Tiktok Reader And Bakugo Move On Together. They Buy An Apartment, They Do Laundry. She Relaxes Into Being

touchstarved! iida next pls🙏🙏

nonnie i cannot deny you!! many requests came in for this lil engine, hope you enjoy <3

touchstarved!iida who most certainly doesn’t have a crush on his personal assistant, that would be wildly inappropriate

touchstarved!iida who nevertheless gets turned on by literally everything you do, feels like a pervert when all you’re doing is sipping tea and he’s half-hard

touchstarved!iida who locks the door to his office at lunch with a curt “I’m not to be bothered” just so he can jerk off under his desk and pretend you’re there helping him

touchstarved!iida who drives you home after work so he has an excuse to be closer to you, “You never know who you might encounter late at night” (also wants to get a glimpse of your lace thigh-high when your skirt rides up)

touchstarved!iida who won’t make a move unless he’s 100 percent certain you’re interested

touchstarved!iida who lays you out on his silk sheets and worships your body with his hands and tongue, “gorgeous girl—let me show you how pretty I think you are sweetheart”

izuku nervously walks into their kitchen one late evening after katsuki just got home from his 12 hour shift.

usually he's all over katsuki with kisses and an excited, 'welcome home kacchan!' so the blond automatically clocks the change and knows something's up.

turning towards the raven haired menace, katsuki crosses his arms in front of his chest to look like he's in control of the situation and lifts an expectant eyebrow. 'whats up, zuku?'

theres something he has hiding behind his back and katsuki gets a weird flash back to the time izuku got him to try a clay face mask.

he did the exact same thing he's doing now, he flashed his sweetest smile and listed all the health benefits and showed off his own smooth freckled skin as an example. it was a very convincing example.

katsuki bitched and complained at first but now, as long as izuku is the one putting it on him, it's been a nightly ritual since that day 2 years ago.

izuku nibbles on his lip and finally looks up at him. 'i-i made kacchan something.'

'ok..?' izuku started knitting awhile back and while he's slowly and surely getting the hang of it, he still hasn't perfected it yet. but bakugou knows he'll get there, it's only been a short amount of time and he's able to make small things like beanies or scarves.

'and it came out... alright? i probably shouldn't have tried something so complicated this early on but i wanted kacchan to have a dynamite theme christmas present no one else has and ever since your merch blew up i know that's basically not possible and I already made you so many beanies and scarfs so of course I couldn't make you even more beanies and scarves so-'

'show me it.' katsuki demands, he hasn't moved and he hasn't said much but the intensity in his voice shows izuku that the blond is excited.

so flashing a hopeful smile, izuku brings it out from behind his back and-

well it's definitely not perfect. and it's kinda very ugly. in that ugly christmas sweater kinda way that everyone actually kinda likes anyway.

'hm.'

🥦🥦🥦

they're at a christmas party with all of their friends and family.

and if anyone tries to say anything bad at all about the sweater katsuki's wearing, he flashes them a threatening eye that dares them to continue. it might not be the explosive anger he used to express but now it's silent, deadly and even more terrifying because well.

because grape juice tried, grape juice continued, he said something like- 'deku maybe you shouldn't be showing off the things you make that clearly shows you're still a beginner?' and now he's been punched, kicked out of the party and everyone wishes they could permanently throw him out of the group chat for a second, third, fourth, hundredth time.

after shaking out his fist, katsuki makes sure his sweater didn't get any grape residue on it and tugs izuku into his chest to give him a soft reverent kiss on the top of his head.

that he's currently shaking because holy all might, kacchan didn't have to do all of that.

'denki why do you still invite him to these things??' kiri asks.

'deku can you make me one too pretty please with a cherry on top? I'll buy you breakfast and lunch for a whole year!'

'oh! ok, yeah definitely!'

Izuku’s parents you can’t change my mind

sleep headcanons

bonus:

i am on my hands and knees begging for a shred of keigo takami baby bird kfc angel content from you, if you write hawks i will finally know true peace

— MEET & GREET ; 1 / 2 ; HAWKS ; 啓悟

summary: you manage to snag two VIP meet & greet tickets for your nephew's birthday. he insists you join him. part one of two. pairing: keigo takami ; hawks / f!reader word count: 3.1k tags: humor, meet-cute, pro hero culture, birbs ignores all relevant timelines yet again, fluff, phone-flirting, hawks is great with kids, t+, relatable pre-hook up hesitation, they will fuck next time a/n: hawks is the chappell roan of the mha universe. stop touching him. this man actually changed my brain chemistry in early 2023 but we don't need to talk about that. anways, this poll was on the ropes all day and i made the executive choice to feed the hawks birblets.

