Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kirishima takes his job very seriously. Being a policeman, this is his city to protect and he's got a big bro, warm smile feel to him; the kind that's perfect for kids to yell for when they see shady personas around.

But that's sorta not the crux of the matter here.

The point is Kirishima is a cinnamon roll type nice person. As the standard definition of that phrase dictates, it ropes him into meeting certain kinds of people.

Sometimes, it leads him to apprehend assholes who are troubling senior citizens on the pavements, and other rare times, it leads him to meet people like Denki Kaminari.

Kaminari is a comedic guy. One way to describe Kirishima's first meeting with him would be to imagine your average class clown with the wardrobe of a mid-life crisis and an awful fedora hat that was Raichu themed. It's kinda hard to forget once you saw someone wearing that in the middle of the road at an ungodly hour singing a self-composed song about chickens and eggs in the spur of the moment.

Yeah, Kaminarii was one of a kind. But that's how Kirishima knew Kaminari wasn't the dizzy, tipsy drunk but the oh my God this tunnel going downways looks so dark I wanna deep dive into it and ends up jumping into an open manhole kind of drunk. Thank God too because writing a report on it would be complicated as hell if that wasn't the base reason.

Kirishima is pretty sure he's saved his life one too many times but yeah that was the first.

Anyhow, turns out Kaminari is a far more appropriate person when sober. Thankfully. And had a much better fashion sense too, thankfully. Ever since then, they've become drinking buddies of sorts, Kirishima has been privy to most of Kaminari's habits. Past the entire fashion agenda, it involves Kaminari always knowing every gossip column around the Shizuoka neighbourhood.

For no discernible reason, there is always something bizarre and questionable going on in that goddamn neighbourhood. As an effect, Kaminari always had a juicy scandal at hand whenever Kirishima met him.

By the time he'd finish talking about it to Kirishima, the redhead would be completely invested in it no matter how much he tried to avoid it.

Now, Kirishima told himself that he can't be the only one bothered by the scandals that go up and humping in this neighbourhood. Hence, he goes ahead, with zero qualms, and blabbers it all to Uraraka and Sero who are usually his patrolling partners. Uraraka tells it to Todoroki while Sero unabashedly announces it to the entire team and soon, the entire police department is invested in the puzzling drama.

So far they've completed —

Part 2 of Pastor and the scandalous affair with his cousin's husband; Trilogy of local Sugar Daddies who fight over a Sugar baby only to discover they're gay for each other; Saga of Jilted Lover who 'accidentally' sets loose an army of pigeons and frogs on the Pastor.

There's a lot, but as the old saying goes, Never a dull day in Shizuoka Koban.

As usual, Kaminari brought a lot to the table. It kinda makes Kirishima feel weird about knowing info of random people but hey, if you're airing your laundry out for the public to see, at least people like Kaminari to see then you obviously did something wrong. Besides, it feels less wrong since the entire department is involved.

So when he casually slips into the chair across him, Kirishima is all set for distracting himself from the absolute mundane week he's had and Kaminari is more than glad to spill the beans. They talk about their lives, how they've been doing their jobs, and if sharks have been around longer than Saturn's rings; spoiler: they have.

"Oh my God," Kaminari says, keeping his drink down, "do you know about the ongoing secret war?"

Kirishima is initially taken confused by the statement. Surely, he'd know if his country had declared war on another, he isn't that oblivious to the politics going around, he'd notice if there was a threat that big going around. Also, how would that be a secret? So it's definitely not that, maybe Kaminari is talking about the Yakuza in which case—

"Between the Mozart loving violinist downtown and the angry sous chef across the street."

Kirishima blinks, "excuse me?"

"The neighbourhood violinist? You know, the guy who plays on Sunday church? Remember? He's a real sweetheart with the ladies and the kids, the guy all the matrons want as their son-in-law?"

"Midoriya?" Kirishima squeaks, incredulous at the notion. Izuku is a mad lad with the violin, a great guy in general, real sweet if not a bit awkward. Kirishima didn't talk to him as much but Uraraka hung out with him some so he gets bits on the chap here and there.

On the opposite side, Kirishima might know who this other guy is but he asks to get his record straight. "And the chef?"

"Oh, that's Bakugou, skyrocket anger issues like if he wasn't a chef, he'd be a serial killer, the Japanese Gordon Ramsey—"

"Yeah, yeah," Kirishima waves, "I get who you're talking about and honestly, he's not that bad of a guy," returning to the subject at hand, he leans to the side, "what do you mean war?"

"Well, that's one way to say it," Kaminari states, pointing to Katsuki who rolls his sleeves up outside to open up the restaurant after having prepped the kitchen.

Honestly, he's got a lot of manly cool points on Kirishima's general rate scale but the manliness takes a hit by his aggressive tendencies which aren't so manly. Kirishima knew that deep down Bakugou's a really good guy but Kaminari insisted that deeper down he's still an industrial-grade asshole.

"Huh, okay, but what happened?"

"See, I don't remember what exactly happened but apparently, there was this anniversary thing at Bakugou's restaurant," Kaminari begins with a scrunch of doubt between his brows as he continues to recall.

The centenary of Collars Steakhouse had been a grand affair, celebrating the hundred of years of Musutafu's trust in fine dining. It's inherently famous for its handpicked recipes created from a scratch and an excellent wine collection.

Obviously, for an occasion as grand, they decided to call and offer a token of gratitude to their premium sponsors who had helped Collars Steakhouse evolve from a street-side ramen shop to what it had become today. They readied a spectacular menu to go along with themed decor and grand orchestra performance.

The responsibility of hiring a good orchestra went to the very lively sous chef Katsuki Bakugou. The local Academy of Music and Art had reserved an infamously good reputation so it hadn't been a surprise that Katsuki had initially approached them.

The seed of contention arose when the song selections came up, Katsuki had specified to the assistant that he wanted absolutely no hint of Mozart. Now, the assistant was Minoru Mineta and when he wasn't browsing through sites that would make anyone else crave their eyes to be acid washed after inspecting through, he would be an exceptional assistant with mindful logistics.

Unfortunate for everyone involved, Mineta's favourite idol had posted a brand new video, and there was no way he could miss that.

So Bakugou's one really specific instruction of having absolutely no Mozart that had to be the headlines for the front page became somewhat of a small caption for an advertisement on the ninth.

Mineta made a passing mention of it. The force of this brunt was fully suffered by Miss Melissa Shield who though had three pieces from Four Seasons by Vivaldi, Debussy's Claire de Luna, a few from Beethoven and Tchaikovsky also had, two pieces from Mozart namely Symphony No. 40 and a piano sonata by Miss Shield herself.

Katsuki had come personally a day ahead to listen to the music routine. By the end of it, he takes a loud sigh, an action worthy enough to be on WatchMojo's top ten moments before a calamity struck. Poor Miss Shield was reduced to literal tears by the end of Katsuki's critique with the latter feeling less than a rag of reproach or guilt. He had emphasized it so many times during their conversation and they still managed to get it wrong on the day before the celebrations?

Like fuck he's going to care about some extra's tears.

He should have though.

"Why?" Kirishima asks, pausing the story.

"Cause," Kaminari says, "the next person who saw Miss Shield crying apart from that crowd of people was her best friend," he makes an obvious head tilt, "Izuku Midoriya who thought her how to play Mozart in the first place."

Izuku had called Yagi-san and Torino-san who were the owners of the Steakhouse. He asked if there was any meticulous detail for the genre of artists that they could take and the owners' reply had been, "Anything goes s'long as it sounds classical, eh."

Clearly, this had been an independent venture. The cherry on the top of this whole ordeal was when Miss Melissa ended up catching a fever because of the distress caused by that tyrant.

Izuku, well, to put it lightly, was offended. On two levels, let's break this down.

Firstly on a professional level, he adored Mozart, no reason for no one to dislike the man, okay perhaps the man but not his music, have you seen his movements, particularly the fourth in the Jupiter Symphony? What is that if not sheer genius?

Secondly, on a personal level, Melissa was his best friend. There was no reason for this chef whoever he was, to react like the Vesuvius in the AD even if the celebrations was a day after. They had several pieces as stand-in replacements and a good few of them were from Salieri and Haydn. The point here is that they would have made it work.

As a consequence, Izuku stepped in as her substitute with a little too much-offended blood running in his veins. It didn't grow better when Katsuki gave him a once over before asking where the previous teacher was. Izuku was more stroked when upon being told that she was sick, Katsuki shrugs, "whatever. At least, you, I hope, are not tone-deaf."

Izuku smiled in the variation of a death god. "I'm not, don't you worry, Bakugou-san."

Katsuki directed a spiked stare at Izuku who refused to meet his eyes. "Sure enough, eh?"

Izuku finally returned the gesture, "I don't aim to disappoint, Chef."

With that, Katsuki eased into a peace that should have been investigated. They were led inside, the hall was alight in high golden lights stacked in chambers, reflecting little shimmers onto the marble flooring, in alternative dice boxes, a table was reserved in a rich satin and perfectly positioned cutlery, there wasn't a thing out of place. Soon, they were shown their place of performance in the Hall, the seat had already been neatly arranged and they were in place to start the respective piece.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Kirishima comments, pressing his lips together in knowing dread.

"Well, you're not wrong," Kaminari gives, pushing his finished coffee aside, "so as the guests began arriving, the official performance began," he says, casually.

"And for the next one and a half-hour, the orchestra proceeded to play renditions only by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart."

The silence was filled with Symphony 40, Clarinet Concerto in A major, Piano and flute concerto. Izuku had been determined to play only Mozart and to play it so well that he earned compliments from the well-heeled guests as well the owners themselves. He searched for the hint of crimson in the crowd, it shouldn't be that difficult, that chef sure had a magnetic presence.

He caught his eye, it was giving him a death glare and so Izuku returned it the only way he knew— with a smile.

Having taken his due contempt throughout the concert, Izuku settled down in contentment. Maybe, I overdid it, he thought, natural to the guilt that comes after the deed was done but then, he remembered Melissa and instantly, had not as many regrets. When they settled at a nearby table, Izuku's students chatter about the food that they will be given, they discuss on what's the one ingredient that can ruin any dish and before Izuku can answer, Kota stole the opportunity.

"He hates seaweed," he declared aloud, jabbing a thumb at their favourite teacher.

"Eh, but Midoriya-sensei," Eri pointed out, remembering their last outing, "you're very fond of sushi, aren't you?"

"No, he eats only sashimi or nigiri, or if it's wrapped with rice or soy paper," Kota responded again with a smug smile.

Izuku simply stared at the boy, with an amused smile humming on his lips, "And just what are you both planning to do with this information?"

"Uh, it's for..." Kota trailed off, suddenly forgetting the art of subtlety. They had been planning to host a birthday lunch for their teacher with help from Miss Melissa. Hence, it was important to know what Izuku liked and disliked and well, it was supposed to be a surprise!

So Eri jumped in confidently with the smoothest lie she found, "Drugs."

Their teacher stared.

"You're planning to use my dislike of seaweed," Izuku repeated just to make sure he's got it right, "for drugs?"

"She meant for Science," Katsuma saved in with a proud chime, and Kota dropped his head in his hands, muttering a 'that's not any better, stop looking so accomplished!'

Izuku simply nodded with a suspicious ring to his movement. These kids wouldn't get into that kind of trouble and before he knew, the conversation drifts to their coursework and their various plans for the future. Izuku listened as they described their projects, giving his input when they looked at him for guidance, he really did love the lot of them.

