Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Hitoshi slips his spatula under the flat disk of an English muffin. He’s not sure what makes it English, nor how it’s a muffin, but who gives a shit? Certainly not him. The guy in the video had insisted English muffins were integral to the recipe. The final result had, of course, looked nearly inedible after all the food photography tricks. Still, the rating was high and the comments all said his tips and tricks were useful.

He probably should have started with the sauce, but hollandaise is intimidating and also he was supposed to let the eggs come to room temperature.

Eri better appreciate all his effort.

“What’re you makin’?” Bakugo—no, Katsuki—stands in the doorway of his bedroom, wrapped head to toe in a purple blanket. He presses his palms into the dark circles around his eyes. He hasn’t slept well since his parents left two days ago. Christmas is in a week, and Katsuki seems determined to spend every second of it working.

“Eggs Benedict.”

Katsuki pulls his hands back, squinting at Hitoshi from beneath the fluff of his blanket. “You’re making hollandaise?”

“I can make stuff.” Sometimes. “Besides, Eri’s out of school and she can only eat Aizawa’s burnt pancakes so many times before giving in to despair.”

“That’s a bit dramatic.” Katsuki shuffles into the kitchen to look at the skillet. “Why haven’t you set up your double boiler yet?”

Hitoshi ignores him and presses the plate of slightly soggy muffins to the wall. Apparently he used too much butter, but whatever. That’s a problem for future Hitoshi.

Katsuki stands and watches him for a few more minutes, despite Hitoshi purposefully puttering around to avoid him. “Do your sauce next or the rest of your food will be cold and gross by the time you’re done.”

“Stop bossing me around.” Hitoshi waves his spatula at him. Once Katsuki has finally disappeared back to his room—no doubt to get ready for his day, even if he looks like he needs another ten hours of sleep—Hitoshi grabs out a pot with water and spends several minutes trying to find a glass bowl. There are supposed to be easier ways to make hollandaise but Hitoshi couldn’t be bothered to study more than one video.

He gets out the lemon juice and Worcestershire and melts a bit of butter. The exact measurements weren’t anywhere on the video, so he guesstimates. A splash of this, a little of that. Some salt. A pinch of white pepper.

Without Katsuki around throwing judgements over his shoulder, setting up breakfast is almost peaceful. He should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

“You’re gonna fuck up the sauce with ratios like that,” Katsuki says. He’s dressed, now, but he still looks like a sleepy cat. “Too much salt.”

“It’s sauce, Katsuki. Who cares?” He decides to add only half of the Worcestershire. That’ll cut the salt down.

Katsuki glares at him. His hair is still messy, cowlicks pointed in every other direction. The bags under his eyes are a little less pronounced now that he’s moved around. “I care, dumbfuck. Give me.”

Hitoshi holds the whisk over Katsuki’s head before he can reach it. It’s instinct, at first. He doesn’t want to give Katsuki the kitchen and slink back off to laze on the couch. Lazing on the couch is how he spends far too much time. Or lazing somewhere else. Or spending money he’ll eventually run out of at the cat café.

Katsuki huffs, narrowed eyes climbing Hitoshi’s chest and biceps to glare at the whisk. He waits another second before glancing back at the water. “You’re going to boil all the water out.”

“Stop insulting me.” Hitoshi turns the heat down. The water slows from its rolling boil. Steam hisses up from the bottom of the pan. “You can’t distract me and blame me for the consequences.”

Katsuki shrugs, resting his hip against the countertop. “I distracted you?”

Katsuki’s quirked brow says that Hitoshi is being firmly blamed for their game of keepaway. “Fine. Don’t waste my eggs.”

Hitoshi feels like there’s a joke there, but he can’t find it and doesn’t give a shit to flounder around trying. Besides, if Katsuki is staring at his pans then he’s not looking at the soggy muffins or thinking about how Hitoshi has definitely not poached many eggs.

“Why eggs Benedict?” Katsuki steps close enough that his heat warms Hitoshi's back. He smells sweet, like the body wash he uses on his days off, and the leftover burnt-sugar smell that seems to permeate all of his clothes and things.

“What, you don’t like it?” He considers, then places the glass bowl over the pot. “I mean, I’m making it anyway. More food for me.”

“Shut up.” Katsuki places his arms on either side of Hitoshi’s waist, resting his chin on Hitoshi’s shoulder. He can only barely reach. “I’ll eat it. Let your bowl warm up first.”

“Stop it.” Hitoshi lets the glass bowl warm until he can feel the heat starting to radiate off the side of the glass. “Anyway, this is Eri’s favorite breakfast. I think Mirio made it for her during one of his visits to the hospital when she was first rescued.”

Katsuki doesn’t respond to that as he watches Hitoshi dump in the egg yolks and lemon juice, whisking quickly until everything is homogenous. He adds in half the Worcestershire. Katsuki huffs a sound in his ear but doesn’t make the expected smug comment.

Hitoshi tries to remember the steps in the video he watched. The man had been so confident, whisking the egg and seasonings. Having the ingredients out ahead of time is helpful. He just has to put these in and mix them up and things will be fine. The number one thing the guy said was to not stop whisking. Multitasking—Hitoshi is famously great at multitasking. It’s fine.

Besides, he has cooked before. When he puts in effort it usually even turns out tasty. It’s just been a while since he did anything besides the basic eggs and toast breakfast. And those were mostly for Katsuki.

“Eri’s been getting all moody and sad like teenagers do. Not that she doesn’t have more reason than most. I figured I’d get on her nerves. Force her out of isolation during the Christmas dinner by annoying the shit out of her.”

“You guys do a Christmas dinner?” Katsuki sounds sleep-soft. His sleep deprivation must be really getting to him if he’s getting tired just standing here. “With Aizawa and the others?”

He’d been extra careful to make sure the egg yolks don’t have any white in them. No scrambled egg in the sauce. He starts to add in the butter, but Katsuki hums. “What?”

“Not enough butter.” Katsuki moves away, picking up the small bowl with the golden yellow liquid in it. Fats float along the surface as Katsuki swirls the glass and puts it back down to go rummage around in the fridge.

As Hitoshi whisks and adds spoonfuls of butter, Katsuki breaks off parts from the stick in his hand. It makes the process take longer, but Hitoshi is annoyed that his hollandaise is turning out. The last time he’d attempted to make this he’d ended up with a broken, oily mess.

“Don’t overwhisk it.” Katsuki isn’t even being bossy when he hovers his hand over Hitoshi’s to slow him down. “You’re almost done.”

“I could have done this without your help.” Hitoshi scrunches his face in Katsuki’s direction. A mistake, instantly, because Katsuki’s satisfied grin splits his cheeks just as Hitoshi’s eyes catch his.

Katsuki flips the heat off right as Hitoshi slows his whisk. Just as well, as Hitoshi leans over to press his lips to Katsuki’s. At least this way he doesn’t have to see Katsuki looking so smug.

With the sauce off the heat and his lamentable muffins hidden from view, only the bacon and eggs are left. Neither of those are urgent enough to distract Hitoshi as Katsuki pulls him closer by his shirt, crowding him back against the counter. Katsuki must have brushed his teeth earlier, because he still tastes faintly of mint. He’s warm in his cold apartment, hands rucking up Hitoshi’s These are My Good Pajamas cami. The sudden coolness against Hitoshi’s bare stomach only lasts as long as it takes Katsuki to press in against him, nails scratching idly up Hitoshi’s side.

The sensation makes Hitoshi puff out a laugh, a ticklish prickle up his ribs that has Katsuki grinning against his mouth. Hitoshi pulls away, yanking his shirt back down before Katsuki can distract him any further. Those hands are dangerous no matter what they’re doing. “You’re just trying to mess up my breakfast so it’s not better than yours.”

