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A soft periwinkle shade greets Eijirou as he opens his eyes. The sun has yet to fully crawl over the horizon and show itself in the bright day. Instead, through the gauzy summer curtains, Eijirou catches a glimpse of a fading, waning moon. He rubs the crust from his eyes with a soft grunt. The sound of his alarm bleeds into his still waking ears. The soft dinging sound is less abrasive than the vibration of his phone. It dances across his nightstand with programmed urgency. Eijirou reaches from beneath his duvet to shut it off. He grunts, eyes fluttering close to enjoy the breeze coming through the window. It won’t last very long. He can already feel the first tendrils of sticky heat tacked on to the streams of crisp morning air.
It’s a horrid vice of his to laze in the morning when fatigue still sticks to his sides. Eijirou sighs, slowly opening his eyes to his plain white ceiling. There is one light fixture above him. The glass is beveled and frosted with a brassy knob. When he does use the large light, which is rare enough as is, the room is cast in a warm light that is still a tad too harsh for Eijirou, but not so bad as to give him a headache. He thinks maybe turning on the larger light might help him shed some of the sleepiness chaining him to his pile of pillows. Eijirou chides himself all the more for even thinking of other things to help him get up instead of just completing the action.
First, his feet land on the soft bedside rug. The high pile is a comfort he finds every morning between the frosty blue sky and the trudge to the bathroom to get ready. Eijirou wiggles his toes with a chuckle to himself. It feels almost girly. This sort of comfort was not something he indulged in before Katsuki. He rubs his torso with a yawn and a final goodbye to his bed.
The bathroom mirror reflects none of the fatigue he feels, for which Ei is grateful. He says a silent prayer that he doesn’t start greying any time soon. His father started fairly early and while the silver fox thing works for his father and on his mother, the thought of greying sends a shiver down his back. Beyond his admittedly vain thoughts about his own appearance, he would look similar to Tetsu. He envisions his friend’s frosty grey lashes and gunmetal hair placed over his own features. Sure enough, they would be twins. Eijirou idly wonders if there’s one of those fusion aps he can download to actually see what it would look like. Maybe they could give him a peek into his future. How will his skin look? Would he still have all of his hair?
Ejirou’s constant stream of thoughts walks him all the way through his morning routine. He manages to get a couple push ups and squats in before hitting the shower. The chill of the water causes gooseflesh across his skin, ultimately bringing him to a brightened, full consciousness. He hums along to whatever sugary pop song rolls around his head. He doesn’t know a real lyric but he can always ask Denki. The man knows music almost as well as Mina. A memory from their college days wriggles between the half baked lyrics Eijirou makes up as he steps out and begins to blow dry his hair.
There they are at some dinky little bar in the backstreets of Shinjuku. Mina was three sheets to the wind with enough courage to finally tell Sero that she wanted to be in a committed relationship. Kirishima cheered her on all evening from his spot next to Katsuki who was determined to drink until he ‘stopped giving a fuck about that dumb nerd.’ Eijirou had been sandwiched between multiple rocks and hard places as a friend. He felt the ice in his glass clink around as he swirled whatever concoction Denki handed to him earlier. He took the last of it in one gulp to sooth the tightening that began every time he looked over at Mina and Sero. He was happy for them! The dryness in the back of his throat was just a sign to get another drink. He sat for a while, looking at the sticky table they called home base for the evening. Dance music blared through the speakers with just enough voracity that Eijirou could let it push through his thoughts. He let his eyes rise again to see Mina and Sero dancing closely with one another. His hand full of shining rings rested on her exposed stomach. Eijirou could see the press of his fingertips—the dimpling of skin where Sero pressed in. It felt like watching a warm hearth while he sat outside in the snow.
Unconsciously, he went for another sip of a drink he had finished before that chill settled in his bones.
“Ain’t nothing in there, Red.”
Katsuki’s slurred voice dared to cut through the music. Suddenly, all of him was there. Thick, shaggy blonde hair, covered low red eyes. His usual grimace was replaced by an almost playful expression. He rolled his own empty glass back and forth between his hands on the table.
Kirishima nodded, eyes focused on their empty glasses. He felt the weight of his own drunkenness slowly creeping into bones. His tongue fell to the bottom of his mouth as he swallowed.
“Yeah, man. You want a refill? I got an open tab.”