Moharo snorted to some decision that Kota had made regarding his violin opening for the competition, "come on, Kota, Dvořák for the opening? Really? You're not that stupid. "

"What do you mean not that stupid? I'm not stupid at all."

"That's what someone who's stupid would say," she shrugged and Izuku verbally broke them apart before their fight accelerated and continued to advice Kota to take up Stravinsky instead. In the column of time it took for Kota to agree, the server comes by with their food and Izuku was the last to receive his plate.

"This dish, in particular, was designed by Chef Bakugou, after having asked the Yagi-buchou to honour your favourite," he enlightened with a smile and the one on Izuku's face suffered a considerable dent. Was the chef poisoning him? Or food poisoning him? And then he recalls that those things are against the law and it would spoil his reputation.

Surely, Chef Bakugou was more level-headed, however that left the other choice where he wanted to guilt-trip Izuku. Something about that entire statement sounded so terribly wrong to Izuku. He recalled the ever-present scowl and temper of the chef and thought, no, he doesn't seem like the kind who'd guilt trip a person.

In Izuku's honest opinion he looks more like the tyrant who screams 'suffer/ DIE' before going in for the kill.

Stepping out of his vivid imagination, he nodded at the waiter, "please make sure he receives my cordial thanks."

The Katsudon on his plate looked more than tempting. Well, if it isn't poisoned, Izuku thought and remarkable how that became the measure to see how the dinner tasted.

He takes a bite of the egg and it almost drives him to tears on how delicately it's been made, whatever perfect tasted as had been dished into those runny eggs over that rice.

Apparently, perfect also came in the guise of being disaster's neighbour because the moment Izuku took a pronounced chew of the pork cutlet, he realised what was in there— roasted seaweed. Izuku thought that was very clever of him, the Chef that is, to put it in the pork cutlet, he would have never suspected even after a slightly thorough search and no way was he not watching Izuku at the moment. Searching, Izuku glanced around, the universe proved him right when he looked at the floor above them.

On the thick stone balustrade, Katsuki leaned in on his elbow, had his chin settled at the palm of his hand, relishing the front row ticket to Izuku's frozen-in-time face. Unlike the smile on his face, Katsuki's showed his toothy grin and the sheer, ageless satisfaction that came with one-upping someone. Izuku's students must have noticed something wrong with their teacher before Katsuma voiced it out.

"Oh, nothing is wrong," Izuku says, smiling through the pain, seaweed didn't make his stomach upset, it made his soul upset but his mom always said we need to have a stomach to have a soul.

No matter how much was the urge to get back on the chef, Izuku reminded himself that he was above this kind of pettiness, he was going to be the bigger person and end this like an adult. Besides, the damage he had done was way, way more in proportion than the one given so it wasn't exactly a hard task to be decent.

A string of incessant coughs from the other table brings Kirishima back to reality, he offers a cough drop from his front pocket to the elder and Kaminari raises a brow.

"You carry cough drops around?"

"Yeah, somebody might need them," Kirishima present his pocket filled with toffees for children and cough drops.

Kaminari chuckles, temporarily forgetting Kirishima's profession, "such a mom."

Kirishima pumps a fist in the air, "it's manly to be a mom," and Kaminari is left briefly at a loss for words before he nods, "sure thing, Eji," and Kirishima simply looks back to the front where the entrance to the Collars' Steakhouse.

"It didn't end there, did it?"

Kaminari grins, "I wouldn't be talking about this if it did you know, so for that night Midoriya goes back home, completely forgetting what happened—"

The next morning found Izuku waking up to a series of door shaking knocks that could genuinely get him filed under complaints from his neighbours.

It was a delivery. Of food. From Collars' Steakhouse.

It started from then on as the spokesperson for Bakugou's wounded pride that there would be a delivery for all of Izuku's meals, handmade by Bakugou himself and none of them would be absent of seaweed.

Miso soup for breakfast? Aww, too fucking bad that it's seasoned to perfection with Wakame garnishing it and oh, Izuku wanted onigiri for lunch? Well, he'd be getting an entire Koraku bento surmising a variety of sweet pickled vegetables, rolled omelette and chicken Tatsuta-age.

"Woah, sugoi," his coworkers commented, Mina in particular took a glance at his lunch, "did you get a lover from somewhere, Midoriya? Are you hiding them in your house? Man, that potato rice ball looks real good."

Izuku gave them a sullen dry look. He sunk his teeth into the onigiri wrapped in nori seaweed while the salad was mixed in lotus roots and hijiki, and that was just for lunch

But Dinner?

Dinner was where Bakugou went all out.

In the comfort of his home, Izuku stared at the rice topped with the wet seasoning of Tsukudani, mainly made from seaweed, a clear dashi broth with Kombu dried kelp. Several other platters of nothing short of perfection dishes made Izuku distinctly feel like that the blond man had too much time on his hands at this point. The worst thing about it was that it tasted amazing, every meal, every bite of it tasted like the stuff they write poetry about before that flavour of something close to an unexpected gulp of the sea shoved him down.

Okay, it wasn't like Izuku didn't try to outsmart the chef.

He could pick out the seaweed for some dishes. He was successful to do so but he didn't have the heart to throw it out because of the entire 'respect our food!' mentality his mom had ingrained in him. In the end, he ate them the same way one would treat a cough syrup.

Of course, it would be bad if Izuku stopped there.

He decided he could give the more seaweed established dishes to his co-workers but promptly stopped when Bakugou started sending him a double-bento wrap.

"Midoriya-san, your lover is so considerate and sweet to have made this for. We have to meet!" His co-workers insisted and Izuku laughed in another shade of misery.

Waiting out the storm is the only option possible, Izuku guessed, if he retaliated, Lord knows what would become of that Chef's determination. How childish of someone to do this, he thought, Izuku was soo above this. Sooner rather than later, he would get tired of it or think that Izuku had learnt his lesson. Surely, the guy couldn't keep up forever. Eventually, everything had to go back to normal, right? Right.

On the fourteenth day of his rendition, Izuku was seen making a paper plane from the common music sheets.

"Melissa, do you ever contemplate murder?"

The blonde nearly choked on her fruit juice before coughing it out a bit, "I'm sorry? Could repeat that, Zuku-kun? Did you say contemplate murder?"

"Yes."

"Eh," she says with nervousness, "I don't think I do, murder is bad, remember?"

"Ah, of course, I forgot," he replied, hollow in spirit and Melissa bid him goodbye for the day. Concerned, she watched him walk with a hunched back to the elevator, his leather messenger bag slinging off the shoulder.

Though he might not be well in spirits, Melissa thought his complexion increased by a ton, especially since now that Izuku was having regular meals instead of ramen cups and takeaways. This is a good thing, right? She thought, unfolding Beethoven's piece of Für Elise that he had made a rocket out of.

As if the Universe had been plotting for the first time since the Big Bang, the day that Katsuki had finally decided that it would be the last dinner he'd be making for the green mushroom bastard incidentally also ended up being the day that the patience timer in Izuku's head exploded to smithereens.

Izuku headed out to meet Camie, his ex-girlfriend but they had a pretty decent friendship remaining at least enough for Izuku to call in for a quick catching up session and that was the first reason why he met up with her.

"So how have you been? Oh my God, it's been such a long while," she gushed out, they were sitting in one of Izuku's favourite cocktail places. "I couldn't tell you this before cause I was held up with work but," she paused taking a bit of the shrimp cocktail, "you and your students gave a stunning performance that day."

And that would be the second reason.

Camie Utsushimi worked at Collars' Steakhouse as a station chef specifically a sauce chef reporting directly to the sous chef who was none other than Katsuki Bakugou.

"So when does the kitchen go up and running?" Izuku put forward randomly.

"Well, we get extremely busy at around 12 to 2 pm, we're expected to be present at six sharp, Chef Bakugou leaves no room for slackers, but who knows," Camie shrugged, judging the horseradish sauce, "these days, he's already in the kitchen by five and leaves sort of late."

"Oh, I wonder why," Izuku murmured under his breath.

"Right? Since Yagi-san has a soft spot for him, he lets him use the kitchen as and when he likes," Camie continued though she would assert in her heard that it was taxing the chef in health too, it wasn't an easy job being a sous chef, upon which he did this now would be more than just a strain.

"Honestly, all of us making bets that he's trying to impress someone out there, and I'm hoping we'll finally hear wedding bells instead of his bombarding voice, the guy has zero chill."

"He's a tyrant in the kitchen too?" Izuku asked a bit too quickly.

"Well, he's not really," she allowed, crossing her legs as she leaned back in thought, "he might seem like the kind but he isn't a dragon breathing down our neck 24/7, it's only when we fuck up or act lazy does the fire come. Apart from that, he's so fucking good at his work," she confessed with an 'ugh'.

"It's annoying."

"Uhuh," Izuku said but apparently this conversation needed none of his input.

"Like maybe if he gets someone, he'll mellow down a bit," Camie said with a sigh, "that's why we're all hoping this secret someone that he's prepping food for comes out successful."

"Well, maybe it isn't a secret someone, maybe he's doing it—" out of the shallow pettiness that is clearly a prime trait of his, he thought, "—just like that, to create more recipes or a new innovation of some kind."

"Yeah but like that's too much effort and every day, out of nowhere?" She frowned, "nah, plus he would use his own kitchen than wasting the house resources. Clearly, he wants fresh ingredients at hand to impress this secret someone."

Izuku tried to convince her that it really wasn't the case. She, of course, was adamant but they drifted to better subdivisions of the topic and Izuku got exactly what he wanted. They ended their little meeting, waving each other goodbye before Izuku went home, when he did reach his living room, he gathered all musical sheets that he had, numbering them before he did a dice roll.

The dice rolled, stumbled and fell clean on the floor before it landed on a six, the same number that timed on the antique wall clock when Katsuki entered the kitchen. Folding his sleeve, he ran through the mental memory of the menu today before becoming immersed in prepping the dishes. It wasn't around one in the afternoon that he began to notice that something was wrong, there was a distinctly unique tune playing out on the street.

Street musicians weren't an anomaly.

Really, their walls were often subjected to various music so most of the staff had gotten used to the several genres playing. Though the reason Katsuki felt it was distinctly unique was because he recognised the beginning of Serenade No. 13 in G minor.

He bore it at first, maybe the musician had awfully common tastes or something. Then the next piece translated into Symphony 40 and he wasn't sure if tastes were the only thing in the awfully common regarding the musician.

The thing about it was that Katsuki could hear it clearly no matter what obscure part of the kitchen he momentarily resided in. Something about his brain being hardwired to look for problems to solve in an environment and not doing what his brain was hardwired to do was kinda tough, especially since that music-playing violin was clearly one among them.

Unfortunately, the restaurant was especially busy around these hours, more so than usual because they were receiving important guests today and in the coming days as well.

Katsuki doesn't let himself be bothered but it's a toss-up, a self-made damned if you do and damned if you don't kinda situation. But get this right, the most amusing part about this whole arrangement is how Izuku stopped exactly before Katsuki got off for his lunch. Their lunches kept shifting periodically every day, which meant that Izuku had gone to the extent of gathering that little intel to making sure he would absolutely not see Katsuki but would unleash a ravaging annoyance on Katsuki's head exactly when he was working very seriously.

