Chapter Text
They've been dancing around each other for a while.
Since they moved into the flat, there's been a kind of... not tension exactly, but energy between them, like something growing.
Bakugou was the one who suggested it—told Shouto to Move in with me, Icyhot in the middle of sparring and then clocked him right across the face. Apparently, Shouto was the only one he could trust to keep the place clean. Whatever the reasoning, there was no world in which Shouto would have said no.
The adjustment period wasn't hard. Over the years, he and Bakugou had become close anyway, even if Bakugou still didn't often admit it. Really, the only change was the building they were living in; everything else about them stayed the same. Got better, even. Shouto still slept in too long on days off and Bakugou still made him late breakfast anyway, and they still bickered over the division of chores, and Bakugou still knew when Shouto needed him to be quiet because he was way too stressed to handle the noise.
Except now, they also did things like picking out paint colours and making space for each other's things on the bathroom counter. It was an easy dynamic to slip into. Truth be told, Shouto had been scared of moving somewhere by himself after graduation, when he'd been living with so many other people for years. He was sure that the sudden silence and emptiness would just take him back to his life at the estate, where everything was too big and Shouto was too small—so moving in with someone else, moving in with Bakugou especially, was good. It was great.
There was that thing, though: the feeling that there was something they weren't talking about. It wasn't even a bad thing, really, just... weird. It was when they got a bit too close in the kitchen and Bakugou started blaming his flush on the heat, when Shouto got hurt that one time and woke up to Bakugou holding his hand in the hospital and they didn't talk about it after. It was every time they stayed up a little too late into the night watching TV reruns and the concept of consequences started to fade more and more with each flash of colourful light on their faces, their walls—the feeling that something could happen, because morning was still far off and it's easier to give into things in the dark. It was one or both of them retreating before anything did.
Shouto was always just scared, really—scared that he was reading things wrong. Scared that he wasn't, and of what would happen afterwards if that was the case. Scared of getting his feelings hurt. He thinks that was probably true for both of them, and that's why it took so long.
But all of their muddling in the middle, it was never going to last forever. All in all—Shouto supposes he saw it coming.
He just didn't think it'd happen doing his sheets.
They've had this routine for a while. Whenever their free time lines up with the dryer cycle, which it usually does every couple of weeks, they set up in the living room. Bakugou does the ironing and Shouto folds, separating the clothes into piles on the sofa. He likes doing it, finds the repetitive motion and the warmth in his hands calming.
They usually don't say much, if anything at all. Shouto finds that he likes it that way—the quiet company. He folds their shirts and trousers and jackets, losing himself in the monotony of the task. Sometimes, Bakugou hums under his breath when he's in a good mood.
It's when everything's ironed out and arranged in piles that they usually split off to put their clothes away in their respective closets. This time though, Shouto makes an offhand comment that breaks routine.
He was meant to replace his sheets yesterday, but he still hasn't done it—so he's procrastinating, sue him. He picks them up and sighs. “I hate doing the sheets," he mutters, mostly to himself, expecting it to go entirely ignored.
Bakugou looks up at him, though, as he's grabbing his own clothes, and he asks, "Shoulder still giving you trouble, Halfie?"
Yeah. Because that's the other thing—there was a villain fight a few days ago, a pretty big one, during which Shouto got, in Bakugou's own words, flung across half the fucking city. It's a miracle his shoulder was the only thing that got properly hurt.
It's still not very fun. Bedsheets are always annoying to do, but with his shoulder actively intent on trying to kill him, it's really going to suck this time.
"No,” he says, as if he hasn't learnt by now that Bakugou knows when he's lying, by some talent Shouto still hasn't figured out.
Bakugou rolls his eyes. "Sure."
He starts grinding his teeth, the way he does when he's considering something, staring at Shouto's fucked-up shoulder like he could magically make the injury go away. After a few seconds, when Shouto's just about to ask what he's thinking, he groans like his own decision annoys him, says, "C'mon. Take your shit," and starts walking towards the hallway, leaving Shouto fumbling.
