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Beep. Beep. Beep.
Well, Izuku thinks, heaven sure is annoying.
He blinks his eyes open, and once his vision goes from hazy to One for All sharp, he is able to take in his surroundings. Hospital white paneled ceiling, starched bed sheets, the faint throb of his veins where IV’s have been inserted, and, ah, yes, that’s the cause of the infernal sound – a heart monitor.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Izuku is used to hospitals. What he isn’t used to is the pressure that's curled up to one of his sides. A body, he can tell, and a warm one at that.
Turning his head is a challenge (every inch of him is sore, is crying out for him to just close his eyes again and rest) but he manages. And then everything just sort of fades: the pain, the heart monitor.
Because it’s Kacchan.
He’s sound asleep, his lips parted to let his warm breath puff out and heat Izuku’s skin through the thin hospital gown. Izuku stares at the obscene length of his eyelashes, at the way his skin is so smooth when he isn’t scowling.
If Izuku hadn’t spent, well, the entirety of his life learning how to hold back his feelings, he’d reach out to graze his knuckles across his cheekbones. Surely, someone this perfect doesn’t actually exist.
He sighs, one of the main side effects of his constant yearning.
“You awake, nerd?”
Izuku startles so hard the back of his (their?) hospital bed thwaks against the wall. He cannot be sure, and maybe they have him on some strong painkillers, but he thinks he hears Kacchan laugh. His voice is scratchy and only just rousing from sleep. It scrapes down all of Izuku’s old wounds, self-inflicted, forever embedded into his weak-for-Bakugou-Katsuki heart.
Izuku swallows. “Yeah, Kacchan, uh… Are you? Awake, I mean.”
Kacchan shifts so his head is perfectly situated in the hollow where Izuku’s arm meets his shoulder. He lifts his chin until his eyes are hooded and able to fix on Izuku’s own.
“No shit,” he deadpans, and Izuku feels himself flush pink. Why does he always have to embarrass himself in front of Kacchan? It’s been years, decades. Shouldn’t he be past this?
Either way – tragically, he isn’t.
Izuku laughs awkwardly. He makes to raise his hand (the one not trapped under the comfortable body weight of a certain murder god who lords over explosions) to scratch at the back of his head and finds he cannot. It snags on the IV lines, tangled in the sheets.
“Damn,” he mutters.
Kacchan blinks. “Oh,” he says, “uh, let me get that.”
He reaches his arm across Izuku’s chest to free the IV from the bedsheet.
Panic. Defcon one. Someone call the authorities, because once Kacchan’s long fingers fix the problem, he leaves his arm draped around Izuku and cuddles his cheek into his shoulder.
Izuku can’t take a full breath, and it has nothing to do with the considerable weight of Kacchan’s arm now resting across his torso.
Is he dreaming? He must be.
“Uhhhhhhhh,” he stammers, then short-circuits.
Kacchan chuckles. “Listen,” he says, quieter now, possibly as quiet as Izuku has ever heard him, “I almost lost you out there. You almost lost me. We almost…” he pauses. Then, “We nearly lost each other.”
And now Izuku wants to cry, because this is such a cruel nightmare. Or maybe, he did die, and this really is heaven like he thought it was when he first woke up.
At his startled silence, Kacchan goes unnaturally still. Izuku feels the now hard line of his body, the tightness of his stomach against his side (do not think about his abs right now–), senses the way it seems Kacchan has stopped breathing right alongside him.
Kacchan clears his throat, and the awkwardness between them hurts.
“Right. Sorry, this is a lot, huh?" Kacchan laughs, no humor to be heard in the deadened sound. "I mean, we just won that fucking war and now I’m over here shoving my stupid fucking feelings onto you and I can’t –”
The war.
Shigaraki. All for One.
Ah, that’s why Izuku is in the hospital this time. He’s so used to waking up here, he’s sort of gotten used to a nurse or doctor explaining the why part later.
