Chapter Text
Ochako’s agency meeting room is decked out in holiday spirit. Twinkle lights draped across the walls, a beautiful wreath tacked to the door, the big rectangular table covered end to end in potluck dishes, and a pile of secret Santa gifts stacked under a thoroughly decorated tree.
Mina and Tsuyu stand near the window, their cocoa steaming, candy canes poking out the tops of their mugs.
“I can’t wait for them to open it,” Mina says, bouncing slightly on her toes, cocoa sloshing in her mug. “I even wrapped it twice. Like, decoy wrapping. Dramaaaa!”
Tsuyu sips her cocoa, nonplussed. “You always go overboard.”
“Tsu, this is my art!”
On the carpeted floor nearby, Jirou and Sero are mid-argument.
“I’m telling you,” Jirou says, jabbing her finger into Sero’s arm, “Aoyama’s got Todoroki. The wrapping has glitter and lace. Come on.”
Sero grins. “Could be Tokoyami trying to be festive.”
“Riiiight,” Jirou draws the word out with an eyeroll.
At the table, Iida launches into a passionate explanation of his new office scheduling algorithm while Ochako listens with her usual warm smile, nodding at all the right moments. Izuku stands with them, bouncing slightly on his heels, laughing along, interjecting with the occasional earnest “that’s so smart, Iida,” and fighting the urge to overexplain that the veggie platter he brought is arranged to resemble All Might.
Hovering nearby, Shoto’s halfway through a plate of karaage, unbothered, quietly listening in on the conversation.
And Katsuki is not participating.
He’s standing near the door, arms crossed, pretending to listen while Kirishima and Kaminari chatter on either side of him. His eyes keep drifting, every few seconds, back to the table. Back to Izuku.
Izuku, who’s laughing again. His stupid freckles crinkled on his stupid cheeks. Who’s probably about to knock over the cider pitcher with the way he’s waving his hands around.
Katsuki’s jaw flexes.
“So anyway,” Kaminari says, elbowing him lightly, “what do you think, man?”
Katsuki blinks, head snapping toward him. “Huh?”
Kaminari frowns. “Dude. You weren’t even listening?”
Kirishima shifts beside him, smile thinning. “You good, bro?”
Katsuki clicks his tongue, eyes already back on Izuku.
“Just because I don’t give a shit about whatever dumb crap you two are yapping about doesn’t mean I’m having a goddamn crisis.”
Kaminari raises both hands. “Well damn, okay, Scrooge.”
Kirishima nudges him, eyes searching. He doesn’t push it, but he doesn’t look convinced.
Katsuki doesn’t care. He tracks Izuku’s movements like he’s waiting for him to trip, like he’s hoping for it.
Ochako brushes her hand against Izuku’s arm. He smiles at her. Katsuki’s mouth flattens.
Kaminari claps his hands together like he’s running a damn seminar, and announces they’re playing “Holiday Hot Seat” with the smug confidence of someone pretending this isn’t just a knockoff drinking game disguised as a team-building exercise.
Claims it’s a staple at his agency. Builds trust. Uncovers vulnerability. No one buys it.
Still, they all fall into it with too much enthusiasm, because that’s how this group works. No one actually needs an excuse to dig into each other’s business. They’ve known each other too long for that.
Someone moves the coffee table out of the way, and just like that, they all start sinking to the floor, settling into an uneven circle right there on the carpet. Like it’s a high school movie night all over again. Like they’re not fully-grown adults with jobs and public reputations.
Mina flops down dramatically. Kirishima folds his legs. Jirou curls up with a throw pillow in her lap. It’s stupid and cramped, and they’re all grinning like they’re still in the dorms, while Katsuki sits just outside the ring, arms crossed like a kid dragged to a birthday party he didn’t ask to be invited to.
Izuku’s sitting next to Ochako. Of course he is. Legs crossed, half turned toward her like she’s the only person in the room worth looking at. She’s laughing, close enough to lean in when she does. One hand taps his thigh as she teases him about something. He makes that dumb face— the bashful, rosy-cheeked one—and lets her.
It looks like flirting.
It feels like flirting.
And no one else seems to notice or care. They just smile like it’s inevitable. Like they’ve been waiting for it to happen and are glad it finally is.
Katsuki stares, jaw tight, chest burning behind his ribs like a lit fuse no one else can smell.
He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t say a word. Just listens to another stupid prompt fly out of Mina’s mouth.
“Okay! Name the hero you’d most want to kiss under mistletoe!”
Groans. Shouts. Kaminari throws a pillow at her.
Izuku laughs. “Can we veto questions?”
Ochako tilts her head, playful. “Why? You worried?”
He shrugs, trying for casual, but there’s a flicker in his eyes. Something secret.
And Katsuki just sits there, motionless, not even pretending to engage now. The way he’s looking, the way his whole body’s locked up, he might as well be staring at a car crash.
He knows what this looks like.
The way Izuku lets her lean in. The way she brushes against his shoulder when she laughs. The way he softens when she speaks.
Come on. How many dinners? How many late-night patrols “accidentally” overlapping? How many times has he walked into an agency common room to find them shoulder-to-shoulder on the same couch, poring over reports like the pages were flirting?
He’s seen it, heard it. Their names paired in debriefs. Her laugh on Izuku’s comm when they forget to switch channels.
He knows what it means when two people keep finding ways to be in the same place.
And it kills him.
Because Katsuki waited.
When Izuku lost his quirk, gave up on hero work, fell into the shadows of his own potential, Katsuki didn’t chase him. He stood back. Let him go. But he never stopped watching. Never stopped hoping.
And when the suit came through—his suit, their suit, custom built over eight goddamn years—Katsuki felt it like his heartbeat coming back online for a second time.
He didn’t just fund it. He lived inside that project. Spent hours combing over specs, vetoing designs, demanding better materials. He knew how it would feel to Izuku before Izuku even touched it.
Because he knew Izuku. Knew what he used to be. Knew what he could be again.
So when Izuku finally returned to the field, suited up with that same look in his eyes Katsuki remembered from their last real fight—
Katsuki breathed again.
Started giving a shit again. About everything. About winning.
All because Izuku was back. And Katsuki thought, maybe now. Maybe finally.
But then came her.
The easy smiles. The whispers. The casual little not-a-dates that everyone else kept calling cute.
And Katsuki told himself not to care. Not to assume.
He told himself Izuku would've said something. That he would've known if something had changed.
But watching them now, watching the way Izuku turns his face toward hers, Katsuki knows.
Maybe he was never a real contender.
Maybe Izuku moved on while he was busy waiting for a goddamn sign.
“Bakugou,” Kaminari says, loud, breaking the tension. “You’re up. Who in this room would you challenge to a drinking contest?”
Katsuki doesn’t blink. “Deku.”
There’s laughter. Sero snorts.
Izuku smiles like he means it. “That’s not fair. You’d win.”
Katsuki shrugs. “Probably.”
“Well I guess that means I’m still your favorite rival.” Izuku says, tilting his head, playful.
