Archive of Our Own

It’s hot as hell, so obviously Katsuki steals Kirishima’s ice cream. 

Kirishima’s the one who disappeared from his room, anyway. He doesn’t give him any warning. Kirishima is saying, “It’s been so long, I bet this time I could-” when Katsuki reaches over him to swipe a chocolate-covered ice cream bite from the box in his hand. Not like Katsuki needs to warn him; Kirishima barely flinches before leaning his head over the back of the couch. “Hey, man!” 

“So you decided you wanna turn in unfinished math homework tomorrow, or what.” 

“I finished the packet while you were napping, dude. I left it on the desk.” 

Like he was supposed to assume that Kirishima actually did his homework on his own. Katsuki just grunts and pops the ice cream in his mouth. Only then does he nod at the loose circle his classmates have made around the common room. His eyes hit Izuku’s just as the flavor registers on his tongue. Katsuki winces; Izuku gives him a weirdly knowing look that, for some reason, pisses him off. “What is this?” 

“New flavor.” Kirishima lifts the box up: mint chocolate. So the corporations have decided it’s toothpaste season again. “Want another?” 

“Keep it.” 

“Yo, can I have his?” Kaminari asks, like there aren’t two popsicle wrappers littering the spot next to him. 

“All yours!” Kirishima says. Katsuki flops down extra hard between them so Kaminari’s, “Don’t mind if I do,” spikes into a falsetto. 

Ha. “You should run by the music room tomorrow morning. I heard the brass band is missing a piccolo.” 

Kaminari clamps a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. “Your recommendation means the world to me.”

Freak. Katsuki jerks back, which pushes him closer to Kirishima - his arm and his thigh already pressed up against Katsuki’s, his body heat falling over him like fresh laundry. Katsuki hasn’t been hanging out in the common room much since they started needing the air conditioner on cooling mode. He’d only come down tonight to give Kirishima shit. He’d go back up, but he sees the notebook laid in front of Iida, and he knows what this is about. 

“Bakugou, we were just debating between bowling and karaoke. Do you care to weigh in?” 

Before Katsuki knows what’s going on, Kaminari has thrust his own arm up in the air. “He says bowling!” 

Once Katsuki’s let off enough sparks from his hand that Kaminari’s let go of his grip on his wrist, he says, “Pass. To both.” 

Last year’s summer vacation went to rebuilding and cleanup projects around the country. They all knew this year belonged to training camp - their last shot at a real camp before graduation. The schedule Aizawa passed out this morning told them that much, too. They’d head to an undisclosed location for training on July 23rd. 

July 23rd. Three days after classes let out. 

Like hell was Katsuki wasting a day off on bowling. 

Old Four Eyes still has the naivete to look a little hurt about it. “That’s alright,” he says. “Would you like to pitch an activity?” 

“Whadda you got?” 

“We’re going to clean the dorms,” says Todoroki. 

“A deep clean, to start off on the right foot after training camp.” 

Figures. “That’s it?” 

“No dude, there’s way more than that. Just wait a second.” Kirishima elbows him in the ribs. His shoulder’s already bumping against Katsuki’s. Katsuki elbows him back. 

“A deep clean would take the whole day, so we thought blocking out that time first would be best,” Iida explains. It’s not an awful idea; the carpet near Katsuki’s feet still sports a pinkish stain, since no one’s had the time to figure out what combination of cleaners lifts popsicle melt. “If we finish early enough, then we’ll have a game tournament.” 

Katsuki looks to Sero. “We meaning you and me?” 

“Don’t hold onto your crown too tight,” Sero says. He’s all but waggling his eyebrows now, knowing they both know he pitched it only as revenge for the last nine game nights. So he’ll be going down a tenth time.

“Are we prepared for a deep clean?” Jirou asks. “Last I checked, the vacuum was really rank.” 

“It is a bit out of date.” 

“So’s the fan,” Uraraka adds, turning to the dejected thing in between them. It’s barely strong enough to blow the plastic ribbons tied to its spokes. A look comes over her face. “What about a shopping trip? To get cleaning supplies, and replace stuff in the dorms. We could go to the megamall.” 

Hagakure gasps. “We could stop at the Sanrio store!” 

“We could stop at the Sanrio store!” Ashido gasps back, grasping at her invisible hand. 

“We’ll be sure to mark out time for any personal errands,” Iida says. “I’ll talk to Aizawa-sensei tomorrow about using school funds for any class purchases.” 

“It’d be nice to leave the dorms in good condition for the first years.” Izuku turns his head and smiles. “Good idea, Uraraka.” 

Uraraka smiles back at him, not any different from how she’s been smiling for the past two years, and he goes red up to the tips of his ears. 

Gag. Gag, Katsuki mouths at Izuku, whose stop it isn’t menacing coming from a beet-red face. Unconsciously or not, he’s started rubbing at the mark on his carotid pulse. Out of the corner of his eye, Katsuki sees Uraraka touching her own mark, on her wrist. Twin planets. Two orbiting circles with their own little moons. 

