Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

That day changed the trajectory of their lives. And Katsuki barely remembered it.

The Incident, that is.

In a horrible, catastrophic battle that brought in heroes from all over the country, with Katsuki and Shoto leading the way, Katsuki’s right arm finally failed him. He remembered charging up a Howitzer two hundred meters in the air, and in all that spinning and blasting and soot and fire and wind, he felt a blaze of pain, a spray of blood, and­—a sudden void at his right side.

He managed to detonate his directional blast to send all that velocity toward the main villain, which had taken residence on top of a skyscraper. But after that, without his second engine, he spun erratically through the air, hit the south side of the skyscraper, and careened into an uncontrolled free-fall. Until—

A muscled right arm wrapped around Katsuki’s waist, breaking his fall and knocking the wind out of him, sweeping him up and away, safe.

“You awake?” Shoto yelled over the deafening rush of wind.

“Am now!”

“Then hang on, okay?”

Katsuki wrapped his legs around Shoto’s torso, distributing his body weight and improving his grip. Shoto flew him away from the skyscraper, out of the nucleus of the battle and toward the perimeter. Katsuki tried not to look down. Although he was accustomed to high-altitude maneuvers, he always had his Quirk to catch him if he fell: a luxury he no longer possessed. He was entirely dependent on Shoto to keep him from falling to his death this time.

He could feel they were losing height and wondered if it was intentional, or if his body weight was dragging Shoto down. And he noticed, with some disgust, that he’d soaked the entire side of Shoto’s suit in thick, dark blood.

He didn’t realize he’d been slipping until Shoto yelled something, jolting him alert. He tried to tighten his grip on the blue fabric of Shoto’s suit. Shoto reached and grabbed more of Katsuki’s body into his arms, sinking lower and lower toward the ground.

“I’ve got you,” Shoto said, breathless, and then they landed hard on the sidewalk, and Katsuki’s consciousness wavered and things started to blur together.

He did remember Shoto’s face, bruised and bloodied, his eyes sharp and his voice sharper. He remembered Shoto’s hands on his missing limb, numbing the area with cold. And he remembered Hero Dispatch yelling at Shoto to rejoin the fray, and Shoto yelling right back for the dispatcher to fuck off.

He remembered reaching up and catching Shoto’s cheek with his good only hand, and Shoto pausing, his breath hitching in his chest, his cold hand, covered in blood, pressing against Katsuki’s hand on his face.

“You’re gonna get Deku’s lecture on professional language if you keep that up,” Katsuki said, attempting a smile.

“Jesus Christ, Katsuki,” Shoto breathed. “You think I fucking care right now?”

Katsuki curled his fingers tight on Shoto’s face. “Listen to me.”

Shoto nodded.

“Get out there.”

“Katsuki, I—”

“They need you. Especially if I’m out. You have to.”

Tears spilled over Shoto’s cheeks. Nearby, paramedics approached with a stretcher. Shoto glanced up, then back to Katsuki. “I…I can’t—”

“Shoto—"

“No, Katsuki, you don’t…you’ve never…not like this.”

“I know.” Katsuki smoothed his thumb over Shoto’s cheek. “I’m not gonna die. But other people are if we don’t stop those villains.”

Shoto screwed his eyes shut.

“I’m okay,” Katsuki said.

“That is categorically untrue,” Shoto retorted.

“Fine. But you need to go catch more falling bodies. You know it.”

“God fucking—dammit.” Shoto scrubbed tears from his face, leaving streaks of his blood and Katsuki’s, as medics lifted Katsuki onto a stretcher. “I’ll find you. As soon as I can.”

“I know.” Katsuki gestured for him to come closer and Shoto kissed him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

When Katsuki woke up in the hospital, bleary and slow, the first thing he registered was a gently cold hand in his left. And that, he knew, belonged to only one person.

“Hey, princess,” he muttered, without opening his eyes.

A sharp exhale, then Shoto squeezed his hand. “Katsuki.”

His voice was raw, like he’d inhaled a lot of smoke. Or had been screaming for hours. Possibly both.

“D’ja get ‘em?” Katsuki breathed.

Shoto sniffed. “Yes.”

“That’s my hero.”

Shoto pulled Katsuki’s hand up and kissed it, then pressed it to his too-warm forehead. He let out a shaky breath. Katsuki shifted his hand to wipe away Shoto’s tears.

The first few days were chaos: a rotating cast of doctors from every specialty appeared and disappeared too quickly for Katsuki to keep up. Friends came in between, filling the space with bodies, laughter, cards, takeout food, and flowers. His parents showed up every day. Aizawa made a guest appearance. And of course, Shoto was there through it all, making the room as much his home as Katsuki’s.

Katsuki chose to live in the moment. He laughed with his friends, greeted everyone who came by with a genuine smile, made his dismissive reassurances that this was nothing and he’d be back out there in no time. With Shoto’s gentle reminders, he made efforts to hydrate and eat right to help his body heal. He accepted the good in each day and chose not to dwell on the bad.

But as time went on, and the high from the pain medication and near-death experience started to wear off, he found it harder to stay positive.

One night, about a week after The Incident, he found himself struggling. He’d been told by a specialist that a prosthetic was still a long-term plan and he’d need a lot more healing time before he could comfortably use one. A physical therapist had done an assessment and he hadn’t achieved the results he’d hoped. Doctors had dropped his pain medication to “as needed” and the intermittent aches and zings of pain were new and uncomfortable reminders of his missing limb. He felt sore and thirsty and angsty. And Shoto had gotten caught at work and hadn’t yet arrived for the evening.

Katsuki’s phone had been brutally killed during The Incident and the TV in his room hadn’t gotten cable since he’d arrived, so he was pretty unplugged and his communication ability had taken a hit. He picked up his in-room phone and dialed Shoto’s work number.

“Shoto Todoroki,” Shoto answered.

“Oh, hey, you’re still there.”

“Ugh, I’m so sorry, been trying to get my shit together and have been…unsuccessful.”

“It’s fine. I wanted to tell you not to come if you’re too busy. I’ll be fine.”

“No, I am absolutely coming. Don’t give it another thought.”

Katsuki sighed and glanced down at his feet under the blankets. “Well, fair warning, I’m in a bad mood so if you don’t have the bandwidth for that, I understand.”

“Oh, that’s awesome, I’m also in a terrible mood. We can be bitchy together.”

Katsuki cracked a laugh. Shoto laughed, too.

“I’m getting soba,” Shoto said, and Katsuki heard his chair clatter into his desk, like he’d gotten up and pushed it back in. “You want anything?”

“Also soba. Please.”

“Sounds good. I’m leaving now and will bring food.”

He didn’t hear from Shoto until he arrived in his room, carrying a big takeout bag. The shadows under his eyes had turned a deep purple and he altogether looked dehydrated and exhausted. He set the bag on Katsuki’s bed and started to unpack it—Katsuki gently tapped his hand away and did it himself. “Sit down, you look like shit.”

Shoto left to wash his hands in the bathroom, then eased himself onto the foot of Katsuki’s bed, the tray table between them. Katsuki nudged his own water cup closer and Shoto took a long drink. Then he rubbed his eyes, opened his soba container, and broke a pair of chopsticks, which he tried to hand to Katsuki. “Do you want these or a fork?”

“Chopsticks, and I’ve gotta try it myself.” Katsuki tore open a chopstick package and gripped one chopstick with his teeth, using his left hand to pull and separate them. It worked all right. He struggled to maneuver the chopsticks into position in his left hand, then stabbed them into the heart of his soba serving. Ah well, grace would come with practice.

“Nice. Getting better,” Shoto commented, slurping some of his own noodles and perking up immediately.

“Yeah, well, would’a been easier if I was already ambidextrous, like someone else in this room.”

“Trust me, that comes with its own set of issues.” Shoto wiped his mouth with a napkin. “So, tell me about your day.”

Katsuki told him about the physical therapy assessment (he’d been present for the prosthetic specialist earlier that morning) and the pain meds wearing off. But with food and company, he could feel his mood evening out into something more neutral than before. “I think it’s all just starting to hit,” he finished, while Shoto listened. “I lost a whole-ass arm and things aren’t going to be normal anytime soon.”

“For sure.” Shoto twirled noodles with his chopsticks. “I’m not surprised you’re feeling this way, nor that it’s happening in a sort of delayed fashion. I want you to know that none of this is going to scare me away. I’m here for it. Okay?”

“Thank you. I wasn’t worried.”

Shoto smiled and slurped the last of his noodles, then started cleaning up their takeout boxes. “I have a proposal.”

“I’m already married to you, princess.”

“Ha ha,” Shoto said dryly. “You want to take a walk?”

They ended up on a bench on the outdoor rooftop patio. It was a relatively warm, early-summer evening, and the stars were just visible through the city lights. Katsuki closed his eyes and leaned his head on Shoto’s shoulder, drinking in the fresh air.

“Good idea,” he murmured.

“Yes, it was a nice night. Figured you were cooped up and would enjoy a partial escape.” Katsuki felt him smile. “I’d break you out of here if I could.”

“I’d fuckin’ help you with that.”

Shoto laughed softly. “I miss you at home.”

“I miss you.”

Shoto kissed Katsuki’s forehead. Then he squeezed the arm he had wrapped around Katsuki’s waist and let out a deep sigh. “Soon,” he said.

“Yeah,” Katsuki agreed. “As soon as I can.”

Chapter Text

In the following week, Shoto stayed by Katsuki’s side day after day, interfacing with doctors, calling specialists, communicating with friends and family, advocating for everything from hot sauce on Katsuki’s food to increased security on his floor. Katsuki did everything in his power to heal and adjust to the missing limb. Together, they worked as hard as they could in every way possible—until, finally, two weeks after The Incident…Katsuki went home.

The house was spotlessly clean, weeks worth of Katsuki’s favorite meals stocked in the freezer, the lawn mowed, the garden weeded, and every single sock and towel laundered and put away. There was even a vase of fresh flowers on the table. Katsuki smirked when he saw it and turned to Shoto. “I’m guessing Deku was involved in all this?”

“Hm?” Shoto said, cocking his head.

“This,” Katsuki said, gesturing with this good only hand. “Everything’s perfect.”

“Oh!” Shoto gave a slight smile. “I’m glad. No, nobody’s been here.”

Katsuki paused. “But you’ve been with me every day.”

“Mm-hm!”

“And…haven’t you been at work?”

“Yes, though I have limited responsibilities right now—”

“So when did you do all this?”

“I don’t understand.”

“This!” Katsuki gestured to a fresh pan of his favorite brownies lying on the stove. “Like, when did you make brownies? You got to the hospital at eight! And you went to work before that!”

“Oh, those? Like three in the morning.”

“Shoto.”

He shrugged. “I haven’t been sleeping well, it helps to get up and do something, you know?”

“Oh my God….” Katsuki pressed his hand to his eyes. “Go take a nap, idiot!”

Shoto looked hurt, like instead of barking at him, Katsuki had reached out and slapped him across the face. Tears welled in his eyes and his lip trembled.

“Sho?” Katsuki said cautiously. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“Yes!” Shoto sobbed, turning away and hiding his face in his arm. “You just got home. I don’t want to sleep. I want to be with you.”

“Okay, okay. I get that. I’m sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” Shoto sniffed. He turned and left the kitchen. Katsuki heard the door to the guest bedroom close quietly.

He sighed, pried the lid off the brownie pan, and ate one before approaching the guest bedroom with another brownie as a peace offering. He knocked on the door.

“Shoto Todoroki,” he began. “Love of my life. My personal space heater, air conditioner, and toaster. Can I open the door?”

Inside, Shoto groaned and said, “Fine.”

Katsuki used his elbow to open the door and found Shoto curled up on the guest bed, his back to Katsuki. Katsuki sat down on the bed and dangled the brownie over Shoto’s shoulder in his line of vision.

“Fine,” Shoto said again, snatching the brownie and sitting up to eat it. “I’m only doing this because I’m starving.”

“I’ll make you a real lunch when you’re done pouting.”

Shoto sent a blast of cold air toward Katsuki. “I’ll make lunch. And I’m not pouting.”

“Whatever you say.” Katsuki reached for his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. I am too. I’m hungry and tired and sensitive. Sorry.”

“It’s all good. Let’s fix that stuff.”

Three weeks continued in similar fashion: they felt out of sync in a lot of ways. Katsuki wondered if this was an extension effect of his physical issues. With his new missing limb, he had to re-learn basic balance and functions, let alone exercising and work matters. He had daily in-home physical and occupational therapy, which helped, but there was still an adjustment period. He felt sore, crabby, and intermittently depressed. Feelings that were largely reflected on Shoto’s face, too.

One Sunday evening, Katsuki organized a date night and surprised Shoto with plans for dinner at a nice restaurant when he returned from an afternoon at his parents’ house. “I know we’ve been wanting to try that culinary school downtown, so I made reservations. We’ll need to leave in an hour. Figured that gives you time to shower and stuff. And I picked out some clothes for both of us. I know you hate figuring out what to wear,” he said as Shoto slipped off his shoes.

“Kat….” Shoto sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I appreciate the gesture. I can’t go out tonight.”

Katsuki bit back his first response—annoyance—and chose something softer. “Please, Sho? I really want to spend time with you. Feel like things are back to normal, you know? I’m happy to help with anything you need so we can go and have a good time together.”

Shoto sighed again and looked at Katsuki, his eyes burdened and raw. “I want that too,” he said, his voice tight. “It’s just…things aren’t back to normal out there. And I deal with it all day, and I don’t want to deal with it all night, when I want to just be with you. Okay?”

Katsuki cocked his head. “Villains and shit? I haven’t heard anything—”

“No,” Shoto cut in. “You haven’t. And it’s not just villains.”

Katsuki paused. Shoto glanced at the floor, pressing his lips together tightly, like he’d said too much.

“Sorry,” Shoto whispered, dropping his backpack and scurrying away toward the shower.

“Shoto,” Katsuki said, following him, suspicion rising in his head. “What’s going on? What am I missing?”

But Shoto didn’t give him a second glance. He tossed off his clothes and climbed into the shower.

Katsuki caught the bathroom door with his foot and stuck his head inside. “You’re really gonna try to ice me out like that?”

Silence, save for the rush and slap of water droplets.

“Shoto Todoroki—"

“Drop it,” Shoto said, with a bite in his voice. “Seriously, just…stop.”

Katsuki paused, gripping the door frame tight. Something in his chest ached. He was hurt that Shoto wouldn’t open up, but more than that, Shoto hardly ever snapped at him. If he did, he meant business. He closed his eyes and sighed as the ache in his chest throbbed.

“So you don’t want to go tonight?” Katsuki asked.

More silence. Then: “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Katsuki turned away. “I’ll call and cancel, then.”

Shoto returned downstairs after his shower, they got takeout, and with the cable out for the sixth week running, they picked an anime episode to watch in silence. But Katsuki could feel the distance between them growing wider and colder.

That night, Shoto said he needed some space. He slept in the guest bedroom.

Chapter Text

“Shochan?”

Shoto looked up as Izuku closed his office door and sat down in front of his desk. He paused, his hands hovering over his keyboard. “What’s up?” he asked slowly.

“This is my version of an intervention.” Izuku popped the tops off two sodas and slid one to Shoto. “Do you need to finish what you’re doing first?”

“Um…yeah, one sec.” Shoto tabbed a few times, saved his form, and turned off his computer screen. Then he turned to Izuku, who gestured to the soda, and Shoto relented. He was soft for a good soda after a long day. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Well, that’s what I want to talk about,” Izuku said. “And I’m coming to you as a friend. Not as an agency manager or anything like that. Please, just…I want to talk to you."

Shoto rubbed his forehead with his cold hand. “I know. I’m know I’m screwing up. I’m letting everything burn, and—”

“Shochan, please,” Izuku said, his hand coming up to gently grasp Shoto’s arm. “I’m going to talk. You’re going to listen.”

Shoto let his breath out and nodded.

Izuku squeezed his arm. “Kacchan called me today.”

Shoto’s head whipped up. “What? Why?”

“He’s very worried about you. And from our conversation, it’s leading me to believe you haven’t told him a lot of things.”

“So what did you tell him?” Shoto asked.

“Nothing,” Izuku said firmly. “I promise. But Sho…if I’m right and Kacchan is still in the dark about all this, you have to tell him. Immediately.”

“Absolutely not. Kat’s recovering. I’m not getting him involved in my mess.”

Izuku sighed and took a sip of soda. “I thought you’d say that.”

“Well, it’s true!”

“All right,” Izuku said. “But let me ask you: why didn’t you tell Kacchan right away?”

“He’d lost an entire arm, Izuku. He had much more important things to think about.”

“Elaborate.”

Elaborate? Shoto felt a flash of annoyance and drowned it in a sip of soda. Izuku wasn’t doing anything wrong, he told himself. He was being a good friend. Shoto should appreciate that. Maybe he would, later…years later, perhaps.

“You kept it to yourself for what purpose?” Izuku prompted. “You don’t have to have a perfect answer. Just think out loud if you want.”

Shoto sighed and picked at the wrapper on his soda bottle. “To avoid bothering him with my stupid shit.”

“Again, more kindly.”

Shoto closed his eyes. “To give him space to focus on healing while he was seriously injured.”

“Okay, so if you boiled it all down, it was to help Kacchan, right? That was the goal of keeping it to yourself at first?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, great. That was very kind of you, Shochan.”

Shoto shrugged.

“I think Kacchan has benefitted from being able to focus and adjust after his injury. He’s gotten a lot better. Do you think so, too?”

“Well, his arm’s not going to grow back,” Shoto muttered.

“Sure, but he’s able to do most of the things he enjoys, right?” Izuku asked. “He can cook and work out and take care of himself. He told me he’s in line for a prosthetic in a few weeks. That’s wonderful.”

Shoto narrowed his eyes at Izuku. “You’re building to something.”

Izuku laughed. “You always know.”

“Yes, well…what is it?”

Izuku sighed. “So you didn’t tell Kacchan right away because you wanted to help him. Right?”

“Yes, we established that.”

“Do you think keeping this from him is helping him now?”

Shoto paused. Certainly, Katsuki was still protected from the onslaught of press, the inevitable feeling of responsibility to get involved, and the demand of his attention on anything but his injury and recovery. And Shoto would do anything to swap places with Katsuki and live in a quiet cocoon for a few months. Maybe a few years at this point.

But Katsuki had changed since The Incident, too. He was putting in effort, recovering well, and coming back stronger. And he had shown Shoto the prior night that he was ready to be an equal partner again. He’d wanted to connect and be together, and Shoto had told him no. For what? To help him?

Was it helping now, if keeping secrets caused so much strife that they’d slept alone? That Katsuki had felt it necessary to call Izuku for answers, since he wasn’t confident he could even talk to Shoto?

“I don’t…I don’t know,” he told Izuku. “That’s a lot to think about.”

“Sure,” Izuku said. “Can I offer my two cents?”

Shoto nodded.

“You’ve been carrying the burden yourself. But it’s really about both of you. Kacchan knows that part of being your partner is shouldering those burdens with you. And he wants to. He called me to ask how he can help you. And I think it’s time you talk to him and let him join the fight. It’s not yours to bear in secrecy. Kacchan is alive and well and willing. Let him be your partner. And tell him tonight.”

Shoto let out a frosty breath. “You think he’s okay to know?”

Izuku nodded. “I do.”

“If he blows up the house, I’m blaming you,” Shoto laughed, but it wasn’t really a joke.

“I’ll rebuild it with my own two hands, Shochan, and you know I’m good for that.” Izuku patted his arm. “Call me if you get cold feet, okay?”

“Only one foot gets cold, Izuku.”

“You know what I mean.”

Katsuki heard the garage door open and he carefully pushed dinner onto two plates. After his conversation with Izuku, he’d made a nice meal of salmon, rice, and greens, and planned to have it hot and ready the moment Shoto walked in the door.

Shoto entered quietly, storing his work bag and leaving his shoes by the door. He poked his head in the kitchen. “Good afternoon. Smells delicious.”

“Your favorite.”

Shoto gasped. “Soba?”

“Well, no. Your second favorite.”

“Ah, the Kat-approved favorite dinner?” Shoto smiled and let down his hair from its braided bun. “I’m going to change, but I’ll be back in a few.”

“Take your time.”

True to his word, Shoto returned in less than five minutes, wearing comfortable pants and a t-shirt, his hair loose and combed out. He kissed Katsuki’s cheek and took their plates to the table. “Wine?” he asked.

“Yeah. A white would be good.”

Shoto picked a bottle from their wine rack, cooled it with his Quirk, and poured.

They had a perfectly nice dinner, but Katsuki still felt that strange distance between them, and it irked him. But Izuku had instructed him to let Shoto lead any deeper conversation, and he firmly steered his brain away from the questions it desperately sought to ask: Why won’t you talk to me? What’s going on with you? Why are you so distant?

Do you hate me now that I’m broken?

Shoto told him to “chill” while he quickly loaded the dishwasher, so Katsuki sipped his wine while they chatted meaninglessly about anime, and tried not to let on how anxious he was. He was afraid if he made any intense moves, Shoto might bolt like a stray cat. And again, he was listening to Izuku’s instructions. Or…trying.

But it paid off. Shoto turned around and held up the wine bottle, studying the volume. Then he said, “I need to talk to you. Would you like another glass?”

“Yes, please.”

Shoto flicked off the overhead lights, leaving them in the warm glow of the under-cabinet lights and a candle on the table. He emptied the wine bottle into both glasses and eased himself into his chair across the table. He looked nervous. Katsuki gently nudged his foot in reassurance.

