BAKUGO KATSUKI

The drive to Deku's apartment took twenty minutes through afternoon traffic. The sun hung high in the sky, bright and unrelenting, casting sharp golden light across the city streets. Katsuki kept his arm around Deku's shoulders the entire time, feeling the way his breathing gradually steadied, though the trembling didn't completely stop.

Shoto drove with careful precision, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror every few minutes. Each time, his gaze would meet Katsuki's, a silent check-in that they were both here, both committed to seeing this through.

"We're here," Shoto said quietly as he pulled into the parking garage of Deku's building.

Katsuki felt Deku tense against him, his breath hitching.

"Hey," Katsuki said, his voice low. "We're with you. You don't have to go in alone."

"I know," Deku whispered. "I just... I don't know if I can—"

"You can," Shoto said, turning in his seat to look back at them. His heterochromatic eyes were soft with concern. "And if it gets to be too much, we leave. No questions asked."

Deku nodded, his jaw set with determination that looked fragile around the edges.

They made their way up to the apartment, Katsuki keeping a hand on Deku's lower back, Shoto walking close on his other side. Like bodyguards. Like they could physically shield him from the memories of what had happened here.

Deku's hands shook as he unlocked the door.

Deku's apartment was warm, lived-in, filled with personality that spoke of someone who actually cared about the space they inhabited.

The walls were covered with framed photographs—their UA class, training exercises, moments captured during their teenage years. Hero figures lined the shelves, a mix of All Might collectibles and newer heroes, including some limited editions that must have cost a fortune. Training equipment was neatly organized in one corner—resistance bands, weights, a yoga mat rolled up against the wall.

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, bright and golden, painting everything in warm light. It should have felt peaceful. Instead, it felt exposed—like the brightness revealed too much.

Books were stacked on the coffee table, a mix of hero analysis texts and what looked like fiction. A blanket was draped over the back of the couch, green and well-worn. The kitchen was clean but showed signs of use—a mug in the sink with All Might's face on it, a fruit bowl on the counter.

This was a home. Deku's home.

And someone had violated it.

"I'll step outside to make some calls," Shoto said, his hand briefly touching Deku's shoulder. "Aizawa and All Might need to know what's happening. Take your time."

Deku nodded, not meeting his eyes.

Shoto's gaze found Katsuki's, and something passed between them. Take care of him. I'll be right outside.

Then he was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Shoto stood in the hallway outside Deku's apartment, his phone in his hand. Through the door, he could hear the muffled sound of Bakugo's voice, low and steady. Comforting.

Good. Midoriya needed that right now.

He dialed Aizawa first, putting the phone to his ear as he leaned against the wall.

The phone rang twice before Aizawa picked up.

"Todoroki," Aizawa's voice was alert despite the hour. "What's the situation?"

"We have him," Shoto said without preamble. "Midoriya agreed to accept help. He's with us now."

There was a pause, then a long exhale. "Thank god. How is he?"

Shoto glanced at the closed door. "Exhausted. He had a panic attack at his agency after we showed him the evidence. He's... he's been carrying this alone for too long."

"Understandable," Aizawa said, his voice rough. "Where are you taking him?"

"Bakugo's place. He's staying there until this is resolved. We're at his apartment now, packing his things."

"Good. That's good." There was relief in Aizawa's tone. "What's the plan?"

"We're taking him to the police tomorrow," Shoto said. "To file an official report and turn over all the evidence. We wanted to know if you wanted to be there."

"Absolutely," Aizawa said immediately. "What time?"

"We haven't decided yet. Midoriya needs rest first. Today is about comfort and getting him somewhere safe. We'll text you in the morning with the details."

"Understood." Aizawa paused. "Tell him... tell him I'm proud of him. For accepting help. I know that couldn't have been easy."

Shoto's throat tightened. "I'll tell him."

"And Todoroki? Take care of him. Both of you."

"We will."

Shoto ended the call and immediately dialed All Might.

The phone was answered on the first ring.

"Young Todoroki!" All Might's voice was strained with worry. "Please tell me you have good news."

"We do," Shoto said. "Midoriya is with us. He's agreed to let us help him."

The sound that came through the phone was somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "Thank goodness. Oh, thank goodness. I've been so worried—"

"We know," Shoto said gently. "We all have been. But he's safe now. We're taking him somewhere secure, and tomorrow we're going to the police. We wanted to invite you to be there with us."

"I want to be there," All Might said immediately. "When you go to the police. I want to be there for him."

"We were hoping you'd say that. Today is about rest and comfort. Tomorrow we'll handle the official side of things. We'll send you the details in the morning."

"How is he?" All Might asked, his voice dropping. "Truly?"

Shoto looked at the door again, imagining Midoriya on the other side, trying to hold himself together while his world fell apart.

"He's been carrying this alone for too long," Shoto said honestly. "He's exhausted. Scared. But he's not alone anymore. We're making sure of that."

"Good. That's... that's good." All Might's voice was thick with emotion. "Tell him I'm here. Whatever he needs, whenever he needs it. I'm here."

