Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shouto doesn’t really know what he’s doing here.

Fuyumi told him a week ago that he should try out this online game she’s been obsessed with lately, and when he asked Izuku about it yesterday, his friend’s eyes practically sparkled. Izuku got so excited that Shouto somehow ended up opening a Roblox account half an hour after. Today they were supposed to play together with Denki.

He even installed Discord because Izuku insisted they needed better comms and honestly, Shouto feels like a lost traveler stranded in some desert. Everything looks overwhelming, too many buttons, too many options.

An hour ago, Izuku and Denki had invited him to play a gardening game—apparently the most famous game online right now which is also the game his sister talked about and Shouto had actually tried it yesterday with her. Denki dropped a link to the private server in their group chat, and after fumbling with it for a few minutes, Shouto finally managed to click in.

“Shouto, are you in yet?” Izuku’s cheerful voice filters through the Discord call.

Shouto nods automatically before realizing—no one can see him. “…Yeah, I’m in.”

“Weird, I don’t see your username anywhere,” Denki says, his voice crackling through the mic. “Can you check the player list on your server, Sho?”

Shouto freezes. “How?”

There’s a pause, then Denki groans. “Oh my god, you’re a total noob.”

Izuku giggles in the background, trying to explain patiently, but Shouto only catches half of it. His mouse moves stiffly, clicking random keys, until somehow—by pure accident—he pulls up a list of unfamiliar usernames. None of them belong to Izuku or Denki.

“Wait,” Izuku says slowly. “Uh… Sho. Did you actually join our server?”

“I clicked the link,” Shouto replies, frowning. “Was I not supposed to?”

There’s a pause, followed by Kaminari’s unhelpful laugh. “Bro, he probably got sent to some public lobby. Sho’s out there farming tulips with strangers right now.”

Shouto blinks at the little blocky avatar on his screen—his avatar is styled with bright blue palette clothes, Izuku tried his best to make it look exactly like how Shouto’s look in real life although he had to do some adjustment here and there, because they don’t have red and white hair option so he chose white, and because they also do not have option for exact eye colors like him, he sticks with the color bright blue—awkwardly holding a watering can in the middle of a pastel-colored garden. Maybe that explains why nobody greeted him when he logged in.

“Well… I’ll figure it out,” he says, more to himself than to the others. He mutes his mic before Izuku can start panicking.

And that’s when it happens. Out of nowhere, another avatar stomps into his plot. Its body is entirely black, its head a menacing skull outlined in glowing crimson. Above it floats a single word, jagged and ominous in all caps: GodMurder. Roblox doesn’t ban that username? Weird, because that sure sounds very… violence.

Shouto’s hand stills on his mouse. The skull-headed figure doesn’t say anything at first—just stands there, watching. Then, a text bubble pops up over its head.

GodMurder: nice garden

Shouto knows he should respond to that, but… he doesn’t know how. He’s not on that level yet. He’s barely a day into this game, still fumbling over the controls, still trying to figure out how to move without bumping into fences. And yet—he gets it. He gets why Fuyumi keeps playing. There’s something addictive about waiting for the seeds to restock, watching his little garden slowly fill with color.

He doesn’t like planting fruits, though. Blueberries, strawberries, carrots—they look ugly. Lumpy, pixelated little blobs ruining the harmony of his neat rows. His clumsy hands always misclick and harvest them early anyway, which only pisses him off. So he sticks to flowers.

Tulips are his favorite, especially orange ones which are the only option available in the game. Sometimes daffodils too. He likes planting them in bulk, rows and rows of cheerful colors. They’re cute, though he thinks it’s sad the flower options are so limited. 

He’s happily thinking about his next batch of tulips when his phone buzzes. Discord call. It’s Izuku. Shouto sighs, picks up. “Yes?”

“Sho!” Izuku’s voice explodes in his ear. “Oh thank god, I was trying to DM you! You’re still in the wrong server. Okay, listen carefully, I’ll walk you through it!”

Shouto obediently leaves his little garden, his blocky avatar trudging offscreen while Izuku rambles instructions that sound more complicated than surgery. Something about hitting escape, clicking the little menu, leaving the experience, rejoining through the invite link—

By the time Shouto tabs back in, he’s completely lost track of what Izuku said. And when his screen loads his garden again, his stomach dips. The skull-headed avatar is still there. But it’s not just standing anymore—it’s moving. Stomping. Jumping up and down on his tulip patch like a furious totem.

The chatbox at the bottom of his screen is blinking furiously.

GodMurder: U IGNORE ME???
GodMurder: #############
GodMurder: NICE GARDEN MY AS S
GodMurder: ANSWER ME ICE CUBE

Shouto blinks at the screen. He vaguely hears Izuku still explaining something about “clicking the friends tab” in his ear, but it all fades into static. Because right now, the black skull avatar is spinning in angry little circles around his tulips, spamming emotes. Shouto lowers his phone away from his ear. It feels… natural, somehow, to ignore Izuku and focus entirely on this strange, furious stranger.

He stares at the flashing chatbox for a long moment, then fumbles with his keyboard. It takes him three tries just to find the right key to open the text input, and another two to remember how to hit enter. Finally, slowly, he types:

iceykittensho: hello. sorry. i was on a call.

The skull avatar stops spinning mid-circle. For a few seconds, nothing appears. Then, finally there’s something new on the chat. 

GodMurder: oh ‘s that so?

Shouto tilts his head. His fingers hover, then type back yes and explain that he’s new to the game. Another pause. Then the chat lights up again.

GodMurder: tch sorry my bad
GodMurder: didn’t kno u were new
GodMurder: got a pretty decent garden for a damn newbie tho

Shouto blinks at the words. Praise? He thinks so and that makes him smile, it took him five hours to design his tulip garden with the decoration in the game although Fuyumi had to guide him for the whole process yesterday. He types carefully:

iceykittensho: thank you.

The skull avatar jumps once, as if punctuating its next message.

GodMurder: why the hell u only plant flowers tho?
GodMurder: u allergic to fruits or somethin?

Shouto frowns faintly at his screen. He doesn’t understand the hostility, but… he answers truthfully.

iceykittensho: i like flowers.

A beat passes. And then the chat shows two new notifications so he clicks it to read. 

GodMurder: …weird ass answer
GodMurder: but i guess it checks out. garden looks decent at least

Shouto stares at his rows of orange tulips, a little warmth in his chest. He really likes how his garden turns out, although it’s still new and all he planted are all flowers and even his sister complains about it. Someone actually thinks it’s decent. However before he has the chance to say another thank you to this stranger, another bubble pops up:

GodMurder: yo accept my friend request
GodMurder: gonna give u sheckles
GodMurder: u wont have enough to buy seeds

Shouto blinks again. He has a feeling that this person won’t like what’s going to be his next reply but he types in anyway. 

iceykittensho: what are sheckles?

GodMurder answers him almost instantly, expected. 

GodMurder: SHECKLES = COINS DUMBA55
GodMurder: u need em to buy seeds  upgrades limited crap
GodMurder: cant believe u dont even kno this

Shouto leans back in his chair, quietly reading the barrage of text. A few seconds later, another string appears.

GodMurder: ok listen
GodMurder: flowers got event-only varieties. not just tulips n crap
GodMurder: if u grind right u can get exclusive seeds

Before Shouto can reply, the skull avatar suddenly dashes off, blocky legs pumping. Shouto blinks, then slowly follows as GodMurder leads him across the map.

“Here,” the chat blinks.

GodMurder stops in the middle of the town square, right where a strange merchant NPC stands beside an enormous green vine.

GodMurder: see this guy? give him fruit. enough donations and this big-ass beanstalk grows
GodMurder: giant shop opens up top limited flowers u need it

Shouto types something quickly because he really doesn’t like the sound of it.

iceykittensho: i dont like fruits.

The skull avatar does a sharp 180 turn, running right into Shouto’s blocky face.

GodMurder: I DONT CARE ITS AN EVENT DO IT

So Shouto tries. He plants the required plants on his second plot garden, doesn’t want to mess the flowers he has on his main. He drags blueberries into the merchant’s hands, then carrots, strawberries. The beanstalk creaks and grows taller. But when GodMurder tells him to climb it—things go badly.

Shouto’s avatar repeatedly slips off the first leaves, tumbling back to the ground. Over and over. Nearby players start laughing, typing mocking messages in the public chat.

xXgrape_GUYXx: LOL newbie cant climb
mm2108GG: lmaoooo look at iceykittensho flop again

Shouto’s fingers hesitate on the keyboard, but before he can think of something to say, the chat explodes:

GodMurder: SHUT THE HELL UP DUMBA55ES
GodMurder: HE’S NEW
GodMurder: U GOT A PROBLEM GO ROT IN UR OWN PATCH

The laughing stops. GodMurder stomps a little circle around Shouto’s avatar like a bodyguard. Shouto’s eyes soften faintly. He thinks—unexpectedly—that GodMurder is actually very, very, very kind.

After ten minutes of failure and cursing (on GodMurder’s part), the skull avatar finally stops trying to teach him.

GodMurder: tch screw climbing
GodMurder: just help feed this vine 9 more times. then u can teleport

Shouto agrees, obediently ferrying fruit to the merchant until, finally, the teleport option unlocks. With one click, he’s at the top of the beanstalk.

Three hours pass without him noticing.

When he finally checks his garden again, it’s transformed. He’s planted rows of event flowers—soft Fairy Daisies, elegant Calla Lilies, delicate Cyclamens. He even splurged his hard-earned sheckles and honey on rarer ones: Ember Lily, Rafflesia, Lilac. All in neat lines next to his orange tulips. The colors spill across his screen, bright and vibrant. Shouto stares for a long moment, and for the first time all day, he feels genuinely happy. Thanks to this stranger, albeit the harsh looks and the way he talks on chat, Shouto couldn’t reach this level without his help and before Shouto closes his Roblox and says goodbye, GodMurder sends another chat.

GodMurder: next time just play on my private server

Shouto reads it again and again, he bites his lower lip before he sends the reply.

iceykittensho: ok.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

So Shouto is currently twenty-three, fresh out of university, and currently existing in the strange in-between state of waiting. Waiting for interview results. Waiting for replies to the not-so-many job applications he’s sent. Waiting for his life to tilt into something resembling a future. In the meantime, his days are filled with easy, quiet things—dropping by cafés with Izuku and Denki, dinners with Fuyumi, occasionally sitting in his room until the glow of his gaming PC draws him back into that oddly addictive gardening game.

Today, he’s at a café tucked in a corner street near campus. The place is half-empty, soft jazz humming in the background, steam curling from mugs of coffee and plates of toast between them.

Izuku is animated as always, talking with his hands as he updates the table. “I’ve been taking on more freelance projects lately,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “Mostly small-scale designs from the agency I’ve been working with since last year. It’s… stressful, but the flexibility is nice.”

“Flexibility is important,” Tenya agrees with a solemn nod, straightening his back. “But stability is better. I, for one, was fortunate enough to secure an internship position with a start-up company. It’s not permanent yet, but it’s an excellent opportunity to demonstrate my abilities.”

Denki groans, dragging his hand down his face. “Ugh, don’t rub it in, prez. I’ve been applying everywhere—literally everywhere—and either it’s silence, or a rejection email three weeks later. It’s like, do these companies even read my resume, or do they just chuck it into the void?”

Shouto takes a slow sip of his coffee, watching Denki slump dramatically in his chair. “It’s hard,” he agrees. “I’ve sent some applications too. A few interviews. Nothing yet.”

“See?” Denki points at him, eyes narrowing. “Even Shouto isn’t getting replies. The market’s brutal right now.”

Shouto shrugs lightly. The truth is, he hasn’t been trying very hard. His father’s money is still sitting in his account, enough to cover rent, food, and even the indulgence of a new gaming PC when Fuyumi gently insists he should treat himself after graduation. He doesn’t say this out loud, though—because it feels unfair, when Denki looks so frustrated, when Izuku is pushing himself through late nights of freelance, when Tenya is already charting a straight path forward.

