Archive of Our Own

It starts like this:

Shouto, walking back to the dorms with a bag of instant soba and strawberry milk, head in the clouds thinking about nothing in particular. It’s a Sunday, a nice summer day that has the boy subtly using his ice quirk to stay cool (and for his strawberry milk to stay cool, he plans to stay in all day and watch Buzzfeed Unsolved- an American channel that had piqued his interest one night of deep YouTube diving- and not move for the entire day. It is a good plan.)

Those plans are cruelly waddled up into a decent sized ball and thrown into the dark abyss of eternity when the- newly licensed- hero in training hears a scream, high pitched and jarring in its desperation. 

By the time Shouto' s mind caught up to what was happening, his poor soba and strawberry milk was not in his hands and he’s already running towards the direction of the scream. 

The ice-hot quirk user swiftly moves, taking in the image of a man (bald, stocky, with a nose that's both flat and crooked. Sleeveless hoodie, jean shorts, old shoes, small tattoo of a cat (?) on right wrist) holding a woman up against the brick wall of a building, one hand currently in a tangle around her purse. Shouto didn't pause to use his ice to wrap around the wannabe thief's feet, already- gently- grabbing the woman and her purse aside before letting his ice cover the man's lower half. 

"Are you alright?" He asks the woman, a tall, skinny redhead with wide eyes, hugging her purse to her chest. She bites her lip and nods. Shouto keeps his better eye on the bald man, he hasn't seen his quirk yet, if he has one the UA student doesn't want to be surprised. 

Even so, Shouto tells the woman his name and makes sure to show his license, hopefully he’s able to hide the pride for finally receiving it, like he was taught. 

"I'll have to call it in, you may leave or wait until the police arrive if you'd like." Shouto isn't surprised when she declines the offer, thanking him profusely, bowing as she makes her exit. The stocky bald man struggles in his ice trap, but he still hasn't said anything, surprisingly so. Shouto is expecting more shouting and name calling, honestly. 

He shrugs, wary but not overly concerned, and grabs his phone.

The half and half is in the middle of informing the police on his phone, making sure he got all the information. This isn't his first time helping someone, or catching someone, since he got his license but it never fails to feel good, like basking in the sun with a cat on his lap and the fresh taste of soba still lingering in his mouth. The bald man stops struggling, causing Shoto to stiffen. He faces the thief, still talking to the police but not letting his eyes wander. 

Baldy shifts ever so slightly, releasing a huff, and the world turns to light. 

When Shouto comes to, it’s to sirens. He groans, throat constricting weirdly, sound coming out strangled. His phone is sitting on the pavement beside him, though he doesn't remember dropping it. Then again, he doesn't remember dropping himself. The last thing he remembers is-

Shit.  

Bald man. 

Hastily, Shouto scrambles to his feet, struggling to get out of this weird huge cloth that covers him. Is that thief’s quirk? Giant blankets? 

The Bald Man is still there, still trapped within Shouto' s ice, but he somehow got taller.

And smellier.

As soon as the man looks down at him- suddenly Shouto understands why Bakugou doesn't like taller people- he starts laughing. A dry, wheezing kind of laugh that sounds more like choking, but in a laughing kind of way. Either way, Shouto feels insulted and, well, looked down upon. 

What's so funny asshole? Is what he tries to say, feeling his inner Bakugou rise up like the acid reflux when he eats too much cold soba too fast, but what comes out is a long, irritated hiss. The half and half startles, scrambling back a little, tripping over his own useless paws. 

Wait. 

What?

Slowly, with a choking-laughing bald man in the background, Shouto looks down. 

At his paws. 

Paws in which he is quite positive he didn’t have before.

Cat paws. His left is red, right white to match what his hair was. Except it's fur, now, short haired at least. The giant blanket he had scrambled out under had been his clothes, then. 

Shouto mews despairingly. 

"Oh," Bald Man wheezes, "I'm sorry-" he doesn't sound sorry- "I just couldn't help it." 

I'm sure you couldn't, Shouto thinks, a low hiss escaping between his teeth (fangs?). Asshole.

The thief continues, at least still trapped within Shouto's ice, upper half shaking from both the cold and his strange, delusional glee. His nose looks especially deformed from Shouto's new perspective.

"It's just, you looked so much like a wary, cute little kitten."

Shouto bristles, feeling a little sick to be called cute by a baked potato in jean shorts . Goddamn jorts. He can physically feel all the little hairs rise from his body- it is a strange feeling. 

Shouto is relieved when the police shows up, though he doesn't relax, instead twisting to look as two policeman stares at the half frozen, laughing egg, stares Shouto's clothes and phone, then meet the gaze of a heterochronic cat that looks suspiciously like one Todoroki Shouto. 

It truly is unnerving, being on the other end of Aizawa Sensei’s peerless, blinkless gaze. They’re dark and tired, but filled with so much intensity that Shouto can practically see his quirk rising like steam off from him, weaving intangibly in the air. 

Shouto meows unintentionally, perhaps in an attempt to say it’s not working , but instead proving it. By meowing, because while some humans in this society may be able to meow, Shouto cannot. Aizawa’s brow twitches.

They’re settled in the UA’s nurse room, Recovery Girl had left long ago- having an unfortunate allergy to cats, which questions why Shouto is here at all- while Aizawa attempts to use his quirk to cancel Bald Man’s (Nekoyami Hideyoshi, common purse snatcher, how embarrassing) own Transformation or whatever. Clearly, it’s not working. 

Aizawa sighs, the bags beneath his eyes looking heavier by the minute, and Shouto hums in agreement, except it’s more of a purr that makes sensei’s brow twitch again. It is such a miniscule movement, Shouto wonders if he would’ve noticed if he was in his original form. Speaking of… 

Ice frosts over Shouto’s paw, confirming his question.

At least he still has his quirk.

“So far, it seems the only way for you to turn back is to follow the conditions of Nekoyami’s quirk,” Aizawa tells the cat, eyeing the frosted over paw with a vague sense of thoughtfulness. 

Ah yes.

The condition .

Apparently, all Shouto has to do is to stop acting like a cat and he’ll stop being one. Except he had just used his quirk- something that is very not cat-like and he’s, well, he’s still a cat. Four paws and all. The longer he stays a cat, he was told, the more cat-like he’ll become, which will make turning back all the harder. 

His cold soba and strawberry milk is probably still sitting there, in the middle of the sidewalk, all alone. The boy yearns for it.

It must’ve shown on his face, because Aizawa twitches, again, this time more obviously, before getting up.

“It’ll be best if you continue to do what you usually do, I’ll inform the rest of the students of what happened,” he explains, hand twitching before abruptly leaving Shouto alone. The door clicks shut behind him. 

So I’ll just wait here then, Shouto thinks, somewhat bitterly, tail thumping on the clean cut bed. Everything here is like that and so bright , it makes his eyes itch. Are cats more sensitive to light? Shouto doesn’t know. He looks down at his frosted over paw and lifts it up to lick it delicately. 

Midway through washing himself, the half and half freezes, more intrigued than horrified, but still slightly horrified. Mainly because of how close he was to licking his- nope, not thinking about it. 

Slowly, he shifts himself back to a neutral sitting position, tail wrapped around his paws. He can hear the buzzing of the lights, whirling of the air-con, and then there are the sounds he knows Shouto-human (Shuman? Houto? Todohito?) would never be able to hear- like insects, scuttling around, footsteps and muffled voices that Shouto knows aren’t even near here. 

He can feel his ear twitch, and Shouto decides that Aizawa-sensei is taking too long. He jumps down from the table, lightly landing on his feet, in a move that felt graceful. Wobbling slightly- Shouto is used to two legs, not four, after all- he steps forward.

And promptly slips on the surprisingly slick floor, tumbling over his two front paws and face planting against the marble flooring. 

Fucking shit fuck, he controls his paws with a frustrated mew, getting them back where they should be. His tail sticks out for balance as he scrambles forward, nearly face planting again.

He loves cats, they’re pretty and cute and soft and small, perfect to cuddle with and talk to. Sometimes he holds his breath when they curl up on his left side, afraid to move them. 

Right now? He curses them, he curses them like the devil curses God, like whoever curses Buddha. He wants two legs, and he wants them now. 

Unfortunately, the world isn’t his oyster, which is good because he fucking hates oysters, it’s a tangible chaotic mess that is not even close to being oyster-shaped. Because of this, he does not have two legs, he has four, and it takes two more faceplants before his human mind catches up to that fact. His nose is sensitive and it hurts.

He wants to pout, but cats can’t pout so he mews instead. It sounds so goddamn cute, too, like a kitten. 

The door is closed, but Shouto doesn’t want to stay in this white room with white walls and white lights and nothing else but himself. Aizawa sensei had said that he was going to tell the class, which means he’s heading to the dorms. He’ll open this door and go there. 

Or maybe he can go back and get his strawberry milk.

Can he drink strawberry milk?

Can he eat cold soba?

Shouto doesn’t want to know that answer, refuses to think about the horrible thought of not being able to eat his precious soba. Maybe Bakugou will feel pity and make him something. Maybe he’ll try to pet him! The thought of Bakugou’s nice, rough fingers on him makes him purr with determination. 

Perhaps he’ll have to redact those curses. 

But first. 

The door. 

It looms over him like, like- something that looms. A flash of Endeavour goes through his mind and Shouto rejects it with a hard hiss. No door deserves to be compared to Endeavour, not even a looming one. 

His first jump to the knob is the kind of epic fail that he thought only Kaminari was capable of. His feet barely lifts off the floor and he collides into the door with a solid thunk. The second try, he pictures those cat videos he shares with Shinsou at three in the morning, giving some serious butt wiggle, eyes on the prize that is getting the hizzling fizzle out of here. 

He jumps.

And brains himself on the door knob, hard enough that a strangled sound is forcibly removed from his vocal cords. 

He thanks all that exists and will soon perish under the unstoppable force of time that no one is here to see this. 

Somewhere, inside a small security room, someone is watching the security camera feed from inside the nurse’s office and is laughing so hard that they nearly choke to death. 

On his fifth try, the door opens. Not because he manages to get his paws around the door knob, but because someone heard thumping from the door with meows and grew concerned. Shouto is mid jump, though, his paws fitting perfectly on the knob when it turns on its own and sends him down. He scrambles before getting his bearings and nyooms pass the startled student (who screeches like a banshee and jumps into his friend’s arms who does not catch him so they both go crashing to the floor, but Shouto unfortunately misses it). 

Shouto doesn’t really enjoy running, he can do it and his stamina is nearly never ending, but on the inside he wants to curl up in his bed and cry for roughly thirty hours. Maybe sit on Bakugou’s lap and nuzzle into his neck a little bit, something completely sane and more reasonable than fucking running. That being said, he feels like he’s flying right now, zooming through the halls, paws finally doing what they’re supposed to do. 

It’s like when he dreamt he was flying on Hawks’ back, going higher and higher in the air, the kind of flight that leaves trails of breathlessness and joy behind. Then he remembers how the dream ends and blanches, not seeing the incoming person until he collides into him. 

Fuckity fuck, he wills away his blush- cats blush? They can’t scowl or pout, but they can blush? For fucksake- and vows for the thirty eighth and a half time that he will never think about that dream again. See Hawks in a crop top one time and- 

“Oh hello, little kitty,” hands, giant, long fingered hands enclose around his little cat body and Shouto is lifted off the ground with ease, being cradled carefully to a bony, but warm, chest. Shouto purrs before his brain even catches up from where it still lays on the ground, dazed about Hawks in a- shutting that picture now. 

