Work Text:
Katsuki is used to the noise across the street.
Sometimes he goes home with the ringing of sirens in his ears, but it’s better to work across the street from a fire station and deal with the noise than have to pay for downtown rent to keep his ship afloat. It’s not like anyone’s ever gotten rich off of scones, and he would rather shave his head bald than ask his parents for a loan.
The customers can be kind of annoying about it though. Yeah, yeah, you can’t concentrate on your stupid ass emails because the fire department keeps putting out fires. Let him just go and slash their tires for you, it’s not like anyone would care if your house burned down.
For fuck’s sake.
And never mind that the sirens are loud and mind numbing, there are worse places to set up shop across. He doesn’t have to worry about break ins, and if his kitchen ever catches on fire, well what-do-ya-know the fire department is right fucking there.
And they’re consistent business. About three times a week, the house places an order for about 40 donuts, scones, muffins, tarts, danishes, or whatever else Katsuki happens to have enough of and two giant jugs of coffee. Seriously, who else would buy coffee by the liter? (They get six, by the way. And it’s a pain in the ass to brew). But the firehouse tips well and never complains. It’s not bad.
So the sirens don’t bother him. In fact, he barely notices them at this point.
But it’s not the sirens that all but throttle him to the ground. He almost wishes it was because at least then he could justify it.
No, this is worse.
This is so much worse.
He has a garden outside of his cafe. He grows the herbs for his signature sandwich bread here, and he often makes different kinds of teas with some of the different flora, depending on the season. He’s in a crouch trimming off a few handfuls of basil when he hears it, that life shattering sound.
Laughter comes from across the street, as rough as it is pleasing. Katsuki looks up to see that the firehouse is wide open, one of the trucks pulled out for a wash while two of the firefighters drag out the hose and polish.
Katsuki’s eyes lock onto the owner of the laugh. He’s shirtless in the middle of the goddamn morning, and his hair is almost the same exact color as the truck, pulled back like Momo’s but not nearly as long. He’s all sun-kissed muscle and delight like he’s just spending the day at the beach, and Katsuki’s scissors drop into the grass.
The sound is silent, especially compared to the constant dull roar of the city around them, but the firefighter looks anyway like he heard them fall. He stops when he sees Katsuki, and the two of them watch each other for a moment before he smiles and gives him a little salute that has Katsuki grabbing his bag with an angry snatch and heading back inside.
“Hey, Kacchan, what’s–?”
“Watch the front,” he says as he storms past him. “I need to bake.”
He spends most of the day beating the shit out of balls of raw dough, but it doesn’t do anything to stop the waves of electricity pulsing through him or the almost painful pound of his heart.
He can’t get the laughter out of his head. Even when he blasts the gnarliest music he knows in the cafe, he can still hear it. Izuku tries to come into the back to ask him what’s wrong, but he barely gets the question out before Katsuki throws a pair of tongs at him.
He feels like he’s losing his mind.
That laugh.
That face.
That body.
He could explain it away that since they work across the street from each other, he’s somehow found his way into Katsuki’s subconscious, but Katsuki is unfortunately too self-aware to successfully lie to himself.
Because Katsuki has heard that laugh before. Not from across the street, but from his most vivid and wildest dreams, the kinds he started having when he was ten years old of a dark haired little emo loser that had the upgrade of a lifetime between two school years back when Katsuki was fifteen.
And he just kept growing. And the dreams only got worse. It went from weird sappy bullshit where they were standing in line for concerts like they were really there to the kind of dreams Katsuki wouldn’t admit the details of under duress, the kind where if he closes his eyes, he can still feel his mouth on his shoulder as if it was real.
And he just fucking waved at him like it was nothing.
No, he saluted him with a lazy flick of his fingers, and Katsuki may or may not be provoked to violence.
He punches a particularly round ball of dough to get the air out, and then he rips it in half, no pastry scraper needed.
This might be the worst day of his life, and he can never tell anyone.
What the fuck?
As soon as he disappears into the cafe, Eijirou drops his hand and flees. He runs back into the firehouse, leaving a very confused Tetsutetsu with the truck, and he doesn’t stop until he sees a familiar flash of red and white passing across one of the half-walls.
“Shouto!” Eijirou shouts before he remembers that some of the guys from last night’s fire are still sleeping. He winces apologetically at the cluster of occupied bunks before he gets his hands on Shouto. “Roki, I found him.”
He squeezes Shouto’s arms hard enough that it probably hurts, but Shouto doesn’t flinch. “Who?”
“My– you know.” Eijirou says. Shouto shakes his head that he doesn’t. “Shouto, my–.” He takes a breath and lowers his voice to a whisper. “My dream guy. My soulmate. Mr. Short Blonde and Spicy.”
“I thought you were the same height.”
“Yeah, but then I hit a growth spurt and he didn’t come up with me but that’s not the point. The point is, I found him, and he’s real, and I didn’t make it up.”
