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It’s winter, a soft snow falls and falls, gently coating the ground with quiet. It covers up the stench that every creature catches and avoids, covers up the fresh blood, the grief. He’s so cold, shivering and helpless, the wolf pup whining softly for a pack that’s no longer there.
There’s a soft crunch, so soft it wouldn’t have been heard if it wasn’t for the uneerie quiet. The pup stays quiet, huddled underneath the tree roots, a whimper attempting to escape. He holds it back, kaa-san’s words still ringing in his ears (don’t move, don’t make a sound).
Live.
The soft crunch comes closer, steady footsteps sinking into the snow around him. He tucks his nose behind his tail and tries to control his breathing, but he’s shaking. The world is shaking, everything is shaking.
He hates the quiet.
He hates it.
There’s a pair of boots in front of him, unfamiliar and old fashioned. They’re not winter boots, nor are they the old ha- kaa-sa- the old hag’s expensive ones. They’re clean. The person smells strange, but it’s, nothing like the rancid stench of those people before, with their hatred and thirst and gleaming weapons-
The boots shift and suddenly he’s staring at a face, pale and smooth.
In the halo of the rising light, reflected off the snow, Katsuki sees an angel for the first time. The angel with strange hair and strange eyes and a strange expression.
The angel reaches out his hand and there’s a second where he sees Deku, probably buried under the snow with everyone else, reaching out his hand and Katsuki, vicious and angry, smacking it away. He sees his mother, reaching to smooth out his hair or wipe dirt off his face and him avoiding it swiftly. He sees his pack, the pack he will never see again.
He doesn’t notice himself shifting, despite the cold, but he does notice himself reaching out, cautious in a way he never was before.
The angel is not an angel, he finds out, but he takes his hand anyways.
Sometimes Katsuki wakes up, surrounded by the warmth of his makeshift pack of misfits that had somehow, through some force of nature and sheer cheerfulness, sewn themselves underneath Katsuki’s skin, and thinks this is not my home. It’s a painful thought, a persistent bruise beneath his bones that beat in time with his heartbeat.
It’s also a fucking annoying one.
Sometimes, obviously, doesn’t mean always, because Katsuki is now 24 years old and can admit to himself freely and somewhat easily that he loves his pack, despite the amount of times Denki electrocutes himself everytime he tries to cook (how that single celled organism disguised as an overhyper werewolf manages to do so while attempting to operate a fucking gas oven, Katsuki will never understand) or Mina getting stuck on a tree and Eijiro breaking his goddamn ankles getting her down or Hanta’s enthuiastic and uncontrollable desiire to fix everything with duct tape or fucking Deku .
They’re all idiots, and he will never admit that he wouldn’t have it any other way. Should they ever find out, Katsuki will never hear the end of it. Every time he thinks these disgustingly gooey thoughts he can hear Kyouka’s dry, sarcastic voice and Deku’s fat, ugly crying and whatever little personal space Katsuki has been granted so far would be utterly destroyed.
His pack is small and full of idiots, but it’s the best goddamn pack he could ask for.
So why does he still dream of an old, decrepit castle, of confused head tilts and clashes of red and white, blue and grey? Why does he still feel like this dumb, wonderful pack is incomplete?
He hates it, he decides, he hates this rotten feeling in his chest and he hates him, for being there when the world seemed to end, for treating him with cold, gentle fingers and stiff, awkward, but fuck if it wasn’t genuine, kindness, (for letting him leave, for never finding him).
He hates him because no part of Katsuki, from his mind to his wolf, can let that motherfucker go.
There’s no part of him that wants to.
“IT'S SNOWING!” Pinky shrieks, bursting through the old, beaten door excitedly. It gives a groan in response, but the wooden complaint is completely covered by Mina’s glee. “THERE’S SNOW!” To emphasize this, flurries of snow follow her inside, with a gust of wind that causes the fire in the fireplace to flicker wildly.
“CLOSE THE DAMN DOOR,” Katsuki barks, beating back the chill in his bones. He’s a werewolf for fuck’s sake, the cold shouldn’t affect him.
“I thought werewolves were immune to the cold,” his tone was monotone and empty as per fucking usual, but Katsuki swore he was amused, there was a definite mocking little look in his strange eyes. The younger one gave a scowl.
“Shut up shitty bloodsucker and make me hot chocolate.”
“Snow?” Dunce Face perks up, eyes brightening.
“Snow,” the other idiot confirms, with a grin on her face that Katsuki translates immediately. Also, the door is still wide fucking open.
“That means,” Flat Face pipes up from where he’s sprawled across one of the two couches, lazily catching mini marshmallows in his mouth. Katsuki inhales sharply.
“Don’t you fucking-”
“SNOWBALL FIGHT!!” They screech, at the same time, as if they’ve never seen snow before in their life, as if this doesn’t happen every time it snows every. Fucking. Time.
“I’ll get Kyouka!” Dunce Face shouts, but before he moves there’s a sharp No! from the other room.
“Or not,” he says, cheerfully.
“Did I hear a snowball fight?” Shitty Hair’s head pops out of the kitchen, a stupid sunny grin on his face. Katsuki feels an itch of irritation under his skin and doesn’t bite back his growl because he never does and never will.
The door is still open, left forgotten by his bundle of idiots, and a chill presses against his spine.
“Fucking-”
“Let’s go before it gets dark,” Shitty Hair bounces over to the others, acting like a fucking puppy. They’re werewolves, damnit, not dogs.
As if the world couldn’t bend him over and fuck him hard enough, the world’s most irrevelant creature in existance makes his way out from the hallway, eyes too wide for his stupid baby face.
“Izuku! Come have a snowball fight with us!”
“It just started snowing you dumb fucks,” Katsuki snaps, “there’s not enough to snow to even piss on out there, now-” a blast of cold air brings in a fresh flurry of unpissed on snow, the fireplace flickering like what is left of Katsuki’s patience.
“CLOSE THE FUCKING DOOR!”
“Aww, but Kacchan-”
“Don’t you fucking-”
“We haven’t had a snowball fight in ages-”
“What the fuck were you doing last week then-”
“ Snow ball fight!” Pinky starts chanting, punching her fist in the air, “snowball fight! Snow ball fight!” Everyone starts joining her, chanting like the demented fucks they are. They’re all in their mid twenties yet never fail to act like fucking ten year olds. Katsuki shivers from the cold, gracefully withholding the urge to jump into the fireplace, before he snaps.
“FUCKING FINE!”
He’ll destroy all of them, serve snow up to their stupid little beans like he usually does, then make himself hot chocolate with their tears. The salt will perfectly bring out the flavor.
The others cheer, foolishly thinking they’ll have a chance. Katsuki unleashes his feral grin, aggressive and with no hint of fondness to be found.
Not even a little bit.
By the time he forcibly makes everyone bundle up ( I’m not fucking dealing with you when you assholes get sick), Katsuki is forced to retract is previous statement. The snow falls down relentlessly, and there is more than enough to piss on and then some. He’s the last one to leave, just to ensure that the door clicks shut behind him. For a second, he stands on the porch of the old house they had built together. The floors are slanted slightly and there’s a slight gap in the front right corner that Katsuki had painstakingly covered because there’s no way in hell anything is getting into their house unless he permits it to. Solar panels cover most of the roof, and there’s a shed beside the house. The large clearing is surrounded by woods, and the dim, weak sunlight is blinding from the snow.
He breathes in the cool, crisp air, taking in the scene, burying his nose into his old, torn silk scarf. Despite all these years, it is still smooth to touch and warm. Despite his reluctance to go outside, he does love the snow. He remembers a time when he didn’t, when the stupid fucking cold made him miserable and the only thing he associated with the snow was how wet and cold he felt afterwards. All of that is still true, the cold does make him miserable and he has to take a shower immediately after going inside or else he’ll end up snappy and bitter the rest of the day, even moreso.
