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It would be more bearable if the current situation was the result of a villain attack, even one which wasn’t actually meant for them, but no. There was no villain, no bad person trying to rob a store or escape the law. It wasn’t even a situation which required them to ping their comms, because they hadn’t stepped off their patrol route. Katsuki’s last thought before his universe imploded, had been that there was nothing worse than doing shitty patrol with shitty Deku on a hot-as-fuck afternoon with nothing going on; and then that there was nothing worse than having to deal with some lost snot-nosed kid. It was fine, Deku liked kids, he could handle it.
And then everything had gone very wrong.
Now, Katsuki stands at the back of the ambulance with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, gauntlets discarded, glowering at the parent of the little girl Deku had tried to help as they explain what they know about their daughter’s recently developed Quirk.
“She really doesn’t mean to do it, and it doesn’t seem to work on everyone. She tried to change my wife and it just made her skin really smooth for a few hours.”
“This is a bit fucking beyond smooth skin,” Katsuki mutters. The medics both shoot looks at him like they want to tell him to mind his language but they don’t actually dare to. Katsuki is only a student and an intern, but his reputation proceeds him. He just wants someone from the agency or UA to get here and deal with this so he doesn’t have to.
“Was there a time that it did work?” one of the medics prompts.
“Her kindergarten teacher changed back after twenty-four hours.”
Katsuki lets the explosion in his palm pop, loudly but without damage.
“A WHOLE DAY?” Katsuki rages. “He’s gonna be stuck like this for a whole day?!”
There is a whimper from inside the ambulance, but it’s not from the little girl who is sits on the end of the stretcher with a green lollipop in her mouth. It comes from the little kid next to her, all big bright eyes and unruly green curls and freckles that Katsuki is pretty sure he could draw from memory.
“Kacchan…”
“Yeah. I know. I’m loud.”
“Kacchan is always loud,” Izuku says in a soft whisper. He turns to the little girl next to him, smiling like he is imparting a tremendously important secret. “Kacchan is the best.”
“Well, physically he’s fine,” says the lead medic.
“Physically he’s a toddler!”
“It’s my birthday next month,” Izuku says brightly. This, at least, is true. “I’m going to be four!” This is much less true. Izuku looks at Katsuki with a tiny frown between his eyebrows. “Four is loads. I’m a big kid.”
“Yeah, sure thing De- Izuku. Four is loads. Way more than being three.”
“Do you boys need us to drop you off somewhere?” one of the medics asks. Katsuki puts his face into his gloved hand for a second, inhaling the scent of his Quirk, then scowls. Apparently, a car from the school is not forthcoming. Who the heck is in charge of the phones over there?
“Kacchan! Can we ride in the ambulance? Please? Please, please?”
Katsuki looks down at a pair of big green eyes full of hope and adoration, and he cannot say no.
***
Over the next hour Katsuki explains everything for their teachers, twice. Including reliving the fateful moment when a small girl had asked Hero Deku if he would be her friend and Deku had – of fucking course – taken her hand and said yes. All because he is too nice and too trusting and wants to be liked far more than anyone’s sense of self-preservation should allow. Little Izuku spends the entire time on his lap, dressed in a scrub shirt one of the medics had given him and a hastily acquired blanket, because the only person in the room he knows is Katsuki. Heck, it’s Paris fashion week and for once Katsuki’s parents had convinced auntie Inko to go with them, so the only person in the country Izuku knows is Katsuki.
And as Aizawa and the others discuss what to do, Katsuki lets Deku play with the mask from his Hero costume whilst his mind reels.
Izuku is three – nearly four – which means that he and Katsuki are friends. Actual friends. Katsuki has hazy, softly worn memories of All Might themed birthday parties, building forts in the woods, looking at comics they couldn’t really read and making up their own stories as they lay together in the sun under trees in the park. He remembers the way they used to talk about what their Quirks might be, the way Izuku’s eyes used to shine every time Katsuki would jump to his feet and declare that he was going to be the number one Hero when he grew up.
Three nearly four. Before Katsuki had shouted at him that day at the river; before Katsuki’s quirk showed up and Izuku’s didn’t; before Katsuki had twisted Izuku’s name around into that hurtful, hateful nickname. This Izuku doesn’t remember a single awful thing Katsuki has ever done to him, because none of it has happened yet.
Katsuki’s chest hurts.
“I suppose you’d best take him back to the dorms.”
“Wha- WHAT?”
“Kacchan,” Izuku scolds very softly with his hands hovering over his ears. “Auntie doesn’t like it when you shout.”
“Well Auntie isn’t fuc-” It is with deliberate effort that Katsuki stops himself. It is not the expressions of annoyance on the adults faces which does it, but the shining upset in Izuku’s eyes. He bites his lip. “OK. No more shouting.”
“Is it lunch time?”
“No. We already had lunch on patrol.” Katsuki scowls, suddenly remembering that – duh – Izuku is three. “We can get snacks. No junk food though!” He turns to Aizawa. “The dorms? Seriously?”
“You’re excused from class until Midoriya is returned to his usual state.” Aizawa doesn’t sound particularly apologetic for the impossible position he is putting Katsuki in. “I’ll have Support send some clothes over.
Izuku doesn’t have any shoes, and Katsuki spends a terrible minute deciding what to do before he stands up and settles Izuku on his hip. He really hopes they aren’t seen by any of their classmates. Izuku clings to his collar as they move through the school.
“Kacchan is big now.”
“Yeah bud. I’m big.”
He can practically feel the gears of Izuku’s mind whirling as they walk.
“Kacchan is dressed funny.” A tiny finger comes across to poke at the makeup around Katsuki’s eyes. “Are you… a Hero?”
“Not just yet.”
Izuku claps both hands over his mouth, his eyes huge, and Katsuki has to grab for him with his other arm as their centre of gravity shifts.
“You’re training to be a Hero?”
“Yes,” it’s the first good thing he’s been able to say all afternoon. “We both are.”
“WE’RE HEROES?!”
“Oh my gods, could you be any louder? Sheesh Izuku, and you say I’m loud.”
“Kacchan is loud though.” Izuku giggles, like this statement is funny all by itself. “Your costume is so cool! What does your Quirk do? Do you like it?”
“Of course. It’s the best.”
“Kacchan is the best. And All-Might.”
Katsuki sniggers. He’s gonna blow tiny Izuku’s mind.
“He’s one of our teachers now.”
As predicted, Izuku screams in delighted joy, and pretty much everything he says after that is lost in incomprehensible over enthusiasm.
By the time Katsuki makes it to the dorms, there is already a knapsack with his name on it in the common room. He scoops it up, and heads up to his own room automatically. It’s only as he shoulders open the door that Katsuki realises he should have probably taken them to Izuku’s room instead. Damn.
Someone in Support has a sense of humour, because there are way more changes of clothes in the bag than any nearly-four-year-old is going to need in one day, including a green bunny-eared onesie, and a shirt and shorts set styled to look like Izuku’s Hero costume. The last option is a bright orange t-shirt with a big black X across the front that Katsuki thinks is designed to torment him specifically; naturally this is the one Izuku chooses and pulls over his ridiculously floppy curls. Katsuki finds a pair of tiny-sized boxer-briefs in the bag and hands them over without looking at Izuku, and searches for socks instead.
“Kacchan…”
“Huh?”
Izuku has one sock half on one foot, the other is inside out, and he’s frowning at the tie-waist of the shorts he picked out in confusion.
“Oh… right.”
So Katsuki sits cross legged on his floor and helps Izuku get properly dressed. Izuku’s toes are tiny, the skin of his foot and ankle are so soft in Katsuki’s hand. Katsuki buries himself in the bag once more, and comes out with a pair of house slippers and a pair of tiny-Izuku sized red hi-tops. Izuku squeals over how cool they are. Katsuki lets Izuku wrestle with his slippers and uses the distraction to change out of the remnants of his Hero costume and into black sweats and shirt with a skull on in record time. He is wiping the remains of the makeup from around his eyes when Izuku’s stomach rumbles.
“Snack time?” Katsuki offers.
“Yes please, Kacchan.”
And then Izuku is holding out his hand – small, unblemished, devoid of scars – and Katsuki finds a lump in his throat that he cannot explain as he takes it.
“So,” Katsuki’s asks as they make their way down to the common room kitchen, “what do you want to eat?”
“Ice cream!”
Katsuki thumps his face into his palm. What other answer did he expect from a little kid?
“I said no junk food.”
“Kacchan….”
“Oh my gods!” How anyone is supposed to resist the combination of the big eyes and sweet whine Katsuki does not know. Auntie Inko must have developed some special skill at saying no to that expression. “Tell you what bud, if you eat some fruit first, then I’ll make you gyoza.”
“Really?” Izuku claps his hands, staring around excitedly, all thoughts of ice cream forgotten. “Yes please!”