Denki exhales, grabbing a fry from the plate in the center. “Man, maybe I should just become a professional gamer or something. At least I’d get paid to play instead of getting rejected by HR.”

Izuku laughs nervously. “I think that’s harder than it sounds.”

Shouto, quietly, thinks about his garden in Roblox. About the rows of flowers that had bloomed last night. About the skull-headed avatar who had, for some reason, stayed by his side for hours, teaching him.

He finds himself staring into his coffee as Denki and Tenya bicker, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his mouth. Denki is sulking over fries when Izuku suddenly perks up, turning to Shouto with bright eyes.

“Oh! Sho, tell us again about that friend you met on Roblox,” he says, leaning forward like this is the most important topic at the table. “You mentioned last time that he’s been giving you pets for free, right?”

Shouto blinks slowly. “Yes.”

Before he can elaborate, Denki practically explodes out of his seat. “AND THEY’RE RARE PETS WITH MUTATIONS!!!” he yells, loud enough that a barista glances their way. “Do you have any idea how insane that is? People sell those for real money sometimes, dude. Like actual cash.”

“Kaminari, lower your voice,” Tenya scolds automatically, adjusting his glasses with a sharp motion.

But Denki ignores him, leaning across the table at Shouto. “No, seriously, how did you even pull that off? Some random stranger just handing you rare pets? For free?”

Shouto looks down at his coffee, unbothered by the scrutiny. “He offered,” he says simply because that’s the truth, GodMurder likes to just online to give him stuff for free sometimes and then he has to log off after because he’s busy. “I didn’t ask.”

Izuku beams. “That’s amazing, though! You must’ve made a really good impression on him.”

Denki narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Wait. What’s his username again?”

“GodMurder,” Shouto replies without hesitation.

Denki immediately bursts out laughing, nearly choking on his drink. “Pffft—WHAT kind of cursed name is that? Bro, are you sure he’s not a scammer?!”

Izuku shakes his head quickly. “He can’t be! If he’s been giving Shou pets for free, that’s not a scam at all. That’s… actually really sweet.”

Tenya folds his arms, frowning. “Still, one must be cautious with online strangers. Especially those who choose… names of that variety.”

Shouto listens quietly as his friends argue over the ethics of trusting someone named GodMurder. In his mind, though, he sees the black skull avatar patiently walking him through menus, standing guard when other players mocked him, and storming up and down the beanstalk while Shouto failed to climb it.

He stirs his coffee, thinking that, sweet. Yes. That word fits better than the others.

Denki finally calms down from laughing, but only so he can grin wickedly at Shouto across the table. “Okay, but seriously—this GodMurder guy? He’s into you. No other explanation.”

Shouto blinks. “Into me?”

“Yeah!” Denki jabs a fry in the air like it’s evidence. “Who spends hours babysitting someone on a dumb Roblox server, gives ‘em free pets, and protects them from trolls? That’s like… classic gamer-crush behavior.”

Shouto pauses, processing. “…But he doesn’t know what I look like.” 

“That’s true!” Tenya agrees, although he looks lost which explains he really doesn’t follow anything about online games. 

Izuku leans forward, shaking his head with that earnest energy that makes him impossible to argue with. “That doesn’t matter! Lots of people meet online first. Sometimes they play together for months, even years, and then eventually decide to meet in person. It’s actually… um, pretty common now. And sometimes those people end up dating.”

Denki gasps dramatically. “See? See? It’s fate, Shou. GodMurder is your online boyfriend already. I mean like everyone has a crush on you, man.”

Shouto stares at him blankly, then asks in complete seriousness: “Are you?”

Denki chokes on his coffee. “What—no! Not us, Shou. Oh my god.” He drags a hand down his face, rolling his eyes so hard it almost hurts. “I mean like… maybe half of our class back in uni had a crush on you, duh. Not me. Not Izuku. Not our class president here. Just—literally everyone else.”

Izuku makes a small distressed noise beside him. “Denki, don’t exaggerate—!”

“I’m not exaggerating!” Denki slams the table for emphasis. “Ask anyone. Todoroki Shouto, the quiet hot guy who never looked at anyone twice? Yeah, people were drooling over you in secret.”

Shouto sips his coffee calmly, unbothered. “I never noticed.”

“Exactly,” Denki groans, falling back in his chair. “That’s the problem.”

But Izuku just laughs softly, shaking his head. “Well… whether you noticed or not, it doesn’t change the fact that maybe this person online just… likes you for you. You don’t need to look any certain way for that.”

Shouto hums thoughtfully, letting their words settle. In his mind, he sees the skull avatar spinning angry circles around his tulips, spamming chat with insults that somehow sounded like encouragement.

…It doesn’t feel impossible.

Denki leans forward suddenly, his grin returning full force. “So… are you guys going to meet up?”

Shouto blinks. “Meet up?”

“Yeah!” Denki waves both hands like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “C’mon, that’s like the natural next step, right? You vibe in-game, then you take it offline. Imagine the story you’ll get to tell—‘We met on Roblox gardening simulator.’ That’s hilarious and iconic.”

Before Shouto can answer, Tenya cuts in sharply, his expression grave. “Absolutely not. Meeting with strangers from the internet is dangerous. Todoroki, you have no idea who this ‘GodMurder’ person truly is. They could be anyone—someone pretending, someone malicious—”

Shouto shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know about meeting up. For now… I just want to play with him.”

Tenya frowns. “But—”

“He’s nice,” Shouto says simply. “And… kind. Even if he doesn’t sound like it sometimes. He’s… entertaining to watch when he gets mad.”

That earns him a scandalized look from Tenya and a snort from Denki, but Shouto doesn’t flinch. He stares down at the last swirl of coffee in his cup. “It’s not going to turn into anything like… romance. That’s impossible.”

Izuku smiles softly, resting his chin in his hand. “Shou… whatever it is, I just want you to be happy, okay? Don’t overthink things. Just enjoy it. You deserve that much.”

Shouto looks at him for a long moment, then nods once. “…Alright.”

And though he doesn’t say it out loud, the thought drifts quietly through his mind: I am enjoying it.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

A week passes before Shouto logs back into Grow a Garden and finds the black skull avatar already waiting near his tulip patch. It feels oddly familiar—comforting, even—to see GodMurder standing there like a dark shadow in his colorful rows of flowers.

The chat box blinks to life.

GodMurder: damn your garden looks way better now
GodMurder: didn’t kno u had it in u ice cube

Shouto tilts his head at the screen, his lips tugging faintly. They hadn’t seen each other in-game all week, and somehow that small praise warms him. He types back:

iceykittensho: thank you.

There’s a pause, before then:

GodMurder: sorry for not being around been busy as hell w work

Work.

Shouto blinks at the word, his mind catching on it. So GodMurder works… he has a job. That’s all Shouto knows of his real life now. He isn’t the type to pry, so he leaves the thought there, neatly folded away. He glances at the time on his computer. It’s already past ten. He types again.

iceykittensho: if you’re tired, you should sleep.

The reply is immediate as always. 

GodMurder: nah it’s fine
GodMurder: i like playing w you

Shouto stares for a long second, heart strangely warm. His fingers move quickly this time.

iceykittensho: i like playing with you too.

For once, the skull avatar doesn’t move, just stands still beside his flowers. Shouto imagines—though he knows it’s silly—that maybe the person behind the screen is smiling too.

They continue playing. GodMurder runs ahead, dragging Shouto toward new time-limited merchants, unlocking things Shouto had no idea existed. At one point, he trades him a strange, glowing creature—a pet with shimmering wings.

GodMurder: this one boosts ur mutation rates
GodMurder: u’ll get rarer plants faster

Shouto accepts it gratefully, the pet bouncing by his avatar’s side. He types:

iceykittensho: you’ve been giving me free stuff since we met. why?

The reply comes fast, sharp, like the other person had been waiting for that question.

GodMurder: bcs ur not like the other annoying extras
GodMurder: most ppl here just beg for fruits or pets or game money
GodMurder: they piss me the hell off

Shouto reads the words twice, then once more, letting them settle in the quiet glow of his room. He doesn’t type anything yet—just continues planting his flowers while the skull avatar lingers by his side.

It’s strange. He doesn’t know the person at all. Not their name, not their face, not their voice. And yet—he feels the kindness in the spaces between their jagged words.

They fall into an easy rhythm. Shouto plants his rows of tulips and lilies, while GodMurder darts in and out of his plot, dropping off items, running errands, sometimes just standing there like a silent skull-shaped scarecrow.

At one point, another message pops up.

GodMurder: i only get to play at night, btw
GodMurder: work during the day’s a pain in the a55
GodMurder: this game’s just to shut my brain off for a while

Shouto reads it carefully. He wants to ask—what kind of work? Where? Is it tiring?—but the thought of prying feels wrong. He respects boundaries, always has. So instead, he quietly types:

iceykittensho: i see.

A few moments pass, then another bubble flashes.

GodMurder: …why dont u ask what i do irl?

Shouto blinks. His fingers hover over the keyboard.

iceykittensho: i didn’t know if that’s okay to ask.

For the first time that night, the reply isn’t sharp or fast. Instead, the chat box fills with an unfamiliar message:

GodMurder: u’re very funny u kno that right?

Shouto tilts his head, feeling something warm tug at him. He doesn’t think he was trying to be funny. But if it made GodMurder laugh… then maybe he’s glad. He hesitates, then types another question.

iceykittensho: by the way. why do you keep calling me ice cube?

The skull avatar jumps once, almost like it’s scoffing.

GodMurder: cuz ur username’s icey-something
GodMurder: and ur avatar’s blue
GodMurder: got a problem with that??

Shouto stares at the screen for a long second, lips twitching.

iceykittensho: no. i think it suits me.

For some reason, he imagines the person behind the skull mask smiling again.

The quiet stretches on as Shouto lines up another neat row of Fairy Daisies. GodMurder’s skull avatar hovers close, almost protectively, watching him fuss over the soil. The chat stays empty for a while—until Shouto, without much thought, types:

iceykittensho: btw my name is sho

There’s a delay. The skull avatar freezes mid-motion.

GodMurder: what kinda japanese name is that lol

Shouto stares at the screen, tilts his head a little, and types slowly.

iceykittensho: it’s part of my name. i don’t want to tell you the full one yet.

Another pause. Then the skull avatar jumps twice, like a shrug.

GodMurder: …alright then, sho.
GodMurder: call me kats then.

Shouto blinks. His heart does something strange in his chest.

GodMurder: yeah. short for my name. fair trade, yeah?

Shouto watches as the black skull avatar does a little sprint around his tulip rows, almost like it’s restless with the admission. His lips twitch faintly. And just like that, the quiet between them feels warmer than before.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

It’s noon, the sun filtering through the curtains of his room, and Shouto has just set his lunch tray on the desk. His thumb swipes over his phone absently, almost on autopilot, and somehow the Roblox app opens. He frowns at the screen—it feels wrong, unnatural. Roblox is for the evenings, when he’s sitting in front of his gaming PC with his headset on. On his phone? That’s an accident.

He’s about to close it when a red notification bubble catches his eye.

1 new message.

Shouto hesitates. He already knows who it is—GodMurder’s the only person who ever chats with him directly on Roblox’s homepage. Sure enough, when he taps open the chat window, it’s Kats. The message was sent just two minutes ago.

That’s strange. GodMurder never logs on during the day.

GodMurder: fuckin headache all day
GodMurder: my stupid assistant is useless

Shouto stares at it for a moment, chopsticks suspended midair. His chest pulls faintly—this doesn’t read like the usual sharp, cocky tone. It looks… tired.

His thumbs hover before typing back:

iceykittensho: are you okay?
iceykittensho: do you want to talk abt it?

The reply comes faster than he expects.

