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Izuku followed a strict diet; it came with the “inheriting One-For-All” territory. But katsudon was the one weakness he couldn’t resist. On the rare occasion that he allowed himself to indulge some homemade katsudon from his mother, he couldn’t help but enjoy a second or even third helping.
Kacchan made dinner that night, a big “Welcome to the new term!” dinner for the now 21 students of Class 2-A. He cooked enough katsudon to feed 40 people, and though several students stuffed themselves to the bursting point (read: Kirishima, Kaminari, and Mina), leftovers remained. That was largely because the chocolate cake Sato whipped up for dessert destroyed almost everyone’s self-control.
“You picky bastards… If this stuff isn’t all gone by the morning, all of you are having it for breakfast!”
Exercising, showering, sleeping, and waking up to a tasty katsudon breakfast sounded like the most delicious threat Izuku had ever heard. He didn’t realize how much he couldn’t wait for more until he was heading back to the kitchen at 10 P.M. to help himself to another bowl, regretting that he didn’t just gorge himself earlier.
Izuku didn’t expect too many people to still be up; it was a Sunday night, and classes would officially come back full-swing tomorrow. When he stepped out of the elevator, an echo of, “Your mama’s sweet ass!” followed by an outburst of hysterical laughter startled him. A serious case of secondhand embarrassment short-circuited him shortly thereafter and almost made Izuku backtrack to his room right there and then.
The echo sounded again, and again, carrying the same weird, fake baritone each time, and Izuku wondered if it was just a recording.
“It’s not a toy!” came Jirou’s shout, her reprimand losing its edge completely when she started giggling again. He heard a wobbly distorted version of her shout followed by the blare of an airhorn.
What on earth…? Izuku headed for the common area, curious to see what they were messing around with. He wondered if Jirou got her new support item already. Before the winter break, he recalled her mentioning that both she and Hagakure would be taking a special course focused on espionage for the year. She also mentioned that Aizawa urged them to think carefully about what support items would benefit them best. Then she promptly got stolen by Hatsume, who had overheard their conversation.
“And in this corner, we have my bro, Kaminari!” Kirishima stood on the couch, one foot on the arm, the other on the top of the backrest. “Ready to devour his eighth bowl!” Izuku didn’t realize he’d been holding anything at all until Kirishima unclenched his fist, pressed something, and a raucous applause followed. “How are you feeling about this, bro?”
“I’m feeling good man, feeling good! It’s bowls out for Bakugou tonight!” Another round of applause from whatever Kirishima held in his hand.
“Get ready! Set!” Kirishima’s red eyes flickered his way, and Izuku saw them light up with delight. “Midoriya! What brings you down here, bro? Did we wake you?”
“‘We’!” came Jirou’s shout of indignation. “You’re the one screaming like we’re at a concert!”
“What is that thing, by the way?” Izuku walked over to Kirishima and held his wrist, studying the black device in his palm. It looked like a tiny remote control with a speaker on both sides. “I heard, ah—” He couldn’t say those words, he’d die of sheer mortification before he even finished the sentence. “I heard something when I got down here!” he stammered out instead, a fiery blush spreading down to his neck.
“‘Your mama’s sweet ass’?” Kaminari offered, digging into his meal, and though Kirishima and Jirou burst out laughing all over again, Izuku hoped he’d pass out and wake up in his room where he could pretend he never heard Kaminari say that.
“That was you, Kaminari?” He gave Izuku a thumbs-up.
“It’s like a portable soundboard. Recorder. It’s some kind of hybrid of those anyway,” Jirou explained as she plucked it from Kirishima’s palm and slid it into Izuku’s. “I wanted something that could function as both a distraction and a recording device. It’s also supposed to work in an interesting way with my Quirk. If I plug in one of my jacks into it and plug in the other one to a laptop or something, I can transfer the information. So if I ever need to toss this, I won’t lose anything.
“Plus it has camouflage!” Hatsume’s passion to push the boundaries of technology through her “babies” thoroughly impressed Izuku, enough so that he’d go to her specifically for new gear or to upgrade what he currently owned. When he saw the device disappear in his palm with the push of a button, it blew him away.
