Archive of Our Own

The Sunday afternoon was supposed to be dedicated to a long, heated debate with Shoto about the evolving landscape of sustainable textiles. Katsuki was pacing his own room, phone pressed to his ear, when his older brother, Kaito, began blowing up his phone.

Katsuki ignored the first three calls, his patience already stretched thin. When the fourth one came through, he didn't even check the screen before barking, "I told you I was busy, you shitty extra! Stop calling me!"

"Get your ass in here right now, Katsuki!" Kaito’s voice boomed back, not through the phone, but from the other side of the hall, followed by a roar of frustration.

Katsuki snarled, finally hanging up on Shoto with a muttered apology before storming out of his room. He stomped down the hallway, every heavy footfall a testament to his rising irritation. He didn't bother with the decency of a knock; he kicked the door to Kaito’s room open with enough force to make the frame rattle.

"Listen here, you pathetic—"

The insult died on his tongue, suffocated by the sudden shift in the room's atmosphere.

Kaito was hunched over his desk, surrounded by scattered mechanical components and half-finished blueprints, but he wasn't alone. Sitting across from him, frozen mid-motion with a small wrench in his large, calloused hand, was a stranger.

Katsuki’s breath hitched, caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat.

The guy was a titan of a person, his frame broad and solid, draped in a tight black compression shirt that did nothing to hide the dense, powerful muscles underneath. His sleeves were pushed up, exposing arms that were littered with jagged, raised scars traced across his forearms and down to his knuckles, mapping out a life that looked far more rugged than anything Katsuki dealt with in his art studio.

But it was the man's face that pulled the air from the room. He had tilted his head, his wide, curious green eyes locking onto Katsuki’s with an intensity that made the skin on the back of Katsuki’s neck prickle. And there, perched just beneath his left eye, was a sharp, distinct scar—a mirror image of the one Katsuki touched every morning in the mirror.

For a heartbeat, the silence was absolute. The frustration, the argument with Shoto, the anger at his brother—it all evaporated, leaving Katsuki standing in the doorway, face flushed a deep, betraying crimson. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He just stared, completely blindsided by the way the afternoon sunlight caught the green of the stranger's hair and the raw, quiet strength radiating from him.

Kaito stared at his brother, waving a hand impatiently in front of Katsuki’s unmoving face. “Uh, hello? I just said get your damn cutter, you brat, mine broke.”

At the sudden interruption, Katsuki visibly jerked, shaking his head as if to physically dislodge the daze he’d fallen into. He forced his expression back into a signature scowl, though the heat radiating from his neck and the burning crimson of his ears betrayed him completely.

“Buy your own,” Katsuki spat, his voice coming out tighter than he intended. From the corner of his eye, he could still feel the weight of the stranger’s gaze—a heavy, curious presence—and he caught a glimpse of the man sitting with his mouth slightly parted.

“I need it now, Katsuki. Just go get it! My god, you’re insufferable,” Kaito snapped, tapping his pen rhythmically against the desk.

“No. You’ll break it too,” Katsuki retorted, crossing his arms over his chest to hide the slight tremor in his hands.

“I’ll buy you a new one, you asshole!”

“Don’t care.”

“MOM!” Kaito finally bellowed, the sound echoing off the walls. Almost instantly, a muffled but lethal yell came back from downstairs, warning Kaito to shut up before she came up there and shut it for him.

Katsuki let out a sharp, jagged exhale. “Ugh, fine! God, what a fucking beggar.”

He turned on his heel, his heart still hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He stalked out into the hallway, slamming the door behind him with enough force to make the floorboards vibrate, leaving the quiet tension of the room—and the memory of those scarred, steady hands—trapped behind the wood.

“You didn’t tell me you had a brother.” Izuku leaned back in his chair, his eyes still lingering on the door as if the wood were transparent. He felt strangely breathless, half-shocked and entirely rattled.

Kaito didn’t even look up from his disorganized spread of parts. “Don’t see why it matters. Never came up, and besides, he’s just an annoying, loud-mouthed brat. Not worth the breath.”

Izuku kept his mouth shut, though every instinct he had was screaming the opposite. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from blurting out that he’d just seen the most breathtaking person he’d ever laid eyes on. It wouldn't just be weird; it would be a death sentence for his friendship with Kaito if he started gushing over the guy's surly, beautiful brother.

A few minutes later, the door swung open again. Katsuki didn’t say a word. He didn't even acknowledge the space they occupied. He simply tossed the precision cutter onto the desk with a sharp clack and pivoted on his heel, vanishing back into the hallway without a single glance toward them.

“Fucking finally,” Kaito groaned, snatching up the tool and immediately hacking into the copper wiring.

Izuku didn’t move. He kept his gaze fixed on the doorframe, his mind snagged on the image of the boy in the baggy, faded t-shirt and loose shorts. The messy blonde hair, the jagged scar matching his own, and that flash of raw, unfiltered irritation—it was all he could see.

“Hey, you helping or what?” Kaito snapped, shooting him a glare. “What're you thinking about?”

Izuku blinked, tearing his eyes away from the empty doorway. He felt a small, secret smile tug at the corner of his lips as he reached out to steady the frame of the project.

“Nothing,” Izuku murmured, his voice softer than before. “Gimme the yellow wire.”

Katsuki paced his own room, his heart still doing a frantic, traitorous flip-flop in his chest. He was trying to focus on his project, but his mind kept looping back to the image of those scarred hands and that intense, piercing gaze.

Get it together, he growled internally, throwing his phone onto his bed.

He reached for his favorite mechanical pencil to start a new sketch, to get his mind occupied, only to realize with a jolt of panic that it wasn't in its case. He’d had it earlier when he went to find Kaito, and he must have dropped it on that messy, gear-covered desk during his outburst.

"Dammit," he hissed. He couldn't leave it there; if Kaito or that guy used it, they’d ruin the lead.

He stomped back down the hallway, ready to snatch his property and retreat before anyone said a word. He reached Kaito’s door, which was left slightly ajar, and heard the familiar clatter of metallic parts, but no sound of his brother’s voice.

He nudged the door open with his foot, his scowl already in place. "Hey, you moron, I left my—"

The words died in his throat.

The room was empty save for Izuku, who was hunched over the desk, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as he squinted at a complex wiring diagram. He hadn't heard Katsuki enter. The overhead light glinted off the soft, messy curls of his hair, and for a second, Katsuki just stood there, caught in the quiet, domestic bubble of the room.

Izuku shifted, the black compression shirt stretching tight across his back, and he let out a frustrated, low groan, dragging a hand through his hair. He looked tired, focused, and—Katsuki hated how much his heart betrayed him—incredibly endearing.

Then, Izuku shifted his weight, and his gaze slid up, landing directly on Katsuki in the doorway.

The engineer froze. The silence that filled the room felt heavier this time, stripped of Kaito’s loud, obnoxious presence. Izuku’s eyes went wide, his mouth slightly parted in surprise, and a slow, genuine flush crawled up from his collar to his cheeks.

"Oh," Izuku said, his voice dropping into that low, raspy register that made Katsuki’s skin prickle. He didn't look annoyed or indifferent; he looked like he’d been waiting for him to come back. "You...you dropped this, I think?"

He held up the mechanical pencil, his thumb brushing over the grip, and the air between them suddenly felt very, very thin.

As Katsuki reached out, his fingers brushed against the warmth of Izuku’s hand. The contact was brief—a fleeting, static-like spark—but it was enough. Katsuki’s pulse spiked, and he snatched the pencil back as if he’d been burned, stumbling a half-step back, his entire face flushing a violent, brilliant red.

"T-thanks," Katsuki choked out, his gaze darting to the floor.

The air in the room grew heavy and quiet, thick with a tension that hadn't been there before. Izuku didn't pull his hand away immediately, his eyes searching Katsuki’s face. "I'm Izuku, by the way. Izuku Midoriya. Kaito's friend. I didn't get to—"

CLACK.

The door swung wide, and Kaito stumbled in, his arms overflowing with bags of chips and two sodas. He stopped dead, his eyes darting between his brother’s flustered, crimson face and Izuku, who was still looking at the doorway with a faint, hopeful smile.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Kaito demanded, his tone sharp and suspicious. "I thought you kicked yourself out of here five minutes ago."

Katsuki felt his stomach drop, the embarrassment hitting him like a physical blow. He hated how quickly his heart was racing, how obvious he must look. He stiffened, dragging his mask of aggression back over his features.

"I left my damn pencil," Katsuki snapped, his voice rougher than necessary. He pointed a finger at the desk, his jaw set. "And since you’re too useless to keep track of your own shit, I had to come back for it. Not that I wanted to be in this hole, obviously."

He turned on his heel, his heart hammering against his ribs, and stormed out into the hallway, his face still burning as he could hear Kaito grumbling something about "weirdo" behind him.

Kaito kicked the door shut with his heel, dumping the bags of chips onto the desk with a satisfying thwack. "Don't mind him," he grumbled, cracking open a soda and sliding it toward Izuku. "He’s been acting like a total lunatic all day."

Izuku took the drink, his heart still drumming a frantic rhythm against his ribs from the brush of Katsuki’s fingers. He forced himself to focus on the wiring diagram, his hands moving with practiced, mechanical precision—though his mind was still entirely on the boy who had just stormed out.

He waited a beat, making sure the atmosphere felt casual, before he offhandedly turned a gear. "So, your brother," he started, keeping his eyes on the project. "Does he go to our university too?"

Kaito let out a scoffing laugh, tossing a chip into his mouth. "Yeah, unfortunately. He’s a freshman in fashion design, wants to be like my parents or whatever."

Izuku’s pulse skipped. A freshman. That explained the younger, fresher energy he’d felt. He nodded, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Oh, nice. Is he enjoying his first year so far?"

"Who knows?" Kaito shrugged, bored out of his mind. "He’s mostly just obsessed with his sketchbooks and his stupid fashion projects. Honestly, he’s lucky he’s got a decent eye, or he’d have failed out by now. He’s a bit of a brat, like I said."

Izuku leaned in, acting as if he were simply interested in the project layout. "Sounds like he’s pretty passionate about it, at least. Does he spend all his time in the studio?"

"Pretty much," Kaito muttered, clearly losing interest in the topic as he focused on untangling a stubborn cluster of wires. "I barely see him unless he's stomping around the house complaining about 'poor lighting' or whatever. Why are you asking so many questions about the brat, anyway? Focus on the gear, man—we’re already behind."

"Just curious," Izuku said quickly, his small smile returning as he adjusted a wire.

He turned back to the work, his mind already racing. A freshman. Art major. He had a target, a starting point, and for the first time in a long time, the boring engineering project felt like the most exciting thing he’d ever done.

—

Izuku decided that "coincidence" was his best strategy. The engineering building and the arts department were on opposite ends of the campus, but he found himself taking the long way around during his breaks, his eyes constantly scanning the courtyards and the glass-walled studios for a flash of ash-blonde hair.

Two days later, his patience paid off. He spotted Katsuki through one of the large, street-level windows of the design studio.

Katsuki wasn't the angry, shouting brat from the bedroom; here, in his element, he was eerily focused. He was hunched over a drafting table, his tongue poking slightly out of the corner of his mouth in deep concentration. He was working alongside a boy with striking, split-colored hair who was holding up a piece of fabric, the two of them debating something with intense, quiet gravity.

Izuku stopped, leaning casually against the brick wall across the walkway, pretending to check a notification on his phone. He watched them for a long moment, mesmerized by the way Katsuki’s hands moved—precise, elegant, and nothing like the aggressive, fist-clenching hands he’d seen earlier.

Katsuki looked animated, waving a charcoal pencil in the air to emphasize a point to his friend, who just nodded with a calm, unimpressed expression. Seeing them together made Izuku’s chest tighten with a strange, foreign emotion—a mix of curiosity and a sharp, stinging prick of jealousy.

So that’s what he’s like when he’s not dealing with Kaito, Izuku thought, his thumb hovering over his phone screen.

He didn't want to get caught staring like a creep, but he couldn't bring himself to walk away yet. He stayed rooted in place, watching the way the sunlight hit Katsuki’s profile, cataloging the small details—the way he brushed his hair back, the way he laughed at something his friend said, a genuine, rare sound that made Izuku’s breath hitch in his throat.

He was just about to turn and force himself to leave when, as if sensing the weight of the gaze on him, Katsuki’s head snapped up. His sharp, red eyes scanned the room, darted toward the window. Izuku realized his mistake a second too late. He didn't wait to see if Katsuki would recognize him; he immediately tucked his phone away, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and pivoted, walking away with a feigned casualness that he hoped looked like he was just a student passing by.

His heart was pounding so hard he was sure it could be heard through his chest. He didn't dare look back. He kept his stride steady, turning the corner of the building and letting out a shaky, jagged breath once he was out of Katsuki's line of sight.

Too close, he thought, leaning his back against the cool brick of the hallway wall. Way too close.

He felt like a complete idiot. He was supposed to be keeping a low profile, not gawking through windows like a teenager with a crush. But the memory of Katsuki’s face—not the angry, flushed, defensive version from the bedroom, but the focused, passionate artist he’d just seen—lingered in his mind, making his skin prickle with excitement.

He stayed there for a minute, waiting for his pulse to level out, staring at the concrete floor. He hadn't been caught, but the near-miss had shifted something. The thrill of the chase was real, and it was intoxicating. He wasn't going to give up, but he definitely had to be smarter about it. If he was going to get closer to Katsuki, he couldn't just be some random guy hovering in the shadows; he needed a reason to actually be in his space.

Since Izuku realized that hovering near the art studio was a one-way ticket to being labeled a creep, he needed to be the guy who was always there, but for a reason that had nothing to do with Katsuki.

He started showing up at the house early. Not for the project, but just to "hang." He’d bring coffee for Kaito, or a bag of the good beef jerky Kaito liked, or he’d help Kaito reorganize his cluttered desk. He became a fixture—the calm, reliable friend who made the engineering work go faster.

It worked better than he expected. Kaito, usually a solitary, grumpy worker, started treating Izuku like part of the furniture.

"Hey, hold this wire for a sec," Kaito would say, not even looking up. Izuku would do it, steady and focused.

"You’re a lifesaver, man," Kaito would grunt. "Most people would’ve bailed on this project three days ago."

Izuku would just give a small, humble shrug. "It’s interesting work, Kaito. I don't mind."

The real shift, though, was in the domestic rhythm of the house. Because Izuku was there on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, he was there when the front door opened. He was there when the sound of a heavy backpack hitting the floor signaled that Katsuki was home.

It wasn't a "run-in." It was just life.

One Thursday, the door creaked open, and Katsuki shuffled in, smelling like graphite and coffee. He was wearing an oversized hoodie that swallowed his frame, his hair a mess from pulling at it all day. He looked exhausted, the kind of tired that made his eyes droop.

He walked into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge, and stopped dead. Izuku was standing by the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil for his third cup of tea.

Katsuki blinked, his tired brain clearly not firing on all cylinders yet. He looked at Izuku, then at the open doorway, then back at Izuku. 

Katsuki’s heart skipped a beat, then slammed into his ribs. Oh no.

He looked down at his own stained sleeves, then back at Izuku, who was looking at him with an expression that wasn't quite a smile, but definitely wasn't indifference. His gaze was steady, tracking the way Katsuki’s messy hair fell over his eyes and the exhaustion etched into his features.

The embarrassment hit Katsuki like a physical heatwave. He wasn't the put-together, sharp-tongued art student he usually tried to project. He was just a tired, disheveled kid standing infront of his brother's friend, looking like he’d been dragged through a charcoal bin.

"I..." Katsuki started, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, his ears turning a bright, burning crimson. He tried to pull his hoodie sleeves down over his hands to hide how much he was shaking. "Didn't know you were...here."

Izuku didn't look away. He took a slow sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving Katsuki’s face. "Yeah, I was helping Kaito work on that gear project."

Katsuki’s breath hitched. He felt painfully exposed under that gaze—that intense, quiet focus that felt less like looking at a person and more like dissecting them. It wasn't the sharp, aggressive tension from their first meeting; this was something thicker, something that made Katsuki’s skin prickle and his stomach do a slow, traitorous somersault.

He felt ridiculously self-conscious, hyper-aware of every smudge of graphite on his skin and the way his hair was probably standing up in ten different directions. He wanted to turn around and run, but his feet felt glued to the linoleum.

"Right," Katsuki muttered, his gaze darting to the floor, then back to Izuku, then to the floor again. He felt incredibly small, and he hated how much he wanted Izuku to keep looking at him, even though it made him want to die of shame. "I just...I needed a drink."

"Rough day?" Izuku asked, his voice low and raspy—that same tone that had haunted Katsuki since he first heard it.

Katsuki gripped the fridge handle, his knuckles turning white. He felt a weird, desperate urge to impress him, to apologize for looking like a disaster, to do something. "The worst," he grumbled, his voice losing its usual bite, sounding oddly vulnerable. "Shoto...my friend...he’s a nightmare when he’s sleep-deprived."

Izuku’s mouth twitched, a faint, genuine smile forming that made Katsuki’s breath hitch. "I can imagine."

Katsuki grabbed his soda, his fingers brushing against the cold can, but his focus was entirely on the way Izuku hadn't shifted his position, hadn't looked away, and hadn't offered a polite, dismissive nod to end the conversation. He was just there, waiting for Katsuki to say something else, making Katsuki feel like he was the only person in the world.

It was suffocating and exhilarating all at once. Katsuki felt like he was drowning in the silence, and he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to come up for air.

Katsuki grabbed the soda can so hard the metal crinkled under his grip. His face felt like it was on fire—he was certain he looked like an absolute wreck, and the way Izuku was just standing there, calm and steady, made the vulnerability feel ten times worse.

He didn't even bother with a goodbye. He pivoted sharply, his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum, and practically sprinted toward the hallway. He didn't look back to see if Izuku was watching him go; he just focused on the safety of his own room.

Izuku didn’t just stand there watching Katsuki bolt; he waited a heartbeat, processed the way Katsuki’s pulse had been practically visible in his neck, and realized that being "the casual friend in the background" was no longer enough. He wanted to push.

He set his tea mug down on the counter and followed Katsuki out into the hallway, his steps quiet but intentional. He caught up to him just as Katsuki was about to pull his bedroom door shut.

"Hey," Izuku said, his voice dropping into that low, magnetic register. He reached out, his hand instinctively catching the edge of the door before it could latch, effectively pinning Katsuki in the doorway.

Katsuki gasped, his eyes flying wide as he looked up. Izuku was standing too close—close enough that Katsuki could smell the faint, clean scent of the tea he’d been drinking and the sharper, metallic tang of the gear-work he’d been doing with Kaito.

"You left this," Izuku murmured, his eyes locked onto Katsuki’s with an intensity that made the hallway feel like it was shrinking. He held up a small, charcoal-stained eraser Katsuki hadn't realized he’d dropped near the fridge.

Katsuki’s breath hitched. He was trapped between the doorframe and Izuku’s broad frame, his heart slamming against his ribs so hard it was dizzying. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Izuku’s as he took the eraser, and the static charge that jumped between them was enough to make his knees weak.

"Thanks," Katsuki managed, his voice barely a whisper. He couldn't look away, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but stare up at the jagged scar under Izuku’s eye.

Izuku didn't move away. He leaned in just a fraction, his presence overwhelming, his gaze dropping to Katsuki’s lips for a split second before snapping back up. "You looked...busy," Izuku said, his voice dropping even lower. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed pretty frazzled."

Katsuki opened his mouth to snap something defensive, to tell him to back off, but the words died in his throat. The tension was thick, heavy, and intoxicating—the kind that made his head spin and his skin burn.

"Katsuki! Izuku!"

The sound of Mitsuki’s bright, energetic voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs, followed by the clatter of her heels on the hardwood.

"Kaito, you too!" she called out, already halfway up the stairs. "I’m making katsudon for dinner, and you know how much Izuku loves it! Katsuki, don't you dare hide in your room, you’re coming down to eat with us!"

Izuku pulled back instantly, though his eyes lingered on Katsuki for one last, scorching second before he stepped back to give him space. The moment the spell broke, Katsuki felt like he’d been dropped from a great height.

Mitsuki rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, beaming when she saw them standing by the door. She didn't notice the way the air was vibrating with tension; she just saw her son and his brother’s guest.

"Oh, there you are! Izuku, dear, you're staying for dinner, right? Kaito mentioned you’ve been working so hard today, you look like you need a real meal!" She turned to Katsuki, poking him in the shoulder. "And you, brat, wash your face. You've got charcoal smudges all over your cheek. You look like a chimney sweep!"

Katsuki felt his face explode into a new shade of crimson. He scrambled backward, slamming his door shut again—but this time, he wasn't running from Izuku. He was running from the sheer, terrifying reality that his mother had just invited the guy he was currently obsessed with to have dinner with them, right at their family table.

Katsuki spends the first ten minutes in the bathroom scrubbing his face until the skin is raw, trying to wipe away the embarrassment of being "caught" in his own hallway. When he finally makes his way downstairs, the dining room is already alive with conversation.

Izuku is sitting at the table, completely at ease. He’s managed to bridge the gap between "guest" and "part of the family" in record time, listening attentively as Masaru talks about his recent work trip. When Katsuki slides into the empty chair—directly across from Izuku—the conversation doesn't stop, but the shift in the room is palpable.

"About time, Katsuki," Mitsuki says, nudging a bowl of katsudon toward him. She turns to Izuku with a wide, fond grin. "I hope you’re hungry, Izuku. Kaito tells me you've been putting in ridiculous hours in the lab lately."

"I don't mind, Mrs. Bakugo," Izuku replies, his tone respectful and charming. He glances across the table, his eyes locking onto Katsuki’s for a beat too long. "It’s been productive. Kaito’s a genius when it comes to the technical stuff."

Kaito, busy shoveling rice into his mouth, just grunts in agreement, completely oblivious to the silent communication happening across from him. "Izuku's the one doing the heavy lifting, honestly. I'd be lost without him on this build."

Katsuki keeps his eyes glued to his bowl, stabbing at his pork cutlet. He can feel Izuku’s gaze shifting from Kaito back to him. It’s a heavy, weighted stare that feels like a physical touch. Every time Katsuki dares to glance up, he catches Izuku watching him, that subtle, knowing half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

It’s infuriating. It’s intoxicating.

"You're being awfully quiet, Katsuki," Masaru remarks gently, reaching for the water pitcher. "Studio work wearing you out?"

"Just tired," Katsuki mumbles.

Kaito smirked, nudging his bowl aside with a clatter. "You guys should've seen him," he teased, leaning back in his chair with a mocking glint in his eye. "Staring at the same sketch for three days like it’s going to jump up and apologize. I’ve seen him work faster on a doodle, but this? This is just him being dramatic."

Katsuki stiffened, his jaw tightening as he glared at his brother. "Shut up, you idiot. You don't know anything about it."

Izuku, who had been methodically eating his rice, paused. He didn't look up at Kaito, but the way he set his chopsticks down—with a soft, deliberate click—drew the attention of everyone at the table.

"Maybe he just doesn't feel like rushing," Izuku said, his voice quiet and even. He finally shifted his gaze to Katsuki, a brief, fleeting look that was entirely too heavy for a casual dinner conversation. "Some things are worth the extra time."

He turned back to his meal, but the atmosphere had shifted. It was a subtle, almost imperceptible defense, but it was there—a quiet pivot that effectively silenced Kaito’s teasing.

Katsuki felt a strange, jarring jolt in his chest. He didn't want the defense—or rather, he hated how much he needed it. He watched Izuku through the steam rising from his own bowl, hyper-aware of the way Izuku’s sleeves were pushed up, revealing the faint, jagged line of a scar on his forearm.

