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The dorm halls were quiet that evening, the usual laughter and chatter of my classmates replaced by a calm stillness. I was making my way to Kirishima’s room to ask him about our group project—he’d promised to go over the notes with me, but I hadn’t seen him around since class.
Kirishima was always the dependable one, a rock for everyone, especially Bakugo. But lately, I’d noticed he seemed more focused on Katsuki than anything else. Not that I blamed him—those two had a bond no one could quite touch. Even now, as I approached Kirishima’s slightly ajar door, I couldn’t help but wonder if Bakugo was with him.
I heard faint voices coming from the room, soft and muffled. Normally, I would’ve knocked first, but I didn’t think much of it. I figured they were probably just chatting. Pushing the door open, I called out, “Hey, Kirishima—”
The words died in my throat as I took in the scene before me.
Katsuki sat hunched on Eijiro’s bed, his head bowed so low that his blond hair fell in messy strands over his eyes, shielding his face. His hands were clenched into fists in his lap, knuckles stretched taut and bloodless from the pressure. Even from where I stood in the doorway, I could see the way his shoulders trembled—small, uneven shudders that he clearly fought to suppress. His jaw was locked tight, his teeth clenched, but for all his stubbornness, he couldn’t stop the silent tears slipping down his cheeks, carving pale streaks against flushed skin.
Eijiro sat close beside him, his presence solid and unwavering. One arm was wrapped firmly around Katsuki’s waist, holding him steady, as if anchoring him in place. His other hand rested gently on Katsuki’s thigh, thumb moving in slow, steady circles—a silent rhythm meant to comfort, to reassure. There was no hesitation in his touch, no awkwardness, only quiet understanding. His expression was soft, filled with patience and a kind of unshakable devotion that I had rarely seen so plainly.
“It’s okay, Kats,” Eijiro murmured, his voice low, steady, unhurried. “You don’t have to hold it in. You’re allowed to feel this. It’s just me.”
Katsuki’s lips twitched, a barely-there movement, like he wanted to speak but couldn’t force the words out. He let out a sharp sniff, dragging his sleeve roughly across his face, as if sheer force alone could stop the fresh wave of tears that followed. His breath hitched. His fingers twitched, curling tighter. “Damn it,” he muttered, voice raw, thick with frustration. “Why the hell—?”
His voice caught, the words dying in his throat as his gaze lifted.
He hadn’t noticed me until now. His red-rimmed eyes widened, unguarded for just a moment, and in that split second, I saw something I wasn’t sure I was meant to—vulnerability, raw and open, barely hidden beneath the fraying edges of his composure. It was startling, that glimpse of him without his armor, stripped of all the sharp words and biting glares.
Then, just as quickly, the mask snapped back into place.
His expression hardened. His lips curled into a scowl.
“What the hell are you doing here, Deku?” he growled, voice rough, uneven. He turned his face away almost immediately, pressing into Eijiro’s shoulder, as if seeking cover, as if pretending that I hadn’t seen him like this would make it true.
“I—I’m so sorry!” I stammered, panic rising in my chest. My hands flew up as if to show I meant no harm. “I didn’t mean to— I just needed to talk to Kirishima about—”
“It’s fine, Midoriya,” Eijiro interrupted, his tone calm but firm. He adjusted slightly, his arm tightening around Katsuki’s waist in a way that was both protective and reassuring. His hand on Katsuki’s thigh never stopped its soothing motion.
Katsuki mumbled something inaudible into Eijiro’s shoulder, his voice thick with frustration.
Eijiro glanced at me, offering a small but understanding smile. “It’s okay, man. But can you give us a minute? Just close the door on your way out, yeah?”
“Y-yeah, of course,” I blurted, nodding quickly. “Sorry again!” I backed out of the room so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet, the door clicking shut behind me.
Standing outside, I let out a shaky breath, my heart racing as I replayed what I’d just seen. Katsuki—explosive, brash, unshakable Katsuki—crying? And Eijiro comforting him like that, so steady and gentle?
I’d always known Kirishima was special to Bakugo, but this was… different. It wasn’t just friendship. It was deeper, more intimate, more personal than I could have ever imagined.
I leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts. Whatever had happened to make Katsuki break down like that, it was clear he trusted Eijiro completely to see him at his most vulnerable. And Eijiro, in turn, held that trust with the utmost care.
They’d be okay. Together, they’d always be okay he believed.
As the door clicked shut behind Izuku, Eijiro shifted his focus entirely to Katsuki, his hand still gently resting on Katsuki’s thigh. “He’s gone, Kats,” Eijiro murmured, his voice soft but unwavering. “It’s just us now.”
Katsuki let out a sharp, shaky breath, his fists clenched tightly in his lap, the tension in his body still palpable. “Damn Deku,” he muttered under his breath, the words lacking their usual fiery edge. “Why the hell did he have to walk in on me?”
