Chapter Text
But it would've been fun
If you would've been the one
Izuku was already dressed when Uraraka emerged from the bathroom tying her hair back, suit jacket slung over one arm as she crossed the kitchen to grab her bag.
“You came home pretty late last night,” he said gently, not accusing, just noting, eyes flicking to the clock as she slipped her shoes on. "Everything alright?"
She winced, just a little. “Sorry, Deku-kun—work stuff ran over. Emergency session, and then paperwork just… spiraled. There was a girl who simply didn't want to be left alone and I couldn't do anything about it.”
Izuku’s expression softened immediately. “It’s okay. I’m glad you were there for her.”
She relaxed at once, smiling at him like she’d been braced for something sharper.
Izuku stepped closer, kissed her quickly before she could say anything else. “I’m looking forward to seeing you this evening,” he said, sincere and bright.
“Me too,” she replied, already halfway out the door.
Izuku wondered if she would have said anything at all had he not done so himself. He shakes the thought away.
His own day began on foot, Izuku opting to walk to get his steps in, the city still cool and busy around him. He greeted Katsuki outside the agency with a grin.
“Morning, Kacchan!” Izuku called, waving enthusiastically.
Katsuki grunted, but his scowl softened a fraction. “You’re late.”
“Only by five minutes. I walked.”
“So. How was your morning?” Katsuki asked. Izuku noticed that Kacchan's been asking that a lot these days. How was your day? What are you doing tonight? Are there plans for tomorrow?
“Good,” Izuku said easily, because it was. He was perfectly good.
Katsuki just snorted and shoved the paperwork aside. “C’mon. Spar with me before I die of boredom.”
It was one of those fights that they fought for no other reason than because they could. It had started when they were in second year and it hadn't stopped since then.
Today, Izuku wasn't distracted and Kacchan wasn't frustrated, they weren't learning anything particularly new or exciting and there was no ulterior motive to their movements.
But the way they moved together with such practiced familiarity, it was a simple pleasure that Izuku just couldn't get enough of.
Kacchan caught his wrist, thumb sliding along the sweat—Izuku twisted free, ducked the follow-up kick, sidestepped the next two punches—his body reacting on instinct while his mind lingered on the fingers around his wrist.
Kacchan's touch, on the other hand... had always been a far more complicated pleasure.
They broke apart eventually.
Izuku was panting as Kacchan wiped at the hair sticking to his face and with each strand he wiped away, a new one took its place. He scowled.
"Let's call it," He said, his voice—breathless and tired broke through his thoughts. "I'm hungry."
Izuku found himself wishing it hadn't ended.
It’s a painfully mediocre day.
Not bad enough to complain about, not good enough to remember, the kind of day that slides by on autopilot and leaves Izuku vaguely unsettled because he keeps waiting for something to happen and it simply doesn’t.
They patrol. They file reports. They get coffee that’s too hot and then too cold.
Izuku is halfway through annotating a form when Katsuki leans over his shoulder, squints, and says, “Who the fuck holds their pen like that.”
Izuku doesn’t look up. “There is no wrong way to hold a pen.”
“There is when you’re you,” Katsuki replies and Izuku just laughs. Kacchan has been saying this since Izuku held a pen for the first time in his life.
Lunch is convenience store bentos eaten on the steps outside the agency. Katsuki steals Izuku’s fried chicken without asking. Izuku takes Katsuki’s pickled plum out of spite. They both grimace at the trade.
“Why would you do that,” Katsuki says, horrified.
“You stole first.”
“I was doing you a favor.”
Izuku chews miserably. “This is awful.”
“Yeah,” Katsuki says smugly, biting into the chicken.
They patrol again.
A couple of low-level purse snatchers, one cat in a tree (Katsuki refused to help with that one), and an endless stack of paperwork.
It’s still a nothing day, stubbornly so.
They stop at a vending machine. Izuku punches in a number and gets a soda. Katsuki presses his button.
The machine whirs. Stops.
“…Oh,” Kacchan says quietly.
Izuku watches him stare at the unmoving coil. “Did it eat your money.”
“…Yes.”
Izuku snorts. “Wow.”
Katsuki pokes the glass. “Sometimes if you—”
“No.”
“If you just shake it a little—”
“No.” This was the third vending machine they've had to bring in this month. Kaccha had somehow managed to break the other two.
Back at their desk, Izuku yawned and reached for the All Might mug. Katsuki swapped it out for the black one at the last second.
“Hey!”
“Caffeine stunts your growth.”
“I’m twenty-five. I stopped growing years ago.”
“Exactly. Drink the decaf.”
“That’s not decaf. That’s just your bitter soul in liquid form.”
"I'm not bitter."
"Sure you aren't."
By the time the day was finally over Izuku was tired. He remembered again that his morning enthusiasm had made him walk to work. He regretted it. Never will he attempt to be healthy again.
“I’ll drop you,” Katsuki said, already reaching for his keys.
