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Morning arrives slowly in Ochako’s room.
Her curtains are thinner than his. Pale winter light filters through them in a soft wash, catching on the edge of her desk, the framed photos on the wall, the faint sparkle of hero merch lining her shelves. The room smells faintly like her shampoo and the clean detergent she uses on her sheets.
Katsuki wakes slowly, awareness rising in pieces before he’s fully aware of where he is.
Warmth reaches him first, from the softness beneath his cheek to the steady weight tucked against his side, to the fact that his arm is wrapped securely around something small and solid and very real. Before he even opens his eyes, his fingers flex on instinct and tighten, drawing her closer.
Ochako makes a quiet sound in her sleep and melts into him without hesitation, her hand sliding up his chest as she burrows in deeper. The movement feels automatic for both of them, as though they’ve done this a hundred times instead of once.
He exhales, still half lost in it, until something feels off. Then his eyes open, and the first thing he registers is that the ceiling above him is not his.
It takes a moment for that detail to settle in, for his sleep-heavy mind to register the soft pink curtains framing the window and the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling, the same ones he had helped her stick up months ago while pretending he was not enjoying himself.
Awareness sharpens as he takes in the mattress beneath him, which is very much not his, and the unfamiliar sheets twisted around their legs. As sensation fully returns to his body, he becomes abruptly and mortifyingly aware that he is completely naked under them.
He goes still as memory returns with merciless clarity.
The sound she made when he first pushed into her. The way she’d stuttered his name through shaky breaths. The tremor in his hands the first time he slid them over bare skin before he forced them steady. The way she’d looked at him afterward - flushed, overwhelmed, smiling like she couldn’t quite believe it either.
His face burns as he glances down carefully.
Ochako is curled against him, wearing only his shirt.
It hangs loose on her, the collar slipping off one shoulder. The hem barely reaches mid-thigh where it’s tangled between their legs. Her hair is completely wrecked, flattened on one side and sticking up in soft chaos on the other.
In the soft light, he sees them more clearly now - a faint mark at the base of her throat, another at the curve of her collarbone, a shadow along her shoulder where his mouth had lingered too long.
When the blanket shifts slightly with his movement, he catches the faint imprint of his thumbs pressed into the dimples of her lower back.
He stills without meaning to.
His arm tightens around her waist, instinctive and possessive, as the realization settles in fully. Those faint shadows along her skin and the soft impressions at her lower back are his, and he remembers exactly when he left them, with full attention and far more care than he knows what to do with now that he is seeing them in daylight.
She let him, and the thought lands deeper than he expects, heavy and quiet and impossible to brush aside.
They did that, and the realization that it had finally happened settles deep in his chest.
Heat floods up his neck and into his ears until he’s certain they must be visibly red. He has never been this aware of his own body, of hers, of the way they fit together even now.
She shifts against him in her sleep, still unaware of the storm in his head. Her nose brushes his collarbone as she inhales, and she presses closer without thinking, fingers curling loosely against his chest.
The simple, unconscious trust of it nearly undoes him.
Ochako hums softly and nuzzles once more before her eyes begin to flutter open.
For a moment she doesn’t react at all. She simply blinks at the warm expanse beneath her cheek, still suspended somewhere between sleep and waking, her mind slow to catch up with her senses.
Then she goes very still as awareness seeps in gradually.
Her gaze drifts downward, takes in the bare skin beneath her palm, lingers there a beat too long before she tilts her head back to look at him.
Their eyes meet, and the silence that settles between them is thick and fragile, stretched tight as realization moves across her face in visible stages. First the bed, then the way she is draped over him, then the shirt she is wearing, and finally the undeniable fact that he is not wearing anything at all. Color rises across her cheeks slowly and inevitably until it is impossible to miss.
“…Oh my god,” she whispers, her voice rough and low from sleep.
He swallows and manages, “…Morning.”
Her eyes widen even further as full awareness settles in. “Katsuki… you're still naked in my bed.”
“You dragged me in here,” he replies automatically, though the heat in his face betrays him.
“You climbed through my window.”
“You unlocked it.”
She opens her mouth to argue again, ready to fire back, but the words falter as everything comes rushing in at once — the clothes scattered across her floor, the memory of her back arching under him, the quiet, breathless laugh she’d let out afterward when neither of them knew what to say.