However, when he stands still and watches the snow fall, when he hears the laughter of his pack, even Earphones is gleefully shoving snow down Dunce Face’s shirt, there’s a sense of calm that soothes the aches in his shoulders.
“You’ve never had a snowball fight before? Aren’t you, like, a thousand?” Katsuki huffed, his tiny fists resting on his hips, just like his mother would do whenever she was mildly inconvenienced by something.
Shouto’s brow furrowed, he looked infuriatingly calm and confused, like he had no idea what he was doing, it was a look that was constant. He tilted his head, before pointing out blandly.
“I’m not a thousand, but what does that have to do with fighting with balls of snow? What is the goal? Is it to the death?”
“Of course it fucking is,” Katsuki scoffed, “and I’m going to destroy you.”
“Snow cannot kill me, I-”
Katsuki groaned, rolling his eyes, before snatching Shouto’s hand. It’s just as cold as the weather, just as frigid as the snow falling down outside, but Katsuki found warmth in it anyways.
“Come on, dumbass, I’ll show you. There’s no use in winning if your opponent can’t even give a proper fight.”
He’s brought out of his very unwanted thoughts by a harsh sting of snow ball smacking his face.
“WHO THE FUCK DID THAT!?” Katsuki splutters, wiping snow out of his eye before sending his dumb ass fucking group a glare that should’ve annihilated them immediately, but instead they all grin like idiots.
“Come on Kacchan,” Sero brings out his shit eating grin and Katsuki physically feels his blood boiling, “even Izuku is doing better than you right now.”
That mother fucker.
“Ah- um Hanta don’t bring me-”
“YOU’RE ALL GONNA DIE, SHITTY NERDS!” He leaps off the porch, because steps are for losers like Deku, and is hurtling a ball before his words could register in their singular brain cell. It hits Deku in the face so hard he topples into the snow. Shrieks fill the air as Katsuki turns and zeroes in on Flat Face with an intensity that has that grin fall off his face faster than Deku’s tears falling at anything ever.
“ You,” he seethes and for once the lanky werewolf becomes aware enough to run, but it’s too late because Katsuki is on a hunt and you don’t fucking run from a wolf on a hunt, because they’ll chase.
“Run! Hanta!” he can hear Dunce Face shout, “do a zig zag! ZIG ZAG!”
“I’ll save you bro!” Shity Hair jumps in between them, snow ball in his hand, only to be tackled by Pinky, shoved face first into the snow. Katsuki leaps over them, silently deciding that he’ll be making two cups of hot chocolate when this is all done. He hurdles a ball, but Flat Faces zig zags and it zooms past and hits a tree with a violent splat. He curses, collecting snow to build another weapon while he runs after him. Flat Face is an idiot, but incredibly agile. What he lacks with muscle, he makes up with speed. He leaps over a log without a stumble, a noise that is a mix between a scream of terror and laughter escaping his mouth.
Katsuki lets out a grin, since there’s no one to see it. Adrenaline is shooting through his veins as he leaps over the log, lands with a roll, and hurtles the ball.
This time it smacks into Hanta’s spine and he goes down with a yelp.
Katsuki takes the time to smother his grin with a snarl, stomping towards Hanta. Flat Face is groaning dramatically, wheezing in defeat as he presses down on him with his boot. They’re not very far away from the clearing, but far enough that the bare trees and snow block them from seeing it without using their wolf eyes. He can still hear the snow ball battle going on behind him.
“You gonna take back those words, shit face?” Katsuki snarls, but it isn’t a question and they both know it. He presses down with his boot, leans down and twists his ear. Ears are sensitive to werewolves, so he’s careful not to twist too hard, despite the fact that this idiot just compared him to shitty Deku.
Hanta gives in like tissue paper.
“Ouch ouch ouch, okay, okay! Bakugou Katsuki is superior in every way, the God of Snow Ball Fights- no, the God of Everything, he’s the best mom- ouch! The Best! He’s just the Best, we all worship King Explosion Mur-”
Flat Face stops, his body stilling suddenly from where it was once futility struggling to escape Katsuki’s wrath. The suddenness causes Katsuki to stop as well, something vaguely resembling concern filters into his brain.
“What the fu-”
“Katsuki,” Hanta whispers.
Instantly, Katsuki let’s go, straightening up fast enough to make his head spin, but he pushes it away efficiently. Sero scrambles up right after, his focus never wavering from something. A chill that has nothing to do with cold overcomes him.
“What is it?”
No cursing, no games. He stands besides Hanta and follows his finger when he points. He glimpses a hint of red, pushing away the sense of familiarity and the uptick of his heart that comes whenever he sees even a hint of white and red. He’s not stupid, he’s far away from here and no longer in Katsuki’s life. Still, there’s something there.
Cautiously, Katsuki sniffs the air. A familiar metallic scent fills the air, so heavy that Katsuki curses himself for missing it before.
Blood.
It’s a strange blood, a scent that itches at his mind but he can’t quite pinpoint. It’s not human nor an animal nor werewolf, but he knows it regardless. His wolf growls and it manages to escape past his lips.
“Hanta,” he says, his eyes focusing on the red, it’s not blood. He smells blood but what he sees is very much just hair. Crimson hair and his throat aches. It can’t be.
He can feel Sero’s eyes on him, and any leftover teasing, friendly air is vacuumed out. He’s reminded that this pack isn’t completely useless.
“Go back and get everyone inside.”
He can’t hear a heartbeat, the blood of a dead inhuman being so near- inside of his territory makes his skin crawl.
“What about-“
“ Go,” he snarls and it’s not quiet. There’s a force behind his words that drives Hanta back. He goes.
Katsuki waits.
He waits until he can no longer hear the confused noises of his pack, who can occasionally piece all of their brain cells together long enough to realize when something is actually serious, as rare as it might be. He waits until he hears the door shut, harder than it usually is, most likely so that Katsuki can hear it.
He allows himself a moment to sink into the scent of blood, clashing with the clean scent of snow. He allows himself to delve into unwanted memories he had locked into the attic of his mind (only ever brought down once, a couple days after seeing Deku again, seeing someone he once thought was lost ). The flash of red and white hair practically fucking haunts his every waking hour anyways, because he hasn’t managed to scrub Shouto from his mind since he ditched that shitty castle (since he left his home).
Then, the moment is over and Katsuki steps forward. His feet sink into the snow, but there’s no noise in the stillness of winter. The closer he gets, the stronger the smell gets, until he can no longer smell just the heavy stench of blood. There’s something else, lingering closely behind. It’s much like winter itself, cold and harsh and bright, much like the gentle fall of snow and weak sunlight, like the bare trees and long winding halls of an almost abandoned castle.
He’s close enough to glimpse a pair of boots, old fashioned and worn, so familiar like the long, black cape and the hint of a collar.
Like the interwoven locks of white and red, blending into the snow.
It can’t be.
However, Katsuki knows that this shitty world he lives in doesn’t give a fuck about what can or cannot be. Nine years ago, Bakugou Katsuki was young and sixteen and he fell in love like a goddamn idiot. He ran like a coward, leaving behind a cold castle and the warmth in his chest, replacing it with bits and pieces until he can almost feel the same warmth again. Not quite, but he’s surrounded by a pack that irritates him in a similar way, makes him want to cook for them and break their noses, and most of the time he wakes up and thinks I’m home.
Now he’s 24, and nine years feels like a lifetime, and he’s staring down at a still form of the very reason why sometimes he wakes up and thinks this is not my home.
Like usual, he’s there when Katsuki jerks awake from the dredges of the past. For awhile, seeing the stupid vampire loom over him like the monsters in the stories that Deku would shake like a dog while listening to would cause him to lash out. Shouto was never affected, would just blink at him slowly before handing him a cup of lukewarm hot chocolate stiffly. The first cup had so much chocolate in it that Katsuki had thrown it against the wall, jumped out of his bed and dragged the vampire to the kitchen. He wasn’t tall enough to reach the counters, which must’ve been built with giants in mind surely, but that didn’t stop him from diligently teaching Shouto how to make an actual good cup of hot cocoa.