"I will."

"And Young Todoroki?" All Might's voice strengthened. "Thank you. For not giving up on him. For seeing what the rest of us missed."

Shoto's chest tightened. "He's important to us. We're not letting anything happen to him."

"I know. I can hear it in your voice." There was a pause, weighted with understanding. "Take care of each other. All three of you."

Shoto ended the call and stood in the hallway for a moment longer, letting the weight of those words settle over him.

All three of you.

Like All Might understood something that Shoto was only beginning to acknowledge himself.

He pocketed his phone and opened the door, stepping back into the apartment.

BAKUGO KATSUKI

"Bedroom first," Katsuki said, steering Deku toward the hallway. "Clothes, toiletries, whatever you need for the next few weeks."

"Weeks?" Deku's voice was small.

"However long it takes," Katsuki said firmly. "You're not coming back here until we know you're safe."

Deku didn't argue. That alone told Katsuki how exhausted he was, how much the panic attack had taken out of him.

The bedroom was as warm as the rest of the apartment. The bed was made neatly, like someone who cared about their space but wasn't obsessive about it. Posters covered one wall, a mix of hero promotional materials and what looked like hand-drawn fan art. The desk was organized with color-coded files and notebooks, but there were also personal touches—a small potted plant, a framed photo of Deku and his mother, sticky notes with reminders and motivational quotes.

The afternoon light poured through the window, bright and golden, making everything look warm and lived-in.

"Let's start with clothes," Katsuki said, moving toward the closet. "Grab what you'll need."

Deku moved to join him, and they worked together, pulling out clothes and folding them into a duffel bag Katsuki had grabbed from the top shelf. Deku's hands were still shaking slightly, but he was focused, methodical. Trying to maintain some control over the situation.

Katsuki noticed that half of Deku's casual clothes were hero merch—All Might, of course, but also some from their graduating class. He spotted one of his own shirts, black with an orange X across the chest, and his hand stilled.

Deku wore his merch.

"That one's, uh—" Deku's voice was suddenly higher, and when Katsuki looked over, his face was flushed pink. "I can just—I don't need to bring that one—"

"Why not?" Katsuki asked, his voice carefully neutral even as something warm and possessive flared in his chest. "It's yours, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but—" Deku's blush deepened, spreading down his neck. He wouldn't meet Katsuki's eyes. "It's just—I mean—"

Katsuki carefully folded the shirt and added it to the bag, along with several others. He didn't comment on it, didn't make a big deal out of it, but something had shifted in his chest. Something that felt significant.

Deku wore his merch. Kept it in regular rotation, not just shoved in the back of the closet.

"Your hero costume," Katsuki said, spotting the case on the top shelf. "You'll need that."

"Yeah," Deku said quietly, still not quite looking at him. "Yeah, I will."

They continued packing in comfortable silence, working side by side. Deku grabbed socks and underwear from the dresser while Katsuki pulled down a second bag for shoes. They moved around each other easily, naturally, like they'd done this a hundred times before.

"The notebooks," Deku said suddenly, moving to his desk. "I need all of them. They have important information—analysis of villain patterns, quirk theories, everything I've documented over the years. If there's anything in the letters that connects to known threats, it might be in here."

Katsuki watched as Deku gathered the notebooks—not just the current ones on the desk, but older ones from the shelves, from drawers, from a box under the bed. Years of observations and analysis, meticulously documented.

"All of them?" Katsuki asked.

"All of them," Deku confirmed, pulling out another stack from his closet. "Some of these go back to our first year at UA. If this person has been watching me for a decade, there might be patterns I missed. Details that seemed insignificant at the time."

They packed the notebooks carefully into a separate bag, and Katsuki was struck by the weight of them. The physical weight, yes, but also the weight of what they represented—years of Deku's thoughts, his observations, his brilliant analytical mind at work.

"What else?" Katsuki asked.

Deku looked around the room, his eyes landing on the bookshelf. He moved toward it, his hand reaching for a framed photograph.

It was the three of them from their second year at UA. They were in their gym uniforms, sweaty and exhausted after a particularly brutal training session, but they were smiling. Even Katsuki was smiling, though he'd probably deny it if anyone asked.

Deku picked up the photo, and his face flushed a deep, dark red. Not the pink from earlier—this was darker, more intense. His fingers trembled slightly as he held the frame.

Katsuki stared at him, at the blush spreading across his cheeks, at the way he wouldn't meet Katsuki's eyes.

The door opened, and Shoto stepped back inside. His eyes immediately found them, assessed the situation—Deku holding the photo, his face burning red, Katsuki watching him with an unreadable expression.

Something passed across Shoto's face. Recognition. Understanding.

He didn't comment on it. Neither did Katsuki.

But they both saw it. Both noticed.

"This one," Deku said quietly, his voice rough. "I want to bring this one."

"Any others?" Shoto asked, moving closer.

