Chapter Text
It’s Friday night.
There’s nothing better to do than go bother Kacchan, so Izuku’s basically skipping down the street, humming into his hoodie, hands tucked in his pockets.
“Midoriya! Do you want to help me with this case?”
He freezes mid-step.
Oh. Tsukauchi. Waving him down from the station door.
Kacchan can wait.
Izuku sighs but smiles and jogs over. “Yeah, sure. But I only have a little time, I’m gonna go see Bakugo later.”
“It shouldn’t be long,” Tsukauchi says as he ushers him inside. “You always finish these fast.”
He hands Izuku a file, a notebook, and a pencil.
Tsukauchi keeps a special drawing notebook for him ever since he found out Izuku likes to sketch things while he works. It’s cute. Izuku acts annoyed about it, but he secretly loves it.
He starts scanning the pages when the door opens behind him.
He turns.
And immediately wants to evaporate.
Eraserhead walks in.
Eraserhead.
Right next to him.
In person.
Not during vigilante hours.
Not while Izuku is masked and running for his life.
In normal clothes.
Izuku’s brain short-circuits.
Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh—
He whips his head back to the case file so fast his neck cracks.
“You’re letting some kid handle your case?” Aizawa asks, eyebrow raised.
Tsukauchi looks almost offended.
Izuku bites his lip so hard he tastes blood. He is seconds away from bursting into laughter. He’d be rolling on the floor if his ribs didn’t feel like they were full of broken glass.
“He’s actually really smart,” Tsukauchi says, straightening up. “He’s not just some kid.”
Izuku can’t help it. A snort escapes.
“Aww, Tsukauchi, that’s sweet. I could cry.”
He presses a hand over his mouth to hide his smile.
Aizawa sits criss-cross-applesauce right in front of him like he’s about to teach storytime. “What do you have so far?”
Izuku sits up straighter, flipping to the right sketch. “Basically—it’s a group that traffics kids with strong quirks. Sell them off to people. And I’m assuming those kids get trained up to be some ‘number one’ hero or villain or whatever.”
Aizawa listens quietly.
He hands him a drawing.
Patterns. Notes. Height ranges. Locations.
“These are probably the main leaders,” Izuku points at the silhouettes. “All around five-eight to six-two. The rest? I don’t know yet. I’m guessing they’re doing their next sale in like… two weeks? Underground cave near the river. Not one hundred percent sure but it’s the most likely spot.”
Aizawa nods slowly, taking it all in.
“Not the warehouse over there?” he asks.
“No,” Izuku answers immediately. “It’s too damaged. Too many random villains use it. Not safe.”
Before Aizawa can respond, Tsukauchi comes back in carrying food and hot chocolate.
He sets it down in front of Izuku.
“Here. Eat. You need to start eating more.”
“I know, I know,” Izuku mumbles, already sipping the soup. “You think I don’t know that?”
Aizawa glances up. “How old are you?”
Izuku looks up at him, cheeks puffed with soup.
“What would you like to know?” he asks with a little smile.
“Just curiosity,” Aizawa says, still examining the drawing Izuku gave him.
“Your name?”
“Izuku Midoriya. Call me whatever you want.”
He finishes his soup, wipes his mouth with his sleeve, and stands up.
“Thanks for the food,” he says, sliding the notes across the table. “Here’s everything. Those are extra notes—stuff I didn’t say or stuff you might not get at first glance.”
Aizawa takes them.
Tsukauchi smiles like a tired but proud dad.
Izuku slings his backpack over his shoulder.
“Okay,” Izuku says, already backing toward the door, “I’m gonna go see Kacchan before he blows up my phone.”
He waves at both of them and skips out of the station.
Izuku knocks once.
Then twice.
Then three times.
“Katsukiiii,” he calls, leaning his forehead against the door. “Answer the door, Kachan—”
Heavy stomping on the other side.
The door flies open so fast Izuku flinches.
“You damn nerd,” Bakugo snaps, grabbing him by the shirt collar. “You’re late.”
Izuku steps inside with a sheepish smile.
“Sorry, Kachan, I had stuff to do.”
“Yeah right.”
“Katsuki, stop being rude and come set the table!” Mitsuki’s voice echoes from the kitchen.
“Yeah, yeah, I will,” Bakugo grumbles.
Izuku grins and follows him in.
“Auntie, do you need any help?”
Mitsuki turns around, hands on hips, then softens immediately.
“No, sweetie. You just sit down and relax.” She reaches over and ruffles his hair like he’s still ten. “You’ve gotten so tall.”
His face brightens instantly.
“Really? You think so?”
“I don’t say things just to say them.”
Izuku beams, cheeks slightly pink, then wanders toward the table to help Kachan anyway.
“You damn nerd,” Bakugo snaps, smacking a plate into his hand. “Didn’t you just hear her? Go sit down somewhere.”
“Aww, is Kachan worried about me?” Izuku teases while placing a plate carefully at the seat.
“Tch—yeah right.”
They finish setting the table with their usual back-and-forth insults that are really just affection wearing spiky armor. After they’re done, they head to Bakugo’s room.
“I’ll call you when food’s ready!” Mitsuki yells up the stairs.
