Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Shit," Hitoshi says brilliantly. "Um. Shit."

In his defense, it's 3am. He wasn't exactly expecting to need his brain when he came down for a glass of water. And even if he had been prepared for some kind of social interaction, he still wouldn't have thought of this.

This being Lord Boom-Boom Extra I-Go-To-Bed-At-9pm Shithead having what looks suspiciously like a panic attack on the kitchen floor.

Hitoshi doesn't necessarily dislike Bakugou, but he certainly doesn't like him either. Not that Hitoshi likes many people nowadays. But still, the guy is rude and arrogant and even though he's apparently not as mean as he used to be ("he's gone so soft!" Kirishima insists with manly tears in his eyes, whenever Bakugou does something extraordinarily patient like refraining from blasting Midoriya's head clean off his shoulders), Hitoshi still thinks he could afford to be less of a raging dick sometimes. Most times.

That's Daytime Bakugou though. Usual Bakugou. This Bakugou is curled up gasping on the floor, swearing up an incoherent storm, and keeping his open hands carefully away from the rest of his body. Smart. He'll probably need that in Heroics training tomorrow.

Said hands are visibly shaking, and covered in what looks like charred flour, if the half-spilled package that sits on the counter in a cloud of white is any indication. There's also a handful of other ingredients, and a half-full mixing bowl, and was Bakugou baking? At 3am on a weeknight ?

Hitoshi decides he's most likely going insane from sleep deprivation. But on the off chance he's not, he should probably say something to the guy. He looks kind of upset.

"Hey. Um. You okay ?"

Bakugou glares at him like the death of a thousand suns. Stupid question. Hitoshi knows, he gets those too, he knows what helps and what doesn't. He tries again, kneeling next to Bakugou (away from his hands, though).

"Hey. Bakugou, hey. Breathe with me."

He's not responding, still swearing, staring at his hands like they've just informed him of their devious, unstoppable plan to achieve world domination without his consent.

Hitoshi tries again.

"Bakugou, c'mon, you're gonna make yourself pass out. Breathe in, with me, c'mon."

He's not, and Hitoshi's wondering if he's going to have to bring his quirk into this. He really, really hopes not.

"Bakugou. Dude, do I need to call someone for you ? What do I do here ?"

Bakugou glares again, and this time manages to speak.

"Fucking die, shithead."

Progress.

His voice is strained, but Hitoshi pretends not to hear. He's too tired to deal with this.

"Mmkay."

With that, he plops down next to a still-tense and incredibly irate Bakugou, leans his head against the cabinets, and closes his eyes.

If the guy really needs help, he'll ask. Probably.

Probably not, actually, but it's not Hitoshi's problem anymore. He offered.

"Th'fuck are ya still doing here ? Fucking go away!"

"Nope," Hitoshi sighs contentedly.

Bakugou scoffs and says nothing.

It's silent, then, except for Bakugou's ragged panting, the clock on the wall, and Hitoshi's exaggeratedly slow and stable breathing.

Time passes, in snags and jerks. Hitoshi’s brain finally shuts up, curled up on the cool kitchen tile, listening to his classmate ride out the storm, and it’s so calming he’s worried he might fall asleep right here. And then wake up missing a limb or something.

Slowly, they sync up, soft inhales following exhales like waves on a perfect, imaginary beach. Like Shitstain curled up and purring on Hitoshi’s chest. It’s incredibly soothing.

After an eternity, when his breathing is about normal again, Bakugou heaves a sigh, gets up and starts putting his shit away. Hitoshi stays right where he is, following his movements through slitted eyelids, and refuses to move out of the way until Bakugou kicks him in the shins with a grunt. Reluctantly, Hitoshi lets him access the fridge.

Once he’s done and the kitchen carries no trace of his passage, Hitoshi listens to Bakugou’s footsteps trail away. But then they hesitate, come back. There’s a minute of silence, which Hitoshi decides isn’t worth investigating if it costs him the colossal effort of opening his eyes.

Then he’s smacked in the face by something cold, and he reconsiders his decision.

“The fuck?”

“Don’t owe you shit,” says Bakugou, like that makes an inkling of sense.

Hitoshi looks down. Bakugou threw him a little pouch of saran wrap. Inside, Hitoshi can see a couple pieces of his famous peach mochi, that he made the other day and almost murdered Kaminari for trying to taste.

“You- what ?”

“Don’t owe you shit,” Bakugou insists. “You didn’t do jack shit, and I gave you mochi. So.”

“Huh.”

Weird as it seems from this side of the lens, that reasoning makes sense to Hitoshi. He knows what it’s like, to live like there’s a price tag attached to every kindness. It took Pops and Dad a long time to help him unlearn that.

He smirks. “Nope. We’re even. I was definitely here so you’d feed me, and I’m very proud that my plan came to fruition. I’m devious.”

A shadow of a smile plays around on Bakugou’s lips.

“Damn right.”

Like this, stark shadows painted on his face by the unobtrusive stove light, Bakugou looks young and tired. Hitoshi wonders what prompted the baking-induced freak-out. He also wonders what prompted the baking in the first place. Does this happen a lot ?

He doesn’t ask, though. It’s really not his place. After a minute, Bakugou turns on his heels and leaves without another word.

Hitoshi heaves a sigh like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s not sure he’s physically able to stand right now, let alone get back to his room on the second floor. And he never got the drink he came down for, did he ? His throat is parched.

Bakugou’s head pops around the doorway, and he glares at Hitoshi who lets out a very undignified squawk.

“Go the fuck to bed, shithead,” he hisses, and then the elevator dings and he strides into it like he didn’t just give Hitoshi the Mother Of All Heart Attacks.

Hitoshi stands on unsteady legs (thanks for the adrenaline shot, Boom-Boom), gets his drink, and finally heads to the elevator to go the fuck to bed. He’s not sure what to do with the mochi, so he leaves it on the nightstand for Future Hitoshi to deal with.

Sleep comes unusually fast.

The next morning Hitoshi wakes feeling like he’d rather die than get up, so pretty much average. Perks of functioning on an average of about four hours sleep a night. Yay for him.

He procrastinates on getting up for as long as he possibly could, to salvage every precious minute that he can, then rushes through his morning routine and hurries to class. He gets there before Dad, so props to him. He drops heavily into his chair behind Midoriya, who turns to say hi. Behind him, Bakugou’s sitting quietly, all intent focus. Kirishima’s chattering away in his ear, as usual, but contrary to first year, Bakugou’s showing that he’s listening, with curt nods and quiet comments. Then Kaminari and Sero wander over, and that’s the end of the relative silence.

Hitoshi wonders how much of Bakugou’s crankiness is due to lack of sleep versus natural affinities and teenage bluster. Was last night a one-time thing ? Bakugou had to have been there for a while before Hitoshi showed up. But he doesn’t appear that tired, not compared to usual. Although Kaminari’s mentioned Kirishima being worried. Apparently the guy had nightmares for a while after Kamino, but now he’s stopped popping his quirk in his sleep, so they assumed he was better.

Dad shows up at the door, and Hitoshi dismisses that train of thought. As much as he enjoys bitching about the workload and the physical strain, he’s really happy to be here, to have made it to UA’s hero course. He lets himself get absorbed in the lecture, taking diligent notes. Whatever Bakugou does in his free time is his own business.

That mindset manages to take him through the day. Then night comes, and he does his usual routine of sleeplessness until it’s three am and he’s thirsty again, and he comes down do the dorm’s kitchen, cursing his forgetful mind for neglecting to fill the small water bottle he keeps on the nightstand for the second day in a row.

But when he makes it to the kitchen, he freezes.

Bakugou’s there again, sitting at the table with a mug of steaming tea. He’s sleep-ruffled in his worn pajamas, and he looks almost soft, his usual scowl all smoothed out. He’s staring into his mug, deep in thought, and when Hitoshi speaks he feels almost bad for breaking the peaceful silence.

“You again? I better get food outta this, I swear.”

Bakugou almost jumps out of his skin, fists sparking against his mug, and then Hitoshi watches his walls slam back into place in real time.

“Woah, careful there. Wouldn’t want you to lose a mug of perfectly good tea.”

Bakugou scowls, but sits back down. Hitoshi considers this an overwhelming victory.

“Fuck off and die, shithead. Ain’t in the mood.”

This is Bakugou-speak for an invitation to join him, Hitoshi decides, as long as he keeps it quiet. Which he is absolutely game for. He pulls out a chair next to Bakugou, goes to sit down, then thinks better of it.

“Any of that water left?”

Bakugou grunts, which isn’t a resounding ‘fuck no,’ so Hitoshi checks the kettle and finds roughly enough water for one more person. He pulls out a mug and some of his favorite tea, then finally takes a seat next to Bakugou.

He heaves a sigh like a grandpa when he sits, and he feels more than sees Bakugou’s shoulders tense at the perspective of conversation. But he’s really not in the mood tonight, same as Bakugou it seems. It’s late and he’s tired and he just wants a minute of quiet companionship before he heads back up and, hopefully, falls asleep at last. So he just sits there and nurses his tea, and lets his brain run away from him. Next to him, Bakugou slowly relaxes.

After a seemingly random interval of time, Bakugou abruptly gets up and heads to the oven. Hitoshi realizes he can finally place the faint scent that was wafting through the air when he came down. Bakugou’s been baking again.

No words are exchanged while Bakugou piles food in neat, airtight boxes that go in the fridge – and Hitoshi does notice that not all of them go to Bakugou’s shelves. It seems his entire squad gets at least one. Kirishima gets two because of course he does, and Momo and Uraraka for some reason? Then Bakugou turns and glares at Hitoshi, who promptly stops staring. For this reason, he is thoroughly surprised when a plate shows up in front of him, with two fresh-baked cookies sitting on it all innocent and divine-smelling.

“Go the fuck to sleep, dumbass,” says Bakugou as he walks out.

Hitoshi blinks, picks up a cookie. He burns his tongue on it, and yelps indignantly. He’s pretty sure he hears Bakugou snicker, right before the elevator doors slide shut.

With a sigh, he heads up too, plate slipped in the dishwasher and cookies wrapped in a paper towel so he can deposit them on his nightstand with yesterday’s mochi, in case he gets hungry in the night or something.

Again, sleep that night comes easy. Hitoshi tells himself it’s the nighttime stroll and the tea, not the quiet kinship they shared for a moment, two souls alone in the dead of the night, gathered around the smell of tea and cookies like two insomniac grandmas.

This is not a thing they do. It’s a coincidence. And if his Lordship King Boom-Boom the First happened not to be as much of an insufferable asshole as he usually is, well. Good news for Kirishima, the guy’s company might get bearable in a couple decades, but it is of no consequence to Hitoshi, because the chances that any kind of actual conversation will ever happen between him and Bakugou Katsuki are so close to zero it’s almost laughable. So there.

That decision lasts about a couple days. But then one night Hitoshi wakes up gasping because he had a dream again, and while he never really remembers the detail of them, this one leaves him sticky with cold sweat, curled up in the space behind his bed, shaky hands tracing the faint scars along his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.

It takes a while to get his breathing back to normal, to anchor his brain in the here-and-now, and by the time he does, he knows he’s not going back to sleep anytime soon. His goal is unclear when he unlocks his door with unsteady hands, but his feet carry him to the kitchen like it’s what he had in mind all along.

The atmosphere in there is warm. It smells really good again, though Hitoshi knows nothing about cooking and would be hard placed to describe it as anything other than great. Bakugou’s back is to the door, hair mussed and hands precise as he fiddles with something at the counter. His shoulders are loose and his shirt is soft and worn, and he’s humming contentedly under his breath. Hitoshi doesn’t want to surprise him and shatter this peace that he found, but he can’t go back to his room alone right now. So he accentuates his steps, taking care to be much louder than he normally is. Bakugou’s hearing aids are in, so he hears him come in, but he still startles slightly, and turns with a glare.

Hitoshi’s too shaken to come up with his usual bullshit, though. He nods with a slight grunt, and heads to the kettle to heat up some water. Then he pulls up a chair at the table and sits with his head pillowed on his arms.

He purposefully keeps his profile to Bakugou, both because he doesn’t want him to feel scrutinized and because he honestly doesn’t want to have the room or the door at his back right now. He closes his eyes, trying to signal that he’s really not looking to talk.

For a minute, Bakugou is still. When he finally does go back to whatever he was doing, it’s without a word, and Hitoshi is incredibly grateful. Then the kettle beeps, and Hitoshi groans internally at the thought of having to get up, pour himself a mug and grab a teabag before he can get the soothing tea he craves. He’s still trying to convince himself it’s worth the effort, when a mug settles quietly on the table in front of him.

It's his favorite mug, the one with a black cat and a terrible pun. It’s also his favorite tea, from his personal stock and not the class pantry, the one Dad gives him after his nightmares and that’s always been a comfort to him after harsh nights.

Bakugou slides into the chair next to him, eyes avoidant and ears tinged pink. He made himself his own tea, with the leftover water from Hitoshi’s – he didn’t even realize he poured enough for two.

Hitoshi stares for a second, because he’s not sure what’s going on right now. Bakugou’s being way too receptive to his nonverbal cues and offering comfort in a way that suits them both, and that just doesn’t fit the image Hitoshi has of him.

When the stare lasts too long, Bakugou growls a little, and Hitoshi’s head snaps away, cheeks heating up. Gods help him, that was cute.

“Thanks,” Hitoshi mumbles.

Bakugou grunts, and the silence stretches on. Both of them sip at their teas, Hitoshi’s mind settling down with the familiar taste. He’s slightly distracted, though, by the sheer closeness of Bakugou, and the utter confusion of this stupid act of kindness that he can’t comprehend.

He puts it to rest when the oven beeps at them, and Bakugou rises to collect the fruits of his labor. This time, Hitoshi watches him slide the tray out of the oven, pop whatever he baked out of the molds and into tiny Tupperware’s. Once again the boxes get distributed among his friends, and Hitoshi realizes absently that they must know of this habit of his, if they get new snacks every day.

And once again, Bakugou slides two biscuits onto a plate, marches over with a glare at Hitoshi’s staring, and all but slams the plate in front of him. Then he stalks out without another word, or any reaction to Hitoshi’s lame “Thanks.”

Gods damn him, Hitoshi realizes with horror. This is becoming a thing.

He takes a minute to himself, before he goes back up, basking in the leftover warmth of Bakugou’s presence. His dream feels far away now, but the thought of leaving the warm kitchen to wander through the dark dorms and regain his bed is daunting.

He does, eventually, make it back upstairs. The room feels empty, and quiet. It’s a relief, he decides, and flops face-down onto his bed.

Chapter Text

Hitoshi wakes late with his sheets printed in pink indentations across his face, and that’s a pretty good preview of how his day goes. He sprints into class, makes it a couple of minutes late and gets a glare from Dad as he slinks into his seat. Then he realizes he forgot his Math homework, and has to run back to the dorms to get it during the break between first and second period, so he’s late to second period too. Then at lunch he gets told that his meal of choice is unavailable that day, and he finishes the day by getting his ass handed to him all afternoon in training.

All in all, his mood is great.

He decides he doesn’t really feel up to social interaction today, so he holes himself in his room and pretends he can’t hear Denki come check on him. He texts him his apology. Denki knows he gets days where peopling is a no-go. He’ll get it.

Hitoshi sloppily makes his way through his homework, half-assing most of it. That takes up most of the evening, and by the time he’s done, he’s kinda hungry, but going downstairs is an absolute nope. He speeds through a shower, hoping to get away with ignoring the problem, and pulls on some fresh pajamas, the worn fabric sitting comfortably against his skin. Then his stomach growls, and he accepts that he’s going to have to actually eat something. Except his pile of junk food has been depleting lately with all the stress he’s under, and he hasn’t really gotten around to replenishing it yet. That leaves…

Slowly, he turns to the small stash of Bakugou-made sweets sitting innocuously on the nightstand. With a sigh, he flops on his bed and burrows under the pile of covers, squeezing a plushie to his chest. Then, reluctantly, he reaches out for the mochi and unwraps it.

Of course it’s fucking delicious. Of course.

It’s gone slightly stale from waiting so long, but it’s still damn good, and Hitoshi finds that infuriating. He grabs his laptop from the floor beside his bed and pulls up Netflix. He plays something soothing he doesn’t need to think too much about, then gets started on Bakugou’s food.

By the time he’s done with the snacks, it’s been a few hours. It’s late now, and the itchy, simmering feeling he’s been battling all day is gone. He actually feels pretty good. He’s not about to fall asleep though, and he’s bored.

On a whim he tries not to think about too much, he decides to go down to the kitchen. Only the kitchen is dark, and empty. His heart sinks.

It’s a disappointment somehow, and he wonders when Bakugou’s nightly company became something he cared about to the point of missing it when he can’t have it. He sits for a while on a chair at the table, considers making himself a tea, but it doesn’t carry much appeal when it’s just him. Somehow, tonight he feels alone.

He heads back up pretty soon, and spends a long while trying not to care as he waits for sleep to claim him. He fails, a little.

He’s extra grumpy the next day, and pretends it has nothing to do with anything in particular. Pretends he just hates everyone and everything out of habit. Judging by the curious looks he gets from a few classmates, people definitely notice.

He sulks for a while, that night, before finally relenting and going down. He just wants to check, okay?

And he’s pretty happy he did, actually, because Bakugou is there. Hitoshi walks in, fake confidence lengthening his stride, and sits at the table where-

Where. Where Bakugou set out his mug and a teabag.

What the fuck?

Hitoshi has the inane urge to check the time – something he read a while back during a rabbit-hole journey through random internet forums, a tip that’s supposed to help him tell whether he’s awake or dreaming.

