Chapter Text
“You’re a fucking mess if you think that you can help me,” Izumi Kouta tells you, narrowing his eyes. This is his first session with you. “I don’t know why I listened to Deku — he thought that you might help . I get why you’re in such a low-paying job now. It’s because you suck at what you do.”
You know that he’s trying to provoke you. His words lash out at you, stinging your ears with their raw hatred. They echo a certain Pro Hero’s words from two years ago — you’re definitely not counting, and they make your heart ache, yearning to reach out to the boy. You can see the hurt that he has been entrenched in from the past, but therapy doesn’t work if the person receiving doesn’t want it to work. He looks at you, his eyes hardened.
His Quirk makes the fish in the aquarium of your office swim as far as they can away from him, and you can feel the sensation of it, the hum of their motions. There’s a theory that if Kouta is able to get over this mind block, he could even potentially manipulate blood since there is water in there. This is what Aizawa thinks, and it is why Kouta has been forced to come to this therapy sessions because despite the power behind his Quirk, he has shown no progress in his classes.
You think a lack of progress in class is the wrong reason to come to these therapy sessions, but you’ll take who you can get.
“I chose U.A. High because I wanted to help future heroes before they get into the field,” you explain, using reasoning as a way to cool down Kouta. It works, piquing his interest. “I’ve seen far too many Pro Heroes go into therapy, and this could have been prevented if they did it in their training and were taught that it is okay to admit that you have weaknesses.”
“You helped Pro Heroes?” he asks, his eyes widening. “Which ones?”
You make a zipping motion with your lips. “Can’t tell.”
The two of you sit in silence for a little bit until Kouta works up the courage to ask another question. “Do you think it will get better?”
Kouta refers to him recovering from the past, from the emptiness that his parents left in his life.
You don’t need any more context or explanation as to what he’s referring to. A soft smile falls upon your lips at his apprehension, so earnest to try. There is something about teenagers that makes your heart warm and melt into gush because it is the lively energy around them that lifts your spirits up. In a way, they’re more malleable than your previous workplace, and you still are in awe when you watch someone change because of your presence in their lives.
“It’s nothing called better,” you admit softly. “There’s something called learning how to move on from the pain. Would your parents be happy if you dawdled in the past for too long?”
He makes a face at that. “No, they wouldn’t.” He doesn’t seem to like this change of subject, moving on. “Speaking of Pro Heroes, do you know who’s going to come to school tomorrow for the first years?” Kouta tells you, his eyes lighting up in excitement. “Pro Heroes!”
As the one and only therapist at U.A, you're not quite as involved in the academics here unless it influences the students that come to your office. Sure, you know when the midterms and finals are, but that’s it. The rigor of each course is unique to them, but the most students that you’ve had come to you are from the heroics course. You’ve asked Aizawa about this before, about why the hell are these teenagers in the heroics course? but he shrugs. He thinks that it is because the more tragic the event, the more they want to stop people from suffering it. It is a good thought, but at the same time, it’s also a burden.
“Which ones?” you ask, hiding your interest.
“Deku — of course, Ground Zero, and…” he lists a couple more that go over your head because you don’t know them as well.
You’ve already decided to be absent on the day that happens. There’s no way that you’re going to see Ground Zero — Bakugou, to be more exact — and your heart pangs at the memory of your shared laughter. Of course, nothing went on between the two of you, and you’re not even sure if he even shares the same feelings as you…
“Y/N, are you even listening?” Kouta asks impatiently, giving you a look from underneath his baseball cap.
“Yes to whatever you’re saying?”
Wrong answer. There’s a mischievous look on his face. “You’re going to let me skip class then?”
“Kouta,” you mumble, shaking your head. “Of course not.”
Laughter comes from his mouth, and you’re glad that he has smiled genuinely for the very first time in front of you.
.
.
.
“You can’t take the day off,” Aizawa tells you over the phone.
His exasperated tone matches the voice he uses for his students, but you can’t be bothered to be offended by it.
You're swaddled in blankets, and you make your voice scratchy on purpose, filling all these horrible cracks. “Aizawa… I feel so —”
“This is the most important day of this school year. You can take any other day off besides this one,” he says. You can feel his eyes narrowing on the other side of the call. “I’ve let you know this many, many times before that this day is important. We can get Recovery Girl to help you if you want.”
