Work Text:
“Let’s go on a date.”
Katsuki nearly choked on his morning coffee, coughing as his body tries its best to take out the liquid from lodging itself in his larynx. He glares at the other who’s seemingly just as unexpressive as ever like he was just talking about the goddamn weather.
What the fuck was that?
He was supposed to be working on the multiple report papers that were strewn in front of him, on the kitchen aisle, but yet here he is, choking on coffee at 8 in the morning just because of what his terrible excuse of a roommate had said.
“We aren’t even dating yet,” he points out, voice strangled as he states the glaringly obvious fact.
Todoroki hums in return, leaning against the counter as he waits for his microwaved food to finish. “Is work at the museum busy? Couldn’t you take a leave?”
“Well yeah I could, but that’s not the point here—”
“Okay, then let’s go on a date.” Todoroki cuts him off with no remorse whatsoever in his tone.
This time, Katsuki places down his mug. Then he turns his gaze to face his roommate, trying to find what kinda fuck is Todoroki starting now. He watches how those seemingly impassive eyes stare back at him, unreadable and frustrating all at the same time. Todoroki Shouto is an enigma; he’s known it since the first time they’d met each other, through Deku when Katsuki needed someone to share his rent with and when Todoroki had been in dire need of anything resembling a house back then.
Todoroki was simply someone who he couldn’t understand, no matter how much Katsuki talks to him. There’s just something in the way he works through life, how he always looks so reserved, or the way he has barely any social competence. A man who has the same expressions as a wet cardboard box, he’d duly noted one day. Though, then again, it wasn’t like Katsuki didn’t get along with him. Not really. In fact, it’s perhaps the opposite.
Beneath that cold stuck-up exterior of him, Todoroki is pretty nice to talk with, despite Katsuki not understanding what goes on in his head most of the time. Interacting with him is definitely a change, to say the least, because he is worlds—universes—different from Katsuki’s normally ear-splitting friends. Whereas Kaminari is the loud-as-fuck bird that chirps in the morning, Todoroki is the calm sea; the wave that gently greets sand.
But that thought won’t be useful when it comes to this situation. So, in the end, what he settled with was a question mixed with every single inch of incredulity he has in his system right now. In the end, he says:
“Are ya half possessed or something?”
A light smile grazes Todoroki’s lips as if he’d expected this kind of answer from Katsuki. Then there’s the distinct beep of a microwave echoing throughout their shared flat.
He sees how the other took his own breakfast out to eat, two pieces of leftover pita bread from yesterday, curry dipping on the side. Katsuki still grimaces at it, remembering the shitfest last night when Todoroki—God knows why—decided to order pita bread for a serving equal to four men. Yeah, like hell is he going to let him be on food ordering duty again.
Todoroki sat next to him, plate placed carefully so as to not dirty Katsuki’s report papers. A ghost from the smile earlier still lingering on his features. He looks… well, almost cute like this, with his dual-colored hair uncombed; bedhead prominent, red and white crashing with each other.
“No. Last time I checked, I don’t think I’m possessed.” Katsuki rolled his eyes at the other’s antiques.
“Fuck off. Just tell me why the sudden date idea.”
“Your birthday is coming soon, and I thought it would be great if we could celebrate it. I mean, we’ve been roommates for 2 years, so why not go out for it?” Todoroki answers, before taking a bite from his breakfast.
“Ya could’ve phrased it better, at least,” He grumbles in return.
He tries to ignore the way his cheeks felt hotter just from that. It’s no question that Katsuki is attracted to Todoroki—not when the other is as good looking as that —but even if he wasn’t, he couldn’t help but to feel slightly happier by the fact that his friend is planning something for his birthday. Especially when he still has a month to go until then. This is, and it will always be, a secret he is never going to let out until the day he dies.
(He’s pretty sure that Todoroki harbors the same feeling like him. They’ve been dancing around each other for the past year, after all. It’s always as if they weren’t in sync when it comes down to this. Katsuki steps to the right, and Todoroki steps to the left. Todoroki moves forward, and in return, he moves backward.)
(They’ve been in love with each other. Lord knows why neither of them had made a move.)
“So?”
“Huh?”
“The date,” Todoroki says, in hopes of clearing it up when in reality he did not clear anything. “I’ve been thinking, what if we went for a hike on your birthday?”
