Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The smoke burns his lungs as he takes a long heave of the cigarette. It’s a familiar feeling; the way it fills his chest, makes his head light, like nothing really matters, for that short second. Until he pushes it back out in a cloud of smoke, the shadows of his happiness evaporating into thin air above his head. 

The figure beside him rustles under the covers, drawing the duvet higher to cover abused breasts and faint bruises. “Do you gotta do that right now?” the woman asks, giving him a tired look. “I hate that smell.” 

Hitoshi stares at her flatly. Contemplates just kicking her out for a moment. It’s a habit to him by now, a part of sex to him. He doesn’t remember even once where he’s come without following it with a smoke. 

It started that very first time, kiss-bruised, sticky lips covering his own and breathing that very same taste into his mouth. He’d coughed, surprised by the burn of it, the bitterness, the way it made him feel like he was floating – to this day he isn’t sure if it was the smoke or the person who’d caused that, though. The boy beside him had laughed. Crawled on top of his naked thighs. Sucked hard on the butt, leaned down over him, and breathed it into him again. 

And again. 

Until Hitoshi wasn’t coughing anymore. Until the stick was nothing but a stub. Until Hitoshi was pushing back into the tight heat he wasn’t sure how he’d ever lived without. 

Hitoshi fits the stick between his lips and gets up, grabbing a clean pair of underwear as he leaves the girl in the bed. She seems satisfied enough to be rid of the smoke, and turns on her side to sleep. 

When he’d first rented the apartment, he hadn’t thought he’d be using the balcony much. Granted, he’d been right, but it still serves as a nice little escape from time to time. Especially when self-important one-night-stands feel the need to try and change the rules of his home. 

The city is turning orange below him, a bright, hopeful colour that makes Hitoshi wish he was tired enough to sleep through it. It brings a sour taste to the smoke filling his mouth and lungs. Moreso when his eyes scan over the sidewalks, morning joggers already starting to appear. 

He feels a bit sick, but that’s nothing new. 

He finishes the cigarette with closed eyes to allow flashes of smooth skin, yellow eyes and a soft mouth to fill up the darkness behind his lids. He wonders when he'll be able to let that go. If he ever will. 

He hasn't seen him since college. They weren't friends back then, either. They'd simply met at a few parties until they eventually hooked up. 

Hitoshi was sure he'd been in love. But then graduation grew closer, and they were both so busy , and then there was job hunting and apartment seeking, and Hitoshi only belatedly realised he'd let him slip between his fingers. 

The embers light up in the colours of the sunrise as he takes a last puff of the cigarette. He stubbs it out on the metal railing with a smoky exhale. 

Mornings are, and will always be, terrible. Even when they happen at the end of his shift and is technically his own personal bright night. He still feels like he needs at least half a litre of coffee to get himself through the walk home. 

Which is why he enters Sense , the usual café he frequents on bright mornings like these. 

It’s a bit like entering a whole different world, and he thinks it might be part of what he likes about it. That, and the fact that it’s so close to his work. Despite the lack of windows on the walls, the café is bathed in early morning orange from the skylight above. It must be getting cleaned every day, because the glass is always incredibly clear. Sometimes, on sunny days like these, he wonders if there’s even any glass in it at all. 

He likes it best when it rains, though. The café will be mostly empty, and the floor and walls will be swimming with the reflection of droplets running down the glass overhead. It’s sad and beautiful, and if it wasn’t completely socially unacceptable, Hitoshi would push aside a few of the round, wooden tables and just lie down on the floor and stare up at the rain. He’s told himself a million times that if he ever scratches enough money together to buy a house, it’ll have at least one skylight. 

And then the dreams make the view even sadder. 

It’s almost too bright on days like these, though. It bathes everyone in sunlight, makes everything look majestic and precious. Unrealistic.  

“Coffee. Black,” he orders quietly. He doesn’t recognise the server. The café staff seems to mainly consist of younger people, maybe in their late teens. They seem to get switched out a lot. 

The boy behind the register asks for his name, and tells him to wait a moment, please. 

There’s a lot of people in the café today. It’s too early for that. It’s not even seven yet on a Sunday. 

He turns his eyes away. People-watching is probably about the worst thing he knows; he really could not care less about the patrons of the shop, or about what coffee and pastry orders they like, or if they’re tapping away mysteriously on their computer somewhere, as if concentration is so easy to come by in a place like this. 

“Coffee for Shinsou,” the server calls, pushing the plastic cup across the counter and is already turning back to make the next drink. 

Hitoshi has barely managed to turn towards the exit with his coffee in hand when a voice breathes out, “Holy shit,” somewhere beside him. He turns on pure auto-pilot, towards a voice that feels familiar but can’t really be placed, and nearly drops his drink then and there. 

Those electric, yellow eyes, that small mouth, those slender, sinful hands. They’ve barely changed after three years, none of it. The hairstyle is new. That same yellow, but it’s a bit longer now, and there’s a streak of black running through the left side. He looks so fucking good in his plain t-shirt and black skinny jeans that Hitoshi nearly weeps. 

“Toshi?” Kaminari Denki asks, dumbfounded. He blinks, brushes pastry-crumbs off his lips as an afterthought, and then stands. “Is my hangover playing tricks on me?” 

Hitoshi can do nothing but shake his head and follow the motion of Denki as he steps closer. He doesn’t remember the last time he was this tongue-tied. It’d probably been with this very same person. 

“Oh, my God, it is you!” Denki exclaims, and a disbelieving smile spreads on his face, stretching his lips, rounding his cheeks prettily. “You look good! Absolutely wrecked, but, you know. Really good.” 

Hitoshi isn’t surprised; he does have eyebags as long as a grocery receipt, and he feels wrecked after the hectic shift he’s just had. “Yeah, you… you too,” he says dumbly, eyeing Denki obviously from head to toe. “Not the wrecked part, of course. What are you doing here?” 

He’s not sure why it’s turning into an interrogation when all he wants to do is tell Denki that he missed him. That he’s been thinking about him non stop for years, and that he can’t believe that he’s actually meeting him again. 

Denki chuckles. It’s a new sound. Like his laugh has changed since the last time Hitoshi heard it. It’s still beautiful. “Have a friend who lives close by. Was at a party at his place last night, and now I’m trying to find my way back home. I'm running on pure coffee and croissants. And a shit-ton of aspirin.” 

Hitoshi blinks. He doesn’t know what to say to that. Why did he even ask that? 

“Hey, we should catch up, yeah?” Denki asks, smile warring the sunlight to find out what’s brighter. Denki is bathed in it, in the burning glow of morning, in the scent of freshly ground coffee. 

Hitoshi’s head spins. 

“Hey, give me your phone,” Denki says, holding out his hand, palm facing up impatiently. Hitoshi numbly obliges, using his free hand to dig out the device and places it in Denki’s awaiting palm. “Call me this time, okay?” He says it playfully, probably as aware of their previous fuckup as Hitoshi is. 

“...Yeah,” Hitoshi breathes. 

Denki chuckles again and turns around shortly to gather up a bag. “I gotta go. But I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” 

Hitoshi’s head turns and follows as Denki starts backing out of the café. “Sure.” 

“That’s a promise!” Denki calls with a wink and a wave, and then the bell above the door rings once, twice, and he’s gone. 

Hitoshi stares at the door for a few minutes. Even as strangers enter and leave through it, he keeps staring, trying to wrap his head around the whole thing. And then finally, he looks down at his phone, at the unfamiliar number written right underneath Denki <3 and he gulps audibly and pockets the phone. 

It’s a fluke, he tells himself over the next week. There’s no fucking way that actually happened. If the number wasn’t right there in his contacts, he’d be convinced none of it was real. But since it is, well, it has to be a fluke. 

The universe messed up somehow. It gave him a shot once, and he screwed it up, and now it’s mistakenly letting history repeat itself, three years later. 

Really, it’s almost cruel. 

Hitoshi tries to not think about it. He tries to forget about Denki’s hopeful smile. Forget the misplaced happiness that’d been directed at him. Forget what made Hitoshi want to see Denki in the first place. 

Forget looks a lot like a black-haired man spreading his legs underneath him. Forget sounds a lot like broken moans and shouts of Fuck, yes, harder, oh fuck . 

And yet, when Hitoshi finally lets go, finally releases into the condom and slumps onto his back, he still lights a cigarette and thinks of yellow eyes and smooth skin. Slim fingers. That heart beside the name. 

The guy doesn’t complain. Instead, he leans over and pouts his lips for a drag. Hitoshi turns his head to look at him. He guides his free hand to the guy’s jaw, slides his thumb over a sharp cheekbone before he dips it into a more than willing mouth. 

The guy – Hitoshi tries to remember the name, only to find out he might have never asked – closes his eyes and lets out a hum as he sucks on Hitoshi’s finger. And then he blinks up at Hitoshi through his lashes, licks the tip of the finger, uses the muscle to draw it in further. 

Hitoshi pushes the butt of the cigarette against the guy’s lips and withdraws his thumb, now soaked in spit. He dries it off on the guy’s cheek and then brings his cigarette back to his own lips. 

“Little more?” the guy asks softly, leaning onto his side, and already moving closer to the stick. 

Hitoshi holds his arm as far away from him as he can, over the edge of the bed. He gives the guy a crooked smile. “Suck me off and I’ll give you all you want.” 

He’s not even hard, but he does like giving unfair commands and seeing who will fold first. It’s always a fun little game. 

Except it’s way too easy. The guy barely hesitates before he’s moving underneath the duvet and settling in between Hitoshi’s legs. Hitoshi gets more comfortable as the guy starts teasing around his oversensitive cock. 

“Get on with it, or they’ll all be gone by the time you’re done,” Hitoshi mumbles quietly, lighting another cigarette just to be a bitch about it. 

The guy obviously hears. He sucks in Hitoshi’s soft cock in one movement, licks and sucks eagerly and moans when it starts to come back to life. 

Hitoshi lets his eyes roll back into his head. He lets smoke fill his lungs. Denki fill his thoughts. It takes an embarrassingly short while before he’s coming all over the stranger’s face. 

It takes two weeks before Hitoshi cracks. Two weeks since he saw Denki in what must have been a cosmic mistake. Still, he has to see where this all leads, so he slaps his cheeks, hard, and sends off a stupid fucking text that he doesn’t let himself think too much about. 

Hi, it’s Hitoshi. It was really good to see you again.  

The read notification doesn’t appear for another seven minutes. Hitoshi definitely doesn’t wait for it, no. 

He jumps when Denki <3 suddenly calls him . That can’t be right. But that’s what it says. 

He swipes the green button and raises the phone to his ear. There’s a loud bass coming from the speaker, the sound of a mesh of people laughing and talking not too far off. And then there’s Denki as good as yelling “Oh em gee, hi! You texted me!” He’s slurring his words, at least a little drunk, and Hitoshi curses himself for shit timing. “Was beginning to think you wouldn’t!”  

Hitoshi thinks that’s dumb. Although he had been considering it. But that’d make him the biggest idiot on the planet. 

“‘Course I would. Where are you?” 

“At Camie’s! Oh fuck, you should come! He can come, right? Yeah, you can totally come!”  

Hitoshi had been planning on spending his night off amongst familiar take-away boxes and a six pack of beers. He supposes it makes him less of a loser if he gets drunk with company. “Um, sure. If you’re sure. Text me the address?” 

“Fuck yes! I will! See you there! Well, here! Okay guys, be coo–” The line hangs up in the middle of a sentence he supposes wasn’t meant for him either way. 

Ten minutes later, he’s driving across town for a party. He really hopes it’s not some sort of celebration, because he has no idea who this Camie even is. 

His nerves settle a bit when he parks outside the house; there are a lot of cars parked along the grass, and music is booming from the open front door, while drunks litter the front of the house. Some are making out against the wall. Another group is shouting and chanting for one guy to streak. People are most likely not even going to notice that he doesn’t belong here. He hopes. 

Music assaults his whole being as he walks up to the house, and he knows it will only get worse once inside. It’s at rare times like these that Hitoshi remembers how quietly he lives his life, usually. The change isn’t exactly unwelcome, it’s just… a lot. 

He’s barely made it past the entrance when Denki appears in front of him. There’s a plastic-cup in his hand, and a loose, loopy smile on his face. “You made it! Hi!”

Denki looks good. There’s zippers all over his black pants, and his oversized t-shirt hangs loose over his shoulders, revealing his pretty collarbones. There’s a blush spanning across his cheeks, probably due to the alcohol in his system. 

“Hi,” Hitoshi says, unsure if his voice is too soft to be heard over the music. 

Denki smiles either way and grabs his arm with his free hand. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the guys!” he half-shouts as he pulls Hitoshi along, through the mass of writhing bodies. 

They make it further into the house, and there’s a bit more room to breathe here; the entrance and what seemed to be a dining room must act as a make-shift dance floor, but here in the living room, people are more relaxed, sitting on the couches or the chairs or just talking in smaller groups. Even the music is a little more bearable here. 

“And who might this be?” a light voice asks, coming up from behind Hitoshi. The woman quickly rounds back to stand before him, and she smiles drunkenly between Hitoshi and Denki. 

Denki, still with his hand wrapped around Hitoshi’s bicep, grins right at her. “This is Toshi! Toshi, this is Mina. Hey, where’s everyone else? They were just here.” 

Mina shrugs her bare shoulders, which are covered in pink glitter. It sparkles at the movement. “Eiji and Tetsu went to get more drinks, they should be right back. I’m not sure about the rest, I got… distracted.” She tilts her head a bit back, indicating that her distraction probably has something to do with the guy on the couch hiding his crotch under a throw-pillow sheepishly. “Oh, there’s the girls!” 

Denki turns, and Hitoshi is pulled to do the same. The two women who approach them seem like polar opposites; the one to the left is to the shorter side, hair and outfit dark and clearly to the gothic side. The one to the right, however, is much taller, wears a revealing, red dress and not much else it seems, her strawberry-blonde hair styled in big, perfect curls. 

“Oh, is he here?” the blonde woman asks, red lips moving enticingly around her words. Hitoshi has to snap out of staring at them, although not soon enough that she doesn’t notice. She gives him a crooked smile before lifting her hand towards Hitoshi, slim fingers recently manicured in an enticing red. “I’m Camie. You must be Toshi.”

“Shinsou Hitoshi, yeah,” Hitoshi corrects, suddenly feeling weird about the nickname coming from anyone other than Denki. “Nice to meet you. This is your place, then?” 

Camie laughs, like it’s funny, and withdraws her hand. “Yeah, feel right at home!” She turns to the girl beside her, wraps her slim fingers around the other’s wrists and pulls them both towards the more upbeat dining room. “Come on, Kyouka, let’s dance!” 

The other girl, Kyouka, seems less than thrilled, but does nothing to fight her. 

“Well, you’re clearly not drunk enough to meet the rest of the guys yet,” Mina announces, wrapping a glittery arm around Hitoshi’s shoulders and starts to drag him along. “Let’s get some shots in you, boy!” 

“Oh! Let’s do the sour shots!” Denki yells behind them as he tries to keep up. 

Hitoshi hasn’t been there for more than two hours before he’s drunk on both alcohol and the atmosphere. He’s letting himself be shoved around on the packed dance floor, just enjoying the way he’s being brushed against and watched by strangers for the moment. He hadn’t been out to enjoy himself like this for a long time, and the last time he did, he ended up with a black eye for his troubles. 

Denki is sitting on one of the couches, talking to someone Hitoshi hasn’t been introduced to. Hitoshi looks over from time to time, but their eyes never lock. Doesn’t matter. Hitoshi feels like he could fly away, if not for the hands all over his body holding him down to earth. 

Eventually, the dancing becomes too overwhelming. He slinks away from the crowd, walks aimlessly through the house until he finds a door that leads outside. 

Stumbling out onto a cold stone terrasse, Hitoshi chuckles to himself and just barely manages to steady himself before falling flat on his face. 

“Someone’s having fun,” a deep voice drawls from behind him, and Hitoshi swirls around so fast he thinks he’ll throw up. 

A guy is leaning against the grey bricks outside the house, arms crossed over his chest like he’s judging Hitoshi deeply. His ash blonde hair is styled neatly in a spiked up look, perfectly matching his sharp, red eyes. He looks so good, in his tiny cropped jacket and loose jeans, that Hitoshi can feel his own lips tugging up into an uncontrolled smile. 

“Dancing’s fun,” Hitoshi replies, stepping closer to the guy. “Wanna give it a go?” 

The guy scoffs, loud. “You can barely stand, moron.” 

Hitoshi chuckles and stumbles forward, barely missing the guy as he tilts into the wall just beside him, leaning against it for support. “Busted. Some fresh air, then, and I’ll be good as new.” As he says this, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one with a deep drag and a sigh. 

“You call that fresh air?” the guy asks sarcastically. 

Hitoshi ignores him and lets the familiar smoke fill his lungs. He leans his head back and closes his eyes for a moment, letting the relative quiet wash over him. When he opens his eyes back up, he doesn’t miss the other watching him out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you out here in the cold?” 

The guy huffs. “Wanted to be alone for a bit. Which obviously went terribly.” 

“I don’t know, you could do worse,” Hitoshi grins, turning on his side to fully face the other. “Tell me if I’m annoying you.” 

“You’d leave?” the guy asks, doubtful. 

“No, but I’d love to know.” 

An amused snort leaves the guy, and Hitoshi follows every small move of his muscles as he tries to cover up his amusement. He seems very practised at hiding it. 

“You don’t laugh much, do you?” Hitoshi asks softly, cheek resting against rough brick. 

He gets an angry side-eye in response. “Don’t analyse me.” 

Hitoshi bites his lip, containing a smile. “Can’t help it.” 

The guy eyes him carefully, brows furrowed. “What are you, a therapist or something?” 

A barking laugh surprises Hitoshi as it escapes his throat. “No, god no. I’m a writer.” 

“That’s even worse.” 

Hitoshi snorts. “Tell me about it.” 

They’re quiet for a while. Hitoshi turns to face what appears to be the backyard. It’s small and simple; a hedge fencing in the area, one tree in the middle of the grass a bit further out and a table with a set of chairs. A couple of sconces light up the small yard dimly. 

“I should probably get back inside to the others,” the guy says, voice low. 

Hitoshi turns back around to face him, and the guy is watching him as he does. “Yeah. The buzz is getting a bit too low for my tastes,” Hitoshi replies, although he doesn’t move. He feels more steady on his feet by now, but he doesn’t want to push away from the wall. 

The guy stares at him for a bit too long. “Hey, are you single?” 

Hitoshi’s eyes widen. He hadn’t expected that question. He nods slowly in reply, and before he even has time to register it, the guy’s lips are on his own, tongue licking in between them and hands gripping onto Hitoshi’s lavender hair. 

He lets the feeling wash over him. Of being touched, tasted, used. 

He fucking loves it. 

Hitoshi backs away, just enough that he can push the guy against the bricks and slide a thigh in between his legs. Then he’s back on his mouth, sloppy and wet and hurried. 

They’re about the same height, although Hitoshi might be slightly taller, which works well for him when he rubs his leg against the other’s crotch. When the guy’s mouth falls open in a moan, Hitoshi licks deep inside, up his tongue and behind his teeth, sucking at his lower lip and biting it as he pulls back. 

“Fuck…” the guy groans, throwing his head back against the brick hard enough to leave a bruise, and yet he does nothing but pull Hitoshi closer and rock himself against Hitoshi’s leg. “Fuck, yes.”

Hitoshi grins against the guy’s throat as he licks and bites him, runs his hands through soft, messy hair, feeling a hard bulge pressing against his thigh. “You’re doing so well,” he whispers, straight into the man’s ears, relishing in the way he shivers against him. “How fucking beautiful you’d look coming from just this.” 

The guy groans, almost like he’s fighting himself, but in the end, all he does is whine against Hitoshi’s ear. “I can’t…” 

“Can’t? Or won’t?” Hitoshi challenges. Upon seeing the pinched expression on the guy’s face, he relents, however. “Alright, I’ll help you out a bit,” he says, and as a set of hungry, red eyes follow his every move, Hitoshi pops his middle finger into his own mouth, twirling his tongue around it lewdly. 

“Stay quiet for me,” he orders in a low voice as he trails his hand down the guy’s shoulder, down his back, until he can dip them under the edge of his loose pants. 

The guy’s breath hitches as he realises what’s happening, but he doesn’t pull away – if anything, he starts humping faster against Hitoshi’s aching leg. 

“Shh,” he voices when the guy whines as Hitoshi’s fingers spread his cheeks. “I’ll make you feel real good, don’t worry. Or you can tell me to back off.” 

Hitoshi pauses, waiting for a sign. Nothing. Not so much as a twitch of his head as any indicator. 

“I’ll need your consent as well, sweetheart.” 

The guy’s eyes widen, and then he’s nodding like a madman. 

Hitoshi grins, teeth on full display. “Good job,” he whispers, just before he breaches his finger inside the tight, warm muscle. 

The guy tenses and clenches around him and moves his hips faster over Hitoshi’s thigh. Hitoshi pumps his finger, slow at first, then gradually faster as the muscle loosens around him. He wants to add another, but the guy is clearly too far gone to negotiate it, and he doesn’t want to hurt him. After all, it’s safe to assume that the guy is at least as drunk as Hitoshi himself is, and probably isn’t feeling his body's limits as closely as he usually would. 

Even with just the one finger, however, the guy is soon clutching onto Hitoshi’s shoulders in a telltale sign of reaching a high. Hitoshi helps him through it, pressing his leg tighter, pushing as deep inside of his as possible, and then out and back in, over and over until the guy tenses fully, and then becomes putty in his hands. 

“There you go,” Hitoshi whispers, retracting his hand to help keep the guy on his feet. “Told you you could do it.” 

The guy pants, breath warm against Hitoshi’s skin. “You…” he mumbles, pauses to catch his breath. “You taste like fucking smoke.” 

Hitoshi laughs, feeling it rock his body all the way to his hard cock. “I guess I would.” 

A door opens, and music blasts out into the yard. Hitoshi lets himself roll to the side, until he’s just resting beside the blonde innocently. 

“Hey, there you are!” and unfamiliar voice calls, so Hitoshi assumes he’s not the one being addressed. “Come on, Katsuki, Eiji is doing fifteen shots in a row, you gotta see this!” 

Hitoshi turns to the guy beside him. Katsuki. It suits him. In doing so, he also notices the guy calling at him from the door; built like a fucking tank and long eyelashes the same grey as his spiked up hair. What the fuck is with this place and its beautiful people? 

The guy – Katsuki – pushes himself off the wall and plunges his hands deep into his front pockets. “Tell him I ain’t pumping his stomach. Gotta take a piss, I’ll be right there.” 

“Fuck yeah!” the guy says and closes the door when he reenters the house. 

Katsuki is walking towards the door, and doesn’t seem in the slightest like he’s planning on turning around and saying goodbye. 

“See you around, Katsuki,” Hitoshi calls cheerfully. “Nice meeting you.” 

Katsuki pauses for just a moment, but then he grunts and enters the house without a word. 

He pushes his way through the house to the kitchen, where bottles upon bottles of alcohol are displayed along the counter. Hitoshi wonders if everyone was supposed to bring something, like an alcoholic potluck, or if Camie really just has enough alcohol to satiate a houseful of guests.

He takes a shot of liquorice liquor and then pours himself a glass of a premixed cocktail. This is where Denki finds him, jumping onto him with a laugh and nearly causing Hitoshi to spill his drink. 

“Found ya!” Denki calls into his ear, loud enough for Hitoshi to cringe away unconsciously. Denki unwraps himself from around Hitoshi and faces him with a mischievous grin. “Hey, if you're planning to go take a leak, you should consider doing it outside. My friend Eijirou just took fifteen shots, and I don't see him coming out of the bathroom anytime soon.” 

This sounds… a bit too familiar, even to Hitoshi's drunken ears. “Wait, who did you–” 

“Yo, tell him, tell him!” Denki interrupts, shouting over Hitoshi at someone at the door of the room. “Tell him that Eiji just downed fifteen shots and is puking his guts out!” 

Denki cackles and pulls Hitoshi through the room. “Oh, Toshi, did I introduce you two yet?” 

When Hitoshi turns, he comes face to face with the shell-shocked expression of Katsuki; sharp eyes comically rounded in surprise, clothes wrinkled and hair messed up in an obvious sign of fooling around, and he's looking at Hitoshi like he just witnessed him eat his cat. 

“Toshi, this is Katsuki, we work in the same restaurant. Katsuki, Toshi, I went to college with him!” 

Fuck it, Hitoshi is so fucking screwed.

Chapter Text

Hitoshi had really thought he'd seen the last of Denki that night, and any of his friends. He'd thought Katsuki would tell, or say something stupid, or generally just get them both found out right away. 

But then he didn't. 

Katsuki had pretended that Denki’s introduction was their first time meeting, and Hitoshi had found it best to play along, and now, only a week later, Denki is once more inviting Hitoshi along to a party at his friend Eijirou's place. 

Hitoshi almost declines. He should decline, really. He'd been pining for Denki for three years, longing for what had escaped his grasp and tried to replace him with anyone who had been willing to let him use them. 

So of course the first time he really gets to spend time with Denki after three years, he'd gone and stuffed his finger up the ass of one of Denki’s closest friends. 

Because why wouldn't he, right? 

