Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

No one Katsuki knew in high school has got a place of their own.

That’s gotta be why they’re always over here. Eating Katsuki’s food and spilling crumbs on Katsuki’s sofa and watching Katsuki’s TV.

Izuku, especially, has a show apartment. An apartment–mostly an All Might museum–that exists only to show that he’s got one, uncharacteristically pristine because he goddamn well never lives there. Nah. Cause when the fuck would he get the chance? He’s always here.

Kacchan this and Kacchan that. Maybe because Katsuki died on him they’ve got some attachment issues. Or maybe it started even before all that.

Either way, Izuku won’t leave. And everyone else wants to hang out with Izuku, because everyone loves him or whatever, and so they all come over too.

And then they ask Katsuki shit like “do you have any more juice?”

After drinking the last of it.

So, as a preservation measure for his sanity, Katsuki keeps his kitchen stocked for more than one person. Energy drinks for Shitty Hair. Spring water for the parasitic nerd. Little cartons of strawberry milk for Shouto.

The pocky sticks in the pantry are for Shouto. The too-long pair of pajama pants that Katsuki didn’t donate or return are also for Shouto, if he stays the night. The calendar with cats dressed as pro heroes hanging in the living room is for Shouto too, ‘cause he's an idiot, and sometimes he’ll go up and flip through the months to see Cat Deku and Cat Dynamight.

Whenever Kirishima comes around, he wants to go work out with Katsuki in the apartment’s gym on the ground floor. He calls it gainz day, which is intolerable, and Katsuki makes it his personal mission to lift more than him on every set he can.

Whenever Yaoyorozu comes around, she wants to drag him to the department stores a few blocks down, because he’s got good taste in fashion and she has money to burn.

Whenever Jirou comes around, they listen to music, because she’s the only one with halfway decent taste out of any of them. There’s barely any talking involved. So she might just be his favorite.

And whenever Kaminari comes around, he asks about Katsuki’s dating life.

As if it’s a personal mission for him to find Katsuki a boyfriend, since Katsuki once tutored him to within an inch of his life. A real stupid way of showing some fucking gratitude.

“At least tell me your type?” he’d asked once, as he followed Katsuki from room to room.

Committing murder and moving out would probably have reduced the sublet value of Katsuki’s flat. An easier way to get rid of Kaminari would have been to stop stocking acid reflux medication in his medicine cabinet and let him drink all of Katsuki’s coffee anyway. But the medicine stayed stocked.

It was just more practical that way.

“Nah,” Katsuki said. “If you’re so good at this, figure it out.”

“Give me a hint,” Kaminari had pushed on, his voice taking on a high-pitched keen. “Tall? Dark? Handsome? Emotionally enigmatic?”

“You don’t know what enigmatic means,” Katsuki said, and it wasn’t a question.

“Sure, I do.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“What does it mean, then?”

“...I don’t know.”

“Ha,” Katsuki had smiled, taking a sip of his tea.

Honestly, he didn’t drink a lotta coffee at all. But brewing it was the only way he could prevent these people from coming over and putting their to-go cups everywhere and trashing the place.

“You do…you do wanna find someone, right?” Kaminari had said suddenly. “I don’t wanna actually force you.”

“You only wanna kinda force me,” Katsuki had sighed. “I get that right?”

“So tired. So world-weary. You sound more like Aizawa-sensei every day.”

“That’s a goddamn compliment.”

“Sensei dates you know. You could. If you wanted to.”

“I know I could,” Katsuki had snapped. “Besides, the fuck d’you know about it? It’s not like you know what you’re doing. Clearly.”

It was mean.

Because Katsuki had picked up the weekend before that—in case one of these idiots was stranded in a ditch somewhere—when Kaminari drunk-dialled him from some club who-knows-where and cried about love being dead and about how lonely he was and some ridiculous crap about how he was so happy they’re friends.

So obviously…there were issues.

And Katsuki wasn’t that guy who punched down, not anymore. “Oi. Didn’t mean—”

Kaminari had waved him off, but he still looked…deflated.

God.

At that point, Katsuki knew he was gonna have to bring out the big guns to fix this one. He was going to have to show some of his cards.

“Eventually,” Katsuki shrugged. “I guess. It’s something I’d want. After I’m number one.”

Kaminari had started beaming.

Which was shit.

It may have been the wrong thing to say. It may have even been an encouragement.

“Okay, okay, I can figure this out.”

“Don’t.”

“You’re a pretty boy,” Kaminari had continued, gesturing animatedly. “So it kind of makes sense that you’d like a pretty boy.”

“I’m. Not. A pretty boy,” Katsuki had said through gritted teeth.

When Kaminari had said pretty boy, only one face came to mind. Not his own. A flash of red and white hair. And he knew.

No. No he couldn’t think about that or it’d show.

“Let’s see,” Kaminari continued. “You’re uppity, type A, so you need someone a bit more chill than you.”

“I’m uppity?” Katsuki practically growled. “I let you sleep in my spare bedroom every other weekend and I’m not chill.”

“Someone strong enough to handle your anger issues. Willing to see your soft chocolatey center.”

Shouto liked chocolate. Once, years ago, Katsuki had gotten some from some schoolgirl fans and kept it in his pocket knowing he’d see Shouto soon at an event. For some reason or another Shouto hadn’t showed. The chocolate had ended up too warm and sticky in Katsuki’s jeans. But Kaminari didn’t know about that.

“Get outta my kitchen.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find someone who’s a good kisser,” Kaminari had winked at him as he left, snagging a freshly baked pastry from Katsuki’s counter. “Only the best for you.”

*

Shouto is the only one who texts before he comes over.

It’s a pretty minimal courtesy. Given that he’s usually within walking distance when he sends the text. But it gives Katsuki the chance to refuse him.

Which makes it more appalling when he realizes that he never does.

Shouto also brings groceries, since he realizes that Katsuki’s place is the de-facto hangout spot. He’s also the only one who consistently showers at Katsuki’s place.

Even Izuku prefers to use his own shower. Most of the time.

Though maybe it makes sense. Since Shouto lives the farthest away, and so he’s the one who most often stays in the spare bedroom. Then showers before he leaves for work in the morning.

It’s infuriatingly domestic, at times. Seeing him in the morning. Freshly showered, towel around his waist, water dripping down his abs. The steam coming off him, his own quirk which he uses to dry his hair a little faster.

Like last Thursday.

When Shouto came out and said, “Oh,” draping another, smaller towel around his neck. “Good morning.”

And Katsuki caught himself staring at the downy soft pattern of red and white hair trailing underneath the towel. The soft white towel he got especially for Shouto, who likes fluffy towels way more than Katsuki does.

“I’ll decide what kind of morning I have.”

“You can,” Shouto had agreed, and the light was hitting his face just the right way, so the water droplets on his eyelashes practically sparkled, his voice was lower in the mornings. “But you deserve to have a good one.”

This had been a lot. Shouto speaking on the subject of what Katsuki deserved. Sounding soft and appreciative and saying it shirtless in Katsuki’s living room.

What Katsuki was going to say was “fuck off” but what came out instead was “you gonna mooch off me again tonight?”

Partly harsh and demanding, but with a sprinkle of something raw and slightly eager.

It wasn’t supposed to bother him when Shouto said no.

*

When they have a thing at his place, with an actual time and a plan, Katsuki will cook. For real cook.

Shouto usually shows up an hour or so early to help with the prep. Or, more accurately, to hang around in the kitchen and be micromanaged by Katsuki.

“You could have been a chef,” Shouto tells him one time, when he’s here, freshly showered, smelling like Katsuki’s body wash, hair damp, voice quiet like it’s a fucking secret.

“Obviously.”

“I wonder what I would have been,” Shouto wonders. “If I wasn’t a hero. Is there a profession for people who like eating food more than making it?”

“Food critic,” Katsuki says. “But you have to really get food.”

“I get food.”

“Not like I get it,” Katsuki says, then frowns at the way Shouto’s beating the eggs, takes the bowl from him to show, and then puts his hands over Shouto’s so they’re doing it together but Katsuki’s really doing it for him.

“I disagree. We just have different tastes.”

“Yeah. But your taste is shit.”

“You can’t grade someone’s opinion, it’s inherently subjective.”

“You’re inherently an idiot,” Katsuki fires back. “Eggs are done. I’ll give you some spring onions to chop.”

Shouto’s actually fairly decent at most basic kitchen skills now. He can do his share of the food prep competently. He takes instruction well. He’s got a good memory.

The only problem is—

“You’ve got something,” Shouto says. “On your face.”

“Hah?”

“I can get it,” Shouto offers, and when Katsuki doesn’t bodily force him away he reaches out and wipes a bit of what must be broth from Katsuki’s cheek.

There’s a split second fantasy where Katsuki leans up and kisses him. Puts his hands in that damp hair.

No. No, no, no, no.

“How’s your ankle, then?” Katsuki asks, turning away.

Last week, he’d landed on it pretty badly, while shielding some kids from a villain whose quirk was exploding cards. Black Jack or some fucker.

“Better.”

“You’ll show me later.”

“Yes. Are you my doctor now, too?”

Katsuki ignores the question, and passes him the pack of spring onions, fresh from the fridge. “Do it right or I’ll have to do it again.”

“I won’t let you down,” Shouto says.

“We’ll see.”

When people come, Shouto usually gets the door. As if this is his place too. He says things like Katsuki’s in the kitchen. Or we tried a new recipe, it’s a Katsuki original. As if they’re some kind of a team in this. Or a fucking couple.

Then he comes back into the kitchen, for their customary salt and heat check. Katsuki takes a tasting spoon and offers a spoonful of broth for Shouto to judge.

The goal is for Shouto’s eyes to close, to make him savor it. For him to say something like, “Oh. It’s perfect.”

Yes. Tastes excellent.

Mm, it’s wonderful.

Today the broth is so good Shouto fucks it up entirely, takes the spoonful Katsuki feeds him, closes his eyes, and nods. “Oh. You’re wonderful.”

It’s a mistake. Katsuki knows that. Will pretend he heard it the way it was supposed to be.

“Damn right,” he agrees. “Let’s go.”

*

A couple weeks later, the conversation devolves into body counts. Or maybe, given the audience, the conversation never had a chance to evolve into anything in the first place. And Darwin was a liar and monkeys will stay monkeys.

All of them chomping on hot chips in Katsuki’s living room, fucking idiots.

Shouto initially thinks body count means a kill count, and is kinda put off on the casual discussion of something like that, so Katsuki explains, regrettably. “It’s about…body count as in how many people you’ve fucked.”

Katsuki would prefer discussing the other kind, actually.

“Or been fucked by,” Izuku adds, for completion, because he’s a giant nerd. “Both count, Kacchan. Or actually, any kind of sexual intimacy counts, I think.”

Katsuki is at zero either way, so fuck if that matters. He just wants to get off the topic as soon as possible. Before he gets discovered. Before he gives it away with the way he sounds or the way he looks when he inevitably gets asked.

It would easily be the scoop of the day. Even if it wouldn’t leave this room. It’s too unbelievable. That he hasn’t been with anyone. They might want to help. They might want to know the reason. Which Katsuki himself doesn’t even have.

“I see,” Shouto says, having thought about it for a curiously long time. “Then…one. For me.”

“Who?” Katsuki demands.

“I don’t think I should say right now. For…the other person.”

Right. Of course.

“You don’t have to.”

The idea of Shouto with someone else is unsettling. His eyes sting a little, so he rubs them.

But Shouto sees. “Are you getting sleepy?”

“Nah. Tired of your shit.”

He glances over at Kaminari lying down in Sero’s lap. Then briefly at Shouto. A part of him kinda wishes…but that isn’t gonna happen. Shouldn’t happen.

“You could put your head on my lap if you want to rest. That way you can still stay here and listen to everyone,” Shouto says.

Katsuki gulps. He wants to. It’s just…he knows what that’s gonna look like. He can’t trust himself to do it. He can’t trust himself to still be here and act normal.

“S’fine, I’m gonna go to bed. You all are free to stay. Deku has a key.”

He hears some protest, some sappy good nights and snarky comments about his having a bedtime. Which was true in high school and is still mostly true now.

Then, when he’s out of their line of sight, some hushed whispers, undoubtedly about him. And within minutes of his getting into bed, Shouto is knocking at his door. His footsteps are unmistakable.

Katsuki had gotten that spare pair of fluffy white house slippers just for him.

He’s probably picked the short straw of the group. To have to be the one to come check on Katsuki. Well, there’s no need. And as soon as he gets in, Katsuki will tell him to get lost. Because he’s fine. He doesn’t need a thing.

“Can I come in?” Shouto asks.

Katsuki grunts in acknowledgement.

The door creaks as Shouto comes in. Katsuki listens to his steps, eyes still stubbornly closed. He only opens them when he feels the back of Shouto’s hand on his forehead. Cold.

He’s upset, he can feel it, doesn’t like being patronized and doesn’t like being treated like he can’t handle something, but he can’t bring himself to take the brunt of his anger out on Shouto. Partly because it wouldn’t help. Shouto’s immune to bluster. Stubborn as all hell.

Partly because it’s counter to what Katsuki really wants. Which is for Shouto to stay. Get closer.

Partly because he’s just so fucking tired. Of being himself.

“You don’t have a temperature.”

“I’m not sick,” Katsuki says. “And I’m not a child. You don’t have to come tuck me in.”

“They were worried,” Shouto admits. “But that’s not why I came.”

He continues even while Katsuki’s quiet. “It’s really nice of you to have everyone over all the time. But no one would be upset if you said you didn’t want to.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki says quietly. “No shit.”

The thing is, he does want to. That’s not the problem.

“Do you feel uncomfortable talking about sex?” Shouto asks, getting right to the point then.

Okay.

“Nah,” Katsuki sits up, crossing his arms across his chest. “Nah, I feel uncomfortable having it. Apparently. Cause I haven’t.”

No reaction. Fine.

“Ever,” Katsuki continues. “Real funny, right?! Me. After all my talk about…being the best. Just great. Happy now?”

“I don’t think it’s funny. It’s your choice. Everyone should get to choose what they want to do in life. And when they want to do it.”

“You don’t get it.”

Shouto pauses, takes a breath. “If you want, you could try to explain it to me.”

“Why? What good would that do? So you can pity me more?”

The only light in the room is what little moonlight can get through from between Katsuki’s shitty blinds. It still sets Shouto’s whole face aglow. Every single thing with him, in the past and even now has been worse because he does it all while looking like this. Beautiful and unshakeable and so goddamn persistent. 

“I don’t pity you. I just know that it bothers you.”

“Obviously. Wouldn’t it bother you? When every other idiot out there has done something that you haven’t?”

“Um. There’s a lot that I haven’t done,” Shouto says. “I think it’s too late for some of it.”

And Katsuki has that familiar feeling again. That he was mean. Without meaning to be. Because of course, Shouto, with his stolen childhood, would know what Katsuki is saying. He doesn’t need it thrown back in his face.

“But…” Shouto continues. “It doesn’t bother me as much anymore.”

“...why?”

“I’m happy about the things I have done,” Shouto says. “And the things I will do. There are a lot of possibilities.”

“Bullshit,” Katsuki worries over his own bottom lip, looking anywhere but at Shouto. “What if it…”

“What do you mean?”

Jeez. Does he need to spell it out? “Look. I already died a virgin once, I don’t wanna do it again.”

Jokes about his own brief death are only not okay around Izuku. Shouto’s okay with it sometimes, since he knows how that goes, and he’s kinda direct about his own shit. But sometimes it really bothers him too.

Luckily this doesn’t seem to be one of those times.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki shrugs, already hit with regret at the oversharing, at the…all of it.

He puts his hands in his face, it’s burning. “I know. Whatever. You can get lost now.”

“It will happen, and when it does, it will be incredible, because it’s you,” Shouto says. “Just because of you. Do you know what I mean?”

It doesn’t sound patronizing. Not really.

And Katsuki knows Shouto doesn’t say it just because it seems like the thing to say, because Shouto wouldn’t know what the thing to say is, because he’s weird like that.

He really means this.

Katsuki’s already said way too much.

He lifts his face a bit. “Shut up. We’re never talking about this again. You even mention it again, I will end you.”

“Okay,” Shouto agrees, and then he reaches out to push Katsuki’s bangs off of his forehead, and in to kiss him there.

A soft brush of his warm lips.

The first time he had done this, Katsuki had reacted like an angry, bristling cat. Now he just…took it. Just accepted it as something weird Shouto does sometimes.

Sometimes, he wonders if Shouto does it to anyone else, or if it’s just their weird thing. Katsuki already knows that normal friends don’t do this shit. But given everything that’s happened, the war, the…him dying and coming back to life of it all, Katsuki doesn’t have what would pass for ‘normal’ friendships with anybody.

So it’s par for the course that Shouto would feel the need to touch him like this. And that he would allow it.

It doesn’t, like, mean shit.

*

The thing with Yaoyorozu is that one minute she’ll be talking about the gross domestic product of neighboring nations and the next minute she’ll be squealing about a purse.

It’s just part of the inherent unpredictability of being enlisted in her shopping trips.

After, they usually go out to eat at the kind of restaurants the rest of their clown crew wouldn’t really appreciate. Katsuki watches her taste wine, and eat miniscule portions and it’s gratifying that her opinions on these things are fairly discerning.

He can learn from her, and knowing more, learning more, is always useful. So he almost never declines an invitation.

The bag she’s currently holding is fucking ugly though.

“It’s bulky,” Katsuki says. “It won’t go with anything and it’ll be out of season in like…a week.”

“Not for me,” she says. “For Kyouka. It’s a guitar purse. You think she’d wear it?”

“No,” Katsuki says. “Or. Maybe. But only because you gave it to her.”

This makes Yaoyorozu blush, which wasn’t Katsuki’s intent. He was just stating a fact. The stupid bag isn’t to Jirou’s taste, which is impeccable, but she’d wear it because she likes Yaoyorozu so much it makes everybody sick.

“What would you get her?” Yaoyorozu asks.

“More CDs,” Katsuki says, and he knows exactly which ones she’s looking forward to. “Concert tickets.”

“Everyone gets her things like that,” Yaoyorozu says. “I want my gift to be special.”

“Take some music lessons,” Katsuki suggests. “Play her a little piano or something. She’ll cry. It’ll be gross. You’ll both love it.”

“That’s perfect.”

“No guitar purse. Or you can’t use my suggestion.”

“Fine,” she says, still beaming. “Don’t tell Jirou about this. I want it to be a surprise.”

“Duh.”

She puts the bag back on the rack, next to a row of similarly atrocious bags. There’s a dog purse. A football shaped purse. A hockey stick purse. And even…a cat purse.

Guys don’t…wear bags like this, or at least, it’s not fashionable. Shouto might though. He doesn’t care about things like that. Or maybe he’d just keep it with his things at home.

Yaoyorozu sees him looking, and holds up the cat purse. “Very Shouto, right? By the way, if it’s okay to ask…what’s going on with you guys?”

Let’s see. He showers at my apartment and kisses my forehead. I keep buying things to keep him around. He’s apparently had sex with someone and I can’t stop thinking about it and it’s making me crazy. I’m in a bad mood on days when he doesn’t text me and in a great mood on days when he does. I don’t even like texting fucking anybody.

“Same old,” Katsuki shrugs.

“He talks about you a lot,” Yaoyorozu says. “He’s also happy that we’re all still close even after school ended and we all started working.”

“He’s like that.”

“I know,” Yaoyorozu says, and Katsuki suddenly remembers how smart she was in school, how nothing ever got past her. “But he really does love you.”

“Uh-huh,” Katsuki says, thinking he knows exactly the kind of love she means, the kind Shouto gives everybody.

She studies him for a moment. He wonders what she sees.

Wonders if she knows that thing he’s not saying.

“Come on,” she says. “We’ll miss our reservation.”

They sample a chef’s selection of sashimi and nigiri. Ube ice cream. And she doesn’t bring up Shouto again all evening.

*

Katsuki’s never known what to do at the end of a date.

By the time a night with someone ends, he’s usually at the end of his rope, social battery-wise. If he’s had a good time, he’ll want a kiss, but prefers not to initiate. If he has to initiate, he knows it’ll take some of the zing out.

He wants his date to be down bad. Wants the chase.

If he has to talk for too long, he’ll run out of things to say. Because what the fuck else is there to say at that point in a date? He’s ended a date once by saying okay, bye then, when it seemed like they were gonna stand out there forever and he was losing interest.

It would be different with Shouto. He already knows the way back to Katsuki’s place. He knows the spare bedroom, he knows where the snacks are. He doesn’t mind talking about nothing and letting Katsuki just listen to the sound of his voice like white noise.

For him, Katsuki would lean in for a kiss. And there’d be all the fucking zing in the world. ‘Cause Katsuki feels so much for him. This pent-up frustration. The urge to argue about every little thing. A strange kind of ache, deep in his chest. A need.

*

They’d been on something that sort of resembled a date before. Mutually agreeing to try a new udon place that opened in the city center. Him and Shouto.

They’d walked home, to Katsuki’s place, rather than take transit. Even though it’d take forever. When they left the restaurant Shouto had pulled Katsuki just slightly closer to him on the sidewalk. His hand firm on Katsuki’s shoulder.

“Let’s walk?” Shouto’d asked, cheeks pink from the cold, a peppermint colored scarf tucked neatly under his chin.

There was no saying no to him.

They didn’t even really talk about anything on the way home. Shouto said he’d watched a documentary about tree frogs. Katsuki told him any more animal planet would rot his brain from the inside out. Shouto said he’d heard of brain rot before. And Katsuki said it wasn’t what he thought it was. Then explained.

“You’re really good to me,” Shouto had said then.

Katsuki didn’t think that he was. What he did to Shouto was just…what came natural. Going over to his apartment and telling him how to use an air fryer and a toaster oven. How to wash his whites separate from his colors.

Basic cooking. How to chop vegetables. How to store them. How to meal prep. A continuation of what they started in high school, just one-on-one.

Katsuki wasn’t even particularly patient while teaching him.

Then there was taking his phone calls when he called late at night, when Katsuki was sure he couldn’t fall asleep and just needed to hear that there was someone out there who gave a shit about him.

It was such minimum shit. Expressing only a fraction of what Katsuki felt about him.

“I’m really not,” Katsuki had retorted. “You’re just stupid.”

“Don’t be mean,” Shouto had said. “I’m telling you what’s in my heart.”

“Yeah. Cause your brain’s empty.”

“I’ve had several scans over the years for various injuries. There’s definitely complex cell matter inside my brain.”

By the time they got to the door they were still talking about brain scans, and how certain people acted perpetually concussed. About the latest hero commission bulletin, which was trying to prevent head injuries in pro heroes by suggesting a universal helmet requirement. How that was bullshit to Katsuki but Shouto thought it could help some people, probably.

They’d flowed easily from the door, into the apartment. Seamlessly into the genkan, taking off their shoes in sync. Getting vanilla ice cream from the freezer and setting it out to thaw. Shouto’s favorite.

They’d argued about whether it was okay for Shouto to thaw it with his quirk, and Katsuki insisted on doing it the old fashioned way. And at the end of the night, before Shouto turned into the spare bedroom across the hall, he thanked Katsuki for the day they’d had, leaned in and kissed his forehead.

*

Because of his own experiences, or in spite of them, Katsuki’s made something of a name for himself in the subspecialization of villain-led kidnappings.

He knows how they work, from an operational perspective, most of the time. He can work with local heroes and parents. Coordinate the operation from the ground and from the air. Time to extraction matters the most. In the first few hours, getting information flow is critical.

Shinsou is great to have on call for shit like this. Shouto doesn’t work with Katsuki on it that often. His skillset is more useful elsewhere. In natural disasters. Large scale chaos.

Katsuki always assumed he would be drawn to the big, showy shit too. And he is.

It’s just…it’s good when he can get someone their kid back. Or a kid their dad or ma back. He remembers when it was him. He remembers the worry. The fallout.

He’s also damn good at running the ops. Which is why the commission is punishing him.

They’re throwing an event in the city. At a new hotel downtown. For him and a bunch of other extras.

If it was up to him, the money should go back into the operation fund. But he’s been told gathering a buncha pro heroes in one place tends to generate money, and that money is gonna go back into the operation fund, so fair is fair.

He’ll show up and wear the monkey suit.

When he gets there he has to make small talk with people from the commission he mostly sees on email threads. They’re very happy about his work. They’re big fans. Blah blah blah.

What is interesting is that he gets handed a key card. For the penthouse suite, apparently. An extra perk of the gig.

He was planning to commute back to his place after this, so there was no need. He’ll probably find Kaminari or Kirishima later and ask them if they want this.