He lifts his head, seeing the very pointy chin of the meatless All Might. 

Who is holding him.

In his arms. 

He is being cradled by All Might. 

Safe to say that he is no longer thinking about Hawks in a crop top. 

“Where did you come from?” All Might asks, reaching his bony fingers down to give him an awkward pat. He thinks of when he first got his license, after defeating that soda villain with Bakugou, and is torn between the instinct to lean into it (from both his cat side and the child in him that yearns for kind, human touch) and to squirm out of his hold before it gets a little too awkward. 

“You’re so cute,” All Might coos, ”look at your lil’ paws and floofy tummy, precious little bean.”

Too late.

Shouto has no idea what is going on nor does he ever want to hear the great and mighty All Might, the man Endeavour feared so much he created weapons just to destroy him, coo at him ever again. 

His gigantic hands- seriously, what does he eat, other than righteousness and the doors he breaks making an entrance- slides up his stomach and Shouto yeets himself out of there as fast as he can. He didn’t know he brought his claws out until All Might yelps, and he also doesn’t care. He slips behind a conveniently open door and bursts outside, skidding into a turn towards the dorms. 

He had imagined hands sliding across his stomach before, in human form, but it wasn’t from All Might. It wasn’t even from Hawks in a crop top. (Well, okay, that’s a lie.)

Would Bakugou wear a crop top?

He has a feeling he knows what his next dream is going to be about. 

This time I won’t be riding on his ba-

Shouto pauses. He doesn’t know why, but he does. The grass beneath his paws tickles, sort of, but not as much as it would have with his human feet. There’s a sweet scent in the air, of the flowers fully bloomed around the UA grounds. The sun feels good and Shouto fights the urge to just flop down like a dead rat and bask. Why did he stop?

He hears it, the low scuttling and scratching, and movement flickers in the corner of his eye. Shouto feels his ears perk up, something that has never happened before, and he turns his head. There, across from him, sitting calmly by the tree, is a squirrel.

A mother fucking brown furred, cuteass, tiny little squirrel chomping down on his food, cheeks puffed out. 

Shouto licks his lips, feeling an urge overcome him. It’s an urge difficult to place, familiar but in an unfamiliar way. He has something like it when he thinks of cold soba, or sees Bakugou without his shirt, or sees Bakugou when he’s training- all sweaty and sweet and it’s hunger, but more primal, more instinctual. 

The squirrel’s tail twitches and he takes a step forward, body low without remembering moving at all, silent and steady. His eyes don’t leave the creature and if he listens hard enough, he could detect it’s rapid, fragile little pulse-

Wow.

What the fuck?

Shouto stumbles back, startling the squirrel and it bolts and he almost, almost, chases after it, paws twitching violently. 

For a second, he freezes, wondering what just happened, before deciding to place it in the never think about pile along with other various things that he totally never thinks about , like pineapple being berries and Natsu-nii singing his pet rock to sleep and Hawks in a crop top goddamnit. 

The rest of the way back to the dorms is calm, he sees more squirrels and birds and very calmly ignores them, because Shouto has restraint, the ultimate poker face. Nothing fazes him, he is unfazeable. 

Just because All Might rubbed his stomach and he almost ate a squirrel, doesn’t mean that he can break down the carefully built fortress that is his facial expressions caused by his father’s demeaning, downgrading, bullshit attitude and aggression of anything seen as less than perfect and superior. 

As if the bitch doesn’t unleash his emotions onto the world (or Shouto) when something has the audacity to not go his way. 

Shouto doesn’t know how much time has passed since he’s been catified, but the sun isn’t as high in the sky as it was when it all began, sheepishly sinking low to the ground, casting an orange glow onto the trees, sprinkling the grass, carving itself onto the foundation of the UA dorms’ building. 

The door is most likely locked, so he could find an open window and use his ice to climb through, but that might just lead him into a dorm room that’s most likely also locked. Also, he doesn’t know whose room is whose, especially on the first two floors, and he does not want to risk getting into grapepiss’s room. He could also wait here, until someone opens the door. 

Shouto thinks about it, then gets impatient so quickly decides. 

He knocks. 

Well, he tries to, his paws hit the door softly, barely making a sound. So he resorts to scratching, meowing as loud as he can. 

Let me in, I almost ate a squirrel and I’m not sure if I can stop myself next time. This is not my power, I want to lick myself and nap for a thousand years. Also I’m hungry and I want soba. 

The door opens and Shouto stops, looking up, paw still raised in the air innocently. 

Kouda blinks down at him, silent as ever, but his eyes are wide and shocked. 

Shooketh, a small part of him whispers. Shouto decides that it’s a more accurate statement. Kouda is indeed Shooketh, he makes sure to add the capital S mentally, because it’s important. 

Capital letters always mean that it is Important. 

“T-t-todoroki?” his voice cracks, but Shouto is just shocked to hear his voice. Shouto is quiet himself, but Kouda is an expert level quiet, it’s probably what makes animals like him so much. That and his quirk. 

Wait.

Kouda looks away as the realization dawns to him, and Shouto squints up to him. 

You can hear me?

Kouda blushes, before nodding rapidly. Okay, cool, so he can hear him that’s fine. He’ll just keep his thoughts a steady stream of calm and- 

Something else hits him, harder than before. 

Did you hear me say that I wanted to lick myself?

As Kouda nods, again, Shouto is slightly mortified. Not because of Kouda overhearing him, that’s fine. It may not seem like it, but Shouto has a fantastic filter. Not in the sense that he knows when to not say something, he’s blunt to the extreme and awkward, but he rarely blurts things out. He’s not ashamed of being honest, but he doesn’t want Kouda to hear what he doesn’t say out loud. 

Although, he doubts Kouda would have reason to tell anyone what goes through his head when his mouth isn’t open. 

In response to that, Kouda nods again, back to being silent. He moves aside to let him in and Shouto nods a curt thank you, walking with his head and tail held high. There’s a shift in temperature trotting in from outside, the air-con grating slightly against his ears. Kouda follows behind silently. 

There’s also a shift of smell, which is far less pleasing, a collage of sweat and hormones and the lingering, admittedly delicious, scent of Aoyama’s Coq Au Vin from last night. The entire hour and a half it took to make it was worth it, even if Aoyama kept flipping his hair and sprouting words that Shouto wasn’t even sure was French in the corner of the room. He also wasn’t sure how he woke up this morning covered in glitter. The dessert the glittering twink had made with Sato is heavier in the air, warm and fluffy, although Shouto forgets what it was called. Cumquat or crochet or crocidiliac or something. 

“Croquembouche,” Kouda says, probably perfectly pronouncing it or some shit. Shouto flicks his tail in acknowledgement. 

Among the other scents, of electric wires and perfume, there’s an underlying sweet scent of burnt caramel, sweeter than the crockpotbroach. Shouto speeds up somewhat unconsciously. 

“-cat,” he hears Aizawa-sensei explain, and Shouto takes that cue to meow as loudly as he could, not really wanting anyone else’s attention, but one. 

Meowing was a mistake, because twenty pairs of eyes turn towards him in unison, a range of emotions that Shouto has no time, or care, to identify before there’s a high pitched squeal that has Shouto itching to climb up to somewhere high and what should be impossible to stand on according to the human physics. Cats, however, go by their own physics so Shouto should be fine. 

“Is that- OH MY GOD HE’S SO CUTE!” Ashido leaps toward Shouto, phone armed and a feverish look in her eyes that leaves Shouto fear for his life. Other squeals match hers, in a way that makes him think they’re communicating somehow. It isn’t just the girls either, Shouto could’ve sword he heard Kirishima sob so manly. 

“Todoroki-kun! Are you alright? I mean, you’re a cat, but are you hurt? Can you still understand us, like as humans understand humans, not as cats understand humans, how-”

“Dude! You’re literally half and half!”

“Look at his little floofy head!”

“-I mean cats are intelligent animals, but to have a thought process as complicated as ours would-“

“Sero, quick! Get the laser pointer.”

“-so you must have a cat brain, but human conscience. Would that mean that your thought process is limited to that of a cats? But sensei said-“

Voices blurs and combines around him and Shouto feels overwhelmingly small, slinking low to the ground and backing up slowly. He doesn’t like how loud they are being, speaking over each other that makes it hard to pinpoint any words at all. A camera flashes and Shouto panics, catching a glimpse of blond in the corner of his eye and leaping towards his safety. 

His safety being in Bakugou’s arms. 

“What the fuck!!?” Despite his cussing, he catches Shouto easily, calloused palms encircling around Shouto’s itty bitty kitty body with a gentleness that makes him feel all gooey and cookie dough-like inside. He purrs without thinking, and Bakugou’s grip tightens subtly. 

“Aww, how come Bakubro gets to hold him?” Kaminari whines.

“Maybe because I don’t crowd him like he’s a fucking limited edition Bronxe Age All Might figure with actual silver linings instead of that bitch ass gol-“ 

Shouto lifts himself up and gently places his paw on his mouth, silently grieving that he can’t feel how his lips feel. He looks up and- okay wow, he hasn’t been this close to his face before and holy cream cake is Bakugou Katsuki one beautiful boy. Nice, clear pale skin and delicate, leonine features, sign him the fuck up.

I wanna lick your face- and everything else.

He meows instead, obnoxiously loud. 

(In the background, Kouda splutters loudly, face turning a curious shade of red.) 

Bakugou’s face twitches into a somewhat violent, and very attractive, snarl and he jerks his head away from Shouto’s paw. Curiously, he does not relent his grip on him, and Shouto is still purring into his arms. He smells sweet, as usual, but it’s stronger with the cat nose, and he really wants to taste. 

(Un)luckily, Aizawa-sensei clears his throat, cutting into his train of thought like a impeccably aimed missile disguised as an equally threatening glare, and everyone stands to attention on a primal instinct that realizes that harsh masochistic tendencies of the brilliant Underground Hero when substantially irked. Shouto himself flicks his ear, then his tail in attention. 

“As I was saying,” he says, suspiciously not annoyed, perhaps used to the bullshittery that is 1-A, in a way that Shouto assumes only their teachers and the store clerk in the Konbini down the street can be. Shouto isn’t even sure if the store clerk is real, eyes going a little more dead everytime Kaminari quotes something obscure, or when Uraraka gets so excited by a new ice cream flavor that half the shop ends up on the ceiling. His movements have become so monotone that Shouto is fully convinced that he has replaced himself with a robot, just to escape the chaotic reign of UA students buying snacks for movie night. 

“-and so Todoroki will still be going to classes.” 

Ah, he wasn’t listening. 

“I can take notes for him,” Yaoyorozu volunteers, ever kind and enthusiastic when presented with the opportunity to help. 

  Shouto is relieved, he never takes notes. Sometimes he draws on his empty notebook, but most of the time he goes through the entire class staring intently at the teacher and not listening at all. He had no idea what was going on in the last test, nor does he have any idea on how he passed. 

Context clues really do save lives. 

Overhearing Bakugou beating the facts into the Bakusquad also saves lives.

Although, most of the time he wasn’t even listening, so overhearing is a loose term. Watching Bakugou’s pretty eyes shine in the light is more accurate, but still, his angry voice sticks more firmly than Aizawa’s please-kill-me-now tone, although sensei’s is far more relatable. 

