Archive of Our Own

The first time Izuku Midoriya feels color begin to spread in his black-and-white world is the first time he meets Katsuki Bakugo.

It had been a near-disappointment of a Friday for the green-haired accountant, who usually preferred doom scrolling through his phone after work, but had been inevitably convinced by Ochaco to join her for a night out. The last time their little group got together for drinks had been nearly one month prior, during Iida's chaotic 24th birthday party, so they had definitely been overdue for an outing.

Izuku was genuinely excited to see his friends, even if it meant trading his quiet Friday evening for a night at an arcade-bar mixed business.

Yet. The night took a complete turn when they ran into Mina Ashido.

Izuku and his friends were too focused on making their way to the front of the bar to place their order as the bar began to fill, everyone seeming to arrive around the same time.

Ochaco had started excitedly talking about the job interview she had aced, Iida proudly mentioning a promotion he'd been eyeing that had suddenly been offered to him, Tsuyu explaining that she only needed one more semester before becoming an RN, and even Shouto smiled with good news about his mom.

And when asked about his life, Izuku is silent. He can't help the way he automatically brings his drink up to his lips to give himself an extra five seconds to think through his answer thoroughly.

As he finishes swallowing the cold liquid burning its way down his esophagus, he manages to fake a smile before mentally preparing the best lie he can think of.

Then-

Before Izuku can feel guilty for too long, a body bumps into his left shoulder, causing him to spill his cocktail onto his white button-up shirt.

A shirt that cost him $50.

“That's not legal, but- oh my gosh, are you okay?!”

Izuku's body shifts as he takes a look at the very warm hands gently rubbing a napkin into the deep blue-stained spots on his shirt, her bedazzled phone’s screen lighting up the scene of her makeshift crime. Gold bracelets dangle off of each of the frantic, deep-toned hands grasping at Izuku's skin, but he isn't offended by the overfamiliar touch.

Instead, Midoriya chuckles and politely grabs the napkins in the woman's hands before looking up to face her.

Bright pink curls frame her soft cheeks, rouged with a hot-pink blush and glowing with an impeccable skin routine she must follow like a religion. He's nearly tempted to question if he should be the one apologizing for breathing the same air as someone so ethereal, but instead he speaks with a lack of audacity.

“I'm okay, it's okay,” luckily, Midoriya's tone is filled with the same humor in his laugh. The woman seems surprised by his gentleness as he dabs at his shirt, her phone forgotten in one of her still-raised palms. “Don't worry about it, accidents happen."

Yes, accidents can happen anywhere, at any time. You could be walking home when a car accidentally runs you over, or be accidentally involved in an armed robbery at any point of your day.

As far as accidents go, this is the least of Izuku's worries.

The woman's golden-brown eyes look over the scene of his friends flocking closer to help her victim with the stain, her gaze concentrated on Izuku as he just smiles awkwardly under so much sudden attention.

Just as Ochaco nearly drags him to the restroom to see if she can scrub the blue out of the nicest shirt he's ever owned, long pink acrylics wrap around Midoriya's thin arms.

Everyone, once again, turns to stare at the pink-haired woman curiously.

This time, she's smiling widely as she exclaims, “Come with me! I have something for your shirt.”

Her request is barely registered before she starts to drag Midoriya with her through the crowded building, one of his friends quickly grabbing onto his other wrist so as not to lose him in the crowd.

A small voice in his head thinks over the possibility of this being a trap, but he wonders why someone would go so far as to kidnap him. He's one of the only fools in the bar still dressed in his work attire, a plain white shirt tucked into his dark navy suit, not even a tie afforded to be hung around his cheap neck.

Midoriya lets his gaze wander over the full-figured woman in front of him, with her curls bouncing tightly over her shoulders in a way that entrances him. Even her tight leopard print black dress, ending at the high of her thighs, seems only to draw him further in. Izuku is gay; there's never been a single doubt about it in his mind. He never has, and never will, have any issues with knowing his preference for his partner's gender, but that doesn't mean he's blind.

So, as he follows behind the mysteriously brave woman with nails that match her brightly toned hair, he can't help but think about how pretty she is.

“Kirishima! Hand me my purse!”

Izuku isn’t given long enough to glance at which friend has been following him, surprised when he briefly spots Shouto still holding onto his wrist, before he comes face to face with a friend of the beautiful woman.

The red-haired man is tall, taller than any of the trio approaching him, and it puts both Izuku and Todoroki on edge. They stare with wide eyes until the man turns to reveal a bright, shiny pink purse hanging off his shoulder and an even brighter smile on his face.

“Hey Mina!” ‘Kirishima’ glances at the two behind her, confusion painfully obvious as he steps closer, then between them and the pink-haired woman. He raises one of his muscular arms to create more distance between them and looks a bit annoyed as his expression morphs into confused frustration.

Not sure whether or not to be more embarrassed by the obvious large blue stain on his shirt or by the assumption of the redhead that he’s just another creep following one of his friends around the club, Izuku raises both of his hands in a surrender motion. Mina, the supposed name of the woman who had just dragged Izuku and Todoroki across the bar, pushes Kirishima’s arm down while shouting loud enough so she can be heard over the bass-heavy music.

“Give me my purse, I spilled this guy's drink on his shirt!”

Kirishima immediately turns to Mina, who's at his side, attempting to rip her purse off his arm. His eyebrows raise as he lets her yank the small bag off him, but he looks ready to ask plenty more questions.

Shouto steps closer to question, “Do you have bleach in there?”

Mina yanks out her wallet with a smile, admitting, “No, I'll just pay for the dry cleaning!”

Kirishima and Izuku speak at once, both trying to reject the offer in their own way. While the red-haired man attempts to pay for it himself, Midoriya tries to convince her that it really is not that big of a deal.

For a few minutes, Mina tries to forcibly pull $40 from her Hello Kitty-themed wallet, yet Izuku is using both hands to keep the bills safely tucked in the purse, still trying to explain that she should keep the money. Kirishima pulls his wallet from his jeans to try and pay in her stead, thrown off by Shouto as he places a hand over Midoriya's right shoulder, speaking nonsense about how the cost for dry cleaning will be more than $40.

The four of them are increasingly getting loud until someone comes up behind Kirishima and Mina with an even louder complaint.

“Can all of you shut the fuck up?”

Everyone goes silent, and a few of the other patrons' eyes start to judge them. Luckily, the atmosphere remains upbeat as the music does its best to hide their voices. Mina turns around, though she can still be heard arguing with the newest introduction from their group, but Izuku is distracted when he turns to watch the rest of his friend group is start to approach.

Ochaco looks annoyed, prompting a concerned Iida and Tsuyu to approach him and Todoroki.

After the four shots and hard seltzer she had pregamed before meeting them at the bar, Izuku is sure the woman is itching for a fight, no matter if it’s verbal or physical. So when he hears the rough voice of the man who had suddenly interrupted them, offering “just let me give him $100 and we'll call it even”, Izuku quickly turns to interject.

The last thing he needs is to be kicked out of one of the nicest clubs in the city because of a $50 shirt.

“It's really okay! I don't even like this shirt-”, but the rest of Midoriya's words slowly quiet to mumbles of nothingness as he gets a look at the tall blond standing across from him.

Rugged is the first word that comes to Izuku's mind when he first lays eyes on the harsh exterior of the man. Maybe it's due to the harsh dips of his deep maroon jacket, or the many piercings lining the skin on his ears, but Izuku finds himself mentally changing his choice of words for describing the man.

Intimidating.

The crimson of his eyes seems to spark an explosive chill down Midoriya's spine when he finally manages to make eye contact. Izuku knows his face must be revealing the awe he's currently drowning in at the sight of the blond god in front of him, yet he can't be bothered to close his open mouth.

Just as Midoriya's brain starts to slowly be flooded with signals to act like a normal human being, the tall god rolls his eyes at the dumb look on Izuku's face. The blond shuffles through his back pocket, and within seconds, folds a $100 bill before placing it in Midoriya's still ajar mouth.

For a moment, the entire group goes quiet, and no one dares to move, all eyes stuck on the sight of $100 sitting in Midoriya’s mouth. Disgust immediately fills him as he recoils, his own hand immediately reaching up to pull the crisply folded bill from his mouth, all while glaring at irritated his offender.

Mina steps forward and latches onto the glaring man’s left wrist in an attempt to yank the blond away from Izuku, calling out, “Stop it, Kats, it was my fault!”

Kirishima quickly grabs the other arm while mimicking the pink woman's requests to end his childish behavior.

“Nah, this dude's being an asshole trying to get some money out of Pinky! This useless idiot should be lucky we aren't-”

Before Kat, or whatever his stupid name probably is, can continue ranting like an uninformed idiot, he's silenced by a scrunched-up $100 bill hitting him in the forehead. Red eyes follow the rolled-up ball as it falls to the ground, before glancing up at a silently smirking Ochaco.

She has somehow successfully maneuvered her way between Izuku and Kat, hands atop her hips as if she isn't standing a solid foot shorter than the blond man now glaring daggers down at her. Just as the first curse word starts to be blasted from Kat's mouth, Kirishima quickly places a hand over his lips and starts to drag him away while repeating calming phrases.