He’s teasing. Being friendly.
Katsuki doesn’t laugh.
He stares at him, throat tight, fingers curled into his sleeves, every part of him screaming with the weight of everything he hasn’t said.
He almost wants to ruin it. Right here. Right now.
But not yet.
Not until the gifts.
So Katsuki keeps watching, every second stacking heavier on his chest. He wants to be above this, should be above this. But every time Izuku leans a little closer to her, every time he laughs too hard or lets their knees brush, Katsuki feels it twist.
He’s losing a battle he never got to fight.
The next round of the game is worse. Kaminari rattles off questions faster this time.
“Who’d survive the longest trapped in a snowed-in cabin?”
“Who’s most likely to hook up with a villain by accident?”
“Who should get their own cooking program?”
“Kacchan.”
Izuku glances up from his spot next to Ochako. “Did you guys know Kacchan makes the best gyoza?”
Ochako looks at him. “Really?”
Izuku nods, earnest. “He makes the wrappers from scratch and everything.”
Sero leans forward, eyebrows raised. “How come you never made us any, man?”
Katsuki should feel smug. Instead, he feels his throat go dry.
He shrugs, arms crossed tight. “Didn’t know you were taking notes.”
“I always take notes,” Izuku says, voice soft.
Ochako glances between them.
Something shifts in the air. Just for a second.
Katsuki looks away first.
The game sputters on, losing momentum. The questions get dumber. Kaminari yells something about holiday-themed sex moves. Mina chokes on her cider. Someone crawls off to refill their drink, someone else claims the hot seat and immediately regrets it. Iida tries to enforce order and is completely ignored. People peel off in clumps, chasing snacks or side conversations.
Izuku moves to help Ochako carry empty cups to the trash. She smiles at him, soft, unbothered, and he says something Katsuki can’t hear, but whatever it is makes her laugh.
Katsuki sits through all of it. Slouched back against the wall, fingers drumming restless patterns on the side of his thigh. His drink is warm and too sweet. The room’s getting humid. Someone cracked a window, but it’s not helping.
Now he’s annoyed. Not just at them. At himself.
He shouldn’t be here. Should’ve made an excuse, handed off his stupid secret Santa gift and gone home. But no, he stayed. Sat through the games, the questions, the flirting, the way Izuku smiles at Ochako like she hung the fucking stars.
Katsuki grits his teeth and lets the tension dig in. Lets the irritation calcify into something sharper.
Then someone says it. “Should we do gifts?”
He drags his eyes to the corner of the room, where the gifts are all piled with hand-labeled tags in different styles. One of them has his handwriting on it.
And for a moment, just a beat, he considers backing off. Letting it slide. Taking the damn thing back and tossing it in a dumpster on the way home.
But then—
Sure enough, Izuku steps forward, cradling a gift in both hands, wrapped in bright red paper with gold ribbon.
He clears his throat. “For… Uraraka.”
Of fucking course.
She perks up, surprised. Giddy. She takes the gift like it’s something delicate. Rips the paper carefully, peels it back in neat strips.
Inside: a pair of gloves.
Simple at first glance. Charcoal-gray, supple texture, clean stitch work. Subtle. Thoughtful. Expensive. And she holds them like they’re the most precious thing she’s ever received.
“They’re perfect,” she says quietly.
Izuku smiles, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed. “Your old pair kept slipping off in your sleep, so these ones have custom linings, uh, more breathable, but they grip tighter. So they won’t ride up.”
Someone whistles. Sero says something about "teacher salary, huh?"
The gloves fit perfectly. Of course they do. She slides them on and flexes her fingers, smiling like it’s the most natural thing in the world to have her needs memorized. Because Izuku is always so fucking good at paying attention when it’s not him.
Something sour builds behind Katsuki’s teeth.
The party moves on. Another name is called. More wrapping paper torn.
But Katsuki’s too busy turning that moment over in his head like a jagged stone. He’s not jealous of the gloves. He’s not even mad about the gift itself. It’s the knowing. The assumption behind it. The intimacy.
So then he decides.
Fuck it.
If Izuku’s going to play this casual, unbothered, “we’re just close friends with hyper-specific sleeping gear knowledge” bullshit, then this is fine. This might actually help. Give them a nudge. Close the loop. If they’re already halfway there, maybe all it takes is one push. Maybe this final, stupid little act, is the thing that finally lets him let go.
Rip the bandaid. Burn the what-ifs. Say fine, he’s yours, and finally move the fuck on.
Besides. It’s funny. Kind of.
And maybe it’ll spare him the long, pathetic process of watching them drift closer inch by inch until the kiss finally happens and the room explodes with applause and Katsuki has to pretend to be okay with it.
Better to end it here.
So he stands up.
Walks over.
Finds the gift he wrapped.
And holds it in his hand for just a second too long.
The box looks innocent enough. Cartoonish wrapping paper, red and green print plastered with little All Mights in Santa hats.
He crosses the room in a few casual strides.
“Oi,” he says, sharp and loud enough to cut the room in half. “Nerd.”
Izuku turns instantly, blinking up at him from beside Ochako, half-gloved, mid-conversation.
“Ka— Kacchan?” His eyes go round, caught off-guard.
Katsuki holds the box out, casual.
“Happy fuckin’ holidays,” he says. “I’m your secret Santa.”
There’s a second of dead air as the rest of the room quiets. Attention shifting. Conversations dropping. People turning in their seats.
Izuku’s eyebrows are up. “You…? Really?”
“Yeah,” Katsuki says, lighter now. A little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t look so surprised. We all drew names, not like I rigged it.”
He taps the top of the box, still extended.
“Come on. Open it. I’m telling you, I got you the best shit here.”
He delivers it like a punchline. The kind that lands late. And it’s almost a joke. Almost.
Izuku looks down at the paper, the cheery little All Mights grinning up at him. “Kacchan… thanks,” he says, soft.
Katsuki just shrugs and folds his arms. Plays it off like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t plan the whole thing two weeks ago and nearly tossed the box twice before committing to the bit.
Izuku peels at the tape carefully, like it would be disrespectful to hurt the wrapping. The paper gives way slowly, and Katsuki watches him wince as one of the little All Mights rips straight through the middle.
For some reason, that’s when Katsuki becomes acutely aware of his own heartbeat.
Thump. Thump.
Too loud. Too fast.
Izuku lifts the lid just enough to see inside.
Just enough.
His face goes red so fast it’s almost impressive. His ears follow, then his neck, the color bleeding downward as his eyes widen, pupils blown.
“K— Kacchan…?” he stammers, voice cracking. “Wh— what… what the—”
He snaps the lid shut.
Too late.
Katsuki sees the label. Knows Izuku saw it too.
There’s a beat. A single, fragile second where the entire room is holding its breath without realizing why.
Then Izuku panics.
He lunges for his bag by the wall, nearly tripping over his own feet, and shoves the box inside like it’s contraband. Like it might explode if anyone else looks at it for too long. He fumbles with the zipper, hands shaking, tossing his notebooks to the floor in the process.
