Chapter Text
The day that Katsuki Bakugo met Izuku Midoriya, something inside of him shifted. It grated, like gears out of use, slowly but surely beginning to fulfill a purpose that he never knew was possible– never could’ve thought up in his wildest dreams.
You see, Katsuki felt inhuman on his best days, and monstrous on his worst. Emotions, specifically positive, didn’t come to him with a warm hug and a smile. No. They walked in tentatively, raised a hand in an awkward wave, and shot him up with disbelief. He was left mortified, knowing that he had no control over them at those times.
He wasn’t able to cover them up with scowls and grunts. He couldn’t shake them off his shoulders or wash them off his body. He just had to sit with them, sullied in his thoughts, and figure out why the absolute fuck he felt that way.
This not understanding thing- yeah, he’s gotta cut that shit out.
Katsuki stepped into autumn like a phoenix emerging from its ashes. Wine-dyed eyes followed the fall of leaves, pushing against one another as they rushed to their destination like children batting for swings at a playground. They crunched under his feet, swallowing up his senses in an almost dissociating way, handicapping his attempt to garner some sense of self.
The season swept into Musutafu with a cold wind and suddenly everyone was adorning large coats and scarves. Soon the trees would be wearing orange and red, and that made Katsuki very excited. Insanely so.
(He thought, funnily, that with his biological aesthetic, he almost looked like family to autumn. The hues of reds and oranges, light blonde hair and brown jumpers. Was he born to match the season? Raised to live inside of it? Or was this the world mocking him, for something that he would always inevitably feel coughs of guilt and surrender?)
He has a generally high body temperature, something that his dads were supremely worried about when he first arrived in their lives, but the doctors assured them that it was completely normal and healthy for him, even if it did make him horrible with all things cold.
So, fall was a good season. The warm-chill allowed his body to lower to an amount deemed normal by society and brought his heart rate down with it, but never to a point of uncomfortability.
On that note, Katsuki loves and hates the season. He loves the decorating in October, the family camping in November, and then finally, snow.
Snow, the reason for his love-hate relationship with the season.
He loves the feeling of it on his warm palms, and when the cold flakes fall into his sandy-blonde hair. He’ll occasionally travel out of town to snowboard with some friends, who always inevitably make asses of themselves. He would never tell anyone this (besides his therapist, if he was having a good day) but he even sometimes, maybe, possibly, kind of likes watching the kids of his neighborhood play with sleds and make snowmen. Sue him, he has a heart (despite popular opinion).
On the other side of the spectrum, he hates the season. All it brings is pain and memories of a time when things were different. Katsuki loves his fathers, he truly does. Even if he doesn’t say it, they know it. He loves his brother, too (eugh- the asshole), but that doesn’t mean he can forget his previous life.
The one where he was an only child, lonely, but never alone. Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugo were good parents, from what he could remember. His mother was too much like him, but had a maturity that only comes with life that allowed her to actually say things like, “I love you, baby. You and your father are everything to me,” (which was always followed up by a kiss to his chubby-kid cheek and then his face would morph into something disgruntled, and he would push her off with a few swears at the end of his tongue). Masaru was lovely, much better of a person than both him or his mom. He had the patience of a saint and wore his emotions on his sleeve. He was the only man that could ever put up with both of the blonds at the same time, and somehow managed to make them soft like putty in his hands.
(Sometimes, in the dead of night, he thinks about them. When everything is silent and dark, cold to the touch. When one of his fathers would reach out, he’d feel a different hand touch his skin, like jumping out of a memory.)
But that was then, and this is now. His family had grown and that maturity his mother had somehow picked up was beginning to trickle into him and he loved his life (for the most part).
So, it’s getting cold outside. For most people, that means the holiday season is arriving. For students, that means the stress of a new semester.
His brother falls into the second category.
“I’ll buy you coffee, Kats. Loads of coffee. Anything you want.”
That’s how Katsuki ends up in this situation. He’s smart. His brother is too, but he struggles with confidence (Katsuki does not have that problem. Has never had that problem. He was an abundant source of ego and pride).
“I can’t drink coffee, fucker, you know that.”