“I'm so sorry!” Mina bows, hands politely placed in front of her in one of the prettiest bows Izuku has ever seen.

As horrified as he is to watch the woman feel like she has to apologize for her terribly tempered friend's sake, he is also envious of her perfect posture. She starts to explain that her friends are a bit overprotective, but Midoriya is too filled with guilt to let her stay at a perfect 90° angle for a second longer.

Placing his hand softly onto her shoulder, he pats her attention back up, where he's slightly bent to be heard without having to shout.

“It's really fine! Have a good night!”

Nothing else needs to be said at the moment, so Midoriya smiles politely at the woman before turning to shuffle all of his friends far from the rabid dog standing a few feet behind Mina, still shouting obscenities at Uraraka. After a few steps are made to mix back in with the crowd, Izuku quickly glances back at the strange trio behind him, viridian eyes darting from Mina’s turned-away figure, to the awkward, silent apology verbalized in Kirishima's expressive eyes focused on her, and finally turns just in time to catch Kat staring at him.

Or, rather, scowling at him.

It throws Midoriya off momentarily, but inevitably chooses to react in an equally childish manner.

He sticks his tongue out at the blond.

Then, he turns and holds in a laugh while catching up to his friends.

*** 

The next time Izuku runs into Katsuki, the color that had unexpectedly filled the lines around him had once again faded from his vision. The only time he is reminded of how blue and red are supposed to look is when he dreams of that night in the bar when he met that strange man.

As exciting as the moment had been, Midoriya wasn't bothered by the way his life went back to its dull, monotonous lull.

He's been working at the same job long enough to make it a permanent lifestyle and doesn't see any reason to expect anything more from his life. Or rather, he won’t ever push himself to seek more than what he’s already lucky to have.

So, he's very surprised when he finds himself cornered in a supermarket by his apartment, neck craned backward to make eye contact with a man hovering over him.

A singular built arm drapes just above green curls, close enough to radiate a strong heat from his bulky form, but just far enough to keep any part of their body from touching. With every breath he takes, Kat's chest stops only inches from grazing against the side of Midoriya's body.

It's still bothersome enough to force Izuku to shift his back against the aisle, both of his hands coming up to hover just above the dark fabric on Kat's pecs.

“Whoa, what's your deal?”

Izuku manages to duck under the arm beside him, carefully shuffling to the right of where the blond is currently facing. He even attempts an annoyed glare at the other, Midoriya raising the barely filled basket in his hand so he can cross his arms. Aware that he doesn't look half as threatening as might be required to scare someone like Kat, Midoriya does his best to hide his reluctance at any form of self-defense.

It’s been almost a full month since the bar, he's been drowning in overtime and threats of losing his bonus for the past four weeks, unable to do much more than the bare minimum to keep his body alive. And yet, while he hadn't been able to think of Kat the way he did after their initial messed-up beginning, Izuku's body still vibrates with a similar rhythm from their first meeting.

Kat picks up a container of spicy Ramen, red eyes dropping to watch Izuku while he drops it in his own hand basket.

Instead of wearing a thick maroon jacket or ripped black jeans, the blond is dressed in a nice plain black button-up, the shirt tucked into plain slacks. It almost feels like meeting a different person, someone completely different from the snarky, loudmouth that had slid a bill into his mouth; Midoriya's idea of the man is starting to get reformed the longer the silence sits between them.

Kat looks taller in all black, and Izuku is pleasantly surprised by how handsome the evil man is when he isn't shouting obscenities at him.

“You here to pick a fight, nerd?”

Izuku immediately regrets every kind thought he's ever formed of Kat.

Rolling his eyes, Midoriya decides today isn't the day he wants to be banned from the local supermarket, instead turning and walking far away from the giant red flag that insists on reappearing when he least expects it.

Just as he starts to walk down an aisle lined with fresh onigiri, tiny bento boxes, and even some re-heatable goods, he hears Kat rush over to him.

“Okay, look, wait- I'm sorry.”

Midoriya pauses his wandering hand from grabbing onto a teriyaki chicken bento, instead choosing to glance at Kat from his peripheral vision.

This seems to be a confirmation that Izuku is listening, so the blond continues.

“What I meant to say is I'm sorry for reacting the way I did that night. I misread the situation and thought raccoon eyes was being harassed-”

“‘Raccoon eyes’?”

Kat sighs, “Mina. The point is, she explained everything and made me promise to apologize if I ever saw you again. So…sorry.”

Midoriya squints up at the taller man, wondering how he'd look standing next to Iida, the tallest member of their friend group. Kirishima looked like he was definitley taller than Tenya, but now, seeing how Kat seems to be exactly one head higher than Izuku, he's sure that the man might barely match Iida's stature.

Urging his thoughts of praise for the perfection of his height to fade away, Izuku attempts to absorb the words from the man in front of him.

He misunderstood what happened that night.

It must not be an uncommon occurrence for someone like Mina to attract all kinds of attention; it wouldn't be illogical to think her friends would be more protective of her. And, to play devil’s advocate, Midoriya is aware of how the situation might’ve looked to anyone who’d been nosy enough to spare a glance at them that night.

Instead of being annoyed by the rough words Kat had thrown at him that night, Midoriya is suddenly glad that Mina knows someone willing to go that far for her safety.

Izuku lets his hands uncross, the basket in his hand dropping back to his side as he looks over to the black uniformed man. Even his blond hair is pulled back by a matching dark bandana, as if he'd been spending the last few hours in the back of a kitchen.

“You're a good friend,” Midoriya admits, catching the way Kat seems to flinch at the polite accusation. “I can't fault you for being protective about the people you care about. It's really okay, Kat.”

The expression on the other man's face shifts from slight annoyance to full-on surprise, his brows rising nearly into his hairline before furrowing into a hard stare. He opens his mouth, most likely to ruin the soft moment, but Izuku shakes his head.

“I would've done the same thing for my friends, especially Uraraka and Tsu, so don't worry about it.”

The blond raises a hand to attempt to stop Midoriya's honorable forgiveness, but green curls bounce as he shakes his head once more.

“That's not my name-” Kat tries, but Izuku is quicker.

“The past is the past,” Midoriya smiles, turning to grab the bento he'd originally aimed to eat for dinner tonight. As he places the small box into his basket, Izuku pats the blond on his shoulder, offering, “Let's pretend it never happened. Have a good night, Kat.”

Then, he turns to head towards the self-checkout area, involuntarily content with the way his world is barely splattered with specks of color after their interaction.

The last time he'd spoken to Kat, his life had been lit up with vibrant green, pale blue, and bloody red. The man's harsh shouts and lively attitude seemed contagious enough even to affect Midoriya's day-to-day outlook on just how everything could be different. Still, as badly as Izuku desires to relive the rise of Kat's anger to reawaken his desire to feel something, he isn't bothered by his dissatisfaction.

At least the excessively loud man got the forced apology off his chest.

It's only when Izuku is walking out of the store with a small bag in his left hand that his attention is grabbed once more.

“Hey Deku!” If it weren't for the hand forcefully turning him around, Izuku is sure he wouldn't have responded.

Kat looks ticked off as he holds his own bag, filled with what appears to be a beer can, various protein-heavy snacks, and a pack of cigarettes.

“Are you talking to me?” Izuku questions, his free hand coming up, emphasizing his confusion with the way his own pointer finger pokes into his own chest.

Kat grunts in a harsh response, before saying, “Let's get something right, my name ain't Kat, it’s Katsuki Bakugo.”

Katsuki Bakugo.

As if a light had been switched on, Midoriya feels his cheeks burning from the overflowing confidence of the man in front of him. Katsuki says his name proudly, like he had fought tooth and nail to earn such a grand title, and it infects the way Izuku smiles.

He can't help but counter, “My name isn't Deku, it's Izuku Midoriya. Nice to meet you, Katsuki.”

A moment of silence settles between the two as Izuku waits for his greeting to be accepted with a patient smile, and Katsuki seems to search for something in the deep emerald irises of the shorter man. When neither seems to get the answer they desire, they slowly turn separate ways, headed in opposite directions from the market behind them.

Midoriya is no longer disappointed while he silently walks toward his apartment; instead, he finds he can't stop smiling.

Katsuki Bakugo.

What a unique name. It makes sense that Kat would be proud of it; just the mere thought of the title is enough to send shivers down anyone's spine.

Izuku doesn't stop himself from whispering the name into the empty October air, not bothered by the concerned looks he receives from smiling to himself.

Katsuki also doesn't feel anger or animosity toward the second encounter he's had with the mess of green curls.

Usually, he'd be cursing out the mere name of someone who would dare to insinuate he actually cares about the knuckleheads he calls ‘friends’, but as he replays the way Deku had revealed his name, he is speechless.

“Nice to meet you, Katsuki.”

Red-tinted ears are hidden under the tightened bandana over his head, and Bakugo moves to wipe his flushed face with both hands. He doesn't bother to shout at the bag in his hand, not even as it smacks against his chin.

Instead, he whispers so softly that his ears can barely register his words.

“Izuku Midoriya.”

*** 

The next run between the two is one in which both are convinced that fate wants them to know of the other's existence.

