Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Katsuki moves a fair amount. Staying in one place too long can be kind of a problem in his line of work, so he’s pretty used to moving. The apartment above the coffee shop means there’s a lot of people coming and going, but it also means good coffee that he doesn’t have to make every morning just a stairway away. 

The barista who works most mornings is a lovely bit of eye candy when he gets his coffee. His hair is an even split between brilliant red and snow white, his eyes split between gray and bright blue. He usually has his hair pulled back in a cute bun, with some strands escaping, and he usually wears fingerless gloves. Very cute—maybe nineteen, a little younger than Katsuki would usually go for—but he also knows better than to shit where he eats, so he doesn’t do more than be as polite as he can be and tries not to be scary. 

Not that Shouto—the barista—appears intimidated by him. It’s actually strange. With the scar covering half his face and the eyepatch hiding his blind eye, people tend to avoid him. They either religiously avoid looking at his face, or they can’t help but stare. 

But Shouto doesn’t do either of those things, maybe because of the dark red scar that’s almost like a patch on a kitten that covers up his whole left eye and half the cheek around it. Katsuki supposes that someone who knows how it feels to have his scar stared at would know how not to stare in return. Honestly, it does remind him of a kitten, and that just makes Shouto cuter, but still not cute enough to push. He knows it’s rude as fuck to flirt with service people who can’t exactly be rude in return. 

Not that it stops a truly shameful amount of people from flirting with Shouto. At least he seems to get good tips out of it. 

He’s been living above the coffee shop—and coming in regularly—for about two months when there’s someone new behind the counter with Shouto, and Shouto looking a little frazzled. 

“Oh, Katsuki-san!” he greets, a little breathless, much more of his hair coming out of his bun than usual. “Sorry, I’m a little behind this morning. I’ll have your coffee ready in a— Denki! ” It’s not a yell—Katsuki has never heard Shouto raise his voice—but it’s a much harsher tone than Katsuki’s ever heard him use before.

The blond behind Shouto is staring at Katsuki like he’s some kind of boogeyman—and to be fair, he kind of is, but the kid is only staring because Katsuki looks scary—when Shouto’s voice apparently startles him, and he jerks his hand. Almost immediately, Shouto is pulling his own hand back, a torrent of bitten-off, barely audible curses spilling out as he yanks his glove off, turns to the sink and runs it under the water. 

“Shouto-kun! I’m so sorry!” the blond—Denki, Katsuki assumes—says, pouring out whatever he’d been handling before he goes to check on Shouto. Fortunately, it’s later in the morning, the lull between breakfast and lunch, so there’s really not anyone other than Katsuki there waiting. 

Even so, Shouto glances over his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Katsuki-san. Give me just a minute—”

“Take your time,” he says. “Burns are no joke. I’ll grab a seat.” 

Shouto gives him a relieved smile, and turns back to attending his hand. Katsuki pretends to read on his phone as he watches Shouto and Denki—well, really just Shouto—behind the counter, and overhears Shouto say, “It’s fine. Maybe a little burned, but nothing a little aloe can’t help with.” Denki apologies profusely, and Shouto just sighs and pats his shoulder. “Just… clean it up. I’ll get Katsuki-san’s coffee.”

Still looking like he may burst into tears any moment, Denki immediately starts trying to do as Shouto asked while Shouto makes his coffee. Within a couple minutes, Shouto has come around the counter to deliver it. “On the house for the inconvenience,” he says. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Katsuki asks him, accepting the coffee and just managing not to reach out and grab Shouto’s hand to check the potential burn. He’s stopped less because of the inappropriateness of touching Shouto like that than because of the scar he sees on the back of Shouto’s hand. 

The kind of scar someone might have if their hand has been stabbed all the way through. Honestly, looking at the spread of it, it’s amazing the kid has use of his hand at all.

Telling himself that he can’t stare at it, he pulls out his wallet and the money he usually has for his coffee. 

Without thinking, Shouto holds up his hands. “I told you, it’s on the house,” he says.

One hand is still gloved, the other has a scar right in the center of the palm. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Katsuki says, pushing the money at him. “You only made me wait a few minutes.”

“But—”

“If you won’t take it for the coffee, then take it as a tip,” Katsuki says. “Give it to the klutz if it makes you feel better.”

The look Shouto gives him is exasperated, but a little fond if he’s not wrong. “You don’t have to do this,” he says. 

“Obviously,” Katsuki replies. “But it pays to be nice to the person who gives me my morning caffeine.” 

With a sigh, but also a little smile, Shouto takes the money. “Only because it’ll make Denki feel better,” he insists. 

“Whatever you say, princess.” As soon as the word slips out, Katsuki wishes he could take it back, but the blush that stains Shouto’s pale complexion is actually adorable. 

Shouto’s only off balance for a moment before he raises an eyebrow and asks, “Princess?” Before Katsuki can think of any fumbling reply, he grins and says, “If you say so, hero.” He turns on his heel and goes back to the register, leaving Katsuki speechless. 

Hero, huh? As if heroes are a real thing instead of just characters in stories. As if, even if they were real, Katsuki would be one. 

More customers are coming in, so Katsuki slips out, back up to his apartment, his thoughts full of Shouto and the scars on his hand, and the scar around his eye. Shutting the door behind him, Katsuki thinks about all the secrets he’s hiding, then wonders what secrets Shouto is hiding. 

Two gloves? To cover two scars? There’s not much that scars a hand that way other than impaling it. Who would do that to someone like Shouto? 

Katsuki may have liked Shouto before, but now? Now he’s interesting. 

It’s Saturday, Eri’s class is done, and Shouto has the afternoon off, so when his sister asks him to go shopping with her, Shouto is happy to oblige. They’re not siblings by blood, but he kind of loves how much people will assume they are given Eri’s white hair. 

They’ve indulged a little bit in some street food and sweets, and Eri is hanging off his arm, when she asks, “Hey, Shou-nii…” in a wheedling tone she only uses when she’s pretty sure he’s going to say no otherwise. 

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Do I want to know what I’ve done to earn that one?” he asks.

Batting her eyes at him, she says, “I really wanted to go look at some new jewelry…”

“Because you absolutely need more jewelry,” he teases. “And with what money are you getting more jewelry?”

“Nothing expensive,” she says, which tells him exactly which store she wants to go to, and why she’s giving him the puppy-dog eyes. 

