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you can be selfish, for me

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Kirishima rolls to his side, feeling the burnt orange comforter shift under him. He looks to the window—it’s dark and snowing outside, making Bakugou’s neatly-kept room feel warm and cozy in comparison. There’s only a few more days until the winter holidays, but as third-years, their teachers hadn’t exactly been lenient when assigning this week’s homework… and this math assignment was kicking his ass. He chances a glance at the owner of the room—Bakugou looks pretty deep into whatever essay’s he’s working on at his desk, so Kirishima waits until there’s a lull in the keyboard clicks before clearing his throat. 

“Hey Bakubro, how’d you get the answer for problem four?”

“For math? Isn’t that literally on the first fuckin’ page of the assignment?” Bakugou stretches, tilting his head. “Don’t tell me you’ve just been sittin’ here for two hours and just now asked me. I coulda’ helped earlier if you’d just told me.”

Kirishima laughs and has half the decency to feel at least a little bit embarrassed. The YouTube video recommendation algorithm gets him every dang time. “I guess I got a little distracted? But yeah, this one is tough.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes and scoots his wooden desk chair over to the bed. “Number four?” He flips his cheap red spiral notebook open to where he had written the solutions for this week, and points at his answer.

Kirishima smiles to himself. Bakugou is prickly, but on the inside he’s all sweet. Like a prickly pear, if those are actually prickly. And sweet. “Thanks man, let me just jot this down real quick,” he says, scrawling his pen across his own paper.

Bakugou props his feet up on the bed, adjusting the hem of his black sweatpants. “I swear, you just come here every week to wear me out after a few hours and copy my work.” 

“Hey, I never said that! I just like spending time with my best bro, but think what you want, Blasty,” he retorts, folding the notebook and handing it back. 

Bakugou grumbles a quick “whatever” and scoots back to his desk. Kirishima’s eyes crinkle as he resists the urge to giggle at his usually explosive friend, notably more subdued later in the night, in his own comfortable space.

Kirishima’s about to give problem number five a try, when there’s a quick knock on the door.

“Which one of you shitty extras is it?!”

The door quietly creaks open. “Uh, Kacchan? I was wondering if I could get some help on the math homework for this week?”

Bakugou whips his head around as Midoriya peeks his tilted head and big green eyes into the room. 

Kirishima snickers. His bro’s so whipped.

Bakugou glares, eyes shooting daggers at Midoriya. “Since when did I become in charge of office hours for all you incompetent fucks?”

Midoriya, completely unfazed, lets himself into Katsuki’s room, leaving his All Might slippers at the door. “Hah, sorry about that Kacchan, I already asked Shouto and Iida and neither of them knew how to figure out this one problem, and I can’t find Yaomomo anywhere, so I here I am now!”

Bakugou jumps to his feet, pointing an accusing finger straight at Midoriya’s face. “So you’re saying you thought those shitty extras could help you better than I could? I’m number one in math out of all you lazy fucks!” 

Kirishima winces. Weird way to flirt, but you do you, Bakugou.

Midoriya continues walking up to Bakugou, shaking his head. “Oh no, Kacchan, that’s not it, you’re without a doubt the best at math in our class! I just didn’t want to bother you, and you were all the way upstairs, after all!” he reasons, blinking like a baby deer.

Bakugou still looks slightly offended, but his eyebrows start to unfurrow. “Well, duh, I already knew I was the best,” he concedes, making his way back into his chair. Midoriya excitedly straightens up and scurries over to Bakugou’s desk.

Mind you, Kirishima is still hanging out on Bakugou’s bed—never has he felt so ignored in his life. But to be fair, it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy the occasional eavesdrop session—wait, does it count as eavesdropping if he’s in plain view? Huh.

“Which one did you need help with? Don’t tell me it’s number four,” Bakugou asks, looking over at the green composition notebook Midoriya is flipping through.

“Whoa, Kacchan, how did you know? That’s the only one the entire homework that I couldn’t figure out! That’s amazing, Kacchan!”

Bakugou huffs. “Whatever, nerd. This one isn’t that bad, weren’t you paying attention in last Thursday’s lecture? Ectoplasm did like three separate examples.”

Izuku’s breath catches. “Wah, you remember the exact days that we learned each concept in class? You’re so hardworking, Kacchan!”

“That just means you’re not paying enough attention, dipshit,” Bakugou scoffs, without any real bite in his voice. Kirishima tries not to snort. Bakugou sounds like an angry kitten, but he’ll never tell him that.

“Whoa, your notes are so neat, Kacchan,” Midoriya breathes in admiration.

“It’s called being a good student. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Kirishima watches the two bicker from his comfy spot on the bed. Wait—why did Bakugou pull out an orange notebook this time? Was he showing Midoriya different solutions?

Bakugou points his red pen at something in the notebook. “These are the examples we went over on Tuesday. This one is for a sphere, this one is for a cone, and this one’s for a trapezoidal prism. The easiest one is the sphere, so we should start with that one. Do you know the equation for calculating the volume of a sphere?”

“Uh, yeah, I think I wrote it somewhere,” Midoriya flips through his own notes while Bakugou patiently sits, waiting for his answer.

Oh . Kirishima couldn’t help but stare at his best friend calmly going through his class notes aloud, occasionally asking comprehension questions as Midoriya nods along. Was this the same guy who had just haphazardly given his answer sheet away when Kirishima asked help with the same exact problem? For someone who had just complained about being used for office hours, he was here teaching a full on class—

“Wahh, that makes so much sense! Somehow it didn’t click in class but you explained so clearly, Kacchan you’re such a good teacher!” Midoriya beams.

“Of course I’m good at explaining, I’m at the top of the class in math,” Bakugou halfheartedly barks back. 

