Chapter Text
Katsuki used to not give a shit about love.
Obviously.
Why the fuck would he? He’s demi as shit—romance isn’t on his radar unless it’s earned. ‘Course, realizing that fact about himself was a bitch and a half because of course no one teaches about this kind of shit. Like, really, how was he supposed to know the movies weren’t exaggerating? He’s never felt any of the ooey gooey shit they all describe, like, ever. Butterflies and sparks and wanting to suck faces with some random extra—yeah, no, fuck that noise.
Well. Maybe not anymore. Whatever, point is, it’s not his fault he didn’t know—something he’s begun to reconcile within himself now that he does know. Because again, it’s not like anyone actually teaches this shit. Society pushes this expectation that everyone will follow the same narrative—grow up, have a crush (on a girl), fall in love, have sex, make babies. Having an experience outside of this is apparently considered going against the grain. Which. Is stupid as fuck, in his opinion, because everyone’s different, so why should they all experience things the same?
But whatever, what does he know? Afterall, according to society, he’s playing catch up with the whole romance schtick. He’s not, not really, and he knows that, okay. But it’s kind of hard not to feel like he is when he’s faced with the very real truth that he has absolutely no fucking clue what the hell he’s doing.
Katsuki’s head thunks against his desk. He. Should be working on that stupid report assigned to them, probably. But instead he’s crouched on his chair, squinting at his laptop like it’s gonna cough out the perfect date idea that isn’t cheesy as shit. So far he’s had, like, zero success on that front, so why he keeps trying is a fucking mystery at this point.
Shitty Hair ♥️ (18:26PM): hey u comin down for dinner?
Oh. Yeah. That’s why. A swarm of butterflies burst inside his stomach, and Katsuki lets his phone clatter against the desk so he can bury his face all over again. Fucking, goddamn, this stupid romance shit will be the death of him yet. Like. Look, he’ll take this over the heartbreak a hundred times over, but that doesn’t mean he’s used to the way he feels all squirmy and warm over something as simple as a fucking text.
He rubs his palms on his sweats before reaching for his phone again.
Me (18:28PM): be right there
Shitty Hair ♥️ (18:29PM): <3
Katsuki reaches over to snap his laptop shut before hauling himself to his feet. He stuffs his phone into his pocket, shuffles into his house slippers, and slips out into the hallway.
They’ve been back at the dorms for a day. And it’s been. Fine. A little weird, if he’s honest. Like, there’s a sort of dissonance to laying down on his bed, staring up at his ceiling and being aware of just how unchanged his physical space is when his entire world’s been turned twice over. And it’s stupid because it doesn’t actually matter, really. Or. It shouldn’t. Because shit changes all the damn time. Seasons come and go, heroes rise and fall, and change is the never ending constant of life. But just because things change, doesn’t mean everything does, and Katsuki feels a little stupid for expecting to walk into the common room and see...something aside from the same old couches and tables and counterspace that’s taken up the space for the past year and a half.
Still, the feeling’s there anyway. But it eases, some, when his gaze falls onto familiar wide shoulders with that bright shock of hair all pushed back with that stupid bandana he loves wearing so much. His feet carry him through the shrill laughter and faint tinny music to Eijirou’s side, which he melts into like he belongs there. Eijirou’s arm slides around his waist, palm warm against his hip, and he smiles his soft little smile that’s always got Katsuki’s heart skipping a beat. “Done doing homework?” he asks. Katsuki shrugs.
Was that homework? Sort of. Is he done? Abso-fucking-lutely not.
So instead of actually answering he throws his attention to the stove, where four-eyes is bustling around with a frilly ass apron tied around his neck, steam rising up from a frying pan and the smells of savory meat making his mouth water, a little. He narrows his eyes.
It’s not uncommon for people to take turns making dinner for everyone. Something, something, dinner brings people together, something. Katsuki won’t lie and say he hasn’t done this himself—he very much has and his food is the best, hands down. Is that conceited as shit to say? Probably, but Katsuki’s a prideful bitch and he won’t be ashamed of it. Especially not about his cooking skills, thanks. Like, look, he at least isn’t the idiot who burned rice so badly they had to throw out an entire pot. (Why, exactly, Kaminari decided to use a fucking pot instead of a rice cooker, Katsuki does not know. Nor will he ever. But he rectified that mess by forcing the idiot to learn how to properly cook rice, so good fucking riddance.)