The dumb halfie had stood there, blinking dumbly. Katsuki was pretty sure that there was nothing but TV static going on in his head.
Still, the next time he had woken up in a panic, the hot cocoa had been perfect.
Seeing him then, he no longer saw him as a looming monster, but as the angel that reached out his hand. There was a stillness to Shouto that was calming, and that night they sat together in silence, Katsuki calmly drinking his hot cocoa while waiting for his heartbeat to slow. Well, usually it was silence.
“When I got bad dreams, my mother used to sing to me,” Halfie had said so randomly, Katsuki was in the middle of finishing up his drink and he sucked in too much and promptly started choking on it. In his coughing fit, he could hear the shitty vampire give a noise of alarm.
“Why the fuck would I care?” Katsuki snapped, voice hoarse and too soft for his liking, he hated these nights, hated how the shadows would become heavy around him, how Shouto would sit there and Katsuki would relax because there was someone there to keep guard, to protect him like his pack, like what his own mother used to.
In the moonlight, Shouto’s pale skin seemed to glow. He shifted from where he sat on the bed uncomfortably, and the young werewolf saw more on the older vampire’s face than he had possibly ever seen of him. The hesitance made Katsuki curious.
“Well, I could- if you want,” his offer was so half hearted that it took awhile for Katsuki to understand. Katsuki never had nightmares before, his mind was too strong for that, but Deku was weak and he could often hear his annoying whimpers from the next room over. Sometimes Inko-obasan would shush her son and maybe he heard a hum through the walls and maybe the hum would make him drowsy as well.
The image of the bloodsucker awkwardly humming to him made him snort.
“Sure, whatever,” he pushed the cup into Shouto’s chest and wrapped himself with the blanket, turning his back against him so that he couldn’t see the look on his face, the tiny little ache for smaller rooms and thinner walls and calming hums.
For a second, there was nothing, and Katsuki could smell the hesitance. The child almost snapped at him, patience coming to an end, when a low, soothing melody filled the air. It was rough around the corners, a little jagged, but it was slow and steady like a heartbeat, and Katsuki felt his tiny shoulders relax.
It didn’t take him long to fall asleep that night, or every night like that since.
Shouto didn’t think that he’d wake up again.
That’s not to say that he was disappointed, despite how slow his days are, blurring together into one glob of silent nights and winter snow, he’s quite happy being alive.
He wakes up warm, surrounded by the scent of werewolves and spices. Everything is hazy, cloudy around the edges and his hearing doesn’t quite work. There’s a pain in his chest, but he doesn't feel the stake anymore and judging from the fresh unique taste of wolf blood in his mouth, he can assume that the wound is mostly closed.
Muffled voices are heard, a mix between shouting and whispering, but Shouto is warm and he feels safe, so he allows sleep to drag him back under, allows the muffled voices to float away.
The last thought that comes to the forefront of his mind isn’t an unusual one, but, in inhaling a comforting, achingly familiar scent, it tastes a little different, a little more real.
Katsuki.
“Did he just say your name?” Pinky’s voice is a mix between glee, awe, and something knowing. Katsuki is too busy cursing the blood rushing towards his cheeks to do anything about it.
The small, soft murmur of Katsuki from the other room (his room) not only managed to disrupt every single of these idiots who were talking over each other, but also sent multiple pairs of eyes witnessing Bakugou Katsuki blush like a virgin. Werewolves are typically tan, but of course his skin has to be paler than usual to emphasise how truly red they are becoming.
“Kacchan do you- know him?” Shitty Deku hesitantly asks and Katsuki curses every single thing that has led up to this moment, his cheeks so hot he can practically see the steam coming off of it. Stupid fucking halfie saying his name like- like-
Of course fucking not, he wants to say, it’s waiting on his lips to be spit out, but he can’t think of anything but Shouto barely breathing in the snow, of his teeth on his wrist, mindlessly drinking, but still pulling back when he tells him to, despite how fucking out of it he was. He can still hear him calling his name for the first time after nine fucking years.
Nothing comes out when he opens his mouth and it infuriates him how well he translates the look these fuckers are passing to each other, right in front of him.
“Kacchan,” Deku says again, pathetically, and Katsuki despises his concern that looks suspiciously close to pity.
“Shut the fuck up Deku, you don’t know any-”
“You let him drink from you,” there was a time when this stupid fucking nerd wouldn’t dare interupt him, he misses those days vividly, especially at this moment. Now he’s just barely taller than him, a fact that never fails to piss Katsuki off.
“He’s right,” Earphone says, she thinks she’s slick with that overly bored tone, but Katsuki can taste her nosiness from here. Every single one of these dumbasses don’t know anything about privacy, he hates it here. “You barely let us touch you on a good day, yet you let some random bloodsucker drink your blood? That’s unlikely.”
“You broke my nose the first time I hugged you,” Denki points out, sounding as if he’s proud of that fact.
“Remember when that one guy brushed up against you to get some jelly beans and you sent him to the hospital?”
“Remember when I brushed up against you to get some jelly beans and you thought I was the guy again and nearly sent me to the hospital?”
“You threw me across the room because you didn’t like me breathing near you.”
“And-”
“I FUCKING GET IT,” Katsuki shouts over their snickering, there’s a heartbeat of sudden worry that he had woken up Halfie, but it’s so desturbing that he would ever care about how his shouting affects other people that he decides that particular heartbeat had never existed in the first place. The next time he yells, which he’s pretty sure will be after one of these idiots decides to open their mouths again, he’s going to make it extra loud to compensate.
“Bro,” Shitty Hair interjects, looking at him with all the earnesty of an excited puppy, “you don’t have to tell us, but it’s clear you know him and that’s manly as hell.”
“Not to mention that he’s also fine as hell,” Pinky adds, fanning her face with a low whistle.
The growl that escapes Katsuki is involuntary and he’s taken aback by the intensity of it. Judging by the stunned looks that come across their faces, he’s not the only one. Mina actually takes a startled step back.
The shock is quickly replaced by a look of sheer glee.
Katsuki regrets running into an injured wolf years back, should’ve left her for the stupid bears to gnaw at.
He really hates it here.
“Oh?” The wide grin on Pinky’s face is apparently fucking contagious because it spreads to the others rather quickly. His stupid wolf had no right to betray him like that, growling possessively as if- as if-
“How come you never told us you have a super hot vampire boyfriend, Kacchan.”
“FUCK YOU HE’S NOT MY BOYFRIEND!!”
He’s red because of sheer rage, damnit, it’s coursing through his veins, causing his heart to pump harshly and irrationally. His palms are sweating profusely, it’s too hot in this shitty house with these fucking shitty people and that shitty vampire is just snoozing away on his own shitty bed, not a single ingot in his shitty bloodsucking brain even aware of how much he’s disrupting Katsuki’s shitty life.
“You know, we don’t really know a lot about your past,” Deku murmurs, looking at his feet like he used to back then whenever he talked to him. It leaves a sick feeling in his stomach.
“Shitty Deku you of all-”
“I mean we know about that,” Deku winces, fidgeting with his hands, the way he only does when he thinks of their pack.
If this bitch interrupts him one more goddamn time he’s going to hit him so hard his fucking skin will fly right off of his dumb skull.