Eijiro gave his waist a reassuring squeeze, his voice steady as he spoke, “Hey, don’t worry about him. He’s your friend, and he gets it. Besides, it’s okay to cry, Katsuki. You know it doesn’t make you weak, or less manly, in any way.”
Katsuki let out a frustrated sound, the vulnerability in his voice slipping through despite his best efforts to push it down. “I hate this,” he muttered, his voice breaking just a little. The tears began falling again, unstoppable this time, and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. “I hate feeling like this… like I’m… breaking.”
Eijiro’s heart ached at the sight, but he didn’t hesitate. Slowly, he leaned in closer, resting his forehead against Katsuki’s temple, his other hand coming up to gently stroke his back. “I know, Kats,” he said softly, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity. “But you don’t have to go through it alone, okay? I’m here. Always. You can lean on me, anytime.”
Katsuki let out a breathless sniff, his body trembling slightly. He finally let go of the tension in his shoulders and allowed himself to lean into Eijiro’s touch, the comfort of his presence surrounding him like a lifeline.
Eijiro held him tighter, his grip firm but gentle, as if he were trying to wrap Katsuki in his own strength, trying to hold him together. “You’re not alone, Katsuki. You never will be,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the top of Katsuki’s head, sealing his words with the unspoken promise that no matter how hard things got, they’d face it together.
Katsuki sniffed again, his forehead falling forward to rest against Eijiro’s shoulder. His hands, previously clenched in his lap, slowly unfurled and gripped at the fabric of Eijiro’s shirt instead, as though holding on to him might ground him somehow.
Eijiro’s hand on his waist remained steady, the other rising to gently cup the back of Katsuki’s head. His fingers weaved through the soft, spiked blond hair, pulling him closer as their foreheads met. “It’s okay to feel everything you’re feeling,” Eijiro whispered, his voice low and soothing. “You don’t have to be the strongest or the loudest all the time. You’re allowed to be vulnerable, just like the rest of us.”
Katsuki let out a shaky exhale, his body trembling slightly in Eijiro’s arms. “I can’t stand it,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hate feeling like… like everything’s slipping away from me, like I’m not in control anymore.”
“You don’t have to carry it all on your own,” Eijiro said gently, his thumb brushing across Katsuki’s cheek. “I promise, I’ve got you, Katsuki. You don’t have to face this by yourself, not ever.”
Katsuki shut his eyes, fresh tears slipping down his cheeks as his breath hitched. He tried to speak, but his voice faltered, and all that escaped was a fragile, broken sound that made Eijiro’s heart tighten with pain.
“Hey, you don’t have to hide,” Eijiro murmured, his thumb gently sweeping away the fresh tears from Katsuki’s face. “You’re not alone in this. I’m right here with you.”
For a moment, the room was silent except for Katsuki’s uneven breathing. Slowly, he began to relax in Eijiro’s arms, his grip on his shirt loosening just enough to show he was starting to feel a little less on edge.
Eijiro gently pulled back just enough to meet Katsuki’s gaze, his crimson eyes filled with quiet resolve. “You don’t have to hide any part of yourself from me,” he said softly. “You don’t have to face this alone, I’m here now.”
Katsuki stared at him, his red-rimmed eyes searching Eijiro’s face. There was no judgment there, no pity—just the kind of unwavering support and love he never thought he’d deserve. It was overwhelming, and for once, it wasn’t in a bad way.
“Eijiro,” he murmured, his voice raw.
Eijiro smiled, leaning in closer, their faces just inches apart now. “I’m here, ok?” he said simply.
Before Katsuki could second-guess himself, he leaned in, closing the gap between them. Their lips met softly, tentatively at first, but Eijiro responded instantly, his hand on Katsuki’s waist pulling him closer.
Katsuki’s hands found their way to Eijiro’s chest, gripping lightly at the fabric of his shirt as the kiss deepened. It wasn’t like the rushed, adrenaline-filled kisses they sometimes shared after a long day of training. This one was slow, deliberate—an unspoken promise between them.
Eijiro’s other hand stayed at the back of Katsuki’s head, holding him gently but firmly, as though reminding him he wasn’t going anywhere. When they finally pulled apart, Katsuki’s face was flushed, his lips slightly swollen, but there was a lightness in his expression that hadn’t been there before.
“See?” Eijiro whispered, his forehead resting softly against Katsuki’s. “You hear me, Katsuki? I’m never leaving you.”
Katsuki let out a small, almost self-deprecating chuckle, his hands slipping down to rest on Eijiro’s shoulders. “You’re such a sap,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.
“And you secretly love it,” Eijiro teased, his grin soft and lopsided.