Shoto took a breath and said, “Long story short, everything’s going to shit.”

“I think I’ll need the long story.”

“Mm-hm.” Shoto started playing with the ends of his hair. “Right after you got hurt, there was a ton of press. Obviously. There was a lot of speculation as to the severity of your injury and whether you could keep Number One. Best Jeanist’s PR department covered those bases and the consensus has been to wait and see.”

Katsuki gave a short laugh. “Unless they pull off some miracle with this prosthetic….”

“I know. But prosthetics have their place. If Mirko can keep her job after the war, nothing’s impossible.”

“Sure. Okay, that can’t be all of it. Keep going.”

“Right.” Shoto took a breath. “Even with the Number One position temporarily vacant, there was public pressure to appoint someone as interim Number One.”

“So…you?”

“Well, no, actually.”

Katsuki cocked his head. As Number Two, Shoto would absolutely be next in line for Number One, just as it was assumed that he himself would rise from Number Two when Izuku retired suddenly years prior.

Shoto closed his eyes. “I can’t look at you when I say this….”

“Oh no,” Katsuki murmured.

“The Commission served me a suspension notice at my office two days after The Incident,” Shoto said, with his eyes still shut. “I can’t be promoted if my license is suspended.”

Katsuki paused, the words sinking into his ears. “What?”

Shoto nodded. “I’m sure you have many questions.”

“So…what the fuck? Isn’t Hawks in charge of the Commission? And that was over a month ago! How long was the suspension? And on what fucking grounds?”

Shoto answered, ticking the questions off on his fingers. “One: Yes, he is. His recommendation was to let it take its course instead of having him override the investigation. Then it wouldn’t look like I used my connections to secure Number One in spite of the inquiry. Two: It’s indefinite while an investigation is conducted. Three: They’re investigating potential willful ignorance of orders, conflict of interest, and excessive use of force during The Incident.”

Katsuki gaped, lost for words. In front of him, Shoto took a sip of wine. Despite his placid look, his hands were shaking.

“That’s bullshit,” Katsuki said. “How are they justifying this? You’re a fucking saint, I don’t think you’ve even gotten a traffic ticket.”

“Well, this is just a best guess,” Shoto said, “but I assume the willful ignorance charge is a result of me changing trajectory to catch you. I was supposed to hit the villain instead. Conflict of interest, probably the same thing, or when I swore at the dispatcher. Excessive use of force….” Shoto pulled out his phone and tapped a few times. “Did you see any clips of the battle or anything?”

“No,” Katsuki said, slowly realizing how out of the loop he’d been.

Shoto handed him his phone. A video was already pulled up. “If you can,” Shoto said. “That’s just the end of the battle. If you can’t, totally fine.”

Katsuki took the phone and pressed play. On the video clip, he watched Shoto enter the battleground from the air like a shooting star, aiming for one of the minor villains. In a bright flash, the villain fell, fully immolated in white fire. Shoto turned and sped for another villain. It, too, fell the same way.

“Jesus, Sho.”

“Keep watching.”

The camera zoomed as Shoto approached the largest villain, standing on the skyscraper. Something white beamed in Shoto’s hand. Shoto swung, his fire trailing behind his arm.

The villain screamed. Blood burst from his chest. Ice crackled. Shoto froze the entire skyscraper.

“Anyway,” Shoto said, sliding his phone from Katsuki’s fingers. “That’s probably the issue.”

“Did he die?” Katsuki asked, staring at his husband. “The villain?”

“That information is sealed right now, due to the investigation.” He clicked off his phone. “Dad’s furious, as you can imagine.”

“Yeah, your shot at Number One and it’s fucked because of Birdbrain’s stupid Commission?”

“Well…sure. I did also get three separate lectures.”

“Babe, I’ve said shit on the comms more times than I can count. It’s never escalated to suspension. And we’ve been backing each other up since high school, that’s not going to change. Why are they picking this one to get pissed about? Something’s not right.”

Shoto took a second to gather his thoughts, rubbing his thumb over and over the ring tattooed on his left hand. Then he looked up at Katsuki, his expression burdened. “You remember what you told me that day?” he said quietly. “When I had to go back in and I was agonizing over it?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You said you weren’t going to die, but other people were if we didn’t defeat the villains.” Shoto let out a shaky breath. “There were thirteen casualties. That’s why they’re on it. If my defiance of orders—let alone my subsequent battle performance—put more lives at risk, the job of the investigation committee is to hold me accountable.”

“Like I said, you’re a fucking saint. They’re not gonna find anything. Shit happens and it can suck, but that doesn’t mean you’re personally responsible.”

Shoto shrugged and fell silent, staring into his wine glass between his hands.

“I know that look,” Katsuki said, and Shoto’s eyes flicked up to his. “You’re not personally responsible. You did your job. So what if you did it in…how long was the video? Ten seconds?”

“Eleven.”

“Fine, eleven seconds.” Katsuki paused. “Three villains in eleven seconds?”

“Yeah.”

“Were you, like…okay after that?”

Shoto shrugged. “I felt good during the battle, but once that last villain was down, the blowback hit pretty hard.”

“But you were still there when I woke up, right?”

Shoto nodded. “I made it to the hospital, much later than I wanted. You were already in surgery. I tried to leave the scene immediately after the villain was down, but I’d overexerted during the battle and it…wasn’t pretty.”

“Did you pass out?” Katsuki asked.

“I wish. Puked my guts out in front of Uraraka and Shinso. Because of that, Izuku made me get cleared by medical before I left the scene. It was the only thing between me and you at that point, and I was…beside myself. I’ve never been so mad at him. Then Shinso asked Izuku if he should use his Quirk on me, to make me stop yelling and comply, and I fucking lost it. I apologized later, but….”

“Dammit, I missed Unhinged Shoto?” Katsuki said, giving him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure they understood, given everything that was going on.”

Shoto moaned and pressed his face into his hands. “I don’t know, Kat. I wasn’t in my right mind. Catching you was more of a body moved on its own thing than a conscious choice, but after that, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was emotional. I was enraged. I’ve never been that angry in my life. And then I went in super hard and took out three villains in eleven seconds. I just…I didn’t expect to be suspended, but I have to consider that it might be justified.”

“Shoto, no. Shoto. Listen.” Katsuki swept Shoto’s hair behind his ear as Shoto dropped his hands to the table, eyes shimmering with tears. “You were a hero that day. You’re the reason there weren’t more casualties. You’re the reason I wasn’t number fourteen. I’m sure there are many facets to the suspension. But don’t assume the Commission’s in the right, just because they say they are.”

Shoto sniffed, nodded, and dried his face on his shirt. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

They held gazes briefly, eyes locked across the table. In that moment, Katsuki felt like he was seeing Shoto clearly for the first time in weeks. It occurred to him that they hadn’t talked about The Incident since it happened—not really. They’d talked around it. Integrated the fallout into their lives. But, with an uncomfortable ache in his chest, Katsuki realized he’d never heard Shoto’s side of the story. They’d never brought it up. He himself had never even asked.

Katsuki offered his hand across the table. Shoto took it. “What have you said so far? Publicly?” Katsuki asked.

“Nothing of importance. I’ve just been exhausted. I can’t think straight. I said something to the effect of complying with the Commission’s investigation and respecting their authority to intervene. Nothing else.”

Katsuki squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re going through this. It’s wrong, and I’ll do whatever I can to set the record straight.”

Shoto nodded. “Thank you. We can strategize. But maybe another day.” He finished the wine in his glass and closed his eyes. “I’m tired.”

“You have every right to be.”

Chapter Text

“Oh my God,” Katsuki muttered under his breath for the fifteenth time that morning. He couldn’t tear his eyes from his computer screen. He’d returned to work for the first time since The Incident and spent the morning giving himself a crash-course on Shoto’s predicament.

Googling Shoto’s name immediately produced horrifying results. Katsuki scrolled past headline after headline, news clip after news clip. He didn’t dare touch social media with a ten-foot pole. But, potentially worst, he found that a reporter had caught a one-in-a-million image of Shoto confronting the final villain, his face bloody and scraped, Phosphor blazing on his chest, and that wild Todoroki crazy side shining in his blue eye.

The media had quickly latched onto the worst: Did Shoto Go Too Far? Is Shoto Still Fit for Service? and Is Yet Another Todoroki Showing Signs of Mental Illness? The headlines got more snappy, more speculative, more damning as he went.

Katsuki was rather accustomed to similar questions being floated about himself. But he had never seen these questions floated about his wonderful, steady, calm and collected Shoto.

He forced himself to read the major articles, feeling each one like a punch to the gut. He knew, in the back of his head, that Shoto had likely read all of them, too. And if it left Katsuki feeling this bad, he was appalled that Shoto had managed to live with him directly for weeks and not show how upset he’d been.

Finally, after ten horrible articles, he couldn’t take it anymore. He called Izuku.

“Hello Kacchan.”

“Hey. You got a second?”

“I do!”

“And are you with Sho?”

“No, I’m in my office. What’s up?”

Katsuki’s hand tightened around his phone. “I’m getting caught up on the news and stuff. It’s a shitshow out there. Has he been…like, okay? Handling it? Talking to someone? He didn’t let on at all at home.”

“Oh, I know, it’s really bad. I’m really not sure about Shoto. I had assumed he was talking to you for a few weeks and I didn’t know if bringing it up would be worse than better, you know? But he’s seemed under control and I haven’t felt the need to press in.”

“Ugh, okay. Um…how’s he been at work? Anything weird?”

“He’s been a little withdrawn, I think, but he’s also sidelined, so his schedule looks a little different. Again, I didn’t feel the need to press in.” He paused. “Has he been okay at home? Are you worried about anything in particular?”

“He’s been a hundred percent normal, aside from that one day that I called you. I think that’s what worries me.”

“I get that. But also, he knows he has a support system. Especially now that you’re up to speed.”

Katsuki scoffed. “I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface. I don’t understand why he kept this from me for this long. It’s been weeks. I think I’ve clearly shown that I’m fine. And like, I didn’t see any of this on the news or I would’ve asked him….”

Katsuki trailed off. An ugly theory was forming in his head, gaining speed like a bullet train to hell.

“Kacchan?” Izuku asked. “You still there?”

“Did he fuck with the cable?” Katsuki asked Izuku. “Or the internet? Do you know anything about that?”

“No. Nothing. And Kacchan, seriously, stop. You’re just playing conspiracy theorist because you’re mad that he didn’t loop you in earlier. He did the right thing yesterday and you can be pissed that it didn’t happen sooner, but going on wild goose chases to find a problem that doesn’t exist is not going to help you or him right now.”

“I hear that, but the cable’s been out at our house since the accident, and that’s not—”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“No, don’t. Fine. I’ll shut up.” Katsuki sighed. “I just…I’ve been out of the loop for so long. I feel so bad that all this has been happening under my nose and I had no idea. I told him a twenty-minute story about trying to fold socks the other day and he had all this going on in the background…God. Do you think they’ll restore his license anytime soon?”

“That’s a great question. I called Hawks a few weeks ago and he said these investigations usually take a minimum of four weeks, and can end in either a hearing, or an immediate restoration of the license. There’s not really a good way to know how it will play out. It’s entirely dependent on what the Commission finds.”

“I mean…you were there and I wasn’t. Do you think an investigation is warranted?”

Izuku hesitated. “Well….”

“It’s gotta be bad if you’re on the fence,” Katsuki muttered as his pulse increased by a power of three.

“Okay, so, here’s the thing…his performance was incredible, as always. I think their biggest issue that he went in hard and fast at the end. I think he just reached some sort of limit and took things into his own hands, for better or worse.”

“Tell me everything. All of it.”

“Okay. So this was about an hour after you got hurt. We’d already lost three major heroes, you included, to serious injury, and the approved strategy kept changing. I was standing next to him when he said, ‘Fuck this,’ ripped out his comms piece, and finished the battle himself in less than a minute. He took off, then all of a sudden it was over. Three villains completely neutralized. It was so fast.

“And I keep thinking…we know Shoto has that level of power at his disposal. Every hero does. We saw something similar from all of us during the war. But the Commission’s job is to be a check on that power. They can license us to use it, but we can’t go cataclysmic during every battle. Our job isn’t to simply take out villains, it’s to preserve the peace. Often, that means things like limiting property damage or protecting civilians from the crossfire. Unfortunately, with this one, some civilians walked out with frostbite, there was significant property damage, and some cars got completely melted. So I…I don’t know. The entire situation was intense, and he responded in kind. But whether it was the best choice…I’m torn. I can see it both ways.”

“Well, nothing’s ever a hundred percent cut and dry,” Katsuki sighed.     

“I know. Personally, we know I’m biased, but I think the Commission stands to lose more by revoking his license than reinstating it, so I hope they make decisions accordingly. He’s the Number Two Hero, and I don’t think a condemned office building and some frostbitten toes should knock him out of action completely.”

Katsuki leaned forward on his desk. “I hate this for him. I know I wasn’t there to see it, but I don’t think he deserves this kind of response from the Commission. He doesn’t behave in ways that call for that kind of crackdown. Like…it’s Shoto.”

Izuku sighed. “I don’t want to speak out of turn, but he did seem…not himself when he made the decision to go in that hard. I know he had so much pressure on him, with you getting hurt and everything, but I wonder if it pushed him into reacting decisively to a lot of negative feelings. And to be clear, I don’t blame him for feeling overwhelmed, if that’s what it was. I’ve thought a lot about how I would feel if Ochako got hurt like you did, and I was stuck at the battlefield with a hundred other heroes who should’ve been able to handle the situation themselves. It’s a genuinely terrible scenario. But….”

“He has a responsibility, too,” Katsuki finished.

“Yes. And I feel my own failure with this. I should’ve been more attentive to…oh, hold on one sec.”

Katsuki waited while Izuku talked with someone on the other side. Then, to his own surprise, Shoto’s voice came over the line. “Kat.”

“Uh, hey?”

“Why are you talking to Izuku?”

“Because he’s my friend and I wanted to talk to him?”

“About me,” Shoto said, and it wasn’t a question. He heard Izuku frantically trying to smooth it over in the background and knew that would likely only make Shoto more pissed.

The line crackled as Shoto let his breath out in one long, unbroken hiss. “Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t talk about me behind my back. Both of you. I’m not a fucking zoo animal and I’m not fucking delicate. Treat me like a fucking person.”

“It’s not like that—” Izuku said.

“This is not a discussion,” Shoto snapped. “I don’t care about the nuance. I want some basic human decency, and that’s not too much to fucking ask.”

“You’re right, Shochan, it’s not. I’m sorry.”

Shoto huffed. “Kat, did you get that?”

“Sho,” Katsuki said slowly, then changed his mind. “Yeah. I got it.”

“Good,” Shoto said, and then the line cut.

Katsuki’s office phone rang on his desk around lunch, shocking him out of his thoughts. It was the receptionist. He picked it up. “Dynamight.”

“Good afternoon, sir, a guest is here to see you.”

“Who is it?” Katsuki asked suspiciously.

“It’s Shoto, sir.”

Well, that was the last thing Katsuki had been expecting. He blinked, trying to grab his racing thoughts and stuff them back into some sort of order. “I’ll be right down,” he told the receptionist, then hung up, took the elevator to the lobby, and sure enough, there was Shoto, sitting in a chair with his backpack on his lap. He stood up when he saw Katsuki.

“Hey,” Katsuki said. “Wasn’t expecting you, is everything okay?”

Shoto heaved a shaky breath and slung his backpack over one shoulder. “I wanted to apologize. And I just…had to get out of the agency for a while. Figured I have the car, I could pick you up, and…I don’t know. I feel terrible about earlier, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Katsuki said. Shoto’s eyes, filled with tears, flicked up to Katsuki’s. He looked like he was on the brink of a complete breakdown, and Katsuki felt compelled to hold him together in any way he could. He reached out and touched Shoto’s arm. “It’s okay. Come with me, I’ll grab my stuff and we can go.”

Shoto nodded and followed Katsuki into the elevator, and together, they returned to his office. Shoto waited in the doorway. “How’d work go today?” he asked.

“Decent. My flow is all off, but I’m getting the hang of it.”

Shoto nodded. “That’s good.”

“Had four thousand emails,” Katsuki added, sliding his laptop into a bag.

“Four thousand?”

“Yeah, little over. Took me three hours to clear out.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” Katsuki swung his messenger bag over his head and good shoulder. “Ready when you are.”

Shoto had parked on a nearby street. Katsuki got into the passenger’s side while Shoto slid into the driver’s seat.

“Are you hungry?” Shoto asked.

“Getting there. You?”

Shoto shook his head.

“Maybe you should eat anyway, you look like hell,” Katsuki said.

“I know.” Shoto let out a shaky breath. “I called my therapist. She got me squeezed in for an appointment tomorrow morning.” He looked up and met Katsuki’s eyes. “I’m so sorry for how I spoke to you earlier. That wasn’t right. I feel…very fucked up right now and I keep taking it out on people around me, and I need to take responsibility for myself. So…the therapist.” He wiped tears from his eyes. “I apologized to Izuku, too. I really screwed up. I’m sorry.”

“Babe, I’ve fucked up innumerable times. Stop apologizing. And if it makes you uncomfortable for me and Deku to have sidebars, that’s fine. I just thought you might not want to talk about it again and I didn’t want to ruin your day. But I’ll come to you next time, okay?”

Shoto sniffed and murmured, “Okay. Thanks.”

Katsuki reached over and swept a few wisps of hair behind Shoto’s ear. “Ramen for lunch? I know a good place.”

Shoto nodded. “Just tell me where to go.”

Chapter Text

“I’m glad you were able to take the afternoon off yesterday.” Hana, Shoto’s long-term therapist, tapped her pen on her notepad. “It sounds like it’s just been one thing after the other.”

Shoto nodded. He liked Hana’s office: she usually had it lit with cute, bulbous lamps shaped like cats, which emitted soft pink and yellow light, and the corners were filled with tasteful potted plants that were probably fake, given the limited window light, but well-kept all the same. Shoto had the choice of sitting in a chair or on a comfortable couch. And there were always plenty of tissues, which he usually needed at some point during a session.

He'd picked the chair today, and he was pretty sure that meant something, because Hana had started taking notes before he’d even opened his mouth. She sat across the room in her own comfortable chair, a cup of coffee steaming near her left hand. She always dressed well—today, she wore a tan pantsuit and heels, and she’d gotten her hair cut into a fashionable bob since Shoto had last seen her.

“What about the situation yesterday with Katsuki and Izuku made you upset?” she asked next.

Shoto looked down at his hands. “I think…I think I just acted irrationally. I’m not sure why. Maybe I hadn’t slept well.”

“Well, you were upset about some aspect of the situation,” she said. “Were you angry that your partner was talking privately with another man? Were you feeling bullied or mocked? Did you feel like they were taking control of your personal situation when you didn’t ask them to?”

“I think…I was upset because I’d just opened up to Katsuki, and he immediately turned around and started talking to his best friend about me, instead of just talking to me. I was hurt that he and Izuku unilaterally decided that removing me from the conversation was appropriate. I would’ve talked more if he’d just come to me.”

“It’s reasonable to feel that way. Katsuki offered an explanation, correct?”

Shoto nodded. “He assumed I wouldn’t want to talk about it again, so he called Izuku first.”

“What do you think of his logic?”

“I want to say it’s so fucking stupid I could scream,” Shoto told Hana, and her mouth twitched in a half-smile, “but it’s Katsuki, and he’s not fucking stupid. So that makes me think I’m being emotional and not thinking clearly. Even if it’s the wrong conclusion, it should make sense.”

“Well, Katsuki had gone to Izuku for information before, which yielded results. You talked to him after that. We know he’s not dumb, he wanted answers. What do you think of that?”

“I…I think that makes it hurt more?” Shoto said. “I talked to him because I didn’t like that he went through Izuku in the first place. So I did what he wanted. I talked to him and told him about the suspension. He’s entirely up to speed. And then he called Izuku again to talk about me. The whole point of me opening up to Katsuki was to reinforce the communication channel between us, and I felt like he just took what he wanted and left me behind.”

Shoto let a breath out. The raw feeling in his lungs told him he’d probably tapped the thing that was actually bothering him, and although it hurt, he knew this was the point of seeing Hana. He couldn’t address his problems without naming them, even if they sounded whiny and ignorant in the moment.

“Hm.” Hana made a few notes. “You were upset that he made an assumption regarding your feelings about the suspension, and how you wanted to talk about it going forward? As in, he assumed you didn’t want to talk further, so he bypassed you and went to another source.”

“Yeah. That really bothers me.”

Hana nodded. “Have you told him? Calmly, in the way you want to?”

Shoto shook his head. He and Katsuki had spent yesterday afternoon and evening walking on eggshells around each other, neither wanting to mention anything upsetting or volatile, neither wanting to blow up or disintegrate, but neither knowing how to start fixing it. It had been so exhausting that Shoto had fallen asleep reading a book while Katsuki was in the bath. Which was fine. His mind had been racing too fast to concentrate on the book anyway.

He didn’t even notice when Katsuki came to bed. He woke up with a light blanket tossed over him, since he’d pinned the comforter beneath himself, and Katsuki already up and making coffee.

Now, Hana posed another thought: “It sounds like you and Katsuki are struggling to truly connect. Both of you are offering in different ways, but it’s not landing with the other person, for one reason or another. It hurts when those connections are missed, because those offerings are a vulnerable act. But it’s not necessarily because one attempt or another is wrong.