Ei gestured at the cup being warmed by Katsuki’s hands. He wasn’t sure if he’d been heard until Katsuki sighed and handed over the glass.
“Lemme get another rum and coke. Dark rum, though.”
Kirishima is pulled from the depths of memory when he hears Katsuki walk into their apartment. He walks softly across the floor, his shoes already stored in the hallway closet. As Eijirou readies himself for the day, he knows his roommate is readying himself for a day of rest. It’s been like that for the past couple of months. Their flipped schedules have led to many passing grunts and plans made through text messages.
The smell of tea perfumes the kitchen air. The earthy scent wraps around Eijirou. It is another piece of their home together. He knows Katsuki is in for the day when he brews something strong like this. Katsuki stands in front of the kettle, shoulders back despite the air of tiredness surrounding him. His bright eyes glow in contrast to his darkened eye bags. It's the first time in about a week that Katsuki has actually been in the common spaces long enough for Kirishima to see him.
“Hey man! Welcome home. Long hours in the lab?”
Eijrou comes to his roommate’s side, pulling down two cups. He knows there will be enough for him.
Katsuki shakes his head with a grunt. He scratches the side of his neck with a sigh. The air of tiredness expands outwardly. As it does, it defuses. His high shoulders come down. Katsuki runs a hand through his wild blonde hair. Eijirou can tell he’s been doing that for hours. Strands have clumped together to stand the waves of his brushing and tugging. The crossbody bag sitting in the chair seems to look to Kirishima to advise exactly how much work his dear friend has been dealing with. Something about it looks heavy despite its neat appearance. All zippers to one side. Flat and stable on its back. It’s eerie in a way that doesn’t feel quite like Katsuki’s usual organization.
The tea kettle rings out. Steam billows from the little hole like an engine. Katsuki watches for a moment. The shrill sound that would have typically annoyed him was a brief reprieve from his racing thoughts. He can feel the weight of his phone in his pocket. It’s a brick, only a couple of inches long. A touch screen supercomputer that, were his grandmother alive, she would have called it exactly that…a brick. It pulls at his entire being, though. Katsuki can see the message that came through last night. He reads it over and over in his mind's eye, trying to figure out how he should respond to it. He doesn’t even have to if he doesn’t want to. But he does. His fingers itch to send something.
Eijirou reaches past him to pull the kettle from the fire. He set it on the trivet, a small smile on his face. There always seems to be one. Katsuki lets his eyes linger on his roommate for a little too long. He’s been doing that more recently. Looking at Eijirou. Noticing his habits. He gets up earlier than usual. Rather, he’s in their living space earlier than before. He doesn’t have to be up this early in the morning. Katsuki distinctly remembers a conversation they had when Ei got his promotion to Lead Foreman.
“Bro! Bro! Oh my fucking gosh! Katsuki! I got the promotion! No more ass crack of dawn days! I can be regular–oh we should go out to like a bar or something! I can just get up at seven! I can sleep off a couple of drinks now!”
Katsuki could still feel the jostling in his bones from that moment. Ei has wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug. They’d been so close he could feel the other man’s purring. It reverberated through them both for the better half of two solid minutes before Ei started running around their kitchen table like a lunatic.
Katsuki rubs his chest absentmindedly, eyes peering off into the past. A subtle warmth fills his limbs. He takes the mug of prepared tea with a grumble of thanks. Just as he goes to walk toward their katsu table, he notices the collar of Ei’s shirt. It is a side glance at best, but the sparkling white of the material catches his eye.
“Hey, where's the other one?”
Eijirou laughs, all of his sharp teeth showing.
“I was wondering when you were gonna ask! Wasn’t even sure you’d noticed considering how tired you’ve been By the way–”
Katsuki raises his hand with a quiet growl.
“Just answer the question. I have to collect data on that thing and it has to be done soon.”
“As I was saying,” Eijirou continues, “You need to take some time to get rest. I get the whole ‘changing the world through textiles’ thing you've got going on, but it must be said that I can literally smell the tiredness coming off you, Katsuki. As for your shirt, I hung it in the hall closet in the bag like you requested.”
The raging blush comes so fast that Katsuki doesn’t have time to think. A hand flies to one of the scent blockers on his neck. It is extra warm from the tea mug he holds in the other. The heat sinks in over his scent blockers and right down into the gland. Even more embarrassing than his blush, a sigh of contentment escaped him. If he’d been foolish enough….desperate enough, he might have likened it to the feel of an Alpha’s caress.