GodMurder: just hate when shits get fucked up and then everyones time gets wasted
GodMurder: pisses me off

Shouto frowns faintly at his phone. He doesn’t really understand—assistant? Wasting time? Something bad must’ve happened at work, he guesses. But he doesn’t push.

iceykittensho: that sounds rough.
iceykittensho: i hope the headache gets better.

There’s a pause. For a while, Shouto thinks maybe Katsuki won’t answer. Then—

GodMurder: …u actually asked lol
GodMurder: u’re too fuckin polite sho

Shouto blinks at the screen, then sets his phone down slowly, realizing his food’s already gone lukewarm. Somehow, though, the messages feel warmer than lunch ever could.

The next message pops up before Shouto even has a chance to return to his food.

GodMurder: my headache’s not from the assistant
GodMurder: it’s from cleaning up their damn mess
GodMurder: i swear i hire ppl so they can WORK not babysit them

Shouto tilts his head. Hire? The word lingers. He’d assumed GodMurder was someone around his age, maybe another recent grad like him. But someone who hires assistants…?

His thumbs move slowly.

iceykittensho: so your job is busy?

When he sees no immediate reply, Shouto closes his eyes; thinking that it might be a little bit crossing the line but then the new bubble shows up and he takes a deep breathe. 

GodMurder: “busy” is an understatement
GodMurder: meetings stacked on top of meetings, paperwork, deadlines
GodMurder: idiots calling me every five mins like they cant breathe without me

Shouto blinks down at the phone, absorbing the words. That doesn’t sound like a part-time job or even an entry-level one. That sounds… heavier. But instead of prying, he types what feels natural.

iceykittensho: that sounds exhausting.
iceykittensho: no wonder you play at night.

For a moment there’s silence, and Shouto again thinks maybe that was too much. However not long after, Kats sends him his replies.

GodMurder: yeah well
GodMurder: gaming’s the only shit that shuts my brain off for a while
GodMurder: ur garden’s better company than half the ppl i know irl anyway

Shouto blinks. His chest gives that strange, warm tug again. Better company.

iceykittensho: i’m glad if i can help. even just a little.

Another pause.

GodMurder: tch “just a little”
GodMurder: u got no clue sho

Shouto stares at that last line for a long while, chopsticks forgotten in his hand. He doesn’t fully understand what Katsuki means… but something in his chest feels oddly light.

He doesn’t ask any more questions, though. He never does. Instead, he finally starts eating, phone still propped up by the tray—just in case another message arrives.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

Shouto never thought he’d get to this point with a game. At first, Grow a Garden had only been a distraction—something to pass the time while waiting for job interviews, something silly to keep his hands busy. But now, every time he sees that black skull icon flash green in his friend list, there’s a little flutter inside his chest.

Not just for the game. Not just for the new seeds or the rare pets. He wants to see the messages. He wants to see him.

He tells himself it’s just curiosity, or habit. He tells himself it’s just the fact that GodMurder always makes him laugh without even trying. But his hands move faster on the keyboard whenever that name lights up, and when they start playing, Shouto finds himself smiling at the screen more than he should.

That’s why, one evening, when he finally has some free time and clicks “Join” on GodMurder’s profile—only to be hit with a red error message—his chest sinks.

You are not allowed to play on this server.

For a moment he stares, clicking again. And again. The same message. His stomach twists uncomfortably. Did he… do something wrong? Did GodMurder block him from playing together?

His fingers hover, hesitant, before finally typing a single line into the private chat:

iceykittensho: i tried to join you but it said i cant.

Then he closes the app. Just shuts the whole thing down. No garden tonight. No skull avatar running around helping him grow the beanstalk. Just the quiet hum of his PC and the strange, hollow feeling in his chest.

He doesn’t open Roblox again for the rest of the night. It feels wrong to try.

The next evening, Denki spams his messages to hop online, and Shouto reluctantly joins their voice call. Soon enough he’s running around in another game with Izuku and Denki, letting them shout strategies into his ears. It’s fun—objectively. But when the notification bubble starts flashing on his Roblox homepage, his chest tightens.

He doesn’t open it. He doesn’t need to see it to know who it’s from. GodMurder. And yet, for the first time, he ignores it.

Still, even as Denki yells into his headset and Izuku laughs through his mic, Shouto catches himself glancing toward the corner of his screen, heart thudding in a way he doesn’t want to admit.

The three of them were deep into the mission, Denki yelling every time his character got hit, when a familiar black skull suddenly spawned in their server.

Shouto’s fingers froze on his keyboard.

GodMurder has joined your experience.

On Discord, Denki immediately gasps. “No freaking way—Sho, your boyfriend just showed up!”

Shouto’s brows twitch. His voice is flat, but sharper than usual. “He’s not my boyfriend. Just ignore him.”

Izuku makes a small, knowing noise. “Oh? Did something happen? A fight?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Shouto pushes his avatar forward, forcing the mission to start. “Just focus. We’ll lose time if we don’t clear the mobs.”

But the in-game chat box starts blowing up.

GodMurder: hey wt f
GodMurder: are u mad at me
GodMurder: look i didnt block u last night
GodMurder: i was afk in someone elses private server
GodMurder: thats why u couldnt join
GodMurder: pls talk to me ice cube

Denki absolutely loses it. “DUDE. WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM? He sounds so heartbroken right now, oh my god—”

Even Izuku laughs, though he tries to cover it with a cough. “Shou, I think you should reply to him. He’s clearly… worried. It’s not good to leave someone hanging like that.”

Shouto’s stomach twists. He hates how his chest felt warm and heavy at the same time. He hates how it actually hurt to see all those frantic lines in the chat window. With a long exhale, he mutters, “...Fine.”

He clicks out of the mission and exits the server completely, leaving Denki whining in his headset. Instead, he opens the Roblox homepage chat. It feels safer. More private.

His fingers hesitates before typing slowly.

iceykittensho: it’s okay. i don’t know. now we’re good.

The reply comes so fast, like the other person has been sitting there refreshing the chat over and over.

GodMurder: THANK GOD

Shouto blinks at the all-caps. The flood of relief between those two words is almost palpable. For some reason, it makes his lips twitch—just slightly—into a smile.

GodMurder: i swear i wasn’t ignoring u
GodMurder: i dont do that shit
GodMurder: the guy i traded my pets with invited me to some stupid private server for trading n i left it open while i was working
GodMurder: i forgot it kicks ppl out if they dont have permission
GodMurder: wasn’t trying to lock u out ice cube so dont get it twisted

The messages come one after another, rapid-fire, like he is barely breathing in between. Shouto pictures him furiously hammering the keyboard, scowling the entire time, and for some reason the mental image only made the knot in his chest loosen.

He types back, calm as ever:

iceykittensho: i didn’t think you were ignoring me.

There is a pause—ten seconds, maybe fifteen—before GodMurder replies again.

GodMurder: then why the hell didnt u answer me last night??? i thought u were pissed

Shouto stares at the screen. His thumb tapped against his phone case once, twice. He doesn’t want to admit that he was sulking. But now, seeing how frantic GodMurder has gotten, how much he actually cares, it feels… strange. Nice.

iceykittensho: i thought maybe you didn’t want to play with me anymore.

Another long pause. Shouto almost regrets sending it before he sees the reply GodMurder sends to him. 

GodMurder: ARE U DUMB???
GodMurder: ure literally the only reason i even open this dumb game at night
GodMurder: i dont give a shit about flowers or whatever but ure funny and u dont annoy the hell out of me like everyone else does
GodMurder: so stop thinking crap like that

Shouto’s heart stutters. He blinks at the words, reads them again, and feels his ears heat up in a way that has nothing to do with the morning coffee he’s currently holding on both of his hands. He types slowly, trying to hide how unsteady his fingers felt.

iceykittensho: …i see. i’ll remember that.

And then, almost like an afterthought, another message pops up:

GodMurder: and btw stop smiling like that  it’s creepy

Shouto startles, looking around his empty room as if he’d been caught red-handed. His lips have curved up without his permission, and he hasn’t even realized. His thumbs hover for a moment before he types more. 

iceykittensho: how do you know i’m smiling?

The reply is instant.

GodMurder: cuz u type slow as hell whenever ure grinning like an idiot
GodMurder: takes u forever to press send
GodMurder: i can tell

Shouto stares. He doesn’t know if he should be impressed, confused, or flustered. Probably all three.

iceykittensho: …you pay attention to that?

For a few seconds, nothing shows up.

GodMurder: tch shut up
GodMurder: ure annoying
GodMurder: go water ur pixel flowers or smth 

Shouto huffs a small laugh through his nose. Annoying, huh? Somehow, it doesn’t sound insulting at all. He opens Grow a Garden and then GodMurder joins him less than a minute after, they continue to play and then chat in-game and Shouto thinks he’s content, this is good. 

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

A month later, it feels natural—dangerously natural. Shouto doesn’t even remember when exactly things shift, but somewhere between late-night planting sprees and falling asleep while still connected on Discord, Kats has become someone he can’t go a day without talking to.

They’re so close now that Shouto actually introduces him to Izuku and Denki. Not without conditions, of course. He makes them swear—on their save files—that they’re only ever allowed to call him Sho or Shou when Kats is around. Izuku obliges immediately, taking on “Deku” without complaint, and Denki digs in his heels until Shouto points out that his in-game tag is “Chargebolt.” With a groan, Denki caves.

The first night they all hop into a call together, it goes exactly as Shouto fears.

“Chargebolt?” Kats’ voice cuts through the channel, unimpressed and sharp. “That’s a stupid name.”

“Hey!” Denki yells back instantly, as predictable as thunder after lightning. “Yours is literally GodMurder! You don’t get to talk, dude!”

“It’s badass. You sound like a car battery.”

Shouto can practically hear Denki sputter while Izuku fumbles to defend him. “No, no, I think Chargebolt’s a cool name! Really fitting, right? Since he plays a lot of electric-types and—”

“Nah, I’d rather call him Dunce Face or straight Pikachu just look at your discord profile. What the hell’s that?”

Shouto presses his forehead into his pillow and groans silently. He should’ve known this would happen. Not just the bickering—Denki bickers with anyone—but the way Kats’ voice sends a ripple straight through him, grounding and distracting all at once.

Because the truth is, last night had ruined him. When it was just him and Kats, they tried voice chat for the first time. Shouto had braced himself, but still—it was too much. Kats sounded exactly how he imagined. Rough, deep, with a gravelly edge that made it seem like he was permanently two seconds away from exploding. And then he laughed—short, sharp, unguarded—and Shouto had felt his entire face go warm. Stupid. Absolutely stupid.

Tonight, they’re playing Peak, a cooperative puzzle-platformer from Steam. It’s Shouto’s first time, and he’s a disaster. Within fifteen minutes, he dies three times in the same section and drags their whole party back to the reset point.

“Sorry,” he says flatly, though frustration tightens his throat. “That’s… my fault again.”

“Tch. Stop apologizing, dumbass. It’s the game’s fault for being shit.”

“But I keep dying,” Shouto argues.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a beginner. So what? You think I was perfect the first time I played this?”

Shouto pauses. “…Were you not?”

“Oi, shut up.” Kats’ voice spikes, but there’s no real bite to it.

Izuku giggles softly. “Sho, you’re actually doing really well for your first time! It took me days to get that far.”

“Yeah, man, don’t sweat it,” Denki chimes in. “We’re used to carrying. It’s, like, ninety percent of our gameplay.”

Shouto is about to thank them, but he dies again, dragging the team back to the reset point. His chest tightens, embarrassment pooling under his skin. “…Maybe you should play with someone else. I’m holding you back.”

The channel goes quiet. Too quiet. Then Kats sighs into his mic, low and rough, and the sound makes Shouto’s stomach flip.

“Listen, Sho,” Kats says, firm but not unkind. “I don’t give a damn about clearing fast. I’d rather play at your shitty slow-ass pace than with anyone else, got it?”

Shouto freezes. His grip tightens on his mouse, pulse drumming at the base of his throat. “…Why?”

