Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

noun: limerence (limer-ence)

An intense, involuntary, and temporary infatuation or obsession with someone, with a strong desire for one’s feelings to be reciprocated.

APRIL

Katsuki sits on the roof ledge of some 60-odd storey skyscraper, legs dangling off the side of the building as he taps out a LINE message on his cell phone—his thumbs strategically avoiding the fresh crack near the bottom-left corner of the screen.

His expression sours as he recalls the dumbfuck mistake from earlier that day which had caused his screen to crack. With all the crazy shit he gets up to on the job, his phone should’ve been shattered to bits long ago, but Katsuki has been meticulous about not making any dumbfuck mistakes. Especially expensive ones. 

Like letting a damn purse thief leg-sweep him, making him crash into a garbage bin in an alley, right against the same utility pocket he always keeps his phone in. Dumb as fuck. He blasted the fucker sky-high for it, though.

He doesn’t have time to deal with getting the screen fixed, and he can’t afford to replace his phone outright, either. He might have to leave it on his desk at the agency from now on to avoid further damage, but the thought of that has his teeth grinding against one another. Katsuki’s knee jitters impatiently while he stares down at the open conversation window on LINE, which still just shows the last two messages he sent to Izuku.

It’s definitely time for the nerd’s lunch break by now. So even if the goodie-two-shoes sensei doesn’t keep his phone on him during class, he’ll surely be checking it soon, once his students have all headed off to the cafeteria. 

Or maybe the idiot isn’t going to bother checking his messages, and is already headed to the cafeteria himself. 

He better fucking not be, Katsuki thinks, lips pursing as the cracked screen continues to show his last message—annoyingly, mockingly—as just ‘Delivered’, and not ‘Read’. 

Katsuki ought to just blast over to the damn school right fucking now and come in through the window. Not like he hasn’t done it before. 

He curtly thumbs out several more messages before he can think better of it. 

"Umm, Midoriya-sensei?"

Izuku blinks, and comes out of one of his longer tangents of the day. "Yes?"

"I think you’ve got a message? Your phone is buzzing on the desk. Like, a lot.” 

"Oh! Thank you. And look at the time! You guys need to go get some food before your next lesson. Sorry for keeping you, I can get a little carried away. If you want to continue our discussion later, though, we could include it in our next lesson. You all had some really interesting viewpoints." 

His students cheerfully wave goodbye as they head out of the staff room and make their way to the cafeteria. Picking up his phone, Izuku takes a moment to frown at the notification banners before his mouth falls open in realization and he quickly types out a response.

Katsuki had given up on his staredown with his phone screen; a watched pot never boils, after all. But sure enough, only a minute after he sets his phone aside, it lets off a ping and Katsuki picks it right back up. Upon reading the reply, he lets out a loud scoff. 

According to Izuku, it’s a ‘bad habit’ of Katsuki's to not just send his texts all in one long-ass bubble like that nerd does, but send off multiple rapid-fire messages. 

It makes my phone go off like crazy, Kacchan! Izuku had whined to him one day, My students are starting to make fun of me. 

They would do that, anyway. You let those brats walk all over you, Katsuki had told him, which had earned him a pout in response and not much else. The dork knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on there. He heard about how soft of a sensei he was from Aizawa as much as their old homeroom teacher lectured Katsuki about being more respectable to the press. And if the dumbass reporter—whose head Katsuki may as well have bit clean off his shoulders last week—had any say in the matter, it was an ongoing endeavour that wasn’t going to change any time soon. 

Izuku’s reply comes through much faster the second time around. 

Katsuki’s brow furrows deeply at this response, and he quickly punches out another message. 

There’s no way Izuku can argue with him on that. He isn’t just being cocky, either; it's just pure factual knowledge that he’s a fucking great cook and Izuku is damn lucky to get to experience it. Katsuki sends off one more message before tucking his phone away. 

He picks up the small box wrapped in a patterned cloth sitting next to him on the roof ledge, and gets to his feet. 

Then, he steps off the roof.

He stays in a free fall for a few seconds, closing his eyes against the wind, and also to focus. He’s had plenty of years to hone the technique, so it isn’t so hard on his sweat glands anymore, but it’s still tricky to pull off. 

…and maybe a little overkill for a commute to his old high school. But it sure as hell is faster than taking an hour-long ride on the Shinkansen, and Izuku's lunch break is nearly over already. 

Katsuki vanishes into a cluster of sparks, reappearing several rooftops away, still in mid-air and several metres higher from where he’d been in his free fall. Lowering one palm below him, he sets off a burst to propel himself forward, heading in the direction of UA High; a trip he can take with his eyes closed. He’s there in fifteen minutes, landing heavily on the ledge outside of the staff room. One of the windows has been left ajar, which Katsuki had been expecting. Izuku always liked to have a window open at this time of year. 

He pushes the window panel open wider and slips inside. The only one in the staff room right now is Izuku, sitting at his desk, which is always a complete mess with stacks of books and papers and pens and sticky notes. Katsuki strides over and drops down the wrapped bento box on the only free space available, which is directly in front of Izuku. 

“Your desk is a fucking disgrace,” Katsuki says in lieu of a proper greeting.

As always, Izuku considers whether the school needs a better alarm system. Not that many people could enter the way Kacchan can, since he's so singular in his use of explosions; and it’s not like they were exactly subtle. Still, though, perhaps he should have a talk with Principal Nezu about their defenses. If the League of Villains could get in once…

"Huh?" Izuku responds intelligently, then he looks back to the chaotic mess of papers around him. "Oh! Well, this way I know where everything is. This works best for me. Hey, do you think UA should control its airspace? It’s a pretty big security risk, isn’t it? As far as I know, there aren't a lot of flying villains around these days, but maybe they just haven’t surfaced? Or if someone had a warping Quirk like Kurogiri…"

His question goes over into mumbling, as he debates the probability of an air attack and absolutely forgets he is supposed to be eating. Kacchan, who removed his grenade gauntlets and gloves while Izuku rambled on, plucks the bento back up and unwraps the container from the cloth, revealing two bento boxes stacked on top of each other. He sets one container in front of Izuku, and takes the other for himself, shoving some of the papers on the desk unceremoniously aside to take a seat on the table top. He tucks his eye mask up into his hair with his thumb as he crowds into Izuku's space, and pops open his bento. 

“First of all, there ain’t gonna be any villains stupid enough to fuck with UA again as long as I’m around,” Kacchan says haughtily, “Second of all, quit runnin’ your damn mouth to talk and eat, dumbass. I’ll bet you skipped breakfast this morning, too. C’mon. Hurry up.” 

Izuku eyes the bento in front of him curiously. When Kacchan had mentioned in his text about his cooking being better than Lunch Rush’s, Izuku had assumed it had just been a reflexive remark, in order to remind Izuku that Kacchan was still the best at everything. Izuku of all people certainly doesn’t need such a reminder, of course, but Kacchan wouldn’t be Kacchan if he didn’t give him one, anyway! 

And when Kacchan had said he would bring Izuku something to eat, Izuku had figured he had decided to get something for lunch somewhere in the neighbourhood, and had been considerate enough to pick something up for Izuku, too. 

So, the homemade bento in front of him right now certainly comes as a surprise. 

"Kacchan...packed me a boxed lunch?” Izuku murmurs in awe, looking from the bento and up to his childhood friend.

Kacchan glowers back at him. "Of course not. I was just tryin' to use up some of the shit in my fridge before it spoiled, so I made double the portion. I can't eat it all before it's no good, so..." He trails off with a half-shrug and then jabs his chopsticks at Izuku's bento. "Now shut up and eat." 

Izuku pops open the lid and his mouth falls open at the perfectly arranged spread before him. "Katsudon!" Izuku cries in delight. Oh man, it smells heavenly. "Thanks, Kacchan!"

Izuku does a happy little wiggle as he takes his first bite. It's so good! A little bit spicy compared to how his mom makes it, but still so delicious. Izuku shovels down large mouthfuls; he really does need to get some food into him, and this way his mouth is occupied so he doesn’t have to acknowledge Kacchan’s call-out about him skipping breakfast. Again.

They eat in near silence, the only sounds that of the activity out in the hallway, their chopsticks clacking against the side of their bento boxes, and their chewing. They don’t really have time to chat, only to shovel their food down as the minutes tick by all too quickly. Then, there's a few students entering the staff room, already finished with their lunch and likely looking to speak with a faculty member before they had to get to their next class. 

Of course, this means a bunch of excited chattering and whispering when the students see the famous No. 15 Pro Hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight sitting on Midoriya-sensei’s desk, eating lunch with him. 

“Ohmygosh! It's him! It’s Dynamight!” one student whispers in disbelief to her classmate.  

“Oi! That’s Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, dammit!” Kacchan barks at them through a mouthful of food, biting a piece of fried pork cutlet in half very threateningly before he scolds the poor kids some more. “If ya ain’t gonna say it properly with every scrap of dreadnought chutzpah you’ve got, then don’t bother sayin’ it at all, got it?!” 

All the students jolt back in shock and instantly start tripping over themselves to apologize. But Kacchan is ignoring them, closing up his bento box with a brusque finality. Izuku quickly closes up his own box, and Kacchan takes it from him and wraps both bentos back up in the cloth. Izuku is a little bit torn—does he apologize to the students for Kacchan’s behaviour? Reprimand Kacchan for yelling at children—especially ones who had only been eager to see him so up close—or would that in itself be inconsiderate of him, since Kacchan just brought him lunch? 

"T-Thank you again for the meal, Kacchan," Izuku says hastily, “It was—"

But the rest of the words die in his mouth, because Kacchan's hand reaches out towards him, the pad of his thumb rubs against the corner of Izuku's lips, and Izuku’s brain completely shuts down. 

If it wasn’t for the fucking audience they’ve got, Katsuki could do what he wants: which is to either lick the grain of rice he wiped from Izuku’s face off of his thumb while making eye contact, or shove his thumb into Izuku’s mouth and let him do it himself.

Just to keep up their little game of gay chicken that they’ve been playing for years, which Katsuki has been getting a little bit more brazen about the more the years go by, and the more pent up he gets. 

Because yeah, he’s so in love with Izuku Midoriya it’s actually stupid. Why else would he have spent all these years working his ass off in order to fund the support item which would see Izuku’s true dreams finally realized? 

Because Izuku doesn’t fucking belong here. He should be out working as a Pro Hero alongside Katsuki, so they could chase each other all the way to the top of the rankings.

And Katsuki is almost there; just a little bit more time, and it can finally happen. It’s been seven fucking years working on this damn project now, working every ounce of overtime he can get, living in a glorified shoebox of an apartment, but it’s been worth every second. Izuku is worth it. 