“Whoa. Hatsume is amazing.”
“That part’s all her. She says it’s ‘just a prototype’ for me to test out. After this week she’s making an upgraded version based on my feedback.”
Kaminari snatched it away the instant it became visible again. “Then Jirou’s gonna give this to us, and Kirishima and I will become U.A.’s own Spy Duo!” he declared as he jumped up on the cushions, high-fiving Kirishima.
“Spy Morons is more like it!” Jirou teased.
While they bickered, Izuku snuck away to heat up his own bowl of katsudon in the kitchen. Jirou joined him as soon as he sat down at the table, telling him to come join them until they heard what sounded like a whoopie cushion deflating followed by the two boys cackling like maniacs.
“On second thought, mind if I stay here with you?” She pulled out a soda can from the fridge, asking Izuku if he wanted one as well as she cracked it open. When he declined, she teased, “Don’t tell me a little measly sip of Bepsi is your one true weakness. It goes really good with Bakugou’s cooking.
“I never thought he’d make a good cook. I was really surprised back at the training ca—” She cut herself off abruptly.
Izuku saw her glance his way, but he kept eating like normal. He gave a small, encouraging smile when he finished chewing. He couldn’t blame her; whenever the memories of what happened from the moment the League ripped Kacchan away from him came flooding back, they’d bring with them a pain even more unbearable than feeling every bone in his body snap.
“Kacchan has always been pretty skilled, even when we were kids. We would wander around all the time pretending that we were all part of the Bakugou Hero Agency.”
Jirou spat her sip into the sink.
“Wha-! Jirou! Are you OK?”
“Yeah, yeah. Something startled me is all. Please, continue.”
“We found a river in some forest near where we went to school, and even though none of us had ever skipped stone, Kacchan learned to skip it seven times in less than half an hour!” And though he would never say it aloud, after all these years, the most Izuku could manage was four or five. “Then Kacchan would sometimes go home with me and help my mom make dinner.”
Jirou had taken a seat beside him, a somewhat surprised look on her face. “It’s hard to believe that you two were childhood friends sometimes, with how things were and all.” She touched the ends of her earjacks together, eyes fixed on them before she looked back to Izuku once more. “It’s nice that he used to cook with your mom. Maybe you guys can do that again sometime?”
“We already did!” Izuku happily declared through a mouthful of katsudon. “Kacchan and his folks came over to celebrate Christmas! We cooked so much, there was enough food until New Years!”
“Your families spent Christmas together?”
Izuku thought that maybe the mix of sleepiness and happy taste buds made him extra chatty, because he launched into an excited rambling about how it had been the first time in over seven years they’d spent Christmas together. And how Kacchan ended up sleeping over when they searched for the old All Might Christmas special they used to watch all the time as children. And how they all watched the New Years fireworks together. And how Aunt Mitsuki caught the oil in a pot on fire and tried to put it out with water. (“My dad did the exact same thing when he was making breakfast!” Jirou had added.) And how it was the first time he’d had katsudon made by both his mother and Kacchan.
“He cooks a lot like her. Though, there’s small changes here and there that makes me think, ‘Ah, this is definitely Kacchan’s cooking’.” The most outstanding one being that Kacchan’s had more than a hint of hot pepper added to it.
“As close to a home-cooked meal as you’re gonna get for a while, huh?”
Izuku nodded, savoring his last bite before he continued, “It even smelled like my house.” He had spent all afternoon and evening unpacking, and also carefully putting up his million posters of All Might, so when he came downstairs, the warm aroma made him feel like he’d gone back home. Like he’d walk into the kitchen and see Kacchan and his mom cooking side-by-side, just like they did over the winter break; the glimpse of a treasured memory that made him say aloud: “Kacchan smells like home.”
This time, Jirou spat her drink all over the tabletop, and a heavy thud sounded from just around the corner. Izuku grabbed some paper towels to clean up the mess, and as soon as Jirou looked around the corner, she began reprimanding both Kirishima and Kaminari for eavesdropping on them.
“Aw! Come on, Jirou!” Kaminari whined. “We just came to grab some Bepsi!”
