It was 2am, and there were eggs burning in the communal kitchen. Hitoshi didn’t know if it was because of the stove, or his sleep deprivation, but he was becoming more and more certain that scrambled eggs were the devil’s work. They were impossible, and anyone who’d ever made scrambled eggs was lying . They had to be. The only other possibility was that Hitoshi was a disaster in the kitchen, and it would be a cold day in Hell before he admitted that.
Or maybe Hell was already cold. He’d have to ask Todoroki’s opinion on the matter, he seemed to know a lot about temperatures. Or maybe Hitoshi would ask him why the damn eggs kept burning. That seemed to be the more important question.
Hitoshi yawned, and started scraping his most recent failure out of the pan and into the trashcan. It wasn’t his worst, not by far- there was still some visible yellow in the otherwise blackened mess. The smell, however, was as bad as always. Maybe he should start plugging his nose.
He knew he should start buying the eggs himself, but seeing Bakugo become increasingly more stressed by something as domestic as where the eggs in the fridge kept going was too goddamn delightful for Hitoshi to stop. He was half certain that Bakugo thought there was a villain with some strange egg-related quirk harassing them. He had sounded too serious, too desperate when he’d told Kirishima as much, that Hitoshi figured he couldn’t really be joking.
Hitoshi laughed a bit at the memory, scraping harder at a particularly stubborn bit of char. The sound of spatula against metal was strangely soothing, and after a while Hitoshi found himself drifting off.
“Shinso?” A sleepy voice came from the kitchen doorway, and Hitoshi jolted out of his stupor to see Midoriya standing there, rubbing at his bleary eyes. “What are you doing?”
His hair was sticking out in impossible ways, even by Hitoshi’s standards, and he was practically swimming in the All Might t-shirt he was wearing. Which was odd, because Midoriya wasn’t exactly small. Hitoshi wouldn’t be surprised if he found out Midoriya had ordered it specially. Or that Todoroki had.
On second thought, it was probably Todoroki.
“What are you doing?” Midoriya asked again, staring pointedly at the pan and spatula in Hitoshi’s hands.
Hitoshi didn’t have an explanation ready. He hadn’t expected to get caught . Theoretically, he could make Midoriya walk away and forget this ever happened, but Hitoshi liked to have some form of recorded consent before he used his quirk on his friends.
He still had the audio of Bakugo, during their last game of truth or dare, giving Hitoshi permission to ‘do your worst, you purple-haired bastard’.
It was Bakugo’s ringtone.
It was probably for the best that Hitoshi tended to keep his phone on silent.
“Shinso?!” Midoriya was standing in front of him, sounding distinctly concerned.
“Yes?” Hitoshi asked, tilting his chin up to look Midoriya in the eye properly.
Midoriya frowned back at him. “Are you okay?”
“Why?” Hitoshi huffed. He was fine. Probably. Maybe. He was fine except for the fact that he hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in weeks and he’d taken to wandering the apartment building and inevitably finding himself in the kitchen. With the eggs.
Which brought them back to the matter at hand.
“You kinda spaced out there,” Midoriya told him. He frowned down at the pan. “What was in there?” He sounded far too suspicious for Hitoshi’s liking.
Hitoshi was a good liar. “Nothing,” he said, in a completely trustworthy, not at all lying, voice. Judging by the way Midoriya’s eyebrows climbed upward, it hadn’t worked.
Maybe Hitoshi wasn’t a very good liar. His shoulders fell. “Eggs,” he mumbled, staring at his feet like a child waiting to be scolded.
Midoriya made a choked noise. “Those were eggs!?” he cried, pointing down at the trashcan.
“They still are,” Hitoshi said, and Midoriya gaped at him.
“Shinso, I don’t think those count as eggs anymore.”
Hitoshi shrugged. They were still eggs, technically. Just terribly burnt, unrecognizable, inedible eggs.
“How did you even manage to do that?” Midoriya breathed, like until that moment he hadn’t imagined someone could burn eggs to such a degree. He probably hadn’t.
“I don’t know,” Hitoshi whined, deciding that honesty was likely the best course of action here. Maybe Midoriya would have the answers he needed. Or he’d make Midoriya forget. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
“I- What are you trying to do?” Midoriya sounded like he’d thought Hitoshi had ruined perfectly good eggs intentionally .
“Make scrambled eggs,” Hitoshi admitted. Midoriya blinked at him, once, twice. His mouth dropped open.
“ This is what’s been happening to Kacchan’s eggs?”
“They weren’t his, specifically,” Hitoshi pointed out. It was a communal fridge- Mi casa es su casa, my eggs are your eggs, that whole deal. Midoriya raised a single, admonishing, eyebrow and Hitoshi sighed. Maybe the eggs were Bakugo’s really .
“Why didn’t you tell him? He’s been weirdly worried.”
Hitoshi grinned. “Yeah, it been pretty funny, right?”
Midoriya’s lips twitched, involuntarily, into a small smile. Then he seemed to remember he was scolding Hitoshi, so he forced it down. “You should at least apologize. He’s stressed enough with what happened to Kirishima.”
Hitoshi could grant him that. “Sure,” he said. It was a lie and they both knew it, but Midoriya nodded and took the pan and spatula from Hitoshi’s hands. He dumped them, unceremoniously, into the sink.
