Archive of Our Own ^beta

Very few people knew how early he woke up. The only people he bumped into during his morning routine were Bakugou and Midoriya, usually because they were going to train—and that was usually an entire hour after he'd woken up.

To be fair, he could usually doze in the tub during his daily soak.

Yeah, he took a bath every day. What about it? Heroism was hard on the skin, and he needed adequate time to repair the damage that being blown up every other day imparted.

He rose from his bed and armed himself with bath salts, a face mask, and a deep conditioner, then slid his feet into slippers and padded toward the bathroom. He was glad to have these early mornings to himself.

The last time Kirishima had seen his skincare routine, he'd been questioned so thoroughly about each component that he felt like a villain being interrogated. That was obviously not the man's intention, but the peace of solitude was a welcome relief. His rituals were meant to be soothing—indulgent self-care that would keep him sparkling.

But this morning, for the first time, he wasn't alone.

He heard their voices before he'd entered the bathroom—Bakugou's voice carrying no matter how quiet he tried to be. "Stay still, Deku, you're just making it harder" he snapped.

"This hurts Kacchan!" he whined.

Aoyama's eyebrows shot up, his face going beet red. That didn't sound like appropriate public bathroom behavior.

"Aaaahahahaaaaa that hurts!"

"Calm down, it's almost done," Bakugou grumbled, sounding very focused. What were they doing? He knew that their relationship had improved a great deal, but had it improved enough that they were banging in the bathroom first thing in the morning?

Curiosity overwhelmed him, and he chanced a glance around the corner.

He would have let out a gusty sigh of relief if he weren't so utterly confused about what he was watching.

"This part hurts and then the rest feels good, be fucking patient you little shit," Bakugou griped. Midoriya was in a chair, leaning back with his head against the counter. There was a face steamer perched near the sink, and Bakugou was bent over his face with an extractor.

Was...Bakugou giving Midoriya a facial?

"You said this would be relaxing!" Midoriya whined, squirming as Bakugou dug the extractor into the side of his nose.

"It will be, calm the fuck down! You've been hit with whole-ass buildings, you can handle extractions you fucking baby!"

Midoriya pouted but settled—still grimacing, but making less of a fuss. Aoyama watched in rapt fascination as Bakugou worked.

Bakugou himself was wearing a headband and had a mask—probably a peel—slathered on his face. He was leaning close to Midoriya, eyes lasered onto the task before him.

Close enough to kiss him.

Aoyama blushed again, unwilling to move lest he disturb the serenity and unexpected intimacy. Bakugou was being so gentle. Aoyama had been through his fair share of extractions, and this was practically a loving caress.

Finally, Bakugou put the extractor down and picked up the steamer. "Keep your eyes closed—hot steam in your eyes fuckin' sucks," he warned. Midoriya let out a small hum of understanding, relaxing now that Katsuki wasn't digging into his skin.

Once Katsuki seemed satisfied that his pores were good and open, he picked up a tube of creme mask—gently spreading it onto Midoriya's face and cracking a small smile when he yelped from the cold. "Could have warned me," he pouted.

"Sorry," he chuckled. Aoyama watched, fascinated, as Bakugou massaged the mask into Izuku's face in sweeping arcs—far more than any normal facial actually required. He huffed in envy when Bakugou pulled a damp towel out of a personal towel steamer. He didn't even have one of those. He gently toweled off the mask, before applying a new one—a soft clay mask. Midoriya must have oily skin.

His eyes widened when, after the mask was applied, Bakugou rearranged them and slowly rubbed Midoriya's shoulders—pushing any remaining tension out of the smaller man's body.

"Feels good," Midoriya murmured, sinking into Bakugou's touch. Aoyama had never seen him look anything less than nervous on the intensity scale. He usually ranged from stressed to excited, with occasional stops at furious and awkward. But right now he looked utterly at peace under explosive hands.

They had to be dating. Right? That was the only way Bakugou would be making that face. Looking so pleased and affectionate—like he was happy to dote on Midoriya like this.

"Told you," Bakugou teased. Teased. "Learn to take care of yourself. Feels fuckin' good, and you don't look like a piece of greasy broccoli."

"Mean, Kacchan," Midoriya murmured, clearly not offended enough to tense up even a little. He was so relaxed that he was practically limp. "Besides, why would I learn to do this when you're so good at it?"

Bakugou barked a laugh. "I'm not gonna give you a facial every fuckin' week, nerd."

"Awww," Midoriya pouted.

Bakugou sighed in defeat, just like Aoyama suspected he would. Who could deny that pout? Well...Bakugou could have a few months ago. Times had changed quickly, it seemed. "Lazy little shit."

"Guilty," he replied.

He whined plaintively when Katsuki withdrew his hands so that he could wash the mask from Izuku's face. Aoyama's breath caught when Bakugou leaned forward—just within kissing distance. Was he going to—

"Finally, your pores aren't caked with dirt," Bakugou whispered, an inch from Midoriya's lips. "Now it's time to wean you off 2-in-1 shampoo you fucking heathen."

It sounded so sultry that Aoyama dropped his shower caddy—jar of bath salts rolling across the floor. Both boys jumped at the crash, turning to look at him. "Oh! Good morning, Aoyama!" Midoriya greeted him brightly.

"Bonjour, mon ami," he squeaked back.

Bakugou picked up his bath salts, handing it back to him like nothing was amiss. "Those are fuckin' expensive. Don't just go dropping them."

"Of course. Merci, Bakugou," Aoyama replied, a little more cognizant of his tone. Why were they acting so normal when they were about to kiss half a second ago? "You two are in here awfully early."

"Teaching this little fuck how to take care of his dumb face."

"Hey!"

As they bickered back and forth—Midoriya's face glowing from Bakugou's tender care, Aoyama wondered if they'd even realized how intimate the moment was.

"I can't wait to blast you into the fucking sun you little shit."

Apparently not.

Two weeks later on an early Saturday morning, he ran into them again.

He'd taken care of his morning ritual and was on his way to the kitchen to make himself an indulgent breakfast and brew the new coffee beans his mother had sent him. He stopped dead at the entrance to the common room.

This felt familiar.

Bakugou and Midoriya were on the couch, leaning against each other. They were watching something—a newer hero biopic, it looked like—and discussing it quietly, face masks on and looking utterly relaxed.

They were touching so much, from light smacks when Bakugou said something out of pocket, to Bakugou lazily slinging an arm over Midoriya's shoulders.

He had been sure they were dating. But he'd asked Uraraka and Kirishima the last time this had happened and they'd both insisted that they weren't together. Now that the matter had been brought to light, everyone had some anecdote about how close those two were.

Still, there had to be something going on right? They couldn't be that oblivious to how they behaved.

"Aoyama!" Midoriya greeted him. He jumped out of his skin, shocked that he'd been caught. "Good morning!"

"Good morning," he replied, a little squeaky.

"Don't just stand there, fucking join us if you're going to be here," Bakugou snapped.

Aoyama shook his head, putting his hands up in protest. "Ah, non. I don't want to interrupt, mes amis." They both frowned at him, and he frowned right back.

"You're not interrupting," Midoriya insisted. "We even have another face mask if you want. We're just hanging out," he said all of this with a confused tinge to his voice.

"But..." he watched in fascination as both boys cocked their heads in confusion. They weren't dating. Wow. "Ah, never mind," he waved it off. "I'll make myself some coffee and then join you," he said smiling brightly. If he joined them now, he'd have more tea to spill at girls' night.

Because they might not be dating now, but he didn't imagine that would last long.

It had been two weeks since Yuga had pointed out the strange closeness between Blasty and Mido and she had to admit, now that the possibility was in front of her, she could see the potential.

It took her three more weeks to see the actual phenomenon for herself, though.

She was going to visit her parents this weekend so she was downstairs early—beelining for the kitchen so that she could down some cereal and maybe some coffee if Katsuki had left any in the pot before his ridiculous training regimen.

She stumbled into the kitchen, backpack over her shoulder, only to come face to face with Katsuki himself. "The fuck are you doing up this early?" he groused.

"Going home for the weekend," she replied sleepily.

He gave her a cursory once-over before scowling. "You look tired as shit. Sit down."

She complied easily—not wanting to incite his ire this early in the morning. She had some sense of self-preservation. Not a lot, but some. "I need to eat breakfast, though," she remembered, moving to get back up.

"I'm already making breakfast," he snapped. "I'll just make more."

"Oh! Thanks," she grinned, chest flooding with warm affection. "You're the best."

He scoffed. "Fuckin' obviously."

"Modest, too," she teased.

Katsuki cooked while she waited, fiddling on her phone. He was one of the few people she felt comfortable being silent around—one of the few people who didn't need her to be at full energy to be appreciated. Just let her be in whatever state she came in without any judgement beyond his baseline level of superiority.

"Oh, good morning Mina!"

She flinched at the sudden volume change, head snapping to the door. Izuku stood there in...oh. Her eyes widened as she scanned him.

He was in Katsuki's long-sleeved skull shirt and pajama bottoms. Looking sleep-rumpled and soft. What the hell? "Morning Mido," she replied. He was already sauntering over to Katsuki, peering over his shoulder.

"Aw, are you making pancakes?" he asked, voice a little rough from sleep but sounding excited anyway. "Can I have some?"

"Why the fuck else would I be making them, shithead? I fucking hate pancakes," Katsuki barked, placing a hand squarely over Izuku's face and shoving him away. "Make yourself useful and go get plates."

"Okay, okay," he laughed. "But what do you mean you hate pancakes? You loved the ones my mom made—"

"I was being polite—"

"Then why'd you have three servings—"

"Shut the fuck up. Grab a plate for Pinky, too."

Mina watched the entire exchange with wide eyes. It was all so domestic. Izuku was wearing Katsuki's clothes while Katsuki made his favorite breakfast. Teasing and bickering like an old married couple. Like it was just...something they did regularly. Like, sure they argued all the time, but about...breakfast with their parents? What the fuck was happening?

Was Yuga right?

Izuku set the table while Mina stared at them, completely oblivious to her shock and awe. "Do we need to go grocery shopping?" he asked.

"Yeah," Katsuki replied, flipping a pancake that he was making for Izuku specifically. If he'd just been cooking for himself he'd have made an omelet or something, even if he had a secret love of pancakes. He was just so disciplined. "We're almost out of veggies. We have a carrot and an eggplant left."

Mina's mind stalled again. We? As in communal grocery shopping? Shared groceries? Groceries that they were going to SHARE?

"Didn't you also need to pick up one of your ten-thousand face goops?" Izuku asked, a teasing smile playing across his lips. Were his eyes actually hooded right now? Was he flirting?

This had to be a fever dream.

"Yeah, because I'm sharing with you now, asshole."

They shared face products.

As they continued to bicker, Izuku finished setting the table and then dove straight into performing auxiliary breakfast functions, like slicing fruit and brewing coffee. All the while, he was working alongside Katsuki in seamless harmony, like they'd done this a thousand times.

Finally, they sat down with her. Katsuki forked pancakes onto her plate and Izuku passed her syrup and fruit salad—all while basically ignoring her to bicker with each other.

She watched, perplexed, as Katsuki forked the strawberries from his plate onto Izuku's. "Kacchan, you like strawberries too—"

"Not as much as you do, nerd. Shut the fuck up and eat them."

She watched as an honest to god blush bloomed over Izuku's features. This was the most adorable bullshit she'd ever seen. Because she was pretty positive they weren't actually dating. Neither of them had any poker face at all. But damn it, they might as well be dating.

Her heart leapt to her throat a moment later. Izuku tried to push some strawberries back onto Katsuki's plate, and Katsuki smacked the fork out of his hand. Then he grabbed Izuku's hand. And just...held it.

"Eat them!" Izuku whined.

"No. You've lost your dominant hand privileges now, dork. Eat and suffer," Katsuki barked, threading their fingers together as he stabbed his own pancake and started to eat. Izuku pouted but followed orders, picking up the fallen fork with his lesser dominant hand and digging in.

While he simply...held Katsuki's hand over the table.

She needed to document this. She had to. Because she was still kinda sleepy and not entirely convinced that this wasn't some sort of dream-state hallucination.

She picked up her phone, pretending to text someone. She still didn't want to get murdered with an explosion. She wasn't that out of it. And—making sure her phone volume was completely off—she snapped a picture. A picture that was going to make it into their future wedding slideshow. She'd make sure of it.

Both boys, eating pancakes with rumpled hair and pajamas on. Izuku wearing Katsuki's shirt. Eyes smiling even as they bickered. Holding hands.

She stared at the picture for a moment too long and clearly zoned out on it, because:

"MINA!" Izuku yelled. She jolted, looking up with a wild look in her eye. Had she been caught? "Didn't you need to catch a train? That's why you're up so early, right?"

Mina glanced back at her phone, only to panic. "FUCK! I gotta go," she blabbered, stuffing the last forkful of pancakes in her mouth and grabbing her bag. "Thanks gays! GUYS! Thanks guys!" she screeched before sprinting away.

Fuck, that had been a close call.

But now that she'd escaped, she knew what she had to do.

First, she had to start a betting pool when she got back. Second, she had to make sure they got together before graduation.

Third, she had to help Eijirou soundproof his room.

Everyone's eyes were on the Demolition Duo. Now that Mina had blasted them with the hand-hold, it was all they could see—even the most level headed in the class.

Tsu was proud to count herself among the level-headed. But she had to admit: even if they weren't dating, they were dating. Hell, they were married. It was wild to see, considering that there was a time that they would have gladly ripped each others' heads off.

She watched as Izuku slipped on a wet patch of pavement and Katsuki caught him without even looking.

For the ninth time that week.

"Watch where you're fucking going, dork," Katsuki snapped. "What kinda hero snaps their neck because they fuckin' tripped?"

"Ah, sorry Kacchan! Thanks for catching me, though," he beamed up at the taller boy, who resolutely looked the other way.

It was hard to believe they weren't doing it on purpose. Some ongoing, anxiety-inducing trust-fall exercise. A reason for one of them to express concern and care while the other expressed gratitude and affection in a really awkward, never-ending loop.

This wasn't even close to being the most uncomfortable boyfriend display. Actually, on the discomfort scale, that was simply cute.

So far, the most dramatic boyfriend moment had been on Monday during training. Kyoka had used a concussive blast that was so impactful that it had stunned Katsuki as he flew threw the air. He looked winded, struggling to breathe as he fell through the air.

Izuku had been there before any of them could move—letting out a terrified "KACCHAN!" before sprinting through the streets of Ground Beta and launching himself off the side of a building to catch him as he fell.

Cradling him close until he caught his breath.

They all heard what he said over comms.

"Are you okay, Kacchan?" he whimpered, stroking his face. "Come on, breathe for me," he urged.

They let out a collective sigh of relief when Katsuki finally gasped in a hungry breath. "Fuck," he hissed, rubbing his chest, still safely cradled in Izuku's arms. "That fucking hurt."

"Can you get back in the fight?" Izuku asked, using the hand that wasn't holding the explosive blonde to check his ribs and sternum for injury.

The students and teachers in the observation center looked away when he lingered over Katsuki's pecs. Because could they be any more ridiculously obvious? "Yeah," Katsuki murmured, reaching up to squeeze Izuku's hand where it rested over his heart. "Just need to catch my breath. Go kick ass, nerd."

Kyoka had spent the rest of the exercise playing hide and seek with Izuku, who seemed to have gained the temperament of a heat-seaking missile.

"You're seeing this, right?" Mina asked Eijirou in Tsu's earshot. She turned to observe their quiet conversation. "This is so—"

"No, I get it," Eijirou agreed. "He's like...taking revenge for Kats."

Like a vengeful lover. Which was so weird. Well, maybe not weird, but definitely new.

That was when she had first noticed. They were always there to catch each other when they fell. Even it it was a small stumble—one half of the Terrible Twosome was there to make sure the other stayed on their feet.

When Izuku leaned too far back during class and nearly toppled his chair.

When Katsuki overshot a jump during training.

When Izuku tripped over his own feet walking from point A to point B.

When Katsuki bumped into another student too hard and stumbled back.

The list went on and on. They were hyper aware of each other, and she was starting to realize that it wasn't just catching each other—it was an intense attention to every minute move the other made.

They were on a class outing right now—they were going to the mall, and then they were going to watch the new quirk-accident romcom that had come out last weekend—and now that Izuku had slipped and Katsuki had caught him, Tsu couldn't take her eyes off them.

A quick glance told her that the rest of the class were facing the same dilemma.

They always made room for each other, moving in each others' space in perfect sync. Izuku gestured wildly as he spoke, and Katsuki knew exactly when to lean out of the way before he got hit in the face. Katsuki would grab for him when he made a snarky comment, and Izuku would know exactly when to duck.

The slightest twitch, and the other was moving to respond.

Izuku tripped again, falling forward as he flailed. Katsuki caught the back of his sweater and hauled him back. "For fuck's sake Deku, I know the new release is exciting but you gotta fuckin' watch where you're going!" Katsuki snapped, whacking him upside the head. "Gonna give me a fuckin' heart attack!"

"Sorry," Izuku replied, pouting up at him. Tsu's eyes widened as Katsuki rolled his eyes and slung an arm over his shoulder.

"Pain in the ass. Gonna have to make sure you don't eat shit, Deku."

She fought the urge to facepalm. And lost miserably.

"Are you alright, Tsu?" Ochako asked as the sound of her smacking her own face rang out.

"It's frustrating to watch your friends not realize something that's really obvious," Tsu replied, grimacing as the boys grinned at each other within kissing distance. She was overcome by the urge to smush their faces together, so she stuffed her hands in her pockets.

"Why...don't you just tell them?" Ochako asked hesitantly, trying to follow the line of her stare.

"It's one of those situations where there's a delicate balance. If I say anything, it might get ruined," Tsu replied, feeling tired beyond her years when Izuku tangled his fingers with the hand draped over his shoulder, absentmindedly fiddling with the skull ring on Katsuki's index finger.

"Who are you even talking about?" Ochako whined, craning to look around Eijirou. "Oh," she gasped, eyes lasered in on the arm around Izuku's shoulders. "Wow, I've never seen it in person," she squealed.

"He's just making sure he doesn't trip," Tsu deadpanned. Ochako stopped in her tracks and Momo crashed into her back.

"You have GOT to be kidding me!"

Tsu sighed. "They'll figure it out eventually."

"Who the FUCK took the rest of my cereal?" Ochako snapped, storming into the common room. It was a lazy Saturday morning, and almost everyone was present. The room stared at her silently, jarred out of their sleepy quiet by her loud and sudden anger. "Well?"

"Sorry!" Izuku piped up. Tenya glanced over at him. "That was me," he said, face sheepish and apologetic.

Tenya frowned. That couldn't be right, unless he'd eaten them without milk.

Izuku was lactose intolerant. Very, very lactose intolerant. If he'd taken the cereal...

Well. They'd definitely know by now.

Tenya's eyes slid over to Bakugou. His eyes were fixed on the ground, pointedly avoiding looking at Ochako and her brandished cereal box. The back of his neck was flushed pink.

It made sense now. Bakugou had eaten the cereal. Izuku, sitting right next to him, was covering for him. He rolled his eyes but, since it was a minor infraction, didn't speak up.

It's not like this was new behavior. In fact, now that their...odd relationship had come to light, it was practically commonplace.

Ochako sighed, annoyed but unwilling (read: unable) to stay mad at Izuku. It always astounded him—the way Izuku could pout and look like he was about to cry, and the whole world would crumble before him. As though he were some small vulnerable child instead of a destructive superhero who could use a semi truck like a baseball bat.

"Just...replace it, alright?" Ochako sighed, sounding annoyed but resigned. She, like many in the class, was incapable of staying mad at Izuku when he looked like he was about to cry. Unfortunately for all of them, he could summon that particular look on command. "And tell me next time."

"Of course," he agreed quickly, shifting slightly so that he was shielding Bakugou's guilty hunch from her eagle eyes.

She shuffled back into the kitchen testily—presumably to steal a few eggs from Yaoyorozu—and Izuku slumped back into the couch, sighing in relief as he instinctively tucked himself into Bakugou's side.

Could they really be so oblivious to their behavior? It seemed unlikely.

"Thanks, nerd," Bakugou muttered, tossing an arm over Izuku's shoulder. Tenya felt the room go still around them, even if the Disaster Duo were oblivious. Watching their not-romance had become something like a mass hobby and while there had to be moral repercussions somewhere in the bylaws, Tenya himself was victim to the phenomenon. It was infuriatingly fascinating. Captivating, even.

"I owed you one," Izuku chuckled. "For last week?"

Right. Last week, Izuku had come sprinting into homeroom in tears because he'd accidentally crushed Ashido's airpods. Without missing a beat, Bakugou had reached over and plucked the white case out of Izuku's hand before taking it in his and running a soothing thumb across his palm.

"I'll take care of it, alright?" he said in as soothing a voice as he could muster. "Chill, nerd. Fuck, they're just fuckin' earbuds—"

"They're airpods!" Izuku had wailed in response. "She loved them—"

"Relax, fucker, you're gonna have a goddamn heart attack," he insisted. It was kind of a growl, but considering Bakugou's usual volume, it was practically a comforting croon.

"I can't afford to replace them—"

"Then you'll owe me one, stupid," Bakugou snapped, shoving his hand into Izuku's hair and gripping it so he could tilt the shorter boy's head and force their eyes to meet. "Chill the fuck out."

Izuku swallowed, eyes going soft and watery. "Okay," he breathed, unconsciously leaning a little closer. "Thank you, Kacchan."

Everyone present had held their breath. Even Tenya had been at the edge of his seat (to scold them for public displays of affection, of course).

Then Ashido had walked into the room with Kaminari, the spell broke, and there was an inexplicable amount of distance between them—as though they hadn't been within kissing distance moments before.

"Yo, Pinky," Bakugou barked, grabbing her attention. "Accidentally stepped on your airpods. I'll go buy you a new set after school."

"Damn," Ashido sighed. "I was hoping to use them during training."

Bakugou fished in his pocket for a second before tossing something at her. She caught it easily. "Borrow mine," he shrugged. "I'll just listen to Deku's fuckin' endless stream of consciousness—"

"Mean!" Izuku pouted, elbowing him.

Bakugou had grinned down at him. "Really nerd? You sure about that?"

Izuku had spluttered and blushed, and Jirou had spent the rest of the time until class started smacking her head against her desk repeatedly.

So, it seemed like they'd started taking the blame for each other at every given opportunity, no matter how insignificant the infraction. It was almost tedious to watch, in a mind-numbingly frustrating way. Tenya could hardly call himself a romantic, but even he knew that they were dancing around each other in a maddeningly slow tango of terror.

Hence Izuku taking the blame for Bakugou's overindulgence in cereal—which was far more easily replaced than airpods.

"I just don't understand," he admitted to Ochako and Shoto later that evening. "If they're so enamored with each other, why avoid it?"

"I really don't think they've noticed," Ochako huffed.  She was still in the dark about her cereal (because she was liable to shoot the messenger), but she had a stack of opinions about her 'OTP.' "They're both so stupid and focused on hero work that they haven't realized that they're basically married."

"Even if they did notice, I don't think they'd do anything about it," Shoto offered.

Ochako blanched, turning that statement over in her head. "Oh no," she breathed. "You're right."

And Tenya knew they were right. Despite their closeness, they were still anxious around each other—afraid that the relationship they'd built was still fragile at the seams. As thought the stitches that held them together were made of spiderwebs instead of iron.

It was weird to have her eyes wide open to a situation that the people in the situation were unaware of.

No, more than that. It was super fucking awkward.

Don't get her wrong, she was happy for them. This was a lot of progress. A lot. And it would go somewhere if it killed her. It's not like she had a thing for Deku anymore.

Seriously, she didn't. She'd confessed to him in the middle of second year, and he'd gently turned her down, insisting that he was too focused on school to date. That made sense to her, and she'd taken it in stride. It had sucked for a hot minute, but she understood.

Of course, then she'd been slapped with the truth. Deku was just as focused on Kacchan as he was on hero work. It kinda stung that he was basically dating Bakugou which, by the transitive property, also meant that he had time to date—he just didn't want to date her. But you can't help who you love, right?

And Deku loved Bakugou. She had zero doubts about it. None. Honestly, she was a fucking idiot for not noticing it before.

Now that she knew, she couldn't look away. It was like...looking at a trainwreck on the surface of the sun. It was so pure, but they were so fucking stupid. She wanted to slap them both. That wouldn't help anything though.

Deku would get all pouty and sad and Bakugou would attempt to murder her—first for slapping him and then for upsetting his not-boyfriend. She could see it already. Idiocy in HD.

"Ochako?" Deku waved his had in front of her face. "It's your turn to order," he said, smiling once he had her attention.

They were standing in line for lunch, and she had been spaced out in front of Lunch Rush's impatient scowl for too long. "Oh, sorry," she blushed, glancing up at the board to see her options. "I'll have the ramen!"

"Are you okay?" he asked once they were clear of the line. She shot him a quick smile.

"Yeah, just distracted." Probably because this was the first time they'd be eating lunch together in over a week. "Just remembered some gossip from girl's night a while back," she assured him. He crinkled his nose.

"I don't know how you guys can stand knowing people's secrets," he replied. "Or how you act so normal when you're full of illicit knowledge—"

She snorted. "Illicit knowledge," she laughed. "We mostly talk about spit swapping, Deku."

"And you look those people in the eye after knowing who they swap spit with!" he cried. "It's a superpower!"

"Pretty lame superpower when I can already make a whole-ass car float," she giggled as they sat down across from Tenya and Shoto. And, apparently, beside Bakugou and the Bakusquad.

They apparently could not be separated, even for a 45-minute lunch period. This was getting ridiculous.

Bakugou nudged Deku's shoulder. "You didn't get any fucking vegetables, nerd."

"Well you called me a 'shitty-ass vegetable' earlier," he replied with poorly suppressed mirth. "I didn't feel up for cannibalism—"

"Shut. The fuck. Up," Bakugou snarled, forking half of his veggies onto Deku's plate like some very annoyed male-mom. "Eat healthy or I'll murder you."

"You keep saying that, but here I am," Deku teased, nudging Bakugou back.

"It'll happen someday. One fuckin' day you'll get on my last goddamn nerve and I'll poison your food and blow up your corpse."

"Seems like overkill, but whatever brings you peace, Kacchan," Deku replied with an easy smile.

"You two are weird as hell," Ochako grumbled. She saw the warning glance that Kirishima shot her just over Bakugou's head, even as the blonde tensed. It seemed like he'd noticed that he'd gained the scrutiny of the table, and his discomfort at being examined was likely to cause a big fat explosion that would ruin lunch. It was a universal agreement—thou shalt not disrupt the careful peace. She averted her eyes.

"It's nice to have everyone together," Deku remarked, grinning around the table. "I've been meaning to ask you about your YouTube channel, Mina!"

Even if it was unintentional, it served as a perfect distraction. Mina and Deku took off, chattering at bullet speed and taking the attention off of their pet bomb, and Bakugou relaxed—unexamined enough to stare at Deku's passionate rambling like he was a lovestruck wench in a harlequin romance. Ochako fought the temptation to smack her head into the table. That would be too obvious.

"You should totally do one with me, Mido!" Mina exclaimed. "Your fans would go crazy."

"Yeah, they'll love watching Robo-Hips creak his way through one of your videos," Bakugou drawled sarcastically.

Their PR class had encouraged them to share pieces of their lives with their fans. Ochako had chosen thrift shopping and aerial photography. Jirou had music. Deku and Bakugou had the history of heroics (where they bickered with each other about everything from pre-quirk heroes in media to All Might's best costumes). Mina had dance.

Deku huffed offendedly. "Robo-hips?" he demanded, scowling. Well, pouting.

Mina and Bakugou ignored him.

"Aw, come on! It would be fun to watch him learn! Very humanizing, you know?" Mina insisted. "Besides, he's gotta learn how to throw it back before we graduate."

Bakugou went very still. "Absolutely not."

"Why? His fans would literally die to see that—"

"Pinky. My mom subscribes to your channel. Absolutely fucking not."

Deku paled rapidly. "He has a point. If his mom sees it, my mom will know in approximately eight seconds. Anything involving my ass is probably off the table." Bakugou went brick red, but Mina ignored him in favor of chasing Deku down.

Ochako was impressed by her persistence—especially since Deku seemed to be considering it. Honestly, if she got those hips to unlock outside of hero work, she'd be doing the world a favor.

"But hips are fine?" Mina teased, leaning in. "I could coach you through one hell of a tango."

"This. This is why we don't eat with them, Deku," Bakugou barked. "Absolutely fucking—"

"Sure," Deku interrupted. "That should be fine as long as it isn't super suggestive."

"Deku."

"I can totally work with that!" Mina assured him, ignoring Bakugou completely. "God, I bet you'd be great at doing lifts. Like the fancy ones that make people think you're gonna snap your neck on the floor but end up being super sexy instead."

Deku chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Dunno about that, but I'm totally willing to try. It'll be fun!"

"Deku."

"C'mon, Kacchan, don't you think it would be fun?"

"No, I don't think watching you pelvic thrust in front of a million fucking extras would be fun."

'Posessive,' Uraraka thought, sliding her eyes over to Shoto and Tenya who looked just as grim and exasperated as she felt. "Nobody actually said you had to watch, Blasty," Ochako reminded him. "Maybe the rest of us want to watch him learn some pelvic sorcery, have you thought about that?"

