Chapter Text
Chaos reigned in the small two-bedroom apartment — but only halfway. Specifically, on the half where Bakugou was helping Todoroki pack.
The two Pro Heroes had been living together for three months now. They worked at the same agency, and according to Shouto (who had pitched the whole cohabitation idea), it was cheaper and more fun this way. Shouto's room was a shrine to order; Katsuki's room was an eternal disaster zone (though the blond had a preternatural gift for finding exactly what he needed on the first try, regardless of the mess).
"Bakugou. Hint. Where are the towels? I can't find them." Shouto stood in front of the large hall closet, staring blankly past the shelves.
"Are you fucking kidding me, Half-and-Half?!" Katsuki stomped over, yanked open the door, and pulled the towels from directly under Todoroki's nose. "Use your damn eyes for once."
Three days ago, Shouto had been notified of a long-term mission abroad—an exchange program for knowledge and support. Todoroki had taken the news with his usual stoicism. Bakugou, on the other hand, had spent the last three days railing against the sheer idiocy of sending away one of their strongest assets.
"Why not send one of those useless worms instead? The agency's crawling with 'em. At least their pathetic existence would finally be good for something!"
"I can still march down there and kick that fucking management's ass, Half-and-Half!" Bakugou shot a glare over his shoulder, waiting for the go-ahead.
"Bakugou. We've discussed this. No need to resort to violence. If that's what they decided, then it's necessary," Shotuo sighed softly, checking the packed duffel bags. Katsuki cussed under his breath, scanning the room one last time.
"Don't forget your toothbrush, moron. I'm not bringing you one." Shotuo's lips twitched into a small smile as he zipped the bag shut.
***
The taxi pulled up to the airport with fifteen minutes to spare. For the entire ride, Bakugou had been calculating the blast radius needed to vaporize both the slowpoke driver and the car itself, but Todoroki kept defusing him with quiet murmurs of "It's fine" and "Don't worry, we'll make it." Katsuki's anger fizzed and sparked at his fingertips, yet every accidental brush of Todoroki's shoulder against his own settled something strange and unnameable deep in his chest. Shouto's face, meanwhile, remained utterly impassive—as if nothing remotely critical was happening at all.
Bakugou was the first one out of the cab. He snatched Todoroki's duffel bags and shot toward the check-in counter like a bullet, Shouto walking steadily in his wake.
"Bakugou. I can carry my own luggage."
"You move like a goddamn turtle, Half-and-Half. Pick up your fucking feet." Katsuki's face flushed a shade redder, and his pace quickened even more.
The overhead speakers crackled with the final boarding announcement for the flight. By the time the two heroes reached the counter, the line had all but vanished. Bakugou hefted the bags onto the scale while Todoroki handled the paperwork.
"Shame we won't have time for a proper goodbye," Shouto murmured, slipping his documents back into his pocket and turning to face the blond.
"Like I'd wanna stand around sniveling," Katsuki muttered, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "Get on your damn flight."
He clapped Shouto on the shoulder and turned, heading for the exit. But after a few strides, he stopped dead. He glanced back over his shoulder.
"Call. Or text. Whatever."
Shouto answered only with a slight nod.
Outside the terminal, Katsuki watched as Shouto's plane lifted off the tarmac, climbing until it was nothing but a distant glint against the gray sky. He tracked it with his gaze until it vanished.
He wanted to blow something up.
Not the plane. Never the plane.
Just… the air around him.
***
Bakugou got home two hours later. The city had choked itself on evening traffic—as if every car on the road had conspired specifically to piss him off.
The apartment met him with silence. Not that Shouto had ever been loud. It was more that his presence had added sounds: puttering around the kitchen (or, as Bakugou would put it, committing crimes against perfectly good ingredients), reading on the couch, listening to something through his earbuds. His presence had weight, even when he was quiet. Now—just emptiness. Katsuki froze in the hallway for a moment, straining to hear nothing at all.
He changed into sweats and headed for the kitchen. He pulled out yesterday's pot of curry and started dishing it up on autopilot.
"Son of a bitch—"
He'd filled two bowls. Again. Like he'd done every single night for the past month. He grabbed the second bowl and shoved it into the fridge.
"I'll finish it tomorrow."
Katsuki stopped dead in the middle of the kitchen.
"...The fuck am I talking to myself for, like some kinda lunatic?!"
No answer came. Katsuki sure as hell wasn't about to provide one.
He dropped into the chair at the tiny table, pulled his bowl close, and grabbed his phone, thumb swiping over the screen. One new message in his thread with Shouto.
Todoroki_Shouto:
Please don't forget to water the flowers in my room. Thank you.
A faint crackle of sparks flickered across Katsuki's palms.
bakushinchi:
The hell am I, your fucking gardener, Half-and-Half?! Keep an eye on your own damn greenhouse.