“Iida’s making tonkatsu and gyoza!” Eijirou chirps. Katsuki eyes the plates stacked high with the finished dumplings, and the assortment of used dishes piled in the sink. It’s not a hot curry, but it smells good, he guesses. He hums, head tipping to rest against Eijirou’s shoulder.
“Well, you two are awfully cuddly.”
Katsuki feels himself bristle. He shifts enough to peer over Eijirou’s shoulder to see Kaminari leaning against the other side of the counter, one hand cupping his chin and expression a mix of baffled and bemused. And, Katsuki doesn’t know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean. He doesn’t dare step away from Eijirou, but he does keep his hackles raised because what the fuck?
Beside him, Eijirou chuckles, tight and awkward, hand sliding away and leaving a blaze of cold in its wake that makes Katsuki shiver, a little. He chases his warmth on instinct, pressing closer as if to make up for the lost contact, and sneers over the curve of Eijirou’s shoulder at Kaminari.
“Is that a fucking problem?” he snaps. Kaminari blinks at him.
“Uh, no? No, definitely not.” He waves his hands placatively, as if that’ll take back his weird ass comments. It doesn’t, obviously. But he keeps doing it because he’s fucking stupid. “I just didn’t realize you had feelings, bro. You’re always so grouchy.” Kaminari squints at him, hands lowering. “...do I need to, like, threaten you to not hurt Kiri? Because, like, look, you’re both my bros but Kirishima was my bro first and I’m pretty sure that’s bro code.”
Katsuki’s lip curls like he’s tasted something sour. And he guesses he has, in a way, because while Kaminari is mostly teasing based on that sly little grin of his, the sentiment of what he says gouges at his insides, a little. He can’t even be mad about it either, because it’s not like Kaminari is fucking wrong for suggesting it—for fuck’s sake, he’s already hurt Eijirou before they even got together. Which. Isn’t something he’s fucking proud of, no matter how many times Eijirou tells him it wasn’t his fault. But it still happened. He can’t change that. And as much as he vehemently wants to keep from hurting him again, Katsuki knows that in some ways it’s an inevitability. He’s only human. They both are. They’re gonna say stupid shit and hurt each other’s feelings and do stupid things. But…well. If he’s learned anything at all, it’s that communication is key, or whatever. Stop, apologize, and redjust. Put in the work to do better. That’s all either of them can do.
“I’ll blow up my own fucking face if that happens,” he says instead. Which, has Kaminari snickering like an idiot, and Eijirou…Eijirou looks at him with a wonder filled smile that’s got his heart thumping wildly in his chest.
“So, wait a minute.” Sugar bitch leans over the back of the couch, his face drawn into a baffled frown. “You guys are gay? Since when?”
Eijirou goes all tense again beside him. Katsuki feels his eye twitch. There’s a tension that broils in the air, then, sudden and heady, and he reaches up and latches onto Eijirou’s shirt, fingers curling into the soft cotton fabric. It’s instinct, to reach for him, and he clings for dear fucking life as irritation gurgles inside him. Who the fuck does this bastard think he is, asking that kind of shit?
Here’s the thing. Katsuki’s not subtle about not giving a shit about what other people think. He wears the sentiment like a badge of honor. Or a shield. Like, okay, look, obviously he cares a little what people think. He’s fucking human. For better or worse, he’s not impervious to the innate desire to be liked, to have people in his corner. And some people’s opinions matter more than others. Like his friends. Parents. Eijirou. He fucking cares a lot about what they think. But everyone else can more or less fuck themselves. And while he. Cares. About his classmates. He doesn’t particularly give a shit what they think about his dating life because, well frankly it’s no one’s goddamn business but his and Eijirou’s. But.
But.
There’s something…grating. About the assumption that he’s gay. Like. He gets it. Fuck, that’s what he thought when he first stumbled his way into this entire goddamn ordeal a few weeks prior. And now here he is at the end of it all, dating a guy—if he didn’t know, he'd probably assume he’s gay, too. Which. Is something he’ll have to contend with, he guesses, with everyday existence. People look and make assumptions based on what they see. It’s life. Katsuki’s long since made his peace with it, hence why he doesn’t give a shit what others think. Mostly. And it’s fine.
But…well.
Finding his identity, his truth —it’s been a fucking journey. And these people, they know him in ways others never will. So he looks sugar bitch dead in the eye and spits out, “No, I’m fucking demi, you idiot. Get it right.”
