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Izuku takes another shot. He needs it; every minute that passes he's regretting putting this plan in action. Plus people won't stop looking at him. Ochaco says it's because he looks hot, but he's not sure if he believes her.
He keeps tugging at the hem of the dress, trying to get it lower on his thighs. Mina keeps swatting his hands away. "Stop fidgeting!" She says. Izuku does not stop fidgeting.
"I think it's shorter than it was," he says. "Did you alter it?"
"No, and I resent the implication. It's just because you're moving around. You need to relax. This was your idea."
"It was not my idea!" Izuku says. It hadn't even been an idea— it had been drunk whining on Ochaco's bedroom floor. Maybe I should just seduce Kacchan the next time we all go out. Somehow that had turned into this— Izuku at their favourite club, Plus Ultra, clad in a shimmery orange dress that he's almost certain used to be longer, eyes watering from the eyeliner Mina had put on him. He'd drawn the line at the strappy heels they'd wanted him to wear, so instead he's wearing knee high boots (still with a bit of heel, but Izuku didn't really mind— he kind of likes being taller). He's clad in body jewellery too, chains that go from his neck down his arms, and the whole thing is topped off with an obscene amount of glitter.
Here's the thing— he's willing to accept that maybe he looks good like this. He can kind of see it when he looks in the mirror, if he squints and pretends it's not him. But he doesn't feel like himself— and more to the point, he's not sure if Kacchan would even like this. He'd probably just make some comment about how it looked like Izuku mugged a fairy, or something.
"Hey," Ochaco says, grabbing his hand. "Do you trust me?" Izuku nods, because he does. "Then relax,” she says. "This is going to work."
Izuku does not relax, but he does have another shot. It's kind of the same thing, isn’t it?
By the time Kacchan arrives with his friends, Izuku is three sheets to the wind and in the middle of the dance floor with Ochaco. The dress keeps riding up, and he keeps pulling it down as he and Ochaco grind on each other in the way that only two incredibly gay best friends can. It’s fun; Izuku forgets the whole purpose of the outing until he and Ochaco return to the table and find Kacchan there with Kirishima and Kaminari. Izuku freezes in his tracks, but Ochaco pushes him forward.
He knows the exact moment they catch sight of him because Kaminari wolf whistles and Kirishima shouts out, “Damn, Midoriya!”
Kacchan doesn’t say anything, but Izuku can feel that burning red stare on him as he sits down.
“You look good, dude!” Kaminari says. There are assorted agreements around the table— except Kacchan, who is still just staring. Izuku can’t tell if it’s a good stare or a bad stare.
“Thanks,” he says, wobbling a little in his seat. “Mina dressed me.”
Kacchan clicks his tongue and gets up without a word. Izuku watches him go, feeling shitty and undesirable. What did it matter if everyone else thought he looked hot, if the one person he’d dressed like this for didn’t think so?
Izuku feels like an idiot. He also has a goddamn wedgie.
He doesn’t get long to sulk and mope; Kacchan comes back from the bar with a pitcher of water and thunks it down heavily on the table. Then he pours a glass and puts it down in front of Izuku.
“Drink that,” he says gruffly. “I can smell the booze on you from across the table.”
Izuku beams, previous woes forgotten in the face of Kacchan’s evident concern. Izuku leans forward and smiles at him, and the neckline of his dress droops a little more. Kacchan’s eyes flick down, and then he looks away, cheeks flushed red. Ochaco bumps her knee against his, a little too hard, but Izuku gets the message. The plan is back in motion— Kacchan likes what he sees.
Maybe this was going to work after all.
It wasn’t working.
Sure, Kacchan couldn’t keep his eyes off of him, which was a heady feeling, but every time Izuku made eye contact Kacchan would look away. After about an hour of this Mina and Ochaco exchange a glance that would have concerned Izuku if he was sober enough to notice.
“Let’s go dance again!” Ochaco says, grabbing his hand without waiting for an answer. He follows her back out onto the dance floor and quickly loses himself to the music and the press of bodies around him. He notices people staring at him, and he kind of likes it, the attention providing a balm for the sting of Kacchan’s inaction.
“You should dance with someone!” Ochaco says, yelling to be heard over the music.
“I’m dancing with you!”
“Someone else!” She grabs him by the shoulders and turns him. “See that guy in the yellow sweater? He’s been watching you.”
Izuku looks; he’s tall with shoulder length brown hair, and when Izuku meets his eye, he grins and winks.