Uraraka and Tsuyu had invited Izuku out for a drink after he'd been promoted to assistant manager at his company. He tried to argue with the two women that he wasn't necessarily happy about the forced job title, but both convince him that he owes himself at least one night of shenanigans to celebrate his hard work.

So, he allows himself to be forcibly dressed in a plain dark green plaid shirt left open atop a deep grey t-shirt, straight-legged deep blue jeans hanging loosely around his narrow hips. He considers himself lucky to be able to choose what shoes he wanted, and inevitably chose a pair of plain, deep-red sneakers.

Todoroki had been busy with planning his family’s next summer vacation, and Iida’s still gunning for his promotion, so the trio decided to flood into a very busy club on Saturday night on their own.

Izuku spends the first half hour trying to keep an eye on his scantily clad friends, holding their drinks and purses with every bathroom trip they make and every dance-floor session they attempt. He feels grossed out by how everyone's sweaty bodies merge into one chaotic mess on the dance floor, choosing to stay seated at a small high-top table and just watch out of curiosity.

Katsuki, on the other hand, had fought with every step his friends tried to force him to take into the club.

He had wanted nothing more than a salty bowl of ramen to end his night of continuous hard labor, but Mina had picked him up from work with a pair of his clothes, instructing him to change and get ready for a night of fun. As the head of partying in their group, the dark-skinned woman seems to thrive on two hours of sleep and shots of tequila.

It's a wonder she's made it to 29, especially after how hard she partied in college.

After nearly being forcibly changed by Kirishima and Denki, Katsuki switches his chef uniform for a plain black tank top, a leather jacket, and some random baggy jeans he can't remember buying. If he’d been a dumber man, he might’ve questioned how Mina got into his closet, but Bakugo can vaguely recall seeing her shoes by the entrance of his and Kirishima’s shared apartment this morning.

By the time they're strolling into the overcrowded club that Denki swears has the best hookup potential, Katsuki is already planning his escape.

He's attempting to lean toward Kirishima's ear, ready to lie about whatever convenient excuse will get him out of a hangover and rough morning, when he freezes. Across the club, politely sitting at one of the few tables around the bar, is Izuku Midoriya.

Katsuki doesn't believe in fate.

To believe in some higher power that dictates what happens in life is to give meaning to things that don't require it. He doesn't believe that some things are just ‘meant to happen’, no, people make decisions that have consequences. It’s this mindset that had set him up for success throughout his 20s, the very reason he hadn’t given up on becoming a chef after countless failed interviews.

And yet, he can't deny that something mystical is at hand for him to run into the chaotic green mess that is Izuku Midoriya.

Japan isn't the largest country in the world, far from it, but he had spent 30 years of his life without knowing of the other's existence, and now he can't go more than four weeks without seeing him. It can't have been more than two weeks since he ran into Deku at the market.

He knows he should ignore him; there's nothing left to be said between the two strangers, still…

Katsuki yanks on Kirishima's too-tight shirt, stopping him from walking away just long enough for the redhead to hear him say, “I'm getting a drink!”

While the rest of his friends shuffle off to try to find available seating in the club, Katsuki chooses to part the crowd until he's standing a few feet from Deku.

There's a purse on either side of his arms, both held tightly against his body as if he's prepared to stop anyone that even thinks about jacking them, but he doesn't look annoyed to be on purse duty. Instead, he's smiling and clapping as he looks into the crowd, Katsuki following his line of sight to see some of the characters he had caught a glimpse of from their first meeting.

Red eyes squint at the sight of the round-cheeked woman who had flicked his money at him, her annoying smirk having caused too many angry gym sessions to come from a ticked-off Katsuki. He’s been itching to tell the lady off for daring to roll up his $100 bill wastefully, but now he can't be bothered to enact his revenge.

Not while Deku is happily distracted by his dancing friends.

Before any of the trio can catch sight of him, Katsuki takes two small steps closer to the green-haired man. Once he's standing directly behind him, Katsuki raises his hand to grasp Deku's jaw, gently lifting the other's head to look up at him.

Izuku's bright green eyes are filled with surprise as he is forced to tilt his head back and make eye contact with Katsuki, but before he can argue against the unsuspected touch, he blinks in recognition of the man behind him. His hands hover in midair, stopping any of the nonsensical clapping he’d loudly been engaging in seconds prior.

“Are you stalking me or something, Deku?”

Midoriya immediately smiles, not bothered by the hand keeping his face aimed up as he calls out, “Kacchan! What are you doing here?”

The blond nearly drops his hand to question how the hell the dunce already forgot his name, but Deku is already shifting in his seat so he can turn and face the man.

“You look nice! Are your friends here too?”

Katsuki nods, suddenly proud of the outfit that Mina had prepared for him without his consent. At least it hasn't been a complete failure of a night so far.

“Yeah,” Katsuki nods, head nodding in the direction his friends had taken off. “The idiots are somewhere around here. I was getting a drink when I saw you sitting all alone, hogging a whole table to yourself.”

Inevitably, Deku pouts from the harsh accusations thrown his way, and Bakugo can only smirk as he watches the interesting reaction. He's glad that the lighting is poor in the club, as Deku doesn't seem to notice the grin lifted on the blond's face.

Quickly, the baby-faced man starts to rant about how he would never hog a table without good reason, but Katsuki takes the opportunity to look at the others’ outfits. He’d normally possess a bit more grace when learning more about someone’s body, but he doesn’t feel the urge to hide his blatant ogling of Deku’s frame.

He wants to see Midoriya’s reaction to being gawked at.

“Plus, I'm not alone!” Izuku points toward where Round Face and another woman are dancing together on the dance floor, seemingly too distracted to think twice about the eyes focused on his barely exposed collarbones. “I'm not much of a dancer, so I'm watching their things.”

Spotting the way Round Face looks in their direction, and a spark of anger ignites within her, Katsuki chuckles when she grabs the woman at her side and starts to approach them. He only has a few seconds before she finally tumbles through the crowd and interrupts them to start another argument.

Katsuki glances down to see Izuku staring at him, his pout still firmly sitting on his face, but his eyes filled with mischief. The way that mossy-hued eyes make Bakugo aware of his heart's quickened beats causes him to lean in further, both hands braced on either side of Deku's body. The table behind Izuku is his only support when Katsuki brings himself inches from the other's face, glad to spot Deku’s gaze lower to his lips before meeting his red eyes. Bakugo wishes he had more time to memorize the beautiful pattern of freckles kissed over Midoriya’s cheeks and nose.

“I'll teach you,” Katsuki offers, and before he can be rejected, he's already pulling the purses off either arm, using his free hand to ease Deku out of his seat gently.

Izuku tries to speak his insecurities loud enough for Katsuki to understand why he shouldn't legally be allowed on a dance floor, but the blond is having none of it as he approaches Uraraka and Tsu. The women look surprised when the tall man drops their purses into their hands, his smirk as loud as his shout, just to be heard over the bass from the DJ booth.

“Enjoy the show!”

As Midoriya is pulled toward the dance floor, he tries to smile at both women, who stare at him with confusion while approaching the seats at their table. When it becomes apparent that Izuku doesn't need any assistance, Uraraka settles into her chair, carefully keeping an eye on him as he's tugged away by Katsuki's hand on his wrist.

They eventually stop near the center of the dance floor, bodies tightly crowded against one another, but everyone in their own world as they focus on their own motions.

It's reassuring to Izuku that most people won't notice him through his peer-pressured dancing. He does his best to hide his cringe at being slightly coated in other people’s sweat, still awkwardly observing the ever-moving crowd around him, his own body weirdly still against the sea of others.

“Listen to the beat!”

Katsuki turns so that he's only a few inches from Izuku, both of their bodies motionless in the constantly moving crowd around them. The music that's deafening Izuku with loud beats and heavy bass is unrecognizable, but as he takes a second to listen, he starts to like the fast-paced tune. In his free time, he only ever listens to slower, sadder music, a habit he’d adopted to keep from being in absolute silence at times. Still, he suddenly has the urge to consider adding more songs from different genres.

It also helps that he's two drinks deep into the night, the liquid courage helping loosen the nerves that might've been wound up if he'd been put in this scenario sober.

“It's a nice song!” Midoriya shouts, hoping his words are understood over the music blaring around them.

Katsuki nods, a small smile still on his face as he reaches down and places his hands over Izuku's hips. Before the green man can question the flirty move, he feels the large grip start to sway his body back and forth.

Looking down, Midoriya only realizes the truth behind the movement when drums emphasize the beat, Kacchan’s tight grip still attempting to move his hips to the rhythm of the music. He'd be better at copying the motions if it weren't for his intense focus on the way Katsuki's really big hands seem to swallow the skin at his sides. His tan skin looks calloused and a little rough around the edges, but Midoriya finds himself appreciating the harsh sight.

To keep himself from worshipping the veins lining the back of Kacchan’s hands, Izuku raises his hands to grab at the sleeves of the other’s arms. Katsuki seems satisfied with Izuku's swaying and eventually lifts his hands to grab the smaller man's wrists, raising both of his arms into the air.

