March 50k Novel Challenge Update

@probabydeadbynow i saw your user (though im now realizing i misread it, lol) and it sparked this short fic idea so i wanted to share it with you before i post to ao3 (bnha, no quirk AU)

There was a piece of graffiti Izuku always saw around town. Sometimes it’d be done in white, other times blue, but most of the time it was purple- each letter looped and sprawling and bleeding into the next. 

Probably dead by now, it always said. 

Izuku didn’t know why he liked it so much. It felt odd to smile at those words when he saw them spray painted underneath the Musutafu bridge but, then again, he remembered seeing those same exact words when he was being driven home from the hospital after breaking his arm for the first time, a lollipop between his lips and a new All Might plush under his arm. And then again the morning his Dad came home for Christmas, surprising Izuku at the door. And then again the day of Kacchan’s 10th birthday party. The one with the All Might impersonator that had carried them both around on his shoulders for a while, their sweaty hands linked behind his head for no other reason except that they were happy. 

White then blue then white again. Purple today. 

Probably dead by now, it always said. 

Probably not, Izuku thought back, peering out of the passenger window with a growing smile. 

Izuku had never seen the artist. Never even caught a glimpse, but their handwriting was paint-splattered over so many of Izuku’s brightest memories. 

“What’s got you so smiley, huh?” Kacchan asked. 

Izuku turned away from the window, watching the way Kacchan’s sweaty hands gripped the steering wheel like his life depended on it. He’d only had his license for a few weeks now. 

“I think something good’s going to happen today,” Izuku replied.

Privately, he was pretty sure it already had. 

Kacchan hadn’t invited Izuku anywhere since that 10th birthday party at the arcade and now they were on their way to tour a newly built school together. 

Kacchan scoffed lightly. “What’s so good about college?” he shot back. 

“I don’t know,” Izuku replied honestly, idly flicking through the UA pamphlet resting on his lap. “Maybe…” Izuku glanced towards Kacchan. Quieter, he said, “Maybe we’ll end up going there together. You know, like old times?” 

Really old times, anyway. When Izuku would trade his apple slices for Kacchan’s potato chips at lunchtime and they’d walk home together in their baby blue smocks, hands clasped firmly together.

Not like the way they’d make passing eye contact in the halls of their high school, always in opposite motion even if Izuku’s eyes would sometimes trail after Kacchan's back. 

Even if sometimes he caught Kacchan looking, too. 

Kacchan was quiet for a few moments, the careful tick of the turn signal a feeble echo of Izuku’s hammering pulse.  

Izuku was pretty sure he remembered seeing that same graffiti- purple, and nearly washed out by a recent rainstorm- the day Kacchan threw Izuku’s notebook from a third story window in junior high. 

“Just don’t expect me to fucking hold your hand,” Kacchan eventually bit out, eyes averted- his focus too intense on the empty road for it mean anything other than embarrassment. 

His tone too light for it to even feel like a denial. 

Izuku quickly turned his gaze to his knees, smothering a smile. The UA pamphlet creased beneath his fingers. 

Probably dead by now.  

Purple. Scribbled across the window of an empty storefront. 

Kacchan had grabbed Izuku’s hand two blocks later and shoved that same pamphlet at him, holding on for a beat too long. 

“You dropped that,” he’d lied. 

His hand had been warm. 

“My dad and I were gonna tour it this weekend but he’s got a work thing.”

Izuku’s eyes had been wide and curious. He’d held his breath while Kacchan scratched the back of his neck and scuffed the toe of his shoe on the ground, casting around for the right words to say. 

“I guess you could take his spot or whatever,” he’d continued with a shrug. “If you pay for gas. ‘Cause I’m going whether you catch a ride or not.”

Izuku had thought that Kacchan would probably leave him in the dust by the time it came to go to college. Or not go, he supposed, but…

Izuku lifted his head again, listening to the way Kacchan hummed softly along with the radio. His sunglasses were All Might themed- a custom release with a subtle design that Izuku hadn’t been able to afford. 

There was a second pair, just like it, shoved towards Izuku’s chest when he first climbed into Kacchan’s car, along with a muttered comment about how Kacchan didn’t want to hear any crybaby complaints about the sun. 

They rested comfortably on Izuku’s head now. 