“‘Cause it’s fun with you, idiot.” Kats clicks his tongue, as though annoyed with himself. “Now jump over the damn gap. No—not like that, press the shift key once it gets steeper—”

Shouto blinks, heat blooming behind his ears. Kats’ tone changes. Softer. Patient. He starts breaking things down into ridiculously simple terms, walking him through every movement like he’s teaching a child.

“Okay, baby steps. Just tap forward. Yeah, that’s it. Don’t hold it. Good. Now spacebar—wait, wait—now. Perfect. That’s how you do it.”

Denki’s laugh explodes through the channel. “Holy shit, you sound like you’re teaching him how to walk!”

“Shut your face, Pikachu,” Kats growls.

Izuku coughs into his mic, and Shouto doesn’t miss the smile in his voice. “No, no, I think it’s… nice. Really nice.”

Shouto swallows, eyes fixed on the glowing monitor. His fingers tighten on the mouse, his jaw tense. He tries not to think about how much he likes the sound of his name when Kats says it—Sho, crisp and certain, like it belongs to him alone. He tries not to think about the heat curling low in his chest every time Kats slows his voice down, adjusts his instructions to match his clumsy pace.

And then, finally, they clear the stage.

“Ha!” Kats bursts out, triumphant and loud in his headset. “We did it, Sho!”

The call explodes into noise—Denki clapping obnoxiously into his mic, Izuku laughing breathlessly, cheering them on. Shouto stays still in his chair, chest heaving as if he’s really run across that map himself. His pulse hammers at the sound of Kats’s laughter, rough and unrestrained, rolling into his ears like something he could live inside. He doesn’t say it aloud, but he thinks it anyway; that he could listen to that voice for the rest of his life.

The next map loads, brighter, sharper, and immediately more punishing. The challenge spikes tenfold, and Shouto feels his confidence crumble as quickly as his health bar. He grips the mouse harder, forcing himself to keep up, to move fast enough, to not drag them down. His heart beats so loudly it drowns out the sound of the rain effects on screen.

It’s their third trial now, and every mistake feels heavier. Kats stays close to him in-game, barking instructions that somehow don’t sting even when they’re sharp. “Left, Sho. No, your other left. Good—now jump. Careful—there’s a trap there, don’t rush.” He keeps shoving items into Shouto’s inventory: coconut halves, snack bars looted from luggage, anything to keep him alive. It’s almost embarrassing, how protective he is.

But then Shouto slips.

“Sho, wait—be careful, that’s gonna blow up—!” Kats’s warning is half a second too late.

The screen flashes, a boom tearing through his headphones, and Shouto’s avatar is launched across the map. His health bar nosedives, stopping a breath away from death—critical status, the bar glaring red.

“Shit,” Kats mutters. “Does anyone still have a med kit?”

“I don’t have any more,” Denki groans.

“Same here,” Izuku admits, regret in his voice. “I think we’ll just have to retry again. Shou, it’s okay. Just… let yourself die, we’ll reset.”

Shouto stares at his flashing health bar, shame prickling under his skin. The last few sessions have been the same—he’s the weak link, dragging everyone into endless resets. His throat tightens.

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, forcing his voice to sound even. “You can keep going without me. I’ll just watch.”

Silence follows. And then—an audible sigh. From Izuku. He freezes. Izuku, who never sighs. Izuku, who always encourages, always finds something kind to say. If even Izuku is frustrated with him… then he really does suck.

His ears burn hot. He can’t breathe past the weight in his chest. He’s ruining it for them. Ruining the fun. 

“Hey. Hey.” Kats’s voice cuts sharp through his headset, firm enough to yank Shouto’s gaze back to the screen. “No. I’m not finishing this fucking game without you. Got it? We start over. It’s fine.”

There’s no hesitation. No annoyance. Just Kats, so certain, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Shouto swallows hard. His hand clenches on the mouse. He doesn’t know why those words make his throat ache, why it feels like someone just steadied him when he didn’t realize he was falling. “Really, it’s fine. You’ll make it further without me.”

“No,” Kats bites out immediately, sharp and solid. “We reset. End of story.”

But Shouto can’t let it go. The words tumble out before he can stop them, shaky, his voice pitching higher than usual. “I don’t think I can. I’m tired and this is not just a game that I can play even Deku sighed because of how bad I am.”

The channel goes dead silent. Shouto’s stomach knots—he wasn’t supposed to say that out loud. Heat creeps up his neck, shame closing around his chest like a fist.

Then Izuku speaks, gentle and urgent. “Sho, no. I wasn’t sighing because of your play, okay?” His voice wavers like he’s terrified of hurting him more. “I sighed because I want you to stop being so hard on yourself. You’re new to the game. Of course it’s harder for you, but that doesn’t ruin the fun for us. We’re playing because we want to play with you. Not because we want you to be perfect.”

Shouto blinks at his monitor, throat tight. Izuku’s words land heavy and warm, and he doesn’t know what to do with them.

Denki jumps in next, louder, earnest. “Yeah, dude, games are supposed to be fun. That’s the whole point. Like—if this were a tournament or something, sure, maybe we’d care about winning. But we’re just here to mess around. To hang out. It’s never been about your stats.”

The silence stretches again. Shouto realizes belatedly that he’s breathing unevenly into his mic. His hand is shaking where it rests on his mouse. When he speaks, his voice cracks, embarrassingly wet.

“I’m… I’m being dumb,” he admits. His vision blurs, and only then does he realize his eyes are stinging. “Crying over a game. Sorry. I don’t know why I’m—”

“Wait—Sho, are you crying?” Izuku’s panic is immediate, tripping over itself. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Shouto cuts him off, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I’m crying because I’m dumb, not because of you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The channel is quiet for a beat. Then, at last, Kats speaks. His voice is lower, steady in a way that makes Shouto’s chest ache.

“You’re not dumb,” Kats says simply. “You’re just tired. Emotional. Happens to everyone. It’s fine.” A pause, and then—softer but no less firm—he adds “We can stop here if you want. How about we switch over to Grow a Garden instead? You okay with that?”

Something inside Shouto loosens at the suggestion. His cheeks are hot, his lashes damp, but the pressure on his chest finally eases. Kats didn’t sound frustrated. He didn’t sound pitying, either. Just… steady. Like he was already reaching to catch him if he fell.

“Yes,” Shouto agrees quietly, and the word feels like relief sliding off his tongue.

Instantly, the mood in the call shifts, bright and easy. Denki gasps so loud it makes Shouto flinch, and then he breaks into a dramatic cheer. “Finally! I get to play Grow a Garden with the Almighty GodMurder~”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kats grumbles right away, sharp as ever, and Shouto hears Izuku dissolve into laughter in the background. Denki, encouraged, keeps piling it on.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice! You log in, and Sho logs in five seconds later. You sooo wait for him, don’t you?”

“I don’t wait for anyone, dumbass.” Kats’ voice cracks in irritation, but Shouto swears he hears the faintest embarrassment tucked under the roughness.

Izuku wheezes. “Chargebolt, stop, you’re going to make him—”

“I will block you both.”

Shouto presses his lips together, fighting the smile that’s threatening to bloom. The call hums with easy noise, so different from the tense silence a few minutes ago. He lets it wash over him, grateful.

When they load into Grow a Garden, the world is instantly softer—bright colors, gentle music, their avatars standing in the green space. Shouto feels lighter just being here. He’s done it so many times with Kats alone, but tonight, with all three of them together, it feels different. Louder. Messier. A good kind of mess.

Denki’s avatar bolts across the grass and then spins dramatically in front of Kats’. “Hey, hey, hey—GodMurder, can you give me a pet? I want a cute one, like, I don’t know, a cat or a dog or something. Pleaseee?”

Shouto blinks, a little thrown. For some reason, the idea of Kats giving someone a pet—anyone else—sits strangely in his chest. Like an itch. He knows it’s ridiculous. It’s not like Kats is exclusive to him. Pets in the game are just data, collectibles. Still, his shoulders stiffen before he can stop them, and he pushes the feeling down, scolding himself silently.

Kats doesn’t even hesitate. “What the fuck—what? Do you think I do charity now?”

Denki gasps as if Kats personally slapped him. “Wow. Rude. Cruel. Heartless.”

Izuku’s snort cuts through, muffled like he’s covering his mouth. “Chargebolt, you knew what you were getting into asking him that.”

But Denki, of course, doesn’t quit. “Ahh, I see, I see! He only gives his precious pets to Shou. Makes sense. I get it now.” His voice is sing-song, wickedly smug. “Special treatment~”

Shouto freezes. Heat prickles along his neck. He glances at his own monitor like it can save him, watching his avatar water the Romanesco seed he is currently growing for the daily quest. His chest does a strange little flip at Denki’s teasing.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Kats snaps, but it’s too fast, too defensive, and Shouto’s ears pick up the edge in it. “Shut the hell up.”

“Ohhh, busted,” Denki crows. “If it wasn’t true, you’d just ignore me. But nope—look at you, sound all red and mad. I’m so right.”

“Chargebolt,” Izuku says, laughing helplessly, “stop, you’re going to get yourself killed—”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Kats growls, but it’s lacking bite, more flustered than furious.

Shouto doesn’t say anything. He can’t trust his voice not to give him away. But he feels it anyway—that ridiculous warmth blooming wide in his chest, stubborn and unshakable. Denki’s teasing is just noise, sure, but… it’s also not wrong. Kats had given him a pet first. Kats always waits for him. Kats adjusts for his pace.

His fingers hover over his keyboard, trembling faintly. He smiles, so small it’s almost secret, and lets the sound of his friends bickering carry him into comfort.

“Wait, the current event’s theme is so nice though!” Denki exclaims. “Fall and pet mutations? Crazy.”

Shouto hums in agreement. “I like it. The colors are good.”

“Shou, this is going to make your garden look even better!”

“Wait, wait—let me check your garden right now… WOW! Shou, this is amazing!” Izuku gasps, honest awe in his voice.

A quiet pride blooms in Shouto’s chest. He worked hard on it, and hearing them praise it feels… good.

“He’s addicted now,” Kats cuts in, voice rough.

“I am not,” Shouto retorts, trying not to smile.

“Yes you are, ice cube.”

“Nope.”

It goes back and forth like that, just the two of them, until he hears Izuku and Denki start laughing. Shouto blinks, suddenly embarrassed. He hadn’t realized they’d tuned into the rhythm of his banter with Kats. His ears burn. To cover it, he blurts, “Guys, I want to show you my humongous Wispwing.”

“Oh yeah, do it, Shou!” Denki cheers. “That thing’s insane. I saw some TikTok videos, I want to see it with my own eyes now!”

“That mutation’s busted as hell,” Kats agrees. “Show them. Sho got lucky last Saturday—pulled like, crazy admin-tier weather abuse.”

Shouto quickly switches to his second garden slot, waiting for the loading bar to crawl up. Excitement tickles in his chest. He wants to see their reactions. Wants to hear Kats sound impressed again.

The screen loads. 100%. And then …

Nothing.

The Wispwing is there, yes. But smaller. Plain. All the mutations—every painstaking change, every hour spent grooming weather cycles and trimming excess plants—gone. Shouto’s stomach lurches.

“…Wait, is it still loading?” Kats’ voice breaks through, rough and puzzled. “Sho?”

But all Shouto hears is static, like a siren blaring inside his head. His eyes sting. His throat tightens. That Wispwing was everything. He’d removed whole sections of his second slot garden so it could thrive when the admin abuse hit last time. Ten billion sheckles’ worth of time and effort. And it’s—just—gone.

“Sho? Hello?” Izuku’s voice is worried now.

“Sho???” Denki joins in.

“I think… I think that’s the bug people were complaining about on the Discord server,” Izuku offers softly, like an explanation might soften the blow.

“The whole thing where their good fruits keep missing, right? Damn… can’t believe that also happens on Shou’s…” Denki responses. 