Katsuki can tell when people arrive because of the camera flashes. They build up into a frenzy, a bigger one proportional to how famous the person is. The journalists at the entrance nearly wet themselves when Katsuki came in earlier.

Now they’ve gone and lost their shit again.

Probably Izuku.

In which case he doesn’t have to go up and check. Deku’ll come to him.

He goes inside to the main gala room. Goes to the bar and starts to count down the time till this is over.

“Katsuki,” Shouto’s voice cuts through the insipid waiting room style background music.

He nearly jumps out of his skin. “Don’t sneak up on me. Idiot.”

Shouto looks him up and down. “Sorry.”

“Are you getting anything tonight?”

“No,” Shouto says. “I’m just here in support.”

“So I’m on top tonight. As always,” Katsuki smirks.

“Not always,” Shouto says. “But tonight…yes.”

“Sorry. When have you beaten me again?”

“It’ll come back to you,” Shouto says. “Unless you’re having problems with your memory.”

Katsuki gives him a light shove in the shoulder. “As if.”

“You look really good tonight,” Shouto says.

He’s full of compliments lately. Probably part of a new level of friendship he thinks that they’re at. Which is fine. Katsuki knows he’s hot shit.

“You sayin’ I don’t always?”

“No. It’s just different.”

“Why do you still wear suits to these things?” Katsuki asks. “Don’t you always end up burning half of your dress shirt off? When there’s an inevitable incident.”

“I don’t think it would be appropriate to come here in my hero costume.”

“Is that my pin?” Katsuki’s eye snaps to the bright orange pin stuck on Shouto’s lapel, with his signature black X on it.

“They’re handing them out at the front,” Shouto shrugs. “I am here to support you. Does it look bad?”

Katsuki’s throat is suddenly dry. “Orange doesn’t suit you.”

“That’s okay,” Shouto shrugs. “My stylist approved it.”

“You have a stylist now?”

“Part time. She only works for me when I have an event.”

She didn’t do a terrible job. Katsuki likes Shouto’s black on black fit. Black shirt with a black suit. Only that orange pin sticks out like a sore thumb.

“You don’t look half bad,” Katsuki offers. “For a Japanese flag-looking wannabe.”

“Do you think I should have my hair like this more?” Shouto asks.

It’s half slicked back, half not. You can see all of his scar, the way it reaches back up, to his hairline.

Like this, Katsuki could lean up and kiss his forehead there. If it wasn’t for the fact that the photo would be on the cover of a dozen magazines by tomorrow.

He had a rep.

And Shouto wasn’t his boyfriend. Or his anything.

“Yeah. If you like it.”

“I don’t like the feeling of the gel, when I have to wash it out,” Shouto explains. “But otherwise it’s fine.”

Katsuki thinks about what it might be like, to go home at the end of the night and wash the gel outta Shouto’s hair. Just be with him.

They walk around to the tables, to find out where they’re sitting for the stuffy dinner they’re gonna have to sit through.

They’re not seated together. He frowns. He’s not near Deku either. Or Kiri.

“Go on then,” Katsuki points him towards the direction where he sees the name Shouto.

He’s not expecting Shouto to give his hand a squeeze before walking away. “I’ll find you, after.”

The event isn’t halfway as excruciating as Katsuki expects it to be. The highlight is hearing about some other work that’s been going on, and other initiatives that Katsuki wasn’t personally involved in. Then it’s back to the kinda pat on the back stuff that Katsuki can’t stand. Because it’s fake and it’s unnecessary.

He gets to catch up with Izuku when he goes out in the hallway to get some air and finds him outside making notes for his speech. He’s got an orange pin on too. Katsuki’s not 100% certain it wasn’t Izuku who organized the whole pin thing.

The ordeal is over at around ten. There’s an after party at another one of the hotel’s restaurants that Katsuki does not want to go to. He’s been to that kinda thing before. And it’s always the same. People get loose. They get a bit sloppy. People get together.

And he’s already done his bit tonight. He doesn’t need it.

Except Shouto is going.

Shouto is going, so Katsuki gets swept along, under the pink-purple glow of the restaurant lights. Music blaring overhead so loud no one can hear themselves think.

He needs to be more drunk for this. So he orders a drink. Then another. Until he feels himself loosen. Bubbly. Airy.

Kaminari comes up from behind him, says. “Come on, Kacchan. Dance with me.”

He hasn’t seen Shouto in a while. Shouto. That was the reason he even came.

He goes along as Kaminari drags him into an open space they’ve made by clearing out the chairs. Let’s Kaminari take off his jacket and throw it onto a booth somewhere. He’s gonna have a headache later.

Kaminari smells like something fruity. Not nearly as good as Shouto, who’s muskier, smokier. It’s nice though. He can move. He dances up against Katsuki, almost as if to show him how to do this. The moves to copy.

Leans in to kiss Katsuki’s cheek. Tingly.

“What the fuck?” Katsuki hears himself saying.

“He’s looking,” Kaminari says, shouting over the music. “Your loverboy.”

“My what?”

Kaminari turns him around by the shoulders, and Katsuki sees. Across the room. Beyond the people dancing and grinding and god knows what else. Shouto, in a booth with Shinsou and Monoma, drinking what could be water or vodka, looking right at him. So infuriatingly casual.

Later, Katsuki thinks this was the moment when he lost his mind. Because what else could have compelled him to dance like that, with Kaminari of all people. What else could have convinced him it was a remotely good idea?

It’s not that he didn’t think he had it in him, once he’d seen how Kaminari moved. Watched a few other people. He could do it too. Even drunk. Even with all kinds of bullshit emotions rushing through his head.

He hears someone whistle at him. Feels people watching him. Wanting him. And it feels damn good.

Kaminari spins him into someone else. Sero. He’s handsier, and Katsuki’s okay with that, because he can be casual, just like everybody else. Sero puts his hands on Katsuki’s waist as they dance, even whispers in his ear and asks. “You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki says, a bit too loudly. “Fucking great.”

He’s not actually sure how long it lasts, his little display. Just that it pushes him further and further out the confines of reason, until he’s leaving the floor where everybody’s dancing and walking over to Shouto.

Because it’s always been Shouto for him, hasn’t it?

Shouto who gives him forehead kisses and could maybe want him, probably does want him, especially if it's just for one night. Who wouldn’t? Katsuki knows how good he looks. Knows that the only thing that normally stands in the way isn’t a problem right now.

Monoma and Shinsou are gone. So he slides into the booth on the opposite side as Shouto. Slides the penthouse key across the table.

“Hey. Peppermint. You wanna get outta here?”

“With you?”

“Who the fuck else?”

“Yes.”

Ha. Clinched it.

*

Katsuki’s a little less sure when they walk out of there. Not really caring who saw.

When they’re back under regular light, around people who are being normal, he starts to get antsy again. But he can’t stop this now.

“Are you alright?” Shouto asks, even as he follows, right in step. “You’ve been acting differently.”

“Never been better.”

“Okay.”

Then they’re in the elevator. Katsuki’s heart is still beating fast. It’s Shouto who takes the keycard and presses the number for the highest floor, reaching across Katsuki to do it. His face is inches from Katsuki’s. His pupils are dilated.

Katsuki’s not sure who moves first. But one moment they’re breathing, faces close. Then the next he’s grabbing onto Shouto’s shirt collar, while Shouto pushes him back against the elevator wall, still managing to tilt his head right into the softest kiss.

His lips are so warm.

He kisses Katsuki again and again. Cupping the back of his head with one hand, his fingers curl at Katsuki’s neck. The white part of his bangs flops forward and even the red side starts coming loose from its gel hold. 

He presses his whole body against Katsuki’s, holds him there, forcing his back against the other floor buttons. He kisses the corner of Katsuki’s mouth before going down to kiss at his neck.

Katsuki’s whole body thrums with the feeling of him, heat buzzing under his skin. He feels tipsy all over again—laughs out loud.

They make it to the room holding hands. Shouto pauses to kiss him on the way. His neck. His mouth. His cheek. He mumbles something Katsuki doesn’t quite get. But it doesn’t matter. This feels right. It’s going to make everything right.

“I want this,” Katsuki assures.

He lies back down on the bedspread and pulls Shouto down with him. The anxiety starts to build. The familiar sensation of something being wrong, with him, with the way this could go. His ability to perform.

“Katsuki,” Shouto says, pressing another kiss against his mouth. “Wait. Slow down.”

“You don’t…you don’t want to?”

He can’t. Couldn’t take it if Shouto doesn’t want to.

“No. But it….it can’t just be about what I want,” Shouto says, and he’s stopped making sense.

He stopped making sense the moment he stopped kissing Katsuki the way he was in the elevator. And god. Is he stopping now because Katsuki was shit at that?

“Fuck,” he says, and he’s starting to feel sick.

Physically sick.

The next thing he knows he’s throwing up what he drank over the penthouse’s fancy toilet. Shouto is there, rubbing his back, and it’s humiliating. He tells him to leave. When he comes up for air, between puking up his guts. Makes a couple violent threats about what’s going to happen if he doesn’t.

It’s no use though.

“You never drink like this,” Shouto murmurs.

He washes Katsuki’s face with a cold washcloth and settles him into the bed. Katsuki’s head is pounding.

This is not how this was supposed to go.

“You’ll sleep it off,” Shouto says. “It’ll be better in the morning.”

He’s wrong. It’s never going to be fucking better.

“Get out,” Katsuki says weakly, as he rests his head against Shouto’s chest, feels the crushing sensation of defeat. “Don’t want you. Fuckin’ hate you.”

Shouto mumbles something into his hair. His name, maybe. A scolding.

Katsuki remembers being held like that, so close, until he either blacks out or falls asleep.

Chapter Text

Katsuki drifts in and out.

Only vaguely aware of his own body then not at all.

He remembers feeling like he’s overdressed for bed, possibly saying so, and someone slips off his tie. Undoes his belt.

He’s gotta be dreaming.

The room is the perfect temperature.

Katsuki’s body is warm in the right places and cool in the right places. And if he ever starts to not feel fucking perfect, a movement, one he doesn’t even have to think about, his arm moved here or his face turned there, makes it right. Makes it better.

His head hurts…for some reason that’s buried deeper than he can reach. He needs water and he doesn’t like the taste in his own mouth. But it’s good where he is. He can deal.

When sunlight starts filtering through the blinds he doesn’t wake up. Normally he’s awake at six, but he can’t be fucking bothered. He only stirs for a moment before slipping back into sleep.

It’s much later in the day when his eyes snap open. When reality starts to hit.

The night they had. Where he is.

(And who’s with him.)

His face is pressed into Shouto’s neck, breathing in the fading scent of his cologne. Shouto’s arm is thrown over him, his hand grasping loosely at Katsuki’s back.

Shouto’s still wearing the black shirt from last night, but no jacket. The jacket covers them both, the lining on the inside is silky soft and cool to the touch, and it's the first thing that Katsuki nudges off of himself.

Shouto’s still asleep, his mouth is slightly open, clothes crumpled. He’s dead to the world. So there’s one less thing to deal with as Katsuki’s mind starts to race, as he starts to process what a massive, monumental fuck-up this is.

They were gonna—and then they didn’t—and then—god.

A cold chill runs down his spine.

He needs to leave. He needs to leave now.

Katsuki slips out from under Shouto’s arm. Gets to the edge of the bed, sits up and puts his feet on the ground. He still can’t hear himself think. His heart’s pounding so fucking loud.

It was thoughtless. How could he even think of doing something like that? How could he even think that he could get away with something like that?

They didn’t even get to—and then Shouto was there. While Katsuki did the most fundamentally unsexy thing a person could do, probably. And Shouto’s still here. Sleep soft and warm, the way he felt up to the moment Katsuki untangled himself from him.

He could leave a note, probably, if he can think of something to say quickly enough. Or leave first and send a text later. Not a thank you. Just…something to let Shouto know he left and he’s fine and this never fucking happened.

Okay so that’s a plan. That’s the only plan. The only way Katsuki thinks he can survive this. He’s gotta leave and just…have distance. Stay away and pretend like everything’s good and he’s just doing so goddamn great.

It feels wrong though. He’s not…he’s not the type to run away.

He doesn’t…cower. And hide. And play pretend.

He’s not built for that.

Shouto sneezes. He’s got this quiet little sneeze that’s completely unserious. Katsuki turns to face him, watches his mismatched eyes flutter open.

Katsuki looks at the way Shouto’s white hair is splayed out on the pillow, the red side looks almost artfully messy—the leftover gel gives it a soft curl.

“Are you…leaving?” Shouto squints, his voice is low and rough, cracked along the edges.

He looks…confused. Not in a sad or angry way. Just…as if he actually expected Katsuki to stay. Which doesn’t make sense. He knows Katsuki too well to expect him to just…deal with something like this.

It’s not—

His mind flashes to a conversation they’d had. Forever ago.

Shouto had told him what their sleeping arrangements were like growing up. In the Todoroki house of hell.

Like most of the things Shouto volunteered, Katsuki hadn’t fucking asked. Shouto had just told him. Matter-of-factly. Like he was reading off the local news.

Shouto’s brothers and his sis had slept in one big room together. Next to that room there was a toy room, with two computers, a bookshelf full of books and a box full of toys and games. But Shouto slept in a big room all by himself.

His mom used to sleep next to him, but after she was gone, he used to sleep there alone. And Shouto…he wasn’t allowed into the toy room. As far as Katsuki knows, he still hasn’t been in there. Even on his visits back to the house.

It was somehow implied that Shouto hadn’t mentioned this to anyone else.

“I don’t want everyone to worry about me,” he’d said it several times, before and after they’d graduated. “Especially if it’s something that happened in the past.”

So he’d started keeping the oversharing to a minimum. Which suited Katsuki just fine.

But it was also implied that Katsuki was not everyone. Because Shouto would tell him these things, when they spent time together alone, and then they’d move on.

It was never a big deal or anything. Katsuki just figured he needed to say it out loud.

He understood the urge.

He never said anything about what Shouto told him to anybody. Barely even responded beyond noting that it was some loser shit, on the part of Endeavor, to pull something like that.

Calling his dad colorful names usually made Shouto smile to himself, and that was what Katsuki tried to aim for. Only ‘cause he lived for making everything a challenge. Which he fully intended to win.

Katsuki thinks about that big room now.

How Shouto musta looked when he was younger, just five years-old. He thinks about how fuckin’ often Shouto stays the night in his spare bedroom, just a short walk away from the bedroom where Katsuki sleeps.

He thinks about how Shouto likes to just…be together all the time. How clingy he is.

How he’ll come over just to sit next to Katsuki and do his own thing, never even saying anything.

Shouto’s dodge reflex in hand-to-hand has always been a split second faster than Katsuki’s. His skin bruises easily when Katsuki does land a hit on him. But he can ice himself with his cold hand to keep the swelling down.

Out in the field, Katsuki has to keep an eye on him, because even when he breaks a few ribs he’ll walk around like he’s fine. Like the way cats hide their pain to prevent themselves from being seen as weak to potential predators—something Shouto told him about one time, again, unprompted. 

After sparring once, Shouto had told him what he supposed was the reason why. Why he was like that. That it wasn’t a bug in his code; it was a fucking feature. That he’d gotten good dodging his father’s fists. During endless rounds of practice. Since he was four.

That he also practiced dissociating from physical sensations when in pain, so he could continue until his body forced him to stop.

That same year Katsuki had bothered his own dad for movie tickets and arcade passes and he’d gotten a brand new bicycle for his fourth birthday, with red and blue paint.

It makes Katsuki real fucking angry. Sometimes. When he thinks about the things Shouto tells him. But he never pulls his punches.

Why would he?

Shouto is still Shouto. This makes no difference. It’s just a part of him.

Just like there’s a part of Shouto that’s not gonna get it if Katsuki says yeah, he’s gonna leave. He’s gonna leave Shouto alone here in this big room after everything. This fucking shit last night. And everything they went through before.

With Izuku. With Tomura. With Touya.

So he makes a decision.

“Not leaving,” Katsuki says, voice hoarse. “Just…bathroom.”

He goes to the suite’s only bathroom. Leans over the sink, breathing in and out until he feels himself start to steady.

There’s only one way to get him to stop beating himself up over shit, and it’s to get activated into giving a fuck about somebody else.

Didn’t use to happen all that often.

The cold water feels good as he splashes it on his face. He takes more deep breaths. There’s some complimentary mouthwash in the medicine cabinet that he uses.

He unbuttons the dress shirt he was wearing from last night and shrugs it off his shoulders. More comfortable in the undershirt beneath it. It’s similar enough to the sleeveless shirts he used to wear all the time in high school. Just white instead of black.

Then he goes back out. Sits down again on the edge of the bed. Sighs.

“I don’t wanna talk,” he says. “Not…not now.”

Shouto nods. He’s still lying there over the sheets.

Katsuki’s still tired. And he’s blocked himself out of leaving. He’s hit rock bottom. In terms of what his ego can take.

So what the hell.

Not like it can get any worse.

He gets in bed next to Shouto again, of his own accord this time. Facing away, his back is to Shouto’s front. It’s better that way. Not looking at each other.

He can feel Shouto thinking about it. Knows what he wants.

Katsuki doesn’t want to owe this bastard anything. For last night. So…he can allow it.

“Go. Ahead,” he says. “Fucking commit.”

Shouto puts his arm around Katsuki’s middle, pulls him into his chest.

It’s quiet for a while. At least a couple minutes. All he can hear is Shouto’s breathing. Shouto’s arm stays gingerly tucked in place, his palm over Katsuki’s ribs.

Shouto has this thing he does when he’s thinking. He’ll tap his fingers in a random pattern against anything solid. A desk, if he’s sitting down. His own thigh. Index. Middle. Ring. Ring. Middle. Index. It’s slow.

Katsuki has a similar thing, except it’s fast. He’ll twirl a pencil between his thumb and index finger. Make it spin. Not everyone can do it. It’s clearly so much cooler than Shouto’s thing.

Which Shouto is currently doing. Having lowered his hand from Katsuki’s ribs down to his lower stomach.

Katsuki puts his own hand down to hold Shouto’s hand still. ‘Cause the slow tippy tap is bothering him.

He grips Shouto’s hand tight, to make sure he doesn’t start up again. His stomach rises and falls underneath Shouto’s touch.

He doesn’t normally pay this much attention to the sound of his own breath.

Shouto’s doing a surprisingly good job holding onto his implicit promise to shut the fuck up. Never could manage to quit yappin’ the millions of times before when Katsuki’s told him to drop something.

On the field, they can do this trick. Where Katsuki can look at Shouto, and know what he’s gonna do next. Where he wants Katsuki to be so they can execute together. The eye contact can even be secondary, if Shouto just touches him a certain way, or moves himself a certain way, Katsuki can tell what their next move is, together. Like Shouto’s built into his own muscle memory.

It’s like that now.

With Shouto softly mouthing at the nape of his neck. Breathing on him. Tentative, not even kisses.

He’s waiting for a signal. A stop or a go.

Katsuki slips their hands under his own shirt. So Shouto’s palm brushes against his bare skin. He keeps a firm grip on Shouto’s hand. Likes the feeling of Shouto’s body behind him. Shouto’s dick in those dress pants, getting hard against his backside.

This…he could do. He can teach. And Shouto’s waiting. Asking to be shown.

“Don’t get too excited,” he warns, voice low.

He can feel Shouto’s nod. Slips Shouto’s hand with his under the waistband of his pants and underwear.

He shows Shouto the way he’d do it if he was getting himself off. Shouto’s hand is about the same size as his, only his fingers are longer, and he might not be used to how sweaty Katsuki is at his extremities.

“Like…like that,” Katsuki whispers.

Then…slowly. He positions Shouto’s hand around his dick, coaxing him into moving. He’s getting hard in Shouto’s hand. Leans back against him.

Shouto presses impossibly close, kisses the side of his neck, under his ear. Doesn’t stop doing what he’s told. The way Katsuki’s shown him to.

Feels good. All warm and melty inside. ‘Course it does. Katsuki’s a fuckin’ good teacher. Has to be. Or it’d have taken an act of God to get fuckin’ Short Circuit to learn calculus. But Katsuki doesn’t wanna think about Kaminari right now.

Shouto’s here. Holding on to him so tight. Kissing him and touching him and wanting him.

Katsuki adjusts him a bit. Ups the pace.

“Mmhm, good,” he confirms.

Doesn’t stifle a moan.

Bit of…positive reinforcement.

Something’s missing. “Talk.”

“What should I say?” Shouto whispers.

“Don’t care.”

Katsuki’s dick is wet at the tip, and Shouto smears the pre-cum up and down the shaft. The smoother slide feels better.

“This is how you like it?” Shouto asks.

It’s a legitimately practical question. Coming from him. But oddly tender.

“Yeah.”

“You sound different,” Shouto says. “Are you feeling good?”

“The fuck do you think?”

“I think you feel good,” Shouto says. “But I want to make you come.”

“Earn it,” Katsuki taunts.

But he knows they’re already going that way. He imagines Shouto turning him over and kissing him, hot and languid, taking him in his hand, face to face.

The fantasy blends into the reality of Shouto’s other hand wandering under his tank top, up to his chest. Fingering over his nipples. Shouto kissing his bare shoulder. He thinks about Shouto’s hard cock, about Shouto getting off to Katsuki’s pleasure.

He imagines taking Shouto in hand, taunting him, edging him until he begs. He wonders if Shouto would get demanding, or pouty the way he does about where he sits on planes. Needy bastard.

“You’re sweet like this,” Shouto says.

It’s the kind of comment that would earn him an earful, normally, but right now it hits. Like an excited little zing. That Shouto likes him like this. The way he’s never been, for anyone else. With anyone else.

Despite the disgusting choice of words.

Shouto nudges his leg between Katsuki’s, a better position to rut like a fucking animal against Katsuki’s ass.

Katsuki has a fantasy running through his mind, of them kissing for hours on a sofa in some nebulous place that doesn’t exist. Naked. Lying there, skin to skin. Shouto getting him off like this and him returning the favor. Shouto’s hand on his ass, a tight grip. Shouto getting off while feeling him up.

Then the fantasy slams right into the reality of Shouto enveloping him, and then the only thing he can focus on is Shouto’s hands on him.

One groping his chest. The other sliding up and down his dick. 

Shouto’s voice in his ears. Mumbling nonsense.

He feels so fuckin’ sensitive. Warm. 

Everything he feels is Shouto. Only Shouto. 

His Shouto.

’Cause who else would Shouto belong to? Who else would he even touch like this?

“M’close,” Katsuki says, shucking down his pants, while Shouto yanks his underwear down with it.

So close. So close. So close.

“Mm. You can. You’re so good. Feel so perfect.”

He cries out, coming in spurts all over Shouto’s hand, shaking in Shouto’s arms through the aftershocks. “Fuck. Shit.”

Over the fancy hotel sheets.

For a moment there, everything’s really fucking good. Bright and airy like a sunlit day. The relief is palpable. He’s not fucking stressed…like always.

He hears Shouto’s breath hitch. The sound of rustling fabric. Shouto pants against his back, jerks forward and then...stills. 

Katsuki feels...nice.

Relaxed. He isn’t thinking. Brain turned off. 

They lie there for a while. In the mess.

“I could…” Katsuki says, turning around. “Return the favor.”

“I um…” Shouto says.

“No fucking way,” Katsuki can’t help but smirk. “That easy?”

“You were very…expressive. After you came, it didn’t take much, for me.”

“Still.”

Shouto’s wiping off his sticky hand on the sheets. The hand he had in Katsuki’s pants.

Katsuki doesn’t know how he’s ever supposed to be normal about Shouto, and Shouto’s hands, ever again. Without thinking about…this.

“I couldn’t help it,” Shouto says, and suddenly Katsuki can tell that he…’cause his face is all flushed and his bangs are slightly askew, what a messy bastard. “I’m very attracted to you.”

“You’re supposed to sweet talk someone to get them into bed with you, not after.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Then…Katsuki starts to feel…like there’s something he should say.

The first thing that comes to mind is good game, which he remembers being forced to say during the brief interlude when he was in Football Club as a kid, before he got fucking bored and mad that the coaches wanted him to pass to extras who couldn’t even score if their life depended on it.

The next thing that comes to mind is that he can hear Shouto thinking. It’s annoying. It sounds exactly the same as Shouto not thinking, except he’ll make a different face, knit his eyebrows and then say something like “why do you think humans are the only upright apes to develop quirks?” or some other mindfuck. Which’ll end up bothering Katsuki for days.

“Stop it,” he snaps.

“I’m just breathing,” Shouto says. “If I stop breathing…I’ll die.”

“Good,” Katsuki huffs.

“I know you don’t want me to die,” Shouto says. “You like me.”

He sounds so sure.

“What makes you think that?”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Shouto says, the same explanation he gave all that time ago, when asked why he thought they were friends.

