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 organized them by type and frequency of use."

The thoughtfulness of it made Izuku's throat tight. They'd anticipated his needs before he'd even realized them himself.

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

He grabbed comfortable clothes—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. His face wash. His toothbrush. Even his hair product, organized with careful precision.

It was such a small thing, but it made this space feel less foreign. More like home.

Izuku turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until steam began to rise. He stripped off his clothes and stepped under the spray. The hot water felt like absolution, soothing 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. 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.

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.

He 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.

He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were still red-rimmed from crying earlier, but he looked better. More human.

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. "Sit."

Midoriya's face went pink, but he obediently moved to the kitchen table. Shoto returned a moment later with a fresh towel. He moved behind Midoriya's chair and draped the towel over his head, then began to gently rub, working the moisture out of those impossible curls. Midoriya made a small sound 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. "Let us take care of you."

MIDORIYA IZUKU

Izuku's face was on fire.

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 childhood.

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 soft and complicated in his expression.

"Your hair is very soft," Shoto said, almost absently.

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.

"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 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."

"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."

"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. Consistent thickness."

"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, then set up his breading station.

They worked in comfortable silence, moving around each other in the small kitchen space. It felt natural. Easy.

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

Katsuki glanced over. The onions were perfectly sliced. "Good. Put them in that bowl."

Deku beamed at the praise. "What's next?"

"Beat the eggs. Four of them."

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.

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.

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

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

He arranged everything carefully. 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.