Archive of Our Own

It starts, like most things do, with some dumb bullshit Deku says.

At the time, Katsuki listened to what Deku was rambling about the same way he always does—with a vague acknowledgement of the fact that Deku was indeed speaking and a finely honed sense of tuning back in only when he said something actually important.

This ability is beyond useful and has come from a fuckin’ lifetime of experience.

Deku got into knitting last year at the behest of his grad school advisor and long-time family friend, because “Toshinori said I needed a hobby, Kacchan. Something relaxing and repetitive but with a tangible end product. He suggested some sort of fiber craft.”

The cheery way Deku said it still plays in his brain on loop.

There was a whole explanation about crochet hooks and embroidery needles and not wanting to look at whatever he was doing too closely or something to that effect that Katsuki completely ignored.

He doesn’t give a shit what Deku does in his free time to “relax” as long as it doesn’t have anything to do with bothering him in their apartment.

Which is how Katsuki’s ended up here, loitering in front of a cute little brick shop with big picture windows and grumbling viciously under his breath.

He walks past this store every day on his way to work, but has never really taken the time to look at it directly. The little wooden sign swings back and forth in the light wind.

Spun, it’s called. Fucking ridiculous.

There are two sheep knitting on the sign and the sight of them make him grimace.

Clearly he hasn’t ever looked up when he’s power walking past it in the morning, because when he googled “knitting stores” the night before he had no fucking idea that there was one—with a five star rating no less—a 10 minute walk from their apartment building.

It’s cold as hell even though it’s only October and he’s got his chin tucked into the green chunky scarf Deku gifted him six months ago. It was the first thing he knit successfully and Katsuki had, by chance, been lying on the couch in their living room when Deku finished it.

Blubbering with joy, he pushed it into Katsuki’s hands and when Katsuki pushed it right back Deku said something absurd about how it would clash with his hair and he couldn’t wear it.

So, Katsuki wears it.

The scarf is big and warm and when he spreads it out to wrap it around his neck, it’s uneven and a little wonky. There’s a weird gap in the stitches on one end that he pokes his finger through and twists around sometimes when he’s waiting in line or on the train.

Sometimes when they sit together watching TV, Deku will knit and Katsuki will hold the yarn in his lap and unwind it as Deku goes.

He did it the first time only because the repetitive tumbling of the ball of yarn against his thigh was driving him crazy, but he’s done it every time since because of the fucking ridiculous happy anime eyes Deku turns on him whenever he does.

Whatever. It’s fine.

He’s glad, in a roundabout way, that Deku has something to focus all of his relentless energy into that isn’t his grad program or his job. Or god forbid, Katsuki himself.

Mostly because he doesn’t have to hear about it one thousand percent of the time anymore.

Plus, if Katsuki gets cool handmade shit out of it, it’s a win for the both of them.

Deku has been ranting for legitimate months about “the good yarn” that’s apparently different than the stuff he buys at the bigger craft stores, although Katsuki doesn’t know what the fuck could make it any different.

He won’t buy it though, talking himself in circles about the price of a “sweater quantity” of yarn, spending hours putting it all in his cart on weird niche yarn websites that look like they were made in the 90s and then exiting out when Katsuki stalks over to choke him out because the back and forth mumbling drives him crazy.

So Katsuki is going to fuckin’ do it for him.

He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, but he’ll figure it out.

And from what he’s gathered, old ladies are usually the type to populate stores like this, and even though he’s not particularly nice to anyone, he can fake it for an old lady for a little bit to get her to help him out.

He gears himself up, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little and blowing warm air into his cupped hands. Fuck it.

When he finally pushes into the store a bell tinkles cheerily overhead and he’s faced with two floor-to-ceiling shelves of yarn in every possible color.

It’s acutely overwhelming, in that all he really knows about yarn is that Deku does some weird shit to it with sticks and it becomes something vaguely scarf or hat shaped after a while.

There is yarn...everywhere. Shelves and shelves of it, stacked in aesthetically pleasing little piles.

How the fuck does anyone find what they need in this goddamn place?

The shop is warm and smells weirdly like fresh laundry, something sweet and a little citrusy. There’s a counter with a cash register on one side and a little back room filled with comfortable looking chairs, centered around a circular coffee table.

There are way too many plants tucked into the bay windows, far enough away from the glass as to not get cold. Tchotchkes—statues and little figurines and tiny, random items—are on what appears to be every available flat surface. Including the tops of the shelves.

It’s a lot, but it’s not unwelcoming.

Steeling himself with a deep breath, Katsuki forces himself farther into the store.

He meanders over to the closest set of shelves, dragging his hand across all the different colors of yarn. Some of them are unbelievably soft and others feel like they would be itchy as hell on skin, but he pokes and prods at all of them, eyeing the price tags and pretending like he knows what “worsted” and “DK” mean.

Deku would probably like something eye-searingly bright, like banana yellow or electric blue, maybe. Cherry red or bright green.

Something that makes normal people wince when they see it. ‘Cause he’s fucking awful like that.

Katsuki himself is immediately drawn to the muted earth tones, the heathered greys and burnt oranges and forest greens.

There are so many colors and textures and widths. Some of the yarns even look like they’re more than one color, which is fucking insane.

And Jesus, why is one goddamn ball of yarn so expensive?

He’s so out of his depth. God.

Making a full circuit around the shelves, he searches for something that screams Deku.

“Are you looking for something in particular or are you only interested in fondling every skein on my shelves?”

It takes everything Katsuki has in him not to jump straight into the air like a fucking cat.

The person speaking is decidedly not an old woman, which was the only thing tethering Katsuki to his nebulous goal of politeness.

Before he even turns around, he’s hissing, “I’m not fondling anything, thank you very fuckin’ much.”

There’s a man tucked behind the counter, one Katsuki didn’t see on his first sweep of the room. Which is a damn shame, because this motherfucker is gorgeous.

He’s pretty, wildly so. Like a goddamn Lord of the Rings elf tossed into a yarn shop, all high cheekbones and pretty eyes, with a jawline sharp enough to cut yourself on.

Katsuki can’t get a read on how long his hair is because it’s swept back by an assumingly hand knit grey beanie. From what he can tell by the inch or two of hair visible and this guy’s impressively regal widow’s peak, it’s split right down the center—red on one side and white on the left.

Fuckin’ hell. How annoying.

Katsuki already can’t stand him.

He hates a good looking motherfucker. Especially an effortlessly cool motherfucker. There’s something so aggravating about beautiful dudes, something that steers his bare minimum social niceties right off a cliff into being straight up rude.

He can’t help it, Deku is always saying he’s got an inferiority complex. This might be proof.

Oh well, not his problem.

Half ‘n half shifts at the waist, his hips pressing up against the counter where he leans against it to get a better look. Eyeing Katsuki where he stands in the middle of the store like a dickhead, he opens his pretty mouth again.

“Do you know what you need?”

Something about this guy’s tone immediately rubs him the wrong way. It isn’t...rude, exactly. It’s not really anything aside from monotone in a way that suggests inherent condescension and superiority.

Not blatantly so, but Katsuki can read between the lines. This beautiful elf jackass is assuming he’s some sort of idiot.

“Of fuckin’ course I know what I need.”

He doesn’t know what he needs. Not even remotely.

But like hell will he tell this asshole that.

“Alright, well. Let me know if you need help.”

He does not need help. Not from this guy.

“Yeah, I will not be doing that,” Katsuki mutters when the guy turns his back to him, puttering around behind the counter.

As purposefully as he can, Katsuki begins inspecting all the yarn with fake confidence. There’s gotta be something here good enough for shitty Deku and he won’t rest until he finds it.

He can feel eyes on him. They make the hair on the back of his neck prickle as they track him around the front of the store. He channels all of his energy into looking incredibly focused, looking like he knows what he’s doing when he picks up balls of yarn and puts them back down again.

After a few minutes of tense silence and Katsuki squinting at the random yardage numbers on each of the tags and muttering, “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck” to himself under his breath over and over, Store Guy eventually speaks again.

“Are you shopping for something specific?” he asks, after Katsuki has made multiple loops around the shelves of yarn that seem like they’re close to what Deku’s already been using. Fuckin’ hopefully.

Store Guy is straightening up the bowls of knitting paraphernalia next to the cash register with long, thin fingers, not even looking at Katsuki directly. The rings on both hands catch the low light of the shop and flicker.

“I’m Christmas shopping,” Katsuki mutters, forcing his eyes away from this dude’s hands. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Half ‘n half’s eyebrows rise just a bit, visible even from where he’s intently sorting what looks like dorky pins with sheep on them. “It’s October.”

“No harm in gettin’ shit done early.”

Half ‘n half hums to himself, unimpressed but making no move to verbalize it. At least, that’s how Katsuki interprets the noise.

“Do you know what your Christmas present recipient is going to make out of their yarn?”

“Fuck if I know.” Deku’s a wily one, it could be anything. “A hat, maybe. Or a scarf or something.”

In a curious sort of voice, Half ‘n half asks, “How do you know what to buy for them if you don’t know what they’re going to be making?”

“How the fuck do you have any business when you talk to people like this?” Katsuki volleys back, scowling down at a ball of wool yarn that is so fucking scratchy he can barely touch it.

Who does this guy think he is?

“I speak less.”

Jesus Christ.

“A special treat just for me then?”

Half ‘n half smirks down at the countertop, a barely-there expression that Katsuki can unfortunately see from where he’s standing. “You could refer to it as such, if you’d like.”

“Great, duly noted.”

He moves farther into a corner where two shelves meet so he can’t see the ridiculous fucking faces this bastard is making at him.

There are some horrific kelly green yarn balls in the corner that have hints of Deku energy and he picks them up to feel them. Or something. He’s got no fucking idea how he’s supposed to determine if yarn is good or not.

They don’t squish right so he puts them back down and keeps looking. God, he hates this.

Not knowing what he’s doing is one of his quickest triggers into being a dickhead. He knows this about himself, but he also knows that occasionally stepping outside of your comfort zone is critical for personal growth. Or whatever the fuck his therapist says.

Either way, he’s on edge. Pissed that he didn’t do more research before showing up here, agitated by how many options there are. Annoyed that the check out guy is hot.

Half ‘n half calls out to him in the middle of his spiral, louder than before. Presumably so Katsuki can hear him from where he’s tactically retreated behind the shelves. “What’s the last thing your recipient made?”

Katsuki takes a second to think back to the awful striped scarf Deku just finished, made from some of the least compatible colors he’s ever seen, in his relatively educated and also tasteful opinion. “An old lady scarf.”

Half ‘n half hums again and it makes Katsuki roll his eyes into the back of his head. “Are they an old lady?”

“Fuck no. They are an idiot though.”

“And they’ve made hats before too?”

With an audible grumble, Katsuki heads back toward the cash register.

Pulling his phone from his pocket and toggling to Deku’s silly little twitter account, he pulls up the most recent celebratory Finished Object tweet and tosses his phone down in front of the asshole behind the counter.

Half ‘n half makes an odd face but gently picks up his phone with his long fingers and peers down at the picture of Deku.

In it, Deku is doing double peace signs, big ass smile in place and just-finished hat tugged down to cover his eyes. He made Katsuki stand in front of him for almost a full five minutes and take multiple pictures of him from different angles that he rejected until Katsuki got fed the fuck up and pulled the hat down before taking one last picture and stalking away.

“Ah,” Half ‘n half murmurs, which means absolutely fucking nothing. He uses both of his pointer fingers to zoom in on the hat itself, like an old man.

Katsuki’s gotta fucking get out of here.

After spending way too long zoomed in on the Deku hat, he eventually looks up at Katsuki and says, “Follow me.” Then shifts from behind the counter and disappears into the shelves.

With an incredulous look at the command, Katsuki follows. Begrudgingly.

He gets a glimpse of pale hip bone when Half ‘n half stretches to reach one of the higher shelves, snagging two balls of yarn and dropping back down onto his heels.

“Here,” he says, and unceremoniously dumps them into Katsuki’s waiting hands.

The yarn is, unfortunately, pretty fucking great in terms of color scheme. Greens and teals and yellows all blending together to make something pretty nice rather than actively disgusting. It’s got Deku vibes written all over it.

“It’s self-striping,” Half ‘n half says when Katsuki looks at him, an audible note of pride in his voice. Like Katsuki fucking knows what that means.

“Fantastic,” he dismisses, stomping back toward the counter. “Ring me the fuck up so I can get out of here.”

Thankfully he abides, following behind Katsuki this time until they end up back at the counter. He slips behind it, rings twinkling as he pokes at the register.

“Do you think your recipient will want anything else? We have wool wash and stitch markers—”

Katsuki cuts the guy off before he can say anything else, “No. Just the yarn balls.”

With an almost amused expression, Half ‘n half replies, “They’re called skeins.”

“I can’t express to you how much I don’t care.”

After sliding the yarn into a brown paper bag and dropping a business card into it, he hands the abhorrent fruits of today’s labor to Katsuki.

Sure, he got Christmas shopping for the nerd done, but at what cost?

“I hope you had a great time shopping here, it very much seems like you did,” Half ‘n half says serenely. He isn’t even looking at Katsuki anymore. “Come back again. Or don’t.”

Katsuki makes the same grimacing face that his mom always yells at him for making and uses every bit of willpower he has in his body to not stick his tongue out like a six year old. It’s an effort not to, that’s for sure.

“Keep your head on a swivel, bastard.”

Half ‘n half doesn’t even look up, his chin propped lazily in one hand while he doodles something on a pad of paper in front of him with the other. “Please get out of my store.”

“Will fuckin’ do.”

