Archive of Our Own ^beta

------Don’t need you anymore------

Shouto doesn’t miss him.

It’s easy to not think about it, about him, when Shouto is alone at home, on his way to the corner store or out on patrol. He finds ways to occupy his mind - finish the books he once started before his workload increased; try new recipes to improve his cooking, with Fuyumi’s help of course, but he’s gotten better over the years; spending more hours at the agency gym working on his moves.

It’s hard though, when he’s alone at home and there’s no smell of home cooked food sizzling from the kitchen; no one to berate him on the unhealthy number of snack bags Shouto throws in his shopping cart; no one to brush shoulders and throw jabs at during the more uneventful patrols.

Walking out of Katsuki’s- out of Bakugou’s apartment that night almost a month ago seems more and more far away from Shouto’s perception of time. It feels like it’s been years and mere hours since he- since he blew up and broke it off.

While Shouto doesn’t regret putting an end to his heartache, he mourns the loss of his company. The absence of another body tucked close to his, accompanied by the rough tone of a voice calling Shouto names before kissing him sweetly on his forehead.

It’s not like- they weren’t anything, really.

(At least according to Bakugou)

What he broke off wasn’t anything worth this much fanfare, this much longing, this much heartache. But it feels like Shouto let go of a part of himself, and until now he hadn’t noticed how much Katsuki had been a constant in his life.

Both before and during their spontaneous drunk kisses turned having sex at one or the other’s place almost every day of the week.

But it feels like it should be. Despite not losing Bakugou for good – because he’s still there, within arm’s reach, he’s still a constant in Shouto’s day to day life, although he’s far away, further than he’s ever been it seems – Shouto feels like his body is incomplete.

Like he ripped a chunk out of his own soul and stomped it on the ground along with the harsh words he threw in Bakugou’s face that night.

He’d been beyond frustrated and so so hurt, to think that Bakugou would just, say something like that, like, like he never even stopped to think that maybe Shouto does care. That what they had wasn’t just, it wasn’t an outlet for Shouto to de-stress or to take his mind off more pressing thoughts in the moment.

So he broke down in a fit of clipped words and bold accusations – something so on brand for Bakugou falling past Shouto’s lips – because he’s nothing if not an influence on Shouto.

They’re still civil with each other, since they have to work together on field. Though the shift in their closeness definitely made its presence known, as there’s no more banter, no more shared mischievous looks hinting at a joke only they know, no more stolen kisses in the storage closet at the agency-

He never wanted to yell at him like that.

Never thought he’d have to raise his tone in such a way towards Bakugou besides the times he’s being recklessly negligent in battle and wants to jump into the eye of the storm before thinking it through.

Before thinking that maybe, throwing himself in the claws of destruction isn’t the best choice. Even if they literally trained for this. Lived through this at an age no one should have to.

Without thinking about how much Shouto suffers in those dizzyingly white and sterile smelling hospital halls, waiting for him to wake up, open his eyes, get up and move.

If their friends noticed the sudden distance Shouto and Bakugou put between themselves, no one mentions it. Their concern comes in Izuku’s offers to visit the animal shelter on weekends for volunteer work, or in the tea shop monthly dates with Momo and Kyoka, which now turned weekly ever since they noticed Shouto’s gloomy mood.

He never told anybody about this thing with Bakugou, as they both agreed it’s better to not involve anyone who isn’t them – ‘it’s none of those idiot’s business anyway, they don’t need to know how pretty you look under me, princess’ – and so they kept it a secret.

So to unveil it now to his close friends, Shouto doesn’t find it fair.

No matter how much it eats at him each day he has to go into work and pretend that nothing happened between him and Bakugou. That he didn’t walk out of his apartment with tears stinging at his eyes and hands clawing at his chest like he was struggling to keep his heart inside his chest cavity.

Shouto feels fine, he feels good, after a few agonizing weeks of waking up alone without breakfast already prepared for him along with a purposeful slap on his ass as Bakugou would walk past him to set the table.

Shouto doesn’t miss the way Katsuki used to hold him through the night until he’d fall asleep with his nose squished against his collarbone; doesn’t miss the zip of lighting flowing through him at the feel of Katsuki’s tongue swirling on his neck; doesn’t miss the contentment that came with them making love, because what else could it have been when Shouto would have his arms and legs around Katsuki, holding each other close in an embrace as the latter didn’t dare pick up the pace of his thrusts, keeping it languid and reverent.

