Chapter Text
By the time Izuku manages to fall into pre-shift lineup with the other waiters, Katsuki's already on his ass about his uniform.
"Deku," he hisses. "Why wear a damn bowtie if you don't even know how to tie it?"
The waiters next to him let out a few chuckles, while others give him looks of sympathy. "Come on, Chef," Denki, who's standing to Izuku's left, puts a comforting hand on Izuku's shoulder. "Cut Midoriya some slack. The customers always love him anyway, regardless of what he's wearing."
"We have an image to keep up," Katsuki snaps. "This is high-end dining. Right now, we're running a function for some Tokyo businessman, and as much as I hate kissing up, this is a fucking job and we need to look the part to earn the part." He tosses a pointed glare Izuku's way, to which Izuku responds with a sheepish smile.
Katsuki continues, "So I'm going to cook some good shit, and you're all going to serve that good shit. Got that?"
"Yes, Chef," the waiters chorus.
"Great. Now get the fuck out there. Except for you, Deku," Katsuki says. "Come here for a minute."
"Good luck, Midoriya," Denki whispers on his way out.
Once the rest of the waitstaff has cleared, Izuku groans in exasperation.
"Kacchan, shouldn't you be starting on appetizers? You're always like this—"
"Shut it," Katsuki says, beckoning for Izuku to come closer. "C'mon, I'll fix your bowtie."
Izuku hesitantly indulges his command, letting Katsuki rework the bowtie he'd messily thrown on earlier before their evening shift. He's standing close enough that Izuku can see the pupils of his narrowed eyes and a small bead of sweat on his brow. "You know, Kacchan," says Izuku. "Why won't you just let me invest in a clip-on? No one would know the difference."
"Because clip-ons are lame," Katsuki replies. "We work at a fancy-ass restaurant, Deku. Where's your sense of pride?" He makes a few more adjustments to the tie before stepping back with satisfaction, patting Izuku's collar. "There. Done."
"Thank you as always," Izuku expresses.
"Yeah, yeah," Katsuki mumbles. "Now go wait some tables."
Izuku grins up at him, lightly tapping him with his elbow. "What, no good luck kiss?"
Katsuki flushes indignantly. "We're at work, Deku, how about we leave the snogging for the privacy of my apartment?"
"Everyone knows we're dating, what's the big deal?"
"Professionalism, that's what."
"Right." Izuku rolls his eyes. "Professionalism. Well, I guess I'll just go. See you in a bit when the first orders roll in—"
Suddenly, Katsuki's hand flies to Izuku's arm, wrapping around it and tugging him in, and he presses a short kiss to Izuku's forehead before pushing him away. "There, are you happy?" Katsuki glowers. "Get to work."
Izuku beams at him. "Right away, Chef!"
The thing about Katsuki is that he always does this, without fail. The same exact routine of retying Izuku's bowtie, every shift they have together at the restaurant. It's not that Izuku necessarily dislikes it—after all, he enjoys some pampering from his boyfriend as much as anyone else would—but it's just strange, sometimes, the frequency of it.
Izuku keeps telling Katsuki that he'll learn to tie a bowtie himself or that he'd buy a clip-on, just so he would stop being such a burden to Katsuki and save them both the trouble. Each time he brings up the offer, however, Katsuki shoots him down, saying "we might as well keep at it."
So, Izuku has started getting the idea that Katsuki actually enjoys fixing his bowtie all the time (though he can't imagine why).
During break, he asks the pastry chef, Shouto, what his thoughts on Katsuki's behavior are.
"Maybe it's some weird mating ritual like you see in those nature documentaries," says Shouto, completely amused. "I wouldn't put him above it."
"Shouto," Izuku groans. "Be serious here!"
"No, really," Shouto quips. "He's definitely dropping some kind of hint. Probably."
Izuku slouches over, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. "What hint? Kacchan's the type of person to just tell me to my face what he wants. Up front and all that. What on Earth would he want me to figure out on my own?"
Shouto taps his chin in thought. "Maybe it's just a bit of psychology. He might be sending you some subliminal messages. For instance, he's trying to implant some subtle images in your mind so that you'd be practically defenseless once he actually tells you what he intends."
"This isn't CSI, Shouto."
"Everything to do with our dear executive chef is practically CSI."
"That's fair." Izuku leans further against the wall. "Maybe he just really, really likes to tie bowties. Maybe he's using me as a kink outlet?"
"If he was," Shouto says. "Then I don't think he'd do that here at the restaurant as often as he does."
"Ugh. I can't read him sometimes, I really can't."
Shouto regards him with commiseration. "Has he done anything else to accompany all this bowtie business, by any chance? His actions might mean something, you never know."
"Hm." Izuku puts himself deep in thought. What has Katsuki been doing, aside from the bowtie shenanigans?
"Well," he begins. "Kacchan's been giving me a lot of homemade meals, and he's been asking me to stay at his place later than usual. Also, he insists that we do our groceries together? I'm not sure how all of those things, plus the bowtie, connect in any way..." He looks up at Shouto.
The pastry chef's eyes are wide with something akin to realization.
"What?" Izuku perks up. "Shouto, what is it? What did you just figure out?"
Shouto doesn't look at him. "You'll find out very, very soon."