“You’ll never cook better than me,” Katsuki says. He’s right, of course, but he doesn’t have to be like that about it. “Case in point, your soggy ass bread.”

“I didn’t know you had ass-bread. Sounds like a you problem.” Hitoshi dodges a swipe, then adds salt to the already heated water. Katsuki gets to work cleaning the counters and putting everything away. “Don’t you ever consider staying in your pajamas and doing nothing all day?”

Katsuki pauses, reaching for a binder full of recipes he keeps on a safe shelf near the pantry. Hitoshi’s gone through all of them before, of course. They’re mostly older recipes, separated in typical Katsuki fashion into season, use, and preference. All the top recipes have been written over and revised with Katsuki’s careful handwriting. The added ingredients are usually a variety of peppers or seasonings, though sometimes Katsuki adds or takes away things with notes beside them—notes like, less potato for better texture, or add the celery first thing. “No.”

Hitoshi shrugs and decides to stick his overbuttered muffins into the toaster. Maybe that’ll dry them out some. “What’re you getting that for?”

“Have to prep some meals for later. Have to decide what I’m going to do so I can go grocery shopping.”

“Mm.” Hitoshi remembers one of the notes he’d read in the recipe binder in Katsuki’s hands. “I thought Izuku hated spicy food, by the way. Your scale has him at moderate, which for you is like. Melt your mouth off.”

“Stop going through my shit,” Katsuki says. He doesn't look bothered, though. “Izuku can handle heat better than most of you. He just doesn’t like it.”

“Do you have notes like that on everyone?” Hitoshi hadn’t seen any for him. Had Katsuki just removed them?

“Yes.”

“Even me?”

Katsuki sighs and turns away, but the tips of his ears are pink. “Shut up.”

“Aw.” Hitoshi’s spice tolerance is shit. He knows this. “That’s sweet. I mean, now I have to wonder why you made that karaage the other night—”

“That wasn’t for you, idiot.” Katsuki frowns. “That was mine and it was supposed to be for my lunch.”

“You made like, three times more than you usually eat.” Besides, Hitoshi had only eaten a single piece before he’d instantly regretted it. “I was just curious.”

“I brought extra for Shoto.” Katsuki shrugs.

“Shoto doesn’t eat spicy food.” He likes cold food, explicitly. The man would eat ice cubes for dinner if he could.

“Nah, but sometimes he wants it around the holidays.” Katsuki shrugs, looking away and squaring up his shoulders. “Something to do with his brother or something. Not my business.”

Hitoshi suspects Shoto eats spicy food for the same reason Keigo does sometimes. Still. Katsuki’s obsession with his friends almost rivals Izuku’s. The recipe books do carry a certain similarity to those notebooks Izuku flipped through. Katsuki’s come with fewer warnings about keeping his stuff away from villain eyes. It would be funny to see a villain try to attack someone with spicy food based on Katsuki’s assessment of their spice level, however. “Whatever. I think you permanently altered my sense of taste.”

“Shouldn’t be snooping around in my fridge, then.”

“Should label that stuff with a warning.” Hitoshi frowns, thinking, then adds. “And it’s our fridge, Katsuki.” 

Katsuki rolls his eyes before sitting down to eat. Hitoshi’s pretty proud of the sauce, even if Katsuki did help. He finishes his plate, and maybe it’s just the stupid conversation about the karaage, or maybe it's Katsuki finishing off the soggy-burnt muffin, or maybe even it’s just that Hitoshi is weak to the way Katsuki picks up both plates to wash them for breakfast. Either way, Hitoshi finds his mouth moving on its own as he watches Katsuki settle into his daily routine of cleaning everything that’s already clean. “Want me to go with you to the grocery store?”

“Whatever.” Katsuki looks over at Hitoshi still in his pajamas. “I leave in ten minutes.”

The grocery trip is a disaster. Everyone is out for last minute gifts and holiday treats. Hitoshi buys Katsuki a black cat themed ice cream even though he doesn’t ask for one. Katsuki threatens to dunk it on his head when he finds out, but he eats it anyway. Katsuki fills his cart with food and only half of it is anything he’d ever eat. When Hitoshi asks about why, Katsuki shows him a calendar on his phone with three different parties and two unrelated dinners he’s attending before Christmas. He’s cooking for most of them, he says. 

Hitoshi’s stomach twists. He wasn’t planning on going to any of the parties he’d been invited to, but suddenly he finds himself clearing up all of the nothing in his schedule to try.

⸻ ✧ ⸻

 “Bakubaby,” Mina hugs him the second he walks through her door. Sero is already fiddling with the music, which is rapidly switching between jazzy-sounding smooth beats and upbeat pop songs. This makes sense, considering Momo and Mina are both hosting. The entire place is decorated in a tasteful mash up of their styles. Pink and blue sheer curtains hung over the windows. Convincing fake candles give just enough warm light to make the room comfortably navigable. 

“Don’t call me that.” Katsuki wraps an arm around her waist before being immediately jumped on by Ochako and Izuku. “You guys got started early.” 

Ochako wiggles her fingers at him, offering to float him up to the ceiling. Kinoko and Hagakure giggle above them, spinning slowly and holding hands. There’s wine glasses all over the house. Katsuki is willing to bet it’s not the cheap boxed stuff Mina used to drink either. He shakes his head at Ochako’s offer, which is all it takes for her to slip off to find her other soon-to-be husband. 

Mina gives him a guilty look, ruffling his hair in the way she knows he hates. “Yeah, they’ve been here for a while. Kaminari is supposed to show up a little later with more drinks, but uh, I think Momo might have bought a little too much wine.” 

She’s steady on her feet, cheeks the purplish red of inebriation, hair styled back and out of her face. Mina always styles herself in her signature fun patterns and modern cuts, but today she’s in a bright sparkly red with white fluff lining the edges. It’s a classic holiday outfit. Considering two hours ago she was in a navy blue dress giving an interview to a reporter for a major news outlet about her holiday-themed cosmetics line out and, just in case anyone forgot she was a real, true, bona fide hero, the latest smash up of a local criminal ring. She’d been partnering up more and more with Aizawa and his agency, but the reporters hurry past the final segment. 

Katsuki isn’t about to mention any of that here, though. He’s already tucked his PR manager’s card into her gift. The offer is there, even if he’s not going to hold her hand and take her to a better manager himself. She’ll know what to do. 

“Kacchan!” Izuku shouts into his ear. Even with his hearing aids turned way down, he’s too loud. Katsuki narrows his eyes and glares at the green gremlin beside him. He appears more excited than drunk, thankfully. Izuku’s never been as much of a lightweight as his girlfriend. 

“What?” He navigates the both of them through the rest of the house. It’s easy enough, even with his over-excited attachment. 

“Where’s your plus one?” 

“He’s not a plus one.” Katsuki scowls. “And he’s on his way. Said he had to stop and grab something.”

“What does he need to grab?” Izuku grins. “Something for you? Something from you? Oh, does he still wear that jacket you bought him all the time?” 

“Shut up.” Katsuki’s face is already hot. He doesn’t want to drink yet–doesn’t like getting drunk at parties, not really. Things always seem to end badly when he drinks around his friends. They’re too chaotic, they need someone to keep them from fucking floating off with the clouds. 

“We’re supposed to have games later, so get that sour look off your face!” Ochako shouts down at him from the ceiling and he only just keeps himself from shooting her a rude gesture. Izuku might be a sweet marshmallow pushover, but he’s also insane and Katsuki doesn’t have the energy to deal with that right now. 