His eyes blaze as he watches Izuku, flicking the rice grain into the trash bin by Izuku’s desk. 

I promise I’m going to make you a hero again. I want you by my side for the rest of our lives in every way possible. 

That’s what Katsuki wishes he could say. 

Instead, all he can say is: “Have a good rest of your day, sensei.” 

Then he slides himself off Izuku’s desk, pulls on his gloves and gauntlets, and strides back over to the open window, clambering up onto the windowsill. 

He doesn’t even acknowledge the brats as he departs, their excited cheers lost in the sound of his scattering sparks and the boom of his explosion that sprockets him back into the sky.

Izuku doesn’t even get a chance to finish telling Kacchan thanks for bringing him lunch, or even to have a good rest of his shift, before he's back out the window and off into the air.

"Midoriya-sensei?" 

It takes Izuku a second too long to realize he’s absently touching his cheek, right where Kacchan plucked away that grain of rice. He scrubs at his mouth, clearing his throat and collecting himself before turning to address the student. 

Even with his brain fog lifted by the hearty katsudon lunch, Izuku finds himself terribly distracted for the rest of his work day. It causes him to stay long after the school day has concluded as he tries to go over his lesson plan, his mind constantly stumbling back into thoughts of his childhood friend. 

Instead of the words on his laptop screen, Izuku is assaulted by images of Kacchan; standing in dark contrast to the soft pink cherry blossoms fluttering through the early April breeze outside the staff room windows; striding over to Izuku with his gauntlets still smoking; propped up casually on Izuku's desk with his cheeks puffed out adorably as he chewed his food; leaning in to brush the rice from Izuku's cheek; those fierce red eyes piercing holes into him while he called Izuku sensei. Which Kacchan has done about a million times now, and yet it never fails to turn Izuku's knees into wobbly jelly, the way  the syllables slither off Kacchan’s tongue like he’s purring them. There’s something about the overall inflection in which he says it, too; the teasing, demeaning quality of it really seems to do it for Izuku. In a way he’s…not so sure he’s ready to unpack, just yet. 

Izuku closes the lid of his laptop and pushes the heels of his scarred hands into his eye sockets with a long-suffering sigh. 

It’s not like he can help it; Kacchan has always been amazing. What he used to pass off as a deep admiration for his friend, Izuku now recognizes for what it has always been. This is more than just a longstanding affection for the person he’s known his entire life. And it’s more than just a silly boyhood crush. Maybe it took a war or two to really get it through his thick skull, but it is a pure, intrinsic fact of the universe that Izuku cannot exist in a world without Kacchan. 

And yeah, he’s so in love with Katsuki Bakugou it’s actually pathetic. 

Because Kacchan couldn’t possibly love Izuku back. 

Sure, the two of them have healed their relationship with one another, and they grew closer during and after the war—but of course they did! They went through so much together! There was no denying their bond, but there was also no way that Kacchan thought about Izuku in a romantic way. Much less a sexual way! 

For the past few years, it’s gotten trickier to spend time with Kacchan. When they graduated, and Izuku started teaching at UA while Kacchan became a sidekick under Best Jeanist, they managed to pencil in the occasional meet-up. But as time went on, it was all they could do to catch up for a bit on Izuku's fifty-minute lunch breaks.

It happened so slowly that Izuku hardly gave it much thought at first, but he has become acutely aware of the fact that he and Kacchan have become like ships passing in the night. Their schedules hardly ever line up anymore. Kacchan has just gotten so busy. He constantly turns down the plans that their former classmates propose in the Class A group chat, saying he's got shifts to cover for the other heroes at the Genius Office. He also works overtime day and night, and accepts every offer from the HPSC for longer missions, no matter how far away they are. Sometimes Kacchan would be away for weeks or even months at a time. 

On top of all of that, Kacchan seems to accept every brand deal, every endorsement, and every interview, and is constantly pumping out so much new merch each month, Izuku can barely keep up. Not that Izuku minds any of that—especially the merch. Kacchan is able to charge more for his merchandise than every other Pro Hero in the game and nobody bats an eye. Izuku is happy to pay the Kacchan Tax himself, of course, even though Kacchan always chews him out because he could just give his merch to Izuku for free. But where would the fun in that be? Part of the thrill was adding the item to his cart before it sold out, which it always did, of course. Kacchan is obviously incredibly popular. 

With all of that, how in the world Kacchan is still only ranked below the top ten is beyond Izuku. In fact, he recently went down in the polls again after he bit some journalist’s head off last week. Izuku watched the viral video and could tell right away that it hadn’t been Kacchan’s fault; he was clearly just exhausted from a long patrol, and the journalist caught him at a bad time. Kacchan might have cooled off some after the war, since he had to be careful about over-exerting his heart, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still get volatile if he didn’t get enough sleep. 

Izuku hardly thought it was very fair for Kacchan’s rating to suffer just because he got caught having a bad day, but every time Kacchan’s ranking fluctuates, it never seems to bother him any. For a guy who is always saying he would surpass All Might and become the new No.1 Hero someday, Kacchan has never once made a stink about going from his incredible debut ranking of No.4, to quickly plummeting and staying stagnantly at No.15 for all this time. Izuku has half a mind to contact the HPSC personally with a strongly-worded letter about Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight’s ranking. He knew that the policies for the rankings have changed over the years, but it still didn’t make any sense. Kacchan works so hard. Lemillion is incredible, of course, but nobody deserves to be the No.1 Hero more than Kacchan! 

Izuku would never say this to Kacchan’s face, of course, but he’s been wondering lately if maybe Kacchan's hero ranking is struggling so much because he’s been burning the candle at both ends for far too long. Even someone as amazing as Kacchan could experience burnout, after all. And for some reason Izuku can’t understand, Kacchan has adamantly lived in the same puny studio apartment ever since they graduated. Maybe Kacchan wouldn’t be so tired if he had a proper place to rest at the end of a long day. Whenever Izuku or any of the rest of their friends had prodded Kacchan about upgrading his living space, however, Kacchan always said everything else was ‘way too damn pricey’, and that he was fine where he was. 

Not that Izuku is without his own line of questioning in that regard. Their friends often hound him about still living in the faculty accommodations at Heights Alliance, which he’s done ever since graduating from UA. He didn’t see any problem with it himself, at first. Living at Heights Alliance means he's easily accessible to the students that also choose to live on campus. Not that there was a League of Villains or a war to protect them all from; and Izuku is blessed with well-behaved, lovely kids—not problem children like he and Kacchan were. Regardless, in exchange for his supervision, he doesn't have to pay rent—which means he has plenty of money in reserve to buy Kacchan’s expensive merch!

But he has to admit, the novelty has begun to wear off lately. What perks came by living on campus also came with its cons. As much as he truly loves UA, sometimes it feels a bit like a cage; a gilded one of his own making. Well, maybe cage is a loaded term. Crutch is a bit more fitting; a nostalgic crutch which he has clung to for all these years. UA was the place where Izuku spent the worst, most traumatic, and yet the best, most formative years of his life. He supposes that’s just high school in a nutshell, but most teenagers just have to worry about frivolous drama and homework. Izuku’s own high school experience had been very different. The things that he, Kacchan and all of their classmates had experienced in just their first year at UA had changed the course of not just all of their lives, but the world as they knew it. Hero society had been turned on its head, and overnight Izuku had become a globally-recognized war hero and saviour of the world. If he still had One For All, he could very well be the No.1 hero now, saving people with a smile and continuing to make a difference in the world. 

But with the embers of One For All having faded away long ago, Izuku is simply Midoriya-sensei, not Hero Deku. He’s raising the next generations of Pro Heroes, so he likes to think he’s still making a positive impact. It’s not what he’d dreamed of since childhood, but it's still a respectable and fulfilling career. 

But, he’s been feeling a little burnt-out, too. 

A change of scenery might be what he needs. The faculty accommodations at Heights Alliance have served him well these past seven years, but they have admittedly stunted him, too. Not only were all of his friends were out there doing amazing work as Pro Heroes, but they were also living on their own. And, sure, Izuku had a one-room studio to himself, so technically he’s also living on his own. But it’s not the same. He’s still here at UA. Stuck in the past. As much of a comfort that this school has been for Izuku, and as much as he truly loves his job as a teacher, having a space that is fully his own admittedly holds quite the appeal. 

Sitting up straight in his chair, Izuku flips open his laptop again and taps a few keywords into the search bar: apartments for rent in tokyo 

He’s got about twenty tabs open, a word document with a list of links and addresses, a pros and cons list, varying price ranges of different neighbourhoods, and has just opened up a fresh spreadsheet to start plotting out his monthly costs and budget when his phone buzzes sharply on the table and breaks his hyperfocus. Izuku’s stomach swoops when the time that illuminates on his phone screen shows him that he’s been apartment hunting for nearly two and a half hours. 

Below the time is a notification banner from LINE, which shows a new message from Kacchan. Opening the app reveals that Kacchan has sent him a picture of the sunset from his view of it on the roof of a tall skyscraper. Izuku’s lips quirk up into a small, soft smile. Even if the two of them barely have time to see one another in person these days, this has become a little ritual of theirs that has yet to abate. It’s been going on for so long, Izuku’s not even sure which one of them started it, but they never fail to send the other a picture of the sky when they think it’s looking particularly gorgeous. 

It also—like basically everything between them—has become something of a contest, to see which of them can snag a picture of the coolest, prettiest sky that week. Kacchan is pretty much always the winner, considering the tactical advantage that his usual vantage points grants him. It’s a rare thing for Izuku to get a good view of the sky, since he’s not flying through it day and night like Kacchan gets to. 

Izuku looks out the window, and sure enough, for him the sun has already vanished behind the distant skyline, leaving the staff room in a dim light with long, dark shadows, safe for the blue glow of his laptop screen, still open on his fresh Excel sheet. Izuku pulls up the tab for the webpage showing ‘apartments for rent in tokyo’ in the search bar with all the results below it, snaps a picture of it, and sends it off to Kacchan. Despite it totally being the pot calling the kettle black, Kacchan has given Izuku more grief about living at Heights Alliance than all of their friends combined. He’ll surely be relieved to know that Izuku is finally considering a change. 

Not even a minute passes before Kacchan responds. 

Izuku does him one better, sending him the word document he's written up, which includes the top ten apartments he managed to find in the last few hours of his search. Kacchan pretty much immediately sends a request to edit the document, and Izuku huffs a laugh before granting permission. 