You groan. Of course, Aizawa sees through the whole act. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be threatening to sic Recovery Girl on you. She tends to be very scary when being lied to, which is why no one ever fakes sick or else they get sent to her for extra confirmation. You’ve never heard of any of the faculty being threatened like this, but you are an exception to a lot of things.
When you arrive at U.A. High’s faculty lounge, Aizawa gives you a raised eyebrow as if he’s saying, I told you so, because he’s never wrong. He ties his hair up as he explains what will be happening today. Since you didn’t really listen to Kouta’s ramblings about this or Aizawa’s lectures to prepare you for this, you tune in this time.
“You’re going to partner up with Ground Zero,” Aizawa tells you. “He’ll watch Class 1-A partner up and spar against each other and give advice on how to improve. Afterward, you will give a supplementary lesson on Pro Heroes’ mental health. I’ve heard that Ground Zero has had experience with therapy, which will provide considerable insight for the students about life as a Pro Hero.”
What the actual fuck — is fate conspirating against you? You want to repeatedly slam your face into your desk.
“Is there anyone else I could partner up with?” you ask hopefully, a bit of patheticness leaking into your question. “Maybe Deku?”
“I’m working with Deku,” says Aizawa.
There is finality inflected into his voice, and you don’t pursue the topic any further. Otherwise, you’ll have to explain to your co-worker on why the hell you don’t want to work with Ground Zero, and it’s kind of awkward to tell him that you were attracted to his former student, which sounds completely wrong now that you think of it because you’re pretty close in age.
Damn, you sound like someone from a romantic comedy except even worse.
You’re starting to understand why all of the characters in rom-coms seem so stupid to you now.
“Oi, old man, where are the —”
The person’s voice stops, but you automatically recognize his voice.
Bakugou.
He has become more devastatingly attractive from the last time you saw him, which was two years ago. His jawline could potentially slice through air, and there is a hardness to his ruby eyes that glitters. Bakugou’s hair has grown out, slicked back without gel, which makes his appearance model-worthy. Sweat drips from him, making the room smell faintly of caramel.
You suppose he could have been a model in another life because what the hell, it isn’t fair for him to be this beautiful.
You immediately scold yourself for eyeing him like this piece of… candy, the sweet kind that tastes like caramel taffy that’s slow to melt. It’s wrong, your mind tells you. It has been two years, and sure, you won’t be breaking the client-therapist relationship rule anymore because you have made sure to disassociate yourself with him for an extended period, but it’s not right to get into a relationship with him.
“Bakugou, you haven’t met our school therapist, have you?” Aizawa says, unaware of the fact that you both know each other. “U.A.’s been taking steps to ensure student mental health, and they’re here to help that.”
The exchange of expressions between the two of you are a silent agreement that you are not going to let Aizawa know about your prior relationship. It would be messy and awkward to explain why the hell you aren’t his therapist anymore because it’s not for the right reasons.
“Good thing that these kids have someone out there to help them,” says Bakugou, offering his hand out to you. “The name’s Bakugou Katsuki.”
Of course, you know him, but the way he speaks his name is so different. It’s like a stranger to you, and you know that he would never reach out to you like, proffering his hand out like this. This notion would be so unlike him, and yet, he does it, his scarlet eyes narrowed in thought. He’s out of his hero costume, too, but he’s not wearing the same gray hoodie that you have grown accustomed to seeing him in. It’s a simple white T-shirt that clings to his body —
“Nice to meet you, Bakugou,” you tell him, and it sounds like you’re saying the words of a past self. So distant, yet so close. “I’m Y/N.”
“I’ll be out there.” Bakugou jerks his head in the direction of the sports field. “Setting up the shit that the kids need.”
“Bakugou, don’t swear,” Aizawa warns him, raising his eyebrows.
The blond-haired man seems to take it with a grain of salt, but he raises his hands up in a playful manner. “Don’t worry, I won’t say any shit in front of them.”