“While we’re talking about how Katsuki’s assumptions are, rightly, upsetting you, I want you to check in with your own assumptions about Katsuki, especially following his injury. It sounds like you haven’t gotten a chance to truly talk about how both of you are feeling right now, individually, which may explain why some of your connection attempts are missing. If you’re not aiming at the real target—that is, how Katsuki is, now how you assume he should be—you’re not going to hit it. Similarly, if you don’t talk to him about your own experiences—like how you kept the suspension to yourself—and your wishes for communication, his connection attempts may hurt more than they help, even if they’re well-intended.”

Shoto left his therapy appointment a few minutes later, feeling exhausted and drained, but a little relieved all the same. He sat in the car for a moment, processing, and his eyes landed on his phone in the center console. He took a breath, centered, and dialed Katsuki before he could think himself out of it.

“Hey, Sho,” Katsuki answered.

“Good morning,” Shoto said. “Um…how was PT?”

“Oh, you know. Fine. Still got a ways to go.” He paused. “You good? You don’t usually call me after therapy.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Then what are you calling for? Forgot your lunch?”

“I wondered if you wanted to try our date night again tonight,” Shoto said. “I can call and make a reservation if you do.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure! But only if you want to go out in public, I know that was a concern last time.”

“I think it’ll be fine. I hope it’ll be fine.”

“Well, I’ll protect you if things go south, okay?”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” Shoto said, and he smiled when Katsuki laughed.

Chapter Text

Shoto left work a little early to be sure he had time to get spiffed up for an evening out. Katsuki had kindly laid out nice pants, a white shirt, and a jacket for Shoto, with a similar outfit for himself. After Shoto steamed their clothes with his Quirk, they ended up in the bathroom together, Katsuki going at his eyebrows with tweezers and Shoto pulling up his hair into a low bun.

“Hair’s getting long,” Katsuki commented. “Is it bothering you? I’d trim it, but, ya know, my second hand’s still in production.”

Shoto shrugged. “I haven’t really noticed, to be honest. Kind of low on my priority list.”

“Sure. Well, I’m not going to be offended if you start seeing a real hairdresser. I wouldn’t trust my left-handed hair cutting.”

Shoto glanced down at the faucet as a wave of sadness washed over him out of nowhere. He’d been letting Katsuki—and only Katsuki—trim his hair for close to a decade. Shoto hadn’t realized how much he’d enjoyed sharing that small part of himself with Katsuki, and letting Katsuki care for him that way. Now, he couldn’t, through no fault of his own. It was just…over.

He wanted to ignore the feeling—tell himself it was stupid, that Katsuki had much more reason to be sad about a missing limb than he did. But he forced himself to let it have its moment, like Hana had taught him so many years ago. He would get over it. But for now, he felt the ache of the loss.

The restaurant was a high-end culinary school downtown. Shoto drove, which was another oddity. Katsuki liked to drive, and Shoto liked being a passenger so he could look around. But Katsuki said he wasn’t confident about driving with one arm. He was certain he would get there, just…not yet. They discussed plans to practice in an empty parking lot, and Katsuki joked about “Shoto’s Driving School” before they arrived at the restaurant and the valet whisked the car away.

Shoto had requested a quiet table away from the windows, and received exactly that: a clean, high-backed booth with few other patrons nearby. The lighting was dim and intimate. A box of live plants ran the length of the back wall. Once they sat down, it truly felt like they were in their own little world.

They studied the menu, which was narrowed to three appetizer options, six entrée options, and two desserts. Katsuki suggested an appetizer and Shoto agreed. They placed their entrée orders when the appetizer arrived.

They chatted about work, mostly, and a few current events. But with their lives so closely intertwined and a lot of touchy subjects close at hand, conversation struggled, and they were both grateful when the waiter arrived to present their entrées.

Shoto had ordered fish, and Katsuki a nice cut of steak. The waiter provided a steak knife, refilled their waters, and bustled away. Katsuki lifted the knife, glanced at his fork. Paused.

“I’m an idiot,” he said quietly.

“I’m happy to cut it,” Shoto said, just as quietly, hoping he’d picked the right set of words. The last thing he wanted to do was underestimate Katsuki Bakugo, in any category.

“Well, at home I’d just hack at it,” Katsuki said, knife poised over his plate. “But this a way nicer establishment than my kitchen table.” He lowered the knife, tested the heat of the plate, and held it up to pass to Shoto. “If you really don’t mind cutting up my food like a toddler….”

“I truly don’t mind.” Shoto swapped his plate for Katsuki’s and began making quick work of the steak. “Feel free to taste mine if you want.”

“Oh shit, this looks awesome.”

Shoto cracked a smile. His slices into the steak were perfectly even. It was a delicate medium-rare. His mouth watered just looking at it.

“Fuck it,” Katsuki said. “I’ll trade you a bite of yours for a bite of mine.”

“Deal,” Shoto said immediately, and then one of those perfect pieces of steak was absolutely melting like butter in his mouth, and he felt like he came back to life in one delicious instant.

Things felt better as they ate truly amazing food and enjoyed the experience together. Shoto felt himself relaxing a little. Katsuki seemed to be enjoying the evening out. Shoto was struck by how normal he was, despite the life-altering injury. Even with the steak issue, Katsuki had handled it with grace, humility, and fluid adaptation. In another timeline, Shoto could easily have seen it ruining their night.

It really seemed like Katsuki was adjusting. Not fighting it, not lamenting. Just taking it on the chin and getting right back to business. Accepting the differences, but not accepting defeat.

Truthfully, Shoto had been prepared for the worst after The Incident. But Katsuki was making it easy. He let himself absorb this realization, Katsuki’s actual reality. Not the one he’d been expecting. Not what he’d assumed.

Katsuki glanced up at him and grinned. “You’re staring, princess. Do I look that good in the glow of this steak?”

“You always look good,” Shoto told him, and Katsuki rolled his eyes. “But…I was thinking that I’m really, really proud of you.”

Color rose to Katsuki’s cheeks and he gave a self-conscious smile. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well.” Katsuki offered his hand and Shoto took it. “Thanks for trying this again. I’m having a good time. Hope you are too.”

“I am,” Shoto said.

After a nice meal together, Shoto paid (“I’ve got the next one,” Katsuki said, and Shoto said yes, they would absolutely be doing this again, and Katsuki beamed). They stepped out of the restaurant into a warm summer evening. Shoto slid off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Katsuki smirked and gently ran a knuckle up Shoto’s forearm.

“Did you have an ulterior motive with this shirt?” Shoto asked, well aware that Katsuki liked his arms.

“Oh, it’s possible.”

The valet appeared, took their number, and vaporized. Pedestrians squeezed by on the sidewalk. Traffic rolled in the background, a constant.

Katsuki’s hand flexed and his touch broadened on Shoto’s arm; Shoto was always astonished at how much Katsuki’s hands could hold, even when Shoto’s hands were technically longer. They’d compared a few times, lying in bed, holding their hands up to the ceiling, twisting around each other’s wrists to see that Katsuki’s palms are wider but Shoto’s fingers are so goddamn long, should be illegal. And this devolved into how could I do exactly what you like in bed without these long fingers, Katsuki? What if they were shorter? Well then we’d have a problem, wouldn’t we, princess?

“Oh, hey, isn’t that Dynamight?”

Shoto snapped out of his daydream. A cluster of young fans paused on the sidewalk, pointing. With no option to duck out quickly, Katsuki gave them a nod. His hand slipped off Shoto’s arm. Moment broken.

“And Shoto? Why’s he hanging out with Shoto?”

Shoto felt Katsuki stiffen beside him. He looked around and spotted the valet crawling up the street with their car.

“They’re together, aren’t they? He’s allowed to have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, but Shoto? After everything?”

“Shoto’s insane…like, insane insane, you know?”

“Dynamight can do way better.”

“Yeah, totally…hey, Dynamight, my friend’s single!”

“Oh my God, don’t call me out like that! Look, look, they’re watching us! Holy shit, it’s actually scary!”

Beside him, Katsuki leaned closer and said, “Do you want me to yell at them or not?”

Shoto shook his head. “Let’s just keep it quiet and get out of here.”

“You got it.”

The valet arrived with the car. Shoto kept a hand on Katsuki’s back as they walked the width of the sidewalk to the curb, passing the group without making eye contact. The passenger’s side was closest to the curb. Shoto opened the door for Katsuki and shut it firmly once he was inside.

Just as he turned away from the car, something cold, wet, sticky, and fruity drenched his face and shirt. Red droplets rained down on the passenger’s side window. Katsuki yelled something from inside.

And Shoto’s shirt, hair, and skin were covered in some random teenager’s fruit punch.

He heard giggling, gasping, shuffling feet, the valet telling them off. But all he saw was red, everywhere.

Red, red, red.

“Hey!” The car door slammed. Katsuki’s strong, strong hand clamped around Shoto’s wrist. “The fuck did he do to you, eh? You think you can just assault someone on the street like that? And the Number Two Hero? You’re fucking lucky he didn’t freeze your balls off right here—”

“Katsuki,” Shoto choked out. “They’re probably recording this….”

“You think I care?” His hand gripped Shoto’s arm even tighter, but even so, Shoto could feel that he was shaking. Katsuki turned back to the teenagers. “You are morons. Enjoy the police report coming down the pipeline. You earned it. Now fuck off.”

Before Shoto knew what was happening, Katsuki had shoved him into the passenger’s seat, while he himself got into the driver’s side. He wrenched his seatbelt into place, signaled, and pulled away from the curb.

“Holy shit,” he said, weaving in and out of traffic like a pro with three hands and legs. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Thought they fucking shot you for half a second. I’m so fucking pissed.” He stopped at a red light and looked over at Shoto. “I’m sure there are cameras outside the restaurant. We can press charges if you want to.”

Shoto blinked. “You thought I got shot?”

“Yeah. All of a sudden, there’s red liquid all over the car, and you’re fucking frozen outside the window.” Katsuki reached up and tapped the windshield, which still sported a nice sheen of fruit punch. “I realized it wasn’t the right color for blood, but still got my adrenaline going real fucking quick.”

Shoto let his breath out, then pressed his face into his hands. He’d just wanted a decent night out, and apparently that was too much to fucking ask.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Katsuki. “This is not how I wanted our night to end.”

“I don’t want to hear another apology from you.” The light turned green and Katsuki signaled to turn onto the highway. “You did nothing wrong and I’m mad at them, not at you.”

They finished the drive home in silence. Katsuki parked in the garage. They shuffled inside, toeing off shoes. The red stain had spread over most of Shoto’s good, white shirt. He quickly unbuttoned it and muttered, “Can we even save this or should I burn it now?”

“We can definitely try. Here.” Katsuki held out his hand. “I’ll rinse it and see what happens. Go shower if you want.”

Shoto did, and by the time he was done, the adrenaline crash had left him exhausted, with the start of a headache forming behind his eyes. Katsuki was already sitting in bed. Shoto rolled onto his side and pressed his cold hand to his forehead.

“Stain’s looking promising,” Katsuki reported. “I left it to soak overnight. Hopefully that takes care of it.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Katsuki shifted to lie down next to Shoto. “Talk to me.”

Shoto shrugged. “Not much to discuss. You were there.”

“Yeah, I know, but…that sucked. I’m so fucking pissed, and it didn’t even happen to me directly. You’ve got to be furious, and you know you won’t sleep well if you go to bed like that.”

Shoto’s eyes stung and he closed them tight. Hana’s encouragement from earlier that morning ricocheted through his head. He’s assuming because you won’t communicate. You have to communicate. You have to communicate.

So Shoto sat up and rubbed his face. Katsuki watched, quiet. Waiting.

Except…Shoto didn’t know what to say. He didn’t feel anything but a resigned numbness. He tried to put words to it in his head, and he couldn’t get them to make sense. His eyes hurt and his head throbbed and he returned his cold hand to his forehead.

“You got a headache?” Katsuki murmured, reaching up to gently run his hand through Shoto’s hair. “Did you get hurt earlier?”

“No, just…I think I’m just exhausted.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki said. “You had a rough day yesterday and the day before, and you had therapy this morning and worked hard so we could leave on time, and then all that bullshit happened when you just wanted to go home. Anyone would be exhausted.”

Shoto nodded, then pressed his face into his knees.

“You wanna just table it for tonight?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Totally fine.” Katsuki ran his fingers through Shoto’s hair one more time. Then he nudged Shoto to lie down, smoothed the covers over him, and pulled him close with Shoto’s back to his chest, Katsuki’s hand pressed to Shoto’s heart.

“You talk when you’re ready, all right?” he said into the darkness. “Tomorrow, next week, whenever. I’ll be here.”

Shoto shifted his hand to lace their fingers together. “Thank you.”

“Love you, Sho.”

“Love you too.”

Chapter Text

Katsuki had occupational therapy at the house in the morning, so he made Shoto a decent breakfast and sent him off to work. Almost as soon as the door closed, a text pinged on his phone.

      Deku:

        Omg, did this actually happen yesterday???

This was followed immediately by a link to a news article. Katsuki took a sip of coffee and clicked the link, which took him to a page that loaded indefinitely.

      Katsuki:

        Bad link.

Izuku sent a second link, which again brought Katsuki to a broken page.

      Katsuki:

        It’s not loading.

      Deku:

        So weird, it’s working on my end. And it’s a video, so a screenshot’s not going to work….

        Anyway, did some kids throw a drink at Sho? The news is reporting on a bystander video.

      Katsuki:

        Shit. Yeah, that’s real.

      Deku:

        Oh my God?!?! Is he okay? Are YOU okay?

      Katsuki:

        He’s upset. I’m pissed. He was still processing last night so I haven’t really gotten a pulse on how he’s doing. I feel like I’m kind of flying blind. New territory for both of us.

      Deku:

        Yeah, seriously. I really can’t believe it myself.

        Should I say something when he comes in?

      Katsuki:

        Yeah I think you can tell him you know. Just don’t get too in his face. I think he’s still overwhelmed by the whole thing.

        Gotta go, my OT’s here.

      Deku:

        Understood, good luck with OT!

Katsuki went into the office to work for the afternoon. After two meetings and a halfhearted attempt at clearing out his inbox, he checked his phone and, out of curiosity, tried Izuku’s link again. It immediately loaded the video, which wasn’t great, but enough to see Shoto take the fruit punch to the chest and freeze up before Katsuki got him into the car. The whole thing made him angry again. He clicked off his phone and took a walk around the office to blow off some steam.

However, Shoto seemed to be in a shockingly good mood that night. He’d already finished dinner prep when Katsuki got home, and suggested they eat on the porch in the nice weather. Katsuki mixed some drinks and they soaked up the sunshine and warm air, the evening quiet and still.

Night fell. Shoto whisked their dishes inside. Katsuki followed him and shouldered in by the sink. “You don’t get to cook and clean up, princess.”

Shoto laughed and gently hip-checked him. “Watch me.”

“Oh yeah?” Katsuki shoved himself between Shoto and the sink. After a small scuffle, he came up with the dish scrubber and started attacking the plates in the sink.

“Katsuki!” Shoto protested, hands dripping wet and soapy. He resorted to a playful bite to Katsuki’s neck.

“What are you, a fucking vampire?” Katsuki slotted dishes into the dishwasher—plates, glasses, forks.

“You wish.” Shoto went for the other side of his neck and grabbed the scrubber while Katsuki was distracted. “Ha!”

Katsuki pressed back into Shoto, breaking him away from the sink. Shoto responded by wrapping an arm over his chest. Katsuki turned his head just right to catch Shoto’s mouth with his own, and Shoto let out the deepest sigh Katsuki had ever heard.

“You wanna fuck?” Katsuki murmured when they broke apart.

“Is that okay?” Shoto asked, just as quietly.

Katsuki spun out of his grip. “Go shower, then it’s right down to business. You want another drink?”

“Yes, please,” Shoto beamed, then practically teleported to the upstairs bathroom. Katsuki shook his head and finished the last of the dishes before picking up his tablet for a drink recipe he’d saved a few weeks prior, before The Incident. Some spicy margarita monstrosity he figured would appeal to both of them, buried deep in a local news article profiling a new bar downtown—the drink was one of their specials, and Katsuki was sure he could replicate it.

He found the link in his Bookmarks. But when he clicked on it, it did the same stupid infinite loading screen that he’d seen that morning.

Katsuki refreshed the page with no success. Then, on a whim, he tried the video link from Izuku again. Same issue. But he’d gotten the video to load perfectly fine at work….

Katsuki was no IT professional, but he was decently tech-literate. He opened a few tabs to troubleshoot his internet. Tapped a few times. Got down a fairly straightforward rabbit hole and found—

His mind jolted back to his phone call with Izuku a few days prior. Did he fuck with the internet? No, Kacchan, you’re insane.

Katsuki bit his tongue. Not insane now, am I? he thought as he struggled to calibrate the number of blocked websites—all news sites, he realized—bared before him in a neat little list.

He inhaled sharply and clicked off his tablet, clutched it tight to his chest, and crossed into the living room in firm, measured steps. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Pulled out the television stand, crouched down, craned his neck—

Fucking hell.

Katsuki reached out a shaking hand and reconnected the cable, fumbling a little as he screwed the ends together. Then he turned on the television, flipped to channel 5. And there was the evening news, plain as day, like the cable hadn’t been out for a month and a half. Just unplugged.

The shower turned off upstairs. Shoto was waiting. Shoto thought they were going to have sex. Shoto thought everything was fine and Katsuki was still living in the perfect little bubble Shoto had created, completely cut off from anything and everything relevant to the world he lived in. Ignorant.

Well, he wasn’t ignorant anymore.

Katsuki climbed the stairs, the walls rising around him like a tunnel. All he could see and hear was the thing in front of him: his husband, half-naked, smiling softly, towel-drying his hair in their bedroom, completely unaware of what hell Katsuki was about to bring down on their house. He looked up. Cocked his head. The motions of the towel slowed and he flicked wet hair from his face.

“Katsuki?”

Chapter Text

“Katsuki?” Shoto said cautiously, almost innocently, and that snapped Katsuki’s last nerve.

“Care to tell me why every fucking news site I can think of is blocked on our internet?” he snarled, louder than he expected, pulse hammering in his neck. “I sure as hell didn’t do that.”

“Oh.” Shoto bit his lip and glanced away.

“Found the cable too. Unhooked. Thought I’m dense enough to believe that our service was out for six weeks straight?”

“I did not think you were dense,” Shoto said succinctly. He was still staring at a spot on the floor, a bit of color rising to his cheeks.

“I’m….” Katsuki pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why?”

Shoto hesitated.

“Shoto.”

“There was nothing good on,” Shoto said simply. “The news sucked. All the time. Your injury, my suspension, everything else. I figured maybe…maybe it was better if you didn’t see it.”

“So you unilaterally decided I should be completely cut off from current events while I was trapped in the house riding out the early stages of a fucking disability? And didn’t bother to give me a heads up?”

Shoto’s chest hitched, but he didn’t say anything.

“Do you have any idea how insanely controlling that is? You ripped away my ability to choose—a part of my autonomy—without any sort of consent!”

“I’m—”

“And I pay for the cable!” Katsuki snapped.

“I paid the bill last month,” Shoto murmured before screwing his eyes shut and pressing his hands to his eyes. “It just…it seemed to help while you were in the hospital—you know, not having a phone and not having internet, and then not having cable in your room. I figured…we could replicate those conditions here and… I figured our home could be safe—”

“Hold on,” Katsuki said. “The hospital. Did you have them cut the cable to my room?”

“Yes, I did,” Shoto said, point blank.

“Jesus Christ. Did my fucking phone even break or did you do that too—?”

“It did break,” Shoto told him. “Shattered when you hit the skyscraper, I think. It turned on but couldn’t charge.” He heaved a breath. “I did hold your replacement here for a few days. Until you got home.”

“And this was all so you could avoid telling me about the suspension.”

Shoto held up his hands. “No, no, I promise it…well….” His gaze fell. “I don’t remember how it started.”

“Fucking try.”

Shoto pressed his fingers to his forehead and screwed his eyes shut. “Some of it was to redirect all the reporting about your injury. It was…the news had a lot of footage, and I didn’t want it to be upsetting. And at home, I had a hard time ignoring all the reporting and social media after my suspension. It was incredibly toxic and stressful. I blocked the news sites and unhooked the cable to give myself some boundaries. And then when you got home, I didn’t want you to find out about the suspension before I told you personally, and I forgot to fix the internet once I did. I’d kind of gotten used to it. I almost think it’s kind of…nice?”

“The fuck?” Katsuki snapped. He wanted to throw something, but all he had in his hand was his tablet, and frankly, his throwing power was still pretty pathetic with his left hand. So he tossed it on the bed and shouted, “You put me in a fucking box! You treated me like a child who couldn’t handle real life! All so you could pretend that everything was fine to my face. All so you could fucking lie to me!”

Finally, finally, Shoto met his gaze—eyes round and nervous, the edge of his lip turning red from biting it.

“Is that how you see me?” Katsuki demanded. “Like an invalid who needs to be handled with bubble wrap and extra marshmallows? I’ve been working my ass off to prove to you that I’m capable of everything I was before and…and….” His voice threatened to crack and his eyes stung.

“No, Katsuki….” Shoto pressed a hand to his chest, eyes wide and filled with tears. “I’m sorry—”

Raw pain threatened to burst out of Katsuki’s chest. He shoved it down as hard as he possibly could. He had a point to make, not tears to shed.

“I don’t want a fucking apology,” he snarled across the bed at Shoto. “You can’t make it go away.”

“I’m—"

“I’m sleeping in the guest room,” Katsuki said. He stood up straighter. “My phone’s going on data now. Can’t hide anything from me anymore.”