“Why would anyone think you made up your soulmate?” Shouto says. “That’s deeply personal.”
“They didn’t, but like, what if I made him up? Like what if I didn’t have one and I totally made up a fake guy just to make myself feel better?”
Shouto frowns. “I didn’t know you were troubled with that kind of loneliness. Do you need to talk to someone?”
“No, no, see, I’m totally fine,” he says. “And this is proof! My soulmate’s real, Shouto. He’s a real guy!”
“Congratulations,” Hitoshi mumbles from a nearby bunk.
“Thank–, oop, sorry, bro.”
“It’s cool,” he says and rolls over away from the light.
Eijirou and Shouto step further away from the bunks so they don’t wake anyone else.
“And you’re sure this is the same person,” Shouto asks.
“Positive,” he says. “I’d know him anywhere, but like, there was a feeling, you know? It was like someone reached up and slapped me with a wet cold rag, and when I looked, he was watching me from the bushes with his eyes all big and stuff.”
Shouto’s eyebrows lift just a little. “He was watching you from the bushes.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that not an abnormal way to watch a person?”
“Well, yeah, but I’m sure he had his reasons,” he says. “And listen, I know the guy. He’s totally solid. Like, he’s so cool and awesome, you would love him.”
Shouto frowns. “But you don’t know him. You have dreams of an ideal partner with a similar likeness, but it would be unfair to you both if you assumed someone you’ve never met before would have the same attributes.”
Eijirou grabs Shouto by the shoulders and looks at him as seriously as he can until Shouto goes cross eyed. “I do know him, though. Even though some of his nightmares are a little intense, I’ve never had a problem going along for the ride because you never leave a man behind, but we talk so much. I know him. You know how it is, you’ve got one.”
Shouto flushes and turns away, and Eijirou steps back to give him some space. “They’re just dreams.”
“Roki.”
Shouto looks back at him, his lips thin in a way that signals he won’t be having the conversation Eijirou is moving towards. “Do you have any idea how rare green is for a hair color? Do you think I want to torture myself?”
Eijirou winces and scratches his head. “I mean, it’s possible.”
Shouto’s frown deepened.
“Okay, but probably just as hard as finding a dude whose hair is split right down the middle, but you can’t give up, and I don’t wanna give up either. He’s my soulmate, bro. We’re, like, meant to find each other. And we did. I totally found him just now, it’s the same guy.”
Shouto nods, resigned. “How can I help you?”
“Can you maybe kind of convince the chief to let me go get the next order?” Eijirou asks, managing a smile.
“Oh, he works at the cafe across the street?”
“Yeah, I think so,” he says.
Shouto nods. “Yes, now I see why he was in the bushes. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you,” he says. “Seriously.”
“Mom and Fuyumi will probably enjoy the chance to sleep in,” he says.
“Do you wanna come with me?”
“No, I would like to sleep in too.” Eijirou laughs and gives his shoulder a pat. “Weren’t you supposed to wash the truck?”
“Oh shit!”
Katsuki doesn’t dream about him that night because to dream you have to actually go to sleep.
And no, he’s not hiding like some stupid coward or anything like that. He’s working. The firehouse breakfast is a huge order, and he kind of has to have everything baked and wrapped by the time he opens. So no, Katsuki isn’t hiding, he’s baking. There’s a difference.
He’s not even sure it would matter, really. Like, he doesn’t dream about him every night, but when he does, neither of them are really in control. He supposes if they were, they would have asked for an address or something or some kind of hint. Maybe the universe decided it should be hard so the gods or stars or whatever is in control have something to laugh at.
Sometimes the dream is Katsuki’s. Sometimes the dream is his. He sees flashes of colors, but no real memories. None of his friends or relatives. No familiar schools or shops or offices. He supposes the burning building nightmares should have been a big fucking clue. He used to wake up coughing, his body sore like he’d been carrying a hundred pounds of gear on his shoulders. The last thing he would see before waking up was his soulmate crying and covering his mouth with an oxygen mask. Don’t give up, bro. We gotta get outta here.
Katsuki’s nightmares, he’ll admit, are objectively worse. The flames suck, but there’s something about the lukewarm tar slipping over their eyes and into their mouths, the feeling of his fingers squeezing his until they suddenly aren’t, that fuck him up too much to unpack. At least the fire room makes sense. Fucker’s a fireman.
If they had control, he’s pretty sure they could take over and kick some ass, but just like the good dreams, they’re both on auto-pilot the whole time.
He’s trying very hard not to think about the good ones right now. It’s weird to think that technically his first kiss happened inside his head. All of his firsts, really. And there were no nerves, no bad pick up lines, no awkward conversations. It always just happened like they were watching a movie starring the two of them.