Deku selected a few more photographs—one of him and his mother, one of the entire UA class, one of him receiving his provisional license. Each one a milestone, a moment of achievement or connection.

But it was the photo of the three of them that he held the longest before carefully wrapping it and placing it in the bag.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

Izuku's face was still burning as they moved into the living room. He couldn't believe he'd reacted like that—blushing so obviously over a photograph. But something about holding that picture, about remembering that moment when things were simpler, when he didn't have to hide how much they meant to him—

It had overwhelmed him.

And they'd both noticed. Both seen the way his face had flushed, the way his hands had trembled.

He didn't know what they thought about it. Didn't know if they understood what it meant.

Didn't know if he wanted them to.

"What else do you need?" Kacchan asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Izuku looked around his living room, at the space he'd built for himself. The hero figures on the shelves—he selected a few of his favorites, including the limited edition silver age All Might that had been a gift from his mother. His laptop and charger from the desk. A few books from the coffee table.

"The blanket," Izuku said quietly, gesturing to the green throw on the couch. "My mom made it for me when I moved into my first apartment after graduation."

Shoto picked it up carefully, folding it with precision. "Anything else from the kitchen?"

"Just the All Might mug," Izuku said. "I know it's stupid, but—"

"It's not stupid," Kacchan interrupted. "If it matters to you, we're taking it."

They spent another twenty minutes gathering items—toiletries from the bathroom, chargers and electronics, a few more personal items that made the space feel like his. Shoto moved through the apartment with quiet efficiency, anticipating needs before Izuku could voice them. Kacchan packed everything with care, making sure nothing got damaged or forgotten.

The afternoon light continued to pour through the windows, bright and golden, making everything feel exposed and vulnerable.

When they were done, they had four bags packed, a box of miscellaneous items, and Izuku's hero costume case.

"Is that everything?" Shoto asked, surveying their haul.

Izuku looked around the apartment one more time, his expression unreadable. The bright afternoon light caught his face, highlighting the exhaustion in his features, the fear he was trying so hard to hide.

"Yeah," he said finally. "That's everything that matters."

TODOROKI SHOTO

They made their way back down to the car, loaded everything into the trunk, and got back on the road. This time, Midoriya sat in the back seat with Bakugo, while Shoto drove.

Shoto adjusted the rearview mirror, angling it so he could see them both. Midoriya was pressed against Bakugo's side, not sleeping this time, but quiet. Present. His eyes were open, watching the city pass by outside the window.

Bakugo's arm was around his shoulders, solid and protective.

The drive was quiet, but it wasn't uncomfortable. There was something peaceful about it—the three of them together, moving through the afternoon traffic, heading toward safety.

Shoto kept his eyes on the road, but he was acutely aware of the two people behind him. The way Midoriya's breathing had steadied. The way Bakugo's posture had relaxed slightly, now that they had Midoriya with them, now that he was safe.

The city moved past them, bright and busy in the afternoon sun.

"Aizawa said he's proud of you," Shoto said quietly, breaking the silence. "For accepting help. He'll be there tomorrow when we go to the police."

"All Might too," Shoto added. "He was relieved to hear you're safe. He wants to be there to support you."

Midoriya's breath hitched, but he nodded. "Thank you," he whispered. "For calling them. For... for everything."

"You don't have to thank us," Bakugo said, his voice rough. "This is what you do for people who matter."

Shoto's eyes met Bakugo's in the rearview mirror, and something passed between them. Understanding. Agreement.

They were in this together now. All three of them.

The rest of the drive passed in comfortable silence, the three of them existing in this quiet bubble of safety and connection. Shoto drove carefully, taking his time, not rushing. There was no urgency now—they had Midoriya, they had the evidence, they had a plan.

Everything else could wait until tomorrow.

When they pulled into the parking garage of Bakugo's building, Midoriya sat up slightly, looking around.

"We're here," Shoto said gently. "Let's get you settled."

BAKUGO KATSUKI

They took the elevator up to Katsuki's floor, all three of them loaded down with bags and boxes. Deku was quiet, his eyes distant, but he wasn't pulling away. Wasn't trying to pretend he was fine.

That was progress.

Katsuki unlocked his apartment and held the door open, letting Shoto and Deku enter first. The apartment was dark, and he flipped on the lights, illuminating the open-concept living space.

It was neat but lived-in, with hero magazines scattered on the coffee table and a few dishes in the sink. More personality than Katsuki usually allowed, but he'd stopped caring about maintaining that perfect image years ago.

"Guest room is this way," Katsuki said, leading them down the hallway.

His apartment had three bedrooms—his master suite, a home office, and a guest room that he'd never actually had guests in. It was furnished with a bed, a dresser, and a small desk, but it was impersonal. Generic.

They'd have to fix that. Make it feel like Deku's space, not just a place he was staying temporarily.

The guest room was right next to Katsuki's bedroom, separated by a shared wall. Close enough that Katsuki would be able to hear if Deku needed anything in the night.

Close enough that he'd know Deku was safe.