Because no matter how talented and brilliant and strangely comforting Bakugou is, he doesn’t do this kind of stuff. It’s ridiculous.

His disbelief is obvious, apparently, because Bakugou’s face closes, and he resolutely turns his back on Hitoshi. Which- no, he doesn’t want that. So he tries.

“Um. Hi.”

He gets no answer, and he doesn’t have much to say. His usual lighthearted jabs feel out of place, and without them Hitoshi is empty-handed, left with nothing to navigate the painful silence.

“Watcha making,” he tries pathetically.

Bakugou ignores him with a disdainful scoff.

Then, out of nowhere, he blurts, “The fuck climbed up your ass in the last two days?”

“Hm?”

Bakugou turns, cheeks flaming red, scowling exasperatedly.

“You’ve been fucking pissy since yesterday morning. You gonna tell me or fucking what?”

Once again, Hitoshi’s reaction time is too long, and he stares dumbfoundedly at Bakugou for a couple seconds too many. Bakugou flushes even darker, snarls a “Never fucking mind. Don’t give a shit.” And turns back to aggressively churning ingredients together in a bowl.

Hitoshi swallows. He has to speak, before he loses this for real.

“Oh, I, um. Woke up wrong. I dunno, dude, I’m tired. Don’t sleep enough, I guess.”

Bakugou stares at him for a long moment, carefully gauging something. Pinned under his intense gaze, Hitoshi squirms. Then Bakugou turns away, and announces with carefully crafted offhandedness :

“I get them too. Dreams, I mean.”

Hitoshi is terrified that at some point Bakugou’s going to get tired of the three-minute breaks every time he speaks. But he just. Genuinely has no clue how to respond.

Again, he stares.

“Whatever. Don’t gotta talk about it.”

Hitoshi fumbles, because that sounded a hell of a lot like we can talk, if you want, but he decides he’s misinterpreting. Ham-handedly, he steers the conversation away from the subject.

“So am I getting food tonight or what ?”

Bakugou sneers, but it’s joyful somehow, and he turns away with a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“If you can make drinkable tea, you fucking might. Useless piece of shit,” he adds, because he’s Bakugou.

Hitoshi snorts. “Oh, how might I ever thank your Lordship for such an honor?”

“Much better,” Bakugou approves haughtily.

Hitoshi snickers, and ambles over to the kettle, which he finds full of hot water already. Then he pulls short, because-

Bakugou knows his favorite mug, and his favorite tea. Somehow, behind the ridiculous aggression, he’s observant to a fault. And now Hitoshi wants to guess what Bakugou drinks, because like hell is he going to let the guy one-up him like that, only he has no clue. So he’s winging it.

He starts with the mug, because that’s easy. He finds the biggest, edgiest, most aggressively extra mug he can and sets it on the table. Then he considers the tea shelf for a minute, because of course Bakugou doesn’t have a box of tea in his personal area, that would make things too easy. He ends up choosing something he’s only tried a couple times, but that he remembers Midoriya being adamant they restock on the last time they went shopping together. He decides that’s a clue, together with the fact that it has a hint of chili that makes it a tad spicier that other teas, and dumps a bag into the mug.

Bakugou hip-checks the oven door closed right then, and Hitoshi’s relieved he doesn’t have to guestimate how long he should steep the tea for on top of the rest. He holds his breath as Bakugou walks over, glances at the mug on the table, and picks it up without a word. He twists his mouth into something that almost looks like- is that a pout?

Nice.

He hides his smirk into his own tea. Unfortunately it’s still really hot, and tears spring to his eyes when he burns the roof of his mouth. As much as he tries to hide it, Bakugou must see something in his would-be stoic facade, because he’s visibly smug. Hitoshi scowls.

They both realize they’re standing at the same time. Hitoshi pulls out a chair, Bakugou leans a hip against the kitchen counter, and they sip at their teas, avoiding each other’s eyes.

It’s not awkward, but it’s… tense. For some reason. Hitoshi’s honestly trying not to think too much.

An immeasurable amount of time slips away, punctuated by the steady ticking of the clock on the wall, and Hitoshi lets himself be lulled by the white noise and the smell of his tea. Then, inevitably, the oven beeps; Bakugou shoves himself away from the counter and strides over to pack up his food and put away his mess.

Again, he gives a couple of snacks to Hitoshi. Chocolate cookies, it looks like ? They smell really good.

Hitoshi’s tired and content, so he gives Bakugou a genuine smile in thanks, lazy and slow across his face like a long summer day.

Bakugou turns away, ears heating pink.

“Go the fuck to sleep, dumbass,” he says, and it’s almost fond. Like a tradition, or a secret handshake.

Hitoshi’s still fixated on the warm flush on the back of his neck, so he replies without thinking.

“Will do, hot stuff. Sleep tight.”

Bakugou stumbles, and makes a sound that reminds Hitoshi of Shitstain choking on a hairball. He turns, eyes wide, then retreats hastily, all but speed walking away. Instead of going for the elevator button, Hitoshi hears him shove open the heavy door that leads to the stairs.

Huh. Pet names ? Or is it the flirting ?

Now isn’t that an interesting development.

From then on all through the next day, it’s all he can think about. He wants to experiment with his findings. He’s almost vibrating in place that evening, as he waits for the common room to clear out. Bakugou slips out around 9pm, as usual, and most people have left by the time 11pm rolls around and Hitoshi heads up.

A few episodes later and it’s two am, and he finally goes back down to the kitchen. Bakugou’s there again, loose and content in the low light.

“Yo,” says Hitoshi as he ambles in, and Bakugou turns and shoots him a smirk. It’s so easy, just the two of them in the kitchen at night, and it hits Hitoshi that he’s happy here. He’s glad he has this, and grateful somehow, for this facet of Bakugou he might never have known.

Then he gets his in the face by a piece of batter, and he reconsiders all of his life choices. Bakugou’s giving him a shit-eating grin, and Hitoshi’s stomach does not twist with butterflies.

“Oh it’s on,” he tells Bakugou, and dives for cover beneath the kitchen island. He snags a pack of flour on the way, and happily engages in a fucking food fight like they’re seven years old.

It lasts until the oven beeps, and then they’re both covered in food, and sitting on the floor shoulder to shoulder, licking the mixing bowl and bickering over it like little kids. Because he absolutely has to have the last word, Hitoshi swipes up a chunk of batter on his finger and dabs it on the tip of Bakugou’s nose. Then he jumps up and skitters away, and Bakugou’s sitting on the floor leaning against the cabinets, with pink cheeks and batter on his nose and flour in his hair and his shirt stained white, and he’s the most adorable thing Hitoshi has ever seen, and gods Hitoshi is so fucked. He looks away from Bakugou’s wide red eyes, clears his throat, snatches the kettle off the counter and fills it with water, trying to shake off the terrifying oncoming realization and regain enough brainpower to function somewhat normally.

When he turns back, Bakugou’s back is to him. There’s a tray of cookies cooling off on the counter, and Bakugou’s neck is bright red as he rinses off the mixing bowl. Hitoshi curses himself for making this awkward.

He wipes himself down quickly, then fiddles around for a while, waiting for the water to heat. When it does, he pours out both mugs, and hesitates for a second. Steeling himself with a deep breath, he heads over to the counter where Bakugou is finishing up his cleaning. He leans a hip against the edge and sets the mug down.

Bakugou turns, and he’s mostly clean, but there’s a swipe of flour under his eye, and it kinda scrambles Hitoshi’s cognitive functions. He tries to ignore it.

Bakugou scowls at the floor in that way he does that according to Kirishima means “thanks,” and picks up the mug without a word.

They sip at their tea in silence, and Hitoshi wonders whether or not it would be worth it to push Bakugou a little further. This feels like a game, almost, where neither of them knows the rules, and Hitoshi is desperate not to lose just yet. He’s terrified that he’ll push too far, and Bakugou will pull back, raise his walls again, and Hitoshi will go back to long silent nights, alone in the darkness of his room. Bakugou’s company, these secret moments they share, feel too precious to lose.

Bakugou polishes off his mug with a loud slurp, because he’s an absolute gremlin, and a glance at the clock tells Hitoshi time has been going by faster than he thought. So he does what any sane, slightly competitive person would do, and slurps even louder than Bakugou. He gets a glare for his efforts.

“Night, asshole,” says Bakugou, and Hitoshi’s so surprised he actually gets a civil word tonight that he almost forgets his line, but not quite.

“Sweet dreams, kitten,” he calls back, as offhandedly as he can manage, and Bakugou’s back stiffens. He makes that awful choking sound again, and pink blooms across his neck, and he marches out of the kitchen without another word. His stomps echo from the staircase. Hitoshi is hooked.

When he gets back to his room, he finds himself staying up in bed imagining names he’d like to toss at Bakugou to get that reaction again. Sweet cheeks. Baby boy. Angel face. Kitten. He’s pretty sure he’s one word away from getting blasted to hell, but the thrill is addictive and the way Bakugou gets wide-eyed and silent is too enticing to let go. So he resigns himself to the idea of probably losing a limb or a prized possession - probably both - to Bakugou’s wrath in the near future. 

When he walks into the kitchen the next day, tingly with anticipation, he doesn’t register right away that something isn’t quite right. Bakugou doesn’t turn around when he comes in, so Hitoshi tries a nonchalant “Hey, shortstack” that he was sure would get him an explosive reaction. But Bakugou doesn’t acknowledge him at all, except for the minute tightening of his already tense posture.

Hitoshi tries again, reluctant to drop the teasing.

“Hey, you good over there, pumpkin?”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” says Bakugou, but it’s flat.

“Okay, seriously, you okay?”

“Fucking fine.” It’s definitive, trying to close the conversation. Too bad Hitoshi’s fucking stubborn.

“No you’re not. What is it?”

“Just fuck off!” Bakugou explodes. “I’m not in the mood to play your fucking mind games tonight, okay? Just- get the fuck outta my way. Move!”

He elbows past Hitoshi on his way to the pantry, and Hitoshi scrambles away. He shuts up, and takes a minute to observe.

Whatever it is, Bakugou looks really upset. His hands are unsteady, downward tug pulling at his brow, face crisped and voice strained. He’s pacing across the kitchen in a whirlwind of activity that clashes with his usual methodical, meticulous approach to baking. Hitoshi’s not sure how he can help, but he desperately wants to.

Bakugou finally shoves the cooking tray into the oven, and all but slams the door shut. Then he straightens, surveys the kitchen with an unreadable expression, and heaves a tiny sigh. Silently, Hitoshi starts heating up some water.

Then Bakugou twists around, hit by an idea. He pulls out some pans, sets them over the stove. In one of them, he heats up milk. In the second he boils water, then sets the third in the second with half a tablet of dark chocolate and a splash of water.

When the milk is warm and the chocolate is melted, he pulls out his giant mug and mixes them inside it into a pale, frothy blend. Then he sprays some whipped cream over the top, sprinkles some cinnamon from his personal spice rack.

Cocoa, Hitoshi realizes belatedly.

Bakugou sits at the table, eyes closed, and breathes in the scent of his drink. Hitoshi watches out the corner of his eye, from where he stands at the counter. The kettle beeps and he turns his attention to it, pouring himself a mug and dumping a teabag in it.

When he turns back, Bakugou has his elbow on the table, chin resting in his palm, his other hand curled around his mug. He’s zoning out hard, and he looks… sad.

Hitoshi’s heart aches. It feels unnatural, somehow, to ache for Bakugou. A few months ago, he’d loathed him from afar, on the principle that Bakugou had everything Hitoshi had ever wanted, and still found a way to be a huge ass about it. But now he knows him, a little, and Bakugou’s tense a lot of the time. He looks the way Hitoshi feels sometimes, when you look past the raging. He looks like he’s never quite sure he’s safe, like someone’s coming for him. He looks like he gets bad days sometimes, and dark nights, and moments where he’s not sure he’ll ever feel like a part of his class, a teenager among others. He looks too old for his sixteen years.

Right now, he looks a little cold, too.

That, at least, Hitoshi can help with. He soundlessly slips out of the kitchen into the dark common room, and up the stairs.

When he comes back down, he’s not sure whether Bakugou didn’t notice he left or simply doesn’t care. He’s still staring into space, but he’s pulled a foot up onto his chair and rested his chin on his knee, both arms wound around his leg, pulling it to his chest. He looks small and alone, in the warm light of the stove.

Hitoshi doesn’t think it’s a great idea to dump something on him right now, so he circles into Bakugou’s field of vision, and extends both arms, offering Bakugou two options and letting him choose for himself.

Bakugou slowly raises his head, eyes focusing on Hitoshi’s face, then the blankets he’s holding out.

“This one’s weighted,” Hitoshi says, lifting the dark blanket in his right hand. “I find it comforting. The other one’s just extra soft.”

Bakugou stares. Hitoshi waits, patiently. After a minute, Bakugou picks the fluffy, light gray blanket in Hitoshi’s left hand. Hitoshi lets him pull it haltingly toward himself, and drape it around his shoulders, his second leg coming up from the floor to sit cross-legged on his chair.

Hitoshi goes to get his cooling tea from the counter, then pulls a chair out next to Bakugou and sits down, the second blanket wrapped around him. They say nothing.

They stay there, sitting in silence, long past the time where they’d usually head back up. They ignore the oven chirping that the sweets are ready, and the mess on the counter behind them.

At one point, Bakugou pillows his head on his folded arms on the table, and closes his eyes. After a while, his breathing gets steady and slow, and Hitoshi abruptly worries that he’s fallen asleep right there in the kitchen. He calls for him softly, but Bakugou doesn’t stir. Hitoshi’s reluctant to shake him awake, but he’s really not sure what other choice he has.

They’re sitting so close that a tuft of his blond hair is tickling Hitoshi’s forearm. Hitoshi’s mesmerized by the unruly spikes. Hesitantly, he lifts a finger, and gingerly strokes it behind Bakugou’s ear. He garners no reaction.

Emboldened, he uses two fingers, scraping them lightly around his ear and along the slope to the back of his neck, and the hollow at the base of his skull. Bakugou stiffens slightly.

Reading the cues, Hitoshi pulls away from that zone, and takes instead to stroking Bakugou’s bangs away from his forehead. Bakugou mumbles something he can’t discern, and when Hitoshi looks down to his face, he’s met with a red gaze, blazing from under half-closed eyelids. Hitoshi freezes.

They stare at each other for a second, then Bakugou closes his eyes again.

“Don’t stop,” he sighs almost inaudibly.

After a second, Hitoshi resumes his scratching. When he hits a sweet spot, Bakugou gives this little grunty sound, and it’s-

He tries to hit those as much as he can.

Everything has to end at some point, though, and Hitoshi can feel Bakugou slip back asleep under his fingers. Reluctantly, he pulls away.

With a disgruntled sound, Bakugou opens his eyes and lifts his head a little, and the resemblance to Shitstain hits Hitoshi deep in his chest. He fails to conceal a smile.

“Much as I hate to stop, we really gotta head up.”

Bakugou growls a little. Words are too complicated right now, apparently. Hitoshi can relate.

“C’mon, I’ll help you clean up.”

That gets Bakugou up, at least, stumbling a little when the blood flows back to his legs after a while curled up on his chair in an awkward position. He heads to the counter, still wrapped up in Hitoshi’s blanket, and efficiently starts putting his stuff away. His arms are half-curled towards his chest so he can keep the blanket from slipping, giving him T-Rex arms, and his hair is a little flat on the side that was against the table. Hitoshi’s hurtling towards heart failure at breakneck speed.

He shakes his head a couple times and gathers both their mugs, rinsing them off quickly and depositing them in the dishwasher. Then he pulls out a handful of Bakugou’s Tupperware boxes and watches him split the cookies he baked between his friends. He hands two to Hitoshi, slips one between his teeth, and puts the cooking tray back in the oven, crumpling the sheet of baking paper to throw it in the trash on the way out. Then he starts towards the elevator, and Hitoshi follows him out, switching off the stove light.

They step into the elevator together, without looking at each other. When Hitoshi gets out on the second floor, he just mumbles a “night” that gets an answering grunt.

Hitoshi flops on his bed. He’s too tired to think about what’s going on right now. He packs it in a neat box in his mind, labels it ‘later’ and shoves it away from his consciousness. He sinks into sleep easily.

Chapter Text

It bothers him all day. He's not sure why, exactly, what part of it is so unforgettable to him, seared into his brain like a film on repeat. The texture of Bakugou's hair, blond strands shifting under his fingers. The look on his face, deep red eyes hazy under heavy lids, jaw loose and shoulders lax. The slight rumble in his voice. Don't stop.

It's driving him crazy.

And he knows, somewhere inside him, what's going on. What those feelings are. Only he's fighting them as hard as he can, because… Bakugou Katsuki.

He's well aware that they're barely on the same plane of existence, let alone the same league.

Okay, that was more self-pity than he usually allows himself to indulge in. You don't overcome unfair odds in a rigged system by pointing out that they're unfair, and Hitoshi's always been some sort of underdog. He isn't used to having it easy, and he isn't the type to let stupid standards get in the way of what he wants. But this… this feels monumental. Impossible. Ridiculous.

Shinsou Hitoshi has a crush on Bakugou Katsuki. Ha.

Doesn't stop the daydreams.

His fingers in Bakugou's hair again. Bakugou in his blanket. In his hoodie, smaller frame engulfed in the thick fabric. Bakugou leaning against his chest, face hidden in the crook of his neck. Their hands laced under the table, their pinkies intertwined as they walk.

Bakugou smiling at him, that genuine grin Hitoshi's only ever seen a couple times. Bakugou laughing as they play stupid games. Following Bakugou hiking, even though Hitoshi hates hiking, just because he wants to see him in his element. 