He quickly gathers up all his clothes and follows, confused. When they reach the bedroom doors, instead of entering his own room, Bakugou takes the right into Shouto's and promptly dumps his clothes on Shouto's desk chair.
"Um," Shouto says eloquently. "Bakugou?"
"Hurry up. D'you want help with those sheets or not?"
Shouto blinks. "Oh. Yes That'd be good," he says.
"Put those clothes down, then, and get your ass over here."
"Right."
Shouto places his two piles on his desk, moving some pens and stray papers aside. The lost weight is an immediate relief for his shoulder, and he suddenly understands how much harder this task would be if he had to do it on his own. Bakugou is already stripping his bed down when he turns, muttering angrily about the fact it hasn't been made. Funnily enough, or maybe not at all—because by now, Shouto's heart latches onto every word out of Bakugou's mouth—it makes Shouto smile.
As Bakugou focuses on dragging his duvet out of its cover, Shouto focuses his efforts on the pillows and the plushies he's accumulated over years of friendship with both Izuku and Ochako, moving them off the bed. It's a bit awkward, since his bad shoulder also happens to be his dominant arm and he has to wrestle the pillows out of their covers with his less coordinated one instead, but he manages, and they're free by the time Bakugou finishes with the duvet.
They put everything off to the side and turn their attention to the actual bedsheets. Getting them off is quite easy, especially with Bakugou alongside him, but putting the fresh ones on is harder. Lifting the mattress is a tough strain, and he only manages to get one corner poorly done before Bakugou rolls his eyes and tells him to leave it.
So in the end, Bakugou does the brunt of the work—and by that, Shouto means all of it. He's quick with it, and he tucks the sheets under the mattress neater than Shouto usually bothers to. The light through the window is in the early stages of golden hour, the sunlight starting to turn pink, and the laundry detergent smells faintly of flowers. It's the nice kind, because Shouto insists on it. There's just the rustling of the bedsheet and Bakugou's footsteps on the carpet. He does it with such ease, like he's changed these sheets a million times before, like it's not so much Shouto's bed as it is theirs. At one point, Bakugou looks up and they accidentally make eye contact—Bakugou kind of stiffens and looks away quickly, but he moves onto the next corner. Shouto stands watching.
His heart aches, kind of. He can imagine this being normal between couples. He wants—
He wants.
Stopping himself from reaching out is starting to get more difficult than it used to be.
Bakugou steps back when he finishes, clapping his hands and nodding. "Done. You're fuckin' welcome, Half an' Half."
"My saviour," Shouto says, only half-joking.
And when Bakugou says, "What the fuck else would I be?" in a tone that's meant to be sarcastic and a little mean, his lips curl upwards a little like a smile, and it doesn't sound much like either of those things at all. It sounds quite soft, actually.
So it creeps up on them again, trips them up, and like he does every time they fall into something teetering over the edge of just friendship, Shouto feels out of his depth. Bakugou mows right over it, of course, like he does with everything that doesn't go his way, and orders Shouto to grab the washed pillowcases.
And they're back in motion.
He once again fights with the pillows while Bakugou does the harder job of putting on the new duvet cover. He does the inside-out trick, which Shouto still hasn't managed to perfect. How is Bakugou so good at household chores?
It takes longer to put the casings on that it did to take them off, with Shouto's shoulder aching like it's going to disintegrate, and he's still only halfway done with the last one by the time Bakugou's got the duvet spread neatly over the bed like he's getting ready for an army inspection.
It kind of makes Shouto want to start making his bed in the mornings. Just for Bakugou's sake.
Bakugou snickers as he sees Shouto struggling with the pillow, but it doesn't sound like the degrading kind. Either way, it makes Shouto level him with one of those flat looks that his friends say could ice people over on its own—Bakugou rolls his eyes and says, "You need help with that too, Halfie?"
Shouto huffs. "And I thought I was the half-blind one."
Bakugou groans and swats at Shouto's arm as he comes to sit next to him. "Fuck off."
Despite acting annoyed though, he takes the pillow and finishes shoving it into the case, leaning over Shouto's lap to set it next to the other one at the headboard, and Shouto holds his breath. Bakugou moves back. He doesn't immediately leave. He stays, sits, and Shouto can feel the dip of the mattress under his weight.