That’s promising because you know that whatever Bakugou says, he means, and you can see how he has considerably lightened up over the two years since you’ve seen him. You wonder if it’s because of you he can make these steps but then promptly berate yourself for thinking like this. It’s Bakugou’s own steps, small but significant and steady.
“Hmm… he’s not usually that aloof with people.” Aizawa catches your surprised look. “He’s gotten really good with the media, and they adore him now, but he doesn’t like running away from people that fast.”
“I’ll get to know him,” you assure him with a smile as you walk out of the faculty lounge.
Fucking of course not, there’s no way you’re going to let yourself get close to Bakugou again like before. You aren’t supposed to go out with him and eat katsudon, talking about personal matters — the kind that people who are usually more than friends are willing to discuss. You aren’t supposed to be overly friendly to him or let your heart even flutter for him.
Outside of the lounge, Eri Togata is right now talking to Kouta, her fingers fiddling with her hair. You’ve seen both of their records and know of their history, and they’re somewhat similar, having suffered trauma in the past. They also have an undying adoration for Deku, which is downright adorable to see. For Eri — who insists on being called on her first name (“I have nothing against my dad, but I’m so used to being called my first name”), she has had numerous interactions with Pro Heroes due to her situation as a child, and for Kouta, he always has had interactions with them because his parents were Pro Heroes who died in the field.
Eri sees you first, straightening up. “Sensei, we’re —”
She’s the only one out of the two that actually calls you formally, something that you appreciate. Kouta doesn’t even bother with that, insisting that it makes him more comfortable, when in actuality, you’re pretty sure that he just wants to see you squirm because it’s kind of weird having a high schooler call you by your first name at your age.
“Don’t make up any shit about not skipping class,” Kouta snarks. “You did the deed, so you got to stand up for that.”
“I’m not going to out you guys for skipping class,” you say with a sigh, rubbing your temple. “I’m a therapist, not a teacher.” You flash a smirk at them, something that makes them wary, because you are supposed to be one of their role models as a faculty member. “After all, you are cute together.”
Both of their reactions are priceless. Kouta immediately recoils at the comment, and Eri squeaks.
“You can’t let my dad know about this,” Eri says.
At the same time, Kouta protests, “My aunt’s going to kill me for keeping a secret about dating from her.”
You give them a look. You feel like you’ve walked into a high school romance comedy with bad humor. This is the exact opposite of how a relationship should go, and even with all these tropes, it’s not exactly healthy to maintain a relationship with these dynamics pressing around them.
You’ve met Mirio Togata before — and he’s a friendly person. It had taken him a few therapy sessions to realize that he wasn’t “useless” without a Quirk, that he could do other things with his life without a Quirk. Certainty fills you towards the fact that Togata will not freak out over the fact that his adopted daughter is dating. He’ll just be slightly concerned about teenage hormones, but that’s for him to deal with as a dad.
Kouta’s aunt? You’ve spotted her before with Kouta when she visits the campus to speak to the principal whenever Kouta pulls a prank that requires a detention, but overall, she’s pretty nice.
It’s not your place to tell that their respective guardians will not freak out over their established relationship. In fact, you’re pretty sure that they’ll be happy but also unhappy that they didn’t tell them.
“I’m not going to say anything about you two,” you tell them, “but you know, secrets aren’t meant to be secrets for a long time. Besides, I’ve won a bet, and Deku’s going to pay up.”
Kouta’s mouth falls out, shocked at the betrayal. “You guys had a bet on us?”
“Of course,” you say with a grin. “The No. 1 Pro Hero likes to bet hard, so how could I pass up on an opportunity like that? He’s been asking me to check up on you guys at school. ‘How are Eri and Kouta?’ and ‘Have they done this or that?’ and stuff like that.”
Their eyes are flushed with delight over the fact that Midoriya has been worrying over them. That’s how you got to know Midoriya Izuku anyway through many emails, phone calls, and eventually, outings together. He had first contacted you apprehensively, wondering over Eri and Kouta’s state at U.A. High. He’s a nice person to talk to, a fresh breath of air. You understand why people like him so much.
When you see Midoriya, he’s preparing things for Class 3-A in excitement by setting up the soccer field with cones and other equipment that the heroics class uses, and he mumbles under his breath about how he will introduce himself to them. It’s cute to see the nation’s beloved hero flailing around like this, and it makes him even more human — or closer to your ordinary existence.