“Whatever you say, Cheeks.” Katsuki doesn’t have any intentions of playing the games. He has every intention of eating, maaaybe drinking, and then slipping out when everyone has seen his face and he won’t be considered rude. This is actually the only party he’s been invited to where someone hired a caterer. Momo and Mina both insist they want him to relax. 

Which would be easier if his phone wasn’t going off every few seconds with Hitoshi texting him random pictures of stuffed animals with a do you think he’ll like this one? attached. 

“I’ll tell you when he shows up.” Izuku bounces on his feet, just slightly, then places a wet kiss against Katsuki’s scarred cheek. “Just promise me you won’t ignore him the entire time.”

“Why would I do that?” 

Izuku tilts his head at him, an incredulous look on his face. “You avoided him for two years after your last party.” 

“That was different.” 

“Was it?”

“Yes.” Katsuki scowls. “Are you going to give me any fucking peace or do I need to kick your ass?” 

Izuku holds up both hands in a placating gesture, shrugging up his shoulders. “Okay! Fine, fine.” 

“Drop it, Izuku.” 

“I will!” Izuku pouts, crossing his arms. “Not like I was that pushy.”

“Eijirou! Come get your dumbass boyfriend before he gets his ass pummeled!” 

Eijirou appears from around the corner with a bowl of chips and red and white striped horns sticking up from his head. “Hey, Katsuki! What’s up, man?” 

Katsuki is already getting a headache from the small talk. 

Luckily, this time, his phone rings instead of buzzing through text messages in his pocket and Katsuki holds up to show the call before hiding himself in a guest bedroom. 

“Where the fuck are you? Izuku has already climbed all over me asking about you.” 

“Aw. Didn’t think he cared.” 

“Don’t be fucking stupid, of course you thought he cared. Izuku cares about everyone.” He’s being too snappy, but something about this damned party and its mood feels off and it’s putting him in a worse mood than usual. “What do you want?”

“Okay, I have it down to two options, and I feel like the choice is obvious, but I still want to run it by you because you're, you know, you.” Hitoshi pauses, then the phone rings through in his hand. Hitoshi is interrupting his own phone call with a video call. Katsuki sighs and swaps it over. 

“You’re being stupid.”

“So, what I have is a Dynadog plush,” Hitoshi says, then snorts. “As if you’d own a dog.” 

“What’s the second option?” 

“Ochacat plush. They have like, one of each left.” Hitoshi holds them up to the camera, squishing them beside his face so they can both be in the shot. It’s unfairly adorable. Katsuki has to hold the phone against his chest so Hitoshi can’t see his face. 

“The Ochacat.” Izuku probably already has one of each, knowing the nerd. 

“Meh. I figure he already has one.” Hitoshi blows out a raspberry into the phone. “What’re you hiding for, get back here! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me until now that he always buys a gift for everyone.” 

“You said you weren’t coming.” 

“I did not.” 

He did, but Katsuki figures there’s no point in doing a play-by-play of the conversation. Besides, Hitoshi always makes that way more embarrassing. The man’s favorite pastime seems to be annoying the shit out of Katsuki by making insinuations. “Just pick something. He’d rather you be here without a gift than fucking not show up after you told Mina you would.” 

“You’re so unhelpful.” Hitoshi huffs. “What did you get him?” 

“He’s not getting his present from me at a party.” 

In fact, Katsuki has a whole get together with the Sweetheart Trio at their place. He’s cooking dinner. It’s a whole tradition they do every year. 

“Just fucking help me.” Hitoshi whines. 

“Get him a new shirt. Something nice, that he can wear wherever. He goes through shirts almost as fast as Kirishima.” 

“Thanks,” Hitoshi says. Then, click. And he’s gone. Katsuki sags against the wall and gives himself a few minutes to wrangle with his irritation until it’s settled enough he can handle the others. 

He leaves the room and walks directly into someone too short for him to see. “What the fuck?” 

“You’re just the same as always,” says a purple-haired idiot with a lisp. Not the purple-haired idiot he wanted to see. Not a purple-haired idiot he ever wanted to see. 

“Mineta.” Katsuki sneers. “Thought you died.” 

“Not all of us are blessed with natural talent, Bakugo.” Mineta presses a stubby, baby-sized hand against his chest, striking one of his ridiculous poses. “I may have lagged behind all through high school, but you know what they say.”

“I’m assuming it’s usually something along the lines of ew, gross, stay away from me.” Katsuki searches the corners for an escape route. This party looks dead. Mina never has a dead party. Not this fast especially. Again: what the fuck? And since when does Mineta show his face to anyone?

“No. They say, slow and steady wins the race.” Mineta waggles his eyebrows. Katsuki envisions punching him in the face. “And, baby, I’m a turtle.” 

Katsuki doesn’t have a response that isn’t punching that man in the face. So, he leaves Mineta standing there with his hand up and searches out Mina. 

He finds her with her back to the party, sitting in her kitchen. 

“Did you know Mineta’s out there?” He asks, before his hearing aids can pick up the low, sniffly sounds. At his announcement, her shoulders shake. Shit. “What happened? Do I need to kick Mineta out? How did he do something already?” 

The sniffles are broken up by a gasping giggle, which eases some of his raised hackles. Mina waves him over to her side and grabs onto his arm. He can see a half empty wine bottle beside her. How long had he been gone getting harassed by those fuckers out here that he’s missed all this?

“The caterers cancelled.” Mina rubs her nose, bleary eyes blinking back more tears. “They kept saying they were going to be late, and then like, ten minutes ago they called and said they weren’t showing up.” 

“Why?” Katsuki frowns. “Didn’t you book them a month ago?” 

“I did!” Mina wails, throwing her arms around his shoulders and burying her head in his chest. He’s glad he didn’t dress quite as fancy as she did. Just a black shirt and his black pants. He should have known tonight wouldn’t go as smoothly as she’d pretended. “And they were supposed to bring the prettiest pastry appetizers and make okonomiyaki, but like, ornaments, and I had to pay for so much edible glitter for them to use!” 

“Wh–”

“And my rankings are down and Momo has been looking forward to this so much! I told her not to worry about it and I’d take care of everything!” Mina rubs her face against him, and he tries to ignore the wet squish of her nose. There’s definitely snot on his shirt. “She’s going to think I’m a loser!” 

“Don’t be stupid.” Momo practically yearns for Mina whenever she leaves the room. The fact Mina’s been alone long enough to drink half a bottle of wine and get morose is a miracle. Or the opposite of a miracle, whatever. Highly implausible. 

“Heeeey, Mina,” comes the world’s most irritating voice. “Did I tell you the coolest new fact I learn today? Oh, good, Bakugo’s here so he already know–”

“I will fucking explode your head you little freak soccerball. Get out.” Katsuki growls out at the man’s head, stopping him with a hand against his thin mustache and goatee. He lets a few sparks pop, but that’s all it takes for Mineta to back off, ashen faced. “Mina. I’ll take care of the fucking food. Your fucking present already has the card of my agency in it, and they’ll hook you up with a PR team that can get your ranking back up. Just go out there and save your party, kick Mineta out, and let me handle shit.” 

Mina blinks at him, and he bites back a comment calling her fucking Raccoon Eyes. It doesn’t feel the same, for some reason, when just the word makes him think of Hito. Plus, he’s pretty sure she’s about to cry and hug him, which he does not want. He grabs her apron off the hook by her stove and throws it over his neck and ties it at the back before she can try. 

When she tries to take the bottle of wine with her, he holds out his hand. “Leave it. And bring the rest of the wine in here, you guys are on a one-way fucking road to blind fucking drunk, and I won’t be out there to keep shit steady.” 