He pushes the door open as hard as he can to make the bell chime wildly overhead and resolutely doesn’t look back.

As Katsuki leaves with his dumb fancy paper bag filled with disgustingly expensive yarn, he calls Ei.

He answers with a chirpy, “Good afternoon, my incredibly smart, wildly cranky best friend. What perceived social slight are you calling me to rant about today?”

All of that bullshit goes in one ear and out the other. Katsuki is already gearing the fuck up.

“It’s that thing that I hate, ya know? Where places hire stupid hip bastards with cool hair so you feel bad about yourself and buy more of their shit so you can be like them.”

“What are you talking about exactly?”

“The fuckin’ knitting store, ya know? The Deku one.”

Yesterday, they had a conversation about said knitting store.

It was mostly Katsuki viciously defending his idea of buying Deku expensive yarn for Christmas while Ei gave him stalwart support at every turn. There was a lot of talking about how knitting and doing nice things for your friends is brave and manly.

“I thought this place sold yarn?”

“It does, are you even fuckin’ listening to me?”

“I’m listening,” Ei assures, tone placating in a way that should annoy Katsuki but doesn’t. “What are you mad about again?”

“The patronizing bastard behind the counter. Acting like I don’t know shit about yarn.” He dodges a power walking salaryman and crunches the paper bag tighter in his fist. “I know shit about yarn!”

“No one said you didn’t.”

“This fuckin’ guy did. Practically. Not out loud, but I could tell he was thinking it. Looking all smug sitting back there.”

Ei hums, questioning. “So, you’re mad that he’s hot?”

“He was not hot!”

“Okay, so he was hot then,” Ei says, more to himself than to Katsuki.

“No, fuck, more like, ugh pretty. I guess?” He’s trying to weave around a bunch of preteen girls who are taking up the whole of the sidewalk, so he isn’t paying as much attention to filtering his thoughts as he should be.

Ei is practically squawking across the line at him. “Pretty!”

“Shut the fuc—” he isn’t even able to fully threaten anything before Ei’s howling “Pretty!” again, only this time even louder.

Katsuki hangs up on him and continues hoofing it down the street.

Deku cries when Katsuki gives him his Christmas present two days later.

Katsuki’s too excited to wait the next three months, his gift is just that good. It’s practically burning a hole in the brown paper bag where he shoved it under his bed as soon as he got home. He couldn’t stop glancing at it each time he was in his room after that, which is when he knew he had to give it to Deku ASAP.

Not his fault he’s all thoughtful and shit. And Deku deserves his stupid good yarn now, even if he’s a crybaby bitch about it.

The triumph he feels at the onset of Deku’s tears when he opens the paper bag is unparalleled. Katsuki is singlehandedly earning the title of Best Friend of the Year, un-fucking-doubtedly.

After all of the Deku-crying and subsequent Deku-hugging, Katsuki sits back and basks in the success of a job well done. A win across the board.

He’s won friendship overall, actually.

Good for him, he self-congratulates, it’s what he deserves.

While eating breakfast the next morning, Katsuki comes to the unfortunate and sudden realization that he’s played himself.

The one and only problem with giving Deku his Christmas present three months in advance is that now...he has no Christmas present for Deku. Which means he’s gotta buy him something else.

And this time around, Katsuki’s gotta out-do himself.

Which means...ugh.

He has to go to the yarn shop. Again.

Fuck.

Once again, he’s standing outside the fucking shop and hovering.

What are the odds that the same dude is behind the counter?

Probably not that fuckin’ high, right? Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice or whatever the hell.

Although he’s pretty sure lightning actually can and frequently does strike the same place twice.

God damnit.

Katsuki punches the door open and glares up at the bell when it tinkles far too jovially for his current mood.

The guy isn’t behind the counter but that’s because he’s standing in front of one of the shelves, long ass noodle arms reaching to the very top to replace some truly eye-searing pink yarn.

He glances at the door, voice not exactly warm but not completely monotone either. “Be right wi—oh.”

When he catches sight of Katsuki standing in the doorway, he stops what he’s doing, yarn cradled in his arms, and turns toward him. He’s still just as good looking as last time and it fucking sucks.

“It’s you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m surprised to see you in here again.”

Katsuki squints at him, preparing to be offended one way or another. “Why’re you surprised?”

“You looked a little shell shocked last time you were in here. Overwhelmed, one might say.”

There it is.

“Nobody might say anything, because I wasn’t anything,” he snaps, giving Shop Guy a full once over.

He’s wearing black jeans and a nice pale green sweater, probably hand-knit. It has those big weird knit braids on it, like the fisherman’s sweater his mom gave him for his birthday a few years ago that he wears around the holidays both because it makes his arms look fucking awesome and also because it makes his mom shut the hell up.

Katsuki could probably ask Deku what that’s called but then he’ll have to hear an hour and a half explanation about the history of it and honestly, he’s good without that.

Half ‘n half is also wearing a pair of beat up high tops to complete his stupid pretty boy look, which is even more aggravating.

“I was perfectly fine, thanks ever so much.”

“Mm.” The dismissive humming makes Katsuki vibrate with a special kind of rage. “What brings you back?”

“I need some more shit.”

What else would he be back in the damn store for?

“More shit,” Half ‘n half echoes. “Why?”

“I gave him the other stuff already. The yarn. The skeins.” Nobody can ever say that Katsuki doesn’t take corrective feedback well ever again.

There’s no beanie on top of Half ‘n half’s head this time, his bi-colored hair tucked neatly behind his ears. It gives Katsuki an unfortunately clear look of his eyebrows once again rising.

God help him, he needs the strength not to fist fight this man.

“I thought you said you were Christmas—” he starts to say, but not before Katsuki cuts him off.

“I couldn’t fuckin’ help myself! I gave it to him like, not even two days after I bought it.”

Nodding to himself, Half ‘n half says with a hint of satisfaction, “It is good yarn.”

“Irrelevant,” he immediately counters, agitated by the gratification coming off this guy in waves. “All that matters is now I’ve absolutely fucked myself and need more stuff for Christmas.”

Half ‘n half puts his pointer finger and thumb to his chin, staring off into the distance like he’s deeply thinking about Katsuki’s Christmas gift problems and trying to come up with a solution. He might actually hate this guy, regardless of how good looking he is.

“Does he have a knitting bag?” Store Guy asks eventually, after looking off into the abyss for a solid thirty seconds while Katsuki stands there and watches him like a complete knob.

“Pfft, he keeps all of his shit in his corny collection of canvas bags. Our entire place is filled with them. There are like three next to or on our couch at all times and I always have to move ‘em to sit down.”

Which he absolutely despises, he might add. No matter how many times he tells Deku to either keep his shit in his room or off the couch, it always ends up right back in Katsuki’s space.

“Ah, that’s unfortunate. But I have an idea,” Half ‘n half says, eyes brightening. “Come with me.”

Katsuki follows again, even though he doesn’t want to.

Half ‘n half leads them to a portion of the wall occupied by squat brightly colored fabric bags with drawstrings and handles.

“Knitting bags,” Half ‘n half says reverently. “Perfect for consolidating your projects and keeping everything in its place. Prevents tangling and live stitches from slipping off your needles. Also good for traveling with knitting.”

Alright, yeah. This could work.

Deku is always bitching about his stuff getting all fucked up in his totes. Crybaby.

He and Half ‘n half stand there next to each other, silently looking at all the bags until he finally asks, without looking at Katsuki, “Which color feels right?”

“That fucking horrible highlighter yellow one, unfortunately,” Katsuki replies immediately, absolutely no deliberation needed. “It matches his stupid backpack.”

“Good choice,” Half ‘n half says, leaning up on his toes to snag the bag from the shelf and handing it to Katsuki so he can look at it closer. Which he does, ‘cause he’s not going to spend his hard on money on shit that isn’t worth it.

“People put pins on them, sometimes. I think that’s really cute.”

Katsuki wants to say something about how he doesn’t give a flying fuck what this guy thinks is cute, but is too overcome with how perfect putting pins on the knitting bag is to get out anything at all.

Deku’s running out of space on his dorky pin corkboard display and carrying the bag around will give him a chance to show them off.

“Fucker likes pins, I’ll let him know.”

“Your green-haired Christmas-gift-recipient will surely like it,” Half ‘n half says, pleased. “We also have pins up at the counter if you want to take a look.”

“I saw your ugly little sheep pins last time I was here.”

He gives no indication on whether or not he wants to buy one but Half ‘n half nods like he did, weaving back toward the register.

Katsuki follows, eyes on the back of his stupid head.

Once back at the counter, Half ‘n half holds a hand out for the knitting bag and it’s all Katsuki can do to not whip it directly at him.

Snagging a sheep pin from the little bowl beside the cash register without asking him, the bastard starts ringing everything up.

Katsuki tries to mentally retreat into his brain while standing there waiting, but that doesn’t seem like a viable option when Half ‘n half starts talking again.

“How do you know him?” he asks, voice tinged with quiet curiosity.

The fuck is he talking about?

“Who?”

“Your giftee.”

Ah.

“He’s my idiot best friend,” Katsuki grumbles, before grimacing at both his honesty and how cringey saying that out loud is. “Er, one of them.”

Even worse, god.

“That’s sweet,” Half ‘n half says, a wistful sort of look on his face as he punches buttons on the ancient cash register.

“No it isn’t.”

With an elegant shrug, Half ‘n half reads him his total and gets him checked out, tucking the pin and the yellow bag into yet another brown paper bag. Katsuki’s going to throw the entire thing at Deku’s head for making him go through this again.

“Would you like a rewards member stamp card?”

“No, I sure as hell wouldn’t.”

It becomes kind of a thing.

Now that Katsuki’s paying attention, he realizes that Half ‘n half’s morning routine—opening the store, flipping the window sign decorated with bees to open, dragging the silly little chalkboard advertisement out in front of the street—times almost perfectly with his walk to the garage.

More days than not, Katsuki shuffles past as he’s putting his key into the lock or sitting— sprawled out on the sidewalk—as he doodles something asinine on the chalkboard.

Yesterday it was, “Serial killers who knit are easy to find, all you have to do is follow the patterns” which made Katsuki want to gag. Today it’s, “Knitters don’t make good drivers, they weave a lot.”

Corny.

This morning, Half ‘n half sees him coming from half a block away and takes his sweet time going back inside. He calls over his shoulder as Katsuki gets closer, like he was waiting for it.

“Good morning, rude patron.”

“Mornin’, jackass shopkeep.”

He’s wearing what Katsuki now knows—due to Deku fawning over different patterns for two hours last week—is a cable knit hat with a goofy pom pom at the top.

It looks stupid as hell. And it’s not even that cold out.

Yeah, he might be wearing his own green Deku-scarf due to the weather, but that’s nobody’s business but his own.

“Nice hat, you dweeb.”

“Thank you, I made it myself.”

Katsuki grimaces. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Then you shouldn’t have said it like one.”

It’s not even worth it to point out that he didn’t say it like one. He very much said it like an insult.

As Katsuki passes him and his dumb little shop, he snorts and says, “Whatever. Hope you have an awful day.”

“Wishing the same for you as well.”

Katsuki continues down the street and has to press a hand to the wide grin on his face.

It’s not his fault he loves a bit of banter, some good old fashioned back and forth. Or that he appreciates someone who can be just as much of a dick as he is.

And this guy really delivers.

After his fourth visit in three weeks under the guise of more Christmas gifts, Katsuki really thinks he should have gotten that goddamn rewards card.

He can’t help it, okay?

There’s something so satisfying about going into the store and verbally sparring with the beautiful idiot inside.

He can’t talk shit like this at work ‘cause the old guys there will only put up with so much even if Katsuki technically is their manager. And he’ll absolutely get fired if he razzes any of the minivan driving mothers or stiff salarymen getting their too expensive cars fixed.

Deku and Ei are both immune to the type of banter that he prefers these days anyway, their edges smoothed down by continual Katsuki-exposure. All of his other friends think it’s funny, because they’re dumb as all hell.

Half ‘n half indulges him, though. Thins his pretty pink lips and says something absolutely scathing in return when Katsuki shows up looking for a little bit of a fight.

He’s been in the shop every time he’s come.

And every time he gives Katsuki a verbal run for his money, winding him up so tightly he can’t help but pop his head into the store a week later to do it all over again.

He can’t even tell if the guy knows they’re engaging in verbal sparring or if he’s literally just like that, specifically calibrated to drive Katsuki absolutely fucking insane.

So, if he has to occasionally buy some small little thing for Deku to keep this going, it’s worth it. Plus, he’s amassed a truly generous hoard of gifts that easily tops his last idea.

Most of the things he gets he saves for Christmas, the knitting bag and the notions pouch—that was a whole goddamn thing he had to have rudely explained to him the first time Half ‘n half mentioned it—but the smaller stuff? The stitch markers, the needle end caps, the tiny cable needles for when Deku starts making the more complicated shit, that all goes right to him.

It’s not too expensive either, 500 yen here and there. Basically a cup of coffee.

And it’s for the greater good.

The greater good being Katsuki giving the best Christmas gift of all time, being an absolutely stellar roommate/begrudging best friend and buying Deku little treats, and getting to banter with the prettiest man he’s ever seen for ten minutes once a week.

At least that’s how he’s been rationalizing it to himself.

After almost a month of periodically showing up to terrorize the knitting store guy and occasionally buying something small, Katsuki finally learns his name.

By no means of his own, of course.

He doesn’t ask because he doesn’t need to know. Obviously.

He’s leaving, yet another tiny brown paper bag tucked gently into his backpack. Tossing what can be barely classified as a goodbye wave over his shoulder, he makes for the door.