Bakugou looked like he'd sucked on something sour as he fought to find a valid reason to veto this plan. "Your fuckin' funeral," he snapped at Deku. "If you want auntie to see you grinding up on Pinky, be my fuckin' guest. Don't blame me if she gives you another fuckin' sex talk, and don't you dare drag me into it again."

And with that, it seemed the floodgate opened.

"Hold on, he won't be grinding up on me—" Mina huffed

"What do you mean again?" Denki demanded simultaneously.

"You shouldn't engage in lewd behavior!"

"I saw a video on the internet about a dance style called Krumping. Maybe you should try that."

As though he'd anticipated this, Bakugou was already getting up from the table and ignoring the flying questions and, in Tenya's case, firm scolding. Deku caught him by the wrist. "Where are you going?"

"Avoiding a headache. Gonna eat somewhere else."

Deku pouted, keeping his grip on Bakugou's wrist as he craned to look at Ochako. She rolled her eyes and waved him off, rolling her eyes harder when he visibly brightened. She wished they'd just fucking date already. "I'll come with you," he cheered, slotting their fingers together like it was totally normal to hold hands with someone you were supposedly platonic with.

Her eyes zeroed in on the motion and she inhaled sharply, choking on a noodle as it hit the back of her throat without mercy. She was sure that if Deku weren't utterly wrapped up in Bakugou's pleased smirk, he would have been very concerned that she was choking on her lunch.

He barely noticed. Ridiculous.

"Jesus, Cheeks, learn to swallow," Bakugou snickered.

"You first," she wheezed despite the obstruction in her esophagus.

Bakugou's scowl was ferocious—blush burning bright across his high cheekbones—and she couldn't help but laugh which, unfortunately, exacerbated the choking problem. She could tell by the looks of concern on Tenya and Tsu's faces that she was probably turning purple right now. "Fuck you, Chipmunk. C'mon Deku."

"Later guys!" Deku agreed, barely even looking over at them even though his best friend was slowly asphyxiating. She'd be offended, but Deku's unyielding focus on Bakugou was hardly new behavior.

She appreciated Tsu's steady hand on her back, gently rubbing up and down to try to soothe her hacking coughs as she watched them leave through watering eyes. They settled a few tables down, hands still entwined and leaning into each others' space as they spoke.

Ochako watched in fond frustration as Deku played with Bakugou's fingers and nudged their shoulders together as he whispered and whispered and whispered until Bakugou finally cracked a smile.

And that smile made Deku shine.

The events of the next few weeks made Mashirao genuinely wonder if he was cursed.

It started on a Monday. Hero training had hit them hard. Bakugou and Midoriya had been in peak form, even thought they'd both used buildings to cushion their landings.

Usually that meant an extended stay with Recovery Girl and an early bed time for both of them. But today, it seemed like they'd decided to ignore their discomfort and join them in the common room. They'd laid claim to a couch pretty early, and everyone assumed that meant they'd be powering through as much homework as they could before they crashed.

They were already close to their limits—looking drowsy and slouching over their work as though it was a struggle to stay awake.

They must have bypassed Recovery Girl so that they'd have the stamina to stay on top of their work. Otherwise there's no way they'd let their current bruise-to-skin ration stay this purple.

About a half an hour into the evening, Bakugou snapped. "Stop fucking fidgeting, asshole!"

"Sorry, Kacchan," Midoriya murmured, shifting around. "Back is sore. I think I strained something when I picked that car up—"

"Then why didn't you fucking say so?" Bakugou snapped, shoving Midoriya so he keeled over on the sofa. "Lie on your stomach, shithead."

"Kacchan?"

"The massages my PT taught me to do with my quirk," he snapped. "Get on your fucking stomach."

There was an incident a year ago where Mei Hatsume had spilled an entire container of lubricant on the floor, and Kendo had been carrying an entire crate of practice explosives (filled with explosive paint packs instead of actual explosives) and couldn't see the aforementioned lubricant spill. Nobody was close enough to stop it, but no one could look away. They had watched in silent horror as Kendo had slipped, dropped the devices on the floor. The resulting pseudo-explosion had left both Kendo and a large section of cafeteria painted brilliant rainbow shades.

This felt similar.

It was just a physical therapy massage, right? So they couldn't really interrupt what was about to happen without making it weird for all parties involved.

But the entire class watched as Midoriya lay down on his stomach and Bakugou straddled his legs, coming to rest his own hips just below Midoriya's ass. Sero let out a startled squeak from across the room and honestly, Mashirao could relate. His tail was twitching uncomfortably and he belatedly realized that his instincts were telling him to literally knock Bakugou off Midoriya before this could progress any further.

Bakugou hiked up Midoriya's shirt so that it caught around his shoulders and left his back exposed.

Then, Bakugou dug his heated hands into the stiff muscles of Midoriya's upper back and Midoriya moaned.

Like, moaned.

A long, drawn out, pleasured noise the likes of which were normally heard in pornography if you were unlucky enough to pass Mineta's room during his 'alone time.'

"Oh no," Tooru whispered, gripping his arm. "No, we should go."

He made to stand, just to freeze in place when Midoriya moaned again—loud and drawn out. And then he moaned a little louder as Bakugou seemed to target whatever spot was making him make that goddamn noise.

Bakugou's face was twisted into a smug grin, and the very tips of his ears had flushed red. So clearly some part of him knew what this sounded like. And yet, he continued. In fact, he made it worse.

"Oh, god that feels so good," Midoriya whined. "Right there, yessss—"

"Like that nerd? Need it harder?" Bakugou asked, his voice five percent lower and more smooth than normal. "You're so fucking tense. Loosen up for me, Deku."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Jirou whispered. "This is the worst day of my life."

Midoriya moaned again—higher and a little breathless this time. "Feels so good, Kacchan, you're amazing," he panted.

Everyone present felt like they were frozen. Tooru was tugging on his hand, trying to get him to leave and finally—finally—he managed to unlock his brain in order to move his limbs and escape the room very quietly.

The relief was shorter lived than he wanted.

Two days later, Midoriya decided to return the goddamn favor and Mashirao wanted to smash his head into a wall.

They were all sitting down to dinner (that Bakugou had made for them out of the...goodness of his heart), when Bakugou had tossed his chopsticks onto the table in frustration.

He cradled his wrist and flexed his hand.

"Did you push too hard in training?" Midoriya asked him quietly. Well. 'Quietly.' Midoriya was always a little louder than he thought he was.

"Practicing precision, so my hands are fucking cramping," Bakugou replied, still clenching and unclenching his hands in frustration. He stilled when Midoriya took one of his hands in his own and dug his thumbs into Bakugou's aching palms. "The fuck are you doing?"

"My hands cramp up a lot," Midoriya explained, smiling up at him softly. "Ever since the Sports Festival."

He ran his thumbs down the lines of Bakugou's palm, pressing his fingertips into the backs of his hands between his metacarpals—moving in small but firm circular motions. "Oh, fuck, that's good," Bakugou groaned. Every single person at the table (except the Wonder Duo) stiffened, already knowing where this was heading.

"Heat up your palms for me," Midoriya instructed. "Just a little. That should help, too."

Bakugou complied, groaning quietly as Midoriya broadened his strokes. "Oh, fuck, press harder there—that's fuckin' perfect," he panted.

Ojirou came here for ramen, not homoeroticism. This was some bullshit.

Bakugou's next moan came out as a high pitched whine. "Sorry, did that hurt?" Midoriya asked, easing up on his massage to stroke at the back of his hand with his thumb.

"S'fuckin' good, nerd. I should make you do this every day," Bakugou grumbled.

"That would be disruptive," Kaminari muttered, head bowed to hide his horrified grimace. Mashirao gave a silent prayer for his soul, since he was probably about to get murdered.

But at least if Kaminari was murdered he wouldn't have to hear this shit again. He was almost jealous.

As a member of the Bakusquad, the revelation that Katsuki and Mido were basically dating had felt like a breath of fresh air and a major blow at the same time. Of course, that had been when Mina first told them about it. Now it felt like a curse. They were theoretically close enough to Katuski to talk to him about it, but only theoretically.

They all knew how the Disaster Duo would react to the revelation.

Hellfire and destruction seemed like an understatement.

Especially since they rained hellfire and destruction without having their emotional constipation aired out.

"The hell are you zoning out for?" Katsuki snapped, kicking him. "You want my help with this shit you better pay attention, fuckface."

"Sorry, Kacchan," he replied, because he couldn't help kicking the beehive.

"Fuck you," Katsuki snapped, standing. "I got better shit to do—"

"Kacchan!"

Both Denki and Katsuki whipped toward Izuku, eyes wide. "What, nerd?" Katsuki barked.

"You promised him you'd help him with pre-calc! You can't back out!" he scolded.

"Stop telling me what to do!" Katsuki bellowed, standing. Denki could already see where this was going, and he started packing up his books and clearing the table as quickly as he could. 'Bakugou destroyed my homework' was no longer an acceptable excuse in Aizawa's eyes.

"You promised!" Deku yelled back—more chaotic than angry. There was a glint in his eye.

"Boys," Momo (god bless her soul) tried to interrupt, but she went ignored.

"If he ain't paying attention, I ain't fuckin' helping!"

"Backing out just because something's challenging? That's not very heroic!"

Oohhhh. Okay. Cage match time. "Someone text Cementoss and tell him to come by in a couple hours," Denki suggested quietly. Not that he actually needed to control his volume since the Wonder Duo weren't paying attention to anyone except each other.

"I'm gonna kill you!" Katsuki screamed.

"DO IT! YOU CAN'T!" Izuku screamed back.

Oh god.

Katsuki launched himself over the back of the couch and tackled Izuku to the ground. Denki rolled his eyes heavenward. "Take it nerd," Katsuki yelled, attempting to pin him to the ground.

"You'll be the one taking it this time," Izuku yelled back.

How did they not hear themselves.

Denki watched, somewhere between mild interest and outright horror as Izuku bucked up against Katsuki—making him freeze—before wrapping his legs around Katsuki's narrow waist and using a well-placed pelvic thrust to flip them over.

Katsuki snarled and grabbed Izuku's hair, pulling it.

Predictably, Midoriya moaned. Well, groaned. But it sounded like a moan—breathy and strained.

"Bet you Mido loses because he gets a boner and taps out," Kyoka murmured in his ear.

"Bet you they'll just end up humping on the floor and say they're trying to break out of each others' holds," Denki muttered back.

"You're on," she grinned.

They watched in uncomfortable fascination as Izuku broke Katusuki's grip and they grappled until Mido had flipped Katsuki over, sitting on his ass and pulling his arm to twist it behind his back.

But Katsuki was never one to back down, so he pushed his hips back in an attempt to buck Izuku off, but really only ended up grinding his ass into his crotch. Mido froze and Katsuki took the split second of discomfort to throw him off and switch their positions.

"Never forget that you belong underneath me, nerd!"

"I'm gonna top you," Izuku insisted, wiggling underneath him. Undulating, really.

The intense and completely unnecessarily homoerotic grappling went on way longer than they thought it would, with way more uncomfortable moments than they wanted.

Katsuki managed to squeeze Izuku's ass three times under the guise of trying to flip him over. Izuku actually bit Katsuki's shoulder while pulling his hair. Katsuki had made a noise that sounded like...well, like a whore, honestly—performative in its volume and appreciation.

They also broke six tables.

"I just made new ones," Momo sighed mournfully. Denki patted her back sympathetically.

"They'll get their act together someday," he said, trying to soothe the loss of the brand new furniture.

Surprisingly enough, Mido won despite the fact that he'd locked Katsuki's head between his thighs like a watermelon in a summer Tik Tok challenge. Of course, before tapping out, Katsuki ran his hands up Izuku's thighs—periodically squeezing as he 'attempted to get out of the hold.'

And by 'attempted to get out of the hold,' he meant ' rubbed his face into Izuku's crotch suggestively.

This had to be the first circle of hell. The people who could hang despite the weird shit they pulled got promoted to demons. The people who couldn't (Iida) fell another layer to deal with more violent oblivious gay bullshit.

That's definitely how it worked.

But that wasn't the important part.

The important part was that Denki had won his bet with Kyoka and his homework had come out unscathed.

Kyoka turned to him with a sigh. "Alright," she conceded Katsuki and Mido were making their way back to the couches. He was 97% sure that Mido would position himself so close to him that he'd practically be sitting on his lap. "What do you want?"

Denki pondered it, a little distracted by the way Mido was pushing aside the collar of Katsuki's shirt to examine the bite mark on his neck, brushing his thumb over it. He was also distracted by Katsuki's full-body shiver that both of them seemed to not notice at all. "Uh..."

"Jesus fuck, I wish they'd just fuck already," Kyoka muttered. Denki nodded miserably.

"How about a new playlist and all of your currently-relevant gossip?" he suggested,

"No way!" she huffed. "That wasn't nearly a big enough bet! You can have the playlist, but I've got some good stuff, Denks."

He sighed, kissing her forehead. "Fine. Just the playlist then." His eyes were drawn back to the pair of WMDs when Katsuki groaned out loud. Mido was sitting in his goddamn lap. "Are you sure we can't tell him?" he asked, closing his eyes as though he was in physical pain.

"Do you want to do it?" she asked seriously. "Really, how would you do it? What would you say? How would he react?"

Denki grimaced. Yeah, she had a point. They all had a point. But really, there was only so much tension they could take before something had to give. And now, despite the fact that Izuku was done inspecting Katsuki's bruises, he was still sitting in his fucking lap, talking at a mile a minute while Katsuki stared up at him looking like he'd been electrocuted.

"Well," he interrupted loudly. "I think that's it for me tonight! I'm going to bed."

"The fuck you are!" Katsuki snapped, standing and upending Izuku onto the floor. The greenette looked supremely unbothered by that, choosing to proudly grin up at Katuski instead. Because Katsuki had decided to keep his promise to tutor Denki. "You're not leaving until you can take that fucking test without failing it!"

Denki grimaced. He was on his second re-take, but the idea of sitting in the middle of Katsuki's UST puddle while trying to retain information was a nightmare in and of itself. "We'll be here forever, dude."

"Why don't I help too?" Mido offered, sweet and excited. Denki fought the urge to grimace even harder. With both of them there, he'd never get anything done. But he didn't want to hurt Izuku's feelings by declining. Why did he have to be so goddamn nice? "We can trade off when Kacchan starts to—"

"Feel like murdering him? Get real, nerd, if you want it that way you might as well just take over. I always want to murder him."

"Not nice, Kacchan!"

"I'm never fucking nice, Deku!"

Denki rolled his eyes heavenward as their bickering resumed and they forgot about him. Again. Kyoka squeezed his hand sympathetically.

It was gonna be a long night.

Eijirou found himself caught somewhere between bone-deep exasperation and utter fondness. He was so proud of Midoriya for being so vocal about his admiration, and Katsuki for learning to accept the praise for what it was.  He knew the rest of the class was mostly exasperated by their blindness, but he knew they'd get there eventually.

Feelings were scary. Like really scary. That's why he hadn't asked Mina out yet, even thought they both knew it was gonna happen. That's why Denki and Kyoka hadn't talked about the fact that they both liked Momo. That's why Hagakure pretended she didn't have a crush on Ojirou.

But Katsuki and Midoriya had made major progress! They were stuck in a weird dude-loving-dude-but-not-realizing-it limbo right now, but it was better than before!

He did wish they'd take the journey to their super-manly everlasting love less...sexually, though. Lately, it was getting out of hand.

It had started simple—with little comments about each others' routines—until Izuku had offhandedly mentioned that Katsuki's pecs were uneven which had led to a nuclear meltdown of a temper tantrum.

"They still look amazing," Izuku commented idly, placing his hands on Katsuki's pecs as though he were weighing them. Katsuki's temper tantrum ended—replaced by an outraged blush. "They're close, too. You just tend to use your right side for impact and your left for propulsion, so you've got a little more definition in the left side. It's maybe—" he flattened his hands across Katsuki's chest and Eijirou watched in pained amusement as he jolted at the sensation. "Two millimeters larger on one side?"

"How much time do you spend looking at his pecs, dude?" Denki sniggered.

"As much as I need to," Deku replied distractedly. "I'd hardly be a good partner if I didn't pay attention to the things that matter to him—"

"My pecs don't matter to me you little—"

Izuku squeezed his pecs to quiet him, and Katsuki blushed but listened. Eijirou fought back his laughter. Laughing at your bro in the middle of a gay crisis wasn't manly at all. "I mean your training regimen, Kacchan," he said softly.

They'd been too distracted by each other to notice everyone else in the locker room pointedly turn away from them.

So yeah. Ass-loads of sexual tension. But hey, good for them! Progress was important.

That had been about two weeks after Mina's hand-holding discovery.

They were in the weight room now. Katsuki was sitting on the edge of the bench press and watching Izuku do lunge sets. Which Eijirou could understand. The amount of weight Mido could squat was unfathomable.

"Damn, nerd. Your thighs are thick as hell, do you train anything else?"

"They're not that bad, Kacchan," Izuku pouted. "And I've been focusing on my arms, you know that. I wanna get back to packing in upper body attacks."

"Yeah, but these?" Katsuki reached down and gripped the back of Izuku's thigh, squeezing the flesh there to make his point. "Fuckin' insane, Deku."

"Dear lord," Sato mumbled from somewhere behind him. "I'm sorry for whatever I did to deserve this. Please just let them bang and I promise I'll make up for it."

He sounded close to tears. Eijirou couldn't quite relate—like he said, he was proud of them—but he could see why others might not want to be around for this very poorly thought-out foreplay.

He, on the other hand, felt like he was watching history in the making.

"Not saying it's a bad thing," Katsuki continued, completely unaware of Sato's discomfort.

"Kinda sounds like it," Izuku mumbled self-consciously.

"Nah, looks good," he admitted, running his hand down Mido's leg as he examined it closely. "Hurts like hell when you smash me, too."

"Please god let them learn to think before they speak," Sato added after dropping his weight plate in alarm. Eijirou had to admit—that one was pushing the limit.

"We're supposed to be deadlifting, bro!" Eijirou called, taking pity on Sato's waning sanity. "Not manly!"

"Shut the fuck up, Geodude!" Katsuki yelled back. "It's fucking Saturday, we've got fuckin' time!"

"No, he's right," Izuku said. He reached down and Eijirou thought he was going to pat Katsuki's head, but he didn't. He gently ran his fingers through his hair, and Eijirou briefly understood where his classmates were coming from.

They were blind when it came to each other. You didn't run your fingers lovingly through someone's hair unless you were into them. That was a couple's thing.

Right?

"Fine, whatever," Katsuki huffed, leaning into the scritches Izuku was bestowing upon him. "You should practice wrestling with Sugar Tits," he suggested as he stood. "Last time you had your legs around my neck I could barely feel it."

"You'll feel it next time, Kacchan, I promise," Izuku replied with a promising grin. Eijirou's smile grew strained. He should probably work on slowly teaching them verbal subtext. Or have Mina do it. So that this didn't happen around people who couldn't handle it.

Like Sato, who was currently attempting to brain himself with the bar on the squat rack.

"So," Eijirou tried, hoping that he might be able to nudge his friends in the right direction. They were studying in the common room, and Katsuki had been re-reading his notes for the past hour. It seemed like a good time to interrupt. "You and Midoriya have been getting along better."

Katsuki rewarded his observation with a roll of his eyes. "Yeah, he doesn't want to make me blow him up anymore," he scoffed. "Fan-fucking-tastic."

"Yeah, but you're training together," he said. Katsuki shrugged, not looking away from his notes this time. "Appreciating each other, you know?"

Yeah, appreciating each other's bodies with homoerotic caresses in broad daylight. But Eijirou wasn't gonna say that. He liked his head attached to his body, thanks.

"I don't appreciate shit, asshole."

"You literally waxed poetic about his thighs less than a day ago," Eijirou reminded him. Katsuki rolled his eyes again.

"I was trying to enourage him or whatever. You fucks keep telling me I should let people know when they're doing shit right," he huffed. "And Deku's been kicking ass with those legs of his. Pretty sure he could crack a fucking boulder with those thighs—"

"He's the only person you do that for, though," Eijirou interrupted before Katsuki could get too far with his thigh-appreciation speech.

"You jealous or something, Shark Face?" Katsuki sniggered. Eijirou slugged him on the arm. He was not jealous. He was proud of their progress, he just...wanted to see if he could push them a bit farther! "I can compliment you too, if it means that much to you. Might have to work a little harder to find something to compliment you for, but—"

"No," he huffed. This is what he got for trying to be a good friend. Sarcasm and disrespect. "I'm just saying, it's nice to see you two getting close. Really close, you know? Like you're finally ready to admit that he's important to you. You care about him and his progress and stuff, you know? Super manly."

"Fuckin' nerd would get himself killed if I didn't tell him how to do shit," Katsuki replied. It was Eijirou's turn to roll his eyes. "But yeah, he's not the worst. And," he continued hesitantly. "His muscle definition is really improving. Did you see his calves? His triceps, too. Seriously, what the fuck has he been doing? Fucker thinks he can just surpass me? I'll fucking show him—"

Eijirou tried very hard not to laugh at him as he devolved into a rant that was equal parts wounded pride and homoerotic body-worship. His emotional constipation was almost endearing.

'He's not the worst.'

Coming from Katsuki, it was practically a love sonnet. That wasn't saying much, though. "Come on, dude. It's more than that," he cajoled.

Katsuki groaned. "Why are you fuckin' pushing this?"

"I'm just proud of you dude," he replied, punching his shoulder gently. "You spend so much time acknowledging his progress lately, I don't think you've really acknowledged yours. You should think about what he means to you, you know?"

"He's my best friend, alright?" Katsuki snapped. "It's not that complicated!"

That was a start. A real start.

"Dude, I'm your best friend," Eijirou pouted anyway. "You don't treat me the way you treat Mido."

He knew he was getting really close to pushing. If he nudged Katsuki any harder, it would probably backfire. He was banking on the general concept that he himself was generally oblivious. Maybe if Katsuki thought Eijirou wasn't aware of what he was doing, he wouldn't blow up and get defensive.

Yeah, Eijirou thought—a rare sarcastic moment. That's likely. Blowing up is his entire brand.

Next to him, Katsuki had gone awfully still—eyes narrowed. Eijirou tensed, just in case it backfired faster than he thought it would. But Katsuki wasn't glaring at him, he was just mean-mugging the fuck out of the nearest wall.

Thinking. Pondering. Turning Eijirou's words over in his spiky head.

"You're different than Deku," Katsuki finally decided. Eijirou fought the urge to beam at him proudly. Realizing your feelings and admitting them was so manly!

"Yeah?" Eijirou asked, trying for nonchalance.

"Yeah. You're less annoying. Don't gotta try as hard," Katsuki grunted.

Eijirou's face fell. He hadn't realized anything.

Dammit. Not manly at all.

Koji didn't get to see his parents often, so when they were around he liked to take them sightseeing around Tokyo. He showed them all the new places he'd discovered since the last time they'd visited—introducing them to all his animal friends as he did.

The last stop on their tour was a cute little ice cream place about twenty minutes from campus. It had become somewhat of a notorious date spot for UA students because they offered 'ice cream flights'—five to fifteen flavors of hand-churned ice cream that were meant to be shared. He'd gone to try it with Sato and Momo—mostly so that they could order for him. The people who worked here were nice, but they were also...in your face about it. Loud and talkative.

He was neither of those things.

His mom asked him what his favorite flavors were, and they ordered a flight, sitting at a table by a large window as they shared.

And then, the Class A curse walked into the joint. "Aren't they classmates of yours, Koji?" his father asked, pointing at the door. Koji turned and his stomach dropped. Midoriya and Bakugou walked in, Bakugou's arm slung over Midoriya's shoulder. It was a little tighter than your average 'arm over your boyfriend's shoulder,' so he assumed it was probably an aborted headlock that they hadn't completely put away yet.

But to a bystander who didn't know them that well? It looked romantic. He could tell, because his mother had started cooing about how cute they looked. "They're not together," he whispered.

"Really? They look very good together," she pouted, looking back over at them. "And that Midoriya boy is so sweet, why wouldn't the loud one like him?"

Koji grimaced. "He does," he explained as quietly as he could—cowed by the idea of one of the Demolition Duo actually hearing him. He liked this ice cream place too much to let it be destroyed. "He just doesn't know it. Or at least, we think he doesn't. And we...don't wanna tell him."

"Why?" his mom prodded. He loved her so much, but good lord did he not want to talk about this. He barely wanted to talk at all, let alone about something so incendiary, so close to the incendiary device himself.

"They're in denial or something," he muttered, taking a large spoonful of ice cream so that his mother would be thwarted on her inevitable next question. "Telling them would make things awful." Then, he jammed the spoon in his mouth, smiling when his mom raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are...you sure they're in denial?" his father asked, still staring in their direction. Koji looked over at them and sure enough, they were displaying what could be interpreted as bone-deep love and romance, right there in front of everyone's ice cream.

Bakugou had released his headlock, and was instead holding Midoriya by the wrist as he pressed his face against the glass to look at all the ice cream flavors. He was bouncing around erratically, pointing at this flavor and that, until Bakugou grabbed his shoulder and turned him to meet his eyes forcibly. Then, right there in front of like...thirty witnesses, Bakugou stepped closer and slid his hand from Midoriya's shoulder to cradle the back of his neck—gazing into his eyes and speaking softly with a little smirk plastered across his face.

He knew the girls would kill him if he didn't take a picture and send it to them, so he did—sliding his phone out to take a snapshot as subtly as he could before addressing his dad. "Yeah, we're sure," he mumbled as he sent the pic in question to Ashido. "They're just like that." He received an unintelligible string of happy emojis in reply.

He took another bite of ice cream, and found his gaze magnetically drawn back to the oblivious disasters. He balked when he made direct eye contact with Bakugou. He inhaled sharply—accidentally inhaling a significant amount of ice cream along with it, choking immediately.

Fantastic.

"Oh no, Koda! Are you okay?" Midoriya asked, ditching his spot in line to come check on him, even as his mother rubbed his back. Bakugou stayed in line, but watched with a furrowed brow. If Koji had to guess, he'd guess that they used their weird pseudo-telepathy thing and decided that Midoriya would check on him while Bakugou held their place in line.

It was nice that he was concerned, he supposed.

"I'm fine," he squeaked. "You and Bakugou just surprised me."

From across the parlor, Bakugou signed the same question to him, and he signed the same answer back. Well, not quite the same. Bakugou's actual question was "You dead, loser?" and his response was "I'm alive." But did the details really matter when Bakugou was expressing genuine concern for someone? No. No, you took what you got and were grateful for it.

"It's a surprise to see you here!" he smiled. "I didn't realize your parents were in town, it's good to see you both!" He bowed to them respectfully.

"You too, Midoriya," his father replied. "Would you two like to join us?"

Midoriya, being the guy he was, brightened immediately. Koji's stomach sank, knowing that Bakugou came with Midoriya as a matching UST set. His poor parents. Hopefully they'd survive the encounter. "If it's not too much of an intrusion, we'd love to!" he replied.

"Of course!" His mother cooed. Midoriya grinned at them before leaving to rejoin Bakugou in line.

"Please don't mention anything about them being cute as a couple," Koji instructed. "And also? I'm so sorry for whatever you're about to witness."

His mother frowned at him in confusion. "It can't be that bad, honey," she replied, taking another spoon of ice cream.

She was incorrect, and Koji knew it. They shuffled around the table so that his parents sandwiched him on either side, and when the source of his stress joined them at the table with their own ice cream flight he could feel the discomfort setting in. Mostly because as soon as they sat down, Koji noticed two things. First, Bakugou's arms immediately settled back around Midoriya's shoulders. Second, they only had one spoon.

Listen, he'd heard Hagakure squeal about indirect kisses way more often than he wanted over the past three years. He knew what was about to happen.

The conversation was easy—exchanging pleasantries and catching up since the last time they'd seen each other at the UA Parents' Weekend. His parents asked after their parents, and talked about a recipe that Mrs. Midoriya had exchanged with Koji's father. Meanwhile, Bakugou was having a quiet conversation with him in Sign, apologizing for horning in on their afternoon.

Then, Midoriya took the first bite of the first ice cream cream flavor on their board, humming happily. Koji had tried that flavor too—a Honey Lavender that was more herbal than sweet. "You gotta try this one, Kacchan," he exclaimed, digging up another spoonful and holding it up to Bakugou's mouth. Bakugou rolled his eyes, but indulged him—lips sliding over the spoon way more sensually than was acceptable in front of parents.

"Not bad," he grunted. "You're gonna make me try every goddamn flavor, aren't you?"

Midoriya grinned. "Absolutely," he agreed.

"You're the worst," he grumbled. "I don't even like ice cream."

"Liar," Midoriya sang. He turned to Koji's parents. "He mostly came so that I wouldn't be alone," he explained. "But we've been here before, and they always have a new flavor. Once they had habanero chocolate—I think that was his favorite."

It went on like that the entire time—Midoriya taking a bite, then holding the spoon up for Bakugou to take a bite, too. Midoriya was vocal about his appreciation—especially with the unique flavors—moaning every time he tried something new. Bakugou's ears were read, but his face was carefully blank. Koji didn't know if it was intentional or not, but he did know that he wanted to hide under the table.

If the way his mother was shifting was any indication, she did too. 