Mina squints. “Uh…?”
Sero leans forward. “Dude, what was it?”
Ochako’s smile has faded, confusion flickering across her face as she looks between them. “Deku…?”
Katsuki doesn’t move.
He just stands there, arms still crossed, pulse hammering, watching Izuku self-destruct in real time.
“Well?” Kaminari prompts. “You gonna show us or what?”
Izuku laughs too loud, too forced. “Ah— ha—! It’s— um— it’s just— Kacchan, you’re an idiot!” He waves a hand like that explains everything. “I’ll— uh— I’ll look at it later!”
Later.
Katsuki finally exhales through his nose.
“What,” he says mildly, like he didn’t just drop a live wire into Izuku’s lap. “You don’t like it?”
Izuku squeaks. “No! I— That’s not— It’s just—!”
The room explodes with noise.
“Ohhhh,” Mina sings, vibrating with excitement. “Oh my god, that reaction was criminal.”
Jirou narrows her eyes. “Bakugou. What did you get him.”
Kirishima grins. “Manly gift or manly gift?”
Ochako’s looking at Izuku now, really looking, concern and curiosity tangled together. “Deku… are you okay?”
He nods too fast. “Y— yeah! Totally! I’m great!”
He is absolutely not great.
Katsuki tilts his head, just a little, like he’s watching a plan unfold exactly as expected.
“Relax,” he says. “It’s a practical gift.”
That somehow makes it worse.
Izuku groans and covers his face with both hands.
Now the room is buzzing with suspicion and laughter and questions Katsuki has zero intention of answering. Everyone’s looking, but for the first time all night, Izuku can’t look at her, because he’s too busy trying not to combust under Katsuki’s gaze.
And that lingers. The awkwardness. The tension. Slipping into the rest of the party like an uninvited guest.
They go through the rest of the exchange. More gifts. More noise.
But Izuku doesn’t drift near Katsuki again. Not even close.
He laughs when he’s supposed to. Smiles on reflex. He sticks close to Ochako, yeah, but not like before. The easy banter from earlier, the shoulder brushes, the warmth it’s gone. Replaced with something stiff. There’s a twitch in his posture, a constant alertness, like he’s waiting for something to fall on him.
Every time their eyes almost meet, Izuku flinches away. Pretends to check his phone. Starts a new conversation with someone else. Fixates on crumbs on his sleeve like they’re suddenly life-threatening.
It’s not subtle. And it’s not unexpected.
Katsuki’s chest feels like someone’s dragging a zipper through it.
He doesn’t chase him.
Just sits in it. Watches it all play out.
And he can’t tell, god, he can’t tell if this is what he wanted.
There’s a dull thrum of satisfaction under his ribs. A part of him that whispers, Yeah. Good. Maybe now you’ll stop dreaming about him like a fucking idiot. Maybe now he can let go. Maybe this was closure. A severance.
But then he looks at Izuku again, sees the tightness in his jaw, and it doesn’t feel like victory.
It just feels bad.
Too late for a joke. Too early for regret.
Katsuki finishes his drink. He watches him for exactly three seconds longer. And then he leaves.
Two drinks into the night, there’s a knock on the door.
No, not a knock. That’s too polite.
It’s an insistent BANG BANG BANG, loud enough to make Katsuki flinch where he’s half-sprawled on the couch. The wreath on the door rattles with the impact, a sad little jingle echoing through the room, dim except for the fake tree glowing in the corner.
He glares at the ceiling for a second.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he grumbles, hauling himself up with a stretch and a pop of his spine. He doesn't bother checking the peephole.
He yanks the door open and—
Instinct takes over.
He dodges without thinking, head jerking to the side just in time to avoid a fist coming straight for his face.
The punch misses by a hair. Momentum does the rest.
Izuku stumbles forward into the apartment like a kicked-over mop, arms flailing to catch himself, cheeks pink and wide eyes locked on Katsuki in pure, stunned realization, like he’s the one surprised to be here.
Katsuki blinks, slamming the door behind him with a dull thud. “The hell, nerd?!”
Izuku straightens, red-faced and breathing harder than he should be. His arm drops to his side.
“That was supposed to be payback,” he says, like that makes any goddamn sense.
Katsuki squints at him, then snorts.
He turns around and heads straight back to the couch, rolling his eyes as he flops down again like this is the most normal shit in the world.
“Right. And what exactly did I do to you that warrants an attempted assault as payback?”
Izuku follows, stalking in like he’s about to deliver a court ruling. He plants himself directly in front of the couch, arms crossed, scowling down like a pissed-off parent.
“You know.”
“I don’t.”
“You can’t think of anything?”
“Really can’t.”
“Well,” Izuku snaps, tapping his foot with a little stomp that is absolutely, one hundred percent unnecessary, “then think harder.”
Katsuki raises an eyebrow. The foot tap. The pout.
Cute.
He scrubs a hand down his face.
No. Not cute.
No no no no no.
You’re detaching, he reminds himself, mentally slapping his own forehead. You are emotionally detaching like a well adjusted adult who absolutely did not give the guy you’ve been in love with for years an insane gift at a Christmas party to force a reaction.
“Look,” he says, voice flat. “I genuinely have no idea what’s got your onesie in a twist. If you want to try punching me again, be my guest. Might help. But you’ll probably still miss.”
Izuku huffs like a teakettle and abruptly drops onto the couch beside him, arms crossed hard, like he’s trying to physically hold his frustration in. His thigh brushes the edge of Katsuki’s for a second before he scoots away.
They sit in silence for a few seconds. The lights from the tree blink in the corner of the room, too warm, too cheerful. Katsuki pretends to be fascinated by the half-empty glass on the coffee table, and tries very hard not to let his heart climb any higher in his goddamn throat.
“You humiliated me.”
He scoffs before he can stop himself. “Please.”
“In front of everyone.”
“You do that yourself,” Katsuki mutters, a reflexive chuckle slipping out. Then he sees Izuku’s face and cuts it off immediately. Shit. Not the time for teasing.
Izuku’s glare could cut glass. He jerks his backpack off his shoulder, drops it into his lap, and digs through it with sharp, frustrated movements. Katsuki watches, jaw tight, as Izuku pulls out the box. Holds it up.
Lube-enhanced. Ultra thin. Premium latex.
He watches Izuku’s face go beet red all over again, eyes locked on the words like they’re personally threatening him.
He slams it down on the couch between them
“What the hell were you thinking?” Izuku demands, voice tight with embarrassment.
Katsuki looks at Izuku. Then down at the box. Then back at Izuku.
“I was thinking I’d get you a gift,” he says, aiming for casual. Nonchalant.
“This is not a gift,” Izuku says, the word sour in his mouth. “This is a message.”
…Shit.
“I gave you something. You freaked out. End of story,” Katsuki says, shrugging like it doesn’t matter. “I don’t see what you’re so worked up about.”
Izuku stares at him.
“Kacchan.”
That tone.
Katsuki drops the act with a sharp click of his tongue. “Okay. Maybe it was a message. So what?”
