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Katsuki hates administration. He hates paperwork, he hates forms, and he especially hates banks. Nothing makes him question adulthood more than walking into a place that closes before he even finishes arguing with that one irritating coworker at work. And now—because life is stupid—he needs to update his debit card asap.
He’s got a flight tomorrow morning. He’s already googled everything, watched three YouTube tutorials made by unhelpful finance bros, and even called customer service through the app. He has done everything humanly possible to avoid stepping foot inside an actual bank because the queues? They’re biblical.
But no. Of course not. Of course his stupid card needs to be physically replaced. Of course the customer service guy had to say it with that apologetic voice that made Katsuki feel only slightly bad for yelling. The guy did try though—suggested Katsuki use one of their “Digital Self-Service CS Machines” so he wouldn’t have to wait in line.
Which is how Katsuki ends up in the fanciest, most unnecessary shopping mall in the city. It’s the closest place with that machine, and the bank branch here is open on weekends, just in case the universe decides to screw him over and break the machine. Because of course he needs a Plan B. Not that he wants it.
But well…
“Fuck my life.”
The shiny, supposedly futuristic digital self-service machine is very much broken. Screen frozen. Buttons dead. Not even a blinking light of hope.
And that means Plan B. The actual bank. Which means the queue and the nightmare which also leads Katsuki to a new problem now; finding the stupid bank in this obnoxiously gigantic mall.
He never likes going to malls—why would he? They’re crowded, loud, and full of stores he doesn’t recognize. Half the signs look like made-up words, and the other half sell things he can’t imagine any sane person buying. And because it’s the holiday season, the whole building is suffocating under Christmas decorations. There’s a giant tree, fake snow, sparkly ornaments attacking his peripheral vision—hell, even the escalators are wearing Santa hats.
And it’s packed. Wall-to-wall people. A nightmare.
Honestly? If it weren’t for Deku being so fucking annoying in their group chat, Katsuki would’ve given up already.
The “TRIP TO EUROPE LET’S GOOO” group chat—named without his consent—has been non-stop yelling at him because he forgot to check his bank card before their flight. He was perfectly fine with just winging it, exchanging cash at the airport like a normal person, but no no no—according to his idiot friends, that’s irresponsible and “Kacchan you’re gonna get stranded in Zurich.” That dumbass Dunce Face; always mocking him with that stupid nickname he got from the nerd. They’re both nagging worse than the old hag.
Why the hell did he agree to spend a whole week in another country with these clowns again?
He mutters curses under his breath as he circles the ground floor for the third—no, fourth—time. Google Maps swears the bank is on this level, but Katsuki is painfully aware he’s passed the same boutique store three times already. He’s had enough.
So he heads to the information desk. Sure, the line is insane—looks like half the mall is lost—but he’s not about to waste another ten minutes wandering around like an idiot. He’d rather queue and get it over with.
When Katsuki finally reaches the information desk, the lady behind it gives him a bright, practiced smile—the kind of smile that screams retail survivor. “Hello, how can I help y—”
Before Katsuki can even open his mouth, a voice beside him cuts in.
“Do you know where I can find the UA Bank?”
Katsuki whips his head to the left so fast he almost sprains something. Excuse you? Who the hell is this rude man?
There stands a man—tall, gorgeous in an annoyingly effortless way, dressed in neat casuals that somehow look expensive. Hair half white, half red, eyes mismatched and sharp. He looks like the type who never has to fight with customer service a day in his life.
And apparently, he doesn’t know how to fucking wait.
Katsuki’s mood is already trash. So he snaps. Loudly. “I was here first, asshole!”
The poor information lady freezes, eyes going wide. A couple of people in line glance over. The bi-chromatic man just… stares at Katsuki. Calm. Unbothered. As if Katsuki is a mildly interesting exhibit at a zoo. Then, softly, he says, “Ah. Sorry. I didn’t realize.”
He even bows his head a little. Katsuki feels the tiniest bit stupid, which only pisses him off more. He clears his throat and turns back to the lady. “Anyway. UA Bank. Where the hell is it?”
She jolts back into customer-service mode, fumbling with her tablet. “Y-yes, of course! It’s on the ground floor, Sir. You’re on the right floor. You’ll want to head straight past the central atrium, then turn right at—”
A shadow shifts beside him. The rude-but-weirdly-polite dude is still there. Katsuki glares sideways. “What? You gonna cut in again?”
The man blinks. “No. I simply need the same location, so I’m listening.”
Katsuki scoffs. “Then listen quietly!”
The man nods like Katsuki just gave him valuable life advice. The lady, trying her best, continues, “Turn right at the fountain with the polar bear statues, go past the perfume store, and the bank will be on your left.”
Katsuki grumbles, “Finally. Thanks,” and turns to leave.
The man beside him mirrors his steps—following the exact same direction.
Katsuki stops. “You’re following me?”
“I’m also going to UA Bank,” the man answers plainly. “It would be inefficient to walk separately.”
Katsuki’s eyebrow twitches. “You’re kidding me.”
“I don’t joke.”
Of course he doesn’t but he doesn’t need to explain; he’s had everything enough for today already.
They walk—well, Katsuki stomps and the other guy glides—toward the supposed location of the UA Bank. The mall crowds swell around them, Christmas music blaring from every store like a personal attack.
After a few minutes, Katsuki finally spots the familiar blue-and-white UA Bank logo. Which is not located in the place like that lady told him earlier, but whatever maybe she’s wrong and the bank is right in front of his very eyes so he moves towards it.
It’s oddly looking pretty empty for a bank and Katsuki takes a double look at the sign—it does say UA Bank but it looks a little fancy. Well maybe they’re trying to match the mall overall aesthetic and people are not looking for a bank visit at this hour, or it is his lucky day he honestly doesn't give a shit.
But the closer he walks the weirder it gets.
The floor is marble. The lighting is warm and soft. The chairs look expensive as hell—like the kind you’d expect in a luxury hotel lobby. There’s even someone offering tiny bottled waters near the entrance.
Katsuki slows down, squinting.
“…The fuck? Since when is UA this bougie?”
The man beside him answers politely, “This branch has always been like this.”
Katsuki snorts. “Yeah, right. The one near my apartment looks like it was built during the dinosaur era. And all they offer is a pen tied to a table.”
The man tilts his head, genuinely curious. “A pen… tied to a table?”
“You know. So people don’t steal it.”
“I see.” He nods like this is fascinating anthropology. “Interesting.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. Whatever. Maybe this mall version is just fancier because rich people come here. He doesn’t care—not when he’s already stressed, annoyed, and basically running on pure caffeine and spite.
He marches to the entrance.
Except the door… doesn’t open.
It stays firmly closed.
A staff member in a tidy suit walks up with a small bow. “Excuse me, sir. May I help you?”
“Yeah,” Katsuki grumbles while showing the bank employee his card, “I need to replace a debit card. The machine outside’s busted.”
The staff member smiles politely—but it’s the type of polite that hides something. “Ah… I’m terribly sorry. This is the UA Priority Banking Center. It’s exclusively for high priority clients.”
Katsuki stares. “Priority what?”
“Clients with deposits exceeding one billion, sir.”
Katsuki chokes. “One—what?”
Behind him, the two-toned stranger steps forward, unfazed. “It’s alright. He’s with me.”
Katsuki whips around so fast he nearly headbutts him. “The hell I am!”
The staff brightens immediately. “Of course, Mr. Todoroki. Right this way.”
Todoroki.
Katsuki feels something cold crawl up his spine. He recognizes that surname—not from the news or gossip, but from every damn finance article that ever mentioned old money, powerful companies, or annoyingly successful heirs. And this guy—this polite, weirdly serene dude he yelled at five minutes ago—is that Todoroki. The priority-banking kind of Todoroki.
Todoroki, completely unaffected by any of this, looks at Katsuki with a calm sincerity that almost pisses him off more. “You said you’re in a hurry. This will be faster.”
Katsuki wants to refuse on principle. He wants to tell Mr. Billion-Yen Priority Bank he doesn’t need his fancy connections. But then Deku’s shrill texts echo in his mind, along with the group chat’s threats about Denki saying stupid shits like “Kacchan please don’t be a disaster in Europe” or Eijirou’s panic state “Check your bank card NOW.” He groans, defeated by necessity more than anything else.
“Fine,” he mutters. “But don’t make it weird.”
“I won’t,” Todoroki replies simply. “I’m normal.”
Nothing about him is normal but Katsuki follows him inside anyway.
The moment Katsuki steps inside the UA Priority Banking Center, he realizes he has made a grave mistake. The regular bank he knows is full of tired tellers, squeaky chairs, and air-conditioning that either freezes your soul or does nothing at all. But this place? This place feels like walking into a luxury spa disguised as a financial institution. There’s soft instrumental music playing from hidden speakers, the scent of something expensive drifting through the air—eucalyptus? chamomile? wealth?—and plush seating arranged like a lounge in a first-class airport. A woman in a tailored navy suit approaches immediately with a bow so graceful Katsuki feels like a rude goblin by comparison.
“Welcome back, Mr. Todoroki,” she says warmly before turning to Katsuki, her smile widening. “And welcome to you as well, sir. Please, both of you, this way.”
Katsuki stiffens. “Both of—hey, who said I’m with this guy?”
She doesn’t even blink. “Of course, sir. My apologies. Would you prefer to be seated separately?”
Todoroki looks genuinely confused at the idea. “We’re going to the same counter. Why separate us?”
Katsuki doesn’t like the logic but can’t argue with it without sounding ridiculous. He clicks his tongue and follows, refusing to sit too close on the luxurious couch. Of course Todoroki sits right beside him, leaving exactly zero respectable space between them, and Katsuki can feel the faint warmth of him radiating through their sleeves. He shuffles half an inch away. Todoroki absentmindedly shifts closer. Katsuki moves again. Todoroki does too—without even noticing he’s doing it. It’s like sitting next to a polite, rich magnet.
Before Katsuki can yell, another staff member approaches with two tiny glasses of chilled lemon water on a silver tray. “Refreshments for you both while you wait.”
Katsuki blinks because he’s never been offered anything free in a bank before except judgment and a pen on a chain. The staff sets the drinks down gently and adds, “And a warm towel, if you’d like, sir?” She looks directly at Katsuki’s hands, noticing how tense they are.
“I don’t need a towel!” he huffs, insulted on some primal level.
Todoroki accepts his with a simple nod and begins wiping his hands calmly, like this is the most normal thing in the world. Then he offers Katsuki his own towel with a neutral expression. “You seem stressed.”
Katsuki nearly combusts. “I’m not stressed! Why would I be stressed?!”
The staff politely pretends not to hear. Todoroki pretends not to notice the way Katsuki’s ears are turning red.
A moment later, the banker assigned to Todoroki arrives. She’s a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and an air of someone who’s been in customer service long enough to develop a sixth sense for relationship dynamics. “Mr. Todoroki,” she greets. Then she looks between the two of them with the perceptive smile of someone who absolutely believes she understands the situation. “You’re here with… your partner?”
Katsuki immediately inhales the lemon water wrong.
“HE’S NOT— WE’RE NOT—” He coughs violently, half drowning and half dying of mortification. “I JUST NEED TO FIX A CARD!”
The banker blinks, then nods slowly, like she’s heard this denial from flustered boyfriends many times before. “Of course. I’ll take care of both your needs today.”
Katsuki chokes again. Todoroki, traitor that he is, doesn’t correct her. He just watches Katsuki suffer with the faintest, almost invisible curve at the corner of his mouth—like the tiniest hint of amusement slipping through his usual calm. Katsuki hates how unfairly handsome it looks.
They’re led to a private service room, glass walls dimming automatically for privacy. Katsuki sits stiffly, refusing to look at Todoroki, who seems perfectly at ease, long legs crossed, posture polite and relaxed. The banker begins processing Katsuki’s request and Todoroki listens with quiet attentiveness that somehow makes Katsuki even more conscious of every breath he takes.
When she needs Katsuki’s old card and id, he digs the two out of his wallet, hands shaking only because he’s pissed—not flustered, definitely not flustered—and of course the card slips. He grabs for it at the same moment Todoroki does, and Katsuki’s fingers land right on top of Todoroki’s hand. Warm. Soft. Steady.
Katsuki yanks his hand back like he touched a live wire. “Don’t—don’t do that!”
Todoroki tilts his head. “Do what? Help?”
“I don’t need help!”
“You seem like you do,” Todoroki says honestly, which somehow makes it fifty times worse.
The banker clears her throat, smiling like she’s watching a romcom scene unfold right in front of her. “I’ll proceed with your new card now. It’ll only take a few minutes. In the meantime… do you two need anything? Coffee? Tea? A couple’s banking guide?”
Katsuki lets out a strangled sound. Todoroki, thoughtfully, asks, “What is a couple’s banking guide?”
Katsuki almost flips the table.
