Archive of Our Own

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Katsuki fucking hates Tuesdays.

It’s smack-dab in the middle of first shift and he’s manning the coffee shop bar on his own. One, because Mina’s in class all morning, and two, because Denki can’t come in until noon. A few regulars stroll in one after another, and he takes their orders grumpily and slams down each marked cup like he has a personal vendetta against it—which he fucking does, some people have no taste whatsoever when it comes to ordering good coffee.

Some of them ask where Mina is as he takes their money, since she’s usually the cashier, and Katsuki rattles off some excuse, brows pinched as he chooses not to linger on her as a subject.

So maybe he’s still annoyed over that text she sent him earlier listing all the things he should and shouldn’t do while she’s away, but he thinks he has the right to be. Who does she think she is, telling him what to do when he’s the one who hired her? Bakugou Fucking Katsuki doesn’t need a to-do list—he can do whatever he wants.

It’s his fucking coffee shop.

It doesn’t help that they’re also his friends and he has to see them outside of their scheduled shifts, too. Katsuki doesn’t hear the end of their teasing: “Kats is so mean!”, “Kats screamed at me!”, “Kats hurts my feelings at least thrice a day!”—if he hears Denki complain about him while they’re hanging with Sero and Eijirou one more time...

Katsuki hands a latte to the customer on the other side of the counter with a ground out: “Have a nice day.”

The crowd slows, and soon, he only has to deal with a trickle of one or two people coming in at a time. It’ll be this way until the afternoon rush, so Katsuki takes this time to tinker around with some of the equipment—replacing a missing screw on one of the cabinet doors, fixing a loose knob on the sink. It’s like some form of therapy, the way it calms him down. Which is something he could use right now, especially when he has to deal with clientele face to face a lot more often.

Katsuki’s not always in a bad mood, and he’s not always short with people, but there’s something about the morning crowd that just drives him insane.

Finishing up on the loose sink knob and turning on the water to double check his work, he notices that he’s completely alone. The couple sitting at the booth in the far corner of the shop and the old man by the wall of quirky, painted portraits have disappeared during his workshopping. Only the soft sound of Denki’s lo-fi playlist floats in the background.

Katsuki takes the opportunity to look around; to appreciate what he’s got.

It’s not blue-collared luxury, but he likes it. It’s fast-paced most of the time, it’s enjoyable—he gets to live on the tacked-on second floor and kick people out whenever the fuck he wants. And it makes money, so he doesn’t have to ask anybody for anything. Katsuki refuses to move back in with his parents, no matter what the circumstance. He’d rather DIE than let his old hag win.

Not like his mom doesn’t call at least once a week, though, asking about every little thing. Katsuki knows she secretly wants him to succeed, she's a good mom, but they’re the same fucking beast and if she won’t relent then he sure as hell isn’t going to either. She’ll have to pull this win from his cold, dead hands.

Cackling under his breath, Katsuki turns the sink off with a shove, making the handles squeak.

Without much of anything to do at the moment, he puts on a pot of coffee before the next rush. It’s decaf, for the old-timers, because the clock’s finally struck ten and they’ll be shuffling over on their walkers after popping their pills and vitamins any minute now. There’s never a lot of them, but Katsuki makes sure to cater to their needs anyway.

A paying customer’s a paying customer.

The bell above the door rings but Katsuki doesn’t pay any mind to it, especially when whoever it is decides to stand four feet from the cash register without saying a word. He keeps doing what he’s doing (cleaning spigots now)—they can wait if they’re not gonna say anything.

It’s five minutes and counting before they finally do.

“Can I get a cup of water?”

Katsuki looks up and gets roundhouse-kicked in the face by the sight of the prettiest fucking guy he’s ever seen in his life. He’s tall and slender, with long red and white hair split right down the middle cascading over his shoulders. A few wayward strands tickle at his cheeks, but it’s mostly pinned back into some neat half-up do, leaving two-toned eyes to match and nice, clear skin for all to see.

Well, nice and clear minus the off-shade scar surrounding his left eye, but Katsuki doesn’t really give a fuck that it’s there. It looks cool.

Still, pretty boy half-face has the audacity to come in here and ask for a cup of water? Which Katsuki will give to him because it is eighty degrees outside and he’s not a goddamn monster. He’s not going to be responsible for this guy if he has a heat stroke—though that’s beside the point.

Grabbing a water cup from one of the stands, he opens the fridge under the bar where they keep the filtered stuff and fills it up to the brim, kicking the door shut with his foot.

Katsuki sets the cup down on the counter between them. “Here.”

“Thank you,” Halfie says before taking it into his hands. “I'll put this to good use.”

He’s gone, just like that, and Katsuki goes back to cleaning the bar without so much as a second thought.

What the fuck ever, he guesses.

Katsuki forgets about the whole ordeal completely once a handful of customers walk through the door, and he’s preoccupied with making drinks for the next twenty minutes. The rush comes and goes, and Katsuki cleans up the mess he’s made at the bar before it starts all over again.

“Do you have any bread I could have?”

It’s that Half n’ Half guy again. He stares down at Katsuki from over the coffee capsule, blinking his mismatched eyes as he asks for something else au gratis without a single ounce of shame.

“That you could ‘have’?” Katsuki rises to full height, crossing his arms over his chest. It’s only the second time, but he’s already losing his patience with the guy. He hates people like this—the least he could do is place a freaking order. “You plan on actually buying anything?”

“Oh, right.” Halfie takes a step back and looks at the menu, reaching into the pocket of his sweater. “Can I get a hot mocha with strawberry syrup and mint whipped cream?” he orders, fingers flexing around the little paw-shaped wallet he retrieves. “And some bread. Please.”

Katsuki does his best not to make a face as he walks over to the till and picks up a fresh cup and a sharpie. Halfie’s still technically a customer, however unexpected. “I’m guessing you don’t want the liquid cane if you’re getting syrup.”

“No, I want that, too. Extra.”

Don’t say anything—don't fucking say anything. Katsuki raises his brows sardonically, muttering something under his breath about diabetes as he scribbles along the side of the cup and types the price in on the old analog. “Six forty-two.”

Halfie pays with one of those annoying ass metal credit cards that barely fit into the slot of the machine and Katsuki rips off his receipt, one from the register and one from the card reader, and hands it all back in a neat pile before heading over to the bar.

After a few seconds, Halfie follows, eyes meeting his across the counter. He remains silent, and Katsuki decides to ignore him, busying himself with pulling an ungodly amount of flavorings from the rack of syrups in front of him. Only after he bends down to grab a gallon of milk from the bar fridge does Halfie open his mouth to talk.

“There's a pigeon outside and he's hurt.”

Katsuki doesn’t answer, just fills a pitcher with milk and attaches it to the espresso machine’s steam rod, turning it on with the flick of a switch. Halfie waits until the screeching sound of it stops to speak again.

“It looks like he fell from his nest.”

Katsuki smashes one of the buttons with his finger, drawing a shot of espresso.

“He only has one eye.”

Did he fucking ask?

“Did I fucking ask?”

Shouto is silent for a moment and Katsuki almost regrets opening his mouth—until.

“It's sad, isn't it?”

“Sure,” Katsuki relents, combining the various parts of the coffee drink together in its cup and handing it Halfie over the counter. For once, he doesn’t slam it down onto the table. “Here.”

“The bread?” Halfie asks, taking a sip from it with a surprised little hum.

Katsuki holds up his forefinger as he walks over to the bread box between the kitchen door’s nook and a line of milk frothers. They don’t do bread, technically. Katsuki only likes selling homemade pastries and cakes—not sandwiches—but it’s not like they don’t have any around.

Denki eats peanut butter sandwiches on his lunch break and peanut butter sandwiches only, so he keeps a loaf in the kitchen like Katsuki isn’t going to steal from it whenever he damn well pleases.

Unrolling the plastic around the loaf and grabbing a pair of tongs from a labeled appliance block, he plucks out a slice of bread and drops it into one of their square pastry bags, putting everything away exactly the way he found it before turning back to Halfie at the counter. Folding the bag at the lip, Katsuki offers it to him, earning a soft ‘thank you’ in return.

“Break it up into pieces,” Katsuki reminds him as he takes it in his hands.

Halfie’s brows knit. “Who would feed a pigeon a whole slice of bread?”

The hair on the back of Katsuki’s neck stands up, cheeks warming, and he prides himself on the fact that he waits until Halfie’s turned his back and is halfway out the door before giving him the finger.

Denki walks in not two minutes later, humming like an idiot and just barely on time for his shift.

“Hey, Kats. You look angry, as usual,” he comments, stepping behind the counter with a grin.

“Yeah, yeah. Clock in and get on the register. I’m so fuckin' tired.”

“Of people, he doesn’t say,” Denki narrates as he stamps his card and tosses his apron around his neck. “I got ya, Bossman.”

Things become easier after that. Denki rings up customers on the register, annoyingly flirtatious in the way that only charms women over the age of thirty-five, and Katsuki works the bar while recharging his social battery (which was already capped at thirty percent, but that’s neither here nor fucking there). And all is mediocre in the world.

The doorbell rings after a little bit of quiet time. Denki’s singing softly as he wipes down his station and restocks a few tubes of chocolate-covered almonds, and Katsuki’s lubing up the steam rod for the tenth time today because there’s no way he’s paying an insane amount of money for an espresso-machine-related mishap a third time.

Katsuki’s eyes flicker up for a second, and he has to do a double take.

This guy again.

“Welcome—!”

Halfie walks over to the counter in a hurry, bypassing Denki completely and stopping right in front of Katsuki at the bar. A silent stare-off begins, but it doesn’t last long—Halfie’s gonna have to move it the hell along. He’s got work to do.

“What do you want now?” Katsuki asks.

“I have to go to class, but I'll be right back,” Halfie says.

Katsuki shoots him a withering look. “Okay?”

“Can you check on the pigeon and fill the little cup I left next to him with more water in about an hour?”

A hand slams down on the bar counter. “Why the hell would I do that?!”

“Because you seem like a good person who wouldn't let something happen to a suffering animal.”

Katsuki pulls a face. The fucking audacity.

“Fine,” he says, for the bird, and maybe his pride—not for Halfie.

Halfie’s already halfway into his pocket, though, pulling out that dumb cat-shaped wallet. “I’ll buy something else, I—”

“I said fine, already! I’ll look after your stupid one-eyed pigeon.” How freaking exasperating.

Halfie looks extremely pleased with his answer, shifting his gaze as he tries to hold back a smile. And if it does something to Katsuki, well, he’s sure as hell not going to admit it.

“He actually has both eyes. I just wanted to know you were listening.”

Katsuki’s left staring after him, expression morphing between four different kinds of annoyed. When he turns back to the bar, Denki’s leaning against the counter, one eyebrow raised and a mischievous smile spreading over his face. Katsuki’s eye twitches.

“Shut your fucking face—”

“Bro, who was that?!”

◈

Katsuki sleeps in the next day.

He’s still an early riser, but waking with the sun instead of before it is pretty fucking great, if he says so himself.

After cooking breakfast and sifting through his mail from the day before, Katsuki spends the morning working out in his living room and catching up on a bit of housekeeping. The apartment isn’t dirty or anything, but there’s a thin layer of dust on his bookshelf and piled-up laundry from the last week that he has yet to do.

Which is really fucking funny, seeing as half the books on that shelf are manga volumes Sero left here and the first thing he sees upon emptying the hamper are Denki’s bright yellow joggers. When he cleans the bathroom (since he’s already on a roll), Mina’s glittery pink makeup bag is tucked inside one of the drawers beside the black pouch holding his soaps and deodorants, and he’s pretty sure he saw at least three of Eijirou’s old school bombers hanging in his closet while he put up his clothes.

If he didn’t like them just a little bit more than everyone else, Katsuki swears he would’ve pawned all their shit already.

Opening the curtains, he squints his eyes as the sun’s rays blaze through his window. It’ll be hot again today, Katsuki thinks; which means lots of iced coffees for cafe-goers.

Lots of water cups.

That is, if Halfie actually comes by again today to visit that injured bird he was talking about.

Katsuki never actually left the shop to check on the pigeon. He got busy at the last minute and ended up asking Mina to peek at it real quick while she visited during her break between classes. She’d given him a funny look, but did it anyway, shooting him one of those sympathetic pouty faces and a thumbs up through the window before heading back to campus.

Part of him feels a little guilty about it, but it was done as requested. Halfie only came back one more time after that, to thank him, so it isn’t Katsuki’s problem anymore.

He can spend today in peace.

Afternoon rolls around quickly for Katsuki. As soon as he opens the door to his apartment, he can hear clinking mugs and chatter rising from the cafe downstairs.

Making his way down to the front counter, he heads straight over to the timecard punch without once glancing back at his full house. Katsuki grabs one of the green aprons hanging from the rack beside the station (next to a bunch of blues, pinks, and yellows—thanks to Denki “But My Self-Expression” Kaminari), and throws it over his head, tying the strings at his waist and turning to see Mina by herself at the bar for whatever reason.

Where the hell is Denki? Why isn’t Mina moving her ass from his spot? Why is she looking at Katsuki like that? He hates it.

“Hey, Boss,” she says, like an asshole. “Someone’s at the register. Can you get them?”

It's Half n’ Half, Katsuki realizes the second he gets to the till, because of course it is. Out of his periphery, Katsuki catches Mina flashing him a smile and a stupid little wink, and he wonders idly just what the hell Denki told her about this guy because he definitely hadn’t filled her in.

Speaking of—where is Dunce Face? Mina better not be covering for his late ass.

“Can I help you?” Katsuki asks, eyes flickering back to Halfie.

“They never came for it,” Halfie says, eyes downcast and lips frowning slightly.

Katsuki’s brows pinch. “Who never came for what?”

“I called the local rescue yesterday and told them about the pigeon. They said they’d look into it and pick him up by the end of the day, but they never did.”

Oh, Katsuki thinks. He wants to be annoyed about it, but hearing it does kind of suck. If a bird’s out on the street and hurt, why wouldn’t they come for it? What kind of animal rescue doesn't do their goddamn job?

“I think I might have to take it myself.” Fist tightening around his backpack strap, Halfie lifts his gaze. “Do you have something I can put it in?”

Should’a known.

“You sure don’t have a problem asking for shit, do ya?” Katsuki snipes.

“I’m going to buy something,” he says, leveling with Katsuki’s glare. “I just want to make sure he’s safe first.”

“What about this?” Mina asks, waving a red plastic food basket in the air as she walks over from the storage closet. “We never use them. They were part of an inventory sample from one of our distributors.”