It all clicks, and with the connection, come the memories. They’re snapshots, black and white polaroids of blood and spit and quirks gone past their limits. His friends, his teachers, the heroes he’s idolized since childhood. all laying their lives on the line for a problem that, in a way, he caused.
Then, one scene pops into his mind, in the brightest colors of cornsilk blond and crimson and black and green and blood, blood, spilt blood red.
Kacchan, dead, a cavity in his chest where his heart should be. Eyes open, staring at Izuku as he arrived late, always too late.
The panic shoots through him, clapping his system into overdrive like thunder in an end of the world reckoning.
“Woah, woah, hold up,” Kacchan says, eyes blown wide as he repositions himself. Izuku is bending over, halving in on himself, his shoulder curving inward. The panic is a run-away train, and all anyone can do now is watch and wait until Izuku comes out of it.
But Kacchan isn’t anyone.
He’s Kacchan.
So he wraps his arms around Izuku, caging his arms into his sides so Izuku can't pull his own hair out or scratch up his own skin, and whispers into his ear.
We made it, we’re alive, we are going to be heroes together or die together trying, he says. A litany, a prayer, over and over until the heart monitor steadies and the nurses that came running in (kept away by Kacchan yelling he’d blow them halfway past hell if they tried to take Izuku away from him) leave them alone once more.
“Thank you –” Izuku gasps, hunched over, his chin resting on Kacchan’s shoulder now.
“You never need to thank me, you stupid, earnest idiot,” Kacchan huffs. The words are rude, but there’s a fondness there that Izuku has only just started to pick up on. It brings another memory to the surface: Kacchan coming back, being saved, and then beating AFO as Izuku beat Shigaraki.
Holy heck.
They did it.
Crash landing out of the panic and going limp in Kacchan’s arms, Izuku begins to laugh.
He’s shaking, the laughter wracking his bones, and Kacchan is shaking with it too.
“Your laugh is like music, Kacchan,” Izuku says without thinking. “It really isn’t fair that every part of you is perfect.”
The arms around him constrict before releasing Izuku entirely. Kacchan pulls away, and they’re left, alone, in a hospital room where the lights are dimmed and the curtains are drawn shut, facing one another, squashed together on this too-small hospital bed.
“Perfect, huh?” Kacchan asks. He smirks.
Izuku takes a deep breath. He’s lost Kacchan once, literally. He isn’t about to let his stupid feelings spill out of his mouth and ruin what friendship they might build now. He knows all too well Kacchan will never lo– like Izuku the way he wishes he would. Gosh, how many birthday candles and 11:11 PM wishes has he spent on this perfect, horrible boy?
So Izuku forces a weird, off kilter sounding laugh, and says, “Of course, Dynamight is always perfect, right?”
The cocky, always-winning smirk that turns Kacchan’s face dangerously handsome flickers.
“That’s it?” he asks.
Izuku feels himself frown. “What do you mean?”
The smirk fails entirely. Now, Kacchan is a blank slate. He stares, and Izuku feels as though every inch of him is exposed, is being scrutinized beneath Kacchan’s gaze. He shifts, not uncomfortable (he could never be uncomfortable when Kacchan is finally looking at him) but a bit uneasy. He can’t track what’s happening here.
Then, Kacchan nods. A slow bob of his head. “Yeah, nothing.” He looks away, then slides his eyes so he’s again evaluating Izuku. “I’m just happy you’re finally awake, that’s all. For fucks sake, nerd, you were out a good three days after the rest of us have been discharged.”
Izuku snaps out of his uneasy state. This is easy. This he can talk about.
“Really?” he asks. “So everyone is okay? We all made it?”
Kacchan half smiles. “Yeah.”
“And Shouto? Where’s Shou?” Izuku looks about the room for some sign of his best friend. He’s typically here when Izuku wakes up, his red and white head of hair resting in his hand as he waits patiently.
