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Katsuki isn’t really into birthdays.
He remembers to get his mom a little something every year, he’d eat a slice of his own birthday cake if someone else buys it, but that’s it. Birthdays come and go whether Katsuki does anything about it or not. And if you miss this year, well, there’s always another one coming.
His dad though likes to celebrate birthdays. Not big productions or surprise parties, just enough to mark the occasion as special. There’d usually be a wrapped gift for Katsuki or his mom, and dinner plans in a nicer-than-average restaurant.
Katsuki doesn’t mind it; he just isn’t gonna plan it. Especially not for someone else.
Once when he was 12, trudging at the mall while his dad picked out a gift for his mom when he’d rather be on a run using the cool shoes he got for his birthday, his dad told him giving gifts is part of being in a relationship. It shows your appreciation for the other person and that you care; and when time comes that Katsuki gets a girlfriend or wife, she’d expect Katsuki to remember special dates like anniversaries and birthdays, and gifts on those occasions would not be amiss.
It was a good father-and-son talk, a valuable life lesson for sure thanks, but Katsuki has a goal to achieve, and relationships — romantic or otherwise — are pretty low in his list of priorities. It was low when he was 12, and it’s still low now at 17 turning 18.
In their first year in UA, his classmates hadn’t been aware that his birthday is on April 20. Classes had only begun 2 weeks before and Katsuki could barely remember his classmates’ faces, much less their names. They eventually found out because Iida and Yaoyorozu were given basic information about each student including dates of birth, but by that time Katsuki’s birthday had already passed.
It had come and gone with only a mumbled "happy birthday, Kacchan" from a nervous Izuku.
Izuku knows Katsuki’s birthday, of course. It’s Katsuki’s fate to be in the same class as Izuku since they were in their baby blue pre-school smocks. There’d been more than a handful of cakes and wrapped gifts between them over the years but none at all past grade school. By the time they were in middle school, they didn’t hang out enough to merit an invite to birthday treats or any gift buying.
They used to though. When Katsuki was younger his dad would have him invite a friend or two to have ice cream with him as a special treat after school for his birthday. When he got a little older, the treat included a side trip to the game arcade and a pouch full of tokens for him and his friends.
Izuku had usually been one of those friends, until they weren't friends anymore and Katsuki stopped inviting people altogether. He doesn’t need extras on his birthday.
In their second year in UA, Sato baked him a birthday cake. Katsuki deigned to stay in the dorm common room 30 minutes past his usual bedtime and allowed his classmates — friends by then he supposes — to celebrate his 17th birthday with him. His parents had called to greet him and the next time he was home they went out to dinner in a nice Thai restaurant that had a lot spicy offerings.
Izuku hadn’t gotten him a gift but he’d been smiling when he greeted Katsuki a "happy birthday, Kacchan” before they walked to class together, discussing their English homework on the way.
Katsuki is turning 18 tomorrow. He expects Sato to bake him another cake.
This isn’t because he’s an entitled ass but because Sato bakes a cake most days and definitely one on each of their classmates’ birthdays. Also because Sato had asked him earlier what flavor he would like.
Katsuki told him chocolate. Sato had hummed then explained that he could make a dark chocolate cake with a little red chili for heat and Katsuki found himself impressed and growled out a thanks.
So Katsuki will have a cake tomorrow and very likely a card signed by everyone in their class — he’s had to sign a card for 19 other people plus Aizawa in the past two years; Yaoyorozu is in charge of buying the cards from class funds — and that will be that for Katsuki’s 18th birthday.
For today though, it’s Saturday afternoon and he’s in the common room eating a pre-workout snack of yogurt and berries, watching chaos unfold.
“Are you sure you can’t repay me another way, Aoyama-kun?” Izuku says, in near desperate tones. “Or, or better yet, and this is definitely the better option now that I think about it, maybe we can consider us quits! I did it as your friend and no repayment is needed. At all. Your happiness, Aoyama-kun, is payment enough.”