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡✈
By the time the banker finally hands Katsuki his new debit card—packaged in a sleek envelope like it’s luxury jewelry—he feels like he’s aged three years. The woman gives him instructions he barely listens to and smiles knowingly the whole time, as if she’s mentally shipping them into marriage already. Katsuki can’t take another second of Todoroki answering every question calmly, or leaning slightly toward him like he’s making sure Katsuki understands, or existing in general. The instant the banker finishes the paperwork, Katsuki mutters a stiff “thanks” and bolts upright from his chair like it’s been electrified.
He makes it three steps toward the door before spinning around, because as much as he wants to pretend Todoroki doesn’t exist, he also refuses—on some deep, feral principle—to owe anyone anything. Especially a rich, polite, weirdly handsome stranger who dragged him into a fancy VIP bank like it was nothing. Katsuki crosses his arms, scowling so hard he can feel the wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. “Oi. Todoroki.”
The man looks up, expression unreadably calm, as if Katsuki shouting his name in public is the most natural thing in the world. Katsuki clicks his tongue. “Thanks. For the… bank shit. Whatever. Don’t think I’m gonna, like, owe you or anything. I just—I wouldn’t be here all day if you didn’t—whatever. Thanks.” The words tumble out like they’re being squeezed through a garbage disposal, and Katsuki’s face feels hot with the effort of being humble without actually being humble.
Todoroki watches him for a quiet second, eyes soft in a way that makes Katsuki want to set something on fire. Then he gives a small, honest smile—one of those rare ones that lifts only the corners of his lips and makes his mismatched eyes look impossibly gentle. “I didn’t mind,” he says simply. “Actually… I liked the company. It was fun.”
Katsuki’s brain crashes like a blue screen of death.
Fun?
Fun????
Nothing about this morning has been fun. Not the broken machine, not the mall crowd, not the priority bank, not being mistaken for this half and half stranger's boyfriend, and definitely not sharing oxygen with someone this irritatingly calm. Katsuki stares at him, mouth half-open, caught between indignation and disbelief.
“What the hell do you mean fun?! We were in a bank! Fixing a debit card! Nothing about any of that is fun!”
Todoroki shrugs lightly, as if the explanation is obvious. “You have a very entertaining way of talking.”
Katsuki sputters, “I—what—I don’t—entertaining?!”
“Also,” Todoroki adds, standing up and adjusting his coat with practiced grace, “you made the morning interesting. I was just coming here for some documents. It would’ve been boring alone.”
Katsuki has no idea how to process being called interesting by a billionaire-looking stranger who navigates banks like he owns them. He turns, fully ready to escape this entire situation before his brain melts, but as soon as he steps outside the bank’s glass door, his stomach growls loudly. In a way that echoes slightly off the polished marble and makes passing shoppers turn their heads.
He wants to die.
Todoroki glances over, not judging, just mildly observing like he’s cataloguing animal behavior. “You haven’t eaten yet?”
Katsuki grumbles, “Didn’t have time.”
“Neither did I,” Todoroki replies. Then, with absolutely no hesitation, he adds, “We should eat. There’s a good place upstairs.”
Katsuki narrows his eyes. “Why the hell would I eat with you?”
“You are hungry,” Todoroki says gently, like that explains everything. “And I enjoyed today. So… why not?”
Katsuki should say no. Every part of him is telling him to say no. But his stomach lets out another treacherous growl, and he sees Todoroki waiting patiently, hands in his pockets, not pushy or smug—just quietly hopeful in a way that Katsuki really, really wishes he didn’t notice.
“Fine,” Katsuki mutters, defeated by biology. “One meal. Because I’m hungry. Not because of you.”
Todoroki nods, smiling again, soft and bright like a sunrise he has no right to pull off. “Understood. Let’s go.”
And somehow, impossibly, Katsuki finds himself walking beside him toward the escalators—toward lunch with a stranger who’s already slipped under his skin far too quickly.
Katsuki tells himself he’s only following Todoroki because his stomach is threatening to digest itself and because it’s easier to trail behind this annoyingly tall, steady-walking man than to fight through the holiday crowd alone. Todoroki weaves through people like he’s parting a sea, every step unhurried, posture perfect, glancing back every few moments to make sure Katsuki hasn’t been swallowed alive by a family of overexcited children with balloon reindeer hats. Katsuki hates that it’s… weirdly considerate. And hates even more that he notices.
“We’re heading to my favorite restaurant in this mall,” Todoroki says as they step off the escalator onto a quieter floor lined with designer boutiques and upscale restaurants. His tone is calm, casual, like he isn’t dragging a stranger to some place where forks probably cost a thousand yen each.
Katsuki doesn’t say anything at first, because whatever—food is food—and maybe Todoroki’s “favorite place” is some ramen shop with a good lunch set. He lets himself hope for exactly six seconds.
Then they turn the corner.
And Katsuki sees it.
The restaurant is one of those glass-fronted culinary temples—the kind where waiters wear suits, the lighting is dim and dramatic, and you can tell without reading the menu that everything inside costs more than Katsuki’s dignity. There’s a fountain in front. A fountain. Inside a mall. The sign is written in this elegant cursive font that screams rich people only.
Katsuki stops dead. “I’m not having lunch there!”
Todoroki pauses mid-step and turns back, genuinely puzzled. “Why not?”
Katsuki stares at him like Todoroki just asked why the sky is blue. “What do you mean why not?! Look at that place! It looks insane! You need to be stupidly loaded to eat there!” He jabs a finger toward the glowing sign. “The entrance alone costs money! The air looks fucking expensive! I bet the water is hand-filtered by monks or some shit!”
Todoroki looks at the restaurant, then back at him, unbothered. “I don’t think the air costs money.”
“That’s not the point!” Katsuki snaps. “I’m not paying thirty thousand yen for a sad leaf on a plate.”
“You don’t have to,” Todoroki says simply. “I’ll pay. Their soba is very good.”
Katsuki’s entire soul seizes. “The hell you will! I’m not letting some stranger pay for my meal! Especially after—after—” He waves a hand vaguely. “After basically dragging me into your billionaire bank circus! Also I don’t like soba!”
“I didn’t drag you,” Todoroki says mildly. “You followed.”
Katsuki almost screams. “Because you said it’d be faster!”
“And it was,” Todoroki points out. “And the restaurant has a variety of menu items.”
Katsuki opens his mouth to argue, realizes Todoroki is technically right, and hates that with every fiber of his being. “No. I’m not eating in your fancy-ass gold-plated lunch palace. We’re going somewhere normal.”
Todoroki watches him for a moment, expression unreadable but distinctly attentive, like he’s trying to understand a language spoken only in explosions. Then he nods once. “Alright. You choose.”
Katsuki doesn’t expect it to be that easy. He expected a polite debate, or some weirdly logical Todoroki reasoning, or a “but the food quality is excellent.” But instead, Todoroki falls into step beside him with that calm, quiet presence that refuses to be shaken.
So Katsuki leads.
Down one floor, past the crowds, past a bookstore and a sneaker shop, then into a smaller wing of the mall where the decorations are simpler and the restaurants are actually meant for normal human wallets. He stops in front of a curry place with a giant cardboard cutout of a cartoon chef holding a bowl of steaming rice. The smell alone makes Katsuki’s stomach snarl like a feral animal.
“This,” Katsuki says, pointing like he’s claiming territory, “is where we’re eating.”
Todoroki looks at the sign, at the steaming plates pictured in the display window, at the price list that clearly doesn’t require a trust fund. Then he says, perfectly sincere, “I’ve never eaten here before.”
Katsuki smirks. “Good. Time to fix that.”
Todoroki meets his eyes, and for the first time today, he smiles in a way that’s not small or faint—it’s warm, genuine, like the scent of curry drifting from the kitchen. “Alright,” he says softly. “Let’s eat.”
And Katsuki—who came here ready to strangle someone over a debit card—finds himself weirdly okay with that.
The moment they sit down, Katsuki practically melts into the cheap wooden chair, grateful for the warm curry air and the fact that nothing in this place glitters or sparkles or tries to intimidate his bank account.
Todoroki studies the laminated menu like it’s a classified document, head slightly tilted, hair falling just enough to make him look unintentionally photogenic, which irritates Katsuki more than it should. They order—Katsuki confidently choosing the special spicy set, Todoroki politely asking for “medium,” which the waitress grins at because in this shop “medium” is still known to murder unprepared tongues. And when the drinks arrive and the moment falls quiet, he finally asks one of those deceptively simple Todoroki questions that makes Katsuki choke on nothing but air.
“So,” he says, stirring his iced tea like he’s contemplating the meaning of life, “why did you need to update your card? Most places let you pay with your phone.”
Katsuki stares at him. “No shit, Sherlock.”
He blinks. “It’s Todoroki.”
“That’s not the point,” Katsuki mutters, leaning back. “I know I can pay with my phone. I needed the damn card for international transactions.”
Todoroki then pauses mid-sip. “Oh. You’re traveling soon?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Katsuki grumbles. “With my folks. They’ve been bitching nonstop about wanting a holiday, so I finally gave in.”
The half and half’s expression softens with something like genuine curiosity. “That sounds fun.”
Katsuki laughs—one sharp, unimpressed bark. “Fun my ass. My friends are a bunch of idiots. The dunce face won’t shut up for more than ten seconds, the shitty hair has energy levels that should be illegal, and don’t even get me started on that annoying nerd—Deku—he’s gonna sit there asking me about airport safety protocols like I didn’t fly alone for the first time when I was sixteen.”
Todoroki watches him, eyes calm, thoughtful in that disarming way he has. “But,” he says gently, “they’re your friends.”
Katsuki freezes for half a beat. It’s not a question. Not a challenge. Just a quiet, steady fact spoken by someone who seems to see through the noise and straight into the core of things.
For a second, Katsuki doesn’t look at him. He glances at the table—the water droplets sliding down his glass, the curry smell rising from the kitchen, the faint clatter of spoons and bowls from other customers. When he finally lifts his eyes again, this weird ass dude is still watching him, not pushing, not judging.
Katsuki exhales, something small uncoiling in his chest. “Huh,” he mutters, almost like he’s surprised at himself. “Yeah. They are.”
His mouth tilts into the smallest, realest hint of a smile—quiet, approving, warm in a way Katsuki absolutely refuses to analyze right now.
And that’s exactly the moment the waitress brings their curry over, sliding the plates between them like she’s unaware she just interrupted something faintly cinematic.
Their plates arrive steaming hot—Katsuki’s curry practically glowing with infernal spice, Todoroki’s looking deceptively harmless. Katsuki digs in like a man who hasn’t eaten in days, satisfied when the heat punches him in the back of the throat just right. Todoroki, meanwhile, takes his spoon with the cautious optimism of someone approaching an unknown wild animal.
He scoops up a modest bite, blows on it politely, and places it in his mouth. Not even two seconds pass before his entire expression crumbles.
He goes still. His eyes widen. His posture straightens like someone just poured boiling water down his spine. And then he very calmly, very stiffly, reaches for his iced tea and chugs half of it in one go.
Katsuki stares at him for one moment and then loses it.
A loud bark of a laugh escapes him—unfiltered, so sudden that a couple at the next table turns to look. Katsuki doesn’t care. He’s wheezing, clutching his stomach. “D–Dude—” another laugh bursts out, “that was the medium. Medium! What the hell—did it personally offend you or something?!”
Todoroki clears his throat, cheeks faintly pink from both spice and embarrassment. “It’s… warmer than I expected.”
“Warmer?” Katsuki snorts. “Rich people built different, huh? What, your fancy kitchens don’t stock chili peppers? The closest thing you get to spice is—what—pepper flakes on pasta?”
To Katsuki’s absolute horror, the dude laughs.
Not a polite smile. Not one of those tiny nods. A real laugh—quiet and warm, with his eyes crinkling just slightly and his shoulders relaxing like he’s finally let something go. And for a second, Katsuki forgets how to breathe.
Because holy shit.
The man looks—different. Softer. Less sleek-money-corporate-robot and more… approachable. Human. Warm in a way that feels like getting too close to a heater in winter.
And Katsuki hates that he notices.
Todoroki wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin, still smiling. “No, actually. My diet has been controlled since I was a kid. Spicy food wasn’t really… part of it.”
Katsuki instantly scoffs. “Boring.”
“Yeah,” he says, looking right at him with that easy honesty that keeps catching Katsuki off guard, “tell me about it.”
Katsuki clicks his tongue, stabbing another bite of his curry just to ground himself. What the hell is wrong with this guy? First he’s all calm and polite and impossible to read—and now he’s laughing like that? Looking like that?
Shoving another spoonful into his mouth, Katsuki ignores the idea to think about it.
By the time Katsuki leans back and lets out a satisfied exhale, he realizes—because the shop’s clock is right above Halfie’s head—that nearly an hour has passed. An hour. With a stranger. A stranger who doesn’t even know Katsuki’s name as he stubbornly refuses to give in. A weird stranger with mismatched hair, controlled diets, and questionable choice of words. Katsuki has no idea how that happened.
He’d meant to eat fast then go home and pack while screaming at everyone in their group chat. But Todoroki—damn him—turned out to be… passable. Still weird as fuck, obviously. The guy alternates between making comments so brain-dead Katsuki wants to throttle him and then dropping something so thoughtful or sharp that Katsuki actually has to pause and recalibrate. He listens, too. Really listens. Nods at the right parts, asks follow-ups without being nosy, and doesn’t interrupt unless he has something to add.
