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Katsuki doesn’t mean to look.
After all, the boutique’s just another shop on the stretch between the station and his apartment, tucked between a curry place and some overpriced flower shop with vases he’d never dare touch. It has glass windows that sparkle too much in the afternoon sun and a bell over the door that makes a weird little chime every time someone walks in. The displays are always changed out right before the weekend, and he notices because he always passes on Thursdays.
Right now, the mannequin in the center is wearing a pale pink blouse with a big satin bow tied at the neck, sleeves puffed just enough to look soft but not ridiculous. Below that, a plaid skirt with ruffles along the hem, and heart-shaped buttons down the side. On the mannequin’s wrist is a charm bracelet with tiny pastel bears.
There’s a little note propped in front that says: New arrivals - delicate and dreamy.
He doesn’t stop walking, but he slows, just a little, enough that someone might think he’s adjusting his bag strap or checking for his phone. He keeps his head turned forward, but his eyes flick sideways, and his pulse ticks up a bit when he sees the new outfit.
It was cute, and really pretty, it looks super soft too… He can’t decide which word fits best.
He doesn't know when it started exactly. Maybe it was that one time last spring, when he saw someone on the train with those same puff sleeves. They had thick eyeliner and chunky platform shoes and a look in their eyes that said yeah, they know they look good, and they don't care if anyone can't handle it.
He remembers thinking he wanted that kind of ease, that same softness mixed with confidence.
He wanted to know what it felt like to dress in something… cute without feeling like a goddamn fraud.
But he’s Katsuki Bakugou, and Katsuki Bakugou’s someone who doesn’t wear bows. Right?
Still, the next week, he found himself looking up what kind of skirt that was. Turns out it was a whole fashion style, Jirai-kei. Heavy on lace and accessories, often layered, sometimes a little bit dark, but still cute. Sometimes pink, sometimes plaid, and the people who wore it pulled it off like they didn’t care who was watching, maybe they didn’t.
He cares, though. That’s the problem.
He’s not scared of people, he could walk through a crowd and make a space for himself with nothing but a look no problem, but something about stepping into that boutique feels different. It’s not like buying groceries or grabbing instant ramen from the corner shop. It’s more like standing in front of a gate that isn’t meant for him. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to want this. If wanting to wear something pink and pretty makes him less… less him, or maybe too much him.
And it’s not like there’s a rulebook for this. The people he sees online wearing those stuff have whole closets of it. They tag their photos and post mirror selfies with plushies. Sometimes people in the comments are awful. He reads through them anyway, every single time. The good ones make him feel sorta happy, the bad ones just confirm what he’s scared of, that people will stare, and they’ll whisper, and maybe they’ll say it to his face.
He’s not delicate, nor is he dreamy. He’s short-tempered and loud and blunt in a way that’s never been cute.
So what the hell is he doing pausing in front of a boutique that sells lace gloves and cherry-patterned handbags?
Still, it’s Thursday. Again. And he slows down. Again.
Today, there’s a rack inside, just past the window, with cardigans in soft pastels and cropped jackets with lace trims. He likes the pink one with the silver detailing. It’s stupid, but he can already imagine what it’d feel like, wearing it, walking past his reflection in a window, seeing that shape on his shoulders, that delicate dreamy sensation that will probably come with it.
And with that in mind, he makes the bravest decision he ever made in weeks.
He takes a deep breath, opens the boutique’s door, and steps inside.
The chime over the door is softer than he expects. A small, silvery sound that flickers through the air and disappears as fast as it came. Katsuki freezes under it anyway, caught in the doorway like a kid who opened the wrong classroom by mistake. His fingers twitch against the hem of his sleeves, tugging them lower without thinking. He’s already inside, though, too late to back out now without looking obvious.
Inside, it smells like lavender and something sweet he can’t place, maybe vanilla, or berries. There’s a melodic instrumental track playing from somewhere, probably a speaker tucked behind the counter. The walls are lined with racks of pastel clothes in neat rows, skirts with lace trim and cardigans with pearl buttons, and little puff-sleeved blouses.
He keeps his hands in his pockets, shoulders drawn in.
He’s just looking. That’s what he tells himself and what he’ll say if someone asks.
He keeps close to the edge of the boutique, pretending to check the tags on a display table while his eyes flick to the side again and again. That outfit. The one on the mannequin near the back.
