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Izuku Midoriya had faced villains, natural disasters, and even All Might’s muscle form at point-blank range. None of those experiences, however, had prepared him for the sheer terror of asking Katsuki Bakugo on a date.
Katsuki was currently sitting a mere two feet away from him in the U.A. dorm common room, sprawled across the couch like he owned the furniture and probably the building. One arm was thrown over the backrest, his training shirt clinging damply to his shoulders, fresh from a workout.
Izuku was trying very hard not to stare.
He was failing.
Because Katsuki had pushed his sweaty hair back earlier and it hadn’t quite fallen back into place yet, leaving his forehead exposed in a way that made Izuku’s brain short-circuit. And the fading light from the windows hit his eyes just right—
“Quit staring at me, Deku. It’s creepy.”
Izuku jerked violently.
“I’m not!” he squeaked immediately.
Katsuki’s eyes slid toward him, narrowing with the slow suspicion of someone who had known Izuku for most of their lives and therefore knew exactly how much of a lie that was.
“You absolutely are.”
“I’m really not!”
“You’re doing it right now.”
Katsuki leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, fixing him with a look that could probably intimidate professional villains.
“You wanna say something, you moron?” he said. “Spit it out.”
Okay.
This was it.
Izuku had rehearsed this moment approximately six hundred and fourteen times in his head over the last week. The words were simple: Would you like to get dinner with me?
Izuku’s capable brain, which had successfully analyzed complex battle strategies under life-threatening pressure, chose this exact second to betray him. What came out instead was:
“Staring contest.”
Silence fell over the room.
Katsuki blinked once. “…What.”
“A staring contest!” Izuku repeated, because apparently doubling down was his only coping mechanism. “Loser has to do whatever the winner says!”
Katsuki stared at him as though trying to determine whether Izuku had suffered a concussion during training.
“…You want to drag me into a staring contest,” he said slowly, “because you think you can beat me.”
Izuku nodded, “Yes! Exactly!”
Katsuki’s mouth curled into a sharp grin. “Hah! You’re on!”
He pushed himself upright on the couch, leaning forward until their knees bumped awkwardly together.
Suddenly they were much, much closer than Izuku had anticipated. Close enough that he could see the tiny variations of red in Katsuki’s eyes. Izuku unconsciously began to count Katsuki’s eyelashes. Twice.
Katsuki locked onto him with predatory intensity.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Three.”
“Two.”
“One.”
They stared.
Izuku focused with fierce intensity. Katsuki stared back with stubborn determination.
Time stretched.
And then— Katsuki’s gaze flicked briefly downward, and he scowled. Subtle, almost nothing. But Izuku, who had spent his entire childhood analyzing Katsuki’s every movement like a highly specific science experiment, caught it instantly.
Izuku’s hair had fallen forward when he leaned in, and one ridiculous green curl had bounced right between them. It wobbled slightly every time he breathed, and it seemed to be driving Katsuki mad.
Katsuki’s eye twitched. His lid dropped, quicker than a flash. A blink.
Izuku shot upright like a rocket.
“I WIN!”
“THAT DOESN’T COUNT!” Katsuki exploded, jerking back so hard he nearly fell off the couch. “You were pissing me off with your stupid hair!”
“Cmon, Kacchan, my hair?!”
“It was moving, goddamn it! I couldn’t focus!”
Izuku crossed his arms, trying to look stern and probably failing. “A deal’s a deal, Kacchan.”
Katsuki glared at him, like he was considering actual violence. “UGH! FINE! What the hell do you want anyway?”
Izuku drew in a breath that felt far too large for his lungs and forced the words out.
“You have to go on a date with me.”
The air between Izuku and Katsuki went utterly still. Katsuki stared at him, completely frozen in shock.
The sharp crimson intensity didn’t harden, didn’t flick away, didn’t do anything except lock onto Izuku like a targeting system that had just malfunctioned. Izuku planted his feet and refused to look away.
The color arrived slowly, creeping up Katsuki’s neck like a spreading wildfire. First a faint pink dusted the edges of his ears, then it climbed higher, staining his cheeks, darkening until his entire face looked like it had been dipped in boiling water. Katsuki’s brain appeared to reboot violently.
“WHAT THE HELL, DEKU?!”
Izuku jerked at the volume but held his ground. “You said anything!”
“I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D PICK SOMETHING THAT STUPID!”
“It’s not stupid!” Izuku shot back, indignant despite the way his pulse was hammering against his ribs.
“It’s stupid if it’s with you!”
That stung a little, even if Izuku knew half of Katsuki’s insults were reflex at this point. He folded his arms, trying to look unimpressed and probably only succeeding in looking stubborn.
“Oh,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “So you’re the kind of person who backs out of bets.”
Katsuki’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
“HEY— I DIDN’T—” He made a frustrated noise that sounded like a kettle about to explode. “That’s not what I— Just— REMATCH!”
Izuku blinked. “What?”
“A rematch!” Katsuki snapped, jabbing a finger toward him like he was accusing Izuku of a crime. “You cheated! You caught me off guard! That didn’t count!”
“I wasn’t cheating! I can’t control my hair!”
“Fuck off! We go again!”
Izuku hesitated, considering. A deal was a deal. But Katsuki also looked like he might detonate on the spot if he didn’t get another chance.