Kacchan’s email account icon appears next to Izuku’s in the task bar of the document, and Izuku watches his coloured space bar flitter across the screen as Kacchan reads through the page. After several minutes, a few of the links have been highlighted, and Izuku’s phone goes off again. 

Izuku starts to chew on his lip the moment he hits send. Surely Kacchan would say no. Izuku can’t remember the last time Kacchan took a day off, and certainly apartment-hunting with Izuku isn’t how he would choose to spend it on the rare chance that he did. 

Kacchan’s text bubble appears, showing he’s typing. Izuku watches the three dots appear and reappear for a full two minutes, then vanish completely for another minute, before he quickly sends another message. 

Finally, Kacchan responds. 

Izuku snorts. “That’s rich, coming from the resident of one,” he mutters to himself. 

But Kacchan has miraculously said yes, so Izuku isn’t about to spoil it by being a smartass, fearing Kacchan will rescind his agreement if he does. So instead he says: 

Izuku was so excited he could hardly shut his brain off last night, staying up into the wee hours of the night scouring the internet, reading forums about the best neighbourhoods to live in, and shopping around for new furniture, since most of the stuff he has at his teacher apartment is either from his childhood bedroom, or was supplied by the school. He ended up finally nodding off sitting upright in bed with his laptop resting on his lap. 

The early morning sun hitting his face thankfully wakes him up, because he foolishly neglected to set an alarm. Checking the time, Izuku swears under his breath and then scrambles out of bed to quickly hop in the shower, get dressed, and then flit out the door to catch the train to on time. 

He’s breathless from sprinting all the way from the station when he arrives at the café. As enters, he spots Kacchan over by the order pick-up counter, his back to the door. He’s got most of his hair concealed by a black ball cap, but Izuku would be able to pick out Kacchan in any crowd. And his telltale ash blond spikes really aren’t all that concealed by his incognito-civilian attire. 

He hurries over to his friend’s side, greeting him with a little wave. “G-good morning,” he pants, still winded. He hasn’t had cause to run like that for quite some time. 

“You’re late,” Kacchan mutters accusingly, not even looking at him, but watching one of the baristas—an equine-type heteromorph girl—who is making the steamed milk in the pitcher she’s holding shriek like a banshee while she looks over to the two of them, clearly very distracted. 

“Sorry! The train got delayed,” Izuku says sheepishly. It’s not a lie, either; the train really did get delayed—he’s just omitting the part about staying up until four in the morning and forgetting to set an alarm. “Did you already order? I’ll go place mine now—“ 

“Don’t bother,” Kacchan cuts him off, “I already got yours.” 

Izuku blinks in surprise, opening his mouth to speak, but in that moment the horse heteromorph barista comes over with two mugs and gingerly sets them on the pick-up counter. 

“O-order for Gr-Great Explosion Mur—“ 

“Oi, I’m off duty,” Kacchan hisses at her. 

The barista jolts in panic. “S-sorry, Dynami—I mean—uhh—B-Bakugou…sama?” 

Kacchan sighs tersely. “Whatever.” He takes up their drinks and holds out one mug to Izuku, and the smell of rich, earthy matcha hits his senses. “Here.” 

“Thanks, Kacchan!” Izuku chirps happily, carefully taking the mug from Kacchan. He can’t even wait until they’ve found a seat, and takes an eager sip right there. He closes his eyes and hums appreciatively as the delicious rich foam coats his tongue, and then his eyes pop back open in realization as he swallows. “Oh, is this made with oat milk?” 

Kacchan scoffs lightly. “Fuckin’ ‘course it is,” he says, “You’ve preferred it that way ever since you ordered one from that spot near Endeavour’s agency, but they were outta regular milk so you got it with oat milk instead and then you raved about how much better it was for the rest of our lunch break.” 

Izuku’s eyelashes flutter in bewilderment. It’s been many years since they did their internship with Todoroki at his father’s agency, and yet Kacchan had retained such a small detail, in the midst of their rigorous internship that winter? 

Looking down at Kacchan’s own drink, Izuku tilts his head curiously at the dark brown liquid. It certainly doesn’t look like a dirty chai latté with almond milk and cinnamon—which he remembers had always been Kacchan’s go-to drink order during their internship days. 

“What did Kacchan get?” Izuku asks, as Kacchan moves away from the pick-up counter and into the dining area to find them a free table. 

"Drip coffee,” Kacchan replies. 

Kacchan brings them to a booth tucked away in a quiet corner of the café, away from the windows and the other patrons. Peeking back at the menu as Kacchan takes a seat, Izuku notices that the drip coffee is the cheapest possible drink option on the menu. Perhaps Kacchan’s tastes had changed? But a black drip coffee sure seems awfully plain… 

“What? You want somethin’ else?” Kacchan asks, arching a brow at him over the rim of his coffee mug as he takes a short sip. 

“N-no, I’m good,” Izuku says, slipping into the seat across from him. 

Just as he’s lifting his cup of matcha back to his lips, something skitters across the table towards him. A protein bar. Izuku glances up at Kacchan, shrinking a little under the accusatory glint in his eye. Izuku’s penchant for missing meals due to his lousy time management is certainly no secret between them. He quietly peels open the wrapper and takes a small bite. 

“So, why the sudden interest in finally gettin’ your own place?” Kacchan asks. 

Despite the excitement which had kept him up all night, Izuku finds himself hesitating to answer, stalling for time by taking another bite of his protein bar. Kacchan watches him, expectant but not impatient, as Izuku searches for his words, taking a sip of matcha to wash down the protein bar before he speaks. 

“It’s kind of hard to explain,” Izuku finally begins, “I guess I just needed…something different. Something that’s my own, y’know? Away from UA. I’ve kind of been feeling like this for a while, but…I just sort of randomly started looking for apartments just last night.” He looks down into his half-full mug, twisting the handle of the cup between his scarred fingers. “Maybe I’m jumping the gun a bit, but…” 

Kacchan snorts. “Yeah, ‘cause takin’ seven years to finally get your own place is the definition of jumpin’ the gun.” 

His tone isn’t harsh, but Izuku feels his cheeks heating slightly under his scrutiny, anyway. “Yeah, well, the free rent was kinda hard to pass up.” 

“Lucky schmuck,” Kacchan grouses. 

Izuku’s gaze lingers on Kacchan for a moment before he takes another sip of his matcha. A question lingers on his tongue, but it stays trapped behind his teeth. Instead, Izuku just takes in the view across the table. Kacchan has got his jacket off and balled up in the corner of the booth seat, so his defined arms are on display where they rest on the edge of the table, his thick biceps stretching the short sleeves of his black shirt taut, and his broad shoulders are taking up nearly the whole width of the table—

Swallowing his next gulp of matcha a little too hard, Izuku clears his throat roughly when he realizes that Kacchan has totally caught him staring. Or is it that Kacchan is just watching him, too? He’s looking at Izuku not in a sharp, evaluative way, but with a gaze that Izuku has come to be familiar with over the years. A gaze which—though it feels awfully presumptuous of him to think so—seems to be reserved just for him. 

Izuku’s stomach does a strange and traitorous little flip. 

They continue to sit in silence, not uncomfortably so, the low murmurs of the café filling the space between them. Izuku finds himself cataloguing stupid things as he finishes his latté and protein bar: the way the morning sunlight filters in through the windows and makes Kacchan’s pale hair glow; his calf brushing against Izuku’s under the table when he stretches his leg out; how he still holds his coffee mug in his left hand because the fingers on his right hand still have trouble gripping objects sometimes. 

“Is the teaching gig gettin’ old, or something?” Kacchan asks suddenly, his voice low and careful. 

Izuku’s eyebrows jump up. “Not at all. I love teaching. Really! It’s just that…with living on campus, it’s like I never leave work.” He presses his lips together for a moment, turning the next words over in his brain before he lets them out in a small mumble. “Sometimes it feels like it's all I ever do because…it's all I am.” 

“It’s fuckin’ not,” Kacchan says immediately. There isn’t a trace of pity in his voice, which Izuku appreciates. When he looks up, Kacchan’s expression has sharpened—not with anger, but determination. "You aren't just some run-of-the-mill school teacher. You saved the world, Izuku."

Izuku offers him a small smile. “Thanks,” he says softly, “But still, it's something I did. Something I used to be, y’know?” 

The words feel dangerous, now that he’s finally spoken them out loud, too close to things he usually keeps tucked away. The flicker of distress that crosses over Kacchan’s features doesn’t help matters, either. 

“You still are a hero, Izuku,” Kacchan says, his tone quiet yet fierce. Then, he seems to falter a little. “I mean, I'm sure you're a good teacher, but—it’s not…you—” 

Izuku watches Kacchan with a gentle awe. It’s a rare thing to see Kacchan this flustered, tripping over his words, unable to properly articulate himself. He finds himself suddenly desperate to soothe the tension coiled up within Kacchan’s body, and reaches across the table to rest a hand on his forearm—plastered in pale scars in a patchwork of shapes and sizes, a constant reminder of the horrible injuries Kacchan sustained by being the person closest to Hero Deku in the war.  

“It’s okay, Kacchan,” Izuku assures him, “I know what you mean.” 

Kacchan looks down at where they touch, and then gazes up at Izuku through his lashes. Izuku’s stomach once again does a large somersault when he realizes that, from an outsider’s perspective, the way the two of them are positioned right now, leaning across the table, with Izuku’s hand on Kacchan’s arm…it wouldn’t be far-fetched to come to the assumption that Pro Hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight was out on a date with the former Hero Deku. 

They might be in a quiet corner of the café, but it’s still very much a public place. Anyone can snap a picture of the two of them sitting together in this booth and post it on the internet, and they will be the front page news by morning. 

But despite knowing all of that, Kacchan doesn’t retract his arm from Izuku’s grasp. And Izuku doesn’t pull away, either. 

“So you think that if you get a place that’s yours, you’ll be able to figure out what you are outside of teaching,” Kacchan says slowly, almost as if he were thinking aloud. 

Izuku nods. “That about sums it up, yeah,” he says. He gives Kacchan’s arm a slight squeeze. “And since Kacchan knows me best, well…it just made sense to have you with me while I do.” 

There’s a palpable pause between them after that, as Kacchan’s eyes widen the slightest fraction; a micro-expression Izuku is only able to notice due to their current proximity. He suddenly hears his own words, and how Kacchan must be interpreting them, and he immediately tries to backpedal. 

“I mean, since you’ve gone through the process of getting your own place before, and since you know what I like, I figured it would be good to have you there at the viewings. That you would notice things I wouldn’t, and uh…y’know, make sure I make the right decision.” 

