Chapter 51

₊˚⊹✷ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐈𝐗
⤷ to avoid Lord Explosion God Dynamite.

ODA HOVERED NEAR the food table for a second longer than necessary, pretending to consider his options while he let the noise settle into him, letting it drown out the thoughts he’d been trying and failing to outrun all night. Someone had ordered way too much—half-crushed boxes of fries, a stack of pizza boxes already greasy at the corners, a bowl of candy. He grabbed a plate and loaded it without really looking, appetite running more on autopilot than actual hunger.

Behind him, the race ended in a chorus of yelling.

“YES—SUCK IT!” Kirishima crowed, throwing his hands up in victory as his character crossed the finish line.

Sero groaned dramatically and flopped backward onto the floor, arms spread out. “Bullshit. Absolute bullshit. That blue shell was personal.”

“Nah, man,” Kaminari grinned, plopping down next to him. “The universe decided you needed humbling.”

“The universe can catch these hands,” Sero shot back, sitting up just enough to jab a thumb at the screen. “Next round.”

Jiro leaned forward, kicking Sero lightly in the shoulder with her socked foot. “Loser rotates out, right? That was the rule.”

Sero twisted around to look at her. “Since when are you enforcing rules?”

“Since it benefits me,” she replied flatly.

Ashido was already scrambling off forward, nearly dropping her plate as she grabbed for a controller. “Move, tape-boy, it’s my turn.”

Kaminari’s attention snapped back to Oda as he walked over, finally noticing how quiet he’d gone. “You good?” he asked, voice dropping just a notch from its usual volume. “You look like you’re buffering.”

Oda glanced up, startled, then shrugged, forcing something casual into his posture. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Kaminari squinted at him like he didn’t buy that for a second, then shrugged it off just as quickly. “Okay.” He grinned again, nudging Oda with his elbow. “You sure you don’t wanna play? We could use someone who doesn’t scream every time they get hit with a shell.”

“Hey,” Ashido protested from the floor, already mashing buttons. 

Oda snorted despite himself, the sound surprising him a little. “I’ll play next,” he said, and meant it more than he expected to.

The game started back up, music from the TV overlapping with whatever was still blasting from Kaminari’s speakers, and Oda settled onto the bed with his plate balanced on his knee. He watched for a while, half-engaged, letting Kirishima and Ashido’s constant trash talk fill the space in his head where Bakugo’s voice had been looping earlier.

“Why are you always so aggressive?” Jiro asked Ashido dryly.

“Because it’s Mario Kart,” Ashido shot back. “I used to rule at this game.”

Oda’s phone buzzed against his thigh a little after eight, the vibration sharp enough that he felt it even over the noise of the room, and for a second his stomach dropped on pure instinct before he even checked the screen. He glanced down, thumb hovering, and frowned when he saw the number wasn’t saved.

From: Unknown Number
You coming?

Oda blinked at it, brows knitting together as he stared like the words might rearrange themselves into something that made sense. His first thought was that Kaminari was fucking with him somehow, but the number wasn’t familiar and the timing made his pulse tick up just a notch. He typed back without thinking too hard about it.

From: Me
who the fuck is this?

The response came almost immediately, like the other person had been waiting with the phone already in hand.

From: Unknown Number
Bakugo.

Oda felt his throat go dry, his grip tightening on the phone as the room around him faded just slightly, noise dulling into something distant. He shifted on the bed, angling his body away from the rest of the group on reflex even though no one was paying him any attention.

From: Me
how tf did you get my #?

Bakugo’s reply took a few seconds longer this time, long enough for Oda to imagine him scowling at the screen, thumbs stabbing the keys.

From: Unknown Number
It was on your results from the license exam.
Are you coming or not?

Oda scoffed quietly under his breath, shaking his head as he typed back, irritation flaring hot and fast because of course Bakugo would be that blunt, that unapologetic about it, like nothing had happened.

From: Me
i’m at Kami’s stupid party

He hit send and tossed the phone face-down onto the bed beside him before he could overthink it, refusing to look at whatever came next even when the screen lit up again a second later. He ignored it deliberately, jaw tight as he dragged a hand through his hair and tried to refocus on the game in front of him.