Shouto doesn’t sit in bed at night and ask himself ‘what have I done?’ ‘how could I push him away?’ ‘he’s everything I ever wanted, why did I walk away from him?’ anymore. Because those questions arose answers, not from Shouto’s depths of mind, but headlines he saw on the news, online articles and office gossip.

‘He could never find a partner, let alone treat them well’

‘Dynamight screams and curses at everyone he knows, he can’t hold a civil conversation with anyone if he tried’

‘He’s a good hero, but too aggressive if you ask me. I feel sorry for whoever he decides to take home’

Shouto doesn’t feel sorry for himself, because he got to see all the parts of Bakugou that no one else did. Or rather, the majority of people, if he really did mean those words he said and Shouto wasn’t anything more than just, just-

It hurts to think about it. It hurts like hell, like he’s being stabbed in the chest and someone – he knows who, Shouto just doesn’t want to say it out loud – is twisting the knife while laughing at him while he’s spilling his heart out. (Both literally and figuratively)

And, is Shouto any better than everyone else when he did the same thing as them? Yelled and screamed and pushed Bakugou away, just like Bakugou did with Shouto in the face of confrontation.

So, Shouto doesn’t miss him.

But he misses everything that comes with him.

And he knows it’s a lie to say that he wants to forget Katsuki.

------Don’t need you anymore------

It was supposed to be a typical night for Shouto. Board the wrong train home – the one that goes in the direction of Katsuki’s place, not his – grab takeout from their favorite restaurant on his way there and tumble in bed with the blond at the end of the night.

None of that went according to the routine.

The train had been packed even in the late hours of the evening and Shouto had to squeeze himself between exhausted businessmen and rowdy teenagers and almost fight for his life to get out at the right stop before the doors could close on him. The restaurant had run out of their usual order, so Shouto had to pick out something else, equally spicy for Katsuki, but it just didn’t feel the same even as he was holding the steaming box of takeout.

Despite all that, Shouto was convinced he’d get rid of the mild frustration as soon as he sees Katsuki. He has his own way of dispersing Shouto’s worries and getting rid of all the wrongness clinging to him that day.

As soon as he stepped into the apartment – using the spare key Katsuki made specially for him ‘this way you don’t gotta call me each time you wanna come over. Just let yourself in, I don’t give a shit.’ – he was greeted with the sound of banging pots and loud curses coming from the kitchen.

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, but Shouto remembers texting Katsuki that he was going to bring food himself, so he wouldn’t have to bother with making dinner that night.

“Katsuki, I’m home!”

Shouto called out from the entryway, hastily getting rid of his coat and shoes. It’s a little silly, how giddy he gets whenever he comes over, but how could he not, when most times Katsuki welcomes him with kisses and only mildly insulting names when Shouto goes in for a hug.

There’s no response, when usually there is. Shouto is always met with a ‘this is my place, dumbass’ when Shouto announces that he’s home. Although they don’t live together, and Shouto has his own apartment to get to in the morning, he always feels a little cozier when over at Katsuki’s place.

His apartment is livelier than Shouto’s own; decorated with photos of him and his friends, ones even including Shouto. Mostly the group ones, but Shouto knows there’s a photo of just the two of them somewhere in Katsuki’s gallery. Even the furniture looks lived-in, unlike the one he has back at his place, the sharp edged and dark colored one that came with it.

He makes his way to the kitchen to deposit the food into plates – Katsuki doesn’t like to eat out of soggy styrofoam takeout boxes and hates the feeble plastic forks that come with the food. Shouto is met with the tense line of Katsuki’s shoulders as the man is hunched over the stove, cuts and bandages littering the visible skin of his arms.

Ah, that’s why he wasn’t there when Shouto came in.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

He saw the news during his lunch break, but never got the time to watch all the shots till the end, so Shouto wrongly assumed that Katsuki had come out of the crushed building unscathed.

They’re human after all, there’s a price to their heroics.

“Shitty.”

Shouto’s mouth pursed at the exasperated tone in Katsuki’s voice, but he brushed it off, as he understood the kind of toll it must’ve taken on him. His moves were sluggish and stuttered, like his muscles were still aching, and Shouto grimaces when he sees Katsuki’s fingers tremble on the pot handles.

“I brought food, you don’t have to cook tonight. Though, they didn’t have out usual order, but I did get something else I think you might like-“

Shouto gets cut off before he can show him what he got.

