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“—which is as good a reason as any why the school isn’t doing it that way anymore. Midoriya.”
Midoriya nearly bites his tongue off at the sound of Aizawa’s dead voice calling him by name. He looks up from his notes, an apology ready-made. He must have been caught up in writing all the details down—it wouldn’t be the first time he started muttering to himself and blatantly didn’t notice. Even during homeroom, when they’re doing nothing but going over school news and curriculum changes, he tends to get absorbed.
At the front of the room, Aizawa looks out at his students with eyes half-lidded, fighting a yawn. Midoriya could be mistaken, but it seems as if his teacher isn’t even looking at him. He blinks, unsure what, exactly, gives. Is this a scare tactic? Is Aizawa-sensei about to tell him to pack his bags and leave? Surely there would be more warning than this, right?
Maybe he said a different name and it just happened to sound like Midoriya? How many four-syllabled names starting with M are there? Maybe it didn’t even start with M and Midoriya is just hearing things? Are there any names that rhyme with -idoriya…?
Midoriya looks around, trying to follow his teacher’s gaze. “Sir?” he asks tentatively, only to jump when Aizawa turns completely away again. What is going on?
There’s a long, contemplative moment where Midoriya is wholly convinced that his ass is about to be handed to him, casually and efficiently, by means of the classroom chalkboard. It’s been near two weeks with no expulsions, but that’s hardly a reason to get complacent. It could come at any time. Like right now, for example. Aizawa even picks up a piece of chalk as if weighing it, and Midoriya prepares to take cover and/or flee if it comes sailing at his head.
What happens instead is, arguably, worse. “You seem to have a way with Bakugou,” the teacher says, inflectionless. “Antagonize him into leaving my classroom before he defiles it. It’s too early in the morning for this.”
What? Midoriya, along with the rest of the class, swivels in his seat to look at Kacchan. Kacchan, for his part, looks like he’s ready to blow a gasket. Which is exactly how he usually looks, so what the heck does that mean, defile the classroom? Why is Aizawa suddenly concerned about Kacchan’s habit of blasting his way past classroom chatter he doesn’t care to suffer through?
Actually, now that he thinks about it, Midoriya realizes that there hasn’t been even a hint of smoke on the air yet today. Kacchan hasn’t said a word about the upcoming lessons OR the classmates he usually screams about. He hasn’t even let out any of the warning pops that signal that his short fuse is close to igniting—he’s been quieter this morning than he has all week.
Midoriya’s mind starts working a mile a minute as he comes to the only logical conclusion. Oh, god. This about their battle exercise with All Might. It’s a test to see if they can get along, which they’re obviously going to fail miserably, and then Aizawa is going to expel them both, and even though it will be probably 90% Kacchan’s fault he’ll decide to take it out on Midoriya and Midoriya literally just made that declaration about not being the same pushover Deku that Kacchan has always known last week and—
This is it. This is the morning that Midoriya Izuku dies.
Midoriya lets out half a giggle before he freezes where he sits, waiting for the moment that Kacchan explodes on Aizawa for talking to that fucking Deku about him like he’s not sitting right the fuck there, thus jump-starting the expulsion process. Like a rabbit in the headlights, he thinks dazedly. It’s coming. Any moment now. Kacchan has literally never missed an opportunity to smack around his favorite punching bag.
Only… it doesn’t come. Aizawa is making little ‘get on with it’ hand gestures with his free hand, scratching dates on the board. The class is starting to roil with whispers. In his reflection in the window Kacchan has his hands fisted on his desk and his mouth firmly clamped shut but still no signs of imminent explosion, and—Midoriya, frankly, doesn’t understand. Why isn’t Kacchan lashing out?
Life has been turned on its head. The inevitable is suddenly thrown into uncertainty. Is Kacchan going to strike? Is he waiting for a better opportunity? Or is this, god forbid, a turning point?
No, it can’t be. Kacchan must be looking for a better chance to strike. Maybe he’s taken into account the fact that Aizawa-sensei isn’t a pushover like their middle school teachers. Which would mean… Midoriya frowns, sweat beading on his forehead. He mentally starts preparing for another fight, to come after classes are over for the day. The only question is whether or not poking at Kacchan now will make his demise even more painful.