Baking together, in the kitchen at night. Hitoshi standing behind Bakugou, chin hooked over his shoulder, arms around his waist as he watches him work and Bakugou grouses about braindead octopi or something. Kissing the hollow under his ear, pulling their hips flush together, until- woah.

Gonna interrupt that train of thought right there.

And just like that, Hitoshi can't really deny it anymore : he's so fucking gay for Bakugou. Ugh. He wants to introduce him to his cat, for fuck's sake !

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

All the dramatic fantasy YA quotes in the world can't stop Hitoshi's stomach from overturning in a myriad of butterflies as the dorms draw quiet, their classmates retreating to their beds one by one. Hitoshi listens to it all with trepidant anticipation, and once everything is quiet, waits an hour or so for good measure.

He's there first, for the first time, and for a minute he's scared Bakugou'll be a no-show again. The thought tastes sour beneath his tongue, that Bakugou might leave him hanging after last night. They don't owe each other anything, he reasons, but still. He'd be more than a little disappointed.

That thought trails off there , though, when Bakugou shuffles in with sleepy eyes. He's wrapped in Hitoshi's blanket again, and Hitoshi loves it so much he doesn't ever want to get it back.

Well. It's a good blanket. He wouldn't say no. But it's adorable on Bakugou, and- ughh he needs to get his brain under control, Christ.

He gets up to fill the kettle, and watches Bakugou frown at the open fridge listlessly. Finally he grunts, shoves the door closed, and grabs a Tupperware box from the pantry. He opens it to reveal a handful of cookies, and slides it onto the table. 

"Can't be bothered," he mumbles at Hitoshi, as he gets on a chair, legs crisscrossed like yesterday, and rests his head on his arms again. Hitoshi hums in understanding, filling the kettle at the sink. Then he reconsiders.

“Tea or cocoa?”

Bakugou turns, stares for a second, then grunts, “Tea. Cocoa’s too long to make properly and not worth half-assing.”

Hitoshi hums again, and Bakugou returns to his nap.

Once the water is hot, Hitoshi pulls out their mugs, dumps their respective teabags into them, and brings them both to the table. He plops down on his chair next to Bakugou, who thanks him for the tea with a grunt, but keeps his head down. 

Hitoshi sips his tea in contemplative silence. Bakugou’s so close right now, their arms could brush together by accident. He studies him out of the corner of his eye. The blanket is pulled up on his head like a hood, only part of his hair sticking out in the front. Underneath, his face is a little tense. Tired. There are circles under his eyes, and a subconscious crease between his eyebrows that Hitoshi wants to smooth away. 

God he needs help. This is ridiculous.

With a huff, he puts his head down in a mirror image of Bakugou’s position, closing his eyes so he’s not tempted to keep staring.

“What,” Bakugou asks. It’s flat, but not hostile.

“Nothing much. A lot on my mind.”

The silence settles again, with Bakugou’s sleepy hum. Neither of them is drinking their tea anymore, but the aromas mix in the air, creating a rich, humid smell that kind of reminds Hitoshi of home but still carries the kick of spice Bakugou enjoys. It’s nice.

After a while, drifting somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, Hitoshi realizes their elbows are touching. It sends a thrill through him, though he ensures to stay very still. He’s not sure who moved, but he wants this to last for a bit.

Bakugou’s falling asleep though, breathing slow and steady, and he really should be doing that in his room. Regretfully, Hitoshi nudges him awake.

“Hmmm?”

He’s so pouty when he’s sleepy, Hitoshi realizes, and unusually pliant.

“You gotta get up, sleepy head. Get to bed first.”

Bakugou mumbles something that sounds like “No, you” which makes no sense, and Hitoshi lets it slide. 

“C’mon.”

He snags two cookies from the Tupperware on the table, puts the rest back on Bakugou’s shelf in the pantry, and sets their mugs in the dishwasher. Then he considers Bakugou, still half-asleep on his chair.

“If you’re not up in three seconds I’m carrying you.”

That earns him a hazy glare, and Bakugou gets up drowsily. He marches to the elevators and jams his thumb in the call button, then leans his weight against an unexpecting Hitoshi like he’s a piece of furniture.

The elevator dings, and the bright glare has them both squinting after the muted stove light in the kitchen. They shuffle in, Hitoshi presses the second and fourth floor buttons, and Bakugou closes his eyes and leans against him again.

“Why are you so exhausted,” Hitoshi asks in a murmur. He’s not really expecting a response, but Bakugou gives a little growl.

“Fucking dreams. Been pretty bad, last couple nights.”

Hitoshi hums in acknowledgment, then the elevator reaches the second floor and he has to half-heartedly dislodge an unhappy Bakugou. He leans into the wall instead, like there’s no difference except that Hitoshi has the convenient advantage of producing body heat, but he’s still wrapped in Hitoshi’s blanket like it’s always belonged to him, so Hitoshi decides he doesn’t mind. He whispers a goodbye, gets a grunt in response, and silently makes his way down the hall to his room. Behind him, the elevator dings and the door closes, leaving him in the dark. 

The next day is a saturday, thankfully, and Hitoshi decides he deserves to sleep in. When he comes down to the common room at a deliciously late hour, Bakugou’s cooking lunch and doing that thing with Uraraka where he says things that to most people sound like vicious threats and she takes them as a compliment. Hitoshi grabs a handful of cereal and sits back to enjoy the show.

Then Bakugou turns around with murder in his eyes. 

“Eyebags, you better not be eating dry cereal like a fucking heathen right now.”

Hitoshi’s not sure what’s going on, but purposefully antagonizing Bakugou is still one of his favorite things to do, so he slowly lifts his fist to his face, and licks at the cereal that’s in it to bring it inside his mouth. Then he crunches, swallows, waits.

Bakugou twists back to the stove. 

“Fucker. See if you ever get lunch again.”

Hitoshi chokes on his dry cereal. 

“You don’t make me lunch.”

“Not anymore I don’t.” Bakugou’s smile is ferocious. Uraraka looks slightly worried. Ojirou is frozen by the kitchen door.

“Since when am I included in the prestigious Boom-Boom Lunch club?”

“You got a trial run. Shame your time with us ended so soon.”

“‘Splodey, you can’t do that to me! I never even got to taste!”

“Sucks to suck,” says Bakugou haughtily.

Hitoshi runs over to the trash and disposes of his fistful of cereal. 

“Look, no more cereal. Please? I’m not above begging for this.”

And he really isn’t. He’s hungry, and Bakugou’s cooking always smells incredible.

Bakugou keeps denying him, but Hitoshi’s persistent wheedling gets him a steaming bowl shoved under his nose. He says his thanks fervently and digs in, only to choke half a second later when his brain registers what he’s eating. Under Bakugou’s cackles and his squad’s laughs, he chugs half a milk carton, but then eats his entire plate out of spite. Bakugou looks grudgingly impressed. The squad, after tasting the plate Bakugou seasoned specifically for him (of course he did) are outright awed. Bakugou vows next time he’ll “full-on murder Hitoshi’s shitty weak-ass taste-buds”, which Hitoshi takes to mean he’s officially a member of the Boom-Boom Lunch Club. When he tells as much to Bakugou, he gets a glare and not much else.

“Look at that,” Denki proclaims, wiping a fake tear, “Our little Kacchan’s making friends!”

Then Kirishima has to harden to protect him from a grisly demise, and the squad are back to their usual shenanigans. Hitoshi watches them with a small smile. 

Once they're done eating, they head up for what Kirishima calls a study session, eyeing Bakugou warily, but Denki's determined he'll finish his homework only once he beats Sero's high score in their current favorite game. This results in Bakugou studying and the other three watching and jeering at Denki with books and worksheets spread out in front of them. Somehow Hitoshi got dragged into the mix, Denki's puppy eyes defeating his willpower once again. He watches the mayhem from a corner of the room, quiet but content, and throws in quips from time to time. 

Then Bakugou finishes his work, lets out a disdainful scoff at where Ashido's still on the same page as when they came up two hours ago, but leaves her alone, apparently deeming she can have this break. Instead he slides in next to Denki, and snatches up a controller with a blood-thirsty grin.

"Prepare to die, fucker," he snarks, and Denki giggles somewhat hysterically.

Hitoshi's social batteries are about running out by this point, so he excuses himself quietly. Denki throws him an understanding glance before resuming his game, with a comment about Hitoshi being welcome whenever because "I miss you, man!"

Bakugou just nods with a grunt, like the communicating, non-caveman, almost-adult that he is.

Heading to his room, Hitoshi can't quite suppress a smile. Tiring as extroverts get to him, he can see why these four are the ones that befriended Bakugou first. They're genuinely good people.

The day goes by quietly. Hitoshi finishes his homework, lounges around on his phone, plays an anime in the background. Midoriya comes get him for dinner, which is pretty much synced up for their class today because they're holding a movie night. Bakugou is dragged into a doggy pile on the couch by Ashido and Denki, and then Denki snags Hitoshi's wrist as he walks by and pulls him down too.

It's possible Denki thinks he knows something. It's possible Hitoshi isn't exactly as subtle as he hoped he was being.

When the movie ends, they play a second one, then a third. By this point there's only a handful of people left in the room, scattered about on the couches. 

Midoriya and Sero, who seem to be perfectly functional with two hours of sleep a night, and Todoroki, falling asleep quietly next to Sero. He doesn't like going back to his room sometimes at night, so he waits for Sero or sleeps in the common room. Tokoyami's there too, reading a book in a corner of the room, where the hushed TV volume doesn't distract him too much and his lamp doesn't make it harder to see the movie.

Bakugou left after the first movie, in spite of Denki's loud protests. Hitoshi's kinda disappointed they won't get to hang out in the kitchen tonight, but he enjoyed the evening anyway.

He nudges Denki's head off his shoulder (he fell asleep there somewhere around the end of the second movie) and heads up with a quiet "good night" to the others. When he reaches his room, he plops on his bed and hesitates, unsure what he wants to do. He ends up doom-scrolling on TikTok for an hour.

There's a scratching noise at his door, and he perks up, wondering whether he misheard or imagined it. But it starts again, so he goes to the door.

He opens it to find Bakugou's tired face glaring at him. He has the blanket in one hand and a thermos in the other, with a box of cookies.

"Can't sleep, and the idiots are still downstairs. Not in the mood to get swarmed by fucking vultures," he grumbles, and shoulders past Hitoshi like this is a perfectly natural explanation.

"When the hell did you find the time to make tea," says Hitoshi, instead of a normal answer.

Bakugou plops on the bed, blanket around his shoulders, food on his lap. Hitoshi's laptop is next to his knee, the screen dark but still open from when he watched an anime before dinner and never put it away. 

"It's cocoa. Made it after the movie, before I came up. Knew I wouldn't have access to the kitchen later."

Hitoshi blinks, decides this isn't worth questioning, and follows suit, closing the door with a quiet snick.

He settles down on the bed, where Bakugou's busying himself with the Tupperware, and grabs the laptop.

"Wanna watch something?"

"Why else would I be here?"

"For the pleasure of my company," Hitoshi says royally, and pulls up Netflix. Bakugou snorts.

They shuffle around a bit, looking for a comfortable position, and end up propped against a mountain of pillows along the headboard, the laptop balanced on Hitoshi's knees, angled a bit so Bakugou can see properly. They pass the thermos and cookies back and forth, and Hitoshi has to admit the cocoa is really good , though Bakugou drank part of it before he came down from his room. 

Partway through the movie, Bakugou's head starts drooping, soothed probably by the white noise and ambient warmth. He ends up resting it on Hitoshi's shoulder, who tries very hard to stay absolutely still. It's late though, and he's tired, and he ends up with a cheek pressed to the top of Bakugou's head, absently taking in the indescribable scent of him. 

He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he wakes up some time later. They've both slumped down into the cushions, and his laptop screen is dark again - he didn't plug it in. The interruption of the background noise is probably what woke him in the first place. 

On his shoulder, Bakugou is snuffling softly. Hitoshi decides he definitely doesn't have the strength or willpower to deal with this right now. He wiggles into a more comfortable position, tugs an awkwardly placed pillow from beneath his shoulder blade, and sighs blissfully at the little nest he's created. Unbothered by his squirming, Bakugou dozes on, shifting a little so he's halfway on his side and his face is in the crook of Hitoshi's neck.

Gods above, they're cuddling. Hitoshi's definitely dying a gruesome death first thing in the morning.

Worth it.

Chapter Text

Hitoshi is rudely awoken by an alarm he knows isn't his- both because he doesn't recognize the ringtone and because he knows damn well today is the weekend, therefore all his alarms are off. He turns to his side with a dramatic groan, only to find his nose buried in something soft, his body half-sprawled over something warm and firm, a hot breath at his neck-

"Goddamnit," says Bakugou, "get the fuck offa me, you heavy-ass bitch."

Hitoshi's life kinda flashes before his eyes for a split-second there. He freezes entirely, still half on top of Bakugou. Then he decides that if he's dying anyway, he might as well get everything he can out of this.

With another over exaggerated groan, he tips onto his stomach, fully smothering Bakugou under his larger, lanky frame. Bakugou splutters.

"Oi, you fucker ! Get offa me! Now, off."

Hitoshi grins, making a show of snuggling his face in the pillow by Bakugou's forehead, rubbing his cheek into blond hair.

Then Bakugou grunts and Hitoshi's flipped around abruptly. He finds himself flat on his back, a flushed Bakugou sitting atop him and pinning his hands to his chest.

There's a second of silence. Hitoshi's blood rises to his cheeks. Then-

"Obnoxious shithead," says Bakugou as he clambers off. 

Hitoshi's left on the bed, mind reeling. He tries to cover it up.

"Where are you going?"

"Morning run," Bakugou states like it's obvious.

"Duh." Hitoshi rolls his eyes, then turns over onto his side so he can watch Bakugou gather up everything he brought in yesterday night. "Have fun."

"I will," says Bakugou haughtily, "especially when I'm crushing all your loser extra asses into dust in training on Monday because I didn't slack off during the weekend."

Hitoshi snorts. "Sure. Enjoy."

"Enjoy your extra sleep, you lazy-ass fuckwad," grouses Bakugou, and Hitoshi grins.

"Planning on it, Boom-Boom. Thanks."

Bakugou rolls his eyes again for good measure, but closes the door quietly behind him. Hitoshi appreciates the gesture, and promptly goes back to sleep.

He wakes again a few hours later, and finally feels ready to go through the day, so he runs through his morning routine with a tiny smile on his face. He heads downstairs to find a furious Uno tournament involving about half his classmates, a lot of whom call out greetings as he walks by. Kirishima quietly tells him they already ate, but Bakugou left lunch in the fridge for him. Hitoshi's face heats up traitorously at the twin meaningful glances he gets from Denki and Sero.

Ashido, who hears their conversation from where she's sandwiched between Tsu and Hagakure, screeches about Bakugou adopting Hitoshi and little boys growing up too soon. Hitoshi ignores her. No sense in giving them more material to pick apart. Midoriya's already staring and that analytical gaze of his is kinda putting Hitoshi on edge. Bakugou is glaring from the Introvert Couch at the far end of the room where he, Tokoyami and Jirou like to people-watch and be goth and enjoy their classmates' presence without getting too overwhelmed. Hitoshi studiously avoids his gaze.

In the fridge, he does find lunch, and eats it gratefully. Although he's perfectly capable of cooking enough to support himself, Hitoshi really hates it.

Bakugou's bento is really good, and Hitoshi makes quick work of it. Once he's done, he decides to bring his homework down from his room to study at one of the tables in the common room, next to where Yaomomo is tutoring some of the girls. The happy roaring by the television, where someone started up a game of Mario Kart, serves as background noise.

The day goes by slowly. Hitoshi naps a good part of it away. When night comes and the dorms quiet down, he makes for the kitchen, stomach for once devoid of butterflies.

He finds Bakugou at the table, cocoa in hand, blanket over his shoulders. When their eyes meet, his eyebrows knit together in confusion- or concern ?

"What's up with you," he grunts quietly.

"Nothing much," says Hitoshi with what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "Just really fucking tired."

Bakugou hums, but his eyebrows don't smoothe out.

Hitoshi gulps. He really wants to ask for this, but he's really anxious too. He feels somewhat fragile, right now, and he's not sure he could take a pissed-off Bakugou's barbed jabs.

"Um- did you maybe- Look, I kinda wanna lay down. Do you wanna watch another movie ?"

He curses himself for stumbling so much, but Bakugou just nods. He shoves a box of cookies into Hitoshi's hands, grabs two mugs, and jerks his chin towards the kitchen door. Gratefully, Hitoshi nods and walks over to the elevators, Bakugou hot on his footsteps.

They settle into bed, wrapped in blankets, and Hitoshi grabs a marshmallow-soft squishy, furry pillow and hugs it to his chest. He sets the laptop in his lap again, and launches the sequel to last night's movie. 

He sips at his tea slowly, and nibbles at a cookie for a while. Once he's done though, he's overcome with weariness, slouching further and further into the cushions.

Suddenly, Bakugou reaches out and pauses the movie.

"Find a position you like and then quit squirming."

Hitoshi complies, ends up lying down completely on his side, face level with Bakugou's hip. Bakugou pulls the laptop into his own lap, appraises Hitoshi with a glance, and resumes the movie. He twists the laptop so Hitoshi can see too.

Histoshi appreciates the gesture, but he's honestly entirely uninvested in the movie by now. He zones out instead, letting it blur into moving pictures and white noise. He stares off into space, curled up in his blanket, Bakugou breathing slow and steady next to him.

