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“Surpriseeeee!”
“Happy birthday, Shouto!”
Someone popped a confetti paper cracker. A cacophony of cheers, whistles and familiar voices exploded the moment they opened their apartment door. In the middle of the still-darkened living room, Kirishima is barely holding onto a cake, their other friends’ faces vaguely lit by their warm candlelights.
Shouto stook shock still at their genkan, still taking in the scene. A light push on his shoulder and he stumbled into the living room and out of his stupor, stupid cat socks still on.
Kaminari started singing happy birthday completely out of tune, and the rest joined in, half singing, half yelling. Their hoard of friends are all gathered here in varying states of dressing and sobriety. Iida was still in his costume, sans the boots, Hanta looked like he could only be bothered to put on a Hawaii shirt on top of his getup and Ochako flushed a red clearly not from blushing.
The room miraculously slowed to a hush for Shouto to make his wish. All pairs of eyes on Shouto, who did not get the memo to close his.
“Make a wish, dumbass.” Bakugou scoffed lightly, bumping his shoulder. Someone needs to pick up the slack around here.
Them half-and-half eyes got even wider and more watery, before closing tightly, like Shouto wanted to imprint this moment on his eyelids before it inevitably shattered. His lips quivered along a light curve, giving shapes to whatever wishes he whispered to the candles tonight.
Like always, Bakugou closed his eyes and thought of a wish for the idiot, just in case he forgot himself like he tended to do. Who says only the birthday boy gets to make a wish? Whichever deity up there better listen to Bakugou too, if they knew this self-sacrificing idiot like he did.
After the wish, the party went right back to schedule as usual. Shouto was immediately whisked away from group to group, handing out cake slices and catching up with everyone. He had that subtle glow from the LED lights and meeting the friends he had not seen in a while. Not that the bastard did much talking; he offered “oh”s and “ah”s and pictures of cats on his patrol if anyone asks. His resting face was bitching as it ever was, but his eyes had a twinkle that assured Bakugou to leave him alone with the rest of the idiots. Not like he could catch Shouto again soon anyway.
Tch. Bakugou watched his boyfriend's retreating back with a little nagging thought. In their second year of UA, Mina found out that Shouto likes to hide his birthday and would go literally missing on the day itself. Several hunts (mostly by the girls, led by Mina) and frustrating spars (mostly by Bakugou, probably just Bakugou) later, it’s clear: Todoroki Shouto feels weird around his birthday. Figured.
When it’s literally anyone else’s birthday, the bastard would be there. The girls asked him all kinds of errands, making ice, making snow, burning the cut end of a ribbon and the idiot just hummed and did whatever he was asked. The glorified ice machine-lighter was an honorary member in every single planning group chat without ever replying to any of them.
He would prep his little gifts and cards all on his own, with little cat stickers. Bakugou almost exploded his card their second year when an ashy spiky cat sticker glared back at him. Shouto called the fucker “boom boy”, and his eyes crescented whenever Bakugou bristled about it.
Still, he would take it over the far-away look Shouto had any other birthday. It was like watching five stages of grief strangely play out when Shouto watched others happily celebrate an occasion he still loathed. Planning birthdays gave him joy, but attending one seemed more bitter than sweet. Sometimes, Bakugou watched as his eyes glazed over and his lights drawn in that already empty head.
So their class has done this song and dance for ages now. Someone distracts but keeps Shouto close with them (always Katsuki somehow). The idiot turns really flighty if he finds out something is going on, and it is real work to keep secrets from him just on this day. Somehow, Bakugou manages to create bigger problems for him to worry about, and soon enough, begrudgingly leads him back to his own surprise party.
Every year, it gets a little easier. Bakugou would love all the credits, but the half-and-half bastard had come a long way.
The music winded down after two hours as the conversations slowed to a lull. Half of their friends already bid early goodbyes for their morning patrol, and the rest were strewn across their sofas, loveseat and kitchen counter. Bakugou lazily yelled at them some mandatory health lessons about sleep hygiene and heros’ physical performance, and they lingered just a bit at their genkan before Sero whisper-shouted goodbye and closed the door.
