roommates - chapter 5: roommates
Light eased into the room slowly, slipping past the curtains and stretching across the blankets in quiet stripes. The air felt warm and still, carrying that soft heaviness that exists only right before a day truly begins.
Katsuki surfaced from sleep gradually, not with a jolt, but an almost reluctant awareness–the vague feeling of weight, warmth, something pressed close against him that definitely wasn’t his blanket or his pillow. His brain caught up before his body did, and by the time he fully realized where he was, his muscles had already gone completely still.
He and Izuku had fallen asleep in each other's arms.
Izuku’s face was tucked against Katsuki’s chest like it was the most natural place it could have ended up. One of his hands had found the hem of Katsuki’s shirt and curled into it, clinging unconsciously. His breath fanned over Katsuki’s collarbone in slow, steady waves. They were so close it seemed as if neither of them had bothered keeping personal space, or like the concept had simply stopped existing.
Katsuki didn’t move. He couldn't. Wouldn’t.
Something deep and instinctive inside him locked into place–like he’d been wired not to risk losing this exact moment. Even his breathing went cautious, small and quiet, because if he inhaled too sharply, Izuku’s head might shift, the warmth might disappear, and reality might snap back into something ordinary and cruel. He stared up at the ceiling, heart pounding hard enough it could replicate a drum’s rhythm, and loud enough that he was convinced Izuku could probably feel it through his cheek.
Izuku, on the other hand, looked like he’d never known stress in his life. His expression was peaceful, eyebrows relaxed, mouth slightly parted. Every few seconds, he made a tiny content noise in his sleep–the kind of sound that instantly dismantled any defenses Katsuki had painstakingly built over years. Izuku’s arm tightened unconsciously around him once, just for a second, like his sleeping brain wanted to confirm that Katsuki was still there.
And when he did, Katsuki nearly forgot how to breathe.
If he turned his head, just a little, he could bury his face in Izuku’s curls. If he shifted his hand barely an inch, he could rub his thumb across Izuku’s back. Those thoughts alone were enough to make his chest ache. He stayed frozen instead, jaw tense, his every nerve blazing with awareness.
He wasn’t supposed to have this. Not like this. Not here. Not when Izuku belonged somewhere else and with someone else and a future that didn’t look anything like Katsuki’s.
But oh, how badly he wanted it.
Izuku was there anyway, wrapped around him like orbit was a rule neither of them remembered agreeing to.
A soft knock ripped through the quiet.
Katsuki’s soul left his body.
There was a pause–then a second, louder knock. A beat later, his phone buzzed on the floor near the couch, followed immediately by a continuous string of buzzes like someone had decided that today his life would formally go to shit.
Izuku stirred at the sound, shifting closer first instead of waking up, nuzzling absently against Katsuki like he was burrowing into a pillow. Katsuki concentrated every ounce of willpower into not making noise. His fingers curled reflexively against Izuku’s back, holding him just a little tighter while his free hand reached for his phone.
He pried his eyes open, lashes fluttering, vision swimming as the text blurred and refocused back and forth. Finally prying his eyes fully open, he read the swarm of messages he had received.
A couple from Eijiro, and…an email from the dean. First, he read Eijiro’s texts.
“Bro? Where are you?”
“Inspection happened. Dean emailed me to go and check in your dorm if you were there because you weren’t there at all for inspection. Call me asap pls”
He chose not to reply. Katsuki exhaled silently through his nose, his finger hovered over the dean’s email and clicked it.
The email read:
“Dear Katsuki Bakugo,
This message is formal notice that your single-occupancy housing privilege has been revoked due to recent policy violations regarding your absence during inspection. YOur reassignment to double occupancy housing is effective immediately.
Wing and Room assignment:
East Wing, Unit 715
Roommate: Midoriya, Izuku
Failure to relocate promptly may result in additional conduct action. No appeals.”
–
His roommate was…who?
He read it again, even if he didn’t need to. Because this could not be happening.
Midoriya, Izuku.
Katsuki stared at his screen in disbelief, shock washing over him in a slow, flooding wave. For a second, his brain simply refused to process what he was seeing. The words sat there in clean black font and somehow they still managed to feel like someone had yanked the ground under him and tipped it sideways. He read the name another time. Then again. Then a third time, not because he needed to, but because some stubborn part of him kept waiting for reality to correct itself.
Of everyone on campus, of the entire East Wing, of every bastard at this university it could've been, it had to be him.
His pulse spiked, not in the good way–the way where it was too quick and too loud in his ears. This wasn’t just a regular inconvenience, but rather a life-altering conflict. This was close-quarters living with the one person he already spent too much of his life pretending not to stare at, not to think about, not to quietly orbit like an idiot. He could already see it in his head with painful clarity: two toothbrushes leaning together in the same cup, his hoodies draped over a chair beside Izuku’s sweaters, mornings where Izuku’s voice was still soft with sleep and he hadn’t yet put his walls up for the day.
