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The first time they make plans, it’s weird.
Not bad—just weird.
Izuku doesn’t know why it feels so strange. It’s not like they haven’t spent time together before, but something about this is different.
Maybe it’s because literally everything is different now.
He holds his phone loosely in one hand, his scarred thumb hovering over the screen. He’s already typed the message out, but sending it feels like stepping onto unfamiliar ground. He exhales sharply, forces himself to stop overthinking, and presses send.
izuku 🪐 [3:37 PM]: wanna hangout later
But his stomach still flips when he sends it for some reason.
The reply comes almost instantly.
kachaan 🫡 [3:38 PM]:??
kachaan 🫡 [3:38 PM]: like a date?
Izuku stares at the screen, scoffing under his breath. He hesitates.
izuku 🪐 [3:40 PM]: gang wahtat/? Uk mmm no
izuku 🪐 [3:40 PM]: like a normal hangout
izuku 🪐 [3:41 PM]: liek a movie or something?
This time, there’s a pause. A little too long, like Bakugou’s actually considering it, like he doesn’t know if he wants to say yes. Then, finally—
kachaan 🫡 [3:43 PM]: ok I’ll be there at 7
Izuku exhales, locking his phone. He leans back against his bed, staring at the ceiling for a moment before covering his face with his hands.
-
Bakugou shows up at exactly 7:03 PM, which is the closest thing to punctuality he’s ever managed when it comes to Izuku. He doesn’t knock—just swings the door open like he owns the place, the hallway light spilling in behind him.
Izuku glances up from where he’s sprawled on his bed, watching Bakugou kick his shoes off. He moves stiffly, his shoulders drawn tight, like he’s bracing for something
His hands are stuffed in his pockets. His hair is even messier than usual, sticking up in unruly spikes, and there’s a faint shadow of exhaustion under his eyes.
Izuku isn’t really surprised. They’re all tired.
“You look like shit,” Izuku says.
Bakugou snorts. “Right back at you, dick.”
Izuku laughs, but it’s not like either of them are wrong. His own hoodie hangs a little loose on him, and the faint circles under his eyes aren’t from a single sleepless night, but multiple. The exhaustion sits in his bones, just as heavy as it looks on Katsuki. They’re both still trying to shake the war from their skin, a war they shouldn’t have been a part of to begin with, theyre still learning how to exist in a world that isn’t crumbling around them. But still, they’re here.
“Movie?” Izuku asks, reaching for a stack of DVDs.
Bakugou eyes them with a look of pure disdain. “If you put on some dumbass hero documentary, I’m gonna leave.”
Izuku rolls his eyes. “You act like I don’t have taste.”
“You don’t have taste.”
Izuku rolls his eyes, shuffling through the stack. “Okay, fine, what do you wanna watch then?”
Bakugou reaches over and snatches the first case off the pile without looking. He glances at the cover, shrugs, and tosses it onto the coffee table. “Whatever this is.”
Izuku blinks. “You wanna watch some old action flick?=Bakugou shrugs again, dropping onto the bed. “Yeah, whatever. Just put it on.”
Izuku doesn’t argue. He puts the movie in, then grabs the remote and flops onto the bed beside him.
The opening credits roll. The room is dim, lit only by the TV, throwing flickering bluish light against the walls. The movie is loud– explosions, shouting, the usual over the top soundtrack–but neither of them are really watching. It’s just noise, filling the space between them.
They talk instead, their voices slipping in between the sound of gunfire and dramatic one-liners.
At some point, Katsuki stretches his arms over the back of the headboard, tilting his head slightly toward Izuku. “You got any snacks, or is this some type of starvation movie night?”
Izuku huffs, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, hold on.”
He gets up, padding into the kitchen. The overhead light is a little too bright, making him squint as he rummages through the cabinets. Aizawa always keeps the place stocked, though most of it is healthy–gronla bars, nuts, dried fruit. Izukuu digs deeper, eventually finding a bag of chips.
He tossies it at Bakugou the second he re-enters the room.
Bakugou catches them without looking. “Nice aim, dumbass.”
“Nice reflexes, dumbass.”
Katsuki smirks, ripping the bag open. They sit like that, eating absentmindedly, the noise of the movie still playing on.
Then Katsuki shifts. “You been sleeping?”
Izuku glances at him. “Have I been sleeping?”