Kacchan flinches back as though Izuku had struck him. He scowls, and Izuku has no idea why.
“Wha–” he begins, but Kacchan beats him to it.
“I wait here for three fucking days after being told I can finally get my ass out of this place and you ask for god damned half n’ half?” Kacchan huffs a laugh, and runs a hand through his hair. There’s a new scar that ranges down from his ring finger to his wrist. It disappears underneath the All Might sweatshirt he’s wearing.
Wait.
Isn’t that Izuku’s – ?
“Fuck this,” Kacchan says, hopping over the bed’s guard rail. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “See ya when class resumes,” he pauses. Swallows. “Izuku.”
And when the whirlwind that is Bakugou Katsuki closes the sliding door to Izuku’s hospital room, when he’s well and good and gone, only then does Izuku realize he didn’t give voice to the words that were ringing through his mind as Kacchan was leaving.
Please, wait, don’t go, I don’t need anyone other than you–don’t you realize that by now?
But, life is nothing but vicious cycles, and Izuku stays silent, afraid he’s already ruined what little they might have found for themselves.
~~~
It’s strange how a war can change everything, even though it’s fought to ensure things stay the same.
Izuku marvels at how Nezu has somehow managed to put UA’s campus exactly back to rights. Each blade of grass, every paved line in the pathways, is perfectly as it once was. Gone are all signs of the school turning into a fortress. He isn’t sure how he feels about it.
The walk to Heights Alliance is a quick one. Izuku is excited to see all of his friends. He’s a bit nervous, but he puts that into the compartment in his brain where he shoves the bad things. He knows they don’t blame him. He knows they’re family now.
He pushes the door open, and at first, all is still.
Most of class 2-A is there, it seems, perched like birds on tangled wires around the common room.
He sees Hanta and Denki near the door to the kitchen, a bowl of popcorn in Denki’s hands and puffs of it in Eijirou’s hair as he seems to be paused mid-scold, his red eyes now on Izuku.
Jirou and Momo are sat, knees touching, on the couch alongside Ochako and Tsu and Tenya.
Izuku hears Mina scream, hears Hitoshi sigh (a fond sigh, Izuku knows the tone of all his sighs), and Sato clap his hands together.
Then, a rush of red and white hair blended pink from movement, and Izuku’s nose is being squished into the broad chest of a very, uncharacteristically excited Todoroki Shouto.
A large hand comes to cradle the back of his head, blunt nails scraping against the undercut the nurses haphazardly gave him to treat a particularly nasty wound to the back of his neck.
“God damn it Midoriya,” Shouto sighs. “Why do you always have to pull the sleeping beauty card on us?”
And Izuku can’t help it–he cracks up. Through peals of laughter, he asks, “Who showed you more Disney movies while I was asleep?”
“Ochako. She said it was nonnegotiable.”
Izuku nods, pulling away to look up at his best friend. “Of course she did.”
Shouto smiles, and his small, genuine smiles are so much more common these days than they used to be that Izuku cannot help but smile back. A thought hits him, a realization.
We really are all going to be okay.
Quietly, Izuku says, “I heard about what happened with Touya. Shou, I’m really proud of you.”
Grey and blue eyes go a bit watery, but Shouto blinks it away fast. “Thank you, Midoriya.”
“Oh gosh,” Izuku rolls his eyes, “we just fought a war together, Shouto. Can we drop the family name thing now?” He gestures to the rest of their friends, all looking on with fond expressions at the reunion, giving them their space, and perhaps marveling at Shouto’s show of emotion. “Most of us have by now.”
Shouto pretends to think about it. Then, “Fine, but only you. Everyone else still has to call me Todoroki. On Saturdays only I will accept Todo.”
The crowd of them laugh, and that’s all it takes for Izuku to be absolutely swarmed by the rest of their friends. Just as the wave of hugs and welcome backs is crashing in around him, he sees Kacchan, leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, glaring daggers at the side of Shouto’s head.