Kirishima raises his eyebrows. Well, now we’ve gone full circle. 

Midoriya closes his notebook and stands. “Well, thanks so much, Kacchan! I knew you’d be able to help.” He finally glances over at the bed, eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, hey Kirishima!” He hesitates for a second, as if he’s considering something, but turns back towards the door. “Well, uh, have a good rest of your nights!” Midoriya scampers out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him with a soft click.

The room suddenly seems too quiet. Kirishima hears the stark ticking of Bakugou’s wall clock.

Bakugou seems to notice the sharp silence as well, after a moment pulling his gaze away from his desk to meet Kirishima’s eyes, flickering with mischief.

Bakugou waits for a moment, before narrowing his eyes. “What, Shitty Hair?”

Kirishima wiggles his eyebrows. “Bro.”

Bakugou’s nose crinkles, getting impatient. “What.”

“Bro. What was that.”

“What was what, stop giving me riddles, you suck at them.” 

Kirishima sighs. “Bakugou. Midoriya came in here and complimented you like, a jizzilion times.”

“That’s not a fuckin’ real number, hair-for-brains. And whatever, he does that all the time, says all that stuff without thinking about it, that mumbling nerd,” Bakugou yaps back, starting to shove his notebooks into his backpack, his pre-bedtime ritual—getting everything ready for the next school day.

“Bro, I’m serious. He doesn’t talk like that to anyone else in the class.”

That earns him a narrowed glance from Bakugou. “No, that’s exactly what he does, he compliments everyone. He does that to you too, you should know. Always blabbing about how cool your hardening is,” he turns back to his desk, closing the open textbooks and neatly setting them aside on his bookshelf.

“Bakugou. He didn’t even notice I was here.”

Bakugou freezes, halfway through zipping up his backpack.

Kirishima smirks. Irrefutable evidence. “Dude, has it ever occurred to you that maybe, Midoriya’s compliments are actually genuine? Like he’s not just saying that shit. He sounds like he really means it,” he suggests, trying to keep his voice even and casual. 

Bakugou doesn’t move, but his red eyes uncharacteristically widen, just the slightest bit. 

Kirishima lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and waits for a moment. “I don’t know man, just think about it.” He offers an encouraging smile, and stuffs his own things into his bag. In his peripheral, he sees Bakugou straighten up and feels those red eyes glaring a hole into the side of his face, so he hurries out of the room before the explosion that’s soon to come—literal and figurative. He sputters out a quick thanks and goodnight, and runs into his room—leaving Bakugou, for now, to figure out the rest of his feelings for himself.

 


 

“Oi, that’s a piece of shit move, Deku!” Katsuki yelps, jumping back up to his sweaty feet. Fuck. His shin is going to be sore the entire day. They’d only been sparring for around fifteen minutes out of their usual hour, and Deku was already playing dirty? He usually saves that for the last ten minutes, when both of them are desperate to bump up their unofficial hit tally.

“For no notice,” Izuku pants, swiftly dodging the punch Katsuki throws back at him, “you actually avoided it pretty well, Kacchan, but that’s 141-139 for me!” He launches his body at Katsuki, attempting to pummel him into the blue gymnastics mats. 

Katsuki side-steps the attack and growls, “It won’t last long, shitty nerd!” He kicks a foot up at Izuku’s torso, but is all of the sudden struck by the freight train of Kirishima’s words the previous night. Deku really means all his compliments? Fuck, the nerd had just done it again , as if they weren’t in the middle of a life or death fight—

Izuku spins away from Katsuki’s extended leg, and in Katsuki’s brief moment of distraction, grabs the outstretched foot, sending Katsuki off of his balance and tackling him to the floor. He pins his forearm to Katsuki’s chest and his lower leg to hold down Katsuki’s thighs, pressing him firmly into the thick foam. 

Izuku pants over him, sweat dripping down his neck. “I guess that’s 142-139? Is something going on today, Kacchan?” He cocks his head, eyebrows furrowing as he looks to the space next to Katsuki’s head in contemplation. “It’s not a matter of strength for sure, since we aren’t using quirks and you’ve been bulking,” he slowly blinks, eyes losing focus. “And I know your extra weight training has definitely been taking effect, you’ve been steadily gaining muscle mass, your body feels much firmer every week...” he rambles on, words losing coherency. 

Katsuki gawks up at Izuku, feeling his heart lurch to his throat at Izuku’s unsolicited comments. To his horror, blood rushes straight to his cheeks, and he promptly realizes the… compromising position they’re still in.

Izuku, whose mumbles are now completely unintelligible, has started to subconsciously lean more of his body weight onto Katsuki, their sweaty, worked-out bodies inching closer and closer together, bare feet strewn on top of one another. Katsuki can now feel Izuku’s warm breath on his neck, and can’t resist his shiver. Izuku’s solid chest just starts to nudge his, and their hips are getting dangerously close to—

Katsuki sputters and shoves Izuku off of him, stomping to his feet and stalking off towards the locker rooms.

Izuku, promptly brought back into reality, calls after him, “Wah, Kacchan, we still have another 40 minutes left! Where are you going, Kacchan!”

“I’m done for today, damn nerd!” Katsuki barks back, wincing when his voice cracks at the end. His heart is racing faster than it’d been when they were actually working out. He touches the tips of his fingers to his jaw and, fuck, it’s hot .

He throws the locker room door open and rips off his black workout shirt, immediately pressing his bare back to the refreshingly cold metal lockers—but his heart won’t fucking quit pounding, and his face still feels as if someone is flickering a flame at his cheeks—

“Hey, Baku! Had a good workout?” Kaminari saunters in, eyes comically widening. “Whoooooa, damn son, it sure looks like you did!” Fuckin’ Dunce Face. Is there ever a right place or a right time?

