Chapter Text
“No, what the hell are you doing? I am not going to see a fucking therapist!”
There is shouting outside your office, and you’re not in the most wakeful position to stop it, but hell, whoever is making that ruckus really wants to piss you off. Curse words used in such an environment? There is no doubt that it is another client, but you haven’t even looked at your schedule yet to see who your clients are. You reluctantly stop sipping your favorite drink in order to get up. Ah, the things you do in the morning…
“Good morning,” you greet the person who has been disturbing your morning.
The person who has been disturbing your morning turns out to be a very angry blond, and you recognize him right away from seeing him on the news so often. Ground Zero. You suppose that you should be ooh ing over him as everyone does, but somehow having your morning mood destroyed by the Pro Hero makes you feel ambivalent towards receiving him as a client.
There is another person with him, and it’s someone unrecognizable to you. This man is not someone you would identify as a friend to Ground Zero, but —
“Apologies for disturbances,” he says with a smile. “I am one of the publicists in Ground Zero’s agency, and I booked him an appointment with you.”
“There is no way that I’m stepping in that fake-ass office and let a therapist take apart my brain and dissect it,” Ground Zero barks out.
There is a tremor in his voice that you sense, quaking silently. Perhaps it’s nervosity breaking out at seeing the words of cognitive behavioral therapist on the glass door to your office. You can’t blame him for being scared of you like every other client you have had in the past. Seeing a therapist does take some bravery, the willingness to look at yourself as a person and to want to change yourself in a good way.
“Mr. Publicist,” you say — not minding the fact that you have no earthly clue about who the hell this guy is, “I do not allow other people to book appointments for others. It is against my policy.”
Despite the fact that you could make a lot of money by just having Ground Zero as a client, you don’t fancy yourself as a therapist who focuses on monetary gains. It’s the opposite of your goals. You want to help change people’s lives in meaningful ways that they might not notice. It is obvious that this publicist wants a quick and easy fix to get Ground Zero ranking higher than ever, and it is also painfully obvious to yourself that this is not how people heal. This publicist is hurting Ground Zero, but it’s not up to you to state this.
Even if Ground Zero’s impression on you is not very good, you sympathize with his case. He is being manipulated by someone to do something that he does not want to do. Therapy has to work on both ends. You have worked with Pro Heroes in the past since the field is known to be emotionally stressful on their personal life. In order for therapy to work, the receiving end must reciprocate the wish to change.
You note Ground Zero’s ruby eyes widening at your quick defense, and you feel some satisfaction towards his reaction. Good, you think to yourself victoriously. You dislike the common misconception that therapists are here to become brain surgeons that take your mind apart. It is the client who takes their own brain apart — not you.
“You’re fucking fired,” Ground Zero tells the publicist.
The publicist’s reaction is amusing. He blinks at Ground Zero a few times, expecting the Pro Hero to change his mind.
“Excuse me?” he says, giving Ground Zero a furious, wide-eyed look. “I am one of the agency’s top publicists. You can’t expect yourself to have the power of firing me.”
You feel like you’ve stepped into something a little bigger than yourself. Creeping back into your office, your hand slides over the handle of the door, gripping it tightly.
“I know the agency will let me fire you,” the Pro Hero informs him matter-of-factly, unaffected by the publicist’s pleas. “I’m more important to them than you, and for fuck’s sake, they’re my former classmates. They trust me.”
After a few more rounds of bickering (“Sir, you’re making a big mistake here”) and much to your own relief, the publicist finally relents, his head drooping down in defeat, and walks out of the building. None of the other therapists in the mental health clinic building have arrived to work yet to see this fiasco, which is a good thing since most of them are fond of gossip. Ground Zero turns to you, his eyes flickering with an unknown emotion.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice a bit gruff.
You cock your head to the side in confusion, not quite sure what he’s referring to. “For what?”
“For giving my ass a chance. Not many people would stand up for me like that if they’ve met me for the first time.”
“That’s what I’d do for anyone,” you tell him. “That man is an asshole.”
His mouth bursts into an endearing grin, the kind of grin that he never lets the camera capture. “I agree.”
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Kirishima is the first one to see him when he steps into the Plus Ultra Agency building. They’re in the elevator where he is trapped by the red-haired man’s gaze. He catches the look on Katsuki’s face and understands immediately, having a case of this happen before.