The calm returned after the storm, their apartment looking like a silent aftermath. Bakugou glanced over the mess and pinched his eyes shut, sighing. He dropped his head on the sofa, counting to five, then stood up and got to cleaning.
Something nicked at the back of his mind.
Someone is missing.
Shouto is missing.
He padded to their shared bedroom and stood outside the door for a bit, listening for a sign. No soft snoring, Shouto was not asleep yet. A minute later and he heard what he hoped not to find: a silenced sniffle and a strained sob.
“Shou, I’m coming in.”
An idiot-shaped lump greeted him on the bed. Shouto likes to curl up in fetus, wrapped tightly in blankets saved for his strawberry head when he was overwhelmed. The pressure calms him and make him safe, and he has a shield against the outside world he rarely allows himself.
Bakugou sat down on his side of the bed and lightly inched closer. He threaded his hand through the red and white locks, combing them and lightly scratching Shouto’s scalp.
Shouto let out a shaky exhale and turned his head to Bakugou, blanket burrito and all, eyes still shut and tear-rimmed. Bakugou let the silence sink, his hands running through Shouto’s hair a slow stream of warm water until the hiccups turned to soft shudders and then stopped.
“Overwhelmed?” A slow nod.
“Wanna talk about it?” Shouto grimaced and shook his head no.
“Want me to leave?”
Shouto’s lips turned into a tight line as he turned the question in his head. Some meltdowns like this, Shouto likes to be left on his own, away from any sensory inputs and expectations for a while to get back into his own body. Bakugou waited patiently but Shouto’s lip pulled down further at the corners and seemed agitated at his own indecision.
“Want me to stay?”
At this, Shouto opened his eyes and peeked at him hesitantly. Bakugou searched grey and blue in the dark and found a mix of emotions that neither of them could unpack right then. Yet slowly, Shouto hesitantly nodded, his eyes flitting across Bakugou’s face like he himself was unsure what he was asking, and what Bakugou could offer.
Trials and errors. That got them here this far, it would have to work.
Bakugou turned fully toward him, one arm at each side of the Shouto lump. He lowered himself with an “oomf” that startled a huff out of Shouto. He felt the tension holding the birthday boy taut slowly deflate, and Shouto melted further in his embrace. He nosed along parts of Shouto’s face he could feel, while his arms and legs bracketed Shouto through the blanket.
They stayed like that for a minute, maybe an hour. Bakugou’s hands went back to the silk soft hair, lightly smoothing the forehead along the way. Shouto started and stopped in bouts of sobs and hiccups, like the emotions punched his way out of him and escaped in hissing leaks. His mouth opened and closed in shapes of voiceless screams, and his eyes blinked heavily through the tear tracks that layered on top of each other. Bakugou held him the best he could, listened to the stuttered heartbeats he raged, wiped away the tears he wept and mended the scars he scratched open.
The happiness and love his body could not take, Bakugou could hold it for him.
And then later microdose a bit through cold soba dinner and stolen kisses. Sneak some into cat cafe dates and hands held under the table. Slip a little in his lunch bento and fresh laundry.
It sometimes takes a lifetime of love to undo a childhood of hurt. That's no match for Bakugou Katsuki. He will blast that challenge to hell and back. He will show a world undeserving of Shouto that Shouto deserves the world, the best of the world.
If he can love loudly, he can love quietly. Whatever Shouto needs.
The clock on the bedside table blinked 00:00.
The best and the worst day had come to pass. For now, Bakugou would have 364 days and forever to make the next one the fucking best (period!), and make up for all those before that.
For now, they sleep. The idiot is tucked still in the burrito, softly snoring like he is in the safest place he can be in Bakugou’s arms. Against Bakugou and the blanket burrito, no harm would stand a chance anyway.