The air in the room felt suddenly charged, thin and vibrating. It was the kind of tension that made the space between their chairs feel like a magnet. Katsuki watched Izuku take a drink of water, the way his throat moved, the way he was so damn calm while Katsuki felt like he was vibrating out of his own skin.

Across the table, Izuku shifted. His leg brushed against Katsuki’s under the table—not a bump, but a firm, lingering press that didn't move away. Katsuki’s entire nervous system lit up. He didn't pull back; he couldn't. He just sat there, frozen, his knuckles white around his chopsticks as he stared at the center of the table, his pulse hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm in his ears.

He didn't dare look up. He knew if he met Izuku’s eyes right now, he wouldn't be able to hide the way his breath was hitching or the way he was leaning—just an imperceptible fraction—toward the contact.

Mitsuki sighed, oblivious. "Oh, stop picking on him, Kaito. He's been working hard, haven't you, Katsuki?"

Katsuki didn't answer. He couldn't. He just kept his leg pressed back against Izuku’s, a silent, desperate anchor in the middle of the suffocating, electric silence.

The clatter of dishes slowly died down as Kaito pushed his chair back, already lost in his own world. "Catch you guys later," he muttered, eyes already fixed on his phone as he headed toward the stairs to get back to his project.

Once he was gone, the kitchen felt much larger. Masaru stood at the sink, the water running as he started on the heavy pots, while Katsuki grabbed a rag to tackle the crumbs on the island.

Izuku didn't follow Kaito to his room. Instead, he moved toward the counter where Katsuki was working. "Here, let me help with that," he said, reaching for a second cloth.

Masaru glanced over his shoulder, smiling warmly. "Oh, you don't have to do that, Izuku. You're a guest!"

"I don't mind at all," Izuku insisted, his tone polite but firm. He stepped in beside Katsuki, closing the distance until their shoulders were nearly touching. "It’s the least I can do after such a good dinner."

Masaru chuckled, drying his hands on a towel. "Thank you, kid. Actually, Katsuki, while you two finish the counters, could you handle the drying and putting away? The dishwasher rack is full. I need to go check on Mitsuki—she was looking for that file in the study."

"Yeah, fine," Katsuki grunted, his voice tighter than he wanted it to be.

Masaru gave them a small smile and walked out of the kitchen, leaving them in the sudden, heavy quiet.

Now it was just the two of them. The space between the sink and the counter felt impossibly cramped. Katsuki stood at the drying rack, picking up a plate with trembling fingers. He could feel Izuku standing right behind him, close enough that he could feel the radiating warmth from his body.

The ten minutes of drying had been agonizing. The only sounds in the kitchen were the rhythmic clink of ceramic against ceramic and the muffled, thumping beat of Katsuki’s own heart. He was hyper-aware of Izuku’s presence at his side—the way he occasionally leaned in to grab a piece of silverware or the way his shoulder would graze Katsuki’s when they both reached for the towel.

Katsuki looked at the stack of plates he’d gathered. He was tired, he was annoyed, and he was stubborn. He didn't want to make two trips to the upper cupboards.

Katsuki gathered the entire heavy stack into his arms, then moved to the wall-mounted cupboard. It was just a little too high, requiring him to go up on his toes and extend his arms fully. As he hoisted the weight, the strain became immediate. The ceramic was dense, and his arms weren't quite prepared for the awkward, top-heavy angle. His biceps corded with the effort, and as he reached the shelf, his fingers began to tremble. The stack wobbled, a sickening slide of porcelain threatening to send the whole lot crashing to the tile floor.

He gasped, bracing himself for the impact, but it never came.

Izuku was there in an instant, moving with a fluid, predatory grace. He stepped directly into the space behind Katsuki, his larger frame completely eclipsing him. Izuku’s broad chest pressed against Katsuki’s back, and his arms came up on either side of Katsuki’s, his large, calloused hands clamping over Katsuki’s shaking ones to steady the stack.

"I've got you," Izuku breathed, his voice dropping into a low, rasping murmur right by Katsuki’s ear.

The heat of the contact was instantaneous. Katsuki felt like he was being enveloped; Izuku was so much larger, a solid wall of muscle and heat that made the kitchen feel instantly too small. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, Katsuki could feel the hard, steady thrum of Izuku’s heart against his shoulder blades.

Together, they pushed the heavy stack the final few inches onto the shelf.

Even when the weight was safely deposited, Izuku didn't immediately pull away. His hands remained over Katsuki’s on the cupboard frame, effectively pinning him against the wood. Katsuki couldn't move; his breath was trapped in his throat, and his skin was crawling with a mixture of terror and an electric, overwhelming desire to just lean back into the support.

"Too heavy for one go, Katsuki," Izuku murmured, his breath fanning against the shell of Katsuki’s ear. He didn't move away, and the intimacy of the moment—the way Izuku’s body heat radiated through him, the way he was clearly using the excuse of 'helping' to hold him close—made Katsuki’s head spin.

Katsuki swallowed hard, his neck flushing a deep, burning crimson. He felt dizzy, his entire world narrowing down to the way Izuku’s grip felt firm and possessive against his knuckles. He wanted to push him away, but his limbs felt like lead, heavy with a lethargic, buzzing tension that kept him perfectly, foolishly still.

Katsuki’s grip on the cupboard frame tightened, his knuckles white. He was paralyzed, caught between the urge to bolt and the intoxicating, dangerous desire to let his head fall back against Izuku’s shoulder.

"You're shaking," Izuku whispered, his voice so low it was barely a vibration against Katsuki’s neck.

Katsuki let out a sharp, ragged exhale, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. He finally forced himself to move, his hands slipping out from under Izuku's, though he stayed put for a heartbeat, anchored by the sheer proximity.

"I'm not," Katsuki lied, his voice sounding thin and strangled.

He didn't turn around—he knew if he saw Izuku’s face right now, he would completely lose his mind. He turned his head just enough to look at his reflection in the dark glass of the cabinet, catching sight of Izuku standing directly behind him. The size difference was stark, and the way Izuku was watching him—with that quiet, patient, hungry intensity—made Katsuki’s knees feel like jelly.

"You are," Izuku countered, the smugness in his tone balanced by a raw, underlying edge. He didn't step back; instead, he reached out, his hand moving toward the cabinet door next to Katsuki’s head, his arm trapping him in.

Just as Izuku’s fingertips brushed the edge of the cupboard, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway. Masaru’s voice drifted in, cheerful and oblivious. "Everything tucked away in there, boys?"

The spell shattered.

Izuku didn't jump back—he moved away with a slow, agonizing deliberateness, his shoulder dragging against Katsuki’s arm as he retreated. He gave Katsuki just enough space to breathe, but the tension didn't dissipate; it just hovered there, thick and electrified, waiting for the next spark.

Katsuki’s lungs burned, starved of oxygen despite the vastness of the kitchen. When he heard the familiar scuff of his father’s slippers in the hallway, his brain kicked into emergency survival mode. He shoved his hands into his pockets to hide the way his fingers were still trembling, his face hot enough to sear.

He spun around, the motion slightly too jerky, too sharp.

"Yeah, they’re all in there," Katsuki barked, his voice coming out a pitch higher than usual. He cleared his throat violently, forcing his expression into a scowl that looked more pained than irritated. "The shelf is fine. Everything's done."

He made a beeline for the sink, needing to put physical distance between himself and Izuku. He grabbed a sponge and started scrubbing at a spot on the counter that was already perfectly clean, his back resolutely turned to the room.

Izuku, meanwhile, hadn't moved an inch from the cabinet. He stood there, leaning casually against the counter with his hands shoved into his jeans, looking entirely unaffected—though Katsuki could feel his gaze, heavy and unblinking, tracking every frantic movement he made.

"Found the file, thanks to Mitsuki," Masaru said, wandering back into the kitchen with a relaxed smile. He stopped when he saw them, his eyes darting between his son’s rigid, turned-away back and Izuku’s unnervingly calm demeanor. "You two look like you’ve been working hard. You finished up already?"

"Yup," Izuku said, his voice effortless, like silk. He stepped away from the cupboard, his footsteps light as he crossed the floor to join Masaru near the kitchen island. "Katsuki was just helping me organize the last of the heavy stuff."

"Good, good," Masaru said, oblivious, patting Izuku on the shoulder. "Why don't you guys head into the living room? I think Kaito is trying to stream some game, you might as well join him."

"Sounds good," Izuku replied smoothly. He took a single, slow step toward the exit, pausing just long enough for his shoulder to graze Katsuki’s arm one last time—a deliberate, lingering touch that felt like a brand.

Katsuki’s heart was still hammering against his ribs, a frantic, uneven rhythm, when the sudden chime of a notification broke the heavy silence.

Izuku pulled his phone from his pocket, his eyes scanning the screen. For a second, the calm, predatory expression he’d worn in the kitchen shifted into something more annoyed. He exhaled, a short, sharp breath that seemed to deflate the tension in the room just a fraction.

"Trouble?" Masaru asked.

Izuku looked up. "Not trouble, just…a shift change. My lab supervisor just pinged me. Something came up with the sensor calibration for the morning project. I have to head back to the engineering wing to troubleshoot it before the servers lock down."

Katsuki kept his back turned to the sink, his grip on the sponge so tight his knuckles ached. He didn't want him to leave, but the thought of having to keep up the charade of 'normalcy' for another hour was even more exhausting.

"Oh, hate to see you go so soon," Masaru said, sounding genuinely disappointed. "But I know how that department is."

"I know," Izuku said, his voice smooth, though his eyes remained fixed on Katsuki’s rigid back. "I’m sorry. I really enjoyed the meal."

Izuku took a step toward the doorway, then stopped. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. The way he looked at Katsuki—a slow, deliberate sweep of his eyes that felt like a physical touch—made it clear that this wasn't a real goodbye.

"I'll see you around, Katsuki," Izuku said, the promise in his voice heavy enough to hang in the air long after he’d walked out of the kitchen.

Katsuki stood there, the silence of the house rushing back in to fill the space where Izuku had been, feeling like he was vibrating on a frequency that only the two of them could hear.

The kitchen felt far too quiet once the front door clicked shut. The lingering static in the air—the kind that usually settled in the wake of Izuku’s presence—began to slowly drain away, leaving Katsuki feeling hollow and strangely untethered.

He abandoned the clean counter and wandered into the living room, his movements sluggish. He didn't even bother with the television; he just sank onto the far end of the sofa, letting his body fold in on itself. He curled his legs up, his arms wrapping tightly around his torso as if he were trying to hold himself together. His head dropped forward, his forehead resting against his knees, and his mind began to race, replaying the way Izuku’s chest had felt against his back, the steady, rhythmic pulse of his hands on the cupboards, and that look—that look—he’d left behind like a calling card.

He was spiraling, the tension of the evening catching up to him in one heavy, suffocating wave.

He didn't hear Masaru follow him. He only realized he was there when the cushion beside him dipped under a familiar, steady weight.

Masaru didn't ask what was wrong. He knew better; he knew that prodding would only make Katsuki bolt or shut down completely, a trait he’d inherited directly from Mitsuki. Instead, his father just settled in, sitting close enough to be a presence but leaving enough room for Katsuki to breathe.

After a long moment, a large, calloused hand settled gently onto the back of Katsuki’s head, his fingers threading through his spiky hair in a slow, grounding motion. It was a simple, wordless gesture—the kind he hadn't received since he was a kid.

Katsuki’s breath hitched, a tiny, involuntary sound. The sudden kindness was almost too much; his shoulders, which had been locked near his ears, finally dropped. Without thinking, he leaned into the touch, his forehead pressing briefly against his father’s arm. The frantic, spiraling thoughts in his head hit a momentary wall, silenced by the simple, unwavering comfort of his father just being there.

He stayed like that for a while, just breathing, the quiet of the house finally feeling like a refuge rather than a vacuum. He was still thinking, still processing the absolute chaos Izuku had managed to inject into his life, but for now, the static was dampened.

Masaru just sat there, silent and solid, letting the moment stretch out while Katsuki slowly uncurled, his gaze fixed on the empty coffee table as he tried to figure out how to bridge the gap between where he was and where he needed to be.

"Wanna talk about it?" Masaru’s voice was barely a murmur, breaking the quiet of the room. He didn’t press, but the question hung in the air, laden with the kind of gentle patience that made Katsuki feel entirely exposed. Katsuki stayed curled in on himself, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

He was terrified. He was terrified that the words would change the way his father looked at him, that they would introduce some invisible, jagged barrier between them. But Masaru was so close, his hand warm and steady against Katsuki’s back, that the vulnerability felt unavoidable. It was as if the simple act of leaning into his father had stripped away his defenses.

"Dad, I..." Katsuki started, his voice fracturing into a jagged tremor. He squeezed his eyes shut, his throat tight. He exhaled a long, shaky breath, trying to summon the courage, but his nerve failed him. "Dunno," he managed, the word barely a whisper.

Masaru didn't sigh, didn't pull away, and didn't fill the silence with platitudes. He just kept tracing those slow, grounding circles on Katsuki’s back, his hand a constant, reassuring weight. He waited. He gave Katsuki all the time he needed to find the pieces of himself he’d been hiding.

Katsuki’s hands gripped the edge of the sofa cushion, his knuckles turning white. He thought of Izuku’s steady gaze, the way the kitchen had felt like it was shrinking around them, and the overwhelming, terrifying truth of it all.

"I’m..." Katsuki swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a raw, brittle thread. "I like guys."

As the admission left his lips, Masaru’s hand stilled completely. The circles stopped, his palm resting flat and motionless against Katsuki’s shoulder blade. For a split second, the world seemed to freeze, and Katsuki held his breath, his entire body bracing for the reaction that would define the rest of his night—and perhaps the rest of his life.

Instead, Masaru’s hand shifted, giving Katsuki’s shoulder a slow, firm squeeze before he resumed his rhythmic tracing. There was no recoil. No shock. Just a steady, grounding pressure that felt remarkably like acceptance.

Katsuki pulled back just enough to look at him, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. He searched his father’s face, expecting to find confusion or perhaps a forced neutrality. What he saw instead was a quiet, knowing softness in Masaru’s eyes.

"You knew?" Katsuki’s voice was barely a breath, thick with disbelief.

Masaru gave a small, weary smile, his gaze warm as he looked down at his son. "Katsuki, I’ve been your father for nineteen years. You don't think I’ve noticed the way you are?" He let out a gentle, airy laugh, though his expression remained serious. "I’ve seen the way you look at Izuku. It’s not just the dinner table—it’s the way you’ve been carrying yourself, the way you shut down whenever he’s around, the way you’re constantly watching him even when you think you’re being subtle."

Masaru shook his head, his thumb brushing against Katsuki’s shoulder blade. "You’re not as hard to read as you think you are, kid. Especially not to me."

Katsuki felt the blood rush to his face, a mixture of mortification and a strange, profound sense of relief. The secret he’d been guarding with such ferocity, the one that felt like it was tearing him apart, hadn't been a wall at all—it had been as transparent as glass to the one person he’d been most afraid to show.

"You...you saw?" Katsuki stammered, his pulse still hammering but the frantic, panicked edge finally beginning to dull.

"I saw," Masaru confirmed, his tone steady and completely devoid of judgment. "And honestly? I’m just glad you finally felt like you could tell me."

He reached out, pulling Katsuki into a firm, grounding embrace, his presence a shield against the rest of the world. "You don't have to carry that weight alone, you know. Not in this house."

Katsuki felt a strange, damp heat prickling behind his eyes—the kind of sudden, overwhelming relief that made his throat ache. He stayed tucked against his father’s side, feeling like the frantic energy that had been coursing through his veins all evening was finally beginning to ebb away.

Masaru shifted, his hand moving to rest on the back of Katsuki’s neck, a steady, grounding weight. He let out a soft, thoughtful hum, the kind of sound he made when he was genuinely relieved about something.

"You know," Masaru said, his voice dropping into a slightly more conversational, lighter tone. "If you were going to bring someone into this house and stir up this much trouble for yourself...I’m just glad it’s Izuku."

Katsuki stiffened, his head snapping up to look at his father again, his face heating up instantly. "Dad—!"

Masaru held up a hand, a small, knowing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "No, I'm serious. He’s got his head on straight, he’s clearly smart, and most importantly, he actually cares about you. I’ve seen enough of the world to know how hard it is to find someone who doesn't just want to be around for the show of it."

He gave a slight, dismissive shrug, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Could have been some random, weird guy you met at a party or someone who didn't know you at all. But Izuku? He's a good kid."

Masaru leaned back, looking at his son with a calm, unwavering pride. "It makes it a hell of a lot easier to stop worrying, knowing he’s the one you’re looking at."

Katsuki stared at him, his mouth slightly parted. He felt his heart settle, the frantic, jagged edges of his anxiety smoothing out into something warm and steady. He didn't have a comeback—for once, he didn't have the energy to fight or deflect. He just leaned back into his father’s side, the tension in his shoulders finally giving way to a quiet, profound sense of peace.

Katsuki let out a long, shuddering sigh, the adrenaline finally leaving him and replaced by a heavy, hollow ache. He slumped further against the couch cushions, staring at his own hands. "Yeah, well," he muttered, his voice thick with a sudden, uncharacteristic insecurity. "That's if he even likes me. It’s not exactly like he’s ever said anything. Maybe he’s just…curious. Or just being nice."

Masaru offered a casual, noncommittal shrug, as if the idea that Izuku wouldn't be interested was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard all night. He leaned back, crossing his arms with an expression of calm certainty. "I doubt that, Katsuki. I really do."

He turned his head to look at his son, his gaze kind and observant. "I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and frankly, I doubt he’d be spending this much time hanging around if he weren't interested. Besides," Masaru added, a teasing glint appearing in his eyes, "I doubt he wouldn't like a boy as pretty as you. You look just like your mother when you're sulking."

Katsuki felt his face explode in heat, the embarrassment so sharp and sudden that he actually let out a strangled, indignant noise. He ducked his head, covering his face with his hands, his ears burning crimson. "Dad! Shut up! You’re literally the worst!"

Masaru just laughed, the sound warm and easy, patting Katsuki’s knee with a satisfied grin. "What? It’s the truth. Your mother was a handful at nineteen, too. You’ve got her spirit, and you’ve got her face. Any guy with eyes is going to notice that."

Katsuki groaned into his palms, curling tighter against the cushions to hide his burning cheeks, but he didn't pull away. Despite the mortification, the knot of anxiety that had been strangling him all night finally felt like it had loosened, leaving him feeling lighter than he had in months.

Masaru let out a final, amused huff before his expression shifted, settling into that familiar, professional-yet-supportive mode he often slipped into when discussing design. He shifted on the couch, giving Katsuki space to breathe, the lingering embarrassment starting to fade into a comfortable, quiet hum.

"Anyway," Masaru said, his voice lowering into a more thoughtful register. "I noticed you’ve been glued to that canvas of yours for days. Are you still working on that series for your portfolio? If you need a second pair of eyes on the layout—or if you need someone to help with the materials for the texture study—just say the word. You know your mom and I have been itching to get our hands on some of your designs." He paused, resting his arm along the back of the sofa. "I saw those sketches you left in the studio yesterday. The linework is sharp, Katsuki. Really sharp."

Katsuki shifted slightly, the tension in his shoulders dropping another notch. "It's a pain in the ass," he mumbled, though he didn't pull away from his father’s proximity. "Just trying to get the lighting on the digital mockups to look as clean as the physical prints. I'm close, just...picky."

Masaru nodded knowingly. "I know, kid. Take your time." He drifted for a moment, looking toward the hallway as if remembering something. "By the way, how’s Shoto doing? Haven't seen him around the house in a bit. Is he still swamped with his own studio classes?"

—

The studio was quiet, save for the hum of the high-end workstations and the rhythmic click-clack of Katsuki’s mouse. He was hunched over his monitor, aggressively tweaking the color profile of a digital mockup. He had been staring at the same layer for ten minutes, his jaw set in a hard, stubborn line.

Shoto, who had been leaning against the adjacent table with a coffee, finally set it down and tipped his head, his gaze shifting from the screen to Katsuki’s side profile. "You’ve been staring at that same gradient for ten minutes, Katsuki. You’re overthinking the contrast again."

Katsuki let out a sharp, frustrated breath. Usually, he would have snapped back with a retort, but today, his defenses felt porous. He just dropped his mouse, letting his hand fall limply to the desk, and rubbed the back of his neck. "I know. It’s not the project. Everything’s just...off."

Shoto moved closer, his tone lowering, genuine and steady. "Is it something from home? You’ve been distracted since you walked in."

Katsuki hesitated, looking at the screen—not at the design, but at the reflection in the dark glass of his monitor. It reminded him of the kitchen cabinet glass from last night. The memory hit him with a sudden, visceral jolt of heat. He didn't want to talk about it, but the weight of it was becoming impossible to contain.

"Izuku was over last night," Katsuki muttered, his voice dropping into a low, raw cadence. "We were cleaning up after dinner. My dad left us alone."

Shoto waited, his expression neutral but attentive, his silence giving Katsuki the room to trip over his own words.

"He...he was helping with the dishes," Katsuki started, his ears turning a bright, tell-tale red. "I was trying to put a stack of plates away—the top shelf, where it's too high—and I almost dropped the whole lot. He was there instantly. Like, literally right behind me."

Katsuki looked down at his hands, his fingers involuntarily twitching. "He reached up to steady the stack, and he just...he didn't move away. He was right there. He’s huge compared to me, Shoto. He felt like a wall. He was breathing right against my ear, telling me I was shaking."

He let out a ragged, disbelieving huff. "He knew exactly what he was doing. He was practically pinning me against the cabinet. And the worst part? The entire time he was doing it, I didn't even try to push him off. I just stood there, completely paralyzed, thinking about how—how incredibly, frustratingly attractive he looked when he was that close."

Katsuki finally looked at Shoto, his eyes wide and bewildered, his composure completely shredded. "He’s got this way of looking at me, like he’s waiting for me to snap, and he’s just... patient. It’s annoying. It’s overwhelming. I don't know how I'm supposed to function when he's just existing in the same room as me, making me feel like I’m going to lose my mind every time he breathes."

He went quiet, the confession hanging in the air. He didn't wait for Shoto to make a joke about it. He just sighed, leaning his forehead against his hand, the admission feeling less like a burden and more like something he’d finally managed to set down.

Shoto doesn't tease him; he just studies Katsuki with that calm, disarming intensity that usually makes people nervous, but somehow, right now, it just makes Katsuki feel seen.

"You’re overcomplicating the narrative," Shoto says, his voice flat but not unkind. He gestures toward the screen, then back to Katsuki. "You're treating him like he's some sort of variable you need to calculate a response for. But based on what you’ve told me—the kitchen, the way he stayed close when he didn't have to—he’s not waiting for you to 'snap.' He's waiting for you to give him a reason to stay."

Katsuki bristles, his defensive instinct flaring. "Give him a reason? I'm the one who can't form a coherent sentence when he's around. He’s the one who’s always got it together."

"Does he?" Shoto counters. "You said he left because of a lab emergency. That's a convenient exit when someone realizes they've pushed a boundary a little too far."

Katsuki goes still. The idea hadn't occurred to him—that Izuku might have been just as rattled, just as desperate for a way to break the tension without making things awkward.

"If you're as 'distracted' as you say," Shoto continues, leaning back, "then stop trying to be 'subtle' and just be there. Next time you see him, don't retreat to the sink. Don't hide behind the work. Just...see what happens when you don't pull away."