Katsuki nudges the other lightly on the shoulder. “I told you to change the phrasing, dumbass. ‘Sides, aren’t you just lookin’ for photography material?”
That’s definitely it. Especially when Todoroki works as a photographer, one that specializes in landscape pictures, nonetheless. Even if he accepted it, it’s a pretty stupid plan, considering how Katsuki had never gone on a hike before, despite what people assume about him. He’s not Todoroki, he’s not the madman who goes on hikes and expeditions for pictures of nature. He’s Bakugou Katsuki, the person who majored in art history and works at a damn museum.
The only thing he has that’s remotely close to his roommate’s expeditions is his 12-months long gym membership, the same one which Katsuki renews every year after Kirishima had first introduced him to it.
“Not really.” Todoroki another bite of his pita bread. “I thought it would be nice if you were to join me on Mount Yotei. You’ve always said you needed a break.”
“Damn, that’s thoughtful of ya.”
Shit. That’s too much sarcasm.
“Thank you.”
Okay, never mind. The day Todoroki notices sarcasm is the day the world ends.
Katsuki took a sip from his forgotten coffee, cursing silently when it was already cold. Ugh.
“Still, Hokkaido is hours away from Tokyo. Do you have enough money for a plane?”
“Yes, I do. You?”
He grunts in affirmation.
“Alright. Then we’ll have our date next month.”
“ Oi , I told you not to call it that!”
A month passes quicker when you have a lot of things to do, Katsuki notices, especially when you’re constantly being bombarded by work and the new shipment of art worth more than what you are as a living being arriving.
It's the 18th of April already.
He opens the door to their flat with a long-winded groan, a small mumble of ‘I’m home’ coming out after. His body hurts, stiff from when he’d spent roughly four hours hauled in the same position just because he was tasked to find out whether the statue from earlier in the day was real or not. Katsuki loves his work, truly, but fuck does his neck feels like it’s about to crack in half any second now.
Katsuki was about to take a nap despite it being 5 PM in the evening (“A nap? More like a scheduled coma,” Sero had said once upon a time during their summer camp, to which Katsuki promptly chucks a dictionary right at his head,) when he catches sight of the two suitcases placed neatly on their living room.
Oh yeah. They’ve begun packing up for the trip.
Then his mind makes a breakthrough, because realization dawns on him, and his mind ends up constantly reminding him how this is the first time he’s going to be next to Todoroki for an extended time on public transport.
Now, you would think that after living with the same person for so long, you would’ve at least spent one random impromptu trip on a bus and back. But as far as his memory stretches, Katsuki knows they’ve never. And his memory is good, mind you. It’s just that—their schedules are far too different from one another.
There are times when what they have planned for a day is so vastly uncoordinated.
Sometimes—because of his career—Todoroki has to take a leave for a week, two, or maybe even a month for his shooting sessions. It’s fine though, Katsuki is used to it; they have lives of their own, of different works that in the end, just boil down to being art-related. It’s fine, since Katsuki doesn’t waste his time on missing the man that is the terrible rendition of a Canadian flag.
(Sometimes he does. Sometimes he doesn’t.)
Katsuki understands awfully well how there’s nothing wrong with sitting next to Todoroki on a plane. They’ve wasted more time next to each other in their flat, side-by-side while saying nothing as they focus on their own works, and yet. Yet it’s different this time—at least he thinks it is. Back then, in their shared place, there was still this… semblance of space between them. Katsuki would be on the couch, while Todoroki on their kitchen counter. Vice versa.
But a plane does not give them space between each other at all. You’re basically cramped in the passenger seat, a mere few centimeters between you and your trip buddy. And as if the world is laughing at him, to make matters worse, Todoroki is his fucking cru—
Aah. Fuck.
Right, whatever; he’s Bakugou Katsuki, and the flight will only be for one and a half hours anyway.
He’ll pull through this.
“Welcome back,” Todoroki greets from the hallway. “You look horrible. Do you want me to help you with anything?”
Thank you, Captain Obvious. Yeah, actually, my bones are cracking like an old man’s and there’s no way I could cook dinner for us, Katsuki almost replies. He doesn’t. Instead, he huffs, saying: “I saw that your photos managed to get onto TV. ‘Grats on havin’ that.”
(It’s a dance. Todoroki moves sideways, and Katsuki steps forward.)
The other nodded, subtly. “I was just lucky. Only one or two actually made the cut.”
