Work Text:
Katsuki is a man of punctuality.
He likes schedules, he likes knowing what’s ahead and he likes being in control.
Which is ironic, considering the past few years have been anything but controlled. Between constantly meeting up with Hatsume and Melissa to build Izuku’s suit, picking up extra shifts to fund said suit, and rearranging his entire apartment so a certain chaotic green-haired teacher could basically live there… Katsuki should’ve snapped by now.
Because apparently, it was “easier” if Izuku just stayed at his place. Since he was there almost all the damn time anyway.
But somehow—miraculously—Katsuki’s life had finally begun to settle.
He trudges down the dimly lit street, every muscle in his body begging him to get home and collapse. Technically, he should’ve been home hours ago, but a bank robbery decided to happen conveniently outside his patrol shift.
The young hero grunts, adjusting his shoulder. The suitcase containing his hero gear dragging him down constantly.
By the time he reaches his apartment complex—humble, or as humble as it can be when you live with Midoriya “magnet-for-disaster” Izuku—Katsuki finds himself almost excited at the thought of a hot shower.
A shower. Yeah. That’d be nice.
He hums under his breath as the elevator dings open on level seven. He steps out, already imagining steam and silence.
Katsuki has wanted to be home for the past twelve hours.
So, when he turns the corner and sees his apartment door—or rather, tries to see it— only to find the “117” engraved in the door nearly buried behind a mountain of boxes stacked obnoxiously high in front of it…
He wonders, very sincerely, what the hell he ever did to piss off the guy upstairs.
And when he finally manages to shove the door open, only for his vision to violently be assaulted by a flash of bright red hair—a shade that definitely does not belong to his shark-toothed best friend—Katsuki briefly hopes the guy upstairs is laughing his ass off.
“What the fuck is he doing here?”
Two heads snap toward him. Izuku’s eyes go wide.
“Kacchan!”
“Hello, Bakugou.”
Katsuki stares, vision fuzzing and fighting the urge to strangle both men standing in front of him.
Well-fucking-played, devil.
Katsuki doesn’t move. He just stands there in the doorway, suitcase hanging off his shoulder, staring at Shoto like he’s a hallucination brought on by pure exhaustion and some sort of self-loathing.
Izuku, meanwhile, looks like he’s about to start sweating bullets.
“Kacchan,” he says carefully, stepping over a box labeled ‘kitchen stuff?’ in Shoto’s handwriting. “Um. So. Remember when I told you—”
“You did not tell me shit,” Katsuki snaps.
Izuku winces. Shoto blinks like a confused cat.
“Kacchan… I did.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Izuku opens his mouth, closes it, then sighs. “Okay, you know what. Flashback time.”
⸝⸝
Katsuki stands at the stove, spatula in hand, brow furrowed in concentration. He’s making dinner—something simple, something comforting—because he’s had a long day and Izuku’s rambles usually help him decompress.
Izuku sits at the counter, swinging his legs, talking about something. Katsuki hears the cadence, the familiar rhythm, but not the actual words. He’s too focused on the pan, on the seasoning, on not burning the damn rice again.
“…and so Shoto said it’d be easier if he stayed here for a while,” Izuku says, voice soft and casual.
Katsuki flips the chicken.
“…since he’s already here most nights anyway.”
Katsuki adds pepper.
“…so he’ll move in on Friday.”
Katsuki tastes the sauce.
Izuku pauses, watching him. “Kacchan?”
Katsuki grunts. “Mm.”
Izuku squints. “You’re not listening.”
Katsuki grunts again, more annoyed. “Pass me a knife.”
Izuku sighs, fond and exasperated whilst hopping off the counter. “Okay. I’ll text you tomorrow too.”
Katsuki nods vaguely, still not listening.
⸝⸝
Izuku rubs the back of his neck. “So… yeah. I figured you weren’t listening because you were really focused on the food. But I did text you.”
Katsuki scoffs. “I didn’t get any damn texts.”
Izuku gestures at him. “Check your phone.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes and pulls his phone out of his pocket.
It doesn’t turn on.