“But—” He’s attractive, Izuku can see that. Not Kacchan attractive, obviously, but that was an impossible bar to clear.
Ochaco cuts off his protest. “You don’t have to marry him!” She says, a hand on his back as if to push him forward. “You just have to dance with him!”
“But—”
“Deku, go dance with the hot stranger, and try to do it in a place where Bakugou can see.”
This makes Izuku pause. “Is that… ethical?”
“Oh my God,” Ochaco says, long-suffering. “Listen! You look hot as hell, and everyone in this club can see that. If Bakugou isn’t going to properly appreciate it, find someone who will.”
Izuku looks at the guy again, and he starts to make his way through the crowd, towards Izuku.
“What do I do!” He hisses at Ochaco.
“Dance! Flirt! Have fun!”
Flirt! As if Izuku knew how to flirt! But the guy is in front of him now, and when Izuku looks Ochaco has already disappeared into the crowd.
“Hi,” the guy says. His teeth are kind of ridiculously white. Maybe it’s the club lighting?
“Hi,” Izuku says. Then he waves, like a goddamn moron.
The guy tells him his name, but Izuku can’t quite make it out over the music. “Midoriya Izuku,” he tells him. Teeth Guy flashes him another smile.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Izuku wobbles on his feet. That glass of water seems like a very long time ago. “I don’t think I need another drink,” he says.
Teeth is not deterred. “What about a dance, then?”
Izuku looks towards the table where his friends are sitting, but he can’t see them through the crowd.
The problem with being in love with your childhood friend for well over a decade is that it starts to become a comfort, like a warm blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Routine. Even those years when the two of them barely talked, when Kacchan got mean— Izuku’s feelings laid low, but they didn’t disappear. And then they reconnected in high school, and now they’re roommates in college and he has to deal with Kacchan, sleepy and shirtless in the mornings, or kicking Izuku’s bed for five straight minutes to get him to get out of bed and to class, or that time Izuku is still fifty percent sure he hallucinated, when he had the stomach flu and Kacchan wiped his forehead with a wet cloth and kept rinsing out his nasty puke bucket. The angel on his shoulder tells him that it probably isn’t fair to even dance with Teeth. There was no way he could ever measure up.
The devil on his shoulder, who looks like some combination of Mina and Ochaco, tells him he looks hot as hell, and it’s just a dance.
“Yeah, okay,” he says, nodding. Teeth smiles again, and he holds out his hand, and Izuku thinks fuck it.
And it’s fun. It’s really fun. Teeth is tall and he smells good and his hands are big on Izuku’s waist. Izuku wraps his arms around his neck and presses against him. Teeth leans his head down, and his breath leaves goosebumps on Izuku’s skin. When his hands slip a little lower Izuku doesn’t mind or stop him, and after a moment they slip even lower, cupping his ass.
And then, very abruptly, Izuku is being pulled away. Teeth looks after him in confusion, but he doesn’t move to follow (Izuku will find out later that this was likely because of the death glare Kacchan was giving him).
“Kacchan!” Izuku yells, when he’s twisted his head enough to see who was dragging him off. “What are you doing?” Kacchan doesn’t answer, just keeps towing Izuku away by his arm, pushing harshly through the crowd and out into the hallway where the coat check is. Kacchan shoves through a door marked staff only, and Izuku looks around nervously.
“Um, Kacchan, I don’t think we’re supposed to be here,” he says. Kacchan pushes him into a corner and looms over him, a hand on the wall next to Izuku’s head. He’s looking down at him like… well, Izuku isn’t sure exactly. The look in his eyes is so intense that Izuku finds he can’t maintain eye contact.
“What,” Kacchan says, voice low and deadly and so, so sexy. “Are you doing.” It isn’t a question, it’s a demand. Izuku’s heart is beating very fast.
“I was dancing,” he says. Kacchan scoffs.
“Why the fuck were you dancing with some hideous extra?”
Defiance makes Izuku raise his head and look at him again. “I can dance with whoever I want to. And he wasn’t hideous!”
Kacchan doesn’t like that, Izuku can tell from the way his eyes narrow. He can’t say anything to refute Izuku’s words, though, because they’re true— he can dance with whoever he wants to, and Teeth had been objectively hot.
“This, then,” Kacchan says, and he pulls slightly on Izuku’s neckline. “What is this.”
Izuku tilts his chin. “It’s a dress.”
