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(“Shouto.”
Katsuki’s voice, piercing, all-consuming, deep and low and carrying some kind of exasperated affection, burns inside his head even minutes after he wakes up, blinking up at the ceiling with lazy half-lidded eyes; the languid, familiar dreamy fog usually clouding his mind already dancing inside his sleepy brain.
Shouto, Shouto, Shouto.
It keeps echoing in his brain, over and over and over again.)
.
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“I had a dream about you.”
Bakugou stops taking notes, looking up from his homework to where Todoroki is busy with a Rubik Cube, lying upside down across Bakugou’s bed next to him, warm thighs pressing against Katsuki’s side.
He blinks.
“…Hah?”
Todoroki looks back at him. “I dreamed about you last night,” he repeats, as if Katsuki didn’t hear him the first time.
Bakugou rolls his eyes.
“I heard you, dumbass,” he says. Then, he frowns, “I—why are you even telling me this? What was the dream about?”
Shouto hums, putting the cube over his chest and tapping his fingers together.
“Mmm, well. I don’t really remember what happened on it, but you said my name,” he looks at Katsuki, eyes burning, “My actual name.”
Bakugou blinks.
“I just…” he continues, tugging at the end of his sleeve, “I thought it’d be… nice; if you said it. If you want.”
Katsuki leans back, palms spread behind him, and stares, contemplative. “…Do you want me to call you that?”
“I mean,” he shrugs, “I don’t know, it got me thinking.”
He tugs at Katsuki’s sleeve now, fingers curling around the lose sweater.
“You used to call me Shouto when we were kids; why would it be weird now?”
“Well, yeah, I used to, years ago, but—” Bakugou pulls his lips together. “It’s just...”
“Is it that weird?” Todoroki tilts his head. “I call you Katsuki.”
“I know, but that’s you.”
“Oh.” Shouto gives him that look, the one where he looks like Katsuki just told him they were not getting soba for dinner again. Terribly sad.
Katsuki sighs, long and tired, and giving in too easy. “Okay,” he agrees, “I’ll do it.”
Shouto lights up. “You will?”
“Yeah, dumbass, now stop pouting like a goddamn baby.”
Shouto frowns. “I wasn’t pouting.”
“You totally were,” Katsuki retorts, and flicks Todoroki forehead, rolling his eyes with fond exasperation when Shouto rubs at the skin. “Shouto.”
It’s a bit awkward. Even if he tries to say it in a mocking tone, the word rolls off his tongue clumsily, tasting unknown and experimental in his tongue after years of not saying it, like he’s just learned a new word in a new language and is trying to pronounce it correctly. However, it’s not weird, and the underlying familiarity of the name edges at every inch inside his mouth, tentative and tender and natural, like it somehow belongs there, like it somehow was made to be said by Katsuki’s voice.
Shouto smiles, his face softening up like marshmallows in hot chocolate.
“What?” Katsuki quirks an eyebrow; self-consciousness pricking at his nape like small fish bites.
Shouto hums, low, and his smile grows infinitesimally. “I was just thinking that it was even better than in my dream.”
Katsuki’s face grows warm, and he shoves Shouto’s face with his hand.
“Of fucking course, dumbass,” he grunts, embarrassment sipping through the cracks of faked annoyance, “I’m the real deal; not just some lame-ass copy your sleep-induced brain did.”
Shouto laughs in the palm of his hand, and Katsuki feels so warm it’s kind of insane.
.
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ii.
The thing with Shouto is… He is the living embodiment of chaos.
Todoroki Shouto is a fucking disaster. An utter and complete walking disaster. He literally couldn’t be a bigger mess.
He’s disorganized, tragic, messy—he messy eats, and messy sleeps, and messy everything—has no respect for Katsuki’s sleeping schedule whatsoever (texting him stupid cat memes at three in the fucking morning, what is he even doing awake at that ungodly hour?!), loves bubble tea, strawberry too-sugary drinks and soba more than life probably, adores stealing Katsuki’s clothes and drape himself all over Katsuki’s back like he’s his personal human heater, is unhealthily obsessed with spoiling cats, and can’t take class notes properly to save his ass.
He’s also unfairly, effortlessly pretty, smart, a huge dumbass, a pain in the ass, and Katsuki’s very weakness.
