Chapter Text
Katsuki groans as the non-stop yammering of his fucking self-declared friends threatens to tip the headache that has been steadily building all morning into a full grown migraine. He does his best to block them out as they cross the busy cafeteria throng, aiming for a place in the fast moving lunch line.
The staff at Lunch Rush don’t fuck around. Having cooked in the dorm kitchens for his classmates on more than one occasion after a relentless day of hero training exercises, Katsuki can appreciate the organizaton and efficiency required to churn out enough meals to feed the entire school in their short allotted break. His mind wanders as they amble forward, watching as meat is fried, soup poured, and rice scooped in a perfect assembly line, and to his embarrassment he is caught completely unaware when Shitty Hair suddenly prods him from behind.
“Haaahh, the fuck?!” Katsuki sputters indignantly as he whips around to see where the fuck that fucker found the audacity - instantly regretting the sudden movement as his head gives another blinding throb.
Kirishima’s face splits in a well-practiced undaunted grin, and Katsuki squints against the painfully brilliant white of his sharp teeth.
“All good, Bakubro? You walked right past the trays!” Katsuki blinks, and lowers his gaze to where a plastic tray is proffered.
“Tch”, is all he says in return, reluctantly accepting the tray and turning back to where a Lunch Rush worker is impatiently waiting to hear his choice of entree.
It’s uncomfortable to think that a year ago he’d have been flipping tables, headache or no headache, at the perceived slight - who are these extras to think he needs help with anything - when now the thought of reacting so violently over such a harmless gesture makes him cringe. Sure, he’s not about to do anything so sentimental as fucking thank Shitty Hair or anything, but he thinks Hound Dog would be pleased to see how not “psychotically” (the words of fucking concerned background extras and teachers, not his) he had handled the small interaction.
Lunch finally retrieved, Katsuki turns automatically to head to their usual table, but another stab of pain behind his eyes makes him rethink the routine. He never backs down from a challenge, and if there was a villain in front of him he’d kaboom the fucker through the roof without a stupid heachache slowing him down for even half a second. But in the absence of mortal threat, or of even his grades being on the line, he has to admit that he can-fucking-not face spending the entire lunch period goddam smack in the middle of the rowdy cafeteria, sitting with the loudest idiots in the building.
“Bakugou, come on!” Horns chirps cheerfully, indicating the free seat next to her as their other friends take theirs. He ignores her, scanning the wide hall in the hope of finding somewhere remotely bearable to sit. He supposes he could return to the classroom, but that seems so far… Ugh, since when was he as whiny as fucking Deku?!
A dark corner in the remote reaches of the cafeteria draws his eye, and he recalls that the fixture in that area had blown just a few days past. Perfect, they haven’t replaced that yet, then. He grips his tray and sets off, warning the Bakusquad - what a dumb fucking name - not to follow, and ignoring their concerned yelps, he leaves them behind.
Eyes half closed against the noise and brightness, he walks, then huffs a quiet exhale of relief as he finally sinks onto a chair in his chosen sanctuary. Uncaring of anyone who might be watching him for a moment of weakness - shit, was that thought from his kidnapping trauma or his fucked up childhood mentalily? Fucking Hound Dog and fucking therapy - he gratefully slides his lunch to the side and rests his forehead down on the blissfully cool metal table. None of his previous schools had furnished so many rooms using mainly metal - he fuzzily supposes most material are ill-suited to a mob of hungry, hormonal teenagers with devastatingly powerful quirks.
“Uh.” A monotone voice sounds, far too close for comfort. Who the fuck?! Katsuki whips his head back up - fucking ow ow - and is briefly stunned to find himself face to face with Purple Brain Blender.
“This is a private party”, Katsuki snarls, “find a different table, fuck face”.
Infuriatingly, Violet Screen Saver seems utterly unphased.
“Hello to you too, Bakugou. As childish as this is to point out, I happened to be sitting here first.” he drawls tonelessly, and indeed now that Katsuki is properly looking, he finds that the meal across the table is clearly half-finished.
“Fucking figures you’d slink around in a dark fucking corner like this.” Katsuki grumbles, and the purple eyes staring him down turn as icy as Candy Cane’s left hand. He’s surprised when instead of the biting retort he expects, his accidental companion apparently chooses to ignore him completely. Fine by him.
Katsuki purposefully calms himself with a quick counting exercise as he forces himself to eat what he can of his meal. He knows he’ll need every spare calorie for the upcoming afternoon of sparring, but his hunger has turned to nausea in the wake of this persistent pain ricocheting through his skull. Thankfully, despite not being entirely alone, it is dark and quiet and Katsuki feels himself slowly relax.
Closing his eyes, Katsuki gently kneads his temples with his fingertips, slowly moving inwards to his painful eyes, the firm pressure bringing momentary relief. He is so absorbed that he nearly startles when Purple People Creeper speaks up again.
“What did you mean.” It’s not a question, and the words sound as though they have been bitten out, each one reluctantly torn from the speaker.
“Hahhh?!?!” Katsuki has no idea what the fuck he’s on about? What did he mean? He thinks back angrily, the two of them had barely spoken and he had been enjoying that.
“What did you mean,” Blank Brain grits his teeth, “you’d expect to find me here?”
“The fuck does it matter!”
“...Forget it”. His face smooths suddenly, as though the victim of his own quirk, and he begins to gather his things, clearly finished with whatever the fuck encounter this has been.
Katsuki’s not sure why he responds, but… “those stupid ugly bags under your eyes.”
Said eyes again meet his, brows above them lowering.
“You seem like a fucking night owl or something, I don’t fucking know.”
To Katsuki’s own surprise, the purple wet wipe’s placid expression breaks for a short instant of mild shock. Was that so fucking unexpected? His head tilts to the side, as though evaluating Katsuki, making him bristle. Then to his second surprise in nearly as many seconds, the other teen reaches into his pocket and quietly places a pill bottle on the table.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing prescription, just ibuprofen. Keep it.” And with these parting words he meanders away, leaving Katsuki too baffled to shout at him until he has already put too much distance between them.