It almost pisses Katsuki off more.
Whatever. Katsuki refuses—refuses—to read anything into it. Especially after learning the guy is not only stupidly rich but seven years older. Seven. Why that matters, Katsuki doesn’t know, but the number annoys him. Everything about this situation annoys him. This is just a funny little fucked-up coincidence to spice up his day, nothing more. And if the universe has any sense at all, he’ll never cross paths with this half-and-half bastard again.
Which is exactly why his jaw drops when Todoroki calmly pulls out his black card at the cashier.
“Oi—oi—oi, the hell are you doing?” Katsuki practically lunges at him, slapping his hand over that man’s wrist. “Put that shit away. Let me fucking pay, asshole!”
Todoroki blinks at him. Slowly. “But it was my idea to have lunch together.”
“Yeah, well, we ended up at my place of choice,” Katsuki snaps. “I’m not letting some rich dude buy me curry. What the hell am I, a charity case?!”
“You’re not,” he replies, voice even, “but I did drag you into the priority bank—”
“Dragged?” Katsuki barks. “Who was the one who followed me in like a lost puppy—”
“But I remember you said—”
“Because your memory is shit! Now give me the damn bill!” He lies.
They argue—quietly but intensely—long enough that the cashier hides a smile behind her hand. In the end, Katsuki wins solely because he moves faster and slams his own card into the reader before Todoroki can swipe.
When it’s done, they both step away from the register but… they don’t actually go anywhere.
They just stand there.
Like two idiots.
Todoroki doesn’t leave. Katsuki can tell he’s not leaving. The bastard is just standing there, hands in pockets, shoulders relaxed, waiting for something that Katsuki does not—will not—offer.
Katsuki tries not to notice that the guy looks good even under the harsh fluorescent lighting. Hot, even. Tall, well-dressed, annoyingly attractive. Nope. No. Absolutely not. There is no universe where this leads anywhere.
Katsuki inhales sharply and decides to end this before the half and half asshole says something weird again that makes him think too hard.
“So I guess this is it, yeah?” Katsuki mutters, crossing his arms. “Thanks for the help, Halfie.”
Todoroki’s brows lift a fraction. “Half…?”
“You know,” Katsuki gestures vaguely at his hair, “your whole half-and-half situation. Don’t make it a big deal.”
“I wasn’t,” he says lightly, lips quirking, “but it’s a new nickname.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Katsuki fires back instantly. “I’m not planning on calling you anything ever again. Or seeing you again. Or talking to you again. This is it. Done.”
Todoroki’s smile widens just a hair—subtle, amused, like he knows something Katsuki doesn’t.
Katsuki hates that, too.
Todoroki watches him with that unreadable calm, hands tucked in his pockets, shoulders relaxed in a way that makes Katsuki weirdly aware of how tall he is. A beat of silence stretches between them, warm and charged, like the rest of the mall noise fades into a dull blur.
Then he tilts his head just slightly and asks, voice low and unhurried, “Can I at least get a name?”
Katsuki grins—not friendly, not polite, but sharp and smug and every bit the shithead he naturally is. “You can’t.”
And just to make sure the message lands, he sticks his tongue out like the petty bastard he is, turns on his heel, and walks away without giving Todoroki a chance to react. He doesn’t look back.
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡✈
Morning at the airport should’ve felt exciting and fresh—new day, new trip, new continent—but Katsuki’s experience is immediately the opposite of that. He’s barely through the automatic doors, suitcase rolling behind him, when the familiar sound of chaos strikes him like a brick to the face.
“KACCHAAAANNNNNN! WE’RE HEEEREEE!”
Denki’s voice—loud enough to scare birds out of the rafters—cuts through the entire departure hall. Katsuki winces so hard his soul cracks. People turn. Parents glare. A baby starts crying. And before Katsuki can pretend he doesn’t know these idiots, a blur of messy blond hair and boundless stupidity launches at him.
Denki crashes into his side like an overly affectionate golden retriever. “Kacchan! We thought you forgot about us again! We’re about to visit your hospital!”
“I am perfectly on time,” Katsuki snarls, peeling him off like gum. “Touch me again and I’ll feed you to customs and stop fucking calling me that!”
Before Denki can respond, a mass of red rushed forward with the force of a cheerful hurricane.
“Bro, you made it!” Kirishima roars, scooping Katsuki into a half-hug even though Katsuki fights like a cat refusing a bath. “Let’s go! Europe! Gains in a new timezone! Jet-lag muscles! LET’S GO!”
“I swear to god,” Katsuki threatens, “I will break your ribs so you stop hugging me.”
“Aw, dude, not manly! That’s how I know you love us.”
“I don’t.”
“Sure you don’t,” Kirishima says, completely unfazed.
Before Katsuki can commit legally prosecutable violence, Iida appears next—tall, serious, flapping his hands with robotic precision as he speaks.
“Everyone, please keep your voices down! We are in a public facility! Bakugou, good morning. Your punctuality is greatly appreciated—”
“Four eyes,” Katsuki says flatly, “if you lecture me before 8 in the morning I’m gonna fight TSA.”
Uraraka waves from behind him, holding bubble tea at an hour that should be illegal. “Morning, Bakugou! Did you remember your card this time? Izuku’s been worrying all night—”
“I WAS NOT WORRYING!” The nerd yelps from where he’s wrestling with a suitcase that is visibly heavier than him. “I just—I mean—Kacchan’s card was—um—last time—uh—”
“For fuck’s sake, nerd, breathe,” Katsuki snaps. “Yes, I fixed it. Yes, it works. Yes, I’m ready. No, you don’t have to have a panic attack on my behalf.”
Midoriya beams, instantly calmer. “Okay!”
“God, you’re exhausting.”
Their group—eight idiots total—forms a messy circle of luggage, chatter, caffeine, and zero awareness of personal space. This is so fucking stupid because the ones actually flying are only five of them; the shitty Deku, Dunce Face, Sero, Kirishima and him; he doesn’t understand why the heck even Deku brings his whole circle to the airport. Katsuki hadn't even talked to any of those people in years since their graduation.
It’s loud as fuck but he can’t lie he doesn’t hate this. They’re still his friends, his circle or not. It’s his people. And Katsuki hates to admit how warm that makes him feel inside his chest. He rolls his shoulders, trying to look disgruntled instead of fond. “You’re all noisy as shit.”
“We’re excited for you guys!” Mina chirps.
“Yeah man,” Sero adds, “we’re flying to Europe! Two weeks! Food! Sightseeing! Chaos!”
Kirishima slings an arm over Katsuki again. Katsuki elbows him hard but not hard enough to break anything. “This is gonna be epic, man. Admit it—you’re psyched.”
Katsuki clicks his tongue and looks away, eyes flicking over the terminal screens. “I’m psyched for the peace and quiet when you all pass out on the plane.”
Which is a complete lie.
He’s psyched, yeah. He doesn’t say it. But it’s there—hidden beneath the annoyance, buried under layers of grumbling. He gets to travel with his idiots. Laugh with them. Yell at them. Make memories. He’s not saying any of that out loud, obviously. He’d rather lick airport floor tiles.
The loudspeaker overhead announces the start of check-in for their flight. Bags shift. Bodies move. Denki already trips over nothing. Kirishima’s shouting something about snacks. Deku is powerwalking like they’re late even though they’re three hours early.
And as the group starts dragging him toward the counters, Katsuki mutters, “Europe, huh? Better be worth the jet lag.”
An hour later, the four idiots follow him and have migrated to the boarding gate, forming a lopsided cluster of backpacks, duty-free snacks, and too much energy for the hour. Katsuki’s sitting between Kirishima and his suitcase, scrolling through the flight details on his phone while tuning out 70% of what Denki’s rambling about.
The PA system beeps, and the gate agent picks up the mic.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we will begin boarding flight JX812 to Zurich. First, we’d like to invite our first-class passengers—”
Denki groans loud enough to make a toddler in the next row flinch. “Ughhhh, broooo,” he whines, slumping dramatically into Sero’s shoulder. “Damn, we’re gonna be the last ones. This sucks.”
Katsuki doesn’t even look up. “Then maybe don’t book us economy on an Airbus 380, dumbass. Big plane means big hierarchy.”
Kirishima laughs. “Bakubro’s right. This thing is like… four floors, dude. There’s probably a whole VIP cantina in there or something.”
“Sky members may now approach the gate for priority boarding,” the PA announces next.
Denki throws his hands up. “Sky members?! Who the hell are sky members?!”
“Rich people,” Sero says helpfully. “People who, like, fly for fun. People who drink tomato juice at 7 in the morning and don’t look miserable.”
Another beep.
“Business class passengers—”
“Okay, what’s next?” Denki keeps going like a man personally offended by airline capitalism. “Royalty? Diplomats? People whose credit limit is higher than my GPA?”
Deku fidgets beside them, adjusting his backpack straps nervously. “I-I mean, it’s standard procedure—”
“And we’re gonna wait forever!” Denki cuts in dramatically. “FOREVER.”
“Shut up,” Katsuki snaps, slipping his passport and boarding pass into his pocket. “The faster you quit complaining, the faster time moves.”
Denki gasps. “THAT’S NOT HOW TIME WORKS—”
“It is when you’re annoying,” Katsuki deadpans.
Kirishima snorts so hard he nearly chokes on his protein bar.
The PA beeps again. “We now invite families with children and passengers needing extra assistance.”
Denki almost collapses. “I NEED EXTRA ASSISTANCE—emotionally.”
“You need a fucking leash,” Katsuki mutters.
Sero pats Denki’s back. “Don’t worry, man. At least we’re all sitting together.” Katsuki rolls his yes at that; he was kinda hoping that they’re going to sit all over the places, ot at least he’s on the very corner far from these idiots but turns out Denki’s not as dumb as he usually was, the dude has made sure they have all online-checked in before dropping their luggages.
“Yeah,” Kirishima adds with a wide grin, clapping Katsuki on the back. “We get to kick this trip off as a group! That’s what matters!”
Katsuki grumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t shove the hand off. “Whatever. Just don’t talk to me for the first six hours.”
“You love us,” Denki singsongs.
“No, don’t talk to me the whole fucking flight.”
“Economy class boarding—rows 40 and above,” the PA finally announces.
Denki leaps out of his seat. “THAT’S US! FINALLY!!!”
Katsuki stands up, dragging his carry-on with another roll of his eyes. “About damn time.”
As they move into the long, slow-moving line, Denki keeps bouncing, Deku anxiously checking their row number five times, Sero filming them for memories and Kirishima already hyping up the idea of ordering snacks mid-flight.
And Katsuki—annoyed, tired, resigned—moves with them, letting their noise blend into the dull roar of the airport.
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡✈
The first hour of the flight goes better than Katsuki expects. Mostly because he planned for survival. They are basically assigned in one row of seats, three on the left and another two in the middle. He requested the window seat on the far left side of the cabin specifically so he could barricade himself against the wall, jam his AirPods in, and drown out the noise of his idiot friends as soon as possible.
It works… sort of.
Kirishima and Denki are arguing across the aisle about whether the in-flight entertainment counts as exercise. Sero’s already laughing at them. Midoriya’s nervously flipping through the safety card for the third time even though they’ve been cruising for a whole hour now. They’re loud, they’re excited, they’re vibrating like caffeine molecules in human form—but Katsuki has his music, his view, his personal bubble.
He’s fine.
He’s good.
Could be worse.
The flight attendants roll down the aisle with the welcome drinks, and Katsuki pops one AirPod out just long enough to take a cup of lemon water. He nods a thanks, puts the AirPod back in, and goes back to ignoring everyone again.
For a while, it works.
Then the second hour begins, and the first meal service starts. “Fish or chicken rice, sir?” the attendant asks with a polite smile.
“Chicken,” Katsuki says, because it’s the only thing that sounds edible at this ridiculously high height.
He opens the foil lid, breathes in the warm steam, and digs in as the cabin lights dim slightly to lunch mode. His friends are still chattering in the row across from him—something about snacks, legroom, Kirishima challenging Denki to arm-wrestle on the tray table—but Katsuki tunes them out.
Or tries to.
Because halfway through his rice bowl, his brain—traitorous, ungrateful, stupidly dramatic—decides out of nowhere to rewind. To the day before. That stupid mall. That stupid morning. That stupid half-and-half bastard with the mismatch hair and calm voice and weird-ass diet.
He remembers the broken self-service machine. Todoroki waiting quietly behind him. Their argument. The priority bank. That man looking at him like Katsuki wasn’t being insufferable—even though he definitely was. That laugh at the curry shop. Soft and warm and… annoying as fuck.
Katsuki winces, stabbing a piece of chicken harder than necessary. Why the hell is he remembering this now? Why the hell is this playing in his head 38,000 feet above sea level?
He groans under his breath, shoving another bite of rice in his mouth as if that will knock the memory loose. He finishes the meal fast then shoves the tray away and leans back in his seat.