“You fired the new publicist? Man, Iida’s going to kill you.”
What’s unspoken is: fucking hooray! We don’t need him.
“The little shit scheduled an anger management session with a therapist without my fucking permission,” Katsuki growls, “to help me with my ‘media problem.’”
His friend’s face softens into sympathy, knowing what Katsuki means. “That’s not manly at all. You’re an adult; you can make decisions by yourself.”
Most of the former Class 3-A have had therapy sessions to some degree. Some need it more than others, and Katsuki has been avoiding this for this very reason. He hates the idea of being told it’s okay to be weak because look at what happened to All Might because of one little vulnerability which was him! He’s sure that at some point he’ll do therapy sessions, but he wants to book them on his own accord, not because of some self-entitled idiot.
“Which therapist did he choose?” Kirishima asks curiously. “There are few therapists that are suited to help Pro Heroes.”
Katsuki says your name, and it tastes nice on his lips, the sound spilling out in a pleasant manner. Normally, when he says people’s names, they come out as spontaneous bursts of energy, but your name seems to be an exception and he doesn’t mind it.
“Oh, them! They’re super nice, even if I haven’t had a therapy session with them,” says Kirishima, lighting up at the mention of you. “We’re pretty good friends, too. There’s something about them that makes you feel like you matter.”
He remembers the way you approached the publicist, compassion dripping all over your voice. It’s not the flowery kind that he has seen from other people in the past, ready to wilt at any given moment when they don’t need to use you anymore. It’s the flourishing kind that makes flowers bloom just because you want to, not because you have to.
Katsuki understands what Kirishima means, and he considers you for a few moments. Perhaps you honestly, truly want to help people, he decides. Katsuki has the right to back out of the therapy sessions if he doesn’t like anything that happens there, and he feels secure with that option. He is aware of his shortcomings as a person. The rest of his former classmates — now co-workers — understand him and let him be, but he knows that he can’t keep going on like this, exploding at everything he doesn’t like.
“Do you have Y/N’s office’s number?” he asks Kirishima.
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The week after you first meet Ground Zero, you see him again through the use of your cell phone while you scroll through the news on your phone during your lunch break. It’s his signature angry face that pops up on your screen, making you choke on your breath when you catch a headline that reads, Media Company Sues Ground Zero for Destroying over 100 Cameras. Never mind your newfound positive emotions towards him.
“One hundred cameras?” you mutter under your breath.
The number already seems insane, and in your mind, you can already think of the expenses right there. It includes the lenses, memory cards, and more, which is pricey. One of the quotes in the article from Ground Zero is, “It’s not my fucking fault that you idiots can’t figure how to properly protect your cameras.”
The door to your office opens, and you hear your name being called by the secretary of the office building. “Pardon me, but I wanted to inform you that you’ll be having a new client this afternoon.”
“A new client?”
It’s rare that you get a new client on such short notice, but you are not the one in control of your schedule — someone else is.
“Bakugou Katsuki,” the secretary elaborates. They give you a file with his name stamped on there. “I was able to squeeze him today since someone canceled last minute. He made an appointment to see you tomorrow, but I moved it so you can leave work early tomorrow, too.”
They leave quickly, eager to not waste a minute of their own lunch break. You glance at the schedule on your work calendar, and sure enough, Bakugou Katsuki has been electronically squeezed in by the secretary right after your lunch. You file through one of the forms he filled out when booking an appointment with you, his scratchy handwriting jumping out at you.
There is a confidence to his words as he explains his reasoning for booking an appointment with you on the paper. He has a bad temper, but there is also an arrogance to his words as he makes sure to emphasize that he is coming to see you on his own terms — not because anyone else told him to do so.
Outside the door, you can hear the footsteps of Bakugou as he signs in with the front desk. He is quite loud, and you make a note to make sure to keep your volume level in check, none too loud or soft.
When he enters the room, you make sure to hide your surprise. What the hell? You should have done a background check on Bakugou because he’s also Ground Zero! There is something really different about Pro Heroes in their civilian clothes that make them seem so… ordinary and human. It emphasizes that they’re as vulnerable as other people, only using their Quirk to help the world. He wears a dark hoodie that frames his face, and you can see an earbud plugged into one ear, heavy bass being played loudly. His eyes dart around the room, scrutinizing every part of it.