“I can see that,” Kacchan sneers. “So can everyone else. You trying to put on a show tonight?”
Anger and humiliation burns inside him, and tears prick at his eyes. He stands up straight and shoves Kacchan back. “Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean you can talk to me like that,” he says, before he pushes past him.
“Izuku,” Kacchan says, but Izuku ignores him. “Izuku wait, I’m sorry.” He comes up behind Izuku and grabs his arms, stopping him in his tracks. “I’m sorry,” he says again, and he sounds like he means it. “That was out of line, I’m sorry.”
Izuku sniffs, but he doesn’t try to move away. An apology was hard to get out of Kacchan, and he’d just willingly given him three. Kacchan doesn’t move his hands from Izuku’s biceps; actually, he kind of pulls Izuku closer into his body. He’s emanating body heat, hot through the thin fabric of the dress. He ducks his head, and when he speaks he does it directly in Izuku’s ear.
“And I do like it,” he says, voice low. “Deku. I really fucking like it.”
Izuku tips his head back against Kacchan’s shoulder and summons every bit of alcohol induced courage left within him to say, “Good. I wore it for you.”
Kacchan moves faster than Izuku thought possible; he finds himself pressed back up against the wall, Kacchan in front of him— and then Kacchan is kissing him.
Kacchan is kissing him.
Izuku had kissed two people in his life: Shouto, in their second year of high school, because they both wanted to know what it was like, and Aoyama, during a class 3-A game of truth or dare. Neither had been particularly memorable.
Neither had been anything like this.
Izuku would like to apologize to every cliche he ever thought was stupid. It really is like fireworks, like the earth stopped spinning, like everything that wasn’t the two of them disappeared from existence. Kacchan’s kiss feels like explosions against his lips, like he’s on fire. Izuku lets himself burn.
“Kacchan,” he says, little more than a whimper against his lips. “Kacchan, take me home.”
Kacchan pulls away and looks down at Izuku like he’s one of the wonders of the world. Kacchan has never looked at him like that. It makes Izuku’s blood sing.
“Yeah,” Kacchan says, voice hoarse and gruff and God, Izuku is approximately thirty five seconds away from dropping to his knees and giving his first blowjob in the staff hallway of a club. Kacchan’s big hands come up to frame Izuku’s face, thumbs stroking soft against his cheekbones. “Yeah, let’s go home.”
They stumble out; Kacchan hails a cab, and Izuku tugs his dress down again.
“It won’t stop riding up,” he complains.
Kacchan rests a hand on the small of his back. “It’s because your ass is so fat.”
“Kacchan!”
Kacchan snickers, hand sliding down to squeeze the aforementioned fat ass.
They don’t make out in the cab, although Izuku wants to. Kacchan gives the driver the address and then puts his hand high up on Izuku’s bare thigh. Izuku traces over his fingers and knuckles, excitement and anxiety and anticipation buzzing in his gut.
When they get to their apartment Kacchan throws a handful of bills on the front seat before dragging Izuku bodily from the cab.
Now they can’t keep their hands off each other. They kiss against the door of the building, while they’re waiting for the elevator, in the elevator. By the time they stumble into the apartment Izuku’s lips are swollen from kissing and biting (he should have known Kacchan would be a biter), and Kacchan’s button up shirt is hanging open, a trail of buttons that Izuku accidentally ripped off, leading the way like breadcrumbs.
Kacchan wastes no time in pushing Izuku to his bedroom. He’d been in here a few times before, but it looks kind of different now. Maybe it’s just that Izuku is different, changed irrevocably by the man currently sucking on his neck.
“Izuku,” Kacchan says, lips skimming across the bruise Izuku is certain he’s left. “If I buy you another one of these, can I rip this one off you?”
A guttural moan bursts from Izuku’s throat at the thought alone, and he’s nodding before Kacchan is even done speaking.
Kacchan grabs the drooping neckline and tugs, and Izuku’s dress tears right down the middle. Kacchan keeps yanking until it splits completely, two halves hanging limply off Izuku’s frame.
Izuku is throbbing. His cock, his heart, his head— everything feels magnified, like he’d never really used his senses until just this moment.
“Were you actively trying to kill me with this thing?” Kacchan mutters, slipping the straps off Izuku’s shoulders so the ruined dress slumps to the ground at his feet.
“No,” Izuku says. “I was trying to get you to do this.”
“Mission fucking accomplished,” Kacchan says. “Take those fucking boots off.”