Most of the dreams, he likes. He never feels ashamed of how he acts in them. Sometimes they go rock climbing and get carried away after setting up camp. Sometimes he shows him how to cook some basics. Sometimes they race like kids. Sometimes they fuck off at the beach. He’s even dreamed about them bowling, which apparently Katsuki is a pro at.
And he’s real, and he could be across the street right now. He could have spent all night over there, if he hasn’t gone home already. Katsuki kind of has a vague idea of how firehouse shifts work but not really.
Katsuki is covered head to toe in flour, and he’s pretty sure he has butter in places butter shouldn’t be, but he did what he had to do. And technically this means he made his soulmate breakfast. Technically it means he’s been making his soulmate breakfast a couple of times a week for years.
He yanks his gloves off and runs his fingers through his hair. He can’t let himself think about that or he’ll go crazy. He could use a shower, but he can’t think about that either. The sun will be up in two hours, and he has to get this last batch in the oven before he starts piping the rest. Izuku can handle the cafe when he gets here, Katsuki has to focus on all these pastries.
Because the firehouse has always been his best customer. They’ve kept the lights on some months, even if Katsuki won’t formally admit it. He depends on these orders because even regulars come and go.
And that guy has been a part of it this whole time. Not the cause. Chief Todoroki has a sweet tooth, and that girl who’s probably his daughter says it’s easier than assigning someone to breakfast duty every day. It doesn’t matter. It’s just an order he’s been filling for years, and it’s one he never has to think about.
Until now.
Fuck.
He forces himself to get back to work because it’s the only thing he can do. All these years, all these dreams, and he knew the whole time that they would stay dreams because no one finds their soulmate. It eats at you, it makes you feel guilty about everyone you try to spend time with, but they may as well be a myth for all searching would do.
And all Katsuki had to do was walk across the street.
He drops a pan of lemon custard onto the floor and sighs loudly enough that his throat stings.
He needs coffee.
Eijirou brushes his teeth three times before he’s absolutely sure his breath doesn’t stink, and he’s relieved to find when he spits into the sink at the firehouse, that a tooth doesn’t go with it.
He’s washed his face twice, and the hair around his temples is still wet. He tried to put on some cologne he borrowed from Tetsutetsu, but Hanta wrestled it away from him. That’s probably for the best.
He sniffs his armpits for the third time in an hour and squeezes his eyes closed. “Oh god.”
“You don’t smell bad,” Shouto says. Eijirou looks at him in the mirror’s reflection leaning against the wall behind him with his arms folded. He looks good. He always looks good. Eijirou is a sweaty, stinky, manly mess.
“I smell like smoke and diesel fuel.”
“Yes, we all do,” he says. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of anyone complaining about that.”
“It could happen,” Eijirou says. “What if in our dreams I smell like flowers?”
Shouto frowns. “You can smell your dreams?”
“Well, no, but maybe he can,” he says. “Maybe he wants a dude who smells like roses, and I smell like–.”
“A fireman.”
Eijirou turns around. “Well, yeah.”
“You are a fireman,” Shouto says. “And there are worse things a person could smell like.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Dog shit,” he says so calmly that it jerks Eijirou out of the spiral he didn’t know he was having. “Would you like a pep talk?”
“Have you ever given one before?”
“No, but I could try,” Shouto says. Eijirou raises his eyebrows in anticipation with a slight tug of amusement on his lips. “You are objectively attractive. You are the only person in the house who has befriended every other person in this house and the others across town, which is impressive when you consider the sheer volume of names one would have to remember to be considered more than cordial. You have the highest rescue rate in the city, and you received the Valor award twice, and the only reason you haven’t been promoted to a Captain is because you don’t want to take the exam. You were chosen as the truck leader, not by my father, but by the people who depend on you, which makes you dependable, and my sister still has the October page from last year’s calendar as her computer’s screensaver, for reasons I will not inquire.”
Eijirou flushes at that last part and prays the chief doesn’t know about that.
“If the person who may be your soulmate can find a complaint,” Shouto says. “Then whatever force in the universe assigned you two to each other has made a mistake, and it isn’t your fault.”
Eijirou exhales and closes his eyes. In his mind he sees blonde hair like a dandelion, the fiercest eyes he’s ever seen, and a confident smirk that makes him want to kiss its corners. And he has in his dreams. He’s thrown his arms around him while he shouted like it was the worst thing someone could do, all the while never pulling away.
He has felt the warmth of his palms on his cheeks and the phantom crackle that seems to accompany them. He has felt the smooth skin of his lobes between his fingers, and he has kissed his knuckles just before waking. Eijirou has loved him his entire life. How is he not supposed to be terrified he won’t like him?
Shouto takes a step forward and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Eijirou, you have to go.”
“I know, I’m just–.” Shouto’s stomach growls, and Eijirou’s eyes fly open in shock before the laughter bubbles out of him in a wave. Right, he has to go because he’s picking up breakfast for everyone. How could he forget? His smile widens happily, and Shouto makes a smaller one back. “Alright, I’m going.”