Pink and black, balanced just right.
The blouse is off-shoulder, soft ruffles along the neckline, sleeves a little loose and dramatic. The skirt sits high on the waist, folds sharp and clean, short enough to show thigh. There’s something about it that makes his chest feel weird, not a bad kind of weird, just... tight. He kinda really wants it too much. So much that he doesn’t hear the footsteps right away.
“Hi there.”
Katsuki startles, eyes snapping to the side to find someone standing just a few steps away.
Green hair. A little messy. He’s wearing black from head to toe, loose and draped. The wide collar of his top slides a little off one shoulder, showing the curve of his neck and the choker resting snug around it. Layered chains hang from his chest, a vertical black bar piercing on his left eyebrow, and he’s got a matching pair of simple black circle earrings resting in each ear. His nails are painted a glossy black, a few of them chipped at the edges, and there’s a green bracelet on his wrist.
“Sorry,” the guy adds, a smile spreading across his face. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
Katsuki huffs, glaring at him. “You didn’t.”
He doesn’t mean to sound mean, it just comes out that way, a habit of his. The guy, Deku, the name tag says in a cute round font with glitter in the plastic, doesn’t flinch or look bothered. He just nods and tucks his hands into his pockets like it’s cold, even though it’s not.
“Well,” Deku nods at him, smiling again. “If you have any questions about anything, I’m here.”
Katsuki nods quickly as regret prickles under his skin.
He doesn’t need help, and he doesn’t want help. He shouldn’t even be here-
Deku glances past him, at the display.
The mannequin.
And Katsuki knows in that instant that Deku knows. He feels it crawl up the back of his neck like fire. His ears are already burning, and his jaw tightens.
“I wasn’t looking at that,” Katsuki snaps too fast. “I was just passing by. I was looking for... socks.”
“Socks are in the back,” Deku explains, gesturing toward the other side of the boutique. “But if you were looking at that set, I can tell you it’s really popular. We just restocked it this morning. Lucky timing.”
Katsuki doesn’t move. He hates how much he wants to look back at the display, how much he wants to walk toward it, touch the fabric, hold it up to himself, just to see, to know. But his feet stay where they are. At this point, it’s almost like the blouse is staring at him. He shifts his weight, hand fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve, glancing at the rows of skirts lined up on the rack like they’re watching him too.
Everything in the boutique’s soft, and it’s quiet. Safe, almost, but still makes him want to crawl out of his skin.
“Hey,” Deku whispers carefully, “Can I show you something?”
Katsuki startles again, shoulders tensing. He’d forgotten the shop guy was still there.
“I said I was just looking.”
“Totally fine,” Deku’s not standing too close, giving Katsuki space, but still, he looks over toward the display, the same one Katsuki’s been hovering near for the last ten minutes. “That color looks good with blond, by the way.”
Katsuki’s eyes snap to him. “I wasn’t-”
Deku holds up his hands. “Not assuming anything.”
It should annoy him, should make him huff and storm out and say something rude, but the shop guy says it's like he’s not trying to get a reaction, just stating facts. It throws Katsuki off more than it should. Deku moves past him, slow like he’s giving Katsuki every chance to bolt. He stops at a nearby rack and pulls out a piece carefully, brushing a bit of lint off the sleeve.
“Okay, so,” he starts, “This one’s similar, just with less shoulder showing. A little more casual, but it still gives that delicate shape. Pairs really well with anything pleated. Or, if you want something more basic, you can throw it over cargo pants and layer a cardigan.”
“I said-”
“I know you’re not asking, but I’m gonna keep talking until you tell me to shut up.”
Katsuki stares at him, then at the blouse, then back at Deku, who’s holding it up near his own chest to show the cut, smirking a little while he does so. The fabric flutters a little as he shifts.
“It’s not like-” Katsuki swallows, looking away. “I’m not... I don’t usually wear that stuff.”
Deku hums, thoughtful. “Well, you’re here.”
That shuts Katsuki up, because he is. Here. In this boutique, surrounded by bows and ruffles and skirts that make his heart ache a little when he looks too long. It’s not like he doesn’t know what he wants. He just doesn’t know if he’s allowed to want it.
“I just thought it looked kinda cool…” Katsuki whispers, voice dropping halfway through.
Deku steps closer, not enough to crowd him, but enough that Katsuki can smell a little of whatever soap he uses.