He is also Bakugou’s childhood friend, and sometimes, Katsuki really wants to kick his face. Like right now.
“Bakage! We’re going to be late, get your dumb ass here!”
Katsuki frowns, lips pulling up in a scowl, and places his bike leaning on the small fence in Todoroki’s house garden—the one his mom takes care of so enthusiastically—to stomp over the front door.
He practically kicks the door, “I’M HERE DUMBASS.”
Fuyumi greets him as she’s getting out to work and Katsuki walks through the main hall, ruffling Katsuki’s hair with a kind smile and pointing to the kitchen with her thumb.
“He’s still having breakfast,” she says, and then bows and puts on her shoes, “take care, have a safe trip! Good luck with your classes!”
Katsuki wishes her a good day and smooths down his scowl a bit, though she only laughs when she sees the remaining irritation in his face, knowing Katsuki already very well to know his annoyance at Shouto is never too real.
When she goes out the door, Katsuki stomps over to the kitchen, where Shouto is, standing half-asleep with a toast bread in his mouth, ridiculous bedhead, his backpack rolling off his shoulder, and very much dozing off.
“Idiot, we’re late already!”
Shouto blinks up his sleepy eyes at him, like a small kid who just got up, and it’s so freaking endearing it kind of melts Katsuki’s annoyance in delicate tenderness in a matter of seconds.
Stupid.
Shouto bites down the toast and shoots him a drowsy smile. “Katsuki,” he perks up, “you’re here.”
Katsuki crosses his arms and prays for the fondness and affection that swells his chest to not be seen on his face. “Yeah, big idiot, I am here and you’re still not fucking ready and we’re going to be fucking late.”
“Oh,” Shouto says, and looks over at the clock sitting above the kitchen doorway, “Sorry.”
Katsuki sighs. “Whatever,” he clicks his tongue. “Finish your stupid breakfast so we can go out, moron. And where is your tie?”
He hums, very thoughtful for such a simple question. “I think I left it in my room?”
Katsuki scowls and points an accusatory finger at him. “I’ll go get it, finish quick and don’t forget your fucking lunch or I’ll kick your ass. Fuyumi-nee said she left it at the dining table.”
Shouto nods.
“You better not tell me you overslept because you were binge-watching anime all night!” Katsuki accuses, screaming from the stairs.
“I was binge-reading manga all night,” Shouto answers, correcting his previous statement when Katsuki comes back with his tie, and Bakugou throws it directly at his chest in reply.
(They are late for the ceremony entrance. Katsuki almost bites Shouto’s ear off, but backtracks when Shouto gives him an apologetic real kicked-puppy look and settles for saying he should just sleep more.
“It’s better for your health, dumbass,” he frowns. “Don’t you want your beauty sleep?”
“He doesn’t need it,” Kaminari points out, and Katsuki glares at him.
“Everyone needs to sleep, you dumbass! You also have a terrible sleep schedule!” he scowls, "Sleep more!"
“Okay, okay, mom,” Kaminari indulges, grinning teasingly and lifting up both arms in a surrender gesture.
“YOU FUCKING—“
[Hopefully, Shouto clinging to Katsuki’s side so he can stuff his hands inside the pockets of Katsuki's hoodie (he does this very often, even if Shouto's hands are always ridiculously warm and he doesn't really need Katsuki's pockets for that) doesn’t let Katsuki kill Kaminari that day.])
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iii.
The sky is pitch-black, and the air smells like sand, grilled onions and salty, fried pork, probably from the yakisoba and takoyaki stalls meters away.
Shouto’s chest is warm and firm, pressed against Katsuki’s back where he’s giving him a piggyback, legs hanging at Katsuki’s sides. They used to do this as kids, too, quite a lot—because Shouto enjoyed being carried and Katsuki enjoyed showing off—and once Shouto even princess-carried Katsuki all the way up the stairs to his room, back when Katsuki broke his arm ("I still have my fucking legs, dipshit, put me down!"; "But you're actually really light, do you eat well?"; "WH—"), but that is Something That Shouldn't Be Talked About (Katsuki is being buried with that. The only one who can know besides them is Fuyumi, and that's because she was a witness of the extraordinary feat of Katsuki not shoving them both all the way downstairs in his flustered attempt to get off Shouto's strong arms).
