Chapter Text
The academy quiets differently at night.
During the day U.A. feels loud.
Engines.
Students.
Instructors yelling across garages.
Telemetry screens flashing constantly.
But after curfew?
The racing division becomes something else entirely.
Floodlights glow silver against dark asphalt while distant generators hum softly through the mountains surrounding the circuit.
The garages echo when people walk.
Katsuki likes it better immediately.
The hallway outside Garage Three is almost empty when he gets there just after midnight.
Almost.
One garage light is already on.
Of course.
Katsuki snorts quietly to himself while shoving his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets.
Predictable.
The garage door sits halfway open.
Inside:
one academy car rests beneath overhead lights while telemetry screens glow blue across the walls.
And sitting cross-legged on top of a tool case near the monitors—
Todoroki Shouto.
Oversized hoodie back on.
Dark sweatpants.
Hair tied messily up.
One sleeve pulled halfway over her hand while she scrolls through telemetry footage on a tablet.
Like the Ferrari paddock princess from yesterday never existed.
Weirdly disappointing.
Weirdly relieving too.
Shouto glances up the second he steps inside.
“You’re late.”
“It’s midnight.”
“You’re still late.”
Katsuki drops his helmet bag beside the workbench.
“You’re annoying.”
“You came anyway.”
Fair.
The garage smells faintly like:
* fuel
* overheated brakes
* coffee
* rain trapped in concrete
Comforting.
Outside, floodlights cast pale reflections across the still-damp circuit while soft wind rattles faintly against pit lane barriers.
Katsuki notices the telemetry paused on-screen behind her immediately.
Wet Conditions.
Again.
“You still reviewing rain lines?”
“You’re still oversteering Sector Three.”
“That corner’s badly designed.”
“Hm.”
Katsuki narrows his eyes.
“That sounded judgmental.”
“It was.”
He drops into the chair beside her while the garage settles comfortably quiet around them.
Not awkward quiet.
Focused quiet.
Like this is normal already.
Which honestly feels concerning.
The academy opened optional night practice sessions three days ago for students wanting extra wet-condition prep before the next evaluations.
Most people stopped showing up after the first night.
Too tired.
Too difficult.
Too late.
But somehow:
every night Katsuki comes down here—
Shouto’s already there.
And somehow:
neither of them questions it anymore.
Problematic.
Shouto taps something on the tablet before holding it toward him.
“You’re braking too hard entering rotation.”
Katsuki squints at the telemetry graph.
“I’m braking correctly.”
“You almost spun.”
“I recovered.”
“You hydroplaned.”
“But I recovered.”
Shouto sighs heavily like he’s personally exhausting.
“You drive emotionally.”
“You say that like it’s bad.”
“No,” she says quietly.
That catches him slightly off guard.
Shouto leans back against the workbench while watching the telemetry replay silently.
“…Most drivers panic when grip disappears,” she says after a second. “You don’t.”
Katsuki shrugs automatically.
“The car still talks.”
Shouto looks over immediately.
Sharp.
Interested.
Then—
slowly—
she smiles a little.
“There it is again.”
“The hell does THAT mean.”
“That thing you say sometimes.” She gestures vaguely. “Like the cars are alive.”
“They ARE alive.”
“That sounds insane.”
“You literally name your helmets.”
“I was eight.”
“You alphabetized fan mail.”
Shouto gasps softly like he stabbed her personally.
“That was confidential information.”
Katsuki grins immediately.
“Oh my god you’re embarrassed.”
“No I’m not.”
“You’re hiding in your sleeves.”
Shouto immediately pulls her hands farther into the oversized hoodie.
Katsuki barks out a laugh before he can stop himself.
The garage echoes warmly with it.
For a second Shouto just stares at him.
Then—
unexpectedly—
she laughs too.
Not loud.
Sleepy.
Real.
Something weird settles low in Katsuki’s chest again.
Dangerous.
He looks away first.
Outside, wind rattles softly against pit lane fencing while floodlights reflect across wet pavement.
The entire academy feels asleep.
Like the world shrunk down to:
garage lights.
telemetry screens.
engine noise.
And somehow—
Todoroki sitting beside him feels weirdly natural now.
That realization should probably concern him more.
“You know,” Shouto says suddenly, “Ashido tried interrogating me for forty minutes after everyone left yesterday.”
Katsuki snorts.
“About what.”
“You.”
Silence.
“…What.”
“She thinks something’s happening.”
Katsuki physically recoils.
“Nothing’s happening.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
Pause.
“…She said you looked emotionally compromised.”
Katsuki nearly chokes to death.
“THAT’S NOT A REAL SENTENCE.”
“She seemed very confident.”
“She’s insane.”
“That’s true.”
Katsuki rubs both hands down his face aggressively.
Shouto watches him for another second before quietly smiling into her sleeve again.
Problem.
Huge problem.
Then she suddenly notices something.
Or rather—
something attached to the locker key Katsuki just tossed onto the table.
Silence.
Katsuki follows her gaze downward.
Oh no.
Tiny pink Ferrari keychain.
Still attached.
Shit.
For one horrifying second neither of them speaks.
Then Shouto looks back up slowly.
“…You kept it.”
Katsuki immediately goes defensive.
“I forgot to give it back.”
“You attached it to your keys.”
“That happened accidentally.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It’s NOT fake.”
Shouto picks up the keys carefully.
The tiny pink Ferrari logo swings slightly beneath the garage lights.
And suddenly Katsuki becomes violently aware this used to belong in her room.
Attached to her stuff.
Mixed into years of racing memories.
Personal.
“…Touya’s going to become unbearable if he sees this,” she mutters.
“He’s already unbearable.”
“True.”
But she still doesn’t hand the keychain back.
Instead she turns it thoughtfully between her fingers for another second before setting the keys gently back beside him.
“You can keep it.”
Silence.
Katsuki blinks once.
“…Seriously?”
Shouto shrugs slightly while pulling her sleeves farther over her hands again.
“It suits you.”
“The hell does THAT mean.”
“It’s loud.”
Katsuki stares at her.
Shouto tries hiding another smile behind her sleeve.
This is psychological warfare.
Absolute psychological warfare.
The garage falls quiet again afterward.
Comfortable quiet.
Shouto returns to telemetry review while Katsuki pretends he’s still capable of coherent thought.
Outside, light rain begins falling again.
Soft this time.
Barely visible beneath floodlights.
Shouto notices immediately.
Of course she does.
“You wanna run laps?”
Katsuki grins before he can stop himself.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
Twenty minutes later the circuit glows silver beneath floodlights while academy engines scream through the night.
No instructors.
No classmates.
No evaluations.
Just:
rain.
instinct.
and two drivers chasing each other through the dark.
And somewhere between Sector Two and Sector Three—
Katsuki realizes something deeply inconvenient.
He likes this.
Not just racing with her.
Not just competing.
This.
The late nights.
The quiet garages.
The stupid pink keychain.
Her laughing herself breathless in oversized hoodies after midnight.
All of it.
Which is honestly bullshit.