“…Okay,” Izuku said finally. “Fine.”
Katsuki straightened immediately, “Good.”
They leaned toward each other again.
This time the distance between them disappeared almost immediately, knees pressing together where they sat across the couch. Izuku became acutely aware of everything all at once: the warmth radiating off Katsuki’s body, the faint smell of smoke and soap clinging to his training gear, the sharp line of his jaw only inches away.
Their foreheads nearly brushed. Izuku could feel Katsuki’s breath against his face now, warm and uneven. Katsuki’s trademark scowl started to look suspiciously like panic.
Seconds stretched. Footsteps crossed the common room behind them, quiet enough that neither of them paid attention at first. A calm voice inserted itself, cutting straight through the tension.
“It looks like you two are about to kiss.”
Both boys froze suddenly.
A few steps away stood Shoto Todoroki, holding a mug of tea in one hand and a small notebook tucked under his arm. Steam curled lazily from the cup while he regarded them with his usual unbothered neutrality, as though interrupting two classmates in the middle of an extremely intense near-face-to-face standoff was the most ordinary observation in the world.
“We are NOT!” Katsuki snapped, whipping around towards him—blinking from sheer rage in the process. The realization hit him a fraction of a second too late. His eyes snapped back open, widening in immediate fury as the mistake registered.
Izuku gasped embarrassingly loud. “I WON!”
Katsuki whipped back toward him. “NO YOU DIDN’T!”
“You blinked!”
“That didn’t count!”
“It absolutely counted!”
“You cheated!”
Izuku threw both hands up. “How did I cheat?!”
Katsuki jabbed an accusatory finger toward Todoroki. “Outside interference!”
“I can’t control Todoroki!” Izuku protested, turning helplessly toward their classmate as if hoping for backup.
Todoroki had taken another slow sip of tea during the argument. He lowered the mug thoughtfully, eyes drifting between the two of them. “That was very intimate,” he said after a moment of consideration.
Katsuki looked like he might actually combust.
“GET LOST, ICYHOT!”
Todoroki nodded once and walked out of the common room without another word. The door slid shut behind him.
Silence rushed in to fill the space he’d left. Izuku slowly turned back toward Katsuki Bakugo.
Katsuki had crossed his arms so tightly it looked like he was trying to fold himself in half. The angry red still clinging to his cheeks was doing absolutely nothing to help his attempts at looking unaffected.
Izuku, unfortunately, had never been particularly good at hiding his emotions. The grin spreading across his face arrived before he could stop it.
“So...you lost.”
Katsuki’s glare could have peeled paint off the walls. Unfortunately for him, the lingering color at the tips of his ears made the expression significantly less intimidating than usual. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away sharply, as if the opposite wall had suddenly become fascinating.
“...Fine.”
Izuku blinked. “Fine?”
Katsuki whipped back around instantly, temper flaring again. “I said fine!” he snapped. “I’ll go on your stupid date!”
Izuku’s heart performed a full somersault.
“Wait— really?”
“Don’t start acting weird about it!” Katsuki barked, pointing at him violently. “I’m only going because I lost! A bet’s a bet, dumbass. I’m not the kind of guy who backs out once I say something!”
Izuku couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out. Anyone who knew Katsuki knew that no bet on earth could force him into something he genuinely didn’t want to do.
“Oh,” Izuku said, trying—and failing—to keep the delight out of his voice. “Right. Of course.”
Katsuki’s ears went red again.
“It’s not a real date,” he muttered.
“Okay!”
“And you’re paying.”
“Okay!”
“And if it sucks, I’m blowing something up.”
Izuku nodded seriously, like they were negotiating mission parameters. “That seems reasonable.”
Katsuki huffed under his breath, clearly annoyed that Izuku was taking the conditions so easily.
“When.” he demanded.
Izuku swallowed. “Friday?”
Katsuki responded with a short grunt that might have been agreement. He spun on his heel and started toward the hallway, boots thudding across the floor with an overly aggressive determination, like he very much needed to leave the room.
He made it halfway to the door before, he stopped briefly.
“Wear something decent,” he muttered over his shoulder. Katsuki then disappeared down the hall with violently loud stomps.
Izuku remained rooted to the spot in the middle of the common room. Slowly, cautiously, a dazed smile spread across his face.
His mind immediately launched into overdrive, cycling through restaurant options, possible outfits, emergency conversation topics, and roughly fourteen thousand catastrophic scenarios in which he somehow ruined everything.
For once, the chaotic flutter in his head didn’t feel like anxiety.
It felt like victory.
Katsuki stood in front of his closet and glared at it with unrestrained violence. A hanger creaked faintly under the weight of his stare.
“This is stupid,” he muttered, yanking open a drawer hard enough that it smacked against the stopper. “It’s just a damn date. Not a wedding.”
Not that it was a date, of course.
It was a consequence. A contractual obligation. The result of losing a perfectly legitimate staring contest under unfair, icy-hot-related interference. Totally different.
He grabbed his usual black tank top from the pile and held it up.
Ugh. No. Too casual.
He tossed it back into the drawer with unnecessary force and started rifling through the rest of his closet. Fabric thumped against wood. Hangers clattered together.
