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“Todoroki!” Iida calls from his position on the floor of the common room where he’s applying stickers to one of the many posters spread out before him. Uraraka, Yaoyorozu, and Ashido are all working on their own posters, too. Well— Ashido is alternating between applying stickers to her poster and Iida’s left arm. “Aren’t you going to be joining us?”
Right. Iida asked for Shouto to help with designing some posters for the UA Recycling Initiative.
“Oh. That was tonight?” Shouto glances towards them and feels a little guilty at the way Iida’s brow furrows.
“Yes. Did you have other plans?” Iida tilts his head slightly. “It’s alright if you had a prior commitment,” He assures.
Designing posters does sound intriguing. Shouto had never had much experience with the arts and crafts side of schooling.
“I study with Bakugou on Tuesdays,” He answers.
Uraraka immediately begins laughing. Yaoyorozu is also smiling slightly, watching Uraraka’s giggling.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to help, Todoroki,” She reassures.
Shouto is confused. It’s not a new feeling, of course, but it’s always an unpleasant one. Even Iida looks mildly amused and Shouto’s not sure what is funny.
“I do,” Shouto insists. No one looks particularly convinced.
It’s Ashido who finally clears up the confusion.
“Blasty is always busy on Tuesday nights. I didn’t know that was because he was studying with you, Shouto,” She’s grinning while nudging at Uraraka’s side. Uraraka abruptly stops laughing.
“Wait, you really study with Bakugou every week?” Her eyes go wide. “I didn’t think you two even got along!”
Ah. Everything makes a lot more sense now. Shouto has never been good at making friends. He hadn’t expected to befriend anyone when he came to UA, let alone the sheer amount of people he has. He knows he seems standoffish or haughty to those who think his indifference to small talk comes from a place of arrogance. Despite this, he’s found that most of his classmates appreciate him for who he is, and he tries his best to return the favor even when he doesn’t always understand people as well as he’d like to. It would probably stand to reason that Shouto would have a lot of difficulty when it came to understanding Bakugou and his brash nature, but the opposite is true.
Ever since Shouto was small, he’s found that people often say one thing but do another, usually for the worse. People are usually overly friendly on the surface to make up for their less-than-friendly actions. Shouto knows this, and he’s come to accept it. With Bakugou, though, his actions don’t match his words, but for the better. When Bakugou says Fuck off, IcyHot and follows it by throwing his arm over Shouto’s shoulders, he finds it doesn’t offend him the way it might for some others. It just makes him feel good.
If an outsider were to observe their interactions, though, Shouto could see why it might be laughable to think that he spends every Tuesday night in Bakugou’s room, seated on his bed with his mind feeling the most settled it ever does.
“We do,” Shouto nods. “Get along, I mean. He’s just— Bakugou.”
It’s an embarrassingly bad explanation, but Ashido nods with a smile.
“Well,” Iida nods, too. “You should get going. Bakugou appreciates promptness.”
Bakugou is in a sour mood when Shouto arrives at his room. Shouto knows this because he’s quiet and he doesn’t call him IcyHot or dumbass when he apologizes for being late. He just grumbles at him for a moment before letting it go.
Shouto has been around Bakugou when he’s in a bad mood before, of course. Most would argue that Bakugou is always in a bad mood, but that’s just not true. He’s rude and cocky and blunt, but that’s happy Bakugou.
“Iida’s making posters in the common room,” Shouto says, because Bakugou hasn’t prompted him to pull any specific book from his bag and small talk is usually what people do to fill in the blank spaces of life.
“Okay?” Bakugou answers, looking up from the textbook he’s staring at. He hasn’t turned the page in several minutes and Shouto knows he can read faster than that.
“I was supposed to help,” He continues, “But we study together on Tuesday nights.”
Bakugou huffs an angry breath out through his nose. “Go play arts and crafts with Iida if you want. No one asked you to be here.”
Shouto watches him for a moment, the way he glares like he’s challenging Shouto, his hands clenching in and out of fists.
“You did.” Shouto knows for a fact that Bakugou was the one who invited Shouto to study with him in his room a few months back. It became a regular thing after that, but Shouto can’t remember why. It just sort of… happened. Maybe Bakugou didn’t want this to be a regular thing. “Didn’t you?”