“Hey, ladies,” a gruff, overly masculine voice calls out, and three guys step out to block them. Shouto thinks he deserves an extra treat for not rolling his eyes. This happens sometimes, getting mistaken for a woman. He’s pretty lithe, short enough to be considered “dainty,” has long hair, and a pretty face. 

Understanding why it happens does not make it less annoying. 

“We’re not interested,” Shouto says, not bothering to try and make his voice more feminine. It’s a calculated risk, because it almost always takes these types aback. 

It does so this time. “Oh? You sound like a boy, but you’re way too pretty to be a boy, don’t you think, Aki-chan?”

The so-called “Aki-chan” lifts his sunglasses and leans into Shouto’s space, but Shouto pushes Eri slightly behind him, holding his ground. These fools have picked the wrong person to try and intimidate. 

“I think so, Kotaro. Way too pretty to be a boy. Why don’t you show us?”

The third guy is circling around, and Shouto really doesn’t want this to escalate—it’s the damned middle of the day—but it’s looking like these assholes aren’t going to take a hint, so he starts bracing himself to deal with them, when a shadow behind one of the assholes catches his attention. 

“I think,” a familiar voice says, “that they’re not interested, and you should be on your way.”

The two assholes in front of them move apart, and Katsuki—the regular who lives above the coffee shop—glances between them, having to turn his head to face one, then the other. He may be wearing an eyepatch, but it doesn’t cover his entire scar by a long shot, and with the bulk and breadth of Katsuki’s shoulders, he’s an impressively intimidating individual. 

Deciding to take a chance, Shouto says, “Katsuki!” and smiles up at him. “You’re late.” 

Katsuki blinks at him once before replying, “Sorry,” he says, and a head pops out of the front pocket of his jacket, revealing a little calico kitten. “I found got delayed by this little guy.” 

“A kitten!” Eri says in that particular voice used for cute things. “Can I hold him, please, Katsuki-san?” 

“Sure,” he says, taking the kitten out of his pocket with surprising gentleness to put the mewling thing into Eri’s hands. “Hold onto him while I deal with these… gentlemen.” He turns to face Kotaro, crosses his arms, which makes the muscles in them bulge noticeably, then says, “Do I need to help you move on?” he asks, flashing a grin full of teeth and threat. 

The three assholes clearly aren’t entirely stupid because they mutter something that vaguely sounds like an apology—to Katsuki, even though it’s Shouto and Eri who are owed it—but they scuttle away, which is all Shouto can ask for. 

Eri’s giggle draws Shouto’s attention back to her, seeing her holding the kitten next to her face where it’s rubbing its own head against her and purring. 

Given that Eri is suitably distracted, Shouto says, “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”

“No big deal. I’ll let you get back to your date—”

“Date?” Eri squawks, startling the kitten into meowing plaintively. “We’re not on a date! He’s my brother.” She makes a face that makes her feelings on dating her brother very clear. 

Katsuki blinks at them again, and Shouto sighs. 

“Katsuki, this is my little sister, Eri. Eri, this is Katsuki-san. He’s a regular at the shop.”

“It’s nice to meet you!” she says with an infectious smile. 

“Younger sister, huh?” Katsuki asks, looking between them with keen eyes. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Well, the only place you see me is at work, and we don’t really talk much—”

“You’re working,” Katsuki says, a little gruff and a little defensive. “I don’t bug service people at work. It’s rude. You got enough shit to deal with.”

“Oh! Wait!” Eri interrupts, leaning into Shouto’s face. “Is this the guy who called you ‘princess’?”

It’s Shouto’s turn to blink at her, feeling heat fill his face. “I should not have told you that,” he hisses at her ruefully. 

“I, uh, didn’t mean to be rude—”

“Oh, you weren’t rude at all,” Eri says, turning her attention to him with an utterly innocent expression that Shouto knows is a lie because he knows exactly what she’s going to say next, and he can do nothing but watch it coming like a train wreck. “Shou-nii was really flattered!” 

Could the ground just open up and swallow him now, please? All he needs is one of his favorite regulars realizing that Shouto has a crush on him. 

“Oh?” Katsuki asks, his voice intrigued, a little half smile that is far more charming than it has any right to be tilting up his mouth. “Was he now?”

“He was!” Eri informs with all the blind enthusiasm of a six-year-old, not the sixteen-year-old she actually is. “Oh! You should come shopping with us!” 

“Eri, I don’t think Katsuki is going to want to come to the trinket shop—”

“It’s fine,” Katsuki interrupts him. “I mean, if I leave too soon, those ah—jerks might come back and bug you. I mean, as long as you don’t mind me tagging along.”

Before Shouto can even start to figure out how he feels about Katsuki joining them—much less formulate a reply, Eri says, “Not at all! And if you stay with us, I can keep playing with this adorable thing!” She cuddles the kitten close, and Shouto knows he’s lost before the battle even started. 

Really, though, he doesn’t actually mind. Getting to spend some time with Katsuki isn’t the worst thing that could happen today. “If it’s not an imposition, then…”

“It’ll be my pleasure,” Katsuki replies. 

The formal language is clearly a little clumsy on Katsuki’s tongue, but it just makes him even more endearing. Shouto wonders if the trip to the trinket shop he knows Eri favors will make Katsuki even more appealing or less.

More. Katsuki is so much more appealing after spending time at the trinket shop, Eri flitting about between hair things and jewelry, the kitten having found a perch on her shoulder as she dashes about. 

“I’m not sure you’re getting your kitten back,” Shouto informs him as they watch her. 

“Eh,” Katsuki shrugs. “It’s an orphan. She’ll love it better than a grumpy old recluse like me could.” He scratches at the blond stubble that’s almost invisible against his skin. “Will your parents be okay with it?”

Aizawa has a soft spot for orphans and cats both, so while he’ll act exasperated, Shouto puts even odds on the cat ending up as his within two days. “Dad’s weak for cute things,” he says, and even after so many years with Aizawa, thinking of him as his father still feels strange. Dad, not Father, but still, the role is one he still finds himself sometimes uneasy with. 

“Then you and your sister must have been nightmares when you were little,” Katsuki says. “Too cute to say no to, the both of you.” 

It gets a little smile out of Shouto, but he can also feel a slight flush filling his cheeks again. He ducks his head to hide it, and some of his shorter bangs fall forward, shielding part of his face. “She can be a handful,” he admits, then looks up at Katsuki again. “But she’s a good kid.”