You feel like your face has been set in a semi-permanent cringe all morning. 

In your right hand, you're clutching your half-finished iced coffee for dear life. In your other, you're clinging to your nephew as he drags you through the convention center — one of the bright red wings of his beloved, homemade cosplay has started to go lopsided, and the six-year-old excitedly tugs it back in place as he tries to yank you forward.

"C'mon! We're gonna be late!" 

This really wasn't your scene.

Fan conventions had a way of making your skin itch. The amount of sexy All Mights you've seen this morning alone has to be some sort of milestone indicator for the environment. Whether nature is healing or dying, though, you have no idea. 

If you had it your way, you'd spend the rest of the day mingling through the artist stalls — but, to your nephew Hayami's point, the two of you had somewhere to be.

Your VIP meet-and-greet badge swings as you trip up and laugh. "Okay! Okay, slow down! You're about to yank my arm off!"

It was the best birthday gift imaginable for Hayami. You officially cemented your title as The Coolest Aunt Ever when you managed to snag the two VIP convention meet-and-greet tickets (complete with a professional photo and two signed copies of the convention's annual poster) after a harrowing seven hours in an online Ticketmaster line. There were only a hundred of them sold — and sure, you coulda thrown that pretty hunk of cash into a college fund for Hayami, but he was deeply in his hero phase. 

Originally you expected that Hayami's father, your brother-in-law, would want to go.

But, no, Hayami himself insisted you come with him.

After all, you helped me with my costume, he begged, I wouldn't have been able to do it without you!

That you did. Many a hot glue gun burn was suffered at the hands of those damn red feathers. If you squint from far away, the cosplay isn't half bad considering the thrift and dollar-store materials. It wasn't one of those inch-to-inch replicas, but it worked. 

He's like a cute, bouncing mini Hawks. Complete with goggles and wings.

And Hayami is happy. And that's all that matters to you. 

The line is already pretty long, and Hayami runs his gloved hands along the line barriers as he races to his spot, audibly wooshing the whole way — just like Hawks does, probably. His badge jingles, and he hops to a stop as you come up behind him and pat his head. The six-year-old stands up on his tippy-toes, trying to see around the Miss Midnight fan in front of them. 

"Can you see him?" he chatters excitedly, "Ti, can you?"

He's called you Ti ever since he could speak. Auntie was too long, and the shortened version has stuck. 

You hop up onto your tippy-toes, mimicking him — and you swear you catch a glimpse of a crimson feather plumage over the gathered heads of the other meet-and-greet fans. It might be another cosplayer.

"I dunno," you whisper, your eyes darting to your phone's lock screen, "It's supposed to start any minute—"

The telltale roar of fanfare lets you know exactly who has just arrived. 

Hayami's excitement is palpable. Without a word, you're hauling him up and perching him on your shoulders. His hands land in your hair, and you can feel his smile from down here. 

"Ti! It's him!"

The line starts moving not long after, and you finish your iced coffee while Hayami stays perched on your shoulders, utterly starstruck. You weave through the barriers, moving up a few feet every minute, until you're only four or five people away from where Hawks sits behind a long table. 

You have to admit, the guy is pretty cute. 

Cuter than the fan-cams make him out to be, even. 

Sandy blonde hair, sharp gold eyes, and big wings. There's no doubt in your mind he's showboating, but as people approach the table, you notice this hesitant twitch ripple through the red feathers every time someone gets a little too close. 

That cringe from earlier washes over your face again as a girl reaches over the table to roughly run her fingers across one of his flight feathers. 

It's Keigo's least favorite part of all this. 

I mean, there's a part of him that gets it. He's the #2 Hero in all of Japan. He's a big deal. He's top of the popularity polls, he's the people's bird, y'know? He's a marketed commodity that sells out each and every time. 

But, that doesn't mean he likes being touched.

Especially the wings. Hands off the wings.

"Hey, Hayami?" you ask, tilting your head up as you both step forward.