He presses the button again.
Nothing.
Izuku’s eyes widen, stifling a small laugh. “Kacchan… is your phone dead?”
Katsuki stares at the blank screen, jaw tightening.
Despite the fact that Katsuki always has DND on, he made damn well sure that certain people could break through it—Izuku, his parents, hero alerts, and Eijirou.
But none of that matters when the phone is a fucking brick.
Izuku’s voice is small. “I sent you… like… twelve messages.”
Shoto raises a hand politely. “I also sent three.”
Katsuki looks up slowly, expression flat and murderous.
“Do I look,” he says to Shoto, “like I give a fuck?”
Izuku squeaks. “Kacchan, it was in good faith!”
Shoto nods. “Yes, it was.”
Katsuki inhales sharply, then drops his suitcase with a heavy thud.
“Icyhot,” he says slowly, voice flat with disbelief, “you’re literally the number two hero. Why the hell do you need to live with us?”
Shoto blinks.
“Well,” Shoto starts, “I was bored.”
Katsuki’s scoffs obnoxiously. “Yeah, bored. In your shitty million-dollar mansion.”
Shoto nods like this is a normal sentence. “Yes.”
Izuku jumps in quickly, hands waving. “Kacchan, it’s not just that! Shoto and I have been catching up a ton lately, and—”
Katsuki’s eye twitches. “Really.”
Izuku nods. “Yeah! We’ve been hanging out after work, training together, studying hero reports—”
Shoto adds, perfectly calm, “Midoriya makes very good tea.”
Katsuki lets out a sharp scoff—not jealous, just offended on principle. “So what? you’re moving in because you’re bored and because Izuku makes you tea?”
Shoto considers this. “Yes. My mansion is quiet. And I wanted to live with friends.”
Izuku brightens. “Yeah! He’s been getting closer to us lately, so—”
Katsuki cuts him off with a tired groan, rubbing his face. “’Mkay, you know what? Screw everything, whatever. He’s staying here. I don’t even care.”
Izuku perks up. “Really?”
Katsuki starts laughing abruptly, the two men flinching at the sound. It’s loud, unhinged and filled with exhaustion. Would’ve been a sad sight if he didn’t open his mouth.
“No, of course not, dipshit! But nobody cares what Katsuki thinks, amiright? HA. HA. HA.”
Nobody laughs with him.
Izuku stares. Shoto blinks.
Katsuki’s smile drops instantly. “I fucking hate you guys.”
Shoto bows politely. “Thank you for having me.”
Katsuki ignores him and kicks a box out of his way.
“Piss off,” he mutters under his breath, “so where the hell’s he gonna sleep?”
Izuku beams. “The guest room!”
Katsuki freezes. “The what room?”
Izuku points.
Katsuki follows his finger.
The “guest room” is a disaster zone of boxes, half‑assembled furniture, and what looks suspiciously like a giant bag of soba noodles.
Katsuki closes his eyes.
He sighs.
He opens them again.
“Izuku,” he says slowly, “I swear to fucking All Might, if you turned my storage room into a—”
Izuku interrupts, smiling sheepishly. “A guest room! For Shoto!”
Shoto bows again, repeating in the same monotone voice. “Thank you for having me.”
Katsuki stares at both of them, exhausted and already regretting every life choice that led to this moment.
He wonders, again, what he ever did to the guy upstairs.
Sighing obnoxiously loud once more, Katsuki drags a hand down his face and trudges toward his couch like a man preparing to rethink his entire existence.
And then he sees it.
A cat. On his couch.
A fluffy, smug, pastel‑collared cat curled up like it owns the place.
Katsuki jabs a finger at it. “Get that fucking thing off my couch. Why the hell is it even here?”
Izuku gasps. “Ka-Kacchan! Leave Flowers alone!”
He reaches out to pet the cat.
Flowers immediately hisses, ears flat, tail puffed.
Izuku yanks his hand back. “Okay, yikes. She—she doesn’t like me very much…”
Katsuki snorts. “Yeah, no shit. Why the fuck is your cat’s name Flowers? That’s so shitty. And why’s it plural, you moron?”