“Yo, you alive over there?” Kaminari asked, glancing over at him. “You zoned out hardcore.”

“I’m fine,” Oda said automatically, leaning forward and reaching for the controller as it was passed his way. “Let’s play.”

“Uh-oh,” Ashido said with a grin as she scooted closer, controller already in hand. “He sounds serious. I like it.”

Kirishima groaned as his character wiped out spectacularly on-screen, spinning uselessly before slamming into a wall. “No—no, that’s bullshit,” he protested, throwing his head back. “I swear the game’s rigged against me tonight.”

“Excuses,” Jiro said lazily from the floor. “You say that every time you lose.”

“Which is often,” Sero added helpfully.

Kirishima shot them both a look, then stood up with a huff. “I’m getting more drinks,” he announced, pointing accusingly at the TV. “When I come back, I’m reclaiming my honor.”

“Bring snacks!” Kaminari called after him.

“Bring skill!” Ashido shouted, cackling as Kirishima scowled at her over his shoulder and disappeared into the kitchen.

The next race loaded in, and Ashido picked her character with dramatic flair while Oda selected his without much thought, fingers finally steadying around the controller. As the countdown started, Ashido glanced sideways at him.

“You sure, Oda?” she asked lightly. “I’m getting pretty good at this again.”

Oda snorted despite himself, eyes fixed on the screen. “Focus on the race.”

“Ooo, competitive,” she said, grin widening. “I’m into it.”

The countdown hit zero, engines revved, and as the race began Oda let himself sink into it, the rhythm of turns and boosts pulling his attention back into the present. For the moment, Bakugo’s unread message stayed facedown and unanswered, buzzing quietly in the back of his mind while the room filled with laughter, trash talk, and the comfort of not having to deal with it just yet.

The race they were in was coming down to the wire, Ashido and Oda neck and neck on the final lap, the screen a blur of color and movement as they barreled toward the finish line. Oda leaned forward without realizing it, jaw set, thumb tight on the joystick as he took a corner just a little too aggressively.

That was when the door to the room opened.

It wasn’t loud, not really, but the timing couldn’t have been worse.

Kirishima came back into the room first, arms full of drinks, grin already plastered across his face like he’d just pulled off the greatest surprise of his life. There was someone else behind him, half-hidden by his broad shoulders, and Oda’s brain registered that fact a split second too late.

“Hey, look who I found!” the redhead chimed, way too happy with himself, voice cutting clean through the noise of the game.

Oda looked up.

Bakugo stood there in casual clothes, black shirt clinging just a little at the shoulders. His hair was still a mess, like it always was, but there was something about seeing him now that made Oda’s stomach drop straight through the floor.

His cart slammed into a wall on-screen.

“Oh—shit—” Oda muttered, fingers fumbling as he tried to recover, but it was too late. Ashido blew past him with a triumphant yell, crossing the finish line just ahead of his spinning, wrecked character.

“YES!” Ashido whooped, throwing her hands up. “Victory! Get wrecked!”

“Damn it,” Oda breathed, barely hearing her as the results screen popped up, his loss glaring back at him in bright, unforgiving text.

“Found him wandering and convinced him to join,” Kirishima went on cheerfully, oblivious as he dropped the drinks onto the table and then flopped down onto the bed next to Kaminari. The mattress dipped hard under his weight, the whole thing shaking enough that it rippled all the way down to where Oda was sitting on the other side of Kaminari. 

“And you said you couldn’t do it,” Sero teased, glancing between them with a grin. “Gang’s all here now.”

“We’re not a gang,” Jiro frowned immediately, shooting Sero a look over the rim of her cup.

Sero shrugged. “Group. Mob. Collection of idiots. You know what I mean.”

Ashido twisted around on the floor to look at Bakugo, eyes lighting up. “Oh my god, Bakugo, you showed up? This night just got way better.”

