Chapter Text
It was Christmas Eve—not because the seasons were colder than usual, or because snow piled up along the sidewalks and rooftops, or even because it felt colder than it usually did when he curled up to sleep with Cloud and Sushi. No, it was Christmas Eve because everyone else made absolutely sure he knew it was Christmas Eve. Repeatedly. Relentlessly. As if there were a risk that he might confuse it with summer, or Halloween, or some other loud, brightly decorated human holiday.
Never mind the ugly sweater he was being forced to wear, red and green and far too tight around the chest, emblazoned with glittery letters that read “Meowy Christmas, Ya Filthy Animal". It was itchy. It restricted his movement. It absolutely assaulted his dignity. But it was warm, and Izuku would begrudgingly admit that.
Never mind the festive decorations, the two teachers had gone completely overboard with—twinkling Christmas lights strung not just in their personal apartment but also in their teacher dorm, miniature Santas perched on every flat surface, and at least three elves that scared the absolute life out of him the first time he spotted them. Those had since been relocated to higher shelves after Izuku nearly launched himself into orbit upon making accidental eye contact with one at floor level.
Never mind the students wandering the halls in Santa hats, reindeer antlers, and blinking light necklaces, or the stores nearby that had transformed overnight into explosions of red, green, and artificial pine scent. Never mind the Christmas music playing everywhere—cheerful, looping songs that refused to leave his head—or the way even his food had changed, his usual wet meals now coming with little festive-themed side snacks shaped like fish and stars. It all felt strange. Overwhelming. Loud. But… still. Still better than freezing streets and fighting over half-rotten garbage bags. Still better than hunger. Still better than being alone.
A furious scream abruptly cut off his thoughts from the living room. “STOP PUTTING FUCKING HATS ON MY HEAD—”
Izuku’s ears flicked. Yeah, he decided, having someone else suffer just as much as he was during the holiday season made the whole thing infinitely more bearable.
“Assholes, where is Deku?” Katsuki snapped moments later.
“Wow, do you only care about Deku?” Toru waved dramatically. “We’re right here!”
She had chosen the wrong moment to say that. Katsuki didn’t even acknowledge her existence. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on Izuku, curled up on the arm of the sofa, tail wrapped neatly around himself. Izuku had been slowly—very slowly—getting more comfortable being around everyone. Turns out, after a very stern warning involving expulsion, permanent records, and the very real threat of ruining their future careers, Class 1-A collectively decided that antagonizing the orange cat living in their dorms was not worth the consequences. Most of them now kept their distance, watching him with awe and caution, which—while awkward—was infinitely better than being grabbed every five seconds like some novelty toy. (Cough cough, wink wink Kiri, Denki, Hanta.)
Katsuki strode over, scooped Izuku up with ease, and shoved him into the pocket of his hoodie. Izuku barely reacted. By now, he was completely used to this. It felt like Katsuki was the Grinch and he’d just stolen a particularly precious present.
“I don’t get it,” Kirishima whined from the couch. “Why do you hate Christmas so much, dude? It’s about family! Connection! Food!”
Izuku popped his head out of the pocket just in time to hear Katsuki respond, “Of course you’d mention the food.”
Ouch, Izuku thought.
“Come on,” Mina said, slapping a Santa hat back onto Katsuki’s head. “Stop being such a Grinch and let your heart grow twice as big!”
“Fuck off!” Katsuki barked. “And it’s three sizes. If you’re gonna quote something, do it right. And I wish you idiots had this much enthusiasm for studying when I’m teaching you four.” He jabbed a finger toward Mina, Kirishima, Denki, and Sero, who had now caught the full force of Katsuki’s wrath.
Izuku stared at them blankly from the safety of Katsuki’s pocket. He yawned, then retreated back inside, tucking his head under the fabric. Katsuki was officially in lecturing mode now. The best strategy was to stay quiet, nod along mentally, and let it run its course. Interrupting would make him mad. Not interrupting also made him mad. There was no winning—except maybe pretending to be asleep.
Moments like these, Izuku decided, were when he really appreciated being a cat. No responsibilities. No expectations. And if he did something sneaky, all he got was a comment instead of consequences. Honestly? That wasn’t so bad.