A few other people are in a similar stance, and the beat suddenly shifts to an electronic dance sound, causing everyone to start jumping up and down. Though Izuku can't hear the words that are shouted from the blond's mouth, he can read his lips well enough to understand the request to ‘let loose’.

So Midoriya starts jumping as well, hands waving in the air while he looks toward the DJ booth, where flashing lights and fog are poured into the rest of the club. Every thought that could center around how silly Izuku feels in the moment goes quiet, and all his mind can process is the upbeat dance tune ringing in his ears and the wide smile on Kacchan's face as he jumps along with him.

Sweat coats the top layer of pale skin on Izuku’s body, but it's only when the heat starts to become suffocating that he peels off the plaid shirt falling off his shoulders. Katsuki lets out a few ‘whoops’ teasing the shorter of the two, but the silliness of the entire situation forces a laugh out of Midoriya. He ties his thick flannel around his waist, immediately getting back into jumping alongside the man whose red eyes are eyeing the sharp curves of his waist when both of his arms raise.

Izuku still doesn’t notice the heavy stare, not even as he turns to face Bakugo, still bouncing up and down with absolutely no rhythm as he shouts, “This is so much fun!”

His excitement is palpable, pulling Katsuki out of his dumpster-worthy thoughts before his body can catch up to his mind. Suddenly, he feels the thirst building in his mouth, unable to ignore the hunger in his fingertips that ache to reach out and pull the shorter man toward him. Katsuki slows his dancing until he’s just standing in the middle of the chaotic dance floor, eyes wide and glued on the terrible moves that Deku tries to mimic from the people around him.

Midoriya notices Bakugo’s lack of movement, but instead of ruining the noteworthy memory he’s currently creating for the blond, he smiles.

And, god, if it isn’t the most beautiful thing Katsuki has ever seen.

The need in his body becomes too much, and he doesn’t have time to think rationally before his hands reach up and grab each of Deku’s perfectly freckled cheeks.

It hadn’t been too long ago that he had the urge to grab onto the green-haired stranger, but where he previously would’ve followed the action with a punch for a false accusation, Katsuki chooses to take the moment to admire every little feature on the face he’s currently holding.

The pink coating Izuku’s skin is a pretty rose tone, visible enough to shine innocence in his expression, yet still clear enough to let his freckles pop through. Even with the tips of his ears and nose colored nearly the same tone as Bakugo’s eyes, Deku’s basil-tinted stare is the reason Katsuki’s heart skips a beat.

“Let's get you something to drink,” Izuku shouts, his wet lips glistening as a strobe light momentarily lands on his face. Bakugo feels his tongue travel his own lips, briefly curious about which angle would be perfect to kiss the other at.

Deku’s sweaty hand travels into Katsuki’s palm, boney fingers looping through his own as he blindly allows Izuku to lead him back to the bar.

Is he drunk? He had only gotten a few sips from a single beer before Denki confiscated it, declaring that their Uber had arrived. He’s definitely not dreaming, recalling every detail of his tumultuous shift just hours before this.

Katsuki drifts into his thoughts, silently questioning the feeling that's starting to swell in his chest, only given a few seconds to contemplate before a female voice breaks his train of thought.

“Wow! I’m surprised you got him on the dancefloor, Bakugo!”

Bakugo tilts his head up, surprised to see he’s standing in front of both of the women Deku had come to the club with. Round Face looks in awe while smiling at both men in front of her, turning toward the other girl beside her.

The green-haired woman nods as she excitedly admits, “We can never convince Izu to dance, he’s always too embarrassed.”

At this, Katsuki turns to glance at the very embarrassed man to his left, a smirk automatically lifting onto his face.

“Uraraka! Tsu!” Deku’s voice comes out in a whine, but the sound only tugs further on Bakugo’s heartstrings. “You’re making me sound boring.”

Both women laugh at the complaint, as if to say, ‘That’s exactly what we’re saying,’ but it only makes Izuku laugh. Bakugo opens his mouth, ready to crack a joke that’ll be good enough for Deku to laugh like that forever.

“If it makes you feel better,” Mina steps forward, holding a large pint in one hand as she interjects in the conversation, “I’ve never seen Kat do that in our 6 years of friendship.”

As if to emphasize her point, Kirishima and Denki suddenly stand behind her, both quickly nodding along. The sight of the beautiful trio is silly, but effective enough to have everyone turn to Katsuki while chuckling.

“Is this Izuku?” The yellow-haired man questions, finger pointed at where Izuku is still holding Katsuki with a tiny grip, Denki’s loud mouth already opening to ask more questions. It seems Bakugo would prefer that not be the case, already carefully dropping Deku’s hand to start stepping around the table to stop Denki from speaking. “Did you cast a spell on this guy or something? He can not stop talking about you-!”

Luckily, Kirishima’s entire arm reaches up and curves around his shorter friend’s entire face, muffling any noise and scream that comes from his restricted mouth. None of their friends seems bothered by the exaggerated screaming, so Izuku does his best to focus on Bakugo’s approach to the two with an annoyed expression. Denki only stops begging once Kirishima drops his hand from his mouth, smoothly keeping it over the man’s shoulder while lying that he thought he’d seen a bug near the smaller man’s face.

But Izuku is still buzzing from the uncompleted sentence to watch too closely, instead, imagining the types of things Kacchan would say to his friends about him.

“Ignore Denki,” Katsuki grunts out, rough stare turning to focus on the group around the too-small hightop table. “We’ll be back.”

Just as Kacchan initiates his departure, his gaze lands on Izuku just before he motions for the others to follow him. Midoriya doesn’t hesitate or even think about how he looks to others; his body automatically moves through the enlarged friend group so he can follow Bakugo.

The music around them feels softer, even quieter in a strange way, fading into the background of the bar's chaotic noise as Izuku feels Katsuki step directly behind him, their bodies brushing against one another with each step. Then a finger loops itself through one of the belt loops in his jeans, Bakugo’s arm carefully placing itself atop Midoriya’s back as if it has always belonged there.

“Don’t stray,” Katsuki politely orders into Izuku’s ear, still too close to ignore. “Don’t want someone thinking they can pour a drink on you.”

Immediately, Midoriya slightly shifts so he can at least attempt to feign annoyance at the joke made at his expense, but as soon as he catches sight of Katsuki’s smirk, the green-haired man can’t help but burst out in a stifled laugh.

Their conversation is mostly filled with mentions of the different friends from their own groups, Izuku excited to ask all about Mina, while Bakugo questions if Uraraka is always like that. Even with how loud and busy the building is, Midoriya finds himself not too distracted by it all.

Not when those crimson eyes cause the rest of world to feel like it’s fading away.

It’s a wonder they worm their way to the front after just 5 minutes, Katsuki taking the lead to order both of their drinks after the bartender seems unable to hear Izuku's attempt to shout his drink name out three times.

They’re patiently waiting at the bar top when the two men are forced to scoot closer to one another to avoid being separated, Katsuki taking the initiative to loop the same finger through Izuku’s jeans.

“What do you do for work, Kacchan?”

Midoriya leans closer to the blond, glad not to have to scream just to be heard, and the man leans in as well to respond.

“I’m a Sous Chef, what about you?”

While Midoriya isn’t too knowledgeable in the world of chefs or how their hierarchy functions, he can tell by the pride on Katsuki’s face that his position must be important, maybe something similar to management in other fields?

Leaning in, Izuku admits, “That sounds a lot cooler than my job, I’m just an accountant! All I do is look at numbers all day and get a new prescription for glasses every year.”

To which Bakugo stills his head before shifting to lean into the space between Izuku’s head and neck, the shamed accountant instantly straightens his posture as he waits for something.

“You wear glasses too?”

With the way Katsuki questions in such a troubled way to emphasize his disbelief in such a normal fact, Izuku can’t help but pull back with obvious confusion while looking up at the other man.

Just as both of Midoriya’s hands rise to find balance on the bartop beside them, his wrists are taken hold of by Bakugo’s hands, brought together in front of him, and shoved into his chest. He’s aware of the way his hands are glued palm to palm in a stiff prayer motion, but Izuku doesn’t bother to disrupt the image of a worshipper looking up at his saviour.

Not when he’s so close to learning the specific tones he’d use to describe the color of Katsuki’s eyes.

“Is there anything about you that isn’t so…charming?”

Izuku has to pull his hands out of Katsuki’s hold to keep from laughing, the tension of the moment morphing into their usual banter as both men add more space between them.

“What’s your favorite color?” Izuku attempts to smoothly change the topic, unsure how to take the compliment. He’s not used to people liking him, let alone being so upfront about their flirting.

Immediately, Katsuki replies, “It was black, but I’m starting to appreciate green more. What kind of food do you like?”

Fewer people seem to be crowded around them, large groups swiftly making their way back to the dance floor as the DJ announces he’s going to be doing some ‘throwbacks’, but neither the blond nor the green-haired man dares to break their eye contact.

Instead, Midoriya pauses to think of such a tough question, inevitably curious as to what his answer will reveal about him.

He’s honest as he admits, “My favorite food is katsudon. Specifically, the way my mom made it.”

The offhanded comment slightly dampens the bright mood Bakugo seems to be in, and Midoriya realizes his mistake. Quickly, he waves his hands while adding “no! She’s not dead, she just lives in America with my dad, I swear she’s alive and well, Kacchan!”