No. No way in hell he’s spending eighteen hours trapped in a flying metal tube thinking about that guy. That stupid rich stranger he’ll never see again. The one with the weird humor and the mismatched hair and the too-honest eyes.
Absolutely not.
He turns his face toward the airplane window, watching the clouds blur into long white streaks beneath the wing. The world below looks tiny, quiet, easy. A hell of a lot simpler than his brain right now.
Katsuki exhales slowly.
Dirty fucking luck.
He’s not letting that handsome face occupy space in his skull. Not for one more second.
The flight is long. He’ll sleep, watch a movie, then sleep again. He will not—will absolutely not—think about Todoroki. He plants his cheek against the cool plastic wall, closes his eyes, and tells himself he believes that.
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡✈
The next thing Katsuki knows, he’s waking up with his neck stiff and his cheek half-glued to the cold plastic wall. His AirPods are still in, the cabin lights have shifted to that dim bluish night mode, and his entire body feels wrung out like he slept inside a washing machine.
He blinks, groggy, then immediately reaches for his phone in the seat pocket. Great. Fantastic. Perfect. He hoped—prayed—that when he woke up, they’d be at least close to landing. Maybe three hours left. Maybe two, if the universe wasn’t actively trying to piss him off.
He taps the screen, eyes slowly adjusting to the that amount of light and trying to focus on the words written on top of world the map and plane animation.
14 hours remaining.
He stares at the number. Then internally screams.
Fucking hell. And as if whoever holds the fate upon him somewhere above wants to make things worse, his bladder chooses this moment—this beautiful, magical moment—to ache with urgency.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath.
He unbuckles his seatbelt, carefully avoiding jostling Deku, who’s dead asleep, mouth open. And pass Sero with no problem because he’s also already asleep. Kirishima and Denki are awake but groggy, eyes half-lidded, barely alive. Perfect. Less questioning.
But then Denki just blinks, confused and looking dehydrated. Katsuki knows that he’s going to ask a question. “Where you goin—?”
“To NOT piss myself,” Katsuki snaps.
“Valid,” Denki mumbles, already forgetting the conversation.
Katsuki steps into the aisle, stretching his sore legs before he starts walking. He heads toward the front of the cabin, refusing to ask for directions like a normal human being. He doesn’t need help. He just needs a toilet. There’s stupid sign for it.
But when he reaches the middle section of the plane, he stops dead in his tracks. Both toilet signs are red. Both. There’s even a guy already standing there waiting with a look of quiet defeat on his face.
“Great,” Katsuki mutters. “Awesome. Love this for me.”
He walks past the guy and keeps going, because maybe—maybe—there’s another toilet in front. He hates how desperate he’s becoming. He makes it all the way to the very front of the economy cabin before a flight attendant gently steps into his path.
“Excuse me, sir—do you need any assistance?”
“Bathroom,” Katsuki says, already annoyed, already bracing for bad news.
The attendant gives him a kind, practiced smile. “Ah, in that case, you’re welcome to use the lavatories in Premium Economy. Just past that divider curtain, sir.”
Katsuki doesn’t bother asking why. He doesn’t give a shit about the rules. He just needs a toilet now before he starts committing war crimes in the aisle. He pushes through the soft grey curtain and immediately sees that… well.
Premium economy looks… basically the same. Same layout. Same cramped bodies. Just slightly more legroom. Not enough to make anyone happy. And worse, the toilets here are occupied too.
“God—fuck—” Katsuki bites down a curse so sharp he nearly tastes blood. His bladder throbs. This is actual, physical hell.
He’s about to turn around, ready to walk all the way back and die in his seat, when another flight attendant catches sight of him—this one older, calm, and perceptive enough to immediately understand the expression on his face.
“Oh dear,” she says softly, “you’ve been looking for an available lavatory, haven’t you?”
Katsuki exhales like a man finally seen. “Yes.”
“Well, come with me. There’s one farther ahead. It’s usually less occupied.”
Farther ahead? How big is this damn plane? Still, he follows because at this point he’d walk to the pilot’s cabin if she told him to.
She leads him past the last rows of premium economy—through another curtain—and suddenly the atmosphere shifts. The lights are warmer, the seats wider, the noise immediately drops from chaotic to politely rich, and the temperature drops a few degrees.
“Sorry for the inconvenience, sir,” she murmurs as they enter business class. “It’s been a busy flight. Unfortunately, we can’t control everyone’s timing.”
“Not your fault,” Katsuki mutters, too focused on not bursting to care that he’s surrounded by silent, well-dressed passengers sipping wine at two in the morning.
He’s barely paying attention now but he does notice one thing; the bathroom door she leads him to is… nice. Suspiciously nice.
He’s about to step inside when the thought hits him. Wait… did he just get escorted into business class to pee? He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry as the attendant opens the door for him politely.
“Here you go, sir.”
Katsuki nods, steps inside, and closes the door behind him, letting out a long, relieved sigh. He wastes no time and just straight goes to the business and when he’s done washing his hands, that’s when he has the time to really look at it because holy shit.
The business-class bathroom is stupidly big.
Katsuki blinks at the view, and just stands there for a second, staring. There’s a full-length mirror. The counters aren’t that flimsy airplane plastic—they look like fake marble or whatever rich people love. The lighting is soft. And there’s a little door on the side that opens into… a shower?
A fucking shower.
He snorts under his breath.
“So this is the gap, huh?”
All this just to take a shit in the sky. Katsuki will never understand rich people. Thanks to them, he’s relieved himself, washed his hands, and is now staring at the mini-shower like it’s some kind of mythical creature. Honestly, it’s probably him who doesn’t belong in here. If this is business class, then what the hell does first class look like? A studio apartment? A penthouse? A whole-ass villa with a koi pond? He wouldn’t put it past these moneybags.
He unlocks the door and steps out, fully prepared to walk back to his mediocre seat and pretend his bladder didn’t almost detonate. He turns left—not because he knows where he’s going, but because his legs decide that direction first—and immediately realizes left is the wrong fucking answer. The whole aisle is suspiciously empty, eerily quiet, and far too spacious to be anything affordable.
Before he can turn around, a flight attendant—different from the lady who guided him earlier—spots him.
“Oh! Sir, good evening,” she says, smiling with that polished airline-perfect expression.
“Uh… I think I’m lost,” he admits, because yeah, obviously.
“Don’t worry, I can help you find your seat. Can I see your—”
She never gets to finish. Another flight attendant rushes in from behind her, practically sliding into the aisle. “There you are—we need you in the galley, right now.”
The first one’s eyes widen. “Is it that bad?”
“Worse,” the second whispers, flustered. “She threw up again, and the chef thinks it might be food poisoning or—or something with the seafood entrée—just come on.”
They both turn to Katsuki in the same breath, bowing apologetically.
“I’m so sorry, sir!”
“Terribly sorry, sir—please wait just a moment—”
Then they sprint down the aisle in a blur of polite panic.
Katsuki stands there, blinking. He absolutely heard words no passenger ever wants to hear while trapped in a metal tube thousands of feet in the air.
Threw up. Food. Poisoning.
Fucking fantastic.
He watches the two attendants struggle around in circles at the end of the aisle, whispering frantically. One of them looks like she might cry. The other keeps muttering something about “first class”, “no doctor”, “what do we do”, and “oh my god she passed out again”.
Katsuki drags a hand down his face. He knows exactly what’s going to happen. He hates that he knows. And he really, really hates that he can’t ignore it. He exhales sharply. “Fuck’s sake…”
Then, raising his voice just enough. “Sorry,” he calls out toward the panicking attendants, “are you guys looking for a doctor?”
Both of them whip around like he just announced free diamonds. “Yes!” the second one gasps. “One of our first-class passengers fainted, and we asked everyone up front—there are no doctors there at all. Are you a doctor, sir?”
Of course there aren’t any doctors in first class. The doctors he knows are either broke or glued to a hospital ward. The rich ones? They’re unicorns and all snobs flying with private jets as their only transportation option.
“Yeah,” Katsuki sighs. “I’m a doctor.”
The flight attendants practically flank him, one on each side, guiding him up the narrow staircase like he’s some VIP instead of a guy who just wanted to pee.
“We’re really grateful, sir,” the first attendant says breathlessly. “We even made an announcement to economy class—no response at all.”
“Yeah, well,” Katsuki mutters, “good luck finding a doctor back there. Half of them packed like sardines and the other half already dead inside.”
They reach the top of the stairs—and holy shit. The first-class cabin is huge. Not just a significantly bigger space but also wealthy. Ambient lighting. Private pods. A literal bar. A carpet that probably costs more than his monthly rent. He swears he smells actual flowers.
Katsuki clicks his tongue. “These assholes are really flying in a hotel.”
The attendants lead him into one of the pod suites where a little girl—maybe six or seven—sits slumped in her seat, pale and clutching her stomach while her frantic mother hovers beside her.
Katsuki shifts into doctor mode automatically, the annoyance melting into focus. He crouches in front of the kid.
“Hey,” he says gently. “Can you tell me what hurts?”
The girl mumbles, “My tummy… and I feel like throwing up again…”
Classic.
He checks her forehead with the back of his hand, notes the clammy skin, then lightly presses along her abdomen—not deep, just enough to see if she winces or has sharp pain. She doesn’t. Good sign. Her pulse is a little fast but steady. Probably just motion sickness or a mild food reaction—nothing dramatic.
“This doesn’t look like poisoning,” he says to the attendants, keeping his voice calm. “But she’s dehydrated, and her stomach’s upset. I’ll need the emergency medical kit.”
One attendant rushes off, brings back the bright-red kit. Katsuki opens it like someone who’s done this a hundred times—which he has—and pulls out antiemetic tablets, the safe-for-kids one, plus oral rehydration packets.
He mixes a small cup of electrolyte drink with water and hands it to the girl.
“Small sips,” he instructs. “Not too fast.”
She obeys, eyes droopy but calmer. Katsuki gives her the anti-nausea tablet to dissolve under her tongue, adjusting her seat so she’s reclining more comfortably. Her color starts improving within minutes.
“See? Nothing scary,” he says to the mother, who looks like she wants to cry and hug him but he’s absolutely not built for that. She thanks him repeatedly until he stands and escapes before emotions happen.
He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright. That should hold her until we land.”
He turns to leave—ready to return to his peasant row—and—schhhk.
A soft sliding sound behind him. One of the luxurious pod doors glides open. And from inside, someone leans out, hair slightly messy, expression calm as if he wakes up from naps like some ethereal trust-fund cat.
Katsuki freezes and mentally wants to make sure if he’s not still sleeping because what the fuck is that half and half bastard doing here, inside the same fucking plane with him?
Todoroki blinks slowly, taking in the scene, then Katsuki, then the medical kit. “Oh,” he says, voice soft and very awake. “So you’re a doctor and the doctor.”
Katsuki nearly short-circuits. “Are you fucking stalking me?”
“I wish I could but that would be illegal.” The asshole smiles and Katsuki blinks too many times at the scene because what the actual fuck?
The bastard still looks expensive, just like yesterday. He’s sitting there like he owns the damn plane—which, honestly, considering his background, wouldn’t even be surprising. One leg crossed over the other, lounging in a soft blue cardigan that looks stupidly gentle on someone who talks like he pays taxes in blood. His hair is still ridiculous, his eyes still dreamy like a fever hallucination.
Fuck. He’s still fucking hot.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the flight attendant cuts in gently. “Would you like to stay and speak with your friend, or shall I escort you back to your seat?”
Katsuki hesitates—and he hates that he does.
His friends are probably asleep by now, sprawled out in their cramped economy seats like dead bodies. They won’t notice he’s gone. And this space—this stupidly massive, stupidly soft-looking space—tempts him more than he wants to admit. His back’s been aching all day, his legs stiff from sitting, and the idea of stretching out somewhere that doesn’t feel like a punishment is… appealing.
Too appealing.
And then there’s him.
Todoroki is the reason Katsuki’s brain has been doing laps since yesterday. Katsuki isn’t an idiot—he knows interest when he sees it. The guy practically said Katsuki was entertaining at the bank, at lunch, everywhere. And yeah, Katsuki knows he’s hot. He’s not blind or humble.
Staying here means accepting something—attention, intention, whatever this rich bastard is quietly offering.
But Todoroki also has the emotional processing speed of a grandpa and the public profile of someone who absolutely cannot afford to do anything stupid. If he were planning something weird, Katsuki would’ve seen it coming from a mile away.
Still.
Annoying.
“Sir?” the attendant prompts softly.
Shit. He’s taken too long, arguing with himself like an idiot.
“Yeah,” Katsuki finally says, exhaling. “I’ll stay. But if my friends ask, let them know where I am.”
The flight attendant nods, smiling warmly. “Of course.”
She gestures politely. “May I get you something to drink? We have champagne, wine, cocktails, and non-alcoholic options as well.”
“Just a glass of lemon water,” Katsuki replies.
“Certainly.” She inclines her head and walks away.
“Hi,” Todoroki says.
Katsuki snorts. “Wow. Real smooth.”
He drops into the seat despite himself, eyes roaming the cabin. The couch is ridiculously soft. The space absurd. There’s a full-sized bed directly across from them like this is a hotel room that accidentally took flight.
