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The loud taps of the computer on the desk manage to wake Katsuki. How nice. Just when he somehow finds a way to fall asleep, Recovery Girl's old, shrivelled bones disturb him with their need to fucking smash the keyboard like it's some villain.
The blinding bright lights aren't the thing that tops the very warm welcome he gets. No, it's the overwhelming, shitty wave of pain his brain registers after a couple of blinks.
Fuck. Was he really healed by her quirk?
It takes some effort but he's propped on his elbows, the mattress of the tiny-ass bed sinking with a little creak. The little old lady with her feet barely touching the floor decides to pause her assault on the keyboard to look at him.
"So, you're alive," She states, toes somehow pushing at the floor by some fucking miracle, wheeling her chair backward for a better view. Katsuki almost thinks she's genuinely surprised.
Recovery Girl fixes him a look, the kind of one that he doesn't like, the one adults show when they're about to lay a back in my days, and Katsuki's about to lay six feet under before she can get shit out.
"He didn't come." She crosses her arms. "You didn't tell him, did you?"
"The hell are you even—" It takes a moment to register in the midst of the mess in his head, and, y'know, having a shit-ton of bruises, but her stupid raised brow makes it click together.
Fucking hell.
He presses his lips press into a thin line. "Maybe. No. So fuckin' what?"
"So what? You kids are always like this." She shakes her stupid head. Katsuki hopes it falls the hell off and rolls out, into the hallway. Pushes down the lump making its way into his throat. "Wouldn't ask for help even when you're on the verge of death."
There's a string of curses on the tip of his tongue—'cause, the hell does she know?—but the headache that drums throughout his head begs him to avoid this annoying-ass conversation. "Could you save your scolding or whatever for someone who is, I dunno, not in the infirmary?"
Recovery Girl frowns. Scoots back to the computer, this time slowly typing away at the keys. Probably updating Katsuki's file to mark this incident down, taint his history log and pride, chain him to today's mistakes and bruises on his skin—
Fuck.
Recovery Girl pauses. Fixes him a look. What-the-fuck-ever. "Where do you think you're going, Bakugou?"
"To shower," He groans, slowly getting off the bed. His body is so heavy he throws a look over his shoulder to see if a fucking anchor is weighing him down.
There's something. Not physical, but something huge and batshit ugly and has its grip on Katsuki, whispering harshly into his ears.
Recovery Girl slightly tilts her glasses down. Brow arched so high it'll blend with her hairline. "You're still recovering. You have a lot of injuries, you know."
No fucking way, really?
Kastuki swallows that down. Not really in the mood for sarcasm.
Just—Just needs to get out of here. Soak his muscles in some hot water. Pull his brain out of his head and throw it somewhere.
"If I gotta lay here for one more damn hour in these dirty-ass clothes, I'm gonna blow shit up." He attempts to hide the electricity that jolts through him when his feet hold his weight, but the limp probably gives him away.
How embarrassing.
"Bakugou. It took a lot of your stamina."
How could she be so stubborn at her age?
"Look, I'll come back later for a fucking check-up, alright?"
Maybe it's the pain from all over that makes him give in, but either way, he's just gotta get the hell out, maybe sleep until morning. Whatever time it is right now, anyway.
"Okay," She sighs. "I'm expecting you to come back."
He grumbles something his brain can't remember and leaves with a creak of the infirmary door, speed walking through the hopefully empty hallway.
If some asshole were to come out one of those classrooms and see him like this—whatever they could see in all the bloody, ripped clothes clinging to sweaty skin and small tears that show cuts and bruises—it wouldn't be any fucking good.
Fuck. He'd probably skin them alive. Carve their eyes out.
His skin itches at the possibility. It itches all over, tempting him, tempting him to dig his nails all the way to the bone and scratch, scratch, scratch until his blood taints his hands.
How embarrassing.
After a couple of close calls and what feels like years, he's finally at the dorms (empty; everyone's in class). The elevator chimes as it drops him off on his floor, feet heavy with every drag against the carpet to his room's door.
And. His hand only grips the knob. Doesn't twist. Waiting, listening for any movement in there. Breathing, talking—just listening for him. For him, in case he somehow heard, somehow knew, and skipped class.
