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It starts when Katsuki realizes he’d also packed lunch for the half n’ half idiot. Which is stupid because he only packs lunch for his friends. And Halfie, the annoying bastard, is anything but his friend. But the idiot can't take a hint. Because apparently, not counting Izuku and Tape Face, Katsuki is Halife’s best friend.
He wants to vomit at the thought of it. Implode on himself instead of blowing off Halfie’s stupid face just to make his point seen: he’d rather die than consider them friends.
So Katsuki does the one thing he knows– he hangs onto his pride with a hangnail and refuses to let go. Fine, so be it if Halfie thinks they’re pals. It’s not like an accidentally packed lunch will bring that thought any closer to being the truth.
Besides, Katsuki’s ‘excuse’ would be anything but an excuse. It’d be the perfectly reasonable statement of ‘he made too much and didn’t wanna deal with the leftovers.’ It’s believable enough, and obviously satiates the stupid pretty boy: a sweet and simple smile plastered to his lips as he graciously accepts Katsuki’s offer of food.
When he just so happens to ‘make too much food’ and packs the extras for Halfie a second and third (and maybe more than that) time, Izuku gives him a pointed look that barely borders on a knowing smile. Katsuki doesn’t respond with anything more than a sharpened, annoyed glare in Izuku’s direction before he tucks into his meal.
It’s not like it’s a big deal anyways. Katsuki has cooked for his classmates before. Even though it was only once, when he was still trying to apologize to Izuku for their entire childhoods, he’d done it. Still, it shouldn’t even be a big deal if Halfie ends up becoming one of the people he regularly cooks for. (As the list stands, it’s Izuku, Shitty Hair, Tape Face, Pinky and Dunce Face that he feeds the most. They’re all so needy.)
One more person wouldn’t hurt.
✧✦✧✦✧
Katsuki hates that he keeps doing it; packing Halfie lunches, peeling away the pith on the oranges they share while doing paperwork at their internships; learning what Halfie likes. His favourite spices (he loves the taste of cinnamon, hates cardamom), the precise stroke of his pen against paper. Halfie prefers grilled chicken, but can appreciate the karaage Katsuki sometimes packs for him. He also really loves fruit candy, his favourite flavour is strawberry, and he refuses to go a day without eating at least one.
So sue him. Maybe Katsuki’s starting to pay too much attention to him. But does it matter when the idiot can barely cook a decent meal without almost causing a grease fire? If he’s not making sure that Halfie isn’t about to burn down their dorm, who will?
Plenty of people make goo-goo eyes at him on a daily basis, what difference is it to have Katsuki watching him?
At least, that’s what Katsuki tells himself as he catches a glimpse of Halfie and Glasses in the kitchen.
It’s not like he actually cares – he’d just rather not have the dorms become a casualty to Halfie’s hopelessness in the kitchen. If anything, he’ll just pretend he’s not watching Halfie’s face for that expression of quiet peace and content.
And so, Katsuki forces himself to look back down at the book in his lap before any of the extras can catch him staring at Halfie like he’s some lovesick schoolboy. Which, again, he is anything but.
“You good, dude?”
Shitty Hair’s… well, shitty hair pops into his view. His brows are slightly furrowed, but the look in his eyes says it’s out of friendly worry rather than anything else. Katsuki huffs, restarting the paragraph he was on for what felt like the nth time, and tries to burrow into the corner of the couch he’d claimed for himself.
“Blastyyyyyyy,” Kirishima’s voice drags out in a childish whine, and he feels a heavy hand ruffling his hair. If it was anyone other than Kirishima, they would’ve been blasted to the other end of the continent.
A gnawing voice in his head tells him that he’d probably also let Halfie get away with– ew. No. Stop that. Anyone else, please.
He shakes the thought away, scowling when Kirishima gives a sheepish laugh and plops into the free space beside him without a care in the world.
“God, you’re so touchy,” Katsuki grunts. The muscle-brained idiot had taken it upon himself to put at least half of his body weight onto Katsuki’s shoulder, leaving him with no choice but to close the book and give Kirishima his full attention, “What do you want, idiot?”
“Your deepest, darkest secrets.”
He bats his lashes as Katsuki with a toothy grin, and it takes every bone in his body to not hit Kirishima over the head with the book.
“You ain’t getting shit out of me, Shitty Hair.”