“There’s nothing more to hide,” Shoto said, his voice cracking.

“Yeah, well,” Katsuki spat. “You’ve proven I can’t trust you.”

Shoto opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, then closed it and covered it with his hand. For a second, Katsuki thought Shoto was going to vomit, and he felt a pang of guilt strong enough to remind him that this wasn’t clear cut at all. He loved Shoto, and Shoto loved him—Shoto had hit a sore spot, and Katsuki had overreacted—they were trying to do better, and they were failing more than succeeding.

Something deep and painful in his chest yawned wide, screaming for him to fix it, but no one thing would just fix it. This was big. This was weeks and weeks of missed conversations, major injury, lifestyle changes, near-death experiences. And punishment for Shoto just trying to do the right thing.

Shoto took a shaky, measured breath through his nose—the sound he made when he forcefully shut the box on his emotions so he could function. Then he brushed past Katsuki and disappeared down the stairs, banged around in the laundry room, then walked into the guest room. Katsuki cautiously followed to investigate.

A mess of fresh sheets was on the guest bed, with Shoto fighting through tears to make sense of them. He moved to fix the fitted sheet over the corners of the mattress.

“Sho,” Katsuki said quietly, “what are you doing?”

“I’m…making the bed,” Shoto replied, pausing to wipe tears away before resuming with the sheet. “I’d washed these earlier and figured….”

“You have two hands,” Katsuki finished.

“I just know it’s a hassle even with both hands,” Shoto continued, flicking the flat sheet and settling it on the bed. “Figured it’s the least I could do.”

Katsuki paused, weighing his next words while Shoto fixed the comforter and pulled cases over the pillows. “I know this time period has been…a lot. Maybe we need to talk. Try to get on the same page again.”

Shoto folded his arms and sighed. “Maybe. But every time I’m almost ready, something else happens, and…now we’re here. It’s a huge fucking mess. I don’t even know where to start.” He sniffed and wiped his eyes, then turned to leave.

Katsuki let him go, and stood there a long time, gazing at the ring tattooed on his good only hand, and wondering where the fuck to go from there.

Chapter Text

Shoto woke up very early.

Usually that was Katsuki’s thing. Shoto himself liked his sleep. But this morning….

He glanced over to Katsuki’s side of the bed, untouched. A pit settled in his stomach and his eyes stung.

Shoto had become someone he hardly recognized over the span of six weeks. Six weeks to go from a good husband and good hero to a manipulative, controlling failure. And now, here he was: stripped of a license, sleeping alone for the second time that week, and feeling completely lost.

He knew he’d screwed up. While he had convinced himself he meant well with the cable, Katsuki’s words had struck home: he’d done it to hide, and he’d disadvantaged his own husband in the process. Katsuki had always been good at distilling complex situations, and this time was no different. It made him a great hero. It also made him infuriatingly perceptive.

Shoto didn’t know what to do. Should he get up, make breakfast, and ignore the elephant in the room? Should he apologize? Or should he give Katsuki the space he’d requested, get dressed, and pick up coffee on his way to work?

He closed his eyes and took a breath through his nose. He always found Izuku helpful to parse out these kinds of situations. What would Izuku say right now?

Kacchan does love you, Sho. But I think this hurt him. You broke his trust, and that’s really hard to repair. Maybe he just needs some time, but honestly…Kacchan doesn’t forgive easily. You might want to start looking for somewhere else to—

Shoto sat up, shaking the voice from his head. That wasn’t right. Izuku wouldn’t ever recommend they separate without talking.

So they’d have to talk. Like Katsuki had said last night.

Again, he was infuriatingly perceptive.

And…he was in the bedroom doorway.

Shoto blinked. Katsuki, wearing nothing but gym shorts, stared at him, eyes full of every emotion possible. He came closer and paused by the bed. Shoto held his breath, bracing for the worst.

Katsuki reached down and slowly pulled off his gym shorts, letting them fall to the floor, leaving him standing there, fully exposed, naked.

“You wanna do what we do best?” he asked quietly.

“Fuck now, talk later?” Shoto replied.

Katsuki nodded.

“Yes,” Shoto breathed, and Katsuki pushed forward, taking up all of Shoto’s space, claiming his lips in one long, messy, horribly overdue kiss that tasted like bottled lust and pent-up need.

“Oh, fuck,” Shoto gasped around Katsuki’s tongue, the feelings all going straight to his dick.

“Get your pants off,” Katsuki demanded, and Shoto shucked them off faster than he’d ever done in his life.

Katsuki shoved his chest and Shoto sank into the pillows and sheets, breathless from the furious kissing. His hands found home on Katsuki’s ass and waist, the skin all soft and smooth and warm. He spread his hands all over, running his Quirk on low, just the way Katsuki liked. Katsuki moaned into his mouth. “Fuck, Shoto….”

Katsuki broke form and went for his neck, then lower to his chest. His hand ghosted up Shoto’s dick and Shoto gasped. He hadn’t been too horny in the last few weeks, for fairly reasonable reasons, and that meant things had built up and stagnated. But no longer. He was practically ready to burst at the first serious move.

On top of Shoto, Katsuki kissed his way down Shoto’s stomach, settling between his legs. And as much as Shoto desperately wanted it right then, he found himself gently tilting Katsuki’s chin up to look him in the eyes.

“Is this…okay?” Shoto asked. “After last night. You were absolutely in the right to be mad. And now we’re fucking, and that’s a lot…it’d be really reasonable if you didn’t want to be with me right now.”

“What happened to fucking now and talking later?” Katsuki chided him, but he pressed his chin good-naturedly into Shoto’s palm.

“I just…want to be sure you’re okay.”

Katsuki gave him a soft smile. “I am. I know that’s confusing. I’m not sure I really understand it. But I’m rolling with it. Figure a couple good orgasms can’t hurt us, right?” He cocked his head slightly. “Are you okay?”

Shoto nodded. “I feel better knowing you’re good.”

“Okay, now can I please suck your dick?”

Shoto laughed. “Yes, you can please suck my dick.”

Shoto pressed soft kisses to the back of Katsuki’s neck. Katsuki pulled Shoto’s cool arm a little tighter around himself. Their skin melted together in every brush of their fingertips up and down heavy limbs.

They’d fucked, talked, apologized, and forgiven, and now it was just past seven a.m., and the sheets were warm and soft, and Katsuki was content in his arms, and all was right with the world.

Katsuki turned over so they were facing each other. He smiled and gently pushed Shoto’s hair behind his ear. “I love you.”

Shoto leaned in and kissed him. “Love you too, Kat.”

Katsuki patted his cheek and sat up, stretching, his back muscles rippling in the soft morning light from the window. Shoto collapsed onto the pillows again, staring unabashedly. He wished he were better at photography. He’d spend all morning taking pictures of Katsuki’s incredible body.

“’Kay, breakfast,” Katsuki said, and they were on their way.

They cooked well together, and breakfast was easy: Katsuki started coffee while Shoto cracked eggs, their movements fluid, practiced, and comfortable. Almost second nature. Shoto even found a window to press a kiss to Katsuki’s temple on his way to the sink, and Katsuki broke out in a genuine grin. He handed Shoto a coffee cup and took over omelet-making at the stove.

The doorbell rang, and Shoto, closest to the door, stepped out of the kitchen to answer it. The mailman stood on the steps with a slim, yellow envelope.

“Mr. Todoroki, good morning. Just need a signature for this, please.”

Shoto glanced around for a pen and found one in his work backpack. He returned to the door and the mailman handed him the slip. “Glad I caught you today,” the mailman said. “Been trying a few afternoons and no one’s been here. Would’ve gone back to the sender if I couldn’t get a signature today.”

“I appreciate you accommodating my schedule,” Shoto told him. He signed the slip and returned it to the mailman. “Have a nice day, sir.”

The mailman bowed and returned the well-wishes, then continued down the street.

Shoto closed the door and turned the envelope over, and he felt his entire body freeze on the welcome mat. The envelope was from the Hero Commission.

He slid a finger under the seal and opened it. Inside was a single sheet of paper. He unfolded it, heart hammering painfully in his chest.

The Commission has set a hearing…personal appearance required…twelve p.m. sharp….

Friday, July 10.

Shoto glanced at his watch. It was almost eight a.m. on…Friday, July tenth.

His hearing would be in four hours.

Chapter Text

“What do I wear, Katsuki?”

“Your blue suit, obviously—”

“But my white shirt is—”

“The stain came out, it’s all good.”

“What about shoes? Oh my God—”

“I’ll pull them out, okay? You have plenty of clothes. Do you still want eggs?”

“What? Eggs?”

“Food, Shoto. You need to eat.”

“I can’t eat, I think I’m gonna puke.”

“Don’t overthink it, they probably just want to hear your side of the story.”

“At noon on a Friday? That’s usually when people are fired.” Shoto ran his hands through his hair. Katsuki watched him steadily from across the kitchen. “I’m gonna get fired, Katsuki.”

“You don’t know that,” Katsuki told him, radiating authority. “The hearing could just be a formality before reinstating you. It could be a good thing. And you won’t know unless you show up with a clear head. So go take some deep breaths and come back ready to eat something so you can think straight for the next couple of hours. Got it? Now get out of my kitchen.”

Shoto followed his instructions, stood on the porch while he got himself together, and returned to the kitchen for perfectly-cooked eggs, avocado, fruit, and—

“My favorite,” he said softly, sitting down at the table and lifting a piece of cinnamon sugar toast. “Thank you.”

“Figured that’d be a winner, even if nothing else worked,” Katsuki said, pouring more coffee and planting a tumbler of water in front of Shoto. “Fuel up, princess. We’re gonna need you in top form.”

The Hero Commission offices were located in a skyscraper in the middle of downtown Tokyo. Katsuki had been there exactly four times, and he’d hated each experience. The offices were huge and complex, parking was a nightmare, and Hawks had the uncanny ability to show up at the exact moments Katsuki didn’t want him around. So he did not have high expectations for this particular trip, but he really tried to stuff it, because Shoto had it worse. While Katsuki only expected to wait around for a few hours, Shoto expected to be mercilessly grilled for the same amount of time.

Although Shoto had managed to keep his breakfast down, he was clearly stressed out of his mind, and Katsuki could tell he was nursing the start of a stress headache. Katsuki parked the car in the nearest spot he could find, about six blocks from the Hero Commission, and dug a bottle of water out of his backpack. He handed it to Shoto. “Cool that off, I’ll get you some painkiller.”

“How do you always know?” Shoto cooled the water while Katsuki dug around his backpack again and came up with pain reliever.

“I’m the Number One Hero and you question my powers of perception?” Katsuki glanced at the push-and-turn top on the painkiller and decided to do the one-handed fuck-around with that another time. He handed it to Shoto.

Shoto drank some water, swallowed the pills, and closed his eyes with a deep breath, like he was trying to zen out. He’d put on his blue suit at Katsuki’s suggestion, and had pulled his hair back with the silver hair pin Katsuki had given him three years prior. And at the last second, he’d claimed his shirt still vaguely smelled of fruit punch, and he’d spritzed on some cologne to cover it.

Katsuki reached over and took his hand. Shoto squeezed it. His Quirk was running so high that his fingernails were blue. “I don’t even know what to think if…if they completely revoke my license and I can’t work anymore,” he said, eyes still closed.

“Then don’t think about it. Think about the things that you do know. You know hero laws allow you to act independently if the situation dictates. You know that your family and friends have your back. You know that you can appeal the decision if it comes to that. And,” he finished, running his thumb over Shoto’s knuckles, “you know that however this goes, it changes nothing between us. We’re good. Even if it sucks, we’ll take the hits and move on. Both of us. Okay?”

Shoto let out his breath and nodded. “Are you…are you going to be disappointed in me if…if they fire me?” he asked.

“No. I’m gonna be pissed as fuck at the Commission and you may have to freeze me so I don’t make a scene.”

Shoto gave him a half-smile.

They made their way to the Commission building and stepped into a modern, air-conditioned lobby. Shoto presented his hero license and hearing summons to the receptionist, and they were directed to a separate waiting area with its own receptionist on the twenty-first floor. Even with all that walking and navigating, they were still very early. They took seats in identical chairs to wait. Katsuki realized immediately that he’d sat on the wrong side of Shoto, who was outputting cold air like he’d turned into walking glacier. He chose not to say anything.

Minutes passed. Katsuki discreetly scrolled through the legal statutes governing heroes, in hopes of dredging up something useful for Shoto. Shoto’s leg started shaking beside Katsuki’s and Katsuki gently rested a hand on his knee. The receptionist got up and walked away down the hall. Shoto dug through Katsuki’s backpack and pulled out his bottle of water.

“How ya feelin’?” Katsuki asked in an undertone.

“Awful.” Shoto took a drink capped the water. “The wait’s killing me. I just want to rip the bandage off.”

The receptionist’s heels clacked down the hall, signaling her return.

“Mr. Todoroki, the Commission is ready to meet with you. Please follow me.”

Katsuki stood up with Shoto and smoothed the lapels on his suit. Shoto looked stalwart, but Katsuki could feel the nerves bubbling just below the surface, held in the tension of Shoto’s neck, his short breaths, the cold still radiating from his right side.

“Deep breath,” Katsuki murmured. “You did nothing wrong. Don’t let them push you around.”

Shoto inhaled, nodded, and turned to follow the receptionist down the hall. Katsuki heard her heels clack away, further and further, until a door opened and shut and they were gone.

He reclaimed his chair, nerves churning in his gut. He knew he and Shoto had no official control over the Commission. They had pull, certainly, due to their rank. But the Commission had acted entirely in their capacity to suspend Shoto. And now, as shitty as it was, it was entirely within their right to seek a hearing before reinstating him.

“Heeeeeey, Number One!”

Katsuki felt the hair go up on the back of his neck.

“Hawks,” he said, as evenly as he could manage.

Hawks flopped down ungraciously into the chair previously occupied by Shoto. He beamed. Patently unable to read a fucking room, Katsuki thought as he ground his teeth and slid a glare sideways. “Convenient timing. Guessing you intended to completely miss Shoto?”

“You know it! I have a soft spot for the little Todoroki. I’m trying not to get too involved. Even recused myself from the hearing!” He leaned toward Katsuki and dropped his voice. “But I do have privileges. Want to come watch?”

“Watch what, dare I ask?”

“The hearing! Two-way glass on the other side of the conference room. Endeavor’s already there. You in?”

Katsuki blinked as this new information hit him like a smack upside the head. “That’s so fucking…intrusive. Jesus. He can’t even have a private hearing?”

Hawks shrugged. “Even if we didn’t have two-way glass, there are three cameras in the conference room, we could just pull a tape at any time. Nothing’s really private. Better to watch it live, am I right?” He nudged Katsuki’s arm conspiratorially. “You coming?”

Katsuki hesitated. Of course, he had no personal need to observe Shoto’s hearing himself. He completely trusted Shoto to handle his own business and wanted to give him the respect and privacy to do so. However, that respect and privacy had already been ripped from Shoto without his knowledge. He had no idea his father and the top-gun Commissioner himself would be watching his every move.

Did watching the hearing put him on the same level as Hawks and Endeavor? Or would it improve the situation to have him in the room, a voice of support for Shoto, when Hawks and Endeavor might just pick his performance apart?

And when Shoto exited the conference room, what would he want to hear: that Katsuki had sat there and done nothing, or that Katsuki had done something?

“I’m not co-signing this,” Katsuki grumbled, standing up and swinging his backpack over his good shoulder. “I’m going to keep you and that unholy flamethrower in line.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” Hawks gestured down the hallway and scanned a badge to let them through a secured door. Next lay a series of conference rooms. Hawks took an immediate right and led Katsuki past three identical doors before pointing him into a spiffy boardroom and closing the door behind them.

Endeavor was already there, seated in front of a large panel of two-way glass that was concealed to look like a built-in television. The view was a little crappy, but manageable. A small drink refrigerator hummed in the corner of the room and a full basket of snacks rested on the table. Endeavor gave Katsuki a nod and Katsuki sat down in one of the cushy chairs. Hawks flopped down across from Endeavor and ripped open a bag of popcorn, crunching obnoxiously.

“Help yourself!” he chirped, gesturing to the snacks and drinks. “Gonna be a long one, so get comfy. Bathroom’s down the hall we came through, just time it so you don’t run into little Todoroki. He shouldn’t know we’re here.” Hawks reached across the table and tapped Endeavor’s arm. “This one says he’s here to keep us in line.”

“Damn right,” Katsuki grumbled. “Now shut up, I can’t hear shit.”

Hawks laughed and tossed more popcorn into his mouth with a stupid little salute. “You got it, Number One.”

Chapter Text

Shoto considered himself lucky that he’d never been to this part of the Hero Commission before. He followed the receptionist down a sterile white hallway, then through a secured door, and down another hallway after that.

They paused outside a set of heavy double doors, made of dark wood with ornate handles. The receptionist pulled the door open and nodded for Shoto to walk through before her. He did. The door thudded behind him and he heard the receptionist’s heels clacking away down the hall. A chill ran up his spine and he suppressed a shiver.

The room was a fairly standard conference room, and it was empty for now. A huge, rectangular table was positioned in the center of the room, with cushy chairs lined up like soldiers on both sides. A television was mounted on the far wall, the screen dark and oddly ominous. Shoto noticed several name cards placed on one side of the table, and a card bearing his name positioned alone on the other side, along with a small microphone and a bottle of water.

Given the staging of the room, Shoto quickly understood this was not going to be the roundtable discussion he’d hoped for, but would function more like an interrogation. Even the fact that he was alone in the room—despite the Commission being “ready to meet with him”—told him the test had likely already begun. He swallowed down the bitter taste of stomach acid and cautiously seated himself in his designated chair.

The wait was worse now than it had been a few moments ago, especially because he no longer had Katsuki nearby to support him. Shoto felt hyper-aware of every small input: the anxious ache in his stomach, the tightness of his collar, the slow sinking of his chair as it settled under his weight. The room was incredibly stuffy, like the air conditioning had broken, and Shoto kicked on his Quirk to counter it.

He took a breath, focused, and realized that his chair was positioned very low to the table. He fiddled with the adjustments to raise it properly. It sank again as soon as he sat down.

At that moment, it occurred to him then that he was in a boardroom of the Hero Commission. Why would they keep a chair that didn’t work? And, of all the chairs in the room, why would they seat him in it?

Shoto stood up and swapped his chair for an unassigned one on the Commission’s side of the table. It held his weight perfectly well, without sinking. And at that moment, he heard the air conditioning kick on.

Fuckers, Katsuki’s voice said in his head, and Shoto felt a half-smile twitch onto his face.

The large, double doors opened. Shoto stood up as eleven commissioners walked in. He noticed Hawks was absent, and this did not surprise him.

There was a general shuffling as the commissioners sat down, pulled out pens and paper, put on glasses, cleared throats. Finally, a female commissioner acknowledged him. “Please have a seat, Mr. Todoroki.”

Shoto re-took his chair.

“Mr. Todoroki, we’d like to test the microphone now,” the commissioner continued. “Please clearly state your name and your license number into the microphone.”

Shoto did so. It must have been acceptable, because she continued: “The hearing is now in session. Today’s date is Friday, July tenth, and the Commission has summoned Shoto Todoroki for a hearing on charges of willful ignorance, conflict of interest, and excessive use of force. Mr. Todoroki is personally present. All members of the Commission are personally present, excepting Mr. Keigo Takami, who has exercised voluntary recusal from this hearing. Leadership of this hearing has been assigned to the second chair, Commissioner Ngo. All in favor of proceeding in this manner, at this day and time, please say, ‘Aye.’”

A chorus of “aye” responses rose from the commissioners, and after a brief moment, the female commissioner continued. “Mr. Todoroki, my name is Commissioner Rumi Ngo. Have you ever been party to a Commission hearing before?”

“No.”

“Our procedure is to present our evidence providing basis for the charges, then allow the Commission time to ask you questions based on that evidence. Following the Commission’s questions, you will be allowed a brief time to respond to the evidence and charges. Finally, a vote of the Commission will be conducted regarding the reinstatement or revocation of your license. Do you understand?”

Shoto tried to swallow, but his throat was completely dry. He took a breath. “I understand.”

The presentation of the Commission’s evidence was what Shoto had expected: official written account of his action to change direction away from the villain to catch Katsuki; audio record of his extremely choice words over the communications channel; and video of his final moments in battle, which he’d seen dozens of times. He did not expect, however, to feel so overwhelmed by the things he knew as fact.

The audio clip was the worst. It played over speakers in the boardroom, for everyone to hear at once. Shoto tried to keep his face placid, his eyes trained on his name card on the table.

He heard his own voice first, reporting their location and coding Katsuki’s injury as a Level 5, the highest category.

There were some interspersed communications from teams on the other side of the field, calling for additional team members, requesting approvals by the Commission, and—

“Dispatch to Shoto, you are ordered to return to duty. Please proceed immediately to the northern—”

“Fuck off!”

Shoto’s cheeks burned and a ringing noise grew louder in his ears. He barely heard the rest of the audio clip. He’d never heard himself sound like that: so upset, so indignant. So viscerally terrified.

And in that moment, as he focused on the table in front of him, he saw it all again: the deep, scarlet lifeblood flowing out of Katsuki’s shoulder, soaked into his hero suit, streaked across his face. The little bit of bone visible through all that red. The feeling of his partner’s body, exhausted and grievously injured, heavy in his arms. The burn of his muscles and the ache in his lungs when they finally landed safely on the sidewalk. The salty, iron taste of Katsuki’s blood in his own mouth.