After a while, a hand settles in his hair hesitantly. Its touch is grounding, and Hitoshi closes his eyes at the feeling. 

"D'you want me to leave so you can sleep?" Bakugou asks in a murmur. Hitoshi shakes his head. 

He falls asleep like that, an eternity later, his nose against Bakugo's hip, Bakugou's fingers tangled in his hair, scratching softly at the back of his head. 

He wakes up the next morning to his dorm room closing quietly. A glance to his clock tells him it's still early, which makes sense, considering Bakugou's morning routine is far more extensive than Hitoshi, or so he's heard.

He rolls over, but doesn't go back to sleep. He feels… quiet. Numb, a little. Like nothing's really that interesting and every little action is exhausting.

Oh.

He knows what this is. He gets days like this, sometimes, even though he was put on meds last year after his depression hit an all-time low. This probably explains yesterday's sudden weariness, and the unusual clinginess.

Knowing what it is, and knowing from experience that it should pass, doesn't make it any easier. Last time he felt like this it lasted for months and at one point he didn't think he'd make it to the summer. If he has to go through that again, when he's just gotten out of it-

That's not a productive train of thought. He forcefully shakes it off, and reaches for his earbuds. He plugs them into his phone, pulls up Spotify, and taps the shuffle button on the twelve-hour long playlist he made for these occasions. He drifts till it's time to get up.

The foggy mood lasts through the day. He was never exactly boisterous, so most people don't pay that much attention when he zones out, listening to music instead of taking part in the conversation. Only Midoriya eyes him worriedly throughout the day, and approaches him at the end of training that afternoon to tell him quietly that he's always here to listen. Eyes glued to the floor, Hitoshi mutters reassurances, and looks up a couple times to offer a smile. Midoriya ends up leaving him alone, with a last doubtful glance. 

That night he heads up early, forgoing the shower (disgusting, after training, but the thought of getting up right now makes him want to cry, and then he'd have to turn the water on and get under the stream and lather his body in soap and -)

He curls up on his bed, small in his largest T-shirt and a pair of boxers, clicks play on his music and drifts. When his body feels so heavy, his mind sometimes feels so light he thinks he might float away, and he indulges in it at night till he's not sure he could entirely come back, if he wanted to.

At one point, there's a knock at the door. He takes out an earbud to confirm, and it rings out again, quiet and demanding.

With a tiny sigh, he goes to the door.

"What's up with you," says Bakugou, and it's not quite a question. 

Hitoshi doesn't have an answer, except for "Tired."

Bakugou considers this for a minute.

"Want me to leave ?"

Hitoshi's not sure he wants anyone around, but he knows his tendency to isolate himself has only ever made things worse.

"No, come in."

Bakugou's unusually quiet as he settles down on the bed, with two thermos, cookies, Hitoshi's blanket, and- 

"Is that a stuffed cat ?"

Bakugou's face goes so dark it's almost purple.

"Cats are fucking badass, okay ? Like tiny lions that don't give a shit."

Hitoshi can't argue with that. He gives a small smile as he walks back to the bed.

He gets his laptop from the floor and pulls up the third and final movie to the series they were watching. He's in the middle of getting comfortable on the bed when Bakugou gives him a glare.

"Scoot down, dumbfuck. Can't get to your hair like this."

Hitoshi stares, lost. Bakugou regains the flush he was losing.

"Unless- I mean. If you want. I dunno, fucking- forget it. Nevermind."

Slowly, Hitoshi shuffles down, staring at him the whole time. The red on Bakugou's cheeks is spreading down his neck. He picks up his cat and smacks Hitoshi in the face with it, then threads the fingers of one hand into Hitoshi's hair and to the back of his skull while his other hand gets the laptop situated and suitably angled in his lap. Hitoshi squeezes the stuffie to his chest and melts into the careful fingers on his scalp. Tears well up in his eyes.

Bakugou doesn't acknowledge Hitoshi's little sniffles, just watches the movie. His fingers tighten in Hitoshi's hair from time to time.

When the credits start rolling, Bakugou shuts the laptop softly and leans over Hitoshi to put it back on the floor. Then he slides down on the bed till he's level with Hitoshi, red eyes piercing. Hitoshi looks away. 

"Do you- um. Should I-"

"Can I have a hug," Hitoshi interrupts quietly, throat tight. "You don't have to, but- if you want to- please ?"

Bakugou hesitates for a minute, then gingerly loops an arm around Hitoshi's shoulders to bring him into his chest.

"Yeah, you can," he murmurs. "Yeah."

Hitoshi sobs.

Bakugou squeezes him tighter, buries his face in his hair. He doesn’t say anything, but Hitoshi doesn’t think there’s anything he could say that would really help. Just his presence is enough, drawing Hitoshi out of the chasm where he was losing himself, even if it’s just a little. Hitoshi doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes the next day still tangled with Bakugou, drowsy red eyes slowly blinking open when Hitoshi extracts his arm from where it was pinned uncomfortably under too much of their combined body weights.

“Hi,” Hitoshi whispers awkwardly.

Bakugou snorts lightly. “Hi, fuckwit.”

“Sorry- about yesterday, I mean. And thanks.”

Bakugou scowls a little. “Fucking whatever.”

Hitoshi really doesn’t want to get up right now. His bed is too appealing, too comfortable, especially when it’s full of sleepy Bakugou. A glance at his phone reveals they have a while, before they need to leave for class, but Hitoshi should probably take a shower, since he skipped it yesterday. And Bakugou’s going to be leaving for his morning run in a few minutes. He sighs. 

Bakugou sits up, rubbing at an eye with the inside of his palm, and yawns with a big inhale that he holds for a second then lets out in a whooshing gust of air. He pops the kinks out of his back, twisting one way, then the other. Then he crawls over Hitoshi to get off the bed. Hitoshi watches him rake a hand through his hair, stretch his shoulders a little, pick up the blanket and fold it into a neat, flat square. He gathers the items he came with, and turns to look at Hitoshi, eyes clear. 

"See ya, asshole."

Hitoshi cracks a small smile.

Bakugou closes the door behind him, and Hitoshi turns over to bury his face in pillows and try to gather the will to get up.

There's something lumpy digging into his ribs. He twists, reaches down, and pulls out Bakugou's squishy cat. It smiles at him with closed eyes. Hitoshi fingers a silky ear, squeezes it to his chest, nuzzles his nose into the soft fur. It smells smoky, and a little something else. Something like Bakugou.

He resolves to ask Bakugou for the cat's name, when he gets the occasion.

Chapter Text

Hitoshi does end up getting out of bed, eventually. He runs through a shower and then his usual morning routine, without needing to rush thanks to Bakugou's early riser habits. He walks to class silently, earbuds shoved in his ears, but feeling marginally better than he did yesterday. Whether that's due to his meds stepping in or Bakugou willingly cuddling him in his sleep, he's not sure.

The day is sluggish, and little catches his attention, but it's peaceful. He aces their afternoon training exercise - hostage situation, he's always liked those - which contributes to elevating his mood.

Also, he catches Bakugou looking a couple times, with a raised eyebrow that says, "You good ?"

That has nothing to do with the return of his stomach butterflies though. 

Denial game strong, Hitoshi.

That evening, he's not sure whether to wait for Bakugou in his room or meet him in the kitchen. He settles for the former, if only because he's still feeling tired and touch-starved, and he'd really, really like a hug. Statistically speaking, he gets more cuddles if they stay upstairs.

Bakugou comes in a little late, and it strikes Hitoshi how tired he looks. The bags under his eyes aren't getting better, and Hitoshi realizes that this rhythm they have of staying up late is pretty close to how he'd usually spend his nights anyway, but Bakugou's clearly not getting enough sleep. Whether that's due to nightmares or nightly meet-ups with insomniac classmates is anyone's guess.

They're quiet as they settle down, hushed voices agreeing quickly on a shitty movie they're not going to be watching much anyway. Then Hitoshi scoots over and lies down, and to his surprise Bakugou follows suit, curled on his side, face an inch from Hitoshi's, resting his head on a folded arm and using that same hand to play with Hitoshi's hair. Hitoshi sets the laptop between them and hits play, but Bakugou's eyes are already closed.

He falls asleep almost instantly, fingers stilling behind Hitoshi's head, and Hitoshi gives up on the movie pretty soon. He pauses it, shuts the laptop screen and twists around to deposit it carefully on the floor. He puts away the untouched box of cookies and the thermos, switches off the light, and settles back in bed, nudging Bakugou's hand carefully out from under his head and into the space between them so it doesn't get stuck in an awkward position.

He can still see Bakugou's face, in the not-quite darkness of the campus night. His hand between them is picture-perfect, in all its calloused glory, nails short and even, fingers half-curled in relaxation. 

Bakugou opens an eye, but says nothing. Hitoshi remains silent too, but with his index finger starts tracing the rough surface of Bakugou's palm. Red eyes widen, cautious, then ease and flutter closed. 

Hitoshi explores Bakugou's hand for a long time, waiting for sleep to claim him.

When it finally does, it's light and jerky, and he wakes several times without knowing exactly why. For this reason he's awake to witness Bakugou's face twisting, grimacing in his sleep, before he starts twitching.

Nightmares, Hitoshi realizes with a knot in his gut.

"Don't," Bakugou growls, and it sounds like a plea. "Don't, I'll f'ckin' kill ya. Don't."

Hitoshi reaches out a hand to nudge him awake, but Bakugou jolts under his touch, and his palms start to crackle.

"Don't ! No, no, don't. M'gonna kill ya, gonna kill you all, don't, don't. Don't." And then, ever so quiet, desperate and young and terrified : "please."

Hitoshi draws back his hand, hesitates for a minute, but really what other choice does he have? He grips Bakugou's shoulder and shakes, talking to him in hopes that his voice might help him register what's going on.

"Bakugou, you're having a nightmare. You're okay, you're fine, c'mon-"

"Fuck!"

Bakugou's whole body tenses as his eyes fly open, and he throws himself against the wall, out of Hitoshi's grip. Hazy eyes take a second to focus on Hitoshi's face.

"Fuck," he says again, and relaxes with a sigh, covering his face with a hand. "Sorry. Fuck."

"No problem," says Hitoshi, shaken. "That, uh… that happen a lot ?"

"Too often," Bakugou grumbles. His eyes are weird, a little wild, and he's breathing real fast. Suddenly he sits up, crawls over Hitoshi and steps out of bed.

"Go back to sleep, Eyebags."

"Where are you going ?"

"Out."

Imitating Bakugou, Hitoshi follows him out of bed and grabs a sweatshirt, then they step out of the room silently and into the dark hallway. Bakugou forgoes the elevator, heading for the stairs, and tumbles down them rapidly. Hitoshi follows as best he can.

Bakugou speed-walks through the common room, slamming a shoulder into the doors to let himself through. He stumbles a few steps, stops, breathes in deeply. The night air is still and silent.

"Fuck," he says again. 

Hitoshi agrees with the sentiment.

Bakugou starts walking again, and Hitoshi follows him wordlessly. They circle the building, Bakugou's eyes scrutinizing every inch of the facade, intense and laser-focused. They go around once, twice, and by then Bakugou breathes easier. After their second round, once they're back in front of the door, Bakugou finally speaks again, not quite looking at Hitoshi.

"You can go back up, now. Don't gotta stay, I'm good."

"But you're not going back to bed?"

He shakes his head. 

"Gonna stay outside for a second. Walk it off."

"I'll walk with you."

Bakugou nods, and turns away. 

They stray further from the building this time, crossing the lawn to a path that Hitoshi believes leads to training grounds dzêta and êta, which they don't use much. They walk for maybe thirty minutes, on a loop through campus, and by the time they're back at Heights Alliance Bakugou just looks tired. 

They head up without a word, and the room feels warm after the cool, crisp night air. Bakugou crawls between the covers, and collapses onto his side, back to the wall. Hitoshi follows him in. After a second of hesitation, considering Bakugou's closed eyes and tired face, Hitoshi throws an arm around his waist and brings him close, tucking him under his chin. He draws random patterns on Bakugou's back, scratching idly with three fingers, and he feels him tense then relax through his tank top. 

"This okay ?"

"Yeah," sighs Bakugou.

They fall asleep again.

Getting up the next morning is rough. Bakugou growls at his alarm when it goes off, and it takes him a full five minutes to struggle his way out of bed. Hitoshi just groans like he's dying, which in his opinion is entirely justified.

Bakugou does get up, in the end, and leaves the room with a quiet "thanks" that Hitoshi has no time to respond to before the door closes behind him.

It's hard to keep his eyes open through the day, but he's kind of used to that. Bakugou seems to be faring better, back to his usual levels of energy, snapping and snarling. If he's a bit moodier, more tense, then usual, most people don't seem to question it, although Hitoshi witnesses a quiet talk with Kirishima in an empty hallway, the redhead's face full of quiet understanding and slight concern. He also catches Bakugou having one of those conversations he holds with Midoriya sometimes where they'll just stare at each other for a minute, faces flickering through expressions too fast to read, and then nod and turn away like they're entirely satisfied with what just transpired.

Hitoshi does his homework in the common room that evening, worried he might actually fall asleep if he's alone in his room. Then he speeds through his dinner and heads up earlier than usual to get ready for bed.

The knock comes much earlier than usual that night, like Bakugou didn't even try to sleep in his own room first. Hitoshi opens and steps aside, letting him in without a word, and Bakugou shuffles in, soft in his worn black tank top and faded gray sweats. He beelines for the bed and flops down, then squirms a little and pulls the cat out from under him. Quiet recognition lights up his features, and he holds the squishy to his chest, ears pinkening. Hitoshi doesn't laugh, but he believes his heart may be melting out through his ribcage and into a puddle on the floor. 

"He have a name?"

Bakugou opens his eyes and tries to murder Hitoshi with his mind, shoving the cat behind his back.

"No, for real, I wanna know."

"Fuck off," Bakugou mumbles, and turns over to face the wall. He grabs the cat on the way. "He's just fucking soft, and I like soft fucking things. Fucking bite me."

Hitoshi hesitates for a second, then walks over and pulls a lavender rabbit from under a pillow. Well, it's more of a gray color now, and it's been through a lot. Its fur is ragged and the stuffing is lumpy, but Hitoshi's had it his whole life, and that's kind of an accomplishment. 

"... I have Carrots," he says slowly. He has a feeling he might come to regret this. 

Bakugou turns over, gives Carrots an incredulous once-over, and snorts like a feral pig.

"What?" 

"Fucking Carrots? Wow."

"What's wrong with Carrots?"

"It's a fucking dorky name is what's wrong with it, Christ."

Hitoshi's vaguely offended (he was three, and Carrots is a perfectly good name for a three-year-old to come up with, in his opinion) but there's a shadow of a grin on Bakugou's face and he's finding he really likes that.

"Well what would you have named him, o Great Explosion Murder God Dynamite ?"

Bakugou flushes a little, and gives a tiny scowl-pout-grimace.

"Fucking- I dunno. That's your job, not mine. And like fuck would I ever own a ratty shitpile like that in the first place."

"Excuse you," scowls Hitoshi in mock offense, "I'll have you know Carrots has been through a lot, and he is in very good shape for his age. And if you're so good at names, then you won't mind telling me what the cat's called, will you ?"

Bakugou reddens and looks away.

"TNT," he mutters.

That's- hm. He's avoiding Hitoshi's gaze, and that's actually an okay-ish name, so-

"There's something you're not telling me."

Silence.

"Bakugouuu."

No response. 

"Bakugou. Kitten. Pumpkin. Angel face. Babycakes. C'mon, sweetheart, don't hold out on me now."

Cheeks burning red, still looking away, Bakugou finally mumbles,

"Stands for Terrible Nitro Terror."

Hitoshi wheezes. The shade of Bakugou's face darkens, if that was possible, but he's looking at Hitoshi again, so that counts as a win.

"What's with all the fucking pet names anyway ?"

"I dunno. I like them. Thought you might too. If you ask me to stop, I will."

There's a minute of silence, then, very deliberately, Bakugou says:

"You gonna get in here at some point or what ?"

Hitoshi grins wide, delighted. He clambers on the bed and settles next to a still-flushed Bakugou.

"Movie ?"

"Whatever."

Hitoshi reaches for his laptop and opens Netflix, and they restart yesterday's movie, since neither of them paid much attention to it. They settle in, shoulder to shoulder, lounging against the pillows, the laptop humming warmly in Hitoshi's lap.

For once, they make it to the end credits both awake. 

Hitoshi puts the laptop away, and turns to Bakugou, unsure. What now ?

Bakugou answers that question naturally, as he shuffles closer to Hitoshi until he's almost nosing at his collarbone. Taking the hint, Hitoshi throws an arm over his shoulders and brings him closer, burying his face into fluffy blond hair. Their legs tangle under the covers.

They should probably talk about this, at some point. 

Not now, though. Now, Hitoshi breathes in the smell of him, smoke and cinnamon and something else, something entirely him, because it feels a little like giving this a name would be giving it limits. Lines, that they can or can’t cross.

Also he honestly doesn’t know what he wants. He wants… this. He wants Bakugou soft and cuddly and sleepy, warm against his skin. He wants Bakugou driven and laser-focused, so lethally intent on achieving the goal he set for himself in a perfectly mundane and leisurely activity. He wants Bakugou at night, sad sometimes, and afraid, and lonely, to wrap him up in a blanket and bathe him in affection till he feels stable and strong again. He wants Bakugou on his bad days, when he grits his teeth and snaps and growls, because he cares so much and in so many forms, even when he can’t say it to save his life. 

Most of all, he wants Bakugou pink-faced and squirming, nose scrunched up, grumbling half-baked threats through a tiny pout. That one’s probably his favorite.