“Oh,” Shouto says, chin resting in the top of Katsuki’s head, and points above them, when the first fireworks of the night light up the gelid sky in colorful forms, much as specks rebelling against the darkness.
Green, blue, purple. Pink, red.
Lights cracking in the sky like small explosions coming alive between the sounds of soft, excited chatter and quiet laughter coming from all the people taking night walks at the summer festival at the beach.
The sand beneath his feet is weirdly warm, too, but it’s not what makes Katsuki’s neck grow hot when Shouto nuzzles his nose in the crook of his shoulder; eyes glinting in puerile awe at the late-night spectacle.
“They’re so pretty,” he whispers, like he’s afraid he will scare them away, and Katsuki hums, eyes fixed on Shouto’s face. The colorful pyrotechnics are reflected in his eyes like small fishes dancing in pools, and he looks up through long, delicate eyelashes, hair too long falling over his forehead in a silky, messy red curtain.
“Yeah,” Katsuki answers without thinking, and looks away when Shouto shoots him a curious, clueless look, embarrassment prickling at the back of his head.
Shouto tilts his face towards him, attentive, warm breath puffing out white clouds in the cold air.
“This brings me back to when I used to carry you to my home because you couldn’t stop crying after tripping over and scrapping your knees.” Katsuki chuckles, and the memory is meant to sound mocking, but it sounds all soft around the edges instead.
He smirks, all-flashing white and pointy teeth.
“You used to be such a crybaby,” he points out, and Shouto looks at him.
“Hmm, I remember,” he says, “You didn’t complain that much back then, though. You just enjoyed showing off because you could carry me. You used to be cute.”
Katsuki glares, “I can still drop you, you know, asshole.”
Shouto snickers.
“I’m joking,” his smile teeters on the edge of a smirk, playful eyes even brighter than the lights in the sky; they mean only something, and it’s that he’s about to say something that’s going to throw Katsuki off balance.
And Shouto’s never been one to disappoint, so he does exactly that:
“Small Katsuki and Big Katsuki are both cute and strong,” he says, solemnly, and Katsuki almost trips over and falls flat on his face with Shouto over him.
“W-What are you saying, idiot?!”
“Ah, you used to get flustered a lot, too.” Shouto points out, like an afterthought, “Is that something you do around me?”
“If you don’t shut up, I’m going to leave your ass to freeze on here.”
Shouto smiles; Katsuki can feel it against his neck. “You wouldn’t do that, you’re too nice.”
He quirks an eyebrow, flat voice. “You think?”
“Yes,” no-fucking-doubt-about-it Shouto’s tone. Blunt and sure and unmoving; like it’s a fact that can’t be refuted. “For once, you wouldn’t do anything that upsets Yumi-nee, and secondly, you love me too much to leave me here.”
Katsuki scowls, and wishes Shouto weren’t that close so he could at least hide his face from him. He doesn’t know how to react at Shouto’s apparent firmness in Katsuki being a goddamn nice person, so he just flips him off and says a classic:
“Shut up.”
Shouto very much doesn’t shut up.
“You are nice,” he insists, “You’re carrying me just because I’m tired,” he starts, “you won that cat keychain for me just because I said I wanted it,” he continues, “You bought Kirishima that dango he wanted, and waited for hours in line just to get up in a game Kaminari wanted because he was too scared to go alone but he also wanted to go. You brought an extra sweater for Jirou because she usually forgets hers,” he taps on Katsuki’s chest, “And you held my hand and sit in a bench with me for an hour because I threw up and was dizzy after going in the Spinning Teacups.”
Katsuki’s head spins a bit.
“Ah. You also cackled for a bit about that, but—” he adds, and then tilts his head so he can see Katsuki’s very-fucking-not-blushing face more clearly. He smiles, that one small smile he only shoots Katsuki and no one else. “My point is, you’re nice. Much more than what other people give you credit for.”
Katsuki turns his face the other way. “…Shut up.”
Shouto laughs.
“Hey,” he prods Katsuki’s cheek with his index finger, like a little kid. “Thank you for coming with me here, I had fun.”
Katsuki scowls, stubbornly ignoring the fact that his face probably matches Shouto’s hair. “It wasn’t my idea, stupid.”