Bakugo grunted something noncommittal and stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him with his foot. Oda made a conscious effort not to look at him again, eyes glued stubbornly to the TV even though the race was over, his heart suddenly beating way too fast for someone who was supposedly just hanging out.

“You’re out,” Kaminari said distractedly, elbowing Oda as he reached for the controller. “My turn to win.”

“Yeah,” Oda said quickly, a little too quick, as he handed the controller over without meeting anyone’s eyes. He leaned back into the wall, folding his arms like that might somehow keep his thoughts from spiraling.

Conversation continued around him, overlapping voices filling the room as if nothing had shifted at all, but Oda stayed quiet, listening without really hearing. He focused hard on not looking at Bakugo, not acknowledging the familiar presence now only a few feet away, even as the weight of it pressed in on him again, heavier than before.

Bakugo ended up dropping into a bean bag near Sero’s with a grunt, the thing flattening under his weight as he leaned back, legs kicked out in front of him. Sero shot him a sideways look but didn’t comment, too busy trash-talking Kaminari as the next race loaded up. The girls settled on the floor in a messy pile of blankets and pillows, Ashido commandeering most of the space while Jiro leaned back against the bed frame.

Kirishima, Kaminari, and Oda claimed the bed against the wall, Kirishima sitting cross-legged at the far end, Kaminari sprawled in the middle like he had no concept of personal space, and Oda perched closer to the edge, shoulders tight and posture just a little too rigid. The setup felt normal enough on the surface, familiar even, but Oda was acutely aware of exactly where Bakugo was at all times despite doing his absolute best not to look at him.

Controllers were passed around whenever someone lost, hands bumping, people complaining loudly about unfair items or “lag” that absolutely did not exist. Oda played when it was his turn and handed the controller off immediately when it wasn’t, keeping his eyes on the screen or his hands or literally anything that wasn’t the bean bag across the room. He leaned into old habits, the kind he’d perfected over weeks of public settings and crowded rooms—don’t stare, don’t linger, don’t acknowledge more than necessary.

It didn’t help that Bakugo wasn’t letting it go.

Every time Oda shifted, every time the controller changed hands, he could feel it—Bakugo’s eyes on him, heavy and insistent, like he was waiting for something. A look. Anything. Oda gave him none of it, staring stubbornly at the TV even when he wasn’t playing, jaw clenched hard enough to ache.

“Dude,” Kaminari muttered under his breath after a while, leaning in closer to Oda like he was sharing a secret. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m always weird,” Oda said quietly, not looking at him.

“No, like… extra weird,” Kaminari clarified, eyes flicking briefly toward Bakugo and then back. “You haven’t said a word in like thirty minutes.”

Oda shrugged, a little stiff. “I’m tired.”

“Uh-huh,” Kaminari said, clearly unconvinced. He watched Oda for another beat, then grinned suddenly like a lightbulb had gone off. “Okay, new plan.”

Before Oda could ask what that meant, Kaminari stood up abruptly, clapping his hands together. “Alright, we’re officially out of snacks,” he announced loudly. “This is a crisis. A crime, honestly.”

Ashido looked up from the floor, blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “There’s still chips.”

“Still,” Kaminari shot back. “We need real food. I’m talking mac ‘n cheese.”

Kirishima perked up immediately. “Oh hell yeah.”

“I’ll make some,” Kaminari said, already moving, then paused and looked down at Oda with a grin that was way too deliberate. “You too, come on.”

Oda’s stomach sank.

“I’m good here,” Oda said quickly, but Kaminari had already grabbed his arm.

“Nope,” Kaminari said cheerfully, hauling him to his feet with more strength than he looked like he had. “Come on. Up you go.”

“I can’t cook,” Oda muttered, but he didn’t fight it as Kaminari dragged him toward the door.

“I’ll teach you,” Kaminari said. “Gotta learn sometime.”

As they passed the bean bags, Oda kept his eyes firmly forward, refusing to glance at Bakugo even as he felt that stare sharpen, tracking him as he moved. Bakugo didn’t say anything, but Oda could feel it.