That shuts him up.
Izuku’s gaze falls to his knees, jaw clenched tight. His foot starts tapping again, fast and restless, like he’s vibrating with too many thoughts and nowhere to put them.
Katsuki leans back on the couch like he’s relaxed.
“I got you a box of possibilities,” he says flatly. “Not my fault you didn’t like what that said.”
Izuku turns toward him fast, eyes wide. “I’m not dating Uraraka.”
Katsuki looks at him.
And the silence that follows is heavy.
Izuku shifts in his seat, suddenly looking very small for someone who just tried to deck him at the door.
“We’re not— I mean, we’re close, yeah, but not like— It’s not—”
“You sleep at her place?”
Izuku flinches like he’s been hit.
“Sometimes,” he says quickly. “Patrol overlaps. It’s convenient.”
Katsuki scoffs, shaking his head.
Izuku bristles. “It’s not what you think.”
“No,” Katsuki says flatly, “it’s exactly what I think.”
That sets him off again.
“Oh, so what?” Izuku snaps, voice pitching up. “That makes it okay for you to publicly humiliate me?”
Katsuki scoffs. “It was in front of your friends, nerd. Who all already know you’d probably pass out if you had to say the word ‘condom,’ let alone actually—”
“That’s not the point!” Izuku cuts in, voice rising, raw now.
“Then what is?!”
Izuku stares at him, breathing heavy, hands clenched on his knees like he’s holding himself back from jumping out of his skin.
“What is the point?” he echoes, sharp and wounded, words coming faster now. “What was this supposed to do, Kacchan? Were you trying to make things weird between me and her? Was that it? Just some sick joke so I’d feel like an idiot in front of her?”
Katsuki doesn’t move.
“Or was this—” Izuku gestures at the box between them, like it’s radioactive, “—was this your idea of a backhanded compliment? Or some kind of suggestion?” His voice breaks a little at the end. Just a crack.
“I don’t get it,” he says, quieter now, frustration bleeding into something closer to pain. “I don’t get what you were trying to say.”
Katsuki should say it. Right now. Say the truth, full force, clean and bloody and done with.
Instead, he scoffs.
“Shit, Izuku,” he mutters, looking away. “It was just a joke.”
Izuku goes still beside him.
“A joke?” he repeats, flat.
“Yeah,” Katsuki says, sharper now, eyes fixed on the opposite wall. “What, you’ve never gotten a dumb gag gift before? I thought you’d laugh. That’s it.”
“That’s not it,” Izuku says, louder.
Katsuki shrugs, arms crossed tight. “Well it is now.”
“You’re lying.”
“Stop trying to make it something it’s not.”
Izuku makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, like he wants to yell but doesn’t trust himself not to shake.
“It already is something it’s not,” he snaps. “That’s the problem!”
He gets to his feet, starts pacing, hands tangled in his hair, muttering like he’s trying to keep from unraveling.
“You never do this. You don’t… joke like that. So what am I supposed to think, huh?” He turns back to face Katsuki, expression tight with confusion and fury. “What the hell am I supposed to do with that kind of gift if it doesn’t mean anything?”
Katsuki doesn't answer.
He can’t. The truth is caught like glass in his throat, and saying it means something might shatter.
So he doesn’t say anything.
Just stares up at him, jaw locked, silence a defense.
He exhales hard through his nose, leans forward on his knees, palms digging into his thighs.
“I mean— look,” he says, finally. “Maybe it wasn’t just a joke.”
Izuku freezes where he stands.
Katsuki doesn’t look at him.
He stares at the coffee table like his fate is slated there already, and if he can just say the words fast enough, maybe they won’t mean anything.
“I figured maybe it’d, I dunno. Give you a push.”
He can feel Izuku’s eyes on him, but he keeps going, fast now, determined.
“You’ve been following Pink Cheeks around like a damn lovesick puppy for months. I thought if you hadn’t made a move yet, maybe you just needed someone to embarrass you into it. Force the issue.” He glances up, mouth twitching. “Guess I did a hell of a job on that front.”
Izuku doesn’t laugh.
Katsuki clears his throat. “But if I got it wrong, if it’s not like that between you two, then whatever. You can toss it. Burn it. Doesn’t matter. It was just a gift.”
He nods, like he’s trying to convince himself now.
“And it was a practical one. Technically. You could use it with anyone. I don’t care.”
That sounds hollow even to his own ears.
Izuku is still staring at him, eyes unreadable.
Katsuki shrugs, pushing his heel against the floor like he’s physically bracing.
“You didn’t even thank me.”
Izuku blinks.
“What?”
“You didn’t even thank me,” Katsuki repeats, jaw tight. “You ripped the paper, turned red, panicked like a damn Victorian housewife, and shoved it in your bag like I’d handed you a live grenade.”
Izuku’s expression shifts, something flickering behind his eyes.
“I got you a gift. Real thoughtful. Brand name. You should be more grateful, actually.”
He crosses his arms.
“I could’ve gotten you, like— socks.”
The silence that follows is thinner now, suspended. Like neither of them quite knows what to do with the conversation anymore.
Izuku drops back onto the couch again, this time with less frustration. More curiosity. He leans his head back against the cushion, staring up at the ceiling.
“You’re in a mood,” he says after a beat.
Katsuki stiffens. “Am not.”
“Yeah you are,” Izuku says lightly, grinning a little. “You’ve been in a mood since before the party.”
Katsuki doesn’t answer.
Izuku shifts, glancing sideways at him. “Did something happen?”
“Nope.”
“You sure? Because you’ve been—” he pauses, mouth twisting like he’s trying to find the word— “off lately. I thought maybe something happened with your agency, or I dunno, someone.”
Katsuki shrugs, eyes fixed forward. “Think maybe you’re projecting, nerd.”
Izuku rolls his eyes. “I’m not projecting. You’ve got the look.”
“What look.”
“The brooding look. The one where you keep crossing your arms and pretending you don’t want to punch the air.”
Katsuki snorts. “That’s just my face.”
Izuku bursts into laughter, startling them both.
He wipes his hand across his mouth like he’s trying to tamp it down. “Sorry, sorry. I just— I don’t get you sometimes.”
“Yeah,” Katsuki mutters. “That makes two of us.”
Izuku looks at him again. Really looks. And for a second he’s quiet, like something’s about to fall into place, or snap clean in two.
“…Are you okay?”
The question’s simple. Gentle.
Katsuki hates how much it makes his chest ache.
“I’m fine,” he says, too fast, too defensive.
Izuku hums, unconvinced.
And then he laughs again, not loud or teasing, but just… baffled.
“I don’t get it,” he says, more to himself than anything. “You’re so mad about something. But I don’t know what.”
He glances over, gaze soft now, smile crooked.
“You gonna tell me?”
Katsuki’s heart stutters in his chest.
He looks away. “No.”
“Okay then. Since you’re obviously feeling great and super well adjusted and not weird about anything,” Izuku says, with a dramatic little sigh, “I should probably ask your advice.”
Katsuki stares at him. “Don’t.”