“Didn’t you see my text?”

Mismatched eyebrows rose up into the hairline of Shouto’s bangs, and he fished his phone out of his jean pocket. He must have forgotten switch off silent mode, as there was an unread message from Katsuki.

Katsuki: Stay the fuck home, not up for it today.

With a frown, Shouto read the text over and over, trying to hide the fact that Katsuki didn’t want to see him today.

“Not up for what?” Shouto questions, just to make sure.

It wouldn’t be the first time one of them calls off their arrangement for the night, the reason usually being overtime hours at the agency or emergencies. Shouto takes in the sight of Katsuki’s battered body, and he thinks it’s obvious why he wouldn’t feel up for it tonight. But Shouto realizes that even when he feels like he’s not in the mood to see anyone, Katsuki remains the sole exception.

“To fuck. Isn’t it obvious? Now get out before I kick you out myself, idiot.”

He’s usually not this hostile with Shouto, even when he gets into one of those moods when all he wants to do is blast off everyone’s heads to bring himself the slightest peace of mind.

“We don’t have to. We can just eat and watch a movie, I’m not going to drag you to bed to have sex when you’re injured.”

Blue and grey eyes rove over Katsuki’s entire body, scanning for other, more concerning injuries, but aside from his trembling hands and a slight limp in his leg, the cuts and bruises seem to be the most obvious for now.

“Look at you, being so fucking considerate, halfie.”

The more Shouto watches, the more he wants to intervene. To pull Katsuki away from the shakily chopped vegetables, away from the fire on the stove that’s turned on way too high for what he wants to prepare.

“Do you want me to help you dress your wounds? They might get infected if you keep them exposed.”

There’s several bandages stuck to his arms, but they look close to giving out at any moment – Katsuki must have run away from the paramedics on sight and took care of the injuries himself. Shouto is familiar with that, not wanting to burden anyone with having to take care of him, so he would clean, apply the necessary creams over his wounds and dress them on his own, neck craned in the bathroom mirror which usually left him with a crick in it the following day.

And there have been multiple times where they helped each other in the locker rooms, first aid kit at the ready whenever the other would come in covered in bruises, maybe sporting one or two broken ribs, too stubborn to get proper care at the hospital.

The way Katsuki flinches away from him when Shouto reaches a cold hand onto the purple bruise beneath his eye triggers something in him that he hasn’t felt in many years.

“I don’t need your help. Go home.”

Shouto thought they were past that. Past hiding themselves at the bare sight of vulnerability and weakness. Thought they both understood that being seen like this wasn’t a weakness in itself, as they were both humans before they were heroes.

“You know I don’t mind. You don’t have to hide from me, Katsuki. I’ve done it before, if you’re worried about me not messing up the bandages-“

“I said I don’t need your help. Is that so fucking hard to understand, halfie?”

Shouto doesn’t understand why he’s reacting like this. He thought at least the mention of spicy food would bring up his mood.

“But I want to-“

“You don’t have to!” Katsuki cuts him off, banging the knife on the kitchen counter.

Red eyes turn to look at him and Shouto suddenly feels like he’s being set on fire, but not in the kind of way he feels when Katsuki has more intimate intentions with him. No, this time it almost feels like Katsuki wants to set him on fire, wants to explode in his face in the worst way possible.

“How many fucking times do I have to fucking repeat myself? I don’t need your damn help, halfie! You can’t come in and do whatever the fuck you want just ‘cause I gave you a spare key.”

Shouto thought Katsuki didn’t mind. Didn’t mind him coming over and sharing space with him. Didn’t mind Shouto’s presence, having to cook for two, carrying Shouto to his bed after they showered, get an extra blanket because Shouto would hog it all in his sleep.

“But we’ve done this before. You don’t need to ask me, I offered to do it. I don’t mind.”

Shouto tries to explain himself, to assure Katsuki that he’s not being seen as a burden, if that’s what he’s thinking right now. If Katsuki is probably thinking that Shouto expected sex from him only to arrive and see him covered in bruises, beaten up after a rough fight with a villain and a ruined office building.

“You don’t, stop doing that shit. It’s not- we don’t fucking do this.”

Heterochromatic eyes narrow in confusion, but Katsuki is still watching him with the same fiery expression, and Shouto doesn’t want to believe it, but he looks angry. Angry at him. Which leaves him baffled to say the least.