“Hello, Grou —”
“You don’t need to call me by that hero shit,” Bakugou interrupts. “I’m a civilian outside Pro Hero work.”
You continue to smile at him, repeating your greeting with his given name. “Hello, Bakugou.”
You’re not even quite sure why Bakugou needs to come, even if he listed himself as someone prone to anger. It sounds like someone forced him to come, though he insisted earlier that that is not the case. He seems more like a drama queen, but you remind yourself that every person who comes to therapy has a goal in mind. You, as the therapist, have to help him find what he wants out of his life. Breaking cameras may seem minor, but there is a root to his problems and that’s what you’re here for.
“The publicist — whatever happened to him?” you ask, letting honest curiosity flow through your voice.
“He got fired,” Bakugou answers, humor in his voice. “Iida — Ingenium — said it was highly unprofessional of him to fuck around — I mean, interfere with my life.”
“Bakugou, it’s okay to swear,” you tell him. After all, you yourself swear, and you would be forcing double standards upon your clients. “It’s a form of self-expression.”
He raises his eyebrows, a bit suspicious. “Is it your way of trying to cozy up to me? If it is, it’s not working.”
“Swearing is how people communicate,” you say with a laugh. You go on the internet to find the article you read on your phone earlier, turning the monitor towards him. “‘It’s not my fucking fault that you idiots can’t figure how to properly protect your cameras?’ What do you think about what they quoted?”
“I mean, the paparazzi is trying to make money off of my existence.” Bakugou shrugs. “It’s part of my public image.”
“But what do you want for your public image?” You feel like you're his publicist all the sudden, but he repeatedly emphasized earlier that he had a temper. “What do you want people to view you as?”
“A hero,” he says with a straight face.
Okay, this is going to take some work. You have seen too many Pro Heroes with the mindset that in order to be a good Pro Hero, they have to be viewed as a hero. They are not wrong, but they also have to be aware of the effect on themselves. The push to have the best image possible for the public to see can deteriorate one’s mental health.
You discover that Bakugou is more or less a victim of the media. His words are usually taken out of context from what you can tell from talking with him, and he is somehow earnest with everything he does. He is more of a movement kind of person, choosing to pace around the office instead of sit.
When you do talk, he carefully listens and digests what you have to say.
After your first session with him, you start out with giving him homework assignments each session as you have noted that he dislikes the way the media portrays him. It’s one of his complaints when he steps into the office because there is a new nickname that they give him every week, and to be honest, you also aren’t fond of the treatment he gets either. Bakugou is better than what they portray him as. They call him a self-centered, brawny hero, but there is so much more to him.
He is considerate where it counts, always willing to try to do something. When he doesn’t complete the first homework assignment you have given him, he is devastated, a frown tugging at the ends of his mouth. The homework assignment you have given him is not show up on any tabloid magazines. It’s something completely out of the ballpark from what you can tell from Bakugou’s perplexed expression, and he can’t understand the purpose of this.
“Those fuckers always make me pissed,” Bakugou spits out at a rapid-fire speed the week after you assign him homework. “How the hell am I going to do this?”
“How do they get you pissed?” you ask him.
He thinks a little bit and then says he’ll take a rain check on that question.
When he returns next week, he is proud that he isn’t on the cover page of the tabloid magazines. Instead, it’s someone else in his agency, Grape Juice, for harassing a woman on the street. Despite Grape Juice doing this every week, the two of you are proud because Bakugou found a way to make the paparazzi find another story to write.
Despite him being more receptive than most clients, there are other factors to consider because you aren’t a therapist for nothing. He has found something within him that made him want to book an appointment with you. A month into your therapy sessions, you decide to breach a topic you know is a prominent factor in Bakugou’s life whether he admits or not. In fact, it’s perfect timing because Bakugou has just finished a rescue mission with Deku for a kindergarten class that was held ransom by a villain.
When he enters the door, the first thing you do is congratulate him. “Good job on the mission!”
“The villain was full of bullshit,” Bakugou says. You can tell that he’s pleased by your compliment, which immediately sets up the environment you intend to go for. “Just one explosion from me, and it was done!”