“You gotta pay up now,” you sing, interrupting his ramblings.
He shoots up into the air, apparently having not noticed your presence — which is a shame since you kind of suck at being incognito. “I didn’t see you there! What do you mean —” His eyes go round with realization. “You mean…”
“They got together!”
“So I actually have to pay up ¥100,000?” Midoriya pouts.
You give him a look. “You said that their relationship was worth that to you — and even more!”
“I’d rather not give anymore than that,” Midoriya deadpans. “I have my mother and Todoroki to feed.” He pauses in his thought. “Goodness, they’re so cute together!”
He hugs you — a thing that you’ve discovered that Midoriya likes to do a lot — wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tight. Midoriya isn’t even using his Quirk, which already says a lot about his physical prowess without his Quirk.
“Oi, you losers, are you done hugging?” Bakugou’s voice travels over from the other end of the field. “Deku, your class is going to come over in a few minutes, and I doubt you want the paparazzi to write about how you’re cheating on Half-and-Half!”
You raise your eyebrows at Bakugou’s appearance, but Midoriya shakes it off easily and calls back, “Will do, Kacchan!” He lowers his voice and says, “He misses you.”
Before you can ask him about what he means — you guys have never talked about Bakugou in your conversations before, he pushes you and makes you jog over to where Bakugou is. Your throat constricts, wondering how this conversation is going to go. The tension between you two is taut, choking you with how thick it is. You don’t expect a greeting or anything like that, and yet, Bakugou initiates the conversation, shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts.
“How do you know Deku?”
Ah, this is an easier topic for you to start off with. You’re glad that he doesn’t mention the past for your own sanity’s sake.
“He’s been worried about Eri and Kouta adjusting to U.A., so he’s been asking for weekly check-ups,” you say easily.
“Good.”
You cast a look towards him, confused. “What do you mean, ‘good?’”
“Y’know, he’s taken by Half-and-Half,” Bakugou informs you — some information that you’ve known for a while now. “I wouldn’t want him to lose a friend because you’ve developed feelings for him.”
“I don’t have feelings for Midoriya!”
Of course, dammit, Bakugou would only incite your temper like this. Provoked by him, you don’t care about being rational about this. He knows that there’s nothing between the two of you, and yet, he’s insistent on prodding you into a chaotic mess of anger.
“What was that hug then?”
“He hugs everyone,” you emphasize, shaking your head at him. It feels relieving to not be in that therapist position because you can release your emotions in a way where you don’t have to be bound by the rules of being someone’s therapist. You furrow your forehead. “What is it to you anyway? I haven’t seen you for two years.”
He doesn’t answer, turning away from you. You notice that all the students from Class 1-A are lined up in a single line on the field, and Eri and Kouta are running around, Eri screaming at Kouta to give her back her scrunchie. Kids, you think humorously to yourself.
When Bakugou arrives, there’s awe painted upon everyone’s faces when they see the No. 2 Pro Hero of Japan. They start warming up with laps around the field without Quirks, just so Bakugou can get a grasp on how they work Quirkless. You’re on the bleachers, texting Kirishima.
YOU: why the hell didn’t you tell me he was going to be here? 😡😡😡
KIRISHIMA: wdym??? who are we talking about here? 🤔
YOU: Bakugou, YOU DUMBASS!
KIRISHIMA: oh, you and lover boy,,, you have some big double standards, calling me a dumbass 😪
YOU: eXCUSE ME? 🤬
KIRISHIMA: what even happened?
YOU: he thinks I have a crush on midoriya, which makes no sense
YOU: because I don’t have a crush on midoriya????
KIRISHIMA: take a chill pill, both of you. he’s jelly.
YOU: ????
KIRISHIMA: jelly like he’s been pining over you for the last two years 😙😙😙
You almost drop your phone in shock. Pining over you? The two of you haven’t even seen each other for two years. How does one even hold feelings for that long?
Face it, a voice inside you chastises you. You haven’t looked at anyone since Bakugou happened.