“See you never, Half ‘n half.”

A blatant lie, but that’s not his fuckin’ problem.

“Wait.”

Against his better judgement, Katsuki stops, turning back to look at him.

When Half ‘n half follows up his request to wait with nothing at all aside from staring blankly at him across the store, Katsuki tolerates it for about three seconds before he sweeps his hand around in an impatient request to get on with it.

Looking vaguely off put for reasons indeterminable but most likely caused by Katsuki himself, Half ‘n half says, “My name is Todoroki.”

“Good for you,” he replies, a tiny sliver of his brain beyond pleased by the fact that he now has this information without having done anything to get it.

“The polite thing to do would be tell me your name in return.”

With a scoff, he asks, “Do I look polite to you?”

Half ‘n half—Todoroki—blatantly checks him out. A slow, careful look that sweeps up and down and back up.

It’s a good look, one that makes him warm. Makes him want to preen, just a bit.

He knows what he looks like. Knows he looks good in his work jacket, fully aware of how it emphasizes his shoulders and his arms. Knows that he looks effortlessly cool in his worn jeans and steel toed boots. His job might get him dirty most days, but he knows he’s still fucking hot shit regardless.

Cocky? Sure, you could say that. Unaware that he’s good looking? Absolutely not.

When Todoroki’s eyes settle back on his face, he makes a prim little noise that makes the tips of Katsuki’s fingers pulse. Whether it’s attraction or aggravation, he isn’t sure. They feel very similar when it comes to this annoying bastard.

“Not particularly.”

Turning to leave, he smirks over his shoulder and relishes in the way Todoroki’s eyebrows pull together in a frown. “S’what I thought.”

“Tell me your name,” he tries again, right before Katsuki goes to knock the door open with his elbow.

It sounds like a plea, tinged with just a hint of desperation.

Katsuki can’t help but indulge him, a little bit.

“Bakugou,” he answers, after a beat of charged silence.

The way Todoroki’s awful, pretty face smoothes and his mouth quirks up on one side feels like victory.

He breathes Katsuki’s name, soft in the already existing quiet of the store, and it’s more than enough to convince Katsuki he made the right choice by telling it to him.

They usually say hello to each other if they cross paths in the morning.

By say hello, he means one of them will say something wildly provoking as a greeting (Katsuki) and one of them will reply with something that sounds innocuous but resolutely isn’t (Todoroki).

It’s a fun little routine that immediately raises his blood pressure. Great way to get the morning going.

Whatever exchange they share halfway through his walk to the garage usually hypes him up so much that he speed walks the rest of the way there.

Today, Todoroki is outside hovering in the entryway of the store, high tops scuffing against the brick as he waits.

He’s wearing an unfortunately fantastic grey wool coat, long enough to brush the tops of his thighs. It’s a perfect fit, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and making him look even longer and taller than he is. With a teal pullover underneath and dark jeans, he looks good in the cold.

What an idiot.

When he gets closer, Katsuki can see that his cheeks are pink. It’s so cute it makes him scowl down at his feet.

Fuckin’ stupid.

He’s planning on walking right past him like he always does—tossing something mean over his shoulder and keeping it pushing. Business as usual.

Todoroki doesn’t let him though. Reaching out an arm to stop him, he beckons Katsuki over into the entryway by calling his name in that deep voice.

Rolling his eyes back into his head, Katsuki follows. He might’ve left for work earlier than he really needed to this morning, for no reason whatsoever. He’s got time.

When they’re both safely ensconced in the entryway and hidden from the wind, Todoroki turns to him and holds out a reusable travel mug.

The mug’s got a black and white cat on it. A cat who’s wearing a bright orange sweater and riding a bike. There’s a pumpkin in the bike basket, for fuck’s sake.

It’s the stupidest thing he’s ever seen.

Katsuki makes no move to take the travel mug from him. Todoroki shifts it even closer to him, insistent.

“Fuck’s this?”

Todoroki glances down at the travel mug in his hands, then back up at Katsuki.

“Coffee?” he tries, voice lilting up at the end.

“I’m not an idiot, Half ‘n half. I know it’s coffee.” They’re so close together he can see the little puffs of Todoroki’s breath in the cold as he exhales. “Why?”

”Why is it coffee?” He can never tell if Todoroki is truly just an empty-brained idiot or if he’s messing with him. It’s the monotone, makes it hard to tell.

Katsuki usually assumes he’s being fucked with, regardless.

Either way, Todoroki is an absolute bastard. He hates that he likes it so much.

“Why’re you giving it to me?”

Pulling his bottom lip into his mouth and nibbling, Todoroki takes a moment to consider the question. Katsuki’s eyes are unfortunately glued to his god awful mouth.

“I see you drinking things most mornings. I wanted to give you something warm.”

At the incredulous look Katsuki directs at him, Todoroki elaborates.

“You’ve been my most consistent customer for the last few weeks.” God, Katsuki absolutely does not want or need that title but he still feels victorious about earning it. “I wanted to do something nice for you in thanks. And you’re always getting coffee at that place down the street.”

He can’t stop his full body bristle, immediately salty at the assumption. “I can afford my own fuckin’ coffee.”

“Never said you couldn’t.”

With chilly hands, Todoroki reaches out and attempts to wrap Katsuki’s own fingers around the travel mug. Katsuki slaps his hands away, ‘cause he isn’t going down without a fight, no matter what the fight’s about.

Todoroki makes a huffy, exasperated little noise that has victory bells going off in Katsuki’s terrible brain. He kinda loves it when Todoroki gets all pissy, when Katsuki can drag visible aggravation out of him.

That’s definitely a personal character flaw, but Todoroki doesn’t seem to mind much overall.

“Just take it, Bakugou.”

His name in Todoroki’s mouth sounds good. Smooth. Like all the vowels and consonants are well taken care of.

He takes the ugly travel mug.

As he slides the little piece of plastic away from the mouth of the mug and takes a decidedly rude slurping sip, Todoroki beams at him—or makes the bare minimum facial expression that Katsuki now knows is the equivalent to beaming—and says, “Thank you.” like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

All evident, bone deep satisfaction. Clear on his face and in his sweet little smile. Like he got exactly what he wanted out of this exchange.

He probably did, but fuck if Katsuki knows what that is.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ll bring you the mug later.”

“Yeah,” Todoroki hums, reaching out to adjust the green Deku-scarf around Katsuki’s neck. When he finishes whatever infinitesimal scarf adjusting he’s decided he needs to do, he pats a long fingered hand against Katsuki’s chest. “Later.”

Jesus Christ.

He turns on his heel and practically sprints the few blocks to the garage, simply to feel anything other than whatever the hell that just was.

Katsuki’s absolutely a huge fucking idiot—fuck off, he knows—so when he starts stopping by the shop some evenings after leaving work, it doesn’t really come as a surprise to anyone involved.

The garage is warm even in the winter but the walk to and from it always leaves him shivering, power walking as fast as he can back to their apartment. The yarn shop is only a few block trek from the garage, smack dab in the middle of his route home.

So yeah, he goes inside sometimes.

The lights are always on and it’s warm, so warm. It smells good and sometimes there are homemade cookies set out on the round table in the back.

Who the hell is he to turn down homemade cookies?

Plus, it’s on his way. He’s holding himself to that explanation actually—it’s practical. Stopping halfway makes sense.

And stupid Todoroki is always there.

It’s just...easy. To poke his head in and say something inflammatory.

To see Todoroki go from slumped over the counter doodling to sitting up straight, eyes lit up at the sight of him.

Feels good, in a way he knows is absolutely fucking ridiculous.

It’s become an integral part of his day, something he looks forward to when he flops out of bed and trudges to work in the frigid temperatures every morning.

He’s entirely self-sufficient and always has been—he doesn’t need anything he can’t obtain or achieve himself and he refuses to owe anyone anything.

He’s got his job—challenging and interesting and allowing him to work with his hands. There’s dumbass Deku at home, his parents steady in the peripheral, Ei a phone call and a train ride away, and all of his other friends within texting distance. He’s set. It’s fine.

He isn’t lacking for anything.

But he likes fucking around with Todoroki, is the thing. Sitting in the shop and shooting shit and talking about fuck all nothing. Raising his own blood pressure when Todoroki says something stupid and Katsuki can’t leave it alone.

And seeking something out for himself makes all the difference.

His life is good already ‘cause he’s worked hard as fuck to make it that way, but he won’t deny himself things that he looks forward to.

Even if what he looks forward to is a tall pretty boy jackass who knits and helps old women (and now, Katsuki) buy yarn for a living.

So, yeah. Stopping by the shop one or two times every week after work is part of his routine now. To keep his wallet happy he’s scaled back on buying things, but Todoroki doesn’t seem to care.

Katsuki always washes his hands real good before leaving the garage, just in case he touches any yarn. Sometimes he can be bribed into helping stock shelves or open new inventory while Todoroki fucks around with a clipboard, pens tucked behind both ears.

Getting grease on anything Todoroki’s trying to sell is way more of an asshole move than he’s comfortable with.

He also might be coming to the unfortunate realization that this might be something more than just enjoying the banter.

Doing his best to ignore it, though.

Tonight, they’re sitting in the comfortable chairs that surround the circular table ‘cause no one has come inside the shop in the last fifteen minutes, Todoroki with a leg tucked under him and Katsuki with both of his feet kicked up on the chair next to him.

Currently, Todoroki is in the middle of knitting black fingerless gloves for one of his older brothers. The one who’s the frontman of some shitty metal band Katsuki’s never heard of, not the pediatrician.

They’re fingerless because apparently this brother won’t wear anything else and Todoroki doesn’t want him to get cold.

The shop is quiet, nice. Soft piano covers of pop music play over the tinny speakers, because Todoroki is a little weirdo.

Katsuki breaks the silence with a question he’s been thinking about since the second time he showed up at the shop and Todoroki was still the only one inside.

“So, what’s your deal?” He’s curious, so curious. Unfortunately. “You’re here all the fucking time. You gotta live close, yeah?”

Todoroki doesn’t stop knitting, but cuts a quick glance up at him, humming. “I live with my mom, in the apartment upstairs actually.”

Katsuki scoffs but files all of that information into his brain to reflect on later. “Momma’s boy, eh?”

“You could say that, I guess.”

“I did say that, no guessing about it.”

He watches as Todoroki knits, the tiny repetitive motion so practiced it looks like he isn’t even thinking about doing it. He probably isn’t, honestly. It’s hypnotizing, the way the needles rock back and forth, the dark yarn looped around Todoroki’s pale fingers.

Normally Katsuki can’t fucking stand repeated noises, deeply agitated by pen tapping and chip crunching and the brutal torture of their downstairs neighbor not changing their smoke alarm batteries quickly enough. There’s something about the soft clicking of Todoroki’s needles that’s almost soothing though.

It layers over the piano music and the metronome of Todoroki’s breathing, an odd comfort.

Something about it just kinda makes sense, in this space.

Todoroki keeps talking, offering an explanation that Katsuki didn’t directly ask for but doesn’t mind at all.

“She opened the store over twenty years ago, a couple years after I was born,” he says, stopping to scribble down something in the little notebook that lives in his knitting bag. He’s got one like the yellow bag Katsuki got for Deku, but it’s royal blue with a single pin on it.

The one solitary pin is a weird black and white cat head with a stupid little expression that is so mind numbingly dumb and Todoroki-like that Katsuki can’t even stand looking at it.

“She’s the one who taught me how to knit. My older brothers didn’t really like it and my sister tried on and off for a few years, but my mom showed me how and I haven’t stopped since.”

Todoroki hums quietly in thought, one hand delicately holding his knitting and the other still pressing his pen to paper.

“It’s something to do with my hands, but that’s only part of it. I like making things for people. Giving them a functional, wearable item that only exists because I constructed it with thousands of tiny parts.”

Katsuki says nothing, simply watches the way Todoroki drifts somewhere else for a few seconds, hands still.

“I’m not always good with words, but it’s one of the easiest ways to show the people I love that I care about them. Plus, I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

Todoroki glances at him, cheeks pink and mouth a gentle curve.

He can’t help but echo Todoroki’s smile, his mouth moving against his will.

Eventually, Todoroki puts his pen down and returns to his knitting, the rhythmic motion and clicking starting right back up. “Plus, I’m the only one that wanted to keep the store.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“My mom didn’t want to, or couldn’t really, run the shop anymore. I’m the only one who wanted it.”

Staying quiet, Katsuki props his chin up on one of his palms and watches as Todoroki picks his needles back up, the thin black yarn stark against his pale hands.

“I didn’t want it to be sold, you know? This piece of my childhood and my mother’s identity.” Like an afterthought, he adds, “My siblings all have jobs, but I was just kind of floating around after I graduated.”

Katsuki gets that, he thinks. Wanting to keep close the tangible memories of those closest to you. Even though his mom can be loud and incredibly abrasive, there are traditions and experiences he has with his parents that he wouldn’t trade for anything and still holds tight to his chest.

“S’cool that you kept it in your family.”

“You think?” Todoroki looks genuinely curious about his answer, quietly seeking Katsuki’s approval. It makes something low in him warm, the tips of his fingers pulsing in time with his heart.

“Yeah. It’s cool. Real cool.”

Tucking a smile into the collar of his hoodie, he turns Katsuki’s own question back at him.

“You know what I do. What do you do?”

“I’m a mechanic,” he says, eyes still caught on the gentle rocking of Todoroki’s hands until he forcibly moves them to his face. “Work at the garage a few blocks from here.”