“Thank you,” he says. “Do you need me to go with you?”
Eijirou shakes his head. “I’ve got this. No worries.”
“You grimace when you’re lying.”
Eijirou’s jaw aches a little, but he pointedly ignores it. “Nuh uh.”
“I’m going to take a nap,” Shouto says. “Good luck.”
Eijirou’s face softens, and his eyes get a little watery. “Thanks, bro.”
“If anyone was ever going to find their soulmate, it was always going to be you.”
And even though Shouto means it as a compliment, a strange sadness tugs at Eijirou that he can’t shake away.
In a perfect world, Shouto would find his. He’s too good not to.
Katsuki finishes piping the last pastry when Izuku finally calls him.
There’s a small window on the door that separates the kitchen from the rest of the cafe, and when he finally breaks his concentration long enough to look at it, he sees that the lights are on.
“Yeah! I’m comin’!”
He places the last of the pastries in a box and sets it inside a large paper bag next to one that he already filled. It’s a shit ton of pastries for a single order, but it’s probably the most he’ll sell all day this early in the week, so he’s happy.
He wipes his hands on his apron and grabs the handles of both bags at the same time and gives them a heave. Every time he does this he expects them to break, but they never do.
Katsuki kicks the door open and swings around so his hard work doesn’t get smashed, and he sees Izuku at the register with the coffee jugs already filled standing across from a customer. He only has a second to blink before he lets himself properly look at them, and when he sees who it is, he almost drops his bags.
That’s not Rei or Fuyumi.
Oh fuck.
He may have said the words out loud, but he isn’t sure. He somehow forces his mouth to close out of sheer will alone.
If Katsuki at some point last night managed to convince himself that the laughter across the street didn’t actually belong to who he thought it did, there’s no point in doubting now.
He’s so… red.
His hair isn’t natural, but Katsuki remembers when he dyed it, how the dark haired boy in his dreams suddenly looked like a rose. The scar over his eye is there, and Katsuki can remember the dream where it suddenly appeared too, raw and scabbed over. He wasn’t able to ask about it because dreams never go how you want them to, but he did touch it. He kissed it too, and the memory of it brings a sudden heat to his cheeks that reminds him they’re not alone.
Or dreaming.
Katsuki sucks in a breath that does absolutely nothing to make him feel awake.
“Kacchan?” Izuku says, and that does the trick.
Katsuki turns to him and sees his eyebrows raised to his scalp. He wonders how long he was just… gaping at him.
“Kacchan?” It’s not Izuku who speaks this time. The word is said like a question, one Katsuki isn’t surprised to hear. Neither of them know they’re real names. They’ve never needed to in the dreams, but the look on his face is more… concerned. It takes Katsuki a moment to guess why.
He shoots a glance at Izuku to will him to keep his mouth shut before answering. “That’s just a stupid thing he’s been calling me since we were kids.”
“Oh,” he says.
“It’s Bakugou, to you,” he says, and saying it out loud makes his heart pound a little harder. It’s not like introducing himself to a normal person, that’s for sure. “Or Katsuki. I don’t care.”
“Right,” he says, and his smile is almost blinding. “Alright.”
Katsuki feels his ears flash a darker shade of red and looks away. “Yeah. So that’s my name.”
“Bakugou Katsuki,” he says for the first time with that unnaturally familiar voice of his. Hearing it sends a strange shiver down Katsuki’s spine. If he was a sappy bastard, he might ask him to say it again. “This is your place?”
Katsuki nods that it is. “Yeah.”
“You like baking?”
“Keeps my head clear,” he says. He can physically see him absorb this information like it’s a nugget of gold, and nothing about that annoys him. It should. He should tell him to mind his business, but… he doesn’t.
“You’re really good,” he says with a smile. “The little flat and puffy guys with the apples and cream cheese are my favorite. I’ve tried to make them myself, but I caught my oven on fire.”
“Good thing, you’re a fireman,” Izuku says, and Katsuki blinks again, waking for the second or third time in a minute. He can’t even be annoyed because he’s pretty sure if he didn’t have Izuku here as a buffer, he’d just be standing here like an idiot staring at him.
He laughs and nods. “Haha, yeah, totally. Didn’t even have to make a call or anything!”
He never stops smiling, and it’s a real smile, not one of those fake little grins people give each other when they’re trying to pretend to be a good person or someone you should think is important. He shines like the goddamn sun, and Katsuki can’t take his eyes off of him, even if it hurts a little to look.
Blink, dumbass.
He presses his eyes closed for a second to give them a break, but when he goes to rub them, he finds his arms are both full and weighted down. He drops the bags on the counter, and recognition flashes over his face before he turns to Izuku.
“Everything’s paid for, right?”