This time Katsuki doesn’t dispute it, it’s actually a little funny to him that Shouto’s metric for relationships hasn’t changed in over ten years. “That it?”

“You kissed me…in the elevator.”

“Uh-uh, you kissed me,” Katsuki corrects. “You were looking at me all night. Fucking perv.”

“I was,” Shouto admits. “But when we got up here…it didn’t seem like you were having a good time. So I didn’t want to anymore.”

“How the fuck do you get to know and decide if I’m having a good time?”

“The look on your face…” Shouto says. “I didn’t want it like that.”

“How’d you want it, then?” Katsuki asks, the same way he usually asks Shouto how he wants his eggs done.

It’s always sunny-side up. Stupid bastard.

“I feel really gross right now,” Shouto says. “Do you think we could shower first and then have this talk?”

“Answer the question,” Katsuki insists.

He’s starting to get antsy again. ‘Cause he’s not exactly sure how Shouto is seeing this. Whether it was a one time thing or if he…if they could do it again.

God.

Katsuki wants them to do it again.

“More like…just now. You were more like you,” Shouto says.

It’s the worst explanation possible. It doesn’t even really mean anything.

“Hah?”

“Like…the way you are when you cook. Or spar with me. Or…compete about things with Izuku.”

“Yeah. I’m real fucking good at those things,” Katsuki says. “Sparring. Making food. It’s just…training. Practice.”

“How is this any different?”

“Uh-huh. So I’m just supposed to jump you whenever I feel like it? Like goddamn drills?”

“I don’t think we could do it whenever you want,” Shouto says. “We would need to be alone first. Assuming neither of us are prohibitively injured and guaranteed to have the next fifteen minutes free.”

“Fuck.”

“Weekends would probably work best,” Shouto says.

“Jesus. I get it.”

“Maybe the occasional weeknight, if we didn’t have patrol before. I’m usually pretty tired after patrol.”

“...you wanna do this,” Katsuki says. “Seriously.”

He doesn’t do favors. He would rather die than get a pity fuck from anybody, let alone Shouto. It’s absolutely critical that Shouto wants this at least as much or preferably more than Katsuki does.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” Shouto admits. “But I never wanted to force it.”

Katsuki’s heart beat spikes again. A long time. How long is a long time?

Before graduation. Or after. Before Katsuki died. Or after. Before the kidnapping, even? No. The sports festival? Not possible.

“Fine,” Katsuki says. “We’ll do it then.”

“What. Exactly.”

Katsuki can’t quite say.

Doesn’t think he can get to more clarity than what he has now without risking more than he wants to. “What you’re askin’ me.”

“Okay,” Shouto nods, satisfied.

He looks so fuckin’ happy. “I really need to shower.”

“I’ll call and have them send clothes up to the room,” Katsuki says.

That’s the perk of staying in places like this and being pros. People will get you anything you want. It’s been awhile since he’s taken advantage. But he doesn’t wanna slink out of here in last night’s clothes.

“You should ask them if anyone recovered your suit jacket last night,” Shouto says, getting up and making his way over to the bathroom door. “I saw Kaminari throw it somewhere before–”

“Get lost,” Katsuki cuts him off. “Don’t talk to me until you’re clean.”

Last night’s still off limits.

However–

“You want me to come wash your fucking hair?” Katsuki asks.

‘Cause he remembers the thing with the gel and how Shouto doesn’t like the feel of it.

Also, Shouto got him off but he didn’t actively get Shouto off, only passively contributed to it. So they’re not even yet. And that bothers him.

“You would?”

“Are you deaf? I just said–”

“Okay. I’ll call you in a few minutes,” Shouto says, smiling to himself.

What a loser.

Katsuki groans, chucks his discarded pants at the back of Shouto’s half and half head.

*

It takes ages before Shouto actually calls for him.

Katsuki was starting to wonder if Shouto was so frickin’ happy he finally got to touch Katsuki’s dick that he passed out and drowned or something.

He’s not…nervous about this.

It’s just...the light, maple-syrupy feeling from before’s gone. The headache from last night’s gone too.

Which means he’s himself again. Which Shouto allegedly likes. Though Katsuki’s still not sure what Shouto means by that. Because he’s always him. And that’s something Katsuki can’t stand about himself, because it makes shit like this difficult. Like pulling teeth.

He can’t even turn it off. Not really.

Except he did, didn’t he. When Shouto was touching him. When he was telling Shouto how to touch him.

Interesting.

He puts a pin in that thought. Because he’s not fucking Deku, and he’s not about to get a notepad out and start overanalyzing.

It’s a literal call. Because his phone starts buzzing.

Unbelievable.

Katsuki brings the phone in there with him, puts it next to Shouto’s which is sitting on the edge of the sink. The steam’s gone and fogged up the place.

He rips the curtain open. “Why the fuck would you call me?”

Shouto’s skin is so pink, gotta be all the hot water. Katsuki takes him time, just looking at him. Being looked at seems to make Shouto fluster a bit, so that’s just a bonus.

Katsuki doesn’t get it. He’s not like this when everyone else ogles him. And god they do.

Everyone knows Shouto’s pretty. But not everyone gets to see him like this.

Lifting his own wet bangs up with one hand, so he can make decent eye contact while speaking, like the well-mannered fucker he is. “I wasn’t sure what to say. So I decided to just call you to let you know.”

“You’re so stupid,” Katsuki says, and he’s grinning, which is weird, ‘cause people being dumb doesn’t generally thrill him.

But given the end of last night, today could have gone a lot worse.

He lifts his white undershirt over his head. Then gets in under the water next to Shouto, shoving him over a bit ‘cause he’s hoggin’ the spray.

“I’ve heard that only children have a hard time learning how to share,” Shouto says.

“You want me to share?” Katsuki asks, he looks toward the hand shower which is hanging off a metal knob on one of the shower walls.

Usually if you turn one on it’ll stop the spray from overhead, but this place is fancy. So maybe…

He flips the switch on it and sprays Shouto in the chest with the water pressure high. Temperature lukewarm.

“I can share.”

Shouto sighs, as if he’s the reasonable one between the two of them, pushes Katsuki against the tile backsplash—like he did in the elevator, before. He tries to wrestle the hand spray out of Katsuki’s grip. Key word: tries. 

His eyes are closed, which is good, ‘cause then Katsuki can lean up and kiss him. Like he’s wanted to.

It takes Shouto by surprise, which was the goal. But he’s willing, just like he said he said he’d be. So honest. Too honest, sometimes. But right now that works for Katsuki.

They kiss for a moment, under the hot water. Katsuki holds onto Shouto’s face, and everything’s wet and slippery.

When they break apart, Katsuki turns him around. Squeezes one of Shouto’s ass cheeks, which earns him a noise. “Was that necessary?”

“Absolutely.”

It’s actually not the first time they’ve showered together, obviously. Given the way things were set up in the dorms, somewhat communal, all the guys did.

But it’s not even the first time they’ve showered together, just them two. Except it’s really different and not at all fun or sexy or even good, to shower because you’re covered in mud and blood and it’s not even entirely your own and seconds away from falling asleep standing up, in some shower stall in god knows where or at some agency safehouse.

Those times, there’s no frills and no other goal except getting cleaned up enough to get to the next place they’re tryna go. If Shouto ever tries to talk to him, it’s because he’s found more injuries on Katsuki than he bothered to report up the chain, and he doesn’t approve—even if he does the same exact thing himself.

Now though, they could take all the time they want.

Katsuki reaches for the shampoo, squeezes it out onto his palm and then works it into Shouto’s scalp.

He’s more aggressive with his own hair. Since it can take it, and sticks up the way it does no matter how he does it. But he doesn’t do that with Shouto.

He’s slow and deliberate and he’s so focused on what he’s doing that he doesn’t notice that Shouto’s quiet.

“You good?” Katsuki asks.

“Yes,” Shouto says.

For a second it feels like he’s going to say something else. But then he doesn’t. So Katsuki lets that go.

Katsuki closes his eyes.

Huh. “Feels the same. Both sides.”

It’s surprising. ‘Cause a lot of other things about each side of Shouto are different. Sensitivity. Temperature, obviously. He gets sweatier on his left side. Fidgets more with that hand too.

“My hair is soft like my mother’s,” Shouto says.

“Mm.”

The hair gel, or what’s left of it, is kind of an unpleasant, tacky texture against Katsuki’s fingers. He can tell why Shouto doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t mind it so much. He rinses it out, the lather too, until the water runs clear.

*

It’s when they’re about to leave, dressed in new clean clothes, that Shouto stops him with a hand on his arm. “I don’t think we can go out at the same time. We’d be seen.”

Katsuki feels a twinge of annoyance…and something else.

Would it be that bad for Shouto to be seen with him?

But. Right. Of course. It’s the middle of the day. Place could be swarming with paps for all he knows.

“I just mean–”

“No. I got it. One pic and they’ll announce us as a fucking couple,” Katsuki snaps. “Okay. I’ll go first.”

Shouto’s quiet again.

Even though it was his call.

“Alright,” Shouto says finally. “I’ll wait forty minutes.”

Probably for the best that they ironed that out before leaving here. That this was gonna be casual. Whatever they’re gonna do after they leave. Even though the way they were before, in bed, and in the shower made Katsuki think that maybe–whatever.

It’s good. Fine.

He definitely wants to do what he did with Shouto again. Today’s part, more, and not at all what went down last night. He wants to feel the way he felt, not overthinking a thing. The relief he felt, after. They could maybe even…work up to doing more. It could be fun. He can see it. He knows it.

Shouto wants him. He said so.

And they’re…friends.

Or, no.

That’s not it.

If Katsuki had to admit it, if he was close to death or in the liminal space after it, he would say they were pretty much family. Not in a weird incesty kinda way, given what they just did. But...like him and Deku. In the way that there’s no version of his life where he doesn’t have Shouto in it, lingering in his awkward cat staring at you from a window kinda way.

In a way that means there’s nothing, pretty much, that Shouto could do, to push himself out of Katsuki’s inner circle of people he protects. People he’d do fucking anything for.

So that’s all that matters, right?

“Forty minutes,” Katsuki confirms.

Shouto gives him a small smile. Does an awkward little thumbs up. He looks…kinda cute. Honestly.

Katsuki pushes the stray thought away from his mind. Somehow it already feels like whatever sense of peace and comfort was his to keep in this room is already slipping from him.

Par for the course. Whenever he holds on tight to something is when he loses it.

“Wait,” Shouto says.

“What?”

Shouto grabs his face and presses a quick kiss on his forehead. It’s over quick but it just…makes everything lighter. Easier.

‘Cause if he does that then things are still mostly the same.

They’re fine. 

“This just a thing with you, now?” Katsuki asks.

“I suppose so.”

“Weirdo,” Katsuki says, shoves Shouto’s face away with a hand on his head, ruffling his damp hair.

Only Shouto could do more weird shit to make a weird situation feel normal again. Almost like it cancels out.

“Bye,” Shouto says and he smiles a little wider.

The way he tends to do nowadays when Katsuki manhandles him. Which is maybe enough of a reason to do it more.

“Be safe,” Shouto says. “Look both ways before crossing the street.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“…you’d walk into traffic just to not listen to me?”

“Fuck off and die,” Katsuki mutters. But the moment leaves the room and starts walking down the hall, it feels like he’s already missing something. 

He makes it all the way home before he lets himself think about Shouto’s hands, the way they felt—warm, steady. Takes his shoes off in a daze. Then collapses on the bed, fully clothed.

Thinks of Shouto getting home to his dumb cat. Thinking of him putting his shoes and his jacket away. Getting into his stupid lounge clothes, the blue check pants and the white shirt that’s kinda see-through. For hot days.

He thinks of Shouto making himself some tea. He thinks of Shouto texting his mom, which he does at least once a day.

Thinks of him and thinks of him and thinks of him until he can’t fucking think anymore.

Chapter Text

Saturday mornings are when Katsuki goes to see Izuku.

Not at UA. Where he’s got a classroom and an office, but at one of the agencies downtown, which has an honorary desk for Izuku, for ‘consulting’ work.

How much consulting Izuku actually does up there is questionable. Most of the time Katsuki’s seen him sit there and grade papers. But enough pros wanted Izuku to have an excuse to continue hangin’ around ‘em.

There’s not a lot that collective clout and the weight of public opinion can’t get done. Like it or not. And Katsuki likes it fine if it works in his favor.

Katsuki may or not have lobbied pretty hard for this nerd to have a spot here. But he never told him and they’re…okay now, so even if Izuku knew, it wouldn’t be life-changing information.

Saturday mornings are also when Shouto’s gonna be with his mom.

So when Katsuki gets in at floor one and presses the button for floor fifty-five, he’s got no reason to think this bastard is gonna be here.

“Excuse me, sorry,” Shouto says, before he lets himself in, one hand stretched out to keep the elevator from closing.

He’s absent, unfocused, so it takes him a second to even notice Katsuki’s there, as the elevator closes with a ding. “Oh.”

It’s been a few days since they…since the—jeez. “Don’t make this weird.”

Last time they were in an elevator, Katsuki had just come onto him. The last time they were in an elevator, they’d kissed for the first time in a way that was worthy of every half-baked teenage lust-filled thought Katsuki’d ever had about the guy. There’d been a zing. Katsuki knew there would be and he’s never ever wrong.

But now Shouto’s quiet. “Hi.”

He’d stuck his hand down Katsuki’s pants and fondled his junk for the better part of ten minutes and now he says hi.

It’s not even Shouto’s usual hi. Still on the surface but deeply pleased underneath, ready to insert himself into Katsuki’s day and confident that he belongs in it.

It’s cold. Polite. Formal. Not the overly familiar shit Katsuki’s gotten used to from everybody in his fucking life, and he—he hates it.

“Stop it,” Katsuki snaps, unnerved.

“Mm.”

No smart ass comeback. No smug little look.

Is this because Katsuki didn’t call him? Didn’t…check in? He didn’t think Shouto would care about shit like that. He knows who Katsuki is. He said he wants Katsuki to be more like himself. He said he liked that. Was he lying?

Katsuki glances over at Shouto. Notices his shirt is kinda damp, rumpled, like it was put on in a rush. It’s this baby blue color that matches his eye. His cheeks are slightly flushed. He’s…off.

It’s you. It’s your fault.

Katsuki slams the button for the next floor, twenty-two, with his fist. Storms out of there before he says or does something he’ll regret. He doesn’t even know what the fuck he did wrong.

Other people get on, giving him a wide berth since he’s Bakugou Katsuki and he looks mad, and that’s always been enough of a reason not to get close. Which is unequivocally one of the best parts of being him. The best.

And he doesn’t need anyone to get close to him. He doesn’t.

He doesn’t make a single wrong turn finding the stairwell, and fuck if it isn’t a long way up. Thirty stories. 

He could just cancel. But then his phone buzzes and it’s Deku and he wants to ask Katsuki if they can push their thing forward a few minutes. Shouto stopped by, he said it was important.

Important. But not something he can tell Katsuki. Even though Shouto tells Katsuki everything. Things that Katsuki doesn’t even wanna know, never even fucking asked. How he had this old stuffed cat, the only toy he ever owned. Faded blue. His old man had burnt it down to ash when Shouto was seven, as a lesson on what happens when you’re too slow to defend.

And Katsuki’s the one who’s spent over three years, at rummage sales, online listings, trying to find the exact same one. Because acquiring it would be a show of skill, and because Shouto wouldn’t expect it and he’d smile and he’d know the things that Katsuki can’t say.

The way he feels.

Shouto’s told him the smaller, unimportant shit too. Irritating stuff. His favorite cereal, when he eats cereal. Plain corn flakes. His favorite 80s pop song, Mayonaka no Door by Matsubara Miki, which Katsuki fought him over, because it came out in 1979 and decades mean something. He can’t just say something feels like it belongs in the 80s and get away with it.

So what?

It was you. You ruined it.

Katsuki texts back that it’s fine and he’s got shit to do anyway. What he doesn’t say is that his shit to do is climbing up thirty flights of stairs ‘cause he didn’t wanna be in an elevator with Shouto for another minute. Being cordial. His ass was being cordial.

Izuku texts back a million emojis of understanding and gratitude and it’s so grating that Katsuki blocks him. Just for now.

He wonders if the thing they’re talking about up there is about them. About Shouto not knowing how to tell Katsuki that he doesn’t wanna be with him, and how that’s hard, ‘cause Shouto’s whole thing is savin’ everybody and putting their oxygen masks on first while he chokes.

If it’s that he shoulda just come out and said so. Katsuki’s a goddamn adult, he can handle it when someone says no. He doesn’t feel like he’s owed shit.

He keeps fucking climbing. Air’s gettin’ thinner. He looks out the window and sees that it’s raining. He’s got a jacket on, but Shouto wasn’t wearing one. That’s uncommonly thoughtless, even for an empty-headed bastard like him.

No jacket. Damp shirt. Saturday. The day when he’s normally supposed to see his mom. He came here in a rush.

Ah.

Shit.

Katsuki jogs up the remaining flights. He needs to get to Shouto before he’s gone. This fucking moron.

When he gets there though, there’s just a long hallway with a light on at the end of it. And inside is only the most annoying person Katsuki’s ever met. Sitting at his desk, tapping his foot, like Katsuki’s a student who was caught duct taping “kick me” to the back of other kids’ shirts.

Stupid Deku looks every bit the teacher. “You’re sweating, Kacchan. Kind of a lot. Should I be worried?”

Katsuki sighs. “I’ll throw you out that window right now. No, you don’t need to worry. I just…took the stairs.”

“Kacchan’s always been so dedicated to physical fitness. I’m a little impressed. Don’t get me wrong. But also…worried.”

“Hell did I say about you talkin’ about me in the third person?”

“I’m sorry I don’t have a towel, or something, up here? I really should,” Izuku says. “Was the elevator broken? Shouto-kun took the elevator. I should talk to the building manager if both the elevators are broken…”

“Shouto-kun took the elevator,” Katsuki mocks. “You really got nothin’ better to talk about than how I got here?”

“Well, I did want to show you my new class photo,” Izuku says, then he pulls out his phone and shows Katsuki a picture of him and about a dozen kids.

“So these are your brats, huh?”

“They’re really good,” Izuku says. “I’m so excited to work with them. Aizawa-sensei says to take it slow, and set stricter expectations, but I can’t help it. I want them to see me as a resource, and I want to help them unlock their quirks without causing damage. So they can push themselves to be their best…but not feel pressured too?”

“Calm down,” Katsuki advises. “Give ‘em some room.”

Izuku writes that down. “I think I’m calmer than I used to be? A little? Maybe.”

“Yeah.”

“You should come, you know,” Izuku smiles. “Talk to them. They could use a different perspective. From the field. When Shouto was here I was talking to him about coming in too. He said he’d be willing.”

“Anything he’ll do, I’ll do too,” Katsuki says, then adds. “How was he?”

“Okay,” Izuku says. “I think?”

“You think?”

“He’s probably still here,” Izuku says. “He was only up here with me for ten, maybe almost fifteen minutes. Then he said he was going to go wait down in the cafe. To clear his head? I think he knew that you were coming up to see me too, and he didn’t want to interrupt our thing. I told him he should stay and hang out, but…you know. He’s just as stubborn as you, Kacchan. Honestly.”

Izuku gives him a pointed look.

Katsuki knows that look.

He can glare back. Then it’s just an old fashioned stand-off.

But if Shouto’s still here…

“I’ll go see him. But not ‘cause you—forget it.”

He’s got bigger fish to fry than Deku and his sense of moral superiority now that he’s a teacher and he thinks he understands relationships even though he’s a fucking mess of a human being.

So he takes great care in slamming the door in Izuku’s face, and heads to the elevator to get to the ground floor.

The cafe’s called Tazza. Which comes from the Italian word for cup. Shouto doesn’t drink a lot of coffee either, preferring traditional green tea blends. There’s a particular kind of hojicha he usually likes. From the looks of it Tazza isn’t the kinda place that would serve it.

Shouto’s instantly distinguishable, sitting at a circular table in the back. It’s an off day for the agency, so there’s barely any other patrons. He’s got a cup of something, and a white paper napkin he keeps folding and unfolding.

He’s got that same look from before, listless, blurred, like a smudged camera lens.

“Get up,” Katsuki demands the second he gets to the table.

“Katsuki,” Shouto says, blinking back surprise.

He gets up, confused as all hell, and Katsuki takes his jacket and puts it over Shouto’s shoulders. Does the same thing with his orange scarf, tying it around Shouto’s neck.

“Oh,” Shouto says. “I thought you were going to let me have it.”

“Did you?”

Shouto nods, and Katsuki sits him back down, forcibly, into his chair, pulls up another one and sits across from him.

“You looked like you were upset with me, so,” Shouto says. “...and you don’t have to give this to me.”

“I am upset with you,” Katsuki says. “But you keep that on, or we’re gonna have a problem.”

“You said orange wasn’t my color,” Shouto says. “Before.”

“Since when do you listen?”

“All the time. I just don’t always follow your prescriptions.”

He touches the scarf, and he brightens a little, but there’s still a big, angry cloud over him. And that’s just not allowed. No one gets to loom over him like that anymore.

“You went out without a jacket, it’s raining, are you stupid?”

“No. I was in a hurry.”

“To come here? For Deku.”

“I needed to talk to someone,” Shouto says.

Katsuki can’t take it anymore. “And you couldn’t come and talk to me?!”

“I thought…” Shouto says. “You needed some time.”

“No, the fuck,” Katsuki says. “You idiot. You moron. You imbecile. I don’t care what’s goin’ on with us. You come talk when you need it. Do. You. Understand?”

Shouto doesn’t say anything, so Katsuki continues. “You don’t just get to fucking swan around grabbin’ my arm, and saying we’re friends, tellin’ me all this crap about your life and then just decide you’re not allowed to do it anymore. You can always come to me.”

“I wanted to,” Shouto says, finally.

He takes a deep breath, then he puts on Katsuki’s jacket properly. “It’s about Touya-nii.”

“What is?”

“He’s dying. He was always dying…so it’s not like we didn’t know it would happen. You know that I did,” Shouto shrugs. “They told my mom today. She blames herself.”

“And so do you,” Katsuki says softly.

Shouto doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.

“We’ll obviously try further medical intervention,” Shouto says. “I don’t know. There was a part of me that thought that…we might get to be normal together one day. That was stupid.”

“It’s not,” Katsuki says, and he grabs Shouto’s hand, the one under the table.

“I want to stop thinking about it,” Shouto says. “For a little while.”

“Come with me,” Katsuki says. “You’re not doing anything, right?”

Shouto shakes his head.

“I need to settle your bill?” Katsuki asks.

“I didn’t get anything, just water, and that was free,” Shouto says.

“Good. Come on. We’ll get a real fucking drink,” Katsuki says. “This place is for chumps.”

*

“Somehow, when you said a real drink, I thought you meant a bar,” Shouto says.

“I don’t drink.”

“You do, sometimes,” Shouto points out.

Katsuki lets him get away with it, ‘cause he’s goin’ soft.

The tea cafe is on the modern side, bustling with people trying to get in from the rain on a Saturday. There’s delicately framed newspaper clippings on the wall of the owner with visiting dignitaries. According to Kaminari, it’s got a cult following on the internet. And he won’t shut up about it even though he doesn’t even drink tea, or appreciate it.

Katsuki originally wanted to take Shouto to a traditional tea house, but he didn’t wanna walk too far in the rain. He’s certain the traditional experience is what Shouto would like the best, being invited in to sit in a tatami room, the ceremony of it all, tea and sweets.

This is okay.

They have old, yellowing paper menus, none of that QR code bullshit. And it’s quiet.

It’s the kind of place that’s obviously run by a family. Where the kids help out in the serving and the old people hang around playing board games and dishing dirt about goings on in the neighborhood.

“You wanna go to a bar, now?” Katsuki offers, even though he’s not keen.

“No,” Shouto says. “This is good.”

Then he leans forward a little. “Would you really go to a bar right now, for me?”

He’s leaning forward enough that he’s the perfect distance to flick in the forehead, so Katsuki does.

“Ow,” Shouto rubs at the spot, he’s taken worse hits by a factor of a fucking million and never even made a sound.

“Baby,” Katsuki says.

Shouto looks up when he says it, then looks away. “I didn’t bring my wallet.”

For fuck’s sake. “I’ve got it.”

“Thank you,” Shouto says. “I want to try something different.”

“Really cuttin’ loose now that I’m payin’, huh?”

“That’s not why.”

“Sure, it’s not.”

“I think either gyokuro or genmaicha,” Shouto says. “Out of the two…I’d try gyokuro. Last time I had it I liked savoring the taste.”

“Finally. I’ll order.”