"What did you think of the Cinnamon Snickerdoodle," Midoriya asked, turning to face Bakugou. "I think I might take a pint home. Only if you like it though, I shouldn't eat a pint by—" he cut off because Bakugou swiped his thumb along Midoriya's bottom lip—wiping a way a bit of ice cream at the corner of his mouth. "Kacchan?" he uttered, a little breathless.

Bakugou popped his thumb in his mouth, licking away that small trace of ice cream but dumping discomfort on the table like a mound of glitter—flashy and impossible to ignore or get rid of. In front of his parents. He glanced at the adults and found them in varying states of shock and unease, averting their eyes. He warned them, but still—he felt bad for them.

Bakugou hummed thoughtfully, supposedly rolling the flavor of that tiny droplet in his mouth as though it were substantial enough to sway his opinion. Finally, he grinned down at Midoriya, looking almost predatory.

"Tastes good, nerd."

He was gonna have to get his parents therapy. Fantastic.

It wasn't his business. It wasn't his goddamn business.

Nevermind that he'd agonized over what to put in the food—messing with the ingredients until he'd created the perfect balance. Some people just had malfunctioning tastebuds.

It was fine.

It was Rikido's turn to cook (that was like every other day, since half the class was banned from the kitchen), and he'd made  damn good dinner. He'd been watching old-ass cooking shows and decided to make a goddamn mediterranean feast, including a couscous pilaf with shit-tons of veggies.

And Bakugou and Midoriya were picking them out. Piece by painstaking piece, they were digging through their food and plucking the good shit out of the couscous.

It was none of his business.

Except that it was totally his goddamn business. It was an affront to his culinary skill! Everyone else seemed to love it, so what the hell was up with those two?

He snuck closer, smiling at the odd compliment thrown his way. Finally, when he was just within earshot but not close enough to notice (unless they were actually looking), he observed.

Bakugou was picking all the mushrooms out of his pilaf with a scowl—piling them up on a napkin beside his plate. At least Midoriya had the heart to stack his veggies on a little plate. He was picking out the bell peppers—and Rikido had included a whole-ass rainbow of them. Yellow, green, red, and orange. That's right, he was dedicated.

"Ugh, I fucking hate mushrooms," Bakugou grumbled, shoving the napkin away from him (and shoving a knife into Rikido's heart in the process). "Here," he grunted. Rikido watched as the napkin was shoved at Midoriya, who looked up at him in surprise.

"Are you sure, Kacchan?"

"Just eat the nasty things. I know you like them, shithead."

Midoriya accepted them, but immediately passed his plate of peppers to Bakugou. "You have these. I don't really like them anyway. Thanks, Kacchan."

"Whatever," Bakugou grumbled. "Just eat your fucking fungus."

Midoriya complied without complaint, dumping the mushrooms from the napkin directly into his bowl before digging in. Bakugou looked much happier as he forked the peppers into his couscous.

Rikido's stomach sank. Maybe he should have left mix-ins on the side so people could pick what they wanted. He knew Bakugou preferred sharper flavors—it made sense that he didn't like the earthiness of mushrooms.

As they continued eating and finding new contraband veggies in their food, they kept trading off—eventually giving up on making piles of peppers and mounds of mushrooms and forking them directly into each others' bowls.

He supposed he was glad that they had each other so that none of his food went to waste. What, with all the talk about how they were practically dating, it seemed like a good thing that they had opposing tastes that complemented each other.

They were like one of those married couples that traded off food when their partner liked something more. He'd seen Jirou's parents doing it at the Sports Festival—swapping the bits of carnival food that the other Iiked better. It was cute, even if it was personally painful that his food didn't fire on all cylinders.

Later, Rikido found himself in the kitchen with Bakugou while the rest of the class started a movie. It was some old American comedy about a girl who became a lawyer.

"Sorry, Bakugou," Rikido spoke up as they washed dishes together—Bakugou scrubbing while he dried.

"For what?" he frowned, turning his head slightly to glance at him. "You poison my food or some shit?"

Rikido barked out a surprised laugh. "No, dude. I just didn't realize you didn't like mushrooms. I'd have left them out or put them on the side."

Bakugou snorted, a derisive sound. "Don't be stupid, Sugar Tits. The food was fine."

"You gave all your mushrooms to Midoriya, though."

"Yeah, because he likes them. And he doesn't like peppers, so he gave me his. It was a fair trade. Chill the fuck out," he explained, rolling his eyes harder than strictly necessary.

"But you said—"

"Were you eavesdropping?" Katsuki barked, rounding on him furiously.

"Not on purpose!" he yelped. "I was just...nearby and I heard you say you hated mushrooms—"

"If I didn't hate mushrooms, do you think Deku would have let me give them to him? I don't fucking thing so," he snapped. "I don't love them or anything, so I don't mind giving them to the little shit, but he's such a fucking martyr that he won't accept shit unless it helps someone else."

So I let him think he's helping me.

The unspoken words made Rikido feel almost uncomfortably soft. He couldn't imagine Bakugou admitting something like that two years ago—that he let Midoriya think he was helping him just so he could have something he liked. It felt out of character, but at the same time it was obvious.

In fact, there was no way that the action wasn't somehow reciprocal. A curiosity grew in his gut as he continued to dry the plates that Bakugou handed him. He could hear his classmates laughing about whatever had happened in the movie.

He watched as Bakugou stiffened just slightly when Midoriya's laugh could be heard above the rest. You couldn't hear it unless you listened for it, but they were always listening for each other. More often than not, Rikido knew Bakugou had entered the room because Midoriya would tense and his head would turn in his direction automatically. He wouldn't even pause his conversations.

Later that week, they were studying in Yaomomo's room and she'd put out some crudités to snack on. Rikido didn't notice at first—too wrapped up in trying to understand conjugation to observe Midoriya in a Bakugou-free environment.

"Oh, I'm sorry—let me go get some more of the mini bell peppers," Momo fretted, standing to sashay over to her mini-fridge.

"You don't have to," Midoriya protested. Rikido looked up at Midoriya and went still. He had a half-eaten mini bell pepper in his hand. Didn't Bakugou say he didn't like them? Was Midoriya lying to Bakugou about liking peppers?

"I thought you didn't like Bell Peppers, dude," he spoke up. Midoriya looked up at him with a little frown. "You picked them all out at dinner on Saturday," he explained. Midoriya flushed.

"Oh, I like them. Kacchan just likes them more, but he'd never ask, you know? So like...five years ago? I just told him I didn't like them, and never took it back. That way he can get what he wants without having to ask for it, and he feels like he's doing me a favor," he explained, shrugging.

Rikido blinked at him. That's exactly what Bakugou had said about the goddamn mushrooms. What kind of martyr-riddled hellscape did these two idiots live in?

It wasn't his business. It wasn't his business. It wasn't his business.

He looked over at the rest of the study group: Uraraka who was biting her bottom lip, looking ready to burst; Kaminari, whose eyes were flicking between him and Midoriya; and Yaomomo, whose back was to the fridge, shoulders shaking.

It wasn't their business.

"That's nice of you, dude," he choked out before forcing his attention back to his worksheet.

It wasn't his goddamn business.

But he couldn't help himself.

During their next study break, he was twirling his pen between his fingers and chatting with Uraraka—listening as she asked him what he was thinking for his next turn cooking. "I saw these super awesome looking steak and mushroom pies," he replied louder than strictly necessary.

He saw Midoriya twitch in his periphery.

"Mm, maybe Kacchan and I can go try the new Mexican place that night," he mumbled. Rikido turned to him, making sure to look as wounded as physically possible. As soon as he saw Rikido's face, Midoriya waved his hands frantically, trying to reassure him. "I'm sorry! It's just—Kacchan doesn't like mushrooms! Your food is awesome, but I wouldn't want him to eat alone!"

Rikido frowned, really putting on a show. "Bakugou doesn't hate mushrooms. He put like a pound of them in his stir fry last week."

Uraraka kicked his ankle under the table. He ignored it despite the way it throbbed. As Midoriya's gaze narrowed and his brain started working overtime, he felt a smug sort of satisfaction fall over him. He was the first person to actually do something.

Yaomomo texted him from three feet away. 'I sincerely hope that doesn't turn out poorly, Sato.'

Yeah, he definitely hoped so too.

It turned out poorly.

Yaomomo and Ochako glared at him from across the room as Midoriya ducked out of Bakugou's searching eye-line. It was class movie night, and those two always sat together so they could bicker under their breath.

But now, Midoriya was sneakily trying to plant himself between Iida and Todoroki, refusing to make eye contact with the explosive blonde. He wanted to strangle himself. This is why they weren't supposed to get involved. Whatever the hell was happening between them was too delicate to be tampered with. He was a fucking idiot.

He watched anxiously as Bakugou would try to approach and Midoriya would put more distance between them. Bakugou's agitation grew with each failed attempt, but not in the way he expected. He expected irritation and anger and instead he just looked heartbroken.

And Rikido felt like a piece of shit. But hey, how was he supposed to know this was gonna happen?

Probably from the 10,000 warnings the rest of the class had thrown around when this nonsense started. But it wasn't nonsense, and their relationship really was that delicate, apparently.

He focused on the movie despite how guilty he felt. His eyes flicked to Bakugou every few seconds—his stare fixed on the back of Midoriya's head. Eventually, he seemed to give up, removing himself from between Sero and Kaminari and stomping toward the elevator.

"He seems really upset," Uraraka 'whispered' to Yaomomo, just loud enough for Midoriya to hear. The tension in the greenette's body seemed to leave him all at once, and he stared in the direction of the elevators in concern.

"He looked like he was going to cry," Yaomomo agreed just as 'quiet.' He knew what they were doing. They were trying to fix his mistake as subtly as possible. "I wasn't even sure he could cry. I hope everything's okay."

Midoriya stood abruptly and stumbled after Bakugou, and Rikido let out a shocked breath. He couldn't believe that worked. Then again, Uraraka knew Midoriya way better than he did. And it was definitely more subtle than what he'd tried.

Once he was a respectable distance away, the girls jumped off the couch and tailed him, followed closely by Jirou. He supposed he should follow after them, since this was his fault. He ambled after them, ignoring the accusatory looks he was thrown. Apparently the Class A gossip mill had broadcasted his wrongdoings.

Deserved. He knew it was deserved. There had been a shit ton of warning signs around the big red button that had been labelled "Do Not Push" and he'd pushed it anyway. Even though it had just been about sharing veggies.

"What are they saying?" Uraraka whispered to Jirou, whose jacks were buried in the wall next to the elevator shaft.

"Katsuki's asking what he did wrong and why Mido's avoiding him," she murmured back. They were probably two floors away by now so there was no real need to whisper, but they were probably paranoid about making things worse. "Mido said...it's stupid but Katsuki lied to him?"

Yaomomo and Uraraka shot him dirty looks again. He looked down at his feet. "What now, Kyoka?"

"Kats is asking what he means, he doesn't lie about shit. Mido says he knows he...likes mushrooms? I can't have heard that right—"

"You heard it right," Rikido muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Are they fighting about mushrooms?" Jirou uttered, horrified.

"I wouldn't call it fighting," Uraraka muttered. "But the balance has been damaged."

"Wait, hold on," Jirou held up her hand. "He's saying 'you like them more than me, but you wouldn't take them if you knew I liked them.' God, are they really this..."

"Infuriating? Idiotic? Asinine? Take your pick," Yaomomo grumbled.

"Mido sounds surprised that that's his reasoning. He thought Kats was pitying him or coddling him or something? But he...just admitted that he likes bell peppers," Jirou recounted, looking like she was trying very hard not to roll her eyes. "They stopped talking."

"Maybe they got out of the elevator?" Yaomomo suggested. Jirou shook her head.

"No, the door opened, but it closed while they were still talking," she replied. They were just...standing in the elevator in silence? Suddenly, Jirou spoke—voice wavering as her eyes softened. "I spent so much time making you miserable, you can't blame me for wanting to give you things that make you happy," she breathed. "That's what Kats just said."

"That's so cute!" Yaomomo cooed.

"And Mido—"You never let me do nice things for you before. Can you blame me for taking the opportunity where I find it? I like seeing you happy."

"My fucking heart bones," Uraraka  whimpered. Rikido concurred—his fucking heart bones felt weak. "Now make out," she hissed, fingers crossed so tight that they were turning white.

Jirou grimaced. "No such luck, babe," she sighed. "Kats just asked if they were okay now, and Mido said yeah. He's saying something about still wanting to give him things he likes now."

Uraraka pouted and dropped her hands, uncrossing her fingers dejectedly. "Damn," she muttered.

The elevator dinged then, and their eyes snapped up to the floor counter, stomachs dropping as the floor number decreased. "Oh shit, they're coming back down for movie night," Jirou hissed, withdrawing her jacks. "Scatter!"

Uraraka grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the kitchen. As soon as she got him there, she shoved him up against the fridge and waved a threatening finger in his face. "You're on thin fucking ice, Sato. Never do something like that again."

He nodded vigorously. Satisfied, she left and he deflated, slumping against the fridge in relief.

He wisely didn't say anything when the next morning, Bakugou made wild mushroom omelets with roasted red pepper sauce and didn't share with anyone except Midoriya.

He came back from a workout with Mashi—mind satisfyingly calm after sweating out frustration from the week. It was his favorite part of the week—the end of it, where he got to get his aggression out and then do nothing for two whole days.

He didn't even get distracted by homoerotic sparring this time. Usually his Friday night workouts coincided directly with Bakugou and Midoriya's quirk-training sessions, so the entire training ground was saturated with the stench of UST. But today they were busy, whatever that meant.

Well, he knew it didn't mean they were making out, because as much as he admired them, they were stupid—especially about each other. It was a goddamn curse. But it did mean that they weren't dry-humping each other under the guise of training. Small blessings.

He trudged back into the dorm as Mashirao chatted away—talking animatedly about his latest relationship drama with Tooru. As glad as he was to have the guy as a friend, he could definitely do without this part. He wasn't any good at it.

"And then she stopped talking! Like for the entire night, man! Like we had a perfectly nice dinner, and she seemed totally chill except for the fucking silent treatment! What the hell am I supposed to do with that, you know? Like how am I supposed to know what I did wrong if she won't—"

"If you don't shut your fucking face right now, I'm going to blast you into so many pieces that I'll be able to sell you as ground-fucking-beef," a low, angry hiss came from the couches.

They both froze in their tracks. They were both pretty quiet (normally), so threats of dismemberment were pretty seldom. And yet, Bakugou's low growl had chilled them to their cores.

Mezo's eyes slid to the sofa's where Bakugou was sitting, neck craned to glare at them with the heat of a thousand suns. What the hell was his damage? This was the common room!

Then he heard it. He was particularly adept at hearing things, given his quirk, so of course he heard it. Soft, breathy snoring. He raised one of his arms and shifted from a spare ear to a spare eye, peeping the situation on the couch with a healthy amount of trepidation.

Very quietly, he shifted another one of his spare ears to a spare mouth and leaned it into Mashirao's ear so he could whisper: "If you want Tooru to forgive you for whatever you did, you should risk your life and take a picture of the couch."

He knew he was basically convincing his best friend to sign a one-way ticket to his grave, but it was a two-birds-with-one-stone situation. One, it would get Mashi to stop complaining about his relationship and temporarily turn him into a god that his girlfriend would worship. Two, it would probably get the gays on the couch to stop snuggling in public.

Because that was what was happening right now. There was a muted documentary on the screen and under a worn-soft looking All Might blanket that looked like it was as old as Midoriya himself, the greenette was curled up across Bakugou's lap with his head cushioned on his pecs.

Bakugou was basically cradling him like a baby—one hand gently running through his hair and the other hand curled around his legs to keep him in place, securing him so he didn't turn and fall off the couch. Protective and sweet and so unlike Bakugou that it kind of felt like a fever dream.

But the glare on the blonde's face assured him that this was very real, and very dangerous. Especially after veggie-gate, any push or move they made to indicate that their Wonder Duo were together felt like a massive risk.

Yet here they were, ogling them like they were lions banging at the zoo—Mezo unable to tear his eyes away and Mashirao slowly lifting his phone so as not to startle the vicious beast protecting its...partner? Mate? Something. Aiming the camera despite the way Bakugou's glare increased tenfold.

The phone made an obnoxious shutter noise, and Bakugou legitimately hissed. He didn't move though. It was probably the romance equivalent of having a cat fall asleep in your lap. Bakugou wouldn't give chase until Midoriya was awake. Emboldened by that knowledge, Mezo changed all of his appendages to mouths and gave the explosive blonde six identical shit-eating grins, walking away as he flipped him off and fumed.

Who knew that Bakugou was such a softie?

Midoriya, probably. 

When he came back down to make dinner he was awake again, and Mezo hated that he'd have to interrupt. One, because it would be awkward. Two, because if Midoriya was awake, Bakugou might blow him up for his earlier infraction. Three, because—despite not being nearly as invested as most of the class—he was happy for them even if they hadn't quite figured it out yet.

Tooru and Mashi were a solid couple. So were Kirishima and Ashido. But they had nothing on the bone-deep trust and comfort these two had in each other. The kind of intimacy that made you want to look away at every interaction because you kinda felt like you were intruding.

Right now, they were still curled into each other. Bakugou had shifted over a little, so that Midoriya was tucked between Bakugou's legs and the couch arm—his own legs thrown over his lap and his head resting against Bakugou's shoulder. Bakugou's arm was slung over his shoulders, absently drawing little circles into Midoriya's upper arm as they watched the movie and murmured quietly to each other. The blanket was draped over both of their laps.

They looked so comfortable. Like they were built to be slotted against each other.

He wondered if he'd ever have someone like that. Someone who felt that comfortable with him. Someone he could take his mask off for and not feel self-conscious. Someone who fit into him.

====================

They all had bad days. They were hero students, and as exciting as their futures were, they also had a disproportionate number of days where the burden was too heavy.

And for people like Midoriya—whose heart was wide open and unguarded no matter how often it ended up hurting him—the bad days were like physical wounds. Like shackles dragging him to the bottom of a lake—close enough to see the surface but not close enough to reach it.

Mezo loved working with Midoriya. He was so bright and determined. Constantly inspirational—pushing and fighting until he had nothing left to give. Same with Bakugou. They were both so brilliant—guiding stars for the whole class.

But that just made it harder to watch when their lights went dim.

Today had been a bad day. Mezo's agency had been working on a joint operation with Midoriya's for weeks—tracking a villain coalition that was running fatally concentrated opioids through the city and attempting to track down the major players. But every time a hero or investigator got close, the villains would cause pandemonium. Disasters directly proportional to the importance of the villain they were closing in on.

Today, they'd been inches away from nabbing the coalition's second-in-command.

Today, Midoriya had held up a building for as long as he could while Search and Rescue had tried to clear all the floors and the other heroes nearby tried to keep the villains responsible for the collapse at bay.

Today, one of the villains had slipped past the barricade and made Midoriya fumble for a split second.

Today, Mezo had managed to tackle that villain to the ground and detain him, but the damage had already been done.

Today, a young couple—two newlyweds who were new to the city—died in a building collapse.

And today, like every day that Mezo had known him, Midoriya was wearing the blame like an iron cape that was weighing him down, cutting into his shoulders and bringing him to his knees.

His eyes—usually vibrant with energy and enthusiasm—had been dull and empty throughout their debrief and the ride home in Fatgum's agency towncar. He hadn't said a word unless directly spoken to. His hands kept clenching and unclenching, like he was still trying to reach out and grasp for that solitary pillar that had held up the collapse. There was still rubble in his hair and tear tracks clearing lines in the dirt on his face.

He was so determined. So good. But sometimes Mezo wondered if his heart was too soft. If he was too likely to crumble to handle the life that was laid before them.

He'd done everything right. Everything in his power. Fatgum had said it. Gunhead had said it. But Midoriya's expression had stayed vacant, half-heartedly uttering that he understood and would be back in the morning to fill out paperwork per protocol.

Mezo had seen the concern on their mentors' faces and more than that, he knew Midoriya. He knew him through three years of blood, sweat, and tears. He knew he was blaming himself. Criticizing himself for not being stronger or faster or more omnipresent.

He also knew that there was only one person who could snap him out of it before it became a thing.

He'd texted Bakugou before they even left the agency. He'd asked three questions: Could he have done anything? What has he said? Is he hurt?

Mezo wasn't a 'heart-clenching' kind of guy, but there was no denying the pressure in his chest. He answered Bakugou quickly, knowing that the blonde was back at the dorms hanging on his every word. He cared so goddamn much that sometimes it scared him—knowing that if one of them shattered the other would break.

When they got home, Midoriya let Mezo lead the way and shuffled behind him. Bakugou was waiting on the couch, scowl in place. His eyes were achingly anxious though, fixed upon the door as Mezo walked through. The blonde tilted his head toward the elevator.

'Get lost. I've got this.'

He nodded and turned, beelining towards the hall. He shifted one of his tentacles into an eye and glanced back. Bakugou had made dinner—a bowl of Katsudon was perched on the coffee table. He watched as the tension drained out of Bakugou's shoulders when Midoriya finally came into view, like he was holding his breath until he saw him safe.

"Hey, nerd," he said.

Midoriya looked up at him, eyes still blank. "Kacchan." They both fell silent and stared at each other.

Mezo stopped short of the hallway to observe as they had their nonverbal conversation. He knew he should leave but he wanted Midoriya to be okay. Not good, since it was hard to be good after a day like this, but okay. 

The longer they stared at each other, the more Midoriya's shoulders caved in. Then, he stumbled forward, tripping over himself in his haste to make it to Bakugou, who had spread his arms just in time for Midoriya to crash into them. He didn't cry, he just clung—folding himself into Bakugou as the taller wrapped himself around him.

They moved back on the couch—moving in tandem as they lay down, Midoriya twining their legs together and tucking his head under Bakugou's chin. Bakugou threaded his hand through his hair, stroking gently as Midoriya melted.

Bakugou said something—too quiet to hear but voice deep enough to reverberate under the ambient noise. A moment later Midoriya started to mutter, slow and quiet as Bakugou used his free hand to stroke down his back like he was petting a cat. Mezo couldn't describe the relief he felt as Midoriya's mumbling picked up speed, wavering and choked but not absent and empty like before. He sounded like he would be okay.

Like all he needed to become whole again was to slot himself into Bakugou's arms.

She hadn't seen Katsuki that enraged in years. She also had never seen him slip up like that. He was so talented, that sometimes she forgot that he was mortal like the rest of them.

They'd been joint training today—working with not just Class B, but the third years from Ketsubutsu to enhance their teamwork strategies. They'd done it before, so nobody expected it to be such a shit show, but something was off.

Katsuki's explosions were too big and his decisions were too risky. He blew up an entire building to get to a single opponent. It was wasteful and destructive and over the top in a way she hadn't seen in ages. Halfway into the exercise, a block of concrete had  clipped his back and he'd gotten even worse—completely off his game. It was bizarre.

In the observation room, Izuku's steady analytical muttering stream had gone silent as he watched the spectacle, brows pinched with worry. He saw it too—his usual unending well of admiration going dry with concern. It put everyone in the class on edge, too.

Then, to make whatever the fuck was happening even worse, Monoma had to open his fat mouth.

"God, what's the matter with you? Are you sure you didn't join the League back in first year?" he sneered as the building tumbled down.

"Shut the fuck up, I'm getting the damn job done," Katsuki snapped, turning on his heel to blast off and find his last target. Unfortunately, it looked like Monoma had gotten to him—but not in a good way. He found himself tracking down Ibara (who was a fucking badass and played her role as a villain almost too well sometimes) and met her head on—fighting her tooth and nail as he dodged and blasted at her vines.

Monoma had copied one of the Ketsubutsu kids with laser eyes and was using it to prune the foliage to give Katsuki openings.

And then it happened. Katsuki whipped into an unnecessary Howitzer Impact—blasting at Ibara at almost lethal speeds.

Then he faltered—coming out of his Howitzer too slow and redirecting his trajectory. He crashed into Monoma and Tsubaraba and bowled them over—Tsubaraba letting out a pained cry as he impacted the ground. Then it was over—Ibara's vines strangling all three boys and securing their loss.

When the whistle blew she let them go quickly. As soon as the last vine had receded Monoma whirled on Bakugou to lay it on even thicker.

"Well I'm glad we're seeing how incompetent you are before we graduate," he taunted. "At least now we know whoever you team up with is doomed to mediocrity if they don't end up as scarred and maimed as Midoriya—"

"Oh fuck," Kyoka whispered, eyes snapping to Izuku then back to the screen. Then, she did a double take, because the space where Mido had been standing was empty.

She turned back to the screen just in time to see Katsuki lunge at Monoma, hands sparking as he tackled the unlikeable dickhead to the ground in a plume of fire and smoke. What started as a few flung insults turned into a straight-up brawl, both blondes attacking each other as Monoma copied Katsuki's quirk and met him head on—physically and verbally lashing out.

It took Izuku minutes to get to them, launching himself into the middle and grabbing Katsuki around the shoulders to haul him away as he snarled and spat at Monoma's significantly-more-charred form. "FUCK YOU, YOU MOTHERFUCKER! I'LL FUCKING—"

"Kacchan!" Deku cried, grunting as he caught an elbow to the sternum in his attempt to pull Katsuki with him.

"KILL YOU! SAY THAT SHIT AGAIN, I FUCKING DARE YOU!"

"Kacchan, please—"

"Even Midoriya sees that you're just a feral fucking dog!" Monoma snapped. "Look at him, holding you back like some rabid bitch! Don't kid yourself, Bakugou—nobody actually fucking trusts you or likes you, you're a weapon of mass destruction that needs to be managed—"

He didn't finish his sentence. Of course he didn't, because as soon as Izuku actually heard what the asshole was saying, he'd dropped Katsuki and crashed into Monoma like a fucking meteor—hitting him so far that he was knocked back by almost a whole city block.

Izuku seethed as Katsuki looked down at the street, fists clenching and unclenching. The greenette turned back to say something—anything—but the blonde was already stomping away toward the observation center. Nobody spoke as he entered. He stood in front of Aizawa, waiting for some sort of reprimand. The teacher in question sighed long-sufferingly.

"Take the rest of class to clear your head. Meet me for a disciplinary hearing at four. You're dismissed."

Katsuki gave a jerky nod and stomped off again, this time toward the locker room. Izuku came in a minute later, hefting Monoma's limp carcass over his shoulder. He dropped him on the floor like a sack of garbage and waited for his punishment, just like Katsuki had. "After your turn at the battle simulator, you're going to wait in my office for your disciplinary meeting," Aizawa said, low and irate.

"Yes sir," Mido replied, jaw stiff and stubborn—refusing to admit he'd done anything wrong.

They didn't see either boy for the rest of the day, despite Eijirou's master plan. They congregated in his room to study—Ei and Mina cuddling on the bed like gross idiots while she and Momo took the desk. Kami and Hanta sat on the floor with their papers spread around them like a nest—and they all waited for Katsuki to make a sound. To give any indication that he was ready to talk.

I keep fighting voices in my mind that say I'm not enough

Every single lie that tells me I will never measure up

Am I more than just the sum of every high and every low

Remind me once again just who I am because I need to know

She glanced at the wall that separated Ei's room from Blasty's. The music was soft, almost too soft for her to hear. It was also unexpected. He'd been so angry earlier, raging with fists and fire with a wrath they didn't realize he still had in him.

She was expecting something else—something darker and angrier. Maybe even metal. Katsuki liked metal a lot. He liked rap, too. He liked anything where he could feel the bass rattling his bones—impactful and heavy despite the occasional ringing in his ears that followed deafening explosions.

The only thing that matters now is everything You think of me

In You I find my worth, in You I find my identity

Taking all I have, and now I'm laying it at Your feet

You have every failure, God, You have every victory

This was soft though. Not too soft—still emotional and raw and a little pained—but melodic and soothing at the same time. Loving and longing in a way that tugged at the heart, but filled with reassurance. Something that spoke of trust and the give and take that came with love and partnership.

It had to be about Izuku, right? How could two people be so fucking gone for each other and not notice? Did they notice? Were they aware of their bone deep, heart-stopping love but too afraid? That didn't seem like them. They were both so brave.

You say I am loved when I can't feel a thing

You say I am strong when I think I am weak

And you say I am held when I am falling short

And when I don't belong, oh You say I am Yours

And I believe.

Her chest was tight as she opened her laptop and opened Spotify. Was that how Katsuki felt? Was that what Izuku was to him? The voice in his head that told him he was worth it?

She glanced at her friend activity bar to see that the explosive blonde next door was listening to "You Say"—a pre-quirk love song. She navigated to his playlists—immediately finding the one the song belonged to. Heart thudding against her chest, she clicked into it and found it sitting right at the top.

The playlist was titled "Songs That Feel Like Deku."

She wasn't used to seeing Izuku mope like this. He kept up a good enough front for the people who weren't paying close attention—putting on his usual go-getter cheer whenever someone was talking to him directly. But when he thought nobody was looking, he seemed to cave in on himself.

He'd been studying in the back corner of the common room for an hour, and he looked like he wanted to be almost anywhere else. His study group hadn't noticed how goddamn sad he looked—trading notes back and forth as he stared forlornly into the distance. It may have taken her a couple days to notice, but he'd been like this all week—ever since Katsuki had left on a mission for his work study with Miruko.

She wasn't sure how much of the lonely sad puppy thing she could take, honestly. Over the years, Izuku had become one of her closest friends—and seeing him upset was fucking depressing. It didn't get any better when he quietly packed his things and slipped out of the common room without anyone else noticing.

