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It’s not Katsuki’s business. Hardly anything that his particular bunch of idiots get up to is ever willingly his business. But Halfie’s hiding something. Which is why—
Well. It is, admittedly, mildly neurotic. But it’s not trespassing, or anything. Shouto gave him the damn spare key. And this most certainly counts as an emergency.
Because—
It’s the third day Shouto hasn’t come in. And he hasn’t taken a day off for anything less serious than a broken bone or the emotional equivalent in as long as Katsuki has known him. (For the record, Katsuki has known him since Shouto’s mouth was all he could think about jerking off in the shower, and that—it hasn’t exactly changed. He’s just more of a coward about it now than he was back then.)
“Halfie?” Katsuki calls out.
His place isn’t even that big. Just built in that way where it could also probably double as a maze if needed. It’s nice, honestly. That apparently Halfie has a personality when it comes to architecture and interior design choices. That he got to figure all this stuff out slowly and steadily on his own, and Katsuki was there to see it. To help him pick out paint samples and veto couches that looked ridiculous and uncomfortable.
It feels like it means something, sometimes. That Shouto chose him to help with all that stuff when he’s got friends like Ponytail. You know, friends with detailed opinions of shades of mauve and the kind of wood that’s acceptable to use for furniture. Katsuki just—
Katsuki just sighs and helps him carry shit up the stairs.
(Maybe—maybe that’s what Shouto needs, though.)
Still. He has rights. Helped-pick-out-the-couch rights. Vetoed-dying-the-bedroom-taupe rights.
So.
“You’re being very difficult.”
It’s dumb, isn’t it? That just the sound of Shouto’s steady voice makes Katsuki feel that little bit more optimistic about life?
Yeah, real dumb. (Warm, though.)
“All I’m saying is that if you insist on scratching me, you could at least try to show cooperation in other ways.”
Huh? That’s—
“You were very nice to sleep with last night, I would like that to extend to our relationship during the day as well.”
The fuck? Who’s Halfie going around sleeping with?
“Oi,” says Katsuki. “What’s going on here?”
And, when he pushes Shouto’s bedroom door open, it’s just—
Just Shouto pointing a stern finger at the chonkiest cat Katsuki has ever seen. (A term he laments knowing in the first place, but remains apt nonetheless.)
“Oh,” Shouto says. “Hi, Bakugou. We’re in the middle of an ideological conflict. Whiskers here thinks it’s okay to pee on the duvet cover.”
Katsuki immediately decides that ideological conflict and pee should never, ever go together. “When did you get a damn cat?”
“He’s not mine,” Shouto says. “I’m just looking after him. Temporarily. It’s a lot of responsibility. He stares at me when I shower.”
Well. There’s a point of solidarity with the fluffball. “That’s why you took time off without saying anything?”
“I made you worry.” Shouto says it like it’s something to apologize for. Like the years still haven’t taught him quite well enough that people can choose to love you and worry about you and you return the favor just by living well and doing your best to take care of yourself. That—that Katsuki worrying about him isn’t something he needs to pay back as much as an inevitability. Because you want to keep the things that matter to you safe, so you worry.
Katsuki huffs. “Don’t you dare apologize.”
“I don’t like making you feel bad,” Shouto says, and—
Katsuki always wants to kiss him. To hold him and have him and just. Touch him. To know he has the only thing he’s ever wanted enough to accept that he might never get to deserve. But when he says shit like this, it’s really fucking impossible not to want to pin him to that stupid bed, cat piss or no.
“You’re not,” Katsuki says. “I’m just here to help you clean cat piss of my own volition.”
Shouto squints at him. “You’ll make a good husband someday,” he says, and Katsuki’s frail, traitorous heart almost gives up on him.
“Yeah,” he says, before he can bite his tongue. “Yours, hopefully. And then we can get you a cat of your own.”
The cat meows loudly.
Shouto’s staring at him, eyes wide. “Are you okay? You’re not getting sick, are you?”
Maybe. Lovesickness is a thing, right? Maybe that’s what has been wrong with him since the first time he laid eyes on Shouto. He’s been lovesick.
Katsuki coughs. “Dunno,” he says. “Maybe you should come closer to make sure.”
“What about the cat?” Shouto asks, mouth twitching. (Maybe he gets it. Maybe he knows and has just been waiting for Katsuki to ask, the little brat.) “I don’t want to ignore him.”
Katsuki laughs. “He peed on your bed,” he says. “He’ll be fine.”
…
Cleaning cat piss isn’t that bad, all in all. Not that Katsuki ever wanted to contemplate this at length in his lifetime. But Shouto says thank you and lingers when he presses his mouth to Katsuki’s cheek like maybe there’s more of a reward for him in store than a glass of cold water and the joy of getting to watch Shouto bend over while he loaded the washing machine. (Which Katsuki taught him how to do when he first got his own place, by the way. So. A return in investment, maybe.)
“Katsuki?” Shouto says, fingers brushing Katsuki’s deliberately.
“Yeah?”
“Could we really get a cat of our own?”
The one Shouto’s temporarily taking care of is staring at him like it has great expectations of Katsuki fumbling the bag. He could get used to that, probably. Shouto looks at him like that too, sometimes. Not like he’s predicting failure, but—like he expects something. Like he wants, maybe.
God, he’s hopeless.
“Yeah,” Katsuki says. “We can do anything you want.”
And—
That’s what they’ve been doing anyway. What Shouto wants. What he tugs on Katsuki’s sleeve for.
Katsuki doesn’t mind.