And he couldn’t do anything about it. What would he do? Yell at the dean and give him his dorm back? As if that would work. But this, this whole thing was enough to drive Katsuki mad at just 9 in the morning. Living with his childhood best friend that he had so unfortunately fallen in love with?
No. Absolutely not. He had worked too hard to seal that crush up in concrete, to stack denial over it like bricks and tell himself it wasn’t there.
His thumb hovered over the screen like not moving might somehow force the universe to reconsider. The name didn’t change.
He swallowed, throat tight.
This could get bad. Not the bad you could easily fix.
The kind of bad that starts in your chest and eats its way outward.
Katsuki knew there was no chance of getting out of this untouched. He was so, completely, absolutely screwed. He let his head fall back against the floor, stared at the ceiling, then at the glow of the screen again. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about living with Izuku. He absolutely had, and every time he’d shut it down brutally and quickly, like slapping a hand off a hot stove. He’d tell himself it would be suffocating or annoying or that they’d drive each other insane. Mostly Izuku. Lies, all of it, flimsy things pretending to be rational thought. The truth was far more dangerous: he didn’t trust himself not to fall harder than he already had.
Crushing on Izuku was one thing, and rooming with him another. He knows how he gets when he loves–and solely because of Izuku. There was nothing casual, not an inch in Katsuki was casual. It was all intensity and gravity and something close to devotion once the switch flipped. He fell the way cliffs fell into oceans, violently and permanently, erosion disguised as inevitability.
Then Katsuki realized he had basically had this set in stone. He now had just learnt to be careful what you wish for, because even simple lyrics could manifest the unthinkable.
A soft sound broke through the noise in his head — the slightest shift of breath, the quiet scrape of fabric against carpet, the nearly inaudible hum a person makes when they’re just beginning to wake up. Katsuki went perfectly still, as if freezing could somehow stop the moment from advancing.
Izuku’s eyes slowly peeled open. He shifted, nose scrunching a little as he blinked against the light, his vision blurry.
Katsuki noticed what was going on and immediately froze in place. He felt it–the precise second awareness hit him. His body went alert under Katsuki’s hands, breath catching, shoulders tensing in the smallest, unmistakable way. Izuku blinked again, slower this time, and finally tilted his chin the slightest bit upward.
Green eyes met red at a ridiculously close distance.
For one entire, unbearable heartbeat, neither of them moved.
“...Oh,” Izuku breathed, his voice laced with surprise.
His hand was still curled in Katsuki’s shirt. He noticed it, stared at his own fingers for a second, and then his entire face went warm, the tips of his ears painted a faint pink. He didn’t pull away right away; he seemed too busy processing the situation in stages.
“Mm. You’re still here, Kacchan?”
Katsuki swallowed, throat dry. “Yeah.”
“You’re…” Izuku glanced down the inch of space between them, pulling away slightly. “... here.”
“Yeah.”
Another pause. The world seemed to balance on a pinpoint.
Izuku’s lips parted like he was about to apologize, then unexpectedly, he laughed under his breath–in a somewhat fond manner.
“We…fell asleep,” he concluded uselessly.
“No shit, Sherlock," Katsuki muttered, his voice low, unable to trust it not to crack. “You drooled on me, idiot.”
“Did not,” Izuku whispered back, scandalized, even though his voice was still more sleep than indignation.
“Did too,” Katsuki shot back.
The knocking came again–sharp, insistent, dragging the morning all the way into reality.
Izuku jumped from his position this time.
His hand finally released Katsuki’s shirt like he had just realized what he was doing. He scrambled back half an inch, then froze.
“What time is it?” Izuku harshly whispered, as if the knocker could hear him.
Katsuku held up his phone wordlessly, screen lighting both their faces in cold blue.
Izuku blinked once. “Nine…?”
“Yeah. I tried not to wake you up since that’d be considered a crime in your books. So be thankful, but don’t get used to it.”
“Sorry for drooling on you, if I actually…did.”
“Whatever. Anyway–”
The knocking came again.
“And that’s…” His gaze flicked to the door as he propped himself up on the couch’s shoulder, lower half still on the ground. “The knocking is probably–”
“Inspection fallout,” Katsuki said shortly.
Izuku winced like he’d be the one written up. “Right. Sorry.” He continued, “Mine’s at 4 pm this evening.”
“Good for you,” Katsuki scoffed sarcastically.
“Good for me? More like good morning to you, too? Why’re you already so mean?”
Katsuki snorted. “Idiot.” He opened his phone, clicking on the email in preparation to show Izuku, but immediately hesitated. Izuku noticed the automatic shift in Katsuki’s expression.
“Kacchan?” Izuku said quietly. “What happened?”
Katsuki looked at him, still in hesitation.
He could lie. Say class problems, issues with his manager, or some professor being nagging him. It would be easy–or should. Izuku would believe him. But Izuku was watching him with that steady, worried look that somehow made lying feel loud, even if he never called you out on it.
Katsuki exhaled slowly through his nose. “My dorm.”
Izuku blinked, completely lost. “Your dorm?”