Katsuki remembers when they first appeared, after Izuku returned to U.A.. His neck had been so covered in grime that nobody noticed the mark until he was cleaned up. And everyone remembers when Ponytail and Ears found theirs, not more than a week into first year. Katsuki didn’t care, but he remembers because it happened during a training exercise. The three of them were supposed to be breaking out of a locked crawlspace when Jirou noticed the spot behind Yaoyorozu’s ear and stabbed one of her jacks right into Katsuki’s thigh. He set off an explosion that sent them tumbling through the ceiling and failed the assignment for excessive damage and disorderly conduct. 

When he complained about it after class, he got called a killjoy. Bull fucking shit. If that’d happened on a real mission, it would’ve gotten them all killed. And so what if he thought the soulmate stuff was a load, a lot of people did. Some people get married, and spend their whole lives together, and the marks never appear. There’s the people who find it unrealistic - what if your soulmate lives in a different country? What if they die before you ever meet? - and who find holes in the logic. If you don’t get your soulmarks until after you meet your soulmate, after some inciting incident, do your actions play a role in you becoming soulmates? What if you acted differently? Would you end up with a different soulmate? With two? If fate is driven by human interception, then what’s the point of soulmates in the first place? 

Katsuki’s not concerned with the philosophical stuff, just that it’s never appealed to him. Why should some mushy fortune-telling make him start caring about romance. His parents are soulmates, but that’s besides the point. They’re gross anyway.

Credit where credit’s due, Uraraka has gone back to being not-gross quicker than Izuku. She’s looking down at Tsuyu sitting at her feet, with her knees up and hands on the ground between them, which Katsuki gets the feeling she’s been doing more lately. “Tsuyu, do you have any ideas?” Uraraka asks. 

She hums it over. “It’d be nice to go to the beach.” 

Sero perks up at that. “Hey, that sounds good. It’s not summer vacation without a beach day.” 

“Oh!” Yaoyorozu chimes in. “If we’re alright with the drive, I’m sure my parents would be happy to let us use our beach house in Atami!” 

Bam. Before anyone can say anything, Kaminari starts clapping loud and slow. 

“Outstanding,” he says. “She’s done it again. Everyone, give it up for Yaomomo.” 

Unsurprisingly, the first person to join in is Kirishima, who adds on a, “Yeaaah, Yaomomo!” There are his fucking elbows in Katsuki’s side again. 

Yaoyorozu goes pink in the cheeks; Katsuki doesn’t miss the way Jirou squeezes her hand. “And, I believe the renovations on the patio have been completed, so there should be plenty of space for us to eat dinner or have a barbecue!” 

Kirishima turns to Kaminari. “Barbecue at Yaomomo’s?” 

“Beach barbecue at Yaomomo’s.” 

“I’d be up for a barbecue,” Satou says, across the room. “There’s all sorts of kebab recipes I’ve been wanting to try,” and Kirishima makes a face like it’s Santa Claus himself that just walked out of the kitchen. 

“This is going to be the best summer vacation ever.” 

“Beach barbecue it is. Thank you, Yaoyorozu,” Iida says. Katsuki watches him take the time to spell out b-a-r-b-e-c-u-e in the notebook. “That brings our Priority category to the barbecue, a trip to the ice rink, a trip to the shopping center, a group deep clean, and a game tournament in the dorms. While I find it unrealistic as a group outing, I won’t cross Mount Fuji off the list for those who want to go on their own.” 

Kirishima turns to look at Katsuki, but with how close they already are, it puts his big stupid face about two centimeters from his. “Bakugou, is that you?” 

“Is all you have up there hair? When would I have put that on the list?”

Idiot’s not even moving his face away. Katsuki pushes him away with a thumb in between his stupid tiny eyebrows. “Ow,” Kirishima actually laughs. “I thought maybe the mountains were calling you, or something. I wouldn’t judge.” 

“‘S not me, Shitty Hair.” Shitty eyebrows. Shitty nonstop laugh. 

“Sweet. I was worried you weren’t gonna come to the barbecue with us.” 

Katsuki squints. “Who says I am?” They’re gonna blast the worst music, and try to convince him to play Truth or Dare, and stay so late that Yaoyorozu offers to let them stay over. It sounds like a waste of time, and an annoyed feeling creeps up inside him. Talk about a waste of time- 

“Aw, what? Dude, this is our last summer vacation together,” Kirishima says. 

“Who says I care,” he says, louder. 

“Come on, Bakugou, you know it’s not gonna be as fun without you. You can’t just sit out.” And then he points that stupid smile towards him. “You’re coming, right?” 

And yeah, obviously he’s coming. Obviously he’d take the seat next to Kirishima on the couch. Obviously he’d take his ice cream. Usually it’d be no question that Katsuki would let Kirishima stick to him like a weird magnet and drag him around, but lately, that’s been complicated. 

Because Katsuki saw it - the mark on the back of Kirishima’s neck. It’s usually covered by hair. When you sleep in someone’s bed, you see these things. 

