A/N: Originally posted December 26th, 2021.

December 22nd

Izuku was tempted.

His nose was filled with the bitter smell of pine and the cold tingle that came from the island nation's lowered humidity in December. His eyes sparkled with the bright white LED display in front of him and he was tempted. He was sorely tempted.

There were Christmas trees. Dozens of them, lined up along the avenue like models waiting for their call to strut down a catwalk. Or, better yet, their opportunity to be cut free of twine and strapped to the top of a minivan to make a child's eyes bug wide with fantasies of presents laid beneath the shaved stump, shiny orbs dangling from the low branches.

There was no child at home for Izuku to dazzle with a recently cut blue spruce or Douglas fir, of course. Just a Kacchan who would, no doubt, look at a tree and grumble about space in their apartment or conspire about how it was probably infested with aphids. He'd say that it was a waste to drop thousands of yen on a plant that was already dead.

And Izuku…kind of agreed. Their apartment was small, and a broad tree with a fat circumference at the base could take up even a fourth of their living room if he wasn't careful. And, of course, Izuku would have to be on duty vacuuming up all the dry needles, saving Kacchan from snagging a sock on one.

But there on the end, separate from the tall trees tilted on end against their strapped and laced brethren were tiny little babies. They looked like the tops of bigger, showier trees that had just been lobbed off and placed in a little plastic stand. None of them were more than two feet tall, and the majority of the height on most came just from that tapered stem poking through the center, begging for a star to be placed upon it. Best of all, they were less than two thousand yen a piece.

Izuku was tempted.

Izuku was sold.

He was quiet as he made his way to the apartment. If Kacchan was in the kitchen or the living room, he'd hear the ding of the elevator either way—not a normal thing to notice, but Kacchan and Izuku had the kind of senses that only came with intense training or intense paranoia, and they had both. He didn't know what his plan was as he shuffled to the front door, putting the key in the doorknob slowly so as not to make metal ring out against metal. But Izuku just wasn't convinced that a bold, raucous entrance would do any better a job of selling Kacchan on his little purchase. Perhaps subtlety would do the trick.

"I'm home!" Izuku called as he swiveled in through the doorway, holding the tree tight enough to his chest that the top needles were poking him in the cheek, tangling in his hair. His shoes came off and he started surveying the living room for a good place to put his new little friend as the earthy smell of rice clouded overtop the pine scent. "Smells good!"

The light was on in the kitchen, but Izuku didn't hear any sounds of cooking but for the rice cooker bubbling out the vent on the top. Nearly done, then. So Izuku padded through the front hallway to the living room and placed the tree on the floor. No, not the floor. It was so short it didn't really look like anything down there, sadder than a yellowing houseplant. So he moved it to the coffee table, but that wasn't right either. It would block the TV and have to be maneuvered around when walking to the back bedroom—

"The fuck is that, Deku?"

Deku pulled his hand away from his mouth, his index finger moist from having mumbled against it as his eyes flew to Kacchan, who was squinting down at his tree.

"Someone else's tree committed treason, faced the guillotine, and you made off with the head instead of letting the poor thing enjoy a somewhat respectable funeral?" Kacchan mused. "Classy, Deku, real classy. Now its family won't get to grieve properly."

Izuku had to laugh. "What? No, Kacchan, this was just one of the little baby ones that they were selling on the street. Perfectly apartment sized."

Kacchan considered it for a moment and then looked at the TV. Neither of them were crazy fans of television or movies—All Might features aside, of course—but after long days of heroics, especially since they were still in their rookie years, neither of them had much brain capacity beyond cooking dinner, committing to basic hygiene, and flopping on the couch or in front of the coffee table, hoping the other would prod them into bed before they ended up falling asleep there. Izuku could read all of that on Kacchan's face before he turned back to the offending tree.

"Yeah, that's not gonna work."

"No, I know, I was just trying it out! Here, I have a better idea."

Izuku moved the miniature tree over to the side table, just under the lamp that illuminated the couch. There. The tree was in the corner, out of the way. Hardly a Christmas centerpiece, but it would stand out a little more once Izuku got a short string of lights and figured out something to decorate it with. It was festive. In a small way.