The air in the studio feels suddenly heavy. Katsuki looks back at his screen, the mockups now blurred by the sudden racing of his thoughts. He knows Shoto is right—he does retreat—but the prospect of actually meeting that "hungry intensity" head-on feels more daunting than any project deadline.

They get back to work. The studio is stifling, the kind of heat that gathers in a room full of computers and focused, silent people. Katsuki and Shoto are hunched over their shared light table, reviewing a massive print-out of a brand manual they’ve been agonizing over for the final critique.

Katsuki is mid-sentence, pointing at a misalignment in the grid—his finger hovering just a fraction of an inch above the paper—when he stops dead.

"Wait, the tracking on this subhead is off by a hair," he grumbles, leaning in closer, his nose almost touching the paper.

Shoto leans in too, trying to see what Katsuki is pointing at. They are both so absorbed in the geometry of the text that they don't notice how close they’ve moved. Shoto’s shoulder is pressed firmly against Katsuki’s arm, and Katsuki, in his typical, intense focus, has shifted into Shoto’s personal space without a second thought.

"I don't see it," Shoto says, tilting his head. He reaches out, his hand instinctively covering Katsuki’s to guide his finger to the line in question.

It’s the most natural thing in the world for them—they’ve been pulling all-nighters like this for weeks—but they aren’t alone. The studio door swings open with a loud thud, and the entire class chatter cuts out.

"Bakugo! Todoroki! You guys ready for the—oh."

It’s one of their classmates, followed by a small group of others heading toward the breakroom. They all freeze in the doorway, staring at the sight of the two "most untouchable" design students hunched together, heads almost touching, Shoto’s hand practically holding Katsuki’s on the table.

Katsuki snaps upright so fast his chair screeches against the linoleum. He’s already flushed from the heat of the studio, but now his face goes bright, burning red—a stark contrast to his usual scowl.

"What the hell are you staring at?!" Katsuki barks, his voice cracking, his defensive posture instantly putting him on the offensive.

Shoto, for his part, doesn't even blink. He just retracts his hand, keeping his expression completely flat, though the tips of his ears have turned a tell-tale, faint shade of pink. "We were looking at the kerning, Sato. It’s a professional review."

"Right. Kerning. Sure," Sato snickers, exchanging a look with the others. "You two are just...intense, man. We’ll come back later."

As the group dissolves, laughing and making quiet comments as they head toward the breakroom, the silence that settles back over the studio feels infinitely more awkward than before. Katsuki is vibrating, his hands balled into fists, glaring at the door as if he could incinerate it with his eyes.

"I hate them," Katsuki mutters, his voice low and jagged. "I hate every single one of them. 'Intense'? Are they stupid?"

Shoto just sighs, picking up his coffee, though he doesn't look at Katsuki. He stares at the monitor, his gaze unfocused. "They just don't understand the work, Katsuki. Let it go."

"I'm not letting it go!" Katsuki snaps, though there’s less heat behind it now, mostly just a flustered, frantic energy. He leans back in his chair, trying to act like he isn't hyper-aware of the space Shoto was just occupying. "We’re just working. Why does everyone have to make everything into...into something?"

Shoto finally looks at him, his expression unreadable. "Maybe because you're shouting at them," he points out gently. "That usually draws attention."

The studio door swung open again, this time with a distinct, exuberant bang that lacked the tentative hesitation of the previous group.

"Shoto! Bakugo!"

Inasa Yoarashi burst in, his presence immediately filling the room. He was practically vibrating with energy, a wide, blindingly bright grin plastered on his face. He carried a heavy paper bag in each arm, the smell of warm takoyaki and melon pan wafting through the stale, air-conditioned air of the lab.

Shoto’s entire demeanor shifted. The rigid, professional mask he’d been wearing around the project dropped instantly, replaced by a soft, almost imperceptible curve at the corner of his mouth. He stood up, the tension in his shoulders—the tension that had been there since the awkward interruption—evaporating the moment he caught sight of Inasa.

"Hi, Yaorashi," Shoto said, his voice dropping into a tone that was remarkably gentle, almost reverent compared to how he spoke to anyone else.

Inasa didn't waste a second. He marched over to their light table, completely unfazed by the fact that they were in the middle of a "professional review." He kicked the bag onto the table with a triumphant flourish.

"You haven't eaten, have you?" Inasa boomed, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "I saw the lights on from across the quad and knew you were going to wither away into your monitors if I didn't supervise!"

He turned his attention to Katsuki, his eyes crinkling behind his mask. "And for the explosive artist! I know how you get, Bakugo. You get all focused and forget that humans require sustenance to function! Don't deny it, I brought extra!"

Katsuki crossed his arms over his chest, his expression souring into his signature scowl. "I didn't ask you to bring anything, loudmouth. I’m busy."

But as the scent of the warm food hit him—specifically the takoyaki—his stomach gave a traitorous, quiet rumble. He didn't move to reject it, though. Instead, he just glared at the bag as if it had personally offended him, the heat in his cheeks from the earlier embarrassment slowly receding into something more comfortable.

Katsuki huffed, finally dropping his hands from his chest and grabbing the container with a rough, impatient motion. "Fine. Whatever. Just don't expect me to thank you for interrupting, you idiot."

"You're welcome!" Inasa beamed, not bothered in the slightest by the insult. He settled onto the edge of their table, sliding closer to Shoto until there was no daylight left between them. While he was busy booming at Katsuki about nutrition, his hand was resting firmly on Shoto’s thigh, his thumb tracing slow, absent-minded patterns through the fabric of Shoto’s trousers.

Shoto, meanwhile, had leaned his weight into Inasa’s side, his head tilting naturally to rest against Inasa’s shoulder. It was a practiced, comfortable intimacy—the kind that comes from long hours of study and even longer hours of just existing in each other's orbit.

Inasa finished his lecture on the importance of electrolytes and, without breaking his rhythm, shifted his arm to wrap around Shoto’s waist, pulling him even closer. He let out a satisfied hum, burying his face into the side of Inasa's neck for a second—a quick, grounding inhale.

"Seriously, Shoto," Inasa murmured, his voice dropping to a softer frequency meant only for the two of them, though he still had a hand firmly anchored on Shoto’s back. "You’re running on fumes. I can feel how tense you are."

Shoto let out a soft, breathy sigh, his hand coming up to rest over Inasa’s arm, his fingers interlacing with Inasa’s sleeve. "I’m fine, Yao."

"You're not fine, you're a workaholic," Inasa countered, though the teasing was laced with such genuine care that it didn't feel like an insult. He squeezed Shoto’s waist, pulling him in for another half-second of contact that was distinctly, undeniably domestic.

Katsuki, still gripping his container of takoyaki, watched the exchange with a look of pointed irritation. "You two are disgusting," he muttered, though he didn't look away. "Take the PDA elsewhere, you're blocking the light table."

Inasa just threw his head back and laughed, the sound vibrating through Shoto’s frame. "Jealousy is a bad look, Bakugo-kun! You just need someone to come feed you, too!"

Shoto didn't even bother to defend them; he just looked up at Inasa, his expression uncharacteristically soft and unguarded, and let Inasa continue to steer him like he was the only thing in the room that mattered.

—

The apartment was quiet, save for the rhythmic, frustrated tapping of a pen against a desk coming from Kaito’s room.

Katsuki let his keys drop into the bowl by the door with a heavy sigh. He’d spent twelve hours in the studio, his eyes felt like they were full of sand, and all he wanted was to crash. He was used to the routine now—Izuku effectively spending most of his downtime in Kaito’s room. It had become background noise, the low murmur of their voices or the sound of shifting papers acting as a strange, domestic anchor to his evenings. He barely registered it anymore.

He trudged down the hallway, his socks scuffing against the hardwood floor. He was tired, his movements heavy and uncoordinated. As he passed Kaito’s room, his feet caught the edge of a rug, and he let out a sharp, involuntary curse, stumbling slightly and slamming his shoulder into the doorframe with a loud thud.

The noise was minor, but in the tense silence of the apartment, it sounded like a gunshot.

"For fuck's sake, Katsuki!"

Kaito’s voice tore through the air, vibrating with a jagged, ugly edge of exhaustion. He surged out of his chair, the legs screeching against the floor, and marched to the open doorway. His hair was disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, and he looked like he was vibrating with the kind of volatile energy that had nothing to do with who was in the room and everything to do with his own failing patience.

"Some of us are actually trying to work in here!" Kaito snapped, his face twisted in a scowl that looked physically painful. "You couldn't just walk like a normal human being? You have to stomp around like you’re trying to tear the building down?"

Katsuki blinked, momentarily stunned by the sheer venom in his brother's tone. He caught a glimpse of the room behind Kaito—Izuku was there, sitting on the edge of the bed with a textbook in his lap, looking startled and immediately trying to make himself as small as possible. Izuku’s gaze flickered to Katsuki, his eyes wide and uncertain, clearly caught in the crossfire of a situation that had nothing to do with him.

"I tripped, you asshole," Katsuki muttered, his own irritation flaring, though he held his ground. "Relax. It was one sound."

"You know what really pisses me off?" Kaito hissed, his voice dropping into that sharp, venomous register that always signaled he was about to hit below the belt. "It’s that you think you can just exist here—stumbling, loud, careless—and it doesn't matter, because at the end of the day, you're the one they want. You're the one they’re proud of."

Katsuki stiffened, his jaw tightening. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb," Kaito spat, gesturing wildly toward Katsuki’s room. "Following their path, getting the grades, keeping your head down while I’m the 'trouble.' They’ve always preferred you, Katsuki. It’s written all over their faces, especially with dad. You’re the golden child, and I’m just the baggage tagging along."

"That’s not true." Katsuki’s voice was strained, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He felt his face heat up, not just with anger, but with a suffocating sense of injustice. "I work hard for what I do, Kaito. You don't see the hours, you don't see the studio, you just see—"

"Sure, I don't," Kaito cut him off, his voice rising to a roar that echoed off the hallway walls. "I see how they look at you—like you’re the only one who actually matters. You’re their favorite, Katsuki. You love being the golden child, don't you? It’s pathetic how much you soak up their approval"

Katsuki’s throat constricted. The words were hitting nerves he didn't even know were exposed. "I never asked for that," he choked out, his voice wavering. He tried to maintain his glare, to keep his posture rigid, but the sting of the unfairness was overwhelming. A hot, sharp pressure built behind his eyes, and despite his best efforts to suppress it, the first tear escaped, tracking down his cheek. He swiped at it aggressively, his lip trembling with the effort to hold the rest back.

Kaito didn't even register the physical shift; he was too far gone in his own resentment. "Oh, save the victim act for someone who cares—"

"Kaito, stop."

The voice was low, sharp, and cut through the hallway like a blade. Izuku had moved from the doorway, stepping into the space between the two brothers. His posture was no longer hesitant; he was braced, his shoulders squared, his gaze locked firmly onto Kaito.

Izuku’s eyes flicked to Katsuki for a fraction of a second, catching the way his jaw was working, the way his shoulders were shaking, the unmistakable glint of tears that Katsuki was trying so desperately to hide. The sight clearly broke something in Izuku’s composure.

"You're going too far," Izuku said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy calm that was far more intimidating than Kaito’s shouting. He took a deliberate step toward Kaito, forcing him to look away from Katsuki. "This has nothing to do with him, and you know it. You’re hurting him because you’re angry at your own situation."

Kaito looked between the two of them—Katsuki, visibly reeling and trying to turn away, and Izuku, who looked ready to physically stand in his way if he took another step.

Katsuki didn't wait for a reply. He bolted, his shoulder clipping the doorframe as he retreated into his room, the slam of his door echoing with a finality that made the air in the hallway go deathly still.

Kaito’s chest heaved, his face still twisted in that mask of ugly, unfiltered resentment. He looked from the closed door of Katsuki’s room to Izuku, who was still standing in the hallway like a barrier, his knuckles white where his hands were balled into fists.

The sight of Izuku—his best friend, the person who was supposed to be in his corner—defending Katsuki so fiercely seemed to act like a catalyst for a new, even more toxic wave of anger. Kaito let out a jagged, disbelieving laugh, his eyes narrowing until they were slits of pure malice.

"Is that what this is?" Kaito sneered, his voice dropping to a low, mocking pitch as he gestured vaguely between Katsuki’s door and Izuku. "You’re really going to bat for him? I’ve been your friend for years, but the second he’s in the room, you’re suddenly his fucking bodyguard?"

Izuku didn't flinch, though his jaw tightened. "I’m defending someone who doesn't deserve to be spoken to like that, Kaito. Stop being rude."

"Rude?" Kaito took a sharp step toward him, his voice thick with a sudden, revolting implication. "Don't give me that saintly act. What, is he fucking you now? Is that why you’re so desperate to play the hero for my 'perfect' brother?"

The accusation hung in the air, heavy and poisonous. It was a vile thing to say, a desperate, low-blow attempt to wound Izuku in the same way he’d tried to wound Katsuki.

Izuku’s face went completely blank, the heat in his eyes instantly replaced by a cold, searing shock. He didn't answer right away, his silence stretching into a void that made the narrow hallway feel like it was closing in.

"You’re pathetic, Kaito." Izuku said, his voice terrifyingly steady.

Behind the closed door, there was absolute silence. Katsuki had been standing just on the other side of the wood, his forehead pressed against the frame, his breath hitching in his chest. When he heard Kaito’s words, he felt the blood drain from his face, replaced by a cold, hollow dread.

Kaito scoffed, though his confidence seemed to falter just a fraction under Izuku’s unwavering, icy stare. "Whatever. Just stay out of my way."

Kaito spun around, stomping back into his room and slamming his door so hard the pictures on the wall rattled.

Izuku remained in the hallway, his posture slowly deflating. He looked at Katsuki’s door, his expression haunted. He didn't knock. He didn't even breathe. He just stood there, the weight of what Kaito had accused them of—and the fact that he was currently standing on the wrong side of the door—clearly agonizing him.

He knew Katsuki had heard every word.

"Katsuki?" Izuku whispered, his voice so soft it was barely audible over the hum of the apartment's air conditioning. He reached out, his hand hovering inches from the door, but he didn't dare touch it. "I’m…I’m so sorry he said that."

The hallway remains agonizingly still. Izuku’s hand is still hovering near the wood, trembling just slightly. He looks like he’s bracing for the door to fly open, or for the silence to stretch on forever, both of which feel equally unbearable.

Inside the room, Katsuki is sitting on the floorboards, his back pressed hard against the door, his eyes squeezed shut. The words 'Is he fucking you now?' are looping in his head, searing and grotesque, but it’s the thought of Izuku having to stand there and listen to that—having to defend him against his own best friend—that makes Katsuki’s stomach churn.

"Go away," Katsuki says. His voice is a broken, jagged thing, stripped of its usual bite. It’s barely a whisper, muffled by the door, but it’s thick with the kind of vulnerability he’s spent his whole life trying to hide.

Izuku doesn't move. If anything, he leans closer, his forehead resting against the door as if he’s trying to bridge the gap between them. "I’m not going anywhere."

"He thinks...he thinks there's something," Katsuki breathes, the confession slipping out before he can stop it. He pulls his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He feels humiliated, exposed by the very person he’s been trying to keep at a distance for months. "He thinks you're just...here for that. Because he can't imagine anyone actually wanting to be around me for any other reason."

Izuku closes his eyes, a sharp, pained expression crossing his face. "Kaito doesn't know what he's talking about. He’s lashing out because he’s terrified of his own failures, and he’s using you as the target."

"Doesn't change what he said," Katsuki counters, his voice cracking. He can hear the faint, muffled sound of Kaito pacing in the other room, an animal trapped in a cage of his own making, and it makes Katsuki want to disappear entirely. "He made it sound like...like you're some charity case. Or like you’re doing me a favor."

"You know that's not true," Izuku says, his voice dropping, intimate and urgent. He finally presses his palm flat against the door, right over where he imagines Katsuki’s head might be. "I’m not here because of him. I’m not here because of your parents. I’m here because...because I don't want to be anywhere else."

Katsuki stops breathing. The confession is quiet, but it hits harder than Kaito’s shouting ever did. He stares at the floor, his vision still blurry, his heart rhythmically slamming against his ribs.

"Don't," Katsuki chokes out, though there’s no real heat in it. "Don't say that while I’m sitting on the floor like a fucking wreck."

"Then open the door," Izuku replies, his voice steadying, devoid of any doubt.

Katsuki stays frozen, his knuckles white as he grips his own knees. The air in the room feels thin. 

Katsuki’s hand eventually reaches out, his fingers brushing the cool metal of the lock. He turns it with a soft, mechanical click that sounds thunderous in the narrow space. He doesn't pull the door open; he just pushes it just enough for it to creak inward, an inch of space revealing a sliver of the dimly lit room. Then, he drops his hand and turns away, retreating into the shadows near his desk.

He doesn't look back to see if Izuku follows, but he hears it—the soft, deliberate shift of Izuku’s weight, the quiet exhale, and the sound of the door closing behind him. Izuku moves with an unnatural caution, as if he’s afraid that even a misplaced step will shatter the fragile, heavy atmosphere.

The room is dark, save for the blue-light glow of a monitor that Katsuki left on. Izuku stands near the door for a long moment, his silhouette stark against the light from the hallway. He doesn't say a word. He doesn't offer a platitude or try to fix what Kaito broke. He just navigates the small space until he finds where Katsuki is sitting on the floor, leaning against the side of his bed.

Izuku sinks down a few feet away, mirroring Katsuki’s posture. He keeps a respectful distance, but the air between them is so thick it feels like a physical weight.

Katsuki stares at the floor, his hands still trembling slightly where they grip his knees. He can hear the muffled, uneven pacing coming from Kaito’s room through the wall, but it feels like it’s happening in another lifetime. Here, in the quiet, the only thing that matters is the steady, grounded presence of the guy beside him.

"I hate this," Katsuki finally whispers, his voice devoid of his usual sharp edges. "I hate that he’s right about me being...being the one they watch. And I hate that he made you listen to that."

Izuku shifts, his shoulder brushing against Katsuki’s arm—a ghost of a touch that Katsuki doesn't pull away from. "Nothing about what he said is true, Katsuki. He was just angry. But he doesn't get to define why I'm here."

Katsuki tilts his head, letting it rest against the bedframe. He looks over at Izuku, catching the way the dim light softens the sharp lines of his face. Izuku isn't looking at him, but his gaze is fixed on a cluster of sketches on the floor, his expression heavy with a raw, quiet intensity.

"Why are you here, then?" Katsuki asks, the question hanging in the dark, stripped of any pretense.

Izuku turns his head, and for a moment, the room feels like it’s narrowing down until it’s only the two of them. "Because when everything else gets loud," Izuku says, his voice barely a rasp, "you're the only thing that makes it quiet."

He reaches out, his fingers grazing the fabric of Katsuki’s sleeve—not grabbing, just resting there, a silent tether. Katsuki’s breath catches, the lingering sting of his brother's words finally beginning to recede, replaced by a different kind of tension—one that’s terrifying, overwhelming, and entirely, unmistakably his own.

Katsuki doesn't pull away. He just stays there, anchored by the pressure of Izuku’s fingers on his sleeve, his own hand slowly relaxing its death grip on his knees. The silence in the room isn't empty anymore; it’s humming, tight with a thousand things they haven't dared to articulate.

"He's still out there," Katsuki murmurs, though the words lack any real conviction. It’s a half-hearted attempt to remind them of the reality outside the door—the brother who just tore into them, the messy apartment, the looming morning. "He’s going to be pissed again when he realizes you’re in here."

"Let him," Izuku says, his voice losing that fragile, whispering edge and gaining a firmer, more grounded weight. He shifts closer, the movement slow and deliberate, until his shoulder is pressed firmly against Katsuki’s. "Let him be angry. It doesn't change anything, Katsuki."

Katsuki finally turns his head to look at him properly. In the low light, Izuku looks exhausted, his hair a mess, but his eyes are clear—no pity, no hesitation, just that unwavering, singular focus that always leaves Katsuki feeling exposed.

Katsuki lets out a long, shaky breath, the last of the adrenaline from the hallway finally draining out of him. He leans his head back against the bedframe, closing his eyes for a second, and when he opens them, he finds Izuku still watching him.

Izuku’s hand slides from Katsuki’s sleeve to the floor, his fingers hesitating for a heartbeat before they find Katsuki’s hand. He laces their fingers together—not a tentative touch, but a firm, solid connection that feels like a claim.

Katsuki’s heart gives a painful, heavy thump. He looks down at their joined hands, the contrast of his own skin against Izuku’s, and then back up at Izuku’s face. The raw, open honesty in Izuku’s expression is terrifying. It’s not the casual, high-atmosphere proximity of the studio; it’s something quieter, something more permanent.

"You're an idiot," Katsuki says, but the insult has no venom, only a profound, exhausted affection.

Izuku’s mouth quirks into a faint, tired smile. "Maybe. But you’re the one who let me in."

Izuku didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he shifted again, his knee bumping against Katsuki’s thigh. The contact was electric, a sudden point of heat that made Katsuki’s breath hitch. Katsuki was acutely aware of how close they were; he could smell the faint scent of ozone and books on Izuku, the familiar, grounding scent that usually meant safety. But tonight, it felt like a warning.

Izuku’s gaze was locked onto Katsuki’s, searching, unblinking. He saw the way Katsuki’s chest rose and fell in ragged, uneven rhythm. He saw the way Katsuki’s eyes flickered down to his lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up, wide and guarded.

The tension was suffocating, a slow-burning ache that left Katsuki feeling raw, stripped of every defensive wall he had spent years building. He felt exposed, his heart slamming against his ribs with a force that surely Izuku could feel through their joined hands.

Izuku moved with agonizing slowness. He reached out with his free hand, his fingers trembling slightly as they came up to cradle the side of Katsuki’s face. His thumb brushed over the sharp line of Katsuki’s jaw, then traced the curve of his cheekbone. The touch was so reverent, so terrifyingly tender, that Katsuki let out a shaky, involuntary exhale.

"Katsuki," Izuku whispered, his voice a low, raspy thread that barely filled the space between them.

Katsuki’s throat worked, a dry swallow. He wanted to pull away—the instinct to protect himself was screaming—but his body felt heavy, anchored by the heat of Izuku’s palm. "I... I don't know how to do this," he admitted, the words barely audible, a confession of his own profound, hidden inexperience.

"You don't have to know," Izuku murmured, his eyes searching Katsuki’s for any sign of rejection. "Just...stay."

Izuku leaned in. He gave Katsuki every possible second to pull back, to stop the progression, but Katsuki remained paralyzed, his breath hitching as Izuku closed the final inch.

When their lips finally brushed—the first contact soft, tentative, almost questioning—the world outside the door seemed to dissolve completely. Katsuki stiffened, his eyes flying wide for a moment, but then Izuku’s hand tightened ever so slightly against his jaw, and the gentle, insistent pressure of his lips pushed for more.

Katsuki didn't know what to do with his mouth, how to respond, but he felt the warmth of Izuku’s breath against his skin, and it was overwhelming. He made a small, choked sound in the back of his throat, his hands finally relaxing their grip on his knees to find purchase on Izuku’s shoulders. He clung to the fabric of Izuku’s shirt, his knuckles white, terrified that if he let go, the reality of the moment would shatter.

Izuku broke the contact for a heartbeat, his lips hovering just a fraction of an inch away, his forehead resting against Katsuki’s. He was breathing just as hard as Katsuki, his thumb still stroking his cheek.

"Is this okay?" Izuku asked, his voice thick with a mixture of hope and caution.