In the car, Izuku rambled the way he did when tired and content. “Oh! I found this really grainy bootleg footage of pre-Quirk-era martial arts—like, actual recordings. The form is really interesting, it reminds me a bit of—”
“Did you watch it already?” Katsuki cut in.
“Nope,” Izuku said proudly. “Wanted to watch it with you. When are you free?”
Katsuki frowned at a red light. “I don’t see why we can’t do it tonight.”
Izuku brightened instantly, nodding vigorously. “Really?!”
They turned onto his street and Izuku froze, then laughed. “Oh! She’s home early for the first time in weeks!”
They pulled up, and Izuku hopped out, turning automatically, expecting Katsuki to kill the engine and follow. Instead—
“Actually,” Katsuki said, scratching his cheek, “I just remembered I gotta help shitty hair with his dumb training plan. He’s been asking for weeks.”
Izuku pouted. “Aw, okay… Let me know when you can watch it, then?”
“Yeah,” Katsuki said, waving as he drove off.
The car pulled away, and Izuku jogged up the steps, bursting through the door with a bright, “Tadaima!!”
From upstairs came the answering call, warm and familiar. “Welcome home, Deku-kun!!”
Uraraka appeared at the top of the stairs, still in her casual clothes, smiling down at him. She padded into the kitchen as he kicked off his shoes and followed her.
He came up behind her and kissed the back of her hair, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo. “Hello, Ochaco.”
She didn't turn. Izuku had kinda wanted her to but... oh well.
“How are you feeling?” He asks instead.
"Good, good tired but that's normal. How was your day?"
He started telling her about the strange villian Kachhan had captured but he could tell she was only half listening. He sighs a little. He wants to ask if there was something on her mind but...
“How was yours?” he asked instead.
That did it. She lit up, talking animatedly about a girl she’d met in counseling, the progress she’d seen, the little moments that made it all worth it.
Izuku watched the way her whole body relaxed when she talked about her work, and something warm bloomed in his chest. He loved that about her, how much she cared.
Dinner was unusually quiet. Izuku wanted to fill the silence but Ochaco was staring at her phone with furrowed brows.
Izuku knew work was busy. Knew that being an adult meant time was something you rationed poorly and forgrettably, but as he watched her back while she wiped the counter and gathered the last of the dishes before heading upstairs, he couldn’t quite place why the hollowness had arrived so abruptly, settling somewhere behind his ribs with no sharp edge to justify it.
Did it have to be this way?
He felt a quiet absence where anticipation or comfort might have been, in some other life perhaps.
He stood there longer than necessary in the kitchen with the light still on, replaying the day in small, ordinary fragments, the way she’d smiled but not really looked at him, the way he’d changed the subject because it felt easier, the way he’d told himself again that it was fine until he finally turned the light off and followed her up, carrying that unnameable weight with him and wondering, not for the first time, when exactly it had started to feel like something between them was always just slightly out of reach despite everything technically being okay.
He went upstairs and tugged his shirt off as he slid in under the covers next to her. She leaned into him.
He hesitated.
Part of him wondered if he wanted to slide his hands lower, to close the distance that had been growing between them these past few weeks. The other part of him wondered why he had to think about it.
He knew he didn’t have much experience before her but judging by the past year he thought he had done pretty well, or at least that was what almost all their classmates said in the offhand, teasing manner people used when they thought they were being reassuring.
He lay back on the bed turning those comments over without pride or embarrassment, just trying to measure them against the reality of how often she seemed tired, how often their nights ended in sleep rather than conversation or anything else, and how he could not tell whether wanting less meant she was content or simply elsewhere in her head, a thought that left him staring at the ceiling and feeling a little foolish for trying to quantify something that had no clear rules.
Ochaco was already tucking her head under his chin, breathing slow and steady.
Oh well. Looks like she’d made her decision.
He stared at the back of her head, the familiar curve of her neck, the loose strands of hair that always escaped her bun and wondered what had changed.
Not her. Not really. She still smiled at him the same way when she was home. She still kissed him goodbye every morning. She still loved him. He knew that.
Maybe it was just him.
Maybe he was the one who’d gotten used to expecting more. To the way things used to be when they were still students, when the world was on fire and they were too young to care about anything except holding on to each other. When “later” was a promise instead of a polite excuse.
He reached out, hesitated, then let his hand settle lightly on her hip. She didn’t stir. Didn’t lean back into him the way she used to.
Izuku closed his eyes and tried to tell himself it was fine. That he was tired. That tomorrow would be better. He sighed quietly and wrapped his arms around her instead. It was okay. He was perfectly fine with this.
Morning came again, quieter this time, because she was already gone.
Izuku dragged himself out of bed, head fuzzy from too little sleep. He made coffee, drank half a mug, and drove to the agency.
He was tired today.
Katsuki was already at his desk when Izuku shuffled into the agency, shoulders hunched and eyes half-lidded. He looked at him rather oddly when he entered.
Izuku squinted back, confused. “Something wrong, Kacchan?”
“No,” Katsuki snapped. “You look like shit.”
“Didn’t sleep well,” Izuku mumbled, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his hand.