He knows Katsuki is on edge—more than usual, he can feel it in the way Katsuki’s hand tightens around him just a little too much, in the way his shoulders stay tense even when he’s standing still, in how his breathing never quite settles. This is the time of year you’re supposed to spend with your family. And what do you do when your family is… complicated at best, and unbearable at worst? When there’s nowhere you want to go, nowhere that feels safe, nowhere that feels like it’s waiting for you with open arms.
The easy answer—what everyone always says—is community. Classmates. Friends. Found family. They can be family, too, they insist. They can give you warmth and belonging just as easily as blood ever could. But telling that to a teenager who has spent most of his life learning not to rely on others, who struggles to trust even the people standing right in front of him, who already lost someone he once told himself was important… that isn’t easy. It isn’t comforting. It feels like asking him to step off a ledge and trust that something will catch him this time.
Izuku remembers what Cloud said—how people don’t act foolishly because they want to, but because when you’re focused only on surviving, every decision feels logical in the moment, even if it hurts later. When you’re fighting just to stay afloat, you don’t have the luxury of seeing safer shores, Cloud had said. And Katsuki, Izuku knows, has spent a long time treading water.
“Oh, come on, stay,” Denki pleaded, leaning back over the couch. “We’re spending Christmas Eve here, and tomorrow we’re opening presents and then going home for a week! You’re gonna miss us—what better time to spend it together with your classmates?”
Katsuki stayed quiet. Denki’s grin faltered, the silence stretching just long enough to turn awkward.
“Not all of us are going home, dunce face,” Katsuki muttered finally, teeth clenched. He took a deep breath—in, then out—“Not all of us have a home to go back to.” The others didn’t catch it. The room was still loud, still full of chatter and laughter, and his words slipped under the noise like a confession meant for no one. But Izuku heard it. His ear twitched in Katsuki’s pocket. There was no explosion, no retort, just simmering irritation. Katsuki had gotten better at that—at regulating himself, at stopping the sparks before they formed. Izuku felt pride bloom in his chest at that, even as it hurt.
“Bye,” Katsuki said more firmly, straightening. “Tell the others I’m taking Deku with me so nobody panics about where the cat is.”
He turned and headed for the elevators. Izuku peeked out of the pocket again, looking back at their classmates. They looked lost. Disappointed. Like they really had wanted Katsuki there, wanted him to be part of the night, part of something warm and shared. They weren’t mocking him. They weren’t pitying him. They were just… hoping. Because to them, this was family.
Izuku looked up at Katsuki, though all he could really see was his chin and the tight line of his jaw. He let out a small sigh from his tiny lungs.
“Bakugo.”
The voice made Katsuki stop. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then turned toward the sound. Iida stood a few steps away, posture straight, hands at his sides.
“Yeah?” Katsuki asked flatly. “You gonna ask me to stay too?”
“Yes,” Iida replied without hesitation.
Katsuki groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Do I /have/ to?”
“No,” Iida said. “However, it is my duty as class president to ensure that all students are… together during important events. Christmas Eve would be one of the worst times to spend alone.”
“Not alone,” Katsuki shot back, pulling Izuku out of his pocket and holding him up slightly. “I’ve got Deku.”
Iida blinked, surprised, then softened. He chuckled quietly and reached out, carefully petting Izuku over the ears before withdrawing his hand. “And that is very good,” he said. “But you two could spend it down here as well.”
Katsuki didn’t look thrilled. He shifted Izuku into his arms, cradling him a little closer, his hand moving in strokes over Izuku’s back—more for his own comfort than the cat’s, Izuku suspected. “I don’t wanna spend the night just drinking hot cocoa and watching movies and shit,” Katsuki muttered.
“But why?” Iida asked gently. “There are no tests, no classes. You do not have to do anything. You can simply be here with us. That is what Christmas is meant to be.”
Katsuki didn’t answer right away. He just kept petting Izuku, jaw tight, eyes flicking away. And Izuku stayed quiet in his arms, understanding that sometimes, being offered a place to belong hurts more than being alone, because accepting it means believing you deserve it.
Iida seems to be one of the only people Katsuki actually listens to. Izuku notices it now more than ever, because it hasn’t always been this way. There was a time when Katsuki ignored every correction, every stiff lecture about etiquette and rules—rolled his eyes when Iida scolded him for sitting on tables, tuned out his long-winded rants with ease. Back then, respect had been loud defiance and stubborn pride. But now, something has shifted. Katsuki still grumbles, still snaps, still bristles—but he hears Iida. And that means something.