“Inspection. Do you not remember how I wanted to go back before 11 pm? And you made me stay here? I would’ve seen myself out at 9, but you insisted. And guess what?”
“What?” Izuku tilted his head.
“I missed it, that’s what.”
“They didn’t do anything right?”
“Of course they did, dumbass! If they didn’t I wouldn’t give a shit or be telling you any of this right now.” Katsuki glared.
There was a single knock again, followed by a letter slid under the door.
“Ignore that. Let me explain,” Katsuki sighed, Izuku turning back at him.
“They reassigned me.”
Izuku’s expression softened into immediate empathy, automatic and unguarded. “Kacchan, I’m so sorry. That sucks, I know you liked living alone, I’m sure there’ll be another single dor-”
He stopped.
The rest of the sentence never made it out.
“Wait. Reassigned to where?” Izuku asked carefully.
Katsuki didn’t answer right away. He just held Izuku’s gaze and let the silence do the work. He watched realization build — confusion first, then suspicion, then something like disbelief.
Izuku’s eyes widened.
“...South Wing? Isn’t that where that one guy you hate dorms at? Or what about Nor-”
Katsuki shook his head.
“East Wing.” Katsuki muttered, avoiding Izuku’s gaze.
“What room?”
“Seven-fifteen.”
Izuku gaped. “Kacchan, that’s my room.”
“No shit.” He shot back.
“Wait, so that means that both our single-dorm privileges were revoked?”
“Apparently. I’m not liking it.”
–
Katsuki moved in that afternoon. He didn’t have much, but it was enough to feel like an intrusion, like he was invading a space that had always been Izuku’s. His clothes, neatly folded, stacked against the side of the room; his drumsticks leaned in the corner while his half-unpacked gym bag sat. Izuku hovered nearby, his hand constantly reaching out then retracting in an attempt to help Katsuki.
“What do you want? You’re getting so handsy on my stuff already, huh?” Katsuki snarled.
Izuku shook his head vigorously. “No, I just wanted to see if you wanted help. Sorry. Oh and by the way, when are you leaving for practice?”
Katsuki had left before he heard the last bit of Izuku’s sentence. He went in and out of the dorm, retrieving the rest of his belongings that had been stockpiled in the hallway.
“Well? You wanted to help?” He managed while he held a notebook through his teeth with a heap of clothes he hugged.
Izuku opened the door and blinked at him. “Okay, wow…that’s a lot. Here give it to-”
Before he could finish his sentence, Katsuki had dumped half of the pile into Izuku’s arms. Although Katsuki was fairly organized himself, he threw his belongings everywhere, covering almost every inch of the dorm.
“Hey, Deku.”
Izuku stiffened. “Hm?”
“You can put that down now, you know. Just set it on the couch.”
He gave a small nod, releasing the pile of clothes and began to fold them. “Also what time are you leaving for practice again? I can cook or order something!”
“I leave at 3:30. And I have to go to the gym afterwards so I won’t be back until 7:00. Practice starts at 3:45 and I’m there for 2 hours. Then right after I go straight to the gym. Just order ya self somethin’.”
“Okay! Do you want anything, Kacchan?,” Izuku looked up from the clothes.
“S’okay. Don't need to fix my stuff. I’ll do it, yeah?” Katsuki raised his eyebrows at Izuku.
Izuku smiled, sighing. “No promises, Kacchan. The place is a mess, you left so much stuff laying around…there’s no way I wouldn’t do anything about it.”
“Suit yourself. Just don’t get nosy.” He slung his bag over his shoulder. “I’m out. And don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”
“Again. No promises.” Izuku smiled faintly. “Have fu-”
The door shut before he could finish his greeting. Iuku exhaled, leaning against the cough once the door clicked shut. The space felt quieter–silence filling the room. He glanced around at the mess Katsuki had left behind–sweatshirts draped over chairs, gym shoes by the door, half-empty protein bottles scattered across the counter–and couldn’t help but grin.
“Well, no promises,” he muttered to himself again, rolling up his sleeves. He began picking up the clothes Katsuki had left lying around, folding shirts and sorting socks into neat piles. It was mundane work, but there was a comforting rhythm to it, especially since he was happy to do Katsuki a favor.
Once he finished, he wandered into the kitchen, debating whether to cook or order. He finally settled on ordering, but disregarded Katsuki’s request and ordered for him anyway. Placing the order felt strangely ceremonial, a small way of holding onto the other boy while he was gone.
Meanwhile, Katsuki busied himself at practice. The practice room was alive with sound. Denki’s guitar squealed as he hit a high note, Sero’s rhythm guitar kept the beat tight, and Kirishima’s bass rumbled through the floor. Katsuki’s drumsticks flew, pounding the kit with sharp, controlled fury.
“C’mon! Again! You’re dragging the tempo, Sero!” Katsuki shouted over the music, leaning forward.
“Hey, I’m right on the beat!” Sero fired back, grinning. “Maybe your drums are just… too fast, Kacchan.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes, hitting a rimshot for emphasis. “What the fuck did you just call me?Too fast? Ha! That’s called energy, idiot! You need to match me, not half-step behind!” He threw a drumstick at the other.
