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Katsuki’s palms are sweaty. He spent fifteen minutes fussing with his hair in his tiny bathroom mirror. And Shouto’s—
Shouto’s smiling knowingly at him. All soft and squishy and smelling like cotton candy. But the kind they probably handmake in heaven or some shit. And Katsuki’s too much of a loser to even try to hold his hand without revealing just how much he’s got on the line here.
Because—
It took three months of asking and pestering and what would probably count as mild stalking if Shouto didn’t like him back at least a little bit for Shouto to agree to go out with him. And Katsuki’s not gonna mess this up for himself. He isn’t. He refuses to.
So.
“Um,” he says. “Hi.”
“Hi,” says Shouto. Smiles all fuckin’ soft. “You look nice.”
And then, apparently fully unaware of Katsuki’s internal struggle, he reaches out, and laces their fingers together. Katsuki’s face spontaneously heats up approximately one thousand degrees. He bites back something too close to a whimper.
“Something wrong?” Shouto asks. “You’re quiet today.”
And—
There’s that dumb part of Katsuki that runs on pure instinct, on the stubborn desire to have and mate and claim, that just—
That just looks at Shouto, and wantswantswants. Drowns it in. Can’t figure out the right string of words not to sound lovesick and pathetic and, like. Fuckin’ entranced with the way Shouto’s hair looks when he quickly puts it up into a bun, how the colors—colors that should clash horribly, by the way, what kind of fairytale princess bullshit is this?—mix together and make Katsuki want to reach out and touch, see what all that willingly bared softness feels like. If—if maybe Katsuki’s palms aren’t too rough, won’t hurt him trying to be gentle.
“Just thinking,” Katsuki says.
Shouto presses closer. And it—hits him. The lack of subtlety. The public hand holding. The—the way Shouto smells, even. All sweet. Like he’s calm and comfortable and there isn’t anywhere else he would want to be given a choice. Like Katsuki’s—
Holy shit. Like Katsuki’s his alpha.
“About what?”
“You,” Katsuki blurts. “About—you know.”
Shouto laughs. “No, I don’t,” he says. “I think you should tell me.”
It’s stupid. Katsuki’s nineteen and, as much as he might have dreamed of it ever since he met Shouto in that ridiculous Intro to Postmodern Philosophy class that he only walked into because he was sleep deprived and cranky and absolutely willing to murder Kirishima for turning off his alarm, he hasn’t—he’s never even scented an omega, let alone—
Let alone the things he wants, given permission, to do to Shouto.
“You know,” Katsuki insists. “You’re an omega. You’re pretty as hell. The T.A. for that class where they kept rambling about metanarratives or whatever was making eyes at you the entire ninety minutes. Don’t act cute.”
Shouto turns to him and pouts. “But I am cute,” he says. “Don’t you agree, alpha?”
Katsuki huffs. “You’re a spoiled brat,” he says. “Made me chase you around for so long.”
Shouto tugs on their interlaced fingers. “You wanted to,” he says. “You liked it. Didn’t you? Bet you wanted to chase after me and pin me to the dirt.”
Honestly? Yeah, a little. Because Shouto never said no. Just batted those pretty eyelashes at Katsuki and placed a hand on his cheek like he was going to lean in only to whisper some outrageous bullshit like ask nicer and I’ll say yes.
So. Yeah. Katsuki would mate him in the middle of a busy street, if that was something Shouto wouldn’t mind. If Shouto let him.
Even if—
He only knows Shouto’s favorite color because he overheard him mention it at a coffee shop with that friend of his with the ponytail during Attempt #1 to Ask Him Out and he only knows he likes cold soba because he helped him make it at 2 a.m. (you know, like a simp) during Attempt #3 to ask him out and he only—
You get the point.
He wants the other stuff too. Wants to learn it not by accident or sheer coincidence, but because Shouto wants him to. Because Shouto shares it. Because he wants Katsuki to know him bit by bit until—until he’s all bared. Warm to the touch under Katsuki’s trembling fingers.
Katsuki coughs. “What if I’d gotten tired?” he asks. Deflects, really. Because he’s good at that. At hiding. “Then what?”
Shouto shrugs. “Then I would’ve chased after you, I guess.”
‘That easy, huh?”
Shouto blinks. “Yes?”
Stupid pretty boy. The things he does to Katsuki’s heart—
“You got a crush on me or something, sweetheart?”