Izuku flops onto the bedroom carpet, crossing his legs and bouncing slightly.
“You would never believe it. Eraserhead captured me. Like—captured me. And talked to me. When I wasn’t a vigilante. And he’s so badass—”
“Wow. So cool,” Bakugo says completely flat, laying on the bed like he’s preparing for death.
Izuku sits up, then crawls closer, leaning over him.
“He is cool! Like—super cool.”
Bakugo cracks one eye open to look at him.
Izuku stops. His smile falters.
“What’s wroooong?” he asks gently, dragging out the last word with a tiny pout. He reaches down and plays with Bakugo’s hair, twirling the strands between his fingers.
Bakugo sighs, annoyed or tired or both.
“Maybe the fact you went ghost for—how many weeks? And then randomly text me wanting to hang out.”
Izuku’s hand pauses in Bakugo’s hair.
“…Oh.”
He frowns. Kachan has a point.
“I know. I’m sorry. But I really do get busy.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
Bakugo closes his eyes again, but he leans up into Izuku’s fingers like a cat leaning into sunlight.
“Are you tired?” Izuku whispers.
“Mhm.”
Bakugo scoots closer, and the two sit in quiet. Soft breathing, warm room, the smell of Mitsuki’s cooking drifting upstairs. It feels… comfortable. And way too short.
“Dinner ready!” Mitsuki calls.
Bakugo groans like someone killed his soul.
Izuku laughs under his breath and tugs Bakugo’s arm.
“Come on, grumpy.”
“Don’t touch me,” Bakugo grunts, following him anyway like a kicked puppy.
The kitchen is warm, loud, and smells like someone cooked an entire festival in there.
Heaven. Literal heaven.
Izuku sits down and immediately gets a steaming bowl of soup shoved into his hands.
“Don’t be afraid to ask for leftovers,” Mitsuki says, pointing a spoon at him like a weapon.
“You need to start eating more.”
Izuku stares at the soup.
Stares at her.
Stares back at the soup.
He’s heard this line so many times it could be his ringtone.
“I know, I know,” he sighs dramatically, taking a sip.
“You think I don’t know that?”
He smiles anyway.
He can’t help it. Mitsuki does that to him.
“Can I take a shower?” Izuku asks.
Bakugo stares at him like he just asked if he could lick the floor.
“You idiot—why are you asking to shower?”
“Because I’m polite?” Izuku tries.
“That’s a lie and you know it.”
Mitsuki waves a hand. “Of course you can. Go on.”
Bakugo is already digging through his drawers like a raccoon in a dumpster.
“Here. Wear this.”
Izuku accepts the clothes like they’re holy garments. “Thank you.”
He heads into the bathroom, closes the door, and then—
Stops.
The mirror hits him like a punch:
dark circles, bruises, scars, and one patch of dried blood on his jaw he somehow missed.
“Wow,” he mutters. “Sexy.”
He gets in the shower.
Hot water hits him.
He melts like cheap plastic.
He steals half of Bakugo’s fancy soaps.
No regrets.
If Bakugo wanted to keep his shampoo, he shouldn’t have been rich about it.
He steps out, throws on the clothes, and heads back to the room—
Bakugo looks up.
Freezes.
“Woo wee mama” Bakugo says slowly. “You look good in my clothes ”
Izuku gives him the most obnoxious smile on planet Earth.
“Oh? You like it?”
Bakugo’s face goes red so fast it’s almost a medical emergency.
“Something like that”
Izuku wiggles his eyebrows. He loved when Bakugo would say stuff like that and not just him talking like that even if kachan blushes at his own words.
They last twenty seconds arguing about what movie to watch before Bakugo tackles him like a linebacker.
Izuku shrieks.
“WHY—KACHAN—”
They roll across the bed, crash into the wall, and nearly take out a lamp.
“Say I’m stronger!” Bakugo demands, pinning him down.
Izuku laughs so hard he almost cries. “You’re literally not—”
Bakugo flips him onto his back like he weighs nothing.
Izuku blinks up at him and immediately turns evil.
“Ooo, a big strong sexy guy on top of me? I’m so scared~”
Bakugo’s soul leaves his body.
He leaps off Izuku like he touched a live wire.
“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
Izuku just grins.
“It’s called charm, baby.”
Bakugo dives under the blanket like he’s protecting himself from demons.
“Whatever. I won.”
“Tch,” Izuku teases, crawling onto the bed. “You wish.”
The movie starts playing.
Neither is watching.
At some point Bakugo ends up lying between Izuku’s legs, head resting against his lower stomach like he paid rent to be there.
Izuku strokes his hair, fascinated as always by how it defies gravity.
What gene caused this?
God’s dice roll?
Explosion quirk?
Hairspray?
He’ll never know.
Bakugo’s eyes droop.
He’s fighting sleep. Losing.
“Still going to bed at old-man o’clock?” Izuku whispers.
“I need my beauty sleep,” Bakugo mumbles into his shirt.
Izuku snorts so hard he nearly chokes.
“Yeah. You need a lot of that.”
Bakugo reaches back and smacks his thigh without looking.
Izuku shuts up.