Chapter Text
Katsuki was disappointed, but not surprised when his foot connected with the side of Todoroki’s head and sent him sprawling across the mat. He had been distracted their entire sparring match, and it was honestly starting to piss Katsuki off.
Every day Aizawa-sensei has the class spar in the quirk gym, a big open space well fortified and designed to withstand an array of quirks. The pairs are handpicked by Aizawa himself and change every four weeks. So far Katsuki had been paired with Shouji, Uraraka (now that had been fun), and now was just beginning a new rotation with Todoroki. The first two days had been fine, blasting apart glaciers and fighting fire with fire, but today had been pathetic and Katsuki was not going to let it slide.
Todoroki sat up, touching a hand to the already forming bruise, and managed to fit in a dignified, “Ow,” before Katsuki had his hand in his collar and started shaking him.
“OI WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ICY HOT?” He shouted, hands sparking and burning holes into Todoroki’s shirt.
Their classmates' fights slowed to a stop as they began to take notice of the commotion. Kaminari turned his head at the wrong time and one of Jirou's ear jacks jabbed him in the cheek, and Katsuki swore he saw Yaoyorozu with a half-formed cannon sticking out of her stomach. Kirishima and Deku were the closest to them, however, so they were the ones to hurry over to intervene.
“Uh, Bakubro,” Kirishima said as he approached. “You might want to stop shaking him.”
Katsuki supposed that Kirishima was probably right, and that violent shaking wasn’t the best thing for a head injury, but felt that since it was Icy Hot it was justified. He let go anyways, and it absolutely was not because of the sight that greeted him when he looked up.
Kirishima had removed his shirt before the start of the exercise, as had Deku, and now Katsuki was met face to face with Kirishima’s bare chest. The same chest he had prior been trying to ignore. His throat suddenly felt very dry as he watched beads of sweat roll down.
“Dude,” Kirishima started, and Katsuki snapped out of it. His face definitely was not a little pink.
“Shut the fuck up, Shitty hair, he’s fine.”
“I’m not so sure, Kacchan. He looks a little out of it.” Katsuki glanced over to see Deku squatting next to Todoroki and snapping his fingers in front of his face, who offered no response other than to stare dumbly at Deku with a spell-bound look. Katsuki rolled his eyes.
By this time Aizawa-sensei had arrived, looking disgruntled at having to leave the comfort of his sleeping bag and deal with his student’s antics. “Bakugou,” he said tiredly, like he’d been doing this all day (it was only ten in the morning) “please take him to Recovery Girl.”
“Hah? Why not any of these extras? I have more important shit to worry about like finding a COMPETENT FUCKING PARTNER!” The last part was directed at Todoroki, who winced at the volume.
“Um, you might want to stop yelling too, Kacchan.”
“AND WHY WOULD I LISTEN TO YOU DEKU?”
Todoroki grimaced again, “I think I agree with Midoriya.”
“I DON’T FUCKING-“
“Because you caused the injury, it's your responsibility, and it’s dangerous to let someone with head trauma go alone,” Aizawa cut Katsuki off with a sigh. “Besides, you’re not allowed to change partners yet anyways.”
Katsuki glared at him. It was the fucking Peppermint Prince’s fault for getting kicked in the head, he was the one who was half-assing the assignment and not paying attention, and Katsuki refused to let himself he held back by something as stupid as someone who didn’t take their training seriously.
A staring contest commenced, beady red eyes boring into tired red ones as Aizawa erased the explosions Katsuki’s hands itched to make. Deku looked wildly back and forth between them like he was worried about being in the line of fire.
“Dude," he heard Kirishima plead next to him.
Katsuki finally gritted out a harsh “fine,” and hauled Todoroki to his feet. Deku and Kirishima moved to help, but quickly skittered out of the way as Katsuki dragged a stumbling Todoroki to the door.
Kaminari and Sero cheered that Todoroki wasn’t dead, but were quickly cut off by Aizawa. “What is everyone doing? Get back to work, there’s no time to stop and stare in a real villain fight.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shouto was not having a good day.
The bright sunlight from the windows lining the hall drilled into his eyes and made his head pound like a bodybuilder was using it as a gong. Maybe one was if the ringing in his ears was any indication. He frowned, concentrating on the noise. Nope, the ringing was just Bakugou.