Katsuki didn't trust his voice to speak. He just let out a long, shuddering breath, reached up to tangle his fingers into the mess of curls at the nape of Izuku’s neck, and pulled him back in. He doesn't know the mechanics of it, but he knows the feeling of wanting to erase the space between them until there isn't a single inch left. He tilts his head, chasing the sensation, and when Izuku responds with a low, grounding hum against his mouth, Katsuki’s pulse spikes, drumming a frantic rhythm in his ears.

Izuku’s hands leave Katsuki’s face, sliding down to grip his shoulders, then his waist, pulling him up and off the floor until they’re pressed chest-to-chest against the side of the bed. The friction is intense—the rough denim of their jeans, the sharp intake of breath, the way their heartbeats seem to be trying to synchronize through their ribcages.

Katsuki’s movements are unpolished, hesitant, but they are also hungry. He’s learning the shape of Izuku’s mouth, the way his lips are soft but his resolve is firm. He lets out a sharp, ragged sound when Izuku’s hand moves from his waist to the back of his neck, his thumb pressing firmly against the sensitive pulse point there, a silent demand for him to lean in further.

The kiss deepens, shifting from a tentative exploration to something more desperate. Every time Katsuki tries to pull back for a breath, Izuku is there, closing the distance, persistent and patient, guiding him.

"Katsuki," Izuku murmurs against his skin, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below Katsuki’s jaw, his voice vibrating through their contact. He pulls back just enough to look at him, his pupils dilated, his breath hitching as he tracks the flush climbing up Katsuki’s neck. "You're doing fine. Just... stay here. With me."

Katsuki’s eyes are dark, swimming with a mixture of shock and an overwhelming, terrifying depth of feeling. He feels untethered, like he’s falling into the green of Izuku’s eyes, and he doesn't care to stop it. He reaches up, his palm pressing flat against Izuku’s chest, feeling the frantic, erratic thump of Izuku's own heart beneath his shirt.

"Don't stop," Katsuki breathes, his voice barely a tremor. He pulls Izuku down again, his fingers digging into Izuku’s shoulders, pinning him there, as if he’s afraid that if he lets him go, the entire, fragile reality they’ve built inside these four walls will evaporate into the night.

Izuku doesn't need to be told twice. He surges forward, his mouth finding Katsuki’s again with a new, emboldened intensity. Izuku’s hands, which were anchored at Katsuki’s waist, slide lower, his palms firm and demanding as he kneads the soft, solid muscle beneath the denim of Katsuki’s jeans. The sensation sends a jolt of pure, disorienting electricity straight through Katsuki’s core.

With a fluid, controlled strength, Izuku shifts, lifting Katsuki until he is settled firmly onto his lap. The change in proximity is absolute—the friction of their bodies, the undeniable weight of Izuku beneath him, and the way their chests are pressed so tightly together that Katsuki can feel the vibration of Izuku’s ragged breathing.

A sharp, involuntary whimper escapes Katsuki’s throat—a sound of raw, unvarnished want that he doesn't even recognize as his own. He lets his head fall back, his hands shifting to grip Izuku’s shoulders as his body betrays him, molding effortlessly to the contours of Izuku’s frame. It’s intoxicating, a level of intimacy that feels like a precipice.

But even as his mind spins, the sharp, jagged reality of their situation begins to bleed back into his consciousness.

The muffled, heavy silence of the house feels fragile. Through the door, the ghost of Kaito’s earlier rage still seems to hang in the air like smoke, and the ticking clock in his head screams that his parents could walk through the front door at any second. Every creak of the floorboards in the hallway makes his skin prickle with the fear of being discovered, of being seen like this, and the catastrophic fallout that would follow.

Katsuki’s heart is hammering so hard it hurts, and the sheer intensity of what they’re doing is making him feel lightheaded, but he forces himself to anchor. He grips Izuku’s shoulders tighter, his knuckles turning white, and pulls back from the kiss.

His lips are swollen and parted, his breath hitching in ragged, wet gasps. He keeps his forehead pressed against Izuku’s, their chests still heaving in unison, the contact still agonizingly close.

"Wait," Katsuki chokes out, his voice a fractured, desperate whisper. He can’t move yet; his legs feel like they don't belong to him, and he’s still trembling from the heat of Izuku’s touch. "We...we have to stop."

He forces himself to look at Izuku, his eyes dark, dilated, and swimming with a reluctant, painful lucidity. "Kaito’s just through that wall, and...my parents," he adds, his voice thick with frustration. He brushes his thumb briefly, shakily, against Izuku’s lip, a silent apology for the sudden, sharp shift in the room's energy. "We can’t do this here. Not right now."

Izuku freezes, his hands still firm against Katsuki’s waist, though he immediately goes still, his breathing ragged and uncontrolled. He stares at Katsuki, his own eyes dark with frustration, the sudden lack of physical momentum leaving a heavy, hollow ache in the room. He looks like he wants to argue—to dismiss the threat of his parents, to ignore the fact that they’re sitting in the middle of a war zone—but he sees the way Katsuki is visibly reeling, his knuckles white, his gaze darting toward the door as if he’s expecting it to burst open.

Izuku exhales a sharp, shaky breath and slowly pulls his hands back, resting them on his own knees instead of pulling Katsuki away. It’s a painful, deliberate act of restraint. "I know," he says, his voice gravelly and forced. "You're right."

Katsuki shudders, finally pushing himself up and off Izuku’s lap, though he stays close, knees knocking together in the dim light. He scrambles back to the floor, his back hitting the wall again as he tries to pull himself together, to shove the overwhelming hunger back into the dark corner of his mind. He runs a hand through his hair, his fingers shaking, his chest still heaving in the quiet.

"If he hears us," Katsuki whispers, gesturing vaguely toward the wall where Kaito is still lurking, "if he comes back in here, he’ll…he won't stop, Izuku. He’ll make this a thousand times worse."

Izuku nods, his expression sobering, the haze of the moment stripping away to reveal the raw, protective edge that had been there all along. He doesn't move to leave, though. He just shifts, settling his weight on the floorboards, and reaches out to rest a hand on Katsuki’s ankle—a grounding, tethering touch that doesn't demand anything else.

"We stay here," Izuku says quietly, his eyes fixed on Katsuki’s, searching for that flicker of stability. "Until you’re ready. Until you’re sure. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not letting him ruin this, or you."

Katsuki looks at him, the flush still high on his cheeks, his lips still feeling the phantom warmth of Izuku’s. He feels entirely vulnerable, exposed in a way he’s never been before, but as he looks at Izuku—steady, waiting—he finds he can actually breathe again.

The silence in the room slowly loses its sharp, frantic edge, settling into a heavy, contemplative stillness. Katsuki picks at a loose thread on his jeans, his gaze fixed on the shadows near his desk. The adrenaline is fading, leaving him feeling hollowed out and raw.

"What now?" he asks, his voice barely audible. He’s not talking about the next few minutes; he’s looking toward the inevitable morning. "What's going to happen between you and Kaito? you blew it by defending me."

Izuku, who had been staring at the closed door with a hard, unreadable expression, finally looks back at him. He shrugs, one shoulder hitching in a dismissive motion that doesn't quite mask the cold fury still simmering behind his eyes.

"He’s just angry," Izuku says flatly. "He’ll get over it eventually. Things will go back to how they were—if he apologizes to you."

Katsuki blinks, the words catching him completely off guard. He scoffs, a bitter, hollow sound. "Apologize? To me? Get real. We fight like this all the time, that’s just how it is. He’s always hated my guts, and I’ve never been exactly kind to him, either. It’s a fucking stalemate, not an apology-worthy offense."

Izuku shakes his head, his face hardening. "No, Katsuki." When Katsuki reluctantly meets his gaze, Izuku continues, his voice devoid of any room for argument. "This wasn't just a fight. He crossed a line—a huge one. You can be angry, you can bicker, but what he said tonight was cruel. You don't deserve that. Nobody does."

He leans in slightly, his tone shifting from angry to something pointedly rational. "And it’s not just about you. He needs to have a real talk with your parents, too. He’s been poisoning his own mind with this idea that you’re the only one they care about, and he’s completely misinterpreting everything. It’s wrong, Katsuki. I see it from the outside—they care about him just as much as they do you. He’s just blinded by this…this warped version of his own life. I really want what's best for him."

Katsuki stares at him, stunned by the sheer, stubborn conviction in Izuku’s voice. He’s spent his whole life accepting the dynamic with Kaito as an immovable, toxic fact of nature. Hearing Izuku dismantle it so casually—insisting that it could be different, that it should be better—leaves him feeling exposed and strangely defensive.

"I think he’s hurting," Izuku says, his expression softening just a fraction. "But hurt isn't an excuse to break you. And I’m not going to sit back and watch him do it anymore."

Katsuki lets out a breath that’s half-laugh, half-sob, pulling his knees back up to his chest. He doesn't know how to handle the way Izuku is looking at him—like he’s someone worth defending, like the chaotic, painful history with his brother is something that could actually be fixed rather than just endured.

"He’s not going to listen to you, Izuku," Katsuki says, though his voice is losing its defensive edge. "He thinks the whole world is rigged against him. He thinks I’m the one pulling the strings, even when I'm just trying to keep my head down."

Izuku shifts, his hand sliding from Katsuki's ankle to cover his clenched fist, forcing his fingers to loosen. "Then let him be wrong for a while. He’s going to have to sit with his own mess tonight. I’m not leaving you alone in here, and I'm not going to pretend that what he said was just another argument."

A heavy silence returns, but it’s different now—less frantic, more anchored. The house has settled into a deep, late-night quiet, the kind where every small sound from the hallway feels amplified. Suddenly, the floorboards outside the door groan under the weight of someone pacing. It’s light, erratic—Kaito, still stewing.

Katsuki flinches, his gaze snapping to the door. The familiar knot of anxiety tightens in his gut, the Pavlovian response to his brother’s proximity.

Izuku feels the tension radiate off him. He doesn't pull away; instead, he shifts to sit cross-legged in front of Katsuki, effectively blocking his view of the door. He reaches up, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair back from Katsuki’s forehead, his touch deliberate and grounding.

"Hey," Izuku murmurs, waiting until Katsuki forces his eyes away from the door to look at him. "He’s just pacing. He’s not coming in. I’m right here."

Katsuki stares at him, the weight of the night—the shouting, the confession, the kiss, the sheer exhaustion—finally catching up to him. He looks at Izuku’s steady, determined face and feels a strange, terrifying sense of relief. For the first time, he isn't carrying the burden of his family dynamics alone.

"Stay," Katsuki says, the word a simple, unguarded command. He doesn't ask if Izuku has to go home, or if he’s worried about tomorrow. He just needs this, this small, quiet perimeter they’ve drawn against the rest of the house.

Izuku’s expression softens into something profoundly gentle. "I wasn't planning on going anywhere."

He leans forward, resting his forehead against Katsuki’s, "We just wait until it’s quiet. We wait until you’re okay."

They stay that way for a long time—just breathing, the frantic rhythm of their hearts finally beginning to slow into a synchronized, steady hum. The pacing outside the door eventually stops, replaced by the heavy, ominous silence of Kaito retreating into his own room and slamming his door once more. Even then, neither of them moves. The barrier of the bedroom door feels like the only thing keeping the rest of the world at bay, and they are both terrified of breaking the seal.

Katsuki is the first to shift, his limbs feeling heavy and uncoordinated. He doesn't move away, but he exhales a long, shuddering breath, his forehead sliding against Izuku’s as he tries to find his center.

"My parents are going to be home in twenty minutes," Katsuki mutters, his voice raspy. He doesn't want to think about it—the questions, the inevitable fallout of Kaito’s tantrum, the need to play the role of the 'golden child' one more time. The prospect of having to act like nothing is wrong when his skin is still buzzing from Izuku’s touch is nauseating.

Izuku doesn't pull away. Instead, he reaches out, his thumb tracing a slow, grounding pattern over the back of Katsuki’s hand. "Then we have twenty minutes," he says quietly. "We don't have to talk about them. We don't have to talk about Kaito. We can just… be here."

He shifts his weight, sliding closer until their shoulders are pressed firmly together, providing a solid, undeniable point of contact. It’s an unspoken offer—a sanctuary, however temporary.

Katsuki leans into him, feeling the warmth of Izuku’s body as a stark contrast to the cold, encroaching dread of the hallway. He reaches out, his hand finding the hem of Izuku’s shirt, gripping it tightly. It’s a selfish, desperate gesture, but for the first time, he doesn't care. He’s tired of being the one who keeps it all together, tired of the expectations, and tired of the wall he’s been forced to build against his own brother.

"I don't want you to leave," Katsuki confesses, the words muffled against Izuku’s shoulder. It’s the most vulnerable thing he’s ever said, and the moment it’s out, he feels a sudden, sharp spike of panic.

Izuku’s response is immediate, his arm wrapping around Katsuki’s waist to pull him flush against his side. He doesn't offer a hollow promise that everything will be fine, or that the morning won't be a disaster. He just holds him, solid and unwavering.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me to," Izuku whispers, his lips brushing against the top of Katsuki’s messy hair. "And even then, I might just wait outside the door."

In the dim light, surrounded by the quiet hum of his electronics and the lingering, suffocating tension of the house, Katsuki finally lets his eyes close. He lets himself lean into the weight of the person who refused to let him drown, listening to the steady, calm beat of Izuku's heart, hoping it will be enough to drown out the noise for just a little while longer.

The quiet in the room is shattered, not by a crash, but by the subtle, rhythmic thump-thump of the front door closing downstairs.

Katsuki’s eyes snap open. He stiffens, his entire body going rigid. The twenty minutes of borrowed time have evaporated. He can hear the muffled, muffled sounds of the house waking up—the jingle of keys, the low murmur of his parents’ voices as they enter the foyer. They sound tired, their tone mundane, completely unaware of the wreckage left in the hallway upstairs.

Izuku hears it too. He pulls back just enough to look at Katsuki, his expression shifting from soft affection to sharp, guarded concern. He holds a finger to his lips, a silent instruction to stay still, to stay quiet.

Downstairs, the voices stop. There’s a pause—a moment of confusion—where his parents likely register that the house is far too still for a night involving two volatile boys.

Then, the floorboards in the hallway creak.

Katsuki and Izuku hold their breath, pressing their ears against the door. They hear the distinct, heavy tread of his father moving toward Kaito’s room. A knock—sharp and expectant—echoes through the house.

"Kaito?" his father calls out, his voice tinged with that familiar, fraying patience. "We’re home. Why is the house so dark?"

There’s a long, agonizing silence. Then, Kaito’s voice drifts through the walls, thin and serrated with suppressed rage. "Go away."

Katsuki’s heart hammers against his ribs. He catches Izuku’s eye; Izuku’s jaw is set, his brow furrowed in frustration.

His mother’s voice joins in, softer, coaxing. "Kaito, honey, what's going on?"

The door to Kaito’s room opens—a slow, reluctant movement. The dialogue that follows is agonizing to listen to. Kaito begins to speak, his words tumbling out in a frantic, disjointed stream. He’s not shouting anymore, but his voice is thick with the same poisonous narrative he’d used on them—the obsession with the "favorite," the perceived injustices, the way he genuinely believes he’s the odd man out in his own family.

From their spot on the floor, Katsuki and Izuku hear it all. His parents aren't dismissive; they sound genuinely baffled and increasingly hurt. His father’s voice becomes stern, trying to steer Kaito away from his delusions, while his mother sounds like she’s on the verge of tears, trying to explain that their pride in Katsuki’s work has never, ever been at the expense of their love for Kaito.

Katsuki feels a cold, sinking sensation in his stomach. He’s hearing his brother talk about him—not as a brother, but as a rival who has systematically "won" a game Kaito made up in his own head. It’s devastatingly clear that Kaito doesn't hate Katsuki; he hates the version of Katsuki he sees in the mirror.

The conversation in the hallway begins to shift from accusation to a heavy, exhausting sort of clarity. Through the thin wood of the door, Katsuki and Izuku can hear his mother’s voice, no longer pleading, but firm and laced with a deep, weary sadness.

"Kaito," she says, the sound of her hand resting on the doorframe echoing slightly. "We have never compared you to him. You are hurting yourself by building these walls. If you feel like an outsider in this house, it is because you have built the door and locked it from the inside."

Kaito’s response is a choked, low sound—less of a roar and more of a broken realization. He isn't arguing back with the same venom anymore; the relentless, patient reality his parents are presenting is starting to force him to acknowledge that his "victimhood" is a lonely, self-inflicted cage.

Inside the room, Katsuki is physically reeling. He’s spent years bracing for his parents to take a side—to either condemn Kaito or coddle him—but hearing them calmly, relentlessly refuse to validate Kaito’s delusions is disorienting. It makes his chest ache with a sudden, sharp relief he didn't know he needed.

Izuku keeps his hand on Katsuki’s shoulder, his grip firm. He can feel the way Katsuki is trembling.

Outside, the conversation starts to wind down into the quiet, stilted tones of people who are exhausted by the emotional labor of the last hour. His father’s voice is low, suggesting they all sit down, that this is going to be a long night of talking, but a necessary one.

"They're going to talk all night," Katsuki murmurs, finally pulling his ear away from the door. He looks at Izuku, his expression dazed. The room feels safer now, the immediate threat of a screaming match gone, but the emotional exhaustion is setting in deep.

"They need to," Izuku replies, dropping his hand from Katsuki’s shoulder to lace their fingers together again. He looks at the door, then back to Katsuki, his gaze softening. "But for now, it's quiet. Your parents have it under control."

Katsuki slumps back against the bed, his legs finally giving out as the adrenaline fully dissipates. He lets his head loll back, looking at the ceiling. "I'm still not coming out," he says, his voice flat. "I can't face them yet. I don't think I can handle seeing Kaito look at me after he hears all that."

"You don't have to," Izuku reassures him, shifting to sit comfortably beside him. "We stay right here. As long as you need."

They sit in the silence, listening to the muffled, indistinct murmurs from the kitchen as his parents lead Kaito downstairs. The apartment is finally quiet, but the lingering tension is being replaced by something else—a shared, exhausted intimacy that feels like they’ve survived a wrecking ball together.

It started getting late, and Izuku had to leave. Izuku looks toward the bedroom window, then back at the door, his brow furrowing as he calculates the logistics of the house.

"I don't think I'm going to risk the hallway," he says, his voice low and tactical. He gestures toward the window, which overlooks the flat roof of the garage. "I can slide out the window, hop onto the garage roof, and jump down to the backyard. I’ll make it to the fence line without ever passing the stairs."

He looks back at Katsuki, his expression softening, the lingering intensity of the night fading into a quiet, focused concern. "I’ll text you once I'm out of the neighborhood so you know I didn't run into them. I don't want to leave you, but if I’m still here when your parents come up to check on you, it’s just going to restart the fight. Kaito will lose it again if he sees me here after everything he just admitted to them."

He reaches out, brushing a knuckle against Katsuki's jaw, a final, lingering touch of comfort. "I'll go as soon as it's clear. I’ll make sure there's absolutely no chance they catch me."

Katsuki watches him, feeling the sharp, impending ache of being alone again, but he knows Izuku is right. The house is a powder keg; if his parents—or worse, Kaito—stumbled upon Izuku in his room after the confrontation downstairs, the fragile progress they’d just witnessed would shatter.

"Okay," Katsuki whispers, his voice thick. "But be careful on that roof. It’s slippery from the humidity."

Izuku gives him a small, wry smile. "I’ve scaled more dangerous walls than your garage, Katsuki. I’ll be fine. Just... try to get some sleep. Everything is going to look different in the morning."

He waits for a beat, making sure Katsuki has a steady hold on himself before he finally shifts, moving toward the window and easing it upward with practiced silence. Izuku is already halfway out the window, one leg hooked over the sill, when he freezes. He blinks, his expression shifting from focused determination to a sudden, frantic sort of realization. He stops dead, his foot hovering over the roof shingles, and looks back into the room.

"Wait," he whispers, his voice sharp with a mixture of embarrassment and urgency. He swings his leg back inside, almost losing his balance on the narrow ledge. "I...I realized I don't actually have your number, do I?"

Katsuki, who had been watching him go with a heavy, hollow feeling in his chest, stares at him for a second before his brain catches up. The sheer ridiculousness of the moment—the high-stakes tension of the night, the near-confrontations, the emotional fallout—suddenly punctuated by this mundane, clumsy oversight, almost makes him laugh.

"Oh, right" Katsuki huffs out a laugh, "How come you never asked?"

"I just always knew where to find you," Izuku stammers, his face flushing a bright, mortified red. He digs into his pockets, fumbling for his phone, his hands shaking slightly from the leftover adrenaline. He holds the device out, the screen glowing in the dark room, casting a soft, blue light over his embarrassed expression.

Katsuki scrambles up, moving toward him, the heavy fog of the last hour finally lifting just enough to let a little bit of normalcy back in. He takes the phone, his fingers brushing against Izuku’s, and taps out his contact information with quick, practiced movements.

He hands it back, his thumb lingering on the edge of the screen for a second longer than necessary. "There," he mutters, his voice dropping an octave, softer now. "Don't lose it."

Izuku stares at the screen, his thumb hovering over the entry. The mortification is still there, but it’s quickly overtaken by a look of profound relief. He looks up at Katsuki, his eyes bright and focused. "I won't. I'm texting you as soon as I'm out of the yard."

"Good," Katsuki says, feeling a surge of warmth that has nothing to do with the night air. "Now go. Before my dad decides to come up and check on me."

Izuku nods, casting one final, lingering look back at him—a silent promise that this wasn't the end of their conversation—before he turns and carefully eases himself out onto the garage roof, leaving Katsuki alone in the quiet, but with his phone now humming with the weight of a new connection.

—

Katsuki had barely sat down on the edge of his bed, his heart finally beginning to drop out of his throat, when his phone buzzed against the duvet. It was a sharp, intrusive sound in the quiet room.

He picked it up, his thumb hovering over the screen.

Izuku: u okay? no run-ins with the parents?

Katsuki rolled his eyes, a small, involuntary smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Katsuki: im in my room. door is locked. dad is still downstairs w kaito. nothing yet thank god

He stared at the screen, watching the little bubble pop up almost instantly.

Izuku: good. keep it that way.

Izuku: also, for the record, climbing that roof was a 2/10 experience. would not recommend.

Katsuki: maybe u shld use the door once they fell asleep like a normal person next time.

Izuku: and miss the dramatic exit? nah.

Katsuki bit his lip, his gaze lingering on the text. He felt a weird, fluttery tension in his chest—a residual hum from the way Izuku had looked at him just minutes ago.

Katsuki: ur an idiot. go home before u get caught.

Izuku: already at the end of the block.

Izuku: hey

Katsuki: what

Izuku: u okay? for real?

Katsuki hesitated. He wasn’t "okay"—not really—but he was tired of being the only one holding the weight of the night.

Katsuki: honestly? i think i might actually get some sleep now that the house is quiet.

Izuku: good. u need it.

Izuku: just dont dream about me too hard, i need to get home eventually lol

Katsuki felt his face heat up, a sharp, sudden flush creeping up his neck. He scowled at the screen, his thumbs hovering over the keys.

Katsuki: eat shit.

Izuku: ;)

Izuku: rest up, katsu. talk tmrw.

Katsuki stared at the nickname. He didn’t reply—didn't know how to, really—but he didn’t lock his phone either. He tossed his phone onto the mattress, trying to force himself to focus on the hum of his ceiling fan instead of the buzzing in his own skin. It didn't work. His pulse was still jagged, still replaying the weight of Izuku against him, the way the air in the room had shifted when he’d finally felt safe.