Kirishima shrugs, seemingly having given up on his conquest. Katsuki’s gaze trails back to the kitchen, and Kirishima’s follows to where Halfie and Glasses are now standing at the stove.
“Whaddya think they’re making? It smells good.”
“Why should I care? Glasses can barely even cook. Halfie still can’t chop chives properly. Whatever they’re making is gonna suck.”
The scowl on his face deepens.
If he wanted to cook, why didn’t he come to me? Oh. Ew gross thought. Why does that even matter? It shouldn’t!
Kirishima’s eyes twinkle, mischief painting a constellation as he puts two and two together.
“Oh my God!” He pushes into Katsuki’s shoulder, jeering him on with a gleeful cackle that’s almost out of character, “Are you jealous?”
“ HAH!? The fuck are you on about, Shitty Hair!?”
In one swift movement, he grabs Kirishima by the collar of his shirt and body slams him into the couch with a loud thud.
Next thing he knows, the two of them are play-fighting as Pinky and Dunce Face start cheering them on from across the room. A screech rips itself from Kirishima’s throat as he defends himself against Katsuki’s onslaught of attacks, and he can faintly hear Glasses scolding the two of them, but he doesn’t care.
Katsuki is quick with it; a spiteful laugh rending itself from his lips as a hard shove from Kirishima sends them both tumbling to the floor. He manages to roll them over again, barely missing the coffee table as Kirishima hardens his arms to stop Katsuki’s miniscule explosions.
“I yield! I yield!” The blond stands up with a huff, holding a hand out to help Kirishima up. And as if he’s just asking for more, Shitty Hair has the gall to say, “So I’m taking that as a yes.”
A high pitch yelp follows the statement, as Katsuki abruptly drops him and delivers a non-lethal kick to his shin.
“Shut up, idiot. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
At that, Katsuki picks up his discarded book and trudges back to his dorm room, trying his best to relish in his victory against Kirishima. And if he thinks he hears Halfie calling out to him, he doesn’t reply.
✧✦✧✦✧
Katsuki’s return to his room is met with a long nap. Which is exactly how and why he relearns the absolute absurdity of dream logic and its evil war tactics against him.
He’s floating in darkness, the peace is nice. He doesn’t really get much of it outside of when he’s on his hikes. But the peace is quickly shattered, and then he’s in bed with Halfie.
The fuck? His mind’s voice is warped, distorted by the dreamscape. But Halfie still looks so pretty.
He’s under Katsuki, eyes mesmerizing and sweet. Todoroki’s watching him, lips parted, tongue poking out to wet them. He’s saying something, but Katsuki doesn’t care to hear it. He wants this. He wants Todoroki under him, debauched and wanting. So he surges forward, emboldened by the fantasy before him. Their lips clash, and Katsuki swears to whatever gods there might be that he’d give anything to stay here.
Todoroki would be so soft. So good. So–
Knock, knock, knock.
He stirs, slowly, looking around his dimmed room and trying to ignore the disappointment that settles like snow in his chest when he realizes that yeah, no shit that was a dream. He knew that, so why does it hurt so much?
It’s around 4PM, if he can still trust his alarm clock. Fuck. He shouldn’t have napped. His sleep schedule would be royally fucked and it’d take him at least a week to fix the damn thing.
The knocks interrupt his thoughts once more, a bit more incessant this time, and he concedes to reply with an annoyed grunt.
“Bakugou?”
Oh, for fuck–
Katsuki forces himself out of bed, the blankets still wrapped around his shoulders.
When he opens the door, he doesn’t know if he’s having a nightmare, or if this is some sort of dream come true.
Halfie is standing there, a bento box in his hands. He hasn’t got much of an expression on his face, but Katsuki has an itching feeling that there are only two ways whatever conversation they’re about to have can go.
“What do you want?” Shit.
That wasn’t supposed to come out so offensively, and Katsuki almost feels bad when Halfie’s eyes rip away from him and down to the carpeted floor of the hallway. So, he backtracks, “Sorry. You woke me up.”
“Oh.”
Halfie squirms where he stands. Half of the time, Katsuki manages to forget how socially inept he is. It’s cute, sure, but he can’t help but feel bad when it comes to interacting with him . He’s aggressive and loud, he’s never given a flying fuck what people thought about him, but sometimes he worries that Halfie doesn’t like having to jump hurdles to figure him out.