Izuku tries to unzip the boots standing up and loses his balance, hopping backward until he falls onto the bed. Kacchan laughs at him and Izuku sticks out his tongue.
Kacchan undresses quickly, to the point where he’s waiting impatiently for Izuku to finish taking off his boots.
“Kacchan,” Izuku says, lifting up one of his feet. “Tug.”
Kacchan clicks his tongue and does as he’s asked, first one boot, then the other. He chucks them into the corner of his room before he shoves Izuku onto his back and further up the bed. Izuku barely gets any time to appreciate Kacchan’s naked body before he’s on top of him, tongue delving inelegantly into Izuku’s mouth. His hand traces down Izuku’s body until it stops at the stringy underwear he’s wearing.
“What is this,” Kacchan says. Izuku gives a nervous laugh.
“Um. Ashido said I’d get panty lines?”
Kacchan makes a noise like he’d been kicked in the stomach. “Remind me to send her fucking flowers.”
“So you— do you really like it?”
“Deku,” Kacchan growls, and then he rolls his hips down so Izuku can feel the press of his hard cock, still confined in his briefs. Izuku’s mind goes completely blank at the feel of it, at the size of it. He’d always figured (hoped) Kacchan would have a big dick, because Kacchan has a big everything (chest, arms, ego). It’s nice to have it confirmed.
Izuku moans and Kacchan swears. Izuku tries to wrap his arms around his neck, but Kacchan pulls away.
“Izuku,” he says, and Izuku has never heard him say his name like that. Like a prayer. “You gotta tell me what you want, baby, ‘cause I want fucking everything. Tell me what you want. Tell me when to stop.”
Izuku’s brain briefly flatlines at the word ‘baby’ and it takes him a moment to reboot. “I want everything too, Kacchan. I don’t want you to stop.”
Kacchan kisses him again; he slips his fingers under the string of Izuku’s thong and then yanks, and now Izuku’s entire outfit is ruined beyond repair.
He doesn’t care. It did what it was supposed to do.
“I’ll buy you another of those, too,” Kacchan says. Izuku brings his hands down to Kacchan’s waist and pushes ineffectually at the only thing stopping them from being skin to skin.
“Off,” Izuku orders. Kacchan sits up and removes them— without ripping them, Izuku notices, so apparently it’s only his clothes that are subject to Kacchan’s impatience.
And then, just like that, Kacchan is magnificently, gloriously naked. Izuku’s eyes soak it in with the same awe and reverence people tend to use to look at art, assuming they also wanted to fuck the art. Kacchan’s cock is hard and thick and heavy, drooping under its own weight so it’s more pointing at Izuku. Like a statement of intent. Like a promise.
Anxiety suddenly rears its head. “Kacchan,” he says nervously. “I’ve never really, um— done this before.” Don’t get him wrong, Izuku is no stranger to dicks in his ass, it’s just that they tend to be silicone and attached to his headboard. He’s not sure what Kacchan’s level of experience is; he doesn’t think he’s ever been on a date or showed interest in anyone, but Kacchan was a naturally private person.
Izuku’s fears are unfounded. “Good,” Kacchan says. “Neither have I.”
“Really?” Izuku asks.
“Never wanted to,” Kacchan says. “Never wanted anyone but you.”
Izuku’s heart soars. For an undetermined amount of time after that there’s no talking, just learning— learning each other’s bodies, and the sounds Kacchan makes when Izuku bites at his ear, the steady rolling of their hips against each other as Izuku’s cock leaks onto his stomach. Kacchan kisses down his neck, to his collarbones and down his chest, tongue swirling around Izuku’s nipple. Izuku buries his fingers in Kacchan’s hair and groans, lightning zipping up his spine with every flick of Kacchan’s tongue.
“Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan I want you to fuck me,” he begs, hitching his legs high up on his waist. Kacchan makes an amused noise as he kisses his way back up to Izuku’s lips.
“If I last that long,” he says. “Stay here.”
As if Izuku would go anywhere. As if Izuku could go anywhere— his legs feel like jelly. Kacchan scrambles off him and rummages about in his closet before he strides back to the bed. He grabs one of Izuku’s legs to yank them apart, eyes zeroing in on Izuku’s hole with an almost hungry look in his eye.
“ Shit, look at you. Do you know how goddamn crazy you make me?”
