Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Katsuki is sitting on his bed, cross-legged and wearing one of his favorite—Shouto would know, Katsuki wears it quite a lot—black tank tops when Shouto comes inside his room. He’s the embodiment of concentration, earphones on and scribbling aggressively in his notebook with a focused frown; he’s probably polishing the last bits of the song he’s been working on hard all week, which means Shouto will get a deep scowl for the interruption. However, the matter at hand is very important.

Completely unprompted, and as a greeting, Shouto asks, “Can you be my boyfriend?”

Katsuki doesn’t react at first. He taps his pen on the corner of his mouth once, twice—as he always does when he’s thinking, Shouto has noticed—and then blinks up at him when Shouto decides to sit down on the bed across from his notes. He blinks again, and then frowns, seemingly confused as to why and how much time has Shouto been there.

Todoroki offers a little wave, his skin strangely tingly under the silent scrutinazing, and then opens his mouth to ask again. As he does, Katsuki stares at his mouth moving, eyebrows furrowed.

“Huh?” Katsuki’s frown deepens, and then he clicks something on his phone—presumably to stop the music that’s still on—and takes off his earphones to grunt at him, “What are you doing here? And I’ve told you a million times already: don’t talk to me when I’m wearing my earphones, dumbass, I can’t hear you. What did you say?”

“Can you be my boyfriend?” Shouto repeats, and, for some reason, asking it for the third time tonight doesn’t feel weird. The word ‘boyfriend’ rolls out of his mouth easier than he thought. Huh.

Katsuki doesn’t even flinch though, which is really unsettling. Shouto expected glaring, screaming, probably a kick to the face (which is why he’s already lifting up his hands to block it, but the hit never comes). Instead, Katsuki just stays still, as if someone had cast a freezing spell on him.

“Are you having a stroke?” Shouto asks, leaning in to see his face closer.

Slowly, as if waking up from a dream, Katsuki blinks once, and then frowns. “Hah?”

Oh. So he just didn’t hear correctly, “Can you—”

“I heard you this time, idiot,” he glares, and flicks on Shouto’s forehead; it’s easier to do it now that he’s sitting closer. Katsuki doesn’t care about Todoroki’s huffing and instead gives him a weird look, like expecting a second head to grow out in his neck any second. “Was that a fucking confession? Did you fall and hit your head and become a hundred times stupider or something?”

“No?” Shouto answers, just as Katsuki grabs his chin and lifts up his face, as if to carefully examine Todoroki’s head. Shouto blinks, his heart doing a weird flip inside his chest; Katsuki’s fingers are really warm, and he smells really nice, which is pretty distracting.

He must have some kind of dumb expression on his face, because the blond narrows his eyes in suspicion. “You sure, Halfie?”

“I didn’t hit my head,” he confirms, and feels a strange sense of loss when Katsuki releases his face.

“Then?” Katsuki doesn’t seem to buy it, leaning back against the headboard and crossing his arms over his chest—which, again, is pretty distracting given how his muscles bulge visibly. “Are you asking me out, dumbass? Because that sure was a shitty way to do it.”

“No, I just—” Mind a mess between ‘nice arms’ and ‘nice skin’ and ‘huh? What? Does that mean Bakugou is the type that likes and wants big gestures and confessions like those extravagant ones in rom-com movies?’, Todoroki forces himself to look at Bakugou’s face instead of his really nice biceps. Focus, Shouto. “I’m just… Uh, I might… Um…”

Katsuki scowls, “Spit it out already, Halfie.”

Shouto presses his lips together, drumming his fingers on his thighs. There’s no way Bakugou is going to react very nicely to the news, “I might… have told Shinsou that you’re my boyfriend.”

Katsuki arches both eyebrows. “You what?”

Shouto tilts his head. “It was weeks ago, it’s not that important.”

Bakugou’s left eyebrow twitches. “You what? Weeks ago?”

If Shouto is completely honest, he doesn’t think it's that big of a deal—it’s not like there were more personal questions involved, and Shouto didn’t have to explain himself after. It helped to stop Shinsou’s constant teasing, too, and he even kind of forgot about it until a situation arose. “But the thing is, he mentioned it to Kaminari, and he wanted to go on a double date with us.”

Looking back, Todoroki probably should have guessed Shinsou would tell his boyfriend, which would result in this precise scenario, but he didn’t think it through when Bakugou’s name came out of his mouth. “At first I said that I wasn’t sure about the idea because I didn’t want to bother you, but then he started asking questions and I panicked so I ended up agreeing.”

Katsuki blinks. He sure is blinking a lot today. “You did what?” he hisses.

Shouto tilts his head, “Um…”

“So you’re saying that you told Eyebags that we were boyfriends weeks ago and never once you thought about fucking telling me?”

“Well…” Shouto retorts, “You always say not to bother you with unimportant stuff.”

Katsuki stares. “And the fact that we’re supposedly boyfriends doesn’t sound important to you, dipshit?”

Shouto blinks. “I just… he didn’t ask any questions and didn’t mention it again, so I kind of forgot I said that…”

Katsuki’s eyebrow twitches again.

“He was always teasing me about being single,” he continues, trying to elaborate more, “so I thought that telling him we’re together would make him stop and it worked. I didn’t exactly think it through before…”

Bakugou squints, like the way he does when he has to read something without his glasses on. “And why exactly did you mention me out of all people?”

“I don’t know; you were the first person that came to my mind,” Shouto frowns. “You’re the only friend I have who is single.”

“Shitty Deku is pretty fucking single as far as I know, asshole,” he seethes, “And Shitty Hair as well. And Soy Face. You have plenty of ‘single friends’ besides me, dumbass.”

Oh.

That’s right…

It’s different, though, given both Midoriya and Kirishima have crushes on each other, and asking them to fake date him wouldn’t be fair to any of them. Does Bakugou have a crush on anyone, though? He doesn’t know. He wouldn’t know; it’s not exactly like they talk about that kind of stuff… He guesses he could have said Sero, though, but he’s never thought about dating Sero, so…

Oh. Wait.

“What?” Katsuki grumbles, scowling and crinkling his nose like he knows Todoroki is thinking about something that’s going to give him a headache. “Why are you smiling like a dumbass?”

“You didn’t deny you’re my friend,” Shouto says, and Katsuki gives him a long stare before throwing a pillow at his face. It doesn’t hurt, and Shouto is pretty tempted to laugh, even.

“Are you seriously focusing on that, idiot?!”

Shouto tries to hide his smile behind the pillow, peeking out to look at Katsuki’s flushed ears.

“You’re completely hopeless,” he scowls, “You’re insufferable. I can’t believe you said you’re my boyfriend.”

Shouto hugs the pillow against his chest and tilts his head, resting one cheek on the cotton, “Is it really that weird?”

“Why do you sound like you’ve thought about dating me before, dumbass?” he deadpans.

“Well, I… have…?”

Katsuki’s eyes go wide. “Hah?”

Shouto rolls his eyes. “It’s not that weird.”

“Hah?”

“I mean…” Shouto leans forward and rests the pillow on his lap, “You’re really kind, attentive, and smart. And hot, too—or should I say pretty? Well, you’re both—and we’re friends. I feel comfortable with you.”

“Hah?!” Katsuki blinks, open-mouthed and gaping, his neck colored a dusting of cherry red, and Shouto wonders if it’s whether because he’s embarrassed—Katsuki isn’t that good at taking compliments after all, no matter how much he pretends he is, Shouto has noticed—or angry, or both. “First of all, what a fucking shitty list of reasons to date someone.”

Shouto frowns, confused, “Is it…?”

“Second of all, I’m not fucking kind.”

“But you are…?”

“You’re giving me a headache,” Katsuki huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know, dumbass, I know you’re pretty fucking oblivious, but you don’t date anyone you don’t, you know… like.”

Head tilted, slight frown on his face, “But I do like you?”

“That’s not…” Bakugou pauses, and then sighs, seemingly exhausted, “Ugh, whatever.”

As Katsuki lies down on his bed, burying his face into his hands, mumbling something Shouto can’t quite hear, Todoroki stares.

Hm.

“Sorry,” he says, sincere, leaning down and prodding at Katsuki’s side with his index finger, “did I make you uncomfortable?”

Bakugou opens his fingers so he can peek at Todoroki’s face between the space in his hands.

“I know I should have asked you first, but I really didn’t think it would be a big deal,” Shouto continues, honest and apologetic, “I’m sorry.”

Katsuki stares for a moment, and then decides to uncover his face.

“Don’t apologize,” he finally says, “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, it was just…” he looks down at his hands, then up at Shouto’s face, “It surprised me.”

Katsuki looks like he’s oddly fixated on something invisible in his hands, weirdly silent and refusing to look at Shouto, and Shouto recalls that all the previous times Katsuki has looked so eerily calm it’s because he was struggling thinking hard about something; he can see Bakugou’s brain working now, trying to put his thoughts into a coherent line.

“I guess I can,” he says then, looking up at Shouto.

“Can what?” Todoroki blinks, confused.

Katsuki scowls, like he can’t stand saying it explicitly. “Pretend to be your fucking boyfriend, moron.”

Oh.

“Really?”

Katsuki gives him a weird look. “Yeah, I mean… it’s just one date.”

“Yes,” Shouto nods.

Katsuki hums, “I can tolerate your lame ass for an entire night, I guess,” he shrugs, and Shouto is about to bite back with a snarky comment of his own—just for the pleasure of looking at Bakugou getting riled up—but Katsuki decides to cross his arms behind his neck and lean back on them, stretching his legs on the bed—his right foot pokes at Shouto’s thigh, and his tank top rolls up, the firm skin of his stomach coming into view, and it’s… incredibly distracting; the contact and newly exposed bare skin and casual relaxed pose, everything, “Where does Pikachu wanna go?”

“Huh?” Shouto utters, sidetracked, and then blinks back up at Katsuki’s face, because he doesn’t want to get caught staring—the way Katsuki mocks a single arched eyebrow at him tells Shouto that he was, indeed, being too obvious, though, and embarrassment prickles at his stomach. “Uh. I—dinner and a movie, I think?”

“Tch. How cliché of him.”

Shouto tilts his head at Katsuki’s expression, wondering…

“Where would you go on a first date?” he asks, and a second later realizes that it must sound like he was trying to argue with him, but he really isn’t. He’s just curious. After all, Bakugou never talks about things like this with Shouto.

But Katsuki doesn’t bat an eye, impassive as he says, not a single trace of hesitation whatsoever, like he’s known the answer to that question all this time, “I would take you to a cat café.”

Shouto lights up, “Really?!”

Katsuki stares pointedly at Shouto’s excited face for some seconds, and then, “Yeah. There’s a large one at Kabukicho. You’d love it.”

Shouto smiles, “That sounds so nice.”

Just thinking about it makes Shouto happy.

“You were prepared,” Shouto says, impressed, shooting Katsuki a look, “you answered so quickly.”

Bakugou looks extremely proud of himself, a boyish grin curling up in his lips and eyes sparkling with a puerile light to it—which is pretty cute, in Todoroki’s opinion.

“Pretty fucking easy,” he brags, “It depends, though, but if it was summer I’d take you to the festival at night, too. You’ve never been to one, which is a fucking crime. There’re lots of food and desserts, and stupid lame games. I bet it’d be fun for you; you'd love going there.”

Shouto stares. A smile tugs at his lips, slow and gentle, as he rests his chin on the palm of his hand and looks openly at Katsuki.

He must feel terribly self-conscious, because a moment later he’s fidgeting, frown etching at his features.

“What?” he grunts.

Shouto’s smile curves, “You’re so kind,” he says, and nudges Katsuki’s leg with his foot, “You thought about all of this.”

Katsuki scowls harder, ears a furious red. “It’s not like I thought about it before—”

Shouto quirks an eyebrow, “It seemed like it.”

“I just—” Katsuki opens his mouth, closes it, pauses. “You—you’re ridiculously easy to read, that’s all. It’s pretty fuckin’ simple to guess where you’d like to go.”

“I asked about you, though,” Shouto shoots back, “I never said it had to be a date with me.”

Bakugou blinks, and just as Shouto keeps staring, a soft smile on his face, Bakugou’s cheeks start dusting a pretty pink.

“But you were fast to think about me first, which is really nice,” Shouto goes on, fondness and affection swelling his chest and slipping into his voice. “You’re just so effortlessly kind, that’s all.”

Katsuki groans, mortified, but it also sounds like he wants to strangle Shouto.

Blushing, he snaps, “I’m going to kick your fucking face so you can never speak again.”

Shouto snickers.

“It’s so cute,” he retorts, “You’re so cute.”

“Hah?!”

“It’s just—” Shouto tilts his head, wishes he could reach out to touch and see how warm Katsuki’s cheeks are, “You get embarrassed and flustered at receiving compliments. Or when someone points out how much you care about people. It’s cute.”

“Stop being so embarrassing and sappy, idiot,” Katsuki frowns, voice sounding strange and a bit tad choked, and pushes Shouto’s face away with his hand.

Shouto chuckles into it, and Katsuki backs down like Shouto’s little laugh burns him.

“You know,” Shouto says, and looks down at Katsuki’s carefully well-kept notebook. “I thought you would say a concert, or something. I’d like to go to one of yours, too.”