“Remember, he only becomes human when he stops acting like a cat, so I’d advise, strongly, that he is not treated like a cat.” He gives Bakugou a look, glancing down at Shouto who is still chilling calmly in the angry blonde’s arms, purring like the world is burning around him and he’s the only one that’s sitting on the ruby throne, lined with the bones of tiny dogs. 

( What the fuck, Kouda chants inside his head, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. )

Bakugou looks down at Shouto and meets his eyes, heterochromic eyes, familiar but different. He drops him rapidly and without warning, and Shouto is too busy yowling as he hits the floor to notice the hint of red staining the other’s cheeks.

“But he’s so cute,” Ashido mourns, snapping another picture. She shows it to Hagakure and they both giggle. 

Was he not cute before? 

He supposes not, what with his scar and all. He’s not sure if he has the right features to fall into the cute genre, though Hagakure often calls him the class pretty boy . He doesn’t see anything pretty about him, finally able to look in the mirror for a decent amount of time and not have that ugly creature claw at his chest at the sight of his scar. 

Cats, however, are very cute, so it makes sense that cat-him would be cute, too. 

Bakugou is cute, too, but only sometimes, like when he turns all red on occasion, in a way that was softer than anger. Shouto never understands why he does it, he assumes he gets heat flashes due to his quirk, but either way there’s something distinctly cute about it. His primary genre would perhaps be hot as fuck, but there are elements of pretty in his eyes and subtle cheekbones. When he smiles, though, the hungry, blood thirsty kind of grin that set Shouto’s blood on fire, he surpasses hot as fuck, strides past Hawks in a crop top very easily. 

(When he smiles, though, the subtle, bemused kind of smile that’s laced with fondness, he’s all the words and yet none at once, nothing can and ever will describe it, and Shouto does not wish to do so. He wants to cradle it, like every aspect of Bakugou Katsuki.) 

You would look good in a crop top, Shouto meows at Bakugou calmly. 

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME??!!” 

And who can resist such a charming personality? Shouto thinks, dry even in his head. 

“Maybe he’s hungry,” Sero pipes up, “my cat meows a lot when she’s hungry.”

Well, now that he thinks about it, his soba is still on the street, with only his strawberry milk to keep it company and food actually sounds really-

Wait. 

Shouto turns to Sero so fast, he trips over his own feet, eyes narrowed in righteous anger. 

You have a cat?! Shouto demands, staring up into the other's soul in disbelief. 

The entire time we’ve been living next to each other and you have not ONCE mentioned this to me-

“I think that means a yes!” Kirishima puts out, ignoring Sero’s uneasy shift and small mutter of somehow, I don’t think so. He can feel the cat’s eyes dragging through his essence, with an anger that is woefully and fearfully familiar. 

The petty anger.

Even now, Sero doesn’t have a clue on what’s going on in his head, or what he did to evoke the wrath of Todoroki’s petty anger, that could end and begin wars and rivals Bakugou in intensity. 

How could a cat be so stone faced?

- I even shared my manga with you, you son of a bitch. I actually made an effort and wrote notes for you when you were sick, and you repay me with this? I expect cat pictures everyday until your tape rips off while your Spidermanning around and you fall to your death. After I get humanified of course.

“What should we feed him?” 

“Don’t we have some left over cat food from the last time Todobrowski smuggled in a cat?”

Shouto pauses in his ranting swiftly, mentally clicking the pause button to come back to on a later date.

Kaminari, I will scrape out your eyeballs with my tongue before I let you give me some motherfucking cat food. 

“Um, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Kouda speaks up hastily, startlingly loud and paler than- Shouto can’t really think of anything, a rabbit maybe? 

“That’s right!” Iida steps forward, back almost too straight, “Aizawa-sensei stated explicitly that we must treat Todoroki like a human!” He chops his arm down precisely, like the righteous and virtuous class president he is. As if Shouto hadn’t witnessed him yeeting himself at the Hero Killer with nothing but a suit of armor and raw, irrational anger.

“Besides, we don’t know if Todoroki-kun can actually consume cat food, he’s still technically human after all,” Yaoyorozu says, the savior of the broken, the beaten, and the damned. Due to the trashbitch of his father, Shouto is all three of those things. 

“Let’s make him soba! He likes soba,” Midoriya says, “and I don’t think cats can eat soba, so maybe he’ll turn back to human! Although technically cats can eat soba, I’m sure, I’m just not sure if they will, and maybe there’s a difference when putting the quirk into consideration. If by not acting like a cat, does that mean Todoroki-kun should do what a cat can’t do or what they won’t do, but technically ca-”

He’s not very concerned about being a cat, right now, so he doesn't care for Midoriya’s theories, so he tunes his classmates out.

“Bakubro can make it,” Kirishima chimes in, and Shouto tunes himself back in, ears perked up. 

“Don’t fuckin volunteer for me, Shitty Hair!” Bakugou snarls, “I ain’t making shit.”

Oh, his ears go back down. He likes Bakugou’s cooking, when he pretends he didn’t notice Shouto sneaking a couple bites at lunch during the extra lessons they had to do due to failing the Provisional License test, before quickly ascending to the higher plain (then crashing into hell when his mouth turns from this is what Buddha died for to what is this pleasant burning sensation to fuckity fuck fuck, fuckity fuck fuck then he ices his tongue and repeat). 

Maybe Satou can make him some cake. 

With that, Shouto turns swiftly away from Bakugou, making sure to raise his tail as dismissively as he can, before trotting his way over to Satou with a hopeful mew. 

Oh Great British Bake Off, please sustain me, because someone, he glares at Bakugou, won’t make me soba, that little beautiful bitch weasel. 

“Do you want me to make you something?” Satou asks and well, it wasn’t like he was asking Kaminari to set the toaster of fire again.

Although he may have contributed with the toaster fire a bit.

Shouto nods, and someone coos behind him. 

I want matcha dango and some nerikiri, sakura shaped because sakuras are- Shouto searches his mind, then takes inspiration from Kaminari- fucking rad. 

There’s an angry explosion, abrasive and crackling and Shouto unintentionally jumps onto Asui’s lap where she is sitting on the couch. Asui, of course, doesn’t flinch at all, despite claws digging into her thighs, just calmly smooths Shouto’s fur down with her webby fingers. 

“Fuck this! I’m going to make the best damn soba the shitty cat has ever had,” Bakugou announces, glaring at Satou so harshly that the classmate is forced by it to step back as he makes his way to the kitchen, cursing along the way. 

Shouto isn’t ashamed to admit that he waits a couple seconds longer than necessary before jumping off of Asui’s lap. She smells like a lily pond and lotus flowers and her touch is cool and calming. Shouto wants to curl up beside her and take a nap. 

A nap sounds really good actually. A nap and then fresh soba made from the glorious hands of Bakugou?? That sounds holy. 

“Oh Tsu-chan! You got to pet him!” Ashido coos or squeals or some hybrid of both, there’s a crashing sound from the kitchen, followed by loud cursing possibly heard from Mars, where Shouto is positive that some unknown species that evolved since the time when the moon once had its own livable atmosphere resides. 

“His fur must be sooo soft,” Uraraka murmurs, eyes even wider than they usually are.

“Mm, it is, kero,” Asui says, “and silky.”

There’s a collective sigh from around the common area,, and Shouto’s superior ears twitch from the surrounding sound, before he feels multiple pairs of eyes land on him. He’s still sitting on the couch, tail curled neatly around all four of his legs, spine as straight as it can be. From his position as center of attention, something he is drastically unused to but only slightly dislikes, he can see that no one has moved on from the fact that he has been catified. Even the tiny purple kid (Shouto is unsure of what his name is, or why he’s here at all, he looks thirteen. Having watched Yaoyorozu go through subtle calming exercises whenever he’s near makes Shouto think that Aizawa had put him here to help train restraint into the future pro heroes) is staring at him, an admittedly uncomfortable looking glint in his beady little eyes. 

“Todoroki kun,” Ashida says, with an alarming amount of sweetness in her tone, leaving her tongue like a halo of smoke. She walks over like she’s on a hunt, and Shouto doesn’t realize that she’s fluttering her eyes to make her look cute, and he has never been more intimidated by the bubbly, enthusiastic bubblegum girl than he is now. 

“Can I pet you, please?” He never really looked in Ashido’s eyes before, or at least noticed it, but they are wide and dark, her black sclera reflecting no light whatsoever. Shouto leans back cautiously. 

Then he realizes something, at that moment, so sudden and sharp that it pierces like a rusty nail covered in whip cream, sweet and dangerous and not recommended to eat, like soap. 

Shouto likes to be touched.

He remembers Asui's cool fingers, and Bakugou’s warm, strong arms, and All Might’s slender scratches before the traumatic belly rub, and eyes Ashido’s pink hands warily. They look soft and squishy, like a pillow. 

If you acid me I’ll forcibly eject your spine out of your body.

He leans forward, gently nosing her hand. They are soft, and they smell good, too, surprisingly. A soft and gentle blend, with sparks of a sweet, fruity scent, layered with something flowery and oddly woodsy. He’s pretty sure he can smell lavender, too, and sugar. It smells like his mother’s garden in the spring, her cracked, crafted bowl full of melons and mikan. Shouto wants to capture it in a glass bottle, cradle it close to his chest and give it to his mother and her cautious, slowly brightening smile. 

He shoves his head into Ashido’s hand, purring loudly, resisting the urge to lick the scent off of her fingertips. Ashido makes a noise, somewhat like a sob, but Shouto takes no notice to her awe and panic and focuses on her hands in her fur, arching into the warm touch like the touch starved cat he is. 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” she’s dying, this must be it, she’s dying, “his fur is so soft and nice and oh my god he’s purring, someone take a picture. Someone take a goddamn picture and send it to me, so that I can look at it while I cry myself to sleep tonight.” Her entire body vibrates with energy, and she gives a little scratch behind Shou-cat’s ear, nearly collapsing when his purrs turn up a notch. 

“What the fuck, this is so cute,” Jirou whispers, softly, while Yaroyozu nods silently beside her, hand covering her mouth to mask her smile. 

“I want to pet him!”

“Me too!”

“Aizawa sensei told us to treat Todoroki-kun as-”

Shouto collapses down on the couch, feeling warm and fluffy. Man, he thinks, contently, being a cat is the shit. 

“That,” Ashido whispers, or whimpers, holding her hand like it’s something precious, dipped in liquid gold, “was awesome. ”

Shouto’s tail flicks in agreement, enjoying the rumbling in his own chest, blissed out. He should’ve seen this coming, the last time he felt this relaxed was when his older brother had gently ran his hand through Shouto’s hair, softly singing him to sleep. His touch had been warm, like the one time he was allowed to have a cup of hot chocolate, a warmth that bled down to his core. 

He stretches out on the couch, tail flicking lightly onto Asui’s lap, head nestled on Tokoyami’s. He can smell the delicious scent of soba, and the excited chatter of his classmates blurs together. His muscles relax into the couch, worn and weary from too many electrocutions and unfortunate spills. It’s smell is familiar, though, and Shouto constantly falls asleep on it during movie night. It’s warm, the air-con is buzzing, he can hear Kaminari’s laughter and Midoriya’s mumbling, Bakugou is yelling something and Iida is trying to maintain order by being more chaotic and Shouto is warm. 

He falls asleep like that, his own purrs singing in his ear, a perfect harmony with the mess that is the class 1-A.