"I'll be back later," she said, kissing Momo's cheek. Her girlfriend looked at her, eyebrows raised.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just gonna ask Mido for some help with the quirk theory assignment," she said. She could tell Momo didn't buy the innocent act, but thankfully let it slide.

"Alright," she smiled. "I'm probably gonna head upstairs soon. Meet me in my room?"

"Sure," Kyoka smiled. "Love you."

"I love you too," Momo smiled back. Her heart would never stop fluttering when Momo smiled at her. She was sure of it.  It made her want to stay and tuck back into her side, but there was a disaster gay who needed her attention. Reluctantly, she peeled herself away and followed the greenette out of the common room.

He was still waiting by the elevator when she caught up with him, listlessly staring at the door. "Hey, Mido," she greeted him quietly. He looked over at her, plastering on his show-smile. "Any chance you've got some time to look over my quirk theory essay?"

"Sure," he replied, kindness genuine but his smile not reaching his eyes. "Mind if we do it in my room? I'm...not feeling very social."

"Yeah, no problem. It's a little loud down here anyway," she replied, making a show of twirling her jacks between her fingers. He nodded in understanding. While it was true that sensory overload got a bit much for her sometimes, this wasn't one of those times. He didn't need to know that, though. Instead, she followed him to his room quietly.

"Mind if I put on some music? It won't be loud, just...something to fill the silence," he explained as he dropped his things on his desk.

"I never mind music, Mido," she reminded him. He smiled again, this time more genuine, and plugged his phone into his dorky-ass All Might speakers. She was surprised by what came out of them—beat a little heavier than the music she typically heard him listening to.

She actually frowned when the song changed—still heavier than his usual music, and also familiar.

If you're a lover, you should know

The lonely moments just get lonelier

The longer you're in love

Than if you were alone

Memories turn into daydreams; become a taboo—

She'd given Katsuki a playlist around a year ago—something that was suitably melancholy for his secret emo side, ever since he'd vibed out with Fumi about their shared taste in music. She'd noticed (only mildly offended) that he'd copied and edited it—booting some songs and adding others until it was arranged to something he apparently liked. Enough to listen to it constantly.

I think of you from time to time

More than I thought I would

You were just too kind and I was too young to know

That's all that really matters

I was a fool

Listen, music was her thing. It wasn't weird that she watched people's music preferences on Spotify. It wasn't. She wanted to make sure that if they ever needed it, she'd be ready with the perfect aural blend for their mood. It was what she was good at.

It was how she knew that Katsuki was always thinking about regret. It was honestly a little concerning. His music painted shades of longing and self-flagellation that he was way too young for. She was a little worried that Izuku was listening to it now.

Baby, we built this house on memories

Take my picture now, shake it 'til you see it

And when your fantasies become your legacy

Promise me a place in your house of memories

The song changed again—Sugar, We're Goin Down by Fall Out Boy—and Kyoka had all the evidence she needed. Two's a coincidence and three's a pattern, after all. "Is that Blasty's playlist?"

Izuku whipped his head toward her, eyes wide. "How did you—" She raised an eyebrow and he stopped short. "Ah," he blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You made it for him."

"Most of it, yeah," she replied, amused.

He bit his lip, looking guilty. Like he'd been caught in the act or something. "I uh...when he's gone for a long time..." He sighed then, dropping his hands into his lap. "I listen to the music he puts on when we study together. Helps me forget he's not here when I'm trying to focus," he admitted quietly. Her heart went out to him.

"Does it work?"

He shrugged, still not looking at her. "Sometimes. When I'm working and get into a groove. Until I try to ask his opinion, that is."

"I'll try that next time Denki or Momo go for a long-job," she said softly. He glanced up at her then, surprised. She smiled. "Missing them sucks," she reasoned. She wondered if he'd noticed that she was drawing a parallel between whatever the Wonder Duo was doing and her very romantic relationships. Probably not.

He smiled back, but it was more of a grimace. "Yeah," he agreed. "It does."

He turned back to his work and quietly, Kyoka took out her phone.

To: Blasty McButtface

Hey, when do u get back

From: Blasty McButtface

2 days if everything goes right. why

To: Blasty McButtface

dw abt it. just curious. stay safe or else

From: Blasty McButtface

fuck u

don't tell me what to fucking do

She rolled her eyes, but pocketed her phone again. She'd just stick a little closer to Mido until Blasty got back.

Sometimes she wished she couldn't hear so much. She wished she couldn't hear Eijirou and Mina necking in every corner they could tuck themselves into. She wished she could never hear Mineta. Sometimes she wishes she could take Sero's tape and duct tape Katsuki and Izuku's mouths together—both so they'd kiss and also so they'd shut the fuck up with their constant bickering.

Sometimes she wished she could hear more. Sometimes she wished she could stick her jacks into people's ears and plug right into their brains so that she knew what was happening in their tiny squirrel skulls.

As she walked into class on a Monday, she slowed her pace to watch as her least favorite gays basked in the last few moments of peace before the chaos of the day. Katsuki was slumped so far back in his seat that his head was laying on Izuku's hands, which were folded atop his desk. Izuku's head was resting against Katsuki's forehead and both of their eyes were closed as they dozed.

Their hair was wet—they'd probably done some early morning training, choosing to shower in the locker room and come straight to class instead of slogging back to Heights Alliance. And, they were sharing Izuku's prototype Dynamight earbuds.

They were those precision sport earphones that hooked around the back of your ears—branded with orange X's over a black and green earpiece. As soon as Katsuki had them prototyped for their tandem-class with the business course, Izuku had demanded a pair, obnoxiously harassing the explosive blonde until Katsuki had just given him the pair he had.

It had been over a year and he hadn't used anything else. "It's Kacchan's first piece of merch!" he'd cry whenever someone pointed out that Kyoka had better earphones for merch. And she did. But she also understood.

Izuku wanted to support his boyfriend. Not that the adorable green idiot knew that Katsuki was his boyfriend. It was as though he thought someone else could get away with being so close to him. Even now, he'd shuffled so that he could gently scrape his nails over Katsuki's scalp and the blonde melted into his seat with a satisfied groan.

In the quiet of the near-empty classroom, she could hear the song that was playing—something soft and meant for quiet mornings on cozy couches with coffee and blankets. From here, it sounded like 'Anchor' by Mindy Gledhill, a soft song from simpler times. It made her want to drift alongside them in this small quiet space they'd made.

When all the world is spinning round

like a red balloon way up in the clouds

and my feet will not stay on the ground

you anchor me back down.

Izuku was humming along, soft and slightly off key but sweet as he smiled, just barely visible around the spiky strands of Katsuki's hair. This was the kind of moment where she wished she could hear what he was thinking. Was this how he felt about Katsuki? Like when everything got overwhelming, Katsuki would anchor him to the ground and and anchor him against the tide?

Kyoka's heart beat against the rhythm as she listened to the lyrics and watched the corners of Katsuki's lips turn up at the corners—shoulders loose and face relaxed like he'd never be around other people.

It was almost enough to make her turn away. To close the door until the bell rang and they were out of time.

There are those who think that I'm strange

they would box me up and tell me to change

but you hold me close and softly say

that you wouldn't have me any other way—

There was a flush crawling over Katsuki's cheeks now, and she couldn't tear her gaze away. So many people had tried to tame him. Tried to tell him he was too loud, too brash, too abrasive. Some people had even called him a villain.

Izuku was the only person in the world who had always taken him just as he was. Maybe he was hurt when Katsuki was mean, or concerned when he went too far. But Izuku stood beside him, firmly against anyone who tried to tear him down or change him.

When people pin me as a clown

you behave as though I'm wearing a crown

When I'm lost, I feel so very found

When you anchor me back down.

"When you said slow I didn't think you meant sappy shit, nerd," Katsuki grumbled, eyes still closed and mouth still smiling. Izuku used the hand threaded through blonde spikes to gently flick the side of Katsuki's head.

"I just like it," he murmured. "Reminds me of something safe. Relaxing." He sounded seconds from falling asleep.

"S'not bad," Katsuki admitted. "Reminds me of you."

"They're adorable," someone whispered as they approached. Kyoka tilted her head to look at Momo over her shoulder. She smiled as her girlfriend wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing her cheek in greeting. "I hope they figure it out soon."

"Yeah," Kyoka murmured, leaning into her. "I hope so too."

Hanta watched Katsuki peek around the corner. He wasn't as subtle or sneaky as he thought he was but then again, he was a human explosion. That was his entire brand. He wasn't built for the James Bond shit he was trying to pull right now.

Especially not when Mido—the person he was trying to pull the James Bond shit with—was involved. Mido had a fucking Katsuki homing beacon installed in his frontal lobe. He was sure  of it. Luckily for Katsuki, Mido wasn't in the room. In fact, he was pretty sure he wasn't even in the building.

And yet, Katsuki was peering into the common room from the hallway, eyes scanning and alert, before creeping on literal tiptoe into the room. He moved along the walls as though he were trying to hide in plain sight. It wasn't working.

"What's up dude?" Hanta said in a completely normal inside-voice. Katsuki jumped a foot in the air, like a cat with a cucumber. Hanta raised an eyebrow. That...was not normal behavior. "Uh...you good?"

"Would you shut up?" he hissed. Okay. Hostile. "I need to get out of here without Deku noticing me."

Hanta's eyebrows lifted higher, and he deliberately scanned the room. "I don't see him here, do you?"

"Shut the fuck up. He pops up out of fucking nowhere. He's worse than the fucking Streaking Stripper."

Hanta racked his brain. "Uh...do you mean Mirio?"

"Is that fucking important right now? I gotta fuckin' go!"  he insisted, eyes darting around like he'd pop out of the walls. He didn't think he'd ever seen Katsuki look this cagey.

Hanta raised his hands in surrender. "Don't let me stop you."

"If Deku asks where I am, tell him I died."

Hanta blanched. "Wh—no. No! He'd cry, dude. I'll tell him I haven't seen you, like a normal person."

Katsuki scowled. "Then he'll come looking for me! And if he sees me, he'll make that face and I'll have to do whatever the fuck he wants to do, and I have shit to do!"

Hanta assumed 'that face' meant Mido's everyday normal face. The one he used when asking for a pencil or requesting a movie night. The face that most normal people could say no to if it was inconvenient, but Katsuki couldn't because he was a hopeless, helpless simp.

"Tell him you went home! I'm not telling him you're dead or injured. I refuse to have that shit on my conscience." He could see Mido's wounded puppy-dog eyes already. Absolutely fucking not.

"Fine! You're no fucking help," Katsuki snapped, plastering himself against the wall again as he resumed his slow creep toward the door.

"Why are you walking like that? There's no one here!"

"DON'T FUCKING JINX ME!"

He watched in perplexed amusement as Katsuki gave up on stealth and decided to rely on speed instead—sprinting for the front door. It was probably for the best because bellowing was not sneaky, and two minutes later Midoriya strolled into the common room.

"Did I hear Kacchan?" he asked.

Hanta looked at him, more and more sure of his homing-device theory with each passing second. "Nah, haven't seen him."

And, because fate was frowning on him or something, he got the fucking puppy-dog eyes anyway as Mido's face filled with disappointment. "Ah. Well if you see him, can you tell him to text me? I haven't seen him all day."

Sero glanced at the clock. It was nine in the morning. Most of the class wasn't even awake yet. Did they usually see each other before nine on weekends? It wasn't his business.

"Sure, man. I'm sure he's around somewhere."

The more he thought about it, the weirder Katsuki's behavior seemed. Even worse—over the course of the week, Mido's behavior got pretty damn weird, too. 

And, because the class was apparently cursed to deal with Mido and Katsuki's homoerotic friendship, the weird behavior only got weirder.

In fact, if he didn't know any better, he'd say they were avoiding each other. It was fine during school hours. They still paired up in training and ate with each other at lunch. They were still attached at the hip between classes, gently bickering and needling at each other. Katsuki still spent an unnecessary amount of time ruffling Mido's hair just so that he could touch it. Mido still spent a lot of time leaning against Katsuki's side and prodding him for attention at inconvenient times just because he was the only person who could do it without fucking dying.

But when they got back to the dorm, the cagey behavior came back full-force.

"Yo," he called, prodding Eijirou for attention. He looked up at Hanta, a little cross-eyed from trying to understand Calc. "Have you noticed Kats and Mido acting weird?" he asked quietly so that neither party would hear him.

Eijirou frowned. "Uhhh, not really? Why?"

Hanta pointed across the room. "That's why."

Across the common room, stealthily entering the dorms from wherever he'd come from, was Midoriya—jacket pulled around himself protectively. Like he was hiding something under his shirt. His eyes were scanning the common room—a very familiar scene given Katsuki's Sunday behavior.

"Is he hiding something?" Eijirou asked, perplexed.

"See? They're being weird."

As if the whole universe was aligning to prove his point—Katsuki entered the common room at that moment, head bowed over his phone as he rapidly texted. As soon as his foot crossed the threshold, Midoriya dropped to the floor like dead weight behind the couch, concealing himself from view.

Katsuki looked up at the sound, glancing around suspiciously. "The fuck was that?" he demanded when his eyes landed on them. Sero caught Mido's pleading glance out of the corner of his eye.

"What was what?" he asked innocently. Katsuki scowled at him.

"The sound of a fucking body hitting the floor!"

Hanta looked at him like he was crazy, or as he liked to call it: the Death Wish look. He hoped Mido was grateful for his sacrifice. "You mean the sound of my knee hitting the bottom of the table? Because I just hit my knee on the bottom of the table."

As he spoke, he saw movement in his periphery. Then, he watched as Mido fucking army crawled away from Katsuki toward the stairwell—flat on the ground, using his elbows and knees to move forward at the approximate speed of a very excited three-legged dog. So fast, but uncoordinated.

He could see Eijirou biting his lips to keep from laughing out of the corner of his eye. Honestly, he was gonna crack, too. He hoped Katsuki would move it along soon.

"Use your fucking limbs properly," Katsuki grunted before continuing his pace toward the kitchen. His head bowed back over his phone—texting someone with rapt attention. He was willing to bet his entire internship salary that it was Mido.

Mido, who had just crawled out of the common room like a cracked-out turtle.

When they were sure Katsuki was out of earshot, Eijirou broke—hacking a laugh into his hands to muffle the sound. "That was weird right?" Hanta chuckled. "Mido avoiding Kats?"

"It looked ridiculous," Eijirou wheezed.

"Stop laughing, I'm trying to be serious," Hanta chuckled, smacking Eijirou's arm. "Kats was avoiding him last weekend, too. You think they're alright?"

Once Eijrou had collected himself, he shrugged. "Maybe it's leftover from the uh...Sato Incident? Like they're still awkward around each other sometimes? I doubt it 's a big deal, or the house arrest boys would...be back on house arrest."

That was probably true. They did solve most of their problems by beating the absolute shit out of each other. Besides, Mido didn't really avoid shit. He tackled it head on, like a fucking lunatic. Their behavior might be a bit bizarre but if they weren't throwing hands, it would probably be fine.

"Good point," he conceded.

It wasn't really his business anyway.

Hanta's first heart attack happened at 2:30 PM on a Saturday.

He really hadn't expected it. Kats and Mido had continued to mostly avoid each other all week—ducking out of each others' sight at odd intervals. Like a weird-ass game of spy vs. spy. It got weirder as they approached the weekend and the class started to make plans for their downtime.

Hanta had successfully managed to wring English tutoring out of Mido, but everyone else seemed to be shit out of luck where the Wonder Duo were concerned. They were both just...ambiguously busy on Saturday evening and all of Sunday. Normally, he'd assume they were spending it together but now that they were avoiding each other, Hanta was unsure.

Their classmates had started to pick up on the weird avoidance tactics, too. Mina said she'd seen Katsuki dive into a bush to avoid Mido. He overheard Tsu asking if his nose was okay after running into the glass door, then asking why he'd been running from Katsuki in the first place.

In any case, it wasn't his business. What was his business, was his slowly-sinking English grade. If Mido didn't walk him through imperfect conjugations, he was fucked. He'd ask Denki, but Denki would take an hour to clown him before settling down to tutor. He didn't have that kind of time. In fact, he was banking on Katsuki's continued avoidance so that Mido wouldn't get distracted.

But, because the universe liked to fuck with him, he was shit out of luck. Two hours into their review session (yes, he needed that much help, shut up), they both yelled in alarm when—with a ear-splitting bang—something hit the side of Mido's face with merciless accuracy.

"Sup, nerd?" Katsuki drawled, sauntering up to them as though he hadn't projectile-launched a box at his not-boyfriend's head. He threw himself onto the couch next Midoriya, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

Midoriya looked up at him, smiling wide. Hanta sighed. There went his help with English.

"Kacchan! Where have you been all day, I tried to text you!"

Hanta was honestly a little sickened by the fact that Izuku was trying to pout but he was so stupidly happy to see Katsuki that he couldn't keep the smile off his face. He wished they'd just date and put them all out of their misery. This was getting ridiculous.

"Had to finish setting up," he grinned, looking a little too menacing. He wondered if brain damage could account for the besotted smile he gave in return. Because seriously? Who answered a demonic grin with starstruck affection except for Izuku Midoriya, who had taken one too many buildings to the head?

"Setting up what?" Mido asked, cuddling into Katsuki's side. Hanta literally bit his tongue.

"You'll see," Katsuki teased. Then, he poked the package that he'd thrown at Midoriya's face. It was still smoking. "Happy Anniversary, nerd. Open it."

Midoriya's smile was blinding, but Hanta's brain was too frozen to really register it. His heart had stopped in his chest, his blood turned to ice.

Anniversary? He stared at them blankly as Mido started meticulously peeling the wrapping paper off his anniversary gift. Were they dating? Had they been dating this whole time and the class just didn't realize it? Had they been lying to them? Had this UST hellscape been a figment of their imagination? Was it RST?

His mind was reeling—hands sweaty and heart racing. He had to tell Mina. If he didn't she'd decapitate him and serve his brains to his family for dinner.

He watched as Midoriya started pulling stuff out of the box—feeling like he was watching from a thousand miles away. It was like an out of body experience. First, there was an All Might-themed bomber jacket that Midoriya squealed over, running his hands over the patches and embroidery. Customized, official merch—only a hundred made. Katsuki had bought them a matching set.

There were tears in Midoriya's eyes, and Katsuki was smirking at him. But it wasn't his usual smirk of superiority. It was probably the closest his face could get to a soft smile. He looked fucking smitten. Hanta nearly had a heart attack when he reached up to wipe one of Mido's tears away, leaning in close. Were they about to kiss? No. Katsuki leaned in close to very softly call him a fucking crybaby.

"Keep going, there's more," Katsuki said, prodding the box. "Don't underestimate me, dork."

How dare he say 'dork' that softly.  Like he meant 'baby.' Their faces were still too close together—Katsuki's nose practically touching Mido's ear as he dove back into the box, pulling out a Dynamight scarf and matching beanie. "They're so cool Kacchan!"

"They're prototypes," Katsuki smirked even wider. "Saved them just for you."

Midoriya teared up again. "I can't wear them, then! They'll be collectibles!"

"Thought about that already," Katsuki teased, ruffling Midoriya's hair. Hanta's eyes fixed on Katsuki's hand—watching as, instead of retracting, it stayed buried in Midoriya's curls. Petting him slowly, like a very emotional cat. "That's the official set."

Midoriya looked down at the box and found an identical pair wrapped in tissue paper. "You made copies so that I could wear it?" he sniffled. Katsuki scoffed.

"Obviously. I knew you'd horde the officials, so I had Ponytail make extras." Midoriya threw his arms around Katsuki's waist, burying his face in his broad shoulder. He was sniffling loudly, and Katsuki patted the back of his head placatingly. "Yeah, yeah. Happy Anniversary, dork."

There it was again. Anniversary. What the fuck.

"I thought we were meeting up later, so your gift is in my room," Midoriya sniffled into Katsuki's bicep. Katsuki's soft smirk vanished, replaced by an immediate scowl. The hand on the back of his head tightened in his hair and yanked punitively.

Pigtail pulling, SmashBang Edition.

"It's my anniversary, not yours! Fucking idiot," he snapped, pushing Midoriya off him. Hanta frowned. Hanta frowned hard. The way he frowned when he was trying to balance chemical equations or calculus problem sets. How could it possibly be his anniversary but not Midoriya's?

"Uh...what?" he uttered.

Both pairs of eyes snapped to him, startled. They'd fucking forgotten that he was here. "What do you mean 'what', Tape Brain?" Katsuki barked.

"How is it your anniversary but not Mido's?" he clarified. "Aren't anniversaries usually a two-person thing? How could you have separate anniversaries?" Katsuki looked at him like he was a fucking idiot which, at this point, may very well be the case. Clearly he was missing something.

"I was the one who was a dickhead to him, not the other way around," he explained slowly, as though to a drunk child. To be fair, 'drunk child' was the general vibe of their entire friend group, so it was probably warranted. He still didn't understand, though.

"What does you being a dick have to do with your anniversary?" he asked, still trying to piece it together.

Katsuki sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders—put there by the idiots he called friends. "It's the one-year anniversary of the day I stopped being a jackass and let this idiot back into my life," he said. Admitting it must have been painful, because he said the whole sentence with a pained grimace.

Meanwhile, Hanta's hopes shattered on the floor around him. They weren't together. The UST would continue. They were idiots. He should have minded his own business and barrel-rolled out of the room as soon as Katsuki's present made contact with Midoriya's face.

Midoriya had forgotten that Hanta was there already, turning to scowl at Katsuki. It came off as more of a pout—bottom lip sticking out. "No! It's the one-year anniversary of us officially becoming friends again! It's mutual, Kacchan!"

As they forgot his presence again (completely lost in each others' eyes), Hanta narrowly resisted the urge to slam his head onto the table—over and over again until the last twenty minutes were deleted from his memory. It wasn't their fucking anniversary, it was their goddamn friendaversary. He'd had a heart attack for nothing. He'd almost texted Mina false information. These two were going to fucking kill him. All of them.

In a world where they faced down supervillains every day, who knew they'd face their death by idiotic near-romance.

"How nice," he declared loudly, regaining their attention as he stood. "Congratulations on your anniversary. It's...uh...unique."

"The fuck do you mean, unique," Katsuki snapped. "Everyone has anniversaries!"

Hanta bit back the snarky reply that most of those people were at least dating. Mostly because Midoriya asked, "Where are you going?" at the same time.

"I...gotta go. I gotta go. I'll see you both later, I'm just...too distracted to study," he explained as he hastily packed up his papers.

"If you're sure," Midoriya said, sounding concerned. "If you still need help later—"

"I'll let you know," Hanta promised. "I just...I gotta go."

He fled the room, and when he made it to the elevator, he actually did slam his head against the wall as he waited. They were ridiculous. Absolutely fucking ludicrous.

"Fuckin' weirdo," Katsuki said, booming voice still audible from the hallway. Hanta barely contained his need to march back there and lecture him on hypocrisy.

He wanted to survive to graduation, after all.

The next morning, he and Mina had trudged down to the kitchen at the same time, completely by accident. He was groggy—up late studying, then playing video games with Eijirou in an attempt to un-remember the previous afternoon.

She poured him a bowl of too much cereal and not enough milk. He poured her a cup of too much milk and not enough coffee. They had a system. An ineffective system, but a system nonetheless. Ashido was more alert than he was—idly scrolling through Instagram as she dug into her Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Their drowsy peace was broken as Katsuki stomped into the kitchen. He looked nice. Hanta was secure enough to admit that Katsuki was easily the hottest guy in class. Objectively, at least. Subjectively, his personality was 'threatening mom friend' and that wasn't really his thing. Today, though—he looked like a runway model. Mina did a double-take when she saw him, eyebrows raised as he plucked an apple and a banana out of the fruit bowl.

Midoriya trailed in before she could say anything, not quite as polished as Katsuki but definitely dressed to impress. He glanced at Mina, whose eyes were darting between the two of them and connecting the dots. They both had bags with them, and Katsuki was pouring coffee into to thermoses.

"Going somewhere, Kats?" she asked. Hanta kicked her under the table. She scowled at him and kicked back.

"We're going to the Hero Hall of Fame!" Midoriya replied before Katsuki could even turn around. He was overflowing with excitement, eyes wide and smile blinding. "Kacchan got us tickets, and then after we're thinking dinner and a movie. I don't know if we'll have time, though. They added an entire wing for breakout female heroes—we'll probably get stuck there for a while."

Mina looked shell-shocked. He couldn't blame her because it sounded like a fucking date. Dinner and a movie? An entire day in the Hero Hall of Fame? Totally date material. But Mina didn't have the backstory like he did.

"Oh yeah," he said, drawing their attention. "For your anniversary, right?"

Mina choked on air. He kicked her again.

"Right!" Midoriya replied cheerfully. He was pretty sure Mina wasn't breathing. "We're gonna spend the whole day together." He looked over at Katsuki then, gaze soft and adoring.

"Damn right, we are," Katsuki huffed, tucking his thermos into his bag and handing Midoriya his. "If we leave now we can go to that cafe too," he said, pinching Midoriya's cheek and pulling. He smirked at the greenette's annoyed whine, refusing to let go. "You've been talking about that fucking rose cardamom cake bullshit for three goddamn weeks, so we should just get it over with."

Midoriya went still for a moment, before his eyes went all adoring again. He raised a hand to cover Katsuki's where it still pinched his cheeks. "You remembered," he cooed.

"You make it literally impossible to forget," Katsuki replied. He was going for sarcasm but it came out soft—amused and endeared. He'd released Deku's cheek and was now cupping it gently, running his thumb over the pinch-reddened spot. What in the rom-com was this shit? He locked eyes with Mina, who looked physically pained by the fact that she couldn't say anything without ruining the moment and getting herself blown up. "Ready to go?"

"Mhm," Mido agreed, leaning into his palm. "I am if you are."

Katsuki removed his hand, just to sling his arm around Deku's shoulders and steer him toward the door. "Later, losers," he called over his shoulder.

They left, bickering with each other like usual—forgetting Hanta and Mina completely as soon as they were out of sight. Hanta looked over at Mina, taking in her far-away stare with a healthy dose of concern. "You good?"

She looked at him, eyes blank. "Anniversary?"

He pursed his lips to keep from laughing in her face. "Yeah. Their friendship anniversary."

Her eyes widened, nostrils flaring and jaw clenching—suddenly filled with impotent rage. Then, without warning, she slammed her head down on the countertop and screamed something unintelligible. By the general vibe of the scream, he figured she was probably saying "THOSE IDIOTS" or something similar. He patted her back, both to comfort and show solidarity.

Those idiots, indeed.

The darkness in his heart—the darkness that shrouded him—was not fit for the presence of others. That's what he'd always believed. He was a monster, as was his shadow—prowling the cold depths of the night and leaving nightmares in his wake.

And yet, he lately found himself drawn to the light. To the warm embrace of his peers, surrounding him with revelry—letting him hope that perhaps he was meant for more than solitude.

They were collected in the common room, congregating for a spirited evening simply to take part in the joys of youth. To...hang out. They'd texted him until he'd emerged from his quarters, insisting that they wouldn't be complete without his presence. Before UA, he'd never been told that his attendance was desirable.

But here, even if he was silent—even if he stood and observed from the back of the room—he felt seen. Midoriya would toss him the odd question, smiling brightly when he answered. Yaomomo brought tea for both him and Dark Shadow. There was something so soothing about Ashido's near-maniacal laughter, loud and obnoxious but joyful. Charming.

"What about you?" she asked, turning yellow eyes and a shockingly pink smile toward him. He blinked at her.

"My apologies," he uttered. "I was distracted—what are we discussing?"

Ashido's smile turned from jubilant to fond—soft around the edges. "We're talking about stories our parents told us," she explained. "Like, bedtime stories and stuff? My parents liked to tell me about the way they met and fell in love, but they changed it into a prince and princess instead," she giggled.

"My parents used to read a chapter of a book every night," Tsu offered. "The last one was like ten years ago, and it was all about greek mythology."

Fumikage chuckled, uncrossing his arms and approaching the circle—settling onto the arm of one of the couches. "My father used to tell me scary stories. Dark Shadow was afraid of them, and it helped her behave—"

"That is NOT TRUE!" Dark Shadow protested.

"My favorite one was by an American writer—Edgar Allan Poe," he continued, completely ignoring his companion.

"I hate that one," Dark Shadow grumbled.

"It's called The Cask of Amontillado," he said. He was surprised to see both Bakugou and Midoriya smile as if they knew what he was talking about. Then again, they were both at the top of their English class. Perhaps they'd read it before. "It's about a a man who believes he's been insulted by his friend so as revenge, he lures him into his wine cellar to try a rare wine. Once he's drunk, he chains him to the wall and then uses brick and mortar to trap him in the wall—and leaves him there so that he dies. Even as the victim screams, the murderer mocks him, knowing that nobody can hear them."

"Dark, dude," Sero uttered. "How did you sleep after that?"

"Better knowing that Dark Shadow wouldn't squirm all night," he smirked. Ashido giggled and he was glad, not for the first time, that his complexion didn't allow him to blush.

"No wonder you're so emo," Kaminari joked.

"You really think that bedtime stories have that much effect on life view?" Midoriya asked. And as usual, when Midoriya asked a question, he fell down a rabbit-hole of analysis—sifting through all the evidence his overactive mind had to offer. "I suppose the type of story your parents tell you is indicative of the type of upbringing you had...that factors pretty heavily into the thought processes that determine your personality—"

"Well, what kind of stories did you have?" Uraraka interrupted before he could get too far. His head snapped back up, and he blushed.