Katsuki arches an eyebrow. “You’ve been to a few of my concerts already.”

Shouto hums. “Well, yes. But I love every time I go. And I guess it’d be different if we’re on a date, right?”

Katsuki gives him a look, “As in, what?” he pauses, and then a mocking smirk tugs at his mouth—all sharp teeth and teasing and excruciatingly attractive. Distracting. “You’d give me a good luck kiss behind the stage before the concert, pretty boy?”

“I was thinking about free-food, but I guess that counts, too,” he deadpans, and Katsuki blinks, teasing façade faltering.

“All you think about is food,” he mumbles, scowling, and Shouto gives him a cheeky smile.

“Do you want me to think about kissing you, too?”

“Get out of my room, you absolute menace,” Katsuki glares, blushing, and Shouto’s eyes glint.

“I’m pretty entertained here, thank you,” he retorts, chuckling as Katsuki kicks him on the side.

“Well, I am fucking not, and I need to get work done, you annoying idiot,” he scowls.

“Okay, okay,” Shouto concedes, lifting up his hands, “Thank you for helping me out.”

“I’m seriously regretting it.”

“You won’t back down, though,” Shouto nods, “Bakugou Katsuki never backs down from a challenge.”

“And you are a pretty fucking big one, huh, pretty boy,” he says, with a snarky edge, “An absolute nightmare.”

“I’m very happy to be of service,” he deadpans back, and Katsuki flips him off.

When he gets up the bed, he points at Katsuki’s notebook as Bakugou reaches for it to keep working on his previous task, and adds, “Do you want a good luck kiss for that, too?”

“FUCK OFF!”

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“We're doing this right,” Katsuki says, dutifully opening a notebook to take notes on the supposed ‘rules’ they’re making for this sort of agreement—or ‘shitty boyfriend stuff’, as Katsuki has so pettily written as a red title on a blank page—and, for all the amount of times Katsuki spends calling other people nerds, Shouto wants to point out just how nerdy he is himself.

He finds it ridiculously cute and endearing, too, though. Katsuki being a dork is always a delight to watch.

“I don’t think we need very specific rules,” Shouto says.

“We fucking do,” Katsuki retorts, pointing his orange—All Might-themed, Shouto notes; which, again, cute—pencil at Shouto’s face. “Because I just met Dunce Face and he joked about how I probably couldn't be ‘a decent boyfriend’ or whatever the fuck and he pissed me off, so I'll prove him the fuck wrong and show him I’m the best fucking boyfriend ever.”

“How committed of you,” Shouto says in a monotone tone, but he can’t help the small smile pulling at his lips.

“Of fucking course,” Katsuki says, and scribbles down something, “I always try my best at everything, I don’t half-ass things.”

Shouto hums, “You do. It’s actually very attractive, you know?”

Katsuki’s head snaps up so he can glare a hole into Shouto’s skull. “Stop doing that.”

“What?” Shouto asks, “Praising you?”

“Flirting with me in a weird way, Shortcake.”

“I’m not, though,” Shouto counters, “I’m just pointing out facts.”

Katsuki groans.

“How do you say such embarrassing things with a straight face?” he huffs, “Whatever.”

Shouto crosses his arms over the table they’re sitting on and rests his chin over the back of his hands. The day is bright and clear blue skies, and the sunlight peeks through the branches of the tree behind them, warm despite being the middle of winter.

Looking to the side, his teammates are still on their break, chatting and laughing in groups all over the campus and wide field. Shouto hums a melody under his breath as he watches them, a bit sleepy. The fresh air, he notes, smells like winter breeze, dry leaves, coffee and crunchy baked bread.

Shouto crinkles his nose, suddenly hungry.

As if reading his mind, Bakugou pushes a small, pastel-pink box in front of him—strawberry milk, Shouto’s favorite.

“Thank you, boyfriend,” Shouto teases, a silly small smile on his face, and Bakugou rolls his eyes.

“You’re a spoiled brat,” he says, sounding surprisingly pretty fond, and brushes Shouto’s hair out of his eyes—a habit he has. “Just drink your deadly sugary pink stuff.”

“Descriptive,” Shouto shoots, tongue poking out of his mouth to touch the straw of the box.

Katsuki flips him off, “You’re not gonna laugh when you’re on your deathbed at fucking 30.”

“I won’t, because my boyfriend is really caring,” Shouto jests, “So he won’t let me die young.”

“With the amount of sugar you consume, I pity him for having to take care of you,” Katsuki deadpans.

Shouto feels a bit silly, but he can’t help the amused smile that tugs at his lips—it’s easy to smile around Bakugou, that’s the thing.

“So?” he sips on the straw, “What do you want to discuss?”

Katsuki taps his pencil on the page, “Well, firstly, and very important: consent. What am I allowed to do?"

Shouto tilts his head, “What do you mean?"

Katsuki’s face crumples like a napkin getting wrinkled in someone’s fist, like it physically pains him having to explain it out loud. “I mean... holding hands, kissing, that cheesy shit couples do.”

“Oh.” Shouto hadn’t thought about that, “Well, I guess you can do anything.”

Katsuki arches an eyebrow, “You guess?” he frowns, serious. “I’m not doing anything you don't want to do, idiot.”

“I know that,” Shouto reassures, “But—I mean... I don't mind, all of that...” Shouto pauses, imagining what it’d be like to actually do it—to be so physically close with someone—with Bakugou Katsuki of all people, and he feels like combusting. He’s never been clingy, but he guesses a part of him has always—starved, somehow, for physical touch. Kaminari and Kirishima are extremely ‘touchy’ with him, for example, and Shouto enjoys it when they are; he’s never ever felt uncomfortable.

Bakugou, though, has always been… shy, with his touch, if Shouto were to put a word to it. He acts annoyed most of the time, but he never… pushes people away, never does anything to kick Kaminari off when he’s being too clingy—giving him back or side hugs, kissing his cheeks loudly to thank him for things, putting his head on his lap when he wants to take a nap—or when Kirishima throws an arm over his shoulders, or when Midoriya hugs him, or when any of his friends are… particularly clingy—touching, touching, touching. He never does much in return, though—a small squeeze, a gentle touch, tapping his fingers on someone’s leg. It’s like he’s starved for it as well, but he doesn’t know how to show it back—maybe has never been used to showing physical affection back.

With Shouto, it’s always the same stuff—bumping knees under the table or shoulders in the halls, kicking his ankles playfully, poking at Shouto’s cheeks, nudging him as he falls asleep on Katsuki’s bed with his foot or his elbow, tapping his fingers on Shouto’s hands, arms, thighs; and, apparently Katsuki's favorite one as he does it on a daily basis, ruffling Shouto’s hair.

For some reason, Katsuki has something for Shouto’s hair—it’s not annoying, at all, just surprising. He likes gently caressing Shouto’s scar with his thumb sometimes, and later he’d brush Shouto’s hair away from his forehead with careful fingertips, or tuck one of Shouto’s locks behind his ear so his earrings can be seen.

He likes doing that; he does it all the time.

“Your hair is getting too damn long; it’s poking your stupid eyes,” he’d say, and then proceed to brush it aside.

“Your piercings are not half-bad, you should show them more,” he’d say, and then proceed to uncover Shouto’s ears, fingers moving with ease and practice to tuck Shouto’s hair behind the shell.

He swallows, glancing at Katsuki’s hands resting on the table. Thinking back, he’s always thought Katsuki’s hands were really pretty. And, thinking back, he’s thought about doing all those things, too—hugging, touching Katsuki’s hair, holding Katsuki’s hand, rubbing his thumb on that small cartoonish explosion tattoo he has on his inner wrist, delicately tracing it with his finger and seeing if it tickles him, nuzzling his face into his neck, breathing into the other tattoo he has there, and…

He shoots Katsuki’s lips a look; thinks about what it’d be like to actually kiss him. What it’d be like, leaning down to cup Katsuki’s cheeks—maybe they’d be sweetly warm, maybe Katsuki would be embarrassed enough to blush—thumb at his lips before going for the kiss, watching Katsuki dip his head a little back, tilt up his chin so he can meet Shouto halfway. He thinks about what Katsuki would taste like—if he’d taste like anything at all. How soft or chapped his lips must be. Whether he’s a bit vocal during the kiss or just quiet—if he’s too eager, too demanding, too willing to please, too something.

He thinks about the way Katsuki would look like after the kiss—red lips, burning eyes, pink cheeks.

“Holding hands,” Shouto breathes, a tad bit overwhelmed, mind buzzing, “Hugging… kissing, you can do it. You can do anything.”

Katsuki stares.

“...Really?” he asks, quiet, after a moment. Maybe too surprised at Shouto’s willingness, “And, just—like, at any time? Or is there a sign you can do to tell me to back off if you’re not feeling like it or you’re uncomfortable?”

Shouto can feel himself smile, gentle, tenderly holding his heart in his mouth.

“You worry too much,” he says, and reaches out on the table; his pinky meets Bakugou’s, just the most minimal contact, and Shouto plays with it, puts the tip of his finger above Bakugou’s neat nail, taps once, twice, three times.

Tap, tap, tap. Bakugou looks down at their fingers. Tap, tap, tap. Bakugou looks up again. Tap, tap, tap.

“It’s fine,” Shouto continues, “I really appreciate it, but you can do anything, anytime. I really don’t mind.”

Katsuki doesn’t look very convinced, though, so he adds, “If I don’t like something I’ll just kick you and you’d back off,” he states, “It’s okay.”

“Hm,” Bakugou hums, “Good. But if you kick me hard I’ll kick you to Jupiter and back.”

Shouto is quick to chuckle, amused. “Noted.”

“Hmph.” Katsuki scowls, and then writes something on his notes; Shouto realizes he’s not really moving his other hand away, so he keeps playing with it like a kid, very entertained. “Well, it’s not like we’d need all of this. It’s just one date, but it’s important to ask first.”

Shouto smiles. Katsuki is really kind.

“So,” he says, looking pointedly at Shouto, “You have any questions, dumbass?”

“Hm,” Shouto muses over, “What about you?”

He quirks an eyebrow, “Me?”

Todoroki nods, “What is okay with you and what isn’t?”

Bakugou’s frown lightens, and then he bumps his knee against Shouto’s under the table—whether it was merely accidental or on purpose, Shouto is not sure, but he enjoys the contact, and proceeds to trap Bakugou’s leg between his.

Katsuki doesn’t react much, just makes a quiet sound at the back of his throat.

“…Hm. Same as you.”

Shouto blinks. Wait. “So, does that mean I can kiss you?”

“Well, yeah,” Bakugou shrugs one shoulder, leans back a bit and stares Shouto down. “Sure. If it’s needed. You can.”

“Are you sure?” Shouto blinks again.

“Yes,” Katsuki says, and reaches out to poke at Shouto’s forehead with one finger, “I’d tell you if I wasn’t, idiot.”

Shouto breathes, dizzy and messy, as Katsuki tucks a stray hair behind his ear and brushes his earrings between soft fingertips, and gets the sudden, overwhelming urge to just grab his wrist, lean over the table and kiss him, right there.

He doesn’t, though. They’re not even on the date. Katsuki probably wouldn’t like that.

“Okay.”

‘If it’s needed. You can.’

Okay, Shouto repeats inside his head. Okay.

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Katsuki is waiting for him outside the main building when Shouto finishes his last class. He’s leaning against a wall, near the old campus library, looking at something on his phone.

Shouto stops in the hallway, frozen on the spot.

Katsuki looks—hot. Incredibly so.

He’s wearing black cargo pants and bright-white sneakers; and the usual on-brand leather jacket is covering a v-neck underneath, exposing part of his collarbones and the smooth skin of his neck.

Shit.

Shit.

He… actually made an effort—a big one, strikingly clear—to look nice. More than nice, Shouto would say. Insanely, smoking hot, Shouto would say.

He’s—that is, Katsuki is hot. Shouto has always known. He’s aware, has always been; an amazed thought always at the back of his head, noting how Bakugou could alternate between looking breathtakingly pretty and captivatingly hot and attractive. But. Still.

Now, Shouto is met with this, and he’s reminded—painfully aware—that Katsuki is hot, in every sense of the word.

Suddenly, he feels terribly self-conscious of his own outfit—cherry red converse, simple black jeans and an oversized white tee shirt with a small drawing of a cartoonish black cat at the level of his heart. His right arm is full of his colorful bracelets, as always, and his ankle shines with the golden bracelet he’s wearing there. And to be worse, his hair is as messy as ever.

He must look comically, painfully lame in comparison.

Ghhh.

He tries to comb his hair with his fingers, crinkling his nose and feeling like going to his dorm so he can put on a cute cardigan or something better, but when he’s in the middle of trying to make his hair look a bit more decent and less messy, Katsuki looks up and sees him.

Ah.

Katsuki blinks, silent, stares for a couple of seconds, and then tilts his head at him.

“What are you standing there for, dumbass?” he calls, pocketing his phone in his pants, and Shouto startles.

“Ah, right…” he mumbles, and jogs to where he is.

As he gets there, Katsuki’s lips tug up into a devilish smirk—all sharp teeth and blinding white.

“Were you staring?” he teases, tilting his head so he can look at Shouto pointedly, over-confident and pretty and amused and really pretty. “Did you like what you saw, princess?”

