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Shoto lays the blanket on Midoriya, and responds to Sato.
“Given that I’m Dabi’s brother and Endeavor’s son, I think I’m also still viewed as a concern.”
That… was an understatement. Or maybe an approximation between the wildly polarised opinions of the public. He’s tried to keep mostly off his phone - not that he’s had much time outside of hunting down Endeavour and Midoriya - but it seems people have a lot to say on the topic of his family. People on all sides of the discussion: a few still believing in Endeavour, even some siding with Dabi. But they weren’t just weighing in on his family: there already seemed to be copious discussions on how he fits into the situation, opinions on whether or not he was at fault, what he should or shouldn’t do about Dabi, speculations on his life and career and scar. He only took a brief look, having told himself some knowledge will allow him some situational awareness. He’s avoided looking again since.
“That’s some heavy family drama, dude, must be eating you up inside, even though you didn’t do anything wrong.” Kirishima replies.
Bakugo glances at him, waiting to see his reply. Shoto doesn’t meet his gaze, instead looking back at Kirishima with a small smile.
“In a way, I did. Obsessed with the blood in my veins, I lost sight of my origin. But I’ve changed, and I’m going to prove it. Until nobody has to worry about me anymore.”
Jiro grabs Bakugo by the scruff, dragging him over to her, Tokoyami, Momo and Kaminari, as they reminisce about the school festival. Shoto feels a glow at the familiarity of the image, Bakugo with a scowl, arms crossed, finally resembling class A's feral gremlin once more.
It's a far sight different to the serious, downtrodden but determined boy who has slept beside him for the last however many nights.
—
He wasn't certain whose idea it was. His memory of that night is only of stuttering moments and general feelings - he had been too tired and panicked to record the memory in any accurate way. It was their first night back in the dorms after being released from the hospital. He had woken up in a state, still feeling the burning of Dabi’s smoke in his lungs and the images of Bakugo and Midoriya falling were stamped across his eyelids.
He'd never had nightmares like this before, despite the horrors he’d faced in his childhood. Sometimes, he thinks that before UA he'd just been functioning. A consciousness in charge of a body, charged by anger. He doesn't remember feeling much else; most of the rest of the time had been clouded by a bone weary tiredness that left everything foggy.
It can’t have always been that way - there were some soft memories here and there - but he’d hardly even remembered them before UA.
Now, he's much more grounded. Much more attached to his life and all the people in it. He wonders if perhaps the Shoto from before UA wouldn't have been so haunted by the war, but now the things he saw feel like they've shredded his insides.
Though probably not like they shredded Bakugo's insides.
So this Shoto, the newly human Shoto, had woken up barely aware of his surroundings, sobbing and shaking and trying to drag oxygen into his still-burnt throat through heaving breaths.
And once he'd remembered where he was, he'd made his way down to the common room to grab a glass of water and try to remember how to breathe again.
There, softly lit by the blue light of his phone and wrapped in a blanket on the sofa, was Bakugo.
Shoto was still shaking, everything was still blurred, but he remembers rushing towards Bakugo until he could feel him, warm and alive, under his fingers, and gripped him tight enough that he couldn't fall.
He thinks he might have started sobbing again - or maybe he had never really stopped - but the rest of the night was a haze. What had been clear was the rising and falling of Bakugo's chest under his fingers in the morning, and the glowing halo of soft spikes lit by the sun streaming through the curtains.
They hadn't spoken about it. All of their waking hours in the days following had been strategising on where to find Midoriya, healing and physical therapy, and working on ultimate moves for the looming storms. The blond had been a solid, unwavering presence, forcing Shoto to stay present and focused and not to be dragged under by the thoughts that threatened to drown him. Bakugo had forced him to keep his feet on the ground and his soul in his body, instead of allowing him to detach and float away.
And every evening, Bakugo had shown up, unannounced, and kept him sane through the hours of the night.
Bakugo had been unimaginably tender. At the start, when Bakugo woke him up with small sparks, Shoto had clutched awkwardly at his shoulders until his haggard breaths evened out and his blood red eyes could focus in on him. He felt flustered at the sight of his rock suddenly looking unsure, and was clearly wholly untrained in handling emotions like this.
But when Shoto woke up from nightmares, Bakugo was surprisingly capable at handling his emotions. Despite his outward appearances, he was uniquely able to calm Shoto down. One soft hand cupping his cheek, the other securing his to Bakugo's chest so he can feel the life below. A solid reminder that Bakugo was alive in front of him, not bleeding out in the dust. A reminder that his own skin wasn't burning. Red eyes, not blue.
And once he could hear over the ringing in his ears, all he could hear was gentle reassurances, comfort, and promises that they were going to fix everything.