“Hey,” He says gently. “Wanting to wear something because you think it’s cool? That’s kind of the best reason to wear it.”
Katsuki looks down at the floor, then back at the blouse again. This time, when his fingers twitch, they finally reach out and brush the edge of the fabric. It’s lighter than it looks.
“I dunno what goes with what.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Deku says with a grin. “Do you want cute cute or like... edgy cute?”
Katsuki glares. “That’s not a real difference.”
Deku raises a brow. “Oh, it definitely is.”
Katsuki doesn’t stop Deku when he walks back to the rack to grab a matching black pleated skirt.
“See? This brings out the contrast. Strong shape, soft top. Then maybe socks, knee-high, with boots. You’ve got boots, right?”
Katsuki nods without thinking.
“Perfect. You’ll kill in it.”
He stares at the outfit now draped gently over Deku’s arm. It’s not too much. It’s not loud or over the top. It’s just... good.
Katsuki grumbles, “It won’t look weird on me?”
Deku looks at him, straight on. His smile softens, but doesn’t fade.
“I mean, most people feel a little off the first time they wear something new. That’s normal. But weird? Nah. I used to wonder the same thing when I first started dressing how I wanted. But, like… it only felt weird because I was worried about what people would think. The actual clothes weren’t weird at all, they were just mine. And they started feeling more like me the more I let myself enjoy them. That’s how style works, it grows with you, not the other way around.”
Katsuki bites the inside of his cheek. His chest feels tight again, but this time in a different way. Something loosens under it, just a little. So he huffs, looking away, there’s heat creeping up his neck.
“You talk a lot.”
Deku’s grin turns even more playful.
“You didn’t tell me to shut up yet.”
The longer Katsuki stays in the boutique, the more it starts to feel like a world separate from the street outside. He still feels out of place, but not like he’s being watched. Deku’s standing beside another rack now, pulling a cropped jacket off a hanger. He’s talking as he moves, one hand gesturing loosely, Katsuki keeps listening even when he’s pretending not to.
“This one’s been coming back in lately,” Deku says, holding up the jacket, “People used to pair these with shorts or skirts, but now it’s getting styled with wide pants. The contrast looks really good.”
Katsuki stares at the jacket, bites his lips, studying it.
“Too cropped,” he grumbles, eyes narrowed. “Wouldn’t it throw the balance off unless the layers under it are tighter?”
Deku blinks, then smiles so wide, Katsuki’s sure it hurts his mouth.
“You know, you’re right. I was gonna say it could work with a snug turtleneck underneath, maybe a little see-through, but yeah, tighter would balance it better if you’re not going full skirt.”
Katsuki blinks back, he wasn’t expecting that.
“I’ve seen it worn that way online,” he explains, glancing to the side, pretending to be interested in the jewelry rack even though he’s not looking at it. “With those... tall buckle boots. Oversized sleeves, fitted waist. That kind of thing, dunno.”
“That’s a good eye. Most people skip right to the trendy pieces without thinking about how they’re shaped,” Deku nods, tilting his head to smile at him, “You’ve been researching, huh?”
Katsuki shrugs, feeling his face heat up. “...A bit.”
He has. Hours, actually.
After midnight when the trains are quieter and he can scroll without anyone peeking over his shoulder. He’s been saving screenshots, memorizing silhouettes, learning what works with what without saying a word to anyone. It's still embarrassing to say it out loud. Deku moves down the rack again, pulling out a black skirt with a pleated hem and silver chains across the hip. He holds it up and tilts his head.
“This one’s beginner friendly,” he says, “The fabric’s thick, so it holds its shape, and it doesn’t ride up when you sit. There’s a built-in liner too. And…”
Katsuki watches Deku ramble on, gesturing with the hem, talking about layering options and garter belts, socks that go with thicker soles, the benefits of clips over headbands. The words start to blend into a rhythm, and something about it makes Katsuki’s chest feel funny. It’s the first time someone’s ever talked to him like this. Not like he’s some weird guy for wanting to wear pretty things. Just like he’s a person, and they’re having a regular conversation about fabric and buckles and fit.
So much so that he catches himself staring. So much that he forces himself to look away, but ultimately it leads him back toward the mannequin in the center of the shop. The one he was looking at before he went inside. He realizes his gaze keeps drifting there no matter how many other outfits Deku shows him.
Deku notices.