He watched Katsuki look pointedly away like that explained something Izuku didn’t have the energy to unpack, wondered briefly what that had been about before deciding he was too tired to analyze it properly.
He sat down at his desk and sighed and waited through a few minutes of paperwork silence before Katsuki asked if he’d eaten, and Izuku could tell then that something was wrong in the way he always could even though it was Katsuki and therefore a riddle he wouldn’t solve unless he asked relentlessly and maybe he would after lunch, nodded instead, admitted with a look that yes, he did have breakfast.
Katsuki’s eyes flicked over him again, lingering. “Was it coffee?”
Izuku winced, sheepish. “...Maybe.”
"That is not breakfast Deku."
Katsuki sighed, long, dramatic, the kind of sigh that said he’d expected exactly this and shoved back from his desk. He stalked over to the little kitchenette in the corner without another word, yanking open the fridge and humming.
Izuku followed the movements with his eyes and smiled without really thinking about it, feeling for a moment steadier just watching someone decide to take care of him without needing to be asked. He wondered what that meant.
It was stupid how comforting it was.
Katsuki slid the plate in front of him a few minutes later—fluffy scrambled eggs, still steaming, with a sprinkle of black pepper and a couple of slices of toast on the side.
Izuku blinked down at it, then up at Katsuki, and smiled, small and tired.
“Thanks, Kacchan.”
Katsuki just grunted and turned back to his desk, but the tips of his ears were a little pink. He didn’t say anything else about it.
Izuku picked up his chopsticks and started eating, and oh it was wonderful, it was Kacchan's cooking. It had been so long since he had Kacchan's cooking.
It was while he was eating that the realization hit him, about why Kacchan had looked away when he mentioned he hadn't slept well last night.
“Oh,” Izuku blurted. “We didn’t have sex.” Instantly, he was mortified. Why had he said that? Why did he feel the need to clarify?
Katsuki stared at him, incredulous. He waited a moment. Then, slowly, “Like… never, or—”
“No! No—” Izuku started fumbling immediately. “I mean, no, I didn’t mean— I just— I understood why you went ‘oh’ earlier, when I said I didn’t sleep well, and— never mind, I’m sorry. Um. The eggs are really good. And I didn’t have sex last night.”
Kacchan stares at him for another long moment before his lips quirk up.
“Good to know,” Katsuki says.
Izuku blinked. He felt his face heat up. Good to know? Good to know what? The eggs? The sex? Or the lack thereof?
“Which part?”
Katsuki gave him another strange look. “Both,” he said. “Good to know you’re not getting any, and... that you still like my cooking.”
Izuku’s face went up in flames. He shoved a mouthful of eggs into his mouth before he could say something else monumentally stupid.
Katsuki watched him for a second longer. “What is wrong with you?” he asked again.
Izuku knew he wouldn't let this go. He also knew that he definitely did not want to talk about it, because knowing Kacchan he's going to make a big deal about it.
Izuku swallowed and sighed. “I’m just thinking about Ochaco. She’s been stressed about work lately.”
Katsuki’s brows furrowed. “Just thinking about your… um. About Round Face has you this depressed?”
"Mhm."
"Don't lie to me, Izuku."
“No!!” Izuku protested, waving his hands again. “Just worried is all.” He shoved another mouthful of eggs in, hoping it would stop him from digging the hole any deeper.
He should've also known he can't lie to Kacchan.
Katsuki snorted. “Izuku, you’ve told me all your secrets since the day you successfully pooped in the toilet when we were three.”
Izuku choked. “Kacchan!”
"I'm just saying. It's me. What's there to not tell me?"
He was right. Kacchan was right of course.
If there was one person Izuku would trust with something this raw, it was Kacchan, because Katsuki had always known the unguarded parts of him without needing them dressed up or justified, had never demanded poetry or bravery where honesty would do, and Izuku realized that what made it so hard to speak wasn’t fear of being mocked but the fact that Kacchan will show him the reality.
Kacchan will comfirm his worst fears, because it's Kacchan, it's Bakugou Katsuki who was hardly ever anything but truthful.
Izuku knew if he told Kacchan that wanting to be wanted felt selfish to voice, because admitting that he missed being touched and looked at and chosen felt childish for someone who was supposed to be grateful and understanding, Kacchan would take it personally.
He also didn’t want to say that he didn't think that Ochaco wanted him anymore, not like that, not recently, and that he knew she was tired and busy and doing important work and that he really was fine with waiting, he just wished she would say something, because the not knowing was what made him feel so tired. Kacchan respected her enough, but he had seemed so on edge around her lately that even Todoroki had noticed.
Izuku swallowed the last bite of eggs and set the chopsticks down, staring at the empty plate like it might give him the right words.
“It’s just… being an adult isn’t what I thought it would be like,” he said quietly.
Katsuki didn’t answer right away. He just watched Izuku for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then he pushed off the counter, stood up straight, and held out his hand.
“Come on then.”
Izuku blinked. “Huh?”