Bakugou gives a dry look in response. “Yeah. You look like a corpse.”
Izuku huffs a laugh, pulling his knees to his chest. “You’re one to talk.”
“Yeah, well.”
“Well.”
Bakugou smirks around a mouthful of chips.
Izuku exhales, stretching his legs out a little. He doesn’t answer Katsuki’s question, but he figures the silence speaks for itself.
Bakugou doesn’t press either.
The movie plays on. Eventually, Izuku yawns, his jaw stretching so wide that his eyes water.
“Getting sleepy already, Izuku?”
Izuku grumbles something incoherent, his head falling back against the wall. His limbs feel heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and warmth. The heat of the room, the soft glow of the TV, the distant hum of traffic outside–it all lulls him further.
“Be quiet,” he mutters.
Katsuki doesn’t say anything, but a few minutes later, he shifts again. This time, his arm drops back onto the headboard, not quite touching Izuku’s shoulders. It isnt an invitation–not exactly–but when Izuku lets his body tilt slightly, leaning into the warmth, Katsuki doesn’t shove him off.
After the movie ends, there’s an awkward pause, one of those stretches of silence where both of them are still half-waiting for the other to say something.
The room feels suddenly too small, too still, but neither of them is in a rush to break the silence. They’re both tired, but it’s more than that—there’s a weight hanging in the air, a question neither of them are gonna ask
Izuku shifts on the bed, trying to make space for himself. His legs are tangled up in the blanket, and his head feels fuzzy from lack of sleep. He glances at Katsuki out of the corner of his eye, only to find him already looking back with that familiar fire in his gaze—except it’s not the usual flame. This time, there’s something softer behind it, a fatigue that makes him seem less like the explosion of anger Izuku’s used to.
The air feels thick, like it’s buzzing with something unsaid, something too big to address right now.
"Are you gonna leave?" Izuku says, his voice a little unsure, more of a suggestion than anything else. He shifts again, catching his breath for a second.
Katsuki grunts, not really answering. But there’s something in the way he stays there, not rushing to get up, not making his usual exit.
Izuku smiles faintly, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. He feels it again—this weight that sits between them. He’s always known Katsuki to be the one to leave, the one who doesn’t need anyone, especially not him.
So why the hell is he still here?
The answer is in the way Katsuki pulls the blanket higher, the way he shifts and makes room for Izuku to settle beside him without a word. Izuku doesn’t fight it. He just lets his body sink into the mattress next to him. And there’s that familiar tension, but it’s different now—less antagonistic, more hesitant.
The silence stretches longer, and both of them start to nod off slowly, just letting their bodies take over, too tired to think about the implications. Izuku's breathing steadies, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the ache in his chest softens.
At some point in the night, the dreams start creeping in. The same ones that have been chasing him since the war. He’s running, always running, but there’s no escape. He’s just so tired. The weight of everything he’s lost, everything he’s failed at, hits him harder than it ever has before.
But in the dark, in the stillness of the room, there’s a presence beside him. A familiar warmth, steady and unwavering. Katsuki doesn’t need to say anything; his mere presence is enough to ground Izuku, to remind him that he’s not alone.
That is, until Izuku shifts in his sleep and his head ends up resting against Katsuki’s arm. He doesn’t realize it at first—his body just kind of collapses into the warmth next to him, his cheek pressing into the firmness of Katsuki’s bicep.
Katsuki doesn’t pull away.
Izuku stirs slightly, breathing deeply as he finds himself too tired to move. His body relaxes, and for the first time in weeks, his thoughts stop racing. He just stays there, curled up beside Katsuki, not thinking, not overanalyzing, just—resting.
-
The morning light spills in through the slats of the blinds, cutting soft lines of gold across the room. It’s warm but not too harsh, diffused by the lingering coolness of the night. The sheets are tangled, and there’s a familiar weight pressing against Izuku’s side—solid, steady, radiating heat.
He stirs slowly, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he registers the quiet hum of the world waking up outside. Birds chirp faintly beyond the window, and somewhere in the dorm, a door clicks shut. His body feels heavy but comfortable, weighed down by the kind of rest he hasn’t had in what feels like forever.
For just a moment, he lets himself exist in it. In the warmth. In the stillness. In the illusion of normalcy.
Then he remembers.
His breath catches as awareness settles over him—he’s still lying next to Katsuki.