“You keep looking at that one.”
Katsuki watches as Deku walks over to the display and gently unclips the outfit from the mannequin, taking care not to wrinkle it. Slowly, Deku lifts his eyes to stare at Katsuki, holding the outfit towards him.
“Wanna try it on?”
Katsuki’s stomach twists. “I… I don’t know…”
“Hey, no pressure. Only if you want to. Do you?”
Katsuki hesitates. His hand hovers, his face burns, he’s already sweating, and he hates that his pulse is this loud in his ears. Still, slowly, he reaches out and takes it.
“Just to…” he whispers, not looking at Deku. “Just to see?”
“Just to see,” Deku echoes with a smile. “The fitting room’s right over there. Take your time.”
Katsuki nods stiffly, he doesn't say anything else as he makes his way to the fitting room.
When he gets there, he realizes the fitting room’s small, warm, and quiet enough that Katsuki can hear the soft hum of music through the walls. He stands there stiffly, clothes folded neatly over one arm, as he closes the curtain behind him. He turns, and stops abruptly.
There’s a mirror on the wall.
Of course there is. It's a fitting room.
He turns around quickly, doesn’t look at it.
His palms are sweaty, and the back of his neck feels hot. He quickly takes his shirt off, hangs it on the hook, but the weight of it still clings to his shoulders like he's supposed to throw it back on and leave before anyone notices he's still here.
Katsuki stares down at the clothes. Up close, they look even smaller than he thought they were. The blouse is delicate, pale pink, loose at the sleeves but cinched in the middle, with little heart-shaped buttons so tiny they almost look fake. The skirt’s high-waisted, soft but crisp, the kind of black that makes other colors stand out. It doesn't look like something he should be wearing. It looks like something meant for someone cuter, someone with longer legs, someone who knows how to take mirror selfies and not want to disappear when they see their own reflection.
It probably won’t even fit.
He knows how this goes. Hopes get up, things look okay on a hanger, then everything rides too high on the waist or clings weird at the hips or just feels wrong. He should’ve said no, he really should’ve just said no.
Still, he steps out of his shoes, changes quickly, like someone might barge in and see him in the middle of it, even though the curtain’s shut tight and the music’s still playing and Deku had said take his time. He slips the blouse on first, arms moving slowly through the sleeves. The fabric is light and cool. Surprisingly, it slides over his skin without grabbing, and when he buttons it up, it doesn’t tug, doesn’t press weird around the chest or shoulders.
That’s... weird. But good.
He picks up the skirt and hesitates. It's probably too tight… It looks like it would be.
But then he slips it on, and it isn't, it fits.
The zipper closes clean, and the waistband rests snug but not stiff. When he breathes, it moves with him. He blinks, surprised, stares down at himself for a second. Then, slowly, he turns. He looks at the mirror.
His heart jumps.
It’s him, obviously. Same jaw, same scowl tugging at his mouth even when he’s not trying to make one, but softer, somehow. The blouse rounds out his shoulders in a way that makes him look less tense, and the skirt balances his legs. His hair's a mess and his socks don't match, but it doesn’t matter. He looks... good.
He turns a little to see the side, then a little more, then he twirls.
It's a dumb little spin, half a circle, enough that the hem of the skirt lifts a little. It flutters, falls back gently, and something in his chest squeezes up into his throat. He does it again. And then he's grinning, a small, crooked thing pulling at his lips without permission. His eyes catch it in the mirror. Shit. He’s smiling.
He reaches up and brushes his fingers against the collar of the blouse, presses the fabric lightly between his thumb and forefinger. It’s soft. He’s never worn anything like this, never even thought he’d be allowed to. But right now, in this little fitting room with the curtain closed and the music humming and nobody watching, he… likes how he looks. Really, actually likes it.
And it doesn’t feel weird. It doesn’t feel like a costume. It doesn’t feel like pretending.
It just feels right. As if he’s found something he didn’t know he was looking for.
He looks… really cute. He likes that he looks really cute.
Katsuki turns again, watching the skirt sway, still grinning.
He reaches for the curtain before he can think too hard about it.
The fabric swishes open, and the boutique feels brighter. Still, he steps out stiffly, already braced for something. Maybe a laugh, or a pause that stretches too long, or that polite smile people use when they don't know how to tell someone that they look ridiculous.
From the counter, Deku looks up, and smiles.