“Yep!” Izuku says. “You’re good to go.”
“Sweet,” he says and reaches for his bags. Katsuki moves to stop him, but he knows that would be a stupid idea.
“Wait,” Katsuku says anyway, and he blinks at him. “You’re not Rei or Fuyumi.”
He blinks again. “Good catch?”
Katsuki bristles and looks away. “So, when one of them comes in here wondering who stole their breakfast, I’m gonna need to give ‘em a name.”
“Oh, dude, I wouldn’t da–,” he says before realization washes over his face. He laughs again. That fucking laugh. “You can tell them Kirishima.”
“Kirishima,” Bakugou echoes somehow even if the name seems to lodge itself into his throat. Fire and ice flood through him at once like when he heard him across the street, except this time it’s a thousand times worse.
“My friends call me Eijirou, though,” he adds before turning to Izuku. “Feel free to call me that.”
“Sure thing!” Izuku says, grinning from ear to ear. Katsuki presses his lips into a line, and a sneaky voice in the back of his mind decides to unhelpfully add if you were ever gonna have a soulmate, he would be like this because anyone else would piss you off.
Eijirou slips his arms through the bags’ handles and grabs a jug with each hand, not even bothering to strain or pretend to be encumbered. He’s… strong. A meathead, probably, but considering he rescues people for a living, it’s not like it’s a surprise. Now looking at him, he could probably carry a man on each shoulder without having a reason to drop his smile.
Jesus.
He turns to leave, and Katsuki’s heart jumps.
“So you just eat breakfast then?” Katsuki blurts out.
Eijirou stops at the question before laughing like it was funny. “Nah, I eat a lot more than that.”
“Well, don’t let whatever cafeteria slop they’re feeding you over there slow you down,” he says. “If the lights are on, just tell Izuku what you want and we’ll take care of it.”
Izuku looks at him, surprised. “We will?”
“Yeah, nerd, shut up,” he says. “He’s saving lives and shit.”
“But you don’t even let me–,” Izuku starts before Katsuki’s glare makes his lips shut tight. He balks a little before turning to Eijirou with a smile. “Totally! Just come by any time. Kacchan’s usually here.”
Eijirou looks at him. “Yeah?”
Katsuki tucks his hands behind his apron and shrugs. “Yeah. So don’t worry about your shifts or whatever. I know you guys are up all night.”
“Ah, yeah, sorry about the sirens,” he says. “We just gotta get everybody out of the way so we can get there in time, you know?”
“Yeah, I don’t even notice them anymore,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But–,” Izuku starts before stopping himself just in time. Fucking nerd. “Yeah, they’re not that loud at all.”
“Oh good,” he says. “Well, um, I should probably get back before the guys think I stole their food.”
Katsuki nods silently and tries not to look as freaked out as he is. Eijirou came, got a good look at him, and now he’s leaving like everything is back to normal. But they’ve still gotta live, right? What were they supposed to do? Stand here all day and stare at each other? That would be stupid.
Eijirou gives him a small smile, and it feels like a promise somehow, like he knows that saying I’ll be back, I swear would make Katsuki’s skin prickle in a bad way.
But even if they don’t know each other, who in the world could know him the way Eijirou does? Not even Izuku has ever seen what Eijirou has, and even after having a front row seat to Katsuki’s worst nightmares, he still came here. He still had it in him to smile at him.
But he probably just does that to everybody.
Eijirou turns and leaves before he freezes with a jerk. He turns back towards them—to Izuku specifically—and his eyes look fucking insane. Like reach for a knife because this guy is crazy, insane, but Katsuki doesn’t flinch. Izuku does, though.
Heh.
“Has your hair always been green?!” Eijirou blurts out, nearly shouting the question like he’s asking for the code to save the world.
What a weird fucking thing to ask someone.
“Yeah, I get it from my mom,” Izuku says, surprised.
“Sweet, can you help me carry these?”
Izuku blinks, and even Katsuki is confused by the sudden request. He was doing a perfectly good job carrying it all by himself just a second ago. “What?”
“Just to the firehouse,” he says. “It’ll only take like five minutes. Probably.”
“Oh, ummm,” Izuku says, unsure of what he should say.
Eijirou looks at Katsuki with enough urgency to make the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and Katsuki isn’t sure what the fuck he needs with Izuku, but apparently he needs him. It’s more than a little unnerving.
“Please,” he says to Katsuki, a desperate cry for help with no tangible reasoning, and Katsuki is so jarred by it that he tosses all of his rationality to the side.
“You heard him,” Katsuki says with a wave. “Go.”
Eijirou looks so relieved that despite the weirdness, Katsuki feels like he did the right thing. Izuku looks at them both like he’s still trying to figure out how to say no.
“Hurry up,” Katsuki says. “The Danishes are gonna get soggy.”