Bakugou sighs heavily, looking off to the side.
“Well you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to. Just don’t blame me when you fail all your classes,” Bakugou finally flips the page, but he does it so quickly it tears the corner of the paper. Shouto feels like they’re having an argument, but he doesn’t understand why.
“I told Iida I was busy. I didn’t want to be rude to you,” Shouto insists. This only serves to make Bakugou look more upset. He seems to forget the textbook entirely when he looks up at Shouto with fire in his eyes.
“I don’t need you to protect my feelings, half-and-half! You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me! I’m not gonna cry over everything like Deku!” Bakugou slams the textbook shut.
“No, I—” Shouto searches for the right words, confused how it got to this point. When Bakugou yells, Shouto almost always understands, even when he doesn’t really understand. But right now, Shouto has no idea why Bakugou seems so upset. “I told him I was busy because I want to be here. I— I like spending Tuesdays with you. Is that— Is that okay?”
He doesn’t know why he asks if it’s okay. Maybe because he feels like his presence is suddenly very upsetting to Bakugou, and he’s starting to think that he misunderstood and that he was never actually welcome here in the first place. Maybe Uraraka was right.
Something must show on his face, because Bakugou narrows his eyes at him before his entire demeanor seems to crumble.
“Obviously it’s okay, idiot,” He seethes, though it’s much quieter. He casts his eyes down to the textbook where he picks at the worn corner of the cover.
“Then why are you… mad at me?” Shouto tries. There has to be some reason Bakugou is so upset.
“I’m not—” There is a sharp intake of breath from Bakugou, which is a very unusual sound for him to make. “I’m not mad— Fuck, I’m just… I’m just upset about something else, okay? It has nothing to do with you so knock it off with the kicked puppy dog look.”
His voice is brittle and tired and it makes Shouto desperately wish he could be as good with comforting words as Izuku is.
“Oh.” Shouto nods. Shouto can deal with Bakugou being angry, but something ugly gnaws at his stomach at the thought of Bakugou being angry with him. He pushes it away. What would Midoriya say? “What are you upset about, then?”
“Nothing,” Bakugou barks.
“But you just said—”
“I know what I said, asshole. Drop it,” Bakugou orders. He opens the textbook once again. “Let’s quit screwing around and start studying.”
Shouto knows that if Bakugou doesn’t want to talk about something, he isn’t going to start talking if Shouto pries. Instead, Shouto pulls out his textbook and lets go of whatever it was that upset Bakugou.
The silence fills the room as Shouto studies quietly with Bakugou by his side. They had shifted throughout the night until they both ended up sitting side by side against the headboard. Shouto appreciates these Tuesday nights because Bakugou is one of the only people who is willing to sit in silence with Shouto. Most people find the quiet uncomfortable, but Bakugou relaxes into it. It makes Shouto feel at peace to know he doesn’t have to force himself to come up with something to speak about all the time.
Shouto spares a glance at Bakugou, only to find him already intently watching Shouto. Once their eyes connect, Bakugou drops his gaze and grumbles something under his breath.
“Hm?” Shouto raises an eyebrow. When Bakugou doesn’t answer, he pokes at his knee with the pencil in his hand. “What did you say?”
“Fucking stop that.” Bakugou bats at the pencil. “You’re gonna draw all over my pants, shithead.”
“Tell me what you said then.” Shouto raises the pencil and sticks it back into Bakugou’s knee, just hard enough that it leaves a mark on his pants.
“Oh my god,” Bakugou groans. “You’re fucking annoying, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Only you,” Shouto answers. Bakugou’s expression sours more. He glares off to the side, at the wall, like it personally offended him. It makes Shouto smile. Everything Bakugou does is loud and grumpy and so incredibly predictable it makes Shouto’s chest ache. Everything is so easy with him. There’s never any surprises, anything Shouto has to read too hard into. Even when he’s lost, all he has to do is ask Bakugou to help him find his way out of the conversation, and Bakugou will. He might call him a ‘stupid fucking idiot’ while doing it, but he’ll do it nonetheless.