Shoto steps forward, completely unfazed. “Her name is Flowers because she deserves many.”
Katsuki stares at him like he’s speaking another language.
Shoto gently picks up the cat, cradling her like royalty. “Do you want to pet her, Bakugou?”
“Go to hell.”
Izuku tries again, reaching out with hopeful fingers. “Maybe she’ll warm up to me this time—”
Flowers hisses louder, swatting at him.
Katsuki bursts out laughing, loud and mean and delighted. “HA! Even the damn cat hates you!”
Izuku punches his arm. “Kacchan! Don’t laugh!”
Katsuki shoves him back lightly. “I’ll laugh at whatever I want, Deku.”
Izuku pushes him again, harder this time.
Katsuki pushes back.
Izuku shoves.
Katsuki shoves harder.
And suddenly they’re play‑fighting in the middle of the living room—half‑hearted punches, shoulder bumps, Izuku giggling, Katsuki pretending he’s annoyed but absolutely not stopping.
Shoto watches, Flowers tucked under his arm, expression soft.
“You two seem very close,” he says.
Katsuki immediately stops pushing Izuku. “Shut up, you ruined it.”
Izuku, breathless and smiling, nudges Katsuki’s shoulder. “He’s not wrong.”
Katsuki’s ears go pink.
Flowers hisses again.
Katsuki points at her. “I swear to god, if that thing scratches my couch—”
Izuku laughs, leaning into him without thinking.
Katsuki doesn’t move away, crossing his arms as he glares at the cat.
“Seriously,” he mutters, “if your cat’s name is Flowers, why doesn’t she have a flower on her damn head or something?”
Shoto answers calmly, like this is a normal conversation. “I’ve tried. I’ve looked for ones she might like. She hates all of them and refuses to keep them on.”
Katsuki stares at the cat, contemplating this deeply for a moment—like he’s genuinely trying to solve the mystery of her personality.
Izuku taps his shoulder. “Kacchan, give me your jacket. I’ll put it away.”
Katsuki shrugs it off and hands it over, muttering a quiet, tired “thanks.”
Then he turns back to Shoto. “Try one that looks like a hydrangea.”
Shoto pauses, a little surprised, then nods—quietly pleased Katsuki offered actual advice.
Izuku returns just in time to hear that. “Kacchan, that’s not even a flower.”
Katsuki whips around. “Yes, it is, dumbass.”
“No, it’s a bush!”
“It’s a flower!”
“It’s a freaking bush!”
“It’s a freaking bush!” Katsuki mocks in a high-pitched tone, “shut your fucking mouth you nerd, you’re so corny”
Izuku gasps dramatically, “Kacchan, that’s it! I’m never—”
Shoto watches them bicker, Flowers tucked under his arm, and a small smile creeps onto his face.
Katsuki catches it instantly. “The hell are you smiling at?”
Shoto answers simply, “I’m glad we are friends.”
Katsuki freezes, then barks out, “HAH? We aren’t fucking friends. Die.”
But he stomps off toward the kitchen anyway, already pulling out ingredients, already making dinner—three portions, but he’d never admit it if they pointed it out.
Izuku watches him go, smiling fondly.
Shoto glances between them, Flowers purring in his arms, and he knows that he picked the right decision.
⸝⸝
The kitchen lights flicker on as Katsuki enters, rolling his shoulders like he’s preparing for battle. He starts pulling out pans, knives, spices—everything with the efficiency of someone who’s cooked the same meal a thousand times.
He’s exhausted, but cooking is muscle memory. Comfort. Routine.
Behind him, Izuku and Shoto begin unpacking boxes in the living room.
Izuku is talking nonstop—about where Shoto’s things should go, about reorganizing the shelves, about how Flowers needs a designated scratching post so she doesn’t destroy Katsuki’s couch.
Katsuki grunts at that last part.
Shoto listens patiently, occasionally offering a quiet “That makes sense,” or “I can put that there.”