So Katsuki grabs an apple from the fridge, polishes it on his shirt, and hands it over to Izuku.
“Mama always takes the stalk off.”
“Spoilt brat,” Katsuki mutters. “Fine, give it here.”
“Where is mama?”
“She and Auntie Mitsuki are out of town, kay? So you’re gonna stay with me.” The words are out before Katsuki can stop them, and he knows he has no one else to blame but himself when Izuku turns enormous, worshipful eyes on him and says;
“Sleepover with Kacchan!”
Katsuki groans.
“Eat your apple. And don’t wander off.”
“Can I watch you?” Izuku asks as Katsuki begins to pull pan and ingredients from the cupboard. He has to keep everything out of the way of his classmates, or he’ll come back to find instant ramen burnt onto his saucepan. None of them can fucking cook worth a damn apart from Sato.
“Sure thing.” Katsuki replies as he breaks spring onions in half to fit in the food processor. He adds the garlic cloves and peels the ginger with his thumb braced against the back of his favourite small paring knife, then feels a distinctive tug on his sweats. “Yeah?”
“Kacchan… I can’t see.”
Katsuki glances between the work surface and Izuku’s green curls. He feels like an idiot. Of course Izuku can’t see him working; he’s three years old and three feet tall.
“Oh… er…”
Katsuki dithers. He’s not good with people in general and he has almost no experience with kids. Small children don’t like him and his permanent scowl. But Izuku smiles up at him, clutching his apple, green eyes shining bright.
Because Katsuki has never told him no. Katsuki has never let him down.
And suddenly Katsuki realises he does not want to start now.
He sets down the knife and ginger, hooks both hands under Izuku’s arms and tries not to think about how delicate Izuku feels in his grip. He weighs next to nothing and Katsuki can feel Izuku’s tiny heart fluttering against his ribs under the span of his thumb.
“I don’t remember you being so little.”
“Kacchan is always taller,” Izuku says, banging his heels into the cupboard below. “But now you’re really tall.”
“Tch, yeah well. You’re still short even when you get bigger.”
“Oh…” Izuku pouts into his apple.
Katsuki can’t help it, he simply reaches out and ruffles Izuku’s hair. And gods, those curls are silky soft against his palm.
“It suits you. Don’t worry, Izuku. I gotta concentrate now if you want gyoza.”
“Can I help?”
“No. Eat your damn apple, shortstack.”
It turns out that little Izuku is very easy company. He doesn’t touch anything after Katsuki barks – slightly too forcefully – at him to keep his fingers out of the way of the knife, but he asks questions and listens to the answers. Katsuki folds the gyoza with deft, well practised motions. He has to be quick because he really can’t allow his Quirk sweat to get into the food if he wants it to be edible, and each time he stops and washes his finger tips before starting again, Izuku counts out the gyoza in careful repetitions.
“Fourteen Izuku, not fourth-teen,” Katsuki interrupts.
“Oh. Fourteen.” Izuku says it carefully, and Katsuki nods. “Is that how old you are?”
“No.” Katsuki fills the final gyozas and places them next to the others. We’re this old.”
Katsuki turns to the stove and swirls the sesame oil around in the pan as it heats up, nodding along as he listens to Izuku count.
“You’re seventeen?!”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re gonna be a Hero.”
“That’s what I told you I was gonna do, right?”
“Yay! Kacchan!”
Katsuki isn’t sure why he turns at that exact moment, but something about the exuberant way Izuku says his name has him spinning around, arms out, and only just in time to catch Izuku as he jumps from the work surface.
“Izuku!”
“Again! Again!”
Katsuki spends probably too long clutching Izuku against his chest, his heart banging against his ribs way too fast for any situation which involves nothing more than standing in his kitchen.
“Gods, Izuku don’t do that! You could get hurt!”
“No I won’t,” Izuku says proudly as Katsuki sits him back on the surface. “Kacchan is the best. You won’t let me fall down.”
Katsuki’s throat clicks when he swallows.
“Yeah bud. Let’s… let’s not test that right now though, OK?”
Katsuki keeps Izuku away from the stove as he fries the gyoza, but giggles alongside the child as half a glass of cold water billows into steam when it hits the pan. He places the lid on and turns the heat down before reaching for the plates.
“Hey Izuku? The chopsticks are in that drawer. You think you can get two pairs for us?”
“Yes, Kacchan!”
This time, Izuku waits for Katsuki’s hands to be offered up before he takes them and hops down from the surface.
“Can I have juice too?”
“Yeah, OK.” The one thing there always is in the fridge even if Katsuki hasn’t been shopping is orange juice – thank you Iida – and it’s no trouble to pour a big glass for Izuku even if Katsuki doesn’t drink it. Katsuki carries two side plates, the dish of gyoza, and a bottle of soy sauce over in one hand, and passes Izuku his juice. “Grub’s up kid.”
“Thank you for the food,” Izuku says, extremely formally.
“Tch, you don’t have to thank me.”
Izuku frowns in concentration as he gets a gyoza between his chopsticks. Katsuki tries to remember when he could first use real chopsticks without constantly dropping stuff… he can’t, which seems promising, but he knows his parents still had training chopsticks in the drawer when he started school. He might need to grab a fork if it’s too hard for Izuku.
“Of course I must thank Kacchan. Kacchan is the best.”
“It’s just gyoza,” Katsuki mutters, but he’s pretty certain Izuku hasn’t noticed, because he is too busy chewing his gyoza with his eyes shut.
Katsuki resists the urge to boop Izuku’s little button nose with his chopsticks, then smacks himself in the face with his free hand. What the fuck is wrong with him? He watches Izuku wolf down another three crispy dumplings in rapid succession before stopping to take huge gulps of his juice. His face is going to be sticky. Izuku puts the glass down and grins hugely.
“You’re welcome,” Katsuki mutters, and then stuffs his face before he says anything else stupid.
“Damn it smells so good in here!” Kirishima’s words are the herald of much noise from the direction of the doorway. “Hey Bakugo cooked and- oh.”
Katsuki turns to see his friend stopped mid-stride, Kaminari hanging off his shoulders as he peers around, most of the crowd of the Extras behind them.
“Hey Bakubro,” Kaminari pipes up. “Who’s your friend?”
“Bakugo has visitors?” Ashido questions from somewhere.
“You’d better have official permission Bakugo!” Of-fucking course Iida has an opinion even though he’s not fully in the room. Katsuki scowls.
Izuku slips down from his seat and in a blink, the boy crawls under the table only to reappear between Katsuki’s knees. Katsuki grabs Izuku’s plate and chopsticks and yanks them across to his side. Izuku pulls on his shirt with a tiny fist, and Katsuki has to duck very low to hear what is being muttered against the fabric.
“Bud?”
“Are they your friends?”
“Some of them,” Katsuki admits grudgingly. “It’s OK, Izuku. They live here too. They’re all training to be Heroes with us.”
That gets Izuku to look up properly, eyes shining huge with excitement once again.
“But Kacchan’s still the best, right?”
“’Course.”
“OK.” Izuku shuffles around in the box made by Katsuki’s body and the table and gives the rest of class 1-A a very small wave. “Hello.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Holy shit-!”
“Dude you can’t swear in front of a kid.”
“But- But- but that’s-”
To Katsuki’s surprise, the person who gets their act together first and best is Todoroki, who bows formally, but straightens with what – for him – is probably a friendly smile. “Hello Midoriya.”
“Hello.” Izuku turns, clambering up into Katsuki's lap to press his face practically against Katsuki’s cheek. Katsuki was correct, the orange juice has made him sticky. It’s gross. “Do we know him?”
“Yeah.”
Izuku looks at Todoroki again and frowns in a serious manner.
“Your hair is funny.”
“Bakugo what happened?” Kirishima asks, taking a seat on the other side of the table. “And are there any more gyoza?”
“Can you think of anything other than food for two minutes Shi- Stupid Hair?” Katsuki scowls – mostly at himself for slipping up – but the others don’t have to know that. “No. You cannot have any. Izuku needs his snack.”
“Aww bro…” Sero looks like he’s about to snatch one with the end of his tape, and Katsuki grabs it with one hand.
“I will explode you.”
Sero backs off instantly.
“Kacchan explodes people?” Izuku asks in wonder, all thoughts of gyoza forgotten.
“Only bad people.”
“Wow Bakugo, you’re still shit at lying.” Kaminari manages before someone grabs him and tries to explain – again – that he needs to not swear in front of the small child.
“Eat your gyoza before they get cold, OK?”
“Yes, Kacchan.”
“OK, that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Ashido announces. “My ovaries are crying.”
Well that’s an image Katsuki isn’t going to be able to shake for a while.
“So, what happened Bakugo?”