If Deku thought this was a date—then he’d probably spent the last two days researching restaurants and calculating optimal bus routes and color-coordinating his stupid nerd outfits. Katsuki scowled at the image of Izuku standing in front of a mirror, muttering pros and cons about the different fabric textures of his clothes. Man, what a freak.
He shoved aside a few rarely worn shirts until his hand closed around something stiffer. He pulled out a dark button-down he’d barely touched since middle school graduation. The fabric was heavier than his usual clothes, structured in a way that forced him to stand straighter, fitted through the shoulders.
He stripped off his tank and tugged the shirt on, fingers working the buttons with more aggression than necessary. The collar sat neatly against his throat. The sleeves hugged his arms just enough. He stepped in front of the mirror and looked.
…Not bad. He looked older, cleaner, and matured.
He grabbed one of his nicer jackets from the back of his closet and shrugged it on. The shoulders fit cleanly. He adjusted the collar and rolled his shoulders once, testing the range of motion.
Then, he reached up and smoothed his hair down automatically—then froze.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
He fluffed it back into its usual spiky defiance, scowling at his reflection. “This is fucking normal!” he informed it aggressively, daring the mirror to disagree.
His heart thudded harder than it had any right to.
Shoes.
He crossed the room and reached for his boots without thinking: the heavy, black combat pair he wore for patrols and training. They were reliable, broken in from countless hours of hero work. The soles molded perfectly to his stride. They were also scuffed to hell.
One toe bore a permanent scorch mark from an overpowered blast. The leather was creased from repeated impacts. The laces didn’t even match; one had been replaced after snapping mid-mission.
Yeah, absolutely not. You don't wear half-charred combat boots to a date. He might be rough around the edges, but he wasn’t a savage.
With a frustrated exhale, he crouched and shoved his arm deep into the back of his closet, pushing aside boxes and old gear bags until his fingers brushed something smooth and leather. He dragged out a pair of black dress shoes he hadn’t seen in years. They were sleek, narrow at the toe, polished once upon a time to a subtle shine. Now they were coated in a fine layer of dust.
He turned them over in his hands, inspecting the stitching. They were still intact, just neglected.
Katsuki stood, marched to the sink, and dampened a rag. He returned to his bed and sat down, one shoe balanced on his knee. Slowly, methodically, he began wiping away the dust.
The rag moved in small, precise circles. Gray film smeared away to reveal clean leather underneath. He pressed harder along the seams, working dirt out of the stitching. When he finished one pass, he started again, more carefully this time, until the surface caught the light with a faint, respectable sheen, before repeating with its pair.
By the time he finished, his jaw had unclenched slightly.
They looked damn good.
But when he set the rag aside and slipped them on, he immediately regretted it.
Damn shit was tight. He wiggled his toes, and to which they protested violently. The leather pinched at his heels and squeezed across the top of his foot. He stood and took a few steps. Goddamn, they pinched.
“…You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he growled.
He must’ve last worn these ages ago, before growth spurts, before hero training bulked him up.
He glared down at them and very stubbornly ignored the throbbing in his feet. It wasn't like he had any other appropriate shoes. They matched the outfit. They completed the look. They made it clear he hadn’t just thrown something on five minutes before leaving. He could deal with a little discomfort.
And Deku was definitely going to show up in something coordinated and neat and probably ironed within an inch of its life. Katsuki refused to look like the sloppy one.
Even if this wasn’t a date. Obviously. His heart pounded again, loud and stupid in his chest.
He grabbed his wallet from the desk, checked it twice out of habit, then turned back to the mirror for one last inspection. He adjusted the collar a fraction of an inch. Smoothed a wrinkle at his side. Checked his hair. His stomach was flipping.
He reached for the door handle, hesitated for half a second, then scowled at himself for even pausing.
It was just Deku. Nothing to be scared about, for fucks sake.
He stepped out of his room, pulse racing, shoes already biting into his heels, and tried very hard not to admit—to anyone, especially himself—that beneath the irritation and pride was something dangerously close to excitement.
Izuku was already waiting outside the dorms when Katsuki pushed through the front doors. He stood near the steps, hands shoved nervously into the pockets of his jeans.
He’d clearly tried, the predictable bastard. The jeans were dark and clean, fitted but not tight. His sweater was a soft forest green that made his eyes look brighter under the courtyard lights. The sleeves were pushed up just enough to show his forearms, and for once his curls weren’t exploding in every direction. They’d been coaxed into something almost neat, though a few stubborn strands still framed his face.
Huh. Izuku looked… actually decent for once.
Izuku noticed him a second later. His head lifted, and his eyes went wide. They traveled slowly from Katsuki’s shoes to his jacket to his collar to his face. Then back down again, like he needed to confirm what he was seeing.
“Um—hi!” Izuku said, voice light but wobbling at the edges. He gave a small, awkward wave, fingers twitching midair as if unsure whether to commit to it. His gaze kept drifting, curious and bright and entirely too attentive.
Katsuki’s stomach curdled. He suddenly felt very aware of the fancy jacket on his shoulders, the collar sat against his neck, the tight pinch of his shoes, everything.
Fucking Idiot. He’d gone full “fancy dinner at a five-star place” when Deku looked like they were going to a damn café.
Heat crawled up his neck and settled in his ears. His pulse thudded, heavy and humiliating.