Katsuki grits his teeth. “Shut your trap before I end your life.”

Unbothered, Kaminari tosses a bottle of water for Katsuki to catch. “Kinda looks like you need that, man.”

Katsuki scowls at him, unscrewing the cap and starts to gulp it down, a few drops of water escaping the bottle, landing on his chest as he aggressively squeezes the plastic in annoyance.

Kaminari huffs with a grin. “Dude. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look kinda erotic right now.”

Katsuki chokes on his water.

“What kind of workouts have you been doing?” Kaminari prods, not now, not ever taking the hint, raking his eyes over Katsuki’s bare, still heaving chest. “Honestly, it kinda looks a little like afterglow, y’know, afterglow from—”

“Shut the fuck up, Dunce Face,” Katsuki interrupts, crumpling the bottle and tossing it into the recycling bin. He heads back to his locker, pulling out a fresh white towel to dab off his neck, when he gets an idea. Hol’ up. Sparky could be useful, for once. 

He turns, looking Kaminari in the eye. “What do you think about my body?”

Kaminari’s mouth parts. “Wuh, huuuh?”

“It’s not that fuckin’ hard of a question. How do I look?”

“Wha—for real, man? That’s kinda—uh, okay,” Kaminari coughs out, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. Seeing no signs of jest in Bakugou’s eyes, he gulps. “Well, uh, I mean, you’re obviously pretty jacked, dude, and you check all the boxes, y’know, like the biceps, and the 8 or whatever pack you’ve got goin’ on there,” he stammers, motioning to Katsuki’s torso. “And uh, this might be weird to hear, but you’ve been voted to have one of the nicest, uh, rear ends in our class, and, y’know, obviously I gotta agree, I mean, yeah, dude, you’re pretty hot,” Kaminari finishes with a wheeze, hands fidgeting, as if he’s simultaneously curious of Katsuki’s intent, but afraid of getting blown up. Understandable. 

Katsuki stares at him. Nothing.

“Uh, Bakugou? Is that what you wanted?”

Katsuki touches his chest, his cheeks. Nothing. He feels nothing.

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” Katsuki grumbles back, nonchalantly gathering his things and slamming his locker door closed.

“Well—alright man, I’ll see you in class later then, I guess?”

Katsuki grunts in response, and slumps on the indigo cushions separating the rows of lockers, as Kaminari’s footsteps pitter out towards the gym entrance.

He rests his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands, studying the green floor.

What the fuck. What’s wrong with him.

Of all people, why is it Deku that makes him like this?

 


 

Kirishima isn’t sure when he started hanging out most nights in Bakugou’s room for “homework parties”, he called them. He actually probably shouldn’t call them that, since he mostly just waits for something to distract him from the pains of academia. So, he can’t say he’s particularly unhappy when his phone pings, “bakuwu bupport bquad” notifications flashing over the self-made edit of Crimson Riot on his home screen. What? It’s his aesthetic.

 

[benki]: yall i forgot

[benki]: before class today midoriya told baku his hair looked nice

[benki]: and our precious lil goblin did nOT EVEN RESPOND

[benki]: i think u might have broken him kiri 😩

[bina]: hello?????????

[bina]: not bakus hair looking the same every day?? what is mido seeing eye-

[You]: Oh man

[You]: Seems like imprvmnt????

[You]: At least he didnt scream back u feel

[benki]: yes very poggers of him to not scream 😇

[bero]: i’m just gonna pretend i did not see u remove the vowels from improvement

[bina]: so it goes like this now huh

[bina]: mido: *says anything*

[bina]: baku’s mind: *ooga booga caveman noises*

[bero]: not like this

[benki]: MAAM PLS y u doin our boy like that,,, i am misery 

[You]: *Clenches fists*

[benki]: btw we still on for movies tn? gonna invite the rest of dudes and dudettes in lounge

[bero]: h*ck yes

[bina]: please do we really need to rp surfer culture in here i thought this was a safe space

 

Kirishima snickers, a little too loudly. Oops. 

“What?” Bakugou whips his head around, promptly sending a glare to Kirishima when he catches him on his phone.

“Oh, just, uh—a meme Denki sent in the group chat, yeah,” Kirishima rolls over on the bed and rests his head on Bakugou’s pillow. Bakugou would not be happy to hear the topic of interest in the Bakusquad-minus-Bakugou group chat at the moment. It’s a good night to not get exploded, y’know? “Oh right, about that, we’re gonna watch a holiday movie tonight in the lounge, you should totally come! You’re done with homework anyway, right?” Kirishima shoots his best puppy dog eyes.

“Hah? I’m not going to waste time with some shitty extras watching some shitty hallmark clusterfuck!” Bakugou fumes, turning back to his laptop.

Kirishima snorts, unsurprised. “Alright bro, the invite’s open if you ever wanna drop by later.” He clicks his phone off, and pulls the English worksheet he should’ve been working on out of his bag.

He’s actually managed to focus on the paragraph he was writing for a few minutes, when there’s a sudden knock at the door. “Kacchan? Are you in there?”

Kirishima looks over at the desk. Bakugou has tensed, sitting up straight, but doesn’t make a move to answer.  

He rolls his eyes. His best bro would be hopeless without him. “Midoriya! Yeah, he’s in here,” he calls out to the door, which slowly opens as Midoriya peeks his fluffy green head through the crack.

“Oh, hi Kirishima! You’re coming to movie night, right?”

“Of course my dude, I’ll be there!”

“Yay! I’ll be making brownies too!” Midoriya beams, taking a small step into the room. He shifts his glance to Bakugou, who’s sitting straight as a board, feet planted perfectly parallel on the ground. 

Kirishima cracks a smile. He looks kinda like class prez.

“U-uh Kacchan, are you done with your homework yet?