“But none of us know about afterwards, before we all came together. I mean, you know about us, obviously, I mean, and I know you haven’t done anything bad, I- uh- I don’t think an-and it’s fine that you don’t want to tell us! Really it is! It’s just that, I mean- well sometimes you get really quiet and like- like pensive and stuff? Especially in the winter, and you don’t like Christmas all that much, even though you loved it as a kid, like you would wake us all up at three in the morning for presents then run around in the woods, that one time you fell in that hole, but now- well you did fall in a hole last year but-”
“What Izubro is trying to say,” Kirishima places his palm over Deku’s mouth, a nervous smile making his way to his face, probably because Katsuki feels seconds away from murdering everyone in here and then himself. Deku rambles on for a few seconds before noticing that no one can hear what he’s trying to say. “Is that we trust you bro, so you don’t have to tell us, but we’re listening if you do.”
Deku nods emphatically.
He cracks like a breadstick underneath their expectant stares, knowing damn well that they’ll drop it now, but it’ll keep coming up and up until the truth gushes out of him like an open wound, involuntary and relentless. If Halfie hadn’t walked back into his life, or laid unconscious and dying back into his life, then maybe he wouldn’t have to expose his insides to this mess of a pack, let them inspect his heart and blood vessels and find exactly where the vampire had made himself home there.
It’s not like he’s ashamed of being practically raised by a vampire, though Katsuki had taught him more than the other way around, it’s just he never found the point in telling them. To him, his time in that old castle with the too many and too big rooms and halls and cold walls is an entirely different lifetime from this house with a filled in gap in the corner and creaking steps and tiny, warm rooms. Katsuki has separated the two, put them into two different boxes. They were to never touch, never to mix together.
Except here he fucking is, the two boxes tipped over, their contents intermingling until they’re just one pile of shit.
“I’m making supper,” he announces, let it not be said that a shot of fondness is injected straight into his chest at the synchronous downturned sad puppy look they all give, which quickly perk up when he adds, “and then I’ll fucking talk, you shitheads.”
He walked into one of the many living rooms in the castle, this one was the one closest to the kitchen and his room so he had announced that it was the official one from now on and Shouto had nodded seriously, and immediately burst into laughter. A year had gone by like a vivid dream, Katsuki was now seven (almost eight!) and staring at the worst attempt of Christmas decorations in his life.
Grass was clumsily put on the mantle of the fireplace, with a mysterious burnt sock hanging off the side. In the corner, a lopsided tree was currently being strangled by yellow lights, half of which weren’t even working. Red string also curled around the tree loosely. On top of the tree was a disastrously cut out star, as if someone started cutting it without outlining it first, that drooped sadly down. Underneath it was a box, not wrapped or anything, it wasn’t even closed.
On the low coffee table were a plate of burnt cookies, looking like they were supposed to be shaped like something, maybe. A smell of gingerbread wafted through the air, but it smelled ugly, it smelled as if gingerbread had a drinking problem. Katsuki’s aunt had a drinking problem and she used to buy him expensive shit but then take it away the next day that bitch.
On the wall between the fireplace and the “tree”, written in stilted cut out letters and uneven spacing, read: CH R I sT M A s. For some reason the s’s were smaller than the other letters.
And there, in front of it all, stood his vampire. A cone like thing sat on his head, wrapped in red fabric with white fluff shoved on top, one of the pillows that would decorate the couches was suspiciously absent.
“Happy Christmas,” Shouto said. Katsuki wheezed, an embarrassing high pitched noise of all the air escaping his lungs and desperately trying to return.
“What,” Katsuki took a deep breath, “is that?”
He points at the cone on the vampire’s head. Shouto tilted his head and the fluff ball fell slowly to the ground, but the vampire didn’t seem to notice.
“You said that the Christmas Man’s hat was long and pointy, and it was red with a white ball on top,” Shouto pointed out, “was it not like this?”
Christmas Man?
“You mean Santa?”
“That’s what I said?”
All vampires must be idiots, Katsuki realized. They’re so stupid and Katsuki felt a warmth build up in his chest, it crawls up into his cheeks and settles in his eyes. It’s the dumbest thing he had ever seen in his life and it’s blurring together. It was funny, he was just laughing moments ago, this was all so fucking stupid.
A cold hand touches his cheek, startling and stark against how hot he was running. Long fingers slowly pushed away his tears.
“Katsuki?” the concern was almost raw, open and honest, “did I do some- oh.”
Katsuki surges forward, smashing his face into Shouto’s chest aggressviely, clutching his stupid silk shirt with both of his fists. He didn’t let go, nor did he say a word, not even when the vampire froze, sucking in air with shock. Not even when he relaxed afterwards, arms carefully curling around him, sheltering his small body and pulling him close. He had no heartbeat, but he was breathing and he was warm and he was Shouto, the stupid vampire that sung to him when he woke from nightmares, and made the worst possible Christmas decorations for him.
“Katsuki,” the stupid vampire said, “don’t you want to open your gift?” The gift that’s sitting under what could be a Christmas tree, not even closed.
Katsuki’s grip tightened around him.
Much later, he would open the gift and swallow back his tears (he was becoming more like Deku and that’s unacceptable) at the bright red silk scarf, much too big ( so you can grow into it, Shouto said ), but it was smooth to touch and warm. He would try the cookies, before pitching them into the fire and dragging Shouto- still with that cone hat, fluff ball back on top- to the kitchen to make real cookies, ones that were stable and not like his fucking aunt.
“I did not give the cookies alcohol though?”
“You’re not allowed to talk ever again.”
But at the moment, Katsuki curled into the vampire’s chest and finally felt like he had found himself a home again.
Shouto feels much better the next time he wakes, with nothing but a lingering ache in his chest and a slightly parched throat. He’s still in the same bed, wrapped around with that old, familiar scent that unlocks the rest of his muscles and he melts into the bed, snuggling into the blanket and pressing his cheek into the pillow. He can hear voices outside the door clearly now, though he’s not really paying attention to it.
He smells human food and hot chocolate, it’s a cozy scent, or maybe it’s the sweetness coming off the bed sheets. He can hear the beginning of a snow storm brewing outside, the uptick of wind, the fresh smell of snow even through the walls. He’s not cold, not really, but he brings the blanket tighter around him anyways. His chest barely gives a twinge.
Getting stabbed in the chest does not feel good, Shouto decides, he’ll be sure to not do it again.
He sits up, slowly and reluctantly letting the blanket fall around his waist. He’s wearing a shirt that is not his, it’s loose around his shoulders but he can see his waistline. The T-shirt is soft and black, with a white skull plastered on it, and bandages peek over his collarbone. The sweatpants he’s wearing are also not his, and it’s also a bit too short for him but baggy and very comfortable. His boots are off, but his feet are still clad in his white and red kitten socks.
The bedroom he’s in is simple, a long bookshelf sits in one corner while a dresser sits in the other. It’s small, but tidy and his clothes are neatly folded on a desk, his cape tossed over the chair. He can’t see his boots anywhere.
Dark curtains cover the window, but Shouto can see a glimpse of the bright snow and darkening sunlight. He has no idea how much time has passed, but it can’t have been more than a day.
He doesn’t hear the loud stomping that comes his way, though he definitely should have, but he does hear the door crack open.
“Oi you better be awake you shitty…”
Shouto turns slowly, blinking rapidly as Katsuki trails off, eyes wide. And he is, Katsuki that is, it’s undeniably him. He’s grown, taller and leaner, his shoulders are much wider, face a little lean but still just as flawless. His hair is shorter, but just as golden and leonine, eyes impossibly redder, almost glowing in the light.
He looks good, Shouto thinks, beautiful, even. Radiant.
Breathtaking.
Shouto is suddenly very aware of the clothes that don’t fit him, a certain tinge of something (excitement? anticipation?) shoots through him at the realization that they might be Katsuki’s, and how messy his hair is and he must be unnervingly pale from still recovering, he can practically feel the heaviness of the bags underneath his eyes. His kitten socks peek through at the end of the blanket.