“Please, please, please , just help me. I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll take your shifts for a month- no! Two months! I’ll-”
“Okay, okay, shut the fuck up for a second. Take a breath.” Katsuki’s fingers are already pressed to his temples, rubbing small circles. Hitoshi stares at him in silence, then takes a dramatic breath. If Katsuki’s eyes could roll further back into his head, he’d be blind. They stare at each other for another minute, waiting to see who would break first.
Hitoshi is lucky that it’s a good day for his brother.
“ Fine! Fine. Grab your shit, we’re not studying here.”
Hitoshi grins, which is about as much of a smile that you’ll get from him, and tugs at the book bag over his shoulder. “I’m ready.”
Katsuki narrows his eyes, his mouth opening and closing for a second, contemplating the idea of beating his sibling into the ground and then crawling in with him and hibernating for a few months.
He doesn’t end up saying anything. He knows that if he does, it’ll be way meaner than he intends. He takes a breath, closes his eyes, feeling the fabric of his pants for a second. Bites his tongue, intending to gain some center through metallic means.
When he calms, he opens his eyes. His brother is in the pantry, rummaging through snacks. He’s probably not even actually looking for something, instead just acting like he is to give the explosive blond some time to ground himself. That’s nice of him, but it also makes Katsuki annoyed.
Katsuki has been doing better. When he was first adopted, his dad immediately called him out on his shit. The man was straight-forward as hell, which the boy appreciated even back then. He got him into therapy, and though it’s been sixteen years since then, it’s still a slow battle. Hard to make someone who’s preset is anger, aggression, and annoyance, think differently. But it’s working, and his family never held anything against him in the first place. They’re patient.
He got lucky.
“Let’s fucking go, already.” He turned and started for the front door, without checking to see if his brother was following. Therapy did nothing for his foul mouth.
“Is it alright if I lead the way? I know a place,” Hitoshi says, locking the door and jumping the four brick steps to catch up to Katsuki. Their feet sound rhythmically against the stone path away from their front door.
Katsuki sighs. “Fine.”
After a brisk fifteen-minute walk that consisted of Hitoshi somehow simultaneously egging him on while also ignoring him, they finally arrived at their destination.
It was a small place, barely noticeable off the street. A sign dangled perpendicular to its brick front, ivy twining up and around it. Nighteye Cafe.
It was hours into evening and cold wind pressed up against their sides, forcing Katsuki to duck his nose into his scarf. The neat, metal seating out front of it was vacated and he’s not sure if it’s due to the recent drop in temperature or because of it being way later than people normally went to get caffeinated beverages and scones.
Katsuki briefly wonders how his brother found a place like this. It doesn’t look like his type of thing at all. Before he can think about asking, a bell chimes and signals the door opening. Katsuki ducks inside after him, holding his tan scarf up and around his lower face until he thaws completely. Hitoshi rolls his eyes, turning to walk further into the place. He swallows his rage and tries to distract himself with his surroundings.
The walls are filled with plants and black-and-white pictures of cafe-associated things. They pass by multiple empty tables, all looking completely different from one another, made even from different wood with different design elements (as well as the chairs). Lamps and string-lights were strewn around and lit up the area, all sources of overhead lighting turned off for what he assumes is ambience purposes.
He briefly recalls an article talking about the benefits of warm-lighting and its effects on the human mental state, citing studies that have shown that it increases mood and productivity far better than overhead, white light.
He shakes his head to clear his mind, pressing his scarf over his nose even further.
Shit, maybe Hitoshi was right. When did he become such a goddamn nerd? Don’t tell him he fucking said that.
Finally, they arrived at what he assumed was the counter. Assumed because there was nobody fucking here.
“You sure this place is even open?”
Hitoshi rolls his eyes again. Seriously, his sass is getting far too frequent. Katsuki has to hold himself back from barking about attitude problems. He knows that’s just how his brother is, and over the years he’s come to find it even endearing, but it still bugs him at times.
That small flicker of rage in his stomach, wound so tightly since his childhood, ready to escape at a moment's notice.
Not at his family, though. Never at them.
His brother doesn’t answer. He stretches over the counter, his palms flat against the surface. His fingers curl over the other side barely.
“Midoriya,” he says.
