Work Text:
After a turbulent first few weeks of college, the new cafe opposite Izuku’s apartment is a godsend.
Before it, the nearest coffee source he’s relied on is a good six blocks away, resulting in many late mornings or, in reverse, caffeine-less ones. So he’s glad for an alternative at close quarters. The cafe’s promotional pictures on Instagram suggest they serve up a good diversity of flavoured coffees as well: banana soy, caramel, and Izuku’s absolute favourite—vanilla.
So it’s with a skip in his step that he makes his way to the cafe on a Tuesday morning. There are many classes ahead of him, of which involves a gen ed module he absolutely hates, but armed with a coffee, he thinks he could take on the world.
The door opens to a bright space, courtesy of the wall-length windows that allow tons of sunlight to pilfer through. Light wood and rounded edges create an illusion of spaciousness, and as the aroma of coffee hits his nose, Izuku can’t help the grin that curves his lips upwards. He quickly heads for the counter, scrambling for loose change in his pockets.
“What can I get for you to— oh, what the fuck.”
When Izuku looks up, his heart stops.
Because the barista behind the counter isn’t some random guy Izuku was hoping to strike an easy friendship with. No, this barista, with his sandy blonde hair and eyes whose shade of red Izuku has imprinted onto memory, is Kacchan.
Izuku’s first reaction is to squeeze his eyes shut. Maybe he’s just seeing things. Maybe Tuesday mornings are simply bitter enough to make him conjure up his ex in his head. When he reopens his eyes though, Kacchan is still standing there, trademark scowl framing his face. The sight of it claws at the beating muscle behind Izuku’s chest.
And because he has zero brain-to-mouth filter, his second reaction is to blurt out, “What are you doing here?”
“To work, obviously. What are you doing here?”
“I knew that!” Izuku is quick to reply, a flustered blush heating his cheeks. “I meant- do you study here too? I haven’t seen you around.” And it’s true—Izuku has stayed on campus for a good month and couldn’t fathom even the possibility of running into Kacchan here, much less actually seeing and buying coffee from him.
“Yeah,” answers Kacchan under his breath, eyes not meeting Izuku’s, “I study Chemical Engineering. This is a fuckin’ coincidence or what?”
“Oh that makes sense!” lilts Izuku, “I study Literature and the arts building is right at the other end of campus. It’s no wonder we haven’t seen each other…”
It’s a bad habit but Izuku begins rambling. A coping mechanism to ignore the flutter of butterflies behind his chest, at the very thought that after all these years, he and Kacchan are in the same vicinity again. Studying in the same school. It’s only when he hears the customer behind him clearing their throat does he realise he’s muttering senselessly and holding up the line.
Also, that Kacchan didn’t stop him from talking once.
“Sorry!” yelps Izuku to the girl at the back, the red on his cheeks deepening. A quick glance at the clock on the wall tells him he’s running late for class too. So much for arriving on time with a coffee in hand. Coins scatter from his fist onto the countertop with a jangle as he orders hastily, “Shit, can I get a vanilla latte with three extra pumps of vanilla syrup?”
Kacchan scowls like he wants to say something more but the long queue snaking behind Izuku keeps him from doing so. He gets to making the latte wordlessly instead and five minutes later, Izuku is leaving the cafe with his cuppa, filled inside a paper mug dotted with shiba inu prints.
At the door, he pauses for a second. And really, he should be rushing off—that stupid gen ed module he spent all night writing a paper for awaits him. But Izuku’s heart is leaping in his throat and he physically can’t help himself from stealing one last look at Kacchan. Just one more.
Illuminated by the morning sunlight, Kacchan looks like a dream—dewy skin, the tips of his hair golden. Izuku has trouble believing all of this is real. For years, he had only the memory of him to hold onto. The memory of them. Another second passes and this time, when Kacchan turns around, their eyes meet.
There’s a pressure behind Izuku’s sternum, as if someone had sunk their nails into his chest and seized it tight. He’s lost in that shade of red, a thousand snapshots from yesteryear flickering across his head in a haphazard montage. But the moment is gone as soon as it came and they both turn back to their own lives—Izuku out the door and Kacchan begrudgingly tending to the next customer.