You watch him interact with Kouta, and he has a look of fondness painted upon his face, bright and shining. Of course, he occasionally shouts at the students and calls them “dumbasses” — when Aizawa specifically said not to, but he has changed for the better. It’s a quality that people don’t realize about Bakugou, and you realize —
You still like Bakugou.
.
.
.
Avoiding Bakugou is harder than you think, especially when you lecture the first years about mental health. Eri is the only one who pays attention to what you’re saying, and Kouta is busy entertaining the other first years with jokes and comments that make the rest of the class laugh. You suppose that if you didn’t know that they had a history together, you would have never imagined themselves to be dating. As children, they were forced to go to therapy groups, which by the looks of it, didn’t work.
“Can we go now, Y/N?” Kouta drawls, earning nervous giggles from the rest of the class. “We get it — being a Pro Hero is hard.”
You have half a mind to actually give him detention because Aizawa reminded earlier of your privileges as a faculty member to give them out, but you refrain yourself from doing that, remembering Kouta’s vulnerability in your office. Outside your office, he has this mask on himself, boasting himself around his classmates with big talk like “I’m going to be No. 1” and comments like that.
“No, Kouta,” you say, hardening your voice and failing. “I still have some more of the lesson to go through.”
That answer earns more groans from the class, and there’s a part of you that shrivels up at the response. Are you that boring in comparison to the mighty Ground Zero? You know that mental health is one of the most important aspects of being a Pro Hero to maintain, and even then, these teenagers don’t understand that, choosing to bemoan their boredom in your lecture. At least they were smiling when Bakugou taught them how to train their endurance in a fight, something he had trouble with when it came to his explosions during his training.
You can see how the ghosts of their pasts affect them even now, and you want to reach out to them, holding out your hand and letting them grasp it. If only they could see how much you desperately wanted to help them…
When the class leaves, Bakugou initiates the conversation once more, and you’re slightly more wary than last time, seeing what had happened. “You should have given him detention over his comment. The little shit is disrespecting the hell out of you —”
“It’s Kouta we’re talking about,” you say with a sigh. “He’s only like this in front of his classmates.”
“He can’t be No. 1 with that attitude!” Bakugou gestures aggressively to Kouta’s retreating figure. “Talking adult figures down shows his lack of respect for authority figures, and despite his great potential, I can’t see him going anywhere with that attitude.”
After a long pause with you absorbing what he has said, you say softly, “He reminds me of you.”
His head snaps up indignantly.
“Excuse me?”
“You were like that when I first met you when that publicist tried to push you into my office to get a session with me. It was only when you actually talked to me was when I actually saw you for who you are, not what the media portrayed of you.”
Bakugou snorts. “I was a fucking mess back then, but even then, I had a lot of respect for my instructors when I was at U.A. — that’s a big difference in comparison to this kid. He was a lot better when I met him when he was younger.”
“You know Kouta?”
“U.A.’s first years had an incident at their summer camp,” Bakugou says, inhaling sharply. You feel warmth at the fact that you’re finally having a civil conversation with the Pro Hero who seemed unreasonable when you first met him. “Villains from the League of Villains invaded our territory, and Kouta was one of the instructors’ charges. Deku saved him from one of the villains.”
He doesn’t elaborate on it, but you can tell it was a tough time on him. Suddenly, you catch the fatigue in his dark crimson eyes from his days in the field, and there are noticeable bruises blossoming across his legs in big purple splotches. His hero costume doesn’t conceal much skin, but you’re close enough to notice the fine details.
Bakugou notices that you are looking at him and groans. “Don’t psychoanalyze me. I’m fine now.”
“I’m not,” you protest weakly. “I’m just… concerned as a friend.”
“A friend,” he echoes. He seems to be turning back into the angry facade that you saw earlier of him when accusing you of liking Midoriya. “When were you ever my friend? You were just my fucking therapist, doing your job.”
You flinch at his words. He refers to you running away because of your attraction to him, and you know now by judging his expression, he had held feelings for you during that time. It would have been dangerous for you to stay — for the two of you — and he doesn’t seem to understand that.
“I was able to make a lot of progress, thanks to you,” he continues on, not noticing your aversion to the change of conversation. “Deku and I are on a speaking basis. But you? You ran away with your tail between your legs because you cared more about your job than your feelings.