Katsuki nods, letting out a heavy exhale before raising a brow at Izuku, his expression revealing the judgment pouring onto his face.

“Kacchan, huh?”

As if sent by god herself, the bartender approaches with their two vastly different drinks in both of their hands. He places Izuku’s pale orange-tinted drink just in front of him and hands the small glass of a whiskey concoction over to Katsuki, the man nodding as he pulls his card out. The music begins to play an older song that Izuku is lucky enough to recognize, distracted enough that he doesn’t catch the words that Bakugo shouts over to the man on the other side of the counter.

Once the blond turns back around to stand beside Izuku, who has unknowingly stepped closer to their friends, he bumps the man playfully with his shoulder.

“I have some cash,” Midoriya begins to explain, free hand reaching into his back pocket to pull his cheap wallet from its confines.

But Katsuki uses his drink-less hand to grab Izuku’s hand before it succeeds in compensating him, a gentle grin on his face while he briefly shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it, Deku.”

The blond turns back around to look at the overflowing dance floor, the area almost filled with every single person in the building attempting to get closer to the DJ booth. Midoriya is sure the sight would’ve impressed him just as much as the initial lookover had, but his eyes refuse to budge from the jagged edges that make up Katsuki Bakugo.

Who knew someone so…strange existed?

How could someone like him, a hint callous and dangerously honest, be so kind and gentle to someone like Izuku?

While the accountant hadn’t been such a terrible person only to deserve the worst things in life, he also hadn’t done anything momentous enough to garner such good karma. People like Izuku exist only for one purpose: to fill the world with enough background characters so that people, such as Katsuki, can have the space to stand out.

The most impressive thing Midoriya has done is win a scholarship to help him afford college for two more semesters, an achievement that faded with time and no longer interests anyone.

But if Katsuki were to win a grocery store raffle tomorrow, Izuku would have no choice but to mark it on his calendar as he would do for a birthday.

And it would be a gift to do so.

So, when Katsuki finally turns his head to stare at the smaller of the two, a dreamy gaze keeping his smile relaxed, Izuku cannot resist his own request, his drink long forgotten in his shaky hand.

“Please dance with me.”

With enough luck to win him the lottery, Midoriya is surprised as he watches Bakugo go blank momentarily, eyes quickly blinking as if trying to blink away a clouded vision.

Izuku is nearly disappointed with the lack of an answer, but just as he attempts to look away and excuse his request, fingers wrap around his hand. There isn’t enough time to question Bakugo’s actions as Midoriya is quickly led by him over to where their friends are still talking around the table.

They all look to be having their own mini-conversations with one another, but not a single word persists when Bakugo storms up to the table, quickly placing both his and Izuku’s glasses on the wood. When everyone’s eyes fall to him, as well as his ever-constant grip on a red-faced Midoriya, questions seem to fill their gazes immediately.

Denki is the only one brave enough to ask, “What are you doing, Kats?”

To which Katsuki turns to look at his smiling friend, quickly spitting out “dancing.”

Once again, Izuku isn’t able to answer his friend’s inquisitive glances, Bakugo suddenly shooing him deeper into the crowded dance floor.

The music is much louder than before, but it’s a subtle blessing for the awkward accountant, who isn’t sure he’s ready to redeem his embarrassment from his last statement. He nearly thinks to mention he should head home cause he misses his cat, but Katsuki is already turning around to face the shorter man.

“Dance,” his lips read, in perfect sync with the music as the song blends into the next.

Had Izuku looked so lame just a minute ago, when he asked the other to dance with him? Yes.

Is he giving off needy vibes? Maybe.

But is he ready to go another month without seeing Katsuki again?

So, he lets his smile break into a wide grin as his feet start to jump up off the floor. Matching the beat of the jumping bodies around him, Midoriya even lifts his arms into the air while letting his head fall back so he’s facing the ceiling.

Steel bars rest firmly against support beams, all surrounding a large circular glass pane above the center of the building, letting the moon shine through the dark club. The atmosphere feels ethereal, even more so when Izuku finally looks back down and realizes that Katsuki has been watching him the entire time.

Those damned crimson eyes seem closer to black than red, swallowing any ounce of light that’s gifted from the moon. Yet, it doesn’t frighten Izuku, who slows his bouncing while the blond approaches.

Each step becomes quicker than the last, the sound drowned up by an electronic beat, but Midoriya swears his heartbeat aligns itself to each stomp of Kacchan’s feet. When the older of the duo finally stands closer than any of the sweaty bodies around them dare, Katsuki’s palms place themselves loosely on either side of Izuku’s neck, gently guiding the other to him before he swiftly leans in to kiss him.

Then, he stops.

Midoriya doesn’t think to breathe or blink; his body dares not do anything that could scare the other away. His green irises instead glance at the two widened red eyes before him, a gratifying expression replacing the one rooted in hunger.

As if just holding onto him was enough for Katsuki.

The feeling of their hot breaths mingling nearly forces a whimper out of Izuku, whose hands lower to land atop the back of Kacchan’s fingers, which are tight enough around his neck to feel his rushed pulse. He wants to tell the blond to do it, Midoriya wants to dare Bakugo to act out the fantasy that he’s been building up since the moment they met, even if it means it’ll be the last time they ever see each other.

Because he can see it in those sangria-toned eyes that Katsuki wants it too.

“I won’t hold back next time.”

Katsuki steps backward, his hands still seeming reluctant to drop their grip around Izuku’s neck, yet he inevitably succeeds in escaping from their moment. When he pauses his retreat for just long enough to turn back around and playfully stick his tongue out at Midoriya, the other seems to snap out of his lustful daze to catch Bakugo disappearing into the crowd.

He’s copying what Izuku did the night of their first meeting.

Quickly, Midoriya rushes in the same direction the chef had been headed in, no longer worried about the unfamiliar sweat brushing against his entire body as he struggles to move through the crowd. Even the music seems to intensify as it starts to build, silencing any of the shouts of Katsuki’s name.

It’s only when Midoriya is suddenly stopped mid-chase that he realizes he’s standing in front of his friends. Neither Katsuki nor any of his unique friends linger, almost as if it were one of the cruelest hallucinations to ever occur to someone.

“Izu” Uraraka calls out, snapping his attention toward her while she shakes his shoulders. It’s only when his attention is fully on her that she asks, “What’s going on? Are you okay? You’re drenched in sweat, honey!”

Tsu even walks over to start dabbing his forehead with her handkerchief, but Midoriya doesn’t think much about the action, nor the questioning words asked of him.

Instead, he can only hope and pray that it won’t be long until his world can remain pretty and colorful forever.

*** 

Katsuki regrets everything.

It had only taken five minutes of sitting at home after leaving the club until he fully realized how big an idiot he was, because as soon as he was bathed in a prolonged silence, he began to think of Izuku Midoriya.

That damned Deku.

Maybe if he hadn’t been so distracted by the idiot’s dancing, then maybe he could’ve had enough brain cells left to ask for the kid’s phone number.

He’s even tempted to rush back to the club and see if the kid is still wandering the building he has no business being in alone, but it takes all of his willpower to remain seated. Instead of letting his crashout commence over how desperately horny he is for a man he barely knows, Bakugo chooses to tempt fate, to coax it into revealing itself actually to be real.

If a higher power truly exists in the world, he dares it to prove its capabilities by returning Izuku to him.

For the first few days after that night at the club, Katsuki manages to keep his regrets at bay, thinking nothing of the small setback he’d succumbed to follow through. Though he’d been reluctant to leave his destiny to the curious hands of fate, he’s somehow ended up back right where he doesn’t want to be- hoping things worked out in his favor.

Even with the stress building, the first few days after seeing Deku weren’t too bad.

Katsuki finally finished hiring two new pastry chefs after the last two announced their sudden retirement, got to deep-clean his office after months of neglect, and even started preparing the winter menu.

Then the second week came and went, too quickly and too quietly for Bakugo’s preference.

He decided to visit his mom after a particularly boring week and later regretted it after being scolded for not visiting sooner. Even with his valid excuses of being very busy trying to run a restaurant while the Head Chef is in Italy for a month, his mom was only coaxed out of her anger when his dad stepped in. The old hag didn’t seem happy again until her son eventually admitted to reconsidering his stance on marriage, her smile immediately returning. At the same time, she told him of all the mothers she knows who’ve been asking when he was finally gonna settle down.

Katsuki never bothers to correct her when she mentions running into a particularly handsome man at the supermarket near their home; he figures she’d stop mentioning random men she’d run into once she finally meets Izuku.

Or rather, if she ever meets him.

It seems hard for even Katsuki to come face-to-face with the vixen who has successfully overrun his every waking thought.

The third week passes much quicker than the last two, with Bakugo struggling to train the newest pastry chefs for longer than an hour without getting annoyed at how slow they’re moving. Luckily, one of his coworkers is always close by, stepping in once they notice that look in his face starting to appear.

Things start to blur when the new hires are scheduled to be added to the kitchen for the winter menu’s opening night.