“Bakubaby, I think I’m in love with you,” Mina holds up her hands in a tiny pink heart. “I would marry you if I wasn’t so gay.” 

“Go the fuck out there before I change my mind.” 

She leaves, and before he’s finished pulling out the pans he’s going to need, she’s back. He’s only managed to gather up the flour and cabbage before she’s unloading three more bottles of wine onto the counter and a few more tears to drip onto his frilly-apron covered shoulder in thanks. “Keep the wine, baby, you earned it.”

“Well,” he sighs. “Best get to making something.” 

⸻ ✧ ⸻

Hitoshi gets a little carried away. He ends up getting Izuku a shirt, Mina a Dynadog, and Sero’s Secret Santa gift. Then, he has to stop by the apartment because maybe he also got Hito and Katsuki something, too. Nothing crazy. Not really. Probably. 

Regardless, it’s almost an hour after he gets off the phone with Katsuki that he shows up at the party. Mina is singing karaoke at the TV, joined in a riveting duet with Momo. Mina, of course, is dancing around the living room, while Momo sings soulfully, teary eyed. 

He double-checks his watch to see that he isn’t later than he thought. Only a couple of hours… which wouldn’t usually make this much of a difference, but this is definitely late party energy. 

“Uh, hey Mina.” Hitoshi sets his professionally wrapped (he paid extra) gifts beside the others on the table by the door. There’s a mini glittering Christmas tree covered in blue and pink and red ornaments. 

Mina and Momo are wearing similar dresses and matching hair pieces. At some point, without either of them acknowledging him, Momo’s arm catches around Mina’s shoulders and she pulls her in for a particularly heartfelt line. 

“Okay, then.” He glances across the room and sees Denki, who is busy pouring everyone shots from a green bottle that looks suspiciously like one of Denki’s tropical shock shooters. An unholy drink that’s far too easy going down for a party this drunk already. “What the fuck, Denki?”

“Dunno man, I just got here!” Kaminari grins and downs one of the shots he just poured, handing the other one to Ochako, whose pink cheeks are distinctly cherry red now. Denki’s drinks are always delicious, but they also tend to knock people right to the dirt. “Like! Twenty minutes ago!”

Something about the scene isn’t right–it’s not balancing in his head. Sure, parties with the Bakusquad and Izuku and basically all of class A can be pretty wild. But usually there’s something… “Denki! Where’s Katsuki?” 

Izuku gasps, loudly, from across the room. “Kacchan?” 

“Yeah, he usually keeps you guys from… all of this.” Hitoshi gestures around the room. He apparently interrupted Izuku and Eijirou’s game of throwing Ferrero Rocher chocolates into each other’s mouth. They’re going to be so sick. 

“Oh, well, he’s in the kitchen man.” Denki points towards Mina’s kitchen, but he’s no more pointed it out than Mina’s found her way across the room to throw herself into Hitoshi’s arms and wail. 

“Bakubaby is a gift, Hitoshi!” Mina rubs her cheek against his. “He saved everything. And probably my career, too. You better treat him right.” 

“I what?” 

“You know! You better treat him right.” Mina kisses his cheek. “He deserves it, after all this time.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Hitoshi tries to untangle himself from her arms. Surely Katsuki will be an island of sanity in this chaos.” Katsuki doesn’t need me to do anything.”

“Course you do!” Mina shoos him on to the kitchen. He doesn’t think she heard anything he said. “Tell him I said thanks, again.” 

The kitchen is almost the exact opposite of the living room. Mina’s decor is still in place here, ribbons hanging down in sweet, drooping bows from blue and pink curtains. Katsuki is in a blue apron, lacy and far too cute for such a determined scowl to be marring his face. He looks ridiculous. The urge to pester Katsuki rises in him, a spirit come to possess him. “Hey there, short stuff. What’re you making? You know they’re tearing shit up out there.” 

“Don’t have time to give a shit.” Katsuki stands over a boiling pot on the top of the table that smells like dashi and mushrooms and a strong, collagen rich beefy scent. “Mina’s caterers cancelled on her. I’m trying to recreate the menu they were supposed to provide, but it’s not like she has all the ingredients.”

“You could always ask Momo to–”

“As a rule I don’t eat things produced from another person’s body.”

“I dunno abou–”

“I will kill you.” Katsuki finally looks at him, and his eyes are glassy, his cheeks pink. There’s an empty wine glass beside him and a matching empty bottle. “Don’t come in here and joke, she was crying, Hitoshi.”

“Oh, uh,” Hitoshi nudges the wine bottle over and sits on the countertop. “Drink this yourself, did you?” 

He’s never been the only sober one at a party before. That’s usually reserved for their walking explosion. He’s not sure he’s up to the task of keeping everyone from destroying everything. 

“Mina drank half of it.” Katsuki points to the wine bottle beside it. It doesn’t look like any has been poured out, but Katsuki clearly has plans. The wine glass is set up for a reason, a single drop of white wine still clinging to the inside of the glass. “That one’s mine.” 

“For cooking?” 

“I was supposed to be fucking off for this party. It was the only one this week I wasn’t cooking for.” Katsuki shrugs. “I figured it doesn’t matter if I have a drink. Can’t be out there and in here at the same time.” 

There’s something under the words. Hitoshi doesn’t even think Katsuki can hear it. Maybe it’s just him. “So, you’re coming in to save the day, yeah?” 

“Shut it, Eyebags. Come tell me how this soup tastes.” 

It tastes amazing, of course. Layers of flavor he’s somehow managed to develop over the course of the last hour. Hitoshi can smell something sweet in the air while he leans over the oven. “What else are you making?”

“Tea cookies.” Katsuki grunts, shifting as Hitoshi hovers over him. “For Momo. And okonomiyaki, but I’m waiting on the meat to marinate.” 

“What meat?” Hitoshi doesn’t see any meat. In the fridge? “Going so fancy on such short notice. You could’ve probably just thrown something together.”

Katsuki’s shoulders tense up. “It’s whatever. It’s fine.”

Hitoshi hums, pulling his leg up to rest his chin on his knee as he contemplates this change in direction. Now that he thinks about it, isn’t it kind of strange that all of Katsuki’s friends get to let go and somehow he ends up the babysitter? Even when Katsuki does drink, Hitoshi doesn’t think he’s seen him get properly drunk at a party before. Not in a long time. “Alright. Look, I’ll be right back.” 

Hitoshi hops up, then pours another glassful of wine for Katsuki.

“You’re only supposed to fill it halfway, dumbass.” Katsuki’s pink cheeks catch all the warm light in the room when he squints at Hitoshi. Clearly suspicious. 

“Hold down the fort,” Hitoshi says, as if the kitchen is going to float away while he’s gone. 

⸻ ✧ ⸻

Denki’s brought way too much alcohol. Hitoshi doesn’t know what the plan was, exactly. Then again, Mina had asked Denki to provide drinks. Clearly something was awry from the beginning. First, turning off the faucet. He quietly confiscates all but the bottle Denki is currently pouring from. That leaves everyone with one last, rather large, bottle of pineapple flavored vodka to drink. Should last them long enough to be not quite sure how much they drank. 

“Probably a good move,” Tsuyu says, when she catches him hiding all the drinks in a closet. She, of course, doesn’t drink. Kind of can’t, with a body that produces mucus like hers. Still, she’s far too shy to usually be much of a controlling force in a room of her friends. “I’ll make sure no one looks in there.” 

“Thanks, Tsu.” He salutes her. “Do you know what’s up with uh, all of this?” 

Tsu shrugs. “Mina’s been really active when she came out. She passed out a lot of snacks.” 

“Explains why she’s so drunk. Probably was trying to buy Katsuki time to get the food ready and soak up some of the alcohol. What about the wine?” 

