Chapter Text
The silence of the agency office was deafening.
Katsuki Bakugou sat alone at his desk long after the others had left, the dim glow of the city filtering through the windows casting shadows across his clenched fists. The hum of the air conditioner did little to mask the storm swirling inside his mind.
It had been weeks since Shoto left.
Since that night when words had torn them apart, leaving a chasm neither knew how to cross.
Katsuki’s usual bravado had been replaced by restless pacing and terse replies to his teammates. His agency thrived, but without Shoto, the victories tasted hollow. The quiet moments—the rare smiles and small comforts—were missing, and the weight of that absence pressed down harder than any villain he’d faced.
He slammed his palm against the desk, frustration boiling up.
How did it get like this? he wondered bitterly. How did I let things fall apart?
The memory of Shoto’s tear-filled eyes haunted him—the pain he’d tried so hard to ignore.
Katsuki ran a hand through his hair, eyes darkening.
He wasn’t just angry at Shoto. He was angry at himself.
For not saying what he needed to say. For pushing Shoto away when all he really wanted was to hold him close.
He gritted his teeth.
This distance—this silence—was killing him more than any fight ever could.
But pride made it hard to reach out.
Instead, he buried himself in work, burying the ache beneath layers of control and fury.
Still, deep down, Katsuki knew the truth:
No victory was worth losing Shoto.
No strength could fill the void left by his absence.
And somewhere in the quiet, beneath the hard edges and defiance, hope flickered.
Maybe… just maybe, it wasn’t too late.
---
The clatter of dishes and soft chatter filled the small café where Mina waited, her eyes sharp beneath a veil of concern. She watched Katsuki approach, his usual stormy expression shadowed by something deeper — fatigue, frustration, maybe even regret.
“Bakugou,” she greeted, voice gentle but firm.
He flopped into the seat across from her with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of weeks.
“You’ve been off,” Mina said, stirring her tea. “Everyone’s noticed. Even the media.”
Katsuki scowled, arms crossed. “Doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”
Mina didn’t buy it. “You don’t have to be the tough guy all the time. You’re not doing anyone any favors acting like this — especially not yourself.”
He glanced away, jaw tight. “It’s not like I planned for any of this. Shoto leaving… Izuku’s confession… it’s a mess.”
Mina leaned forward, eyes locked on his. “It’s not just a mess to you. It looks like you’re pushing everyone away. Like you’re afraid of being vulnerable.”
Katsuki’s breath hitched. “Maybe I am.”
“That’s human, Bakugou,” she said softly. “You don’t have to pretend to be invincible. Todoroki loves you. But love needs honesty. Not just from him — from you too.”
He looked at her, conflicted, the walls he’d built cracking just a little.
“If you want him back — really want him — you need to fight for it. Not with fists or fire, but with your heart.”
For the first time in weeks, Katsuki nodded.
Mina smiled, hopeful. “You can do this.”
And for the first time in a long time, Katsuki allowed himself to believe she was right.
---
The streets were quiet as Katsuki Bakugou moved through the night, the familiar chill of the city seeping through his jacket. His steps were heavier than usual, weighed down not by the cold but by the invisible burden of regret and longing.
He wasn’t going to let this break them.
Not without a fight.
He clutched the worn leather book tightly in one hand — the one he’d kept since high school, filled with his feelings, his journey, his Shoto, moments he’d been too stubborn to say aloud.
The door to Fuyumi's apartment loomed ahead.
Taking a deep breath, Katsuki raised his fist and knocked.
The door opened slowly, revealing Shoto’s tired eyes, wary and surprised.
“Bakugou,” Shoto murmured, voice hesitant. The name 'Bakugou' that Shoto hadn't called him since back in UA, since Shoto began referring to him as Katsuki or Kats. It made Katsuki's heart break knowing he had to work and do better.
"I’m here,” Katsuki said simply, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.
The apartment smelled faintly of vanilla and rain. Shoto closed the door behind him, his posture tense.
Katsuki didn’t waste time.
“I wrote this,” he said, lifting the diary carefully. “It’s everything I couldn’t say. About you. About us.”
Shoto’s eyes softened as Katsuki handed over the diary.
----
Shoto sat on the edge of his bed, the worn leather-bound diary resting in his hands like a fragile treasure. The city lights outside flickered softly against the darkened window, but all his attention was on the pages before him—pages filled with Katsuki’s words, thoughts, and memories.
With a hesitant breath, he opened to the first entry.