Todoroki’s eyes go big, round and interested.

Helpless in the face of that look, Katsuki offers even more information up with little to no wheedling or nudging.

“Technically I’m the shop manager so I’m supposed to be doing less of the goddamn actual work and more of the supervising, but all the chucklefucks under me can barely keep their heads out of their asses, so I still do some of the repairs myself.”

“Oh.” The interested look on Todoroki’s face melts into one Katsuki hasn’t seen before, one edged with a hint of mischief. Blatantly up to no good. It makes Katsuki’s blood sing.

Sly in an unassuming way only Todoroki can pull off, he adds, “So, you’re good with your hands?”

The blatant corniness of it makes Katsuki huff out a laugh. He catches the way that Todoroki smiles down at his knitting, self-satisfied.

“You are too, idiot. We both are. Just in different ways, is all.”

“Hm,” Todoroki hums, considering. “I like that.”

“Figured you would.”

When Katsuki busts into the store a few days later, Todoroki is posted up behind the counter with a cat in his lap.

It takes a few seconds of Katsuki squinting at the literal actual cat before he realizes what exactly it is.

Forgoing any sort of greeting, he points at the orange tabby where it’s curled into a furry ball on Todoroki’s thighs and asks, “What the hell is that?”

Todoroki looks down, like he’s verifying what’s actually in his lap before he replies. ‘Cause he’s the biggest idiot Katsuki’s ever met.

“My cat.”

“Since when?”

Tilting his head to the side, he looks up at Katsuki with those ridiculous mismatched eyes. “Since...always?”

“What?”

“He’s been my cat for—”

“No, dumbass! Since when have you had a cat in here?”

Giving Katsuki a look like he thinks he might be legitimately unwell, Todoroki says, “Also...since always.”

“What? He’s been in the shop this whole time?”

That can’t be real. He would have noticed a live cat in the shop he’s been spending an hour or two in every few days for legitimate weeks. He’s not blind.

He’s got great long distance vision and perfect spatial awareness, actually.

Todoroki looks at him like he’s an idiot. It’s all Katsuki can do not to reach across the counter, grab him by the shoulders, and shake him a little bit.

He doesn’t, because of the aforementioned cat in Todoroki’s lap. But he wants to.

God, does he want to.

Todoroki continues, unaware of how close he’s come to almost-shaken, “Sometimes he goes back upstairs to eat or to take a nap away from customers when it gets loud down here, but he’s usually lurking around the shop somewhere.”

At the unimpressed look on Katsuki’s face, he offers an explanation, “He has a cat door. I lock it at night so he can’t escape.”

Like that’s what he was making the face at.

“Why have I never seen him before?”

“Bakugou, I hate to be the bearer of bad news.” With a look that Todoroki must think is appropriately sympathetic but is actually just a pale imitation, he continues, “But you are very loud.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what I said.”

“You saying I’m loud?”

“You are loud. It’s not an opinion, simply an objective fact.”

“An objective fact? Fuck off, Half ‘n half.”

He’s gearing up for a long winded rant when Todoroki cuts him off, his voice almost shy, “I like it.”

Katsuki’s mouth clicks shut.

What the hell?

“Huh?”

“Sometimes the shop gets quiet,” Todoroki murmurs, elegantly shrugging one of his shoulders. Nobody should be able to shrug elegantly. What a bastard. “I like that you come here.”

Christ almighty, does that knock him on his ass.

He’s just about to open his dumb mouth and ask a sickeningly hopeful, “You do?” when Todoroki keeps going.

“You make the shop livelier. And you make me not so lonely. The past few weeks with you stopping by have been incredibly enjoyable.”

The honesty he speaks with is foundation shaking. So easy, to say exactly what he feels. To share what he’s thinking. It simultaneously makes Katsuki embarrassed as all hell and wildly envious of how effortless it is for him.

“I—good. I don’t want you to be fuckin’ lonely.”

With a gentle curve of a smile bending his mouth, Todoroki looks at him from across the counter.

“I’m not, so much. Anymore.”

Katsuki ends up at the weekly Stitch ‘n Bitch by no desire of his own.

He worked late, bursting out the doors of the back office well past the time the sun had started to dip below the horizon.

His Deku-scarf is choking him, wrapped too tight around his neck from where he quickly put it on before hightailing it out of the garage.

The shop looks warm from the street, yellow light spilling out onto the sidewalk in big, stretching squares.

He could go home. In fact, he should go home.

Usually he stops by on a different day, but tonight he’s cold and he’s tired and he wants to talk shit with Todoroki about all the terrible people he has to interact with every day. And maybe hear his god awful takes about whatever weird shit he wants to talk about, ‘cause most of the time Katsuki indulges him.

Fuck it, he’s going in.

Katsuki sends a text to Deku telling him he’s on his own for dinner and slips inside.

He’s expecting quiet. Expecting Todoroki behind the counter with whatever project he’s working on, maybe a book. The cat in his lap and a mug of tea leaving condensation rings on the countertop, probably.

He absolutely isn’t expecting a room full of old ladies circled around the coffee table and posted up in all the comfortable chairs.

There are just…so many old ladies inside. Like an outrageous amount of old ladies.

More people than he’s ever seen inside the store at once, honestly.

When he looks closer, he sees a few younger ladies mixed in too, along with a fuck off huge beefy guy sat at the far side of the table that has him doing a double take.

Todoroki is behind the counter, back to the store and messing around with god knows what.

Avoiding direct eye contact with any of the mysterious old ladies, he darts between the shelves toward the register.

Sidling over to Todoroki, he asks, voice low, “What the fuck is all this?”

At the sound of his voice, Todoroki turns, a small smile already on his face. The sight of it knocks the breath right out of him.

“It’s Tuesday.”

“Yeah, and? Tuesday happens every week, dipshit.”

“It’s Stitch ‘n Bitch,” he replies, like that makes any sense at all.

“What in the everloving hell are you talking about?”

“Stitch ‘n Bitch,” Todoroki says, again. Like him saying it another time only slower is going to magically help Katsuki understand the absolute nonsensical shit he’s saying.

“Yes, thank you, you bastard. Repeating it really helps.”

Sensing Katsuki’s rising agitation, Todoroki calmly elaborates.

“Every Tuesday, anyone who wants to come can come to the shop to sit and knit. People talk, sometimes they bring snacks.” Tucking his loose red hair behind his ear—no beanie or ponytail tonight—he looks at him, his mouth curved into a half smile that feels a little bit like a fist tightening around Katsuki’s heart. “It’s usually the same group of people, but sometimes new faces show up. Like you.”

Grimacing and rubbing at his chest, he shoots back without thinking, “I’m not showing up to shit.”

“You’re here on a Tuesday, aren’t you?” Todoroki points out, all calm and cool and collected. There’s a hint of mirth on his face that has Katsuki wanting to put his own face in his hands and yell into them. “It’s Stitch n’ Bitch night.”

Katsuki’s a few seconds away from working himself up into a legitimate tizzy at Todoroki’s ass backwards logic when the idiot himself cuts it off by saying, “You can come sit with me behind the counter.”

It’s the first time he’s been invited back there and it feels like an absolute win, even if he hates himself for thinking so.

Dragging a chair next to his stool, Todoroki pats it gently and looks over at Katsuki expectatnly.

What? He thinks Katsuki is going to sit there just because Todoroki beckoned him like a dog?

Absolutely not.

For the contrarian sake of it, he shoulders past Todoroki and sits down on the stool.

Todoroki sinks into the chair next to him, completely unbothered by his pettiness.

They look out at the group of people in silence, the din of their layered conversations unexpected in the typical quiet of the shop but not completely unpleasant.

“This happens every week?” Katsuki asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

He’s never heard of a Stitch ‘n Bitch, but it seems like the exact type of weird fuckery Todoroki would be into, undoubtedly.

“Mhm. A lot of them are good friends and most of them have been coming for years. A few of them since I was a kid. Maybe even before that.”

Katsuki doesn’t want to say it’s cool, ‘cause a group of old ladies and one huge random dude knitting around a table every week isn’t exactly cool, but it is nice.

Verbalizing that thought out loud is surprisingly easy. “Kinda nice, huh?”

Todoroki looks over at him, his expression soft, edged with a hint of pleasant surprise.

Katsuki really fucking likes seeing it on his face.

God damnit.

“Yeah, I know a lot about their lives,” Todoroki answers, turning back to look at the old ladies gathered in his shop. “They also know a good deal about mine, even though it isn’t particularly interesting.”

Katsuki doubts that, but says nothing. Putting his elbows on the counter, he leans forward to see everyone better without seeming too interested.

Gesturing with his head, he asks, “Who’s the big baldy?”

Todoroki gives him a look. Katsuki smiles at him with teeth and it only increases the potency.

“That’s Inasa,” he replies tartly. “His grandma is the one across the table, his mom comes sometimes, too. They’re a lovely family, a bit loud though.”

The expression Todoroki makes as he says that—a sort of lightly aggrieved raising of his eyebrows—has Katsuki smiling into his palm.

Bumping his shoulder against Todoroki’s, he asks, “Can he knit with those big meaty claws?”

“He only learned recently but he’s making good progress.”

“I’ll show you making good progress.”

Todoroki’s nose wrinkles up, but he’s still smiling a little. “Please be quiet.”

“Under no circumstances will I do what you say, you bastard.”

They spend Stitch ‘n Bitch night together behind the counter.

Every once in a while, an old lady will call Todoroki’s name and beckon him over. Each time he goes willingly, stooping down next to their chairs and leaning in close to hear, to answer whatever questions they have.

Katsuki watches him orbit around the store, takes careful note of the way he takes special care of the people inside of it. Correcting hand placements, reading out patterns to the old ladies who have trouble seeing, filling glasses of water and putting little cookies on plates. Making sure everyone in this space is well taken care of.

Todoroki calls all of the old ladies baachan, so Katsuki doesn’t end up learning a single goddamn name aside from the huge hulking dude with his grandma.

The whole thing is so heartbreakingly sweet that the fact that he kinda loves it—loves seeing Todoroki in his element—makes him want to gag.

He keeps his mouth shut, though.

Doesn’t rag on Todoroki for doting on these old ladies or for hosting a night where they all get together and gossip about their grandchildren, all of whom Todoroki seems to know.

Katsuki sits behind the counter and waits for Todoroki to come back to sit beside him, stupidly pleased each time he does.

At the end of the night, he stays to help clean up even though he’s reassured repeatedly that he doesn’t have to. Stacking cups and plates and righting chairs, he listens to Todoroki hum something quiet under his breath while he does his end of the day paperwork.

Before he leaves, Todoroki presses a styrofoam cup of tea into his hands to “keep him warm on the walk home” and thanks him for all his help.

Like Katsuki would do a goddamn thing he didn’t want to do. Like he would have stayed all night if he didn’t want to.

Like he wouldn’t do whatever Todoroki asked, or didn’t ask but seemed like he needed.

When Todoroki asks if he’ll come to Stitch ‘n Bitch next week, he doesn’t say no.

The first time they eat dinner together is Todoroki’s fault.

Like that’s surprising.

Most things are.

Katsuki’s kicking around the store, like always. Todoroki’s sitting on his little stool behind the counter, bent at a ninety degree angle with his face pressed to the top of it, arms spread across the length.

He looks stupid as all hell but Katsuki can’t help but watch the way his shoulders rise with his gentle breathing.

It’s always like this—Todoroki doing something normal as fuck and Katsuki watching, watching, watching.

Makes him mad as all get out, but it’s not like he can stop. He isn’t even sure if he wants to stop.

“I’m hungry,” Todoroki mutters from where his face is smushed against the counter.

With a snort, Katsuki tells him, “Sucks for you.”

“It does suck for me. It sucks for me very much.”

“A tragedy, really.”

After a few seconds, Todoroki pops his head up and looks over at Katsuki, his eyes wide. He can practically see the lightbulb hovering over his head.

“I can’t leave,” he starts, his voice careful, “but you could.”

The pouty face he’s making is ridiculous. Incredibly ineffective. So...awful.

Katsuki will not bend to it. He will not be swayed by a pretty face.

“I’ll give you money if you go pick us up something to eat,” Todoroki adds, his puppy dog eyes getting even bigger.

Fuck.

“Fuck!” he says, stomping over to the counter. “Fine! Place an order somewhere and I’ll go get it, you dumbass.”

The pleased look on Todoroki’s face makes it worth it and the way he hums around bites of noodles thirty minutes later when Katsuki treks back with their food is even more so.

They talk shit over dinner, making fun of each other and discussing their days.

It becomes a thing, because of course it does. Sometimes Todoroki orders stuff to the store and sometimes Katsuki goes out to pick things up.

Occasionally, when he’s got the time, he’ll cook and bring leftovers for the two of them the next day. Todoroki is always appropriately complimentary, showering him with praise in a way Katsuki knows he shouldn’t tolerate but can’t help but enjoy.

Food is just another piece added to their already weird little routine. Eating together, hanging around the shop, arguing about nothing.

Spending time together in this comfortable, warm space that Todoroki’s mom created and Todoroki continues to care for.

Some nights he gets a free meal out of it, that’s why he sticks around.

At least that’s the excuse he’s failing to convince himself into believing.

Todoroki gives him things, sometimes. Small bits and bobs for Deku.

Things he probably should pay for but doesn’t.

Things to add to the Christmas gift pile or to give to Deku directly, for assistance with whatever he’s working on at the time.

Occasionally it’s yarn from the sale shelf, random skeins that have been sitting around for too long that Todoroki needs out of the way before he can get more inventory in. He keeps back the colorways he thinks Deku will like, guided by Katsuki’s descriptions of what he buys for himself and how he reacts to certain types of yarn alone.