“No, no,” Izuku says, pretending to be thoughtful, chin on his hand, “this is good. You’re always saying people should be more direct. So I’m gonna be direct.”
He turns with that faux-innocent expression.
“You think I should go for it with Uraraka?”
Katsuki’s spine goes stiff.
His voice comes out flat. “If that’s what you want.”
Izuku raises an eyebrow. “You sure? Because you’re not sounding super enthusiastic.”
Katsuki grits his teeth. “You want a damn cheerleader, go ask Dunce Face.”
Izuku bites back a grin. “Wow. Tough crowd. But okay. Let’s say I do. I mean, we’re close, we’ve hung out a lot—”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Katsuki mutters.
Izuku ignores that. “—but I’ve never… you know.”
Katsuki eyes him warily. “Never what.”
“You know.”
Katsuki blinks.
“…No, I don’t know.”
Izuku leans in a little. “Had sex. With anyone.”
Katsuki chokes.
“Why are you telling me this,” he blurts, halfway to getting up and fleeing his own apartment.
Izuku shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “You’re the one who gave me condoms. Figured you wanted to be part of the process.”
Katsuki looks like he’s about to combust. “I did not— that’s not— fuck off.”
Izuku laughs, full and bright. “Now who’s being a prude?”
“I’m not—”
“You handed me a whole box, Kacchan. Multiple rounds’ worth. Endorsed it. Encouraged it, even. And now you’re sitting there acting like I asked you for a demonstration.”
Katsuki buries his face in his hands.
“Jesus fuck, Izuku—”
Izuku’s still grinning. “I mean, unless you want to—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
“Fine, fine,” Izuku says, laughter fading to something gentler. “I’m just saying. If you’re gonna be weird about it, maybe you shouldn’t have started it.”
Katsuki drags his hands down his face.
He’s not blushing. He’s just overheated. From stress.
From murder fantasies.
From this fucking idiot sitting too close, poking at things he clearly doesn’t understand.
Izuku watches him, curious. Thoughtful.
“You really chose this,” he says, casual but loud enough to be heard over Katsuki’s brooding. “Out of anything you could’ve gotten me.”
Katsuki doesn’t answer.
“I mean,” Izuku continues, like he’s building a case now, “You said it yourself. You had options. Books. Merch. Literally anything. But no. You picked that.”
He nudges the box with the back of his hand, like he’s daring it to defend itself.
“Kind of specific, don’t you think?”
Katsuki scoffs. “I just thought you needed to get laid.”
“Wow,” Izuku says, eyebrows up, like he’s impressed. “Such heartfelt holiday spirit.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes.
Izuku keeps going. “So, this is... motivational? To push me to take initiative?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, it’s a bold strategy,” Izuku muses, leaning back. “You’re assuming a lot.”
Katsuki raises a brow. “Like what?”
“Like me knowing what to do if the opportunity did come up.”
Katsuki huffs. “You’ve read a book before. You’ll figure it out.”
Izuku hums, then says, “Have you figured it out?”
Katsuki side-eyes him. “What the fuck does that mean.”
“You’re more experienced than me, right?” Izuku says, matter-of-fact. “You’ve probably gone through, like, dozens of these.”
Katsuki gives him a look. “Dozens.”
“Yeah.” Izuku shrugs. “You’re cool, confident—”
“Don’t.”
Izuku grins. “Why not? You gave me the gift, now I’m trying to learn how to use it. Seems fair.”
He sighs dramatically, eyes up at the ceiling. “Meanwhile, I haven’t touched one of these since health class.”
Katsuki snorts despite himself. “You’re an idiot.”
“I’m serious,” Izuku says, laughing. “I’ve never used one. Not once.”
He says it like he’s just stating facts, but his voice softens a little.
“I guess I’ve been waiting. For the right person. Or the right time. But then everything kept getting in the way, and it just... didn’t happen.”
Katsuki glances over at him. Something twists low in his gut. “Huh.”
Izuku turns toward him, smile warm, almost shy. “So maybe you were right, Kacchan.”
Katsuki stiffens.
“Maybe this was the push I needed,” Izuku continues. “I should just go for it.”
Katsuki feels sick.
His mouth goes dry.
Izuku smiles. “I appreciate it.”
Katsuki swallows. “...You’re welcome?”
Izuku nudges his knee, grinning. “So come on. You’re the expert. What’s it like? What do I even do?”
Katsuki stares at him.
“Where do I start? Lighting? Rhythm?”
Katsuki cuts him off. “You’re asking the wrong fucking person.”
Izuku raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Katsuki crosses his arms and sinks deeper into the couch like he can disappear into it. “Don’t act so surprised. What, you think I’ve just been racking up numbers while you were making friendship bracelets with Pink Cheeks?”
“I just figured,” Izuku says, entirely genuine, “you’d done it before.”
“Well, I haven’t,” Katsuki snaps, flushed and defensive. “So congrats. You’re not the only virgin in the room.”
Izuku stares at him. Eyes wide. “…Then why’d you give it to me?”
Katsuki blinks.
“What.”
Izuku squints at him, confusion crinkling the corners of his eyes. “If we’re both, you know, then why give me that?”
He sounds bewildered. Mildly betrayed.
Katsuki says nothing.
Izuku gestures at the box. “Like, I assumed you had a reason. And at least some seasoned vet knowledge to pass on. But you’re telling me you’ve never even—?! So what the hell was the plan, Kacchan?”
Katsuki exhales, rough, dragging a hand down his face.
“I didn’t have a plan.”
Izuku’s eyebrows lift. “That’s actually kind of sweet in a totally messed up way.”
“Shut up.”
“No, really. You went in completely blind, trying to help me lose my virginity.”
“I said shut the fuck up.”
Izuku can’t stop the laugh that escapes him, half disbelief, half amusement.
“Oh my god. You seriously sat there thinking ‘yeah, you know what would help him get laid? A gift-wrapped box of condoms in front of all our friends.’”
Katsuki buries his face in his hands. “Jesus Christ.”
“And then you thought,” Izuku continues, voice trembling with laughter, “I’ll give it to him dramatically, right after he gives his gift to Uraraka, just to really set the stage—”
“I hate you.”
“I mean, it worked, I guess,” Izuku grins. “I’ve thought about sex more in the past hour than I have all month.”
Katsuki groans.
Izuku quiets.
Then says, a little softer, “...But seriously. Why?”
Katsuki breathes a sharp exhale, like steam building under a lid.
“Feels like we’re going in circles, Izuku.”
“That’s because you’re not telling me the whole truth,” Izuku says, voice quiet but firm. “Are you, Kacchan?”
Katsuki clenches his jaw. “I am telling you.”
Izuku gives him a look. “You gave me condoms as a gift.”
“I know what I gave you.”
“And you said it wasn’t a prank.”
“It wasn’t.”
“But it wasn’t serious.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”
Izuku nods, like he’s hearing it, but not buying it. “Then what was it?”
Katsuki doesn’t answer.