As Izuku trawls towards the seminar room, he takes a sip of his coffee and almost spits it out. There is no trace of vanilla syrup at all. Granted the roast is fragrant but he can’t live without his sugar. Did he take the wrong cup of coffee? Did Kacchan make a mistake? Izuku brings the cup closer to his face and inspects it. That’s when he sees the small note scribbled onto the side that he’d initially missed:
I TOLD U NOT TO DRINK SO MUCH SUGAR U FUCK
Indignation blooms all over Izuku’s chest. Did Kacchan seriously swap out his vanilla latte for a plain one on purpose?! He can almost hear the note in Kacchan’s voice—gruff and vexed and raspy, and it makes him heat up from the inside out. Izuku tells himself it’s because he’s annoyed, but truthfully, there’s a stirring something soft behind his breastbone. The corner of his lip trembles from his effort to keep it down, and a giggle peals from his throat against his will.
Years ago, they used to squabble over Izuku’s eating habits and ‘fucked up addiction to sugar'—Kacchan’s words, not his. Kacchan would make him eat the healthier bentos he’d prepared for him, while Izuku would sneak in bites of saccharine taiyaki and mochi when Kacchan wasn’t looking. Nostalgia at the memory curdles at the back of his throat, settles bittersweet on his tongue. But deeper down, Izuku feels all soft inside, knowing Kacchan still cares enough to make him a coffee that’s less sweet.
He takes another sip of the latte and cringes at the bitterness. Whether it’s from the absence of sugar or something else, he can’t bring himself to answer.
On his second visit to the cafe, Izuku tells himself it’s solely because he’s desperate to try their vanilla latte and totally not because he wants to see Kacchan again, nope.
The sight of Kacchan focused on pouring the latte art, backlit by the late morning sun, still doesn’t fail to take his breath away though. Despite the instinctive blush that scatters across his cheeks, he clenches his fists determinedly and stalks up to the counter.
“I would like a vanilla latte with three extra pumps of vanilla syrup,” says Izuku, hurrying the words before he loses confidence, “and I sure hope to receive one this time.”
To his surprise, Kacchan doesn’t protest. He simply raises a brow, saying, “That would be five hundred yen.”
Contented, Izuku watches as Kacchan prepares his latte, steady fingers curled around a steaming wand, red eyes on the jug unwavering. The question bubbles from his mouth before he knows it, “Do you work part-time here? Why a cafe?”
“The fuck is this, an interrogation?” replies Kacchan, though there isn’t any bite to his words. “Yeah, I work part-time. Figured I could use the extra cash. And you know how serious I get about my coffee, so a cafe works out.”
“That’s true,” lilts Izuku with a smile, “Kacchan is serious about everything. You’ve always wanted to be a chemical engineer and of course you made it here too.”
Kacchan lifts his gaze from the jug to meet Izuku’s eyes, and there’s a softness in his irises that makes Izuku giddy. “How about you, huh?” he croaks, voice a quiet rasp. “Finally figured out that Literature is what you want?”
Izuku knows it doesn’t mean anything but glee blossoms behind his sternum at how Kacchan remembers. “I can’t say for sure if that’s what I want,” he answers honestly, “but I definitely enjoy studying it!”
“Of course you do, you shit nerd.”
“You’re the one studying Chemical Engineering, so really I think you’re the nerd.”
Small talk with Kacchan is easier than what Izuku could’ve hoped for. His heart feels lighter with every word exchanged between them and time passes all too quickly before Kacchan is finished making his coffee and Izuku has no excuse left to keep the conversation going.
When he exits the cafe and takes a sip from the cup, decorated with chibi Japanese bobtails this time, he chokes on the coffee. It’s so bitter. Immediately, Izuku turns the cup around in his hand, breath catching in his throat when he finds the little note scribbled onto the bottom edge of the cup.
nice try deku but you’re not taking THREE extra pumps of vanilla on my watch. who the fuck drinks that?! someone fucked up in the head, that’s who
Izuku wishes he felt annoyed but it’s far from that. Instead there’s laughter ringing from his throat, loud and unhinged. He can’t stop the ripples that undulate through his stomach, the bright warmth that explodes like a firework beneath his sternum.
Most of all, there’s yearning, an ache that plucks at his heartstrings. But maybe it has never left. Maybe it’s an old wound buried so deep inside him he’d forgotten it was there. The bitterness of coffee rekindles the ache.