You can feel the sudden nervousness creeping up on Hayami as he nods and looks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

"Make sure you ask for permission if you touch his wings, okay?" you say gently, muscling him down from your shoulders and doing a once over on his mini-Hawks cosplay, "And remember to tell him your name!"

Hayami nods, his nerves palpable as he realizes the two of you are next. 

On instinct, his hand shoots out and grips yours for dear life. 

And then, one of the marketers waves the two of you forward.

The first word that comes to Keigo's mind is MILF. You're cute. Real cute. Definitely not the usual sort he meets at conventions, and definitely not the usual sort that buys a ticket to his meet-and-greets. The kid clinging to your arm is arguably even cuter, and Hawks can't hide the blooming grin on his face when the pair of you step forward.

"Woa-ho!" he yaps from behind the patterned table, "Dude! Nice outfit!"

Hayami is panicking. You can tell from his shocked silence as the two of you step forward. You bend at the knees, squatting to your nephew's height, then encourage him to go ahead, go on. His big, brown eyes bob from you to Hawks. 

"Go ahead, Hayami," you encourage softly, "Say hi."

Oh, shit. You're really cute. Is this your kid? Nah, no way. You're way too young to be his mom. Unless—

You've seriously got him weighing the pros and cons of step-fatherhood and he doesn't even know your name. 

He could do stepdad shit at twenty-six. Right?

"Hi, Mr. Hawks," comes the shy voice of the mini Hawks before him; the sandy blonde's chest clenches. 

This is too fuckin' cute.

"Heh, hey kid," he chirps back, leaning forward on the table as his mouth curves into a friendly grin; Hawks' eyes are trained on the kid's growing smile, "What's your name?"

"H-Hayami."

"It's cool t' meetcha, Hayami," Hawks parrots as your own proud smile grows. There's relief flooding your shoulders. Thank god, Hayami didn't choke the clutch moment, "I like your wings, lil' dude!"

Hayami gives a little turn, wiggling his prized, handmade possession. His confidence is building; the compliment lights the kid's cheeks up. 

"My aunt helped me make them!" Hayami chatters, his eyes brightening from behind the flight goggles strapped to his head, "She says I need to ask for your permission to touch your feathers!"

Keigo's gold eyes slip to your face. You give him an apologetic grimace, your eyes flicking to the girl beyond the VIP area still screaming about how she touched him, she touched Hawks, oh my god. You mouth out a silent apology.

Hawks' finds himself a little speechless. Doesn't happen often. 

He's not used to having some say in how he's objectified and consumed.

A sandy brow quirks as he pushes his yellow-tinted visor up, and into his hair. He seems shocked. It's not an expression you've seen on the #2 before — and in the last few weeks, you've seen plenty of Hawks content during Hayami's cosplaying journey. The reference material is pretty expansive.

"That's real considerate, chickadee — I appreciate that," his voice is soft; his smile is a little looser, "C'mere, Hayami, you wanna hold a feather while I sign your poster?"

This is, like, the best day of Hayami's life. 

Hawks brings his visor back down. 

You stand to full height, wringing your purse's strap, watching Hayami hold both hands out as one of the delicate pieces of plumage floats into his hands on command. He cradles it like treasure, his big brown eyes glimmering with new-found amazement. 

You step forward, and place a hand on Hayami's shoulder as he gently ushers his hands toward your face. "Ti, look, isn't this, like, the coolest thing ever — it's one of Hawks' feathers!"

Hawks' eyes flick up to the two of you as his pen darts across the two VIP package posters. There's a smirk on his face as he pays half attention to the task of signing. 

And scribbling his number on the back of one.

"I see that," you chuckle, leaning in to inspect the beautiful, crimson feather, "Make sure you say th—"

Before you finish your sentence, the very feather in question darts up to tickle the tip of your nose. Your immediate reaction is to scrunch your nose and grin. It's not so much ticklish as it is gentle. For good measure, Hawks gives Hayami a little brush on the cheek, too. The boy descends into delighted laughter, allowing the feather to zip back through the air and into its designated place in his wings. 

Hawks is smirking.

"Alright you two," comes the level voice of the marketer; the camera in her hands is bulky, and a signifier that their time meeting #2 is nearly up, "Let's get in nice and close for a photo!"