Hitoshi knocks the edge of his phone against his forehead repeatedly, willing himself to say no, to decline Denki’s invitation, to keep some kind of humanity intact. 

Instead, he says yes, and silently, guiltily, hopes that Katsuki will be there as well. 

It's a smaller gathering this time, more intimate, and Hitoshi immediately feels out of place upon arriving at the apartment. 

He's greeted at the door by a red-haired man with an almost puppy-like excitement and clothes a mix of awfully bright colours Hitoshi would suspect a toddler for picking out. “Hi, man! Denki told me you were coming! I think we missed each other last week? I'm Eijirou!” 

Hitoshi shakes the hand extended out to him with a firm grasp and lets the guy lead him through the entrance. “That would explain it. Last I heard, you spent the evening hunched over in the bathroom.” 

The guy laughs wholeheartedly, a full, bolstering laugh void of any embarrassment. “Oh, man, yeah. Last time I take one of Tetsu’s bets, I tell ya.” 

Hitoshi nods along conversationally as they enter the living space, where two small couches are already occupied, as well as the surrounding floor. His eyes immediately take in the occupants, mostly people whom he was briefly introduced to the previous weekend, along with a few other unknown faces. 

Denki is there, engrossed in an animated conversation with Mina. And right beside him, with sharp, red eyes staring straight through Hitoshi’s soul, sits Katsuki. Katsuki, in his low-effort black shirt and loose pants that have no reason to look as good on him as they do. 

It's too surreal, somehow. Hitoshi isn't unused to bumping into people he's slept with – he does tend to go to the same few bars where he meets them in the first place – but never has he been this nervous to be around them again. And they didn't even have sex! 

Hitoshi isn’t dumb. He knows this has everything to do with the fact that Katsuki is Denki’s friend, and not only that, but so far they’ve been a package deal both times Denki has invited Hitoshi around. 

He’s awful. Hitoshi is awful for not minding it one bit. 

“Oh, you made it!” Mina exclaims, dragging herself away from Denki and their conversation as soon as she spots Hitoshi in the other end of the room. She’s glitter-free today, but no less colourful than the last time Hitoshi had seen her; pink plaid skirt peeking out under an oversized purple sweatshirt with colourful patchwork and its collar dropping down over one shoulder. 

“Of course, though I can’t stay long. Er, sorry for intruding,” he finishes lamely – they seem close, all of them, with how they're leaning against each other and talking so comfortably, and if he’s being honest, he feels more out of place here than he would in a chicken coop. 

“No sweat, dude!” a guy calls – the white-haired, tank-built guy from the party that had called Katsuki away too soon. He’s wearing a tight shirt today, along with fitness shorts and high socks, but god, it doesn’t make him any less beautiful as he smiles crookedly at Hitoshi. “Come on, grab a beer and sit down!” 

There’s a pile of beer bottles on the coffee table before them, full and emptied alike, and he grabs one as he walks up to the couch. Camie, the tall woman with strawberry blonde hair and a flirty personality, scoots to the side until she’s sitting halfway on another girl’s lap – Kyouka, if he’s remembering correctly – and pats the space she’s vacated for him. 

It’s not much, definitely not enough for him to not be squashed against both people on either side of him. Which is hard enough in itself with Camie being on one side, but the fact that it’s Katsuki on the other, well, Hitoshi considers if it’s too early to fake a call from a sick grandma. But when Hitoshi’s eyes land on Katsuki, the other seems to be challenging him to take the spot, even seems to be having a bit of fun seeing him struggle. 

That might be what has Hitoshi making up his mind and taking the spot in the end. He sits down, tightly squashed between Camie and Katsuki, and downs half of his beer in one go. 

“Hey, Toshi!” Denki calls from over Katsuki’s shoulder, and as he leans against him to get closer, all he really does is successfully push Katsuki further into Hitoshi’s side. “Bet you’ve never seen a pink elephant!” 

Hitoshi blinks, and before he knows it, he’s being dragged into a wild, and frankly unbelievable, story for the next ten minutes. 

Denki’s friends are kinda cool – and that’s overlooking the fact that they’re all absolutely gorgeous. They just seem to be generally nice and awesome people to be around, and they talk to him like they want to. He thinks that’s pretty neat. 

Katsuki seems less impressed, although, in his defence, he has had a lot more time to grow tired of them all. So when Denki starts on yet another story – this must be the seventh, at the very least – that they all seem to know intimately, Katsuki immediately gets up from his spot and yells at him to “Shut up before I shut you up!” 

Everyone else laughs at this reaction and goads Denki on with a taunting chant. Denki just manages to open his mouth with a long breath, before Katsuki flips him off. 

“I’m fucking leaving. I’m not gonna spend all night with you fucking idiots.” He stomps towards the entrance and rifles through the jackets hung up by the door. “Call me when you grow some brain cells.” 

Hitoshi’s eyes flicker over to the clock, and– “Shit, I have to go, too.” It’s nearing midnight, and if he doesn’t get going soon, he’ll definitely be late. “I gotta get to work. But thanks for having me,” he says to the group as he gets up and steps over two sets of legs to get around the table. 

“Aww!” Denki and Mina whines, all while each opening another beer. Denki takes a long gulp, then licks his lips and looks back at Hitoshi. “See you later?” 

Hitoshi nods as he pulls on his jacket. “Yeah, sure.” 

The door opens behind him, and when Hitoshi turns, it’s already closing behind Katsuki as he walks out into the hallway. Hitoshi hurries after him, but doesn’t catch up until Katsuki is stuck waiting for the elevator, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his pants and eyes glaring at the metallic door. 

They stand there, side by side, in silence, until the elevator announces itself with a soft ding, and they step inside. 

Katsuki punches the button for the ground floor, and then returns his hand to his pocket. “So you’re a liar,” he mumbles offhandedly, head tilted up as he watches the numbers above the doors count down. 

“What?” Hitoshi asks, not following. He might have… omitted some details, for both their sakes, but he doesn’t recount having lied to anyone. 

Katsuki scoffs and turns his head tiredly towards Hitoshi. “It’s almost midnight, and suddenly you gotta work? You’re a writer, don’t you make your own schedule?” 

Hitoshi stares blankly at Katsuki for a moment. And then he nearly laughs. It ends up as a short, surprised guffaw instead. “I really do have work. I’m a journalist for Daybreak News. I’m on the night shift.” 

He doesn’t miss the pink slowly sneaking its way up Katsuki’s neck and ears, although his expression doesn’t change. 

Katsuki huffs, like he’s annoyed. “Didn’t know newspapers had night shifts.” 

“Yeah, it’s a bit of an isolated job. Usually I’m alone in the office,” he says with a shrug. “Some nights are quiet, and I just work on polishing other stuff that’s going in the paper the next morning. But often there’ll be breaking news to report, or crimes committed during the night, and, you know, news never sleeps.” 

“No rest for the wicked,” Katsuki mutters, back to watching the numbers fall above the door. 

Hitoshi chuckles. 

The elevator stills and opens with a ding. Katsuki steps out first, but he’s walking slow enough that Hitoshi can keep up this time. So he does. 

They walk past the apartment doors on the ground floor in silence, and when they exit the building, they turn left together, towards the parking lot. 

They are about halfway there when Katsuki asks, “What’s the deal with you and Denki?” 

Hitoshi allows himself to think about it. How honest should he be, he wonders as they start passing the first cars. By the next row, he answers, “Met in college. We didn’t manage to stay in touch, which… That was definitely my fault. Bumped into each other again a few weeks ago, though.” They walk a few rows more as he wonders if he should keep it at that. But the sky is clear and dark, the wind is gently caressing his cooling cheeks, and he feels oddly comfortable at Katsuki’s side. “He was kind of my first.” 

Katsuki waits, probably for him to elaborate. “First what?” he asks when Hitoshi doesn’t. 

Hitoshi licks his lips, and turns his head towards Katsuki. Their eyes lock. Katsuki, for whatever reason, actually seems to want to know, rather than just make small talk. “Everything.” 

Katsuki’s eyes flicker between Hitoshi’s, examining him, trying to read him. And then he clicks his tongue and looks ahead. “Damn… Probably shouldn’t ask you to suck my cock, then.” 

“Definitely not,” Hitoshi chuckles. “Besides, I’m more of a receiver, myself. Not to mention, I’d be late for work.” 

Katsuki lets out a long whistle. “Triple rejected in just one breath. Harsh.” 

Hitoshi laughs, and he doesn’t miss the amused huff that leaves Katsuki as well. “You’re right, that last one was unnecessary. There’d be no one around to miss me at work, actually, assuming nothing grand happens in the meantime.” 

Hitoshi expects a laugh. When he hears nothing, he turns to Katsuki, only to find him watching him with dark, hungry eyes. The sight has heat quickly pooling in his gut. 

They stop at a black hybrid, and Katsuki pulls out his keys and unlocks the car. “This is me.” 

Hitoshi nods, letting his eyes drift over it. “Nice car.” 

Katsuki shrugs. “Looks even better inside. Spacious, too.” 

As Hitoshi said, he isn't dumb. He's not oblivious to Katsuki's hooded eyes or his suggestive behaviour. The question is, is he strong enough to stand up to it? 

“Is that so?” he asks, playing along, and he guesses that answers that question. 

“Yeah. Wanna take a look?” 

He knows how loaded the question is, can see it in the way Katsuki’s chest rises and falls a bit too shallowly, and the way he licks his lips unconsciously. 

And as he's already established, Hitoshi is a weak man. 

“Sure,” he says, joining Katsuki at the side of the car. 

Katsuki opens the door to the backseat, and then steps aside, gesturing inside. 

Hitoshi slinks onto the seats, crawling across the soft leather until he reaches the other door. He turns, sits down with his legs stretched out over the seats. Thank god Katsuki doesn't seem to be going batshit crazy over Hitoshi’s boots being on the leather. 

“Bet we could both fit back here,” he says. He raises his hands to rest behind the back of his head, leaning back against the cool glass of the tinted window comfortably as Katsuki crawls in after him. 

Katsuki grabs Hitoshi's legs, pinning one against the backrest, pushing the other to the floor with a thud. Then he crawls towards him between his open legs. 

“So, a receiver, you say?” Katsuki asks with a raised brow and crooked smile. 

“Happily,” Hitoshi answers with a hungry smile of his own. 

Katsuki doesn't waste any time unbuttoning and unzipping Hitoshi’s pants with hurried fingers. “Good,” he growls, licking his teeth, “‘cause, call me charitable, but I feel like making you happy right now.”

He shimmies down Hitoshi's pants to the middle of the thighs, and then pulls down the trunks – and pauses with a deep frown. “What the fuck? You're not even hard!” 

“What, not used to working for it?” Hitoshi teases. He thrusts his hips, just enough for Katsuki to hopefully get the meaning; get on with it or get lost. 

Katsuki just growls in reply, but lowers himself down onto the seat. He seems hesitant for a moment, but then he sighs and licks a stripe up Hitoshi’s flaccid cock. It wobbles softly along with the movement, uncontrollable in this state. 

Katsuki growls at it, and Hitoshi manages to think for a second that Katsuki might just bite it off in offence. But then he takes it fully into his mouth, sucks in his cheeks, and starts bobbing. He loses the cock a few times, but he catches it right back into his mouth immediately every time, like a man on a mission.

It doesn't take long for Hitoshi's cock to slowly fill up and harden. Katsuki manages to stretch his lips into a cocky smile at his success. 

“You’re pretty good at that,” Hitoshi relents, nearing breathless as his cock fills out. Katsuki really is good. But Hitoshi needs more. “Bet you’d look even prettier with me fucking your face, though.” 

As soon as he’s said it, he needs it to happen, craves it enough for his cock to twitch uncontrollably on Katsuki’s hot tongue. 

He pulls out and manoeuvres them both around, shoving Katsuki onto his knees on the floor of the car, right between Hitoshi's legs. There, he slips one hand around Katsuki’s head, grabs his neck and pushes him back onto his cock. Katsuki whimpers, eyes turning wide. 

“One finger for okay,” Hitoshi begins to list, showing Katsuki with his free hand. “Two for slow down. Three for stop. Or you can just slap the shit out of me, I’ll get the message clearly then as well. Understood?” 

Katsuki blinks up at him prettily, lips pulled tight around Hitoshi's cock, drool dripping out of the corners. He minutely moves his head in a nod. 

“Good. Think you can take it?” 

It doesn’t take two seconds before Katsuki’s hand is up, a single finger raised in agreement. 

“You learn fast, sweetheart,” Hitoshi praises with a gentle caress down his stuffed cheek, before he moves his hand to the back of Katsuki’s head. He grips onto the blonde hairs, keeping the head in place as he pulls out and slowly feeds the cock back in, further this time, until it hits the back of Katsuki’s throat. And when Katsuki doesn’t fucking gag, god bless him, Hitoshi pushes in even further until Katsuki’s face is pressed against his crotch, nose buried in the hairs. 

“You take it so well,” he grunts, letting his cock twitch inside the heat of Katsuki’s throat. “Think we can go faster?”

Katsuki raises a single finger again, before he rests his hand against Hitoshi's thigh. 

Hitoshi damn near swoons. “Alright, I'll be moving your head, okay? Remember, two fingers if you want to slow down.” 

Katsuki waves a single finger at Hitoshi's face impatiently, and Hitoshi laughs. 

With a secure grip on soft, blonde hair, Hitoshi pulls Katsuki's mouth off, all the way to the head of his cock. And then he slams him back down with a deep groan. 

He moves his head freely, meeting no resistance as Katsuki simply lets him use his mouth. Hitoshi sets an unpredictable pace, relishes in the way Katsuki whines through his nose when he's suddenly pressed tight against Hitoshi's crotch, or when he decides not to pull out even halfway before slamming him right back down. 

A couple of times, Hitoshi pulls Katsuki fully off his cock, and even as Katsuki is gasping for breath, he flattens his tongue out as far as it can go to let it run over the slit. 

Katsuki is starving for it; it's clear in his hazy eyes and limp body, in the way he struggles to raise his finger each time Hitoshi asks for an update, in the whines that leave his nose uncontrollably. 

“Where do you want me to come?” Hitoshi asks when he feels a knot forming in his gut. He slows down the pace, just slightly, hopefully enough for Katsuki to focus. 

Katsuki blinks up at him, haze barely lifting. Tears are streaming down his face, and he looks wrecked as hell. So fucking beautiful. He also looks like someone who's not about to let Hitoshi pull out of his mouth to let him answer. 

“One finger for in your mouth. Two for on your face. Three fingers for neither.” 

Katsuki raises a finger, but it's not aiming at the ceiling of the car like it has the other times. This time, he's pointing at Hitoshi determinedly, albeit a bit shaky. And then he lowers his hand, closes his eyes, and sucks on the cock in his mouth like he's trying to milk him dry. 

“Alright, I'll choose,” Hitoshi grunts, and he turns to pace faster once more, hurried and hungry and so damn good. His head falls back against the glass at the feeling, but he wants to see this, so he forces it forward again when he gets close. “Open wide, sweetheart,” he moans.

Katsuki, despite how much his jaws must be aching right now, opens his mouth as wide as he can, tongue sticking out flat as Hitoshi glides his cock against it. Then he lets go of Katsuki with one hand, bringing it to the base of his cock for better aim, and comes with a groan. 

The first big spurt hits almost perfectly, landing right across Katsuki's tongue, although some splatters onto his lips. The next spurt is a bit more uncontrolled, and it hits Katsuki's chin more than his mouth. He thrusts himself through a few more small spurts, splattering prettily against Katsuki’s cheek and eyebrow, his nose, and some more on his outstretched tongue. 

“Hold it,” Hitoshi orders, only because it's been about ten seconds since the first splatter hit Katsuki, and he's still sitting patiently waiting for Hitoshi to finish completely, and Hitoshi wants to look at him like this for a little while more. 

The cum slowly begins dripping down Katsuki’s skin in white, thick stripes. It looks beautiful, like a work of art. But the best of it all is the big dollop of cum that slowly liquifies and mixes with saliva on Katsuki's tongue. 

Hitoshi can't help but touch it, to bring forward a finger and run it over Katsuki’s tongue, mixing the fluids together even further. Katsuki’s breath hitches at his touch, and his eyes flutter. 

“That's it,” Hitoshi whispers, laying his finger flat against Katsuki’s tongue. “Go ahead.” 

Katsuki closes his mouth around the finger. Hitoshi can feel the way he swallows his cum greedily, sucking on his finger as if trying to swallow it down along with it. When there's nothing more to swallow, Katsuki turns to simply suckling on Hitoshi's finger like a child on a pacifier. 

“You can clean me up as well, if you're up for it.” 

It seems he is; Katsuki opens his eyes and searches for the softening cock. He leans forward, taking it into his mouth and sucking gently at the cum that's dripped down it. And then, when there's nothing left there either, he lets it pop out of his mouth and turns to give it tiny kitten licks instead, cheek resting against Hitoshi’s bared thigh. 

“How are you like this?” Hitoshi accidentally blurts. 

Katsuki's eyes snap up, bewildered and frantic, looking almost afraid. 

“No, Katsuki, it's a good thing,” Hitoshi is quick to reassure. “Clearly I'm very much into it.”

Katsuki relaxes back against the thigh. He doesn't lick Hitoshi anymore, which is a shame, but he's not running away either. 

“Got any tissues?” Hitoshi asks, looking around. 

“Glove compartment,” Katsuki guides hazily, hoarsely. 

Hitoshi gently shoves him off and pulls up his trunks and pants, before leaning over the front seats and rummaging through the glove compartment until he finds a pack of tissues. 

“Let's get you cleaned up,” he says, and gently starts dapping up the cum drying on Katsuki’s skin. “There we go. Good job.” 

He keeps going until Katsuki's face is clean. Then he sits back against the seats. “Do you need me to finish you off?” 

Katsuki's ears blush pink as he shakes his head. 

Hitoshi can't help but smile from ear to ear. “That good, huh?” 

Katsuki punches his chest weakly, and doesn't deny it. 

Chapter Text

Sometimes, work is a whirlwind of breaking news and fingers flying over the keyboard to hurriedly get down all the information flooding his split screen. Others, it’s a bit slower, but still with a lot to do getting the morning paper ready, finishing segments from his day-time coworkers. 

But then there are times like tonight, where the town is quiet and no news drifts onto his screen, and he’s finished his corrections and additions, and now there’s nothing left to do but wait for a disaster to happen so he’ll have something to do. 

Hitoshi leans back in his comfortable office chair, and it creaks under his weight. He could write on his story, but he’d promised himself to keep work and his own writing separate – he’d be devastated if he somehow left a copy of his draft on the work computer.

He turns his notifications up loud and pushes away from the desk. He could really use some coffee. The coffee at work is unimpressive to say the least, but on nights like these, where there’s nothing else to keep him going, he doesn’t have much of a choice. 

He wrinkles his nose as the machine spurts out liquid into his favourite mug, as well as splashing a few drops over the rim to land on his fingers. He hisses and withdraws his hand to bring the minor burn up to his mouth, and in the process spills even more coffee from the mug as he jostles it in his retreat. He sighs and turns to get the napkins. 

Upon returning to his desk, he notices that his phone blinks with a notification. That very rarely happens on most days, but it next to never happens at night. He sets his mug down carefully and picks up his phone. And then a smile unexpectedly spreads on his face. 

Katsuki has his number now. He’d as good as insisted on it, and Hitoshi hadn’t denied the exchange one bit. He hasn’t texted the first few days, however, and Hitoshi was starting to think he wouldn’t be using it after all. 

The text is a simple Hey eyebags and yet Hitoshi feels his whole body humming with excitement. He looks at the time, and is surprised to see it’s only four am. His shift is over in an hour, and he hadn’t expected Katsuki to be awake this early. 

Hi beautiful, he sends back, knowing it’ll grind Katsuki’s gears – and hopefully fluster him a bit, even though he’d never admit it. What are you doing up so late?  

Fuck off comes the first reply, expectedly. And then, And I’m early. Gotta be in at five for prep.  

Prep? Hitoshi sends back, confused. 

Food preparation, dumbass, Katsuki answers, and Hitoshi can almost feel him rolling his eyes at him through the screen. 

I thought the preparations were done by the chefs  

There’s a small pause before there’s any reply. And then Katsuki writes I am a chef

The information somehow surprises Hitoshi extremely as a man who lives off of takeaway and microwaveable meals. Oh shit, aren’t the hours terrible?  

You’re not one to talk about terrible hours, are you?  

Hitoshi snorts. He supposes Katsuki has a point. 

They keep texting over the next ten minutes, with a few odd breaks on Katsuki’s side – probably him getting ready for work – and just like that, Hitoshi's nail-bitingly boring shift turns upside down and puts a smile on his face. It feels almost foreign. 

Even when Katsuki bids him goodbye and leaves the conversation, Hitoshi spends the next majority of his shift rereading the conversation and remembering how it felt to comb his fingers through Katsuki’s soft, golden hair. 

You should come by later, Hitoshi sends, just before he starts to shut down his computer, before he can think too much about it. He's not surprised that Katsuki doesn't reply. 

Still, the invitation has Hitoshi buzzing with hopeful excitement all the way home. 

Katsuki does come over. To Hitoshi’s surprise, he receives a simple text saying Address? and his whole gut turns upside down. He hadn’t expected Katsuki to actually take him up on his offer, especially not after being left on read, but the sliver of hope he’d felt pays out in the end. 

Hitoshi had been drifting in and out of sleep all day, so he feels about as exhausted as usual when he replies with his address and a heart emoji which Katsuki chooses to ignore. Still, a wave of unfamiliar energy surges through him when he sees the read notification pop up under his message. 

He makes quick work of cleaning up around the apartment; it’s been a while since he had proper company over that he’d actually like to impress. Books are stuffed into random spots on the shelves, papers and notes are stuffed in the desk drawer, clothes get thrown under the bed along with the first draft of a book he’s been working on. 

All in all, the place looks better than it has in years – probably since he moved in, actually – when harsh knocks finally sound out from the front door. Hitoshi has barely gotten halfway through his living room before another round of knocking rings out. He chuckles at the apparent impatience. 

“These cost money, you know,” he says with a smug smile as he opens the door, leaning against the doorway and purposely blocking the entrance. “How are you going to make it up to me if you break it?” 

Katsuki rolls his eyes and bumps straight into Hitoshi, shoving past him impatiently and into the apartment's living room. 

Hitoshi closes the door and turns, amused despite his surprise. He really shouldn't be surprised; so far Katsuki has turned out to be less predictable than anyone else Hitoshi has ever cared to give much thought to. “Are we in a hurry?” 

Katsuki stomps through the apartment loud enough that Hitoshi is sure his downstairs neighbours will be complaining within a minute if he continues. Hitoshi doesn't really give a crap – they've heard worse, anyway. But once he's reached the middle of the room, Katsuki stops and turns slightly, as if taking it all in. “Had a crappy day. Didn't come here to be blocked at the door.” 

Hitoshi shrugs and follows Katsuki further into the room. “Why did you come here?” He probably shouldn't ask that so boldly, but Katsuki seems like a man who would appreciate straightforwardness, so what the hell. 

As expected, Katsuki turns a hard glare towards him. “If you didn't want me here, you shouldn't have fucking asked me to come.” 

Hitoshi steps past Katsuki and takes a seat on the couch. “Who said I didn't?” He pats the spot beside him gently, and Katsuki, reluctantly, sits. Hitoshi immediately relocates Katsuki by his shoulders, turning him so that he's facing Hitoshi fully, then pushes him down on the couch to rest on his back. He lifts Katsuki's feet, one at a time, unlacing the shoes and sliding them off his feet gently until both of Katsuki's socked feet rests on Hitoshi's lap. 

Katsuki must have been very tired, because he doesn't try to fight him back even once. “I've been on my feet for ten hours,” is all he says, but he's already leaning back against the armrest and closing his eyes. 

Hitoshi's fingers work themselves into the balls of Katsuki’s feet, massaging his soles gently, and then, when Katsuki groans in content, presses a bit harder. “So, crappy day. Spill.” 

Katsuki opens one eye suspiciously. “The fuck do you care? Didn't you just ask me here to suck your cock or something?” 

That idea would have been more tempting if Katsuki didn't look so exhausted. Hitoshi presses around on the underside of Katsuki’s feet with his fingers, and Katsuki lets out a content hum. “I guess not,” he answers honestly, surprisingly even himself. 

Katsuki leans up on his elbows and frowns at him. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Hitoshi shrugs, staring at the feet in his lap, thinking it through. Then he tilts his gaze up at his ceiling. “I guess if I'd just wanted sex from you, we would've fucked earlier and then I'd be done with you.” 

“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Katsuki asks again, looking almost offended. He pulls his feet back and sits up properly on the couch. 

“I don't usually sleep with the same person twice,” Hitoshi explains, turning towards Katsuki. He really does look tired. His hair is flat and there are bags starting to form under his eyes. He still looks good, of course. It’d take a lot for Katsuki to not look good, he thinks. 

Katsuki scoffs. “We haven't slept together once.” 

Hitoshi nods with a small smile. “True, but it's certainly not because I don't want to.” He watches Katsuki closely as the tips of his ears flush red. “You make me want to break a habit or two,” Hitoshi admits. 

Katsuki looks away. He's quiet for a while, and Hitoshi wonders if he's scared him away. Better now than later, at least. 