Honestly, Hitoshi just wants. Wants and yearns and aches, and it scares him a little, because it’s never been like this, and he’s a little lost. Is this how it’s supposed to be ? 

In his arms, against his chest, Bakugou snuffles a little, breath almost humid against Hitoshi’s skin, and he absent-mindedly readjusts their position, carding a hand through blonde hair. He doesn’t want to think about this anymore. What remains is this : he wants to spend as much time around Bakugou Katsuki as he can.

The night is long and peaceful, and Hitoshi wakes early. He ends up scrolling on his phone till he feels Bakugou rouse beside him, exactly two minutes before his alarm goes off.

“Morning, Sunshine.”

Bakugou gives a non-verbal but very emphatic ‘’fuck off’.

“Aw, don’t be like that, kitten. It’s a beautiful day for sunshine and roses.”

Bakugou glares as hard as he can from under his bangs. Hitoshi gives him a wide smile. If he has to be awake before he absolutely needs to, he has no qualms making it everyone’s problem.

Finally Bakugou does get up - has Hitoshi mentioned how much he envies the man’s willpower ? - and gathers his stuff to head out. Hitoshi stays in bed and flops about for a while, until he very much needs to get up, or risk enduring Dad’s wrath, which is a particularly motivating prospect.

School is slow, and dense, thick with information and pilling up homework on Hitoshi’s to-do list. Once training ends - god he hates quirked spars days, everyone in class knows not to respond to even the most out of pocket shit he pulls - he dutifully trudges through his homework then eats dinner with Midoriya and Todoroki, who fail to engage him in their heated debate about some reality show they both follow. 

He heads up early, by his standards, to wait for Bakugou, who shows up with a small smile. Their movie is interrupted in the first ten minutes though, by Bakugou’s phone ringing. The screen simply displays Hag.

Bakugou’s face wipes clean. Hitoshi’s guts twist with unease as he picks up the phone.

“What?” he says neutrally.

Bakugou doesn’t do neutral. He does too much, he does passion. This feels… off, at the very least, Hitoshi decides.

Then again, his own past makes him pretty inclined to distrust parents on principle. He’s not exactly objective, on this point. 

“When,” says Bakugou tersely into the phone. His face scrunches up minutely at the answer.

“Mom, I’m out with friends that day. I told you last week, we’re-”

He cuts off. The voice on the other side gets louder. He scowls, eyes tired.

“Fine. Okay, fine.”

His mother hangs up on him.

Hitoshi doesn’t comment, and Bakugou offers no explanation. He’s tense though, where their arms touch, upset radiating off him in waves.

That night, it takes him a long while to fall asleep. He lies on his back next to Hitoshi, TNT nudged under his arm, and stares at the ceiling like it’s holding concealed answers.

The next day is a Friday, and somehow Bakugou is anxious. 

He leaves at the end of the school day to visit his family, and he’ll be staying two nights, coming back to the dorms only on Sunday afternoon. That’s two days and two nights that Hitoshi spends Bakugou-less, and suddenly-

Is it cheesy to say his days feel empty? Is it clingy of him? Because they do.

He plays Animal Crossing with Midoriya and paints his nails with Denki and chats with Yaomomo as she cooks and participates in the class movie nights, but he feels off-balance somehow, like he’s expecting a presence at his side that isn’t there, and that’s ridiculous, because he and Bakugou don’t interact much during the day anyway. Nevertheless, the dull ache somewhere in the depths of his chest crystallizes until he can’t deny it : he’s missing the fuck out of his explodey, driven classmate.

…And calling him a classmate feels wrong. Whatever they are, it’s more than that. Fuck, they really need to have that talk.

But then there’s the nights. Those are much worse. His bed feels too wide, empty and cold, and his sleep is so light, jostled by the slightest sounds. He keeps expecting a knock that he knows isn’t coming, and he feels so ridiculous, pathetic and needy, like a lost puppy. 

And then there’s Sunday evening, when he knows Bakugou will be on his way back, and he lurks around the common room, on a couch with his phone that he definitely isn’t as focused on as he’s pretending to be, and he can’t stop himself from looking up every time the door opens only to wilt a little when it’s not Bakugou.

God, get a fucking grip. 

Finally the door opens and it is Bakugou, and Hitoshi’s stupid-glad to see him, but-

Something’s not right. In Bakugou’s low voice, in the way he won’t look at anyone, in the way he doesn’t stop, beelining towards the elevators. Hitoshi’s giddiness evaporates instantly. Can he ask about this?

Tonight, he decides. He’ll ask.

Chapter Text

Bakugou doesn’t show.

Hitoshi's not sure how to feel. Does he need a minute? Is he just going to be late? Is he tired of Hitoshi, giving up on their weird arrangement because it makes no sense and he sleeps better alone?

Is he… not feeling good?

Fuck it, Hitoshi decides. He’s checking in. If he gets thrown out for this, then so be it.

He heads up to the fourth floor, follows the dark hallway to Bakugou’s door. (There’s definitely a sleepover of some kind going on at Kirishima’s.)

When he knocks, Bakugou opens fast, and he looks small in the blanket, an arm wrapped around his midsection, eyes glued to the floor.

“Whaddya want ?”

“You never came,” says Hitoshi uselessly. “I guess I wanted to know- what’s going on.”

He stutters a little, made nervous by this Bakugou that looks so tired, and sad.

“’M fine,” says Bakugou, like he’s trying to believe it. 

Hitoshi’s unconvinced. 

“Wanna let me in for a sec? You don’t have to," he adds, when Bakugou hesitates.

He gleans a sigh, then the door opens wider as Bakugou walks over to the nightstand and turns a light on.

For some reason, Hitoshi expected his room to be Spartan. Only the absolute necessary. But it’s not, it’s soft and peaceful and it smells so good from the diffuser in the corner and the bed is covered in soft things, blankets and plushies. It’s cute and neat and somehow it fits him so well, from the reading glasses folded on a manga on the nightstand to the papers stacked neatly on the desk, study guides and color-coded notes and textbooks and his laptop. In the middle there’s Bakugou, sitting on the bed looking a little lost, staring into space somewhere by the window, and there’s purple on his cheekbone that has Hitoshi’s stomach curling into a rock-hard ball. 

He doesn’t like the picture his mind is painting.

He sits next to Bakugou on the bed, and looks to the window.

"Do you- wanna tell me about your weekend ? You don't look… so good."

"'M fine," Bakugou says again. "Hag's just an asshole."

"Okay. Did she do that to your face?"

Bakugou lifts a hand to his cheekbone without looking away from the dark window. Hitoshi turns to face him.

"It's not that bad," says Bakugou. "Doesn't happen that often, anyway. Just when- when I get on her nerves too much."

That… doesn't make Hitoshi feel better.

"You got on her nerves this weekend ?"

"She had a model call in sick last-minute. Needed me to step in for a shoot. Shoulda gone quietly, I guess," he adds with a tiny self-deprecating scoff.

"Didn't know you modeled."

"Used to. As a kid. Quit soon as I knew I could get away with it."

"You didn't like it?"

"She got so bitchy. Didn't need to have all the ways I fall short shoved into my face all of the time."

Hitoshi's heart aches, twists, splits into pieces. How can he fix this ? It feels too big for him.

"Hug?"

"Whatever," says Bakugou, and he melts into Hitoshi's open arms.

They sleep in Bakugou's bed that night. The light on the nightstand stays on, and Bakugou remains tucked against Hitoshi's chest till morning.

When his alarm rings, he stirs from within Hitoshi's arms and spends a few minutes just staring at the ceiling. After a while he gets up to start getting ready, eyes a little distant.

"See you later," Hitoshi murmurs as he steps out of the room to let him get dressed in peace. 

It's all he can think about, the entire day. His mind races, cycling through emotions at a dizzying pace. Rage, fear, grief. He can't deal with this, he knows, can't fix it, no matter how desperately he wishes he could. Bakugou needs outside help, so Hitoshi needs to convince him to seek it.

Tall order, to say the least. 

That night, when it's late and dark, he goes to Bakugou's room again. He's curled up on his bed in Hitoshi's gray blanket, staring at the wall. When Hitoshi opens the door, Bakugou stiffens and starts sitting up, looking to the doorway, then relaxes again. Hitoshi takes that as an invitation to come in, and sits gingerly on the side of the bed. He deposits TNT next to Bakugou, who scoops her up and nuzzles the bottom half of his face into the soft fur. Then he raises an arm with a glare at Hitoshi, who decides that means "Come here and cuddle me," which he does.

He flops down on the bed, facing Bakugou, who shuffles back a little to make some space. He enfolds him in a hug, wishing with all his might he could do more to protect the head of blonde hair buried into his shoulder. For now though, all he can do is hold him steady through the night, until Bakugou feels ready to talk.

He seems better the next day. He snaps back like nothing's wrong, and although he still seems a little off to Hitoshi, he's glad the worst seems over.

They meet in Hitoshi's room, and Bakugou hands him a thermos and a box of cookies before dropping onto the bed. He looks tired.

They decide on a stupid action movie, which Hitoshi launches, and they settle down. It feels like a while since they last did that.

Hitoshi offers some cookies to Bakugou, who refuses with a shake of his head. With a shrug, he brings the box back over to himself. Bakugou sips at his tea.

When the movie's over, neither of them feels like sleeping just yet. They lie on their sides, face to face. Hitoshi picks up Bakugou's hand and starts idly tracing along his fingers, one by one. He studies the calluses on his palm, the short, even cut of his smooth nails, the way his fingers gently curl and uncurl under his ministrations. The skin is just the slightest bit damp, and Hitoshi soothes a thumb in circles in the center of his palm. 

When Bakugou sighs a tiny sigh, Hitoshi grins, and starts pressing harder, massaging the base of his fingers one by one, and then the tender spot in the middle. Bakugou melts into a puddle on the sheets, eyes fluttering shut. Hitoshi's smile widens. 

"It doesn't bother you ?" Bakugou asks out of the blue.

"What," Hitoshi hums.

"My hands. They're fuckin'- they're basically murder weapons. And you're just puttin' your paws all over them."

Hitoshi looks up. Bakugou's looking at him inquisitively, eyes piercing beneath lowered lids.

"I trust you," Hitoshi muses. Bakugou's eyes widen a little. 

"Your hands are kinda beautiful, dude. And strong, and just happen to hold the ability to blow me to shreds. Doesn't mean they will."

Bakugou's cheeks are glowing red. 

"Besides," Hitoshi says, pressing his thumb into a spot that has Bakugou's eyes closing again, head lolling to the side on the pillow, "you answer my questions, don't you?"

"I guess," Bakugou mumbles, and gives a content sigh.

"Dude, why are you so tense ? This your quirk, too?"

"Yeah. Shoulder and back muscles lock up too, to brace against the impact from explosions. Hurts like a bitch sometimes."

Hitoshi hums thoughtfully.

"D'you want me to rub them ?"

Bakugou stares, and doesn't answer.

"I don't mind, honestly. Only if you're comfortable, though."

Bakugou considers this for a minute, thinking hard. Then he grunts something that sounds like a yes, and flops onto his stomach.

Hitoshi's insides flutter with butterflies. He sits up, kneeling next to him, and he presses his thumbs on either side of Bakugou's spine, just below his neck. 

The effect is immediate, and mesmerizing. Bakugou's shoulders fall loose, and his entire body follows suit, going completely limp. Hitoshi keeps pressing, digging little circles and tracing the line of the vertebrae, following the inner sides of the shoulder blades, finding and working out every tense knot one by one with deft fingers, and watches him turn to putty, warm and pliant and loose in the dark room.

It lasts for an eternity maybe, Hitoshi working his fingers into Bakugou's back and shoulders, until Bakugou's melted on the sheets like golden liquid, and Hitoshi settles back down next to him to watch the small smile on his face with a hint of satisfaction. 

"C'mrre," Bakugou slurs, basically asleep already, and when Hitoshi inches closer, Bakugou butts his head into his shoulder until Hitoshi throws an arm around him.

"You're like my cat," Hitoshi says nonsensically.

"Bet she's fuckin awesome," Bakugou mumbles.

"Her name is Shitstain."

"Fucker."

Hitoshi snorts.

Sleep is easy after that, and Hitoshi holds on to Bakugou, wrapped up in his smell and his easy smile and the feeling of his skin under searching fingertips.

The next morning when Bakugou twists around in his usual back-popping routine, there's a little smile on his lips like Shitstain drunk on sunlight after a nap in the patch of heat by the window, and it's so smug and genuine at the same time Hitoshi can't help but laugh a little, and grab Bakugou to nuzzle his hair.

"Fuck was that for ?"

"You were cute."

"Fucker," says Bakugou, and his ears heat pink.

"Kitten," says Hitoshi as he walks through the door, just so he can have the last word.

The day is long and grueling, and Hitoshi doesn't even care, because Bakugou Katsuki.

He's not sure what changed, and maybe nothing has, but he wants to jump around and kick his legs and squeal, and he wants to grab Bakugou and never let go. 

How he ended up in this casual exchange of intimacy and affection, how he is lucky enough to have this, is a mystery he doesn't think he'll ever solve. Either way, he has it, and the why doesn't matter. He'll settle for feeling incredibly grateful instead.

That evening, he plops onto a couch in the common room next to where some of his classmates are playing Cards against Humanity. Hitoshi's watching and laughing quietly as Todoroki reads outrageous statements in the blandest voice he can muster and Yaomomo wins five rounds in a row, to Iida's loudly expressed horror.

Then a weight settles next to him on the couch, and suddenly Bakugou's leaning his head on Hitoshi's shoulder. He gets a few greetings from their classmates, but no one makes a big deal about the sudden physical closeness, which Hitoshi is grateful for. In first year, they would've been all over them, but they've all grown, and now all they get are hidden smirks and knowing glints in searching eyes.

Bakugou suddenly leans all of his weight onto Hitoshi, who's reminded of Shitstain demanding his attention. He tips over into the arm of the couch and stays there, tucked half laying down, Bakugou sprawled over his stomach. Bakugou starts mumbling into his shirt, offering increasingly crude suggestions to the game still going on next to them, and Hitoshi keeps having to hide his snickering. 

Bakugou looks up at him, eyes dancing with mirth, and Hitoshi is overcome with a wave of adoration. He buries a hand in Bakugou's hair, scratching at the little hollow at the base of his neck where his skull joins his spine, and Bakugou hums low in his throat. Hitoshi's reminded of that night a few weeks ago, Bakugou shrinking away from Hitoshi's fingers at the back of his neck, and moves towards his ear instead. Bakugou's whole body relaxes atop him. 

"Kitten."

"Fucker."

They stay there for a long time, absurdly content in their little pocket of happiness, but eventually Bakugou gets up, faint smile and eyes half-lidded, and pulls Hitoshi up behind him.

Their hands stay linked during the elevator ride, and they only part when they get to Hitoshi's room. Hitoshi grabs his sleeping clothes and pops to the bathroom to get ready for the night. When he comes back, Bakugou's on the bed, scrolling on his phone. He looks up, rises, and grabs Hitoshi's hand on the way out.

They reach Bakugou's dorm next, and while he's getting changed Hitoshi makes himself comfortable on the bed. Bakugou gets out and joins him, and Hitoshi picks up his hand to press insistent thumbs into his palm. Bakugou looks at him, unreadable.

"Can I kiss you," Hitoshi whispers out of the blue.

Bakugou freezes for a second, bites his lip and looks away. Hitoshi's stomach churns. Then Bakugou turns back and gives a minute nod, and Hitoshi leans in.

It's not fireworks and lost breath and clenched fingers. It's slow and soft and a little clumsy, and it feels right, like the continuation of where they've been headed for weeks. 

When they part, Hitoshi just looks at him, golden in the low light, red eyes full of undecipherable emotions. 

"Katsuki," he says.

"Hm?"

"Call me Katsuki."

Hitoshi's grin is wide enough to light up the room.

"Sure thing, kitten."

The night is long and full of whispers, searching fingers, brushing lips. Morning comes too soon, and Hitoshi stares at the sun peeking through Bakugou’s window (who sleeps with their blinds open? It’s like he’s asking to be woken in the morning) like it personally wronged him. Which in his opinion it did, actually, so.

Bakugou - Katsuki - grumbles a little, then starts extracting himself from Hitoshi's arms. Before he lets go, Hitoshi drops a single kiss under his ear, and watches him turn bright red with the predictability of a well-oiled mechanism. 

Then he skedaddles because he doesn't actually want his face burned off before eight in the morning.

"Fuckface," Bakugou greets him afterwards, when Hitoshi walks by him to get to his seat.

"Sweetheart," Hitoshi replies, and dreads the day this maneuver stops being as effective.

The day feels both long and short at the same time. Once classes are over and his homework is done, Hitoshi heads downstairs without a clear objective in mind, vaguely hoping he'll get to spend time with Bakugou.

He finds him in the kitchen with Mina and Sero, cooking and churning out insults with practiced virtuosity that they dodge with inane logic. He looks like he's about to start blowing steam out of his ears, it's awesome. Hitoshi takes a seat and enjoys the show.

After a while, Katsuki dumps three steaming plates on the table. They say their thanks and start inhaling the food while he turns back to the stove and packages the leftovers for the rest of his squad, as well as whoever else he cooks for these days. Then he gets started on the dishes and cleaning up.

"You're not eating ?"

He looks over his shoulder at Hitoshi, then back at the stubborn fleck of grease he's trying to get out of the pan.

"Nah. Not hungry. Already ate," he adds when Hitoshi frowns.

Hitoshi nods and lets it go.