A+ for dedication, Katsuki thought, B+ for Assholery and Audacity.

The reason for the latter being that whenever Katsuki came out for lunch the guy disappeared in thin air like a fancy hat trick even though he went through extremities to make sure a part of Katsuki's head dedicated itself to critiquing the absolute tomfoolery he played on the violin. Whether or not it was out of fear for Katsuki's criminal wrath or the unease of an uncomfortable meeting was not taken into consideration.

"Ne, Camie," Nejire said, brows wriggling as her head tilted in the direction where they could hear the sharpening of knives from, "why is chef honing them like that?"

Camie consented a glance at Katsuki with the accompanying swish from the knives he had been sharpening, "Looks like a shinigami, doesn't he?" she continued, "poor thing. Must have gotten rejected."

Nejire nodded in assent to her assumption, frowning as she noticed, "but hey doesn't he look a little sick too?—" she was interrupted by the soft reflection of a pulling melody strum into the air. Immediately, it causes them all to put a momentary pause and lean their ears out.

"Oh my, he plays so well, doesn't he?" Camie boasted as they listen to pensive tendrils of Lacrimosa curling in the air, floating above the turgid smell of spices in the kitchens. "You know, I think Midoriya-kun is into someone here."

"Who is Midoriya?" Nejire piped in, conversationally.

"He's this guy who shows up on Sunday church," Mirio replied, swirling the broth he was making, "he looks like all sorts of greens to make a veggie out of, must have seen him around."

"Don't say that," Camie chided in, lightly defending her friend, "he does not look like a veggie—" she paused when the mental animation of a happy broccoli waltzing in.

"...okay, you might be right."

Mirio shrugged before coming back to the topic, "Wait?" he squeaked from his pot of boiling curry. "Midoriya's into someone?"

"Yeah, it's a hunch. He's been visiting this place a lot after all," Camie stated eagerly, "and he even went to the extent of asking the timings here."

Katsuki's ears flicker akin to a wolf's interest. "And you gave it to him?" he asked, scorn visible in the many movements of his voice.

"No, chef," Camie said, white-lying her way through, "I heard him asking for it though," and silently, everyone went back to their own workstations as Katsuki resumed listening to the miserable playing thing.

Over the days though, Katsuki realised that there are several other facets to this. It would seem that Izuku had a chat with Yagi-san regarding music choices and had somehow managed to pick on Katsuki's favourite music artists. So now, Izuku would start with Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata in the first movement only to transition smoothly into that godawful 3rd movement from the Turkish March.

Not only did it get to Katsuki, but it also climbed over his nerves, nursed murderous intentions to a high before Katsuki reminded himself that jail food was obnoxiously saltless.

What choice did he have though apart from honing knives because if he'd have his way, Izuku Midoriya would have been a texture flatter than the polenta he was stirring. The other chefs learnt to avoid him when he looked like that, they thought something was wrong with the volume of the music. Camie went ahead to inform Izuku that maybe he should do an orchestra band thing for a few days and if he could, in Camie's words, brighten up our chef's moods, he seems really down lately, and if Izuku could cheer him his sickness because, a bitter heart knows no good dish.

Izuku agreed heartily, and no one suspected a thing because well, Izuku is just that nice, y'know?

Now, there was a wholeass orchestra playing literal arias in the late afternoons which would commit all contributions to charity. Slowly but surely, Katsuki began to have the horrifying series of realisations that led him to have an epiphany of—

a) this fuckery is going to become a regular and no one but him had a problem with it,

b) Katsuki wasn't planning to leave Collars' Steakhouse at any given point so that meant he'd have to get immunity to this ridiculous thing and that's like an eternal backfire.

And honestly, that's too categorical for someone like Katsuki, any asshole who thought they could get away with that had another thing coming at them.

Katsuki wasn't even sure if Mozart annoyed him as much as the bastard that had been trolling him in spite had. God rest Izuku's soul when Katsuki would get him, within distance and no one around, he was definitely going to reach out and rear hook that sonofabitch's jaw into a level of Hell lower than the arias Mozart composed.

".....and that's how far we've got on it," Kaminari ends, finishing a delicious bit of macaron, indulging in the salted caramel a little too much.

"I am concerned for Midoriya," Kirishima grants, "someday all consequences of crime is not going to be able to stop Bakubro from going haywire on Midoriya."

"Nah, he'll be just fine."

"With Bakubro like that—" Kirishima stops for a moment, "hey, how exactly do you know about this if no one's caught onto it yet?"

"Oh, I have tea with Yagi-san on Monday afternoons," Kaminari reveals as if that's supposed to be self-explanatory, "he thinks that Bakugou and Midoriya like each other, he's really rooting for them, and I didn't have the heart to break an old man's hopes, we even have a bet though on them getting together," he grins.

"Besides, I'm Kaminari Denki, I know everything that happens in this neighbourhood."

"Wow," Kirishima admits, "you have no respect for other people's privacy do you?" he asks, blunt as a spoon.

"Nothing like that, those two are quite open about their hostilities," he shrugs with a flick of his wrist, "you need to ever find them in a crowd? Just yell Mozart is as worthless as seaweed, I guarantee, you'll hear a declaration of war in about less than two seconds," Kaminari suggests.

"I am fine, thank you," Kirishima replies, looking forward to talking about this little war to Uraraka and Sero, Lord, they're gonna have a field day with this especially since Uraraka seems to be good friends with Midoriya.

"I am sure it'll be fine, Kiri," Kaminari waves dismissively, "don't have to worry about a thing here."

"Uhuh," Kirishima says and they watch the people setting up another stage for Mozart's Magic Flute. This seems to have grown into a legit thing that people would look forward to attending. In fact, it has been listed down on one of the popular Travel pages as a To-Do list of sorts.

If Kirishima had to vote, he'd say Izuku is nailing it so far. But he's not too sure how long that will last cause it might pan out like won the battle, lost the war theme if it involved Bakugou.

Just as they finished paying their bills, Izuku, dressed to the nines, walks past Kirishima and Kaminari's table. Of course, not having the slightest clue that they know.

The Magic Flute is his favourite of Mozart's plays, especially when the Queen of Night reigns her deranged, vengeful wrath on her daughter, there isn't a time when he heard the aria and didn't have chills run through his spine. It is also a relatively difficult role to cast for the sopranos, the Queen of Night demanded a wide spectrum of vocals, primarily the high F four times. It was a miracle they even found Midnight-sensei's voice capable of it.

People in the Shizouka neighbourhood didn't have much to do, most of them came from an artistic background. This made them welcome the street operas from another culture more openly and most of them seemed to have even grown a taste for it. Somewhere in between genuine enjoyment and elation, Izuku forgets why he had started this out in the first place.

The opera came off as a big hit, they might even have a traditional Masque night but Izuku is not too eager to spring it out yet in case it scares away the audience.

In time, when the audience is more ready and mature for it, they could subliminally incorporate a few Japanese elements too, to which he's looking forward.

As every performance that comes to an end, Izuku hosts a little guitar thing for the cast. He's got no skills in dancing, stepped on many toes far too often for that. However, his voice is a nice addition to an ending, not too angelic to make you drop everything, not too flat either, just a bit mellow to remind you of these times.

So his students gather around him when the azure skies are shading out to the tangerines reaching from the clouds, most of them have food sharing and they relax to the guitar solos he plays. They're mostly pop, Studio Ghibli or any song request that his students ask for.

He chuckles when he sees Kota, Eri and Katsuma asleep in a bundle, and that chuckle dies quickly when Moharo comes along with the trumpet. "Don't, let them sleep," he says to her, knowing exactly what she was planning, and she gives him a soft whine, "sensei.."

Izuku gives her a stern look before passing a toffee, in doing so he loses grip of the guitar pick he had been holding.

The downward slope of the road slips it into one of the many inner side streets and Izuku follows without hindrance. He bends down to pick it up, cleaning the little dust with the sleeve of his shirt before he notices the eerie silence. The narrowness in the dusky lit alleyway didn't seem very inviting, creeping in some discomfort in him.

It only makes his hindbrain send out flyers of survival warnings when he spots the crests of blond spikes with a tint of red below them.

Okay then, time to go, his mind chimes in and his heel takes a swift 180-degree turn. Hanging in mid-air, before his foot can even see the light of the sunlit streets, the back of his neck is grabbed, dragging his body into the alley and is forced against the wall, pinned snugly with a fit arm.

"This," Izuku coughs out, "is not how I thought I'd meet you, Chef," and I had rehearsed it at least eight times in my head, goes unspoken.

"You little shit," Bakugou snarls, fingers wringing around Izuku's collar which he had personally ironed this morning. "Think you were gonna get away with the mess you've made?"

"You're the one who started it!" is close on Izuku's tongue but that sounds too childish so his mind reverts it into, "I'm just giving back what you gave me!" Shit, shit, he might actually die here, Izuku looks for a way out, struggling to push himself off the wall but even for a chef, Bakugou is unreasonably strong to hold him right where he wants.

Do vegetables and cooking need this strength??

Also, it turns out, that had been the wrong thing to say because Bakugou's grip only tightened. When Izuku sees a punch bawling up and coming at him at the speed of light, he just helplessly closes his eyes.

It doesn't come.

Eh? he thinks soft in his mind and his eyes flutter open when he feels a deadweight on him only to recognise the nearly unconscious form of the enraged chef. Wary suddenly, Izuku's hand reaches out to plant itself on the blond's forehead, comparing temperatures before it makes sense.

"EH?"

It's the last thing Bakugou tries to hear before his mind pulls a blank on him for what seems like a decade. His only tell is waking up to the pleasant melody of rain against a glass after a storm petering out. Well, it would have been pleasant if the heated fatigue didn't impair his senses the moment he tries getting up only to fall back on the soft pillow in a light thud.

"I wouldn't recommend that if I were you," a voice advises and the thought of being in a stranger's place jerks enough impulses for him to rush his eyes open.

"Huh," he whispers roughly, seeing the distinct figure of green, there's a lot of green involved in the colour palette he sees but it sharpens its definitions to a familiar face, his mind leans back in some comfort to that thought.

"You have a high fever, chef," Izuku enlightens, he looks different when he's out of formals, and it really shouldn't be an observation but his mind has lost control. "I didn't know where to take you and Yagi-san told me you lived alone. He thought it would be fine to take you home until you're better."

Though Izuku has to make a point of thinking how freely Yagi trusted him with Bakugou, almost like he expected it. "m'fine," the blond insists, naturally uncomfortable in a stranger's house, and the sudden slip in his footsteps would have landed him a face to face with the floor had it not been for Izuku holding his arms.

"Bakugou-kun, you're sick," he rephrases akin to speaking to a child, "you need to rest, though neither of us is going to like it," Izuku pushes him back to bed in gentle warning, "I'll take care of you to the best of my abilities," he says before weighing him down with a heap of blankets as Katsuki groans thickly.

"You can groan all you want but you're not getting out of my bed," Izuku states, voice rather loud in its affirmation. Bakugou's mind goes to how wrong that might sound to a third person but gives in to the sleep haunting him for moving too much too quickly. The next he wakes up, in a relatively better frame of mind, it's to the sound of a vacuum and he realises he's wearing different clothes, there are parts of his memory offering him an explanation on how that might have come to be.