—
He could see now, though, how much more settled Bakugo seems now. It was clear from the softness every time he looked at Midoriya, clean and relaxed on the sofa, and from the easy conversations with Kirishima, that some of the weight had lifted from his shoulders. Back to normal, if a little more subdued.
Bakugo and Midoriya so clearly orbit each other, so obviously require each other to function and Shoto just can’t quite understand.
It’s… fine. Truly, he is glad to see everyone as close to happy as perhaps they can be in the circumstances. But now his immediate concern for Midoriya is abated, he can’t quite manage to swallow down the bite of hurt. Bakugo and Midoriya know each other so thoroughly in a way Shoto can never hope to, and seeing their relationship, seeing the whole class conversing so easily has him feeling once again like he’s on the outside looking in.
He had thought that maybe the three of them worked well together. That, during their internship and remedial training, they had grown closer. He had shared some incredibly personal moments with Midoriya - and Bakugo, not that he’d known it the first time - and the knowledge that the whole time the two of them had kept this secret from him hurt in a way he couldn’t quite rationalise. He does understand why they hadn’t said anything - he understands the importance of keeping OfA out of the hands of those with a lust for power. But logic didn't make the divide between them feel any less real.
He watches as everyone chats, in higher spirits than they’ve been in since Jaku, and it feels like the chasm separating him from his peers only grows. He's not sure he ever felt so aware of how different he must be; of how, on a fundamental level, he cannot relate to them. He’s been aware of it his whole life, but until UA he had assumed that lack of normality was the sacrifice for becoming a good hero. But, having seen his class, he is confident they can manage both. For him now though, with his name forever tied to Endeavour and Dabi in the minds of the country, he's not sure he will ever be able to bridge the gap.
Despite the hollowness, he feels the corners of his lip tug up at the easy way they chat. Bakugo is making a fuss about whatever Kaminari and Sero are teasing him about, but Todoroki can see the warmth. It seems clear, now Midoriya has returned, Bakugo’s world has returned to its original axis, and things for him can return to some relative normality.
He feels himself nodding at the sight, and lets himself out of the common room. He doesn’t want to get in the way of the class’s comfortable conversations as they unwind from the long day.
—
When he gets to his room, it feels quiet. He’s not spent much time there lately when he wasn’t trying to sleep, and now he’s here alone it feels surprisingly empty. He briefly considers whether or not getting a western bed rather than his futon would perhaps help it feel less empty in the future.
He continues in silence, pulling out his futon and settling down on it.
In place of his phone, he’s found himself becoming more invested in his manga. Bakugo had laughed at him when he had seen him reading ‘Hori-san to Miyamura-kun’, but he really did enjoy reading manga. He’d found himself drawn mostly to slice-of-life and romance than anything packed with action - he thought he probably had more than enough action in his life already. And, not that he planned to admit it, he has found it helpful for navigating social situations and helping him get that step closer to his peers.
Despite what everyone seemed to think, he could usually read people just fine. Often he felt hypersensitive to it, keeping an eye on anyone in the room. But just because he could tell what people were feeling, doesn’t mean he can always tell why . Though he thinks through repeated exposure, it was beginning to come a little more naturally.
He thinks he’s about 3 pages away from the end of the chapter when he hears the rustle of his door handle. His heart’s pounding and he’s halfway to freezing the door when it swings open to reveal Bakugo, pillow gripped tightly.
He lowers his hands from their offensive position, and moves to melt the trail of ice.
Once he’s done he flicks his attention back to Bakugo, who is looking down at him, watching him with a frown on his face. It takes a second of stillness before his brain kicks in and gives an appropriate response to the reality in front of him.
“Would you like to come in?”
“Tch, idiot. As if you have to ask.”
But Shoto notices he had still waited until Shoto had asked before he came in.
He’s still running through thoughts, trying to think why Bakugo is still here now Midoriya is safe. He had thought that perhaps, once he’d seen Midoriya safe, things would go back to normal.
Bakugo settles in next to him, facing towards the wall. Shoto continues reading his manga, allowing himself to read an extra chapter while he considers the situation. He’d always considered their sleeping arrangements to be some kind of temporary measure - he’d been expecting to have to learn to cope on his own again once they regained relative normalcy. He realises this whole time - while he’s appreciated Bakugo’s presence - he’s been waiting for him to leave. Expecting it, even. But, even now Bakugo has Midoriya close enough to keep safe, he has still come back for Shoto.
He reaches the end of his chapter, and still hasn’t figured out what he wants to say. He leans over to flick off the lamp, and flops back onto his back, trying to think what to say. He wants to understand why Bakugo has returned.
He’s not sure how long they’d been lying in silence before Bakugo breaks it.
“Shit, half n half, you gonna think any louder? What’s going on in that pretty boy head of yours?”
Shoto is fairly certain that unless he had suddenly become Midoriya, his thoughts remained silent.