Up close, and a bit more unfiltered staring, Shouto notes a lot of details he couldn’t see from that distance—the watch on his wrist, the subtle eyeliner that makes his eyes even more enthralling, the way he seems to have combed his hair to make it less messy, the ink peeking out from under his shirt so the quote on his collarbone can be seen (Music can change the world. By Beethoven, he said, when Shouto asked once, after obsessing over it for a week), the silver ring on his index finger—

Shouto blinks, a warm bubbly feeling reverberating in his core, ten thousands of butterflies flapping their wings in his belly.

Katsuki tried, hard. He really did. Shouto is losing his mind, alternating between thinking how utterly cute and adorable that is—the fact that he cared enough for a single date to put actual effort on his outfit—and how ridiculously attractive he looks.

“Cat got your tongue, pretty boy?” Katsuki says, rolling the words out of his mouth like he’s enjoying the taste; impossibly cheeky grin tugging at his lips.

“Uh,” Shouto utters, feeling a bit tad stupid. “You look really good.”

Katsuki hums, everlasting smirk on his face. “You don’t look bad yourself, I guess,” he reaches up to touch Shouto’s forehead, fingertips combing the red and white strands. “Your hair looks nice.”

Shouto blinks, feeling the pound of his heart beating inside his chest—loud, clear, open. “It always looks like this.”

Katsuki hums, eyes staring up at Shouto’s messy head as he combs the hair back with his fingers, before darting down to look Todoroki straight in the eyes. “Well, it always looks nice, Shortcake.”

Shouto feels like potentially purring at Katsuki’s ministrations, melting at the gentle touch of his fingers, which would be very embarrassing, so he just bites his lips as he instinctively leans into Katsuki’s hand.

He breathes. Exhales. Voice cracking, “You think so?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki’s mouth edges in satisfaction at seeing Shouto crumbling at his touch, “Are you fishing for compliments? Want me to tell you how pretty you are?”

Shouto blinks. “You think I’m pretty?”

Katsuki quirks an eyebrow.

“Is there anyone who doesn’t think that?” he wonders, “You’re more than just a pretty face, though. But it’s really fucking nice to look at, and that’s a goddamn bonus.”

Shouto can feel his cheeks warming up, and he must look like a mess, if Katsuki’s little snicker is any indication.

“Getting embarrassed, sweetheart?” he says, deeply amused, and the second the last word rolls out of his mouth, Shouto thinks he might combust on the spot.

He blinks, surprised at the sudden pet name, a storm going crazy inside his chest. His neck, his cheeks, his ears, everything feels so—hot, like a fire coming alive into his entire face. He’s burning, probably the color of his hair, but it’s—

Sweetheart. Shouto. In Bakugou’s voice.

“Oh?” A slow, maybe a little bloodthirsty, smile blossoms in Katsuki’s pretty lips. “So you get like this with pet names, baby?” he says the last word in a purposely deeper, huskier tone, and Shouto chokes, eyes going wide as his whole stomach gets scorching hot.

Katsuki stares, and then barks out a laugh.

“You’re so red, Shortcake,” he points out, clearly entertained, and Shouto groans.

“Stop.”

With his ever so perpetual and enticing, amused smirk, he asks, “You have a thing for these, then, Angel Face?”

“How many do you have in mind?” Shouto groans, hands coming to hide his face.

“Dunno,” Katsuki hums, “A couple, I guess.”

Shouto huffs, mortified. Katsuki hums again, and then decides to grab Shouto’s wrists and pull his hands away from his face, leaning a bit into his personal space. He looks at him through long, coppery-gold blond eyelashes.

God, he’s so pretty.

“You have such a pretty face, Shouto, don’t hide it.”

Shouto blinks. For some reason, Katsuki saying his name is doing weird things to his heart, flipping around like some Olympic athlete doing gymnastics.

“Ah,” Shouto utters, because he suddenly doesn’t know how to make words work, and then feels like he wants the floor to swallow him when Katsuki snickers at his—very probably—stunned and dumb expression. He laughs and Shouto feels immensely happy, but also incredibly embarrassed, so he just lets his face fall forward, forehead resting on Bakugou’s shoulder to hide himself in the crook of his neck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, and nuzzles in the warm slope of Katsuki’s collarbone.

It works, because Katsuki goes silent instantly, instead moving a bit so Shouto can fit better in the exposed space. 

“Sorry,” Shouto murmurs, voice a soft, slow whisper, as if he was sleepy, “Didn’t mean to sound rude.”

“It’s okay,” Katsuki says, just as quiet. He inhales, deep enough that Shouto feels the movement of his chest against him.

It’s kind of weird—the sudden urge he has to be… close to him. Closer.

He leans a bit, body arching to fit against Katsuki’s, and when he doesn’t do anything to push Todoroki away, Shouto smiles into his skin, happiness slipping inside of him like warm honey on his chest. He hums, hands coming up to grab Katsuki’s waist, fingers getting inside his jacket to hold into the warm fabric of his shirt, and—it’s nice. So, so nice.

Katsuki is all warm skin and firm, hard muscles; soft and delicate edges melding with rough ones.

“You’re so warm,” he sighs, content, and Katsuki makes a low hum at the back of his throat as he lifts up his hand and touches the back of Shouto’s neck. It’s pleasant, very much so, and Shouto snuggles closer to him.

“You’re like a cat, dumbass,” Katsuki mumbles after a moment, sounding a bit out of breath.

“Hmm, thank you,” Shouto murmurs, embracing the welcoming, cozy semi-hug.

Katsuki chuckles, breath tickling Shouto’s ear. “Didn’t say it exactly as a compliment, you clingy koala.”

“Mmm,” Shouto’s fingers curl around soft cotton. He nuzzles into the warmth of Katsuki’s shoulder, and moves a bit, lips sort of tracing the column of Katsuki’s neck. “You’re just—” he mumbles, mouthing at tender skin, feeling a beating, electric pulse underneath, “—perfect for hugging.”

And warm—so, so warm. It’s like Katsuki is storing the sun inside himself, buzzing and crackling like a campfire.

Katsuki makes a weird noise at the back of his throat—thrumming, reverberating, unsteady as he inhales sharply.

“Cut—” his nails card into the back of Shouto’s head, tousling his hair as he holds the bi-colored strands gently into his curled fingers, almost as if he wanted to pull Shouto closer, “—it out, idiot.”

Shouto breathes in, out.

“You got out of class early,” Katsuki continues, his other hand coming to rest at Shouto’s lower back, “but we’re gonna be late if we keep staying here.”

Hmm. Right. The date.

Right.

Right, but—

“Five more minutes.”

Katsuki snorts, “You’re so spoiled.” He pauses; a beat, and then he exhales, “…People are staring, dumbass.”

“Don’t care,” Shouto answers, and then blinks, wondering— “…Do you?”

Another beat. And another—

“…As if I’d care about dumb extras’ opinions.”

Shouto huffs, amused. “True.”

“But we are going to be late,” he remarks, “so stop being a koala, pretty head.”

Shouto wants to point out that Katsuki is still very much holding Shouto as well—although in a subtler way, his fingers are lingering there, feather touch and soothing brush of kissed-by-the-sun, electric skin, and he also doesn’t look like he’s moving any soon out of Shouto’s arms.

Shouto goes for a soft hum instead, like a cat’s purr into their owner’s beckoning hand.

“I just—you’re—” he taps his fingers in Katsuki’s ribs, puts his chin into his shoulder and leans closer, eyes darting to the sweet spot his lips just brushed, and— “Oh.”

He blinks. Is that…?

Katsuki grunts. “What?”

“Uh,” Shouto utters, staring at the rectangle of paper, “The tag.”

“Hah?”

“Your tag,” Shouto repeats, and moves his chin so he can point at it with his jaw, sticking out of Katsuki’s jacket—strikingly clear white over pitch-black. “You forgot to pull it out.”

A pause.

“…Hah?” It’s quiet, almost unsure, an edge of panic if Shouto didn’t know any better.

Todoroki pulls out his hand from his safe nest into Katsuki’s jacket, and disentangles himself from Katsuki so he can take the small thing into his fingers.

The moment he steps back, he’s almost pulled into Katsuki’s arms again, like a magnet who can’t stay away for too long, already missing the warmth and closeness.

He doesn’t, though. He doesn’t want to make Katsuki uncomfortable, and he’s already stepped a bit far of the line, anyway.

“This,” he says, instead, as his fingers brush against Katsuki’s neck, pulling the tag out so Katsuki can side-eye at it. “You forgot to pull it out.”

Katsuki, almost cross-eyed, stares at the tag, scowling like it personally offended him. His eyes go wide, and he steps aside so Shouto’s hand is no longer on him. He turns around and reaches back so he can pull it out himself.

“Wait,” Shouto blinks, realizing as he connects the dots, “Does that mean you bought new clothes for the date?”

“No,” Katsuki instantly retorts, turning around so he can glare at Shouto, but his face is bright pink, an edge of wobbly lips.

Shouto blinks.

That’s—

“We’re gonna be fucking late,” he grumbles, and stomps over, holding Shouto’s wrist to pull him along, “move your pretty ass now.”

Shouto lets himself get dragged through campus, watching Katsuki’s back until they get to the sidewalk outside the gate.

There’s a soft buzz sizzling at his very core, vibrating like warm resonance. That’s—Katsuki, really—

“That’s so cute,” Shouto blurts out, blinking at the back of Katsuki’s head, in awe. “You bought new clothes for this.”

“I did fucking not,” he grunts back, “stop saying that.”

“But you did,” Shouto remarks, throat tight. “You did.”

Not only that, but he forgot to pull the tag—Katsuki, detailed and organized, which probably meant he was… nervous, distracted, overthinking.

Shouto wants to hug him again.

“I don’t know why people don’t find you cute. It’s a crime.”

Katsuki’s ears are a furious pink, but his cheeks aren’t anymore as he looks over his shoulder to look at Shouto. “And I don’t know why people don’t find you hella annoying.”

Shouto’s lips quirk up slightly. Katsuki looks terribly embarrassed, which in itself is very, very endearing. And Shouto is very tempted to tease him about it a bit longer—just because he’s always found pleasure in how bubbly it makes him feel when Katsuki gets embarrassed because of him.

But Katsuki’s hold on his wrist is warm, fingers curling in a way that make Shouto think he’s trying to ground himself out of being mortified, and Shouto doesn’t have the heart to push it.

“Okay, okay,” he concedes, stepping a bit faster so he can walk at Katsuki’s side, instead of being dragged by him. “I believe you, you didn’t.”

“Of fucking course,” he frowns, “That’d be lame as hell.”

Shouto hums, “It’s actually endearing.”

“Lame,” Katsuki scowls, and Shouto side-eyes him, sneakily trying to move his fingers so, instead of his wrist, Katsuki can hold his hand.

Bakugou makes a very, very cute thing—his face crumples for a second, lips pressing into a thin line, nose scrunching up, eyes going wide, rosy dust on his cheekbones—and he tenses up briefly before relaxing, fingers intertwining with Shouto’s in a silent agreement.

The contact sends a shot of warmth through Shouto’s arm up to his chest—almost as if Katsuki was sharing his body hot temperature with Shouto’s usual cold one—and tingles all over Shouto’s body as a good kind of ache burns inside his stomach, heart fluttering against his ribcage like a small hummingbird.

Shouto can feel himself smile, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek so Katsuki doesn’t catch him grinning dumbly. He counts this as a win.

“Hmph,” Katsuki huffs, side-eyeing him, and gives Todoroki’s hand a small squeeze, “You’re so needy.”

“You’re not pulling away,” Shouto shoots back, quirking an eyebrow, eyes glinting.

“Well, just,” Katsuki utters, looking back ahead, and then again at Shouto’s face, frowning, “Why do you look so stupidly happy for? We’re just holding hands.”

“I’m looking happy because I’m happy,” Shouto says, simply. Sincere. “It happens when I’m around you.”

Katsuki stops walking, and blinks up at Shouto, open-mouthed.

Todoroki tilts his head.

Katsuki stares.

Shouto squeezes his hand.

“What?”

“You—!” Katsuki finally splutters. Tries to formulate a word as he huffs, groans, sizzles. “You’re so embarrassing!”

He turns around and stomps in the sidewalk. He still is holding onto Shouto’s hand, so he’s not complaining.

“You know,” he says, small, secretive smile creeping up at his mouth without thinking, “even if you didn’t buy new clothes for this—”

“I fucking didn’t.”

“—you’re still really cute.”

Katsuki groans. “Shut up, you absolute nightmare.”

Shouto laughs.

Yes, he thinks, kind of dizzy and floaty and lightheaded, not for the first time recalling all the times Katsuki has made him smile, and laugh, and just—enjoy things, freely and unfiltered. It happens when I’m around you.

.

.

.

.

.

(“You don't have to give me your jacket,” Shouto says, watching as Katsuki half-undresses. “We’re almost there, and you’re more sensitive to cold than me…”

He also wants to add ‘and I’m just fine with your hand, it’s already as warm as the sun’. As cheesy as it might sound, he wants to keep holding his hand, and if Katsuki is pulling out his jacket, he can’t, even if for a couple of long, long seconds—

“Of course I have to,” Katsuki says, “you're cold and I'm your fucking boyfriend.”