“That’s perfect.” Halfie smiles, and he’s all eyes on Katsuki when he says: “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki grumbles.

Half n’ Half turns to walk back outside, and then, like he’s thought of something else to ask for for free, he makes a complete one-eighty, taking two rushed steps back to the counter.

“Can you come pick it up for me?”

“What?” Katsuki huffs, giving Halfie an incredulous look. “You can’t pick it up on your own?”

“I’m too afraid to pick it up,” he admits sullenly. “What if I hurt it?”

“And I'll be gentle?”

“Yes,” Halfie replies, unwavering. “You will.”

Katsuki’s face burns at that and he grunts through his teeth. “Shut the hell up. Where is it?”

“I’ll man the register for you, bro!” a voice says from beside him, and Katsuki turns his head to see Denki standing at the register.

“Where the hell did you come from?!”

He answers with a stupid little grin.

Unfortunately, Katsuki doesn’t have the time to be annoyed. Halfie’s practically begging him to follow with those pretty, blinking eyes of his. Ugh, he can’t wait to fire Denki the second he gets back, though. Stalking right through the counter’s swinging door, Katsuki snatches up the plastic basket from Halfie’s hand and walks out to the front patio with him in tow.

Surveying the area, he easily spots the pigeon inside a small nook between the connected buildings of his shop and the complex next door. It’s cooing—as pigeons fucking do—head twitching around as they step closer. Beady eyes stare up at them, two giant towers overshadowing the sun, and it pathetically attempts to flap its wings. Feathers ruffle, nothing more.

Katsuki feels kind of bad for it. It’s lying a little too close to the sidewalk, people and cars flying by left and right around it, without the strength to drag itself to safety. And it looks like no one but Halfie even cared to do something about it.

It’s fucked up.

Crouching down, Katsuki reaches over carefully, one hand cupping the pigeon beneath its breast while the other gently hovers in a half-circle around its folded wings. He lifts it with gentle ease and, in return, it pecks the shit out of his finger.

“Ow, you asshole!”

“Be careful, he’s hurt,” Halfie stresses.

“Yeah, no shit.” Katsuki scowls. He’s the one who got attacked—the fucking nerve of this guy. Placing it inside the red basket, Katsuki picks the pigeon up off the ground, standing back up and offering it to Halfie with an angry-looking sulk. “Take it.”

Half n’ Half looks down at the pigeon for a long moment, seemingly indifferent. When his gaze flickers back up, Katsuki can tell he’s unsure. “Can you bring it inside for me?”

“Hah?” Katsuki glares. “No fucking way are you bringing it into my shop!”

“I’ll look after it. He won’t cause trouble,” Halfie promises. “I still have to buy coffee anyway. Are you going to deny a paying customer?”

“I have the right to refuse service.”

Halfie stares at him.

Katsuki stares back.

And then rolls his eyes because he’s not an actual child.

“It can stay while you drink, but the second it flaps a fucking feather out of line—”

“Thank you,” Halfie says quickly, stepping around Katsuki to hold the door open for him. “Come on. We should get him some more water and bread.”

They walk back inside, all calm silence and angry muttering, and Katsuki growls down at the pigeon as he continually pecks at his fingers.

“Quit it, you goddamn demon! Why the hell do you wanna save this thing?”

“He's a pigeon, Katsuki,” Halfie uselessly reminds him.

Oh, so it’s a ‘he’ now—wait.

Hah?

“Don't call me that.” Katsuki sets the pigeon onto the nearest table. It’s the one by the portrait wall. “Who even told you my name?”

Halfie points to Mina at the till, who smiles all big and bright as Katsuki glowers at her.

“When did you even have the time?!”

“My name is Shouto,” Halfie tells him, leaning into Katsuki’s view, long hair falling like a curtain between him and Mina.

“I feel like I never ask, but you always tell anyway.”

Shouto smiles a little, though his brows draw together; it makes him look distressed. “Do I bother you?”

Whatever annoyance Katsuki’s feeling dissipates instantly, and he drops his shoulders, lips pressing into a thin line.

It’s stupid of him, he thinks, to be this short with a stranger. Shouto probably thinks he’s a giant asshole.

Setting the bird down at the nearest table, Katsuki sighs through his nose. “Shut up and sit down. I’ll make you your stupid cup of sugar.”

“You remember what it is?” Shouto asks.

“Nobody’s got a better memory than me,” Katsuki says, as if he could forget anything about Shouto. Everything, down to his weird ass coffee tastes is memorable. Who could forget someone whose hair is split di-chromatically right down the middle? He’s completely two-toned—from his eyes to his brows to the fine hairs of his lashes.

Shouto sits down with the pigeon at the table by the portrait wall as Katsuki goes and makes his drink. It’s an easy order despite Katsuki feeling like nothing actually goes together—at least not with coffee as the base. But it’s ready and done in less than two minutes, and with a few finishing touches, Katsuki sets it on a tray to carry over to Shouto.

Passing by the pastry display on his way to the door, he takes pause, eyes coasting over the different treats inside as a thought brews in his head.

Setting the tray back down on the counter, he reaches into one of the cabinets and pulls out a plate, walking right past the display and into the kitchen instead.

On one of the tables inside, there’s a chocolate and orange torte Katsuki’s been testing a recipe for under the clear cloche of a cake stand. It’s perfectly even, without any dips or cracks, though the sugar coating the candied oranges had crystallized to a frosty white and he still hasn’t figured out how to prevent it from happening.

That’s why it’s back here and not out there.

Without a second thought, he digs through the racks for the right appliances and cuts a pretty slice. It’s not the perfect compliment to Shouto’s complicated coffee drink, but Katsuki’s not sure anything actually is, so this will have to do.

Exiting the kitchen with the plate, he grabs a wrapped fork and the mug tray and makes his way back to Shouto’s table.

Shouto’s cheek is propped up with a fist, and he’s watching the pigeon quietly as it takes in its surroundings in jerky, nervous movements. He only notices Katsuki’s there when he kicks at his shoe.

“You took a while,” Shouto says, like an ungrateful brat.

“Quality takes time, this isn’t fucking Starbucks.”

Katsuki sets the tray down, arms crossed over his chest and eyes staring expectantly. He waits, and Shouto must finally get the memo after a few more seconds of his brain-boring gaze, because he reaches for the fork and stabs off a little piece.

“What’s this? It looks good,” he asks.

“Just some leftovers from this morning.” Katsuki shrugs.

“Orange,” Shouto murmurs quietly, taking a bite. As he chews—slowly, thoughtfully—his eyes widen. He looks down at the plate in calm regard. “It’s amazing.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Katsuki turns on his heel with a stupid, smug smile, swiping the back of his hand over his nose. “Damn right it is,” he mutters, leaving Shouto and the bird behind and getting back to work.

Shouto sticks around throughout the afternoon—reading his school books, scribbling notes, and being an all around decent guest.

Katsuki peeks over the bar and catches him smiling over at his dumb bird here and there, but otherwise, he’s invested in whatever it is he’s studying for class. Every once in a while, Mina and Denki will stop at his table to chat him up (taking every opportunity to slack off that they can, in Katsuki’s eyes). Katsuki doesn’t really say anything about it until he’s finished off the last few cups lining his bar and sees them there, crowding Shouto at his table as they murmur quietly.

Drying his washed hands with a paper towel as he walks over, Katsuki opens his mouth to nag at them, but stops short when he notices the concern on their faces. Turning his head to look over at Shouto, he’s not surprised to see that he seems a little worried, too.

The pigeon, sitting quietly in the center of the basket he’s in, looks low on spirits. Its eyes are lidded, and it’s no longer trilling a string of continuous coos.

“What’s wrong with him?” Mina asks, fingers curled beneath her chin.

Shouto dips his head, observing whatever damage he can see. “It looks like he’s got a sprained wing.”

“Its foot’s messed up, too,” Katsuki mentions, because it’s obvious.

“Really?”

“Look, it’s favorin’—ow!” Snatching his hand back from where the pigeon got a hold of his finger. “You ungrateful little fuck!”

The pigeon coos, and somewhere behind him, Denki giggles.

“You’re right. It’s a little red and swollen,” Shouto says, lips pressing together tightly. “It’s not broken, at least.”

Mina tilts her head. “How do you know, Shouto?”

Shouto looks embarrassed for the first time since they've met. The way he reacts, it almost feels like something Katsuki wants to unpack, but it’s clearly not the time. “It’s fairly easy to tell once you know what to look for.”

Katsuki doesn’t have anything to say to that; it rubs him the wrong way. Instead, he takes a look around the table they’re all gathered around. Shouto’s made himself comfortable since they brought the pigeon in. It doesn’t look like he’ll be going anywhere any time soon.

Reaching over and grabbing Shouto’s mug from earlier, he resolves something.

“Oh, I haven’t finished,” Shouto says when he notices what Katsuki’s doing.

“It’s cold,” Katsuki counters over his shoulder, stepping through the swinging door. “I’ll make you a new one, so can it.”

Grabbing a new mug and scrapping the old, Katsuki gets to work again, making a face when all of Shouto’s syrups mix together at the bottom. It smells too goddamn sweet. No taste.

“Look at him trying to shift around,” Denki comments as he’s walking back to the table. “I wonder if he’s okay in that basket.”

“It’s not like we have anything else,” Katsuki says, mug in hand. Shouto reaches out and he hands it over, watching as he takes a sip and hums contently.

“No, but we can make him more comfortable,” Mina voices, rushing behind the counter and making her way back with a couple of folded hand towels, much to Katsuki’s disdain. “Here, I’ve got something soft for him to lie on.”

“Those cost money, Pinky! You paying for those?” Katsuki gripes.

Mina turns her nose up at him, choosing to pay Shouto all her attention instead. “Don’t listen to him. I’m sure Bakugou won’t care if you take a couple for your bird.”

“Woman! Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Handing the towels to Shouto, Mina carefully shifts the pigeon with her fingers while he begins lining its makeshift bed. It takes him a good ten minutes, but once Shouto’s happy with it, and after they’ve all stared at it (there was weaving involved—fucking weaving), he picks up his mug and takes one more long gulp of his drink before setting it back down and standing from his seat.

“I’ve overstayed,” Shouto says, and before Katsuki could tell him that no, he hasn’t—they’re technically still open for another four goddamn hours: “I should probably let you guys get to work.”

Gathering his things together, Shouto slings his backpack over his shoulder, freezing in place when his gaze falls to the pigeon in the middle of the table. He seems stricken all of a sudden, as if he’s come to a realization.

“Katsuki,” Shouto begins, turning to look at him, “can I keep him here?”

Katsuki backs away—draws an invisible goddamn line with his brain.

“What? No! Take him back with you.” Great, now he’s gendering it.

“I live in the dorms. I don’t think it’d be a good idea,” Shouto counters. “And you live here, right? In the apartment above.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Mina told me.”

From beside him, Mina grins victoriously, and Katsuki points an imposing finger at her.

“I should fire your ass,” for breach of employer-employee confidentiality or some shit. Katsuki turns back to Shouto with a grimace. “Weren’t you going to take him to the rescue or whatever?”

“They’re probably closed at this time, and I’m not sure how close they are. It’ll only be for a day or two, at most. I swear.” Pressing his lips together unevenly, he stares into Katsuki’s fucking soul. “It would mean a lot to me.”

He doesn’t know why he says it—doesn’t know why he doesn’t put his foot down right then and there—but he guesses it has something to do with the way Shouto looks at him. With the way those stupid pretty eyes stare him down piercingly.

They shouldn’t have that kind of power—it’s fucking weird—but here Katsuki is, giving in like a loser.

Or a hero.

Who’s to say?

“One fucking day.”

“Thank you,” Shouto says, seemingly relieved by that. He takes a few backward steps toward the entrance, almost knocking into someone leaning against the frame. It’s fucking Sero of all people. “Oh, excuse me.”

“You’re okay,” Sero tells him, turning his head to watch every step Shouto takes out of the door.

Kicking off the wall he’s leaning against, Sero turns to the rest of them, bottom lip caught between his teeth and a shit-eating grin on his face. Giving Katsuki a peculiar look, he tosses his thumb back at the door.

“Holy shit, he’s hot.”

“I know, right?” Denki oscillates his brows.

Katsuki scowls. “Get the fuck out.”

“And he totally has you wrapped, dude. I’ve never seen you so easy.” Sero clasps his hands together, pressing them to his cheek with a dreamy sigh. “‘It would mean a lot to me, Katsu-Katsu!’”

“‘Whatever you want, Shouto!’” Denki chimes in, in a voice that's supposed to be Katsuki’s, apparently.

Sharing a high five, the two of them cackle, and Katsuki boils over.

“I’m going to kill you! All of you—especially you.” He shoves a finger in Mina’s face; she rolls her eyes.

“You have to admit, you were pretty quick to say ‘yes’ to him.”

Somewhere, the pigeon coos. Almost like it agrees.

“I couldn’t see it before, but is that a bird?” Sero steps closer to the table for confirmation before turning to Denki. “Babe, I thought you told them about my cat cafe idea?”

“Uh, ahuh!” Denki laughs his reply nervously, rubbing the back of his head. “We need cats for a cat cafe, so, uh... It’s bait—for the strays!”

“First of all, no way is this going to become a stupid cat cafe,” Katsuki refutes, ignoring Sero’s somber ‘awh’. “And second, what the fuck is wrong with you?” He smacks the back of Denki’s head, glaring at his pouting face. “Idiot.”

Sero shoots Denki an accusing look. “It’s ‘cause you didn’t tell him in the first place.”

“I meant to, I swear!”

“The betrayal.”

Throwings his arms around Hanta’s waist, Denki throws his head back and whines. “Hanta, I’m sorry, I—”

Sero laughs lightly, patting the top of Denki’s head, and Mina shakes her head at the both of them.

“Another easy one,” she says.

“'Another easy one,'” Katsuki mocks, snatching a towel off the table. He picks the bird and its makeshift nest up much more carefully with his other hand, giving his crew a quick once-over. “Quit standin’ around already. What am I paying you for?”

“Showing up!” Mina answers, not skipping a beat. “If I’m being honest, I don’t think my per hour can be considered a livable wage.”

“Are we unionizing?” Denki asks.

“I technically don’t work here,” Sero adds.

“Just lock up and take the freaking key! You’re both on morning shift tomorrow,” Katsuki says grouchily.

“Yes, sir!” Denki salutes him, turning his gaze to Mina. “I still think we should unionize.”

Mina snorts out a short giggle. “All two of us?”