“Come.” Katsuki wiggled his fingers impatiently.
Izuku took his hand—obviously—and let himself be pulled out of the chair, through the agency, past the training room, out the front door, and straight to Katsuki’s car.
“Where are we going?” he asked, half-laughing, half-confused.
Katsuki only shrugs and opens the door for him, refusing to explain anything at all.
The moment Izuku gets in the music starts blasting, loud and familiar, and it takes him a second to realize that it is his playlist, which makes something warm settle in his chest, and they sing along badly and too loudly,
—Don’t you sweat it, baby, it’s alright
We were dancing through lightning strikes
Sleepless in onyx night
But now the sky is opalite,
oh oh oh oh
oh my lord—
and Izuku feels brighter than he has in weeks without having to think about why.
He realizes they are going far when the busy city thins out and gives way to quieter roads and open countryside, and Katsuki slows down and opens the roof, and Izuku leans out immediately and breathes in deeply because outside has always felt better to him, and even now it helps, easing something tight in his shoulders.
He smells the ocean before he sees it.
Katsuki smiles when he realizes Izuku has figured it out, and by the time the car fully stops Izuku is already out and running, laughing as he heads straight for the water while Katsuki jogs after him laughing too.
Izuku turned back just long enough to see Katsuki stop on the way, then kept running until the waves were lapping at his ankles.
He stands there taking in the ocean, feeling strangely free, until Katsuki joins him a few minutes later with a bag in his hand. Izuku tries to peer inside it.
"Tools." Katsuki says.
"Tools? For what?"
"Sand castles."
“We’re making sand castles?!”
Katsuki was already kneeling in the wet sand, unpacking plastic buckets and a little shovel like he’d planned this all along.
Izuku dropped down beside him to help, hit all at once with such strong nostalgia that it almost makes him feel sick. They used to do this all the time as kids, everytime they came to the beach.
“Remember you always gave the castle All Might ears?” Katsuki said without looking up.
Izuku laughs.
They worked in easy silence for a while, building towers, carving windows, adding moats. Izuku tried to sculpt a tiny Deku and Dynamight on top of the main tower.
Katsuki snorted. “Good luck making that, nerd.”
Izuku gave up halfway through and flopped backward into the sand, arms and legs spread wide. “You’re gonna get sand everywhere,” Katsuki warned.
“I don’t care,” Izuku hummed, arms spread, staring up at the sky.
Izuku says he does not care, because he does not, he feels light and happy again and it's perfect. Then a shadow falls over him and suddenly Kacchan is over him and there are Kacchan's hands under him and he is being lifted off the ground yelping and distracted by the red in Katsuki’s eyes and the red on Katsuki's cheeks until everything turns cold and wet.
Kacchan had dunked him the ocean.
The water was freezing. Izuku thrashed, laughing and shrieking at the same time, arms locking around Katsuki’s neck to pull him closer and escape the cold.
“No—no—don’t you dare—”
Cold hit him all at once again.
"Kacchan you monster! The water is freezing!"
Izuku screams and thrashes and clings to Katsuki’s arms and neck all over again, trying to escape the freezing water. He tries to pull Katsuki down... it does not work.
Katsuki just grins, wicked and wild, and dunks them both under.
They surfaced gasping, soaked, hair plastered to their heads. Katsuki’s arms were still around Izuku’s waist, steady and warm despite the water.
Izuku stared at him, wet spikes of blond hair, droplets clinging to his lashes, red eyes bright against the blue of the sky and thought, a little stupidly, that Katsuki looked beautiful.
When they finally stagger back onto the sand, shivering and dripping, Izuku thinks distantly that he has not felt this light in a very long time.
By the time they’re in a small restaurant, shoes kicked off and sand already creeping into inconvenient places, Izuku is finally starting to relax.
They’re about to eat.
Which is exactly when the unease starts crawling up his spine.
“Kacchan,” Izuku says, staring at the bags between them, suddenly hyper-aware of the time. “We didn’t tell anyone. We didn’t clock out. We didn’t—”
Katsuki hums noncommittally, already digging into his second course.
The phone rings.
Izuku freezes.
Katsuki glanced at the screen, expression shifting from lazy to sharp in half a second. He answered with a clipped “Yeah.”
He overheard the voice on the other end: “…downtown shopping district… multiple hostages… high-speed villain… need all available hands—”
Izuku started frantically shaking his head.
Katsuki looked right at him, red eyes steady, and said into the phone, “Yeah. We can make it.”
He hung up.
“KACCHAN, WE CAN’T MAKE IT!” Izuku yelped, already on his feet.
“Yes we can,” Katsuki says easily, already standing, already strapping his gauntlets back on. “We can do anything.”
“That’s—not—that’s not how time works!”
Katsuki grins. “Watch me.”
And then they were running.
Katsuki blasted off first, palms sparking, launching himself into the air. Izuku followed, One For All crackling green around his legs as they leaped from rooftop to rooftop, flying across the city in a blur of explosions and wind.