Unless he wants to completely derail Aizawa’s homeroom and deal with the consequences of that, however, Midoriya doesn’t have much choice here. “Uh, Kacchan?” he says tentatively, turning fully around in his seat like a creaky automaton to face the boy sitting behind him. He’s under no illusion that a simple, well-meaning suggestion will urge Kacchan into doing whatever Aizawa wants of him, but he has no other choice. If Aizawa wants a fight to break up then this is a great way to go about it! If he doesn’t… well. Midoriya swallows. “Maybe you ought to listen to what he’s say—?”
He doesn’t even get the entire sentence out. The rest of the words are drowned out by a frankly awful screech of metal.
The entire room grinds to a halt as Kacchan stands slowly, pushing his seat back with the ugliest snarl Midoriya has ever seen (and Midoriya has seen a lot of them). He’s silent as he marches to the front of the room. Past Midoriya, who is shrinking in his seat a tad and pretending that he’s not, past Aizawa at the board paying him zero attention, and straight to the sliding door at the side of the room. He lays a stink-eye on every single person watching, which is all of them, plus Aizawa for good measure, and only pauses to grab the trash bin beside Aizawa’s desk before he takes his leave, slamming the door as hard as he physically can on the way out.
Immediately the room bursts into questions. Midoriya’s hand shoots straight into the air, hoping to catch Aizawa’s attention. As if expecting this response, Aizawa resolutely ignores the entire lot of them in favor of finishing the string of notes on the board before he swivels slowly around, mouth pulled down in a frown, and says, “I will answer one question. Choose wisely.”
By god, does Midoriya know what question he wants to ask. His mind is working a mile a minute, trying to string the odd series of events into a cohesive unit, but still he knows he’s missing something. Something big. All around him, the class twitters with variations of ‘what the fuck’ and ‘did you see his face’ and ‘how much do you want to bet that Baku comes back and throws hands?’ Aizawa stares down his nose at them with disdain that he usually reserves for reporters and flies buzzing in his face. Midoriya whines, hand straining higher. His teacher’s dead eyes zero in on him. Catching on, the rest of the class shuts their mouths and copies him, all of them turning to stare at the boy wriggling in his seat.
“Midoriya,” Aizawa-sensei says again, at the exact same volume and in the exact same tone as he did the first time.
Midoriya lets out his breath, allowing his hand to fall. “Sir, what just happened?”
With a languid blink, Aizawa breathes out. His gaze slides toward the wall to his left, where Kacchan is ostensibly doing whatever it is he needed to do to prevent defilement of their learning space. Midoriya frowns and turns as well, and from there it’s only a few moments before he hears it.
“Oh, gross!” Toru says. Kaminari starts snickering. Satou turns a greenish color and covers his ears. And Midoriya, usually so attuned to Kacchan that he can predict his every action down to the twitch, feels his heart sink.
Kacchan is sick. He’s sick, and aside from Aizawa-sensei, no one even noticed.
Bakugou Katsuki: an explosion quirk user with higher-than-average spatial analysis and body awareness. Ever since he was a little kid he’d been the type of person who wore a flu mask at the first sign of germs, his own or anyone else’s. Midoriya remembers the last time Kacchan was sick—Midoriya’s mom sent him along to the Bakugou residence with a covered bowl of fresh soup the second she learned that he’d been kept home from school that day, urging Midoriya to keep him company with a cheerful smile on her face despite the fact that they both knew at that point that his and Kacchan’s relationship was rocky at best.
Kacchan was always vocal about keeping germs away. He was always vocal about beating the illness into the ground with his supposedly robust immune system. Really, he was always vocal about anything and everything that came to mind.
What, exactly, changed?
It could have to do with the fact that he was unchallenged until U.A. High. He was always in search of stimulation, and stimulation came hand-in-hand with attention. When he sought the attention of the class he was, in a way, completing a self-stimulating behavior. If the courses here were finally challenging him mentally and emotionally, then maybe he didn ’t feel the need to draw attention anymore?