“I dunno if that’s a good idea,” Hanta sighs. “I feel like you’d both go missing all of a sudden.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, glaring down at the bird with a grumble. He takes it to the back room past the kitchen—a small, empty square that he’s technically supposed to use as an office but doesn’t because he lives right upstairs. If he needs to do any paperwork, he’d rather do it in the comfort of his own apartment. It’s roomy enough for the bird, at any rate, and he can easily adjust the temperature if he has to.

And, if Shouto wanted, he could come in and out of here to spend time with his bird without getting in anyone’s way.

So, Katsuki fixes it up in a corner, grabbing a ramicand for water and another full of pumpkin seeds from the kitchen before observing his work.

The bird coos, and Katsuki sighs.

“Dumb pigeon.”

“It would mean a lot to me.”

He fucking hates birds.

Turning off the light of the storage room, Katsuki crosses the kitchen and walks out into the bar, shoving past Mina and Denki cleaning as Sero talks their ear off from a booth. With one last wave and a few muttered ‘goodnights’, Katsuki makes his way up the stairwell that sits behind the wall beside the counter entrance.

“Hey. I’m missing three slices of bread!” Denki’s voice echoes through the tight hall as he unlocks his apartment door. “If you’re going to steal from your workers, at least do it evenly!”

Katsuki throws his head back with a loud cackle as it slams shut behind him.

◈

It’s pouring rain outside.

Katsuki’s lying face up on his couch, an old episode of ALL MIGHT: SYMBOL OF PEACE playing soundlessly on his television. It was his favorite show to watch as a kid—still is in some ways. He likes to play it in the background when he’s doing something these days. Or at times like this: in the quiet, in the rain, when he stops worrying about being productive for just a second.

It’s the only thing he can stand interrupting him while he’s thinking.

Some feet away, the pigeon coos methodically with the hard pattering from inside the box Katsuki found for him the second night of his stay. Usually, he keeps the stupid thing in the back room for when Shouto comes to check on it, like he has for the past two days, but the rain’s been heavier and the thunder’s been unpredictable and Katsuki’s tired of worrying about it getting spooked and falling from its perch—so he grabbed it and brought it up here, imagining that Shouto would be rather pleased by that.

At least it seems to be in a better mood. It was probably in shock most of the afternoon after he and Shouto carried him into the cafe. It’s a good thing they took it in—Katsuki’s not sure it would’ve survived these intense spring showers holed up in that little corner.

“You get to live, all ‘cause some pretty boy stranger decided to take pity on you, and all ‘cause I decided to let you stay. Remember that before you peck me again, got it?”

It’s pecked him at least once a day since, but Katsuki doesn’t have the heart to make pigeon stew like he’s been threatening. Not when Shouto bribes him with his fancy ten-pound credit card and starts ordering things off the menu frantically—as if he’s had to pay for any coffee since that very first drink.

Come to think of it, Katsuki’s never seen him in the shop before. That first drink had really been his first time there. Back then, had Shouto walked past his place every day he had class and just never come in? Does he actually frequent some other cafe? Like one of those crappy chain places. Katsuki bets he does—he’s got this rich kid vibe going on. He probably goes to one that has reward card apps and plays shitty, company-approved playlists; Katsuki’s tiny cafe has never been anywhere on his radar.

If it wasn’t for the injured bird, then, would he have just never come in at all?

If he hadn’t needed water and bread, would he have just passed by like it was any other day?

If that’s true and Shouto hadn’t, he never would've stood in Katsuki’s cafe, wrapped in a sweater in eighty degree weather, sipping a cupful of sugar. Making small-talk with Mina and Denki; smiling at Katsuki or laughing under his breath at something he (very goddamn seriously) said; watching him with gazy eyes. Not that Katsuki cares about what Shouto does or what his dumb smile looks like.

Or his stupid, pretty face.

Katsuki shuts the television off with a click of his remote.

Pushing himself up from the couch, he decides not being awake sounds pretty fucking good right now. He tidies up the coffee table and turns off all the lights before heading down the hall.

The pigeon coos at him as he walks by, stares up at him in the dark, its twitchy little head tilting back and forth disconcertingly. Katsuki pauses just to look at it, and its soft trilling only seems to get louder the longer he stands there. With a long sigh, he turns back into the living room.

Grabbing the throw hanging over the back of his couch, Katsuki blankets it across the top of the pigeon’s box, muttering for it to ‘go the fuck to sleep’ before shoving past his cracked-open door and into his room.

◈

He takes the morning shift the next day.

“Guess who’s waiting for you again,” Mina sing-songs as Katsuki steps out of the kitchen with a tray of pastries.

Her grin tells him all he needs to know. After he places all of his baked oranges neatly within the display and shoots Mina a belated middle finger, Katsuki walks away from the bar and into the front of the house. Shouto’s standing in front of the little table he usually sits at, staring up at the framed paintings lining the wall.

It’s a shitshow of “mashed media”—every piece is a variation of a famous artwork that features one of Katsuki’s friends as the subject.

As Katsuki takes his place by Shouto’s side, he catches his mismatched eyes staring right at Denki as “The Scream” before they flicker to “Mina with a Pearl Earring”.

“I’ve never noticed these paintings on the wall,” Shouto comments nonchalantly.

“You sit at this table everyday and never noticed them?” Katsuki asks. It doesn’t have enough bite. “Mina’s an artist. She makes all these dumb mash-ups for fun and the customers fucking love them.”

Shouto stares intently at All Might, the star of Mina’s rendition of “The Birth of Venus” and Katsuki’s favorite character of all time, and cocks his head. “A picture’s worth a thousand words.”

“No fuckin’ kidding.”

“They’re funny.”

“Is that why you’re not laughing?”

The visible corner of Shouto’s lips quirk, but Katsuki knows it’s a symmetrical curve all the way across.

“Do you go to the university?” he asks after a while, turning toward Katsuki completely. “I realized yesterday that I’ve never actually seen you there.”

Katsuki sniffs, shrugging his shoulders. “Nah, I’m not enrolled right now. I’m saving up for culinary school.”

“Really?” Shouto’s eyes brighten; he seems genuinely interested.

“I make pastries and cakes for this place, but I want to be a chef,” Katsuki admits, grinning at his next thought with a soft ‘tch’. “Michelin fucking star.”

“I can see you now—yelling at everyone in your kitchen,” Shouto says calmly. “Calling them dicks.”

“You must think you’re funny, Half ‘n Half.”

“I am, a little bit.” Shouto waits a second or two before turning toward Katsuki with an even bigger smile, hair catching wind. Majestic, he can almost hear Denki say. “How’s the pigeon, Katsuki? I went to the back room but didn’t see him.”

“Fuck, I forgot.”

“I thought no one had a better memory than you.”

“Shut your mouth!” Katsuki jogs back behind the counter, ignoring Mina as he peeks into a hole-in-the-wall storage room that he’s been using as the bird’s new day room. Lifting the box it’s in, Katsuki makes his way back to Shouto, setting it down on the table. “Here.”

“He has his own box now?” Shouto asks, and it sounds almost like an accusation.

“Can it. It’s just a box.”

“Mina says you bring him upstairs with you.” Two-toned eyes flicker down to the pigeon, whose beady little eyes seem awfully interested in Shouto’s every move. “I’m glad you’re taking care of him.”

Katsuki snorts. “Yeah, like you gave me a choice.”

“You still had one,” Shouto points out carefully. “A choice.”

He’s got him there, but before Katsuki can say anything, Shouto backs away.

“I have to get to class. My schedule’s packed today, so I might not be back until tomorrow. I chose to take all of my maths and sciences on the same days of the week and... I regret it,” he mutters the last few words with a slight wince.

“Alright,” Katsuki says, only to latch onto Shouto’s wrist the second he turns to leave. “Hold on for a sec, before you go.”

“Katsuki?” Shouto gives him a funny look, staring down at the hand holding him, and Katsuki snatches it away like Shouto’s entire left side’s on fucking fire.

“Just wait.”

Katsuki stalks over to the kitchen, grabbing one of the fancy to-go boxes he uses for all the pastries and plating up a couple more slices of the torte he’d first given Shouto. It’s better, he tells himself, than having it lie around like this. It’s not like Katsuki can eat it all by himself.

Closing the box, he rushes back out, passing by Mina and her judgemental ass glances and makes his way back to Shouto.

“Here.”

“For me?” Shouto asks, taking the pastries carefully.

“Yes,” Katsuki says, obviously. “They’re leftovers. It’d be a complete waste to keep them.”

“I see. What are they?” Shouto opens the box, looking pleasantly surprised. “Oh, you put more of those pastries in here. Thank you.” He smiles, closed-lipped and soft. “I never see these in the display, so I haven’t had a chance to buy any. I really like them. They’re perfect.”

Katsuki swallows, a lump forming in his throat and warmth crawling up the side of his neck. Reacting like this to a genuine compliment can’t be normal. Is he okay? Does he need a doctor? Or fucking therapy? Jeez.

Katsuki huffs out a breath as he watches Shouto leave, long half n’ half hair waterfalling over his shoulders and falling down his back. It lasts a few seconds at most, the moment, and when Shouto’s gone, Katsuki walks behind the bar. He doesn’t look at anyone; just goes back to minding his own business for the next twenty minutes until he can’t take it anymore.

He can fucking feel her eyes on him.

Mina’s arm swings the towel back and forth across the booth she’s wiping down, grin spread across her face. She looks like a goddamn maniac.

“What?!” Katsuki barks. “You’re staring at me like a fucking freak!”

“I know you like him,” Mina says cheerfully, spraying the next table.

“Shows how much you know.”

“You gave him two slices of your orange sachertorte. We don’t even sell them because you haven’t ‘perfected the recipe’—liar liar pants on fire!” Mina walks over and shoves a finger into his face, and Katsuki snaps at it with his teeth, simpering smugly when she snatches it out of reach with a huff.

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” he tells her, fingers clacking loudly against the register keys. According to Shouto they are perfect. Suck on that, Pinky. “Can’t believe I haven’t fired you.” And then: “Can’t believe I put you on the wall.”

“I’m the best looking thing on that wall.” Mina turns at the hip, striking what Katsuki guesses is supposed to be similar to the pose in her own painting. “And I paint them, so you don’t get to have a choice.”

◈

“Thanks, Sho!” Denki says with a grin, taking a tray of dishes from Shouto’s hands.

Shouto stays behind after hours some days to help clean up (much to Mina and Denki’s happiness, and Katsuki’s annoyance). Whenever he visits now, he voices his discomfort at being the only one sitting around at the end of the day, and remedies this by doing some of the chores reserved for the employees, saying he just wants to help.

They’re quicker at the close this way, and since Katsuki allows it, Mina and Denki have been much more cheerful when they have a broom in mop in their hands than usual. Shouto does what he’s asked with little complaint, and everyone is practically falling all over him—Mister Perfect, Mister Right, as Denki so calls him—except Katsuki.

Not Katsuki.

Shouto brought that demon bird in with him; his presence is a bad omen or something.

Or, well, Katsuki says that, but he still lets it become a part of his routine. It becomes comfortable—normal. He expects Shouto to show up every single day the cafe’s open, whether he’s sitting at his preferred table and studying or talking to his bird, or helping to clean up at closing time despite Katsuki telling him that he’s definitely not getting paid.

No matter what, he’s there.

Until one day, Shouto doesn’t show up at all.

Katsuki feels a little on edge, a little uptight about the fact. Even Denki had kept from picking on him most of the day. He only ever expects that kind of treatment from Mina, so he must look like absolute fucking trash if that dunce is leaving him the hell alone, too.

Imagine, getting all torn up over some guy he barely knows. As-fucking-if.

Katsuki doesn’t care that he isn’t here today, why would he? In fact, he wouldn’t care if that candy cane-looking bastard never came back again.

But then, Shouto does.

He’s looking worse for wear, hair tied up in a messy bun at the nape of his neck, and bags pulling at his eyes. It stops Katsuki in his tracks, has him looking over Shouto for any other disconcerting signs—but mostly, he just feels relieved. It’s stupid as hell.

Mina rushes over the second Shouto’s through the door.

“Shouto! We missed you yesterday,” she says, slowing to a halt when she meets him halfway. “Are you alright? You look a little woozy.”

“I took a sick day because I was feeling under the weather,” Shouto answers, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “I’m alright now.”

Despite everyone’s protests, Shouto decides to help clean up like usual. It’s Katsuki who stops him just halfway through cleaning tables, blocking his way to the booths. Reaching up, he lays a hand over Shouto’s forehead. It’s burning hot.

Dropping his arm, he wraps both hands around his broom again, and gets back to sweeping.

“Bird’s upstairs,” Katsuki says.

“Huh?” Shouto’s voice sounds small, scratchy and off-tone.

“I didn’t bring it down because I didn’t know you were coming,” he clarifies. “Go say ‘hi’ or somethin’.” When Shouto doesn’t move, Katsuki beats the bristly end of his broom against the tile floor. “Now.”

Shouto watches him quietly for a long moment, but eventually nods and does just as he says—which proves to Katsuki his point: no bratty comment, no quick remark, means he’s still not well. Katsuki watches out of the corner of his eye as Shouto makes his way up the stairwell.

When the door of his apartment clicks, Mina turns toward him, hands propped on her hips.

“You got somethin’ to say?” Katsuki prompts when she doesn’t get on with it.

“You shouldn’t have spoken to him like that, Bakugou,” she scolds, face twisting in anger. “It’s clear as day that he’s still sick.”

“Then he should’ve stayed the hell home!”

“You don’t mean that!”

Katsuki tries to ignore her, but she doesn’t relent.

“You know, he probably came all the way over here to see you—not that I could tell you why—and you just had to be a jerk.”

“Whatever. I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Katsuki bites back, turning away from Mina and pulling his dustpan over. He stops short when he notices Denki’s staring, and glares right at him, daring him to put in his two cents.

Denki looks back at him quietly, and when he tilts his head, it’s with a smile.

At closing time, Katsuki sends everyone home—even Sero, who stops in to pick up Denki and asks to meet Shouto before they leave since he knew he was there.

“Awh, but I haven’t gotten to introduce myself yet!” Sero whines, reeling back and raising his hands in surrender when Katsuki growls at him. “Tou-chy.”

Denki sighs, shaking his head. “Kats wants to keep Sho all to himself.”

“It’s a shame we can’t all be friends,” Mina jokes, though she still gives Katsuki the side-eye whenever he crosses her path.

They all file out after that, and once the door is locked and everybody’s out, Katsuki heads right upstairs.

