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Katsuki Bakugou hates parties.
That isn’t entirely true. He hates being expected to enjoy parties.
Too many people packed into a space never meant to hold them, music pounding through the walls like a pulse you can’t escape, bodies moving without direction or purpose, sweat and perfume and cheap alcohol hanging heavy in the air. Katsuki stands near the wall and tells himself he is fine. That he has survived worse environments. That this will not kill him.
Kirishima laughs somewhere to his left, loud and open and warm. Mina vanished as soon as they stepped foot through the door. They dragged Katsuki here together, arms hooked with his like it was a foregone conclusion, like he wouldn’t peel himself away at the first opportunity.
He didn’t.
That’s new.
Katsuki grips the glass bottle in his hand. He stands near the edge of the living room, one shoulder leaned against the wall. The beer inside is warm already. He took one sip when he got it and hasn’t touched it since.
It had been twenty minutes and this party is already a bad idea. Not morally. Structurally.
Right now, though, he is oddly fine.
Because Todoroki Shouto is right across the room.
That’s the problem.
Katsuki doesn’t let himself look right away. He knows better. Looking turns into staring, and staring turns into thinking, and thinking turns into that hollow, tight feeling in his chest that he refuses to name because naming it would make it real.
So he watches the crowd first. The movement. The way people flow around each other like water finding paths of least resistance. He listens to the music, to the laughter, to the way the bass vibrates faintly through his bones.
Then, inevitably, his eyes drift.
Shouto is leaning against the backrest of the couch, one hip cocked, posture relaxed. The lights overhead wash the room in shifting color, blue, then red, then something purple that should be unflattering and absolutely isn’t. It slides over Shouto’s hair, making him look unreal. Untethered. Katsuki swallows.
Mina has done something to his face. Katsuki had seen her dragging Shouto toward the bathroom with a manic grin, declaring something about “trust the process.” There’s a sharpness to Shouto’s eyes that wasn’t there earlier. Eyeliner, probably.
Katsuki can tell without being close enough to see it clearly.
He does not want to be close enough.
He watches anyway.
He always watches.
They know each other. That’s the problem. Same major. Same classes. Same study group that meets twice a week and always dissolves into side conversations because Kaminari can’t focus and Midoriya gets too excited and Yaoyorozu tries to keep everyone on track while pretending she isn’t also distracted. Same circle of friends that means Katsuki sees Shouto more often than is healthy for someone trying very hard not to want him.
They are close enough for Katsuki to know the shape of Shouto’s hands when he’s thinking.
Close enough to know he always tucks his legs up under himself on couches, curling inward like he’s trying to take up less space even when no one has ever asked him to.
Close enough to know that Shouto smells faintly like soap and something colder, cleaner, like winter air caught in fabric.
Not close enough to touch.
That line is deliberate.
Katsuki has drawn it carefully and reinforced it over months of self control and denial, because wanting Shouto like this feels dangerous. Like leaning too close to an exposed wire and pretending you won’t get electrocuted.
Katsuki had been doomed the moment he realized that Shouto Todoroki is stupidly, unfairly pretty.
It's worse tonight.
Shouto laughs at something Kaminari says.
It’s quiet and soft and unguarded, and it hits Katsuki square in the chest.
He takes another sip of beer just to have something to do with his hands.
Still his first beer, still warm.
That should tell him something.
He remembers movie nights unbidden, the way memories always ambush him when he least expects them. Shouto curled into the corner of the couch, blanket pulled up around his shoulders, eyes half lidded as he watched the screen. The way he leaned without thinking, against Midoriya, against Yaoyorozu, once against Katsuki by accident.
Katsuki had gone rigid. Every nerve screaming. Shouto hadn’t noticed. Had stayed there, warm and solid and impossibly close, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Katsuki had spent the entire movie staring straight ahead, heart pounding, praying no one noticed how carefully he was breathing.
He shakes the memory off.