They falter with nothing to do next. Silence falls between them, feeling like it's sitting next to them—like its an entity of it's own, breathing by Shouto's ears. His room smells of detergent and the sheets are crisp where he's sitting and Bakugou is so close. He's wearing a sleeveless shirt, the arm holes a little frayed, and his hair's kind of messy. His skin looks like he's never had a spot a day in his life. Sunlight slants over his face, cheekbones sharp and angled. He just helped Shouto replace his sheets because he was hurt.
Shouto is so fucked.
All it would take is moving an inch forward for them to be close enough to—
"How's the shoulder?" Bakugou asks.
Shouto inhales carefully. He needs to stop thinking like that.
He rolls his shoulder gently, wincing. "Sore," he says truthfully. No point lying, no matter how much he wants to, when Bakugou will see right through it anyway.
Bakugou clicks his tongue. "Piece-of-shit villain," he mutters. Shouto's inclined to agree.
Usually, they'd stop here. Usually, Bakugou would make some excuse about needing to wash the dishes or reviewing some reports and Shouto would make up his own responsibilities to deal with and they'd keep going, never talking about it and never committing and killing themselves a little bit in the process.
Maybe it's because Shouto's hurt again that this changes, or the fact that their fear's been wearing off. Maybe they've finally just gotten too, too close and the sun is hitting them through the blinds exactly right. Bakugou clears his throat and says, "Alright, c'mere."
"What is it?"
"Just do it, Half an' Half.”
"Rude," Shouto mutters, but he does it anyway, moving closer until he and Bakugou are sitting right in front of each other.
"Now turn around."
"What?"
"For the love of—Icyhot, turn the fuck around. I promise I won't stab you in the back."
"Oh, well, that's very comforting, thank you."
Bakugou rolls his eyes but he doesn't give up and walk away like Shouto's been expecting him to do any minute—he just holds eye contact until Shouto finally relents. "Fine," he says, and turns around.
He's left wondering for a few seconds as to what exactly is supposed to be happening as he hears Bakugou shift behind him, before there are suddenly hands on his shoulder pressing down and Shouto's brain catches up to speed. Holy shit.
He feels like he might catch fire.
"This okay?" Bakugou asks. Shouto wants to laugh. Of course it is. It's you, he thinks.
"It's fine," he says. "Thanks."
"Yeah, whatever," Bakugou says, and Shouto forces himself to relax as Bakugou starts massaging his shoulder.
As it turns out, he's actually quite skilled. It hurts at first, obviously, but soon enough Shouto feels himself starting to slouch forwards, the pain fading bit by bit. It's such a relief. Bakugou only teases him a little when he notices.
"That feel good, Half an' Half?" he says, amusement in his voice.
"Shut up," Shouto says automatically. Then, quieter: "Yes."
Bakugou pauses for a moment, like he wasn't expecting Shouto to admit it. He doesn't think he imagines the pleased note in Bakugou's voice when he says, just as quiet, "Good."
He chooses to ignore it.
Golden hour is in full force by the time Bakugou finishes. The pain doesn't fully go away in the end, but it's lighter by far. Shouto rolls his shoulder, sighing as it goes easy.
"Better?" Bakugou asks. Shouto nods as he turns back around, relishing the way his shoulder barely protests when he moves it.
He's not prepared for how close their faces come. Suddenly, Shouto can count the faint freckles over Bakugou's nose, and his heart rate skyrockets. Maybe the world stops too, Shouto wouldn't be able to tell you. Maybe all of existence stops entirely, and they're the only things alive. Bakugou must have been expecting it more because he doesn't twitch, but he does flush, and—
Shouto's only focused on how pretty it looks on him. On how if he touched Bakugou's cheek, the skin would be warm.
On where it could maybe, possibly, if Shouto decided he wasn't too scared, go from there.
That silence is back, engulfing, louder than it was before. Shouto can't remember how he ever breathed. It's hard to meet Bakugou's eyes, so he stares at his nose instead. "Much better," he says, though it comes out like a whisper.
