Chapter Text
It starts like this, with his hands hot on his skin, sneaking up the back of his shirt.
It starts with,
“We can’t—” and Bakugou is pulling away, but he’s still touching Hitoshi, still holding him close, so Hitoshi doesn’t remove his hands, either.
“We can’t tell people, I can’t, I’m not—”
It starts like this, and Hitoshi’s already nodding, because Bakugou’s leaning back toward him, they’re still doing this, and Hitoshi doesn’t mind the idea of keeping this one to himself. He doesn’t care, because Bakugou kisses him like he’s starved for it, and Hitoshi isn’t much better off, so, yeah, not telling anyone isn’t really an issue at the moment.
“That’s fine,” he says against Bakugou’s mouth. “We don’t have to tell anyone anything, that’s fine with me,” he agrees, and Bakugou must agree, too, because he’s licking into his mouth again before he’s really stopped talking.
It starts like this, in Bakugou’s room behind a locked door, the two of them making out like nothing else in the world exists.
Except it doesn’t start like that, because from the moment Hitoshi first saw Bakugou, he knew it was gonna be an issue. Because Bakugou is pretty, and Hitoshi already had his gay awakening, but Bakugou is real, and tangible, and so goddamn impressive that it’s impossible for him to look away.
It could start after class one day, when too many students are crowding around the 1-A classroom. Hitoshi refuses to analyze why exactly he’s there himself— he can blend in well enough with a mob, catch a glimpse of the competition in 1-A along with everyone else. But also Eraserhead is there, and Hitoshi is never really certain if he wants to be him, or look like him, or something else that’s equal parts embarrassing and shameful. Hell, he can feel the heat in his cheeks if he thinks about it too much, the idol of his gay awakening is a teacher, and Hitoshi wants him to be his teacher, not because it’s him, but because it’s 1-fucking-A. Also, Bakugou is in the room.
So it could start there, with Hitoshi having complicated feelings toward 1-A. Maybe that’s why Hitoshi decides to be a bitch.
It might start when Bakugou is a bitch right back.
It might start at the Sports Festival. Hitoshi gets his shit rocked by Midoriya, which is disappointing but not unexpected. What is unexpected, however, is how invested he lets himself get in the affairs of the 1-A kids. It doesn’t really make a fuck who wins the tournament, now, does it? But Hitoshi’s on the edge of his seat the rest of the day.
It starts when Bakugou wins the whole damn thing, and Hitoshi watches as UA staff chain and muzzle him to the post like an animal.
It starts when Hitoshi vomits into the nearest trashcan, because he recognizes the terror on Bakugou’s face intimately. Because he has a matching muzzle at home, and a matching dangerous quirk, and none of the matching prestige and raw power.
It could even start when Eraserhead approaches him, and that entire fucking conversation is a blur. Eventually, though, Hitoshi’s waiting in the clearing at the tail end of one of 1-A’s trainings, or he’s running out of the gym before any 1-A students arrive, because, again, he has complicated feelings about it all. He wants to be them, but god forbid it look like he’s trying. Like their teacher has to help him catch up. Like he’s gunning for one of their spots.
It may start when Bakugou gets kidnapped, and Hitoshi’s glued to the news as that all unfolds. After that, 1-A really curls into themselves. They always seemed close, but— after Bakugou gets kidnapped, after they get him back, 1-A is unshakeable.
It might start when Aizawa keeps training him, and Hitoshi is mostly normal about the man at this point, even if every now and again it catches up to him that Eraserhead is training him, that he gets to call him Aizawa. Aizawa tells him that, really, he’s just waiting on a spot to open in 1-A.
It starts when suddenly Hitoshi is closer to 1-A than he ever thought he’d be, because Present Mic (and, yes, learning Aizawa’s married to Present Mic was another moment of complicated feelings) corners him. It’s another conversation that Hitoshi barely remembers, because one minute Mic—Yamada is telling him a story, and the next minute it’s foster, emergency license, abusive, safe, and he thinks he’s been adopted by Aizawa and Yamada. He knows he has, because after a hiccup (read: breakdown), Yamada frames one of the all too official papers naming the two of them as Hitoshi’s parents, hangs it in the hallway for anyone to see, and Hitoshi really doesn’t know how he ends up there, but he’s happy.