Which is exactly why, when Bakugou says—
“All Might said I’m like your old man.”
— Shouto says—
“Explain.”
Bakugou looks at him through a sideways glance. The fierce confidence that Shouto is used to seeing is replaced by hesitancy that makes Shouto’s stomach roll.
“I don’t think he really meant it to be cruel.” Bakugou’s throat flexes as he swallows. He rubs at the lead mark on his pants, diluting it. “But he’s right, isn’t he?”
Shouto can hear every breath that passes through his lungs, amplified painfully as he stares at Bakugou— wide-eyed.
The silence hurts Bakugou, that much is clear. His face contorts into an expression that Shouto has never seen on Bakugou— guilt, sorrow, regret.
“Shit. That’s fucking—” He hunches in on himself slightly, mouth twisting into a grimace that gives way to— something else when his chin trembles slightly. “Forget it,” He snarls, all teeth and carefully crafted indifference.
Shouto watches Bakugou stare furiously at his textbook while Shouto feels like his chest is splitting open. Bakugou… like Endeavor? On the surface, Shouto can see why All Might made the comparison. Fiery personalities and a complete inability to give up. But the comparison pulls at something ugly and rage-filled in Shouto’s heart. Bakugou knows some— most of what Endeavor did to Shouto, and to think— to think—
“No,” His voice comes out like a growl. The wound that’s splintering open in his chest crawls up his throat and aches. It softens the anger in his voice, clogs up his airways and fills his nose. “You’re n- huh- othing like him.” His vocal chords give out, catching and fraying on the way his body tries and fails to take in air.
“Shit,” Bakugou says, setting aside the textbook and crowding into Shouto’s space. He looks Shouto in the eyes and places a hand on his shoulder, soothing. “Shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s stupid— Who cares what All Might thinks, right? Tch. I’ll be the Number One Hero someday, and I’ll be a way better one than your old man.”
That’s the thing, though. Bakugou cares so much, Shouto knows he does. All Might almost certainly did not mean it to be cruel, but Bakugou knows— he knows the monster Endeavor grew up to be. Shouto knows, like he knows the back of his hand, knows the back of his eyelids— just how much Bakugou cares.
It’s easy to miss, if you don’t care to look, but it’s there. Just barely hidden away under the surface— hidden in ‘ leftover’ cold soba he brings to Shouto’s room, in threatening self-care reminders and blankets thrown over tired friends on the common room couch.
“Bakugou,” He shakes his head and forces himself to take a breath in.
“I don’t need to hear it, IcyHot,” Bakugou interrupts.
“Don’t care,” Shouto pushes through. “You’re not him.”
Bakugou stares, expression carefully hardened, but Shouto knows that he just doesn’t know what to say. That makes two of them.
“You take care of me— of everyone.”
Bakugou moves his gaze away and pulls his hand off of Shouto’s shoulder. Bakugou turns away when there’s something he doesn’t want anyone to see— a crack in the facade, blink and you might miss it.
“You’d never hurt me, I know that.” He puts as much fierce confidence in his voice as he can muster, trying to force every word through that crack. “He’d never— never—”
His heart squeezes painfully in his chest.
“He’d never sit with me like this. Just— quiet, like this. No one ever sits with me like this. Only you.”
Bakugou tilts his head. He looks around the room, looking so bewildered it almost makes Shouto laugh.
“Like… this?” He gestures broadly to the room. Shouto nods.
“You’re just— content to be here with me,” Shouto explains, and he’s not sure if it’s enough.
But then, by some miracle, Bakugou’s expression softens, his eyes growing so fond that he has to look away and huff an angry breath. Shouto’s heart almost explodes.
“Of fucking course I am, dipshit,” Bakugou barks, and Shouto breathes out, long and slow. Katsuki watches him carefully, like he’s trying to figure out why that even matters. But it does, it matters more than Shouto could ever put into words.
“I know,” He answers. “I am, too. Content to be here— I mean.”
Bakugou seems to understand, if the faint blush that falls over his cheeks is anything to go by.
“Nothing else fucking matters then, does it?” Bakugou says, and Shouto smiles in the way he can only manage during Tuesday night study sessions.
Nothing else matters.