Broken Clocks

𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞

A/N: Consistent verb tense? We don't know her.

"Good mornin', shithead!"

Katsuki screeches as his mother throws open his bedroom curtains, the blinding light of the sun stinging his eyes as he ducks beneath the blankets in an attempt to escape. Mitsuki is practically cackling at his expense, barely dodging the pillow being hurled in her direction as the hungover omega laments his broken slumber with a groan.

"It's fuckin' three o'clock in the afternoon, ya lazy shit—get up. What, did Izuku wreck you that bad that you need an entire day to recuperate?"

"Don't say gross shit like that, you hag!" The younger blonde hisses as he sits upright in bed, hair a disheveled mess and face as red as a baboon's ass as he's overcome by embarrassment—a decision that he regrets almost immediately when an incoming migraine slams into him like a freight train. He falls back against the pillows as the room begins to spin, groaning in agony as his stomach continues to churn. His mouth tastes like barbecue sauce, fire, and bad decisions.

Mitsuki chuckles again, tossing a bottle of Tylenol at him from her spot against the doorframe. Katsuki can't help but think that she's enjoying this a little too much for comfort. "I'm making lunch and then I'm headed out for work. Wash your ass and then come downstairs to eat with me." She insists.

Katsuki grunts in affirmation and the door closes behind Mitsuki as she leaves him to his own devices. He considers going back to sleep again but he knows all too well that Mitsuki will only come back to nag him if he does, so he takes two of the Tylenol and swallows them dry before dragging himself into the adjoining bathroom where he chases the pills with cool water from the sink faucet.

He can hear his phone vibrating against his nightstand in the distance and mutely wonders who it is. He figures that it is most likely Eijirou but he also remembers giving his number out to a hefty handful of his old classmates last night. He's a bit fuzzy on which ones. So much of last night is a blur.

He vaguely remembers dancing to Cardi B with Mina. He also vaguely remembers being held down and force-fed beer by Denki and Eijirou. Most of his memories are of Izuku's brilliant smile.

So annoying.

"God, you look a hot fuckin' mess." He says to himself as he scrutinizes himself in the mirror. He hasn't partied that hard since the graduation party his parents threw for him after high school graduation.

"Holy shit, is that a hickey?!" 

It is. Right at the base of his neck.

He wonders minutely if he got it from Izuku but no—he doesn't remember making out with the shitty nerd or even being close enough for him to just suck a fuckin' bruise onto his neck without Katsuki noticing.

He sighs. He doesn't have the energy for this.

#

The hot water does wonders for Katsuki,  invigorating him and helping him feel...a whole lot less like a walking garbage can. His stomach growls as he trots into the kitchen and smells the delicious lunch that his mother is making; he's rather excited about it.

Until he sees Izuku sitting at the kitchen table.

He's not even wearing a shirt, covered in white paint from fluffy head to toe as he waits his turn to be served. There's a damp towel resting around his neck as he drinks from a tall glass of lemonade—courtesy of Mitsuki, of course. Katsuki is helpless to do little more than watch it drip from the corners of his mouth and down his neck and...down his toned, muscled, chiseled torso—