Katsuki opens the door a bit wider, gesturing with his head for Halfie to get in. They’re quiet as Halfie shuffles into the room. Katsuki plops himself back onto his bed, and motions for Halfie to come sit with him.
He looks at the bento box, “You made that?”
“Yeah.” He pauses, and Katsuki wishes he could hear his thoughts, “For you.”
Fuck, he’s cute. And this is so stupid. Why is it so fucking warm in here?
His hands feel clammy as he takes the box from Halfie. He opens it, just to get a peek, and to Halfie’s credit, it doesn’t look too bad. Shitty Hair was right, it did smell good. The spicy tang of mapo tofu (Fuyumi’s recipe, no doubt), simple steamed rice with a furikake seasoning, and some fried vegetables on the side. Katsuki considers it a miracle that his stomach doesn’t rumble at the mere sight of it.
“Damn… I really shouldn’t eat this on the bed.”
“You have a desk,” Halfie offers. There’s no teasing, no duh tone to his voice.
“I guess I do.”
You sound like an idiot, Bakugou Katsuki! Fucking pull yourself together!
But how could anyone expect that of him? Halfie looks so patient, so nerve-wracked and so elated all at once. Katsuki doesn’t get how he hasn’t keeled over and died yet. Still, he places the bento box and chopsticks on the desk, but doesn’t move to eat it. Instead, he stays on the bed, his body angled towards Halfie.
“Is that why you were in the kitchen with Glasses earlier?” He asks. It’s a rhetorical question, if anything. Something to fill up the silence as Halfie folds his hands in his lap and starts fiddling with his fingers.
“It is.” Halfie says. He’s not really looking at Katsuki, he can tell from the way his eyes dart from place to place in the room. And before he can even think twice about what he’s doing, he uses a finger to turn Halfie’s face towards him. It feels weird, a foreign thing to him. “I, uh, I wanted to do something for you. Because you’re always making me food.”
Katsuki’s lip quirks up into a smug smile, “Smart boy.”
Halfie’s cheeks dust pink, and for a second, Katsuki thinks he sees steam rising from his body. He clears his throat and drops his hand, “Sorry.”
“We’re hopeless,” Halfie croaks out, “Why do we suck at talking?”
Katsuki shrugs, “You have daddy issues.”
“And you just have issues,” he shoots back.
Katsuki snorts, failing to fight down laughter as he tears his eyes from Halfie’s figure. This was bad. How did two 18 year olds manage to royally fuck up a simple conversation? In his laugh-induced stupor, his eyes land on Halfie again, and he’s laughing too, smiling that same sweet smile that Katsuki cherished so much.
It feels right. He wishes he could put it into words; say something more than teasing jabs and half-baked sentences.
“You know, you should really eat the food. It might get cold. I nicked my finger so many times making that.”
“You… God, this is so stupid.” Katsuki says, breathy with laughter, “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“That you were gonna cook something, idiot. I would’ve helped.”
Halfie shakes his head. Had he gotten closer during their laughing fit? Katsuki swears they were at least a foot apart earlier.
“It’d be meaningless if you helped me cook something that was meant for you.”
“Yeah, but now I’m gonna have weird Icyhot-germs in my food.”
At a speed unknown to even Glasses, Halfie grabs one of Katsuki’s pillows and hits him with it.
“Hey!” Katsuki wrestles the pillow away from him, carelessly tossing it to the other end of the bed and making an attempt to tackle Halfie down onto the bed.
They go back and forth for a bit, with no actual hits being traded as Halfie manages to lower the temperature in the room so much that Katsuki can’t even make a small explosion to defend himself from another pillow attack.
“Holy shit, I hate when you do that,” Katsuki shivers. The positions from his dream are swapped. He’s the one under Halfie, arms prickled with goosebumps as Halfie slowly warms the room back up, “Playing dirty just to beat me.”
“Not really playing dirty if it’s an actual fighting technique I use,” Halfie replies. He doesn’t move from where he straddles Katsuki’s hips, a boyish smile on his lips.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, I want to kiss him so bad.
So, Katsuki does the one other thing he knows– he steers forward with reckless abandon, grabbing Halfie by the front of his sweater and pulling him down for a kiss.