Katsuki goes to the front, gets genmaicha for himself and gyokuro for Shouto. Looks back at Shouto sitting in the booth by himself, and orders mochi stuffed with red bean paste too. It won’t really go with the tea, but Shouto will like it.

“Oi,” Katsuki snaps his fingers when he sits down again, offering the sweet, in the delicate white flowered plate, to Shouto. “Eat.”

“Did we order this?”

“Don’t think about it too hard. You’ll strain yourself.”

“It’s good,” Shouto says, trying the first little bite.

“Deku show you his class photo?”

“Yes. It’s sweet. Every year he acts like it's his first year teaching.”

“That’s ‘cause he never learns.”

“I think he’s gotten more self-assured,” Shouto says. “Do you remember what he was like the first year when they got their provisional licenses?”

“Fuckin’ mess.”

“We talked on the phone a lot that week. He wanted my advice. I don’t know if I was helpful.”

“Advice ain’t about the person giving. It’s how the person listening hears it. You could say one thing and someone might hear it as something totally different.”

“That’s true,” Shouto says. “Do you think there’s something I could do? To make sure someone understands exactly what I mean?”

“Nah. Or, maybe. You gotta speak the same language. Not…not like Japanese or English. You gotta be together so much you start seeing the world the same way. Then…maybe, there’d be nothing lost in translation.”

“I see,” Shouto nods. “That’s how I feel about me and Soba. We have our own small world, so even though she can’t speak Japanese and I can’t speak Cat, I know what she wants.”

“She’s a menace. Like you.”

“I warned you not to pet her stomach.”

“Hah?! She rolled over, she was purring.”

“She’s very sensitive there, so it feels good to her for a few seconds, but then she gets overstimulated,” Shouto says.

“Yeah. I still got the scratch marks,” Katsuki holds up the back of his hand.

“She forgives you. She did sit on your lap later.”

“She forgives me?”

“For unintentionally crossing her boundaries.”

“So it’s not crossing my boundaries to fucking up and scratch me?” Katsuki says. “I see how it is.”

“I said sorry on her behalf,” Shouto points out. “An apology which you refused.”

“Yeah. When you’re the one who can rough me up, then you can try and apologize,” Katsuki says. “Until then. Shut the fuck up.”

He doesn’t immediately realize the implication. Fortunately it doesn’t seem like Shouto caught it at all.

Luckily that’s right when they get their tea. Shouto says a prim little thank you to the server and Katsuki follows it up. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Katsuki watches the girl tuck her hair behind her ears when she puts the tea cup in front of Shouto. He sees the way she looks at him. Even though he’s sitting there wearing Katsuki’s jacket and Katsuki’s scarf. Clearly not available for the taking.

“We’re good,” Katsuki snaps when she lingers.

“You don’t have to be rude,” Shouto says.

She wants you, Katsuki wants to say. Can’t you see?

“She can ogle you from over there.”

“She might be looking at you,” Shouto says. “How do you know it’s me?”

‘Cause it’s always you.

“Try your tea,” Katsuki changes the subject.

“You ordered the genmaicha,” Shouto says approvingly, leaning over to waft the steam coming out of Katsuki’s cup. “Can I try some, later?”

“Yeah.”

Shouto ends up having more of Katsuki’s than his own. Katsuki feels a surge of warmth in his chest, ‘cause he’s never not pleased at his own well-played strategy.

“You really are quite handsome,” Shouto says, sipping from the same cup Katsuki drank from. “If I was her, I would be looking at you. I don’t find myself that interesting.”

“It’s the pretty boy aura. The mystique,” Katsuki snorts. “With you.”

“I have an aura?”

“And a stink,” Katsuki laughs.

“You’re the one that smells like sweat today. A little bit.”

“You’d be sweatin’ like a pig too if you had to climb up thirty flights of stairs, goddamn asshole.”

“Is that what you did when you got out of the elevator?”

Katsuki flushes, mutters something about good exercise and lazy fucks.

“Now I feel bad,” Shouto says, and he’s smiling too.

Katsuki kicks his feet under the table, bumps them into Shouto’s. It’s kind of fun, in a stupid, pointless kinda way.

“Let’s go home,” Katsuki says. “I got spare clothes for you at mine. We’ll watch all those old All Might movies Deku likes to quote. The ones you haven’t seen.”

“I’ve only seen the ones I’ve seen with him and you.”

So not that many at all.

Which is fine.

“Good,” Katsuki says. “They’re real special the first time.”

*

Katsuki takes him back to the apartment, walking next to Shouto, hands in his pockets, just listening to him talk.

It had been Shouto who first told him, you’re actually a quiet person, and it’d seemed ridiculous at the time. But it’s true, at least in some ways. He doesn’t like yappin’ for the sake of it.

He likes his own space and he likes control. When he gets loud or angry it’s usually because he feels one or both of those things slipping.

With Shouto next to him, there’s still plenty o’ space, and there’s control too—just not entirely his own, and with Shouto that’s not a bad deal.

Shouto’s not exactly a chatterbox either. So sometimes they’re both quiet.

It stopped raining while they were in the tea cafe.

Katsuki wishes he could take credit.

“Did you ever jump in puddles?” Shouto asks.

“Yeah,” Katsuki says. “But it’s only fun when you’re barefoot. Or your socks stay wet all day at school.”

“So it’s better to do it after school,” Shouto surmises.

“It’s better to do it when you can splash some scrawny kid standing next to you,” Katsuki confesses.

Whatever. Shouto already knows he was a demon child.

“It’s too bad you’re not scrawny then,” Shouto says. “I wanted to try it out.”

“You’d regret it.”

“I don’t think so. I’m sure you’d lend me a spare pair of socks.”

“As if. I’d destroy you in puddles. And I ain’t lendin’ you a thing. You still got my shirt.”

“It’s a good sleep shirt,” Shouto shrugs. “It must be loose on you too, right? You like baggy clothes.”

“You sleep in my shirt?”

“Sometimes.”

Katsuki doesn’t know what to do with that information.

He’s almost certain he likes the idea, but it’s just like Shouto to come out and say shit like that. “Weirdo.”

*

Once they’re home, Katsuki starts making fried rice. He’s got day-old rice in the fridge, which is perfect for it. Leftover vegetables from whatever he didn’t use throughout the week.

Shouto settles himself on the sofa like he belongs there, after taking off Katsuki’s jacket, his scarf, then his own shoes and not-wet socks.

The smell of fried rice while it’s cooking, or anything with caramelizing onions, garlic and chicken cooking on the stovetop, hits good. Katsuki remembers his dad making it and the house smelling great.

“Should I help?” Shouto asks.

“No,” Katsuki snaps.

He comes anyway. Eager to be underfoot. Even though he’s taller than Katsuki is. By an inch or two. All lean muscle and lanky limbs.

“We just ate,” Shouto says. “Couldn’t we relax first?”

“You don’t cook when you’re hungry, you cook two hours before you know you’re gonna be hungry,” Katsuki explains. “It’s like digging a well when you’re thirsty. Stupid.”

This time with Shouto in his kitchen, it feels different. Charged, somehow.

And when he’s stir frying the chicken, Shouto hugs him from behind, tucking his chin over Katsuki’s shoulder, whispering against his neck. “Are you making this thai-style, Sichuan or Japanese?”

The answer is Sichuan, ‘cause Katsuki’s partial to the spice profile. Especially when it comes to fried rice, which is normally a comfort food, sometimes even a light breakfast food, made with egg.

It just doesn’t come to him right now. With Shouto in his space.

His mind blanks out for a second.

It feels fucking good.

Can’t imagine why they never did it before.

“Watch and learn,” Katsuki says. “You should be able to tell from what I’m doing.”

“Okay,” Shouto says, then he lets go, but not before kissing Katsuki on the cheek.

A kiss on the cheek shouldn’t work him up this much.

Jesus. “You’re distracting me.”

Shouto smiles, like it’s a compliment. Katsuki contemplates smacking him with a fry pan.

“I’m ready for my task,” Shouto says, crossing his arms over his chest.

He’s such a little shit. He knows what he’s doing. He’s not as innocent as everybody thinks he is. Fuckin’ asshole.

“I’ll give you a goddamn task,” Katsuki grumbles.

He wonders if Shouto would consider going back to the tea cafe. It’d be a good spot to take him…for a date.

He’s been thinkin’ about it.

For all he knows, the thing Shouto said about not wanting to be spotted together, it coulda just been about keepin’ them private. Which Katsuki would have understood, if he’d just come out and said it that way.

So there’s a chance. Maybe.

That Shouto wants them to be together for real. That when he said he wanted Katsuki, he meant all of it. Everything.

A real chance.

Katsuki’s just gotta figure him out and get it straight without messing up what they’ve already got. How hard could that be? He’s Bakugou Katsuki. He can do that much.

“Who are you texting?” Katsuki demands.

“Izuku,” Shouto says. “He’s asking you to unblock him.”

“No.”

“He’s also asking if he can come over.”

“Why?!”

“I mentioned what we were doing,” Shouto says, expression unreadable. “The All Might stuff. It’s sort of his thing. I guess he felt he was missing out.”

“Fine,” Katsuki says. “And how is it his thing? It was my thing first.”

He doesn’t mind having Deku over. Usually. But this was his day with Shouto. His day to show Shouto that he could do this.

(He could love him.)

“Okay, he’s coming in thirty minutes.”

Katsuki needs more rice, he was only cooking for two. Day-old rice is ideal, but for the extra portion fresh rice’ll have to do.

“Make rice,” Katsuki orders. “Be useful.”

He wonders if Shouto will touch him the way he was before, when Deku’s around. Or if it’s an alone thing.

“You don’t mind, right?” Shouto asks quietly. “You should tell me if you do. I didn’t mean—”

“Fuck no. What’s two freeloaders when I’ve already got you?”

“Okay.”

Shouto busies himself with the rice cooker. “Do you want fluffy or sticky?”

“Scorched bottom.”

Katsuki knows that Shouto likes snacking on the part of the rice that crisps on the bottom side, he says it tastes toasty.

“Mm.”

By the time Izuku texts that he’s downstairs, they’re basically done. Shouto does the plating, garnishing perfect servings of rice with spring onion. He sets aside less red chilis on his portion, plenty of bean sprout.

Which Katsuki notices. “Wuss.”

“I just know what I like.”

“Go down and walk him up,” Katsuki says. “I just know he’s brought more shit than he can carry.”

“Okay,” Shouto says, and before he can stop himself Katsuki catches his arm.

Once Izuku’s here he won’t get the chance to do this.

He leans in quickly, pressing his lips against Shouto’s in a soft, determined kiss. Shouto eagerly kisses him back, just a moment before Katsuki pulls away.

“What was that for?” Shouto asks, suddenly seeming a little shy.

“I know what I like too.”

Shouto wets his own lips, he glances at Katsuki’s mouth. Then his phone buzzes.

“Go,” Katsuki says, giving him a light shove.

Checkmate. Now he won’t be the only one thinking of what they could do if they were alone.

*

Izuku has brought twenty-three DVDs, including six that Katsuki already owns.

When he gets inside and puts his stuff down the first thing Izuku does is hug Shouto. Katsuki watches, slightly jealous, at the way Shouto just sinks into it. He kicks himself for not thinking of hugging Shouto like this, both today and…before.

Then Izuku hugs him too, a little too comfortable, he squeezes any lingering annoyance out of Katsuki’s frame. “Took you long enough to get here.”

“I mean, I tried to hurry,” Izuku says. “I had to swing by my apartment first. So it took longer. But I got everything we’ll need. At least I think I did. I had to pack it up fast, so I only brought the essentials.”

“I’m glad you could come,” Shouto says.

“I’ll always come for Kacchan’s fried rice, even if it’s too spicy for me. It’s Bakugou-san’s recipe, originally, right? He got it because he was friends with a Sichuan chef that he met on a business trip, and then he gave it to Kacchan. Who’s made some modifications, I’d expect, at least based on the look of it…”

“Improvements,” Katsuki corrects. “Not modifications.”

“That’s what I meant!”

“I didn’t know your dad was friends with a Sichuan chef,” Shouto says.

“He’s got a lot of foreign friends,” Katsuki says. “He didn’t go on a lot of business trips, but when he did he liked living like a local, not a tourist.”

“I like his slice of life photography, the ones hung up around your parents’ house,” Izuku says.

Katsuki didn’t appreciate them as much as a kid. The random shots of someone gettin’ out of a car in Taipei, or hawking fish at a market in Bangkok. Now he thinks they’re kind of neat, as snapshots of moments that no one would otherwise remember.

“I didn’t know he took those photographs,” Shouto says.

“He’s got a lot of Kacchan, too,” Izuku volunteers. “Up until he was four-and-a-half Kacchan had this nice, big smile for pictures. Some of them are really cute.”

“When the hell did you even see those?”

“My mom sent me a few, last time she was over at your parents’ place,” Izuku laughs nervously. “Then I asked her to send a few more.”

“You’re dead to me.”

“Sorry, Kacchan,” Izuku holds up his hands in mock surrender.

Katsuki reaches out to mess up his stupid hair. “You’re not that sorry. Fucking liar.”

“No I am. I really am, sorry! I won’t do it again,” except he’s laughing.

And Katsuki can’t help but snort. Because Izuku’s always been nosy, and that’s never gonna change. Like death and taxes, it’s a constant. If Deku’s in your life he’s always gonna be poking around in your shit.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea, havin’ him come around. Shouto definitely likes having Izuku around. In high school he was basically obsessed with him. Midoriya-this, Midoriya-that.

Katsuki glances at Shouto now.

He sees the way Shouto looks between the two of them, the fact that he’s quiet. Touching the sleeve of his own shirt.

Oh.

Katsuki feels an overwhelming need to touch him, to grab his hand, kiss his cheek. Anything.

He knows the thing Shouto hates the most is feeling like he’s an outsider looking in. Like he doesn’t belong.

“Alright. I didn’t make all this food for nothing,” Katsuki says, gesturing to the plates.

He sits across from Izuku and next to Shouto. Under the table, he puts his hand on Shouto’s knee.

“Itadakimasu!” he says, and Shouto echoes softly, right alongside Deku, the sound lingering between them as eat.

*

Izuku sits between them both when they move over to the sofa to start the movies. Which is for the best, since he’s cuddly, and Katsuki isn’t, generally, even though he was planning to be tonight, when it was just him and Shouto.

They share one large throw blanket, and Shouto’s captivated from the first second of the first film they stream. An old campy American-style Western where All Might plays the sheriff who comes into town and clears out some bad apples.

It’s so heavily steeped in cliche that it’s circled back to being good again, just for the balls it takes to be that blatant and heavy-handed.

As a kid, Katsuki ate it up.

This time, he’s more into watching how Shouto reacts than watching it himself. At one point, Izuku even catches him looking intently at Shouto, and he gives Katsuki a knowing look, which is enough to get him pushed off the sofa.

“Sorry,” he says, not really meaning it.

“Careful, Kacchan,” Izuku sighs, but he’s seen what he’s seen, and Katsuki will quite possibly never know peace again.

They go through two movies like that.

Then Izuku fakes a yawn, obviously fake, since he never gets sleepy, has the sleep habits of a caffeinated eighteen year-old and wouldn’t miss out on All Might movies unless he was fucking dying. “I think I’m going to head back? This was fun but I should head home, and you only have the one guest room, and I have back problems now so I probably shouldn’t sleep on the couch.”

Shouto, who is actually sleepy, and looks it, doesn’t catch the obvious scheming. “Are you sure?”

“It’s been really fun. But I really should go.”

“Okay,” Shouto says softly. “Goodnight then.”

Katsuki walks him to the door, letting Shouto continue to sit there, drowsy, on the sofa. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Goodnight Kacchan, I’ll leave my stuff at your place for tonight, if that’s okay. You and Shouto-kun can go through the rest of it, and return it anytime. Please unblock me, too. You usually like it when I text you when I get home after being at your place, but you won’t receive it if I’m blocked, and then you’ll get mad at me anyway. Which isn’t exactly fair.”

“I’ll unblock you if you behave yourself.”

“I’ll text Shouto-kun if I can’t reach you,” Izuku says pleasantly. “Goodnight.”

Then he’s gone.

Katsuki gets back to Shouto, sits next to him on the couch. “One more?”

Shouto nods. “But I’m falling asleep.”

Katsuki puts the next disk in first, then he gets back in his spot next to Shouto. “Here.”

He moves them, slowly, so Shouto’s head is in his lap, his long legs stretched out the length of the sofa.

His voice is hushed, he turned out most of the lights when Izuku left. “Watch like this.”

This next one’s a quieter one, which is unusual for All Might’s brief stint in acting. Which lasted only two years and produced a shocking number of feature films. This was the only serious one of them.

The music is moody, the story starts in a quiet old coastal town. On a dark, starry night at the beach. When the intro theme starts to build, soulful, filled with nostalgia for a different time that’ll never come again, Katsuki puts his hand into Shouto’s soft hair.

At first he tenses up, but as they go into the next scene, daytime at a fish market, he relaxes. Gets used to the motion of Katsuki petting his hair. Whispering quiet commentary about when this was made, that he’s been to that town on the coast, once, passing through with his parents.

Shouto adjusts and cozies up to him even more as the movie goes on and he gets sleepier. “Katsuki, I think I’m falling asleep for real now.”

“Yeah, baby?” Katsuki says, he’s playing with Shouto’s bangs now, they’re so wispy, kinda fluffy, he’s got such a soft-looking face when he’s sleepy. “Go ahead.”

Katsuki watches the climax alone. Shouto’s asleep. When he clicks the TV off, after all the credits have rolled, he can’t move. Not yet.

He’s never, ever felt like this. 

Totally and completely trusted. 

With someone that he likes so much it’s hard to breathe when he thinks about it.

Someone who deserves so much more than Katsuki.

He’s not sure how long he waits, but eventually he gets up. Slides Shouto back onto the sofa and gets himself off it. Then he kneels down, picks him up in his arms, the way he’s used to doing with unconscious people stuck in rubble. Except this time he’s not thinking about not worsening existing injuries. Blood flow. Head trauma. Possibility of internal bleeding.

Shouto’s heavier than he expected, but it’s fine.

Katsuki was worried the movement would wake him up, but he shouldn’t have, Shouto sleeps like the dead.

Katsuki puts him in the guest room’s queen bed, tucks him in under the pale grey sheets, and then, ‘cause it feels like the thing to do, he kisses him on the forehead.

Chapter Text

Katsuki wakes up to the smell and sounds of someone else cooking. Which never happens unless he’s in his parents’ house, stayin’ the night in his childhood bedroom.

Partly because he normally gets up early and cooks his own damn breakfast, partly ‘cause he doesn’t let anyone cook unsupervised in his kitchen. ‘Cause he has rules and he’s more irritable in the morning and everyone knows it. So they give him and his kitchen a wide berth. No one dares step foot in there before noon.

Shouto might just be his first.

Katsuki’s not sure why he slept in, or how he was even able to. He was just…calmer, last night.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he knew exactly where Shouto was, had put him to bed himself, nothing o’ the sort.

Now Katsuki slips on his house slippers and makes his way over to the bathroom, doing only two steps of his normal morning ritual out of impatience to be in the kitchen. He brushes his teeth. Splashes his face.

He doesn’t say good morning when he comes in. Too busy tryna see....what is even happening. Assess.

He’s pleased to see Shouto’s used the right bowls for mixing and the right pan for frying. He followed all of Katsuki’s rules about the spoon rest and its placement.

Shouto’s wearing Katsuki’s apron, not the spare Katsuki usually designates for his sous-chef.

Huh. That’s bold.

Still sleepy, Katsuki rubs at his eyes, yawns, and somehow finds himself sitting down at the first stool up against the counter. Shouto’s normal spot. A plate slides in front of him, full of fluffy eggs with fresh tomato chunks, melted cheese and slightly browned onions.

He’s speechless.

Defeated…by a plate of eggs.

Fuck.

Recipe ain’t hard. Katsuki first made it when he was ten. It’s just…

He can’t do anything except eat. Fuck it. He’s hungry.

He reaches for the utensils and focuses on chewing. While Shouto continues walkin’ around like he...belongs here.

(He does belong here.)

It’s surreal.

Shouto hasn’t said a word. He’s now just…cleaning.

His own breakfast is plated and set next to Katsuki’s, but he’s cleaning his workstation first because Katsuki does it when he cooks and he feels itchy if it isn’t done as soon as possible.

Katsuki’s eyes sting, and it’s so damn stupid.

Shouto is washing dishes. Humming to himself. Back in high school Katsuki had told these fools he doesn’t like needless yappin’ in the morning.

What he hadn’t told them was that he needs the time to come back to himself. To reset.

It’s quiet here.

Then Shouto sits down next to him and starts on his own meal, and he eats like he always does, completely taken with the food and not at all bothered by the world. It’s easily one of the best things about him.

“Water?” Katsuki asks, his voice comes out rough.

“Yeah,” Shouto gets them each a glass from Katsuki’s top left cabinet.

He pours them both room temperature water from the fridge and puts Katsuki’s right by his left hand.

They finish eating at almost the exact same time.

Katsuki waves Shouto off when he tries to take these dishes for washing too. There’s a brief little push and pull which Katsuki ends with a stare.

“Fine,” Shouto says, gives in.

Katsuki smiles at the first win of the day. “Sleep good?”

“Mm.”

“Good.”

It takes him another minute or so to finish up with the dishes.

When he turns around he bumps into Shouto. “Oi. Watch it.”

“Sorry, I was just…” Shouto’s holding the apron. “Wanted to put this away.”

“Oh,” Katsuki says. “S’got a hook. Here.”

He opens the pantry door and shows him. “Ain’t that where you got it from?”

“Right,” Shouto says.

It’s not awkward. Like the elevator. Yesterday.

It’s…warmer than that. Almost familiar. Like a dream Katsuki can’t remember.

“Eggs were decent,” Katsuki says, leaning back against the counter, resting his hands there, his weight supported on his elbows.

What a dumbass thing to say. Why the fuck did he say that?!

“Thanks,” Shouto says.

“You headin’ out?” Katsuki asks. “Your cat. Probably yowlin’ her head off by now.”

“Yes. I should.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki says. “You got…a little somethin.’”

“Where?”

“Your face, just…c’mere a sec,” he says.

Shouto comes closer, puts his hands down over Katsuki’s, following along, even if he might not yet understand the game completely. It doesn’t make him stupid. He’s just the trusting type.

Katsuki is not.

And yet—

He closes his eyes when Shouto’s face is so, so close. Hears a barely audible oh escape from Shouto’s perfect mouth and then they’re kissing.

Katsuki kisses Shouto like he’s the air Katsuki needs to breathe, grasping tightly at his shirt, already wrinkled from being slept in. Tugging at the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

Come closer. Be closer. Damn you. Fuck you.

Kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.

Shouto’s softer with him, trying to coax him into slower, sweeter kisses, into patience.

Slow down, Shouto’s asking, with the way his mouth feels pressed against Katsuki’s, with the way he breathes out and when they part, with the way his hands move up and down Katsuki’s arms.

“What happened?” Shouto whispers, he’s cupping Katsuki’s face in his hands, he’s so close Katsuki can feel the warmth of his breath. “Did I do something?”

They’re alone. There’s no one else in the whole world. Nothing else. No weight. No past. No future. No expectation.

Just Shouto’s eyes. With their dumb mismatched colors. It’s ridiculous. Who even has eyes like that?

“You’re crying,” Shouto says, wiping at the wetness near Katsuki’s eyes with his thumb.

How fucking dare he?! Where does he get off, just touching and cooking and bein’ him? He’s gotta be stopped.

It’s too early for this feelings shit.

“I’m not fucking crying you dumb fucking moron,” Katsuki narrows his eyes. “Quit it.”

“Okay,” Shouto says. 

“You could tell me if you were,” Shouto says, his gaze softens with his concern, and Katsuki looks up into his eyes and just for a moment he’s so goddamn distracted by just how fucking pretty this bastard is that he forgets he’s having a crisis over eggs, forgets what this whole fucking morning has meant to him and how it hurts, forgets everything.

Then it comes back.

“I said it’s nothing, didn’t I?” Katsuki snaps, a bit too loud. “M just. Tired.”

Shouto lets him go. “Alright.”

“You got somethin’ to say then say it,” Katsuki demands, heart thumping loudly in his chest.

There’s something he wants to hear so bad the silence is a gut punch.

“I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready,” Shouto says, nodding to himself. “You always do. I think…that’s why we work.”

“We work…” Katsuki says, very, very carefully. “As what?”

Katsuki never begged in his life. But now every part of him is burning.

God. Fuck. Please.

“I always thought of us as best friends,” Shouto says, then he pauses, blinks, as if he’s ran headlong into a thought that makes him slightly uncomfortable.