Denki threw his hands in the air, nearly hitting a string. “Easy, guys! The song’s supposed to flow, not turn into a fight!”
“Flow my ass!” Katsuki snapped, pounding a quick double-tap on the snare. “We’re not playing tea-time jazz here, Denki! We’re supposed to slap people awake!”
Eijiro laughed, slapping the bass with a grin. “He’s right, though. The energy’s gotta hit hard.
“Yeah, yeah,” Denki muttered, tuning his guitar quickly. “Just… let’photos run it one more time, from the top, and stay in sync this time, alright?”
“Finally, someone speaking sense,” Katsuki said, then slammed the sticks down on the snare, signaling everyone to start.
The room erupted again, Kirishima’s bass deep, Sero’s rhythm tight, Denki’s guitar shrill but controlled, and Katsuki’s drums that had beats hitting like punches. They moved as a unit, chaotic but electric.
Back at the dorm, Izuku sat crossed-legged on the couch, the smell of takeout filling the apartment in warm waves. Seconds later, Izuku perked up when he heard the knock at the door, the separate meal he had ordered for Katsuki and hurried to get it, whispering a thank-you to the delivery man before retreating back inside. He set the bags on the counter and unpacked the containers, lining them up neatly.
He left Katsuki’s food on the table with a sticky note, even though he knew it was unnecessary.” “Eat this! -D”
He added a little smiling doodle and gushed over it as if he had just created the most astonishing art piece on the planet.
Hours slipped by faster than he expected. After he ate, he found himself on the couch, flipping through flashcards mindlessly, not really absorbing anything written on them. His eyes scanned the same term three times before he realized he hadn't actually read it once. He let the card fall onto his chest with a sigh, head sinking back into the cushion.
Eventually, boredom got the best of him. He stared at the ceiling for a second, debating whether to keep pretending to study or just give up and do whatever his mind pleases. It was boring waiting around, he thought.
The lock finally clicked after hours of anticipation.
The door swung open a second later.
Katsuki stepped inside, hair damp, front pieces sticking to his forehead, hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows, and his expression set in its usual sharp annoyance. He dropped his bag near the door, toeing off his shoes.
“Hey,” he turned to Izuku.
“You’re back,” Izuku grinned.
Katsuki snorted. “Yeah. See, that tends to happen when people live here, in a dorm…they come back to where they live.”
He tossed his keys onto the key rack, his eyes landing on the neatly folded stacks, the cleared floor and the organized desk.
He went silent.
Izuku froze, immediately aware of what the silence meant.
“I told you not to touch my shit,” Katsuki snarled.
Izuku straightened slightly. “I did say no promises. So be thankful, hm? And it was everywhere, you were gone, too. And it was bothering me. And also your socks and protein shakes nearly bombarded my whole place.”
Katsuki snorted. “You’re unbelievable.”
Then he noticed the food container on the table. He stopped, brow furrowing when he saw his name on the sticky note. He peeled it off, stared at the doodle for a second too long, then clicked his tongue and looked anywhere but at Izuku.
“You didn’t have to order me anything.”
“I know,” Izuku said lightly. “I did anyway.”
“Mm. Thanks.”
Izuku’s expression brightened, warmth developing in his chest as Katsuki thanked and acknowledged him.
“So how was practice? And gym? Are you leaving for tour again soon?”
“Was alright. And yeah, we leave in a couple weeks. No idea why the label’s touring us again.”
Izuku perked up slightly from his place on the couch. “Again? Already? Didn’t you guys just finish one?”
“Yep.” Katsuki shrugged. “Apparently selling out half the venues means they think we don’t need sleep or a break. Plus I’m still in college and have a personal life. Some bullshit, y’know?”
Izuku laughed softly. “Well..people like your music. I like it. Of course they’d want more shows.”
“Guess so.” Katsuki sighed, looking away as he opened the food container–and to his surprise, there sat his exact order. He paused, chopsticks hovering midair. Teriyaki chicken–extra sauce and no vegetables mixed in. Just the way he always ordered it.
The way he had never actually told Izuku he ordered it.
His jaw tightened for a second. “You remembered.”
Izuku blinked. “Huh?”
“My order,” Katsuki held up the container. “From last time.”
“Oh.” Izuku rubbed the back of his neck like it had just occurred to him. “I just guessed? You hate when your food’s all mixed together.”
Katsuki didn’t answer that. There wasn’t much to work with anyway. Instead, he shoveled food into his mouth–because it was easier than saying thank you again.
Izuku watched him for a second before glancing back down at his flashcards. “The tour…how long is it gonna be?”
“Mm. Month, maybe two.” Katsuki spoke around his food, then caught himself and slowed down. “West coast mostly. Couple shows out state. Got a bunch’a shit to do.”
Izuku nodded, flipping a card over. His fingers twisted around the edges. “That’s soon.”
“Yeah.”