Flowers supervises from the couch, pure judgement leaking out of her every glare towards Izuku.
Katsuki chops vegetables with unnecessary aggression.
He can hear Izuku struggling with a heavy box.
Then he can hear Shoto offering to help.
He can hear Izuku insisting he’s fine, in that annoying ass voice of his.
And then he can hear the box thud anyway.
He sighs, muttering under his breath, “Idiots.”
But he keeps cooking.
Three portions, because he gets hungry, mind you.
⸝⸝
After unpacking some boxes, Izuku tries again.
He crouches down beside Flowers, smiling gently. “Okay, Flowers, you cutie… let’s try one more time. I’m gonna pet you really softly, see? Nice and slow—”
He reaches out.
Flowers hisses like he’s personally offended her entire bloodline.
Izuku flinches. “WHY DOES SHE HATE ME?!”
Shoto tilts his head. “She doesn’t hate you. She just prefers people who are calm.”
Izuku looks betrayed. “I am calm!”
Katsuki snorts. “No, you’re not.”
Izuku glares at him. “Shut up! I can be calm!”
Flowers jumps off the couch.
Izuku brightens. “See? She’s coming to me!”
Flowers walks right past him.
Straight into the kitchen.
Straight to Katsuki.
She sits at his feet.
Katsuki freezes mid‑step.
Izuku’s jaw drops. “WHAT?!”
Shoto smiles softly. “She likes him.”
Katsuki stares down at the cat. “Get away from me.”
Flowers meows.
Izuku looks like he’s witnessing betrayal in real time. “Kacchan, she—she chose you.”
Katsuki scoffs. “I didn’t ask her to.”
Flowers rubs against his leg.
Izuku gasps. “SHE LOVES YOU.”
Katsuki’s eye twitches. “I don’t want her to love me.”
Flowers purrs louder.
Izuku collapses onto the couch, devastated. “Why does she hate me…?”
Shoto pats his shoulder. “She’ll warm up eventually.”
Izuku sniffles. “She warmed up to Kacchan first…”
Katsuki mutters, “I didn’t do anything,” but he’s already reaching down to nudge Flowers away with his foot—gently, carefully, like he doesn’t want to hurt her.
Izuku sees it, muttering under his breath how unfair it is.
Flowers sees it and thus decides Katsuki is her new favourite person.
Izuku dies inside, and Katsuki smirks to himself.
⸝⸝
After a while, Izuku pardons himself to go clean up his own room, and Shoto finds himself standing in the kitchen doorway, Flowers tucked under his arm, seemingly willingly.
“Bakugou,” he says calmly, “do you need help?”
“No.”
“I can chop vegetables.”
“No.”
“I can stir—”
“NO.”
Shoto blinks. “You seem stressed.”
“I’m fine,” Katsuki snaps, slamming a pan onto the stove with enough force to make Izuku flinch from across the room, because he’s apparently here now.
Izuku calls out, “Kacchan, you don’t have to do everything yourself!”
“I DO,” Katsuki fires back, aggressively sprinkling seasoning like he’s punishing the food.
Shoto steps closer. “I can—”
“If you touch anything in my kitchen, Icyhot, I will personally throw you off the fucking balcony.”
Shoto nods. “Understood.”
Flowers meows.
Katsuki points at her. “And you—stop staring at me.”
Flowers blinks slowly, judging him.
Izuku giggles from the couch.
Katsuki glares at him. “Shut up.”
Izuku giggles harder.
Shoto watches Katsuki cook with the intensity of a man observing a rare animal in the wild. He smiles again.
Katsuki sees it instantly. “STOP SMILING.”
Shoto nods. “Yeah, okay.”
He keeps smiling.
Katsuki groans loudly.
Eventually, Katsuki finishes cooking—three plates, steaming and perfect, because even exhausted and half‑dead, he refuses to make anything less than ‘god‑tier’ food.
He sets the plates down on the table with a grunt. “Eat.”
Izuku beams. “It looks amazing, Kacchan!”
Shoto nods politely. “Thank you, Bakugou.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes but sits down anyway, crossing his arms before reluctantly picking up his chopsticks.