“At least…I think of you as my best friend,” Shouto continues, more serious. “If I’m not yours then…it still counts, I think. It’s alright if your best friend is Izuku or Eijirou. Just…for me, I really do love all my friends, but I love you the most. More than anyone else.”

Jesus Christ.

“Of course you’re my best friend you stupid fuck.”

It hits Katsuki like a truck, the idea that this confession might mean just as much or more to Shouto than a confession of romantic love, wanted or unwanted, ever could. That there is some small part of Shouto that can still doubt that this is fundamentally true: that Katsuki would choose Shouto first a thousand times, in a thousand lifetimes in any place in any universe.

“I shoulda told you earlier,” Katsuki says, his face starting to feel…warm as he says it. “I just thought…you got it. The way we are.”

Katsuki doesn’t use words like best friends. At least, he hasn’t for over twenty years. But this is important to Shouto. And Katsuki is quickly realizing that whatever is important to Shouto has suddenly shot to the top of his own list.

It ain’t the confession he wanted to hear.

But it does somewhat soothe the gnawing sensation in his chest. The idea that Shouto loves him the most is real and tangible in the air between them and it matters to him.

Katsuki yanks Shouto forward, into his arms, and doesn't miss the uncertain, cautious way Shouto holds him back. They don’t do this a lot. He listens to the way Shouto breathes when they’re hugging like this, light, relaxed exhales. How he holds onto Katsuki once he’s sure that Katsuki isn’t gonna bolt or let go.

It’s so goddamn obvious how much Shouto loves to be in Katsuki’s space. This easy exchange of affection.

It musta taken balls of fuckin’ steel for Shouto to have kept askin’ for it, being the one to push, the one to be brave when he didn’t even know—no more o’ that.

Katsuki’s done with withholding.

“You can hug me, when you want to,” Katsuki says. “I don’t mind…shit like this, with you.”

This, he figures, is as much as he’s going to be able to say on the subject.

“I understand,” Shouto says.

It’s unclear what, or how much he understands about any of it, but hugging him feels fuckin’ great. So they really should do it more.

“Go home to your goddamn cat,” Katsuki says, a solid minute later, before he lets go.

“Okay,” Shouto says, then, inexplicably, he adds. “Thank you.”

*

Shouto sends him over seven texts when he gets back to his own place. All of them various blurry shots of his cat, zoomin’ around, demandin’ food.

Then, without even waiting for a reply, Shouto texts again.

halfie:

I know we just saw each other, but do you want to come over for dinner? I would come to you but I’ve been away from Soba for too long. She’s grumpy.

He’s the only bastard Katsuki knows that texts in full sentences with (mostly) correct grammar.

katsuki:

yeah sure

 

halfie:

:)

Katsuki stares at the smiley face for longer than he’d like to admit.

Then he remembers he needs to meet Yaoyorozu for lunch, so he might as well start getting ready.

*

Of all the clowns that like to hang off of him like it’s their job, Yaoyorozu took the longest to get touchy with him. Strategically, it was the best move, which makes sense, since she’s smarter than all of ‘em.

Except Katsuki.

She waited until it was obvious that he wasn’t actually gonna blow anyone’s head off for touching him. Then she snuck up on him when his guard was down, at the department store—judging other people for what they choose to wear and buy and do and be—and now when they walk from display to display her arm is in his.

Like he’s some kind of a gentleman caller from eighteenth century Britain, escortin’ her around or some shit.

He tried to undo it once, pulled away from her when she reached for him and that felt even more fucked up, so now he just…allows it.

“You know,” she says. “Whenever I’m with you…guys don’t come up and hit on me. It’s pleasant.”

“Hah? ‘Cause they think you’re my...girlfriend?” the words feel so awkward comin’ out of Katsuki’s mouth.

He could do worse than Yaoyorozu, but they’re not—no.

“No. I think it’s the face you make.”

“I don’t make a face.”

“You do,” she says.

“This is just my face.”

“It says don’t mess with me,” she says. “Mine doesn’t.”

“That’s bull. None of these clown fucks could take you.”

“Yes,” she admits. “They couldn’t, but I’m not like you…or even Kyouka. My public facing image is different, and that’s why people, particularly men, seem to think they’re entitled to me or my time.”

Shit like this is why Katsuki hates these extras.

He must be looking aghast or something because she laughs. “That’s not why I invite you out. I can take care of myself. I’m just saying…it’s a nice side benefit.”

“Wasn’t doubtin’ why you always ask…you people are obsessed with me,” Katsuki says. “It’s shit though. Your time is your own.”

“I know,” she says. “Shouto feels the same, by the way, he’s told me.”

“Shouto’s not a woman,” Katsuki says, which seems like a dumb thing to say, because…obviously, but this kinda felt like a women’s issue.

Unless he missed the plot completely?

He does seem to lose a few IQ points whenever the subject of Shouto comes up. Which is completely Shouto’s fault, for existing, and being…the way he is.

“No, his thing is in a different way,” Yaoyorozu says, she’s still arm in arm with him, and they’re walking towards a fancy perfume display.

“‘Cause of his family,” Katsuki catches on.

The subject being Shouto won’t stall him forever. He’s fucking got the IQ points to spare.

“Yeah,” she says. “Because of how much they’ve been in the public eye, and how open he generally is, the honesty…I think people feel like he owes them something that he doesn’t.”

“He’s talked to you about this?”

“Sometimes,” she admits, then she gestures to the display. “By the way, I think you need a new cologne.”

Excuse her. “I smell fucking fantastic.”

He says it a bit too loudly. Some of the other shoppers are looking. Fuck them. He glances in their general direction, puts up a middle finger with his free hand.

“How are things with Shouto?” Yaoyorozu asks.

He puts his hand down. Though he’s somewhat tempted to turn it towards her as an answer. He’s grown though, so…words.

“They’re fine. Why wouldn’t they be?”

“When I first started dating Kyouka, there was this time where we didn’t know what this was going to be…me and her. It was just new.”

“Yeah. Cute or whatever. But that’s relevant, how?” He plays it off.

She frees her arm from him and reaches towards a small blue bottle on the display, takes one of the tiny white strips they use to sample scents and sprays it.

She wafts it for herself, and then hands it off to him to smell, which he does, since the whole point of being here is to pass judgement and be critical.

It smells…like a seaside, clean cotton, some undernotes of wood and musk. It smells like…that night a couple days ago. The gala, the elevator, when he put his face against Shouto’s neck and fell asleep.

“This is Shouto’s cologne,” he says, without meaning to. “For special events.”

“You recognize it,” she says, and he realizes he’s stepped right into her trap.

“I’m observant. Besides, you knew it too? Clearly. ‘Cause you set me up.”

“I didn’t recognize it by smell,” she smiles. “It was a gift. From me.”

Shit.

“Okay. So I recognized it. Big deal.”

She sighs. It reminds him of the way his ma sometimes sighed when he wouldn’t admit to doing something bad, like putting his fingers in the cookie batter or cuttin’ up her cloth samples to make makeshift hero costumes. Except his ma was better at doin’ a scary look to match, and then they’d compete in the death glare Olympics.

Yaoyorozu just looks tired of his shit. “When’s the next time you’re seeing him?”

“Uh. Tonight.”

“You should wear a new scent,” she suggests.

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Because he’ll notice, which I know you don’t care about…but humor me.”

He does care. He does wonder, sometimes, if Shouto notices things about him. About what he’s doing, what he’s wearing, where he’s been. He wonders if in Shouto’s conception of the best friend kinda love they’ve got, how often he’s thinking of Katsuki and Katsuki’s body…the things he wants to do to it.

He shrugs. “Whatever. If you’re payin’.”

*

Picking out his cologne was one thing, but Katsuki wasn’t about to let her into his apartment to pick out an outfit for him to meet Shouto. Like he was a child. Going to a fucking playdate.

He didn’t even use to let his ma do that, for the record. He picked out all of his own fits from the time he was old enough to articulate that he wanted to.

So he told her to fuck right off with that, and she pouted, a face she undoubtedly learned from Shouto, and he told her to go suck face with Jirou and make better use of her time.

Now he’s at his place. Alone. Like he wanted.

And he doesn’t know what the fuck he should even wear to this dinner thing. ‘Cause the universe hates him and he doesn’t hate himself enough to call Yaoyorozu back here. Probably already across town on Jirou’s lap or something gross like that.

He’s never put this much thought into what he wears to hang out one-on-one with Shouto before.

Shouto just kinda shows up. Without a lotta warning.

How’s Katsuki supposed to show up for someone who loves him very much or whatever the hell it was that Shouto said?

There’s a part of him…that wants to look good, so Shouto will look at him and want him, and something will happen.

He always looks good though. That’s not a problem.

In the end he settles for the uniform he seemed to wear throughout high school, out of the actual UA uniform. One of many black skull t-shirts that he owns, black pants. The shirt’s seen better days, but maybe Shouto will appreciate the throwback, he does seem to be the type to be disgustingly sentimental.

Then he wears the cologne Yaoyorozu picked out for him. ‘Cause it’d be a waste not to use it.

katsuki:

eta 35

 

halfie:

Okay. I can’t wait to see you. Soba says hi.

 

katsuki:

chill its been less than 8 hours since u were here

 

halfie:

I’m not hot. I have no need to chill.

Katsuki can’t tell if Shouto’s being straight or genuinely fucking with him. Which tends to happen a lot.

Then…he’s tempted to hit Shouto right back. Somehow he can’t fight the impulse down. It’s like he’s been possessed by the malevolently horny spirit of Kaminari. Probably lingers in this apartment.

katsuki:

u r too fucking hot. have u even seen urself

It’s not even a good line. Katsuki feels himself sweating the moment he sends it.

halfie: 

I have. How do you see me?

Katsuki thinks about it a bit, heart thumping in his chest.

katsuki:

on top of me

He’s not good at this. It probably reads back so fucking weird. But he’s not a damn quitter. And the words, the image, it just comes.

katsuki:

no shirt. I like ur abs. Id wanna touch em

get my mouth on ur neck

I’d tell u how fucking pretty u r

that ur mine

No response. 

Shit.

Maybe he read that wrong. ‘Course he would read it wrong and fucking go too far. He starts to panic, wonders if he should just suck it up and call Shouto and explain it.

Then his phone buzzes.

halfie:

then what would you do?

Oh. Easy.

katsuki:

get u on ur back

so I can suck u off

Katsuki’s never done that before, but he’s wanted to. He’s seen Shouto’s dick before. It’s big. Might take a little practice, but he’s never been averse to training before. Shouto would like it. He’d put his hands in Katsuki’s hair. He’d want it. Be completely at Katsuki’s mercy.

Shouto’d be the one hot and sweaty and bothered and Katsuki would get to watch him come apart. See his face when he comes.

God.

halfie:

you would look good with my cock in your mouth

Katsuki has to go…but, but—he can take a minute. He goes and sits down on his bed, unbuckles his pants. He’s got his dick in his hand, thinking of Shouto’s body, his hard abs, his chest, his flustered face, the way he looks when he’s horny.

Then his phone starts ringing.

Katsuki really is gonna kill somebody. But he takes it. Puts it on speaker. “Fucking what.”

“It’s me.”

“Oh.”

“I liked your messages. I wanted to say more but…”

“But what?”

Shouto sounds…embarrassed, which is unlike him. “It isn’t easy for me to text with one hand.”

“You’re touching yourself,” Katsuki smirks. “That’s cute.”

“I was imagining you.”

“Yeah?” Katsuki continues to stroke himself, figures it’s okay. “You do that a lot?”

“I’ve…done it before.”

“How does it go?”

“I imagine you on your knees. Looking up at me. Sucking on my dick the way you do…everything.”

“Yeah…yeah I’d take care of you.”

“You let me pet your hair. You do things with your…tongue. It’s hard to describe.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s good because it’s you. Your face gets all pink. Flushed. You don’t stop.”

“I wouldn’t,” Katsuki mutters.

He can hear Shouto breathe on the other end of the line. “Katsuki.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you touching yourself too?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki admits.

“That’s good,” Shouto says.

That’s right. Good. He’s good. The praise hits him right where he needs it.

“Do you remember when it was me with you?” Shouto asks.

Katsuki nods, even though Shouto’s not here to see it. Closes his eyes. He remembers that. The feeling of Shouto’s hand on his dick. It felt different than his own hand. Better. It helped that Shouto was holding him, kissing him and working him along the way. It helped that Shouto was just there. His voice. His smell. His body.

“It was really…good,” Shouto says.

“I didn’t—didn’t even do anything.”

“I like the sounds you make when I kiss your neck. When I had my hand on your cock.”

Katsuki fists himself, desperate, feeling himself getting closer to the edge listening to Shouto talking about what he likes. What he likes about Katsuki.

“I know you were worried,” Shouto sighs. “That it wouldn’t be good. But it was good for me.”

“Good for me—me too.”

“I liked the way you shuddered in my arms when you…came. I liked the feeling of your ass against my dick. I thought about…fucking you.”

“I’d let you,” Katsuki says, as he touches himself it’s like a string that winds him up, wraps tighter and tighter around his nerves, heat building low in his stomach.

Pulling him close, taut. Ready, ready, ready to just snap.

Then he hears Shouto’s voice, low and ragged, on the other end of the line. “F-Fuck.”

Huh?

Shouto never…he never swears.

It’s this, of all things, that’s so fucking hot, thinking of Shouto just losing it, that unwinds him all at once, god—he shudders forward, feels the wetness of his release all over his own hand. Barely missing his special fucking date-night pants.

He waits a full twenty seconds before daring to say something on the phone. “I think…I gotta adjust my ETA.”

“...I understand.”

*

Katsuki wonders if it’ll be awkward when he finally shows up.

It’s not though. Shouto looks a bit pinker in the cheeks, but that’s…a good look on him.

“Where’s your demon spawn?” Katsuki demands as soon as he’s gotten his shoes off.

“I didn’t give birth to her,” Shouto says. “If you’re trying to imply that I’m a demon.”

“S’not an implication,” Katsuki says, then he spots a grey loaf of fur sitting on a pillow on the ground.

A little cat throne. Of course.

“She normally prefers heights,” Shouto says, noticing Katsuki looking. “But she also just likes sitting on anything rectangular in shape.”

“She miss you a lot?” Katsuki asks, following him inside.

He wonders when he started competing for space in Shouto’s life with a cat, but it’s fine.

“I have my neighbor check on her when I can’t come home for a few hours, so she’s okay when it comes to food. She does miss me though.”

“How can you tell?”

“She spends more time with me when I haven’t been around for a while. She follows me from room to room, and whenever I sit down she gets into my lap. She’s normally more solitary.”

“Uh-huh,” Katsuki approaches her slowly, getting down on the floor to her level, he reaches out a hand.

She gets up, does a stretch, and bumps into his hand exactly once in what must be cat for hello peasant, before walking away, towards Shouto.

“I made dinner,” Shouto says. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Why?”

“It’s my sister’s mapo tofu recipe.”

“From high school?”

Mapo tofu is also like…challenging to make. It’s not entry level beginner shit.

“Written recipe or she taught you herself?” Katsuki asks.

“I think I respond better to one-on-one instruction,” Shouto says. “She was happy to show me.”

The idea of the Todoroki siblings doing normal shit together is surprisingly…nice.

“How’s her brat?”

“He’s good. He’s almost at that age now…when they think he’ll start showing his quirk. So he’s excited.”

Katsuki remembers that time. Around three to four is when it’s supposed to happen. He could barely contain himself, couldn’t fall asleep at night in anticipation. He wanted his quirk so bad. It’s one of the earliest things he remembers with clarity.

The rest, soft, hazy images of cuddling between his mom and dad on their big bed. Throwing dirt at Deku. They’re less…detailed.

But he remembers getting his quirk. It changed everything.

Manifesting a quirk woulda changed everything for Shouto too. They probably already had some idea, given his general look. Actually showing the quirk woulda just sealed the deal.

“I broke everything in the house my first week at it,” Katsuki says. “Fuyumi’s kid’ll be fine. Just watch him.”

“Do you remember anything else?” Shouto asks.

He pats the spot next to where he’s sitting, cross-legged, directly on the tatami flooring he’s managed to somehow install in most of the apartment.

Everything in the apartment is done in the traditional style, including the cat furniture, which is what’s really scary. Katsuki’s not sure how Shouto continues to manage this at every place he moves to, given that he’s pretty sure the other flats in the building don’t look like this.

Katsuki goes and sits next to him. “Nah. Just…destroying shit.”

He scoots a little closer to Shouto. “You remember stuff?”

Shouto takes a few seconds to answer, during which Katsuki just waits. Watches Shouto, strangely content just to do that and be near him.

“I remember being cold, I think I’d thrown my blanket off during the night. Then the center of my palm got hot,” he does it now, showing off the smallest little flame. “I was amazed. The flame didn’t burn me.”

“You used your fire first?” Katsuki didn’t know that.

“It was winter, I think,” Shouto says, as a way of explanation. “I think I used my ice the next day. There was an expectation that I should have both. I didn’t want him to get upset with my mom if I didn’t.”

“If anything didn’t go the way he wanted it to, in training,” Shouto continues. “It was her fault. So I worked hard.”

“You were four.”

“Yes. I think that’s why I used to slip up.”

“Slip up?”

Shouto shrugs. “Ask for sweets. Or to go and play with my siblings. Whenever I did, he would get upset with her. For…”

“For what?”

“Being too soft…with me.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a good quirk,” Shouto says. “I’m glad I have it now. It lets me do a lot of things that are important to me.”

“You do good with it,” Katsuki admits. “Not as good as me. But you’re gettin’ there.”

“I currently have a higher ranking than you,” Shouto points out. “Not that it matters. It doesn’t…to me. Does it matter to you?”

“I still wanna be number one. That’s never changed. But it means different things to me now,” Katsuki explains. “None of that ranking crap’s worth anything compared to just…people. Compared to you. You were a kid, makin’ you number one for his ego was just…weak ass shit. Fuck the hero commission. Fuck all of it. We decide what we fight for.”

“We do,” Shouto agrees.

There’s a lull, during which Katsuki can’t help but to kiss him on the cheek. He likes Shouto so fucking much sometimes the affection just wants to explode out, so he figures he can let himself have this.

Then this dumb bastard touches the spot Katsuki kissed, looks happy. So whatever. Katsuki does it again. Other cheek this time.

He hears Shouto’s breath catch. Like he can’t believe this is happening. Fuck him.

Katsuki will show him what’s going down.

So he pushes him over, so they’re lying down next to each other on the tatami. Grabs his dumb fucking face. Kisses his cheek again. The side of his nose. The tip. The corner of his mouth. Lower on his cheek, near his jaw. Back up, near where a dimple would be. He mirrors his actions on both sides of Shouto’s face, careful not to pick a favorite.

‘Cause all of him is fucking perfect.

He attacks Shouto’s face with featherlight little kisses, and feels Shouto’s hand tighten around his arm every time he does it.

He kisses Shouto’s forehead, then right under his ear, and he doesn’t pause when he gets to the pink, splotchy skin of Shouto’s scar. He’s kissed him there before, when he kissed Shouto’s forehead before settling him into bed.

No hesitation. If Shouto has an issue, he’s already got his hand on Katsuki’s arm, he’ll tell him not to do this, he’ll tell Katsuki what he wants.

Katsuki kisses right under Shouto’s eye. He holds Shouto’s face still with one hand, then carefully, deliberately kisses him there, and feels him shudder at the press of Katsuki’s mouth against his skin.

“Close your eyes, baby,” Katsuki says, voice hushed.

Somewhere in the distance, the cat shuffles around.

Katsuki remembers what Shouto said, about them being best friends. How it seemed to make sense in his mind.

He wonders if in Shouto’s head, this is something a best friend should do. Or if Katsuki surprised him.

Shouto’s eyes flutter closed.

Katsuki kisses his closed eyelids, under his eyebrow. Both sides.

“You smell different,” Shouto whispers.

“Yeah? It’s for you.”

“For me?”

“For you,” Katsuki repeats, leaning close to kiss him on the mouth, soft, unhurried.

Shouto drops his vice grip on Katsuki’s arm, moves his hand up and into Katsuki’s hair as they kiss. Then they roll over to the side. Katsuki puts his arms around Shouto’s neck, holds him while they kiss. Warmth pools in his gut, the surety of it all, Shouto and him, spreads, light and wonderful through every cell in his body.

He’s got so much fucking love in him. So much for Shouto. It comes out, raw and syrupy sweet, every time their lips meet, slow and languid. Slightly wet.

They tangle into each other, and if it’s a bit uncomfortable, on the floor and all, Katsuki barely notices. He can smell the faint grassy scent of the tatami under him, mixed in with the scent he knows to be just…Shouto.

“I thought you were extremely sexy on the phone,” Shouto confesses.

He can feel his face getting warm, so he tucks it into Shouto’s neck again, lets Shouto hug him. “Great.”

His stomach rumbles.

“I did promise you mapo tofu,” Shouto says.

“You did.”

The food. Yeah. They should probably have something to eat and not just lie down on the floor and make out.

“Okay. One more minute,” Shouto says.

Katsuki lets Shouto hold him for what feels like longer. Doesn’t let go until Shouto does.

Chapter Text

As a kid, Katsuki never spent any time thinking about his parents’ relationship.

After all, they existed in his world only to be his mom and dad. They were old and did boring old people stuff and they mostly let him do what he wanted as long as he was back in the house before dark.

He knew, of course, that they both worked, and that his old man worked from home more than his ma.

Katsuki also knew that their quirks were lame. That his dad’s quirk was the cooler of the two, that he used to yell out otō-chan, sparks sparks to get him to do the trick, when he was three. 

Katsuki even knew what they did for a living, back then. He remembers tuning them out while watching cartoons, the low background buzz of seasonal trends, and quarterly sales and projections.

But he’d never thought about what they were like when he wasn’t around. Or that it meant anything that they liked to laugh at jokes that Katsuki didn’t get. Or that they seemed to be able to read each other’s minds…sometimes. Especially when he was in trouble for something.

He didn’t think it was significant that they were kinda touchy with each other—his dad seemed to put a hand on his mom’s shoulder a lot, when she was tense.

He did notice that whenever his dad was in a kinda serious mood his ma would make an off-color comment, his dad would sort of laugh, and stop sulking. Then, sometimes, Katsuki would have the living room to himself to stage an all-out war between his hero action figures, ‘cause they’d be upstairs for a bit.

Katsuki hadn’t thought deeply about any o’ that though. It didn’t mean anything special.

He figured all married old people must be like that. Except for Deku’ parents, because Deku didn’t have a dad for some reason, and even that Katsuki didn’t question all that much. Or really ever.

Everything’d been so clear. Who he was. What life was about. His own place in it.

It’s not that he fucking peaked at the age of six. He’s onto bigger and better shit even now. But back then he felt like he had every little thing squared away and figured out.

Now, twenty years later. There’s pieces scattered all over the board. And sometimes he doesn’t know what goddamn game he’s even playing anymore.

Except—with Shouto.

With Shouto he feels like he did when he was the undisputed king of the playground.

It just feels good. Whatever they do.

Like now, when they’re eating together for the second time today. Not talking a whole lot. Just sitting next to each other, which Katsuki can’t remember enjoying this much with anybody else.

He can’t help but look at Shouto every so often, between slightly mouth-numbing bites of tofu.

After all they’ve done, it’s ridiculous that just lookin’ at him makes Katsuki’s heart race, but…goddamn it, it does.

Katsuki’s got it real bad, just watching Shouto eat. Which isn’t even, in principle, a sexy activity. At least not with fucking tofu. Maybe with something like chocolate covered strawberries, or popsicles. He can imagine Shouto sucking on somethin’ like that. He can think about the shape of Shouto’s pink lips wrapped around a strawberry.

Shouto glances at him right while Katsuki’s watching. He doesn’t look away.

“What is it?” Shouto asks.

“Nothing.”

“Okay,” Shouto says, resumes eating.

And because Katsuki has no shame, he continues to watch him. He decides he likes the way Shouto looks with his shirt sleeves rolled up. He likes Shouto’s hands. He likes the slightly shorter haircut Shouto’s got ever since they left high school. He liked Shouto’s face before too, but he likes it now, less boy-ish.

“Katsuki,” Shouto says. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“Yeah, the fuck,” Katsuki says. “I’m good.”

“Okay.”

They finish eating in total, perfect silence. The post-dinner clean-up is quiet too. They just nudge each other along, and Shouto hands him a dishrag and he knows exactly what to do without being told. They’re in sync.

But that’s twice today that Shouto cooked for him. It’s something he used to be bad at.

So what the fuck?

“Why’d you decide to not suck at cooking?” Katsuki asks.