Katsuki sighs, and resigns himself to explaining the situation for the third time that afternoon.
“He got hit with a quirk by some kid who wanted him to be her friend when we were out on patrol. It’s supposed to last a like a day. I’m the only person he knows, so I get to look after him.”
Iida frowns. Or frowns more. Everyone says Katsuki is permanently scowling, but Katsuki is sure that Iida doesn’t have any other facial expressions at all.
“Why does he know you?”
“Bakugo and Midoriya grew up together,” Todoroki explains in that disarmingly calm and incredibly irritating manner of his. Katsuki is annoyed for a moment that Deku has told Todoroki things about him and their past, but he’s more glad that now he doesn’t have to explain anything. Izuku is still standing in between his legs, chewing quietly and listening to everything.
“But… small Midoriya is not old enough to go to school.”
“I’m almost four!” Izuku interjects. He turns to Katsuki. “You’re four already. Is being four fun?”
Katsuki remembers turning four. He remembers the cake his mom made seemed like it was as big as himself, and he remembers holding Izuku’s hand as he blew out his candles. He remembers wishing for a really powerful Quirk.
“It’s awesome.”
“Good.” This is apparently satisfactory, and Izuku goes back to eating.
“You guys knew each other when you were four?” Kirishima smiles like the sap he is. “That’s so cute bro.”
“Well, at least Midoriya knows who someone is,” Todoroki surmises. “It is nice to meet you, Midoriya.”
“You too-?”
“Icyhot,” Katsuki interjects with a smirk.
“Nice to meet you, Mister Icyhot.”
Katsuki holds his laugh in behind his teeth. It’s so worth it for the slightly strained look which crosses Todoroki’s face.
The class manages to act relatively normal as they go about settling into the dorm after a full school day. A few of the extras are on internships, and not due to return until later, but everyone else drifts away to change clothes or get snacks or start homework, and it gives Katsuki time to wash the dishes and the pan he used to fry the gyoza before Izuku gets bored. The little boy sits on the work surface again, openly staring at the bizarre mixture of human beings who are – ordinarily – his peers.
Just as Katsuki is putting the glasses back in the cupboard and wondering what Deku has in his room which might amuse little Izuku, Uraraka bounces over with a bright smile.
“Hi Midoriya!”
“Hello,” Izuku says politely. He makes no further motions to initiate conversation, and before Katsuki can do anything, Uraraka takes both of Izuku’s little hands in her own, pulling him closer to her.
“I can’t get over how small you are Midoriya. This is so weird. I never get to feel tall.”
“Oh.”
“Hey, do you wanna fly? I can use my Quirk on you. It’ll be super easy because you’re so tiny.”
“Kacchan…!”
“Back off, Cheeks.”
“Bakugo! I was just-” But Uraraka’s words are cut off by the hasty scramble of Izuku pulling out of her grasp and hurtling himself into Katsuki’s chest.
“Shhh…” Katsuki drops a hand to Izuku’s narrow shoulders automatically, stroking warm comfort down his spine. “It’s OK, bud. Everything’s fine.”
“Midoriya! We’re friends!”
Katsuki scowls at Uraraka, but he does remember what he promised Izuku about not shouting.
“He doesn’t remember, OK? Just lay off and give him some space.”
“But-”
“Look, tomorrow everything is gonna be back to normal and he’s not going to remember any of this. But right now, he’s just a little kid and he doesn’t know you. Got it?”
Uraraka doesn’t look pleased, but she takes a few steps back, huffs, and looks down at her feet.
“Sorry. You’re right.”
“Damn right I am.” A quick tug on his shirt distracts Katsuki's attention. “What’s up squirt?”
“Can she really make things fly?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I see?”
“What are you asking me for? The only thing I can make fly is myself.”
Izuku’s eyes become enormous.
“Kacchan can fly?!”
“Yeah. But I can’t do it in here. Too dangerous. Cheek’s flying is safer for indoors.” Without looking at her, Katsuki holds out the soy sauce bottle to Uraraka. “Don’t flipping spill it everywhere.”
Izuku releases his hold on Katsuki’s shirt, and becomes quickly entranced, eyes round and sparkling as he watches Uraraka use her Quirk on the bottle to make it float. Soon, there are half a dozen objects dancing around in the air above their heads. Katsuki folds his arms across his chest and smirks, watching as Izuku shrieks with delighted surprise when Sero lassos one out of the air with his tape.
“Kacchan!”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Can I… um. Can I go play with them?”
Katsuki casts a judgemental eye over their collected friends and classmates. Kirishima gives him a thumbs up from the sofa, and Katsuki might not like Todoroki at all but the guy is fairly sensible. He nods.
“I have to get the rice on anyway if you want dinner later. Go on.”
“Thanks, Kacchan!”
“Squirt… don’t leave this room.”
“Yes Kacchan!”
Katsuki watches Izuku run into the main area of the common room where Sero is already setting up what looks like a pretty decent small-child sized obstacle course with his tape, the legs of all the chairs, and most of the sofa cushions. Izuku laughs at Kaminari as he makes miniature lighting streak between his fingertips, and Katsuki’s chest feels tight and hot. He scowls, and turns to set up the rice cooker. Someone has to be the responsible adult around here, and it doesn’t look like any of their classmates are up for the challenge.
Katsuki is mixing spices for his marinade by the time Ashido, Yaoyorozu, and Hagakure invade his space, seemingly on their own quest for snacks and information.
“Little Midoriya seems to really like you, Bakugo.”
“Of fucking course he does. We’re friends,” Katsuki returns without looking up from his work.
“Are you though?” Yaoyorozu inquires, brow creased in thought. “It’s not as if you have ever been nice to him.”
“Fuck you, Ponytail.”
“Was he really like this as a kid?” Ashido enquires, leaning into his space. Katsuki elbows her in the shoulder. Can’t people see he is trying to get shit done whilst the pipsqueak is distracted? Even if Izuku is well-behaved and curious, he’s still only nearly-four, and he’ll have the attention span to match.
“Yeah. Pretty much.” Katsuki begins to put his spices away and counts off the hours it’s been since the Quirk accident in his head. He’s exhausted and it’s not even been a full afternoon. “Hey Yaoyorozu? Could you make me some chalk? Like the stuff you draw on concrete with.”
“Oh my gods,” Hagakure whispers. “Bakugo used your name.”
“Shut up, Ghost Girl.”
“Oh, that’s so original.”
It’s good Hagakure doesn’t have facial expression to mock him with, because Katsuki would want to blow them up. He turns back to Yaoyorozu. “Well, can you? There’s not a lot of kid-suitable activities to amuse him with around here.”
“You could just park him in front of the TV. That’s what most busy parents do with small kids, right?”
Katsuki scowls at Ashido.
“And this is why your brain is mush, Pinky. I’m not just gonna sit him in front of the fucking television for a whole day. He’ll be bored.” Katsuki stills, suddenly realising that all three girls are staring at him. He assumes Hagakure is staring, obviously he can’t actually tell. “The fuck are you looking at?”
“I- I never thought I’d see it.” Yaoyorozu puts her hand to her chest dramatically and sighs.
“Really, a marvel…”
“Fucking- what?”
“Bakugo is caring about another person’s happiness.” Ashido sounds gushy and utterly ridiculous. “Right in front of us. It’s amazing.”
Bakugo shoves her away with an open palm against her face, but he doesn’t explode anything. Maybe he’s gone soft. Shit. Instead, he focuses on cooking, keeping one ear on the sounds of joy and curiosity from the common room. He wonders how much time he’s got before Izuku bounces back over looking for food and entertainment, and speeds up his movements, intent on getting back to Izuku before any of their classmates do anything stupid to ruin the little kid’s good mood.
He finishes wiping his hands just as Jirou plugs into the couch cushion Izuku is sitting on, the sound waves making it vibrate. Izuku giggles – pure, innocent, unbridled joy – and Katsuki cannot help but smile. Even though Deku smiles a lot, Katsuki hasn’t seen one this bright in ages, and certainly not directed his way.
“Kacchan!”
“Hey squirt. Dinner’s nearly ready.”
“OK. Look, look, Jirou can play music with her ears!”
Several people wince, including Jirou, but Katsuki gives them all a hard glare over the top of Izuku’s fluffy green curls. No one corrects him.
“Would you like some music, Midoriya?” Uraraka asks, the controller for the entertainment system already in hand. Without waiting for an answer, she presses something, and the living room fills with All-Might’s theme tune.
Izuku’s eyes go wide and round in the most adorable way – not that eyes can be adorable and certainly not Izuku’s – and he practically flies off the couch and collides with Katsuki’s legs, little arms wrapping tight around his thighs. Katsuki is forced to put his chin on his chest to look down at the tousled curls and green eyes staring up at him.
He knows that look.
That’s the look of an Izuku who wants something.