“Ha, don’t kid. Ya know damn well that all 5 pictures you took at Ishigaki got in.”
There’s not much of a response he gets other than the small smile decorating Todoroki’s face—the same one that makes heterochromatic eyes twinkle as if a bottle of mirth was poured on them, the sun itself tucked away behind gray and blue. Katsuki turns his gaze, ignoring it. Yeah, opening his shoes and placing them by the genkan seemed far more interesting.
He stretches, unable to stop the satisfying sigh when his joints popped. Like a fucking rattle doll, he notes.
“I feel like shit today, could we get take-out?”
“Okay.”
It’s the 19th, and it’s also 10 AM when they get ready for the flight.
“Are you finished?” Todoroki asked after he’d freshened up after his morning run.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
The ride to the airport was, fortunately, not as bad as he was expecting. Todoroki kept mostly to himself, and it was almost similar to the comfortable silence they tend to share every day. The bus ride had been, well to put it simply, mundane with the exception of the old lady who’d decided to initiate a small talk between him and herself. Katsuki didn’t find it in his heart to ignore her, so he’d participated in what happened to be one of the most pleasant conversations he’d been in in the past week.
They sat on the waiting benches, where Katsuki had been adamant about putting one empty seat between them so he would not have his panic early on.
Todoroki had been staring at a huge block of text on his phone, perhaps what Katsuki would guess to be the e-book he’d bought a few days ago—the one where Todoroki didn’t stop gushing about day and night as if he’d found his treasure just by scrolling through Goodreads.
“Hey,” Katsuki starts, standing up from the seat he was on. “Ya want me to get anything? There’s a stall nearby.”
That gets Todoroki’s attention.
“Yes, please. You could get me anything, it should be fine.”
So that was how Katsuki found himself in front of a sandwich stall, digging through his memories for any food Todoroki had mentioned liking, cross-checking with the ones they have on the menu. In the end, he orders spicy beef for himself and tuna olive for the other.
They eat accompanied by the bland airport music and Todoroki’s incessant questions of what do you think chickens do when they suddenly turn into a human? or do you think humanity will survive if we flipped the north and south poles? with his poker face on as if he didn’t just ask the stupidest things in the world.
And Katsuki answers with a very disgruntled what the fuck every time.
Then the speakers turned on, notifying them about the flight.
In the plane, he’d instantly speed-walked to the window—because if he was going to lose his shit for one hour and a half, then let it happen where he’s most comfortable: the seat by the window. Todoroki didn’t say anything, perhaps already used to his antics, and for once he was glad of the lack of questions.
Clouds languidly passed around them, white being poured to the blue that is the bright afternoon sky; a mix that’s certainly very welcome. He watches how they curl and uncurl as they progressively move forward to Hokkaido, a part of him wishing if he could have as much freedom as something so simple like a mass of water drops flying across the atmosphere, traveling to the edge of the horizon and back. Maybe that way he would be spared from being hyper-aware of how close he is to Todoroki right now—burning into his skin even if they weren’t touching.
He flicks his gaze towards the other, subtly.
His roommate was still reading; something about a star-crossed romance or whatever—not that Katsuki had been paying attention to Todoroki’s rant. Not at all. He sees how heterochromatic eyes are focused on the text, eyelashes downcast, and if Katsuki’s willing, he would be able to count each of them. He sees the way red and white aren’t parted perfectly in the middle, a tad bit messy from when they’d been mussed by the wind in front of the airport.
Oh how much he wants to run his fingers through those very same locks, carding them to see if they were truly as soft as he’d thought them to be; like silk underneath his touch. And then—
Well, shit.
Todoroki is staring at him now, isn’t he?
“What’s wrong, Bakugou?”
There’s amusement flickering in the other’s features, barely noticeable but you’ll soon come to know it after living with the same man for so long. It’s annoying, the way Todoroki does it so easily; how easy it is to put Katsuki’s heart on a leash, stripping his affections to be laid bare for the whole world to see. It is both an amalgamation of love and envy, since he wants to know too if he has the same effect on Todoroki.
Katsuki tears his gaze away, one hand propped on his chin as he (futilely) tries to hide the red dusting his cheeks and ears. “...Nothin’. Thought your eyes were gonna pop out by how hard you’re reading that thing.”
“Oh. I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
He envies it, for how easy it is for Todoroki to make him fall in love even further.