He folded his arms across his chest. “What are you staring at, nerd?”
Izuku blinked rapidly, eyes still wandering helplessly over him. “You look— I mean— you look really nice, Kacchan.”
“Yeah, well.” Katsuki shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and probably landing somewhere closer to defensive. “It’s called putting in effort. Try it sometime.”
He shifted his weight casually—or at least what he hoped looked casual. The moment his heel dragged against the stiff leather, a sharp sting shot up the back of his ankle. The shoes were tight, like the moron who designed them had never seen a human foot before. Katsuki straightened his posture immediately, jaw locking as he forced his stance steady again.
Izuku, meanwhile, had dropped his gaze to his own outfit, fingers brushing the hem of his sweater with visible self-consciousness. “I did! I just didn’t think we were going somewhere super fancy, so I didn’t want to overdo it or make it feel like I was trying too hard and make you uncomfortable or—”
“WAIT, WHAT!? I’M NOT UNCOMFORTABLE!” he barked instantly, straightening even more. “NOT EVEN CLOSE! NEVER!”
For emphasis—terrible, stupid emphasis—he planted both feet firmly on the ground. Pain flared viciously through his heels.
Worth it, a traitorous voice in the back of his head muttered. He detonated that thought immediately.
Izuku’s lips curved in a way that made Katsuki want to combust. “I know,” he said gently. “I’m just saying you didn’t have to dress up that much for me. But I appreciate it, really.”
For me.
The phrase ricocheted around Katsuki’s skull like a damn bullet.
He looked away sharply. “You idiot. Of course I didn’t do it for you. I did it for myself, obviously. You think I go around half-assing things? Get real.”
Izuku’s smile widened just slightly, like he could see straight through the lie and had decided not to call it out. It was infuriating.
Katsuki’s eye twitched. “Why the hell do you keep smiling at me like that?”
Izuku blinked. “Oh… I was smiling?”
“You’re doing it right now.”
“I am?” Izuku’s hand lifted to his face as if to check.
“Yes, idiot.”
Izuku’s smile only deepened, Katsuki sighed and stepped forward abruptly, forcing momentum back into the situation before he combusted on the spot. “Jesus, are we gonna be standing here all night or are we going!?”
Izuku jolted. “Right! Yes. Sorry!”
They fell into step beside each other, heading down the path toward the street.
Katsuki lasted exactly twelve steps before the shoes began their rebellion in earnest. Inside the polished leather death traps currently strangling his feet, Katsuki flexed his toes in a desperate attempt to regain circulation. It felt like they’d been packed in concrete. He could already feel the skin at the back of his ankles scraping raw every time the shoe shifted, already irritated from the short walk across the courtyard. He adjusted his stride subtly.
“Are you okay?” Izuku asked after a moment, glancing sideways.
“Fine.”
“You’re walking kind of stiff.”
“I always walk like this!”
Izuku tilted his head. “No, you don’t.”
“Shut up!”
Izuku hummed softly, clearly unconvinced, but he let it drop.
They continued in silence for a few beats, their shoulders occasionally brushing when the sidewalk narrowed. Each time it happened, Katsuki felt the contact like a spark. He kept his gaze locked forward, jaw tight, pretending he didn’t notice.
The streetlights painted everything gold. Izuku’s shadow stretched long beside his, sometimes overlapping his own.
Izuku told himself—firmly, repeatedly—not to stare.
He lasted all of two seconds.
The street was alive in that soft, glowing way weekend evenings tended to be. Restaurant windows spilled golden light across the sidewalk. Conversations overlapped in bright threads of laughter and clinking dishes.
Izuku had chosen the restaurant with care— a local favorite known for spicy curry that could make grown adults cry, which meant it was perfect for Katsuki. Casual enough not to feel intimidating, but popular enough to feel special. And their towering ice cream parfait designed for two? Strategic.
He even planned the route. The timing. Even which side of the sidewalk would give Katsuki the better view of the lights.
He had not planned for Katsuki to look like that.
Izuku’s gaze slid sideways again before he could stop it.
The button-down was crisp, the collar sitting neatly against his throat. A dark jacket framed his shoulders, tailored enough to emphasize the line of his build. His hair, while still unmistakably spiked, seemed marginally tamed—as if he’d spent an extra minute in front of a mirror. He looked mature. Handsome in a way that made Izuku’s brain go staticky.
Heat crept up Izuku’s neck as he looked down at his sweater. He tugged at the hem like that might magically upgrade it.
I should’ve dressed nicer. Of course Kacchan would go all out. He takes everything so seriously. He probably thought I’d wear something formal. Oh no, does he think I’m not taking this seriously? He definitely thinks I’m not taking this seriously—
He risked another glance.
His jaw was set, eyes forward, expression carved from something stern and unreadable. But there was a flush at the tips of his ears that hadn’t been there when they left the dorms, and his stride was just slightly too measured, like he was concentrating on every step.
Izuku’s heart did a strange little flip.
Oh my god, he’s so cute.
The thought landed with enough force to knock the rhythm out of his legs. His steps went rigid, overly mechanical.
Beside him, Katsuki’s eyes flicked over. “Why are you moving like you’ve got a stick up your—”
“I’m fine!” Izuku burst out, far too loud.
“You look constipated.”