Katsuki's tired again, that night, and leans on Hitoshi through the elevator ride. When they get into his bed, he tucks his face into Hitoshi's neck and conks out immediately.

The next day, a copy of the catalog he was modeling for is mailed to Katsuki. Hitoshi knows because when they get to his dorm and Katsuki disappears into the bathroom to get ready for the night, Hitoshi finds the slightly singed booklet lying by the trash can. He picks it up and flips through, until he finds one of Katsuki's shoots. The outfit he's wearing suits him, but all Hitoshi can see are his eyes. 

He's glaring furiously at the camera, carmine gaze so piercing it feels like he's staring straight at Hitoshi, pinning him in place like a butterfly on a corkboard, a deer in headlights. He's scowling, and his face is always so expressive but right now he looks enraged and his thoughts might as well be projected on his forehead.

"Whatcha find," Katsuki asks, stepping out of the bathroom. Hitoshi turns to him and his heart squeezes the way it always does when he's faced with Katsuki in one of their rooms, relaxed in his black tank, hair a little mussed.

"Your catalog." 

Katsuki's face tightens a little, and he turns away to put his clothes into his hamper.

"You can throw that shit away."

"You don't like it ?"

He doesn't answer. Hitoshi looks at the picture again. Behind the snarl, he thinks he can see something else, now. Something young and sad, that hurts a little. It's so faint he wonders if he's imagining it, twisting the picture from Katsuki's expression in front of him.

He snaps the catalog shut and folds it in half, shoves it firmly into the trash can, and goes to Katsuki who's finished putting away his toiletries and is curling up in bed with TNT.

"You okay ?"

"'M fine."

"I really like you, you know ?" Hitoshi says conversationnally.

"I know. Shithead." 

But Bakugou's stopped avoiding Hitoshi's eyes, and he's flushed this delicious shade of rosy pink. Hitoshi drops a peck on his forehead and pulls him in. Katsuki's fingers tangle in his shirt.

Silence settles in. Katsuki's breath is warm against Hitoshi's collarbone. 

"It's hard to eat, sometimes," Bakugou whispers, almost inaudible, like he's confessing a sin. "Get hungry as shit, but the feeling of putting food inside me is- fucking gross."

Hitoshi holds him tighter.

"Some foods are okay. White rice. Avocado. Cherry tomatoes. 'S like they don't count. But the rest-"

He chokes off. His fingers are twisting in Hitoshi's shirt, gripping and releasing. 

Hitoshi hums quietly in acknowledgement. His heart is splitting wide open.

"How can I help ?" He murmurs, voice composed and soothing and nothing like how he feels inside.

"I dunno. Sometimes I need someone to tell me to eat. Also- if I'm alone after a meal- sometimes-"

He trails off, but Hitoshi understands. He buries his nose into blonde hair, breathes him in.

"Okay, kitten. I'll be there."

"Fucker," comes Katsuki's reply, muffled in Hitoshi's chest. 

"Sweetheart," he says back, and Katsuki sighs.

Silence washes over them a second time, heavy and peaceful, before Katsuki breaks it again.

"What about you ?"

"What about me ?"

"You get… quiet, sometimes. Some days. And I don't really know what to do."

It takes Hitoshi a second to form a reply.

"I'm taking meds. Antidepressants. But sometimes- it's not always enough, I guess."

Bakugou hums thoughtfully.

"So… what do I do ?"

"... I don't know. Nothing much. Just- not being alone helps. I isolate myself sometimes and then… yeah. Also hugs," he adds, with an obnoxious nuzzle to a blonde head, pitiful attempt at lightening the atmosphere. Talking about his weaknesses was never his forte. Then again, he guesses the same could be said for Bakugou.

"Okay," Katsuki says simply, and his fingers slip under Hitoshi's shirt to trace slow circles on the skin of his back. Hitoshi pulls him closer. He doesn't know how to say what he feels - how overwhelmed he gets by his adoration for this grumpy cat of a man. He settles for hooking a foot between Katsuki's ankles, a leg between his thighs.

They're still hopelessly tangled come morning.

Chapter Text

The next day is somewhat heavy with the implications of the talk they had last night. Hitoshi feels tethered to Bakugou, somehow, like those raw truths they shared yesterday binds them together as much as light-hearted insults and midnight tea. 

There's another talk they need to have though, and it's been lurking in the back of Hitoshi's mind for a while now. When he decides to address it, he's spread out on top of Bakugou like a heated blanket, and Katsuki's lounging on his bed, reading manga and twirling idle fingers in the hair at the back of Hitoshi's neck.

"Hey Katsuki," Hitoshi starts. The use of his given name is enough to get him Bakugou's undivided attention, and he looks at him over the pair of reading glasses that sit on his nose.

"Would you- have you thought of asking for help ? About your mom."

Katsuki's fingers still in Hitoshi's hair.

"Why would I need fucking help ?"

"She hits you."

"Not that often."

Hitoshi can't get agitated over this, he can't or Katsuki will shut down.

"Well what about what she says to you ?"

"What about it."

"You don't deserve that."

"Don't I ?"

At that he pulls short.

"I- no, you don't."

"You don't even know the shit she spouts," Bakugou rolls his eyes, and Hitoshi's losing ground. "It's not that bad, shithead, stop worrying."

Hitoshi doesn't argue, lays his head back on Bakugou's chest with a noncommittal hum. But he does not, in fact, stop worrying. 

Now that he's paying attention, Hitoshi sees more of the effect Katsuki's mom has on him. 

A couple days later, she pulls him out of school for an appointment. A check up for his hearing aids, apparently. But the reason doesn't matter, because Katsuki spends half a day with her. That evening, he cries, silent and defeated into Hitoshi's dark sheets. Hitoshi holds him and aches.

The next day, Hitoshi's washing his hands during lunch break when he realizes he recognizes the voice he can hear gagging in a stall. Barely protected by the anonymity of a thin wooden door, his whimpers are echoing along the tiled walls. When the door unlocks and he steps out to rinse out his mouth, shame written in the curl of his shoulders, Hitoshi's waiting for him, trying his best not to look judgemental in any way.

He crouches, then drops down, sitting against the wall, and pulls Katsuki into his lap. He's teary-eyed and shaking a little from dry-heaving into the toilet, and he curls into Hitoshi and whispers apologies. Hitoshi strokes his back in slow, wide circles, murmuring reassurances, and tries to keep the cold anger festering in his gut from spreading to the rest of him like a forest fire.

That evening, after he finishes cooking, Hitoshi takes one look at how he's staring at his plate, and makes a sudden decision. He grabs two plates and a water bottle and pulls Katsuki into the elevator. 

They make their way to Hitoshi's room on the second floor, and huddle on the bed, where Hitoshi pulls his laptop from half-under his bed and starts an anime he saw a few days ago and wanted to watch with Katsuki. 

It's full of explosions and murder and blood, and it's so cheesy it has the both of them snorting within a few minutes. Invested in the anime, Katsuki manages to get his mind off of what he's eating, and they go to bed with full stomachs and faint smiles. 

Hitoshi pulls him close, because he's scared, and he doesn't know what to do, and he wishes he could make it all go away but he can't, and holding him is the only thing that makes him less scared. Katsuki burrows into him, and Hitoshi tangles their legs under the covers and noses at blonde hair, and reminds himself he's not alone anymore. He has adults he trusts now, and he can always go to Dad if he gets too worried. 

Once he's reassured himself, Katsuki warm and smokey breathing deep and slow in his arms, he can finally fall asleep.

Dinner in their room, just the two of them, becomes something they do when one of them feels down. If Hitoshi's having a depressive episode, Katsuki will show quietly with a plate of something easy and warm, and will hold him afterwards. If Katsuki's struggling, staring at his food with that expression he gets sometimes, Hitoshi will quietly pull him away, fixing his attention on something else so he can eat without thinking too much about it. It works, for them.

But none of that was needed today. Today's been a good day for both of them, and Hitoshi's on his bed scrolling on his phone when there's a knock at the door. He opens with a flutter in his stomach, and Bakugou is there in his sleep clothes, with his reading glasses tucked in the collar of his shirt.

"Fucker," he greets Hitoshi as he walks past him and sits on the bed.

"Kitten," Hitoshi replies automatically. He closes the door then turns to Bakugou who's settled cross-legged on the bed and opened a manga. Hitoshi recognizes it as the latest volume of a series that he really likes and has been waiting for impatiently. 

Hitoshi ambles over and nudges the book slightly to settle down with his head in Katsuki's lap. Katsuki shifts the book to let him, then gives him a little smirk, before leaning back against the pillows and moving his book to his left hand so he can pet Hitoshi's hair with his right. 

Hitoshi sighs, eyes closing on their own.

When Katsuki's done reading, he twists to put the manga aside on the nightstand and then leans back, settling his second hand in Hitoshi's hair. His fingers roam, twisting strands this way and that, scratching at his scalp, and then one hand comes down to Hitoshi's face, trails down his cheek, over his jaw, to his neck. Katsuki leans over to kiss once at the corner of his mouth, then lays back onto the pillows and closes his eyes like Hitoshi isn't frozen in his lap, eyes wide and face burning. 

That night, once they've turned the lights off and curled into each other, it takes Hitoshi a long time to fall asleep.

The next morning is a Saturday, and when Hitoshi wakes with the sun to find Katsuki tucked into his side, he thanks every deity in existence. He's feeling lazy, a little soft, and the idea of a free day is delicious.

Katsuki wakes, and shoves his face further into Hitoshi's ribcage with a grunt of complaint. Hitoshi huffs in amusement and curls an arm around his shoulder, bringing him in.

Of course Katsuki is still Katsuki, so he gets up soon to go on his run. Hitoshi, still unable to go back to sleep, gives in and gets up too, to get started on his homework. By the time one pm rolls around, he's mostly done.

Lunchtime is signaled by an excited Denki banging at his door and inviting him to eat with them. They, Hitoshi learns, means Katsuki's group, Midoriya's squad, and Yaomomo, which he doesn't question. He takes a seat instead, and enjoys Katsuki's cooking. 

Tsu and Uraraka are making eyes at each other from across the table, and Hitoshi wonders what it's going to take for Midoriya's oblivious squad to notice how infatuated they are with each other. Then Katsuki throws him a smirk that's wicked, absolutely devious, and Hitoshi kinda loses his train of thought. 

When they're done eating, Katsuki yells at Midoriya that he's on cleaning duty and leaves. Hitoshi follows sluggishly, only to round the corner on the way to the elevators and find Katsuki glaring at him. Katsuki grabs his hand and drags him into the elevators.

"'M fuckin tired. Naptime, fucker."

That's a plan Hitoshi can get behind. 

When they reach Katsuki's dorm, he shoves Hitoshi onto the bed, then flops facedown on top of him. They shift around a little to find a comfortable position, then they drift off. 

Hitoshi wakes mid-afternoon, the winter sun already starting its descent and painting everything in liquid, golden light. On his chest, Katsuki's messing around on his phone, but he seems to sense Hitoshi looking because he puts the phone down and comes up to kiss him.

It's slow and lazy, easygoing, and then Katsuki's tongue swipes at Hitoshi's mouth. His lips part without his permission, and the kiss deepens. 

When Katsuki breaks away for a minute, Hitoshi's breathless, but he doesn't want to stop. He drags his lips along Katsuki's sharp jaw instead, and when he reaches the dip under his ear, with a boldness he didn't know he had in him, he bites.

Katsuki gasps. Hitoshi captures the sound in his mind, lets it melt on his tongue, and he wants more, so much more.

"Wait, hang on, can I-"

He flips them over, pinning Katsuki on his back and hovering over him, resting his weight on an elbow and a hip. Katsuki's flushed, breathing hard, and the sight of him in the slowly dying sun hits Hitoshi like a punch to the chest. 

"This okay?"

"Yeah."

Katsuki reaches up, tangling his fingers in Hitoshi's hair, and pulls him down for another kiss.

It's not that Hitoshi's never thought about sex before. It's just never felt like something he specifically wanted to share with another person, not when quick, dark release in his room is more than enough. Touching Katsuki so far has always been soft and warm and comforting, but now-

Now it feels hot, and frantic, and heavy, and is Katsuki hardening against his thigh, because it feels like it, and he finds he doesn't mind, not nearly as much as he thought he would.

He slots a leg between Katsuki's and returns to his neck, trying to coax out more of those noises. Katsuki's hips jerk into his thigh, lift once, twice, and Hitoshi decides he wants to try something.

His free hand trails down to Bakugou's waistband, fingers the button.

"Hey, Katsuki, can I-"

He's flushed and panting the slightest bit, but his eyes are piercing when he stares at Hitoshi.

"I- yeah, yes."

Hitoshi undoes the button, lowers the boxers, tugs his dick out. It's half-hard in his hand, pink and heavy.

He turns back to Katsuki, who's looking away now, and kisses him again, soft and sweet. He finds that spot under his ear that makes the pretty gasp, and he tongues at it a little. In his hand, Katsuki fills out.

"Do you- um, lube?"

"Nightstand," says Katsuki, and he's flushing bright red.

Hitoshi has to let go of his dick to fumble for the lube. He dumps a generous quantity in his hand, rubs it around a little to warm it up.

"Can I?"

"Fucking- yes, already, just-"

He holds Katsuki's dick again, closes his fist around it gently, starts rubbing up and down. After a second, he finds a rhythm.

"Shit," says Katsuki.

His face is so pink, and his eyes are a little hazy. After a while, he gives up on looking at what Hitoshi's doing, and drops his head on the pillow.

"This good?"

"Yeah. Can- speed up a little."

Hitoshi does. Katsuki curses.

After a minute, his hips start jerking into Hitoshi's grip.

"Shit," he pants, and wow, he's breathing fast, "shit, I'm- think I'm close."

Hitoshi keeps the rhythm steady, and lowers his mouth to Katsuki's neck again. He finds a spot by his collarbone that makes his breath hitch, and he focuses on it, lips and teeth and tongue.

"Fuck!"

Bakugou's entire body seizes, hips lifting off the bed, and then he goes boneless, eyes half-closing, head lolling to the side. He looks like a painting in the golden light, like the masterpiece of a forgotten artist. 

There's a package of wipes in the nightstand drawer. Hitoshi takes one out and meticulously wipes at Katsuki's pale stomach, his toned thighs. He pulls his boxers back up, but takes his jeans all the way off. Katsuki opens a lazy eye.

"Get over here. Gonna- do you."

Hitoshi's hard. He almost didn't notice.

Well. He did, but he was avoiding thinking about it.

"Don't worry, I'm good."

Katsuki's gaze clears. Hitoshi almost mourns the soft haziness.

"I won't touch you if you don't want me to. But if you do- I'd like to jerk you off, I think."

Hitoshi hesitates, but Katsuki stares at him, steadfast. He relents, and shuffles closer. Katsuki sits up.

Hitoshi hesitantly unbuttons his pants, and fishes his dick out. Katsuki gets some lube in his hand. Then without warning, he grabs Hitoshi's dick, and swipes a thumb over the head.

Shit. Why is this so different than when Hitoshi's on his own ?

Katsuki's palm wraps around him and he tugs, up and down, up and down, up and down and fuck it feels too good. Hitoshi slumps against the wall, eyes closed. Katsuki's lips crash into his, almost bruising.

"Shit. Fuck, shit."

Katsuki snickers a little into Hitoshi's neck. Hitoshi shivers.

"Fuck, Katsuki, Kats, shit, I-"

He comes, unexpectedly, and bites down hard on his lower lip. Katsuki noses at his collarbone, under the slipping collar of his tee-shirt. Hitoshi unclenches his fists and raises a slightly-shaky hand to blonde hair to keep him there. He's warm and heavy on his lap (when did he get there? He didn't even notice) and Hitoshi kinda wants to forget about cleaning up and fall asleep right here right now.

When Katsuki detaches himself he gives a pouty whine that earns him an eye-roll.

"We can cuddle when we're clean, dumbass."

Satisfied, Hitoshi closes his eyes and lets Katsuki carefully swipe the filth away. Once he's done, and the wipes are suitably disposed of in the trashcan (including the ones Hitoshi used, which were waiting on the nightstand and got him a vicious glare), Katsuki strides back over to the bed and flops down on top of Hitoshi, who's fully taken off his jeans and settled on his back.

Hitoshi's hand automatically goes to Katsuki's hair, and his other one slips under the tank to trace slow circles into warm skin. Katsuki's nails are gently petting at Hitoshi's flanks. Hitoshi falls asleep almost instantly.

When they wake again it's dark out, and there's a chill in the air that makes Hitoshi regret not falling asleep under the covers. Katsuki gets up and pads to the closet, and Hitoshi whines because it's cold without Katsuki on top of him and also because he likes to annoy him. As if on cue, Bakugou turns around with a glare and then throws a bundle of fabric at his head.

Hitoshi unfolds it to find a hoodie, lavender and worn and soft, and pulls it over his head gratefully. When his head pops out of the collar though, he almost chokes, because Katsuki's in his hoodie. 

It's oversized on Hitoshi, and absolutely huge on Katsuki, who's rolling up the sleeves with a little frown. It's grey and soft and heavy and he's so fucking cute Hitoshi feels like his stomach butterflies are turning into bald eagles. 

He makes a sound, probably, because Katsuki turns to him, but he doesn't care. He gets up and marches over to Katsuki, picks him up ("Oi, fucker! What the hell, stupid, use your goddamn words!") and dumps him on the bed, before planting himself on top of him.

"Mine now," Hitoshi informs him, nose buried in his neck (and Katsuki's smell mingled with Hitoshi's laundry, god).

Katsuki gives a slightly breathless laugh.

"You're so stupid, what the fuck."

"Completely stupid," Hitoshi agrees placidly.

