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It’s not like they’ll never see each other again.
They’re just graduating. They still have their class groupchat, they’re still all doing the same work, they’re still friends.
That doesn’t stop graduation from feeling like a goodbye.
Quite a few people had cried at the ceremony, and Midoriya was no exception. He’d spent three years with these kids, risking their lives for each other. It wasn’t easy to keep a stone face. He’s pretty sure even Shoto cried, if the wetness on his sleeve from when he pulled him into a rare hug and shakily whispered thank you for everything is any indication.
With all the tears, smiles, and what-felt-like-final talks with the people who were now his family, Midoriya was exhausted. He’d needed just a bit of peace and quiet, away from the chaos of his (former) class. So, the roof it was, feet hanging off the edge as he stared at the sunset.
Footsteps sound behind him, and for a moment, Midoriya wonders if it’s Shoto, also in need of a break, but no. The footsteps are too irregular, heavy. Sho tends to walk more on the balls of his feet (especially since internalizing that “autistic” isn’t a bad word), and always at a steady, rhythmic pace.
Bakugo sits beside him, and Midoriya freezes.
He’d like to think their relationship has improved. He knows it has. Along the way, without really talking about it, they’d simply accepted their place in each other’s lives— not friends, not enemies, just… he wasn’t sure. opposite and equal forces, complementary colors.
Still, they don’t talk much. They spar together plenty outside of school, but they don’t really just… sit by each other. Exist together. They cannot reach their highest without each other, but they’re not friends.
“Hey.”
Midoriya looks quickly at the man who was once his best friend, once his bully, once his bitter rival, and now his Other. Bakugo doesn’t seem angry. He stares out at the sunset, face strangely peaceful.
“Hi, Kacchan.”
He’s not angry. Bakugo actually laughs softly at the old nickname, no hint of the usual bitterness and malice in it.
“They’re all waiting for you. Why are you up here?”
“Just… needed some quiet.”
“Yeah, most people would just hide in a bathroom or something. That’s where Icy Hot’s been for half an hour. Not the roof.”
“You found me pretty quickly.”
Bakugo shrugs at that, drawing up a knee. “Yeah, well, I know you. You’re weird.”
It doesn’t sting. His insults haven’t stung, not for a while now, but this one doesn’t seem like it’s supposed to. It feels like a joke shared between old friends.
“I guess so.”
They sit like that for a moment, in silence. Silence has always meant danger. Silence has always meant anger. But now, silence means peace. Silence is comfortable.
“Come on,” Bakugo says, pushing back away from the edge. “Your mom keeps crying, it’s getting annoying.”
Midoriya stands up, no longer overwhelmed by the intensity of the party, but reluctant to leave. Something feels unfinished. Still, he turns—
And Bakugo stops him. Roughly grabs his shoulder, turns him so they’re facing each other.
Holds out a hand to shake.
It’s not something friends do.
But Midoriya and Bakugo aren’t quite friends, so he shakes it.
And Bakugo pulls him into the tightest hug of his life.
It takes him a moment to realize what’s happening. Bakugo hasn’t hugged him since they were little kids. Bakugo barely hugs anyone, and he never initiates.
But here he is. He offers no explanation, no defensive quip, and he doesn’t let go, so Midoriya hugs back, trying to match the tightness.
It’s maybe 15 seconds before Bakugo loosens his grip, pulling away. His eyes are red, and he tries to discreetly wipe at his eyes as he turns away.
“I’ll see you out there, Deku.”
“What, at the party?”
“Nah, I’m leaving that shit.” Bakugo flashes him his trademark challenging grin. “The real world. You up for it?”
Midoriya feels himself smile, against all the sadness and anxiety.
“I’ll meet you there.”