“But you came,” Shouto says; endless, kind, happy. “You always do.”
.
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iv.
“Oh, no, he won’t drink that,” Katsuki says, squinting at the Bubble Tea Kaminari just brought to their table along with Katsuki’s order.
“Hm?” Momo, sitting beside him hums, tilting her head akin to what Shouto usually does when he's confused, “I thought he liked Milk Bubble Tea?”
“Yeah,” he confirms, “it’s his favorite after that syrupy and stupidly sweet Chocolate Boba one. And Honeydew, in summer.”
Katsuki taps the small glass.
“But in this place they add these brown-sugar tapioca things he absolutely despises; he’s always picking them apart and giving them to me. So he orders the Green Tea one, instead.”
“Ah, sorry, I should have asked you first—” Momo starts, apologetic, and Katsuki shakes his head.
“No, I mean,” he shrugs, “It’s fine. I’ll just give him mine. He likes it, too.”
Momo seems like she wants to say something more, but Katsuki just sends her a look.
“It’s fine, Ponytail. Don’t worry about it. Moron should’ve told you before going off to the bathroom.”
She looks at her lap and then up. She still looks a bit guilty, but overall better. “Okay. I’ll just learn it for next time.”
“’Course,” Katsuki answers, and sips from the small straw in Shouto’s drink.
“I thought he didn’t like Honeydew, though,” she adds, frowning.
“He likes it with extra milk,” Katsuki says, “And the taro one, too, but with Oreo, for some weird reason.”
Momo and Kaminari send him curious looks.
“He’s just that weird,” Katsuki says, drumming his fingers in the table and listing all the picky strange things Shouto likes. “He likes cherries but he won’t eat them in anmitsu,” he loves them in shortcake, though, his mind supplies. “If it’s not milky vanilla coffee he won’t drink it; he has a sweet tooth. But he loves coffee jelly, and that’s kinda bitter. But he likes sweets in general. Anko, cake roll… ah, and if you have dorayaki near you, he’ll eat it,” he scrunches up his nose, remembering when he ate five of those in a row. That unhealthy dumbass.
Kaminari and Momo stare at him, but it’s Jirou who speaks up, sitting at the other side of Kaminari, when Katsuki quirks an inquiry eyebrow at them.
“They’re both thinking you’re too gay for him,” she says, sipping on her smoothie.
“HAH?” he explodes, as Kaminari cackles, Tokoyami (the other one silently sitting at their table) gives a solemn nod, and Momo waves her hands as to make peace.
“I was just thinking you know him too well, that’s all!” she says, smiling, “Which is great! Your friendship is a wonderful and beautiful thing, Bakugou-san! I’m sure Todoroki treasures you as much as you do.”
Katsuki feels his ears getting warm, and he scowls as he sips aggressively on his drink.
When Shouto comes back, and Momo explains things about his drink, he sends Katsuki a gentle look that very much spins Katsuki’s world upside down for a moment.
“Thank you,” he says, and Katsuki flips him off, but it only manages to make Shouto roll his eyes and smile, which is not very good for Katsuki's stomach.
Stupid bubble teas.
.
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v.
“Ah,” Shouto utters, after some of his basketball teammates pass around to congratulate and greet him, and make some questionable teasing comments when they see Katsuki and him together after Shouto's game. Sure, Katsuki is not in the team, and sure, Katsuki came to see him, and sure, he’s wearing Shouto’s hoodie, but what’s with that? It's not their fucking business what he wears or not wears. And he didn’t even come alone. The nerd is here, too. “They think you’re my boyfriend,” he explains, and Deku chokes on his snack.
Well.
If he wasn’t sitting he probably would have tripped over and smack himself on the floor, so he kind of gets the choking.
Shouto offers Deku a bottle of water and pats his back, while Katsuki tries to regain his balance.
“And…” Katsuki stares, stuffing his hands in the jacket’s pockets, frowning, “Are you okay with that?”
Shouto tilts his head, like he’s not sure why Katsuki thinks he wouldn’t be.
“I mean… I don’t mind?”
Katsuki arches both eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
Shouto blinks. “Why would I mind? It’s you.”
Deku hides behind the palm of his hands and makes a quiet sound, and Katsuki very much feels like someone just hit him square in the face with a basketball.
“We’re not actually dating, dumbass, in case you don’t know.”