The message plays across his mind again. The warmth sinks into a cold point in the pit of his stomach. Katsuki makes his way to the table, setting both the tea and his head on the surface. He can hear his mother’s cackling laughter when he pictures himself there. She would tell him to stop sulking and do something about it. Then, she would reprimand him for ‘taking things too far’ if he did decide to put something into action. Paralysis is a disgusting weight on his shoulders, breathing heavily on his neck.
“You good, man?”
Eijirou’s concern is a soothing balm and salt in a wound only Katsuki can see.
“Thanks for, uh, putting the shirt up. I’ll clean up in a little.”
Eijirou quickly scans their kitchen and living space. There’s nothing to clean except maybe the baseboards. A weight keeps him from saying much else. His stomach twists with a foreign guilt as he watches his roommate exist in what he can only think of as some torturous limbo. Time ticks on for a beat of silence before Ei’s phone chimes again. Their brief morning is left with tension as he walks out the door.
Restlessness is even worse than paralysis. Katsuki hears the front door shut behind Eijirou. He waits a beat before letting out a litany of cusses. He stands from the table where his tea remains virtually untouched. Steam still falls over the side of the mug. He walks to the hallway closet to retrieve his project. He pulls open the doors with shaking hands and a growl. The sides of his neck throb in tandem with the suddenly erratic beating of his heart. The constant flipping of his stomach is sending him off the deep end. This hot and cold bullshit makes him want to tear his hair out. Katsuki glares at the second white shirt through the bag. It was placed with care. It sits on the unoccupied side of the closet, as he requested of Eijirou a couple of days prior. Katsuki squints harder, a feral sort of anger taking over. He holds himself together through deep breaths, eyes never leaving the shirt.
He pulls it down when he feels he won’t destroy the last seven months of hard work. He holds the weight of the ocean in his hands. An itch he just cannot allow himself to scratch advises he tear the thing to shreds. A thick yawn opens his mouth as soon as the thought tries to take root, and he remembers how close he is to the finish line. A couple more months and maybe a few dozen more pages, his doctorate will be complete. He will be presenting to an industry of ‘progressives’ what actual fucking progess looks like. Katsuki holds up what anyone would consider to be just a t-shirt. A good one, albeit regular. A maniacal cackle breaks past his veneer of ambiguous irritation. Yes, he has the key to the kingdom of ‘smart’ clothing.
The shirt lays over his desk as he looks over the material for any snags or stains. Nothing. It’s perfect, just as Katsuki had intended. His laptop is his only companion for hours. His phone lay forgotten on the table with a now cold cup of tea. Katsuki records everything about his self-mending material. The micro stitches mend back into the original weave nearly seamlessly. To the naked eye, the shirt look as if Eijirou hadn’t put it through the fucking ringer. He did. Upon Katsuki’s fervent request.
The morning slips away into the afternoon before Katsuki notices. His back aches from leaning over his notebooks and tablet, sketching out new ideas. The things he could do! The people who need shit like this! He’s a goddamn genius. The irritation that launched him into working finds a new home far from him. In doing so, it leaves room for guilt. When his eyes begin to blur, that whimpering beast inside he calls an omega rears its head. It laps at the reminder Ei left him with this morning about getting rest.
Katsuki rolls his eyes at no one… the air, maybe. He doesn't need the reminder that he was a moody ass earlier. Nor does he appreciate his own body reacting in punitive rebellion over it. His phone exists somewhere beyond his mind at the moment. It would be easy to text Eijirou an explanation for his attitude. It had nothing to do with him or the way he insisted that Katsuki get rest. No, it wasn’t the way he poured their tea or the fact that he was up early enough to engage in some morning conversation, even if that fell flat. It was not that in all their years of living with one another, Katsuki never felt like he had to worry about…anything, really. He was just pent up about that stupid fucking text from Izuku.
‘Mr.Brightside,’ texted him at 8:34pm on a fucking Wednesday. Katsuki hadn’t expected him to reach out on anything that wasn’t a holiday. Birthday. Christmas. New Year. It’s how they’d kept it since Izuku left for the States. Did it suck in the beginning? Sure, but Katsuki wasn’t going to sit around and mope about an ex-boyfriend. In truth, he lauded Izuku’s ambition. In another truth, Katsuki hated that Izuku could only find what he needed abroad. They were both smart enough to cut it at the root before the miserable goodbye. The only part of Katsuki that followed Izuku overseas was the teddy bear he’d won the alpha in their freshman year of college. By the time he left, the thing was matted and ratty.