Probably dead by now, it always said.  

Izuku pulled them down until everything in his field of vision was tinged a soft yellow. 

Life was funny that way, he thought.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

posted a new (old) fic today!! all it needed was a little touch up and it was good to go :)

its called scraped knees and sunday dinners

summary:

Izuku didn't get into U.A. and Katsuki did and that was supposed to be the end of it. But a chance encounter at the convenience store reminds Izuku just how much their relationship hasn't actually ended. Even if their new normal isn't exactly...normal. And not exactly new, either, since not a year has gone by since they were four in which Izuku and Kacchan were not, somehow, together.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61951150

not my quote but it's super inspiring

love a good quirk swap

For you're writing requests:

I had an idea months ago of adult bakudeku being very domestic and in love in the middle of summer just absolutely dying of heat in their shared livingroom but refusing to be apart because WAHHH BAKUGO WORKS SO MUCH IZUKU BARELY GETS TIME ALONE WITH HIM LIKE THIS HE REFUSES TO LET GO and then Ochako and Todoroki show up with smoothies and popsicle and everything is so cool now

Can use in any way you want if you want to at all. I just think they're neat.

Author's note: Hi! First of all thanks so much for the prompt!! It was definitely a cute one to write and I hope you enjoy what I came up with :) Second, brief warning for Bakugou's swearing

Katsuki released a long sigh, sweat pooling uncomfortably on his brow and the place where his back met the hardwood floor of his living room. The fan he and Deku had bought on clearance at the beginning of the summer sent a pathetic wave of hot air towards his body, barely strong enough to be noticeable. Deku’s warm breath near his ear was much louder and much more obnoxious. 

Katsuki rolled his eyes at the ceiling. His sweat was explosive for christ sake.  

“Deku, I swear to god-”

“No don’t do that,” Izuku interrupted, rolling slightly off of Katsuki’s chest, then compensating for the loss of physical contact with a leg thrown over Katsuki’s stomach. 

Katsuki angled his head down to frown at Deku- who was too busy trying to subtly tuck himself against Katsuki’s side to pay Katsuki’s expression much mind. 

There was a suspiciously forehead-shaped sweat stain just over his heart. Right where Deku had face planted the second he’d returned from his latest overtime shift an hour ago. 

It was a testament to how little they’d been able to see each other these past few weeks that Katsuki didn’t even complain at first. Sidekicks were worked to the bone for little pay and he and Deku had gone in on rent together knowing this. They’d confessed to each other one unsuspecting day in their third year of high school knowing this. Knowing that it wouldn’t be easy. 

They snuck handholds and short, firm, meaningful kisses behind the backs of their superiors whenever they crossed paths and they knew, now, how horrible it was to actually experience being apart. 

Somehow always on opposite shifts, Deku would traipse into the bathroom with his bedhead and bleary eyes, one hand on Katsuki’s arm or back or face at all times while Katsuki washed off the grime of the night-shift and Deku got ready for the morning and then Katsuki wouldn’t see him again until he was on the way out the door for his own shift. 

It was complete and utter bullshit, in Katsuki's opinion. But it was fine. 

Or, it would be fine, once they get enough experience to finally start their own agency together and got a little more control over their schedules. Or hell, any control over their schedules. 

It would be worth it when Katsuki got to kick ass with Deku on the streets and then come home with him, too. No more of this passing ships in the night bullshit. 

“You’re thinking something sweet,” Deku murmured, poking at the soft center of Katsuki’s cheek and then drawing a gentle line down the bridge of his nose. 

“No ‘m not,” Katsuki said. “Sweaty ass.”

Deku pinched Katsuki’s nose closed, then laughed when Katsuki elbowed him in mild retaliation. 

“You are too,” Deku insisted. “You’re making that face.” Katsuki scowled. “What face?”

Deku tapped the space between Katsuki’s eyebrows and Katsuki stared at the blue-green veins now taking up most of his field of vision.   

“The one where you don’t have any frown lines here. And your eyes go all soft. And the corners of your mouth start to do this wobbly thing that-”

“Alright, alright,” Katsuki complained, swatting Deku’s hand away from his face and its apparently numerous tells. “I get the point already shithead, now quit touching my sweat. It’s a fucking fire hazard.”