Shouto tugs at his sleeve. “I know, but it’s… I just don’t mind if they think we are,” he frowns, worry visible on his face. “Do you? Does the jokes make you uncomfortable?”
Katsuki opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again, much like a gaping fish, but nothing comes out.
Shouto blinks. Deku pats Katsuki's back in what probably is comfort—because both of them, Shouto and him, are fucking dorks.
Finally, Katsuki gets up and stares back at Shouto, praying he won’t make any comment on Katsuki’s red ears.
“…No.” It’s quiet, and barely audible, but given Deku’s embarrassed look and gentle-reassuring smile, even him could hear him.
Shouto nods, and then the corner of his mouth tugs up in a smile Katsuki can’t put a name on. “Okay,” he says.
“Okay,” Katsuki answers, though he’s not quite sure what he’s really saying.
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vi.
One day, at break, Shouto opens his mouth—like he usually does—and picks on the hamburger meat Fuyumi cooked for him this morning with his chopsticks, staring at Katsuki with an overall blank expression, like he’s not about to break everyone’s brains in a matter of seconds.
“I had a wet dream about you,” he says, and Bakugou chokes on his food.
Sero pats his back, looking not all that surprised; Kaminari blinks with his mouth hanging open, food falling off his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. Ashido’s eyes are as wide as her Cheshire grin, and Kirishima looks between them as if they were on an intense ping-pong match, crunching down on his food.
Jirou doesn’t even look that surprised about the fact shared, but she has her eyebrows raised, like she actually didn’t expect Todoroki would admit that aloud.
“You—” Shouto will cause Katsuki brain damage at some point, goddamn—fucking fuck. “Hah? What?!”
Mina giggles. “Oh, my! So that’s your type, then.”
Shouto tilts his head at her. “…Type?”
She nods, enthusiastically and eager, and pats his back repeatedly with a big grin. “I mean, McExplody here is hot, so I get it. Should’ve guessed given how close you are, too.”
“Admitting attraction to someone is very manly, man!” Kirishima gives him a thumbs up.
“I agree,” Kaminari says, “No shame in that, but Kacchan? I’m way hotter. I can be anyone’s gay awakening.”
“You say that as if you hadn’t said Bakugou is the hottest shit before,” Jirou points out, and Kaminari squeaks.
“Well, I am, too!”
She snickers.
Katsuki wants to bang his head against a wall. However, when he looks over at Todoroki, face as fucking red as a tomato because his body likes to betray him, he looks hella lost, puzzled at everyone’s reactions.
Wait.
“What exactly happened in your dream, idiot?” he asks, flat expression on his face.
Everyone turns to stare.
“Holy shit, man—”
“Hella straightforward there—”
“Wait, we’re still here!!!!”
“My, my, prying for details—”
Shouto breathes in the middle of the chaos and opens his mouth again—like he usually does—and Katsuki wants to both strangle him and hug him, which is a fucking weird combo.
“We went to the aquarium.”
Everyone turns to stare.
Shouto tilts his head. “And then I tripped over a small artificial lake and you tried to pull me over and we both fell. It felt so real, though.”
A beat.
Fifteen seconds of blissful silence.
Then chaos.
“Jesus Christ, I—”
“Dude, you’re so cute, I want to squeeze your cheeks.”
“Yeah, he wakes up that grandma instincts in you, doesn't he?”
“Ohhhhhh.”
“Man—”
The conversation pivots in the direction of ‘wait, we should go to the aquarium together, though—‘ in no time after some more surprised exclamations.
(They do go to the aquarium that weekend, though.
Hopefully, no one trips over and gets wet.
Shouto takes a lot of photos, though, looking like an excited little kid all the time.
So it’s worth it.).
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vii.
“Would you like to come with me?” Shouto asks one afternoon. “Fuyumi said you can.”
He arches a single eyebrow. “Hah? To a boring fancy party? The food isn’t even good.”
“You can piss off rich stuck-ups. I won’t stop you. And Touya-nii will probably encourage you. Though I doubt he'd go, too. Maybe to piss him off on purpose, though...”
Bakugou perks up.
“…Really?”
“Yes.”
“And can I piss off your old man as well?”
Shouto smiles, dazzling.