“I am not constipated!”
“Then walk normal, nerd.”
“I am walking normal.”
“You are absolutely not.”
Izuku tried to recalibrate. Loosen shoulders, bend knees, swing arms in what he hoped was a normal human pattern. It was difficult when his brain had devolved into a relentless loop of cute cute cute cute.
Their hands brushed accidentally, from Izuku's clumsiness.
It was nothing—just the back of Katsuki’s knuckles grazing Izuku’s fingers when the sidewalk narrowed—but it sent a jolt up Izuku’s arm like static. He flinched hard enough to nearly catch his toe on a crack in the pavement.
Katsuki made an irritated sound that would’ve been convincing if not for the color climbing up his neck. “Jeez! Watch it!”
“Sorry!” Izuku squeaked, hands flying up defensively.
They turned the corner, and the restaurant came into view at the end of the block. Its sign glowed warmly against the darkening sky, windows fogged slightly from the heat inside. The scent hit strongly here: chilies, curry leaves, something rich and savory that made Izuku’s stomach perk up immediately.
He brightened, momentarily rescued from his spiraling thoughts. “Smell that? That’s the place I told you about. They’re known for their spice levels—they actually have a ranking system, and apparently level five has made people cry and scream, but they also have this parfait that’s huge and it’s meant for sharing and—”
“I know,” Katsuki cut in, not looking at him. “I’ve heard of it.”
Izuku’s grin softened. “I thought you might like it.”
Katsuki’s mouth twitched. “Whatever.”
They were just a few steps away when a womab stumbled directly into their path. She looked like she’d been running—hair half-loose from a clip, chest rising quickly.
“Please—are you two from U.A.?!” she asked desperately, voice catching on ragged breaths. “I’ve seen you on the news!”
Izuku straightened instinctively. “Yes, ma’am. What’s wrong?”
“My cat,” she said, hands twisting together. “She slipped her harness near the park about half an hour ago. I’ve been looking everywhere. She—she has extreme anxiety. If anyone tries to approach her, she panics and runs. No one’s been able to get close!” The fear in her voice was sharp and and unmistakeable.
Katsuki’s stance adjusted subtly, weight shifting forward. “How far could she have gotten?”
“I don’t know. She’s small—gray, white paws. Her name is Mochi.” The woman’s eyes shone. “I’m so scared she’ll run into the street and get hurt!”
Izuku and Katsuki glanced at each other. It wasn’t a long look. It didn’t need to be.
Izuku nodded quickly. “We’ll help you find her!”
Katsuki clicked his tongue, already turning toward the direction of the park. “Damn annoying cat.”
Relief washed across the woman’s face so visibly it made Izuku’s chest tighten.
“She’s anxious,” Izuku murmured, thinking out loud as they started walking. “Okay. So chasing is out of the question. We should minimize sudden movements and loud noises, create a low-pressure perimeter, maybe use food to draw her into a controlled space. Once we are able to identify her location, then we also can block off escape routes without cornering her too aggressively,” Izuku continued, gesturing vaguely as ideas stacked up. “We’ll need to coordinate positioning, and Kacchan, you can’t yell like you always do because that’ll spike her stress response—”
“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”
The woman startled, blinking rapidly.
Izuku offered her a reassuring smile. “We’ll be careful. Promise!”
Katsuki rolled his shoulders. “This’ll be easy.”
The restaurant’s warm lights glowed behind them. But for now, the curry could wait.
They had a cat to save.
By the time they dragged themselves back onto the main street, Izuku’s legs trembled with every step. Dirt streaked up the side of his jeans and across his sweater, which now sported a jagged tear at the elbow where he’d dived under a splintered fence. His hands looked like he’d tried to high-five a cactus eighteen times in a row—thin red scratches crisscrossing his knuckles and fingers. One particularly ambitious swipe marked his cheek, dangerously close to his eye. His hair looked like it had personally fought a hurricane and lost, leaves still stubbornly clinging near his temple.
Beside him, Katsuki somehow looked worse.
The dark jacket he’d worn so carefully earlier hung in tatters, one sleeve split completely at the seam. His shirt had long since come untucked, wrinkled and smeared with soot where controlled blasts had singed the air too close to his own body. Blackened smudges climbed his forearms. A thin line of scratches traced along his jaw, bright and red against fair skin. His expression was nuclear.
“I hate cats,” Katsuki declared for the thousandth time that night.
Izuku bent forward, bracing his hands on his knees while he tried to drag air back into his lungs. “You don’t hate cats,” he managed between breaths. “You just hate that cat.”
“Damn right.”
“She was just scared.”
“She was a literal demon.”
Izuku huffed a tired laugh despite himself.
It had started simply enough. Mochi had been spotted beneath a park bench, eyes wide and reflective in the dim light. Izuku had crouched low, voice soft, coaxing. Katsuki had positioned himself a careful distance away, arms folded, growling like that might intimidate her into cooperation.
Mochi had stared at them for exactly three seconds before bolting.
After that, the park had turned into something like an obstacle course. Mochi ricocheted off benches and shot under the narrowest gaps in fencing. She scaled a tree with supernatural efficiency, claws scrabbling against bark as Izuku scrambled up after her, only for her to launch herself off onto a trash can lid moments later like like it was an Olympic event.