(“Tokoyami, don’t you dare move,” Uraraka hisses, a dangerous glint in her eyes. Dark Shadow whimpers slightly, but Tokoyami doesn’t flinch. Every dark fiber in his body is focused on the tiny head calmly napping on his lap, the vibrations of his purrs, and Tokoyami has already decided that he would face God himself and tap dance with the devil in the impending darkness of hell before he risks destroying this precious moment.)

He dreams of a field of wildflowers, neon green with little explosion polka dots scattering across the leather-like petals. They glow in the sunlight, bright and unerring, swaying slightly, though Shouto doesn’t feel the breeze. There are whispers, too quiet to fully understand what it is being said, but they fill the corners of his head interchangeably, replacing and removing itself with a solid sort of silence. 

It isn’t calming, but there’s nothing uncomfortable about the sight. The sunlight glimmers, as if through the darkening depths of the ocean, and in unison, the wild flowers turn towards him. 

The one closest to him parts its petals, revealing human teeth behind them. 

“STOP HOVERING OVER HIM LIKE HE’S A PIECE OF STEAK AND WAKE THE FUCKER UP, DAMNIT!”

If cats could wake up in cold sweat, Shouto would have. Instead, he jerks up and vaults off the high couch at high speed, landing on the edge of the table behind the couch violently. Dark Shadow, who had been staring at Shouto’s tiny little head somewhat adoringly, having an intense favoritism towards small, furry creatures, shrieks loudly at the same Shouto’s paws collide with the table, flinging himself behind Shouji, shaking in all of his dark shadowiness. 

If Shouto was to stop time, and rewind to five minutes before, well, he wouldn’t see anything because he’d be dreaming of suspicious flowers, but the scene of the lounge in the dorms would be somewhat calm(er). After Ashido had taken roughly 238 pictures of sleeping Shouto and the tense, still look on Tokoyomi’s face (and sending them all to the group chat, which is why Bakugou no longer has a phone, merely a charred relic of the past), they’d calm down enough to do their daily, chaotic role of testing the patience of any higher being that may or may not exist, and Aizawa-sensei. 

Ojiro and Hagakure were just starting to study for the math quiz tomorrow, brows, both visible and not, furrowed in the intense struggle to string together numbers and letters until there’s a mutual understanding between the two. Ojiro had just leaned closer, to point out a new discovering his overworked, average brain had unveiled, not noticing the blush on the girl’s face (to be fair, neither did anyone else), when what he first thought to be a sack of potatoes landed on his equations explosively with a primal screech (he later finds out that sound to come from Dark Shadow, who doesn’t stop hiding behind Shouji’s arms for a solid thirty minutes afterwards). 

Ojiro flinches, bringing his elbow back and slamming it against the nice cup of tea that Hagakure had risked going into Bakugou’s Domain whilst he occupies it to make towards the table behind him. Kaminari, in the midst of excitedly explaining how yes, they were roommates this whole time to a bemused, yet encouraging, Sero and Kirishima (instead of working on a reading assignment due three days ago), is hit full force with scalding hot water in the back and makes a noise undiscovered to mankind and electricity forces its way out of his fingertips and into Sero and Kirishima (he is so taken aback by the sudden jarring chaos around him that there’s not a single brain cell that thinks of activating his quirk).

Hagakure, at the same time, screams and her chair tilts back onto Iida who’s walking by to show Asui (still on the couch, watching pick locking videos on youtube) a picture of a frog wearing a fedora. The unexpected weight of a teenage girl sends him falling sideways, colliding into Uraraka attempting to talk to Midoriya on whether her thumb is broken or not from the thumb war she had with Ashido. Instead, she sends both Iida, and consequently Hagakure, and Midoriya up to the ceiling. Iida promptly smashes his head against the ceiling light and knocks himself out, glasses floating off of his face gently. 

The table underneath Shouto wobbles, before it slowly tilts sideways. Barely awake, and head still full of terrifying petal teeth hybrids, Shouto scrambles desperately as the table crashes to the floor, running full force into Jirou with a yowl. 

Luckily, Jirou is smoothly caught by Yaoyorozu, whose arm instinctively wraps itself around Jirou’s tiny waist to stabilize her. They stare at each other, wide eyed, both blushing furiously.

“What the shit fuck is this!?,” Ashido hollers, from where she had jumped up onto the other, untouched table. 

Bakugou storms out of the kitchen with a fierce scowl, mouth open to unleash hell on the noise that dared to reverberate through his ears, only to stop at the scene. The Three Stupids are collapsed around a table in a daze, drool glistening out of their mouths, eyes just as empty as their heads. Bubble Face is yelling up at the ceiling, Glasses floating unconsciously while fucking Deku is trying to grasp at the other’s glasses as it drifts away towards the door. He spots Dark Shadow cowering behind Octopiss and Pineapple is cradling Earphones like they’re in a fucking chick flic. 

“WHAT THE FUCK!?”

“What a mad banquet of darkness,” Tokoyami murmurs.

Asui, whose headphones are apparently the best noise cancelling headphones to ever exist, hums considerately at one of the techniques demonstrated by a man wearing a tutu, not noticing a thing. 

One small bite into the soba and Shouto feels as if he has ascended among the clouds, feeling the sun against his face and the cool chill that results from a thin atmosphere. It’s a euphoric feeling.

Almost euphoric enough for him not to notice the group of people surrounding him on the table, watching intently as he slurps up his soba with great diligence. 

“He’s still a cat,” Kaminari points out, slurring slightly, not wholly recovered from the shock that transpired minutes ago. His shirt has been replaced with a plain light blue one that Yaoyorozu had graciously created for him. In huge black letters, the English words Food for Thot written above a bowl of admittedly delicious, but suspicious, looking spaghetti.

“Maybe the soba wasn’t good enough” Sero pipes up, a huge shiteating grin on his face that looked especially comical with his usually flat hair still puffed up in the world’s saddest afro. 

Shouto shoots him a look at the same time a familiar sound of crackling pops through the air. This soba makes god’s tears taste like the underside of your shoe you useless catapult, he thinks, quite harshly slurping on the next soba noodle. It whips up and pointedly smacks him in the face. 

“YOU WANT TO SAY THAT TO MY FACE FLAT FACE!!” 

“Well cats can eat soba can’t they?” Kirishima says thoughtfully, “I mean, I’m pretty sure I saw Todoroki feed some strays his own soba sometimes.” He does, they’re cute fluffy faces and little mrrs? are too cute for him to ignore, even for his soba. Shouto slurps slower this time, not wanting the unpleasant feeling of noodle in his eye. He savors the taste, letting the chill curl around his tongue and down his throat soothingly. He licks some lingering sauce off his nose.

“Maybe he can try using chopsticks,” Uraraka pipes up from behind Ashido, whose phone has been up for awhile now, either taking constant pictures or recording or frozen in a time-reduced vortex, “cats can’t use chopsticks, right?”

“Good idea Uraraka!” Iida booms, his hand chopping down with purpose, “we simply have to have Todoroki-kun attempt what cats cannot, and surely they cannot do anything that requires opposable thumbs!!”

Shouto thinks back to his embarrassing attempts in opening the nurse’s door and keeps quiet. Not that speaking up would make a difference, but he has a sneaking suspicion that him turning back to a cat requires more than acting human. Surely, he would’ve been human by now. He has a feeling he has to actually accomplish in doing something a cat can’t do, as a cat. Or perhaps he has to have human intentions? Midoriya would be much better in theorizing something like this. 

Either way, he attempts using chopsticks, not at all surprised when one ends up almost taking out Kaminari’s eye and the other snaps in half. 

(Okay, so he’s a little surprised.)

It’s 8:30 when Shouto sees Bakugou head to bed, Shouto doesn’t know what time it is exactly, but the sun had flickered out incrementally since he had thoroughly washed his soba bowl, tail flicking through to air to indicate how pleased he has become. Bakugou goes to bed at the exact same time every day, his movements indicating time more than any clock could. 

It’s only until the angry blond starts to leave, not bothering with a goodnight and ignoring the others’ own well wishes, that Shouto decides that he should go to bed, too. Despite the nap he took earlier, and the nap he just woke up from, he still finds himself wanting to curl in Bakugou’s lap and dream of crop tops and candy canes. 

Being a cat is exhausting.

He follows Bakugou to the elevator with sure, steady steps, easily surpassing him by weaving through his legs.

“What the fuck? GET BEHIND ME FUCK FACE!”

Shouto dutifully ignores him, he doesn’t actually mind being behind Bakugou. Even with those baggy pants, the view isn’t bad, and he has those broad shoulders and lean, tiny waist that Shouto finds his eyes tracing over and over again. However, he also enjoys walking beside him, because it feels good to walk beside Bakugou and it feels good to see the light play with the color of his eyes. 

He also likes walking in front of Bakugou, because it pisses him off, and pissing Bakugou off will never cease to be entertaining. 

It’s not until the angry object of his affections attempts to crush the third floor button with his fingers (nice, rough fingers, attached to equally nice and rough hands), did Shouto come to a sudden and fantastic realization that his door is locked. The cat has no key or thumbs or height to access his room, nor does he want to lose another battle against a door. Besides…

“Mrrr?” Shouto says, not really meaning anything in particular, except maybe I’m sleeping with you tonight or How comfy is your bed?

“No,” Bakugou says, flatly, not even giving him a glance, his arms are crossed, which is always a glorious sight, seeing those muscles move under his black Aji Fry shirt. Still, the small part of Shouto that isn’t constantly admiring or thinking about or thinking about admiring Bakugou Katsuki is offended and sort of pleased.

He shifts closer to him, before rubbing his head against Bakugou’s leg with another, softer mrrr?

Aha! Shouto prides himself for his keen eyes and superior observing ability, and those fantastic fingers definitely twitched. He wants to pet me, he thinks, purring smugly, soon I will have his bed. 

The other thoughts that follows shortly after will be stored away for when he turns back human.  

The follow to Bakugou’s room is quiet, but Shouto can see the other’s shoulders physically ride up the closer they get to his door. He can smell the tension leaking out of him and Shouto gives a small mew in concern.

Something visibly snaps inside Bakugou and glares down sharply at Shouto.

“WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU FOLLOWING ME YOU FREAK!”

His eyes, Shouto observes with fascination, glow so prettily when he’s angry. 

“Mrrow,” Shouto says, effectively explaining that he can’t go to his room because it’s locked, and he wants to sleep but Bakugou is the only one who sleeps like an old man, so he really has no choice but to sleep with him. Also, he adds with a mew , he has never seen his room before, and that should be changed effective now. He stares up at Bakugou with wide eyes.

A pleasant looking emotion crosses Bakugou’s face, though Shouto can’t quite identify it, but it causes Shouto to feel warm, not the warmth from his quirk, but the hot chocolate warmth, or the warmth of Ashido’s hands. Except it starts in his chest, rather than ending up there. It crosses quickly, but Shouto sees it, and he has captured it into his memory with a hope to see it again. It’s replaced with a scowl, not Bakugou’s typical life-itself-annoys-me one, but more like his I’m-pretending-to-not-feel-emotions-right-now scowl. It’s all in the eyes, and doesn’t twist his, very fine, features all that much. 

“Whatever,” he mutters, unlocking the door, “you probably can’t get into your room and the shitty extras are too loud for you to sleep down there.” 