He thinks he could get used to the taste.
Izuku doesn’t know what to call it—this thing where he orders a vanilla latte and Kacchan makes him a plain one—but it continues in the weeks that come after. Kacchan has even roped in his colleagues to join his silly act. Case in point: Izuku tried ordering from a red-haired barista when Kacchan wasn’t on shift once, and the guy refused to serve him his vanilla latte.
It endears him more than it should.
As the days pass, Izuku finds himself spending more time in the cafe, whether it’s getting his daily coffee or studying there. In the intervals between burying his head in his books, he allows himself furtive glances at Kacchan behind the counter. He won’t admit it aloud but they feel like a reward after an intensive mugging session.
The moments he likes most, though, are when he gets to talk to Kacchan. Sure, the conversations are short, especially with the constant customer flow in the cafe. But Izuku cherishes each one and documents every tidbit of Kacchan’s life he’s learned in the nooks and crannies of his chest. Like how Kacchan is being considered for the school’s engineering scholarship (of course he would! Kacchan is amazing!) and how he goes fishing with Uncle Masaru on the weekends. Once upon a time, Izuku had Bakugou Katsuki mapped out in his head. Now he’s relearning the cartography, adding new stops and erasing old ones, filling up the gaps left behind by a period of distance.
Where Izuku is heading, it’s a slippery slope. A dangerous one.
He’s falling again, he knows.
With the way Kacchan looks at him sometimes, Izuku can’t help the tiny hope that he’ll be there to catch him when he inevitably plummets to the ground.
The weather forecast hadn’t predicted the downpour.
Izuku has his umbrella with him but with the way the rain is bucketing down, rendering the once see-through windows in the cafe a wet blur, he decides it’ll be useless in keeping him dry if he heads out. So he idles at his table, sugarless coffee long drained, and waits for the rain to get lighter.
From the corner of his eye, he notices Kacchan scowling at the rain outside. Fair enough—there’s a long list of things that Kacchan hates and on the top of that list would be rainy weather. Still, Izuku trusts that Kacchan is prepared for any and all of the elements. He doesn’t think much of it at first but as the evening draws to a close and the cafe’s opening hours whittle to an end, Kacchan doesn’t look like he’s going to leave anytime soon.
“Kacchan,” calls Izuku, standing up from his table to return his mug, “isn’t the cafe going to close?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“You’re not going home?” pries Izuku, taking in Kacchan’s downturned lip and furrowed brows. It’s cuter than he’d like to admit.
“It’s still raining,” answers Kacchan, glaring out the windows as if the thunderclouds draped across the sky have committed a grave crime to his person. Izuku follows his line of vision and sure, the rain hasn’t come to a complete stop, but it’s currently leaning more towards a drizzle than a downpour. He mentions so and Kacchan mumbles something under his breath in response.
“Sorry I didn’t catch you, Kacchan.”
“I said I don’t have my umbrella with me, damn it!”
Izuku is honestly surprised, his mouth hanging slightly agape. The Kacchan he grew up with constantly had his essentials on him for any kind of emergency: umbrellas for rain, bandaids for scraped knees, a secret stash of Pocky for adolescent appetites. Izuku used to call Kacchan his personal Doraemon.
“Goddamn Pinky had to rush off somewhere but didn’t have the brain to keep an umbrella on her so I lent mine,” complains Kacchan quietly. “Dumbass.”
Letting out a soft oh, Izuku feels the warmth beneath his sternum expand, glowing bright between his bones, and his heart melting in its heat. Tear through Kacchan’s crude exterior and you’ll find someone so unbelievably soft and kind underneath. Someone who’ll lend his umbrella to a friend despite abhorring the rain.
“You can share mine with me,” Izuku suggests unthinkingly. “That way, you won’t get wet.”
He only realises the gravity of his statement the second it escapes between his teeth. What the hell does it look like, asking his ex to walk in the rain together under a shared umbrella? Red eyes blown wide confirm Izuku’s worries. He quickly adds, “Only if you want to, of course! You don’t have to feel obliged to. I mean- you must think I’m so weird and—”
“Deku,” Kacchan cuts in, stepping forward until they’re almost nose to nose. The warmth behind Izuku’s chest sears through flesh and epidermis, setting him aflame.