His eyes lock onto Shouto as soon as he walks in the door and slips off his shoes. He’s never been inside Katsuki’s apartment before, technically, so it’s different—seeing him lying across the couch, fast asleep. The pigeon is in the box at the foot of it, and in a few short steps, Katsuki picks it up and sets it aside on the coffee table before turning back to Shouto’s sleeping form.

Squatting down, Katsuki takes a good look at him. Shouto’s clearly still ill, curled up like he’s cold despite how warm it is, and paler than usual. He’s an idiot for even thinking he was over his stupid cold. If anything, he’s only made it worse by coming to the cafe.

Not that Katsuki isn’t secretly both glad and angry as hell with himself. Shouto’s not around for one fucking day and he thinks he’s suddenly gone forever. Pathetic.

Lifting his hand to Shouto’s forehead again, Katsuki frowns. He’s still very hot.

Standing, he heads to the kitchen, setting up a few things to help with Shouto’s fever: a cold cloth, some water, and a couple of pills should get him through it just fine. Katsuki thinks, for a moment, that he should wake him up—make sure he drinks the meds, dresses warm on the way out so he doesn’t get home too late. He doesn’t.

Shouto probably has things to do, but it doesn’t feel right to let him go out on his own right now.

Katsuki sets the water and pills down on the coffee table, turning to adjust Shouto on the couch (without even a stir, he sleeps like a log) and lays the cloth over his forehead before stepping back. In a last ditch effort to make him as comfortable as possible, Katsuki reaches for the throw hanging over the back of the couch and drapes it over Shouto just in case the temperature drops.

Once he’s satisfied that Shouto will be alright on his own, he steps back, taking one last long look before shutting off the lights and heading to his room.

When Katsuki gets up the next morning and steps into the living room, the glass is drained and the pills are gone, and the blankets and towels are folded neatly atop the couch cushions. The only sign left that Shouto’s even been there is a scrap of paper on the coffee table with a phone number on it, written in neat scrawl.

He snatches it up, staring down at it for a long moment before padding over to his bedroom and grabbing his phone from the bedside table. Katsuki adds the number to his contact list, and then opens up a new thread.

[01OCT23] 6:45 AM

To: Half n’ Half

How are you fee—

Katsuki scraps that. Decides to go with something more authentic.

[01OCT23] 6:46 AM

To: Half n’ Half

If your ass dies because you’re at school instead of resting today, I’m going to kill you.

He clicks send, and because that doesn’t feel like enough:

[01OCT23] 6:47 AM

To: Half n' Half

Feel better.

Katsuki sighs, eyeing the screen for just a second more before a chat bubble pops up under his message.

[01OCT23] 6:47 AM

From: Half n' Half

Thank you, Katsuki. :)

Katsuki feels the heat of a blush on his cheeks, and it leaves him simultaneously flustered and grouchy. Tossing his phone onto the bed, he dresses for the work day, checking on the bird in its box and making sure it has enough food and water before he heads downstairs.

Things are already in motion with Mina at the bar, making one lone customer’s drink, and Katsuki ignores the stupid ass grin she gives him as he moves in to take her place.

After the drink is served and they’re both alone, Mina finally opens her mouth instead of smiling at him like a fucking psychopath. Katsuki can’t ever decide if that’s better or worse.

“You would not believe who I saw walking out of your apartment this morning.”

◈

Katsuki dips the curve of a plastic spoon into one of the two mixing bowls sitting on the kitchen island, bringing it up to swipe the batter he picks up across his tongue. Eyes narrowing in thought, he lets it settle in his mouth.

It feels like there’s something missing.

Taking a look around the shelves in the cafe’s kitchen, Katsuki grabs a bottle of peppermint extract, and then has the bright idea to grab a pack of peppermint leaves from the fridge as he steps back over to the island. Setting them down on the table, he scrutinizes the ingredients, contemplating his choices and his entire fucking existence.

This won’t work, Katsuki thinks. If he adds any of these to the batter, it'll be too much, and he’s already dealing with a second flavor anyway. If he adds it to the topping he has whipping in the stand mixer, it’ll be too much, because it’s already flavored with peppermint—so why would this recipe need anymore goddamn peppermint?

Pushing his tongue into his cheek, he snatches one of the mixing spoons on the table and decides to work with what he’s got.

“What are you making, Bakugou?” Mina asks, walking into the kitchen as he’s mixing. Her eyes peruse the table while he grabs a spatula—gotta scrape the sides. “That looks new.”

“That’s because it is,” Katsuki says.

“Jerk.” Stepping around him, she reaches for the bowl. “It smells really good, though. Can I try the batter?”

Reflexively, Katsuki smacks Mina’s intrusive hand gently with his rubber spatula, growling in annoyance when he realizes what he’s done. Great, now he has to clean it. “Nobody gets to try it until it’s perfect.”

Mina’s face lights up at that. “It’s for Shouto!”

“What the hell?!” Katsuki squawks, walking over to the sink to dump the spatula, grabbing another from the appliance rack and getting right back to work. “What part of what I just said led you to that stupid ass conclusion?”

“I automatically assumed the second I walked in because it smells a little minty in here, but it’s painfully obvious now!” she points out, grinning from ear to ear. “This is like a dessert version of the coffee drink he likes, isn’t it?”

“No,” he snubs. “Why the fuck would I make anything specifically for that half n’ half loser?”

“It’s a tuxedo cake—half strawberry and half chocolate, though. Which is just like Shouto’s mocha latte with strawberry syrup added,” Mina deduces, pointing to the bowl of chocolate batter, and then to the set-aside bowl of soft pink. “Then we have a”—she takes a whiff of the heavy cream in the mixer—“mint whipped cream topping instead of frosting. Very sus, if you ask me.”

Katsuki grits his teeth so hard he can practically feel the sawdust shavings.

“Get out,” he hisses, and before she can say anything back, the bell above the cafe door rings.

“This isn’t over,” Mina says, pointing a finger at him, eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, yeah.” Katsuki taps his spatula against the edge of the mixing bowl hard. “And quit talking like you were educated by the fucking internet!” he adds as an afterthought, grumbling as he pours the cake batter into two round tins. Tapping each one gently against the counter, he lifts them up and heads for the ovens. “‘Sus’ my ass.”

A soft cooing answers him, and he turns his head to see the pigeon in his crate (it’s a crate now, Katsuki went a bought one, sue him). “What the hell are you looking at, Feathers—you going to accuse me, too?”

Shoving the cakes into the oven one by one, he walks over to the pigeon, satisfied when it doesn’t make another sound.

Annoying ass bird, he thinks to himself, but he’s still on Katsuki’s side. Reaching into the crate, he scratches the top of the pigeon’s head with a finger and smiles a little when he doesn’t get pecked. Fair.

Katsuki spends the rest of the afternoon finishing the cake. Letting it cool and putting it together carefully. It looks pretty good uncut, but the alternating pattern of pink and brown on the inside doesn’t tick his aesthetic boxes. He might have to scrap the tuxedo idea entirely.

Grabbing a plate and fork, he serves himself a slice, stabbing off a bite and shoving it into his mouth. He chews it thoughtfully, at first, only to begin eating furiously the second he thinks about what Mina had said.

“It’s for Shouto!”

As if. As-fucking-if.

And even if it is—if it even is—it doesn’t matter.

It’s not perfect yet.

◈

“Katsuki!”

The cafe is closing up for the night, and Shouto is playing with his dumb bird when he calls Katsuki over. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’s never heard Shouto shout at him like that, he probably would’ve just turned his head and hollered out a ‘what?’ But he sets into motion the second he hears his name, jogging over and making it just in time to see the pigeon hopping steadily on both of its legs.

Shouto grabs his hand the second he’s within reach, pulling it toward him. “Katsuki, look!”

“Hey, the little fucker’s walking!” Katsuki exclaims, staring wide-eyed at the scene, though it only holds his attention for a moment. Shouto’s pleased face distracts him from the bird’s recovery—the way he’s clinging tightly to Katsuki’s hand, fingers laced in the spaces between. Katsuki, without much thought, lets his fingers wrap around Shouto’s hand, too.

He turns back to the bird hopping across the table, from one side to the next, spirits high as it coos continuously. It tries to flap its wings, to no avail, but Katsuki knows that’s how recovery goes—one thing at a time. Before they know it, it’ll be able to fly again.

That’s when it crosses his mind.

The bird gets better. Shouto stops visiting.

Well, fucking good. Katsuki's sick of Mina and Numb Nuts giving Shouto free coffee.

Only he can do that.

Wait, that’s—that’s not what he meant.

The bird gets better. Shouto stops visiting. Katsuki’s homefree from the assault of feelings he’s been dealing with.

Good, yeah.

He might as well speed it along, now that that’s settled.

“Oi,” Katsuki starts, trying to keep it all off-handed. “I found a rehabilitation center for rescued animals.”

Shouto turns to look at him, a multitude of expressions passing over his face. “What?”

“The damn bird’s out of the woods. He can walk, so we know he’ll get better eventually. Now’s a good time to take him to the professionals.”

“The same professionals that never came to pick him up in the first place.” Shouto looks panicked, fingers suddenly squeezing Katsuki’s painfully. “What if they aren’t as good to him? Can’t we just keep him here?”

“Why the fuck would I want to keep him here? It’s already been two weeks!”

“I know, but he still needs more time to recover and I don’t want to give this responsibility to anybody else.” Those dumb, pretty eyes stare straight into his. “Please, Katsuki?”

Katsuki hates the look Shouto gives him. It’s more expressive than he’s ever seen him before, and he feels his resolve crumbling like shortcrust pastry. He’s so weak.

“Who the fuck said that you could call me that?” he sighs, and it’s taken as a firm ‘yes’.

“Just until the end of the semester. Then I’ll take him home with me,” Shouto promises.

“Fucking fine, but you better show your face to this fucker every single goddamn day because I refuse to do—that.” Katsuki shoves his finger at Denki, who’s cooing at the bird like it’s a newborn baby from where he’s wiping down the next booth over.

Shouto nods, and Katsuki half expects him to turn around and walk away like usual.

Katsuki finds himself with his arms full of Shouto instead, fingers gripping the back of his shirt and face in his neck like they hug it out every day, and he thinks he’s having an actual fucking aneurysm.

“Thank you.”

It’s soft, the note Shouto’s voice lands on, and he can’t help leaning in after it. Katsuki moves without much thought, raising an arm and letting it rest against the middle of Shouto’s back. “Idiot.”

Over Shouto’s shoulder, Denki gives him a thumbs up, and Katsuki flips him the only bird that matters.

Truth is, Katsuki’s not very good at denying Shouto anything, it feels like. He’s surprised he hasn’t opened his giant fucking mouth and told Shouto how beautiful he is and that he needs to smile all the goddamn time or Katsuki might just go insane. The more he thinks about stupid shit like that, though, the more he thinks about the inevitable ending to this routine they’ve gotten used to. About it, and how he doesn’t actually think he wants it to happen.

The bird gets better. Shouto stops visiting.

Katsuki’s life is never the same again.

◈

Saturday nights at the cafe are reserved for their monthly get-togethers.

Specifically: Katsuki, Mina, Denki, Sero, and Eijirou’s get-togethers.

It’s basically tradition, and mostly started because of Eijirou. Ever since he became part of the workforce—as a freaking firefighter, of all things—his unreliable hours make it so none of them can hang out all at the same time anymore.

Though, Katsuki and everyone else in their group have to admit it is a pretty hot look on him. He’s got this whole man-bun thing going on, bigger muscles than before—his ass is ridiculously fat. It’s pretty goddamn sexy.

So Katsuki guesses he can forgive him for barely answering his fucking text messages.

Eijirou still has the balls to try and make him feel guilty for not ‘updating his very best friend on the de-cobwebbing of his love life’. As soon as he’s let in on Shouto and the entire stupid bird situation, he starts acting cut up about it, as if Katsuki is the busy one who has no time for him anymore.

Fucker.

The five of them move on from that conversation pretty quickly once Eijirou does everyone a favor and asks how Mina is doing instead. She happily fills him in on her studies, the paintings she’s been working on in her spare time, and ‘The Girls’ she’s been hanging out with recently in lieu of Denki and Sero’s game nights.

Katsuki hopes she comes to those again. He hates having to trade off because there’s an uneven number of players, and he can only take so much Mario Kart.

“‘The Girls?” Hanta despairs, looking betrayed. “I thought we were The Girls!”

“You are!” Mina starts, waving her hands, and then: “Not really, actually... Look, I need some real girl time. I need to paint my nails and feel like a woman!”

“I paint my nails!” Denki counters, flashing one of his hands for Mina to see—the tips of his fingers are a bright, sunny yellow—before dropping it onto the table. “Admit it, you just don’t wanna hang out with us anymore.”

Katsuki snorts. “Yeah. Who would want to hang out with you bitches all the time?”

“You, obviously,” Eijirou and Sero answer simultaneously.

As soon as Eijirou stretches over the table to give Sero a high five, Katsuki flicks his nipple through his shirt as payback, cackling when he yelps and cups his tit.

“Hey, Bakugou, man. You can’t keep doing this. Don’t you like Shouto?”

Katsuki reels back, mouth parted, eyes narrowing. “What the fuck does he have to do with anything?”

“It’s just, boundaries!” Eijirou exclaims.

Cracking his knuckles, Katsuki goes straight for the twister, a wild grin on his face as he grips Eijirou’s nipples through his shirt. Sero cheers him on like a real fucking friend, and Mina can’t help but follow his prime example.

“Uncle—I give!” Eijirou curls into his corner of the booth, rubbing at his chest. He pokes at his hard nipples, making a distressed noise at the back of his throat. “You’ve ruined them! What if they never go back in?!”

The absurdity of it makes Katsuki howl in laughter, and pretty soon the whole table’s cracking up.

“So, is your boy coming to hang out today?” Eijirou asks, sitting back as he wipes a tear from his eye. “It’s totally unfair that I’m the only one who hasn’t met him.”

Sero gestures to himself with both hands. “Uh, I haven’t met him ei—”

“Consider it your lucky day, Eiji. I invited him!” Denki declares proudly, and Katsuki’s amused expression immediately contorts into something that must be fucking hysterical because everyone either giggles or grins.

“You did what?!” he shouts.

“Well, I knew you’d be too chicken.”

Reaching over the table, Katsuki grabs his collar, pulling him forward. “You little bastard—”

The bell above the door chimes, and Katsuki turns his head to see Shouto walk in, right on time.