Katsuki's hands are fisted in the fabric at his back, though, and the bridge of his nose is dusted pink.

"Kitten," Hitoshi says, because he can.

"Fucker," Katsuki replies, closed eyes and content sigh. 

That evening, there's another class movie night. Kirishima knocks on their door to ask them down.

"Fuck off and die, Shitty Hair !"

"Sure, bro! See you down in ten!" Kirishima replies cheerfully, and he's off.

Katsuki huffs and puffs and grumbles but he does get up, pulling his jeans back on, grousing about stupid-happy thick-skulled shitty-haired morons the whole way. Then he turns to Hitoshi, who's lounging on the bed, and raises an eyebrow that says, "Well ?"

With a groan, Hitoshi gets up and gets his jeans back on.

They're quiet on the way to the elevator, until Hitoshi caves in to the demands of his lizard brain and flips up Katsuki's hood. It flops over his eyes and to the bridge of his nose, and Katsuki screeches like a pterodactyl, craning his head back to see Hitoshi.

"Fucker, do you ACTUALLY WANT TO DIE ?"

He goes on and on, picking up steam as he goes, and Hitoshi's laughing so hard his stomach aches. He dodges an explodo-hand shoved menacingly in his face and drops the sentence that's going to get him killed.

"Couldn't help it, kitten, you're just so fucking cute."

Katsuki freezes, considers, blushes violently. Hitoshi initiates a mental countdown. Then, right when he reaches two, Katsuki screams in absolute outrage, and proceeds to scale Hitoshi like a tree to get to his head. He shoves both hands in Hitoshi's hair and grips tight, yelling about killing Hitoshi in slightly disturbing, very graphic methods. 

Hitoshi's laughing like an idiot, to the point where he thinks he might bump into a wall, because the elevator's reached the ground floor and he can't see a thing. He stumbles out and leans against a wall, waiting as Katsuki runs out of stamina, legs still locked around his waist like some sort of heavy and very energetic koala. Finally Katsuki settles down with a particularly hard smack on Hitoshi's forehead and a grumpy, "you're lucky I don't burn all of your stupid hair off, you shifty eggplant-looking eyebag-toting shittily clothed non-sleeping motherfucking asshole."

"I know, I feel blessed."

"Damn right !"

Hitoshi gives a last wheeze and pushes off the wall. He waddles into the common room, where almost their entire class is waiting and studiously avoiding their gaze, except for Midoriya who's staring with eyes as big as dinner plates. Hitoshi bends over and lets Katsuki tumble over into the corner of the couch, which is his favorite spot and where there's room for two. As he goes, Katsuki gives the whole room two middle fingers, and then an extra one to Deku for good measure.

Hitoshi crawls into the corner, shoved into the couch cushions, and Bakugou curls half on top of him. Then he raises his head with a pout, jerks his hood back on, and slams his head back down on Hitoshi's torso, effectively knocking the air out of him. 

"Not a fucking word."

"I wouldn't dare dream of it, kitten."

Katsuki pops off a hand right in Hitoshi's face, who smiles a little and pulls him close. He comes willingly, and curls up tighter on top of Hitoshi.

They're quiet during the movie. Katsuki's head is on Hitoshi's collarbone, forehead tucked into his neck, in a way that has Hitoshi pretty sure he can barely see the movie, but he doesn't seem to mind. One of his hands is fisted in the hoodie over Hitoshi's chest, and the other one, hidden from prying eyes by their bodies, is under the fabric and petting softly at his skin. 

Hitoshi holds him, hand splayed wide over his back, and thinks about how a person can become so overwhelmingly precious to someone in such a short amount of time.

Katsuki falls asleep halfway through the movie, and Hitoshi just revels in it, in the quiet companionship of his classmates whispering about the movie, in Katsuki warm and heavy on top of him, in the intimate safety of dimmed lights and locked doors and soft blankets when it's so cold and dark outside.

He's never felt particularly lucky before, but right now, he feels unspeakably blessed.

Chapter Text

Hitoshi thinks he can feel it coming. He's tired all the time now, even more than usual, and he can feel himself slip sometimes into that quiet apathy that's so hard to pull himself out of. When it really hits- there are difficult days ahead.

For now though, he's okay.

Currently, he's lounging on his bed, half-sitting and propped up against his mountain of pillows. Katsuki's between his legs, back against Hitoshi’s torso, reading a manga. Hitoshi's cheek is resting against his temple to peek over his shoulder, even though he hasn't read the rest of the series, and periodically he turns his nose into the wild mess of blond hair to drop a kiss or a nuzzle. Those always get Katsuki's thumb to draw little circles on his leg, and Hitoshi is about three circles away from falling asleep.

He's drowsy, but his mind is reeling with new thoughts. It has been for days.

Dates.

They're dating, right? Kind of, at least. Boyfriends? Partners, definitely. So… 

Could they go out on actual dates?

He thinks about the cat café a few blocks from UA that he's a regular at – although they haven't seen him in recently.

The thought of sharing his favorite place with someone that's so important to him is…

Daunting.

Exhilarating.

Too enticing to resist.

He's worried Katsuki won't like it, even though he knows he wouldn't be mean about it. But he really, really wants to share this part of himself. He wants him to understand, to see what Hitoshi gets from that place, what it means to him.

And why he's so adamant Katsuki does in fact behave like a cat.

Fuck it, he decides. He's gotta ask or he'll never find out.

"Hey, Katsuki."

 The answering hum is absent-minded, Katsuki engrossed in his reading.

"Could I take you out?"

That does it. He puts the book down, twists around to look at Hitoshi.

"Whaddya mean?"

He's cautious, red eyes narrow and calculating.

"A date."

Katsuki relaxes, letting a hint of a smile show on his face, soft and light.

"Fine, I guess."

Hitoshi snorts at the affected reluctance and buries his nose into Katsuki's neck. The hard ball of tension in his stomach uncurls. Katsuki bats him off, fondly.

"Where d'you have in mind, fucker?"

Hitoshi bites his lip. Should he tell him? He's a little scared Katsuki will laugh.

"A place I like," he says finally. "Spent a lot of time there. Hope you'll like it too."

Katsuki hums, turning around to slip a kiss onto Hitoshi's neck, and picks up the manga to resume his reading. Hitoshi sinks back into the pillows, stomach fluttering. 

A date.

God, he's so fucked.

They decide to go that same afternoon. They fill in the permission forms, and Hitoshi texts Dad to make sure he picks them up from his locker where they slipped them and signs them in time. And then he texts Pops to have him tell Dad to check his texts.

When they get the confirmation email, Hitoshi, who's been compulsively refreshing his inbox for 45 minutes, nudges Katsuki off of him with a grin he can't quite contain.

"C'mon, kitten, gotta get dressed."

Katsuki gives him a glare that shifts halfway through into a sharp smirk, and then he slips on Hitoshi's grey hoodie. Hitoshi turns from where he's putting on his own clothes, catching sight of him, and sighs with fond exasperation. He walks over to him and wraps him up in a hug, burrowing his face obnoxiously into Katsuki's neck until he squirms out of his grasp. 

"Fucker," says Katsuki, and he's delightfully pink.

"Kitten," Hitoshi retorts, and drops a kiss on Katsuki's messy hair so he stays pink a little longer.

They're quiet in the elevator, and Katsuki leans against Hitoshi who keeps him there with a loose arm against the small of his back. When the doors open with a ding, they detach themselves from each other, walk through the common room where Denki appears to be destroying Hagakure and Ojirou at Uno, and step through the doors into the crisp outside air.

There's a slight chill that bites at their faces, but it's not cold enough to make them wish they had layered more. It's enough to feel the onset of winter, though. 

They walk slowly, shoulder to shoulder, enjoying the evening light. Their leisurely pace gets them to their destination in about half an hour, and Hitoshi stops in front of the unassuming door with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

Katsuki cocks an eyebrow at the quaint facade, and Hitoshi doesn't react, opting instead to hold the door open for him.

The cafe is warm, and cozy. Old leather armchairs are scattered about the room around low wooden tables, and floor-to-ceiling shelves line the walls, overflowing with an array of vastly different books. Signs and posters that state 'Take one out, put another back in!' and 'Put your food in your mouth, not on the books!' litter the walls, and a few cat-friendly potted plants are squeezed in here and there, giving the place a homey feel. The rest of the furniture is clearly cat-aimed: scratching posts and soft cushions, pet beds and cat condos.

And then, of course, there are the cats. They cover most flat surfaces, lounging around like furry puddles, and a couple come to wind around their ankles in greeting.

Hitoshi turns to Katsuki, who's taking it all in with wide eyes. 

Wait-

Something's off. There's tension in the line of his shoulders, and in the way he's chewing at the inside of his mouth. His hands are clenched into fists at his side.

"Katsuki? You okay?"

Absent-mindedly, Hitoshi picks up the tiny gray cat still rubbing itself against his shins - Misty, he remembers - and then offers her to Katsuki to pet. Katsuki flinches back.

"What's wrong, Kats?"

He's shaking, Hitoshi realizes. Fuck.

"I- I can't, my hands, I'll- I'll hurt them, I can't-"  

"Woah."

Hitoshi gently sets Misty down, and tugs Katsuki to a booth in a more remote, pretty cat-less corner.

"Is your sweat toxic to animals?"

Katsuki shakes his head. He's staring, wide-eyed, at a huge, particularly fluffy tabby that's lounging on a table a few feet from theirs. 

"Then-"

"I'm gonna fucking blast them, Toshi!" His whisper sounds terrified.

"They're tiny and fragile and I'm gonna fucking blast them, I can't, I-"

"Woah, hey." Hitoshi takes one of Katsuki's white-nuckled fists into both of his hands, and starts gently coaxing it open. "Katsuki, you have perfect control over your quirk. You're not going to blast anything you don't want to."

Katsuki finally turns to him, eyes wide and unsure.

"Trust yourself. You're not going to hurt them. I trust you," Hitoshi adds, with a squeeze at Katsuki's relaxing hand. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. But I think you might enjoy it. It's relaxing, you know?"

As if on cue, a lanky black cat Hitoshi doesn't recognize hops onto their table. Katsuki shuffles away from it a little, but Hitoshi lets it sniff at his fingers before dragging a slow knuckle over its forehead and between its ears. Deeming the offer acceptable, the cat lays down, settling in to let Hitoshi pet it more thoroughly. Katsuki's watching, wide-eyed and mesmerized.

"Hello, boys!"

Hitoshi turns around and grins as he recognizes their waiter. 

"Okura!" 

"Shinsou!" She smiles back, and their hair and freckles shift from a soft green to an electric blue, striking against their dark skin.

"Been a while, man, we missed you! I see you've met our newest addition," they add, gesturing to the black cat who's impatiently headbutting at Hitoshi's hand. "Her name's Nyx." 

"And this is Bakugou," says Hitoshi, gesturing to his surly companion. "Katsuki, this is Okura. I've known her for years now."

Katsuki grunts a ‘hello’. Okura takes it in stride, indigo freckles betraying her amusement.

"So what do y'all wanna drink?"

"I'll have a hot chocolate," says Hitoshi, and they both turn to Katsuki.

"Same. Thanks," he adds.

"Two hot chocolates, coming right up!"

With a flick of her long braids, Okura is off. Hitoshi turns back to Katsuki, who's calmed down but is still staring at Nyx like he's trying to predict her next move.

Hitoshi gently places a hand over his, in his lap.

"You okay? We can leave."

Katsuki shakes his head."'M good. Wanna try."

Hitoshi's smile is huge and warm.

"Sure. Take your time."

Hitoshi puts an arm around Katsuki and pulls him in. Katsuki comes willingly, laying his head on Hitoshi's shoulder. The cat stares at them with unblinking eyes.

"Creepy fucker," grumbles Katsuki, but offers up a hesitant finger for her to sniff. Nyx manifests her approval via headbutts, and Katsuki's finger inches toward the top of her head.

He strokes her head once, slowly, the way he saw Hitoshi do, and then a few times more. When nothing horrible happens he's emboldened, and lays his palm over the cat's back. She doesn't react, apart from a lazy flick of her tail.

"Heh. Stupid," says Katsuki, but he's petting her gingerly. His face is pink and warm, and Hitoshi drops a kiss against his hair.

Out the corner of his eye, Hitoshi notices Okura setting down the tray she'd just picked up with a fond smile. They lean back against the counter and watch Katsuki meet Nyx, hair shifting to dark blue with their amusement. She catches Hitoshi looking and he gives her a grateful smile. They nod their chin at Katsuki with an obnoxious wink. Hitoshi groans internally and turns away, cheeks warm.

An old, patchy cat jumps on Hitoshi's lap out of nowhere. Katsuki startles a little. Hitoshi grins.

"Hey, Prof," he murmurs. He offers his fingers, then strokes her back in low, steady movements. She settles, eyes half-closed, comfortable under his touch.

Okura comes back, with two steaming mugs and a lemon-meringue pie, which happens to be Hitoshi's favorite. 

"Two hot chocolates. Pie's on the house," she adds with a wink, and is gone again before Hitoshi can protest.

"She seems cool," says Katsuki, still petting Nyx softly. 

"They are- pronouns are she/they, by the way. I practically lived here, back before Dad and Pops adopted me. Spent all my days here, helped them clean up and stuff. And she's only a couple years older than us, she's basically my sibling."

Katsuki hums. Hitoshi turns back to Prof, a faint smile on his lips.

"You're happy here," Katsuki observes.

Hitoshi looks up. Katsuki's eyes are soft, fond. Like an afterthought, his fingers are still moving along Nyx's fur.

"I am," he replies simply.

Katsuki hums again, quiet and thoughtful, and he links his fingers with Hitoshi's under the table. Hitoshi squeezes once. 

They sip at their cocoa slowly, and Katsuki has a couple bites of pie before leaving the rest to Hitoshi. 

By the time they're ready to leave, it's fully dark outside, and a little cold. They huddle against each other as they walk, and enter the warm, luminous bubble of their dorm building with a sigh of relief.

Katsuki's nose and cheeks are candied apple red. Hitoshi lowers his hood to place a peck on his icy nose, and he scowls, before shoving frozen fingers up his back in retaliation. Hitoshi yelps and leaps away, and Katsuki grins wide and evil before chasing him around the common room to apply the icicles he calls hands on any warm strip of Hitoshi's skin he can find. 

They end up collapsed on the couch, laughing like idiots, and Hitoshi grabs Katsuki and squeezes like he'll never let go. Katsuki squirms around until he can press his face, barely-thawing nose and all, into Hitoshi's neck, and Hitoshi tolerates it because he is a saint. 

That night, when they're curled into each other, Katsuki's face shoved into Hitoshi's neck and his fingers twisting idly in the hair at the back of his head, Katsuki mumbles a quiet ‘thanks’ into his skin. Hitoshi just kisses his hair. He knows what he means.

The next day is… impossible.

It's abrupt and it comes from nowhere, but when Katsuki gets up and leaves the room to get ready for the day, Hitoshi's left staring up at the ceiling feeling utterly empty.

He floats in nothingness for what feels like hours, but might as well be minutes, and for a while he wonders how he's ever going to get to class in time when just flipping over in bed feels like more effort than it's worth.

He wonders if he's being dramatic, wallowing in unwarranted self-pity like he does sometimes. Yesterday was incredible, and he has everything he's ever wanted. He's in Class A, at UA's hero course. He lives with Eraserhead and Present Mic. His classmates are warm and funny and kind and… and there's Katsuki.

So why?

His fucked-up brain doesn't seem to care. After a minute, he lets it go.

It takes more strength than he thought he was capable of to get out of bed. He slips on his uniform, grateful that he doesn't have to think about choosing an outfit, and brushes his teeth sloppily. He avoids looking in the mirror. His hair will do its own thing today.

He gets to class at the last possible minute, and slides into his chair without meeting anyone's eyes. He zones out immediately, staring at his desk. He couldn't repeat a single word of Dad's droning lecture, but after a while he realizes belatedly that Dad's stopped talking and his classmates' soft voices are ringing out in hushed murmurs around him. Study period, then.

Good. He won't be missing out on too much. He checks out entirely.

The day is an indistinct haze. Hitoshi follows people around on autopilot, doesn't register a word. When he gets to training in the afternoon, after taking way too long to put his costume on, Dad takes one look at him and sends him back to the dorms. 

"You're going to get hurt," he says. Hitoshi nods and turns around. He doesn't have it in him to feel any reacting emotion. Should he be grateful? Embarrassed? Frustrated?

The only thing he feels is tired. 

He strips down to his boxers, pulls on a huge tee-shirt and curls up into bed. He finds TNT, left behind by Katsuki. He curls up with her and tries to sleep.

It doesn't feel like he does, but the blinds are closed, so he's not sure. Time is unreal.

At one point, Katsuki shows up. He crawls onto the bed and gathers Hitoshi into his arms, holding him together. Hitoshi noses at his neck. He's freshly showered, smells of body wash and himself, warm and sweet. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Katsuki's collarbone.

Katsuki holds him for hours.

At one point, Hitoshi's pretty sure he dozes off. At another point, Katsuki gets up and leaves, and comes back an unknown amount of time later with two plates of food. 

He made white rice and chicken with cream, and it's one of Hitoshi's favorites, and there's also avocado and cherry tomatoes, and he gently urges Hitoshi to eat what he can. He has them drink plenty of water, and then he leaves the plates on the floor - and Hitoshi knows how much he despises doing that - and holds Hitoshi some more. 

The night is endless. At one point they listen to music for a while, sharing a pair of headphones. Sometimes Hitoshi drifts off, but when he wakes Katsuki is always there, and he keeps him tethered to Earth and reality and time, doesn't let Hitoshi get lost in space forever.