But Kats cuts through again, sharper, insistent. “Sho. Are you still there?”

Shouto bites down on his tongue. His hand clenches the mouse so hard his knuckles ache. He swallows, once, twice. The siren doesn’t stop in his head. And then it bursts.

“Fuck this game,” he snaps. His own voice startles him with how sharp it sounds. Before anyone can reply, he slams the escape key, rage-quits the experiment, and jabs the power button on his PC. The screen goes black instantly.

The silence after is crushing but not even a minute later, his phone buzzes on his desk. Discord call. 

Kats.

Without thinking, Shouto swipes to answer. “I fucking hate the game,” he blurts the second the call connects. His voice wobbles, raw around the edges. “I’m not going to play anything from now on. This whole thing is so stupid.”

For a moment, there’s only quiet breathing on the other end. It’s uneven, restrained—like someone’s biting back words or holding something in. Shouto’s lips part, ready to ask if Kats is okay, when suddenly he hears it.

Kats laughs.

Not his usual sharp bark or scoff, but full-bodied, unrestrained laughter. It rolls through the speaker warm and startling, like a completely different person had picked up the call. He’s laughing so hard it sounds like he has to catch his breath between gasps.

Shouto goes stock-still. The anger evaporates, confusion blooming in its place. He’s stunned—he’s never heard Kats laugh like this. Never this easy. Never this long.

And against his will, something in Shouto’s chest shifts. The heat that threatened to choke him moments ago softens, curling warm and small. He’s still mad at the game, still upset about his garden, but Kats’ laughter makes it all feel… distant. Like maybe it’s not the end of the world after all.

The sound of Kats’ laughter doesn’t stop. It stretches on and on, rough and raw but so genuine Shouto almost forgets how to breathe. He sits frozen on the edge of his bed, phone pressed to his ear like it’s the only tether keeping him grounded.

Finally, Kats manages to wheeze out words between his laugh. “Holy shit, Sho. You? Dropping a ‘fuck this game’? I—” another burst of laughter cuts him off, “—I never thought I’d live to hear it.”

Shouto frowns faintly, though his chest feels warm. “What’s so funny about that? I was angry.”

“That’s the point!” Kats fires back, voice crackling with energy. “You’re always so damn calm, like nothing can touch you. And then out of nowhere you’re cursing like the rest of us? It’s—fuck, it’s hilarious. And kinda… refreshing.”

Shouto blinks. Refreshing? He doesn’t know what to do with that.

“You don’t get it,” Kats continues, still chuckling under his breath. “Most people bottle that shit up until they explode and ruin everyone’s night. But you? You just let it out. No sugarcoating, no pretending. Just raw ‘fuck this game.’” His voice drops a little, less teasing now. “I like that. I like hearing you pissed off. Means you’re not just hiding it to keep everyone else happy.”

Shouto stares at the ceiling, throat tightening in a different way now. No one has ever told him that before—that it’s okay to snap, to spill frustration instead of locking it away where no one can see. He swallows, almost embarrassed by the weight of how much those words mean.

“…So you want me to curse more?” he asks flatly, because it’s easier than admitting his chest is aching.

Kats snorts. “Tch. Don’t force it, dumbass. I’m just saying—don’t hold back on me. You’re allowed to be pissed. You’re allowed to be sad. You don’t always have to be this polite, perfect ice cube version of yourself.” There’s a pause, then softer, “I’d rather hear the real you. Even if that means you telling a game to fuck off.”

Shouto bites the inside of his cheek, trying to will away the warmth threatening to spread across his face. No one talks to him like this. Not his friends, not his family. People either tiptoe around him or expect him to keep it together. But Kats doesn’t want that. Kats wants him. His real self, flaws and all.

“…I think I hate you,” Shouto mutters, mostly to cover up the unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Kats barks another laugh, this one sharp and delighted. “Yeah, yeah. You hate me.”

Shouto doesn’t answer. He just lies back against his mattress, phone pressed closer to his ear, listening to the sound of Kats’ grin bleeding through every word. The anger is gone now, the ruined Wispwing forgotten. What lingers instead is something deeper—something that makes his chest ache in a way that’s both terrifying and exhilarating.

And as much as he wants to deny it, a part of him is already thinking maybe he really does want to curse more, if it means Kats keeps laughing like that.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

Tenya shows up ten minutes late, hair a little mussed, tie askew, still carrying that heavy leather bag he refuses to replace despite Denki mocking him for it every time. He bows in apology before he even sits down, his voice pitched louder than necessary in the small café.

“Forgive my tardiness! Work demanded I review the quarterly reports before the executive meeting this afternoon, and it ran longer than I anticipated.” He sets his bag beside the booth and exhales, already reaching for the water glass Izuku ordered for him.

“Wow, you’re alive,” Denki teases, leaning back in his seat. “I was starting to think your internship replaced you with a robot version of Tenya.”

“I assure you, I am very much human.” Tenya pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but the corners of his mouth twitch in amusement.

“Barely,” Denki mutters, smirking.

Izuku laughs into his drink before glancing back at Shouto. “Anyway, we were just talking about last night. Shou’s feeling better.”

Tenya’s gaze sharpens on him, earnest as ever. “That’s a relief. You had us worried, Todoroki. I was surprised when I read it in the group chat.”

Shouto only nods, quietly grateful for the shift in focus when Denki suddenly claps his hands together.

“Anyway! Speaking of updates—drumroll, please—” He slaps the table, earning a shush from a nearby customer. “I got a job interview! Finally!”

“Really?” Izuku perks up immediately, his whole face lighting up. “That’s amazing, Denki! Where at?”

“Some mid-sized tech company,” Denki says, grinning sheepishly. “Nothing glamorous, but hey, money’s money. They said they liked my portfolio, so fingers crossed.”

Izuku raises his cup in mock toast. “You’ll do great. They’d be lucky to have you.”

Tenya nods firmly. “Indeed. Your persistence is commendable, Kaminari. This is an excellent step forward.”

Denki beams, basking in the praise, before nudging Izuku with his elbow. “What about you? Any updates?”

“Oh—uh, yeah.” Izuku scratches his cheek, looking almost shy about it. “I finally finished that freelance project I was telling you guys about. It was… intense, but the client’s happy, and I’ve got some free time now until the next one.”

“That’s excellent news.” Tenya takes a measured sip of his water before sighing heavily. “As for me, my internship continues to demand every ounce of my energy. Today is Saturday, and yet I’ve already logged two hours at the office.”

“You sound like you’re bragging,” Denki mutters.

“I am not bragging! I am lamenting.” Tenya pushes his glasses up again with great force. “I am exhausted.”

Laughter ripples around the table, and Shouto smiles faintly, though he stays quiet. He listens as they exchange stories—Denki’s nerves about the interview, Izuku’s excitement over his project, Tenya’s dramatics about overwork.

He doesn’t add anything. Not about how his own interviews have gone badly, how the moment his last name drops, people’s eyes sharpen with interest that has nothing to do with him and everything to do with his family. How shallow the compliments feel, like they’re already imagining the headline: Todoroki heir joins company.

He doesn’t say any of that. He just stirs his coffee, listening, letting the warmth of their voices soften the edges of his thoughts.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

It’s late. Too late. The kind of hour where Shouto usually shuts everything down and lets his mind go blank against the pillow. But tonight, he doesn’t.

The Discord call is still running. Their game has been closed for at least half an hour, yet the little green circle around Kats’ icon keeps glowing. His voice lingers in Shouto’s ear, crackling faintly through his headphones, grounding in a way Shouto doesn’t know how to describe.

“…You’re still there?” Kats asks suddenly, voice low, tired but still rough around the edges.

“Yes,” Shouto answers simply. He’s lying on his back, phone on his chest. He can feel the vibration of Kats’ voice more than hear it.

“Good.” A rustle follows, and then a muffled, “Shit—charger—ugh. Whatever.” More shuffling. Then, like an afterthought, “Don’t hang up yet.”

Shouto blinks at the ceiling in the dark. “Why not?”

“Because I said so, dumbass.” Kats’ tone is automatic, gruff, but then it dips softer—softer than Shouto has ever heard it. “It’s fine.”

Shouto hums. The silence that stretches between them isn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it’s almost soothing. He hears Kats’ sheets creak faintly, the drag of fabric, a quiet exhale that might be a sigh. The sounds are mundane, yet they feel… intimate. Domestic. Something Shouto has never really shared with anyone before.

Minutes pass. The darkness of Shouto’s room feels different with Kats’ voice tethering him to it.

“You sound nervous,” Shouto says finally, the words slipping out without thought. His voice is hushed, as if speaking louder would break the fragile atmosphere.

“Tch—what? No, I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I said I don’t, ice cube. Drop it.” Kats snaps quickly, but the bite is hollow, like he’s trying too hard to cover something up.

Shouto turns onto his side, curling slightly around the phone. His heartbeat feels louder in his chest than the call itself. “Why are you nervous?”

Silence again. But this one is heavier, different. Shouto waits, patient. He’s learned that Kats’ quick replies mean nothing serious, but his quiet ones—those are the ones that matter. Finally, Kats exhales, sharp. “…What if I asked you to meet up?”

Shouto freezes. The words hit him harder than expected, like a stone dropped into still water. His pulse stutters. “…Meet up?” His voice is careful, even, but his stomach twists.

“Yeah.” Kats rushes, gruff, almost like he’s forcing the words out before he can choke on them. “In person. You. Me. None of this screen crap. Just—fuck—I don’t know. Get food or something.”

Shouto doesn’t respond right away. His chest feels strangely warm, unsteady in a way he’s not used to. It’s not fear, not even surprise—it’s something else, something that makes him curl the blanket tighter around himself. “…I wouldn’t mind that.”

The line goes quiet again. So quiet that for a second, Shouto wonders if the call dropped. Then—soft laughter. Real, unguarded, the kind of laugh that’s more air than sound. “Tch. Figures. You’re too damn calm about this, Shou.”

Shouto smiles faintly in the dark. Calm? Not even close. His heart has been sprinting since the moment Kats asked. But he keeps that to himself, letting the sound of Katsuki’s laughter sink into him instead. 

He can tell where this is going. He isn’t dumb. Kats’ voice has shifted in a way that makes the air between them feel heavier, like every word carries more weight than it should.

But Kats never actually says it. He never puts a neat word to whatever this is. And maybe that’s what makes Shouto hesitate. He turns onto his other side, the faint light from his phone screen casting shadows across his ceiling. “…It’s strange,” he murmurs.

“What is?” Kats asks, suspicious immediately.

“This.” Shouto pauses, searching for the right words. “Us. Talking like this every night. Playing games together. Calling even when we’re not playing. It feels like… something. But it’s still online. We don’t even know what the other looks like.”

There’s a sharp inhale on the other end. Then silence. Shouto waits. He always waits with Kats, because underneath the bark and bite, there’s thought.

“Are you asking if it’s a date?” Kats finally says, blunt, like ripping off a bandage.

“…I want to know what we are,” Shouto admits, honest as ever. His voice doesn’t waver, though his pulse drums so loud it almost drowns him out. “I don’t want to misunderstand you.”

Another beat of silence. Then Kats curses under his breath. “Fuck.”

Shouto blinks at the ceiling. “Fuck?”

“Yeah, fuck. Because you make me say it out loud.” His voice is sharp, but there’s an edge of panic beneath it, a kind of vulnerability Shouto hasn’t heard before. “I like you, alright? Of course it’s a fucking date. There. Happy now?”

Shouto’s chest tightens. The words are rough, unpolished, spat like Kats is trying to fight them back even as they leave his mouth. But they land heavy, certain.

“…You like me,” Shouto repeats softly.

“I wouldn’t fucking say it if I didn’t mean it,” Kats snaps.

Shouto doesn’t laugh, though he wants to—because this is so very Kats. Instead, he closes his eyes, letting the warmth of those words settle in, filling the spaces between his ribs. His lips curve faintly. “…Good.”