A thump follows his words, something hitting the underside of the counter and causing the register to shake. He hears a groan and then someone stands up from somewhere out of view, rubbing at the back of his head. His face scrunches up in pain and Katsuki can’t help but let his eyes roam freely over him, cataloging his findings silently. He’s always been more curious than his attitude and demeanor gave off.
The boy looks their age, with green hair almost hazeled under the warm lights, shadows of black throughout its curls and mess. Freckles dot freely across his nose and cheeks, down his neck and under his collar (probably to continue across his shoulders and back).
He squints one of his eyes open and then both of them widen. He shuffles frantically to take the earbuds out of his ears, letting them hang around his neck and off his shoulders, over the large brown and burnt orange sweater he’s sporting. Katsuki has half a mind to ask him where he got it but decides he has enough similar ones at home.
He looks soft- warm.
His eyes are the same color green as his hair, without the darkened parts. They’re large, taking over a respectful portion of his face. His eyes travel to Katsuki for a second and he watches curiously as the boy breathes in sharply, giving the blonde a once-over, before finally returning to his companion.
Then he smiles, and the joy on his face looks so natural that Katsuki can’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy. His own smiles have been compared to grimaces and sneers more often than not, the muscles not allowing his face to ease into even a nice grin.
“Shinso!” The boy ruffles a hand through his hair, probably trying to tame it from the small blunder they witnessed. He leans a hip against the counter, his hands folding together and tugging at his fingers in front of him. “Sorry about that, I’m not used to company at this time. Actually,” he pulls one of his sleeves up to look at a small, silver watch around his wrist, tugging it back into place soon after, “you’re later than normal. What gives?”
Hitoshi, in all his neutral-expressive and sleep-deprived-college-student glory, doesn’t seem to notice (or chooses not to) any of the nerves or frantic energy coming off the boy. God bless him. “Needed to study and was busy earlier,” he replies simply.
The boy- Midoriya, was it? - doesn’t seem to mind the short response at all. He almost even looked like he wasn’t expecting anything else. So, Katsuki thinks, they’re familiar with each other.
His eyes briefly flicker to Katsuki’s red ones once again before returning back to his companion. “And who's this?”
Katsuki has gotten better . He really, truly, has. Seriously, trust him. He was so much worse before. That doesn’t mean his natural, authentic annoyance isn’t still a big feature in his personality.
“I’m right fuckin’ here, jackass. Rude to talk about someone like they’re not standing-”
Hitoshi cuts off what probably would’ve been a few more expletives and rolls his eyes. A- fucking -gain. Katsuki grits his teeth.
“This is my brother, Katsuki Bakugo. Don’t mind his attitude, he’s still being house trained.”
“Say that again!”
Midoriya's eyes widen for a second, only the slightest bit. Nobody would’ve been able to catch the shift, except for Katsuki, because Katsuki is fucking incredible and too smart for his own good and for some reason can’t help but take in everything about this person, this stranger, that he can.
To his own credit, the boy does look a little guilty.
“No, he’s right. That was incredibly rude of me. It’s nice to meet you Bakugo, my name is-”
“Deku?”
Green hair shifts as his head tilts, confusion taking up his features now. “Huh?”
Katsuki drops his hand from his scarf, letting it hang loosely around his neck and freeing his face, as he points at the small, bronze name tag that’s laid on the counter in front of them. “Your name's Deku? That’s kinda fucked up.”
Midoriya’s eyes jump to the accessory, picking it up and studying it for a second before lifting his head back up to face Katsuki with another one of those smiles. How many is he willing to give out? Doesn’t that get tiring? Who has that much emotion to spare?
“Huh, interesting. I never realized it could be read like that, but uh- no. I’m Izuku Midoriya. It’s a pleasure to meet one of Shinso’s fr- wait, did you say brother?” Big green eyes travel the length of Katsuki, and he has to hold back a shudder and one of his instinctual grimaces, struggling to keep his mouth in the small frown it likes to form. They finally raise back up, going to Hitoshi with a curious glint.
“Adopted,” he supplies.
