Chapter Text
Bakugo Katsuki is five when he learns how to appropriately read his timer.
His teacher had considered holding a special lesson for his classroom, introducing them to the concept of written time, and what each pair of numbers represented on his wrist.
The first pair noted years-the longest to change-and his read eleven. The following pairs signified the months, days, hours, minutes, and finally seconds. But the pair of numbers that read his years were the most significant; he’d be meeting his soulmate in eleven years.
That made him special-not that he wasn't already special-but this made him extra special because he would be the first to meet his soulmate out of his entire class.
Not that he expected any less. He was the first in everything, after all. No one could match him in grades, or speed, or popularity.
And he'll be the first to meet his soulmate, who'll be thrilled to have him because they'll have the best soulmate of all time.
He proudly shows his wrist around, taking in all the “oohs” and “aahhs” and “you’re so lucky”s. Most of his classmates won’t be seeing their soulmates for ages, but that was their problem. The universe knew how awesome he was, they were just going to have to wait theirs out while he excels at everything else.
Watching the seconds tick by, Katsuki felt his little chest thump with excitement.
Ever since then, Katsuki's made a habit of checking his timer every so often. At first his eyes remained glued to his wrist, watching every minute decrease and feeling all sorts of giddy when they reached a temporary zero.
That giddiness grew tenfold when his first 'anniversary' arrived. He waited and watched as all the digits on his wrist, save for the year, reached zero. He was already one more year down from meeting his intended.
Eleven years became ten, and ten soon became four. He figured out when he would be meeting his soulmate-on the 20th of April, his 16th birthday. He didn’t want to brag-just kidding, he’d love to brag about how the universe loved him, having him meet his soulmate on the first day of his journey in becoming the greatest hero the world would ever see.
He figured out the exact time too-he’d meet them that morning, twelve minutes and 38 seconds into 9 am. Knowing this, Katsuki also stopped checking his timer every other minute. He'd figured there was no use in trying to speed up time, choosing to let his timer click by unattended so that every time he DID check it'd show a starker jump, making it feel like the hours were going by faster.
When his thoughts weren’t on the clock, he was training his quirk. Striving to be the best at it and growing so that when he finally applied to UA, he’ll get in no questions asked. Well, maybe some questions, like “How did you get so awesome?” and “What’s it like to be the greatest of all time?”
To which he’d gladly answer, no harm in giving the crowds what they want. But for him to give them what they wanted begins with his training. And nothing’s going to stop him from becoming the best.
The universe loved him, after all.
The first thing twelve-year-old Katsuki notices when waking up that morning is the heavy feeling in his chest. Still groggy from sleep, he shoves the feeling deep down in order to get through his morning routine, chalking the weight up to him sleeping later than normal.
The feeling, much to his chagrin, doesn’t fade over the course of the day. Not during his classes, not after lunch, nothing. It annoyed the shit out of him, if he was being honest. It felt like he was in trouble, but he hadn’t done anything wrong, unless shitty Deku had snitched on him but that never went anywhere, and it certainly never made him feel like this.
This was new and Katsuki really didn’t fuckin’ like it. So, once school was over, Katsuki went to blow off some steam.
He made his way towards an abandoned construction site, its wide-open space serving a perfect training ground for his quirk. Noting the numerous abandoned supplies that could be used as targets, Katsuki felt unrestricted here, a nice place where he can let loose as much as he wants to without any bothersome issues like noise complaints, public damage, or dumb extras getting injured.
He tosses his bag aside along with his school blazer, rolling up his sleeves as he walks towards some discarded bags of powdered cement. Hefting one atop the other, Katsuki made an array of cement-bag pillars, each at a different distance and range he deemed good enough for practice.
Wiping his brow Katsuki checks his watch, then his timer, before giving his limbs a good stretch.
Thump-
With his palm out, Katsuki sends a blast towards the first pillar, watching as a dust cloud rises and the tattered remains fly around him. He releases a breath through his nostrils, rubbing at his chest.
Turning sharply, he sends another blast towards the second pillar he sees, this one farther away yet the impact is just as devastating.
Th-Thump-
The sweat in his palms light up with each push as he attacked the weighted bags with all he had. Some were sent flying, others were charred beyond repair and left as smoking piles of dirt. Growling at the ache in his chest, Katuski turns to face the final pillar, a few ways over and slumped onto itself.
Th-Thump-
Katsuki shoves the pain aside and charges at the final pillar, palms raised with an oncoming explosion to blast them into smithereens like the rest of them-
Th-Thump-
Pain unlike any other he’d experienced erupted from his stomach, searing across his torso and chest as he stutters to a stop. The pain is so raw he keels over and clutches at himself.
What the f-fuck-
The pain was unbearable-it felt like-like he was being stabbed-no, worse than that-
A gunshot-?! FuCK-
His eyes sting as he falls over, curling into himself and gasping through the pain and-
It’s gone.
Katsuki opens his eyes, sweat coating his temple as he breathes heavily, pulling his hands away to check his wound and there’s nothing there-wait-
There’s nothing there.