Izuku squirms under the intense gaze and reaches his arms out, trying to grab Kacchan and bring him back closer. Kacchan coats his fingers in lube and then brings them to Izuku’s ass; Izuku can see them shaking. His eyes flick up to Izuku’s.
“You’ll tell me if I hurt you, yeah?”
Izuku grabs Kacchan’s shoulders and brings him in for a kiss. “Kacchan will never hurt me,” he says confidently. “We’ll do it together.”
Kacchan fingers him open with great care and caution, and even though Izuku wants to tell him to hurry the fuck up he recognizes that Kacchan is nervous and is just being careful. His fingers are much thicker than Izuku’s, longer too, and it isn’t long before Izuku is a whimpering mess, writhing on Kacchan’s fingers and begging.
“Kacchan, Kacchan, please.”
“Fucking hell, Izuku, how are you so fucking hot,” Kacchan mutters, as if he weren’t literally sex incarnate. He spreads lube on his cock, but he doesn’t move to put it in. His eyes are glued to Izuku’s face, and he’s looking at Izuku with that expression again, like he’s the only person who exists in Kacchan’s entire universe. It’s how he’s always looked at Kacchan, from the time they were kids; to have it turned on him is something else.
“You’re sure you want this?” Kacchan asks again. “With me?”
Izuku raises both hands and takes Kacchan’s cheeks. “Who else would I ever want to do this with?”
Kacchan kisses him while he enters him, although both of them break away to let out twin noises of pleasure after too long. Kacchan is big. It had been one thing to see it and another thing altogether to have it inside of him. It’s far better than any dildo or vibrator Izuku had ever used, especially because he gets to hear Kacchan’s grunts and moans and the way he keeps saying Izuku’s name. He hitches his legs up even more, tightens his arms around Kacchan’s neck, tries to bring him even closer, even deeper. He doesn’t ever want to be further away from him than this.
“Are you okay?” Kacchan asks. “Is this okay?”
Izuku answers by biting down hard on Kacchan’s lip. There’s no way he’s getting out of this unscathed; if he’s gonna have trouble walking he might as well have a good fucking time. “Fuck me,” Izuku orders.
“Bossy,” Kacchan says, but he sounds pleased about it. He still goes slowly though, at least at first; but after a few controlled, steady thrusts, Kacchan’s eyes close and he leans his head down to rest his forehead on Izuku’s shoulder. His hips speed up, but he loses his steady rhythm, fucking into Izuku desperately. “Touch yourself,” he says hoarsely. “Not gonna last, you feel so fucking good. Wanna feel you come, Izuku.”
Izuku semi-reluctantly detaches himself from Kacchan enough that he can work a hand between their bodies and grab a hold of his own, incredibly hard cock. Kacchan opens his mouth and sinks his teeth into Izuku’s shoulder, and he shouts out, hips jerking.
“I can’t—” Kacchan says, panting into Izuku’s skin. “Gonna come, Deku, fuck—”
And Izuku can feel it, can feel the throbbing and pulsing of Kacchan’s cock inside him as he comes, pumping deep inside of Izuku. Izuku squeezes his own cock a little harder and moves his hand a little faster, and Kacchan’s tongue licks across the indentation of his teeth, and Izuku spills across his stomach and his chest with a cry.
Kacchan falls to the side and pulls Izuku into him, arms and legs wrapping around each other firmly and securely. Both of them are covered in sweat; cum smears between their bellies and leaks out of Izuku’s hole. He’s dirty and sore and exhausted. It’s awesome.
After a few moments Kacchan says, sounding as tired as Izuku feels, “There’s fuckin’ glitter all over my bed.”
“We can sleep in mine,” Izuku murmurs. Kacchan makes a noise that Izuku chooses to interpret as I’m not fucking moving. He settles into Kacchan’s chest, sleep calling his name.
“Gotta talk t’mmorrow,” Kacchan says, letters slurring together. “D’nt go running off in the morning overthinking shit.”
“Pr’mise,” Izuku says. He feels the faint pressure of lips on top of his head before both of them slip under.
Izuku wakes up before Kacchan; they’re still tangled together, so Izuku wouldn’t be able to get up without waking him. Not that he’s going to— he’d promised.
But God, Kacchan is curled around him, breath soft in Izuku’s hair, and Izuku’s whole body is aching and holy shit, he’d had sex with Kacchan. He’d lost his virginity to Kacchan. What did that mean? Were they dating now? Did Kacchan want to date or did he just want to fuck? Would Izuku be okay with that, if that is what he wants? Did—
“Shut the fuck up,” Kacchan mutters. “What did I say last night?”