But then Katsuki huffs out a long breath and looks down at his fingers, which are crossed at his lap. “Well, if we're talking now, fuck if I know why, then I might as well say that I usually don't just sleep around.” 

This actually surprises Hitoshi. Katsuki had been the one to come onto Hitoshi the first time they'd met, back when they were complete strangers. He'd also been the one to lure Hitoshi into his car for a quick blowjob. Granted, Hitoshi hadn't fought him on either of these occasions, but Katsuki sure did strike him as someone who might be used to fooling around. 

His thoughts must have been obvious, because with just a glance at Hitoshi, Katsuki begins to explain. “I'd just dumped my boyfriend a couple of days before that party. I was looking for… something, and you were hot, so I guess I just thought, well, why the hell not? Didn’t turn out exactly as I'd expected, though.” 

Hitoshi chuckles. “Didn't expect the finger up your ass?” 

Katsuki looks at him like he's being absolutely ridiculous. “Didn't expect you and Denki to be a thing.” 

The smile quickly slips off Hitoshi’s face. Somehow he'd managed to forget about that little detail. 

“We're not a thing,” he denies softly, fiddling with his fingers. “I mean, we were, but that was years ago. Wasn’t even anything serious, just two kids fucking around.” 

Katsuki simply hums and turns his gaze away. He leans back and slumps against the couch. 

Hitoshi is still fully turned towards Katsuki. He watches the hairs falling over his forehead, some nearly reaching his eyes. He inspects the length of his short eyelashes as they flutter gently with soft blinks. He notices the sharpness of Katsuki’s nose from this angle, and the way his slim lips are made even slimmer by a constant small frown pressing them together. He really is handsome. 

His staring doesn’t go unnoticed. Katsuki doesn’t even have to turn to feel Hitoshi’s eyes boring into his soul. “Fuck off,” he grunts softly, but it sounds almost… flustered. Like he’s not used to all this attention. Which is complete bullshit, because anyone with eyes can see that Katsuki is beautiful enough to command attention wherever he goes. 

Hitoshi doesn’t fuck off. Instead he leans one arm on the armrest of the couch and rests his head there, keeping his eyes locked onto Katsuki’s side. “Why did you come here today?” 

It’s getting dark outside. It usually gets dark just as Hitoshi is waking up. The sunset is showering the kitchen in soft oranges, making it look like a fairytale. Hitoshi wishes it would reach the living room. He can only imagine how Katsuki would look in that lighting. 

“Guess I wanted to rewind,” Katsuki finally answers, voice strained and quiet. He glances briefly at Hitoshi, and then rips his eyes away again. “But I should probably go, you look like shit.” 

Hitoshi snorts at the insult and nods in agreement. “Didn’t sleep all that well,” he says vaguely, scooting closer to Katsuki on the couch. “But don’t mind that. I’m actually pretty good at helping people unwind.” 

Katsuki glances his way, out of the corner of his eyes, and there’s a hunger there now, overshadowing his exhaustion. “You don’t say,” he mumbles, eyes following Hitoshi’s every move carefully. 

So of course Hitoshi has to put on a bit of a show. He lets his eyes roam over Katsuki’s body with a smile tugging on one corner of his mouth. Slowly, he lets his tongue peek out, wetting his lips and parting them as Katsuki watches intently. 

Just as Hitoshi is about to reach Katsuki, he smirks and pushes himself down from the couch in a quick move. Katsuki’s eyes widen as Hitoshi seats himself on his knees before Katsuki. He grabs Katsuki’s knees and pry them apart so he can get even closer. “This okay?” Hitoshi asks in a low voice, slowly running his hands from Katsuki’s feet and up his legs, closing in on his crotch. 

“I’m stretched,” Katsuki blurts, that wonderful hint of pink flaring up on his ears. 

Hitoshi’s hands pause where they are, mid-thigh, as he tilts his head up at the other. Again, a surprise from Katsuki. Not unwelcome. Hitoshi lets a smile play on his face as his hands continue their journey. “That’s nice. But you look like you need to fully relax right now.” His hands reach their goal. One hand palms Katsuki through his pants – already full and hard under its confines – and the other slowly begins playing with the zipper. “So if you were hoping to bounce on my cock, I’m sorry to say you’ll have to wait until next time.” 

Katsuki’s flush spreads to his neck and cheeks. “Thought you were more of a receiver,” he challenges, even as he wiggles in anticipation as Hitoshi unzips his pants and pulls the front of his boxers down.

The cock springs up happily right before Hitoshi. It hits him that this is the first time he’s seen it, and it’s just as beautiful as the rest of Katsuki. Hitoshi can’t help it – he leans forward and licks across the tip, fingers digging into Katsuki’s thighs as he shivers at the sudden stimulation. He pulls back, blows on the cock softly, and Katsuki throws his head back with an impatient sigh. 

“I can be generous from time to time,” Hitoshi shoots back, just before opening wide and swallowing down two thirds of Katsuki’s cock at once. 

Katsuki lets out a strangled moan, hip attempting to thrust up to go further, but Hitoshi had expected it, keeping him firmly planted on the couch with a hand on each hip. Fingers dig into Katsuki’s thighs beautifully, but it’s not as eye-catching as the way Katsuki’s throat bobs around shallow breaths, or the way his face is pinched together in pleasure. 

Hitoshi pulls off slowly, letting the tip rest against his lips as he speaks. “Told you to relax. You don’t need to move a muscle.” 

“Fuck…” is all Katsuki has to say to that, and he slumps just a bit further in the couch. 

Hitoshi smiles, satisfied, and takes the cock back in his mouth. He plays Katsuki like a fiddle, going fast just as he’s gotten used to the slow pace, taking him deep just as he’s playing with the tip and stopping completely every time Katsuki’s legs begin to spasm slightly. And Katsuki makes some damn good music with his moans and whines, despite how hard he tries to quieten them. 

It takes a while – partly because Hitoshi makes it so – but eventually Katsuki is singing a chorus of ‘yes’s and ‘yeah’s and a single, unexpected ‘please’, and Hitoshi gladly grants his wish, bobbing his head as fast as he can as Katsuki finally lets the sparks fly, groaning out the finale before melting completely into the fabric of the couch. 

Cum swims on Hitoshi’s tongue, and he lets it spill from his mouth and right onto Katsuki’s cock. Katsuki wrinkles his nose at the feeling, but he’s still too far gone to complain. 

“Stay here,” Hitoshi says as he gets up on his wobbly legs. “I’ll get something to clean you up with.” 

Katsuki doesn’t make any sign that he’s heard him, so Hitoshi simply pats his knee once and walks to the bathroom. 

The look that greets him when he sees himself in the mirror surprises him. He doesn’t look nearly as tired as usual, for one. But that might be because of the giant smile that’s taking over his face and his swollen lips. He hadn’t even known he’d been smiling, and now that he does, he feels ridiculous. It’s just a blowjob. Granted, it’s been a while since he was on this end of it, but it’s nothing new to him. So why does he feel like there’s a single, frantic bat in his stomach, fluttering around to find a way out? 

Hitoshi shakes his head and wipes cum from his lips and chin. Then he grabs a small towel and wrings it up with warm water and heads back to the living room. 

Katsuki is still slumped on the couch, flaccid cock still out and drenched in cum, but his eyes are now open, and he’s watching Hitoshi tiredly as he makes it into the room. He doesn’t object when Hitoshi retakes his spot on the floor in front of him, nor when he starts gently cleaning him up. 

“Why do you have to be such a bitch?” 

Hitoshi raises a brow at Katsuki, not understanding. 

Katsuki rolls his eyes and scoffs, which seems a bit hilarious as Hitoshi is in the middle of cleaning off the tip of his soft cock. “You make all these rules and tell me to do this, do that.” 

Ah. He’s had a few people complain about his bossiness in bed. Usually he’ll have the same answer for them all; because he likes it, and if they don’t, they can leave. But Hitoshi has a feeling – and it might just be his imagination playing tricks on him – that Katsuki is looking for a specific answer. 

“Because you like it when I take charge,” Hitoshi guesses, tilting his head at Katsuki to analyse his reactions closer. 

Katsuki doesn’t give much of a reaction, but he does tilt his head at Hitoshi as well, as if impatient for him to elaborate. 

Hitoshi is so up for the challenge. “You enjoy being bossed around, for all responsibility to lie on someone else’s shoulders. I’m guessing you like the unpredictability as well.” Hitoshi looks down at the now clean cock, and plays with it between his fingers. It slowly begins to thicken in his hand. “I also think that part of what made you hold out so long just now was the fact that I couldn’t call you a pretty boy while having my mouth stuffed with your cock.” 

Said cock twitches in Hitoshi’s hand, more telling than Katsuki’s indignant huff. “So you’re doing it for me, is what you’re saying?” He sounds distrustful, like Hitoshi cannot possibly be filled with anything but lies. 

A smile tugs on Hitoshi’s lips once more – they seem to be uncontrollable when he’s with Katsuki. “No. I’m doing it because it’s what I like. I keep doing it because I can tell you like it just as much.” 

Katsuki just stares at him for a long while, not acknowledging the fact that he is now fully hard in Hitoshi’s grasp once more. When Hitoshi plays with the slit, all Katsuki does is twitch his eye once. “No one got that, before.” 

Hitoshi blinks, absently letting his hand thrust up and down slowly. And then he realises that they might be having a real conversation right now. He does his best to gently tuck the cock into Katsuki’s pants and zip them up carefully before Hitoshi rises and takes a seat on the couch. “Did you tell anyone?” 

“Fuck no,” Katsuki scoffs, like the idea is ridiculous. 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know.” 

Katsuki turns to him with a scowl. But he doesn’t deny that that’s exactly why he’s kept quiet. 

Hitoshi doesn’t know what more to say in this situation. Katsuki doesn’t offer an opinion of his own. 

It’s fully dark outside by now, nearing midnight. What little adrenaline Katsuki had gotten from having his dick sucked has quickly left him, and he now looks even more drained than before. Hitoshi reaches out an arm and pats his shoulder. “You should get some sleep. You can take my bed if you want. I’ll be heading into work in a couple of hours, but the doors lock automatically if you just slam it after yourself.” 

Katsuki grunts and gets up, tugging his pants up properly for good measure. “I’m leaving.” 

“If you’re sure,” Hitoshi shrugs and starts going about his day. He hasn’t even had breakfast yet. He pulls out a box of leftover take-away, earning a very judgemental stare from Katsuki as he pulls on his jacket. 

“I hope that’s not your fucking breakfast.” 

“Weren’t you leaving?” Hitoshi asks with a grin as he pops the box into the microwave. Katsuki is out the door before the microwave starts spinning. 

Chapter Text

Are you coming to Denki’s Saturday?  

Hitoshi stares at the message for a long time, unsure what to make of it. Does Katsuki want him to come? Does he want him to stay away? Or is he just making sure either way? Hitoshi can’t tell, and Katsuki doesn’t send a follow-up message no matter how long Hitoshi stares at it. 

I haven’t been invited, he sends back, because this is the first he’s heard of it. 

What if I'm inviting you, is Katsuki's immediate response, and Hitoshi really doesn't know what to say to that. 

Can Katsuki do that? Can he just invite Hitoshi over to Denki’s place? Hitoshi is pretty sure Denki doesn't know he and Katsuki have been hanging out – and, to be completely honest, Hitoshi has no intentions of him figuring it out in the near future. As far as Denki knows, Hitoshi and Katsuki are as good as strangers. 

So no. Katsuki probably can't just invite him along as a sexy plus one. 

The lack of response must have gotten his thoughts across, because a few minutes later, Katsuki texts him, Alright, fine. Let me know if he invites you. 

Hitoshi sends back a thumbs up emoji and pockets his phone. He looks around the store he's in, finding himself surrounded by vegetables and fruits, barely remembering why he went here in the first place. Food, most likely. Katsuki had been shaming him about his fast food breakfast just a few days ago, and Hitoshi had kept it in mind since – out of courtesy, of course. And maybe he should try to eat healthier. 

Now, though, being surrounded by ingredients and other shoppers who run around the store with determined enthusiasm, Hitoshi finds himself a bit overwhelmed. He glances at a cucumber with a frown. He doesn't have any idea what he'd make with that. It really is so much easier to just get a fully prepared meal delivered to his door. 

Hitoshi walks back out the store empty-handed. 

Saturday evening rolls around, and Hitoshi wakes up to another night with no invite to any kind of gathering whatsoever. He's not surprised, though. If Denki was going to invite him, he'd have done it way earlier. 

Still, he can't help but be a bit disappointed; he'd have liked to see Katsuki again sooner rather than later. 

Truthfully, Hitoshi should just ask him out straight up, but the weekends seem to be the only times that the both of them have much time, and even then Katsuki’s nights are booked full by his group of friends. 

Hitoshi sighs and gets out of his bed. He's not going to spend the night feeling disappointed and sorry for himself. It's been a while since he went out and had some fun. 

He puts on his tightest pair of jeans, along with a nice button-up, and runs his fingers through his hair until it looks purposefully messed up, rather than the bed-head he'd woken up with. Then he's out the door and down the familiar road to his usual club. 

It's bustling in that familiar way Hitoshi has gotten used to – same bartender, same music, same drinks but different crowd. They’re welcoming in a way only a bunch of drunk strangers can be, greeting him like an old friend, talking him up like they care. He knows no one is really looking for small-talk, but he's also learned from experience that it's the best way to get a read on people fast, so he plays along. 

It's odd; usually by this time, four drinks in and dancing amidst the grinding crowd, Hitoshi would be starting to single out a potential lay. And there are plenty to choose from. There's a guy with black hair and broad shoulders who has been eyeing him openly, and a woman with blonde hair so long it reaches her knees has been insistent on dancing with him for the last twenty minutes, all while biting her lip in a way that has Hitoshi’s mouth watering. 

Still, he doesn't actually care about any of that. He's here to let loose, to forget the disappointment of what he could have been doing tonight. The bass thumping all the way to his bones is a good start, the alcohol making his limbs buzz a very good addition. 

He lets himself let go in the crowd, until the ache in his chest is but a simple pinch. 

Hitoshi is sipping a drink, slouched over the bar with a crooked smile on his face when a buzzing in his pants has him flying out of his seat. “What the fuck…” he mutters, looking around suspiciously. Everyone seems to be minding their own business, but someone must have– 

His pants buzz again, and he startles and reaches for his back pocket. Fishing out his phone, he blinks at the device with confusion, and then bursts out laughing when understanding hits. “It was my phone!” he yells at the bartender, who nods with a suppressed laugh. 

Shrugging his shoulders, Hitoshi presses the green button and picks up the call that just keeps buzzing in his hand. “I thought you were a bee in my pants,” he explains into the phone, and then laughs some more. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Katsuki's voice asks from the other end of the line. Immediately, a wave of warmth spreads over Hitoshi, and he smiles and slumps back in his seat by the bar. “I thought you'd be home, where are you?” 

Hitoshi giggles. “‘m at my bar,” he explains, because where else would he be? 

“You're drunk?” Katsuki asks, less annoyed and more… something else, probably. “Of course you're drunk. Look, I'm just gonna go, I'll talk to you later, yeah?” He sounds disappointed. Even in this state, Hitoshi can't help but pick up on that much, at least. 

“Where are you?” 

There's a pause on the other end, filled only by the sound of a single car passing close by. “At your apartment.”

Hitoshi thinks his smile might split his face. “Stay there. ‘m real close!” He hangs up the phone and turns to the bartender, handing over his card. “Gotta go. Date with an angry bee.” 

The bartender smiles absently as he handles the payment. “Thought there was something different about you tonight.” 

Hitoshi shrugs one shoulder, but can't help but smile. “What can I say? I might have found something really special.” 

“Let's hope they don't mind you showing up smelling like you took a dip in the keg.” He hands the card back to Hitoshi, who shrugs him off with a laugh. 

Hitoshi only has to walk one block before he reaches his apartment building. As he gets close, he can see Katsuki out front, head hanging low, almost like he's falling asleep, and whole profile illuminated by the warm light from the lamppost above him. He sits on the steps, kicking a pebble around with one foot. He looks so good, always, especially now, on the steps of Hitoshi’s apartment building. 

“Bzzz,” Hitoshi buzzes loudly, which has Katsuki quickly jerking his head in his direction. “Bzz bzz angry bee, are you here to see me ?” he sings, laughing at his own little rhyme. 

“Holy shit, you’re actually wasted,” Katsuki notes, getting up from the steps just in time to catch Hitoshi as he lets himself fall into him. “You got your keys? Let's get you up.” 

Hitoshi nuzzles his nose against Katsuki’s neck, taking a deep inhale. “Mm, you smell so good. So good…” 

Katsuki huffs as he gets to do all the work getting them back to the apartment. Hitoshi leans against him happily all the way up. Once at the door, Katsuki doesn’t even let him fumble with his keys before snatching them out of Hitoshi’s hands to open the door and pull him inside. 

Hitoshi isn’t exactly sure how, but he ends up in his bed, Katsuki walking in and out of the room to do who knows what. At one point, a glass is thrust into his hand – he’s very disappointed to find that it’s just water – and at another, a toothbrush is held out to him impatiently. He brushes slowly while Katsuki watches, and when he’s finished, he spits into the cup of water. Katsuki hurries to grab both glass and toothbrush out of his hands before he can do something stupid, like drinking it. 

A small pile of clothes sits next to him on the bed. He’s not sure when that got there. A loose t-shirt and some jogging pants. They look so comfortable, compared to his tight pants and stiff shirt, he nearly sobs. He changes as quickly as he can, and he’s doing a pretty great job at it, if he must say so himself. 

The bed dips beside him as Katsuki sits down – Hitoshi hasn’t even realised he was in there, but he quickly turns a tired smile at him. “You’re really good at this,” he says. Tries to say. It comes out a bit slurred, maybe. He’s not actually sure. 

Katsuki scoffs. “It’s really not rocket science.” 

Hitoshi shrugs his shoulder against Katsuki’s as he inevitably falls his way. “Bet you’d be good at that, too.” 

An unflattering snort. Cute. Katsuki turns to face him. Even in the darkness of his poorly lit bedroom, he’s so beautiful. “You’re beautiful, did I ever tell you that?” 

Katsuki lets out an amused huff. “Might’ve come up.” 

“Good,” Hitoshi says with a nod. He’d hate himself if it hadn’t. 

They’re silent for a while. Hitoshi is looking out the window that leads to the balcony. Lights flash by from time to time, whenever a car turns at the crossroads not far off. If he opens the balcony door, he wonders what he’ll hear. Are there people walking out there, maybe? Would the sound from the cars drown out their voices? 

“Here, get some rest,” Katsuki says and places his hands on Hitoshi’s shoulders to gently lie him down on the mattress. The duvet he places over him feels like a warm cocoon, like he could just melt in it and turn into someone better, something beautiful, if only Katsuki stays by his side. 

“Do you usually get this drunk?” Katsuki asks, and Hitoshi opens his eyes to find that Katsuki is lying down beside him, turned on the side to face him. So Hitoshi turns towards him as well. A hand sneaks out of the covers and sneakily boops Katsuki’s nose – or maybe not so sneakily. Katsuki doesn’t seem that surprised at the attack. He rests his fingers against Katsuki’s cheek. 

“Not really,” Hitoshi admits, because it’s true. He’d been drunk at the party where he’d first met Katsuki, because he felt out of place and the atmosphere was different than what he’d been used to. Even then, it wasn’t as much as he is now. Usually, he’d let himself become tipsy, at most, whether it be to score a one-night stand or when drinking by himself in his empty apartment. “But gotta make my own party somehow, right? Now that I wasn’t invited to yours.” 

Katsuki looks at him in a way Hitoshi can’t quite read. “Did you want Denki to invite you?” he asks, voice quiet, hushed, like they’re trying to go to sleep. 

Hitoshi sighs and lets his fingertips play softly against Katsuki’s skin. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” 

A short silence follows, but thankfully Katsuki doesn’t push his hands off him. He likes touching Katsuki. He’s soft and pretty. Eventually, though, Katsuki breaks the silence and asks, “Why?” 

Hell, Hitoshi wishes he wasn’t drunk right now, if only so he could maybe have a chance to read the meaning behind the shadow that crosses Katsuki’s face. He retracts his hand, lets it fall still on the mattress between them. “Wanted to see you.” It’s easy to admit, because of the alcohol, and because it’s Katsuki, and because it’s true. “Missed you. I don’t get to see you enough.” 

The shadow seems to be lifting from Katsuki’s face. But then, it also seems like his head is getting bigger. Or, wait, no, it’s just getting closer. 

Katsuki kisses him, soft and gentle, in a way they haven’t kissed before. They haven’t kissed a lot, actually, what is this, their second time? How has Hitoshi been with this man three times and yet only kissed him once? It’s no less than a crime. 

Katsuki’s hand reaches up to caress Hitoshi’s neck as Hitoshi lets himself melt into the kiss. Unhurried, sweet, something new blooming in the touch, something Hitoshi hasn’t felt before. It’s always been sex – with Katsuki, and with anyone else – but this isn’t. This is just a kiss. This feels like it’s everything, and it’s just a kiss, all at once. 

There’s no tongue, just lips and soft breaths meeting. There’s Hitoshi and Katsuki, both inching closer to each other until they’re wrapped up in a hug, and they’re still kissing, and breathing, and blooming.

Somehow, he falls asleep like that, with Katsuki pressed against him, smothering him with kisses. 

He thinks he might have never slept so well before. 

Hitoshi wakes up with the worst headache he’s had in years – and that’s saying something for a man who runs on too little sleep and too much coffee. He waddles out into the kitchen, eyes too fragile to open up to the bright light of the midday sun, and feels his way around for a glass. He knocks a few things over, and the sound makes his head throb, but he takes a few deep breaths and powers through it in his quest for water. 

He downs two glasses before he finally musters up the courage to open his eyes against the lights. 

And then he nearly jumps, because there in the armchair, holding a block of paper and a mug of something steamy, with a very smug, amused smile on his face, is Katsuki. 

Hitoshi opens his mouth, but he has no idea what to say in his current state, so he simply stares open-mouthed at his guest. 

Katsuki – either taking pity on him or internally laughing, it's really hard to tell – raises his mug shortly in greeting and returns his gaze to the papers in his hand. “Morning, Sunshine.” 

It’s meant to be a tease, and Hitoshi knows he looks anything other than sunny and bright right now, but he still likes the name, nonetheless. 

“What are you doing?” Hitoshi asks, scratching dried gunk out of one eye as he walks towards the living room. 

Katsuki doesn’t lift his eyes. “Reading.” 

“What are you reading?” Hitoshi prods, smacking his dry lips. He should have bought a glass of water with him. 

“I don’t know,” Katsuki replies with a shrug. “It doesn’t have a title.” 

Hitoshi frowns even as he’s halfways turned to go back to the kitchen for a glass. “What do you mean it–” And then something awful, horrible, terrifying dawns on him. He turns, slowly, because no, it couldn’t be… But the papers had been right there on the table, and now it’s not, now it’s in Katsuki’s hands, flipped so far in Katsuki must have either skipped right in there or have been reading it for at least a couple of hours. “Katsuki… what are you reading?” 

Katsuki, infuriatingly, doesn’t seem to be picking up on Hitoshi’s despair, and instead just sips his mug and smacks his lips obnoxiously.

Hitoshi, despite his thundering headache, stomps towards Katsuki, grabs the stack of clipped-together paper and yanks it out of his hands. Thankfully Katsuki doesn’t try to hold on or pull it back, or something might’ve ripped. “ Why are you looking through my stuff!?” he yells, splitting headache be damned, and glares daggers at Katsuki’s calm figure. 

“It was right there, I got curious,” Katsuki says with a shrug – like he doesn’t even care that Hitoshi is yelling at him right now. 

“That’s private !” he tries again to get his point across, holding the draft to his chest for dear life. 

Katsuki puts his mug on the coffee table. “Shouldn’t have kept it lying around, then.” 

Hitoshi can’t believe his own ears. How can Katsuki be this… this thoughtless ? “This is my home, and I didn’t ask you to–” 

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Katsuki says, and it sounds like an echo, something from another conversation that doesn’t fit here. It’s infuriating. Hitoshi is just about to tell him off when Katsuki stands and says, “No, listen. It’s really good. You’re not half bad.” 

All the fight leaves Hitoshi, aside from a small voice in his head telling him that Katsuki can’t be serious. No one’s ever read his works before. He’s never given anyone the chance. He knows he’s good with words, objectively, but for someone to tell him his ideas are good, too? The world and the people he’s created from nothing but a blank canvas, it’s… Somehow he wants to believe it. 

“You’re just saying that because–” 

“I’m really not, I’m not that kind,” Katsuki interrupts with an eye-roll. He steps closer, and when he grabs the draft, Hitoshi almost fights him. But then he lets go, and all Katsuki does is place it face down on the table before he turns back to Hitoshi. “I didn’t know what it was when I picked it up. So I skimmed it a little. And then, when I realised what it was, I was already intrigued, so I kept reading.” He tilts his head, and for someone who didn’t seem to give a shit before, he sure looks like someone who’s trying to apologise, although very vaguely. “I didn’t know you’d be upset. But I think you should let me read it.” 

Hitoshi sends him an unimpressed glare. “And why should I do that?” 