Shouto quite enjoys the noise of those shitty extras, mostly, but he’s not surprised by how spot on Bakugou was. Bakugou has a lot of faults, as all humans do, but his keen eye and quick thinking isn’t one of them. Shouto is also incredibly pleased by how much Bakugou knows him. He pays attention to me. 

His room is simple and organized, with a nice, sturdy looking bed (not that that detail is important or anything), with silky looking sheets and the softest looking blanket Shouto has ever seen his life. A single All Might poster is pressed against the far wall, beside the door that leads to the balcony, which is adorned with black, heavy curtains that successfully block the sunlight from peaking in. There’s a corkboard hung above his desk, with a range of pictures no doubt put there by the Bakusquad, and his desk looks to be color coded, which is cute. It smells of caramel and spice, and it’s warm. 

“Don’t get hair on my bed,” Bakugou growls, but he looks different in his own room, softer in this safe space he has created. Shouto wants to see him wrapped up in his blanket, face go slack in his sleep. Despite how tempting it may be, Shouto doesn’t peak at him while he changes, instead he takes his time to explore Bakugou’s safe space. 

The dresser has various knick knacks on it, including an All Might figurine that looked old and All Might seemed to be missing a hand, a stack of CDs, a glass skull candle holder, and what Shouto is pretty sure is a makeup bag. Bakugou does his own eyeliner, Shouto thinks, he’s seen him apply it after putting on his hero suit (but before the gauntlets), but he wonders if he does anything else. 

He hopes, one day, he can find out. 

HIs cat vision is suddenly covered by something dark and heavy tossed onto his entire body, causing him to release a screech of surprise he would never have released as a human. A snort from behind him is heard even over the sounds of him struggling to escape the sudden trap he was placed in. 

“You can sleep on that, shitty cat,” Bakugou says, looking as if he’s struggling himself, mouth twitching and being violently pulled down. Shouto looks down at the hoodie that the other threw on him, it smells musty and like it hasn’t been used in awhile, with only a stale sweet scent that shows it belongs to Bakugou. It’s plain black, with kanji on the sleeve of fuurinkazan, each character the color of the element it represents. 

Shouto has never seen Bakugou wear a hoodie like it, and, as Bakugou tucks himself into his bed, curling into his thick, soft blanket, Shouto looks at the hoodie before him with deep consideration. 

Fuck that. 

He shimmies himself out of the hoodie and darts over to Bakugou, leaping onto him without a second thought. Amongst the furious blond’s angry curses and spitting insults, he manages to dig underneath the blanket (and it is as soft as it looks, nice and warm and surrounding against him) and curls up into a little ball on Bakugou’s chest. He’s in the object of his affection’s room and the dumb explosive dumb person thinks that he’ll settle to an, admittedly cool, old hoodie? 

I’ve been dreaming of sleeping on you since I saw the recap of you lifting my unconscious body by the shirt with that sexy, angry look on your face, let me have this. 

As soon as he settles his nose underneath his tail Bakugou quiets, his body going unnaturally still underneath him. 

As he’s falling asleep, he can feel the body beneath him (nice and solid, 10/10 would recommend to no one but himself, because he doesn't want anyone but himself to be on Bakugou like this) slowly relax, his heart beat beneath releasing a rhythmic beat that helps Shouto sink further into sleep. 

The last thing he feels is blunt, calloused fingers gently sliding through his fur. 

After a vivid dream that involves both Hawks and Bakugou, Shouto slowly wakes to the feel of a palm sitting on his tummy. His eyes catch onto a white paw sticking straight up for some reason. 

So he’s still a cat.

He’s warm, half of his cat body is still under the blanket. Somehow during the night he has stretched himself out and went to his side, his nose is pressed against Bakugou’s throat, and he can feel his heartbeat, steady and calm and no doubt still asleep. The most important part of this situation is that Bakugou’s hand is on his stomach, resting there lightly. Unlike yesterday, with the traumatic experience of All Might and his bony fingers on his belly, Shouto realizes he’s purring. Not even softly, but a loud motor engine noise that runs throughout his entire body. 

He thinks of waking up like this as a human, heady buried in Bakugou’s neck and the other’s palm resting comfortably around his waist. His arm wouldn’t be sticking straight in the air like a weirdo (which reminds him to quickly put his cat arm down, letting his paw land on Bakugou’s shirt and start kneading single pawdly there without thinking), but instead wrapped around Bakugou’s nice broad chest or maybe pressing against his slim hips. He thinks of waking up with the sunlight in Bakugou’s hair, highlighting it golden and soft and tracing his fine features with his fingertips, watching the red eyes slowly open, sleepy and soft. 

Shouto lifts his head, sitting up to hover over Bakugou’s face. Unfortunately that meant his hand sliding off Shouto’s body, but the peaceful look on the blond’s face makes up for it by far. 

The curtains are catching the sunlight and it’s barely morning, nothing but brief, hesitant rays are making its way outside anyways. Still, Shouto blesses cat’s eyes to be able to see in the dark because he can stare at the slack face just as easily as he can in the light. 

He’s so busy inspecting the smooth texture of Bakugou’s cheekbone that he doesn’t notice his eyes opening up until he glances back up. 

For a second, Shouto sees it, the soft and sleepy look. Until Bakugou blinks and, for some reason, freaks the fuck out. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?” he jerks up quickly enough to send Shouto tumbling down, bouncing off the bed enough to land on the floor on his feet with a startled yowl and a thud. 

Cats really do land on their feet, he marvels. He stares down at his paws, all four firmly planted on the floor, Bakugou spitting out expletives out like hairballs, hacking them over the side of his bed.

“Fucking creepy as fuck, glowing demon eyed mother fucking cat shit fuck,” Bakugou spits, grabbing his phone so violently it’s a wonder it didn’t incinerate in his grasp, “fucking shitty monkey-sucking assclown creep fucking- WHAT THE FUCK??!!”

“Mmrrroow?” Shouto says, as Bakugou drops the phone and leaps over his bed in a way that was incredibly and very sexy of him, and yanks his pants off frantically, and Shouto doesn’t even have the time to look away before he has the school uniform on, his shirt unbuttoned and tie nowhere to be seen, hair tousled and eyes flashing dangerously and damn. 

Meow .

“STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT YOU FREAK CAT WE’RE FUCKING LATE!!” Bakugou hollers, tossing his bag over his shoulder before scooping Shouto up with one hand. A small noise of surprise escapes the cat’s lungs. 

“Mrow?” Shouto asks, again, because Bakugou has never been late a day in his life, Shouto is positive of that. He’s pretty sure that Midoriya had mentioned how Bakugou was born at the precise time the doctor said he would, there’s no way that Bakugou Katsuki, prettiest and hottest, most ill-tempered gremlin perfect man is ever late. 

They were late.

Aizawa does not look impressed, he never looks anything other than as if his soul had been forcibly dragged out of his body, when Bakugou bursts through the door, the sensei’s eye twitching when Shouto gives a slight mrrr as an apology. Bakugou doesn’t apologize, just gives their teacher a scowl that is slightly tinged with respect and suddenly Shouto is being dropped to the ground, once again landing on his feet.

Fuck you too, Shouto hisses at Bakugou, who hisses back just as aggressively.

“As I was saying,” Aizawa drones, and Shouto lifts his head proudly and tunes him out, trotting to his desk. He slips slightly on the seat before jumping on his desk and sitting straight up, tail curling over his paws. Except for some slight glances cast in his direction, everyone knows better than to incite Aizawa’s wrath by not paying attention to him, so Shouto can relax and listen to what his teacher has to say. 

Dark Shadow is peeking at him from inside Tokoyami’s shirt, glowing yellow eyes wide with fascination, and there’s a strange nervous tremble in Kouda’s shoulder diagonal from him. Satou is tapping his fingers against his leg in a rhythm Shouto doesn’t recognize, but it’s distracting, and he wonders if he’s always done that and Shouto was just too lost in the sauce to notice. The aircon whirls over his head, but Shouto can handle it, it’s fine, he can relax and listen to what his teacher has to say.

A flash of blond catches his attention, a darker blond from the first row of seats, and Shouto’s eyes dart to it without him thinking about it. The flash is gone now, but he could’ve sworn he saw-

A flicker.

Shouto crouches down, body moving on the same kind of instinct he had the other day, and all sounds drift past his twitching ears, Satou’s drumming, Aizawa sensei’s tired droning, and Ojirou’s tail flicks up again as the person stares up at Aizawa resting his head against his hand. 

The motion of the tail is… interesting, Shouto has never noticed it before, but there’s something oddly eye catching about the way it goes back and forth, twitching ever so slightly, going all swish swish with an occasional swoosh and Shouto hasn’t blinked since his eye first caught the motion, and time ceases to exist, not that time exists in the first place. Time, like vegetables and gender, was invented by humankind to tame both this untamable world and humankind themselves, but humans are also untamable and free.

Speaking of untamable and free, he misses Bakugou’s lap right now. His mind flashes back to the other’s hand resting on his furry little belly and thinks how warm and colloused those fingers would feel against his skin.

Ojirou’s tale flicks again and his thoughts scatter into the wind, eyes focusing in on the great swoosh swoosh, the little ball of fur at the end is probably soft to touch and Shouto wants to bat at it, maybe sink his teeth into it a little.

The human part of his brain pushes the cat part away with a nudge, gently reminding him that Ojirou is the wrong blond that he wants to sink his teeth into.

Kouda coughs from his seat, a loud wheezing sound that might be a laugh but is more likely to be an attempt of a plea for help escaping him. It’s loud enough to interrupt Aizawa’s drone, but the teacher is too surprised to see that it’s Kouda to disturb class to be angry, and there’s obvious concern in his tone where it’s usually concealed when he asks the quiet boy if he’s alright.

Kouda gives a thumbs up and smiles wobbly. 

He can never look at Bakugou, or Todoroki, in the eyes again.

Classes go as usual, surprisingly, Bakugou only blows up one desk and Midoriya rambles for twenty or more minutes straight only twice, so it’s pretty tame. 

Shouto accidentally raises his paw during math class, body moving on instinct because he’s not so good at English or literature, but he knows math, math is his little bitch, and he knows this answer.

“Ah, yes, Todoroki?” Ectoplasm calls on him, after a brief hesitant pause, and Shouto straightens up his spine and proudly meows the answer.

He blinks up at Ectoplasm, and Ectoplasm blinks down at him in return, before it finally registers to the student, who is number 5 academics wise, that he is, in fact, still a cat. With that fact in mind, he whips his head towards Kouda.

It’s 46, tell him, he demands, adding in a please as an afterthought, and Kouda stutters out the answer.

“Woh!!” Kaminari exclaims, after Ectoplasm nods thoughtfully, and Shouto is still purring in triumph, “Kouda, man, I didn’t know you could hear him!”

“So Todoroki-kun really is an actual cat, not that I thought he wasn’t, but I guess I couldn’t rule out an illusion or something, but if Kouda could communicate with him and we can’t, it must mean that-”

“You can hear Todoroki’s thoughts!! That’s so cool, what is he thinking right now,” Uraraka pipes up, leaning in his direction.

“It is immoral to invade someone’s privacy like that! Kouda I understand you cannot control it, but we should not ask you to reveal Todoroki-kun’s inner thoughts!” Iida chomps his arm against the desk with a righteous thud.

“You don’t wanna know what’s inside his head anyways,” Kouda whispers, but it’s drowned out by Ectoplasm getting their attention back to class, so no one but Jirou hears it. 