“That’s good.” You pretend to read through the newspaper. Each page is flimsy against your hand, and you finally land on the photo of him and Deku. You show the page to him, a picture of him and Deku standing side by side while holding a kid together. “You were with Deku, too?”
“Why are you talking about him?” Bakugou narrows his eyes at you. “Isn’t this about me?”
The two of you don’t usually talk about other Pro Heroes, the ones that Bakugou works with. You are well-aware of the fact that he has trained with them during his senior high school years and is close with them. He regards his co-workers very highly, caring about them deeply even if he doesn’t say so, but Deku is the exception to this as Bakugou always makes some kind of comment about him that doesn’t sound right to your ears.
This time though, you can connect the puzzle pieces of Bakugou Katsuki. The persona he gives off is a perfectionist, and you always hear about this being lamented over in the news when he brushes off someone’s praises. He has an obvious misconception of the therapy sessions, and at least he has revealed it now than later.
The playful atmosphere in your office disappears, shifting to a chilling anger that you have never felt before from him. You can feel the intensity of his stare, boring into you. The way that he makes sure that his anger is there causes you to inwardly gulp. You’ve touched a nerve, and he makes sure that you’re very aware of it when he storms out of your office, explosions peppering from his palms.
A week later, Bakugou doesn’t come to his scheduled appointment with you, and you can feel that absence eat into you, making you feel guilty for bringing up Deku. You try to immerse yourself with other clients, distracting yourself from the concern you hold for the blond Pro Hero. The only time you ever see him is on the TV this week when he is being interviewed, and he has improved with how he interacts with the reporters. You can see him following the steps that you asked him to do, taking deep breaths whenever he feels agitated by a question.
He’s everywhere, but at the same time, he’s nowhere near you.
The sound of his pacing around the office has become a familiarity to you, and you’re surprised by how attached you are to him. When has Bakugou Katsuki become a fixture in your work life? you wonder. You have been trained to make sure that you know the difference between your personal and work lives, and so far, you are starting to stray from that point.
“Yo!”
You’re at the gym today, and you fuel all your unresolved emotions from work into your workout by running. The sound of Kirishima’s voice breaks your thoughts, and you glance at him, feeling the warmth from his radiant smile. Sure, you know that he is Red Riot, another Pro Hero on the scene, but he could be a therapist in another life with how he thoughtfully listens to you yourself. He hops onto one of the treadmills next to you.
“Hi, Kirishima,” you say, grunting. You pull one of your earbuds out of your ear, letting loud music stream out of it. “How are you? Haven’t seen you around the gym often nowadays.”
He easily settles into the old routine of being gym buddies with you. “Good. I’ve been working overtime a lot this past month, so I couldn’t really stop by the gym.”
“Take a break,” you remind him. “It’s not good to focus all your energy into work.”
“Yes,” he says with a salute.
It makes you laugh at his lack of seriousness, and it’s refreshing outside of the workplace. You delve into his work where he is solving a case with his co-workers, a highly publicized case. Some of your questions are not answered due to the confidentiality of his case, which you can accept, having the same policy for your work with clients. He understands when he touches a topic that you cannot talk about because he is in the same bucket as you. In a way, both of your jobs are similar, yet they are so different from each other.
Kirishima tells you about his work, starting with Deku — one of his co-workers. With a pang in your heart, you remember your attempt to mention him in your therapy session with Bakugou. Look where that went, your mind mocks you. Look at where you went wrong.
“Midoriya’s such a nice guy and helped me when I worked overtime with no one around me, so to thank him, I helped him with asking out Todoroki.”
You mentally shudder at the idea. “Endeavor?”
“No, not him. I mean, his son, Shouto Todoroki.”
The name instantly resonates within you.
“Isn’t he the good-looking one out of your graduating class?” you muse aloud.
Your comment makes Kirishima aghast. “I get that Todoroki is super manly and all, but there are other male Pro Heroes out there that are good-looking. Besides, he’s oblivious as fuck to every single damn person in the universe.”
“Okay, chill. You’re manly as hell,” you say with a laugh.
“Ain’t that right.” Kirishima gives you a high-five, slapping your hand hard. You try not to fall off the treadmill at the impact. “Midoriya cried like hell when Todoroki accepted, and it was so adorable. Everyone except Bakugou congratulated them.”