Kacchan arched an eyebrow at it. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and returned to the kitchen.

"Hope you liked yesterday's curry, because that's what we're having for dinner."

Izuku grinned, his stomach suddenly rumbling. He'd lost his usual evening rhythm after getting sidetracked by the tree. He was starved, and curry the next day was even better than when it was fresh. All the flavors mellowed and melded together and the sauce was thicker, covering the rice unctuously. He would take it.

"Hai!"

Kacchan didn't particularly care for Christmas. Izuku had long known that. There were Christmases past, after Izuku's dad had left, where the Bakugou's had come over, Kacchan dressed in black and Mitsuki grumbling about his bad attitude even as they came through the door. Or being sent Christmas cards where Kacchan wasn't smiling because…well, truthfully, he probably wouldn't do that even if it weren't for Christmas. Kacchan hadn't smiled for the yearbook since year two of elementary school.

It wasn't that he was a Scrooge—Kacchan just never liked a fuss. He didn't understand the appeal of celebrating a holiday for a religion he didn't believe in, and he didn't buy into the corporate nonsense. He didn't want to change his personality around a holiday and, frankly, Izuku didn't want him to either.

But Izuku liked Christmas. He wasn't a fanatic by any means, but now that he was dating someone, it was fun to lean in and enjoy all of the couples' holidays that had passed his lonely teen years by. Christmas, New Year's Eve, Valentine's, White Day. Now all opportunities to love on Kacchan a little extra. And this Christmas was the very first one of those that they were living together for. It kind of made Izuku want to dive in with his whole muscle-heavy body, go for the cookies, the decorations, the movies. But he had to meet Kacchan halfway. He had to thread that needle to make this the perfect holiday for both of them, to then set the tone for all the winter holidays to follow.

His little tree was that perfect thread.

Kacchan liked being met in the middle. He liked Izuku taking his desires into account without having to vocalize them. But, despite all appearances, he wasn't immovable. And maybe, just maybe Izuku could move the dial just a little bit this year.

Who knows? Maybe next year they'd have a full-sized tree.

December 23rd

Izuku and Kacchan had been blessed with daytime patrols in recent months, albeit on slightly staggered schedules. Which meant long shifts with a lot of attention from civilians. But it also meant evenings together. Alone. Dinner with legs tangled under the table, bedtime much the same. It meant a restful hour or two in front of the television, recharging. They were fed by the mundanity, and more so by the warm contact of shoulder against shoulder, thick thighs pressed against each other until the skin stuck, protesting whenever they inevitably got up to brush their teeth.

It was in such a position that the couple found themselves tonight. Thighs touching, television droning, but the rest was different. Kacchan was in his usual position slumped into the couch, arm thrown over the back where Izuku's shoulders should have been, but instead, Izuku was hunched forward, clutching a colored pencil between fast working fingers.

A detailed sketch of Crimson Riot—Kirishima had gotten Izuku hooked years ago—was coming to life under Izuku's red pencil, soon to join his fellow heroes on their new mantel. Izuku couldn't justify taking up his and Kacchan's limited storage space with a box full of ornaments that would only be used once a year, so Izuku was busying himself with drawing some of his favorite heroes and cutting them out like paper dolls to line the tree with. Each got a little hole punched above their head and hung on their own protruding branch.

No drawing was any larger than the ones that covered his hero analysis notebooks, but only a few drawings in and their miniature pine was already more cardstock than tree, at least from its front-facing side. The white paper combined with Izuku's light-handed shading made it look like his tiny tree had been caught in an avalanche of snow, the clumps of which were now being illuminated by a soft, colorful string of Christmas lights.

Of course, he hadn't had the time to face the packed December shops to buy a string of lights yet, but the lamp illuminated his drawings well enough. Plus, every hero got a little Santa hat to show their festivity.

Before Izuku knew it, a warm hand was rubbing his back, just below the tag on his t-shirt.

"Bedtime, Deku," Kacchan said, a yawn thickening his rough voice.