In all honesty, it most likely starts when Hitoshi is moved into the dorms along with the rest of class 2-A.
It starts like this, and Hitoshi believes he’s being hazed. It’s his second night staying at the dorms, and he likes to think he’s adjusting well. He at least hasn’t gone running to Aizawa or Yamada in tears, so that’s gotta be something. It isn’t easy, he’d be more surprised if it were, but it isn’t killing him.
It starts like this, after lights out, when Hitoshi is studying at his desk. It may only be the second day of classes, but he jumped up to the hero course from general, and sitting around doing fuck all gives him an uneasy feeling, like he’s wasting his chance. Save the odd hero class, the courses are the same, but there’s the anxiety of being in someone else’s spot, of diving headfirst into this group of people who have been through hell together. Hell left 1-A bound in blood. Hitoshi stumbled in a year late.
It starts like this, and there’s a knock at the door. He thinks it’s a knock, anyway, but it’s soft, like maybe it had come from another door.
Hitoshi opens the door slowly, and there’s Bakugou, glaring at him.
It starts like this, and Hitoshi steels himself, because— because in all honesty, Bakugou’s gotta be screwing with him, right? He remember’s the sports festival, remembers Bakugou making quite the threat even before the festival, when the students had been checking out the competition in 1-A, and, sure, Hitoshi can admit that he’d been a dick first, but that isn’t the point. 2-A still feels like everyone else’s home turf except his own, like every second, every interaction, he’s at a disadvantage.
And what’s worse, if Bakugou potentially blasting him for some perceived slight isn’t enough, is that Hitoshi thinks that on some level he gets Bakugou. The whole villainous quirk thing really forged a one-sided bond for Hitoshi that, yes, he has complicated feelings about, but that doesn’t matter.
He thought there had been some level of reciprocation, that Bakugou understands at least a portion of what Hitoshi’s facing. With Mr. Explosion Hands standing three feet in front of him, Hitoshi has doubts.
It starts like this, and Hitoshi isn’t one to make things easy for himself, so he doesn’t. He waits, quirking an eyebrow at Bakugou in question, but he refuses to speak first.
Bakugou looks more pissed off, but he bites out anyway, “I want you to use your quirk on me,”
It starts like this, and Hitoshi loses all sense of direction for this confrontation.
“What?” He snaps, and he could be nicer, but that isn’t the point.
Bakugou sighs, like he’s the one being bothered, and he has the audacity to roll his eyes.
“I want you to use your quirk on me,” he repeats, maybe a fraction slower, maybe Hitoshi’s been awake for too long. Hitoshi closes his eyes and counts to three. Bakugou is still there when he opens them again.
A noise down the hall alerts him to the fact that it’s well past curfew, and the two of them are in full view for anyone to see, and if he’s being hazed, he would really rather have as few witnesses as possible.
He steps to the side and nods back toward the rest of his room. Bakugou rolls his eyes fucking again, but he comes inside nonetheless.
With the door firmly between the rest of the world and whatever the fuck is happening here, his mind is able to drift back to Bakugou, standing in his room, still not exploding anything.
“Why?”
Bakugou answers quickly, “you got me with it during training last term, and it was the calmest I’ve felt in years,” and it sounds rehearsed, like the words have been carefully chosen, like Bakugou put honest to god thought into this.
It starts like this, and Hitoshi doesn’t even know what Bakugou’s talking about. He remembers using it on Midoriya, because it was a whole goddamn event. He remembers first using it on each of the girls, terrified of their reactions or that he’d hurt them, because even he somewhat understands bodily autonomy and that the implications of stealing it away from teenage girls are, again, terrifying. He remembers the first time Aizawa invited it, way back in the beginning, the first adult who’d ever willingly answered him like that.
He doesn’t remember using it on Bakugou.
That doesn’t really seem to be the point, though, because Bakugou keeps shifting his gaze from Hitoshi, to the ground between them, to his shoes, the mess on his desk.
“Anxiety?” He hedges.