Katsuki’s stomach drops.
Of course he’s smiling. Of course he thinks it’s funny. Katsuki feels his earlier grin dying so fast it almost hurts. His hands hover awkwardly at his sides, shifting his weight, suddenly aware of how much leg the skirt shows, how pink the blouse looks against his skin, how obvious it must be that this is new to him, how ridiculous he looks.
“Tch,” he mutters to himself, already stepping back. “Forget it. This is dumb.”
He turns, already thinking of how fast he can take the clothes off-
“Wait-”
Katsuki pauses, not turning around. “What.”
Deku steps closer, digging into his pocket and pulls something out. A small bundle of clips. There were pink bows, and blue hearts, some straight shiny pink and blue clips too.
“These aren’t out on the floor yet,” Deku whispers, sounding a little shy for some reason. “They’re part of a set that’s supposed to go up later this month. I was testing them with a few outfits.”
"Then why did you-"
Deku clears his throat, glances at Katsuki , and this time there’s a strange pink on his face.
“I, uhm, just think they’d look really good with what you’re wearing.”
Katsuki’s brain stalls. “I don’t need-”
“I know,” Deku blinks, staring at him. “Just… let me?”
There’s something in Deku’s voice that makes it hard to argue, so Katsuki nods, albeit stiffly.
Deku steps into his space, close enough that Katsuki can see the splash of freckles on his face, and the tiny chips in his black nail polish. His fingers are careful when they reach up, brushing lightly through Katsuki’s hair, he's shaking a bit too.
Katsuki's heart is pounding so loud he's sure the entire street outside can hear it. Slowly, Deku slides one of the pink bow clips into place near his temple. Then another, angled slightly higher. The blue heart goes on the opposite side, tucked between soft blond strands, then the straight pins are last.
“There,” Deku murmurs, stepping back half a pace. His eyes move over Katsuki slowly, taking him in like he’s trying to memorize him. “You… You look amazing.”
Katsuki lifts his gaze, almost without meaning to. He looks up at Deku through his lashes, chin tipped down just slightly because he doesn't trust his voice right now. Deku's expression surprisingly shifts when their eyes meet, he looks... a little breathless.
“What,” Katsuki mumbles, defensive out of habit. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I just... I just think you look really good. Sorry.”
Katsuki huffs, but it comes out weaker than usual. He glances toward the mirror near the counter and walks over slowly. His reflection stares back at him. The clips frame his face, adding color that pulls everything together. He looks… really cute.
Deku moves up beside him, “See? It suits you.”
Katsuki's mouth curves before he can stop it. He catches Deku looking at him in the mirror and quickly scowls to cover it.
“Okay, whatever. Stop making it a big deal.”
“I’m not,” Deku replies, still smiling anyway. “I just like seeing people find something that fits.”
Katsuki huffs, adjusts his skirt slightly, and looks at himself one more time. Yeah. He looks cute.
“I’ll take it.”
“You want to change back first?”
“No,” Katsuki says, already walking to the counter. “I’m wearing it.”
This time, Deku bites his lips to stop from smiling so wide.
“Perfect.”
Katsuki walks and stands at the counter while Deku starts to fold his old clothes neatly, smoothing the fabric before slipping them into a pastel pink paper bag with thin white handles. The bag has the boutique's logo stamped in silver on the front.
"I didn't charge you for the clips, they're still not in the system so... consider them early access."
"You sure?"
"Positive."
The receipt prints with a soft whir and Katsuki pays, trying not to think about how his hands shake with excitement when he taps his card. Once payment's made, Deku hands him the bag. Their fingers brush for half a second.
“Thanks for coming in,” Deku whispers, scratching his freckled cheek, looking away again with that same strange pink tint on his cheeks. “I, uh, hope you come back soon.”
Katsuki hooks the paper bag over his wrist, adjusting it carefully so it doesn't wrinkle.
“I might." Katsuki steps toward the door, the hem of his skirt swaying as he reaches for the handle, then pauses just long enough to glance back. He smiles, “Thank you, Deku.”
He turns again, ready to push the door open.
“Huh?”
Footsteps approach quickly behind him. Before he can react, fingers curl lightly around his wrist. Katsuki stiffens instantly, heart jumping into his throat. He turns sharply, glaring at Deku.
“What do you think you're doing?! Oi. Let go!”