Shouto is still purring, head too far into a daydream that involves crop tops and soba noodles to even notice.

It’s basic training exercise today, and the class is separated into pairs to practice no quirk hand to hand combat, with All Might looming over them like the partial skeleton he is, eyes glowing and gaunt. Shouto and him both avoid each other's gazes like it’s the 17th century and one was caught staring at the other’s ankles. 

Shouto is laying beside Aizawa, stretched out across the bench with his tail flicking languidly, head resting on arm near his teacher’s thigh, watching his classmates lazily. 

Uraraka is against Bakugou, because they’re the top two at hand and hand combat, with maybe Ojirou a forehead above them, and Shouto always enjoys watching them fight. They’re both cutthroat in their own way, Bakugou is quick and light on his feet, but Uraraka has a strong defense and can keep going for ages. Shouto himself is not all that good at hand and hand, his whole life he’s been trained to use the full force of his quirk all the time, and only now that he’s having proper training does he realize that his quirk is flexible and useful in multiple different ways, not just huge and powerful waves of… power, and that there will be times where he can’t or doesn’t need to use his quirk at all. So while Shouto is good at dodging attacks, he’s not so good at countering them with his own. 

(There are moments where he hesitates, briefly and not all that importantly, because using his fist instead of his quirk sometimes makes him think of his father more. )

The sun feels good on his fur, warm, and Shouto feels drowsy watching the quick motions of his classmates fighting. He wonders if Aizawa will be okay if he curls himself up in a little ball and soak up the warmth of the sun and take a nap. He thinks that if anyone would be okay with him napping, it’ll be Aizawa, who never fails to look two seconds away from passing out at any moment. 

Then again, there was a distinct lack of appreciation the last time he fell asleep in his class so perhaps not, although he did instruct him how to fall asleep with his eyes open after said class so perhaps.

“YOU HAVE MORE THAN JUST YOUR FISTS!! WATCH YOUR FOOTWORK, REMEMBER THUMBS OUTSIDE THE FIST, NOT INSIDE!!” All Might booms, his voice cracking roughly six times throughout, coughing roughly afterwards. 

In retrospect, All Might isn’t all that good at hand to hand either, he was just so powerful that it didn’t matter. Did he have to worry about footwork? Why is he the one teaching hand to hand again? Aizawa sensei knows a lot more, having to rely on his combat skills rather than his quirk most of the time. 

Uraraka lands a good hit against Bakugou’s side with a strike of her foot, but Bakugou takes the hit to grab the leg and flip her over. She pushes her other foot against his chest and springboards out of his grip before he can fully execute his move, charging at him again as soon as her feet land against the ground. 

Damn, to be the one tangling with Bakugou, merciless and ruthless, Uraraka is so lucky. Shouto isn’t jealous of her, she has worked just as hard as Bakugou, if not more, in hand to hand and it clearly shows. Watching them fight just makes him determined to keep up with the both of them even more. It’s hard to think that he can be more than just his quirk, but he wants to be. Although hand to hand isn’t as important to him as first aid, he knows that it’ll be incredibly useful for him, close combat in general is a skill he is sorely lacking in.

Fingers dig into his head mindlessly, stroking down his side, and Shouto pushes up into the touch with a purr, mind instantly letting go of his train of thought and going hazy. There’s a little scratch behind his ear and he melts, sinking into the bench. Nothing seems to matter suddenly, what’s happening again? Where is he? He doesn’t care at all as long as he keeps getting little scritches like that.

Mrrrr.

The hand stops, drawing back just as quickly and as suddenly as it started, and Shouto looks up with a small pout, only to look straight into the eyes of his teacher. 

Oh fuck damn not again.

For a long minute, Shouto and Aizawa stare at each other with the same blank look on both of their faces, before Aizawa heaves a sigh that signals an exhaustion that only beings that has witnessed the fall of humankind at least twelve different times can have, before forcibly bringing his hand to his lap. The next breath, they’re both sitting at the other end of the bench.

“Let’s never mention this,” Aizawa mutters through the side of his mouth, and Shouto nods emphatically. 

Aizawa nods back once, before standing and clearing his throat, his face returning back from suspiciously blank to regularly blank, with a hint of added boredom. 

“New change of plans,” he announces, catching everyone’s attention and allowing Uraraka to get kneed in the ribs so hard she collapses with a wheeze. Shouto catches his teacher’s slight wince before he powers on.

“The first one to catch Todoroki gets their lowest graded homework dropped and it starts now.” Instead of sitting back down he grabs the sleeping bag wrapped around his feet and pulls it up until it covers his entire body before flopping onto the dirt below, like a gigantic yellow worm. 

Shouto blinks down at the yellow worm, his brain must be melting in the warmth of the sun because he could have sworn his sensei, the only adult he respects in this universe, said-

“GET HIM!”

Shouto screeches, deftly leaping over a huge hardened fist slamming into the bench where he once was. The bench splinters in two and Shouto feels a healthy dose of alarm vibrate through his bones.

Yo, what the fuck Sensei! He hisses, bolting away from the terrifying lunges of his classmates, driven mad with power and lust over better grades, the obvious foundation of a great hero. Kaminari looks like he’s frothing and Kirishima nearly turned him into mashed pocatoes.

WE HAD A BONDING MOMENT!! Shouto’s furious yowl echoes throughout the entire school, teachers pausing mid lecture to wonder if they’re being attacked by villains, only to continue with a tired dead to the world shrug at no alarms. 

Asui’s tongue whips in his direction and he skids, ice shooting out of his right paw and entrapping the majority of the class and hurling himself towards the exit, paws of fury practically skimming the ground in his need for speed. 

“No fair!” Kaminari whines, trapped in the ice somehow upside down, “we didn’t know he could use his quirk?” 

A zig zag of green fills the corner of his eye and Shouto halts abruptly and Midoriya sails over him and slams into Satou coming in from the other side and they tumble to the ground in a heap, and Shouto makes the quick decision to turn around. He dashes under the feet of his classmates mortal enemies before they realize what’s happening, and Shouto would be laughing at the way they collide into each other in the attempt to turn around but he’s in mortal peril right now and there is no time for laughter. 

Dark Shadow releases a shriek when Shouto’s left paw lits up and cooks the shadow bird like a TV dinner.

“Hey Kouda! Can you use your quirk?” Sero calls out from where half of his body is iced against Iida’s, desperately trying to fling his tape at the speedy hellcat but Shouto dodges skillfully each time. 

Shouto dives in between All Might’s long leggy legs and he hears a grunt and a muffled sorry! All Might sensei! And lasers in on Kouda among the crowd with a glare that could kill a thousand suns.

Kouda, he says, calmly as he dodges one of Ashido’s acid bombs and sends a trail of flames from his tail with a small flick, if you use your quirk on me, I will piss on your grave. 

Amongst the midst of awe and yells of terror, the animal lover and overall wholesome cinnamon roll whimpers in fear. 

They really need to work on their teamwork, he muses. When they’re paired up in teams they work pretty well to strategize and work together, but when thrown together with an incentive and it’s everyone for themselves, all lessons of teamwork vanishes from their minds like leftover soba, not that there’s such a thing as leftover soba. 

Shouto can’t say he blames them, he doesn’t like the ka on his last quiz, his old man didn’t like it either and Shouto still doesn’t know how he found out about it. He accepts his ability to figure out every little mistake that Shouto makes as one of those obsessive behaviors his father holds to ensure his dear prodigal son is better than anyone else. 

Shouto’s stamina is borderline limitless, but it’s not limitless, and he has no idea how much time has passed but he can see exhaustion creep up his vision, barely noticeable among the chaos and screams of his classmates. He’s pretty sure his cat form can’t contain his quirk like his human body can, each use of his flames and ice makes him slow down little by little, but he’s still able to dodge the desperate flurries of these clowns.

As he narrowly dodges another acid bomb, Shouto decides that he’s putting a stinging negative review on Rate My Professor, -5/7 likes, would throw fish to sharks while you’re swimming and won’t even watch you get torn apart, looks like he beats off Death every night with a tactical shovel and probably puts milk first and then the cereal. Gives good pets though.

Luckily he’s small and nimble and has developed the ability to turn quickly by winding his tail like those cheetahs he seen in Animal Planet, he can dart between their legs and watch them tumble hilariously against each other, like the little baby gazelles the cheetahs tear through. 

That’s right you baby gazelles, your no match for my majestic-

In hindsight, Shouto should’ve perceived the loud explosion that ricocheted through the air, but it has become such a primal part of his everyday life that he doesn’t even hear it anymore, a problem he’ll have to fix immediately. He releases a screech as he’s being lifted through the air, course, familiar hands enclosing around his tiny body. On pure instinct he struggles, claws slicing through skin as he wiggles around, but Bakugou doesn’t let go, just spews expletives and lands with a neat roll, holding him close. 

Shouto stops struggling and starts cuddling once his mind catches up, instantly burying his head into Bakugou’s chest. He loves Bakugou’s hero outfit, it fits him so nicely and shows off his incredibly nice arms. As if he wasn’t panicking for his life before, he releases a soft content purr and melts like chocolate against him. Hesitant fingers scratch behind his ears deliciously and Shouto pushes up against it. 

“What the fuck,” Bakugou whispers, softly, but with feeling. 

Shouto purrs louder in response. He may have lost the battle, but he definitely won the war.

Days bleed into weeks and weeks melt away, dissolve into mouths like cotton candy, the awe and cooing over cat Shouto lessens. The second week in Ashido stops reaching towards her phone as often. Instead concern started to become a tangible presence in the air, and determination to make Shouto become human is stronger, more focused, and each trial is met with failure.

Shouto tries to do laundry and ends up crying for help inside the drying machine, and he blesses Kaminari for spilling melon soda and canned corn all over his sheets when he finds him twenty minutes later. He tries playing video games and ends up beating everyone at Mario Kart, but he’s still a cat. 

Attempting to shower takes a lot of screeching and traumatised looks from everyone involved, and everyone ignores the tiny grape man’s suggestion with skill and without hesitation and he’s sent flying through the window with one of Bakugou’s blasts. 

(Shouto won’t tell anyone, but his suggestion also doesn’t work.)

Nothing seems to work, no matter how many human things he tries to do, he’s still a cat.

In the middle of the third week time begins to blur around him, sometimes Shouto blinks and he’s in a completely different place, curled up on a particularly round clearing where the sun hits just right. He wakes up in Kirishima’s lap in the dorms with no memory after the third class period, and he looks up to see tears dripping steadily down his face.

(The tears, what Shouto doesn’t know, is partially because of how manly it was and also because he can feel Bakugou drill holes into his soul with such compact anger in his gaze, a look of sheer intensity that even Kirishima can’t shake off and he avoids Shouto like the plague for days afterwards.)

Shouto finds it harder and harder to listen, harder and harder to ignore his instincts, harder and harder to not stare at Tokoyami or Ojirou’s tale with that same hungry feeling he got when he first saw that squirrel. He’s attacking Satou’s fingers tapping against his thigh, he’s sitting on Bakugou’s notes and swatting his hand every time they drift near him, licking his paw languidly while the other curses and screeches at him but makes no move to actually move him. 

He doesn’t notice his friends whispering to each other, trying desperately to get Shouto to do more human stuff, but he doesn’t want to, and sometimes it takes too much effort to even understand what they’re saying, or he sees a bug in the corner of the room. 