“No shit,”
Hitoshi glares. “I’m not your Lexapro replacement,”
Bakugou scowls, his jaw actually clenching, like Hitoshi’s the dick here.
“I’ve got an appointment for my meds Friday,” he says, careful and measured like he’s barely holding back from either more expletives or punching Hitoshi in the nose.
“Why can’t you make it ‘till Friday?”
At this, Bakugou stops holding back.
“I’m fucking trying, but my mom’s an asshole, and I can’t fucking sleep, and it’s either this or riding out a goddamn anxiety attack in my room all night, so just do it or tell me to leave so I can fucking get on with it,”
It starts like this, with Bakugou snapping at him, more desperation and pleading sneaking into his voice than Hitoshi would’ve ever thought possible.
It starts like this, and “okay,” he says. Bakugou blinks, face showing more than a little disbelief.
Hitoshi isn’t a complete asshole, so he takes pity on Bakugou.
“What exactly do you want me to do?”
“Fucking— brainwash me and send me on my way,”
“I’m not letting you leave under my quirk,” Hitoshi says, narrowing his eyes at the other boy.
“Why the hell not?”
“You’d be a walking corpse, I don’t need to tell you why that’s dangerous,” he says, which is one reason.
The other being that Hitoshi’s suddenly terrified at the thought of someone else finding Bakugou, seeing him clearly under the effects of a brainwashing quirk. He doesn’t need anyone getting any more wrong ideas about him.
“Fucking fine,” Bakugou bites out. He’s upset, because apparently his evening isn’t going the way he thought it’d be, boo-fucking-hoo.
“Sit down,” and Bakugou sits on the floor, back against Hitoshi’s bed. Hitoshi sits at his desk, turning to face Bakugou, because what the fuck is he doing.
“I’ll leave you with some awareness and check in after a few minutes,”
“I don’t want any awareness,” Bakugou says, glaring at him again.
It isn’t that Hitoshi doesn’t trust him, but he doesn’t fucking trust him at all.
“Look,” he sighs, “this isn’t training, and you’re already anxious. I’d rather not find out afterward that it was too much, alright?”
Bakugou doesn’t look any less angry when he finally nods his head.
“I’ll use my quirk when you answer. You’re sure you want me to use it on you?” Hitoshi asks, because he really can’t afford to fuck this up.
It starts like this, and Bakugou says, “yeah,”
It starts like this, and Bakugou’s consciousness falls under his quirk just like anyone else’s. Hitoshi still feels like he’s playing with fire. He doesn’t loosen his hold, more-so drops the opacity, gives Bakugou just enough to be aware of basic needs.
His quirk isn’t a perfect science, so it’s entirely possible that he’ll irreparably fuck this up, but quirk training has done wonders for him. Aizawa has changed his life, taught him a level of control he’d never even thought about. A small part of him cringes inwardly, because this sure as hell isn’t what Aizawa was training him for. He was fairly confident nothing he was doing was illegal, but, god, what did that matter?
Bakugou’s face goes blank. Where there had been a scowl, eyes with an ever-present fury in them, now there’s— nothing. He blinks, and he breathes.
“How do you feel?” Hitoshi asks, slow and steady, like the world isn’t hanging on whatever Bakugou’s thinking right now.
“Good,” he answers calmly. Hitoshi’s world balances back out.
“Do you remember what we’re doing?”
“You used your quirk on me,”
“Do you want to continue?”
“Yes,”
It starts like this, with Hitoshi scared shitless.
It starts with a half-vacant Bakugou sitting on the floor of his dorm room, voluntarily under his quirk, for several minutes.
“Do you want to be fully under my quirk?”
“Yes,”
He hesitates for half a second before gradually taking more and more of his awareness until there was nothing left.
It starts like this, and Bakugou sits there for a total of six minutes before Hitoshi feels too anxious to continue.
He lets his quirk drop slowly, because Bakugou was already on edge when they’d started, and he’s afraid of making any sudden movements. Bakugou shifts slightly, turning his head and blinking a few times rapidly.
“How’d you feel?” Hitoshi asks quickly, because he feels ill.
“Fine,”
“Just— okay,”
“Thanks,”
It starts like this.