The pain was gone as fast as it came, and nothing else was left of whatever it was that caused it. He pulled open his shirt, looking over his stomach for any signs of damage or harm, or maybe even a scratch. Yet he found nothing.
Was it someone’s quirk? He quickly scanned his surroundings, scrambling to his feet and taking a fighting stance, however he sensed no one. No one would be out here other than him.
He touched his stomach again, right where he though he felt the mark and shivered. A weight hung dead in his chest and he had a bad taste in his mouth, like he was about to be punished for something. He also felt like he was about to throw up, but the lump in his throat made it hard to swallow.
Everything just felt wrong.
Shaking off his unease he turns to leave, reaching for his bag and spotting his wrist. He freezes.
The last time Bakugo Katsuki read his timer it said he had four years, eight months, twenty-three days, thirteen hours, twenty-four minutes, and forty-three seconds left to meet his soulmate.
But now it just read zero.
The following days felt like a blur for Katsuki. He remembers arriving home, though he doesn’t remember how he got there. He remembers his mom, cussing him out for coming home late and dirty, only for her to change in attitude once seeing his wrist. He remembers going to a hospital, and speaking to a doctor, but doesn’t recall any of what was said.
Which was a lie. He remembered one thing.
His timer was broken.
Cracked, the doctor said. Unrepairable, she said.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” She said to him, her eyes sympathetic but Katsuki didn’t get it. What had he lost, exactly?
It was just a timer that just didn’t tick anymore. But his mom didn’t yell at him throughout the ride home, and his dad made him his favorite food dish and kept him from school for the next few days. Katsuki didn’t get it at all.
The dead weight in his chest hadn’t left at all since that day. It’d changed, sure. It weighed a thousand times heavier now, but he wasn’t about to be phased.
He knew what happened, though. His soulmate died. Simple as that.
His timer was a dull grey, like it’d always been. Only difference now is it’s a blank zero. No more ticking. No more count downs.
His soulmate died.
Katsuki sits on his bed, a blank look on his face as he stares off into space.
He didn’t get why it hurts. Why his chest feels like it’s carving his heart out. Why he feels everything and nothing at all. It’s not like he met them.
It’s not like he’ll ever meet them now.
He didn’t get why the universe had to do this to him either. He wasn’t a saint, no, but he never expected this to happen.
He doesn’t fucking get it.
Why, after all that hype-the anniversaries, the waiting, the excitement-
Katsuki breathes. He pulls out his phone and opens up a search bar. He doesn’t get it, but maybe someone else does so he can get this fucking weight off his chest already-
‘Cracked timer soulmate’
He scrolls through the results, too many of them noting grief and loss and the pain of moving on-he wasn’t fucking looking for any of that.
‘Cracked timer meaning’
He scrolls through similar results till his thumb presses a link by accident, and he grits his teeth. He presses the back button with a little more pressure than necessary but a comment catches his eye and he rushes to return to the page again.
“Is there any chance you can have a cracked timer but your soulmate isn’t dead?”
“Yes, though neither are favorable. There is an extremely rare case where a person’s timer is sacrificed in order to save their life from life threatening injuries. However, those cases almost always end in failure, and is not seen as an acceptable practice in modern medicine. The usual cases are where soulmates break their own timers themselves. It’s common for professional heroes to shatter their own timers in order to keep their soulmates safe from the dangers of hero work, choosing to live a solitary lifestyle and focus their efforts on hero work. As for non-heroes/regular people, they usually either don’t want to meet their destined ones, or simply want to live free of society’s expectations, choosing to reject their soulmate before ever meeting them.”
“oh wow-pro heroes too??? that’s so sad :(“
“what do u expect they hve 2 keep villains in check like itd be hard 2 do hero work with a solumate dragging u down”
“i heard allmight broke his timer for that reason”
“no way omg”
“there’s no proof of that shut up”
“how do u know”
“wow ok but the regular people doing it like people really have no heart if they want to destroy something like that. Imagine waking up to find your timer broken-I’d cry my eyes out”
“right like itd feel like no one wanted to have you as a soulmate”
Katsuki felt his chest tighten. His eyes continue to search through the thread, feeling something stir in his chest as he digs further and further.
‘it’d feel like no one wanted to have you as a soulmate’
He figures he shouldn’t believe what this random fucker has to say. He shouldn’t internalize it, or even think twice about it. His soulmate was dead.
His soulmate was dead and even if they weren’t dead it’s impossible to say they wouldn’t want him-they haven’t even met him-they-
They’re dead.
That's it.
Katsuki fucking hates the universe right now. He hates how his parents look at him, like someone in mourning. He hates how he’s being put through grief therapy for someone he’s never even met. He hates how he feels like he’d been robbed of something.
He hates the weight on his chest most of all.
No, scratch that, it’s the looks of pity he gets from his parents that he hates most of all.
Going back to class was bullshit. Going back home was bullshit. It got so fucking irritating he finally snapped and had a screaming match with his old hag of a mom.