Strong enough to lift himself to his elbows, Katsuki settles his back against the pillow, a wet cloth that had been put on his head falls on his lap. He notices the cold water bowl on the bedside table and footsteps sound before Izuku enters the room, possibly to dip the cloth back to a cooler temperature and Katsuki wonders how long it's been like that.

"Oh," he says in surprise, "you're awake."

Katsuki opens his mouth to stitch out a complaint but realises that his voice is stuck in the column of his throat. Well, fuck, he figures.

"You've got a sore throat too?"

Katsuki glares.

Izuku chuckles, "and you don't like it either."

Katsuki's glare intensifies, which person born on God's green Earth likes a sore throat? Izuku comes closer with a thermometer, lodging it in Katsuki's mouth, seemingly not scared anymore, he reckons it's counterproductive to fear someone you're supposed to be taking care of.

Besides, it tickles Izuku's funny bone when Katsuki looks so unwilling to be taken care of, especially by him which is understandable to a certain extent. He wouldn't want someone he's been spiting for, how long has it been again? Yes, a month nearly, to be in charge of seeing his health back to normalcy.

He takes the thermometer from his mouth, it gives him a rough forty-degree celsius, still a long way to go, he supposes.

"Okay, then, I'll get you some food and tablets to go with," Izuku says, leaving before Katsuki catches his wrist, he turns with a curious brow raised, "yes?"

Katsuki freezes as if the realisation of what he's done comes in slow waves. He retreats his hand back and Izuku is left blinking, "did you want something?" and he's answered with a stubborn dismissive nod from Katsuki.

"Alright then, I'll just go," Izuku whispers, slightly confused as he ventures back into the kitchen to make rice porridge before checking if he had some pickled plums to go with it.

While filling the rice cooker with water he blinks again in recognition, ah, so that's what he wanted? Izuku goes back to the room with a bottle of water and Katsuki's carefully manoeuvred face gives away little.

He leaves the room just as silently before staying near the door to note the little-too-anxious speed at which Katsuki grabs the bottle of water. If he was thirsty, he should have just said so, Izuku shakes his head. Still, it sets a precedent, Izuku guesses he'll have to pick up on discomfort.

Something that sounds like molly-coddling but Katsuki's sick. Izuku isn't going to set stress boundaries since both of them have pretty much shattered it in the past month.

How did I get here? Izuku thinks, serving a decent size of okayu and topping it with umeboshi. He keeps another pot to heat the water before checking on the honey radish recipe that his mom made for sore throats. He knocks on the door, entering with the food and placing it on the bedside table before opening the long windows to let the airs out.

"I called work for you, Yagi-san maintains you take as many days off, I had a doctor come home to check you, it's due to the seasonal changes," Izuku says, "my cooking isn't stellar as yours, but it'll do," he waits for a moment before realising that Katsuki's fingers tremble to touch the spoon which prods him to take it and Katsuki jerks up in glares.

It's almost impressive how the intensity behind those eyes can still put the fear of deities into a person when being sick with a high-grade fever but it leaves Izuku unfazed. Probably some confidence that came with the little private war they've been having.

Izuku takes a little less of the spoonful from the hot porridge, blowing on it a bit before it heads to Katsuki who stares at it like it's a registered offence against him.

"You need to eat," Izuku reminds tentatively. Especially, sick chef Bakugou seems to be a lot more unreasonable than normal chef Bakugou which honestly is a peak Izuku hadn't expected to cross but here he is, admirably standing right over it.

"I can eat by myself," Katsuki manages out, "not a fucking kid," exerting his hand out only to be slapped away by Izuku who definitely thinks he's dealing with one.

"Bakugou-kun, you're in pain—"

"I said dipshit—"

"Oh for God's sake—"

"I am capable of eating just fine, Deku—"

"Deku?" Izuku asks, brows pulling up before he shakes it to his initial resolve, "you're either going to eat from my hand or you're going to spend your time eating while listening to me play Mozart. Pick your poison."

Katsuki's jaw drops only a little before voicing harshly, "I will throw you out of this window," he points to the open view of a calmer Musutafu, it would be a sad fall, Izuku's room is on the third floor.

"Good then, we've come to an agreement," Izuku says, on his own.

He heads the spoon back into the porridge, mixes in and offers it again to Katsuki whose mouth twitches before reluctantly parting his lips. Throughout the course of feeding him, Katsuki mellows down by being more guarded, simply directing his stare at the green studded musician which doesn't make Izuku feel any better but it's a blessing he's still counting.

Izuku takes the empty bowl, remembering the hot water that must have started boiling, dammit, he should really invest in a kettle.

Collecting the daikon juice, he mixes the hot water in with a spoon and gathers the tablet before keeping them on the near table only to watch Katsuki drink it in one shot with the tablets before sliding back into the bed to clock out again.

Didn't that burn his tongue? Izuku reflects, he shook his head, chalking it up to one of the many mercurial tendencies that the chef brought to the surface.

The next time Katsuki wakes up, he feels better by leagues to the last time. There's a loose flute tune playing and it would appear that when Izuku isn't playing Mozart, he's a fine musician. It doesn't make it pleasant that Izuku does it only out of sheer spite, the music stops to the noise of a ringtone and Katsuki checks the last afternoon lights flickering outside. Katsuki breathes again, feeling a sense of freedom from the clogging in his airways before observing the room he's in.

Tiny as shit is one way to describe it, clean but messily placed would be another.

There are three comic themed shelves, a hammock attached for some reason with a few other articles lying around, a wall hanger where suit ties are haphazardly hung, several action figures on the study table along with layers of music sheets, the bed itself was closest to a window, beside which there is an array of succulents. This room seems like an interesting crossbreed between an impulsive teen going through a phase and a homeless gardener.

Really, he wouldn't be caught dead in these surroundings but then, being sick here for God knows how many days makes him a little more grateful.

"Yeah, no, that's not going to work, Kota-kun," Katsuki hears before sensing the musician close by, "like Eri said, you'll have to go with the first one, I know how Professor Chisaki is but if you have a genuine doubt, he will actively make— alright, alright," Izuku says, in a way that makes Katsuki feel he's trying to calm whatever storm is bursting on the other side of the call.

"How about this? Why don't you go to Midnight-sensei instead? Yes, I think she's available," Izuku sighs with relief, "yeah, okay, anytime, Kota-kun, take care."

Izuku mindlessly walks into the room, expecting Katsuki to be sleeping as he goes to pick up a few music sheets on his study table. Stacking them in order between his fingers before he looks up to Katsuki staring.

"Eeep!" he says, caught easily off guard, "if you were awake, you should have called for me!"

"Right."

Izuku narrows his eyes at him before settling the papers on his table, hands summoning a thermometer to check his temperature. Katsuki is less of a hassle when he just wants to get it over with.

"You seem okay to go if you want to return home and—"

Katsuki zones him out, already figuring out which day it is and contemplating how many days he'll miss with respect to his knowledge.

Katsuki didn't get sick often at all, once in a year, a fever would breeze through due to his very neat hobbies and habits. Though the stress he had undertaken the past month with him running low on sleep had probably encouraged his health to do a roundhouse kick on his body for the need to rest. Surely, his fever will come down with self-care and Katsuki hears something that makes him halt his thought process.

"Hah?"

Izuku glances at him, "what?"

"What did you just say?"

"Yagi-san said that Monoma has come to visit, he is staying until next week and that he looks forward to meeting you when you get better," he repeats, word to word as Katsuki lets the weight settle in.

Monoma Neito, to say it mildly, didn't get along well with Katsuki. Monoma is part Anglo-French royalty and an obnoxious bastard which isn't relevant to the plot but it's something Katsuki makes a point of mentioning while talking about him. However, it is Monoma's position as such that kinda gives him a leeway of being particular whenever he came around. Which gave him the power to order the most ridiculous custom made dishes just to tickle that burning fury that Katsuki reserved.

Though Izuku is pretty easily lounging on the top position of setting off bombs on Katsuki's patience, Monoma had to get consolatory praise for coming so high. Not that many would see it an achievement given Katsuki's inconstant temper.

At least this bastard he's sharing the same breathing space with right now, he could respect with some sheerly twisted concept of an equal, but Monoma? Monoma orders food that in Katsuki's mind would equalise to a crime. That's the only way he'd describe that awful rice pudding shit he had to make the last time around.

Still sick on a thirty-nine degree, the fatigue makes him tired with just thinking about it. He looks forward to meeting you, chimes back in his head and Katsuki's leg that had come out of the blanket to get out of here goes back with the same grace. Yeah no, he didn't need this kind of stress right now.

He coughs, "I'll stay," drawing a quality of confusion from Izuku who simply raises a brow.

"As in here?" he asks for clarification somehow earning an offence from Katsuki as if Izuku's at fault.

"Where else, Deku?"

"I don't know," Izuku says, incredulous at his tone, "your place maybe?"

"Hey, I'm sick, you're going to make a sick guy take a sub—"

"I don't live that far, it's just a short distance away—"

"Huh," he realises, "that's how you were always on time at the restaurant?" cause, Katsuki had a tough time wondering just how on Earth was Izuku so immaculately on time every darn day. But it also brings Katsuki to remind himself why he needs to stay here.

Katsuki's home is quite literally across Collars Steakhouse, a rent a room arrangement that Yagi had made. However, that means Katsuki is too close to his workplace to not be violently seduced into going in for work the moment he recovered because his brain can't comprehend avoidance as a method of coping with stress.

He just wants to rest damnit, and besides, Izuku hasn't done anything to make him think twice maybe it'll be fine.

"Ah—I-that, well, you see," Izuku stumbles over his words before collecting himself, "I just decided to give you what you had given me."

"Amazing fucking food with seaweed so you're gonna let me stay here. Okay, got it," Katsuki concludes shifting sides in the bed as he lifted the blanket.

"Hey!" Izuku chimes in but that dissolves when Katsuki turns in, seemingly tired.

"I'm hungry."

With a dropped jaw, Izuku simply stares at the man before sighing, had he unwittingly signed up for something way more than he thought he had? Well, it wouldn't be a first, would it? He asks himself, finding this whole situation very out of place.

Either the chef is still sick enough to stay or apparently, being with Izuku is less taxing than whatever is waiting at home for him.

He keeps the warm miso soup on the table. Katsuki looks at it, raises a peculiar brow at the seaweed present and wonders if Izuku made it himself.

"Have you eaten breakfast?" He says only to find Izuku repetitively opening his mouth to answer the question.

"I forgot," he shrugs, it wasn't an irregularity in his life. Izuku's excellent sense of egregious time management always led him to get up late. In the hurry to catch the bus early to the academy then back home, food tended to be neglected unless his stomach made loud declarations of it. The habit came about since he started walking the distance to Collars Steakhouse and as a backhanded result to the upcoming event in his Academy.

"Then, go eat, how will you take care of someone if you can't take care of yourself?"

Izuku opens his mouth to argue that a man who fainted out of a high fever in the back alley while trying to possibly assault an innocent passerby isn't exactly in the position to say that but he's more the wiser. He just goes and brings leftover chicken noodles that he had eater for dinner last night.

Peeking into the room, Izuku notices the tray of food untouched, he's waiting for me? What even? he thinks, coming in with his bowl of food.

It's a bit awkward. Actually, Izuku is not going to downplay this, it's very awkward in this silence. He's been in a handful of cramped situations, none of them have had his home as the background setting and he usually got out of these situations in less than a minute.