He looks... different. Comfortable, Katsuki notes, wearing skinny jeans and an oversized sweater that hangs off his already tall, lanky body. It’s a soft gray, with tiny little silhouettes of cat heads all over it, and looks much more casual than Shouto’s usual school outfits. His hair is neat, but cast to one side, like he’s been running his fingers through it non-stop, some red strands bleeding into the white and sweeping over his shoulders.

“Saved by the bell, dude,” Sero snickers, and Katsuki’s head snaps back toward him, a deep breath exhaling through his nose like a bull.

“Katsuki, please do not kill Kaminari,” Shouto says, pausing a few paces from the booth.

Taking the opportunity to rip himself away from Katsuki, Denki leaps out of his seat, rushing over to Shouto and clinging to his side. “Sho-Sho—you saved me!”

Shouto gives him a small smile, patting the top of his head.

“Woah,” Eijirou says quietly once Katsuki moves out of his line of sight. It’s just a little thing, really, but it puts Katsuki on high alert; that look of awe he’s wearing, the lopsided grin that follows. Because, duh, he’d think Shouto is attractive—doesn’t literally fucking everyone?

“Dude, Baku looks like he wants to gut you,” Sero whispers to Eijirou as they all file out of the booth, surrounding Shouto with a bunch of friendly smiles. If Eijirou says anything to that, Katsuki can’t hear it over the sound of Denki’s excitement.

“Hey, we’ve got a friend to introduce you to!” Denki pulls away from Shouto to grab Eijirou by the elbow. He gestures to him grandly. “This is Kirishima Eijirou.”

“You can call me by my first name, if you want,” Eijirou says politely, offering his hand. “You’re Shouto, right?”

“Yes,” Shouto answers, taking it. “You’re on the wall.”

Eijirou laughs good-naturedly. “Yeah, wonder when Mina’s gonna paint you.”

“I already have an idea!” Mina chimes in, hands on her hips. “I was thinking a special version of American Gothic.”

“Aren’t there two people in that painting?” Denki asks.

Eijirou follows seamlessly. “Yeah. Who will the second one be?”

“Who, indeed,” Mina hums, looking over at Katsuki with a sparkle in her eye.

Of course.

“Have you also known Katsuki for a long time?” Shouto asks, and Eijirou looks absolutely delighted to answer that question.

“We’re best friends, man!” he corrects with a toothy grin. “Bakugou comes to me for comfort.”

“Excuse you, motherfucker?!” Katsuki bristles. “Comfort? What kinda bullshit—”

“I’ve seen him cry,” Eijirou continues, the merciless bastard, patting the center of his chest. “He laid his head right here.”

Shouto looks fucking fascinated. “Why was he crying?”

“Oh, his favorite Naruto character died—”

“You’re going to die tonight,” Katsuki says lowly. “Slow, painful...”

“Is nobody going to introduce me?” Sero asks, stepping out from their squad semi-circle, rolling his eyes. “Fine, I’ll do it.” Nudging Eijirou out of the way (which he can just barely do, the guy is a brick house), Sero shoves his hands onto his hips and stares down at Shouto with a toothy smile. “Sero Hanta.”

“You’re Kaminari’s boyfriend,” Shouto says matter-of-factly.

Sero brightens. “Yeah! How’d you know?”

“He’s texted me about you before.”

“You both text?” Katsuki’s head snaps toward Denki, a thousand accusatory fingers telepathically shoved in his direction.

“Shouto texts everybody,” Mina tells him, arm bumping his. “Including me.” Resting her chin on his shoulder, she whispers: “Did you think you were the only one to get his number?”

Katsuki pulls away from her, crossing his arms over his chest and averting his gaze.

Somewhere in the distance, the pigeon coos.

Shouto’s immediately drawn to the sound, eyes searching the front end of the store. When he doesn’t see its crate, he looks over at Katsuki. “Where is he?”

“Where he always is,” Katsuki tells him gruffly. Shouto isn’t moved by his tone at all—he never is. Instead of answering, he heads right for the counter entrance, and Katsuki follows close behind. Because he has to, obviously. “You gonna leave everyone to stare at him all night?”

“No, but I want to check on him.” Shouto says, face indifferent as he peeks inside the tiny storage room by the swinging door—though Katsuki can tell by the way his lips hook ever so slightly that he’s concerned. That changes when the bird notices their presence and looks up with a soft trill, Shouto’s frown turning right around. “Look, he missed me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he did,” he finds himself saying quietly as Shouto kneels down in front of the crate, the back of his ridiculous sweater in full view. Just like his wallet and the cover of his planner (and what Katsuki knows must be everything else he owns), it’s covered in cats. Which is pure comedy, really, since he’s so obsessed with this fucking bird.

Shouto’s staring down at it now, reaching out to pick it up, but hesitating every time he gets close.

“Just pick him up,” Katsuki says, taking a step closer just in case he does and it doesn’t end well. “Do it.”

That seems to spur him into action, though Katsuki doesn’t read into it so much. He just hopes that doing whatever someone says isn't a thing he’s used to. Taking a deep breath, so loud that Katsuki can hear it, Shouto picks the bird up into his arms.

For a minute or two, Shouto stays rooted to the ground before slowly standing back up. Turning to Katsuki, he seems happy enough that he had the courage to hold the pigeon he’s been taking care of for weeks, but there’s a tinge of nervousness in the way he stands. Like he could start panicking any minute.

Katsuki steps into his space, holding out his hands and hovering them on either side of Shouto’s, thinking it might make him feel better if he thought he had a failsafe.

“Hey, deep breath, okay?” he says calmly. The hovering seems to relax Shouto. “See? He’s fine.” Katsuki drops them at his sides. “What are you always so worried about?”

“Birds always seem so fragile, and I’m afraid I might be too much,” Shouto admits, staring down at the pigeon for a quiet moment. “I don’t want to hurt the things I touch.”

“You won’t hurt him,” Katsuki says, oddly touched by Shouto’s honesty. Part of him wonders what Shouto means by that, though—not wanting to hurt the things he touches. It just seems like a strange thing to be worried about, but like everything else Katsuki wants to know about Shouto, it’s really not the time and place. Reaching forward, he carefully fixes Shouto’s hands so that he’s holding the bird firmly, but gently.

The damn thing tries to peck at him, and Katsuki mutters a quick ‘fucker’ before regarding Shouto again.

“If you hold him like this, he’ll be fine,” he says. When Shouto doesn’t answer, Katsuki looks up to catch him staring, cheeks dusted a little pink. “Hey, you’re not sick again, are you? ‘Cause I’ll send your ass home right now.”

“I’m fine, Katsuki,” Shouto answers with one of those barely-there smiles, tilting his head to one side to peer right over Katsuki’s shoulder. “Everyone’s waiting. I’ll bring the bird to the table with us. That should be okay, right?”

Turning his head, Katsuki looks behind himself to see everyone watching from the booth like a bunch of fucking stalkers. Cheeks warming at the attention, he shrugs, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Do whatever you want.”

Katsuki returns to the booth with Shouto on his heels. He slides back into his spot next to Eijirou, squeezing close to make room for Shouto since the other side’s already full—minus Mina, who’s disappeared but is bound to take up the seat next to Denki anyhow.

Eijirou moves to lay his arm across the back of the booth, and that seems to free up just enough wiggle room, the big bastard.

“I’ve got drinks!” Mina exclaims as she makes her way back—from the kitchen, Katsuki speculates—setting a round on the table for everyone. She pops the cap off one of the bottles herself, placing it in front of Shouto. “Here you go, Shouto. I figured you’d be a wine cooler guy, like Nari.”

“Oh, I don’t really drink much,” Shouto says, looking over at the bright blue bottle.

“Like, at all?” Denki asks, pulling his own pink one close and twisting the top right off.

“I’ve just never thought about it.”

“You don’t gotta do anything you don’t wanna,” Katsuki tells him, reaching an arm out and pushing the wine cooler away from Shouto. He ignores Denki’s swoon.

“It’s okay, Katsuki,” Shouto assures, cradling the pigeon in one arm and picking up the wine cooler with the other. He presses it against his lips, taking a long sip, and Katsuki’s eyes linger when he licks at his lips. “It’s sweet.”

“Aren’t they the best, bro?” Denki grins, waving his bottle.

“Hey, who’s this cutie, by the way?” Sero asks, smiling in Shouto’s direction. Just to make conversation, Katsuki guesses, because he definitely knows about the fucking bird.

Shouto smiles—bigger than most of his close-lipped grins, but still something soft. Katsuki has to look away before it starts having an effect. “He’s our bird.”

“‘Our’ bird?”

“Mine and Katsuki’s.”

The smile on Sero’s face turns sinister and Katsuki almost has a fucking heart attack right there.

Shouto’s talking about that stupid bird like they’re co-parenting it, kissing it goodnight, and sending it off to school.

“Nice! I heard you guys took him in. Saving helpless animals is the manliest of deeds.” Eijirou praises, wiggling a finger at the pigeon. “What’s his name, dude?”

“Name?” Shouto asks, bemused.

“He doesn’t have a name, Sho-Bro?” Eijirou sucks his teeth. “That ain’t right.”

“That’s what I said!” Denki shouts.

“When did you ever say that?” Katsuki grills.

Denki lifts up his phone, wiggling his thumbs as if he’s texting.

“We should think of a name now,” Sero suggests, ignoring their antics.

“Yeah!” Mina makes an amused sound. “We can do it together.”

“Okay,” Shouto agrees. “Where do we start?”

“Well, people look like their names, right?” Denki asks with a shrug.

Katsuki snorts. “Yeah, you look like a Dunce Face.” This is so fucking dumb.

“Play nice, Bakugou!” Mina scolds. “You’re right, though, Nari.” Tapping her index finger against her chin, she hums thoughtfully. “I think he looks like a Haruto!”

Eijirou drops an elbow onto the table, gesturing. “Isn’t that a play on words? He is a bird and birds fly.”

“Oh, I see what you mean. It sounds unoriginal.” She purses her lips, eyes squinting. “How about—”

“He looks more like a Tori to me!” Denki interrupts loudly.

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “No shit, he’s a fucking bird. We’re gonna call the bird bird?”

“Don’t you already call him bird? I don’t see you thinking up names for him.”

“I appreciate the effort, but I actually agree with Katsuki. I don’t think those are right,” Shouto interjects after being silent for a while. The rest of the group is quick to agree.

“Yeah, he’s not just a bird, he’s a little survivor,” Hanta coos, wiggling a finger in the pigeon’s direction.

“You know,” Eijirou begins, shoving his hands under his pits and cocking his head to the side, “his tragic backstory reminds me of All Might.”

“The superhero in the painting?” Shouto clarifies, looking up at the framed “Birth of All Might”. “A friend of mine really likes his comics.”

“He has a cool animated series, too!” Eijirou tells him, voice rising in pitch. Seeing him brighten up over what started their friendship in the first place makes Katsuki smile and huff mirthfully through his nose; he gets so excited. “All Might is a character that overcame a massive injury! Everyone thought he was hopeless, but he never gave up.”

“Only his friends lent him their strength!” Mina exclaims.

“And he recovered under their care.” Sero leans back in his seat, hands dropping to the tops of his thighs. “When it was time to return to the force, he came back stronger than ever.”

“What’s his name?” Shouto asks after a moment, clarifying when Sero cocks his head. “His actual name.”

“Oh.” Sero reaches up to scratch at his cheek. “I don’t really remember. It was only mentioned once.”

Denki popcorns in his seat. “I know! It was Tami–uh... Tori...”

“Yagi Toshinori,” Katsuki says, turning his head toward Shouto. “It’s Yagi Toshinori.”

Mismatched eyes stare back at him carefully, blinking thoughtfully, and he has to fight back the heat flaring under his skin.

“Toshinori-san,” Shouto whispers finally, looking down at his bird, and Katsuki slams his hands down onto the table in protest.

“Oh, hell no!”

“Yes,” Shouto says automatically. “I like it.”

If steam could come out of Katsuki’s ears, it fucking would. He shouldn’t have said anything.

“Toshinori-san is a great name, Sho-Sho,” Denki says encouragingly, turning to Katsuki with an evil, impish grin. In turn, Sero does the same, and Katsuki decides right then and there that he actually hates them. He hates them and their guts—he hopes they never have good sex again.

A sudden pressure touches against his forehead, right between the eyes, and Katsuki turns into it—half of Shouto’s face appearing from behind the hand blocking his sight.

“Deep breath,” he says softly.

Katsuki actually listens, relaxing his furrowed brow. Though he does push against Shouto’s thumb until he pulls back, an amused smile on his pretty face.

“I should go,” Shouto says once the clock strikes ten.

The six of them have been chatting non-stop. Different conversations at different volumes livening up the place.

“Awh, you just got here!” Eijirou pouts.

“Like three hours ago,” Mina assists, smiling over at Shouto in understanding. “You’re studying for finals, aren’t you?”

Shouto sighs. “Yeah.”

Why don’t you just study here? Katsuki wants to ask, up in the apartment. But he doesn’t bother.

Instead, he slides the pigeon on the towel coaster they’d set him on some time ago closer to himself, silently letting Shouto know that he’ll be taking care of him while he’s gone.

“I have to get to studying, too, sometime,” Mina sighs after him. “You can go, Shouto. We’ll catch you up on any juicy gossip next time.”

Shouto nods, wiggling out of the booth.

“Bye, man. Come hang out with us again, alright?” Sero gives him a friendly wave.

“Okay.”

“We do this every month. It’s our catch-up night,” Mina says with a wink.

“I’ll text you next time,” Katsuki blurts out, not knowing what the fuck came over him, and ignores all the knowing looks being exchanged around him. “So you know.”

“Okay.” Shouto smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, happy enough with that. “Goodnight, everyone—Toshinori-san.” He averts his mismatched gaze, mushing his lips together. “Goodnight, Katsuki.”

Katsuki swallows when all eyes land on him, but keeps it cool. “Night, Sho.”

Everyone waves Shouto off, cheering him out the door with grins on their faces. Only Katsuki keeps quiet, mind racing.

“Dude. You’ve, like, hit the jackpot,” Eijirou tells him once the coast is clear. “He’s so cute.”

“Hey, hands off before Kats throws his,” Denki snorts, smacking Eijirou’s arm. They both start giggling like idiots.

“Yeah, Bakugou’s been making eyes at Shouto since the day they met, I’ve heard,” Sero says.

“Quit it,” Katsuki grouses; he does not have the energy right now. “I have not been making fucking eyes. What’s wrong with you people?”