“Yeah,” Kirishima agreed. “Then we got caught up in Midoriya’s manly tales! You hear me, Midoriya?” Kirishima poked his head around the corner and gave him a sun-like grin. “Your secret’s safe with us, bro!”
“Um… thank you?” What secret?
Izuku only understood what Kirishima meant some months later, as everyone started making plans for summer break. Most of class 1-A had gathered in the common area to enjoy one more afternoon together before heading off.
While cleaning out his closet, Kirishima found the prototype of Jirou’s support item that she had given to him as a keepsake. He had bounded right over to Izuku and Kaminari, sporting the biggest grin as he announced, “Look what I found!”
The moment the device disappeared when he tapped a button, Kaminari’s eyes lit up. “Dude! I haven’t seen this thing in ages!” Kaminari curiously poked one of the buttons, wondering aloud if it still worked from all those months of disuse, and out came a loud, “Your mama’s sweet ass!”
While they dissolved into a fit of laughter, Izuku went rigid with pure mortification the instant he felt every pair of eyes in the common area snap in their direction at once. Then, of course, Kaminari pressed it again, and a chorus of surprised cackling and embarrassed shrieking erupted around him. Izuku sprinted off towards the kitchen, determined to get away before they thought he made that ridiculous joke, and crashed right into Kacchan.
The most he could squeak out was a quick, “Sorry, Kacchan!” before every subsequent apology dried on his tongue when he saw the dark red flush of Kacchan’s cheeks. He had never before seen his childhood friend so thoroughly flustered to the point that he didn’t seem to realize that Izuku had rushed right into him.
When he blurted out laughing, Kacchan regained his focus, his blush deepening as he barked, “The hell are you laughing about, Deku!”
“Sorry, but— Pft! Your face!”
“Eh! The fuck is that supposed to mean!”
“I’ve never seen you look so flustered before, Kacchan!” Izuku doubled over when another wave of laughter struck him upon seeing Kacchan’s scowl.
“Shut up and sit down, nerd,” he commanded before preparing two cups of jasmine tea.
While their classmates goofed around with the prototype, evidenced by the chorus of vaguely familiar, distorted phrases and laughter, he and Kacchan settled into a quiet conversation (read: interrogation) the moment he slid Izuku a cup of tea.
Did he learn to control Black Whip yet?
(“It’s getting there. Look! I can do this now,” Izuku chirped as he summoned one of Black Whip’s tendrils to pick up his cup and take a sip from it.
Kacchan raised an eyebrow. “Let’s fight when you teach it something useful.”)
Where would he and All Might be training for the few weeks prior to training camp?
(“All Might was thinking we’d stick to Dagobah Beach. Probably early mornings, but we’ll see.”
“You two trained there a lot?”
Izuku nodded. “It’s where we first started! All Might, uh, had me clean up the place.”
“...You cleaned up the beach?”
“Uh, yeah!”
“At least he taught you to be useful. Make sure and tell me when we’re meeting.”)
Did Izuku have any family plans?
(“Nothing before camp.”
“And after?”
“It’s a bit of a surprise for my mom. I’m planning a trip to Hawaii for her!” He certainly saved up enough from the odd jobs he’d undertaken for it.)
Was he going to that waterpark that just opened up?
(“Yeah! It sounds like it would be fun.”
“Meet me there at ten. Saturday morning. We’re racing down the biggest waterslide there. Winner takes all.”
Despite Kacchan’s tone of finality, Izuku couldn’t help asking, “‘All’ of what?”)
Izuku felt content to speak with Kacchan normally. Though he thought the initial amazement of it would have worn off by now, it never stopped feeling good to speak with Kacchan without the heap of stupid misunderstandings in their way.
“Deku.” Kacchan never hesitated to articulate himself, no matter what he had to say, so it shocked Izuku that a solid half-second went by without him continuing. Instead, Kacchan glared at him— No, Kacchan glared at the cup between Izuku’s fingers. A shift so strange, because Kacchan had no problem looking directly at him a few minutes before.
“What is it?” Izuku pushed, hoping to help Kacchan with whatever it was he wanted to say.
Kacchan’s frown deepened at his words but he looked up, his eyes meeting Izuku’s, and opened his mouth to speak.