“Non, non, Midoriya, mon ami. You have done me a great service and I would be remiss in my duties as a friend if I didn’t repay you in kind. Good deeds must be repaid, especially between friends. Otherwise, chaos would reign in the world, n’est-ce pas?”
“Ha ha, yeah, chaos,” Izuku laughs weakly. He throws a pleading glance at Uraraka seated by the sofa.
She dutifully comes to his rescue. Or at least attempts to.
“Aoyama-kun, as heroes-in-training we don’t expect any repayment from those we help. It’s just what we do,” Uraraka says with a cheerful smile. She pauses and a little furrow appears over her brow. “Not that I’d say ‘no’ if they wanna pay me extra.”
“Uraraka-kun!” Izuku hisses but it was too late.
“Bien sur. We do not expect it but we also do not say no when it is offered and in this case it is not just offered but insisted. Midoriya, I must insist that you allow me to do this for you. As your good friend, and as someone whom you’ve saved magnificently from dire straits,” Aoyama says, an earnest hand on his chest.
Izuku sighs and gives in to the inevitable. “Alright, Aoyama-kun. How do you wanna do this?”
“Fantastique! We meet here tomorrow morning at 9. You bring your charming self and I shall take care of the rest. We should be back in time for dinner with the rest of our merveilleux amis.”
“It’s gonna take the whole day?” Izuku asks, clearly surprised.
“Midoriya, one cannot rush perfection. It will take as long as it will take,” Aoyama says, batting elegantly long eyelashes. “But for now, a bientot. I need to make reservations for our little adventure tomorrow.”
And with a flip of his expertly cut and feathered hair, Aoyama exits the common room, leaving sparkles in his wake.
Izuku collapses on the sofa, rubbing his face with his hands. Uraraka pats his shoulder in commiseration but Katsuki can see her eyes bubbling with laughter.
“Do I wanna know what the fuck that was about?” Katsuki asks, spooning yogurt into his mouth.
“Aoyama-kun wants to give Deku-kun a ‘make-over’,” Uraraka says, very ineffectively muffling the giggles with her hand.
Katsuki raises an eyebrow. “Surprised he can do that in just one day.”
Izuku groans into his hands. “Kacchan, you’re not helping.”
“Cheer up, Deku-kun. You don’t know, you might have fun! He’s probably just gonna take you shopping… ermm, but maybe stay away from flowy long sleeved blouses in case he asks you to get them. I don’t think they’d suit you,” Uraraka says, waving her hand vaguely over Izuku’s well muscled form.
Katsuki imagines Izuku's short, stocky frame in one of Aoyama’s frilly white shirts, the ruffled collars high up his muscle-thickened neck. He snickers.
“Just give it up, Deku. You already said yes. Are you planning to mope there all day or are we doing that spar?”
“Spar please, Kacchan,” Izuku says, standing up. “Make me forget.”
“Always happy to kick your ass, nerd. Meet you back here in 5.”
Katsuki wasn’t quite sure when it happened but barring exceptional circumstances, Saturday afternoons is what he mentally — but never verbally — refers to as ‘Deku time’.
There’s no hard and fast rule about the content, only the participants.
It’s usually some form of physical activity because that’s how they first managed to bridge the gap between them: by fighting until one of them surrendered, got injured, or a teacher intervened. It remains as a way for them to stay in tune with each other, despite that these days they talk more together than Katsuki does with anyone else.
For today, they decide on a no-quirk wrestling match; whoever gets pinned five times should be ashamed of themselves. They are hot and sweaty, muscles bunched up, each trying to get a firm hold on the other — palms, arms, thighs sliding over sweat slicked parts.
An hour and a half in and Katsuki wins: 5 pin downs to Deku’s 3.
Izuku is already pouting underneath Katsuki, getting ready to challenge the last pin down, but Katsuki is taking the win and not giving it back. He grins down on Izuku, flat on his back with a mutinous look in his green eyes.