Izuku freezes, his heart skipping an uncomfortable beat.
Shit.
He hadn’t meant to stay this close, hadn’t thought he would actually sleep through the whole night like this. But he has, and so has Katsuki. His pulse pounds in his ears as he processes it—how easy it had been to fall asleep like this, how safe he had felt.
A shift beside him makes him tense. Katsuki stirs, flexing his arm and muttering something under his breath. The deep, gravelly sound of his voice, thick with sleep, breaks the fragile stillness, and Izuku feels an irrational sense of panic, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
“Izuku, get the fuck up,” Katsuki grumbles, his voice rough but still sharp in that way that makes it undeniably him. “It’s almost time for class.”
Izuku blinks, still foggy, still disoriented, still trying to process the fact that they spent the night like this, so close. His brain fumbles over words that don’t come, and before he can think too much, he moves.
Too quickly.
He shifts back—too fast, too awkward, too much like he’s been caught doing something wrong—and nearly topples off the bed in the process.
“Gah—yeah, okay, I’m up! I didn’t know what time it was…” he stammers, rubbing at his face, desperate to pull himself together.
Katsuki snorts, sitting up as well, his hair an absolute mess—sticking up in different directions from sleep, the strands catching in the morning light. He levels Izuku with a look, his eyes still a little heavy-lidded and unfocused, but just as piercing.
“You’re so damn slow, I swear,” he mutters, stretching before running a hand through his hair, making it even messier. “Had to get up to grab my shoes, and now you’re the one actin’ like you didn’t just sleep through the whole fuckin’ night.”
Izuku blinks. Katsuki had gotten up?
At some point in the night, Katsuki had moved—left, even—but he had come back.
Izuku’s stomach flips in a way he doesn’t quite understand, and he scrambles to mask it. “I didn’t—I wasn’t sleeping the whole time!” he argues, pushing himself up properly.
“Yeah, sure, nerd.” Katsuki is already off the bed, grabbing his bag like nothing about this is weird, like they haven’t just spent the night tangled in the same space, sharing the same air.
Izuku wishes he could brush it off as easily.
He watches Katsuki move around the room—so effortlessly, so naturally, like this is normal for them. And maybe that’s what messes with Izuku the most. The normalcy of it.
How easy it had been.
How much he hadn’t minded.
He’s still lost in thought when Katsuki disappears into the kitchen, the sounds of him moving around, grabbing things, filling the space like he belongs here. There’s the usual clatter—plates shifting, a cabinet door swinging open, Katsuki mumbling something under his breath when he nearly drops something.
It’s domestic.
It’s comfortable.
Izuku shouldn’t think about it like that.
“I’m serious, hurry the fuck up,” Katsuki calls from the other room, snapping Izuku out of his thoughts. “The bell’s gonna ring, and I’m not waitin’ for you!”
Izuku fumbles to zip up his jacket
-
It keeps happening.
Not that they talk about it. Not that they plan it, either. It just... happens. Again and again.
One night turns into two. Two turns into a week. And then suddenly, Izuku isn’t even sleeping in his own dorm half the time.
It’s not weird. Not really.
It’s just—
Well, they both sleep better this way.
At first, Izuku tries to reason with himself. Maybe it’s because they’re both still adjusting, still shaking the war from their bones, still figuring out how to exist in a world that isn’t constantly on the verge of destruction. Maybe it’s because it’s easier to breathe when there’s someone else there, warm and steady beside him. Maybe it’s because Katsuki doesn’t mind the way Izuku shifts too much in his sleep, doesn’t flinch when he stirs from nightmares, just grumbles and drapes a heavy arm over his waist like it’s some sort of solution.
Or maybe it’s just because Katsuki lets him stay. Doesn’t question it. Doesn’t shove him away.
And Izuku? He doesn’t want to stop.
It becomes normal. They bicker about whose turn it is to bring snacks, about what movie to put on, about Izuku’s bad habit of leaving his socks in the blankets. They wake up tangled together more often than not, grumble at each other in the morning, brush their teeth in the same tiny dorm bathroom, half-asleep and nudging shoulders like it’s second nature.
No one really questions it. The others notice, sure, but they don’t say much beyond the occasional raised eyebrow or teasing remark. Maybe because it’s easier to accept than to ask.
And that’s fine. Because Izuku doesn’t want to explain it, either.