"Uh...mostly hero stuff," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's all I wanted to hear about, really. Except, uh..." his head dipped, and if Fumikage didn't know any better, he'd think Midoriya was embarrassed.

"Except what, dork?" Bakugou grunted, kicking his chair.

"When I couldn't sleep? Mom would take me up to the roof of our apartment building and tell me stories about the stars. My favorite was the story of Altair and Vega," he replied.

"Ooh, what's it about?" Uraraka asked, leaning forward as Bakugou leaned back—feigning disinterest. Fumikage was a rather skilled people-watcher, though, so he recognized the spark in Bakugou's eyes when Midoriya replied.

"It's a love story," he explained with a nervous smile. "There are two lovers—a mortal cow herder and the daughter of immortal gods. They fell in love, but the gods didn't like that she was mingling with a mortal so to separate them, they carved a river between the two of them. The cow herder's family was relieved, because while they were together, he would neglect his herd. When they were separate, his work got done. It didn't matter to them that he was miserable, and the immortals believed she'd find another who would be able to love her longer. To them, mortals were worth nothing. They were so caught in their prejudice, and mortals so caught in their relief, that they didn't notice the lovers' misery. The magpies that lived in the field where they met did, though, and they took pity on the couple. Once a year in the dead of night, they'd form a bridge across the river so that the lovers could meet. They were so happy to be together that they would glow, until eventually they earned their place in the sky—together forever."

Fumikage listened as he spoke, but couldn't take his eyes off of Bakugou. Bakugou, who couldn't tear his eyes away from Midoriya. He couldn't help but wonder—especially since their odd relationship had come to light—if Bakugou related to the lovers in Midoriya's tale. If he could identify with being so close but so far from the one he loved, separated by circumstance and bigotry and fate itself.

He wondered if there would always be something keeping them apart.

"Fumi," Dark Shadow grumbled. "I can't sleep."

"I'm aware," Fumikage replied, staring at his ceiling. "I'm always aware."

"It's not my fault," she whined. "I'm bored."

Sighing, Fumikage slid out of bed, reluctantly climbing to his feet. "You're always restless in here," he murmured, sliding into slippers. "Would reading in the common room help?"

Dark Shadow hummed. "It might," she allowed. He picked a book up off his nightstand—one that they'd read before so that he wouldn't get caught in the tale and stay up all night—and stepped into the hallway without another word.

The dorms were peaceful at night—unencumbered by the chaos that usually surrounded them. He was the only true insomniac, so he was intimately familiar with the way the shadows cast around the common room when the moon was the only source of light. He made his way to the far corner—close to the couches but shrouded from too much stray light—enough to keep Dark Shadow docile, but not so much that she felt imprisoned.

She rest her head on his shoulder as he cracked his book open, reliving a story they'd read a hundred times. It was an older series, but timeless in its treatment of the human condition—revealing the ugly nature of life for what it was. It was easy to get lost in, and as he read he felt his shadow's weight relaxing against him.

He jolted when he heard the door to the stairwell closed. It wasn't as loud as it could have been, but it felt deafening in the silence. Then, he heard a familiar sound—Midoriya's quiet murmurs approaching in the darkness. When he appeared around the corner, his phone was held out in front of him, illuminating his face.

Fumikage understood before he saw the screen. Bakugou was away for work studies again. Who else would he be calling in the middle of the night?

Midoriya drifted toward the couches—slumping into one of them with his phone still held aloft. From here, Fumikage could see Bakugou's soft scowl and didn't need high-definition to know that it didn't match the look in his eyes. He'd seen that look before, after all. Almost every time he looked at Bakugou, Bakugou was looking at Midoriya—face performing irritation while his eyes revealed the love he couldn't contain.

"Okay, go ahead," Midoriya murmured, head falling back. "I'm in the common room."

"I can fuckin' see that," Bakugou huffed. "I dunno, it was just a shit day. Didn't need to fuckin' relocate for it."

"Tell me about it, Kacchan," he insisted. Midoriya was so good. So soft and sweet to the people he cared about. Willing to sacrifice anything for them, even his few precious hours of rest. "It's bothering you, so tell me."

He couldn't see it in detail, but he knew Bakugou's jaw was clenching—fighting to contain words that made him seem weak. "It's shitty that I saved fourteen people and the only thing the media reported on was that I told a civilian to get the fuck out of the way," he finally grumbled, head bowing. His fists were probably clenched in frustration. He saw Midoriya nod, and then Bakugou was off—spilling the details of his crappy day like a broken dam—flooding and roiling and getting more violently frustrated as he went.

Midoriya listened, only making soft noises or understanding or sympathy—or prompting Bakugou forward with a soft, "Kacchan?" when the blonde fell silent. He took all of Bakugou's frustrations and held them in arms that were strong and gentle in equal measure.

"I'm sorry, Kacchan," he murmured when Bakugou was finished. "They're wrong, you know. What you say doesn't matter as much as what you do. And you needed to get your point across quickly. Did the civilians move?"

"Yeah."

"Then you did you job," he insisted. "And you did it well. They'll understand eventually. When your stats get published and they see how many casualties you prevented by being harsh at the right moment. It's a lesson so many heroes could learn from you. They're so involved in their image that they aren't willing to be harsh in a crisis, and it gets people hurt. You won't have that on your record, because you care more about their safety than your image."

"Yeah fuckin' right," he scoffed. "I care more about my results than their feelings."

"Hmm. You say that, but I was there when that little girl grabbed your leg in a fight and got hurt, remember?" he teased. "She just had a scrape and you—"

"Shut the fuck up," he barked. Fumikage could see his blush from here—brick red and furious.

"Sorry, sorry," he laughed.

"Whatever," Bakugou grunted. "It doesn't fucking matter. I just can't stop thinking about it and I can't sleep. It's fucking stupid."

Midoriya seemed to consider that, turning the idea over in his head. "You want me to tell you a story?" he asked.

Bakugou let out an exasperated sigh. "Sounds dumb." Midoriya's face must have looked wounded, because he hastily added, "But fine. Bore me to sleep."

"Once, there were seven nymphs—all sisters. They were called the Pleiades, and they were the companions of the goddess Artemis. Their father was the titan, Atlas, and when he was burdened with carrying the world on his shoulders, he grew afraid that there was nobody to protect them. With Atlas' back turned, Orion—the great hunter—began to pursue all seven of the sisters. In an effort to protect them, Zeus had them turned into doves. Orion pursued them anyway, so as a last resort Zeus had them turned into stars. One of them—Merope—fell in love with a mortal. His name was Sisyphus, and as time went on he reveled in his good fortune and neglected what he had to pursue more riches and acclaim. He cheated the gods, and as a result—he was condemned to Tartarus with an eternal punishment. Merope, ashamed of the mortal she'd chosen and abandoned her sisters for, hides her face in shame—so only six of the seven sisters are visible in the sky."

"Another of your dorky star stories?" Bakugou huffed.

Midoriya chuckled. "Yeah," he admitted. "Wanna see the constellation?"

Bakugou sighed. "Yeah, whatever. Let's go." Midoriya stood to leave, but before he could exit the room, Bakugou spoke again. "Goodnight, Featherface."

"Wh—" Midoriya whirled around, eyes searching until he landed on Fumikage's form—barely hidden in the corner. "Tokoyami! Oh, uh...did you hear all of that?" he uttered, face burning.

"I did," Fumikage admitted. "My apologies. Dark Shadow and I had trouble sleeping, so we came down here to read. But your story was quite gripping—with just the note of melancholy we needed. I think I'm ready to fall asleep."

"Me too," Dark Shadow cooed, head still resting on Fumikage's shoulder. "You have a knack for telling tragic romances, Midoriya."

Midoriya blushed even deeper. "I...uh...thanks?" he squeaked. "I'm gonna...yeah. I'm gonna go. Bye!" he uttered, already fleeing toward the front door. Fumikage could hear Bakugou laughing at him, sleepiness tingeing his mockery.

"A knack for tragic romances. You may have been a little too forward, Dark Shadow," Fumikage murmured.

"Their romance isn't tragic, it's just not finished yet!" she protested, still slumped along his shoulders. He hummed thoughtfully, climbing to his feet and starting back toward their room.

"Perhaps," he allowed. "But it's possible they can't see that yet."

Fumikage loved few things more than the feeling of wind on his face as he flew. Of all the things he'd learned during his time at UA, this was easily his favorite. It was freeing—liberating him from the shackles of earthbound limitations. It had the added benefit of uniting him with Dark Shadow, placing their trust in each other to reach new heights.

It was enough to bring some light to his heart, even in the dark of night.

Right now, it was just past 1AM and he was flying across the grounds. An important facet of his training was to test the limits of his control over Dark Shadow at night and, with permission from Aizawa, that was his goal tonight. He was going to fly as long as he could with as little light as possible. The more fatigued he became, the more Dark Shadow's power dwarfed his own.

But they were partners, after a fashion. So long as they both maintained a level head, he was sure they would prevail. They moved silently, only visible as they slipped past stars and blocked them from view. "We've been flying for an hour," Dark Shadow purred, voice echoing through him. "How'dya feel, boss?"

"I'm still feeling fairly energetic," he replied. "I think we could go for another half hour."

"It's a full moon," Dark Shadow refuted. "I don't think I can maintain this altitude with this much light."

"Very well," Fumikage sighed. "We can indulge in a respite. Descend upon the rooftop of Heights Alliance." They listed to the right, circling back around campus to approach their domicile when something caught his eye on the roof of their building. "Approach from the north end," he murmured, tilting his body and trusting that Dark Shadow would glide with him.

As they descended, he recognized Bakugou and Midoriya—lying on a blanket and gazing up at the stars. Midoriya was pointing up, drawing lines with his index finger as though connecting the dots as he spoke. Bakugou, who was supposedly meant to be watching the stars, was watching the side of Midoriya's face.

They didn't see or hear him as he descended, too wrapped up in each other. That alone let him know that he should let them be. He should rest on the other side of the roof so they could have privacy. Hell, he should rest on a different roof entirely.

But he was only human, and he was just as curious as the rest of the class. He landed on the far corner of the building and made his approach quietly, slinking toward the door to the roof and standing behind its outset. 

Midoriya was speaking when he arrived, softly orating as he gazed upward. "So for six months out of the year, they're—"

"Fucking separated. Again," Bakugou interrupted. "Because her mom threw a shitty temper tantrum. Why are all of your stories depressing as shit, nerd? None of the fuckers that love each other get to stay together or be happy or whatever. Don't you usually like happy endings and shit?"

Midoriya chuckled, soft and amused. "Well," he teased, nudging Bakugou's shoulder. They were lying so close together—their sides touching from shoulder to ankle. "Why don't you tell me a story then, Kacchan?"

Bakugou stared at the sky, frowning. It took a moment for Fumikage to realize that he was searching for something among the stars—navigating the inky black sky to find his quarry. Finally he pointed. "Those."

Midoriya squinted. "Which?"

"Four of them in a diamond. Then one a little below it that's brighter."

"Okay," Midoriya replied slowly. "I don't recognize that one."

"Hn. There were two boys, one strong and one kind. The kind one chased after the strong one, but the strong one kept pushing him back. At first, he didn't want the kind one to get hurt, but eventually—the praise he got went to his head, and he thought the kind one was weak. So, even though the kind one just wanted to be close to him, the strong one kept pushing him back—getting more angry and cruel each time."

Fumikage wasn't well-versed in constellation mythology, but he'd heard a fair few the stories in his life. This one was unfamiliar, and so far seemed just as depressing as the ones Midoriya had told. In fact, from the way Bakugou was hesitating, it felt like the blonde was making up the story on the spot—weaving a tale out of starlight.

"Kacchan—"

"I'm fuckin' talking, nerd," he scolded, kicking at Midoriya's ankle. "One day, the strong boy took on a challenge that he wasn't prepared for. The villain caught him unaware, but he thought he could handle it anyway. He was wrong."

The villain? That sounded less like mythology and more like a modern dilemma. Realization dawned on him as Bakugou kept talking, quietly telling their story to the stars so that they'd weave their legend in light. This felt private and part of him felt bad for eavesdropping, but he'd already heard this much, hadn't he?

"The kind boy might have been weaker in strength but when he saw his friend in trouble, he was filled with a different kind of strength. The strength to protect the people he loved—a strength he'd always had but never needed. The people he loved could usually protect themselves. But he saw his friend in danger and ran toward the monster—giving the strong boy just enough time to survive, even though it put the kind boy in danger, too. A hero—a god, really—saw the sacrifice he was willing to make, and decided to make the kind boy strong, too. But even if he wasn't ready to admit it, the strong boy already knew the truth. The strength that the kind boy was born with was way more important than what he had. More special. So this time, when the kind boy followed him, he didn't push him away. He let him get closer, and the strong boy was grateful."

"Kacchan," he sniffled. Apparently, Midoriya had started crying. "That's sweet. You didn't need to turn us into a constellation, though."

"Shut up, dork, I'm not sweet," he huffed. "Whatever. It's a happier story than the shit you were spewing."

"It was sweet," he murmured. Fumikage watched as Midoriya turned on his side, abandoning the stars to stare at Bakugou instead. "You think our story is happy?"

Bakugou shrugged. "I noticed those stars when I was working a night patrol," he grumbled. "They're exactly like your shitty freckles. Four big ones in a diamond and then a bunch of little ones. They always take a while to find, but then I can see them in all of the other extras. Reminds me of how I felt about you. You were just...one of many idiots for a while, and then I actually saw you. For the first time in fuckin' ages, I could actually see you," he explained, turning on his side as well. "And you stood out."

Their faces were so close that if Fumikage were any farther, he'd have thought they were kissing. For a moment, he wondered if he should take a picture—another piece of evidence for Ashido's docier on their epic romance.

"We should leave them alone," Dark Shadow whispered in his ear, softer than the breeze that rushed over the rooftop. "We'd ruin it if they caught us."

Dark Shadow was right, of course. This moment was theirs, and they should be allowed to keep it for themselves. Silently, he backed away—finding his way to the other side of the building before taking flight again.

He wondered, as he glided across the grounds, if someone would tell stories about them like myths someday. If they'd be written in the stars and told as bedtime stories.

Once he was safely on the ground, he looked back up at the stars—finding the cluster Bakugou had pointed too. From there he searched, scanning to find the pinprick of light that felt like it belonged to Bakugou. He found it—just a touch brighter than the constellation, and just close enough to be considered a part of it.

It made perfect sense in his mind—that if there were stars in the sky that spoke of Midoriya, Bakugou's must be there too. They were, after all, each other's light in the darkness.

Shoto shuffled into the kitchen slowly, not entirely awake. It was noisy—and he fought the urge to grimace at the sheer volume of his classmates' bickering. He didn't even have the mental capacity to determine what they were arguing about, opting instead to drag himself to the coffee machine and frown at the empty pot.

"Saved you some," Izuku murmured, passing him a mug. "Might wanna microwave it, though."

"Thanks," he replied, looking into the cup. Izuku had made it the way Shoto liked it—more cream and sugar than coffee, but enough coffee to make his neurons fire. He looked across the kitchen to the microwave—at the sheer number of people he'd have to walk past in order to heat up the drink in his hand.

"Just use your quirk, loser," Katsuki grunted, hip checking him as he walked by—making his way to Izuku's side. Shoto scowled at him.

"You nearly made me drop it," he said, gripping the mug protectively.

"Sounds like a you problem, butterfingers," he snickered, ruffling Izuku's hair once he was safely by the greenette's side. He turned to the bickering classmates and frowned. "What are those idiots arguing about?"

"Pancakes vs. Waffles," Izuku informed him, taking a sip of his own coffee. Wordlessly, he handed his mug to Katsuki, who took it by the rim to take a sip.  Shoto's eyes were drawn to the motion, watching as they traded the mug between them and eyed their classmates. They weren't speaking, but as soon as one of them even twitched the other was moving to accommodate them.

Strange.

Then, Izuku leaned back and caught Katsuki's eye, and Katsuki's head tilted in response. Izuku shrugged. Katsuki jerked his head, and then they were both in motion—Katsuki headed toward the stove and Izuku toward the cupboards.

Fascinating.

He watched as they communicated in a series of glances. Izuku would look back at Katsuki, then immediately move to collect another ingredient or utensil and hand it to the blonde. Working together in a silent harmony that would never have been possible in their first year. His eyes narrowed as he heated his hands, waiting for a coil of steam to rise off the surface of his coffee before he took a sip.

Katsuki met Izuku's eyes and he nodded again, crossing to the fridge to take out butter and eggs as though Katsuki had asked for them out loud. Another glance, and Izuku got two serving plates. Another, and he pulled Sato's stash of berries and syrup out. Then the class supply of chocolate chips. Then another pot, then another pan, and on and on until their silent operation was finished.

The class was still bickering when Izuku took the first serving plate off the countertop and put it on the countertop. A piping hot plate of freshly made pancakes—half with chocolate chips and half without. Next, a tray of waffles, fresh from the waffle iron. Then, they glanced at each other again and moved in tandem to put out the homemade berry compote, warm syrup, honey butter, and fresh cut fruit.

The class had gone silent as they worked, setting out the food before retreating back to the coffee pot which—at some point—had been refilled. Katsuki poured Izuku a new mug, dutifully stirring in cream and sugar with a moue of distaste. Izuku gave him a small, exasperated smile and Shoto wondered what it meant when Katsuki smirked back and shrugged. He plucked the mug out of Izuku's hand and drank, grimacing before handing it back.

They seemed to notice that the entire class was starting at them. "Aren't you hungry?" Izuku asked, head tilting. "Go ahead and eat, there's plenty."

Katsuki spoke when nobody moved, staring at them in something close to awe. "Weren't you idiots bitching about what to make? I made both, so fucking eat it before I make you," Katsuki scowled.

Ochako came forward first, piling a plate with pancakes and berries and honey butter. "Thanks guys!" she squeaked before fleeing the kitchen.  Izuku nestled into Katsuki's side with a soft smile, looking up at him softly. Katsuki smirked down at him, eyebrow raised and took the offered coffee cup when Izuku held it out to him.

Shoto took another sip of his own coffee, wondering how they seemed to know exactly what the other was saying when neither said a word.

He knew that his classmates' theory was a sound one. That Izuku and Katsuki were in love with each other, to the point that they'd formed a romantic relationship without declaring it as such. Most days, he was inclined to believe they were right.

But what if they were wrong?

What if there were something else in play that they'd simply overlooked?

Yesterday during training, Katsuki and Izuku were paired against Hanta and Ochako. They kept trading these glances. They could be an entire battlefield apart but they could look at each other and know the other's next move, coordinating perfectly. It had taken them a total of five minutes to obliterate the opposition, then Izuku had run at Katsuki and leapt. Katsuki turned just enough to catch him without even looking away from their beaten opponents.

Like he'd known that Izuku was coming.

It happened again that evening, when they were studying in the common room. Izuku was frustrated—anyone could tell that much—running his hand through his hair and muttering furiously as he scribbled, trying to  work out a problem for their calculus class. After a particularly vicious tug at his curls, Katsuki wordlessly flipped through his notebook and slid it in front of Izuku's face.

Izuku blinked at it, then up at Katsuki. The blonde jerked his chin toward the notes, then turned back to his friends without another word. Izuku smiled softly at the side of his head, cheeks flushed, then got back to work—comparing his own notes to Katsuki's to find the gaps in his knowledge.

The moment another frown crossed his freckled face, Katsuki turned to him again and flipped through the pages until he reached a new section, pointing to another set of instructions. Izuku brightened, veritably beaming at the blonde. Katsuki ruffled his hair before going back to his work. How did he know what Izuku needed? It's not like Izuku had asked him a question—the entire exchange had been completely silent.

There was no way he could have known why Izuku was frustrated. It was literally impossible.

But he'd seen it with his own eyes. Izuku had been frustrated, and Katsuki had fixed it after looking at him for three seconds. He'd just known.

How had he known?

When Katsuki had left for the evening, Shoto let his curiosity loose. "How did Katsuki know what you needed help with?" Shoto asked, stopping Izuku's litany of mumbles in its tracks.

"Huh?"

"When you were working on calculus. Did you tell him what you were struggling with before?" he asked.

"Oh, uh," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "No. He says he can hear me overthinking in class, so he marks the parts of the lecture that I didn't focus on."

"He can hear you overthinking?" Shoto asked, mind churning. Could they hear each other's thoughts?

"Yeah, I mean, he sits right in front of me," Izuku shrugged.

Shoto didn't have the heart to tell him that his explanation explained nothing—it only gave him more questions.

It was still possible that it was just a testament to their teamwork. That they'd gotten so accustomed to each other that they could anticipate the other's moves before the thought even occurred to them. He could certainly see how that could be deemed romantic. But what if it was...something else.

He stared at the backs of their heads in class—watching their strange and elaborate, perfectly coordinated dance. Katsuki snapped the tip of his pencil four seconds after Izuku handed him a sharpener. Katsuki turned toward Izuku three seconds before the greenette would look up to start talking. Katsuki would answer a question before Izuku even looked up to ask it.

Shoto was lost in thought when it happened, still staring down the Wonder Duo as they made their way to the cafeteria. Izuku had noticed by this point and was shifting uncomfortably, which naturally meant that Katsuki had noticed, too. He could see the blonde bristling and knew he should probably look away but he couldn't. He might miss crucial evidence.

"Watch where you're going, freak!"

They all stopped still—turning toward the commotion to find Ojiro standing a few feet from a student they didn't recognize, face twisted in disgust. His tail was wrapped around himself protectively. "Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going—"

"Obviously," she sneered. "How can you call yourself a hero when you can't even keep that nasty-ass tail under control? God, it touched me!"

He scowled, preparing to step forward and give her a piece of his mind—but Katsuki and Izuku beat him to it. They pushed past him in tandem, stalking toward their prey shoulder-to-shoulder. They glanced at each other—just for a moment—and without another word, Katsuki took Ojiro by the arm and tugged him away while Izuku stepped in front of the girl.

Unexpected.

"Don't fuckin' listen to that fucked up little bitch," Katuski grumbled as he pulled Ojiro toward the cafeteria. "Prejudiced sack of shit doesn't fuckin' deserve to be here."

The girl had brightened when Izuku stepped in front of her, face going soft with awe. "Wow, Deku," she breathed. "Thanks for your help, he was so—"

"Shut up," he commanded, soft and serious. Her mouth clicked shut, eyes going wide with surprise. "Who the hell are you?"

"I...what?"

"Your name, year, and class. Now."

"I...I'm Haruna Nakamura, Class 1-A," she said, smiling weakly.

"You're a hero student?" he snapped. "What kind of hero goes out of their way to make people feel shitty about themselves? You should be ashamed."

"He—he bumped into me!"

"Which was an accident. What you said afterward was intentional, and it showed how fucking ugly you are on the inside," he said, advancing on her angrily. "Being a hero means giving people hope and confidence. If you're a prejudiced asshole, you have no fucking business being in the hero course. Either you reflect on your attitude and apologize to Ojiro, who is one of the best heroes I know, or I go to your homeroom teacher and let them know that they have a quirkist asshole polluting their roster. You have a week, and then I'm fucking coming for you," he spat.

Her spine straightened and she glared at him. "You're not who I thought you were at all, Deku," she said, sounding disappointed. "You pretend to be all nice and sweet for the cameras, but you're a foul-mouthed bully—"

"When my brave, hardworking peers are belittled by prejudiced assholes?" he interrupted, leaning in threateningly. "You fucking bet I am. And I learned how to be a foul-mouthed asshole from the best of them. Trust me, Nakamura-kun, I can be a whole lot nastier than you can. Shape the fuck up or I'll destroy you, and not a single person will believe that I did you wrong. Because you're right—everybody thinks they know me. But they don't."

Shoto knew that Izuku emulated Katsuki in a crisis. It was a well-documented phenomenon.

He'd never seen it so clearly as now, though. It had never been so utterly apparent—as though the words had been stolen from Katsuki's own mind. Interesting.

"Come on, Izuku," Shoto said, pulling his attention. "Don't waste time on her, she's not worth it."

"Shoto—"

"We can text all the heroes we've worked with and warn them not to offer her internships," he offered. "But Ojiro is stuck with Katsuki right now, and we both know how Katsuki is with emotions." Izuku grimaced.

"He's not that bad," he said, already turning away from the terrified first-year. Shoto shot a smirk in her direction before falling into step beside Izuku. "He's just got his own way of doing things."

"Berating people until they don't feel sad?" Shoto drawled, amused smile tickling the corners of his lips. "I don't know if that works for everyone."

"It's how he shows he cares!" Izuku insisted.

It's definitely how he shows that he cares about you, Shoto thought. When they arrived in the cafeteria, Izuku didn't even need to look for Katsuki to find him in the crowd. He just turned to the right and ventured all the way to the back of the room—as far away from their usual tables as he could possibly get. Katsuki was sitting with Ojirou, whose tail was still wrapped around himself. Shoji and Mina had joined them, but Katsuki was the only one speaking.

"This is why you and Mask-Face are doing that publicity campaign for physical quirks," Katsuki reminded him, uncharacteristically gentle. "We don't listen to quirkist assholes, alright? Now eat, or I'm gonna kick your ass in training."

He turned then, locking eyes with Izuku immediately. They had to be communicating somehow. There was no way they just knew where the other was on instinct alone. There was no way they just knew to switch places with each other—Katsuki standing to join Shoto while Izuku took Katsuki's place at the table.

"Lunch Rush is making Katsudon today, let's go," Katsuki grunted, nudging Shoto toward the lunch line.

In the back of his mind, he wondered how long it would take for villains to stop having a hard-on for Izuku. He was an awesome hero, and everyone knew he was All Might's successor. But still, it had gotten ridiculous a whole year ago. At this point, it was just exhausting.

The worst part was that this villain was an actual challenge. Most AFO acolytes were substandard at best in terms of quirk control, and focused more on being a nuisance than causing actual lasting damage.

This guy had a shadow quirk, not dissimilar to Tokoyami's, except he could turn his own body into a sentient shadow rather than using the shadow as an extension of himself. He was using it to bludgeon buildings in populated areas. He'd already dropped three apartment buildings on top of Izuku, and Shoto had just about had it.

Now, here's the thing.

The villain was strategic, but he and Izuku could definitely have handled it themselves. Yet, he was totally unsurprised when, without either of them calling for backup, explosions started echoing over the rooftops. How had he even known where to go?

Izuku turned and made eye contact with Katsuki as he flew overhead.

Katsuki let off an explosion—a flashbang that was loud and bright with minimal smoke. The villain yelped, pushed out of the shadows by the bright light of Katsuki's quirk, and Izuku sprinted after him—his (all but official) hero partner following overhead to keep him from dissipating.

How had he known to do that? How did he even know what the villain's quirk was?

The evidence was getting hard to ignore.

They moved in perfect harmony—Katsuki dropping to Izuku's side and filling the spaces that the greenette couldn't cover, watching all of his blindspots and attacking as soon as he moved back and vice versa. They didn't speak a single word to each other, just shared the odd glance and knew exactly what to do.

They were already superhuman, but this was ridiculous. How had nobody else noticed?

Once Katsuki got there, the fight finished up within minutes. He wasn't even in costume—wearing sweatpants and running shoes and toting his provisional license in his pocket. "Saw the news chopper, looked at a TV in that diner five blocks down," he shrugged when asked. "Saw you two being fuckin' lame, didn't have anything better to do."

"You were amazing, Kacchan," Izuku smiled, nudging his shoulder. Katsuki ruffled his hair for about three seconds longer than strictly necessary. Their faces went through a variety of expressions as they gazed into each other's eyes and the longer it went on, the surer he became.

Katsuki slung his arm over Izuku's shoulder. "You shits done with your patrol?" he asked, waiting for Shoto to pull the villain off the ground before he started walking.

"Yep! We just need to fill out the paperwork and then we're heading back to campus."

"Lame, it's a fuckin' Saturday," Katsuki huffed. "Let's get ramen. There's that new shop around the corner."

They both turned to look at him in tandem, and Shoto felt a chill shoot up his spine. "I can't," he said, keeping his face as blank as possible. "I promised Hanta I would help him with flexibility. We're training after I get back."

They shared a look that he did not care to interpret. "Sure," Katsuki snickered. "Train flexibility with Tape Face. Guess it's just you n' me, Deku."

"That's fine," Izuku murmured, leaning into his side as they walked. "I wanna—"

"Yeah, I know. The thing you were—"

"Yeah."

He had no idea what they were talking about, and he had know idea how they knew what they were talking about. They weren't even speaking in complete sentences. Even as he handed the villain over to the cops, he watched them interact in stray glances and faint touches.

Katsuki assisted Izuku with his paperwork when they got back to the agency, letting him shower while he filled out the basics of his incident reports. He, of course, offered no such service to Shoto and before he knew it, the Wonder Duo had departed for their impromptu dinner—leaving him to finish the rest of his work and walk back to the dorm alone.

He didn't mind. It gave him time to think.

He had to talk to Ochako.

Hanta was waiting for him in the common room when he got back—smiling wide as he approached. "Hey, man, ready to train?" he asked, looming over him. Shoto blinked up at him, mind still clogged with the rapidly forming theory that he had to share before it went off the rails.