Shouto blinks—partly because Katsuki is out of his jacket and Shouto can see his very, very distracting biceps now, but also because the burning, cocky smirk blooming in his lips combined with the word ‘boyfriend’ is making Shouto’s mind go a bit stupid, and his stomach scorching hot.

He’s all sharp, pointy teeth, flashing smugly his trademark grin at Shouto. “Didn't you know?”

“What a gentleman,” Shouto shoots back. He means to sound teasing, trying their usual banter and back and forth, and he does, but his voice cracks a bit, and it only manages to make Katsuki’s lips quirk up higher, clearly elated.

“Of fucking course,” he brags, helping Shouto to put on the piece of clothing. As he finishes, he makes as if he was dusting Shouto’s shoulders, brushing his fingers over Shouto’s chest and sides, holding the collar and pulling at it, as if he was fixing the jacket on him.

Shouto can’t help but smile. Mom friend, his brain supplies.

“There,” Katsuki says, stepping back to stare at him. He blinks and gives Shouto a weird look as he eyes the jacket on him—it’s of the usual ones he likes to wear, so it must be a bit weird seeing it on Shouto. Additionally, Shouto never dresses like this—leather jacket and ripped jeans, along with an uncountable amount of skull t-shirts, as Katsuki’s usual wardrobe—he’s more of soft cardigans, pastel sweaters, cat stamped t-shirts, oversized tees, fancy pants, long coats and turtlenecks.

It must be weird seeing him in a leather jacket—Katsuki's favorite, to add to it.

“What…?” Shouto asks, feeling a bit itchy and self-conscious.

Katsuki blinks. “Nothing,” he says, and stares for a bit longer, “It suits you.”

Shouto blinks back, looking down at himself. “Really?”

Katsuki’s mouth tugs up in what seems to be a fond half-smile, “Yeah. Warm enough for you, princess?”

Shouto looks at him, feeling himself softening up, chest bursting and swollen with affection—even when the nickname is a bit embarrassing.

“Mhm,” he hums, affirmative.

And it is—the leather is actually incredibly warm inside as Shouto puts it on, comforting and welcoming to his cold arms, as if he was getting wrapped in a mellow quilt. It isn’t as nice as hugging Bakugou, but it’s close.

The jacket is a bit tight on him, but it’s still very comfortable—heavy in a pleasant way, warm and familiar, embracing him in a very sweet bubble, and—

“Oh.”

Katsuki shoots him a look when Shouto brings the jacket to his face.

He quirks an eyebrow, probably confused. “What?”

“It smells like you,” Shouto explains, blinking when the scent drowns everything around him in gentle sweetness.

“No shit,” Katsuki says, tilting his head, and then frowns, crinkling up his nose. “Stop smelling it, dumbass."

Shouto looks at him. “But you smell nice,” he’s thought about this before, like when he was nose buried into the crook of his neck, but Katsuki always smells good. Like pastries and sweets; it makes Shouto think weird things, makes him want to do stupid things, like bite him and see if he tastes just as sweet. “It's like burnt sugar and caramel—or vanilla maybe?” he hums, pondering. “Or cake. I don’t know, it’s just—sweet.”

Katsuki squints. “You—”

“I’m not trying to insult you, I think it’s nice,” Shouto intervenes, “It’s really, really good. I have a sweet tooth, after all.”

He blinks at Shouto’s words, once, twice—and then groans as he runs a hand through his hair. The blond strands shine gold with the silver lights of the street lamps, and he messes it up a bit, but he looks so incredibly pretty that it really doesn’t matter if his hair looks spikier after.

“Are you okay?” Shouto tilts his head, looking at him having a sort of breakdown.

“You always say the most—” he opens his eyes, nose and ears dusting a tender pink, and looks at Shouto through long eyelashes; intense crimson piercing into Shouto’s soul, “—stupid stuff and you don’t even notice. It’s bad for me, pretty boy; it’s making me a bit insane.”

“Huh?” Shouto blinks. “I just said you smell good. It’s true.”

“You’re just—” he breathes, looking frustrated, as if the words he wants doesn’t form on his tongue, struggling for the correct ones to say. “It’s—”

Shouto frowns slightly, “Are you okay?”

“Fuck,” Katsuki utters, “Yeah, I guess. Just. Forget it.”

Shouto’s frown deepens. “What is it?”

“Nothing, sweetheart,” he says, and reaches out to grab Todoroki’s hand into his. It’s still warm. “Don’t be a worrywart, I was being dumb. Just keep walking.”

As Shouto does as he’s told, the word keeps replaying inside his mind, over and over, over and over, like a broken record.

Sweetheart.

Hm. Yes. He supposes he can relate when Katsuki points out the things he says are making him a bit insane.)

.

.

.

.

.

The small restaurant, sweetly hot as they get inside, is full of colorful, vibrant colors—artistic portraits hanging on walls, pastel tablecloths, and dark blue ceramic vases carefully tucked everywhere with beautiful flower arrangements, along with funny animal figurines scattered here and there. Shouto gets distracted with a little cat waving hello at the entrance, bending down to look at it before Katsuki pulls at him to keep walking.

“You can look at it later, Halfie,” he presses on, “I bet you’re hungry. You haven’t eaten because of your late class.”

Shouto hums. Now that he mentions it, he is hungry. The smell of homemade, warm food and sugary desserts is not helping either.

“A bit,” he mumbles, and Katsuki gives his hand a squeeze as a sign of comfort—which, weirdly enough, helps. Shouto thinks Katsuki could hold his hand at the end of his world and everything would feel okay again.

The room is not spacious, but they fit well as they move around tables, without running into the few clients chattering and eating at the place; Shouto presses himself to Katsuki’s back, following along, and enjoys the feel of their linked hands between them. Maybe for Bakugou is a bit uncomfortable, given his position, but he doesn’t make a sign of letting go, so Shouto doesn’t either.

The place is bubbly, friendly and homely, and Shouto feels strangely welcomed and content as he lets himself be pulled along by Katsuki’s hand to where Kaminari and Shinsou are sitting in a cozy corner. A kind, lit flame, like a fire simmering from the inside of his chest, makes him feel light and safe, looking at Katsuki’s strong back and everyone around them being so happy in a simple Saturday evening.

“My friends!” Kaminari beams with open arms, at the same time Shinsou gives them a look over his coffee cup at his side, just as they get close to their table. “First of all, I’m really, really happy for you two! You are both—wait, is that Bakugou’s jacket?”

Shouto blinks, looking down at himself and then up.

“Oh,” he utters, “Yes, I was cold and he gave it to me on our way here…”

Kaminari’s eyes light up, sparkling with delight.

“Oho,” he singsongs, mischief tinkling in every vowel. “How kind of you, Kacchan.”

“Katsuki is always kind,” Shouto says simply (because it’s the truth), sitting down on the table in front of Shinsou.

Kaminari’s grin widens, “Agree.”

“Shut up, you two,” Katsuki frowns, and passes the menu to Shouto so he can look at it.

Kaminari explains the meals and different combos they have, while Shinsou points at what he thinks Todoroki would enjoy. It’s a lot, and a lot of it sounds very delicious—but Shouto is tired because of his class, and he’s feeling extra self-indulgent for the night, as Katsuki has always made him feel like that—like being extra indulgent with himself is okay, and actually encouraged.

So it’s really not that hard. He knows what he’s looking for.

“Are you going to order cold soba?” Katsuki says, quirking an eyebrow when Shouto stops at the soups section.

“Are you going to order extra spicy ramen?” Shouto shoots back, eyeing him.

“Spicy ramen is ridiculously good,” he squints. “Cold soba is bland.”

“I’m breaking up with you,” he states, and Katsuki snorts.

“It is bland,” he repeats, but before Shouto can object anything and argument the 1479 different reasons of why cold soba is, indeed, the best food to ever exist, he continues, “But whatever makes you happy is good, I guess.”

Shouto blinks, throat tightening.

Katsuki’s lips quirk up lazily as he rests his chin on the palm of his hand and glances at Shouto with pretty eyes, “You just have lame taste.”

Shouto stares back. “I like you?” he counters, and Katsuki’s face slips from his hand.

“You—” he splutters, as Kaminari starts laughing.

“Oh, this is so fun!” he cackles, holding his stomach, and even Shinsou smiles into his cup.

“Shut up, Dunce Face,” Katsuki glares.

“Todoroki is going to be my new favorite partner in crime.”

Shouto doesn’t look up from the menu, now inspecting very curiously the dessert section, and says, impassively, “Katsuki is already my partner in everything, but I guess I can team up with you to tease him because that’s also fun.”

Katsuki chokes, Kaminari laughs again and Shouto can feel himself smile, eyeing the way Katsuki’s face colors red beautifully.

Hm, yes. As expected.

“You’re seriously the best,” Kaminari wheezes.

“Katsuki is the best,” Shouto shrugs, blunt.

(Curiously enough, now that he thinks about it, saying Bakugou's name aloud doesn't feel weird—hasn't feel weird all night—even when he doesn't use it quite a lot. It feels familiar on his tongue, maybe because of all the times he calls him that inside his head).

Katsuki groans, trying to mask his embarrassment, but he’s obviously flustered. He doesn't make any comment on the first-name thing either, Shouto notes.

He sends Shouto a look, “Would you shut up?”

Shouto hums, smiling as he looks back at Katsuki. “Maybe if you ask nicely.”

He arches his eyebrows, and, apparently, as always, takes it as a challenge.

He leans into Shouto’s personal space, so close that Todoroki can see the darker iris of his eyes, and appreciate just how devastatingly pretty Bakugou Katsuki is.

Shouto holds his breath, blinks up in panic, his mind full of so close, so close, so close, he’s too close—

The corner of Katsuki’s mouth tugs up. “Would you, sweetheart?” he asks, staring Shouto down, and—oh. Yes. That pretty much works to shut him up.

“Um,” he utters, like a moron, and Katsuki huffs triumphant, looking pleased with himself.

Shouto can’t even be mad, he barely can breathe properly.

“You’re both disasters, I see,” Kaminari says, feigning deep thinking, and Shinsou gives him a look, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement.

“Can you even say that?”

“Hey—”

.

.

Later, when Shouto has already calm down from his mental crisis at hearing Bakugou call him a pet name for the—probably—tenth time on the day, and is now fully enjoying one of the four desserts he asked for the night, he listens to Kaminari talk about one of his classes animatedly, and reflects on the way he’s feeling so… deeply relaxed, tiredness from a very long, rough college day already gone, replaced with warm softness inside his chest.

It’s weird. That is, he likes going out to eat, especially with his friends, especially when he gets his favorite food and desserts, but the night has been more than great, and Shouto thinks he’s never been this happy for so long simply because of eating food. And that’s saying a lot, considering cold soba can cure most of his problems, or at least make him feel ten times better—especially if it’s Katsuki’s homemade one.

He guesses it has to do with the new factor—Katsuki.

It’s not like this hasn’t happened some times before, but it’s… never like this. If Shouto recalls properly, they don’t go out… often. They’re friends, and Shouto hangs around his room a lot, around him a lot, but he guesses it’s always—with other people. And never like this.

They don’t share classes, and Shouto always sees him when he’s with Midoriya or other friends. There’s the time everyone—Kaminari, Mina, Kirishima, Sero, Jirou—went out for barbeque, and the times they’ve gotten dinner with Midoriya, or the times Shouto hangs out with the band and it’s there for their practices, or those when they’re studying together or having a movie night with their friends, but—the times they’ve spent purely alone the two of them have been very, very rare and scarce.

And Shouto enjoys Katsuki’s company. Has always loved Katsuki being there, because he always is—a constant in Shouto’s life since he moved into the dorms and started making friends, after being alone for so long.

There’s something so incredibly soothing and grounding about Katsuki’s presence. Something that makes him feel safe, and happy. He enjoys their back and forth, he likes to tease him, he likes watching Katsuki work. He’s interesting and passionate and kind—has always been so utterly kind with Shouto, even in his need for competition at everything, even when no one is looking, Katsuki always is. He’s observant, attentive, a force gravitating always around Shouto. He’s familiar, grounds and comforts Shouto just because he’s there. He makes him laugh, and feel included, and like it’s fine to be himself.

And it’s never been like this. Katsuki pressing their thighs together under the table, holding onto Shouto’s hand all night even after Kaminari teases them about it, letting Shouto be as clingy as he wants—resting his chin on his neck, pressing the top of his head to his arm, playing with his feet like a kid under the table until he accidentally kicks Shinsou’s leg, drawing circles with his thumb on his wrist—without making that much of a fuss, trying whatever Shouto gives him to taste because ‘look, this one is spicy, you’ll like it’ (which in retrospect, wasn’t that great of an idea, considering how many flips his stomach was doing when Katsuki leaned over and ate from Shouto’s fork).

And there’s these small things—Shouto noticed them before, Katsuki has done them before, but Todoroki seems to be hyper aware of them now. Like the way he steals glances at him to check if he liked the food, or the way he cracks a dry joke and side-eyes him to see if Shouto is smiling, or the way he keeps brushing Shouto’s hair out of his face when it gets on his way, constantly touching the earrings on his ears and telling him about his day when Shouto asks, recalling on details he thinks Shouto might enjoy—like the way a cat followed him all the way to his campus when he was waiting for Shouto outside his lecture room.

