Chapter Text
A black boot with a thick platform stepped into a pile of slush with a squelch, spraying the ugly grey substance in all directions and causing the owner to let out a frustrated growl as it splattered his jeans. He hesitated for a moment before giving up and stomping forward with his other boot, splashing his way through the slush pile directly behind his apartment building with tense shoulders. It seemed that not enough students had braved the back entrance to the building yet to make a path through all of the snow and slush that had collected by the doors over winter break, but the owner of the now-wet jeans preferred the less-used door as it helped him avoid as many people as possible. He stomped the melting substance from his boots as he entered the doorway before heading for the stairs, walking past the much more commonly used elevator and ignoring when a passerby recognized him from a previous class and awkwardly greeted him with a hey! It’s Bakugou, right? It felt like forever before he reached his room on the third floor, fishing for his keys in his coat and sighing with relief when he finally unlocked the door and shut it behind him. He immediately locked it again.
Half of the small living room was a mess. His roommate, Kirishima, had apparently arrived at some point while Bakugou was at work and then taken off quickly, probably excited to see Kaminari for the first time since Christmas break began. His possessions were scattered haphazardly about with clothes draped over the back of the armchair. Visible through his half-open bedroom door was an unzipped suitcase that was resting on his bed. It looked as if a bomb had gone off inside of it and thrown things all over his room. He had, however, somehow managed to keep all of his mess in his bedroom and on the furniture he’d brought himself; a slob, but ever respectful of Bakugou’s space. A slight smile tugged at Bakugou’s mouth before he scowled at the softness he’d felt for a moment. He himself had stayed in the apartment over winter break, the idea of extra hours at work and more time away from his mom proving to be too tempting.
Kicking off his [ridiculous, honestly Katsuki, what on earth prompted you to buy those?] chunky boots, he hooked his [are you having a goth phase or something?] jacket by the door and headed to the bathroom to wash his hands. He heard the front door open and Kirishima and Kaminari’s voices flooded the apartment.
“I’m just saying, I think I’d make a great Tik Tok e-boy,” Kaminari’s voice said, and Bakugou snorted, silently shutting the bathroom door for some privacy. Their voices faded away as he heard Kirishima’s bedroom door shut too, and suddenly the silence from before felt heavy. Bakugou looked in the mirror and scowled. The faucet let out a drop and it sounded deafening when it hit the drain. Ping. Silence. Then, again, ping. It sounded slightly off rhythm, and Bakugo didn’t like it. Ping. He took a deep breath. Tap. Fuck. He couldn’t do this right now. Tap. No, no, all wrong. Tap tap tap. Like the syllables in his name. Odd numbers were bad, though, imbalanced unless they were a multiple of five. Ready to fall and crush him. His fingers tapped the counter again, tap tap. Like the syllables in his name. But not Bakugou; Kacchan. No. Katsuki. Only one person called him Kacchan. Don’t think don’t think don’t think-
“Kacchan! Take my hand!” Deku’s eyes were huge and afraid. Bakugou barely noticed through the pain. Everything seemed to hurt, his head, his neck, his torso...everything. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered how Deku had even managed to climb out and get on his feet. In the front of his mind all he could think was dizzy dizzy dizzy, pain. Dad, where was dad? His eyes flew to the front seat and oh- oh god. Oh god.
“Kacchan, don’t look up there right now, okay? Look at me. Please.” Deku’s voice trembled.
Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Oh my god. Broken glasses on the crumpled center console. Red liquid dripping onto them, hitting the rim and sliding down the shattered lenses. Pooling. Sliding down onto the floor. His eyes refused to move further to the left, to look at his dad. So much blood. Bakugou leaned over and threw up.
“Kacchan, Kacchan please, you need to move, I think it’s gonna fall-” A horrific sound of groaning metal, Deku screaming, and then the second CRASH.
Taptaptaptaptap THUD. Searing pain in his knuckles brought Bakugou back down to earth, and he heard Kirishima’s door fly open and footsteps hurry toward the bathroom. Fuck. He didn’t mean to worry anyone.
“Bakugou?” an oddly soft sounding Kirishima asked through the door. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Bakugou said gruffly, hoping he wouldn’t push it. His first two knuckles were bleeding, but hey, at least he’d punched the sink correctly and not broken his hand. And at least it had been the counter and not the drywall.
“Did you hit something again?”
Silence. Bakugou didn’t know how to respond. Kirishima was trying to be a good friend, but he didn’t want to dump his fucked up mental issues on him. “I just dropped something, I’m fine.”