“Oh, unm, okay, sure,” Izuku says. “Alright.”
He takes one of the bags of pastries and one of the jugs of coffee, and he walks carefully to the door. Eijirou gives Katsuki a look of appreciation that Katsuki is probably supposed to understand.
“If he’s not back in ten minutes, I’m calling the police,” Katsuki says.
“Make it twenty,” Eijirou says.
“We’re not negotiating?!”
Eijirou manages an apologetic smile. “How about fifteen?”
“Go,” he says and storms off to the kitchen before he can let himself think about it too much.
Fucking weirdo.
If his soulmate would rather hang out with Izuku, then good riddance. He’s got work to do. Damn it.
Eijirou almost runs back to the firehouse before he remembers that the person following him probably doesn’t usually spend his sunrises doing cardio.
This is such a reach, but how many people in the world are actually walking around with green hair that didn’t come out of a bottle? Hell, even Eijirou’s hair is fake, and it’s the same shade as half of Shouto’s.
The worst thing that could happen is that he’s wrong about this, but at least he didn’t get Shouto’s hopes up first. God, that would ruin him. He may have the strongest poker face Eijirou has ever seen, but beyond those nerves of steel is a big beautiful heart that deserves the entire universe.
Slow down.
“So how long have you been a fireman?” Izuku asks like he genuinely wants to know.
Oh, he’s so nice.
It has to be him.
It has to be.
“I did my training when I was 18, so it’s been like, eight years now, I guess,” he says. “How long have you worked at the cafe?”
“Forever,” Izuku says, mocking exasperation. “But not as long. Kacchan– I mean Katsuki didn’t open it until he finished culinary school. He’s always been a good cook, but cooking for a bunch of people is different than just a few friends, and there’s so many rules about health codes and stuff, but yeah, it’s been a few years though.”
“I guess for as long as we’ve been getting breakfast from you guys?”
“Yeah, I think so! That sounds about right.”
“Cool, cool,” he says, and he hates that his attention isn’t super focused on the conversation, but he’s never needed to get to a certain person in a certain place so fast in his life. “Follow me, okay?”
“Sure,” Izuku says as the two of them briskly walk into the firehouse.
“Shouto!” Eijirou calls out loudly enough to wake everyone inside. Some of the others look at him like he’s out of his mind, which, fair. “Uhhhh, breakfast is here, haha, my bad. Shouto?!”
Eijirou’s voice echoes against the walls, and a moment later Shouto comes stumbling around the corner, half asleep and tugging on his gear like there’s a fire. Eijirou opens his mouth to stop him, but the gut wrenching sound of a gasp steals the words right out of him.
Izuku freezes in place, and Eijirou stops and backs up so he doesn’t just completely abandon him.
Maybe he should have warned somebody.
Fuck it, there’s no time.
“What is it,” Shouto mumbles.
“Bro, open your eyes,” Eijirou says urgently. “Like now.”
Shouto manages to blink his eyes open after a hazy rub, and he looks around the room before his eyes lock on Izuku. Shouto’s face doesn’t move, but Eijirou can practically hear the ear-shattering shriek happening inside his head based on the funky little zoom his pupils just did.
Neither of them say a word, even while the rest of the firehouse gathers to see what’s going on.
“Huh-hi,” Izuku manages.
“Hello,” Shouto says, and Izuku gasps again, and yeah. It feels just like that, hearing his voice for the first time with his real ears and not his dream ears.
“Oh man,” Izuku whispers.
Eijirou’s eyes water. This is such a good week. This might be the best week ever.
“Somebody say breakfast?” Hanta asks.
“Uhhh, yeah,” Eijirou says with a laugh, he reaches to take Izuku’s half from him, but Izuku doesn’t let go. “Let me take it, okay, Izuku?” Eijirou whispers, not wanting to ruin the moment too much.
“Izuku,” Shouto echoes. Eijirou’s chest aches enough to split in half.
Izuku smiles, his eyes pooling like little emerald ponds. “That’s me.”
Eijirou works the coffee and pastries out of his arms and tiptoes away from them carefully with the other members of the firehouse still watching them.
He jerks his head for the others to follow him, and luckily the allure of pastries overpowers their curiosity.
Izuku and Shouto should have some alone time, he thinks. That’s probably what anyone would need after finally finding their dream guy. Haha.
Oh shit.
Man.
Maybe he should have planned this better.
Thirty minutes pass, but Katsuki doesn’t call the police.
With Izuku gone, he has to fill the cases himself, which is annoying, but it’s a task that keeps him distracted enough that he doesn’t drive himself crazy thinking about what just happened.
He was nicer to look at in person than in Katsuki’s dreams, if that’s even possible. Too bad the big bastard took off before he could get a chance to appreciate it. But it’s probably for the best. Maybe he took one look at Katsuki and thought he could do better. Maybe he just needed to get back to work because he’s a firefighter and not a loser with a doesn’t-matter-if-he’s-there job.