The talking is a departure from their ordinary routine. Normally they don’t speak until one of them has woken up.
“Why are you here?”
His voice sounds colder than he meant it to. He wants Bakugo here, even if every night with him will make every subsequent night without him harder. He just doesn’t want to ask for any more than he’s already been given. He understands that right now Bakugo has more than enough on his plate without having to concern himself with Shoto’s feelings, which only serves to further his confusion as to why Bakugo has returned.
He can feel the shifting of the bedding as Bakugo turns over. He can just about make out the red eyes on him through the dark.
“What, you think I was about to leave you like some shitty coward just because people don’t like your dad? Neither of us can sleep for shit, so we might as well do so together.”
That was true enough, he guesses. Though the frequency with which Bakugo woke him up in the night had rapidly decreased, while Shoto still seems unable to sleep through the whole night.
It wasn’t that he had thought Bakugo was going to leave out of a fear for his reputation. He's not even sure he knows why he hadn't expected Bakugo to return, if he thinks about it. He had just never imagined this kind of tenderness could be anything other than transient. That kind of comfort - the soft warmth of being held by another person - wasn't something he was allowed to keep. That kind of closeness was for others, not for him.
He's not sure when his breathing started to come out ragged, but he can pinpoint when the tears appear - because before they can track down his face they're wiped away by the rough skin of Bakugo's thumbs.
"Hey, shit, what the fuck? You were really that worried?" Bakugo chides, but he sounds more concerned than offended.
Shoto wants to say something to stop his worrying, but his breaths are coming out in little gasps and hiccups.
The thumbs continue to gently rub at his face, the one on his left gently grazing the border of his scar. Shoto feels himself shudder at the contact, and he's thrown from his current thoughts to instead trying to remember the last time someone other than himself had touched the skin.
He's brought back when Bakugo's words start to make their way into his consciousness. He's not saying anything of particular substance, just simple reminders of where he is and who he is, but the use of his first name feels surprisingly intimate. He's heard it before - it's his hero name after all - but it feels so much softer out of Bakugo's mouth.
Eventually his sobs subside, and he's left feeling uncomfortably vulnerable in the wake of his outburst. Normally they fell back asleep, somehow ending up tangled up in each other. But it’s clear that Bakugo won’t let him off so easily tonight.
He lets himself keep his eyes shut just a moment longer, summoning the bravery to meet Bakugo's eyes.
The thumbs stay stroking his face.
He sighs, and opens his eyes.
"You really thought I was gonna ditch you over what some shitty extras think?"
Shoto snorts, but even to his ears it sounds dry.
"I thought you were changing."
Bakugo swallows, and the thumbs on his face pause for a moment before resuming the motion. Shoto's not sure what drove him to antagonise the blond, but he regrets it almost instantly. Bakugo, despite his nature, has been incredibly patient and caring, and Shoto had just spat it back in his face.
"Just because UA made me a better person, doesn't make me a different person. I'm still gonna crush all your asses into the dust."
Shoto nods, having expected as much. The intense need for competition had once been uncomfortably reminiscent of Endeavour, but since their internship, or maybe even during remedial training, the distinction has felt clear. Bakugo pushes himself to be the best he can be, and his determination seems to bring up the whole class. Even Shoto could recognise the part trying to keep up with Midoriya and Bakugo had played in his own development as a hero.
A little less sure, Bakugo asks again.
"You really thought I wasn't coming?"
Shoto frowns. Like when Bakugo wakes up from his own nightmares, Shoto feels oddly adrift at the sight of his rock sounding anything less than confident.
"I… Midoriya has returned. I thought-"
"You thought I was gonna go snuggle up with De-Izuku?"
Shoto notices the slip but doesn't comment.
"I- no. I didn't."
He's not really sure how to explain.
"I just thought you wouldn't want to keep having to babysit me now the two of you can get back to working together."
It's not- not how he'd wanted it to come out. He's never been good at thinking before he speaks. If he'd thought about what he was trying to say, it would have sounded more grateful and reassuring, and less bitter and resigned.
"You thought I was - fucking hell okay, and here I was thinking I was done with feelings talk for the day. I'll try to break this down real easy for you - if I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be here. I don't do shit I don't want to do. If I just wanted someone to stop you falling off the deep end I could have gotten any of the class to do it. They'd all jump at the opportunity to help you - you know that right? Especially your little nerd squad or your dumbass manga buddy. Not ‘cause they pity you, or ‘cause worrying about you is a burden or some shit - because you’re their friend. You get it?"
The wheels turn in Shoto's brain. Bakugo doesn't do things he doesn't want to do. If all he was doing was making sure he was okay he would have had someone else do it. Bakugo wanted to be the one there with him at night.
He had all the elements, but they weren't quite computing into a full picture.