“Dance with me Kacchan!”
Before Katsuki can organise himself to respond, Izuku’s tiny hands are gripping his own and pulling him forward, small feet standing on Katsuki’s toes making it impossible for him to do anything but stumble. When did this kid get so heavy, dammit? And how can such little hands have such grip?
“Kacchan! Dance!”
“No! No heck no. I do not dance.” Katsuki fumbles trying to pull himself away from Izuku-the-limpet, but he somehow just ends up with Izuku hanging from his arm as he lifts it. Izuku shrieks with glee as Katsuki completes a full bicep curl with Izuku dangling in mid air.
“Again again!”
At least he’s forgotten about dancing. Katsuki grins and lowers Izuku so that his toes brush the floor before he hoists him up again. Izuku’s little fingers squeeze tight around his bicep and he shrieks happily again.
“Kacchan is so strong!”
“Damn right, shortstack.”
“You wanna tell him he’s stronger than you when he grows up?” Kirishima says, lounging on the sofa, grinning confidentially in the knowledge that Katsuki cannot launch himself across the room to defend his honour when he has a small child literally attached to his arm.
“The fu- fudge?” Katsuki hates having to edit himself. Someone giggles; Katsuki wants to blow something up. “With no Quirks I’d still beat you both into the ground.”
“If you say so Ka-”
“Finish that word and I will Howitzer you through a wall.”
Ashido claps Katsuki on the shoulder, grinning wide.
“Yup, that’s the Bakugo we know and love.”
“Piss off, Pinky.”
“Kacchan, no shouting,” Izuku mutters, uncurling Katsuki’s fingers from the fist he holds at his side.
“I’m not shouting, brat.”
“Your hands smell nice.”
“Huh?”
“Like… like…” Izuku frowns – this cute little furrow between his tiny eyebrows – as he sniffs again at Katsuki’s palm. “Auntie only lets us have them if we sit at table and finish all our dinner first…”
Someone, somewhere, goes ‘aww’. Katsuki is going to murder every single person in here and then himself.
“Purin?” Katsuki has a very faded memory of being told not to inhale his dessert like an animal, scraping all the smoky, sugary sauce from the bottom of the bowl. Izuku hadn’t been any more refined, but his mom never told Izuku off: he was too adorable.
“Yes! Can we have some?”
“No. We haven’t- that’s not why my hands smell like that.”
“Oh.” Izuku’s lower lip wobbles, and Katsuki has a fleeting, ridiculous thought that if he used his explosions, it wouldn’t take that long to get to the convenience store and back again. He can probably trust Kirishima and Todoroki in combination to watch over Izuku…
Katsuki snaps himself out of his preposterous planning, and crouches down to be on eye level with Izuku, his hand still held between them.
“It’s my Quirk. That’s why they smell like that.” Katsuki fights the urge to laugh as Izuku traces a ticklishly line across his palm. “Do not try and eat it. OK, squirt?”
“What does it do?” Izuku’s disappointment at the lack of cheap caramel-flavoured desserts vanishes as Katsuki stands back up and returns to the kitchen, Izuku still clutching his hand and wrist, small feet moving in double time to keep up with him. “Will you show me? Is that how you can fly?”
“So many questions!”
“Questions are good,” Izuku pouts. Katsuki feels instantly guilty.
“Yeah. I know. Look I’ll show tomorrow, OK? When it’s light out.”
“It’s light now though.”
“Yeah, because it’s summer pipsqueak. It’s still nearly dinner time, so no going outside. Wash your hands before you eat.”
Katsuki drags a chair over to the sink so that Izuku can stand on it to wash up, then makes up two bowls of gyudon while Izuku watches, stirring the egg into the marinaded beef and rice for half a minute before serving.
“Can you carry it to the table without spilling?”
“Yes Kacchan,” Izuku grumbles. “Mama even lets me drink out of big-kid cups now.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Watch where you’re going!” he snaps just before Izuku would have collided with Kirishima’s legs. “What do you want Shark Face?”
“Smells good,” Kirishima says, guileless. “Did you make leftovers?”
“Fucki- no one makes leftovers dumbass. There’s extra though. Do whatever, but you have to wash up.”
“Thanks Bakugo!”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. Sometimes he wonders why he is friends with these people.
Half way through dinner, Yaoyorozu appears with a bundle of chunky chalks, a mindfulness colouring book which Katsuki knows came from someone’s bedroom, and a sheet of novelty food stickers from Uraraka. Katsuki recognises the mochi-with-faces from her notebooks. Izuku is polite as he accepts the gifts, but Katsuki knows it’s going to take more than that to amuse him for most of the following day.
And they still haven’t finished this one. Katsuki glances at the clock; he isn’t sure what time three-nearly-four-year-olds are supposed to go to bed.
“We should watch a movie!” Kaminari says brightly.
“Heck yeah,” Kirishima agrees. “We can get the blankets and stuff and cuddle.”
“Dude,” Sero rolls his eyes so hard they nearly end up in the back of his head. “You are so gay.”
Kirishima shrugs like this is old news – and it is – but Izuku frowns deeply, biting his bottom lip so hard it blanches. Katsuki glares at his so-called friends.
“Elbows is joking, OK bud? He means it in a nice way.”
“Oh… little dude…” But Sero’s apology stutters out as Izuku turns and hides his face in Katsuki’s trouser-leg once more, mumbling softly.
“-should be nice to his friends.”
“Yeah. He should. It’s OK, they’ll… hug or something and make up.”
“Can we still watch a movie?”
Katsuki breathes a sigh of relief. The bonus of small Izuku is definitely his lack of ability to over-fixated on something. He’s three and easily distracted. Choosing a movie is relatively painless, because it turns out that – of all people – Shouji has the entire animated Disney archive on a thumb drive. Soon, Katsuki finds himself at one end of the big couch with Izuku perched next to him, almost entirely cocooned in a blanket as a rogue alien creation breaks free from a prison ship and goes careening towards an unsuspecting Earth.
Katsuki hasn’t seen this film since he was little, but bigger than Izuku, so it makes sense that the little guy has never seen it. He requires constant input as to what is happening, and thank fuck Kaminari decides to sit on the floor right next to them, and gives a running commentary of proceedings. When it reaches the sad-scene in the hammock as the sisters lament their lack of family, Katsuki finds himself petting Izuku’s soft green curls, murmuring wordless reassurance to a small child who is not-quite openly sobbing into his shirt.
He zones out at some point later, scrolling through his phone with the screen set to the dimmest setting, reading through an article analysing his combat style and capture rates. It’s not a bad piece, and of course there is one written for Deku as well. Katsuki saves it to read later.
There is an insistent tugging on his shirt.
“What?”
“Kacchan,” Izuku hisses, his voice low. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
Katsuki shrugs.
“Whatever. Go on.”
Katsuki is suddenly aware that the small body beside him is wriggling, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“But Kacchannnnnn…” Izuku whines again.
Izuku is three. And he doesn’t know where the bathrooms are. Katsuki never thought to show him.
“Oh fu-! OK!”
Katsuki stands, basically kicks Kaminari in the head as he moves to step over him, and grabs Izuku under each arm and hoists the little boy onto his hip. He hustles out of the sea of classmates and blankets as fast as he can, listening to them laughing behind them as he goes.
He bangs into the bathroom, ensuring that it is only his own body which smacks into the door and not Izuku’s far lighter frame, and sets Izuku down in front of the nearest stall.
“Bathroom.”
“Kacchan!” Izuku hops from one foot to the other.
“I swear to gods, I am never ever having children in this or any other universe.” Katsuki growls between his teeth.
He stares over the top of Izuku fluffy green curls as he yanks down the boy’s shorts and underwear, then picks him up and sits him on the toilet seat.
“Make sure it’s pointing down,” he manages to not-snap, then bangs back out of the stalls and stands at the sink, refusing to look at his reflection or the way his hands are gripping the ceramic tight enough to risk breaking it. Katsuki turns both taps on in full, just in time to not hear whatever is going on behind him, and spends the next minute cursing stupid Deku and his shitty desire to make friends with every fucking waif and stray on the planet. “You done in there?” he calls eventually.
“Yes.”
Katsuki turns the taps off. There is silence from the stall behind him.
“All done?” Katsuki tries again.
There is a small, soft, grunt.
“No.”
“Kill me,” Katsuki mutters, quiet enough not to be overheard. “Kill me, kill me, kill me, how the fuck is this my life.”
Behind him, there are faint bodily noises which Katsuki never wants to think about ever again. Heck, he doesn’t want to think about them now. He spends far too long wondering if putting his head through the bathroom mirror and wall will be enough to give him concussion so he can forget this whole thing.
Eventually, there is quiet.
“Now are you done?”
“Yes,” Izuku says, sounding smug.