Katsuki exhales and arranges a stack of blueberry scones in a pyramid next to the chocolate muffins he might dip into later for a snack.
So Eijirou likes the apple and cream cheese pastries the best. It’s not the most popular pastry they have, but they were the first kind Katsuki ever learned how to make. He’s never followed a real recipe for them, but it’s almost like he figured out how to make them in a dream.
Oh.
Well.
That makes sense.
God, they probably ate it together in one of their joint weird land of sweets and treats dreams, Katsuki woke up with a mission, and then boom, hello cafe career. Whatever, Izuku got a job out of it, so everyone wins.
The bell above the front door chimes, and Katsuki stands up, prepared to handle their first normal customer of the morning. This is… more Izuku’s territory than Katsuki cares to admit, but it’s just a customer. How bad could it be?
It’s not a customer.
“Kacchan?” Izuku’s voice cracks as he stumbles towards him, his face all puffy and gross with tears and god knows what else, and he’s in Katsuki’s arms before Katsuki can process any of it.
“The fuck happened to you?!”
Izuku sobs, loudly and wetly against him, and for once he doesn’t push him off. He just stands there like a stupid, useless statue while Izuku cries. “His name is Shouto!”
“Who?!”
“My–,” Izuku starts before he sniffles. “He’s at the firehouse.”
“Your–? Oh.”
Katsuki may as well have been struck by lightning.
“He’s real,” Izuku says. “I didn’t make him up. He’s real.”
“No one thought you made him up, nerd,” he says.
“I did,” Izuku says with a hiccup. “I didn’t think–.”
Izuku steps back and crosses his arms over his face with a loud sniffle. He tries his best to calm himself, but that never works the way he wants it to.
Katsuki scowls. “What did he do to you?”
“Nothing,” Izuku says, wiping his nose. “He didn’t do anything, but he’s just so–. Kacchan, he’s beautiful, and he’s real, and I wanted to kiss him so bad, but I didn’t because they would’ve been weird. That’s weird right? Oh god, I wanna get married and get a bunch of cats because I know he loves cats. Do you know how I know that? It’s because that’s what we do. We go to a place with hundreds of cats, and we pet them, and they climb into his lap, and it’s the only time he ever smiles. That’s what heaven looks like to someone else, and I’ve been there, Kacchan. I’ve pet the cats. And he’s real, and I didn’t make it up, and I know his favorite foods, and I know what he sounds like when he sings, and I’ve seen him cry, and he’s–. Oh god, what do I do? What do I do?”
Izuku crouches down to the floor and covers his face.
Yep. That was Katsuki pretty much all night. Down to the knowing what Eijirou sounds like when he sings.
Off key, rough, and as sweet as the cinnamon swirl blondies he puts out every fall.
Katsuki crouches down in front of him and exhales. “Well fuck.”
“Why aren’t you more surprised?” Izuku asks.
“Because mine just walked you over there,” he says.
Izuku looks at him with a mixture of shock and confusion. “What? Eijirou’s your–?”
“Uh huh.”
“Why didn’t you say something?!”
“Did it look like I had a lot of time to do that to you,” Katsuki says. He pushes himself to his feet and stalks off.
“Wait,” he says. “So Eijirou is your soulmate? Really?”
“Yeah, nerd, that’s what I said.”
Izuku stops long enough for Katsuki to look back. “I just thought you thought he was hot.”
Katsuki’s face, neck, and ears flash with heat, and he’s pretty sure he has steam coming out of his ears. “Shut up!”
“Well no one would blame you!” Izuku shouts back and then follows Katsuki around behind the counter, his wave of hysteria suddenly replaced with his inability to leave Katsuki alone. “Kacchan, this is amazing!”
“Quit following me!”
“But I work back here too,” Izuku screeches, and Katsuki spins around to make some immediately forgotten point when Izuku holds up a piece of paper between them. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
Katsuki snatches the paper from him and turns it over to see a phone number scribbled on the back in the ugliest handwriting he’s ever seen. “What’s this?”
“Eijirou’s phone number,” Izuku says, rocking back on his heels. “You should text him. He seems like a really nice guy.”
Katsuki furrows his brow. “You got me a guy’s number just because you thought I thought he was hot?”
“Uh huh,” he says like he’s proud of himself.
Katsuki makes a bemused face, and Izuku sniffles again with a smile deserving of an eye roll. “Bet you forgot to get Shouto’s.”
Izuku’s face drops, and he pales. “Oh shoot.”
Katsuki barks a laugh at Izuku’s expense and turns to continue his way towards the kitchen with Izuku on his heels.
“Do you think you could ask Eijirou for me?”
“Nope!”
“Kacchan?!”