"Here," Katsuki said, setting the bags down. "It's not much, but we'll make it work."

"It's perfect," Deku said quietly. "Thank you, Kacchan."

Katsuki's chest tightened at the use of his childhood nickname. Deku hadn't called him that in months.

"Let's get you unpacked," Shoto said, already opening one of the bags. "Make this space feel like yours."

MIDORIYA IZUKU

They worked together in comfortable silence, transforming the generic guest room into something that felt like Izuku's space. Izuku unpacked clothes, hanging them in the closet with Kacchan's help. Shoto set up the desk with Izuku's laptop and the bags of notebooks, arranging them with surprising care.

"These should be organized by date," Izuku said, moving to help Shoto. "The older ones might have information we need."

"We'll go through them tomorrow," Shoto said. "After the police. See if there are any patterns we missed."

Izuku nodded, his hands moving automatically as he stacked the notebooks in chronological order. Years of documentation, years of observations. If there was anything in there that could help identify his stalker, they'd find it.

The afternoon light filtered through the window, still bright and golden, painting everything in warm tones. It felt intimate, this domestic act of unpacking. Like they were building something together, something that went beyond friendship or heroism.

Izuku found himself acutely aware of the other two—the way Kacchan moved around the room with confident efficiency, the way Shoto's careful hands arranged his belongings with precision. The way they all seemed to orbit each other, drawn together by something neither distance nor fear could break.

"The All Might figure," Izuku said, carefully unwrapping the packaged collectible. "Where should I...?"

"Bookshelf," Kacchan said immediately. "Where you can see it."

Izuku placed it carefully on the shelf, his fingers lingering on the packaging. This figure had been with him through everything—through UA, through his early hero career, through every apartment he'd lived in. It was a constant, a reminder of his dreams.

"Your mom's blanket," Shoto said, holding up the green throw. "For the bed?"

"Yeah," Izuku said softly. "Please."

Shoto draped it over the foot of the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles. The green stood out against the neutral bedding, a splash of color and comfort.

They continued unpacking, each item finding its place. The books on the shelf. The photos arranged where Izuku could see them—reminders of the people who cared about him, the moments that mattered.

The photo of the three of them from UA went on the nightstand, right next to the bed. Where Izuku would see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night.

Izuku caught Kacchan looking at it, something unreadable in his expression. Their eyes met across the room, and Izuku felt his face heat again, remembering his earlier reaction.

But Kacchan didn't comment on it. Just held his gaze for a moment before turning back to unpacking.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Shoto watched the two of them work together, the easy way they moved around each other, the comfortable silence between them. He felt something settle in his chest—not jealousy, not anymore. Just... rightness.

This was where they were supposed to be. The three of them, together.

He didn't know what that meant yet. Didn't know how to define what they were becoming to each other.

But he knew it mattered. Knew it was important.

"Toiletries," Shoto said, holding up the bag. "Bathroom?"

"Yeah," Bakugo said. "It's the one across the hall. Deku, you'll have it to yourself."

Shoto disappeared into the hallway and found the bathroom—clean, functional, with plenty of space. He unpacked Midoriya's toiletries, arranging them on the counter and in the cabinet. Toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, soap. The mundane items that made a space livable.

When he returned to the bedroom, Bakugo and Midoriya were arranging the last few items. The hero figures on the shelf. The framed photos on the dresser. The green blanket on the bed.

The room had been completely transformed—from generic guest room to Midoriya's sanctuary. Every item had been placed with care, every detail considered.

It was perfect.

"How does it feel?" Shoto asked quietly.

Midoriya looked around, taking it all in. The photos of people he loved. The blanket his mother had made. The evidence of his life, his dreams, his connections.

And Bakugo and Shoto, standing on either side of him, close enough to touch. Close enough that he could feel their warmth, their presence, their unwavering support.

"It feels safe," Midoriya said finally. "It feels like... like I can breathe again."

Bakugo's hand found his shoulder, squeezing gently. Shoto's hand touched his other shoulder, a mirror of Bakugo's gesture.

"Good," Bakugo said, his voice rough with emotion. "That's exactly how it should feel."

They stood like that for a long moment, the three of them connected in the warm afternoon light of Midoriya's new room. Outside, the city continued its rhythm, but in here, time seemed to slow.

Chapter Ten: Sanctuary

MIDORIYA IZUKU

"You should shower," Shoto said gently, his hand still warm on Izuku's shoulder. "Get cleaned up. All your toiletries are already in the bathroom. I placed them in the bathroom cabinet while you were looking through your things," Shoto added. "I hope I organized them in a way that makes sense."

The thoughtfulness of it—the care they'd taken with even the smallest details—made Izuku's throat tight. They'd thought of everything. Anticipated his needs before he'd even realized them himself.

"Thank you," he managed, his voice thick. "I'll just... I'll go do that."

He grabbed some comfortable clothes from the dresser—soft sweatpants and an old All Might t-shirt—and headed to the bathroom. The door closed behind him with a soft click, and for the first time since opening that package, Izuku was alone.