There’s times where Katsuki loses his temper, becomes too frustrated with everyone in the world, with himself, and comes home stomping and on edge, close to blasting a hole into the wall of his bedroom.

But he’s never been genuinely angry at Shouto.

“But we are close. We’re friends.” Katsuki starts shaking his head at that, nostrils flaring and fingers gripping the edge of the counter. “I thought, I thought we were more than that, why are you pushing me away?”

“Because you came over to fuck. That’s what we fucking do, not this stupid shit with movies and dressing each other’s wounds and just-“

Shouto feels his own anger rise up like bile in the pit of his stomach, and the more Katsuki throws hurtful words at him, the more they feel like molten lava dripping on his skin. He knows this is a coping mechanism for Katsuki, that he’s saying stuff to purposefully push you away, to make you get away from him on your own accord, but they never worked with Shouto.

“I came over to see you. You should know it by now, that I care about you more than what we do in the bedroom.”

Katsuki scoffs, almost amused, but the look on his face screams that he’s not convinced. Like he’s calling Shouto out on his bullshit. Only this time it doesn’t feel like one of their usual games anymore.

“We’re not a fucking couple, Shouto! There’s no need for you to pretend to care about me and fret around me like a worried dumbass, this isn’t what we fucking agreed on and you know it.”

Of course Shouto knows it. He’s been hanging onto those words ever since he woke up in Katsuki’s bed and thought ‘oh, I wouldn’t mind waking up to him for the rest of my life’.

That was something he couldn’t just have, not when they had already agreed on no strings attached, no stupid feelings involved, just a way for them to relief pent up stress and not have to deal with finding one night stands who wouldn’t take advantage of them being pro heroes.

“At the very least I’m your friend, and I’m allowed to care about you, Katsuki. Don’t ask me to leave when I only want to help.”

Katsuki sighs, almost sounding defeated, but Shouto knows to distinguish the defeated sigh from the fed up one. And Katsuki sounds like he’s had enough, although Shouto feels himself hurting from this argument. They’ve butted heads before, as bickering was almost like second nature to them, but this, whatever it is, this is sharper than any knife Shouto has been stabbed with on field.

“Just get the fuck out, Todoroki.”

Todoroki

He can’t remember the last time Katsuki called him that name. He barely used Shouto’s name, instead calling him every name under the sun but his own, and lately one of the additions that Shouto personally preferred, ‘princess’. Even if it was meant in a condescending way, it still caused him to have that tingly and fluttery feeling in his chest every time Katsuki called him that.

“Why do you always push people away?” Shouto asks again, tone as frigid as his ice, a tone he’s never used with Katsuki before, but feels needed right now. No matter how much it pains him to talk to him like this.

“Cause I don’t need any of you idiots to hover over me-“

“Why do you always act like an asshole when I want to do something for you? Why do you make it more difficult than it has to be?” Shouto heaves in a breath, feeling like his lungs are burning. “Am I not good enough? Is this all I am to you, just a good fuck every once in a while so you won’t blow up when someone talks to you?”

“Oh fuck off with that you know that’s not it!”

“Do I? Do I know? Because from what you just said, I’m nothing more than your fuckbuddy, seeing as you sneer as soon as I say we’re friends. I thought we were past that, Katsuki. I want to help, but you won’t let me. You don’t let me help you, you don’t let me care about you, you just, you-“

There’s frost climbing on his back, his quirk instinctively trying to cool him down, to calm his temper, but it’s too late. He can see it in Katsuki’s eyes, can see himself, the ugly reflection of his face, his scowl directed at who was supposed to be the love of his life, if Shouto would have gotten to chance to actually say it.

“I what? C’mon, say it, Todoroki. Say what everyone else has been saying about me. Tell me I’m an inconsiderate asshole with anger issues who blows up at every fucking person who’s had the misfortune of talking to me! Don’t fucking pretend I’m anything more than that. Don’t pretend I mean more to you.”

“That’s the thing, I’m not pretending. I fucking love you, Katsuki! But you don’t want to accept that, you cower away from your feelings and deflect every time I want us to talk about the elephant in the room. I’ve been in love with you for so goddam long-“ Shouto feels the tears pricking at his eyes, but Bakugou is still frowning at him, although his fingers are tightly gripping onto his own arms, as if he’s holding himself back.

Either from punching Shouto or shaking him to calm him down, he doesn’t know.

“And I thought, that maybe, you felt the same.”