Deku shoved himself more insistently into Katsuki’s side, nose squishing flat where it was pressed against the top of Katsuki’s ribcage. 

“Not unless you detonate.”

Like this, Deku’s voice had a muffled, slightly nasally quality and Katsuki felt the corners of his lips wobble with the want to smile. It was sickening, really, the way Katsuki melted for Deku even while they were slowly being burned to a crisp in their shitty apartment.

“And who says I won’t?” Katsuki challenged. 

He couldn’t even tell how much of the sweat on his body was his own, right now, and he wouldn’t trade a second if it for the world.  

“Our insurance bills,” Deku replied dryly. 

Katsuki scoffed, dragging his knuckles gently across the divots in Deku’s spine.

“Those fuckers,” he said, licking a line across his teeth. “One of these days I’m gonna fucking kill ‘em.” 

Deku muffled a snicker in Katsuki’s tank top. “Kill…our insurance bills?”

Katsuki flicked Deku’s ear. “You heard me. I fucking hate those guys.”

“I’d help you hide their papery bodies, Kacchan.”

Katsuki bit down a laugh. Flicked his eyes down to Deku’s growing smile. Watched the shape of it for a while once he realized Deku’s eyes were serenely closed.  

“Obviously,” he said, brushing a stray curl off of Deku’s forehead.  

“Obviously,” Deku agreed, tightening his grip. Quieter, he said, “I missed you.”

With a drawn out groan, Katsuki pushed Deku onto his back and rolled on top of him, twining their legs together and plastering his own sweaty forehead onto Deku’s collarbones- which were jumping from Deku’s laughter and not entirely comfortable. Still, Katsuki didn’t move. 

“Stop making me feel things, asshat.”  

Deku pressed a kiss to the top of Katsuki’s head, still laughing. “Oh no,” he said, exaggerating the syllables. “The great and mighty Kacchan brought low by affection. How terrible.”

Katsuki reared his head up enough to nip at Deku’s cheek, a flush rising on his face. 

“Jerk.”

Deku cupped Katsuki’s cheeks and pressed an even gentler kiss to his nose. “Love you Kacchan,” he murmured. 

Katsuki swallowed and allowed his reddened face to be held in Deku’s large and clammy hands. God, he'd missed this.

“I lo-”

“Delivery!” Ochako sang out, slightly muffled from behind the front door of their apartment, followed by three loud knocks. 

Katsuki let his forehead fall unceremoniously onto Deku’s chest, where his grumbled complaints were muffled.

Deku pet soothingly through Katsuki’s hair. Then tried to be subtle about the way he wiped his hand on the rug a few feet to their right a moment later. 

“The knocking was just for show,” Ochako announced, voice much clearer as she pushed into their front door with the jangle of keys and the rustle of plastic bags Katsuki couldn’t be bothered to get up and investigate.

He kind of hoped it was another fan though, since she was already here. 

“Hello. Sorry for the intrusion,” Todoroki called out next. 

He kind of hoped Deku would put him out of his misery, actually. 

Deku patted Katsuki’s back in silent apology and Katsuki understood that he would not be throwing his friends out on their asses like they deserved. 

“Guys, we gave you that spare key for emergencies,” Deku reminded them from his spot on the floor, still trapped beneath Katsuki and his unwillingness to socialize with trespassers. 

“Ochako said this counted.” 

Katsuki could practically hear Todoroki’s apathetic shrug. 

“Right, but…” Deku started, slowly sitting upright and maneuvering Katsuki’s legs and arms around himself with absolutely no help from Katsuki. “Um, what’s the emergency?”

Katsuki tried not to feel too pleased when Deku lifted them both from the ground with ease, his hands locked securely underneath Katsuki’s thighs. Sidekick shifts were hell but damn if they weren’t also paying off. 

The rustling of plastic bags briefly paused. “You’re joking,” Ochako said. 

Deku settled them into one of the two barstools beside their kitchen counter and Katsuki kept his eyes and mouth stubbornly shut, even if he could tell by the slight decrease in temperature that Todoroki was sitting on the other one. 

“Uh, no?” Deku replied uncertainly, arms circling Katsuki’s torso like a beloved teddy bear. “Guys, is there actually something-?”