Katsuki taking rooftops at a speed that makes Izuku’s stomach lurch.
“Kacchan!” Izuku yells, clinging on to his pace, wind tearing the words out of his mouth. “I’m going to throw up our lunch!”
“Don’t you dare,” Katsuki shouts back. “That was expensive.”
Izuku’s stomach lurched with every leap. He was pretty sure the karaage was about to make a dramatic reappearance.
But nothing happened. Of course nothing happened. They were Deku and Dynamight.
They make it to the scene with barely a few seconds, but with not enough time to plan and hence came crashign down together onto the villian.
The impact is brutal, too brutal, and the body goes down with a sound that makes Izuku’s heart drop straight into his stomach.
“SHIT!” Katsuki cursed, landing in a crouch beside the unconscious body. “I hope he’s not dead.”
There’s a stunned silence.
Then—
“What the FUCK?! Deku?! Dynamight?! Where did you even COME from?!”
Katsuki winces as a senior hero starts laying into them, arms crossed, voice sharp and loud and very, very deserved.
Izuku bows so fast he nearly topples over. “I’m so sorry! We didn’t mean to—we were nearby and we thought we could help and we absolutely should have informed someone first and I completely understand why this is a violation of protocol and—”
“Deku,” someone mutters, half-awed, half-exasperated. “Breathe.”
Izuku nods furiously. “Yes! Sorry! I will! I mean—thank you! I’m very sorry!”
“Do you have any idea how much paperwork this is gonna be?!”
Katsuki rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, “Tch. He’s fine. Pulse is steady.”
The lead hero pinched the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t file a departure form. You didn’t notify dispatch. You didn’t even radio in that you were en route. Do you know how many protocol violations—”
“I’m sorry,” Izuku said again, bowing deeper. “It won’t happen again. We’ll fill out whatever forms you need. We’ll do the reports. I’ll write them myself if I have to—”
Katsuki elbowed him. “Stop groveling, idiot. We saved the day. They’ll get over it.”
The hero sighed. “Just… go. Before the press shows up and asks why the Number One and Number Two heroes look like they just came from the beach.”
Izuku glanced down at himself, sand still clinging to his legs, hair salty and wild, shirt half-untucked.
Katsuki had sand in his hair too.
They looked at each other.
Then they both started laughing—quietly at first, then louder, until one of their team members threatened to arrest them for disturbing the peace.
They spent the next three hours in a conference room filling out incident reports, disciplinary forms, and a very long apology email to the agency director.
But the villain was alive and in custody.
The hostages were safe.
And when they finally walked out into the night as they were leaving, Katsuki bumped Izuku’s shoulder.
“Worth it,” he said.
Izuku smiled, small and tired and real.
“Yeah,” he said. “Worth it.”
He went home to an empty house again that night.
He sat down to eat, wondering if he should invite Kacchan over for the video they meant to watch together.
It was then that he heard the familiar sound of a car engine outside and brightened immediately.
“Oh,” Izuku said to the empty room, already on his feet. “Ochaco’s home.”
He brushed aside the thoughts from earlier and stood up straighter, resolve settling in. He’d had a good day—an unexpectedly good one—and he was determined to carry that brightness home with him, to be patient and gentle and present in the way he knew she deserved.
The door opened. Ochaco stepped inside.
Her face looked dull in a way Izuku recognized too well, exhaustion pulled tight over her features. He decided, instantly, to fix it.
“Ochaco-chan,” he said, smiling. “Do you want to have a movie night tonight?”
She turned to him, and her expression faltered just slightly. Izuku caught it and backtracked immediately.
“Anything you want,” he added quickly. “I could give you a massage, and we could order takeout?”
She smiled, small and apologetic. “I wish we could, Deku-kun. But I promised Aiko I’d help her again, and—”
“Oh,” Izuku said. “Oh, of course. You can do that.”
“Thank you for being so understanding.”
She dropped her gear by the door, grabbed a bag, and waved as she headed back out.
“—Oh,” Izuku said, too late.
He hadn’t realized she meant right away.The door closed. Izuku stood there for a moment before sinking back onto the couch, the earlier brightness souring as quickly as it had arrived. Without really thinking about it, he pulled out his phone and called Kacchan.
Katsuki picked up almost immediately.
“Hey,” Izuku said. “Um. Do you wanna watch that video tonight?”
A pause. “Where are you right now?”
“Home. And, um—Ochaco’s not home. Don’t worry.”
“Why would I—”
“I don’t know,” Izuku said hastily. “So… are you coming, or—”
“Be there in five.”
Izuku blinked. “Oh. Oh.”
He hadn’t expected Katsuki to agree so easily.
He scrambled to his feet, suddenly self-conscious. He buttoned his shirt back up, dusted sand off his pants, ran a hand through his hair. Why did he care? It was just Kacchan. It was always just Kacchan. Everything felt strange lately.
He opened the door the second he heard Katsuki’s car pull up.
Katsuki walked in with a small smile already on his lips, handing Izuku a bag of sodas as he went straight for the kitchen. Izuku trailed after him.