"I—um...almost," he replied. "I need to talk to Ochako, and then I'm all yours."

He did not know how to interpret Hanta's smile as it widened, and his gaze raked him up and down. He didn't have time to interpret it either. "Can't wait," he replied.

"I...okay. I'll be back," he uttered, ducking out of Hanta's personal space and heading for the elevators. When he got to Ochako's room, he knocked on the door politely—because no matter how wild his mind was running he would not stoop to Katsuki's attention-seeking behavior.

"Shoto!" Ochako smiled when she finally opened the door. "What are y—why do you look like that?"

He frowned. "Like what?"

"Crazed. Your eye is twitching, Shoto."

He clapped a hand over his eye, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Is everything okay? It's the other eye, by the way."

He clapped a hand over the other eye. "I don't have time for this! I need to talk to you!"

"Uh...alright. Come in. Mina's here, though, is that okay?"

"That's even—ow!" he hissed as he slammed into the door frame. "That's even better. It's about Izuku and Katsuki."

Mina squealed, grabbing his arms and pulling them off his face while leading him to Ochako's desk chair. "Tell us everything! Did they do something cute? Did one of them confess?"

"I don't think they're dating," he told them seriously. "Sure, they've been doing some things that could be considered couple-y, but I don't think that's what's actually going on."

Ochako and Mina shared a look, frowning. "What...do you mean?" Ochako asked hesitantly. "They're always all over each other. They go to each other for everything."

"They're so domestic, it's sickening," Mina added.

"I know what it looks like, but I've been watching them for a week now and I think it's something else!" he insisted. "I don't think they're into each other, or else they'd already know about it!"

They shared another look, frowning deeper. "Why would they know if they haven't told each other?" Mina asked slowly.

"It took me a while to notice, but they can communicate without talking," he explained. "They barely have to look at each other to know what the other is thinking! If they were in love with each other, they would already be dating—it's the only explanation. They share a telepathic bond of some kind! They wouldn't be able to keep it from each other if that were the truth!" he declared.

Mina pursed her lips, taking a deep breath, and Ochako's eyes went soft and sympathetic. "Oh, honey," she cooed, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Mina burst out laughing.

Toru loved it when the class crammed into the common room—filling the couches and tucking into each other.

People tended to forget that she existed unless they were pressed up against her—an invisible, warm weight that proved she was real. The way Ojiro's tail would curl around her and rest in her lap made her feel seen—like he was reaching out for something he wanted in his orbit.

She loved the way Mina would sit on the floor and leaned back against her legs, melting back when Toru played with her hair—seeking her out every time the class got together this way.

She looked across the common room, eyes landing on the set of couches opposite her. Kats and Ei were talking to each other quietly, eyes fixed on the screen. She frowned, eyes flitting downward.

Ah, there he was. She should have known—it had been a long week and Izu had spent almost every evening at his work-study. No wonder he was wiped out.

No wonder he was curled up on the couch with his head in Katsuki's lap, while the blonde's calloused fingers ran idly through his hair. No wonder he was keeping his voice down and sneaking glances at the top of Izu's head every few seconds, afraid to wake him up.

They were so cute. She restrained the urge to squeal, even as she started tapping Mina's shoulder rapidly—alerting her partner in crime to the absolutely adorable display across from them.

Mina did not restrain her squeal, but stifled it behind her palms. They both stiffened as Katsuki's eyes snapped to them, eyebrows quirked in confusion. His gaze flitted to the screen, as though looking for what could have caused their outburst.

Luckily, they were watching Pride and Prejudice and Mr. Darcy had just held Elizabeth's hand for the first time. The universe was on their side today and instead of blowing them up, Katsuki leaned back and rolled his eyes.

As he shifted, Deku stirred. Toru watched as Katsuki's entire body went stiff—waiting to see if he'd fucked up and woken the green bean. Instead, Izuku curled his arms around Katsuki's thigh like it was a pillow—burying his face into his ridiculously soft sweatpants.

Seriously, his clothes were luxurious as hell. He'd left his sweats in the laundry room once and when Toru picked them up, she'd almost stolen them instead of returning them. She totally understood why Izu was sleepily rubbing his face against them now.

She bit back a laugh at the strained look on Katsuki's face as he pointedly looked at the TV to ignore what was happening in his lap. Mina was gripping her leg, shoulders shaking.

They were disasters. True train wrecks. She was just glad she had the privilege of watching them crash into each other, over and over again.

The problem with being invisible is that nobody remembered to look for you before talking shit.

Like the group of business class boys who were rating Class A on how dateable they were. One asshole said that there was barely any point in dating 'the invisible one' because it was like she wasn't even there. That it would be an exercise in narcissism to date someone you couldn't see. That having sex with her would basically be masturbation.

All of that without even checking to see if anyone was listening. It's not like she walked around naked—she was wearing her whole school uniform, and they didn't even notice that she was standing there listening to every foul word.

She escaped to the roof—slamming the door open and relishing the thrill of satisfaction as the door smacked against the frame with a metallic bang.

"Shut the fuck up!" a disembodied voice hissed. Toru froze in place, nearly tripping over her own feet. "God, aren't you supposed to be a fucking stealth hero?"

Toru's turned toward Katsuki's voice, finding him propped up against the closest ledge. His lunch was in one hand, but the other was curled around Izuku's ears—gentle and protective. Izuku who, once again, was napping in Katsuki's lap. She softened at the sight—affection pushing out some of her irritation.

"Sorry," she whispered. "What're you doing up here?"

"Nerd has a headache. Said I'd hang out while he took a nap."

She frowned. "Why didn't he go to Recovery Girl?" she asked softly, approaching them and taking a seat at Katsuki's side.

He nudged her shoulder, grateful that she was closer so that he could lower his voice. "Last time, she let him sleep through three classes. He's got it in his dumbass head that if he takes a break, he'll fall behind."

"Maybe because you two dum-dums are hyper-competitive?" she teased, squeaking when Katsuki elbowed her side.

"Shut the hell up," he grunted, taking his hand off Izu's ear so that he could finish his lunch. "He knows I'll wake him up. He also knows that I'm stealing his computer and phone tonight. Can't doom-scroll shitty hero forums until 3am if you don't have any electronics."

She tossed him a fond smile, giggling. He grimaced at the sound. "You take such good care of him."

He scoffed. "Who the fuck else is gonna do it? He's a fucking disaster, he sure as hell isn't gonna take care of himself."

"It's sweet."

His scowl twisted into a horrified gape. "Shut the fuck up."

"Make me," she grinned. Not that he could see it. She relished the fury on his face as he realized that he couldn't make her unless he woke Izuku up. Chortling, she pulled out her lunch. "Man, must suck to be trapped like that."

"Keep fucking taunting me and I'll blow you up as soon as he wakes up," Katsuki warned.

She hummed, unbothered. "If you say so. Weenie?"

"The fuck did you just call me?"

"I didn't call you anything," she replied innocently. "I'm offering you a weenie. They're cut up like little octopuses."

He glared at the side of her face as though he could actually see her. As unsettling as it was, she couldn't help but appreciate that Katsuki and Izuku always seemed to know exactly where she as at all times. They were so aware. Even now, Katsuki could gauge where her face was by how her body was positioned and how close her voice sounded.

She'd seen them both listening for her before looking—always looking at her instead of through her. A whole present entity, rather than an ever-lingering ghost. They knew she was there. So did Ojiro and Mina and Kyoka.

Her mood dipped as she remembered why she'd come up here, and she stabbed at her octo-weenies with a little more force than strictly necessary.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" he asked, eyeing her lunch in concern. In his lap, Izuku mumbled and shifted, pushing his face into Katsuki's abs. She understood the impulse, Katsuki was shredded.

"Just...overheard some people being shitty."

"Watch your fucking language."

She shot him an unimpressed glare, and he must have felt it because he smirked at her—fully aware that he was being a big dumb hypocrite.

"Anyway," she drawled, rolling her eyes as Katsuki snickered. "I heard some people being shitty and decided to remove myself from the situation instead of stabbing them in the neck with my pen."

"Damn, what did they say?" he asked, brow furrowing in concern.

She sighed, leaning back against the wall. "They were talking about Class A. How dateable we are? It was...gross. And mean."

Katsuki grunted. "Shoulda stabbed them."

"I only have one pen with me today, and it's my favorite. I didn't wanna get blood on it," she joked. It was actually the pen that Katsuki had gotten her for their silly little Secret Santa exchange. All gifts under 1500 yen—and he'd gotten her a clear pen with little stars and moons floating around inside it.

Izuku had helped him pick it out, too, because Katsuki was nervous about getting her something that she'd like.

"Whatever," he huffed. "Don't listen to shitheads. They don't fucking know us."

"K'cchan?" Izuku mumbled, blinking himself awake. "S'it time fer class?"

"Not yet," he murmured. "You got like twenty minutes. Go back to sleep, loser."

"Who're you talking to?" he asked, voice rough with sleep. He squinted around before his eyes landed on Toru's uniform. "Toru!" he smiled drowsily, and Toru's heart clenched. She heard Katsuki's sharp inhale next to her, and knew he was similarly crippled by how unfairly adorable he was.

Izuku settled his head back into Katsuki's lap, relaxing again. "How's your head?" Katsuki asked softly, putting down his lunch to run his fingers through Izu's hair. Toru melted as the greenette hummed contentedly—eye slipping shut again.

"Better," he replied, already halfway asleep. "Thanks, Kacchan."

"Next time fucking listen to me," he huffed. "If you slept more often you wouldn't get headaches all the goddamn time."

"Could be the concussion," Izuku offered, barely conscious.

Katsuki's fingers paused in his hair. "The what?"

It had been three days since Katsuki had learned about the concussion that Izu had been hiding from him and the blonde was, understandably, frosty. Izuku insisted that he'd just forgotten—that he wasn't trying to hide it.

But the boys had a hard and fast rule—they tell each other about their injuries. No matter how small, they always let the other know if something is wrong. They could look out for each other that way.

So, Katsuki was pissed, and Izuku was miserable. He really had just...forgotten about it. Minor concussions were a dime a dozen in their chosen profession, so it had just felt like an average Wednesday to him, and he'd mentioned it as soon as the information seemed relevant.

But they'd trained that morning and whether or not Katuski wanted to admit it, it wasn't about the omission. It was about the bone-deep worry he felt every time Izuku had so much as a paper-cut.

Since she was the one who witnessed the whole shit-show as it unraveled, Toru had tried to mediate. Unfortunately, both of them were stubborn as fuck, and sure that they hadn't done anything wrong. On Izuku's end it was an innocent mistake, and on Katsuki's it was an injury that could have been made so much worse if he'd hit it wrong.

Technically, they were both right, which made them both insufferable. What's worse—because Katsuki was icing out Izuku, Izuku was all sad and mopey. And because Izuku was sad and mopey, Katsuki felt guilty but he was also angry so he was still avoiding the green bean. And, out of irritation at the whole situation, he was being nasty. To everyone.

The class had been giving them both a wide berth, waiting for one of them to cave and make the first move. They all knew it would happen eventually. These two gays couldn't go a week without being all over each other, there was no way the ice-out would last more than a few days.

That didn't mean it wasn't uncomfortable as fuck while it lasted, though.

Toru woke up late on Saturday morning. She loved Saturday. Not because there was no school—but because she could take some extra time to take care of herself. To decompress and really enjoy her mornings.

She was planning on a little spa day with Yuga and Mina later—face masks and deep conditioning—but they wouldn't be awake until well after noon. She pulled her hair into a bun—tragically unsure of how messy it was—and shoved her feet into cartoonishly large bunny slippers.

Still in her pajamas, she traipsed to the common room, aiming herself at the coffee machine in the kitchen.

It was still early. Maybe she could make some pancakes while she waited. She pondered her options as the elevator descended, hoping that the common room would be empty so she could have a little more morning to herself.

She stopped still when the doors slid open.

Katsuki was asleep on the couch—seated upright with his head tilted back against the backrest. His mouth was ajar and he was snoring softly—utterly lax. She crept forward quietly, hoping to skirt him without waking him up. There were dark circles under his eyes. If she had to guess, she'd say that he couldn't sleep while they were fighting.

They were so infuriatingly in love. She wished they'd both stop being stubborn or blind or whatever the fuck they were doing.

She froze again as she crept closer—eyes falling on the second body she'd missed before. Izuku's head was cradled in Katsuki's lap again, arms wrapped around his waist in what looked like an uncomfortable stretch. Seriously, that position would undoubtedly cause some kind of muscle strain—but he looked cozy and content, gently drooling onto Katsuki's pajama bottoms.

Katsuki's hand was in his hair again, implying that he'd fallen asleep while petting through Izuku's curls.

Smiling softly, she resumed her trek toward the kitchen—letting the two of them snooze. Maybe she'd make pancakes for them too, as a celebration for them getting their heads out of their asses and talking it out. Unless, of course, they hadn't talked it out and had magnetically sleepwalked toward each other until they were cuddling.

That...didn't sound too far out of the realm of possibility, honestly.

Whatever. She'd make them pancakes anyway. And coffee, too, just to show that she was rooting for them, no matter how dumb they were.

"Morning," Izuku's sleepy mumble greeted her as he entered the kitchen. She turned to face him, lips quirking in amusement at the sight of him. He looked rumpled and tired—hair wildly askew and eyes mostly closed. "Smelled coffee."

"In the pot," she replied. Predictably, he pulled two mugs out of the cupboard‚ pouring two mugs. He paused.

"Oh, d'you want me to make yours, too?" he croaked, still endearingly groggy.

"Nah, I'll get it when I'm done cooking," she replied. He nodded silently, going back to his careful preparations—putting just enough milk in Katsuki's so that the bitter edge was dulled but not gone entirely.

They moved in silence for a while, when finally Toru's curiosity took over. "So...who caved?" she asked. Izuku blinked over at her, brows furrowed. "You've been fighting over a minor miscommunication for three days now. Who caved and decided enough was enough?"

He blushed, taking a hasty sip of his too-hot coffee and spluttering a moment later—failing to mask whatever embarrassment he was trying to hide. Toru crossed her arms and waited.

"Uh...I did. Ochako kinda...pointed out that I was being a hypocrite, because if Kacchan forgot to tell me about a concussion I'd be upset, too, especially if something went wrong in training and it got worse."

"Didn't I say that like...three days ago?" she drawled, flipping a pancake.

"I...didn't miss him yet. Not enough to admit it, at least," he said, sounding sheepish. "But three whole days of him giving me the cold shoulder was terrible, and I was much more susceptible to logic by the time Ochako got to me."

Toru hummed in understanding. "Makes sense, I guess. In any case, I'm glad you worked it out."

She could hear the smile in his voice when he replied. "Me too."

Honestly, it served them right for ignoring him for so long. He'd seen this coming for almost a year now, after all.

Minoru was always watching. And that sounded creepier than he meant it, but seriously—he had to keep his eyes peeled. What if Momo had another nip-slip when he wasn't watching? He had to be diligent. And that diligence meant that he'd seen things.

It had actually started a year ago, during a class trip to the mall. He'd been walking behind Yaomomo and between her legs, something had caught his attention. Midoriya and Bakugou were walking side by side—already a strange phenomenon—and Midoriya was talking Bakugou's ear off as usual. But instead of a scowl, his face was blank. Practically a smile, as far as Bakugou as concerned.

But that's not what had caught his attention.

He'd pulled his attention away from the way Momo's skirt swayed around her ass to zero in on their hands. They were walking so close together that their hands kept brushing—and each time they made contact, Midoriya's hand would flex. Like he was tempted to grab Bakugou's hand, despite the real risk of having his fingers blown off.

That had gone on all day. Every time Minoru looked over at them, their hands would be in holding distance but neither of them took hold. There was a timidness about it that was uncharacteristic of both of them. It was almost enough to distract him from Ashido's cleavage.

Almost.

Three weeks later, he'd somehow been the only person to notice them after training. They'd been partnered for the exercise and they'd dominated as usual. Then, they'd come back to the viewing room to get their notes from Aizawa—shuffling off to the corner when he was done.

Once they were out of sight, they were basically out of mind. Besides, he'd been trying to peek under Yaomomo's cape for almost the whole year so he had better things to do. But then he'd seen Bakugou step closer to Midoriya in his periphery. Regretfully, he pulled his gaze away from the seam of Yaomomo's cape to see if Bakugou was gonna blow up Midoriya.

Instead, Bakugou had a weirdly soft smirk on his face, and reached up to where Midoriya's hair was plastered to his sweaty forehead. Minoru's eyes widened as, gently, Bakugou brushed the hair from Midoriya's forehead—soft and attentive and lingering a little longer than necessary. Midoriya blushed, but kept chattering as though it didn't affect him.

From there, the casual touching had only gotten more prolific—gaining momentum and frequency as time went on.

He remembered the first time he'd seen Midoriya actually take Bakugou's hand. He'd been excited about something All Might related, so Minoru had tuned him out in favor of watching Hagakure's boobs bounce in her shirt. But then Midoriya had yelped excitedly and drawn his attention just in time for him to see the greenette grab Bakugou's hand—lacing their fingers together. Bakugou had stared down at their hands in shock, even as Midoriya dragged him away from the group.

It was a miracle that Bakugou hadn't detonated. It must have been tempting. Nobody touched Bakugou without his permission, after all. Except Midoriya, apparently.

That moment had blown the door wide open. Casual touching had become their thing, and somehow Minoru was the only one who saw it happening.

In the mornings, while Midoriya was still half asleep, they'd walk to class together, and Bakugou would guide him. He'd place his explosive hand on the small of his back and maneuver the shorter boy toward their destination as they walked in silence—rarely noticing anything outside their little bubble.

The weird thing was: more often than not, their friend groups would be walking in front of them or right behind them, and they didn't even bat an eyelash at Bakugou's protective stance—at how he made sure Midoriya was facing the right direction and moving forward. None of them noticed how Midoriya would lean into him just slightly. It was right in front of their faces, but they were blind.

"Have you guys noticed how much they touch each other?" Sero asked the study-group. Ashido looked over at the Wonder Duo and frowned. Minoru did too, rolling his eyes. Midoriya's hands were wrapped around Bakugou's arm as they walked out of the elevators and headed toward the doors.

"They're constantly touching," Minoru muttered, turning back to his homework. "That's been a thing for like a year."

Ashido made a strangled noise of surprise, and he looked up at her. "A year?" she demanded.

"Uh...yeah? You just gotta look at them," he shrugged. "They're always touching each other while they walk or hang out, I don't know. They've been all touchy since...uh...that time we went to the double feature at the Cineplex last year. A little before that too, but that's when the hand-holding and stuff started." He turned a lecherous smirk on Jirou. "That's around the time your boobs—"

Before he could say anything else, Sero slapped tape across his mouth. Honestly, he was never gonna grow a mustache if Sero kept pre-waxing his face with super-powered tape. It was getting ridiculous. He was just going to point out that Jirou's boobs had finally grown.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Ashido demanded, hands on hips. Minoru raised his eyebrows.

"We made the rule," Hagakure reminded her. "We made the rule in first year. He wouldn't have been able to tell us without one of us drop-kicking him."

"Right," she grumbled.

The rule was: He was not allowed to be within ten feet of them without supervision, and he wasn't allowed to speak unless spoken to. He didn't always adhere to the rule—it was more of a guideline and some things were worth risking a concussion for. Midoriya and Bakugou's messed up courting rituals weren't on the list.

They all watched as Bakugou pulled his arm out of Midoriya's grasp and threw it over his shoulder instead, pulling him closer. Midoriya leaned into it, snaking his arm around Bakugou's waist in response. Minoru gave them a pointed look behind his taped-up mouth, as though to say "see?" and Ashido bit her lip to keep from cooing at them.

"Hey Bakubro!" Sero called. They paused and Bakugou tilted his head toward them lazily. "Where you going?"

"Nerd wants to try a new brunch place, because he's secretly a 35 year old white woman," he smirked, grunting when Midoriya pinched his side a little more viciously than necessary. "But this one looks pretty good, so I'm tagging along."

"You suggested it!" Midoriya hissed.

"Hm, doesn't sound like me,"Bakugou sniggered, pinching Midoriya's cheek in retaliation.

Minoru repressed the urge to roll his eyes at the display. How did none of them notice this earlier?

"You'll have to tell me how it is," Hagakure said, waving her arms animatedly, clearly unaware of how it made her chest jiggle. Nice.

"Will do!" Midoriya agreed, already resuming his stride and pulling Bakugou with him. "See you guys later!"

As the pair left, the group watched them through the windows—how Bakugou's arm wound a little tighter to pull him closer, and Midoriya hooked his thumb through Bakugou's belt loop to keep them anchored together. It was practically PDA.

"I hate gay people," Sero grumbled, scowling as he watched them.

"A year," Ashido agreed. "Idiots for a year."

He would have pointed out that they were idiots too for not noticing sooner, but you know. Tape.

Momo loved weddings. They were so happy and beautiful—taking a day to celebrate love with elegance and opulence and revelry. Everything was aesthetically pleasing, from the clothes to the flowers to the napkins. There was music and dancing, amazing food, love and family.

But more importantly, they had a seething underbelly of drama and tension.

"We saw you at your last Sports Festival, dear," one of the guests cooed. She smiled sweetly, accepting the praise. She'd done well, after all. Not as well as the Demolition Duo, but she'd hit the top five for the second time and she'd given Fumikage a beating for the ages. She was particularly proud of that given how their first-year festival had gone down.

"Thank you so much," she smiled, pretty and modest. "I'm so grateful for all the incredible training UA has provided me. It was a tough fight this year, too, all of my peers have grown so much."

"How do you know the couple?" the lady asked, thoroughly charmed by Momo's reply.

"The groom is my aunt's husband's sister's son," she explained with a little giggle. "A little convoluted, I know b—"

She caught something in the corner of her eye and went silent—whipping her head in its direction. It couldn't be, right? But by the time she looked, there was no trace. She frowned, craning her neck to see through the mingling guests. Was it a trick of the light?

"Are you okay, dear?"

She looked back at the woman—one of the bride's cousins—and smiled. "So sorry, I thought I saw someone I recognized. Would you excuse me, please?" The woman gave a slow nod, and Momo was off—weaving through the perfectly coiffed aunts, uncles, brothers, cousins, and random coworkers to find what she was looking for.

In the end, she only had to follow her ears. Sure, he wasn't shouting like he usually did, but Katsuki Bakugou's voice had a thundering quality to it—rumbling underneath the ambient noise and sitting in your bones.

She pushed the last person aside, alighting upon not just Katsuki, but his parents and Izuku as well.

Izuku as well. Izuku was here. With Katsuki.

"Momo?" Izuku grinned, enveloping her in a hug. She hugged back, a surprised but pleased. "I didn't know you'd be here! Kacchan, why didn't you tell me?" he demanded.

"I didn't fuckin' know! The hell are you doing here, Princess?"

"I'm with the groom's side," she explained. "What are you doing here?"

Katsuki rolled his eyes. "The bride is my shittiest cousin. Ma said I had to be here."

"I blackmailed him," Mrs. Bakugou stated proudly, sporting a maniacal grin. Katsuki's scowl deepened, more displeased than she'd ever seen him outside of an actual villain attack.

"So now I'm stuck at this boring-ass wedding, which is why Deku is here. I wasn't gonna suffer this shit alone."

"I'm his backup," Izuku declared. Katsuki slung an arm around his shoulder, rolling his eyes. "And also his zookeeper. I have to make sure he doesn't bite the other guests."

Momo let out a startled laugh while Katsuki bared his teeth, whacking the back of Izuku's head. "Shut the fuck up, shithead." Katsuki's parents were laughing too.

She examined them as they bickered—practically forgetting that she was there at all—and she took the opportunity to look them over. She ran them over from head to toe, eyebrows raising with every inch.

Izuku was wearing a dark green suit, and Katsuki was wearing a black one with piping in the same shade of green. Their boutonnieres were in each other's colors. Their cuff-links were...each other's brands. Grenade cuff links for Izuku and rabbit-looking cuff links for Katsuki. Good lord.

Momo fought back the urge to coo at them. This was a wedding. She couldn't risk the venue getting blown up. She was a hero.

She was pretty sure that being Katsuki's zookeeper-backup didn't require having a near-romantic matching outfit. In fact, she was pretty sure that was a boyfriend thing, but she was smart enough to keep that observation to herself.

Her eyes kept watering.

The ceremony had been so beautiful and her aunt's husband's sister's son looked so happy at the altar, especially when the bride walked out in all her glory. The vows had been so touching that she'd ruined her makeup. She'd barely had time to fix it before the reception started.

Izuku had been a blubbering mess, too, but he didn't have any eyeliner to re-apply. The last she'd seen him, he was teary-eyed and red-nosed, wandering into the reception hall with Katsuki's arm around his shoulders. The blonde had been talking quietly (for once), clearly attempting to calm him down.

She wondered, just for a moment, if someday she'd be crying her eyes out at their wedding. Then she realized that would involve them actually realizing and admitting their feelings for each other. The likelihood of that was remote, and that thought was so tragic that it inspired a new wave of tears.

"Do you always cry at weddings, or is this one just emotional?" a groomsman asked, sitting beside her. She chuckled, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"They're so happy, you know? It's hard not to feel a lot of feelings at weddings," she replied. She left out the part about the hopeless gays who'd never realize their full potential as a couple due to repression and sheer obliviousness. There was only so much information she was willing to unload on a perfect stranger.

"I've heard that it's easier to avoid the crying if you're, say...dancing?" he suggested, mischievous smile making its appearance. "My girlfriend couldn't make it, so I'm left without a dance partner for the evening." He held out his hand to her.

She laughed, taking it. "It's worth a shot, I suppose. I didn't even know that bringing my girlfriend was an option."

"That's the spirit! And everyone knows, plus-ones are a bargaining game. Someone on the bride's side had to negotiate a plus-one so their son wouldn't throw a temper tantrum."

Momo bit back a feral giggle. That sounded like Katsuki, all right.

He led her to the dance floor and not for the first time, she was grateful for the lessons her parents had made her take. Her dance partner—Daisuke, the groom's best friend from college—was a tremendous dancer. Once he'd realized that she could do more than sway from side to side, he'd led her into an elegant waltz. It felt like flying, and she was having the time of her life.

Then, they caught her eye again. It was inevitable, she supposed. Everything about them was eye-catching. It was the same reason they'd be in the Top Five within five years of graduating. They demanded attention, even when they were doing something simple—something quiet.

Like dancing.

She slowed her pace with Daisuke, eyes tracking the Wonder Duo. "That's Bakugou and Midoriya, right? They came 1-2 in the Sports Festival this year?"

She nodded. "That's them," she confirmed.

"I didn't realize they were together! I mean, I heard they were planning to be partners, but I didn't realize they were romantically involved. The media will eat that up when it comes out. Do you know them well?"

She gave him a wry smile. "I'm in their class," she confirmed. "And I know them well enough to know that they're definitely not together, even if they should be."

She didn't fault him for his mistake, though. She could definitely see why he jumped to that conclusion. They were on the edge of the dance floor (since she and Daisuke had been monopolizing the center), and they were the picture of a couple in love.

Pressed close together, Izuku was resting his head over Katsuki's heart, and Katsuki had perched his chin on top of Izuku's head. The music was soft and slow and they were swaying, eyes closed. One of Izuku's hands was resting on Katsuki's shoulder, and the other was clasped in the blonde's explosive hand. Katsuki's free hand was resting on Izuku's waist, guiding his movements.

Every now and then, Izuku would peek up at Katsuki to say something, and Katsuki would give him the smallest smile—eyes filled with warmth—and say something back. They barely even noticed the people around them.

They looked painfully in love, and it was making her heart melt in her chest cavity to pool in her stomach. They fit together so well, she felt longing for them.

"They're not together? Are you sure?" Daisuke asked, lowering his voice.

"Unfortunately, I'm positive. We don't even think they know they like each other. It's been an ongoing problem in our class," she told him. He made a little noise of understanding, before pulling her into the next dance—speeding their pace.

"Sounds like they need to figure out on their own," he replied. She nodded in agreement, then allowed him to dip her. In doing so, she was afforded a view of them dancing, their foreheads pressed together—lips inches apart. But instead of kissing, the magnificent morons were just...breathing each other's air.

At the end of the song, she stepped back. "Thank you for the dance," she said. "But if I don't take photo evidence of their romantic failures, I'll be excommunicated from the class," she explained with a helpless grin. He laughed, bright and surprised.

"Want help? We can approach from different angles and meet in the middle. Then you can pick the best ones while I treat you to the dessert buffet."

"You've got yourself a deal," she giggled.

They parted ways, Momo heading for the edge of the dance floor and taking out her cell phone to snap surreptitious pictures of the dancing duo. They were good photos, too. She hoped she'd get to see them in whatever embarrassing wedding slideshow Mina and Ochako planned to make if they ever got their shit together.

When she finally met up with Daisuke, he led her over to a table and placed his phone in front of her. "I'll be back. They have a killer Tarte Citron, do you want that or do you want cake?" She gave him a disbelieving look. "Right, of course. Stupid question. One of everything," he chuckled, sauntering away.

She swiped through the pics on both phones and maybe her emotions were still running high from the ceremony, but she couldn't stop tearing up.

They were soft around the edges here, in a way people rarely got to see from them. They were always on alert—fists swinging and ready to fight. They looked so in love and at peace, it was like they were completely different people—the only indication that it was their Demolition Duo was in the way they seemed to fall together.