June 8, Year 20XX
“I’ve been having this migraine lately. It makes me snap at people I care about — even Halfie. I didn’t mean to lash out, but I did. Instead of getting mad and walking away like I usually do, he… brought me chamomile tea. Sat beside me for hours. Damn it, this idiot just made my heart race faster.”
The ink was smudged here, as if Katsuki’s hand had trembled writing it.
Shoto’s breath hitched.
A flood of memories swept over him.
---
Flashback
The rain pattered softly against the windows of Katsuki’s apartment. Inside, the air was thick with tension and exhaustion. Katsuki sat curled on his bed, his jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut against the pulsing headache.
A soft knock broke the silence.
Shoto hesitated before opening the door, holding a small cup of chamomile tea.
“I thought you might need this,” he said quietly.
Katsuki glanced up, surprise flickering behind his usual scowl.
Without a word, Shoto crossed the room and sat beside him, careful to keep a respectful distance.
Hours passed in silence, broken only by the occasional sip of tea and the soft hum of the background music.
Shoto reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from Katsuki’s forehead.
“I’m here,” he whispered.
Katsuki’s defenses melted just a little, the tightness in his shoulders easing.
For the first time in days, Katsuki let himself lean into the comfort — letting Shoto in, without words, just presence.
Back in the present, Shoto’s fingers traced the faded ink, heart swelling with tenderness and regret.
He turned the page, eyes catching the next entry.
September 12, Year 20XX
“Had an argument with Kirishima today. It’s always the same — fire and fury, but usually he's quick to calm me down but even he was tired of my anger. Shoto thinks he knows me telling me what i feel, so annoying but *he's right*. I think i just needed someone to tell me the truth. To be understood. To be needed. I hate that I let my pride get in the way. Maybe one day I’ll say it out loud. Kirishima and i made up and i think i'm in love with Shoto.”
The words echoed Shoto’s own feelings, a mirror of the battles they’d fought—not just with fists, but with fear and silence.
---
Flashback
The training grounds were bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. Katsuki and Shoto squared off, sparring fiercely, sweat mingling with dirt, breaths ragged.
“Stop holding back,” Katsuki growled.
Shoto met his glare, voice steady. “I’m not the one scared.”
Katsuki’s punch was fierce but stopped inches from impact.
They paused, chests heaving, eyes searching.
“You think I’m scared?” Katsuki’s voice dropped, vulnerable beneath the fire.
“Yes, of admitting you were hurt when Kirishima chose Kaminari as his partner.” Shoto admitted softly.
Katsuki’s usual smirk softened into something almost shy. “You think, you know me, princess.”
For a moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of them—two stubborn souls tangled in fear, longing, and a bond they struggled to name.
---
Shoto blinked back tears.
He turned the page again.
January 15, Year 20XX
“Today, Shoto came to my room at midnight. Hair messy. Eyes sleepy. Wearing these ridiculous fluffy blue pyjamas with tiny polar bears on them. He looked at me like I controlled the universe and just said: ‘Can you cook me cold soba?’
How the hell was I supposed to say no?”
Flashback
Katsuki blinked groggily, half-asleep, wearing a black tank top and boxers. He opened his bedroom door ready to insult whoever woke him up at this ungodly hour. At behind the door stood Shoto, wrapped in an oversized hoodie and pajama pants covered in arctic animals.
“Hey,” Shoto mumbled, rubbing his eye. “I got a craving.”
Katsuki stared for a second too long.
“Soba?” he guessed.
Shoto nodded hopefully.
With an exasperated but fond sigh, Katsuki turned grabbing his hoodie going downstairs to the kitchen with Shoto following close behind. Katsuki begins boiling water. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Halfie.”
Shoto smiled and leaned against the counter, watching him work.
By the time they were both slurping cold noodles at 12:30 a.m., Shoto was leaning sleepily against his shoulder, and Katsuki didn’t even try to hide his grin.
---
Shoto wiped at his eyes and turned the page.
February 2, Year 20XX
“Our first official date. I thought he’d want something classy, maybe fancy rooftop shit with violinists and candlelight.
Nope.
Cat café.
Freakin’ furballs climbing all over the place and I couldn’t even drink my goddamn coffee without one sitting on my shoulder.
But then… Shoto smiled. Really smiled. Wide and unguarded. I haven’t seen him that happy since first year of school.
I think I fell in love with him all over again.”
Flashback
The cat café was cozy and softly lit, decorated with pastel cushions and floor-to-ceiling cat towers.