“Bakugou?” You pretend to be interested in this, asking, “Why not him?”
Kirishima must not be aware of your ulterior motive for asking this when he says, “He and Midoriya were childhood friends. They have a weird relationship — something in the past happened between them, but I know that Bakugou’s happy for them. He just doesn’t say it.”
“He sounds like a tsundere,” you comment wryly.
Your comment makes Kirishima bark out a laugh, shaking you off his radar of suspicions. “Yeah, we’ve told him that, and I think he’s secretly an otaku.”
Later that day, you decide to make a call in your office, even if it’s off-hours. Your secretary is not a fan of doing overtime, which is acceptable and it’s up to you to take responsibility for what you have done. You feel genuinely guilty for prodding Bakugou on like that, and honestly, isn’t it your job to help people rather than destroy their lives? You vow to fix what you have done.
You search through the files, finding Bakugou’s phone number in his files easily. In the rest of his file, there are notes you have taken for each therapy session, marking his progress. There are even recordings on the computer between the two of you, but you won’t touch those until Bakugou is finished with therapy.
Your cell phone seems like a foreign object when you touch it, cold and unempathetic. The landline hasn’t been working for the last few days, and your service provider will be coming later this week to help out, so you dial Bakugou’s number, each press against the screen heavy and sluggish.
“Yo, who is the fucking shitter calling at this hour?” You hear Bakugou’s familiar voice.
“This is Y/N speaking,” you say, mustering up your courage.
Silence meets you.
You should have known this was too good to be true when he picked up your call. He’s not quite hanging up, which means something, but saying nothing —
“Are you going to shit me out for not attending a therapy session?” Bakugou drawls.
You shake your head affirmatively and then realize with embarrassment that he can’t see you. “Of course not. I just wanted to know… how are you doing?”
“Fucking good without your help.”
That stings, you think to yourself but brush off the negative comment. From what you have seen from Bakugou, it’s a defense mechanism meant to shield others from seeing his vulnerabilities. Ever since a child, Bakugou has described to you that others see him as flawless for having the “perfect” Quirk for being a Pro Hero, and this mindset is a burden to him. The idea of the whole world putting all their expectations upon your shoulders is not a fun experience.
“I’m sorry. I fucked up,” you tell him. “It’s up to you how you want to progress.”
“Damn straight.” Bakugou makes a sharp intake of breath, and you are suddenly aware of how sensitive phone calls can be. You can hear every little sound that Bakugou makes through the speaker, the phone’s speaker rustling — meaning that he’s probably getting out of bed. He seems to be more reasonable, though, in comparison to your last session with him. “If you wanted to know about Deku and I, you could have told me. I did overreact, but I would like it if you told me the reason of why you brought that shit up.”
“Because you don’t tell me any of the bad parts of your past,” you finally say.
It’s true. Every time he talks about the past, he talks about how everyone crowded around him praising his Quirk and telling him that he could be the No. 1 Pro Hero of Japan. He talks about how stupid his childhood was because everyone let him get away with everything.
This is all according to him, but you can see the cracks in his story with “everyone let him get with everything” because he did something he regretted.
“I thought therapy was about the present — not the past.”
“It’s about looking at your present self, and the past affects the present in some way. Everyone — and I didn’t stalk you or anything like that, but I know Pro Heroes who mention you a lot — tells me about how you and Deku are childhood friends, but you always omit him from the sessions.”
The last thing he says before he hangs up on you is, “That’s because I don’t want you to see how fucked up I am.”
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Bakugou demands that the two of you eat katsudon on your next session, and you’re happy to oblige from your guilt. You’re surprised that he even bothered to come to this therapy session after discussion on the phone. There is a strange demeanor to him when he sits down with you at a small table in a private booth. The restaurant gives it to him gladly due to his Pro Hero status. It is something you originally worried about because you do have to hold up client confidentiality, but he waves it away, throwing caution to the wind.
“Katsudon’s Deku’s favorite food,” Bakugou tells you, sipping a hot cup of tea. He seems uncomfortable, but you’re glad that he’s trying to overcome his fear of not being perfect. “If a villain was trying to poison him, he would gladly eat this despite the poison.”
You laugh as the restaurant owner slides two hot bowls of katsudon. The smell is intoxicating, and you can’t remember the last time you ate it.