Halfie’s everything Katsuki dreamed he would be and more. Cliché, yeah, but it’s the truth. His lips are cool, slightly chapped but still soft to the touch. He never wants to stop. Every moment that they aren’t kissing, Katsuki is cursing the human need to breathe. He tastes like those damn strawberry candies, a heavenly desire wafting around them as Halfie just barely pulls away, chest heaving.
It’s unfair, how pretty Halfie is. How everything he does just feels like a dream, and Katsuki never wants to wake up. Staying here, Halfie’s forehead pressed against his own, every nerve in his body firing off the same demand– More.
He wants more of Halfie. Wants him inhumanely, unabashedly. He wants to ruin him for anybody else, wants to hold him in his arms and keep him for himself, like a dragon protecting its horde.
“You could’ve just told me,” Halfie smartly whispers, steamy breath fanning out between the two of them, “Could’ve done this a long time ago.”
Katsuki bites down on his cheek to stop the groan that dares to escape, “How long?”
“Since we failed our license exams,” Halfie replies.
“Two whole years?” He gives up on fighting the groan, “Holy fuck, kiss me, Halfie.”
His smile is lopsided, “Say my name.”
Insufferable bastard. Fuckin’ tease. Annoying little shit–
“Shouto, Shouto. Kiss me, goddamnit.”
✧✦✧✦✧
They fall into an easy routine not long after. There’s no actual announcement of their relationship, but Katsuki still gets ragged on by all the extras. It starts with Pinky and Dunce Face jumping him the minute Shouto is away from his side, gleefully giggling as they jeer him on.
“You bagged Todoroki!?” Pinky screeches. He can’t really tell if it’s out of joy or sheer disbelief. But he takes it at face value, and gives her a half-hearted shrug. “God, I hate you. How am I supposed to have any fun in this sausage fest if you don’t tell me about your romantic pursuits!?”
“You have plenty of fun dealing with whatever’s going between Shitty Hair and the nerd.”
“It’s never enough fun!”
Dunce Face laughs, “You’re one of us now, gay boy.”
“I don’t like how you said that,” Katsuki’s eyes narrow at the mischief written across Kaminari’s face. “What’re you planning?”
Kaminari doesn’t reply, only smiling slyly as he wags his eyebrows at Katsuki.
He sees Shouto re-enter the room, and the two quickly back off of him, still giggling to themselves as they scurry away. Katsuki can tell from the dusting of pink on his cheeks that somebody must’ve gotten to him too. He leans his left side into Katsuki’s right, immediately cuddling up to him like a cat.
“Midoriya and Sero are terrifying sometimes,” he deadpans. “I know they’re your friends but they’re my friends too, but I’m getting the shovel talk. Mostly from Midoriya. Sero just gave me a fistbump and congratulated me for finally saying something. But you made the first move.”
“Damn right I did.”
“And how long were you in denial?”
Katsuki doesn’t answer, and his silence earns him a light bite on his shoulder.
“What did the nerd say?” He asks, his hand easily finds Shouto’s, tracing over calloused palms and lithe fingers.
He’s so perfect it’s almost maddening, and Katsuki finds that he’s not really paying attention to Shouto’s recounting of his encounter with Izuku. He’s too focused on the way his grey eye shines almost silver under the common room lights.
Too focused on picking every little thing about Shouto apart like the wedges of a tangerine, sweet and strong, energizing in the most miniscule of ways. Absent-mindedly, he places a kiss on each of Shouto’s fingers, and he’s snapped out of his daze as he hears Shouto’s breath hitch.
Shouto clears his throat, and tries to pick up on his story, but Katsuki presses his lips to his and suddenly, Katsuki doesn’t give a shit that Izuku effectively shovel talked Shouto for him. It’s this moment, this feeling. The elation of having somebody he wants to entangle himself in and never break free, the incessant desire to be near him.
Katsuki’s never given a shit what the others thought about him. And he sure as hell won’t give a shit now, as he kisses his boyfriend on the couch of their shared living space.
“Does this make us friends?” Shouto giggles.
“Nah.” He kisses Shouto’s forehead, “Never were,” his right cheek, “Never will be,” a soft one to the seam of his scar and skin.
“Mm… guess I’ll have to try harder to get you to admit it.”
“I’d like to see you try, Halfie.”