Maybe that's because Izuku rarely has people over which is something his mother wholeheartedly expresses her laments over.

Other than that, it's a bit unnerving to finally be in the presence, or in this case since Katsuki has been sick for the past two days, be in the conscious presence of someone he's been fighting with. Nevertheless, it makes his toes curl as he observes Katsuki sip the soup, he didn't think the chef was capable of being this quiet.

In fact, now that he thinks about it, he's not sure he's painted Katsuki in any positive light within the confines of his mind. His personal favourite way of depicting him involved the image of a dragon or a tyrant and sometimes, both.

He chews a bit of the chicken before swallowing it, deciding that chef Bakugou is an odd man. About that, Izuku realises and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

"Why on Earth do you hate Mozart?"

Katsuki pauses mid-way and gives a stare sharpened enough to make Izuku regret his asking. "He's too fuckin' celebrated, his music has lost touch in the present times, and it's boring."

Marking all of those reasons under the 101 Ways of Pissing me off section in his head, Izuku is about to talk before Katsuki beats him to it.

"—and celebrated as he is, he's not overrated, if anything it's the other way round."

"And you mean?" Izuku prods, keeping his food down.

Mozart is celebrated but rarely is his music overrated, he's a genius for sure, you don't need to look further than his piano concerts, Katsuki is pretty sure Beethoven or Bach couldn't achieve it. Maybe, the more you logically know something, the less inclined you are to feel it's the truth, so who knows, Mozart to him may have fallen under that list.

"That I am tired of him," Katsuki states, recalling his childhood memories of his mom forcing him to listen to it for whatever brain power increase shit and then, the music teachers in his school. It just seemed like the music kept following him around, a prime example was Izuku being a Mozart lover hinself, "Baroque music is one thing but I think his music is childish, too fucking cheerful."

He then proceeds to drink his soup unaware of the number of times Izuku is continuously tempted to beat the man into the floors.

Don't harm a sick man, Izuku Midoriya, mom would be very disappointed with you if you did, is what voices in between his fury, it works its wonders like the several other times it has. Of course, it wouldn't have if Katsuki had also revealed that he used to like Lacrimosa and a few pieces of his piano sonata. But since he's met Izuku and their little competition, he sort of invested too much of his spite to dislike Mozart and even they weren't as enjoyable as they used to be.

So really, it's the nerd's goddamn fault.

Furthermore, the reason why Katsuki wanted no Mozart pieces the first time around for that Centenary performance that pretty much started everything was that he was tired of hearing Mozart in concert. So while Mozart is underrated, he's still very celebrated and that just doesn't sink well with the blond.

He shakes his head, "oi," Katsuki asks curiously as he looks at Izuku then at the thing on his study table, "why do you have a pasta maker there?"

Izuku's face relaxes when he's distracted by the black machine on his study table that was most of the time used as a support balance for his music sheets.

He smiles in a milli-second, "oh I won that at a fair, it's a second-hand custom pasta maker. I use it rarely so I don't keep it in the kitchen but the first time around, I used it to make a DIY funnel cake by frying pasta dough from this DIY cooking channel by Youtuber Hatsume. It actually came out surprisingly well."

By the end of his mumbling, Izuku is left to notice the total fright on Katsuki's face, the paleness on his features worried him enough to inquire, "Are you okay?"

Katsuki— a seasoned chef who had spent an on-location dual externship and internship in the rather remarkable city of Florence under the most cultured and authentic executive chef he's met, is offended on the behalf of most Italians and their mothers.

"You disgrace," he states without missing a beat and Izuku rolls his eyes as if it's a reaction he expects.

"You won't know unless you try it—"

"That's food abuse, Deku!"

"No, it's not, oh my God, don't say it that way—"

"Who allowed you to do this—"

"Uh, me?" Izuku says which to Katsuki explains a number of things, who looked at this green mushroom head and thought it was a good idea to leave him to his devices?

"Honestly, everyone knows pasta makers are basically play-doh machines that give edible clay—"

Katsuki chokes on a small piece of chicken before Izuku hurries with the bottle of water before patting the man's back as he regains better control over his airways.

"Where are your parents? I need to have a conversation," is the first thing that comes out and it causes Izuku to roll his eyes again, if Katsuki had been better, he would have possibly threatened to scoop them out the same. But he is far from wellness and as he tries to make something out of the situation, Izuku is already done with his bowl.

"I'll run a lukewarm bath," Izuku says, wondering if he had enough veggies to make a lunchbox for tomorrow or if he was going to bank on the canteen again, "Yagi-san came by with some of your clothes and since you're staying here," which I still don't understand what for? "— I'll straighten them out for you."

"I can move by myself."

"Don't make things difficult for yourself, Bakugou-san," Izuku adds and the honorifics push Katsuki to an edge, well, both of them aren't strangers to that level, are they? "Also, I'll be going to work tomorrow, you'll be okay by yourself, right?" Izuku rumbles out, barging into Katsuki's personal space, checking the temperature on his forehead and frowning at whatever impression he's got.

"Your fever sure is as stubborn as you," he settles in a whisper, obviously not quite enough when he notices the menacing aura of deathly intents around those red eyes. Izuku immediately withdraws and goes several steps back.

"Right then, the bath," he says before speed-walking out of the room with their finished bowls and Katsuki wonders if staying here was a good idea.

Well, his fever can't last longer than a week, this should be manageable right? With some measure of hard work, Katsuki finishes his bath, his temperature goes down for a while but kicks back by the time he's back to the bed that is dressed with new sheets.

There's a hot cup of Yuzu-cha for his sore throat, Katsuki would have preferred more honey but the citrusy zest hits just right. While he can talk now, it's still uncomfortable by a lot and he would mostly be comfortable with not doing so at all. He falls into patterns of restless sleep, somehow waking up in between odd hours and there is always some kind of food, mostly lukewarm kept for him which he reluctantly appreciates.

Izuku doesn't make his presence known, possibly aware of the fact that it makes Katsuki uncomfortable which is something Katsuki hasn't learnt how to combat.

What's he supposed to say after this is over? Thank you? He's never really let people do things for him to actually thank them, anytime that he rarely does, it feels like the weight of a generational debt. Especially since he's indebted to this guy who he's been butting heads.

The lack of answer almost puts another degree in the plus for his fever but he leaves it to figure it out along the way. The next morning, his fever shows signs of receding exactly when he thinks he should call a doctor, there's food put as usual and Katsuki feels good enough to walk around the house.

The house really looks like the dumb nerd's place, it's got a slight Bohemian touch in the undertones, a bit messy and mismatched with the couch patterns, carpets. There are random pot plants that have become weights for various sticky notes that Izuku kept over the years, forgetting to even go over them in the first place. However, it's decent enough to be presented if he has unexpected visitors.

Katsuki would of course think different but he's got rocket high standards of what a house should look like.

Searching for a spare towel because Lord knows this man had a knack for keeping things where they least belong, Katsuki takes a turn from the kitchen to enter the storeroom. Sure enough, his clothes are neatly put in a box. Minding his step Katsuki removes the navy blue towel but for all his caution, he still manages to knock a few carton boxes at the back of the shelf, the sounds of metal clanking against the floor.

Clicking his tongue, Katsuki squeezes himself between the misplaced chair and covering his face with the towel to avoid inhaling the dust. He reaches out to pick up the thing fallen before he stops midway, there are stacks of medals and trophies scattered on the floor in heaps and if Katsuki is seeing well, then, those aren't the only ones.

Recalling that he's invading someone's privacy, Katsuki puts them back in before reaching out to a newspaper.

It's in English and it's not really a newspaper, more like a cutout piece, English is Katsuki's fourth language and he struggles a bit to read the headline before getting the general sense out of the title that says— Izuku Midoriya, the young Apollo of Delphine School of Arts, calls quits on the big stage— the rest of it is torn across and Katsuki puts it in.

He leaves the urge to ask Izuku about it because it's none of his business and well, everyone's filled with backstories, Katsuki too and he's not about to go and make Izuku feel uncomfortable about his.

Even if it's strange to see them packed at the back of the storeroom like they don't matter but if they didn't matter, they wouldn't be here in the first place. Or that's just how Katsuki's built, for him, it's often all in or nothing at all, maybe some people liked to hold on to certain painful things, he's been told they are humane that way.

Izuku clocks in late in the wee hours of the morning, he checks the food eaten and is disappointed when he sees no dishes in the sink. Did he strain himself again? Izuku thinks, throwing his sweater overhead and onto the couch's arm. It's suddenly too comfortable to leave, he's been having late-nighters because the Academy had been planning their Annual Event and well, he's easily a pushover when it is Professor Chisaki in charge.

But at the end of the day, it's for his students after all, he reminds himself. There are few things in this world he wouldn't do for them and this isn't ever going to be one among them.

For real though, Izuku thinks, cracking his shoulder muscles, I don't even think I ate today, wait did I eat today? He recalls the canteen's Katsudon. For the life of him hates that now that he's eaten chef Bakugou's food, nothing really compares even if the darned thing had seaweed in it.

He shakes his head to go and check if Katsuki is still asleep, the room is dark with the absence of light from the bed lamp and Izuku frowns realising that it is done for. He takes a spare bulb and fixes it as quiet as he can. It's a task considering he doesn't have night vision and his obvious clumsiness makes an on-set appearance but other than slipping once, Izuku finishes fitting it in.

"Hey, why are you—"

Izuku screams bloody murder, swiftly whipping in the night lamp as some sort of makeshift sword weapon in the direction of the sound and Katsuki watches at the man.

"If I was really an intruder," Katsuki hypothesizes sceptically, "how the fuck would you protect yourself with a night lamp?"

Izuku takes a sigh of deep relief, loosening his shoulder to the words, "well, it's better than nothing. Is this a thing you do? Creeping up on people?"

"You're the one who did it first."

"W-well," Izuku stops, checking the time, "what are you doing awake right now?"

Katsuki gives him a sharp side-eye, "why are you this late?"

"Annual Event called Ostinato, it's happening a few weeks from now. Had to stay back," Izuku says, putting the lamp back properly, "now, why are you awake?"

Katsuki's straightens up in grumbles, "Slept too fucking much." he says before informing, "anyway, my fever's come down a bit."

Izuku smiles, "that's good to know, as for not being able to sleep," he presses his lips together in indecision, "hey, would like me to play something for you? I can probably put you to sleep?" and Izuku really does have a knack for it, his students who have heard him playing Debussy's Rêverie would testify.

"You play music so bad that the only way your audience can escape is in their dreams?"

Yeah, no, Izuku has had a way too long day for this kind of attitude, "and here I thought I could play you something other than Mozart," he says, in pity, "well, then, I suppose you can sleep on your own, Good night, Bakugou-kun."

Katsuki's ears perk at the anomaly of an offering, "Hey, wait," he calls out, realising what he's done just as he did, and Izuku turns to him, not too sharp but swift enough to make Katsuki inhale slowly. Izuku watches him take that breath and hoard it, he's not about to give in until he hears it and Katsuki doesn't meet his eye when he quietly says, "Please."

Izuku smiles, freckles shaded in mirth and he goes to bring his violin. Pondering if he can cheat his way with a bar of Mozart's music at first just to tickle a reaction out of Katsuki, he reaches out to hold the scroll of his violin but the blond spots his mischief quicker than he can hide it.

"You won't survive the fall," Katsuki warns, simply enough pointing to the window, "and you don't want me to make sure of that."