“Absolutely,” he says, in complicity. “I’d thank you for that.”
Katsuki grins, wide and absolutely fucking elated. “Deal.”
(A few days later, Shouto is looking at him with playful eyes and a teasing little smile on his face, trying to help Katsuki with his tie.
“I don’t know why you don’t like to wear these,” he says, “You look good in suits.”
“Oi.” Bakugou squints at him. “Are you making fun of me, asshole?”
“No,” he says, cups Katsuki’s cheeks to look him in the eyes. “You do look really good like this.”
Katsuki blushes, stupidly, but holds his chin up in a poor attempt to look smug.
“I always look fucking great.”
“That’s true,” Shouto agrees, because he’s an absolute nightmare, and thumbs at Katsuki’s cheeks like he’s trying to feel his blush in his own fingers, eyes attentive and caring, “You’re really pretty.”
He opens his mouth to scream at him in an attempt to mask his embarrassment and the way his knees just went all weak, and then Natsuo goes in Shouto’s room without knocking.
“Shou—”
They both look at him, Shouto’s hands still in Katsuki’s face.
Natsuo blinks. Then his eyes widen.
“Ah!” He averts eye contact, “Ah! I just—Ahhh, hahaha,” he laughs nervously, and then starts talking like a robot. “I’ll. Wait downstairs, then. Bye.”
Shouto tilts his head, clueless, and Katsuki wants the floor to swallow him whole.
However, it’s all worth it, if only for the flabbergasted look on Endeavor’s face when he sees them, greets them with a polite nod as “Shouto” and “Bakugou”, and then, Katsuki opens his mouth to reply, only to hear Shouto’s voice echoing the same words Katsuki says aloud.
“Old man,” they both say, at the same time, and then Katsuki starts cackling at the old geezer’s face.
Priceless.)
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viii.
Sometimes, Shouto has panic attacks.
Sometimes, Shouto has nightmares and long nights of insomnia.
Stress. Anxiety. Trauma. It’s what his therapist says.
She doesn’t mean to say it in a wrong way, and Shouto has never let anything define who he is, nor the trauma he's been through, nor the abuse, nor anything, always searching that, his meaning and who he really is, for himself. Proving that he’s something more than Endeavor’s son, and something more than a brother, a friend, a son. He is his own living person; he’s Shouto, not anyone else, and he’s enough. Katsuki wants him to know that.
So, yes, she doesn’t mean in a bad way, and it shouldn’t make it feel that way, but when Shouto tells him, it ticks him off.
Maybe it’s because he can’t do anything about it. Maybe it’s because this is something Shouto has to go through alone, in a way, and he can’t do anything more than hold his hand and breathe with him and let him sleep at his home and be there.
Shouto doesn’t like to talk about them. The nightmares. Or maybe it’s more like he doesn’t know how to talk about them—or what he should say. Katsuki tells him it’s okay. He doesn’t need to talk or say anything unless he wants to.
The first time it happens, they’re both 14, and they’re sitting in the small living room of Katsuki’s home. His parents are still at work, and they’re watching some dumb movie Katsuki is barely paying attention to.
He doesn’t even remember what happened. There was a sound, maybe, or something that must have triggered him, but he was suddenly looking down and breathing hard next to Katsuki, gripping the arm and back of the couch with white knuckles.
Katsuki doesn’t remember what he did or said exactly, just remembers being scared shitless because something was wrong and Shouto wasn’t replying to him and—
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he remembers asking, voice tinting with deep worry. “What’s wrong?”
“Hey, look at me,” voice gentle, more gentle than he’s ever talked before, kind eyes and steady warm hands on Shouto’s shoulder and Shouto’s cheek, “Shouto. You’re okay, look at me. I got you, you’re okay. Breathe.”
Everything went alright at the end, and the old hag taught him how to deal with that kind of thing as to be prepared if it happened again.
So everything was alright. Mostly.
It still pissed him off that he couldn’t do anything about it.
Shouto said what he wanted, though, which made everything easier for him. He would ask when he wanted Katsuki to stay, and he’d ask for Katsuki to sleep with him when he felt like he wanted to.