“So you’ll be gone a lot before then too? Rehearsals, meetings, all that? Man, are you even going to be able to come home?”
“Eh. Pretty much so,” Katsuki admitted. “You’ll probably barely see me since I won’t be around much, besides classes. Already emailed professors I’d be out for a while and asked for my course work ahead of time.”
Even if the tour was weeks ahead, he already felt the shape of absence digging into him. But maybe being away would hopefully get rid of the pit in his stomach every time he came home. Or would it even make a difference? It’d make him feel worse than he already does. Being away from Izuku was completely different from seeing him from time to time around campus although not frequently. Different from his presence being fully erased. So he made the leap of faith.
“Y’know what? Come with me.”
“What? Kacchan, I can’t just–”
“Come, Deku. Architecture and shit can wait. And you can bring round face too.”
Izuku’s laugh came out small and startled, like he didn’t know where to put it. “Come on, that’s…”He shook his head, eyes dropping back to his cards as if the ink there suddenly mattered more. “I can’t just disappear for a month. Or two. Exams or studio reviews don’t pause and freeze in place just because my roommate’s a rockstar.”
His thumb skimmed the highlighted margins of his notes.
“I already barely sleep. Professor Yamada chews people out for missing a single site visit, and I’m behind on my model iterations as it is. I’m still fixing that cantilever issue. And to add on, I have a girlfriend.” He huffed under his breath.
“That’s the thing. Don’t know how the fuck you have time for bullshit like that,” Katsuki spat in annoyance. “Do you ever leave that drafting table?”
“You don’t get it, Kacchan. Someday you will. And yes, I do, mind you, I’m the one who cleaned up all your shit around the dorm. Don’t act like I don't remember what the sun feels like, I go out when I have time to. It’s the first day and you’re already going out and about. So why are you so worried?”
Katsuki’s expression contracted. “Right. Yeah. Makes sense.” He stabbed another bite of food just to do something with his hands as he thought back to the last piece of Izuku’s sentence.
“Y’know what? Forget it, Deku.”
He hadn’t meant it as a joke when he offered Izuku to join him on tour. Katsuki meant he couldn’t stand the idea of being gone and him not being there alongside him. He’d meant he didn’t want to walk back into an empty, quiet dorm and pretend it doesn’t feel wrong when Izuku’s not pacing around waiting up for the other to get back no matter how late it got.
Stopping his ministrations, Izuku looked up, his brows knitting.
“C’mon. Hey. I didn’t mean it like that. It sounds…amazing. Really. I just have so much going on and so do you so we both have to make compromises to live in comfort.”
Katsuki snorted. “Architecture owns your ass.”
“If you put it like that, it kind of does,” Izuku admitted. “But I like it. Compared to nursing school, it’s so much better; I can be creative. Seeing something go from sketch to structure? People actually living inside something you imagined? That feels important.”
Of course Izuku would pick buildings over bands. Of course he’d a future that didn’t have anything to do with Katsuki.
“Important. I get it.”
Izuku brightened, missing the shift in Katsuki’s voice entirely. “You’ll kill it though. Tour’s huge! And I'm sure you won’t even notice I’m not there.”
Katsuki didn’t trust himself to answer right away.
There was no way he wouldn’t notice the only thing his mind has revolved around for the past couple of years. It was deemed impossible.
He forced a scoff. “You’re right. I won’t notice, so don’t go getting full of yourself–you aren’t that interesting.”
Izuku grinned. “Good. Then you won’t miss me, silly.”
Katsuki looked away first.
“Yeah,” he lied.
–
The weeks that followed didn’t explode into chaos the way Katsuki expected. They slid almost quietly, into something like a routine.
Mornings came first.
Izuku woke up early out of habit, hair a mess and eyes half-lidded as he shuffled into the kitchen like someone had just unplugged him from the wall. He always paused in the doorway, stretching with his arms overhead.
Katsuki always pretended he just happened to wake up then, too–as if it was a coincidence. Definitely not because his brain had started setting alarms based on the sound of Izuku’s feet hitting the floor.
Izuku brewed the worst Katsuki had ever tasted. It was bitter, burnt, and bits of beans emerged to the surface. No matter what setting Izuku used, no matter how much sugar and creamer he poured into it, he could never replicate the masterpiece for a coffee Katsuki seemingly made so easily.
But whatever he cooked and brewed, Katsuki drank it anyway.
Izuku would lean against the counter scrolling through his email, mumbling things like “site analysis meeting…okay…and studio crit at three…I should print those plans,” while Katsuki fried eggs with unnecessary aggression.
“Stop overthinking the day before it even starts,” Katsuki would grumble.
“I’m not overthinking,” Izuku lied through his teeth.
Architecture did that to him–he’d start talking about load -bearing structures at 7 in the morning like a normal person would complain about the weather.
Afternoons were quieter compared to the fast-paced mornings.
Izuku disappeared for class or site visits with Ochako. She showed up often, too; sometimes she knocked, polite and brief, and other times she burst in like she lived there as well, calling Izuku’s name before the door had even finished opening. They’d leave together with rolled plans tucked under Izuku’s arm or coffee sweating through the sides of cheap cups, busying themselves talking about deadlines and professors and buildings Izuku had started to recognize by silhouette alone.