Laughing nervously, Izuku says, "is death threats the only way you get by in life?"

Katsuki folds his arms, "do you need something more?"

"No, thank you," he replies, withdrawing in case the man is serious about it, he might be sick, not powerless, and Izuku thinks that's a word that Katsuki might never be associated with. He really looks like the kind.

"So," Izuku asks, standing at the end of the bed as he picks up his bow, "any requests? Happy or sad?"

Katsuki's amusement shows in a grin as he leans back on the cushioned headboard, considering Izuku with a curious eye. He's not sure how he feels when given a choice to choose between them, there's an inclination to the sad and because he thinks it's ridiculous to feel purposely sad, he wants to choose happy out of vexation. What the hell? he considers, questioning his pickiness out but then, he supposes it's because this is a rare opportunity from Izuku.

"Impress me."

Izuku meets his gaze tilted in a challenge.

The plants appear in a different verdure under moonlight treeling in, they seem to grow ears to hum to the violin's melody when it softly blankets the air.

Izuku plays the violin alone but Katsuki thinks he can hear the piano or even harp if he tried hard enough.

Katsuki's no longer in the little room and where he is, time is a thing of the past there, lying in uniform on some field with his leg fucked up by an unpredictable blast, listening firing squads just don't stop. He's had moments where he's sworn that the next thing his eyes will know is nothingness, somehow, he survives, as he always does but he didn't pity himself for it.

Because it isn't that he hadn't seen it coming.

Even the bad things, especially the bad ones— Katsuki Bakugou knew exactly what they were when they stared close enough to feel their breath close down on him. A mission that goes horrifically wrong gives him what he needs to leave the army. Getting into culinary school was nowhere in his grand scheme but it works out well enough for him, after all, cooking is something he genuinely likes.

Sometimes, he's not sure if it was all gone but if there had been a final goodbye to end it all, Katsuki knew he had missed it by a long shot. But not everything you miss is bound to be a loss, his mom had once told him and good on her that she did. God knows Katsuki would be crushed if that was how the world ran.

He's had no choice but to be hopeful because being still for a person like him sometimes meant being lifeless.

When he feels the blanket move, Katsuki frowns only to realise his body had melted down to the bed, tense shoulders relaxing in soft pressures like a warm bath grazing over a day's worn out muscles.

When had the music stopped?

"You chose sad," Katsuki says, the dryness of his throat affecting his words and he hears a smile in the making but he can barely open his eyes from sleep.

"No, it was neither," comes Izuku's softer voice, like he's handling glass, "I chose sleepy," a pause lives out, "are you impressed?"

Katsuki, if he had the energy that isn't drained to sleep, would be more offended at how smooth Izuku is so he settles for, "cheeky fucker," and Izuku's chuckle continues a melody that he wants to lean into. It's undeniably pleasant in making him half-smile his way into his dreams.

"Good night, Bakugou-kun."

When Katsuki wakes up, he thinks he hasn't slept like this since he was a brat.

Cracking his bones, Katsuki stretches out of bed, his mind is clearer and though he thinks the fever is still a stubborn resident in his body, he moves around more before settling down for breakfast. It's an Okinawan recipe, miso soup with Katsuoboshi put in warm water, there are some traces of spices for which he's slightly grateful. It's gone cold however and Katsuki frowns at what possible time Izuku might have even made it before running back to the Academy.

Did he even get enough sleep? Katsuki wonders, spending most of his day in rest.

His fever occasionally allows him to read and because Izuku has nothing but sheets of music theory, it becomes somewhat of a task to find something respectable in the confines of his house. Finally, he settles on the humongous manga collection that has been methodically kept on one of the shelves, it feels a little childish in his hands because he last remembered touching one of them as a kid.

Whatever, he shrugs, it's just to pass time.

It does not remain as 'whatever' because Katsuki is completely spent by the 31st volume which is the last book that Izuku has. The last goddamn chapter has ended on a cliffhanger. Wh—what the fuck is it with writers and leaving readers on Cliffhangers? It's only then that he notices the chime of the clock that glances at half-past four and he recalls that he hasn't had food or eaten the tablets.

After doing both, he takes a shower before routinely getting into bed after a stretch, his breathing regulating itself and he's having a good rest until the weight of something obnoxiously heavy crushes him in bed. Stunting his reflexes to pin the figure down, Katsuki chooses to bite it and instead supervises the threat.

A threat that is very green in colour and unmistakably drunk.

Izuku must have relied on the habits that get him home on an intoxicated night. Thus, it all inevitably drives an almost close-eyed Izuku sleeping on Katsuki's chest with the blond staring at him with next to no clue on how he should deal with this. Military school had skipped this part out.

"Deku, wake up, I'm sick, you bastard, you'll catch a fever too."

"Nu," says his drunk dumb ass, and a nerve pops out near Katsuki's temples when Izuku takes it as a free permission to wiggle closer into Katsuki's chest, "you're not scary."

Well, if that's a request, I'd be fucking glad to prove you wrong, is what Katsuki aims to put out from his mouth but the smaller curiosity in him ends up asking, "who is scary?"

"Professor Chisaki," he half-grumbles and half-weeps while, "makes me do a lot of work," comes out in high tones and slurred sounds as Izuku tangles his limbs around Katsuki's, an interesting imitation of a koala holding its favourite part of the tree bark. While Katsuki knows he should push him the hell away, he finds out that he doesn't mind having this human version of a marsupial hanging around him.

That should concern him, shouldn't it?

"Then, tell him you can't," Katsuki says, removing the leaf that had fallen into Izuku's hair from the long stem of the money plant.

"Can't tell him that, stupid."

Ignoring the offensive word, he questions, "and why can't you?"

"Be-because, well, if I don't, who will?"

Katsuki chuckles dryly, "what a shitty logic for a shitnerd."

"Hey!" Izuku's hand beats his chest that rumbles with more laughter at how helpless it feels, "then, what about my students, huh?" he prods back with a poke, "I don't want to leave them hanging. They deserve the bestest."

"Heh, and you're just the dumbest," Katsuki says.

He knows it's probably not that way, having witnessed it firsthand and in the background to all those orchestras and street operas, "your students would want you to actually take care of yourself, dumb Deku. Anyhow," he flicks his forehead, "there's always gonna be some idiot available, that's the good thing about being replaceable."

Izuku hums but makes no movement before correcting, "my name's Izuku," to which, Katsuki rolls his eyes because of course, that's the catchy part of his concerns but the limelight is stolen when Izuku states, "Bakugou-kun isn't scary anymore."

"Oh, really," he says, feeling an infinitesimal affront, "and what exactly am I now if not scary?"

Izuku props his head up from Katsuki's chest in a swift, unexpected move. Katsuki would like to think he's well-prepared to meet those bright eyes but there's a shine happier in that dopey grin, it's tipsy to a drunken glint and Katsuki doesn't try lying to himself.

"You are warm."

Katsuki opens his mouth, nothing comes out, and he closes it only to try again before understanding what the bastard seemingly meant.

"Because I have a fever, you dumbfuck," he finally sees Izuku's shoes are still on.

With which his internal sensors diligently kick up alerts and Katsuki gets off the bed with Izuku whining about the loss of warmth. It ends quickly enough because Katsuki picks the idiot up and carries him to the couch. Gently laying him down there, Izuku's already dead to the world.

Katsuki looks for the longer cushion before sliding it under Izuku's head and discerning the bags under his eyes. They dig a little deep and the fine line between working passionately and working to the bone becomes a little too clear.

Where does he keep his blanket? Katsuki questions, searching his surroundings.

His first instinct is to look for it in the storeroom but he reminds himself that the kind of guy Izuku is to keep a pasta maker on a study table probably didn't keep his blankets at an appropriate place. He's proven right when he can't find it in the storeroom and shrugs before checking the shoe rack and he's almost distantly proud that he didn't find it there.

But then, he enters the kitchen and finds an All Might themed blanket right above the rice cooker and wonders why he has expectations this high.

He puts it on Izuku who curls up and gives the visual of a caterpillar, the green curls that catch light don't help his case. Katsuki yawns, deciding to call it a night and go back to sleep before he hears a phone ringing. It's not his by the sound of it and he follows it Izuku's blazer that is wound around the chair in the corner.

Without bothering to look at who it is, Katsuki simply mutes it only for it to start ringing again by the time he reaches his room. He sighs and goes to check the top of the phone screen showing 1:48 in the morning and below it, Prof. Chisaki blinks off at him.

Katsuki sharpens his gaze at it.

Stirring awake in the morning, Izuku stretches out, cracking a few bones and proceeding to yawn, "you look like a cat," a voice sounds out and Izuku leans in its direction before blinking open.

"Morning, Bakugou-kun," he frowns at the implication, "wait if you're awake then," Izuku snaps up to rise his hackles to a freeze response. "Oh my God, I'm late—"

"No you're not, they called in and told you could come in late."

"Eh? They did."

"Go and get decent," Katsuki tells him but Izuku disregards it in favour of touching his forehead which seems so casual at this point that the greeting doesn't press the wrong nerve in the blond.

"Your fever is almost gone."

"My throat is still a son of bitch though."

"Please, take care of yourself, Bakugou-kun. There's some umeboshi—"

"Used em."

Izuku hesitates from moving when he sees Katsuki in his kitchen.

His presence isn't invasive and Izuku is interested in knowing how that might have come to be, he leans back in his own space as if regarding the detail carefully. Must be the coffee in the air and the bronze bulb that Izuku still needs to fix, but fleeting light flickers off the skin on the bridge of Katsuki's nose, kinda paints him golden as if he's under the sun. His knuckles flex, hard veins pressing up under the light, cracking the last egg open fluently into a bowl. Then, coarse but gentle fingers reach out to a fork to beat the eggs with milk, sugar and a touch of salt.

Warm, Izuku thinks.

Katsuki oils the rectangular pan only to stop midway, "something wrong, nerd?"

"No, I—uh," he swallows whatever hard pill it is that he's feeling and stuffs it, "I should go," he says, pointedly making his way to brushing his teeth.

It's gonna be kinda lonely, Izuku thinks when he's looking into the bathroom mirror. He shakes his head and lightly slaps his cheeks repetitively as if in a reminder to stay out of his feelings, that is honestly a ball of yarn that Izuku knows that once he's stuck in, he'll require external help to untangle.

"I've already cooked enough for today," Katsuki keeps his lunch bento on the table before Izuku pushes him back into bed and tells him to rest. "Oh yeah, you had a call yesterday, I answered it for you," Katsuki calls out and Izuku shrugs, it probably wasn't that big of a deal.

In less than half an hour, he's proven acutely wrong when half his workload which was technically not his but was pushed on his plate by Professor Chisaki is no longer present. The evening division's performance on the second day of Ostinata now went to other people.

If that isn't a sign enough, the moment he enters the staff room, he's given a lot of unwarranted attention which he ignores, not knowing what else to do with it.

Melissa is waiting for him at his cubicle with her arms folded. "I can't believe you didn't tell me, really, did I have to hear about it from Mineta of all people?"

"Okay," Izuku replies, mentally re-running over the little mistakes he's winged over the week, "what did I not tell you?"

A pair of arms wrap around his shoulders and he sees a hint of pink, "Oh my, my, Midoriya-kun, didn't know you were into the possessive hunk kind."

"Uh, a what now?" He asks, just very confused.