Izuku hadn't even noticed the program end or, for that matter, Kacchan turning off the television set. He'd been in the zone, just like with his notebooks.

"Oh, okay," Izuku said, grabbing his row of pencils to put them away along with the cardstock and string.

"Leave 'em," Katsuki said. "You're just gonna bring 'em out again tomorrow."

Izuku smiled, standing up and kissing Kacchan on the cheek. "I'll finish before work!" Then he kissed his cheek again.

It was rough from a couple days unshaven. Doubtlessly, Kacchan would shave tomorrow morning, but for the evening, Izuku could take in the little bit of visible age that Kacchan wore on his face. A part of Izuku thought that both of them looked much the same as they had as kids—in the face, at least—but sometimes Izuku was awed by how far they'd come. With their relationship had come facial hair and bourgeoning laugh lines and one gray hair that Izuku had already found on his temple. And here they were, days from celebrating their first Christmas living together, like a real family.

They brushed their teeth together, a shameless chance Izuku got most nights to look at Kacchan in the mirror, see the way those short stubs of beard scruff caught in the yellow bathroom light. Then they toed off their slippers and Izuku exchanged his for a pair of reindeer socks to get through the chilly night with. Although, once he was tucked in, there was nothing warmer than Kacchan's back against his chest, neck against his cheek. Izuku savored it as long as he could.

December 24th

No KFC, Kacchan had said. Secret recipe, my ass, he'd grumbled, going on to say that if he didn't know what they were putting into that thick, crunchy breading, then he didn't want to eat it. Bad enough that it was deep fat fried and the closest thing to a vegetable on the menu was a choice between fried potatoes and pulverized ones.

More to the point, if one wanted KFC on Christmas in the city, they'd have to place the order in advance. Like, weeks in advance. Which Izuku had not done anyway.

No strawberry shortcake, Kacchan had said. They'd had some on "the brat's"—Eri's—birthday on the 21st, and Kacchan claimed that was more than enough for the week. Not having the sweetest sweet tooth himself, Izuku was willing to accept that.

To a point. Like with the whole KFC situation, Izuku was sure that most of the city's bakeries and patisseries were busy this Christmas Eve, but that didn't mean that Izuku couldn't do a little something for Kacchan. He just needed to stop by the supermarket.

Strawberries and chocolate. That was all he needed. Maybe a couple different kinds. And a kitchen that wasn't his own.

Not that Izuku's kitchen was his to any degree, no, no. It was Kacchan's, had been since the moment they'd chosen the apartment. Kitchens had gotten the majority of Kacchan's attention while apartment hunting. There had to be enough counter space for a countertop convection oven, enough cabinets for all his pantry staples and appliances.

There was not room in that kitchen for any secrets.

All of which was what led Izuku to Ochako's small apartment kitchen that night before Christmas, face red over a double boiler, a tray of wax paper to the side of the stovetop.

"Chocolate-covered strawberries," Ochako cooed. "Romantic."

"Not that romantic," Izuku said as the last chunks of chocolate became light and shiny with heat. He turned off the stove and the simmering water quieted down immediately. "I'm leaving some for you after all."

Ochako squealed, shooting over the kitchen island and floating for just a second before latching her arms around Izuku's shoulders. "Use my kitchen any time, Deku-kun! Every day if you want!"

"Hah," Izuku huffed, reaching for oven mitts as best he could with his arms restrained by Ochako's strong hold. "I doubt Kacchan would like that."

"You're right," Ochako agreed, releasing Izuku's upper arms. "The poor guy'd miss you."

He would, Izuku thought with a smile as he stirred his melted chocolate, unsure what temperature it was supposed to be before he dipped in the strawberries. He started with a big one anyway, gripping it by its green stem and dipping it into the bittersweet chocolate.

It had taken a while into their renewed friendship, and even their relationship to accept, but Kacchan most certainly enjoyed spending time around Izuku. Otherwise, he wouldn't wait for Izuku for meals or drag him to bed earlier than Izuku was used to going or sit through rewatching old All Might documentaries. Maybe that last one, actually.