Deku yelps and drops his hand immediately, “Sorry! Sorry!”
They stand there for a second, both a little red in the face. Katsuki’s pulse refuses to calm down. He's suddenly very aware of the spot on his wrist where Deku grabbed him. The idiot then points at himself, looking confused.
“Did you just call me Deku?”
"Yes?" Katsuki jerks his chin toward the tag pinned to Deku's chest. It reads: DEKU. "That's your name?"
Deku's brows lift. Then, understanding dawns on his face. “Oh. You read it as Deku and not Izuku.”
"Huh?"
“My name,” Deku, or no, Izuku, explains. “My name’s Izuku. What’s yours?”
Katsuki doesn’t give his name out that easily, stranger danger and all that. So the first thing he asks is, “Why?”
Izuku blinks. “Why?”
“Why do you need it?”
There's a small pause. Izuku’s mouth opens, then closes. For a second he looks caught.
“Oh,” Izuku says quickly, nodding to himself like he found the answer. “We have memberships. You get discounts after your first purchase, and early notices for new arrivals. If you want.”
Katsuki lifts one brow. “That's the only reason?”
Izuku freezes. The tips of his ears start turning even more red, Katsuki didn't even know that's possible. Izuku looks down, then at literally anything that isn't Katsuki.
Izuku whispers, “Well. I mean. It’s a good reason, isn't it?”
Katsuki crosses his arms, and tilts his head.
“So you just care about sales, huh,” he teases, "And here I thought I was special.”
Izuku makes a small choking sound. “That’s not what I meant!”
“Then what did you mean?”
Izuku fidgets with his sleeves, his face's fully pink now.
“I just,” Izuku mumbles, then huffs out a quiet laugh at himself. “I just wanted to know. That’s all. You came in, trusted me enough to try something new. And I thought it’d be nice to know your name, to... know you?”
Katsuki’s grip on the paper bag loosens a little. He looks away first, because holding eye contact suddenly feels dangerous.
“You’re bad at lying.”
Izuku rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. I know.”
Katsuki exhales through his nose.
“Katsuki,” he says finally. “Katsuki Bakugou.”
Izuku’s face lights up, he repeats, “Kat-”
“Only those close to me call me that.”
“Oh…” Izuku frowns, but then a mischievous glint in his eyes appears, “Then how about a nickname? Like what you did with me.”
“What?”
“You called me Deku, I think it’s fair that I give you a nickname too.”
“That was a mista-”
“Kacchan sounds cute doesn’t it?”
The world actually stops for a second. Kacchan. It's childish, something a person calls a kid running around in shorts, not something a person will call someone that's already an adult. It's so childish and stupid that Katsuki's face goes hot so fast it almost makes him dizzy.
“The hell kind of nickname is that?"
"It fits you."
"It does not."
"It does."
"It does not."
"It's cute," Izuku reasons, "Like you."
Katsuki opens his mouth to argue and then closes it again because the worst part is that it does sound cute.
“Shut up,” he mutters finally, looking away. "I'm leaving."
Katsuki glares at him. It would be more effective if his ears were not bright red.
Izuku laughs again, covering his mouth this time like he's trying to behave. He's failing miserably as he walks a few steps closer, but not too close, just enough that they are standing side by side opening the door for Katsuki and walking him out.
"It really does look good on you."
Katsuki throws him one last glare, then turns on his heel before he can say something embarrassing.
"Whatever."
When Katsuki reaches the corner, he tells himself not to look back. He looks back anyway. Izuku's still there in front of the boutique, one hand lifted in a wave. He's smiling wide, not hiding it at all.
“I’ll be waiting, Kacchan!” he calls out. “Come soon!”
Katsuki glares automatically, even from this distance. He turns back to the road before Izuku can see the way his mouth betrays him, because he's smiling. He tries to push it down, tries to scowl at the passing traffic, but the smile keeps tugging at the corner of his lips. Stupid nickname, stupid Izuku.
Katsuki then glances down at the pink sleeve brushing his wrist and feels that same quiet thrill from the fitting room in his chest again. He realizes he forgot to ask Izuku about those boots he mentioned, and the cardigan, the membership too, he should ask about that. Yeah.
He’s coming back tomorrow, he’s decided. Maybe a little earlier this time.
And because Izuku did say he was waiting, it'd be rude not to show up.
He’s just doing the guy a favor. That’s all.