“Kid?” Katsuki asks with a raised eyebrow. “Like you’re that much older than her?”

Something about the tone makes Shouto narrow his eyes at him. “How old do you think I am?” he asks. 

Katsuki shoves his hands into his pockets. “Eighteen? Nineteen?”

“I’m twenty--five,” Shouto informs, and he’s not sure if the surprised look he gets is insulting or gratifying. “How old are you, old man?” 

“You’re only a year younger than me?” Katsuki asks, clearly surprised. 

Shouto laughs. “I feel like that should be my line. You’re only a year older than me?” 

It makes Katsuki look a little grumpy, and that’s honestly, kind of adorable. “It’s not the years, it’s the mileage,” he says. 

Talk about something being truer than you realize, Shouto thinks as Katsuki turns his attention to a display of cutesy barrettes. He actually looks almost laughably out of place in the shop that’s got so much glitter and sparkle and, well, pink, while he’s big and intimidating. Shouto’s noticed the way people will avoid him in the shop, but watching people gasp, look away, and make an effort to step well out of his space kind of breaks his heart. Yes, the scar on his face is impossible not to notice, and he does exude a kind of don’t fuck with me energy, but he’s not a mean person. No one who helped them when he had nothing to gain from it or picks up stray kittens is a mean person. 

But he is dangerous. There’s a way that dangerous people move, and Shouto works hard not to do it when he’s around other people, but Katsuki probably doesn’t have a clue how to turn it off. 

Dangerous isn’t necessarily a bad thing, though. Dangerous could be… interesting. 

“Katsuki…-san.” He adds the honorific belatedly, realizing he’s probably been far too familiar with someone who’s really a stranger. 

There’s a pause before Katsuki turns to look at him. “You don’t have to -san me, you know,” he says. “I don’t need some bullshit politeness.”

Clearly. Shouto ducks his head again, but, well, Katsuki’s already made it clear he won’t cross certain lines while Shouto’s working, so if he wants something, he needs to speak up. 

“Katsuki,” he says, and his voice goes a little softer than he means to let it. “Could I… could I get your number?” 

Whatever Katsuki expected him to ask, it obviously isn’t that. The shock is so obvious that Shouto almost laughs at the expression before Katsuki clearly gathers himself. “My number?” he asks, and Shouto wouldn’t have been surprised if his voice cracked. 

“I asked you, didn’t I?” Shouto can’t resist teasing. “Unless you’re not interested—” Fuck, he thought that, well, with the princess and all, that Katsuki was at least a little attracted to him, but if he’s not—

“Yes,” Katsuki blurts. “I mean, if you want a date, that is… I’m afraid I’m not always great company.”

A little knot of tension eases in Shouto’s chest. “Yes,” Shouto says. “I would like that. Very much.”

Watching Katsuki gather himself and the pleased grin that makes him look more his age and very, very handsome indeed, Shouto is glad he asked. He pulls out his phone, and says, “What’s your number?”

Katsuki gives it to him, and Shouto sends him a text. 

“Shou-nii!” Eri calls for him, pitching her voice in that odd quiet-yell you do in a quiet place. 

“Give me a second,” he says, going to her. 

She wants his opinion on a collar for the kitten— Ikki, she informs him, and Shouto has to point out to her that the cat isn’t hers.

“Yet,” she says simply. “Now, collar.”

Katsuki was not wrong about his sister being spoiled, and since it doesn’t seem like he is going to object too strenuously to his kitten being hijacked, Eri’s probably right. 

“I guess I should be glad you didn’t name it Tama,” he says. “The blue one.”

Eri gives him an offended look. “As if I would be so unoriginal. Ikki—like a phoenix.”

“That does not mean phoenix,” he informs her. “And if you want phoenix imagery, you should go for red.”

Rolling her eyes, she says, “It doesn’t mean phoenix. I meant the character.”

He thinks, but he’s coming up completely empty on the correlation. “This is an anime thing, isn’t it?”

It earns him a flat look, the one she gets when she’d like to tease him about being a horrible big brother, except she only actually said that once, and whatever crossed Shouto’s face, it made sure she never, ever actually said it again, not even in jest. “Tasteless,” she informs him haughtily, but goes with the blue collar. It’ll complement the kitten’s red calico patches better, and she knows it. 

“I don’t know,” he teases her in reply, glancing over to see Katsuki approaching them. “I don’t think I have awful taste.”

“I can’t wait to see Daddy’s reaction to him.”

He pokes her in the side, making her giggle. “Hush you.”

They walk around for a couple more hours, not doing anything other than mostly enjoying one another’s company and Eri’s enthusiasm. 

When the time comes to finally go their separate ways, Katsuki says, “Hold on.” Shouto gives him a curious look. “I, uh, got you two something.” 

From his pocket, he pulls out a couple of sets of cat-shaped hair barrettes from the trinket shop. They’re nothing fancy, mostly just the outline of a cat, one pair in gold, one in silver. “I got one for each—”

“Thank you so much!” Eri says, launching herself at him to give him a big hug that he seemed wholly unprepared for. “They’re adorable!” She takes them and shows them to Shouto. “We should both have one of each!” 

“If you don’t mind—” Katsuki says, looking a little unsure. 

Eri makes short work of switching one of the barrettes out of each set so they both have one silver, one gold. “How could we mind! This is a wonderful souvenir of today!” She bows politely, and then in more formal language adds, “Thank you very much for your generosity.”

“Yes,” Shouto agrees, taking his own, taking the gold cat off the card, and using it to hold back some of his bangs. When it feels like it’s solidly anchored, he gives Katsuki a smile that makes Katsuki blush, though only a little. “Thank you very much for the gift.”

“It was nothing,” Katsuki says, reaching out to pat Ikki’s head from where he’s still perched on Eri’s shoulder. “Thanks for taking such good care of this one.”

It earns him another hug from Eri. For his part, Shouto sends him a text that says, Date? Place and time?

If he was looking forward to a date with Katsuki before, he’s really looking forward to it now. 

Chapter Text

It takes another week before they can coordinate the time to get together—the first time Shouto has free, Katsuki has a job that takes him out of town for two days—but they decide on a picnic, taking advantage of the beautiful early spring weather, and a trip to an arcade after. 