Because explaining it would mean acknowledging it.
And he’s not quite ready for that.
-
The next night Izuku’s phone buzzes just as he’s brushing his teeth.
kachaan 🫡 [11:03 PM]: u staying tonight?
Izuku spits out the toothpaste, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before typing back.
izuku 🪐 [11:04 PM]: plabned on it
There’s no response after that, but there doesn’t need to be. It’s not a question. Not really. It’s just how things are now.
Izuku grabs his phone, shoving it into his hoodie pocket before slipping out of his dorm. The hallway is quiet, dimly lit, most students already asleep. He doesn’t even think twice as he marches his happy ass down the hall, socked feet barely making a sound against the floor.
Katsuki’s dorm is already unlocked by the time he gets there.
Typical.
Katsuki’s dorm is exactly what Izuku expects, yet still manages to surprise him everytime.
It’s clean—of course, it is. Katsuki doesn’t do mess. Everything has a place, and there isn’t a single thing out of order. The bed is perfectly made, crisp corners, no unnecessary pillows. His desk is stacked neatly with textbooks and notebooks, each one with tabs and scribbled notes that are more aggressive than they have any right to be. A few dumbbells sit in the corner, along with a neatly arranged set of resistance bands.
The air smells like his cologne—sharp cedar with something warm underneath. His closet door is slightly ajar, showing rows of neatly folded black shirts and training gear. There’s a single, framed All Might poster on the wall, but it’s old, the edges slightly curled.
It’s undeniably Katsuki. Rigid, structured, but beneath it, something familiar. Something Izuku can’t quite put into words.
Izuku drops his bag near the bed and flops down without thinking. “Your room is so cozy,” he says, stretching his arms above his head.
Katsuki gives him a deadpan look. “It’s a room, dumbass.”
Izuku snorts. “Yeah, but it’s a nice one.”
Katsuki huffs, shaking his head as he grabs a change of clothes. “I’m taking a shower. Try not to drool on my bed, nerd.”
Izuku rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. He’s been here before—not often, but enough. It’s weird, kind of, how natural this has become. How they just… do this now. Like it’s nothing. Like it hasn’t shifted something in the space between them.
By the time Katsuki comes out of the bathroom, towel slung over his shoulders, hair damp and sticking up even worse than usual, Izuku is already dozing. He blinks sleepily as Katsuki moves around the room, putting things away, muttering under his breath about how Izuku takes up too much damn space for someone so small.
Izuku ignores him, stretching like a cat before rolling onto his back and starfishing on Katsuki’s bed. “C’mon, let’s sleep.”
Katsuki scoffs. “You don’t tell me what to do in my own damn room.”
But despite the words, he clicks the light off and slides into bed next to him without further complaint.
It’s quiet for a while, just the soft sounds of breathing and the occasional rustle of blankets. Izuku shifts, pressing his cheek against his bicep, already half-asleep. Katsuki is warm beside him, and he wonders, not for the first time, how the hell they got here.
Then, in the soft haze of near-sleep, it happens.
Izuku moves—maybe it’s intentional, maybe it isn’t
Except it is, he knows it is, but he’ll pretend otherwise.
His lips brush against the side of Katsuki’s neck, feather light.
Just for a second. Just enough.
Katsuki stiffens.
The air between them turns electric, humming with something unsaid, something dangerous. Izuku can hear the sharp inhale Katsuki takes, the way his fingers twitch slightly against the sheets. For a second, just a second, neither of them move.
Then Izuku pulls back, eyes still half-lidded with sleep, and mutters, “Mm. ‘Sorry.”
Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t the most intentional accidental thing he’s ever done in his life.
Katsuki doesn’t say anything. He stays perfectly still, his breathing just a little too controlled.
Izuku can feel the heat of him, the tension coiled tight in the space between them. But Katsuki doesn’t shove him away, doesn’t demand an explanation.
He just exhales sharply, mutters something under his breath that Izuku can’t quite catch, and turns onto his back.
Izuku lets his eyes slip closed again, a small smile tugging at his lips. They’ll both pretend it didnt happen, but it did.
-
Izuku doesn’t wake up all at once. He drifts in and out, caught between the last threads of sleep and the steady rise and fall of Katsuki’s breathing beside him. The room is still dim, barely touched by the morning light filtering in through the blinds. The air is cool, but beneath the covers, it’s warm—comfortably so.