The color deepens across her cheeks.
“We actually…” she trails off, the rest of the sentence dissolving into stunned disbelief.
He looks away first, because if he keeps staring at her like this, he’s fairly certain he will combust on the spot.
“…Yeah,” he mutters.
The word feels heavier than he intends.
After a second, he forces himself to look back at her. She has not pulled away or tried to untangle from him, and she has not put even an inch of distance between them. She is flushed and clearly overwhelmed, but there is no regret in her expression and no flicker of doubt hiding underneath the embarrassment. The steadiness of that hits him somewhere deep and immediate in the chest.
“Are you… feeling okay?” he asks, his voice lower now, less defensive.
She nods once, then again, firmer this time.
“Y-yeah. Just… processing.”
Relief moves through him in a slow, steady wave. A breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding slips out in a quiet huff that almost sounds like a laugh.
She shifts a moment later, trying to sit up. It’s subtle at first - her leg sliding back, her palm pressing lightly against his chest as if testing whether she can create even a little space between them.
He reacts before the thought fully forms, and she lets out a startled sound when he pulls her back down.
“Katsuki!”
“What?” he mutters, though there’s less bite in it than usual.
“We need to get up.”
“Why?” he asks, like the concept itself offends him.
She shifts enough to look at him properly, incredulous.
“Because it’s morning?”
“And?”
“And it’s cleaning day,” she reminds him, glancing toward the clock on her desk. “It’s already late, and I told Tsu I’d help her.”
He follows her gaze, registering the time with visible reluctance. The protest forms automatically in his chest, but before he can argue it, his attention drops to her bare shoulder instead - to the faint goosebumps rising along her skin in the cool morning air.
The sight shifts something in him.
Without commenting on it, he reaches for the blanket and pulls it higher, tucking it carefully around her shoulders before drawing her fully back against his chest. The movement is firm and protective, so instinctive that it seems to surprise him almost as much as it does her, and the realization sends fresh heat up into his ears.
He buries his face in her hair, partly to hide the warmth still lingering in his cheeks and partly because he can. She smells like sleep and shampoo and something warmer now, something that feels shared in a way he is not ready to examine too closely if he wants to survive the morning.
“Just stay,” he murmurs into her hair, his voice rougher than he intends. “It’s close to lunch anyway. They’ll be busy.”
She squirms half-heartedly against him. “Katsuki-”
“Stay,” he repeats, softer this time, the word less of an order and more of a quiet insistence.
Before she can gather another argument, he shifts beneath her and pulls her fully on top of him, guiding her until she’s tucked under his chin. The movement draws a soft gasp from her, but she doesn’t actually resist; her hands settle against him as he wraps his arms more firmly around her back.
He exhales slowly, tension bleeding out of him as he presses his face into her hair, and he realizes he could fall back asleep like this.
The rhythm of his breathing steadies, deep and warm against her skin, and after a moment she stops trying to move away. Her arms slide more comfortably around him, her fingertips brushing lightly along his chest in absent, thoughtful strokes.
“…You’re really clingy,” she whispers, though there’s more affection than accusation in it.
“Shut up,” he murmurs back, but he doesn’t loosen his hold.
If anything, his grip tightens just slightly, as though daring her to try again.
Knock knock knock
A sharp knock sounds against the door, followed by two more in quick succession.
Both of them freeze.
“Ochako!” Mina’s voice calls brightly from the other side. “Operation Sparkle is underway! We’re judging rooms today!”
Ochako goes rigid where she’s sprawled across him, warmth instantly replaced with panic.
“Oh no,” she breathes.
Laughter spills down the hallway. “Sero’s collecting trash bags!” Kaminari calls. “Kirishima’s doing dust checks!”
“Open up!” Sero adds cheerfully. “We’ve got score sheets!”
Katsuki goes completely still beneath her.
They have no idea he’s in here- no idea he’s naked in her bed, no idea he’s wrapped around her like this with her practically molded to him and his arms still locked tight around her waist.
Another knock follows when she doesn’t answer.
“Ochako?” Mina tries again, the brightness softening slightly. “You good?”
Silence stretches inside the room.
Ochako opens her mouth to answer, but nothing comes out.
In the hallway, there’s a shuffle of movement.
“…Maybe she’s already done?” Kaminari offers.
