Chapter Text
It was the last Christmas party in the dorms. Kirishima had basically saran wrapped him into a Christmas sweater—an ugly as hell one, at that—but for once, Bakugou grumbled but didn’t protest too much. Was he feeling nostalgic? …Nah.
They did all their traditional nonsense, from hot cocoa to a carol from Jirou, right down to the Secret Santa. Everyone scattered, grabbing their gifts from various hiding places and handing them to their recipients. There were hugs and laughs and groans all around. Bakugou stayed in his regular place on the dorm couch, fiddling with the gift on his lap.
He watched the recipient of his gift go and grab a small gift from a corner, then stand and look around the room for their recipient. She smiled when she saw him.
That couldn’t be right. He almost looked around to see who she was really smiling at, but now she was making her way through the common room, weaving past their classmates, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She smiled again, sitting across from him on the coffee table, gift outstretched in her hands.
“Merry Christmas, Bakugou!” Uraraka said, round cheeks bright and soft as always, her eyes crinkled in a smile.
“You’re Santa, huh?” he said.
“Yep! I hope you like it. I actually…” she laughed a little, a cute blush spreading across her cheeks, “I saw it and knew you had to have it, so I traded Secret Santas to give it to you.”
Bakugou just held it, looking at her in disbelief. She’d traded to give him a gift? He glanced at his gift. He’d basically forced Kirishima to trade him so he could be her Secret Santa.
She apparently wasn’t sure what to do with his silence, because she giggled nervously and leaned forward to tap the present. “Open it!”
“Here,” he said gruffly, handing her the present from him.
“Wait—you’re my Secret Santa too?”
“Nah, I’m giving you a present I found on the couch,” he said, and before he had a chance to explain he was being sarcastic, she laughed.
“Does that mean I’m getting two presents this year?” she asked, her tone just as teasing as his had been meant. She looked at the two presents, hers and his, and declared, “Let’s open them together!”
He nodded once, and they got to unwrapping. He tried to be careful; she had wrapped it in nice paper, but it was clearly reused. She had hidden a tear with a piece of mismatched paper, carefully taped.
“You wrap so nicely, I hate to tear the paper,” Ochako said brightly, filling the silence with her usual cheerful commentary.
“Plenty more where that came from, don’t worry about it,” Bakugou said, then kicked himself. She didn’t need it rubbed in her face.
But she might not have even heard him. She had opened the gift, and she was staring with wide eyed wonder. It was sports shoes, in her usual pink and black, from a boutique shoe store that catered to heroes. He might have had them custom ordered. Nothing he would admit to though. They even had some cushioning for hard falls, so he wondered if they could replace her stupid hero costume boots.
“No way,” Ochako was saying, staring at the gift, her perfect mouth making a little O of shock, “Bakugou, I can’t take this—”
“You seriously gonna make me return ‘em? Tch—” Bakugou said, leaning forward like he was going to snatch it from her, but she leaned back a little, shaking her head vigorously.
“No! It’s alright! I’m just…wow.”
“Yeah, you are,” Bakugou said without thinking, and at her curious, blushing glance, he brushed over it with a quick, “Try ‘em on.”
She did, slipping them on and gaping at them anew. He’d had to sneak a look at her other shoes—worn out trash that they were—to get the size, and he felt almost smug to see that these ones fit perfectly.
“They’re perfect. Oh my gosh. Bakugou, you shouldn’t have—”
“Whatever,” he scoffed, going back to opening his present. He couldn’t help but feel—interested—in what could be inside.
“Oh, my present is so lame now,” she said meekly, grimacing at the gift he hadn’t quite unwrapped. He shook his head, finishing the unwrapping.
It was a hot sauce collection. Twelve bottles, in a decorative box. He knew the brand and it was fantastic, which was saying something from him. He had been arguing with Sparky about the better hot sauce just a week or two ago. She must have heard—and had to have broken her bank for this. Damn it.
“Good sauce,” he said, nodding approvingly, “Thanks Uraraka.”
She looked completely flustered when he said her name, her blush going from lightly across her cheeks to a deep red all over, and she plastered her hands to her face like she could hide it.
“It’s really nothing! I just—”
“Okay, party people! Time for games!” Pinky was shouting from the Christmas tree.
Kirishima caught Bakugou’s eye, pointing discreetly between Bakugou and Uraraka before giving him a thumbs up. Whatever the hell that meant.
Bakugou turned back to Uraraka, but she was being dragged off by Tsu and Iida for whatever game they were playing. The shoes looked good on her. He sank back into the couch. Maybe Kirishima was right, and he should ask her out.
Or maybe it was a stupid idea. He lost sight of her in the crowd of the game and everyone cheered for whatever stupid thing they were doing.
He scooped up the hot sauces and headed for the stairs. Better put these away before some extra who wouldn’t appreciate them snagged them. Or worse yet, put them in the kitchen like they could be shared. Like he would waste good hot sauce on these idiots.
It turned out, though, that the stairway was in use. Bakugou caught only a glimpse of who it was before he ducked back around the corner.
Shit.
There was no good reason to feel as angry as he did. Or whatever this feeling was. It wasn’t nearly as, well, explosive as he would usually be. Uraraka could—and did—talk to everyone, even—damnit, especially—Deku. This was nothing new. But the things they were saying were new, that was for sure.
“I was, I was wondering if, I dunno…if you wanted to go out with me? Like, a date? Or, or something. Like a date. Something like a date. I mean…”
Stammering little prick. Of course, Deku would pick today.
Bakugou didn’t wait to hear her answer. He’d made his peace, of sorts, with Deku winning two years ago. This wasn’t winning though, this was just…nothing. Deku hadn’t beat him because he hadn’t been competing for anything.