The bathroom was spacious and clean, all modern fixtures and neutral colors. And there, in the cabinet, were all his things. His shampoo—the affordable brand he'd been using since high school. His face wash. His toothbrush in its holder. Even his hair product, the one that helped manage his unruly curls.

Shoto had arranged them neatly, organized by type and frequency of use. It was such a small thing, but it made this space feel less foreign. Less temporary.

More like home.

Izuku turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until steam began to rise. He stripped off his clothes—the ones he'd been wearing when his world had tilted on its axis—and stepped under the spray.

The hot water felt like absolution.

He stood there for a long moment, letting it wash over him. Letting it soothe the tension in his muscles, the ache in his chest, the fear that had been living under his skin for so long.

Someone had been watching him. Photographing him. Violating his privacy in the most intimate ways.

But he wasn't alone anymore. Kacchan and Shoto knew. They were here. They were keeping him safe.

The thought made something loosen in his chest, made it easier to breathe.

Izuku washed his hair with familiar motions, the scent of his shampoo grounding him in the present moment. He scrubbed his skin until it was pink and clean, washing away the feeling of invisible eyes on him.

By the time he turned off the water, he felt more like himself. More settled.

He dried off quickly, pulling on the comfortable clothes. The sweatpants were soft and worn, the t-shirt faded from years of washing. Comfort clothes. Safe clothes.

Izuku ran the towel through his hair a few times, squeezing out the excess water, then hung it up. His hair was still damp, but it would air dry soon enough. It always did.

He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were still red-rimmed from crying earlier, but he looked better. More human. Less like he was about to shatter into pieces.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the bathroom door and headed back toward the living area.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Shoto heard the bathroom door open, heard Midoriya's soft footsteps in the hallway. He looked up from where he and Bakugo had been quietly discussing security measures, his attention immediately shifting.

Midoriya appeared in the doorway, looking smaller somehow in his comfortable clothes. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the ends, water still dripping onto his shoulders.

"Feel better?" Bakugo asked.

"Yeah." Midoriya smiled, and it looked genuine. "Much better. Thank you for—"

"Your hair is still wet," Shoto interrupted, frowning slightly.

Midoriya blinked, reaching up to touch the damp strands. "Oh. Yeah, I was just going to let it air dry—"

"You'll catch a cold." Shoto was already moving, crossing the space between them. "Sit down."

"I don't think that's actually how colds work—"

"Midoriya." Shoto's voice was gentle but firm, the tone he used when he wasn't going to accept arguments. "Sit."

Midoriya's face went pink, but he obediently moved to the kitchen table, sinking into one of the chairs. "You really don't have to—"

But Shoto was already heading down the hallway, returning a moment later with a fresh towel. He moved behind Midoriya's chair, and for a moment, just looked at him.

At the vulnerable curve of his neck. The way his shoulders hunched slightly, like he was trying to make himself smaller. The damp curls that were already starting to spring up as they dried.

Something protective and tender unfurled in Shoto's chest.

He draped the towel over Midoriya's head, then began to gently rub, working the moisture out of those impossible curls. Midoriya made a small sound—surprise or protest, Shoto couldn't tell—but didn't pull away.

"You need to take better care of yourself," Shoto said quietly, his hands moving in slow, careful circles. "Especially now."

"I'm fine," Midoriya said, but his voice came out slightly strangled.

"You're not fine. You're exhausted and stressed and you've been through something traumatic." Shoto's fingers found a tangle, and he worked through it carefully, making sure not to pull. "Let us take care of you."

MIDORIYA IZUKU

Izuku's face was on fire.

This was—this was too much. Too intimate. Too—

Shoto's hands were in his hair, gentle and methodical, rubbing the towel through the damp strands with such careful attention. It felt good. Soothing. Like being cared for in a way Izuku hadn't experienced since he was a child and his mother would dry his hair after bath time.

But this was different. This made his heart race and his skin feel too warm and his thoughts scatter in a dozen different directions.

He was acutely aware of Shoto's presence behind him. Of the warmth radiating from his body. Of the gentle pressure of his hands, the careful way he worked through each section of hair.

Of Kacchan watching from across the room, something unreadable in his expression.

"Your hair is very soft," Shoto said, almost absently. Like he was making an observation rather than a compliment.

Izuku's blush deepened. "It's—it's just hair."

"It's nice hair."

"Shoto—"

"Almost dry now." Shoto's hands moved to the back of Izuku's head, rubbing gently at the nape of his neck. "There. Better."

He lifted the towel away, and Izuku immediately reached up to touch his hair. It was still slightly damp, but much drier than before. And it felt soft, fluffy from Shoto's careful attention.

"Thank you," Izuku said quietly, not quite able to meet Shoto's eyes.

Shoto's hand settled on his shoulder for a moment, warm and grounding. "You're welcome."

Then he moved away, taking the towel back to the bathroom, and Izuku could finally breathe again.