Katsuki opened the fridge, and snorted. “Do you never eat at home?”
Izuku blinked. “Um… were you hungry?”
“We will be. Eventually,” Katsuki replied. “What were you planning on making for dinner?”
“Oh, uh… I don’t know.”
Katsuki sighed. “We’re ordering takeout. Come on.”
He headed for the couch.
Izuku grabbed his arm and tugged. “Nuh-uh. Come on. We have a TV in our bedroom now.”
Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “TV in your bedroom? Hm. No wonder...”
“No wonder what?” Izuku asked.
Katsuki didn’t elaborate.
The food arrived, and they ate and watched the video together, relaxed and comfortable until Izuku checked the time absently and realized it was well past midnight.
Ochaco still wasn’t home. He pressed his lips together and said nothing.
When the video ended, Katsuki made a rather rude comment about the technique and immediately gathered the trash, carrying it into the kitchen.
Clean freak, Izuku thought fondly.
When he came back, Katsuki leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.
“Is it normal for her to get home this late?”
Izuku looked down at the comforter. “…Yeah.”
Katsuki didn’t respond, but he looked like he wanted to.
“You don’t have to keep me company,” Izuku added.
Katsuki nodded absently as he dropped onto the other end of the bed anyway, already reaching for the controller like the conversation had concluded on his terms, which it probably had.
Izuku watched him boot up the game, the familiar menu music filling the room in a way that felt oddly domestic.
Katsuki immediately skipped the tutorial Izuku couldn’t help himself and leaned over a little to say,
“You know it explains the controls,”
Katsuki gives him an unimpressed look.
“I know the controls.”
He promptly fell off a ledge thirty seconds later, scowling so hard Izuku bit his lip to keep from smiling.
Katsuki restarted with visible spite and Izuku shifted closer, knees bumping, commenting helpfully that maybe sprinting everywhere wasn’t necessary, which earned him a sharp, “Don’t backseat,” followed by a grudging “Okay maybe backseat a little,” and before he knew it Izuku was pointing at the screen, forgetting himself, saying “Left—no your other left—wait jump now,” while Katsuki cursed and mashed buttons.
"I'm getting so good at this game."
“You died three times last round.”
“Because you kept yelling directions.”
“Because you ran straight into the boss.”
“Shut up and watch me win.”
He didn’t win. Izuku did.
Katsuki threw the controller down. “Rematch.”
Izuku restarts.
Katsuki grinned. “Watch me win.”
Ten seconds later, the character went down.
Izuku winced. “…Oh.”
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t—”
Katsuki restarted the level. “You’re banned from commentary.”
Izuku waited a beat. “I believe in you.”
Katsuki snorted despite himself. “That’s worse.”
Izuku sighed.
“Tomorrow, Kacchan. I’m tired.”
“You’re just scared I’ll catch up.”
“I’m up by seven wins.”
“Beginner’s luck.”
“We’ve been playing this game for six months.”
Katsuki yawned. Izuku immediately remembered what their present situation was. "You should go Kacchan. I feel loads better."
Katsuki hummed.
“Um,” Izuku said again. “See you tomorrow, then?”
“Huh?” Katsuki blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Sure. Good night.”
He left.
They didn’t talk about it the next day.
Ochaco wasn’t there in the morning—again—but she had been there at some point during the night. The milk was half-gone, dirty dishes in the sink. Izuku stared at the evidence and sighed.
But Ochaco is home that night and Izuku is feeling better than usual.
The doorbell rang just as Izuku was rinsing the last dinner plate.
He dried his hands, confused. They weren’t expecting anyone.
When he opened the door, Katsuki was standing there in the same black hoodie he’d worn the day before, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
“Kacchan?” Izuku blinked.
Izuku is surprised—pleasantly so—but he doesn’t say it out loud. He just opens the door and steps aside, already smiling.
“Kacchan,” he says. “You didn’t say you were coming over.”
Katsuki shrugs out of his jacket. “Was nearby.”
That’s a lie, but Izuku lets it pass.
Ochaco appeared from the living room, drying her hair with a towel. She paused when she saw Katsuki.
“Oh. Hi, Bakugou-kun.”
Katsuki gave her a short nod. “Hey.”
The three of them stood in the hallway for an awkward beat. Izuku scrambled for something normal.
“We, um… we just finished eating. We baked cookies earlier. Do you want to try some?” He gestured toward the kitchen like a nervous host. “Come sit.”
They migrated to the dining table. Izuku ladled soup into a bowl for Katsuki and set a plate of chocolate-chip cookies in the middle.
They talk about work, mostly. Ochaco asks the right questions. Katsuki answers without snapping. Izuku watches the exchange with mild disbelief, like he’s waiting for something to happen.
Izuku was startled by how civil Katsuki was being.
Ochaco’s awkward, he can tell—her hands keep fidgeting in her lap, but Katsuki isn’t dismissive, isn’t rude, isn’t even visibly irritated.
It lasts about five minutes.