Katsuki is much too busy to count the days as they combine into a too-long reel of his constant shouting at his staff, as well as the many injuries he sustains when a stray thought of green eyes distracts him. No, he doesn’t think much about the compressed repeated schedule until he’s in the kitchen one night, helping plate the entrees of a small table.

The Sous-Chef gently places the plates on a circular tray, nodding to a food runner while reading the table number aloud. After they carefully lift the tray and make their way onto the floor, Bakugo turns to get a read on everything happening around him.

The pastry chefs are doing well enough on their own, but Katsuki has already mentally decided to let them struggle tonight so they can get their heads out of their asses and do their job properly.

Even though his sauté chef and grillardin are laughing it up while prepping the specialty dish of the season, Katsuki doesn’t bother to get at two of their oldest employees. Content with how smooth the team is today, Bakugo moves through the kitchen, testing and tasting dishes to make sure only the best is plated tonight.

It only takes one bad dish to ruin the restaurant, something he could never let happen on his watch.

“Second Chef!”

Just as Katsuki pats Hana on the back, excited that she’s finally mastering her timing on rolling her Tarte aux Pommes Normande, he’s forced to approach the front of the kitchen to meet the hostess.

The short blonde-haired girl, Camie, holds up an unfolded menu to hide her mouth as she whispers, “So that you know, there are a couple of hottie businessmen sitting at table 13.”

Immediately, Bakugo recoils at the absolutely unnecessary meddling from a girl he wishes he hadn’t hired two years ago, but he still keeps his voice from shouting his next words.

“Okay,” Katsuki grits out, being very patient as he asks, “Why the fuck do I need to know that?”

Camie looks confused as she gives him a look that tells him everything he needs to know.

“But your mom told me that-” she tries to explain, but Bakugo shuts the menu between them, effectively forcing her to step away as he interrupts her near invasion of privacy.

He really should put that old hag on a banned list.

“Thank you for that useless information. Goodbye, Camie.” He insists, no longer feigning politeness as he waves her toward the exit of the kitchen. She angrily pouts at him, sticking a finger at the man in charge, before rushing out of the heated area.

Katsuki sighs before turning back around and shouting more orders for everyone to hurry the hell up!

A quick ten minutes speed by with Katsuki forced to eventually help Hana and Kenzo out after they overcook a batch of macarons. As the tray is placed into the oven by the over exhausted sous chef, he’s once again called out by his regrettable hiring choice.

“Chef Bakugo! Come here!”

Hana glances at him with a nosy look that he’s tempted to reprimand, but as Camie starts to whistle at him like he’s a good-for-nothing dog, he turns to aim all of his frustration at the dumb 22-year-old.

“I swear to god,” Katsuki starts, but never finishes as Camie pulls her phone out for him to look at her screen.

“Look! I asked to take a picture with them, aren’t they so cute!” She starts to go on a spiel about how he should point out which one he likes the most so she can set them up, but her incessant ranting is drowned out by an intense ringing suddenly filling Katsuki’s ears.

There, on the right side of Camie’s perfectly shot selfie with the businessmen, is a black-suited Izuku Midoriya, awkwardly smiling as he’s forced to pose for an unwanted picture.

Bakugo immediately grabs the phone out of his employee's hand, pinching his fingers together to zoom in to see if he’s mistaken. Once he notices the dusting of freckles blurred by the intense zoom the photo is being held at, Katsuki drops the phone back into Camie’s hands and heads toward the exit of the kitchen.

He carefully stops to peer out of the small window that lets him peek out to their audience of customers, the restaurant filled with families, single patrons, duos, and even a stray group of six businessmen near the far corner.

Katsuki has to squint to make out the form of the single green-haired man in the group, but as he watches the man converse with his colleagues, Bakugo is sure. This must be one hellishly nerdy group of accountants.

“Which one has you standing here all menacingly?”

Camie’s voice surprises Katsuki, who jumps as he turns to see her leaning toward the window, on her tiptoes, trying to see out the too-high window. He figures that's punishment enough for scaring him, and just turns to look back at Deku.

Surprisingly honest, he admits, “The one with green hair, I know him.”

Camie can be seen side-eyeing him from his peripheral vision, but she doesn’t voice any of the very annoying thoughts worming their way around her mind, maybe aware of the lack of patience Katsuki currently has. For a moment, Bakugo wonders if these last few years of attempting to shout the nonsense out of the kid actually paid off, but he’s let down as Camie finally asks her chosen question.

“Isn’t he a little young, Chef?”

Even though Katsuki immediately whips his head around to glare daggers at her, he refrains from releasing the cruel obscenities that land on the tip of his tongue.

She recognizes the look and quickly moves forward, pushing past him and out of the kitchen.

Shaking the annoyance that weighs on his shoulders, Bakugo turns back to stare at Izuku’s table.

The man smiles at his coworkers, even talking when he’s addressed, but he looks…dull. Nothing like the man who bravely asked Katsuki to dance with him, or was perfectly snarky after their run-in at the supermarket, nope, this has to be a stranger wearing Izuku Midoriya’s skin.

And yet, here he was, all fancified in a suit and tie, while seeming to be stuck in what seems to be the world’s most boring conversation.

“Second Chef, can we get assistance?”

Katsuki turns and feels his heart drop from leaving the kitchen alone for longer than intended. He rushes forward and steps in to check where everyone is now.

It only takes ten minutes to get the kitchen back into order, but it's definitely dragged out with the frantic way that the sous chef slinks through everyone's posts. He accidentally burns himself while assisting a flambé of cherries jubilee, and even knicks the tip of his finger while chopping a bunch of parsley for garnishing.

Bakugo is in the middle of slicing matsusaka beef when Camie rushes through the double doors again, this time skipping as she approaches the station Katsuki has settled into. He’s nestled near the back of the kitchen, near the stovetops and the fridge specifically chosen to hold eggs and milk, not bothering to look up as the blonde girl waves a thin paper from between her pointer finger and thumb.

He wonders how quickly the smile on her face would disappear if he tossed a slice of the expensive meat at her.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what this is?” She questions, practically begging for his attention with the way she brings the paper closer to his eyes. Unsurprisingly, she perfectly blocks his view of the meat he’s supposed to be slicing with absolute precision, and he’s forced to put his knife down on the cutting board.

Quickly, Katsuki swipes the sheet out of her hand, already looking it over as he snarkily comments, “This better be the winning numbers to the lottery.”

Katsuki is nearly confused by the list of desserts scribbled messily on the paper, his next question cut off as Camie finally explains the use of the scrap.

“That’s the desserts the handsome one’s table ordered, but get this- he decided not to get anything!” When Bakugo’s face must reflect the confusion he’s feeling at her nonsensical information, Camie rolls her eyes while further explaining, “I asked him why he didn’t get anything sweet, and he said he didn’t see anything he wanted to try.”

This new piece of information suddenly has Katsuki straightening his near-perfect posture, his mind already on the short list of four desserts on the winter menu. Every dessert on that damned list had been the cause of a headache that the sous chef couldn’t shake for almost two whole months!

Katsuki had spent days figuring out which scents and tastes would perfectly follow the majority of the dishes they’d settled on for appetizers and entrees, then spent weeks condensing a 25-item list of the best desserts to hand to his boss, before being handed the same list with only four items not being crossed out with red sharpie.

The desserts for the winter menu had been procured meticulously by the infamous perfectionist, Katsuki Bakugo, only to be deemed unworthy by Deku.

Anguish isn’t the exact word he’d use to describe the hurt that has settled in the blond’s pride, but it's close enough to narrate the look in his eyes as he glares at Camie.

She notices the flame starting to grow in his expression, so she attempts to back away from the wrath she’s about to incur. “Maybe he meant to say he’s full, y’know how dumb I am, I probably just misheard him! Anyway, I gotta go! Mahiro’s calling me-bye!”

The sous chef turns back to the paper crumpled in his tight grip, but before he can move to throw it away, a thought hits him.

‘He didn’t see anything he liked.’

What kind of dessert would Izuku like? He seems like he’d have a semi-strong sweet tooth, maybe Castella? But he could also prefer more traditional Japanese desserts, such as Mizu Yokan or Ohagi.

The longer that Katsuki allows his brain to continue to wander about the endless possibilities, the less he can focus on the way he flips into autopilot. He hands the crumpled list to Hana, shouting the order so the dessert side of the kitchen can get started. Bakugo even hears himself shouting at someone for a nearly overcooked scallop, but he can’t see.

No, his vision is clouded- or rather, completely encompassed by the smile he’s suddenly wishing to see aimed at him.

“My favorite food is katsudon. Specifically, the way my mom made it.”

And then it hits Katsuki.

Suddenly, he’s in control of his movement, and he doesn’t think twice as he rushes back over to the fridge at the back of the room. As he’s pulling out a small container of milk and two eggs, he feels a few of the other chefs' gazes land on him, but it doesn’t deter him from walking over to place the goods onto the table in front of the lonely stove.

While he goes through the motions of separating the egg whites and egg yolks into separate bowls, Bakugo shouts out an order, “I better not smell a single hint of overcooked food in here, do I make myself fucking clear?!”