Looking up at him through the blurry mess of tears was a mistake. If Shouto thought he had a good poker face, Bakugou did it better than him. Shouto’s grown so accustomed to the fond look in his eyes and the amused grin on his face every time Katsuki would look at him, that now, when his face is so impassive, Shouto almost topples over in defeat.

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, only keeps his unwavering gaze on Shouto.

“But you clearly don’t. I’m leaving, since you dread having me here.”

There’s no hand grabbing his wrist to pull him back, no voice calling out his name to turn him around in his path. Just the eerie silence of their fallout, and the echoed thud of Bakugou’s front door. Shouto slides the extra pair of keys under it, figuring it’s best this way.

He goes home and crashes into his bed on an empty stomach, since he left the takeout back at Bakugou’s place in his hurry to get out of there, the painful curl of his insides hurting less than the crackling of his heart.

------Don’t need you anymore------

Shouto can barely see his own hands in the darkness of his office, but he’s too tired to get up and switch on the lights. His skin is tingling in the worst kind of way and he’s sure he has a twisted ankle.

It wasn’t exactly his plan to run away from the medical team and hide in his office, but with how many injured civilians they’ve evacuated out of the burning school building, Shouto could barely focus on his police statement before he tumbled his way in the agency elevator.

He has paperwork to fill in, and he’ll most likely need to pay a visit to a proper doctor as soon as possible, but his feet feel like lead and Shouto can’t get himself to move.

There’s ash clinging to his insides and one side of his hero suit is scorched. His skin is free of any major burns, as the fire wasn’t strong enough to pierce through the fireproof aspect of his quirk, though Shouto can still feel the lick of flames dance against his body.

A tub of salve is retrieved from his desk drawer, the bottom one where he keeps his first aid kit, and twitching fingers attempt at twisting open the cap. Shouto heaves a breath when his fingers slips right off the plastic surface and he stares in defeat at the slight indentation in the skin of his palm.

Two rescue missions back to back took a greater toll on Shouto than he’d anticipated, on top of a rough and sleepless night. The urge to go home and crawl into bed is distant at this hour, rest morphing into a faraway concept the hero seemed to have lost meaning of.

It’s still dark, so there’s no way for Shouto to tell how much salve he’s scooped out, but the minty freshness of the oil blend washes over him like a freezing ocean wave on a torrid afternoon, even though it’s barely Spring and the hero is cooped in his shadowy office. A light in the hallway catches the corner of his eye, although it’s not striking enough to cause Shouto to lift his gaze.

Which he should have, because the glow of the hallway light is followed by his office door being pushed open and heavy boots stepping through it.

Is it ridiculous to say that Shouto instantly knows who it is?

To admit that he knows the exact pattern of steps, sound and weight of them?

So he doesn’t lift his head to watch as an equally battered and covered in sooth and dust Dynamight makes his way into his office, bypassing the light switch as he walks until he’s on the other side of Shouto’s desk.

It’s silent for a few moments, and not because silence between them is comfortable. Not anymore at least. But because Shouto honestly has no clue as to why Bakugou is here, when he should be out there talking to the press or distracting the children they just rescued with his quirk while the nurses do their job and tend to their wounds.

Shouto should be out there too. Yet there’s no strength left in his body to take even one step outside.

It’s quiet and hidden in his office, and it’s late enough in the day that the agency staff on his floor is absent for now. It’s just Shouto, for a while, until light spills in through the crack of the door and someone who was once the Sun in his life steps inside.

(Would it be ridiculous of Shouto to say that he still considers Bakugou the Sun in his life?)

Seeing as Bakugou isn’t saying anything, Shouto caves in and cranes his neck to face him. Even in the muted light coming from the hallway he looks painfully handsome. They work together most days, thus Shouto is reminded of it each time.

“What are you doing here?” He poises, trying to level the wavering tone of his voice as much as he can. It still hurts to move around, and Shouto discovers that there’s smoke clinging to his vocal chords as he talks.

“I work here, too, dumbass.”

It’s not like Shouto hasn’t heard Bakugou talk ever since their fight, but to hear him address Shouto directly outside of stern directions while in battle, brings an eerie sense of familiarity. Barely a month passed, yet Shouto aches with the absence of a dozen moons for Bakugou.

(He’s pathetic, and Shouto laments in his own incapability of moving on)

“Not in my office you don’t.”