The way they looked at each other, like they were the only other people in the room. The way they felt perfectly at ease in each others' grasp. The easy way they moved as they danced, as though they'd been dancing together for centuries.

Photo after photo, every pixel was fraught with tension but, at the same time, an easy and quiet kind of love. Like the one where Katsuki leaned down to whisper in Izuku's ear, and Izuku smiled softly at whatever he said. Or the one where Katsuki was brushing a curl off of Izuku's forehead. Or the one where their foreheads were pressed together as they swayed. Or the one where Izuku was leaned against him, listening to Katsuki's heartbeat while Katsuki buried his face in Izuku's curls.

She wanted to hold up a mirror for them so they could see how utterly entwined in each other they were. How with every step they took closer to the other, the easier they seemed to breathe.

She rounded up all the best photos as Daisuke came back, setting out an entire platter of desserts as she sent her contribution to the "Disaster Gay Album" to Mina.

To: Mina

izuku is at this wedding as katsuki's "backup"

From: Mina

AOGNADLSJFGNAFLGJNA;G LOOK AT THEM

they're so cute

fucking idiots

Yeah. Momo could relate to the sentiment.

Hitoshi still didn't understand how he'd been dragged into 1-A's clutches, but he had. He was manhandled into attending 1-A bullshit all the time, from study sessions to movie nights and everything in between.

Sometimes, he just wanted some goddamn peace and quiet. But between Denki and the Disaster Duo, there was literally no chance. And he couldn't decline either, or Izuku fucking Midoriya would puppy-dog pout him into an early grave.

That's how he'd gotten to this moment. Bakugou was making dinner for the Class 1-A, and Class 1-A was being loud as shit in the common room. Hitoshi had excused himself from their nuclear-bomb level hullabaloo, and had decided to temporarily take refuge in the kitchen.

Now, he was being subjected to the Class 1-A married couple and he couldn't fucking escape because they were fighting in front of the goddamn door.

"How the fuck am I supposed to cook dinner when you didn't do the goddamn dishes like you said you would?" Katsuki yelled.

"I DID!" Izuku screeched back. "It's not my fault that we live in a dorm, Kacchan, I can't control what people do with the pots and pans!"

"You could have done them closer to dinner time, it's not like you were doing shit except air-dusting your fucking All Might plushies again—"

"You didn't ask me to do it closer to dinner, you asked me to do it then, so I did it THEN!"

"I shouldn't have to tell you shit that's fucking obvious! I can't use half the goddamn pans because there's crap crusted onto them and they need to soak! God, use your fucking head—"

"I'M NOT PSYCHIC, KACCHAN!"

It had been going on for twenty fucking minutes. A full-blown marital spat between two morons who weren't even dating. He wanted to slam his head in the refrigerator. Midoriya was so heated that Float had activated, and he was trying to tower over Katsuki with his quirk. Hitoshi knew that if he walked between them, he'd get blown up. Bakugou's hands were already sparking—and nitroglycerin was dripping on the floor.

"AND ANOTHER FUCKING THING—"

This was hell, and there was no way out.

Hero training was usually an endless parade of unfulfilled gay bullshit between the Wonder Duo. Between their flawless teamwork and their dramatic saves (not that their teachers would let anything bad happen to them during training) it was akin to watching a romantic action drama every single fucking day of their wack-ass lives.

And yet, today was different.

Today, Katsuki was sulking, and Izuku was partnered with Todoroki. Sighing, Hitoshi sauntered over to the explosive blonde. "What do you say, Boomer? I'll get defense, you get offense?" he offered.

Katsuki gave a half-hearted nod. "Whatever."

"Chill with the enthusiasm, you'll look desperate," Hitoshi drawled sarcastically. Katsuki flipped him off, but that was half-hearted too. "Seriously, what's up your ass?"

"Nothing," Katsuki snapped. "Everything's fucking fine."

Hitoshi raised his eyebrows, but let it lie. It wasn't his business and frankly, he wasn't up for more of Katsuki's bitchy vibe. If the spiky moron felt like talking, he would, and Hitoshi would have no choice but to be subjected to it.

They warmed up in silence, watching the monitors as the first two teams went up against each other. Katsuki remained eerily quiet, even as Hitoshi made notes on Denki's fighting style. Honestly, he was kinda concerned—and that concern only grew as time went on. Katsuki kept staring at Izuku, and Izuku kept pointedly ignoring him.

So, that was one piece of the puzzle solved. Katsuki had somehow managed to piss Izuku off, despite Izuku's inclination to forgive any and all of Katsuki's sins. The other part of the puzzle was what Katsuki had done to piss him off.

Izuku let out an exaggerated yawn, stretching his arms above his head.

"God, I'm so tired," Izuku whined. "I hope it doesn't affect my training."

Katsuki flinched.

"Didn't sleep well, Izuku?" Todoroki asked without a speck of emotion in his voice.

"I slept well, but not enough," he sighed. "If only I'd had some coffee this morning, I'd probably feel more energetic. I love coffee so much. I usually have a big mug of coffee every morning, it really kickstarts my day!"

"Jesus Christ, Deku, I said I was sorry!" Katsuki groaned.

"You said that you'd replace my coffee if you drank it all!"

"I'll replace it tomorrow!"

"WHICH MEANS I DON'T HAVE COFFEE TODAY! I had one rule, replace my coffee if you drink it—"

"ONE? You have a thousand rules for fucking everything, Deku, sorry if I fucking forgot one!"

Hitoshi blinked, watching them bicker. Watching them tear each other apart over coffee grounds that Katsuki had forgotten to replace, which rendered Izuku coffee-less this morning.

"That's why he looks like you kicked him in the dick?" Hitoshi demanded. "Because he upset you by forgetting to replace your coffee?"

"AGAIN!" Izuku yelled. "He always 'forgets' to replace my coffee! He's always harping on me about how much coffee I drink—he probably just throws it away!"

"Dude," Hitoshi scolded. Izuku fell silent, scowling. "He had a mental breakdown because you got a fucking papercut last week. I saw him Google how to make paper more blunt. And he's kinda right, you drink way too much coffee—almost as much as I do—but he wouldn't fuck with your coffee on purpose. Don't be stupid."

Izuku had stopped listening to him though, irritation replaced by fond amusement and focused solely on Katsuki, who was now blushing. Blushing like a big, gay idiot.

"You tried to look up how to make paper blunt?" he giggled. Giggled. He hated them.

"Shut the fuck up," Katsuki snapped.

Hitoshi knew they would not shut the fuck up. He wasn't that lucky.

They were studying in Bakugou's room, and it was pretty much silent. Katsuki was sitting on his bed with his back propped against the wall. Izuku was lying perpendicular to him, with his head cradled in the blonde's lap. The few times that he'd looked up, he was pretty sure that he'd seen Katsuki's fingers absently carding through Izuku's curls.

Finals were around the corner, so they were all focused—even if Denki and Hanta dicked around sometimes.

That's why he didn't notice the brewing turmoil until it was too late to escape.

Midoriya's phone chimed softly—just enough to catch his attention but not enough to keep it. He glanced up as the greenette fished his phone out of his pocket, but he refocused on his work a moment later. If he'd kept watching, he probably would have seen Midoriya go from relaxed to tense, brow furrowing in irritation.

"Are you serious, Kacchan?" he sighed as though talking to a petulant child. That got Hitoshi's attention. His eyes snapped toward the pair on the bed. "You can't avoid her forever."

"The fuck are you talking about?" Bakugou asked, not looking up from his reading. "I'm not avoiding shit."

"Oh really? So your mom isn't texting me because you skipped your weekly phone call for the third week in a row?"

"I'll tell her to back off," Katsuki grumbled. "Chill out."

Midoriya huffed a frustrated breath out through his nose. "That's not the point, Kacchan!"

"Yeah?" Bakugou snapped, tossing his book aside. "Then what's the fucking point, Deku?"

"THREE WEEKS!" he cried, sitting up. "All she did was suggest—"

"Shut the fuck up."

"No! Talk to her! Tell her she overstepped your boundaries, don't just avoid her!"

"I'm sorry, is she your fucking mother? No! Stay the fuck out of it!" he snapped. "I don't need anyone telling me how to live my goddamn life! Not her, and especially not you!"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Midoriya demanded, officially offended.

"It means you don't even tell your mom enough shit for her to get involved, so you don't get to tell me how to handle mine!"

"Kacchan, I'm concerned!" he cried. "If you don't want to talk to her right now that's fine, but tell her that! Even if it's just a text!"

"I didn't ask for your concern! For once in your fucking life stop nagging me and mind your own fucking business!"

Izuku fell silent, looking wounded as fuck. As someone who had been on the receiving end of that look, he didn't envy Katsuki at all. It was hard to keep your momentum when Izuku Midoriya looked at you like a kicked puppy.

Without another word, Izuku started shoving his books in his bag.

"Deku," Katsuki sighed, exasperated. "I didn't mean it like that." Izuku didn't respond, climbing off the bed and shoving his feet into his slippers. "Deku c'mon, I didn't mean it like that!"

Izuku ignored him, quietly picking up his bag and striding to the door.

"Fuck, don't leave—Deku!"

The door slammed behind him, and the room was left in silence. It echoed, steeping them all in discomfort. Katsuki sat on the bed, staring at the door with a frown on his stupid face.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" Hitoshi sighed. Katsuki looked at him, frown deepening. "You were a total dick, dude. Go after him and say you're sorry, or else he'll mope for a whole goddamn month."

"I didn't say anything wrong," Katsuki snapped. It was half-hearted at best. "I don't want to talk to her and he can't fucking make me—"

"He made a suggestion and you jumped down his throat," Hitoshi interrupted. "You could have told him why it didn't work for you and you made him feel like shit for giving a damn about you instead. Go say you're sorry."

Katsuki's jaw clenched, and he glared for a long moment—staring Hitoshi down. Hitoshi feared nothing, not even death, so he stared right back as he waited for the idiot to realize that he was right. It didn't take long. The fucking simp couldn't stand it when Izuku was upset with him.

Finally, the loud explosive blonde shoved off the bed—jamming his feet into slippers and stomping off after Izuku like Godzilla. Hitoshi sighed, relaxing back against the wall. They were so fucking exhausting sometimes, he didn't know how Aizawa handled them.

"Why do you think he's avoiding his mom?" Denki asked, leaning against him. Hitoshi looked at him sharply.

"I don't want to know. I don't care. Don't ask. I'm not taking you to Recovery Girl if he blows you up."

Katsuki hadn't come back by the time Hitoshi had to tap out for the evening. He had to admit, he was concerned. What if the fight had gotten worse without semi-adult supervision? What if Katsuki was currently burying Izuku's body behind Heights Alliance? What if Izuku had ran to Katsuki's mother's place to snitch on him, and accidentally caused a building collapse using Full Cowling?

Both options were unlikely but the longer they were gone, the weirder the possibilities became. Sorries shouldn't take this long, and Izuku was easily the most forgiving person on the planet. They should have both been back now, both a little embarrassed at how fucking childish they were being.

But no. They were missing in action, and it was officially past curfew. He'd go looking for them himself, but he didn't wanna have to run suicide drills for the rest of the year if Aizawa caught him. He couldn't help but feel a bit responsible, since he'd been the one to push Katsuki into going after Izuku.

He didn't sneak out of the 1-A dorm, but he did make himself as quiet and unnoticeable as possible. Time spent being disciplined for being out past curfew was time that he didn't get to sleep and goddammit, he needed sleep. He almost groaned in frustration when he heard Katsuki and Izuku's voices in the common room.

If they were working through shit, it might be derailed if he interrupted. That meant he'd have to wait out of sight, possibly until they'd finished whatever long, dramatic talk they were having. But at least they were talking and not...murdering each other.

He peered around the corner, locking onto the couple—no, pair—on the couch. Katsuki was sitting on the sofa with Izuku sitting perpendicular to him—his back against the sofa arm, and his legs thrown over Katsuki's lap.

"Sometimes I get extra pissed at her," Katsuki was saying, tone quiet and frustrated. "Especially with the bullshit she's on about now. It wouldn't be half as hard if she hadn't...fuck, I don't know. The way she went on sometimes, it made me feel like I was some fucking god, and everyone around me was a shitty little ant. And every time I slipped up, it was some gigantic disappointment. So I pushed myself way too fucking hard and treated everyone like shit, and now she's pushing me on shit that wouldn't be so fucking difficult if she'd treated me like a normal kid. I just...don't know how to tell her that without making her feel like crap."

"She might feel like crap, but she needs to hear it, Kacchan," Izuku murmured. "Maybe not in those words, but you need to tell her why this...whatever it is, is hard for you. If she doesn't back off, it'll get worse right? You guys love each other so much—I don't want to see your relationship get strained. That's all."

"I know," he murmured. "Sorry, I know I lost my shit back there, I'm just—"

"Frustrated, I know. But I'm on your side, Kacchan. I'm always on your side."

Fuck, they might be infuriating, but Hitoshi couldn't help it. He was rooting for them.

Normally, Bakugou and Midoriya were on top of their game.

Shota had never seen anything like them. Truly, in all his years of teaching and all his time as a pro, he'd never seen such seamless teamwork. Sure, they'd bicker, but in the moment? When they were fighting and focused, they were almost always completely in sync.

All it would take is a glance from one and a movement from the other, and his problem children would move like they were part of the same organism.

It had taken a while to get there, of course. The first time they'd been paired together, their fighting had nearly caused them both to fail. He'd been sure that Bakugou's pride and Midoriya's need to hero-worship would torpedo them. It had been a damn miracle that they'd gotten their shit together long enough to form a strategy, let alone pull it off.

But they'd been put through immense amounts of pressure—trials and suffering that no teenagers should have to face. Their bond had been forged in blood, sweat, and tears—and Shota was damn proud of them.

That didn't stop him from wanting to strangle them, though. The constant bickering when they weren't fighting was bad enough. Then, sometime around the middle of their second year, they'd added the infuriating unspoken hormonal teenage romance.

It was exhausting, especially because now it was distracting the rest of the class. He understood why they didn't say anything about it—the boys were volatile, conflict at the very core of their relationship. Any added pressure could make it crumble, and they were terrified of ruining something that had taken so much time to build. But they still wanted to watch it, faces pressed against the proverbial glass. Every time the Disaster Duo stood within five feet of each other, he lost the class' attention so that they could be observed like animals in a zoo.

And sure, the reason he paired them together was because there was a deep respect and trust that he wanted to see—over and over again, until long after they'd graduated. He didn't want to get involved, and he didn't want to know about their love lives, but he found himself rooting for them. That didn't mean he didn't want to tear his hair out when their unresolved feelings made themselves a problem right in front of him.

Winter was turning into Spring at the moment, so any students with seasonal costume changes were starting to transition. Bakugou had gone first—shedding the stand neck and long-sleeves for his bare-armed look. As a result, teaching them had become a fucking nightmare.

Their feelings had definitely deepened since the last time Bakugou had worn his Summer outfit (and he hated that he'd noticed). Without the distraction of Bakugou's biceps, Midoriya had been perfectly functional. They were near flawless in their hero work, and their arguments were limited to petty bickering, but that was nothing new.

But with the unveiling of the "gun show," as Kirishima had put it, Midoriya had been more and more distracted with each passing class. That was putting it mildly, too. It was fucking horrible. He hated that he had to witness it, and wished they'd be ashamed of themselves and get themselves together—both literally and figuratively.

For example, right now they were running a training exercise.

The premise: a villain had land-mined the city. They were also causing destruction, using human shields. The destruction was destabilizing buildings, so they had to stop the villain without setting off the land mines, and without causing harm to the civilians. They weren't using real landmines, and the civilians were dummies. To his absolute dismay (and to the detriment of his ear drums), Mic was playing the villain.

They'd done something similar in Winter, and about half the class had done horribly—struggling to field multiple objectives as they got the job done. They'd decided to repeat the exercise so that they could measure progress. Logical and necessary.

He'd had a headache before the exercise even started. As it unfolded, the tension behind his eyes grew even worse—and that was just from the sound of Mic screaming like a fucking banshee. He loved his husband, but the other man would be spending his night tied up with duct tape and shoved in a closet.

By the time Bakugou and Midoriya took to the field, he wanted to slam his head in a door.

Usually, the two of them could pull this off with their goddamn eyes closed. They used a similar strategy to the one they'd used in winter—Midoriya playing defense while Bakugou fielded offense. And Midoriya kept messing up.

He watched in barely-contained irritation as Midoriya gazed at Bakugou—the latter flying at Mic like a meteor with a horrifyingly violent cackle. Midoriya sighed, smiling wistfully at him and not looking where he was walking. It was no surprise that a moment later, there was a plume of pink smoke and Midoriya flew through the air.

And landed on another land mine, blowing him sky-high again. He watched with a clenched jaw as Midoriya flailed, falling through the air. Then, there was a deafening bang, and Bakugou was launching himself at Midoriya—catching him around the middle before he fell head-first into the pavement.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, DEKU!" he bellowed. "Watch where you're fucking walking, you stupid empty-headed fucker!"

"Sorry, Kacchan," he gasped, clearly freaked out from being blown up twice and nearly falling to his next concussion. "I'll be more careful. Go, get Present Mic, I just need to catch my breath."

"Don't fuck up again, you little turd!" he demanded before blasting off again. Midoriya watched him go, head already in the goddamn clouds again. He was a little more focused—slowly picking around raised spots on the ground and listening to his weird-ass Danger Sense to stop himself from stepping on another mine.

Unfortunately, falling buildings were also dangerous, and his focus was shaky. He was split between watching his feet and watching Bakugou's fight in ill-concealed adoration. He noticed that the building beside him was coming down too late and in a fit of utter stupidity, he aimed a high-powered air force blast at the building to keep himself from getting crushed.

He could have jumped out of the way. He could jump almost an entire city block at once. Instead, he ripped a hole through the center of the building, and while he did save himself, he also blasted debris all over the land mined battlefield.

Shota sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face as the first wave of debris hit the battlefield, setting off a chain reaction of detonated land mines.

"Jesus Christ," Sero muttered beside him. "So down bad that it's actually gonna kill him."

Shota grit his teeth, irritation swelling into actual anger. He deactivated the land mines before he leaned into the mic, hissing, "Assignment failed. Get back to the control room, now."

Bakugou stomped over to Midoriya, shoving him hard. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he screeched. "You never fuck up this badly, Deku, we fucking failed!"

"I'm sorry! It won't happen again."

"Damn right it won't, god, you want to be hero partners and then fuck shit up this badly? Just blowing up entire city blocks? Goddammit Deku, my entire quirk is to make explosions and I've never done anything as fucking stupid as what you just pulled—"

"Jesus, Kacchan, I said I was sorry! Don't be an asshole and threaten our partnership for one off day, what the hell? I'm not on my game, like that's never happened to you before?"

"Not like this! You know I've never fucked up like this—"

"I'm not talking to you like this, you're being a dick," Midoriya hissed, stomping away.

"Don't fucking walk away from me!"

"Don't fucking yell at me!"

"Both of you, shut the hell up!" Shota snapped into the mic. "And get to the control room before I put you on house arrest until you graduate."

They made their way back in silence, and the class waited with bated breath for them to arrive. Bakugou shouldered past Midoriya almost violently—the shorter stumbling as his counterpart knocked him aside. Shota ground his teeth. Mic was resetting the battlefield, but he kept shooting concerned glances toward the control room.

He took a deep breath, praying for patience as Bakugou and Midoriya stood in front of him—the former furious and the other frustrated. He reminded himself that they were kids, and they were here to learn. He reminded himself that Midoriya was a hero, and a mistake like that in the field would get him killed. He reminded himself that Bakugou's failure to check on the wellbeing of a colleague or civilian could get someone else killed in the field.

He had to walk the line between patience and criticism.

But that had been the worst display of heroics from Class 3A that he'd seen since they were first years and quite frankly, he was pissed.

"What in God's name was that?" he demanded.

"Deku deciding that he'd rather dick around than do his job," Bakugou sneered.

"I made a mistake!" Midoriya snapped in response. "I made a mistake, sir. I was distracted and—"

"Fucking stupid! You're gonna get yourself killed one of these days—"

"SHUT UP!" Shota snapped. "I'll tell you what happened. Bakugou was so busy showing off for Midoriya that he failed to support his partner, and failed to adjust when a problem presented itself. You're better than that, and I'm disappointed in you. And Midoriya, you were so busy staring at your precious Kacchan that you nearly got crushed by an entire fucking building. In all my years of teaching, I've never seen such an ludicrous display of deadly idiocy and if you do that in the field, you'll be dead in a week! Do everyone a favor and just fucking date each other—no teenage romance is worth life-altering injury or death! Keep your disgusting hormones out of your training, or I'll recommend a hold back to the licensing committee!"

He felt like he'd run a marathon as he cut off his reprimand, breathing hard with his hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Oh, god," someone murmured behind him, and it startled him out of his anger—reminding him of his audience and, more importantly, of the fragile state of the students in front of him.

The anger and frustration had drained out of them, replaced by shock. Shock and fear that made something like guilt churn horribly in Shota's stomach. Bakugou's mouth was hanging open, eyes bulging out of his head. His chest was moving too fast, like he was about to panic.

Midoriya was worse, possibly because Shota had announced that he'd been so distracted by Bakugou that he'd blown up a city—advertising the greenette's attraction loudly. His face was pale—so pale that his freckles stood out. He looked like he might be sick, shaking just slightly as he processed the sudden exposure of his very soft heart.

Slowly, Bakugou turned to Midoriya.

"Deku?" he rasped.

Midoriya's head snapped to him and he paled even further, mouth opening and closing as he tried to find something to say.

"I...I can't do this," he uttered. He started backing away—not turning his back on Bakugou, as though he thought the blonde might attack him. "S-sorry, Kacchan, I can't—" he broke off.

Then, he turned and fled.

And Bakugou didn't go after him.

Inko had known for a long time. No matter how much struggle and animosity lay between them—no matter how angry she got with Katsuki sometimes—she knew.

Nothing would pull them apart.

She knew it from the first time she opened her door and found Katsuki carrying Izuku piggyback, struggling under her son's weight. They'd both been so small—Katsuki had turned five just a month previous, and Izuku was only four. They'd been playing around the corner, in the park.

Izuku's knees had been scraped, and he was crying loudly into the back of Katsuki's shirt. The blonde boy had a scowl on his face, pulling his very first tough-guy act.  "Zuku is hurt," he declared. "An older kid pushed him. Don't worry, though Auntie, I beat him up."

She'd ushered them inside, plucking Izuku from off his back and settling him on the couch. "Thank you for looking out for Izuku, Katsuki," she cooed. "But we shouldn't hurt people if we can help it, alright?"

"They hurt him first!" he yelled, tiny hands balling into fists.

"And if you want to be a hero, your job is to be better than them. Kinder. Being kind is stronger than hitting harder."

"That's dumb," he pouted, but his fists unclenched.

She'd kissed him on the forehead. "You're so brave," she'd cooed. "And you'll understand some day."

The first time Izuku came home with bruises on his face and burns on his clothes, Inko's heart broke. She'd had a feeling this would come.

Two months ago, he'd been diagnosed as quirkless. Today, he'd learned what his peers thought of that.

"Who did this to you, sweetheart?" she asked, cleaning up the scrape on his cheek.

"Just some older kids," he muttered, eyes downcast. "I didn't know them."

"Then we're going to go to the school, and I'll have you point them out—"

"NO!' he yelped, looking up at her with wild eyes. "No, that'll...that'll make it worse!" he insisted. "Then people will be mad at me for getting them in trouble."

She didn't buy it. She searched his eyes, and he looked pleased with himself. Like coming up with a reason so quickly was something to be proud of. "It'll happen again if they don't face any consequences—"

"They won't do it again!" he protested. If he didn't know them, how could he possibly know that? She could smell blood in the water, but her baby was adamant. "I don't wanna be a tattletale, mom, please—"

She sighed, resuming her task. There was gravel lodged in the scrape on his knee. "I'm going to call the principal," she told him quietly. He made a noise, like he wanted to protest. "It's not up for discussion, Izuku. I'm going to tell him that an older kid hurt you, but that you didn't see who it was. That way, they'll look out for you. And if it happens again, I will have you point them out to me."

The second time he came home with bruises, Inko was furious. His uniform was torn at the hem, and there were scrapes along his palms. There was a dark bruise on his arm, like he'd been shoved into something so hard that it had left a mark.

"Tell me who did it," she demanded. He was sitting at his desk, hands clasped in his lap and head bowed—eyes fixed on his knees. He shook his head, and she grit her teeth. "Izuku, I told you what would happen if this happened again. Either you tell me who's doing this, or I'll be at school with you tomorrow all day until you point them out."

"It's not important," he muttered. "If I leave them alone, it'll stop. I got in the way, that's all, mom."

"Fine, if you won't tell me, I'll find someone who will," she snapped. "Katsuki's in your class, isn't he?"

His head snapped up, eyes wide with panic as he shouted, "NO!"

And her blood ran cold. The fear in his eyes told her everything she'd been looking for, and she knew. She knew. And for the first time in the ten years she'd known Katsuki Bakugou, she was furious with him.

"He did this to you," she breathed, sick to her stomach. She felt static in her bloodstream, frozen by anger and disbelief. Her son's best friend had hurt him. The boy she'd helped raise, who called her auntie and used to come over for dinner three times a week. That boy had hurt her baby. "I'm calling Mitsuki—"

"No! Mom, he'll get in trouble!" he protested, jumping out of his chair and sprinting to block the door.

"He should get in trouble!" she cried. "Sweetheart, there are consequences for your actions, and Katsuki hurt you. He needs to learn that there's a price for causing harm! And he caused harm to you! You're his best friend, how could he—" she broke off as it really hit her, and she started to cry. "How could he do this to you?"

"I don't want him to get in trouble," he insisted. "He didn't really mean it! The other kids made him do it! And...and he's a jerk, but he's amazing mom. If he gets in trouble, he'll get mad at me for real and he'll never like me again!"

"Maybe that's for the best, Izuku. If he treats his friends this way, maybe—"

"No!" He was crying now, and Inko felt horrible. Horrible because he was hurt, and because his best friend was the one who hurt him, and because he was still so devoted to him despite the pain he'd caused. "Please mom, don't get him in trouble, I can deal with it on my own!"

She knew he'd keep trying to protect him. He was a sweet boy with a soft heart, and a self-sacrificial streak that scared her to the bone. She knew she should talk to Mitsuki, but the look on Izuku's face gave her pause.

It was wild and scared, like something vital was being stolen from him. Like if she did this, she'd be dooming him, and he'd never recover.

For the first time, she wished something could pull them apart, especially since he was trying so hard to push Izuku away. She wished that something could turn her baby's eyes away from Katsuki's burning brilliance.

But she knew better. If Izuku had anything to say about it, nothing would tear them apart.

One Saturday afternoon, there was a knock on her door. Izuku was living in the dorms, and she hadn't been expecting him to visit, so she truly had no idea who it could be. She certainly hadn't been expecting anyone.

She looked down at her wrinkled pajamas, wondering if she should change. But they'd come calling without prior warning, so what she gave was what they got.

She opened the door, and her face dropped in surprise. Katsuki was standing there—tall and intimidating by nature, but slouching to make himself smaller and staring at his feet. She blinked, peering around him to see if Izuku was with him.

He wasn't.

"Katsuki?"

He looked up at her, and she winced. There were bags under his eyes. "Hey, Aun—Mrs. Midoriya," he muttered. Her heart twinged, both at the distance he put into her name, and at the look on his face. She'd never seen him look so unsure before. "Can we talk?"

He sounded anxious. She wanted to comfort him, but steeled herself instead.

She stepped aside, not saying a word. He hesitated at the look on her face, but carefully stepped inside, toeing off his shoes by the door. The apartment hadn't changed much since the last time he'd been here, but he waited for her to show him to a seat anyway.

She didn't offer him anything to drink. She didn't say anything. She just waited, and watched as he fidgeted with his hands while he searched for whatever he'd come to say.

She was still angry with him. Sure, he'd been getting along better with Izuku, and her baby called every week to tell her all about how far they'd come. But he'd still hurt him. Even if she was proud that they were moving forward, and she was encouraging to mend the bridge that he treasured so much, she still felt cold anger when she saw him.

It was a parental hurt that had hardened into righteous distaste. She'd seen Izuku—soft hearted and full of love—be kicked down by this boy so many times. No matter how much Izuku tried to give him, he'd knock the wind out of his sails. Hurt him. Bruise him.

"I'm sorry," he said, finally looking up. Her heart skidded to a halt.

"Pardon?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Midoriya," he said again. "For how I treated Izuku in middle school."

She swallowed. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, Katsuki," she told him, willing her voice to stay steady. This wasn't what she'd expected. "You should be apologizing to Izuku."

To her surprise, he nodded. "I have," he replied. "I've apologized to him. If you ask me, he forgave me way too fuckin' fast—freaking fast," he corrected himself hastily. She huffed a reluctant laugh. He'd been swearing since he learned to talk. "But it's way past time for me to grow some balls and apologize to you."

She frowned at him, pensive. "For what, Katsuki?" she finally sighed. "If Izuku has forgiven you, what do I have to do with it?"

He gave her a grim smile. "You...you were like my second mom, but I didn't think about how my shitty behavior affected you for a second."

It was like being punched in the chest. "Katsuki—" she uttered, eyes watering.