He wasn’t ashamed, he was just fucking bothered by it all.
He knew it was a little bad, a touchy thing that no one usually goes through, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He was still alive. Still here. But it still nagged at him.
To add fuel to fire, Katsuki hates how he hasn’t forgotten the thread he read. The weight on his chest hasn’t lightened in the least, thought his fucking therapist-god, he has a therapist-says that it’s normal and that it’ll fade over time.
But he wants it off now. So, he can stop thinking about what stupid people said online and the whole fucking crap that was having a soulmate. He wasn’t bitter, he was just sick of it.
The thread said that pro heros broke their timers all the time. Maybe he was just meant to take this as a sign and focus on his hero work.
Katsuki tsks. He was already focusing on his hero work even with a soulmate in mind. He just figured they’d be there with him on his way up. Now that they’re gone, being the greatest was all he had now.
He felt the hurt twinge at his center before he stuffs it deep down, wiping his nose with his sleeve as he walks home.
He'll deal with it.
Dealing with it becomes harder at night. Usually Katsuki is fast asleep by the time it hits 10 but he’s been having a bad streak of late nights, most of it to blame because his mind wouldn’t shut the fuck up.
The weight feels heavier than ever as he lays down, so he shifts around enough to find something comfortable before kicking off the covers in frustration. Sitting up, he brushes his hand over his stomach. Back when he was taken to the doctor, the doc described to him a surefire way to know how one’s soulmate had died; as their living soulmate, you would feel phantom pains of the injury they succumbed to.
The pain he felt in his gut that day was his soulmate dying. Something tore through their stomach, left side, a little away from their belly button. He’d gotten the pains here and there, though none were ever as bad as the first time.
Katsuki had half a mind to search up any news about someone dying from a stomach wound, but even if he did, it’s not like it’d change anything. The phantom pains, like the grief-tch, what grief-will also lessen over time, but Katsuki saw it as just another bother to his current life.
Sweeping his eyes over, his bedside alarm blinks 11:03pm and Katsuki groans. Resting back, his hands remain on his stomach as he stares up at his ceiling.
‘imagine waking up to find your timer broken’
‘it’d feel like no one wanted to have you as a soulmate’
Katsuki shuts his eyes. It didn’t matter. They were dead. If they weren’t dead, then they decided to cut him out of their life.
He doesn’t know what to make of that.
His heart hurts again. His hand brushes his stomach again.
Katsuki lets his mind go, and thinks of how much more quiet it is without the familiar tic-tic-tic of his own timer.
The days after come easier. The weight is still there but he’s found a way to manage.
He wasn’t grieving the loss of someone he never met, he wasn’t. Fuck the weight in his chest. Fuck the looks his parents give. He’ll move on. He’ll make himself move on.
He’ll still be top hero. He’s still the greatest. Universe be damned. Soulmates be damned.
Katsuki glares into the mirror. His eyes have still had bags under them, and his hair’s growing long enough to become a hassle. He needed to do something about that after this. But this came first.
Pushing down the bad taste in his mouth, Katsuki pulls up his sleeves. Wrapping his hand around his wrist, Katsuki bites down on his lip and activates his quirk into a concentrated blast. The pain hits immediately and he’s suddenly back at the construction site, feeling his stomach being shredded by something as he falls. The pain shoots up his arm as his wrist burns, and Katsuki squeezes his eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. Curled on the bathroom floor and panting heavily, he pulls his hand away and stares at the charred remains of where his broken timer used to lay.
“K-Kacchan, w-what happened t-to your wr-wrist?!”
Bakugo grits his teeth, his voice coming out harsher and not unlike a growl “Fuck off, Shitty Deku.”
The green-haired waste-of-space backed off immediately with a cower, raising his hands up in defense.
“Oh, now that you mention it, your wrist’s busted up-did anything happen to your timer?!” Another voice-a classmate of theirs, some unnecessary extra-pipes up, extending his head to stare at Bakugo’s bandaged wrist.
Bakugo had half a mind to blast his face off. He didn’t have the chance to, because suddenly a crowd of his classmates hound on him.
“What, really?! Oh wow, your wrist-!”
“It looks really bad-it’s all bandaged up-“
“wh-“
“Eh? Did your timer break?! Bakugo-san, that’s terrible-”
“Oh no-Bakugo-san, I’m so sorry-“
“No-“
“It must’ve been tough-“
“You poor thing-“
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He roars, his palms blasting enough to make the crowd around him scatter. He wasn’t going to put up with any of that shit so he’s killing it where he stands. Looking at the extras, he fixes them with a harsh glare.
“I broke my own fucking timer.”
Gasps followed by hushed whispers erupted around him and he growls again, silencing them once more. “Pro heroes don’t need shitty things like soulmates. And I’m aiming to be Number One. I don’t have time for weak things like a soulmate.”
He fixes his bag over his shoulder, turns, and walks off. His stomach pains. His wrist burns. His chest feels like a ton.
He doesn’t look back.