Katsuki keeps Todoroki updated on what his buffoon of a roommate and best friend is working on every week, mostly because Deku talks incessantly and it all has to go somewhere.

The ruse is up when he comes home from the shop with three skeins of kinda ugly purple cotton yarn and frisbees the bag at Deku’s stupid head. He’s taking up the entirety of their kitchen table with stacks of paper and notebooks half-filled with his chicken scratch scrawl.

Deku peeks inside the bag, pulls the yarn out, looks down at it for a beat, then squints over at Katsuki where he’s pulling the pots and pans he’s going to need for dinner.

Fuck.

That expression doesn’t bode well.

“Hey Kacchan, where are you getting all this stuff from?”

Oh hell no. Absolutely not.

“None of your business.”

Deku’s got that horribly specific look on his face, the knowing one where he can sense Katsuki is keeping something from him and he’s about to find out what it is by any means necessary.

“Where’s the yarn coming from?”

If he avoids this conversation completely, he knows Deku will only try even harder for even longer. It’s best to give him the bare minimum of information necessary and then pretend like he strong-armed it out of Katsuki.

Dropping his favorite pan on the stovetop with more force than necessary, he mutters, “There’s a shop, okay? Fuck off.”

“A shop you’ve been going to more than once a week for the last few months?”

“It’s a shop! I’m a customer! What more do ya want me to say?”

“Why do you keep going?” Great question, he asks himself the same one every fucking time he goes. “You definitely have more than enough Christmas presents for me stocked up at this point. Not that I’m complaining.”

There’s a silence between them that lasts a few beats, one that’s far from comfortable.

Katsuki is going to have to...reveal something here, to get Deku off his back.

Fuck it, might as well.

“There’s a guy.”

Deku’s eyes go big, round and green like lily pads. Katsuki can practically see his own reflection in them. Jesus.

“A guy?”

“A guy, you bastard.”

“A guy!” Deku repeats, only this time he’s practically shouting, clapping his hands in excitement.

“Jesus Christ, yes! A guy! You never heard of a guy before?”

After he cooks himself (and Deku, begrudgingly) something edible to eat, they sit next to each other on the couch to start their nightly reality TV ritual.

Of course, Deku ruins it.

“Take me.”

“What.” Once in a blue moon, he misses the Deku of old. The Deku who would never even dream of demanding shit from him and wouldn’t ever badger him relentlessly until he folded like a wet house of cards. “Absolutely fuckin’ not.”

He doesn’t want to say something incriminating like “this is my yarn shop guy, find your own” but the thought forcefully presses against his teeth.

He clenches his jaw so nothing comes out.

“Kacchan,” Deku pleads, borderline desperate. He’s such a little freak. “Take me to the shop with the guy.”

“Drop dead.”

“Please,” he whines again, folding his hands together in a pantomime of begging while he shuffles on his knees to Katsuki’s side of the couch.

“No, you jackass.” With a palm to his entire face, he pushes and doesn’t even feel guilty when Deku loses his balance and tips off the couch. “Leave me alone.”

He’ll take Deku to Todoroki’s store over his goddamn dead body.

“Oh, this place is beautiful!” is the first thing Deku says when Katsuki brings him to Spun.

He’s standing in the entry way between the first two yarn walls and spinning in stunned circles, arms spread wide like he’s in the fucking Sound of Music. Childish as fuck but the exact response Katsuki expected.

Deku is nothing if not predictable.

Todoroki is tucked back in his checkout counter lair like an extremely dumb, good looking dragon. The tiniest pair of socks Katsuki has ever seen are spread out in front of him, one still in the process of being knit. He’s been working on them for the last week or so, for his sister’s new baby.

They’re a pale shade of green, like ripe pears, because Todoroki doesn’t believe in “prescribing colors to gender” or whatever the hell he said a few days ago.

Katsuki’s never cooed in his goddamn life and he isn’t about to start now, but looking at those itty bitty socks has something inside of him melting.

Todoroki waves when he sees Katsuki, silver rings glinting in the light. He tilts his head and quirks his red eyebrow when he sees Deku, an unspoken question that Katsuki can interpret so easily it stuns him.

All he can do in response is shake his head and let this whole thing play out however it’s going to.

“You’re beautiful too!” Deku chirps as he comes to a stop, rocking back on his heels in front of the checkout counter.

“Jesus Deku, chill maybe?” Katsuki grumbles. “Stop acting like you’ve never been out in public before.”

Deku shrugs and turns his huge green eyes on Todoroki, whose whole face pinks up in response—which Katsuki’s never seen happen before but resolutely enjoys.

“Ah, thank you?”

With a smile so big you can practically see all his teeth, Deku says, “Welcome.”

“You’re Deku?” Todoroki asks, his long fingers delicate on the countertop. Katsuki wants to reach out and tangle their fingers together, something he’s never even thought about before right fucking now. In front of goddamn Deku.

This is his own personal hell, actually.

“Midoriya’s good, actually!”

Todoroki repeats it to himself, before nodding determinedly.

“Bakugou has told me a lot about you.”

Deku immediately turns to look at him, face alight with poorly restrained joy at being mentioned. Katsuki audibly gags at the look on Deku’s face, once again using his whole palm to push his big ass broccoli head away from him.

Rocking with the motion, Deku turns back to Todoroki and smiles. “Oh yeah? Nothing good, I can assume.”

“He mentioned you’re trying your hand at brioche knitting,” Todoroki says, typically monotone voice lilting upwards in an attempt at small talk. There’s some real interest on his face too. Great. “Is it going well?”

Deku bites at his bottom lip for a beat, then admits, “I’m actually having a bit of trouble, I’m not doing it right but I can’t figure out where exactly the problem is, exactly. It’s frustrating.”

Todoroki nods, like he expected this.

“Brioche is hard. Did you bring your knitting?” At the bobblehead nod Deku directs at him, he quietly says, “I can take a look at it, if you’d like.”

Katsuki tunes them out, huffing when Todoroki beckons Deku behind the counter to get a closer look at what he’s knitting.

If he’s jealous that it took actual months for Todoroki to invite him behind the counter and not even five minutes for Deku to get back there, that’s his own problem. And he isn’t going to let anyone know about it.

He slumps in one of the comfy chairs around the coffee table and covertly watches Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb turn the afternoon into an impromptu knitting lesson. Their voices layer over each other, Deku’s bee-buzz frenetic questioning a direct contrast to the low, calm way Todoroki speaks.

Slumped at the table, he plays on his phone and basks in the warm glow of the shop. After a while, Todoroki’s orange tabby slinks along the edge of the room. They make eye contact and Katsuki holds still, making no sudden movements.

The cat (Purl, who Katsuki refuses to call by his given name out loud ‘cause Todoroki is the biggest idiot he’s ever met and apparently couldn’t think of a name not directly related to his job and hobby) meanders closer, stopping to sniff at his boots before twining his body between Katsuki’s legs. Like a figure eight, he does it over and over and over, purring loud as hell.

Orange hair is absolutely going to get all over his black pants but he can’t even pretend to be mad.

The cat doesn’t seem to like him much, bolting upstairs from where he’s curled in Todoroki’s lap or prowling around the shelves at Katsuki’s typically boisterous arrival.

He’s been trying not to take it personally—he knows he’s loud and brash and occupies space in a way that might not always be appealing to people, let alone animals—but he wants Todoroki’s cat to like him. So he’s not going to destroy whatever chance this might be.

Slowly lowering his hand, he gently scratches at Purl’s head, trying not to celebrate too obviously when he presses his entire face into the palm of Katsuki’s hand and purrs louder.

Purl pulls back a bit, looking at Katsuki with his big green eyes, then jumps easily onto his knees.

Holy shit.

This might be the best day ever.

Doing that cat thing where he walks around in circles to wind himself into the tightest cat ball possible, Purl plops himself on Katsuki’s thighs and immediately falls asleep.

At first, he tries not to move too much, as to not disturb the highly selective cat who has finally chosen him. Then he realizes Purl couldn’t give a fuck about what he does and slumps back for maximum comfort.

With the cat in his lap and his two nerd friends doing nerdy fiber craft things, he leans back in his chair and cradles the back of his head in his palms.

He’s incredibly relaxed and it’s undeniable.

There are worse things he could be doing.

Probably.

After their introduction, Deku makes it an incredibly annoying point to keep in touch with Todoroki.

They exchange numbers and—because he was put on this earth to annoy and cause suffering for Katsuki personally at every turn—Deku makes a group chat with the three of them almost immediately.

Like, while they’re still standing in the store that first day, immediately.

It’s fine, talking to the two of them in one place.

Alright, even. Most of the time.

Todoroki mollifies some of Deku’s knitting intensity, helpfully taking the heat off Katsuki with regards to the whole hyperfixation thing.

They’re both really into it and all Katsuki has to do is exclamation point react to whatever they send in the group chat, sometimes replying “cool” or “sounds great, losers” if he’s feeling spicy.

On the weekends they’re both free at the same time, he and Deku drop by to see what Todoroki is up to. A quick visit turns into mornings that blend seamlessly into entire afternoons spent in the shop.

Lazy hours that stretch long, all three of them at the circular coffee table, Katsuki surrounded by yarn and needles and two of the biggest idiots he’s ever met. And a cat.

Todoroki and Deku get along like a house on fire, which at once should’ve been expected and also annoys Katsuki to no end.

It’s good.

Katsuki hates admitting it, but it’s real good.

“Here,” Todoroki mutters one weekend afternoon, pressing something soft and bright into Katsuki’s hands the second he stops at the counter. “I made these for you.”

“Hah?”

When he looks down at his palms, there sits orange knit fabric all rolled up.

With gentle hands, he unrolls it to reveal two knit socks. Orange, his favorite color. The toes and heels and cuffs are red, a deep red.

He’d take a chance and say it’s a color similar to his own eyes.

What the hell?

With his mind moving frantically in six different directions, he does what he always does and falls back on being a jackass.

“How did you know what size to make them, you freak?”

“I asked Midoriya.”

“That’s…”

“Sweet? Charming? Dedicated to the cause?”

“I was gonna say creepy.”

“Shut up and take the socks, Bakugou.”

He takes the socks.

Unable to stop the grin cutting across his face, he sees it mirrored across Todoroki’s and knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that even if he can’t actively bring himself to say thank you, Todoroki knows he is.

They’re warm, the socks. Soft.

Bright orange, a little brighter than he’d normally go for in terms of clothing, but a color he likes all the same.

He wears them at home, too afraid to put them on under his work boots in case they get fucked up or he gets oil on them or something.

As payback for the socks, Katsuki makes Todoroki dinner.

No more takeout. He’s putting his foot down.

His orange-sock-clad foot.

After work on a Thursday, he ducks into a grocery store on the way to the shop.

By the time he gets there, there’s barely fifteen minutes until closing. When he shuffles in with grocery bags in each hand, Todoroki’s eyebrows go up in a way that, even a few weeks ago, would have made Katsuki bristle immediately.

Now he ignores it, calling out across the store.

“I need access to your kitchen, fucker.”

“Pardon me?”

“Lemme upstairs to use your kitchen, Half ‘n half.”

“For what?”

Hefting both of the grocery bags up to eye level, he says, ”I’m making dinner.”

“Dinner for who?”

“Us, you dumbass. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Todoroki tilts his head, the white hair on his right side coming untucked from behind his ear and falling in a dainty sheet around his face. “You’re making dinner. For us.”

“Yes, dinner. For us. No more takeout. Keep up, dickpunch.”

“Alright,” he says, like once he got over the initial surprise he’s willing to do whatever weird shit Katsuki asks. “I can close the shop a little early today.”

The thought is a comfort, oddly enough.

Todoroki goes through the motions of closing the store—flipping the open sign to closed, emotionally conning Katsuki into tidying up with him, turning the lights off, and pspspsp-ing at Purl until he trots up the stairs after the two of them.

As he’s led through the door of the upstairs apartment, Katsuki looks around, trying not to be blatant about how curious he is.

It’s both exactly how he expected it to be and not at all, a mirror of the shop downstairs in that it’s comfortable, homey. Plants and mismatched art on the walls and comfortable knit blankets strewn across a comfortable-looking L-shaped couch.

He can see the wisps of Todoroki everywhere, knickknacks and tchochkes he’s mentioned loving nestled on flat surfaces. A Pusheen plush on the couch and another smaller one tucked into Purl’s cat bed.

Hints of what Katsuki assumes is Todoroki’s mother’s influence—watercolor paintings on the walls and a vase of flowers on a side table, a purple-y knitting bag next to Todoroki’s blue one on the coffee table.

Todoroki catches his eye, his voice gentle in the quiet when he says, “My mom is with my sister tonight, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Pffft.

“‘M not worried.”

Setting up shop in Todoroki’s kitchen, he’s pleasantly surprised by how well stocked their spice cabinet is. And by the well-loved and well-taken care of knife set. He assumes this has everything to do with Todoroki’s mom and nothing to do with him, judging by his takeout propensities.

He cooks in a kitchen that isn’t his, Todoroki’s mismatched eyes like spotlights on his back.

They talk about their days, about nothing, bantering about knife skills when Todoroki asks how he can help and Katsuki makes the mistake of letting him chop veggies. For having great fine motor skills in the fiber craft area, Todoroki can’t use a knife for shit.

When Katsuki finishes, he plates everything and lets Todoroki set everything up at the tiny kitchen table. The chairs don’t match and he kinda loves it.