Sugar bitch draws back, bafflement twisting its way across his expression. “Oh. Sorry. I don’t think I know what that is…”
“It’s when you don’t feel any attraction at all to someone you don’t have a strong emotional bond to,” Sero says, voice sounding almost bored. He’s draped over the opposite arm rest from Satou, chin propped on one fist, a shoujo manga dangling from his other hand. It’s. Fuck. The rush of utter gratitude he feels has Katsuki swaying into Eijirou, overwhelmed.
“Oh, okay.” Sugar bitch slides back into his seat, nodding his head. “Cool.”
“That sounds stupid.” Grape-balls pops up from the other couch, leering at them like he’s some sort of superior specimen. Which. Only makes Katsuki want to punch him in his stupid ass face. But the sticky-ball-headed piece of shit keeps going, because of fucking course he does. “Seriously, that sounds made up by some weirdo on the internet,” he says, laughing. Except, no one’s laughing with him, and Ashido actually stands up and stalks across the room to smack him upside the head.
“Shut up, Mineta,” she says. “Honestly. You think you’d learn by now to think before you speak.”
Katsuki can’t help but laugh.
God, he loves his friends.
Eijirou’s hand grazes his hip, tentative and soft and making the fire in his heart pop and flicker with fervor. He leans into it, encouraging, and the warmth only grows when Eijirou’s palm presses against him firmly.
“For what it’s worth, I’m bi,” Eijirou says. “It’s, uh, it’s not a secret, I’ve been pretty open about it for awhile.”
“Yeah,” Kaminair says, “remember when Kirishima thirsted over Mister Brave and Ryuku in the span of ten minutes after finals last year? No?”
Sero snorts. “Oh, I remember that.”
“Hey, I wasn’t thirsting! ” he cries, face adorably bright red. “I was just saying they’re manly, s’all!”
Kaminari snickers. “Oh, gosh , did you guys see how Mister Brave took out that villain on the news? And the way Ryuku totally bossed that interview about the new regulations from the commission?” He drapes a hand across his forehead and pretends to swoon. “ So manly.”
“Kaminari!”
There’s a clatter from behind them—four eyes is standing with his hands on his hips, expression stern. “Alright, everyone, that’s enough teasing. Whatever Kirishima-kun and Bakugou-kun want to share about their personal lives is up to them. In the meantime, dinner is ready!”
And of course, everyone’s attention drops off them immediately in favor of food. Which, good fucking riddance. Katsuki and Eijirou linger in their little bubble, not bothering to move out of the way of their classmates who all clamor around them to get a plate, chatter rising and falling about anything and everything. Katsuki doesn’t care to listen. He just leans into Eijirou, head finding its way back to his shoulder.
“Sorry,” Eijirou murmurs. Katsuki makes a face.
“The fuck for?”
He shrugs, hand twitching on his hip. “I didn’t mean to, like, make a scene…”
What the fuck? Katsuki draws back, squinting at him. “What are you talking about?”
Eijirou ducks his head and tries to draw away, hand sliding away from his hip and by god, Katsuki isn’t letting that happening, the fuck. He grabs it, entangling their fingers, and tugs Eijirou back to him. “Oi, c’mere. What do you mean, make a scene?”
His idiot best friend— boyfriend —blushes all over again and bites his lip, avoiding Katsuki’s gaze. “Nothing, I just—you…you weren’t out yet, and I…I didn’t mean to draw attention by being so clingy—”
Okay, no, fuck that. Katsuki reaches up and cups Eijirou’s face with his free hand, effectively cutting his depreciative ramble off before it can garner much more steam. “If you’re being clingy then I’m a goddamn koala,” he says. “I meant it when I said I want this, Ei. I want all of it—all the sappy shit. And I don’t give a shit if anyone knows.” He slides his hand up into his hair, not caring about the gel and how it crunches beneath his fingers. Katsuki pulls him even closer, bumping noses, and presses their foreheads together, all the while gazing right into that blazing sunset he loves so goddamn much. “Besides, it’s…nice. Being out.”
Eijirou’s smile warms across his lips, hesitant but bright, and he melts into Katsuki, an ease smoothing out the tension lining his shoulders, the corners of his eyes. “You mean that?” he asks. Katsuki answers the one way he knows best—by doing. He kisses Eijirou there in the common room, gentle and soft and uncaring about who’s watching. Someone—probably Kaminari, the fucking asshole—wolf whistles. Katsuki throws a middle finger into the air and kisses Eijirou harder.