There’s a choked noise on the other end. “Good? That’s all you’re gonna say, icy bastard?”

Shouto hums, calm as ever. “You’re the one who didn’t say it earlier. You made me ask first.”

“... unbelievable.” Kats sounds like he’s ready to combust, but Shouto can hear it—the undercurrent of relief, of something that’s almost joy, buried beneath his irritation.

For a moment, neither of them says anything. Just the quiet of two people breathing on either end of a fragile line, connected in ways neither of them had expected when they started tending pixel flowers together.

The line goes quiet again. Then Kats clears his throat, low and rough. “…So. How about you?”

Shouto blinks. “How about me?”

“You know what the hell I’m asking,” Kats growls, but there’s a raw edge to it, almost uncertain. “Do you like me too, asshole?”

Shouto lets the silence stretch. He can practically feel the heat rolling off Kats through the phone, that restless energy simmering just on the edge of snapping. It makes his lips curve, the faintest trace of mischief slipping into his tone.

“…Depends,” he says evenly.

“Depends?” Kats echoes, dangerous.

“On how our date ends.”

There’s a beat where Shouto swears Kats stops breathing.

“WHAT—”

Shouto presses his mouth to the back of his hand to stifle a laugh, warmth curling in his chest at the sheer panic in Kats’ voice. “Goodnight, Kats.”

“Oi! Don’t you fucking—”

But Shouto has already ended the call, the click ringing loud in the sudden quiet of his room. He places the phone down on his pillow, eyes soft as he stares at the ceiling. His heart is racing, but his mouth won’t stop tugging upward.

He thinks of Kats’ voice—rough, impatient, yet so strangely earnest when it matters—and he knows sleep won’t come easy tonight.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

Shouto stands stiff in front of the mirror, arms dangling uselessly at his sides while Touya circles him like a shark sizing up its prey. His older brother has a cigarette tucked behind one ear, a smirk sharp enough to cut glass plastered on his face. Shouto rolls his eyes at the smugness—Touya lives for moments like this. They aren’t extremely close, not with the age gap wedged between them, but they get along well enough. Especially when the topic turns to dating. In fact, Shouto figures Touya might actually be his best bet for advice right now, considering he’s the only other gay man in the house with a boyfriend. Natsuo, bless him, is about as straight as uncooked noodles and Fuyumi is well… Fuyumi. 

“You’re really gonna wear that?” Touya flicks the collar of Shouto’s shirt, making a face. “You look like you’re about to attend a parent-teacher meeting, not go on a date.”

Shouto frowns faintly. “Fuyumi picked this shirt.”

Touya barks out a laugh. “Of course she did. She’s great for cooking lessons and warm hugs, but fashion sense? Dogshit. Sit your ass down, we’re fixing this.”

Before Shouto can protest, Touya is already digging through his closet, tossing shirts and jackets into a pile like some unholy ritual. Natsuo pokes his head in once, takes one look at the chaos, mutters “nope,” and leaves immediately.

Touya holds up a dark, fitted button-down against Shouto’s chest and whistles. “Now this says date. Sexy but not try-hard. Roll up the sleeves, leave the top two buttons undone. Boom—effortless hot.”

“I don’t know…” Shouto murmurs, tugging lightly at the fabric once he changes. His reflection stares back at him; sharper, bolder. Not the boy who spends his nights watering pixel flowers. His pulse climbs. “What if he doesn’t like it?”

That earns him a pause. Touya stares at him through the mirror, smirk fading into something softer—still sharp, but real. He steps closer, resting a hand heavy on Shouto’s shoulder. “Shouto,” he says, voice low but firm. “If this guy doesn’t like you, he’s a fucking idiot. Look at you. You’re hot as fuck, smart, and you’ve got this whole quiet, mysterious thing going on that drives people crazy. If he doesn’t see it, that’s his loss.”

Shouto blinks at his own reflection, throat tight. “Hot as fuck?”

Touya grins, wicked again. “Devastatingly. I’d date you if I weren’t your brother. Now quit sulking and let me fix your hair before you ruin the vibe.”

Shouto gives him a flat look in the mirror. “That’s disgusting and I’m telling Keigo.”

Touya snorts. “Relax, it’s a compliment and he thinks you’re hot too.”

Him and his freaky boyfriend, Shouto never understands how Touya manages to find someone like Keigo to match his idiot brother’s. “Remind me never to take compliments from you again.”

Touya cackles, already dragging gel through Shouto’s hair. “Shut up. You love it.” He chooses not to respond to that and smacks Touya’s hand which then earns a laugh from Touya. “So tell me, Shou. How big is the dick so my dear brother actually called me for help?” 

That’s it. Shouto has had enough. “Fuck off.” He pushes his idiot brother from the room without actually using that much force, as if Touya gets the message already but he keeps laughing with his smug face on so Shouto closes the door right on his face. 

At least his clothes are ready for meeting Kats. Shouto takes one last glance in the mirror, cheeks warming at the memory of what Touya had just teased him about. No—he’s definitely not the type to send or ask for nudes, especially not from someone whose face he hasn’t even seen in person yet. This is a date, yes, but only because he genuinely likes Kats’ personality. Kats may be loud and curse like it’s second nature, but beneath that roughness lies a surprisingly lovely side.

Kats helps him—not just in games but in small, everyday things too. Shouto doesn’t exactly have a busy life, which sometimes feels like its own problem. He’s admitted as much to Kats before: that he isn’t sure what he wants to do with himself, not when his father’s money cushions everything. Kats always tells him it’s okay to take time, to not have it all figured out yet. Maybe that’s exactly what Shouto needs—time to think, to find what he actually wants.

It’s nice. Kats is nice. And Shouto feels lucky to be going on a date with him.

He’s just about to reach for his phone when it starts ringing. The sudden buzz on the desk makes him jump a little, and his heart skips when he sees the name flashing on the screen: Kats. For a moment, Shouto stares at it, strangely nervous himself. He takes a breath before swiping to answer.

“Hi,” he greets, voice quiet but steady.

“Hi, Sho. Where are you?” Kats’ voice comes through, low and rough as always, but there’s something off about it—less sharp, almost cautious.

Shouto glances around his room like he’s been caught red-handed, though there’s nothing but neatly folded clothes on the chair and his bag by the door. “…Umm. Home?”

“What the fuck—you’re not forgetting today, right?”

Shouto laughs, and the sound eases his own nerves a little. “Of course not. I’m about to go.”

There’s a pause on the other end. Normally, Kats would’ve barked back with a smug better not or some dramatic complaint. Instead, there’s just the faint shuffle of background noise, like he’s moving around, restless.

Shouto tilts his head, eyes narrowing at nothing. “You sound different,” he says before he can stop himself.

“What the hell does that mean?” Kats shoots back, but it’s not sharp—it’s softer, almost defensive.

Shouto smiles faintly. He knows this voice. It’s not the one that curses at teammates during ranked or teases him on late-night calls. It’s… nervous.

“You’re not usually like this,” Shouto points out. His tone is calm, almost teasing. “Are you nervous?”

Another pause. Then a short, low scoff. “…Tch. Maybe. A little. Shut up.”

The admission makes Shouto’s chest feel warm. His lips tug up into a small smile as he adjusts the strap of his bag, sliding it onto his shoulder.

“I’m nervous too,” he admits softly.

For a moment, there’s only silence on the line. Then Kats lets out a laugh—quiet, but genuine. “Good. At least I’m not the only one.”

Kats exhales sharply through the line, and Shouto can almost imagine the way he’s raking a hand through his hair.

“Then see you at the place,” Kats says. “I’ll be there in five. Gotta park my car first.”

The call ends before Shouto can respond, leaving him staring at the darkened screen. So Kats drives. Somehow, that surprises him. He’s never thought about it before, but now he can’t help wondering…  what kind of car does Kats drive? Something flashy and loud, to match his temper? Or something sturdy and practical, because he’s the type who doesn’t waste time? Shouto isn’t sure which suits him more.

Bag slung over his shoulder, he steps out of his room and into the living area, where his siblings are already making noise. Fuyumi sits on the couch, trying to referee while Touya sprawls across it with the remote in hand.

“I’m heading out,” Shouto says evenly.

Fuyumi glances up with a smile. “Oh? The date, right?”

Before Shouto can answer, Touya grins like a devil. “Don’t forget to buy condoms, lil’ bro!”

Shouto flips him the middle finger without missing a beat. Fuyumi gasps and smacks his arm, scolding, “Touya!”

“Don’t encourage him,” she adds, glaring at Shouto as though it’s his fault.

“What? It's good advice!”

Shouto just shrugs, unfazed. He looks around for Natsuo but doesn’t spot him, so he heads for the door. Down in the lobby, he asks the building’s security guard to help call a taxi.

The car arrives within minutes. Shouto slides into the backseat, quiet as ever, watching the city blur past the window. The restaurant isn’t far from his apartment, just a ten-minute drive. An Italian place.

He’s never been there. Usually, he eats at home or orders in. The only times he goes out are with his small circle of friends, and even then, they stick to cozy cafés, never anything that looks like a “fancy restaurant.” The thought of it makes his stomach tighten, equal parts nerves and curiosity.

To distract himself, Shouto pulls out his phone and opens LINE. He types a short message in the group chat—just to let them know he’s on his way to meet Kats. He knows full well it might backfire (especially with Denki in the mix), but the thought of Izuku’s gentleness and Tenya’s structured calm gives him a bit of courage.

It doesn’t take even ten seconds before the chat explodes.

Denki: OMG SO IT IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING 🔥🔥🔥🔥
Denki: OUR LIL ICE PRINCE IS GOING ON A DATE IRL HOLY SHIT

Shouto sighs, lips twitching despite himself.

Izuku: Shou!! That’s amazing! Are you nervous??
Tenya: Todoroki, remember to remain calm and composed. First meetings can be nerve-wracking, but you are perfectly capable of handling this.

Shouto’s fingers hover over the keyboard, unsure how to answer, when Denki chimes in again.

Denki: dw bro we got u. if kats turns out ugly as hell we’re ready to pick u up 💪🚗
Denki: ready to block him on dc roblox and steam too!!!
Tenya: Kaminari! That is not the point! Appearances are secondary—Todoroki’s SAFETY is paramount.
Izuku: Tenya’s right. Shou, if anything feels wrong, just tell us right away, okay? Share your location if you need to! But I think you’ll be fine! Kats sounds like a good person.
Izuku: But also… good luck!! You deserve this.
Denki: YEAH GOOD LUCK. DON’T LET HIM TALK TOO MUCH. OR DO. WHATEVER MAKES U HAPPY LOL

Shouto stares at the stream of messages, the corners of his mouth softening. He types back only one reply.

Shouto: thanks guys.

And then, quietly to himself, I’ll be fine.

He takes a deep breath just as the map navigator buzzes, alerting both him and the driver that they’ve arrived. Shouto peers out the window. The building looms tall and gleaming, a hotel with restaurants stacked inside. The kind of place that screams serious. He’s instantly grateful he asked Touya for help earlier—because this place is… intense.

Not that Shouto isn’t used to luxury. His entire life has been steeped in it—he lives in one of the most expensive penthouses in the city, after all. His father’s money. But this is different. This is new.

Two suited men greet him as soon as he steps into the lobby. Shouto straightens instinctively, murmurs the restaurant’s name, and they politely direct him to the elevators. Sixtieth floor. He nods, steps inside the lift, and watches the numbers climb higher and higher.

The silence makes his nerves louder. To distract himself, he unlocks his phone again and opens Discord, slipping into his chat with Kats.

Shou: i’m here.
Shou: what are you wearing?

The typing bubble pops up almost instantly, which makes Shouto's heart beat a little faster. 