Izuku digs in immediately, humming happily. “Kacchan, this is so good!”
Katsuki mutters, “Obviously.”
Shoto takes a bite, eyes widening slightly. “This is… excellent.”
Katsuki pauses mid‑chew. “What the fuck, don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re reviewing a restaurant, you moron.”
Shoto blinks. “It tastes excellent.”
“STOP.”
Izuku giggles again.
Katsuki kicks him lightly under the table.
Izuku yelps. “Kacchan!”
“Eat your damn food, brat.”
Izuku does—happily, loudly, talking between bites about how they should reorganize the living room, how much ‘fun’ (Katsuki rolled his eyes at that) they’d have every night, how Flowers needs a floral theme room, so she doesn’t ruin any of Katsuki’s things, because those two defintely correlate.
Flowers sits beside Katsuki’s chair like a tiny bodyguard.
Izuku hates it.
Shoto watches the three of them—Katsuki pretending he’s annoyed, Izuku glowing with joy, Flowers purring—and something warm settles in his chest.
He doesn’t say anything.
He didn’t need to.
⸝⸝
Eventually, Katsuki finishes cleaning the kitchen—because he refuses to let anyone else touch ‘his’ counters—and trudges toward the couch.
He sits down.
He doesn’t even get comfortable.
He just sits.
And then he’s out.
Head back, arms crossed, and eyes closed.
Gone.
Izuku freezes mid‑step. “Kacchan…?”
Shoto looks over. “He fell asleep.”
Izuku’s face softens instantly. “He must’ve been exhausted…”
Flowers hops onto the couch and curls up beside Katsuki’s thigh.
Izuku’s heart breaks again. “WHY DOES SHE ONLY LIKE HIM?!”
Shoto shrugs. “She has good taste.”
Izuku huffs. “Yeah, good taste my butt. Kacchan isn’t even that likeable.”
Shoto turns his head slowly, giving him the flattest, most unimpressed stare imaginable.
“Right.”
Izuku flails immediately. “Stop looking at me like that! I know what that stupid look means,” he crosses his arms and pouts once more.
Shoto doesn’t blink. “Do you?”
Izuku rolls his eyes dramatically, cheeks warm. “Oh my god, shut up, Shoto.”
But he’s smiling—annoyed, embarrassed, and absolutely caught.
Shoto watches him, Flowers purring in his arms, and he chooses not to comment on it anymore.
Now, with Katsuki asleep, Izuku gestures toward the hallway. “Come on, Shoto. Let’s finish setting up your room before Kacchan wakes up and starts yelling again.”
Shoto nods, following him quietly.
They step into the half-finished guest room—boxes stacked, furniture half assembled, a pile of blankets in the corner. Izuku starts unpacking one of Shoto’s boxes, humming under his breath.
A few minutes past in comfortable silence—Izuku folding blankets, Shoto arranging books on the shelf with careful precision. Flowers wanders around the room, sniffing corners like she’s inspecting her new territory.
Izuku breaks the silence first. “I still can’t believe you’re actually moving in,” he says, smiling as he smooths out a pillowcase. “It feels… nice. Like things are changing in a good way.”
Shoto pauses, looking at him. “It feels right,” he says simply.
Izuku’s smile softens. “Yeah. It does.”
Shoto opens another box, pulling out a framed photo—one of him, Izuku, and Katsuki after a mission in their third year at UA, all sweaty and bruised but smiling. Izuku laughs when he sees it.
“Oh! I remember that day. Kacchan yelled at us for like twenty minutes because we ‘weren’t watching our blind spots.’”
Shoto nods. “He was very loud.”
Izuku giggles. “He’s always loud.”
Shoto studies the photo for a moment, then sets it gently on the nightstand. “I like this one,” he says. “It reminds me of… before I understood things.”
Izuku tilts his head. “Understood what?”
Shoto sits back on his heels, thinking. “Myself,” he says quietly. “And other people. And… what it means to care about someone.”