Besides, it was after 8 and he had to get to bed. Dating was a distraction. Nothing more. Let Deku be distracted. Not him. Never him. Number one or nothing.
Right?
He didn’t go back to the party, he didn’t say good night to his friends. He took the elevator up, keeping his breathing steady as it went up floor by floor. He got to his room, put away his hot sauce—he didn’t hesitate over it at all, glaring at it like it had done something to him, his chest didn’t feel tight, everything was fine—and fell into bed.
That was the end of it.
~ Ten Years Later ~
Katsuki Bakugo was tied for number one.
Tied, damn it.
He was so close to his dreams he could taste it. He couldn’t blame the public for Deku’s popularity. It made sense. The damn nerd was all sunshine and rainbows and shit, and powerful to boot. But he still hated it.
He was off tonight—his first night off in three weeks, and they’d had to push him out the door at the agency and threaten to bench him longer to make him leave. He grumbled, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he stormed down the busy, snowy street.
Christmas was in a day or two. No wonder his mom had been calling. He’d entirely forgotten, caught up in the biannual ratings so much that it was all he could focus on. He didn’t want to go home this year. He didn’t need their sympathy. It would just lead to another yelling match with his mother that would upset his father. He didn’t need the drama.
He stopped at the corner store before heading to his apartment, grabbing a protein shake rather than a full meal. Usually he’d cook—it was relaxing and much healthier—but he was too on edge to even want to relax.
Tied!
A pop of pink and black caught his eye and he glanced at the magazine cover, then straightened up to look at it properly.
It was Uraraka. She looked good—when had she not?—posing in an updated hero suit, somehow managing to walk the fine line between muscular and soft all at once. Her smile hadn’t changed in all this time. It was no wonder she was Japan’s Sweetheart, as the title article announced in a bubbly pink font.
He had seen her here and there over the years. Not enough to know what was going on in her life, but hero business was a small world. Rumors had swirled around her and Deku for a long time; maybe they still were, he didn’t know. Or care, he told himself. She’d grown out her hair and changed her costume a little. It looked good.
He leaned in a little, noticing a detail he hadn’t before. Were those…? There was no way she was still wearing the stupid shoes he’d given her all those years ago. They had to have worn out by now. But they sure looked the same, and he was right, they looked way better than the stupid boots she’d had before.
He swallowed hard, realizing he had been staring for much longer than necessary and grabbed whatever protein shake was in front of his hand, reaching for his wallet as he approached the check-out counter. It was Christmas. Everyone ate crap on Christmas.
“Give me all your money!”
Bakugou sighed, his stride reflexively becoming more purposeful. It was a single robber, pointing a gun at the clerk. So unimaginative. Bakugou leaned past him to put his shake on the counter and the gun turned to him in an instant. The barrel of the gun was pointed his way, but the way it shook, Katsuki wasn’t worried.
“You! Your wallet! Now!”
Katsuki raised his hand to the man’s face and let off an explosion. The robber screamed, dropping the gun, and Bakugou kicked it away. “You alright?” he called over to the clerk, who had dropped down to hide behind the counter. Bakugou could see the gleam of the silent alarm light from here. The guy nodded, and Bakugou got to work restraining the robber before the cops arrived.
It didn’t take long, but it did mean some quick paperwork and a chat with the officers. Then they were shoving the robber in the back of the car and Bakugou was walking away, protein shake in hand and even less motivation to cook than ever.
“Hey! Hey!!”
Bakugou turned around again, only to see the robber slipping from the officers and chasing after him, eyes wild.
For a moment, there was just the sickly yellow of the man’s eyes, and then, as if in slow motion, Bakugou watched the man blink once.
Everything returned to normal speed in a split second and Bakugou shook off the weird feeling. It turned out, he didn’t even have to go back. The officers tackled the man and this time, successfully got him in the car. The sound of his crazed laughter was cut off by the slam of the car door after him.
“Sorry about that, Dynamight!” an officer called from down the street.
Bakugou raised a hand in acknowledgement, then turned and headed away again. He shrugged his shoulders a little. That weird feeling, of watching the man blink in slow motion…
Whatever. He had bigger things to worry about.
He had missed another call from his mom. Bakugou walked in the apartment and threw his phone on the charger without calling her back.
He finally opened his drink, taking a swig and coughing when he realized he’d grabbed whatever and not the drink he actually liked.
“Fuck,” he said aloud, though there was no one to say it to.
He didn’t usually skip dinner, but tonight the grumble of his stomach was the only thing keeping him company. Sure, he walked through the kitchen a minute, considering. He even glanced at the only décor his kitchen had, a shelf with empty hot sauce bottles. All twelve, evenly spaced, sitting on their decorative box. But nothing sounded right.
So Bakugou took his usual cold shower, threw on his sweats and tank, and slipped into bed at 8 p.m. He’d been working such long hours that it had been a while since he’d managed his usual routine. Sleeping at the agency really wasn’t the same.
“Merry Christmas Eve,” he muttered to himself in the silence.
It took no time at all for him to fall asleep.
There was a weird sound in his ears when he woke up. Tinnitus?
Bakugou rubbed his ears a moment, then his eyes, blearily. It wouldn’t stop. Not tinnitus though. Was that—screaming?
He hadn’t quite gotten in motion to jump out of bed yet when two lumps jumped on him. He had his assailants off him in a moment though, swearing a little that someone would dare attack him in his own house. He was on his feet, hands ready to blast when it caught up with him.
These weren’t assailants. Or at least, not adult ones.
Two little kids sat hard on their butts on the floor, eyes full of tears. How had they gotten in his apartment?
Their screams had turned to sniffles, at least from the little boy. The little girl took one look at her brother, looked right back at Bakugou with an all-too-familiar scowl and shouted at the top of her lungs, “What the FUCK, Dad??”