“That was sneaky, Kacchan.”
“Not my fault you got distracted.”
They had been in the middle of a grapple; Izuku was about to slip away, Katsuki could feel it. Katsuki had his mouth beside Izuku’s ear and he whispered “I wonder what you’d look like after Aoyama’s done with you.”
Izuku had gasped and there had been a tiny lapse in his concentration and Katsuki swooped in. He’d been pinned on the mat in a matter of seconds.
Katsuki should get up, get off Izuku, offer him a hand up, but he was enjoying this too much. He has Izuku beaten, aggrieved and under him. Can anything taste any better?
He’s still gloating, in the middle of relishing his victory when he feels a familiar stirring in his pants. Katsuki clambers off Izuku and gets up, faster than even Iida could have moved.
Teenaged boys get boners. It’s a fact of life.
It generally doesn’t happen when grappling for points or bragging rights — no matter what porn films may show you. The body pumps blood everywhere else except your cock, under the all-important mission of not letting you be pinned to the ground by your opponent.
But the moment the fight instinct is gone, with adrenaline still pumping through you, and you’re in contact with the hard heated body of your stupidly attractive classmate slash friend slash rival, well — blood gets diverted somewhere specific really fast.
It’s happened before, it will happen again. Until all these bullshit hormones stop raging across their teenaged bodies.
Tomorrow, Katsuki will be one year closer to that bliss and he’ll be grateful for it. Because these ‘incidents’ with Izuku have been happening faster, more often, and stupidly harder to get rid off each time it happens. Katsuki has better things to do than rage at his own dick for being a dick.
Katsuki walks off to grab their water bottles, surreptitiously adjusting his pants.
He throws one to Izuku, still lying on the mat with his eyes closed.
Probably willing his own hard-on away, Katsuki thinks viciously.
The bottle bounces on Izuku’s chest, rolls away and gets retrieved with Black Whip.
Izuku eventually sits up and Katsuki reclaims his space in front of him, their knees almost but not quite touching.
“I think I’m nervous about tomorrow,” Izuku says.
“You’re about to be a pro hero and you dress like an 8 year old. Can’t hurt to let him help you,” Katsuki says, blunt as always.
“We’re in uniform when we patrol though, what does it matter what else I wear,” Izuku points out.
“You weren’t in uniform when you fought Gentle Criminal.”
The video had somehow been uploaded, caught viral attention, then picked up by one of the biggest tv news stations a few months ago. It had brought unwanted fame and notoriety to provisional hero license Deku and Midoriya Izuku.
“I suppose we can all be grateful it wasn’t one of your stupid slogan shirts,” Katsuki says.
His muscles are pleasantly tired and an over-all feeling of langour and well-being is washing over him, now familiar after all this time spent with Izuku.
Izuku huffs. “Says ‘Aji Fry’ shirt.”
“Fuck you, I look good in it. You are just a mess.”
Izuku chuckles. “Can’t argue with that. You always look good, Kacchan. If you weren’t such an asshole scaring away people, you’d give Todoroki a run for his money.”
“Better an asshole than a dumb prince.”
“Todoroki’s not dumb,” Izuku says, mostly by reflex than any desire to argue. Katsuki has called everyone worse things.
Katsuki sips his water and doesn’t say anything. Todoroki ranked fifth in their last mid term exams.
“You think this is a good idea, Kacchan? Me getting this ‘make-over’?” Izuku asks.
There is a hesitation in his voice that Katsuki hasn’t heard in a while.
Katsuki knows that somewhere underneath that horrible slogan tee and roomy gym shorts is a body that most pro linebackers would kill to have. Broad shoulders, massive torso, powerful thighs. Built like a freight train and just as unstoppable.
He’s seen it, he’d just been grappling with it. Sometimes he even dreams about it. Stupid teenage hormones.
“You’ll fanboy over All Might even after you’re a pro hero yourself. You’d help little old ladies cross the street by picking them up and their entire goddamned house. You’re always gonna be a crybaby. What does it matter if you can Windsor knot your tie?”