“Isn’t it just better to not…suck at things, if you can?” Shouto remarks. “I try to pick up new skills. In my free time.”

“Like what?”

Katsuki’s also just stalling for time.

A year ago he’d have made up an excuse to head home by nine. So he can be asleep by ten. Six months ago he’d have been too chicken shit to act like he wanted to stay. Tonight…well. No point in pretending he isn’t exactly where he fucking wants to be.

“I’ve been learning sign language. I think it would be useful if I met a civilian who’s deaf or hard of hearing.”

Katsuki knows a little sign language too. The finger spellings. There was a time when his parents thought all the explosions might affect his hearing, so he’d taken lessons. But he doesn’t tell Shouto that. 

“Show me.”

They’re back in the living room now. Sitting next to each other at the kotatsu.

“I haven’t made a lot of progress,” Shouto admits.

“Fuck that. I wanna see,” Katsuki insists.

He reaches out and grabs Shouto’s hand, which is resting at his side. He rubs his thumb over Shouto’s knuckles. It’s dangerously addictive, how Shouto responds to his touch. Katsuki can almost feel the heat, like fire’s catching right where his fingers brush against Shouto’s soft skin.

“I’ll show you one thing I know,” Shouto says.

Then he does three separate signs with his free hand. For the first, Shouto tucks his thumb in, index and middle finger forward.

Ka.

For the second he does a tight okay shape.

Tsu.

The third is…similar to the first, in a different orientation, with just the index finger out.

Ki.

Unbelievable. “You’re stupid.”

“I told you…I need practice.”

“What other things do you teach yourself?” Katsuki asks.

His mind is going somewhere decidedly horny. Wonders if Shouto watches videos teaching him how to give good head.

“I study popular culture articles.”

Ah. That’s…actually not surprising.

“That ain’t something you need to study. Like a subject.”

“I just don’t like not knowing,” Shouto shrugs. “Our friends like to talk about it. So what else can I do?”

They’re still holding hands. Katsuki scooches closer to Shouto. His legs are warm under the kotatsu and he’s warm all over from Shouto’s left side.

Warm…which means his hands are sweaty. He pops some sparks off from his palm.

“Ow,” Shouto says.

But he doesn’t let go.

“You can just ask. Right then. When you don’t know something. Everybody fucking loves you. And they love yappin’...so.”

“I could,” Shouto says. “I just don’t want to intrude.”

“Hell,” Katsuki says. “You could ask me. You do…sometimes.”

“It’s different with you.”

“I know.”

“Because if you’re annoyed about it…you show it immediately, so I don’t have to guess. Everybody else seems to think it’s better to be nice even if they aren’t happy.”

“So you’re saying I ain’t nice?” Katsuki asks, looking into Shouto’s eyes—directly into his goddamn soul, which is exactly where Katsuki likes to aim his best shots at teasing this bastard, ‘cause he can, ‘cause he’s the only one who should be allowed to.

“No. You’re…real.”

Katsuki’s heart was already full to bursting. Now it’s popping and fizzing. Filled to the brim with strawberry soda. He doesn’t know how Shouto makes him so nervous just by talking. Just by saying these things that would take Katsuki a million years to get off his chest. Like it’s nothing. Self-evident.

It’s got Katsuki spinning into overdrive. “You too. I mean—real annoying.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think you would admit to being my best friend if you thought I was annoying.”

“Maybe I’m a masochist.”

“Are you?”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, then shakes his head. Kisses the tip of Shouto’s nose.

No withholding.

Shouto smiles, which means he understood, and is now smug. “You can be annoying.”

“Me? When am I annoying?”

“I’ll let you know next time it happens.”

“It’s not gonna happen.”

“That’s fair enough to say, given that it depends just as much on you doing the annoying as it does on me being annoyed.”

“I hate you.”

“Don’t you need to go to bed?” Shouto asks, unperturbed.

“You invitin’ me to stay?”

“I don’t have a guest room,” Shouto says. “No one’s ever stayed over here. Except Izuku…and he slept in a sleeping bag on the floor.”

“Uh. Yeah. Guess I’ll head home then,” Katsuki says.

He’s a bit disappointed.

There was an obvious solution. But if Shouto doesn’t wanna say it then Katsuki sure as hell isn’t gonna force it.

“Would you sleep next to me?” Shouto asks, as if the idea only just occurred to him. “We’ve…never done that before. On purpose.”

“You kick in your sleep?”

“I don’t know,” Shouto says. “I don’t think I do. Do you?”

“Yeah, I snore too,” Katsuki smirks. “Having second thoughts?”

“No,” Shouto says, resolute. “I want to sleep with you.”

Jesus Christ. “I was kidding. About the kicking. I do snore sometimes.”

“I’m a deep sleeper,” Shouto says. “You can snore.”

Fuck, so they’re really doing this.

“I ain’t got sleep clothes here,” Katsuki notes, frowning.

He should have brought some with him. A bit presumptuous, maybe. But it woulda come in handy.

“You do though,” Shouto says, and he looks away, ‘cause this of all things has made him shy. “Your shirt that I usually sleep in.”

“That’s probably covered in cat hair by now.”

“No, it definitely is. Soba can be fairly solitary during the day, but she likes to sleep on my chest or near my feet.”

Not tonight she doesn’t. “S’okay. I’ll figure something out.”

“You can wear something of mine,” Shouto says.

Possible.

First he needs to brush his teeth. “You got an extra toothbrush?”

“For some reason the set of two is cheaper than the single one,” Shouto says. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“Toothbrushes are dirt cheap to make.”

“How do you know?” Shouto asks.

He gets up and they walk towards the bathroom together.

“I don’t know for sure, but it’s just common sense, right? There’s the handle, which is some kinda plastic. The bristles gotta be synthetic fibers. None of that’s expensive, and toothbrushes are manufactured in bulk, which brings the cost down even more.”

“That means, in theory, Best Jeanist could manipulate tooth brushes,” Shouto notes.

“Yeah,” Katsuki snorts. “In case he was ever attacked in a bathroom.”

“He’d have a lot of options. Hand towels, for one,” Shouto opens the bathroom cabinet and gets out a plastic case that contains the second of the two toothbrushes he bought. “Loofah?”

“Nah. Toilet paper’s kinda woven,” Katsuki grabs the toothbrush. “Maybe that.”

He kinda likes the fact that his toothbrush is red. Shouto took the blue one for himself. Somehow that’s better than the other way around.

It’s more domestic than he was prepared for it to be, the two of them brushing their teeth together. It’s not like that hasn’t happened before, in the dorms.

Except now it’s just them. And it’s not weird.

Besides the fact that Katsuki brushes his teeth as hard as he can, he needs to look over at Shouto and make sure he’s doing a good enough job killing his own teeth germs.

He’d better, given the fact that Katsuki’s very much plannin’ on kissing him.

Katsuki spends the next few minutes washing his face. It’s then that he realizes that the watching thing can go both ways, and Shouto is looking at him intently. Maybe it’s the novelty. If they do this enough times it’s gotta get too boring to watch Katsuki try and kill his face germs before bed.

Holy fuck.

Katsuki can’t believe he’s already started thinking of this as potentially a regular thing.

“You scrub so hard,” Shouto says. “But your skin stays so soft.”

“It’s a quirk thing,” Katsuki says, wiping his face dry on a towel. “I try not to advertise it.”

“Isn’t it a good thing if your quirk makes you more attractive?”

“It’s an explosive quirk, for explosions. If I said the mechanics of it also make me…have fuckin’ soft skin or whatever, that’d make me look d—”

The word he’s looking for is dumb. Or something like that.

Todoroki cuts him off with. “Desirable.”

He doesn’t even phrase it as a question. He says the word outright. It’s almost too much for Katsuki to handle.

“I didn’t design my hero persona to be desirable, asshole. So get your head checked.”

“You sort of did though?” Shouto says. “Your summer costume is sleeveless. It has a v-neck line. Aren’t those details meant to accentuate your best physical attributes?”

“Hah?”

“Your costume purposefully draws attention to the definition in your upper arm muscles and ample…chest,” as Shouto says it he looks there now, shameless.

It’s not—that’s not the fucking reason his costume looks like that, well, not the only reason, so—

“It’s not my fault I know how to design a good looking costume. Just ‘cause yours looks like a jumpsuit with five peepees. Besides, exactly how far back have you been lookin’ at me like that, huh Shortcake?”

There needs to be a warning sign on Shouto. That even when he looks empty-headed and spacey, he could be secretly pervin’.

“A while,” Shouto says. “And they’re not five peepees, I have eight now, and they contain—”

“Jesus. I know,” Katsuki kisses him, soft and sweet, tasting faintly of spearmint toothpaste. “I know.”

He could really get used to this method of gettin’ him to shut the hell up.

‘Cause Shouto doesn’t rush to correct him, to clarify the facts. Too goddamn eager to kiss him back.

*

They’re still not dating. Katsuki knows this. And it should probably bother him more. It was botherin’ him earlier.

But does it really matter if they don’t stick a label on whatever the fuck it is they’re doing if he’s the only one that gets to do this with Shouto?

Everything Shouto does convinces him that he’s the only one. More than that, he’s the first. Katsuki’s never been the first one to do any hike in Japan, mostly ‘cause the island is so goddamn old and it would be impossible to be the first. But it still kinda feels like that when he scales up a peak.

So maybe that’s what he’s doing now, and as long as he gets here and puts his flag in the ground at the summit he can make sure no one else comes and sniffs around.

“You can wear these,” Shouto hands him a set of blue pajamas. “They were a gift from my mom, so I don’t wear them as often.”

“Why?”

“If I wear them less often I’ll have to wash them less and they’ll last longer.”

“Birthday gift?” Katsuki asks.

“Mm,” Shouto confirms. “What does your mom get you for your birthday?”

“My old man picks out something from them both,” Katsuki explains. “The way she likes to tell it, the ten hours of labor to get me into this world was her goddamn gift.”

“I don’t know how long my mom was in labor with me.”

“That’s ‘cause yours doesn’t like to blackmail you into doing chores with it.”

The pajamas are nice and soft, and they have that new clothes feel. Katsuki kinda feels bad to contribute to one extra wear, given that Shouto’s committed to savoring pajamas like the weirdo he is. But there was likely no talkin’ him out of it. ‘Cause he’d offered and he’s a stubborn ass about these things.

Shouto sleeps in a heather grey shirt Katsuki’s pretty sure he’s seen before. No…pants. Just boxer briefs. Which he didn’t do in the dorms. Probably woulda been inappropriate to do in the dorms, given the common areas with the girls.

“Where the fuck are your pants?”

“I don’t always wear pants to sleep,” Shouto says. “I can if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Doesn’t bother me,” Katsuki says.

Even though he can see the outline of Shouto’s cock through his underwear. The shirt’s a tight fit on Shouto too. Maybe it’s from high school? Looking at him makes Katsuki feel like the one who’s more naked. And he’s suddenly aware that Shouto had said he wants to sleep with Katsuki.

Given Shouto’s tendency towards the literal, he’d assumed “sleeping” as in just to sleep. It’s not that he doesn’t fucking want…the other thing. With Shouto. Hell, he wants it too much, right now. So he can’t just—no, he’s already in his head and they aren’t even touching, and god—Shouto’s probably got some kinda build up in his head of how this is gonna go.

Since he said he’s liked the way Katsuki looks since forever.

Maybe, maybe Shouto’s got a fantasy. Of how shit goes down.

The worst part is Katsuki’s definitely got a fantasy of how shit goes down. About how good it’s supposed to get. The fucking best. Like everything he’s heard it can be, for everybody else. The honeyed taste of it he’s already gotten with Shouto, but even more…real. How he might feel, jittery and raw and good all over.

How he could make Shouto feel.

He watches Shouto get into bed, taking the left side of the futon and settling in under the blanket which is easily big enough to share between both of them.

Katsuki gets in next to him and then they’re facing each other. “What…you wanna talk now?”

“Don’t you?”

“This ain’t a sleepover. We’re not gonna trade ghost stories and get out our trading cards.”

“Is that what boys do at sleepovers?” Shouto asks.

He’s so fucking pretty. With his stupid pretty hair splayed out on the pillow. Looking right at Katsuki in the dim light of the dark room.

“Yeah,” Katsuki says.

“I asked Izuku when he stayed over, but he couldn’t tell me. He’d only slept over at your house and then…not really.”

“That’s my fault.”

“He forgives you.”

“He’s told me,” Katsuki admits.

He reaches out to pinch Shouto’s soft cheek between his thumb and forefinger. Not hard enough to hurt…just, since he’s close enough to touch he feels like he should. He traces the shape of Shouto’s lips, his thumb slips into Shouto’s mouth and Shouto wets it with the tip of his tongue. Then as Katsuki eases his thumb out, he closes his lips for a kiss.

Oh.

Katsuki ends his little exploration at Shouto’s neck, holding his face right under the jawline, three fingers cupping the back of Shouto’s head, index finger tracing over his wispy white sideburns.

“What kind of ghost stories are you supposed to tell?” Shouto asks.

“Like…the slit-mouthed woman. Okiku and the nine plates.”

“I know those,” Shouto says. “From folklore.”

“Yeah. So you tell stories like that…real slow. Tryna be quiet. Then when there’s any kinda sound in the night all these idiots get terrified and think maybe it’s the evil spirits when it’s just the old hag comin’ down to make sure you’re really asleep.”

“That sounds like fun. Were you ever scared by someone’s story?”

“Nah. None of those losers could tell ‘em all that well. My mom though…she was real good at it.”

Shouto gets his arm around Katsuki’s waist, tugs him in closer, so they’re talking just a few centimeters apart. He leaves his hand resting at Katsuki’s side, then sneaks it up under Katsuki’s shirt to settle his cool palm on Katsuki’s bare skin. Brush his fingers lazily along Katsuki’s lower back.

They’re so close now they need to talk in hushed voices. Just like the kinda real kids’ sleepover Shouto’s never had. Except they’re not whispering to keep it down for the adults.

It’s just them and they could make all the noise in the world if they wanted to.

Being quiet just feels right. Having Shouto touch him like that feels right too.

He can feel himself flush with arousal, responding to Shouto’s closeness, the warmth of his body.

“What did you do when her stories scared you?” Shouto asks.

“Obviously…you can’t act like you’re scared, or she won’t tell you stories like that ever fucking again, ‘cause my old man is a problem.”

“How so?”

“If he thought I had a nightmare ‘cause of it he would tell her not to tell me stories about demons and things like that. But I loved that shit.”

“Demon stories do seem like something you would enjoy.”

“You think you know me real well, don’t you?”

“Not as well as I would like to,” Shouto confesses. “It bothers me…sometimes. When I see how much Izuku knows about you that I don’t. It makes me…”

“Jealous?”

Shouto nods. His hand slips down lower. Under the waistband of Katsuki’s pants, till he’s cupping Katsuki’s ass over the thin fabric of his underwear.

It’s so like Shouto to be jealous of goddamn Deku for knowing things about Katsuki’s childhood when he’s the one who’s got Katsuki in his bed, is currently coppin’ a feel.

“Don’t be,” Katsuki says. “I’ll tell you anything you wanna know.”

“Does this feel good?” Shouto asks, squeezing Katsuki’s ass cheek, pulling him even closer so Katsuki’s pressed up against his hard-on.

“Yeah.”

“This?” Shouto kisses him.

“Y-yeah.”

It’s not a soft and chaste goodnight kiss, that’s for sure.

Shouto kisses him like the night’s just gotten started right fucking now.

“Can I get your clothes off?”

“Sure.”

Being kissed like that Katsuki would say yes to anything.

He lets Shouto undress him, lets Shouto have every whine and moan that comes outta him while they kiss and touch until they’re skin on skin.

He licks his lips when Shouto pulls his own grey shirt over his head. Clings onto Shouto while Shouto presses kisses all over Katsuki’s chest, moving down to his lower stomach.

Shouto takes his time kissing the starburst scars that litter Katsuki’s chest and ribs.

He slips Katsuki’s underwear down last. Takes in the sight of him, lying back on the futon, naked.

Then Shouto’s warm mouth is on him, licking and sucking at the head of his dick—already hard, and Katsuki tries his best not to buck his hips up to fuck Shouto’s mouth, but he can’t help it.

Shouto sucks him down, clumsy at first, his hands finding purchase at Katsuki’s inner thighs. Then he finds his stride. Taking Katsuki in and out, bringing him closer to the edge.

The sensation ebbs and flows, a slow, generous build. Katsuki rests his head back and just enjoys the feeling around his dick.

He’s always known Shouto to be giving to the point of insanity, didn’t think it would extend even to this.

He pets Shouto's soft hair. The idea of it being Shouto doing this to him getting him off just as much as the feeling of it. Everybody’s proper little prince, kneeling between Katsuki’s legs, getting sloppy sucking on his cock.

And Katsuki—he didn’t even fucking ask for—Shouto wanted…he wanted this.

“You’re really good at that,” Katsuki tells him. “Made for that. Made for me.”

Shouto reaches around to grab at his ass cheeks, using his grip as leverage to take Katsuki deeper in his mouth. Until Katsuki’s almost worried that he’s gonna gag, ‘cause he never thought he’d be here…fucking Todoroki Shouto’s throat.

“H-hey,” He gives Shouto’s hair a little tug. “C’mon. Come off.”

Even in his horny haze, the heat spreading all over his body, he’s still sort of thinking. If this is Shouto’s first time doing this he’s not gonna be able to swallow. Doesn’t want Shouto to choke.

Shouto is…his to take care of.

And for once he listens. Coming off of Katsuki’s dick with a wet pop, he takes him in hand.

Katsuki jerks hard, unraveling at the seams, and Shouto’s kissing him through it, swallowing down every twitch and moan. Katsuki eases into the kiss with a sound so needy any other time he’d be cursing himself out, but he wants it, he’s desperate—even with the taste of himself slick on Shouto’s lips.

It’s the second time Shouto’s gotten him off. And Katsuki doesn’t like the score like this. Uneven. He reaches into Shouto’s pants like he’s done it a million times before.Then he takes a moment just to touch him, get his fingers around his length.

He doesn’t think. Mostly just kissing Shouto, which is quickly getting to be one of his favorite things, even with the sheets sticky between them. Soft, gentle motions of his hand. Goading Shouto on.

“Don’t be mean,” Shouto complains. “That’s…holding back.”

“What?” Katsuki asks. “You want me to get you off for real?”

“Yes.”

“Ask me nicely.”

“Katsuki,” he says. “Please.”

Katsuki doesn’t know how anyone could see him ask like this and refuse. You’d have to be…subhuman. The please yanks his heart out of his chest and Shouto holds it, beating and bloody.

He gives Shouto what he wants. While kissing his neck and throat in the places he’s already catalogued as particularly sensitive. Shouto was made to be loved up like this. He’s never been more beautiful.

So Katsuki tells him. And he shakes. His red and white hair is damp. He’s not crying but his body temperature is in flux. With Katsuki’s hand between them stroking his dick, he’s having flashes of heat and little dips of cold. It’s…cute.

So Katsuki tells him that too. It comes more naturally to him than he thought it would, whispering nonsense to Shouto, not quite dirty talk to get him to the edge.

“You’re mine now, you’re ready,” Katsuki slips his tongue into Shouto’s mouth.

He’s never kissed anyone like this but it feels like the thing to do, his body moves on its own, and Shouto’s velvety soft where Katsuki licks the inside of his mouth. Shouto keens against him,

“You’ll come for me,” Katsuki says, and he’s not sure where the confidence comes from.

Not from the usual source. Maybe from the way Shouto’s looking at him. The way his eyes close from the sensation, then flutter open ‘cause he wants to see. Almost like he wants to make sure Katsuki is still with him.

“I’m here,” Katsuki promises. “Right here, baby.”

He repeats it, steady, grounding. Shouto shudders against him, then collapses, boneless, in Katsuki’s arms. It’s the first time Katsuki’s ever felt someone else’s spill on his hand—

—but all he can think about is Shouto.

He drags his hand across the sheet to clean it off, then smooths the other one over Shouto’s back, making steady little circles. He keeps talking, voice low.

“Shit. You came a lot.”

“Thank you,” Shouto shakes his head. “Or…sorry.”

It’s like he’s tryna put the right words in place. ‘Cause he came so hard it made him stupid.

“You’re welcome,” Katsuki says.

“Don’t…make fun,” Shouto says…but there’s no bite.

“Me? Never.”

Shouto’s eyes close and he sighs. Katsuki used to think he’d seen Shouto at his most content, while sleeping on public transit, or in the dining hall, or any other place he just clonked out. But it wasn’t like this.

Right now he’s out like a light.

Maybe it was ‘cause he was already tired, from all the cooking, before they got started.

Maybe it’s all just as new for him as it is for Katsuki. Every part.

So Katsuki lets him rest for a moment.

Then he does a rush job adjusting the sheets so there’s a clean part of it for them to sleep on. He finds Shouto’s spare blanket. 

He pulls Shouto’s head against his chest and the cat chooses that moment to come sit on the blanket on top of Shouto’s legs.

Katsuki watches Shouto reach his hand out to pet the cat on the head, as if on instinct, and listens to her low purr.

“Goodnight, Soba.” Shouto says—eyes still closed, and before Katsuki can protest his exclusion he reaches out and pats Katsuki’s left pec. “Goodnight, Katsuki.”

Chapter Text

As it turns out, Shouto doesn’t snore. He doesn’t kick either.

Or at least, he doesn’t do either of these things enough to disturb Katsuki’s sleep.

Shouto is an aggressive cuddler though, and when he’s asleep he treats Katsuki like his own personal teddy bear, grabbing him and holdin’ on real tight. Almost as if…for comfort.

Katsuki was more of a blanket baby himself, from what he’s been told, so he doesn’t get that. But whatever.

Katsuki already knew Shouto was a mostly unobtrusive sleeper.

It sort of fits, with the way he tends to make himself smaller, wants people not to worry, wants to help but not to be helped—and it’s almost funny, ‘cause Katsuki actually wants those exact things too but everything he does, his basic being, is oriented around making himself bigger, louder, taking up more space, exploding outward in order to be heard.

It’s exactly four-thirty in the morning when Katsuki’s watch beeps.

Shouto is spooning him.

Katsuki has no memory of how they got into this position. It’s not how they fell asleep.

And he…doesn’t mind it?

Doesn’t mind Shouto’s hand resting loosely on his lower stomach. Doesn’t mind being able to feel and hear Shouto’s slow, steady breathing.

It’s weirdly calming.

Normally, Katsuki wakes up slightly annoyed at the idea of being awake. Then grows more annoyed and impatient with himself as he goes through all of his morning tasks. The morning starts off heavy, in a hurry, the mental ticking clock never stops, the pressure builds, the responsibility sinks down on him.

It’s heavier now that he’s been working a few years and he has a buncha wet-nosed little junior heroes to mentor and make get out of their own way. He sorta understands why sensei was always so tired.

It’s also partly the responsibility that he’s always had, since he helped end a war and died and came back to life in the process. The responsibility he’s had since he decided he wanted to be a hero, to make good on his dream.

It’s not that he can’t carry it, he can. There’s just so much shit to do…all the time.

But right now Katsuki’s waking up next to the person he likes the most in the world, and he’s smiling to himself and this is all so stupid.

So he turns around.

He doesn’t want to wake Shouto up but he also doesn’t wanna just leave. He wasn’t even planning on spending the night or he’d have brought his work stuff here for the morning after, but this just sorta happened.

“...Shouto?” his voice comes out rough, gravelly, and he doesn’t recognize it.

Katsuki’s never spoken to anyone this early in the morning, besides family. Not of his own volition. Not like this. For an assignment, maybe he’s made contact. But he remembers the sound of his own missives as being blunt, perfunctory, bordering on dismissive—not…not this.

He’s never woken up with his guard already down. His body telling him he’s home and he’s whole, and the only person around is someone that really, truly loves him, exactly as he is.

“Want to sleep,” Shouto mumbles.

“Lazy fuck.”

“Oh,” Shouto stirs, his eyes open.

“Hey,” Katsuki says.

Because he’s a complete idiot and he doesn’t even know how to segway from morning after into regular life.

Is he supposed to know? Fuck. Maybe.

Either way, it’s gonna make him late.

He’s never been late to work a day in his life. Not counting unplanned hospitalizations, Deku-related emergencies and the one time he fucked up and caught the seasonal flu from goddamn Kaminari.

The thought makes him grimace.

“You look nice,” Shouto says, then yawns.

Katsuki stares at his mouth. “What?”

“I said you look nice,” Shouto says, as if Katsuki simply didn’t hear him, then he explains. “I like seeing you in my clothes.”

The line slips out before Katsuki can even really think about it. “Thought you liked getting me out of ‘em.”

“I can like both,” Shouto says. “I have something of a proficiency with dual wielding.”