Surprisingly, that shitty little bear was what popped on his screen before the most fucked up words followed: To be loved is to be changed. I have missed you, Kacchan. I’ll be home in a couple of weeks. Let’s catch up.
Katsuki aged at least a decade when he saw that. He could not fathom what the hell there was to catch up on. They’d made their choices. No mating until after graduate school. Suddenly graduate school for one of them was in America. No mating at all. No relationship. Perfect strangers in a group of friends and colleagues.
He’d already made it through the bitter stages. Katsuki had been quite lenient on himself during that phase. So had Eijirou. His roommate had all but picked him up, kicking and screaming at the world, and set him down in front of his future.
I know it sucks, man. I get it; I really do. But you can’t keep fucking yourself up like his. You can’t fucking–be mean to people who care about you because your thing with Izu went off the rails.
You are Bakugo mother fucking Katsuki and I know you’re smarter than this.
Real shit man. Watch your fucking mouth. It’s writing some checks, Dude.
His omega whines louder in his mind. It mixes with the sound of Eijirou’s voice through the years. Katsuki hears it in every which way his brain can reproduce. Soft. Loud. Angry. Sad. Happy. Irritated. Worried.
He hears this morning
again.
“Okay! Fuck me, I guess!”
He stands from his desk with a huff. He said he was going to clean up anyway.
The walk home is filled with blasts of summer sun. The heat remains constant while the rays shimmer and shine as they slowly ready themselves to disappear for the evening. Ei feels each one as it hits his back. Thick, soupy air clings to the insides of his lungs with every breath. Eijirou exhales extra hard to pull the weight out, but there's really no use.
He is better off than most in Katsuk’s prototype. The material is sweat-wicking and lets the slight evening breeze through like a window. The shirt is untucked now, the ends swaying with his gait. Eijirou finds his mind wandering back to the morning. He hopes that the tea and rest have settled Katsiki enough for them to actually have a conversation when he gets in. Maybe he was too pushy about the rest? His roommate is a grown ass man. An ambitious one. Hair like gold and eyes like lava, Katsuki is stupidly pretty for sure. More importantly, he’s a goddamn genius. Ejirou hums as a full picture of Katsuki forms in his mind's eye.
The years color in all that he’s learned about the omega, including the fact that he’s an omega. Katsuki started out as all people do, a stranger. An abstract concept of a person until Mina was able to drag him to a night out. He’d always been so serious about his work, grumbling at the table and writing on napkins about formulas and things Eijirou would have never understood until Katsuki explained it to him.
Their outings became more frequent. Coffee shops. Bars. Shopping. Cons. Anything and everything between classes and labs. All of them! They really created a special sort of family unit. Eijirou thought so, anyway. He smiles fondly at the memories as he punches in the key code to their home. The sun lingers just a bit longer in the sky. Now it is joined by streaks of oncoming night—purples and blues crowd the pinks and oranges of the decaying day. The air is still thick but the heat dissipates just enough to experience some relief.
Eijirou steps into a quiet apartment. The living room light is on. He listens for any sounds of life. The scent of stale tea sits in the air. He walks deeper into their home, setting his keys to the factory into the key bowl. Stopping by the kitchen, he washes his hands. Eijirou doesn’t see Katsuki’s cup in the sink beside his own from the morning. His remains there, untouched save for the water he filled it with before departing. Was he that upset? Had Katsuki been so chapped by Eijirou’s worry that he refused to wash the freaking cup? Eijirou lowers his brow with an indignant huff. It’s fine. He is also a grown ass man. It’s just a cup. He scrubs quickly, running the sponge inside and out. With a rinse, the task is done. He sets it on the drying rack with a sigh.
Eijirou listens to the sound of his own heartbeat in the silence. He lets his eyes slip shut, hands clinging to the side of the sink. Moments pass. How many? He’s not exactly sure. He listens and waits. The muscles along his shoulders twitch. The blood running through him is impossibly loud. A familiar ache in his jaw runs into his gums and over his teeth—a throbbing that marches in tandem with the beat of his heart. Slowly he opens his eyes to see that exactly nothing has changed. The kitchen is still the kitchen. The low lights are still on in the living space. He still has not heard Katsuki move in the house.