For a nanosecond, an emotion passes through Kacchan’s eyes that Izuku can only think to describe as disappointment, before Kacchan sits upright in his seat and moves his arm, not to dust off Izuku’s hand, but just to take up his cup and knock back the last of his coffee. 

Kacchan gathers up his jacket and starts to get up. “We better get going. It’s almost nine.” 

“Oh—yeah. Yeah, of course,” Izuku says, hurriedly scooting out of the booth. “Thanks for the drink. And the protein bar. And for doing all of this with me today. My treat next time, okay?” 

Kacchan shrugs on his jacket as Izuku gathers their mugs. “Sure. You can make it up to me by buyin’ me dinner tonight.”

Izuku’s heart does something unhelpful and fluttery at those words. “Dinner?” he echoes, “Tonight?” 

Kacchan nods, pulling his phone from his jacket pocket and turning the screen towards Izuku. On the screen is a notes application with several addresses with times next to each one.

“We’ve got four more apartment viewings lined up,” Kacchan says, “We’re gonna be at this the whole day.” 

Izuku’s mouth falls open. “How on earth did you manage to get all these booked for the same day, on such short notice?”

Kacchan smirks proudly. “Because I’m fuckin’ Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, that's how. These landlords were trippin’ all over themselves to accommodate me. And when these losers find out that Hero Deku is lookin’ to rent, they’re gonna get downright insufferable. Don’t fall for their ass-kissin’, either, ‘cause I guarantee they’ll try and jack up the rent price on you.” 

“Yeesh,” Izuku mumbles. They stop at the counter on their way out so Izuku can return their mugs, and then he tosses his protein bar wrapper in the bin as they head for the door. “Now I’m even more grateful to have Kacchan along today.” 

“Damn right you are,” Kacchan says. He holds the door open for Izuku when they reach it, which makes Izuku’s heart do that stupid fluttery thing again. “I want nabe for dinner, by the way. That spot that just opened up in Shibuya.” 

“Right, I remember you telling me about that. You wanted to try their wagyu,” Izuku says thoughtfully as he pulls out his phone, looking the place up. “Oh good, they do online bookings!”

“Make it for 6:30,” Kacchan tells him. 

Izuku has to remind himself that all of this is absolutely not a date. Just two old friends grabbing coffee, checking out apartments, and getting dinner together. Perfectly platonic. Totally not a date. 

But as they fall into step together on the sidewalk, shoulders almost brushing, Izuku can’t help but admit to himself how much he desperately wants it to be.  

After being led down a narrow hallway that smells faintly like bleach and damp laundry, Katsuki and Izuku are brought inside an apartment suite which, upon taking one look at Izuku, Katsuki can already tell he won’t be choosing. 

The windows are too small and set too high. What little sunlight manages to filter through comes in at a weird angle that doesn’t reach the floor, or brighten the off-white ceiling that is way too low. The living area bleeds straight into the kitchenette, which consists of a two-burner stove that looks like it has given up on life sometime in the last decade, and a sink with hardly enough space to wash an average size pot. 

“This is…cozy,” Izuku offers, because he’s way too kind for his own good. He and Katsuki have been looking around the space for a good five minutes in silence while the landlord hovers anxiously a few steps away from them, so he probably feels inclined to come up with something positive to say.

Katsuki scoffs. Good thing the dweeb asked him to come along today, otherwise he might end up renting this dump just to be a people pleaser. He steps over to a cabinet, opening the door and frowning in displeasure at the warped, dated wood, then shuts it with more force than necessary. 

“Fuck no,” Katsuki says, flat and resolute. 

The landlord laughs awkwardly. “Y-you haven’t even seen the bedroom yet—“ 

“No,” Katsuki repeats, sharper this time. 

Izuku steps over to him, reaching out and grasping his jacket sleeve. “Kacchan, we should at least see everything,” he says placatingly. 

“You’d hate this place, Izuku.” 

Izuku winces, but he doesn’t disagree, not even opening his mouth to try and argue. He knows Katsuki is right—he would hate it, and the whole point of all of this is to figure out what he wants, not just what he can tolerate. 

Daylight feels like a relief once Izuku has sheepishly and politely thanked the landlord for his time and they exit back out onto the street. 

“Well, that’s one down,” Izuku says, trying to sound upbeat. 

The first apartment being a total bust has clearly taken some of the wind out of his sails. And the next few places aren’t any better, pretty much blurring together in Katsuki’s mind. Like the fifth-floor walk-up with no fucking elevator. Katsuki grabs Izuku by the collar and drags him away before he can even pretend to consider it. Then a sleek, modern unit with a great view of the skyline, only the walls are paper-thin and there’s a tenant upstairs aggressively practicing the violin. Absolutely not. 

The fourth place is fine enough. Bright and clean, but as Katsuki watches Izuku stand in the living room looking around, trying to picture himself in the space, he knows he feels nothing. Besides that, utilities aren’t even included. 

Through it all, they fall into an easy rhythm. While Izuku makes niceties with the landlords who rattle on about amenities and the convenient distance from the train station and local shopping districts, Katsuki checks water pressure and storage, opening drawers and looking over stovetops with an intense scrutiny that is disproportionate for someone who isn’t even going to be cooking there. Except if Izuku has him over some nights, maybe. 

Katsuki has never been to Izuku’s apartment at Heights Alliance, and Katsuki sure as hell has never invited Izuku over to his own shithole. And not just because it’s a shithole, either—he just can’t chance the nerd snooping around and coming across documents or blueprints regarding the suit. Not that he would even really need to ‘snoop’—Katsuki’s apartment looks like a mad scientist’s den with the amount of schematics plastered on the walls, prototypes of gauntlets and boots and cables to replicate Black Whip riddled across every surface. It almost puts Hatsume’s lab to shame. Almost. His living room might not exactly be livable, but Katsuki at least keeps his high traffic areas (bedroom, bathroom, kitchen) immaculate. In any case, there is still no fucking way he is ever having Izuku over. 

They don’t have much time before the fifth and final viewing of the day in the Yaesu district, so they stop for a quick pick-me-up at a nearby konbini, where Izuku buys them onigiri (mustard greens for him, and spicy salmon for Katsuki), and then they make their way to the next apartment, which Katsuki had realized when he was setting up all the bookings last night is within walking distance from Genius Office. 

Which, like, whatever. But it’s convenient for both of them. It's adjacent to the east side of Tokyo Station, so Izuku’s commute to work would be easy enough, and then Katsuki could easily drop by for a visit since the agency is right there. But Katsuki is putting the cart before the horse—they haven’t even gotten to the damn building yet. 

When they do reach the building, it’s got an unassuming brick exterior, and is tucked away on a quiet street. Inside, the soft, late afternoon sun spills in through wide windows along the far end of the room, warming the light wood floors that extend throughout the open-concept space. The living room is large without feeling cavernous; the kind of space where Katsuki can easily imagine what furniture can go where—and in multiple configurations, too. It isn’t a weird layout which limits the way pieces can be arranged, which Katsuki is sure will appeal to Izuku if he feels like changing things up for a refresh now and then. Katsuki doesn’t have such luxury in his own place. His small couch, coffee table, television, side table and lamp can only fit into the room in one very specific way to still allow him any space to maneuver around. 

While Izuku goes down the hall on the right to check out the bedroom, Katsuki heads left for the kitchen, which boasts broad countertops in a smooth quartz; no annoying textures that are a bitch to clean like at Katsuki’s place. The gas stove—which looks so clean Katsuki suspects it’s brand-new and has yet to be touched—is not butted up against a wall, which Katsuki had warned Izuku to look out for, because the wall next to the stove always gets marred in grease splatter and requires constant wiping down—which Katsuki knows from personal experience, after having not taken the placement of his stove into account when he chose his shithole. 

“Wow, this is such a nice kitchen.” 

Katsuki turns around to see Izuku in the doorway, a soft smile on his face as he looks around the room. Leaning a hip against the counter, Katsuki crosses his arms and feigns nonchalance. 

“It’s decent,” he says, “How was the bedroom? Got an east-facing window?” 

“Yep,” Izuku replies brightly. It’s a feature from his teacher apartment that he told Katsuki he enjoys, because he likes being woken up by the sunrise. “I think…I think this is the one.” 

“Don’t rush it,” Katsuki warns, “You don’t have to make a decision right now. There's plenty of apartments for rent in this city. We barely scratched the surface today.” 

Izuku nods. “I know. But…it feels right,” he says, and his words are the most steady and certain that they have been all day. He’s finally lost the slump in his shoulders. 

Katsuki searches Izuku’s face for a moment more, and then pushes himself off the counter. “Well, hold your horses. I haven’t checked the water pressure yet.” 

Izuku laughs lightly. “I checked it in the bathroom. It’s good.” 

“And it gets up to temperature alright?” 

“Uh-huh! It’s even got a rainfall shower head. So fancy.” Izuku suddenly looks a bit sheepish, and scratches at his scarred cheek. “This place might be a bit too nice for me, actually.” 

“Screw that. Heights Alliance was whipped up in a matter of days with the cheapest possible appliances. You’ve more than earned a sweet-ass shower head.” Katsuki steps over to the sink and, after some inspection, realizes it’s the kind where you tap on the faucet to turn the water on and off. Fuck, was that ever handy. The controls weren’t complicated, either. Izuku would be able to easily figure out how to regulate the temperature and turn the water on and off himself. 

Izuku is watching him expectantly, so Katsuki gives a curt nod of approval once he shuts the water off. They both check out the bedroom so Katsuki can scope out the closet situation, which isn’t massive, but still a walk-in. And Izuku’s wardrobe is humble enough that this can easily accommodate it all, with room to expand (and finally get something other than graphic tees and gym shorts, perhaps). There’s even some built-in drawers along the bottom which would be great for socks and underwear, and his suit ties. 

And, once it was ready, he can keep the case for his hero suit in here, too. 

The bathroom is one of two in the apartment, a fully-tiled ensuite with a glassed-in shower, complete with the aforementioned fancy-ass rainfall shower head, and a tub. The countertop at the sink is spacious, and has two pull-out side cabinets and a large middle double-door cabinet. Plenty of space for toiletries and bathroom-centric cleaning supplies.   

“There’s even a second bedroom,” Izuku says. All the other apartments he had looked at today were 1R studios, while this was a 2LDK. Which is probably more space than the nerd truly needs, but it's not like he can't afford it. 

“Would make for a good office,” Katsuki suggests, “Or a spot for your nerd trove.”

“Or a guest room,” Izuku murmurs, looking down at his slippered feet. 

Katsuki merely grunts. 