This is a party. Not a movie night. Shouto is standing. Talking. Alive under colored lights and entirely too aware of his surroundings to curl up anywhere.
That’s almost worse.
He is content. He told himself he is content, standing alone, watching Shouto exist under the lights like he belongs there. Watching the way people gravitates toward him without him ever trying. Watching the way Shouto’s smile changes depending on who he talks to.
“Bakugou!”
Katsuki flinches as Kaminari’s voice cuts through his thoughts. Kaminari appears at his side, Mina right behind him, both already buzzing with energy.
“You look like a grumpy gargoyle,” Mina says cheerfully. “Come dance with us.”
“No,” Katsuki responds immediately.
“Oh, come on,” Kaminari whines. “One song. You’re just standing here.”
“That’s the point.”
Mina follows his gaze. Grins. “You’re staring.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“Drop it.”
They don’t. They never do.
Instead they exchange a look. Mina grins wider. “You should dance with him.”
Katsuki feels heat crawl up his neck. “I will kill you.”
Kaminari laughs. “You’re gonna die alone at this rate, man.”
“Good.”
They try for another minute, tugging at his arm, pestering him. Katsuki snaps eventually, sharp enough that they retreat, laughing like they haven’t just peeled him open for sport.
Katsuki exhales.
His shoulders loosen.
He looks back to where Shouto had been standing.
He isn’t there anymore.
Katsuki scans the room. The couch is occupied by strangers now. The hallway is a blur of movement. No red and white hair anywhere.
He tells himself not to be an idiot.
Shouto probably went to get a drink. Or stepped outside for air. Or got dragged into another conversation by someone else who saw what Katsuki sees and didn’t look away.
That thought sits badly in his chest.
After another minute of pretending he doesn’t care, Katsuki pushes off the wall and heads for the kitchen.
The kitchen is worse. Smaller. Hotter. Bodies pressed together in a way that makes his skin itch. Music muffled but still loud enough to vibrate through his skull. He shoulders his way through, grabs another beer from the cooler, cracks it open.
When he turns around, he nearly collides with Shouto.
“Oh- sorry,” Shouto says automatically, then pauses. “Bakugou.”
Up close, the eyeliner is lethal.
It frames Shouto’s eyes just enough to make them burn brighter, sharper, like they’re cutting through the dim light instead of reflecting it. His lashes cast shadows against his cheeks. His expression is open.
Katsuki’s brain empties.
Shouto takes a breath. “I need a favor.”
Katsuki blinks. “What kind of favor.”
“I’m sorry,” Shouto says quickly, words tumbling out like he’s afraid of hesitating. “I’ll make it up to you.”
Katsuki opens his mouth.
Shouto kisses him instead.
Not a peck. Not hesitant. Not careful. A full, deliberate kiss, confident in a way that short circuits Katsuki’s ability to think. Shouto’s mouth is warm and firm against his, moving like this is something familiar, practiced, like he knows exactly where Katsuki will meet him.
For half a second, Katsuki freezes.
Then instinct takes over.
His hand comes up automatically, gripping Shouto’s waist through black fabric, holding him there like letting go would be catastrophic, like it would tilt the world off its axis. Shouto makes a quiet sound against his mouth, something soft and surprised, and it sends a jolt straight through Katsuki’s spine.
Shouto is a really good kisser.
That registers distantly, like a scientific observation made from the wreckage of Katsuki’s brain. He tastes like beer and something clean underneath, something unmistakably Shouto. The world narrows. The noise fades. The kitchen, the party, the people all blur into nothing.
This is not their first kiss, it can't be with how right it feels.
Which is insane.
A sharp, shrill voice cuts through the moment like a blade.
“What the hell is this?”
Shouto pulls back just enough to breathe. Katsuki’s hand is still on his waist. He doesn’t move it.
A woman stands a few feet away, eyes blazing. She looks furious. Humiliated. Hurt. All of it aimed squarely at Shouto.
Shouto exhales, then does something that sends a fresh shock through Katsuki’s system.