“No way,” Kirishima replies. “She was supposed to help Tsu first thing, right?”
There’s a brief pause.
“Yeah,” Mina says slowly. “Tsu said she hasn’t seen her all morning.”
Another beat passes.
“She always answers,” Sero adds. “Even if she’s half-asleep.”
The tone shifts without any of them intending it to, and Katsuki feels the change immediately from inside the room. The teasing edge is gone. What is left underneath it is genuine concern.
“Ochako?” Mina calls again, gentler now. “Hey. You okay in there?”
The handle jiggles.
“…Wait,” Sero says. “It’s unlocked.”
Inside the room, time fractures.
Ochako’s head snaps toward the door.
Katsuki’s brain short-circuits for half a second - and then instinct takes over.
The handle turns.
He moves first.
“Don’t-” he starts, but the door is already inching inward.
In the same motion, he grabs the blanket and yanks it up around Ochako with frantic efficiency, dragging her fully against his chest as he twists his body to shield her from view. The whole thing happens fast and badly.
The blanket catches on her leg, she squeaks, he overcorrects, and the sheet promptly tangles itself around his hip, which is exactly when he becomes mortifyingly aware that he is very, very unprepared for company.
“Ochako?” Mina begins, pushing the door open just enough to step halfway inside-
And freezes.
From the doorway, the scene looks catastrophic.
Ochako is scrambling toward the edge of the bed, red-faced and clutching fabric to her chest, one hand desperately reaching for the door handle. Katsuki is half-kneeling on the mattress behind her with his hair a mess, his eyes blazing, and the blanket wrapped securely around her shoulders, while the situation on his own side of that blanket is nowhere near as contained.
For a suspended second, no one breathes.
Kirishima’s jaw drops.
Kaminari makes a sound that is somewhere between a wheeze and a dying engine.
Sero just stares.
Mina’s eyes go wide. Very wide.
Katsuki lunges forward.
“GET OUT!”
The word detonates with him.
A sharp crack of explosive force snaps from his palm as he shoves the door shut, the blast rattling the frame and sending smoke curling into the hallway. The impact slams the wood closed with violent finality before the latch snaps back into place.
Silence follows, thick and ringing enough that it feels as though the air itself does not know how to recover.
No one says a word on the other side of the door, and inside the room the air smells faintly of smoke, panic, and the aftermath of Katsuki making a very Katsuki decision.
Katsuki stands there for a half-second longer, palm still braced against the door, shoulders tight, breathing hard. His entire body is lit with adrenaline, jaw clenched, eyes still blazing like he’s prepared to fight the door itself if it dares move again.
“If any of you idiots try that again-!” he snaps through it, voice still sharp, still crackling at the edges. “I swear I’ll kill you!”
Behind him, Ochako makes a muffled sound that might be a laugh and might be the end of her dignity.
He finally turns around.
She’s still half-wrapped in the blanket and his shirt, hair a mess, face buried in the pillow like she’s attempting to phase through the mattress and into another dimension.
His irritation softens just a fraction.
He stalks back to the bed and grabs the blanket, tugging it up around her properly.
“You’re fine,” he grumbles.
She peeks up at him, cheeks red enough to rival his own.
“They saw everything,” she whispers.
“They didn’t see you,” he shoots back with absolute certainty.
He sits back on the edge of the bed, still bristling, still flushed, still very much naked and only now remembering that fact as the adrenaline ebbs.
“…I hate them,” he mutters.
She lets out a weak, mortified laugh into the pillow.
Slowly, something smug curls at the corner of his mouth as he reaches forward and scoops her up, blanket and all, and pulls her with him as he drops back onto the mattress. She yelps softly as he rolls, cocooning her in the tangled sheets and dragging her securely against his chest until she is pinned there in a way that is much too warm and much too familiar for her dignity to survive.
“Katsuki!”
He settles in comfortably, one arm firm around her back and the other trapping the blanket in place, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who was just seconds away from murdering his friends through the door.
“Told you to stay in bed.”
Her face burns bright red all over again.
“Next time,” he adds, smug and entirely too pleased with himself, “we’re going to my room.”
“Yeah... good idea,” she groans, but the protest is ruined by the laugh still caught in it.
He just hums, completely satisfied, and tucks her closer until she is exactly where he wanted her.