Katsuki insists on cooking for the picnic. He’s a good cook, and though he knows that Shouto spends most of his day making coffee, not cooking, he figures it’s similar enough in general feel that Shouto would prefer to be treated. He does make sure to ask Shouto for his general favorites, and when Shouto gives him a suspicious glare, Katsuki points out that he can just ask Eri. He has her number since—after stealing his new kitten—he’d demanded trading numbers so she could send him pictures. Eri has been very diligent about sending him at least a half dozen pictures a day. 

“You wouldn’t,” Shouto says, gaping at him as Denki—the new guy—finishes up Katsuki’s coffee a few days before the date. Denki is not nearly as good at making Katsuki’s coffee as Shouto is, but he only works a couple days a week, is still learning, and Shouto had given Katsuki puppy eyes to be allowed to practice on his drink. 

If he hadn’t been wearing the cat barrette in his hair, Katsuki would have said no. Shouto makes his coffee perfectly, and he doesn’t want to give it up. But Shouto was wearing that pin—which was adorable on him—and Katsuki kind of forgot how to say no for a moment. 

That could be a very dangerous thing. 

So he accepts subpar coffee twice a week—Denki’s improving, but he’s no Shouto—and tries not to flirt too outrageously while Shouto is working. 

Fuck, Katsuki feels like a damn teenager again. He’s never had any trouble getting company into his bed, even after the… incident that cost him sight in his right eye and gave him the scar that takes up most of the right side of his face. Some people are just… drawn to people who seem sexy and mysterious. 

But he’s almost certain that isn’t why Shouto seems to like him. 

But he’s pretty much that isn’t what draws Shouto to him, and for some reason, that matters. He has secrets and things he doesn’t want to talk about, and Shouto, well, Shouto has his own secrets, and he knows not to press. 

Though Katsuki can appreciate the curiosity most people have with regards to his own scars better. He hasn’t seen the scars on Shouto’s hand since that one day, and he wants to see them again. 

Are they as bad as he remembers? Is it just the one hand? If so, why wear both gloves? Just because two seems less odd? 

No matter how curious he is, he’s not going to ask, not unless Shouto indicates that asking is okay. But he still wants to see. 

Of course, Shouto’s gloves aren’t the only thing Katsuki’d like to peel off him, but, well, this isn’t going to be a standard one-night stand, even if it should be. Even if he should know better than to get involved with a civilian. He certainly shouldn’t get involved with one as innocent as Shouto. 

It’s the best date that Katsuki has ever had, starting with the picnic. The weather obliges them, and it’s a stunningly beautiful day. Being away from other people means that no one is staring at Katsuki, and he feels better for it. It also means he’s allowed to pick a good vantage point, his own paranoia singing. 

Shouto is wonderful company, easy to talk to—which shouldn’t be as big of a surprise as it actually is—comfortable without being intrusive. He asks about things that Katsuki likes, showers praise on Katsuki’s cooking, and is happy to share anecdotes about Eri and Ikki. 

“Did Eri tell you the vet says Ikki is a girl?” 

“She did,” Katsuki admits, remembering the ranting texts he got about how pink was clearly not Ikki’s color, the blue collar was staying, and that her name wasn’t changing. 

Hiding his face in both hands, Shouto laughs softly. “She was insufferable the whole way home, reassuring Ikki she still loved her even though she’d turned out to be a girl.”

Katsuki can imagine it. “I assume she calmed down?”

“When our Dad pointed out that she could now get Ikki all the shiny collars she wanted to. After that, she was all fixated on ‘girl solidarity’ and now having the same number of girls in the house as boys.” He shakes his head in obvious fond exasperation. 

“So your dad wasn’t mad?”

Shouto lets out a soft snort. “No,” he says firmly. “He tried to pretend he was, but he really is a sucker for cats and cute things. All Eri had to do was hold up Ikki” —He mimed lifting up the cat in two hands.— “make big eyes at him, and say ‘please,’ and he folded like cheap cardboard.”

His obvious affection for both his father and his sister radiate from him, and Katsuki asks himself—again—exactly what he thinks he’s doing with this pretty princess. What’s the point of leading Shouto on? Is it worth getting him in bed if he’s just going to break his heart?

Despite the doubts rearing their ugly—and honest—heads, Katsuki makes no move to leave. He stays there with Shouto, sharing a great meal, made better by the beautiful company and the beautiful day. 

They stay out, munching at Katsuki’s spread for more than two hours before packing up and heading back into the actual population. Katsuki walks slightly in front of Shouto, glancing back at him frequently, and Shouto actually reaches out to slide his hand into Katsuki’s. 

It’s small, but when he squeezes Katsuki’s hand, it feels strong. Katsuki wonders about the scars on it again, but they make their way through to the arcade for the rest of the date. 

The arcade had been Shouto’s idea, and Katsuki wouldn’t usually go for it, but he knows it’s a chance to show off a little. But only a little. Just enough to impress Shouto and maybe win him something cute. 

Motherfucker, since when is he soft for someone like this. But then Shouto looks at him with his silver-and-blue eyes, and Katsuki just… wants to see him smile. He’s never felt like that about anyone before. 

So they go to the arcade. They pay a rather obscene fee to get plenty of tokens to play, and spend hours playing games. Shouto seems to have a particular knack for timing-related games, but his aim is really terrible. In light of that, Katsuki works to be only slightly better, since he doesn’t want to embarrass his date too badly. The one time he loses on purpose, Shouto gives him a dark look that says very clearly that he knows Katsuki lost on purpose. 

As they come to the end of their tokens, Katsuki suggests pool. Shouto looks at the table with a little uncertainty. 

“I’ve never really played,” he admits. 

Katsuki, with great effort that should really be rewarded, does not crow in victory. “I can show you,” he offers, trying to be nonchalant. 

And so begins the foreplay. If he hadn’t been so distracted by being able to loom over Shouto, to press up against him, to whisper tips into his ear, Katsuki would have noticed a lot sooner that Shouto really doesn’t need any help at this game. With the way he sweeps his hair back away from his neck and glances at Katsuki with lidded eyes, Katsuki thinks he can be forgiven for being a bit distracting. 

“Think you got it now?” he asks, backing off a little, not wanting to be too overbearing, even though the vaguely fruity scent of Shouto’s shampoo lingers in his sinuses. Shouto has just missed another shot, but he seems unbothered by it. He hasn’t been upset by losing at all, seemingly content with winning when he does. 