“You said it was a joke,” Izuku presses, “then you said it was a push. Then you said it didn’t mean anything. Now you’re sitting here looking like you want to punch a wall.”
He leans forward, voice low.
“Which part of that sounds like the truth to you?”
Katsuki doesn’t move.
Doesn’t blink.
He’s watching the floor like it might offer him an escape hatch.
Izuku watches him for a moment longer.
Then he shifts, just enough to close the gap between them on the couch, knees brushing.
Katsuki goes stiff like a board.
“You don’t have to say it,” Izuku says quietly, like he’s offering him an out.
Katsuki says nothing.
“But,” Izuku continues, still watching him, “if you did… what would you say?”
Katsuki exhales, slow and heavy. His palms are sweaty. His teeth are clenched. His heart’s beating like a drum behind his ribs.
Izuku leans in a little more.
“You don’t have to,” he says again, voice almost gentle. “But I think I’d like to hear it.”
Katsuki turns to glare at him, finally, but the words don’t come. Because Izuku’s looking at him too directly. Too calm.
Like he already knows.
Katsuki looks away again. Swears under his breath.
Izuku leans closer, like they’re sharing a secret, like there’s no space left on the couch or between their voices.
“You know,” Izuku starts, thoughtful, light, “I think you were onto something.”
Katsuki side-eyes him. “Don’t start again.”
“I’m just saying,” Izuku goes on, fingers laced in his lap, casual as anything, “You got me thinking.”
He taps his chin, mock-pensive. “I could take her out. Something low pressure. Coffee? No, she doesn’t like bitter stuff. Maybe crepes.”
Katsuki says nothing. Just stares ahead.
Izuku hums. “And it’s the holidays. Perfect timing. I could walk her home, keep her warm, you know. Set the mood.”
Katsuki’s fingers curl into fists on his knees.
“Would that work, you think?” Izuku asks, voice warm. “Maybe I'll pull out your gift after dessert.”
Katsuki’s jaw ticks.
“You planning the wedding, too?” he mutters.
Izuku smiles. “Too soon?”
Katsuki doesn’t answer.
Izuku leans in even closer, his voice just above a whisper.
“I mean, that’s what you wanted, right?”
Katsuki turns to him, slow and sharp. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
Izuku just tilts his head, all wide-eyed and harmless.
“Why would that piss you off?” He lays a hand on Katsuki’s arm. Light. Like it’s nothing.
Katsuki flinches like he’s been grazed by live wire.
“She’s cute,” Izuku says, like he’s thinking out loud.
Katsuki’s fists curl.
“She gets cold in the winter,” Izuku goes on. He chuckles under his breath. “I could bring her my hoodie, that’s romantic, right? She’d like that.”
Katsuki scoffs.
“You think she’d want it soft?” Izuku muses. “First time should probably be like that.”
Katsuki’s eyes snap to him. Something between horrified and furious.
“But if not—” Izuku shrugs, “—I could figure it out. See what she likes.”
That does it.
Katsuki grabs his wrist.
“Stop.”
Izuku blinks at him. Brows pulling together like he’s surprised. Like he’s finally starting to—
Then his face twists.
Mouth twitching.
Eyes narrowing, teeth gritting.
And suddenly he’s laughing. Hard.
Katsuki stares at him, stunned.
“The hell is so funny?”
Izuku just wheezes, eyes crinkling, shoulders shaking, and tries to talk around it.
“Oh my god— Kacchan— your face—!”
Katsuki’s jaw tightens. “What the actual fuck—”
“You looked like you were about to explode,” Izuku gasps between giggles, wiping under his eyes. “Like— full villain arc. I thought your eye was gonna twitch off.”
“Are you serious right now—”
Izuku tries to speak but breaks into laughter again, small half-gasps and chuckles spilling out uncontrollably.
Katsuki just stares. Stunned. Furious. Also maybe a little bit humiliated. What the fuck just happened.
Then, finally, Izuku exhales long and slow, wiping the last bit of laughter off his mouth. His hand slides out of Katsuki’s grip without resistance, and then goes right back, this time gently taking his hand in his own.
Katsuki flinches, just slightly.
Izuku catches it. And something in his face shifts. His shoulders dip, and the humor clears out of his system. There’s an apology in his eyes now, even before he says anything.
“Kacchan…”
His voice is low. Honest. No teasing in it now.
“Me and Uraraka… we’re not a thing.”
Katsuki blinks. Doesn’t react. Still locked in place like he’s waiting for the other shoe.
“Like, really not a thing,” Izuku says again, a nervous edge creeping in. “I thought that was kind of obvious, honestly, but I guess not, and maybe that’s my fault.”
Katsuki just stares.
Izuku exhales and gestures vaguely. “Okay. So. We went out. One time. Months ago. And I wouldn’t even call it a date, because I don’t think either of us said it was a date, but I did buy her dinner and I did try to hold the door open for her and I think she might’ve worn makeup—”
He cuts himself off with a short, mortified groan.
“The point is,” he says, speeding up, “I thought maybe we’d try it, you know? Like maybe there was something there? Because she’s amazing and smart and strong and so good at her job and we’ve known each other forever and I just figured… why not.”
He laughs nervously. “Bad idea.”
Still no response from Katsuki. Just that unreadable stare.
Izuku barrels forward.
“It was so awkward, Kacchan, like painfully awkward. I don’t know why but we just couldn’t talk about anything that wasn’t patrol or agency reports or these weird facts about quirks we already knew, and I think we both kind of knew it was tanking halfway through but we still tried to power through—”
He throws his hands up.
“And then, of course, at the end I was like, ‘oh no, I have to kiss her, right? That’s what people do,’ because I’m stupid and didn’t want to be rude or something and she leaned in and I leaned in and—”
He drops his face into his hands.
“—I gagged, Kacchan. Like. Audibly. Right there. Inches from her mouth. Like the actual sound effect.”
A weak little laugh bubbles out of him. It’s despairing.
“She’ll never let it go. Ever. She brings it up constantly. At work. In texts. On calls. I could save her life and she’d still be like ‘remember when you dry heaved trying to kiss me?’”
He groans again, dragging his fingers down his face. “And yeah, she and I are close. But it’s because she knows now. She knows all my secrets. That kind of thing bonds people, right? Mutual emotional devastation. But after that date, we both agreed. Friends only. Forever. Please god forever.”
He glances over at Katsuki, flushed and breathless.
Still nothing.
“So,” he adds, collapsing against the back of the couch like the air’s been knocked out of him, “no, I’m not dating her. And no, I’m not having sex. And yes, I’m apparently a twenty-six-year-old with the romantic maturity of a damp sock and I’m gonna die alone in my apartment under a pile of hero merch and possibly some of those little All Might gummies that expired five years ago but I still haven’t thrown out—”
He stops.
Realizes he’s rambling.
Peeks back over at Katsuki, who has not moved. Not blinked. Not even breathed, maybe.
“I—” Izuku gestures weakly at himself. “That was... a lot.”
Still nothing.
Izuku coughs. “Anyway. You can laugh if you want. I probably would.”