Shouto laughs. He is cute, the bastard. Real fucking cute. Makes Katsuki wanna learn how to structure a sonnet and what would sound melodic enough coupled with love of my fucking life, maybe and—you know, all that. Carve a courting gift by hand and curse ten thousand times in the process because splinters suck and then forget every annoyance the second Shouto pecks his cheek.
But instead he opens his mouth and says—, “You’re fucking annoying.”
“I do,” Shouto says evenly. “I have such a big crush on you, I can’t even sleep at night.”
Katsuki’s brain short-circuits. His heart keeps doing anatomically improbable things inside his chest without asking for permission. Shouto’s laughter might be the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It might not even be so bad to die right now. If Shouto held his hand tightly. If that face was the last thing he saw before he kicked the bucket. If he got to tuck a stray bit of that soft hair behind Shouto’s ear and try to steal a kiss.
And—
Maybe he should. Maybe he could ask.
“Maybe you shouldn’t sleep,” Katsuki says. “Not without me.”
“Oh,” Shouto says indulgently. “That’s sudden. You want to sleep with me, alpha? I thought we could have our date first.”
“Shut up, oh my god.”
And—
Surprisingly, Shouto does go quiet. Squeezes Katsuki’s hand once and keeps walking. It’s not that cold, but Katsuki still stupidly wants to ask if he wants his jacket. If there’s any chance his omega wants to smell like him. Even if—they’re not dating. Not really. Not yet. They’re just—
Eventually, Shouto opens his mouth. “I’ve never done this before,” he says.
Katsuki chokes. “Gone on a date?”
Shouto nods. “No—well, that too, but—I’ve never ice skated.”
Right. Because the pretty boy currently unwittingly playing yoyo with Katsuki’s brittle heart said no to bowling and Katsuki really just. Wanted an excuse to get his hands on him.
To the best of his (so far lacking) ability, Katsuki tries to play it cool. “It’s okay,” he says. “You can hold my hand in there too.”
“You’ll kiss it better if I fall?”
Katsuki laughs, can’t help it. He knows what he’s doing, the little brat. “Sure,” he says. “Anywhere you want.”
And Shouto—
Shouto stills and taps the center of his red mouth once, twice, three times. Says, “Can I get one beforehand for good luck?”
Which is, of course, the exact moment Katsuki deems perfect to blurt, “But I haven’t kissed anyone before.” Instead of, you know, clumsily shoving his tongue inside Shouto’s mouth and seeing where that goes.
Shouto’s eyes widen. “But you smell really good,” he says, and—
Oh. Maybe there’s hope yet. (Or maybe Katsuki’s already dead, and Shouto wanting to kiss him is his own personalized version of heaven. Either way.)
“Yeah?” Katsuki asks, eager, eager, eager.
Shouto leans in. Closes his eyes and purses his mouth all fucking cute. “Yeah,” he whispers against Katsuki’s lips. “Really, really good.”
And—
With his hands settled on Shouto’s tiny waist, Katsuki thinks that maybe he pushed it for nothing. That maybe he should’ve just tossed Shouto over his shoulder and carried him to his dorm the first time he pursed his mouth in distaste at Katsuki but still decided to smile at him. Tch. Even he’s not clueless enough not to realize. Not to know what his smile does to mere mortals.
Or Katsuki’s just whipped. Whatever.
Shouto’s mouth is soft. His lip gloss tastes like strawberries. His mouth is warm and he lets out this tiny little gasp that makes Katsuki want to keep him forever, and—
“Do we have to go ice skating today?” Shouto asks when they pull back. “I’m cold.”
It’s not— “Do you want my jacket?” Katsuki asks.
Shouto shakes his head. “No,” he says. “But I’d like to see you take it off anyway.”
“Can’t believe you,” Katsuki hisses, hands shoved into his pockets. Trying to act stern even when he can’t help the twitch of his mouth. “Yeah, we’re going. What kind of alpha do you think I am? We’re doing this right.”
“But,” Shouto whines, and then leans in to whisper in Katsuki’s ear.
Katsuki’s face grows visibly redder with each word that leaves Shouto’s mouth. It’s—
(They don’t go ice skating that day. But Katsuki doesn’t mind. He gets something better. Gets—
Well. What kind of alpha would he be if he told?)