“Surprise!” Ochako shouted, dropping the seriousness from her tone and likely shoving something towards Deku’s face that Katsuki couldn’t be bothered to look at. “We came to save you from your badly insulated apartment!”

Then there was a loud pop and the vague sensation of something falling into Katsuki’s hair. 

“...was that a fucking confetti popper?” he muttered in Deku’s ear. 

Katsuki felt Deku nod against his temple. Fucker was probably smiling, too.  

“What the fuck,” Katsuki said. 

“Aw, that’s so nice of you!” Deku said, ignoring Katsuki’s confusion. 

Annoyed, Katsuki opened his eyes and used the edge of the counter to spin their chair around. “Oi, what-?”

Todoroki shoved two plastic cups towards Katsuki’s face, both of them varying shades of pink. Katsuki stared. The one on the left had a single piece of blue confetti stuck to the lid. 

“We brought smoothies,” Todoroki explained. 

“And popsicles!” Ochako added. 

Katsuki shifted his eyes to where she did, in fact, have a row of colorful popsicles lined up on the counter. 

Slowly, Katsuki accepted the smoothies. 

“Bribe successful,” Ochako whisper-cheered to Todoroki. 

Katsuki clicked his tongue, and took a sip of the smoothie with the confetti. “I fucking heard that Pink Cheeks.” Then he cringed slightly at the taste of tropical fruits and handed it to Deku. “This one’s definitely yours.”

Deku smiled, seemingly unbothered about being turned away from the conversation. “Thanks Kacchan.”

“Bribe successful,” Todoroki agreed, offering her a fist bump. 

“Fuck you both,” Katsuki said, narrowing his eyes over Deku’s shoulder while he drank from the strawberry banana smoothie that, on second glance, he could see had a sticker of a grenade on the far side. “I’m not so fucking easily swayed.”

Laughing, Deku squeezed Katsuki tighter with one hand and used the other to press his cold smoothie against the back of Katsuki’s neck. “Right.”

Katsuki hummed a pleased sound. Still, he said, “You’re damn right. Bastard. I'm un-bribe-able.”

Then Deku spun the chair back around to make cheerful small talk with their friends and Katsuki decided, just this once, that he wouldn’t confiscate their spare key. Not when Deku’s hand was scratching so gently up and down his side and Todoroki occasionally sent a spray of ice flurries over their heads. Even Ochako amused herself by balancing popsicles on Katsuki’s shoulders.  

And it wasn’t often that he and Deku got to spend their days like this. 

Katsuki tapped Deku three times on the hip. 

I love you, it meant.

you wanna join my gift exchange sooo bad

you wanna write mha fanfic and gift it to someone else soooo bad

you wanna draw fanart for someone else soooooooo bad

Lately I'm having a lot of fun working on prompts and the mha first kiss gift exchange! Here's a bkdk snippet from one of the prompt responses (for context, it's set in the middle of summer)

“You’re thinking something sweet,” Deku murmured, poking at the soft center of Katsuki’s cheek and then drawing a gentle line down the bridge of his nose.  “No ‘m not,” Katsuki said. “Sweaty ass.” Deku pinched Katsuki’s nose closed, then laughed when Katsuki elbowed him in mild retaliation.  “You are too,” Deku insisted. “You’re making that face.” Katsuki scowled. “What face?” Deku tapped the space between Katsuki’s eyebrows and Katsuki stared at the blue-green veins now taking up most of his field of vision.    “The one where you don’t have any frown lines here. And your eyes go all soft. And the corners of your mouth start to do this wobbly thing that-” “Alright, alright,” Katsuki complained, swatting Deku’s hand away from his face and its apparently numerous tells. “I get the point already shithead, now quit touching my sweat. It’s a fucking fire hazard.” Deku shoved himself more insistently into Katsuki’s side, nose squishing flat where it was pressed against the top of Katsuki’s ribcage.  “Not unless you detonate.” Like this, Deku’s voice had a muffled, slightly nasally quality and Katsuki felt the corners of his lips wobble with the want to smile.

Your mystery question is here! :)

Moon: Does your character have a dark side? What makes their dark side come out?

Ooh, interesting. I'll answer this one for my character, Sylas, and the answer is...yes.

Sylas is young and desperate and hurting, and that sense of desperation leads him to justify certain actions which I think can count as him having a dark side.