“-vampire,” Katsuki finishes, Shouto can see the bob of his throat as he swallows. The werewolf’s fingers tighten on the tray he’s holding, containing a bowl of something that contains a marvelous smell, the heat rising from it in waves, and a glass of water. Shouto blinks the shock away and smiles, in a way he hasn’t in awhile, but it feels good, the involuntary pull of his lips. It’s all good.
“Katsuki,” he says, letting the warmth he feels escape in his voice, “hi.”
Katsuki snorts and the fondness nearly overwhelms him (almost overwhelms them both, though Shouto doesn’t know that) and a blush climbs up his cheeks. Shouto stares at it intently, enthralled.
Cute.
Katsuki has always been cute, from when he was a child pouting over not getting to play with the decorative swords that are everywhere in the castle to being a clumsy, angry teenager that had a habit of falling in holes to now, older but still cute. Though it hits differently now than it ever did before, Shouto isn’t sure how to describe it, other than it tastes different, like an added flavor to an already delicious bowl of soba to make it more delicious.
“You’re still an idiot,” he mutters, placing the tray on the nightstand beside the bed.
“I made hot soba because fuck cold soba, it’s too fucking cold-” He looks back at Shouto and splutters, the blush turning a shade darker.
“Wha- stop smiling like that you freak!”
Shouto didn’t realize he’s still smiling, but he feels his smile widen.
“Sorry,” he says, not sorry at all. His temper is still the same, bright and burning, like a wildfire. He’s glad that the world has yet to tame him, Katsuki shouldn’t have to be tamed.
The werewolf tches, looking away with a scowl. Shouto wants to poke his cheek, it looks squishy.
“Whatever,” he growls, it’s deeper than it used to be and it vibrates through Shouto’s entire body, “just eat, and since you’re up and fucking ready, you can change your own bandages.”
Katsuki turns to leave.
“You’ve grown,” Shouto blurts out, causing the other werewolf to stop and snort again. He turns back to face him, rolling his eyes. That hasn’t changed either.
“Yeah, no shit-”
“You’re beautiful.”
“-Of course I’ve fucking grown it’s been-,” suddenly he jerks back, literally takes a step back, his eyes widening. The red that stained his cheeks not only darken, but it travels to his ears, then down to his neck and most likely further past his shirt. It’s fascinating to watch. His mouth drops as well, face slack and stunned.
Cute.
“Wha-whhat- WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME YOU FUCKER!?!”
“You’re beautiful, Katsuki.”
Shouto might be messing with him a little, he’s not lying, but he feels oddly playful from just waking up from being stabbed. Perhaps it’s because he’s with Katsuki again, after so long of being alone, missing his loud presence that filled all the rooms in the castle he still lives in to the brim, only growing stronger as he ages. Perhaps it’s because he really has grown, the haunted look that had been slowly disappearing when he was with him now finally gone, and there’s a healthy glow to him, and he’s beautiful.
The werewolf grows speechless, his mouth opening and closing, and Shouto can hear the familiar heart beat racing beneath Katsuki’s chest. He can smell his sweat from here, sweet like the bed sheets, and Shouto feels somewhat flustered and amused at Katsuki being so flustered because of him.
If he had a heart beat, somehow he knows it would be racing, too.
“JUST EAT YOUR STUPID FOOD, HALFIE!” Katsuki snarls, then turns and promptly runs straight into the door, the loud thud reverberating through it.
“Fucking- who shut the goddamn door!”
Shouto laughs, it’s a short, breathy sound that he quickly covers with his mouth in an attempt to cover it, but it’s obvious with his shaking shoulders and vibrant eyes that he’s laughing.
Katsuki whips around, a snarl on his face that quickly falls. His eyes widen, again, this time something soft and vulnerable reflects off those crimson irises, something that makes Shouto’s breath catch, before he yanks open the door and leaves.
The door slams shut behind him.
The winter markets were always packed around Christmas time, overflowing with eager families and starstruck couples. There’s a live performance in the center and an abundance of lights criss cross around the little shops, lighting the way in a glow. It wasn’t snowing, but it looked like it would soon.
Katsuki was old enough that he didn’t need to hold any fucker’s hand, just because there were a lot of people, more than there usually was, didn’t mean that he needed a guide. If Halfie hadn’t insisted, looking at him with a concerned gaze, then he’d totally be facing the stupid crowd on his own.
Instead, he tightened his grip on Shouto’s sleeve with a scowl.
“Oh look, the spicy curry is back.”
His scowl vanished quickly, head snapping up.
“Fucking finally,” he said loudly, ignoring the aghasted look a mother with two kids gave him.
“I can’t believe those assholes didn’t have it last year.” He dragged the shitty vampire over by the sleeve. Shouto gave a little hum, low and amused. Katsuki blamed the heat on his cheeks from the heaters displayed around the little curry shop. There were only four seats and an island bar to eat on, and Katsuki hastily sat on one before an extra took it. Shouto sat beside him, a small smile on his lips. In the lights, his eyes looked like glass.
God fuck, he hated hormones.
He made sure to order the spiciest curry option, not even blinking at the shocked look on the person’s face.
“Are you sure? That’s a bit-”
“Shut the fuck up and do your job,” Katsuki snapped. A hand rested gently on his arm, cold even through the three jackets he had on.
“I’ll take just some green tea, please.”
The waiter blushed, like every other fucking person did when talking to the clueless vampire.
“O-oh of course,” he bowed, to both of them, flinching a little at Katsuki’s scowl.
The hand on his arm burned, despite being so cold, and Katsuki shook it off before it made him red again. It was confusing, that’s what it was, Shouto’s touch used to be comforting, it reminded him of his father’s smooth hands and his mother’s rough ones. It was the comforting touch of a pack.
Except now it made him crazy, the cold fingertips burning and remaining long after he let go. Every little thing made his heart thump rapidly, his low hums which would soothe him to sleep at night now made him restless, staring at the ceiling at night, wide fucking awake and heart attempting to punch itself in the face. This whole thing was fucked and Katsuki hated it
He fingered his silk scarf. It was beginning to fray around the edges, but it was still smooth to touch and warm.
Another hand joined, lightly touching the scarf, rubbing the material with their long fingers. The werewolf watched it with way too much intent.
“It’s getting old,” Shouto mused, but there’s a fond look in his eyes that Katsuki couldn’t bear to see, “I might have to get you a new one.”
Katsuki didn’t want a new one.
He thought back to the box under his bed, with a matching scarf that’s red and white, and smacked his hands off his scarf because he couldn’t think of anything else to do, he couldn’t handle what he was feeling right now, what he was feeling when he’s been around Shouto lately.
“It’s fine,” he muttered, glad to have the waiter come back with a bowl of curry whose smell burnt his nostrils. He dived into it, savoring the heat that hit his tongue and followed down his throat.
The waiter gave Shouto his green tea, who thanked him politely. Katsuki scowled into his bowl at that pathetic human extra’s blush, slurping his curry angrily. He didn’t relax until he walked away.
“Oh that’s weird.”
“What?” Katsuki glared, turning to the vampire. Shouto was holding a napkin, his head tilted in a way that had the white hair blend with the red. It was stupidly cute, that asshole.
“He put numbers on the napkin, I wonder why.”
Katsuki stared, for once not because he was captivated by the way the lights reflect off his eyes or whatever, but because he was, once again, floored by how empty Halfie’s head was.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Thank you.”
Katsuki huffed, struggling to put his frown back, but unable to stop his lips from quirking up.
“He was giving you his number, dumbass.”
“Why?”
“Because he has the hots for you.”
Shouto frowned at the number thoughtfully. For a split second, Katsuki was horrified that he might be considering taking the stupid human up on the offer. After nearly ten years of living with him, Katsuki had not once seen him with another person.
“I don’t understand, my body temperature is naturally cold, how could I make someone hot?”
Nevermind, he had forgotten that all vampires were stupid, especially this one.
He didn’t even have a phone.
Katsuki couldn’t fight back the short burst laughter escaping his lips even if he tried, which he did.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Katsuki quickly said, shovelling more curry down his throat. I love you.