Kirishima was quiet for a moment too, obviously not buying it. He caved after a bit, however, much to Bakugou’s relief. “Okay, man. But if anything is wrong, just know you can talk to me. I’m just one room away. And Kaminari would love to see you if you wanna come hang out with us!”
Thanks, he wanted to say, or please, I need to talk about it, it’s killing me, or I’m really not okay and I haven’t been since the accident. Instead all he said was “okay.” Kirishima’s footsteps faded back toward his bedroom, but his door didn’t close this time. Bakugou really didn’t deserve him, even though he was terrible at showing his gratefulness for how understanding and caring his roommate was. Kirishima adapted to all of his anxious quirks, taking each one in stride whether old or new, even when it meant watching Bakugou turn the lights on and off ten times before they left or locking and unlocking the door five times before they could get in to the apartment. He never even commented when Bakugou would mutter Kacchan under his breath any time he did something twice, despite not knowing who Kacchan even was.
Bakugou shook his head as if that would dislodge the thoughts from his brain and then rinsed off his bloody knuckles, grimacing at the pain but knowing he deserved it. Always so out of control. Why couldn’t he get himself under control? It was a thought that made him look in the mirror and frown at his loose fitting [seriously, Katsuki, do you ever wear anything that fits?] sweater. He tugged at it and then pulled it up, frowning at his bare [you just never stop eating, do you? Your father-] abdomen. The unwelcome thought he’d somehow interrupted in his own head made his frown deepen. His [you’re still not making weight, Bakugou, you’re gonna miss your match] abdomen. He dropped the sweater. Tap “Ka-” tap “cchan.” He needed to hit something. Badly. And some exercise wouldn’t kill him either.
He finally left the bathroom and headed to his bedroom, near-frantically digging out his workout clothes and throwing them into his gym bag. He could change at the gym.
“I’m going out again!” he yelled while pulling on his boots, not waiting for an answer before he headed out the door. It slammed behind him and he fought the urge to open and slam it again. Digging his nails into his palms, he headed for the stairs and began the climb down three flights.
The gym wasn’t too busy, the New Years resolution members had already begun to thin out again and it was pretty late for most of the people who remained. Not for Mirio Togata and Tamaka Amajiki, however, Bakugou found as he passed the main boxing ring on his way to the locker room. They were running focus mitts, Amajiki mumbling numbers in his shy voice but taking Togata’s enthusiastic strikes as if they were nothing, despite how strong Bakugou knew the blonde was. Hado was probably around there somewhere, but Bakugou wasn’t feeling chatty and didn’t bother to look.
“Bakugou!” Togata spotted him and dropped his hands to wave. Amajiki looked at him silently, but he braved a little wave as well. Inside of his rough exterior, Bakugou liked them both. They were great sparring partners, and Amajiki had taken Kirishima under his surprisingly talented wing when he’d shown an interest in MMA.
“Togata,” Bakugou nodded.
“What brings you in tonight?” Togata questioned, walking to the corner of the ring to wipe his forehead with a sweat towel and take a sip of his water. Amajiki recognized it as a break and slumped off to another corner.
“Just felt like hitting something,” Bakugou grunted. Togata nodded seriously, looking as if he somehow understood. Bakugou doubted the sunshiney boy had ever felt as [you need to get ahold of yourself or no one will ever be able to love you] angry as he felt at the moment, but sometimes people were surprising.
“Hitting a bag or do you wanna run some mitts with us?” Togata nodded his head toward Amajiki.
“I think I’d better stick to a bag.” Bakugou didn’t trust himself not to try and full-on fight someone tonight, and he really didn’t want to upset Togata or Amajiki. Especially because they had been training longer than he had and could probably kick his ass. He’d never admit it, though.
“Okay! Let me know if you change your mind!” Togata dropped the towel and squared back up, the motion causing Amajiki to put the mitts back on and resume the striking sequences. Bakugou watched as Amajiki called a very quiet four and Togata went jab, cross, hook, and then forgot the uppercut, bursting into laughter as Amajiki held the mitt and just stared at him, waiting for a strike that didn’t come.
“Mirio!” Amajiki whined, much more open as his attention shifted solely onto Togata. “You’re not paying attention.”
“I’m sorry! I got distracted,” Togata laughed. Amajiki rolled his eyes.
“You’re stupid,” he said, and Bakugou ducked into the bathroom, suddenly feeling he shouldn’t be there. They were so close. He didn’t let anyone that close, ever. He couldn’t.
People always got hurt when they got close to him.