An itch in his palm takes his attention for which he is grateful. Obsessing over his roommate's whereabouts isn’t healthy. It's not like they are partnered or anything. He can’t allow himself to do that silly ‘pack mentality’ thing. His alpha vehemently disagrees. It has been doing so for much longer than Eijirou would prefer to admit to even himself. Maybe he was letting it show this morning? It’s possible, he thinks. Perhaps he was doing that domineering thing—pushing into Katsuki’s ‘autonomic space’ as he’d put it. Just thinking of it sent a shiver down Ei’s spine. He isn’t that kind of alpha. He doesn’t need or want those fucked up biological tricks to convince people of things.
The quiet is too loud. Too poignant. Eijirou fishes his phone from his pocket with every intention of calling Katsuki and apologizing. He’s not quite sure what for both a gnawing guilt in his gut overwhelms him. Katsuki probably won’t answer, too stuck in his research but he can at least leave a message. The phone rings for a beat and then another. Eijirou rolls his eyes as he walks into the living room. He knew this was coming. It’s not unlike Katsuki to leave his phone on DND when he’s working. The voicemail comes on, a brief and surprising cordial notification from his roommate to leave a message.
“Hey man I–,” Ei’s voice tapers off when he sees Katsiki’s phone on the katsu table beside his cup from this morning.
He pulls the phone from his face, ending the call.
“What the hell?”
A sharpness touches Eijirou’s chest. He licks his lips, eyes scanning the room. Nothing looks like its missing. He backtracks into the kitchen and entryway. Katuki’s coat is still there. What the hell is going on? As silly as it feels, he sniffs for another scent. Something or someone he’s never smelled before. Nothing. All he can pick up on is himself and Katsuki’s regular honey-caramel scent. The sharpness gains a barb, pushing deeper into his chest.
“Katsuki!”
Eijirou’s voice comes out ragged with worry. He is quick to push into the sanctum of Katsuki’s bedroom. He steps into the room to be overrun with the complex sweetness of his roommate’s scent. It is like swimming in a warm ocean of honey candies. He can’t help but take in the scent, breathing deeply. Eijirou shakes off the comfort he finds himself falling into. The purr growing at the back of his throat is followed by shameful bile. There is no sign of Katsiki in there other than the other experimental shirt splayed over his work desk. He’d been working on the data collection. He did say he was going to do that.
A shuffling sound catches Eijirou’s attention. The panic cresting over his head pulls back. He hadn’t even realized his vision was crowded with unshed tears. Eijiriou lets out a shaky breath, closing Katsuki’s door. The shuffling comes again, accompanied with what sounds like a grunt. What the actual fuck is going on? Worry gives way to confusion. His heart beats just as hard, entering his own space. Eijirou scans his space looking for anything out of place. Nothing. Nothing broken or moved. He turns in circles, wondering if he’s so chronically untouched that his alpha is playing tricks on him. He clutches the sides of his head until he hears another sound. A whimper. It's small and wrapped beneath something–muffled. It's coming from his…closet?
Katsuki would lament the shame of his actions if he weren’t the sole participant. If he hadn’t walked into Eijirou’s room, gone into his roommate’s closet, and sat in a pile of clothing. The minute expression of guilt that tried to drag him away from what he knew would become a scene to explain, fizzled away as soon as he walked into Ei’s room. The warm combination of bergamot and orange blossom wrapped around his frazzled nerves so wholly. He was more a victim..forced into compliance by his omega’s whining and need for s omething . The ache that had begun when he rose from his desk to clean rocked him. The world tilted on its side, nearly sending him careening. His heart beat against his rib cage so hard it felt like it might pop straight out of his chest. Katsuki stumbled. His feet barely managed.
Sheer will carried him into the living space. Burning skin and shaky limbs could only mean one thing. He was fucking dying or going into heat. He was certainly more comfortable with the former. There was no reason for him to even be going into heat. He was unmated, unattached. His stupid fucking body was mixing things up. The sweater he wore began to choke him. The wool itched at his skin like mites crawling into his flesh. He couldn't stand the feel of his skin, his hair. The sound of his breathing grated against his ears. Katsuki let out a growl. The aircon was too loud. The humming of the lights made him hold his head between his knees. He sat curled as a ball of frayed nerves. Breathing manually, he tried…fucking tried to get a handle on it. The shrill sound of a text notification was all but a lance straight through his brain.