And, for a moment, it almost feels like they’re… alone. Together. And he gets to be close, to him, all he wants. And it’s like Shouto has never realized how much he’s longed for this, how much he’s wanted, yearned, wished for this—how much he was starved for it, until he finally has it and can’t stop feeling so full. Until he’s here and feels so immensely happy he thinks he might explode.

It scares him, a bit. The way he’s wanted this for so long without realizing. How much he wants and treasures this. How much and visceral Bakugou Katsuki makes him feel without doing much.

“Oi—” Katsuki’s hand comes up to touch his forehead, brushing his hair back, and Shouto blinks, coming out of his internal crisis. “You’re spacing out. Everything alright? Doesn’t it taste good?”

“Ah,” Shouto says, feeling his cheeks warm up, “No, it’s just—I was thinking.”

About you, he doesn’t add.

Katsuki hums, eyeing him like he’s trying to read something on Shouto’s face. If he finds it or not, Todoroki doesn’t know.

“It smells good,” he says, pointing with his chin at the piece of chocolate cake Shouto has been staring at for the last minutes.

Shouto takes the opportunity given, because teasing Katsuki would always be better than thinking about confusing stuff about him. That’s familiar ground, not scary and unsure.

“It doesn’t smell as good as you—” he starts, and Katsuki blinks at him, fingers curling up in Todoroki’s hand, visibly affected.

“Stop saying things like that, you idiot—”

Shouto’s lips quirk up in a tiny smirk. “I was going to say ‘your food’,” he clarifies, very amused at the way Katsuki’s face goes through ten different emotions after.

“You—” he says, gritting his teeth, “Cheeky bastard.”

“It’s true, though,” Shouto smiles, shrugging, and finally starts eating. “The other day you baked some cookies and they smelled heavenly.”

“Oh, I remember those!” Kaminari intervenes, “God, I’m hungry now.”

“You’re eating right now, dumbass,” Katsuki rolls his eyes.

“Of your cookies,” Kaminari says, pointing a yellow straw at him.

“They truly were delicious,” Shouto says, “You’re the best cook I know. And it’s nice watching you in the kitchen. You always look relaxed and focused there.”

“If you stare that much at me, wouldn’t you have learned at least how to cut chives, pretty boy?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Well, I would, maybe—” Shouto hums. “But your standards are a bit ridiculous—”

“They are not, you’re just a shame for your sister’s cooking—”

“—and you’re incredibly distracting.”

Katsuki looks like he just bit his tongue. “…Hah?”

“Yes, I mean—” Shouto tilts his head and stares, looks at Katsuki blink at him like Shouto has grown a second head. “I’m watching you, and what you do, but your face—”

It’s hard to explain, or put it into words.

Or maybe it’s too simple that Shouto doesn’t know how to explain it. Katsuki is just easy to stare at. He’s utterly, irrevocably, breathtakingly pretty. Probably the prettiest person he’s ever met in his life; probably the prettiest person in the whole world.

Shouto is not sure if Katsuki would appreciate being called that, though, so he decides to go for:

“Actually, not just your face. You.” Shouto says, instead. “You’re just really distracting, all the time.”

He tilts his head, confused, and adds, “Haven’t you noticed?”

Katsuki blinks.

“That’s true,” Shinsou says, “If you’re near his peripheral vision he’s going to look at you, no matter what you’re doing. He just—tends to stare.” He taps his fingers on the table, and his mouth quirks up a bit, seemingly amused. “Good thing you’ve been busy studying to come near practice these days, because he would have gotten a severe concussion by this point, judging by how many times he’s gotten hit on the head with the ball while he’s looking at you instead of, you know, the ball.”

Katsuki turns to look at Shouto, and all his previous confusion has been replaced by a smug edge. He grins like he just found something extremely entertaining. “That so?”

For some reason, Shouto feels incredibly betrayed, and terribly self-conscious, like Shinsou just spilled a secret Bakugou wasn’t supposed to know. “It’s not like I stare that much…”

“You stare a bit too much,” Shinsou points out.

Hnng.

Katsuki snickers when Shouto gets betrayed by his body too and starts blushing.

“Eh, don’t act all mighty,” Kaminari says, prodding Katsuki’s arm with his chopsticks. “You stare a lot at him, too. Bet seeing him in your jacket is doing things for you, isn’t it?”

Shouto blinks. Eh?

“Eh?”

Katsuki’s face goes bright red, which—oh. Oh.

“Shut up, Dunce Face,” he glares at him, “You’re not allowed to talk.”

“Ow, how mean,” Kaminari feigns dramatic hurt, but he’s still grinning. “I’m having the time of my life here, thank you very much.”

“You—” Katsuki grunts, looking ready to murder with chopsticks.

“Katsuki looks nice in this jacket,” Shouto says, because he can’t think. The only thing in his mind is the fact that Katsuki likes the way he looks on his jacket, he likes the way Shouto looks on his clothes, and oh my God, Shouto is wearing his jacket—it’s like a slow realization, like it hadn’t caught up to him the fact that he’s, in fact, wearing Katsuki’s favorite jacket. The one he’s seen him on so many times and the one that looks criminally hot on him, and—he’s. Shouto is. Wearing it. And Katsuki likes it.

He almost chokes, clears off his throat as everyone looks at him.

“He looks cool,” he adds, because it’s true, and because he can’t focus with how loud his heart is hammering inside his chest.

He’s feeling a bit weird, now. Maybe he did eat too much—

“Oh, dude, you’re smitten,” Kaminari says, beaming at him.

“Of course he would be smitten, he has me,” Katsuki remarks boastingly, and Shouto short-circuits. He has me. As in, Katsuki is Shouto’s.

Oh.

Okay.

Okay.

“Bragging much, like you weren’t so smug about dating Todoroki with me last time—”

“Dunce Face,” he scowls. “Shut up.”

“Why would I?” he asks, falsely innocent, batting his eyelashes. “I love tormenting you, my dearest best friend.”

“You’re insufferable!”

Katsuki and Kaminari start bickering—mostly with Denki cackling and Katsuki glaring, but they continue for some time.

(Shouto tries to ignore the way his chest aches in the meantime).

.

.

The thing is, Katsuki’s and Kaminari’s bickering actually help to distract him.

The fact that Shinsou is now showing him photos on his phone while Shouto eats helps a lot, too.

There’s really nothing that cake and cat photos can’t resolve, huh.

However, Katsuki—who, Shouto notes, has been quietly and very obviously staring at him for a while, having apparently nothing to do besides watching Shouto eat—interrupts his very entertaining visual session of cute photos, and talks when Shouto is looking at Yuki—Shinsou’s ginger cat—tilting his head at the camera phone in a video Shinsou is proudly showing him.

“You’re such a mess,” he mumbles, and Shouto turns around to look at him instead.

“Hmm?”

“Here,” Katsuki says, and reaches out to wipe his thumb at the corner of Shouto’s mouth. “You really eat so messy all the time, huh?”

Shouto blinks, glancing at Katsuki’s thumb—now glinting with whipped cream.

“Oh,” he utters. “Thank you.”

Katsuki opens his mouth to say something, but the words die at the tip of his tongue the moment Shouto leans down to take the finger into his mouth. He licks the cream off his skin, swirling the tongue around and tasting the sweetness melt into his mouth along with the taste of Katsuki’s skin. When he finishes, he straights up on his seat, the thumb coming out of his mouth with a loud pop.

“There,” he says, licking his lips and looking up at Katsuki.

Oh. He's—

“Wh—” Katsuki splutters, like his tongue has gotten tied. “Wh—” he tries again.

Shouto blinks. Katsuki’s entire face is—beet red.

“Wh-what are you doing, idiot?!” he stammers.

“Uh?” Shouto tilts his face, confused. “Well, I don’t want it to go to waste, it’s really good.”

Katsuki inhales sharply. “You—”

“What did I do?” he asks, looking around to find Kaminari and Shinsou both staring at him pointedly. He looks back at Katsuki. “Wait, sorry, are you grossed out because of the saliva?”

Katsuki is a bit of a hygiene freak, after all, so—

“Oh, Shouto,” Kaminari snickers.

“Huh?” Todoroki utters, glancing at him. He’s smiling like he’s deeply, very, extremely amused.

“You just made your boyfriend turned on,” Shinsou declares, “It’s not bad, don’t worry.”

Shouto blinks. Huh?

“HAH?!” Katsuki explodes, and his face turns a brighter shade of red as Shouto turns to look at him—at the back of his mind, it’s concerning for Todoroki. Is Katsuki even okay…? “I DID NOT GET—”

“They’re going to kick us out, you’re too loud—” Shinsou scrunches up his nose.

“This is honestly such a good date, I’m enjoying it with my whole heart,” Kaminari cackles.

Katsuki squints, fuming. “I’m going to kick your fucking ass.”

“Aww,” Kaminari whines, but he’s grinning. “But it’s so fun!”

“I’m seriously going to kick your ass—” Katsuki sizzles glaring.

Shouto reaches out to hold Katsuki’s hand into his, given he let go to probably strangle Kaminari. He does it because, well. One, he already misses it and, two, because he wants to calm him down. It apparently helps, given Katsuki relaxes in his seat almost immediately.

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” he reassures, rubbing his thumb along Katsuki’s palm. He knows Katsuki wouldn’t get turned on by Shouto licking his finger anyway, he doesn’t need to be that embarrassed.

Kaminari looks between the two of them as Katsuki slowly loosens up, tension rolling off his shoulders as his blush dies down and he squeezes Shouto’s hand back.

“I’m not trying to be mean here,” Kaminari says, smile and eyes softening as he glances at their hands. “You’re both actually pretty darn cute together, did you know?”

Katsuki grunts, and Shouto gives a single nod.

“Thank you,” he says. “It’s easy, because Katsuki is already cute by himself.”

“Hah?” Katsuki turns around to look at him. “You’re the cute one, Shortcake.”

“Hmm,” Shouto hums, the corner of his mouth pulling up into an amused half-smile. “Even your pet names are cute…”

Katsuki frowns. “That was not a pet name—”

“But you are cute,” Shouto affirms, chuckling. “Why are you looking like I just offended you?”

“You are the cute one,” Bakugou insists, face pulling into a grimace that very much makes him look like a petty kid instead of anything close to intimidating. “Like right now, you showed up in that fucking oversized shirt, and you have all those bracelets on, and keep holding my hand and playing with my fingers. And you always make this face when eating something you like, and it’s—you are cute. Pretty fucking cute, might I add.”

Shouto blinks, his heart doing funny somersaults inside his ribcage. “…You think that’s cute?”

“I—” Katsuki blinks back, as if realizing what he just said. He breathes. “Yes.”

“Oh,” Shouto says, feeling a little weird. He doesn’t know what to do with the newfound information—his brain is not computing correctly.

“Man, you two are adorable,” Kaminari coos, looking at them with bright eyes as he rests his chin on the heel of both of his hands, fingers curling at his cheeks. He smirks, then, when both of them look at him back. “And shameless flirts, I see.”

“You were infinitely worse when you started dating Eye Bags here.” Katsuki grumbles. “You’re still worse—”

“You sure?” Kaminari laughs, arching both eyebrows. “Ahh, this is really fun!” he says, stretching and extending his hands like he wanted to touch the ceiling. Then, he throws an arm over Shinsou’s shoulders, just like in some movies, and taps his fingers on Shinsou’s cheekbone. That looked cool, actually. Maybe Shouto can try it later—

“We could have been doing this since months ago!” he pouts, “Why didn't you tell me you were together? You know how much I love you both, I’d be over the moon!”

“Katsuki wanted to keep it a secret for a bit more,” Shouto answers, because that’s what they agreed on saying beforehand.

“Yeah,” Katsuki says, eyeing Kaminari intently, “Because I knew you bunch of idiots were going to be annoying about it.”

“Aw, dude,” Kaminari grins, like he absolutely knows what he’s talking about. “We wouldn’t!”

“You would,” Katsuki grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Whyyy would I or anyone in our squad be annoying about it?” he singsongs, theatrically, “Because you finally got to date your 2-year crush?”

A beat.

Another.

The world spins.

Shouto blinks, once, slowly. “What?”

Katsuki tenses up; Shouto can feel it in the touch of his hand, can see it when Shouto’s eyes land on him. Shoulders squared, mouth tight into a thin line.

Kaminari tilts his head. “Whaaaat? You're dating already and you haven't told him you've had a crush on him since first year?”

With his voice strained, Katsuki says, “He's joking.”

“I’m not, though,” Kaminari laughs.

“He's exaggerating,” Katsuki says, looking at Shouto to make emphasis on his words. And—he’s trying to hide it, really hard, but Shouto can see it, loud and clear—the panic storming in his eyes. “That's not true.”

“I’m pretty sure it was since first year, though,” Kaminari says, frowning as if he was trying to remember.

“Just—” Katsuki grunts, stiff, glaring at him. “Shut up.”

Shouto blinks. Then, trying to comfort Katsuki from his sudden panic, he lifts up their linked hands and kisses his inner wrist, there where the tattoo of a cartoonish explosion is. He presses his lips softly, lingering maybe a bit longer than needed, just at center of the drawing with ink, hoping he can give Katsuki some warmth and security, just as those times his hand on Shouto’s shoulder, or his fingers on his hair have been reassuring for Shouto.