Izuku puffs out his cheeks in frustration. "Shouto, please tell me whatever you're thinking right now!"
Shouto shakes his head. "Sorry, I've got a batch of macarons to prepare. See you later." He swiftly picks up his apron and makes his way out of the break room before Izuku can stop him.
It's been two weeks and a half since Katsuki began the bowtie routine, among other things.
Izuku is starting to feel a little disillusioned.
Every time he brings up the bowtie, late nights, or groceries to Katsuki, the other just shrugs him off and tells him not to mind it too much. Naturally, though, Izuku is quite fixated on the matter at hand.
One evening, after staying behind to do menu adjustments, Katsuki offers to drive Izuku back to his apartment to save him the headache of calling a taxi.
"Are you sure, Kacchan?" asks Izuku with a frown. "You stay at the restaurant later than I do all the time. I don't want to burden you or anything—"
Katsuki immediately cuts him off, swinging his car keys from his fingers, already making his way to the back exit. "Burden this, burden that—you're always going on and on about being a burden. It's annoying as hell." Katsuki stops in the doorway for a moment, slipping his jacket on. Then, in a quieter tone, he says: "The people you care about are never burdens, anyway."
A warm flush comes to Izuku's cheeks.
Katsuki can be a real sweet when he wants to be.
"Right, Kacchan," Izuku sings. "After all, you're someone I care about lots!"
Katsuki doesn't turn around, or proffer any admonishment like Izuku expects him to. He's standing stock-still, gripping the car keys in his hand so tightly that his knuckles are beginning to turn white. Izuku feels a rush of anxious energy spike. "Kacchan?"
"I care about you, too, you know," Katsuki mumbles. "A lot."
Izuku steps closer, the nervous patter of his heart making him shuffle. "I know you do, Kacchan. There's nothing you need to prove."
"No, Deku, you don't get it." Katsuki rocks back on his heels, looking down off to the side. "I care so much about you that you're always on my mind. I can't shake you."
Izuku has no clue how to answer to that. "Um. Thanks...? How romantic of you to say—"
"Fuck, why is this so hard?" Katsuki grouches, bulldozing right over Izuku's hesitant reply.
Izuku blinks in confusion. "What is?"
"I—" Katsuki abruptly stops, nailing his words to his tongue. "Shit."
Izuku's next to him now, giving him a gentle rub on his forearm. "Katsuki. Talk to me."
A beat of silence.
And then.
"Move in with me."
Katsuki spits out the phrase so brusquely that it barely registers in Izuku's ears.
"You...did you just—?" Izuku internally starts to flail like a fish out of water. His heart is doing impressive backflips in his chest. "You want me to move in with you?"
Katsuki turns his head so that Izuku can see the side of his face. "You heard me."
A million thoughts race through Izuku's mind. He connects the dots—the bowtie, the homemade food, and the joint grocery store trips finally make sense.
"I...wow," Izuku musters. "I, uh, don't know what to say."
"It's a yes or no question, Deku," Katsuki snaps.
"The way you said it, seemed more like a demand—"
Katsuki gives a heavy sigh. "Do you want to live together, Deku?"
"Yes."
Katsuki flips around, the shock plain on his face at Izuku's lightning-quick response. "The hell—for real?"
Izuku nods in affirmation. "For real."
"Deku, this is something you have to think through—"
"I have thought it through!" Izuku huffs. "Don't go thinking that you're the only one who's been entertaining the idea."
Katsuki still seems taken aback, as if he can't believe how easily Izuku had made his decision. "So we're really doing this, then?"
It's nerve-wracking, the thought of steering their relationship into something more domestic. Intimate. Closing the distance.
But Izuku can't wait to be able to spend every waking day with Katsuki, share his life with him, learn to grow side-by-side in the same pot.
"Yeah," Izuku sweetly says, grabbing hold of Katsuki's hand, resolute. "We're really doing this."
three months later.
"We're ordering pizza for dinner?" Izuku asks, genuinely surprised. Normally, Katsuki would have told him to have "higher standards" (whatever he meant by that). After all, he is a literal chef working at a fancy Ginza district restaurant.
Katsuki doesn't seem to take full notice of Izuku's state of shock, because he just nods absentmindedly and continues flicking through the channels.
Izuku quickly shifts underneath his arm, turning to face him. "But...don't you want to have, I don't know, escargot or something? Or caviar and truffles? Wagyu?"
"Deku," Katsuki sighs. "I don't really want to cook for us tonight. It's too comfortable right now." To emphasize his point, he briefly caresses Izuku's shoulder blade and pulls him in closer. "Besides, pizza's the shit. Ain't no other food, gourmet or not, that'll hit the spot better than pizza."
Izuku can't help the breath of laughter that escapes him. "Alright then, I'll take your word for it, Kacchan." He leans in and his lips connect with Katsuki's cheek. "Thanks, baby."
"No gross pet names, please and thank you."
"You love it, Kacchan. Admit it." Izuku pokes his arm.
Katsuki lightly jabs his side in retaliation with a mischievous spark in his eye. "I love you. Just not the pet names."
"Now you're being all mushy."
"You love it," Katsuki mocks him. "Admit it."
And, well, Izuku can't deny that he does.