He choked on his curry, the thought coming so suddenly and so loudly in his head that Katsuki didn’t expect it at all.
“Katsuki?”
He waved away Shouto’s concern, mind still on those three words he just thought. That’s so stupid, there’s no way he lo- at least, not like that. Not like those stupid books that Katsuki definitely never read before, especially in the middle of the night when Shouto is away or asleep. So what if his heart stuttered when Shouto smiled at him, or touched him, or tried to cook and ended up setting the kitchen on fire again. So what if he was the prettiest fucking creature Katsuki had ever seen, and that he thought his clueless face was endearing and his blood ran a little hot when he got angry enough to show?
Oh.
Katsuki slowly set his bowl done, feeling cold to his bones.
“Katsuki?”
The werewolf looked up at blue and gray eyes of concern, he could see his own face in the reflection, looking oddly pissed and shocked.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” he said, dumbly. The vampire frowned, clearly not believing him, but thankfully let it go. Shouto was impatient on a lot of things, Katsuki had discovered, but never on this.
So what if he’s in love with the vampire? That didn’t matter right now, he’ll deal with that later. He will deal with that later.
“It’s nothing, I saw a cat shelter further up, let’s go there.”
He couldn’t help but smile helplessly at the way his vampire brightened.
What an idiot.
Katsuki slams the back of his head against the wall, slowly sliding down. His heart is beating so fast he’s surprised it hasn’t exploded out of his chest.
You’re beautiful.
“Fuck,” Katsuki buries his head in his hands, hoping the heat in his cheeks will cool off so that he can safely enter the living room and not be immediately made fun of, but at this point he’s going to be stuck like this forever.
Fucker has the nerve to look incredibly pretty with his messy hair and in Katsuki’s clothes and then say in that blunt, deadpan voice that he is the one to be beautiful? Seeing the light that managed to break through the curtains outline his figure in a soft glow reminds him of when he first saw him and thought he was an angel.
God, he really fucking hates it here.
He has the sudden urge to punch Deku in the face.
“Kacchan?”
Speak of the devil and he’ll grant all of your fucking wishes by serving them up on a silver platter.
“What,” Katsuki snaps, which would probably have been more effective if he had moved his head out of his hands.
“Are you okay? Is he awake? Did he hur-”
“Stop talking before I bitch slap you out of existence.”
Katsuki swears he hears a muffled snort from his room, which makes his mouth twitch but he’s a grown ass werewolf he can easily beat it back into a scowl, not like when he was sixteen.
Your beautiful, Katsuki.
Kill me, he pleads to whatever fucking higher power is laughing at him right now. He groans again, burying himself further into his hands. His chest refuses to stop constricting, he’s pretty sure he has heart burn right now.
“K-Kacchan are you sure-”
The werewolf growls, jerking up fast enough that Deku startles. Katsuki takes a deep and primal satisfaction in watching him take a step back, and he makes sure to slam his shoulder into him on his way past him.
“Wait! Where are you-”
“I’m going to prep the damn backup generator,” he growls, picking the first thing that pops into his mind. He’s relieved to find that it's not a bad idea. The wind is picking up fast, he can hear it howling outside, and it’s getting dark. The weak sunlight can only do so much to power the solar panels, especially since it has been days since the last clear, sunny day.
Even when not thinking, his brain is still clearly superior.
Whatever that stuttering idiot says, Katsuki doesn’t care. He marches through the living room, smoothly side stepping Dunce Face laying face down on the floor for some fucking reason that probably has something to do with Kyouka currently sprawled on the couch with a smug smirk on her face. The other idiots are in the kitchen and if Katsuki wasn’t on a mission to get of the house and away from Shouto and his wild bed head and kitten socks and his you’re beautiful, then he’d be more aware of the fact that no good things ever happen when anyone other than him is in the kitchen.
He snatches his coat, shoves his boots on, doesn’t even falter when his eyes catches the vampire’s old boots (and he pauses only slightly when they move to his scarf, but that’s no one’s fucking business and he snatches the scarf and wraps it tightly around his neck anyways).
“Katsubroski where are you going? It’s cold as balls out,” he hears Denki call out.
“SUCK A DICK DEKU!”
He slams the door to the confused but I’m not Deku? .
Over burnt toast for brains was right, it is fucking cold outside. The windows are covered to keep out the cold, so Katsuki didn’t expect to wade through so much snow, and it’s still fucking falling. It’s late, but not late enough to be as dark as it is, the sun completely blocked out by clouds that Katsuki swore wasn’t there five minutes ago, when it was allowing the sun to highlight Halfie’s outline gently.
He sinks into the snow until it’s almost halfway to his knees, shoving his hands into his pockets and grabbing the inner fabric with his fist to keep warm. The wind snaps at his face angrily as if it doesn’t want him here as much as he doesn’t want to be here. The shed with the generator is thankfully right next to the house, the lawnmower is covered with a pile of rakes and shovels, Katsuki’s tactical shovel is safely sheltered in his room. The shelves are lined with tools, clearly not in the right carefully labelled spots. He spots a hammer in the pile of screwdrivers and quickly places it back with a scowl, his scowl widens at the box of Christmas decorations in the back, with Halloween decorations beside it. Next week the idiots are going to drag the Christmas decorations out and Katsuki is not looking forward to that.
The generator is snuggled into the corner, a shelf full of gas beside it. He stubs his toe against one of the shovels that’s strewn all over the floor and proceeds to spend the next ten minutes cursing out everyone's entire existence, making sure to mention Dunce Face and Deku in particular. Denki because every single one of these shovels were a gag gift from him for his birthday and Deku because, well, fuck Deku. Once the shovels are sufficiently shelved, he decides to move the rakes out of the way as well, leaving the lawn mower only covered in dust because they hadn’t used it in at least three years.
There’s still gas in the generator, but not much. Katsuki puts the rest of a can in it, careful not to spill anything because who the fuck knows will happen. The snowstorm better be a quick and easy one, because that was the last can.
He’s going to make it a rule that no one is allowed in this goddamn shed but him. It hasn’t exactly worked for the kitchen, but this should be easier. He had told these fuckers to say when there were less than two cans left so that they can go to town and refill it, yet (and he shakes all the cans viciously to prove it) there are no more fucking full gas cans.
He’s moving out.
The castle didn’t have generators or idiots or gas cans and it had swords.
He taps his foot as aggressively as he can on the dirty floor, debating whether to start the generator now or not. He decides against it, he should preserve the gas as much as he can, which means if shit happens later someone will have to swim through the snow to get here and start it and that’s not going to be him. The image of Deku’s miserable face as he’s forced to endure the storm to start up the generator makes the decision for him.
He throws a ratty blanket over it after carefully making sure it’s still in working order. They only ever really use the generator when it’s around this time or if something happens to the solar panels on the roof, it’s an old thing that likes to take it’s time in starting and wheezes every five minutes like an old man.
There’s no one in the living room when he returns and, even though the kitchen light is still on, he doesn’t hear anything from there either.
It doesn’t take long for him to fling his boots off, hanging his jacket and scarf up at the same time. There’s no such thing as quiet, no such thing as the living room being empty, especially not at this time, there’s always some dumbass playing video games or ugly sobbing over a movie or getting crumbs all over the couch.
A collective sound of laughter is echoing throughout the house. He can hear Earphone’s ugly snorting and Mina’s wheeze and Deku’s high pitched annoying as fuck giggles all coming from one place.
His place.
Fuck, fucking fuck, fuckity fuck fuck.
He bursts through the door to his room with a booming GET OUT before he even sees what’s happening, pointing in a general direction, which happens to be straight at Mina.
“Me?” she gasps, putting her hand against her chest, “but Kacchan .”