Mina ignores him. “And Shouto’s been making eyes, too. For sure. Did you hear? ‘Goodbye, everyone. Goodbye, Katsuki.’ Like, holy shit.”

Katsuki doesn’t entertain it; that doesn’t mean anything.

“Before we just give ‘em our blessing, let’s talk rationally about this.” Sero rubs at his chin, squinting his eyes as he shifts his gaze around. It’s ridiculous. “Shouto's hot and smart which means there has to be some kind of vice. Is he a sociopath or somethin’?”

“Worse. He's obsessed with this fucking pigeon.”

“Dude, Toshinori-san’s family now,” Eijirou says seriously, and Katsuki scoffs.

“You're a goddamn shitty traitor and I will push you into traffic.”

“Bro, we’ve talked about this... Murder isn't manly.”

◈

It’s late in the evening and Katsuki is closing up alone tonight since Denki can never work on Thursdays and Mina had already pulled an early shift that morning.

Shouto’s up in Katsuki’s apartment as he works because, unlike his employees, he can pull his own goddamn weight around here. Not to mention it’s raining cats and dogs outside and Shouto’s sure to get soaked before he even makes it to the nearest bus stop.

When Katsuki’s finished for the night and steps through the door to his living room, Shouto’s curled up on the couch with a couple of volumes of Sero’s manga, fully engrossed in whatever action-romance plot he’s reading. He’s got his fingers curled under his chin and against his lips, holding the book open with his free hand, propped up between his knees. He looks comfortable; right at home.

As Katsuki kicks off his shoes, Shouto closes the volume he’s currently on, setting it down on the coffee table.

“The weather’s not letting up,” he sighs, standing from Katsuki’s couch. “I’ll just use the umbrella you leant me and head back. It’s already an hour past closing.”

Katsuki’s walks over to the window silently, peeking through the curtains. It’s raining so hard he can’t even make out details on the street; everything’s dark, and it’s probably freezing. He doesn’t want Shouto, or anyone, walking around in that.

“Why don’t you just stay here?” he suggests before he can stop himself.

Pretty eyes blink at him. “Again?”

“What—was there a problem with your accommodations the first time?”

“No,” Shouto answers with a tiny smile. “It was nice of you, though, helping me like that.”

“Yeah, well maybe you shouldn’t come over when you’re freaking sick.”

“I wanted to come.”

“And I want—” Katsuki clamps his mouth shut, watching Shouto watch him, looking equally confused. He shakes it off easily enough, brushing a hand over his spikes. “It’s no big deal. If you go out there, you’re just gonna get sick again. So stay.”

Katsuki turns heel and heads to his room, making a beeline for his dresser. He opens the top two, grabbing a pair of joggers and one of his sweaters for Shouto to wear as he thinks himself through an oncoming crisis.

What the fuck. What was that out there? The hell was he going to say? Something stupid, probably—which could be anything at all at this point. Katsuki stops halfway through that train of thought to have an internal argument with himself over whether or not he should let Shouto borrow a pair of his goddamn underwear, deciding that he’ll have to be fine with what Katsuki’s picked out for him and that’s that.

Walking back out into the living room, he finds Shouto on the floor in front of the coffee table, occupied with his pigeon.

“I’m gonna start making dinner,” Katsuki tells him, dropping the clothes onto his lap. “You can wear these. Shower’s down the hall, second door to the left.”

“Okay.” Shouto takes the offered clothes, standing. “What are you making?”

“I don’t know yet,” Katsuki answers, even though he has an inkling. “What do you like?”

“Cold soba.”

A short pause. “Cold soba?”

“I like cold soba.”

Katsuki shoots him an exasperated look, sighing. “Yeah, maybe next time,” he says, shaking his head as Shouto nods and heads for the bathroom. Opening the fridge, Katsuki mutters to himself, grabbing a few ingredients for a hotpot. “Cold fucking soba. For fucking dinner.”

It only takes about twenty minutes to get a hotpot ready for eating, maybe a little more since he likes to take his time setting up the garnishes. Shouto hasn’t come back from showering yet, so Katsuki keeps busy with cleaning up his mess, only to get progressively more irked as the minutes tick by. Leaning back against the counter, Katsuki crosses his arms over his chest, fingers tapping at his elbows.

What’s Shouto even doing in there?

Pushing off the counter with the intention of stalking over and knocking on the bathroom door himself, he looks up to see Shouto stepping into the kitchen quietly, dressed in Katsuki’s clothes.

He looks... ridiculous.

Katsuki’s sweater is baggy on Shouto, comfy-looking (though, that might be because he’s got the sleeves rolled up to his elbows), but the sweatpants are short on his legs. It’s the most evident around the ankles, where they cut off a couple of inches above them, revealing pale skin all the way down to the crew socks. He looks like a kid wearing pajamas he long outgrew.

It should be hilarious. Katsuki should laugh. But he kind of likes it.

“I took a long time,” Shouto says plainly. “You have really nice hair products.”

Katsuki’s gaze shifts to Shouto’s face, and he’s about to say something just as plain back, like it’s okay to use whatever’s in there—it’s fine—but his eyes are drawn to the scar on Shouto’s face. It’s raised—waxy and tight and darker than Katsuki’s used to seeing it. The skin looks slightly wrinkled and painful in some places, like the added moisture of a shower had caused the tissue to seize and shrink.

“Does it usually get like that?” he asks curiously.

Shouto hums. “Does what get like what?”

“Your scar. It looks really aggravated.” Katsuki reaches up to touch it—to test the tenderness—but pulls back the second Shouto flinches.

“Sorry,” Shouto apologizes, reaching up to cover his face. “I know it’s... I’m awful to look at.”

“I didn’t say that,” Katsuki says slowly, kicking himself at how angry he sounds. “You’re not awful to look at.”

Shouto doesn’t say anything to that, but it doesn’t take a genius to notice how uncomfortable he’s become. Katsuki feels his stomach drop when he notices his uncovered eye filming.

“Hey, c’mon,” he begins, but it doesn’t sound soft enough, not nearly as gentle as Shouto deserves. “Sorry,” that I made you uncomfortable. That I can be that stupid sometimes. “I’m sorry, okay? But you can’t be sorry. You shouldn’t be.”

“You’ve never pointed it out before—and I can’t do anything about it. I didn’t think it bothered you.” Shouto’s voice sounds slightly distressed, which only makes Katsuki feel like he’s irreversibly fucked something up.

“It doesn’t. I only mentioned it because I’ve never seen it look like that before. I don’t care that it’s there, only that it doesn’t hurt or whatever,” he tries to explain it away, but it doesn’t feel like he’s doing a bang-up job. “You’re pretty as hell, you got that? A scar can’t change that fact.”

Shouto’s quiet for a long time, and it makes Katsuki fucking nervous, but he drops his hand before that nervousness turns into actual stress, something gentle and soft in his expression. Katsuki doesn’t know this part of Shouto, doesn’t know how long it’ll last, so he quickly reverts to doing something that makes sense.

Like shoving on some hot mitts and grabbing his hotpot.

“Dinner’s ready now, so grab those bowls,” he says evenly. “In this house, guests help set the table.”

It’s a quick and easy job, and soon enough, Katsuki and Shouto are sitting across from each other on either side of the kitchen table, serving their hotpots and sitting back as they ready their utensils.

Shouto’s quiet. Maybe quieter than usual—Katsuki can’t tell—but he’s hoping it isn’t because of him. Isn’t because of what he said. He begins eating after a few long seconds, and Katsuki watches him take a bite; watches his eyes go wide as he stares down at his bowl in silent wonder.

“What?” Katsuki asks, suddenly self-conscious. Is he still uncomfortable or is this how Shouto reacts every time he eats? It’s just fucking hotpot—it can’t be that good.

Except Shouto confirms that it is. “This is incredible. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten something so good.”

Katsuki relaxes, like a weight’s been lifted from his shoulders, and he snatches his own chopsticks up from the top of his bowl.

“Well, yeah, that’s ‘cause I fucking made it,” he brags with a satisfied grin.

Dinner is comfortable in Shouto’s presence, and Katsuki likes to think it was thanks to a joint effort; some semblance of silent understanding that marked a new milestone in their weird little friendship. They talk about a few topics they’re passionate about, mostly on Katsuki’s end, because they’re alone now and that makes all the difference.

When they’re done eating and the table’s cleared, Katsuki gets the dishes washed and packs up the leftovers to put in the fridge. The tupperwares he bought recently fit perfectly snug along the top shelf; he fucking loves it.

Sitting there on the second shelf is attempt number three of the cake recipe he’s been working on: chocolate cake only, strawberry jam between the layers, the same mint whipped cream. For a second, he thinks about just leaving it there because it’s not ready for other people to try yet, but then he thinks about Shouto’s reaction to the sachertorte a while back, he changes his mind.

Might as well.

“Oi, wanna try somethin’?”

Shouto’s at his side in an instant, looking over his shoulder. “What is it?”

Just something new we’re selling. Just any old recipe. “It’s something I’m working on,” Katsuki says with a shrug, pulling out the cake and setting up a slice on a plate. He offers it to Shouto. “It’s not ready yet, so if it seems like it’s missing anything...”

“I like all the things you make,” Shouto assures him, taking the plate. “Let me try it.”

Once Katsuki grabs him a fork from the drawer, Shouto cuts himself a neat bite, popping it into his mouth. He takes his time like always, chewing slowly like he’s savoring it; Katsuki doesn’t bother prompting him to speak because this is just how he normally is.

Blinking down quietly at the cake slice, Shouto’s lips press into a thin line, cheeks red at the apples. “You’re really good at making everything, you know.”

Katsuki leans back against the counter, arms crossed, smile soft and toothy. Maybe there’s a blush on his face, too, who the fuck knows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Shouto sucks a bit of whipped cream off his thumb, an action that Katsuki watches carefully. “Can you make it with more strawberries, though?”

“What, like whole ones?” he asks, eyes dropping to the plate of cake.

Shouto nods. “I like the jam, but fresh fruit is best.”

If it were anyone else suggesting it, Katsuki would wave them off with a scoff. He likes figuring it all out on his own, experimenting until he gets it just right, but there’s something about pleasing Shouto that overrides those tendencies.

More strawberries.

“Yeah,” Katsuki says, and it sounds a lot like a promise. “Yeah, okay.”

“What the hell are you doing in my bed?!”

Katsuki steps into his room after giving the apartment the usual once-over, only to find that Shouto had abandoned the couch and decided to take up space in his bed and hoard all his blankets.

“Aren’t we going to sleep together?” Shouto asks ever so innocently, and Katsuki swallows down his next thought. What the hell is going on? “Oh, but I guess not everyone shares when they sleep over.”

The thought that Shouto’s slept over at other people’s houses drops into his head like an atomic bomb—times two when he deduces how likely it is that he’s slept in the same bed as them, whoever the hell they are, and however the hell many.

Well, Katsuki knows the importance of sleep and spent a pretty fucking penny on his mattress, so he’s going to blow all of Shouto’s other stupid, idiot friends out the freaking water with this sleepover. How many of his pals can say they made Shouto food and let him sleep on the goddamn cloud that is the CocoMat?

Crossing his room to get to the bed, Katsuki pushes back on Shouto’s shoulders as he sits up.

“Just stay there,” he mumbles.

Katsuki crawls into bed, thinking that at least Shouto sleeps on the left side (how very fucking compatible of him). They fall into silence right away, but it takes him a long ass time to get to sleep. Mostly because Shouto sleeps on his back, and when Katsuki rolls over, he can feel his arm pressing along his spine.

This is no big deal. He can sleep in the same bed as Shouto—he does it all the goddamn time when he goes on weekend trips with his friends. This is no different.

Unwillingly, he falls face first into an unwanted rabbit hole, mind conjuring up all sorts of unwanted fantasies: Shouto’s head on his chest, or his head on Shouto’s. Arms slung over waists, hands along chests. Spooning up against each other, blankets tucked under their chins. Katsuki doesn’t know when he actually knocks out, but he’s pretty sure that shit follows him into his dreams.

It’s even worse that, in the morning, he doesn’t want to get up on time like he should. He wants to stay right where he is and think way too much about every little thing Shouto does in his sleep.

Like the way Shouto just so happens to be a grabber, and spent all night with his fist curled in the back of Katsuki’s shirt.

◈

Katsuki hasn’t seen Shouto for two weeks since exams started and it’s driving him fucking insane.

The first couple of days hadn’t mattered much. Sure, he’d looked up every time the goddamn bell above the door rang and expected Shouto to be there, but it really wasn’t that bad. He still woke up, he still came to work—nothing had really changed.

It wasn't until the first week came to a close that he’d started to hate that exams existed altogether.

Katsuki’s brain ends up clinging to the last few times he and Shouto had talked, a string of moments across a handful of days, and all of the little things he’s learned throughout those conversations on his couch or at the table by the portrait wall.

But those memories only go so far; Katsuki can only replay them so many times before he starts feeling lonely, too. It’s fucking hard to admit, but he misses Shouto and his pretty face and his tiny little smile and his half n’ half everything. Not even talking to the stupid bird helps (though it does bring plenty of concern for his mental health to the surface).

It’s even worse when his friends begin to notice.

Or well, Mina does.

Denki's around less these days (small fucking blessings) since he and Sero are in the middle of moving into a new apartment, so he’s been taking more days off. Mina, on the other hand, is less grating on his nerves, but still way too observant for Katsuki’s taste.

“He’ll be back soon, Bakugou. You don’t have to be so mopey,” she says in that comforting voice she uses whenever he’s down in the dumps, the sound of her spot-sweeping the front of the house accompanying it.

“I’m not fuckin' mopin' because Shouto’s not here,” Katsuki grouses.

“You kinda are, though. You haven’t really yelled at me today and I spent a lot of time trying to piss you off.” Mina pauses right in front of the bar he’s cleaning, probably standing on her tiptoes just to be able to peer over it. “Even the customers were surprised at how quiet you’ve been—trust me, they’ve noticed. They notice everything.”

“This is a stupid ass conversation and I’m not gonna entertain it, Pinky.”

“See? So weird,” Mina points out, leaning forward and squinting her eyes like she’s taking a real good look at him. “Huh. I never thought you could feel lonely. You’re always so content with your own solitude.”

“I’m not fucking lonely,” Katsuki admits suddenly. He grits every word through his teeth. “I just like having him around more than I like being by myself.”

Mina’s expression softens. Her brows close together and her smile becomes watery, like she’s touched that Katsuki even confided in her at all. It makes him feel guilty because Mina’s a good fucking friend, so of course he’d tell her, eventually.

