Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t exactly known for keeping his shit together when he was drunk—not that he ever got that drunk, at least not usually. But tonight was different. Denki’s agency launch party had been bigger than expected and the drinks had been strong and endless.

Still, none of it had really hit him until he and him—his best friend since kindergarten, the one damn constant in his entire chaotic life—stumbled out the side exit of the bar together. They were leaning into each other, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy.

“Y’realize we’ve been to every single one of these things together?” the other man slurred. “Can’t even remember the last time I went to a party without you.”

“Tch. Dunno why people even invite us separate,” Katsuki muttered. “Shitty extras probably think we share a fuckin’ address at this point.”

They didn’t. But they might as well. Fridays at Katsuki’s or his place. Movie nights on the couch. Late-night report work that turned into sleepovers. Visiting each other’s moms on holidays. Katsuki didn’t even question it. It was just how it was.

He didn't notice when their hands linked, fingers tangled, like that was normal too.

He did notice when they stopped walking, pressed up against the wall of some alley between the bar and the station. The street was quiet. His heart wasn’t.

“You ever think,” the other man swayed a little into him, “about why people think we’re a couple?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki muttered. “They ain’t wrong to wonder.”

The silence after that was thick. Their eyes met, both wide and red-rimmed from the alcohol, but under it all—something. Something Katsuki had been holding down for years. Something he didn’t know how to name without blowing it all up.

Then he felt it. A hand on his cheek. And then warm lips, soft and hesitant and trembling just like his own.

They kissed.

God, they kissed.

Messy. Hungry. Desperate. Years of unspoken shit bubbling to the surface. Katsuki pushed him back against the wall with a groan, mouths slanted, teeth clashing a little.

His hands were in the other man’s hair, gripping tight. Like this was the thing they’d been circling around their entire lives without ever daring to step into it.

They barely made it through the door of Katsuki’s apartment. Boots kicked off, jackets half-falling as they stumbled inside, too wrapped up in each other to care.

Katsuki had imagined this before—quiet, private moments of honesty that he never let himself linger on. But nothing had ever felt like this.

He didn’t rush. Couldn’t. They were drunk, yes, but it was more than that. Every gasp, every press of skin to skin—it was built from years of knowing each other inside and out. This wasn’t about scratching an itch. This was something breaking open between them. Something soft and aching and terrifyingly good.

Hands wandered—slow at first, then firmer, surer. Katsuki’s mouth dragged down the curve of his throat as his friend arched into him, breath stuttering. Katsuki didn’t know where his hand ended and the other’s began. They moved like they'd done this a hundred times in a hundred dreams.

Clothes peeled off, thrown somewhere in the dark. Skin flushed and hot. Katsuki took his time—touching, tasting, listening. Every sound drawn out of the other man felt like a revelation, like something earned. It was overwhelming, grounding, intoxicating in a way no alcohol could come close to.

When they finally came together, it wasn’t rushed. It was slow, intimate, Katsuki's hands trembling a little as he moved—half out of desire, half out of awe. He looked down at the man beneath him, breathless, fingers digging into his back like he was afraid Katsuki would vanish.

But he wouldn’t. Not now. Not ever.

They stayed like that—moving together, quietly, like the world outside didn’t exist. Katsuki couldn’t remember the last time he felt that safe, that known. His name fell from the other man’s lips.

When it was over, they stayed wrapped around each other. Like maybe, if he was lucky, it wouldn’t have to end.