However, their conversation ended as soon as they heard Jirou’s enraged screech: “You recorded us, you dunce-faced bastard!” If Kacchan hadn’t been sitting right in front of him, Izuku would have sworn it was him who shouted at Kaminari. Judging by the shock on Kacchan’s face, he thought the exact same.
“You’re a bad influence on Jirou,” Izuku chided.
“Shut the hell up! Dunce-Face definitely brought that on himself.”
“That was a private conversation!” Jirou continued to lecture.
“I didn’t know it even know I did!” came Kaminari's confusing attempt to defend himself.
Kacchan raised an eyebrow at Izuku, and he could clearly hear the unspoken, smug, Told you. Izuku stuck his tongue out at him.
“Hold on, Jirou! I’m trying to turn it off!”
“Bro! Just give it to Jirou!” came Kirishima’s shout as he joined in the scuffle.
“Hang on! Don’t break it!”
“What are those idiots doing?” Kacchan stood and headed for the common area.
Izuku followed after Kacchan, covering his mouth and snickering when he was met with the sight of Kirishima and Jirou tackling Kaminari to the ground. The support item prototype flew out of their reach, sailing in an arc overhead, and Izuku heard Jirou’s voice come from it: “As close to a home-cooked meal as you’re gonna get for a while, huh?”
With sudden, unnerving clarity, Izuku realized what “secret” Kirishima had sworn to keep.
Kacchan caught it right as it replayed the words Izuku would never dream of saying aloud and never in front of Katsuki: “Kacchan smells like home.” Izuku’s words rang out with crystal clarity, blanketing the room in stunned silence. Kacchan’s eyes widened and the prototype slipped from his grasp.
Black Whip would make an excellent slingshot, or maybe Uraraka would be kind enough to launch him into orbit so the vacuum of space could suck his soul out of his body. He bet Kacchan would be up for blasting him as far as he could. All of those options sounded far more welcoming than the awkward silence, which persisted until Kaminari’s: “I’m really sorry, man, I didn’t even know I…” The look on his face screamed guilt.
Kacchan’s irritated sigh stole Izuku’s attention before he could give Kaminari even a flimsy reassurance. Dread, sinking into him like a stone sinking to the bottom of a river, seized him when he saw Kacchan headed for the elevator, only turning back to glance at Izuku once he’d already started down the hallway.
“Eh? Did you forget how to walk, nerd? Come on already! We’re not talking in front of Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest, or the rest of these extras.”
(“Not cool, Baku-bro!”
“At least show your peers some courtesy!” Iida reprimanded.
“We are kind of like extras standing around doing nothing right now,” Todoroki intoned.)
That statement compelled Izuku to follow Katsuki up into his room and out onto his balcony (because Kacchan had taken one look at every All Might poster staring them down and declared, “We’re not doing this in front of All Might either!”). It was also what compelled the rest of their classmates to try and eavesdrop; he knew this because 19 students all trying to sneak around at the same time made for a noisy failure, especially when one of them worried aloud: “Do you think they’re gonna fight again?”
Izuku doubted they could contain a fight to a mere balcony even if they tried, but had a vision of Kacchan blasting him into the starry sky. Just knowing they were there made even the cold night air feel uncomfortably stuffy. At least until Kacchan muttered, “Nosy bastards.”
His annoyance sounded half-hearted at best, overwritten by the pale pink dusting on his cheeks. In that moment, Izuku thought he was missing something crucial, a feeling stemming from the same vein as the one that nagged him incessantly before their showdown at Ground Beta.
Never one to dawdle, Kacchan set his gaze on Izuku and began, “I smell like home?” Izuku felt his cheeks redden. “What brought that on?”
Izuku took a slow, deep breath to compose himself before saying, “You made katsudon for dinner that night, remember? It’s always been my favorite. One time my mom made it for dinner for a whole month!” Izuku chuckled, remembering the strained smile on her face when he cheered, “Katsudon! Katsudon!” for the eighth day in a row. “Just for me.”
Kacchan wrinkled his nose. “A month? You were such a little brat. How could you make poor Auntie eat the same damn thing for a month?”