He pulls out his phone and opens up the word document Izuku shared with him last night, opening up the link for the apartment listing to double-check the rent pricing. Tucking his phone away, he steps out of the bathroom and he and Izuku go back to the genkan where the landlord has been waiting for them—she hasn’t followed them around flapping her gums about rooftop patios and gyms like most of the other ones had done today, which has earned her Katsuki’s respect so far, but if she decides to tell Izuku a much higher price than the listing online, then that is about to go right down the drain. 

When Izuku expresses his interest and inquires about the rent, she doesn’t give him the rate posted online, but one that’s actually a whole 150,000¥ less, telling him she can’t possibly charge Izuku Midoriya the general rate. 

Izuku, of course, panics. “Oh my goodness, that’s way too generous. And it really doesn’t seem fair if I pay less than everyone else in the building…” 

“It’s ‘cause of you that any of these people are able to even be in this building,” Katsuki reminds him firmly. “And if any of ‘em do have a problem with Deku gettin’ cheaper rent than them, then they’re a fuckin’ ungrateful moron, anyway.” 

“I can waive the security deposit,” the landlord soldiers on, undeterred by Izuku’s floundering. “I’ll just need both of your juminhyo, residence cards, proof of income, and—” 

“O-oh, Kacchan isn’t, uhh—“

The landlord looks between the two of them, and hefts a gray eyebrow at Izuku. “He won’t be an occupant?” 

Izuku briefly looks at Katsuki and then back at the landlord. “Well, he’d probably be visiting, and…um…staying over.”  He looks back at Katsuki and bites his lip. “Sometimes. Maybe?” 

Katsuki feels his ears tingle with warmth, and looks away from Izuku’s wide, imploring gaze.

“Prob’ly, yeah,” he mutters. 

“Alright then. Well, I’ll need some time to get the paperwork prepared,” the landlord goes on, “We can arrange to meet tomorrow at noon if you’re ready to move forward.” 

“Yes!” Izuku exclaims, bowing hastily, “Thank you for having us.”

Outside, the sky has begun to soften towards evening, and the street is bathed in dreamy blue tones. They linger outside the entrance of the building for a time as the decision settles over the two of them. 

“So,” Katsuki says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “Guess that’s a done deal.” 

Izuku nods. “Once I sign the lease, anyway. I better talk with Nezu-san on Monday and let him know I’ll be leaving Heights Alliance…” His voice trails off at the end with a quiet awe, like it’s starting to dawn on him what’s happening and feeling more real, but then he continues in a low mutter. “And I better track down my passport. Pretty sure it’s in the top drawer in my bedside table. What else did she say? Record, card, income, name seal registration certificate…” 

Katsuki snorts softly, knocking Izuku’s arm with his elbow to stop his tangent. “Oi, we can talk shop over dinner,” he tells him, “C’mon. I’m fuckin’ starving.” 

Izuku blinks rapidly. “Oh! Right. Yeah, me too. Let’s get going!” 

“You’re gonna need a good set of knives,” Katsuki comments as they head toward the station, “A proper kitchen like that deserves proper shit.”

“I knew Kacchan loved that kitchen.” 

Katsuki looks at Izuku out of the corner of his eye, and huffs at the smug little smile on the nerd’s face.

“Yeah, well, it’ll be wasted on you,” he mutters, “Probably just gonna make instant noodles like some kinda heathen.” 

“My diet isn’t that atrocious, thank you,” Izuku grumbles, “My cooking might not be as good as Kacchan’s, but you don’t live with a may-as-well-be-single mother and not learn a thing or two.” 

Izuku’s head starts moving on a swivel as they walk, looking around the street curiously, taking in their surroundings. This will be his new neighbourhood soon enough, so he must be trying to get a feel for it, and take note of some of the nearby locations that are walking distance from the apartment. 

“Hang on,” Izuku blurts out suddenly, “We’re not far from the Genius Office.” 

“Yup,” Katsuki says, “Your place is actually closer to the agency than mine is.” He knocks his thumb westwards. “My apartment’s a few streets that way.” 

“Wow, it’ll be like we’re neighbours again!” Izuku cries. 

Katsuki glances sidelong at Izuku once more, seeing the earnest, bright-eyed look on his face, and the words hit him, sharp and sudden, making his chest feel tight as his stomach does some dumb, fluttery thing that travels through his guts and up to his mouth until the next words tumble out of him like vomit. 

“My lease is up for renewal soon.” 

Izuku blinks at this admission, mouth hanging open for a moment. “Oh,” he says slowly, “Were you thinking about…not renewing it?” 

Katsuki grunts ambiguously. “Probably not. Hard passin’ up how cheap the rent is.” 

“Right…” Izuku murmurs. 

Katsuki certainly doesn’t miss the soft disappointment in Izuku’s voice, or the way his excitement folds in on itself. Katsuki mentally slaps himself. He hadn’t meant to drop that information like it was a door he was snapping shut in Izuku’s face. He hadn’t meant to drop that information at all—it just slipped out. 

The urge to explain, to clarify, sparks within him. To tell Izuku that it’s not that he doesn’t want to move even closer to him, and it definitely isn’t from a lack of desire to be closer to him in general. Far from it, in fact. It’s just the opposite. Everything he’s done up until now has been in an effort for them to be closer, working together as heroes again. And he can’t make that happen if he suddenly ups and moves; to a new place of his own, or by moving in with Izuku. Even if they split the rent, it would still be double what he was paying for his current place. Izuku’s new place is bougie as hell. 

And he also just doesn’t want to be presumptuous. Katsuki can’t allow himself to build a future out of something that Izuku hasn’t even asked of him—not outright, at least. Even if that future is something that Katsuki wants more than he allows himself to dwell on. 

More to the point, even if Izuku did ask him, Katsuki would have to turn him down. Because there are things Izuku can’t know about yet. Not until everything is finished. Not until it’s perfect. And if they lived together, it would be next to fucking impossible to keep up the secret of the suit. He can’t blow it now—not after he's come this far, not when he’s this fucking close. 

So, Katsuki locks the words behind his teeth, and refuses to look at Izuku. He can’t bear to see the dejected slump return to his shoulders, or watch his expression fall like he’s embarrassed he even let himself get his hopes up. 

The last thing on earth Katsuki wants is to deny Izuku anything. But in order to make his and Izuku’s dream a reality again, he just needed to postpone both of their joy—just for a little bit longer. 

There’s been a bit of an awkward tension between them, and Izuku can’t help but feel like he might have overstepped, asking Kacchan if he planned to renew his lease or not. Because certainly he was aware of the implication, and how presumptuous it was of Izuku to even vaguely suggest it. 

Izuku keeps glancing up at Kacchan as the two of them look over their menus. His expression is set in that familiar, neutral focus that always appears whenever there’s food involved, not betraying any sort of discomfort.

The server brings over their pot of broth, setting it in the burner in the middle of the table, filling the air with steam and the rich aroma of the two broths—one side is mushroom-miso, and the other is Sichuan peppercorn, and such a dangerous-looking deep red that Izuku decides to avoid it at all costs.

They order the works—plenty of wagyu beef, tofu, lotus roots, water chestnuts, quail eggs, nappa cabbage, cheese-filled rice cakes, carrots, mushrooms, noodles, and rice. 

“And a pint of Sapporo,” Kacchan tells their server. 

Izuku’s eyebrows jump up. “Don’t you work tomorrow?” 

“Nah. Took the whole weekend off,” Kacchan tells him, “And besides, we’re celebratin’, ain’t we?” 

Izuku perks up at that, nodding earnestly before looking to their server. “In that case, I'll have one, too, please. Actually, let’s make it a pitcher for the table. And..." He trails off as he reads over the selection, and then looks back at Kacchan. "Do you wanna do a flight of chūhai, too?” 

Kacchan scoffs, but there’s an intrigued glint in his eye. “How many come in the flight?” 

“Six. We could pick three flavours each?” 

“Alright, you pick yours, I gotta look,” Kacchan says, opening the drink menu back up. 

“I’ll do…peach, apple, and…mango, please!” Izuku says to the server. 

“So fruity,” Kacchan mutters. 

“I like them sweet!” Izuku exclaims, affronted. “Have you decided yet, Kacchan?” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll do the ginger, perilla, and yuzu.” 

“So sour,” Izuku murmurs as the server walks off to fulfill their order. “And hey, you just gave me grief about getting all the fruit ones, and then ordered yuzu!” 

“It’s a classic shochu flavour,” Kacchan fires back, “And I bet my half of the flight tastes way better than your half.” 

“Wanna bet?” Izuku says, grinning with the promise of a challenge. “We should try a sip of each other’s and see for sure.” 

Kacchan’s nose wrinkles cutely. “And drink your sugary-sweet crap? No thanks.” 

“Oh, is Kacchan afraid he’ll be proven wrong?” Izuku sing-songs. 

Kacchan’s eyes narrow. “I ain’t afraid of shit.” 

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem, should it?” 

“Fuck, fine. You’re on.” 

Izuku throws his hands in the air. “Chūhai challenge!” he crows. 

Kacchan snorts. “Easy, nerd. You haven’t even had a drop of booze yet.” He leans back in his seat and crosses his arms. “So, you think you’ll be alright doin’ the commute to UA?” 

“Definitely,” Izuku says at once.

Kacchan raises an eyebrow. "Pretty big change in your routine, going from livin' right on campus to takin’ the Shinkansen an hour each way." 

“I actually think it’ll be good for me," Izuku says, "Having that physical transition from my personal space to my work space, y’know? Plus, I do some of my best thinking on the train. It’ll be nice to have that in my routine.” 

Kacchan shrugs. "If you say so. Just don't go fallin' asleep and miss your stop like an idiot." 

Two servers return to their table, one carrying a tray with a large golden jug of Sapporo, two chilled pint glasses, and the chūhai flight, while the other has their wide assortment of ingredients, which all get deposited throughout the table. The server with the drinks explains which chūhai flavour is which to them, and Izuku thanks both their servers heartily while Kacchan pours them each a full glass of beer, sliding Izuku’s over to him. Izuku takes up his glass and holds it aloft expectantly. Kacchan sighs, but humours him, and they lightly clink their glasses together. 

“Kanpai!” Izuku cheers, then he takes a large swig. He pulls off the rim with a gasp, sets his beer aside and takes up his set of tongs. “Alright, let’s dig in.” 

Kacchan goes right for the wagyu, and the two of them begin dropping the ingredients to cook in the different broths before fishing them out and piling up their rice bowls, nudging dishes back and forth to each other without having to say a word. Once they’ve enjoyed their first few bites, Izuku decides to partake in one of his chūhai shots, going for the one on the far left of the flight plank, which the server had told him was the peach flavour. 