Bakugou doesn't even look like he heard it. He's just staring, like there's something he's seeing for the very first time. Somehow, it's not awkward. It's comfortable, almost like—like this is what they've been building up to. Like they've laid every foundation and now they're finally standing steady.
And then—
"Oh, fuck my life," Bakugou whispers, with a weird to-hell-with-it energy like he's about to jump off a cliff, and—
The "What—" is Shouto, but it gets cut off when—
Bakugou kisses him.
Maybe Shouto's dead. It's a real possibility. Maybe he's died and this is the afterlife and he hasn't realised yet because this can't be real. Surely.
But Bakugou's warm and Shouto's frozen and Bakugou's pulling away, muttering a Fuck under his breath, and Shouto—
Shouto's chasing him.
Because if this is the afterlife, it doesn't really matter what he does.
And if it's not, then—
Then he can't let this slip away. He can't have Bakugou thinking he doesn't want this when for the past five years, it's been all he's wanted.
Shouto kisses him back like it'll save his life. He intertwines his fingers on the back of Bakugou's neck and applies what incredibly little experience he has and his chest might explode, and Bakugou reciprocates. There are hands holding him at his waist and Bakugou's lips against his. Shouto feels like he'll sink through the Earth, drag Bakugou down with him. He doesn't know if he'd even really notice if he did.
Nothing is real outside of this. Outside of them. Maybe Shouto's just really, really fucking lucky.
He doesn't know how long they kiss for. When he finds himself lying down on the bed with Bakugou above him, he doesn't even know how he got there.
But God knows he's not complaining.
They pull away eventually, just enough to breathe properly instead of between kisses. They're both panting, and Shouto feels like he just ran a hundred miles. He's never felt so exhausted, and simultaneously so electrified.
Golden hour's passed, he notices. It's twilight now, and they search each other's eyes in the encroaching shade. Shouto still feels the kiss. Bakugou's got the sharpest grin Shouto's ever seen on him, and Shouto's torn between pulling him right back and staring at it forever. He thinks he's smiling even wider. He laughs breathily, unbelieving. "Did we really just do that?" he whispers.
Bakugou's grin morphs halfway into a smirk. Shouto feels his stomach coil. "Best believe it, sweetheart."
Oh, Shouto's going to lose his mind. His eyes blow out wide and he feels himself blush, which makes Bakugou laugh in surprise and that makes Shouto blush even more. God, Bakugou makes him so weak. Absolutely useless.
It's such a lovely thing to be.
"So you do like me," Shouto says, because he knows now. He wasn't reading things wrong at all. Bakugou scoffs, like Shouto's got an actual block of ice for a brain.
"Are you kidding? Do you know how fucking long I've wanted to do that?"
"Um. A while?”
"Since second year, dumbass. Second year. You've been driving me damn near insane."
For a moment, Shouto only hears white noise. He blinks, genuinely taken aback. Since second year? Second?
"Oh."
Bakugou snorts, and it's one of those things that's supposed to be unattractive, but Shouto genuinely thinks he'd be in love with anything Bakugou did. "Yeah, oh."
And Shouto fucking giggles—because only Bakugou could make him do that and he can't believe this is happening. He likes him back. Bakugou likes him back. "Well, if it's any consolation, you've been kind of killing me since first," he says.
Bakugou smiles wider and looks away. Deflecting, he says, "Course I was. I'm the best."
Shouto knows he's exaggerating, because that's just what Bakugou does, but honestly? "Yeah," he agrees. "Yeah, you are."
That seems to do something. Bakugou's cocky, excited grin fades to something helpless, like his heart is melting. Shouto wonders if Bakugou's been looking at him like that all along and he just never noticed—like he's staring at the stars, except he's not. He's staring at Shouto.
Maybe to Bakugou, those two things aren't so different. God, Shouto hopes he never looks away.
"No," Bakugou says, sounding breathless. "I'm not as good as you are."
And he kisses him. Again. Shouto feels like he's flying, like at any moment he'll wake up and it'll be morning and he'll go and find Bakugou in the kitchen making breakfast and he'll hand Shouto a cup of coffee and Shouto will have to resist the urge to kiss him on the cheek.