“Mr. Todoroki….”

Shoto forced himself to focus. Made his eyes trace the strokes of his name on the stupid little card in front of him. He was Shoto Todoroki, and he was in the Hero Commission, and he was supposed to answer questions. Supposed to talk about the worst fucking day of his life like it was just another business meeting. Supposed to defend himself, and actions that he wasn’t proud of. Choices he wasn’t even sure he understood himself.

He took a deep breath and subconsciously straightened his spine, forcibly clearing his head in an attempt to claw back some semblance of composure.

“The Commission has organized a few questions surrounding these events. Please try to answer succinctly and honestly. Your cooperation is appreciated. Commissioner Hayashi, please proceed.”

Commissioner Hayashi was a younger man with dark hair pulled into a neat ponytail, round glasses, and neatly trimmed facial hair. Shoto remembered reading about his fairly recent appointment to the Commission. While he only had five years of active heroism under his belt, he was thoroughly educated, with several PhDs and a long career in higher academics. Definitely not someone to be taken lightly. Shoto squared his shoulders and prepared for the worst.

“Mr. Todoroki, concerning your decision to change course and intercept Dynamight, when did you realize that he would require assistance?”

Shoto tried to think back to that moment. As he’d told Katsuki, his movement to catch him was automatic. It didn’t seem to have conscious thought to it. But somehow, he knew, and it wasn’t just psychic connectivity. Did he see something? Hear something?

“I think I saw him fall off course, just slightly,” Shoto said. “Being familiar with the extremely high quality of Dynamight’s performance, I knew that even that slight error was cause for concern.”

“What was your thought process behind abandoning protocol to intercept Dynamight at that time? There were dozens of other heroes who were prepared to assist, and we understand that you were aware of that.”

Shoto again took a moment to try to put his automatic actions into words. “I was not aware that any other heroes were within range to assist. Dynamight was already falling when I caught him. If anyone else was available to intercept his fall, they had a window to act, and did not.”

An older, balding commissioner grumbled, “Uravity was at the base of the skyscraper, she could have assisted.”

Shoto waited, silent. There wasn’t a great way to respond to that—he’d either have to voice concerns in Uraraka’s capabilities, or acknowledge that he was in the wrong and should’ve let Katsuki fall. But since the commissioner had issued a statement, not a question, he stopped himself from defending his actions when it wasn’t asked for.

“Why did you transport Dynamight as far as you did?” Commissioner Hayashi asked. “Once again, dozens of other heroes were prepared to assist close to the battlefield.”

“I transported Dynamight to the medical staging area, since he needed immediate medical attention.”

“Medical personnel were available closer to the battlefield,” Commissioner Ngo commented, “about two blocks from the skyscraper. You flew over the military truck stationed there.”

Shoto nodded, but again refrained from answering an indirect question.

“Please tell us why you ignored protocol, denied Dynamight expedient medical attention, and exited the battlefield while on duty and uninjured.”

Shoto took a breath through his nose, fighting to appear unruffled. “The severity of Dynamight’s injury clearly required care at a trauma center. He needed to be transported in an ambulance immediately. I knew that if I’d delivered him to the medical truck, there would have been a serious delay in getting him off the battlefield, to the staging area, and into the ambulances, and that process would have put even more heroes and military personnel at risk. I expedited those middle steps and just brought him to the ambulances. In the end, he got faster medical attention that way.”

“That’s not your call,” the balding commissioner said loudly. “Injured heroes were to go directly to the nearest medical station. You failed to follow orders.”

Shoto couldn’t keep his tongue this time. “You would have a much different mess on your hands if those orders resulted in the death of the Number One Hero because he couldn’t get to the hospital fast enough. I saved you that paperwork, at least.”

“Thank you, Mr. Todoroki,” Commissioner Ngo said icily. “Your response has been recorded. Let’s move on.”

Realization crashed onto Shoto that he was hardly sure of what he’d said, if any of his answers were sufficient, if the official record reflected him as reasonable and logical or (in light of the current outburst) reactive and emotional. He wanted to raise his hand, retract his statement, apologize for his lack of control—but it was too late. The train was already chugging down the tracks, full steam ahead toward the next charge.

Commissioner Hayashi adjusted some paper in front of himself and cleared his throat to read the next question. Shoto traced the lines of his name on the card in front of him again. He was Shoto Todoroki. He was in the Hero Commission. And he was going to answer questions, whether he wanted to or not.

Chapter Text

Katsuki fought the urge to physically squirm in his chair. After ninety minutes of watching Shoto be grilled front, back, and sideways, he himself was ready to blow a fucking fuse.

“Are they gonna call a break or anything?” he asked Hawks at one point.

“Probably not.”

“It’s been over an hour.”

“Discomfort is a pressurizer,” Hawks said, without looking away from the two-way glass. “He knows that. He’ll manage if he’s smart. You saw him fix the chair situation, he’ll be fine.”

Katsuki swallowed back a protest about how Shoto was absolutely not fine and very upset about this entire situation and clearly fucking innocent and returned his attention to Shoto, sitting ramrod straight in his chair, nervous but unwavering.

“As you said, that’s public knowledge,” Shoto responded to a question about their relationship.

“In those moments, did you feel you were acting to protect the interests of the public, or to protect the interests of your partner alone?” Commissioner Hayashi asked.

“I did the job in front of me,” Shoto said. “Dynamight was falling. I caught him. Dynamight was bleeding out. I took him to receive expedited medical care. That’s all there is to it.”

“Would you have done the same if the falling hero were someone other than Dynamight?” Commissioner Ngo asked, without looking up from her notes.

“Yes.”

“Including transport to the medical staging area?”

“If the injury were the same, then yes.”

“Including rejection of orders and cursing at the dispatcher when ordered away?”

“I…suppose I might not have been so emotional. But I would ensure the hero got appropriate medical attention before responding to orders again. That’s basic rescue protocol. I wouldn’t abandon an injured person.”

Pens scratched. Katsuki ground his teeth. There was no way they could find him guilty after this. Shoto was being logical, trying to be helpful, trying to reason.

And yet….

Commissioner Ngo flipped a page in her notebook. “Concerning excessive use of force…you will recall that you once again abandoned the approved protocol and took individual action to neutralize three villain forces. You used large volumes of your Phosphor technique on two villains and approached the third at a high speed with a weapon resembling an ice spear. You hit the final villain with great force and pierced him in the chest with the weapon made of your ice. Do you have any comment or correction to those facts?”

“I would like to add that no protocol was officially approved by the Commission at the time, despite the battle continuing for nearly an hour,” Shoto said, and even through the screen, Katsuki could see the icy burn in his glare across the table.

“Is that your only comment?”

“Yes.”

“Fine, then.” Commissioner Ngo looked up at him. “I would like to share now that the villain died, Mr. Todoroki. You killed him.”

In the conference room, behind the two-way glass, Katsuki watched Shoto blink and look down at his hands. Katsuki glanced back at Commissioner Ngo. She was watching Shoto closely across the table, pen poised over her notepad.

Katsuki wasn’t sure exactly how he knew. But his gut was never wrong.

“It’s a fucking lie,” he hissed. “Why’s she fucking lying to him?”

Hawks glanced at him and twitched a smile. “Nice catch, Number One. They’re gauging his response. Whether he shows remorse over a potential death, and how much. If he says he doesn’t care, that’s a problem. He’d be a liability in the field if he doesn’t have respect for human life.”

“So they’re just casually telling him he killed someone? Are they even going to clarify after that, or just leave him to think he has blood on his hands?”

Hawks shrugged. “Dunno! I wasn’t there to hear the details.”

Katsuki looked, one more time, at Shoto’s face. He’d gone completely still, his hands clenched in his lap, brows furrowed, eyes unfocused. The Commission was intentionally, flagrantly fucking with him, and Shoto was bearing the emotional brunt of their tactics.

Once again, he wondered what Shoto would want to hear in the aftermath: that Katsuki had done nothing, or that Katsuki had done something…no matter how ill-timed, unwelcome, or inadvisable.

“Fuck this,” Katsuki spat, standing up and lunging for the door so quickly his chair spun.

And, finally, Endeavor spoke. For the first time since Katsuki had entered the room. He held up a big, beefy hand, his eyes still on the hearing, and said, “Wait. He’s talking.”

Katsuki paused, his hand still on the doorknob, and watched Shoto inhale, straighten up, and lock eyes with Commissioner Ngo.

“There were thirteen casualties. Twelve civilians and a hero. Demonstrably, the villain was prepared to cause risk to life. To properly counter that objective, I had to respond with equal or greater force to ensure success. If that force resulted in the death of the villain, it was objectively no greater than the force he’d already displayed, which killed thirteen people and injured dozens more.”

Commissioner Ngo pressed her lips together and made a note on her paper.

“However,” Shoto continued, and Commissioner Ngo looked up at him sharply, “based on that same logic, you wouldn’t be able to prosecute an excessive use of force charge. There would be no way to prove excessive force. There’s something wrong here. Either you are lying about the villain, or you are charging me with things you cannot prosecute.” He cocked his head. “Which is it, Commissioner? Or should I take a wild guess?”

Damn, Katsuki thought, sliding his hand into his pocket and grinning. Guess he is in top form after all.

Commissioner Ngo held gazes with Shoto, then huffed and gave a slight smile. “Thank you, Mr. Todoroki. Your comments have been recorded.”

“I’m distinctly aware that your answer has not.”

Her eyes flicked up to Shoto’s again, then she flipped the page on her notebook. “A lie, Mr. Todoroki. The villain is still alive.”

Shoto nodded once and adjusted himself in his chair. Katsuki noticed a shift in his body language, though. He seemed taller in the chair, his gaze up, flicking to each of the Commissioners at the table like a challenge. Like he’d flipped from defensive to offensive in one nail-biting moment.

Katsuki jumped as an emergency alarm sounded on his phone. Endeavor and Hawks looked up, alert. They’d all heard it a thousand times, but it never failed to get Katsuki’s blood racing. He scrambled to silence his phone and read the alert.

        Car chase headed toward the 600 block of Cherry Street, 3 black vans, 6 armed suspects. All available heroes requested to respond.

The alarm continued, despite Katsuki silencing his. His eyes returned to the hearing on the other side of the glass. The Commission stirred, flicking off pagers and phones. One remained.

Shoto’s.

Katsuki watched as Shoto calmly placed his phone on the table, between himself and Commissioner Ngo. It continued to shriek the emergency alarm. Shoto leaned back in his chair and cocked his head. “I can respond immediately upon restoration of my license.”

Shit, Katsuki thought to himself, and suddenly, he was very grateful for two-way glass.

Commissioner Ngo leaned toward Commissioner Hayashi, who whispered in her ear. She nodded. He rose. “All in favor of permanent revocation of Mr. Todoroki’s license, please say nay.”

The balding commissioner and two other commissioners voiced dissent.

“All in favor of immediate reinstatement, please say aye.”

A chorus of “aye” rose from the remaining eight commissioners, including Commissioner Hayashi and Commissioner Ngo.

Shoto stood up, grabbed his phone, and silenced it. “Where’s the exit?”

“Out this room, take a right, emergency exit’s at the end of the hall. You can take the roof if your clothing is suitable for aerial maneuvers. Otherwise there is a ground-level exit,” Commissioner Ngo said. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Todoroki.”

Shoto bowed to the Commission and left the room at a run.

Hawks and Endeavor bolted for the door. Katsuki followed them to an outdoor patio overlooking Cherry Street. He heard sirens, felt the air thick with tension and summer heat.

Then, two parallel barriers of ice shot up along the sidewalk, shielding pedestrians from the street. A lone figure ran up the roadway: Shoto, with neither jacket nor shoes, rolling up his sleeves as he went. Tires screeched, and then the vans appeared.

Katsuki heard crackling ice, screaming pedestrians, sirens as the police arrived and hurried to assist Shoto, singlehandedly fighting six villains with inadequate clothing and no support gear.

But he was Shoto Todoroki—and he was Japan’s best man for the job.

Chapter Text

“Here.” Katsuki held out Shoto’s water bottle.

Shoto took it with a smile. “Thanks.”

He’d finished the fight in under four minutes. Clean and neat, the biggest nuisance being the traffic caused by the frozen vans. No civilian injuries, and just a scratch to Shoto’s arm. The police looked relieved. Shoto looked content for the first time in six weeks. And the pedestrian chatter had turned from scared screams to fangirling in about three-point-two seconds.

And, Katsuki supposed, he could understand why. Because Shoto, Japan’s resident pretty boy, always looked hotter in a torn shirt and tailored pants.

Shoto finished his water. Katsuki handed him his shoes and suit jacket, which he’d left on the roof of the Commission building. And a fresh dress shirt. Shoto cocked his head and kicked his feet into his shoes. “You had a whole extra shirt?”

“And pants.”

Shoto laughed. “Did you consider that might be overkill?”

“I don’t know, you kept looking like you were gonna hurl, I wanted to be prepared.”

“God,” Shoto groaned, and opened his charred shirt without any second thoughts. The screams of the nearby pedestrians intensified. Shoto’s eyes widened and he wrenched the shirt around himself again. Katsuki smirked.

“Come on, let’s find you a bathroom or something,” Katsuki laughed, tugging Shoto’s arm. They hopped the ice barrier and entered the nearest shop: a bakery, empty of customers for now, with a single baker behind the counter.

A little bell over the door tinkled as they walked in. Signs near the back of the shop pointed to the restrooms. Katsuki handed Shoto his fresh shirt and he himself approached the counter. He figured it would be appropriate to buy something in exchange for the use of the facilities. Plus, Shoto deserved a treat. And he needed a coffee.

“Good afternoon,” he said to the baker. “Um…two iced coffees and a strawberry cupcake, please,” he said, sliding his wallet out of his pocket.

The baker held up his hands. “Oh no, no, please. It’s the least I can do for Shoto keeping us safe. Please wait just one moment.” He hustled away behind the counter, folding white cardboard into a large box and opening the display case.

“I can pay for it!” Katsuki called, just as Shoto reappeared, looking perfectly put together again. He gently relieved Katsuki of the backpack and placed his ruined shirt inside.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

The baker returned and placed the large, white box on the counter, along with two iced coffees. Shoto lit up instantly. The baker clasped his hands together and bowed deeply. “Many thanks for your bravery and speed today, Shoto. It is thanks to you that our customers and staff are safe. Please.” He nudged the box forward. “As a token of our gratitude.”

Katsuki knew that gifts often made Shoto uncomfortable, but he’d gotten much better at accepting them. He bowed to the baker and said, “I’m grateful everyone is safe. Thank you for your kindness.”

They returned to the street with iced coffee and minimal drama, Shoto carrying the box. The sidewalk was crowded, the ice barriers starting to melt but still keeping pedestrians out of the street. Phones flashed everywhere. Shoto eased his way through the crowd, crossed the street, and finally reached the grounds of the Hero Commission, where the crowd was thinner. Square one. Hawks and Endeavor stood on a patio overlooking the street, watching.

“You knew,” Shoto said suddenly. “That my license has been reinstated.”

Katsuki blinked. He’d forgotten that Shoto had had no idea about the two-way glass, nor that Katsuki had watched the entire hearing.

“Yeah,” he said. “How’d you figure?”

“You weren’t surprised that I went in to fight,” Shoto said. “And didn’t ask afterward. So…?” He cocked his head, glancing between Hawks and Endeavor and Katsuki.

Katsuki sighed. The nagging feelings of guilt and discomfort reared up and threatened to consume him. “I watched most of it. Just…it was weird. I feel weird about it.”

“Oh.” Shoto looked down at the box in his hands. “I guess I’m not surprised. This entire thing has been weird.”

Katsuki waited, watching him process. His fingers tightened around the box and he looked up again.

“I just want to know…did you bribe them? Or fight with Hawks? To reinstate me?”

“No,” Katsuki said. “The hearing was real. You got the results on your own merits. I didn’t get involved.” He looked down at his shoes. “Well, I almost did. When she lied to you about killing the villain. I was about to storm in there and give her a piece of my mind. But…I’m glad I didn’t. You fucking…you handled it perfectly. And I wouldn’t have.”

Shoto was silent for nearly a full, agonizing minute. Katsuki actually looked up at him to make sure he hadn’t completely evaporated. Sunlight filtered through the trees overhead, speckling Shoto’s face with gold. His hair fell gracefully around his face, lifting a little in the breeze. His eyes shone, fully present, intense.

He huffed, smiling a little, sweeping his loose hair behind his ear. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For respecting that even though our approaches would’ve been different, that doesn’t mean mine was wrong.” He shook his head. “And don’t worry about watching. I figured it was being recorded or live-streamed somewhere. I’m too popular to be left completely alone, right?”

He said it like a joke, but Katsuki could tell it wasn’t.

“I think,” he said quietly, “you need a cupcake, and you have a dozen of them in your hand.”

Shoto glanced down at the box. “Yeah, did he really think I’d eat all of these? I’ve gotta offload them somewhere. Like….” His head snapped up and he beamed. “Let’s take them to the office.”

“You’re such a nice boss,” Katsuki said, nudging Shoto’s shoulder to turn him around and start walking to the car.

“They deserve it. I haven’t exactly been fun to be around for the last few weeks.”

“Or they might just be thrilled you’re reinstated and want to celebrate with you.”

Shoto gave him a half-smile. “That too.”

Shoto heard Katsuki approach and he opened his eyes. They were in his office, Shoto in his desk chair. The staff had left for the day, having enjoyed the cupcakes and celebration of Shoto’s reinstatement. Izuku was still in his office, but Shoto could hear him packing up. Katsuki leaned on Shoto’s desk and smiled. “You wanna get some food? Maybe a drink or two?”

He still wore his suit pants and nice, button-down black shirt. Shoto had tied off his right sleeve earlier in the day to avoid it being an empty nuisance, and had rolled up the left one for him during the afterparty. He looked good. So good. And the smile was always nice to see.

So Shoto wanted to say yes, he was starving, and they should go out to a nice restaurant and enjoy an evening together (and maybe a re-do of their prior restaurant failure on Thursday).

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was burnt out, sugar-crashing from the earlier cupcake, and his headache had returned more severely than before. He knew Katsuki would see through him if they went out, and it was almost worse to feel like he was ruining a date night than to decline it in the first place.

“Rain check?” he told Katsuki. “I’m so tired. I just want to grab sushi and go home.”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

They walked a short distance to a little restaurant that served decent sushi, ate a few rolls mostly in silence, then Katsuki drove home while Shoto fought sleep in the passenger’s seat. Once home, Shoto went through the motions of getting into the shower, his head pounding and foggy as the hot water beat down on his shoulders.

And then, in a dash of cold air, Katsuki stepped in behind him.

“Don’t mind me,” Katsuki said. “You looked like a zombie and I figured you’d get stuck in here. I’ll wash your hair and you don’t have to do anything.”

Shoto groaned and angled his head to get his hair wet. “Thank you. Greatly appreciated.”

“Yeah, bet you’re crispier than burnt toast over a bonfire right now.” Katsuki added shampoo directly to Shoto’s roots and started working it vigorously into a lather.

“Accurate.” Shoto sucked in a breath. “Ouch—”

Katsuki froze. “Shit, am I hurting you?”

“No,” Shoto said automatically, because in his head, it wasn’t Katsuki that was hurting him, just his own lack of pain tolerance.

Katsuki didn’t move. “You sure?”

“No. I don’t know. Sorry.” Shoto rubbed his eyes. “My head hurts so bad, I think any movement is going to hurt. It’s not just you.”

“Got it. I’ll be quick.” Katsuki’s hand started moving again, his fingertips doing most of the work while his nails gently massaged Shoto’s scalp. “Is that okay, or do you want me to stop?”

“That’s good. Thank you.”

“Sure thing.” Katsuki ran the lather through Shoto’s hair, all the way to the ends, then helped with the rinse. Conditioning worked the same way. And when that was done, before Shoto could think twice, he felt a soapy washcloth gently running all over his body.

“Done?” Katsuki asked when Shoto was rinsed clean.

“Yeah, if you are.”

Katsuki flicked off the water and handed Shoto a towel. “There you go. But you’re on your own to brush your teeth, princess.”

They were in bed ten minutes later, Shoto’s hair soft and dried, his body tingling with exhaustion, warm water, and the lingering touches of his favorite hand. He reached over for Katsuki and gestured him closer, and he went easily, rolling into Shoto’s left arm. Shoto ran his warm fingers through Katsuki’s hair over and over, steam rising as it dried.

“Thank you,” Shoto murmured into Katsuki’s forehead. “I really needed that.”

“Good.” Katsuki kissed Shoto’s neck. “Big day. But I love you, and I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Shoto nodded and kissed Katsuki’s temple. “I love you too.”

Chapter Text

The porch door creaked and Shoto froze. Behind him, the house remained quiet and still. He knew Katsuki probably hadn’t heard, being in a dead sleep a full floor above him (and, Shoto had noticed recently, getting a little hard of hearing). But at the same time, all of Katsuki’s senses had been honed sharp through years of training and commitment, and Shoto knew better than to assume he missed anything.

When a few moments had passed with no signs of disturbance, Shoto continued his journey to the porch. He unfolded his favorite blanket he’d grabbed from the living room, then wrapped it around himself and eased into the rocking porch chair. The morning was cloudy and hazy from overnight rain, and rather than a sunrise, the world slowly came into focus in shades of gray. Shoto could taste the fresh dampness and felt it settle onto his nose and hair.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair, savoring a few breaths of the rich, clean air. He’d slept poorly, waking up several times from nightmares that looked like pools of blood, gnarled flesh, blond hair soaked in scarlet. Felt like falling and falling and falling and crashing to a sidewalk, bones cracking at the impact, a body he was supposed to protect crushed beneath his own weight. Sounded like screams and choking on blood and decades-old echoes of his father’s voice coming through it all like a god: I didn’t train you to fail like this, Shoto. Pathetic!

