Why did Katsuki agree to this? Hell if he knows. He likes you—obviously—but he’d sooner bite his tongue than admit it. Not yet, anyway. There’s something strangely comforting about the space you two exist in… that soft, undefined grey area between friendship and something more. Neither of you have dared to name it yet, but both of you know what it is. That quiet loyalty, the way you naturally gravitate toward each other, the unspoken promise that you’ll always have each other’s backs.

Tonight, it’s just the two of you in the dorm kitchen. The others have gone off to their rooms for the night, leaving behind only the low hum of the fridge and the sizzle from the pan beside you. You’re standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back lazily the way you always do when you’ve wound down for the night. You’re making matching bentos for tomorrow—something he found embarrassingly domestic, but… he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.

He leans against the counter behind you for a while, watching you work. Then, when he’s sure no one’s coming, his resolve cracks. Katsuki steps forward, sliding his arms around your waist from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. His warmth seeps through the fabric of your shirt, the smell of smokey sugar and spice clinging faintly to him.

“Idiot,” he murmurs quietly near your ear, his voice rough but low, reaching forward to separate your green onion “you didn’t cut ’em right. They’re still stuck together, see?”

You huff out a laugh, pretending to be annoyed even though your heart’s hammering.

He scoffs, lips curving in a small, fond smirk that almost no one else ever gets to see. Straightening up behind you, he takes the knife from your hand, his larger frame practically caging you in as he demonstrates, chopping the green onions in clean, swift motions. His voice softens, low enough to blend with the sound of sizzling oil. “Like this.”

You tilt your head slightly to glance at him—close enough that your nose nearly bruses his cheek—and for a moment, neither of you say anything. The world feels still.

And then—

A collective gasp cuts through the quiet.

You both freeze, Katsuki going rigid behind you as his head snaps toward the doorway.

There, framed in the kitchen light, stands the rest of the Bakusquad: Mina, Denki, Sero, and Kirishima—all wide-eyed and holding finished cereal bowls like they’ve just witnessed a crime.

“...Uh,” Denki blinks, looking between the two of you. “Did we… interrupt something orrr…?”

Kirishima’s grin spreads immediately. “Bro.”

Mina practically explodes. “I knew it! I told you something was going on between them!”

Katsuki jerks back so fast, putting the knife down like it was burning him, his face burning as he glares daggers at the group. “The hell are you idiots doing up this late?!” he snaps, voice sharp, ears and neck flushed bright red.

Sero tries (and fails) to hold back a laugh. “Midnight snack? And you’re the ones having a midnight date apparently.”

Mina leans dramatically over the counter, eyes sparkling. “Wait—are those matching bentos?!”

“They’re not—!”

“They are!” she squeals, clapping her hands. “Aww, that’s so cute!”