“Just get kitted out with laser boy. If you like it, fine. If you don’t, then don’t do it again. It’s one Sunday. You’ll be a nerd regardless.”
“Kacchan…” Izuku says, green eyes filling with tears.
“What did I tell you? Crybaby.”
“Thank you, Kacchan,” Izuku says, laughing and sniffling at the same time.
“Just go,” Katsuki says, mopping away tears from freckled cheeks with rough fingers. “How bad could it be?”
Katsuki deliberates whether to explode Aoyama, Izuku or himself first.
For as long as Katsuki can remember, Izuku’s hair had been an unruly mass of soft green curls. It clearly had a mind of its own and refused most of Izuku’s efforts to tame it. They tend to stand up more in the mornings when Izuku has just gotten out of bed, and splay themselves out like wonky dandelions seeds during hot humid days.
They’re gone now.
That is, Izuku still has his curls and is not currently bald, but the unruly mess of green is gone. The curls on the lower half of his head had been trimmed away, buzzed off until only a short green fuzz was left. The curls on the sides and top of his head remain intact but they’d been shortened, expertly cut to make the green strands less of a mess that Katsuki had learned to live with and more a temptation he wants to run his fingers through.
Izuku has the audacity, the sheer gall to duck his head down and look sheepish. The soft blush highlighting his freckled cheeks is just overkill.
“I’m still not used to it,” Izuku tells their assembled classmates, “the back of my head feels cold.”
They’re all in the common room, Aoyama and Izuku walked in not 5 minutes ago. Aoyama looking pleased with himself; Izuku looking like he stepped off a fashion magazine, sports edition. The entire room had gone nuts.
Katsuki saw them leave that morning and he knew Izuku had on a pale green tee that said ‘bath robe’.
That’s gone as well and good riddance, replaced by a dark green button up that lent color to Izuku’s eyes and highlighted the planes of his impressive chest. The sleeves are folded almost up to the elbows, exposing arms that Katsuki knew for a fact could lift bridges. The scars only add depth of character to what is already a very delectable picture. The dark jeans Izuku had on actually fit, caressing the tree trunk thighs without being too tight, tapering just right down his legs.
Aoyama had clearly employed some kind of magic. Katsuki’s parents would approve. Short but stacked is not an easy combination to dress up.
Uraraka is clutching Izuku’s arm, looking at him in wonder. Kaminari is running his hands through Izuku’s remaining curls, fluffing them up. Everyone else in the room is crowding him, patting his back, squeezing his arm, telling him he looked great, getting a piece of Izuku’s freely given smile for themselves.
Everyone except Aoyama. Katsuki tears his gaze away from the spectacle that is Deku and finds Aoyama’s eyes fixed on him. He smiles and sparkles at Katsuki.
Katsuki scowls and contemplates exploding Aoyama again for causing this but Izuku is talking now, laughing about something.
“Aoyama-kun wanted me to get my ears pierced. Just one. Maybe get a red stone for an earring. But UA won’t allow that so maybe after graduation,” Izuku says with another laugh.
Katsuki realizes he’s bent the fork he has in his hand into something unusable. He goes to the kitchen to get another fork, bringing his plate of half-eaten cake with him.
He can still hear the laughter from the common area. He slams the plate down on the kitchen counter, but they're made to withstand quirk abuse and doesn’t shatter.
“Do you like my birthday gift to you, Bakugou?”
Katsuki turns and sees Aoyama, sparkling at him.
“What gift?” He asks, confused for a moment. Other than the cake and card, he didn’t get anything from his classmates.
“Sometimes it is difficult to see something if we are too close to it. It’s better if someone else rips away the veil, et voila! And you see what has always been there.”
“The fuck are you talking about?” Katsuki would be more irritated with the cryptic conversation except that he welcomes the distraction from all the giggling happening just a few meters away.