Shoto shivered and tightened the blanket, releasing a little bit of warmth from his Quirk. He’d had nightmares like this a few weeks after Katsuki’s injury, and after the hearing yesterday, he was unsurprised they’d resurfaced. Just disappointed that he didn’t get the rest he was hoping for. He’d looked forward to a nice summer weekend with Katsuki, finally unshackled from the stress of his suspended license, but instead, he felt exhausted, frazzled, and disgusted with himself. He just wanted to sleep for a week, and he couldn’t even do that right.

He sat on the porch while the world woke up. Birds flew by, chirping gaily. The fish in the backyard pond snatched bugs from the surface. Shoto figured he should get a move on, go inside, make coffee and eggs and pretend everything was fine.  

The porch door creaked and Katsuki appeared, wearing a t-shirt and athletic shorts, holding a cup of water. He extended this to Shoto. “How long have you been up?” he asked.

“A while.”

“Slept like shit, huh?”

Shoto shrugged.

Katsuki leaned onto the doorframe and moved like he would’ve crossed his arms, but realized he only had one, so he slid it into his pocket instead. “I told Kirishima a few days ago that I’d go to UA to train with him today. Obviously, that was before everything yesterday. It’s no problem for me to bail if you want to hang out this morning. But I know sometimes you prefer space anyway, so I thought I’d ask before straight up canceling.”

Shoto processed this, his brain feeling slow from the lack of sleep. “How’re you getting in?”

“Deku.”

“So Izuku’s going too?”

“Yeah, so like I said, no problem for me to cancel. It’ll happen without me.”

“No, no…um….” Shoto rubbed his eyes. “I don’t want to be here all morning, and I was thinking about seeing Izuku, but he’s obviously not going to be home. Can I come? I won’t bother you and Kirishima.”

Katsuki brightened immediately. “Hell yeah. More the merrier. He’ll be here at eight. I’ll make us some breakfast. You want an egg sandwich?”

“Yes, please.”

Kirishima arrived a little early, so Shoto left the house with undone hair, no coffee, and half a breakfast sandwich in his hand, but it was preferable to being alone all morning. “Thanks for letting me tag along,” he said, sliding into the back seat behind Katsuki.

“Yeah, absolutely!” Kirishima said, grinning widely. “I’d love to get your thoughts on this technique too, if you’re willing. And by the way, congrats!”

Shoto cocked his head, mouth too full of breakfast to ask what he meant.

“The license,” Kirishima laughed. “Glad you’re back!”

“Mm! Mm-hm.” Shoto swallowed. “Thanks.”

Izuku met them at the UA entrance and let them in with his staff key, then led the way to Gym Gamma. He carried a huge folder of papers and laughed that he was very behind in grading. He excused himself to the bleachers to work on the backlog. Shoto, who had been wanting to talk to Izuku, now found himself awkwardly on the gym floor, unsure of what to do.

“So what’s this technique?” Shoto asked as Kirishima did some calisthenics to warm up, and Katsuki stretched nearby.

“Hardening multiple small sections of his body at once,” Katsuki said. “Saves stamina while still being effective.”

“If I can do it,” Kirishima laughed.

Katsuki swung his arm sideways and sent a blast directly at Kirishima’s head. Kirishima came out of it unscathed and laughing. Katsuki grinned and shook out his arm. “And I’m working on balance without the second arm. It’s been too fucking long.”

They really didn’t need Shoto. He provided an ice wall as a backstop for Katsuki while he practiced, so he didn’t fall if he lost his balance on the recoil from his explosions, and then he stood nearby to watch. Their training technique involved Katsuki aiming a lot of AP Shots at Kirishima as he climbed up and down a big rock structure in the center of the gym. Which, Shoto supposed, was good for both of them. Kirishima could practice and Katsuki could dip his toes back into work, figure out how his missing arm worked into the equation, and enjoy a return to healthy competition. He watched for a few minutes, glazing in and out of focus as he struggled to shake off the night of poor sleep.

Something small and hard whacked Shoto in the forehead, which didn’t hurt as much as it surprised him. It fell to the floor and shattered. An ice fragment. If he’d been in any sort of focused headspace, he’d have properly reacted and knocked it away, but he was tired and his reflexes were nonexistent. Shoto rubbed the spot to check for blood and his fingers came away clean.

“Shit, you okay? That was my fuck up, I’m sorry,” Katsuki said, staring at Shoto.

“Fucking…fine.” Shoto rubbed his eyes. “I haven’t had enough coffee for this. Don’t worry about it.”

“You need coffee, Shochan?” Izuku called from the bleachers nearby. He pulled out his staff keys and tossed them in Shoto’s direction with no warning. Shoto barely managed to catch them. “There’s always coffee in the staff room. Room 103 in the main building. The green key will get you in.”

With nothing better to do, Shoto walked across campus through a light drizzle and found the staff room pretty easily, all things considered. He turned the key in the lock and was greeted with the thick, warm scent of fresh coffee, and this encouraged him to finish the journey inside and close the door behind himself.

The room was comfortably large, with big windows, a kitchenette, and a variety of seating options. It was empty, except for one figure hunched over paperwork at a table with an entire pot of coffee.

Aizawa.

He glanced up, registered that it was Shoto standing there and not one of the staff, and laid down the red pen in his hand. “Midoriya needs to stop lending his keys to everyone under the sun.”

“Oh, so I’m not special?” Shoto returned.

Aizawa grinned. “Not in the slightest. Why in God’s name are you here?”

“I was promised coffee.”

“Ah.” Aizawa gestured to a fresh pot on the table in front of him. “Cups on the counter. Help yourself.”

Shoto found a paper cup and brought it over, filled it with coffee, and stepped back to leave, but Aizawa looked up and said, “Heard about the hearing yesterday.”

“From who?” Shoto asked, well aware that his father was a regular presence at UA and likely wouldn’t keep any of Shoto’s work business private.

“News. I asked Bakugo about it directly. He said you, quote, ‘kicked ass’ at the hearing and have your license back.”

Shoto shrugged and took a sip of coffee, using his Quirk in his mouth to prevent a burnt tongue, and transferred the cup to his right hand to cool off the remaining liquid.

“I assume you didn’t really kick asses,” Aizawa said.

“No.”

“I assume you had to handle a very unfair and performative situation with respect and decorum that was not extended back to you, then pretend to be happy that it all worked out.”

Shoto paused, feeling something in his stomach unravel a little at Aizawa’s statement. Then he nodded.

Aizawa gestured to the chair across from him and Shoto sat down. “Do you have time for this?” Shoto asked, glancing at the papers in front of Aizawa. “I know Izuku’s buried in grading, I don’t want to absorb all your time—”

“Unlike Midoriya, I have discipline and have finished grading for today. I have plenty of time.” Aizawa poured himself more coffee. “And I like getting information from the source.”

“I know,” Shoto said, once again feeling something inside him relax just a little. He sighed. “I think, like I told Katsuki yesterday, this entire thing has just been weird. I’m not sure how I feel about it, nor about the outcome.”

“Well, start from the beginning.”

So Shoto told him about being delivered the suspension notice in front of his staff, the lack of details surrounding the reasons why, the complete silence for nearly two months, the last-second hearing notice, being questioned by the Commission, forcing their hand for a vote, and responding to the car chase in front of the Commission headquarters.

“I was also informed after the fact,” he finished, “that Hawks and Endeavor had set themselves up to watch the hearing behind two-way glass. And Katsuki told me that, they haven’t mentioned it to me at all. The entire thing is leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I almost wish the Commission had just….”

He trailed off. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Revoked your license,” Aizawa finished for him.

Shoto nodded, feeling his eyes sting and his throat tighten. He took a sip of coffee.

“And I can’t wish for that,” Shoto said. “That’s crazy. I’ve worked my entire life for this career. I’m at the top. My incident resolutions alone are above my dad’s in the three years before he retired. Like, objectively, with Kat taking an extended leave, it’s important to have someone highly effective fill in the gap. If anything, I am that. Highly effective.”

Aizawa nodded.

“But I just feel so…disrespected. I don’t want to work for the Commission if this is how they’re going to treat people. They were perfectly fine with publicly kicking me out at a crucial time. What are they gonna do if I quit?”

“Mm.” Aizawa took a sip of coffee. “What are you going to do if you quit?”

Shoto shrugged. “Hadn’t really thought about it. I’m not supposed to think about quitting now, right? I might get jealous of a version of me that doesn’t exist.”

Aizawa’s mouth twitched in a smile. He gazed out the window, thinking, then said, “You, of all people, are very aware of the Commission’s systemic issues. They existed before the war. They existed when Endeavor was rising through the ranks and you were a child. Those systemic issues ultimately produced a society that failed you. It created a pro hero who abused the most vulnerable people in his life, in pursuit of protecting the society that praised him. It’s in the past, but the wounds are there.

“Because of that, you probably carry an extra level of distrust for the Commission—and rightly so. It’s good to be suspicious of those in power. It’s acceptable to feel conflicted when they jerk you around to prove a point. But…if you quit, in their eyes, you just go away. They can ignore all their failures. They could turn it on you and claim weakness, and that would be the furthest thing from the truth. Because where Endeavor hurt those closest to him in his pursuit of greatness, you protect them with every resource and skill you possess.”

Aizawa turned to look Shoto in the eyes. Shoto felt like he’d stopped breathing, his coffee going cold in his hand.

“I got footage of the battle that day,” Aizawa continued. “The day Bakugo got hurt. I’ve gone over it a dozen times. Your reaction time was instantaneous, arguably as close to zero as humanly possible. You immediately flew Bakugo’s deadweight a half-mile out to the perimeter for medical attention—and he’s heavy. I don’t know how you managed that at all. And after that, you returned to battle and ultimately put yourself through incredible strain to finish the fight decisively. As Midoriya tells it, you left the battlefield the moment you could and went to Bakugo’s side. And the Commission rewarded all of that commitment, skill, and personal risk with a humiliation tactic. At least, that’s how I see it.”

Shoto rubbed his eyes. “I appreciate that. I just…I think I lost it at some point. I felt so frantic and distressed about Katsuki, it all came out in my performance and how I treated other heroes afterward, as much as I wish it didn’t.”

Aizawa nodded. “Again, that’s pointing to a systemic issue from the Commission. It’s no secret the two of you are romantic partners. And yet, after a near-death experience while in service to your country, they demanded you leave him. Leave him to…what? Fall to his death? Bleed out on the sidewalk? Bakugo’s alive because you’re not a robot. You’re a professional who was able to professionally triage the situation—and walk back into battle, because you knew they couldn’t do it without you.” A wry smile twitched onto his face. “And while we all appreciate your choice to temper yourself in most situations, there are reasons you and Bakugo get along. You can go off just as loud as he can. It’s just that when you do it, most people know it's serious.”

At that moment, Shoto’s phone vibrated in his pocket. A text from Katsuki.

        Gimme a landmark and I’ll come find you. I assume you’re lost.

Shoto rolled his eyes and sent a quick text in return.

        Staffroom. Talking to Sensei.

“Bakugo?” Aizawa asked, pouring the last of the coffee into his cup.

“Yes. I think they’re on their way over.” Shoto slid his phone back into his pocket. “Thank you. For listening, and for your comments. Gives me something more to chew on than my negative feelings.”

Aizawa nodded, flicked his gaze to the rain outside, then looked back at him, his eye bright in the natural light from the window. “You’re a good hero, Shoto. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Chapter Text

Katsuki looked up from the sink as Shoto walked into the kitchen. Immediately following their return from UA, he’d reported a nauseating migraine, forced down a ginger ale, took some painkiller, and passed out on the couch before lunch. Katsuki had checked on him a few times, but had tried to stay quiet and out of the way. Shoto needed the sleep, badly.

Now, he nodded to Katsuki and crossed the kitchen to open the fridge. He stared into it for a minute. Katsuki could practically see the wheels trying to wake up and turn.

“Don’t know if you feel like waiting twenty minutes, but I’ve got brownies in the oven,” Katsuki offered.

Shoto straightened up a little. “Brownies?”

“Yeah.”

“Amazing.” Shoto closed the fridge and flopped down into a chair at the kitchen table, head tilted back, hands over his eyes. “I’m so fucking hungry.”

Katsuki dried his hand on a dishtowel and quietly pulled out a plate and a butter knife. “How’s your head?”

“Better.”

“Still nauseous or no?”

“No.”

“Great. Glad you got some sleep, then.” Katsuki gracelessly slapped peanut butter onto a piece of bread and folded it, then brought it to the table.

Shoto uncovered his eyes as Katsuki slid the plate toward him. “Excuse me? This is not a brownie.”

“Gotta get some protein before the sugar, princess.”

“Smart. Thank you.” Shoto picked up the sandwich and took a huge bite, closing his eyes to savor it while he chewed. “Fucking delicious.”

Katsuki started some water for tea before sitting down in the chair across from Shoto. By then, Shoto had polished off his sandwich and was most of the way through a large glass of water, watching the rain pour in rivers down the kitchen window. A moment later, he reached over and lit a candle on the table with his Quirk. Katsuki caught the first whiff of brownies from the oven.

How’s your arm feel after today?” Shoto asked.

“Decent,” Katsuki told him. “I think the PT’s been helping. I haven’t lost as much muscle as I thought. And I didn’t have much difficulty figuring out the balance issues on the ground.”

“That’s great,” Shoto said. “I’m happy for you.”

Katsuki shrugged. “It’s still…it’s still weird. Not having an arm.”

He felt Shoto stiffen, almost imperceptibly. His fingers paused on the edge of his water glass. Then he let his breath out and looked up at Katsuki.

“Are you sad?” he asked. “About your arm? I know you’ve been playing tough-guy, but I mean…it’s a significant loss. I’ve been assuming you’re upset, but never really asked.”

Katsuki rubbed his hand over his face. “Yeah. Sometimes. Other times, it’s not that different from when I was rehabbing it after the war. It was pretty useless for the better part of a year. So I think it’s a day-to-day thing. Hour-by-hour, even. Some things suck. Other things aren’t a big deal. And like, I always kind of knew this was a possibility, in the background. They suggested amputation after the war. This outcome isn’t a surprise, so I think that helps things kind of suck less. I’ve had some lead time.” He looked up at Shoto, who was watching him intensely. “Does that answer your question?”

Shoto nodded. “That’s true, I guess we did have some notice.”

“What, seventeen, eighteen years’ notice?” Katsuki shrugged and gave Shoto a smile. “It’s been a thing for a long time.”

Shoto took his plate to the sink and started washing it. “Can I ask another question? I’m curious about something.”

Katsuki laughed. “Yeah, go for it.”

“Do you experience phantom limb sensations?”

“Oh yeah,” Katsuki said. “It’s happened a couple times since I’ve been home. It’s weird, it’s like super detailed sometimes. Like it’ll still feel like I’m wearing my gloves or my gauntlets, but the entire limb’s gone.”

“Seriously?” Shoto shook his head and put his plate on the rack to dry. “Brains are so weird. But, you figure we trained so much with our equipment, so that we could understand it as an extension of ourselves…maybe that’s a sign that the training works?”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way. Interesting.”

The tea water reached a boil, and Shoto waved Katsuki back into his chair and took over making two cups of tea. A few minutes later, the brownies finished in the oven, and Shoto pulled them out. He started slicing right away and put two brownies on a plate, which he brought to the table and placed between their cups of tea.

“What, so we’re just gonna watch these cool?” Katsuki laughed. “Pretty sure that’s actual torture.”

“No, I wanna try something.” Shoto held his right hand over the brownies and activated his Quirk to cool the air around them. “Speed cooling, hopefully.”

“Could you just eat them hot?” Katsuki asked. “I know you can’t really burn your mouth.”

“I could. They would taste different. It’s best if they’re warm, but not hot.” He tested the heat on a brownie with his left hand and resumed speed-cooling.

Katsuki took him in: his long legs folded up on the chair, hair in a messy ponytail, wearing Katsuki’s old sweatshirt, hands hovering over the plate of brownies, intensely focused on his very important task.

Shoto tested the heat again and smiled, broke off a piece of a brownie, and popped it in his mouth. “It worked. Safe to eat,” he announced.

“You’re a genius.”

“Thank you very much. And thank you for making brownies.”

“No sweat.”

They ate in silence for a bit. And Katsuki hesitated a few times before he decided to risk breaking the moment. But he did it, because it needed to be done.

“I know you talked with Sensei already,” he said, and Shoto looked up at him. “If you’re tired of talking, that’s fine. But I do want to know what’s going on in your head at some point today, if you can find the energy to share.”

Shoto sighed and looked down at his tea. “It…kind of sucks,” he said. “I don’t want to make you upset. And I’ll probably feel better in a few days, so is there really a point?”

“I dunno.” Katsuki gestured to the window. “The rain sucks. And it’ll go away in a few days. But there’s still a purpose to it, right?” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s stupid. But I don’t care if it’ll make me upset. You’re upset. I’d rather know what it is so I can help.”

Shoto nodded, then stared contemplatively into his steaming cup of tea. He got up and placed two more brownies on the plate and returned to the table, then picked at one, still thinking.

“Have you ever felt like you don’t want to be a hero anymore?” Shoto asked, so quiet that his breath barely disturbed the steam from his tea mug.

Katsuki’s fingers paused on his brownie. Of all the things he figured Shoto might be thinking over the last few weeks, this wasn’t one of them. He looked up at him, sitting a few feet away, his eyes burdened, a tear track coursing down his cheek.

“Sho….”

Shoto sniffed and wiped his face with his sweatshirt sleeve. “Just answer the question.”

Katsuki nodded and tried to force his brain back into order. “Yeah. A couple times.”

“How did you get past it?”

“Well, it’s probably dumb, but like…five, six years in, everything kind of went to shit all at once, and I thought about quitting for the greater part of a year. And during all that, I made myself write down a purpose statement. It’s been in my fucking underwear drawer ever since. I’ve pulled it out occasionally. Helps me reorient myself on bad days.”

Shoto blinked. “That little piece of red paper? I thought it was a good luck charm or something.”

“Nope. Guessing you never read it?”

“No, it’s your stuff. Usually I’m only in your underwear drawer for very specific purposes. Like underwear.”

Katsuki smiled. “Well, there you go. It’s my purpose statement. But it doesn’t matter what my purpose statement is. I assume your driving force is different anyway.”

Shoto nodded, his gaze falling to his tea mug between his hands. “I feel like everything has happened slowly and quickly at the same time. And yesterday was very overwhelming. I’m left with a lot of mixed feelings and I have maybe just…lost sight of who I am in the midst of everything.”

“I think any sane person would have mixed feelings after yesterday,” Katsuki said, and Shoto cracked a hesitant smile. “Sounds easier just to tell the Commission to suck it and quit on the spot, huh?”

“Ugh, I think that would cause orgasmic levels of catharsis.”

Katsuki laughed, and Shoto did too.

“I feel like I can’t do that,” Shoto continued. “I shouldn’t. I’d be an idiot.”

“Huge idiot.”

“You might yell at me,” Shoto said. “Dad would definitely yell at me.”

“Absolutely.”

“I’d be so sad in two days.”

“I’d be mopping you off the fucking floor.”

“But none of that makes me feel good about continuing,” Shoto said.

“Of course not. That’s all the drawbacks. It’s a list of why-nots. What you need is a list of whys.”

Shoto blinked. “Whys?”

“Yeah. Why you do it. Why you choose to be a hero.” Katsuki took a sip of tea. “We all know you could choose literally anything else. Why do you choose this, specifically? And you don’t have to tell me. You’ll probably need some time to think about it.”

“I see.”

They sat quiet for a few minutes, drinking tea and eating their brownies. Then Shoto said, “To help other people feel safe and at peace. That’s why I do it. It’s always been that.”

Katsuki nodded. “Then there you go. That’s your why.” He cocked his head. “Is it enough, this time?”

Shoto considered this, staring down at half a brownie in his hand for so long that Katsuki almost asked if he was okay. But he said, “I genuinely don’t know.” His eyes flicked up to Katuski’s, raw around the edges. “That sounds bad, doesn’t it?”

“It sounds honest. Don’t put a judgement on it. It sounds like your why isn’t quite measuring up to your pain.”

“That’s really selfish and weak—”

“No, you’re really hurt. It’s not weak to say that.”

Shoto let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m…I’m really hurt.”

“I know,” Katsuki said. “I’ve been watching you carry all that, and it sucks. I’m sorry. I’m ready to help however I can. Okay?”

Shoto sniffed and wiped his eyes. Then he nodded. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Sunday morning came quietly. The weather was still rainy, and predicted to get worse before it got better. Shoto felt sluggish and foggy from the moment he woke up. He stuck to his routines out of habit, forced his way through a workout and a shower and breakfast prep, until Katsuki asked him if he was all right. He wasn’t entirely sure how to answer.

“I need to run to the store,” Katsuki said over breakfast. “We’re out of a few things. You want to come?”

Shoto took a sip of coffee. “I can take care of it. I didn’t realize we needed to go, I’m sorry.”

Katsuki waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve got it. Gotta get out of the house, and I want to check out a few things before I buy them. You can come if you want to, but I’m going anyway.”

Shoto nodded once. “I think…I think I want to stay home. If that’s all right.”