“Ah! Well, she started making a separate dinner for herself—”
“That’s even worse! Giving her all that extra work!” Before Izuku could defend himself, Kacchan continued, “So you like katsudon so much you became a one-meal nightmare for a while. Great. Besides, I already knew that.”
‘A one-meal nightmare’?
“Doesn’t explain why you were telling Jirou.”
“It sorta slipped out?”
“...Nerd.” Kacchan smacked him lightly on the head. “Can’t keep your mouth shut for a second, huh? You really are a Deku.”
“Did Mom tell you that story?” His mother told a lot of stories over dinner when Kacchan and his family visited. Some benign, some made Izuku wish he had Hagakure’s invisibility Quirk. Maybe he’d missed that one.
“No.”
“Eh? But you said you knew—”
“I didn’t mean that! Learn to listen.” That was pretty rich coming from Kacchan. “‘Katsudon is Izuku’s favorite’, is all that your mom said.” The moment Kacchan said his name, his real name, goosebumps rose all along his arms and the back of his neck. Kacchan hadn’t called him Izuku since he learned to read.
Kacchan didn’t think anything of it until he looked at Izuku and grew flustered, his entire face turning red. How much of that came from a mortified realization and how much was anger? Izuku backed up until he felt the cold glass of the sliding door against his back.
“Argh! Why are you making a big deal out of nothing, Deku!”
“I am not!”
“It’s your goddamn name!”
Izuku wanted to argue back, shout that he never called Kacchan by his first name. Instead, Kacchan gave him a personal epiphany: was this really that big of a deal? Was any of it?
As embarrassingly cheesy as calling Kacchan his home sounded, so was 99% of everything he either thought about or said to Kacchan over the years. He thought Kacchan’s sheer brilliance in everything he did blinded him and that Kacchan was even closer to him than All Might; both thoughts he ended up confessing in the heat of their battle. Other thoughts, like how much he enjoyed acting snarky like Kacchan when his desire to win went into overdrive and, of course, how Kacchan’s scent carried all the comforts of home, he kept to himself primarily out of pride.
I’ve said way more embarrassing stuff right to his face!
Hearty laughter bubbled past his lips, ringing blithe and giddy in the still night. Izuku clutched his sides and leaned back against the door to keep himself upright. He hadn’t laughed this freely in a long time. Most of the time, especially the past two years, his raw emotions poured out in his tears, be them of anger or grief or joy. Just being able to laugh at something silly felt cathartic, fun. It simmered down when he opened his eyes to find that Kacchan had moved right in front of him, his large hands on either side of Izuku’s head.
The warm light cascaded over him, over his strong, muscular arms, over his face, so close to Izuku’s that he could see Kacchan’s lower lip glisten. And when he looked into Kacchan’s eyes, he quietly gasped. They shimmered like a candle’s flame, captivating Izuku so thoroughly that he didn't even realize he whispered, “Kacchan is handsome.” It didn’t matter either, not when what he said drew a chuckle from Kacchan, breathless with surprise.
“Deku… Izuku.”
Unfair. Kacchan’s deep voice gave him a hypnotically unfair advantage. If Izuku was honest with himself, he wouldn’t say no to a kiss from Kacchan, and his eyes fluttered shut when Kacchan leaned closer. For a moment, nothing happened, and Izuku feared he’d completely misread Kacchan’s intentions, until he felt Kacchan’s lips press against the corner of his in a demure kiss. Nothing at all like what he had anticipated, yet the gentleness of the kiss itself touched his heart. It felt right to kiss Kacchan. Izuku tilted his head, offering a chaste kiss of his own against Kacchan’s cheek in reply.
He couldn’t hear anything beyond the hammering of his heart as Kacchan cupped his cheeks, growing bolder as he pressed a kiss against Izuku’s lips before jolting back. Only then did he hear the muted uproar coming from outside his door.
(“They’re seriously kissing!”
“Woo! Get it, Baku-bro!”
“This is invasive and highly inappropriate!”
“Guys, shut up! They’ll hear us!”)
Izuku fondly rolled his eyes. “‘Nosy bastards’, right?” Kacchan snorted out a laugh at that.
The End.