“Kitchen run,” Kaminari added over his shoulder, before tugging Oda out into the hallway and letting the door swing shut behind them.

The moment it clicked closed, the noise from inside dulled, and Oda finally exhaled, breath shaky as he pulled his arm free.

“Thanks,” he muttered, not entirely sarcastic.

Kaminari shot him a sideways look as they headed down the hall. “You wanna tell me what that was about?” he said lightly, “Or should I just assume you and Bakugo are doing… whatever that was?”

Oda groaned softly and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Please don’t assume anything Mr. Vivid-Imagination.”

“Hey, you can’t keep using that against me!”

They walked down to the kitchen in the dorm common area on the ground floor, their footsteps echoing faintly in the quieter space now that they were away from the noise upstairs. Kaminari flicked on the lights as soon as they stepped inside, the overhead fluorescents buzzing to life and washing the room in a harsh, too-bright glow. The kitchen was mostly empty at this hour, countertops clean except for a few abandoned mugs and crumbs that told the story of earlier raids.

Kaminari immediately went into motion, pulling a box of mac out of the pantry and tossing it onto the counter before grabbing a pot from one of the lower cabinets. He filled it with water, set it on the stove, and lit the burner, humming under his breath as if this was the most normal thing in the world. Oda hovered uselessly for a second before hopping up onto the counter, perching there with practiced ease. He reached into the fridge, grabbed a lemonade, and popped the cap before handing a second one over to Kaminari, who took it without breaking stride.

“Thanks,” Kaminari said absently, then immediately glanced back at Oda again, eyes sharp with curiosity even as he stirred the pot. He kept doing that—checking on him every few seconds like he was waiting for Oda to bolt or implode or both.

“So…” Kaminari started, dragging the word out as he leaned a hip against the counter, “you gonna tell me why you and Bakugo are acting weird or should I guess?” He tilted his head, grin already forming. “Because I don’t think you’ll like my guesses.”

“Please don’t guess,” Oda sighed, tipping his head back and staring up at the ceiling like it might offer mercy. He took a long drink of lemonade, the cold doing absolutely nothing to calm the heat creeping up his neck.

“Well then you gotta tell me because something clearly happened,” Kaminari decided, nodding to himself.

Oda let out a long, tired sigh, feet kicking idly in the air as they dangled off the counter. “You can’t tell anyone,” he said finally, voice low and serious. “And you can’t make fun of me.”

“Oda!” Kaminari gawked, spinning toward him so fast he nearly knocked the pot handle. “Who do you take me for?”

“I’m serious,” Oda insisted, looking over at him now, expression tight and genuinely anxious. “I’m ashamed enough as it is.”

“You guys totally made out, didn’t you?” Kaminari chimed, the words tumbling out way too easily, clearly meant as a joke.

Oda didn’t answer.

The silence stretched, and Kaminari’s grin slowly fell away. His eyes widened as he turned fully to stare at Oda, mouth dropping open in disbelief. “Wait—no—I was kidding!” he blurted. “Odasaku!”

Oda cringed hard at the use of his full name, shoulders hunching as if he could physically recoil from it. Only Ango ever used it, and even then it usually meant trouble. “I know,” he muttered.

“You said it wasn’t like that!” Kaminari said, voice pitching up as he threw his hands in the air.

“It isn’t! It wasn’t!” Oda sputtered, words tripping over each other as he rushed to clarify. “But—I didn’t do anything—He did it on his own and it’s really fucking weird.”

“When did this happen?” Kaminari demanded, suddenly all seriousness, pointing a spoon at him.

“After we were training,” Oda grumbled, eyes dropping to his bottle as he picked at the label with his thumb.

“So literal hours ago?!?” Kaminari bawked, staring at him like he’d just confessed to a felony. “So that’s why you decided to come? To avoid Lord Explosion God Dynamite? I cannot believe you!”

“What was I supposed to do?” Oda shot back, bristling instantly. “Just go to bed? I didn’t think he’d show up.”

“He was invited, though,” Kaminari said, tone softening as he turned back to the stove, giving the water a stir. “Although he did decline, and it’s not really something I’d ever thought he’d come to.”