Katsuki sat stiffly at first, awkward in a space so… cute.
Shoto, however, beamed. His eyes followed a chubby tabby that sprawled on a sunlit ledge.
Katsuki grumbled as a kitten climbed onto his lap. “What the hell is this one doing?”
“He likes you,” Shoto chuckled.
Katsuki looked over and caught it—Shoto’s genuine laughter, light and unburdened.
He froze. That smile—it wasn’t the polite one, or the reserved one he gave at hero galas.
This one was real.
Warmth bloomed in Katsuki’s chest.
“Fuckin’ cats,” he muttered, gently stroking the kitten’s back anyway.
---
Shoto swallowed thickly, the memory so vivid he could feel the fur brushing against his hands again. He ran his fingertips along the page before turning to the next.
April 20, Year 20XX
“Shou told me he loves me.
I didn’t even have to say it first.
We were curled up on the couch watching reruns of some trash show about penguins, and he just said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
‘I love you, Katsuki.’
My chest nearly fucking exploded.
I think it’s time. I’m gonna ask him to marry me.”
Flashback
The couch was warm, the lights dimmed, Katsuki’s arm slung lazily over Shoto’s shoulders.
Steam rose from their half-eaten bowls of udon. On the TV, a loud chef yelled about undercooked rice.
Shoto shifted slightly, nuzzling his head under Katsuki’s chin.
“I love you, Katsuki,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
Katsuki turned slowly, stunned.
“I—” he began, but Shoto placed a gentle finger over his lips.
“You don’t have to say it back yet.”
“Like hell I don’t,” Katsuki growled, capturing Shoto’s hand. “I love you too, dumbass. I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”
They laughed.
Then kissed.
Then stayed like that, tangled in each other, long after the credits rolled.
---
Tears finally slipped down Shoto’s cheeks.
He closed the diary slowly, cradling it to his chest.
His body trembled from the memories — from the love woven into each sentence, the vulnerability Katsuki had never spoken aloud but entrusted to paper. Entrusted to him.
------
The apartment was still.
Shoto still on the bed, the diary hugged tightly against his chest. The rawness in his eyes hadn’t faded. His cheeks were flushed — not from anger, but from something far more tender and wounded.
Katsuki stood at the center of the room, his face unreadable but his fists clenched by his sides.
“…Can I sit by your side?” he asked, voice hoarse.
Shoto moved aside wordlessly.
Katsuki stepped in slowly and sat besides him, like the weight of the night hung off his shoulders. He didn’t go far — just inside the living room, where the tension crackled like static in the air.
The diary remained pressed to Shoto’s chest, his heart pounding behind it like a drum.
“Did i do good” Katsuki asked, quietly.
Shoto nodded.
“…Like it?”
“Nope,” he replied. “Loved it .”
Katsuki didn’t speak. His jaw clenched, his throat worked around unspoken words.
“You kept everything,” Shoto finally said. “Every fight. Every moment. Even the bad ones.”
“I didn’t write it for you,” Katsuki admitted. “At first. It was just for me. To try and figure it all out. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to tell you those things out loud.”
Shoto’s lips curved downward. “And you never did.”
Silence stretched between them.
Katsuki lowered his eyes. “I know. I should’ve. I thought… I didn’t want to screw things up by being too much. Or too soft.”
Shoto looked at him sharply. “But you weren’t too soft with him, were you?”
Katsuki flinched.
“You risked your life for him twice. You took him out for lunch and didn’t think to tell me. You let the world think you belonged to each other and didn’t do a damn thing about it.”
Katsuki’s voice cracked. “I didn’t mean—”
“Did you love him?” Shoto asked. The question wasn’t laced with venom — just quiet devastation.
“No.” His answer quick, Katsuki moved closer. “No, Shoto. I swear to god. I care about him, yeah. He’s my friend. Maybe back in high school I was too dumb to know what I felt. But that was years ago. What I feel for you—that’s real.”
“Then why didn’t you choose me in those moments?” Shoto whispered.
Katsuki’s voice rose, desperate. “I did! I just didn’t know how to show it without burning everything down like I always do. That’s why I gave you the diary. That’s why I’m here. I’m not good at this, Shoto. But I’m trying. For you.”
Shoto looked down at the diary again, his thumb brushing over the worn leather cover. “You wrote about our first date. Our midnight soba runs. The time I told you I loved you.”
“I’ve been in love with you since before I admitted it to myself,” Katsuki said. “Even when I was a jackass. Especially then.”