Todoroki hums complimentarily at the first bite, stroking Katsuki’s cooking ego like he always does whenever he gets a taste of anything he makes.

They do the dishes together, Todoroki washing while Katsuki dries, their hips pressed together at the sink.

Settling on the couch, they watch mindless TV together while Todoroki works on a pale yellow lace shawl for his sister, pulling it out of his bag on the coffee table and handing Katsuki the pattern. When he occasionally asks what’s next, Katsuki reads it to him to the best of his abilities.

It’s wildly intricate lace work, delicate and finely spun. Katsuki can’t look away from Todoroki’s hands.

He loses track of how, but the conversation gets heavy, the two of them sitting on the couch facing each other and ignoring the TV.

Todoroki sits with his knees pulled up, knitting momentarily forgotten, his chin resting on top. He looks at Katsuki like he’s the only thing in the room worthy of seeing.

Katsuki looks back, one leg spread along the length of the couch and the other resting on the floor. Purl is in his lap ‘cause they’re buds now.

“My brother’s a doctor and my sister teaches middle school,” Todoroki starts, quiet. “My other brother is living out his teenage dreams and performing at weird venues every night. And I’m just...here.”

He isn’t always great at tackling these concerns carefully, but he’s going to do the best he fucking can.

“Do you like being here?”

“Yes. So much,” Todoroki answers, lower lip tugged into his mouth. “Sometimes I feel guilty about how much I like being here.”

“Why the hell are you guilty?”

“Shouldn’t I want to do more?”

God, this man. This beautiful idiot.

“If you’re happy why the fuck do you need to want more?” Katsuki parries.

He isn’t going to let Todoroki think that this isn’t enough.

“You’ve got your shop and your cat and your old ladies. Your mom is here, you see your siblings enough. You talk to people all day who are interested in the exact same thing you love to do. You’re fine.”

He wants to add you’ve got Deku, you’ve got me but doesn’t let himself. Even if it’s true.

“Yes,” agrees Todoroki, nodding. Soothed by Katsuki’s subpar comforting abilities, stunningly enough. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right, I’ve never been wrong.”

“Debatable.”

Rolling his eyes, Katsuki watches him until the sweet way he’s curled around himself becomes too much to look at. Of course, when he turns back to whatever terrible show they’re watching is when Todoroki speaks up again.

“You too,” he murmurs, an almost shy look on his face. His cheeks are pink, even in the low light and the blue glow from the TV.

“Huh?”

“I’ve got you too, right?”

Jesus. This idiot is going to be the death of him.

“‘Course ya got me, Half ‘n half. Deku too. And god forbid you ever meet my other jackass friends,” he says, amazed at Todoroki’s unparalleled ability to verbalize exactly what Katsuki’s thinking. “I’m sure they’ll fall in love with you too.”

Too? Too? What the fuck is wrong with him?

He tenses on the couch, his whole body going rigid. Cursing his inability to keep his own fucking mouth shut, he chances a look at Todoroki.

That’s admitting too much, speaking too soon.

But Todoroki doesn’t clock it.

He’s smiling, soft and small, eyes on where Purl’s head is resting against Katsuki’s hip.

Thank fuck.

They finish up their show, talking shit to each other until Todoroki’s head starts to droop against the back of the couch and Katsuki can no longer stand the sight of him so goddamn soft.

Collecting all of his things, Katsuki waits by the door as Todoroki darts back into his apartment to grab him a hat ‘cause “it’s too cold for your ears to be exposed to the elements, Bakugou.”

He lets Todoroki tug a hat—the very same cable knit beanie with the ridiculous pom pom he noticed during their interaction in the street weeks ago—over his ears and barely manages to prevent himself from looping an arm around Todoroki’s waist and crushing them together and never letting go.

It’s a close thing, though.

Katsuki’s elbow deep in an engine on a Wednesday night when someone calls out a “Hello?” into the empty garage and scares the ever loving fuck out of him.

After the initial spike of adrenaline levels out, he spends a beat squinting up at the bottom of the car he’s under.

He knows that voice.

What the fuck.

With a huff, he slides himself out from under the car, ignoring the way the old wheels of the creeper creak.

Head turned to the side, he sees Todoroki is standing at the front of the garage, looking like he just walked out of one of Katsuki’s goddamn daydreams.

His hair is pulled back halfway, revealing his ears with their glinting silver hoops and making it easy to see his entire beautiful, stupid face. The cream colored knit pullover he’s wearing is the same one that Katsuki watched him finish a few weeks ago.

With his plaid trousers and his chunky boots and his ridiculous cheekbones, he looks wildly out of place in the dingy garage.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You were late,” he replies, like that’s an answer to Katsuki’s question. Like they had solidified plans aside from the unspoken habit of Katsuki showing up at the shop most days when he walks home. Holding up a brown paper bag like a trophy, Todoroki continues, “I brought dinner.”

Shuffling into a sitting position, Katsuki wipes his hands on the rag that lives in his back pocket and narrows his eyes. “Thought I said no more take out.”

“I didn’t want to have you do more work if you were staying late.”

He could pretend to be agitated by this or he could get up, clean off, and meet Todoroki where he’s at.

The choice is wildly fucking easy.

Hefting himself up, he heads towards the sink that lines the back wall and ignores the delighted rush at the sound of Todoroki’s boots on the cement floor that signal him following.

Katsuki’s fucking covered in grease. Just...absolutely covered in it. All over his fingers and knuckles and strewn up his forearms.

There’s probably smears of it on his face. Great.

The hair at his temples is slightly sweaty ‘cause one of the old guys always turns their portable heaters on throughout the day and then forgets to turn them off at night.

What he’s saying is that, maybe, just fucking maybe, he isn’t at his best currently, lookswise. He’s dirty and sweaty and covered in various car fluids.

Washing his hands up to his forearms is a necessity. When he’s done, he turns around and pins Todoroki with a look.

He smiles, because he’s an idiot.

Katsuki smirks back, because he’s also an idiot.

Tying his coveralls at the waist so he can get some of the grease away from him, he makes his way toward Todoroki and his mystery brown paper bag.

Todoroki watches his every move like a cat hovering over a goldfish bowl—intent and focused.

“You good, motherfucker?”

“Ah. Yes. Why?”

“You look weird.” His entire face is pink and it’s cute as fuck and even more annoying. “And cold.”

Todoroki shrugs, shuffling a foot against the floor. Katsuki squints at him, giving him yet another once over.

“Why aren’t you wearing a coat?”

“Thought it’d be a quick walk.”

“Was it?”

The pouty face Todoroki makes in response to that question has Katsuki’s heartbeat audible in his ears. “No.”

“C’mere,” he beckons, snagging the food from Todoroki’s hand and hip checking him toward the front counter of the garage.

Once he’s situated, Katsuki turns and heads back into the office to snag his work jacket from where it’s draped over the back of his chair.

Todoroki watches as he approaches, eyes bright. With a huff at his earnest, intense face, Katsuki shifts his big Carhartt coat over Todoroki’s shoulders.

Even though he’s taller, Katsuki is strung with muscle and usually sizes up his shirts and coats. This simple fact leaves Todoroki almost swimming in his jacket.

Katsuki can’t pretend he doesn’t love the way it looks, something deep in him humming with an intense refrain of possessiveness. Mine, it whispers, quiet and sickeningly hopeful.

He focuses all of his energy on inspecting what Todoroki brought for dinner instead.

They eat at the front desk, snagging bites from each other’s dinners and debriefing about what’s happened since they last saw each other. Todoroki regales him with the fuckery his brothers got up to at their last family dinner and Katsuki shares the most recent grad school related crisis that Deku wigged out over.

It’s easy. Comfortable.

Nice, to have Todoroki here in this space. Especially when Katsuki never expected him to be.

Todoroki watches him fiddle with the car after they eat, sitting at a high top stool behind the counter, kicking his feet back and forth.

He feels Todoroki’s eyes on him and doesn’t shy away.

Katsuki’s swinging by the store on his walk home Friday afternoon, in a mood that is, quite frankly, good as hell.

He got all of his paperwork done before noon, had awesome leftovers for lunch, and it’s the goddamn weekend now. What more could he ask for?

Punching the door open like always, the little bell going mad over head, he’s calling out before he’s even fully inside the store.

“Todoroki, you rat bastard! I brought you boba!”

There isn’t an answer, but sometimes Todoroki’s slow on the uptake, so he isn’t worried.

Not until someone replies, “Oh. Hello.”

Shit. That’s not Todoroki’s voice.

Higher pitched, softer. The same slow, measured way of speaking, but definitely not Todoroki.

Todoroki isn’t anywhere in the goddamn store, actually. Not from what Katsuki can tell.

There’s a woman behind the counter, one he’s never seen before. She’s beautiful in a frail sort of way, willowy and soft. Delicate and lovely, she’s fine boned, with long white hair that’s pulled away from her neck in a low bun.

Assuming this is his mother, Katsuki can see where Todoroki gets his pretty boy looks from. Along with the grey of his right eye.

She makes a slightly apologetic face, putting down whatever complex bit of knitting she was working on before he busted in here calling her son a rat bastard.

“Shouto isn’t here right now, but you’re welcome to stay. He should be back soon.”

Shit. She knows who he is, then.

With an almost sheepish look, she smiles at Katsuki and then glances down to his hand where it’s death gripping the plastic cup. “What flavor of boba is it?”

He gives her the boba immediately.

Of fucking course he gives her the boba, he’s not a goddamn animal.

“Lavender and Earl Grey with honey flavored pearls.” He has to physically stop himself from swearing, but he manages not to.

“Ah,” Todoroki’s mom hums. Just like him. “Shouto’s favorite.”

Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

“Yeah,” he croaks, absolutely mortified.

It sure is his favorite. Because Katsuki presses Todoroki’s preferences into his brain, collecting and cataloguing them to utilize later. His favorite side at the noodle place, the lemon flavored drink from the vending machine, his favorite colors. His boba order.

“That’s sweet of you, Bakugou.”

He’s going to drop dead. She clearly knows exactly who he is.

“Uh,” he coughs out. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re so kind to him,” she continues, her delicate fingers so similar to Todoroki’s in the way that they tap a gentle beat against the countertop. “He’s been in such a better mood these last few months.”

“M’glad,” he mumbles, avoiding her eyes and focusing on calming his rapidly beating heart. His palm is sweaty around his own boba and he shuffles the cup between hands to subtly wipe them on his jeans.

“I’m glad that you met you. He had been lonely, but in that quiet Shouto way where it’s hard for him to admit it.”

Reiterating what he said to Todoroki a few weeks ago, Katsuki says, “I’m not gonna let him be lonely anymore. I’m around and he knows my best friend and eventually he’ll meet my other friends too, ‘cause they can’t leave well enough alone.”

“Good,” she says, with a smile and a sip of her drink. “Very good.”

They talk quietly, about the weather and Katsuki’s limited knitting knowledge and what he does for a living and in his free time and about what his parents do, until he finally finds a break in the conversation to beg out as politely as possible.

She wishes him a good day and he returns it.

She’s also kind enough to not comment on the fact that he ducks out of the store and practically bolts.

Katsuki leaves Spun after his conversation with Todoroki’s mom and practically sprints home to recuperate.

No, he’s not hiding, he just needs to lock himself in his bedroom and nurse his weird embarrassment for a few hours. He’s fine.

Around dinner time, Todoroki texts him first. A sad face Pusheen sticker with an apology for being gone from the shop all day.

Covering his face with his arm and groaning, Katsuki takes a minute before he can reply.

Katsuki: met your mom earlier

Todoroki replies immediately.

Todoroki: I heard

Todoroki: She said you were very sweet and that you brought her boba?

It’s all he can do to not burst into flames in his bed.

Katsuki: was for you but she liked it anyway

Todoroki: Thank you for giving it to her

He thinks it’s going to end there, emotional crisis momentarily averted, but Todoroki texts again.

Todoroki: You’re kind and honest and a good man

Sitting up straight in bed, he looks down at his phone, tilting it this way and that to make sure that text is real. What the hell.

He’s still quizzically rereading it when another text follows, providing clarification.

Todoroki: Her words. You made a very good impression

With a heart emoji.

Reeling, Katsuki gags out loud and flops flat onto his back, snatching his pillow and plonking it over his face so he can scream into it.

An absolutely humiliating experience.

What’s even more humiliating is that he’s beyond happy—wamed deep down to his bones—that the woman Todoroki cares for so much might approves of him.

Sickening.

He’s a dumbass.

By no choice of his own, Katsuki’s become a regular at the weekly Spun Stitch ‘n Bitch.

As tonight’s meeting comes to a close, Todoroki is off doing something up in his apartment—packing up leftover snacks for all the oldies to take home, probably.

And he’s left Katsuki to the fucking wolves.

The old ladies circle around him like they can smell blood.

It’s all he can do to fend them off, ducking away from their attempts to touch his hair and squeeze his arms, shuffling into a more open part of the store so they can’t corner him and leave him vulnerable and open to attack.

“You’re such a kind boy,” one of the old ladies coos at him, tucking her arm through his. “Always bringing Shouto dinner.”

“So sweet,” another one says, patting his bicep.

They’re fucking surrounding him, what the hell.

If he tries to make any sudden movements or dart away, he’ll probably tip them all over. Then he’ll go to hell.

Or Todoroki will make the I’m Disappointed In You face at him, which is practically the same goddamn thing.

He’s not taking any fuckin’ chances.

“You take such good care of him,” a third, different lady says, knocking him out of his Todoroki-disappointment fueled panic. She’s got a dreamy sort of smile on her face. “Keep doing what you’re doing, dear.”