Katsuki takes a deep breath, and readies himself for the weirdest conversation he has ever had, and which he is deeply thankful only one of them will have to have a memory of.
“You wiped?”
“Uh huh!”
“Flush!” Katsuki commands.
There is the tell tale swoosh and swirl of water, and then Izuku appears, looking extremely pleased with himself. Katsuki hates that he thinks it’s adorable.
“Yes Kacchan.”
“Wash your hands, squirt.”
“Kacchan wash his hands too?” Izuku says, his hands stuck up comically high to get them under the tap. Katsuki squirts the soap out for him.
“I didn’t go! Damn pipsqueak.”
Izuku takes his hand as they exit the bathroom.
“You wanna go finish watching the movie?”
“Yes.” Izuku tugs him closer, then pauses. “Can I have milk?”
“What the magic word?” Oh gods, he sounds like his father. The fuck is happening to him? Izuku smiles sweetly up at him, swishing their joined hands from side to side, and Katsuki is uncomfortably aware that every one of their classmates can see and hear them. Katsuki wants to blast himself into the atmosphere rather than look up and see them all judging him.
But Izuku is three-nearly-four, and everything except the immediate situation goes right over his head.
“Please may I have milk, Kacchan?”
“Awwww….” Round Cheeks is so fucking annoying.
“So sweet…” He is going to beat Shitty Hair into a pulp after this.
“Baby Midoriya is so cute!” Pinky is dead to him now.
Izuku’s tiny mouth turns down into another – fucking adorable – pout.
“I’m not a baby!”
Katsuki finishes pouring the milk, and passes it over into Izuku’s small hands.
“You tell them bud. Now don’t spill.”
“Yes Kacchan.” Izuku’s smile is broad and bright and Katsuki doesn’t understand why it makes his throat feel tight. “Thank you, Kacchan.”
Apparently, nothing scary happens for the rest of the movie which requires Katsuki’s intervention, so he cleans the kitchen, washes the plates and pans, and puts everything away in time for the closing credits to roll. He stands behind the couch as Izuku yawns so wide it’s a wonder the top of his head doesn’t come clean off.
“Bedtime shortstack.”
“But-”
“I swear to gods if you say you’re not sleepy when you are literally unable to keep both eyes open-” Katsuki doesn’t bother finishing his threat. Which is good because he has no idea what he was going to end it with. How does one threaten a three-year-old? He can’t exactly scream ‘die’ at someone that damn cute.
“Sleepover with Kacchan…” Izuku mumbles, already half way into dreamland, and Katsuki has no option but to close his ears to the sniggers of their classmates and accept the skinny arms which reach up to grasp him.
Katsuki tucks Izuku close into his side, and carries him up the stairs to the fourth floor. He still feels a little like an idiot for not taking Izuku back to his own room, but if they go there now Izuku will definitely get over excited by all the All-Might merch his teenage self has managed to amass and there will be no sleep at all. That, and Katsuki is pretty certain that – like it or not, and he fucking doesn’t – wherever Izuku sleeps is where he’s going to end up sleeping too.
Izuku wakes up enough when Katsuki puts him down to change into pyjamas. As cute as the bunny onesie is, it’s way too hot to wear under the covers, but there are other soft cotton pyjamas with PLUS ULTRA splashed over them along with a smattering of Sakura blossoms. Izuku dresses himself with sluggish movements and more than three attempts to get the correct foot into the correct leg-hole. Katsuki shakes his head as he tucks the tiny-version of his childhood friend into his own bed.
“Kacchan…”
“I’m right here pipsqueak. Go to sleep.”
“I want a story.”
“You want a-? No. No, I’m not doing this.” Katsuki exhales sharply between his teeth. “I haven’t got any story books bud. You’ll cope.” Katsuki gets up to turn off the main light, then angles his desk lamp down into the corner so it won’t be too bright before he turns it on. There is a soft sniff from behind him. “What is it now?”
“Where is Kacchan going to sleep?”
“Don’t you fret about me. I have homework to do anyway.” he sees a soft glimmer of confusion cross Izuku’s face. “Big boy stuff. I’ll be right here, OK?”
“OK,” Izuku mumbles into the duvet, clearly not entirely happy with this answer.
Katsuki sighs, scoops up his school work and sets himself up closer to the bed instead. After two breathes, a little hand holds tightly to his t-shirt.
“Night night, Kacchan.”
Katsuki ruffles his hair; it’s so damn soft.
“Yeah. Good night kiddo. Go to sleep.”
Katsuki keeps his eyes focused on his notebook, methodically working down the list of equations, keeping the movements of his pencil light and not growling when he makes mistakes he need to rub out. He’s still on the first column when tiny fingers slacken their hold on his shirt. Two minutes later Katsuki looks over to find Izuku completely asleep, face lax and sweet in the dim light as he cuddles up to Katsuki’s pillow. He looks unbelievably tiny in the full-size bed, and Katsuki has a moment of weird-doubt that he himself was ever that little.
Carefully, he tucks the hand which is no longer holding his shirt back onto the mattress and watches as the little boy cuddles even tighter to the pillow and duvet before going sleep-slack once again. Katsuki should get back to his homework, but instead he finds himself staring at Izuku whilst he sleeps. His childhood friend the child, all that innocence and all that potential in such a tiny, unscarred body. Unmarked by fights and battles and training, unspoilt by Katsuki’s own poisonous behaviour. Katsuki can pretend to everyone else that he wasn’t on a quest in middle school to become the world’s biggest jerk, but he can’t lie to himself. Deku might still tolerate his company for some fucking reason, but he knows. Of course he knows. He was there.
Katsuki grateful Izuku won’t remember all of this – this long strange day of needing Katsuki to take care of him – but he hates that Izuku will remember all the shitty things Katsuki has said and done to him.
With little Izuku here, it is harder to simply ignore the past like Katsuki has been doing recently.
***
An hour and two fully completed homework assignments later, Katsuki listens to the general noises of many of his classmates heading to bed. He waits until he hears the tell-tale thud of Kirishima’s footfalls heading for the room next door before he leans over and yanks his door open.
“Oi, moron,” he mutters softly, “sit in here and watch him for me?”
Kirishima glances at the bed, his eyes widening in obvious surprise at the sight of the tiny bundle of sleeping Izuku which Katsuki has apparently given up his comfort for.
“Bro… he’s four. He’ll stay asleep now that he’s down.”
“Fuck’s sake dumbass,” Katsuki hisses, trying to kept his eternal rage to a quiet simmer instead of exploding his friend. “I don’t want him waking up with no one here, OK? He can’t even see his mom and he’s just a little kid. But I need to go have a fucking shower, so will you just-”
“OK, OK! Don’t sweat it bro. I’ll sit with him.”
“Don’t wake him up.”
Kirishima backs further into Katsuki’s room with his hands raised in surrender.
“I promise, I won’t.” He glances down at the homework spread out on Katsuki's desk. “I might copy your biology notes though.”
Katsuki can respect that. It would be weird to expect people to put themselves out for no reward at all.
“Fine, whatever Shark-Face.”
Katsuki grabs his shower caddy, towel, and sleep gear and heads for the fourth floor bathrooms to have the shortest, most hurried shower of his entire life. He hates forgoing his nightly moisturising routine, but there just isn’t time. Katsuki glares at his reflection as he brushes his teeth, watching water drip from the ends of his now-floppy hair, but doesn’t swear at the plaque he scrapes away with the brush.
He didn’t make Izuku brush his teeth before bed. Dammit.
It’s fucking stupid to feel guilty about it though. It won’t matter, because Izuku is going to be returned to normal tomorrow – along with a mostly full set of adult teeth – and it’s not like he can get cavities in a day. But Katsuki feels like the biggest kind of idiot for not noticing.
It is only when he’s heading back to his room that Katsuki wonders if Izuku is going to be uncomfortable with Katsuki only wearing sleep shorts to bed, but if he tries to sleep in a t-shirt he’ll boil to death in his own sweat.
Oh, and he doesn’t actually have anywhere to sleep.
Kirishima is quite obviously copying all the answers to Katsuki’s biology homework when he returns.
“Kirishima… you have a futon in your room, right?” Katsuki knows he does, Kirishima pulls it out sometimes when he invites the other morons to study with them. KatsukI is not sure what he did wrong in a former life to be saddled with tutoring four of his classmates almost every week, but he knows what he did wrong in this one.
“Yeah?”
“Give.”
Kirishima glances at Izuku in the bed, and then the smile he gives Katsuki is so fucking soft Katsuki wants to punch it off his stupid face.
“Yeah. Sure thing bro. No worries.”
Kirishima vanishes for just long enough to grab his folded futon and haul it back. Apparently, his moms outfitted him with a whole spare bed set, because Katsuki finds his arms full of two extra pillows and another duvet, all made up with red and black graphic covers. At least Katsuki doesn’t have to wrestle with a duvet cover without making too much noise.