“Hey,” he says, and smiles gently at a very stunned Bakugou Katsuki. “I think that’s cute.”

Katsuki stares, open-mouthed, gaping. Then, he abruptly turns his head to the other side.

“Huh?” Shouto blinks, tilting his head so he can look at Katsuki’s face, but he stubbornly tries to hide it from him. Instead of looking back, he keeps turning around and then proceeds to press his forehead against the table. He makes a small sound at the back of his throat, as if he was in physical pain.

“Katsuki?”

He mumbles something Todoroki doesn’t quite get, and he leans over so he can hear him better.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Katsuki’s answer is just a vibrating, “Hnnnngh.”

When he looks up, confused, Kaminari makes a vague gesture with his hands, and mouths at Shouto, without making a sound ‘give him time, he’s okay.’

Oh.

Good, then.

.

.

.

The thing is, Katsuki having a crush on him sounds so impossible that, for a moment, Shouto doesn’t even know how to handle that information. Was Kaminari truly joking? He loves teasing Bakugou, so it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to think he was just messing with him. And Katsuki crushing on him for two whole years? As much time as they’ve known each other? That’s even less likely…

Sure, Katsuki has always been fond of Shouto—he thinks. He checks on him and, as much as he complains, he actually tends to give in and spoil him. So, maybe saying he has a bit of a soft spot for Shouto would be right, but the reality is that he has a soft spot for his friends in general, no matter how much he says they’re annoying—so maybe saying Katsuki likes Shouto is a bit too much…

Pondering about it doesn’t help, though. No matter how much he wants to, he can’t know what Katsuki truly feels.

“Oh!” Kaminari exclaims, walking backwards in the sidewalk when they go out of the restaurant late at night. He links his arm to Shinsou’s, and beams at Todoroki and Bakugou. “I know how to end this double date in a perfect way!”

“Going home?” Katsuki deadpans. He reaches out as soon as they step out of the cozy place, and offers his hand to Shouto like it was the most natural thing to do.

Shouto doesn’t give it a second thought before intertwining their fingers together again, and it already feels familiar and grounding and right, like their hands were made to hold each other.

“No, grandpa,” Kaminari says, shooting him a cheeky grin, shaking his index finger no. “I know your self-imposed curfew was at 8pm, but! I want something from AEON!”

“You literally just ate, idiot,” Katsuki says, rolling his eyes.

“But it’s an emergency!”

“From the supermarket?” Katsuki quirks an eyebrow.

“Yup!” Denki nods, “They’re selling the new limited edition Kit-Kats!”

Katsuki scrunches up his nose like he just ate a sour lemon.

“Come on,” Kaminari bounces on his heels, “There’s one close to the dorms!”

Katsuki stares, impassive.

“It’s the new strawberry oneeee!” he whines, “And Todoroki loves those things, too! It’ll be fun!”

That seems to catch his attention, because he side-eyes Shouto.

“I do like them…” he admits.

Katsuki quirks an eyebrow. “You already ate too much sugar today, Halfie.”

“…I can eat it another day…”

Katsuki squints as he scrutinizes him, like he’s trying to decipher what are Shouto’s true intentions.

He shrugs, “I think it’d be nice to go.”

Katsuki huffs. “Okay, then,” he concedes.

Kaminari skips in his walk, “Yay! It’s decided! Thank you, Todoroki!”

Shouto offers a small smile, and Katsuki gets into a new argument as Kaminari tells him he should say more ‘YOLO’ to his life, whatever that means—

The thing is, though—Shouto likes sweets. That’s very much true. And there is never a thing as ‘too many sweets on a single day’ for him. But what’s even more tempting, are not the special edition Kit-Kats, or the possibility of having more candies on the same day; not even the fact that he likes going to AEON to look at their small cat section… it’s that he doesn’t want this day to end. He doesn’t want to let go of Katsuki’s hand. He doesn’t want to stop looking at him without feeling self-conscious. He wants to have the opportunity to be close to Katsuki, freely and without thinking.

He doesn’t want the date to end, and if there’s a single tiny possibility to make it longer, Shouto will very much take it.

.

.

The little trip to AEON is a lot of fun, actually. Inside, Katsuki lets himself be pulled along by Shouto between aisles, and Shouto gets to show him the cat area with Katsuki attentively looking. The store also has a bunch of new edition candies, so he ends up buying three chocolate-flavored Pocky's, two bars of KitKats (Matcha Green Tea and another Strawberry Milk-flavored) and two packages of exclusive cream rice crackers.

Moreover, Katsuki surprisingly allows Shouto to put different sunglasses on him when Todoroki asks for permission, much to Shouto’s pleasure.

“I’m putting this as my new wallpaper,” Shouto snickers, showing Katsuki the photo he managed to took of him with the pink-orange, heart-shaped pair of glasses—he’s flipping off the camera, but his lips quirk up infinitesimally, like he was trying not to laugh. The quote on his cheekbone peeks through his V-neck, and he’s tilting his chin up a bit, so his Adam apple is visible, along with the strong line of his jaw.

And, yes, Shouto is head over heels. Definitely his new wallpaper.

“Delete that or I’m breaking your goddamn phone,” Katsuki deadpans.

Shouto snorts. “But you look cute here—imagine how happy it’ll make me to look at it every time I check the hour on my phone.”

Katsuki frowns, giving him a weird look. “You really need to get your eyes checked, Shortcake. I’m not cute.”

“You keep saying that as if it’s true,” Shouto says, and shakes the phone in front of Katsuki. “But you are. And I like having you on my phone; I don’t have pictures of you besides the group selfies.”

Katsuki hums around the cinnamon stick he’s munching on—a bit too spicy for Shouto’s taste buds.

“Why do you want pictures of me, pretty head?” he snorts.

“I miss you when I’m not around you,” Shouto says. “And it’s nice looking at your face. It cheers me up.”

Katsuki blinks.

“Whatever,” he grunts after a moment, eyes downcast and ears suspiciously red. “Put it as your wallpaper if you want.”

Shouto lights up. “Really?”

“Yeah, I don’t care.”

“Thank you,” Shouto says animatedly, and starts clicking on the settings to do it at once.

When he’s finished, Katsuki pulls at his hand that’s not busy with his phone—the one he’s still holding—and says, “Oi. Look at me.”

“Hmm?” Shouto hums, turning around, only to be met with the back of Katsuki’s phone. He blinks. “Wait—”

A slow smirk blossoms in Katsuki’s face as he turns his phone to show him the fresh photo, clear on the screen.

“My new wallpaper,” Katsuki drawls happily.

“That’s not fair—” Shouto frowns, “I didn’t know you were going to take it—”

“Don’t care, you look cute,” Katsuki says, still smiling devilishly, and clicking something on the screen of his phone—presumably to put Shouto’s picture as his new wallpaper.

Shouto’s frown deepens. He’s smiling in the photo, merry still lingering because of Katsuki’s picture, but it’s still a bit embarrassing.

“There, we’re matching,” Katsuki grins, eyes sparkling as he shows Shouto his screen again. “Like a couple.”

Shouto feels his cheeks warming up. “Hmm.”

Katsuki snorts. “Don’t sulk. You do look good in this—and I, for one, look extremely hot, even with that ridiculous ass pair of sunglasses in yours. We’re even.”

Shouto hums again, and Katsuki tilts his head to look at him.

“Give me your hand,” he says, putting his own phone away at his cargo pants.

Shouto looks over, confused, but pockets his phone at the back of his jeans and does as he’s told.

“There,” Katsuki says, putting something in the palm of his hand. It’s a cat sticker, and it’s really cute. It reminds Shouto of the stray cat he pets on his way to the dorms. “It came with the candy, you can have it and stop pouting like a baby.”

Shouto instantly lights up, bouncing on his heels as he reaches down to save the small thing in the pocket on the front of his jeans, making a mental note to stick it later to the corkboard at his dorm.

As he does it, though, he feels something tinkle against his hand.

“Oh,” Shouto blinks, realizing. “I forgot.”

Of course he would forget. He was planning on giving it to him as soon as he saw Katsuki, but the plan went crashing out of the window when Shouto found him looking pretty and hot outside the main building at his campus—again, Katsuki is very distracting.

“What?”

“This,” Shouto reaches over to grab Katsuki’s wrist and put the small thing on the palm of his hand, the way Katsuki did with him. “I made it for you.”

Bakugou looks down at his hand. The bracelet looks back at him—a simple thing with orange beads and a black pendant with the form of a music note. Shouto spent a ridiculous amount of time finding that one, but it was worth it—it was pretty and shiny, and it looked good clashing with Katsuki’s tattoo and tanned skin.

Katsuki looks up again, eyes glinting a beautiful shade of vermillion under the dim lights of the deserted parking lot. “You made it?”

“Yes,” Shouto nods. “As a first date gift.”

Katsuki blinks, looking as if Shouto had started talking in another language.

He tilts his head, not understanding the confusion. “Camie said it’s nice when people give each other a gift to celebrate their first date,” he explains, “So I wanted to give you something.”

He knows it’s not a real first date, but still—

“I’ve wanted to make one for you anyway, so here it is…” Shouto trails off, feeling timid all of a sudden.

He didn’t give it that much thinking before doing it. He wanted to make and give Katsuki a bracelet, and that was it. But now, he’s nervous and itchy, hyper self-conscious of his decision.

They weren’t even dating for real, and Shouto gifted him something anyway, and it was homemade, to make it even more sentimental—which made it even worse overall.

“Don’t you like it?” he asks awkwardly when Katsuki keeps staring at it like it’s going to bite him; and scratches the back of his neck. “You can give it back if—”

“No,” Katsuki’s head snaps up to look at Shouto, earnest. “No, I won’t—give it back. It’s mine.”

Shouto blinks at the firm voice, and Katsuki curls his fingers around the bracelet protectively, as if he was afraid Shouto would take it from him.

“You made it for me,” Katsuki says, putting it against his chest, frowning. “It’s mine.”

Shouto blinks, feeling a sudden warmth burn inside his ribcage as laughter bubbles on his throat. “Okay?”

Katsuki nods, like he’s glad he made it clear. Then, he opens his hand again and makes as if he was offering the gift back to Shouto.

“Help me put it on, pretty boy,” he says, lips quirking up. “Come on.”

Shouto chuckles happily and does as he’s told, fingers brushing against smooth skin as Shouto wraps the bracelet around Katsuki’s wrist. When it’s done, Bakugou lifts up his arm and turns it around so he can look at the ornament from all angles—it looks extremely pretty, and Shouto is absolutely delighted with that fact.

“Thank you,” Bakugou says, sincere and genuine, offering Shouto a small smile. “I like it.”

“Really?” Shouto lights up, feeling warm and fuzzy inside, and Katsuki reaches up and ruffles his hair like he’s proud of him.

“Yeah, you’re good with your hands,” he says, eyes softening as he tilts his head up to watch Shouto with undivided attention. “And I like when you do the things you love, like crafts. I like when you’re enjoying yourself,” he tilts his head and stares at Shouto through impossibly long, golden eyelashes, and he looks ridiculously, irrevocably beautiful in Shouto’s eyes. “You’re passionate about things, it’s nice. You have this… happy look on your face when you do the things you love doing and it’s—happiness looks good on you.”

Shouto breathes, something warm fluttering inside himself, consuming every fiber of his being, like the waves of the ocean crashing, washing over the shore on hot summer days.

Oh.

“I like when you’re happy, too,” he blurts out, eagerly, watching Katsuki intently. “You say I’m passionate, but you—” Shouto shakes his head, fingers curling around Katsuki’s hand. “You always pour your heart and soul in everything you do. Like your music, and your songs, and your studies, and even the most minimal stuff. It’s—” Ridiculously attractive. And cool, and hot, and cute, and endearing, and it makes Shouto feel like, like— “—nice. I like it. Your passion and dedication.”

Shouto thinks it’s mesmerizing, actually. Most of the time, Shouto keeps staring because he can’t look away; because there’s something about Katsuki that pulls him in, and in, and in.

“Yeah?” Katsuki whispers, sounding a bit tad breathless. He inhales, deep, and exhales, quiet. “Good.”

Shouto steps towards him without thinking, wanting to feel Katsuki’s body warmth rolling out of him in waves, and to be close, close, closer—

“When you’re seriously, hard concentrating on something, you get this look on your eyes,” Shouto continues, and his heart pounds loudly inside his chest. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. Over and over. Over and over. “It’s—like—like when you’re practicing drums, or composing.”

It’s hard to explain the all-encompassing, ever consuming, enthralling look Katsuki gets when he’s working hard on something. No matter how many words he looks for inside his brain, there will never be ones pretty enough to describe his eyes, and the myriad of emotions that go through Shouto when he sees them.

“And then—” he breathes, and keeps talking, “When you achieve something, and you just… enjoy it, fully—like when you’re playing on stage or when you get a top grade on a test you studied hard for, or when you cook something and like the taste of it—you look…” keeps going, and going, and going; because apparently, he’s forgotten how to stop. He’s forgotten how to stop talking about all the things he loves about Katsuki; like there’s never been a time where he wasn’t talking about this. “You grin.”