He really, really does.

It’s not even a good joke. But Katsuki’s smiling like an idiot.

He’s impossibly pleased with himself that this is his morning. That it’s him who gets to wake up next to Shouto and nobody else in the world has anything even nearly as good.

“Yeah. I saw your proficiency last night,”

“But I wasn’t using my quirk.”

“I–in bed, idiot. Gettin’ me off while—” he gestures vaguely, face turning red, while Shouto stares at him, oblivious. “The thing.”

“When we were…intimate.”

“You gotta say it like that?”

“Calling it sex feels crude. It was…”

“Yeah,” Katsuki says. “It was. Yeah.”

He’s not even sure what he’s agreeing to exactly. It’s just…a feeling? One which makes him float on air. Giddy and weightless.

“I have to go,” he says.

“I know,” Shouto says. “Go. I’ll see you later. I don’t work today until eight in the evening.”

But Katsuki doesn’t want to go. He wants to stay right the fuck here, next to Shouto, and the thought is mortifying.

“Okay. Bye. I’ll uh—I’ll call you.”

It’s fucking weird.

Because Katsuki doesn’t really call people. He definitely doesn’t call people he sees multiple times a week anyway. But it just comes out and when he sees Shouto’s face light up he doesn’t think he can take it back.

“Oh,” Shouto says. “During your lunch break?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Okay.”

He leans in to kiss Shouto’s forehead, again, without thinking. “Go back to sleep.”

“Is that an order or a request?” Shouto asks.

Katsuki’s got no doubt in his mind that he’s in love with him. The way Shouto looks first thing in the morning with sleep-mussed hair and a soft half-smile, a sight Katsuki must have seen a hundred times, is new and something he needs to keep well-guarded. Their secret.

“Like it matters. You’ll just do what you want anyway.”

*

Katsuki clocks in one minute before he’s supposed to get to work. Normally, he gets in at least fifteen minutes early, something he reminds the rookies about constantly. As they loiter in with seconds to spare. Every goddamn day.

“Dynamight-san, you look very happy today?” one of the sidekicks asks, looking slightly hopeful.

“Hah?!”

“You just look…”

“You think it fucking thrills me that you’re sloppier than a group of first year provisional licensees?”

“No?”

“You think I’m happy all of you spend more time jumpin’ down each other’s throats than fighting like a real team?”

“Also no,” she shakes her head, bowing it deferentially.

“Get back in line.”

What does Deku even teach these clowns, honestly.

*

The next couple hours pass in a blur. Then before Katsuki knows it they’re at their ten minute break, about two hours before shift ends and he can get a late lunch.

He finds a park bench near the area he was patrolling to go sit down. Drinks some water from the bottle he carries around, the one that says U.A. He does his standard equipment check, to make sure everything’s still good.

Then his mind wanders.

First, he checks in on the running catalogue of his own minor mistakes or lapses in technique from the day, things that didn’t cost him anything but could make a difference if everything was on the line.

There’s still such a gap between who he is and who he wants to be. He simmers with a familiar frustration.

His phone dings.

halfie:

Hi. I know you don’t like texts at work, but I think you wore one of my socks and one of your socks on your way out?

It’s not that I want my sock back

I just wanted to let you know

katsuki:

you calling me a sock thief?

halfie:

I’m sure it was an accident

katsuki:

what r u gonna do if it wasn’t?

halfie:

:o

I’m shocked

katsuki:

dumbass

u don’t have to explain the emoticon after sending it

halfie:

I’m also surprised that you’re responding to me

katsuki:

fuck off

and there’s no such thing as a surprise

if ur surprised that just means ur not paying enough attention

halfie:

But I give you a lot of my attention?

You occupied most of my attention this morning after you left

Soba had to meow twice to get her breakfast

Katsuki looks to his left and to his right, to make sure the rookies aren’t in the vicinity, in case his face is doing something stupid to match the cartwheels in his stomach. Then he takes his mask off, pushing it up on his forehead, like a hairband.

Somehow he doesn’t feel like talking to Shouto with it on. He’s not really sure why.

katsuki:

poor little demon spawn

halfie:

I will apologize

katsuki:

u should

loser

thinking about me a lot huh

halfie:

All the time

It’s been difficult to focus

I find you highly distracting

katsuki:

shut the fuck up

halfie:

Okay

Are you busy?

katsuki:

no thats not what i meant

halfie:

You told me to shut up?

katsuki:

yeah

I just dont know how to deal with ur shitty compliments

u can still talk to me

halfie:

:)

They aren’t compliments

I was just telling you how I feel

But I’m glad you’re not busy

katsuki:

weirdo

did u eat?

halfie:

Yes

katsuki:

ill come by sometime this week to give ur sock back

dont know how ull cope without it

halfie:

Thank you

katsuki:

r u doing ok with the family stuff

halfie:

Better than before

Still need to work on a path forward

katsuki:

ok

remember

come to me when u need something

or im gonna kill u

halfie:

Yes

❤️

katsuki:

gtg

ill call u in a bit

Katsuki spends a long few seconds staring at that heart. Now he kinda wishes he hadn’t told Shouto not to explain the emotes he sends. ‘Cause he sure as fuck wants to know what the hell that meant.

He feels like a goddamn teenager. Worrying about a text.

But it’s a red heart. Which is the default one, probably. Katsuki’s never sent any kinda heart to anybody, and probably never will.

He’s not an idiot though. He knows the red heart is supposed to stand for…love, right? The kind that would make Shouto his boyfriend.

Katsuki can’t believe how badly he wants that. Can’t stand the heart staring back at him from the screen, can’t stand his own heart thudding in his chest.

Then the break’s over. Mask comes back on. So he pulls it together.

Katsuki and his worries are pushed to the side. And Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight is back.

*

It’s an hour later when he sees the cat. Past mid-day. It’s really warm so his hair is damp with sweat and sticking to the back of his neck.

Katsuki sees the cat before he sees the kid. It’s up in a tree, all fluffed up and indignant, as if it didn’t get itself into this mess.

Then he sees the kid, and even worse, the kid sees him. And he’s on duty.

The commission ran a public service infomercial recently, telling people, mostly kids, that heroes are there to help them, and if they’re in trouble or in a dangerous situation they can call for a hero to help them out.

Which is alright and everything, but they definitely didn’t mean—

“GREAT EXPLOSION MURDER GOD DYNAMIGHT-SAN, you have to get Poko-chan. She’s scared.”

At least he used Katsuki’s full hero name. But Katsuki’s got a serial killer with chainsaws for hands to find some intel on and another guy who can make you jump around like a frog and ribbit just by looking at you that’s been terrorizing the local news anchors.

“Look,” the kid points, as if Katsuki’s an idiot who doesn’t have eyes and can’t assess the situation. “She’s up there.”

“She got up there,” Katsuki shrugs. “She can get down.”

“She can’t.”

Goddamn kid’s face is red from crying.

Katsuki briefly wonders where the little brat’s mom even is, then remembers all the times he and Deku were out by themselves at that age. There’s a buncha apartment buildings just a block away.

“Why the f—why not?”

“She doesn’t know how.”

Alright. He’ll make this quick. He starts popping some sparks off in his gloved palm. The tree’s kinda on the taller side, so he’ll need a little boost. Cat’s on the upper branches.

“Hey! No quirk,” the kid says. “If you use your quirk the sound’s gonna scare her and she’ll fall.”

Jesus Christ.

“You want me to climb up.”

“You don’t think you can?”

Oh. Oh no. Katsuki’s not falling for that.

Except he definitely can. He can climb this tree without his quirk. Goddamn Deku probably could, probably would in order to save a cat, in his teacher clothes and everything. And Shouto—Shouto wouldn’t hesitate. Shouto would do it, quick and clean, and he’d look good doing it without even trying to.

Shouto would be disappointed that Katsuki even waited this long before doing what he was always gonna do.

“Nah. This? Easy.”

The first part’s the hardest. When it’s all trunk and no branches. Katsuki thinks of Shouto, how he’d be able to use little ice pucks to poke into the tree and make it easier to climb—or maybe not, ‘cause Shouto cares about things like the structural integrity of trees, and preserving them.

Shouto might even know what kinda tree this is. He does that a lot. Knows random shit about obscure things and then sits there absolutely clueless about the things that every other extra knows.

And Katsuki loves it.

By the time he gets to the lower branches, he hears the stupid cat meow. “Shut up. Gimme a minute.”

“What’s taking so long?” the kid calls out from the ground.

Katsuki climbs faster out of spite. Nearly loses his footing before grabbing another branch to steady himself.

Almost there.

Then he’s just gotta get a hold of Poko-chan, and somehow get back down with her. He gets up to her level, reaches out.

When he’s about to grab her she jumps onto his back, scratching up a storm. Then yowls, triumphant, and uses him as a human ladder to climb down herself.

“Jesus fuck,” he lets himself down, uses his quirk to break the direct fall so he lands with a soft thud, both feet on the ground.

“Thank you,” the kid’s waiting with the tiny demon in his arms, he bows his little head down towards Katsuki—

—who’s so angry at the situation he can barely form words, but this job ain’t for the weak.

He feels around for Shouto in the background of his conscience, who’d surely be happy that the cat is safe, even if she fucking mauled Katsuki.

“Anytime,” he says, jaw tight, then adds, turning towards one of the rookies who’s shadowing. “Oi. This one’s off the record.”

He needs a shower and then some goddamn sleep.

*

Katsuki actually knows for a fact that Kaminari’s been working mostly nights for a while now. With Shinsou.

So the only reason Kaminari’s in the locker room now, with a towel around his waist and humming some annoying pop song, is because he likes to hangout at the agency in his off-time.

Or maybe the water pressure in his apartment sucks or something.

Or, worse, he’s here to bother Katsuki.

“Yo, is that what I think it is?” his eyes widen, and he’s looking at Katsuki all weird.

More weird than he usually looks.

“What?” Katsuki doesn’t follow.

He has a bad habit of tuning out about 30% of the shit Kaminari even says. For health reasons. 

“I’m just sayin’, sorta looks like you got some action last night.”

“Who told you about that?” Katsuki snaps.

He recognizes the mistake as soon as he says it. In an interrogation, you should never answer more than the question being asked. If someone asks if you know what day it is, you say yes or no, not the date.

But he didn’t think he’d be interrogated while sitting around drying his hair in the agency locker room. Most of the sidekicks are dead scared of him anyway, and give him his space.

“Oh my god,” Kaminari whispers as he sits down next to Katsuki. “How was it?”

“Die.”

“Kacchan, please.”

Katsuki’s got a pit in his stomach. He imagines Shouto telling people about their thing. About how it happened. Everything about how it happened. And it feels…wrong. It’s private. All of it. What they did. The way Katsuki was. The part of him he let Shouto see.

Shouto really wouldn’t do that, that doesn’t make any goddamn fucking sense, a tiny, rational part of his mind pipes up. But in that moment, it’s easy to silence it. 

“I’m asking you again. One more time. Who told you,” Katsuki repeats.

“No one told me anything!” Kaminari says. “I just saw your back, it’s all scratched up. Never figured you’d be kinky.”

“My back?”

The goddamn cat scratches. Right.

Shit.

Fuck.

Shouto didn’t tell anyone.

He didn’t.

He would never do that. That isn’t who he is. That’s not how he treats people he loves. He’s...actually the type to be annoyingly protective.

Not that Katsuki needs protection. Far from it.

“Are you okay?” Kaminari asks. “You look kinda pale? Hey. I was just joking around. I don’t know anything. About this.”

“It was this demon cat, okay?!”

“A cat scratched up your back?” he looks like he’s about to laugh and then seems to reconsider it. “That…that sucks.”

“Yeah. No shit.”

He must still look terrible or something, ‘cause Kaminari puts his arm around him.

It’s the kinda semi-forced side-hug he used to do to Katsuki in high school.

And Katsuki really hopes there’s no one around to see this. Now that he knows what the cat scratches look like, and the fact that they’re both not wearing shirts probably sends the wrong signal.

But it clinches even more now that what he feels for Shouto is more than just friend shit. 

‘Cause Kaminari touches him like a friend. A friend with a death wish, make no mistake.

And if Katsuki was feeling even slightly less shitty he would have shoved him off immediately, but part of him’s still stuck in the feeling where he thought Shouto had told, and he’d done it such a way that everyone was thinking Katsuki was as pathetic and small as he sometimes feels that he is.

He lets Kaminari sorta hug him for exactly three seconds. “Get the hell off me. Now.”

“Loud and clear,” he lets Katsuki go, lifts his hands as if to show he’s not gonna do it again.

Katsuki sighs. “What are you even doing here?”

“I kinda miss you all when I work nights,” Kaminari says. “I feel like I’m not even in the crew anymore. So I come by here sometimes.”

“That’s stupid. If you’re here during the day and you work nights you won’t sleep.”

“Sleep is overrated.”

“It isn’t. You’re a just moron.”

“Sometimes, I guess, I can be,” Kaminari admits, he looks guilty. “I tend to put my foot in my mouth, but I don’t really mean to do that.”

Katsuki hates this. The tiptoeing around. Apologizing. It makes him feel itchy and weird and he needs it to die.

“What part of get the hell off me didn’t you get? I’m good. Peachy.”

“I can still call you, Kacchan though, right?”

“Fuck no. Even Deku shoulda stopped callin’ me that years ago. It’s a nickname for a little kid.”

“Some people on the internet think he doesn’t actually know your name. Like your real first name.”

Katsuki snorts. “You’re way too online.”

“You’re not online enough.”

“That’s why I’m smarter than you.”

“No, sometimes I think you’re smarter than people out of just…spite? Like your brain won’t let you be dumber than me because it has to win or it gets super sad.”

“Brains don’t get sad, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“See, these are the kinds of conversations I couldn’t have if I worked the night shift and never ever saw you.”

“You saw me four days ago at Jirou’s thing.”

“This is different, one-on-one time. Don’t you feel closer, Kacchan?”

“If you touch me again, I’ll blow your face off,” Katsuki says.

But he mostly feels better.

*

The conversation in the locker room forces him to take a shorter lunch break.

He barely has time to eat and get back into position. And there’s no downtime for the rest of the day. There’s incidents back to back to back. The rookies are scared shitless that they’ll miss a chance to look cool, and Katsuki yells himself hoarse trying to get some unit cohesion.

He has to get creative, trying to figure out a way to put together five different quirks to hold up a building. Shouto could do it with half of his quirk. But Katsuki’s quirk is destructive and not constructive and sometimes that really fucking blows.

It’s only when he gets home that he remembers. The phone call.

Shouto was expecting him to call. At some point during the day. Now it’s seven. And he didn’t remember to do it. He was so upset about the cat scratch thing and then the other thing that he just…fucked it up.

He knows Shouto though, Shouto would have been waiting.

So he calls now.

It rings twice before Shouto picks up. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“I’m getting ready to leave,” Shouto says. “But I have about ten minutes.”

Ten minutes. That’s enough.

“I was gonna call. I just—”

“It’s fine. It’s not a big deal,” Shouto says, but Katsuki can tell from his tone that he’s brushing over the truth. “It would be silly to care about something so small.”

“Maybe,” Katsuki admits.

But the way he feels has made him do a lot of crazy shit.

“Don’t give me that shit,” Katsuki says. “I know you.”

“What do you want me to say?” Shouto asks, sounding clipped, more terse than usual. “You don’t owe it to me to call me because you promise to.”

It’s the cold version of Shouto. The one who comes out when he needs to protect himself. Encase himself in ice. Like his very first hero costume back at school.

“That’s just it, that’s what I fucking hate,” Katsuki says. “I do owe it to you. Even the small stuff. And you don’t fucking know that.”

“...I did wait for your call,” Shouto admits.

“I shoulda been there.”

“It’s fine though,” Shouto says. “You’re quite busy. I understand that. We have the same job.”

“Fuck you. It’s not fine. And it’s not small. It matters. It matters to me. I’m not too busy to tell you I’m too busy to talk. If I was that busy you’d have seen me on the news kickin’ ass.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. A rustling sound. 

“That means a lot to me.”

“If I was there I’d kiss some sense into you.”

“I want that,” Shouto says. “I wish I was with you.”

Katsuki can imagine that. If they lived together. Him coming home to Shouto. Being able to see him off. Touch him and show him how loved he really is. Before he goes out there. Being there for Shouto to come home to.

It’s not something he’d imagined for himself, before. But he can see it with Shouto.

“I wish I was with you too,” Katsuki says. “But this’ll have to work.”

He never thought he’d say something that sappy without a gun to his head.

He never thought he’d do a lot of things.

“Would you tell me about your day?” Shouto asks.

“Yeah,” Katsuki says. “I uh…I saved a cat.”

“A cat?”

“Real fluffy one. Grey. Like your demon spawn.”

“What was her name?”

“...Poko-chan.”

“You don’t sound like a fan.”

“She scratched up my fucking back?” Katsuki explains. “No, I’m not a fan.”

“How did that happen?”

“She climbed down me from her tree branch.”

“I thought you saved her from a villain attack,” Shouto says.

“Why the fuck would a villain attack a cat?” Katsuki demands. “She was in a tree.”

“You saved her from a tree?”

“She was stuck in it, asshole. I got her down.”

“From what you’re saying, it seems like she got herself down. With your assistance.”

“Die. That’s not what happened.”

“So if it was not a villain attack, were you responding to a civilian?” Shouto asks.

“Yeah. Obviously.”

“Oh,” Shouto says. “I prefer those.”

“You would.”

“That’s what I just said,” Shouto says, then he adds. “I’m really proud of you for saving the cat.”

“I didn’t do it so you’d be proud of me,” Katsuki says. “I woulda done it anyway.”

“I know,” Shouto says. “That’s why I love you. You’re a very kind person.”

Love. Love like the red heart in the message. Like Katsuki’s heart, stitched back together to belong to Shouto, and Shouto alone. In whatever way Shouto wants him.

‘Cause he’s a kind person. The fuck?

“Liar. If you thought that you’d damn well hold me to callin’ you when I said I would.”

“You might be right.”

“I’m always right.”

“You can’t always be right,” Shouto says.

“Yeah I can. By the way…uh, you haven’t told anyone about our…sex thing, right?”

Sometimes Katsuki wishes his own quirk was powerful enough to launch himself directly into the sun.

Even asking brings up the feeling from before.

“No,” Shouto says. “It’s…personal.”

“Too personal to tell Izuku?” Katsuki asks.

This dumb bastard tells Deku everything else.

“Yes? I wouldn’t and haven’t told Izuku about this. Are you telling people?”

“Fuck no.”

“Katsuki,” Shouto says. “I know I’m not good with a lot of social conventions…but I know when something is private. You don’t need to worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Katsuki says. “And I don’t think you’re not—I trust you. I trust you more than…more than anyone.”

“Okay.”

“What are you up to anyway, working nights? Slummin’ it.”

There. Change of subject.

“The villain with the chainsaws for hands, I’m trying to find him.”

“Why you?”

“I’m one of few who could take him one-on-one if he actually showed up where we’re looking,” Shouto says, and there’s no arrogance there at all, that’s just how good he is and he knows it.

It kinda turns Katsuki on a little bit.

Maybe a lot.

“I was on that today. Didn’t make a lotta progress. He’s a ghost.”

“Like Touya-nii was,” Shouto says. “He could be someone who’s supposed to be dead. No family. No connections.”

“You’re not feelin’ sorry for him are you? He killed four people in two days.”

“No,” Shouto says. “Not sorry. It can’t be justified. But I’m trying to understand. His hands. It would have been difficult for someone like that. I know what it’s like to be born as a weapon.”

It stings. Even to hear about it. Like Shouto’s pain is his own. Shouto’s wounds are his too. 

“You sound like Deku. Did ya talk to him about this?”

“Legally no. I’m not supposed to talk to unauthorized personnel about villains currently at large, so I don’t cause a public panic.”

“So you definitely did.”

“Yes.”

“Did he give you a public panic?” Katsuki asks.

“Technically yes.”

“Ha.”

“Did you have a good day?” Shouto asks.

“Buncha extras kept telling me I looked happy. So yeah?”

“You were happy the whole day?”

“The morning,” Katsuki says. “Then it was kinda shit in the middle.”

“And now?”

“Now’s good,” Katsuki says.

“Do the scratches hurt? I have some ointment. I can come over early tomorrow if you want to use it.”

“I patched myself up,” Katsuki says.

“Alright.”

“You can come over whenever though.”

“I don’t have a key.”

“I’ll make you a spare.”

“Do you want one of mine?”

“You’re not scared I’ll come by and catnap Soba like I stole your sock?”

“No. You wouldn’t do that,” Shouto says. “Soba also requires oral sedatives to travel without complaint. You would never make a quiet getaway. So no, I’m not scared.”

“Reminds me of you.”

“I don’t need to be sedated when I travel.”

“Maybe you do. I’ve never seen you do air travel without complaining.”

“Hm,” Shouto says. “That’s because the only trips I’ve taken with you have also been with my father.”

Oh shit. “Yeah.”

“I’d like to go on a trip with you and Izuku without my father.”

“Hah? Not just with me?”

“I didn’t know that was an option.”

“Whatever. Bring the nerd if you fucking want, I’m still gonna kiss you stupid.”

“That might make him uncomfortable,” Shouto says. “So we’d need separate rooms.”

“Hotel walls are thin,” Katsuki points out.

“We’d need a room on a different floor then.”

“Different hotel,” Katsuki says, grinning.

“That might be pushing it. Also, I do have to go now.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you,” Katsuki says. “Don’t do anything dumb when I’m not around to watch your back.”

It just comes out. It’s actually a lot like the way his ma used to end calls with his dad back in the days he used to go on foreign trips, so maybe it’s their fault.

And if this has finally crossed the line for Shouto, he can go to his parents’ house and yell himself hoarse all over again, and maybe that’ll make the ache in his chest feel better.

“I’ll try my best to do intelligent things,” Shouto says, then he adds, quieter. “I love you too.”

Chapter Text

Katsuki finds a little keychain stand next to the kiosk he uses to copy keys.

He fidgets, sorta uncomfortable, while paying for the baby-blue plush cat keychain and feels the need to announce personal information to the complete stranger who’s manning the stand. “It’s not for me. It’s for my dumbass boyfriend.”

It’s not like she knows Shouto personally and can tell him some mean-looking guy in a backwards baseball cap and sunglasses said this.

It feels completely right to refer to Shouto that way. It fits. And that’s—it’s fucking fine.

Whatever. Nothing wrong with a bit of wish-fulfillment.

*

He gives it to Shouto a few nights later. Next time he gets to see him.

It’s been burning a hole in his pocket the whole time they’ve been cuddled up, watching all the space movies Shouto never got the chance to see as a kid. The original Star Wars trilogy, which Katsuki watched with his dad when he was a kid, is what they’re on now.

Shouto’s having a hard time with the fact that Darth Vader is Luke’s father.

“I thought the Sith killed his father,” he points out, after Katsuki pauses the movie.

“Yeah, the Sith killed the version of his father that was good, then he became Darth Vader and he’s all evil. So yeah, Obi-wan lied to Luke. Or at least he didn’t tell him the whole truth.”

“I don’t think he should have lied,” Shouto says.

“He’s got to in order for the goddamn plot twist to even work.”

“I don’t think Obi-wan would be aware of the metastructure of the movie,” Shouto says. “Since he exists within it.”

“Even from his perspective, he’s got to lie. ‘Cause if he doesn’t, then he’s got to tell this kid that his dad is a fucking villain. And that’s gonna suck.”

Shouto shakes his head. “Even if the truth is bad…it’s better to say it than conceal it.”

Katsuki sighs. “So you don’t like the movie.”

“No?” Shouto says. “I loved the movie.”

“Okay. Who did you like the most?” Katsuki asks.

“The Wookie.”

“You’re so predictable.”

“Why?”

“You just are. Who’s my favorite?”

Shouto thinks about it for a couple seconds.

“...is it me?” Shouto asks.

“I—yeah, I mean…in the fucking movie.”

“Han Solo,” Shouto says, much quicker this time. “He blasts things and has the best, fastest ship. That aligns with your interests.”

“Wrong,” Katsuki smiles. “I like the droids. R2 and 3PO.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I always thought they were really funny. I liked Han too, but I kinda soured on him after the whole romance shtick started.”

Shouto nods. “You don’t like romance.”

“When I was seven and I thought girls had weird germs, yeah. I wasn’t a fan.”

“Boys and girls have the same germs,” Shouto says.

“I know that now. I just…I was never interested in that shit. You know I was even confessed to in middle school.”

“Really?” Shouto asks.

“Oi. I was hot shit. Just ‘cause I had a terrible personality didn’t mean that no one was gonna chance it.”

“Okay,” Shouto says. “What did they say when they confessed?”