After three years at UA, final exams don’t mean anything to Katsuki; they fly by like nothing. There’s the end-of-the-semester assembly, where everyone stands on the UA courtyard in the blazing sun and pretends to understand Hound Dog’s indecipherable speech for the third year in a row. It’s over fast. Everyone knows that everyone’s excited for summer. Katsuki knows the teachers are. Aizawa dismissed them from homeroom with one advisement to not start the semester with broken legs, and thus commenced their big Day 0 plan: pizza. 

The dorm rules say no delivery, so if you want takeout, you have to pick it up yourself. That didn’t discourage anyone when the idea of a joint Class A-B pizza party came up. Neither did the fact that the nearest pizza place is ten minutes off campus. Katsuki could see where this was going, a mile away. And yet - 

“Keep the aisle clear!” Iida says, waving invisible traffic flags. “Midoriya, that’s right, keep going straight. Just five more meters.” 

“Thanks, Iida,” Izuku says, a toddling stack of ten pizza boxes. He’s got one hand clamped over the top box, but Uraraka walks next to him, her hands full of takeout bags, and her eyes trained on the stack like she’s still expecting a pizza to float away. 

“Now veer right. Just a bit more.” Izuku toddles over to the dining table, carefully setting the boxes down and pulling his hands away from the stack. 

“Aaaand…release!” Uraraka says - and immediately three boxes tumble over.

From his viewing spot against the wall, Katsuki laughs. “Nice going.” 

“Maybe my reaction time needs some training.” Izuku frowns, opening a box to inspect the damage. 

“Maybe you should sign up for Whack-a-Mole lessons.” 

He considers this. “It wouldn’t be a bad way to train.” Only one pizza - pepperoni - ended up squished to the side of the box. He hands it to Ashido, who looks up at Katsuki with a barely-contained smile. 

“Come on, Blasty, that was a lot of boxes! You think you could do any-” 

“Not gonna work on me.” He’s not here to help, he’s just watching the parade. Next in line, Shouji is holding two boxes in each hand. Acceptable strategy. 

Ashido pouts, but goes back to lining up the pizza boxes. Half the long dining table is already covered in food, plus paper plates and cups made by Yaoyorozu. The hand girl and air-breathing guy from Class B plop two-liter bottles of cola and tea on the end. Along both sides of the table, people are setting up napkins and plastic forks. Ashido turns around to take a delivery from Shouji, and when she does, Katsuki notices something on her shoulderblade. 

He squints. Yeah, that’s a mark. A lipstick kiss outlined in raised black ink. 

“Yo. Pinky.” When she looks up, Katsuki juts his chin out towards the spot. A quiet what the hell is that. 

“Mm?” She follows the arrow, then her eyes light up. “Oh my god, I didn’t know you didn’t know! You don’t have to be quiet about it, it’s not a secret.” 

So she’s had it for a while. “Everyone knows?” 

“I mean, not like, evvvveryone, but yeah. It’s been, like, six months.” She crunches the top of a pizza box in half with her knee like a karate board. “But like, oh my god, do you wanna know the annoying part? I still have no idea who it is.” 

“What?” 

“Like, I know it’s not anyone in the class. Unless someone is lying.” Ashido turns to look at Hagakure, although Katsuki doesn’t know what she thinks she’s gonna get out of that. 

“Best friends don’t lie to each other, Mina,” she says, just a singsong voice coming out of a pink crop top. 

“I know, I know. I didn’t mean it.” Interrogations, Katsuki thinks, would be another situation where Hagakure has a tactical advantage. “I was talking about it with Itsuka, though, and it’s not anyone in Class B, either. And there’s, like, so many people in the other departments. And that’s just this school! It’s literally been six months! It’s not fair.” 

Six months would have been right when Shiketsu’s hero course visited UA for joint training. And come to think of it, Camie has been posting a lot of annoying stories lately captioned shit like just wanna know where u r </3. He doesn’t care enough to crack the case for them. He keeps his mouth shut. 

“Unleeesssss…” she sings, and the next thing Katsuki knows a pink hand is grabbing at his tank top. It sends a jolt through his body; his hand shoots up to slap hers away. The other one goes to pin the fabric back in place. 

“Who the hell do you think you’re touching?” He can’t keep his voice level. And she’s giggling. 

“Just checking! Fate is mysterious!” 

Always fucking unserious. But that was a little too close for him to brush it off as normal. Does she know something? 

Did she see? 

“What-” Katsuki starts to ask, but then a yell of “Coming through!” rings through the common room, followed by a, “No need to rush, just stay upright,” from Iida and another voice shouting, “You got it, class rep!” 

Kirishima and Tetsutetsu are carrying what must be the last 20 pizza boxes between them. As they cross through the room, they never stop talking - all Katsuki hears is a rapid string of bros and home stretches and for sures. Iida desperately directs them towards the still-empty end of the table and the closer they get, the more they start whooping and hollering, until all the pizzas make it down safe and intact. 

“Yeaaaaaah!” Kirishima roars. Now, Katsuki can see his face; his cheeks are red and flushed. He smacks Tetsutetsu on the shoulder and says, “Great job, bro.” 

“Mission accomplished,” Tetsutetsu says, smacking back. 

Kirishima lets out an accomplished sigh and crosses his arms. When he sees Katsuki, he smiles at him. “Hey, man.” 

