your heart out for All Might!” He began to feel a slight dampness on his shirt as she clung to him like he would float away if she didn’t.
–
“KATSUKI!”
“BRAT!”
“God hag relax! I just walked in the door and you’re already screaming at me!” His parents were waiting in his foyer like lonely puppies holding their hands together at their chests as if begging for his permission to tell him something.
“Inko told your mother the most wonderful news today!” His father, although he adored him, was getting on his last nerve with this Disney princess behavior.
“You are a grown man. Why are you acting like a 12-year-old girl at a birthday party?” Katsuki stared at his parents expectantly and walked past them to the kitchen.
“Be nice to your father brat!” The hag (his beautiful mother whom he loved with all his heart) slapped him playfully on the arm as he moved past them before she continued. “And because Inko told us that little Izuku- you remember little Izuku right? You two used to be so cute as little boys, you would-”
“Yes! I remember Izuku. Spit it out.”
“Fine, I was going to say that he won that All Might contest! Isn’t that so wonderful! We bought tickets for all three of us to go see him sing!” The smiles spreading on his parent’s faces were obnoxious and creepy at best. But despite his urges to knock their teeth out he couldn’t help but try to fight a snort that escaped his lungs. “What’s so funny little punk.”
“No, it’s nothing really..” he choked on another suppressed laugh. “It’s just that I’ll be performing too.” He deadpanned at them and turned back to make his way to the fridge.
After an awkward beat of silence, his parents roared at him.
“KATSUKI BAKUGO!”
“Son, how could you keep that from us?”
“Brat I’m gonna smack you come here!”
“Katsuki I’m so proud of you this is amazing that you made it in!”
“I can’t believe I knew Izuku got in before my own son! What kind of a mother does that make me look like?!”
“I can’t wait to see you perform you’re gonna be great!”
“Stop encouraging him!”
“I can’t help it I’m such a proud papa!”
“Oh my god! Masaru..”
He snuck a glance at the chaotic duo he called his family and noticed his weakling father was now crying. Real tears, dad, seriously? For what, was it ever that serious?
“He’s gonna-” his dad sniffed and huffed as he spoke, “he’s gonna perform with All Might!” His dad wailed into his mother’s arms, dirting her purple blouse with his snot and tears. Gross. If this is what marriages are usually like I don’t want it. Especially not with a crybaby freak. God get a room .
He took his thrown-together post-gym snack up to his room to begin working on the rest of his setlist. As of now, he had approximately no fucking clue what he was going to perform. Sure he had a couple of months, but it’ll fly by now that finals season is coming up. He sat down with his favorite electric guitar, a Jagstang Fender, and stared at the mini notebook he pulled out of his pocket. Usually, he kept this notebook in his pocket as a mini sketch pad for whenever the situation arose that he needed to sketch a little something; but his most recent use of it was to write down a simple riff that he thought up while suffering through a boring class.
As he played it over and over he would tweak the rhythm or a note or two and eventually, he landed on the melody.
He closed his eyes and deeply listened to the riff, he repeated it until he found himself humming along in a similar melody that felt right to be the vocals. He paused for a moment and repeated the melody in his head, thinking of what words fit the accents and the pauses. He had a few fails lines but eventually settled on a simple one.
Come as you are
As you were,
As I want you to be
As a friend, as a friend
As an old enemy
He wrote it down next to the riff in his pocket-sized sketchbook.
Katsuki finds himself in this process a lot. A tune will come to him and the song just… writes itself. At least partially it does. The start is always easy but it’s filling up the rest of the song that you have to write by yourself. That's why it is important to Katsuki that he knows music well. Despite it being his native language, if he wants it to be cohesive or tell a story it has to come from some thought. Knowing chord progressions, knowing more than one instrument, and understanding tone, and keys all play a part in writing songs. Which is also precisely why 75% of the time katsuki writes alone. Just him and the universe bouncing musical ideas off the wall. He can’t trust that someone else can understand and contain equal or greater musical knowledge than him. You can’t consider yourself the best musician if you constantly receive help from producers arranging your shit or someone else ghostwriting your songs to sing and record. Sometimes, Katsuki would argue you can’t consider yourself a musician at all if you do shit like that.
Still, that 25% of the time he doesn’t write alone is with one other person in the world. There truly is only one person that he trusts their expertise in music enough to work with. That person is of course Kyoka Jirou. Katsuki could gush about the natural flow of writing with her for hours. Of course, he won’t. Someone could be on all fours, greasy five-head kissing the floor, begging to hear Katsuki talk about his sessions with Jirou and he simply would not. But there is something to say (of course not to greasy forehead floor guy) about the way she actually respects his musical knowledge as well. She too doesn’t like to work with other people, of course, though very differently from Katsuki; Jirou wants to be a producer. So she takes other people’s shit songs and she fixes them to make them bearable to listen to. This, unfortunately, does involve other people, but it involves people that she bosses around- so it’s basically a bunch of nobody extras that pay her a fuck ton to slap some autotune on their bad attempt at rapping. So when it comes to Katsuki and Jirou working together she appreciates that he doesn’t want her to fix something that ain’t broke but rather that he wants her to add a bass line while he plays rhythmic guitar or he wants her to shoot a riff while he holds down a beat on the drums. It’s an equal creative outlet and they make some good shit together.
He sighs. Stuck in this same section, he’s gotten a few more lines down and some verse variations but he’s missing a chorus. He has a good progression and rhythm laid out for a potential chorus but- no lyrics.
Katsuki squinted at his phone and repeated that line in his head a few times.
“And I swear that I don’t have a gun…”
“No I don’t have a gun…”
A million light bulbs went off in Katskui’s head and all of a sudden the whole song came together. When he played and sang along he could hear the drum part tapping away in his mind, he could imagine what Jirou would cook up on the bass to enhance the guitar. Quickly, before he would forget, he jotted everything down in that little sketchbook.