When they pull apart, Eijirou’s smile is radiant and Katsuki’s so fucking weak for him, fuck. He lets go of Katsuki’s hand in favor of brushing his fingers along Katsuki’s cheek, a touch so soft and brimming with affection Katsuki fears his legs might just up and give out on him.
“Gosh, I like you so much, Katsuki,” Eijirou says. “I think I might be a little in love with you.” He says it with such warmth and sincerity—it’s too much. Katsuki’s breath sticks in his throat, and he hides in Eijirou’s neck, heart damn near bursting.
“Me too,” he whispers, hoarse. They stay like that, curled around each other, for what feels like eons and a couple of seconds all at once. But eventually, regrettably, they pull apart, and the clamor of the common room fills Katsuki’s head all over again. He squints against the bright lights, following Eijirou the few short steps to the food—which, smells pretty damn good, actually. He picks up a plate, humming along to the happy chatter coming out of Eijirou’s mouth, and lets his gaze sweep across the space.
It finds the one person that makes him freeze.
Deku.
Katsuki’s shoulders hitch up, a bolt of fear lancing through him like lightning. Why, he has no fucking clue. His feet stick to the floor, palms prickle with sweat, and he doesn’t know if he wants to scream or run or glare or, or what, exactly. But Deku’s not privy to any of the thoughts darting rapidfire through his head, and he does the one thing Katsuki probably should’ve expected—he smiles. Warm and bright and happy.
And. And Katsuki doesn’t know what to do with that, honestly.
He’s…he’s avoided Deku, since he’s been back. Which. Hasn’t been long—hardly a whole ass day. But still. Katsuki’s avoided him all the same. He just. It’s just... He’s been through some shit, okay? So much goddamn shit happened in, like, three weeks. Katsuki likes to think he’s earned a break. And while he doesn’t… feel that way about Deku anymore, it’s still…complicated. Weird. So sue him for not wanting to engage.
“Katsuki?”
His focus jumps to Eijirou, and the awkward panic brewing within him dies a sweet death beneath that soft sunset stare.
“You okay?” he asks, worry flickering at the edges of his voice. “You seemed a little lost for a sec, there.”
Warmth prickles inside Katsuki’s chest. He hums and reaches for the tongs, plucking some gyoza and dropping it onto his plate. “Yeah. Just thinking too fucking hard.” He piles on some tonkatsu and rice and some stir-fried vegetable medley. It’s a lot of food, but he hasn’t eaten shit since lunch and Katsuki’s mouth is watering. “C’mon, let’s fucking eat.”
He strides to a table, Eijirou a step behind him, and ignores Deku and his weird ass smile because does it matter, in the end? Clearly he still has shit to sort out. But that’s not a now problem, that’s a later problem. Right now, he wants to sit with his cute ass boyfriend and eat his dinner, and goddammit, that’s what he’s gonna fucking do.
~*~
The problem with later problems is that they inevitably become now problems. Which is annoying as fuck, obviously, but there’s not a whole lot that can be done to stop it from happening because, well, that’s just how this shit works. Doesn’t mean Katsuki hates it any less. Especially because this particular problem is prattling his goddamn ear off, right about now.
“—about crime rates in major cities and the correlation with different public works programs operating within different cities over time. It was a super interesting presentation and it really showed how much policies that help people can really help stop crime! It was especially cool because they talked about programs like Quirk rehab programs—something that’s much more recent, but the data’s already showing how much having external support for certain types of Quirks helps people and in turn reduces crime rates—”
Katsuki wants to smash his face into a brick wall.
They’re walking to Endeavor’s agency, because of fucking course their work studies resume the second classes do. Something that normally Katsuki’d be thrilled about, probably—getting back to blowing up villains after three weeks is like a dream come true. Except not really, because he’s stuck between half-and-half Todoroki and fucking Deku, the source of all his shitty woes.
Yippee.
Todoroki leans forward, brow pinched. “Midoriya, you’re rambling again.”
Deku pauses mid ramble and blinks, face flushing bright pink. “O—oh, right. Sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Anyway, I took tons of notes, if you wanna see them, Kacchan.”
Katsuki grunts, noncommittal. He keeps his glower fixed on the cracks in the concrete, chin tucked into the scarf wound around his neck because while it’s not as cold as it is up in the damn mountains, the breeze is biting and Katsuki’s pretty sure he sees a couple of flurries drifting down from the sky every few steps.
Fucking gross. He’s had enough snow for a lifetime.
Todoroki spares Katsuki a look. “It was a cool presentation, though.”
He makes a face.