“Because Jackie is an ass,” Katsuki immediately answers. “Where does she get off, judging people from her high and mighty pedestal? Why can’t she just admit that Davie might not be so fucking bad?” 

Hitoshi laughs. He can’t help it. He had the exact same issue with her all the way through the first hundred pages, but the girl is stubborn. “She does. It just takes her a while.” 

Katsuki crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, I didn’t need you to spoil it for me, I just need you to let me read it.” 

Something warm bubbles in Hitoshi’s stomach. Something unfamiliar and scary and so, so good . “Let me think about it.” 

“All I ask,” Katsuki says, although that is decidedly not all he is asking, but he lets the matter drop, and that’s all good by Hitoshi. 

On the other hand, it might be fun to talk about his story with someone else. Katsuki might even help him get over the hurdles he’s been working on since the very beginning of the process. 

“Anyway. Get dressed,” Katsuki says, jerking his head towards the door. “I’m taking you to lunch.” 

“Haven’t even had breakfast yet,” Hitoshi interjects. 

Katsuki snorts. “‘Cause you sleep like the fucking dead. Now go.” 

Hitoshi laughs as Katsuki pushes him towards the bedroom.

Chapter Text

Hitoshi likes having Katsuki around. He’s agreed to let him read his work – this one work, not his previous ones, not his earlier drafts of stories, not his prepubescent word-vomits he’d rather just forget, he’s not insane. Although, something tells him that if he were to show them to Katsuki, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. For now, though, he’s sticking to just sharing this piece of his brain. 

He’s on his computer, doing some rewrites he’s been talking with Katsuki about, but he’s distracted by the smell wafting over from the kitchen. It smells like herbs and spices and cooking meat and Hitoshi positively salivates. He forces himself to just finish this one paragraph before he goes to check out what’s cooking. His fingers have never flown over the keyboard that fast. 

Katsuki is carefully stirring a pot of something when Hitoshi wanders over, and it looks absolutely delicious. 

“You don’t have to cook for me,” Hitoshi says, for the fifth time now since Katsuki came over with a grocery bag in each hand and shoved his way directly to the kitchen. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to bring your work here.” 

Katsuki scoffs, a familiar sound by now that tells Hitoshi just how ridiculous Katsuki thinks he is. “If you don’t get some proper food soon, I bet you’ll just wither up and die any minute.” He flips the meat on the pan, pours some spices into the pot. “Besides, I like cooking.” 

Hitoshi hums, leaning against the counter and watching Katsuki work. “That works out great for me then, assuming you're any good at it.” 

“Assuming I'm– Do you know who the fuck you're talking to?” Katsuki turns, one hand on his hip, the other flailing around the spoon he'd been stirring with, flicking food everywhere. Hitoshi doesn't even care about the mess. “I graduated top of my class, I’m the best fucking chef this city has seen in decades , and I haven’t even turned thirty yet!” 

“That all sounds very impressive,” Hitoshi says slowly, wiping a speck of food off of Katsuki’s cheek, “but can you prove it?” 

Katsuki glares, but there’s no malice to it – on the contrary, he seems to be almost enjoying the challenge. “Sit your ass down and I’ll prove it, you dumb fuck.” 

Hitoshi doesn’t hesitate to sit down at the table and lets Katsuki serve him. They sit opposite each other in comfortable silence as they begin to eat. And Katsuki has more than proven himself in Hitoshi’s eyes – granted, he doesn't have the highest standards, but what Katsuki managed to dish up is well beyond Hitoshi's expectations. 

“Holy shit, Katsuki, this is amazing.” 

Katsuki scoffs, but there's a pleased grin on his face. “Eat up, shitface.” 

And Hitoshi does. He finishes three servings before he realises how much time has passed. “Crap, I gotta get to work.” The sun is setting outside, and Hitoshi has a whole load of edits to get to, so he can't be too late. “Sorry, just leave everything as is, I'll clean it up when I get home. Talk to you later, yeah?” He rushes through the room, throwing on a jacket, shoes, wipes his mouth as he crosses back over the dining area and leans down to plant a quick kiss on Katsuki’s cheek. “Thank you for dinner, it was great.” He turns and strides out the door, managing only a short “Bye!” before he's out. 

He returns while it's still dark out, maybe about an hour to sunrise, bones weary and back aching from bad posture. He always aches on busy days like these, where his mind is too focused on work to remember to straighten up. 

His apartment is dark when he enters. He makes his way to the kitchen in the dim light that floods in from the street, resigning himself to a big clean-up. But when he switches on the lights, the kitchen is pristine, looking better than it has in years, despite its consistent lack of use. 

Somehow, the sight makes his heart swell in his chest. It’s stupid – it’s just cleaning up after dinner, Hitoshi said he’d handle it, but… Katsuki stuck around and did it for him, even after Hitoshi had left. And by the looks of it, he even stuck around to add some notes and comments to Hitoshi’s most recent paragraphs. He chuckles at some of the comments, but a few others have him writing down ideas to change it for the better, and fuck, if he hasn’t been writing more since finding someone to bounce off ideas with. He never imagined getting a second pair of eyes would help him – truthfully, he’d thought it’d cripple him completely, having to live up to anyone else’s ideas and expectations. But it hasn’t been like that with Katsuki. He doesn’t have to be anyone else around him. He doesn’t have to adapt. 

It feels really fucking good. 

When Hitoshi stumbles to the darkness of his bedroom, throwing off his socks and pants and letting himself fall onto the mattress, he’s as good as dead to the world. That is, until the mattress moves beside him, the duvet shimmying down to reveal a darkened shape in the bed beside him. An arm reaches out to envelop Hitoshi in a tired hug, a foot slides up and down his shin slowly, and Katsuki’s tired voice whispers, “Welcome home.” 

Katsuki never left. Katsuki cleaned up, read his draft, and went to bed in Hitoshi’s bed, waiting for him to return. 

Something about the revelation makes Hitoshi’s heart clench in his chest. His stomach bubbles, his fingers itch, and Hitoshi rolls over until he’s on top of Katsuki, straddling him while putting as little pressure on him as possible. “You stayed,” he breathes into Katsuki’s face, so close that their noses touch. 

Katsuki groans tiredly, but wraps his arms around Hitoshi’s neck lightly. “Yeah,” is all he says. 

And they’re kissing. Maybe Hitoshi leaned down, maybe Katsuki pulled him, he isn’t sure, and he doesn’t care, because whoever started it, Hitoshi can’t stop. He can’t stop running his hands through Katsuki’s hair, letting his tongue run over his lips and tongue, can’t stop breathing him in like he needs it to survive. 

And if Katsuki starts off slow and languid because he’s tired, he definitely wakes up quickly; he grabs a handful of Hitoshi’s hair at the back of his head, pushes him impossibly closer, and – Hitoshi startles, then moans – presses his crotch up against Hitoshi's.

Hitoshi doesn’t need to be asked twice. He sits up, slowly grinding down against Katsuki, and is about to tear off his shirt when Katsuki rises to meet him. He places his hands over Hitoshi’s where he’s clutching the hem of his shirt, and holds him there while he kisses him, slow and deep and so fucking good Hitoshi nearly loses it right then and there. 

Only when Hitoshi is a second away from whining does Katsuki begin to move again. He pushes Hitoshi’s hands away, grabs the shirt and starts lifting it, painfully slow, fingers grazing along the skin of Hitoshi’s back. The touch burns in the best way possible, and Hitoshi wants more. He wants Katsuki to burn him all over, to mark him up, to make him his. 

They pull away from their kiss so Katsuki can lift the shirt over Hitoshi’s head. And then they’re just panting, trying to catch each other’s eyes through the darkness. Fuck, Hitoshi wishes it wasn’t so dark – he wants to see every part of Katsuki. But he won’t ruin it, ruin this, by moving away and breaking whatever spell they’re under right now. 

Hitoshi places a hand on Katsuki’s chest, pushing him back down onto the mattress. He pushes up his shirt, leans down over him, and kisses the skin he can barely see. He can only imagine what it’d look like, and the thought has him salivating. He lets his tongue run over one nipple, and Katsuki shudders underneath him. So he does it again. And again, until Katsuki is whining and wriggling between Hitoshi’s legs. 

Katsuki sounds like he can’t take much more, and to be completely honest, Hitoshi doesn’t think he can, either. But he wants. Oh, he so wants. So he lets one hand venture down Katsuki’s torso, his stomach, his hips to finally press against his crotch. Katsuki moans and does a little thrust into his palm, but then lies still, waiting for Hitoshi to do something, to do more. 

Hitoshi does. He scoots back, grabs Katsuki’s underwear and shimmies them down his legs, and then tosses them on the floor. He rolls over to the other side of the bed, his usual side, where he kicks off his own pair of underwear, grabs a bottle of lube and a condom from the bedside drawer, and then returns to Katsuki. He places both the bottle and the condom-packet on Katsuki’s chest, and he recoils a bit from the cold of them, but slowly lowers a hand to feel them. 

When Katsuki doesn’t say anything, Hitoshi asks, “This okay?” 

Through the darkness, Hitoshi can hear Katsuki swallowing heavily. His hand finds Hitoshi’s cheeks, and a thumb runs over his lips. “Yeah.” 

Hitoshi presses a kiss against the pad of the thumb, and then gets to work. His heart is drumming manically, his movements are sloppy and hurried, and Hitoshi realises that he hasn’t been this eager for anything since he was a teenager. He’s not new to sex, not in any sense of the word, and still the prospect of sex with Katsuki has him buzzing with excitement and a little bit of fear. 

He ignores that last part, overwhelmed with want and need and Katsuki’s soft whines. He lathers up his fingers with lube, warming it up as much as he’s able before he inserts a finger into Katsuki’s heat. Katsuki moans, like he’s been waiting for this for years, and Hitoshi leans over him to swallow up the sound. Katsuki feeds more sounds straight into him, as if he knows Hitoshi is starving for it. 

Hitoshi rubs their cocks together while he inserts a second finger. Katsuki is so pliant beneath him, as eager as Hitoshi himself, if not more so, and he wraps one leg over Hitoshi’s shoulder for better access. “I’m ready,” he gasps, and once more, Hitoshi wishes that the room was bright, that he could see Katsuki like this. He needs to see him. 

“Lights,” he manages to say, but he’s barely removed his fingers from Katsuki’s ass before Katsuki grabs him and pulls him close. 

“Do you wanna see me, or do you wanna fuck me?” Katsuki asks with a slight growl to his voice. Impatient. Needy. 

Hitoshi groans – Katsuki is pushing him closer with his legs, grabbing Hitoshi by his cock and has him lined up against him in just a few seconds. Hitoshi feels light-headed. “Both,” he tries, but he knows that race is run even before he says it. He knows there’s no way he’s moving away from the heat pressing against the head of his cock. 

“You only get one,” Katsuki whispers, right into his ear, and Hitoshi knows he’s lost. 

He presses inside slowly, all the way to the base, until they’re fully connected, and they both exhale together, breathing heavily into each other’s necks. And then he waits. He waits for Katsuki to relax, for him to unclench around him, and it’s worse than torture. It feels like an eternity until Katsuki motions for him to move. But then he does. 

And Hitoshi sees stars. Katsuki wraps both legs around Hitoshi’s waist, pressing his feet against his ass to have him push deeper, harder, faster. One of his hands is in Hitoshi’s hair, but the other is fisted into the sheets beside his own head, tearing holes in the fabric, Hitoshi is sure. 

It’s not much of a surprise, but still it is wonderful to hear how loud Katsuki is. He moans and he groans and he whines, even offers up short, high pitched pleas for more, and Hitoshi is all too willing to give. 

“Dee–Deeper,” Katsuki begs, and Hitoshi will do anything to fulfil his wishes. He grabs one of Katsuki’s ankles, raises it over his head, and plows into Katsuki harder than before, deeper than he was able to reach from the previous position, and he revels in the way Katsuki screams with pleasure. “Yes! Fu–fuck! Yes! Hito–shi!” 

Hitoshi can’t fucking take it. He’s on fire, his whole body burning up deliciously, and Katsuki’s screams are just gas being thrown onto him, spreading his heat. Hitoshi falls onto Katsuki as he comes, colours bursting behind his eyelids, stars colliding and reforming and colliding again, over and over as he fills up the condom.

Zoning back in – because he must have zoned out at some point, blissfully unaware that Katsuki is wriggling and moaning underneath him – Hitoshi pulls out and scoots down the bed, until his head is in between Katsuki’s legs. He takes him into his mouth in one go, bopping his head hurriedly, swirling his tongue deliciously, and Katsuki screams as he fills up Hitoshi’s mouth with his release in no time. 

Hitoshi pets him through it, caresses his thighs, lets a finger play with the rim of his ass as Katsuki empties himself and goes limp. The little twitches from oversensitivity are almost too good for him to stop, but coming down from his own high, Hitoshi realises he might be too tired for a second round, and probably shouldn’t be initiating one if he can’t follow through. He spits his mouthful out over the side of the bed and then pulls off of Katsuki, crawling up to lie down beside him. 

“Holy shit,” Katsuki whispers, breathing heavily and seeming blissed out of his mind as he seems to stare up at the ceiling through the darkness. “Not the last time we do that. ” 

Hitoshi chuckles. He couldn’t agree more. 

Now down from the high, void of any adrenaline, Hitoshi yawns. His limbs feel heavy all of a sudden, and he uses the rest of his energy to reach out to Katsuki, pulling him against his chest, before falling asleep. 

Katsuki is gone when he wakes. Hitoshi knew he would be; Katsuki had work early that morning, and Hitoshi sleeps all the way until noon. The bed is cold beside him, but even that can’t chase away the warmth that’s spreading through his veins at the memory of last night. Sure, they’ve fooled around before, sucked each other off and whatnot, but sex with Katsuki has been long awaited. And it did not disappoint. Best of all though was probably Katsuki's statement that they’d be doing it again. 

Hitoshi doesn’t know what they are at this point. He doesn’t actually care that much. All he cares about is that he’s having fun, he’s feeling good, and Katsuki seems to be doing the same. 

He could really use a smoke, though. He’d fallen asleep last night without having one, and he feels a bit empty now without his lungs full. 

Hitoshi reaches over to his bedside table, where he always keeps a pack of smokes and a lighter. For the next few minutes, he just lies in bed, limbs sprawled over the messy sheets as he fills the room with smoke. 

Once he’s reached the butt of the cigarette, he hauls himself reluctantly out of bed, drags himself out onto the balcony and snuffs out the sparks on the metal railing before he throws the butt down onto the street below. A passerby on the sidewalk notices and looks up at him with a disgusted glare, but Hitoshi could care less. He stretches his arms above his head with a yawn and walks back into his apartment.

The place looks better than it has in months. Not just the kitchen, but all of it, now that he really takes his time to look around. He’s unsure if Katsuki has taken to cleaning up around the place, or if Hitoshi has just gotten better on his own accord, not wanting to have the place look like a complete mess whenever Katsuki decides to drop by. Either way, he finds that he actually likes the order. He never thought he cared much, before. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and Hitoshi checks it to find an incoming call from Denki (no heart. He’d removed the heart Denki had written in after his name long ago. It felt out of place). 

“Hi, Denki,” Hitoshi greets, vaguely focused on fixing himself a cup of tea and finding today’s newspaper – it’s usually left outside his apartment door, but when the spot is empty, he looks around the living room, where he finds it opened up to an article about some police-rescue on the middle of the coffee table. Katsuki must have grabbed it. The thought makes Hitoshi smile. 

“Heya, Toshi!” Denki replies joyfully. Hitoshi can hear wind whooshing in the speakers, a dog barking distantly, and a few muffled voices rising and falling in volume in the background as someone presumably walks by. Denki doesn’t call him often, but when he does, there’s sure to be noise. No matter what he does, Denki seems unable to do it quietly. “You live somewhere around Green, right?”

Hitoshi hums, flipping the pages to the front to read from the beginning. “I do.” 

“Oh, cool! Thought maybe we could hang out!” Denki says, straight to the point. “I went on a walk, and then I seemed to have gone a little too far, and then I thought ‘well, Toshi must live around here’, so what d'ya say?”  

Hitoshi blinks, letting the thin pages slip from his fingers. Denki wants… to hang out with him? Just the two of them? At Hitoshi’s apartment? That’s… unexpected, to say the least. Hitoshi had sort of gotten the impression that Denki didn’t really care to get to know him, at least not in a sober condition. Granted, Hitoshi himself hadn’t really ended up giving their reconnection much of a chance before he jumped straight onto Katsuki, but still. 

And then he shakes his head to clear himself of the thoughts. Denki wanting to meet up doesn’t have to mean that he wants something more . Denki is a social person, and Hitoshi doesn’t actually doubt that he’d be the kind of guy to just drop by somewhere just because he was in the neighbourhood. 

“Oh, uh, sure,” he ends up saying, lamely, dumbly. 

“Nice! Text me your address and I’ll be right there!”  

Hitoshi doesn’t get to reply before Denki disconnects the call. He moves slowly to send the address to Denki’s number. He’s not exactly sure what to do with himself. Should he make some tea? Or would Denki rather want a beer? And what are they even supposed to do ? What do people do together if they’re not having sex? Fuck, Hitoshi needs to fucking relax. 

He ends up just reading the newspaper and drinking his tea. He’s barely finished with the mug before his doorbell rings. 

“Hey,” Denki greets casually as Hitoshi lets him into his apartment, like this is something that they do all the time. “Neat place you’ve got here. Can I borrow the restroom?” 

Hitoshi leads the way, then goes back to his spot on the couch as he waits for Denki to emerge again. He feels out of place in his own apartment all of a sudden, like he has to have something important to share, like he has to entertain, and he is, quite honestly, drawing a blank. 

He doesn’t like it one bit. 

When Denki comes back out, he heads straight for the couch to sit beside Hitoshi. “So, what were you up to when I called?” 

Hitoshi puts down the newspaper to turn to Denki. “I’d just woken up, actually. Was at work until early this morning.” 

Denki hums and nods. He reaches over and picks up the newspaper, skimming it over, turning the pages quickly, but clearly doesn’t find anything interesting. 

“And what about you?” Hitoshi asks, because he doesn’t like the silence. It feels wrong, somehow. There’s always noise wherever Denki goes, he always creates a party just by being in the room, at least from how Hitoshi remembers him from school. And from what he’s seen since they sort of reconnected, that hasn’t changed much. “Why are you walking all the way here?” 

Denki shrugs. “Dunno. Just felt like a walk. My neighbours were being a bit loud, but it’s not so fun to ask an arguing couple to keep it down, now is it? Easier to just make myself scarce. So! What d’you wanna do?” 

Hitoshi doesn’t really know how to answer that, so he just says, “Well, I was thinking breakfast.” 

Denki laughs. “It’s closer to dinnertime, but I never turn down food. What d’you have?” 

Hitoshi… doesn’t know. He rarely had anything before, but now, Katsuki will sometimes leave boxes of meals in his fridge – he claims that Hitoshi can’t possibly mess up microwaving a few meals. 

When he checks the fridge, sure enough, there are two boxes of food neatly stacked on one of the shelves of the otherwise fairly empty fridge. He pulls out the top container and opens it to peer inside. 

“Is that butter chicken?” Denki asks, looking over his shoulder. “Score!” 

It’s a big portion. It’s probably meat to last him two meals, Hitoshi guesses. Oh well. He heats up the food, divides them into two different bowls, then hands one to Denki as they sit down by the kitchen counter. 

“Oh, this is delicious!” Denki exclaims happily, kicking his feet under the counter. 

It really is. It’s almost good enough for him to regret sharing any. He’ll have to ask Katsuki to make this again. And maybe one more time after that, just for good measure. 

One good thing that comes out of sharing his food with Denki is that the other finally starts to talk. He talks in between bites, he talks with his mouth full, and he talks enough that Hitoshi barely has to worry about what to say. He talks while Hitoshi finishes eating, and while he cleans up after them, and he talks after they’ve retreated back to the couch. 

Hitoshi finds it amazing, actually. It’s incredible that one individual has so much to say. Hitoshi doesn’t feel like he has anything to say, most days. But Denki doesn’t hesitate, he just… shares what he thinks is interesting. 

It’s a bit endearing, if he’s being completely honest. 

Eventually, Denki stands and announces that he should get going before it gets dark. When Hitoshi looks out the window, he realises that the sun is lowering over the city. How much time had passed? Is Katsuki thinking about coming over tonight? Hitoshi panics slightly at the thought – if he comes over while Denki is here, well… Hitoshi isn’t sure how he’d explain that to Denki. 

Thankfully, Denki is out the door as quickly as he came in, with a joyful wave and a promise that they’ll do this again sometime. Hitoshi jogs to the balcony and watches him leave the building, thankfully without running into Katsuki. It’s only when he’s rounding the corner around another building far down the street that Hitoshi manages to exhale and relax. 

Fuck, that could’ve gotten close. 

When he walks back into the living room, his phone is blinking with a notification. He wonders if Denki forgot something – but then again, he didn’t bring anything to forget. 

But the message is from Katsuki. Too tired. See you later. Night  

Simple, to the point. A stab of disappointment hits Hitoshi’s chest, but he gets it. He smiles, despite it all. 

I’ll look forward to it. Sleep well, Katsuki , he texts back. 

Well. He should probably work on his novel with this free time he’s been forced into.

Chapter Text

Hitoshi is doing his laundry in the living room, glancing over at Katsuki ever so often. Katsuki is quiet; he usually is when he reads Hitoshi’s story. And Hitoshi has a bad habit of trying to discern his reactions, but if only in this one aspect of his life, Katsuki is hard to read. 

He figures he might as well forget about it and wait for Katsuki to comment in his own time. 

Eventually, Katsuki lets out a quiet “Huh.” 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Hitoshi asks, anxious about the new ideas, and the direction the story is heading in. He doesn't know how he feels about it, exactly, but it's bold, and a bit different, and he trusts Katsuki to give him his honest opinion. 

“Means I just realised something about you,” Katsuki answers breezily, and turns the page to continue reading. 

Hitoshi isn't having it. Katsuki can’t just ‘ huh’ him and then continue on like he said nothing. “What?” 

Katsuki seems to consider his options. In the end, he puts down the draft and turns to Hitoshi. “Apparently you can learn a lot about a person from their writing.” 

“Learn what ?” Hitoshi presses, putting down the laundry and joining Katsuki on the couch. 

Katsuki gives him an obnoxious smirk, like Hitoshi is playing right into his hands. “You're a romantic.”

Hitoshi lets the sentence register. It doesn't seem to fit very well. He picks up the draft, tries to skim over his own writing to find what Katsuki could possibly be talking about. “What do you mean? Where?” 

Katsuki laughs beside him, and Hitoshi gives up his search (for now). 

“What I mean is, you might have been screwing around before, but I think you were just looking for something real.” He looks really damn proud of himself when he straightens his back, raises one single eyebrow at Hitoshi, and says, “Case in point: you want to take me on a date.” 

Hitoshis eyes widen in surprise, and he's about to object when he realises that… yeah. Yeah he does. “How'd you know?” 

Katsuki shrugs casually. “Like a true romantic.” Upon seeing Hitoshi's dumbstruck face, Katsuki sniggers and leans his shoulder against Hitoshi’s. “That, or you're just very obvious.” 

Hitoshi rolls his eyes, but let's his arm wrap around Katsuki’s shoulders. “Where do you wanna go on this date then?” 

“Hell if I know, you're the one taking me out,” Katsuki replies unhelpfully. 

Hitoshi can't help but feel a little giddy. He's not sure how, but somehow he's scored a date with Katsuki. An actual date, where they aren't cooped up in Hitoshi’s apartment. 

Sure, they'd gone to lunch that one time, and it had been really nice, but Katsuki had left straight after for an appointment. Hitoshi has a feeling this will be different. That it will be more. Mean more. 

He's already looking forward to it. 

Hitoshi nearly chokes on his own spit when Katsuki walks out of the door of the small house in the other end of the city. He turns, catches Hitoshi's eyes through the car’s window, and sends him a boyish smile that makes Hitoshi want to run out of the car and drag them both straight back into that house. 

When Katsuki dresses up, he dresses up . He's in all black; skinny black pants, a shiny black button-up with embroidered patterns running up and down the sides of his chest. His hair seems to be styled more on purpose than usual, though still pointy and light and soft. He's wearing a silver bracelet, one earring, and Hitoshi thinks it's the hottest thing he's ever seen. 

Katsuki reaches the car just as Hitoshi steps out to meet him, and he leans over and presses his lips softly onto Hitoshi’s cheek. When he pulls back, he’s smiling playfully, like it’s some sort of inside joke that Hitoshi just doesn’t understand. “Like what you see?” Katsuki asks, biting his lower lip in a way that’s just downright sinful. 

“Very,” Hitoshi breathes, and he reaches out to pull Katsuki back in – 

– but Katsuki slaps his hand away and snorts. “First date rules. Behave yourself,” he chastises and walks to the other side of the car. Hitoshi belatedly gets in as well. 

They’ve barely gotten out of the driveway before Katsuki asks, “So, where are we going?” 

Hitoshi had asked himself that question over and over during the last week. He’s never actually been on a date before. He supposes Katsuki has, having had at the very least one boyfriend in the past, and talking about ‘first date rules’ like Hitoshi is just supposed to know what they are. He’d looked up a lot online, and he’s got a lot of doubts. Take dinner and a movie, for example; is it a bad choice because it’s cliché, or is it cliché because it’s a good choice? He just doesn’t know. But when he thought about it, all he could hear in his head was Katsuki’s voice judging him for picking ‘Dinner and a movie? Really?’ so he’d chosen to skip the movie, at least. 