“Momo was going to–” Tsu cuts herself off, covering her mouth with one large hand. When she pulls her hand away, she’s looking down at her feet. “Well, she wanted to celebrate, too.” 

Hitoshi doesn’t need to know what Momo’s plan was–at least he knows where all the expensive wine came from. He could’ve guessed. “Anything else I should know?” 

“Mineta’s here.” 

“Is he behaving himself?” If anyone would know, Tsu would. She used to be able to handle that boy when no one else could. 

“Mostly.” 

Hitoshi’s going to ignore him then. That leaves him with one last thing to do. 

⸻ ✧ ⸻

“Mina,” Hitoshi calls, catching her right before she can hunt down Izuku and Ochako trying to disappear into a side room. Not like they’re going to do anything in there besides talk and maybe fall asleep. They’re adorable, not raunchy. “I have a question.” 

“Oh! Hitoshi! Shoot, baby.” She grins at him, instantly forgetting what she was doing. 

“First, how much have you drunk?” 

“Denki gave me some of those shots. Like, 3? But I had a lot of wine before the party started. Momo just brought so much.” She stretches. “And then the caterers cancelled, and people were already drinking the wine, but you know how it is when you drink and don’t eat.”

“Katsuki seems pretty intent on helping you with your party. So, what happened?” 

“Oh, uh.” Mina fiddles with the ends of her hair, then smooths down her dress. “Kinda my fault, I think. I kinda was having a bad day. You know how Katsuki is.” 

He didn’t–or at least, he hadn’t really been paying attention last time he had the chance. He’s starting to learn, though. It’s too late to feel guilty now. “Well, I hid the alcohol. You think you can rein in the dynamic duo and their soft-hearted sidekick? What were your plans tonight, anyway?” 

“Oh! After dinner we were going to play games and put on music and do the Secret Santa.” 

“That sounds great!” 

“It really does,” Mina grins at him and then leans closer. “Is he doing okay in there?” 

“You haven’t checked?” That strange, foreign feeling pops again in chest. It reminds him of one of Katsuki’s sparks. 

“Well, you know.” Mina chews on her lip. “He gets real intense in the kitchen. Usually hates for any of us to be in there until he’s done.” 

Hitoshi assumes there must be one major benefit to living with the man. “Right. Well, he’s doing great.” 

Hitoshi hugs Mina, who hugs him back and turns to start corralling the others back into some semblance of order. She’s usually got a good handle on things–this is an off day for her and he can’t help but wonder what she isn’t saying about her bad day. Probably something Katsuki knows. 

He’s not going to ask.

He hugs and greets and waves his way through the crowd back to the kitchen, knocking the door open with his foot. He pretends not to see Izuku watching him with far too much excitement. “Hey, I made my way back.” 

There’s a stack of strangely shaped okonomiyaki cooked, all of them striped with thin strips of marinated beef strips, sliced thin and layered, with round slivers of caramelized onions in a pattern with sauteed mushrooms. The ones without all the toppings are glazed with alternating sauces, glossy and gorgeous in the warm light. 

“These look incredible.” 

“The meat finished marinating.” Katsuki leans against the opposite counter, glass in his hand. He’s definitely started another since Hitoshi left. He looks exhausted. Even the dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced. 

“Want me to take the food out?” Hitoshi picks up one with all the veggies and hands it over. He recognizes the strange shapes now–they’re shaped like different kinds of ornaments. “That’s creative.” 

“Mina’s idea.” 

Maybe the feeling in his chest is heartburn. “Well, I took care of everything else. Feel free to do whatever you want. You did great.” 

Katsuki scrunches his nose, tapping the tip of the glass against his lip. His eyes narrow, focusing on Hitoshi’s face. “Why are you being like this?” 

“Like what?” 

“Fucking nice. Quit it. I don’t like it.” 

Hitoshi glances around the empty kitchen. People really do mostly leave him alone when he’s cooking. How strange. Now that Hitoshi thinks about it, wasn’t Izuku sitting in the living room when Katsuki was cooking for him the day Izuku moved into the apartment? Shit. Why doesn’t he care when Hitoshi irritates him in the mornings? And while he’s making dinner… Hitoshi feels like he swallowed the sun and it’s rotating around between his ribs. He snorts, moving to stand in front of Katsuki and crowd against him. The wine glass hovers between them, clutched a little too tight in Katsuki’s hand. 

Hitoshi smells the sour scent of alcohol on Katsuki’s breath, the sweet taste of expensive wine clinging to the curve of Katsuki’s lip. Despite his assertion, he answers Hitoshi’s kiss easily. Not quite eager, far more hesitant, but the kiss seems to soften him. 

“Fine, I won’t be nice.” Hitoshi grins. “I’ll be back to bully you in a minute.” 

It takes several trips, but eventually everyone is served a ramekin of soup and their own plate of food. Turns out Katsuki had also set up small sides of cabbage and carrot salad, served with a simple soy dipping sauce. Mina’s managed to get everyone sharing stories about their last holiday, sharing theories about who got what from who for Secret Santa. They all cheer when he enters with the food. 

“Everyone should tell Katsuki thanks when he decides to leave his lair.” Hitoshi reminds them. There’s a couple of chuckles, but Izuku nods in solemn approval. Hitoshi tries not to feel weird about it. He listens to a few guesses–Sero is convinced that Katsuki bought him something. Or at least, that’s what he’s saying, but something about the twinkle in his eyes as he insists it, turning to each person with his assertion, feels like deflection. 

Hitoshi slips away once people are fully engaged in the conversation. He’s well practiced at disappearing from a room and the kitchen door is quiet enough not to draw attention. 

Katsuki is standing exactly where Hitoshi left him, staring at the soup and the leftover okonomiyaki. Of course he made extras. Man couldn’t keep himself from overpreparing if the building was on fire. “Hey, did you eat yet?” 

“Meh.” Katsuki takes a drink from his glass. “I ate while I was prepping everything.” 

“Whatever, eat real food.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” 

Hitoshi picks up the nearest okonomiyaki and a fork and moves to stand directly in front of Katsuki. He’s not an idiot–he’s not about to actually try to feed the man, but Katsuki doesn’t know that. “Eat, or I’ll make you.” 

Katsuki grabs a nearby plate and pulls apart the okonomiyaki, chewing slowly on a crispy edge. “You wouldn’t have.” 

Hitoshi laughs, sitting back on the countertop again. “Whatever. You really don’t think I can be nice?” 

Katsuki ignores him, glancing back at the door before taking a bigger bite of his food. He follows it with another drink from his wine cup, and Hitoshi pours him some more. “So, is Mina any better?” 

Hitoshi swallows his mouthful, considering how he can answer. “She’s fine. I think things started to get out of hand, but everyone’s good.” 

Katsuki hums, looking into the pale mirror of the wine and turning it in his hand. “Why aren’t you out there with them?”

“Why aren’t you?” Hitoshi retorts, and then scoffs. “Come on, they’re loud as shit out there. Besides, you don’t get to hog the warmest, quietest room. What’re you going to do, take a nap in here?” 

“Kinda seems more like a you thing to do.” 

“How about we finish this bottle and go back out there?” Hitoshi picks up the wine Katsuki had started. “This is some pretty nice stuff.” 

Katsuki snorts. “How about I finish that one, and you finish that one.” He points to a bottle beside it. “Mina said we could have it.” 

Hitoshi doubts she said they could do anything, but he’s not about to argue. “Sure, I won’t turn down expensive drinks.” Hitoshi digs through the cabinets to find the glasses, only to turn around to Katsuki holding one out to him by the stem. The others are hanging upside down over the sink, which would be embarrassing if Hitoshi could bother with being embarrassed right now. 