"Just...before you say anything, I need to just...get this out," he said. There was a pleading look in his eye, and she nodded. She didn't know if she wanted to hear this. That old tendril of sharp, disbelieving hurt was coming back to life under her skin. The knowledge that someone she considered one of her own had hurt them both so much was potent and vile.

"I know what it feels like now," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Not to the same degree. But I know what it's like to care about him that much and watch him come back hurt. I don't know how you handled it because every time he's out of my sight, I'm waiting for him to come back with a broken bone or a broken fucking heart and I'm going fucking crazy."

Izuku was on a mission with his work-study agency right now—unable to tell them the details. Katsuki must be going spare. She could share that with him, and that brought relief and anger in equal parts.

"I did that to you," he said, and her breath caught—struck by the realization that he actually understood what he'd caused. That he'd grown. "I'm the monster you were afraid would hurt him, and you deserved better than to watch him come home like that because of me. And I am so fucking sorry that I did that to you."

Her heart felt like it was cracking under the weight of his words, free-bleeding into her chest. She teared up, and he flinched—guilt clouding his features.

"Under all that anger," she began, tears wetting her cheeks as they spilled over. "And all of that cruelty, I knew that you were hurt. Hurt that things didn't go your way, hurt that Izuku was so heroic despite being given less. I knew, and I tried so hard to remember that as you hurt him. But you hurt him for something he couldn't help, Katsuki. I've been angry with you for a long time."

He nodded, but didn't look away, bearing whatever she gave him. "I understand."

"You don't," she disagreed. "Because I'm still angry with you, and so frustrated that it went this way. That Izuku gave you so much love and you threw it away. And you didn't just throw away his love, you threw mine away, too."

He winced again, like she'd landed a physical blow. "I know," he murmured, dropping his gaze to his knees again. "I actually wanted to thank you," he continued. "For not telling him to give up on me, despite all the damage I did. He told me that he talked to you about me. That you encouraged him. I thought you would tell him to stay away."

"I wanted to," she admitted. "But he wouldn't do that, even if I asked. He'd follow you into hell, Katsuki. Do you know how terrifying that is?"

He looked up at her, and her chest constricted again—caught off guard by the misery on his face. "I do. No matter how many times I tell him to stay back, he runs in. If I'm there, he's there, no matter the odds. At the training camp when they took me, the last thing I saw was him running at me with his body broken—trying to get to me in time and I tried to get him to stop, but he just—" he broke off, voice catching.

His head dropped again, but not fast enough for Inko to miss the tears that had gathered in his eyes. Her heart was racing. She knew that look—the feeling that was building his chest and choking him.

Katsuki loved her son. Her self-sacrificial, golden-hearted boy had reached into an inferno of a man and captured his heart. And now that heart was bleeding—constantly afraid that the person who owned it would ruin himself for the sake of others, leaving him alone.

"I'm going to forgive you," she said. He looked up warily, studying her face. "Because you were young, and you learned your lesson, and now you're the only person who even comes close to loving him as much as me—and you're the only one who can protect him out there."

He swallowed, his spine straightened, and she knew he understood. That now, after so many years of breaking their hearts, it was his responsibility to protect them. To use all his power to bring Izuku home safe, and to keep his heart full. It was a lot of responsibility, but he didn't back down. He looked honored. Flattered that she trusted him with it.

"There's something else I want to thank you for," he said before he left. She tilted her head, waiting. "The advice you gave me when I was a brat."

"What advice?" she asked, not mentioning that he was still kind of a brat.

"That being kind is stronger than hitting harder," he replied. The memory came back to her all at once—little Katsuki carrying Izuku back to her after taking on the world for him. "I didn't get it then, but I do now. You were right."

"I'm glad you took it to heart," she told him, teary-eyed. He nodded, turning to leave. "Katsuki?" He turned back. "You can still call me Auntie, you know. If you want."

He smiled—the tiniest quirk of his lips. It looked sad. "I do," he replied. "But only when I've earned it."

Izuku came back for a weekend in his final year at UA. She threw her arms around him when he walked in the door, smiling wide as he sank into her. "Hi, mom," he wheezed. She may have been squeezing him a little tight.

She'd been looking forward to his visit for weeks. The closer he got to graduating, the more time she wanted to spend with him—eager to hold onto his childhood with both hands for as long as she could.

In a few short months, her baby would be a pro hero. Until then, he was still her little boy, and she would drown him in motherly affection as much as she damn well pleased. She pulled back to look at his face—fully prepared to spoil him rotten. She already had rice cooking in the kitchen, and the pork cutlets were ready to fry.

Maybe if she made more Katsudon, he'd have more reasons to visit her once he graduated.

She paused when she finally registered the look on his face. He looked so tired—bags under his eyes and mouth pinched into an unconvincing smile. Her baby always wore his heart on his sleeve. She always knew when something was bothering him, because he'd never been able to hide it.

A blessing and a curse, really.

"Is everything okay, sweetheart?" she cooed, cupping his cheek.

He widened his smile, but it didn't fool her. "I'm fine, just tired," he lied. "I'll be fine tomorrow morning. I'm just..."

"Tired?" she finished for him, eyebrows raised. He nodded. "Okay, sweetheart. Why don't you go relax on the couch and I'll finish up dinner. We can talk then, alright?"

He nodded, going without protest. It was the second alarm bell. He always insisted on helping her. Something was wrong. The gnawing concern in the pit of her stomach grew as the evening went on. He was practically silent all through dinner, and she filled the space with chatter about work, or the neighbors.

He nodded along and interjected when appropriate, but she could tell his mind was somewhere else. He looked distracted and downtrodden and finally, she reached her limit.

"Izuku," she called. He looked up at her, startled at the stern note in her voice. "Please tell me what's wrong. I'm worried about you, baby."

He sighed, putting his fork down. He'd barely touched his food, and that alone was cause for concern. If there was katsudon on the table, he'd usually inhale it before she'd finished a sentence.

"I'm...avoiding Kacchan. Or he's avoiding me. Or...both. I don't know," he broke off in a mumble as she strained to hear him.

That wasn't what she'd been expecting. The beginnings of anger and disappointment stirred in her stomach, and she balled up her fists under the table. "Why?" she asked, trying to keep her voice even. Had Katsuki hurt him? Had he let them down?

He chewed on his lip for a moment, staring down at the lacy tablecloth. "I...recently realized that I have—" he swallowed, eyes flicking to her anxiously before settling back on the lace. "I have romantic feelings for him." She struggled to bite back her startled laugh. He just figured that out?

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "Apparently it's been obvious to everyone else for a while, though." Color her surprised. "Anyway, I messed up in training, and someone told him how I felt in a way that was...really public and startling. And I wasn't prepared to handle it so I ran away."

Her heart broke for him. "Oh, honey," she cooed. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head.

"That's...it's not important. The problem is that I ran away before I could...explain myself, I guess? And Kacchan's been avoiding me ever since," he explained. Her heart fractured at the first tear that slipped out of his eyes, splashing onto the tabletop. "Now I'm just afraid that I've ruined everything. That I've made it uncomfortable, and we won't recover. We worked so hard to get back here, and I might have kicked it all back down by being too distracted by him to stay focused and then too cowardly to explain myself. It's...been bothering me," he understated.

Sometimes, she wondered if his life would have been better without Katsuki in it. Most of the time, she knew it wouldn't. Without Katsuki, Izuku would have dreamed, but never reached. He constantly had his hand outstretched for the other boy, and the other boy was always ahead of him.

No matter how horribly it happened, Katsuki provided Izuku with a tangible goal. He was her son's inspiration and the target of his devotion, and no matter how far the band stretched, it wouldn't snap.

She squared her shoulders and stared him down, and he seemed to startle at the intensity in her eyes. "Mom?" he uttered, shifting in his seat.

"I need you to listen to me, Izuku. I know you've had your troubles with him, and I've often hoped you'd take care of your own heart and stop chasing him."

"Mom—"

"Just listen," she interrupted. He fell silent, watching her with a mulish frown. "I've been watching you two orbit each other since you were in diapers, sweetheart. So many things could have pulled you apart. They probably should have. But this? The only thing that could make this the breaking point is if you're too scared to reach out. You're brave for everyone else's sake, Izuku. Why can't you be brave for your heart's sake, too?"

"What does that even mean?" he cried, frustrated. He put his head in his hands, elbows on the table. She chuckled.

"Tell him how you feel, Izuku. Tell him everything you keep trapped in your heart before it bursts. Trust him with the love you give him. I think you both deserve this, but you can't get there by hiding away."

Izuku kept his head in his hands for a long moment—silent as he chewed through her words. His body was tense, like all the energy in his form had been repurposed for thinking and the rest of his limbs had lost any power they might need to move.

Slowly, he looked up. There was a determined glint in his eye.

It reminded her of Katsuki.

The first time he realized how deeply Izuku had been carved into his life, it had caught him by surprise.

It had been rough between them for a long time. After the war, they'd been closer than before, but not as close as they'd been as brats. That took time to heal. Slow, careful treading—excavating the landmines in their relationship instead of jumping on them.

Three months after they'd defeated Shigaraki, he woke up in the middle of the night—mind racing. He hadn't had a nightmare, but something felt like it was off.

He climbed out of bed and wandered into the hallway, thinking that maybe a cup of tea would help him settle. He was passing the windows in the common room when he noticed Deku—sitting on the steps outside and sobbing into his hands.

His stomach dropped, concern speeding his heart rate.

Maybe it wasn't healthy that every time Deku was upset, it felt like the goddamn world was ending. It definitely wasn't healthy for the nerd to be crying in the dark where nobody could hear him. It made his skin crawl with worry.

He made his way outside before he'd had the chance to think it through. Without the window to block the sound, Deku's sobbing was so much worse—loud and shaky, gasping for breath.

"Deku," he said, trying not to bark it out like he usually would. Approaching carefully, like the nerd was a wounded animal. Green eyes whipped toward him—rimmed red and pouring out tears like a goddamn fountain—and Katsuki's heart twisted. "Fuck, what's wrong?"

"W-what're you doing here?" he blubbered, caving in on himself.

"Couldn't sleep," he said, crouching beside him. He reached out hesitantly, smoothing his hand across Deku's back. He was warm to the touch, and Katsuki fought the urge to flinch back. He wasn't used to touching Deku. It had only happened a handful of times over the past few years—usually when they were in the heat of battle.

When there wasn't time to think about the harm he'd inflicted in the past.

"Y-you don't have to do that," he said. Katsuki's heart clenched, but he stayed steady. "I'm f-fine. You can go back in, I just need a minute."

"You don't have to tell me," Katsuki said, shifting until he was sitting cross-legged beside him. "But I ain't goin' anywhere."

Izuku sobbed again, harder and more anguished. He buried his head in his knees, hugging them like a lifeline. He was crying as though someone had died. "I didn't get to you in time," he wailed.

Katsuki stilled—confusion warring with concern in his mind. "What the hell are you talking about? I'm fine!" Deku was sobbing so hard that Katsuki thought he might throw up—body convulsing with the force of it. "C'mon, nerd, breathe," he muttered, rubbing his back.

He felt charged—like he was about to go into battle. Like something horrible was happening and he had to act, but he didn't know how. Watching Deku gasp for air through his tears was like watching him fight against some invisible enemy, someone Katsuki couldn't see.

Like he was being choked and Katsuki couldn't blast the villain away. It terrified him. It made him violent, like he wanted to fight fucking God.

Finally, he calmed just enough to speak, tears still running down his freckled cheeks, barely illuminated by the porch lights.

"Nightmare," he uttered. "The day you...when you nearly..."

Katsuki's blood ran cold. The day he'd nearly died. The day his heart had been ripped the fuck open, and not in the dumbass romantic way. In the 'bleeding out on a battlefield' way.

"I'm right here," he stated. It was firm and sure, and Izuku's breath hitched in his throat. "You got to me in time. We had help. I'm still recovering, but I'm right here. And I ain't fuckin' going anywhere."

Deku twisted, his whole body moving to grab Katsuki around the neck. It was awkward and the position was uncomfortable for both of them, but the nerd clung to him—crying into his neck and holding onto him like he might slip away.

It was warm, and Deku was heavy. His weight settled across Katsuki's lap as he shuffled and moved, winding closer and closer until there wasn't a single gap for air to pass between them. Katsuki's arms wrapped around him, pressing him close.

Anything to stop the shake in his shoulders and the heart-wrenching sounds that were muffled in his chest.

It occurred to him, just for a moment, that the last time he'd hugged Izuku was almost ten years ago. Before his pride grew to much for him to accept any softness. Tears stung at his eyes and he gripped Izuku a little closer.

Thank fucking god Deku had never let go. No matter how many sharp edges Katsuki grew, he kept on clinging, even when he got cut. It was more than he deserved, but goddammit, he was so grateful. They were tied together, inarguably bound by something ridiculous like fate, and lately he was pretty certain that it was the best thing about him.

It also meant that pain like this hurt twice as much. Seeing Deku in pain felt like he was being carved out—even if the things that hurt him were only in his head. Deku deserved so much better than this. He deserved to live out his dreams, unencumbered by the monsters that lurked in the caverns of his mind.

He felt too much, all the time. He wasn't fragile, but he was gentle—and he shouldn't have had to carry Katsuki's body off the battlefield.  Something in him had broken, and he wasn't sure if it would ever be fixed.

But as Izuku cried into his neck, tears wetting the collar of his shirt, a sort of desperate determination came over him. No matter how long it took, he'd be here—putting all his pieces back together.

For the longest time, no matter how much time he wanted to spend with Deku, he was on edge. What they had was fragile and new, built on top of a pit of broken glass. One wrong move, and the structure would give out and they'd both be hurt all over again.

Katsuki wasn't exactly known for his delicacy. He wasn't soft or warm or comfortable. He was a rigid object with sharp points that shattered people on impact.

He didn't want to shatter Deku. He didn't want to hurt him ever again. It was a lingering fear, creeping along his bones whenever they were alone together.

At least, it had been.

He wasn't sure when it had happened but now, whenever he wanted any sort of peace, the first person he looked for was Deku. When he was scared or miserable, when he was happy, when he was tired, when he was thrilled—he'd always search for green eyes, whether it was to soothe the ache or share the rush.

He never had to look far, either. Usually, the nerd was right at his side, muttering softly about shit he already knew. It was warm, unobtrusive background noise that kept him calm and steady.

Sometime in the past year, Izuku had become his comfort. The guilt and fear had subsided into something steady and sure and Katsuki found himself seeking it out way more often than he'd ever admit.

"You okay?" Izuku asked, nudging his shoulder. They were in Katsuki's room, laptop propped up on their knees. Deku was holding the popcorn, and they were watching a movie. The lights were low and the room was warm, and Deku's weight was leaning into his side.

He wasn't just okay. He was peaceful. It was a gentle sort of happiness and contentment that honestly felt fucking gross to describe.

"M'fine," he replied. "Can't believe you're making me watch fuckin' Rom-Coms, though."

"They're sweet!" he protested. "And I'm tired, if we watched something you picked, I'd be running on adrenaline for three business days."

Katsuki snickered, a mean grin twisting his lips even as Deku rested his fluffy green head on his shoulder. It made his heart clench, beating a little too fast even though his shoulders and spine seemed to relax. Deku made him feel charged just as much as he put him at ease.

It wasn't long before Deku was snoring away on his shoulder, drowning Sandra Bullock out completely. Katsuki went stiff as the credits rolled. He wasn't sure what to do here—suddenly in uncharted territory. Deku had never fallen asleep in his room before.

Should he wake him up? Should he carry him to his room? Should he just let him sleep here? The nerd was tired—his patrol had culminated in a two hour car chase, and he'd come back to the dorms so exhausted that he was practically crawling.

So waking him up was clearly out of the question. Carrying him down would probably wake him up—Deku wasn't exactly a heavy sleeper. Not since...well. To put it simply, the nerd was always on alert.

Moving slowly, he pried the popcorn bowl out of Deku's grip, then moved the laptop off his knees. Then, gently like he was playing Operation, he guided Deku's body by the shoulders—laying him down on the bed, being painstakingly careful not to move him too fast. He breathed easier when the nerd made a happy little hum, turning on his side and burying his face in Katsuki's pillow.

It only took him a minute to put everything away—plugging in his laptop and sticking the popcorn bowl on his desk to be dealt with later. Then, he stood at the edge of his bed, staring at the stacked little dork curled up in his sheets.

Should he sleep on the floor? The floor was uncomfortable as shit. And Deku had fallen asleep on him, so he probably didn't mind sharing a bed, right? They'd done it all the time when they were kids, so why was he so goddamn hesitant about it now?

It felt like crossing some sort of invisible line.

At least he knew Deku wouldn't freak out on him for sharing the bed. He was pretty confident about that. He was pretty sure that if Deku had his way, he'd be attached to Katsuki like a starfish on a rock.

He climbed over Deku's sleeping form, tucking himself between the nerd and the wall. It took some maneuvering—some gentle pushing and pulling—but finally they were both under the covers. He was still too tense, afraid to wake him up or freak him out.

He was worried for nothing, because as soon as the dork detected a heat source, he turned under the blanket and pressed into Katsuki's space—burying his dumb freckled face in his chest. Katsuki let out a sigh of relief, resting his chin on Deku's head and snaking his arms around his waist.

The weight of him was soothing—heavy and warm and achingly alive, his breathing lending a gentle rise and fall. It was steady and rhythmic, and it lulled him—his eyes slipping shut.

It was the best he'd slept in years.

By the middle of their second year, Katsuki had long accepted that every major moment in his life would somehow revolve around Deku. Every goddamn first in his life worth mentioning belonged to that freckled idiot.

After everything they'd been through, he sure as hell wasn't mad about it. He was so goddamn grateful that in this wack-ass life they'd chosen to lead, there were so many green-tinted bright spots. That he hadn't lost him for good—pushed him too far, hurt him too badly. That somehow, Deku thought his sins were forgivable.

Deku was important to him—integral to his composition.

He didn't realize how important he was, though. Not until it was too late and he'd passed a point of no return.

The realization struck him in the middle of a fight. If you could call it that—it was more of a one-sided schoolyard beatdown. Someone had found the fucking audacity to grab Yaomomo's ass in the middle of the hallway, and Deku had taken half a second to yank her away and hand her to Katsuki before fucking launching himself at the perpetrator.

He wasn't sure the second-year would survive the encounter. He was supposed to be leading Ponytail away so that she could decompress but he was frozen in place—watching with wide eyes and a racing heart as Deku grabbed the lecherous jackass by the jaw and pinned him up against the wall—One for All crackling dangerously under his skin.

He was arrested by the moment—by the blaze in Izuku's eyes as he spat his fury in the offender's face—and something new and uncomfortable settled into his skin. He'd felt parts of it before, but the clarity around those feelings was downright horrible. It made his palms sweat, his stomach twist, his throat close. It felt like panic.

Deku was amazing. He already knew that shit. He was protective and caring, and being in his life was a fucking gift. Having him care about you was a blessing—he'd go to any length to keep you happy. He was devoted and adoring, and too goddamn good. He was comfort embodied, and everything he needed to feel at home—safe, protected, empowered.

He was aware of that. Sometimes unsettlingly aware.

Katsuki had never been quite so caught off guard by how beautiful he was, though. It might have been a fleeting thought here or there.

'Wow, his eyes are really fucking pretty. His mouth is symmetrical and nice to look at. His freckles are charming, his smile is blinding, he fights like he's dancing.'

Momentary observations of, in his opinion, the perfect person.

Maybe thinking of Deku as the perfect person should have been his tip-off, but emotional literacy wasn't really his thing. Everyone knew that. Fuck it. It didn't change the fact that his life-altering realization was hitting him in the face while Deku hit someone else in the face.

Katsuki loved him.

He loved every goddamn part of him, even the parts that gave him fucking heartburn. It was terrifying.

On the one hand, it was inevitable. How could he not love him in all his sweet and gentle glory? He was custom made to pull on Katsuki's stupid-ass heart strings, so it wasn't a surprise. On the other hand, what fucking right did he have to love him after everything he'd done?

Who was he kidding? Deku deserved every fucking scrap of love that he was offered. But Katsuki could never ask him to reciprocate. He'd already taken too much from him, over years of complete and utter bullshit. Even now, he knew he was too lucky, just for having him as a friend.

"Are you okay Momo?"

He flinched, Deku's voice closer than he'd anticipated. Apparently he'd dispatched the asshole in question, and now he was six inches away—too close given the recent revelation. He was peering at Ponytail in concern, standing near enough that Katsuki could smell his shampoo. Katsuki was struck by the urge to bury his face in green curls.

He leaned away instead, backing out of Deku's space. Izuku gave him a weird look, but refocused on the class princess.

"I'm alright," she promised. "You didn't have to do that, I could have handled it."

He smiled at her, soft and warm like the fucking morning sun. Fuck.

"I know, but I know you," he teased. "You would have been all polite but stern. They wouldn't have gotten the message. They needed some watered-down Kacchan energy," he said, turning his stunning grin on Katsuki.

His weak heart banged on his chest, begging to be let out.

"Fuck you, what's wrong with my normal energy?" he snapped, shoving his shoulder.

Izuku laughed. "Concentrated Kacchan energy would have landed me in jail! Besides, only you can pull it off."

His heart was in his throat, caught off guard by the fondness in his voice. It was as though being able to pull off 'concentrated Kacchan energy' was a good thing—something he aspired to. How could someone like Deku aspire to be anything like him? He was crass and mean. He struggled to show affection or appreciation, and his pride eclipsed the sun itself.

Katsuki would never deserve him. But he'd take what he could get.

The second the words left Aizawa's mouth he felt his entire goddamn body shut down.

"Do everyone a favor and just fucking date each other—no teenage romance is worth life-altering injury or death!"

He was breathing too fast, and he knew it. Panic was crawling up his skin—brutally exposed in the wake of his own failures.

He'd turned to Deku, only to find him in a similar state—wide eyed and pale, like he'd seen a ghost. Horrified. He'd felt himself say Deku's name, but he hadn't heard it—blood pounding too loud in his ears. Deku had paled further, horrified as he met Katsuki's eyes.

"I can't do this. Sorry, Kacchan. I can't."

That's all he'd said before he'd bolted. He'd been faced with the brunt of Katsuki's feelings and he'd run from them. Deku had never run from anything. He faced everything head on, from bullies to villains. The first thing to make him turn tail in his life was the thought that Katsuki wanted him.

His feet had been cemented to the floor, his heart bleeding. He felt ripped open and raw, sure that if anybody touched him, he'd crumble into dust.

This was why he didn't want to risk it. This was why he'd come as close as he could without crossing the line. This was why he'd taken whatever he could get.

He'd known that if he tried to take more, the floor would fall out from under him.

He'd felt his classmates' pitying stares, and he wondered how long they'd known. How long had they known how fucking gone he'd been for Deku, and tiptoed around it to spare him? Strangely enough, it wasn't humiliating. Being in love with him was perfectly reasonable, he had nothing to be ashamed of.

It burned to know that he might have ruined everything just by feeling.

He knew that it was only a matter of time before Deku came running back, trying to patch over the discomfort. He knew the nerd loved him as a friend, and wouldn't want to lose him.

He didn't think he could take the gentle treatment of careful rejection, though. He hadn't even wanted to put it on the table because he didn't want to know the answer. He'd wanted to keep his heart in Shroedinger's box—broken or unbroken indefinitely, living in blissful ignorance. It was better than the alternative—fear of all the different ways that he and Deku could fall apart again.

He was terrified that Deku would feel bad for not feeling the same way. That he'd try to force himself to reciprocate to make Katsuki feel better.

He was terrified that Deku would avoid him forever.

He was terrified that Deku did feel the same way, and that they'd try something they weren't ready for—ultimately falling apart because they weren't ready or right for each other.

So, when Deku knocked on his door that night, he didn't answer.

When Katsuki saw him in the common room the next morning, he turned around and went back upstairs—opting to be late to class rather than face the music.

Before Deku could talk to him when class let out for lunch, he'd grabbed his bag and fled his desk—grabbing Eijirou by the collar to use him as a shield.

It had gone on for the rest of the goddamn week and fuck, Deku was hard to dodge. He knew Katsuki too well—he could anticipate every move he made, so he had to think three moves ahead.

He was a coward.

"I can't do this. Sorry, Kacchan. I can't."

His words ran through Katsuki's head on loop, crushing him a little more each time. It was all consuming and as the weekend approached—the words got louder. He knew Deku would be harder to avoid on the weekend, too.

So, on Friday night, he went home.

His parents had been surprised to see him. His mom had acted pissy but he could tell she was pleased.

His dad was better at reading him. He was better at reading people in general. He'd taken one look at him, and his forehead had wrinkled with concern.

"Finals are comin' up and the dorms are loud as shit," he grumbled, pushing past them into the house. "Gonna study here." That would ward off any unwanted questions, right? And it would be a valid reason to stay shut up in his room until Sunday.

In his defense, he really did study all of Friday night and most of Saturday. It kept his mind off the gnawing fear that crawled along his skin—the sense of preemptive loss that ate at him. It didn't do much to stop the churning in his stomach, but he'd take what he could get.

He jolted when someone banged on his room door. From the volume and force, he was pretty fuckin' sure it was the Hag.

"LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" he bellowed.

The knocking somehow got louder and more frantic. Snarling, he stood and shoved his hair back, ready to lay into his mother as he yanked the door open.

Except it wasn't his mother on the other side.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he hissed, taking in Deku's flushed face and windswept hair with wide eyes. He was panting like he'd sprinted here. How had he even known where he was?

That was a dumb question. If he wasn't on campus and he wasn't at his work study, he was probably at home. That was simple enough logic for the person who knew him best to follow.

"Went back to campus to look for you, but you weren't there," he gasped, slapping his hand against the doorframe and bending at the waist as he caught his breath. "So I figured you were here."

"What do you mean, went back to campus—were you at home?" he asked, eyes widening. Were they really that in sync? That in a crisis, they'd both come back home to brace themselves?

"I was home for the weekend, remember?" he asked, still red in the face. Right, he'd been planning to visit his mom for weeks. Katsuki was the one who'd followed Deku's wavelength, not the other way around. "But she knew something was wrong, so she pushed until I spilled, and we talked and now I need to talk to you."

"We don't need to talk about shit—"

"Kacchan, please!"

He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard desperation like that in his voice. Like something vital was at risk and he was holding on as tight as he could, and Katsuki was the one trying to pull it away.

Katsuki sighed, tilting his head back. Looking at him hurt—grated along his nerves and made him bleed.

"What is there to say, Deku? You already said you couldn't do it—I didn't fucking expect you to want me, that's why I never fucking brought it up. It's not a big deal, everything can go back to normal—"

"No!"

His heart fractured in his chest. "So what, I like you and it's too much? We were friends before and I still wanted you then. It wasn't a problem before, so why does anything have to be different—"

"Would you shut up for a second?"  Deku yelled. Katsuki's mouth clicked shut, eyes snapping back to Deku's in sheer shock. "When I said I couldn't do it—I meant I wasn't ready! God, I just figured out how I felt about you, I wasn't ready for it to be announced in front of the class!"

Katsuki felt his fucking molecules go still. "What?"

Deku straightened, stepping closer—straight into Katsuki's space. He was sweaty—presumably from running back and forth from campus—and it was kinda gross but Katsuki couldn't find it in himself to care.

He'd just figured out how he felt? How the fuck did he feel? What did that mean?

Deku swallowed, squaring his shoulders as he braced himself, and Katsuki wanted to run. He wanted to hide and shield himself from whatever emotional shrapnel was about to blast in his direction. Why were feelings so fucking violent?

"I've been in love with you for a long time," he said, and Katsuki's breath left his lungs. "I just didn't realize because it's always been this way. You've always meant the most to me and I thought it was normal. And it is normal because this is what love feels like. I just didn't know it."

Katsuki stared at him, mouth ajar. His heart was fucking racing and terror licked at his spine like a specter.

"Are you fucking nuts?" he hissed. Deku flinched, and Katsuki's heart bled. He always seemed to hurt him when it mattered most. "Deku, we're finally in a good place, there's no goddamn way this is a good idea. You must be a fucking masochist too, because what the hell do you mean you've always felt this way—"

"Kacchan."

"No, I'm fucking serious!" he snapped. "I treated you like shit for years, and you've always been in love with me? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Deku cracked a fucking smile at that, self-deprecating and adorable. "Do you want a list? It might take a while."

"Shut the fuck up."

His face sobered. "There's nothing wrong with me, Kacchan. How could I not love you? You're my favorite person in the world. You're my inspiration. You're the first person I want to talk to when anything happens—good or bad. If you don't want this, we'll work through it. I'll hold us together with my bare hands if I have to."

Katsuki looked away, eyes stinging. "We fight all the fuckin' time, I'm nasty when I'm mad, you're pigheaded as fuck, and we're constantly in danger. That's not a recipe for success nerd, it's a recipe for a shit show."

"So you want to, but you're scared."

Katsuki ground his teeth, but didn't deny it. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "So many things could go wrong," he muttered.

Deku reached out and Katsuki flinched back. He persisted, curling his scarred hand around the blonde's wrist, running a thumb over his pulse in soothing circles. His pulse raced regardless. Deku was the embodiment of comfort. Katsuki wanted to sink into him. Deku was offering, shuffling closer, and it was so tempting.

Then, quiet and soft, he said:

"I think we're worth the risk, Kacchan. Don't you?"