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Shouto finds Bakugou sulking on the roof.
It’s late. Bakugou probably wouldn’t like to know that Shouto thinks he’s sulking regardless of the hour, though.
However—
Shouto thought he’d be alone. He can’t sleep, sometimes. And the quiet is nice.
(Sometimes, it’s because he wakes up gasping, tears already slipping down his cheeks, his heart a terrified rabbit inside the cage of his chest.
Other times, it’s just—
Summer heat, and the desire to be somewhere else.)
Tonight, it’s mostly because of the heat. His sleep shirt sticks to his back, a bead of sweat rolling down his spine, and Shouto wonders vaguely about if Bakugou is going to bare sharp alpha teeth at him. You know. If he minds. If it just so happens that he doesn’t want Shouto around when he has a choice about it.
The thought stings.
Bakugou doesn’t say anything, though. Not even a half-hearted grunt of acknowledgment when Shouto steps close enough. It’s the kind of thing that sticks to your skin like summer heat does. If Shouto focuses, he can make out the sound of cicadas in the distance.
Bakugou won’t look at him.
Shouto looks. Shouto has never been all that shy about looking, but with Bakugou it’s—it feels like an omega thing. Like he’s just waiting obediently for him to look back so he can bare his neck about it. Maybe whine please, too, just for good measure. Just to make sure Bakugou knows what he’s asking for.
(Bakugou should know already if he’s been paying attention, though.)
“I couldn’t sleep,” Shouto whispers in the silence. “I think I’m still—you know.”
Bakugou scoffs. “You don’t have to take that shit seriously,” he says. “Doesn’t mean anything, that you’re an omega.”
Oh.
Shouto’s heart feels heavy, all of sudden. Like someone’s squeezing it. Like there’s a big, rough palm wrapped around it, and Bakugou isn’t even—well. The woefully omega part of Shouto wants him to apologize. To nuzzle at Shouto’s neck and say shh, I’ve got you, pretty omega.
Of course he wouldn’t do that, though. Of course he wouldn’t—
Apparently, he doesn’t even think of Shouto as an omega, so. Why should it matter?
“It means something to me,” Shouto protests, a hand coming up to rub at his bare neck. No collar. No alpha who wants him enough to get him one. To make the promise. That’s—
They’re young, sure, but Shouto knows what he wants. And it’s certainly not sitting around at home waiting for a suitable offer to come along so someone else gets to pick for him. So pro hero Endeavor can sigh and rub his temples and decide all Shouto’s good for is to be mated off. He’d sooner die.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Bakugou says softly. “I didn’t—fuck. I’m not good at this shit, halfie.”
Shouto’s scent sours. He lets out a whine. “Good at what?”
It’s confusing, like this. Bakugou is—well, Bakugou’s an alpha, and he won’t even look at Shouto.
He doesn’t get it.
Or maybe he does, and it just—doesn’t matter.
Maybe it’s like that. Maybe Shouto just doesn’t matter to him. Not like he would like to, at least. Not—not singularly.
“At courting,” Bakugou hisses, face red.
Shouto blinks. Courting? Courting like—
“Courting… me?” he asks, pointing to himself.
Bakugou nods, fingers gripping onto the railing hard enough that his knuckles turn white. “Didn’t even notice, did you? That pretty little head of yours is real empty sometimes, halfie.”
Shouto swallows. He didn’t, yeah. But he didn’t think there was anything to notice. Certainly not—not Bakugou Katsuki wanting him back. That feels like the kind of revelation that should weigh heavier. The kind of thing that catches fire, especially in the summer heat. And then you’re left there trying to withstand the recoil of an explosion caused by a single spark. Just enough friction.
Fitting, really.
But instead, all Shouto can do is whine, “Don’t be mean to me. That’s not—that’s not how you’re supposed to treat your omega.”
“My omega?” Bakugou repeats.
Shouto huffs, arms crossed over his chest. “Didn’t you say you were trying to court me?”