“Shut the fuck up. I’ll walk with you. My bus stop is just two blocks down.”
Izuku barely hears himself agreeing beyond the sound of his rapid heartbeat.
The walk to the bus stop is a quiet one, but the silence isn’t awkward, punctuated by the comforting thump of rainfall. Izuku doesn’t know if he should thank or punch himself for owning such a small umbrella. It may shelter them well from the rain, but only if their bodies are pressed close—elbows brushing, ankles kissing.
The butterflies in his stomach working overtime.
A long time ago, when they were just kids who didn’t know any better, Izuku made many treks in the rain with Kacchan. Side by side beneath a green-orange hexagon, little feet splashing through mud and wet ground. In the beginning it was because Izuku had genuinely forgotten to bring his umbrella with him, but sooner than not it simply turned into an excuse. Kacchan had always berated him for it, but in their walks together, their surroundings would dissolve into a colour-haze like paints soaked through with monsoons, and Izuku would catch Kacchan smiling to himself.
After they broke up, Izuku never forgot to keep his umbrella on him anymore.
Now, he’s glad he can do the same for Kacchan.
Izuku sneaks a glance up at the side of Kacchan’s face. The sharp angle of his jaw, cheek shadowed by the umbrella. And really, he’s grown up. They’ve grown up. This version of Kacchan isn’t the same Kacchan Izuku had always known. He’s an amalgamation of both a past they’d shared, and one they didn’t. And maybe this used to hurt Izuku deeply, but now it sends a low thrill zinging up his spine.
This version of Kacchan is someone Izuku aches to spend his future learning.
The cafe is not only a godsend in the caffeine department, but the mugging one too.
Especially so because it’s currently finals season and Izuku is thankful for the cafe’s conducive environment. Sitting at his favourite corner, he has his laptop and notes scattered across the table, accompanied by an emptied mug of coffee. Izuku would order another but apparently Kacchan has exercised his limits not only on Izuku’s sugar intake but his caffeine one as well.
Izuku knows he’s done for because once again, it leaves him fond instead of upset.
The good, fluttery feelings from fondness are taking a backseat today though. In their place are anxiety and exhaustion from sitting for his first college exams ever. They show in the dark patches under his eyes and the tremble in his fingers as they scrawl away in illegible script (it’s legible to him at least!) over dog-eared notebooks. Not to mention the constant stream of nervous muttering that Izuku himself isn’t aware he’s doing. The only indication he gets are the dirty looks from students at neighbouring tables, and after which muttering quickly turns into biting onto his lower lip so hard he tastes metal.
Just when he’s on the verge of tears, a tap on his shoulder breaks him from his spiral.
Standing behind him is Kacchan, holding up a plate in his hand.
“This is a katsu sando,” he says, setting it down on Izuku’s table. “Take a break from whatever the hell you’re doing and eat.”
Stunned, Izuku blinks twice speechlessly before realising he should probably say something. “Wha- how much is it, Kacchan?”
“It’s on me, you shit nerd.”
“I can’t just let you treat me on the job—”
“Shut up and eat, Deku.”
Izuku obliges, sinking his teeth into the soft shokupan and crispy pork cutlet. It’s only here that he realises he hasn’t eaten all day, if his knee-jerk inclination to take another bite is anything to go by.
“So I see you still love your katsu, huh?” teases Kacchan with a smirk. And Izuku feels that tugging at his chest again, that affection behind his breastbone, warming at how Kacchan remembers. At how Kacchan still cares.
He nods eagerly, speaking with his mouth full of breadcrumbs, “It’s the best.”
Izuku expects Kacchan to leave him alone after that but he just stands there, limbs hanging by his sides, teeth gnawing at lip if there’s something on the tip of his tongue and he’s undecided whether to say it.
“Is there something else?” asks Izuku.
“Fuck,” curses Kacchan, clearly struggling to get his words across and Izuku giggles, endeared.
“I just wanted to say- give yourself some goddamn credit. Exams are tough but don’t stress yourself out too much over it. Don’t skip meals over it. Take care of your fucking self. You made it here, didn’t you? That has to say something.”
This time, Izuku can’t hold the saltwater back from filling his eyes and cascading down his cheeks. But he isn’t crying because he’s stressed or tired, no, he’s just so grateful for Kacchan’s concern. It feels like a star glowing brightly within his ribcage.