“Shouto really is easy on the eyes,” she says, a little faraway, like she’s perusing Shouto and Katsuki’s entire month-and-a-half long timeline together.

“I thought we’ve already concluded that he’s hot as fuck,” Katsuki responds easily.

“And you like him,” she continues, smiling. “A lot.”

Katsuki doesn’t say anything back—doesn’t confirm nor refute her claims. It’s all too obvious now, or maybe it always has been. The truth of the matter is that he’s never been good at lying because he never wants to lie, and that’s eighty percent of his goddamn problem.

The truth of the matter is that he likes Shouto, and he doesn’t think he can deny it anymore.

◈

[30NOV23] 9:55 AM

From: Half n' Half

Let me in.

Katsuki takes one look at the text message and rolls off his couch. He shoves his curtains aside, glancing down at a familiar head of red and white hair before grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter and stepping out of his apartment. Stomping down the stairs in his house shoes, he crosses the cafe dining room, twisting his keys through the top and bottom lock and opening the front door.

Shouto’s lips twitch. “Katsuki.”

“It’s way after hours, Candy Cane,” Katsuki comments offhandedly, even though he steps aside, closing the door and locking it behind them both.

“I wanted to see you,” Shouto says honestly. “It’s been a while.”

“It’s been two weeks.”

“That’s a long time to some people.”

Katsuki hisses, lips curling into a smile, all teeth.

“Let’s go upstairs. I’ll make something.”

As soon as they’re back in the apartment, Katsuki heads for the kitchen, Shouto not far behind. He grabs his favorite kettle from the middle cabinet and fills it up, setting it on the stove for tea instead of coffee, since it’s late. Coffee's only for mornings and cramming and insufferable, but necessary phone calls.

“Is this your love language?” Shouto asks out of nowhere as he leans against the counter, hair sweeping back as he does. It looks like it’s gotten even longer.

“Love language?” Katsuki echoes; he barely thinks about what he’s saying.

“I was telling a friend about you and they said it sounds like this kind of thing is your love language. I didn’t see it before, but I get it now.” A small smile plays on Shouto's lips. “You like taking care of your friends.”

“Who said you’re my friend?” Katsuki snorts, paying more attention to the stove.

“We’re not friends?”

“I never said you could be.”

“Can I be your friend?” Shouto asks.

“No,” Katsuki teases.

“If I can’t be your friend,” Shouto begins again, waiting until Katsuki turns his head to continue, “can I be something more than that?”

The whole room’s silent. Devoid of sound. Whatever thoughts were playing table tennis in Katsuki’s head are long gone, and he’s pretty sure a goddamn earthquake could rumble through Musutafu and he wouldn’t know what the fuck was going on.

The walls fall. The lights flicker. Everything crumbles around them, but here they are—sharing breaths just like this.

Katsuki’s shake his ribcage. They rattle in his chest. Rattle and crackle—building up in his lungs until one or both of them explode.

“What the hell are you saying?” he asks, but it’s just to blow hot air; he already knows the answer.

“I—”

Katsuki crashes their lips together and it sets him on fucking fire.

It’s a perfect feeling, kissing Shouto. He’s got no finesse, and he’s a little sloppy, but that makes it all the more sweet. It feels good, Katsuki thinks, to kiss him—and when he slides a hand up the back of Shouto’s neck and into his hair, he thinks, to hold him.

They part for just a second, and Katsuki takes the opportunity to nose at Shouto’s cheek.

“Katsuki, I like you,” Shouto breathes into his ear.

“Yeah,” Katsuki murmurs, mouth twitching into a grin. “I fuckin' like you, too.”

Their lips meet again, as fervently as the first time, only now Katsuki puts his hands on Shouto. He palms down Shouto’s sides and along his ribcage, kneading fabric over skin as their mouths split and they meld into each other. The arms around his shoulders tighten as Katsuki shoves Shouto against the kitchen counter, tugging at his pants until he can get a firm hold on his thighs and lifting him up to sit on it.

Long legs bracket his waist instantly, and Katsuki has the idle thought that if anyone saw him doing this, they’d call him a giant fucking hypocrite for breaking taboo. But this is Shouto, and right now he thinks he’d let him do whatever the hell he wanted—sitting on the kitchen counter included.

Shouto moans softly into his mouth, soft and delicate and mewling, and Katsuki’s halfway to crazed at the sound.

He thinks he could kiss like this for days.

The kettle goes off, a loud, high-pitched whine, and the bird begins cooing along with it. They pull apart, eyes meeting for a brief second before Katsuki moves to turn off the stove. Silence drags on, and it’s only alleviated when Shouto reaches forward, hands cupping Katsuki’s shoulders as he presses a timid peck to his lips.

“Can I have ice in mine?” he asks, sliding down from the kitchen counter, and that seems to set everything into motion.

Katsuki grabs a mug, filling it with hot tea before opening one of the other cabinets and grabbing a clear tumbler. He fills it up with ice just over the brim, adding a little sugar to it so he can make Shouto cold tea just how he likes it, keeping all judgment to himself. Cold soba, cold tea; blasphemy after blasphemy—he can be so freaking weird sometimes.

But Katsuki really likes that about him.

When he finishes with the drinks and turns to hand Shouto his cup, he sees him looming over the birdcrate, breaking up a slice of bread in his hands.

“You know bread isn't good for them, right?”

Shouto turns his head, hands frozen around the bread slice, voice halfway between panicked and devastated. “What?”

“They’re better off eating other things,” Katsuki tells him. “I have some pumpkin seeds downstairs that I’ve been feeding him. We can go get them later.”

“Okay.” A small smile appears on Shouto’s face, and he goes back to breaking bread, even if he doesn’t toss any into the crate. “I like that you care about our bird.”

“He’s not our bird—he’s going outside the second he can flap his wings.”

“He's my friend. I'm keeping him.”

“I'm not taking you on any fucking dates if you keep him.”

Shouto’s face lights up at that. “Okay.”

“Hah? That was way too easy!”

“Because I know you don’t mean that.”

“You—” A crooked grin spreads over Katsuki’s face, and he watches Shouto coddle his bird endearingly. “Once he’s better, he does have to go back, you know.”

“I know,” Shouto says softly. “He’ll like it better out there anyway.”

◈

Since he and Shouto started dating, Katsuki’s set on learning as much about him as he can.

It wasn’t as important before because he’d let himself go stupid—let himself live in denial when maybe he should’ve just accepted that Shouto was a good thing bound to happen to him—but it’s important now.

No hot tea, only iced. Spice to a minimum, sweets dialed high.

Katsuki wants to know more than just the simple things, too, like the story behind Shouto’s scar, but he hasn’t asked yet. He won’t. Because he thinks that, maybe, Shouto might want to come to him about it himself. And that’s fine.

He can work with what he knows.

“Sho,” Katsuki calls, waving him over with a flick of the wrist. “C’mere.”

“Bossy!” Mina protests from where the two are gossiping by the sink when Shouto turns away to do just that.

“I don't mind,” Shouto says.

“Smitten.” Her lips curl into a knowing grin. “Fine! I have work to do anyway.”

Shouto smiles, and Katsuki rolls his eyes.

“Come on, get over here!” Plucking a mint-macerated strawberry from the bowl of fruit he pulled from the fridge, he turns to Shouto, holding it to his lips. “Try this.”

Letting Katsuki pop the strawberry into his mouth, Shouto hums. “Amazing.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I fucking made it.”

Shouto exhales mirthfully. “Can I watch you do the rest?”

“Do whatever you want,” Katsuki tells him, grin never leaving his face.

Shouto does just that, stepping over to the crate he brought into the kitchen with him earlier and carrying it over to set it on the floor by the stool he perches on. That bird is ever-fucking-present, Katsuki thinks with a shake of his head, watching as Shouto talks to it softly from the periphery.

It's a sweet scene, but Toshinori-san is still the bane of Katsuki’s goddamn existence, and that’s a fact that’ll never change.

Suddenly, the kitchen door bursts open. Denki comes in humming, body swaying to the imaginary song inside his head as he drops off a pile of dishes. Katsuki hopes he’s in and out, but that’s wishful thinking at its best. As soon as Denki sees Shouto, he makes a beeline for the island.

“Hey Sho-Sho!”

“Hello, Kaminari. How’d your finals go?” Shouto asks.

“Eh, we don’t gotta talk about that,” Denki answers dismissively, leaning against the counter by his chair. “I bet you feel good about yours now, though. I heard you got high marks!”

“You did?”

“Yeah, Baku was totally bragging about it earlier.”

Katsuki glares over at Denki, face burning, but it reduces to a simmer when he catches the look on Shouto’s face.

Just as red, smile threatening to grow—like he’s trying to hide the fact that Katsuki's pride in his accomplishments makes him happy. It's cute as hell.

“Hey, this is your cake, right?” Kaminari asks once he gives the ingredients on the table a once-over. “Mina said Kats is obsessed with making this recipe perfect.”

“My cake?” Shouto asks slowly.

“You’ve had it before, right?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you recognize the flavors? It’s like the coffee drink you always get.” Denki crosses his arms over his chest, cocking his head to the side. “Isn’t it, like, your favorite or something?”

“Oh, I made that drink up on the spot because Katsuki said I had to buy something or I couldn’t have any bread.”

Katsuki’s face warms, again, embarrassment coloring him from his cheeks to the back of his neck. In his defense, Shouto was trying to freeload.

“I do like it a lot, for what it’s worth,” he continues, turning his gaze to Katsuki. “I didn’t know that was the recipe you were perfecting.”

“You said you wanted strawberries.” Katsuki doesn’t look up, lips twisting to keep himself from sulking in front of Dunce Face and his very own personal moron.

“I do,” Shouto affirms.

“Hey, if that’s not your favorite coffee drink, then what is? I bet Kats would totally bake a matching pastry for it,” Denki suggests, and for once what he’s saying is actually helpful.

Katsuki steps over to the fridge to grab some heavy cream, paying close attention to what he’s doing when he gets back to the stand mixer, but listening all the while. If he knows what Shouto actually likes, then he can work on a recipe for that one, too. Shouto’s a huge coffee drinker, he’s noticed, so he wouldn’t mind trying out some of his other weird ass combinations.

If it’s something he can sell at the cafe, then it’s a win-win for everybody.

“Uhm, I wouldn’t know. I’ve only had coffee here,” Shouto says honestly. “I don’t get to have it that much. I usually only drink iced tea.”

Katsuki’s world crumbles before him. Like everything he's ever fucking known has been destroyed. The glaciers melt into puddles. Global warming lights up the rainforests. He’s the last survivor on Earth and the sun of all things is going to take him right the fuck out.

“Katsuki?” Shouto asks, having the gall to look concerned.

“Don’t worry. Kats looks angry, but this is totally his devastated face. I think you broke him.” Denki claps gleefully.

“You've been fucking lying to me?!” Katsuki hollers over his unbaked cake.

“No,” Shouto says quickly. “I really do enjoy that drink.”

Red eyes glare down at the bowl of chocolate cake batter, brows furrowed and mouth set. Katsuki thinks he might actually be sulking this time. “We make tea here, too. You would’ve known that if you'd asked.”

“I liked that you'd make it for me without me asking—”

“Like a simp,” Denki interjects.

“Cram it!” Katsuki snaps, eyes not leaving Shouto for a second. Denki sighs.

“It was the best.” Shouto’s lips curl, though he purses them, like he’s holding himself back. “It felt special. Like you'd only ever do it for me.”

“Quit saying ‘was’ like I wouldn’t still do it for you.”

That pretty face blushes, soft and pink, and Katsuki knows he’s in so much goddamn trouble.

“If it’s so special, is it now?” Denki asks, waving a hand. “Your favorite.”

“Hmm, I still think that's tea.” Shouto looks over at Katsuki, who gives him a look that screams don’t even think about asking. Not that he’ll take that hint. Shouto will ask because he’s that fucking fearless. Not that he has anything to be afraid of—ever. “Can you make tea-flavored cakes? I think I'd like that.”

Katsuki growls to himself, arm taut as he begins mixing like a crazed animal in one giant circular motion. If anything, he’s annoyed at himself. All this time and that’s the question he’d never bothered asking?

“Well, too damn bad! This is what you're getting and you're gonna fucking like it.”

Shouto rests his cheek in one of his hands, smiling. The other reaches out to brush against Katsuki's curled around the lip of the bowl. It’s soft, intimate, and everything comes to a halt when Katsuki realizes that the sun doesn’t burn him.

It calms him with its gentle touch.

“Next time, then.”

◈

Shouto stays at Katsuki’s place that night.

Despite the obvious change in their relationship, it doesn’t feel any different than usual. In some ways, Katsuki’s more comfortable now that he’s not fighting his feelings anymore.

Shouto had seemed pretty normal about it, too, following the same routine he had the last time he spent the night. He’d showered, dressed in sleep clothes, and walked into the kitchen as Katsuki plated their dinner. The two of them sat down across from each other just as they had before, only this time, Shouto had been starry-eyed over being treated to what Katsuki had learned is his favorite dish.

“You made cold soba...”

“Yeah, yeah—don’t get too used to it. This is a once-a-week thing.”

“I’m alright with that.” Shouto hums, never once taking his eyes off the plate. “For now.”

He’d been in fucking awe.

Katsuki doesn’t think he’s ever heard Shouto use that tone before, and it was at that very moment that he suddenly saw the merit in making cold freaking soba—once a week. He’s not budging on that.

Their night had gone simply from there.

Shouto had perused the back shelves of Sero’s manga collection, and Katsuki had pulled him away to make him watch the very first episode of ALL MIGHT: SYMBOL OF PEACE before they’d gotten distracted with each other—hands and mouths moving in tandem.

The decision to move it to the bedroom had been easy to make after Katsuki kicked the coffee table by accident and put a scratch in his hardwood floors.

Sitting on Shouto’s lap in his bed now, legs straddling hips, Katsuki admires him and forgets everything else. He’s propped up on one arm, fingers splayed out in his comforter, while a hand cups the back of Shouto’s neck. That silky hair brushes his fingertips, and Shouto’s hands are gripping his waist, holding him in place. Fingers in half-fists curl and tug at his shirt.

When Katsuki’s eyes flicker from Shouto’s lidded gaze to his lips, the corner of his mouth twitches. They’re as pink and flushed as Shouto’s face—parted slightly as quiet breaths current from between them.

Katsuki pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. He’s been kissing Shouto for hours now, it feels like, but he could go for more..