“You said not to run away and overthink things,” Izuku says. “I’m staying in bed and overthinking things.”
Kacchan mumbles something Izuku can’t make out, and then he says, “I wanna date you, stupid, what kind of fuckboy do you think I am?”
Izuku chuckles nervously. “I don’t know,” he says. “You’ve never really dated anyone before.”
“I told you. I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”
Izuku considers this. He finds this hard to believe. “Since when?”
“End of first year, I guess.”
“That—” Izuku shifts so he can sit up and look at Kacchan better. “That was like, almost five years ago!”
“Yeah,” Kacchan says. Izuku is going back through half a decade’s worth of interaction between them, looking at it under this new light.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Admittedly this is a hypocritical question, because Izuku certainly never told him, either, but he at the very least had put on a sexy dress.
Kacchan reaches a hand up to brush at Izuku’s hair. He looks softer than Izuku had ever thought possible, and he’s still looking at Izuku like he’s something special. It’s all so much better like this, in the light of day and sober.
“Wasn’t gonna do anything that could make me lose you,” he says simply. “In whatever fucking way I had you. I was gonna wait until you did something that made me 100% sure you felt the same.” He smirks. “Like dressing up in a slutty dress in my favourite colour.”
“It wasn’t slutty!” Izuku argues. Kacchan laughs and presses his fingers to one of the bruises on Izuku’s neck. It stings in a really delicious way.
“Bet we can find one that is,” Kacchan says suggestively. “Some more of that underwear, too.”
Izuku flushes red, but he doesn’t argue. He may feel self-conscious about it, but Kacchan’s reaction to his outfit last night was definitely something he wanted to experience again. And besides, just because he may get some dresses doesn’t mean he has to wear them out. With the way Kacchan likes to rip things, he probably won’t get a chance.
“Okay,” he says, smiling brightly up at Kacchan, who blinks at him, looking a little dazed. He leans down to kiss Izuku quickly, morning breath be damned.
“Breakfast first,” Kacchan says. He sits up properly and stretches before climbing easily out of bed. “Are you hungover? You drank like a fish.”
“I don’t think fish need to drink,” Izuku says. “I think I’m fine, though. I don’t feel too bad.” He sits up and then he tries to stand up, and when he does the whole world spins and he wobbles back down onto the bed. “Okay, never mind,” he says, fighting back a wave of nausea as his body punishes him for the crime of moving a little too fast.
“I’m gonna have to wash your fucking puke bucket again, aren’t I,” Kacchan says with a click of his tongue (so that hadn’t been a hallucination after all). He helps Izuku stand up, slower this time, keeping his hands firm on Izuku’s shoulders so he doesn’t topple over again, letting Izuku lean against him to regain his balance. When Izuku is able to stand by himself (like a baby goddamn horse) Kacchan throws on a pair of sweatpants, and Izuku morosely watches his magnificent cock disappear. Hopefully Izuku’s nausea doesn’t stick around, because he really wants to get his mouth on it.
Then Kacchan walks over to his closet and pulls out a sweater, throwing it to Izuku. “I know you steal my shit anyway and think I don’t notice,” he says, as Izuku guiltily puts the hoodie on. “I want that orange one with the black X back.”
“Okay,” Izuku agrees easily. “But I’m keeping this one until it stops smelling like you.” The sleeves fall over his hands, the hem easily reaching to his thighs. Normally he only wore Kacchan’s sweater in his room when Kacchan wasn’t home to catch him; being able to wear his clothes openly is going to be a lot more fun.
He knows Kacchan had been joking, but maybe they really should buy Mina flowers.
“C’mon, shitty nerd. I’ll make you something easy on your stomach.”
Izuku follows after him gladly, much the way he always has; this time, though, Kacchan waits for him in the hall, an arm sliding around his shoulders as they walk to the kitchen, neither one in front and neither one behind. Izuku doesn’t think the two of them will ever be out of sync again.
(Later he asks Ashido where she bought the dress, and Kacchan goes through the website’s inventory with a level of seriousness and commitment you wouldn’t expect to be applied to shitty fashion. He won’t let Izuku see how much he spends, but when the box(es) show up a few days later, there are a lot of clothes — and almost all of them end up in shreds on the floor of their apartment. Every room in their apartment— almost every surface too. They’re working on it. They have time.)