“I bullied Deku,” Bakugou says bluntly just as you are about to shove some rice and pork cutlets into your mouth. “Back then, I thought he was Quirkless and took advantage of his idolization of Quirks by harassing him.”
At least he’s coming through with something, you decide. You think about this, quietly processing his words. Quirkless people are getting less common, a recessive gene now. You yourself are Quirkless, but you had people around you that helped that hurt ebb away. Sure, whenever you see a Pro Hero doing something with their Quirk, there’s an ache within you because they are the face of this society.
“What do you think about that?” you ask.
“I think that no one should have let me get away with that shit.”
Again with the repetition of “I shouldn’t have gotten away with it.” You’re starting to see a pattern, and you give him a homework assignment that makes him purse his lips but reluctantly agree. Afterwards, you start conversing about other things that are happening to Bakugou (“Everyone’s dating in my workplace, and it’s making me sick” “Does that make you want to date?” “Fuck, no”), and you’re pleased that you were able to get to your main goal, chipping away the walls of Bakugou Katsuki. There’s a satisfaction that comes with helping other people. Bakugou has made so much growth, but you know there’s still a long way to go.
When he walks away outside, you realize that the two of you forgot to pay the bill, and you head up to the restaurant owner who mans the whole restaurant. He has a grandfatherly air to him, something that you have always appreciated about these establishments. The restaurant owner looks at you carefully with a glint in his eyes.
“You two are a lovely couple,” he says.
You sputter, not sure how to respond. “Sir, I think you’re looking at the wrong people. We have a different kind of relationship.”
“You should look at his eyes.” Wisdom leaks into his voice. “They carry starlight within them. Treasure that starlight because when it lights up, it explodes.”
Exiting the restaurant, the old man’s words echo again. They sound so precious, and there’s a little voice in you that wants it to be true. The relief that you felt from Bakugou continuing the therapy sessions, the want to see him when he wasn’t there…
You widen your eyes. What the fuck — when did you start liking Bakugou Katsuki?
It is forbidden for therapists to conduct any sexual or romantic relationships with their clients, and you’re starting to see why. Your feelings leak into the sessions, obstructing any progress that you could have made with them objectively. You have been taught not to have any feelings for them, and you have ignored all the signs that have pointed to liking Bakugou.
Maybe Bakugou likes you back, the same coy voice comes back again, reminding you of the old man’s comments about the look of Bakugou’s eyes. After all, he did say that he didn’t want you to see him as a fucked-up person.
When you eat dinner in your own apartment, the food tastes unusually bland, and you know your mind is so distracted by this new discovery of yours. At first, liking Bakugou was easy and peppered with anime CGs until reality set in.
You make a call to your boss, your fingers trembling as you do it.
I’m sorry, Bakugou…
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Katsuki has done it.
Apologizing is weird to Deku, but you did assign him this homework and he will be damned if he doesn’t complete it. The words slip out of his mouth, thick and heavy, filled with unresolved feelings that he has never had the courage to say aloud until now. Deku has this certain characteristic that makes it easy — far too easy — for Katsuki to relax around him, widening his eyes with acceptance and forgiveness.
It feels so warm.
Deku cries for at least thirty minutes in his arms, planting his face into Katsuki’s hoodie. They’re off duty, so they can afford this time to themselves. He had been very surprised when Katsuki texted him with a time and a location because you know, Katsuki doesn’t do texting. He guesses that he should be sick of how much katsudon he has eaten today, but for some reason, he feels fine with it, even relaxed because of the home-like flavor.
“What made you do it?” Deku asks curiously. His cheeks are stuffed with pork cutlets, eating it so quickly. “I mean, I appreciate the sentiment and all, but —”
“Oi, nerd, don’t start rambling on me. Slow down when you’re shoveling all this shit into your mouth.” Deku opens his mouth to defend his precious katsudon, but Katsuki continues, “I’ve been in therapy. It’s been coming for me for a long time, and I’ve accepted that.”
“Oh.” Deku’s flustered by this, and Katsuki understands why. It is out-of-character of him to do such a thing because he has adamantly refused every time the Plus Ultra Agency head (Iida) tries to convince him to do it. He knows that Deku has been in therapy, too, — physical and mental therapy. Unlike Katsuki, he’s not ashamed of it, openly flaunting his weaknesses to other people. “That’s — that’s great.”