In the very beginning of the story, Sylas finds his estranged brother's address after years of fruitless searching only to have his phone stolen by his childhood bully/frenemy and in a heat-of-the-moment type decision where he can either save her from danger or his phone (with the address pulled up) he chooses his phone and it takes him a while to even admit to the other characters that he left her behind and she needs to be rescued

Since Re:vale was very poor during the start of their career, can you do an ff where Momo and Yuki can't afford heating so they cuddle to sleep (or even if the heat is on, it's still very cold.) I attempted it myself and let's just say it turned out very sad (and they did not cuddle. I can't seem to write happy things.) The themes are fluff with sad feelings.

It's only a request so please do it if you feel comfortable.

ofc! thanks so much for the request :) fic under the cut

author's note: this ended up being a lot longer than i planned but i really enjoyed the challenge of balancing fluff and angst. apologies if it's not quite sad enough. there's some handwavy canon stuff about yuki's past that i invented to suit the story but otherwise i tried to keep it universe-accurate and toyed with how the married couple routine they use might create some mental/emotional distance between re:vale despite their physical closeness (overall its still pretty mushy though lol). i sincerely hope you enjoy it @iamokay13 !

Yuki stirred when he heard the front door click open, awkwardly dragging the heavy blankets he’d cocooned himself in away from his face. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. 

“Who’s there?”

Momo responded with a breathy laugh, struggling audibly with the door. 

“Who do you think?”  

Groggily, Yuki heaved himself onto his elbows to peek over the back of the couch, chin pillowed on the scratchy cushion. He spied at least three plastic bags hanging from Momo’s arms, their contents swinging wildly as he attempted to pull the door shut with his foot, hands busy balancing a tower of mismatched tupperware that promised them warm dinners throughout the week. The only thing indicating it was Momo at all was the hint of blue hair poking out over the top. 

“Hello sentient tupperware,” Yuki murmured, slumping back down onto the couch. 

The door clicked shut. 

“Yes!”

Yuki blinked despondently up at the popcorn ceiling. 

“The heater’s still broken. Landlord won’t fix it until next week.”

“No!” Momo cried, followed by the sound of what must be twenty plastic containers tumbling out of his arms and onto their kitchen counter. “Can’t you, I don’t know, seduce him or something to get it fixed faster?”

Yuki raised a pale eyebrow, aware that Momo wouldn’t be able to see it from this angle and confident that he’d sense it all the same. 

“The only person that would work on is you.”

“But you’re so handsome!”

Yuki pulled the blankets back over his face. Muffled, he asked, “Any luck with your savings? He might call maintenance sooner if we can pay half.”

Momo laughed awkwardly, their fridge humming open and shut. 

“If by savings you mean my old piggy bank, then we’re 2700 yen richer.”

Yuki sighed. 

“I think my mom’s decided that we’re starving artists-”

“We are starving artists,” Yuki interrupted bluntly. 

“-so she sent me home with like, the whole kitchen. You weren’t even there and she was all Yuki darling is too skinny these days, practically skin and very handsome bones, he really ought to be eating more, and then I was all-”

“She calls me darling, too?”

“No, I’m exaggerating for effect, darling. Now shh.” 

With a soft gasp, Yuki suddenly bolted up from the couch. “Did you hear that?”

Momo froze with wide eyes, one hand on the handle of their most-intact cabinet. “Hear wha-”

“Shh!” Yuki insisted, draping himself partly over the back of the couch to ensure Momo remained still and quiet while his eyes darted suspiciously over the apartment. 

“Do you think it’s a ghost?” Momo whispered fearfully. 

“Maybe,” Yuki whispered back, holding a finger over his lips. “Listen.”

Without the hum of the heating unit permeating the small space, the apartment was chillingly silent. In fact, if Yuki focused, he could almost make out the fearful thud of Momo’s heart as he stood frozen, poised in anticipation and ready to-

“Ah,” Yuki sighed, smiling slightly and dragging his blankets further up his shoulders. “The sound of peace and quiet.”

Momo practically sagged in relief, even as he grabbed their kitchen towel and hurled it towards Yuki where they both watched it flutter harmlessly to the ground. 

“You handsome jerk!” 