Katsuki doesn’t laugh.
Izuku’s fingers pick at the seam of his shirt.
Katsuki steals a glance at him then, and he’s not even looking back. He’s staring at the floor, frowning faintly, brow drawn like he’s halfway through trying to solve a problem that might not have a right answer.
Izuku keeps talking, softer now, like he has to.
“I used to tell myself I was just waiting. For the right time, or maybe just… for something to change. Like one day I’d wake up and things would line up and it’d be obvious what to do.” He huffs, a little breathless. Shakes his head. “But I don’t think that was it. I think I was just… scared. Not of dating or whatever. Just of trying. Of putting something out there and not getting it back.”
He laughs, awkward.
“And I’ve been close. So many times. I’ve had these little… moments. Openings. Opportunities. But I never took them. Not even once. I just kept thinking maybe they’d do it first, or maybe I was imagining it, or maybe if I waited long enough, something would shift on its own.”
He gestures vaguely, trying to chase the thought.
“I didn’t want to push. I didn’t want to ruin anything. Because what we do have is good. It’s so good. And I thought maybe if I said the wrong thing, I’d lose that.”
His voice softens.
“I didn’t want to be the one to break it.”
His foot bounces. His hands twist in his lap.
“And then with Uraraka, I was like, okay, this is someone I care about, this is safe, this is familiar, this should work, right? So I forced myself to go for it, like, ‘this is what grown-ups do, you’re supposed to go on dates and hold hands and try.’” He gestures vaguely, talking with his whole body now. “But honestly? I think that was just... I don’t know. A warm-up? A trial run? Because now I’m sitting here realizing I’ve never actually done that with the one person I keep thinking about.”
He snorts.
“And it’s not like I’ve been sitting around pining like an idiot— I mean, maybe a little, but I tried, with other people. Kind of. And it never felt right. It never even got close.”
His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“I haven’t tried. Not once. Not a text. Not a question. Not even a hint. Which is kind of insane, considering how long it’s been. And how often they’re in my head. And how much I already trust them. And how many times I’ve thought about what it’d be like if I just... said something.
“I think… I think, it’s because the person I’ve been waiting for isn’t… some stranger. Or some what-if. It’s someone I already know. Someone I’ve known for years. And I’ve been so careful not to say anything because I thought if I just kept quiet, I’d get to keep them close. And that’d be enough.”
He breathes in.
Then out.
Then goes on.
“But it’s not enough. Not really. Not anymore.”
He pauses.
For the first time in this whole mess of a monologue, he actually goes quiet. And looks up.
Meets Katsuki’s eyes.
His voice is softer now. Not just quieter, softer. Like it’s something he’s only just allowing himself to believe might be true.
“And now I’m starting to wonder if maybe…” his brow furrows, a little crease between his eyes, “maybe that person might be feeling the same way?”
Izuku’s gaze doesn’t waver, but Katsuki can see the uncertainty building behind it. Like now that he’s said it, he’s not sure if he’s brave enough to leave it there, untouched.
Then he huffs a weak laugh. A pressure valve releasing.
“So here I am. Still talking. And you haven’t said a word. And I’m gonna lose my mind.”
He sinks lower on the couch, groaning into his hands.
“Oh my god. This is the worst Christmas of my life.”
Izuku’s words are hanging there, suspended in the space between them, dangerous and delicate.
And god, Katsuki wants to say something. His throat’s been tight for the past five minutes and his heart feels like it’s been through a woodchipper. But he’s still trying to make sense of the fact that Izuku might be talking about him. That all of this— the fear, the holding back, the want, might be pointed in his direction.
Katsuki exhales.
“You’re a damn coward.”
Izuku’s head jerks up.
“What?”
“You talk like you’ve had no choice. Like it just never happened. Like you’re some helpless bystander in your own damn life.”
Izuku blinks, stunned.
“I— what are you—?”
“You’re not a fucking NPC, Izuku,” Katsuki snaps, voice low and rough. “You could’ve said something. Years ago. Months ago. Tonight.”
Izuku stares at him.
“I’m saying it now,” he says, quietly.
Katsuki’s mouth opens.
Closes.
And then, finally, he breaks.
“You talking about me?”
Izuku’s eyes widen, a split-second of panic, like oh my god, I actually did say it out loud.
But he nods.
And Katsuki’s whole system short-circuits.
For a second, he honestly thinks this might be a coma dream. That he slipped on ice on the way home from that stupid party. Maybe he’s bleeding out somewhere on the sidewalk and this is what his brain cooked up to ease him into the afterlife.
Yeah, that tracks. Of course heaven would look like Izuku Midoriya sitting too close on his couch, looking at him like that.
Then the guilt slams in.
He’s been assuming all this shit. Filling in gaps with whatever narrative hurt the most. Every time he saw Izuku with her, every time he caught a glance, a laugh, a whispered conversation, he built it into a whole thing. Decoded every word. Mistranslated every look.
He misread the whole fucking thing. He miscalculated.
So catastrophically it makes him feel sick.
Then the anger flares, like it’s trying to burn the guilt off.
How long?
How long has Izuku felt like this and said nothing? How long has he been sitting on it, smiling like everything’s fine, while Katsuki tore himself up from the inside out? Took a date with someone else, took that, a fucked-up secret Santa exchange, and a near emotional meltdown for him to finally say it?
That pisses him off.
It really pisses him off.
His jaw clenches, teeth grinding.
And then, inevitably, it turns back on him.
Because who the hell is he to talk?
He didn’t say anything either. Didn’t open his mouth. He funded a damn suit. He waited. He hovered. He assumed Izuku would just… know.
Like that’s ever been how Izuku works.
Katsuki’s still staring at him.
His face isn’t doing what he wants it to. Too much all at once. Can’t level it out.
He should say something. But the words bottleneck in his throat and explode out the only way they know how.
“…You’re a dumbass.”
Izuku blinks. “Okay.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes, but it’s weak.
“You wait all this time. You go on a shitty date with Pink Cheeks. You choke on a kiss. Then you come over here and unload a full year’s worth of feelings on my couch like it’s therapy hour.”
Izuku opens his mouth, probably to apologize, but Katsuki doesn’t let him.
“You’re a dumbass,” he repeats.
Not an insult this time.
Just fact.
Izuku looks at him. And after a beat, with the same energy as someone acknowledging rain while already soaked to the bone, he nods once.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m a dumbass.”
Katsuki lets out a breath.
Then he says it. Finally. All of it.
“I thought you fucking chose her.”
Izuku blinks.
Katsuki doesn't stop.
“You kept showing up with her. Talking to her like, like it was already decided. Like everyone else already knew. And I just… I thought I was too fucking late. Like I missed something. Like I should’ve said it sooner, and I didn’t, and now I didn’t get to.”
His voice starts to pitch.
“And it was so fucking obvious. The way you looked at her. The time you spent with her. Everyone just smiled like it made sense. Like it was always going to be her. And I—”
He cuts himself off with a rough exhale, jaw tight.