He looked so stupid there. Katsuki shouldn’t feel this way. “You got them all on the table,” he says. 

“‘Course! We carried them all the way from the shop, no breaks or anything.” Still with that smile on his face, he slugs Katsuki on the arm. “Why weren’t you there?”

“Why should I go, there were ten of you.”

“Why’d you all carry so many pizzas?” Sero asks as he sneaks a piece of pineapple off one. “Seems like it could’ve been easier. If you had ten people.” 

“Well, people had all the salads and sodas and stuff to carry, too,” Tetsutetsu says. 

Kirishima nods a little too emphatically. “Yeah, people’s hands were full. And, I mean. Plus ultra, right?” He halves the stack of pizza boxes and, like it’s a complete given, holds them out towards Katsuki. “Bakugou, here.” 

“I’m not here to help.” 

“Dude, come on. Plus ultra.” 

Sero nods sagely, as if he’s not still robbing the toppings off a pizza. “Yeah, Bakugou, plus ultra.” 

“Plus ultra yourself, pickpocket.” The next thing he feels is the boxes being pushed up against his chest. 

“Seriously, man. Everyone else is setting up. Do the manly thing.” 

For a few seconds, it’s a staring contest - Katsuki versus that overly earnest face Kirishima makes when a violation of chivalry is at hand. Why is it that he cares so much, even in stupid moments like this. 

Not without a glare, Katsuki takes the pizza boxes. As soon as he does, Kirishima’s grin breaks wide open. “Yeaaaah, Bakugou!” 

Katsuki feels his face twist up. “You’re so weird.” 

“Hey.”

“You are.”

“Don’t listen to him, bro,” says the knockoff, “he’s just trying to get you down.”

“You’re weirder.” 

“Does everyone think this?” Kirishima asks, looking around. Now that the delivery team is back and the table is set, the kitchen is full of people. 

“Sometimes the things you say are a bit odd,” says Tsuyu - finally someone honest - “but it always feels like something you’d say.” 

“Yeah, you’re not weird,” Ashido agrees. “You’re just, Kirishima!”

“Which means he’s weird.” It’s a nothing revelation. Kirishima puts protein powder in his coffee. He’s kept his muscle clock on the wall for three years. He flexes into Unbreakable when he snores. He called Katsuki “like a human trash compactor” at lunch once with a look on his face like Katsuki just performed a gold medal Olympic dive. Katsuki’s spent just about every day with the bastard, he’s fucking weird.

“Come on, Bakugou, not at our good cheerful pizza party.” Sero places a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder that Katsuki instantly brushes off. 

“You made fucking chopsticks out of tape.” 

“I will admit, that was not a better solution than getting a new pair of chopsticks from the kitchen.” 

“That was a good test of your quirk, though,” says Kirishima, who has broken every watermelon the class has ever gotten with his bare hardened hands. “That’s what you do.” 

“I think we’re probably all a little weird, right?” the hand girl says, appearing in the seat next to Tetsutetsu. “You know, quirky.” 

It’s a stupid diversion, but it seems to appease the rest of the group. Kirishima in particular nods, “Good one,” then walks over to Katsuki. “Now come on, that side of the table still doesn’t have any pizza.” 

“You not gonna say anything about me?” 

“Mmmm…just that I knew you were gonna help out.” Kirishima looks at him and grins. “You’re manly like that.” 

Katsuki shifts the pizza boxes to one hand and sets off an explosion in Kirishima’s face with the other, but he still can’t shake the bursting feeling. It stirs up something in his gut that makes him acknowledge what he knows is the truth of the situation: the only reason it doesn’t matter that Kirishima is so weird is that he’s everything else he is. Whenever Katsuki ends up staying too late in Kirishima’s room, watching movies or studying, or one of them knocks on the other’s door in the middle of the night, in those moments where Katsuki thinks he really, honestly will either die or do something to embarrass himself - there’s nothing Katsuki can say about him then. Just the familiar tingling in his chest. 

So he’s the one. What is he supposed to do about that. 

“Fucking weird,” Katsuki says, and this time Kirishima bumps their shoulders together, hard enough to jostle the pizza boxes a little. Katsuki steadies them. 

Eijirou’s excited to go skating with his classmates. Oh, yeah. But he’s really, really excited to get out of the heat. 

On a Sunday morning so hot that Eijirou woke up with no blankets, no shirt, and Bakugou pressed up against the wall as far away from him as possible, everyone’s gathered by the front door of the dorms holding winter coats and scarves. Eijirou bounds out in a T-shirt and shorts, knowing he doesn’t have to explain himself, since that’s exactly what everyone expects from him by now. They’re missing a couple people - Yaomomo ducked out after breakfast to start setting up for the barbecue, Jirou went with her, Satou offered his van (which he got last month to make it easier to visit his moms back home) to the cause, Shouji and Tokoyami volunteered to help with the grocery shopping, Tsuyu dipped saying she’d probably just freeze up in the cold - but most of the class is here, so they walk in a big loose glob from the dorms to the rink and through the ticket gates to skate rental. 

“You ever skated before?” Kaminari asks him as they waddle towards the entrance to the rink. 