“Pretty fucking sick seat you’ve got here, Halfie,” Katsuki mutters.
“Do you like it?” Todoroki asks, genuinely curious.
“You have a bed on a plane, asshole. What do you think?”
Todoroki tilts his head, confused, like that’s not a universal answer. Katsuki clicks his tongue and looks away, annoyed at how comfortable he already feels.
“You can stay as long as you want,” Todoroki says easily.
Katsuki scoffs. “Don’t say shit like that so casually.”
“But I mean it.”
Katsuki shoots him a sharp look. Todoroki just meets it, calm and unreadable, like he’s not aware he’s wrecking Katsuki’s nerves with every soft-spoken sentence.
“Tch,” Katsuki mutters, sinking back into the seat anyway. “Fine. But don’t get any ideas.”
Todoroki’s mouth curves just slightly.
“I wouldn’t dare.”
They do not change any words for a few seconds but Katsuki can tell those eyes are on him while he's busying himself with taking a good look on the riddiculous interior of this seat.
“I didn’t expect you to be a doctor,” Todoroki says, breaking the silence.
Katsuki snorts immediately. “What, someone like me can’t be a doctor or what?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Todoroki replies without missing a beat. “You just look… young.”
Katsuki pauses. Right. He did mention his age yesterday—offhand, annoyed, barely paying attention. That’s literally the only personal detail Todoroki knows about him, and somehow it’s still enough to piss him off.
“Yeah, well,” Katsuki says, crossing his arms, “I’m still a resident. Not like I’m some hotshot surgeon yet.”
Todoroki nods like that makes perfect sense. “That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“The way you handled the situation just now,” Todoroki says. “You didn’t hesitate.”
Katsuki clicks his tongue. “That’s just my job.”
For a moment, Todoroki doesn’t respond. He leans back slightly, shoulders relaxed, but Katsuki notices it anyway—the subtle heaviness in his posture, the faint roughness in his voice when he finally speaks again. It’s deeper than Katsuki remembers, a little worn around the edges, like he’s been talking too much or sleeping too little.
“So,” Katsuki says, mostly to fill the silence, “business trip or what?”
“Yes,” Todoroki answers. “Kind of.”
Katsuki raises a brow. “That’s vague as hell.”
“I’m closing a few deals,” Todoroki explains. “The partner I’m dealing with doesn’t like remote meetings. He prefers everything in person.”
“Of course he does,” Katsuki mutters. “Rich people love wasting time.”
Todoroki hums softly, amused. “It’s… inefficient, but necessary with certain types of people. Some would be fine with online deals but some prefer more traditional approaches.”
Katsuki glances at him then, really looks. Todoroki still looks unfairly put together—relaxed but precise, expensive without trying. Even sitting there doing nothing, he somehow commands the space. And he smells good too, clean and subtle, something warm and faintly citrusy that Katsuki absolutely does not want to acknowledge.
Annoying bastard.
“So you fly halfway across the world just to shake hands and nod a lot?” Katsuki asks.
“That’s one way to put it.”
“And this,” Katsuki says, gesturing vaguely around the absurdly spacious cabin, “is your normal setup?”
Todoroki considers the question for a moment. “Not really. I don’t think you’re going to like hearing this, but I usually fly privately.” He pauses, then adds, almost apologetic, “This trip was short notice, and my jet’s in maintenance.”
Katsuki stares at him. Then he clicks his tongue hard. “Unbelievable.”
“I warned you.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Katsuki mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Of course you do. Of course you have a jet.”
Todoroki watches him with mild curiosity, like Katsuki’s reaction is fascinating rather than insulting. “Does that bother you?”
“After yesterday?” Katsuki scoffs. “Nah.”
But the quiet between them doesn’t feel awkward. If anything, it feels… settled. The steady hum of the plane fills the space, and Katsuki realizes—irritatingly—that he doesn’t mind listening to Todoroki talk. Especially not when his voice drops like that, low and even, carrying a thread of exhaustion like he’s letting his guard slip just a little.
The flight attendant returns with a glass of lemon water, a small bowl of nuts, and an entire board of cheese, fruit, and neatly arranged dips. Katsuki thanks her. She smiles, glancing briefly at Todoroki before excusing herself and closing the door behind her.
The moment it shuts, the cabin feels smaller. Warmer.
And fuck—Todoroki smells good. Clean, subtle, expensive in a way Katsuki can’t place. It’s distracting, and Katsuki doesn’t like that one bit.
He grabs his drink, takes a sip, and gestures toward the food to ground himself. “They even got fancy shit up here. Damn.”
“They had a great lunch selection earlier,” Todoroki says casually. “I had steak. The caviar was decent too.”
Katsuki freezes.
His eyes widen. “What?”
“Yes?”
“You had steak and caviar?”
“Yes.”
“On a plane?”
Todoroki tilts his head, confused. “Uh… yeah. We are on a plane, in fact.”
“Dude,” Katsuki laughs, sharp and incredulous, “I had chicken and rice.”
That gets a reaction. Todoroki blinks, genuinely startled, like this information has rattled his understanding of reality. Katsuki snorts at the look on his face, because wow—how the hell would someone like this survive in economy? The guy would last ten minutes before losing his mind over the seat pitch alone.
The tension shifts—not gone, but thicker now, threaded with something amused and dangerous.
Todoroki’s gaze lingers on him a second longer than necessary. “By the way,” he says, voice softer, “can I finally get your name?”
Katsuki pauses, grape halfway to his mouth.
Oh. Right.
He almost forgot Todoroki doesn’t know it.
He clicks his tongue, then shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Bakugou Katsuki.”
Todoroki repeats it under his breath, like he’s testing the weight of it. Then he looks up and smiles. “That’s a pretty name.”
Katsuki chokes. He coughs, nearly drops the grape, and shoots Todoroki a look like he’s just been personally attacked. “The fuck?” he coughs once more, rough and sharp, and reaches for his water. “Don’t—don’t say shit like that so casually,” he mutters, taking a long drink. “Sounds fuckin’ weird.”
Todoroki’s brows knit together, earnest as hell. “Weird how?”
“That’s just—” Katsuki waves a hand, then stops because he doesn’t actually have an answer that doesn’t sound stupid. He clicks his tongue instead. “Whatever. Drop it.”
There’s a beat. Todoroki studies him, quiet but attentive, like he’s filing the reaction away rather than pushing. It’s annoying. Katsuki hates that he doesn’t prod, hates that he doesn’t smirk or tease like Kaminari would. The man just nods.
“Alright,” Todoroki says. “Sorry.”
That somehow makes it worse.
Katsuki huffs and leans back into the seat, which immediately reminds him how stupidly comfortable it is. The padding cradles his shoulders, his spine finally unclenching after hours of economy-class suffering. He hates how good it feels. He hates even more that Todoroki notices the way his posture eases.
“You can relax,” Todoroki says. “You look like you’re ready to fight the chair.”
“I always look like that,” Katsuki snaps automatically, then scowls when Todoroki hums, unconvinced.
They lapse into silence again, but it’s different now—thicker, stretched taut. Katsuki picks at the cheese board, trying not to think about the fact that Todoroki hasn’t looked away from him once, not really. Every time Katsuki glances up, those ridiculous eyes are already there, calm and steady.
“So,” Katsuki says finally, because he needs to break it before he does something stupid and regrets it for decades. “Tell me more about the people you’re dealing with. You say some people are fine with online shits and some prefer offline.”
“Yes.” Todoroki shifts slightly, crossing his legs again. The movement is smooth, practiced. “I need to close a deal in Zurich. The people I’m meeting don’t like remote negotiations. They prefer things… in person.”
“Are they like super old or something?” Katsuki asks.
Todoroki’s lips twitch. “Pretty much.”
Katsuki snorts, surprised despite himself. He takes another bite of fruit, chewing slower now, more relaxed than he’s been in hours. “So you fly halfway across the world ‘cause some old dudes can’t figure out Zoom?”
“It’s not about the technology,” Todoroki says. His voice dips again—lower, quieter, carrying that faint edge of fatigue. “They want to look you in the eye. Read you. Decide if you’re worth dealing with.”
Katsuki hums. That, he gets. “Sounds like intimidation bullshit.”
“Or trust,” Todoroki counters gently.
Katsuki scoffs. “Same thing.”
That finally earns a soft laugh—not loud, not sharp, just a breath of sound that warms the space between them. Katsuki freezes for half a second, then forces himself to keep chewing like his heart didn’t just trip over itself.
Fuck. He really does look different when he laughs.
Todoroki rubs at his temple, exhaling. “It’s been a long week.”
“Yeah?” Katsuki eyes him. “You look fine.”
Todoroki glances back at him, something unreadable passing through his eyes. “You look tired too.”
Katsuki bristles instantly, jaw tightening before he can stop it. “I work for a living,” he snaps, sharper than he intended, like the words scrape on the way out.
“So do I,” Todoroki replies, calm, no edge to it. Not dismissive. Just… factual.
That’s what gets under Katsuki’s skin.
He exhales through his nose and leans forward, elbows on his knees, fingers lacing together so he doesn’t clench them into fists. “Yeah? No. See, that’s not—” He clicks his tongue, irritation simmering. “You don’t get what I mean.”
Todoroki doesn’t interrupt. He just waits.
“I have to work,” Katsuki continues, voice lower now, rough around the edges. “Like, actually have to. I miss a shift, I get chewed out. I mess up once, my senior’s on my ass like he’s been waiting for an excuse. Half the time it feels like they want me gone just to prove a point.” He laughs, humorless. “I don’t get days off unless someone’s dying or I’m half-dead myself.”
He scrubs a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding into something more raw. “I work so I can pay rent. I don’t own shit. If I don’t pay, I don’t sleep. Yeah, the old hag would probably drag me back home if I had to, but that’s not how it works for me. That’s not an option I’m taking.”
Todoroki’s expression shifts—not defensive, not offended. Just… attentive. Like something heavy just landed in his hands and he’s careful not to drop it.
Katsuki finally looks up at him, eyes sharp but tired. “I’m not trying to argue with you, Halfie. I’m just saying—we live in completely different bubbles.” He gestures vaguely between them. “You and your family? Taking you guys out of Japan’s GDP would barely make a dent. What, five percent down? Maybe?”
Todoroki huffs a quiet breath—not a laugh, more like an acknowledgment.
“I’m not comparing misery,” Katsuki adds quickly, almost gruff. “And I’m not saying you don’t work hard. I just—” He pauses, jaw flexing. “Money isn’t abstract to me. It’s not leverage or comfort. It’s survival.”
The cabin hums softly around them.
Todoroki leans back slightly, hands resting in his lap. His voice, when he speaks, is lower than before, steadier—but there’s something thoughtful threaded through it now. “You’re right,” he says. “I’ve never had to think about it that way.”
Katsuki scoffs. “Yeah. I figured.”
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t work,” Todoroki continues, unbothered. “It just means the consequences are different.” He meets Katsuki’s eyes. “I work to maintain what already exists. You work to keep things from falling apart.
I’ve mostly lived around people like me,” he adds. “Same circles. Same families. Same expectations.” His voice is calm, but there’s a weight beneath it, a tired honesty Katsuki recognizes. “My father was… strict. Still is. Everything was controlled—who I met, what I learned, what was considered appropriate.”
Katsuki snorts softly. “Sounds suffocating.”
“It was,” Todoroki agrees without hesitation. “But I’m not ignorant. I know there are people who struggle far more than I ever have.” He turns back to Katsuki then, eyes steady. “That’s why I don’t like taking what I have for granted. If I’m given advantages, I want to use them properly. Work harder. Maximize them. Otherwise it feels… wasteful.”
The sincerity catches Katsuki off guard.
“That’s new,” he mutters before he can stop himself.
Todoroki tilts his head. “What is?”
Katsuki shrugs, forcing casual into his posture even though something in his chest shifts. “I dunno. I always figured rich bastards like you were all spoiled.” He glances at Todoroki sideways. “You’re the first one I’ve actually talked to this close.”
There’s a beat.
Then Todoroki pauses—really pauses—and leans just slightly closer, close enough that Katsuki can feel the warmth of him, smell that clean, subtle scent again.
“This close?” Todoroki asks, voice low.
Katsuki inhales sharply before he can help it.
From this distance, Todoroki’s eyes are ridiculous—too clear, too bright, the colors deep and layered like they weren’t meant to be seen this near. Katsuki can make out tiny details he definitely shouldn’t be noticing the faint shadow under his lashes, the way his expression softens when he’s curious instead of guarded.
“I’m happy I got to know you, Bakugou.”
The words land harder than they have any right to.
Katsuki’s heart kicks violently in his chest, sudden and unruly, like it’s trying to claw its way out. No teasing. No smugness. Todoroki says it like a fact, like something simple and true, and that’s what makes it dangerous. His smile follows—warm, unguarded—and fuck, Katsuki hates how much it does to him.
He should say something. Anything. Tell him to back off. Tell him to stop looking at him like that. Instead, he just stares.