Katsuki’s eyes shine a bright red under the dim lights of the parking lot. Shouto wants to drown himself in them. “…Do I?”

Shouto doesn’t know what’s happening to him. It’s like seeing Katsuki smile so softly at something Shouto did, for him, has unlocked something deep inside himself he didn’t know he was even repressing. All his feelings, thoughts, emotions, are spilling, spiraling out of him, blurting out like they can’t stay inside anymore, like they’re been there for too long.

Like a waterfall, cascading down and down, and falling and falling and falling—

Maybe it’s the way Katsuki looks—like Shouto is holding his entire heart into his hands; like Shouto is the only thing he can look at—maybe it’s the way he feels seeing Katsuki like this, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s never been good having a filter to start with, and much less around Katsuki.

Maybe it’s the fact that no one has ever looked at him this gently, this genuinely soft when Shouto has given them a part of his soul.

So he pours his heart out; watches it come out of his sleeve and spill from his tongue.

Katsuki’s words reverberate in his core. ‘Do I?’

“Yes, you do,” Shouto nods, vehemently. “You grin, so big, like you’re immensely happy.”

It makes Shouto’s chest ache, something tugging hard at his stomach, blood rushing through his ears, affection swelling his insides so impossibly he thinks there’s no way he can store all of it in his body alone.

Seeing Katsuki happy; raw and unfiltered—

“It makes me happy, too,” Shouto confesses. “I like going to your concerts because I like your music, and I want to support you all, but mostly—mostly—and above everything… I like the way you look on stage,” he pauses, looks at Katsuki’s face, intently looking back, silent as if Shouto’s endless speech was stealing his words and ability to make a sound. “You look like you’re having the time of your life. Your eyes shine and you smile, and I just—I get this feeling,” Shouto grabs his shirt, crumples it in his fist before letting his arm fall to his side again. “I can’t look away. I can’t look away from you.”

There it is, the whole truth.

“So, I get it,” Shouto finishes, feeling like he just ran a marathon when he’s been standing there the whole time, unmoving. “Because happiness looks good on you, too—really good.”

It kind of feels like he just drank a truth serum—like he’s waiting for something he doesn’t even know, and the more seconds Katsuki stays silent, the excruciatingly longer they feel.

Then, Katsuki opens his mouth, and the world stops.

“You—”

“Hey, guys!” Shouto blinks as a part of his body registers the other’s voice; “Look!”

Katsuki shuts his mouth, looks down and then up, fingers curling around Shouto’s, and then turns around to glance at where Kaminari is calling them.

It sort of feels like ten buckets of cold water are cruelly spilled over him early in the morning. Like waking up from a really nice dream and coming to terms with—oh, that wasn’t real. He realizes, painfully so, where he is, and suddenly, he’s met with the awful reminder that they’re, in fact, not alone. Even if, for a moment, it felt like it.

Ah.

His heart is a bit slow on the news, though, because it keeps hammering so loud it’s impossible Katsuki can’t hear it. Or feel it, in the pulse of his wrist, where his thumb is resting.

“What, dumbass?” Katsuki calls back, and Kaminari beams at him from the other side of the parking lot.

He looks so happy Shouto almost feels bad for wanting to be alone with Katsuki. Almost.

“Look, look!”

He excitedly points at himself with both hands, where he’s sitting inside a—Shouto blinks—shopping cart.

“You’re so ridiculous,” Katsuki huffs, quirking an eyebrow. “Are you a middle schooler?”

Kaminari sticks out his tongue, which makes Katsuki pull a face that tells Shouto he’s confirming his point.

“You’re no fun!” Kaminari says, and Shinsou, who’s been standing at his side, looking at him with such a fond smile it makes the entire world crumble at his feet, snickers.

Katsuki doesn’t take the bait—at first.

“I bet you can’t fit in one of these and that’s why you’re jealous of me!”

“Hah?!” Bakugou immediately bristles, quite like a porcupine pulling out his sharp spines. “Of course I can, Dunce face!”

“Prove it, then,” Kaminari grins, elated at the fact that Katsuki is playing along.

Katsuki puffs, and stomps over where they are. He tugs at Shouto’s hand so he comes along.

Todoroki shoots him a look sideways when he starts to get inside the cart next to Kaminari’s. He does so, swiftly and without a problem, swinging his legs smoothly and naturedly over the edge before sitting inside, like he’s done it a hundred times—which, in Shouto’s opinion, is quite impressive (the way Katsuki makes everything look cool). But he lets go of Shouto’s hand to do it, and Todoroki kind of hates shopping carts all of a sudden.

Kaminari shit-eating grins when Bakugou scowls at him from where he’s sitting.

“Bet I can win you in a race,” he singsongs, then, and points out to the entrance of the supermarket. “Starting from there,” he moves his finger in a line, to the end of the parking lot, “to the other side.”

“Hah?!” Katsuki utters, offended. “You’re fucking on, dumbshit! I’ll kick your ass.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaminari says, grinning impossibly big. “Sure, old man.”

“You fucking—” Katsuki’s eye twitches, and he looks over his shoulder to glance at Shouto, standing behind him. “Oi, Shortcake. We’ll win.”

Todoroki stares dumbly, and Katsuki’s whole aura—focused, determined eyes, an-edge-of-maniacal, feral grin—makes him recall on that conversation they had a month after they met.

“You know, you’re incredibly competitive,” Todoroki said back then, after Katsuki got baited into competing with Kaminari and Kirishima on almost every single festival game of the college’s annual fair.

He didn’t quite understand—even if games were fun, he didn’t think Bakugou would get so invested in trying his very best and nothing less in simple games.

“Uh, fuck you, pretty boy,” he answered, looking at him with piercing, alluring, almost angry eyes as he scowled. Shouto remembers, quite so, the way he felt looking at him back then—feeling like his breath was stolen away with those same eyes; the unwavering, aggressive determination being quite compelling for him.

He quirked an eyebrow, looking mildly irritated as he continued, “What’s the fucking point if you don’t do your absolute best in everything, huh?” he said, hair messy as the wind of the chilly evening brushed over him. “It doesn’t have a meaning if you don’t put effort in what you do, idiot. Winning something half-assed doesn’t mean shit.”

It’s quite impressive, recalling to this day the way he felt after that. Recalling exactly the way his feelings for Bakugou shifted into deep admiration and respect in that moment. That is—it’s not like he didn’t like Bakugou at first, it’s just that he didn’t quite understand a lot about some of his actions—like his competitive strike.

But there, he realized. The way Bakugou worked so hard for every single thing, and he admired that. Katsuki’s strong sense of straight-forward, abrasive resolution to work hard and put effort to be the very best in everything was beyond a simple, childish and selfish attitude to catch attention and win. He wanted to win rightfully and honestly, and work for his achievements and goals.

Shouto smiles, looking now at Katsuki’s bright crimson eyes staring at him, piercing through the darkness of the night like neon-like ruby gems in a black cave.

“Mhm,” Shouto hums, bending down to look at Katsuki’s face directly, “Hold on tight. We’re winning this.”

Katsuki grins, wild and excited and so breathtakingly pretty it makes Shouto ache.

“Hell yes!”

The race goes something like this. As soon as Kaminari counts down to three, both Shinsou and him start running, pushing their respective partners as fast as they can.

At first, they go pretty much head-to-head, but, as Shouto pushes his legs to give all of themselves, they pass Shinsou at the middle of the way.

Bakugou laughs, breathless, when Todoroki speeds up. He turns around then, wobbly and swaying precariously over the edge of the shopping cart, so he can look over Shouto to see their competition falling behind.

Todoroki frowns, about to tell him to not be reckless, worried he might fall over, but Katsuki doesn’t let him as he screams, peeking his head from Shouto’s side.

“Enjoy the view of my ass, fuckers, that’s all you're gonna see!” he exclaims.

He’s smirking, content, fiercely, untamed, when Shouto looks down at him, and to be quite honest, he looks a tad bit unhinged, but it doesn’t quit the fact that he’s absolutely, completely, criminally stunning.

“Technically, it’s Todoroki’s ass what we are seeing, dude!” Kaminari yells as he puts his hands together around his mouth, as if to make a megaphone. He laughs, though, and doesn’t seem remotely offended, at all. If anything, he looks like he’s having the time of his life, playing with his friends and boyfriend.

Bakugou just flips them off with both hands and, given he’s not holding on anymore, he loses his balance and falls back, flat on his ass—thank Heavens—inside the shopping cart.

He barks out a laugh again, hair getting all messy with the wind as Todoroki keeps running, and he looks so happy.

It makes Todoroki want to stop, to enjoy this moment slowly, deliberately, fully. To cup Katsuki’s face and live in Katsuki’s grin forever.

It makes him feel free—alive and full of joy, breaking with ten different emotions he didn’t know that existed. Katsuki does that to normal, simple nights in Shouto’s life. He makes them vivid, vibrant, like colors in a blank canvas; like the sunlight washing over green gardens, warming everything with brightness and life.

“You’re so childish,” Todoroki says, but he’s smiling, he’s laughing into the air, happiness coming into full form, bubbling out of his throat.

The moment tastes everlasting, and Shouto feels like the kid he never got to be, feels like the teen he never got to be—playful, chaotic, young—doing stupid, ridiculous things; enjoying the little, most banal moments with people around him that make him feel safe, and welcomed, and like it was okay to be him. Like there was absolutely nothing with having fun and being himself.

“Haaah?” Katsuki muses, but fits of laughter roll out of him in full-on cheerfulness and raw, unfiltered joy. “Asshole.”

Todoroki smiles.

“It’s kind of cute, actually,” he yells over the sound of the wind surrounding them.

“Shut up!” Katsuki frowns, moving to nudge him with his fist, but he’s still smiling.

Smiling.

Katsuki is smiling—grinning. Boyish, unfiltered, genuine happiness in every line and trace of his face.

And maybe that’s why—maybe that’s the whole reason—he does it.

But the moment they win and get to the end of the haphazard road, and Katsuki shoots him a wide smile, throwing his head back so the column of his throat gets exposed to the chilly air of the night, Shouto bends down, and takes it with him.

Smiling. Happiness. Katsuki shining like the brightest star in a deserted parking lot, sitting on a shopping cart. Looking like the most beautiful person on Earth.

Happiness looks good on you.

Maybe that’s why, or maybe it’s just because of the adrenaline rush he feels running through his veins the moment he stops to fully stare at Katsuki, but Shouto doesn’t think—he just bends over, and kisses him.

Kisses him. Upside down. On the lips.

Oh.

He snaps his head up, stepping out as fast as he stepped in, stumbles back as if Katsuki just burned him.

Oh.

He just—

Kissed him.

Oh.

Katsuki’s grin vanishes off his face as he turns around to stare at Shouto, frozen in place, eyes wide. He blinks, stunned, and keeps staring, like he can’t quite believe Shouto is real.

“I—” Shouto’s throat tightens, closes up in panic as he doesn’t know where to look, what to say.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.

He can’t say that. He can’t, because he did mean to—he wanted to. Even if his mind was blurry and all he could think of clearly was Katsuki’s happiness, he wanted to. Even if he was consumed by the warm, aching, heart-wrenching feeling swimming inside his chest like a hot pool, stormy like a million hummingbirds moving their wings inside his ribcage.

And, for the first time in his life, he comes to the horrifying realization of just how many times he’s thought of this. Of just how many times he’s felt like this. Of just how many times he’s ignored it, and push it back at the back of his head because of how intense it got that it scared him.

He comes to the realization, abrupt and heart-stopping, of just how many times he’s wanted to kiss Katsuki.

Oh.

He’s fucked.

“Hey,” Katsuki says, and it’s quiet. He leans over the shopping cart to reach a hand towards him, “Come back here.”

He curls his fingers on his sleeve and tugs at it to pull him closer, and as Shouto stumbles back in place, Katsuki straights up, steading himself as he stays on his knees and reaches up to cup Shouto’s face with both hands.

Warm fingers caress over Shouto’s features, delicately and appreciative, eyes darting everywhere his fingertips touch; holding Shouto like he was something precious, something worth treasuring. It makes Shouto feel all kinds of emotional.

“If you’re gonna kiss me,” he says, and looks up into Shouto’s eyes—alive, piercing, and absolutely breathtaking—thumb brushing over his scar gently, “Kiss me like you mean it, Shouto.”

Katsuki’s fingers curl, and he tilts his head up to meet Shouto’s lips with his, and the world stops.

In every sense of the word, Shouto feels ridiculously, unequivocally overwhelmed. Time clashes, unfurls all of his senses as Katsuki washes over him like a wave of all-consuming warmth.

His breath catches in his throat, his knees weaken and his heart skips and thumps loudly inside his chest, goes crazy and threatens with ripping his ribcage open as the taste of Katsuki nearly silences all of Shouto’s thoughts into nothing more than him, him, him.

Shouto is too eager, maybe, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think as he gets to hold Katsuki close, fingers coming up to feel the skin at the hollow of his neck, as he gets to taste his mouth and breathe in his beyond hypnotic smell.