Then Katsuki looks at her again, really looks, and his voice is tight when he asks, “So where were you last night?”
Izuku has a bad feeling about this.
“Hm? Oh.” Ochaco set her cup down carefully. “I was at work.”
Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know your work required that many late nights.”
Her brows knit together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs, deceptively casual. “Just saying. Aren’t they all kids? How many kids are even up that late?”
“It isn’t only your work that’s time-consuming, you know,” Ochaco said, voice still polite but thinner now.
“Sure,” Katsuki replies. Izuku winces. Kacchan sounded very sarcastic.
Ochaco’s cheeks flushed. She was angry—Izuku could tell—but she was too sweet, too conflict-averse to snap at a guest in their own home. Instead she pressed her lips together, forced a tiny smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Quirk counseling is a lot of work Bakugou” she said quietly. “And it helps a lot. And it does require someone who's willing to put in the work. You might not have experience with that though, considering...” she gestures at him vaguely.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kacchan sounds annoyed.
“We all know what I mean, Katsuki.”
Katsuki doesn’t argue, thankfully.
Ochaco stood a moment later. “I’m… going to finish drying my hair. Excuse me.”
Izuku exhaled shakily. “Was that really necessary?” He asks, when she's gone.
“The cookies are disgusting.” Katsuki offers as an answer.
Izuku looks offended.
Katsuki raises an eyebrow at him, "What? I knwo you didn't make it. Why are you looking upset?"
Izuku sighed, long and quiet, staring at the empty chair Ochaco had just vacated.
Kacchan starts speaking again. "It's still better than the first time you ever baked though."
Izuku looks at him incredelously. "I burnt them the first time! That is not praise."
"Exactly."
"Oh I just remembered how terrible it was." Kacchan is laughing and Izuku looks unimpressed.
Izuku groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “I was fifteen and unsupervised!”
“And confident,” Katsuki added. “That was the real issue.”
Izuku huffed.
“It was fine until you decided chocolate chips needed to be ‘extra melty’ and cranked it to five hundred degrees.”
Izuku felt his mouth twitch despite himself. “They were extra melty.”
“They were charcoal bricks. I chipped a tooth on one.”
“You did not.”
"And that's only because my teeth are the strongest."
Izuku sometimes thinks that Kacchan never really grew up.
Ochaco came back into the kitchen just as Izuku was mid-laugh, nearly choking on a cookie crumb from Katsuki’s dramatic retelling of the “charcoal incident.”
She looked irritated.
Katsuki noticed first. “What?”
Izuku noticed then.
Ochaco exhaled through her nose. “Nothing. I’m just heading out to the pub.”
“All by yourself?” Katsuki asked, eyebrow raised.
“Yeah. I feel like a drink.”
Izuku straightened. “Oh. You’re— right now?”
Katsuki stood up without hesitation. “We’ll join you. Come on, Izu.”
Izuku blinked. “Eh? But—” He stopped himself. Did he want her to go alone?
No.
Izuku glanced at Ochaco, who looked like she wanted to protest but didn’t have the energy. He stood anyway. He did want to keep her company—awkward or not.
Kacchan of course, insists they take his car and that he knows a wonderful place.
The place Katsuki took them to was nicer than Izuku expected. He led them to a sleek rooftop bar downtown—dim lighting, plush booths, overpriced cocktails with stupid names. The kind of place neither Izuku nor Ochaco would’ve picked, but Katsuki walked in like he owned it.
Izuku nursed the same whiskey sour for an hour. Ochaco had switched to wine. Katsuki was on his fourth old-fashioned and showing no signs of slowing down.
Then Katsuki slammed his glass down with a grin and Izuku could smell trouble.
“I have an idea.”
Izuku’s stomach dropped. “No.”
“Wow,” Katsuki scoffed. “Didn’t even hear it.”
Izuku groaned immediately. “No thank you, Kacchan.”
“Fuck off, you never want to hear my ideas.”
“I’m always hearing your ideas.”
“So hear this one out.”
“Does it involve lying about a birthday to get free drinks?” He guessed.
Katsuki paused. “…No.”
“Kacchan.”
“Well, that was Plan A, but the whole damn world already knows a certain someone’s birthday, so that’s off the table.”
Izuku pinched the bridge of his nose. “What’s the plan, then?”
Katsuki’s eyes sparkled.
“A proposal.”
Izuku choked. “A what?”
“Hear me out!” Katsuki insisted, slapping the table. “It’d be wonderful.”
Ochaco went bright red. “No.”
“You don’t wanna marry Izuku?” Katsuki asked, genuinely confused.
“That’s not— I don’t think a public proposal is a good idea,” she said quickly.
Katsuki blinked. “Why not.”
Oh, Kacchan is drunk.
Izuku reached over and gently pushed Katsuki’s glass out of reach. “Alright, that’s enough, Kacchan.”
“Bakugou-kun, you’re very drunk.”
“Tipsy,” Katsuki corrected. “Strategic level of drunk. Perfect for big ideas.”
Izuku tugged at his sleeve. “Come on, let’s get you some water.”