They arrive in the afternoon, at around 1 PM.
Sapporo was cold even in April, Katsuki realized as soon as they’d taken a step out of the airport. He tugs the scarf around his neck closer. Right. As much as he despises the cold, at least this is better than when he’d come to visit Canada for a relative when it was December .
Still, this place is as cold as it is in Tokyo during winter.
They took a bus from the airport to their destination, and only now did it occur to him how much Todoroki had prepared for this trip. Just a month ago, Katsuki had accepted the ‘date’ idea because it more or less happened due to impulse. He’d thought he would take part in planning it, picking which flight is cheaper than others, but no. No, since Todoroki had apparently gotten everything covered; the only thing he needs to do is pay for his part.
It was almost as if Todoroki had planned for this trip months ago.
(And what he doesn’t know is that his assumption was correct.)
It was another 2 hours ride, which meant another extended amount of time with Todoroki by his side. Well—at least this time he’d learned how to keep the constant drumming of his heart silent.
“Let’s get food,” his roommate had said as soon as the ride stopped.
He nodded in return, letting Todoroki lead the way.
It took a couple of minutes of fiddling with the maps app before they could arrive at the place; an udon restaurant that had been recommended for tourists. And Katsuki almost snorted because of course . Of course, Todoroki Shouto would want to go here despite seeing so many udon stores in Tokyo. It was—dare he say it— endearing .
Midway through his food, the other starts: “Would you be okay if…”
“If you took photographs?” Katsuki finishes. “Yeah, I’m alright with it. ‘Sides, it’s your job anyways. Also—shut the fuck up. Stop starin’ at me like that.”
Something softened in Todoroki’s face, and Katsuki would be damned if he said that he didn’t look at all gorgeous. It felt like he was burning under that gaze—surely ready to drench him in a shade of crimson red if he hadn’t looked away. You know, he’d never been this thankful for the fact that he rarely stammers on his own words.
Their walk to check-in into the hotel was silent, sometimes alongside by occasional faint camera clicks whenever the other had found something worthwhile to take a picture of. If you look past their status, it was almost akin to a date. It’s like what Todoroki said a month ago was real and they truly were couples on a trip together; an incredibly absurd idea to think about, yeah, Katsuki understands, but it doesn’t stop him from thinking what if .
What if this was it, the date they’d been waiting for; a walk with their fingers lacing together, of hidden smiles and shared affections towards one another. What if this was it, the thing that awaits at the end of their dance; all the little sappy things he’s read in a romance novel coming to life? Or what if this was it, the climax of the wish he’d nurtured since years ago? What if —
“Bakugou, we’re here.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I could see that.”
What if they would stop pining over each other?
The day was over, and Katsuki couldn’t help but to gather the scattered thoughts around his brain, preparing them like materials that he’s going to mull over before sleep. And it’s a great idea actually; to sleep when his body is tired from today’s activities and when his mind is deteriorating because of a fool he associates with red and white.
So now imagine his surprise when Todoroki comes back from the registration desk, his hand holding not two, but one room key with an indifferent expression being plastered onto that highly punchable face. To save money, Todoroki had said upon recognizing the sheer disbelief radiating from him, and Katsuki had to very narrowly stop himself from replying with: Yeah, obviously you have to save up because you only get 800 thousand yen for salary. Thanks for the info.
Thankfully, because God seems to still show mercy on him, the room had two beds next to each other.
It’s only after a warm shower—nearly scalding, to be perfectly honest, because that’s just how he likes it—that Katsuki falls head-first on his bed with a muffled oomph .
Todoroki, already clad in pajamas, chuckled. “Good night,” he said.
“Good night,” Katsuki mumbles back, barely incoherent.
Their hiking trail was prepared by none other than Todoroki. They were going to have a professional help them, an older man laden with age. He seemed to know Todoroki well, maybe because they’d probably met before during work, or whatever circumstance it might’ve been.
Dawn was barely even there, the sky dressed in pitch black when they went out of the hotel. So the view at the summit would be better, his roommate had informed him after he’d so unapologetically pulled the blanket on top of him off and assaulted his eyes by turning on the lights. If only Todoroki knew how the string of curses Katsuki said earlier was a new record even for him.
It’s only a few minutes after the hike began that Katsuki realizes how different of a connection there is between regularly going to a gym every week and actually going hiking. Not that his ego would allow him to think that he’s inferior at this compared to Todoroki—but it’s there. The acknowledgment itself is there and haphazardly shoved away in a dusty corner of his mind.