He looked up and caught Kacchan's eye. There was something in his expression—something soft and complicated that made Izuku's heart skip a beat.

"You good, nerd?" Kacchan asked, his voice rougher than usual.

"Yeah. I'm good."

Kacchan nodded, then turned toward the kitchen. "I should start on dinner. You hungry?"

"Starving, actually." Izuku stood up, following him. "What are you making?"

"Was thinking katsudon. Your comfort food."

The fact that Kacchan knew that—that he'd remembered—made Izuku's chest feel warm.

He watched as Kacchan began pulling ingredients from the refrigerator. Rice, eggs, pork cutlets, onions. The familiar components of one of Izuku's favorite meals.

"Can I help?" The words came out before Izuku could stop them.

Kacchan paused, looking at him. "You don't have to—"

"I want to." Izuku stepped closer, and then—because he knew exactly what would work—he looked up at Kacchan with wide eyes. "Please? I just want to do something. I don't want to feel useless."

BAKUGO KATSUKI

Fuck.

Those eyes. Those big, green, impossibly earnest eyes that Deku was turning on him like a weapon.

Katsuki felt his heart skip a beat, felt his carefully constructed defenses crumble like paper in a fire.

"That's not fair," he said, but his voice came out weak.

"Please, Kacchan?" Deku's lower lip jutted out slightly, and his eyes got even bigger. "I promise I'll follow all your instructions. I'll be helpful. I just—I need to do something."

Katsuki's face was heating up. He could feel it, could feel the blush spreading across his cheeks like wildfire.

He couldn't say no. Not when Deku was looking at him like that. Not when he could see the desperate need to feel useful, to have some control over something in his life.

"Fine," he bit out, turning back to the counter before Deku could see how flustered he was. "But you do exactly what I say. No improvising. No trying to be helpful in ways that aren't actually helpful."

"Yes!" Deku's face lit up like Katsuki had just given him the greatest gift in the world. "Thank you, Kacchan! I promise I'll be good. I'll be the best sous chef ever."

"You better be." But Katsuki couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. Couldn't help the warmth that spread through his chest at Deku's obvious happiness.

He was so fucked.

"What do you want me to do first?" Deku asked, moving to stand beside him at the counter.

"Wash your hands. Then you can slice the onions."

Deku immediately moved to the sink, scrubbing his hands thoroughly. When he returned, Katsuki handed him a cutting board and knife, along with two onions.

"Thin slices," Katsuki instructed. "Consistent thickness. Can you handle that?"

"I've got this." Deku's tongue poked out slightly as he concentrated, his hands moving with the same precision he brought to hero work.

Katsuki watched for a moment, making sure Deku wasn't going to cut himself, then turned his attention to preparing the pork cutlets. He pounded them thin, seasoned them with salt and pepper, then set up his breading station.

They worked in comfortable silence, moving around each other in the small kitchen space. It felt natural. Easy. Like they'd been doing this for years instead of just tonight.

"How's this?" Deku asked, holding up the cutting board.

Katsuki glanced over. The onions were perfectly sliced—thin, consistent, exactly what he'd asked for. "Good. Put them in that bowl."

Deku beamed at the praise, carefully transferring the onions. "What's next?"

"Beat the eggs. Four of them. Bowl's right there."

While Deku worked on the eggs, Katsuki breaded the pork cutlets, coating them in flour, egg, and panko. His movements were practiced, efficient. Cooking had always been something that calmed him, gave him a sense of control.

Having Deku here, helping him, made it even better.

"Eggs are ready," Deku announced.

"Good. Now watch." Katsuki heated oil in a pan, then carefully placed the breaded cutlets in. They sizzled immediately, the sound and smell filling the kitchen. "We're going to fry these until they're golden brown. About three minutes per side."

Deku leaned in, watching intently. He was close enough that Katsuki could feel his warmth, could smell the clean scent of his shampoo.

Focus, he told himself. Focus on the food.

"While those cook, you can start the rice," Katsuki said, his voice coming out rougher than intended. "Rice cooker's in that cabinet."

Deku moved to get it, and Katsuki could breathe again.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Shoto watched them from his position at the kitchen table, something warm and complicated settling in his chest.

The way they moved around each other—Bakugo's gruff instructions and Midoriya's eager compliance. The way Midoriya's face lit up every time Bakugo praised him. The way Bakugo's expression softened when he thought Midoriya wasn't looking.

It was intimate. Domestic. Beautiful in its simplicity.

And Shoto wanted to be part of it so badly it hurt.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Then again. And again.

He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. His assistant. His PR manager. His agency coordinator. All demanding his attention, his time, his energy.

He silenced it, shoving it back in his pocket.

Right now, nothing was more important than being here. Than making sure Midoriya felt safe, supported, cared for. The rest of the world could wait.

"Shoto, you want to set the table?" Bakugo called.

"Of course." Shoto stood, moving to the cabinet to pull out plates and utensils.

At least this was something he could do without risking disaster. His cooking skills were notoriously terrible—a fact both Bakugo and Midoriya were well aware of—but he could set a table.