Katsuki was almost never around for any of it.
His schedule chewed through the afternoon in solid blocks: gym, practice right after classes, then more practice–longer, louder, exhausting in the way that left his muscles burning even when he stood still. On certain days there were extra club activities or meetings stacked on top of that, commitments he’d signed onto without really thinking about how often they’d keep him out late.
Their kitchen stayed empty most days.
When Katsuki would come home early while Izuku was still gone–which was rare, the dorm felt hollow enough that the fridge’s hum sounded like the only thing alive in it, and somehow the loudest. Afternoons stretched thin without Katsuki, quiet in a way that made Izuku aware of what still needed filling.
That was when he started cooking.
At first, he’d live off whatever was easiest–instant noodles, toast, reheated meal-prep leftovers Katsuki previously cooked and left behind when he was too busy–but he realized he couldn’t rely on junk food or someone to cook for him. He started trying. Nothing fancy. Just simple things. Pasta, rice or stir-fry he adjusted a little each time.
Katsuki noticed when it got better.
He noticed the way the kitchen smelled different when he came and went, how meals started showing up wrapped and labeled in the fridge, how Izuku left notes sometimes–short practical, like reminders more than invitations. Katsuki meant to say something. To thank him. But most nights he got back too late, shoes kicked off in the dark, Izuku already asleep on the couch or in his room, the dorm settled around him like it was finished for the day.
He ate alone more than he liked to admit.
On other days when he’d return late, he’d find the dorm dimly lit, the air faintly warm with whatever Izuku had made earlier. Izuku would be asleep on the couch surrounded by open books and rolled-up blueprints, glasses crooked on his face. He’d fall asleep mid-highlight sometimes, the marker half dried out, a ruler still balanced on his chest.
Katsuki stood there every time, staring like there wasn’t anything he could do.
He’d drape a blanket over him without comment and leave the lights low.
Some nights, Ochako stayed late too, marvelling at Izuku’s cardboard models and pitching in suggestions every now and then.
Katsuki would pass by, stepping over a scale ruler. “Don’t leave X-Acto knives on the floor unless you want me to lose a fuckin’ toe.”
“Sorry!” they’d apologize in unison.
Izuku smiled every time Ochako laughed.
Katsuki noticed every single one.
—
The week before tour didn’t feel like a countdown, but rather clutter.
It started with one suitcase. Then another.
By Tuesday, there were three lined up by the door–blacl, gray, one with a cracked wheel that clicked every time it moved. Katsuki kept meaning to consolidate, kept saying he would, but every time he came back from practice or a meeting, there was something else to add. Extra cables. A garment bag slung over the back of a chair.
The dorm began to look temporary. Clothes stopped living in drawers. Hoodies pile on the couch. Socks showed up in place they didn’t belong. Katsuki’s half the room expanded outward, slowly claiming space, until even Izuku had to sidestep around it in the mornings.
“Your stuff’s multiplying,” Izuku said, stepping over a duffel bag.
“It’s breeding,” Katsuki replied without looking up from his phone as he laid in his bed. “Don’t touch it.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Izuku lied, already nudging a strap out of the walkway with his foot and padded toward his bed, pausing only to flick the light off in the kitchen. The dorm settled into its usual nighttime quiet–the fan’s silent buzz, distant traffic, the faint click of Katsuki’s phone screen as he scrolled.
Izuku changed and brushed his teeth quickly, moving on autopilot. By the time he came back out, Katsuki was still sprawled on his bed, one arm flung over his eyes, phone balanced loosely in his other hand.
Izuku hovered for a second.
Then, casually, “Oh. I finally caught you alone. Yay.”
Katsuki snorted. “What, you got me on a schedule now?”
“Kind of,” Izuku admitted, climbing into his bed.
The mattress dipped softly as he settled on his side, facing the wall at first. “You’ve been in and out all week. I feel like I only see you in passing.”
“Tch. Busy,” Katsuki replied.
Izuku rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “I know, Kacchan. Just missed talking you know? Having my best friend around?”
Silence stretched.
Izuku broke it, whispering. “Are you nervous?”
Katsuki shifted, arm dropping from his eyes. “You already asked that once.”
“I know,” Izuku said lightly. “Just checking if the answer changed.”
“…Maybe,” Katsuki admitted.
Izuku smiled faintly in the dark. “You’ll be fine.”
“I didn’t say I was nervous. I said maybe, Deku.”
Another pause.
“I mean it,” Izuku added. “You always do well when you throw yourself into stuff.”
Katsuki scoffed. “That’s ‘cause I don’t half-ass anything.”
“I know,” Izuku repeated, fond.
The room felt smaller with the lights off. The clutter faded into shadows. The suitcases by the door were just dark shapes now, easy to ignore if you didn’t look too hard.
Izuku yawned, shutting his eyes. “What time are you leaving again?”