Katsuki had blasted ahead again and again, explosions snapping sharp and controlled in the night air—not enough to frighten her further, just enough to redirect. He boxed her in near the playground once, hands out, laser-focused.
She slipped between his legs.
Another time, they’d herded her toward a dead end near the equipment shed, timing the movements perfectly— only for Mochi to squeeze through a gap so narrow Izuku was fairly certain it violated several laws of physics.
“Are we sure that this fucking beast doesn’t have a teleportation quirk?!” Katsuki had demanded at one point, watching her vanish under a another hedge that did not look physically possible.
Hours blurred into a montage of near-catches and narrow escapes. It had taken nearly two hundred attempts with Blackwhip before Izuku managed to gently snag the exhausted, trembling gray animal mid-dash. He’d cradled her carefully, murmuring apologies into her fur, voice low and steady, while she attempted one half-hearted swipe before sagging entirely, exhaustion winning.
By the time they returned her to her owner, Mochi was asleep against Izuku’s shredded sweater, small chest rising and falling rapidly but safe.
The woman had burst into tears the moment she saw them. She’d clutched Mochi so tightly Izuku had gently reminded her to breathe, to give the poor cat some space. Gratitude spilled out in frantic waves of apologies and thanks, even going so far as crouching at a Dogeza at their feet for the inconvenience that made both boys fluster.
It had absolutely been worth it.
Now, though, as they rounded the final corner toward the curry restaurant, Izuku allowed himself to imagine warm food and cold parfait and sitting somewhere that didn’t involve shrubbery—
The glow that had lit the windows earlier was gone.
Izuku’s stomach dropped.
The lights were off. The chairs were stacked. A small sign hung in the window.
CLOSED.
They froze at the exact same time. For a long moment, neither spoke. Izuku’s stomach growled loudly enough to echo in the quiet street. Katsuki’s answered a second later.
“…You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Katsuki said flatly.
Izuku stepped closer to the door, peering inside as if the staff might magically reappear. “They must’ve closed while we were at the park,” he said weakly.
“Yeah, no shit,” Katsuki replied.
Izuku leaned his forehead briefly against the cool glass before pushing back with a sigh. This was not how Izuku had pictured the night. There had been a mental image involving shared dessert spoons and maybe, if he was very brave, nudging their knees together under the table.
Instead, they stood there in the dim streetlight, scratched, smudged, and starving.
Izuku turned to him, offering a tired but hopeful smile. “We could head back and order takeout. My treat.”
Katsuki shot him a look. “Damn right it’s your treat.”
They turned toward home, the dim glow of the shuttered restaurant fading behind them as the street stretched ahead in long, quiet blocks of yellow lamplight.
Izuku was halfway through wondering whether there might be a ramen place still open somewhere nearby when something in the rhythm of their footsteps tugged at his attention.Katsuki’s stride had changed.
Izuku had spent most of his life watching Katsuki move—running ahead of him on playgrounds, charging into fights, storming down hallways with that same explosive momentum that seemed built into every part of him. Katsuki’s walk had always been sharp and decisive. But now, there was hesitation, just for a fraction of a second before each step landed, as if his body had to brace itself first. The powerful roll of his gait had been replaced by something stiffer, more cautious. His shoulders remained squared and confident, his pace still stubbornly fast, but every few strides there was the faintest tightening around his eyes. A quiet hitch in his breath.
Izuku slowed slightly, watching.
Katsuki took another step. And another. Each time his foot hit the pavement, something in his jaw clenched tighter. The muscles along his neck flickered with strain before smoothing out again, like he was forcing it to relax.
Izuku’s gaze dropped to his feet.
The sleek black dress shoes that had looked so sharp earlier were barely recognizable now. The leather was scuffed and dulled, streaked with dust and grass from hours of sprinting through the park. The edges were smeared with dirt where they’d slammed against curbs and tree roots during the chase. Worse than that, the shoes looked… tight.
When they stepped beneath a streetlight, the glow slid across Katsuki’s ankle where the shoe dipped low at the back.
Izuku stopped walking without meaning to.
The skin there was shredded. Not just irritated—destroyed.
The back of Katsuki’s heel was rubbed raw in wide patches where the shoe had chewed through the outer layers of skin. The area was an angry, inflamed red that gleamed slightly under the light, the surface slick where friction had worn it down. Blisters had formed and burst, leaving jagged flaps of pale skin curling away from the edges like torn paper.
One of them had split completely. The thin layer covering it had peeled back, exposing the darker, tender flesh underneath. A faint smear of blood had soaked into the inside edge of the shoe, diluted by sweat but still visible as a dark stain along the leather rim.
Every time Katsuki took a step, the stiff edge of the shoe pressed directly into those torn spots. The damaged skin dragged against the leather, ground into it.
Izuku watched the motion once—twice—and felt a phantom sting shoot up his own leg in sympathy. His chest twisted.
“Oh no, Kacchan,” he breathed quietly.
Katsuki didn’t slow. “What.”
“Your feet! You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re limping!”
“I am not limping!”
Katsuki literally limped on the next step, the motion small but undeniable.
Izuku stood rooted to the pavement. “Kacchan.”
Katsuki halted a few feet ahead and half-turned, irritation flashing. “Can you just shut up? What now?”