“Thank you,” replies Izuku. And he means it down to his bones—more than the free sandwich or the simple fact that he’s Izuku’s regular barista, Izuku is thankful for Kacchan being in his life again.
Before he knows it, the semester is ending.
It’s bittersweet. Izuku is excited to return home and eat meals prepared by his mum and see old friends and just lie in bed all day.
The bitter part lies in how he won’t get to see Kacchan on a regular basis anymore, at least not until the next semester. Izuku wants so badly to ask him out but there’s an old scar left behind by their previous relationship and he doesn’t want to rush its healing. For now, he’ll make one last trip to the cafe.
It’s unfortunately crowded when he arrives. That makes him a little sulky because he would’ve loved one more conversation with Kacchan before the long journey home. He settles for ordering his usual.
Just like the first time he drank from this place, he almost spits out the coffee. But this time, it isn’t because it’s completely sugarless or bitter, no—for the first time in months, his latte is sweetened with vanilla.
Instead of feeling overjoyed or triumphant, there’s a slight disappointment welling up behind Izuku’s breastbone. And he hates himself for it. This vanilla latte was everything he ever wanted from the moment he first stepped into the cafe, so why does he feel let down? Sure, it’s delicious, and that rush of sugar hits him in a way he’d forgotten how. It’s just—as silly and even delusional as it sounds, this little back-and-forth between them felt like something personal to him and Kacchan. Call Izuku dramatic, but the final day of the semester’s vanilla latte with three extra pumps of syrup sounds like a metaphor for its end.
Intuitively, he twirls the paper mug to look for a note and hitches his breath when he finds Kacchan’s neat penmanship scrawled onto its corner.
i know i’m the biggest sugar anti but in hindsight, everything is okay in fucking MODERATION. enjoy the latte, you deserve it for getting through the semester.
Laughter springs from Izuku’s mouth, laced with amusement and the kind of lifelong affection you feel for knowing and being tended to by someone as extraordinary as Kacchan. But accompanying it is saltwater, glazing over Izuku’s irises, free-falling down freckled cheeks. Because he’s relieved that Kacchan still cares.
Because deep down he knows that at the end of the day, all roads lead to them. It’s always going to be just them—Deku and Kacchan.
And Izuku isn’t going to waste an entire summer waiting to get him back.
He’s going to miss his train but fuck it. Izuku sticks around by the entrance of the cafe until azure blue skies trade for sunset pastels. Finally, Kacchan slips out through the door, duffel hanging precariously from his shoulder as he locks the chain. Orange light haloes the crown of his head, painting him ethereal against the horizon. The visual makes Izuku’s chest constrict. Before he can debate himself out of it, he stalks up to Kacchan, squeezing his eyes shut. “Can I please talk to you for a minute, Kacchan?”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” hisses Kacchan. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the train home?”
“I couldn’t- I just needed to get something off my chest.”
Cautiously, Izuku opens his eyes to meet Kacchan’s—rubies glistening in the last rays of the sun.
“Why didn’t it work out between us?” he asks.
“Huh?” mouths Kacchan, in a voice so soft unlike his demeanour. Soft like his little acts of care—loaned umbrellas and complimentary pastries and handwritten notes and sugarless coffee. Like the true nature of his heart.
“I asked,” repeats Izuku, “why didn’t it work out between us, Kacchan? Why did we break up?”
Kacchan’s gaze is unwavering and honest when he answers, “Because we didn’t believe that we deserved each other.”
Izuku laughs tearily, tilting his head up and leaning forward, attempting to close whatever distance that still spans between them. “Well call me crazy, but I think I can call that bullshit now.”
“You’re not crazy,” answers Kacchan in a quiet groan, imitating Izuku by angling his body closer.
“You were flirting with me, weren’t you?” teases Izuku. “With all those vanilla lattes that weren’t actually vanilla lattes, and all the handwritten notes—”
“Shut the fuck up, Deku.”
“Can we try again?" asks Izuku breathlessly, lifting his palm up to cradle Kacchan's cheek. His skin burns to the touch. "Can we really talk this through properly and try again, Kacchan?”
Kacchan answers him by pressing their mouths together.