“It’s very manly of you to look after Midoriya you know.”
“Shut up.”
“Night, Bakugo!”
“Shhh! Don’t wake the kid.”
Kirishima smiles that great big sharp toothed grin of his, half hanging out of his own doorway.
“You’re gonna make a great dad one day!”
Katsuki closes his fist on the explosion in his palm and screams silently at his best friend’s stupid spiky hair as he retreats. He’s going to incinerate him the first chance he gets, but he keeps the futon and the bedding, and makes up a place to sleep on the floor next to his own bed. He settles down into his borrowed pillows and glances up to see a single green curl and the knuckles of one tiny hand draping over the edge of his mattress.
“Night Izuku,” he mutters, unheard, and turns out the light.
***
“Gah!” There is something touching his face and it’s dark and Katsuki isn’t sure where he is except that gods-fucking-damn he’s so tired it’s like his eyelids are welded shut. “Nyygh!”
“Kacchan? Kacchan…”
“De- Izuku… what time is it?” Katsuki struggles to sit up, and something soft but solid collides with his arm and makes a quiet ‘oof’ sound. “Oh sh-sugar. You OK bud?”
Blinking hard, Katsuki reaches out to steady Izuku, and doesn’t knock him over this time. The boy cuddles instantly against his chest.
“I’m OK.”
“What’s the matter? You need to go to the bathroom again?”
He feels Izuku shake his head, curls bouncing against Katsuki’s chin.
“Nightmare?”
“No.”
Katsuki exhales through his nose, watching the shadows of Izuku’s hair move as he does it. Izuku has always been crap at lying, even when they were kids.
“Hey Izuku?” Katsuki waits until the boy’s shining eyes are fixed on him. “Remember how I said we’re Heroes?” Little Izuku nods. “Don’t you worry, shortstack; there’s no monster that can get through me. Not even the ones in that big head of yours.”
“Promise?”
“Heck yes.”
“Kacchan is the best,” Izuku sighs.
“Come on squirt. Back in your own bed.”
A pair of tiny arms wrap around Katsuki’s ribs and squeeze far tighter than Katsuki assumed they’d be able to. He feels out of breath and his heart is beating much too fast. Katsuki ruffles his hair.
“Kacchan is the best.”
“Alright, alright. C’mon, off. Heroes have to get their sleep you know. Makes you stronger.”
Katsuki kneels up to tuck Izuku back into bed, waiting until the boy’s soft breaths slow before he lays back down again. There are no more sounds, and Katsuki doesn’t remember falling asleep.
***
“KACCHAN!”
How can one small person make such an extreme amount of noise? Katsuki wonders, right before the excited bundle of energy which is Izuku launches from his bed and lands on him, one foot perilously close to soft, sensitive parts of Katsuki which he doesn’t want anyone’s feet near ever.
“OOF! Godsdammit!” Katsuki rolls onto his side, Izuku scrambling over his side and hip like he’s a mountain range in need of climbing, and Katsuki curls up on himself for a moment, resolutely ignoring the small hands tugging on his borrowed duvet. “Go away…”
“Kacchan! You’re awake!” Izuku sounds utterly delighted with himself, despite it being extremely clear that the only reason Katsuki is awake is because he’s just been used as a landing pad by a flying three-year-old.
Of course… Izuku is three-nearly-four, and even Katsuki remembers waking up in the mornings and taking toys and books and loud ideas into his parent’s bed the moment he awoke. He leans up on his elbows, and Izuku instantly finds a comfortable place in his lap, lying full out against his chest.
“Hi!” he says brightly, all big eyes and smiles.
“Hello,” Katsuki manages in response. “What time is it and what’s wrong with your bed?”
“But Kacchan looked lonely.”
Katsuki makes a displeased snort, and it seems he has just told the world’s funniest joke, because Izuku giggles madly, pressing his face to Katsuki’s sternum, little gusts of breath warm against his skin. Katsuki sighs.
“Alright squirt, get off me.”
“I’m thirsty, Kacchan.”
Katsuki simply glares at him.
“Please can I have a drink, Kacchan?”
“Better. Yeah alright kiddo. And you need to do your teeth too.”
Izuku takes his hand on the way to the bathroom, and Katsuki doesn’t complain. He locates a shower stool whilst Izuku uses the toilet, and sets it up so that Izuku can actually reach the taps himself. Only then does Katsuki realise that Deku keeps all his bathroom gear on the second floor – since that’s where his dorm is – and his toothbrush isn’t here. Sighing, Katsuki goes to his own cupboard and gets a new one from the packet, wets it and adds toothpaste before handing it to Izuku.
“I have an All Might toothbrush at home.”
“Yeah. Well, this one is extra strong. Makes your teeth even shiner than All Might’s.”
“No way!”
“Yes way. Get brushing pipsqueak!”
Katsuki curls his lips and begins to scour his teeth with the brush, spitting into the sink every time the foam gets too much, focusing on ensuring he gets every side of every tooth.
“Why are you saying ‘die’ to your reflection, Kacchan?”
“Whafff?” Katsuki spits again in the sink and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “I’m not. You done yet?”
“Uh-uh.”
“I’m going to p- go to the toilet. Stay. Here.” Katsuki jabs his finger downwards firmly. “Got it?”
He waits for the beginning of Izuku’s nod before slamming into the nearest cubicle to relieve himself.
When they finally get back to Katsuki’s room to get dressed, Katsuki glances at the time on his phone, and face plants directly into his duvet. Izuku sits astride his lower back with a dozen quick fire questions about what they’re going to do today, and Katsuki groans.
It’s only six in the morning. This is going to be a long day.
***
“I need more yellow…”
Without looking, Katsuki passes the yellow chalk across to Izuku, and goes back to his physics work. Of all the sciences, it’s the one he finds easiest and most useful – which helpful, because right now he is completing the exercises they worked on in class from memory, using chalk on the concrete path which runs across the lawn between the dorms and the main building.
“Thanks, Kacchan.”
“Whatever. You good shortstuff?”
“Yup!”
Izuku sounds chirpy enough, and Katsuki only slathered the back of his neck and his tiny freckled legs in sunscreen half an hour ago, so he figures he’s good for a bit longer without there being another child-related disaster. Honestly, Katsuki knows it is only his drive to be top of the class and not fall behind that cold bastard Todoroki, which is stopping him from simply star-fishing on the hot pavement and falling asleep.
Katsuki has fought villains, and been abducted, and been in hospital way more than the average seventeen-year-old, and put himself through exams designed by sadists, but he has never been this exhausted. How in the world do parents do this every day?
After getting dressed – which was a whole trial in itself, getting Izuku to pick his clothes and not change his mind every ten seconds – Katsuki had wasted half an hour by dragging his own damn hairbrush through those sleep mussed curls until all the tangles were gone. Izuku is at least easy to feed, but the moment he finished inhaling rice and grilled mackerel and another massive glass of Iida’s orange juice, the questions had started.
What was Kastuki quirk? Could he really fly? How far? How fast? Did he ever sniff his hands because they smelled so nice?
As soon as Katsuki mentioned explosions, Izuku was trying – and failing because he’s three and weighs, like, nothing – to haul Katsuki outside to demonstrate said explosions. By that time, most of their classmates had made some kind of vertical appearance, and Katsuki had caved to his innate desire to show off and impress Izuku.
And impress he had.
Katsuki finds himself smiling, cheeks aching with the motion, remembering how awestruck Izuku's eyes had been as Katsuki let off explosions in his palms. Kirishima had come outside and launched stones into the air for Katsuki to blast with small, precision AP Shots, and Katsuki is pretty sure he might be facing disciplinary action when Aizawa hears about it. But it’s worth it, just to see the look of utter awe and wonder on Izuku's freckled face.
Fielding questions about yet more of their classmate’s Quirks filled the time until everyone else left for class. Katsuki had hustled Izuku back indoors because the top item on the list of things he does not want to do today is be interrogated by anyone from 1-B on why Izuku is suddenly only three feet tall and dressed in a miniature version of Katsuki's Hero costume shirt. Back in Katsuki’s room, he finally relented and allowed Izuku to play with some of his All Might figurines – though not the extremely limited edition ones because Katsuki hardly ever even takes those out of the boxes for fuck’s sake – and that had bought him forty minutes until Izuku had declared he wanted to draw.
So that’s what they’re doing now. Katsuki thinks he might even thank Yaoyorozu for making the supplies for him.
Katsuki puts down his chalk, and sits up with a stretch. He really should know better than to let his back settle in such an uncomfortable position for so long. He can’t wait until this is over so he can go the gym and have a decent run around campus before bed.
“What’cha working on squirt?”