Or maybe the challenge at U.A. had done something else. Something like … sparked the first feeble attempts at introspection that Kacchan had been forced to endure. Was his silence in the face of his illness a manifestation of the realization that he wasn’t the biggest fish in the pond anymore? Had he been forced to come to the conclusion that no one actually bothered to listen to half of the overconfident remarks he made on a daily basis?
That seemed likely… but more likely was the fact that Kacchan’s competitive nature was actually behind this new development in an even less subtle way. If Kacchan really had cemented the fact that he was no longer in the top slot then the most likely result, and the most likely reason behind this change, was that he’d figured out that he had to work just as hard or harder than every other member of the class in order to achieve his dreams. He was simply taking class seriously for the first time ever. Oh, he’d always taken his grades seriously, and he worked hard to perfect his test scores to get into U.A., but the knowledge being delivered by the Pro Heroes now was less a stepping stone and more of a building block for their futures, which meant—
Midoriya bites his lip, looking down at his chaotic notebook page. He’s overanalyzing this, probably. He just needs to sit back, take a few relaxing breaths, and get back to—
The door slams open. Midoriya flinches despite himself.
“If you really feel the need to stay here, you can leave that outside,” Aizawa says. He looks pointedly at the trash can in Kacchan’s hand.
“I cleaned it!” Kacchan snaps, falling hard into his seat. That, at least, sounds exactly like the Kacchan that Midoriya knows. Though really, how much does Midoriya know? He doesn’t know. It’s a conundrum—he doesn’t know what he doesn’t know, and it’s planted a seed of doubt deep in his brain matter.
He’s not the only one that’s keeping an eye on Kacchan, however. As their first lesson starts and their day grinds on, it seems as if everyone has the time to spare a glance or two in Kacchan’s direction.
Kacchan, predictably, is less than ecstatic about this. That, at least, Midoriya can still deduce quite clearly. “Eyes on the board, Pikachu!” Kacchan barks midway through the lesson, startling everyone who wasn’t already staring at him. Kaminari gives a feeble, contrite wave to the teacher at the front of the room while Kacchan stares down the rest of them. All except Midoriya, who wisely keeps his glances contained to a few glimpses of Kacchan’s reflection in the window beside him while the explodey boy is otherwise occupied.
He just… there’s something he needs to figure out. Something about Kacchan and about him, about their relationship together. He catalogues every twitch of Kacchan’s shoulders from the corner of his eye, barely able to focus on the lesson in front of him.
Kacchan… somehow isn’t having that problem. He occasionally pauses his note-taking to spit into the bin, but otherwise there are absolutely no outward signs that he’s feeling under the weather. Is he paler than normal? Is he flushed? Is he sweating under his uniform? Midoriya can’t even tell, and something about that sets him on edge.
Kacchan pushes himself all the way through the rest of the day’s classes, despite everyone and their mother making a case for him to go to bed and chill out for the day. He even forces down a smoothie at lunch, Midoriya notes, an event which makes Midoriya wince into his noodle bowl. The guy steps out of the room only once more before their physical training.
Physical training, Midoriya knows suddenly, is going to be a nightmare.
He takes the initiative to bring Kacchan’s current status up to Miss Midnight at the beginning of their training block, despite the fact that Kacchan is already glaring two perfect burr holes into the side of his head. “Uh, Ma’am? I think Kacchan should sit out. He’s been sick all day.”
“Like hell I’m gonna—" Kacchan starts, marching forward with one gauntlet-clad hand raised as if to strangle Midoriya where he stands. Midoriya raises both hands in surrender, letting out a worried smile even as he backs away.
The impending fight is cut off by Midnight’s whip, which snaps between them and forces them apart. “I trust him to use his safeword,” Kayama-sensei says, cutting the both of them off and ensuring no further rebuttals. Midoriya nods seriously—but he can’t help the side-glance over at Kacchan’s stoic face, and he can’t stop the gut-clenching certainty that no matter how bad it gets, Kacchan isn’t going to call training off.
Well, if that’s how Kacchan is going to do things, then Midoriya only has one choice.