A chorus of “yes, chef” signals everyone’s full immersion in their roles, the feeling of eyes no longer lingering on Katsuki as he moves to whisk flour into his wet mixture of egg yolks, milk, vanilla, and a little lemon zest. He’d normally be preening with the feeling of power and authority suddenly flowing through his bloodstream, but he’s too distracted by reaching for another lemon to feel prideful.

Hana and Kenzo freely look over to their boss every few seconds, still easily surprised by every one of Bakugo’s actions despite being employed under him for just over a month at this point. As easy as it is to hate the sous chef and his cruel methods of training new hires, both of the pastry chefs can only be in awe as they steal glances to watch Katsuki smoothly start piping the batter into a carefully formed mound onto a buttered pan.

They’re walking their dishes up to the front just as their boss starts to manually whisk some wet ingredients together while shouting at the grillardin to “apologize to the tree that worked hard to give him enough oxygen so he could talk that damn much.”

Everyone chuckles at the clever insult, even Sasaki, who immediately starts to go into another long-winded spiel about how he planted a tree once.

The kitchen falls into a peaceful groove, despite Sasaki’s nonsensical rambling.

Then the peace is immediately overshadowed by confusion when Katsuki moves toward Hana, stealing a few pieces of a sliced strawberry from her garnish pile before walking toward the double doors at the front of the room.

“Five minutes,” he shouts without turning, but he doesn’t make an effort to hide the warm plate in his hand. “Don’t give me a reason to shout when I come back.”

Then he pushes past the doors.

Izuku wonders if he can force himself to throw up the food he’s just eaten. But the more he thinks about the waste it would be for something so delicious, he finds himself sighing.

He’d do almost anything, no matter how humiliating, if it meant getting out of this boring company dinner he’d been forced to attend. Knowing that the managers get together once a month for a ‘business-focused dinner’ was one of the reasons Izuku had been inclined to reject his company’s promotion offer; he’d much rather be an underpaid, underutilized employee than have to hang out with his colleagues after hours.

And yet, here he sits, contemplating faking a worrying phone call from his mom to escape the confines of his coworker’s boring conversation about artificial intelligence.

Luckily for Midoriya, his contemplations quickly fade when a waitress appears with a tray on her shoulders. She just smiles as she calls out the fancified names of the desserts, placing a plate in front of the person who claims it. It’s a fifteen-second conversation that ends too quickly for Izuku, who’d been glad to have a reason to avoid making eye contact with anyone around him.

He should pretend to have a stomach issue.

The waitress bows before walking away, the conversation around the table starting up into another praise for the restaurant’s creativity. Izuku even feels regretful for wasting the opportunity to try one of the delicious-looking treats offered by the fancy restaurant. Still, he’d already told himself he’d leave as dessert was served.

In fact, he quickly calls out to Tanaka, his supervisor, his mouth ajar, with full intent to lie that he needs to give his cat medicine, when a voice overlaps his own.

“And a plate of Soufflé Pancakes for the Deku.”

An arm extends in front of Izuku, gracefully placing a surprise dish in front of him. He’s surprised by the prettily decorated plate, but he can’t stop himself from immediately looking up at the man hovering over him.

“Kacchan!?”

Izuku can’t be bothered to remember he’s sitting at a table filled with his seniors, suddenly too entranced even to register that someone other than the man in front of him could exist.

He could never bring himself to tear his eyes off the absolute mess that stands just a single foot away. The man he’d been dreaming of nearly every night for nearly three months straight, now standing in front of him, drenched in a riveting concoction of sweat, fire, and even a scent similar to caramel. Even with his hair pulled back by the same bandana from when he ran into him at the supermarket, Izuku can’t deny his concern that he’s currently hallucinating. He wouldn’t dare to move, not when he couldn’t yet be sure if this is a dream or still reality.

What kind of luck has he gathered that would allow Midoriya to run into Katsuki at his place of employment? Izuku is sure his fortune must be either turning around or diving to rock bottom if this isn’t real.

Had he been that bored from the lousy conversation that he’d come up with a strong hallucination?

Maybe he’d died.

“Take a bite,” Katsuki whispers without an ounce of tact, a small smirk peaking through the absolute order he’s suddenly bestowed upon Izuku.

Midoriya looks down at the plate in front of him, eyes widening at the sight of the plate of fluffy pancakes in front of him. The pancakes themselves are perfectly sized, with smooth brown tops, carefully splattered with powdered sugar, syrup, and slices of strawberries.

The dish looks absolutely delicious, but Izuku can’t help the confusion displayed on his raised brows as he looks back up at Katsuki. He doesn’t recall seeing pancakes anywhere on the menu, and this place seems fancy enough to never even think of offering them as an option.

“It's part of the secret menu,” Bakugo obviously jokes. Still, with the way Midoriya can hear his coworkers start to whisper excitedly about the possibility, he isn’t sure they understand that. “Now, take a bite, please.”

His plea immediately nips Izuku into action, his hand grabbing for the fork near it as he turns to stare at the pancakes.

None of his coworkers notices the scene unfolding with the youngest manager, or perhaps they just don’t care to comment, not even as Izuku forks a bite of pancake into his mouth and nearly moans at the explosion of flavor.

The syrup tastes much less synthetic than any other syrup Izuku’s ever tried, and the slice of strawberry secured in place by a dollop of whipped cream adds a unique tartness that makes Midoriya smile in surprise. Complimented with a sweet dough that bounces with each bite, cutely fighting against his chews, Izuku is convinced he’s found the best dessert on planet Earth.

“So good,” Izuku manages to mumble out mid-chew, bringing his hand up to hide his mouth while he works through his bite.

Katsuki blinks with surprise the entire time it takes Midoriya to finish chewing his small slice, a strange look on his face even as Izuku finally smiles at him.

“Did you make this for me, Kacchan? It’s really, really good, definitely the best pancake I’ve ever had in my life!”

The compliment is meant to be taken with the utmost respect coming from Izuku, who tilts his body back so he can take in the full expanse of the handsome chef.

For some reason, Katsuki seems much cooler wearing his work uniform than he’s ever looked in his leather jacket or black jeans. Izuku glances over the buttons that keep the chef jacket tightly wound around Bakugo’s body, curious as to how he’d go about unbuttoning each of the ten silver mounds tying it all together.

Pulling his mind from the gutter and attempting to fill the silence between him and the chef, Midoriya adds, “You know, it’s kinda funny you made me pancakes. They’re my favorite late-night snacks to make when I have a sweet tooth in the middle of the night.”

Immediately, Bakugo perks up, eyes filled with wonder as they explore every inch of Midoriya’s face with intense curiosity. He seems to be searching for an answer to a question that Izuku isn’t sure to understand, but seems pleased by what he sees as he tilts his head back with exaggerated pride, nonchalant with his explanation of “it was a guess.”

“How do you know the chef?” Tanaka, Izuku’s supervisor, suddenly butts into the conversation, leaning close enough to pull on the accountant’s right shoulder. “You should introduce us, Midoriya!”

The man goes so far as to playfully nudge Izuku, who just awkwardly chuckles before turning back to an annoyed Katsuki.

“I didn’t know he worked here. I apologize, Tanaka.” Katsuki steps just a hint closer to Midoriya as the apology leaves his lips, the chef’s expression shifting from calm to immediate annoyance.

Still, Izuku remains unfazed by his antics when he finally pushes his chair back and stands up, a very thrilled smile on his face as he explains, “Excuse me, I’ll call it here for tonight so I can catch up with my friend.”

As if to emphasize their closeness, Izuku even loops his arm around Katsuki’s, close enough that they lean against one another. It’s connected enough to highlight a bond, but still far enough to rouse suspicion.

Only when Tanaka accepts Izuku’s departure with a nod does he finally bow and pull Bakugo along with him as he walks away.

“Please tell me there's an exit in the back,” Midoriya silently begs as they get out of earshot from the table behind them.

They’d been sitting close enough to the front that the entrance is within view of his coworkers, who would definitely be nosy enough to watch Izuku converse with Katsuki the entire time. He’s not quite in the mood to entertain that type of audience, but is unsure of where to turn as they clear the crowded tables around them.

Katsuki, thankfully, loops his fingers with Izuku’s before leading him toward a pair of black double doors. He’s glad for the redirect until they push through the swinging barrier, coming face to face with a waiting crowd of chefs in similar uniforms to Katsuki’s. Though his clothes are all colored in a deep black while everyone else wears striking white, almost as bright as the whites of their widened gazes.

For a moment, Midoriya is convinced he’s about to replace the meat being served to customers, but Bakugo’s voice is loud as he shouts, “Back to your stations! Don’t make me say it twice!”

Bodies are scrambling further into the kitchen, but Izuku isn’t given time to watch the tasks that everyone has been assigned due to being pulled along with Katsuki’s path deeper into the back.

They turn a corner, finally out of view from the rest of the kitchen staff, when Katsuki suddenly comes to a stop, turning around to face Izuku just as his hand comes up and yanks him closer. It isn’t until Midoriya feels lips against his own that he realizes what's going on.

The kiss is frantic, almost scarily so, as if either one of their lives is in imminent danger of ending in the next five seconds. Izuku figures this isn’t the worst way he could be led to his death, with calloused and warm hands cupping his face, their touch as rough as the red in his eyes. No, death would be every bit the sweet relief Midoriya had imagined if it meant everything came to an end while he was in Katsuki's arms.