As much as it pisses him off…he probably should look at those damn notes. He’s technically behind because he voluntarily skipped out on the most important conference of the fucking year. Which. In hindsight, leaves Katsuki feeling pretty fucking stupid, because, well. Here he is, walking across the city side-by-side with Deku without problem. But he’s not the same as he was before all this shit, so as grating as it is, Katsuki can’t let himself be too pissed off. So notes it is, he guesses. At least Deku’s a meticulous fucker when it comes to note taking. ‘Course, his handwriting is barely better than chicken scratch and his notes can be rambly about shit like heroes thanks to his enthusiasm, but the details are rock solid, and there’s usually a hundred fucking footnotes and shit.
“How was rescue training?” Todoroki asks, breath fogging in the crisp, cold air. Katsuki feels himself bristle, and he has to force his hackles down. It’s just a fucking question, not a dig.
“Fine. Cold as shit.”
They stop at a street corner. The crosswalk light glows red.
“Kirishima-kun said he got caught in an avalanche.” Deku’s brow’s all pinched like it does when he worries. He’s got a firm grip on one of the straps of his backpack, the other clutching tightly onto his uniform’s briefcase. Katsuki finds himself eyeing the way his curls bounce in the breeze, how his freckles splatter across the bridge of his nose, his cheeks. The warmth that once prickled his insides at so much of a glance is gone, and all at once Deku’s just a dumbass he’s sort of decent friends with. Katsuki looks back at the crosswalk light and squints.
Still red.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t say how fucking terrifying it was. How agonizing. Not knowing where Eijirou was, if he was okay, if they’d find him. Katsuki grips his own uniform case a little tighter, shivering.
“I’m glad he’s okay,” Deku says.
“Yeah. Avalanches are pretty intense.”
His mind flickers to the unending snow, the broken trees, the constant digging. The cloying anxiety tightening around his neck like a noose. He shrugs.
Whatever. Who cares, it’s over and done with. Eijirou’s fine and they’re home, and if Katsuki has his say, he’s never setting foot on a mountain in the dead of winter ever again.
“When did you and Kirishima start dating, anyway?” Todoroki asks nonchalantly. Katsuki’s gaze whips to him, face going hot and whole body twitching.
“Hah?”
“Todoroki-kun!” Deku yelps. “You can’t just ask stuff like that!”
“Oh? Why not?”
The light goes green. Katsuki marches forward like he can escape this goddamn conversation, because seriously, what the fuck. ‘Course, the two idiots follow right behind him because Katsuki’s fucking cursed, bickering about the semantics of asking people private shit.
“Be—because, Todoroki-kun, that’s not polite!”
“Isn’t that something people ask all the time when they learn someone’s dating?”
“I—I mean, well—”
“Shut the fuck up!” Katsuki snaps. He throws a look over his shoulder. “We just started dating, or whatever, alright? Happy?”
Todoroki blinks. “Oh. Congrats.”
Deku hedges, glancing between them, clutching his uniform case to his chest. Steam’s practically coming out of his ears, he’s thinking so damn hard. A beat passes, and another, and Deku’s gaze settles on Katsuki, a wobbly, hesitant smile warming across his face. “I’m happy for you, too, Kacchan,” he says, an earnestness bleeding from his voice and ringing in Katsuki’s ears. “You seem happier.”
He scoffs. “Whatever. C’mon, we’re running late.” Katsuki turns away, hiding the way his face fucking burns. What the fuck does Deku know? He’s been back for, like, two whole days. Stupid.
And yet, all the same, Katsuki’s lips twitch, threatening a smile because maybe Deku’s fucking right and he is happier. He’s not gonna admit it. Not out loud, anyway.
That’s no one’s business but his.
~*~
The hardest part about dating, Katsuki’s decided, is, well, the whole date part .
Part of it’s because of classes and work studies leaving little time to go out. There’s only so many hours in a day, and with how much homework and shit they get, it’s a fucking miracle they do anything more than cuddle and sleep. Which. He actually likes doing, thank you very much. Eijirou is warm and Katsuki’d cuddle the shit out of him at every waking moment if he could. It’s nice, being held. And holding someone else. Just, limbs entangled, warmth bleeding from one to the other, the cozy, hazy feeling pressing against the edges of his consciousness. Katsuki’d rather blow his own face up than admit any of this out loud to anyone aside from Eijirou, but, he really fucking likes the cuddling.