“I think just one time in elementary school.” He only vaguely remembers that class party, but he does remember it being fun.

“Really? I’ve never been.” Kaminari’s face goes sour. “Is it hard?” 

“You’ll get the hang of it!” he says extra reassuringly, because he also remembers falling a lot. Eijirou’s gotten good at keeping his balance, though. He trained on that when he started using Unbreakable and could barely move his torso, like a bulky action figure that only moved at the legs. 

For a weekend, the rink is pretty quiet, but it’s clear that a big handful of the skaters on the ice are seriously skaters. One kid with pale blue skin and white hair breaks out of the counter-clockwise rotation to leap halfway across the ice, spin around on one foot, and rejoin on the other side. And then there’s Class A, a big clump around the gate. No hesitation, Eijirou tells himself; he stumbles a little when his skates hit the ice, but he makes it over to where Sero and Koda are and stops himself against the wall. 

“Is it cold enough to skate outside in Iwate?” Eijirou asks Koda, who shakes his head. “It’s snowy, though, right?” He nods. “Do your bunnies run around in the snow?”

“Not the bunnies, but the dogs do.” 

“Sweet.”  

“Alright, then, let’s g-” Kaminari calls, and cuts himself off by flopping right onto the ice. 

Oof. Before Eijirou can help him, he hears a, “Owwwwwww, are you okay?” from Ashido, who must’ve already gotten a lap in. She stops right in front of Kaminari with one of those sideways skids. Maybe it’s cause of all the sliding over her own acid that she’s already killing it. She’s got these fuzzy pink legwarmers pulled over her skates, too. She could totally pass for a pro. 

“Yep, no sweat.” Kaminari’s at least managed to roll over so he’s on his butt and not his stomach. 

Ashido yanks him up like he’s a feather pillow, with a flourish and a, “Here, I gotcha.” As soon as he’s back on his feet, he clamps both hands tight onto the wall.

“Thanks.” You can’t blame a guy, but he definitely looks happy it was Ashido who helped him up. “So, how do you-” 

“Minaaaa!” a shrill voice shrieks, a second before a jacket and a pair of gloves wobble past her. “Help me! Grab my hand!” To Hagakure’s left, Uraraka is sliding along way more smoothly, but she looks one unsteady step away from hurling. 

Ashido scrambles for Hagakure’s hand. “Wait, put me in the middle! I’ll pull you!” she gasps, and with that, they’re off.  

Dejected, Kaminari slumps against the wall. 

“Hey, no sweat,” Eijirou repeats. “I think I can help-” 

“What’s going on here.” Shinsou skates up with his hands in his pockets.  

“Hey!” Shinsou! Eijirou’s still sorta surprised he came. Good surprised. 

“Hey.” 

“Shinsou,” Kaminari says. “My buddy. My pal. Would you give a friend a hand?” 

“I’ll give you advice first.” 

“Reall-” 

“Let go.” Totally blank-faced, Kaminari clatters to the ground. 

Shinsou chuckles. “Nice.” 

“No, not nice. Mean.” 

“Bend your knees more.” Shinsou pulls Kaminari to his feet, a little less flashily than Ashido. “Okay, now just take slow steps. Don’t aim for the wall.” He looks like a question mark, with his butt all jutted out. It’s not graceful, but slowly, he starts to glide along. 

Kaminari glances at his skates, then back at Shinsou. “Am I doing this?” 

“Quirk’s off.” 

“Do you promise me I’m doing this,” he says around a nervous laugh, “I don’t know if I believe you.” 

Godspeed, Eijirou thinks, and doubles it when he sees Iida slowly sliding into the splits. When he looks back, he finds that almost everybody’s started making their way around the rink. The only people left by the gate are Eijirou and Bakugou, who is looking at him in some sort of way. 

Bakugou’s been weird lately. He’s been shooting a lot more intense glares at Eijirou than normal. Usually, Eijirou’s pretty much golden at reading them. Recently, though? Not so much. Like right now. Eijirou has no idea why Bakugou’s looking at him like that. 

“Hey, man,” he tries.

“Are you just gonna keep standing against the wall.”

That sounds like don’t tell me you actually suck at this, but it also sounds like aren’t you gonna come skate with me, so he goes with that one. “Nah, let’s get going!” 

Sticking to Bakugou’s side, Eijirou pushes off and focuses on taking confident, even strides, and bending his knees like Shinsou said. It’s harder in practice. A few meters in, Eijirou stumbles to the left - he’s trying to figure out how to twist so he doesn’t bulldoze into Bakugou when suddenly, Bakugou dips behind him and reappears on his right like it’s nothing. 

Damn. “Damn!”

“That was nothing.” 

“What do you mean, nothing. You’re really good.” To be fair, that shouldn’t really be a surprise. “Did you take lessons as a kid, or something?” 

“Why would I need to take lessons, it’s basically walking,” Bakugou says. Then, casually, he turns around and keeps skating in the same direction, backwards.

Eijirou hears himself laugh. “Alright, Bakugou.” 

Bakugou checks something about his footing, then shoots him a grin that makes Eijirou’s heart do a little back handspring. “Beginner shit.” 