“Do you know that the entire day, our dear friend Midoriya has been talking about how amazing ‘Kacchan’ is? He was quite concerned if you would like his new look.”
Aoyama smiles again, looking both earnest and impish at the same time.
“He likes you.”
“‘Course he does,” Bakugou snaps out.
“Sometimes friends are just friends. Midoriya and I, we are bons amis. Sometimes, friends turn to lovers. It doesn’t mean they are any less friends. Or rivals. They simply become more.”
Katsuki stabs his fork into the chocolate cake, lets the dark sweetness of it cover his tongue.
“Happy birthday, Bakugou. Midoriya deserves the best, don’t you think?”
Message delivered, Aoyama leaves Katsuki.
Katsuki has always been decisive.
Unlike Izuku who mumbles and dithers with choices, trying to cover all possible angles, Katsuki is quick to choose a path and explore it.
Right now, decision made, it is easier to bear the admiring looks and constant touching happening in front of him. Izuku looks happy at least.
Half an hour past his usual bedtime, Katsuki growls out a good night. Everyone calls out their own good nights, happy birthday agains, and see you tomorrows, too used to Katsuki’s ways after 2 years of living together to protest at how early it still is.
He’s already reached the elevator doors when Izuku catches up to him.
“Can we pass by my room first, Kacchan? I have something for you,” Izuku says, the look may be new but the smile is the same warm one he’d always given Katsuki.
Katsuki pushes the number 2 button in response, still looking Izuku over.
“Where’d you get clothes that actually fit?”
“Ah, the clothes are from normal shops. It was the tailor that we had to look for. We had to get everything altered. Anything that fit me across the chest would be too long. What could fit my thighs would be too loose in the waist, and again too long,” Izuku said with a wry twist of his lips.
For all of Izuku’s nervous tics, he had never seemed particularly bothered by his height. He’s not short, per se, he’s past the average height for a Japanese man. But for a pro hero, he’s definitely on the shorter side of the field. He just barely tops Katsuki’s chin.
“So you got more of these?” Katsuki said, picking at Izuku’s shirt.
“A couple more but they’re all still with the tailor. I’m gonna go get them next weekend. Aoyama just made them finish this one set so he can show me off to everyone.”
Katsuki nudges Izuku's red shoes with his own. Izuku looks down at the contact and comes back up smiling.
"Yeah, Aoyama-kun let me keep my shoes. He said the goal is to show a more presentable side of me, not change me."
Izuku begins to tuck a curl behind his ear, realizes there is nothing to tuck and scratches the soft skin at the back of his ear instead.
Katsuki reaches out and encircles Izuku’s wrist with his fingers, pulling it away, halting the nervous gesture. Green eyes look at him in surprise.
“Don’t. You look good,” Katsuki admits. “You, this, it all looks good.”
“Oh. Thanks, Kacchan.”
There is a soft pink tingeing his freckled cheeks, more pleased than embarrassed.
The door opens and Katsuki follows Izuku to his room. It’s familiar. He’d spent hours in this room over the last 2 years; Izuku’s spent even more time in Katsuki’s.
Izuku grabs something bright colored from the desk.
“Here,” he says, holding out a small package wrapped in red and orange paper. “Happy birthday.”
Katsuki takes it, surprised. He hadn’t been expecting a gift but perhaps he should have.
“What’s this?” he asks rather inanely.
“Open it,” Izuku says, smiling at him.
Katsuki finds the flap and pulls on it, tearing the paper to expose a small rectangular box. Inside on a bed of white padding is a thin metal rectangle, the size of an ID card if a bit thicker. It’s a black matte finish with orange edging, portraying a stylized version of his hero mask.
The design is familiar. He’d seen Izuku doodle variations of it on one of his many notebooks. Katsuki hadn’t thought much about it; Izuku has been putting pieces of him on paper since they were kids.
On the flip side is inscribed his hero name in beautiful calligraphy, edged in dark green. Despite the small size, it has heft, lying heavy on his hand. A thin strap of black fine leather is looped on one corner.