He arranged everything carefully, making sure the placement was perfect. Three settings, close together. Intimate.

Like a family.

The thought made something ache in his chest.

His phone buzzed again. Multiple times in rapid succession.

"You going to get that?" Bakugo asked, not looking up from where he was flipping the pork cutlets.

"No."

"Might be important."

"It's not more important than this."

Bakugo's expression softened slightly, something like approval flickering in his eyes. Then he turned back to the stove. "Deku, grab that sauce from the fridge. The one with the red label."

"Got it!" Midoriya moved with practiced ease, retrieving the bottle and bringing it to Bakugo.

They worked together seamlessly, Bakugo directing and Midoriya following his lead. The pork cutlets came out perfectly golden, and Bakugo began assembling the katsudon—rice in the bottom of each bowl, then the egg and onion mixture, then the sliced pork cutlet on top.

It looked restaurant-quality. It smelled incredible.

"Damn, Kacchan," Midoriya said, his eyes wide. "This looks amazing."

"Course it does. I made it." But Bakugo's ears were pink, pleased by the praise.

They carried the bowls to the table, settling into their seats. Shoto found himself between them, close enough to feel their warmth on either side.

"Thank you for the food," Midoriya said softly, picking up his chopsticks.

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clink of chopsticks against bowls and the quiet hum of the city outside.

"This is incredible," Midoriya said after his first bite, his eyes closing in bliss. "Kacchan, you're amazing at this."

Bakugo's face went red. "Shut up and eat your food, nerd."

But he was smiling. Actually smiling, soft and genuine.

Shoto's phone buzzed again. And again. A constant stream of notifications that he continued to ignore.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

The katsudon was perfect.

Rich and savory, the egg cooked just right, the pork tender and crispy. It was comfort food in its purest form, and Izuku savored every bite.

But more than the food, it was the company. The three of them together, sharing a meal in the warm light of Kacchan's kitchen. It felt right. Natural. Like something they should do more often.

Like something Izuku wanted to do for the rest of his life.

The thought made his chest feel tight.

Shoto's phone buzzed again. It had been going off constantly throughout dinner, a steady stream of notifications that Shoto kept ignoring.

"Shoto," Izuku said gently. "Your phone—"

"It's fine."

"But it's been going off for like twenty minutes. It might be important."

"Nothing is more important than being here." Shoto's eyes met his, steady and certain. "Nothing."

The sincerity in his voice made Izuku's heart skip a beat.

"But your agency—"

"Can handle things without me for one evening." Shoto's expression was calm, but there was steel underneath. "I'm exactly where I need to be."

Izuku wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that Shoto shouldn't ignore his responsibilities because of him. But the words stuck in his throat, because part of him—a selfish, desperate part—didn't want Shoto to leave.

They finished dinner, and Bakugo stood to clear the dishes. Izuku immediately moved to help, but Bakugo waved him off.

"Sit. You helped cook, so you don't have to clean."

"But—"

"Non-negotiable, Deku."

Izuku sat back down, watching as Bakugo and Shoto worked together to clean up. They moved around each other with easy familiarity, a rhythm born from years of knowing each other.

When everything was clean and put away, Bakugo moved to the freezer. "Almost forgot," he said, pulling out a container.

Izuku looked curious. "What's that?"

"Dessert." Bakugo grabbed a bowl and spoon, scooping out a generous portion. "Your favorite."

He set the bowl down in front of Izuku, and Izuku's eyes went wide.

"Is that—"

"Green tea ice cream. Yeah."

"How did you—" Izuku looked up at him, his expression stunned. "You remembered?"

"Course I remembered." Bakugo shrugged, trying to play it off as casual. "You've mentioned it before."

That wasn't entirely true. Izuku had mentioned it maybe once, in passing, months ago. But Kacchan had remembered. Had bought it specifically for him.

The thoughtfulness of it made Izuku's eyes sting.

"Thank you," he said softly. "This is—thank you."

He took a bite, and his expression melted into pure bliss. "Oh my god, this is the good kind. The expensive kind."

"Only the best for you, nerd."

The words hung in the air between them, more sincere than Bakugo had probably intended. Izuku's face went red, and he ducked his head, focusing intently on his ice cream.

Bakugo moved back to lean against the counter, watching him with that soft expression that made Izuku's heart race.

Shoto remained at the table, his phone buzzing insistently in his pocket. But his attention was entirely on them, something warm and longing in his eyes.

BAKUGO KATSUKI

Katsuki watched Deku eat his ice cream, unable to look away.

The way his face lit up with each bite. The way he savored it, like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. The way he looked so content, so safe, sitting in Katsuki's kitchen.

It made something warm and possessive curl in Katsuki's chest.

"Kacchan?" Deku's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"What?"

"Want to try?" Deku held out a spoonful of ice cream, his expression open and earnest.

Katsuki's heart stuttered in his chest.