Physical training today is a battle royale-style fight between class 1-A and a bunch of U.A. alums who agreed to take the day off and lend their skills. They’re mostly side-kicks and low-ranking heroes—the big ones couldn’t or wouldn’t spare the time—but they’re formidable all the same. It’s a simple enough exercise, Midoriya surmises. Like the Sports Festival that U.A. hosts every year, an event still on the horizon for their class, a melee battle like this is designed to expose them to as many types of quirks and fighting styles as possible. ‘Adaptability training’, as Aizawa-sensei calls it.
And Midoriya hasn’t been hovering over Kacchan, he swears! It’s just… coincidence that they both get caught up in this one girl’s very sneaky, very hard to break-out-of quirk.
It’s actually a really cool quirk, and Midoriya is itching to talk to her about all the uses it has. It’s an emitter quirk called Vectors. Named after a reference to a really old anime about mutants with pink hair, the invisible energy strips that currently have him and Kacchan trussed up like turkeys are… well… super freaking cool.
Unfortunately, Kacchan doesn’t seem to think so. This may or may not be because his bindings are at least twice as tight as the ones Midoriya is contending with, and he’s bound from ankle to chin like a saran-wrapped mummy. He fought against them the entire time, and it was clear to everyone but him that he was digging himself a hole, but that’s just how Kacchan is. At least he’s acting like himself again.
Right now, that means taking a break from trying to get his teeth around one of the invisible ties at his shoulder so he can pant into the floor and insult fucking Deku. He’s been doing it on and off for the last ten minutes, ever since the Vector user left them to their own devices, so Midoriya doesn’t pay much attention. If there’s a way out of this Midoriya will find it. Probably. Maybe? Okay, yeah, he’s been wracking his brain about it for ten minutes and he’s gotten nowhere, but on the bright side at least this means Kacchan is horizontal, even if it’s not by choice. That’s something.
As if he heard that thought and just had to toss a wrench into the works, Kacchan groans into the dust and says, “I have to throw up.”
Crap. They need out of here right now.
“Hold on, Kacchan,” Midoriya says, starting to struggle for real. His fingers are trapped, the threads of vectors winding between them and cinching them tightly enough together that he doesn’t have the space to create enough friction to snap, but if he can just—
It’s too late. With another groan and an overstated jerk, Kacchan heaves. Midoriya winces. He’s on his side, so he probably won’t choke and die, but his movement is so restricted by the invisible mummy bandages that if he manages to get anything up he’ll just have to… lie in it until someone comes to fetch them. Judging by the way he swallows, glaring at the ground under his cheek, he’s probably figured that out, too. God, this sucks. Where is everyone?
“Fuck,” Kacchan whispers, and now he’s started to strain again, his shoulders and biceps flexing oddly in what looks like thin air. Sweat is blooming across his back, damp lines shooting down the edges of the vectors that are cutting into his costume’s dark tank-top. If Lucy hadn’t stripped him of his gauntlets before tying him up, they’d undoubtedly be ready to blow. He pauses just long enough to dry heave again before he’s back at it, and goddamn if he’s not making Midoriya’s stomach turn. He looks miserable, hitching against the floor, all clammy and gross.
Midoriya sighs. “You can still use your safeword, you kno—” He’s ready for the indecipherable scream of rage that cuts him off. Expects it, even. He waits out the barrage of cuss words and calmly finishes, “—you know that Kayama-sensei would get you out of here. You literally just have to say one word.”
“Fuck that and fuck you!” Kacchan spits instead. Then, all at once, he jerks forward and the contents of his stomach pour out his mouth.
The stricken look on his face is such a stark contrast to his usual scowl that Midoriya lets out a snort of laughter before he can help it. It’s a touch hysterical—all his life he’s been a sympathetic puker—but it’s just… that look does not belong on Kacchan’s face. And today has been one weird thing on top of another and—fuck it, Midoriya just can’t help it. The laughter tears out of him, drowning out Kacchan’s fresh round of cursing.
They’re eventually rescued. Midoriya is pretty sure that Kirishima realized that Kacchan wasn’t being his usual rowdy self and came looking for him, for which he’s grateful. Kacchan is less so, still sweating through his shirt and so obviously shaky that once he slices through the Vectors, Kirishima tries to keep him down on his butt on the ground.