Still, Izuku just chucked and said, "More than that, he'd probably kill you."

"Worth the risk," Ochako replied easily as she watched Izuku work over his shoulder.

Izuku rotated the strawberry over the bowl of chocolate, letting all the excess drip off. He wanted thin layers of chocolate, thin enough that Kacchan would be game to eat more than a few. Only a few moments after setting the finished berry on the wax paper, the chocolate was already going dull, the refrigerated strawberry cooling the chocolate that fast. He'd have to work quickly.

He scooted over so that there was room at the counter for Ochako to help too, moving on to melting the milk chocolate Izuku would use for decoration and reheating the dark whenever it started to stiffen up.

Soon, they had a good operation going, Ochako nibbling on any of the strawberries that looked a little more unfortunate, often before they had even fully hardened. Then, survivors boxed and in hand, it was time to head home for the most romantic night of the year.

The hallway outside their apartment smelled toasty as soon as Izuku stepped off the elevator. It drew Izuku to the front door as the familiar smell of rice wafted through the cracks, joining the medley of smells. Izuku opened the door to a wall of deliciously scented heat blasting from the kitchen. He closed the door in a hurry and wandered in, shoving his box of treats in the fridge as he caught sight of a triple-tasking Kacchan moving back and forth in the kitchen.

There were vegetables and a sauce cooking on the stove in two separate pans, and the convection oven was warm, brightly lighting up a small tray of golden nuggets and, as usual, the rice cooker was on, counting down the time until dinner. Knowing Kacchan, it would only be that illuminated five minute mark until everything was ready, despite the state of controlled chaos the kitchen was still in.

"Deku, bowls," Kacchan said, eyes down as he flipped baby bok choy and sliced carrots just by shaking the pan. Izuku had tried that before and ended up with stir fry on the floor, but Kacchan always made it look easy.

Izuku moved towards the cabinet, reaching for the white ceramic bowls that they usually use when his arm was hit with a wooden spoon.

"Not those ones, dumbass, the blue ones."

Izuku raised his eyebrows. The nice bowls, then. These ones had high sides and a little rim around the bottom, as well as an attractive floral design both on the inside and outside of the bowls. They weren't fine china or anything—the boys didn't own a full set, but they did have two of these bowls that were usually reserved for date night or maybe their parents if they came over. Never their friends.

Izuku reached further for the blue bowls, smiling behind Kacchan's back as he placed them by the rice cooker, then grabbing their nearly matching chopsticks. Apparently, Kacchan thought that Christmas Eve was good enough for date night too. Not that Izuku should have been surprised—they'd done something similar last year. When their relationship had been new and they hadn't had much more of a roadmap for what to do with their time besides what was popular in cheesy media. It hadn't been quite right for either of them.

Soon enough, Katsuki was turning dials, flipping off the burners on the stove and the small oven, probing the meat with a metal thermometer. Seemingly pleased with everything, he put a hand lightly on Izuku's shoulder and said, "Rice."

The hand there lingered for just a second, and Izuku nearly leaned into it, enjoying the heat even in the small, steaming kitchen. Kacchan's hands were so often used roughly, punching and exploding, even just slamming locker doors shut or signing paperwork with, arguably, more aggression than necessary.

But Izuku got to see the finesse of his knife work as he chopped the scallions they had growing in water by the window, and feel the softness of his touch in the kitchen, in the bedroom, in the bath. Gosh, he was lucky.

Izuku piled rice into both their bowls, taking care to round it as best he could with the nearly flat rice paddle. Then he handed the bowls one by one over to Kacchan, who placed the softened vegetables on one side of the bowl, leaning against the rice and then topped both with the fragrant sauce he'd made, red pepper flakes sticking to the top of the rice like confetti.

The meat went last. "Shoulda given it more time to rest," Kacchan mumbled. He then carried them to the table as Izuku followed behind with glasses of water.

"Kacchan, this is so nice! Itadakimasu!" Izuku exclaimed, already eating with his eyes as he took in the steaming meal. He pinched one of the small pieces of chicken and mooned at Kacchan. "Is this fried chicken for Christmas?"