“I guess we’ll see,” he says, watching Katsuki take his turn. Katsuki could clear the table, but that wouldn’t be much fun—and he’s going to beat Shouto anyway—so he misses a shot to keep the game going. 

The ball misses, and Katsuki lets out a curse, like he’s disappointed, and turns to look back at Shouto. 

A tall man stands over him, giving Shouto a beaming grin. “If he’s not any help, I’ll be happy to show you,” he says. “Surely a man with only one eye can’t have much aim.”

Katsuki wants to pull a knife and drive it between the dumbasses ribs, straight into his heart. Shouto is his, and this is his fucking date. 

Before he can go around the table to Shouto though, something in Shouto’s body language changes. “Katsuki’s a great teacher, actually,” he says, his voice a little lower than usual, something almost sultry to it that goes straight to Katsuki’s crotch as he moves to line up a shot. He slides into perfect posture, as though he’s always played, and his eyes flicker up to meet Katsuki’s own before returning to the ball and calling his pocket. 

He must hit the ball perfectly, because it not only goes into the pocket smoothly, the cue ball lands over on the side of the table that Katsuki’s on. Shouto practically oozes over to him, making sure to press up against him as he passes, giving Katsuki a bit of a grin that makes Katsuki want to grab him and bend him over the table right then and there, then sets up his next shot. 

It sinks perfectly as well. Three shots later, Shouto’s down to just the eight ball, and Katsuki realizes that every single shot he’s hit has put the cue ball in the perfect place to sink the next one. 

Lining up the shot, Shouto meets Katsuki’s eye again. “Eight ball, side pocket,” he says, and barely glances back down to watch what he’s doing. The eight ball goes into the hardest pocket from where it was, and Katsuki would be furious at how Shouto clearly played him, except that the shock on the face of the prick who was trying to barge in on his date is almost its own reward. 

Shouto puts up his cue, then comes back around to Katsuki, stopping just inside his personal space, and Katsuki’s blood pounds in his ears. 

“Well played, princess,” he says, just barely audible in the noise of the arcade. Given that Shouto’s body language is practically screaming out an invitation, he puts a hand on Shouto’s waist, and sure enough, Shouto steps into him. 

Looking up from under his lashes, Shouto asks, “You’re not upset?”

“Upset is not the word I’d use,” Katsuki admits, closing the distance between them until there’s none left, and Shouto has to tilt his head back to look up at Katsuki. “Want to come back to my place?”

He shouldn’t offer—he never offers to bring anyone home, hotels only—but Shouto already knows where he lives, so it’s not like he’s hiding that. 

“I was hoping you’d ask,” Shouto says, a smile curling his mouth up, and Katsuki wants to kiss him so bad—but not here. Not in public. He senses more than sees the big guy stomp off, clearly dismissed. 

“Good,” Katsuki says. “Let’s go.”

They don’t talk much as they make their way back to Katsuki’s apartment, and Shouto’s heart is loud in his own ears. Even if Shouto didn’t have Aizawa and Eri at home, the apartment’s closer. Part of him can’t believe that he’s doing this, but Shouto wants Katsuki. Maybe Shouto just misses a little intimacy, misses feeling another person breathing along with him, feeling his warmth along his back, feeling safe and cradled, even if only for a little bit. 

Katsuki’s big and he radiates heat. Shouto wants to be smothered by it. 

They’re halfway up the stairs to his apartment when Katsuki stops, jarringly enough that Shouto pulls up short and has to take a step back, nearly losing his balance. 

Shifting so he’s facing Shouto properly, Katsuki says, “I should warn you: I don’t bottom.”

“That’s fine,” Shouto replies, moving into his space. He remembers the lessons his dad taught him. You're so fucking pretty, you can use that to get close to men. To seduce them . He slides his hands around Katsuki's waist, until they’re pressed up against one another, the height difference with Shouto on a lower step even larger than usual.  “I don’t top.”

Heat flares in Katsuki’s ruby eye, and he leans down, wrapping an arm around Shouto’s bared waist, and tugging him up as he basically runs up the last few stairs. 

There’s a landing at the top, and another door just a bit down a short hall, but Katsuki’s is closest to the stairs. He has to let go of Shouto to open the door, and once inside, he pauses to disarm an alarm. 

“All right,” he says, and there’s something hungry in his face when he adds, “Come on in.”

Shouto does, toeing off his shoes quickly, then stepping into Katsuki. Katsuki’s big, warm hands come up automatically to rest on Shouto’s waist, the short sweater he’s wearing riding up to bare even more of his midriff. Shouto reaches up to rest his hands on Katsuki’s shoulders and leans into him. 

“What do you want tonight, princess?” Katsuki asks him, leaning low but not quite kissing Shouto. Their fronts are pressed firmly enough together that Shouto can feel the hardness of Katsuki against his stomach, and it makes his own cock grow hard in his pants. Is this a good idea? Sleeping with someone who is a customer? Who lives above his day job?

“I want you inside of me,” Shouto admits, his body already humming with the promise of it. Katsuki groans, and Shouto can feel him get harder. Apparently, Katsuki is proportionate because what Shouto feels only makes him hungrier. “What do you want?” he asks in reply, rocking his hips against Katsuki’s thigh, letting Katsuki feel how much he wants this as well. 

Katsuki’s hands move from his waist to his ass, and he lifts Shouto with shocking ease. Shouto quickly wraps his legs around Katsuki’s waist to provide some help, but they’re basically eye-level now, and it feels more intimate like that. 

“What do I want?” Katsuki asks, walking back to a cracked door, his footsteps surprisingly light on the floor despite Shouto’s additional weight. He reaches out a foot to nudge the door open so he doesn’t hit Shouto with it, then takes a couple long strides, reaching the bed and laying Shouto down on it with care. 

For a long moment, he just stares at Shouto, as if drinking him in, and Shouto lets his waist go, but doesn’t release his shoulders. 

“Tell me,” Shouto whispers into the dim room. All the curtains are closed, and little light filters in, despite the fact it’s still early evening. It throws the room into an odd sense of twilight that makes everything feel close and intimate. 

This is a mistake, some part of his brain—part that sounds like his father—is trying to tell him. This man is dangerous. 

But Katsuki isn’t the only dangerous one in this room, and Shouto doesn’t care if it’s a mistake. He wants Katsuki. 