“It’s gonna be loud,” Katsuki says, voice low and irritated. “There’s gonna be yelling. And who the hell would want someone as obnoxious as me down there? I’ll ruin the mood.”
“Although,” Iida replies, adjusting his glasses, “your mood could certainly be better. We know how you are, Bakugo. And we are… okay with it.”
Katsuki snorts. “Is Sensei gonna get pissed if I don’t stay or something?”
“He said he would highly encourage you to stay with us,” Iida answers. “Or—if you are not ready, or if you still believe Christmas Eve and tomorrow will be overwhelming—you are welcome to stay at their home. I was told Shinso would also be there.”
Katsuki grimaces. “Gee, thanks. Staying over at the teachers’ place. Sounds great. I don’t need someone my age there to make me feel better about dining with two old men.” He looks down at Izuku then, expression tightening, before letting out a slow sigh. “Look. Thanks. I guess. But I don’t do Christmas. It’s a waste of… everything.”
“Okay,” Iida says simply, not pushing, not arguing. “I understand. Though you did leave a high number of presents under the Christmas tree.”
“What, I’m just gonna be the only asshole who didn’t bring gifts?” Katsuki snaps.
Iida scoffs lightly. “No, of course not. Though I thought you might want to see their reactions when they open them. To see whether yours are better than everyone else’s.”
Izuku blinks. The class president really is good at this.
“...I’ll think about it,” Katsuki mutters. “But count me out for this Eve shit.”
He turns away, marching toward the elevators and jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “Wish it was that easy,” he grumbles, hitting it again as if that will make it move faster. He clearly doesn’t want anyone else stopping him, doesn’t want another voice asking why aren’t you staying?
“Even Icy-Hot’s going home,” Katsuki mutters. “And his family sucks.”
Tap. Another impatient press.
“Then again,” he continues bitterly, “he’s got a brother and a sister. He doesn’t even have to see /him/. He’s got other family to spend the night with.”
The elevator finally opens, and Katsuki steps inside, spamming the close button. The silence inside the elevator presses down on him. “What would everyone think if I stayed with the two old men?” he mutters, almost to himself. “I mean—it makes sense for mop-hair. He looks like their kid, and he’s new. But me? I’ve been here since the beginning. They’re totally gonna judge me for not coming. And then—and then—”
His words tangle, frustration building as he pets Izuku harder, faster. “Maybe it’s better if the whole class just leaves me alone once they realize I’m a piece of shit. The Grinch. Just like racoon eyes said.”
His hand trembles just a little. “I bet the hag's getting the last laugh,” Katsuki whispers. “I bet she’s having a great time knowing I can’t enjoy anything. Every time I try, I think of her. Of them.”
He exhales. “I wish the old man had just—separated. I wish he’d gotten far away from her, like Icy-Hot’s siblings did from their dad. Maybe this week wouldn’t feel so unbearable then. But no. He had to stay. And parents don’t get that staying makes you just as bad as the other one when you don’t protect your kid.”
The elevator doors slide open. Katsuki steps out into an empty hallway, lifting Izuku slightly as he walks. The dorm floor is silent—of course it is. Everyone is downstairs, laughing, warm, surrounded by noise and light. And for some /stupid/ reason, Katsuki can’t make himself be part of it.
“Who even needs Christmas?” he scoffs, looking up at Izuku. “It’s all capitalist bullshit.”
Izuku blinked slowly. Didn’t you buy a ridiculous number of presents? Didn’t you hide them in your room so no one would peek? Didn’t you wrap them perfectly—every single one? He meowed.
“I get it, I get it—I’m a hypocrite,” Katsuki muttered, guessing at the cat’s meaning. Then his voice dropped. “But ever since… he left, Christmas hasn’t been fun anyway.”
Izuku blinked. Agreed. A lot has changed since our last Christmas, he thinks. Back then, Mom was— The thought cuts off as Katsuki stops at his door. He shifts Izuku into one arm and punches in the code with the other. The door opens.
Downstairs had been warm—soft lights, background music, laughter, the smell of cocoa and food. Up here, the air is colder. Literally and metaphorically.
“It’s just... gonna be us two,” Katsuki says as he steps inside and shuts the door behind them.
TBC