“I swear to fucking god you half-and-half bastard that was pathetic! A shriveled old lady with a broken leg could have dodged that shitty fucking kick! If you don’t-”
“Have you ever considered being a bodybuilder?” Shouto asked.
“I- WHAT!?” His voice reverberated off the linoleum floor and sent echoes crashing down the empty hallway, filling Shouto with instant regret as his migraine doubled in intensity.
“Nevermind,” he grimaced. “Just please stop talking.”
That was apparently the last straw, because Bakugou stopped dragging him and shoved him into the wall with a snarl.
“Alright motherfucker you're gonna tell me why the hell you were so distracted and then you’re going to fucking fix it, because evidently I’m stuck with you for the next four weeks and I’m not going to fall behind just cause my sparring partner is a piece of shit!”
Shouto blinked, slowly processing the situation. “Bakugou, are you aware of the inherent homoerotism of pinning someone against a wall?”
Pros: he was no longer caged against a wall.
Cons: he was pretty sure his hair was singed and it felt like his skull was splitting in half.
“YOU’D BETTER EXPLAIN RIGHT FUCKING NOW ICY HOT OR-”
“If I tell you, will you shut up?” His voice was strained and he reached up to rub his temple.
Bakugou’s face twisted with pure fury, but to Shouto’s great relief he stopped yelling.
“Spill,” he spat out.
Shouto pushed himself off the wall and slowly brushed off the ash coating his gym shirt, frowning at the holes burned through it. He looked up at Bakugou.
“Really?” He asked, gesturing to them.
He fought a smile as Bakugou made a noise like a tea kettle; he could almost imagine steam coming out of his ears. However, as much as he loved pissing Bakugou off, he figured he should hurry and get to the point before he gave him permanent brain damage.
“I was distracted because...” Shouto looked down, suddenly feeling embarrassed as he realized what he had agreed to confess. His ears heated and he resisted the urge to fidget. Damn it, of course the first person he tells is Bakugou of all people. “Well…” He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the inevitable screaming, and looked him right in the eye. “Because Midoriya was shirtless and I like him.”
Surprisingly, there was no screaming, which Shouto was very grateful for, but he did watch Bakugou’s expression speedrun through the five stages of grief. Finally, he let out a laugh. “Shitty Deku? Really? That’s fucking pathetic, Candy Cane.”
Indignation lit up in Shouto’s chest. “You weren’t exactly at a hundred percent either, Bakugou,” he fired back.
“WHAT DID YOU FUCKING SAY?” Shouto was amazed that no teacher had come running to see what was going on, considering how loud he was. Then again, he figured most of the school was probably deaf to Bakugou at this point.
He rolled his eyes, ignoring the spike in pain. “You were distracted too. Care to explain why?”
Bakugou glowered. “I don’t have to tell you shit! Find your own way to Recovery Girl.” He turned to leave.
“Alright, it’s fine if you’re scared.” Shouto baited.
Bakugou whirled back around, “Fuck you, who said I was scared!?” He snorted, “So I was in the same boat as you with Shitty Hair, but I didn’t let it affect my fighting, so take that you bastard!” He said boastfully.
Shouto blinked. Bakugou, with a crush? The image of a blushing Bakugou wearing a flower crown and holding hands with Kirishima entered his mind, and he felt genuine horror at the notion. Some of it must have shown on his face because Bakugou kicked him in the shin.
“Oi, got something you wanna say?”
“You… were distracted by Kirishima’s man titties?”
Bakugou sputtered, turning bright red in either anger or embarrassment, probably both. “Well, you’re the dumbass who got kicked in the brain! And I wasn’t fucking distracted!” He shook his head and took a deep breath, seeming to collect himself. “Speaking of which, you’d better sort your shit out with Deku,” he said, jabbing a finger at him. “My training isn’t going to degrade cause of some extra’s fucking incompetence.”
Shouto glared at him, but internally he wilted a bit. He wanted to confess to Midoriya, to be able to hold his hand with the mutual understanding that it was not platonic, that they meant something different to each other, but he had no clue where to start. He didn’t know if Midoriya even liked guys!
Looking at Bakugou’s harsh face (seriously, he didn’t know what the girls saw in him), he suddenly had an idea. An awful idea.
“Bakugou,” he slowly smiled. “I think we might be able to help each other.”