He lasted exactly six minutes before he grabbed the phone again. His thumb tapped the screen, his mind finding an excuse that felt thin even to him.

Katsuki: did u make it home yet?

He didn't wait long. The bubble appeared almost instantly, like Izuku had been staring at his own screen just as intently.

Izuku: just walked thru the door. why? miss me already?

Katsuki let out a scoff, his face heating up in the dark, but he didn't put the phone down.

Katsuki: just making sure u didnt get kidnapped or die. would be annoying to have to explain that to the police.

Izuku: sureeee. let’s go with that.

There was a pause, the three little dots dancing for a few seconds before disappearing, then reappearing.

Izuku: i cant sleep either. too much adrenaline or something. u?

Katsuki rolled onto his side, pulling his blanket up to his chin. He felt restless, his mind still cycling through the sound of his parents’ voices downstairs and the feeling of Izuku’s hand on his neck.

Katsuki: obviously. house is too quiet now. feels weird.

Izuku: yeah. i get that.

Izuku: wanna distract me? or just stare at the wall?

Katsuki felt a sharp, giddy spike of nerves in his stomach. He wasn't ready to talk about the kiss, or the way his brother had tried to tear him apart, but he couldn't handle being alone with his own head right now.

Katsuki: what do u have in mind, genius?

Izuku: id tell you, but i dont think ur ready to hear it.

Katsuki’s jaw tightened, a dangerous, playful smirk tugging at his lips. He typed back before he could overthink it.

Katsuki: try me. i have all night.

Izuku: dangerous offer.

Izuku: ill start with something simple then.

Izuku: okay, if we weren't stuck in our respective beds, where would we be right now? no 'my room' allowed.

Katsuki frowned at the screen, a small, genuine smile creeping onto his face. It was a stupid, meaningless question, but it felt like a lifeline.

Katsuki: nowhere near this house.

Izuku: lol obviously. be specific. like, if u could be anywhere, doing anything, regardless of money or 'responsibilities'.

Katsuki thought for a second. He stared at the glow of his phone, letting his mind drift away from the stifling weight of his degree program. He thought about the constant, grinding pressure of his major—the endless critiques, the demand for perfection in every sketch, and the feeling that he was always just one failed project away from losing his footing. He was so tired of constantly proving he belonged there, of obsessively chasing the "contemporary" standard that never felt like enough. He just wanted a night where he didn't have to be the student who had to be the best, or the son caught in the middle of a family fracture. He just wanted to be someone who could breathe without checking a deadline or looking over his shoulder.

Katsuki: somewhere loud. somewhere where the music is so obnoxious i can't hear my own thoughts and no one knows who we are.

Izuku: that sounds like a plan.

Izuku: actually, the department is throwing this massive pre-midterm party on Friday. it's gonna be packed, loud, and definitely not stuffy. you should come with me.

Katsuki: ...a party? with the engineering crowd? sounds like my personal hell.

Katsuki: wait. is kaito going? because if he is, u can forget it. i'm not walking into that.

Izuku: no, he's not. he’s buried in that group project for the next three days, so he’s staying off-campus to focus. it’ll just be us and a bunch of people who don't know anything about the house drama.

Katsuki: ...fine. i'm in.

Katsuki felt a strange, quiet ache in his chest—not of anxiety, but of anticipation. It was a small, normal thing, a promise for a night out that didn't involve his brother’s bitterness or his assignments.

Izuku: promise?

Katsuki: promise.

Izuku: u have no idea how much better that makes me feel. i was worried u’d just want to hole up in your room all weekend.

Katsuki: i mean, i do want to hole up. but standing around a loud room with a shitty drink in my hand beats staring at my desk and thinking about my brother.

Izuku: fair point.

Izuku: and hey, if it gets too much, or if you just want to get out of there, we can bail early. it’s not like anyone will notice. i just want u there.

Katsuki looked at the text, his pulse doing that familiar, erratic skip it had been doing all night. The idea of being in a crowded room with Izuku—the thought of being able to lean in, to have him there as a buffer against everything else—made the suffocating pressure of his workload feel a little more manageable.

Katsuki: just don't expect me to dance or anything.

Izuku: wouldn't dream of it. i’ll just be happy if you don’t spend the whole time glaring at the walls.

Katsuki: no promises.

Izuku: ;)

Izuku: get some sleep, katsuki. seriously. the sun’s gonna be up in a few hours.

Katsuki: k. gn.

Izuku: gn :)

Katsuki finally locked his phone, the screen going dark. The house was deathly silent now, but for the first time in months, the quiet didn't feel like a threat. It just felt like a pause before something new. He pulled his duvet up, his mind finally drifting—not to Kaito, not to his looming deadlines, but to Friday night.

—

The cafeteria was crowded, the air thick with the hum of lunch-hour chatter and the smell of stale coffee. Katsuki sat across from Shoto, picking at a sandwich he had zero intention of actually eating. He’d barely slept, his eyes felt gritty, and his head was still reeling from the events of the previous night.

Shoto, ever observant, didn’t even bother with small talk. He just watched Katsuki for a long beat, his expression unreadable, before leaning back. "You look like you've been through a war," he said, his voice level. "Is this about your brother again?"

Katsuki let out a sharp, ragged breath, looking around to make sure no one was close enough to eavesdrop. "It got bad," he muttered, dropping his gaze to the table. "Everything exploded. Kaito...he finally said it all out loud, all that crap about me being the favorite. And Izuku was there."

Shoto went still, his interest sharpening instantly.

Katsuki continued, his voice dropping to a low, intense murmur. "He completely shut it down. He stood up to Kaito. And after...after everything, we ended up talking. Properly. For the first time." He hesitated, his face heating up at the memory, but the words spilled out anyway. "We kissed, Shoto. Like, actually kissed."

Shoto’s eyes widened, just a fraction—the most visible reaction he’d had all day. A slow, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I see."

"Don't give me that look," Katsuki snapped, though there was no heat in it. "Then he had to jump out the window" He smiled, "We ended up texting all night. He’s taking me to a party this Friday, and for once, I don't feel like I'm about to suffocate the second I step out of this room."

Katsuki dropped his sandwich back onto the tray with a clatter. "Ugh, that sounded like some hallmark movie shit. Forget I said any of it."

Shoto didn't even blink, just kept his eyes on his own lunch. "You’re the one who brought up the kiss, Katsuki. I’m just listening."

"Yeah, well, don't analyze it," Katsuki grunted, leaning forward and lowering his voice.

Shoto hummed, picking up his drink. "So, you're not miserable for once."

"Exactly," Katsuki shot back, pointing a fry at him. "Don't make it a 'thing.' Just...yeah. It's better than dealing with the house."

Shoto looked at him, a small smile o his face. "So, you're going to a party with him. That's a good move, Katsuki. Even if you act like you hate the idea of being happy."

Katsuki rolled his eyes, finally picking up his sandwich again. "I do hate it. But I'm going anyway."

"Good," Shoto said, his tone firm. "You deserve 'better.' And if your brother decides to start another war over it, I’m happy to remind him why that’s a mistake."

Katsuki let out a short, surprised laugh, the tension finally bleeding out of his shoulders. "Yeah. I’ll keep that in my back pocket."

—

The heavy front door clicked shut behind Katsuki, the sound echoing a little too loudly in the quiet house. He had barely managed to slide his bag off his shoulder when he saw Kaito standing by the kitchen island, nursing a glass of water.

Katsuki froze. His muscles locked instantly, the muscle memory of the previous night’s confrontation surging back. He braced himself for a comment, a scoff, or another attempt at a lecture, but Kaito didn’t even look up at first.

"Hey," Kaito said, his voice quiet—none of the usual edge.

Katsuki didn't move, his hand still gripped tight on his backpack strap. "What."

Kaito finally turned, leaning against the counter. He looked exhausted, the skin under his eyes dark. "Look. About last night. What I said about the 'golden child' crap...I was off base. It was a shitty thing to say, and I shouldn't have been throwing that at you just because I’m miserable with my own shit."

Katsuki stayed rooted to the spot, his brain struggling to catch up. He’d braced himself for a fight, not an acknowledgment.

"It was a mess," Kaito added, looking at his glass instead of Katsuki. "I’m not saying we’re magically fine, but... I’m done with the blow-ups. I'm taking a step back."

Katsuki let out a breath he didn't realize he’d been holding. It wasn't a total fix—the air between them was still awkward—but the suffocating tension that usually hung over the house felt like it had thinned just enough to breathe.

"Fine," Katsuki said, his voice still a little clipped. "Just keep it out of my space. I'm busy enough."

He didn't wait for a reply, turning and heading straight for the stairs. Once he was back behind his bedroom door, he leaned against it, his heart finally slowing its frantic pace. He pulled his phone out, the screen lighting up the dim room.

He didn't know if he should tell Izuku about the half-apology. It felt private, and somehow, involving Izuku in the Kaito-saga felt like giving his brother too much space in their dynamic. He opened his texts instead, deciding to keep it simple.

Katsuki: just walked in and kaito was there. froze like an idiot but he actually apologized. kinda.

He hesitated, then typed another line.

Katsuki: not that it changes the party on friday. still coming, obviously.

Izuku’s reply was almost instantaneous, a sharp contrast to the lingering tension in the house.

Izuku: whoa. really? that's actually huge, katsuki.

Izuku: glad u dont have to deal with that over your head for now.

Katsuki: yeah

Izuku: hey, since u finally got a breather, u wanna just...call? for a minute? no pressure, just figured it might be nicer than staring at text bubbles after everything that happened.

Katsuki hesitated, his thumb hovering over the screen. The idea of hearing Izuku’s voice right now, after the surreal quiet of the house and his brother’s apology, felt dangerously real. It was one thing to flirt over text, but a call felt like dropping the last of his defenses.

He looked at his door, listening to make sure Kaito hadn't decided to hover in the hallway. The house was silent.

Katsuki: u better not be weird.

Izuku: i’ll try my best. :)

Katsuki let out a shaky breath and hit the call button, his phone vibrating instantly against his palm as it began to ring. He pressed it to his ear, his pulse jumping into his throat.

"Hey," Izuku’s voice came through, sounding grounded and steady, cutting right through the lingering, anxious hum of the day.

"Hey," Katsuki breathed back, sinking down onto the edge of his bed. "I’m not doing small talk. Tell me about that engineering disaster you mentioned earlier. The one that made you wanna quit."

"You're lucky I'm an engineer," Izuku chuckled, the sound low and warm, vibrating slightly through the speaker. "Okay, so, the fluid dynamics project? My team member, Sero, tried to calibrate the pressure valve by eyeballing it. Spoiler: he did not succeed. We ended up with blue hydraulic fluid coating the entire front of the lab. It took three hours to scrub it off."

Katsuki let out a genuine, sharp bark of a laugh, his head falling back against the headboard. "You’re joking. That’s a total rookie move. What did the professor say?"

"He didn't notice," Izuku said, sounding entertained. "Because right as he walked in, Sero tripped over a cable and knocked over a cart of spare parts. It was absolute chaos. I spent the last forty minutes of class just trying to salvage my own data while the lab turned into a warzone."

Katsuki smiled, the tension in his shoulders—the residue of the apology, the weirdness of the afternoon—finally unraveling completely. It was nice. Just hearing about someone else’s mundane, stressful disaster was the perfect distraction.

"Sounds like a nightmare," Katsuki said, his voice dropping, less defensive now. "Glad I'm not in your department."

"I don't know, you would've been the only one with the common sense to, you know, not eyeball a pressure valve," Izuku teased. There was a pause, softer this time. "I'm glad you're out of the house, too. Even if it's just in your room. How are you actually feeling? Now that the adrenaline's worn off?"

Katsuki traced the seam of his quilt, feeling that strange, fragile honesty he only seemed to have with Izuku. "Tired," he admitted, keeping his voice low. "Like, 'sleep for a week' tired. But...I don't feel like the walls are closing in anymore. That’s new."

"That’s a start," Izuku said, his voice steady, anchoring him. "You don't have to fix everything in one night, Katsuki. You just have to make it to Friday."

"Is that your way of telling me to hang up and go to sleep?" Katsuki asked, though he didn't move to end the call.

"Maybe," Izuku laughed softly. "I want you to be awake enough to actually enjoy the party, not falling asleep in a booth."

"I told you, no dancing," Katsuki countered, a playful note returning to his voice.

"Fine. No dancing. We can just sit in a corner and judge everyone else’s terrible taste in music. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a plan."

—

It was finally Friday, the bass in the engineering building’s common room was loud enough to vibrate in Katsuki’s teeth—a relentless, thumping rhythm that made the air feel thick and electric. It was exactly the kind of chaotic, overstimulating mess he’d expected, but for once, the noise was a relief. It meant he didn't have to talk to anyone.

He was standing near the edge of the room, leaning against a support pillar, clutching a plastic cup of something mediocre that he wasn't planning on drinking.

Izuku emerged from the crowd a moment later, looking a little winded but relieved. He’d ditched the professional demeanor he usually wore at university, looking younger and more relaxed in a charcoal sweater that made him look soft, despite the chaos around them.

He caught Katsuki’s eye and his face lit up, pushing through the last few stragglers to reach him.

"See?" Izuku shouted over the music, his voice close enough to be heard but not overwhelming. "Not a single person here knows about your family drama. Absolute bliss, right?"

Katsuki let out a scoff, a rare, genuine smile tugging at his lips despite his best efforts to keep his expression neutral. He shifted his weight, closing the physical gap between them until they were tucked into the relative privacy of the pillar’s shadow.

"I’m still not dancing, Izuku," Katsuki said, though he didn't lean away.

"I didn't ask you to," Izuku grinned, tilting his head. He looked at Katsuki, really looked at him, in a way that made the room feel a lot smaller than it actually was. "I just wanted to make sure you actually showed up. And since you’re here...how about we find that corner we talked about? I think I saw some chairs behind the refreshment table."

Katsuki scanned the room, the familiar urge to retreat warring with the anchor he felt whenever Izuku was in his orbit. He looked back at Izuku—at the way he was already hovering, waiting for his lead.

"Lead the way," Katsuki muttered. "But if I have to talk to anyone from your lab, I’m leaving."

"Deal," Izuku laughed, reaching out to briefly brush his fingers against the back of Katsuki’s hand—a quick, grounding touch that made the noise of the party suddenly fade into the background. "Come on."

They found a spot in the back, tucked behind a pillar where the music was a dull thrum rather than a physical assault. The seats were cheap plastic, and the table was sticky, but for the first time in weeks, Katsuki felt his shoulders drop from their habitual position near his ears.

"I'm going to grab us actual drinks," Izuku said, gesturing to the overflowing red solo cups on the table. "Don't go anywhere. I’ll be two minutes, tops."

Katsuki watched him weave through the crowd, feeling a strange, hollow sense of vulnerability the moment Izuku disappeared from view. He took a sip of his drink, grimacing at the taste, and pulled his phone out just to have something to look at.

"You look like you're waiting for someone," a voice said, low and smooth.

Katsuki looked up. A guy from the mechanical engineering track—someone he’d seen around the department but never actually spoken to—was leaning against the table, his posture far too casual. He had a drink in one hand and a look in his eyes that Katsuki recognized instantly: the 'I'm interested' look.

"Just waiting for my friend," Katsuki said, his tone flat and dismissive. He didn't close his phone, a clear signal that he wasn't interested in conversation.

The guy didn't take the hint. He shifted closer, dropping his voice even lower. "Your friend? The guy with the messy hair? You’re way out of his league, man. You look like you need better company."

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. It wasn't the insult to Izuku—he knew Izuku could handle himself—it was the smug, entitled way the guy was hovering over his personal space.

"My 'league' isn't really your concern," Katsuki said, his voice dropping into that dangerous, low growl that usually sent people scurrying. He stood up, towering slightly over the table. "And 'better company' doesn't mean some random guy trying to pull a pickup line at a party. Get lost."

The guy didn't retreat. Instead, he chuckled, a dismissive sound, and shifted into Katsuki’s personal space, his hand darting out to grab Katsuki’s wrist. His fingers tightened, not enough to bruise, but enough to hold him in place. "Relax, man. You’re wound way too tight. Let me buy you a real drink, get you to loosen up."

Katsuki’s hackles went up—every protective instinct in his body screamed, and his hand balled into a fist, ready to shove the guy back—but before he could, a shadow fell over the table.

Izuku was there in an instant, and the change in his demeanor was jarring. The soft, relaxed guy from a moment ago was gone; his face was a mask of cold, sharp intensity. He didn't say a word, just set the two drinks down on the table with a hard thud that cut through the surrounding noise.

He reached out, his hand wrapping firmly around the stranger's forearm. His grip wasn't aggressive, but it was absolute, an immovable force.

"Get your hand off him," Izuku said. His voice was low, devoid of his usual warmth, and the sheer flatness of it made the guy falter.

"I was just trying to—"

"I don't care," Izuku cut him off, his eyes finally locking onto the other man’s. The intensity in his gaze was sharp enough to make the guy’s words die in his throat. "Walk away."

He didn't release the guy's arm until the stranger's hand slipped away from Katsuki’s wrist, and then he pushed him back, stepping firmly between them. He turned his body slightly, completely shielding Katsuki from the guy’s view.

The guy didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled backward, disappearing into the crowd without a word.

Katsuki stood there for a heartbeat, his pulse slamming against his ribs. He’d expected to fight his own battles—he always did—but looking at Izuku, he felt a strange, jarring pull in his chest. Izuku was breathing hard, his shoulders squared, his entire posture radiating a protective, fierce energy that was focused entirely on Katsuki.

Izuku turned back to him, his hands hovering near Katsuki’s shoulders before he pulled them back, looking almost shocked by his own display of aggression. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice shaking just slightly with residual adrenaline. "Did he...did he hurt you?"

Izuku didn't step back. Instead, he closed the remaining distance, his expression shifting from sharp hostility into something deeply focused and tender. He reached out slowly, telegraphing every movement so Katsuki wouldn't flinch, and gently took Katsuki’s wrist in his hand.

His thumb brushed carefully over the skin where the guy had grabbed him, turning Katsuki’s arm this way and backward to check for any red marks or bruising.

Katsuki’s breath hitched. Up close, the lingering adrenaline made Izuku look entirely different. Without his usual mild, self-conscious slouch, his shoulders were broad, his posture unyielding, and the sharp, clean line of his jaw was clenched tight with residual protectiveness. The faint freckles across the bridge of his nose stood out sharply under the dim, shifting lights of the party, and his chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths.

The raw, quiet intensity radiating off him was intoxicating. Katsuki’s heart hammered a frantic, deafening rhythm against his ribs—not from the stranger anymore, but from the dizzying heat of Izuku being this close. His mind went completely blank, trapped in the orbit of how insanely attractive Izuku looked when he wasn't holding back.

It took a beat too long for Katsuki’s brain to restart. When it did, he swallowed hard, his voice stuck somewhere in his throat before he managed to force it out.

"I'm fine," Katsuki muttered, his tone dropping into a rough whisper. He didn't pull his hand away, though—his fingers remained loosely curled against Izuku's sleeve, anchored there. "He didn't touch me long enough to do anything."

Izuku stopped his inspection, his gaze lifting slowly from Katsuki’s wrist up to his face. Their eyes locked, and Izuku noticed the flushed, heated red creeping up the tips of Katsuki’s ears.

For a second, the heavy, defensive tension melted right out of Izuku’s shoulders. The harsh line of his jaw relaxed, his expression softening into something raw and unguarded as he realized where they were—and how close they were standing.

Izuku’s thumb lingered for a second longer against Katsuki’s pulse point, feeling the erratic, wild beat beneath his skin.

"Good," Izuku breathed out, his voice dropping an octave, losing its edge entirely. He didn't let go of Katsuki's hand. "Because if he left even a mark, I probably would've gone back out there."

Katsuki’s breath caught in his throat. It wasn't just the proximity or the lingering adrenaline—it was the stark, unfiltered truth of it. Izuku wasn't playing a game or throwing out smooth lines; he genuinely cared, fiercely and without hesitation, to a degree that terrified and thrilled Katsuki in equal measure. No one had ever looked at him like he was worth going to war for.

Before Katsuki could figure out how to process the dizzying weight of that realization—or find a way to mask it behind his usual snark—Izuku’s thumb shifted slightly, brushing right over his racing pulse point.

Before Izuku could speak, though, a loud, boisterous voice cut sharply through the heavy hum of the room.

"Midobro! Man, we’ve been looking all over for you in this mosh pit!"

Izuku blinked, the intensity breaking as he pulled his gaze away from Katsuki. He turned his head just as two figures pushed past a cluster of laughing students. Kirishima Eijiro materialized first, grinning broadly with an arm slung comfortably around Mina Ashido, who was scanning the room with bright, energetic eyes. They were a fixture together, practically inseparable at every departmental get-together.

Izuku exhaled a quick, slightly flustered breath, dropping his hand from Katsuki’s wrist—though he still subtly shifted his weight to keep Katsuki half-shielded behind his shoulder.

"Hey," Izuku said, trying to smooth down the rough edge in his voice. "I didn't think you guys were actually coming tonight. Thought you were staying back to finish the robotics layout."

"Changed our minds," Mina beamed, her gaze darting past Izuku's shoulder. Her eyes instantly locked onto Katsuki, widening with curious, unfiltered delight. "Oh? Who’s this?"

Kirishima blinked, squinting through the dim, flashing lights as he focused on Katsuki. The bright, easy smile on his face faltered for a fraction of a second, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. He tilted his head, taking in the sharp angle of Katsuki’s jaw, the glare he was instinctively putting up as a shield, and the pale ash-blond hair.

"Wait," Kirishima said, holding up a hand. "Hold on. Is it just me, or...man, you look oddly like Kaito."

The name dropped into the space between them like lead.

Katsuki’s whole body went rigid. The fragile warmth, the dizzying safety of the last ten minutes—it all shattered instantly, replaced by a sudden, suffocating chill. Being reduced to a footnote of his brother made something hot and humiliating spike right through his chest. He felt small, exposed, and violently angry at himself for letting his guard down in the first place.

Mina didn't catch the sudden drop in the air, her grin only widening as she leaned forward past Kirishima. "Oh you're so right! Wait, is this his younger brother? Aw, dude, no offense to him, but you’re way prettier!" She let out a bubbly laugh.

Katsuki’s face burned hot red at the unexpected compliment, his jaw tightening as he looked away, utterly mortified.

Instead of looking defensive, Izuku just smiled softly, a fond, helpless warmth touching his eyes as he looked back at Katsuki for a second before answering. He turned his attention back to his friends, keeping his tone casual and entirely unbothered.

"Yeah, this is Katsuki, Kaito's younger brother. Be nice, you two." Izuku said smoothly, stepping just half an inch closer to Katsuki's side, offering a quiet, steady presence. "These are my friends, Kirishima and Mina" Izuku gestered to the two.

Mina’s eyes lit up even further, zeroing in like she’d just struck gold. "Wait, Katsuki? Okay, no, that’s actually an elite name. Like, ten times better than Kaito. That’s so unfair. Are you guys in the same major? Do you go here, or do you just get dragged to engineering parties by Midoriya? Wait, how long have you two been friends?"

"Yeah, man, you don't look like an engineering student," Kirishima chimed in, leaning against the table with an easy, infectious grin, completely missing the way Katsuki was practically vibrating with embarrassment. "You look way too put together. Are you an art major? Or design?"