Katsuki watches him pour a drink, not drinking any of his own until Hitoshi takes his first sip. Maybe it’s immature–Hitoshi has never pretended to be mature–but Hitoshi can’t help but lock eyes with Katsuki and down the cup. They finish their drink at the same time and Katsuki rolls his eyes. 

“I did win, though,” Hitoshi says to Katsuki’s unspoken dismissal. “You should have to pour the next glass.” 

Katsuki quirks up a brow but does pour Hitoshi’s next glass before moving to pour his own. The apron tied around his waist is almost comically frilly, and still spotless. The bow somehow makes Katsuki’s waist look even more trim than usual. Hitoshi stares at it as he sips his drink and listens to the group outside. Katsuki already looks more relaxed than he had the first time Hitoshi came in. 

“What’re you staring at?” 

“You.” Hitoshi grins. “That a problem?” 

Katsuki tilts his head, red eyes hard, jaw working as if considering the answer. “Nah.” 

And Hitoshi has to kiss him after that. He’d basically asked for it.

⸻ ✧ ⸻

By the time both bottles are done, whatever heartburn or swallowed sun or protectiveness that had taken up residence in Hitoshi’s chest over Katsuki being abandoned in the kitchen has been drowned down to embers. He even offers to carry the cookies Katsuki clearly made for Momo, even if he made enough for everyone. 

“You gonna go out there in that apron?” Hitoshi tugs at the bow, which has consistently caught his attention. Katsuki slaps his hand away for at least the fifth time tonight. “I mean, I like it, you could keep it on.” 

“Shut up.” Katsuki’s cheeks are bright red in the room, but he unties the apron and tosses it by the sink before he follows Hitoshi out of the room. 

“You could get another one.” Hitoshi leans closer so he’s whispering in Katsuki’s ear. “Could wear it at home. I wouldn’t complain.” 

There’s a pop in Katsuki’s fist, and he turns, lip pulled back in a snarl like he’s about to shout at Hitoshi, but Izuku hears the evidence of his Kacchan emerging, finally, and bounds up to them before Katsuki can get a handle on how to respond. 

“You two missed all the games.” Izuku pouts. He looks far more sober than he had when Hitoshi first saw him. Or maybe Hitoshi is just more drunk. Luckily, Katsuki’s apartment–or, well, their apartment–is just down the street.

Mina is putting away a game with cards, randomized letters and large exclamation marks over the top of the box, when she realizes who Izuku is talking to. 

“You’ve finally emerged from the lair!” Mina laughs, poking at Momo and Ochako to give them a space to sit. “We were going to come in after you before we started the gift giving.” 

“Thanks for the food, Kacchan!” Izuku says, elbowing Denki and then Eijirou in quick succession. “It was so cute!” 

“Don’t call it fuckin’ cute.” Katsuki grumbles, then glances at Mina. “Or whatever. I guess it's fine.” 

“It was the best man,” Eijirou glances at Mina, clearly torn between making a manly comment and letting Mina keep the cuteness factor of the Christmas themed food. “The whole party has been pretty awesome, thanks, guys!” 

“Yeah, you and Hitoshi and Mina make a great team.” Denki winks. “I’m gonna need my drinks back though, for mine and Sero’s thing in like, two days.” 

Hitoshi rolls his eyes, but Denki knows him well enough to know he’ll get them back. Still, he leans back, laying his arms across the back of the couch, and studies the group. Everything has calmed down. Things are manageable. He can relax. 

“Hurry up, Alien Queen!” Sero shouts. He’s sipping a soda, and when Hitoshi’s eyes connect with his, he winks. “We all wanna see what we got!” 

“And from who!” Ochako claps her hands, bouncing in her seat. “It’s time!” 

By the time Mina’s back from putting away all her games, the group has already started theorizing. Sero keeps his mouth shut now that Katsuki is in the room but he looks about ready to burst. Denki insists Jirou bought him something because she’s been acting weird, which gets him a smack on the shoulder. Mina counts the gifts, admonishes everyone for buying too many, and then passes them out. 

Hitoshi ends up with three–one from Izuku, and two unlabeled. He shakes one in his ear, only to hear a very faint jingle. Weird, but it could be anything. Everyone else is also wiggling their gifts around. Denki is turning his around in his hands, weighing it, which is useless because the box is extremely tiny. 

 “Alright, everyone!” Mina holds up her two gifts. “Open!” 

The room is filled with the sound of ripping paper for all of a few seconds. There are tags on the inside–though some of them were obvious regardless. For example–all of Izuku’s were wrapped in All Might paper, and everyone has one. Inside are tickets for a local band the group all apparently likes. Hitoshi has never gone, but when he looks up, Izuku is watching him excitedly. An invitation, then, with all the pressure of layered expectation behind it. An offer he probably can’t refuse. He hopes it’s not on a fucking Thursday. 

“Thanks Izuku.” Hitoshi will have to look up the band and try to learn some songs before the date on the ticket. At least he has a few weeks. 

“You’ll love them, man. They have the coolest sound. I can’t believe you’ve never gone with us.” Eijirou nudges his foot. 

The second gift is missing the tag. The wrapping is plain and black, with a black bow. Could be anyone–it looks professionally wrapped, and most of the heroes here make enough to pay someone to do the wrapping for them if they felt like it. Still, the small box is filled with rings–a bottle tab ring, a lunar moth ring with a single green stone in the middle of it, a ring that looks like vines wrapping around his finger. He tries them all on–they all fit, one on each finger. Pretty, and alternating in deep purples and light greens, textured and random. A little like he’d imagine a magpie nest. 

“My Secret Santa didn’t put a name on theirs.” He waves the empty box in front of him, but Katsuki only plucks it from his hand and puts it back on his lap.

“Nah, that one wasn’t your Secret Santa one. Probably the other one.” 

Hitoshi raises an eyebrow. Not like Katsuki would know. Katsuki is still watching everyone else, not yet tearing into his own gifts. There’s something like assessment in his eyes, even if he’s still hazy from his bottle and a half of wine. Like he’s measuring something as everyone reacts to their gifts. 

Mina opens one of hers and sniffles, tucking a shiny silver chain delicately back into her box and offering Katsuki a watery smile. The moment passes quickly, and Hitoshi pretends not to notice it. He wonders who got him his Secret Santa gift–if it was difficult, since he rarely makes an appearance on the group outings. 

He opens the last box to find an album with bright, neon cover art and a group of five girls over the cover with a myriad of piercings between them. He narrows his eyes, pulling the cover closer to study and… yes, they are all connected by one long chain that appears to snake in and out of their shirts. Very. Normal, yes, he’s choosing to not think about that and how difficult that had to be. 

The tag that falls out when he opens the plastic cover says Ochako. Not who he expected, and when he looks up at her she’s busy pulling out a hairbrush shaped like a giant cat's paw in pearlescent pink. 

“Figured you’d need something to listen to, before the concert and all.” Izuku whispers, loudly, across to him. Ochako hears him, looking over to see Hitoshi with her gift in his hand. He hadn’t expected to get one, much less three gifts tonight, so he’s not sure how to respond when she throws an arm around his shoulders and squeezes him against her side. She’s impossibly strong–as always–and he ends up squished against her chest. 

“Hope you like it, Hitoshi! I cheated a little, since I knew what Izuku was getting everyone.” 

“No, it’s perfect.” He won’t have to buy anything now. He fiddles with his new rings and tries to offer her a smile, though he’s not certain he achieves more than a painful grimace. Not his fault, that’s just his face.