"Honestly though," Momo inserts, sitting cross-legged at his cubicle, "that's such a classic, that someone like you would go for the right opposite. So who is the lucky guy, Midoriya? Is it someone we know?"

"I? don't? know?" says Izuku with stops at the end of each word, "what do you mean?"

"That's pretty true though," Mineta asserts and Izuku is surprised how he's attracted the attention of half his peers, "Midoriya's your typical damsel in distress, he obviously needs a knight in shining armour, and that guy on the call sounded so worked up on your behalf."

The words fly over his head and Izuku isn't even mildly offended.

"Wh-what? Wait, what the hell is happening here?" He pulls his hand up in defence.

"Midoriya, it's okay, you don't have to hide him anymore," Mina says, poking him in the sides in the most uncomfortable manner, "especially since your guy told off Professor Chisaki. The guts you've got to have to bicker with that creepy bird beak is a lot so come on, spill the name."

"What does.... Professor Chisaki have to do with this?"

"Oh my God." Mina understands, "you don't know?"

"No, I don't, can somebody tell me what's going on?" Izuku says and Momo clears her throat.

"Well, I guess you were really tired, honestly, Midoriya, you shoulder consider your own limits," Momo chides, concern sliding out in between her words, "yesterday, most of us were in Professor Chisaki's farmhouse, such a beauty but I digress. He had called you to collect the certificates in bulk from St.Joseph's Corner House."

Izuku's face sours with a frown, "shoot."

"But you didn't pick up," Mina concludes and Izuku recalls Katsuki saying that he had, oh God, he understands with his stomach doing a flip.

"Wh-what did he say to professor Chisaki?"

"Everything that the bastard honestly ought to be told," Momo huffs, folding her arms, "I don't know what the board was thinking when making him HOD. The guy might be capable but hell, if he isn't a tyrant and he's been stretching our limits, particularly yours for," she narrows her eyes as if she had figured out, "some reason."

"To be transparent, Zuku," Melissa says in between, "he said it was unprofessional of Chisaki to be calling at odd hours."

Mineta adds in, "and asked him to shut it."

"What?!" Izuku screeches.

"I mean not literally," Mineta clarifies, "but that was the gist of it. It was the coolest way to say fuck off. I think Professor Chisaki won't bother you for a while unless necessary."

"Unfortunately," Tsuyu assembles, "we can't say the same, Midoriya-chan."

"Going back to which now," Mina reverts, "who is this guy, Midoriya? Seriously, feels like I know but I just can't put a finger on it."

"Right?" Momo agrees with conviction.

"So," his entire staff looks at him, "who is your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Izuku says with wild hand gestures, "he and I are actually....." and then he stops before the figurative presence of Katsuki makes himself known in his head, Yeah, what're you gonna tell them, Deku? Gonna say that we've been involved in a petty business where we keep scores on who has the audacity of being more annoying? Even in his mind, it sounds objectionably wrong.

"Well, you see he and I are umm, this—" he catches sight of Kota carrying a bundle of papers, "oh, Kota-kun, let me help you, where do we need to bring them?" Izuku slips in between the little space they've given him and takes all six bundles from the rather confused student.

"Eh, uh, to Professor Tokoyomi."

"Right, then, come along."

"Uh, okay?" Kota says, trailing behind his professor who is speedwalking through the corridor, "by the way, sensei," he gives him a look similar to a child tasting a lemon slice for the first time, "you've got a boyfriend?"

"I— no, let's not get into it."

"Seriously?" He asks, genuinely surprised, "and I heard this guy cooks for you too, you even seem to sleep better from the past weeks," Kota grins with mirth, "when can we meet him, sensei?"

"Hopefully at no point," Izuku mutters under his breath, and the rest of the day is peaceful in terms of work, Izuku doesn't think he's been this free for a long time. Shame really, because that is supposed to be his normal workload. On the other hand, every single soul who looks at him is brimming with questions that he absolutely doesn't want to answer. It doesn't get better during lunch because now the bento means a whole other deal.

They'll forget after sometimes but it seems like the people around here really didn't have anything better to do is what he reasons with himself as he changes commutes. Endure it for a few days, he tells himself as he walks into the apartment complex and gives a friendly bow to the old lady on the first floor before entering the elevator.

Rummaging his pockets for the spare key, he wanders on autopilot before opening the door to his apartment.

"Tadaima," he says, casually walking in.

"Keep your shoes in the fucking rack, Deku!"

"Eh, huh, okay," Izuku says, hurrying to get his shoes off. He stares at Katsuki who is up on a ladder cleaning the spider webs away with a broom with a headgear protecting his face before taking a pressed look at how neat his house looks.

"Is there a spring cleaning date that I missed?"

"You—" Katsuki says, pointing the broom at him, "who in their right mind puts their laundry detergent in the living room?"

Izuku would take him seriously but it's hard to feel pressured by a man who is wearing a Doraemon helmet and is threatening you with a broom.

"Hey, wait, you're sick, you're not supposed to be doing this!" Izuku shrieks, decently removing his shoes to keep on the rack before Katsuki gets off his ladder. Izuku stops when he notices three new cushioned stools.

"Did you buy these?" He asks, squinting his eyes to look at them better.

"These were hidden by your lump of comics and music sheets, I didn't disturb the music sheets and lucky for you that you had pinned them up."

"Oh, thought they looked familiar," Izuku says, diverting his attention back to the cushioned chairs, wow, he really doesn't remember when he bought them. "By the way, I paid a visit to Yagi-san, apparently, Monoma-san is waiting for your health to get better, he says he'll extend his stay by two days," he says, and Katsuki internally groans.

"Wait, I need to check your temperature—"

"It increased," Katsuki says, blatantly lying, "and I have a cough now," he states with a believable action of coughing.

"...what? Bakugou-kun, back to bed and wait for me,"

"If the neighbours heard you, they'd put a whole different meaning to your words."

"Speaking of which," Izuku recalls before pointing accusingly, "do you know what you did?"

Katsuki's forehead is marred with wrinkles before he recognises, "yeah, I didn't think you'd get to know about it though," leaving Izuku amazed by his blasé and unbothered stance, "I knew I had put too much salt in the omelette."

"This is not about your food! Which by the way was perfect," Izuku aggressively shoves forward, "it's about the impression you've given to my colleagues about being my boyfriend."

"That weirdo," Katsuki says, remembering the call, the Chisaki extra seemed to have taken a loud offence to Katsuki's existence in Midoriya's house, "yeah, the guy asked me if I was the one who cooked food for you and if I was your boyfriend, I said yes."

And, Katsuki smiles like a chaotic demon gremlin, "but I didn't specify to which question I was answering," he shrugs, not particularly bothered, "left the rest to his imagination. If he came up with that shit, it ain't my fault."

"Oh my God, so many people asked about you," Izuku drops his face into his hands, "it felt like I was revisiting middle school, do you even know how embarrassing things need to be to feel like you're revisiting middle school?"

Katsuki raises a brow before shrugging again, "think of it as returns for your Mozart opera investment."

Izuku's jaw drops, "Are you serious? This is what it's about?"

"It wasn't until you mentioned getting annoyed by it, seems pretty equal," Katsuki says, conceitedly, there's confidence sliding the tilt of his lips, "this is nice. And let's not forget I wouldn't be sick if you wouldn't be playing Mozart every day while I was working—"

"Excuse me," Izuku retorts, "I had to endure perfect food with seaweed, you obnoxious blond cook man."

Katsuki makes a face, "What kind of a person grows up in a Japanese household with hating seaweed?"

"Right back at you! Honestly, maybe I should suggest The Marriage of Figaro to the committee to perform for the next month."

"Do that, and I'll fill your ration with seaweed, you'll be having sushi and seaweed salad for months!"

Katsuki is right up in his face with threats, he's got a mind to fight this onto the bitter end. That way his resolve has always been firm on the ground, deeply rooted in the soils planted above his core but when he sees Izuku up close, brows pinched together like he will fight Katsuki if he pursues with a pout warning— it doesn't shake. Hell no, nothing in this world is powerful enough to make him shake from his resolve, but it does stammer, like an almost slip.

Izuku watches something, not melt, rather become pliant in the hue of Katsuki's gaze. He supposes, Katsuki knows just as well as he does that they probably need to compromise. But Izuku finds himself not wanting to give in, not yet because there's a foreign loneliness that he knows might come in the clothes of peace. And he's not prepared to pretend after whatever truce they come to. If he's being completely stupid about this, he doesn't let his mind know that.

Whenever it is they are ready, they'll meet each other in the middle for it. Maybe, it won't be this bittersweet then.

Izuku's hand reaches out to settle on Katsuki's forehead, there's a heat that had definitely not been there before in the morning and his face softens, "can you look after your health please?" and Katsuki who is actually impeccable with respect to his health simply hums along as Izuku pushes him back to the room.

Izuku serves dinner before settling a small bowl of milk in the small space available beside the plants before opening the window.

"What's that for?" Katsuki points to the small bowl before taking his chopsticks.

"That's for Kenzo, the white cat, must have seen him around. He's the neighbourhood cat."

Katsuki has. The cat must have considered him an outsider and decided not to bother in, Izuku's presence must have drawn it out to drink from the bowl. Eyes sharpen at Katsuki ever so often but relax when Izuku cocoons himself on the chair with the hot Yaki noodles that he had just finished stir-frying with tofu.

"I have an off tomorrow but I'll come back late in the morning," Izuku says and Katsuki swallows his food, "at around nine, there'll be a call for me, ignore it."

"It's a work call?" Katsuki asks, finishing his porridge.

"No, it isn't, it's ah, er," Izuku smiles, a different kind of discomfort showing in the curl of lips, "it sort of complicated."

Katsuki doesn't question it but nods before Izuku takes their utensils, and replaces them with tablets and a glass of warm water. Izuku washes the dishes and sneaks a glance at the calendar, mentally marking another year off. He's supposed to keep count of it but it doesn't matter anymore and Izuku knows he's come a long way from his home.

Izuku had been gifted, a natural in strings before others could even see it coming. His place was too high, and when you're that high up in skies, people can't seem to differentiate the fine line between appreciation and blind worship. Izuku was twelve when he understood being revelled as a young God is unsafe for any artist alive, he didn't know what he was doing anymore, he didn't think the fame he was given was deserved for a human, no matter how capable.

And it was a fine line after all.

His last public concert at twenty-one was for a competition, in the height of a crisis, his instability was being fed to a growth that made Izuku no longer recognise the notes on the music sheet. In its crux, he realised he wanted out and he returned from the States. Izuku couldn't touch his violin for a year after that, he refrained from listening to certain music. He isn't sure he'll go back, he's quite content to be in this quiet town of Musutafu.

It really hadn't been his idea of a home but when he looks at the flickering streetlights at nightfall ghosting a peace that would make you stay or soaks in the scent of coffee and bread near the factory, the raspberry field at a distance, Izuku thinks he might not want it any other way.

And he's out early in the morning before Katsuki's sleep wanes to the alarms of his biological clock, he's weak in the mornings, and it feels like it's going to be a lazy one. Katsuki finds himself not minding it, which is pleasant, for once in his life, he's actually resting in a way that would make his doctor happy. He realises his fever has almost left his body and other than that, he's pretty fine. It's around nine that Izuku's landline starts ringing, Katsuki catches himself before picking it up, it takes several rings but eventually shuts up.