Kats: just tell them reservation under Bakugou they’ll bring u to our table

Shouto bites his lower lip. Bakugou. That must be his real name—it sounds like a family name. Somehow, seeing it spelled out like that makes everything feel painfully real. In less than a minute, he’s going to meet Kats—or Bakugou. The thought makes his stomach twist, heat pooling under his ribs in a way he can’t quite name. Nerves, anticipation, maybe both.

Shou: okay.

He slips the phone back into his pocket, hands tightening briefly around the strap of his bag as the elevator dings for the sixtieth floor.

The elevator doors glide open with a soft chime, and Shouto steps into a hallway that feels more like the entrance to an art gallery than a restaurant. Warm lights spill from elegant sconces, casting a golden hue over polished marble floors. The air carries the faint aroma of baked bread, olive oil, and herbs—so distinctly Italian it tugs at a memory.

A year ago, his family had gone on a vacation across Europe. Italy had been one of the stops. He remembers cobblestone streets, the smell of espresso drifting from tiny cafés, and the way the trattorias had felt both grand and strangely homey. This place… it has that same balance. Fancy, yes, but there’s an underlying warmth that makes him feel less like a guest and more like he’s being invited in.

“Buonasera, sir.” Two women stand at the host station just past the entrance, their uniforms neat, their smiles practiced but kind. They’re beautiful in a way that feels effortless, and Shouto wonders if everyone here is selected to fit this aesthetic.

He clears his throat. “Reservation under Bakugou.”

The two exchange a quick glance, then one of them nods. “Of course. Please, follow me.”

That’s when his pulse spikes. He swallows hard, the sound loud to his own ears. His face, however, remains perfectly composed—calm, almost blank. Denki once called it his “unfairly good poker face,” though Shouto had never really understood what that meant. If only they knew that behind the calm front, he’s careening wildly, his stomach turning somersaults.

The woman leads him down a quieter hall, each step echoing against the floor. His palms itch to reach for his phone, to text the group that he might actually combust before even seeing Kats.

And then she stops. In front of them is a door, sleek and dark, with golden lettering embroidered across the surface: VIP Room.

Shouto blinks. Kats booked them a private room. His heart slams once, twice, against his ribs. He has no idea if he’s ready for this.

The woman pushes the door open with a polite gesture, and Shouto steps inside.

The first thing he notices is the lighting—dim but warm, spilling like honey across the sleek table set for two with two individual chairs on one side and a long sofa for the other. The second is that someone is already sitting there.

Kats.

Shouto freezes.

He’s there, casually seated as if this isn’t the most important moment of Shouto’s life. Dressed head to toe in black—shirt, pants, even the watch glinting faintly at his wrist and he has his jacket open. His blond hair catches the light, sharp and golden, and it takes Shouto a full heartbeat to process it. He’s blond and he’s hot.

For a second, Shouto wonders if he’s in the wrong room. He blinks once, twice, throat suddenly dry. But no—the man looking back at him, leaning back in his chair like he owns the room, is undeniably Kats.

And he looks devastating.

The shirt clings just enough to hint at the muscle beneath, the top two buttons undone (Touya is right, this is effortlessly hot) to reveal the carved line of his collarbone and the chest Shouto had only ever imagined before. So, yes—Kats definitely hadn’t been lying about working out. His body says it all.

But it’s his eyes that hold Shouto hostage. Red. Not dull or muted, but vivid, sharp, alive—like the ruby jewelry his mother used to wear, glittering under the light. Beautiful, fierce, and so unmistakably Kats.

For once, Shouto’s poker face almost falters. Inside, his thoughts are colliding, a mess of shock and awe and what the hell he’s hot, so hot, too hot, is this even allowed?

His chest tightens. GodMurder, he thinks helplessly, the ridiculous gamer-tag Kats once teased him with somehow the only word that fits.

This is Kats, his GodMurder. His Kats. And Shouto cannot look away.

“What the fuck, Sho—are you real?”

The words hit Shouto like a slap, dragging him out of his stunned daze. He blinks, throat tight. Real? Who—me? He doesn’t have time to figure it out before Kats pushes back his chair and stands.

Shouto’s breath stutters. Up close, Kats is… more. More everything. He’s not much taller than Shouto—maybe the same height—but the bulk of him is undeniable. Broader shoulders, sturdier frame, the kind of body that looks like it was carved from the very effort Shouto had only heard him brag about during late-night calls.

And then Kats is in front of him, eyes locking onto his like they’ve been waiting for this moment forever.

“Fuck,” Kats breathes, voice raw, almost disbelieving. “You’re so—you’re so beautiful, baby. How can I be this lucky? What the hell.”

Shouto swears the air disappears. The word baby alone nearly makes his brain short-circuit. Kats is smiling—genuine, wide, teeth showing—and it’s unfair how good it looks on him.

Inside, Shouto is a complete mess. His heart’s a hammer, his stomach is tying itself into a sailor’s knot, and his brain? Malfunctioning. Absolutely fried. So when his mouth finally moves, what comes out is something dumb. “GodMurder?”

For a split second, silence. Then Kats bursts out laughing, head tipping back, the sound sharp and bright. He wipes at the corner of his eye like he can’t believe it, then clicks his tongue. “Tch—fuckin’ hell, iceykittensho.”

He steadies himself, still grinning, then steps closer, hand shoved in his pocket like he’s suddenly trying to remember his own script. “Let’s do this right, yeah?” His voice drops, warm and steady. “My name’s Katsuki. Just Kats is fine.”

Shouto lets out a small smile, the kind that feels new on his face. “Shouto. Sho is also fine.”

For a moment, they just stand there—close, maybe too close, eyes locked like they’re afraid to look away. Shouto feels the stretch of his cheeks from smiling, something he rarely does so openly. Katsuki—Katsuki—smells incredible, sharp cologne mixed with warmth that’s just… him. And God, he really looks so good up close. Shouto’s brain, lagging until now, finally catches up with the fact that this man called him beautiful, unreal. Mutual. Their attraction is mutual.

As if to seal that thought, Katsuki’s voice drops low, almost reverent. “You’re so pretty, Shouto. I can’t believe—fuck. Are your eyes real?”

Shouto nods, leaning in without hesitation so Katsuki can get a better look. “Everything about me is real, Katsuki.”

“Fuck—” Katsuki mutters, sounding half wrecked, half ecstatic. “I’m such a lucky bastard, huh?”

Shouto opens his mouth—finally ready to return the compliment, because Katsuki deserves it, because he’s so much more than anything Shouto had pictured—but before he can speak, a knock sounds at the door.

“Must be the food,” Katsuki says, eyes stubbornly refusing to leave Shouto’s face. It’s like he’s holding on, tethering himself there. Shouto bites his lower lip again, that strange tingling in his stomach sparking back to life. “Let’s take a seat, yeah?” Katsuki’s voice is rough, but there’s a softness beneath it.

“Okay,” Shouto whispers back.

They move together, Shouto sliding onto the sofa chair, Katsuki dropping down right beside him, angled slightly so he’s still facing him. It’s too close and not close enough all at once. Shouto, not trusting his composure, turns toward the door instead, pretending to wait patiently for the food.

The door opens again. Two waitresses step inside, each carrying a tray. Shouto watches as they carefully place the dishes down one by one; small, delicate portions plated with perfect precision—definitely fine dining style. But along with the tiny courses come two larger dishes, pizza and pasta, their warmth filling the air. Sharing food. Of course Katsuki would think of that. Practical, but also… thoughtful. It suits the place, suits the moment. And Shouto realizes, quietly, that he likes it.

When the last dish is set down and the waitresses quietly slip out, the room feels different—warmer, quieter, like the whole world has politely left them alone. Shouto’s gaze drifts back to Katsuki, who hasn’t stopped looking at him. His body is still angled toward Shouto, but this time there’s a small flicker in his eyes, like he’s wordlessly urging him to try the food.

“I hope you’re hungry. Eijirou’s a great chef.” Katsuki finally says, his tone softer than usual. He twirls the pasta with precise movements, fork and knife cutting cleanly before he slides a portion onto Shouto’s plate.

Shouto tilts his head. “Eijirou?”

Katsuki doesn’t look up, busy dishing out food with an ease that makes it feel almost intimate. He places pasta on his own plate, then switches to a smaller dish with grilled fish, slicing it neatly before setting some in front of Shouto. “The head chef of this place. He’s my old friend.”

Oh.

Oh, this place—

“I run this place together with Ei,” Katsuki adds casually, as if that isn’t shocking information. “We both love food. I used to cook too, but I got too busy with work. One day, I’ll cook for you. I’m better than him anyway.” His mouth quirks like it’s the most natural fact in the world.

Shouto blinks at him. “So you’re not… a restaurateur?” he asks carefully, slipping the fish into his mouth—and nearly closing his eyes when the flavor hits. It’s incredible, balanced and delicate in a way he didn’t expect. If Katsuki really does cook better than this, Shouto can’t help the quiet flicker of anticipation curling in his chest.

“I am,” Katsuki answers between bites, “but it’s not my main job. This is more of a hobby. I own a few restaurants in town. But like I told you before, my real job’s at the office.” He pauses to cut into his pasta, his expression sharpening the way it always does when he talks about work—even back when it was just during late-night game calls. “My stupid assistants keep resigning. I don’t get how the hell Pinky keeps sending me sloppy candidates.”

Shouto hums, curious who Pinky is and why Katsuki seems cursed with terrible assistants, but the food is too good to stop eating. He nods and listens, happy to just hear the familiar cadence of Katsuki’s voice in person.

“I must be boring you, huh?”

“Wh—what? No!” Shouto blurts, cheeks heating. He swallows quickly, fork clutched in hand. “I’m enjoying the food!”

Katsuki smirks, and Shouto realizes instantly that he was being teased.

“Mean,” Shouto mutters, giving him a playful little swat on the arm.

Katsuki just chuckles. “So? How is it?”

Shouto’s face brightens, earnest as always. “Yes! It’s so good, Katsuki. Thank you for taking me here.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Sho.” The words fall in a low whisper, and Shouto blinks, caught off guard. Katsuki drops his fork with a faint clink and shifts closer, his whole body fully angling toward him now. He props his face against his palm, elbow resting on the table, and the way his eyes narrow with focus makes the air feel heavier. “You’re so pretty it’s very hard not to look.”

Shouto feels the heat rising to his cheeks, the kind that no amount of composure can completely hide. His heart stumbles in his chest—what the hell is Katsuki’s game? Because the way he’s staring at him, like Shouto is both the answer to every question and the question itself, feels overwhelming in the best possible way. Is this what it’s like—to like someone so much that the world softens, becomes sharper and brighter, all because they’re around?

“You’re also very handsome,” Shouto murmurs, almost too softly, but the words spill out with honesty. “It’s very hard not to look.”

Katsuki chuckles at that, low and rough, like the sound alone could leave Shouto breathless. He holds his gaze for a moment longer before leaning in, bridging the space between them. His hand lifts, fingers brushing lightly against the corner of Shouto’s mouth. “You’re such a messy eater, Sho.”

And then, with a carelessness that feels deliberate, Katsuki slips his fingers past his own lips—cleaning away the trace of sauce that had been on Shouto’s mouth.

Shouto’s pulse hammers wildly, faster than even that first moment when he’d passed the door and seen Katsuki waiting for him inside. Something sparks low in his stomach, tightening, and he can’t look away. Katsuki—Katsuki with his ruby eyes, with the faint smirk curling his lips—just made Shouto’s entire chest feel like it might burst.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he does the only thing he can think of—he stabs at the pasta and shoves a ridiculous mouthful inside. His face stays calm, but inside, he’s rolling and crashing like waves in a storm. His lips are still tingling from where Katsuki touched him.

And just when he thinks his body might combust, Katsuki’s phone buzzes sharply against the table. The man curses under his breath, gives Shouto an apologetic look. “Sorry, gotta take this. I’ll be back in a sec.”

Shouto only nods, thankful for the breather. Katsuki gets up and steps out, shutting the door behind him. The silence is immediate, and Shouto pulls out his phone like it’s a lifeline. He opens his LINE group chat.