But he won't have to anymore. They can kiss each other goodbye at the door and do that thing where one of them puts a hand on the other's lower back to get past and the pet names will become normal. Everything they've been pointlessly running from, it'll be real. They'll be real.
Shouto shivers when Bakugou suddenly starts kissing along his jaw instead, and he realises this might be going further. His brain is going haywire, so overwhelmed and so happy.
"Please," he says, voice tight.
"I've got you," Bakugou says back, always so confident.
Shouto can't really see Bakugou in the dark anymore, but he can feel.
God, does Bakugou make him feel.
…
They lie in bed afterwards, all gross and sweaty with Shouto's lamp turned on, and it's less awkward than Shouto thought it'd be. He breathes, trying to get his lungs steady again.
"So," he says, "I win."
Shouto can feel the confusion on Katsuki's face as he tries to figure out what the fuck Shouto's referencing.
"Huh? Win what, Half an' Half?"
Well, it's good to know that the stupid nicknames don't stop even after screwing. Shouto's actually grown unsurprisingly attached to them. "I've been in love with you for longer. Therefore, I win."
Katsuki doesn't say anything for a few seconds. Shouto waits for it, amusement growing, and then—
"Fuck!" Katsuki shouts. Shouto laughs.
"Don't be a sore loser. I'll only lord this over you for years. It's basically nothing."
It takes Shouto a few seconds of silence to realise what he just said.
Years. He just implied that they'd be together for years.
This is why Shouto can't have nice things.
He starts panicking, scrambling to explain. "I mean—not like—I'm not saying that—"
"Shouto."
Shouto promptly shuts up. He kind of wants to bash his head into the wall. Maybe wash his mouth out with hydrochloric acid while he's at it. He shuts his eyes tightly. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.
He's left hanging for a few seconds, during which time he feels his heart rate ratcheting up, his teeth grinding together, until—
"Years, huh?" Katsuki asks, but it sounds less like a question and more like something sacred, and Shouto feels a kiss on his cheek. "I like the sound of that."
Exhale.
It's obvious. He should have known. Katsuki's all or nothing. Shouto opens his eyes back up only to find Katsuki staring at him with reassurance and fondness and—
Love. That's love. Shouto's heart calms back down. He breathes. "Good. I do too."
Katsuki smiles, but it's one Shouto hasn't seen before. It's so soft, so sweet it might give Shouto a toothache. Katsuki kisses him again before he yawns.
Right, time exists. Shouto forgot it was so late. Katsuki's usually dead to the world by now.
Well. They can make it work. "Let's sleep," Shouto suggests.
"You know we have to shower, yeah?”
"Ah. Right."
“And I’m not sleeping in these fuckin’ sheets.”
“...that's fair.” Shouto sighs. “I just washed them too.”
Katsuki shrugs, like he's an innocent bystander in all of this, as if he didn't kiss Shouto's mouth half-numb. “You should've tried being less pretty.”
Shouto shakes his head but he can't suppress the smile that creeps over his face or the butterflies that lift off in his stomach, and Katsuki obviously notices. Shouto's pretty sure he did it on purpose.
“It's fine, Half ‘n’ Half,” Katsuki says as he sits up, leaning back on his elbows. He looks back at Shouto, all smooth skin and red eyes and sharp canines that drive Shouto up the wall. He doesn't think he's fully processed it yet. Shouto gets to be Katsuki's. Shouto can call Katsuki his. They were always going to end up here, he thinks. “I know where we can find another bed to share.”
Shouto doesn't know how much of this he deserves—he's not a saint, and he's not a martyr, and he wouldn't be able to save the world if it came down to him.
But Katsuki would scoff at that, and whether Shouto deserves it or not, it's here. He's grabbing onto it with both hands and holding on with everything he's got. "Shower and then sleep,” Shouto says as Katsuki pulls him up next to him.
"That's the plan."
They'll always find each other in the dark, but—the days can be theirs now too. They can wake up together. Shouto doesn't ever want to wake up anywhere else.