Katsuki lets himself remain unbothered, he does his laundry, keeps his clothes out next to Izuku's and leans down on the railing as he watches the view of busy but sleepy town life pass by. He hears Izuku come in with a greeting, he has a cover and gives a lukewarm can of grape juice to Katsuki.

"Was there a call?" Izuku inquires.

"Hmm."

"You didn't pick it up?"

"Hmm."

Izuku nods, looking up to the flock of birds soaring in the sky before gliding down with the wind catching their feathers. "Sure does feel good to fly doesn't it?"

Savouring the tang, Katsuki looks up to the flock where one trips to its descent from the flight, "not that good when you consider the fall."

"Sometimes, Bakugou-kun," Izuku says, and his tone is vulnerable enough to make Katsuki turn his attentions, "they both mean the same thing."

A flush of a gentle breeze comes in waves, combing through the gaps between and Izuku glances at Katsuki to find him smiling the barest.

"Ain't that a funny thing for a nerd to know?"

Izuku chuckles, "it is, isn't it?"

They stay silent for some time before Katsuki stretches, announcing that he's going in for a shower, Izuku is left with preparing lunch, and it's in the middle of him boiling eggs that he hears Katsuki's phone ringing.

He ignores it the first two times but gets it on the third one.

"Bakugou-kun? This is Nejire Hado, Utsushimi and the others have been wondering if—"

"Ah, I'm sorry to interrupt you but I'm not—"

"Oh," the voice regards, distinctly curious, "you don't sound like Bakugou-kun."

"Well, you see—"

"Oh my," the woman speaking realises, "could it be? That you're the one?"

Izuku blinks at the statement, "I'm sorry, you've got me—"

"You're the one chef has been trying to impress right? The person he's been cooking food for? Right?"

"W-well, yeah and—"

"Oh my God, are you both dating right now?"

Izuku, who is about to correct her, stops halfway. His weeks in the Academy are going to be wrecked socially so why be the only one? Besides, this is how they've been, it's an eye for an eye, my friend. "You see, him and I—"

By the time, Katsuki has dried his hair, his hand searches for his phone. But when it finds nothing, Katsuki frowns goes to search for it, ignoring Izuku who is on a call. Damn it, where'd it go? Katsuki thinks, maybe Deku misplaced it, he rationalises before he walks into the kitchen, "Oi, Deku—"

"Actually," Izuku pauses, noticing that he can't keep referring to Katsuki as 'he/him' neither can he call him 'bakugou-kun' because that sounds a bit formal, he isn't sure what people in a relationship would call each other. Maybe a nickname? he suggests as he thinks for one.

"Kacchan is nicer once you've gotten— fuck," he immediately swears when he sees Katsuki and the darkening aura around him.

"My, he lets you call him Kacchan?" Nejire enthusiastically spills, unaware of the crouching danger, and someone in the background her side, probably Camie, screams, "How whipped is he? Ah damn, I wanna meet you, can't believe you're stuck dating him, you're such a sweetheart and he's a—"

"You know what, he's here, why don't you talk to him?" Izuku gives the phone to Katsuki who is a degree away from a Vulcanian eruption. Izuku proceeds to slide out of the kitchen with his lunch. He hadn't given away his name, oddly enough that question hadn't struck Hado-san at any point.

He nearly finishes chewing the first bite when he sees something go demonically quick in the corner of his eyes.

"Deku," the last syllable is stretched out and chills run through Izuku's spine and he makes the mistake of looking back, his heart jumps to his throat and his body immediately responds in flight.

"Ka-kacchan, you're sick! Think of yourself—"

"Not sick enough!"

"Then, think of me—"

"You little fucker, get your ass here!"

"Nope, not when you look like that."

"Look like what?!"

In Izuku's mind, Katsuki grows horns and tails, with the right amount of determination, he does look like the devil incarnate.

"That!"

Izuku's limbs climb over whatever they find as obstruction. It's as he is taking a leap off the couch's handle that an arm wraps around him and he can sense the fall coming through before he's even yanked back by Katsuki who lands on the couch.

"Oww," Izuku says, laying over a hard chest and that feeling is familiar to a part of him.

"Oi," he hears from above him and it causes him to raise his head, "you have some fucking balls running your mouth like that, don't you, Deku? Now, tell me," he says in a tone that kinds makes Izuku wish he had never come in as a substitute for Melissa. Maybe this is the reason he never made direct confrontation with Katsuki.

"Exactly how are you going to take responsibility for this?"

Izuku's brows pinch up a crease as he gets off Katsuki and lands on his back with the blond eyeing him up.

"Eh?"

"Surely," Izuku sees those crimson eyes shine differently when there's no light and in the company of a smirk, Katsuki resembles someone who is collecting what they're due.

"You didn't think I'd let you get away, did you?"

Unknown to them, Nejire Hado on the other side of the line disconnects her call as the entire kitchen quietens down. She is slightly concerned as she keeps her phone down and straightens her spine to sit up, "I feel like I might have made things a little difficult for Bakugou-san's lover."

"Don't sweat it," Camie shrugs, crossing her legs as she leaned back on the grey loveseat, "if there's a guy out there mad enough to fall for that beast, then best believe he's a-okay with handling him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep, though," Camie says, "didn't that guy sound like someone we know?"

"Ah, no? I don't think I have personally met him before," Nejire shakes her head as Kaminari waltzes in with a tray of three cups filled with hot chocolate for him and his housemates. Pity that Tsuyu and Tokoyomi aren't here, he even added the cinnamon bit to this drink which had been Tokoyomi's favourite. Guess he could save some for late to whenever those two came back from their date, he gives Camie and Nejire their cups.

"Met who?" Kaminari asks, laying his Zeus themed mug on the ground and plopping onto a beanie bag before taking his cup.

"Bakugou's boyfriend."

Kaminari nearly spills the drink, "he got a boyfriend? Whoever is that poor person?"

Camie snorts, "I know right?"

"Not only that," Nejire supplies, "apparently he allows himself to be called Kacchan, that's gotta be the cutest nickname—"

"For the most terrifying asshole in existence," Kaminari and Camie say at the same time, and Nejire gives them a light-hearted but pointed look.

"He's not that bad."

"Not that good either, hon," the blonde takes a cautious sip of her hot chocolate, "Kaminari, this is amazing, finally got it right, eh?"

"I don't give up easily," he grins back, "even after my 12th try," he pauses, "by the way, did you get the guy's name?"

Nejire and Camie are left blinking at him and he shakes his head, "we didn't even think of that, there was so much information to process, apparently, this guy has been taking care of Bakugou throughout his fever."

Camie chuckles, cosily snuggled in her unicorn blanket, "I still think he's pulling this up cause Monoma is here at the moment, he's never been sick for this long."

"Seriously though," Kaminari shrugs, "I wouldn't blame the guy."

Camie agrees, "yeah but like, Monoma is due to leave in the evening flight today, that's why Hado had called him in the first place, to inform him about it, but his reply was more—" she twists her face in mistrust.

"What did he say?"

"Well, he said that he's taking another week off," she tells him, "guess he wants to spend more time with his boyfriend?"

"I suppose you can't blame for that either, Amajiki tells me it's weird to spend time without Mirio—" Nejire looks at her phone, suddenly recalling something, "oh God, I forgot to meet Midoriya-san for this thing."

"This thing?"

"So Mirio's family is hosting a Potluck lunch thing at the month-end. And he's invited most people from the Academy but like he couldn't get a hold on Midoriya-san," Nejire explains, warming her hands, "and since he's busy with the preparations, I told him I would give the invitation personally to him but I don't even know where he lives."

"Hey, I'll do it for you instead," Kaminari volunteers, "I think Kirishima has been to Midoriya's place once or twice with Uraraka."

"You would? Oh, thank you so much, Kaminari, give it to him before this weekend, " Nejire says, keeping the cup on the table before walking to pull her bag and fishing out a short, brown envelope strapped in handmade white lace and at the centre of which a sunflower is inked.

It's a bit dainty but at the same time doesn't feel like it is evidently bought with no expense spared but rather tastefully wealthy. "Hey, I got one of these too," Kirishima tells him a few days later as he walks beside Kaminari into the apartment complex. His shift would start a bit late today so the time synced in well enough to pick up Kaminari and deliver the invite before going out to grab a bite.

"Yeah, most people did, I can't figure out what to bring though."

"You could try bringing desserts?" Kirishima suggests, walking into an elevator before pressing the floor number. "Like fruit jelly or steamed cakes? I don't think anyone's bringing that."

Kaminari pouts, deciding if he could take a trip to the bakery for this or make it himself, they discuss other options like potato salad and fried chicken from Keigo's who interestingly also ran a local side gig for astrology. In the end, Kaminari concedes the fruit jelly might be a better idea after all.

They stand in from of room no. 49 before belling the door before hearing a gruffer voice answering them.

Nothing really prepares them to face Katsuki who is midway denying someone inside, "Deku, we are not making a fucking cookie dough Fettucine with a chocolate dip, what is wrong with you—"

He stops, staring at them with the same sentiments that they stare at him for.

"Huh? The fuck do both of you want?"

Kirishima stops, holds up his index finger, "wait, what are you doing here?"

"I stay here, dipshits."

Kaminari frowns and mechanically looks around, "We're at Midoriya's place, right? Isn't your house across Collars Steakhouse?"

"For now," Katsuki adds, lips twisting as if he didn't like the taste of what he said, "because I'm sick."

"......"

"What?"

"We came to given an invitation from Mirio for a Potluck next weekend, and if you're sick" Kirishima pauses, examining exactly which part of Katsuki's frame gave out mildly sick vibes, "so then, why are you with Midoriya then?"

"None of your business, shitfaces," Katsuki snatches the invitation and before he can close the door shut, another figure comes into their view.

"Kacchan! It's a brilliant idea, it's astronomical—"

"Yeah, it's gonna be astronomical when I kick your lame ass to Jupiter and back for even saying it."

"Jupiter's a giant ball of gas, Kacchan," he remarks, in a drily but not very scientific view, "I'll probably just pass through like a breeze, it's not even gonna hurt, maybe try Saturn next time? The asteroids or comets would be out to get me, and you're still sick," Izuku peeks above Katsuki's shoulder, craning his neck out on his toes, "who's at the door, Kacchan?"

"No one, nerd," he says, shutting the door without qualms of his impoliteness but Kirishima and Kaminari are too stunned to react.

Kaminari begins, "did I just—"

"Yes," Kirishima affirms.

"Those two, are they—"

"Maybe???" Kirishima says though it sounds very close to a yes. He had just taken a glance at Midoriya. Plus, there had been this spot on the curve of his neck marred with redness that didn't look like a bug bite at all.

"What is even happening?" Kaminari asks and they take a right turn to walk back to the elevator. "Wait Monoma isn't even in town, Bakugou knows that. He still took a week off?"

"He did?"

"Yeah," Kaminari nods before realising, did Midoriya just call him Kacchan? He almost trips on air while walking back into the elevator, "and he doesn't look sick."

"I think Midoriya can see that too," Kirishima shrugs, and that still augments the list of questions they have than solving. Do those two even have the slightest idea of what they are pretending to be? Kirishima feels that they don't. Oh boy, they might have unwittingly just got central row tickets to an affaire as the French say.

"But one thing's sure," he glances at Kaminari with a knowing look.

"You might just be losing that bet with Yagi-san after all."