“Yeah, absolutely. You look like you’d benefit from some space.”

“If it’s not offensive to say so, I do feel that way.”

Katsuki smiled at him. “No. I get it. You’ve been running around for days. It’s nice to just be home.” He stirred his coffee. “Me, on the other hand, I’m fuckin’ stir crazy. So I’m gonna take my chaos elsewhere. Might see if Deku wants to meet up for a bit. All good.”

So after breakfast, Katsuki took the car to pick up Izuku and go shopping. Shoto closed the door behind him and turned back into his silent house. A slight smile twitched at his lips and he headed upstairs to do some light cleaning while everything was in stasis.

He stripped the bed, started a load of laundry, vacuumed the floors, dusted their bedroom and the living room, did the dishes, and cleaned the bathroom. He returned to the laundry room and switched the sheets to the dryer. And that was when his phone rang.

Endeavor.

He knew this would be coming. And he considered ignoring the call, and any subsequent calls after that. But in general, ignoring his father induced a lot of anxiety, and he found it was just better to get it over with. So he answered.

“Father.”

“Shoto.”

Silence.

Shoto’s heart rate shot up. He shut the dryer and turned it on, then stepped out of the laundry room and walked toward the porch. “What’s the occasion?” he asked, trying to sound placid and unbothered.

“I need an occasion to call you?” Endeavor returned.

“I suppose not, but there usually is one.” Shoto let himself onto the porch, and he moved to stand a few feet from the door, folding his arms around himself while still keeping his phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m calling about your hearing,” Endeavor said, which did not surprise Shoto in the least.

“Ah, yes,” Shoto said. “It occurred.”

Endeavor grumbled under his breath. “And?”

“You tell me,” Shoto returned. “I heard you were there.”

Silence.

“Bakugo told you,” Endeavor said.

“Of course.”

His father huffed through his nose. “Well, it could’ve gone worse.”

“Mm,” Shoto said noncommittally. He still didn’t always trust his father’s first offerings of a semi-positive opinion on any topic, but especially concerning work. He scanned his backyard in practiced sweeps, falling into patterns of vigilance before he even consciously realized he was doing it. Rain dripped into the yard and fish pond, filling puddles and streaming from the gutters. His brain felt very full and loud. He closed his eyes and considered hanging up while he was still ahead.

“Took a while to get your feet under you,” his father continued. “I wasn’t sure if you’d pull it off at all.” He paused. “And then they would have revoked your license. Permanently.”

“Well, that’s not what happened,” Shoto said shortly.

“By sheer chance. You weren’t helping your case.”

“An eight-to-three vote is not chance,” Shoto snapped.

“It should have been zero against you,” Endeavor seethed.

Shoto couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He also had hoped for fewer votes against his reinstatement. He ground his teeth and didn’t respond.

Endeavor huffed. “The lack of vigor you brought to your arguments was palpable. You know if it were anyone else, they would’ve gone in with a clearer head and stronger spine. Even Bakugo would have performed differently. He was ready to run in there himself at one point to defend you. Defend you! When you were sitting right there like a damsel in distress.”

Shoto pressed his lips together, biting back his first responses while he considered which one would end the conversation fastest.

“It leaves me wondering,” Endeavor continued, “whether you even wanted your license back.”

Shoto swallowed. As much as Endeavor was an enormous pain in the ass, he was a former Number One, which meant he was extremely perceptive and fully familiar with the ins and outs of being a hero. Plus, he’d been with Shoto every day from birth to high school. Not to mention personally training him for that entire time period. With a sinking feeling in his chest, Shoto realized that he wasn’t even surprised that Endeavor had picked up on his current personal crisis.

“Hawks was there, of course,” Endeavor said. “He agrees with that assessment of your performance during the hearing. Heartless and weak.”

Shoto inhaled through his nose. He couldn’t actually imagine Hawks using those words—a reminder that this was coming third-party through a biased source. It was still hard to ignore the feedback, though, because it likely contained a grain of truth.

“Shoto, you need to get it together, immediately. You are the Number One Hero. If you can’t even fight properly for your license, how can you expect to fulfill the demands of the role? You cannot carry any doubts. Your mentality will affect everything, and you’ll get kicked down from Number One faster than you can blink.”

“Katsuki is Number One,” Shoto said. “He hasn’t retired.”

“Then Bakugo is delusional.”

Frost crackled up Shoto’s phone case. “Shut up about my spouse,” he snarled.

“Get your head out of the clouds, Shoto!” Endeavor shouted. “Number One is vacant. You could stay ignorant while you were benched. When you go back in tomorrow, you will be Japan’s top hero. There are responsibilities and expectations that come with that. All eyes are on you.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Then act like it.”

The line went dead. Unfortunately, Endeavor was learning—hang up on Shoto to make a point before Shoto could hang up on him.

Shoto cursed and ran his hands over his face, his eyes and nose stinging. Stress sweat prickled over his back and face. Rain hammered the porch roof, gushing faster from the gutters. If possible, his brain felt even louder than before.

Before he knew it, he was moving: through the empty house, toward the front door, pausing only to lace his sneakers. His fingers slipped, shaking, and he swore at them to work, and they did. He blinked away tears and careened out the door, heard it lock behind him, took the front walk at a run and went left down the street, rain pouring down onto his head and face and shoulders as he ran and ran and ran.

He didn’t have a plan, but he automatically took his usual route toward a park in the subdivision. Humid air burned in his lungs. He quickly gave up trying to avoid puddles—it was pointless in the relentless rain—and his feet and legs were soon as soaked as the rest of him. His shirt clung to his skin. His ponytail flung raindrops side-to-side like an odd sort of pendulum.

Within half a mile, his body auto-corrected his frantic pace. How many training runs had he taken in his life? Far too many to count, but enough that he could let nature take over. His breath came more steadily and the pain evaporated. His legs gained strength as the blood started flowing. His arms caught up and kept pace, driving him forward, activating his body and deactivating his mind.

A few people looked up as he passed the bus stop, continuing across the street to the park. He saw no one else out running. Who would be crazy enough to run in this rain? Just Shoto Todoroki, it seemed, riding out his personal crisis in a downpour.

Get it together—

No.

You are the Number One—

No.

All eyes are on—

No.

Shoto pounded half-thoughts into the pavement, suspending his mind in nothingness. He found clarity most often when his mind was empty. Running helped him do the work to get there. It was easy to latch onto voices that weren’t his and cut them off as his foot struck the ground.

Our customers and staff are safe—

You’re a good hero, Shoto—

Glad you’re back, man—

Your driving force is different anyway—

To help other people feel safe and at peace. It’s always been that.

Is it enough, this time?

Puddle water drenched Shoto’s foot.

Is it?

The park trail sloped upward. Shoto’s calves burned. His shoes dug into the gravel and kept pushing, pushing, pushing. He focused on his breath. On the rivers of mud beneath his shoes. He might need to rinse off in the fish pond before Katsuki would let him back in the house.

Katsuki.

“Oh,” Shoto said out loud, his head snapping up as he realized—

He didn’t want to go back—because going back would make it all real. His father’s assessment earlier had held some truth. Katsuki couldn’t hold Number One. Katsuki himself knew that. Even a few weeks on the bench put him at real risk of his stats being surpassed by the heroes beneath. Heroes like Shoto.

So when Shoto returned, even if he didn’t take Number One right away, a new era stretched ahead of them. One where Katsuki was too injured to keep his rank. One where Katsuki maybe wasn’t a hero at all anymore. One where it was just Shoto. One where their home and their relationship and their entire lifestyle was no longer that of two top heroes, but a hero and an ex-hero. One where Katsuki would have to send Shoto off to do the job he loved and lost every day.

And really, the time was already upon them. It had been nearly two months since Katsuki’s injury. Shoto wouldn’t have given it a second thought if the suspension hadn’t put his entire life on pause for the same amount of time. Instead of letting them run smoothly down the slope and through the transition, the suspension had inadvertently created a huge cliff for him to jump off. And everyone was piling behind him, ready to push him forward, and Shoto didn’t want to fall.

Was that really so wrong?

His running path crested at the top of a wooded hill. There was no view, only tall trees. But their green leaves shielded him from the onslaught of rain; it was still damp and drippy, but not so intense. Shoto took a deep breath of fresh air and let it out slowly. His shoes slipped on rocks and roots and he slowed his pace a little. He didn’t feel like twisting an ankle or eating shit on the otherwise empty pathway. He did have a job to do tomorrow.

He had—

A job to do—

Squeak on a tree root. Shoto caught himself and pushed forward.

He had a job to do—

A job to do—

He was Shoto Todoroki, Japan’s Number Two Hero, and he had a job to do.

Shoto burst out of the woods into an absolute typhoon of rain, and fuck it, he was already wet, wasn’t he? He let out a shout from the bottom of his lungs and ran faster, faster, faster, out of the park, down the street, across a bridge suspended over a churning river.

How fast could he run? How high could he climb? What did life look like on the other side?

For Katsuki?

For himself?

For the two of them, together?

His sneakers held puddles. His clothes were drenched. His ponytail flick, flick, flicked water in all directions. Shoto held up his hands. Embracing it.

Maybe he didn’t have to fall off the cliff.

Maybe he could fly.

A car horn made him jump halfway out of his skin, and a vehicle pulled over just beside him. A body rose from the driver’s seat and the door slammed.

“What in the name of fuck are you doing running in this weather?” Katsuki yelled over the rain. “I leave you to your own devices one time and you pick this?”

They met on the grass between the car and the sidewalk, Katsuki already wet, Shoto like a drowned rat in comparison, chest heaving, legs wobbly from the sudden stop. He flicked soaking wet hair from his face. “You should get in the car,” he said. “It’s raining.”

“No shit, Sherlock. What’d you do, jump in the river? Jesus Christ.”

Shoto smiled. Katsuki gave him a cautious smile in return.

“The fuck are you doing?” Katsuki asked, less aggressively, reaching out to touch Shoto’s arm, and Shoto felt his brain sing at the contact.

“Decompressing,” Shoto told him. “Thinking. I think? I tried very hard not to think. Maybe I reached some sort of Nirvana.”

“Sounds like dehydration to me.”

Shoto laughed. A real laugh that came up from his chest and burst into the air between them.

Katsuki squeezed his arm. Shoto could see his eyes soften, even through the rain. “Stop the presses. I think Shoto’s back.”

“Maybe I am.” Shoto stepped closer and slid his hands around Katsuki’s waist, pulling him in close. Katsuki looked up and their eyes met.

“I know a lot has changed,” Shoto said, “and I’m under no delusion that it’s going to be an easy ride. But I want to embrace it. Whatever the future looks like. Will you fly off the cliff with me?”

Katsuki’s hand slid up Shoto’s arm to rest on his face. He leaned closer and kissed him, kissed him long and hard and so, so good right there in the pouring rain.

“I have one condition,” Katsuki said. “We drive off that cliff as hard as we can. Gas pedal to the floor.”

“I can accommodate that.”

Katsuki kissed him again. Shoto sighed into it. Katsuki wiped rain off Shoto’s face, which felt good even if it was a lost cause.

“Can I give you a ride home, princess? Or do you have more not-thinking to do?”

“Thanks, but I’m gonna run home,” Shoto told him. “Can’t have the Number Two Hero falling out of shape.”

The edge of Katsuki’s mouth twitched upward. “So you’re going back tomorrow?”

“Yes. I know, in my heart, I’m not done yet, even though it’s still….”

“Heavy?” Katsuki offered.

Shoto nodded. He put his hand over Katsuki’s. “I just…can we talk about it? I want to make sure you’re okay with the whole thing.”

“Of course. I’ll make some tea when I get home and I’ll be ready when you are.”

Shoto smiled. His chest felt five times lighter. He kissed Katsuki one more time. “Thank you. I’ll see you at home.”

“See you,” Katsuki said, taking a pace back toward the car. “And don’t track mud on my clean floors!”

The next morning, Shoto got up at his first alarm, drank a whole bottle of water, and steered himself to their home gym. Cardio, lifting, his favorite stretching routine, and then he swapped Katsuki for the upstairs shower. “I’ll make breakfast,” Katsuki said, and Shoto nodded his thanks on the way by.

It was practiced, fluid, the only oddity that Katsuki would work out later after physical therapy. He was normally up at five to get it all done in time, with Shoto dragging along behind him, solidly not a morning person, but an adult with responsibilities all the same. Today, Shoto led the charge, and Katsuki paced him, matching his speed. It wasn’t all bad, just something to get used to.

By the time he finished in the shower, dried and braided his hair, and made his way downstairs with his suit on his bottom half and a t-shirt on top, Katsuki had made coffee and was busy grilling fish on the stove.

“Sit,” he told Shoto, then placed a full cup of coffee and a fresh glass of water in front of him. “You want avocado?”

“Yes, please. Can I help with anything?”

“Slice an avocado. Everything else is almost ready. Hot food incoming.”

Shoto took a sip of coffee and picked a moderately ripe avocado from the fruit basket, then served out bowls of rice before slicing into the avocado. Katsuki thanked him and transferred fish to the bowls, added some marinated eggs, and topped it all with sesame seeds. Shoto reached over and added avocado to each bowl, and they sat down at the table at the same time.

“Thank you for making breakfast,” Shoto said, picking up a pair of chopsticks.

Across the table, Katsuki lifted a fork and smiled. “Yeah, no sweat, princess. Gotta keep you fed.”

They chatted over food and coffee, then Shoto cleaned up the dishes and brushed his teeth while Katsuki filled a travel cup with more coffee for Shoto to take to work. Then it was lunch bag in hand, shoes on feet, zip up the suit, grab keys, and—

Shoto’s fingers froze—literally froze—on his zipper. He exhaled sharply and his breath clouded. Raw fear crashed over his head. His father’s words resounded in his ears.

All eyes on you.

His first day back from suspension. His first day as Japan’s top hero. And he stood there on the doormat with his chest collapsing in on itself, wondering if he could even breathe.

“Shoto Todoroki,” Katsuki’s voice said from behind, and a strong hand squeezed his bicep. “Love of my life. My personal ice pack and towel warmer. My lover and my best friend.” He leaned his head on Shoto’s shoulder. “Stop thinking. Take a deep breath. Then get in the car and go.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Shoto said, still staring straight ahead with his fingers on his zipper.

“I didn’t, either. Every day. You get used to it.”

Shoto closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He turned around to kiss Katsuki goodbye, and he did, but he maybe lingered a little longer than usual.

It felt like closing a chapter as a new one opened before them. The cliff, looming. And Shoto, walking toward the precipice, holding tight to Katsuki’s hand.

“I love you,” Katsuki reminded him. Quiet, steady, unyielding. He kissed Shoto’s cheek, pressed a coffee cup into his hand. “You got this.”

And Shoto let himself fly.

Chapter Text

What the fuck was I thinking, Katsuki thought, and at that moment, Shoto poked his head into the kitchen. Someone with two working hands and half a brain. Maybe he could salvage a very half-baked (or, currently, unbaked) dinner.

“Pizza!” Shoto beamed, unbuckling his thermal vest and sliding off his gauntlets. He looked leagues better than he had that morning. The scuffs on his arms and face showed he’d clearly seen some action that day, but if it resulted in him coming home with a smile, Katsuki was confident that all was well with the world.

Which was good, because all was not well in his kitchen.

Making pizza dough that afternoon had gone fine. It rose well and smelled good. But now, Katsuki’s counters were covered in flour and some resolutely unstretched pizza dough—something, he realized, might actually require two hands.

Relieved of his gear, Shoto came closer and leaned down to kiss Katsuki. “How was your day?” he asked.

“Boring as hell until right now. Yours?”

Shoto nodded. “Good. It was good.” He turned to the sink and started washing his hands and arms. “How can I help?”

Katsuki shrugged, gesturing lamely at the counter. “I don’t know. I’m failing.”

Shoto’s eyes sharpened. “Katsuki Bakugo does not fail. Do I need to call an ambulance?”

Katsuki barked out a laugh, managing to swallow back the tightness in his throat. “No. Just…can’t stretch this pizza dough.”

“Ah.” Shoto dried his hands and reached for a dough ball, then paused. “May I?”

“Gonna have to, unless we want straight-up bread loaves.”

“You know, I wouldn’t say no to that.” Shoto picked up the pizza dough and stretched it into shape while Katsuki made himself busy pulling out the toppings he’d prepped earlier.

“There,” Shoto said, satisfied with his dough-stretching efforts. He placed the pan between them on the counter and dusted off his hands. Then Katsuki felt Shoto’s warm hand on his back, and he looked up at him. Shoto gave him a small smile. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just….” Katsuki let out a breath that kind of hurt, rubbing his wrist over his eyes. “That…bothered me, I guess. Thanks for getting it solved.”

Shoto closed the distance between them and gently pressed up against Katsuki’s back, his arm wrapping around Katsuki’s waist. Katsuki opened containers of vegetables and meat and they sprinkled toppings onto the pizza crust, each using a single hand, so Shoto could keep his left around Katsuki.

“You’re doing great,” Shoto reminded him. “And remember, you’re gonna eat this pizza crust because you’re the boss. Not the other way around.”

Katsuki laughed. “That’s so stupid. But thank you.”

“Happy to be of service.”

Later that night, with the pizza sufficiently conquered and eaten, along with leftover brownies, another predicament presented itself. Katsuki looked up at himself in the bathroom mirror, twisted up like a pretzel with the nail clippers between his toes, trying to negotiate them open and closed enough to hack down his fingernails.

He had a hazy memory of his mother doing this for him in the hospital, within the first week or two of the injury, while he was still on wicked painkillers and everything was chaos. He hadn’t yet figured out how to do it himself, and he straight up refused to bite his nails. And he could keep doing it the stupid way, or, maybe, he could ask for help.

Swallowing his pride, Katsuki took the nail clippers to the porch, where Shoto was having an evening cup of tea and reading a book. He looked up when Katsuki stepped outside and gave him a smile.

“Can I bug you for another favor?” Katsuki asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Katsuki sat down next to him on the porch and held out the nail clippers. “Could you help me trim my nails?”

“Absolutely.” Shoto marked his place in his book and turned to face him. “Actually…hold on one second.”

Katsuki nodded. Shoto got up and went inside. He returned shortly with a nail file, then sat cross-legged in front of Katsuki and held out his hand. Katsuki laid his good only hand into Shoto’s right, and Shoto calmly started trimming and filing his nails like he held a part-time job as a semi-professional manicurist.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” Shoto said quietly.

“I literally do not think you’re capable of hurting me like this.”

Shoto held up the nail clippers and snapped them in mock threat. “You never know.”

Katsuki smirked. They fell into comfortable silence. Cicadas buzzed in the nearby trees and Katsuki could feel the outdoor temperature dropping as evening rolled in.

“How was your first day back?” Katsuki asked. “We kind of breezed over it earlier.”

“Oh. Yeah, I was making a big deal out of nothing.” A half-smile twitched onto Shoto’s face. “I felt better the moment I responded to a call. Felt like muscle memory. And Izuku reminded me later that today was technically my second day, since I responded to that car chase the day my license was restored. So I was creating this huge, significant hurdle in my head that wasn’t even real.” He shook his head. “Delightful.”

 Katsuki huffed a laugh. “I feel like an idiot for not realizing that myself.”

“I think we were both very close to the situation. And everything was so fluid in those moments. It felt like one thing just flowed into another and created a very strange experience.” He tilted Katsuki’s hand, inspecting his work, then started with the nail file.

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better about it,” Katsuki said.

“Me too. Thanks for asking.”

Silence fell between them. The cicadas continued buzzing. The file scraped against Katsuki’s nails. Shoto was being careful and thorough. Katsuki couldn’t remember the last time Shoto himself had paid this much attention to his own nails, and felt both amused and endeared that Shoto was showing so much care for a hand that wasn’t even his.

“Thank you,” he said as Shoto finished his pinky and released his hand.

“Anytime.” Shoto laid down the nail tools. “I can’t imagine how you’d do this yourself.”

Katsuki laughed shortly. “Don’t think I wasn’t trying.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Toes or teeth?”

“Toes,” Katsuki laughed. “Maybe I should’ve tried with my mouth.”

“That’s so close to biting your nails, though, and we know you can’t stand that.”

Katsuki wrinkled his nose. “It is, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Shoto stood up and tapped Katsuki affectionately with the nail file on his way into the house, carrying the nail tools and his empty tea mug. Katsuki waited, thumbing the pages on Shoto’s book and soaking up the warm, summer evening. Until the door creaked open and Shoto leaned on the doorframe, all limbs in running shorts and a t-shirt, hair in a messy bun.

“May I bother you for a favor?” Shoto asked, intentionally echoing Katsuki’s question earlier. Definitely playing. Probably flirting. Katsuki cocked his head and grinned up at him.

“Always.”

Shoto moaned into the dark. Katsuki felt his body temperature spike warm. He ran his hand softly up Shoto’s stomach. “You good?” he murmured.

“Soooooo good,” Shoto groaned.

“You feel amazing.”

“You always say that.”

“It’s never not true.” Katsuki bent over Shoto, leaning hard on his good only hand, and found his mouth, open and intoxicating. He slid his arm under Shoto’s head and fully committed to making out. Shoto moaned his approval right into Katsuki’s mouth.

“Fuck, Sho.”

“Katsuki,” he sighed, his breath minty and physically cold on Katsuki’s face, because he knew Katsuki found the stimulation both amusing and hot.

“You ready?”

“Yes.”

Katsuki pressed his lips to Shoto’s and started negotiating his arm free to push himself upright. A cool hand pressed against his chest, offering support, while a warm hand hovered on the right side of his ribcage.