“Yeah, I finished a while ago,” Bakugou grumbles, surprisingly quiet.

“Wah, of course, Kacchan’s so organized!” Midoriya brightens, not noticing Bakugou’s hands gripping the sides of his seat. His voice raises in pitch and speed as he blurts, “S-since you’re all done, and there’s no class tomorrow, y-you should come too! To m-movie night, I mean! We’re going to be watching Atomic Blonde, I saw the trailer and it looks pretty exciting! I t-think you’d really like it!”

Bakugou turns his head slightly, staring at the wall right beside Kirishima. After a short pause, he lets out a quiet mumble, “Ffrnn.”

“What was that? Sorry, Kacchan, I couldn’t hear you from all the way over here!”

Bakugou suddenly explodes, throwing his hands up into the air, whipping his head to finally face Midoriya. “I said fine! I’ll fuckin’ go, okay!”

Midoriya jumps, mouth ajar at Bakugou’s unexpected acceptance. “O-oh,” he tries, unable to hold back his beaming smile. “Wuh, I’ll s-seeyoulaterthen,” he squeaks, scrambling out of the room and slamming the door behind him. His quick, heavy footsteps echo as they bound away down the hall.

Kirishima gapes at Bakugou. Well, that just happened.

“Fuckin’ what, Hair-for-Brains?”

Kirishima pretends to be confused and blinks at Bakugou innocently, “Hm? I didn’t say anything, Bakubro.” He immediately turns his gaze back to his phone, fingers flitting across on the touchscreen.

 

[You]: Ok not like I’m complaining 

[You]: But when did atomic blonde bcum a holiday movie

[bina]: lmao

[benki]: christmas has been cancelled 😔 🤟

[You]: Whomst????

[bero]: midoriya special request

[bero]: who am i, a mere mortal, to deny him

[benki]: no christmas tonight baddies, we’re gettin the kacchan special 💥

[bina]: this just in: mido’s type is atomic blondes

[bina]: in other news, water is wet

 


 

“Aight bro, I think they’re gonna start soon, we should start heading down.” Kirishima slides off the bed and grabs his backpack, making his way towards the door. “I’ll go put my stuff in my room and be right back!”

Katsuki gives a hmph of acknowledgement, and waits for Kirishima to return, before the two make their way downstairs to the already chaotic lounge. 

Katsuki squints. The main lights are turned off, the room only lit by the tall Christmas tree and twinkle lights strung around the walls. Raccoon Eyes and Sparky were bickering, sprawled on a soft-looking blanket on the floor, while Tape, Bird, and Tail watched, lounging on the big couch behind them. Katsuki looked around, trying to make out who was who in the dim light. Ears and Ponytail were all cozied up on one of the smaller couches, and Round Cheeks and Four Eyes were huddled on the floor in multiple blankets they were hogging. Even that Half ‘n Half bastard was here, placing extra blankets into a basket on the floor.

Katsuki frowns. “All those shitty extras are here, except for Deku,” he mumbles to himself.

Katsuki sees Kirishima freeze, pausing his animated conversation with the Frog. 

“Oh shit, where’d he go?” Kirishima wonders aloud, jogging away.

A moment later, Kirishima yells over the commotion, “Oh, Midoriya, there you are! it looks like you could use some help carrying all that!”

Katsuki whips his head to the direction of Kirishima’s voice—Izuku’s in the kitchen, trying to balance three trays of warm brownies, while a large metal pot of hot chocolate sits steaming on the kitchen countertop. Katsuki strides over to the kitchen, hands in his sweats pockets.

Holding two baking trays filled with chocolatey brownies, Kirishima grins. “Bakubro, could you carry over the hot chocolate and marshmallows? I don’t think we got any extra hands!” He speedwalks out of the room, leaving Katsuki alone with Izuku, carrying the last tray of brownies and a stack of paper cups.

Izuku offers a kind smile to Katsuki. “Thanks for helping, Kacchan! That’s really sweet of you.”

Katsuki half-shrugs in response, and silently walks over, picking up the large pot for a split second before immediately setting it back down on the counter. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he mutters, shaking his hands out.

“Oh, K-Kacchan, did you get burnt? Oh my g-gosh, I’m so sorry, I should have warned you beforehand—”

“It’s fine, nerd. I have an explosion quirk, I can handle a little heat.” Katsuki picks up the pot once again, this time prepared for the temperature of the handles, and carries it off the counter, waiting for Izuku to bring the last tray of brownies and the cups for the hot cocoa.

“Ooh, I see!” Izuku exclaims, walking over to him. “That’s super cool, Kacchan! Your quirk isn’t specifically related to temperature but you still experience other unexpected benefits that could be pretty useful in both daily life and combat!”

Katsuki barely catches his arms from giving out and dropping the pot again. He feels his cheeks start to pinken, and the steam from the cocoa pot tickling his face is not helping.

The pair carry over the food and supplies over to the lounge, setting them down on the center table next to the trays of brownies Kirishima had previously brought over. Katsuki scoffed. Over half of the brownies were gone and the movie hadn’t even started yet.

Izuku starts piling a few brownies onto a plate for himself. “Kacchan, do you want any?”

Katsuki shrugs, and Izuku softly smiles, setting a few more brownies onto the same plate.

“Aww, domestic,” Ashido whispers.

Katsuki whips his head around, about to curse her out, when Izuku puts a hand on his shoulder, and he forgets how to language.

“C’mon Kacchan, let’s find a spot! Hmmm, there’s barely any room left to squeeze, though…”

Katsuki gapes. Together?

“Oh, there’s room right over there, near Uraraka-chan and Tsu-chan on the floor!” Izuku tiptoes over the others sprawled in a heap on the floor, and takes a seat on the ground, leaning his back onto the side of the couch Yaoyorozu and Jirou had taken over.