Eijirou drops down into his bunk with an exhausted sigh before he smiles a little more than usual. It’s not often that he goes to sleep hoping he’ll see him—Katsuki—he just normally knows he will.
But tonight is different. They’ll see each other for the first time after learning each other’s names, and who knows what trouble they’ll get into? Maybe it’ll be another concert date again. Maybe they’ll go rock climbing. Maybe they’ll experience some kind of dream evolution that only people who’ve met their soulmates in person get to do. There are so many possibilities, he almost vibrates in his skin.
He yawns and rolls over onto his side away from the light, but a small brrrrt catches his attention.
He reaches over his head to the small lip by his bed until he finds his phone, and he sees a message that has his heart beating a little faster.
unknown number: i’ll trade you two apple danishes and a coffee for your loser friend’s number
Eijirou’s smile widens.
eijirou: my loser friend?
He doesn’t have to guess what name he should assign to the number.
katsuki: you know exactly who i’m talking about
eijirou: well he’s not a loser so
katsuki: one tart and no coffee
eijirou: NO WAIT
katsuki: just a coffee
katsuki: and it’s decaf
eijirou: BRO
eijirou: you’re nicer in my dreams
katsuki: yeah well you’ve never bailed on me in mine
eijirou: …
eijirou: yeah that’s fair
eijirou: sorry
katsuki: so that phone number?
eijirou: oh yeah sure sorry
He forwards Shouto’s contact card with a silent thank you to the universe.
katsuki: when does your shift end
eijirou: tomorrow before lunch we’re all switching over
katsuki: even the loser?
eijirou: i’m gonna get jealous
katsuki: well i was gonna tell you both to come here and get lunch before going home but now you’re on your own
eijirou: NO WAIT LOL
katsuki: didn’t hear the siren today
eijirou: no fires for once
katsuki: must be your lucky day
eijirou: must be
eijirou: what are you doing right now
katsuki: cleaning up
katsuki: what are you doing
eijirou: oh you know zzzz
katsuki: give me like an hour and i’ll meet you there
Eijirou smiles and covers his face with his arms as he gives his blanket a silent kick. It’s not the same as going across the street and spending the night getting to know him—truthfully, Eijirou needs to sleep whenever he can—but it’s a promise that they’ll meet soon in their usual way, that when Eijirou falls asleep, Katsuki will be there waiting for him too.
And then maybe Eijirou can go over there on his days off. He would totally stay out of the way, of course, but maybe he could sweep the floor or something and make himself useful. Maybe he can watch Katsuki bake. Maybe he can get Izuku to tell him some things only a childhood friend would know.
But he’ll see him soon. They’ve shared thousands of dreams, and Eijirou knows deep in his heart that this one will be his favorite. It’ll be the first time he gets to call his name, or whisper it, or write it in the sand. No matter where they end up this time, they’ll be Katsuki and Eijirou.
He picks up his phone and sends one last message before pulling the blanket over his head.
eijirou: see you soon
Katsuki stands with his hands on his hips and a heavy sword on his hip. The mountain wind whips against his bare torso while his jeans (jeans?!) do little to block out the chill.
He brings the horn to his lips and takes a deep breath before he blows loudly enough to shake the lingering snow from the nearest peak. The loud flap of wings beating the air like a groan of thunder makes the ground below his feet tremble, but in a few moments the ruby red dragon hovers before him.
“Took you long enough,” Katsuki says as he swings the strap of his horn around his neck. The dragon chirps in response, a disagreement if Katsuki’s ever heard one. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”
The dragon swoops over him and lands behind him on the plateau at his back with a sudden whoosh of dusty wind from his wings. He lowers himself with a content purr and presses his head down to the ground, a wordless invitation from a dragon to his warrior.
Katsuki pets the scar over his eye and curls a finger around one of his horns.
“Hello, Eijirou,” he says.
Eijirou lifts his head and nudges his cheek with a warm snort. Katsuki smiles and takes his head in his hands before giving him a loving pat.
They have a long way to fly and not a lot of time to get there.
He climbs on his back, and the two of them take off, and as they fly, he knows without a doubt that even if he jumped, Eijirou would never let him fall. He’s never let him down before.
In the back of his mind he knows it’s a dream, but for the first time since these started when he was just ten years old, he’s not afraid of it ending.
Because Eijirou is real, and he’s found him.
Tomorrow he’ll make him breakfast.
Eijirou roars, and the two of them dive through a giant ring of cream cheese.
Well that’s fucking weird.
“Eijirou?!”
Eijirou roars again and dives towards a mountain made of whipped cream and sprinkles. Katsuki braces himself for impact.
They land in a bed softer than a cloud, and the person who smiles next to him is more beautiful than every good thing in the world.
“Hey,” he says, his voice soft and perfect. “Katsuki.”
He exhales so hard it’s hard to believe this is just a dream.
That’s the greatest sound he’s ever heard.
He could get used to hearing it.