And the kissing. Which. Is weird, because the thought of kissing literally anyone else makes Katsuki’s face twist like he’s eaten a lemon. The act itself is weird, too, like it’s just mashing lips. Sometimes a little wet, or tastes weird because Eijirou’s got morning breath or something. But Katsuki hardly notices in the heat of the moment because he’s too busy drowning in the burning inferno roaring in his heart and radiating down to his fingers and toes with every gentle press of lips on lips.
So, yeah. Kissing’s fine, too. And the hand-holding, and the way his given name sounds coming from Eijirou’s lips, and all the little casual touches, and glances, and just, Eijirou.
Katsuki’s so happy he’s damn delirious with it.
But. But, they still haven’t actually gone on a date.
Which, admittedly, is entirely his own fucking fault. Days bleed into weeks, and Katsuki still can’t figure out what to do for said date. Like. All he can come up with is some stupid, basic ass shit like going out to a restaurant or something. And yeah, sure, Eijirou would probably be fine with that, but Katsuki can’t help but feel like he deserves more. He deserves to be swept off his goddamn feet!
Katsuki just. Doesn’t know how to do that.
He drags his hands down his face, huffing. This is fucking stupid. He’s getting nowhere with all this pussyfooting. So he cancels his shitty little pity party and gets off his ass and does something about it.
Eijirou’s out and about. Something about hanging out with the metal fucker, tonight. Which means Katsuki’s had all evening to try and plan this damn date he’s been pushing off, and subsequently stared at his wall for several hours instead because he’s a fucking idiot. But it also means that he doesn’t have to worry about tiptoeing around Eijirou in the common room to maintain some level of surprise.
There’s not a whole lot of people down here when he steps off the elevator and turns the corner. Yaoyorozu and Jirou are both curled up on the couches watching some movie, Kaminari’s poking around in the kitchen doing who fucking knows what, and Todoroki, Deku, and Uraraka are all at one of the tables, books and pages spread out around them. ‘Course, Deku and Uraraka are side-by-side, elbows bumping and ankles crossed over each other all cutesy and shit. Once upon a time, the sight would’ve left Katsuki feeling like broken glass scattered across the floor.
Now, he just resists the urge to roll his eyeballs back into his head.
He beelines right for the table.
“Oi, Uraraka.” Katsuki stands at the corner across from them, arms crossed over his chest. He shifts in place when she blinks up at him, skin prickling with embarrassment. “Think you can take a break from the nerd squad for a minute?”
“Is everything okay?” she asks. And, Katsuki feels himself bristle, a little, because he feels pinned in place under her wide-eyed stare, and he loathes the vulnerability that comes with it. It takes a willpower to not scowl at her.
“Fine,” he grinds out. “Just. Got a question.”
Uraraka tilts her head, tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and considers him. Must see something, too, because she pushes her workbook up the table and makes to stand. “Yeah, okay.”
He doesn’t stick around to wait for her, instead turning on his heel to stalk off to the back hallway. Behind him, Todoroki’s voice drifts out into the common room.
“Wait, I’m lost. What does Bakugou need her for?”
Deku’s sigh is loud and long-suffering.
Katsuki bites back a snicker.
The hall is backlit in the golds of late afternoon, the sun sinking its way out of the sky. Katsuki leans against the wall beside the elevator, gaze drifting to the tall windows overlooking the sprawling campus Heights Alliance is built on. A couple of students walk by, clearly chatting about some mundane shit or another.
“So…what’s up?” Uraraka asks. She’s got her hands clasped behind her back, rocking on her feet as she watches him with a bubbling curiosity. Katsuki grits his teeth. This is stupid. This is stupid, so fucking stupid, but Uraraka is like. One of two people he trusts outside of Eijirou, and he can’t fucking talk to Eijirou about this unless he wants to fucking. Ruin the surprise. And yes, that’s probably an even stupider outlook to have, but dammit, he wants to surprise him. Sweep him off his feet and all that shit. So he forces himself to man the fuck up and spit it out.
“How do you plan a date?”
Uraraka just looks at him.
“What?”
“Bakugou-kun, why are you asking me if I know how to plan a date?”
“Because!” He throws his hands in the air, ignoring the sparks that pop from his palms. “I’ve been trying to figure out where to take Eijirou for weeks, and nothing’s good enough! All I can think of is, like, super basic shit, but he deserves better than basic. ” His lip curls, and he thumps back against the wall. He could wax fucking poetry about all the shit Eijirou deserves. A good date is like, bare minimum, bar on the floor kind of fuckery.
Katsuki wants to do a hell of a lot better than bare minimum.