Katsuki mindlessly follows, cheeks now burning, and plops next to Izuku on the floor. He looks to his side, only to come eye to eye with Round Cheeks. Half n’ Half was there too, nestled under a blanket, giving Katsuki a wave. Ugh. How had he ended up all cozy, smack in the middle of all of Deku’s shitty nerd friends?

“Kacchan! The movie’s starting now,” Izuku leans over and whispers in Katsuki’s ear, nudging their shoulders together. Izuku doesn’t move his shoulder away, and Katsuki feels his stomach churn.

He slumps further against the side of the couch, swallowing. On the television, a man in pajamas runs through the streets of Berlin, trying to escape from something.

The class had—for once—hushed for the movie’s opening scene, but the silence was broken a mere thirty five seconds in when Ashido screamed and Kaminari yelled “RUH ROH” when the man suddenly shattered a glass window. From that moment, the class starts heckling at every little detail. Nobody is surprised.

Katsuki’s secretly more of a rom-com type of guy—quality rom-coms, not that cookie cutter bullshit—but he actually gets invested in the plot, his body finally returning to relatively normal over the next half hour. Izuku’s fluffy socks occasionally tickle the sides of his bare feet, but it’s comfortable. It’s nice.

But of fucking course, it can’t last. Without any warning, he feels the warmth of Izuku’s thigh brush against his. Izuku, chewing on a brownie, focused on the movie, doesn’t seem to notice at all. He looks all snuggled up, leaning against the couch with horrible posture, head almost tilted far enough to touch Katsuki’s bicep. Katsuki swallows and glances down. Izuku’s red and black cotton pajama pants are pressed to Katsuki’s gray sweats, the paper plate of brownies still balanced right above Izuku’s knees.

As if the thirty minutes of sanity didn’t mean anything, Katsuki feels his heart begin to flutter, and before he can start to panic again, he snatches a brownie from Izuku’s plate.

Well, that’s what he intended to do.

Izuku chokes, and Katsuki’s eyes bulge in horror at the sight of his own hand, nestled… between Izuku’s legs.  

He was fucking grabbing Izuku’s inner thigh. Dangerously close to just barely touching—

Katsuki jumps up and points his hand away from the all shitty extras surrounding him, just before his hand lets out a small explosion with a disproportionately loud bang!

“Oh god, oh fuck—”

“When did this become a 4D viewing experience?”

“Hey, can someone rewind? I just missed the dialogue—”

“There’s subtitles, can’t you fuckin’ read,” Katsuki snaps, sitting back down. 

“Ah, hah, Kacchan, were you trying to explode me or something?” Izuku shakily laughs, now sitting up straight as a board, his face suddenly crimson enough to rival Katsuki’s.

“Haaah? I was reaching for—for a fuckin’ brownie, nerd!” 

“O-oh, you could’ve just asked, Kacchan,” Izuku holds out the plate, shoulders relaxing. 

Katsuki scoots back to his spot. “Yeah, whatever, thanks.” He takes a brownie, successfully this time, and immediately shoves half of it into his mouth. He tries to get back into his comfortable position, squirming around until he’s satisfied. He makes a point to sit a little further from Izuku this time, but it’s not like he has a lot of space to work with, unless he wants to cuddle up to fuckin’ Round Cheeks.

Katsuki looks towards the television. The blonde heroine saunters into a red-lit bar, pulling out a cigarette. He’s just starting to relax again, when he feels something bump into his side.

Izuku won’t stop jittering his leg, knocking into Katsuki’s on accident, and there’s a pink flush still dusting across his freckles. 

Katsuki furrows his eyebrows. He leans over to the basket Todoroki had set out earlier, pulls out a fuzzy fleece blanket, and dumps it on Izuku’s lap.

Izuku looks at him through his long eyelashes, head tilted. 

“You’re shaking,” Katsuki explains.

Izuku blinks. 

Katsuki tsks . “If you were cold, you should have just said something, nerd.” There’s no bite to his voice, soft enough to nearly be droned out by the sounds of the movie’s climatic fight scene (and the rest of the class’s frenzied reactions).

Izuku bites his lip, but can’t hide the tender smile that’s raising his specked cheeks. “K-Kacchan, that’s… really considerate of you, t-thank you,” he looks down at his lap, unable to meet Katsuki’s eyes. He pushes his scarred hands down onto his thighs, as if to stop his legs from moving.

Katsuki, flustered, looks away at the TV, and mumbles an incoherent response as he crosses his arms, one hand kneading his tricep.

It hasn’t even been a minute, when Katsuki feels soft fabric thrown over his own legs. 

“Now your legs started shaking, Kacchan!”

Katsuki hadn’t even noticed. He finally meets Izuku’s gaze, and feels his jaw go slack.

Izuku is looking at him—with shy, shining green eyes, the inner tips of his eyebrows slightly tilted upward, the golden tones of the twinkle lights softly lighting the constellations on his skin—

Izuku’s looking at him as if Katsuki’s utterly precious.

The sheer, pure fondness in Izuku’s gaze—it’s as if he would give anything just to be in this moment with Katsuki.

Oh.

Oh.

Holy fuck.

That’s what this was. That’s what his body has been trying to tell him.

I would give anything just to be here in this moment with Deku.

Katsuki tries to swallow, his throat dry. His heart is thumping so rapidly, so truthfully against his chest, Izuku could probably hear it. 

But he doesn’t even have a second to feel relief at finally figuring something out, before his heart drops to his stomach.

I could give anything, but it wouldn’t be enough.

There’s no way after—after all this, after what I did to him—there’s no way I could be selfish enough to ask for that, from him.