Katsuki stood frozen under the sudden, blinding spotlight, his face burning a furious crimson. He opened his mouth to snap something defensive—to tell them both to back off and mind their own damn business—but the questions came too fast, overlapping each other in a blur of overwhelming energy. His chest tightened, the sudden influx of social pressure making him feel trapped.

Before he could snap or retreat entirely into a glare, a warm hand gently pressed against his shoulder, and a calm, steady voice cut through the crossfire.

"Alright, trial's over," Izuku chuckled, stepping just a fraction closer to slip between Katsuki and the barrage of questions. His tone was light and easy, but his body language was entirely protective as he gave Mina and Kirishima a gentle warning look. "Give him some breathing room. You're going to scare him off before he even finishes his drink."

Mina laughed, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm just being welcoming! It's not every day Midoriya brings someone new around, let alone someone who looks like a runway model."

Katsuki’s ears burned hotter at the comment, his gaze dropping to the sticky table as he muttered under his breath, "I'm going to murder you, Izuku."

Izuku just smiled, the soft, fond look returning to his eyes as he glanced sideways at Katsuki, entirely unbothered by the threat.

Kirishima didn't press or tease anymore. Instead, his grin softened into something genuine and easygoing, completely lacking the overbearing energy Katsuki had automatically braced himself for.

"Hey, don't sweat it," Kirishima said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture, though his tone was warm. "Seriously, it’s great to meet you. Izuku doesn't talk about a lot of people outside of lab hours, so it's cool he finally dragged someone out here."

Mina nodded in agreement, her bright expression mellowing out into something much kinder. "Yeah, exactly. Sorry if we came on a bit strong—we're just glad Midoriya's got decent company for once. You want another drink, Katsuki? Or at least something that isn't whatever mystery punch is sitting in those cups?"

Katsuki blinked, the defensive armor he’d automatically thrown up feeling suddenly heavy and unnecessary. He glanced sideways, catching the subtle, reassuring nod Izuku gave him. The realization settled in that these two weren't looking at him as Kaito's shadow, nor were they judging him; they were just Izuku's friends, trying to be welcoming in their own chaotic way.

The tight knot in Katsuki's chest loosened just a fraction. He let out a quiet breath, his shoulders finally dropping back down.

"I'm fine with what I've got," Katsuki muttered, his voice still low and a little gruff, but entirely stripped of its earlier venom. He shifted his weight, refusing to look too cooperative, but added, "...Though if you guys actually know where the decent stuff is hidden instead of this swill, I'm listening."

Kirishima let out a booming laugh, entirely unfazed. "Oh, man, you speak my language. Come on, Mina, let's go raid the back cooler before the rest of the mechanical department drinks us dry."

Mina grinned, grabbing Kirishima’s arm with a conspiratorial wink. "Right behind you. Don't let him run away, Midoriya—we're finishing this conversation later!"

With a wave, the two of them slipped back into the churning sea of bodies, leaving a sudden, quiet pocket of space around the corner table. The space between them felt entirely different now—no longer charged with the defensive panic of earlier, but settling into a warm, quiet bubble amidst the chaos of the party.

Izuku didn't move away, and neither did Katsuki. The steady, reassuring weight of Izuku's shoulder pressed against his was grounding, slowly burning away the last remnants of the day's stress.

"So," Izuku murmured, his voice pitched low so it wouldn't get lost in the bass of the music. He tilted his head slightly toward Katsuki, a faint, teasing glint in his eyes. "Since we survived your first social test with flying colors...do you actually want to stay here, or are you ready to ditch this place and go somewhere quiet?"

Katsuki let out a low huff, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a reluctant, half-amused smirk. He looked around the crowded room, taking in the chaotic mess of drunk engineering students and blaring speakers before looking back down at Izuku.

"Took you long enough to suggest it," Katsuki muttered, though there was no real bite to it. He pushed himself off the pillar, rolling his shoulders as the tension finally bled out of them completely. "Let's get out of here before your friends come back and start asking twenty more questions."

"Deal," Izuku smiled, the quiet triumph in his expression unmistakable. He didn't hesitate to reach out, his fingers brushing against Katsuki's knuckles before sliding down to loosely, naturally interlock with his hand as they started weaving their way through the crowd toward the exit.

The sudden contact sent a jolt straight up Katsuki’s arm. The warmth of Izuku’s skin against his own made his heart stutter and then race into overdrive, a frantic, heavy thudding against his ribs that had nothing to do with adrenaline this time and everything to do with the fact that they were actually, genuinely holding hands. It was a first, a simple gesture that felt entirely too heavy, too intimate, and entirely impossible to pull away from.

A hot flush crept up Katsuki's neck, staining his skin as he let himself be towed along.

As they navigated the dense, sweaty crush of bodies near the living room, the atmosphere grew chaotic. A pair of stumbling students lurged sideways, sloshing drinks and nearly plowing right into Katsuki's shoulder. Before Katsuki could even bristle or throw up a defensive hand, Izuku moved.

With a swift, practiced motion, Izuku shifted his grip, sliding his hand down to wrap securely around Katsuki's wrist while using his free arm and broad shoulders to create a protective barrier. He gently guided Katsuki half a step behind him, keeping him completely shielded from the careless elbows and swaying bodies of the crowd. Every time the press of people threatened to push them together, Izuku adjusted his pace, keeping a steady, unwavering line toward the front door without ever letting go.

Katsuki stared at the back of Izuku’s head, watching the way he focused entirely on clearing a path, his jaw set with quiet determination. A strange, breathless tightness squeezed at Katsuki's chest. It was infuriatingly overprotective, entirely unprompted—and devastatingly attractive.

By the time Izuku pushed the front door open, spilling them out into the cool, quiet night air of the campus pathway, Katsuki’s face was burning a furious crimson.

Izuku finally slowed to a stop under the amber glow of a courtyard lamppost, turning back with a slight, breathless smile to check on him. "Made it," Izuku said, though he didn't immediately let go of Katsuki's wrist, his thumb brushing a slow, unconscious circle against his skin. "You okay?"

Katsuki yanked his arm back—more out of self-preservation than actual annoyance—and scrubbed a hand over his hot face, muttering under his breath, "Stop looking at me like that, damn it."

Izuku’s smile only grew, softening into something genuinely fond as he dropped his hand, letting Katsuki catch his breath under the cool campus lamplight.

"Like what?" Izuku teased gently, taking a slow step closer now that the noise and chaos of the party were entirely behind them. "Making sure you don't get spilled on? I thought that was standard courtesy."

"Shut up," Katsuki grumbled, though the heat in his face was starting to fade into a stubborn, flustered warmth. He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring half-heartedly at the pavement before looking back up. The quiet hum of the night around them felt a hundred miles away from the packed, suffocating rooms they'd just left, leaving just the two of them under the amber glow.

"Well," Izuku murmured, his voice dipping into a softer register as the teasing edge melted away, leaving only sincerity. "We're out. The air is better. Where to now? Do you want to come over to my dorm, or...do you just want to walk for a bit?"

"Your dorm," Katsuki muttered, finally dropping his arms. He took a half-step forward, his shoulder brushing against Izuku's intentionally this time. "Don't just stand there staring, nerd. Move your feet."

Izuku blinked, surprised for a fraction of a second before a slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Really?" he echoed softly, the low hum of the nighttime campus fading into the background.

Katsuki scoffed, crossing his arms with a sharp toss of his head as he avoided looking directly at him. "Don't flatter yourself, nerd. I just want to see how messy an engineering major's room actually is. Bet it looks like a landfill. I've seen enough from Kaito"

Izuku laughed, a low, genuinely amused sound that completely unraveled whatever sharp edge Katsuki was trying to put up. He didn't call him out on the transparent excuse; instead, his eyes just crinkled with that quiet, knowing warmth.

"Sure," Izuku murmured, stepping closer and effortlessly bridging the distance between them. "Come on, then. Prepare to be thoroughly disappointed by my organizational skills."

The walk back to the residential blocks was completely different from the frantic escape of the party. The campus pathways were quiet, shadowed by towering oaks and bathed in the pale glow of overhead lights, but the silence between them was thick with a new kind of anticipation. Every brush of their shoulders and accidental graze of their hands felt impossibly loud, stretching the tension tighter with every step they took toward Izuku's building.

When they finally swiped into the quiet, dimly lit lobby and climbed the stairs to the second floor, the reality of being alone together settled heavily over them.

Izuku unlocked his door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let Katsuki slip inside first. The small dorm room was surprisingly neat, smelling faintly of old paper, clean laundry, and coffee. The heavy click of the door latching shut behind them echoed sharply in the quiet space.

Katsuki turned on his heel, ready to drop a snarky comment about the state of the room, only to find Izuku standing right behind him—too close, invading his personal space with a quiet, deliberate intent.

Izuku reached past Katsuki to drop his keys onto the small entryway desk, his arm brushing lightly against Katsuki’s chest in the process. The casual, unhurried motion made Katsuki’s breath hitch, his back remaining millimeters from the wood of the door as Izuku turned back to face him, entirely blocking him in.

"Well?" Izuku prompted softly, his dark eyes glinting in the dim light of the room. He didn't touch him, keeping his hands loosely at his own sides, but the heat radiating off him was inescapable. "Inspect away. Where do I fail your high standards first?"

Katsuki swallowed hard, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides to stop himself from reaching out. The smug, teasing look in Izuku's eyes was infuriating, but the air between them felt so thick and charged that even breathing felt like a deliberate choice.

"Start with your desk," Katsuki managed to snap back, though his voice lacked any real authority, sounding breathless and thin in the quiet room. "It looks like a disaster area from here."

"My desk?" Izuku murmured, taking half a step closer, reducing the already nonexistent space between them until Katsuki could feel the warmth of his breath. "Is that all you want to look at?"

Katsuki’s heart hammered a violent, frantic rhythm against his ribs. He wanted to look away, to throw out some biting insult and put a foot of space back between them, but he was completely pinned under the weight of Izuku's gaze.

"Shut up," Katsuki breathed out, the command entirely losing its edge as his crimson eyes dropped involuntarily to Izuku’s lips before darting right back up.

Izuku didn't give him an inch to retreat. A slow, knowing smirk touched the corner of his mouth, acknowledging every bit of the tension vibrating between them. Slowly, deliberately, Izuku raised one hand, his fingers hovering for a fraction of a second before gently brushing a stray lock of ash-blond hair away from Katsuki's forehead. The feather-light touch sent a sharp shiver racing straight down Katsuki's spine.

"You're terrible at inspecting things when you're distracted," Izuku murmured, his voice dropping into a low, rough hum that vibrated right through the quiet room.

Katsuki's hands uncurled, his fingers instinctively twitching upward as if to catch himself, finally breaking whatever control he had left. He reached out, his grip snagging firmly into the fabric of Izuku's shirt, pulling him the rest of the way in.

"Then shut up and do something about it," Katsuki snapped, his voice rough and breathless, right before he bridged the final inch and crashed his lips against Izuku's.

The impact of Katsuki’s mouth against his was immediate, a sharp, hungry collision that wiped away all the lingering hesitation. Izuku gasped against his lips, the sound lost instantly as a low, rough hum ripped from his throat. He didn't hesitate; his hands flew up, tangling firmly into the soft blond strands at the nape of Katsuki’s neck while his other hand clamped down hard on his hip, anchoring him in place.

The kiss deepened frantically, messy and desperate with the weeks of unspoken tension finally breaking loose. Katsuki dragged his fingers up, bunching the fabric of Izuku’s shirt in his fists as he pulled him harder against his chest, chasing friction, chasing heat, desperate to close every fraction of an inch of space left between them. They stumbled blindly backward, lips locked, teeth clashing in a breathless rush as they moved deeper into the room.

Suddenly, the back of Katsuki’s knees hit the edge of Izuku’s desk.

With a sharp intake of breath, Katsuki lost his footing, his weight pitching backward as he started to trip over the low edge of the wooden surface.

Before he could fall, strong hands gripped his hips with iron-clad certainty, effortlessly catching him and hoisting him up onto the edge of the desk in one swift motion. Izuku moved right with him, crowding in flush between his thighs, trapping him securely as the kiss broke for a single, gasping second.

Chest heaving, Katsuki stared down at him, his face flushed hot, fingers gripping tight onto Izuku’s shoulders as the breath rattled out of his lungs.

Izuku stood between Katsuki’s thighs, his chest heaving as he stared down at him. The overhead desk lamp cast sharp shadows across the room, illuminating Katsuki’s flushed skin, his parted lips, and the wide, dilated red of his eyes. He looked breathless, completely unraveled, and devastatingly pretty. Izuku couldn't tear his gaze away, a fierce, protective wave of adoration chest-deep in his ribs, utterly captivated by how helpless Katsuki looked right at that moment.

Izuku slowly reached up, his thumb gently brushing across Katsuki's bottom lip, tracing the slight swell left by the kiss.

"Do you want to go further?" Izuku murmured, his voice thick and impossibly soft, giving him an out even as his own breathing hitched. "We can stop here. Or...we can keep going. Tell me what you want, Katsuki."

Katsuki froze, a sudden flare of panic warring with the heavy, pulsing ache between his legs. His fingers dug tighter into the fabric of Izuku’s shoulders. He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a raw, defensive whisper that gave away every ounce of his vulnerability.

"I...I haven't..." Katsuki swallowed, looking anywhere else for a second before his crimson eyes snapped back, burning and fiercely proud despite the tremble in his voice. "Shut up. I've never...this is my first time, alright? Don't make a big deal out of it."

Izuku’s expression softened completely, the intense heat in his eyes melting into something profoundly tender. A quiet, reassuring smile touched his lips as he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right to the corner of Katsuki's jaw, then to his scarred cheek.

"It's okay," Izuku whispered against his skin, his hands sliding up to cup Katsuki's face, holding him steady. "I'll take care of you, I promise. If it gets too much, or if you want to stop, you just have to tell me, okay?"

Katsuki let out a shaky, breathless exhale, his shoulders dropping. The hesitation evaporated, replaced by a sharp, burning wave of impatience. He didn't want to stop. He didn't want to wait a second longer.

"I don't want to stop," Katsuki muttered, his voice rough and desperate as he caught the front of Izuku's shirt and yanked him right back down into a bruising, hungry kiss. "Shut up and touch me, nerd."

Izuku didn't need to be told twice. He caught Katsuki’s hips in both hands, hauling him flush against the edge of the desk so there was zero space left between them.

The angle had Katsuki completely caged, his thighs locked tightly around Izuku’s waist to keep from sliding off. Every shift of their weight sent a heavy, friction-laden jolt straight through him, making Katsuki’s breath hitch sharply in his throat. His fingers scrambled blindly for a grip, finally hooking into the thick curls at the nape of Izuku's neck.

When Izuku finally broke the kiss, he didn't pull away. He rested his forehead against Katsuki’s, his chest heaving as his dark eyes locked onto Katsuki's flushed, dilated face in the dim light.

"You're driving me crazy, Katsuki," Izuku murmured, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly rasp right against his lips. "Look at you...completely mine on this desk"

With a shaky, defiant breath, Katsuki let out a low, breathy scoff, his fingers tightening in Izuku's green curls as he pulled him right back in by a fraction of an inch.

"Don't flatter yourself, nerd," Katsuki rasped out, his voice trembling just enough to betray how completely shattered his composure actually was. "I'm just...testing if you can handle it."

A dark, pleased sound vibrated in Izuku’s chest. He didn't give Katsuki a second to recover before his hands slid down from his hips, pressing firmly into the curves of Katsuki’s thighs. With a sudden, effortless display of the raw, solid strength hidden beneath his lean frame, Izuku just hoisted him up.

The contrast was staggering. Izuku was broader, a solid wall of muscle anchored firmly to the floor, while Katsuki—despite his own strength and built physique—was effortlessly lifted, his body folding instantly to fit flush against Izuku's frame. Katsuki’s instincts flared, his legs snapping around Izuku’s waist and his arms wrapping tightly around his neck to catch his balance as the shift in altitude left him momentarily breathless.

The way Izuku handled him—not with awkward fumbling, but with total, confident control, holding his entire weight as if he weighed nothing at all—hit Katsuki somewhere deep in his chest. It was suffocatingly hot, a silent reminder of the physical disparity between them that Katsuki usually fought tooth and nail against, but right now, feeling the hard press of Izuku's biceps and the secure band of his arms locked around his lower back, it made something inside Katsuki melt.

Before Katsuki could find his voice to snap about it, Izuku turned on his heel, carrying him effortlessly away from the desk and across the small room toward the bed. Every heavy, deliberate step sent a jolt of friction through them, and Katsuki buried his face half-ashamedly into the crook of Izuku’s neck, his grip tightening frantically as the mattress finally hit the back of his knees.

as Izuku lowered him down, the descent slow and deliberate, Katsuki sank back against the soft sheets, but before he could even try to pull him down, Izuku followed him right in, settling heavily between his thighs and trapping him beneath his frame. 

The mattress dipped under their combined weight, and the shift in posture changed everything. On the desk, Katsuki had still held a fraction of height, a precarious sort of leverage; here, pinned completely beneath Izuku's broader shoulders and solid, unyielding weight, the reality of the size and strength difference settled over him like a physical blanket.

Izuku propped himself up slightly on one elbow, his other hand coming down to press flat against the mattress right beside Katsuki’s head. His green hair fell forward, a few stray curls brushing against Katsuki’s cheek as he looked down at him with a dark, heavy intensity. Then, he shifted back up. His hands moved from Katsuki's waist to the hem of his t-shirt, hooking underneath the fabric. With a slow, deliberate motion, Izuku pulled the shirt up and over Katsuki's head, tossing it aside into the shadows of the room.

He leaned down, pressing a lingering, reverent kiss to the center of Katsuki's chest, right over his wildly hammering heart. From there, Izuku’s lips traced a slow, scorching path downward, pressing warm, lingering kisses across his flat stomach, making Katsuki’s entire body bow upward with a sharp, involuntary gasp.

Izuku's large, strong hands clamped firmly onto Katsuki's narrower waist, anchoring him flush against the mattress as his palms burned hot against the bare skin. Every slow, intentional slide of Izuku's mouth lower down sent a dizzying wave of heat straight through Katsuki, his fingers curling frantically into the bedsheets as he surrendered completely to the weight and warmth pressing him down.

Every flick of his tongue and press of his lips drew a sharp, ragged gasp from Katsuki’s throat, his fingers flying up to tangle frantically into the green curls at the back of Izuku’s head.

"Izuku—" Katsuki breathed out, a broken, breathless sound as he tried to arch upward, chasing friction, chasing anything to anchor himself against the overwhelming wave of heat flooding his system. His body felt hyper-sensitive, every inch of his skin burning beneath the contrast of Izuku’s larger, heavier frame completely blanketing him.

One of Izuku’s large hands slid up from Katsuki’s waist, his thumb gently smoothing over the damp skin of his cheek before tracing the line of his trembling lower lip.

"So pretty," Izuku murmured, his voice a rough, gravelly hum that vibrated right against Katsuki’s mouth before he leaned in to capture his lips again in a deep, swallowing kiss.

While his lips kept Katsuki silenced in a bruising, hungry collision, Izuku’s hand shifted lower, his fingers sliding down to the waistband of Katsuki’s remaining clothes. He didn't rush, letting his touch linger with a deliberate, asking pressure, giving Katsuki every chance to pull back—though the way Katsuki's legs parted instinctively around Izuku's hips made it entirely clear there was no intention of stopping.

Izuku’s hand slides smoothly beneath the elastic of Katsuki’s pants and underwear, his warm palm pressing firmly against his dick. With every deliberate stroke and touch, Katsuki lets out a soft, breathless whimper, his hips chasing the friction and desperately begging for more.

Suddenly, the warmth vanishes. Izuku pulls his hand away and reaches for the hem of his own shirt, lifting it up and stripping it off in one quick motion.

Katsuki freezes, blinking through a haze of heavy-lidded heat. The sudden movement catches him completely off guard—he’s never seen Izuku shirtless before. The lean, defined lines of his chest and the sharp cut of his abs catch the dim light, making him look devastatingly striking in Katsuki’s eyes. The unexpected sight hits Katsuki like a physical blow, sending a fresh spike of heat straight to his core and making him throb even harder against his pants.

A ragged breath stutters out of Katsuki’s chest, his fingers twitching against the sheets as he stares. The smug, quiet control he usually wears like armor is completely dismantled, replaced by raw, unfiltered hunger.

"The hell..." Katsuki breathes out, his voice rough and stripped of its usual bite. He tries to glare, but it lacks any real heat, his gaze helplessly tracking the lean slope of Izuku's shoulders and the way his muscles shift as he moves. Every breath feels tighter, hotter, the anticipation spiking so sharp it borders on painful.

Before Katsuki can pull himself together or demand what the hell Izuku thinks he's doing stopping now, Izuku steps back into his space. The warmth of his bare chest radiates against Katsuki’s skin, an overwhelming, perfect distraction. His palm wraps firmly around Katsuki again while his other hand grips Katsuki’s jaw, tilting his face up.

"Don't look away," Izuku murmurs, his thumb brushing over Katsuki’s bottom lip.

The low, steady command short-circuits whatever defiance Katsuki had left. With a frustrated, desperate sound, Katsuki surges upward, chasing the touch and blindly seeking out Izuku's mouth, desperate to close the distance and finally get what he's begging for. but right before they touch, Izuku pulls back.

A sharp, betrayed whine tears out of Katsuki’s throat before he can stop it, his hands grabbing at izuku's chest. The abrupt denial leaves him spinning, his body aching for a collision that never comes.

"Don't rush," Izuku whispers, and shifts his weight, keeping his face millimeters away while his hands go to work. His fingers tighten around Katsuki, establishing a steady, agonizingly deliberate rhythm against him. Every slide of his palm is calculated to punish and reward all at once, stroking him smoothly through his underwear and drawing out every last shuddering gasp, leaving Katsuki trapped in the friction, desperate and utterly undone.

"Please—fuck, Izuku," Katsuki begs, his voice cracking on a ragged gasp as his hips buck upward, chasing the friction with frantic, uncoordinated desperation. He claws at the waistband of his pants and underwear, his eyes wild and glossed with heat. "Take this off, get it off me, I need you—"

He doesn't even have to finish the plea.

Izuku’s eyes lock onto his, and he immediately complies. With a swift, efficient movement, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of Katsuki’s pants and underwear, stripping them down and casting them aside in one smooth motion.

The sudden rush of cool air against Katsuki's heated skin lasts only a second before Izuku slides right back between his thighs.

"Spread your legs, Katsuki," Izuku murmurs, his voice deep and steady.

Katsuki’s breath catches, his legs parting wider without a second thought.

Izuku’s thumb presses firmly against the tip, dragging a raw, shuddering gasp straight from Katsuki’s chest. Every slide of Izuku’s hand sends a blinding jolt of heat straight up his spine.

Katsuki’s back arches off the mattress, his heels digging helplessly into the sheets as he chases the touch. "Fuck—Izuku—" he chokes out, his hands flying up to grip the meat of Izuku’s shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks.

Izuku’s palm slids up and down in a rhythmic, mercilessly steady cadence that immediately short-circuits any coherent thought left in Katsuki’s head. The friction is sharp and overwhelming, building the heat so fast that Katsuki’s vision blurs at the edges. He groans low in his throat, his hips stuttering upward to match the pace, chasing the edge with frantic, uncoordinated desperation.

Right as Katsuki’s breath catches and his body tightens, bracing for the peak, the movement abruptly stops.

A sharp, cheated whine tears past Katsuki’s lips, before the complaint can fully form, Izuku cuts him off, his expression intensely focused. He pulls his hand away from Katsuki’s length and brings his fingers up, sliding two of them straight into Katsuki’s mouth.