Izuku’s breath catches. “Shoto…”
Shoto continues, voice steady but soft. “I didn’t know how to be close to people. I didn’t know how to trust them. Or how to let them trust me. You… taught me that.”
Izuku’s eyes go glossy immediately. “I didn’t do anything special…”
“You did,” Shoto says, firm but gentle. “You always treated me like I mattered. Even when I didn’t know how to talk. Or how to be normal. You never made me feel strange. You never made me feel wrong.”
Izuku wipes his eyes quickly. “Shoto, you were never wrong.”
Shoto smiles—small and real. “I know that now.”
Izuku sniffles, laughing a little. “You’ve grown so much. I’m really proud of you.”
Shoto’s expression softens even more. “Thank you, Midoriya. I’m proud of me too.”
Izuku laughs wetly. “You should be.”
Shoto reaches into another box and pulls out a stack of neatly folded scarves. Izuku helps him place them in a drawer, still wiping his eyes every few seconds.
“You’re crying a lot,” Shoto observes.
Izuku groans. “I know! I’m sorry, I’m just—you’re just—you’ve become such a good person, Shoto. And I’m happy for you.”
Shoto hands him a tissue. “You’re a good person too.”
Izuku blushes. “I try.”
“You succeed,” Shoto says simply.
Izuku’s heart squeezes and he chuckles lightly.
They keep unpacking—Izuku hanging up Shoto’s jackets, Shoto organizing his hero gear, Flowers climbing into an empty drawer and refusing to leave—and the room slowly transforms from a storage disaster into a real, lived‑in space.
A space Shoto belongs in.
Izuku steps back, hands on his hips. “It’s really coming together!”
Shoto nods. “It feels like a home.”
Izuku smiles, warm and teary. “Yeah. It does.”
Shoto looks at him for a long moment, expression soft and open in a way he rarely shows.
“I’m really glad I met you,” he says.
Izuku freezes, eyes widening.
Shoto continues, voice quiet but sure. “And Bakugou too of course,” Izuku giggles, “but, you specifically. You changed my life. You helped me become someone I like. Someone I’m not ashamed of. Someone who can… be close to people.”
Izuku’s throat tightens. “Jeez…”
“You’re important to me,” Shoto says simply.
Izuku wipes his eyes again, laughing through the tears. “You’re important to me too. So much.”
Shoto nods, satisfied. “Good.”
Izuku sniffles. “You’re gonna make me cry again.”
Shoto hands him another tissue. “I know.”
Izuku laughs, loud and watery.
Flowers meows from the drawer.
Izuku sniffles harder. “Even Flowers likes you more than me.”
Shoto pats his shoulder. “She’ll warm up eventually.”
Izuku groans dramatically. “I doubt it.”
They keep unpacking the last of Shotos’ necessities, quiet and warm, until—
A soft shuffle comes from the hallway, and Izuku turns.
Katsuki appears in the doorway, hair a mess, eyes half‑closed, blanket still draped over one shoulder like he forgot it was there.
“Kacchan?” Izuku whispers.
Katsuki grunts, rubbing his eyes. “Being too loud, shitty nerd.”
“We weren’t,” Izuku says gently, walking toward him.
Katsuki sways a little.
Izuku’s hands come up automatically, resting on Katsuki’s shoulders. “Hey… you look like you’re still tired. You should go back to sleep.”
Katsuki leans into the touch without thinking, eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t wanna sleep,” he mutters, voice low and pouty. “Shut up, Izuku.”
Izuku smiles, thumb brushing his shoulder. “You’re literally falling over.”
Katsuki clicks his tongue, “’m not,” he insists, swaying again.
Izuku steadies him. “Kacchan…”
Katsuki opens one eye, glaring weakly. “Don’t tell me what to do, I’m not a damn baby.”
“You sure do act like one when you’re half asleep.”
Katsuki’s whole face goes red. “Shut up.”
Izuku laughs softly, still holding him.
Katsuki leans forward, forehead almost touching Izuku’s shoulder, repeating in a mumbled voice, “I’m not a damn baby.”
“You so are,” Izuku taunts, way too fond.