The lips fighting against his bite and scratch and pull, leaving no room for Izuku to do more than hold back his whimpers from escaping. His hands come up to hold onto the thick fabric on Bakugo’s body, but even still, his knees wobble from the lightheadedness he’s facing.

If only to emphasize the hunger they’d both been harboring to this point, Midoriya’s tongue is forcibly entangled with Bakugo’s, turned and twisted as if the chef needs to know the taste of every inch of skin belonging to him. The silent sounds coming from Katsuki’s exploration are wet and obscene, and suddenly, Izuku doesn’t care if anyone can hear them.

“Kacchan,” Izuku whispers out when Katsuki’s mouth leaves a trail of kisses while traveling down to his neck. Immediately, Midoriya’s hand comes up to silence the pleas escaping his mouth, glad for the loud noise of a successfully running kitchen.

Midoriya has to lean back against a cool tiled wall just to keep from collapsing, breaths coming out in pants while he allows Katsuki to bruise his neck with multiple indentations of his perfectly straight teeth.

One of the chef’s hands releases from their tight grip on one of Midoriya’s hips, reaching back toward his own jeans. Izuku wonders where exactly this is all headed and how he ended up in this situation in the first place.

Then Bakugo pulls out his wallet, and his mouth is no longer painting Izuku’s skin in hickies.

“Watanabe is outside; he’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” Midoriya’s hooded gaze glances down to where he spots Katsuki pulling out a few ten-thousand yen bills. “Tell him to take you home.”

The chef's order now dissipates the previously heat-filled moment.

Izuku looks up at the man, betrayal evident in the way tears slowly begin to build. As funny as the sight is, Bakugo also aches at the childish sight, sighing while he raises his gaze.

When a tear threatens to drop from Izuku, the other finally shuffles through his pockets and pulls out a flip phone. He holds it out for the younger man to grab, but Midoriya seems confused as he glances back and forth between the device and the man.

“Your number,” Katsuki nudges the device closer into Izuku’s shaking fingers. “I’ll call you once I’m off.”

Midoriya is slow to finally grab Bakugo's phone, the outdated device sleek in his hand as he thumbs in his number under the name ‘Izuku’. A sense of satisfaction settles in his chest, limbs no longer tensed with each entered digit, and he can’t help the soft smile that appears on his face as he hands the phone back to its owner.

“What’s with the cheeky smile?” Kacchan teases, his voice holding no edge as he pockets the electronic into his back pocket once again. He leans into Midoriya’s personal bubble again, but does little more than harshly grab the chubby part of his freckled cheeks.

Izuku pushes past the chef to walk toward the exit across from them, pausing only to turn and retort, “I’ll be waiting, Kacchan.”

Before the blond can sneak in a snarky comment, his favorite accountant manages to slip out of the back entrance, quickly enough that by the time Katsuki peeks out the door to watch him safely walk to the cab, Izuku is already entering the vehicle at the end of the street.

He waves from inside the car as it peels off the curb, Katsuki shaking his head while returning the gesture, unable to stop the smile that tugs his lips upwards.

He’d be inclined to chase after the cab so he can stick with Midoriya, but his brain is already shifting into work mode as he hears loud chattering in the kitchen behind him. So, he shuts the back door, adjusting his jacket and bandana before coming out from his hidden corner.

Shouts can be heard by any patron sitting within a twenty-foot distance from the kitchen doors, but they persist until the kitchen is back in order after Katsuki’s unexpected break.

No one bothers to question who exactly the young man had been, or even thinks to ask Bakugo if he has gotten himself a lover, not even as their shifts come to a close and they start to clean the kitchen.

The only time his adventure is brought up is when Camie strolls back into the kitchen at the end of the night, a smug smile on her face when she approaches Katsuki. He doesn’t have the energy to do more than roll his eyes at her expression, carefully going through their ingredients to see what needs to be ordered on Sunday.

“So,” she finally speaks, pretending to play with some carrots on a shelf near her. “Did I do a good job?”

For the first time in a long time, Katsuki praises the thrilled hostess.

***

Nearly two months later, Mina and Kirishima are letting out excited squeals as they saunter into a barely filled restaurant on the side of a busy street. It’s a self-serving barbecue spot that had been recommended as a great place for everyone to meet at by Tsu, who has frequented the place with her own family. She excitedly gushes about their great wagyu and soju cocktails, something that piques the interest of the party animals of the group.

Uraraka and Tsu stand to hug Mina, while Iida and Todoroki greet Kirishima, who questions where Denki is.

Todoroki blatantly states, “he’s running late…again.”

Everyone nods at the obvious answer, shuffling to their appropriate seats while the girls settle into their own conversation, leaving the men to discuss the different items on the menu.

Just as Tsu mentions Izuku loving the place the last time she had brought him here, Mina suddenly looks around the table, noting the three chairs left empty. Her curious gaze returns to the two women near her, and she can’t help but point it out.

“I thought Izu and Kat were already here?”

This causes both Tsu and Ochaco to meet one another’s gaze, Mina spotting the obvious tone of the look they share. Instead of dumbly asking where the two men had sauntered off to this time, she restarts their previous conversation.

It’s already been over a month and a half since Katsuki had admitted he was finally seeing someone, surprising everyone when he revealed it to be the man he’d nearly beaten up the first time they met.

Mina, while still surprised that she’d live to see the day someone would voluntarily deal with one of the harshest people she’s ever befriended, isn’t too shocked to see its Izuku. In fact, she gloats to their combined friend group, consistently, about how spilling her drink on the accountant was the universe’s way of bringing the two together.

Katsuki’s mom was the most shocked by the news, not only because of how undeserving her son is to “be with someone so sweet” as she puts it, but also due to realizing Izuku is the young man she’d run into at the supermarket! The one she’d been mentioning to her son for weeks at that point, whom she was sure would be a perfect match for her grumpy son. Mitsuki Bakugo also tries to claim credit for their relationship.

Neither of the men minds it, though.

In fact, they only laugh at the silliness of the entire situation. How they met, the way they dared fate to keep bringing them together, it all sounds too otherworldly that when asked about it, they just chalk it up to fate.

Fate was the reason they met each other for the first time at the bar; it’s at fault for cornering Izuku in that supermarket, it caused Katsuki to serve those pancakes at his restaurant, and it’s the reason that Katsuki’s hand is currently pressed against Izuku’s wet lips.

The bathroom stall around them is tight, just big enough for them to crowd against one another, but it’s still enough.

Enough for Izuku’s clothed chest to press against the door of the stall, both of his wrists held behind his back by Katsuki’s free hand as he adjusts his grip over Midoriya’s mouth so that his fingers can slip past his open lips. Even with the obscenity of it all, from the overly packed restaurant awaiting their return to the way Katsuki’s fingers dig themselves deeper into his panting mouth, Izuku lets out a heart moan.

Katsuki chuckles from behind him, sarcasm evident in his voice as he questions, “I thought I told you to be good and shut the hell up, Deku?”

As if to emphasize his point, Bakugo’s fingers pull out of the wet mouth they’d been exploring, still wet as they lower to tighten around Izuku’s throat. He’s rough as he forces Izuku’s back into a harsher arch when he drags the moaning man back by his throat, seemingly not caring when the action draws a weak whimper out of him.

No, Katsuki likes the power that Izuku gives him in these moments, when his cock is buried too deep in him. Izuku’s hole tightens around his member with the same suffocating grip that his hand has around his neck, and it’s inspiring enough for Katsuki to slowly pull out before thrusting back into his boyfriend.

“C’mon Izu,” Kat teases, whispering sweet nothings into Midoriya’s ringing ears. “Don’t make me beg to hear those pretty little noises, baby.”

The affectionate nickname sends a shiver down Izuku’s spine, and he feels his own dick trembling with the urge to be relieved while Katsuki starts to nip at the lobes of his ears.

Each thrust from Katsuki squeezes more explicit noises and attempts at words from Deku, whose hands are eventually freed so that they can grab at the double grip around his neck. Using his own throat as leverage, Izuku tilts back so he can face Katsuki, a love-drunk wobbly smile on his face while he struggles to speak over his lover’s rough thrusts and suffocating grip.

“Pl-ease Ka-cchan~” A gasp escapes his lips when Katsuki adjusts his knees so that the angle he’s hitting shifts.

There’s barely enough time for Izuku to catch the sound of Kacchan grunting before the older man abruptly connects their lips, just in time to silence the loud moan Midoriya releases along with his cum that paints the stall door against him. At the feeling of Katsuki’s own cum filling his twitching hole, Izuku lazily smiles against his boyfriend’s lips, feeling inspired to carry their love session back to his apartment just to satisfy his urge to be consistently filled by the other.

Still, the two inevitably break apart and start to clean one another, sneaking in kisses here and there while trying to come up with a good excuse for leaving the table for nearly 15 minutes now.

Even if their friends roll their eyes at the lie, and the other customers side-eye them when they return to their seats, neither will be really bothered by it. At the end of the day, they know they’re right where they’re supposed to be.

It’s just as fate deems it.