He takes a swig, making sure to leave enough for Kacchan to try some, too. “Ooh, that’s nice! It kinda reminds me of white peach Calpis.” 

“You’re not sellin’ me on it.” 

Izuku waggles the glass at him. “You still gotta try it, Kacchan. Rules are rules!” 

“Give it here,” Kacchan mutters, taking the cup from him and knocking the rest of it back. He immediately grimaces, and shakes his head. “Eugh, no.” He picks the fourth glass from the flight, which Izuku recalls the server saying was the ginger flavour, knocks half of it back, then hands the rest of it over to Izuku. 

Izuku takes a steadying breath, then scrunches his eyes shut as he throws the remainder of the shot back. He pulls away with pursed lips, shaking his head back and forth aggressively. 

“Spicy,” Izuku gags, sticking out his tongue as he scrambles for his glass of beer and takes a big gulp to wash out the burn of the ginger. 

“You big baby,” Kacchan teases, a playful smirk tugging his lips. 

He’s unfairly handsome like this, Izuku thinks. Bathed in the soft orange glow of the restaurant lights, edges softened by the wall of steam between them, and a slight flush rising on his cheekbones from the warm food and the alcohol. 

Whatever awkwardness Izuku felt between them before starts to melt away, and somewhere between his third helping of wagyu beef and his second glass of beer, that knot of tension in his chest has loosened completely. He helps himself to his apple chūhai shot, which is tart and reminds Izuku a bit like a cider. Kacchan seems to like it, but he still prefers his perilla shot, which is sharp and clean, and burns Izuku’s nose a bit less than the ginger one. 

“We should do a ranking,” Izuku decides, “We pit two shots against each other, and then the winner from each round against each other, ‘till we have an ultimate winner.” 

“We’re the only two rankin’ ‘em and we’re biased towards our own drinks,” Kacchan says, his voice coming out somewhat sluggish. 

Izuku’s mouth purses with thought. “Maybe we each do our own rankings then, and then rank our top choices? So peach versus ginger—“

“Ginger all day,” Kacchan says at once. 

“It makes my eyes water. Peach wins for me.” 

“This poll is already a disaster.” 

“Apple versus perilla next,” Izuku says, ignoring him, “Y’know what, I actually really liked the perilla.” 

“See, I’m already winning. I vote perilla, too.” 

“Okay, last ones are mango versus yuzu, this one might be tough.” Izuku takes up his mango shot and Kacchan grabs the yuzu shot, and Izuku clinks their glasses together again before knocking back most of his shot. 

When he pulls away, he stares down at his glass in awe. “Fuck, that's good.” 

Kacchan’s eyebrows disappear into his hair. “You swore. That good, huh?” 

“I almost don’t want to let you have the rest.” 

“Hand it over.” 

Izuku pouts, but does as he’s told, and the two of them trade shot glasses. Izuku finishes off the yuzu shot, and it’s…good. Kacchan was right, it is a classic. But it stood no chance next to the mango. 

“Fuck, it’s sweet,” Kacchan says, but he sounds far from disgusted. His voice is soft with an awed approval. 

When Izuku looks over at him, he can see a glint of the mango shochu dribbling down Kacchan’s chin. Izuku lets out a gasp, and quickly reaches out to catch the droplet on his thumb before it can drip off Kacchan’s chin. 

“You’re wasting the nectar!” Izuku admonishes, shoving his thumb in Kacchan’s face. “Here, Kacchan, suck it, suck it off!” 

Kacchan’s eyes bulge out and his already-flushed cheeks burst into an even deeper scarlet as he knocks Izuku’s hand away. “I’ll just order another one, dumbass!” Kacchan snaps indignantly. 

“A-hah! So you admit mango beats yuzu!” Izuku cries, snapping his fingers—and oops, his hand is still right in Kacchan’s space, which earns his arm another shove. “Wahh! Careful, Kacchan, my arm almost went into the spicy broth!” 

“You’d deserve it!” 

“Okay, okay, so mango beat yuzu,” Izuku says, recovering quickly. “So, let’s see…ginger, perilla, and mango are the winners. Wait, does this work with only three choices? And ginger didn’t win for me, peach did.”

“I told you it was all gonna fall apart.” 

“Wait, no, I think it still works. We’d do…ginger versus perilla. And then that would face off against mango.” 

“Perilla wins against ginger,” Kacchan concludes, and Izuku nods in agreement. “But mango kicks perilla’s ass.” 

“Yep, agreed. And the mango was better than the peach, too. So mango was Kacchan’s favourite, huh? Even though it’s fruity?” 

“It wasn’t as fakey-sweet as the peach one,” Kacchan says thoughtfully, not even seeming to register Izuku’s teasing, “It tasted just like a real mango.” 

“I know, right? So should we order more? Another flight that’s just mango ones?” 

“Fuck it, why not. You’re payin’, after all.”  

Izuku orders them another flight, their broth gets topped up, and they drop dried noodle pucks into each flavour. Kacchan makes Izuku try a piece of the wagyu beef cooked in the spicy broth, and he has to guzzle down the rest of his third glass of beer to put out the fire on his tongue. They’re starting to feel full, picking out bits of veggies and tofu soaked in broth to nibble on between sips of beer, and then their flight of all-mango chūhai arrives. 

“I can’t believe I’m gonna be living in such a fancy apartment,” Izuku says, poking around in the mushroom-miso broth for some stray noodles. “I mean, the toilets had motion-detecting seats, and sing a little tune when they lift up!” 

“Better be a way to shut that feature off. I don’t need to hear victory fanfare whenever I’m takin’ a piss there.” 

Izuku smiles warmly. That meant that Kacchan had already been picturing himself there, spending time with Izuku in his apartment. 

“And no communal laundry!” Izuku exclaims, “There was a stacked washer and dryer in a closet in the hallway, did you see?” 

“I did. Hands-free controls on the kitchen sink, too. You could be handlin’ raw meat and turn the tap on with your elbow to wash your hands without contaminatin’ shit.” 

Izuku grins. “Kacchan’s so jealous of my cool new kitchen.” 

Kacchan scowls at him. “I told ya it’s fuckin’ wasted on the likes of you.” 

Izuku laughs at that, completely unphased and uninhibited. He takes a sip of his mango chūhai, which they’re both savouring now instead of knocking back, before he continues. “It is way more kitchen than I’m used to. In fact, that whole apartment might be a bit much for me.” 

Kacchan frowns slightly. “Like I said before, if it don’t feel right, then—“ 

“It does feel right,” Izuku assures, “It feels like a place that would feel like coming home. It’s just…big.” 

“Y’say that like it’s a bad thing,” Kacchan grunts, “Even a single occupant needs more space than you’d think.” 

Despite the liquid courage running through his veins now, Izuku still can’t quite meet Kacchan’s gaze as he speaks, choosing to stare into the bubbling broth between them instead. “I know. But…I still think it might be too much space…for just me.” 

Kacchan doesn’t respond right away. In fact, he’s so quiet that Izuku finally risks a glance upwards, and finds that Kacchan is also staring into the broth with a strange intensity. 

“When you mentioned earlier about your lease being up for renewal soon, it got me thinking,” Izuku continues on, keeping his voice carefully casual despite his throat going dry, “It just…felt kind of serendipitous, I guess. And it—y’know, like, logistically or whatever—would make a lot of sense if you…if we…” 

“Izuku.” 

Izuku shivers, because he always shivers whenever Kacchan says his name, but there’s a different kind of nervousness in him now—one that fears rejection. Because Kacchan is doing that thing where he enunciates each syllable of Izuku’s name carefully, and his voice is strained, like he’s about to deliver bad news. 

So Izuku barrels forward. “You’d be closer to Genius Office than you are right now. And you’d have so much more space. I mean, you said it yourself that even a single occupant needs a lot of space, and you loved that kitchen, and looked so good standing in it. Like you already belonged there. N-not just in the kitchen, obviously, but—the whole place. I-it could...be your home, too.” His heart starts pounding in earnest as he hears what his stupid motor-mouth is saying, but now that he’s gotten started, he just can’t seem to stop. “I-if that’s what you wanted. I mean, I know you probably enjoy having your own place. Having solitude, your own routine. So maybe it’s selfish of me, but…I think…it’d be nice. To not always come home to an empty apartment. And…it’s just gotten so hard for all of us to make time for one another lately. It was one thing when we all lived together in the dorms, but now we’re all grown up, living in separate places, living our separate lives as adults and I just—“ 

“Izuku,” Kacchan says again, and it’s firmer this time, but not agitated. “You still haven’t asked me.” 

Izuku opens and closes his mouth like a beached fish, staring at Kacchan in confusion. “Huh?” 

“I can’t answer when there’s no question.” 

“Oh,” Izuku says slowly. Then, he sits up straighter in his seat. “Kacchan, do you want to move in with me?” 

Kacchan leans back in his chair, his expression pinched. Izuku’s pulse roars in his ears as he waits for his response. Eventually, Kacchan lets out a soft groan and wipes at his face. 

“Why’d you have to ask it like that?” Kacchan grouses, “Of course the answer’s yes.” 

Izuku perks up. “Ah, really? Then you’ll—!” He cuts himself short when Kacchan shoots up his hand. 

“I can’t, 'zuku,” Kacchan quickly rescinds. Izuku's disappointment gets tripped up by his heartbeat fluttering at the way Kacchan's tipsy tongue stumbles over his name. “I mean, I appreciate the offer, and I've thought 'bout the logistics, too, but even payin’ half the rent at your place would be more'n double what I’m payin’ now.“

The revelation that Kacchan had been thinking about the logistics, had been considering the option of living with Izuku before Izuku had even asked him, has the next words falling out of Izuku soft and easy. 

“Oh, Kacchan, I’d cover the rent, don’t worry about that.” Kacchan visibly stiffens at that, so Izuku hurries to clarify. “Not because I don’t think you could pay your half! It’s just—well, I was gonna be paying for the whole thing myself, anyway, so…it’s not like it even changes anything for me. Except…I’d get to have Kacchan around.” 

And Izuku wouldn’t care what it would cost him, because he’d pay any price to keep Kacchan close.

Kacchan shakes his head and exhales sharply. Izuku’s stomach drops as he holds his breath, waiting for the final answer, trying to brace himself for the sting of rejection.

Picking up his last shot of mango chūhai, Kacchan stares down into the golden liquid for an agonizingly long moment before he knocks the whole thing back in one go. 

Then he sets the glass down, and finally speaks. “Ask me again.” 

Izuku blinks once. “Huh?” 