Katsuki’s jaw clenches instinctively around the intrusion, his teeth grazing over the knuckles as he instinctively sucks and coats the skin with hot saliva, too far gone and too desperate to argue. He tastes the salt of his own skin and the heat of the room, his tongue swirling sluggishly around the fingers until they’re thoroughly slicked.

The wet, glistening sound of Katsuki sucking his fingers slick cuts through the heavy air, completely breaking Izuku's composure.

Watching Katsuki’s flushed face, his heavy-lidded eyes looking up through a haze of pure obedience, and the way his tongue swirls submissively around the knuckles to coat them sends an immediate, violent jolt of heat straight to Izuku’s dick. The unfiltered sight of Katsuki looking like this—ruined, compliant, and desperate—hits him like a physical blow.

A sharp, ragged breath catches in Izuku’s throat, his own control fracturing as he feels himself harden heavily against the inside of his pants, the friction suddenly torturous.

Izuku’s dark gaze flares, his hand trembling slightly with renewed urgency as he pulls his wet fingers out of Katsuki’s mouth. He shifts lower between Katsuki’s thighs, his voice dropping an octave, thick and rough with sudden need.

"Fuck, you look so hot like that," Izuku murmurs, the quiet praise slipping out before he can stop it, his thumb pressing that slick, saliva-coated finger right against Katsuki’s entrance to finally push inside.

The single finger slides inward, slow and deliberate, stretching Katsuki tight.

A sharp, breathy gasp tears from Katsuki’s throat, his back bowing off the mattress as his heels dig deep into the sheets. The sudden, internal pressure is intense, making every nerve ending fire at once. His fingers fly up, gripping the damp fabric of the pillow beneath his head as he tries to center himself around the strange, heavy fullness.

"You're doing so well," Izuku whispers, his voice thick, strained, and vibrating with the same heavy desire making his own blood rush. He keeps that first finger completely still inside, letting Katsuki’s body adjust to the stretch while his thumb traces a slow, soothing circle against his slick entrance, easing away the initial shock.

Katsuki’s chest heaves, the agonizingly slow pace is driving him insane, his hips twitching a fraction of an inch forward, silently demanding more even as his body adapts to the width.

Once Katsuki’s breathing evens out and his body stops fighting the initial tension, Izuku doesn't waste time making him wait too long.

He curls his hand slightly, pressing a second finger inward to join the first. Because of how broad and thick Izuku’s fingers are compared to his own, the addition instantly stretches Katsuki tight, making him feel completely full with just the two of them.

A choked, breathless noise slips past Katsuki’s lips, his hips stuttering downward against the mattress as the deeper, heavier pressure settles in.

"I know, I've got you," Izuku says, holding them steady inside him for a moment to let the intense stretch register. Once the burning edge softens into a heavy ache, he starts to move, curling his fingers upward in a slow, deliberate rhythm that drags a fresh, shuddering groan right out of Katsuki's chest.

A continuous, breathless stream of whimpers slips past Katsuki’s lips, his voice high and entirely uninhibited as he rides out the movement. Izuku keeps his fingers moving in a steady, unhurried cadence, drawing them in and out at a measured pace designed to stretch and warm him up properly.

The methodical speed is pure torture. Katsuki’s head thrashes side to side against the pillow, his toes curling as the friction scrapes against every oversensitive nerve ending inside him.

"Slow—fuck, stop doing it slow," Katsuki pants, his voice cracking on a ragged sob of frustration as he tries to buck his hips backward to force a faster pace. He glares up through watery eyes, his fingers clawing uselessly at Izuku’s forearms. "I don't want slow, give it to me—move faster, damn it!"

Izuku lets out a low, dark growling sound at the demand, his patience snapping.

"Greedy," Izuku murmurs, the restraint completely vanishing from his voice.

Instead of holding back, he curls his fingers upward and hooks them deeper, increasing the pace to match Katsuki’s frantic rhythm. The slow, methodical strokes turn into a firm, driving cadence, hitting every sensitive spot with ruthless precision.

Katsuki’s breath catches in his throat, his vision completely whiting out as a sharp, piercing wave of pleasure crashes over him. He throws his head back, crying out Izuku’s name into the dark room as his whole body trembles, but then Izuku’s hand instantly halts its rhythm, locking his fingers firmly in place right on the edge.

A furious, breathless whine tears out of Katsuki’s throat, his hips jerking upward in an instinctive demand for more friction as he realizes he's being denied. "No, no—dont—izuku please"

"Not yet," Izuku murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly anchor that cuts right through the panic.

Instead of letting him finish, Izuku waits out the initial spike, keeping him right on the precipice of coming. The overwhelming strain of his hard length throbbing painfully against the confines of his pants finally becomes too much to ignore. Izuku pulls his hand out from inside Katsuki with a wet, heavy slide, leaving behind an instant, aching emptiness that draws a sharp gasp from Katsuki’s lips.

Before Katsuki can demand why he stopped, Izuku reaches down, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers, shedding the restrictive fabric and letting his erection spring free.

The sight of it hits the dim room with sudden, staggering impact. Free of restraint, Izuku’s cock is heavy, intensely throbbing, and significantly thicker and longer than Katsuki’s, the head dark and glistening with pre-come.

Katsuki’s breath catches hard in his throat, his eyes widening in a mixture of shock and disbelief as he stares. The sheer size of him is overwhelming, casting a stark contrast right in front of him, and the realization of just how massive Izuku is compared to him sends a fresh, dizzying wave of heat straight to his head.

Katsuki doesn't even have a second to fully process the sight before Izuku is moving again, shifting his weight and settling back between his thighs.

Izuku leans down, his chest brushing against Katsuki's, before sliding two fingers right back inside where he'd left him aching and empty. The sudden return of warmth draws a sharp, breathless gasp from Katsuki, his hips twitching upward on instinct.

Without giving him a moment to adjust, Izuku presses his thumb down, anchoring his hand as he slowly forces a third finger into the tight, oversensitive heat.

The stretch is brutal and absolute. Katsuki’s back arches off the mattress, a choked, high-pitched whimper tearing from his throat as the sheer bulk of three thick fingers fills him completely to capacity. His fingers scramble to grip Izuku’s shoulders, his nails digging in hard as he tries to breathe through the overwhelming, stretching pressure that feels entirely too massive to take.

Izuku stays completely still for a second, letting Katsuki adjust to the size of him, his thumb pressing rhythmically against his slick entrance to keep him grounded.

Slowly, carefully, Izuku begins to move his hand, curling all three fingers upward inside him with a heavy, dragging glide that wrings a shattered, boneless groan straight out of Katsuki's throat.

Katsuki’s legs shake uncontrollably, his heels digging uselessly into the sheets as every slow, deliberate pull of those three thick fingers scrapes against his most sensitive spots. The internal pressure is nearly unbearable, pushing him right back to that dizzy, trembling precipice.

Izuku keeps his pace agonizingly slow, completely refusing to let him rush. He watches closely as Katsuki’s eyes roll back, a steady stream of broken whimpers spilling past his lips with every heavy drag.

"Look at me, Katsuki," Izuku prompts softly, his thumb pressing a firm, grounding circle into his hip to keep him anchored as he curves his fingers deeper inside.

Katsuki’s eyelids flutter open, his chest heaving as he forces his gaze upward. Through a blur of hot, frustrated tears and sheer overstimulation, he meets Izuku’s intense, burning green eyes.

The weight of that look—completely focused, heavy with unfiltered hunger, and entirely in control—sends a fresh jolt of electricity straight down Katsuki's spine.

"God, you're beautiful." Izuku breathes out, a dark, approving edge to his voice as he rewards the eye contact by curling his fingers upward with a agonizingly slow, deep drag. 

Katsuki’s head snaps back against the pillow, a loud, ragged sob tearing from his throat as the heavy pressure hits him all at once, leaving him completely shattered and begging for more.

The intense, dragging rhythm of Izuku’s fingers pushes Katsuki right back to the edge, his breath catching in a high, ragged sob as the familiar heat floods his chest. He can feel the climax threatening to rip right through him, but the overwhelming, stretching ache of those three thick fingers makes him realize he can't wait another second.

Instead of letting go, Katsuki's hands slide up to grip Izuku’s wrists, his fingers trembling violently as he desperately tries to halt the motion.

"Wait—stop, stop," Katsuki pants, his voice cracking on a breathless, whoring sob as he arches his back off the mattress. He glares up through tear-blurred eyes, his cheeks flushing a brilliant, furious crimson as the realization of what he's about to ask hits him. "Don't—Fuck...just put it in, Izuku. Please."

Izuku freezes instantly, his hand locking in place inside him. His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving as he stares down at Katsuki, trying desperately to hold onto whatever frayed threads of restraint he has left.

"Katsuki..." Izuku groans, his voice tight and strained, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he fights the urge. "I dont want to rush—"

"I don't care," Katsuki gasps, a pathetic, high-pitched whimper slipping out as he bucks his hips weakly against Izuku's hand, completely unable to handle the agonizing friction of his own hard, throbbing length going untouched. He reaches up, his hands tangling into the damp curls at the back of Izuku’s neck, pulling him down closer with a desperate, trembling tug. "Please...please, Izuku, I need you. Just—put it in, please."

The sight of Katsuki completely undone beneath him—tear-streaked, flushed, and looking up at him with uncharacteristic, shattered desperation—shatters whatever control Izuku was clinging to.

Izuku lets out a low, shaky exhale that sounds half-groan, half-growl. He looks down at Katsuki’s flushed face, his green eyes dark and wild with a sudden, overwhelming surge of surrender.

"Fuck, you're going to kill me," Izuku mutters roughly.

He slowly and deliberately withdraws his fingers, the sudden emptiness draws a ragged, hollow gasp from Katsuki, his hips twitching downward in an instinctive chase for the lost warmth.

Without breaking eye contact, Izuku reaches blindly to the bedside table, grabbing a foil packet and tearing it open with his teeth. He rolls the condom down over his heavy, throbbing length, his hands steady despite the frantic racing of his own pulse. He shifts his weight between Katsuki’s trembling thighs, sliding forward until the thick, swollen head of his cock rests right against Katsuki’s slick, trembling entrance.

"I've got you, Katsuki. Look at me," Izuku murmurs, his voice a low, steady promise.

Slowly, carefully, he presses the tip forward, letting the wide crown stretch Katsuki's tight, trembling rim just an agonizing millimeter at a time, giving him every second he needs to adjust to the overwhelming, heavy width filling him up.

Katsuki’s hands clench into tight fists in the sheets beneath him, his breath hitching hard in his throat as the thick, heavy pressure of the head presses inward. The sheer width of him is a wall of burning heat, stretching him wider than he’s ever felt before.

Izuku doesn't rush a single second of it. Following his own promise, he moves at a crawl, driving forward just a fraction of an inch at a time. The agonizingly slow pace gives Katsuki's body no choice but to take him, but the stretch is so intense that it feels like being split apart.

A choked, helpless whimper slips past Katsuki’s lips, his back bowing off the mattress as a hot tear slips from the corner of his eye and tracks down his temple.

"Oh, God. Izuku—"

Sensing the overload, Izuku immediately shifts to anchor him. He presses his large hands firmly into the sides of Katsuki’s trembling thighs, bracing him steady while he leans down, closing the distance between them.

"I know, baby, I've got you," Izuku murmurs against his skin, his lips brushing away the tear sliding down Katsuki’s cheek.

He presses a soft, grounding kiss right to the corner of Katsuki’s mouth, then down to his jaw, his slow, deliberate descent continuing millimeter by millimeter. Every tiny adjustment of Izuku's hips draws another ragged, trembling sob from Katsuki, caught somewhere between the overwhelming, tearing ache of being filled to capacity and the tender, grounding warmth of Izuku's hands keeping him tethered.

Katsuki’s nails dig hard into Izuku’s shoulders, his breath coming in shallow, frantic hitches. He can feel every single contour, the sheer thickness of Izuku filling every corner of him in a way that feels heavy, burning, and entirely inescapable.

"Breathe, Kacchan," Izuku whispers, his voice thick with awe and desperate restraint.

He leans in close, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to Katsuki's flushed forehead, then sliding down to catch another tear slipping from the corner of his eye with his lips. With a slow, agonizingly careful shift of his hips, Izuku pushes that final, torturous inch forward, seating himself completely to the hilt.

Katsuki's head lulls back against the pillows, a long, broken sob shaking his entire frame as his body adjusts to the sheer permanence of being completely taken.

Izuku doesn't move. He stays buried deep to the hilt, his breathing harsh and ragged against Katsuki's neck as he fights for his own control. He keeps his hands firmly planted on Katsuki's thighs, his thumbs rubbing soothing, grounding circles into the trembling skin while he waits for Katsuki to process the milestone.

"You're okay...you're doing so good," Izuku murmurs, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to Katsuki's heated jawline, letting him set the pace for what comes next.

Katsuki’s chest heaves under the heavy, unmoving weight of him, his body gradually adjusting to the profound, stretching fullness. The initial shock of being seated completely to the hilt begins to shift, morphing into a deep, throbbing ache that makes every heartbeat feel like it’s echoing right against Izuku’s length.

Slowly, Katsuki lets out a long, shaky exhale, his fingers uncurling from the sheets to press flat against Izuku's chest, feeling the rapid, frantic thump of his heart.

"Don't...don't just sit there," Katsuki whispers, his voice raw, trembling, and laced with a sudden, restless demand. He glares up, his face flushed brilliant crimson, trying to find some leverage. "Move."

Izuku’s eyes darken at the command, a low groan rumbling in the back of his throat as any remaining restraint finally snaps.

He pulls back just an inch—drawing a sharp, greedy gasp from Katsuki—and then drives right back down, slow and agonizingly deep. The motion is heavy and deliberate, stretching Katsuki all over again and dragging a high, shattered cry from his lips.

Izuku doesn't rush, keeping the pace agonizingly steady as he rocks into him, his large frame completely enveloping Katsuki’s. Every slow, grinding slide hits the exact right spot, turning Katsuki’s breathless whimpers into broken, messy syllables as he clings desperately to Izuku’s shoulders, completely at the mercy of the weight and heat of him.

The friction of the slow, grinding pull sends a fresh wave of heat straight to Katsuki’s head, his hips twitching upward on instinct to chase the withdrawal.

"F-fuck..." Katsuki gasps, though his nails dig in harder as he pulls Izuku down by the nape of his neck. "Don't—don't look at me like that."

Izuku pauses, hovering just above him, his chest brushing against Katsuki's as he looks down with an intensity that’s almost suffocating. His green eyes are dark, completely blown wide with a mix of awe and raw, heavy possession.

"Like what?" Izuku murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, rough and breathless right against Katsuki's ear. He shifts his hips by a fraction, making Katsuki's breath hitch sharply. "Like I'm worshipping you? Because I am."

"Shut up," Katsuki whines, a furious, burning blush flooding his cheeks as he tries to turn his head away, though he only ends up exposing the sensitive skin of his throat. A pathetic, high-pitched whimper breaks past his lips when Izuku takes immediate advantage of the movement, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the pulse point there. "Don't say shit like that while you're...while you're moving..."

"Can't help it," Izuku breathes against his skin, his lips curving into a faint, awestruck smile before he starts sliding back down, long and agonizingly deep. "You look too good like this, Katsuki. Completely mine."

Katsuki lets out a ragged, uncontrolled gasp, his back arching off the mattress as Izuku bottoms out inside him with a heavy, deliberate thud. The sheer weight and friction of it rattle right through his chest, scrambling his thoughts until the only thing he can process is the burning, inescapable heat of Izuku filling every single inch.

"God—fuuuck, Izuku," Katsuki stutters, his voice cracking into a high, humiliated whimper as his fingers curl uselessly into Izuku's biceps, trying to push him away and pull him closer all at once. "You're...too big—too much—"

"I know, I've got you," Izuku murmurs, his breath hot against Katsuki's collarbone as he pauses at the very edge of the withdrawal, letting Katsuki adjust to the massive girth before sliding back down with agonizing slowness. "Look at me, Katsuki. Keep your eyes on me."

Katsuki forces his heavy, tear-blurred eyelids open, glaring up with a fierce, trembling defiance that completely betrays how thoroughly undone he is. But the moment his green eyes lock onto the raw, absolute devotion burning in Izuku's expression, his breath stutters and catches in his throat.

"Hate you," Katsuki whispers, though it lacks any kind of real bite, sounding more like a breathless plea as a fresh tear slips down his cheek.

"I know," Izuku whispers back, a rough, fond edge to his voice before he leans down to press a deep, bruising kiss straight to Katsuki's lips, swallowing the next ragged sob as he starts the slow, rhythmic grind all over again.

The steady, agonizing pace finally begins to shift, the friction burning a path straight to Katsuki’s nervous system as Izuku incrementally increases the speed.

Each thrust grows a fraction faster, heavier, and harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the quiet room. Katsuki’s breath shatters into a continuous stream of high, ragged whimpers, his hips bucking upward on instinct to meet the heavier weight driving down into him.

"I—fuck, faster, don't—" Katsuki stutters, his words fragmenting into a breathless scream as Izuku hits a deep, punishing angle that strikes straight against his prostate.

His back bows violently off the mattress, his heels dragging hard against the sheets as white-hot stars flash behind his eyelids. The sheer, overwhelming size of Izuku moving at this increased velocity makes his vision swim; it’s too much, too fast, and yet his body screams for even more.

Above him, Izuku is completely unraveling. The polite, careful control he fought so hard to maintain cracks right down the middle under the sheer heat of Katsuki’s reactions. His chest heaves, sweat beading across his brow and dripping down to catch on his jaw, his green eyes dilating until they are nearly black with raw, primal need.

"You're taking me so well, Katsuki, fuck," Izuku groans, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly rumble that vibrates right through their chests.

He stops holding back his weight, letting his massive frame press down completely, crushing Katsuki into the mattress as he hammers into him with a ruthless, escalating rhythm. Every deep, driving stroke is heavy enough to rattle Katsuki’s teeth, turning his frantic demands into broken, incoherent syllables.

Katsuki’s fingers dig deep enough into Izuku's shoulders to draw crescent-shaped marks into the sweat-slicked skin. He’s completely blind to everything except the blinding, white noise of pleasure and pressure filling every inch of him, his body tightening convulsively around Izuku with every heavy thrust.

The relentless, heavy rhythm drags another shattered sob from Katsuki, his entire body trembling under the weight of Izuku’s deep, punishing strokes. He's floating on the absolute edge, breathless, completely helpless to the sheer friction stretching him open over and over again.

Izuku drives into him a few more times—each thrust slow, deep, and heavy enough to make Katsuki's eyes roll back—before shifting his weight onto one arm. His free hand slides down between their slick, overheated bodies, his large, calloused palm finally wrapping around Katsuki's leaking, agonizingly untouched cock.

The sudden, searing heat of Izuku’s hand against his oversensitive skin causes Katsuki to freeze, a high, strangled gasp catching in his throat.

Izuku matches a firm, fast stroke of his hand with one last agonizingly deep surge of his hips, bottoming out completely. The double assault shatters whatever fragile hold Katsuki had left.

A high, wrecked cry tears from Katsuki’s throat as his back snaps off the bed. He comes hard, white-hot pleasure crashing over him in violent, overwhelming waves, spilling warmth across their stomachs. Inside, his tight, slick walls pulse and clench frantically around Izuku’s length in a series of uncontrollable, desperate spasms.

The sudden, intense tightening of Katsuki’s body around him completely destroys Izuku's remaining control.

With a low, gut-wrenching groan, Izuku buries his face into the crook of Katsuki's neck and drives himself as deep into him as he can go, seating himself to the hilt. He holds himself there, his muscles locking tight as his own climax hits, shuddering violently as he spills heavily into the condom filling Katsuki up.

For a long moment, the room is completely silent except for the sound of their harsh, ragged breathing. Izuku slumps forward, careful not to crush Katsuki completely, keeping his heavy frame anchored over him as their chests rise and fall together in a slow, shared rhythm.

Izuku stays frozen against him for a long moment, pressing slow, reverent kisses to the damp skin of Katsuki’s neck, his lips lingering there as he tries to regulate his breathing before slowly easing his weight up onto his elbows.

Beneath him, Katsuki is completely boneless, his head lolling sideways against the crumpled pillows with his eyes half-closed and a vacant, thoroughly wrecked expression on his flushed face. He’s breathing in shallow, exhausted hitches, too drained to even lift a hand, completely overstimulated from the intensity.

Carefully, Izuku pulls out, wincing softly at the sudden loss of heat before quickly tying off the condom and discarding it. 

Izuku leans over, careful not to jostle Katsuki’s exhausted frame, and pulls a handful of tissues from the nightstand. With slow, gentle movements, he wipes away the mess from Katsuki’s stomach, tossing the tissues aside before pulling the tangled sheets up over them both.

He settles back down against the pillows, gathering Katsuki close against his chest. Izuku wraps a large arm securely around his waist, pressing soft, lingering kisses into his damp blonde hair and murmuring quiet, grounding praise against his scalp.

They lie together in the quiet, tangled warmth of the bed, listening to each other's breathing slow down in the dark—until the sharp, sudden buzz of a text notification breaks the silence from where Katsuki’s phone is face-down on the bedside table, making Katsuki groan softly into the mattress. He blindly reaches out a tired, heavy arm, grabs the screen, and squints at the notification before his eyes snap wide open in sheer horror.

Beside him, Izuku shifts, blinking sleepily before resting his chin heavily on Katsuki’s bare shoulder. Izuku’s green eyes drift over, peering curiously down at the glowing screen just as the first text lights it up.

Dad: hey sweetheart, you’re late today.

Katsuki’s shoulders tense. He huffs a hot breath of air, his thumbs moving stiffly over the keyboard.

Katsuki: with izuku

Dad: ah okay. enjoy.

Katsuki: kay

After a beat.

Dad: are you staying the night with him?

Katsuki freezes mid-type, his cheeks burning hotter. He shoots a venomous, glaring side-eye at Izuku—who is shamelessly reading every single word with an intensely amused, knowing smirk—before hastily tapping out a reply.

Katsuki: probably

Dad: be safe. and use protection

Katsuki’s whole body locks up. A high, strangled squeak slips out of his throat, and he instinctively tries to yank the phone out of sight, his face buried deep in his hands. Izuku leans in closer, reading over his shoulder and fighting back a laugh.

Katsuki: omg??? dad stop

Dad: i’m serious katsuki

Katsuki buries his face harder into the pillow, his eyes squinting in pure humiliation as he types back with one trembling hand.

Katsuki: okay omfg

Dad: and be back by noon tomorrow please.

Katsuki: ugh fine

Dad: i love you. be safe.

Katsuki: lyt

As soon as Katsuki hits send, he drops the phone face-down onto the mattress and groans into the sheets, looking entirely ready to melt into a puddle of pure embarrassment.

Izuku wraps an arm tight around his waist, pulling him back flush against his chest while pressing a warm, lingering kiss right into Katsuki's flushed hair. "Good advice," Izuku murmurs, his voice dripping with playful amusement right against Katsuki's ear. "Think we need to follow up on that before noon tomorrow?"

"Shut the fuck up," Katsuki mutters miserably into the pillow, though he doesn't pull away.

After a few quiet minutes, the heat slowly drains from Katsuki’s face, leaving behind only a quiet, heavy stillness in the room. His gaze drifts from the glowing phone screen down to the thick, pale expanse of Izuku’s arm resting across his waist. The rugged scars tracking across the warm, corded muscle catch the faint light spilling from the hallway. He traces the familiar, jagged lines with his eyes, a silent testament to everything Izuku carries, before slowly lifting his hand.