Slowly, Katsuki pushes the door open to find his room just as he left it.
He doesn't know if he's upset or relieved.
♡ ♡ ♡
Thankfully, for Katsuki's sake, the communal showers are empty. He chooses to sit on the farthest seat from the door in case someone comes in. (Just imagine one of those extras walking in and seeing him littered with bruises like he's a fucking loser or something. No fucking way.)
He turns the shower on, muscles apparently just for show, 'cause twisting the handle took too much fucking effort, too much energy he doesn't have. The sound of running water drowns out the footsteps in the hallway, but the click of the bathroom door makes sure the presence of a new person is noticed.
Katsuki quickly grabs the towel next to him and holds it out in the air, covering his whole body.
The door shuts, but no one speaks.
Are they just standing there? What kind of weirdo just fucking stands there?
Or maybe they left.
He carefully peeks over the towel.
Red and white hair. Great. The last person he wants to be seen by in this shitty state.
Something hot pools in his stomach. A mix of embarrassment and shame, maybe a hint of anger too, and he can taste it in his mouth, coating his tongue.
"I was looking for you."
Of course you were. Of course you were.
"Don't. Seriously." Katsuki urges, raising the towel again. "Stay the hell there."
The noise of water slapping against the tiled floor fills the silence. Maybe he'll leave. That would be good. But today nothing's going fucking good.
Slowly, Todoroki approaches him. Gently tugs the towel down to see his face, and Katsuki holds his breath at the sight. There's a pair of eyes looking at him, filled with so much worry, so much concern, he wonders if they're really for him.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Todoroki softly asks with a little tilt of his head, and Katsuki would find it cute if he didn't feel as if all his bones are shattered and Todoroki's the glue that may be able to piece them together.
"Not important; didn't want to bother you."
Didn't want you to see how much of a failure I am.
Todoroki stares for a few seconds. Scanning the faint outline of wounds on his naked body.
Why is he just staring? Is he disappointed?
Is it pity in his eyes instead?
Please fucking leave. Don't see me like this.
But it doesn't seem like that's going to happen any time soon because the fucker starts to strip. Leaves his boxers on.
Katsuki furrows his brows. "The hell are you doing?"
"Helping you," He says, combing his bi-coloured hair back into a very, very short ponytail with his fingers. "Can't do that with my clothes on."
"I don't need help."
You kids are always like this. Wouldn't ask for help even when you're on the verge of death.
Stupid old hag.
Todoroki rinses his hands under the running water. Puts a generous amount of shampoo, letting the liquid lather as he rubs his palms together.
"Shou—" His voice cracks when he feels cool fingers sink into his wet hair. They gently contaminate his blond locks with shampoo, burying themselves to his scalp.
Todoroki massages his way to the back of Katsuki's head to cover the hair there too. Pauses at his nape to rub soothing circles, twirling the long strands around his fingers, along with Katsuki's heart that beats just for him, and mind that thinks only of him.
He just wants to throw up. He wants to throw up all his fucking intestines, the fluttering feeling at the pit of his stomach
"Shouto," Katsuki finally manages to croak out, staring ahead at Todoroki's bare chest blocking his view. Watches how his shoulders slightly move as he cleans his hair. "You don't have to."
Finally, the hands cup the sides of Katsuki's neck, a pair of thumbs caressing the spot where his jaw meets his throat, and Todoroki crouches just enough to be face to face.
"Katsuki." He stares into his red eyes so intently Katsuki's heart threatens to lurch out of his fucking chest. "I want to."
Todoroki leans in. Kisses his forehead. "I want to take care of you, Katsuki."
Oh.
...That—
He kneels between Katsuki's legs with a small gasp, the floor's cold temperature shocking his warm knees.
He's close. So close they could merge into one.
Katsuki groans as the cloth scrubs his body.
"Sorry." Todoroki gives a half-assed smile, and he only shakes his head in response.
Sorry for what?
Sorry for what?
What could you possibly be sorry for?