It feels luxurious; the craftsmanship excellent.
“You know they can’t make merch of us yet. Officially at least. But you’re gonna be so big when you debut as pro hero, Kacchan. You’re gonna have tons of merch. I wanted to make this for you first.”
Katsuki turns the gift over in his hand, running his fingers over the smooth surface and design, feeling its weight.
“Are you really giving me my own merch?”
Izuku grins. “Tell me you’re not super pumped to see your name and colors.”
Katsuki grins back, sharp and pleased.
“Did you get one for ‘Deku’ for yourself?”
Izuku shakes his head. “No, just this.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. Hero Deku will have just as much of an impact in the pro hero scene. But Katsuki understands, it's okay to fanboy over other heroes but not over himself.
“I can’t wear my own merch, Deku. That’s tacky. My mom would have my hide.”
Izuku laughs. “You don’t have to wear it. Just keep it somewhere. It slips in the wallet too.”
Katsuki’s fingers are still playing with the metal card, feeling the texture with his fingers.
“How about you wear it?”
Izuku blinks at him.
Katsuki walks over to the familiar backpack sitting on the desk chair. It’s easy enough to loop the leather on one of the front clasps. The black and orange design is stark against the yellow fabric.
Katsuki feels a rush of satisfaction looking at the obvious branding.
“Are you sure about this, Kacchan?”
“Why not. Maybe if you carry this with you everyday, you’ll catch up to me sooner.”
Izuku touches the metal, a small smile on his lips. “I wanted one done for me too,” he admits sheepishly.
“Of course, you did,” Katsuki says, amused. “You’d probably buy all my merch when they come out, even the limited edition ones.”
“Are you kidding? Especially the limited edition ones,” Izuku says, full grinning now.
“But Kacchan,” Izuku says, losing some of his brightness, “I won’t have a gift for you if you give this back.”
“Who says I’m giving it back? You’re just wearing it cause I can’t.”
“Tacky, I know.” Izuku says, smiling again. “Thank you, Kacchan. I hope you enjoyed your birthday.”
“Yeah, I got a good gift this year,” Katsuki says, recalling what Aoyama said, strengthening his resolve.
He’s looking at his gift right now — freckles, green eyes and a warm smile, all made up just for Katsuki.
He steps closer to Izuku, closer than is comfortable even between friends.
Izuku tips his head back, looking at Katsuki, his eyes wide with questions.
“Kacchan?”
“Actually, you could give me another gift,” Katsuki says, voice unintentionally low and raspy.
He lifts a hand, brushing his knuckles across the newly buzzed hair behind Izuku’s perfectly shaped ear, threading it through the unruly curls higher up. He feels Izuku draw in a shuddering breath, see the tip of a wet pink tongue dart out in a nervous gesture, wetting his lips.
“What gift?” Izuku asks, voice thready.
Izuku’s right hand clutches at the front of Katsuki’s shirt and he realizes he’d been slowly leaning down, leaning into Izuku’s space.
“You could give me a kiss,” Katsuki whispers and bends down to give it to himself instead.
Izuku’s lips are soft, moist, impossibly warm.
“Oh,” Izuku says softly when Katsuki pulls away.
“Yeah,” he agrees.
“Happy birthday, Kacchan.”
“So far, the best ever.”
Katsuki is surprised to find he knows when Izuku’s birthday is. He didn’t think he remembered anyone’s except for his parents.
It’s still 3 months away. Katsuki has time to get a matching pro hero Deku design made. Izuku can wear it on his backpack too. Their colors will clash horribly with the yellow but he doubts Izuku would mind.
He realizes Izuku would give him a gift every year now. And he’d have to give one back too because no way he’ll lose to Izuku. Maybe he’ll get him an earring next year, the red would look good against his green curls.
Well, Katsuki still isn’t big on birthdays. But it would be easy enough to remember Izuku’s.