“Hope you’re hungry,” is all Hitoshi replies, and Katsuki simply nods beside him. 

He drives them to a restaurant he’s heard only good things about, and has been wanting to try out, but it’s too pricey for just a regular Wednesday night, and he’d feel out of place dining at a place like this by himself. He’d thought Katsuki would appreciate it too, but instead, when Hitoshi turns into the driveway, Katsuki lets out a surprised laugh. 

“What?” Hitoshi asks, self-consciousness creeping over him in record time. Fuck, being on a date is so much pressure. He really didn’t think it would be, not with Katsuki, but here he is, reacting off of every single tick and breath coming from his date. 

“Even on my days off I feel like this place haunts me,” Katsuki replies and undoes his belt. 

Hitoshi slams his forehead into the steering wheel, which only has Katsuki laughing again. “You work here ?” he asks, getting somewhere close to mortified. It’d been a hell to get a reservation on such short notice, and now– Well, fuck. He sits back up straight and turns to Katsuki. “I’m so sorry, I should have thought of that. Fuck, do you–? We can go somewhere else. Yeah, let’s just go.” 

“Hey,” Katsuki says, placing a hand over Hitoshi’s. At first, Hitoshi thinks it’s really nice, but then Katsuki wrestles his hand away to grab the keys from him before he can start the car back up. “We’re going in. If you cancel the reservation this late, they’ll give you one hell of a fine.” 

Hitoshi sighs. “I don’t care. Look, if you’re not comfortable with it, we don’t have to–” 

“Who said I wasn’t comfortable?” Katsuki cuts him off with a scoff. “I expect only the best when I’m taken on a date, and aside from the fact that their best chef is off the clock right now, this place is the best. So come on, get your ass out of the car.” 

Hitoshi doesn’t know if he should listen. He should have thought of this – of Katsuki being a chef, and therefore maybe going to a restaurant for a date probably wouldn’t be a very interesting idea, be it his own workplace or not. But Katsuki is looking at him like he’s being dumb, and Hitoshi relents, because he really doesn’t know what else to do on such short notice. He wants Katsuki to have a great date – he’s not so delusional that he thinks he’ll be able to give him the best date, but he wants him to have fun, and for everything to be taken care of. 

“Is Denki working right now?” Hitoshi asks, remembering that they work together, and that could potentially become a problem. 

Katsuki looks annoyed at the question for just a second, but then he shrugs it off. “Nah. I think he’s struck a deal with the boss to match our hours, actually. He won’t admit to it, though.” He steps out of the car and leans down to shoot Hitoshi an expectant look. “You coming?” 

The place is nice, the food is phenomenal, and Hitoshi has a great time watching the staff react to seeing Katsuki there as a guest. Most seem to do a double-take when they see him, wanting to make sure they’re not mistaken, and when they realise they aren’t, they try their best to act like they’re not very clearly checking out who his date is. 

Hitoshi has a great time, even with the shock of the total price in the end. He’s just about to put down his card when Katsuki swipes up the check from their server and hands over his own. Katsuki leaves no room for arguments as he gets up and motions for Hitoshi to follow him. 

“That place is too expensive,” Katsuki says once they’re out of the restaurant, heading down a well-lit sidewalk. It’s already gotten pretty dark, and bugs are flickering about the streetlights frantically above them. 

“You work there,” Hitoshi says flatly, tilting his head to send Katsuki a look. 

Katsuki scoffs. “Exactly.” He begins to turn down a smaller path to the right, glancing back after a few steps. “Come on, I wanna show you something.” 

He follows Katsuki to a cute little park that seems somewhat well hidden – it’d probably be more obvious during daylight, but for now, with only a half-moon and the occasional streetlight illuminating their path, it feels like their own little sanctuary. 

They walk – they walk along a path of loose rocks, and over a small wooden bridge with water running underneath, and they walk on paths made of trampled down grass. Hitoshi wants so badly to be closer to Katsuki, to convince himself that they’re really there together , and not just walking in parallel until the path splits in two. So he reaches out, brushes his fingers against Katsuki’s, and to his relief, Katsuki’s hand turns and lets Hitoshi’s hand slip in to hold him. 

And they talk. Hitoshi learns that Katsuki is an only child, and that, despite his colourful description of his parents, he appears to like them well enough. In turn, Hitoshi tells Katsuki about his childhood in the system; about jumping between foster care families for years until he finally ended up with people who’d wanted to keep him around at the time he’d turned eight. About how he’s had multiple brothers and sisters, but none of them ever lasted very long. 

Katsuki talks about his friends. He seems almost reluctant to, even though he’s the one who brings them up, and he swears that he hates every single one of them. His voice is full of enough fondness, however, that Hitoshi suspects he cares for them dearly. 

Hitoshi has nothing to follow this up with, so he keeps quiet. Truth be told, he hasn’t put too much work into making friends. From a young age, he’d gotten used to people coming into his life only to leave eventually, more often sooner than later. He can’t seem to hold onto anything for very long, like his hands are numb from all the pulling and grabbing he did when he was little. He suspects it’s why he let Denki go so easily. He suspects it’s why he passes everyone he meets in life like he’s seeing them through a glass wall. He wonders how long Katsuki will stick around before he too passes on. Hitoshi will make sure to enjoy himself to the fullest until he does. 

Katsuki squeezes his hand, and when Hitoshi snaps out of his thoughts to look at him, Katsuki’s eyes are filled with worry and care. He doesn’t push Hitoshi to talk, but Hitoshi won’t fool himself into thinking Katsuki is unaware of his silence and the change in mood. 

“This is actually a shortcut to my house,” Katsuki says, voice light and airy. He’s clutching onto Hitoshi’s hand like Hitoshi will slip away from him if he lets go. “I go this route every day after work. It’s always quiet at night.” 

Hitoshi wonders if that means he fucked up the date. If Katsuki is going home, does that mean it’s over? Can Hitoshi really fuck up that bad over just one dinner? Is their time already up? 

Sure enough, they make it out of the park, and emerge just a few houses away from Katsuki’s. Katsuki keeps holding him, leads him to the front steps and unlocks the door with his free hand. Then he turns back to Hitoshi and gives him a crooked smile. “Thank you for the date.” 

“I wanted to do more,” Hitoshi tells him, feeling like he has to explain himself. 

“Yeah, well, you can show me next time,” Katsuki says, and a shock of hope runs through Hitoshi’s veins. “I had some plans in mind as well.” 

Hitoshi tilts his head, suspicious. “Oh yeah? Like what?” 

Katsuki leans closer, smile all teeth and wicked intentions. “Well, I don’t usually fuck on the first date, but I think for you I’ll make an exception.”

Hitoshi laughs and is just about to reply with a sarcastic ‘How very generous of you,’ but before he can get another sound out, Katsuki’s hands are in Hitoshi’s hair, his lips pressed to his mouth as he pushes them both inside the house. 

Hitoshi barely manages to take in his surroundings as Katsuki wraps himself around him and pushes them along. He catches a glimpse of a giant TV facing a couch that easily seats eight as Katsuki’s fingers impatiently work to unbutton Hitoshi’s collar. He notices a sleek kitchen styled with dark wood and forest green, along with a hint of gold, as Katsuki throws off his own shirt and orders Hitoshi to do the same. 

He notices how soft Katsuki’s bed is when he's pushed down on it, and how wide when Katsuki climbs over him to fish out a bottle of lube from somewhere. And then it's game over, because Katsuki peels off both their pants with practised ease and is back to straddling Hitoshi, prepares himself hurriedly like it's an annoying chore, and then sinks down on Hitoshi's waiting cock with a long drawn sigh. 

All of Hitoshi’s worries melt away with the heat of Katsuki’s body pressed against his own. “Fuck,” he manages to breathe out, before Katsuki leans down and captures the remnants of the word from his tongue. He bounces unhurriedly on top of Hitoshi, and Hitoshi thrusts up to meet him, and Katsuki feeds his moans straight into Hitoshi’s awaiting mouth. 

Hitoshi moves his hands down Katsuki’s body, until he can fully spread his hands out over his hips. He grabs on, secures a rhythm, and then slowly quickens the pace. 

Katsuki’s head falls beside Hitoshi’s, moans getting etched into the sheets as he fists Hitoshi’s hair with demands of ‘more!’ and ‘fuck yeah, faster!’  

Hitoshi turns his head, his nose nuzzling into soft, sweaty hair, and whispers, “You’re so good to me, baby. Feel so fucking good.” He means it in so many ways – right now, here, with his body keeping him warm and his ass clenching around his cock – in Hitoshi’s apartment, when they’re talking about his drafts, or either of their work, or just about nothing in particular – in Hitoshi’s bed, the few times they’ve went to sleep next to each other. Hitoshi can’t get enough of Katsuki. 

Katsuki whimpers at the words, turns his head and bites into Hitoshi’s shoulder. Hitoshi grunts and works his hips harder at the feeling. 

“Get up there and bounce on my cock while you have the chance,” Hitoshi rasps, because he doesn’t think he’s going to last much longer, and he wants to see Katsuki, his face, his body, all of him. 

Katsuki doesn’t hesitate. He rips his teeth off of Hitoshi’s shoulder and pushes himself up straight. His face is pinched up in pleasure, mouth agape with drool running down his chin as he moans at every thrust, and when Hitoshi slows down his own movement, Katsuki starts bouncing on top of him in earnest. He places one hand on Hitoshi’s chest for stability, one behind him on Hitoshi’s knee, and he lets Hitoshi’s name fill the room. 

Katsuki’s shirt is in the way. Unbuttoning it is out of Hitoshi’s abilities right now. He’d rip it off by the buttons if it didn’t look so goddamn expensive . Curse Katsuki and his sexy fucking outfit. 

Next time , Hitoshi thinks. It’s what Katsuki keeps saying, so he’ll allow himself to think it. Next time . 

Katsuki’s moans become a series of curses on top of Hitoshi, his rhythm erratic and wild, and Hitoshi watches in amazement as Katsuki comes, splattering all over Hitoshi’s shirt, and even a little bit on Katsuki’s own. Katsuki keeps moving sluggishly through his orgasm, and the way he slumps down against Hitoshi, working through the whimpers and moans and delivering them to Hitoshi directly, he can’t help but come as well. He wraps his arms around Katsuki’s shoulders, angles his head around to capture his lips into a kiss, and lets go. Katsuki lets out a sigh of shock, then relief, and licks into Hitoshi’s mouth sloppily. 

It isn’t until he’s down from the high that Hitoshi realises he hadn’t come into a condom. No wonder it had felt so fucking good. He moves his head out of the way, just enough for Katsuki to get the hint and stop kissing him. “No condom,” he breathes, because it’s all he can manage right now. 

Katsuki pulls off softly and looks down between them. Hitoshi follows his gaze and watches as cum drips out of him. “Shit, my bad,” Katsuki rasps, throwing himself down beside Hitoshi. “I forgot, I–...” He leans up on one arm, glancing down at Hitoshi. “I mean, I’m clean, but I don’t know if–” 

“Yeah,” Hitoshi interrupts him, because he is, and because talking about it is really not what he wants to be doing right now. 

Katsuki’s sigh betrays his relief. “So, would it be cool if we did that again sometime?” 

Hitoshi watches him, tries to figure him out. Katsuki is pretty honest with himself, keeps his thoughts and feelings on his sleeves as far as Hitoshi can tell. But to Hitoshi, this feels a bit like commitment. And he can’t tell if Katsuki thinks of it the same. 

Either way, Hitoshi’s answer isn’t negotiable. “It is. So cool.” 

Katsuki snorts and snuggles up beside him, dirtied shirts and all. 

Hitoshi falls asleep like that, with Katsuki’s head on his shoulder, pressing tiny kisses into his skin, fingers playing with his hair. Like every other time he’s fallen asleep beside Katsuki, it’s quick and effortless, and comfortable enough to make him doubt that this is all meant for him.

Chapter Text

It’s a nice smell to wake up to; the recently washed bedding under him, Katsuki’s shampoo on the blonde hairs tickling Hitoshi’s nose. Hitoshi smiles even before he opens his eyes. He’s got Katsuki in his arms, a first upon waking up, and he thanks the heavens for shared days off. 

He might’ve gone back to sleep like that, if not for Katsuki turning in his arms, pressing closer against him, planting a soft kiss on Hitoshi’s lips. 

Mornings with Katsuki should be a right, not a luxury. 

Hitoshi kisses him back, slowly, taking his time to just feel Katsuki against him. He rolls them over to hover on top of him, pressing a final kiss against him before he scoots down Katsuki’s body. 

Katsuki must’ve changed into another shirt after Hitoshi fell asleep yesterday, because this one is loose and buttonless, and much more easy to manipulate. Hitoshi lets his fingers dance along the hem, slowly pushing the clothing up as he reveals soft, light skin beneath him. He lets his lips run free, slowly mapping out the dips and curves of Katsuki’s stomach, taking his time, because lord knows they have a lot right now – but not enough. Never enough. 

He’s kissing along Katsuki’s chest when his lips run over something that feels off – skin that should be smooth and soft is rough and hardened. Just a small spot, but undeniable. Hitoshi lifts himself and glances across Katsuki’s chest. Sure enough, right below his left pec is a round abnormality, smaller than a dime. Confused and curious, he lets his thumb run over it lightly a few times, trying to figure it out. It looks like… some sort of scar?

His hand gets swatted away. Hitoshi glances up, but Katsuki is already moving underneath him, throwing Hitoshi off and sitting up in the bed with an annoyed expression. “Stop fucking staring,” he grumbles, and Hitoshi tries to figure out if he’s annoyed at the interruption, or if he’s self-concious about it. Probably the latter. 

“It’s a scar, isn’t it?” Hitoshi asks, getting up as well to sit opposite Katsuki. He doesn’t push too close. Katsuki already looks like he’s being backed up against a corner. “How’d you get it?” 

Katsuki scoffs, like that’s the stupidest question in the world. “None of your damn business.” 

“Okay.” 

Katsuki looks surprised at that answer. Like he’d expected Hitoshi to push him. Like he’d expected him not to respect his boundaries. It hurts a bit, he’ll be honest, but Hitoshi tells himself that Katsuki is too uncomfortable with the subject to think clearly about who he’s talking to. At least, Hitoshi hopes that’s it. 

“‘Okay’?” Katsuki asks, as if he doesn’t understand the word. 

Hitoshi nods. “Yeah. Okay. You don’t have to talk about it.” He crawls up to sit beside Katsuki, back against the headboard, making sure they don’t touch anywhere. He stares out at the opposite wall, at the painting hanging there of a river filled with autumn leaves. “But if you ever do want to talk about it. I’m here.” 

It’s not a big scar. It doesn’t look very deep. Hitoshi guesses that Katsuki’s hesitation to talk about it isn’t because of any sort of physical pain that’s accompanied it, but more the story behind it being there in the first place. 

Katsuki doesn’t say anything. Hitoshi doesn’t need him to. 

Obviously, the mood is very much ruined. Hitoshi hates that their amazing morning together ended so soon, so abruptly, and he doesn’t know what to do now, with Katsuki silent and mad, and Hitoshi naked after peeling off his own dirtied shirt before going to sleep the night before. It’s not awkward, per se, but it’s definitely not the right attire – or lack of – for the sudden shift in atmosphere. 

Katsuki as good as throws himself out of the bed to get dressed, pointedly ignoring the bulge in his pants. He throws a clean pair of underwear and a black shirt Hitoshi’s way without sparing him a glance. “Come on,” he says, already halfway out the door. “I’m making us breakfast.” 

Hitoshi pulls on the clothes and follows him out. The place is small, but looks very nice and clean. There’s a half-island with dark green high chairs in the open kitchen, and Hitoshi sits down upon Katsuki’s instructions. The tenseness slowly leaves the atmosphere as Katsuki cooks – it’s like the act of it is gradually bringing him back to himself, forgetting and moving on from the earlier discomfort. 

Half an hour of cooking and soft spoken words later, Katsuki presents him with a plate of pancakes and a hesitant smile that makes Hitoshi think it might be a way of a silent apology – an apology that Hitoshi definitely does not need from Katsuki. But he takes the plate with a smile, hopefully getting across that there are no bad feelings between them. 

They sit side by side, eating and talking and occasionally laughing – and in Katsuki’s case snorting as he tries to keep his amusement in – and Hitoshi thinks today is going to be a pretty good day after all. 

But just as they’re halfway through their breakfast, the lock turns in the front door, Katsuki’s voice falters mid-sentence and Hitoshi’s heart starts hammering because, damn, he’s still not wearing any pants, fuck. 

“Hey bro, did you wanna–” The voice stops abruptly upon turning the corner from the entrance, and Hitoshi turns slowly to look at the newcomer over his shoulder, while Katsuki swivels his chair completely around to face him. Eijirou’s mouth is open, and Hitoshi is unsure if it’s from the words that had been forming before, or if it’s simply from surprise. Eijirou’s eyes jump between them, taking in the scene, trying to process what he’s seeing. He turns, looks back at the door, as if contemplating an escape, and then back at Katsuki, Hitoshi, Katsuki. “Oh,” is all he says in the end, staying in his spot across the room. 

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “‘Oh’,” he mocks and gets up to clean up after the mess of breakfast. Apparently he’s not in the mood to eat anymore, nor is he in the mood to offer Eijirou to join them. Should Hitoshi offer him a pancake? Would that be weird? Should he leave? He’d need to grab his clothes from the bedroom first, though. 

Eijirou blinks a few times, takes a few steps closer, hesitant, like maybe he’s not supposed to. “Dude. Dudes? I mean– What’s–?” 

Katsuki throws a bowl in the sink and looks over his shoulder at Hitoshi with an indignant look. “Eiji has a problem with me being gay. Don’t mind him.” 

“I don’t have a problem with you being gay!” Eijirou is quick to correct, and he moves a little faster across the room. “I just don’t know when it’s a friend thing or it’s a date thing!” He stops when he reaches the kitchen, grabbing a pancake off of Katsuki’s half-finished plate almost unconsciously. “So, I mean… What kind is this?” 

Katsuki doesn’t answer. Eijirou seems to be very patient, because he waits until the air is heavy with awkwardness. Hitoshi slides out of the chair with an uncomfortable laugh. “Uh, I’ll just go get dressed,” he says, and it might be the moment that Eijirou realises that he’s not wearing any pants, and the light that’s been flickering behind his eyes with questions turn on fully with understanding. Hitoshi doesn’t stick around to see what expression he’ll make next before he slinks off into the bedroom to pull on his pants and pack his dirty clothes into a tight bundle under his arm. 

When he reenters the kitchen, Katsuki is almost done with cleanup, while Eijirou has sat down on Katsuki’s previous spot and seems to be making a dent in the small tower of pancakes. “But are you sure he’s not–” Eijirou is saying with his mouth full, but Katsuki slaps a wet rag over his face to shut him up. 

“I’ll just go, I think?” Hitoshi hates that it sounds like a question, hates that he wants Katsuki to object. 

But then Katsuki does object, with a shake of the head and a thump aiming at Eijirou’s wet face. “This guy’s the one that should be leaving. He just came to steal my food anyway.” 

Eijirou chuckles, like he’s been caught in the act. “Fine, I’ll go. I don’t want to interrupt… whatever you’re doing here. Thanks for the pancakes!” He gets up to leave, but Hitoshi moves forward before thinking, placing his free hand on Eijirou’s shoulder, effectively making him pause in his tracks. 

“Could you…” Hitoshi starts, not sure how to say it so it doesn’t sound like what they’re doing is wrong. It’s not, he knows it’s not, it can’t be when it feels so right, but he needs to ask this of Eijirou. “Could you not tell Denki about this?” 

Eijirou’s eyes shrink under his sudden frown, mouth turning into a thin line as his eyes flick over to Katsuki and back. He’s quiet for too long. Hitoshi can hear the water running from the sink, but there’s no other sound to break the heavy silence. Then Eijirou swallows, his expression falling. “It’s not my place to say.” He turns, lets Hitoshi’s hand fall from his shoulder, and glances over at Katsuki. “But keeping it a secret is a bad idea. Someone’s bound to get hurt.” Without another word, he crosses the room, rounds the corner, and the door opens and shuts behind him. 

Hitoshi lets out a sigh and falls down into one of the high chairs. That’d been awkward. “He ate almost all of your pancakes, but you can have some of mine.” 

“What the fuck was that?” Katsuki asks from the other side of the counter, and when Hitoshi raises his head, he's surprised to be met with Katsuki's full blown anger; brows furrowed, eyes sharp and mouth stretching back in a growl. 

“What?” Hitoshi asks, confused at the sudden change. How much can one person's mood shift over the course of just an hour? 

“ ‘Don't tell Denki' ? What the fuck was that about?” Katsuki clarifies, yet it makes no sense in Hitoshi’s head. He thought they agreed on this, that they'd take their time before letting anyone know, before letting Denki know. They'd never really talked about it, but… 

Katsuki seems to only grow more angry at Hitoshi’s stunned silence. “What, think you've still got a shot with him?” 

Hitoshi gapes, mouth open around incoherent sputtering, because what the hell is Katsuki on about? Is that what he really thinks? “No!” he shouts, because he can't believe Katsuki would even ask, and the question itself hurts Hitoshi more than he's willing to let on. 

Katsuki scoffs and looks away, jaw clenched. “‘Course not. Why would you still be here if you did.” 

“Katsuki!” Hitoshi yells, screams, because Katsuki's anger is infectious, and it's slowly consuming Hitoshi the more he looks at Katsuki’s increasingly withdrawing figure. “I don't care if I have a shot with him. I don't want a shot with him! You know that, please tell me you know that.” 

Katsuki doesn't tell him. He doesn't even look his way. Hitoshi realises that he doesn't believe him, and it breaks his heart to see him so closed off all of a sudden. 

“Katsuki,” Hitoshi says, calmer this time, although it feels like he'll break apart when he gets up to stand beside Katsuki, only for him to pull away from him. “Katsuki, I don't want a shot with him. I had my shot, and it didn't work out. We didn't work out.” He wants to put a hand out, to reach for Katsuki in some way. But Katsuki is so on edge, he might snap at him if he tries. “He doesn't like me like that, and even if he did–”

“He’s into you,” Katsuki cuts him off harshly, jerking his head away, turning until his back is completely turned on Hitoshi. “It's so fucking obvious that he is.”

Hitoshi sighs. “Even if he is,” he continues softly, tiredly, “I don't like him like that.” 

He waits. He waits for Katsuki to register the words. He waits to give him a chance to understand them, to believe them. When Katsuki turns, when he scans Hitoshi's eyes for any kind of signs, all he finds is sincerity. The truth. 

“I'm not a liar,” Hitoshi reminds him. “I've never lied to you.” 

Katsuki doesn't turn back around. He keeps looking at Hitoshi, first at his eyes, but then his gaze falls to where Hitoshi is picking at the hem of his borrowed shirt, fingers nervously pulling at a loose string. 

It takes forever, but finally Katsuki asks, “Why are you so obsessed with keeping it a secret from him?” 

Hitoshi… doesn’t know. Not at first. It hasn't been something he's questioned before, it was just an undeniable rule. Something he didn't have to think about. But now that he does have to think about it… 

“I've never had any friends,” Hitoshi says, voice quiet and head hanging low. “Not any that lasted very long, anyway. Jumping from one foster care to the other meant moving around a lot. At some point, it got easier to just not get to know anyone, to not make those connections just to get them broken in the end.” 

Hitoshi doesn't look up, but he feels the bed shift beside him, feels a shoulder gently pressing against his own. 

“Denki and I weren't friends. But he was the closest I'd gotten in years. And I don't…” He takes a deep breath. Katsuki stays right there with him, patient, silent. “I don't want to give up on something that could be a friendship. I've walked away from… from so much already. And it's not just Denki. It's Eijirou, and Mina, and Tetsutetsu, all of them.” Hitoshi dares a glance up, catching Katsuki's gaze immediately – eyes softer, mouth a thin line rather than a snarl. “It's you. I don't want to lose you. I don't want to be sent away from you. And I don't want you to lose anyone, either. Because I care about you, Katsuki. I really, really care.” 

They're quiet for a while. Neither of them moves. They just look at each other. Katsuki is unreadable. Hitoshi doesn't like when he's unreadable. 

But then Katsuki’s hand moves to cover Hitoshi’s, entwining their fingers, palm warm and soapy against his skin. Hitoshi lets out a shaky breath with relief. 

“That's fucked up,” Katsuki says bluntly. 

Hitoshi lets out a surprised laugh. He supposes it is. 

Katsuki clenches his hand over Hitoshi’s, as if trying to regain his attention. “They want to be your friend, too. They all seem to think you're pretty cool. And… Denki won't throw either of us away. He cares too much.” He pauses. Sighs, then takes a breath. “And I wouldn't just leave you behind. Not for him, not for them.” 

Hitoshi’s eyes sting. He hates crying. He thought he'd run out of tears a long time ago. “Why?” 

Katsuki answers with a punch to Hitoshi’s shoulder with his free hand. But then he leans against him, resting his head on that same shoulder, and Hitoshi feels warmth spreads across his body from the contact. “Because I care, too. About you.” 