He tucks himself closer into Katsuki’s side, hand brushing Katsuki’s arm, seeking proximity without asking permission.
“How can you do this to me?” the woman demands.
“I’m sorry,” Shouto says calmly. Too calmly. Like everything is perfectly fine, like his world wasn't just turned upside down and then up again. “I told you. My dad set you up. I don’t like women. I have a boyfriend.”
Boyfriend.
The word lands heavy in Katsuki’s chest, heart slamming into his ribs.
The woman scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. You’re not gay. You’re just trying to get back at your father. He promised you to me.”
Something ugly twists in Katsuki’s gut.
She keeps talking. About expectations, about reputation, about how Shouto is embarrassing himself and ruining something that was supposed to be guaranteed. The words pile up, each one more entitled than the last.
Katsuki snaps.
“He’s not your property,” Katsuki says, voice low and sharp enough to cut. “And he’s not anyone’s to promise away. Whatever shitty father you’re talking about doesn’t get to decide who he wants, nor who he fucks.”
The woman stares at him, stunned.
“I want him,” she says, like that should matter.
“Tough shit,” Katsuki shoots back. “He doesn’t want you. End of story.”
The silence that follows is thick and brittle.
The woman huffs, mutters something under her breath, and storms off into the crowd.
Shouto is completely still.
Then, slowly, he extracts himself from Katsuki’s side, like he’s afraid of moving too fast. He looks at Katsuki with wide eyes, shock written plain across his face.
He's still too close, way too close for Katsuki to begin functioning like a normal human being again.
“Bakugou,” Shouto says quietly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”
“No,” Katsuki says immediately. “Don’t.”
Shouto blinks. “But-”
“That was fucked up,” Katsuki continues, jaw tight. His pulse is loud in his ears, every instinct screaming at him to back off, to put the distance back where it belongs. “Someone had to say it.”
Shouto stares at him as if no one ever did this before.
As if something fundamental just shifted.
“…Thank you,” Shouto says softly. “No one’s ever said that for me.”
The words hit Katsuki harder than the kiss did.
He looks away, scrubbing a hand through his hair, chest tight in a way he doesn’t have language for. This is bad. This is really bad. He can already feel it settling in, the way his feelings always do, deep and stubborn and impossible to dislodge.
“Yeah. Well,” Katsuki mutters.
They stand there, neither of them moving. The party noise creeps back in around them. Laughter, music, the clatter of bottles, reality cautiously checking whether it’s allowed to exist again.
Shouto breaks the silence first. “I didn’t plan for that,” he says. “The kiss. I just... panicked.”
Katsuki snorts, sharp and humorless. “Yeah. No shit.”
Shouto winces, then exhales. “I didn’t mean to drag you into it. If you’re angry, I understand.”
Angry.
Fucking angry.
As if anger was the right word for it. As if this wasn’t the best and worst thing to ever happen to him all at once, crashing together in his chest until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
As if anger even came close. As if this wasn’t the thing he’d wanted so badly it hollowed him out, finally pressed into his hands only to rot there.
A mercy given for all the wrong reasons. A taste of everything he’d starved for, just enough to ruin him, just enough to realize it was poisoned, that it was never meant for him at all, and now that he’d tasted it he was supposed to walk away and pretend he didn’t still ache for it.
As if it hadn’t been handed to him out of desperation instead of desire. As if there wasn’t something twisted and ugly about the part of him that still wanted it anyway, that still wanted another taste of the poison, still wanted it given freely this time, chosen, reciprocated. Not borrowed. Not used as an escape. Not this. Never this.
Katsuki huffs a laugh that comes out wrong. “That’s not the problem.”
Shouto studies him, eyes steady, patient in a way that makes Katsuki’s skin itch. “Then what is?”
Katsuki clenches his jaw. This is the part he hates, where he feels too much and knows, with sick certainty, that opening his mouth will only wreck things, that he’ll destroy this and drag Shouto down with him.