Yep, that’s Bakugou. “Do you think you could do any jumps?” An image flashes through Eijirou’s mind of him spinning in tight circles to build up momentum like the pros do, then stretching his hands out underneath him and propelling himself up into the air like a rocket. 

“Probably. It’s all just coordination and manipulating your weight. It’s not so different from training.” 

He says this, but he’s still skating backwards and not even looking over his shoulder. If he did, he’d see Hagakure tumble down, taking the other two girls with her. It reminds Eijirou of when they found out he’d done mother-son baking classes for most of elementary school and had achieved level-two pastry certification. Or when he said he didn’t care about chess, then beat every single person in the class back-to-back. Will there ever come an end to Bakugou’s hidden talents? Eijirou doubts it. 

“I haven’t done this since I was a kid,” Eijirou says, picking up the pace a little. When he stops thinking about it, his skates move forward in smooth, strong lines. “I didn’t even know there was a skate rink this close to campus. They should take us here for training.” 

“Didn’t you go with everyone else at Christmas?” 

“No, dude, that was when we were camping.” He’d wanted to check out the Christmas market and its outdoor ice rink with everyone, but he and Bakugou’d had that trip planned for months. Besides, he wouldn’t trade watching the first snow fall down from inside their tent for anything. That’s what Kaminari would call a ‘core memory’. He thinks. “We gotta go this year.” 

“Pass.”

”Bakugou!”

“Why waste a weekend. You’ve been going on about wanting to climb Fuji all year.”

“That’d be New Year’s, though.” If Bakugou’s really agreeing to climb Mount Fuji for the two thousandth time for him, he’s gonna go all the way. He’ll go home to see his folks on Christmas instead. But then he’d miss Christmas with everyone- wait. “Were you planning Fuji already?”

Bakugou shrugs and looks in his eyes at the same time. “I was marking it down.”

”Really?”

“I haven’t booked anything. But the reservations are gonna open soon, so I need you to-” 

Suddenly, Todoroki is close enough to Kirishima that he’s a little worried he’ll elbow him. “Bakugou, you’re going backwards.” 

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Hey Todoroki.” Eijirou says it a little extra friendly. Then, cause he’s looking at Todoroki and not the space in front of him, he stumbles again. 

“Hi.” 

“Can you go backwards?” 

Like it’s less than nothing, Todoroki spins around and totally matches Bakugou’s pace. “Yeah.” 

“Alright!” 

“So what, it’s not hard.” 

Eijirou ignores Bakugou and asks Todoroki, “This must feel really natural to you, huh?” 

“The skates are hard to adjust to. But other than having to keep my balance, it feels normal.” 

“You guys are doing really well!” Midoriya says, moving so smooth that he might as well be on a treadmill. He spins around, and then all three of them are skating backwards in a line. It’s like watching a DVD on rewind. 

Eijirou stifles a laugh. Bakugou looks even more distressed than before. Ah, friendship. “Are you idiots trying to start a synchro team?” 

“How bout a hockey team,” Eijirou says. “Huddle up?” 

“What the fuck,” Bakugou says as Eijirou pushes himself towards them - headfirst, arms outstretched But before he can, Ashido’s voice sounds, “Midoriyaaaa, catch!” Uraraka comes spiraling towards them, until Midoriya manages to wrap his arms around her. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. Her cheeks do look a little green. 

“I think I got the hang of it!” 

And like that, as they circle around the rink over and over, they run into and pull apart from everyone in the class until Eijirou stops worrying about literally running into them. Over time, he starts turning corners smoother; actually, he’s feeling pretty good about where he’s at. It’s that little taste of confidence that makes Eijirou turn to Bakugou when they end up on their own again and say, “Hey, teach me how to do that.” 

“This?” Bakugou pushes his legs out and skates way far back. Just to show off. 

“Yeah, you think I can?”

“If you work on it.” 

“Hell yeah. I’m ready.” 

“Then turn around.” 

“Got it,” Eijirou says, spins- and loses all momentum halfway through. Awesome.

“Got it?” Bakugou says, definitely suppressing a laugh.  

“I’m getting it, for sure.” A year ago it would’ve been cute but he’s immune to Bakugou’s newly-developed sense of humor by now. Mostly. 

Bakugou waits for him to finish slowly rotating all the way back to start, and says, “Here.” Then he takes both his hands, and spins him around. 

“Ooohhhkay.” 

Eijirou hopes the skates are a good enough cover for the way his voice is wobbling. Eijirou didn’t bring gloves, because he forgot. He’s guessing Bakugou didn’t out of stubbornness, or because he’s always running warm. Either way, that means Bakugou just grabbed Eijirou’s hands, with his own bare hands. Pure skin-to-skin. Jesus. Give a guy a warning. 

“What,” Bakugou says.

“What?”

“Are you good?” Great, now Bakugou’s looking at him some sort of way again. 

“Yeah, fine.” Eijirou coughs. “I think my skates are loose.”

“Chicken.”

“I’m not, I’m just gonna go tighten them before we start.” Yes, he is. That’s why he’s starting towards the gate. But, no. He’s fine. He’s just gonna take a breather, and then he’ll be all good to hold Bakugou’s hands in a bro way. For sure. 