He’d known the tears were coming any time now, he just had no idea how heavily they would pour. He doesn’t want Katsuki to see, so he wraps his free arm around his shoulders and pulls him fully into a hug. There’s no way to mask the shudder of his breath, though, and he can’t fool himself into thinking Katsuki doesn’t know exactly how much his words mean to him. But Katsuki doesn’t say anything about it. He just wraps his arms around Hitoshi as well, holding him through it with a softness and care that Hitoshi never thought was supposed to be meant for him. 

Maybe he’d been wrong. God, he hopes he’d been wrong.

Chapter Text

Katsuki seems to have taken a liking to the balcony in Hitoshi’s apartment. He’ll go out there every once in a while, lean against the railing with his arms crossed, and just look out over the city. Not down at the people below, but over the top of the smaller buildings, the sky, the occasional plane that passes by. Hitoshi wishes the stars were visible at night, but the light pollution makes them barely so. He looks like he’s searching for them up there sometimes. 

Whenever Katsuki is out there, Hitoshi likes to just watch him. In the daytime, he’s lit up by the bright sun hitting the balcony. In the evenings, he’s illuminated by the headlights of passing cars and the few neon signs that shine brightly through the darkening sky. And then on some night, nights like these, where the moon is almost full and so, so bright, the pure, soft light of it is all there is to show Hitoshi that he’s even there at all. It might be Hitoshi’s favourite view of them all. 

Eventually, like all the other times, Katsuki pushes away from the railing softly, turns to catch Hitoshi staring, and then comes back inside to join him on the bed. And Hitoshi, like always, welcomes him with open arms and a kiss to his temple. 

“I think I need a vacation soon,” Katsuki says as he leans against Hitoshi’s side. He’s been getting more and more tired lately, and Hitoshi worries that it’s because he’s using all his free time on him, rather than getting some rest. Hitoshi kisses the top of his head, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He knows it won’t help, but still Katsuki smiles ever so slightly at the gesture. 

“Could be nice to get away for a while,” Hitoshi agrees softly. He leans to the side, stubs out the cigarette in his hand on the ashtray at his bedside, then leans back to fully wrap Katsuki in his arms. “I could take some time off with you, we could go together. If that’s something you’d like.” 

Katsuki looks up. His eyes run over Hitoshi’s face, mapping him out. Then he leans up and presses his lips against Hitoshi’s, soft and slow. Hitoshi nearly melts into the touch. He pulls Katsuki closer, sighs into the kiss and lets Katsuki go as slow as he wants. Which is very. Katsuki is patient, takes his time, lets his fingers slowly run along Hitoshi’s thigh. And then he pulls away, almost regretful. “It is. But not until everything is… cleared up.” 

Hitoshi’s focus turns to the stone in his gut. It’s there all the time, but sometimes, times like these, he can forget about it, just for a little while. But he’s not supposed to forget about it and ignore it. He’s supposed to do something about it. He just hasn’t figured out how, yet. 

It’s been a few weeks since they talked. About Denki, about them. Katsuki keeps asking him to tell him, or to let Katsuki himself tell him, but Hitoshi is a coward. He’s learned that about himself over the last few weeks. He’s afraid to ruin something so good, and for each day he spends with Katsuki, it just gets better. But then there’s also the long moments of silence, and the bags under Katsuki’s eyes getting darker, and the having to pretend when they meet any of Katsuki’s friends. Hitoshi isn’t proud of it. He wants it to just be out there in the open. The hard part is getting there. 

“I know,” Hitoshi whispers down at his hands. He doesn’t promise anymore. He’s made too many empty promises lately. He thinks it might be about time he gets around to acting on them. He doesn’t say that, either. He’s made those promises before, too. 

Hitoshi fiddles with his phone, heart thumping out of his chest, sweat coating his shivering back. The silence of his apartment weighs heavy on him; there’s not a single reason not to do this right now, nothing to distract him, no matter how much he wants there to be. 

But the heavy, judgemental silence might be the last push he needs. 

He unlocks his phone, goes straight to his contacts, and calls Denki without letting himself stop for even a single breath. As usual, Denki picks up within the first two rings, and the background is already filled with the noise of people chatting and machines beeping. Hitoshi can’t tell if he’s at the checkout at a highly efficient store, or in an arcade. 

“Hi man, what’s up?” Denki asks, sounding like his smile could split his face. 

“Hi. I was wondering, are you busy right now?” Hitoshi asks carefully, hoping the answer is yes . “There’s something I need to talk to you about.” 

Denki doesn’t reply for a moment, and there’s a rustling on the other end of the line. Then Denki is back, that smile still audible in his voice, like Hitoshi’s own isn’t shaking uncontrollably. “Sure thing! I’m just at the store, do you need me to grab you something while I’m here?”

Hitoshi doesn’t know how to process the question, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers that he’s out of milk, and hazily places an order. 

“Alright, I’ll bring the milk,” Denki says with an amused laugh. “I’ll be at yours in ten minutes.”  

The line beeps, and suddenly Hitoshi is back in the silence, the suffocating silence where the only sound is his blood rushing in his ears. Fuck. So he’s really doing this. All of a sudden, his apartment looks like a complete mess. He's not trying to impress Denki in any way, but still the clutter suddenly jumps out at him, however big or small, from the dishes in the sink to the sweater lying over the side of his chair. Hitoshi gets up quickly, cleans up everything his jumbled mind processes as messy, and at least it's something to do. 

The doorbell rings, and Hitoshi places the last plate in the washer before stomping towards the door. Denki greets him with a smile and a plastic bag in one hand. “I'm gonna need to use some space in your fridge while I'm here, you mind?” 

Hitoshi shakes his head and stands aside to let him in. Denki steers straight for the kitchen. 

“I got you the milk. I also got us banana milk and strawberry milk. I like both of them equally, but I don't know which one you'd prefer, so you can just choose whichever.” Denki’s voice drifts through the apartment as he empties the grocery bag into the fridge. Hitoshi is amazed at how at home Denki seems, despite it only being the second time he's come over. “Oh, this looks delicious! What is it?” 

Hitoshi steps closer as Denki pulls out a plastic container with leftovers. It does taste amazing, Katsuki cooked it just the night before, but Hitoshi can't for the life of him remember the name of the dish at that moment. “Uh, how much do I owe you for the milk?” he asks instead, and thankfully, it's enough to divert Denki’s attention. 

“You don't have to pay me back, I was just at the store anyway.” He closes the fridge, holding a strawberry milk in one hand, a banana milk in the other. “Just helping out a friend, right? Besides, consider it my gratitude for asking to hang out. I was beginning to wonder if you even wanted to anymore.” 

Hitoshi blinks quickly as Denki thrusts the two small milk-bottles in his face. He hesitates, eyes drifting between the two, but in the end he reaches out for the strawberry. And then his mind slowly begins to catch up to Denki’s words. “What?” 

“Yeah, I mean, it just feels like you've been avoiding me,” Denki says with a shrug, like it’s not a big deal. His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, though, and Hitoshi doesn't really like the look of it. “You're always busy when I ask to hang out, you barely talk to me when we're with the guys. But you do seem to be having a good time in the group, so maybe you've just been getting to know them more.” 

“I…” Hitoshi tries, but he doesn't really know where his sentence is going, so he let's it fade away entirely.

Denki pops the straw into his banana milk and sucks down a sip. “God, this is delicious. You know what, maybe banana is my favourite after all.” 

“I'm sorry.” 

The straw pops off Denki’s lips as he turns, eyes slightly widened in surprise at the words. “What?” 

Hitoshi runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. He turns towards the couch, gestures at it with his strawberry milk. “Can we sit? I think we should sit.” 

Denki looks towards the couch, then back at Hitoshi. He nods once, looking both qurious and serious all at once. “Sure.” 

They sit. There's a decent amount of space between them, and Hitoshi thinks it's really for the best. “I've been meaning to tell you…” he starts, but looking at Denki’s wondering eyes is too difficult, so he turns to the bottle instead. “I haven't been fair to you. I mean, we used to be kind of a thing, maybe, I don't know, but I enjoyed it, and to be completely honest, it was like you were haunting me for years. Not really in a bad way, but maybe not in a good way either.” 

It feels silly, saying all of this out loud to a bottle of milk, and maybe he isn't making any sense, but it feels like progress anyway. So he keeps going and hopes that he'll get to the point that he's trying to reach. 

“And when we met again, I thought it was some kind of sign, which is probably a bit pretentious, because you have your own life, it's not like you've been waiting around for me to stumble into you again or anything, but it did feel a bit that way.” 

Denki chuckles quietly beside him. “Like fate? I get it, I think.” 

Hitoshi still doesn't dare look up. “Which is why I feel sort of bad that– Well, no, I feel great, amazing actually, but also terrible, that you allow me back into your life, and I get to meet all of your friends, and then I just… meet someone else.” 

He stops. Listens. What will Denki say? What would he look like if Hitoshi simply turned towards him? But as long as he doesn't, Hitoshi can pretend like Denki isn't mad, or disappointed, or whatever else Hitoshi's mind can come up with. 

After a brief pause, all Denki says is, “Oh?” Qurious more than anything. 

“I don't know, I just… I met him, and we… Well, yeah, and then I guess we just clicked, and I really like him, but I've been scared to say anything because I didn't know how you'd react, and I didn't want to throw away the friendship, because it really does mean a lot to me, and it's also–” 

“Why would you think any of us would stop being your friend because you got a boyfriend?” Denki asks, slightly amused, and it’s not what Hitoshi had expected. Granted, he doesn't even know the half of it yet, but it’s a relief all the same. “They know Kyouka and I are bi, and Katsuki is gay, so it's not like any of us would think less of you because of this relationship. Some of them might say some odd things and ask annoying questions, but we're trying to educate them whenever that happens.” 

“No, you don't–” Hitoshi cuts himself off, and he reaches over to place the bottle of milk on the table. He's been avoiding Denki for so long now, it's unfair to keep doing it through this conversation as well, he realises, and turns to watch him carefully. Denki seems like he is trying to read between the lines, to figure out what he's missing that has Hitoshi this riled up. “The guy I'm seeing is Katsuki.” 

For a minute, it's like looking at a frozen screen. Denki stares ahead, brows wrinkling slowly, like the words are registering in slow-motion. “You're… Which Katsuki are we talking about?” 

“Bakugou,” Hitoshi answers dumbly, then clears his throat awkwardly. “Look, I know this might be a bit weird, and out of the blue, but I needed you to know, and I was also so terrified of telling you, and I'm really sorry about that, I've been a coward, and… I'm sorry.” 

“You and… Katsuki? I'm sorry, I'm just trying to picture it, and I can't. You haven't exactly seemed into each other any of the times we've hung out. I mean, I could overlook an eyecatch or three, but you guys getting together?” 

“I asked Katsuki not to say anything, and then Eijirou found out, and then they were both on my ass about telling you, but I–” 

“Wait, so, um,” Denki says, holding up a hand, palm flat against Hitoshi. “How long?” 

Hitoshi tries to do the math, but his mind is far too chaotic right now, so eventually he just says, “So there was that party at Camie’s place–”

“But that was– Wait, hold the fuck up, that was the first time we met after the coffee shop.” 

“Yes, well–” 

But Denki isn't finished. “You mean to tell me you've been together since the start ?” 

“Well, it didn't start out as anything serious, I just, I didn't really know anyone at the party, and you were really busy with your friends, and then Katsuki was just there, and he's really hot, and I was really drunk.” 

Denki seems to be getting increasingly angry. Hitoshi doesn't know how to calm him down. He doesn't know how to make it better. “You mean to tell me I introduced you guys and you both just decided, hey, why not get together and not tell me?”

“Well, no, we kinda met before that.” 

“Why would you act like you didn't know each other if you'd already been talking?”

Hitoshi blinks. There's a blonde hair falling into Denki’s lashes. He seems too occupied to notice. “We didn't exactly talk much…” 

Denki wrinkles his nose in disgust. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” He stands, milk forgotten on the table before him. Hitoshi hadn't even gotten to thank him for it. “You must take me for the biggest fucking idiot. What, is this your idea of a joke? To see how long it would take us to figure it out?”  

“Wait, Denki, it's not–” Hitoshi gets up, tries to follow Denki as he paces the apartment, but Denki waves him off and shoots him an angry look that has Hitoshi pausing. 

“It's one thing that you would keep this for me. I haven't known you in years, and I guess I never really did know you, but Katsuki is my friend . When my mom got sick, he was right there by my side helping me through it. And when he and his ex broke it off, I was right there for him, anything he needed. But I guess he doesn't need a friend, he just needed a rebound.” 

The words strike Hitoshi like a slap to the face, and it kicks him back into action. He walks towards Denki, steps heavier and quicker now, anger bubbling in his stomach. “That's not fair. I get that you're angry, but you have no right to talk about him or me like that, you have no idea what–” 

“Well, whose fault is that!?” Denki yells, turning to glare at Hitoshi. “You both decided to keep me in the dark, and, what, because you thought I’d be mad that you didn’t choose me ? Get over yourself, Hitoshi!” He continues pacing as the words slice through him. “You know, I heard from my coworkers that Katsuki brought someone on a date a while back, to our restaurant even, but I thought, nah, they must be mistaken, because there’s no way Katsuki wouldn’t tell me.”

“He wanted to,” Hitoshi is quick to interject, because Denki’s anger is clearly more directed at Katsuki, rather than Hitoshi, even as he's the one standing right in front of him. “I asked him not to, I needed to be the one to let you know.” 

“You should probably stop trying to defend your reasoning, because you're only making it worse,” Denki says, and despite the anger, he now begins to sound tired as well, like the whole conversation has drained him. He walks to the kitchen, opens the fridge and begins to unload his groceries back into the bag. 

Hitoshi doesn’t know what to do with himself in this situation. He just stands beside him and lets him work. He watches awkwardly as Denki removes a plastic container full of delicious home cooked food to get to his own stuff, but this time realisation is clear in his eyes as he places it back into the fridge. 

“I was scared that you’d be mad,” Hitoshi says quietly. “And you are.” 

Denki closes the fridge and hoists the bag into one hand. “I’m not–” Denki begins to say, but stops himself, because clearly he is. “Alright, look, I’m mad you lied to me. I’m mad you went behind my back and chose to keep secrets from me. I’m even more mad that you managed to get one of my best friends to do the same. What I’m not mad about is you two being together. Like I said, I can’t imagine it, but… I think being with you is a big upgrade from Katsuki’s ex, at least. I really hope it is. But you’ve shown me that I don’t actually know you, so just in case…” He turns straight towards Hitoshi, eyes serious and arms crossing, bag dangling awkwardly beneath them. “Don’t hurt him. Don’t go behind his back, don’t lie to him, just– He’s really strong and sharp tongued, but that doesn’t mean he’s looking for a fight everywhere.” 

Hitoshi thinks of their times together, of rough touches as well as tender ones. It’s all done with the utmost care, with all the love that Hitoshi can give, and Katsuki always basks in the attention. He’s a little rough around the edges, but Hitoshi feels like he’s gotten to the centre pretty easily, and at his core, Katsuki just wants to be loved. “I know,” is what he tells Denki, who nods slowly and unfolds his arms. 

“Yeah,” Denki sighs, and then he turns and is gone.

Chapter Text

Katsuki finds him a couple of hours later, sitting on the couch and feeling numb throughout his whole body. His mind has gone blank after hours of replaying the same conversation, his emotions vague and fuzzy after having been overwhelmed by them for so long. If Katsuki hadn’t decided to drop by, Hitoshi has no idea how long he’d have stayed there on the couch. 

Katsuki enters like normal, greets Hitoshi like he usually does and makes his way around the apartment to tidy up like it’s a habit. It doesn’t take him more than a moment to realise that Hitoshi not greeting him back means something is off, so Katsuki veers off course and heads straight towards him. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice low and careful, like he’ll upset Hitoshi if he comes on too strong. 

Hitoshi tells him. His mouth seems to run on autopilot as he explains to Katsuki how he’d invited Denki over to talk, and how he’d finally told him, and at first Denki wasn’t mad, but then he was, a lot, and Hitoshi hadn’t known what to do, and then he’d been mad at Katsuki, and then he’d left. Katsuki holds him through it, he doesn’t interrupt even to ask questions, and Hitoshi melts into him as he talks. And when his words run out, Katsuki lets them linger between them quietly. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Katsuki says lowly, mouth moving against the top of Hitoshi’s head. 

Hitoshi shakes his head. “I wanted to be the one to tell him. Just me.” 

“Still.” Katsuki hugs him tighter against him, kissing the top of his head. “When did he leave?” 

Careful not to pull fully out of Katsuki’s embrace, Hitoshi leans forward a bit and checks the time on his phone. “Almost three hours ago.” 

Katsuki makes a sound like he’s disappointed in him. “Hitoshi…” Hitoshi just shakes his head, and thankfully, it seems like Katsuki gets the message – Hitoshi really doesn’t want to talk any more about it right now. “Alright. Anything I can do for you?”

Katsuki’s hands on Hitoshi’s back suddenly burn hot, and the blood rushing through Hitoshi’s body is audible in his ears. He feels like he’s on a rollercoaster all of a sudden, and Katsuki would probably say he’s weird for feeling like this, with a flick of a switch, so instead of going into too much detail on exactly what Katsuki can do for him, he mutters, “Make me feel better?” 

Katsuki pulls his head back slightly, enough to catch Hitoshi’s gaze. There’s a question in his eyes, like he’s not exactly sure what Hitoshi is asking. But the question seems to be answered when he looks at Hitoshi’s expression – Hitoshi has no idea what he must look like, but Katsuki’s eyes darken, heat swimming in them as suddenly as in Hitoshi. “You sure?” 

Hitoshi nods meekly. It’s different from how they usually are together. Hitoshi is always the one to take care of Katsuki and his needs, and Katsuki soaks up the attention, does anything Hitoshi demands, gets off on just that. This… Is it too much to ask? Will Katsuki dislike it? 

But rather than reject him, Katsuki leans forward to press a kiss to Hitoshi’s forehead. Then his cheek, his chin, and finally a slow, deep kiss to his lips. Hitoshi feels like he can stay in that kiss for hours, loves the way Katsuki presses closer to kiss into him, how his hands move slowly up and down Hitoshi’s back at the same time, until one threads carefully through the hairs at the back of his head. And then Katsuki ends the kiss, leans further down, tugs at Hitoshi’s head just enough to make him incline his head to the side, where Katsuki licks a lingering stripe up Hitoshi’s neck. Hitoshi shivers under the warmth, and again under the cold as Katsuki’s breath cools down the path. 

“I’ll take care of you,” Katsuki says, breathes the words into his skin, into his bones, and Hitoshi believes that he will – not just now, not just for sex, but Hitoshi really believes that he will take care of him, for as long as they’re together, however long that may be, and somehow the words has Hitoshi hardening between his legs. He tries to muffle a whimper, but the sound is loud enough to bring Katsuki to attention. He looks down, slightly surprised, and then back up at Hitoshi with a soft smile. “For as long as you’ll have me. I’m not going anywhere.” 

The sound that leaves Hitoshi’s throat is a cross between a cry and a moan, and it’s really embarrassing what Katsuki can reduce him to with barely a touch. 

Katsuki brings his lips to Hitoshi’s ears and whispers, “Do you hear me?” 

“Yes,” Hitoshi exclaims, probably too loud, but also, who cares. “Yes, I hear you.” 

“Good.” Katsuki pulls back, and Hitoshi hates it, hates it, wants him back and wrapped around him, but when he looks up, Katsuki is just a step away, up from the couch as he removes his shirt, even as his scar stands out clearly on his chest, soft smile on his face, and suddenly it’s okay, if just for a second. He throws the shirt down, looks around the room, and then reaches his hand down for Hitoshi to take. “Here.” Hitoshi takes it easily, lets Katsuki pull him to his feet, back into his arms, into his kiss. They’re pressed so tightly Hitoshi can’t help but move his hips against Katsuki, and Katsuki lets him for a moment. But then Katsuki breaks the kiss, mutters, “Don’t squirm,” and picks him up by his thighs, so quickly that Hitoshi can do nothing but wrap his arms around Katsuki’s neck, his legs around his waist and gape at the display of strength. 

Hitoshi knew Katsuki was strong, that he simply chooses to submit to Hitoshi. Still, Hitoshi is taller than him, probably a bit heavier, too, and he’d never expected to be swept off his feet like this. He can’t help but laugh in utter shock. “What are you–” 

“We’re not going to do this on this shitty couch,” Katsuki interrupts firmly, eyeing Hitoshi’s reaction. 

Hitoshi doesn’t know what Katsuki finds in his expression. All humour leaves him, and suddenly there’s only anticipation. “Okay.” 

Katsuki carries him to the bedroom, places him gently down on the bed like Hitoshi is something fragile, and then he lets his hands roam slowly over his body, as if mapping him out. He pushes up Hitoshi’s shirt, helps him get rid of it, then the pants, socks, and finally his boxers. Katsuki stands back, watches him laid out bare on the bed. Hitoshi has never felt so exposed. Yet he trusts Katsuki. God, it’s insane how much he trusts him. 

Katsuki kisses him. He kisses him all over, takes his time with every dip and curve, every single part of his body, and Hitoshi feels like he’s being worshipped by a god, like he’s being showered in attention that he does not deserve, that he should be giving instead, yet here he is, bathing in the glory that is Katsuki’s care. 

“Do you have any idea,” Katsuki whispers, amidst placing kisses up Hitoshi’s chest, “how amazing you are?” 

Hitoshi doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to ruin this. 

Katsuki doesn’t seem to need an answer. “How beautiful?” he continues, baffling Hitoshi. “How good?” Another kiss. “Every single part of you.” And another. “So fucking perfect.” Hitoshi can’t take it. 

“I thought this was your kink,” Hitoshi says with a forced laugh, even as tears fight their way to his eyes, trying to diffuse the situation in any way, to bring himself back down just a bit. 

Katsuki stops his route and climbs up to face Hitoshi fully. His expression is soft, yet serious. “Not a kink. I’m not saying this to get you hard. I know I don’t say stuff like this enough, and I can’t promise to overwhelm you with compliments in the future, it just ain’t me. But I’m telling you now, so you best listen, because I mean every word.” 

Hitoshi doesn’t mean to, he really doesn’t, but one tear leads to another, and suddenly he’s crying under Katsuki’s gaze. Katsuki lowers himself above him, bringing him into a warm embrace. He doesn’t say anything, he’s just there, right where Hitoshi needs him. “I’m sorry,” Hitoshi says, calming himself down. “I didn’t mean to kill the mood.” 

Katsuki chuckles. “You’re not. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” 

“I think the compliments are getting a bit excessive now,” Hitoshi says playfully, wrapping an arm around Katsuki’s shoulder to wipe a tear away. Katsuki lets himself fall to the side, still wrapped up in a close embrace, legs tangled together on top of the sheets. The cold of the room finally begins to announce itself on Hitoshi’s cooling skin. “Duvet?” 

Katsuki half-sits, reaches down and pulls them under the covers, and then returns back in Hitoshi’s arms. “Feeling better?” 

Hitoshi smiles softly. He still feels crappy about earlier, and he still needs to face the consequences of his lies, but knowing Katsuki is right there by his side for the ride… “Yeah, I am.” 

“Good.” 

Hitoshi hums, letting his gaze run across Katsuki’s features. He’s beautiful, which is nothing new to Hitoshi, but he feels equally blessed every time he is allowed to just watch him up close like this. “Hey, so…” he mutters, because a thought has started to nag at him ever since Katsuki scooped him up and brought him into the bedroom, and he needs to know. “Were you going to fuck me? If that’s what I’d needed?” 

Katsuki’s laugh sounds almost like a scoff in his surprise, but Hitoshi doesn’t take it to mean anything bad, because he quickly recovers and says, “I mean, if you’d want me to.” 

Hitoshi doesn’t need to think about it. Not more than he’s already done the last ten minutes. “I would.” He watches the way Katsuki’s eyes widen at the certainty, the way his brow lifts in question. “Not right now. Right now I’m… really happy just lying here with you.” He shows his sincerity with a soft, innocent kiss to Katsuki’s lips. “But I’d like to. I’ll warn you, though; I’ll be a power bottom. You’ll still be my good boy.” 

Katsuki’s ears blush the slightest red as he bites his lips at the words. “Whatever,” he says, trying to play it off, but Hitoshi is proud to say that he sees right through him. 

They lie there for a while, talk about Katsuki’s day, steering clear of the topic of Hitoshi’s conversation with Denki. They talk about a vacation – Katsuki wants to ‘clear everything up’ first, which is code for ‘talk to Denki’, but after that, maybe they could both get some time off and go somewhere, and where would they even want to go? Katsuki says that he likes hiking trips, and Hitoshi makes it clear that he’s never been an outdoorsy type, but if Katsuki likes it, then there must be something about it. 

Eventually, Hitoshi gets up, with a few kisses to Katsuki’s lips. “I’m gonna go get a smoke.” 

Katsuki hums, seeming thoughtful, eyes getting lost in Hitoshi’s. It’s an odd reaction – usually he’ll just nod, or scrunch up his nose, or wave Hitoshi off, if anything, but now it seems like he’s considering something. He can’t be considering joining Hitoshi out on the balcony; he’s made it plenty clear that he dislikes the smell of cigarette smoke, or even the taste of it when Hitoshi has just had one. He’s stopped kissing him immediately after, always waiting until the worst of it has worn off. But as to what Katsuki is thinking, Hitoshi has no clue. 