Katsuki’s ears go pink.
And then—
He realizes Shoto is standing there.
Watching.
Holding that stupid ass cat.
Expression neutral but absolutely witnessing everything.
Katsuki jerks back like he’s been electrocuted. “THE HELL ARE YOU STARING AT?”
Shoto blinks. “You walked in, Bakugou.”
“MY DAMN HOUSE. And I didn’t ask you to look!”
Izuku snorts.
Katsuki rounds on him, still half‑asleep and flustered, “And YOU—stop—touching—me—”, lightly pushing Izuku’s hands off his shoulders with every word.
He straightens his shirt, adjusts the blanket, fixes his collar like he’s trying to rebuild his pride that was just destroyed in front of his ‘sworn enemy’.
Izuku rolls his eyes, hands lifting in mock‑defense, voice dripping with teasing. “You leaned into it.”
“I did not.”
“You did,” Izuku says, smirking.
Katsuki sputters, face still flaming. “I—I’m taking my damn shower, interrupt me and die.”
He stomps out of the room, blanket slipping off halfway down the hall. He doesn’t pick it up.
Izuku watches him go, biting back a laugh.
Shoto looks at Izuku, deadpan. “He is pretty soft when he’s sleepy.”
Izuku covers his laugh with his hand. “Don’t say that out loud.”
Flowers meows in agreement.
⸝⸝
The water shuts off with a heavy thunk, and a moment later Katsuki steps out of the bathroom—hair damp, tank top clinging to his shoulders and a towel thrown over one shoulder.
He looks calmer. Still grumpy, but calmer.
Izuku meets him halfway down the hall, hands fidgeting a little. “Kacchan… hey.”
Katsuki raises an eyebrow. “What.”
Izuku swallows, then smiles softly. “I just… wanted to make sure you’re okay. With everything. With Shoto moving in. With… all of this.”
Katsuki scoffs, rolling his eyes, but it’s gentle. “Izuku, I’m not gonna explode over something like that.”
Izuku laughs. “You explode over a lot of things.”
Katsuki glares. “Watch your mouth.”
Izuku rolls his eyes. But he steps closer, voice quieter. “But really. If anything feels weird or uncomfortable, you can tell me. I don’t want you to feel pushed into anything.”
Katsuki looks at him—really looks—and something soft flickers across his face.
“I’m fine,” he mutters. “It’s… fine. He’s fine. You’re fine. The cat’s annoying, but whatever.”
Izuku smiles, relieved. “Okay. Good.”
Katsuki bumps his shoulder lightly as he walks past. “Stop worrying so much.”
Izuku beams. “Never.”
Katsuki’s gaze softens, and he mutters a quiet “Hate you.”
Izuku laughs. “No, you don’t.”
Katsuki doesn’t respond.
Which means he agrees.
⸝⸝
Later, when Izuku goes to finish organizing the living room, Katsuki wanders toward the balcony—drawn by the cool air and the quiet. He pushes the door open and steps outside, leaning on the railing, staring out at the city lights.
He doesn’t notice Shoto is already there.
Shoto stands on the far side, hands in his pockets, Flowers curled at his feet like a tiny guard dog. He glances over when Katsuki steps out.
“Bakugou.”
Katsuki grunts. “Didn’t know you were out here.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
“You always bother me.”
Shoto rolls his eyes lightly. “I’m aware.”
Katsuki snorts, but it’s not mean. Just tired.
They stand there for a moment—quiet, comfortable, the night breeze brushing past them.
Shoto speaks first. “Thank you.”
Katsuki frowns. “For what.”
“For letting me stay here.”
Katsuki scoffs. “I didn’t let you. Izuku did.”
Shoto shakes his head. “Yeah, but Midoriya really did ask you just before. He told me.”
Katsuki stiffens.
Shoto continues, voice calm. “He said he wouldn’t ask me to move in unless you were comfortable with it. And you said yes.”
Katsuki looks away, jaw tight. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is to me.”
Katsuki doesn’t respond.