The table proves to be a bit of a pain, but you bend down to Hayami's height as Hawks leans over the table and gives you both bunny ears. The camera flash burns bright in your eyes as Hayami's hand darts into yours again. 

"Here you two go," Hawks rumbles easily; he's standing now, and you find yourself yet again struck by how handsome he is. He smells like summer air and some expensive cologne you'll probably never know the name of. Definitely one of his sponsors. 

You take both posters, as Hayami's excitement seems to overflow and he's nearly buzzing with excitement to know he has Hawks' autograph. The boy bounces at your heels as he clutches his signed copy of the annual convention poster. His big, brown eyes are wide with pure joy. 

"Thank you!" Hayami chatters, "You're the best, Hawks!"

"Thank you," you smile, taking your own poster as Hayami's hand rockets back into yours.

"Nah, it's nothin', chickadee. Thanks for the manners," he calls after you with a touch of good humor, "You're real sweet."

"No problem!" you stutter out, thrown entirely by the compliment, as one of the other marketers guides you towards the exit with a hand on your back. 

"Oh, hey! One last thing!"

You flick your eyes back over your shoulder as you're shuffled out of the meet-and-greet.

You watch Hawks mouth 'check the poster', and with a hand held up to the side of his face. Then, 'call me'. 

"You're kidding me."

Hayami is finally asleep — and your sister is closing the door to his darkened bedroom as she hisses the words out. You're leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed and looking entirely exasperated.

"I can't just call him," you say softly as you kick off the wall and follow her into the kitchen, "This isn't, like, the hot waiter who leaves his number on the receipt—"

"No, it's even better," she chatters, moving towards the unfinished glass of wine that sits on the dinner table, "I swear to god if you don't pick up that phone and call him right now—"

It's your brother-in-law who speaks up from the couch. "What's stopping you?"

"I don't know, being chronically single?" you cry as you throw your hands, "I haven't gotten a wax in months—"

"You seriously think #2 cares?" comes your sister's flat reply.

Your brother-in-law mimics her affectation. He throws a finger in the air. "Real heroes don't care."

The two of them high-five. 

...They're probably right.

You suck your teeth as you cross your arms again and weigh your options.

I mean — it's only eight o'clock. It's early. And it's a Friday. 

It could go two ways — you break your year-long dry spell with the #2 pro-hero in the country, or it's a total bust and he turns out to be a massive weirdo. Both are frankly pretty entertaining. 

You chew your lip.

Then, you decide.

You kick off the wall and move towards your phone in the kitchen. It's sitting beside the poster. 

"Oh my god, are you doing it?" your sister calls from the couch, her hand gripping her husband's arm tightly.

"I'm doing it," you say, ignoring the bite of nervousness in your hands as you type in the cell number that was scrawledhastily on the back of the poster. 

"Ohmygod."

It's ringing.

Suddenly, you have an audience. Your sister and brother-in-law are crowding you, their faces wide and expectant as it continues to ring. You pull your thumb to your mouth, pushing your bottom lip between your teeth. You let it ring, and ring, and just when you settle that you're being sent to voicemail, there's a click and a voice.

"'Ello?"

Your sister slams her hand into her husband's back, the two of them scrambling in a sudden flash of limbs and excitement. You drag your thumb across your throat — gesturing for them to cut it out. 

"Uh, hi," you fumble, "Is this... Hawks?"

Suddenly, there's a bark of laughter on the other line. "The one and only. Who's this?"

A slow smirk tugs at your cheeks. "I checked the back of the poster — a bold move, y'know."

"Convention Cutie!" he practically cheers, "Hold on, hold on — gimme two seconds, lemme just land."

Your lips part and you blink. The mental image is a hell of a thing. You swallow down a bought of amusement. "Sure, sure, take your time."

Keigo was starting to doubt you'd actually call him. The convention wrapped up hours ago, and he already made himself busy by exploring the southern city. It's nice here. A little bit like his hometown. Not too much crime, which has made for a pretty uneventful evening.

Until now.

His boots touch down on the nearby rooftop and he settles into an easy squat. His wings tuck themselves tightly against his back. 

You can hear a bit of wind bristle against his end of the receiver. 

"Alright, alright, sorry," he rumbles out, "Now you've got my full, undivided attention—"

You tug on your bottom lip. Your sister and brother-in-law are entirely hooked on the little bits they're overhearing from their spot across the counter. Your sister takes a long drink of her wine.