And Katsuki is full warmth; saccharine—tastes as sweet as he smells; cinnamon-y like the candies he was eating minutes before and a hint of skin and Katsuki himself. His lips are soft and inviting, and he moves unhurried, long and slow, even when Shouto gets too eager, even when he bumps their noses together in his avidness—as if he wanted to memorize every second, burn it in the inside of his mind; as if they had the time of their lives, as if there was nothing else he wished to be doing more than this—claiming Shouto’s mouth in his—as if nothing else mattered more than discovering the way Shouto liked to be kissed.

And Shouto’s whole body tingles as he feels Katsuki smile against his mouth, probably at the throaty sound he makes as Katsuki grips his hair between his fingers, and Shouto’s mind goes a bit blurry. He inhales, shaky, letting Katsuki invade all of his senses, thoughts and feelings, kicking his way into Shouto’s heart and mind—overwhelming, all-consuming, unknowingly—like every single day of Shouto’s life.

He can feel the tender pulse hammer against his thumb as he rubs up and down against the warm skin of Katsuki’s neck. It does something to him too, maybe—the way Shouto touches him, the way Shouto wants him, because he pulls himself closer, parts his lips, and lets his tongue peek from his mouth to get a better taste of Shouto’s mouth.

It’s toe-curling, searing but gentle, the way Katsuki traces the corner of Shouto’s mouth with his tongue. Shouto almost forgets how to breathe, feeling the ever-bright flame on his stomach ignite as he parts his lips as well and lets Katsuki in. And, suddenly, Shouto’s brain shuts down.

He can’t think of anything that’s not Katsuki licking inside his mouth like he wants to know every curve, edge and line, pressing and curling like an artist’s brush against their canvas, intense, smooth but contained, arms wrapping up behind Shouto’s neck as Shouto holds Katsuki’s waist to pull him impossibly closer.

It’s electric, scorching, burning, wet, and real. So, so very real, all of it—Katsuki’s skin radiating heat under his touch, the untamed, wild flutter inside Shouto’s chest, the way he can hear his heartbeat pound in his throat, the way Katsuki breathes against him, hums and moans lowly as Shouto tastes him back.

It’s real, and gentle, and burning like the campfire simmering inside himself every time Katsuki as much as glances at him.

Katsuki’s skin is familiar, his body pressed against Shouto’s is grounding, and he’s never felt more at ease. Katsuki kisses like summer rain, pouring over him as if he had the power to take away and give back life.

It feels like home. He feels safe. In Katsuki’s hold, in Katsuki’s arms, in Katsuki’s warmth, in Katsuki’s lips.

He wants to live in this moment forever, just Katsuki and him. Close. Unending. Melding into one—body, soul, heart. He wants to treasure this inside himself like nothing else.

Then, as Katsuki breaks apart to breathe, lips quirking up when Shouto follows after him, Shouto exhales, shaky, eyelashes fluttering as much as the storm inside his chest; loud and rippling like uncontrolled ocean waves.

Katsuki hums, pretty lips slowly curling into a beautiful, captivating, all-too-happy grin. “Hmm. Yeah, like that.”

Shouto blinks, tingling all over, hands trembling as he rubs circles in Katsuki’s lower back.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, and Katsuki huffs out a brief laugh, eyes shining.

“Yeah?”

Shouto hums, nodding, “You are.” Breathtakingly so. Ethereal. “The prettiest person in the world.”

Katsuki’s lips twitch, amused, and he cards his fingers through Shouto’s hair from where he still has his arms wrapped around his neck.

Shouto hums, pleased, and Katsuki chuckles. “Have you ever used a mirror in your life, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” Shouto says, firm, and Katsuki snickers.

Ah. Shouto wants to kiss him again. And again.

And again.

He’s about to just do exactly that, lean closer, bend over and kiss him the whole night until his lips are sore, until he doesn’t know how to do anything else, but—

“You pair of lovebirds,” Kaminari laughs then, interrupting Shouto’s thoughts altogether, as he watches them a couple of meters away, still sitting inside the shopping cart. Both of them startle, and Kaminari laughs harder. “Yeah, given you were so lost staring into each other’s souls, you didn’t realize, but we were here for that whole display of—might I add, very intense—PDA. We weren’t that behind in the race, you know?”

“Fuck off,” Katsuki grunts, but he doesn’t look angry in the slightest, happiness bubbling all around him, lingering, fuzzy and gentle, and soft like spring rain.

Kaminari laughs again, a mischievous glint on his eyes as he leans over the edge and wriggles his eyebrows at them. “You’re too intense, I swear. Why do you look like it’s the first time you kiss each other?” he teases, amused.

“Because every time he kisses me it feels like the first time he does it,” Shouto answers immediately, blunt.

And that’s the most real truth to ever exist, along with Katsuki being the most beautiful person on Earth; Shouto just knows. It’s not like he has any proof of it, but he doesn’t have doubts about the fact either. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Katsuki kisses like you are his and he is yours and there’s nothing else in the world that matters besides that.

Katsuki must be a bit affected, because he chokes on nothing after he says it. Shinsou face-palms himself, and Kaminari stares wide-eyed, jaw on the floor.

“Oh my god, you are so cheesy!" he feigns as if he wanted to throw up, but it’s not long after he’s grinning so hard it must hurt, beaming and looking as happy as ever—probably because he’s over the moon with his friends loving each other that much. “You two full on make out, kiss open-mouthed like there’s no tomorrow and then say these things. Unbelievable,” he shakes his head, laughing.

Katsuki, in his place, goes bright red when Shouto turns to look at him.

Oh.

He really is cute.

“You,” he groans, wobbly cherry lips, and then hides his face on the crook of Shouto’s neck, fingers curling on his t-shirt.

“Adorable!” Kaminari keeps chanting, “You two are adorable!”

“And a bit gross,” Shinsou adds, but he’s chuckling, too.

Katsuki just groans harder, flipping them off without looking, face deep buried in the collar of Shouto’s jacket.

Shouto smiles, hugging Katsuki into what he hopes it’s a comforting hold, rubbing circles on his back with steady hands.

And, for a moment, everything seems like it’s into place. Everything seems to be alright, and the world seems to be such a pretty, wonderful place, just because Shouto can hold Katsuki into his arms. Just because Katsuki exists in the same universe as his.

.

.

.

.

.

The thing is, though, that, no matter how much Todoroki wants to, no matter how hard he wishes to, the devastating truth is that Saturday nights don’t last forever. They’re not unending, everlasting, and he can’t live in this moment for the rest of his life.

It’s strikingly clear, as they get to the light-purple hall of Katsuki’s floor in silence, the sign of an ending Todoroki has been dreading since the very beginning.

Todoroki has never feel so anxious in front of a door before—less in front of Katsuki’s room door. The colorful walls, the soft green of the wood of the door, the faint smell of jasmine around the floor. All of those things used to give him eternal comfort, used to feel like a safe place when he didn’t know what to call home, but in this moment, the only thing the number on Katsuki’s room does to him is wash him with unease, and distress.

He squeezes Katsuki’s hand, apprehensive, as the door of his room opens after a fifth knock.

Midoriya Izuku—Katsuki’s roommate—peeks from behind the door, looking like he’s been studying for hours nonstop. Messy hair, full of freckles and kind, big green eyes, he smiles at them softly.

“Oh, Kacchan,” he says merrily, and his eyes sparkle a bit playfully, as he looks over Katsuki’s shoulder and notices Todoroki behind him. His gentle smile gets a teasing edge to it as he waves at him, “Todoroki-kun, hi! Did you two have fun on your date?”

“Shut up, nerd,” Katsuki grumbles, and Midoriya’s smile widens.

“It seems like you did.”

“Don’t pray for details, you weirdo,” Katsuki shoots back, aiming to kick Midoriya’s ankle with his foot.

The shorter boy dodges easily, and he shrugs as he steps back with a blinding grin, linking his arms behind his back. “You’ll tell me anyway. You like talking about Todoroki-kun.”

“Shut up,” he glares, and Izuku chuckles.

“Okay, okay,” he lifts up his hand and turns around so he can go back to the inside of the room. “I’ll leave you alone, then.”

Katsuki huffs, mildly irritated, but softens up as he turns around to look at Shouto.

He inhales, deep, staring at Shouto’s face like he won’t get a second chance to.

“’kay, so—” he finally says, and clears his throat when his voice falters at the end. “I guess this is it. It wasn’t half-bad, so…” he trails off, eyes darting down to glance at his linked hands and then up at Shouto’s face again.

Shouto feels a bit like bleeding; like an open wound—exposed, naked, hurting. The pain in his chest is almost unbearable.

“Uh,” he says, feeling his throat tighten; “I really—I really enjoyed this.”

Shouto has never been good with words. That used to be troubling for so long until he found people—like Katsuki, like every single one of his friends—that made him feel like his silence was not a problem; like there was a lot spoken in it, and he didn’t need to say it aloud.

Katsuki is usually the best at reading his silence; the one who notices the most minimal things about it. But in this moment, Shouto wishes he had words; loud and clear, tangible; that could convey the storm raging inside his chest.

He doesn’t have them, though, and it’s frustrating.

“It was really fun," he swallows, feeling the heavy knot in his throat, "and I—”

And the thing is—it’s heartbreaking, the way he can see himself bleeding without ripping open. It hurts, and burns, and aches, and he doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t want to let go of Katsuki’s hand if it means he’s never going to hold it again.

“I liked spending time with you.”

Katsuki’s lips quirk up in a quiet, barely-there smile. “Yeah, me too.”

He reaches his hand up and, ever so slowly, ever so gently, he brushes Shouto’s hair off his forehead; warm, soft, steady.

Shouto’s knees buckle, and he crumples at Katsuki’s touch, his heart a ticking bomb.

“Me too,” Katsuki says again and, then, he moves his hand so he’s holding the back of Shouto’s neck, touch feather light; soft but burning and lingering.

He stands on his tip-toes, and pulls at Shouto’s head lower so he can reach up and press his lips on Shouto’s forehead. They’re warm, warm, warm; and so soft, and Shouto remembers the way they tasted on his own mouth, and the world seems to mute down, the only thing he can focus on being his rapid heartbeat, pounding, pulsing and ripping through his very core.

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.

Katsuki steps back, a genuine smile curling up his mouth. “Good night, Shortcake.”

He releases his hold on Shouto, and steps backwards so he can get into his room, and Shouto can’t think of anything else besides how empty his hand feels.

He doesn’t want this to end. He really doesn’t want this to end. He wants to kiss Katsuki again, and hold his waist, and wear his jacket.

He wants to call him cute. He wants Katsuki to call him pet names. He wants to hold his hand, to hug him, to hear about his day. He wants to be allowed to touch him and get close with him. He wants to see him smile, and wants to listen to his thoughts, and the things he likes, and the things he doesn’t like, and whatever he’s willing to share.

He wants those things. He really does.

He wants to be Katsuki’s safe place, as much as he is Shouto’s.

And, all of a sudden, he’s thinking about all the things he didn’t get to do, all the things he wants to do, and the things he’ll probably never get the chance to—like card his fingers through his hair, or see the way he looks on Shouto’s clothes, or sleep on his side, hugging him close.

And, before he knows it, he’s reaching out and grabbing Katsuki’s wrist.

“Go out with me,” he blurts out.

Katsuki blinks, eyes opening a fraction in surprise.

Shouto breathes, feeling his whole body tremble with nerves; there’s a knot in his throat when he tries to swallow, and his heart is so loud it’s almost all he can hear.

However, he’s learned to fight for the things he wants; he’s learned to voice what he feels, and thinks, and loves, and Shouto wants Katsuki; more than anything else.

“Go on another date with me,” he says again, firm, unwavering.

Katsuki opens his mouth, then closes it. Then everything again. “Huh?”

“Take me to your concert,” Shouto says, a bit breathless. “Or to that cat café you were talking about, or wherever you want. I don’t mind the place. I just want to go out with you.”

I just want this. This. You and me.

Katsuki frowns slightly. “Did Pikachu ask for another double date?”

“No.” Shouto says, and steps closer to him. “No, not like this, I just—” he shakes his head, looks at Katsuki hoping everything he feels can be conveyed. “I want you to date me for real.”

It feels like putting his heart into Katsuki’s hands to hold it. Shouto’s never felt more naked in his entire life, more vulnerable and raw.

Slowly, Katsuki’s pretty mouth blossoms into a grin. Happy, unfiltered, breathtaking.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, and his eyes shine the prettiest shade of vermillion with the dim lights of the hall and the room, just as Shouto’s heart comes back to life inside his chest. “I’ll date you for real, sweetheart.”

Shouto grins, unable to repress it, and leans down to cup Katsuki’s face.

Because Katsuki’s face was meant to be held, tenderly and appreciatively, by Shouto’s hands.

He leans down, and presses his forehead to Katsuki’s.

He breathes, warmth buzzing all over his body, as Katsuki lets himself be held, as he looks up at Shouto back with the prettiest eyes to ever exist, and as he curls his fingers around Shouto’s hips to pull him close.

“Can I kiss you?” Shouto whispers.

Katsuki chuckles, and then nods, “Fuck, yes. All you want.”

Shouto smiles back, and then does. He kisses him, there, in his doorway. All he wants. Because he can.

And the world seems to be alright again, just because Katsuki is there, in his arms, and Shouto is in his; just because Bakugou Katsuki exists.