Izuku closed the distance between them. “Let me carry you.”
Katsuki’s entire body went still. “What.”
“I’ll give you a piggyback,” Izuku said, already stepping closer. “We’re almost halfway back, and your shoes are destroying your feet!”
“I am not getting on your back!”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not five!”
“It’s practical!” Izuku insisted, hands lifting helplessly. “You’re injured.”
“It’s humiliating!”
“It’s efficient!”
“I can fucking walk Deku!”
Izuku moved in front of him, blocking his path, green eyes wide and unyielding. “Please!”
Katsuki’s scowl faltered, just slightly.
Izuku’s shoulders slumped. “I should’ve noticed sooner,” he said quietly. “You dressed up, and then we ran around for hours, and the restaurant closed, and your outfit’s ruined, and now your feet are…” His voice thinned. “I dragged you into this. I just—let me do something right. Please. It’ll make me feel better.”
For a long moment, Katsuki just stared at him.
The irritation in his expression flickered, reshaped itself into something harder to read. He exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound heavy and theatrical. “God, you’re so damn dramatic.”
Izuku’s gaze dropped, shoulders curling inward. He expected that answer.
Katsuki clicked his tongue sharply. “…Fine.”
Izuku blinked, head snapping back up. “Wait. Really?”
“I’m only doing this so you’ll shut up and stop moping,” Katsuki shot back. “If you keep looking like a kicked puppy I’m going to explode something.”
The relief that flooded Izuku’s face was almost blinding.
“Can you stop fucking smiling at me?” Katsuki snapped, already turning away. “Turn around before I change my mind!”
Izuku obeyed instantly, stepping in close and bending slightly at the knees.
There was an awkward shuffle behind him. Katsuki muttered something under his breath as he adjusted his balance, hands hesitating for a fraction of a second before settling on Izuku’s shoulders. Then his arms wrapped fully around him, solid and warm, and his weight tipped forward. Izuku hooked his hands securely beneath Katsuki’s thighs and stood.
The shift was immediate. Izuku couldn’t miss how Katsuki’s breath left him in a long, sharp exhale the moment his feet lifted off the ground. The tension that had been coiled in his body loosed as the constant pressure on torn skin disappeared. He rested more of his weight against Izuku’s back than he probably intended to.
Izuku’s face burned. Katsuki was very close. Close enough that Izuku could feel the warmth of his chest through ruined layers of fabric, could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing near his ear.
“Don’t drop me,” Katsuki warned, voice lower now.
“I won’t!”
“You better not.”
Izuku adjusted his grip carefully, mindful not to jostle him. His heart pounded so loudly he was certain it was audible.
They walked like that for a while, their earlier bickering replaced by the soft rhythm of footsteps and distant city noise.
“I really am sorry,” Izuku murmured.
A sharp smack landed against the back of his head. “Oh, shut up.”
“But our date—”
“Deku.”
Izuku swallowed.
Katsuki shifted slightly, chin hovering near Izuku’s shoulder. “It was...fine.”
Izuku’s pulse skipped. “Fine?”
“Yeah.” A pause. “I had a good time watching you eat shit over and over chasing that demon cat. You looked like an idiot.”
“Hey!”
“And you missed with Blackwhip, what, over two hundred times? Still so sloppy.”
“In my defense, she was a very quickly moving target!” Izuku protested.
Katsuki let out a mocking laugh, then his grip tightened slightly.
“…I had fun,” Katsuki added, quieter this time, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Izuku’s heart soared. “Really?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
Izuku grinned so hard his cheeks hurt. “You had fun on our date.”
“This ain’t no date!” Katsuki shot back. “If it was, I’d be stuffed full of curry right now!”
“Doing hero work together kind of counts.”
“The fuck no it doesn’t.”
“Well,” Izuku said, unable to stop the smile stretching across his face, “I am carrying you right now. That’s at least a little romantic.”
“I will literally jump off your back.”
“Right, sorry,” Izuku corrected quickly, though his voice held a laugh. “I’m not carrying you. I’m just your cane, right?”
Katsuki snorted before he could stop himself. And then— he laughed. It was low and unguarded, rumbling against Izuku’s back in a way that made his stomach flip violently. He nearly tripped from the sound alone.
“Shut up,” Katsuki said, but there was no bite to it.
They kept moving down the dimly lit street like that, tangled together in soot and torn fabric and stubborn affection. Bickering, warm, tangled up in something neither of them quite had the courage to name yet.
And even with ruined clothes, empty stomachs, and blistered feet— Izuku thought, maybe— this was the best date he’d ever been on.
A few hours later, the chaos of the evening had settled into something softer.
The common room lights were dimmed low, casting the furniture in warm shadows while the television played an old episode of All Might: Epic Adventures. Onscreen, a younger All Might beamed with impossible confidence before launching a villain skyward in a glittering arc of exaggerated impact effects. The soundtrack swelled, brassy and dramatic, loud enough to rattle the half-empty takeout containers scattered across the coffee table.
Two curry cartons sat open, scraped nearly clean despite being the mildest option, due to the limited availability at that hour. Extra rice clung to the corners of a plastic bowl. Ice cream cartons had softened into glossy puddles along the edges, spoon marks carved deep into their centers.