“I’m glad I took this flight,” Todoroki adds quietly.
The cabin feels smaller. The air thicker.
Katsuki becomes acutely aware of how close they are—too close. Close enough that he can feel Todoroki’s presence like a constant pull, close enough that moving either way would mean acknowledging it. His pulse is loud in his ears, every instinct screaming that this is a bad idea and a tempting one all at once.
Todoroki doesn’t move. He doesn’t push. He just holds Katsuki’s gaze, steady and patient, like he’s giving him space to decide.
Katsuki swallows. “Shut up,” he mutters, voice rough. “You’re gonna make me do something stupid.”
Todoroki’s smile softens even more, if that’s possible. “Then do it.”
That earns a sharp breath from Katsuki. His body goes rigid, every muscle locking as he drags all his self-control to the surface and forces the words out. “I can’t.”
“Why?” Todoroki asks.
The tone doesn’t help—soft, steady, but threaded with something insistent. Not demanding in a way that grates, but in a way that presses, slow and patient, like he’s testing the cracks in Katsuki’s walls one by one.
“I’m seven years younger than you,” Katsuki says shortly. His voice wobbles despite his effort, especially with Todoroki’s face this close, eyes unwavering.
“I don’t mind that,” Todoroki replies without missing a beat. “Does that bother you?”
“No, but—”
“But what?”
Katsuki exhales, sharp and frustrated. “You’re a Todoroki.”
For the first time, Todoroki actually pauses. Not startled—just thoughtful. Then he leans in a fraction more, close enough that Katsuki can count the seconds between breaths.
“Does that prevent you from doing that something stupid?” he asks quietly.
Katsuki gulps. He doesn’t trust himself to answer. His throat feels tight, chest buzzing, every instinct split between flight and something far more reckless.
“Because that won’t stop me, Bakugou,” Todoroki adds, voice low and unwavering. “I’m going to kiss you in five seconds. That’s the time you have. You can leave and pretend we never met—and that’s perfectly fine with me.”
One…
Katsuki blinks, eyes locked on those impossible irises—turquoise edged with deep gray—close enough now that he can see the faint reflection of his own red staring back at him.
Two…
Todoroki moves closer. One hand settles at Katsuki’s side, warm and solid, making him flinch despite himself. The other lifts, stopping just millimeters from his ear, thumb brushing lightly against the tip. The touch is careful. Intentional. It sends a jolt straight down Katsuki’s spine.
Three…
Katsuki bites his lower lip without thinking. Todoroki’s gaze drops immediately—to his mouth—and the way his eyes darken makes Katsuki’s breath hitch. He mirrors the movement before he can stop himself.
Fuck.
Todoroki’s lips look dangerous.
The counting blurs. Time stretches thin, elastic, snapping under the weight of anticipation. Katsuki doesn’t even register the exact moment it happens—only that suddenly Todoroki’s lips are there, pressing into his.
The first kiss is soft. Almost innocent. Just a test, a question.
Then Todoroki moves.
Slow, steady, unhurried, like he’s giving Katsuki all the space in the world to pull away. Katsuki doesn’t. He kisses back instead, breath slipping out between them, a little needy despite himself.
Todoroki’s grip grows bolder. The hand at Katsuki’s side slides to the small of his back, anchoring him there, while the other settles at the nape of his neck—broad, rough, warm. Katsuki hums quietly, the sound betraying him, because fuck, it feels good.
His body feels loose, warm, frighteningly comfortable. The tingling sensation inside his stomach; the stupid fuckers call that butterflier and whatnot, Katsuki can’t quite make that up because holy shit, kissing Todoroki is definetely the best thing ever happen to him this year.
That man is a good kisser and Katsuki, not wanting to lose, kiss him back just as good—because it’s fucking good.
Without thinking, Katsuki’s hands come up, curling around Todoroki’s neck, arms resting against his shoulders as they trade slow, deliberate kisses—learning the shape of each other, the rhythm, the pause between breaths.
When Todoroki’s tongue slips in, tentative at first, Katsuki makes a small sound before he can stop himself. His body arches instinctively, drawn forward, and Todoroki responds immediately—hands tightening, pulling him closer until Katsuki’s fully in his lap, knees braced on either side. The shift knocks the air from his lungs in the best way.
“Fuck,” Todoroki breathes, voice rougher now. “You’re so hot.”
“Yeah?” Katsuki fires back, breathless but grinning, pride flaring at the look on Todoroki’s face. His eyes are dark, focused entirely on him, lips swollen and red, chest rising heavy beneath him.
Todoroki’s hands skim his back, slow and reverent, like he’s memorizing the feel of him. “Please stay.”
Katsuki doesn’t answer with words. He answers by kissing him again—harder this time, messy and demanding, more his pace. He bites, just a little, drags his teeth before soothing it with his mouth, and Todoroki makes a low sound that goes straight through him.
Tongues, teeth, breath—everything collides. Todoroki lets Katsuki set the tempo, hands gripping him tighter as if to ground himself, as if he doesn’t mind at all that Katsuki kisses like he wants more. Like he always wants more.
And Katsuki does—he’s already leaning back in, chasing that warmth—
Then there’s a knock.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” a voice calls gently from the aisle. “We’re delivering menu options for dinner.”
Katsuki freezes.
Todoroki does too, like someone hit pause on the universe.
When they finally pull apart, it’s only just enough to breathe—foreheads still pressed together, noses brushing, breaths uneven and shared. The hum of the plane rushes back into existence, loud and accusing.
Katsuki exhales shakily, pulse racing.
Yeah. This is definitely something stupid.
He shifts, fixing his position and scrambling for composure while Todoroki reaches out and slides the door open. A different flight attendant stands there, menu folder in hand, eyes widening just a fraction as she takes in the scene.
Katsuki doesn’t need a mirror to know he looks wrecked. Todoroki looks no better—lips red, hair slightly out of place, collar just barely disturbed. Anyone with eyes could tell they’d been seconds away from doing something wildly inappropriate at thirty thousand feet.
“We’re so sorry to bother you, sirs,” she says politely, professionalism winning out. “When you’re ready with your order, please let us know.” Then, after a beat, she adds carefully, “We also provide a Do Not Disturb card, should you wish to hang it outside.”
Katsuki feels his face heat immediately.
“Tch,” he mutters under his breath.
He takes the menu from Todoroki’s hand without looking at him, eyes locking onto the page like it’s suddenly the most important thing in the world. Words blur together—steaks, seafood, things he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about right now.
Beside him, Todoroki shifts slightly, close enough that Katsuki can still feel his warmth.
Katsuki stays quiet, eyes fixed on the menu like it dares to say something stupid. The adrenaline hasn’t fully drained yet; his pulse is still loud in his ears, his skin buzzing in a way he very much does not want to unpack right now.
Todoroki, meanwhile, looks… composed again. Still warm, still close, but calmer—like he’s giving Katsuki space without pulling away entirely.
“I think I’ll go with something light for dinner,” Todoroki says after a moment, tone easy. “I had steak earlier, so I don’t want anything too heavy. Their soba choices are good.”
Katsuki snorts before he can stop himself.
Todoroki looks at him. “What?”
“You sure like soba, huh?” Katsuki mutters, eyes still on the menu.
Todoroki blinks. “How do you know?”
Katsuki finally looks up at him, unimpressed. “God, you’re dumb.”
“I—”
“You literally told me yesterday,” Katsuki continues, clicking his tongue. “That restaurant in the mall? You said they had great soba. Ring any bells?”
Todoroki pauses. Then—“Oh.”
The way he says it is so genuinely surprised that Katsuki can’t help the small, victorious curl of his mouth.
“You remember things,” Todoroki says, not teasing. Just… noticing.
“Yeah, well,” Katsuki grumbles, flipping the page. “I’m not brain-dead.”
A quiet beat passes.
“I’ll order the soba then,” Todoroki says. “What about you?”
Katsuki hums noncommittally, pretending to read. He’s painfully aware of how close Todoroki still is, how their knees nearly brush, how the air between them feels charged even now. Look—Katsuki likes his food, sure, but who the fuck cares when he wants that half-and-half bastard to devour him instead?
“Don’t worry,” Todoroki says calmly. “We can continue what’s left after dinner.”
Katsuki shoots him a filthy look, like he hasn’t been thinking about that exact thing since the knock interrupted them.
“You agreed to stay.”
Katsuki scoffs. He never admits when he’s cornered, so he pivots instead. “Depends on whether the dinner’s good.” He hands the menu back. “Choose for me. If I like it, I’ll stay.”
Todoroki studies him for a moment, then smiles—small, knowing, unmistakably amused. “It’s never going to be easy with you, huh?”
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡✈
Dinner turns out to be… absurdly good.
Katsuki gets a Japanese set—clean, simple plating that somehow still looks expensive as hell. The rice is warm and perfectly seasoned, the fish tender without falling apart, the broth light but rich enough to linger on his tongue. It’s the kind of food that doesn’t try to show off, just delivers, and Katsuki hates how much he likes it.
“Tch,” he mutters after the first few bites. “Annoying.”
Todoroki watches him with quiet amusement. “You like it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki says, already reaching for another bite. “Don’t get cocky.”
They eat for a while, conversation flowing easily between bites—less guarded now, softer around the edges. Katsuki doesn’t even notice how relaxed he’s gotten until Todoroki mentions it casually.
“My brother works at a hospital,” Todoroki says.
Katsuki pauses mid-chew. “Huh. Your brother’s a doctor too or something?”
“Yes,” Todoroki nods.
“Damn. I thought you were an only child.” Katsuki replies, remembering all the googling session he did yesterday night looking up for Todoroki’s info from the internet.
“That’s what my father wants the public to know,” Todoroki replies evenly. “I’m actually the youngest of four.”
Katsuki blinks. “Four?”
“Yes. Touya is the oldest,” Todoroki continues. “Then Fuyumi. Then Natsuo. And me.”
Katsuki lets out a low breath. “Wow. Your father must’ve spent a lot to shut the media down.”
“He did,” Todoroki admits. “At first it was because he was afraid Touya would end up in the news. He’s sick.” A brief pause. “And my other siblings didn’t want to take over the business the way he wanted. So he put all his expectations on me.”
Katsuki studies him for a moment. “You’re the golden child.”
“That’s what people say,” Todoroki replies. “But I don’t feel that way. He was stricter with me than anyone else.”
Katsuki hums. “Including controlling your diet?”
“Yes,” Todoroki answers. “He didn’t want me to get sick like Touya.”
“So this Touya dude’s the doctor brother?”
“No,” Todoroki says. “Touya’s an artist. Natsuo is the doctor. Fuyumi is my only sister—she’s a teacher.”
Katsuki clicks his tongue softly. “Your family’s complicated.”
Todoroki smiles faintly. “That’s one way to put it.”
Katsuki shrugs, poking at the last bit of rice on his plate. He doesn’t want to drag the mood down or make things weird, so he offers up his own side of the story instead—nothing dramatic, nothing headline-worthy. “Mine’s pretty normal, I think. Only child. Crazy mom. Super fucking loud,” he says, snorting softly. “Then there’s my old man, who looks terrified of both of us.”
Todoroki’s lips twitch. “Sounds like fun.”
“It is,” Katsuki admits. “I guess that’s where I got my attitude from. Me and the old hag bicker all the time.”
There’s no bite to it when he says it—just familiarity, the kind that comes from knowing you’ll always come back to the same place no matter how loud things get. Todoroki watches him like he’s cataloguing the information, careful and attentive in a way that makes Katsuki oddly aware of himself.
After a moment, Todoroki speaks again, tone lighter. “So… how long are you going to spend your holiday?”
“About two weeks,” Katsuki replies easily, a year fund of day-offs he manages to collect. “First four days in Zurich with my friends. Then we’re taking the train—Paris, Amsterdam, maybe Italy if we don’t get lazy. Just… bouncing around, I guess.”
Todoroki hums, thoughtful. “That sounds fun.”
Katsuki barks out a laugh, pointing at him with his chopsticks. “God, your vocabulary is so fucking limited, Halfie.”
Todoroki blinks, then laughs—quiet at first, surprised, before it settles into something warmer. “I’m working on it.”
Katsuki grins, the tension in his shoulders loosening. Yeah. This is easy. Way easier than it should be.
They lapse into a quiet rhythm after that—forks clinking softly, shoulders close, conversation ebbing and flowing without pressure. Katsuki finds himself listening more than talking, realizing that for someone who lives inside a very different world, Todoroki talks about his life with an honesty that doesn’t feel rehearsed. And that—more than the food, more than the luxury—keeps Katsuki right where he is.
When a pair of flight attendants come by to collect their plates, Katsuki has already finished every last bite. Todoroki has too. They thank the attendants, who move efficiently, quietly—like they know better than to linger.
Once they’re alone again and the door slides shut, Katsuki barely has time to register the quiet before Todoroki’s hand finds his waist, gentle but unmistakably intentional. Katsuki stiffens and immediately puts a palm to Todoroki’s chest.
“I need to go to the bathroom first.”
Todoroki pauses, then nods. “Oh. Okay.”