“I wanted to throw up,” he mutters. “Every fucking time. Watching you make that dumb face at her. Like she was the only one who ever saw you.”
Izuku looks stricken.
Katsuki shrugs hard, like he can shake it off.
Izuku opens his mouth, quiet. “Kacchan—”
Katsuki barrels through it.
“And yeah. I was pissed. At you. At me. At everyone. Because I waited, okay? I didn’t push. I didn’t demand. I didn’t fuck it up by making things weird. I thought maybe you’d come around. Maybe you’d look at me the way I looked at you. Thought I was being patient.”
He huffs a breath, bitter.
“But all I did was fucking disappear.”
Izuku’s voice is small. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I tried,” Katsuki growls.
Izuku stares.
“I tried, okay? I thought I was saying something. I asked you to join my agency. You said no.”
Izuku blinks, startled. “I— I didn’t think that was—”
“I spent my entire bonus on your damn suit,” Katsuki bites out, fury bleeding into every syllable. “Not just once. For years. I was there to test every prototype. I made sure every detail was perfect for you, down to the goddamn stitching.”
Izuku sits there, stunned.
Katsuki keeps going, now officially unhinged.
“I cooked for you. I guest taught your stupid class. I gave your dumbass rides home when it was raining because you always forget an umbrella, you idiot—”
“Kacchan—”
“I don’t do that shit for people!” Katsuki explodes. “I don’t give like that unless I’m serious. That was me saying something. I just thought you were smart enough to figure it out without me having to get on my fucking knees and spell it out!”
Izuku opens his mouth. Closes it. Blinks, brow furrowed.
Then slowly, with a weird little frown, he reaches down beside the couch.
Katsuki stares. “What the hell are you doing.”
Izuku pulls his bag up from the floor and starts rooting through it.
“Seriously, what the fuck, Izuku, are you bailing now—?”
“No,” Izuku says absently, yanking out a battered notebook and a pen.
Katsuki freezes.
Izuku flips to a blank page, pen already scribbling.
Katsuki watches him in disbelief, voice raw. “You’re taking notes?!”
“Well— yeah.” Izuku glances up, matter-of-fact. “You just listed like nine romantic gestures I completely missed and I need to make sure I remember them.”
Katsuki makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat.
“Holy fuck, this is not the time for you to nerd out—”
“I know!” Izuku says, scribbling faster. “But I’m panicking! This is a coping mechanism!”
Katsuki shoves his palms into his eye sockets.
“I’m going to explode.”
Izuku bites his lip. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Just— wait, no, did you really teach my class just to impress me—”
Katsuki lunges and tries to rip the notebook out of his hands. “I swear to fucking god—”
Izuku laughs like he’s winning a game he just made up, twisting away, holding the thing over his head. He’s breathless, flushed, grinning like a fucking dork, and for a second, Katsuki forgets what he was doing.
His hand hovers stupidly in midair while his brain just shorts out.
What the hell. He looks like he’s never been worried a day in his life. He looks… good. Like none of this ever hurt. Like he’s not hanging off Katsuki’s heart like a splinter he never managed to dig out.
It pisses him off. And also makes him want to…
Izuku’s still grinning like an idiot and Katsuki can feel his pulse in his teeth, so he decides fuck it, and growls, “…If I asked you to kiss me, would you make it weird?”
Izuku’s smile flickers, confused. “What?”
“I just mean,” Katsuki mutters, already regretting it, “are you gonna do that thing where you overthink it and narrate your own fucking kiss—”
He doesn’t get to finish.
The notebook slips from his hand, hits the floor.
Izuku leans in and kisses him.
It’s clumsy. Their noses bump. Katsuki’s pretty sure Izuku misses his mouth a little on the first try, but he doesn’t care.
Izuku grabs a fistful of his shirt, like he’s worried Katsuki might pull away, and yanks him closer. Katsuki makes a low sound in his throat, surprised maybe, or just overwhelmed, and immediately tangles his hand in the back of Izuku’s hair, kissing back like he’s making up for every second he wasn’t allowed to.
It deepens fast. No space or air, years of held-back want finally crashing loose all at once, urgent and late. Katsuki doesn’t kiss pretty. He kisses like he’s trying to erase every second Izuku ever looked away. Like he’s fending off all the ghosts with his mouth.
Izuku shifts, knees bumping, trying to get closer. Katsuki leans in harder, chasing the heat of his tongue, and they both nearly overbalance, Izuku laughing into the kiss like a wordless apology, except he doesn’t stop kissing him, so he’s clearly not that sorry.
Thud.
The box of condoms slips from where it was still tucked between them and hits the floor with a dull, traitorous flop.
They both freeze.
Katsuki glares down at the box.
Izuku snorts. Chokes on it.
“Great,” he mutters. “Very romantic.”
Katsuki groans, pinches the bridge of his nose. But Izuku is smiling.
His hands are still tugging on Katsuki’s shirt. And Katsuki’s fingers are still tangled in his hair. And somehow that stupid little cardboard box on the floor just confirms it. How long they waited, how dumb they were, and how right this is, now that they finally shut up and got here.
Izuku nudges it with his sock.
“…So,” he says, a little breathless and stupid with adrenaline. “You gonna teach me how to use those now?”
Katsuki groans. “Izuku.”
“I mean, you bought them, might as well.”
“We already established that neither of us knows what the fuck we’re doing.”
Izuku makes a thoughtful noise. “Might just regift them, then.”
Katsuki sits back, scowling. “No, you’re not.”
Izuku shrugs. “Could be useful. I mean— All Might, maybe? Guy’s still got moves.”
Katsuki flinches like he’s been electrocuted. “Oh my god, shut the fuck up. We’re not— Don’t. We are not talking about that.”
Izuku’s already lit up, full of way too much energy for someone who just kissed like he was starving.
“Alright, alright,” he says, hands raised in surrender. “I’ll keep them.”
Katsuki rubs his face like he regrets every life choice that led to this moment. “We’ll figure it out,” he mutters.
Izuku’s smile only brightens.
Not just any smile. That grin. The one Izuku gets when he’s got some fucked up, overly hopeful, absolutely insane idea.
Katsuki knows it. Knows it down to his bones. Sees it forming and immediately thinks, fuck no. Not that look.
“No,” he says, sharp.
Izuku tilts his head, all innocent. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“Not right now.”
“Why not?” Izuku’s already leaning in again, annoyingly chipper. “It’s Christmas! It’s cold and festive and romantic— this is, like, prime time.”
Katsuki groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Deku, we just kissed for the first time and now you wanna skip straight to sex?”
Izuku shrugs, breezy. “We’ve got years to make up for. Time’s a-tickin.”
Katsuki just stares at him. Bleary. Betrayed.
“Jesus Christ, what am I gonna do with you,” he mutters. “This is a mistake. Maybe I’m not actually in love with you.”
Izuku freezes.
Eyes wide.
“…Wait. You love me?”
Katsuki blinks.
Looks at him like he’s stupid.
Then throws both hands in the air. “Fucking obviously.”