Shouto: he’s so hot.

Denki, as expected, is first.

Denki: HOW HOT??? like on a scale 1–10 ???
Shouto: eleven.
Denki: SHIIIIITTTT HOLY SHITTTTT 🔥🔥🔥

Izuku appears a second later.

Izuku: OMG that’s so good!! How’s it going so far?
Shouto: it’s nice. he’s on the phone rn so i can text.

Tenya, ever the watchdog, chimes in.

Tenya: That is excellent, Todoroki! But please remember to keep us updated if anything suspicious happens
Izuku: Yeah, I’m glad it’s going well! Try to enjoy it too! 😊
Denki: sho pls tell me u douched before the date right? 😏

Shouto nearly chokes on air, face turning scarlet.

Tenya: KAMINARI! That is NOT appropriate!
Denki: what?? come on man we’re not kids anymore
Izuku: 😅

Shouto drags a hand down his face. He can practically feel the heat in his ears. And that’s when the door opens again. Katsuki walks back in, tucking his phone into his pocket. His eyes immediately flick to Shouto, and a smirk curls his mouth like he’s been gone for hours instead of minutes. “You’re so red, what, you like the view so much?”

Shouto fumbles to lock his phone under the table. His friends are so going to pay for this later.

They then continue to talk for hours, and Shouto loses count of how many times Katsuki makes him laugh. It’s strange and intoxicating—this thing they’re doing, this date—sitting across from someone who’s both unbearably attractive and utterly, fiercely interested in him. Katsuki is bold in ways Shouto only dared imagine in late-night calls; his hand rarely leaves Shouto’s. Sometimes it’s light—thumbs ghosting over his cheekbones and tangling in his hair. Sometimes it’s possessive—resting on the inside of Shouto’s thigh, squeezing when a joke lands or when Shouto looks especially vulnerable. Each touch stirs the butterflies in Shouto’s stomach until he worries they’ll never settle.

The plates are cleared away—pizza gone, pasta wiped clean, smaller plates empty—but the conversation doesn’t thin. Shouto talks about graduating, about Touya fussing over his outfits, how his older brother had forced him to go through his whole wardrobe so he looked ‘presentable’. They talk about games too; how Katsuki’s first impression of Shouto’s avatar was half-accurate, how Izuku helped shape his style in-game. Katsuki asks about the friends whose handles he knows; Shouto tells him their real names, how long they’ve been in his life, the stupid in-jokes that last forever. They learn each other age along the way, Shouto is impressed because Katsuki doesn't look like someone in his late 20s and he's glad the gap isn't too big as well. They can work with six years gap. When they hit the pauses between topics, they don’t fumble—both simply keep looking at the other until the air seems to hum.

“You’re really so fucking pretty, Sho…” Katsuki exhales, chest rising slow. The light catches the sharp planes of his face; his voice is low, raw around the edges. “…can I kiss you, baby? Please, you’re just—”

“You can, Katsuki.” Shouto’s answer is softer than he expects, but it’s sure. It feels like the only honest thing he could possibly say.

Katsuki’s grin is sudden and feral. He leans in, closing the small space between them with a motion that’s both practiced and urgent. Up close, Shouto can see the faint creasing at the corners of Katsuki’s eyes, the lighter strains in his golden eyebrow catching the light. He smells like the whole night—the cologne, the warmth of his skin, a trace of garlic and basil from the pasta. It’s dizzying.

The kiss is a slow collision at first—lips pressing, testing, curiosity and relief combined. Katsuki’s hand cups the back of Shouto’s neck, thumb rubbing easy circles, anchoring him. Shouto answers, surprising himself by how natural it feels to lean in, to part just so, to let the other’s mouth guide him. When Katsuki parts his lips and slides a gentle, exploratory tongue inside, something loosens in Shouto—a half-breathed laugh, a sound that’s both astonishment and pleasure.

It gets deeper, teeth and tongue and the heat of breath. Katsuki’s grip shifts from gentle to claiming; the pressure of his thigh against Shouto’s is a tether. Shouto’s fingers find the fabric of Katsuki’s shirt at his shoulders, clutching, then easing as if to memorize the feel of his chest rising and falling. He tastes tomato and spice, a hint of wine, and underneath it all—Katsuki. His name becomes a pulse against Shouto’s lips.

When they finally break apart, breathless and ridiculous, the room seems impossibly small and intimate. Katsuki’s forehead rests against Shouto’s for a long second; the smirk is back, softer now, like someone who just stole something and won’t admit how delighted he is.

“You okay?” Katsuki murmurs, voice rough.

Shouto presses his palms to Katsuki’s chest and nods, because words might come out more panicked than he feels. “Yes,” he manages. “I—” He inhales, steadying himself. “That was—” He fumbles for an adjective and settles for truth. “Good.”

Katsuki laughs, the sound warm and a little smug. “Good. ‘Cause I plan on doing that again.”

They sit like that—two halves settling into each other—while the city beyond the thick windows keeps its distant hum. Outside, the lights of the hotel glitter; inside, the VIP room has shrunk to the space of their shared warmth. Shouto thinks of LINE messages and Denki’s chaos and Izuku’s gentle reminders and Tenya’s stoic watchfulness, and for the first time all night, he doesn’t feel the urge to text anyone. He lets himself be there, fully, as Katsuki’s hand finds his again and squeezes.

“Be my boyfriend, Sho…” Katsuki says after another beat, almost a question.

Shouto’s answer is the quietest kind of agreement. “Yes, I will be your boyfriend, Kats.”

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

“So you’re the youngest son of Todoroki Enji, am I right?”

Shouto offers a small smile. It is a routine by now, something he can predict from the moment an interviewer skims his résumé and looks back up at him. His father’s name carries weight—too much weight, in fact. Todoroki Enji, a towering figure in the country’s business sphere, has his reputation stitched to Shouto like a shadow. No matter where he goes, the questions are always the same; about his father, about his family, about privilege.

“Yes, I am,” he answers, politely as always.

The woman across from him—Ashido, the HR manager—smiles back. Kind eyes, pink hair cut in a bob that bounces when she moves. She doesn’t look intimidating like most HR people he encounters, which for once gives Shouto a good feeling. Still, if this is only going to be about his father again, he knows where this conversation will end.

Most companies accept him by default, eager to bring in the son of Todoroki Enji as though his name alone is an asset on their portfolio. And most of the time, Shouto turns them down. He doesn’t want an easy seat handed to him on the back of someone else’s work. He wants a place where he is accepted because of his merits, not his bloodline.

So when Ashido leans forward slightly and says, “Actually, Todoroki-kun, your resume really is outstanding,” his heart skips. But then her tone shifts—surprising him completely. “And I have the toughest time persuading the user about this, because he actually thinks the fact that you’re a Todoroki is a problem.”

Shouto’s eyes widen. “How so?”

That isn’t the usual. Normally, his family name is a golden ticket, not a stumbling block.

Ashido chuckles softly, almost as if she expects his surprise. “Well, he’s very hard to please. And he doesn’t really like candidates who come in with connections; he actually doesn’t even read your résumé. He thinks it compromises independence. You can imagine how difficult it is to get him to even look at your application.”

Shouto blinks, taking a moment to process. For once, his surname isn’t pulling strings for him—it is actively working against him. Oddly enough, that makes his chest tighten in a different way. Not from rejection, but from challenge.

“With respect,” Shouto says evenly, “my father has nothing to do with me applying here. If I want to use his connections, I can just walk into his own company. And I don’t understand why someone can judge another without even reading their CV?”

Ashido’s lips curve upward in a grin, clearly pleased with his answer. “That’s exactly what I thought you’d say. Good.” She taps her pen against her notepad, eyes glinting. “I’ll be excited to tell the user that you’re ready to meet him, then.”

Shouto tilts his head slightly. “Right now?”

“Right now.”

Before he can respond, she is already pulling her phone out, tapping the screen rapidly. Shouto sits back in his chair, listening as she dials someone. She turns slightly away, but the voice on the other end is so loud it bleeds through the speaker even when she presses the phone close to her ear. Shouto catches snippets of the exchange—gruff yelling, sharp irritation, the kind of voice that barks orders and doesn’t care who winces. Nothing he can’t handle.

“Mmhm. Yes, I’ve got him here… no, he’s willing… yes, today,” Ashido says smoothly, unfazed by the storm in her ear. She mutters something reassuring before ending the call with a decisive press.

When she turns back, her smile hasn’t faltered. “He’s agreed. If you’re okay, we’ll have you meet him right away.”

Shouto straightens in his seat. His pulse quickens, though his face remains calm. There is something about the idea of being judged for himself, not for his last name, that stirs something stubborn inside him.

“Yes,” he says quietly, firmly. “That’s fine.”

Ashido’s grin widens. “Great. Follow me then, Todoroki-kun. Let’s see if you can impress him.”

She walks him down the hallway with a bounce in her step, humming as though she doesn’t just finish speaking to a man who sounds like he could explode through the phone. Shouto follows quietly, his mind racing but his expression calm.

When she stops at a sleek glass door, she gives him a bright, reassuring smile. “He’s finishing a call right now, but we’ll step in.”

The door opens to reveal a spacious office lined with bookshelves and papers stacked in meticulous chaos. At the center, behind a wide desk, is the man. 

A familiar man.

Blond hair spikes like fire. Shoulders tense, broad. A scowl carves into his sharp face as he barks into his phone. “I don’t give a damn what the numbers say—if your assistant screws up, fix it! Don’t waste my time with excuses. I want a solution on my desk by tomorrow morning, got it?!”

Familiar voice.

His back looks unfairly hot even from behind. Shouto watches the scene like it’s a game show reveal, waiting for the moment his boyfriend finally turns around and sees him. The universe is playing a ridiculous joke: Ashido must be the “Pinky” Katsuki mentioned the other night, and this office is his battlefield. Which means Shouto’s boyfriend is about to be his potential boss.

The thought arrives uninvited, loud and stubborn in his head. His gaze lingers on the way the blond leans forward, one hand strangling the phone, the other tearing through papers as if the world moves too slowly for him. Still hot. Still unfair. Definitely going to be a problem if Shouto ends up working here.

When Katsuki finally turns, the look on his face is something Shouto knows he’ll replay for years: his mouth falling open, eyes widening, frozen like a glitching video. Shouto doesn’t say a word. He just smiles—calm, polite—and shifts his gaze to Ashido.

Ashido clears her throat, hiding a grin like she knows exactly what storm she’s leaving behind but she probably doesn’t know even a bit. “Good luck,” her eyes seem to say as she gestures toward the chair across the desk. Then she slips out of the office, leaving them alone.

The hot snack blond boyfriend—also his would-be boss—finally slams the phone down with a sharp clack. For a moment, silence stretches in the room, not heavy, a bit funny, but silence indeed, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioner. Then, with a sigh that sounds more like a growl, the man leans back in his chair.

His gaze lands on Shouto again, softer this time. “So you’re the brat Pinky been trying to make me read the résumé, huh?”

“Yes,” he says simply.

Katsuki leans forward, elbows on the desk, gaze narrowing like he’s testing him. “You think being Todoroki Enji’s son makes you qualified to work here?”

“No.” Shouto doesn’t flinch. “If anything, it makes me unqualified. People expect me to rely on him. I don’t. But…” His lips curve into the faintest smile. “…maybe being the boyfriend of the Chief does.”

That earns him a chuckle from Katsuki, Shouto smiles and watches how Katsuki presses a button on his desk. With a low hum, the blinds slide shut, shielding the glass walls from outside eyes. Shouto doesn’t move, pulse steady despite the storm brewing.

Katsuki rises, strides across the room, and locks the door with a click. A second later, Shouto feels his warmth at his back, strong arms wrapping around his waist. Hot breath ghosts against his ear before lips press against his neck.

“Let’s see if you can survive me, baby. You know how I complain about my assistants right?”

fin