All of his idiots are sitting around Shouto as if he’s the best fucking thing to happen since Kaminari accidentally stole a cop car. The vampire blinks up at him, head tilted, the tray with the hot soba he had made on his lap. His bandages were changed , but it sags slightly, as if it wasn’t pulled tight enough. (The thought of someone else changing his bandages… it’s best if he doesn't think about it).
He thinks about it.
“Idiots aren’t allowed in my room,” he says flatly and the reactions he gets is a synchronous whine.
“But Shobro was just telling us about the time you fell in that hole-”
“-and you thought you broke your ankle because you heard a snap-”
“-but really you just landed on a twig-”
“-and Shouto had to jump down to lift you up and he carried you all the way back to the castle,” Mina finishes with a snicker, eyes dancing in mischief, eyes that would’ve been eaten by a fucking bear a long time ago if Katsuki had been smarter.
“He also told us about how you tried to cook breakfast but you couldn’t reach the counters so you had to drag a chair with you everywhere,” Shitty Hair adds, smiling widely, “that’s so manly.”
Katsuki feels his face twitch, unsure of which expression would show what he is currently feeling at the moment the most. He settles for rage.
“Out!”
Dunce Face opens his mouth to say something incredibly stupid, Katsuki can feel it like phantom bugs on his skin, but he’s sharply elbowed by Kyouka. Finally, someone actually fucking stable in this clusterfuck.
“Idiot,” Earphones says and Katsuki feels something akin to relief fill up his muscles, “can’t you see he wants to be alone with his vampire right now?”
Nevermind.
The relief drains out of his muscles so quickly there’s an audible sound. He should’ve fucking known, as the idiot crew share a conospiring look as if they know something he doesn’t. They don’t know shit.
“OUT!!”
They leave, not without giggling to themselves like five year olds. Mina tosses him a wink when she passes him and Katsuki has to count to ten to not tear the pink dye out of her hair.
Deku is the last to leave, nervously hovering over Halfie. His insides twitch at the smile on the shit nerd’s face.
“It’s nice to meet you!” Katsuki rolls his eyes, leaning against the door frame. He crosses his arms and taps his finger against his forearm impatiently. Absolutely nothing that comes out of Deku’s mouth is necessary.
The vampire blinks up at him, before a small smile forms, “likewise.”
His tapping becomes more forceful, something about the sight of Shouto smiling at Deku, of all people, is making his wolf pace beneath his skin restlessly.
There’s a pause in which Deku seems to struggle, a visible fight playing across his features. It’s a look that leads to only one thing, a look Katsuki himself has faced. Shitty Deku has to build and rebuild, then enhance before he can have enough confidence to talk about certain things. Well, a certain thing in particular.
Goddamnit he is not prepared for a sap fest.
“Oi De-”
“Thank you,” Deku blurts out, staring at the vampire intently. Shouto gives a taken aback blink, which is equivalent to a normal fucking creature flinching. A familiar warmth twists in his chest at the blank stare he gives Deku, the one that reads: I don’t know what you’re talking about and I’m too socially and emotionally stunted to ask. It’s as clear as a starry night to Katsuki, he can still read the lines on his face as if it’s prose.
Shitty Deku doesn’t understand that look, to him it’s a dead stare, to him it’s abstract poetry in a dead language. Somehow that’s enough to settle his wolf.
“U-um, I mean, um thank you for taking care of Kacchan? I’m really glad-”
“Deku,” Katsuki interrupts, voice so calm that Deku actually stops talking, “get the fuck out.”
He does, with an apology, then another apology, then another thank you and two rapid bows, all aiming at Shouto, whose blank stare is gradually becoming more and more tinged with amusement.
When he starts to bow again by the door, mouth open for another fucking apology, Katsuki grabs him by the back of his shirt and yanks him out the door. He makes sure the door slams shut in front of him, then locks it just to make himself feel better. He can hear Deku’s whiny protest through the door, but it’s easily tuned out by the small huff behind him.
Katsuki whips around with his usual scowl. Shouto takes a long slurp from his soba and arches a brow smoothly, a lock of red hair falling across his face in a manner that can’t be anything other than elegant. Katsuki’s throat is dangerously dry.
A slight shift loosens the bandage underneath his shirt, a slight dip revealing more of the vampire’s pale collarbone.
“Your friends are nice,” Shouto muses, looking at his soba bowl thoughtfully, “and they all adore you very much.”
Katsuki flushes, it’s starting to become a theme.
“They’re idiots,” he mutters, still standing like an idiot. Shouto hums and fuck, he missed that sound. It reverberates through his entire body, like the strum of a guitar or the bang of a drum, low and cool and filled with memories.
Katsuki doesn’t listen to music all that often, though Jirou occasionally blasts her rock music out at full force or Shitty Hair can be heard crying over the loud bass of dubstep, but nothing hits him as hard as Shouto, singing to him at night, humming in the daylight, laughing at those rare moments in between.
The bandages sag down further.
“Who the fuck redid your bandages?”
The vampire looks down at himself with a slight frown. He picks up the piece of bandage and lifts it, as if checking to make sure his shitty injury is still there.
“The pink haired one did it.”
He’s going to kill Mina and feed her to the fucking bears.
“She meant well, I think, but she kept stopping and she looked a little red. Is she getting sick? You should make her some soba, too.”
Katsuki isn’t used to feeling so many emotions at once. On an average day, he typically swings between anger and rage, with an occasional fury. Right now, however, he’s parkouring between a reluctant fondness, that stupid warmth ( he’s concerned for your pack, his wolf whispers, he’s concerned for my pack ), and wrath.
In the corner of his room, his tactical shovel gleams, with all the right tools to ensure that Pinky is never seen again.
(In the hallway right beside Katsuki’s door, a huddled group looks at Mina with part admiration and part fear.
“RIP,” Denki whispers, “you’ll be missed.”)
“Take your shirt off,” Katsuki demands, stomping over. He has to do everything himself, per fucking usual. The urge to ask for every place that shit weasel touched so that Katsuki can replace it with his own touch is gracefully pushed down.
Shouto gives him a startled look, a small blush blooming softly on his skin. It’s enough for Katsuki to forget how to think.
“You want me to…?” he clutches his shirt, having the nerve to tilt his head in these trying times.
“How else am I gonna fix your bandage dumbass,” if the words come out more dazed than forceful, that’s not because he’s still occupied by Shouto blushing confused face. He’s a vampire, he doesn’t have the right to blush.
“Oh.” Halfie relaxes his hold on his shirt, mouth quirking up slightly. Oh, why else would he fucking ask for him to-
Oh.
Katsuki is getting really fucking familiar to the heat rushing to his face and he really doesn’t want to.
“Oi, it’s not like that you-” whatever the fuck he was planning to say turns to gibberish as Shouto sets his bowl down on the tray and smoothly lifts his- Katsuki’s- shirt over his head. With careful hands, he unwraps Pinky’s fucking horrible job at bandaging and leans back onto his hands and looks up at Katsuki.
Oh fuck.
He’s starting to not hate it here after all.
He focuses on the nasty almost healed wound on Shouto’s chest. It’s still red and puffy, a starburst contrasting starkly against his pale skin. It’s a sight better than when he found him, not even bleeding anymore. He wonders if vampires can get infection, they probably heal too fucking fast for that.
The werewolf doesn’t realize he was walking until he’s standing over the vampire, fingers looming over the wound. Shouto’s stare burns into his skull, but he does nothing to stop him.
Many years ago, longer than a decade for sure, Katsuki felt the oddly smooth yet slightly raised skin of the burn around his eye. He doesn’t remember how old he was, but it was before the feeling in his chest changed to something more intimate but just as sacred, but he remembers Shouto’s quiet voice and downcast eyes, steadily explaining the story behind his scar. That night, Katsuki had been the one to make the hot chocolate (he must’ve been old enough to reach the counters, he doesn’t remember any chair dragging).