"Am I... being a bit of a distraction?" you ask, "If now isn't a good time—"

"You've been a distraction all day," comes the smooooooth reply; even Keigo's proud of himself for that one, "I'm just out for a fly. Nothin' too serious. I am glad you called, though."

Oh, fuck. Your knees feel like jello. You white-knuckle grip the counter as your sister gnashes her teeth and mimics biting her fist in silent mimery.

"Yea?" you pry, fanning yourself as you lean farther against the counter. 

"Yea, definitely," Hawks grins as he tips his head back and checks out the stars, "You busy tomorrow night? I'd love to take you out to dinner."

There's a commotion across the kitchen. The two of them are smacking one another's arms, their genuine excitement is palpable as they try to stay quiet. They're failing.

"I'd love that, Hawks."

This is new for him.

Technically speaking, you're not a fan. Your nephew is. So, this doesn't technically qualify as one of those unspoken hero faux pas. Don't date fans. Then again, what does it matter? He can do whatever he wants. 

And you're cute. And nice. And kind. And maybe he's being a sap, but seeing you with your nephew made something in his heart tighten. He didn't even notice he was making a nest of scrapped trash from the posters around his seat until the afternoon was over. 

God, sometimes the evolutionarily deep, bird DNA thing is weird.

Hawks lets out a tight breath he didn't realize he was holding. 

"Cool. Okay. Uh, you... you chill with, like, 7pm?" he fiddles with his visor, "I'm... I'm free whenever so..."

He sounds nervous. Your grin is so bright it could outburn the sun. 

"That works for me," you say as you fiddle with your lip, "As far as dress code goes... Do I, like, need a flight suit?"

His laugh is warm. 

"No, no, I — I was gonna get us an Uber," his voice lilts into something more mischievous, "Unless..."

"Maybe after dinner," you remark easily, swaying side to side, "You can show me what those wings do?"

Oh, smooth. Real smooth. Keigo's face is warm. His wings in question twitch eagerly at the invitation. 

"You gonna ask before you touch?" he teases back into the receiver, his brow raised.

It's your turn to laugh. "Hey, it's called being polite."

"I appreciate it," he rumbles out, about earlier at the convention, "Seriously. People are grabby — these things are sensitive..."

"Making a mental note of that, and filing it away," you flirt openly as your sister cheers silently, "For after dinner, maybe."

Keigo's brain stutter-steps. His laugh is surprised. He's about to comment on how you might just be the girl of his dreams when suddenly the wail of sirens perks up his attention. It's two blocks over. Three fire engines. The wind is carrying the smell of acrid smoke. 

"Hey, chickadee, I, uh... I gotta go," he says, standing and allowing his attention to drift to the scene playing out in front of him; it's a house fire — must be — on the southern side of town, "I'll text you the spot for tomorrow, is that okay?"

"Of course, don't let me keep you," you hush, "I'll... text you?"

"I'm countin' on it."

"Bye, Hawks."

"See ya, chickadee."

You didn't even realize you were sweating until you put the phone down.

Your sister and her husband are there, eyes wide. "So?"

"So," you croon as you laugh and pridefully sway your hips, "I have plans tomorrow night."

Their screaming wakes up Hayami.

As you help the kid back to sleep, you keep it secret that he's a better wingman than you could have ever anticipated. 

hello, hello! I am so reverently obsessed with the way you write Katsuki. I came here to ask of you to please on my knees write his reaction to us wearing his merch it would KILL me

wearing his merch ☆ ( ​prohero!katsuki x reader )

i hope you enjoy! ty for requesting this, it was fun to write

This feels…

You tug at the hem, where it's different, reinforced ribbed fabric, wishing it’d stretch the way you want it to. To cover your whole thigh. Maybe cover your entire body along with it. But the material is high-quality — only the best for Bakugou Katsuki. The material isn’t malleable, unlike those cheap, thin knockoffs. It pulls along with your grip but stays true to its shape.

The first line of merchandise of Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight. His launch collection, and you're one of the very few first customers.

You’ve been dating Katsuki for more than a year, but this — it feels like one of those milestones. First date, first kiss, first time — shit, it might even be more daunting than any of those. Because this … it feels like it’s more than a matter of supporting your boyfriend. It feels more like getting yourself into trouble. It shouldn’t be so embarrassing. Shouldn’t feel so dangerous.