Kacchan rolled his eyes. "Karaage. I'd rather my meat taste like something than just rely on some salty, fatty breading like shitty Americans."

Izuku chewed off a small bite of the meat, mindful that it was still hot, and a hand flew to his cheek as he suddenly found himself salivating over the delicious food. "Sugoi!"

The meal passed quicker than perhaps Izuku would have liked, simply because the food was so good that Izuku struggled to take his time with it. It was date night food for sure. The karaage had been fried in bigger pieces than normal and finished in the oven so that it had a bigger meat to breading ratio than usual, but still, it was an indulgence. Izuku found himself unable to say much besides how good the food was, though Kacchan only responded with grunts. One day he'd get better at taking compliments; Izuku would make sure of it.

"Where were you today?" Kacchan asked once they were down to their last few grains of rice. "Thought I'd have to beat your outta the kitchen with a stick."

"Oh!" Izuku said, pushing to his knees before standing and running to the fridge. He didn't know if maybe he should get a nice platter or…ah, screw it, the box was fine.

He placed the box in the middle of the table and opened it before clearing his and Kacchan's bowls. Kacchan sat up a little straighter and looked in the box, then back at Izuku. "Chocolate covered strawberries?"

"With little designs!" Izuku added, moving the dishes to one hand as he pulled out one with a little explosion design made out of milk chocolate. He and Ochako had gotten creative with the toothpicks. There was also a panda somewhere in there, and Ochako had made one with little freckles like Izuku's. "It's not cake, right?"

"Definitely not cake," Kacchan agreed, a small smile forming on his face. He policed it back into his usual frown and grabbed Izuku by the arm, dragging him back down to the floor.

"Wha?" Izuku began, but was cut off by warm, tangy lips meeting his. Kacchan tasted salty and savory, both of their breaths still hot from the spice Kacchan had packed into the sauce. Izuku gently placed the dishes on the carpet and sat down adjacent from Kacchan, instead of his usual place across.

The rest of the evening was spent feeding each other strawberries, their tastes becoming sweeter and sweeter with every touch.

December 25th

Izuku woke up alone, as he often did. He and Kacchan had alarms set for the same time, despite the fact that Kacchan usually left for work an hour earlier. Sometimes Izuku left with him just so that they could commute together, and Izuku would spend the extra time at the gym. Sometimes Kacchan would do the same in the evening, although he usually wanted to get a jump on dinner.

But somehow—Izuku didn't know how—Kacchan usually woke up before their alarm. And, like with dinner, he'd get started on breakfast before Izuku was even out of bed. Izuku worked hard to make up for it—cleaning all of the breakfast dishes, and buying any groceries on the way home that Kacchan required for dinner. But damn, Izuku had gotten lucky.

The affection that he'd been feeling for Kacchan the night before was spilling over, and as soon as Izuku spotted Kacchan's bare back in the kitchen, he had tunnel vision, padding that way and wrapping his arms around Kacchan's middle, planting his nose in Kacchan's hair. He smelled half like his rather nondescript, sweet shampoo smell and half like the laundry detergent they both used.

"Freak," Kacchan mumbled. "I smell like you."

That just warmed Izuku's heart further, making him squeeze Kacchan harder, feeling the steel resistance of his ribs and the meaty give of his pecs. Izuku kissed his shoulder. "Merry Christmas, Kacchan."

"Yeah, you too," Kacchan said, managing to make the words sound almost derisive. "Turn around."

Reluctantly, Izuku pulled away from Kacchan and turned around, not quite sure what he was looking for. Over the kitchen counter, he saw their couch, their coffee table where both men had managed to clean up all their festive food from the night before. It wasn't until Kacchan put both hands on Izuku's head and pointed him in the direction of the corner of the room that Izuku gasped and looked back at Kacchan with sparkling eyes.

"You didn't?"

"I fucking did—go look at it."

As promised, Izuku had finished his little hero ornaments the morning prior, having saved All Might for last—he hadn't taken much time, since Izuku could draw him by heart—and put him at the top of the tree in lieu of a star. That had been the tree as it stood yesterday during their date. Covered in festive paper that had come from the heart.