“You got it?” Shoto whispered.

“Think so.” Katsuki managed, rather ungracefully, to sit up on his knees again. He shook out his arm, then leaned over Shoto. He couldn’t see him clearly in the dark, but knew the shape of him like the back of his hand. If kissing him was intoxicating, fucking him felt like home.

“Katsuki,” Shoto murmured, and the hot and cold hands were back on his chest. “I’ll help. Put my hands where you need them.”

“You’re too fuckin’ good, babe.”

“Not very fair for you to do all the work,” Shoto said, as Katsuki nudged his right hand into place on his left shoulder. “Might as well prove these muscles aren’t just for show.”

“They’re serving their best purpose right now, then.” Katsuki paused, searching for Shoto’s eyes in the dark, and he found them, shining in the moonlight from the window. “Are you okay to touch it?”

“What, your dick? Now?”

“No, dumbass. My…the injury. My not-arm.”

“Oh. Yes.”

“You sure? It’s kinda weird.”

“I don’t find it weird.”

“Well….” Katsuki shifted Shoto’s warm hand until it grasped the curve of his amputated arm. “We can adjust if you change your mind.”

“Kat,” Shoto said, his eyes intense in the low light. “I’m okay. Are you?”

Katsuki paused, processing Shoto’s gently warm hand on one of the most vulnerable parts of his body. The first time Shoto had touched it since he’d frozen it on the battlefield. And now, almost two months later, it was just a part of him that Shoto got to hold during sex.

“Yeah,” he said. “More than okay.”

Shoto smiled. Katsuki leaned more of his weight on Shoto’s arms and thrust his hips forward. Shoto closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh.

Chapter Text

“Hey, dude!” Kirishima sang as Shoto collapsed into the passenger seat of his car. “You need a coffee?”

Shoto, fresh off a twelve-hour shift that had started as a one a.m. emergency call and never let up, nodded furiously. “All the coffee. Thanks for picking me up.”

“No worries, this worked out perfectly!” Kirishima shifted and pulled out onto the road.

They stopped at a drive-thru and Shoto ordered a large iced coffee, and paid for Kirishima’s warm one. “You and your cold coffees,” Kirishima laughed. “It’s October! We’re officially in hot coffee season.”

“All weather is iced coffee weather.” Shoto stuck a straw in his cup and slid sunglasses over his itching, overtired eyes. The first sip of coffee hit like water on a bonfire. He had to pace himself not to drink the entire thing at once.

 Kirishima drove to UA and they walked across campus to Gym Gamma, as they had several months before, when Katsuki had helped Kirishima with his new technique. And in fact, the current situation wasn’t much different, except the roles were reversed.

Katsuki needed to test his prosthetic, and Kirishima was a perfect target.

And Shoto was just glad to finally see the prosthetic in action. Katsuki had managed several fitting appointments himself while Shoto ran around the country at every hour of the day and night, trying to do his job. He’d heard about it from Katsuki, of course, but had yet to see it himself. And Katsuki had yet to test the Quirk-related functions the support team had installed.

Katsuki was already in the gym, conferring with a handful of people from the support team, all wearing white shirts. Aizawa waved from the bleachers. Kirishima drained the last of his coffee, unzipped his hoodie, and waved to Katsuki before starting in on some warm-ups. Shoto approached Aizawa on the bleachers and sat nearby.

“Good afternoon,” Aizawa greeted him.

“Hello,” Shoto said. “No class?”

“They’re at USJ today. I’ll review the footage later.”

“Thanks for coming, then.”

“This is much more exciting than grading,” Aizawa sighed. “Their work is atrocious. I’ve nearly expelled the whole class three times.”

“You can come train my rookies if you ever need a change of pace,” Shoto said.

Aizawa laughed. “No, that’s a miserable job. You can keep it.”

On the floor, Katsuki said something to Kirishima, then turned and beckoned to Shoto. He was shirtless and already wearing the prosthetic, a black and gray contraption that strapped around his back and over his opposite shoulder for support. He also wore a black headband, which Shoto knew from discussion was supposed to read his brain waves and transmit the signals to his prosthetic in real time. Katsuki had reported surprising success in initial testing, and said he was cautiously optimistic about the tech. In fact, the hand reached out to Shoto as he approached, incredibly fluid for the fact that it was, for all intents and purposes, some well-crafted wire and rubber.

“Hey,” Katsuki said, meeting him halfway. “I didn’t see you when you walked in, how are you?”

“Caffeinated.”

“Good. Thanks for making the effort, I know you’ve been awake forever.”

Shoto nodded. “That thing looks unreal, in a good way.”

“I know, right?” Katsuki raised his prosthetic hand, twisting and flexing it like he was stretching a physical wrist. “It moves so well. Fine motor stuff is still a learning curve, though. I still can’t quite pick up a pencil and stuff like that.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I was wondering if you could put up a backstop like you did the last time I worked with Kirishima. It was super helpful.”

Shoto did, helped Katsuki tighten the straps on the prosthetic, and gave it a handshake for fun before returning to sit with Aizawa.

On the floor, the support team backed up and stood quietly to the side, pens and clipboards ready, with motion capture cameras trained on Katsuki. Kirishima jogged halfway across the gym and spread his arms, a wide target. Katsuki gave him a grin, checked his footing against the ice backstop, and raised his prosthetic arm with nothing but brainwaves.

It seemed like everyone in the gym held a collective breath. Then Katsuki exhaled, and a bang echoed through the gym. A small, orange ball burst about three feet in front of Katsuki. The palm of the prosthetic glowed red.

He nodded, silently calculating the data, and said to Kirishima, “I’m gonna try five in a row. Let me know how many hit you.”

“You got it bro!”

The prosthetic went off five times in quick succession—bang, bang, bang, bang, bang—before Katsuki released, clapping it against his other palm. “Zero, huh?”

“Yeah, I didn’t feel any,” Kirishima confirmed. “I think they got closer, though!”

A member of the support crew moved forward to check a few things on the prosthetic. Katsuki asked a question and tightened his jaw at the response. Aizawa hummed as he watched this unfold.

They reset and tried again. Shoto watched closely. Finally, with plenty of warm-up and an excessive effort, Katsuki managed to tap an explosion to Kirishima’s chest. It had almost no force, wasn’t even enough to knock him backwards. Katsuki took a break for water while the support team assessed the prosthetic again.

Shoto waited on the bleachers, sending videos to Izuku, contemplating what to say to Katsuki after this experience. He looked resolute, but that was probably just his polite, public face on display. Shoto knew he felt immense gratitude to the support team for their efforts, even if those efforts hadn’t yet created a sufficient replacement for Dynamight’s right arm. He wouldn’t show anything but appreciation in front of others. But what he was feeling underneath…Shoto could only guess.

He heard them agree to one more round and raised his phone camera to record it. Kirishima took his place in the middle of the gym. Katsuki flexed the prosthetic, checked his footing, and raised it again. Took a breath, exhaled, and fired.

Boom, boom, boom.

Shoto straightened up. The explosions had changed, improved. The metallic bangs from earlier had been replaced with something much more similar to Katsuki’s actual explosions. Kirishima was occluded in smoke and sparks. Shoto considered he might need earplugs this time.

“Aagh, fuck!”

Shoto’s head whipped toward the sound. Katsuki frantically tore at the straps of his prosthetic, which was mangled at the forearm and sending up acrid, black smoke.

The prosthetic had exploded and caught fire.

Shoto ran forward and released the straps on Katsuki’s chest, letting the prosthetic fall to the gym floor before covering it in ice from his foot. He pulled Katsuki closer and guided him a few steps back from the mess of ice and broken tech.

“You okay?” Shoto asked.

“Got burned,” Katsuki choked.

“Where?”

Katsuki grabbed Shoto’s right hand and pressed it to his side, hissing through his teeth.

“Careful,” Shoto murmured, turning down his Quirk to a slight chill. “You need a cold compress, not ice.”

Aizawa ran up. “The nurse can heal that before you leave. What happened? It was too fast for me to see.”

Katsuki shook his head. “No idea.”

The support team descended, overflowing with apologies and promises to investigate. Katsuki seemed distant and far less angry than Shoto thought he should be. He stuck close, found Katsuki a shirt and jacket, and kept his cool hand pressed to his side on the walk to the nurse’s office.

Katsuki didn’t say much until they were in the car. Shoto offered to drive. Katsuki declined, then sat there for a moment, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

“Mind if I take a detour?” he asked.

“Please do.”

He nodded once and shifted into drive.

They remained silent on the drive, winding through a country town to a short hiking trail. Katsuki got out. “You don’t have to come,” he said. “I know you’re running on fumes.”

“I’ll come if you’ll have me.”

Katsuki nodded and gestured toward the trail.

They hiked less than a mile to a clearing with a bench, overlooking the town and the ocean in the distance. Katsuki sat down on the bench and tapped the space next to him. Shoto sat down, too. After a moment, he reached over and wrapped his arm around Katsuki’s shoulders.

They sat in silence for a minute or two. Then Shoto felt Katsuki take a breath.

“I’m done, Sho.”

The words landed—distinct, clear, and final.

And Shoto still didn’t know what to say.

He took Katsuki’s left hand and squeezed it hard.

“I knew it the second I fired it,” Katsuki continued, his voice choked. “I thought I was being dramatic, but…I couldn’t shake it. Gut feeling or whatever. I’m done.”

Shoto nodded. “I trust you, completely. If it’s time, it’s time.” He took a breath. “Selfishly…I’m not ready. But I’m not sure I’d ever be.”

Katsuki pressed his hand to Shoto’s cheek. “You’re gonna be an amazing Number One.”

“Someone’s counting chickens before they hatch,” Shoto returned.

“No, I’m not.” Katsuki leaned closer and kissed him. “Thank you. For all your support. I could only keep trying because I knew you had my back. Still do.”

“Always,” Shoto breathed. “And can I be the first to congratulate you on a well-deserved retirement?”

Katsuki groaned. “That is never gonna get easier to hear.”

Chapter Text

Three years later...

Late-morning spring sunlight beamed through the gym windows, landing in a three-by-three square of environmental perfection on the carpet by Katsuki’s right foot. So it was no surprise that a seven-month-old ball of golden fluff had fallen asleep right there. Lingering attachment issues notwithstanding, of course.

Katsuki stood up, locking his computer and bringing his empty water bottle. Taiyo lifted her head, barely awake, but acutely attuned to his activity at all times.

“Stay. Good girl.”

She grunted and returned to snoozing in the sun.

Katsuki locked her into his office and took the stairs up to the staff room. He thumbed through a few keys on a Red Riot lanyard and turned the green one in the lock. A handful of other staff were inside, taking up tables and chairs while a TV in the upper corner played the news to anyone who cared. He waved to All Might and Aizawa and approached the kitchenette and the coffee maker. But when he lifted the pot, it was all rewarmed sludge from earlier that morning. Katsuki let out a tsk and—focus, breathe—he carefully tipped the glass coffee pot with his prosthetic to dump the sludge down the drain. Good riddance.

Three years ago, that would’ve been impossible. Hell, he would’ve had second thoughts just a year prior. But time and practice had been good to him and the prosthetic, and it was almost (almost) like a true replacement limb. It had been easy enough for the support team to remove the Explosion devices from their prototype, and by Christmas the same year he’d lost his arm, he’d been presented with a cutting-edge prosthetic arm that did normal things really, really well.

And even with the bar on the ground, the learning curve had been a challenge. Not that Katsuki Bakugo backed down from challenge—but he’d learned that some things just took patience and practice. He’d spent the greater part of two years in physical and occupational therapy following the loss of his arm, learning how to function without it, then learning how to function with the prosthetic. Time well-spent, all things considered.

He rinsed the coffee pot, replaced it in the machine, dumped out the old grounds, added new ones to a fresh filter. He’d just hit the Brew button when Izuku appeared at his elbow. “Good morning, Kacchan!”

“What’s up, Sensei? How’s it going, shirking your agency?”

Izuku rolled his eyes. “You know Shochan was the first to approve me taking on a primary teaching position and cutting back at the agency, right?”

“Yeah, and your name’s still on the sign!”

“Ah, I know. I think we should rebrand, but it was too much to consider immediately with all the other changes. I’ll bring it up in a few months.”

“I’ll put Miyaki’s name up there myself,” Katsuki said, leaning against the counter and folding his arm with the prosthetic, “before she runs off and starts her own agency. She’s already running yours with her eyes closed.”

“I know! She’s amazing, isn’t she? I remember her as an intern, and now…deputy director! I feel old, but moving her up was the best choice we could’ve made. I feel like Sho’s benefitted a lot, what do you think?”

Katsuki nodded. “A hundred percent. He moved from surviving to thriving as soon as she was given more responsibility.”

“I’m sure having a puppy in the house has been a huge boost as well,” Izuku grinned. “How’s my favorite niece?”

“Shedding all over my favorite patch of sunlight, currently. I’m sure she’ll return to being a little shit as soon as we get home.”

“Can I—?”

“Yeah, whatever, stop in at lunch. She’d love a walk.”

Izuku beamed, then went serious, his eyes flicking to the TV in the corner of the ceiling. It was silenced with captions on, but Katsuki could see ice walls, flashes of flame, and a distinctive purple sheen to the air that marked Miyaki’s Quirk barrier.

A chair creaked. Aizawa and All Might had turned to watch, too.

Katsuki squinted to read a few captions. Izuku muttered under his breath. The coffee finished brewing and Katsuki maneuvered the prosthetic to hold a paper cup while he poured himself a serving.

“There he goes….Perfect, Shochan, now…yes, Miyaki, okay, now…good, good, good…right there, Shochan, hit him—”

“He can’t fucking hear you,” Katsuki said.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just…yes!” Izuku’s arm shot up, idiotically close to Katsuki’s coffee cup.

“Watch it, fuck!”

“That was an amazing move, Kacchan, didn’t you see it?”

“I’ve seen it six thousand times!”

“But you saw it this time, too, right?”

Katsuki took a sip of coffee. “…yeah, I saw it.”

“Good.” Izuku shook his head and reached for the coffee. The TV showed Shoto’s staff placing cuffs on the villain while Shoto conferred with police in the background, his vest letting off huge puffs of steam. A tall woman in purple approached and stood on his right. The one and only, Deputy Director Miyaki. She said something to Shoto, he nodded, then she took over interfacing with the police and he walked away with a bit of a limp.

“Ahhh that hurt him,” Izuku said.

“Looks like his knee.”

“That's the one that's been bugging him, right?”

“Yeah. Stupid left knee, can’t even ice it properly without his Quirk running interference.” Katsuki put a lid on his coffee and grabbed his water bottle. “I’ll call him, see what’s up.”

“Thanks for making coffee, Kacchan. Tell Sho to call if he needs me for anything.”

Katsuki waved and let himself out into the hall, took the stairs down to his office adjacent to the gym, and found Taiyo just as he’d left her, in the little patch of sunlight. He picked up his desk phone and hit the speed dial.

“Hey!” Shoto answered. Katsuki could tell he was still catching his breath from the battle, but he sounded perky enough.

“Nice fight,” Katsuki started.

“Oh, you saw it? Not bad, I thought. The staff did great!”

“Yeah, so did you.”

“Yeah, well, my participation’s old news, so….” Shoto thanked someone on the other side. “I’m glad you called, actually, I’m not far away. Can I stop in? I need my puppy fix.”

“Yeah, and I need to look at that knee.”

“I’d be grateful. I think it’s just strained, but I’d take a wrap or something.”

“Sure, yeah, stop by when you can. My next appointment isn’t until one. Deku’s going to come down around lunch, too.”

“Fantastic, I’ll see you in a bit. Thanks for calling.”

“Yeah, love you.”

“Love you too, bye!”

Katsuki topped off Taiyo’s water bowl and logged into his computer. An hour passed quietly between typing, research, and training plans. He printed a few things and went into the gym to get a feel for some exercises himself.

Following his retirement three years prior, Katsuki had been forced to retool his imagined future. While he knew his body would never hold up to an entire career in heroism, he’d been too busy chasing the top to worry about what-ifs­—like what if he lost an arm, what if he retired, what if he suddenly had half a lifetime in front of him with no direction?

He’d laid awake many nights, feeling Shoto’s body temperature auto-adjust in his sleep, thinking about what he wanted for himself for the next thirty-plus years. And after many anxious therapy sessions, late nights talking to Shoto, and runs through the park to not-think like Shoto suggested, he remembered he’d gone through this thought process before. During second year at UA, working with a physical therapist to rehab his arm, he’d had a moment of clarity: if he couldn’t be a hero, maybe becoming a physical therapist wouldn’t be so bad.

With Shoto’s enthusiastic support, Katsuki went back to school. And he loved it. He could never imagine himself being a desk jockey or regular salaryman, and he wasn’t keen on joining the Hero Commission after what they'd done to Shoto, and per-diem consultant work was too variable for his tastes. But physical therapy engaged his brain, built upon his hero experience, and let him see direct positive results. After numerous classes, internships, and Shoto letting him practice on a chronic bum knee, Katsuki was hired on as one of UA’s in-house physical therapists and personal trainers, which engaged yet another of his niche interests: preparing and healing the physical body to support maximum Quirk use.

It also didn’t hurt to be back at UA, even if it was becoming a place for every good hero to eventually wash up. He had a good office, a state-of-the-art gym just outside his door, he was home by five every night for dinner, and he got to bring in his derp of a Golden Retriever anytime he wanted.

And now, said puppy moved to sit in his office doorway, dancing a little. At the same time, a six-foot-one shadow darkened the gym doors, and Shoto let himself in with a smile.

“Good afternoon!” he sang, then went right for Taiyo. Katsuki smirked to himself, finishing a set on the cable machine. Taiyo would always take first priority, and that was completely fine with him.

“Hey, Shochan!” another voice said from around the corner. Izuku, of course.

Walk negotiations were quickly held, and Izuku and Shoto took Taiyo just outside the gym. They chatted for a minute, then Shoto returned inside while Izuku took Taiyo toward the training grounds.

“Good, she needs some exercise,” Katsuki said, wrapping an arm around Shoto’s waist. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Shoto said, smiling, and bent down to press a kiss to Katsuki’s mouth. Katsuki smiled. He’d never, ever complain about these random visits from the Number One Hero. Made his day or whatever.

“You eat yet?” Katsuki asked.

“Noooo.”

“You want lunch from the cafeteria?”

Shoto hesitated.

“I can get it delivered so you don’t get accosted by teenagers.”

Shoto laughed. “Then sure. I’d love a hot meal.”

“I think it’s cold soba today,” Katsuki said, smiling and gently nudging him in the side.

“Oh! Even better!”

Katsuki walked him to his office and sat him on the exam table while they waited for lunch. It did seem like Shoto’s knee was just sore and inflamed. Katsuki pulled out the KT tape and applied it carefully.

“That seems better,” Shoto reported, standing up and flexing his knee a few times.

“Well, give it a bit. We’ll check on it before you go.”

Shoto sat in Katsuki’s spare chair and chatted while he hydrated. Lunch arrived, delivered by one of the robots: cold soba and plenty of sides, and Katsuki had ordered Shoto an extra portion of chicken for the protein. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled as he ate the entire serving. “I was hungry."

“You better be hungry, you kicked ass this morning. Fuel up.”

Shoto smiled. He’d aged a little in the last three years under the pressures of Number One, and regularly putting his body through the wringer, but he looked good. Like a well-aged cut of steak, Katsuki liked to joke when Shoto got self-conscious about his deepening wrinkles. And, most notably, he’d decided the era of long-haired Shoto was over and had gotten a big haircut a few weeks after moving up to Number One. Now, it was a neat and practical style that took ninety percent less time to manage in the mornings, touched up every six weeks on the dot.

Shoto polished off his lunch, tossed the container, then reached into one of Katsuki’s desk drawers and snatched a cookie from his stash.

“Bastard,” Katsuki snapped good-naturedly. “I meter those, I have a system.”

“Your system needs improvement if it can’t accommodate a cookie thief, then,” Shoto returned, his eyes glowing with amusement. At that moment, Izuku returned with Taiyo, who was all hyped up from the fresh air and exercise.

They played with her for a few minutes, chatting and exchanging stories while they rolled a ball back and forth for Taiyo to chase. Then Katsuki saw Shoto pause, his hand drifting up toward the comms piece in his ear. Izuku noticed, too, and went quiet, gently rolling the ball to Taiyo to keep her occupied.

“Shoto responding, ETA three minutes.”

He glanced to Katsuki, and Katsuki stood up. “Gotta go?”

“Gotta go.”

“How’s the knee?”

“Feels good.”

“Home in one piece for dinner.”

“Always.” Shoto kissed Katsuki, gave Taiyo one last ear ruffle, and waved to Izuku as he ran out the door.

Izuku watched him go, then said, “I should go, too. It’s my prep period, and I’m not at all prepared.”

“Puppy time is emotional preparation to face twenty-odd teenagers per class period,” Katsuki replied.

“It is, isn’t it? Too bad she can’t print assignments for me! She’d be an excellent assistant.” He squatted down, thanked Taiyo for the walk like she was a human person and not a derp of a Golden Retriever, and left with a wave.

Katsuki checked his watch, surprised to find it was almost one. He got Taiyo settled in her sun patch, pulled out a file folder, and looked up at a knock on his door. A second-year boy with his arm in a sling waved and smiled. “Sorry I’m a little early, Bakugo-san!”

“You’re right on time,” Katsuki said, a smile rising easily to his face. He locked his computer and stood up from his desk. “Let’s get started.”