Perhaps one day, Shouto can tell him how he earned this scar, too. It isn’t smooth, but a jagged and ragged knot that’s cautiously stitching itself underneath his fingertips. The wound feels older than it actually is. It’s warm too, from the blood in him working at mending that mess.
Katsuki’s blood.
The phantom memory of Shouto’s mouth pressed warmly against his wrist, teeth sinking into his skin mindlessly is replaced with the cool touch of the vampire’s fingers, encircling around his wrist gently.
He can probably feel the rapid pulse of his heartbeat, and Katsuki knows he can hear it.
He jerks his eyes up, meeting Shouto’s. Outside, the wind picks up its pace, the low rumbling mixing in with high pitched whistling, it presses into the house insistently, matching the storm inside his chest.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Shouto gently rubs his thumb across his wrist, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps that travel up his arm and down his spine. Katsuki wants to close his eyes for some reason, but he resists.
“Dumbass,” he says. He feels as if he’s in the eye of the storm, caught between the snowstorm outside and the thunderstorm in his chest, trapped in the calm and quiet, letting it soften his voice. He wets his lips, refusing to think about the way the vampire’s eyes dart down and trace the motion.
His head, usually full of thoughts and observations, is strangely empty. Katsuki is used to thinking on the spot, reacting with the information he’s perceived. That’s not to say that he doesn’t think ahead, he fucking does, but he thinks ahead at the moment with quick precision. Right now, however, his brain is quiet, foolishly handing the reins to his heart.
He thinks he’s becoming more like the idiots that he can hear outside the door, but that’s a problem for another day.
“You could still get an infection,” he still doesn’t know if this is true but he’s not fucking risking it. It takes way too much effort to draw his hand back, but he does before snatching the unraveled bandage. Katsuki sits himself on his bed.
It’s quiet while he redresses him, he makes sure to keep his eyes on his hands, which are steady because he’s not a fucking ameteur. This time, he makes sure it’s snug against Halfie’s chest, it’s not a fucking scarf. Then, he grabs the bowl of rapidly cooling soba and presses against the perfectly bandaged chest.
“Not eat it before it gets cold.”
Vampires don’t need to eat human food, the nutrients are wasted on them, but for some fucking reason Shouto enjoys eating, especially soba. It still tastes good. Shouto takes the bowl eagerly, already spinning himself some noodles to loudly slurp on.
At that point in time, the lights flicker, then go out. The sudden plunge of darkness causes a noise to rise outside his door, it sounds suspiciously like a bunch of idiots screeching in fear.
“SHITTY DEKU GO TURN ON THE GENERATOR!”
There’s a yelp and a stuttered yes, Kacchan!.
It doesn’t take long for him to call for his wolf’s visions, everything heightening. His eyes are glowing, a dark deep red that had led to many people fleeing in terror in the past.
“Oh.”
Katsuki turns back towards Shouto, watching him search through the blankets, mouth turning into a pout. It reminds him of the kitten that showed an unusual affection towards him outside the town’s bar, nosing around scraps and pieces with cute, wobbly kitten eyes. The overtired crossroads demon who owns the bar had taken the little kitten in, but the desperate, cute scrambling look is the same as the kitten had.
“You searching for treasure there, Halfie?”
“Treasure?” Shouto looks up at him, before a small smile turns his eyes into little half moons, something soft and intent soaking his voice, “I already found that.”
He looks back down, continuing his dumb kitten search, leaving Katsuki frozen, dazed, and so incredibly flustered he feels as if he moves he’ll disinteragrate into ashes.
“Ah,” Shouto brightens, grabbing something and lifting it up to show Katsuki, “I dropped a soba noodle.”
Katsuki kisses him.
Well, it’s more like he smashes his mouth against the vampire’s, impulsively moving before he can even think. The position is slightly awkward, with only his hand on Shouto’s shoulder keeping him from falling on the vampire, but his lips are cool and smooth, slightly parted. A warm puff of surprise mingles against his mouth, waking his senses from whatever the fuck possessed him to do this.
He moves back, horror dousing his veins. Before panic can fully grip onto him, a hand slides into his hair and guides him back.
Shouto tastes like soba and the first day of spring, like a fresh breeze and warmth holding lingering traces of cold. He hears a small noise, soft and desperate, but he isn’t exactly sure if it was him who did it or Shouto, either way, he swallows it eagerly, pressing into the taste of spring.
The storm inside him settles and there’s nothing urgent about the slow slide of their lips, nothing spastic about about the Shouto’s thumb gently rubbing circles behind his ear, the other hand placed lightly on his waist. Katsuki melts like wax underneath his hands, and the sound that comes out definitely belongs to him.
They pull back slowly, still close enough for their noses to brush, their breath mingling together in soft pants.
Shouto’s eyes are vibrant this close, glowing in the dark. He never noticed before the flecks of silver and blue in his gray eye or that his blue eye is darker around the blown out pupil than it is anywhere else. His eyelashes are multicolored like his hair and so wonderfully long.
Katsuki isn’t beautiful, he’s too rough around the edges. He twists his features to match how he feels inside, which is most of the time feral and angry. No, there’s nothing beautiful about him.
Shouto, however, is the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen in his life.
He’s also the dumbest, but that’s besides the point.
The vampire’s grip on his head tightens slightly and it hits better than being struck by lightning, but with all of the electric feel. His breath catches in his throat and he leans close, because he wants to kiss this stupid, pretty piece of shit again and Shouto doesn’t seem to be stopping him.
Before he can, the lights come back on, effectively blinding him enough that he jerks, hand slipping off of the vampire’s shoulder and he face plants into his bandaged chest.
His muffled fuck is followed by a small huff of amusement, Shouto’s chest shaking with barely surpressed laughter. Katsuki scowls, pushing up from the vampire’s chest to glare at him, which doesn’t fucking work because one look at his stupid fucking laughing face makes his glare fall faster than he did.
“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, before climbing into his lap, already deciding that he’ll just shut him up.
Later, they’ll talk about the hole in Shouto’s chest. Later, Katsuki will open his own chest, revealing the mold that made its place there, born from overwhelming feelings forming too fast and too young. Later, Shouto will gently hold his heart in his hands, ease the pain that had settled there, clear the mold with his touch, and gently stitch his chest close.
That shit is for later though, because right now, as Katsuki wraps his arms around Shouto’s neck and Shouto curves his fingers to slot perfectly around his hips, right now he has better fucking things to do.
The Christmas tree is, as always, settled in the corner where the house was built wrong, shining brightly with multicolored lights and various ornaments and charms. It’s leaning to the side slightly, because the idiots never know when to stop decorating it. Lights are strung on every window, the fireplace adorned with wreaths and stockings. There’s a fresh smell of warm cookies, recently made and cooling on the counter.
Katsuki leaves the kitchen with only mild reluctance. Christmas was the only time he allows the dumb fucks to cook, which means he gives them thirty seconds before snapping and taking over. This time, however, he has a big enough distraction that he somewhat easily gives the reins to the others.
Shouto stands in front of the tree, looking up at it in awe. The Christmas sweater Denki had swiftly made for him is fucking ugly, one sleeve longer than the other, a reindeer with a light up red nose on the front, a small stitch of Property of Bakugou Katsuki written on the bottom in the back. Shouto hasn’t noticed it yet, but Katsuki noticed it immediately, which is why Dunce Face is holding an ice pack to his head, and a cup of hot chocolate in his other hand, because Katsuki can’t deny that he likes the look of it on his vampire. On top of his head, is a red and white Santa hat, a real one this time.
A silk red and white scarf is wrapped around his neck, smooth to touch and warm. Katsuki stands beside him, handing him a cup of hot chocolate, then letting his fingers tangle with Shouto’s own slender ones. Nothing is needed to be said.
Outside, the snow falls gently.
Inside, there’s nothing but warmth, slightly burnt food, and home.