Katsuki waits for a second, holds his tongue, because he knows what’s going to happen next. It could go one of two ways. Either the boy's expression will drop to one of pity, something that will cause Katsuki to lose all sixteen years of progress and make his therapist lose her mind, or he’ll ask questions, some that dig deep into the blond's stomach and gut him.
“Oh~ me too, me too. Anyway, what can I get for you guys?”
What the fuck?
So, obviously, neither of those things happened and Katsuki stands corrected. Damn, he hates being wrong. What a weird ass person.
“Just my normal. I’ll wait at my usual table. Don’t take too long, Kats, and don’t be mean.” Hitoshi pats his shoulder as he walks past him, towards a corner booth with a small porcelain cat on it.
Katsuki grits his teeth. “I’m not fucking mean, shithead.”
A laugh shocks him, and he turns quickly, watching as the green-haired boy covers his mouth with a freckled hand. At his look, the boy stops laughing (that doesn’t take away the humor-filled grin) and places his palm on the counter.
He smiles up at Katsuki. “Your nose is red.”
The blonde gives him a sneer, one that probably would’ve been a lot more menacing if he wasn’t correct. Katsuki’s pale skin makes the cold his enemy, his cheeks and nose lighting up in a blush that would otherwise never exist. Katsuki Bakugo does not fucking blush. This is against his will. Fuck nature, and fuck the cold. He takes it back. There’s nothing enjoyable about fall.
“No, it’s n- shut the fuck up.”
Midoriya’s smile gets brighter, if that’s even possible. Katsuki can’t say he’s not intrigued as to why.
“So, what would you like? Coffee?” He leans his elbows on the counter.
Katsuki grimaces, his eyes flickering to the wall behind the boy before settling back on him. “No coffee. Got anything else?”
Midoriya takes his short words and brash expression in stride, bringing a finger up to tap his chin while he thinks. “What do you enjoy? Food-wise?”
Katsuki lifts an eyebrow. “Anything spicy.”
Amusement lights up Midoriya's eyes and for a second, he even looks to be enjoying something. Savoring the thought of it.
“Well, I have something in mind.”
Katsuki swallows. “Show me what you’ve got,” he says with a nod.
“Go ahead and sit down.”
Midoriya takes off to a different corner of the counter, an area that’s tall with machines, and despite Katsuki's height, he can only catch an inch of the green hair. The blonde looks briefly at his brother, who has set up all his books and notes on the table but kicked his legs across his side of the booth to scroll through something on his phone (probably some weirdo web novel that a friend recommended).
Katsuki would normally groan in annoyance at being told what to do, spit out a few insults, but he can’t help his curiosity. He’s always liked interesting things, finding it hard not to put down a good book or scroll past anything that catches his eye, and man, does this something catch his eye.
Izuku Midoriya, huh? Katsuki almost snorts, I like Deku better.
Katsuki makes his way to the booth, tossing his bag into his side and then plopping down into it as well. The soft plush of the seat catches him off guard for a second but he has better things to think about. Namely, figuring out who the fuck that was.
“Yo,” his brother looks up at him with a raised eyebrow and he scoffs, “what? Why’re you giving me that look?”
“What look?”
“The look that says I’m doing something bad.”
“Why would I give you that look right now?”
“I don’t fucking know. That’s why I’m asking you, asshole.”
Hitoshi groans. “Jesus, Kats. I didn’t mean anything by it. Just get on with what you were gonna say.”
Katsuki smirks, leaning over the table to lower his voice. “Tell me about him.”
“See! I knew it.”
He leans back, faux nonchalance coating his body. “Knew what?”
Hitoshi gives him the look again, powering off and setting his phone to the side. “That you’d do this.”
Katsuki gives him a mock-offended face. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Fu- no. I asked a completely innocent question. You’re being fucking dramatic.”
“It’s why I’ve never brought you here before. You’re too curious. Like, you need to dissect anything and everything that’s in front of you, and it throws people off. Midoriya is my friend, and I know he has some quirks that would drive you insane trying to figure out, so I never introduced you two.”
The blonde grunts, leaning back and slouching in his spot. “So, why’d you introduce me now?”
Hitoshi is silent for a second, discerning something that he must’ve gotten an answer to, and then sighing. “I thought it would give you something to think about other than- y’know .”