He could stay like this. Just for a little while.
And maybe he would, if last night hadn’t happened.
His chest tightens at the memory, the way his lips had barely brushed the side of Katsuki’s neck, the way Katsuki had frozen but hadn’t moved away. The way he himself had pretended it was nothing, even as something in his stomach twisted into a knot he couldn’t untangle.
Izuku shifts, careful not to disturb the body beside him. Katsuki doesn’t stir much, just a soft sigh, his brow furrowing slightly like even in sleep, he’s still ready to argue. His hand twitches where it’s resting on the pillow between them. Close. Too close.
Izuku swallows, suddenly hyper aware of how close they’ve been this whole time. Of how many nights have passed like this—warm and safe, tangled in blankets that aren’t his own. Of how neither of them have ever questioned it.
But he’s questioning it now.
Slowly, he peels himself away from the bed, moving with as much care as possible. Katsuki barely moves, just shifts slightly like his body is chasing warmth. Izuku lingers for a second, heart hammering, before forcing himself to keep going.
He grabs his hoodie from the foot of the bed, pulling it over his head. The room is still quiet, Katsuki’s breathing the only sound besides the distant hum of the dorm hall outside. His phone is on the nightstand, and as he reaches for it, his fingers accidentally brush against the charger cable—the same one Katsuki always leaves there, just in case.
He doesn’t know why that makes his stomach flip.
This is stupid. He’s being weird. Nothing happened. Nothing is happening.
But as he steps into the hallway and pulls the door shut behind him, he knows that’s a lie.
Izuku can barely make it halfway down the hall before his phone buzzes in his pocket.
kachaan 🫡 [7:58 AM]: u left early
His breath catches. He stops just outside his own dorm, hesitating before pulling out his phone. Katsuki must have woken up right after he left.
izuku 🪐 [7:59 AM]: oh yea sporry i didn’t wanna wake u
It isn’t entirely a lie. He hadn’t wanted to wake him. But mostly, he just needed to get the hell out of there before his own thoughts drove him insane.
Katsuki’s reply comes instantly.
kachaan 🫡 [8:00 AM]: tf would i care
kachaan 🫡 [8:00 AM]: we sleep like shit when we’re alone anyway
Izuku exhales, shoulders slumping against the doorframe. It’s true. They both know it. Katsuki barely got any sleep before this whole thing started. And Izuku? He used to wake up at least three times a night, haunted by shadows of things that should’ve killed him.
But now? Now, they sleep. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Which is exactly why this is so fucking weird.
izuku 🪐 [8:01 AM]: yeah but still
izuku 🪐 [8:01 AM]: idk felt weird leaving without saying anything
Three dots appear. Stop. Disappear.
Izuku waits, staring at the screen like it’ll give him an answer.
Then—
kachaan 🫡 [8:04 AM]: so ur gonna act weird about it now??
Izuku chews his lip. He is acting weird about it. He knows that. But what the hell is he supposed to do? Just ignore it? Pretend last night hadn’t happened? Pretend he doesn’t feel—
He doesn’t even know what he feels. That’s the problem.
izuku 🪐 [8:04 AM]: idk kachaan don’t u think it’s weird
izuku 🪐 [8:04 AM]: like. us doing this. all the time.
The typing bubbles appear again. This time, they linger longer.
Izuku stares at the screen, heart in his throat. He shouldn’t have said that. He should’ve just—
kachaan 🫡 [8:06 AM]: no?? tf is weird about sleeping??
kachaan 🫡 [8:06 AM]: we sleep better. so we sleep. done.
Izuku exhales. Of course Katsuki sees it like that. Of course, to him, it’s just practical.
But practical doesn’t explain the way Izuku’s chest tightens when Katsuki looks at him a certain way. It doesn’t explain why he did what he did last night.
izuku 🪐 [8:06 AM]: yeah but we never used to do this before
izuku 🪐 [8:06 AM]: don’t u think that’s different?
This time, Katsuki takes longer to answer.
kachaan 🫡 [8:07 AM]: yeah
kachaan 🫡 [8:07 AM]: ig it is
Izuku’s breath stutters.
He wasn’t expecting that. He was expecting Katsuki to brush it off, to call him a nerd and tell him to quit overthinking.