“It is?” he says in surprise, expecting more waterworks.
Deku gives him a look. “You know, one of the things that I molded into myself was your confidence, Kacchan. It’s something that has helped me every time I go into the field. This time, I can see that you tried for me after all these years.”
“I thought you would be angry at me,” Katsuki admits, and it’s a great relief to get this all off his chest. “I was so scared of rejection.”
“Who’s your therapist?” Deku asks curiously. “There are some real jerks out there, and it took me a while to find someone who wanted to help me — not because I’m the Symbol of Peace or anything like that.”
He tells Deku about you and what you have done together in your therapy sessions in the last month. Strangely enough, he knows that his childhood friend won’t make fun of him or tease him or anything like that. He just sits there and listens, adding bits and pieces here and there of his own opinion. There are so many things that Katsuki likes about you, and you’re the reason why he keeps going to these sessions. Even if Katsuki didn’t like the past, you kept pushing him, telling him that it was okay. You see him for who he is, not some arrogant Pro Hero ready to explode at any given moment.
At the end of his little monologue, Deku says, “Wow, you must like them a lot.”
“Excuse me?” Katsuki feels like he’s missing out on a big joke.
“I’ve never heard you talk about anyone like that — not even for work,” Deku explains, combing his hair out of his face with his fingers. “If anything, I think you’re —”
“Crushing on them?” Katsuki mumbles, his voice a little breathier.
He thinks about it a little more. Katsuki doesn’t usually have crushes on anyone for many reasons because no one ever strikes his interest, but you have captured his interest, being a constant in his day and life. It’s not in the therapeutic way as much as Katsuki appreciates you.
“I have a crush on Y/N,” he says aloud.
Deku flashes him a grin. “Do you want tips on how to ask them out?”
“No, you dipshit,” he says with a scoff.
Deku leans over the table far enough to the point where Katsuki can see the tips of his eyelashes. “I did succeed in asking out Todoroki for your information.”
“And as you have told everyone at work several times,” Katsuki adds for good measure, making Deku laugh.
“Excuse me, Ground Zero,” one of the waitresses interrupts their conversation. “Someone stopped by and told us to give this letter to you. They said you would accept it.”
His heart stops for a short moment when he sees your familiar handwriting. Katsuki glances at Deku, not sure if his friend is okay with him reading this letter now, and his heart desperately wants to know what you have to say — what is so important for you to say that you have to put it in a letter.
Dear Bakugou Katsuki,
You might wonder why I’ve given you a letter, especially when you’re currently eating dinner with a certain green-haired Pro hero, but I already knew that you would be eating at the same restaurant when you mentioned that you would complete the homework assignment tonight.
As your therapist, I have decided to refer you to someone else who has your best interests in mind, someone who can help you in your future endeavors in life. I can’t do it. Do you know why?
I have feelings for you. It’s not the simple, fleeting school crush that flies by in an instant. It’s the kind where I want to see you and want to know how you’re doing outside our sessions. There’s something inside me desperately trying to explode — not because of your Quirk — and you’re the one who has detonated all wonderful feelings inside of me.
They’re going to interfere with your progress, and I shouldn’t be burdening you with all of my feelings, but I know you value honesty over glossing over things, which is why I’m doing this.
Thank you for making my life so colorful, dripping in so much paint that it will never dry.
Thank you for giving me something to look forward to every week out of my plain, ordinary life.
I am ashamed of myself for not being able to suppress these feelings like I have been taught to and continue to help you in our sessions like a true therapist, and I apologize for hurting you like this. To ease this process, I will disappear from your life. The person I’ve referred you to is a wonderful co-worker who will help you more than I ever will be able to.
Love,
Y/N
Bakugou never has known that something could be so fatally destructive, tearing all of his emotions up and making him cry. He knows that you won’t be receiving any of his phone calls any time soon. He knows that this is the truth, that you would do this, staying true to your own ideals instead of your own heart.
Deku looks at him, confusion flooding his eyes. “Are you okay?”
“No,” is the raspy answer that comes out of his mouth, his voice cracking with all of the unsaid feelings he has for you. “I’m not.”