He gets dressed and steps out on the balcony, breathing smoke out over the city. He wonders if Katsuki is watching him from the bed, like Hitoshi likes to watch him. With everything Katsuki has done for him just today, Hitoshi figures that he might. The thought brings a smile to his face. 

He finishes the cigarette and walks back inside, not surprised to see Katsuki still on the bed. What does surprise him is Katsuki sitting up, back leaning against the headboard, and gesturing Hitoshi over to sit down beside him. Katsuki typically avoids close contact for the first few minutes after Hitoshi has had a smoke. Hitoshi complies, however, and makes his way over. Katsuki is still shirtless, so Hitoshi plants a kiss on his soft shoulder as he settles in. “What’s up?” 

Katsuki doesn’t reply right away. He looks straight ahead, seeming deep in thought. And when he talks, it’s not what Hitoshi had expected. “My ex was a piece of shit.” 

Hitoshi is a bit taken aback. Katsuki hasn’t talked much about his past relationship, and Hitoshi hasn’t felt like it was his place to ask. He doesn’t know much about the relationship, just that it had ended shortly before Hitoshi and Katsuki met, and that Denki had felt it necessary to be by his side when it did. He doesn’t say anything, instead just prompts Katsuki to continue with a curious look. 

Hitoshi can see the way Katsuki’s thoughts race inside his head. Eventually he scoffs, but Hitoshi can see that he is too far away in his memories for it to be directed at Hitoshi. “We met in college. He was a year older, and his ambition-level matched my own, although we had very different interests, so we just kinda clicked anyway. His dad owns a company, and he always wanted him to take over when he retired, but he fucking hated his dad, so he refused, and instead decided to be an artist.” Katsuki chuckles humorlessly. “I always found that shit so cool, that he'd do all that to spite his dad. But I think he actually just really liked to make art.” 

“What kind of art did he make?” Hitoshi asks, unsure if he should just keep quiet and let Katsuki talk. 

Katsuki whips his head around to look at him, like he’d forgotten he was there. Hitoshi can see the way he slowly calms down, however, like an anger he’d had just a moment before deflates at the sight of him. “Alternative paintings. He’d use anything as a brush, once used me as a canvas. Took a shitton of showers to get all of the paint out.”

Being used as someone’s canvas… It sounds romantic, in a way. It sounds like something Katsuki might enjoy, being covered inch by inch with soft bristles, becoming a literal work of art, the amount of attention to every detail covering his skin. From the way Katsuki talks about it, however, it’s not something he looks back on with fondness. 

“He also liked to play with fire,” Katsuki continues, voice strained. “He’d always have a cigarette in his mouth, or in his hand, and he’d set fire to different parts of his paintings, without fail. It was like his signature.”

Hitoshi frowns. “He’d burn his paintings?”

Katsuki shrugs, gaze staring far ahead. “Not all of it. Just small holes here and there, and then he’d put a wet cloth over it when it had burned enough.” 

Something in his voice is so fragile, Hitoshi barely dares to put the puzzles together. He subtly glances down to Katsuki’s chest, to the small, round scar that is imprinted there. “You were one of his paintings,” he breathes, carefully reaching out to wrap an arm around Katsuki’s back. He’s afraid that Katsuki will pull away, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even seem to register the touch. 

“The fucked up thing is, deep down, I knew he would do it,” Katsuki says, voice breathy and obviously hurt, like he should have seen it coming yet he let it happen anyway. Hitoshi hates it. Hates that Katsuki thinks back on it like it was his own fault. 

“You didn’t,” Hitoshi states, like he was there, inside Katsuki’s head at that moment, like he knows. He feels like he does know, because he knows Katsuki. “You couldn’t have known that he would do that to you. You trusted him.” 

“Every time, without fail,” Katsuki says, words meant for himself, and they sound like they’ve been repeated over and over in his mind. “Why should I be different?” 

Hitoshi feels anger bursting to the surface. “Because you’re a person, his fucking boyfriend, and you don’t go around setting your boyfriend on fire!” 

Katsuki finally looks at him, and there’s a faint look of amusement in his eyes, just visible through the pain of the memory. 

“How many times?” Hitoshi asks, and the question seems to throw Katsuki for a loop. “How many times did he burn you?” 

Katsuki frowns, then shakes his head. “Just once. I told him to screw himself right then and there and got out. Never looked back.” 

Hitoshi breathes a sigh of relief. “Good… Good. And your friends, do they–?” 

Katsuki shakes his head before Hitoshi can even finish the sentence. “No. They just know I was a wreck when we split. And I wasn’t doing too good at Camie’s party either. I guess part of why I threw myself at you back then was because the smoke just… reminded me of him. Which is pathetic in every way.” 

“It’s not pathetic,” Hitoshi says slowly. “Especially because, you know, you think I’m kinda hot.” 

Katsuki huffs with a hint of amusement. “Kinda.” He takes a deep breath, and Hitoshi remembers that he must smell an awful lot like smoke right now. God, how stupid can he be, how fucking idiotic – he knew Katsuki didn’t like the smell, but Hitoshi had just assumed it was just that, the smell, and not some underlying trauma from his previous relationship. Does Katsuki think about his ex whenever Hitoshi smokes? … The way Hitoshi used to think of Denki every time… 

He considers going to take a shower, to brush his teeth, he wants the stench gone from him, but he doesn’t want to abandon Katsuki right in the middle of this conversation. Instead, he turns fully towards Katsuki, takes his hands in his gently and waits for him to look at him. It takes a moment, but finally Katsuki turns. “I’m glad you told me,” Hitoshi says, though the heartache must be clear on his face. “Why now?” He needs to know. He needs to know if it’s because of him, if he’s done something to make Katsuki doubt him, if the smoking is becoming a deal-breaker, if it’s already too late. He would hate to be the thing that reminds him of his ex. 

Katsuki tilts his head and glances off to the side. He clenches Hitoshi’s hands in his own. “This thing we have… I want it to last,” he admits, voice quiet and vague. Hitoshi’s heartbeat gallops away in his chest. “And I don’t want him clouding… this , because I really like this. I just… thought it was best to put it out there.” 

Hitoshi smiles, almost too wide for his face to keep up. “It is. Thank you. And for the record, I really like this thing we have as well.” 

“Really?” Katsuki asks, but his tone is playful, and thankfully there’s a tiny fraction of a smile on his face. “I didn’t even notice.” 

Hitoshi shoves him half-heartedly. “Shut up. Or I won’t let you read the new chapter.” 

Katsuki perks up. “There’s a new chapter?” 

“Well, a draft for a new chapter at least. I need your input on something.” 

Katsuki leans closer, despite the smell of smoke, despite the scar on his chest catching Hitoshi’s eyes as he does so, and plants a kiss on Hitoshi’s lips. “What are we lying around here for, then?” 

Hitoshi chuckles as Katsuki manhandles him out of the bed.

Chapter Text

Hitoshi can’t help but bite at his nails with worry. His eyes keep shifting from the clock to the door, back and forth over and over, but it seems like some kind of entity is testing him, because time seems to have stopped completely, and rather than wait the ten minutes that he’d expected, he feels like he waits for five hours. Finally though, Katsuki enters the apartment, and Hitoshi shoots up from the chair and towards him. “How’d it go, what’d he say?” 

Katsuki frowns at him. “Why are you sucking your thumb?” 

Hitoshi looks down, and sure enough, he’s still biting his thumb-nail, so he spits it out and tries again. “How’d it go?” 

“It’s fine,” Katsuki answers, and gestures for Hitoshi to join him on the couch. “We had a long talk, and he gets it. He needs a bit of time, but he’ll come around. I told him we’d probably go on a short vacation, and he said that when we get back, we should all hang out. Not just the three of us, not yet, but all of us.” 

Hitoshi nods along, doubtful. “How’d you do that?” 

Katsuki shrugs. “Told him about your abandonment issues and how it’s been eating you up since forever that you didn’t know how to tell him.” 

“My– I don’t have–” Hitoshi sputters in indignation, but Katsuki swoops in and kisses him, soft but stern, just enough to shut him up. “So… We’re good?” 

Katsuki nods. “He asked that I stop keeping secrets from him, which I told him was not going to happen, because I have my own damn life and he doesn’t own me, but.” He pauses, sighs deeply. “I agreed that we’d be more honest with each other. And that goes for you as well. I don’t suppose that’s a problem.” 

Hitoshi shakes his head. “No, that’s over and done with. And thank fucking god.” 

“Thank fucking god indeed,” Katsuki agrees. He turns away from Hitoshi and rummages through a bag Hitoshi hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding until now, and pulls out quite a big box wrapped in purple paper. He hands it to Hitoshi, but as he’s too stunned to reach out to receive it, Katsuki just places it on Hitoshi’s lap. 

Hitoshi looks down at the box, feeling the weight of it on his thighs. Then he looks back up at Katsuki. “What’s this?” 

Katsuki raises a brow. “A gift. Open it, you’ll see.” 

Hitoshi can’t remember the last time he got a gift. Maybe when he was fifteen and his foster parents had given him his new computer since his old one had broken down. He’d been upset, being unable to vent through a creative outlet (at the time angry – and really bad, in retrospect – poems that helped him vent about his life), but it’d been too much, and he’d told them they didn’t need to get him anything anymore, that this was enough. They’d argued that it wasn’t, but he’d made them promise, because he couldn’t shake the feeling that he owed them too much already. 

“Go on already,” Katsuki urges, impatient. 

Hitoshi swallows a lump and moves to slowly tear off the paper. Underneath it is a box, and lifting the lid reveals a pair of brand new boots. They’re dark brown and look sturdy, with thick laces and an intricate sole. He looks back up at Katsuki with a confused smile. 

“They're hiking boots,” Katsuki explains with a shrug, although he seems just the tiniest bit insecure. “We've talked about going hiking for a few days, so of course I rummaged through your closets to see if you'd have what you need, and surprise, surprise,” he says sarcastically, “you don't.” 

Hitoshi places the box on the couch beside him and moves closer to Katsuki, until their thighs are touching. Warmth spreads through Hitoshi, from the touch and from Katsuki's flickering, self-conscious gaze. “I could've gotten some for myself, you know.”

Katsuki nods. “Yeah, but I wanted to give them to you.” 

“You,” Hitoshi says, reaching forward to grab Katsuki’s hand off his lap, entwining their fingers, “are so sweet.” 

Katsuki's blush is predictable and so fucking adorable. Hitoshi couldn't stop himself from kissing him if he tried. 

The kiss is soft, slow, full of every emotion that Hitoshi has for this amazing person he's been lucky enough to have met. It's almost too much when Katsuki kisses him back in the exact same way, like maybe he's feeling it, too. Hitoshi doesn't dare ask. Not yet, at least. For now, it's enough – the hope. 

Hitoshi isn't sure how it happened – if he pulled Katsuki, or if Katsuki crawled over all on his own – but Katsuki eventually ends up in Hitoshi’s lap, straddling him on the couch as the kiss deepens, but never quickens. It's all soft lips, soft tongues, soft touches all mingling into one, and Hitoshi feels like he'd be floating, if it weren't for Katsuki holding him down. 

Hitoshi pulls at Katsuki’s hips, pulling him closer still, pressing them together, and then finally cuts off the kiss. “Thank you,” he says, voice hoarse and deep. 

Katsuki’s eyes are hazy, and he blinks slowly back at Hitoshi. “Huh?” 

“For the gift,” Hitoshi clarifies with a half-smirk. He loves that he's able to reduce Katsuki to such a woozy, unclear state with just a kiss. He also loves that Katsuki, ignoring his confusion, just leans in for another kiss. Hitoshi lets him for a moment, chuckling against Katsuki’s lips before he pulls back once more. “Thank you for the gift, Katsuki.” 

Katsuki hums in reply, but his lips have found their way to Hitoshi’s throat, too keen on keeping themselves occupied. Katsuki presses himself closer, chest against chest, crotch against crotch, arms wrapping around Hitoshi’s back. 

“You’re too good to me,” Hitoshi mutters, tilting his head slightly to give Katsuki better access. To his surprise, Katsuki’s lips disappear from his skin instead, and Hitoshi leans back up to find Katsuki staring back at him with resolution in his eyes. 

“No,” Katsuki says, voice stern and clear, a stark contrast to how he had been just seconds before. “No I'm not. You deserve it– Shit, you deserve so much more. I'm trying, but I'm not exactly used to– Fuck, I don't know, just don't imply that you don't deserve to be treated right, alright?” 

Hitoshi can't help but feel stunned. He wasn't trying to imply… At least he doesn't think… He takes a deep breath, then lets it out with a soft smile. “Alright.” 

Katsuki nods resolutely, and then closes his eyes. When he opens them again, his eyes are dark and hungry. “Now shut up and let me show you what else you deserve.” 

Hitoshi doesn't have time to ask before Katsuki raises himself above him just enough to unbutton both their pants. He pulls out Hitoshi's cock with a practiced hand, gets off just long enough to throw off his own pants, and then he's back to hovering above Hitoshi. 

Hitoshi throws his head back as Katsuki slowly works himself onto him. “Fuck… I must be one lucky guy.” 

Katsuki lets Hitoshi fill him all the way up, and then leans forward to whisper, “Hell yeah you are,” against Hitoshi's ear.

Hitoshi’s breath comes out heavy and thick, burning his chest unpleasantly, his thighs sore from overexertion. He wheezes out a sound, but it doesn't manage to form into words. Luckily Katsuki hears the pathetic breath and pauses, looks back, and then jogs back towards Hitoshi. 

“I really thought you'd be in better shape than this,” Katsuki says with a smirk, arms crossing over his chest is an obnoxious pose that tightens his shirt beautifully over his biceps. 

Hitoshi leans against a tree at the side of the barely-there path they've been following to catch his breath. “Have I told you that you look really fucking hot in that outfit?” 

Katsuki scoffs, but there's a genuine smile on his face. “Seven times and counting. And we've only been walking for two hours.” 

“Yeah, okay, good.” Hitoshi takes a few more deep breaths, then pushes away from the tree. “Where exactly did you say we were going?” 

“Up,” Katsuki says, gesturing with a thumb up the path, which has a slight incline. “You claim you're not a nature person, but I say it's ‘cause you haven't seen what nature has to offer yet.” 

Hitoshi looks around. There's trees all around, covered in different shades and shapes of green leaves, trunks getting overrun by moss at parts. He feels the loose rubble under his soles, the slightest hint of a path between the trees. He swats at a fly that buzzes around his ear. It's… fine. It's what he'd expect from nature. 

“This is nothing,” Katsuki says, like he's read Hitoshi’s mind. He turns and continues up the trail, unbothered by the heavy backpack hanging from his shoulders. “Come on, I want to be higher up before the sun sets.” 

They walk for another couple of hours, and Hitoshi doesn't miss the fact that Katsuki has slowed down his pace quite a bit. Hitoshi's legs are buzzing, but it's not entirely uncomfortable. They either have a nice conversation going, or they'll be walking in a comfortable silence, and Hitoshi finally starts to relax and enjoy himself. He accidentally shouts in surprise when he sees a squirrel, which clears their area of the mountain from any animals entirely for the next half hour, and he slips on a wet rock as they pass a little stream, and is suddenly extra thankful for the new waterproof boots he'd gotten. And in return for his flaws, he gets Katsuki’s laugh, his smiles, his guiding hand and teasing words. It's a good trade, he thinks. 

“Alright, we'll set up the tent here,” Katsuki says once they reach a rocky clearing. There's a stream to their right, a rocky incline to the left, and a clear view of the landscape beneath them straight ahead. “Let's hurry while there's still sunlight.” 

Hitoshi had thought there'd be plenty of time left, but in the short time it takes to set up the tent and build a small fire, the sun has turned a soft orange above the tops of the trees below them. 

As he watches the horizon, Katsuki comes up to stand beside him, hand slipping into Hitoshi's easily. “This is what I wanted to show you.” 

Hitoshi takes it all in; the trees looking like they're on fire beneath them, the birds circling and singing all around them, the illuminating glow that seems to warm Hitoshi from inside his chest and throughout his whole body. Katsuki was right. Sunset in the city doesn't compare to sunset out in the wild. It's not interrupted by headlights, streetlights, the neon signs everywhere. It's not interrupted by the sound of people, drunk or busy or angry beneath Hitoshi's window. This sunset is everything out there, at that moment. It's the reason the birds sing, it's the reason the grass grows, it's the reason Hitoshi breathes. 

Hitoshi turns to watch Katsuki. The sight is breathtaking. Katsuki, with his golden hair and fiery eyes and smooth skin, all bathed in the fire of the sunset, like it's where he belongs, like he's the one emitting it, spreading the warmth and brightness from his core. Hitoshi would believe it if someone told him that was how the world worked right now; Katsuki at the centre of it, everything else just orbiting around him. 

The light dims, sinking, until suddenly, all that's left is the pale light from the moon. Katsuki turns to Hitoshi with a soft smile. “So, what'd you think?” 

“Beautiful,” Hitoshi answers without hesitation. 

Katsuki grins and stretches his free arm over his head. “Yeah, well. Told you so.” 

They light the fire. It's warm, and the crackling sound it makes is nice and calming. Katsuki has a little rack that he places over it, along with a pot of water. It's a primate way of cooking, but it's something even Hitoshi can lend a hand in. They eat beneath the clear view of stars, then talk some more beside the slowly dying fire, and when Katsuki climbs into the tent first, Hitoshi doesn't hesitate to climb in after him, on top of him, under the covers together as he begins to remove both their clothes with gentle touches. Never before have they literally had all the time in the world like they do right now. Still, Hitoshi feels impatient. 

Katsuki is naked underneath him, hard between them, and when Hitoshi pushes a finger into his waiting warmth, he lets out the softest whine Hitoshi has ever heard. He'll do anything to recreate that sound, so he pulls the finger back out, and then slowly in once more. That same sound, Katsuki playing his new favourite melody, over and over as Hitoshi does it again, and again, until Katsuki is gasping weakly with want underneath him. 

Adding a second finger creates a new sound. Deeper and hungrier. Hitoshi learns to play it perfectly as well. 

Pushing in his cock earns him a quick gasp, and a long breath, and then a moan as he pushes all the way in. Katsuki wraps all his limbs around Hitoshi, kneading his skin with impatience, pushing and pulling without conviction. Despite the desperation, Hitoshi knows Katsuki wants them to take it slow as well. He can tell in his soft moans, and the cock twitching between their stomachs, and in the way he hasn't cursed at Hitoshi yet. Hitoshi chuckles at the thought. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Hitoshi whispers into Katsuki's ear. “Nature truly is beautiful. But still not as beautiful as you.” 

Katsuki arches his back, pushing against Hitoshi's cock, which can't possibly press any deeper. 

“Just say the word,” Hitoshi mutters, nibbling onto Katsuki’s neck, “and you can have it.”

“Fu…” Katsuki tries, then swallows and tries again. “Fuck me. Please, fuck me and tell me I'm–” He stops himself, ears flushing suddenly. 

Hitoshi pulls out slowly, then back in with a snap. Katsuki's mouth opens around a silent scream as he clings to Hitoshi. “And tell you you're what?” 

Katsuki whines. He's embarrassed. He has absolutely no reason to be. “I'm… That I'm… beautiful…” His voice gradually lowers, but Hitoshi hears him clearly. 

“Oh sweetheart,” he says softly, gently rocking his hips in and out now. “I'll tell you as many times as you want.” 

And he does. He tells him, over and over, in every word he knows, as long as his voice still works, and Katsuki soaks it up, lets it fill him up completely. 

Bugs chitter around outside the tent, leaves rustle in a gentle wind, a small stream or maybe a tiny waterfall burbles not too far away, and Hitoshi loves him completely.

Chapter Text

Hitoshi knows that his leg is jumping, foot thumping against the floor in an uneven rhythm, but he can't help himself. He tries, though. He tries to control it with a sip of his beer, and to cross his legs together, or to just simply hold it down by force, but nothing seems to be working. He goes to sip his beer again, only to find it already empty. 

“Need a refill?” Kyouka asks as she passes him and notices his predicament. 

“Oh, um, yeah, but I'll get it myself, it's no problem. Thanks.” 

Kyouka shrugs and moves on over to the couches where she'd been heading. 

Hitoshi looks around the room – Denki’s place, with all its colourful decor and knick-knacks. There are two couches in the living room, currently occupied by Hanta, Mina, Katsuki, and now Kyouka. Eijirou and Camie are leaning against a table talking about something or other, and Tetsutetsu and Denki sit opposite Hitoshi at the table. 

He'd been on edge since they got here. Eijirou had known about his relationship with Katsuki, and Denki as well, obviously, but to be honest, Hitoshi just can't tell if the others have been told or not. He can't get a proper read on them. He's not sure how he's supposed to act. Is he supposed to make some sort of announcement? Probably not, that sounds horribly awkward. He'd like to have asked Katsuki, but the question didn't pop up until they were already inside, and Katsuki had been pulled aside almost immediately by Mina, who'd apparently been ‘dying to know’ how his vacation went. Hitoshi tried to strain to hear, maybe get some sort of clue as to whether or not she knew he'd spent it with Hitoshi, but no such luck. And now he's just sitting here, unsure of what to do with himself. 

Denki’s been nice. He saw him struggling soon enough and invited him over to the table for a beer. He'd begun to say something, but then Tetsutetsu had joined them and the two fell into an easy conversation. Denki is smiling though, at Hitoshi too, whenever their eyes meet, and he supposes he can't really ask for anything more. 

He excuses himself quietly and gets up to go grab another beer. It's quiet in the kitchen, closed off from the rest of the gathering, and Hitoshi decides that it probably wouldn’t be too bad to allow himself a moment of calm. He rummages through the fridge for a beer, leans against a counter and sips it slowly. 

He's not sure how long it's been when the door opens and Eijirou steps into the kitchen. He seems surprised to find Hitoshi there, but not unhappy, sending him an easy smile. “Grab a beer for me?” 

Hitoshi turns back to the fridge and fishes one out, handing it to Eijirou. 

“Thanks.” To Hitoshi's surprise, Eijirou leans against the counter beside Hitoshi and opens the can. He takes a deep sip, then lowers it, following the can with his eyes. He seems thoughtful. 

Hitoshi wonders if he should say something. He probably should. “So…” he starts off, uncertain. Fuck, this is all so out of his comfort zone, he's still not quite used to being around all these people, doing small talk and bonding and shit. “Sorry for asking you to keep quiet. That wasn't cool.” Okay, so definitely not small talk, Hitoshi realises immediately after the words are out of his mouth, but he's sort of glad he said it anyway. 

Eijirou looks back up at him with a half-smile. “It really wasn't. Worst part is, I actually wondered if you were being genuine. With Kats, that is.” 

“Oh,” Hitoshi replies dumbly. He shouldn't be surprised, but it still hurts, a bit. “I think he thought so too, back then. Fuck, it came out all wrong, I had no clue what I was doing, I just… I just really didn't want to mess anything up.” He pauses, glances at Eijirou who's watching him patiently, and then sighs. “I just really hope it all works out. I'm… I was sort of excited about having new friends.” 

The hand seems to come out of nowhere, clapping down on his shoulder in a decisive strike. “And you do. Hell, if Katsuki of all people can talk my ear off about one single person, he must be pretty great. And turns out you're a pretty good guy, Hitoshi. I'm glad I know you. The others, too, I'm sure.” 

Hitoshi thinks that sounds a bit overkill. Sure, he's been around a bit, but he's nowhere near close enough with any of them to warrant this level of acceptance. He's about to tell Eijirou that he can't wait to get to know them better, when his previous words register. “Wait. Katsuki talks about me?” 

Eijirou laughs, the sound loud and boisterous. His beer splashes a little. “Fucking hell, you two. Yeah, of course he does. ‘Hitoshi did this’, ‘Hitoshi said that’, ‘Hitoshi is the love of my life’, and so on.” 

Hitoshi rolls his eyes, doing his best to ignore the way his heart skips a beat. Or five. “He did not say that.” 

“Alright, not verbatim, but I think I got the gist of it well enough,” Eijirou says with a laugh. He takes another long sip of his beer, but when he's about to pull the can back, he glances towards Hitoshi, who's fighting a battle of shock and disbelief. It must've been clear in his face, because Eijirou turns fully towards him, eyes widening slightly. “Shit, you guys haven't…?” 

Hitoshi just shakes his head slowly. He'd thought it. He'd felt it, for a while now. But he'd been too scared to ever say it. 

Eijirou looks like he's glancing around for something comforting to pull out of thin air. “Okay, well, like I said, he hasn't actually said anything of the sort, alright? I'm just talking shit, don't listen to me at all, okay?” He waits for Hitoshi's breath to come back, for him to nod and shake it off with a shaky, “Yeah, of course.” Then he slinks back against the counter, almost relieved. “But hey, if you were to listen to me,” Eijirou says after a moment of silence, running a hand through his red hair and looking back over at Hitoshi, “I'd say that it wouldn't be too far-fetched an idea. He really does talk highly of you. That does mean something.” 

With that, Eijirou pushes himself off the counter, raising his beer in cheers and heads out of the kitchen. “Come out soon, yeah? Bring some more beer.” 

