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It only occurs to Katsuki that the interview he just left was broadcasted live to most of Japan (and most of Japan includes Shouto) when he’s well on his way back home. To the home he shares with the aforementioned pretty boy. The same pretty boy who—no doubt about it—watched the damn interview first thing because he genuinely wakes up each morning excited to support his friends and do good in the world. Tch. Like looking like an angel wasn’t enough.
Katsuki is fuckin’ personally victimized by Shouto’s summer wardrobe. And that’s without mentioning the hot pink shorts Pikachu got him as a joke gift that say a snack in all caps on the ass that Shouto insists on wearing because, again, he’s a Good Friend.
So. Anyway, The point is—
The questions get annoying, sometimes. Annoying and repetitive and yeah, Katsuki’s gotten better at the intricacies of PR bullshit these days, but still. He forgets. Especially when—
They’d asked him what his perfect omega would be like.
And Katsuki—
Instead of spouting off some general bullshit about wanting them to be kind and nurturing (and maybe blue-eyed and soft-cheeked, for no particular reason), Katsuki had stared directly into the camera, ran his tongue over his teeth, and said Shouto.
It was almost funny. The interviewer blinking rapidly before asking if Katsuki meant his coworker, the pro hero. Highest ranked omega hero in the country. Good for him. Pretty idiot deserves it. (And the fact that Katsuki knows what he smells like during his heat with only a hastily locked door between them is completely irrelevant.)
And Katsuki had said who else? because he likes digging his own grave, obviously.
The interviewer, clearly squirming, had asked him why the unorthodox choice. Because surely, as an alpha, Katsuki would want to provide, and not take an omega whose demanding career would make having a family even more difficult.
And—
Historically, it has taken a lot less to piss Katsuki off. So he’d straightened a bit more and told the spineless bastard ‘cause halfie can kick my ass.
It’s true, too. Even with a handful of years of experience, extra hours of practice put in, Shouto’s quirk is both more powerful and more versatile than Katsuki’s, and his technique has always been pretty close to flawless. Slacking off isn’t really something Shouto does. Not unless Katsuki’s the one dragging him into it. Into a trip to the nearest farmer’s market because Shouto will marvel at a perfectly ripe strawberry like it’s all the proof of divine foresight he needs, and Katsuki doesn’t mind watching, seeing his unfairly pretty face light up while he tugs Katsuki along and points from one thing to another.
So. Bastard’s easy to love and even easier to want. Katsuki has already built his whole life around Shouto. Saying it doesn’t feel like that big of a deal. Even if—he probably should have said it to Shouto first. Sat him down and said listen here, you pretty idiot, I love you. And if it’s not too much of a bother for you, I’d like all of your future heats to be my problem.
But instead he had to go and make a public statement to all of Japan. Miraculously, his phone isn’t blowing up yet. Not-so-miraculously, his stop is only a couple of minutes away. And after that all that will be left between him and Shouto’s justifiably long list of things to say will be one hero suit he didn’t bother changing out of after the interview and however many steps Shouto will need to take to slap him across the face for being an idiot. Because you’re supposed to talk about his shit.
But—
A part of Katsuki always hoped he could just. Bite Shouto one day without saying anything about it. And then they could seamlessly move on to optimizing how to live happily ever after. Not like that shitty montage with the credits rolling at the end of a cheesy romcom, but like—like purposeful intent. Like kissing Shouto good morning and cooking him soba just ‘cause and doing the chores he hates because spoiling him is a fucking life goal. Or it should be, to the right alpha. To an alpha who really deserves Shouto. (Katsuki wants to be that. The same way Icarus went from wanting to fly to—maybe—the urge to touch the sun before he fell. And Shouto’s his fucking sun.)
Shouto, who—
Who while Katsuki tugs off his boots by the entryway, only says, “Your interview went well?”
Katsuki’s face warms like he’s fifteen and being shown a diagram on omega heat cycles with Shouto only a few measly desks away. “It was fine,” he mumbles. “How was your, uh, evening?”
“Enlightening,” says Shouto, and when Katsuki comes face to face with him, he’s—
He’s sitting on the couch right in front of the TV looking vaguely amused while wearing Katsuki’s favorite hoodie. (Stolen more than borrowed, at this point. Not that Katsuki minds, obviously.)
Katsuki’s throat is painfully dry. “Yeah?”
“So I could kick your ass, huh? That’s the selling point?”
Katsuki shrugs. “A little bit, yeah,” he admits. “You were—it was the first time I ever wanted to bite an omega, you know. When you handed my ass to me in training. Don’t get me wrong, halfie—I was fucking angry about the Sports Festival thing, obviously, ‘cause I thought you were treating me like I was weak, and I hated it, but—yeah. Seeing how strong you were really did something for my dick, I guess.”
And Shouto honest to god fucking giggles about that. “Just your dick?” he pouts. “No other organs involved?”
And Katsuki—
Katsuki slumps with relief like a whole idiot, because he’d been expecting annoyance or repulsion or outright anger, and what he’s getting instead is Shouto asking him if he’d like to stick his dick in him with feelings. Which—yeah, duh. What absolute idiot wouldn’t? Who on this earth doesn’t want Shouto?
“Baby,” he says emphatically, “I love you so fucking much I would probably walk into straight a pole if you touched my arm right.”
“But I have touched your arm,” Shouto points out, and Katsuki really hates that at some point he learned how to tease. Makes a lot of shit harder in this specific moment. Emotionally and physiologically.
“Anything else you wanna touch?” Katsuki asks, and then he just. Shouto’s endlessly kind and stupidly pretty and Already Wearing Katsuki’s Hoodie, so. Katsuki picks him up. Wraps both hands around Shouto’s offensively dainty waist and spins him a couple of times before setting him down so he can take advantage of his vague disorientation to press their mouths together. Shouto tastes sweet. Like the spoonful of honey he pours into his tea. (Sweet like the rest of Katsuki’s life, hopefully.)
“Now what?” he asks when they pull apart.
Funny how much a single person can make your whole entire life brighter. Funny how, even after everything, not claiming Shouto’s soft pink mouth again just to taste him feels like the hardest thing Katsuki’s ever had to do. “Now we wait for someone to ask you what you want out of your ideal alpha so you can tell those vultures you already have one,” Katsuki says. “How’s that sound, princess?”
“Soft hoodies,” says Shouto, which just makes Katsuki blink once before—
“Just that, you fucking brat? Nothing else?”
Shouto shakes his head. Wraps both arms around Katsuki’s neck, pecks his mouth once, twice. “You,” he says. “I want you. Forever. To come home to and to go check out overpriced pastry shops with and to—to help me through my heats. Your clothes only do so much.”
And—
Yeah, Katsuki had the vague suspicion that Shouto’s insistence to do laundry after his heat wasn’t just to clean up his own space, but hearing him say it like that—
“Fuck, Shouto. I barely kissed you.”
Shouto shrugs. “So kiss me more, alpha.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll kick your ass.”
Katsuki laughs. Strokes Shouto’s soft cheek. “That’s not a threat, baby.”
“I know,” says Shouto.
(Katsuki might honestly owe whoever came up with those cheesy interview questions a gift basket or, like, dividends of his future profits as a pro hero. Because his work performance is bound to go up if Shouto is… uh, also making other things go up.)
Either way—
He’s in love.