Momo’s sister’s initials were still sewn into the corner, right next to the burn mark Yuki had caused attempting to soften butter in their microwave. The mark she didn’t know about, and wouldn’t ever I’d Yuki had anything to say about it. 

Slowly, Yuki asked, “Is this what the tabloids would call a lover’s quarrel?” 

“Hmph!” Momo complained, turning his head away with a performative frown. 

Blankets dragging behind himself, Yuki moved to sit across from Momo at the kitchen island, falling easily into the back and forth they were developing for their stage personas. 

“The next time Mr. Shimooka-san invites us for an interview, I’m gonna tell the whole world you keep trying to give me heart attacks,” Momo declared, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. 

Yuki braced his elbow on the countertop, prepared to pillow his chin on his palm with a suggestive smile and a heart-pounding innuendo, when he jerked away from the cold sensation instead, flailing his blanket cape to keep from falling off the stool entirely. 

“No you won’t,” Yuki said instead once he’d regained his balance, pulling a corner of the fabric over his heat-stained cheeks. 

Momo continued to move around the kitchen, pulling things down from various cabinets and drawers and fiddling with the microwave with his back turned, humming a popular song about karma. 

Yuki could hear the smile in his voice. 

“No I won’t,” Momo agreed softly, spinning on his heel a few moments later and placing a warm plate of curry in front of Yuki. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Ye-”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Momo interrupted, waving his finger in front of Yuki’s face. “Don’t forget I know what your lying face looks like, darling! Your eyes get all sneaky.”

Yuki frowned, readjusting the blanket around himself while he poked at his food, only belatedly realizing that he had been hungry. 

“I thought my eyes were handsome?”

Where Yuki expected a wide smile to bloom over Momo’s face and gushing compliments to follow, he found only guilt when he glanced upward. 

Yuki tensed. “Why are you-”

“Yuki I forgot to tell you I wiretapped the apartment for a TV show,” Momo admitted in a rush. 

“You what?” Yuki exclaimed, jumping off of the stool, face burning as he looked frantically around the room. “When did you-?”

Momo laughed, rounding the counter to place an obnoxious kiss to Yuki’s still-burning cheek. “Got you back, Yu-ki.”

“You..” Yuki made an incoherent sound of relief, coated with surprise and displeasure both as he melted to the ground, thumb subtly brushing warmth over the skin Momo’s lips had pressed against. It was just an act, Yuki reminded himself. In spite of the closed doors, it was still just an act. 

“I’m so embarrassed,” Yuki whispered, burying his face in his hands. 

“Cheer up, darling!” Momo cooed, flopping onto the couch and gathering Yuki’s other, abandoned blankets around himself. “Finish your meal so we can be warm together.”

“I think I’ll die.”

“But how could I go on living without your handsome eyes to look at?” Momo complained. 

Yuki sighed, deciding to remain crouched on the ground for a few moments longer while he looked around the sorry state of their apartment- shared, for the sake of rent, and still their fridge was only full of borrowed tupperware and little else. A few of their cabinets wouldn’t shut properly, the hot water never lasted for more than ten minutes at a time, and the only reason they had furniture in the first place, threadbare as it was, is because the previous renter had left it all behind. 

And now the heater was broken in the middle of winter. 

“At this rate, neither of us is gonna last too long.” 

Momo’s voice was quieter when he asked how their ticket pre-sale was going. 

“We’ve filled maybe a tenth of the seats,” Yuki replied, rising slowly to return to his plate of curry, determined to fill his gut with warmth instead of dread. 

“But we go on this Saturday,” Momo pointed out, his head popping up over the back of the couch with concern. “And that’s…how much would that pay us?”

Yuki shrugged, moving around his food with the spoon as he ran sums in his head. “About enough to pay for the venue, I think. Maybe pocket change for us.”

Momo collapsed back onto the couch with a soft, wheezing thud, and Yuki thought he probably had his hands cupped over his face. Momo always did that when he was stressed. 

“Was it…was it this hard when you and Ban-san started out?” Momo asked in a small voice and Yuki took a moment to consider the question. 

“Yes and no,” he finally answered, poking at his plate. “For some of that first year, I was still connected to my parents bank account and I lived at home so there was no food or rent to pay for. However, drawing a crowd is always difficult in the beginning.” Yuki shrugged, tightening the blanket around his shoulders. “The music speaks for itself, but it takes time for people to listen. There’s a lot of noise in the world.”