Admittedly, Katsuki got a bit flustered the first time Shouto cuddled on his chest all night, but he supposes he didn’t feel that weird about it most of the time. Shouto was clingy before—always hugging him from behind to peek at whatever Katsuki was looking at his phone, hands going inside the pockets of Katsuki’s hoodie around his middle; nuzzling in the crook of Katsuki’s neck just because; taking naps using Katsuki’s lap as a personal pillow; dropping his legs all over Katsuki’s on the couch when they were watching something; playfully poking his legs with his feet under the table when they were at the dining table; holding Katsuki’s hand out of nowhere when he was reading to play with Katsuki’s fingers, just because ‘he had pretty hands and he often got distracted by them’, whatever that meant; always pressed against his side and bumping their shoulders in the school halls; playing with Katsuki's hair and tugging at his sleeves like a little kid and putting his chin in the top of Katsuki's head when Katsuki was sitting down and Shouto was standing behind, and many more things—so, yes, sleeping together shouldn’t be a big deal.
They already took naps together on the couch a couple of times as well (they stopped when Touya snapped a photo of them lying together—Shouto on top of Katsuki, head buried in Katsuki’s neck and fingers curled up in Katsuki’s shirt, and Katsuki’s arm all around Shouto’s waist to pull him close, their legs scrambled in a mess together—and made it his personal goal to make them feel embarrassed about it every time he could until he got bored.)
(Big brothers were sometimes assholes and a real pain in the ass, Katsuki learned with Shouto’s brothers, and sometimes they weren’t half-bad, he learned after Touya kicked someone—very badass-ish, if Katsuki was being honest—in the face for insulting Shouto in front of him.)
So yeah, they’ve already done that, so maybe sleeping together in a bed shouldn’t be a big deal. Except it kinda felt like it, at first, when Katsuki got all nervous just by being this close for many hours. But that wasn't the important thing, it was—
“Does it help?” Katsuki asks one time, when Todoroki comes after school to his house and, as soon as he comes inside Katsuki’s room, lies down behind Katsuki and hugs him, arms wrapping up around his middle, hands brushing up to rest above his ribcage, just below his chest. His long, slender fingers curl up loosely Katsuki’s shirt and he moves to pull himself closer to him.
“Sleepy,” it’s the only thing he mumbles against Katsuki’s skin, and starts dozing off.
“Aren’t you sleeping well?” Katsuki mumbles back, carefully trying to not disturb the calmness that Shouto’s body against his back settles in his stomach and chest; like a soft, comfortable buzz at the back of his head.
Shouto shakes his head, soft hair tickling Katsuki’s neck. “’m tired. Haven’t slept—” he yawns, “in two days.”
Katsuki frowns, worry tingling all over his chest. He rests a hand over Shouto’s wrists, and asks, “Can you sleep when I’m here?”
“Yes,” Shouto mumbles back.
“…Does it help?”
Shouto blinks sleepy eyes at the back of Katsuki’s head. “…Huh?”
Katsuki repeats, a quiet, “Does it help? When I’m around? Can you sleep when I'm with you?”
Shouto answers nuzzling against the back of his neck, akin a cat leaning in the touch of their owner’s hand, arm coming up to spread his fingers over Katsuki’s heartbeat. He's quiet for a moment, almost if he was trying to capture Katsuki's heart in his hand, almost as if Katsuki's steady heartbeat was a lovely symphony to him and he wanted to appreciate every second.
“It does,” he whispers eventually, “I always sleep when you’re with me.”
A beat.
“Always?”
“Always,” Shouto confirms, voice thick with sleep, “you make me feel safe.”
“Do it, then,” Katsuki says then, not really sure if Shouto is even listening; voice cracking with an emotion he can’t name, visceral and tugging at every nerve on his body, “Tell me every time you can’t sleep so I’ll sleep with you.”
Shouto answers with a soft hum, and then falls asleep instantly.
His body is warm, and Katsuki can feel his chest go up and down with every slow breath he takes. Can feel his heartbeat, loud and as warm as Shouto is, meld with Katsuki's trembling one; linked together.
His hair tickles Katsuki’s ear, and his hot breath sends shivers down his back where it ghosts on his neck, where Todoroki presses his lips, soft, against the skin of Katsuki’s nape.
But it feels nice, and grounding, and knowing that in fact he can help, even if just a bit, eases the knot in his stomach.
(Shouto hears, though. Clearly. Because he asks and comes to Katsuki anytime he can’t sleep after that).