Katsuki sat back against the couch cushions, one leg stretched out carefully, the other bent at the knee. Izuku knelt on the floor between the couch and the table, fully focused.
He held Katsuki’s foot in both hands with a gentleness that most people reserved for flowers or butterflies. His fingers were warm, steady, careful as they maneuvered gauze around torn skin. The raw damage at Katsuki’s heels had been cleaned, disinfected—an ordeal Katsuki had endured with a barrage of creative profanity—and now Izuku was smoothing medical tape into place with the same delicate precision.
“Hold still,” Izuku murmured, leaning closer to inspect the edge of a bandage.
“I am holding still.”
“You just twitched.”
“That’s because you keep pressing on it like it owes you money.”
Izuku’s mouth twitched, but he adjusted immediately, touch feather-light as he secured the final strip of tape. The dress shoes, those traitorous, evil devices sat discarded by the floor.
He leaned back slightly on his heels to evaluate his work, brows knitting in concentration. “There,” he said softly. “That should help. You really shouldn’t wear shoes that tight, Kacchan. They were digging in even before we started running. Does it still hurt?”
Katsuki met his eyes for a fraction too long. “Course not.”
Izuku smiled at him, soft and kind. Something in Katsuki’s cold dead heart warmed just a little.
Izuku patted his ankle lightly, and stood. “All done!” He circled around the coffee table and lowered himself onto the couch.
A whole two feet away.
Katsuki glared at the space between them.
Two fucking feet? Is he fucking joking?
After everything? After piggybacking him home? After crouching on the floor and tending to his feet?
Onscreen, All Might delivered a booming speech about unity and shared burdens, punctuating it with an over-the-top grin and a sparkle effect. Katsuki growled at the TV.
He scooted slightly to the right.
Izuku didn’t react. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes bright as he narrated over the episode.
“This is the first time he used Carolina Smash on-screen,” Izuku said, gesturing vaguely toward the screen. “But you can tell he’s still adapting the wind-up from his earlier technique because—”
Katsuki edged closer again, pretending to adjust his position for comfort.
Nothing.
Izuku continued rambling about production trivia, entirely absorbed. A muscle jumped in Katsuki’s jaw.
He moved another inch, closing the gap until their knees were nearly touching.
Izuku shifted away unconciously. Katsuki’s eye twitched.
He scooted forward again, this time forcing his knee into Izuku’s with deliberate insistence.
“Deku,” he snapped.
Izuku startled, glancing down as if only just noticing the proximity. “Oh! Sorry—am I crowding you?”
The oblivious sincerity in his voice nearly made Katsuki combust.
Fine. If subtlety wasn’t working, he’d abandon it. He shifted again, more dramatic this time.
At the exact same moment, Izuku leaned forward to reach for his drink.
Their shoulders collided. They froze.
Izuku looked at Katsuki. Katsuki looked at Izuku.
The television blared something heroic in the background, All Might laughing triumphantly as rubble scattered in animated slow motion.
Up close, Izuku’s freckles stood out against flushed skin. A faint line from earlier still marked his cheek where Mochi had swiped him. His eyes flicked downward to Katsuki’s mouth, just briefly. Katsuki’s gaze followed the movement, dropping to Izuku’s lips.
There was a pause. Izuku inhaled, soft and shaky. Katsuki leaned forward, just slightly—
And—
The door slid open.
“Oh,” came a calm voice.
They sprang apart so violently it was a miracle they didn’t knock over the table.
Shoto Todoroki stood framed in the doorway, holding a notebook against his chest, expression as placid as ever. “Do either of you know what time the school assembly starts on Monday?”
Silence. A vein in Katsuki’s forehead twitched violently. Izuku, red from collarbone to hairline, squeaked, “Nine!”
“Thank you,” Todoroki replied evenly. His gaze drifted across the room, taking in the takeout containers, the medical tape still on the table, the way both boys were rigid and flushed. “…Did I interrupt something?”
“Uh, fucking yes,” Katsuki said at the same time Izuku blurted, “No! Not at all!”
They turned to glare at each other.
Todoroki blinked once. “All right.” The door slid shut behind him.
Katsuki leaned back against the couch and dragged a hand down his face. “Unbelievable.”
Izuku covered his own face with both hands. “Why does that keep happening?”
“He’s got some kind of fucking radar,” Katsuki muttered. “I swear.”
Izuku peeked through his fingers, mortified. “That really killed the mood, huh?”
Despite himself, Katsuki let out a short huff of laughter. He nudged Izuku’s shoulder again, more deliberate this time.
“Whatever,” he said, aiming for gruff and landing somewhere softer. “We’ll just do it next time.”
Izuku went very still. His hands lowered slowly. “Next time?” he repeated.
Heat crawled up Katsuki’s neck. “Don’t make it weird! Today didn’t count. We got hijacked by a psycho cat and Half-and-Half. I’m not calling that a proper date. I ain’t gonna be sitting around owing you a favor.”
Izuku’s smile spread slowly. Katsuki turned sharply back to the television, pretending intense interest in All Might suplexing a villain through a building.
This time, it was Izuku that scooted closer.
Their shoulders pressed together, Izuku's practically vibrating with restrained excitement. The episode continued to roar heroically in the background, but the room felt smaller, charged with something unspoken and waiting.
Next time.