It’s not a quip, but it might as well have been, with how snappy Shouto’s voice comes out. He doesn’t do it intentionally, his goal isn’t to turn every conversation they have from now on into an argument, but the pain of longing comes out in the strike of a blade.

Without waiting for a response, Shouto shrugs off half of his suit and applies salve on his right shoulder, eyes closing as he takes in a sharp breath when he pulls at the aching muscles in his arm.

“Let me do it.”

Bakugou’s words resemble a weak attempt at turning things around and going back to how they used to be, for the sake of their work as pro heroes. Or, at least, that’s what Shouto assumes it to be.

“I don’t need your help.”

Shouto mutters, an echo of Bakugou’s exact words from weeks ago. They bring forth the painful memory, and Shouto feels an unpleasant shiver rake through him.

“I know you don’t.” An acknowledgement “But you can’t fuck off into your office and pretend you’re good to go home.”

Shouto doesn’t have to look to know ruby eyes are roaming over his visible wounds, much like he himself did with Bakugou back then.

“Your hand is trembling.”

There’s no energy left in Shouto to find a snarky comment as a response, so he huffs in frustration, but drops his hand in his lap. Tired eyes come up to look at Bakugou’s figure hovering over the opposite side of his desk, before Shouto reaches up to push the pot of cream towards him.

Bakugou sees this as a win for him, and there’s a slight determined bounce in his step as he rounds the desk and squats before Shouto.

“Can’t see shit, halfie. Why didn’t you switch on the lights?”

Bakugou comments, but he doesn’t seem that bothered with it. His fingers are steady as they gently apply the salve on his bruises.

“Why didn’t you?” Shouto throws back, and it must be his imagination but the huff of breath from Bakugou sounds almost amused.

Didn’t want to see me?

Is what comes forth in Shouto’s mind, but it sounds stupid even to him. They see each other plenty, there should be no problem for Bakugou to see him.

Though, he’s grateful for the lack of light right now. Shouto doesn’t want Bakugou to see just how awful he looks right now, despite having seen each other at their worst before.

“Shut up, princess.”

It slips past his lips like a spoken habit, and Shouto’s heart stutters in his chest at the mention of the nickname Bakugou once used to address him by. The blond hero catches his slip up and curses low under his breath, brows furrowing and teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“Shit, I didn’t-, fuck”

As if he’s struggling to keep it all inside.

Like he doesn’t want to be seen.

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it. It was just…”

Shouto doesn’t know what word he’s looking for, what he could even call something like that. It was just Bakugou calling him one of the teasing nicknames he has for Shouto, but it was one that gained a whole new meaning back when…

When the air around them didn’t feel so strained.

Bakugou works in silence after that, doesn’t even ask Shouto where he keeps his gauze, just digs into the bottom drawer himself. He rips the ends with his teeth and ties numerous ribbons to secure the bandages over Shouto’s wounds, like he did with his heart – ripped it out of Shouto’s chest and tied a ribbon to it, although now, the silky ends have coiled inside and turned to sharp spikes.

“Thank you, Bakugou.”

He looks up at Shouto in what looks like shock, as if he didn’t expect basic courtesy after treating Shouto’s wounds, and the sight of it rubs salt into injury. Quickly, he schools his expression and stands up. Shouto follows him with his eyes, feeling a little safer with the darkness surrounding them.

Maybe, like this, Bakugou won’t be able to tell apart the guarded fondness in Shouto’s eyes.

“Don’t mention it, halfie.”

Silence stretches out as Shouto watches Bakugou look around his office and out the window, everywhere but at him.

He understands, there’s no way Bakugou would want to look at him after what they both said that night-

“Just, so you know, I didn’t mean it.”

Oh

Shouto wants to laugh. Or cry. Or both.

“I didn’t mean it that night, when I said that we were nothing.”

Shouto stills, pulse picking up at his words.

“What?” He croaks out in a weak attempt at asking for more explanations. Clinging tight onto what could be the remnants of his crushed hope.

“When I said that, that I wanted you to get out and all that shit… I lied.”

I lied

I lied I lied I lied

It’s all Shouto hears. Lies lies lies

But why?

“Why are you doing this now, Bakugou? Why are you- why couldn’t you do this properly? Why did you-“ his voice cracks pitifully and Shouto hears himself sob “-why did you have to hurt me so bad?”

Bakugou drops back to his knees when he notices the quiver in Shouto’s tone, and it takes all Shouto has in him to not move away from him, the longing for Katsuki’s touch conflicted at the sight of a regretful Bakugou kneeling before him.