“You don’t get it,” he says finally. “You don’t just, do shit like that to people.”
Shouto hesitates, eyes dropping for just a second. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Katsuki snaps, then catches himself with a sharp breath before it can turn into something uglier. He forces himself to meet Shouto’s gaze, even though every instinct tells him to look away, to shut this down before it gets worse. “You kiss someone like that and it doesn’t just… go away.”
Shouto’s expression softens, something uncertain crossing his face. “Bakugou-”
“And don’t say my name like that,” Katsuki cuts in, too fast. The way Shouto says it is already carving itself into him. It’s threading itself somewhere deep and permanent. “I don’t… I don’t do this well.” His jaw tightens. “Especially not with you.”
The words hang there, thick and terrifying, more honest than he ever intended to be.
Shouto hesitates, eyes searching his face. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“Yeah,” Katsuki mutters. “I know.”
Which somehow makes it worse.
Shouto swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I still want to make it up to you,” he says quietly, like he’s afraid to push too hard, like he’s bracing for Katsuki to pull away.
Katsuki’s heart slams against his ribs, fast and brutal. Make it up to you. The phrase scrapes against something raw. Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? A favor. A convenient shield. A way out of a situation Shouto didn’t know how to escape.
And Katsuki hates that part of himself, the part that still wants it anyway.
This is it, he thinks. The moment where he either walks away and keeps what little control he has left, or steps forward knowing exactly how wrong it is and lets it ruin him. There is no version of this where he doesn’t lose something. Where he doesn't lose Shouto.
He swallows, chest tight, hands curling into fists. “Then kiss me again,” he murmurs, low and sharp, almost to himself. “I know this isn’t what you’d choose if you had a choice.”
Shouto freezes, eyes wide. Something flickers there.
Katsuki doesn’t give him a chance to answer. His voice tightens, almost bitter. “I know… I know this is wrong. I know it’s only because you didn’t know who else to turn to, or what else to do, and I-” He swallows hard, chest heaving. “I know I’m not the one you’d pick, and I know I shouldn’t even want this, but…”
Shouto blinks, hesitant, caught off guard by the intensity, then finally speaks, voice small. "I- I have a crush on you, Bakugou. I want you and I didn’t know who else to come to and I came to you because I trust you. Please… please don’t make this harder than it already is." His voice drops almost to a whisper. "I know I kissed you without asking, without thinking… and I know I ruined things. I shouldn’t even… I shouldn’t have done that. Please… don’t make fun of me like that. Don’t- don’t be cruel, not now.”
Something in Katsuki’s chest fractures at the sound of it. This isn’t how it was supposed to feel. This isn’t relief or triumph or anything he knows how to deal with. It’s too much, all at once. Shouto’s trust, his fear, the way he’s bracing like Katsuki is about to hurt him on purpose. Katsuki hates that his first instinct is still to want, even now, even knowing how badly this could end.
He exhales slowly, steadying himself before impact. “If you're gonna do this,” he says, voice low, rough around the edges, “then don’t half-ass it.”
Shouto’s eyes widen just a fraction. “What- What is that supposed to mean?”
Katsuki steps closer despite everything screaming in his head to stop. Being this close feels like pressing on a bruise just to prove it still hurts. Shouto is so fucking beautiful.
“It means,” He swallows hard. “If that kiss was just because you didn’t see another way out, don’t do it again. But if you mean it...”
Shouto freezes.
Then he laughs, quiet and disbelieving, hands shaking just slightly at his sides. He is still close enough that Katsuki can fell it, can feel him.
"I do, I really do."
Katsuki’s breath catches.
This is it. This is the point of no return.
Shouto looks at him like he’s bracing for rejection, nevertheless.
Katsuki closes the distance, lips almost touching, heart in his throat, already knowing he’s screwed.
“Then,” he says, voice barely steady, “kiss me again. Properly.”
Shouto does.
And Katsuki knows, with certainty, that he is never getting over this.