“Early,” Katsuki replied “Stupid early.”
“Mm. I’ll be asleep.”
“No, you won’t.”
Izuku laughed softly. “Okay, maybe not.”
“Oh, and Kacchan?”
“What?”
Izuku shifted under the blanket. “You can text me if you can’t sleep.”
Katsuki feigned irritation, turning his head slightly. “Pfft. And why would I do that?”
Izuku shrugged. “I don’t know. ‘Cause I’d answer.”
“Mm. Maybe. Hold ya to it.”
“Are we sleeping yet?”
“Nah. I wanna see the stars.” Katsuki sighed, not an ounce of sarcasm Izuku could detect.
Izuku sat up, beaming.
“Really? I wanna see the stars too! AndIalsowanttopickouteveryconstellationthatseemsinterestingandyouhavetotellmewhattheirnamesaresoreallydoyouwantto–”
“Fuck no. Get your ass to bed.”
Izuku’s smile faded at that. “Fine.”
“No, actually,” Katsuki reconsidered. “Open the window.”
Izuku did so, quick and quiet, sliding the window over just enough to let the night spill in. Cool air crept across the room, brushing over their sheets, carrying the distant sound of traffic and something faintly earthy—rain earlier, maybe. The curtains shifted, breathing.
“…They’re kinda lame,” Katsuki said after a second.
Izuku snorted softly. “You’re impossible.”
“Just honest.”
“Didn’t you wanna see them? Don’t you have one you really like? You–you’re the one who said you wanted to see ‘em!”
“I do have a star I really like. I wish on it, sometimes. But that shit gets lame over time. So…” Katsuki admitted.
Izuku cocked an eyebrow, sitting on his bedside invasively. “Really? Tell me, it’s your lucky star, right?”
“Dumbass. If I tell you what star, then none of the wishes I make on it will come true ever again.”
Izuku vigorously rubbed his neck and made his way back to his bed, laying down. “Right. Sorry.”
“It’s late.”
“No shit.”
“Let’s sleep?”
“Yeah.” Katsuki mumbled. “G’night, Deku.”
“Good night, Kacchan.”
–
Katsuki woke up before the alarm rang.
It took him a second to place the time; the room was still dark, that deep blue-black that meant it was too early to be considered morning but too late to pretend it was still night.
He cracked an eye open, Izuku filling his vision.
Izuku was already dressed. A cable-knit sweater, a scarf paired with selvedge denim and hair still damp like he’d rushed through washing it. He froze when he noticed Katsuki was awake.
“…Hey,” Izuku whispered. “Wake up, Kacchan.”
Katsuki groaned quietly, rolling onto his back. “What the hell time is it.”
“Too early,” Izuku admitted. “I was gonna wake you in like… an hour”
“The fuck? What time is it?” Katsuki muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.
Izuku hesitated. “It’s 3:00. But remember your flight is at 6?” He sits down at his bedside. “I wanted to show you something. Before you go.”
That got Katsuki to open his eyes fully.
“What, like—now?” Katsuki frowned.
Izuku nodded, already halfway to apologetic. “We don’t have to. I just— I found this spot a while back. It’s quiet, and I think you’d really like it.”
Katsuki stared at him for a long second, then exhaled through his nose. “…You’re insane.”
Izuku winced. “I know.”
“Give me two minutes,” Katsuki said, already sitting up. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it fast.”
Izuku’s face lit up in that way that made Katsuki feel like he’d just agreed to something way bigger than he meant to.
–
The city was barely awake, but it never slept either.
Streetlights hummed, casting pale halos onto empty sidewalks. Izuku drove with both hands on the wheel, focused but relaxed, like this was a route he’d memorized down to muscle memory. Katsuki leaned back in the passenger seat, hoodie pulled over his head, watching buildings slide by.
“Where we goin’? You kidnapping me or something?” Katsuki impatiently asked.
Izuku giggled. “No, Kacchan. You’ll see.”
They stopped near a small overlook tucked between older brick apartments and newer steel-and-glass builds. Nothing flashy; just a bench, a low railing, and a view that stretched out over rooftops and silhouettes.
Izuku parked and cut the engine.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “This is it.”
They sat for a second before getting out, the quiet settling in around them. Katsuki followed Izuku to the bench, dropping down with a tired sigh. The city spread out in front of them. Dark shapes, blinking lights, a few windows already glowing warm with early risers.
Izuku didn’t sit right away. He stood, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes moving across the skyline.
“I like this one,” he started, already slipping into it. “That building there, look. You see the stepped facade? It’s compensating for zoning setbacks, but whoever designed it made it intentional. It doesn’t fight the rule, it works with it, and I think that’s pretty darn cool, yeah?”
Katsuki snorted. “You sound like a tour guide, so yappy for what…?”
Izuku laughed, ignoring his remark and kept going anyway.
“And that one…The glass curtain wall, but it’s angled slightly inward. Cuts glare, improves thermal efficiency. People think it’s just aesthetic, but it’s practical too. I like when buildings do that. When they’re honest about what they’re for.”