Maybe he's apologizing for the way he makes Katsuki feel so good with his hands on his bare skin, fingers gently carding through his hair. A low, rough voice just below him. Maybe he's apologizing for the swarm of butterflies fluttering their way up Katsuki's throat, for the sparks setting off against the surface of his skin every time Todoroki touches him.
Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. What else would he be apologizing for?
The faint metallic smell starts to wash away with the dirty water cascading down his body. Todoroki's left hand grips his hip to steady each other as his right brushes the cloth at his thighs and down his calves.
Too much. This is too much. The lack of distance between them, the intense tickling feeling in his stomach, the sensation of Todoroki's hands on his thighs, hips, legs—It's too much, Katsuki's gonna throw up.
There's a sniff.
Todoroki pauses scrubbing at his sides. Look at him with knitted brows. Only then does Katsuki register the hot liquid leaving his own eyes.
How embarrassing, really, how fucking embarrassing.
It takes barely a second before Todoroki drops the washcloth and cups Katsuki's face, leaning in and oh god the fucker is kissing the tears.
Fuck you. Fuck you. Fucking hell.
A pair of smooth lips leave his face, only to come back and kiss another falling tear. The feeling of them doing such a thing only makes him cry harder, makes his heart beat so fast the vibrations make powerful echoes throughout his chest, and it hurts, it fucking hurts.
He can't really see anymore, but he feels, fuck does he feel. Maybe too much. Maybe too much.
Todoroki's thumb caresses his cheek, presses his warm body against his, makes Katsuki drown in the affection. It's so suffocating but so good, too good, and he can do nothing but make more tears and Todoroki says I've got you, I've got you as his mouth kisses them away.
Katsuki rests his hands on his boyfriend's back. Embraces him, accepts his love, and his heart answers thank you, thank you, thank you.
He's sure he's going to explode. His heart hurts, it hurts and maybe his whole body too, a body which yearns and calls for Todoroki despite their hot skin being pressed together so close they could merge into one—and oh god, if that's not what he wants, he doesn't know what is.
Yeah, he's sure, he's so damn sure he would love for his soul to swim out his body, float through his choked sobs and intertwine with Todoroki's.
Maybe even that's not enough. His boyfriend is smothering him with kisses but even then his bones chant more, more, more.
He tightens his arms around the other's waist. Hides his wet face away, burying it in the crook of Todoroki's neck. Not being able to kiss his face anymore, Todoroki sinks his fingers into blond hair infused with soap, gently playing with the curls as if Katsuki isn't crying into his shoulder, spilling his heart out for him to see, to understand, and shit does Todoroki understand.
"You probably—" Katsuki chokes as he calms himself, mumbling into damp skin. "You probably think you've got such a weak fucking boyfriend."
Todoroki dips his head down and kisses the side of his neck, twirling Katsuki's strands around his fingers. "I think you're very strong."
Yeah, he can't see him, but he can hear Todoroki's small, soft smile and it makes him feel something. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," He reassures, voice laced with confidence, adoration, little specks of admiration. "To me, you're the strongest like this."
So vulnerable, so trusting.
The sensation of Todoroki trailing kisses up and down his neck soothes him. Makes the knots in his shoulders smooth out and heals bruises Recovery Girl's quirk could never fix.
Slowly, Katsuki lifts his face from his favourite resting place and Todoroki stops his actions to look at him. He does so much to show his love, shows it so fucking, and Katsuki wonders how he could show his, how he could make it unmistakably clear that his body feels whole when they're together.
He holds the back of Todoroki's neck and pulls him into a short, gentle kiss. Again, and again, and again, again, again, then once more. Their lips move slowly, lazily, with Todoroki's hand on his leg, thumb calmly rubbing his inner thigh in a soothing motion, and it makes Katsuki melt, melt, melt, melt and join the small pool of water on the floor flowing into the metal drain.
But Todoroki pulls away completely to stand. Katsuki's head snaps up to meet such beautiful, mismatched eyes in question.
"Need to clean you up," He explains, grabbing the washcloth to carefully scrub Katsuki's torso and the remaining parts he could never reach by himself, could never truly purify and make it feel like new again.
But here and now, he feels good, feels complete with a pair of hands taking him apart only to put him back together.