“Yeah,” Oda sighed, shoulders slumping as the adrenaline finally began to wear off, “you and me both.”

Kaminari stirred the pot absently, the spoon clinking against the metal as steam began to curl up toward the ceiling, before he finally turned fully toward Oda with a look that was equal parts curious and far too entertained for Oda’s liking. “Wait—so—what exactly happened?” 

Oda groaned, tipping his head back and scrubbing a hand down his face as if that might erase the conversation entirely. “You’re gonna make fun of me.”

“I am not,” Kaminari shot back immediately, pointing the spoon at him like he was offended by the accusation. “I’m way more equipped to deal with this than you are.”

“Are you?” Oda made a face, skeptical and tired, eyes flicking over him in a way that clearly said he doubted that claim.

Kaminari’s jaw dropped. “First of all, offensive. I’m offended,” he said, placing a hand dramatically on his chest before continuing without missing a beat. “Second of all, at least I’ve watched movies. What have you done? Kiss Bakugo?”

“He kissed me,” Oda snapped, heat flaring up his neck as he corrected him immediately. “Which is the weird part.”

“Did he just go for it?” Kaminari asked, eyes lighting up with interest as he leaned against the counter. “I can see him just going for it. No way it was romantic.”

“There’s nothing romantic about any of this,” Oda stated flatly, arms crossing over his chest like he was trying to barricade himself from the implication.

“No, of course not. You just made out with someone but it’s not romantic,” Kaminari laughed to himself, shaking his head. “I guess hate-sex is a real thing.”

“Dude,” Oda made a face, expression somewhere between mortified and deeply unimpressed.

“What?” Kaminari said, holding his hands up innocently. “I’m assuming you don’t like, like him-like him, do you?”

“No. I don’t like him even a little,” Oda scowled, jaw tightening. “He saved my life, that’s the only reason we’re even… interacting.”

“That’s romantic,” Kaminari pointed out immediately, grinning.

“Shut up.”

“Just saying!” Kaminari chimed, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Are you attracted to him?”

Oda wound his fingers through the chain on his neck without realizing it, tugging lightly like it grounded him. “We’ve been over this.”

“Yeah, but you never gave me a straight answer,” Kaminari replied, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Oda’s reaction.

“Sure,” Oda admitted reluctantly, shoulders slumping. “That didn’t mean I was gonna… do anything. Ever.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Thought never even crossed my mind.”

“Uh-huh,” Kaminari said, not convinced in the slightest.

“It didn’t!”

“Do you want it to happen again?” Kaminari asked innocently, tone way too casual for how loaded the question was.

“What?” Oda stared at him, scandalized, eyes wide.

“What?” Kaminari echoed, unfazed. “It’s a genuine question. You’ve opened the can of worms now—”

“He’s opened the can of worms,” Oda shot back immediately, pointing an accusatory finger. “I didn’t do shit.”

“Well, I’m assuming you kissed him back, unless you stood there like a board,” Kaminari rambled, rolling the idea around in his head, “which I can see you doing.”

“I don’t like that you’re thinking about this that hard,” Oda scowled, shifting uncomfortably on the counter as the water in the pot finally started to bubble behind them.

“What a way to steal someone’s first kiss. Though, it was probably Bakugo’s first kiss too,” Kaminari went on, clearly not listening to Oda’s mounting distress as he leaned back against the counter, spoon forgotten in his hand. “I can’t imagine he’d had any confessions in middle school.”

The thought landed harder than Oda expected. He stiffened slightly, fingers tightening around the neck of the lemonade bottle as that idea settled in his chest. He hadn’t even considered that angle—not really. 

First kisses were supposed to be normal milestones for normal teenagers, something awkward and forgettable that happened at school dances or behind bleachers, not something that blindsided you in a locker room with a guy who yelled at you constantly. But Oda wasn’t a normal teenager, and he’d never really thought much about normal milestones at all, not when survival and keeping his head down had always taken priority over things like romance.