Sometimes Katsuki sleeps, and Hitoshi watches him, face tense, restless furrow between his eyebrows.

Morning comes, despite how unlikely it feels, and it's just another day. Suddenly Hitoshi's slipping back into himself with embarrassment. Guess he's getting his emotions back.

Katsuki's looking at him, deep red eyes undecipherable. 

"Thanks," Hitoshi whispers, looking away. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He doesn't sound angry, he's soft and sincere, and he drops a kiss between Hitoshi's eyebrows. 

The alarm didn't go off but he gets up anyway, and Hitoshi follows suit.

"Meet me downstairs, in fifteen."

It's easier somehow, when it's Katsuki telling him what to do. Hitoshi showers and gets dressed, dropping yesterday's clothes in the hamper. When he gets downstairs, Katsuki's making breakfast. Yesterday's dirty dishes are sitting in the drying rack. Hitoshi dries them and puts them away.

He puts his arms around Katsuki's waist, presses his mouth to the smooth skin of his neck. Katsuki leans his cheek against Hitoshi's hair in silent greeting.

"Better?"

Hitoshi hums.

Katsuki shakes him off gently, divides the food into two plates, and they dig in. Afterwards, Hitoshi cleans up. Katsuki kisses his cheek in thanks and leaves for his run.

It's ridiculously early, and the common room is empty. Hitoshi settles on a couch, backpack at his feet, and fiddles around on his phone. Katsuki comes back from his run, flushed and sweaty. He goes upstairs for a short shower, then collapses next to Hitoshi with a sigh and shuffles closer, until he's almost on top of him.

Hitoshi tosses his phone aside and reaches for Katsuki. They lay down on the couch, tangled in each other, ear to collarbone, cheek to chest, careful fingers dancing across toned stomachs and drawing soothing circles along tense muscle. Quiet words are exchanged, lips brush against skin, muted reassurances, affection and intimacy in an easy, endless dance.

Katsuki listens to Hitoshi's heartbeat. Hitoshi breathes in the smell of his hair. They nuzzle into each other, exhausted but content, and sleep.

Not quite an hour later, Uraraka comes down and finds them tangled on the couch. With a fond smile that belies the hint of concern in her brow, she picks up the soft blanket Hagakure left behind in an armchair the night before, and covers them with it. It's chilly outside, and she doesn't want them to wake before they absolutely have to.

Chapter Text

They're tangled on the couch for yet another movie night. 

Their classmates – Ashido and Hagakure – seemed to have decided Saturday evenings would be the ‘Official Class A Movie Nights’, and no one was opposed to it, so when Kirishima and Denki were sent up to get them from Bakugou's dorm room, they accepted their fate and went somewhat quietly.

Somewhat, because Katsuki had still very creatively cursed them out for daring to intrude on their comfortable nap.

And now they're in that corner spot on the couch that Katsuki permanently claimed, and Katsuki's head is on Hitoshi's collarbone, and his fingers are playing with Hitoshi's. Hitoshi's about five seconds away from falling blissfully asleep, except Katsuki sniggers every time a car explodes on the screen and Hitoshi really wants to stay awake to witness that because it's probably in his top 3 favorite sounds, ever.

"Hey, shithead," says Katsuki out of nowhere, and twists around a little to look at Hitoshi and make sure he's listening. "Go out with me tomorrow."

Hitoshi chokes a little bit but tries not to let it show. Katsuki waits for him to recover with saintly patience, ears flushed dark red.

"Um, sure," he manages eventually. "Where to?"

"Out out," says Katsuki, turning back to the screen like that was a perfectly clear answer. Hitoshi's about to ask for clarification when it hits him, and–

Oh. Hiking.

Hm.

"Okay," he breathes into Katsuki's hair, and Katsuki lays his head back down on Hitoshi's torso.

The next morning Hitoshi curses everything in existence when he realizes that to Katsuki, going hiking means getting up at 5 am.

5 am.

Like– like heartless fucking masochists.

"You're cruel to me," Hitoshi moans dramatically.

Katsuki scowls at him, unimpressed. He's already dressed and filling a black backpack with— supplies, probably. Whatever one brings along when they're off to get themself irredeemably lost in the wilderness.

Then he yanks the covers off Hitoshi, who yelps and curls into a ball on the bare mattress, trying to protect himself from the chilly morning air. Katsuki's glare intensifies and Hitoshi relents, lamely pulling himself out of bed.

He heads to his room to change into what he hopes is appropriate hiking gear and brush his teeth, then goes down to the kitchen where he finds Katsuki packing them lunch. Katsuki tosses him two water bottles which he dutifully fills at the sink and then they're off.

They take a train, then another, until they find themselves on the edge of town and Katsuki confidently directs them towards a narrow, winding trail.

They're silent, at first. Hitoshi has to focus on where he's stepping, and the rhythm Katsuki sinks into effortlessly feels unfamiliar to him, so he doesn’t have much brain power to hold a conversation.

But eventually the careful steps fade to automatic motions, and Hitoshi can finally look around.

Winter's coming fast, and it shows. The trees have lost most of their leaves, which cover the ground in a soggy mattress of fiery reds. The trees are a stark contrast, scraggly black shapes standing out against the warm backdrop. The scarce dying leaves left on the branches do little to soften their silhouettes. 

From time to time, more and more often as they climb, they come across a few pine trees, dark forms huge compared to their neighbors.

The air is damp and cold, and sometimes they find a ridge that overlooks the valley, and the morning clouds stuck between the mountains make a thick blanket of fog.

It's quiet except for their footsteps and the occasional sniff or grunt, and the peace of the entire thing is soothing.

In the middle of it all, Hitoshi watches Katsuki's face relax, easing out of his usual frown. His stride lengthens easily, and he leads them along the trail with an air of quiet confidence. The exertion combined with the temperature are reddening his nose, his cheekbones, the tips of his ears under his hat. Sometimes he stops to take in the forest around them, and the expression on his face is mesmerizing. Hitoshi wants to remember this forever, the glint in his eyes and the quirk in his half-smile.

Eventually they reach some sort of waterfall, and Katsuki drops his pack and steps onto the base of the rocky formation by the water.

He climbs to the top, finding footholes with the ease of muscle memory, and then turns to Hitoshi to beckon him up. 

Hitoshi pulls himself to the top, and they sit shoulder to shoulder and survey the view.

"'S my favorite," mumbles Katsuki. 

Hitoshi hums.

They can see the valley below, bursting with reds and yellows. The water tumbles down, parting and swerving around huge, mossy rocks, giving off a low gurgling sound that blends in with the background noise of the forest. Hitoshi finds he could switch his brain off and just stay there for hours, looking down.

They sit there for a while, enjoying the sunlight that's just decided to make an appearance and warm the air.

Eventually they clamber down and find a big, dry rock in a sun patch by the water, where they can unwrap the food and eat. Katsuki pulls off his hat and scarf, skin bright pink, and they take off their gloves and dig in.

Katsuki's bentos are really good, because of course they are, and when they're done, they're hot from sitting in the sun and feeling pretty lazy. They shrug off their coats and lie down, Hitoshi's head on Katsuki's stomach, and look at the sky.

They nap for a couple hours that feel much longer, absently looking for shapes in the clouds and exchanging quiet words. When finally it's time to head back, Hitoshi gets up and extends a hand to pull Katsuki up. He looks so content and relaxed, at ease in the quiet, and Hitoshi's heart squeezes a little in happiness.

He understood. He saw what the cafe meant to Hitoshi, and brought him to his own happy place, offered his own precious memories, met him where he stood. 

He understood and Hitoshi's just— 

Happy.

Grateful.

In love, probably. It brings a secret smile to his lips. 

Eventually they head back, slowly wandering along the trail, and they talk and joke and snort, voices low and happy. They reach campus right after sundown and part to put their stuff away and shower. 

Hitoshi's done cleaning up, lounging on his bed with his phone, when there's a knock at the door, and Katsuki walks in without waiting for a response. He grunts a generic insult at Hitoshi, beelines for the closet and steals Hitoshi's hoodie again (and Hitoshi wonders exactly how much of a thing this is going to be, because it kinda looks like he's trying to get a rise out of him, and– fuck him but it's working.)

Hitoshi rises from the bed, links their fingers together, whispers 'Sweetheart' into Katsuki's hair in retaliation and pulls them out of the room before he loses his bedsheets to his boyfriend(?)'s wrath. He intends to sleep tonight, thank you very much, and without needing to change his entire bedding, if at all possible. 

They head downstairs and Katsuki gets started on dinner. Hitoshi tries to piss him off enough that he'll fuck something up, but Katsuki is way too used to working through utter rage because even when he's screeching his outrage at Hitoshi, he doesn't slow down in his flurry of quick, efficient movements. 

Katsuki finally finishes what he's doing, and Hitoshi takes place at the sink next to him to help with the dishes. He washes, Katsuki dries, still ranting though he's lost a significant amount of steam. When they're done Hitoshi slips an arm along the warm skin at his waist, under the hoodie, and pulls him to his chest to plant a kiss on his forehead. Katsuki goes willingly, slightly pinks, and finally lets his aggravation die out. 

They eat dinner quietly, listening to the chatter around them as their classmates come down to eat. When they're done, they set their bowls in the dishwasher and Katsuki takes Hitoshi's hand, pulling him into the elevator. They head up to Hitoshi's room and settle down on the bed. Katsuki's head rests on Hitoshi's shoulder, and Hitoshi draws light patterns on the skin of his back with his fingernails.

"Hey, Katsuki," he asks out of the blue, staring at the ceiling.

"Hm?"

"What– what are we?"

Katsuki goes a little rigid, craning his neck to look up at Hitoshi. His response is hesitant.

"...what do you mean?"

"I mean– are we dating? Boyfriends?"

Katsuki doesn't reply for a while. Hitoshi lets him think, still soothing circles into the warm skin of his back.

"I don't think I fall in love," Katsuki says finally. "Romantically, I mean. I don't think… that's a thing I do."

He's almost whispering, and he won't look at Hitoshi.

"I'm– you're my important person. I like what we've been doing, I guess. I just–"

He chokes off, a little overwhelmed. Hitoshi feels like he's been given something really important and exceedingly fragile, and he's not sure what to make of it. He needs to get this right.

"Okay," he says quietly. He presses a kiss against Katsuki's hair. 

There's a moment of quiet. Hitoshi's not sure where to go from here.

"I like– what we've been doing," he settles on eventually. "The cuddles and kissing and– and the sex too."

"Me too," says Katsuki. "I like it. Don't want it to stop."

He's curled up tight on top of Hitoshi, and still won't look at him.

"Then we don't need to," says Hitoshi. "If we both like how things are."

At this Katsuki turns to him. "Are you sure?"

Hitoshi smiles, warm and soft. "Yeah. Just gotta figure out– boundaries. And stuff."

Katsuki hums atop him, finally relaxing a little. "I like 'partners'," he offers. 

Hitoshi grins wider. "Yeah? What about 'boyfriends'?"

Katsuki hums again, thoughtful. "Not sure."

"That's okay. We can try it, see how it fits."

Katsuki twists around, pressing his mouth to Hitoshi's neck. "Yeah," he whispers into the skin.

There's a hard ball in Hitoshi's stomach at the thought of his next question.

"What— um. Would you— would it make you… uncomfortable, if— if I— if I ever said I loved you?"

Katsuki's face is still buried in the crook of Hitoshi's neck, but he hears the answer just fine.

"No. Might even— might say it back. Just— yeah."

"Okay."

Hitoshi's giddy with happiness, cheeks warm. He kisses Katsuki's hair again. 

"You're really… okay with this."

Katsuki's whisper doesn't sound quite like a question, but it's full of quiet incredulity.

"I am," Hitoshi replies easily. "You said I'm important to you, and that's enough for me. It's not— lesser, than what I wanted. Different than I imagined, maybe, but that's not bad."

Katsuki hums, fisting a hand in Hitoshi's shirt. "I didn't think— I wasn't sure. That you'd still want this."

"I do," Hitoshi reassures him softly. Katsuki sighs, and it sounds like relief.

Hitoshi pulls him closer, tangling their legs under the covers, and Katsuki clings to him through the night.

The next day goes by easily. Hitoshi and Katsuki get to partner up in training and they absolutely crush the adverse team (Todoroki and Iida) which is always good for Hitoshi's ego. Katsuki parades around all evening with an insufferably smug face, and Hitoshi watches with fond amusement. He's always really proud when he can beat Todoroki, and no-one really minds the gloating. Least of all Todoroki himself, to Katsuki's slight disappointment.

That evening Katsuki pulls Hitoshi out of the elevator and into his room, and then they're kissing, and then Hitoshi's sitting on the bed and Katsuki's in his lap and wow they're kissing.

It's heavy, hot and rushed, and Hitoshi's not sure where this is coming from but he doesn't mind. He would appreciate a calmer pace, though.

"Hey," he calls eventually into Katsuki's mouth, "hey, kitten. Slow down."

Katsuki hums and does, and Hitoshi melts into it, slow and sweet. Katsuki pushes against his torso and he lets himself tip backwards into the sheets, and Katsuki hovers above him, licking lazily into his mouth.

Hitoshi lets him take control, lets himself be led, and Katsuki lavishes care over him in a way that makes his toes curl. He mouths at Hitoshi's jaw, at the nook where it joins his throat, at the long expanses of skin at his neck. He finds Hitoshi's collarbone and nibbles along it, and Hitoshi tilts his head to the side to let him.

Katsuki tugs at his hoodie. "Can I take this off?"

"Um— yeah."

He twists around to help Katsuki along with the motions, then lies back on the bed. Katsuki smooths both hands over his chest. Hitoshi looks to the side, self-conscious.

Katsuki's back on his neck again, biting a little, and Hitoshi sighs, trying to relax into it. His hands are fisted in Katsuki's shirt, and then— oh, Katsuki finds a spot that's more sensitive, probably, because something sparks in Hitoshi's gut, and yup that's getting to him.

His fists tighten a little in Katsuki's shirt, and Katsuki grins hot against his skin. "You like that?"

Hitoshi hums. He's not— doesn't think he wants to try talking right now.

"Can I suck you off?"

"Huh?"

"If you want me to."

Hitoshi's not quite sure what to say to that, except—

"Um. Yeah? If, uh, if you want to?"

Katsuki grins again, and licks across Hitoshi's neck, and wow okay he likes that. 

Katsuki gives a last kiss-bite-lick to his chest, and Hitoshi gasps a little, and then Katsuki's gone and his hands are at Hitoshi's waistband and he's looking at Hitoshi with those eyes, sharp and dark under lowered lids, and he's asking something—

"Can I?"

Hitoshi grunts an assent, and Katsuki pulls down his sweats and boxers to get his dick out, and huh. Hitoshi didn't think he was that hard.

"Hang on," says Katsuki, and goes over to pull the lube from the nightstand and squirt some into his hand. He goes back to Hitoshi and settles between his legs, and wraps a hand around his dick. 

He considers it for a minute, then gives a small lick to the spot where Hitoshi's leaking a little. 

"Salty," he declares, and goes back in for another lick. Hitoshi's fists are white-knuckled in the sheets.

Katsuki puts Hitoshi's dick into his mouth and wraps his lips around it, and shit it's just the tip but it's hot and wet and Hitoshi definitely made a sound just there because Katsuki's eyes snapped up to his and he smirked wickedly.

Katsuki's head comes down a little lower on Hitoshi's dick, and then he pulls off, and then he takes it in again, and shit Hitoshi's hands are in his hair, he's not sure when that happened but he doesn't think he could let go right now.

Katsuki speeds up a little, in and out, and his fist matches the rhythm on the rest of Hitoshi's cock, and fuck, fuckshitfuck it's good.

He tells Katsuki as much, repeatedly and probably not quite coherently, but Katsuki doesn't seem to care, just keeps looking at him like that and sliding Hitoshi in and out of his mouth, warm and wet and fuck.

Hitoshi's gut tightens, and he's getting close, and—

And Katsuki's other hand is fisting his own dick, red and heavy between his legs, shit, and he's flushed and there's some spit at the corner of his mouth, and he's still smirking at Hitoshi somehow with his eyes.

Hitoshi gets a hand out of Katsuki's hair to tap at his cheek instead. 

"Close, kitten, I'm— shit, close, I'm gonna—"

Katsuki pulls off but keeps jerking his fist around Hitoshi's cock, and then Hitoshi's hips are lifting a little off the bed and Hitoshi comes over Katsuki's hand. 

Katsuki finishes a minute later, and collapses to the side, eyes closed, but still smirking a little. 

Hitoshi finds the wipes and hands one to Katsuki, and they clean themselves up quietly. Then Katsuki crawls up the bed to kiss Hitoshi, and he can taste himself a little but it's not too bad, and he scrapes his nails in Katsuki's hair.

Katsuki makes a low sound in the back of his throat and collapses on top of Hitoshi, who scoots down the bed a little so that he can lay down. 

Katsuki settles comfortably on top of him, and Hitoshi wraps an arm around him. 

"Thanks, kitten," he mumbles into his hair. Katsuki hums.

Hitoshi threads a hand into his hair and starts scratching at his scalp, and watches Katsuki go boneless, liquid and warm on top of him. He buries a nose into his hair, enjoying the smell and heat and weight of him, the inherent comfort of his presence. Eyes closed, Katsuki feels around for the comforter and pulls it on top of them, and Hitoshi reaches for the lights and turns them off. He slips his hand under Katsuki's shirt and over the small of his back, and Katsuki sighs a little, content. Hitoshi echoes the sentiment with a kiss to his temple