Before Katsuki can breathe properly again, there’s another knock. A different flight attendant this time, smiling as she hands Katsuki a neatly folded pair of pajamas. She explains—soft voice, practiced—that they can help prepare the bed whenever they’re ready.
“That would be great,” Todoroki says, calm as ever.
He takes his own pajamas and an amenities bag when she offers them, and Katsuki does the same, suddenly very aware that this is happening. Pajamas. A bed. First class insanity.
Todoroki leads the way down the aisle toward the back, toward the area Katsuki got lost in earlier. The bathroom’s there—spacious, polished, almost identical to the one Katsuki used before. Or maybe it’s the same one. He honestly can’t tell. His heart is pounding too loud to focus on details.
What he does notice is that Todoroki doesn’t stop walking.
Which means Katsuki follows him.
Right up to the bathroom door.
Todoroki turns then, brows knitting slightly, confusion flickering across his face.
“What?” Katsuki asks, frowning.
“You can take the next bathroom, Bakugou,” Todoroki says, gesturing vaguely down the corridor. “They have multiple bathrooms here.” A beat. Then, almost too casually, “Unless you want to come with me inside?”
Fuck.
Katsuki’s brain short-circuits, heat rushing straight to his face as he realizes exactly how that must look—him just… following Todoroki like that. He clicks his tongue, annoyed at himself. “Shut up,” he mutters. “Like I’d fit in there with your long ass anyway.”
Todoroki’s lips curve, slow and knowing, and that somehow makes it worse.
“Next one’s yours,” he says.
Katsuki storms past him before he can say something even dumber, heart still racing as the bathroom door shuts behind him. He plants both hands on the sink, staring at his reflection like it might give him answers.
The truth is, he didn’t excuse himself just to cool off. He is excusing himself earlier to wash his ass.
He exhales slowly, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’s not stupid—anyone with half a brain could guess where this is heading, and if he’s going to make bad decisions with a man that hot, he’s at least going to be prepared. He definitely didn’t douche when he left for the airport this morning. Hell, he didn’t even plan on meeting Todoroki again, let alone sharing a first-class cabin halfway across the sky.
Katsuki isn’t the type to jump headfirst into things. Not usually. But this—this feels different. Too coincidental. The bank. Lunch. Running into each other again on a plane like the universe is nudging him forward and laughing while it does.
Fate’s a sick bastard.
He glances around the bathroom, taking in the pristine counters, the absurd amount of space, the little sealed bottles of water lined neatly by the sink—probably meant for rinsing after brushing teeth. Not ideal. Not what he’s used to. But workable.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
He never imagined he’d be standing in a first-class bathroom, thousands of feet in the air, mentally preparing himself for what might happen next. But embarrassment would be worse—and Bakugou Katsuki has never been one to walk into something unarmed.
Better prepared than sorry. He straightens, resolve settling in his chest. Yeah. He’s really doing this.
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡✈
It needs him a solid thirty minutes to make sure he’s completely clean.
By the time he’s done, one of the little sealed water bottles has been sacrificed to the trash bin—gone but not forgotten—and Katsuki finishes up by taking a quick shower, letting the warm water calm his nerves more than he’d like to admit. He dries his hair roughly with a towel, pulls on the pajamas, and snorts when he catches his reflection again.
They fit… fine. A little too big—clearly an XL—but he can live with that.
When he heads back, Todoroki is already inside the cabin, door still open like he’s been waiting. Katsuki slips in quickly, then blurts out the first thing on his mind.
“Where the hell’s the do not disturb sign?”
Todoroki blinks, then reaches calmly into a drawer beside the seat and hands it over. The sign is obnoxiously neat—red and white, clean lines, way too on brand with Todoroki’s ridiculous hair.
“Figures,” Katsuki mutters.
He hangs it outside without ceremony, shuts the door, and locks it. The click sounds louder than it should, final in a way that makes his pulse jump again.
The cabin feels different now. Smaller. Warmer. Especially now that Katsuki knows exactly what’s coming next.
Near the bed, a massive screen glows softly, displaying the flight animation—an elegant line stretching across the map, inching toward Europe.
Eight hours remaining before landing in Zurich.
Plenty of time.
“The clothes look cute on you,” Todoroki says, voice low, almost casual.
Katsuki snorts. “Is this how you’re gonna lure me into bed?”
He says it like a challenge, but his body betrays him anyway. He moves closer, climbs onto the bed, and settles against Todoroki without hesitation—his weight resting on Todoroki’s broader frame, heat bleeding through the thin fabric of airplane pajamas.
Todoroki’s arms come around him easily, like this is exactly where Katsuki’s meant to be. “Seems like it’s working just fine,” he replies, a faint smirk curling his lips now.
Katsuki rolls his eyes, already too close to do anything about it. He grips the front of Todoroki’s shirt instead, tilting his head up. “Oh, shut up,” he mutters, breath warm between them. “And kiss me already.”
Todoroki doesn’t hesitate.
He leans in and kisses Katsuki like he’s been waiting for permission—slow at first, deliberate, like he wants to feel every second of it. Katsuki melts into it with a quiet sound in his throat, fingers fisting tighter in Todoroki’s shirt as the kiss deepens.
Todoroki’s hand slides to Katsuki’s waist, steady and warm, thumb pressing in like he’s grounding himself. Katsuki shifts instinctively, fitting closer, the space between them disappearing entirely. The kiss turns messier, breathier—less careful, more honest.
“Christ,” Katsuki murmurs against his mouth, barely a word, more a feeling.
Todoroki hums softly in response, forehead resting against Katsuki’s when they break apart just long enough to breathe. Their noses brush. Their breaths tangle. The air feels thick, charged, like the cabin itself is holding its breath with them.
Kissing Todoroki is so good, Katsuki notices but of course this won’t stop at that and as much as they both like the warmth and coziness from all the kisses, the promise to go further is still there and very apparent.
So Todoroki’s hand moves from Katsuki’s waist, sliding down to the curve of his ass and pulling him flush. The friction is electric, even through two layers of flimsy cotton. Katsuki can feel the hard line of Todoroki’s cock pressing against his own, and he rocks his hips in a slow, deliberate grind. A sharp, hissing breath escapes Todoroki’s lips, the only sound he makes. And that stimulates a rather loud moan on Katsuki's end.
“Quiet,” Todoroki murmurs, the word a command and a plea all at once. He shifts, rolling them until Katsuki is on his back, caged in by Todoroki’s arms. The new position is overwhelming—Todoroki’s weight pinning him, his scent everywhere, his gaze dark and focused.
Katsuki just smirks, a cocksure challenge in his eyes. “Make me.”
Todoroki answers by ducking his head, not to kiss him, but to press his open mouth against the side of Katsuki’s neck. It’s a wet, hot brand. He sucks gently, a silent promise, and Katsuki has to bite his lip to keep the groan locked in his chest. His hands fly to Todoroki’s hair, tangling in the ridiculously soft strands and holding on for dear life. Todoroki’s other hand snakes between them, tugging insistently at the drawstring of Katsuki’s pajama pants. The knot comes loose with a soft pull.
Katsuki lifts his hips, an unspoken invitation, and Todoroki shoves the fabric down just enough to wrap a hand around him. The touch is sure and warm, and Katsuki arches off the bed, a silent gasp falling from his lips. Todoroki strokes him slowly, teasingly, his thumb sweeping over the head to spread the slickness already beading there. Every movement is deliberate, designed to draw out the pleasure and the frustration.
“Fucking—” Katsuki starts, but cuts himself off with a sharp inhale as Todoroki’s thumb presses just right against the sensitive slit. He squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body focused on that single point of contact.
“Shhh,” Todoroki whispers again, his lips brushing Katsuki’s ear. “Just feel it.”
He speeds up his strokes just enough to make Katsuki’s toes curl, his grip firm and perfect. The only sounds are the rustle of sheets, the frantic, shallow breaths they’re both failing to control, and the wet, slick slide of Todoroki’s hand on his cock. It’s an intimate, filthy symphony, and Katsuki is losing his mind to it. He can feel the heat coiling tight in his gut, his orgasm building fast and hard.
He’s close, so close, his thighs trembling with the effort of holding back. Todoroki seems to know, because he leans in, his voice a low, ragged whisper right against Katsuki’s ear.
“Come for me, Bakugou. Let go.”
That’s all it takes. The permission breaks him. Katsuki’s body bows, a strangled, silent cry tearing from his throat as he spills over Todoroki’s hand and his own stomach. The world whites out for a moment, a wave of pure, intense pleasure crashing over him. When he comes back to himself, Todoroki is kissing him again, deep and slow, swallowing the little pants and whimpers Katsuki can’t contain.
Katsuki goes boneless, his mind blissfully blank for a long moment. But as the fog clears, a new hunger takes its place. He pushes at Todoroki’s chest, rolling them back over until he’s straddling his hips. Todoroki looks up at him, his pupils blown, his lips swollen and red.
“My turn,” Katsuki growls, a feral grin spreading across his face. He leans down, his hands braced on Todoroki’s shoulders. “And I’m not gonna be quiet about what I’m gonna do to you.”
Katsuki doesn’t give Todoroki a chance to reply. He slides down his body, the movement predatory and sure. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Todoroki’s pajama pants and tugs them down, freeing his cock.
It’s already hard and flushed, curving up towards his stomach, and the sight sends a fresh jolt of lust through Katsuki’s veins. So fucking hot and thick, everything that excites him—this man is so fucking perfect.
He looks up, catching those beautiful eyes as he lowers his head. He keeps the eye contact as he sticks out his tongue and gives a slow, deliberate lick from the base to the tip. Todoroki’s breath hitches, his hands fisting in the sheets. That’s the reaction he was hoping for.
Katsuki takes him into his mouth then, sinking down slowly, relishing the weight on his tongue, the way Todoroki’s hips twitch. He starts with a steady rhythm, bobbing his head, his hand gripping the base to twist in time with his mouth. It’s good, it’s hot, but he wants more. He wants to wreck him.
He pulls off, a string of saliva connecting them, and grins up at Todoroki’s dazed expression. “You’re holding back,” Katsuki whispers, his voice rough. “Don’t.”
Todoroki’s gaze sharpens with understanding. He reaches out, his hand tangling in Katsuki’s hair—not pushing, just holding. Katsuki opens his mouth again in invitation, and this time, Todoroki takes control. He guides Katsuki back down, his hips lifting to meet him. He sets a harder pace, thrusting into the wet heat of Katsuki’s mouth.
And that’s when Todoroki’s free hand moves, sliding down Katsuki’s spine and into the back of his sleeping pants. His fingers trace the cleft of his ass before finding his entrance. He circles the tight ring of muscle once, twice, before pressing one slick finger inside.
Katsuki moans around the cock in his mouth, the vibration making Todoroki curse under his breath. The dual sensations are overwhelming—the thick length filling his throat, the insistent pressure of Todoroki’s finger pushing deeper, curling just right. He’s being used from both ends, and he fucking loves it.
He glances up, his vision blurring with tears of pleasure, and the sight nearly undoes him. Todoroki is watching him, his head thrown back slightly, his lips parted, his face a perfect mask of ecstasy. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his eyes dark and fixed on Katsuki’s lips stretched around him. It’s the hottest fucking thing Katsuki has ever seen.
A second finger joins the first, scissoring him open, stretching him. The burn is exquisite. Todoroki’s thrusts into his mouth become faster, more erratic, losing their careful rhythm. He’s chasing his release, using Katsuki’s throat to get there, and Katsuki is so hard it hurts. He rocks back against Todoroki’s hand, silently begging for more, for a third finger, for anything.
“Bakugou,” Todoroki gasps, his voice a broken whisper. It’s a warning.
Katsuki just hums in response, taking him as deep as he can, his nose brushing against Todoroki’s pelvis. With a choked groan, Todoroki comes, his fingers digging into Katsuki’s scalp as he spills down his throat. Katsuki swallows it all, his own cock throbbing with the need for release.
When Todoroki finally pulls out, Katsuki is panting, his lips swollen and slick. Todoroki looks utterly wrecked, his chest heaving. But his eyes are already clearing, a new, hungry focus taking over. He gently pulls his fingers from Katsuki’s body, then flips him over onto his stomach in one smooth, powerful motion.
Katsuki lands with a soft oof his face pressed into the plush pillows. He can hear the tear of a foil packet behind him, the slick sound of lube. He doesn't need to look to know what's coming.
“You were so good for me,” Todoroki murmurs, his voice a low rumble against Katsuki’s back as he settles over him. “I’m going to have a problem holding myself back.”
Katsuki wants to protest but Todoroki’s weight is a comforting, grounding pressure on his back. For a moment, he just lies there, breathing in the scent of sex and clean linen, his body thrumming with a desperate need for more. He feels Todoroki shift, and then a gentle hand is on his hip, coaxing him to roll over.
Katsuki goes easily, turning onto his back and looking up. Todoroki kneels between his legs, his expression unreadable but his eyes burning with an intensity that makes Katsuki’s breath catch. This is it. The main event.