“Right,” Momo murmured quietly. “Right,” he repeated, seemingly more to himself than to Yuki. “It’s just time.”

Yuki frowned. “Why do you sound so-?”

“Maybe I should get a job!” Momo interrupted, the sudden cheer in his voice throwing Yuki off kilter. 

“What?” Yuki asked. “But you have a job. It’s…us. We’re the job.”

“No, Yuki darling. A part-time one. I’ve…I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately but the place I was working at during college isn’t hiring at the moment so I circled a few of the listings in the paper to check out.”

“You what?”

Yuki set his spoon down in favor of spinning yesterday’s newspaper towards himself and flipping towards the section for job listings, finding Momo’s signature scrawl all over the place- dotted with frowny face notes for places that had already managed to fill the positions they were advertising for. Question marks and clumsy stars were littered near the others. 

“You’ve already started calling,” Yuki realized. 

“Mm,” Momo said. “It makes the most sense, doesn’t it?”

Yuki swatted the newspaper to the counter, shifting on the barstool to glare accusingly at the couch blocking Momo from view. 

“I could've talked to-”

“I know,” Momo interrupted, voice soothing and sure of himself. “But you’re the one who writes all the music, Yuki. I don’t know a lot about it like Ban-san, so the best I can do is make you tea while you work and…” Momo cut himself off with a light chuckle, something self-deprecating in the sticky sweetness of it. “Well, it just makes more sense for me to be the one to work, y’know?”

“I-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Momo scolded again, but without the polished finger waved in Yuki’s face and the usual pleased amusement behind the sound, it grated against Yuki’s ears. “Don’t lie, darling. You’re too handsome for that.”

Yuki huffed unhappily and reached for the sharpie Momo had left out on the counter, quickly scanning through the circled listings and crossing out all of the ones that would have Momo working late hours or doing a lot of manual labor. If Momo was going to twist Yuki’s arm about this, there was no way he’d allow Momo to work a job he’d hate. 

When Yuki finished, he found the listings Momo had been okay with slashed in nearly an even half. 

“Stupid,” Yuki muttered beneath his breath.

“Cold,” Momo corrected from the couch. 

Sighing like he’d been asked to take a thirty minute drive for Momo’s favorite gingerbread muffins, Yuki rose from his seat with his blanket billowing behind him and wandered toward Momo, whose lips were ticking up at the corners. 

Yuki frowned in retaliation, well aware that he probably looked ridiculous, before collapsing face-first into his outstretched, waiting arms. 

Momo sighed in contentment as he rearranged the blankets around the both of them to seal in what little body heat they produced, squeezing Yuki close to his chest once he was satisfied. 

Yuki allowed it, content to pretend that he hadn’t intended for them to end up like this in the first place by strategically waiting for Momo on the couch. 

“So cozy,” Momo cooed, running his hand up and down Yuki’s back- smoothing and rucking up the fabric in slow, even strokes. “We even have a fireplace.”

Yuki raised his head skeptically. 

“Is the cold getting to your head? Because-”  

Grinning wide, Momo’s eyes flicked to the wobbly coffee table beside them. 

Yuki followed his gaze and let out an amused scoff, eyes rolling, because Momo’s phone was propped against Yuki’s stack of songwriting folders, showing a bright, burning fireplace. 

“You’re stupid,” Yuki murmured lightly, tucking his face against Momo’s neck where his growing smile wouldn’t be found, pressing the cold tip of his nose to his partner’s racing pulsepoint.  

“I’m your stupid,” Momo whispered back, tightening the clasp of his arms around Yuki’s back. 

Momo’s body was soft and warm underneath him, the lingering unease in Yuki’s stomach lulled into peacefulness where it was pressed against his partner’s like the first, cautious snow against the ground. 

Yuki closed his eyes. 

He could be happy like this, Yuki thought. Even with the heater broken. Even with the apartment slowly falling to ribbons around them while they sang to empty venues. Even with the act reminding Yuki what they were not to each other, as long as Momo was here.

With him.

“Sleep, darling.”

As long as Momo would- 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Momo promised quietly, twining a tentative hand into Yuki’s hair like he could scoop the errant thought from his head and, despite himself, Yuki felt himself relax.