But fuck, the way Izuku is looking at him, with the adoration that he doesn’t deserve , just could delude him into thinking that maybe, just maybe, Izuku would let Katsuki be selfish, for him.

Let Katsuki be selfish for something he should never even dare to ask for.

Katsuki grits his teeth, and tears his eyes from Izuku’s, somehow now so much more difficult than it had been before. Under the blanket, he shifts his leg touching Izuku’s away to the side, and stares at the wall next to the television. He’s given up on the movie.

He hears the sounds of the movie but none of them register, as he desperately tries to not think about the most important person in his life just casually sitting right next to him , when he feels wisps tickle his jaw. He’s suddenly drowning in the scent of fresh strawberry shampoo.

A moment later, he feels the rest. First Izuku’s head, dropping to his shoulder, then Izuku’s torso, pushing against his own, and finally, a calloused hand, coming to a rest on the top of Kasuki’s thigh.

All of the processes in Katsuki’s body seize to a halt.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK—

Katsuki doesn’t dare move an inch, resisting every urge to look, to capture the scene with his eyes, and cherish it for the rest of his life.

The chaos in the room, in the movie—it all sounds muffled. Katsuki hears nothing except Izuku’s even, shallow breaths against the entire side of his body.

He sits still as a statue for god knows how long, and finally, fucking finally, the screen fades to black and credits begin to roll.

“That was hella gay!”

“I would not particularly claim that was the thesis of the movie, but if it makes you feel happy, you have my support.”

“Uuughhhh, now I want a girlfriend!”

“Kyouka, I’m right here—”

“I’m starting to think some of you have missed the point of the film—”

“I think some people weren’t paying attention during the movie anyways—”

“Oh my gooosh Ochako, don’t call them out like that!”

Katsuki ignores the conversations happening around him, and finally chances a sideways glance at Sleeping Beauty next to him. His breath catches in his throat at the sight—even in the dim light, Izuku’s eyelashes look dark and long, and his freckled cheeks are soft and endearing. He was always this beautiful? Katsuki swallows, feeling goosebumps creep along the back of his neck.

Someone flicks on the lights, and everyone in the room groans.

“A warning next time would be nice, Tokoyami!”

“The fluorescence is not particularly enjoyable for me as well.”

Katsuki stills. He watches it happen—in the brightness, the rest of the class finally looks around the room, almost every one of them stopping at the sight of… the situation he was in right now with Izuku. Was someone giggling? 

He glowers at his classmates, narrowing his eyes at each of them. I will fucking make every one of you shitty extras wish you’d never met me.

The rest of the class seems to get the point, getting back to picking up the mess around the lounge, but he swears he overhears goddamn Pinky telling his shitty friends they owed her lunch for a week. The fuckin’ idiots were giggling like madmen in a corner of the room, and Katsuki crinkles his nose. He decidedly looks away, only to find Deku’s nerd friends throwing sideways glances at the two of them, eagerly whispering amongst themselves.

Fuckin’ hell. He can’t catch a break. He decides to just stare at the stupid DVD logo bouncing around the sides of the television.

The room quickly quiets down, classmates retreating upstairs for the night. The main lights flicker off, leaving the room once again only lit by the television and the holiday lights strung around the room.

“Alright, see ya in class tomorrow, Bakubro!”

“Have fun, you two!”

Katsuki doesn’t bother responding, staying still for a moment, and relaxes when he feels Izuku rhythmically breathe in and out.

The nerd slept through all that? And Katsuki thought he was the deep sleeper.

Katsuki feels his lip twitch in amusement. He knows should probably leave as well, but he can’t bring himself to move. He settles a little further back into the base of the couch, and Izuku hmms in content, nestling further into his neck—and Katsuki feels warmth tingle all over his body once again.

He halfheartedly watches the logo on the TV bounce, changing colors every time it hits one of the sides of the screen. And in the still, dimly lit room with no other eyes watching, he finally lets himself smile. 

I’ll leave when the fuckin’ logo hits the corner.

 


 

Katuski groans, tiredly rubbing the cricks in his neck. He pries his eyelids open only to realize he’s in a room, moonlight streaming through the window, faintly lighting the top of the desk just near the windowsill. He stretches out his legs, feeling with his bare feet the crisp bedsheets and the sweats he’d kicked off in sleep, and pulls his blanket further up his body.

Wait. 

His blanket?

Immediately on guard, he jolts to a sitting position. He pats down his body for his phone, only to find it charging on his neat bedside table. He tilts it up: just past 3 AM.

How the fuck did he get up here? 

Oh my fucking god. Don’t tell me—

There’s only a few people in this whole goddamn class who are strong enough to lift all 180 pounds of him up to the fourth floor without waking him up.

But there’s only one who would tuck him into bed after doing so.

Katsuki flips around, buries his blazing face into his pillow, and screams.

 


 

Izuku is awake much earlier in the morning than he has any need to be, and that’s probably why he finds his legs pulling himself towards the kitchen, stomach rumbling.

He’s most definitely not an early riser, especially on a Saturday, so the dim stillness of the downstairs landing feels foreign—there’s no cackles of anyone watching morning cartoons, of any bickering over ingredients for brunch.

Izuku passes through the lounge, and feels his stomach flutter at the sight of the spot he and Katsuki had sat—and apparently slept—yesterday. He tries not to think about the memory of carrying Katsuki’s powerful, unguarded weight in his arms.

The smell of breakfast hits him just as he passes the dining tables, and there behind the kitchen counter stands Katsuki, still in the same t-shirt and sweats as yesterday.

Katsuki looks up, flipping one of the eggs that was sizzling the stove. “You’re up early.”

“I-uh, yeah, I guess I am,” Izuku replies, walking closer to the counter. “I must’ve fallen asleep earlier than usual.”