He does know, and he’s never been more grateful to the Aizawa-Yamadas for adopting his brother until this moment (besides maybe that one time when they were twelve and Hitoshi gave him half of his Halloween candy because they were hot tamales and lemon heads) (Katsuki gave him all of his smarties and bubble gum, though, so it was an even trade).
“Wow, so you’re just selling out your friend?”
Hitoshi's lips form a small smirk that makes Katsuki pause. “He can take it.”
Before he can figure out what the fuck that means, two mugs and two plates are sat on the table. Katsuki looks down at the one in front of him before looking back up at the topic of their previous conversation.
Izuku Midoriya, rocking from heel to toe, electricity coursing through his iris, hair curling gingerly around his eyes, and ears, is staring directly at him. Has been, for however long it took Katsuki to notice (damn, Kats, I thought you were vigilant). Katsuki can’t help but stare back. He’s never been one to reject a challenge.
Hitoshi clears his throat and Midoriya- Izuku breaks away from his heavy gaze to look over at him and take the couple dollars that should cover them both. Katsuki watches their interaction with sharp eyes. It’s nothing special, friendly in a way that shows him that they’ve known each other for a while, but not in a way that tells him there’s anything going on. Midoriya's eyes are back to their normal softness, his smile more simple than grand.
He doesn’t leave the table though. He stuffs the money into his pocket without even counting it and turns back to Katsuki, lighting up with renewed vigor. Katsuki has to stop himself from leaning away at his enthusiasm because what the fuck is so exciting?
Katsuki watches green eyes flicker to his mug briefly before looking back at him, imploringly.
He sighs, counts to five in his head so he won’t explode, and tries his best not to react poorly.
“What the fuck is so goddamn interesting, Deku?”
So that plan went down the drain.
For a second, Midoriya's face freezes. Katsuki watches his lips form the nickname under his breath, and then rise into an amused grin.
“I’m waiting for you to try the drink,” he gestures to it, “go on.”
Katsuki’s face must look wild because he spots Hitoshi trying not to laugh across from him. His brother has already started in on his blueberry muffin and latte, his left hand weakly holding a pen.
“Don’t tell me what to fuckin’ do.”
“Mm, okay, well, can you please try the drink and let me know what you think?”
Katsuki’s eyebrow twitches in irritation, he takes a breath, looks back down at the mug, and picks it up.
“Fine, what the fuck ever. Didn’t know service would be so damn annoying.”
Midoriya doesn’t respond or look taken aback by the insult, just continuing to study Katsuki in interest and something else. Something else . What the hell is that?
He brings the mug to his nose, smelling it briefly, and after deeming it safe, takes a sip.
It’s hot, but not enough to burn his mouth, and so not what he was expecting. It tastes like apples and cinnamon, but also ginger and something citrusy. It’s definitely spiced. Katsuki takes another sip of it and Midoriya looks over the moon but he ignores him. He tries his best to school his expression into something that’s not soft, enjoying, but he can’t help it.
Midoriya must see it too because, for a second, the boy's eyes shine , not with curiosity, but with a whimsy that has probably never crossed Katsuki’s mind besides in the books and stories he reads.
He places the mug back on the table but doesn’t take his hand out of the handle. His tongue runs shortly over his bottom lip. He spots some liquid on the rim of the cup then, almost out of instinct, catches it with his thumb and raises it to his mouth. Midoriya, never once taking his eyes off him, watches the entire thing with a small blush across his face that could be attributed to the warmth of the cafe. Could .
On that thought, Katsuki reaches around his neck and pulls off his scarf, tossing it onto his bag before shucking off his coat as well. He’s left in a long sleeve white button-up by the end of it, which is much better than sweating his balls off. He ignores the green-haired boy, unbuttoning the shirt at his wrists and starting to work the material up his forearms. Midoriya doesn’t back down, but he does get restless from waiting, and the blush has begun to grow down his freckled neck. Katsuki holds back a smirk.
“So?”
Katsuki raises an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. “ So? ”
Midoriya’s eyes widen even more. Quickly, before Katsuki can even react, he drops his palms down onto the table and leans entirely into the blonde's space. Katsuki isn’t one to back down, but it doesn’t seem like Midoriya is either.