It was such a simple gesture. Such a casual offer. But there was something intimate about it, something that made his face heat up and his thoughts scatter.

"I don't need—" he started, but the words died in his throat when he saw Deku's expression.

Hopeful. Vulnerable. Like he wanted to share this small thing, this moment of sweetness.

Katsuki moved closer, his eyes locked on Deku's, and opened his mouth.

Deku's face went bright red, but he didn't pull back. He brought the spoon to Katsuki's lips, and Katsuki closed his mouth around it, tasting the sweet, creamy ice cream.

Their eyes met. Held.

The moment stretched, heavy with something unspoken.

Then Deku pulled the spoon back, his hand trembling slightly. "Good?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," Katsuki managed, his own voice rough. "Good."

They were both blushing now, the air between them charged with something electric. Something that had been building for months, maybe years.

Shoto's phone buzzed again, breaking the moment.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Shoto pulled out his phone, finally looking at the screen.

Seventeen missed calls. Forty-three text messages. Multiple alerts about villain activity, scheduling conflicts, media requests.

His assistant was practically having a meltdown, judging by the increasingly frantic messages.

He should deal with it. Should call back, sort out whatever crisis was happening.

But he didn't want to leave. Didn't want to break this moment, this fragile peace they'd created.

"Shoto." Midoriya's voice was gentle. "You need to handle that."

"It can wait."

"It's been waiting all evening." Midoriya's expression was understanding, but firm. "I can see how stressed you are. Go deal with it. We'll be fine."

"I don't want to leave you—"

"I'm not alone." Midoriya glanced at Bakugo, then back at Shoto. "Kacchan's here. I'm safe. Go take care of your work."

Shoto wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that nothing was more important than staying here, keeping Midoriya safe, being present.

But Midoriya was right. His agency needed him. His team needed him. And the longer he ignored it, the worse it would get.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

"I'm sure." Midoriya's smile was genuine. "Thank you for being here today. For everything. But you have responsibilities. I understand that."

Shoto looked at Bakugo, who nodded slightly. A silent promise that he'd keep Midoriya safe, that nothing would happen while Shoto was gone.

"Alright," Shoto said finally, standing up. "But I'm coming back first thing in the morning."

"We'll be here," Bakugo said.

Shoto moved toward the door, grabbing his jacket. He paused, looking back at them—Midoriya with his ice cream, Bakugo watching him with protective intensity.

They looked right together. Natural.

And Shoto wanted so badly to be part of that picture.

But first, he needed to say goodbye properly.

He turned back, crossing the space to where Midoriya sat. "Come here," he said softly.

Midoriya stood, looking up at him with those wide green eyes. "Shoto?"

Shoto pulled him into a hug, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close. Midoriya made a small sound of surprise, but then melted into the embrace, his arms coming up to wrap around Shoto's waist.

He was warm. Solid. Real.

And he smelled like clean soap and green tea ice cream and something uniquely Midoriya—something sweet and comforting that made Shoto's chest ache.

Shoto couldn't help himself. He breathed in deeply, letting that scent fill his lungs, memorizing it. Letting it ground him, remind him what he was protecting.

Who he was protecting.

"I'll be back in the morning," Shoto murmured against Midoriya's hair. "I promise."

"I know." Midoriya's voice was muffled against Shoto's chest. "Thank you, Shoto. For everything."

Shoto held him for another moment, reluctant to let go. But finally, he pulled back, his hands lingering on Midoriya's shoulders.

"Call me if anything happens," he said. "Anything at all."

"We will," Midoriya promised.

Shoto looked at Bakugo one more time, receiving another nod of confirmation. Then he forced himself to turn away, to walk to the door, to step out into the hallway.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, and suddenly he was alone.

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through the messages. Most of it was manageable—scheduling conflicts, media requests, routine updates. But there were a few that needed his immediate attention.

A villain incident in his territory. A coordination issue with another agency. A family matter that his assistant had flagged as urgent.

His father, probably. Always demanding, always expecting.

Shoto sighed, heading toward the elevator. He'd deal with it all. Sort out the crises, manage the expectations, fulfill his responsibilities.

And then, first thing in the morning, he'd come back.

Back to Midoriya. Back to Bakugo. Back to the place that was starting to feel more like home than anywhere else.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

The apartment felt quieter after Shoto left.

Izuku returned to his seat, finishing his ice cream slowly, savoring each bite. Kacchan moved to sit across from him, his expression soft and watchful.

"You didn't have to send him away," Kacchan said finally.

"He needed to go. His work is important."

"So are you."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning.

Izuku's throat felt tight. "I'm fine, Kacchan. Really. And you're here. I'm not alone."

"No," Kacchan agreed, his voice soft. "You're not."

They sat in comfortable silence, the city lights filtering through the windows. Outside, the world continued its rhythm. But in here, time seemed to slow.

Izuku felt safe. Protected. Cared for in a way he'd never experienced before.

And tomorrow, Shoto would be back. They'd figure out the next steps together. They'd keep him safe.

For now, that was enough.