“You’re a lovely partner,” some other old lady voice pipes up. He can’t even see who said it. There are so many old ladies in one place he can’t fucking keep track of them all. Jesus, this is his worst nightmare. “Handsome and strong and kind.”

Wait. What.

Fuck.

What?

He rewinds what she just said in his mind, brain catching on a single word.

Partner?

“We’re not—we’re not dating,” Katsuki chokes, trying to dislodge the swarm of old ladies ganging up on him without being actively rude. He doesn’t want to piss off Todoroki’s knitting grandmas no matter how weird they’re being.

“No? It sure seems like it,” the lady attached to his arm says with a knowing look.

“You act like you’re dating, always stopping by the shop,” another one says, a sly smile on her face. “He told me you cook for him.”

Immediately defensive for absolutely no reason whatsoever, he counters with, “So what if I do?”

“It’s nice. Shouto definitely needs to eat more.”

He agrees without thinking, too caught up in the vindication of there being a mutual need to feed Todoroki to realize he’s playing right into this lady’s hands. “S’what I’m always saying!”

“You boys are so sweet,” dinner-lady hums, a smile on her face.

One of the ladies sidles closer, patting lightly at his arm. The one the other lady isn’t holding. Because he’s surrounded.

In a voice like a warning, she cautions, “Don’t let Shouto knit you a sweater though.”

What the fuck does that mean? What does a sweater have to do with anything?

He can’t help it, he never can leave well enough alone. Also, that makes no goddamn sense.

“Why not?”

It’s all he can do to not ask why the fuck not, but he curbs the impulse.

“The sweater curse,” she breathes, eyes big in her crinkled face. She looks like she’s seen a ghost.

All the old ladies murmur in agreement, a hush falling over them.

“What’s that?”

“An old wives’ tale,” the sly snarky one that Katsuki likes best says, rolling her eyes at her compatriots from where she’s standing a few feet away. She’s his favorite because she doesn’t ambush him and ‘cause she’s sharp as hell. “Don’t listen to them, dear.”

“It’s a real thing!” The old lady who brought it up counters, creaky voice all of a sudden loud in her defensiveness. “It happened to my daughter a few years ago. Turned her off knitting for a few years, poor thing.”

Nobody is telling him what it is.

“What is it?” he asks again, looking down at the ladies bodily attached to him.

It’s then that Todoroki finally comes back, descending down the stairs like a well-timed angel. All the old ladies surrounding him scatter.

Katsuki stands sentinel by the counter as Todoroki quietly bids them all goodbye, bending down to kiss their cheeks and asking them if they have all their things.

His favorite old lady waves to him and winks. He waves back, because he isn’t a jackass.

As he’s standing by the door ushering them out, Todoroki tells them he’ll see him at the same time next week before finally locking the door and flipping the open sign to closed.

Before Todoroki can even turn around all the way, Katsuki practically materializes next to him.

“What’s the sweater curse?”

He doesn’t even seem bothered by Katsuki looming next to him in his quest for answers.

“Hm?”

“One of the old bags mentioned a curse about sweaters.”

“Don’t call them that, Bakguou.”

“Sure, sure,” he mutters absently, too concerned with finally getting an answer to his question to focus on the light scolding.

“It’s bad luck to knit a sweater for your partner,” Todoroki starts, herding Katsuki back toward the counter where they usually sit together while he does paperwork.

“Why? Isn’t that like...the whole point of dating someone who can make shit? Getting them to make stuff for you?”

Todoroki shrugs, poking at the register.

“Everyone says that if you start to knit a sweater for them, you’ll break up before it’s finished,” he says, clearly not giving this conversation the weight it deserves. “It’s never happened to me before, but that might be because I’ve never tried it.”

“That’s stupid as hell,” Katsuki replies, but his mind is already whirring.

“Maybe. Superstitious beliefs are odd but things usually happen to people that prove them.”

“Superstition is for dweebs.”

Todoroki shrugs, completely unconcerned.

Then he weaponizes his pretty eyes to get Katsuki to help him clean up all the leftover snack plates without doing much.

And Katsuki does it, because as previously mentioned, he’s an idiot.

“Todoroki was telling me some stupid shit today, like usual,” Katsuki starts the second he shoulders open their apartment door and sees Deku sitting at the kitchen table.

He bends over in the genkan, picking at the laces of his boots before flicking them in the vague direction of their shoe rack while still talking. “Some fuckin’ sweater curse. You heard anything about that?”

As he shuffles all of his outerwear off, Deku pokes his head up from whatever grad school rabbit hole he was in and makes a scrunched up face of pure confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

“A sweater curse, Deku. What I just said.” Dumbass. “Have you heard of it or not?”

“Is it real?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

“You’re the one talking about it.”

With a dismissive humming noise, Deku pushes away whatever he was working on and descends on his computer, tapping away. Eyes rapidly flicking from side to side, he hums.

“What does that noise mean?”

“Curse of the love sweater,” Deku mumbles, eyes flicking across his screen.

“‘Kay. And?”

“I guess it’s real, but in that type of real where a Wikipedia page exists on it.” At Bakugou’s dubious look he elaborates, “There are Wikipedia pages for cryptids too, Kacchan. And conspiracy theories.”

Deku angles the laptop screen towards him to show him the Wikipedia page.

“Kinda seems like it’s just a natural happenstance of relationships changing over time,” he says, tapping his pointer finger against his lower lip. “You start a project, get in a fight with your boyfriend about the same thing you always fight about, figure out that your relationship isn’t worth it, break up. Half finished sweater.”

Even with that context, it’s stupid as all hell.

What’s the point of being able to make things for people and not doing it because some fake curse says it’ll guarantee that the relationship will fall apart?

“Well, that’s fuckin’ dumb.”

“I didn’t say it was smart, it’s probably just what happens.”

Folding his arms, Katsuki leans a hip against the kitchen table. “Todoroki doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”

Deku’s still puttering away at his computer, clicking around in what Katsuki assumes is an oncoming Wikipedia spiral. “What does he have to do with this?”

“He’s the one who told me about it.”

Technically the awful little old lady did, but that’s semantics.

Deku starts mumbling and it goes in one ear and out the other.

“I’m going to prove him wrong,” Katsuki says decidedly, smacking both palms down on the table and making Deku jump.

“What?” he asks, his green eyebrows pulling low, as if he can sense Katsuki gearing up to do something petty for the sake of victory. “Prove him wrong about what?”

“About the curse, Deku. Keep up!”

“Kacchan, come on. Did he even disagree with you or are you just misinterpreting his explanation as belief in the curse?”

He’s too focused on the plan rapidly unfolding in his brain to really stick it to Todoroki to listen to whatever Deku’s saying.

“I’m going to knit him a sweater.”

Deku’s mouth drops open and he gapes like a fish for a few seconds, entire body still, before he reboots and starts flailing his arms around.

“Kacchan, you’re going to knit the guy who owns a knitting shop a sweater? You don’t even know how to knit.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Katsuki mutters, waving a dismissive hand at Deku. “Not like it’s rocket science.”

The noise Deku makes is suspiciously close to a scoff but when Katsuki whips his head around to glare at him, he looks innocent enough.

A prim, “Let me know when you do.” is all he gets in response.

Doubling down, he says, “If your dumb ass can do it, I can do it.”

Deku shakes his head to himself and pushes right past that claim. “I tried to get you to start knitting with me last year and every few months since then but you’re going to start because of your hot friend telling you about an old wives’ tale?

“He’s not fuckin’ hot,” Katsuki grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger. “And it’s a curse, get it right.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. Aside from the fact that I know how you get and also that I’ve seen with him my own eyes.”

Katsuki says nothing and resolutely ignores the disgusting little knowing look Deku beams directly at him from across the table.

“Kacchan, he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” True, but he doesn’t have to say it. “Get over yourself.”

Ignoring Deku is for the greater good. The greater good being the state of their kitchen table due to the inevitable tussle they’d get in if Katsuki slaps him upside the head.

“Lemme borrow some of your supplies, jackass.”

“Say please,” Deku hums, with a face so infuriating it instantly transports him back to elementary school. He’s gonna give this bastard a noogie if he doesn’t cut this shit out, stat.

Gritting his teeth, Katsuki hisses, “Please let me borrow some of your shit, jackass.”

With a smile fit for a demon cosplaying a benevolent god, Deku scurries over to his mountain of canvas bags and starts rifling through them.

The highlighter yellow knitting bag he bought from Todoroki’s shop sits on top like a king.

As it should.

Deku sets him up with some corny plastic knitting needles attached to each other with a cord so he doesn’t lose them. Like he’s some kind of fucking baby.

He says that’s not what the cord is for, but Katsuki knows better.

Armed with his baby needles and some shitty leftover yarn Deku has from when he first started knitting, Katsuki queues up some Youtube videos on their big ass TV and settles in.

Time to get down to business.

Time to beat Todoroki at his own stupid game.

Deku too, while he’s fuckin’ at it.

Two hours later, when he throws his head back and groans as loud as he can, Deku pops up behind the couch from god knows where to look down at him.

Both literally and figuratively.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks in a voice that makes it clear he already knows.

If Katsuki were a little worse of a person, he’d reach up and choke him out.

Instead, he avoids Deku’s aggravatingly smug look and mutters, “These tutorials don’t fucking work.”

“That’s probably because you have no basic knowledge of knitting to start with.”

Katsuki says nothing, choosing to wallow in aggravated silence.

If he looks pathetic for long enough, Deku will probably help him, ‘cause he literally can’t help it.

“Are you going to let me show you?”

Bingo.

Rubbing the heels of his palms over his eyes, he says, “Fuck me. Yeah, I guess.”

Holding his terribly tangled yarn up, he gives in. “Show me how, Deku.”

Giddily, Deku hops over the arm of the couch and settles down next to him, practically vibrating with joy. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“You’ve been waitin’ for this shit since we were five fucking years old, haven’t you?”

“Absolutely. Now be quiet and watch what I do.”

“My fingers are too big for this shit!” Katsuki bellows, nothing but pure rage coursing through his veins. Relaxing hobby his ass, knitting is god awful.

He’s trying to follow what Deku does in real time instead of watching some soft spoken middle aged knitting Youtuber who uses too much jargon and speed knits continental style. It’s not helping much.

“That—what? That’s not even a thing.”

“Yes it is.”

“No, it’s not. You just have to go slower, you’re too keyed up in your weird quest for vindication.”

Maybe so.

It takes another half an hour before he knits, with Deku’s assistance, two full rows of stockinette stitches. They look good. Not wonky, not too big or too tight, no weird gaps.

The tension is a hard thing to manage, Deku thinks he’s going to be a tight knitter, whatever that means.

Either way. He fucking gets it now. Even goddamn Deku says so.

He can do this.

The yarn Katsuki picks for his I’m-going-to-prove-you-wrong-Todoroki-so-help-me-god sweater is a light blue—pale like the edges of the sky—and the softest thing he’s ever felt.

It’s gotta be soft. Todoroki doesn’t like to be uncomfortable, likes clothes that feel good on his skin.

He’s never said it out loud, but Katsuki’s noticed. They’ve brushed arms enough times for him to have felt the material of the clothes Todoroki wears—worn flannels and smooth t-shirts, cotton button downs and soft handspun yarn.

Searching for the perfect yarn took him a few visits, scouring the shop up and down for the perfect sweater weight yarn based on the qualities Deku quizzed him on relentlessly the night before.

But when he found it, he knew.

Knew it would look fucking great on Todoroki, perfect with the red and white of hair and his mismatched eyes and his nice skin.

He brings as many skeins of it up to the counter as he can carry, doing the math in his head to figure out if he’s got enough yardage for a possible sweater according to the pattern Deku found for him a few nights ago.

Todoroki hums when he sees the yarn piled in Katsuki’s arms, then hums again—even more satisfied—when he gets his hands on it.

“Oh, this is really nice. What’s Midoriya thinking he’ll make out of it?

Vindication courses through his veins at the approval. Relief follows right after at the assumption that it’s for Deku. At least this way he won’t have to make anything up to cover his ass.

“I don’t fuckin’ know. Whatever he wants I guess.”

Katsuki’s heart is beating so loud he can hear it in his damn ears. He just hopes Todoroki can’t see anything revelatory on his face.

“Keep me posted,” Todoroki murmurs, squishing the yarn between his fingers happily before tucking it into a huge brown paper bag. “This is going to make something lovely.”

Katsuki can only fucking hope.

It takes him weeks.

Weeks of him and Deku frantically looking up Youtube tutorials, undoing rows and rows of stitches only to do them over again. Weeks of frantically googling what the weird knitting secret code from the pattern means. Weeks of sending Deku into the shop like some sort of fuckin’ undercover secret agent to get help from Todoroki himself on parts they can’t seem to get right together.

Seven weeks. Almost two months of working on it each night when he gets home from work, a few rows here, a few there.

It fit seamlessly into his nightly routine—bother Todoroki at the store, come home, make dinner, gracefully allow Deku to do the dishes, watch whatever bullshit reality TV show Deku is marathoning this week, prep for his workday tomorrow, do his nighttime bullshit, sit in bed and knit for half an hour before passing the fuck out.

He might get why the two of them do it a little bit more now.

It’s nice to do something with your hands and have an end product, a visible pay off. So similar to fixing cars, fiddling with parts until the engine hums again.

He’s always been good with his hands, it just took him a little longer with this medium.

Christmas passes, Todoroki’s birthday along with it.

But Katsuki finishes it.

He finishes it.

There are still yarn tails at most of the connecting points, where he started and where he finished and everywhere in between, but all of the actual knitting is done.