He finally sat down beside Katsuki, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
“I come here when I’m stuck,” Izuku admitted. “When I forget why I like architecture. It helps remind me that it’s not just models and critiques and deadlines. It’s… people living inside ideas.”
Katsuki watched him talk. The way his hands moved when he got excited. The way his voice softened when he cared. The way he forgot the rest of the world existed when he was explaining something he loved.
“Sorry, I ramble.”
Katsuki scoffed. “Think I don’t know that? I know you do. Always.”
“You listen though.”
“And you love this shit, huh?”
“I do.”
Izuku smiled, his eyes warm, and something settled in Katsuki’s chest. Something heavy, unmovable. Admiration, sharp and aching, threaded with something dangerously close to pride.
“Anyway. Let’s not get all sentimental and mushy and shit. We need to go.” Katsuki got up, and Izuku followed.
–
The car ride back was quieter.
Katsuki watched it all slide by through the window, jaw set. Every streetlight they passed felt like a tick of a clock he couldn’t shut off.
They didn’t talk much. A comment here. A muttered complaint about traffic there. Normal things. Safe things. The kind you said so you didn’t say anything else.
The airport rose up ahead of them—too bright, too loud, already busy for how early it was.
Izuku pulled into drop-off and parked. He didn’t turn the engine off right away.
“M’kay…This is me,” Katsuki said, even though it was obvious.
“Yeah,” Izuku replied.
“Park.”
“What?”
“Find somewhere to park, Deku. And come with me.” Katsuki demanded.
“No wait I–”
“Do it, or I’m not going.”
Izuku found an empty parking space and got out the car, opening the trunk filled with Katsuki’s suitcases.
“Help me out here, silly,” Izuku strained as he retrieved 2 of the biggest suitcases.
Katsuki dragged the remaining few out, making his way to the check-in area while Izuku followed behind.
‘You got everything?” Izuku asked eventually.
“Yeah.”
“Phone? Passport?”
“Yeah.”
“Drumsticks?”
Katsuki snorted. “I’d be dead without ‘em.”
Izuku smiled faintly, then nodded like he was satisfied. Silence stretched again.
The airport was already buzzing when they arrived. Rolling suitcases, quiet announcements echoing overhead, the smell of coffee and something fried lingering in the air. Katsuki slung his bag over his shoulder, the weight familiar and unwelcome all at once.
Izuku walked beside him all the way to security.
Izuku turned to face him fully.
Up close, he looked even more tired. There were faint shadows under his eyes, his hoodie sleeves tugged down over his hands like he hadn’t bothered waking all the way up. But he was smiling—small, steady.
“Text me when you land,” Izuku said.
“Tch. I will.”
“And when you get to the hotel.”
“Deku-”
“What? And when you eat, eat something that isn’t watered down protein shakes.”
“You sound like my mom, quit it.”
Izuku sighed. “Someone has to.” His smile faltered a little. “Be careful, okay?”
“Always am. ‘M not a baby.”
“You act like one, Kacchan.”
“Just for now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Wait for me after security. Gate B18.”
–
The gate was quieter than Izuku expected. Travelers slumped into chairs, coffee cups cradled like lifelines, the low murmur of announcements bleeding into the high ceiling. Izuku took a seat near the window, backpack at his feet, eyes flicking up every time someone walked past from security.
Finally, Katsuki stepped out from the security checkpoint, hair a little more disheveled, bag slung over his shoulder.
“I wasn’t done with the lecture.” Izuku teased.
Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Hurry up and spit it out.”
“You’ll do great, okay? I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to tour this time. Next time, yeah? I just have so much on my plate and I don’t want you worrying that–”
Katsuki stepped forward and cut him off, Izuku shackled in his embrace.
Izuku startled just slightly before Katsuki’s arms were around him.
It wasn’t hesitant.
It was immediate. Firm. Katsuki pulled him in like his body had already decided this was happening long before his brain caught up. Izuku made a soft, surprised sound, then melted into it just as fast, arms coming up around Katsuki’s back.
Time froze in place–causing Katsuki to forget where they were. The airport noise dulled. The announcements blurred into static. All he could feel was Izuku. Warm through layers of fabric, and his heartbeat steady where their chests pressed together.
Katsuki dipped his head into Izuku without thinking.
His grip tightened.
Just a little.
Izuku’s forehead rested against his shoulder, breath warm through the fabric of Katsuki’s hoodie. “Don’t miss me too much,” Izuku murmured, smiling.
Katsuki huffed. “Deku, get over yourself.” He didn’t let go. Not yet.
Izuku shifted, fingers curling into the back of Katsuki’s hoodie. “Be safe, okay? We’ll miss you.”
“Who’s we?”
“Me, myself and I.”
“You sound like a maniac. I’ll be back before you know it.”
They finally let go, their scents lingering on each other's clothes.
“Bye, Deku.”
And for the first time, Katsuki bared his teeth in a grin.
Izuku smiled back fondly, waving. “Bye, Kacchan.”