Shoto steps closer, not too close, just enough to be heard clearly. “I know it may be weird, for quite a while at least. I’m still learning things. But I’m grateful. Truly.”
Katsuki exhales slowly, staring at the skyline. “You’re not that bad, Todoroki.”
Shoto smiles softly at the use of his name, not one of the excessive amounts of insults Katsuki usually calls him. “That’s very kind of you.”
Katsuki glares. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Shoto pauses. “I said this to Midoriya before, but I’m glad I met you.”
Katsuki’s eyes widen—barely, but enough.
He looks away again. “Tch. Whatever.”
Shoto doesn’t push. He just stands there, quiet, letting the moment settle.
Flowers curls up against Katsuki’s foot.
Katsuki looks down, slightly horrified. “Why is she—why is she touching me.”
“She likes you,” Shoto says.
“I hate this.”
“Flowers doesn't hate you, though.”
Katsuki groans loudly, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m going back inside.”
Shoto nods. “Goodnight, Bakugou.”
Katsuki pauses in the doorway—just for a second—then mutters, “Night.”
He walks back inside.
Shoto stays on the balcony, smiling to himself.
⸝⸝
The living room is warm and softly lit when Katsuki returns. Izuku is sitting cross‑legged on the couch, Flowers perched stubbornly on the other side of the couch.
Shoto walks in a moment later, closing the balcony door behind him.
Katsuki stretches, cracking his neck. “I’m going to bed.”
Izuku brightens. “Wait—Kacchan! Flowers wants to say goodnight!”
Flowers does not, in fact, want to say goodnight.
Izuku wiggles his fingers at her. “Come on, Flowers… say bye to Kacchan…”
Flowers stares at him.
Then turns her head away.
Katsuki smirks. “She hates you.”
Izuku gasps. “She does not hate me—she’s just shy!”
Flowers hops off the couch.
Walks straight to Katsuki.
Sits at his feet.
Izuku gapes, “You have got to be kidding me.”
Katsuki shrugs. “Good taste, what can I say?”
Shoto nods, smiling lightly. “She does.”
Izuku’s eyes narrow. “I hate you guys.”
Katsuki yawns, rubbing his eyes. “I’m going to bed before you say something stupid.”
Izuku beams. “Too late! I already thought of something.”
Katsuki groans. “For fuck’s sake.”
Izuku clasps his hands dramatically. “We’re all best friends now… living in the same house… under the same roof… sharing the same air—”
Katsuki stares at him like he’s witnessing his whole family being murdered. “Oh my god, Deku. Shut the fuck up. You’re so corny, it genuinely hurts.”
Shoto perks up immediately. “I agree.”
Katsuki smirks, pointing at him. “See? He gets it. Icyhot’s not too bad. This could be the new duo, I can’t lie.”
Izuku’s jaw drops. “EXCUSE ME?!”
Katsuki shrugs, his smirk obnoxious. “You can leave, Izuku. You ain’t needed anymore.”
Izuku grabs the nearest pillow and chucks it at Katsuki’s head.
Shoto lifts a hand, and the pillow freezes mid‑air.
Izuku gasps. “Shoto—!”
Katsuki’s eyes widen. “Don’t you—”
Shoto flicks his wrist.
The pillow rockets toward Katsuki twice as fast.
Katsuki dodges, barely, and grabs another pillow off the couch, aiming at Shoto.
“Oh, it’s fucking on, you shithead.”
Izuku grabs one too and laughs. “So, you aren’t going to bed?”
Katsuki rolls his eyes, and shoves Izuku down.
Shoto picks up a third pillow, calm as ever. “I will win.”
“Over my dead body!” Katsuki lunges.
“Don’t say that, Kacchan!” Izuku shrieks.
Shoto launches his pillow like a missile, and Flowers meows in outrage before darting out of the room—leaving the three men fighting like children, absolutely destroying the living room they (Izuku) had spent hours cleaning.
Izuku smiles brightly, already knowing he’ll make Katsuki fix it in the morning.
Because he’s got actual kids to teach—but right now, he’s just focused on dealing with these ones.