Now, those episodes aren’t very common, but they do happen, sometimes. And Shouto keeps taking naps cuddling Katsuki’s side and back and chest all the time. They’re very used to it by now.
He doesn’t think about it at first, though, when Shouto calls him at two in the morning on a Thursday.
“…Hi,” comes the tentative voice from the other side when Katsuki picks up.
“Dumbass,” Katsuki answers, frowning and rubbing his eyes to try to wake up entirely.
“I am respectfully ignoring your sleeping schedule,” Shouto says, and Katsuki quirks an eyebrow, even if Shouto can’t see it.
“Respectfully?” he echoes, “Do you know what fucking hour is it, dumbass?”
He doesn’t even sound mad, just half-asleep, but something in Shouto’s voice cracks, regretfully, and Katsuki wants to smack his head against the wall.
“Sorry, I just… wanted to hear your voice.”
Katsuki frowns, worry etching at his throat already.
“What is it?” he asks, voice soft, “What’s wrong, Shouto?”
At the mention of his name, Shouto breaks; like a crack sipping through. It’s absolutely devastating; it breaks Katsuki into a million pieces.
“I—I can’t sleep, I just—I wanted—”
Katsuki is already getting up his bed and surfing for a jacket into his closet. “I’m coming.”
A beat, and then, “…What?”
“I’m coming to see you, dumbass.”
“But—”
“No fucking buts, Shouto,” Katsuki says, climbing down the stairs and ignoring that he’s probably going to wake his parents up, “I’m coming to your house, we’re getting ridiculously, disgustingly sweet hot chocolate and we're watching stupid cat videos.”
Shouto is quiet when Katsuki puts on his outdoor shoes at the genkan and exits the house, early morning cold biting his face the moment he steps out.
“And we’re fucking cuddling later so you can sleep.”
Shouto laughs; it’s breathy and watery and teetering on edge, but it’s genuine, and Katsuki smiles, melting down and warming up, so impossibly soft it’s kind of insane.
“You’re always a good little spoon,” Shouto remarks, and his voice is quiet but the underlying tease is there, and Katsuki grins; wild and bubbly.
“I’m the best fucking little spoon.”
Shouto snickers. “I can hear your smirk.”
“Oh?” He says, because he can hear Shouto’s smile as well.
After some quiet minutes, where Katsuki turns around and sees the edge of the beautiful, cozy house that’s Todoroki’s, Shouto speaks up again.
“Katsuki,” voice real and tender and gentle and so impossibly soft.
“Yeah?”
He breathes.
“Thank you for being in my life.”
Katsuki cracks. Something so visceral and intense inside him knocks the air out of his lungs; overwhelming, all-consuming, breathtaking—just as Shouto; and he stops at the sidewalk, staring at Shouto's house, thinking about Shouto's smile, and Shouto's warmth, and Shouto's kindness, and Shouto's bubbly laugh, and Shouto saying his name and cuddling and clinging to his side. Thinking about the way Shouto makes him want to do stupid things, and the way his smile can make Katsuki's knees go weak, and the way he makes Katsuki think the world is such a pretty place just because he exists.
Thinks about the way he wants to cup Shouto's face, thumb at his lips and his nose and his eyelids; make him feel loved and treasured and important; the way he wants to kiss every single one of his knuckles, stop and look at him, for several minutes, just for the pleasure of it; maybe just rest his face in his neck and breathe in and out Shouto's strawberry mint scent.
Thinks about all the words that are always at the tip of his tongue and he doesn't say.
He thinks about Shouto. Shouto, Shouto, Shouto.
Always Shouto.
The words are in the tip of his tongue; biting down to get out of him, but Katsuki closes his eyes and breathes, too scared to say it aloud, like a coward.
“A fucking pleasure, idiot,” he answers, instead; voice raw and open and naked.
He can say that. He can say that because it's true and it's less scary. He can say it because it's real and he wants to say it and he wants Shouto to hear it.
He breaks. And breaks. And breaks. And breaks.
“Thank you for being in mine, too.”
He can hear Shouto's smile, and it makes Katsuki happy. So happy.
Maybe one day he'll say it. All the things he wants to say.
Maybe Shouto'll say them back.
.
.
.
.
.
(I love you.)