“I didn’t want to fucking hurt you, Shouto-“ Shouto “I was pissed off from work and I got way too fucking spiteful over our stupid arrangement and how I wanted it to be more than that, but, because I’m a self-sabotaging fuckwad I pushed you away. I thought I didn’t- that I wasn’t good enough to have more than what I already got.”

Two hands come up to settle over Shouto’s knees, gripping firmly akin to a steady anchor, yet Shouto feels like he’s going to drown. Tip over and fall into the pool of tears he’s spilled for a week straight because of this asshole. Handsome and caring-when-he-wants-to-be asshole.

“I fucked up and I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that, Shou, never with you.”

Bakugou doesn’t take his eyes off him, and with the way his fingers are restlessly thumping against Shouto’s knees he can tell it’s difficult for him to do so. A frigid hand comes to rest over Bakugou’s shaky one.

“I’m sorry, Shouto. For being an asshole to you when I had no reason to.”

Shouto, for the first time in the past weeks, feels special. It’s not every day that he has Dynamight kneeling in front of him and apologizing for being an asshole. The distraction from the stinging of his eyes doesn’t work, so Shouto wipes the wetness with the tattered sleeve of his hero suit before taking both of Katsuki’s hands in his.

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I just got frustrated with you pushing me away and…” The more he remembers the harder it gets for Shouto to talk, but he’s being interrupted by Katsuki shushing him.

“No, no, you had every right to call me out on my bullshit. I was fucking insensitive to how you felt, I just said dumb shit to hurt you. I’m sorry, Shou. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

Katsuki squeezes his hands and offers a small smile, a wordless sort of peace offering.

“Don’t do it again, please. I don’t- I don’t want to lose my friend again, Katsuki.”

Katsuki nods fervently and moves to get up, but Shouto beats him to it, sliding off his chair with his knees thudding – a little too hard – onto the floor and bringing him into a crushing embrace. He feels Katsuki’s hands hovering awkwardly and unsure behind him, but soon enough Shouto is being hugged close to a broad chest, and the buzzing of his bruises hurts less all of a sudden.

It’s like he’s able to freely breathe again, and his heart doesn’t feel drained of everything he held dear for the man in his arms.

Wet tracks cut through the dust clinging to the skin of Shouto’s face, and pearls of tears are probably staining Katsuki’s suit, but neither pull away.

“I don’t know if it means anything now, but I love you, Shouto. I should have said it back, when you confessed. I should have said it years ago but I, I was a fucking coward.”

It’s then that Shouto laughs. Wet and laced with sobs, but he laughs loud and unbridled, hands still clinging to Katsuki’s shoulders.

“I love you, too, Katsuki.”

Shouto feels him deflate in his arms, shoulders sagging in relief and Katsuki brings him even closer if that’s physically possible.

Despite them confessing, Shouto doesn’t know if this will change anything. Of course he wants to go back to talking freely and hanging out with Katsuki, but does this really mean that they’ll go back to being-

“When I said we weren’t a couple, I lied then, too. I mean, fuck- why is this so hard?”

Shouto, giddy from Katsuki’s close proximity, slowly pulls back, but keeps his hands around the nape of his neck. He moves away enough for them to lock eyes, despite the lingering blur of tears clinging to the corners of his eyes.

The expectant smile on his face must have been signal enough for Katsuki to continue talking.

“I know I fucked up before, and you probably don’t wanna have anything to do with me outside the whole friends thing you keep on drilling in my skull, but- I really wanna be your boyfriend, Shou. I want us to have a proper relationship, no more fucking around like idiots.”

Maybe they can make this work.

Maybe, despite Shouto thinking that he lost Katsuki for good, they can still mend their mistakes and come back to each other.

He definitely wants to, no matter how much he’s told himself that he doesn’t miss this.

Shouto missed Katsuki so much that at times it felt hard to breathe without him.

He’s being ridiculous saying that, isn’t he?

Instead of replying, Shouto leans forward and catches Katsuki’s lips in a kiss, a much needed one, laced with the familiarity of the other’s mouth moving against his and the pain of the time they spent apart.

“I’ll be yours if you’ll be mine, Katsuki.” Shouto whispers in the space between them, breath falling atop red-kissed lips.

A second kiss is stolen from Shouto’s lips, and he hums pleased into it.

“Sounds fucking perfect to me, princess.”

------I need you------