For an entire day, Shouto forgets that he needs to actually turn back human, only for the shrinking part of his brain to faintly remind him when he sees Bakugou calmly eating his lunch with his friends, red eyes growing more and more distant these days and he wants to ask him if he’s okay, to sit by him and poke him until the usual angry expression comes back, and he realizes he can’t. 

It’s harder to focus, but he grasps onto those precious thoughts and forces himself to keep trying. 

Somedays, he thinks it wouldn’t be so bad, being a cat. No pressure from his father to be better, of never being enough, no more waking up from nightmares with his quirk haywire, he doesn’t have a schedule or homework, but being a cat meant giving up on his friends, on Bakugou, on being a hero. It would mean giving up on watching Buzzfeed Unsolved, on his strawberry milk, on going to matsuri with his friends. He doesn’t want to give up on that, he wants to work on his hand to hand combat skills, wants to help people, to be able to do first aid, to bring comfort and inspiration as Shouto. 

He enjoys being a cat, but he enjoys being a hero more.

He comes back slowly, vague hazy words that aren’t even words, just the shadow of words, drifting sluggishly around, brushing up against each other more and more until they finally attach to form coherent thoughts. 

Shouto doesn’t know where he is when he opens his eyes, except it’s definitely not the school anymore. He searches for his memories as to how he ended up here, but the last thing he remembers is rubbing his entire body against Bakugou’s leg as he makes him breakfast. Nothing to tell him why or how he’s curled up on a thrown away newspaper in a cardboard box in an alleyway, with the taste of what must be dirty ass in his mouth. He feels dirty in general, his fur coat itches and he resists the urge to dig into his skin until his coat is sleek and shiny again. 

He must’ve been gone the entire day, the sky is darkening in hues of dark purples and blues, stars starting to become visible distantly, and people are rushing home outside his little window of an alleyway, shops are closing down, and he still has no idea where he is. 

The good news is, he’s pretty sure he’s still in Japan. So that narrows it down to 47 prefectures, he can rule out the prefectures too far for his kitty paws to travel so Hokaido and Okinawa are definitely out.

No wait, he knows the karaoke place, Uraraka has dragged them there too many times for him to not recognize the screaming blinking sign, so he’s definitely still in Musutafu, or somewhere in Shizuoka, who knows. He’s relieved, because he only knows like four other prefectures and didn’t want to test his geography skills at any time soon. 

Shouto stretches when he hops out of the box, tail shooting straight up in the air as he feels the pull of every single one of his muscles.

He wonders if he can sneak into a train or subway and hitch a ride to the station near UA, or if he’ll have to paw it from here. Shouto trots to the edge of the alleyway before looking around, a sense of panicked calm layering onto him when he realizes that he… well he doesn’t know how to get back to UA from here. Did they go to the karaoke place from the left or the right? Shouto often falls asleep on the train ride there so he doesn’t even know how far away he is from the school.

It’s not his fault that social interaction often makes him feel drained and exhausted almost immediately or that his friends talk so much around him it’s like the sound of rain falling outside, an overlap of the similar noises that all blend to something almost soothing. 

He picks right, because he has an inherent dislike for anything left, and is about to begin his grand adventure when he hears a shuffling noise behind him and a small oh? that’s as familiar as it isn’t, and it claws down his spine in a way that leaves Shouto uncertain and wary.

HIs paws cement to the ground even as his instincts tell him to run, and the cat inhales a sharp scent of smoke and… honey?

“Looks like I have some company,” Dabi drawls from above him, looking down at him with amusement dancing in his achingly bright blue eyes, they glow in the lights of the streets, and Shouto hears a voice whisper in his head, a phantom of a phantom of a memory, and tastes hot chocolate on his tongue. He shakes it off and skitters away from the villain, ears flattening to his skull threateningly.

Don’t touch me you dehydrated piss rat, he hisses, and Dabi’s mouth curls upwards, icy gaze melting into something else, something soft and gooey. It distracts Shouto enough that he doesn’t even move when the villain- a murderer- crouches down, scarred hand reaching towards him slowly. He hates how his body relaxes to the waves of heat coming off of him. 

“It’s alright kitten,” he murmurs, voice low and soothing. Shouto narrows his eyes and backs up, but he’s cornered between a dumpster and a hard place. As the hand creeps closer, Shouto starts to really panic, enough that he can feel frost climb over his right paw, and his mind is moving a thousand miles a second.

Evasive maneuvers, he’ll freeze Dabi’s feet to the ground and evasively maneuver himself out of here. Or maybe if he moves fast enough he’ll dart right between the other’s legs and-

A hand slides against his head, warm fingers gently scratching underneath his chin and Shouto, well, forgets. He just forgets.

Mrrrr, the cat tilts his head, eyes half lidded as those fingers, burned and scarred and warm, card through his fur gently. He couldn’t stop a purr escaping him even if Endeavor himself started pole dancing on a cow right beside him. Shouto should be mortified, but all he feels is warm, the kind of warmth that bled down to his core, that makes him think of hot chocolate and being gently sung to sleep during a nightmare. 

Dabi settles onto the ground cross legged, magic fingers never halting, and Shouto hates to admit that the scratches are better than Bakugou’s.

He doesn’t know how he ended up in the other’s lap, contently sprawled out while Dabi huffs a hoarse laugh and runs his hand through Shouto’s fur. 

“You know, you remind me of someone,” the villain muses, and Shouto has only ever heard him speak once before, rough and mocking, but hearing his voice now, it feels like he heard it a thousand times, soft and playful, sad and sorrowful, smoke and honey. 

“He has the same eyes as you, same hair too,” if Shouto was paying attention, he would’ve connected the dots far more quickly than he does, but he thinks he has connected the dots a long time ago, now he’s forced to look at the picture it drew.

“It’s been a long time,” Touya murmurs, blue eyes the familiar achingly sad, wistful and distant, “since I last saw them.”

Them. There’s a picture that Shouto prays to every time he visits the house, that Fuyu-nee holds a copy of near her at all times, that Natsu-nii touches with the barest brush of his fingertips. His mother keeps flowers of white and blue, white tsubakis and asagao, because she still can’t get herself to ask for a copy, still doesn’t know if she wants to. 

He’s pretty sure cats are not meant to handle all these feels, he knows humans are hardly able to. 

There’s a clatter from where Dabi had come from and Shouto takes the opportunity to bolt.

“Kaa-san look! Kitty!”

Shouto hisses at the kid on pure panicked induced instinct, mind still all sorts of confused, and the child starts crying so hard that he immediately feels like a piece spit out gum. He wants to return home, to his dorms, and curl up on Bakugou’s chest and sleep away the feels, but Shouto stops and presses his nose against the kid’s knee, letting out a soft mew of apology. 

His soft malleable heart shifts like dough when the small child brightens, tears clearing instantly, and Shouto begrudgingly allows sticky pets until the kid’s mother comes and drags the child away.

The child’s rough and clumsy pets calms his thoughts, puts his mind back in order, and he navigates himself around the city with an oddly alert mindset until he finally is able to recognize a train station and sneak under a seat when no one is looking. 

Well, he thought no one was looking, but a chicken finger is held down at him from the person above him, and he doesn’t realize how hungry he is until he sees it waving in front of his face tantalizing. He feasts on the chicken finger, nudges his nose against the stranger’s fingers in thanks, and darts through the train doors at his stop.

It’s a clear night when he gets back, the full moon shining brightly, and Shouto doesn’t really need the light, but he appreciates it regardless. The dorms of UA are looming in the dark, much bigger and more intimidating for little cat Shouto, yet there’s a sense of comfort at being home.

The doors are typically locked at night, and he assumes everyone is asleep so he goes around the dorms until he sees a certain balcony on the third floor. Using his quirk has become more difficult and it’s taking more effort, his small body unable to catch to the power he holds, but it comes easier tonight than it has in a while and Shouto glides up to the balcony majestically, the wind blowing at his fur and he puffs out his chest and lifts his chin up. 

Then starts begging at the door, scratching at it pathetically with small, pitiful mews. Bakugou is usually dead to the world by now, so he’s surprised by how quickly the light turns on and the sound of feet rapidly making their way to the balcony, thudding carelessly against the wood floors. The balcony door is yanked open and there he is, Bakugou Katsuki staring down at him with wide eyes. Shouto doesn’t recognize the expression adorning his slack features, other than the tinted anger that blazes in his glowing red eyes.

Who milked your cow? Shouto asks with a concerned nya , rubbing his head against his knee as he walks past. Bakugou’s room is the same as always, and Shouto feels any lingering tension melt away at the sight and the comforting scent of burnt caramel. 

There’s a split second of silence before the balcony door slams shut behind them and Bakugou turns to him with a scowl.

“What the fuck Halfie?” He snarls, “ Where the hell have you been?”

Shouto, who has jumped on Bakugou’s bed, unmade and messy, and is halfway through finding the prime spot to take a much needed nap before he pauses to tilt his head at the explosive blond. Bakugou is pacing back and forth in front of him, jaw clenched.

“Fucking- you stupid fucking- you were gone for three fucking days and you return as if nothing happened. Did you even fucking eat?” he rants, “you look like you got into a fucking fight with five week old thrown away spicy Korean takeout with explosive diarrea and fucking lost.” 

That’s an image. 

Shouto desperately wishes he could chime in and ask if Bakugou’s speaking from experience because that was oddly specific, but sadly his vocal cords are still stuck in Meow Mode so all he can do is twitch his ear at him. 

Wait a second.

Shouto straightens up and looks at Bakugou with a surprised mya?. 

Three days???? He thought he was only gone for the day, what the hell has he been doing for the past three days?? 

Shouto genuinely has no clue, and he’s not sure if he wants to know, because his mouth still tastes like dirty ass and he had to have eaten sometime during the three days, and he doubts that he’s been graciously granted chicken fingers the whole time. Bakugou looks at him and somehow correctly reads his surprise with narrowed eyes.

“Yeah, pissbrain, you’ve been gone for three days,” he runs his hand almost violently through his hair, the anger visibly disappearing from his insanely pretty features, until there’s nothing but exhaustion and that expression Shouto can’t identify, something worn and soft. Bakugou sits down on his bed beside him with a weary sigh that almost resembles Aizawa level of tiredness. 

“Idiot,” he mutters, “We’ve had someone waiting by the door every night waiting for you, and you have the nerve to slide up into my balcony as if-” he trails off and Shouto finally recognizes the expression, the furrowed brow and indents in his forehead that he wants to smooth out with his thumb.

It’s worry. 

Bakugou was worried about him. 

I want to kiss you.

Shouto can’t explain it, can’t even begin to explain his thought process of what led him from sitting beside the blond as a cat, to climbing into Bakugou’s lap and placing a paw on his chest to lift himself up. There’s no logical reason as to why he does it, it’s not even an instinct, just an urge, a natural, human urge, and Shouto is pressing his mouth against Bakugou’s lips as if he can kiss him in this form and suddenly he can. 

There’s no explanation for it, really, it’s not dramatic. Shouto isn’t Cinderella and this isn’t a fairytale, it’s just a vague tingling sensation and then suddenly he feels hands on his thighs, and Bakugou’s lips are warm and chapped beneath his own and his skin feels sensitive against the open air. 

He draws back, genuinely shocked, and Bakugou meets his surprised face with one of his own, eyes blown out but still red, and his grip tightens around his thighs. Strong, blunt fingers rough and sweaty against his skin. 