“Fuck you! NO!”
The yell he released was thickened by tears of frustration. He trembled in his own grasp, gasping for breath.
Eijirou. He should have apologized to him before dying, Katsuki thought. If death by false heat was a fucking thing, he would be the person to die from it. Exceptional in all ways. Katsuki chuckled drily at his morose cockiness. He opened his eyes to see the shining knob of Eijirou’s door. A siren song in an object. His omega, just as willful as him, forced Katsuki to his feet. One in front of the other, trembling step by trembling step he walked. The door opened with no force. The space welcomed him. He nearly toppled over when the weight of Eijirou’s scent descended. A keening whine worked up his throat and out of his mouth. One and then another. His chest was set aflame.
The closet breached his line of sight. The moment he saw it, the inevitable began. He’d already come into his roommate's space. With each moment he spent in Eijirou’s space the more his omega howled. Katsuki’s consciousness splintered. He could all but hear it begging to nest in human language. It tried to reason with his rebellion, crying out for Eijirou’s nurturing hand. Katsuki grimaced at the plea. It was…weak of him. The inky neediness in him was the stain on his being. Omega didn’t mean weak. This behaviour was. It was creepy as shit wanting to fucking nest in Ei’s space. They weren’t like that despite his omega’s reaction to being here.
“I can’t be fucking serious right now. This–fuck…”
Katsuki rubbed a hand through his hair. It was going to happen. He was going to freak out his fucking friend by nesting in his goddamn closet.
Just like Ei’s bedroom door, his closet door opened with ease. The little bits of evening light filtered into the room and thus lit the closet just enough for Katsuki to make out shapes of clothing . Sweaters. Shirts. Slacks. The shapes and garments didn't really matter to his omega. Katsuki reached out to the nearest piece of fabric, bringing it to his nose. His gut tightened, muscles rippling. The cramping would start soon. The sniff morphed into a rub. He pressed his face into the sleeve with a groan. His eyes wet with tears that he sniffled back.
“Ei…,” he croaked to the darkness.
The sight of Katsuki pressed into a pile of clothing strewn about made Eijirou learn two things about himself. One, he and his Alpha were of one mind and body. They both sighed in relief when seeing Katsui safe and sound. He repressed the urge to bend down and do a full body check. Why would his roommate be nesting in his closet if not for one reason? He is theirs. Two, thinking of Katsuki as his came so naturally it knocked the air from his lungs.
Eijirou looked down, blinking owlishly. The things he learned were still processing when Katsuki looked up at him. Those ruby shaded eyes were low and glassy. He looked drunk if not high. His skin appeared flushed with heat. His posture was slumped and soft. There was a laziness to his usually angular self that pulled Kirishima to the floor of his closet with Katsuki. That urge to touch and check found itself at the forefront of Eijirou’s mind again. This time he allowed it the space to take form. He leans into instinct, a soft purr rumbling in his chest.
“Wanna talk about it?”
He pulls a shirt from around Katsuki’s bush of mussed hair.
“Hmm,” Katsuki blinks slowly at him, “I’m sorry…didn’t mean to.. I mean this is..”
He shrugs, eyes lowering, “I couldn’t stop it if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You know that’s not what I’m asking, Katsuki.”
There's a brief pause. A moment of contemplation for them both. Eijirou never lets his gaze drop from Katsuki’s face. He looks over it tracing from Katsuki’s brow, to his nose and lips, to his jaw, and back again. Eijirou wonders when this speckle of uncertain intimacy formed between them. The bars in undergrad? Year three of living together? When had they started to linger in one another’s scents like this?
“This is so fucking weird…right?”
Katsuki raises his face. He anticipates a pitying gleam; one that reminds him and his omega that getting attached, especially when it’s not mutual is a bad fucking idea. It's not there. Resounding joy or gooey love isn’t there either. For that, he silently thanks his lucky stars. Instead, Eijirou looks like he’s making a decision.
He chuckles in a way that shows the sharp teeth that make Katsuki warm.
“Nah man, it's not weird. It’s…unexpected for a Tuesday night though. I just…I think we should get you some rest, yeah?”
Katsuki nods begrudgingly, a different soft of flush taking his face.
“I can take a few days off for this shit,” he mutters looking at the mess of his friend’s closet.
“Good. We’ll be spending it together then.”