“—Unless that wasn’t your first kiss— was that your first kiss? Who have kissed?” Kaminari was suddenly demanding, the words tumbling out fast as he snapped his attention back to Oda.

“No one!” Oda flinched, the answer coming out sharper than he meant it to. “I mean—Bakugo—But that’s it.”

Kaminari stared at him for half a second before breaking into a wide, incredulous grin. “Can’t believe you beat me,” he complained, pointing accusingly at Oda. “Not fair. But I guess, with a face like your’s, it was bound to happen.”

“What’s that mean?” Oda made a face at him, defensive instinct flaring immediately.

“Oda, buddy, have you looked in a mirror?” Kaminari grinned, completely unapologetic. “You’re the prettiest boy in this entire school. Aside from maybe Todoroki. The only reason girls don’t flock around you is because you’re kinda rude and you’re short.”

Had Oda looked in a mirror? Not really—not beyond the bare minimum. He checked his reflection just long enough to make sure his contacts were straight, that his hair was still black and even, making sure the roots hadn’t grown in at all. 

“Now who’s being offensive?” Oda dryly replied, taking another sip of lemonade to hide the way his face felt uncomfortably warm.

“Most of that was a compliment,” Kaminari said easily, turning back to the stove to stir the pot again like they weren’t discussing something that felt way too personal. “Back on topic, do you want it to happen again?”

“Why would I want that?” Oda asked immediately, scowl deepening when Kaminari raised his eyebrows at him like he was calling bullshit. “That’d require me talking to him. I’m trying to figure out a way out.” 

“A way out?” Kaminari repeated, incredulous now, glancing back at him. “With Bakugo? That guy’s persistent. He’s been staring at you all night, though.”

“I know,” Oda grumbled, gaze dropping to the floor.

“Although, now that I think about it…” Kaminari raised the spoon he’d been stirring with to his chin, tapping it there thoughtfully as his gaze drifted upward like he was replaying a memory. “I’m pretty sure he was staring at you in the locker room on Friday.”

Oda blinked, the motion slow and surprised, “He was?”

“Yeah,” Kaminari said easily, shrugging one shoulder as he turned back to the stove. “Maybe your assumption about Bakugo not having a sexuality was wrong. Pfft.” Suddenly, he laughed to himself.

“What?” Oda asked.

“Oh, nothing.” Kaminari replied innocently. “I just have a chuckle to myself every time the others bring up the bet.”

“What bet?” 

Kaminari blinked at him. “You don’t know about the bet?”

“No?”

“The others have been betting on Bakugo’s sexuality since like… the first week of school.” Kaminari stated. “Mineta started it. Everyone’s been split 50-50. I only said he probably swung the other way because Midoriya refused to bet.”

“Is everyone in on this?” Oda gawked. 

“Apparently not, if you didn’t know.” Kaminari shrugged. “But now I know he swings the Oda-way.”

“Shut up. Maybe I’m so pretty he just thinks I’m a girl,” Oda muttered, more bitter than joking as he dropped his spent juice bottle onto the counter with a soft clack before burying his face in his hands. His elbows rested on his knees, shoulders curling inward like he was trying to make himself smaller.

“Pfft. Doubt it,” Kaminari chuckled, glancing over his shoulder at Oda. “When has Bakugo expressed interest in a single girl?”

Oda groaned quietly into his palms, fingers pressing into his eyes as if that might block out the entire situation. “What do I do?” he asked, voice muffled, exhaustion creeping into the edges of it.

“Kiss him. Throw him for a loop,” Kaminari joked immediately, grin flashing as he leaned back against the counter.

Oda lifted his head just long enough to shoot him a withering glare.

“I’m serious!” Kaminari said quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. “If you don’t wanna talk to him, don’t. Or you could just ignore him and never bring it up again.”

“But he’s gonna bring it up,” Oda sighed, dragging his hands down his face as he leaned back against the counter. “He loves to just bring up awkward shit in conversation. He’s got no tact. He’ll bring it up the second we’re alone, I guarantee it.”