Your face burns when your eyes catch sight of yourself in the full-length mirror. In his — a hoodie, off-black, disrupted by the bold orange running from either shoulder to the hemline. The skin of your bare legs follow after.

“Ugh.” Your fingers catch on the hem, intending to pull it off, right when the door slides open, and Katsuki’s figure takes up the doorway.

And doesn’t blink even once.

It takes a minute. Maybe more than that to reboot your brain back up.

“Katsuki! You’re back! You’re back?” you exclaim in a rush, ears steaming, dazed. You're torn between throwing your arms out to welcome him and drawing your arms around yourself to keep the hoodie hidden. “I didn’t know you were — It hasn’t even been — How long have you—“

Your rambling falls short as Katsuki takes one heavy step forward. It's like a string snapping.

He almost looks possessed, eyes wild, like he doesn’t know where to even start looking. You find yourself feeling skittish, stumbling backward until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. It’s entirely appropriate. The face Katsuki is making can only be described accurately as predatory.

“Uhm,” you say eloquently.

“Damn,” Katsuki says appreciatively, ruby finally zeroing in on the orange ‘X’ that encompasses your whole front. “Shit, baby, ‘s this all for me?”

“I’m not trying to pull anything,” you say defensively. “I just — uh, wanted to try it on.”

“And you wanted to keep this from me?” he asks quietly, pulling on the hem — dragging it up, and up. You shiver from the cold air on your hips. Katsuki tracks it obsessively. “God damn. Had a wet dream about this, maybe.” He licks over his teeth. “Here you are.”

Wow. Stomach, meet butterflies. Face, meet lava — or, in this case, Bakugou Katsuki, which is pretty much the same thing.

“You’re such a freak,” you say, but heat is pooling rapidly, so maybe you’re not that any better. It’s getting hot. Way too hot. You wriggle from his grasp. “It’s just merch.”

“Mine, though,” he corrects, suddenly searing his quirk-hot hands on either side of your waist. The noise you make is very high-pitched and embarrassing, and Katsuki grins like a bastard when hearing it. “Fuck you think you’re doin’? Think I’m gonna let you take this off?”

He eases you down the bed, until your ass hits the mattress.

You were expecting a reaction. Maybe not to this extent, though. Katsuki's barely out of his uniform and he's slipping his fingers in yours to push it against the sheets, rasping, "This stays on. Think you can at least do that for me, baby?"

Fuck moon’s taking poison damage

shouto likes bottoming so much he’ll make you stretch him out with two in the same hole on the weekends your both not busy so he can make the most time of it. likes how full it feels. doesn’t even ask to be fucked hard just likes grinding like that

despite being allergic to pollen, BAKUGO KATSUKI spends most of valentine’s day at the flower shop downtown. despite the itch in his throat and despite the sting in his eyes, he refuses to leave.

his fingers twitch as he reaches for a bouquet. would you like roses? too cliche. sunflowers? too tacky. what the hell are peonies, and why do there have to be so many options to choose from?

he exhales sharply through his nose (bad idea, now he’s sneezing too) as he stomps over to the counter.

he grumbles at the florist, rubbing aggressively at the bridge of his nose. “what do you recommend for..” his voice dips, almost like he’s embarrassed, “..someone you like?”

the old woman behind the counter smiles knowingly. “that depends,” she hums, closing the register. “what do you like about her?”

his mouth opens — then snaps shut. his face heats up. he hates this. but he hates the idea of letting you down even more.

“she’s, uh..” he looks away, jaw tightening as he tries not to sneeze again. “she’s a pain in the ass.”

the florist blinks.

katsuki scoffs, gaze drifting while he’s deep in thought. “she’s loud, annoying, never shuts up.” his voice softens slightly. “but she’s.. nice. laughs like a fuckin’ idiot. and-” he clenches his fists. looks up. “-she likes flowers. a lot.”

the woman chuckles, already putting together a bouquet. “sounds like you’ve got it bad, kid.” katsuki scowls, but doesn’t argue.

by the time he leaves, gift in hand, his allergies are destroying him. his eyes are puffy, nose red, and he feels like absolute shit. but when he sees the look on your face later that day, the way you light up as he stands on your doorstep — none of that seems to matter.