He expects Todoroki to just take him, to flip him over and fuck him into the mattress. But instead, Todoroki leans down, bracing his forearms on either side of Katsuki’s head. He lowers himself until their chests are touching, until Katsuki can feel the frantic beat of his heart against his own. He hooks a hand under Katsuki’s knee, guiding it up around his waist.
Then he pushes inside.
The slow, deliberate stretch steals the air from Katsuki’s lungs. It’s a lot, but it’s perfect. He’s so full, so completely claimed. Todoroki doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt, his forehead resting against Katsuki’s, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. It’s so intimate. So much more than just fucking.
“Move,” Katsuki whimpers, the word barely a puff of air. “Please, Todoroki, move.”
Todoroki’s response is a low groan as he pulls back and slams forward. The pace he sets is brutal, hard and deep, exactly what Katsuki craves. The headboard doesn't so much as rattle against the cabin wall, a testament to the plane's engineering. Each powerful thrust punches a sharp gasp from Katsuki’s lungs, his body rocking with the force of it.
And the best part? He can see everything.
He can see the way Todoroki’s jaw clenches—the strain in his neck as he fights to keep his movements controlled, to keep the noise down. He can see the sweat beading on his temples, the way his brows knit together in a mixture of pleasure and fierce concentration. He’s holding back, Katsuki realizes with a jolt of pure, unadulterated lust. He’s holding back because they’re on a fucking plane, and the thought is so thrilling, so unbelievably hot, it makes Katsuki’s head spin.
“Ahh—God, look at nnh—you,” Katsuki pants, his hands scrambling for purchase on Todoroki’s shoulders, his nails digging in. “Trying—ahh—so hard to be—nngh quiet. Let go, Shouto. I can take it.”
That’s all it takes. Todoroki’s control snaps. He surges forward, capturing Katsuki’s lips in a searing, desperate kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue, a messy, frantic clash as he pounds into Katsuki, the rhythm turning sharp and almost punishing. Katsuki meets him thrust for thrust, his leg locked tighter around Todoroki’s waist, pulling him in deeper.
The kiss is the anchor. The hard, pounding pleasure in his ass and the soft, desperate slide of their tongues together—it’s a perfect, devastating combination. This isn’t just sex. It’s more. It’s everything. Katsuki feels a strange, overwhelming emotion bubble up in his chest, something tender and terrifying all at once. He likes it. No, he loves it. He loves that their first time is like this—intense and raw and so intimately connected.
Todoroki breaks the kiss, his face buried in Katsuki’s neck, his harsh, ragged breaths the only sound in the quiet cabin. “Katsuki,” he grits out, his voice strained. “I’m—”
“Do it,” Katsuki gasps, his own orgasm coiling tight in his gut. “Come for me.”
With one last, powerful thrust, Todoroki shudders and stills, a low, guttural moan torn from his throat as he finds his release. The feeling of Todoroki pulsing inside him is what sends Katsuki over the edge. He comes with a silent cry, his body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over him, leaving him trembling and boneless.
For a long moment, the only sound is their breathing, slowly returning to normal. Todoroki doesn’t move, just stays buried inside him, his head still resting on Katsuki’s chest. Katsuki’s hand comes up to card through his sweat-damp hair, his own mind blissfully quiet.
A soft ding echoes through the cabin, followed by the captain’s calm voice over the system—something about shifting weather patterns, possible turbulence ahead, a request for passengers to remain seated.
Katsuki barely registers it.
Not when the cabin still smells like skin and heat. Not when his body feels loose and warm and thoroughly ruined in the best way possible. Not when Todoroki’s still there—close, solid, unapologetically real—like this wasn’t just something reckless that happened thirty thousand feet in the air.
If the plane shakes, then it shakes.
Katsuki exhales, lips quirking into a tired, satisfied grin as he leans back against the sheets. Yeah. Let the turbulence come. That’s not going to stop him, and Katsuki knows Todoroki won’t mind another round.
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡✈
They end up doing it for three rounds.
Katsuki’s sprawled half on top of Todoroki, limbs loose, body pleasantly heavy, like gravity finally remembered him. Their legs tangle without thinking, skin still warm where they touch, and Todoroki’s hand keeps tracing slow, absentminded lines along Katsuki’s back as if he’s afraid to stop.
“Are you tired?” Todoroki asks, voice low and gentle, like he’s asking something fragile.
Katsuki lets out a short laugh, burying his face briefly against Todoroki’s shoulder. “Don’t underestimate me, Halfie.”
That earns him a quiet huff of amusement, the sound vibrating right through Katsuki’s chest. Todoroki tilts his head just enough to press a kiss into Katsuki’s hair, unhurried, unguarded. Katsuki freezes for half a second—then pretends he didn’t feel his heart trip over itself.
They lapse into a comfortable silence after that, broken only by the hum of the plane and the occasional brush of lips—quick, lazy kisses stolen like secrets. Nothing urgent now. Nothing demanding. Just warmth, shared breath, and the strange sense that neither of them is in a hurry to be anywhere else.
Katsuki shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look at Todoroki properly.
It’s… unfair, honestly.
The man looks unreal like this—hair messy, lashes low, expression soft in a way Katsuki’s pretty sure most people never get to see. Even now, Todoroki’s careful, reaching for a blanket, making sure Katsuki’s comfortable, handing him water without being asked. Like aftercare is just another thing he’s effortlessly good at.
Katsuki clicks his tongue quietly. “You’re annoyingly competent, you know that?”
Todoroki hums, amused. “Is that a complaint?”
“…No,” Katsuki admits, after a beat. “Just an observation.”
He settles back down, letting Todoroki pull him closer without a fight. He’s not some spoiled princess—never has been—but right now, wrapped up in clean sheets and quiet attention, he kind of feels like one. And that realization makes him scoff softly at himself.
Still.
He doesn’t pull away.
Instead, Katsuki steals one more kiss—slow, lingering, almost shy—and rests his forehead against Todoroki’s.
That’s when the screen catches his eye. Five hours before landing.
The number sits there, glowing calmly, indifferent to the way Katsuki’s chest tightens. Five hours means sleep. Means changing back into their clothes back. Means doors opening, passengers filing out, people returning to their lives like nothing happened. It means Zurich, luggage carousels, his friends yelling his name, and Todoroki—somewhere else entirely. Not even the same seat. Not even the same class.
They didn’t board together. They won’t leave together.
And then what?
The thought lands heavier than it should. Katsuki exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tightening as he stares at the screen as if that’s the main problem and it owes him a solution to his stupid fuck-up feelings inside. He’s had one-night stands before. He knows the drill. Say thanks, pretend it was casual, leave before things get weird.
So why does his stomach feel like it’s dropping?
Apparently, it also shows on his face.
Two hands come up, warm and firm, cupping his cheeks and pulling his attention back down where it belongs. Todoroki’s eyes search his, calm but sharp, like he already knows something’s wrong.
“What’s with the long face?” he asks quietly. “That’s so uncharacteristic of you.”
Katsuki scoffs, turning his head just enough to break the hold. “Tch. Don’t read into shit.”
Todoroki doesn’t let go, just shifts closer, thumbs brushing along Katsuki’s jaw in a way that makes it very hard to stay defensive. “I’m not. I’m asking.”
“I’m fine,” Katsuki snaps, a little too fast. He reaches for the blanket, tugging it higher, anything to give his hands something to do. “You worry too much.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Katsuki doesn’t look at him. “Didn’t say it was.”
Silence settles between them, heavier now, but Todoroki doesn’t push—not right away. He watches Katsuki for a moment, then speaks again, voice softer, more careful.
“I’ll only be in Zurich for a day,” he says. “I have to fly back to Japan the next evening.”
The words hit before Katsuki can brace for them. “Oh,” he mutters, staring at nothing. His chest sinks, slow and deep, like someone pulled the plug on something warm inside him. “Okay.”
Todoroki studies him, expression unreadable for a beat. Then he shifts closer again, knees brushing, presence solid and grounding. “So,” he continues, “let’s meet in Japan.”
Katsuki finally looks at him, brows knitting. “Hah?”
“After your two-week holiday,” Todoroki says evenly, like this is the most natural conclusion in the world. “When you’re back.”
Katsuki lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “What is this,” he says, voice lighter than he feels. “A date?”
Todoroki’s mouth curves, small but sure. “Yes. A date.”
Something in Katsuki’s chest loosens then—just a little. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips now, real and helpless. “Smooth motherfucker,” he mutters.
Todoroki leans in, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “You don’t seem like you hate the idea.”
Katsuki snorts, settling back against him. “…Shut up.”
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡✈
Katsuki goes back to his seat two hours before landing, sore in places he absolutely refuses to think about, hoodie pulled low and AirPods back in like nothing happened. The cabin lights are dimmed now, most people half-asleep, but Deku notices immediately—of course he does. And now Denki even switches seats with Sero, two nosy motherfuckers next to him.
“Kacchan,” Deku whispers far too loudly, leaning across Denki. “Who did you visit in the first class?”
Katsuki clicks his tongue. “Mind your damn business.”
Denki perks up anyway. “First class?” he stage-whispers. “Who do you know up there? Was it, like, a celebrity? A politician? A secret sponsor—”
“I said drop it,” Katsuki snaps, jamming an elbow into Denki’s ribs. He doesn’t explain. Doesn’t clarify. When Deku opens his mouth again, clearly about to ask a flight attendant, Katsuki shoots him a glare sharp enough to end the conversation on the spot.
“Someone I know,” he says, final. And it’s not a lie.
Not after ten strange, intense hours. Not after quiet conversations and shared food and stolen looks. Not after Todoroki presses a folded piece of paper into his palm before he leaves, fingers lingering just long enough to mean something.
A phone number. Written neatly. Intentionally.
Katsuki doesn’t look at it until he’s buckled in, heart doing something annoyingly fast when he confirms it’s real. He shoves the note safely into his pocket like it might disappear if he doesn’t.
When the plane finally lands, Zurich bright and cold beyond the windows, Katsuki stands with the rest of economy, stretching and grabbing his bag. He looks around without meaning to—searching white-red hair, calm eyes, that stupidly composed posture.
Nothing.
Figures. Someone like Todoroki probably has a private exit, some VIP corridor Katsuki will never see. He exhales through his nose, annoyed at himself for even looking.
Whatever.
He shoulders his bag and follows his friends toward immigration, Denki already complaining, Eijirou hyping up train rides, Deku rambling about itineraries to Sero. Katsuki tunes them out, fingers brushing the edge of the note in his pocket.
Two weeks.
Two weeks, and there’s a date waiting for him in Japan.
For now, he’ll survive Europe with his idiot friends.
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡✈
Epilogue
Katsuki knows the Todorokis are rich. He’s known that. Three months of dating, multiple dinners, casual mentions of properties and chauffeurs and things Katsuki pretends not to hear.
Still.
Nothing could’ve prepared him for this.
He stands at the front gate of Todoroki’s family home, staring up at a structure that looks less like a house and more like something that should require guided tours and an entry fee. The grounds alone could fit his entire apartment building twice over. Maybe three times. There are trees that look older than Katsuki’s lineage.
“What the fuck,” he mutters, craning his neck.
“You said that last time,” Shouto says mildly, already unlocking the gate.
“And I’ll say it again,” Katsuki snaps, dragging his bag inside. “This is not a house, Shou. This is a villain lair.”
Inside is worse. High ceilings, long corridors, the kind of quiet that feels expensive. Katsuki’s shoes sound too loud on the floor, like they don’t belong. He doesn’t, either—he’s acutely aware of it—but Shouto just takes his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Then Touya appears.
And absolutely shatters every expectation Katsuki’s ever had.
This is the brother Shouto speaks about carefully, the one he clearly cherishes. Katsuki had imagined someone fragile. Quiet. Reserved. Instead, Touya grins like a menace, immediately leaning into Katsuki’s space.
“So this is him,” Touya says, eyes bright with mischief. “Damn, Shouto. You really went for it.”
Katsuki bristles. “You got a fucking problem?”
Touya laughs—loud, sharp, unapologetic. “Oh, I like him already.”
Great. A lunatic.
Dinner is… tense. Not explosive, just awkward in that heavy way. Natsuo barely looks at Enji, the air between them sharp with things unsaid. Rei smiles politely but seems distant, like she’s half somewhere else. Fuyumi tries to keep things light, bless her, but there’s only so much you can do when a family carries this much history in the room.
Katsuki survives it by clinging to Shouto’s presence at his side—steady, grounding. By exchanging looks with Touya across the table when the teasing gets too much. By reminding himself that no family is perfect. Hell, his own is loud although functional most of the time.
Later, alone in Shouto’s room—another ridiculous space that could pass for a luxury hotel—Katsuki exhales hard and flops onto the bed.
“Your family’s… something,” he says.
Shouto hums, lying down beside him. “You don’t hate them?”
Katsuki snorts. “Nah. Actually, I kinda like it here.”
That earns a quiet smile.
Katsuki turns his head, studying Todoroki in the dim light—still unreal, still too good, still somehow choosing him every day. Rich as hell, emotionally complicated, bad at jokes, stupidly earnest.
Yeah.
He can deal with this.
𓍯𓂃fin𓏧♡✈