Katsuki didn’t respond with words, but the way he leaned in to kiss Eijiro again said enough. This time, there was no hesitation, no holding back. Just them, together, in a moment that belonged entirely to them.
For the first time that night, Katsuki felt like he could breathe again.
________________________________________
The common room was bathed in the soft glow of the TV, the lights dimmed for the movie night the class had been looking forward to all week. The faint smell of popcorn lingered in the air, mingling with the muted sounds of laughter and occasional comments from the group as they watched the action unfold on-screen. Izuku sat on the far end of the couch, his knees pulled up slightly, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his lap. Beside him, Todoroki was nestled in the corner, leaning comfortably against Izuku’s side with their legs slightly tangled. Izuku could feel the gentle rise and fall of Todoroki’s breathing, and it brought him a quiet sense of peace.
The door to the common room creaked open, drawing Izuku’s attention. He instinctively glanced over, his breath hitching slightly when he saw Katsuki and Eijiro step inside. The pair paused just inside the doorway, scanning the room. Katsuki looked tired, his hands shoved deep into the pocket of his hoodie, his gaze flickering briefly over the group before he settled on Eijiro. His eyes were faintly red, still slightly puffy, and even in the dim light, Izuku could tell he was trying to hold himself together.
Eijiro, walking slightly behind him, had his usual warm presence, though his cheerful demeanor was tempered with something softer. His red hair caught the flickering light from the TV, and his posture radiated an unspoken protectiveness as he gently guided Katsuki further into the room. The sight made Izuku’s chest tighten—seeing Katsuki, who was usually so composed and confident, looking so vulnerable was rare.
The classmates on the couches barely noticed the new arrivals. Ochaco and Iida were perched on one of the larger couches near the middle, engaged in a whispered conversation during a quiet moment in the movie. Denki was sprawled out on the floor, lazily munching on a handful of snacks, while Jirou sat cross-legged beside him, her earbuds dangling as if she couldn’t fully commit to either the movie or her music. Mina, always in the thick of things, was on the couch closest to the door, her eyes glued to the screen, though she gave a quick glance toward Katsuki and Eijiro as they entered.
Eijiro led Katsuki toward the couch near Mina and Denki, a warm blanket slung over the armrest. Mina, without looking away from the movie, reached for the blanket and tossed it their way. “Here,” she muttered, her voice low enough not to disrupt the group.
Eijiro caught the blanket with a quiet “Thanks,” flashing her a small smile as he gestured for Katsuki to sit. Katsuki hesitated for a moment, standing stiffly, before sighing and plopping down on the couch next to Mina. Eijiro sat beside him, quickly spreading the blanket over both of them and pulling Katsuki closer with a quiet, reassuring touch.
Izuku watched from across the room, feeling a subtle warmth in his chest as Katsuki leaned into Eijiro’s side. Eijiro draped an arm across Katsuki’s shoulders, his other hand resting lightly on Katsuki’s knee under the blanket. Katsuki’s head tilted slightly, settling against Eijiro’s chest. The movement was small, almost imperceptible, but it spoke volumes.
Mina glanced over, her brow furrowing slightly when she noticed Katsuki’s red-rimmed eyes. She leaned in a little, her voice soft with genuine concern. “You good, Bakugo?” she asked, her tone lacking its usual teasing edge.
Katsuki stiffened for a moment, his eyes darting to hers before he quickly turned his gaze away. He gave a single, curt nod, his jaw tightening as he leaned further into Eijiro’s chest, as if to shield himself from further scrutiny.
Mina reached out and rubbed his arm gently, her fingers gliding in soothing circles. “Alright,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Just checking.” With that, she turned her attention back to the screen, her hand falling away to give him some space.
Eijiro tilted his head slightly, resting it against Katsuki’s as his fingers traced calming patterns along Katsuki’s arm. Under the blanket, Katsuki’s hand gripped the hem of Eijiro’s shirt tightly, his knuckles white. Eijiro didn’t say anything, just tightened his hold and let Katsuki find comfort in the closeness.
Izuku turned back to the screen, but he couldn’t help stealing glances at the pair. Seeing Katsuki like this—soft, vulnerable, and held so tenderly by Eijiro—was like seeing a completely different side of him. The usual fire and sharp edges were replaced with something quiet and unguarded, a side that only Eijiro seemed to bring out.
Beside Izuku, Todoroki shifted slightly, following Izuku’s gaze. “They seem good together,” Todoroki observed softly, his voice low enough that only Izuku could hear.
“Yeah,” Izuku replied, his own voice just as quiet. A small smile tugged at his lips. “They really do.”
As the movie continued, Izuku couldn’t help but feel a sense of admiration for the bond between Katsuki and Eijiro. Despite Katsuki’s usual stubbornness and explosive personality, Eijiro’s steady warmth had created a safe space for him to let down his guard. It was a dynamic that Izuku never would have imagined, but now that he’d seen it, it felt like it made perfect sense.