He stared at the screen. His jaw tightened.
bakushinchi:
Fine. Whatever. I'll water the stupid things.
The reply came instantly: another one of those god-awful emojis. A dog, beaming with idiotic joy. Katsuki was half-convinced his roommate collected them just to send the most irritating ones on purpose.
He pushed up from the table and walked to Shouto's room. Behind the door: pristine order and several potted plants. Each one bore a small, handwritten label with its name, and beside each pot lay a little slip of paper with care instructions.
"Guy's got way too much time on his hands," Bakugou muttered, grabbing the small watering can from the nightstand.
He filled it in the bathroom and returned, squinting at the instructions.
Orchid, Kalanchoe — water Sundays.
Peace Lily, Azalea — water Mondays, Wednesdays, Sundays.
Anthurium — water Thursdays.
Katsuki checked the calendar on his phone and watered the appropriate pots with mechanical precision.
His ringtone shattered the quiet.
He snatched the phone up without looking. Didn't need to.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm watering your goddamn weeds right now, see? Happy?"
"Uh. Bakugou? It's Kirishima. ...What flowers?"
Katsuki's brain short-circuited for half a second. He covered with a scowl.
"The hell are you calling me for, idiot?!" He set the watering can aside and flopped backward onto Shouto's immaculately made bed, glaring up at the ceiling.
"Dude, you're watering flowers? Whose? Wait—Todoroki's? He left and you're taking care of his plants?" Kirishima's voice lit up like a damn Christmas tree. "Bro. That's so... manly."
"SHUT UP! I just don't want that fucking greenhouse to croak and stink up the whole apartment!"
"Right, right. Totally." Kirishima didn't sound convinced at all. "Anyway, I called to see if you wanted to go out this weekend. You know, since you're in that empty apartment all by yourself. Gotta be going stir-crazy, man."
Katsuki's breath caught for a fraction of a second. He recovered fast.
"I'm not going stir-crazy! I've got shit to do!"
"Like what? Watering little flowers and waiting for Shouto to text you back?"
"SHITTY HAIR, IF YOU WANT TO KEEP BREATHING, DON'T CALL THIS NUMBER AGAIN!"
Katsuki ended the call and hurled the phone across the bed.
A couple of minutes later, the phone rang again. Katsuki pointedly ignored it. The first call rolled straight into a second.
"THE HELL DO YOU WANT?!"
"Hello, Bakugou. Is this a bad time?" Shouto's voice came through the speaker, tinged with the faintest note of concern.
A nuclear detonation went off somewhere in the vicinity of Katsuki's ribcage. He mashed his face into the pillow beside him—Shouto's pillow—and bit back a scream. The lingering scent of his roommate settled something deep and restless in his chest.
"Todoroki. Fuck. I thought it was Kirishima again."
"I heard you yelling. Is something wrong?"
Katsuki pushed himself upright and scrubbed a hand down his face. "Nothin'. That idiot called. Wanted to go to a bar."
"Are you going?"
"The hell do you care?"
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.
"Just asking. If you do go… be careful. You're a lightweight."
"I AM NOT A LIGHTWEIGHT, HALF-AND-HALF!" Katsuki's roar echoed off the pristine walls of Shouto's bedroom. He deflated slightly. "...Whatever. How's the mission? You alive?"
He caught the ghost of a smile on the other end of the line. It sounded so close that for a moment, Katsuki could almost pretend Shouto was standing right next to him instead of half a world away.
"Alive. Tired. Everything here is… different. Lots of paperwork."
"Ha! That's why I'm not going anywhere. Let 'em deal with their own damn paperwork."
"You wouldn't go anyway. You hate being told what to do."
"Exactly." A beat of silence. "So why the hell aren't you asleep? It's the middle of the damn night over there."
"Couldn't sleep. The hotel is quiet. Our apartment is quiet too, but it's a different kind of quiet. At home, at least you're banging pots around."
"I DON'T BANG, I COOK, HALF-AND-HALF!" Katsuki flopped back onto the mattress, settling in. His voice dropped, gruff but quieter. "Still. Go to bed. You gotta show those morons tomorrow how real heroes do it."
"You're right. Long day ahead." A soft exhale. "Goodnight, Bakugou."
"Night, Half-and-Half."
Katsuki ended the call first. He always did.
The bed didn't seem inclined to let him go. He'd gotten too comfortable without realizing it, and somewhere between one blink and the next, sleep dragged him under.
His dinner sat untouched on the kitchen table.
***
Bakugou woke to sunlight spearing directly into his eyes. He groped blindly for his phone in its usual spot—on the right side of his bed—but his hand met nothing but air.
He sat up fast.
Shouto's room.
The perfectly made comforter was now a tangled mess at the foot of the bed. The pillow bore the deep creases of restless sleep. On the nightstand sat the watering can and a neat row of labeled pots.
"Fuck," Katsuki breathed, scrubbing a hand down his face.