“Kacchan goes BOOM!” Izuku chirrups by way of explanation, and Katsuki turns to look properly at the concrete around them.
He can see why the kid needed more orange.
The stick figure of Katsuki himself is black – which makes sense considering his current outfit – and the little green blob beside him is therefore Izuku. The kid’s drawing skills leave much to be desired, but then he’s three, lots of things are forgivable. Around the two figures and shooting from Katsuki’s hand-less stick arm, are explosions drawn in layers of red, orange and yellow spikes. Very graphic and very cool. And everywhere.
“It’s us!”
“I see that,” Katsuki says softly.
“Do you like it Kacchan?”
“Yeah. It’s great Izuku. Good job.”
Izuku beams up at him for a long moment and Katsuki’s chest goes tight again, like his whole ribcage is being crushed by a giant hand except that he can still breathe. Then the kid dives back into to his drawing, green chalk in hand once more.
“There,” he declares after a moment. “Now it’s finished.”
In extremely shaky letters below the two figures is written いく+ か inside a large green heart shape. Izuku is three and his handwriting is hopeless, but it’s not hard for Katsuki to work out what he means.
“Oh…” Katsuki has to swallow around a lump in his throat – and where the fuck did that come from dammit? “Nice. Good job, bud.”
“It’s not going to rain, is it? We can do more later?”
There is not a single speck of cloud to be seen anywhere.
“Yeah. We can do more later.” Katsuki stands up and makes a show of gathering the chalk until Izuku begins to scurry around helping him. He hates to do it, but he moves his foot across the green chalk, blurring the hiragana just enough to be unreadable. He feels like a jerk all over again. “You want to help me make lunch shortstuff? You’re old enough to have onigiri right?”
“I can help Kacchan?!”
The redirect works exactly as Katsuki hoped it would, and he lets Izuku grab his hand and swing on his arm as they head back to the dorms.
***
Having a nearly four-year-old ‘helping’ in the kitchen ensures that food preparation takes twice as long as it should, that there is rice literally everywhere, and that Izuku spends more time trying to eat the ingredients and having to wash and re-wash his hands than he does doing anything else. By the time Katsuki slumps down on the couch next to the little boy, he is utterly exhausted. And he’s pretty sure he still has rice in his hair.
“Can we watch cartoons?”
“TV will rot your brain,” Katsuki says automatically, hating that he’s quoting his mother now without any apparent effort, godsdammit. Izuku pouts up at him. “Yeah, yeah. Fine. But I get to pick.”
“Kacchan is the best!” Izuku declares, wrapping both arms as far as they go around Katsuki’s middle.
“Eat your food squirt.”
Katsuki scrolls through the channels until he finds one playing age-appropriate semi-educational cartoons, most of which seem to feature a large brown dog and a group of small animals who earn various badges by learning things or helping people. Beside him, Izuku giggles and dutifully eats his onigiri without making too much mess. Katsuki’s kitchen is a disaster zone. He’ll clean it later.
***
Katsuki wakes warm and blurry with his head still full of the soft background sound of the television and something heavy lying on his chest. It’s actually a relief not to be jumped on, so he doesn’t bother moving much, and simply raises his hand from where it’s been dangling over the edge of the couch and pets Izuku's hair softly. Green curls are still silky soft under his palm, but it’s not until Katsuki has all his fingers sunk into them that he realises the strands are far longer and thicker than they were when he ruffled Izuku's hair first thing that morning.
Katsuki opens one eye, and he’s pretty certain it says something about his level of self-control that he doesn’t just explode them both in shock.
Deku – his Deku, nearly full-grown even though he’s still fucking short; sixteen-nearly-seventeen-year-old Deku – is lying almost flat out over Katsuki's chest, his legs curled on the couch whereas Katsuki's still rest on the floor. And he’s basically naked. The tiny sized Dynamight-styled shirt is ripped open and hanging off Deku’s bicep, the shorts and underwear he was in are similarly destroyed, and Katsuki has an extremely lovely view down the soft curves of his childhood friend’s back.
The knowledge that Deku grew up to be hot has always been theoretical. Of course, he’s physically fit, and all the strength training he’s done to cope with One for All has given him layers of densely packed muscle, but Katsuki has never looked before. He’s never wanted to.
Deku has freckles just lower than his lower back dimples. And, fucking hell, the knowledge that Deku has lower back dimples is going to keep Katsuki up at night he’s sure. The last memory Katsuki has of his childhood friend’s face is with those big green eyes full of wonder and adoration. The sudden realisation that Deku is not going to look at him like that any more – because they aren’t friends any more, not even close, and certainly not anything more – is like a vice around his throat.
But there’s no way Katsuki is going to damage his pride as well as his heart and let anyone catch him gazing down with wistful longing at the enticing curves of Deku’s body or the messy, soft curls of his hair. So, the moment he feels Deku stir, Katsuki grunts as though he’s only just woken and snarls as soon as Deku’s hands – laced with scars, his fingers a little crooked once more – starts trying to put distance between them. Katsuki stands up, the movement dumping Izuku unceremoniously onto the couch on his buck-naked arse, and covers his desire to blush with fury instead.
“Thank fuck that’s over. You can look after your damn self again. Not that you do a very good job of it, stupid Deku.”
“K-Kacchan...”
Katsuki ploughs on, ignoring the soft, plaintive tone of Deku behind him.
“You’d best tell the teachers you’re all better. I’m going to catch last period.”
“Kacchan.”
“Kids are so fucking annoying-”
“Kacchan!” Deku’s voice shifts from beseeching to demanding, and Katsuki scowls as he turns back to him.
“What?”
“I haven’t got any clothes, Kacchan.”
They both stay there, unmoving, and Katsuki realises how much effort it is taking him to keep eye contact with Deku and not look anywhere else. Deku’s only modesty right now is an errant throw cushion.
“Fuckin- seriously? Urgh.” Katsuki makes a show of rolling his eyes and huffing because otherwise he’s going to blush and that will not fucking do. No. he will not be caught blushing over Deku. He rips his own shirt off over his head and practically throws it at the other boy. “There. Done.”
“So… um…”
“Spit it out Nerd! I haven’t got all day.”
“While I was under the influence of the Quirk-”
“Nothing happened you need to know about.” Katsuki blurts, hurrying to get himself out of this conversation. He really wishes he was wearing his uniform already so he could just leave. And why does Deku look so fucking cute and distracting in his shirt with those stocky, well-muscled, freckle-dusted legs still on show? “All your friends are nosy fucking bastards though. You might wanna fix that.”
“Kacchan,” Deku sounds suddenly serious, mature, not like the mumbling, nerdy middle-schooler Katsuki paints him as in his head all too often. “I remember everything.”
“You- what the fuck?”
The whole of the past twenty-four hours unreels in triple time through Katsuki mind. Izuku big smiles and bright eyes. The hugs. Carrying the kid around on his hip. Having him sitting in his lap. Brushing his hair, cuddling him back to sleep in the night. Dealing with dinner and bathrooms and pyjamas.
A green chalk heart on the concrete.
Izuku’s arms around his thighs, gazing up at him, confidentially proclaiming ‘Kacchan is the best!’.
“You… remember?”
“Yes.”
Katsuki stands there a fraction of a second too long, and Deku shifts on the couch as though to stand and reach for him, and Katsuki tears himself away.
“Fuck,” he snaps, unseeing, and springs up the stairs to the fourth floor without pausing for breath.
His room still has Izuku’s clothes piled on the end of his bed, a pair of tiny red hi-tops parked next to his own black trainers. There are stickers and colouring books on his desk, and a diorama of several All Might figurines fighting a red plush dragon they’d borrowed from Kirishima’s room.
There is a weird lump in his throat which won’t go away, and Katsuki ignores everything in favour of tearing through his wardrobe for his next favourite shirt. When Deku returns the other one, it’ll probably smell like him, and Katsuki hates that he thinks it might be nice to scent the zingy-tang of Deku’s Quirk on his own clothes. He yanks the Aji Fry shirt on over his head and bangs his forehead into the wardrobe door.
Maybe now is the time to give himself that concussion?
There is a soft knock on the door.
“Kacchan? Can I come in?”
Katsuki knows if he ignores Deku, then the little nerd will respect his privacy and leave him alone. He’s a freak like that. If there was ever anything Katsuki really needed to know he’d just hammer the door down until he got answers, but not Deku. This is fine. He just has to wait it out.
“Kacchan?” There is a long, long pause. Deku is probably mumbling to himself; Katsuki would put money on it. “Thanks for the shirt. I’ll wash it, OK? And thanks for… everything else.”
Later, future-Katsuki is going to murder Katsuki-of-the-here-and-now, because he takes one stride and hauls the door open so suddenly that Deku fucking falls face first into the room and into Katsuki’s arms. Deku weighs a lot more now that he did at three, and the pair of them go sprawling backwards across the floor.