Katsuki scoffs beside her, but he’s finally started opening up his gift now so Hitoshi’s attention is taken entirely by the slowly unfurling of black and gold wrapping paper. He’d already guessed that Sero had been Katsuki’s Secret Santa, and judging by the way Sero immediately stopped playfighting against Denki with their extra-mini swords (Hitoshi had gotten two, figuring they’d be used exactly like this), Sero thinks he’s done pretty well. 

Katsuki preserves the paper as much as he can–because of course he does–and holds up an almost perfect replica plush of Hito. There’s even a similar collar, though Hitoshi notices the grenade is not quite the same, the orange leather not quite as nice. Of course, Katsuki probably spent a fortune on his collar, so it makes sense that Sero’s plush raccoon wouldn’t have something like that. It’s cute. Hitoshi frowns at the strange competitiveness he’s feeling over a stupid toy raccoon. 

A cute toy raccoon. 

Katsuki doesn’t have a drastic response. Not that anyone expected him to. He pulls the raccoon closer and inspects its eyes and tail and flips its hands up and down. 

“I thought it would be a pretty nice Hito Jr., since your raccoon likes to come and go as he pleases.” 

“Thanks,” Katsuki says, and then sits the raccoon in his lap and sinks back into the couch. He must have already known what Izuku’s present was, because he hadn’t even opened it before slipping it into his pocket. Probably trying to preserve that paper, too.

It takes about ten minutes of everyone’s low chatter before Katsuki nods off against the back of the couch. He doesn’t snore, his muscles tensed. Hitoshi looks at Mina, who is dancing her Dynadog over Momo’s lap, laughing. Izuku is already wearing his new shirt–purple, with an I Want to Believe print over the front. The brand is called Alien Queen, which is the only reason he noticed it in the first place. 

Hitoshi catches Mina’s eye and jerks his chin towards Katsuki. The man barely even slumps in his sleep, but his even breathing and closed eyes are a pretty strong indicator that he’s done for the night. 

Mina offers him a small wave and then distracts everyone while Hitoshi nudges his knee against Katsuki’s. He navigates one groggy Explosion Hero to the door and grabs one of Denki’s five bottles of toasted marshmallow flavored vodka from the closet on the way out. 

⸻ ✧ ⸻

The cold wakes Katsuki up before they reach the house. He’s quiet, holding the raccoon plush under one arm, looking at the thin flurry of snowflakes drifting down over the pale streetlamps. Hitoshi’s wearing the rings, and they glitter and shine in the dark whenever he fidgets with them, turning them around and around on his fingers. 

Katsuki’s glad he got the right size. And that Hitoshi hadn’t worn many other rings. As it is, he still clinks with each step. 

“Do you like it?” Hitoshi asks, gesturing towards Hito Jr. 

“It’s not bad.” Katsuki adjusts his arm to scoop under the plush’s legs. It’s rather cute. He has no idea where he’s going to put it. “You hungry?” 

“A little.” Hitoshi holds up a bottle. “And since you didn’t get to party much, I even took this with me. Doubt Denki will miss it–he doesn’t care much about the purely sweet drinks. He’s all about sour flavors.”

“Man lives to be a cliche.” Katsuki shrugs. 

Hitoshi grins at him and it’s too wide, a little crooked, full of shiny teeth. Katsuki squeezes Hito Jr. tighter against his chest so he doesn’t pull Hitoshi down into a kiss. He knows he’s not fully sober, that there’s still wine sloshing around in his too empty stomach. 

He needs to make soup anyway. He’ll just make a large pot of it and freeze the rest. He’s got his list and all of his ingredients already. He should have stocked up way before now, but things have been busy. Even for this time of year, which is always a little overbooked with parties and things for his friends. 

“How about root vegetable soup?” He asks, and looks up to see Hitoshi has stopped several feet ahead of him, head tilted up to catch a snowflake on his tongue. “Oi, you’re going to get sick.” 

“So?” Hitoshi laughs, then pauses. “Oh, right. Aizawa said he thinks he knows an agency looking for rescue heroes. I could do some work while I’m waiting for things to stabilize with Juzo.” 

Katsuki stomps past Hitoshi, making his way down the street where he can see his apartment, surrounded by Christmas lights on the patio. He still hasn’t figured out what to do about Hito while he’s away. The raccoon shows up so sporadically, there doesn’t seem to be a good method of making sure he has a way into the house. For now, Katsuki’s left his window unlocked and just barely cracked. He figures raccoons are smart enough to figure out their way in. 

Hito probably is, at least, considering he figured out his way in in the first place. 

⸻ ✧ ⸻

“That’s a lot of carrots.”

Katsuki ignores him. Part of the carrots are parsnips, anyway, but he doesn’t expect Hitoshi to notice or care about the difference. He bags up the scraps for a vegetable broth later and chops everything into even chunks. It doesn’t take him long. He’s made this soup so many times he could probably do it in his sleep.

Carrots, celery, onion. Parsnips. Potatoes. A single turnip. His homemade broth poured over top of all of it to simmer down with a handful of herbs. When he turns around, he sees Hitoshi holding up a double shot glass that smells like cooked sugar soaked in vodka. Katsuki's nose curls and Hitoshi laughs at him. The laugh is deep and gravelly, matching the darkness outside and the fact it can’t be any earlier than midnight. 

“Hold your nose and drink it,” Hitoshi says, sliding the drink into Katsuki’s hands. “If you still want it, of course.” 

Hitoshi is obviously goading him, holding his own double shot against his lips. Katsuki rolls his eyes, takes the shot, and downs it. It tastes vile. Like marshmallows boiled into a syrup and poorly rehydrated with rubbing alcohol. 

“I wish we could have stolen Mina’s apron.” Hitoshi studies Katsuki, bracing himself with Katsuki’s shoulders. “You should wear aprons more often, I think.” 

Katsuki’s certain the heat in his face is from the alcohol. Still, he shrugs Hitoshi’s hands off, turning to find the lid and cover the soup. He searches out a couple of bowls and the immersion blender. It takes longer to find the portioning cups for the leftovers, but he finally finds them stuck in the corner of his bottom shelf in the pantry. He may as well get out all of his prep materials. He’ll have to cook more soups and reheatables for next week. Probably before Sero and Denki’s “party.” 

“What’s all that for?” Hitoshi takes a slow cooker from under Katsuki’s arm, setting it down as soon as he reaches the counter. In the wrong spot, of course, but Katsuki hadn’t expected any differently. The man is a bit of a disaster in the kitchen. No sense for a proper set up. 

“Soup has to simmer for at least half an hour.” Katsuki places the portion cups by the bubbling pot and starts to arrange tomorrow’s setup. “I’m making enough to store for later, when I’m sick.” 

Hitoshi snorts. “I don’t think it works like that, darling. You can’t schedule sickness.” 

Katsuki’s head swims, but he sets out his list. Tomorrow he’ll make curry chicken and rice, and potato leek soup. Those should be customizable enough when he can’t breathe through his nose and doesn’t want to move from the couch. He should pick out movies. He always forgets to do that and regrets it after all the Christmas shit has ended. “Well, I can. I’m going to be sick the day after Christmas. Usually it lasts about a week.” 

Hitoshi tugs him away from the list he’s writing. “What? You can’t know that.” 

“Every year.” 

“That’s dumb.” Hitoshi frowns. “Why?” 

Katsuki shrugs. Hitoshi’s rings catch his attention. The lunar moth on his thumb is twisted wrong, so that the stone and the moth are hidden on the underside. Katsuki catches his hand and turns it around. “Dunno. Just does.” 

Hitoshi keeps his hand when he tries to drop it. He steps forward and sighs, his breath too sweet and warm in the cold kitchen. “Gotta take better care of yourself, darling.” 