He’s frowning. He looks…no way.

“Are you jealous? Of a dumb extra I rejected when I was twelve?” Katsuki can’t help but smirk. 

“No,” Shouto says, but he isn’t frowning anymore. “How did you reject them?”

“It was kinda nice by my standards, I think I just ripped up her note and left.”

“What did it say?” Shouto asks.

“I don’t think I read it all. The first part probably said something like…Bakugou, I admire you so much or some shit like that.”

“Oh,” Shouto says.

“What about you?”

“No one confessed to me in middle school.”

“Hah?” Katsuki simply can’t believe that. “There’s no way. Look at you.”

“I carried myself differently then. I don’t think anyone was comfortable enough to approach me. I didn’t do any after school clubs or activities either. And that’s probably…for the best. I don’t think I would have said yes…or been very kind about it, if someone had confessed to me.”

At this point he’s focusing very hard on a spot on the floor, so Katsuki lifts his face up so they can look at each other. “If I’d known you then I’d have beat the shit outta you. Who gives a fuck about your attitude problems.”

“I really doubt you could have beaten me. My quirk training had advanced much more than yours. At that point training was all I was doing outside of school,” Shouto sort of smiles. “It is nice to hear that you would at least attempt it.”

He’s completely right.

But he’s got no right to come out and say so. “Fuck you, I coulda beat you, I could go right now.”

“Fighting me right now wouldn’t prove your point, though?”

“Believe it or not,” Katsuki says. “It’s not always about provin’ a point with me. Sometimes I punch idiots just to punch ‘em.”

“Mm,” Shouto says. “That’s…very charitable of you.”

“I do my part,” Katsuki says. “By the way…I uh, got your key.”

He fishes it out of his pocket, puts it in Shouto’s hand. He’s already put the keychain on the keyring and everything. Thought it’d be easier that way.

It feels like…it’s almost a confession.

“I love it,” Shouto says.

He holds it. Squeezes the little plush cat. Then he does it again. Brings it up to his face to look close at the cat’s shiny black eyes. Then holds it tightly again.

“I don’t have mine for you,” Shouto says. “I left it at home. But I did get the copy made. The keychain isn’t as personal…it’s just the same one I have. It’s durable. I’m happy with the quality.”

This might be…his version of rambling. Katsuki doesn’t get to hear it that often. It’s different from how most people ramble, ‘cause he doesn’t talk any faster…just more. And he stops being able to make eye contact.

It would be criminal not to kiss him. And Katsuki’s a model citizen.

It takes Shouto by surprise, since he isn’t looking. He stills for a moment, then when he kisses back he seems…kinda shy.

He can be so easy and confident sometimes and god that’s a turn on, but Katsuki likes this version of him too. The one that’s so easily reactive with every kiss, every touch. Nervous.

There’s a cut on Shouto’s cheek from his last shift, so Katsuki kisses him there too.

“Are you trying to make it better?” Shouto asks.

“What?”

“When I had a lot of bruises, my mom used to kiss a few of them…and say there, all better. And after that…it hurt less. Now that I think about it though, I don’t think that makes sense.”

Katsuki has a single very hazy memory of his dad kissing his elbow and putting a bandaid on it. Before he even knew how to properly talk. Then after that, he’d have probably screeched like a banshee if someone tried to baby him like that.

Shouto goes on. “There are only a few treatments that can reduce pain levels due to bruising. Time passing for the body to heal naturally, certain kinds of ointment, cold compresses and healing quirks.”

He sounds so…clinical.

Katsuki frowns. “I don’t think something’s gotta make sense for it to be real to you. It’s just how you feel about it.”

“I think…I think it would be easier if it wasn’t real. Sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki says. “Yeah. I know.”

“Can I really come over whenever I want?” Shouto asks, he’s turning the key over in his left hand, over and over.

“Of course,” Katsuki says. “I meant that. I’m not gonna take it back.”

“Okay,” Shouto says.

Then he smiles. In that way. The special way. The one that makes Katsuki understand stupid old poets and the way they talk about feeling so much for someone you’d burn the whole world just to keep them safe.

When Shouto smiles he looks like the sun.

Not the sweltering heat of it at noon, but the soft peeking out of the dawn.

Katsuki’s never sat still a day in his life but there’s nothing like this in all of fucking creation, so it makes him stop, dead in his tracks, lost in awe. It’s insane, the way Katsuki can see the way Shouto lights up with his love. The way it feels…like airy white beams, cream yellow-golden rays made up of everything great and right and Shouto.

The shyness of Shouto’s face, the unpolished sweetness.

It makes him wanna punch his fist through a wall.

“Stop making that stupid face,” he says.

“What face?”

Katsuki pulls Shouto into his lap, gets his hand on Shouto’s back, leans up to kiss him and tastes sunshine. Every drop of love he’s poured into Shouto hits him back ten-fold.

“This face,” Katsuki says. “Can’t get enough of it.”

He kisses Shouto’s cheeks the way he liked the other day. He repeats it the way Shouto wants it. Lingering more with each kiss.

Then Shouto laughs.

And Katsuki’s struck dumb. ‘Cause it’s all loose, and light and he didn’t even know Shouto could make a sound like that.

“What?”

“You said my face was stupid before. I think you need to make up your mind.”

“It ain’t a contradiction,” Katsuki says.

“If you say so.”

“I just did. Are you deaf? Get your ears checked.”

“I did get checked. I have perfect hearing.”

“Doesn’t seem like it to me. Name a time when you’ve listened.”

“I can name several times?”

They bicker.

They bicker for a while. Long enough that it’s more of its own sake than to make any particular point.

Shouto leans against Katsuki, arms around his neck. Katsuki holds him steady in his lap, taking the weight of his solid frame.

They keep talking, loudly at first, then in hushed voices. Katsuki sinks back onto the sofa, with Shouto on top of him.

*

Being able to have Shouto over whenever…asking him to come over just to spend the night, well it’s distracting.

Real distracting.

“Nah, I’m serious,” Katsuki shakes his head, but his eyes are halfway closed, his hand is still caressing Shouto’s goddamn perfect jawline and he’s not…not serious at all. “I gotta get outta here.”

Shouto’s kissing his neck, he’s got something of an obsession with Katsuki’s neck…at this point. Kissing Katsuki there and playing grab-ass when Katsuki needs to get the fuck out of this apartment. Shouto’s even more of a demon spawn than his cat, ‘cause his kisses can alternate warm and cold and so can his hands.

It gives Katsuki—goosebumps, goddamn it. And Shouto knows. He knows and he enjoys it. Smug fucker.

“One more?” Shouto says, oh-so-innocent.

“Yeah. I’ve heard that before.”

“One more,” Shouto says, and he kisses Katsuki’s pulse point, there’s a swipe of his tongue.

Feels good. “What the fuck?”

“I wanted to try it,” Shouto says.

“And?”

“I think…I think you taste just as good as you look,” he says it perfectly straight, stone cold sober.

“What the hell?” Katsuki laughs.

Then he can’t stop laughing. And they’re kissing on the mouth, and he’s still sort of laughing between every kiss. Shouto’s hair is so fucking soft, he can’t stop brushing his fingers through it. He’s got his arms around Shouto’s neck and Shouto’s hands are cupping his ass and he’s—fuck, he’s really turned on right now. But still…laughing.

“I don’t really see…” Shouto says, slowly. “What’s so funny.”

“You, dummy,” Katsuki says.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you nutjob,” Katsuki says. “You.”

“Just…me?”

For god’s sake. “Only you.”

Hearing that pushes Shouto into a whole new gear. And Katsuki adds it into his list of activation phrases that do it for the both of them.

They trade heated kisses and corny jokes and Katsuki didn’t know the horny shit was gonna be fun like this.

They end up on the sofa.

Katsuki pushes Shouto down on his back, and climbs on top of him and they pick up right where they left off. Shouto gets his arms around him just the way he likes it and they kiss until Katsuki’s second alarm goes off.

“Do you…do you need to go now?” Shouto asks.

He looks so dumb when they’ve been kissing for a while. Katsuki looks at his red, kiss-swollen lips. The sorta out of focus look in his eyes. And it feels so fucking good, knowing Katsuki did that.

“Nah,” he says.

There’s a reason Katsuki has a third alarm.

He collapses on Shouto’s chest. Listens to his heart. It’s going a little faster than normal, but it slows down soon enough. It’s even, regular and…soothing? Even Shouto’s clothes are soft.

Honestly, he’s really great to lay on. Long and lean and lanky but soft in all the right places. Fucking perfect to just…hold.

And if Katsuki stays here, Shouto will start petting his hair. Using the tips of his fingers, sometimes the back of his fingernails to just…scratch at Katsuki’s scalp. Massage at his temples. Just like…that.

There it is.

Right there.

Fuck yes.

“Mmm,” Katsuki says. “S’good.”

“You’re sure you don’t need to go?” Shouto asks, his voice is super quiet now, and Katsuki can kinda feel it, from where he’s lying down on Shouto’s chest.

‘Cause when Shouto’s voice is quiet it sounds—it is…lower.

Which is one of about five billion things about him that’s incredibly hot. So much so that Katsuki has failed to parse the substance of the question. Which isn’t his fault, no one alive could carry a conversation in the position he finds himself in now. And if his luck holds, no one else alive is gonna get the chance to try.

“Huh?”

“You said you needed to meet Kaminari and Kirishima to workout downstairs.”

“Shuddup. I got what I need,” Katsuki says. “Stop…stop nagging me.”

“Okay,” Shouto says.

“Those dumbfucks…can spot check each other,” Katsuki mumbles. “You sayin’ I need…to workout more?”

“No. Your body is…really nice.”

“Damn right it is.”

He naps for about twenty, perfect, blissful minutes. So he’s about ten minutes late to meet Eijirou and Denki.

“You wanna come with?” he asks before he leaves.

“No,” Shouto says. “Unless it’s important to you that I come. I was going to get some work done here.”

“Nah, nah I’m good.”

“Okay. I’ll be here when you get back.”

*

When Katsuki gets back it’s not that much later in the day, but it’s gone from being light out to almost completely dark. The whole damn apartment’s bathed in a dark, inky blue.

“Hey!” he calls out. “I’m home.”

No answer.

The apartment’s clean. It kinda looks like Shouto tidied up a bit. Katsuki’s heart was already working overtime thinking about Shouto up here in his apartment, ‘cause if he belongs in Katsuki’s space then he belongs with him, but the idea of Shouto cleaning up, knowing how much Katsuki likes things to be neat—that means more to Katsuki than he can even describe.

He knows he’s difficult and particular and more than a little mean, and despite all that Shouto gives a shit enough to try.

Katsuki expects he’s probably asleep. And since he needs clean clothes and a towel for his shower he checks his bedroom, fully expecting to see a Shouto-sized lump on one side of his bed. Tucked in with just his head sticking out, his body warm under the sheets.

It’s exactly what he sees.

Left side of the bed. Almost like he remembered the right side is Katsuki’s.

“Hey,” he says, lowering his voice so it’s not jarring when the only other noise in the room is the sound of the wind and the sound of Shouto breathing. “I’m back. I’m gonna shower and then I’ll come to bed.”

Shouto opens his eyes a little, squints at Katsuki and nods. “Okay.”

He kisses Shouto’s forehead like he’s gotten used to doing. “Tomorrow I’ll clear up a drawer for your clothes and shit.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“Not gonna have you leaving your shit just…wherever.”

“I see.” Shouto says with a small smile. “You smell like sweat. Go shower.”

“You can’t talk to me like that when you’re sleeping in my bed, asshole.”

“I wasn’t aware that there were rules.”

“Rules are you don’t get to talk shit.”

“Do you get to talk shit?” Shouto wonders. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

Katsuki’s too sweaty and gross and tired to be having this conversation. “Die. I’ll do what I want.”

“Can you get a glass of water for me when you get back?” Shouto asks. “Sometimes I get thirsty during the night.”

“Yeah. Yeah I got it.”

*

They spend more nights at Shouto’s place than Katsuki’s. Either so the cat won’t get sad from not seeing this dumb Halfie or Shouto won’t get sad from not seeing his stupid cat. Katsuki would bet real money it’s the latter.

Katsuki lets himself in. More often than not he finds Shouto sitting on the floor cuddling the cat. At the kotatsu. At his writing station, writing letters.

He’s still never tried his luck asking Shouto to move her so he can rest his head in Shouto’s lap.

Today he’s writing. So many pages worth that it’s gotta be for his mom.

“Oi,” Katsuki says. “How come I’ve never gotten a letter?”

It’s meant to just rib him. He doesn’t need a letter from Shouto, he sees him so often, even more now.

“Do you want a letter?” Shouto asks. “I can write to you.”

Katsuki comes and sits down next to him. He pushes up the sleeve of Shouto’s shirt so he can make little patterns with his index finger on Shouto’s upper arm.

“I was kidding,” he says. “You see me all the time.”

“I can wait for the next time you need to travel overseas,” Shouto decides.

Then he turns back to his work. Katsuki’s always known him to be like this, focused to the point of derangement. There’s a face he makes, a blazing look in his eyes, and that’s always been the same, whether he’s trying to raise the maximum burn point of his fire or demonstrating the perfect technique to chop an onion under Katsuki’s watchful eye.

Katsuki wonders if Shouto was like that as a kid too, hopelessly sincere in his efforts, and whether it’s natural for him to apply himself like that or if that’s just another one of the things that he was made to do and now can’t reverse.

Even when Katsuki touches him, plays with his hair, kisses his cheek—more a bite than a kiss, Shouto only spares him a quick glance, a look, that shows he likes the attention, but he’s not gonna stop doing what he needs to do.

“Why don’t you just call her?” Katsuki asks. “Sometimes.”

Clearly the letter writing thing has some value, but honestly, if Shouto’s gonna say that much, maybe they could talk on the phone.

“I’ve tried,” Shouto says. “I think we connect better in-person or through exchanging letters. Maybe I’m not that good at phone calls.”

He was fine when he was talking to Katsuki. Not that this is okay to point out, he might already know it.

“Does she write this much back?” Katsuki asks, changing the subject.

“Yes,” Shouto says, sounding pleased. “She writes about her day in great detail and asks me about all of my friends.”

“She ask about me?”

“Often.”

Katsuki runs his fingers through Shouto’s bangs. They’re getting a bit longer again.

“You growing your hair out?”

“No,” Shouto says. “I was planning to get it cut again. I’ve just been busy…with other things. Do you want me to grow it out?”

“You’d do it if I wanted it?” Katsuki asks.

“I’d consider it.”

“No, do what you want.”

“I might grow it out then,” Shouto muses. “I didn’t have a reason to keep it that way before, but I like it when you touch my hair.”

“Don’t put that in your letter,” Katsuki warns.

“I wasn’t going to.”

He writes for another ten minutes before he decides he’s finished, starts putting his pen and ink away. “I’ve never had company when I do this. It didn’t bore you?”

“Nah.”

He used to do this all the time in workrooms with his parents, when he was either too little or it was too last minute to leave him somewhere else. He’d daydream or find things to poke at and explore, sometimes take apart—which he wasn’t supposed to do.

It’s this brief time that his mom would decry the loss of when he got older, and crankier. But whatever. He knows he never changed, he just needs something worth piquing his interest.

“Would you like to write to your mother now?” Shouto asks. “Before I put my paper away.”

“Fuck no,” Katsuki says, a little too quickly. “Waited like an hour to kiss you.”

“Sorry to keep you,” Shouto says, before leaning in for a kiss, slow, certain and more than worth the wait.

*

No place is off-limits. Agency included. Katsuki’s agency, specifically, since it never fucking seems to happen at Shouto’s.

“Hell’s wrong with you?” Katsuki asks. “I work here.”

The doorknob makes a noise and the fucking door itself, shaking against the hinge, makes a noise every time Shouto pushes him back up against it. Katsuki’s not exactly light…so the fact that Shouto seems to do that so easily is…appealing.

Shouto’s hero costume, the quasi-jumpsuit getup, is doing more for Katsuki than he thought it would. It might…it probably zips all the way down to the navel.

“I know you work here,” Shouto says. “That’s why I came.”

“How the fuck…” Katsuki lifts his chin, turns his head to give Shouto better access to his favorite thing, leaving himself wide open for the taking. “...are you number two and you spend your time doing this?”

“I maximize my work time efficiently, so I can spend my free time doing things that give me fulfillment.”

“Oi, hey, giving me a hickey cannot be what gives you fucking fulfillment…fucking weirdo—ah—jesus fuck.”

Katsuki’s hands get to the grey neck-collar thing on Shouto’s suit. He can probably just…it unclasps. But it’s hard to focus when Shouto’s sucking on his neck. Squeezing his pec through the uniform. He’s never let someone grope him when he’s wearing the costume. For fuck’s sake…the mask is still on.

“Shouto,” he says.

“Dynamight,” Shouto whispers back.

As if they were on the clock. Which they’re not. It’s after hours…agency’s cleared out by now, which is why Katsuki is even allowing this. But…Katsuki’s never gonna be able to behave himself in the field again, knowing Shouto has called him that while doing what he’s doing.

“Wrong Shouto,” he laughs.

He doesn’t wanna…he doesn’t wanna fuck Hero Shouto. Or maybe he does…a little. But he wants…he wants his Shouto.

“Does it…still unzips all the way, right?” he asks.

“Yes,” Shouto takes a step back, so Katsuki isn’t backed up against the door. “Why?”

Katsuki takes a step toward him, closing the distance again.

He gets his hands on that zipper. “Easy access, huh?”

“It’s useful,” Shouto says.

And Katsuki…knows that.

This isn’t actually the first time Katsuki’s stripped Shouto out of his hero costume. The last time was a mess. ‘Cause he was hurt pretty bad, and that…that’s a terrible memory to think about right now. It makes him pause.

“It is useful,” Katsuki says.

It makes it all the much easier to get the temperature regulator off him. The top part of the suit. The pants. The tight, black underwear. The boots. He gets out of his own shit even quicker, and Shouto watches him attentively the whole time.

Then before he can think of the future ramifications of getting handsy in a conference room at the agency where he works, he drags Shouto over to one of the prissy black chairs in the room and shoves him onto it.

“Are there…cameras here?”

Unbelievable. “You’re asking me now?”

“Yes.”

“I turned off the surveillance on this room an hour ago.”

“Good thinking,” Shouto says, he spreads his legs open a bit. “What are your other ideas?”

Katsuki can only look at one thing. It’s cosmically unfair that in addition to everything else, Shouto had to go and have kind of a big dick. Which is something Katsuki has known for years, actively thought about in his private time for several, but now’s the first time they’ve gotten this far.

“I wanna suck you off.”

“You can,” Shouto says. “I want you to.”

Katsuki wants to say that he got the memo. He doesn’t need Shouto to say it when he’s looking down at Katsuki like that, like the cat who got the cream.

But maybe…maybe he does need it, the assurance, the permission, along with the weight of Shouto’s cock, resting on his tongue.

He sucks on it, a feeling of warmth settling in his gut at his own obedience when he adjusts himself, his touch at Shouto’s firm thighs, responding to Shouto’s encouragement, faint half-whispers of direction.

Like that, and Katsuki takes him deeper, can almost feel him at the back of his throat. He didn’t think he could, but Shouto never stops looking at him. And he looks back up at Shouto, feeling like he’s doing this and it’s already happened, like he’s seeing it through the warm haze of his better memories.

Just like that. Your mouth.

The world isn’t as goddamn loud as it usually is. Fading into solemn acquiescence the moment he got his mouth on Shouto’s dick. Flipping like a switch the moment Shouto touched him, looked at him when he’s doing this. Like he was the only person in the world.

Use your tongue. Slowly, slowly. Yeah.

There’s a moment where it’s too much, too deep, and he gags—and the thing they’ve got going almost breaks but Shouto just pulls himself back out, until his cock is just caressing Katsuki’s bottom lip and he pets Katsuki’s hair and whispers something Katsuki doesn’t even hear but knows by tone it’s nicer than he deserves.

It never occurs to him that maybe he’s not as good at this as Shouto was, or that all that training makes it easy for him to stay like this on his knees. There’s just the feeling of Shouto’s thighs under his hands. The way the red and white twists into a spiral until it meets at the base of him.

How good he feels, in Katsuki’s mouth. And it’s so fucking easy to just let Shouto use him.

They pick up the pace. He fights the urge to gag and he—he can. Shouto rewards him with a low moan. Looks down at him with half-lidded eyes. With shaky breaths.

With—with Shouto holding his face down to his crotch Katsuki has no fucking idea how it’s the looking of it all that’s making this more intimate than he can take.

But he’s doing good. Worth of Shouto’s easy, generous praise that gets slightly raspier, choked up at the last. “Fuck.”

He pulls out with a soft tug at Katsuki’s hair. Then the next thing Shouto says is somehow wordless, Katsuki agrees with just another touch, the slight tip up then down of his chin. He’s pumping his dick with his own hand, and then he comes, spilling all over Katsuki’s chest.

Katsuki sinks back down onto the floor, and Shouto joins him immediately, collapsing hard. “Wow.”

Katsuki’s head is spinning, but he grabs onto Shouto’s hand, and Shouto grips his face and kisses him. Katsuki needs—needs to keep him close.

He’s not there, all the way, in his head, until they’re in the cab home. He remembers being completely fucking useless even after Shouto came down off the high. That it was Shouto that fixed them up and also Shouto who called the cab.

Shouto didn’t stop touching him for a second, and he’s doing it even now, and Katsuki doesn’t get it—he didn’t even come for fuck’s sake, but it felt…good, made him float like a champagne fizz and it feels even better now, tucked into Shouto’s side in the cab. He likes it...a lot, this part of their whole thing.

It only dawns on him halfway home that maybe this whole thing was embarrassing and what he was supposed to do is something different, and when he thinks back on what he was like…it is embarrassing, if Shouto wanted something else.

Shit.

Katsuki has nothing to even compare it too.

“Damn it,” he says it into Shouto’s jacket.

“Hm?”

“Are you…are you weirded out?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such a satisfying sexual release in my life. So, no. I don’t think I am.”

“You don’t…you don’t think I’m weird.”

“No,” Shouto says. “Even if you were, I don’t think that would matter to me. I like you.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki says, partly to himself, trying to calm down. “You like me. Maybe you’re the one that’s weird.”

“No,” Shouto repeats. “Liking you is simple.”

No. Nah, that’s ain’t right. Liking Katsuki cannot be simple.

Not…not easy.

‘Cause he’s a problem. He’s difficult to manage. Hard to be with. A bomb that’ll go off any moment.

He’s a problem child. He thinks he’s too smart.

Too cocky. Gifted. But he’s not gifted enough. Too strong to fail. Or he’s just a broken...toy, torn apart for some shithead’s idea of drama. For the sense of an ending. For that final act that wasn’t even his. The one he can’t get out of his head, the score he couldn’t settle.

Tomura.

But even before him.

It’s supposed to be a fight. Everything is.

Every second since he came to that goddamn high school and he saw this same exact half and half bastard, and he realized he just...wasn’t as good. Its been an uphill climb. Either a fight he was born to win, one that he’s fated to lose or one in which he doesn’t even matter. But still a fight.

A struggle.

But now Shouto’s saying…things, which can’t be meant for him, but they are. The warmth of his love, his easy declarations that are for Katsuki alone. It hits at the place he keeps his deepest pain, the wound that just doesn’t heal.

With Shouto there, maybe it could.

“Why you gotta do this shit to me, huh?” Katsuki demands.

He’s not—he’s not fucking crying.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry. I’m not mad.”

“I thought you were.”

“I’m not. Shut up. I’m happy. You moron.”

“I didn’t know someone could show happiness like this,” Shouto says. “Is this kind of emotional expression unique to you?”

“Fuck,” Katsuki says wiping at his nose, his eyes, he laughs. “Maybe.”

“I’m happy too,” Shouto says, reaching over to wipe at the wetness under Katsuki’s eyes. “I’m learning a lot of new things about you.”

“Don’t study me, alright? I already got damn Deku and his notebooks. Don’t need you doing it too.”

“It’s less of a study,” Shouto says. “It’s more of a muscle memory. When it comes to you.”

“Just don’t draw fucking diagrams of me.”

“Okay,” Shouto agrees.

They end up back at Katsuki’s apartment, and Katsuki watches Shouto open the door with his own key. They get ready in silence, and Katsuki remembers to get the glass of water Shouto needs to put by the side of the bed.

He laughs at how short Shouto’s sleep shorts are, the same ones he’s had since high school. They have a little argument about who’s the worse of the two at letting things go.

He’s already half-asleep when Shouto kisses his forehead. “Goodnight, Katsuki.”

He pats at Shouto’s arm, mumbles back. “Mm. Sure.”