“Are you okay?” Todoroki asked, nearly an hour in.
“I’m fuckin’ peachy, Half n’ Half.”
“Your teeth are clattering.”
“I’m fucking fine .” He grits out, in a way that hides his clearly clattering teeth. “Watch where you’re going, you’re gonna fall off a cliff sooner or later.”
There’s a crinkle on the other’s eyes when he hears his answer, half-moons mid-formed alongside a blooming smile.
For a second, Katsuki feels content like this: watching Todoroki from behind as cold breath gathers around his reddened nose; the askew beanie placed on his head, like a hard invitation for Katsuki to come over and angle it correctly. He thinks about the first thing Todoroki had said to him when he’d moved in, something simple as a thank you for having me since he’s everything but a competent person when it comes to casual conversations.
It was an all-too-stiff greeting coming from someone who Katsuki had been sure won’t be interested in.
And yet—then again, look at him now, a man bearing a crush for said person.
Katsuki is in love, but for a quick second he feels content just by seeing Todoroki from afar—the person who he’d never stopped running after, for the pride he wears on his sleeve is way too overwhelming to give him a chance to confess. He’s content. Okay.
(Or, at least that’s what he wants to believe in. Bakugou Katsuki wants more than just this, and he knows it. He wants to say it out loud, scream his affections to Todoroki’s face and to the world too alongside it; to let out all of the bonafide wishes he’d kept inside.)
“Stupid,” he mumbles under his breath to no one in particular, cursing when he nearly stumbled on a rock.
Despite the cold, they were sweaty by the time they reached the summit.
“Here it is! We’re right on time. Mount Yotei looks better in the morning,” their guide said, grinning in a way that fathers would towards their children. Perhaps he did adopt them at one point, with the papers signed, and the only reason why Katsuki had missed it was because he was too busy being in love. “I’m going to give you two privacy now. Just let me know when you want to go down!”
Todoroki answered with something he couldn’t hear, for Katsuki’s focus was placed on the view in front of him.
Let it be known that even if he works at a museum—curating art on a daily basis like it’s the second thing he’d known to do since breathing—Katsuki had never been too big when it comes to landscapes and nature. He likes them, understands them, sure, but it wasn’t a topic he would actively study or dwell on. Though he’s not sure if he would still hold on to it after seeing the view that is this .
This, the view of a sun that’s slowly rising and coloring the deep blue sky into a splash of purple, yellow, and everything that’s akin to paint being placed gently on a canvas by an experienced artist. Its rays hit the snow under their shoes, soaking golden into white. The summit is a gorgeous place to be in, he thinks, oblivious of the grin that’s already tugging on his lips. Hey, this is fucking pretty, Katsuki wants to say, already turning around to face Todoroki square in the face but—
Click .
Todoroki stood there, hands on his camera, eyes slightly wide and lips parted as if he wanted to say something. Though he doesn’t and it’s obvious because the only thing Katsuki could see is fogs of cold breath unfurling around him.
Then Katsuki understands it: Todoroki had just taken a picture of him. Him .
“I—I’m sorry, Bakugou.” The other snapped out of his trance. “If you don’t want to, I could delete the photo.”
“No,” he answers. Then, he repeats, rather breathlessly, “no. It’s okay if you keep it.”
He notices how he could see his own reflection through Todoroki’s camera lens, albeit blurry, and at that same moment too did Katsuki realize how Todoroki was just as pretty as the view strewn across them—a painting came to life, like those statues from Night at the Museum. His body is basked in a warm glow, cheeks and nose red at their tips, and Katsuki doesn’t know if it were from the cold or from a blush. Gold wraps itself around the other’s head, like a wreath even if he had a beanie on.
And he thinks: it’s now or never .
“I like you,” he states, loudly, bluntly.
Any trace of lingering silence was broken by just 7 letters, 3 words.
Gray and blue widen considerably more, and Katsuki continues talking before the other gets a chance at it.
“I like you; in a romantic sense if you’re way too dense to figure it out. And this is the last time I’m gonna be tellin’ you this, so ya better remember it, ‘kay?”