But Katsuki knows. He’s noticed, too.
izuku 🪐 [8:08 AM]: so u noticed too
kachaan 🫡 [8:08 AM]: duh. not fucking blind.
Izuku lets out a weak laugh, his fingers tightening around his phone.
izuku 🪐 [8:09 AM]: lmfao
Katsuki sends another text right after.
kachaan 🫡 [8:09 AM]: but i dont really gaf. u gonna stop?
Izuku stops breathing.
There it is. That’s the real question. Not whether this is different. Not whether they’ve changed.
But whether or not they’re going to stop.
Izuku stares at the screen, thumbs hovering. He could stop. Could pull away, make an excuse, pretend this never started in the first place.
But he doesn’t want to.
izuku 🪐 [8:10 AM]: no
The response is instant.
kachaan 🫡 [8:10 AM]: good.
Izuku stares.
His fingers hover over the keyboard, but he doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing to say.
-
It’s getting ridiculous.
Izuku knows this. He’s fully aware of the fact that he’s spending more time in Katsuki’s dorm than his own, that his body has memorized the feel of Katsuki’s sheets, that he knows exactly which spot on the mattress dips slightly from where Katsuki always sleeps.
He knows it’s weird that they don’t even ask anymore. That Katsuki doesn’t tell him to leave, that Izuku doesn’t try to. That neither of them acknowledge how easy it is to fall into this routine, like it’s something they’ve been doing for years.
It’s not weird.
Except it is.
Except it has to be.
Because Izuku isn’t just comfortable sleeping here. He isn’t just relaxed. He isn’t just safe, or warm, or well-rested.
No, he’s something else, something worse, something—
Fuck.
He shifts onto his side, staring at Katsuki’s back. His stupid, broad, bare back, because Katsuki always sleeps shirtless like an asshole. Like he’s completely unaware of the effect he has on people.
Like he’s completely unaware of the effect he has on Izuku.
Izuku exhales slowly, pressing his forehead against the pillow. This is fine. He’s fine. It’s not like he’s doing anything weird. It’s not like he’s—
Katsuki shifts, stretching slightly before settling again. The muscles in his back ripple, just a little. The blanket shifts lower on his waist. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air, warm and sharp and so fucking unfair.
Izuku swallows.
Okay. Maybe he’s not fine.
It’s—it’s normal, right? They’re both guys, they’re both healthy, it’s just a biological response, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not—
He shifts slightly under the blanket, trying to think of anything else, but—
Oh, no.
Oh, no.
Because it’s happening.
And it’s so mortifying
It’s not his fault! It’s not like he planned for this to happen. He hadn’t gone to bed thinking, You know what would be a great idea? Getting a hard-on next to my best friend.
But here he is.
And it’s fucking mortifying.
He shifts under the covers, swallowing thickly. Katsuki is right there, inches away, breathing steady, already half-asleep. The room is dark, only a sliver of moonlight cutting through the blinds. The sheets are warm, the air thick with Katsuki’s stupid expensive cologne, and—
Fuck.
He shifts again, trying to will it away, trying to think about literally anything else. The quadratic formula. The nutritional value of seaweed. The time Mineta tripped in the cafeteria and face-planted into a bowl of curry.
Nothing helps.
Because Katsuki moves, exhaling in a sigh, and the blanket shifts just enough to brush against Izuku’s—
He tenses, breath catching in his throat. Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move—
And then—
Katsuki stills.
There’s a pause.
A long, agonizing pause.
Then, slowly, so fucking slowly, Katsuki turns his head, and even in the dark, Izuku can feel the way he’s looking at him.
Izuku doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.
Then—Katsuki makes a sound. A soft, barely-there scoff, like he’s biting back the most exasperated sigh of his life. He doesn’t say anything—just stares for a second longer, then turns back onto his side, shoving his face into his pillow like he’s pretending none of this is happening.
Izuku prays for death.
He swallows, cheeks burning. Maybe Katsuki didn’t actually notice. Maybe he just—
No. He definitely noticed.
Because when Katsuki turns over again, adjusting the blanket, he gives Izuku a look.
It’s not teasing. Not smug. Not even disgusted.
Just—a look.
His lips press together. His brows twitch slightly. His eyes flicker down, then back up, and there’s something unreadable in his expression—something heavy and sharp and just barely restrained.
And then—he looks away.
Like he’s choosing not to say something.
Izuku swallows.