Katsuki turned to him, offended. “You don’t want to propose?”
“That’s not the point!”
Ochaco downed the rest of her wine in one go. “I’m getting another drink.”
She stood and walked toward the bar.
Izuku sighed and leaned closer to Katsuki. “You’re making this weird.”
“Good,” Katsuki said, stealing Izuku’s barely touched whiskey sour and taking a sip.
“I’m not proposing tonight.”
“Chicken.”
“I’m not drunk enough for your ideas.”
“That’s your problem. Drink more.”
Izuku snatched his glass back. “No. And you’re cut off.”
Izuku doesn't remember the rest of the night. At some point he remembers being at the supermarket, Katsuki pushing the cart while Izuku threw things in. He doesn't remember where Ochaco was. That as a problem. But he does remember,
“Put the chips back.”
“They’re on sale.”
“You have three bags at the agency.”
“Two. You finished the spicy ones yesterday.”
“That was you.”
“That was definitely you. You stress-eat when you do reports.”
“I do not.”
“You do. I found crumbs in the keyboard.”
“Put the chips back.”
Izuku put them back. Then snuck a small bag of gummy worms into the cart when Katsuki wasn’t looking.
Katsuki saw it at checkout. Didn’t say anything. Paid for them anyway.
Izuku woke up with a headache in the morning and groaned. Did they really have to go drinking on a work day? He dragged himself to work anyway and saw that Kacchan also had and he somehow looked worse. He felt better knowing that.
That evening, when he got home, feeling better than he had in the morning, he could already feel something was off.
He walked in smiling though, already halfway through a cheerful greeting, because he was determined to make this work, and then stopped when he really looked at her.
She was standing in the kitchen, arms wrapped around herself, eyes red-rimmed and glassy. The sadness on her face hit him like a punch. She looked small. Lost. Nothing like the Ochaco who used to light up the room just by walking into it.
Izuku’s smile dropped instantly, the cheer falling away without resistance as he stepped closer.
“Hey,” he said gently, moving closer without thinking. “Hey, it’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay. What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, hands twisting together. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I just— I don’t want to— I just want you to be happy, and I know you’re not, and…”
She faltered, then said it, quiet but firm. “I think I need time.”
“Of course,” Izuku murmured automatically, because soothing her was instinct, because that had always been his first response.
“I need time, Deku,” she repeated, like she was surprised he hadn’t pushed back.
That was when the words finally caught up to him.
“Time?” he echoed, voice small.
She nodded.
So he had been right. It wasn't overthinking. There was something different.
“From…” His throat tightened. “From us?”
“…Yeah.”
Izuku’s mouth went dry. “But… but what happened? Is it me? Did I do something?”
“No, no—”
“Then what?” His voice wavered despite his effort.
“I just—I can’t—okay, it’s all really confusing.”
“What’s confusing?” he asked, almost helpless.
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
Ochaco took a step back. Then another. He could feel it—the emotional distance widening between them with every inch she put between their bodies. She wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her gaze was fixed somewhere over his shoulder, like she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes.
Izuku stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, arms hanging uselessly at his sides, as Ochaco quietly picked up her bag from the counter.
She paused at the doorway, hand on the knob.
“I’m sorry, Deku.”
Izuku stayed at the table a little longer, staring at the empty air across from him. The house felt bigger than it should have. Bigger than when they’d first moved in, laughing about how they’d fill every room with their friends and their chaos. Bigger than when he’d wake up to her humming in the kitchen or when she’d sneak up behind him and press her cheek to his back, giggling about how warm he always was.
He doesn't know why he did what he did next.
He walked out of the apartment, locked the door behind him, got into his car, and started driving.
He didn’t have a destination. He just drove—past the convenience store where they used to buy late-night ice cream, past the park where he’d once carried her home on his back after she twisted her ankle, past the bridge where they’d stood watching the city lights and promised each other forever.
The city blurred around him. Lights smeared into streaks. He turned left, right, left again, looping through neighborhoods he barely recognized, until the streets started to feel like a maze he couldn’t escape.
Eventually, he found himself in front of Katsuki’s apartment building.
He raised his fist to knock.
Then he stopped.
What was he doing? Showing up at Kacchan’s place in the middle of the night, again, crying about his girlfriend who just asked for time? It was pathetic. Stupid.
He lowered his hand. Started the car again.
He can’t just show up every time something hurts. He can’t keep doing this. He shouldn’t need this. He shouldn’t—
Izuku drives away.
He doesn’t go far. He ends up back home, pulling into the driveway and turning the engine off, the sudden quiet pressing in around him. He doesn’t get out. He just sits there, forehead resting briefly against the steering wheel, hands clenched in his lap.
“I’m fine,” he whispers to no one, the words sounding false the moment they leave his mouth.
He stays in the car anyway, staring through the windshield, feeling a little bit like he’s losing his grip on what he’s supposed to do next.
It's fine, he'll get over it, he thinks.
But is this what growing up is like? Getting over things, again and again?