At his obvious lack of comprehension, Bakugo rolls his eyes.
"Christ. Look, I'm not gonna force you into anything right now when we've both got a lot of shit. I'm not gonna force you ever , anyway. Just - I'm not gonna leave you, okay? Not unless you want me to. You've got my back, I've got yours."
He drops his gaze. It's hard to tell without the light, but Shoto thinks he sees his cheeks darken.
"I want to be here with you, okay? Not just babysitting. So if you have a problem with it you should just fucking say and I'll-"
"I want you to be here." Shoto says with absolute certainty. He's not sure he's ever felt so sure of anything. He feels his face warm a little at the admission, and brings his right hand to his face to try to cool it down.
Bakugo looks at him, shocked, before giggling . Shoto is completely taken aback at the sound, only having heard Bakugo really laugh once.
Catching Shoto's wide eyed stare he cuts himself off.
"Shut it, I hear you tell anyone you heard that and you're dead. Shit, it’s your fault anyway. Don't think I've ever seen anything that cute."
Shoto feels himself warm again and his stomach flutters at the comment. Instead of freezing the room, he settles for groaning and stuffing his face into the pillow so at least Bakugo can't see him flush.
"So you finally emptied your pretty head of all the dumb shit?"
Shoto groans once more, and sighs before resigning to his fate and turning back.
"Beyond the looming fate of society resting in our hands? And my brother who is set on murdering me and then my father? Yes, I think so."
Bakugo huffs.
"Jeez you're such a sarcastic piece of shit. Don't know how everyone thinks you're funny."
But there's a sly half-smile on his face.
He runs a hand through his hair, and Shoto catches a peek of his shockingly-muscled abdomen. He supposes if he'd wanted to he could have seen what was underneath at the baths, but he was well used to keeping his eyes to himself in such situations.
"Can I-"
He cuts himself off as he realises perhaps he shouldn't have asked. He of all people understands that scars can be a tricky subject.
Luckily for him, Bakugo catches his drift. He pulls off his tee and - wow okay Shoto hadn't noticed how much broader his shoulders looked out of his winter costume -
"You can probably hardly see shit."
He can hardly see - his left eye especially struggles to see in low light quite as well.
Instead, he reaches his left hand - the cold one would have felt uncomfortable on sensitive skin - and touches.
He hears Bakugo gasp a little and looks up to make sure it's okay, but Bakugo’s gaze stays firmly fixed on the ceiling.
He traces it a little more firmly, the skin feels a little smoother and thicker than the rest, a little less uneven than Shoto's own scar, even though it was much more recent.
"It's healed well."
The taught muscle below his fingers jumps as Bakugo huffs, though he sounds amused rather than offended.
"It's my quirk, keeps my skin good. Same as the old hag's I guess."
Shoto looks up at him, a little shocked. He had always imagined Bakugo's parents having strong quirks given how much of a powerhouse Bakugo was.
"Her quirk was… good skin?"
"Her skin secretes glycerin, shit’s good for the skin I guess. She was a model, it’s how my parents met."
Despite himself, Shoto feels himself chuckle at the admission.
"Oi, what you laughing at?" Bakugo asks, but Shoto can hear the smile in his voice.
"I was just imagining you as a model. I'm not sure so many companies go for the grumpy look."
Bakugo kicks his leg at him a little, bumping into his shin with no real force.
"Shove off. You know that's not true anyway, your dad's done ad campaigns."
Shoto grimaces a little at the comparison, but chuckles anyway.
"What's your dad's quirk, then?"
"He sweats acid from his palms. He can get it to spark a little if he rubs them, but it's pretty mild."
Shoto nods, thoughtfully, paying no attention to his fingers trailing paths across the puncture scar.
"You won the genetic lottery, then, for strong quirks."
He can feel the skin underneath him cease moving for a moment, and looks back up to see Bakugo staring down at him, quietly assessing.
He continues again quietly, after a moment.
"I suppose so."
And with that, he flips Shoto over to face away from him, and brings an arm around his middle.
"Sleep time, halfie. Probably another long day tomorrow."
Shoto hummed an assent, before grabbing Bakugo's hand and bringing it tighter around his middle.
"Bakugo-"
"Katsuki."
Shoto breathes and starts again.
"Katsuki, thank you. For being here."
He pours sincerity into the words, hoping Katsuki can hear how much he means them. He doesn't just mean 'thank you for tonight' or even 'thank you for every night so far'. He means 'thank you for keeping me here' and 'thank you for all the nights to come'. A thank you for giving him the kind of soft touches he's not had for years, and a thank you for not leaving.
"Tch, dumb pretty boy. Don't need to thank me for something I want to do."
Shoto brings the arms around a little tighter, and presses himself into Katsuki's firm chest, and it feels like home.