Bracing a hand over Shouto, Katsuki cups his face, running his thumb over Shouto’s bottom lip. “I want more than I should ask for,” he says, his voice lower than usual, his pupil looking huge in the dim room. 

“You won’t know if you don’t ask,” Shouto tells him, spreading his legs a little wider in silent invitation, and he sticks his tongue out to tease at Katsuki’s thumb. 

Katsuki pulls his hand away, but only for a moment before he plunges it into Shouto’s bun. “I want to pull your hair down,” he says. “And kiss you till your lips are swollen and bruised.”

Shouto moans, anchoring his feet on the bed to give him leverage to thrust up into Katsuki’s form above him. 

“Yes,” Shouto says, lifting his head to let Katsuki pull his hair free from its clip. It does, falling loose onto the bedding around him. Katsuki lowers his head, teasing his stubble along Shouto’s throat. “What else?” Shouto asks with a soft gasp as a shudder at the feel of the stubble goes through him. 

Surprisingly soft lips touch his pulse, and against his skin, Katsuki murmurs, “I want to strip you of every piece of clothing, be able to see and touch and kiss every inch of you. From every freckle…” He tugs aside the collar of Shouto’s shirt and places another kiss on his collar. “... to every scar.” Pulling back, he then leans forward to kiss at the edge of the scar around Shouto’s eye, but even as he does that, the hand that had been in Shouto’s hair finds one of his hand, and Shouto stills, staring.

Katsuki runs a finger with just a hair more pressure than other touches directly over the scar on the back of Shouto’s hand. A scar Shouto doesn’t show people, the reason he wears his gloves, one he didn’t even realize Katsuki knew about—

Then Shouto remembers the day at the coffee shop, when Denki spilled the boiling coffee on his hand. He had taken off his glove to serve Katsuki, but he hadn’t noticed Katsuki paying attention to his hand then. 

With care, Katsuki pulls the hand off his shoulder, brings it to his mouth, and kisses the back of the glove. “I won’t ask,” he says, and the words feel like a promise. “I just want to be able to see and kiss.”

Shouto doesn’t show his scars. Just imagining Katsuki seeing them makes anxiety rise in his chest. 

I won’t ask, though. 

For a moment, Shouto wants to demand that Katsuki take off his eyepatch—baring a scar for a scar—but it doesn’t feel right to demand that in return. Katsuki isn’t demanding Shouto let him see, he’s asking, and if Shouto replies with a demand, well, it feels wrong. 

“Okay,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

Katsuki sits back, then carefully, as if Shouto’s very hand is precious, removes the first glove. He looks at the scar on Shouto’s palm for a long moment, but says nothing, instead pulling it to his mouth and kissing it. Because of his scars and his gloves, people rarely touch Shouto’s hands, and the rasp of Katsuki’s stubble against his palm as he kisses the scar sends a shudder through Shouto. 

He turns Shouto’s hand around, licks the scar on the back of it, almost like he’s licking somewhere much more intimate, and it goes straight to Shouto’s dick. Flashing a grin at Shouto, he finally puts down Shouto’s hand, gently pushing it against the bedding, a silent stay there gesture. Then he sets about repeating the process with Shouto’s other hand. 

By the time he finishes and presses Shouto’s hand to the bed again, Shouto’s not sure if he’s ever been so turned on in his life. “Katsuki,” he says, a plea in his mouth. 

“You’re not the only one with scars, princess,” Katsuki tells him, reaching behind his head to pull his shirt off. 

Without thought, Shouto’s hands immediately come up to Katsuki’s chest, finding the scars there, tracing them with featherlight touches. He knew Katsuki was dangerous, had been involved in dangerous things—the scars on his face speak to that plainly enough—but there are so many. Some are large, like explosions against his skin, some are the smaller splatters that gunshots leave, and there are a great deal of lines that indicate knives or knife-like weapons. 

Shouto sits up just enough to pull his own top off, though his hands bear the brunt of his own scars, there are a couple others—none so big or dangerous as Katsuki’s—but Shouto wants to worship them all, just as Katsuki had worshiped the ones on his hands. 

Fuck, Katsuki is a gorgeous man, and somehow, the scars, the proof of having survived carved into his skin, only make him even more gorgeous. Shouto kisses at a scar across his ribs, then moves up to take one of Katsuki’s nipples into his mouth. It makes Katsuki throw his head back and sigh, but only for a moment before he buries his hand in Shouto’s loose hair and pulls him, claiming his mouth. 

And it is a claim, his tongue charging in, sweeping into Shouto’s mouth as though it’s where it belongs. Shouto can’t help the needy sound that builds in his throat, and his hands scramble for his pants, which are now far too tight to be comfortable. 

He hates to pull his hands off Katsuki, so he starts with Katsuki’s pants, which—clever man—makes Katsuki reach for his in return. A minute of awkward fumbling later, and they’re both on the bed, completely naked, and Shouto is more than a little pleased to have been right about how big Katsuki felt. 

Since he’s not wearing his gloves anyway, Shouto doesn’t hesitate to reach out and take it in his hand. “Big boy,” he says, stroking it from root to tip. 

Katsuki nearly swallows his tongue when Shouto grabs him. His eyes gleam in the dim room, and the whole thing feels almost like a dream. Shouto feels like a dream, looking up at him like he’s two people joined together—white hair, silver eye, moon-pale skin on one side; blood-red hair, blue eye, and freckles decorating the other half—both of them beautiful on their own, but somehow even more beautiful together. 

As they’d both stripped down, Katsuki had a moment of hesitation where he’d worried, would Shouto be intimidated by his size? It’s not often the reaction he gets, but he has gotten it, and it would suck if Shouto had it. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, he looks pleased, enthusiastic, pupils expanding until there’s barely any silver or blue to see, stroking him like he knows how to handle a man. 

Katsuki strokes his own hands over Shouto’s shoulders, down his back, till he’s cupping that very perfect ass. He teases his own fingers down Shouto’s cleft, finding and teasing over his hole. 

“Still want me inside of you, princess?” he asks, just rubbing a finger over the tight furl of Shouto’s hole. There’s virtually no give to it, which means Shouto’s going to need a good amount of prep, and he’s going to be tight. Katsuki’s cock throbs in anticipation of being buried inside of him. 

Shouto kneels up, still stroking Katsuki, his own dick bumping Katsuki’s stomach. “Can’t you tell?” he asks, glancing up from beneath his lashes. Lashes that match his hair. Hair that Katsuki gives up cupping one of his ass cheeks to touch again, pulling him in and kissing him, claiming his mouth. 