He'd slept here. In his bed. Like some kind of goddamn creep.
His phone lay beside the pillow. The screen read 7:34 AM. Three missed messages.
Todoroki_Shouto:
Good morning. I hope you ate something yesterday. [Dog with a food bowl emoji]
Todoroki_Shouto:
Heading into an operation in an hour. If anything happens—I'm fine. Don't worry.
Todoroki_Shouto:
Bakugou?
The last one had come through fifteen minutes ago. Shouto had been waiting for a reply. And hadn't gotten one.
Katsuki cursed and thumbed out a response.
bakushinchi:
M'fine. Just crashed. Go save the damn world already, Half-and-Half.
The reply came almost instantly.
Todoroki_Shouto:
Okay. [Dog with a raised paw emoji]
Katsuki stared at the screen. Shouto had answered immediately. He'd been sitting there, waiting for Katsuki to wake up in his bed.
"Idiot," Bakugou muttered, completely devoid of any actual bite. He dragged himself toward the kitchen.
The bowl of untouched curry sat on the table, a monument to last night's failure. Katsuki decided to pretend it didn't exist.
He yanked open the fridge with the firm intention of making a proper breakfast. His gaze swept across the half-empty shelves. Milk—sour. Vegetables—wilted. Eggs—one left, lonely and pathetic.
And worst of all: the hot sauce was gone. Completely. Utterly. Extinct. Even the emergency backup bottle he kept hidden behind the stockpot was empty.
"WHAT THE HELL?!" Katsuki's roar rattled the cabinets.
He could not function without hot sauce. It was fuel. The very foundation of his existence.
There was no way around it.
He had to go to the goddamn grocery store.
***
The store greeted him with air conditioning and the tinny assault of overhead speakers playing something obnoxiously cheerful. Katsuki yanked his hood lower. Not that he was hiding, exactly. He just didn't need some random fangirl—or worse, some bottom-feeding journalist—cornering him with "Is it true you're living with Todoroki Shouto?" The rumors were already slithering through the agency. Katsuki kept screaming that they were just roommates, but Kirishima kept laughing his ass off anyway.
He made a beeline for the sauce aisle. Snatched three bottles of his favorite—the nuclear-grade stuff with the warning label that practically read "For Those Who Wish to Suffer." Then he pivoted toward the noodle section. He needed breakfast.
His hand reached for a pack of cold soba before his brain could intervene.
Katsuki froze.
Soba was Shouto's favorite. Not that Half-and-Half ever said so—Katsuki had just noticed. Three months of living together had taught him things. Like how Shouto ate soba with the same blank expression he wore for everything else, but just a fraction faster when it was actually good. And how he finished every last noodle without fail.
"The fuck am I doing," Katsuki hissed, and chucked the pack back onto the shelf.
He made it two steps.
"...It's just. If he comes back and there's nothing to eat, he's gonna bitch about it. Or not bitch—just stare at me with those goddamn eyes while I'm eating ramen," he muttered under his breath. (Yes, talking to himself had officially become normal now. Fine. Whatever.)
He stomped back to the noodle aisle.
"ONE. Just one. So he doesn't starve when he gets back."
An elderly woman with a shopping cart stood nearby, eyeing him with mild bewilderment.
"THE HELL ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!" Katsuki barked.
The woman hastily steered her cart toward produce and vanished.
The checkout line presented a fresh new hell. Right in front of him stood a couple—some guy and his girlfriend—locked in an excruciatingly cute argument over who would pay.
"I've got it, you paid last time," the guy said.
"No, let me, you already spend too much on me," the girl replied.
"Come on, I want to."
"I want to!"
Katsuki watched this exchange, and his eye began to twitch. His palms heated. The couple remained blissfully oblivious, cooing at each other like a pair of goddamn doves.
"JUST LET ONE OF YOU FUCKING PAY ALREADY!!"
The couple jumped in unison. The girl squeaked. The guy instinctively stepped in front of her, staring at Katsuki like he'd just sprouted a second head. The cashier—a tired-looking woman in her fifties—didn't so much as blink.
"Young man. Do you have a discount card?" she asked flatly, once the lovebirds had finally fled.
Katsuki hurled his purchases onto the conveyor belt.
***
Back home, he unloaded his haul onto the kitchen table. Three bottles of hot sauce stood in a neat row like soldiers awaiting orders. One pack of soba. And two packs of ramen noodles, even though he'd sworn he was only grabbing one.
"Son of a bitch," Katsuki breathed.
He grabbed the soba and shoved it into the cabinet, onto the top shelf—the spot where Shouto usually kept his "emergency reserves."
"He can deal with it when he gets back. If he starves to death on his stupid mission, that's his own damn fault."
The apartment offered no reply. But somewhere in the silence, on the top shelf of the cabinet, there was soba now.
And that probably meant something.