Todoroki doesn’t answer instantly, apparently rooted to the ground he’s on. Katsuki half-expects that maybe, maybe this was just a mistake, that he shouldn’t have confessed, and that this was all a miscalculation from him because Katsuki is as bad as reading social cue cards like how Todoroki is. But yet again—reminiscent of those superheroes in a kid’s movie who always saves the day without fail—the universe proves him wrong again for the nth time that week.
Todoroki lets his camera drop, letting it dangle around his neck as he marches forward towards Katsuki’s direction.
Then, without warning, Todoroki kisses him.
It’s quick and fleeting, more similar to a peck compared to the full-blown kisses Katsuki had seen in the horrible romantic comedies that Sero liked to watch so much—but still, he felt butterflies erupting in his stomach, in a way birds would when they’re released from their cages. Warmth seeps from where Todoroki’s lips had landed on his own—the ghost of the sensation hung a second too long, and it felt like flowers were blooming and permeating throughout his body.
“Did you mean it?” Todoroki asks then, loud enough only for them to hear.
“Obviously,” Katsuki answers, feigning nonchalance against the loud, loud hammering of his heart against his ribcage; a constant of thump, thump, thump. “Who do you take me for?”
Todoroki smiled, not the small ones which he’d grown used to, but a beautiful wide smile that promptly sent Katsuki’s brain and whole being into shutdown. “I’ve liked you too, Bakugou.” A beat. “Since a long time ago, actually. I wanted to confess but you’ve beaten me to it.”
“Duh. I’m always the first,” Katsuki responds, more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything. “We’ve been runnin’ around like headless chickens. ‘Bout time it changes.”
Honestly, the last sentence came out mumbled for he was already leaning in closer to the other, breaths mingling with one another like tangled yarn. He knows, for a fact, that their bodies would’ve been leaning against each other if it weren’t for the camera dangling from Todoroki’s neck. His eyes flick towards Todoroki’s lips.
So, he does the correct thing.
Katsuki sealed the remaining gap between them.
The lips pressing against his own were chapped due to the cold and yet, somehow, were soft in an inexplicable way he couldn’t cipher—then again perhaps he could, but all of the words he’d kept in his brain were scattered away in one simple push. There’s nothing that Katsuki could feel but the thrumming in his veins, the tightening of his lungs, be it from the lack of oxygen or the pure love he’s feeling right now; and faintly, as Todoroki angles his head slightly just to deepen the kiss, he thinks: ah, ah, ah. This is it, the late fulfillment of wishes I’ve been chasing.
Under a veil of molten gold, they parted, slowly, as if the movement itself would hurt them.
He hears Todoroki mumble,
“I like you.”
And in a heartbeat, he grins back.
The way back down didn’t so abruptly change. There were no love angels or the such hanging above their heads like a way overdue Christmas present. In fact, it had been pretty much the same as their way up: a walk full of Katsuki’s grumbling and Todoroki’s incessant questions for him.
It had been the same, except for their entwined hands.
Their guide seemed to notice it, because there was a knowing smile plastered on the old man’s face.
“Call me by my name.”
“What?”
“My first name. Say it.”
“No.”
“Come on.”
“...”
“Please?”
“...Shouto.”
“Yes, Katsuki?”
“You f—”
Katsuki drops onto his bed with a satisfied sigh. Only now did he find the time to reply to the texts his family and friends have sent him; sending gratitude to those who congratulated him and a very detailed death threat towards the basically-liquid cake Mina and Kaminari had tried to make. He does add a thank you at the end though, not because he was feeling sappy but because he’s feeling generous. Yeah. That’s it.
When that’s done, Katsuki lets himself sink deeper into the soft mattress, side-eyeing Todoroki who’d just come out of the shower.
Aah, he’s beautiful.
“Let’s go to sleep?” Todoroki—no, Shouto —questioned.
Katsuki hums, putting his phone on the bedside cabinet.
“Sure.” He agrees.
Shouto turned off the lights in their room, not before planting a surprise kiss on Katsuki’s forehead first—to which he’d given out an indignant sputter in return.
One of these days, maybe, he should ask the other how he genuinely prophesied that today was going to be a date. Oh, and one of these days too, is he going to get revenge and kiss Shouto back when he least expects it.
They still slept on their respective beds, for boundaries were yet to be set; but nonetheless, Katsuki feels elated, like he’s on cloud nine.
“Good night.”
“G’night.”
(It’s a dance, and they’ve ended it with a step forward; pulling each other into a kiss.)