“Stop talking,” your voice trembles.
You hate that he’s speaking the truth.
You have no right to keep having these feelings for him, not when you turned your back on him, scared of what they could mean.
“I thought I could move on,” says Bakugou, looking right at you. “But when you showed up, fucking of course, all those feelings came back again, and you’re still a coward, trying to find a way to forget that ever happened.”
After he leaves, you collapse on the field, letting the tears stream down your face. Why is he always so right?
.
.
.
“So… how did it go?” Deku asks Katsuki. “Did you confess to them?”
“Why would I confess to someone I haven’t seen in two years?” Katsuki says incredulously, jaw dropping at the audacity of his childhood friend. They’re in the faculty locker room, changing into their civilian gear. “Of course not.”
“Did you even talk to them?”
There’s a frown in Deku’s voice, and he doesn’t like it.
“I did, and I said my part.”
Deku, being the hopeless romanticist — okay, maybe not hopeless because somehow he scored Half-and-Half, groans. “Watching you two dance around each other is like watching another stupid American rom-com where the script writer recycles the same tropes but somehow makes money from what they do again.”
“Don’t compare me to those fucking rom-com characters,” Katsuki says half-heartedly. To be honest, he feels like he’s starring in one of them, the genre that Deku absolutely adores and forces him and that Half-and-Half bastard to watch all the time. “Besides, they’re still a shitty coward.”
“What do you mean a ‘coward?’” Deku’s mouth falls out. “Oh, my goodness, did you actually say that to them, Kacchan?”
Katsuki is not deterred by his friend’s astonishment. “So what if I did?”
“You should go fuck yourself at this point,” Deku says this so honestly that it makes Katsuki whip his head back at him.
“Excuse me?”
“They have so much shit on their plate, and you decide to dump your feelings on them. These kids have been disrespecting the hell out of them because they don’t understand how important it is to have good mental health.”
Katsuki absorbs this, remembering your eyes being worn down by eye bags that had never been there when he went to therapy sessions with you. These kids have no verbal filter, lashing out at you and thinking of you as some person who wants to make money from their existence when in reality, you just want to help them however you can. They think that you’re just another adult, seeing them from a glass window at a zoo, and they’re animals while you’re just a spectator. You’re so much more than that.
You still wear this passionate smile when talking about the students’ mental health, undeterred by their reactions to you, and the fact that you care so much about them when you could have run for the hills means so much to Bakugou.
“Oh, shit.”
“That’s right,” Deku hums. His friend turns a sharp emerald-eyed gaze upon him. “You better make this right.”
Katsuki hates that his childhood friend knows him way too well, but he quickly changes into his civilian clothes — his usual hoodie and jeans — and shoves on his sneakers.
“Don’t worry, I will.”
.
.
.
You’re in the library, getting some books out for Kouta’s next therapy session. It might do him some good to know about how much water is contained in a human body — 60% — and how he wants to manipulate that to his own benefit. He has mentioned to you that Aizawa wants him to start pushing his Quirk, but he also has no clue what his homeroom teacher means. You sigh to yourself. Leave it to Aizawa to scatter some bread crumbs for his students but not let them know what order to pick them up.
There’s a familiar warmth pressing against your back, and the scent of caramel hits you.
“I’m sorry,” is what comes out of Bakugou’s husky voice.
You whip your head back to get a good look at his face, only to accidentally smack him in the face with your head.
“Ouch, what the fuck?”
“I’m sorry,” you sputter out, keeping your voice down to a minimum. You suddenly remember the fact that you are pissed at this Pro Hero and school your expression to be blank. “What are you doing here?”
“Took me a while to find you,” Bakugou says, giving you some room, but the shelves of books seem to push you closer and closer together. “I forgot that there was even a library here.”
“Go to hell,” you say. “I thought that you have something later this afternoon with Midoriya.”
He’s calm, very unlike how you’re feeling as of right now, and runs his fingers through his hair. “I fucked up. I didn’t mean to —”
“You said what you had to say. This coward is scared of talking to you, so go away.”
Now is his time to flinch at your cutting words.