“Oh, Bakugou.” She pads over to him, house slippers tapping against the hardwood floor. Uraraka reaches for his shoulders and gives them a squeeze. “What makes a date special isn’t anything more than you. You know Kirishima-kun better than anyone—do what you know will make him happy, and trust yourself. He cares about you, too, and he’s not gonna stop just ‘cuz you didn’t do something extravagant enough. Okay?”
He wants to argue. Refute her. To point to all the reasons why it matters so much as to what he does—not because he thinks Eijirou will stop loving him or some shit, he knows that’s not the issue, thanks—because Eijirou is everything, goddammit, and how else is Katsuki supposed to show him that? But, at the same time…he knows she’s right. He’s thinking too fucking hard about this shit, and all that matters is that they have fun, or whatever. He huffs, gaze sliding to a sunspot on the floor, and lets his shoulders sag.
“I guess.”
Uraraka gives him another gentle squeeze. “You’ll figure something out. Just give yourself some credit.”
Yeah. Right. Great idea. Because he’s been doing so great on his own so far.
There’s a soft sigh. Uraraka lets go of him in favor of crossing her arms. “Would it help if I told you where Deku-kun took me for our first date?”
He doesn’t say yes. But apparently he’s an open fucking book now, because she huffs a soft laugh and rocks back on her heels. “It wasn’t anything fancy. He took me to a mochi place in town because he knew mochi’s my favorite, and then we visited the planetarium, where we got to look at all kinds of stars.” She shrugs, bashful, her pink cheeks stained darker than usual. “It’s probably my favorite kind of date to go on, now, so we do it all the time for date nights.”
Katsuki isn’t sure what the fuck he’s expecting. Like. Yeah, obviously he knew they didn’t, like, go on some crazy ass adventure date or some shit. And, well. Uraraka’s always been into space shit. He’s seen her JAXA sweatshirts and her space themed notebooks. So it makes sense, and it…it gets him thinking.
So there’s that.
“Thanks,” he murmurs. Uraraka smiles.
“Of course!”
She leaves, then, and Katsuki’s left staring out the window, chewing on the inside of his cheek, thinking.
What does Eijirou like?
He makes a face. An easier list would probably be what he doesn’t like. He’s an easy fucker to please—loves all sorts of shit, like gaming and workouts and nerd shit and manly shit and literally anything with meat. Soft flurries drift down from the sky—supposedly it’s supposed to really snow tonight, but the flurries’ve come and gone all damn day.
Katsuki straightens, an idea sparking in his head. He grins.
~*~
“So…you gonna tell me where we’re going?” Eijirou asks. He swings their gloved hands between them, eyes bright and brimming with warmth as he looks at Katsuki. A smile pulls at his lips and he huffs, ignoring the way his breath fogs around him, and directs his focus to the sidewalk ahead.
“Nope.”
“Aww, Katsuki, c’mon. Please? ” He careens closer, bumping their shoulders, and Katsuki has to bite back a snort.
“I told you, it’s a surprise.”
Eijirou sighs, exaggerated and dorky, squeezing Katsuki’s hand. “ Fine, whatever you say, bro,” he says, teasing. “I guess I’ll just suffer.”
“Don’t call me bro,” Katsuki retorts, automatic. He glances down at his phone, watching the little blue dot slide across the GPS map. According to Google, they’ll be there in like, five minutes, providing they don’t get lost or stopped by a villain or some shit. Which. They better fucking not. Katsuki didn’t agonize over this date for weeks only for it to get ruined by an asshole trying to rob a street shop. He notes the street name they need to turn at and stuffs his phone back into his coat pocket.
It’s still cold out, obviously. But not entirely unbearable. Which is good, because they’re gonna be outside for awhile, and while Katsuki fucking hates the cold, it’ll be worth it, he thinks.
Hopefully.
Beside him, Eijirou hums some off-key melody under his breath, shoulder bumping his every few steps. He radiates a happiness that’s infectious enough for Katsuki to feel it too, and it combats the flutter of nerves that buzz in his gut. Fuck, he hopes his palms don’t get too sweaty. These gloves of his are made of tougher fabric, but still. Singeing them is something he’d like to avoid if he can.
They come to a stop. The red light of the crosswalk blinks, but Katsuki spots the road sign and tugs Eijirou towards the right. “C’mon, this way.”
A couple of blocks down, and they get to the park.