His bare skin.

Bakugou must’ve had the same realization he did because the red eyes slowly make their way down, blazing a trail of heat down his bare chest, Shouto feels his skin flush where his gaze caresses intently, until they land to his own hands gripping at Shouto’s firm thighs, straddling Bakugou’s lap. Beneath Shouto’s palm, he feels Bakugou’s heart race and his own speed up with it. 

It’s steaming in here, he thinks, waves of heat crashing around him. Bakugou’s palms start sparking dangerously and Shouto can’t keep the gasp from escaping him. His left side bursts into smoke and ash, his red hair catching flames, and Bakugou turns into a solid shade of red, the same color of his eyes, and shoves Shouto off of him.

This time, he doesn’t land on his feet. 

He crashes to the floor on his ass, pain shooting through his tailbone that he barely notices, mind too hazy and focused on the red of Bakugou’s face, the sparks that escape his palms almost uncontrollably, and he desperately tries not to think how those sparks felt on his skin.

“Fucking- GET THE FUCK OUT ASSHOLE!” Bakugou screeches, his voice cracking, and he turns to face the other way, shoulders so tense you could crack an egg on them. For once, Shouto wants to leave Bakugou’s room and he scrambles up, tripping over his wobbling legs. 

He’s reminded that he’s naked and swallows.

“Bakugou.”

“What the fuck now?” He snaps, still facing his dresser, the rich scent of burnt caramel almost overwhelming in the room. 

“I- um- clothes?”

There’s a beat, then Shouto watches Bakugou’s ears and the back of his neck turn even more red, then he gets up and a pair of sweats and an old hoodie, the cool furinkazan one, is thrown at him without the other looking at him once. 

He hastily changes and leaves with a stilted thanks that goes unanswered, a trail of smoke in his wake. 

The first thing he does, after traveling to a floor above Bakugou and realizing he still doesn’t have his dorm key, is to visit Aizawa sensei. Teachers get their own dorms, although Shouto isn’t sure if they actually stay there, and it’s ass o’clock in the morning so he should probably wait until morning but his teacher told him to come to him immediately after he turns back human and who is he to disobey.

He sees Kaminari chilling on the couch down in the common room, a movie playing quietly on the tv. He remembers Bakugou ranting about how someone waits for him by the door and feels touched.

“Hello,” he says and Kaminari screams. Shouto makes a small noise of alarm when the other clutches his chest with a wheeze.

“Holy fuck Todobroski where did you- kadfkasd, you’re back!” 

“Are you having a heart attack?” Shouto asks in concern, “does your left arm feel numb? What’s kadfkasd?”

“Wha-” Kaminari’s grin brightens and he straightens up to give Shouto a thumbs up, “I’m alright bro! You just scared the balls out of me-” Shouto makes another noise of alarm that goes ignored- “and I keyboard smashed! It’s when you’re so overcome with emotions you can’t form words! You should try it!”

Oh. Kaminari is granting him his wisdom of modern slang again, Shouto brightens and Kaminari takes it as a sign to continue with his impromptu lesson.

“Hmm the best way to start off is to smash your thumbs on a keyboard, here,” he reaches for his phone and leaps over the couch, stumbling slightly but still manages to land on his feet- like a cat. He opens up his phone and hands it to Shouto.

“Just smash on the keyboard,” he encourages.

Shouto stares at the touch screen before attacking it, a string of random consonants and vowels, then he presses space and the words change to-

“Dirty Santa?” he tilts his head and Kaminari bursts into laughter and claps him on the back, taking his phone back.

“It’s so glad to have you back Todo,” he looks like he means it, all bright and genuine and wheezing, and Shouto gives him a small smile.

“Thank you Denki,” he says, then leaves his friend unintentionally wide eyed and flustered. 

(Kaminari texts the Bakusquad group chat a series of keysmashes and bros and crying face emojis and everyone in the group chat, except for Bakugou, supports his emotional meltdown by replying with the same thing until Bakugou yells at them that it’s three in the morning and they should go to fuck to bed. He actually yells throughout the dorm, instead of texting, because he’s an old man like that.)

Aizawa answers the door at the first knock, eyes void of any human emotion.

“I’m human,” Shouto supplies helpfully. 

HIs teacher goes slack with such open relief that Shouto feels the same kind of warmth he did when Kaminari had told him he’s glad he’s back, at Bakugou’s apparent worry. 

“Stop getting into trouble,” he says as he hands him his stuff, including his phone and dorm key and, he sees with genuine tears of joy pricking his eyes, a bag full of fresh soba and strawberry milk.

“I’ll do that when you finally sleep,” he replies and Aizawa snorts, before reaching up and awkwardly patting his head. The door shuts firmly after that, and Shouto’s small smile widens. 

He puts his soba and all but one bottle of strawberry milk in his mini fridge in his room. He chugs his strawberry milk and crashes unto his unfolded futon, and his futon has never been so comfortable than at this moment.

A small, content purr rumbles in his throat, but he’s already asleep and doesn't notice it.

The genuine joy on his classmates’ faces when he comes downstairs fully human settles something deep inside him, a loose piece of a puzzle that he didn’t even know was unfinished, and for once he basks in the attention and answers the questions as honestly as he can. Still, even then, it starts to become hard to breathe after a while.

“OI, STOP CLOGGING UP THE KITCHEN!!”

Shouto relaxes at the sound of his voice as everyone scatters, and he sends Bakugou a small smile, the taste of good morning on his lips when he walks past him, not even shoulder checking him or sparing him a glance. The tastes turn to ash on his tongue but he swallows it down. Bakugou was up late last night, he’s always in a bad mood when he doesn’t get his eight hours, so he doesn’t take it personally. 

While he’s crunching on his handmade (literally) toast, he watches Bakugou’s sure hands skillfully make breakfast. Those hands that were on his thighs this morning. 

“So Shouto how’d you turn back human?” Midoriya asks, and the entire room turns to look at him, all adorning the same curiosity. Bakugou’s back tenses and Shouto can smell the nitroglycerin from here, along with the delicious scent of a Bakugou Breakfast ™. 

Cats can’t be attracted to Bakugou the way humans can, he thinks, then corrects himself, he could never convey his human affection for Bakugou in cat form. He’s not entirely sure, except he knows that his desire to kiss Bakugou has nothing to do with inner instincts or his cat headspace, and everything to do with human Shouto wanting to kiss him and trying and ultimately succeeding. Or maybe it was something else, maybe it was the realization that Bakugou was genuinely worried about him, and that realization woke up something within Shouto that he never was willing to admit himself. Attraction is fine, physical and there, but emotions are more difficult for him. 

Maybe it wasn’t the kiss that made him human, but the realization that he-

“An epiphany,” he declares, biting into his toast decisively, much to the disappointment of everyone in the room. 

“Well that was underwhelming,” he hears Ashido murmur, and a general air of agreement follows. 

Bakugou leaves as soon as he finishes making breakfast, and Shouto is distinctly aware that he doesn’t glance in his direction even once.

The entire weekend goes like that, and Shouto doesn’t realize how much time they spend together, even before being a cat, until he’s no longer around. Everyone else seems to notice Bakugou’s distance as well, but Shouto doesn’t know what he did.

Bakugou is smart, maybe he realized what it meant, turning back to human after kissing him. He realized it and didn’t want it, and Shouto wakes up feeling Bakugou’s palms spark up against his thighs, seeing how worried he was, the memory of his soft and sleepy face after first waking up pressing against his mind. Thinking about Bakugou has become like breathing, involuntary and necessary and Shouto wants to keep doing it even if it becomes hard sometimes. 

It’s upsetting, he decides, and he’s determined to fix it.

Sunday night comes quickly and Shouto hovers over Bakugou’s door. Even though he’s human and no longer tiny, the sight of the door is still somehow looming for a different reason. He knocks on the door before he can think and panics.

Fuck he has no idea what to say, he didn’t plan that at all. What even is he supposed to say? Hey you saw me naked and I kinda want to suck your dick? So stop avoiding me and let me buy you a crop top? I’m pretty sure I’m in love wi-

The door opens.

Shouto’s heart jumps.

“You saw me naked and I kinda want to suck your dick,” he blurts out.

Bakugou’s face freezes, red slowly making itself known in his ears to his cheeks, down his neck. Shouto follows the trail with his eyes, feeling oddly frozen himself. 

The door beside them opens at the same time and Shouto turns to see Kirishima standing there with wide eyes. There’s a pause before the redhead clicks his tongue awkwardly and shoots them a thumbs up before slowly backing back into the room. The door clicks shut behind him but he can still hear a hushed Denki you would not believe what I just heard. 

That seems to dethaw him enough and a powerful blast sends Shouto, and chunks of Bakugou’s door against the wall. Shouto catches himself with his ice before he can concuss himself and he stables himself, shards of door embedded into the wall around him. 

“I also want to date you,” he adds, to ensure that there’s no miscommunication. He can even compromise and do that date first.

Bakugou stands there, whatever is left of his door swinging back and forth slowly.

“And curl up in your lap.”

Silence.

“And-”

Bakugou lunges forward, grabbing Shouto’s face forcibly with a feral gleam in his eyes and for a second Shouto fears that he’s going to blow his head to smithereens, but instead he yanks Shouto forward and smashes his lips against his. It’s violent and intense and Shouto pushes into it like Katsuki is holding that last pocket of air in the world, hand curling around his bicep. The blond lets go just as quickly, leaving Shouto almost positive his brain cells had fried themselves by accident. 

“You’re paying for my door,” Bakugou breathes.

“Dirty Santa,” Shouto blurts out dazedly.

Bakugou rears back with a frown, soft eyes instantly going to confused and weary, “what the fuck?”

“It’s keyboard smashing,” Shouto explains, frowning at the distance between them, “when you’re overcome with emotion and you can’t form words.” He wants to feel his lips again, it had happened so quickly that Shouto couldn’t get a proper taste. 

“Kaminari told me,” he says at Bakugou’s blank, deadpan stare, and the other rolls his eyes so intensely he can hear them give an audible raddle. 

“Fucking stupid,” he runs his hands to his face before shooting Shouto a weak glare, already walking back towards him, “god you’re so fucking stupid.”

He kisses him again and Shouto slots his lips over his like slipping off his shoes and calling out a tadaima, and Bakugou slides his hand through Shouto’s hair and he tastes like okaeri. 

It ends like this:

Shouto, waking up in the dead of night, four months later. He’s pressed against Katsuki’s bare chest, feeling his heartbeat calm and steady and he’s clearly asleep. Katsuki’s hand is pressed against Shouto’s hip, thumb against the dip, and Shouto hates to sit up and wake Katsuki, but this is incredibly important and Shouto needs him.

“Katsuki,” he whispers, pressing his cold palm against his boyfriend’s cheek, “hey, Tsuki.”

Katsuki stirs, his hand tightening around Shouto’s hip which sends a familiar zing throughout his body that he promptly ignores, now is not the time for that. 

“What is it?” Katsuki says roughly, his voice course and deep with sleep, “didya have another shitty nightmare?” Only Shouto is able to see this side of him, soft with sleep, not a trace of anger to be found. He’s not awake enough to hide his concern. It’s sweet, but also not important right now.

“When I was a cat,” he begins, “I could only turn back if I didn’t act like a cat.”

“So?”

“Katsuki, I used my quirk, I did algebra, Katsuki what if-”

Katsuki shoves him off the bed.