Kacchan looks up, studying him with narrowed eyes. “I can’t answer when there’s no question.” 

A small smile ghosts the corners of Izuku’s lips before it breaks into a wide grin.

“Kacchan...do you wanna be roommates?”

He’s never fucking drinking again. 

His head feels like it’s full of live grenades, each one pulsing in time with his heartbeat, and the taste of hops and mangoes still clings to the back of his tongue, sweet yet stale, sour and accusing. He squints at the ceiling, then rolls onto his side, immediately regretting the movement with a loud groan.

Despite the fragile state his entire body is in, Katsuki continues to self-flagellate himself in his mind, in furious disbelief at himself as the night before comes back to him in hazy vignettes. The flush on Izuku’s cheeks as the words finally came out of him, hopeful and dangerous. 

Kacchan...do you wanna be roommates?

And Katsuki had said yes. 

After spending the last seven years doing everything right—saving, budgeting, turning down plans, turning down anything that might jeopardize the suit—all it took to knock him off-course was some booze and Izuku looking at him with those big, dumb, pretty green eyes of his, because he just can’t fucking help himself when it comes to that damn nerd. Because if Katsuki is really honest with himself, it wasn’t the alcohol that made him cave. He would have done that shit stone-cold sober. All Izuku had to do was ask, and Katsuki—being the lovesick bastard he is—answered. 

And now his goose is plucked, beheaded, drawn, quartered, and irrevocably fucking cooked. 

Because living together means shared spaces, shared routines. It means blueprints and schematics he can’t leave out, messages and emails he can’t let Izuku see. Late nights he can’t always just explain away with a shrug and the excuse that patrol ran long or incident reports piled up. 

He’s kept this shit airtight for years. No cracks, no leaks in the seal. And moving in with Izuku punches a Detroit Smash-sized hole straight through all of that.

And the worst part is, he doesn’t regret saying yes. Not one bit. 

What he does regret is how easily he let his stupid, stitched-back-together, pathetic little heart overrule his logic. And how he is now going to have to work twice as hard to keep the future he promised Izuku from falling completely apart before he can finally, finally give it to him.

His phone interrupts his mental reprimand as it buzzes harshly where it sits on his bedside table, lying face down. He didn’t even plug it in to charge last night. Stupid drunk idiot. 

Katsuki glares at his phone through one sticky-feeling eye, then pries apart his throbbing eyelid to crack open the other. His head pounds in protest, and his stomach churns as he reaches for his phone, like it’s personally offended he’s awake and semi-mobile. He hisses at the lockscreen, both because of the glaring light that drills into his aching retinas, and because of the banner on the screen that tells him he has fucking 15 missed notifications. 

“Fuck.”  

He swipes open his phone and opens up his chat log with Mei Hatsume, only bothering to read the most recent ones without back-scrolling. 

Katsuki lets out a long suffering sigh, and then opens up his chat with Melissa Shield. 

There’s also some other, more recent messages from Izuku. 

The last message had been sent just now. Sucking on his teeth, Katsuki drags himself out of bed, every joint creaking, and staggers towards the kitchen, scrubbing at his face with one hand while sending back a message to Izuku with the other. 

Despite how absolutely lousy he feels, the dumb LINE sticker actually manages to pull a soft, fond scoff out of him. What a dweeb. 

After getting a pot of coffee going, Katsuki gets to work cracking eggs into a pan, following it with a generous, unapologetic amount of chili oil. He chops up some green onions with practiced speed, and all the different scents filling the air of his tiny kitchen begin to cut through the fog in his head. 

His phone buzzes again on the counter as he moves his eggs around the pan. 

He ignores that and flips over to Melissa’s chat. It takes a little extra time to send his messages to her, since not only is he typing with just one thumb, but also in English, which would already take him a bit of time to figure out when he’s just woken up on a normal day, but is taking his sluggish hungover brain even longer to write out properly. 

Once he’s got his eggs plated and a mug filled to the brim with coffee, Katsuki reopens his chat with Hatsume and speedily shoots off a few texts. 

After a few bites of spicy eggs and a few slurps of bitter coffee, Katsuki’s head is starting to feel a tiny bit more clear. Clear enough to remember someone else he needs to message: his current landlord. He opens up his email and scrolls until he finds the one marked LEASE RENEWAL - FINAL NOTICE. His decision is required before the end of the month. He opens a reply thread and starts typing, keeping it short, professional, and final, hitting send before he can think about it too much. 

He’s committed now. To a new apartment, to living with Izuku, to somehow keeping the biggest secret of his life locked down despite being in the closest proximity he’s ever been in—since living in the dorms together—to the one person who would probably figure it out immediately if he slips up.

And despite the headache, caused both by the hangover and his stress about the mess he’s willingly stepping into, Katsuki is so damn excited he tears through his breakfast and picks up his phone to shoot off another message to Izuku. 

Katsuki makes his way to the apartment, showered, changed, and armed with a shoulder bag full of all the information the landlord will need to fill out his end of the lease agreement, a pair of dark sunglasses, and a second coffee. His doctor would give him hell about the caffeine overload being bad for his heart, but he feels too shitty to care. One day of drinking one more coffee than usual wouldn’t fucking kill him—it’s not like he makes a habit out of getting drunk like that. Stupid Izuku was a bad influence on him; and he drank like such a fucking fish that Katsuki always had to rush to keep up, without making it obvious that he was rushing. The dumbass didn’t know how to just nurse a damn drink to save his life. 

As he enters the lobby, his hangover has downgraded itself from an active threat to a low-grade menace; his current apartment is within walking distance, so it’s likely he’s beaten Izuku here. As if he’d ever let Izuku beat him at anything, anyway. 

Except Izuku is here. He’s standing near the mailboxes, phone in hand, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. He looks relaxed—well, maybe that’s not the right word for the overexcited-puppy energy he’s emitting right now; but there’s an undeniable ease to him that Katsuki hasn’t seen in a while. It’s nice. It looks good on him. 

Izuku had clearly tried to dress to impress this morning. Well, tried being the key word. He’s got on some dark-wash jeans, and a white flannel with a blue windowpane pattern. He’s put a bright green cardigan over top, and rolled up his sleeves a few inches above the wrists. The loud sweater would have been fine on its own, maybe—but of course, the garishly red shoes and large yellow backpack kind of kill the whole ensemble. And yet, Izuku somehow manages to pull it off anyway. 

Maybe the lenses in Katsuki’s rose-coloured glasses are just that thick, but whatever. The nerd looks cute as a damn button. 

And way too damn chipper for someone who drank just as much as Katsuki did last night. 

Izuku spots him as Katsuki walks over, and his whole face lights right up. 

“Kacchan! Good morning!” Izuku greets him brightly. 

Katsuki’s pathetically gay little heart does its usual involuntary squeeze seeing Izuku as happy as ever to see him, no matter how much time it’s been since the last time they saw each other. But his headache does flare up in protest at the volume in his eager voice. 

“You’re here before me,” Katsuki mutters, half-accusing. 

“I haven’t been waiting long! I wanted to get here a bit early so I could check out the neighbourhood a little,” Izuku explains, “There’s a cute park just around the corner, and a konbini like a five minute walk from here. Oh, and a bakery two streets over that smells incredible. Check it out!” Izuku holds a white plastic bag aloft. “I got Kacchan some curry bread!” 

Katsuki’s hungover ears still aren’t loving the volume, but like hell was he about to let something as dumb as a headache ruin Izuku’s good mood. Especially when he’s giving Katsuki food. 

“Give it here,” Katsuki demands, holding out his hand. 

Grinning with amusement, Izuku digs out the curry bun from the bag and passes it to Katsuki, who peels away the plastic wrapper with his teeth before taking a massive bite so he can get straight to the filling, which elicits a soft laugh from Izuku. 

“I hope Kacchan didn’t skip breakfast.” 

“Nah,” Katsuki says, his cheeks full, “Had some eggs.” 

“How’s the bun?” 

“S’good,” Katsuki comments after swallowing his bite. He holds it out to Izuku. “Wanna try?” 

Izuku blinks, clearly surprised that Katsuki is so willingly offering up his snack without Izuku even having to ask. 

“Oh, uh—sure, yeah.” 

He grasps Katsuki’s wrist gingerly in his fingertips, and leans in to take a small bite, just next to the large bitemark Katsuki left in the bun. He makes a hum of appreciation as he leans back, wiping at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. 

“That is good! The outside crust isn’t oily at all despite being deep-fried, and is perfectly crispy when you bite into it. And the bread itself is perfectly chewy and fluffy without being too thick. The curry is rich and savoury with just the right amount of—” 

Katsuki would flick Izuku in the forehead if he didn’t have his hands burdened with a bun and coffee. So instead he just says, “Quit yammerin’ on about my curry bread, weirdo.” 

“Sorry!” Izuku yelps, taking a step back. “It was just so tasty. Anyway, uh—I guess we oughta head up, huh? The landlord’s office is on the second floor.” 

Katsuki finishes off the curry bread and the last dregs of his coffee, tosses his trash, and pops a breath mint into his mouth while Izuku pushes the elevator button. They’re both quiet on the ride up, in that semi-awkward, overly-aware way people always are on elevators no matter how long they’ve known each other. As they step off, Izuku comes to a stop in the hallway to look at Katsuki with a bemused expression. 

“Are you…not gonna take your sunglasses off?” Izuku asks warily, “I mean, Kacchan looks super cool in sunglasses, but, well…” 

Ugh. He doesn’t want to. Light is the enemy; even in this inside hallway with no windows bringing in natural sunlight. But Katsuki supposes he should, so he pulls off his shades, trying very hard not to grimace as he tucks his shades away when even the warm interior lighting assaults his eye sockets. 

“…Are you feeling alright, Kacchan?” Izuku asks, concern etched all over his face now that the bags under Katsuki’s eyes are on full display. 

Katsuki glares. “I should be askin’ you how in the hell you’re so damn bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when you got as drunk as I did last night.” 

Izuku’s eyebrows jump up. “Oh…Kacchan, you’re hungover?” he asks in awe, like it’s some sort of strange revelation of the universe that Katsuki drank last night, and is therefore facing the consequences today. 

“What the fuck did you expect, with all that booze you ordered for us?” Katsuki barks at him. 

Izuku’s expression pinches imperceptibly, like he’s trying hard not to pull a frown. “Kacchan, you’re the one who ordered that pint of beer that even got us drinking in the first place…” he mumbles. 

“And you’re the one who got us the pitcher to share, you lush!” Kacchan returns, “So what, you’re tellin’ me you don’t even have a smidge of a headache? Rocky guts? Anything?” 