It’s a nice park, if a bit small. The trees are bare as shit, some leftover snow clinging to the crevices and bends in the branches, and there’s some dustings of white at the edges of the pathways. Katsuki leads Eijirou further in, heart thumping in his chest.
“Holy shit,” Eijirou says, drawing to a stop. He looks at Katsuki with wide eyes, cheeks rosy from the cold. “Are we…are we ice skating?”
Katsuki bites his lip. His gaze flickers to the makeshift rink dominating the middle of the park. Shrieks of laughter carry on the breeze, mingling with that of some bright, cheery music. “Yeah. Unless you don’t want to—”
“Are you kidding? I love ice skating!” He yanks Katsuki’s arm, dragging him forward, laughter spilling from his lips. And Katsuki lets him, face splitting into a wide grin.
Fuck yeah.
There’s a tent along the side of the rink with a pair of university aged kids looking bored as hell distributing skates. Katsuki pays because he’s a goddamn gentleman, and Eijirou blushes all cute and shit, seemingly enamored. They take their skates to a nearby bench and swap out their shoes.
And then it’s to the rink, where Katsuki immediately falls on his ass.
“Fuck.”
Eijirou, the traitor, laughs his pretty little ass off. “Gosh, you okay, Katsuki?” he asks, hovering. His hair hangs in his face—he left it down today, something that has butterflies exploding across Katsuki’s insides because fuck, is he pretty. Not that his usual hairstyle isn’t. But there’s something about the softness of it like this that hits Katsuki a little harder.
“M’fine,” he grouses, sitting up. “Stupid skates.”
“Here, lemme help.” Eijirou offers his hands, which Katsuki takes readily. It takes a minute and damn near doing the splits several times, but Katsuki ends up back on his feet. Wobbly, but standing. Eijirou keeps a firm grasp on his hands, watching Katsuki with a soft smile.
“Have you ever done this before?”
He huffs. “...no.”
Eijirou giggles. “Dude, seriously?”
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”
Honestly, Katsuki didn’t think it’d be that hard. It’s just ice skating, fucking children do it. And it seems like something that’d be right up Eijirou’s alley—which, he was right about, so he’s calling it a win. Even more so when Eijirou laces their fingers together and gives Katsuki a tug.
“Here, I can teach you. Just hold on to me, okay? I won’t let you fall.”
Katsuki’s breath hitches. He clings to Eijirou’s hands like the lifeline they are, grateful that he can blame the heat in his face on the cold. “‘Kay.”
Carefully, slowly, Eijirou pulls Katsuki along, skating backwards like he can do this shit in his sleep. He’d be fucking jealous if he wasn’t so damn enamored by it. Then again, he’s enamored by damn near anything Eijirou does. Like. How he throws his head back, laughter bright as it bubbles from him, his knit hat going lopsided on his head. Or the way those sunset eyes of his glow bright with affection and a radiant joy that wraps around Katsuki like a blanket.
Eventually, he can at least stay on his own damn feet, and he lets Eijirou skate in circles around him while he wobbles in place, chatter interspersed with encouragement. And it’s. Fun. So much so that Katsuki forgets about how fucking cold he is until they decide to take a breather and hobble their way to a bench around the outside of the rink.
Eijirou leans back, skates outstretched in front of him, and sighs. “I haven’t gotten to skate like this in ages.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Used to go all the time back at home in the winter—we had a little rink in my hometown. It was one of the places to hang out as kids.” His expression turns wistful, gaze faraway in a memory. Katsuki can’t help but lean into him, relishing in the warmth that bleeds from Eijirou.
“M’glad you’re having fun.”
He looks at Katsuki then, smile soft and oh so warm. “I always have fun with you, Katsuki.”
And Katsuki’s ablaze all over again, fire pouring from the hearth in his chest to every fiber of his entire goddamn being. He reaches up and grasps Eijirou’s face and pulls him in, kissing him. A hand cups his own, tender and firm, and Eijirou hums, leaning into it. When they pull apart, he smiles, dopey and cute and god, Katsuki wants to kiss him again.
“What was that for?” he asks, teasing. Katsuki swipes his gloved thumb along his cheekbone, marveling at the red staining his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, the shades of red staining his sunset eyes. If he sits here long enough, can he commit this moment to memory forever? He wants to. God, he hopes he does.
“I love you.”
Eijirou melts. “I love you too,” he whispers, leaning forward and kissing Katsuki again. And again and again. And it’s here, on this park bench in the cold winter evening, where Katsuki lets himself be held by the person he loves most, healed pieces and all.