The spirit of Crimson Riot must be unimpressed, because of course Bakugou skates ahead of him. “Yeah, right,” he says over his shoulder, sliding smoothly off the ice and barely pausing before he starts to walk again. And now Eijirou’s even more distracted. What’s with him? What’s with Eijirou? There’s no need to be stupid right now. Eijirou puts his foot forward confidently, but instead of hitting the floor, he stumbles on the edge of the ice - both of which, he realizes, are getting closer. He scrambles, and somehow ends up face-forward again in a position he has to pause a second to understand: one skate stabbed in the rubbery floor mat, and one caught on the ice. 

One of Bakugou’s hands on each of his shoulders, holding him up. 

“Ha,” Eijirou laughs, a little out of breath. “Thanks, man. That was a close one.” 

It’s not the coolest thing he could’ve said, but he doesn’t think his mind has caught up yet. Their faces are only an inch apart. Bakugou’s just staring at him, with these really focused eyes. 

And then he moves one hand to the back of Eijirou’s neck.

Eijirou’s breath hitches, and he feels a flush rise through his whole body. He knows the skin there is raised. It’s extra sensitive as Bakugou runs his fingers along it. 

Was it just a fluke? But no, Eijirou knows Bakugou. He wouldn’t touch him like that for no reason. And he wouldn't look at him like that for no reason, either. He hasn’t been. He wouldn’t. 

Someone skates up behind Eijirou, and Bakugou pulls back; Eijirou wants to tell him not to, has so many questions to ask him. No one’s touched his soulmark before. Is it normal to feel electrocuted when they do? 

“C’mon, shitty hair, you’re blocking the way,” Bakugou is saying now. He reaches out for Eijirou’s hands and pulls him forward. Eijirou almost keeps his mouth shut - but for the first time in three years, he can’t stop himself, can’t hold back from putting what he’s feeling into words. For the first time, he-

In the end, did Eijirou make a scene about it? Yes. And did everybody at the ice rink notice and get so loud about it that the ticket booth worker came out of the ticket booth to shush them? Yes. And did the conversation continue all the way to Yaomomo’s where everyone who hadn’t gone to the ice rink got in on it and did it carry on until Bakugou finally snapped that this wasn’t a public issue and made everyone drop it, yes. But for what it’s worth, Eijirou thinks he does a good job of acting normal after that. He helps Shouji string fairy lights along the posts of the patio. He laughs with Jirou and Tokoyami (who, after three years of trial and error and many jokes, he knows was laughing) when Kaminari recounts how he ended up with a bruise over his nose. He eats more of Satou’s honestly heavenly kebabs than he knows is his fair share. 

It’s not until the sun’s gone down and the group is moving from the patio to a firepit on the beach, when they’re all taking the staircase down and Bakugou grabs his hand, that Eijirou becomes, like, a cartoon scribble of himself. For as much as their classmates wanted to talk about it, that conversation did very little to answer any of Eijirou’s questions, and they keep popping up and jostling around like his head’s a popcorn machine. 

When he sits in the sand by one of the deck posts, Bakugou sits across from him. “I have,” he starts slow, “so many questions.” 

“So shoot.” 

Eijirou opens his mouth to speak, but clenches it shut again. “Okay, just give me a minute.” Holding Bakugou’s hand is extra strange now because it’s so familiar. It’s not like they got straight to the casual hand holding after Kamino. It took time to become a thing, and usually in private. Usually in the dark. 

“Good question.” 

“Just a second. I’m still trying to catch up.” 

“Did you seriously never notice?” 

“I don’t know, I didn’t even see the mark until last summer.” Bakugou laughs in that stupid mean way that still makes his heart race, even in a moment like this. ”Don’t laugh at me, man.”

“I waited two years. I think I’ve earned it.” 

The whole party’s illuminated by little golden lights right now, so half of Bakugou’s face is colored orange and half is cool in the shadow of the porch. The night breeze brushes at his hair. It’s Bakugou. Really, he wants to talk to him like they always do. But there’s a buzzing deep in his heart making everything feel bigger, and his voice softer. “You knew for two years?” 

“About mine. Not yours.” 

“Is yours on your neck, too?” 

Bakugou pauses, then grabs his shirt by the hemline and pulls it off. There, on his chest, is the outline of two hands interlocking around a star, right between his left collarbone and the large scar beneath it. A year old now. Still pink. 

Bakugou takes Eijirou’s hand and places it over the mark, and instantly, Eijirou feels a wave of energy rush through his body. Okay. It’s not a new feeling, just what he’s always felt dialed up to a hundred. He takes a deep breath to try and steady himself; it’s almost too much for him. He thinks of every time he’s tried to hold that feeling back, and then he looks up and sees the way Bakugou is looking back at him, and-

“Timeout,” Eijirou says, drawing his hand back to cover his face. 