Mine, he thinks. I want you to be mine. There’s no shyness nor shame in the way Shouto reacts to him, just hunger and desire, and it stokes Katsuki’s own need higher. He kisses Shouto, driving deep into his mouth, almost deep enough to tickle his throat, until he feels Shouto pushing at his chest. When he finally releases Shouto’s mouth, Shouto drops his head to Katsuki’s chest, panting, his cock smearing pre against Katsuki’s skin. 

“I want to taste you,” Shouto says. 

If Shouto puts his mouth on Katsuki’s dick, he’s going to come. He debates the pros and cons of that for a heartbeat before using the grip he has in Shouto’s hair to lower his head. As he shifts, it puts his ass out of reach of Katsuki’s hand, but that’s fine. He can tangle both hands in Shouto’s hair, stroke and massage his scalp and neck, coaxing him to take Katsuki deeper and deeper, which is exactly what he does. 

Shouto’s eyes water, but stay fixated on Katsuki as he first takes him in until Katsuki’s bumping up against his gag reflex. His lips are stretched prettily around Katsuki’s dick, and Katsuki feels like his mouth is actually a little tight around him. It’s perfectly hot, good, and wet, and it doesn’t take much encouragement for Shouto to work to take him deeper. Katsuki’s careful not to grip so hard that Shouto can’t pull back if he needs to—and he needs to a couple of times—but with effort and patience, he actually manages to take Katsuki all the way to the root. 

One of Katsuki’s hands massages the base of Shouto’s skull in reward, which makes him moan around him, but what finally pushes him over the edge is his other hand creeping down until he strokes Shouto’s throat. 

Not only does that pressure make Shouto’s throat tighten around him, he can feel his own touch from inside of Shouto, feel how he’s stretching Shouto’s throat, and between Shouto’s groan vibrating along his cock and the knowledge that he’s stretching Shouto’s throat, Katsuki comes, holding Shouto’s head in place to drink him down. 

He doesn’t realize that Shouto’s hips are rubbing against the bedding until he’s pushing against Katsuki’s waist, trying to pull off. Katsuki finally lets him go, and he pulls off with a gasp that turns into a deep, chesty moan, burying his face in his arms. 

Running a hand over Shouto’s hair, tangling it in the strands, Katsuki lets him catch his breath for a couple minutes—giving himself time to recover as well—before he asks, “Still want me inside you, princess?”

Shouto groans into his arms, but turns his head, a single blue eye looking up at Katsuki’s cock, then up the rest of his body. Shouto may have just come from being choked on Katsuki’s dick and rubbing against the bed, but none of the hunger has gone from his eyes. 

“Yes,” he says, almost a hiss, his voice deeper and more raspy from having taken Katsuki down his throat. 

“Good,” Katuski says, shifting his grip to the back of Shouto’s neck like he’s an adorable kitten, and maneuvering him onto his back, kissing him hard and deep, chasing the  taste of himself in Shouto’s mouth even as he gets comfortable between Shouto’s spread legs. When he breaks the kiss, he presses a hand low on Shouto’s abdomen. “Because I want to feel myself in here.”

Shouto moans, and his spent cock twitches against Katsuki’s wrist as he opens his legs wider. 

“So good for me, princess,” Katsuki tells him, having to lean away to reach for the lube and a condom out of his nightstand. He wants nothing more than to feel Shouto’s heat, naked around him, but it’s been too long since he’s been tested to be quite willing to take that risk with Shouto. 

Yet. First thing he’s doing tomorrow is getting the requisite tests. He hasn’t even had Shouto properly yet, but Katsuki already knows that one night with Shouto cannot possibly be enough. 

He pours probably an inappropriate amount of lube on his hand, but kisses down Shouto’s chest, registering the way scraping his stubble over sensitive skin makes him twitch and gasp, and he deliberately rubs his chin over the sharp vee of Shouto’s hip. 

“Katsuki!” he gasps, clutching at the blankets for a moment before pressing his hand to his mouth. 

Grinning, Katsuki presses a slick finger to Shouto’s hole, sliding it in without too much resistance, though he’s tight. “Don’t hide from me, princess,” he says, pressing his tongue across the slight scratches his stubble left as he moves his finger deeper. “I want to hear how much you love it. I want to hear every sound you make.” Against his cheek, Shouto’s cock is filling rapidly, and he lets out an adorable little mewl as he squirms on Katsuki’s finger. Given how forward he’s been, Katsuki doesn’t try to delude himself that Shouto’s a virgin, but it’s clear that he hasn’t been with anyone for a while. 

Using his free hand to shift Shouto’s thighs wider—he is flexible— Katsuki purposefully rubs his stubble over the tender skin of his inner thigh. It makes Shouto gasp and his body tighten around Katsuki’s finger. 

Katsuki makes sure to rub his stubble until it leaves a little patch of stubble burn, then mouths it as he adds a second finger. He doesn’t know which of those two actions makes Shouto respond more, but a full-body shudder goes through him, and his cock hardens more as he keens. The combination of the sights and sounds of Shouto as he’s opened up are quickly bringing Katsuki’s own erection back to life. 

“Open up for me, princess,” he says, shifting to the other side. He hasn’t even brushed Shouto’s prostate yet, and he’s already reacting so beautifully. 

“More, Katsuki…” Shouto groans out, lifting his head from the pillow to stare down at Katsuki. “ More.” 

“More fingers?” Katsuki asks, tugging at Shouto’s rim, watching his cock get even harder, even though he’s still avoiding Shouto’s prostate. “Or more kisses?” He sucks a patch of thigh into his mouth, hard enough that it’s definitely going to leave a very intimate bruise. 

He startles when Shouto’s hands slide into his hair and pull him away from his thigh. There’s something almost feral and dangerous in Shouto that he hasn’t noticed before, and it goes straight to his own dick. 

“Fuck me, or roll over so I can do it myself.” 

Katsuki, fortunately, isn’t knocked off balance easily or for long, and gives Shouto a smirk as he curls the fingers inside of him till he finds Shouto’s prostate. Shouto’s fingers tighten in his hair for a moment before falling away, and he moans. 

“You sure you can take me, princess?” Katsuki asks, kneeling up and adding a third finger that makes Shouto gasp softly. “Do you know how tight you still are? Unless you want to be walking funny tomorrow, let me open you up properly.”