Something shifts in the next breath.
Because suddenly, Bakugou is looking at him. Looking at him for real, eyes fixed on Shouto, sharp and unforgiving and real. “Yeah,” he says. “I did.”
And then Shouto turns to face him, and—
It’s wet. And there’s a lot of teeth. But Bakugou’s rough palm cups his jaw carefully, and Shouto figures out how to ease into it and start kissing Bakugou back. It’s his first kiss. It’s warm. Almost as warm as Bakugou cupping the back of his neck, pulling Shouto closecloseclose.
“Fuck,” he says. “Fucking hell, want you so bad I couldn’t even fucking sleep because of it, and you’re just—standing there.”
Shouto brings a hand up to his wet mouth, fingers touching the tangible proof of Bakugou—of his alpha—wanting him back. Wanting him as an omega. Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? It can’t be anything else, with an alpha like Bakugou. Just—him choosing you. Him wanting you enough to reach, and then have you.
Shouto bites the inside of his cheek to stifle a whimper. “It was because of me?” he asks. “You were up here because of me?”
“Yeah,” Bakugou admits. “And then you showed up. Fucking ruining my life, sweetheart.”
“I’m sorry,” Shouto says, face warm. “I can—I’ll go, if you want?”
But—
He barely moves at all before Bakugou grips his wrist, and then he’s pulling Shouto to his chest, a hand on the back of his head while he—breathes in? Is he… smelling Shouto right now?
“Was thinking about getting you a collar,” Bakugou says. “This morning in class. When Aizawa-sensei brought it up, that whole—I know it’s just a dumb tradition, but I wanted to get you one.”
“And you were mad because you couldn’t?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Shouto laughs. “That’s sweet,” he says. “That’s really, really sweet of you, alpha.”
Bakugou growls. “Don’t call me that.”
Shouto tilts his head to the side a bit, pulling back just enough to look at him again. “But I thought you wanted me to be your omega?”
“I do,” Bakugou says, kicking uselessly at nonexistent dirt. “I just—when you say it like that, I wanna bite you right now, and fuck the damn collar.”
Right. Because the collars are—well. Symbolic, in a way. They don’t mean what they used to. Omegas aren’t property anymore. But instinct is still instinct. It feels nice, being claimed. Belonging to someone. Your chosen alpha clasping a collar around your neck as a promise of more. Of someday giving you a mating bite.
“I want a pretty one,” Shouto says, mouth twitching. “Something expensive.”
A surprised huff of laughter escapes Bakugou. “Didn’t take you for the type,” he says. “Want me to get you shiny rocks, sweetheart?”
“Mm,” Shouto agrees, arms wrapping around Bakugou’s neck. “Big ones.”
Bakugou’s tongue darts out to lick his lips. His hands settle on Shouto’s waist, big and warm. “You know,” he says. “I could’ve guessed that part.”
Shouto laughs.
And then—
Well, then he lets Bakugou pull him into another kiss. He wonders if it still counts as his first. If they’re close enough not to matter that it’s actually it’s his second melting into his third melting into—a lot more, hopefully. All of them Bakugou’s fault. Or—his responsibility?
Shouto thinks he’d like that second one more. Being responsible for him. For making Shouto feel good. For kissing him and touching him and getting him a pretty collar.
“Alpha,” Shouto whispers into his mouth. “I still can’t sleep.”
Bakugou lets out a groan, hands squeezing Shouto’s waist like it’s a reflex. “What do you want me to do about it, princess?”
“You could tire me out,” Shouto says. It’s a very good suggestion, in his humble opinion. Very easy to accomplish, too. The dorms have lots of beds. Lots of comfortable couches, too.
“Yeah? And how am I supposed to do that, huh? Any suggestions in particular?”
“Like this,” Shouto says, and then kisses him again.
Bakugou, thankfully, catches on quickly.
…
(Shouto does get a pretty collar, later. He gets a lot of bites first, though. Which is perfectly okay with him.)