“So just tell him you never want it to happen again. Or that you do,” Kaminari replied, tone practical now. “Either way, if you’re gonna have to talk about it, just tell him to forget about it. He might not but I bet he’ll respect it.”

“He actually does pretty okay with boundaries,” Oda agreed quietly, the words more for himself than anyone else. His thoughts drifted despite his best efforts—Bakugo had never brought up the contents of Oda’s nightmares after Oda said he wouldn’t talk about it.

“Yeah, see? Tell him to fuck off about it and he probably will,” Kaminari shrugged, reaching to turn down the heat under the pot. “Or you could just agree to make out occasionally,” he added in a sing-song voice, clearly unable to resist.

Oda grabbed his empty plastic bottle and hurled it at him without hesitation. Kaminari ducked easily, the bottle clattering harmlessly against the cabinet behind him as he burst out laughing, the sound filling the kitchen just enough to make Oda huff despite himself.

By the time the mac ‘n cheese was done, the kitchen smelled thick and comforting, steam fogging the air as Kaminari stirred one last time with exaggerated care. Oda slid off the counter and grabbed the stack of mismatched bowls from the cabinet, lining them up while Kaminari scooped generous portions into each one.

They loaded their arms up with bowls and forks, Kaminari somehow balancing more than should’ve been physically possible, and headed back upstairs. The stairwell was quieter than before, their footsteps echoing softly as Oda’s thoughts started creeping back in now that the distraction of cooking was over. His stomach twisted again as they neared the door, the muffled noise of laughter and game sounds bleeding through from the other side.

Kaminari shot him a sideways glance as they stopped outside the room. “You good?”

Oda inhaled, steadying himself. “I will be.”

“That’s the spirit,” Kaminari said, nudging the door open with his shoulder.

The room immediately erupted.

“FOOD!” Ashido yelled like she’d been starving for days, scrambling upright and nearly tangling herself in the blankets.

“You guys took forever,” Sero complained, but he was already reaching for a bowl.

“Worth it,” Kirishima said approvingly when Kaminari handed him one, peering into it like it was treasure. “You’re a hero.”

“I know,” Kaminari said smugly. “Tell my mom.”

Oda passed bowls around more quietly, handing one to Jiro, then Sero, keeping his movements efficient and his eyes carefully neutral. When he reached Bakugo, he hesitated for just a fraction of a second before holding the bowl out without looking directly at him.

“Thanks,” Bakugo muttered, just loud enough to be heard, voice rough in that familiar way that made Oda’s shoulders tense automatically.

“Yeah,” Oda replied, equally quiet, already pulling his hand back like it’d been burned.

He retreated to the edge of the bed again, sitting down with his own bowl and staring at it like it required his full attention. The room settled into a different kind of noise now—less shouting, more content murmurs as people ate, forks scraping against bowls, Ashido immediately declaring it “the best thing she’s ever tasted,” which Kaminari loudly accepted as fact.

“This slaps,” Kirishima said, nodding seriously. “Absolutely slaps.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Kaminari said. “I cook once a semester.”

Oda took a bite, the warmth and bland richness doing its job, easing some of the tightness in his chest whether he wanted it to or not. He kept his gaze forward, focused on the TV as the next race loaded up.

For the moment, though, no one said anything about locker rooms or texts or kisses. They ate, they joked, they passed controllers again, and Oda let himself sink into the simple act of being there—surrounded, distracted, breathing—holding onto the fragile truce of normalcy for as long as it lasted.

author’s note-

happy pride month to these two specifically.

haven’t written very many headcannons for this fic but since it’s pride month, best to divvy up one, right?

HC- after these guys become pro-heroes, our bisexual king Kaminari ABSOLUTELY drags them to pride parades. neither particularly wants to go (as if it isn’t common knowledge that pro heroes Dynamight and Ground Zero are dating) but everyone’s more surprised when it’s Katsuki who’s more keen on going than Oda is. (this will make more sense later but-) Katsuki just really wants to show off that he IS dating Oda and anyone who has a problem with it can throw themselves into traffic. 

okay, that’s all, thanks for reading!