Hitoshi's heart can't seem to calm down, even now that he's alone again. He can't stop thinking about it. About telling Katsuki how he feels. About Katsuki maybe actually saying it back. He'll think about it. He doesn’t think he'll be able not to. 

When he returns to the living room, he brings two six packs of beers with him, walks straight towards the couches and places them there a bit too loudly. Mina whoops and rushes forward to grab one, and Katsuki beside her leans forward to grab one as well. He looks up at Hitoshi with a small smile. “Thanks.” 

Mina slumps into him, clearly drunk. “Oh, you lucky bastard, scoring the beer-bringer!” 

That answers that question. Nobody bats an eye. They obviously know. Hitoshi feels a weight lift from his chest. 

“Hey!” Denki calls, walking towards them and sitting down on the opposite couch. “I'm the one who bought the beer!” 

“Yeah, and I'm sure you'd be perfectly happy hiding them all away in the fridge, you hoarder,” Mina says, followed by her sticking out her tongue at his offended gasp. The others around them laugh, though, and Hitoshi can't help but join in. 

Denki pouts and grabs a beer. “Next time, Toshi's hosting, and we'll see how much booze he brings.” 

“Oh yeah! We've never been to Hitoshi's place!” Tetsutetsu says, sitting down on the floor in front of the couches. 

“Well,” Camie says lewdly, twirling a lock of strawberry blonde hair around her fingers. “Some of us haven’t, at least.” 

Katsuki reaches over and kicks her shin. 

“What'ya says, Katsuki? Think we'll fit in Hitoshi's place?” Hanta asks from beside Camie, holding her back casually as she leans forward to retaliate. 

Katsuki seems to think this over, then shrugs. “Definitely not enough couch space. You can barely spread out on that thing.” 

“Oh, yikes, ew, you know what, maybe we shouldn't go there. Or to Katsuki's. Ever again.” 

Hitoshi can't help but notice the way Katsuki's blush spreads slowly on his face. “Fuck off, that's not what I meant. Besides, you really think Denki hasn't fucked someone on these couches?” 

Several pairs of eyes turn to Denki, who grins proudly. “Guilty as charged, I'm afraid. They're very comfortable, right?” He bounces up and down just a few times with a laugh. 

Mina groans and gets up, seating herself on the floor right beside Tetsutetsu. 

“Oh come on, Mina,” Hitoshi says, feeling bold enough to cut in. “I'm pretty sure he's not contagious.” 

“You would know,” Denki says, brows wriggling suggestively, if playfully. He doesn't stop until Katsuki reaches over to kick him as well. Hitoshi can't help but join the laugh that follows as Denki cries out and Katsuki smirks softly in quiet victory.  

It's later in the evening, or maybe night is more accurate, and they're spread out in the living room. Hitoshi is deep in conversation with Tetsutetsu and Camie, talking about their hobbies. Apparently, Tetsutetsu likes tinkering with bikes and cars and the likes, and has got a shitton of spare parts just lying around in his shed. 

Camie says that she's an artist – painting, mostly, but drawings as well. Hitoshi is a bit surprised when she mentions that she was friends with Katsuki's ex. “Well, ‘friends’ might be a bit generous, but we knew each other, ran in the same circles back then. He's actually how I met Katsuki. But he was also a total wild card. I stopped hanging out with him long before they ever broke it off. Katsuki didn't really bring him around much, but truth be told, I just think he didn't like Katsuki's friends. Good riddance, I say.” 

Hitoshi even talks a bit about his story in detail, which is something he's only ever done with Katsuki. It's nice, the way they listen and nod along with interest. 

“Oh, there he goes again,” Camie says suddenly, looking at something over Hitoshi's shoulder. Hitoshi glances back, but literally every single one of their friends are in sight behind them, so Hitoshi doesn't get any wiser. 

“What? Who?” 

Camie leans her chin in her hand. “Just your boyfriend, of course.” 

Hitoshi glances back again, and it does seem like Katsuki is a bit on edge, throwing glances here and there ever so often. He turns back to the others. “What's wrong?” 

Tetsutetsu shakes his head, like they've been over this, but Camie leans forward conspiratorially. “I've been noticing lately that he's been antsy most times when we hang out. When we heard about the two of you, I thought, ah, must be the secret gnawing at him. But no, look, he's still at it, and it's only getting worse throughout the night.” She glances around, then leans in closer, her voice now down to a whisper. “Honestly… I think he needs a little lovin’.” 

Hitoshi splutters, air getting caught in his throat. “What?” he asks, a bit too loudly, and Camie shushes him and pulls him back into their small circle. 

“I really think that's it. I'm not saying I need to see it.” At this, Tetsutetsu opens his mouth, but she's slapped it shut before any sound manages to get out. “No, really, just listen. Katsuki is this sort of brooding little gremlin–”

“He's really not–”

“ – but he's not usually this brooding and gremlin-y, right? I'm betting he's not like this when it's just two two of you?” She waits for his answer, and he gives a slow headshake. “Right? And you've been here for hours, so close yet you haven't really talked at all. So, my guess is, he misses you.” 

Hitoshi finds this a bit ridiculous. They often spend days apart because of their jobs, and as she said, they're both right here. But she's also right in saying that they haven't talked much. Hitoshi isn't sure they've even touched since they entered the apartment. Sure, he'd like to be close to Katsuki, always, all the time, but he's not twitchy and on edge like Katsuki had seemed. Besides, he'd deliberately kept his distance so that Katsuki could have some time with his friends. He'd thought it'd be the right thing to do. 

“Again, I'm not saying you have to do anything. You might not be comfortable with it, and that's cool. I might be wrong as well, although I doubt it.” Camie shrugs one shoulder. “Either way, I'm sure he'll be able to wait until he has you alone.” She looks over Hitoshi's shoulder again, and Hitoshi follows her line of sight to Katsuki on the other end of the room. Katsuki, with his locked jaw, fingers drumming impatiently against his own thighs, and who keeps throwing quick glances at them – at Hitoshi . “Or, you know. Maybe.”

Hitoshi blinks. Katsuki catches his eyes. They stare at each other for a while, until Katsuki eventually tears his gaze away. There's a small frown on his face. 

Hitoshi stands. He heads towards Katsuki, casually settling himself behind him where he sits on the couch, and leans down to the side of his face. “Hey,” he says, voice low. He doesn't really need attention. This is only for the two of them. Despite this, he knows at least Camie and Tetsutetsu are watching. He'd also be crazy to think no one on the couches notice. It doesn't matter. 

Katsuki turns his head minutely. “Hey.” 

Hitoshi places a soft kiss on Katsuki’s lips. It's supposed to be quick, short. Instead, it lingers impossibly long. When he finally manages to pull himself away, Katsuki is staring at him with wide eyes, his chest rising and falling a bit faster than before. Something swims in his eyes, something really good that Hitoshi wants to see more of. “You wanna go grab a beer with me?” 

Katsuki leans forward, only slightly, to put down the can that'd been in his hand. By the sound it makes against the coffee table, it's nowhere near empty. They don't care. “Yeah,” Katsuki breathes out. He stands slowly and takes Hitoshi's hand when they round the couch, letting him lead them to the kitchen. 

Once there, just the two of them in the small room, Hitoshi had an idea that they'd talk, maybe about what Camie mentioned, maybe something else entirely. Instead, Katsuki inches towards him, grips the collar of Hitoshi’s shirt with shaky fingers, and then pulls him into a deep, longing kiss. Their lips part quickly, tongues sliding softly against each other, both tasting like beer, Hitoshi is sure. 

“Shit, I've wanted to do that all night,” Katsuki mumbles against Hitoshi's lips, and then pulls him back in for more. 

The kiss is hungry, feral, yet tender, somehow, Katsuki crossing his arms behind Hitoshi's head, melting against him, brushing fingers through dark hairs. Hitoshi pushes against him slightly, trying to guide him back, but Katsuki is like putty in his arms and seems like he'll just fall over instead, so Hitoshi glides his fingers down Katsuki’s back, his ass, down to his thighs, where he grips on and lifts. Katsuki makes a little noise, surprised but pleased, it seems, and kisses Hitoshi deeper. Hitoshi backs him up further, until Katsuki is fully planted on the counter. Katsuki pulls him closer still with his legs, his arms, wrapped around him like an octopus around its prey. Hitoshi fucking loves it. He hopes his kiss makes this perfectly clear. 

Hitoshi doesn’t hear the door open, but Katsuki must’ve, because he detaches himself reluctantly from Hitoshi’s lips and turns slowly towards it. Hitoshi, slightly dizzy and completely gone in the moment, turns confusedly to the door as well to see Hanta standing there, apparently deciding if he really did need that beer or not. Still, Katsuki doesn’t unwrap his arms, his legs, doesn’t stop playing with the hairs at the nape of Hitoshi’s neck. It tingles all the way down his spine, and he visibly shivers. 

“Hurry the fuck up, then,” Katsuki says, voice low and slow, lips plush from their kiss, cheeks flushed to the ears. 

Hanta nods and steps forward, finally stepping forward and towards the fridge. He rummages through it for far too long, Katsuki is getting restless around Hitoshi, but in the end, Hanta emerges empty handed. “Uh, guess we’re out.” 

Katsuku growls. 

“Bummer,” Hitoshi says, turning back to the man before him. “Wanna head back to my place, sweetheart?” 

At this, Katsuki’s frown turns into a grin, and he nods hurriedly, leaning forward to catch Hitoshi’s lips again, and Hitoshi doesn’t even care that Hanta makes an obnoxious gagging noise as he leaves the room.

Chapter Text

Hitoshi feels… itchy, almost. Not anywhere particular, just all over, all at once, and maybe not at all. He keeps chewing on the pen, his fingers keep playing a hurried melody on his knees, the table, his draft, or maybe they're just twitching, Hitoshi isn't sure, he just knows there's no stopping it right now. He scratches out a paragraph in the draft, then another, because they annoy him right now, they seem so off. Fuck, has his writing always been this awful? He mostly just wants to throw it out the window and be done with it. Instead, he pushes away from the table, chair scratching against the floor loudly, and he walks a few circles in the living room. 

“What is it now?” Katsuki asks, coming out of the bathroom with damp hair and a set of Hitoshi’s clothes. He looks good. It helps his mood a little. 

Hitoshi gestures back at his draft with unreasonably shaky fingers. “Shit's fucking awful, what else?” 

Katsuki frowns, confused, double checking where Hitoshi is pointing. He goes to the coffee table, grabs the draft and squints to read through the ballpoint pen stripes all over the pages. “You were really proud of this just yesterday. What's changed?” 

“I don't know!” he exclaims, bewildered, because he really doesn't. “Maybe I changed. Maybe I was a shit writer yesterday, who the fuck knows?” 

Katsuki throws the papers back down on the table with a thwap, then turns to Hitoshi and crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, I know. At least, I know you weren't a shit writer yesterday, and I know I loved those paragraphs, so that can't be it.” 

“Yeah, well, what do you know anyway?” 

“Hitoshi,” Katsuki says, stern and maybe a little angry. Hitoshi shuts up. He's not even sure why he said that in the first place. Katsuki has been such a great help, and he's been amazing at telling him when things felt too rushed or too slow, or when something just didn't fit. “Start over.” 

Hitoshi lets himself sink down onto the couch with a sigh. “I'm sorry. I don't know. I just feel off, lately. I'm sorry that I turned it on you.” 

Katsuki sits down beside him, shoulder against shoulder. He leans his head against Hitoshi’s. “I've noticed. Anything I can do?” 

Hitoshi shakes his head just a fraction, enough for Katsuki to feel it. “Maybe I just need some fresh air.” 

The scoff that leaves Katsuki sounds almost accidental. “Yeah, I'm sure that's it.” His tone indicates that he's sure it isn't. 

Katsuki finds him on the balcony half an hour later. The air is getting chilly, but his fingers keep drumming on the railing, so he stays. Katsuki leans against the railing beside him, shooting a quick glance at Hitoshi’s fingers, then back up at his distant expression. “You're not smoking out here?” 

Hitoshi shakes his head. 

“Run out?” 

Another shake of his head. Then, as an afterthought, a nod. 

Katsuki sighs. “Well, what the fuck is it, Hitoshi? You're acting all kinds of off. Do you want me to go get you some?” 

“Yes,” Hitoshi breathes, almost relieved, but then shakes it off. “I mean, no. No, I really don't want you to do that.” 

Katsuki raises a brow, unconvinced. “Sure…” His arms are back to being crossed over his chest. Hitoshi doesn't like the distance it puts between them, the way he closes himself off. He can't really blame Katsuki though. Not with how he's acting himself lately. “Wait,” Katsuki says softly, slowly, like something is just occurring to him. “When was the last time you had a smoke?” 

Hitoshi shrugs. “Three days ago.” And seven hours. But who's counting, right? 

Hitoshi had started off only smoking whenever Katsuki wasn't around. But then he thought, fucking hell, he'd want Katsuki to be able to come over anytime and not be uncomfortable from the smell, so he should probably just quit. He'd decreased his use gradually, thinking he'd be fine on the other end of it, but apparently that shit can hit you hard either way. Hitoshi had to learn that the hard way, it seems. 

When all Hitoshi hears in reply is the sound of cars down on the street, he decides to try and steal a glance at Katsuki. Katsuki is watching him intently, brows knit together, trying to figure him out. The arms are dropping from his chest, though, and it's really nice when he takes a step towards Hitoshi. “Are you actually for real?” Katsuki asks softly, tilting his head. His expression slowly melts into something else, something beautiful and open and thoughtful. “I never asked you to stop smoking.” 

Hitoshi looks out over the city, but it's bustling and busy and nothing interesting, so he turns back to Katsuki. Beautiful Katsuki, hair now dry and unstyled, still in Hitoshi’s grey jogging pants and purple hoodie. Feet bare. He'll be getting cold soon. “I know.” 

Katsuki's head turns to tilt the other way, like he's trying to pry his way into Hitoshi's mind. He's so close now, right in front of Hitoshi, looking up just slightly to stare into his eyes. “So why?” 

He looks at the sky. It's not like being out in the woods, it's not as private as hiking a mountain trail with just Katsuki. Maybe he should have said it then. Maybe he should have said it before. 

Hitoshi looks back at Katsuki with a small smile. All the frustration has left him. His fingers are unmoving on the railing. “I guess… because I love you? That sounded like a question,” he says with a nervous laugh. “It's not a question. I know I do. Love you. And because I want to be around you all the time, and for you not to be uncomfortable when we're together. And… I don't need the high that smoking gives me anymore. So I just… quit.”

Katsuki's brows are lowered in a soft frown, teeth biting into his lower lip, something swimming in his eyes that Hitoshi hopes he's reading right. And then he takes the last step towards him, tilts his head the rest of the way and kisses Hitoshi. Just kisses him, so softly, like it's their first time. Hitoshi glides his hands down Katsuki’s arms, all the way from the shoulders and down, until he reaches his fingers and intertwines them with his own, pulling at him gently so Katsuki comes to rest flush against Hitoshi. He guesses he finally said the right thing. 

Katsuki pulls back, eyes shiny and wet, mouth working around words he can't manage to get out. 

“You don't have to say anything,” Hitoshi says softly, brushing their noses together. “I just thought it was time to let you know.” 

Katsuki lets out a surprised laugh and slaps a hand against Hitoshi's chest weakly. “Shut up. I do. Of course I do.” He kisses him, but it's short, over much too quick. “Fuck, Hitoshi, I love you, too.” And then he's back on Hitoshi. 

The hustle and bustle of the city has never sounded as beautiful as it does then. 

It's an adjustment for both of them. An adjustment they needed, sure, but still. The worst of it has passed after five days off cigarettes, and Hitoshi no longer feels on edge and jittery anymore. He does keep nibbling on things though, be it pens, toothpicks or his thumbnail. Katsuki says it's unsanitary and demands that he find another outlet. He'd wiggled his brows and asked if Katsuki was volunteering, but Katsuki had just given him this long stare that told him that he was being serious. Hitoshi was, too, but he didn't push the matter. 

A quick research has him trying gum. He's never been much into it, but he figures it can't hurt, so he gets some. It does help, a bit. He gets pretty good at blowing bubbles, too, which has Katsuki wrinkling his nose with each pop. It doesn’t last more than two days, though, before Katsuki stomps over, grabs Hitoshi’s head, sticks his tongue into his mouth with a conviction that has Hitoshi’s knees wobbling, then pulls away and spits the gum out in the trash. Hitoshi can’t help but follow him longingly with his eyes as he walks off. “Why was that so hot?” 

Katsuki just scoffs and flips him off. 

Hitoshi is going to need a lot more gum. 

It takes a few weeks, but finally he feels like the weight of the cravings has finally fully lifted from his shoulders. It's helped that he's kept himself occupied with working on his novel – and with Katsuki. Katsuki who loves him, who spends most of his free time in Hitoshi’s apartment, brightening it up and making it feel like a home. Katsuki who invites their friends over like it's his own place, until Hitoshi wonders if he should just ask him to move in. It's a big step, he knows, but he doesn't doubt that they can handle it. 

Katsuki hums at the proposal, thinking it over in detail before he comments. “I do really like my kitchen, though. Yours is kinda small.”

Hitoshi shrugs and kisses Katsuki’s bare shoulder. Katsuki leans back against Hitoshi's naked chest, pulling the duvet over their legs and his own stomach. Hitoshi’s fingers run softly over Katsuki’s thighs under the covers, up his hips and fluttering over his stomach, back and forth in an almost unconscious movement that has Katsuki melting further into him. “We'll move into yours, then.” 

Soft, unruly hairs tickle Hitoshi's chin as Katsuki shakes his head. “But the balcony…” 

A single laugh escapes Hitoshi's throat. “Tell you what,” he says, bringing up a hand to slowly scratch at Katsuki’s scalp in a way that has Katsuki groaning. “We'll move into either place, and then save up for something that's ours, with a nice kitchen and a balcony. Maybe somewhere a bit further out of the city. Somewhere quiet. If you even want to move in with me, that is.” 

Katsuki hums again, lost in Hitoshi's fingers in his hair. “‘Course I do, idiot.” He's quiet for a moment, and Hitoshi can't tell if he's turning the idea in his head or if he's simply done talking. But then he lets out a content sigh and says, “And I think that's a really nice idea. Somewhere that's ours. I like that.” 

Hitoshi smiles against Katsuki’s shoulder, planting small kisses against warm skin. “Where do you want to live until then, love?” 

As always, Katsuki smiles at the nickname. He pulls away, raises himself up just enough to turn around and straddle Hitoshi’s legs, wrapping his arms softly around his neck. He places a soft kiss on Hitoshi's lips. “How about this,” he starts, fingers tickling Hitoshi's back absently. “I go wherever you go. Sounds good?” 

Hitoshi can't help the grin spreading on his face. “Sounds absolutely perfect.” 

The house is full of chatter and laughs, and Hitoshi makes himself busy with pouring champagne to each of their friends. It's different from the usual cheap shots and beer, and he doesn't miss the confused – but definitely not opposed – expressions that flit upon their faces. 

“Fancy, much?” Mina asks, twirling the champagne is her flute. She takes a sip and smacks her lips, delighted. “Good stuff.” 

Hitoshi, a bit self-conscious, just laughs and moves on. Maybe it is a bit much. He'd be happy with just a few beers, if anything, but Katsuki had insisted that they were going to celebrate properly, and if he's being completely honest, it had made Hitoshi feel so fucking loved that he couldn't object. 

He's just finished pouring for himself and Katsuki, and he turns to the rest of the group with a nervous shuffle. 

“What's the occasion?” Camie asks, holding her drink with a pointed pinkie finger. 

“Yeah,” Kyouka says from where she's leaning casually against the wall. “Wasn't your housewarming party just last month?” 

It was. They'd finally settled into their small red-brick house with a cozy bedroom and a well lit office and a kitchen that Katsuki had deemed just perfect. It doesn't have a balcony, but it has a little raised patio looking out over a small backyard, and Katsuki seems to like it just as much, if not more. They'd invited their friends over, most of whom had already been by to help with the move, and they thanked them with drinks and pizza. It'd been a really nice day. 

This evening, however, is about something else.

“Yeah, well, Hitoshi has an announcement to make,” Katsuki says, nudging at Hitoshi with his elbow. 

Everyone seems to turn their attention to Hitoshi expectantly. His palms get sweaty, and he downs the champagne in his flute in a quick gulp to try and calm his nerves. Katsuki grabs the bottle out of his other hand and fills the glass back up. 

“Right,” Hitoshi starts uncomfortably. “It's not really an announcement. Just, you know, something that's happened to me – well, is happening, and it's a big deal for me, but you don't–” 

Katsuki slaps a hand down on his back. “Oh for fuck's sake,” he mumbles, and then, to the others, “Hitoshi's book is being published today, and we're all really excited for him, right?”  

They don't look like they have to pretend to follow along when Mina and Denki jump in glee, Camie and Eijirou break out in big smiles, Kyouka and Hanta clamp a hand over their mouths with wide eyes and Tetsutetsu exclaims “Dude! Congrats!” The others quickly echo him excitedly, moving closer to rustle him in an apparently congratulatory gesture. 

“About time, you’ve only been talking about this for a year, give or take,” Kyouka says, but she’s smiling with her glass raised at Hitoshi. “Congratulations.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Hitoshi laughs nervously. “It’s been a long time coming. I’m just… I can’t really believe it’s actually happening.” 

“Of course it’s happening,” Katsuki says sternly, but there’s a hint of pride in his voice. “You’ve been working really hard on it. Not to mention, you’ve had me along to give you all your good ideas.”

Hitoshi leans in to kiss his cheek. “That’s true.” 

“So let’s raise a glass to the published author!” Denki shouts, loud enough for Hitoshi to jump, just a little, but he raises his flute along with everyone else for a drink. 

“Also,” Katsuki says, setting his glass down on the table. “They sent us a copy of the book, and I, for one, am curious to see how it came out.” He turns and walks into the office, returning with a box in hand. Hitoshi knew they’d send him one, he just didn’t know it’d arrived already, so his heart skips a beat at the sight of the box. Katsuki hands it over to Hitoshi with a small smile, just meant for him, and Hitoshi melts a little. 

The box is heavy. Heavier than he’d been expecting. He opens it slowly, ripping a string of cardboard and pulls out a paper-wrapped book from inside. Katsuki takes the box from his hand and puts it down on the table, and when he’s turned back, Hitoshi tears the paper, revealing the cover of his book underneath. It’s a hardback, deep purple with silver font and accents, and although Hitoshi had known what it’d look like, had even helped design it, he still can’t stop himself from feeling a bit in shock. He made this. He worked hard, and he made it, and it’s beautiful. 

“Oh, wow,” Hanta says, stepping closer to get a better look. 

Katsuki squeezes Hitoshi’s shoulder. Hitoshi turns to him and laughs at the grabby hands he’s making at the book. He hands it over, loving the way Katsuki’s eyes shine along with the silver. He turns the book around, flips it open in the back, points out the picture of Hitoshi there – that’d been awkward, but his publisher had insisted – and then flips through the first few pages and clears his throat. “‘To Anya and Kirin,’” Katsuki reads from the page of dedications, voice loud enough to carry across the room, “‘who chose to love me, and always supported me in my dreams. I know you’re looking down on me with pride. And to’ …” He pauses, voice dimming into nothing. He glances over at Hitoshi, blinking quickly, eyes wet, then glances back down at the page. When he continues, his voice is much quieter, barely above a whisper. “‘And to Katsuki. The world is a lot brighter with you in it’ ...” 

Mina lets out a quiet “Aww,” somewhere to the side of them, but Hitoshi can’t seem to take his eyes off of Katsuki. Katsuki, who looks back up at him from the page once more, eyes full of confusion and awe. 

“What,” Hitoshi asks with a small shrug, “you thought I wouldn’t thank you? This story wouldn’t have gone anywhere without you.” He steps closer, reaches out for Katsuki, who lets Hitoshi wrap him up in his arms. “I wouldn’t have gone anywhere without you.” 

“Fuck…” Katsuki mumbles, closing the book and clutches it against his chest, turning around in Hitoshi’s embrace to hide his face in his neck. “Could’ve warned me you’d do that.” His ears and neck are flushing slightly, and Hitoshi grins as he plants kisses on the side of Katsuki’s neck. 

Someone clears their throat beside them. Hitoshi looks up to see Denki and Eijirou, both with raised, refilled glasses, Eijirou with a new bottle in hand. “Another toast to the debut?” 

Hitoshi chuckles and nods, holding out his glass to Eijirou, who fills it up. 

“And the author’s partner?” Eijirou asks Katsuki’s back, mockingly formal. 

Katsuki burrows himself deeper into Hitoshi’s neck for a second, then breathes in deeply against his skin and eventually detaches himself fully and turns. He grabs his glass off the table and holds it out to Eijirou. “Keep it coming.” 

The champagne does keep coming. Hitoshi probably went a bit overboard when he bought them, but they nearly get to every bottle anyway. 

“So, what are you going to spend all of your book-money on?” Tetsutetsu asks while they’re on the couch, leaning against each other in a slight buzz. 

“Well, I’ve got this idea, if Katsuki is up for it… If we can ever find the budget for it.” Hitoshi leans his head back, looking intently at the ceiling. “I’d really like a skylight.”