Thankfully, it kind of looks like it’ll fit Todoroki. He and Deku did their best guessing about his measurements, but they sized up just in case Katsuki knit too tightly and ‘cause Todoroki likes to wear his shit oversized.

Even though it’s later than he usually stays up, he shuffles out into the living room where he knows Deku is sitting, hunched over his laptop like a gargoyle.

Without a word, he shoves the finished sweater in front of his face and waits.

It takes a few seconds for him to snap out of his grad school stupor, but when he does Deku blinks down at the sweater and then blinks up at him.

“Kacchan,” he breathes, eyes all big in his face, rapidly filling with tears. “You did it.”

“Yeah, I fucking did.”

“I know you could, I’m so proud, oh my god. It looks so good,” Deku mumbles weepily, turning the sweater this way and that so he can look at it from multiple different angles. “He’s going to love it.”

“He fucking better. Put weeks of my life into that thing, wasting all my damn time.”

Even as he’s saying them the words feel like a lie coming out of his mouth. He knows they sound like a lie too when Deku doesn’t even acknowledge them at all.

“When are you going to give it to him?”

Fuck.

Katsuki hadn’t even considered that.

He’s been so focused on making the sweater he hasn’t had the time to think about how he’s going to give it to Todoroki, let alone when.

“‘m gonna wait a few days. Can’t give it to him yet.”

Deku looks at him like he’s insane, but doesn’t argue. Even though Katsuki knows he wants to.

“Gotta figure out how, first.”

“I don’t think there’s a specific way you need to give it to him,” Deku says, all earnest. “He’s going to appreciate it no matter what.”

One can only fucking hope.

The sweater is jammed in his backpack.

And by jammed, Katsuki means delicately folded, wrapped in leftover gift tissue paper that Deku was hoarding under their kitchen sink for no clear reason, and not touching anything that could harm it in any way.

He’s unbearably fucking anxious and he’s not even at the damn shop yet. Palms sweating, heartbeat racing. So hot he might have to take his jacket off even though it’s still cold as all hell outside.

When he gets to the pane glass windows, he has to psych himself up.

He’s Bakugou fucking Katsuki, for Christ’s sake. He can give a pretty dude a present.

A present that he made. Over the course of multiple months. Something that he spent a lot of time and energy on. Something he made with his own hands.

Fucking hell.

When he practically bursts into the store, the bell tinkles and Todoroki looks up from his behind-the-counter perch and smiles.

Katsuki has to force himself not to turn around and flee in the face of that look.

He’s so keyed up that he can only grunt at Todoroki’s greeting like a caveman. How on edge he is has to be obvious, judging by the way Todoroki’s eyes track him shifting back and forth on his feet.

The internal pep talk/beratement combo he’s giving himself on loop in his mind unfortunately results in a truly awful scowl he can feel on his face. Todoroki clocks it immediately.

‘Cause he knows Katsuki. Jesus Christ.

“You’re in a mood today.”

“I’ll show you a mood.”

A wry little smile cuts across Todoroki’s mouth and Katsuki wants to fucking scream.

He’s gotta do this before he chickens out.

Thunking his backpack to the floor and practically ripping it open, he gently removes the tissue wrapped sweater and holds it out to Todoroki.

“Here.”

Todoroki glances down at his hands, evidently confused. He takes it though.

“What is this?”

“What the fuck does it look like, Half ‘n half?”

It takes almost a full thirty seconds of Todoroki looking at the light blue sweater after Katsuki whips into his arms before he says anything at all.

When he does, he looks up at Katsuki, eyes wide and asks, “Is this a sweater?”

“Astounding observational skills, dickhead. Of course it’s a sweater.”

Todoroki doesn’t say anything to that, running his long, perfect fingers along the sweater’s collar.

Floundering, Katsuki looks away from him and mumbles, “I made it.”

There’s a second of silence where all he can hear is the roaring of his own heartbeat in his ears.

“You made this?” Todoroki sounds breathless, winded. It makes him ache. “For me?”

“There’s nobody else in this goddamn shop right now, is there?”

“Bakugou, you made this. You knit this. For me.”

“Jesus Christ, yes. Yes, I did. I made it.” Taking a deep breath, he emphasizes again, “For you.”

“I didn’t think you knew how to knit.” Todoroki sounds quietly stunned, his long fingers smooth down the sleeves of the sweater like it’s something delicate.

“Deku taught me. I wanted to prove your stupid sweater curse bullshit wrong.”

“Sweater curse bullshit?”

“You know, the fucking sweater curse.” The blank look in Todoroki’s eyes forces Katsuki to elaborate further. “The curse? Where someone starts knitting their boyfriend a sweater and they break up by the time the sweater’s done?”

There’s no understanding in Todoroki’s eyes, no connection made, even after he finishes his explanation.

Squinting at him, Katsuki says, like an accusation, “You’re the one who fuckin’ told me about it.”

Like a lightbulb going off, Todoroki’s face clears and he nods, humming to himself.

“You’ve been thinking about it all this time?”

“‘Course I have,” Katsuki replies, put off by the question. “I can’t forget about something that dumb.”

“Why is it dumb?”

“Because it’s not real! I fucking proved it!”

Todoroki tilts his head to the side like a cat, confusion on his face. “How did you prove it?”

“I knit you the goddamn sweater and nothing happened!”

He’s shouting, but he can’t help it. This man is the densest, most head-empty motherfucker he knows.

“But we aren’t even dating?” Todoroki says it like a question, confused in his sweet little way.

“We could be.”

It’s out of his mouth before Katsuki can stop it.

His inner thoughts, his entire motivation for this weird unnecessary endeavor. The core truth of why he’s standing here—a sweater knit over the last few weeks to prove that the two of them could make it regardless of their dating status. Katsuki’s blatant, tender wants.

Out in the open between them.

Todoroki’s stupid, perfect mouth drops open in response. He looks so goddamn ridiculous. So ridiculous it’s almost comical. Makes Katsuki want to kiss his face.

Neither of them say anything. They stand there in silence, eyeing each other. The sweater is wrapped in Todoroki’s fists, clutched tightly to his chest. The pale blue against his skin looks fucking perfect.

God, he knew it would. He knew it.

Katsuki, entire body flashing so hot he’s almost cold, forges ahead.

“I already knit you a fuckin’ sweater and we’re still ya know, here.” With this, he vaguely gestures between the two of them and hopes Todoroki understands whatever the hell that means. “It basically guarantees we’ll be fine.”

“Be fine…” Todoroki echoes, his face slack.

After a few seconds, the pieces fall together and he says in a voice so breathless and surprised it makes Katsuki want to jump him, “You want to date. Me.”

Another lightbulb moment, thank fuck.

At least Katsuki didn’t have to explain this one.

“God, yes, you, you absolute bastard,” he says, simultaneously furious at the way this played out and beyond relieved that they got to the end of this excruciating conversation all at once. “There’s nothing I want more.”

“Me?”

“Half ‘n half, if you ask me that again I’m going to scream.”

Todoroki says nothing, only gives him a barely-there pleading look that Katsuki folds to immediately.

Because he’s already fucking whipped. He’s been whipped, giving in to even the smallest things Todoroki asks for for weeks. Cleaning up post Stitch ‘n Bitch, food running when he gets hungry with only minor complaining, boba and cooking and stolen jackets.

It’s not a hardship to say it again. Not if it’s what Todoroki wants.

“Yes, you,” he affirms again, steadfast in his answer. “I want to date you. I made you the fucking curse-proof sweater.”

He barely finishes before Todoroki is tossing himself at him, long arms winding around Katsuki’s neck and warm lips pressed to his mouth.

It’s fucking perfect, having Todoroki this close.

He loops an arm around Todoroki’s waist and hauls him closer, his other hand slipping into the soft length of his hair.

They kiss sweetly, continual pecks exchanged, Todoroki’s hands everywhere.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the first time you walked in here,” Todoroki murmurs, pulling back and smiling his stupid, awful smile. All Katsuki can do in the face of that look is pull their bodies even tighter together.

It’s so good, better than he could have ever imagined, better than all the quiet fantasies he shut down before they got out of hand. Todoroki is warm to the touch, soft everywhere, a heated weight.

He touches Katsuki like he wants to be everywhere, all at once.

“Wait, wait,” Todoroki suddenly breathes, pulling away slightly.

“Fuck, what’s wrong? You okay?”

Todoroki nods, turning in the circle of Katsuki’s arms to drape the sweater over on the counter like it’s something priceless. He smoothes it out gently, then turns around and reaches for Katsuki again.

They snap back together like magnets, like they didn’t stop kissing at all.

“I’ll knit one for you too,” Todoroki says against his mouth. When he breathes, Katsuki can feel it where their chests are pressed together. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt. “What color should it be?”

“I dunno,” he replies, trying to reel Todoroki even closer. “Something cool looking.”

“You’ll look good in just about any color. I’ve got to think about this,” Todoroki mumbles, hands sliding up the back of Katsuki’s shirt, gentle fingers running along the slope of his lower back. It tickles and Katsuki tightens his hands around Todoroki’s hips in response. “I’ll have to take your measurements. Your arms are so big I probably can’t eyeball how big I need to make your sleeves.”

Scoffing, Katsuki thunks his forehead against Todoroki’s, ignoring the way he winces slightly. “Wow, you really know how to sweet talk a guy.”

“Learned from the best.”

A truly annoying smirk curls across Todoroki’s face as he says it. From this close, it’s legitimately awful.

Terrible.

So…not…cute.

Fuck.

He’s so gone for this idiot. It’s legitimately stupid.

This realization is made even worse when Todoroki leans down a bit and kisses the tip of Katsuki’s nose. It’s a testament to his own stupidity that he finds it as cute as he does, rather than corny.

Who’s the idiot now?

Well. Both of them, probably.

But he’s pretty damn sure he doesn’t mind.

A few weekends later, Katsuki attends a morning brunch—that he helps cook, obviously—with the two Todorokis in their bright upstairs apartment.

Pale morning light filters through the many windows and makes the red of Todoroki’s hair look like fire.

He’s beautiful, silly in his cat paw fuzzy socks, and all Katsuki’s.

He’s also absolutely no goddamn help whatsoever—still sleepy from being more or less shoved out of Katsuki’s bed at 8 a.m. sharp this morning so they had enough time to shower, get dressed, pick up groceries, and make it to his own apartment to eat brunch with his mom.

This is just the first stop of their apparent relationship victory tour. Surprisingly enough, Katsuki has very few problems with hanging out with the motley crew of people who are happy for the two of them.

They have plans.

Plans to meet up with Todoroki’s siblings—tickets to one of his brother’s shows, tentative lunch dates with his sister and other brother. ‘Cause they want to meet Katsuki. ‘Cause they’ve heard from their mom about him.

‘Cause Todoroki can’t keep his pretty mouth shut.

But that’s fine, because it’s not like all of his idiot friends don’t know about Todoroki too.

Deku is also wholly incapable of keeping anything to himself and Ei is far too happy about Katsuki’s happiness to stay quiet about it.

Which tragically means that they also have plans to meet up with Katsuki’s idiot brigade in the very near future.

Best wishes to Todoroki on that front.

Although, he did offhandedly mention a few days ago that he’s going to wear his Katsuki-knit sweater to that specific outing. Which immediately filled Katsuki with a humming sense of victorious pride so strong that it almost took him out at the knees.

Seeing Todoroki in it will probably make Deku cry. He can’t wait.

Here and now, he watches as Purl slinks over from the other room and winds around Todoroki’s ankles. Leaning over to scoop him up, Todoroki notices he’s being watched only when he settles back in his chair, Purl tucked in his arms like a baby.

The sweetest smile Katsuki’s ever seen is directed at him—all still-sleep-tousled hair and big doe eyes—and it’s all he can do to avoid burning their goddamn food with how he never, ever wants to look away.

It’s even worse when Todoroki takes one of Purl’s front paws and uses it to wave at Katsuki across the kitchen.

At that point, Katsuki forces himself to turn around and focus on what he’s doing. Blatantly ignoring the sly look Rei directs at what he can only assume is his lovestruck, ridiculous expression, he proceeds to cook the best brunch on the face of the planet.

If he grumbles a bit under his breath about now knowing where Todoroki himself inherited that look from, that’s his own business.

After they eat, Rei presses delicate kisses to both of their foreheads—which does not make Katsuki blush, thank you very goddamn much—and heads downstairs to open the store after the two of them refuse to let her help with the dishes.

When the kitchen is clean and his dumb boyfriend is thoroughly kissed, pressed up against his own apartment door, they finally head downstairs to man their posts and relieve Rei.

Next to the chair that Katsuki has claimed as his, Todoroki is perched on his dumb little stool, working on a matching sweater for him. An olive green colored one with cable knit detailing that he says will wonderfully suit Katsuki’s coloring.

He’s sickeningly excited to wear it, both because it really is the perfect color on him and also ‘cause someone who loves him is putting a lot of time, thought, and effort into it. And it’s a physical representation of all of those things.

He refuses to let Todoroki rush though, they’ve got time.

“Hand knit boyfriend sweaters,” Katsuki mumbles, resolutely ignoring the corny look on Todoroki’s face. As if he didn’t just say something sickeningly corny himself.

“When this is finished,” Todoroki says, the small little smile on his face lighting up the entire room, “we’ll have beaten the curse twice.”

Katsuki leans over to kiss the smile off of his silly, perfect boyfriend’s face.

“Damn right we will. I don’t do anything by halves.”

Maybe he’ll admit to Deku that knitting might actually be a relaxing and repetitive hobby with a tangible end product, after all.