Katsuki snorts, casually stirring around some vegetables in another pan. “Ya’ think?” He pauses, as if he wants to say more, but goes back to checking on his eggs.

Izuku walks past him and opens the cabinets, brightening when he finds some instant ramen.

“Don’t tell me you’re shoving that shit into your body first thing in the morning.”

Izuku turns his head, ready to defend his eating choices, only to come face to face with Katsuki, suddenly towering over him.

Izuku opens his mouth, but Katsuki interrupts him, pulling the instant ramen out of his hand and shoving it back into the cabinet. “Never mind, I don’t want to hear it. How do you like your eggs?”

“My—huh?”

“Like, over easy, fried, scrambled? Or would you rather have an omelette?” Katsuki turns back around to the stove, pushing his finished eggs and vegetables onto a clean plate. He doesn’t wait for Izuku to respond before taking three more eggs from the carton. “Actually, I’m just going to make you a veggie omelette. You definitely are not eating enough greens.” 

Izuku blinks.

“We’re sparring together in a few hours, right? You need actual substantive energy.” Katsuki motions towards the tables with his head, “Go sit, it’ll be ready in a few.”

Izuku wordlessly gives a slow nod, and follows Katsuki’s directions, slumping into the closest chair. He looks out the floor-to-ceiling windows—the sun is low in the sky, and there’s a cottony carpet of snow laying across the grass. He hears oil sizzling, and turns back to the kitchen.

Katsuki cooks with ease, his tongue poking out as he cracks eggs into a bowl, comfortably whisking them together with a pair of chopsticks. He moves to the side, quickly dicing vegetables over a cutting board.

Izuku rests his cheek in his hand, gazing in admiration. “Wow, Kacchan—I knew you could cook, but I didn’t know you were this good at it.”

Katsuki pours the egg mixture into the pan. “Hah? This is cooking 101. An omelette is like, the simplests of breakfasts, nerd.” He glimpses over at Izuku. “And it’s not like you don’t know how to bake, those brownies yesterday were pretty fuckin’ good.”

“No, Kacchan, you’re actually really good! Nobody else in the class can actually cook,” Izuku rambles eagerly. “And baking doesn’t really count, since I don’t know how to make anything other than sweets—I never really learned how to actually cook, since I had my mom around to make me my favorite foods, so the fact that you can make what you want, with whatever ingredients you have, on demand, is actually so hot—”

Izuku throws his hands over his mouth, a moment too late, and looks at Katsuki in horror. He sees the shock in Katsuki’s widened eyes, and feels his heart drop to his feet.

“I-I mean—I meant to say cool, not hot, I’m—oh my g-gosh, I’m so sorry,” Izuku squeaks, muffling his own voice with his hands. He feels a flicker of lightning course over his body, and before Katsuki can reply, he knocks over his chair, bolting out of the kitchen and throwing open the door to the stairway. In a moment, he’s back in his room pacing, head in his hands.

Humiliation bubbles in his chest, and the logical truth that Katsuki would never—not anymore—judge him for what he says, for his feelings, doesn’t do anything to calm his quivering body. 

He curls into his bed, and squeezes his eyes shut—but he’s not fast enough to stop a tear from escaping, sliding down his cheek.

 


 

Izuku wakes to a tap at his door. He thinks he’s just imagined it, but then hears another hesitant knock, a little louder this time.

“Nerd? Ya’ in there?”

Izuku sniffles, wiping his damp cheeks with the back of hand. Kacchan?

Oh, right, they were supposed to spar.

“Deku? I’m coming in now,” the door opens, and Katsuki pokes his head inside, catching sight of Izuku on the bed. He sighs and walks in, closing the door behind him.

Izuku pulls himself into a sitting position, letting his feet rest on the floor. His body has stopped shaking after his impromptu nap, but he still can’t find the courage to look Katsuki in the eye.

Black socks shuffle over to stand in front of him. “I brought your food up, I, uh, reheated it just now too, so it should be warm,” Katsuki murmurs, gently offering the dish to Izuku.

He wipes his wet hands on his comforter and accepts the plate, adjusting the chopsticks in his hands. Katsuki hasn’t addressed the downstairs fiasco at all, and Izuku feels a wave of thankfulness.

Izuku looks down at his omelette and his heart absolutely melts—it’s professional, smells incredible, and… has a little ketchup smiley face drawn on top. Water wells up in his eyes once more, but he keeps it from spilling.

Katsuki shifts awkwardly in front of him. “Uh, I just all included all the vegetables that I usually eat with mine. You like cheese right? I put some cheddar in there too.”

Izuku finally looks up at Katsuki, whose red eyes are tinged with a whisper of concern.

“Kacchan, I don’t—this is probably one of the sweetest things someone has ever done for me,” he takes a trembling breath. “Thank you, really.”

Katsuki keeps Izuku’s gaze for a microsecond, before suddenly snapping his head away. 

“Fuck, Deku, please, you’ve gotta stop saying that shit to me!”

Izuku drops the piece of omelette he’d just picked up back onto the plate, the brief happiness he’d felt instantly morphing into hurt. “W-what?”

Katsuki turns back at him, looking panicked. “Wait, no—shit, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking bad at this,” he runs a hand through his blonde spikes, eyes darting back and forth between Izuku and literally anything else. “I just—fuck, Deku, all the things you tell me, the way you look at me—fuck, I’m sorry. It’s got me fucked up, Deku, making me think that you—that you could—could somehow, towards me of all people...” he trails off, rubbing the base of his palm into his center of his forehead.

“Wuh—t-that I could somehow what?” 

Katsuki glances back at him under his hand, cheeks flushed pink. “Shit, Deku, you’re really—you’re really gonna make me do this?” 

“Kacchan, please,” Izuku finally feels a teardrop slip from the corner of his eye.