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, but instead of silence, the air is filled with the lapping of the waves and their friends laughing only a bit further down the beach. If they looked at him, they might laugh at him. Very manly, how he’s confronting his emotions. Eijirou didn't really think about soulmarks much as a kid. He remembers how his Ma had one that his dad didn't, and hearing them yell about it a few times near the end. He remembers seeing Mom's for the first time, too. Ma and dad loved each other - up til the end, at least. It’s not like their marks went away when he left. Over by the fire, Uraraka is crouching down in a way that puts the mark on her thigh on display: a baby bird, just below the hem of her shorts. Eijirou first saw it when she ripped her costume one day during intern work; he doesn’t know exactly what it means, but he can guess. He knows she didn’t wear shorts at all last summer. Eijirou believes in a lot of things, like teamwork and his lucky sneakers and praying to the god of exams every finals week. Maybe he just never learned to believe in soulmarks as a guide to follow. 

But is he supposed to say that to Bakugou? If it’s him, how does that change? Before he can decide what to say, Bakugou asks, “So, what.” 

“What?” 

“Normally, you’d be running your big mouth right now. Are you upset about it, or what.” 

“Oh fuck, no,” Eijirou says quickly. “Of course not. It’s just, you know- has that been there the whole time?” 

Bakugou nods.

“Shit.” Even just thinking practically, he doesn’t know how he never noticed. That was two summers ago. The amount of times they’ve trained together and jogged together and shared a bed… “I feel like I should say sorry. I didn’t even find it myself, Tetsu did.”

“No way.”

“He did. And then he cried because he didn’t have one.” 

And there he goes again. Like the sun. “He thought you were soulmates?” 

“He thought maybe there was a special tier for bro soulmates.” If that were a thing, Eijirou and Tetsu would definitely have them. The only other person who ever saw it was Ashido, who apparently decided she had retired from being a meddler that very day, because she didn’t ask any questions. 

“And what about you.” 

What about Eijirou? Why ask. It’s been two years of this. And it’s been so good. This entire time he’s been so sure that they had something good going on, as long as Eijirou never tried to put a name on it. But if what they were already had a name, and Bakugou knew, and was waiting for him to figure it out-  

Then there’s nothing manly about not saying it now. “I think I always thought it was you.” 

Obviously it was him. Now that he’s decided to be brave about it, Eijirou’s not stopping there. “I mean this whole time, I’ve been like, half in love with you-”

“Half in-” 

“Really, really in love with you,” he corrects, even louder. And- huh. All night, Bakugou’s looked so composed. Now, both the lit side and the shadow side of his face look pink. “What did you think?” 

“I-” 

“Heyyyyy! Loverboys!” Ashido calls, “Get up here, we’re starting s’mores!” 

Bakugou looks back at him. “What the hell is a s’more.” 

“Dunno.” Must be something someone saw online. “Think we should go find out?” 

Even as he says it, Eijirou doesn’t really want this moment to end, but Bakugou nods and starts to get up. He picks his shirt back up and shakes the sand off of it. Before he pulls it over his head, Eijirou takes one last look at the mark - the way it just avoids being hit by the starburst scar beneath it. 

“Bakugou, wait,” Eijirou says, before deciding how to follow it. 

“What?” 

He jumps to his feet. Then, before he can chicken out, he wraps his arms around Bakugou as tight as he can. 

“You and me?”

Bakugou pulls away - okay, understandable - and the next thing Eijirou knows, his back is against the wooden post of the patio, and he can’t see anybody else and the entire party might as well be on a different planet, because Bakugou is taking his face in both his hands and kissing him like he’s breathing him in. 

Bakugou’s lips are hot against his- they taste like the salty air. There’s the lightest touch of a tongue moving across Eijirou’s lower lip. Eijirou grabs a handful of Bakugou’s shirt, trying to pull him even closer. Holy shit. His bare feet slide in the sand, his legs fighting to stay upright as one of Bakugou’s hands laces through his hair and finds the outline of itself on Eijirou’s neck. It’s a million times what Eijirou had expected, what he wouldn’t let himself dream of. 

Still, when Bakugou pulls away, it’s with a soft, “That’s what.” 

Far away, someone is cheering, and he thinks he hears clapping. Maybe that half-flubbed wolf whistle Kaminari’s been working on. It’s only a second later that Eijirou feels the familiar singe of an explosion against his skin, in tiny firecrackers all over his palms. 

And so, Eijirou’s first kiss happens like a lot of things in his life: suddenly, with a little nitroglycerin smoke, and surrounded by his classmates, egging him on. But as they rejoin the circle, when Midoriya says something to Bakugou that makes him send another explosion into his face and Ashido plants herself next to Eijirou with a completely devious expression, it strikes Eijirou as just that: like everything else in his life. The way it’s been since he and Bakugou met. Maybe that’s what it means to be fated by the gods, or the stars, or whatever it is that people think gives people the marks. But that’s not quite right, either. He and Bakugou made this. They’ve been working at it from the day Eijirou first stuck himself by his side, building piece by piece. Every time Bakugou didn’t push him away. Every night they lay side-by-side so they could both get some sleep. Every tiny thing Eijirou never realized Bakugou remembered. Every little bit of himself that Bakugou revealed to Eijirou, that Eijirou’s been holding close to him all along. 

They built this on purpose.