Today, strung underneath all the heroes, was a coil of white lights that led all the way to an ornate golden star on top, with a wire wrapped around that very top tree branch. It must have been hollow, for the tree was standing straight and proud, like it was the tallest Christmas tree on the block.

"Hope you don't wanna do any reading on the couch tonight, 'cause I had to unplug the lamp," Kacchan said as he sidled up alongside Izuku, putting an arm around his shoulder.

"I think I'll be alright, Kacchan," Izuku replied, awe rounding out and slowing his voice. His eyebrows were furrowed up past his bangs as he turned around and looked at Kacchan again. "Kiss."

Kacchan rolled his eyes like it was a chore and leaned into Izuku, but before he was even halfway, Izuku's arms were wrapped around him, tugging him closer. It was so sweet, it was so considerate, it was so festive, Izuku could barely contain himself. He'd miscalculated in some way, thinking that Kacchan would scorn every part of the holiday that Izuku brought into the house, or that Izuku would have to work hard to convince him. No, Kacchan was the one who was surprising him.

Maybe Kacchan knew what Christmas was about better than Izuku did.

December 26th

Izuku stumbled out of bed later than usual. It was a day off for him, and Kacchan had clearly turned off their alarm clock. Izuku was almost upset about it, because that meant he'd missed his chance to see Kacchan in the morning, kiss him goodbye, wish him safety and luck at work.

But at the same, time, they had both been working long hours and while some people were more generous during the holiday season, others were more desperate. It didn't bring out the best in every person.

Izuku stumbled out of bed, already itemizing a list of things to do in his head. He'd given Kacchan some small gifts the night before—new hot sauces, each with more unique flavors than the last, some luxury toiletries that Kacchan never bothered to buy himself, although he always used them as soon as he got them—but his real gift to Kacchan would be today. He was going to vacuum, scrub all the tiles in the bathroom, do laundry, take out the trash, recycle all of yesterday's boxes; the apartment would be spotless when Kacchan came back. It was the least Izuku could do.

But first was breakfast and maybe a short run.

Izuku made his way blearily over to the fridge, rubbing one hand over his eyes when he spotted a plate covered in cling film, topped with a yellow sticky note. It simply said breakfast.

Izuku smiled. Kacchan was the gift that kept on giving.

As he heated up the offering, Izuku's eyes wandered back to the living room. He'd have to add researching tree disposal to his list of things to do. Surely there was a way to have it chipped or composted, though that wouldn't be the easiest thing in the city. At least he could bring this tree on a train.

When he looked over at his dear tree, though, it was already bare. His drawings were all gone and Kacchan's lights and star were missing too. As Izuku went over to see if the lamp had been plugged back in, he saw a shoebox with another sticky note on it marked Christmas. Izuku opened it and found the string of lights coiled and rubber banded on top along with the star. Underneath were all his handmade ornaments, only now they were all laminated, flat as board, reflecting the morning light.

Izuku pressed his knuckles against his smile, blinking down at the meager collection. It was something to keep. Something for next year. Perhaps even the start of a tradition.

Maybe Kacchan didn't like the hullabaloo of Christmas. Izuku wasn't that keen on it either. But Izuku was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, there was a little something Kacchan liked about it. It seemed to Izuku, that the guise of Christmas was a handy place to hide. A time where gestures came with context that he didn't have to give words for, where good deeds were accepted as the norm instead of something sappy or soft. And perhaps, to Kacchan, that felt safe.

Or maybe Izuku was wrong, and Kacchan just had a soft spot for the holiday that he'd missed. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been mistaken about Kacchan.

Or maybe, if Izuku was an optimist—which, of course, he was—he might allow him to imagine that he was the change. That just like how he had a new appreciation for the holiday now that he was with Kacchan, maybe so too did Kacchan. Maybe, without having to do anything at all, he'd brought Kacchan around merely by being there.

Maybe, just a little Christmas was all that was all that was needed in order to have the best Christmas of all.