“Kacchan!”
“I don’t care about the shirt,” Katsuki blurts, because if he gives himself room to talk about anything else he’s going to say something which will make him look like an idiot.
“But it’s your favourite.”
“Tch.” Why does Deku know everything about him? Why, knowing all of Katsuki’s faults, does he look at him like that? “Get off me.”
“Too heavy for you Kacchan?” Deku’s voice has the merest lilt of a tease, a challenge. Any of his nerd friends who might have once through that Deku was too sweet and innocent to also be petty and stubborn have been proved wrong countless times over the past two years at UA. But Katsuki never sees Deku offer that glinting, sly smile to anyone else.
In the second that Deku decides to lift himself off Katsuki, Katsuki fastens an arm around his waist and yanks him down again. This time, Deku produces a little ‘oof’ at the force.
“Like I’m not strong enough to handle your nerdy arse, shortstack.”
Deku doesn’t say anything, just hums this soft little noise which Katsuki would categorise as appreciative if he had to call it anything, and then his brain finally catches up with the rest of his body and Katsuki becomes overwhelming aware of the following things:
Deku is lying on top of him.
He is holding Deku on top of himself.
He basically just invited Deku to continue laying there.
He is hard.
Katsuki opens his mouth to speak, shuts it, opens it again and suddenly realises his childhood friend is witnessing him gaping like a fish, so he spits out the first thing that comes to mind.
“Stop looking at me like that!”
“Like what?” Deku says, not stopping in the slightest.
“Like-” Like the way you did when we were kids. Like the way you did before I made your life a living hell. Like you give a damn about my happiness. “-that.” He finishes lamely.
“Kacchan, I always look at you like this.”
“Why?”
And Deku sighs – fucking sighs like he’s got hearts in his eyes and there are flowers behind Katsuki's head as though they are suddenly in a BL manga – and his voice is sweet and completely without guile when he says:
“Because, Kacchan is the best.”
Katsuki’s brain misfires.
He must have woken up in some alternative reality, or he really did give himself concussion against the wardrobe door and he is now hallucinating. Those are the only viable options for the current situation. So Katsuki wraps a hand around the back of Deku’s head – carding those green curls between his fingers, cradling the back of his skull – and hauls Deku up to his level with his other hand around the boy’s bicep. He crashes their mouths together, because if this is a hallucination, he’s damn sure getting his money’s worth.
Deku’s lips are a little rough and chapped against his own because Deku’s skincare routine is fucking non-existent, and he tastes faintly salty from the edamame they had with lunch. Little Izuku had giggled as Katsuki had made the beans pop from their pods with accompanying verbal sound effects. One of them groans; Katsuki is pretty sure it’s Deku, and then the green-eyed boy is whimpering into his mouth as Katsuki flicks the tip of his tongue along the seam of his lips.
“K-Kacchan…”
“Mmm…”
Katsuki closes the tiny distance between their faces to kiss Deku again, and crows internally in triumph when the other boy simply moulds against him, boneless and weighty, his tongue a wet, smooth contrast to the texture of his lips. Katsuki cannot make the kiss deep enough, licking up into Deku’s mouth, fingers clenching in his hair and stroking the thick curls. Deku’s breath is insanely warm and moist against his lips when he breaks for air.
“Kacchan,” he tries again, sounding more determined.
Katsuki shakes his head, pulling Deku back in for more kisses. It’s his brain damaged imagination dammit, he should be able to avoid talking about his fucking feelings. But this time Deku isn’t quite as slack against him, and in the shuffle of limbs when he tries to back off and support his own weight, Deku’s pointy knee juts painfully into his inner thigh – once again just shy of somewhere really sensitive.
“Ow. Fuck.”
“Sorry, sorry!”
Katsuki blinks up at him, the spell broken. This is not a hallucination; he does not have concussion or brain damage. This is real and he is actually kissing his childhood best friend – and until extremely recently, his sworn-rival – on his bedroom floor.
He panics.
Katsuki scrambles up and out from under Deku, thankfully without hitting him in his haste, steps backwards, and immediately trips over the previously neatly folded stack of Kirishima's borrowed bedding.
“Oh gods, Kacchan!” Deku is beside him instantly, hovering, fingers fluttering as though a low impact hit like falling over could actually hurt him. Katsuki growls.
“Fuck off nerd. I’m fine. Don’t fuss.” Katsuki meets Deku’s green eyes and flicks his gaze away quickly. “Shit. Sorry.”
“Kacchan.”
“Look, no one else knows shit, OK? We can just ignore that this ever fucking happened and you can go back to hating me. It’s fine.”
Katsuki has barely gotten the words out before Deku grabs his jaw with one incredibly strong hand and forces Katsuki to look at him. Those shining eyes are intense and dark in a way Katsuki hasn’t seen Deku look outside of a battle, or training when he’s really going for it. Katsuki braces himself for a punch he absolutely knows he deserves.
It never comes. Instead, Deku leans in, pushing Katsuki down into the carpet with a hand pinning his shoulder back, and stops Katsuki from talking by shoving his tongue in his mouth. Katsuki is almost too stunned to do much more than lay there blinking, because there isn’t a reality where he ever imagined this would happen. Deku doesn’t pull back until Katsuki is dizzy from lack of oxygen, and then he grins, all smug and sharp, like he knows exactly what he wants and how to get it.
“I don’t hate you, Kacchan. I never have.”
“But-”
Deku places his hand firmly over Katsuki’s mouth. Katsuki licks the edge of his scars, but Deku doesn’t pull away.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell everyone that you’re secretly really nice, as long as I still get to kiss you.”
“Mmph!”
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then?”
Katsuki growls. He wants to bite Deku’s hand, he wants to punch that stupid confident smirk off his face, he wants to run all ten fingers through his silky hair and kiss him until he can’t remember his own name- wait. Katsuki can feel himself frowning, but Deku just smiles down at him, soft now, so much like his normal expression that it makes Katsuki’s chest tight again.
“You worked it out yet, Kacchan?”
Katsuki will never in a thousand lifetimes admit to it, but he’s actually a little but scared of what might come out of his mouth if he speaks right now. Deku seems to know it too, so when Katsuki shakes his head – very minutely – the other boy just smiles, cheeks plumping with the motion.
“I have never hated you, Kacchan. Never. No, don’t argue with me about it. Just this once, OK?”
Katsuki nods silently. Deku’s hand is still over his mouth.
“We haven’t fought – not properly – since first year. And then before… when I was hit by that Quirk… you were nice to me. Sweet.”
Katsuki tries to shake his head, though he’s not sure why he’s trying to disagree, and Deku tightens his grip and holds him still once more.
“You called me Izuku.”
Oh. The funny tight feeling in Katsuki's chest in sinking lower, becoming something roiling and hard to describe in his abdomen.
“You took care of me. You didn’t just hand me off to one of the teachers to deal with.”
Katsuki moves his lips against Deku’s battle-roughened palm, and Deku slides his hand down to rest on Katsuki's chest, right below his throat. Katsuki feels like he’s burning up, so he focuses on keeping his voice steady and not giving into the fit of explosive temper which rears its head every time he feels even remotely vulnerable.
“Couldn’t do that to you. You needed me.”
“Oh Kacchan!” Deku’s eyes are wet with unshed tears and his lower lip wobbles when he smiles. “I’ll always need you!”
“You’re ridiculous. Gods, come here.”
Katsuki fists both hands in Deku’s t-shirt and hauls him down once more for kisses. He can feel Deku crying on his cheeks even as their tongues clash, and Katsuki bites his lower lip in gentle retaliation.
“I cannot believe you made me help you get dressed,” Katsuki grumbles against Deku’s lips when they next break for air.
“Kacchan!” Deku gasps, his face turning deep pink, his freckles contrasting almost black over his cheeks. “Just because I remember doesn’t mean I was in control. I was three!”
“Nearly four,” Katsuki responses with a smirk.
Deku looks faint for a moment, before he buries his face between Katsuki’s pecs. Katsuki drops a hand down to pet through his curls once more. Huh, he kind of likes this whole cuddling thing. Not that he’s going to say that to anyone.
“Please… don’t remind me.” Deku’s head jerks up under his hand, big plaintive eyes gazing up at him. Katsuki drags a thumb over the plump curve of Deku’s pouty bottom lip. “We’re never talking about the bathroom,” Deku grumbles.
Katsuki snorts a laugh. He’s not totally sure what this feeling is – a warm contentment through his limbs, tight and hot in his chest – but he thinks he could get used to it. At least, just when Deku is around.
“Done.” Katsuki agrees, then tugs softly at Deku’s curls. “Kiss me Izuku,” he demands.
Deku sighs, big and dreamy all over again.
“Kacchan is the best.”