Shouto’s eyes open to thin, predatory slits. “Who says I want to walk straight tomorrow?” he replies, raising a leg to catch an ankle behind Katski’s neck, and using it to pull him forward in a show of—honestly—shocking flexibility. 

This little princess in his bed is not all he seems, Katsuki reminds himself, pulling his fingers out of Shouto and grabbing the condom. He watches Shouto as he rolls it on, thinking about the scars on both palms, through the backs of both hands. The scars may be old, but someone had once stabbed Shouto through his hands, and the scars are large enough that Katsuki knows that when they did, they twisted the knife. Shouto seems naive and helpless, but he’s not shy about what he wants, and he’s not afraid of Katsuki.

Lining up his cock, Katsuki pauses as he realizes— Shouto’s never been afraid of him. Not once. Not the first time Katsuki stepped into the coffee shop, not when he snapped at rude customers that Shouto was unable to, not when he had to hold back from breaking the neck of the assholes harassing Shouto and his sister. Never, for even a heartbeat, had he seen any sign of fear in Shouto. 

What secrets are you hiding? he wonders as he begins to press in. Shouto’s body resists him, not that he’s surprised. He really should have prepped Shouto more, but who is he to argue with his new lover. 

“Relax for me,” he croons out, turning his head to the side to kiss Shouto’s dainty ankle. He doesn’t know if it’s his words or the kiss or if Shouto’s body just finally gives out, but his head slides in, and Shouto throws his own head back, his cock now standing proud and hard again. He tenses his leg and uses it to try and pull Katsuki in deeper. 

Rather than fighting it, Katsuki goes with it, moving at the pace Shouto seems to want, sinking steadily deeper, even though Shouto’s so tight, it’s bordering on painful for him. Shouto isn’t reacting like it’s painful though; quite the opposite. 

When he finally bottoms out, Katsuki strokes his hands up Shouto’s sides to his chest, taking a moment to massage it and knead his nipples, which makes him squirm on Katsuki so beautifully, before he moves his hands back down to nearly encircle Shouto’s waist. 

“I’m all the way inside of you,” he says, soft, barely a whisper.

One of Shouto’s hands moves down to rest low on his abdomen, and he presses down. Katsuki can feel the pressure through Shouto, and whatever it feels like for Shouto, it’s clearly good given the way his cock starts leaking against his belly. 

“You’re so deep…” Shouto whispers, almost sighs. “So full…” He presses down again. “Move, Katsuki. Please… I want to feel you…”

Katsuki pulls out halfway, then rolls forward again, changing the angle enough that he can see his cock bulge on Shouto’s flat stomach for a moment. Shouto moans, his back arching, cock twitching, and his other hand clutching at the bedding. Katsuki begins a slow, tortuous pace, glad he let Shouto suck him off already, or he’d never be able to keep this going. 

He keeps the pace slow and taunting to them both for as long as he can, till Shouto’s going hoarse from whining and moaning, till he’s shuddering with every thrust that rubs up against his prostate and his body is milking Katsuki for each touch. 

When he can’t take it anymore, his hips start jerking, quick, powerful thrusts, making Shouto cry out beneath him. He doesn’t realize how close Shouto is until Shouto tightens around him, nearly strangling his cock, and he feels the heat of Shouto’s come splash against his stomach. It pulls Katsuki with him, and with a roar, he curls his back and claims Shouto’s mouth, letting Shouto swallow his own cry of completion. 

Even when the intensity of their orgasms pass, they kiss, the kisses growing softer, lazier, sweeter, till they both really need to catch their breath. 

Katsuki rolls to the side, pulling out of Shouto, but Shouto immediately turns and presses into his arms, even as they both start laughing. It’s not hysterical or nervous, just the laughter of good sex and endorphins overflowing. 

“We should get cleaned up,” Katsuki says, reaching down to peel his condom off. He ties it off quickly, then tosses it toward the trash behind him. It hits and goes in. 

“Later,” Shouto says, his voice cracking. He snuggles closer to Katsuki, entwining their legs. “I’m comfy.”

Curling his arm around Shouto, Katsuki pulls him in tight, kisses the top of his head, and drifts off to sleep himself.

A soft buzzing pulls Shouto out of a very good sleep. His body is still humming with the satisfaction of really, really good sex, even as he feels the aches of tender spots from Katsuki’s mouth and beard. 

“Is that my phone?” Katsuki asks, voice rough with sleep. 

“No—” Shouto’s voice cracks, his throat feeling dry and raw. “That’s mine,” he says, rolling out of bed, feeling the soreness setting in as he pushes to his feet. He stumbles, feeling clumsy as he finds his pants, and pulls his phone out. 

He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back as he checks the message. 

[Assignment. High priority. Sorry to interrupt your date.]

Damn. 

Sighing, Shouto finds the rest of his clothes and starts pulling them on. 

“Do you need to go?” 

“Unfortunately,” Shouto admits. He pulls his sweater over his head and tugs his hair out from under the collar, then goes back to where Katsuki at some point had gotten under the covers. He tugs Katsuki’s face toward him and gives him a kiss that’s as much a promise as a reassurance. “I’ll look forward to seeing you at the cafe,” he says. 

Katsuki grabs his arm and pulls him in for another kiss. When he breaks it, against Shouto’s lips, he says, “I’ll text you for our next date.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Shouto tells him honestly, pressing another quick kiss to Katsuki’s mouth before straightening and dancing out of his reach. It’s only ten, later than Shouto thought it was, but early enough that Aizawa’s text isn’t entirely out of reason. 

“I’ll see you out,” Katsuki says, starting to get up. 

“I’ll lock the door after me,” Shouto assures. “Sleep well, Katsuki.”

He slips out without another sound. As soon as he hits the street, he calls Aizawa. “What’s the job?” he asks. 

“Do you still have a spare suit at the cafe?” 

“Yeah,” he says. 

“Grab it and go from there. I’ll message you the details. You’re closer anyway.”

Shouto pulls out the cafe key and lets himself in. “You’re not going to nag me about my date?” he asks. 

“Work first. Interrogation later.”

“Yes, boss,” Shouto says, laughing as he goes to his locker and pulls out the bag there. He wishes he had a chance to shower before going out, but, well, sometimes work came at inconvenient times. 

And whoever dragged him from Katsuki’s bed isn’t going to live to regret it.