“Did you leave any eggs this time?” Midoriya asked, and Hitoshi nodded. He never used a full carton at once, but he usually tried two or three times before slinking back to his apartment. He’d left behind a single egg, the other night. Bakugo had damn near had an aneurysm.
Kaminari had laughed and Bakugo told him, rather pointedly, where Kaminari could shove the lonely egg. He then offered to help, and Kaminari stopped laughing and fled the kitchen entirely. It had been a good morning.
Midoriya was bringing a clean pan down from the cabinets. Then he grabbed a bowl and a fork. “Bring me whatever’s left of the eggs,” he told Hitoshi, and set about adjusting the temperature of the stove.
Hitoshi pulled the egg carton from the fridge and brought it over. “What are you doing?” he asked.
Midoriya smiled at him, blindingly kind. “I’m going to teach you how to make scrambled eggs!”
Hitoshi blinked. He really should have asked Midoriya in the first place.
Making scrambled eggs was, apparently, a rather simple task. That, or Midoriya was a particularly good teacher. Hitoshi supposed it could be both.
“Thank you,” he said, looking up from his plate and across the breakfast bar at Midoriya.
“I was happy to help,” Midoriya told him, voice muffled by a rather impressive mouthful. He swallowed, and Hitoshi winced a bit. “Besides,” he went on, “maybe now Kacchan won’t take the whole building down in an egg-induced fit of rage.”
Hitoshi grinned, cat like. “That would be bad, I suppose,” he said. “But it would certainly be… Egg- citing.”
Hitoshi wiggled his eyebrows as Midoriya choked.
“That was terrible,” Midoriya wheezed, pounding his chest, “ you’re terrible and you should be ashamed of yourself.” He laughed. “Why are we even friends?”
Hitoshi shrugged. He’d wondered the same thing, but he’d long since come to the conclusion that Midoriya found friends in the strangest places, and people, and then refused to let them go. Not that Hitoshi had fought him on it. Much.
He was about to say so, when Kirishima shuffled into the kitchen, yawning. He mumbled a quick ‘hello’ to both of them, before grabbing a glass and filling it with water. Then he sat next to Midoriya, and leaned his head against a hand.
“Are you alright?” Midoriya asked him. “Why are you up?”
Kirishima rolled his eyes, fondly. “I’m fine, mom .” He yawned again, his sharp teeth glinting in the kitchen light. Hitoshi wasn’t sure how he didn’t bite his own tongue off. “I just wanted a glass of water. That’s all.”
Midoriya nodded. Kirishima raised an eyebrow at them.
“What about you two? It’s like three in the morning, why are you up?”
Midoriya, seemingly having caught Kirishima’s drowsiness, yawned. “I was teaching Shinso how to make scrambled eggs,” he said.
Kirishima started to nod, as if that was a perfectly normal thing that adults did at three in the morning, before he stopped. His eyes widened. He blinked at Midoriya, then at Hitoshi.
“Wait,” he said, realization lighting up his face, “is this what’s been happening to Bakugo’s eggs?”
Hitoshi nodded. He waited for some sort of teasing comment, but none came. Instead, Kirishima doubled over laughing, his arms clutching his stomach and his forehead pressed to the table. It didn’t take long for Midoriya to join him. Eventually, Hitoshi started to chuckle as well.
When the laughter finally died out, Kirishima straightened in his seat, wiping his eyes.
“Are you going to tell him?” Hitoshi asked him.
Kirishima grinned. “Fuck no. This is the funniest shit in the world.”
Hitoshi grinned right back, and raised an eyebrow at Midoriya. Midoriya huffed in half-hearted disapproval.
“At least buy a new carton of eggs yourself,” Midoriya said, fighting a small smile.
“Good God, please do,” Kirishima breathed, “make sure he knows you did it. Fuck, make eye contact with him when you put it in the fridge.”
Hitoshi barked out a laugh. “That’s a bit cruel. Shouldn’t you be nicer to him? The two of you are close , after all.”
Kirishima blushed bright red, and Midoriya kicked Hitoshi under the table, hissing a quiet ‘don’t be mean’.
“We are close,” Kirishima admitted, running a hand through his hair, “but that doesn’t mean this isn’t the funniest thing in the goddamn world.”
“Fair enough,” Hitoshi hummed. “I’ll do it.”
Kirishima let out a triumphant ‘whoop’ while Midoriya whined.
Then next afternoon, Hitoshi found nearly half of the team piled into the living room watching a movie together. Surprisingly, Bakugo was there. Unsurprisingly, he was curled next to Kirishima on the couch.
Hitoshi was quiet as he approached, but Kirishima noticed him. They met eyes, and both grinned.
Wordlessly, Hitoshi dropped a single carton of eggs into Bakugo Katsuki’s lap.
Bakugo blinked up at him, then down at the eggs.
“What the fuck?” he whispered.
Somehow, they’d caught the attention of the entire room. Kirishima, in particular, was biting his lip to keep from laughing.
“Eggs,” Hitoshi said, shrugging. Then he spun on his heel and left, before Bakugo’s anger caught up to him.
It didn’t take long.
“WHAT THE FUCK?”