He stares at the ceiling.
And he does not go to sleep.
-
It’s almost muscle memory at this point. Izuku and Ochacko are sprawled out on his bed, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, waiting for something to happen. It’s not like he plans his nights around Katsuki, but—well.
He checks the time. 7:42 PM.
And then, right on cue—
kachaan 🫡 [7:43 PM]: u comin over or what
Izuku snorts, rolling onto his side. Katsuki really has no patience, huh? Not even a hey, not even a what’s up. Just straight to the point, like always.
izuku 🪐 [7:44 PM]: cantt nttjjt im with ochako rn
izuku 🪐 [7:44 PM]: we’re ionna get boba
He hits send, not really thinking about it. It’s not a big deal. It’s just boba. He and Ochako have been meaning to hang out more, and tonight was just an easy, casual plan.
But Katsuki’s response comes fast.
kachaan 🫡 [7:45 PM]: tf u mean can’t
Izuku blinks.
izuku 🪐 [7:45 PM]: …i mean im busy?? tf you mean tf i mean
Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.
Izuku stares, waiting.
kachaan 🫡 [7:46 PM]: u hang out with me every night
kachaan 🫡 [7:46 PM]: tf u need boba for
Izuku chokes on absolutely nothing.
izuku 🪐 [7:47 PM]: hey so that is NOT how that works
izuku 🪐 [7:47 PM]: also baoba is good shut up
Another longer pause.
kachaan 🫡 [7:52 PM]: ok
That’s it. That’s all he says. No insults, no snark, no “hurry up and come over after,” just—
ok
Izuku frowns at his screen.
Okay? That’s it?
Katsuki never just says okay. If anything, he’s the opposite of okay. He’s always got something to say, always has to get the last word, always has to act like everything is a damn competition.
Something about that short, clipped response sits weird in Izuku’s chest. It’s stupid, probably. He should just let it go, enjoy his night, get his boba with Ochako and not think about it.
But he does think about it.
Enough that even when they’re walking back from the boba shop, the drink cold in his hand, his fingers twitch to check his phone. Ochako notices, because of course she does, and nudges him with her elbow.
“You know, you could just go over there,” she says, smiling knowingly around her straw.
Izuku sighs dramatically. “That would be giving in.”
“Right, right.” She nods, all mock seriousness. “And we can’t have that, because…?”
“Because he’s being weird,” Izuku huffs, furrowing his brows. “Like, what kind of response is okay? That’s so weird for him.”
Ochako hums. “Or, maybe,” she teases, “he’s just sulking because he’s used to seeing you every night and you ditched him.”
Izuku nearly trips over the sidewalk. “I didn’t ditch him—”
“Oh my god,” she laughs. “Just go see him. I can literally see you vibrating.”
Izuku groans, dramatically dragging a hand down his face. “I hate that you’re right.”
“Love you too.” She winks before skipping off in the opposite direction, leaving Izuku standing there, staring at his phone.
His thumb hovers over the keyboard. He could text. Could ask if Katsuki still wants him to come over, could pretend like he’s not already on his way—
Instead, he just sighs and starts walking.
When Izuku gets to Katsuki’s door, he doesn’t even get a chance to knock.
The door swings open before his fist can connect, like Katsuki had been waiting for him.
The sight of him,standing there, arms crossed, brow furrowed, hits Izuku in the chest. He looks irritated. But not really. It’s something else.
Izuku swallows. “Hey.”
Katsuki stares at him for a second too long. Then, with a scoff, he steps aside. “Took you long enough.”
Izuku rolls his eyes, stepping inside. “I wasn’t even—”
The door clicks shut.
Then Katsuki is on him.
He doesn’t give Izuku a second to think, doesn’t give him a chance to process before his hands are gripping the front of Izuku’s hoodie and pulling him in, kissing him like it’s something inevitable. Like it’s something he’s been holding back for way too long.
Izuku makes a surprised noise into the kiss, fingers curling against Katsuki’s chest, but—oh.
The heat of it. The way Katsuki’s lips press firm and certain against his, the way his hands hold him there, like he needs him close—
Izuku melts.
His hands find Katsuki’s shoulders, gripping, steadying himself as he leans into it. Katsuki exhales sharply against his mouth, like he wasn’t expecting Izuku to kiss him back, but—god, how could Izuku not?