You’re tired of playing this game of arguing with him. Your head aches, wanting to get out of the library. It feels so stuffy and congested, facing Bakugou in the midst of these shelves.
When you turn your back on him to get some more books, he starts talking, “I was so pissed when you left, but I realized why after rereading your letter. You thought that you were taking advantage of me in my state of health.”
You keep your lips closed, but that only encourages him to talk more.
“I even noticed the tear splotches across the paper, bleeding into your favorite pen’s ink, and then I understood that I wasn’t the only one getting fucked over — it was you, too. Liking someone while they’re still recovering and they’re not in the right state to accept your emotions? You were being so considerate, and I took that for granted when you left.”
He mumbles your name like a mantra, but you’re flipping an anatomy and physiology book quickly, checking the index to make sure it has the content that you want. Ignore him, your mind tells you, frantically trying to save you from descending into the depths of hell. If you look into his wild scarlet eyes, you’re afraid that you will never be able to turn back now.
Ah, fuck it. Your mouth moves on its own accord.
“You know, after every therapy session, I looked forward to seeing you,” you say, and you know that he’s carefully listening to you, his breath hitched in anticipation. “It was actually unusual because I’ve never wanted to see someone smile so much before. Of course, as a therapist, I do care for each of my clients, but when you didn’t attend one bloody session, I panicked. I’m not supposed to be attracted to any of my clients, and I attend annual lectures meant to help distance myself personally from the client in order to not get stuck in this situation.
“After these two years, I still hold these feelings… you’re still the passionate person I saw before and even better.”
Your voice fades away with pain stinging the edges. You give into the urge to look at him, wanting to be swallowed by Bakugou’s presence. His eyes are widened, surprised by your admittance that you are attracted to him even now.
“Why don’t you act on them then?”
“There’s a code of conduct for us that forbids us from engaging in relationships with former clients for two to three years after the therapy sessions end…” you break off into another ramble, but it’s apparent that Bakugou is not patient enough to listen to you mumble through the whole thing.
“Fuck the rules,” says Bakugou eloquently. “It’s been two years, and I don’t want to wait for you for another year.”
You widen your eyes when he closes the distance between your lips. He smothers you with his caramel scent radiating from his body. His lips are so soft against yours, and the books that you’re currently holding against your chest are the only things separating you two — they’re actually being squeezed as tightly as they can until you let them fall onto the ground with a loud resounding slap. Your hands slide through his locks of hair, tugging them slightly. A bit of his teeth grazes your lower lip as he tries to convey all the emotions he feels towards you from losing you for two years, making an incoherent moan come out of you.
It’s obvious that there are a lot of unresolved feelings from this whole fiasco, but you feel the overwhelming urge to make up for lost time rather than hashing the past out. Bakugou is the kind of person who uses his actions to express himself, and honestly, you can’t say that you mind because that has spread to you.
Your foreheads brush against each other momentarily as Bakugou releases the heavy, slow kiss with a pop! to grin at you.
“I’m pretty sure that the librarians — even with their shitty hearing — heard you dropping those sacred books,” he sings teasingly.
The books that you dropped onto the floor look rather bruised, but you shove that thought to the side.
You pout, missing the warmth on your lips. “Fuck the books.”
“Nah, I would rather do you.”
The library is pretty empty at this time of the day with the occasional wandering student, but you’re still self-conscious about someone overhearing your dialogue with Bakugou.
“Bakugou,” you hiss, drawing out the vowel as long as you can.
He gives you a lopsided smile and smooths out your lip with his thumb. “Is there something fucking wrong with how I’m kissing you? Would you rather me not kiss you like this? I could stop —”
You shudder at the thought of that. “No, thank you.”
“That’s what I thought,” he says with a smile in his voice.
His touch is almost addicting, and you love the way he runs his fingers against your face, memorizing everything about you. You initiate another kiss, and this time. you’re not sure what’s the difference between air and his kisses anymore, and you have the sense of urge running through your veins
“Sensei?” You hear Eri’s voice chime through the library, a shocked tone in harmony with it.
You break away from Bakugou immediately, catching a glimpse of her boyfriend with her. Kouta wears a smirk on his face at the scene, looking like a wolf who has caught his prey.
Shit…