Shoto finally looked up, and this time his expression cracked — vulnerability, anger, love, and grief mixing all at once.
“I’m scared,” he said softly. “I’m scared of loving you more than you love me. Of always being second place to someone you won’t let go of.”
“You’re not second,” Katsuki said fiercely. “You have never been second.”
Shoto stepped back. “Promise?”
“I promise,” Katsuki said, voice breaking. “With every word I wrote. With every day I’ve stayed. I love you, Shoto. I don’t know how to be perfect, but I know how to be yours.”
Shoto’s eyes welled up again. “You idiot…”
And then he dropped the diary.
Stepped forward.
And kissed him.
It wasn’t soft — it was trembling and angry and relieved, all at once. Katsuki kissed him back like a drowning man, clutching Shoto’s face like he could anchor himself there forever.
They broke apart only when breathing became impossible.
“You’re still sleeping on the couch tonight,” Shoto mumbled against his lips.
“I’ll take it,” Katsuki said, forehead against his.
Then, barely audible: “But I’ll earn my way back.”
Shoto didn’t reply.
But he didn’t let go either and Katsuki definitely did not sleep in the couch.
(Fuyumi came home later, Katsuki in her kitchen cooking, she grabbed her purse and started hitting him. She made Katsuki kneel of the floor with her hands up 'Repeat after me, never make Shoto cry' to which Katsuki did. Shoto was kneeling next to him, with his hand up, 'Shoto, repeat after me, I'll always communicate my feelings')
----
EPILOGUE
The press conference was over.
Most of the crowd had dispersed — some still buzzing over new hero initiative plans and patrol expansions. But the true storm brewed in the corner of the room, where cameras lingered, reporters clutching microphones like they were weapons waiting to strike.
Izuku approached first.
Katsuki stood firm, arms folded across his chest. He didn't offer his usual scowl — just a firm, tired stare that meant business.
“Kacchan,” Izuku began softly, looking around as if to brace himself for another battle. “About everything—”
Katsuki cut him off. “Don’t. I need to say something. And you need to hear it.”
Izuku froze, lips parting slightly.
“You were my friend,” Katsuki said. “Still are, in some messed up way. But I don’t love you like that. I never did. I thought I did once, but that was just confusion mixed with history and guilt and stupid rivalry.”
Izuku looked down.
“And I’m sorry,” Katsuki added. “For leading you on. For not setting boundaries. For acting like we were something more just because I was too much of a coward to deal with my own feelings.”
Izuku’s shoulders dropped.
“You’re not a bad person, Deku. But I’m in love with someone else. And I’ve hurt him enough already.”
There was nothing else to say. Izuku simply nodded and stepped aside.
Katsuki left through the side exit, phone already in hand.
---
10 minutes later, a tweet from @GroundZeroOfficial hit the internet like a meteor:
“Stop shipping me with people I don’t love. I’m with Todoroki. He’s the one I wake up next to, fight beside, and love with everything I’ve got. Don’t twist that. Not now, not ever.”
🕓 6:29PM · Mar 3, 20XX
❤️ 631.4K · 🔁 140K · 📣 179.8K Comments
It already had 600,000 likes by the time
@ShotoHero quote-retweeted it with a single word:
@ShotoHero
mine.
📸 [attached image]
(Picture that Shoto took of Katsuki laying on his chest)
🕓 8:35 PM · Mar 3, 20XX
❤️ 1.4M · 🔁 670K · 📣 940K Comments
Comments
Lover: yesssssss claim your mans
Todobaku: Periodt 💅
Delineare_reads: kekehejwjdhd we Stan.
PinkyMina: Bakugou looks soft laying on Shoto’s chest.
Bakedekustan: Attention seeker
And others......
Katsuki, asleep on Shoto’s chest, his arm slung loosely over Shoto’s waist, brows relaxed for once — soft, peaceful. The morning light spilled across his hair. Shoto’s fingers gently tangled in blond tufts, the corner of his own mouth just barely visible in the edge of the frame: a rare, real smile.
The internet went feral.
Fan accounts pivoted in real-time, edits turned into love tributes, and hashtags like #IcyHotAndExplosionBoi trended for days.
But none of that mattered.
What mattered was the warmth in their home that night — where Katsuki cooked soba with too much spice, and Shoto snuck in behind him just to wrap his arms around his waist. Where Katsuki muttered complaints but leaned back into him anyway.
Where they kissed like nothing and everything had changed — and this time, there was nothing left unsaid.
---