They pull apart just enough to breathe, but Katsuki stays close, forehead nearly touching Izuku’s. His grip tightens in the fabric of Izuku’s hoodie, like he’s grounding himself.
“…The fuck took you so long,” he mutters.
Izuku blinks, still catching up. His brain feels fried.
“I—what—”
Katsuki clicks his tongue, looking away like he’s annoyed, but his ears are red.
Izuku stares at him, feels his own lips twitch up despite how breathless he is. He pokes Katsuki’s cheek. “You were pouting.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“You were!” Izuku laughs, giddy, still buzzing from the kiss. “Oh my god. You were mad I got boba without you.”
Katsuki groans, shoving at him half-heartedly, but he doesn’t actually let go. “I swear to god, I’ll—”
Izuku kisses him again, just to shut him up.
And just like that, Katsuki stops complaining.
For a second, at least.
Then, when they finally pull back, breathless and way too close, Katsuki squints at him. “Why the hell are you doin’ that?”
Izuku blinks, still dazed. “Huh?”
“Acting like you like it,” Katsuki accuses, brows furrowed, lips still kiss-swollen.
Izuku stares at him. Then gapes. “Am I not supposed to??”
Katsuki’s ears turn red. “I—I don’t know!”
Izuku lets out a laugh, half disbelieving, half something else, still gripping Katsuki’s shirt like he’s afraid he’ll disappear if he lets go. “Kacchan, what the hell—”
Katsuki scowls. “You never shut up, and now’s the time you’re confused?”
Izuku leans in again. “Do you want me to act like I don’t like it?”
Katsuki glitches. Mouth opening, then snapping shut, hands twitching at his sides like he wants to grab Izuku again but doesn’t know if he should.
Izuku takes full advantage of that, dragging his fingertips lightly up Katsuki’s arms, voice dropping just enough to make Katsuki gulp.
“Because I really like it.”
Katsuki short-circuits.
And then—
Katsuki doesn’t hesitate this time. The second Izuku kisses him again, he grabs him—fingers curling tight in the fabric of his hoodie, yanking him closer, pressing him back against the door like he owns him. The force of it knocks the breath from Izuku’s lungs, but he barely has time to gasp before Katsuki’s lips crash against his again, rough and hungry.
It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s desperate.
Katsuki kisses like he’s been starving for it, like he’s been holding back for way too long and now that he has Izuku here, finally, he’s not wasting another second.
Izuku barely manages to catch his breath between kisses, his hands flying to Katsuki’s shoulders, gripping tight, trying to ground himself. But Katsuki isn’t giving him time—his hands are already slipping beneath Izuku’s hoodie, fingers burning against his skin, dragging up his sides in a way that makes him shudder.
“Kacchan—” Izuku tries, but Katsuki growls against his lips, biting down just enough to shut him up. Izuku whimpers, heat pooling low in his stomach, and—god, that only seems to encourage him.
“You taste like fuckin’ strawberries,” Katsuki mutters, voice rough and low as he mouths along Izuku’s jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin there. “That stupid boba.”
Izuku lets out a shaky laugh—cut off by a sharp inhale when Katsuki bites down just hard enough to make his knees go weak. “You’re such a brat,” he breathes, tilting his head to give Katsuki more space, letting him take.
Katsuki huffs, like he wants to argue, but instead he just grabs Izuku’s hips, pressing him flush against the door, and oh.
Oh.
Izuku feels him.
Heat shoots straight through his body, and he gasps, hands gripping tighter in Katsuki’s shirt. “Oh my god—”
Katsuki smirks against his throat. “Yeah?”
Izuku swallows hard, heart pounding, body thrumming with want. “Yeah.”
Katsuki drags his hands lower, pressing their bodies even closer together, and Izuku moans high and breathless and needy. Katsuki curses under his breath, like he wasn’t expecting that, like he wasn’t expecting Izuku to sound like that.
“Fuck,” he mutters, voice strained, and Izuku barely has a second to process before Katsuki is lifting him gripping his thighs, pressing him harder against the door, holding him up like it’s nothing.
Izuku’s breath stutters, hands flying to Katsuki’s shoulders. “Holy shit.”
Katsuki just grins, sharp and wicked, like he likes how flustered Izuku is. “Too much?”
Izuku glares, even as his face burns. “Shut up and get back to work.”
Katsuki doesn’t need to be told twice.