Katsuki laughs. “First time I’ve heard that one. Have you seen me?” 

Instead of answering, Hitoshi kisses him. It’s a little sloppy, a little too much spit, and Hitoshi keeps giggling. Katsuki still curses when he pulls away, irritated at the way his first instinct is to chase after it, or say something stupid, or pull Hitoshi back. He’s too hot. 

“You know,” Hitoshi hums, watching the vine ring twist on his index finger. “I got you a gift, too. Of course, I can’t beat the raccoon plush or concert tickets, but I thought you’d like it.” 

“What?” Katsuki pretends he didn’t hear the implication. “Why didn’t you fucking say anything?” 

“Oh?” Hitoshi raises his eyebrows, leaning back against the counter. “You want it?” 

Katsuki narrows his eyes, considering the game. Clearly Hitoshi wants to give him the present, whatever it is. He looks at Hito Jr. sitting on the couch. “Dunno, could always just wait. You’ll give it to me eventually.” 

“You think? Could give it to someone else.” Hitoshi turns, pouring another double shot for each of them. He’s pretty sure Hitoshi only chose these glasses because he was too stubborn to ask where to find the regular shot glasses. Dumbass.

At this point, Katsuki’s going to be lucky to roll out of bed by noon tomorrow. Still, when Hitoshi tips his liquid lighter fluid syrup, Katsuki matches him. 

“That tastes like shit. I’m not drinking any more of it.” 

“It does, but it’s Denki’s.” Hitoshi laughs. “It’ll get the job done.” 

“Fucking Denki.” 

“Fucking Denki, indeed.” Hitoshi salutes him, ambling off towards the hallway. 

There’s the brief sound of piss hitting the toilet and then a few minutes of Hitoshi fumbling around in the hall. Katsuki puts together garlic toast and slices of a strong, sharp cheese, sticking them in the oven to toast. If nothing else, it should soak up some of the damage they just did to their livers. And if not, then drunk Katsuki can pretend it will. 

“Here.” Hitoshi holds out a medium-sized bag with orange and purple tissue sticking from the top. Odd choice for Christmas, but what does he care? 

When Katsuki tries to reach for it, however, Hitoshi pulls it away. “Ah, so you do want it tonight?” 

“Fucker, you just tried to give it to me.” Katsuki considers whether it's worth it to blast up and grab it from Hitoshi’s hand. He could probably keep the damage minimal. Then, he sighs, recognizing the bad decision for what it is. “What, you want me to say I want it?”

“Hm.” Hitoshi blinks at him. “I do, actually.” 

Katsuki doesn’t know why he’s fucking hot all over, like his body was dipped in hot wax sometime when he wasn’t looking. “Then fucking give me the present.” 

“You didn’t say it, yet.” 

Katsuki wants to explode the fucking ridiculous man. “I want the fucking present.” 

Hitoshi snorts. “Sounds about like how you’d ask for it.” 

“You’re insufferable.” He crosses his arms. “Give me the present.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.” Hitoshi hands it over, but when Katsuki’s fingers close over the handle of the bag, Hitoshi follows it forward, catching Katsuki’s mouth with his and resting one hand on the curve of Katsuki’s hip. 

It’s a little clumsy–four shots in no more than an hour will do that to someone–but Katsuki’s not going to pretend that the vodka is to blame for how quickly he drops the bag and steps forward into Hitoshi’s arms. He’s been exhausted, wrung out from the unexpected direction of Mina’s party and the shifts he’s been working and the late nights he’s had. The tips of Hitoshi’s fingers dig into the muscles of his back, a deep pressure that leaves him gasping when it finally lets up. He’s too sensitive, his body answering every touch with amplified enthusiasm. 

His shirt is off and across the couch before he even realizes Hitoshi’s tugging at it. He’s distracted by Hitoshi scooping him up, carrying him under the thighs back towards the room. 

He knows he’s forgetting something, like an alarm ringing quietly in the back of his mind, but it takes one bite over his speeding pulse for the alarm bells to die completely. 

He bounces on the bed when Hitoshi drops him, cursing in surprise, and then cursing again at the stupid fond look Hitoshi gives him. He’s doomed, he’s always been doomed, from the very second Izuku started his meddling. His heart stutters in his chest and he’s just drunk enough that he can’t ignore it. 

“Fucking,” Katsuki gasps when Hitoshi dips his head down, kissing at the exposed dips of muscle and warm, scarred skin on Katsuki’s abdomen. “You’re going to kill me, you know?” 

“Aw, sugar. I couldn’t hurt you,” Hitoshi’s laugh vibrates low against the dip of Katsuki’s hip. He shivers, and of course Hitoshi notices. “Come on, tell me again.”

“Tell you fucking what?” Like Katsuki can think of anything right now with Hitoshi’s hands unbuttoning his pants, mouth hovering over the line of his boxers. 

“That you want it, Katsuki.” Hitoshi stares at him, mouth paused half-open over Katsuki’s dick. “I think I could get used to it, you know.”

Hitoshi’s breath warms the front of Katsuki’s boxers. When he hesitates, Hitoshi presses his tongue against the head of Katsuki’s dick, holding him down by the hips when he twitches forward. “Fuck, Hitoshi, don’t be a dick.” 

“Come on, baby,” Hitoshi pulls the boxers down, laying his palm flat so that Katsuki’s dick presses into his lower stomach, curved and flushed pink. “You’re so pretty, it’s fucking ridiculous.” 

Maybe it’s the unprompted praise, or the subtle movement of Hitoshi’s hand providing not nearly enough friction, or maybe Katsuki is just too drunk and stupid and in love with this stupid man to bite his tongue. “Fine, fuck, please Hitoshi, I want you.” 

He says it, and is surprised when Hitoshi immediately sinks his mouth down, moaning around his dick and working him fast. His mouth is hot and wet and soft, his hand closed with just the perfect pressure where he can’t reach. Katsuki grabs a handful of Hitoshi’s hair until the pace won’t send him over the edge too soon. He watches, breath ragged, as Hitoshi works him up and then tapers him off, over and over, until finally Katsuki’s eyes slide closed with a whimper. 

“Please, Hitoshi, I need to–” 

Hitoshi pulls away, popping off the end of Katsuki’s dick with a sigh.

“Kitkat, darling.” He climbs over Katsuki, ignoring the sparks popping over Katsuki’s skin. “One day, I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to never be able to get fucked by anyone else.” 

Katsuki tries to keep up with the promise over the blood pounding in his ears, the sudden surge of his heartbeat. The note of possessiveness in Hitoshi’s voice sears itself into his mind, drunk or not, and suddenly Katsuki can barely breathe. 

Hitoshi fumbles around in his nightstand, pulling out the lube and pouring a generous amount on his hands. “Not today, though.” 

“Not–” 

Hitoshi glides over Katsuki’s dick, grinding into Katsuki’s hips. The hot, easy slide of Hitoshi against him lights him up like a firecracker and it’s all he can do to bite back his shout, biting into the meat of his thumb. As soon as Hitoshi realizes what he’s doing, he finds his hands pinned to his sides. “Come on, Katsuki, tell me how much you want it.” 

Katsuki doesn’t get the chance. Hitoshi grinds against him, slick and hot and perfect and Katsuki’s lost. Hitoshi rides out the last of his pleasure against Katsuki’s thigh, and for once Katsuki is too tired to care (much) about the sticky mess of lube and cum. 

He falls asleep to Hitoshi cleaning him off with a warm rag. 

⸻ ✧ ⸻

Ten minutes later, just as Hitoshi has pulled on his own pajama pants, he sniffs the air. 

“The fucking soup!” 

And of course, the bread is burned.