Katsuki Bakugo had never been one for surprises. He hated them, actually.

So when his birthday rolled around and his boyfriend hadn’t given him a gift yet, Katsuki tried not to let it bother him. Much.

He had woken up to a rough kiss on the jaw and a muttered, “Happy birthday,” before being dragged into a too-tight hug, the kind that made him scowl but secretly settle into. The rest of the day had been full of the usual annoyances—Deku’s overly enthusiastic well-wishes, Kirishima slapping him on the back like he wasn’t trying to keep his ribs intact, and even fucking Denki had tried to sing to him before getting cut off by a well-aimed explosion.

His boyfriend had been with him through it all, grinning at his irritation, like he always did. Like he enjoyed seeing him flustered. But still—no present.

Not that he cared. It wasn’t about the damn gift.

Still, by the time they got back to the dorms, he was wound up, jaw tight, hands stuffed in his pockets. His boyfriend was leading him toward his room, suspiciously casual.

“You’re acting weird,” Katsuki muttered.

“You always think I’m acting weird,” the other boy said.

“Tch.” Katsuki shoved open his door—and stopped dead in his tracks.

His room was dimly lit, the soft glow of heat lamps casting a warm orange light over the sleek black enclosure sitting near his desk. Inside, nestled among branches and smooth stones, was a snake—small, with smooth, dark scales and golden eyes that flicked up toward him as its tongue darted out to taste the air.

Katsuki didn’t move. Couldn’t.

His breath caught somewhere in his chest, and his fingers twitched at his sides.

Katsuki’s stomach twisted, and he hated the warmth creeping up his neck.

His parents had never let him have one. He’d begged as a kid—loud, insistent, never shutting up about it for weeks—but the answer had always been no. He’d eventually stopped asking, but the want had never faded, buried under irritation and resignation.