“Fuck, Deku—I know we’ve moved on from our past but sometimes you make me really confused—sometimes, it feels like—like you really care about me.” Katsuki’s voice cracks, and with that, the dam breaks, his tears freely flooding out.

“Oh, K-Kacchan, why would you think otherwise?” Izuku chokes, heart breaking. “Of course, of course I care about you, so so much, more than anything—”

“Not like that, Deku!” Katsuki interrupts, gripping his head in distress. “I mean like it makes me feel like that you care about me, like in the way,” Katsuki struggles, pupils shaking, “like in the way my old hag cares about my shitty old man! Like how Ears cares about Ponytail, like that! And fuck, I didn’t want to fuckin’ tell you this, because I already know I can’t ask you to care about me like that!”

Izuku stares back, dazed into speechlessness.

Katsuki’s expression starts to twist into dejection, and he starts to shift backward. 

No—stay—

Izuku snaps out of it and shoots to his feet, arm shooting out to grab Katsuki’s hand. “W-Wait, Kacchan, if I—if I’m understanding you right, y-y-you mean you want me to care about you like that?”

Katsuki rips his eyes to Izuku’s hand, their fingers meeting with the barest of touches, and doesn’t answer.

“Kacchan,” Izuku gently prods, “look at me.”

Izuku lightly tugs Katsuki’s hand to rest on his chest, letting him feel Izuku’s pounding heart. Katsuki accepts, his crestfallen gaze finally flicking up to meet Izuku’s.

“Kacchan,” Izuku begins again, trying to find a smidgen of confidence. “I-I didn’t know we would be talking about this… so soon, but,” he takes a gulp, “I do care,” his voice shifts into whisper. “I do care about you… in that way. L-Like in the way your mom cares about your dad, like that,” he confesses.

Katsuki’s pupils are blown wide, face redder than his irises.

It’s quiet for a moment except for the sounds of their breaths, and then Katsuki’s voice comes out in almost a faint gasp, more vulnerable than Izuku had ever heard. “So… so you—so I,” he tries again, “so I wasn’t confused?”

Izuku feels as if his heart is going to burst. Kacchan looked so afraid, so hopeful. Izuku had never seen him like this before. 

“Oh, Kacchan, I didn’t mean to make you confused, I—” he cuts himself off with a soft laugh. “I’ve felt that way about you for a very long time,” he admits, wiping his tears off his cheeks with his free hand, and offers a shaky smile at the boy he’s always loved.

Izuku isn’t expecting anything in return, but Katsuki interrupts his thoughts, sounding so small, but so sure, “I. I think I feel like that too.” 

Before Izuku even has a moment to react, Katsuki tenderly pushes Izuku’s hand to his firm chest, letting Izuku feel his own racing heartbeat.

Izuku gasps, and Katsuki continues, voice low and wobbly. “I feel like that, like—like how my mom cares about my dad, I… I feel like that too. About you.”

Izuku’s jaw unclenches, and his heart rate jumps, matching Katsuki’s under his palm—it’s way too much, and he has to look away. Outside the window, snow blows down in a horizontal blur, and Izuku leans forward, closing the minuscule distance between them, supporting his head on Katsuki’s chest.

He feels Katsuki take a shuddering breath under his cheek, and an unsure arm comes around to slide up his back, pulling Izuku even closer. Katsuki nestles his face into the top of Izuku’s green curls, and Izuku feels as if honey is coursing through his veins.

The two stand still in each other’s warmth for a moment, until Katsuki breaks the comfortable silence.

“‘Zuku,” he mumbles, words muffled as he speaks into the top of Izuku’s head, “is this what it means when people say they’re in love?”

Izuku sputters on nothing. He sounds so innocent and genuinely curious—was Kacchan always this soft? 

“O-oh, um, I mean people usually say they’re in lo-love after they like… date for sometime, I think, usually, maybe,” he trails off, only to feel Katsuki’s heart pulse race under his fingers.

Katuski suddenly pries the two of them apart, palms grasping Izuku’s shoulders.

Katsuki’s breath is ragged, but there’s the slightest hint of determination in his expression. “I know I can’t ask you to be with me, ‘Zuku, but—but I really want to.”

Izuku knows his face must be so red right now. But he fights it, takes Katsuki’s jaw in his hand, and presses his lips to Katsuki’s burning cheek.

“Then I’ll ask you, Kacchan,” Izuku whispers, gathering his determination, shyly draping his arms around Katsuki’s neck. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

Katsuki gapes for a second in response, then shivers, a slow, relieved curl raising the corners of his mouth. “Fuck yes,” he answers breathily, leaning down to capture Izuku in the lightest brush of their smiling lips.

 


 

bakuwu bupport bqwad

[You]: PACK IT UP BOIZ AND GIRL

[You]: MISSION SUCCESS

[benki]: WHA

[bero]: no h*ckin way

[You]: My ear hurts so bad

[You]: Been pressin it 2 the wall 4 the past ten mins

[benki]: NODS go on plzzzzz

[You]: Dang shldve asked jirou

[bina] IS THIS WHAT I THINK IT IS

[bina] please end my eternal torment

[You]: I hear kissy noises

[benki]: 😳 😳 😳 😳 😳 😳 😳 😳

[benki]: i am imagining Respectfully

[bero]: lessss goooooo

[bina]: OMFG

[bina]: can we add gremlin to this chat now <3_<3

[benki]: must you wake up and choose violence every day woman

[bina has added bakuHOE to the chat]

[benki]: YAYYYYYY

[bina]: so proud of u baby boy

[bero]: i’m actually incredibly frightened right now

[You]: Gratz Bakubro!!

[bakuHOE]: .

[bakuHOE]: nothing you fuckers do surprises me anymore