By the time the credits rolled, Katsuki was fully nestled into Eijiro’s side, his breathing steady and his tension eased. And as the lights came back on and the classmates began stretching and talking, Eijiro’s protective arm never left Katsuki’s shoulders, a quiet declaration that he would always be there.
As the movie credits rolled, the gentle glow of the screen illuminated the common room. The air was filled with a lazy hum of conversation, the kind of contented chatter that followed a shared evening. Mina and Denki were mid-argument about the movie’s ending, their voices rising playfully.
“I’m just saying,” Denki gestured animatedly, “the villain totally had a point!”
“You’re insane,” Mina countered, tossing a stray piece of popcorn at him. “Did we watch the same movie? He destroyed half a city!”
Nearby, Jirou snickered while Iida tried valiantly to corral everyone into cleaning up. “The least we can do is respect the common space!” he called out, but his request fell on mostly deaf ears.
Izuku sat quietly on the far end of the couch, Todoroki nestled comfortably against his shoulder. He could feel the warmth of Todoroki’s cheek against his sleeve, and he smiled softly, enjoying the quiet moment. His gaze, however, drifted across the room to where Katsuki and Eijiro were still huddled together on the couch.
Katsuki was sitting upright, his shoulders stiff as if he were trying to pretend the blanket draped across his lap wasn’t his idea. Eijiro, on the other hand, was the picture of ease, his hand resting lightly on Katsuki’s knee under the fabric. The contrast was almost amusing, but there was something softer in Katsuki’s posture tonight—a kind of quiet vulnerability that Izuku rarely saw.
As the credits finished, Mina stood, stretching dramatically before tossing the blanket she’d been using onto the couch. Others began doing the same, scattering to their rooms or smaller groups. Izuku watched as Katsuki leaned back, stretching slightly, his crimson eyes darting around the room as if to make sure no one was watching too closely.
Eijiro said something to him, his voice too low for Izuku to hear, but the way Katsuki glanced at him with a half-hearted glare made it clear he was being teased. Katsuki mumbled something in reply, and Eijiro chuckled before standing and offering Katsuki a hand.
Izuku’s brow furrowed as he watched Katsuki, of all things, slip his feet into Eijiro’s oversized red Riot sliders. The shoes flopped slightly as he walked, clearly too big, but Katsuki seemed unbothered. Meanwhile, Eijiro grabbed Katsuki’s black-and-orange crocs, sliding them on with ease as if this were a regular occurrence.
Izuku blinked in surprise, trying to process the casual intimacy of the exchange. Katsuki, the same person who once mocked him mercilessly for crying in public, was now wearing someone else’s shoes without so much as a grumble.
Eijiro draped an arm over Katsuki’s shoulders, pulling him closer as they made their way to the door. “You sure you’re up for a walk, babe?” Eijiro asked, his tone low and full of concern.
“I said I’m fine,” Katsuki grumbled, though there was no real bite to his words.
“Alright,” Eijiro said, his grin softening. He stopped just before they reached the door, turning to face Katsuki fully. “But, just so you know, I’m proud of you.”
Katsuki froze for a moment, his expression flickering between irritation and something softer. “Shut up,” he muttered, but his voice cracked slightly, betraying him.
Eijiro smiled, leaning down to cup Katsuki’s cheek gently. Katsuki didn’t pull away. Instead, he let his eyes flutter shut as Eijiro pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.
Izuku’s heart raced, his cheeks heating as he quickly looked away, feeling like he was intruding on something deeply personal. He tried to focus on Todoroki beside him, but curiosity got the better of him. He glanced back just as the kiss broke, Katsuki’s hand coming up to rest lightly on the back of Eijiro’s neck, pulling him in for a second, slower kiss.
Their movements were unhurried, intimate, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. Izuku swallowed hard, feeling a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite place.
When the kiss ended, Eijiro smiled softly, brushing his thumb across Katsuki’s cheek. “Come on,” he murmured.
Katsuki nodded, his face slightly flushed as Eijiro opened the door. Just before it closed behind them, Izuku caught one last glimpse of Katsuki leaning into Eijiro’s side, his head resting against Eijiro’s shoulder.
The room was quiet now, most of their classmates gone, but Izuku sat frozen in place, the image lingering in his mind.
“What’s on your mind?” Todoroki asked, his voice pulling Izuku from his thoughts.
Izuku smiled faintly, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just… happy for them,” he said softly.
Todoroki hummed in agreement, resting his head against Izuku’s shoulder once more. And as the night stretched on, Izuku couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of gratitude that love, in all its unexpected forms, had a way of shining through.