Katsuki’s fingers slide down to meet Izuku’s, slipping between them to intertwine their hands. The contrast hits him instantly—his own hand swallowed entirely by the massive size and heat of Izuku’s palm.

Without missing a beat, Izuku’s fingers instinctively twitch and tighten around his, a reassuring, grounding squeeze that locks them firmly together.

Katsuki slowly turns his head, lifting his eyes from their joined hands to trace up the expanse of Izuku’s chest and throat, finally meeting his gaze. But before he can look into those deep green eyes, his attention snag on the stark, jagged scar sitting just beneath Izuku's eye.

Izuku doesn't move or break contact. He just stares steadily back down at him, his expression softened into a quiet, intense focus, silently watching every shift in Katsuki's expression as he tries to read the unspoken thoughts swirling behind those crimson eyes.

Izuku’s thumb moves slowly, tracing the quiet contours of Katsuki’s hand still locked in his before his gaze shifts. His eyes soften, dark green catching the faint shadows of the room as he watches Katsuki study him.

Slowly, deliberately, Izuku lifts his free hand.

His large, calloused fingertips brush past Katsuki’s cheek, feather-light and infinitely gentle, before pausing right at the edge of the jagged, faded scar sitting just beneath Katsuki's eye. He traces the pale line with a slow, feather-soft caress, his touch sending a quiet shiver down Katsuki's spine.

"Where'd you get that scar from?" Izuku asks softly, his voice a low, raspy murmur in the dark, mirroring the quiet curiosity in his eyes as he studies the mark that matches the ghost of his own.

Katsuki’s gaze flickers down for a fraction of a second, a faint, involuntary twitch of his jaw betraying the memory before he looks back up into Izuku’s steady eyes.

"Kaito," Katsuki mutters, his voice raspy and low in the quiet room.

The name alone is enough to change the air in the space between them. The gentle, contemplative softness in Izuku’s expression vanishes in an instant, replaced by a sudden, sharp hardening of his jaw. His shoulders tense beneath the skin, and the grip of his hand around Katsuki’s tightens automatically, a primitive, protective spike of heat flooding his system at the mere mention of anyone marking Katsuki’s face.

"When?" Izuku asks, the word slipping out tight and low, the green in his eyes flashing with a sudden, dangerous edge. "What happened?"

Katsuki rolls his eyes, catching the shift in Izuku instantly, and gives a short, dismissive huff of breath. "Relax, you giant idiot, it was years ago. We were like, eight."

"And it was an accident," Katsuki sighs, shifting slightly so his cheek presses a little closer into the warm weight of Izuku’s palm. "We were messing around in the woods behind the old district—some stupid game, trying to see who could scale the lower branches of that massive oak tree. I slipped, and Kaito reached out to grab my shirt to keep me from face-planting into the rocks."

Katsuki offers a brief, self-deprecating grimace, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a half-smile. "Except his grip caught on the metal buckle of my pack instead, and when I went down, it whipped back and clipped me right across the bone. Bled like an absolute bastard, scared Kaito half to death—he cried more than I did, honestly."

The dangerous tension slowly bleeds out of Izuku’s frame, replaced by a quiet, fond exhale. His thumb resumes its slow, soothing stroke against Katsuki’s cheekbone, tracing the edge of the memory with a deep, silent reverence.

"Idiots," Izuku murmurs softly, though a faint, affectionate smile touches his lips.

"Shut up," Katsuki mutters back, though he leans lazily into the touch, letting his eyes drift half-shut as the lingering ghost of the past fades back into the quiet safety of the room.

As the quiet settles back over the room, Katsuki’s fingers drift away from their joined hands. His gaze trails down the expanse of Izuku’s chest, his thumb slowly tracing the rugged lines and pale constellation of scars littering Izuku’s thick arms.

"What about these?" Katsuki asks quietly, his voice a low rasp as he nudges one jagged line near Izuku's wrist with his knuckle. "You look like you've been put through a meat grinder half the time. Where'd all these come from?"

Izuku gives a soft, self-deprecating huff of laughter, his chest rumbling against Katsuki's side. "Oh, those? Mostly just workshop disasters. Dealing with heavy custom parts and high-torque machinery means I catch the stray shrapnel or friction burns more often than I'd like to admit when a prototype decides to violently disassemble itself."

Katsuki hums, his fingers pausing over a particularly thick, faded line on Izuku's forearm before moving back up to frame his jaw. His eyes drift upward, lingering on the stark, jagged mark sitting right beneath Izuku's eye.

"And this one?" Katsuki murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly over the edge of it. "Don't tell me a prototype did that too."

Izuku's expression softens, a rueful, lopsided smile touching his mouth as he leans slightly into Katsuki's touch. "Yeah, actually. That one was a brilliant engineering disaster from a couple of years ago. I was working on a heavy-duty gear assembly for a client's kinetic display, and a high-tension gear housing completely sheared off under pressure. It snapped right out of place and whipped across my face before I even had time to blink."

Izuku lets out a quiet breath, shaking his head at the memory. "Cleaned me wide open. Blood went everywhere, and I spent half the night in the ER listening to the doctor lecture me about safety goggles."

Katsuki lets out a low, amused huff against Izuku’s skin, his thumb lingering over the pale edge of the scar beneath Izuku’s eye.

"Stupid," Katsuki murmurs, the insult entirely devoid of bite, softening into something warm and heavy in the dim light. "Could've blinded yourself, you absolute idiot."

"I survived," Izuku replies softly, a quiet, rumbling chuckle vibrating in his chest. His hand slides up from Katsuki’s waist, his fingers tangling gently into the soft blonde strands at the nape of Katsuki’s neck, thumb brushing the sensitive skin right behind his ear.

The movement makes a subtle shiver run down Katsuki’s spine, the lingering exhaustion of the night wrapping around them like a heavy blanket, but the quiet intimacy between them only deepens. Instead of pulling away, Katsuki lets his eyelids drift closed, shifting closer until his forehead rests right against Izuku’s warm, solid collarbone.

Then, the quiet is broken by Izuku's voice, low and steady against the quiet.

"What does this make us, Katsuki?"

The words hang in the air, instantly shattering the drowsy peace. Katsuki freezes completely, his eyes snapping wide open. He pushes himself away from Izuku's chest, staring up at him with an incredulous, murderous glare, his face instantly catching fire.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Katsuki spits out, his voice sharp and choked with sudden, acute mortification. "You're seriously bringing this up right now?"

"What?" Izuku asks innocently, though a dangerous, knowing glint flickers in his green eyes. He doesn't look remotely apologetic as his large hands settle firmly on Katsuki's waist, keeping him anchored right where he is. "We can't just pretend it didn't happen. You don't get to call someone your—"

"Shut up! Shut your fucking mouth, do not finish that sentence!" Katsuki lunges forward, slapping his hand right over Izuku's mouth to cut him off, a crimson flush burning all the way down his neck.

His mind races back to the heat of it, to the way Izuku had growled mine and baby against his skin like it was the most natural thing in the world while he was falling apart underneath him. At the time, Katsuki had been too entirely out of his mind on pleasure and friction to process how humiliating it actually was in hindsight.

Izuku’s eyes crinkle at the corners in pure amusement beneath Katsuki’s hand, a low, rumbling laugh vibrating directly against Katsuki’s palm. He gently catches Katsuki’s wrist, pulling his hand away just enough to speak.

"You didn't seem to mind when you were crying my name," Izuku murmurs softly, his voice dropping an octave into something dangerously sweet and teasing.

"I was out of my fucking mind!" Katsuki snaps back, looking ready to combust into actual flames as he tries to yank his hand free, though Izuku just holds it tighter, lacing their fingers together. "That doesn't mean anything—we didn't have a goddamn meeting about labels, Izuku. We just...this is stupid. Drop it."

The room falls dead silent.

Izuku’s hands, which had been resting firmly and playfully on Katsuki’s waist, slowly lose their tension. He stops smiling. The amusement vanishes entirely from his green eyes, replaced by a sudden, shuttered look of quiet deflation. He lets out a slow, shallow breath, his grip loosening as he carefully untangles his fingers from Katsuki’s and lets his arms drop flat against the mattress.

"Right," Izuku murmurs, his voice dropping into a flat, quiet tone that sounds entirely uncharacteristic of him. He turns his head slightly, staring up at the ceiling instead of looking at Katsuki. "Yeah. Okay. Forget I said anything."

The sudden shift in the air is jarring. Katsuki, who had been bracing himself for another round of bickering, freezes.

He looks at Izuku—at the sudden, heavy slump of his massive shoulders, the way the warmth seems to have completely drained out of him, and the tight, careful line of his jaw. Izuku isn't teasing anymore. He genuinely thinks Katsuki meant that none of it mattered, that calling him mine in the dark was just a meaningless byproduct of a heat-addled hookup with his best friend’s obnoxious younger brother.

Panic, sharp and cold, spikes straight through Katsuki’s chest.

"Wait—hold on," Katsuki stutters, his voice cracking slightly as he scrambles up, hovering over Izuku's chest. "That's not—fuck, that's not what I meant."

Izuku keeps his eyes stubbornly fixed on the ceiling, though his throat bobs as he swallows hard. "It's fine, Katsuki. Really. We’re just...messing around. I get it."

"No, you don't get it, you giant idiot," Katsuki snaps, his voice pitching higher out of sheer frustration and embarrassment. He grabs the front of Izuku’s shoulders, giving him a rough shake to force him to look back down. "Stop looking like that. Look at me."

Slowly, reluctantly, Izuku lowers his gaze to meet Katsuki’s wide, frantic crimson eyes.

Katsuki’s breath catches. His face burns like a live wire, the confession choking him from the inside out, but seeing the genuine hurt hidden behind Izuku's heavy gaze makes all his defensive walls crumble into dust.

"I didn't mean it didn't mean anything," Katsuki whispers, the words dragging out of him like pulling teeth, his voice trembling on the edge of a raw, exposed panic. "Fuck. I wasn't...I wasn't out of my mind because it was fake. I was just terrified because it meant everything."

Izuku blinks, his breath hitching as the words finally register. The rigid tension in his shoulders begins to melt.

"What?" Izuku breathes out, his voice a fragile, disbelieving murmur.

Katsuki buries his burning face in his hands for a fraction of a second, groaning miserably into his palms before dragging them down, forcing himself to stare right back into Izuku’s eyes.

"I've been in love with you since the second Kaito brought you over to the house last month, you absolute moron," Katsuki fires out all at once, his voice cracking with humiliation, a fierce, helpless flush spreading from his collarbones all the way to the tips of his ears. "So don't sit there acting like I don't want this. I've wanted it since the day I met you. I just...I'm terrible at this. Okay?"

For a second, Izuku doesn't move at all. He just stares up at Katsuki, the enormity of the confession washing over him in slow motion. Then, a slow, disbelieving, radiant smile breaks across his face—the softest, most genuine expression Katsuki has ever seen on him.

"I've liked you since then too," Instead of any dramatic rush, Izuku simply shifted to face him, pressing a slow, unhurried kiss to Katsuki's mouth. It's soft and deliberate, grounded in the quiet safety of the room, until Katsuki lets out a breath against his lips, his hands lifting to rest easily against the back of Izuku's neck.

"What about Kaito?" Katsuki asks quietly into the dark, his voice losing its edge as he shifts his gaze away, staring up at the ceiling instead. "Have you talked to him since the...since the blowup?"

Izuku stops tracing his thumb against Katsuki's skin, his expression sobering instantly as the reminder of the fight settles over them.

"Yeah," Izuku answers softly, shifting his weight so he's propped up on one elbow, looking down at Katsuki with a steady, reassuring look. "I talked to him yesterday."

Katsuki’s jaw tightens just a fraction, a flicker of residual tension crossing his face. "And?"

"We're good," Izuku says, his tone firm and even. "He apologized. He realized he was way out of line losing his temper like that, and...he said sorry for accusing me of defending you just because of some messed-up idea that we were sleeping together." Izuku pauses, a faint, lopsided smile touching the corner of his mouth. "Even though its true now. He knows he was being an idiot. It’s going to take a little time for things to completely go back to normal, but he's your brother. He cares about you, and we're on good terms now."

Katsuki lets out a long, slow breath, the last bit of underlying anxiety he hadn't even realized he was holding finally draining out of his chest. He closes his eyes for a second, letting the relief settle deep into his bones before looking back up at Izuku, a dry, self-deprecating huff escaping him.

"Unbelievable," Katsuki mutters, though the corners of his mouth twitch upward in a faint, reluctant smirk. "My own damn brother had to be the one to clear the air so we could finally figure our shit out."

Izuku laughs softly, a warm, rumbling sound, and leans down to press a quiet, lingering kiss to Katsuki's forehead. "Well. At least one good thing came out of it."

Before Katsuki can think of a suitably sarcastic reply, the sharp, distinct buzz of a phone vibrating cuts through the quiet of the bedroom. The device is sitting on the nightstand, its screen flashing brightly against the dark wood.

Izuku glances over, blinking in the dim light as the notification banner pops up, displaying a text message from Kaito.

Katsuki groans, burying his face directly into Izuku’s shoulder with a muffled curse. "Are you kidding me. The second we actually talk about him."

Izuku can't help the chuckle that bubbles up in his chest, reaching blindly over to grab the phone off the table. He taps the screen to unlock it, his eyes scanning the message.

Kaito: Hey. You awake? Heading your way, I'm dropping off those extra blueprints at your dorm now. Open up.

The words hit the room like a bucket of ice water.

Katsuki freezes completely, his eyes blowing wide open as he snaps his head up from Izuku's chest. All the comfortable, sleepy warmth instantly evaporates, replaced by a spike of absolute, unadulterated panic.

"Right now?!" Izuku scrambles, his own eyes widening in horror as he stares at the glowing screen. "Wait, no, he didn't ask, he's literally already outside—"

A sharp, distinct rap echoes against Izuku's dorm room door.

“Izuku? You in there, man? Open up, I know you’re awake,” Kaito’s voice calls out from the hallway, muffled through the heavy wood.

Katsuki’s face drains of all color. He looks frantically around the dark room, eyes darting from Izuku’s rumpled bed to the scattered clothes on the floor, and back to Izuku with pure murder in his crimson gaze. If Kaito walked in right now—after everything, after sleeping together, after barely surviving an explosive fight—Katsuki would genuinely throw himself out the window.

"If he opens this door," Katsuki mouths, his voice shaking with sheer mortification as he aggressively grabs the nearest blanket to cover himself, "I am going to murder you, and then I am going to murder my brother, and then I am going to dig a hole and live in it."

"Okay, okay, don't panic," Izuku whispers back, though his own heart is hammering wildly against his ribs as he throws the covers off and scrambles out of bed, grabbing a pair of sweatpants off the floor.

Izuku manages to yank his sweatpants on with a violent tug, while Katsuki, half-blind with adrenaline and tripping over his own feet, grabs the first piece of fabric he can paw at in the dark. He shoves his arms through, completely failing to realize in the panic that he’s grabbed Izuku’s t-shirt instead of his own.

“Izuku, seriously, if you’re asleep in there I’m breaking the lock,” Kaito’s voice warns from the hallway, accompanied by another heavy rattle of the doorknob.

"Coming! Just a second!" Izuku yells, his voice cracking horribly as he frantically shoves Katsuki toward the bathroom. "Hide—stay in there, don't make a sound—"

Katsuki dives into the bathroom, slamming the door shut with a muffled click just as Izuku throws the main dorm door open.

Izuku stands in the frame looking like an absolute disaster: hair sticking up in every possible direction, breathing hard, entirely shirtless, and hastily pulling the drawstring of his sweatpants tight.

Kaito blinks, freezing mid-stride on the threshold with a stack of rolled-up blueprints in his hands. He looks Izuku up and down, taking in the flushed skin, the heavy panting, and the thoroughly disheveled state of his best friend. A slow, deeply suspicious frown starts to form on Kaito’s face.

"What took you so long?" Kaito asks, his eyes narrowing. "Were you...sleeping? You look like you just ran a marathon."

"N-no! Not sleeping, just...working on stuff. You know how it is," Izuku stammers, desperately blocking the doorway with his massive frame, smiling way too wide to look even remotely natural.

"Right," Kaito says skeptically, holding out the heavy tube of blueprints. "Well, here. These are the revised specs for the kinetic display. I dropped them off because I was around, but jeez, put a shirt on, man. You look like you're about to pass out."

"Thanks, I'll look at them tomorrow, appreciate it, bye—" Izuku starts, aggressively trying to nudge Kaito backward out the door.

But Kaito doesn't move. As he steps forward to shove the blueprints into Izuku’s chest, his gaze drifts past Izuku’s shoulder into the dimly lit room.

From the corner of his eye, right there on the floor near the edge of the unmade bed, something catches his attention. A distinct piece of fabric. A shirt in a very specific, recognizable dark shade with an unmistakable logo that Kaito has seen thrown across his own living room couch a thousand times.

Kaito’s hand freezes mid-air, the blueprints rolling slightly in his grip. His eyes dart from the shirt on the floor, back to Izuku’s flushed, panicking face, and then slowly toward the closed bathroom door down the hall.

Kaito’s voice drops dead flat, the suspicion instantly curdling into cold horror.

"Izuku," Kaito says, his gaze locking onto the dark fabric crumpled near the bed. "Why is my brother’s shirt on your floor?"

Izuku’s heart slams violently against his ribs. He immediately steps wider, trying to block Kaito's line of sight with his own body. "Uh—the shirt? Oh! Right, well, you know how Katsuki has some really cool shirts—thought it was cool so i got a similar one, yeah—must've rolled out of the laundry basket—"

"My brother wears an extra-large, custom-dyed dark charcoal shirt that I bought him for his birthday," Kaito cuts in, his voice dangerously low. He points a shaking finger past Izuku’s shoulder. "That isn't in a laundry basket. It’s right there on the floor, next to your bed, inside-out. And you're standing here half-naked looking like you just crawled out of a disaster zone."

"Kaito, seriously, you're overthinking it, it's just a coincidence—" Izuku stammers, sweat beading at his hairline as he desperately tries to hold his ground.

"Move," Kaito snaps, shoving past Izuku with a sudden, furious burst of strength.

Izuku stumbles back, too panicked to push him away hard enough. Kaito strides right into the center of the dorm room, his eyes scanning the rumpled sheets, the scattered clothes, and finally locking onto the closed wooden door of the ensuite bathroom.

"Kaito, wait—" Izuku lunges forward, but he's too late.

Kaito reaches the bathroom door and grabs the handle. He tries to twist it, but it doesn't budge. It's locked tight from the inside.

The silence in the room becomes deafening.

Kaito’s hand stays frozen on the knob. His breathing turns shallow and sharp, every piece of the impossible puzzle snapping together with brutal clarity: the fight, the accusations Kaito had hurled just days ago, the way Izuku had defended Katsuki with a little too much heat, and now, standing in front of a locked bathroom door at midnight in a room smelling faintly of lingering heat and sweat.

Izuku braces himself, shoulders hunched, waiting for the screaming to start. He opens his mouth to throw out some desperate, half-baked defense—anything to stop the impending explosion.

"Kaito, look, I can explain—"

"Shut up, Izuku," Kaito says. His voice isn't loud. It doesn't shake with the red-hot fury Izuku was bracing for. Instead, it’s completely hollow, stripped of all momentum as the sheer absurdity of the realization washes over him.

Kaito slowly drops his hand from the doorknob, stepping back half a pace. He runs a hand down his face, dragging his palm over his eyes as a long, exhausted sigh rattles out of his chest. All the fight drains right out of him, replaced by a profound, bewildering disbelief.

"Unbelievable," Kaito mutters to the empty air, shaking his head slowly. "You've got to be kidding me."

He doesn't lunge for the handle again. He doesn't start smashing things or screaming about betrayal. He just stands there, processing the terrifying, hilarious, deeply inconvenient truth that his best friend and his annoying younger brother are somehow, inexplicably, tangled up together.

After a long, agonizing beat of silence, Kaito turns his head back toward the locked bathroom door, his expression a mix of lingering shock and dry, exhausted resignation.

"I know you're in there, asshole," Kaito calls out, his tone flat. "You can stop holding your breath. Just...get your clothes on and get out here."

The heavy wooden door clicks, and it slowly swings open a few inches.

Katsuki steps out of the bathroom, looking every bit like a cornered animal forced to face the music. The oversized fabric of Izuku’s shirt drowns his frame, hanging loosely past his hips and slipping off one sharp shoulder. The sleeves are bunched up near his elbows, and the hem completely swallows the shorts he managed to yank on in the dark, giving the whole outfit an undeniably ridiculous, stolen-clothes look that completely undermines any attempt at looking intimidating.

Katsuki glares at the floor, his ears burning a fierce, incandescent red as he crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

Kaito stares at him. He takes in the absolute disaster of his younger brother standing in his best friend's dorm room, wearing a shirt large enough to double as a tent, looking both ready to commit murder and wishing the floor would swallow him whole.

For three agonizing seconds, nobody says a word.

Then, Kaito’s lips twitch. He pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a sharp, incredulous huff of laughter that he clearly tries and fails to suppress.

"You look ridiculous," Kaito deadpans, though there's no real heat left in it, just sheer, unadulterated disbelief.

"Shut the fuck up," Katsuki snaps instantly, his voice cracking with mortification as he aggressively tugs the collar of the shirt up. "Don't say a single fucking word, Kaito, or I swear to God—"

"I didn't say anything!" Kaito holds his hands up in mock surrender, a reluctant grin breaking through his exhaustion. He shakes his head, looking back and forth between Izuku, who is still standing frozen like a statue, and Katsuki's glaring, humiliated face. "Unbelievable. Literally unbelievable."

Katsuki glares daggers at his brother, his face burning hotter by the second, but before he can unleash a proper threat, Kaito’s expression shifts, a sudden thought dawning on him as he looks Katsuki up and down again.

"Wait," Kaito says, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Does Dad know you're here?"

Katsuki stiffens, his jaw clenching as he looks away toward the window. "Yeah. Obviously."

Kaito blinks, genuinely taken aback. "What do you mean, obviously? You told him?"

"He texted," Katsuki mutters, his voice dropping an octave as the humiliation deepens. "So I told him the truth. That I was crashing at Izuku’s place."

A beat of stunned silence passes before a slow, knowing grin spreads across Kaito’s face. He lets out a sharp bark of laughter, leaning back against the edge of the desk.

"You actually told him the truth?" Kaito crows, pointing a finger at his brother with pure, unadulterated delight. "Look at you, all domestic and honest. What happened to the guy who used to sneak out and lie about being at the convenience store?"

"Shut your damn mouth before I wipe that stupid grin off your face," Katsuki snarls, though the threat lacks any real bite as he violently crosses his arms over the oversized fabric of Izuku's shirt. "He asked, I answered, end of story."

Kaito laughs, shaking his head as the initial shock finally washes away completely, leaving behind an absurd kind of relief. "Dad must've lost his mind. Or he's just thrilled you're finally hanging out with someone who isn't a total menace."

Standing a few feet away, Izuku watches the exchange, a profound wave of relief washing over him. His shoulders drop as he realizes the absolute disaster he'd been bracing for has somehow dissolved into this—awkward, bickering, entirely survivable reality. A soft, genuine smile breaks across Izuku's face as he looks between the two brothers, quietly thrilled that things didn't completely blow up in their faces, even if Katsuki looks ready to crawl under the floorboards from embarrassment.