This, of course, results in Kacchan standing up too fast, which then results in a tumble that then results in a bloody nose when he struggles out of Kirishima’s grip and hits the ground. He proceeds to get Extra Pissed Off when Kirishima offers him some water to drink, wiping angrily at the vomit in his hair and the blood on his lips with a shirt already soaked in sweat. That poor shirt, Midoriya muses. And poor Kirishima! Kirishima is a godsend as he endures an entire tirade and some not-so-explosive explosions aimed in his direction. The explosions are weak, less like proper blasts and more like sparklers, the sparks dancing all the way up Kacchan’s arms to his biceps as the trace amounts of nitroglycerin in his sweat light up.
Eventually, Midnight calls an end to the training, and Kirishima calls an end to Kacchan’s rant. The fighting-heavy areas are ravaged, most of class 1-A having taken a beating at the hands of the Alumni. Kacchan, still in the company of Kirishima and Midoriya, seems to have worn himself out enough to accept that he needs to sit down. He’s still mouthing off when Midnight calls up one of the stretcher-bots to take him to Recovery Girl, Kirishima trotting along beside him. He grumbles the entire way out of the ruined arena.
Midoriya finds that he is very, very tired.
“What is up with that guy?” Kamniari asks, coming up to Midoriya’s side.
That’s been the question of the day. Midoriya has poured over every mental fact he’s got about Kacchan, fitting them together like puzzle pieces only to find that the edges don’t quite match up, and after everything all he’s come up with is that, well… he’s got nothing.
Ashido hangs onto Kaminari’s shoulder, her dark eyes bright and curious. The rest of the class seems to be listening in, too, judging by the number of conversations that peter off as Kaminari’s question hangs in the air.
Midoriya winces and shrugs off their curious looks as best he can. “Can everyone please stop looking at me for answers?” he asks, tugging nervously at a Vector still wrapped around his wrist. “Kacchan is… well, he’s Kacchan, and I’m really not sure if he’d be comfortable with me—well okay, that’s a lie, I know for a fact that he’s not comfortable with me talking about him behind his back, even if I wouldn’t say anything particularly bad about him and most people wouldn’t consider trying to help a guy ‘talking behind his back’ but as I’ve said before, he’s Kacchan, so—wait, I think I said too much…”
Thoroughly discontent with that answer, the class disperses, muttering among themselves. Midoriya breathes out a low breath before he starts to trot after Uraraka and Iida.
He kind of feels the same way. Discontent, he means.
They’ve just been together for so long, he and Kacchan, crammed side by side like two peas in a pod… their sides pressed uncomfortably close, no room to move… and not for the first time Midoriya thinks that this can’t be healthy for either of them. It’s bad that this is their normal—to fight and scratch against the elbows in each others’ space, Midoriya reaching out with compassion as Kacchan tries his damnedest to escape the claws of what he perceives as pity. And maybe at this point it is pity. Maybe Kacchan has been fighting help for so long that when he really needs it he can’t even tell; if that isn’t pitiable, then Midoriya doesn’t know what is.
And that, right there, is the neon warning sign that he shouldn’t put his effort here. The understanding that he's been toeing at all day is that he should leave it to Recovery Girl. And he will, because if he’s unsynced enough from Kacchan that he can no longer tell when the guy is feeling miserable, then it’s definitely not his place to try and help. It's just… not his place.
He bites his lip, purposefully staying a step behind his friends as he worries the idea across his mind. He’s still on edge. Of course he is. He still feels responsible for Kacchan. There’s just… nothing he can do anymore. He just… he really does hope that someday there will be someone that Kacchan trusts more than him. Kirishima, maybe? Far, far in the future?
Well, whoever it is, whenever it is, Midoriya hopes that Kacchan will be happy. There will always be a part of him looking out for Kacchan. A part swiveling its head, searching for the omnipresent explosion quirk user that has always been a fixed point in his life. A part looking for a way to help him, however small. But right here, right now, Midoriya knows that he can’t prioritize Kacchan. Not anymore, maybe never again. What he needs, what they both need… is to diverge.
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