“Do you like it?”
There’s something familiar and nice about his scent. Nostalgic. Like childhood Halloween parties and trick-or-treating, or like oak trees and berries.
Katsuki scoffs, throwing a palm into the boy's face and pushing him away. Midoriya squawks but doesn’t seem to mind the brief contact or the roughness of Katsuki’s nature.
“You really wanna know?”
“Yeah.”
“It tastes like shit.” Katsuki picks it up and takes another sip, staring directly into his eyes.
Midoriya freezes again but it doesn’t take long for his smile to come back in a grand, glorious, spectacle of amusement. The boy throws his head back for a second, staring at the ceiling like there are answers written on it, before facing him.
“Like shit ?”
“You’ve got a dirty ass mouth.”
Midoriya looks like he wants to laugh again. His eyes sharpen to Katsuki’s red ones, flickering across his face like he wants to find something on it.
“And that’s why you’re continuing to drink it?”
Katsuki gives him a sharp grin. “What can I say?”
Midoriya gives him another open expression. Does this boy never run out of emotional energy?
“You can say you like it.”
“But then I’d be lying. I’m not a liar.”
“Lying because you actually love it?”
Katsuki narrows his eyes and Midoriya’s blow open in surprise, excitement still rushing through them.
“If I answer, will you go back to doing whatever the hell you were doing before we got here so I can help my dumbass brother pass psychology?”
Hitoshi whines in indignation but neither of them breaks eye contact to look at him. Heavy red eyes stay strained on electric green. Energy buzzes through Katsuki’s chest and into his stomach, something that he’s never felt before. Is this excitement? Is he actually excited to talk to this lame ass nerd? NO- No, abort mission. It is not the time or place to have some kind of emotional revelation. His therapy appointment isn't until Thursday and that’s two days away and that’s too far away from something like this.
“I’ll try my best.”
With a nod, Katsuki leans forward to rest his cheek in his palm.
“It was fine.”
“Fine?”
“Good, even.”
“ Mm , good?” Midoriya hums and- is that a fucking smirk?
Katsuki sucks in a breath but shakes off the shiver that shoots down his spine.
“Yeah, so can you fucking leave, shitty Deku?”
Midoriya smirk broadens, and Katsuki's eyes only widen for a second, but he’s ninety-five percent sure that Midoriya caught it based on the satisfied look in his eyes.
“You’ve got it,” he steps back, finally giving Katsuki some space, and rubs his hands off on his hips before lodging his fingers into the back pockets of his slightly oversized, light-washed jeans. “Enjoy. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you guys.”
Katsuki motions with his head for him to go and Midoriya starts taking steps backwards. Before he can stop himself, he calls out to the boy one more time. Green hair rushes around his crown with a bounce and then settling, his face flushed for some reason that Katsuki doesn’t completely understand yet but knows he might, possibly, kind of , want to see again.
“What is it?” Katsuki asks.
When the boy tilts his head with a confused face that Katsuki definitely doesn’t find endearing or cute- who the fuck said cute i’ll beat your ass, he gestures to the mug and realization makes Midoriya straighten up and relax.
“Our house mulled cider.”
Hitoshi looks up at that with a surprised look. “You guys have cider?”
Midoriya grins for a second before nodding. “We do, but everybody who tries it hates it.”
Katsuki can’t help himself. Fuck his curiosity and tendency to dig. “Do you?”
One more glint of amusement before he finally turns, leaving Katsuki to no answer and a renewed feeling of oh my god what the fuck kind of how the fuck did uhhhhh okay so no but whatever he’s kind of cute, isn’t he?
Katsuki’s eyes widen in surprise, dropping his head into his hands, the tension in his stomach and chest collapsing into an almost indescribable feeling of horror and holy shit. He’s so cute, right? Fuck, okay, so. Anyway- whatever.
You know! That feeling of shit shit fuck is he still looking over here? Is my face still red? Who gave him permission to- to completely reach in, take out, and dismantle Katsuki's entire sense of being before shoving himself inside and bringing the parts he took out with him? Will that interaction ever leave him? Will he ever stop feeling like this?
Green eyes flash at him from over the counter.
Shit. I’m so fucked.