Izuku bites his lip, looking down at his feet while one of his red shoes scuffs along the carpeted floor. “...I don’t…think I’ve…ever been hungover?”

“Hah?” 

Izuku starts rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at him. “Okaa-san has this silly name for it—the Midoriya Nomikai Gene. Apparently, because I come from a long line of Japanese businessmen who all went out drinking after work, I’ve got this, like…generational, inherent ability to…hold my booze? But I think it’s just that I have a strong metabolism after all the training I did so that my body could handle the power of One For All.”

“…So you’re sayin’ my metabolism is shit?” Katsuki asks murderously. 

Izuku waves around his hand. “N-not at all! Honestly, Kacchan, being a cheap date is nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“Who in the fuck are you callin’ a cheap date?” 

Izuku pales and breaks out into an immediate nervous sweat. The bag of buns swings around dramatically from the crook of his elbow as he flails his hands about in a panic trying to anxiously back peddle. “I-It’s not a bad thing! It means you don’t have to spend a lot of money to feel the effects of alcohol! I wish I were that lucky. It took, uh, most of that pitcher of beer and, like, two shots before I even started feeling a buzz, and that was with just a protein bar and onigiri in my system! It’s even worse if I’ve actually managed to eat full meals throughout the day. Sometimes I barely manage to even get tipsy—” 

“Shut up already, you freak of nature!” 

Izuku’s brow furrows and he quickly puts a finger to his own lips. “Kacchan.” He enunciates each syllable of Katsuki’s name, his tone stern yet soft. “Hush. It’s rude to shout in the hallway.” 

With his geeky-yet-somehow-cute outfit, and that admonishing little pose, Izuku could pass as a pre-school teacher. And perhaps Katsuki should be instantaneously, righteously infuriated to be admonished like he’s a damn child—but instead, a little shiver trickles over his back, and his gay fucking heart squeezes again, then starts working double-time to send a thick rush of blood up Katsuki’s neck and into his ears. 

“Don’t—” Fuck, his voice just cracked. He grits his teeth and quickly tries to recover, stabbing his finger brutally hard into Izuku’s chest. “Don’t use your fucking sensei voice on me!” 

Izuku barely has time to wince at the painful jabs to his sternum before he blushes an annoyingly attractive shade of red. “S-sensei voice? W-what? I don’t have a—!” 

Off to their right, a door suddenly clicks open, and both of their heads dart around at the sound of a voice. “Midoriya-san, Bakugo-san?” 

“O-oh!” Izuku stammers, spinning around to see the landlord stepping out of her office. He hastily bows to her in greeting. “Hello, good afternoon.”

The landlord bows back. “Afternoon. Everything is ready. Please come inside and we can go over the terms of your lease.” 

They’re brought inside to a cramped office with a small desk that the landlord seats herself behind, directing Katsuki and Izuku into the two chairs in front of it with a wave of her hand. As the landlord starts to go over all the legal crap, Katsuki tries to listen, but he keeps getting distracted. It’s so snug in this office that Izuku’s knee bumps into Katsuki’s every so often as Izuku shuffles around restlessly in his seat. 

“Um, so, Kacchan is actually going to be a tenant, after all,” Izuku explains, “Does that change anything with the paperwork?” 

“I’ll just need his signature, and required documentation, as well.” 

Katsuki procures what she needs from his shoulder bag, and hands it over. Soon enough, it’s time to sign the dotted line. Izuku goes first, then hands the papers stacked neatly together on a clipboard over to Katsuki, who signs his own in the co-tenant section below it. 

This is it, he thinks, as he watches the ink dry on both their names. They are legally bound, and their lives now overlap in a way that is impossible to ignore, whether Katsuki is ready for it or not.

With Katsuki’s part done, he leans back in his chair while Izuku handles the automatic bank withdrawal so the first and last month’s rent can be transferred upfront. Since the landlord waived the security deposit as part of Izuku’s Hero Of The World specialty treatment, he’s given a set of keys right away. When Izuku passes Katsuki the second key, he’s full-on beaming. As they look at one another, a shared understanding of the gravity of what they’ve just done seems to pass silently between them. 

They’re going to be roommates. They’re going to be living together. Katsuki is really going to be living with Izuku. And it’s not going to be anything like their days back in the Heights Alliance student dorms. This time it’s going to be just the two of them. Alone. in a place that’s entirely theirs. Not a campus dormroom, but a home. 

Their home. 

Maybe it’s just the two cups of coffee in his system, but Katsuki’s heart just won’t stop pounding. It honestly hasn’t really stopped since he first walked in and saw Izuku in the lobby. Izuku is probably worse for the integrity of Katsuki’s heart health than caffeine is, but Katsuki certainly isn’t ever relaying such a detail to his doctor. 

The landlord gathers up all the papers with a satisfied nod, and rises from her chair. “Congratulations,” she says. Then she gives them a small bow. “You may call me Tsuchiya.”

Izuku quickly gets out of his chair and bows to her. “Thank you very much for having us. We promise not to cause any trouble, Tsuchiya-san.” 

Tsuchiya smiles gently at them. “If you have any questions for me, I live on the fifth floor, apartment 502. And, if I might let my professionalism slip for a moment…I look forward to having you both as my tenants. It is truly an honour to provide accommodations to our country’s greatest heroes.”

Izuku lets out a small, flustered laugh, his cheeks going pink almost instantly. He rubs at his neck, clearly at a loss for how to even respond, not wanting to deflect the praise, but not willing to accept it, either. Katsuki catches the way Izuku’s embarrassed smile wobbles, just for a split second; and the way his eyes dip downward, and the light in them flutters weakly like a low-burning candle, struggling not to go out. 

It’s a subtle, familiar flinch; one that Katsuki is certain nobody else but him notices because Izuku is always trying so damn hard to insist that he’s grateful. That he has no regrets. That he doesn’t miss what he had. But Katsuki sees the way Izuku handles every adulation and compliment like he’s being passed a piece of delicate, expensive china he’s afraid he’ll shatter all over the floor. Like he doesn’t even deserve to hold it in the first place. 

Katsuki clicks his tongue. “Make sure you leave our surnames off the directory in the lobby,” he tells Tsuchiya firmly, “If anyone comes rappin’ on our door beggin’ for autographs, I’ll kill ‘em.” 

That seems to snap Izuku out of it, as he startles to attention and whirls to look at Katsuki in alarm. “Kacchan!” Izuku squeaks, snatching Katsuki’s sleeve. He looks at Tsuchiya imploringly. “H-he’s just kidding!” 

“The hell I am. I meant every word,” Katsuki mutters. He jabs a finger at Tsuchiya. “Just keep shit discrete and we won’t have a problem.” 

Tsuchiya does not look the least bit threatened. Older women never really seemed to get ruffled by Katsuki’s attitude, which he’s always secretly appreciated. She just meets Katsuki’s stony glare with a composed expression and nods in agreement. 

“I will ensure you will not be disturbed,” she tells him, “If you like, I can make arrangements for a moving service to bring your belongings here, in order to limit the two of you from any frequent coming and going from the building.” 

Katsuki decides he likes their new landlord. 

As much as the offer appeals, however, there’s far too many things at his apartment for the suit project that he can’t risk getting misplaced, or damaged. While Katsuki could easily boss around a few movers to ensure things were handled with care, he would rather just handle things himself. That would limit the potential risk of a box getting put somewhere it shouldn’t, and Izuku coming upon it by mistake.

Izuku answers for them, clearly having reached his limit for Tsuchiya’s generosity. “That’s very kind of you, but we can manage it.” He gives Katsuki’s arm a squeeze, making Katsuki realize that he’s still holding onto him, which makes Katsuki’s heart palpitate. “Right, Kacchan? My place is mostly pre-furnished, so I honestly don’t have much to bring here myself…” 

Katsuki’s tongue makes a sluggish attempt to form words as he pries his gaze off the big, scarred hand wrapped around his elbow. “Me, neither.” 

His parents had insisted on furnishing his crappy apartment for him, his dumb hag of a mother saying that it would be embarrassing to see her son ‘living in total squalor’. So while he didn’t have much furniture, it was all good quality, so it’s all held up well and he hasn’t had to replace anything in the seven years he’s been living there. They were still going to have to buy a shitload of stuff to properly furnish their new, much-larger apartment…Katsuki’s wallet was weeping just thinking about it, but he couldn’t let Izuku foot the bill for everything. 

When Katsuki doesn’t elaborate further about how furnished his current living space is, Izuku just reiterates to their new landlord that they will be fine to move their belongings themselves before they excuse themselves from her little office and back out into the hallway. 

As they wait for the elevator, Izuku looks down at the keys in his hand like he can’t quite believe they’re actually there. He keeps blinking hard, like he expects them to disappear if he does it enough times. 

“This is all happening so fast,” Izuku murmurs, “I was only just looking at apartment listings less than seventy-two hours ago—it was just this half-formed idea in my head, and now here I am, holding the key to my own place. It’s kinda surreal.” 

Katsuki exhales out of his nose in a quiet agreement. Here they are, with the keys to their new apartment in hand, with Izuku completely unaware that Katsuki hasn’t just agreed to be his roommate, but also to completely upend his entire carefully-controlled existence to do so. Surreal isn’t quite the word Katsuki would use to describe it. It implied that all of this is bizarre and unusual. But Katsuki caving so easily to Izuku’s offer to live together wasn’t a strange, shocking, unbelievable scenario. It had been a part of his plan to one day extend the offer to Izuku to live together; the damn nerd had just beaten him to the punch, like usual. 

And yeah, he’s definitely skipping a few chapters in that plan now. He had meant to give Izuku the suit first. And then, ask him to be hero partners, and open an agency with him. And once their dreams of being heroes together had finally been realized, Katsuki would find the perfect time to confess his feelings to Izuku; to tell him he wanted to be with Izuku in every conceivable way. Not just hero partners, but life partners. Because when Katsuki told Izuku that day in the hospital ‘for the rest of our lives’, he’d meant it. 

And for a long time, he’s told himself that none of it could happen; not without the suit. Even when the desire to be with Izuku would keep him up at night, aching like an open wound. Even when he wanted to just say to hell with a perfect confession and just grab Izuku by the scruff of the neck and smash his mouth on his and pour every ounce of how he’s felt all these years into a single kiss. Even when every shared look, every small gesture, every brief touch, drove Katsuki so crazy he thought he would die on the spot if he didn’t blurt out right then and there that he wanted Izuku to be his, and he wanted to be Izuku’s. 

Not for the first time, Katsuki wonders what is going to be the harder secret to keep: the suit, or his feelings?