Just to prove a point, he pushes off the bed and leans back in, kissing Shouto soft on the mouth. Pulling away after a few seconds, he grins watching Shouto chase after him—eyes closed, lashes brushing his cheeks—and weaves his fingers through long, silky hair.

He’s going to miss seeing this everyday; kissing this stupid pretty face; thumbing this smooth, round jaw.

“You’re going back home next week,” Katsuki murmurs, tracing along the edges of Shouto’s scar as his touch travels. The skin is tight today, and a little waxy, but that doesn’t deter him.

“I’m going to come visit,” Shouto promises, eyes fluttering open now that it’s clear he isn’t getting kissed. “It’s part of my routine now, I can’t stop.” He tilts his head to the side, and Katsuki’s hand slides off onto his chest. “Though, maybe not as much.”

“You better fuckin' text me,” Katsuki tells him, picking at a loose thread on the collar of Shouto’s sleep shirt. “I better hear from you every goddamn day.”

“You will. Every morning and night, like I hear from you.” He pauses, thoughtful. “It still surprises me sometimes, when you text me first thing. I like it.”

“Tch. Not like you text back enough to let me know that.”

“You get up so early that sometimes after I read it, I go to sleep. And then I forget.”

“I know. I’m just fucking with you.”

“Still, I didn’t know it would be like this, but it’s...” Shouto’s hands flex at his sides. “It’s really nice.”

Katsuki stares at him contemplatively, reaching up to press a thumb into his cheek. “It’s pretty normal, you know. Even when we were friends, I still checked on you.”

Shouto smiles. “So you admit that we were friends.”

Reaching over and grabbing the nearest pillow, Katsuki gives him a smack.

“I’ve never been with anyone before,” Shouto says suddenly, and Katsuki’s mouth goes dry at the admission.

He presses their foreheads together, huffing. “You lying bastard. You telling me I’m your first boyfriend?”

“You’re my first everything,” Shouto confesses. “I never thought about being with someone until we met.”

Katsuki’s head falls to his chest. Adorable prick. “Shut up.”

“Is this how you cried into Eijirou’s chest that time? When your favorite Naruto character died.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Katsuki feels Shouto’s quiet laughter vibrating through him, and grins to himself. “Dick.”

Shouto smiles soft, eyes trained on his hands as he brushes his fingers over Katsuki’s chest. There’s a moment where his expression changes—minute, there and gone—just a drawing of his eyebrows, a pensive glance. Katsuki just knows he’s about to say something blunt and out of pocket.

“Katsuki, can we try something?”

“Like what?”

“Like sex.”

Katsuki’s hands curve along the back of Shouto’s neck and he shakes his head. “We don’t have to rush just ‘cause you won’t be around as much.”

“I want to,” Shouto admits, eyes trained on Katsuki’s throat. “I’ve been thinking about it. And I’ll be thinking about it every day I don’t get to see you until we do it.”

Their eyes eventually meet. Katsuki stares right through Shouto for a long time, weighing his options. The choice has never been so easy, though. He knows himself—he’ll take care of Shouto better than anyone else.

Katsuki nods an affirmative before pulling Shouto into another kiss.

The way Shouto goes about kissing is something he undoubtedly enjoys. He’s shy with his mouth at first, softly pressing, gently kneading—until Katsuki hums in satisfaction and he becomes more bold. He’s just as passionate as Katsuki is, in the end, following all of his silent instructions without fail.

Shouto’s fingers twist into the back of his shirt, holding Katsuki tight against him, and Katsuki shifts until their hips meet. He rocks them together slowly as they kiss, Katsuki pulling at Shouto’s lips and licking him open, swallowing every last one of his gasps. Sliding his hands down along Shouto’s chest, he guides him back to lie against the pillows, lifting one of his knees and sliding it between Shouto’s legs. He keeps their mouths together, keeps them connected, leaning into the cool fingers that thread behind his neck.

Katsuki braces himself on an elbow while one of his hands sweeps over Shouto's chest, groping at it indulgently before slipping downward. Shouto is sensitive, he can feel it in the way his breaths pick up, how hard he exhales through his mouth and nose.

Pulling back, Katsuki’s eyes gaze over Shouto’s flushed face. “You really are pretty as hell.”

“Really?” Shouto asks with a smile, like he knows Katsuki’s telling the truth.

“Yeah,” Katsuki answers easily. “Hell yeah.”

Fingers slide underneath the elastic of Shouto’s sweats—Katsuki’s sweats, actually, he so smugly thinks—and he flattens a palm along the shaft of Shouto’s half-hard cock as he goes back in for another taste of his mouth. Shouto hums, pitchy against his lips, and Katsuki lets his hand works over him a few more times before wrapping his fingers around the length of it.

Soft moans are swallowed into his kiss, until Katsuki finally lets them go so that he can nip at Shouto’s jaw and the flesh of his throat, sucking marks into soft, pale skin.

“Katsuki,” Shouto breathes. Katsuki’s fist works over his cock, heart beating at an uptick as every soft whisper of his name becomes hot, gasping pants.

“You like that?” he asks, looking up to see Shouto nodding his head wildly, two-toned eyes screwed shut. Katsuki sucks his bottom lip into his mouth at the sight. “That’s what I thought. Keep your hips still for me.”

Katsuki tugs at the sweatpants around Shouto’s hips, letting them come down until they’re tucked right beneath his balls before coasting over his body. He drags his mouth over Shouto’s jaw, sliding palms along the tops of pale thighs until they snag on the hem of the white t-shirt he’s wearing.

He lets himself kiss and taste and play with any part of Shouto he can reach—incisors pulling against the shirt sticking to Shouto’s chest, mouth sucking a hickey into the soft skin of Shouto’s stomach where it’s exposed from his movements, nose trailing along the mismatched hair beneath Shouto’s belly button until Katsuki’s lips touch the head of his cock.

Katsuki pulls back, sliding his palm down the length of it before wrapping his fingers around the base and flattening his tongue across its weeping tip.

“Hng—!” Shouto shudders, a breathy moan exiting his mouth, lips looking swollen and pretty from where Katsuki stares up at him from beneath his lashes. He closes his mouth around Shouto’s cock, sinking down on it slowly before falling into a rhythm. Hands curl into his hair, tugging and pulling until Katsuki hums. Shouto pulls away in an instant at the sound, dropping his arms to fist the sheets instead, but Katsuki’s quick to grab one of them—placing it right back onto the top of his head encouragingly. A little bit of hair-pulling never hurts.

He bobs his head, laving at Shouto’s underside with his tongue and guiding him into the hollows of his cheek.

Shouto gives him no warning, no indicator when he comes into his mouth, but Katsuki doesn’t mind it much. It happens just as fast as he expects, and when he pulls off and drags a hand over his mouth, he takes a second to admire the blissful look on Shouto’s face. It’s an ego-boost and a half, not that he fucking needs it.

Katsuki’s about to end it right there—have Shouto change into clean sleep clothes before heading off to bed with him—but Shouto’s hands are at the waistline of his sweats in an instant. He looks up at Katsuki through lidded eyes, mouth wet and parted.

“More,” he pleads.

“What the hell?” Katsuki shakes his head, patting one of Shouto’s thighs. “Relax. You’re already done.”

“But you’re not,” he says carefully. “Please.”

Shouto reaches for him, dips his fingertips beneath the waistband of Katsuki’s sweats when he has a hold. The touch is tentative, but electric. It’s resolve-breaking.

Katsuki presses his lips together and he leans back, shoving his own pants down to bunch at his knees and exhaling through his teeth as he takes his hard cock in his hands. He spreads pre-cum from his leaking tip over the shaft, groaning softly as he gives it a few long jerks.

Shouto reaches out with a hand, but Katsuki swats it away, releasing himself and taking Shouto’s thighs in his hands instead. Pulling them up in one swift movement, he sits on his haunches right behind them.

“Katsuki, what are you...?”

Katsuki answers with action, dragging the sweats tucked under Shouto’s hips up to his knees, locking them in place. He can see everything from here: Shouto’s perfect ass, already dotted with fingerprints—the backs of his long legs. Grabbing his own cock, Katsuki positions himself right against Shouto’s balls, sliding it over them and between his thighs. Once he’s settled, he leans forward, one arm wrapped around Shouto’s knees and the other braced next to his head. Katsuki feels Shouto squeeze around him, a soft hum buzzing through his closed lips.

“Katsuki—”

“Next time,” Katsuki growls, rolling his hips forward into the surrounding heat. Shouto throws his head back at the feeling of their cocks sliding together, lips parting wide. He’s still sensitive from coming the first time, and Katsuki’s about to burst. Next time it’ll have to be; he doesnt think he has it in him to do all that prep work, anyway.

Shouto’s two-toned eyes are watering, making his lashes stick together in clusters, and his body is hot from the overstimulation. It’s perfect seeing him like this, Katsuki thinks, tongue sweeping over his lips as his hips slap against the back of Shouto’s thighs. He’s so fucking good.

A goddamn walking wet dream.

Shouto squeezes his thighs together tightly, and Katsuki sees fucking stars.

“Hah—mmph—Katsuki—!”

“Hold out for me, sweetheart,” Katsuki breathes, barely holding out himself. It only takes a few more thrusts before he’s spilling over, making a mess of Shouto’s stomach and shirt with a sharp groan.

The room becomes quiet except for their breathing, and Katsuki pulls himself from between Shouto’s thighs, telling him to stay put while he grabs a damp washcloth from the bathroom. He comes back with his sweats readjusted, just a little bit cleaner, and takes the time to get Shouto cleaned up and into new sleep clothes, too.

It’s a pair of regular pajamas this time, blue with bright yellow ALL MIGHT logos printed from top to bottom; it’s somehow still satisfying to see Shouto in them no matter how ridiculous they look.

Shouto is the first to get under the blankets, with Katsuki following soon after. Knowing he likes sleeping on his back, Katsuki puts on a fake begrudged face, flopping down on top of Shouto and letting himself mold into his side. Shouto immediately accommodates another body, splitting his legs so one of Katsuki’s can settle comfortably between them.

Arms wind around waists and rest along spines. Hands flex into hips and find each other atop chests. Everything intertwines.

“We should do that again,” Shouto says once they’ve stopped moving around.

“Not after I just cleaned everything up,” Katsuki mutters into his chest.

“I don’t think I can, but if I could, I would do it again right now.”

Katsuki laughs, and Shouto seems pleased with the overall predicament.

In the quiet, they lie comfortably—content—and Katsuki finds himself drifting in the pleasantness of it all.

“I’m going to miss seeing you everyday,” Shouto murmurs into his hair.

“Yeah,” Katsuki says automatically, before he can even think about it. “Me, too.”

In the quiet, the pigeon also coos.

“But that...” Katsuki begins again, smiling to himself when he feels Shouto’s body shaking in silent laughter. “I’m not gonna miss that.”

◈

Saturday nights at the cafe are reserved for their monthly get-togethers.

Specifically: Katsuki, Mina, Denki, Sero, Eijirou, and Shouto’s get-togethers.

Katsuki’s late coming down because of a stupid flour mishap in the storage room—one that should come straight out of Denki’s pay since he thought it was so goddamn funny to put bagged goods on the top shelf. Things started without him halfway through his shower, and he kicks himself in the ass for refusing Shouto’s offer to help.

It had taken forever to get it all out of his hair.

Trudging down the stairs, hair still slightly damp, Katsuki enters the cafe.

“This is the bird they saved together! Isn’t he cute?” he hears Eijirou say.

“His name is Toshinori-san,” Shouto informs.

At the sound of the pigeon’s name, Katsuki stomps over to the booth, the demon bird himself sitting pretty inside one of his giant coffee mugs. How the hell is anybody supposed to use that now?

Katsuki turns his glare to Shouto. “Why the fuck is the fucking pigeon still here? I thought you set him free weeks ago.”

“I’m not ready yet,” Shouto answers, lips jutting defiantly.

“Like hell you aren’t!” Lowering himself to pigeon level, Katsuki sits down in the open seat next to his boyfriend without breaking eye contact. “I know you’re just here for my pumpkin seeds, asshole.”

“Aww, I didn’t know you guys were on speaking terms!” Sero pipes.

Hissing between his teeth, Katsuki leans back and throws an arm around Shouto’s shoulders, keeping his half-hearted glower set on Toshinori-freaking-san.

“You should just admit that you like him already,” Mina says, her tone scolding. “You saved him, after all.”

Katsuki scoffs. “I did not fucking save him.”

“Come on, Kats, we’ve all heard the story of your bravery,” Sero goads, grinning up to his ears. “Toshinori-san wouldn’t be here without you.”

“Shut up.”

“Took him in with your own two hands, even as he pecked you!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“And all in the name of love,” Denki sighs, pushing himself into Sero’s side.

“You’re like, a hero, bro.” Eijirou grins, and the only thing stopping Katsuki from clawing it right off his face is Shouto’s hand inching over to rest on his knee. It keeps him glued to his seat.

“Yeah! This is like something All Might would do,” a displaced voice comments, and Katsuki’s face contorts at the familiarity. Leaning forward so he can peek around Shouto, he’s assaulted by the sight of a cheerful smile, grassy green hair, and a million freckles.

“What the fuck—Deku?!” Katsuki squawks. “Why the hell are you here?”

“Deku?” Shouto echoes, bemused.

“It’s an old nickname,” Deku tells him.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Katsuki presses.

Shouto looks over at him, tilting his head. Ugh, what a stupid pretty face. “He's my best friend.”

“Hah?”

“I’m just as surprised as you are, Kacchan. Although, I should’ve deduced that the friend Shouto was talking about was you. There was the description of your appearance, and then the mention of the cafe next to the university, and your overall angry disposition...” Deku trails off, turning to Shouto. “Oh, Kacchan and I are best friends, too, Shocchan.”

“Kacchan... Shocchan...” Denki muses quietly, and Katsuki shoves a finger right at him.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Shouto hums. “I thought Eijirou was your best friend.”

Katsuki’s about to open his mouth and say that yes, Eijirou’s his only best friend—don’t listen to Deku—but then he catches the pained look on Denki’s face and lets out a soft sigh instead.

“You can have more than one,” he grumbles.

“Hell yeah,” Denki whispers to himself, fist clenched.

“Katsuki is my best friend, too, then,” Shouto tacks on blatantly, hand finding Katsuki’s across his lap as their eyes draw together.

Katsuki laces their fingers with a snort, face hot under his gaze. “You're damn right.”

“So is Toshinori-san.”

And then bristles instantaneously, dropping his head back against the booth with a groan.

“Fuckin' bird.”

Toshinori-san coos and the cafe fills with laughter.