Why? Certainly he can’t still be upset about what Izuku said the other day at the hospital?
He has other things to think about, however, as Ochako hugs him tight around the waist and Eijirou claps him on the shoulder.
Izuku smiles, because finally he’s home.
~~~
The Dekusquad (the name still makes him blush a bit) is lounging about in his room. It’s nearly midnight, and after an evening of celebrating being alive, they’re all exhausted.
Tenya is on the floor, Asui is next to him, her feet propped up onto Hitoshi’s shins as he leans against Izuku’s dresser. Ochako has taken the desk chair, leaving Shouto and Izuku to sit, criss cross apple slices, facing one another on Izuku’s bed.
A deck of playing cards rests in the space between them.
“Go fish,” Izuku laughs, as quietly as he can, as aside from Hitoshi (airpods in, scrolling whatever part of the darkweb he dwells in) everyone else is nodding off.
Shouto pulls a card. As he does, Izuku says, “Ya know, we should really tell the others to go to bed.”
“They won’t go,” Shouto says, shaking his head. “We were all too anxious about you staying in the hospital so long after the rest of us. It didn’t help that–” he stops mid sentence.
Izuku tips his head to the side. “Didn’t help that what?”
Shouto worries his lower lip. Whatever it is, he regrets saying it already, Izuku can tell. But he gives him time and allows him to consider it. If he doesn’t want to say it, Izuku won’t make him.
They play two more hands before Shouto says, “It didn’t help that Bakugou wouldn’t let anyone visit you.”
The cards fall out of Izuku’s hands like weird rectangular raindrops. “What?”
“He practically bit off the head of anyone who so much as lingered outside of the door,” Shouto explains. “He said there was something the two of you needed to talk about and no one else could be present for it.”
Shouto looks up from his cards to meet Izuku’s wide, shocked eyes. “So, can I ask what it was he discussed with you? Everyone’s been placing bets, and I really would like to win.”
“He didn’t discuss anything with me,” Izuku says, confused. “He sort of just… was there. He said he thought we’d lost each other, and then I asked where you were and he got mad and stormed out.”
Shouto smiles a slow, cat like smile. “Hanta is going to owe me so much money.”
“Explain.”
“I bet he was going to confess.”
Izuku chokes on air.
Shouto reaches around to pat on his back, helping him through it.
It’s then that Izuku’s bedroom door flies open, the knob smacking into the wall, putting a hole in the middle of one of Izuku’s favorite posters.
“Nerd,” a voice growls, and Izuku’s skin pricks like fireworks are being lit all over his body. “We need to fucking talk,” Kacchan continues to say as he walks in, before he halts entirely.
Izuku knows what Kacchan is seeing: all of the Dekusquad, now wholly wide awake and gaping up at him, and Shouto, with an arm wrapped around Izuku as they sit on his bed.
Kacchan is staring over Shouto’s shoulder, directly at Izuku.
And he’s glaring.
In the silence, Izuku wonders if this is how he will die. Don't get him wrong, he’s stronger than Kacchan now, but he doesn’t think he could get himself to fight back and actually harm him should he attack.
And right now, Kacchan looks like he could kill someone and smile through the blood he draws.
Awkwardly, Izuku pops off of his bed. Shouto’s hand slides down his arm as he goes, and Kacchan tracks the movement with pinpoint accuracy.
“Sure,” Izuku says, “want to go talk somewhere else?” He wrings his hands together in front of him, wait, wait, waiting as Kacchan continues to glare.
His crimson eyes slide to Shouto. “Nah,” he says, “you’re busy, ain't ya?”
Izuku frowns. Never , he wants to say, I’m never too busy for you.
Instead, he mumbles, “Um, not really?”
Kacchan laughs, practically self-deprecating. And god is that an unfamiliar, inconceivable concept to Izuku. “Fuck this,” he says, tossing a hand in the air. He turns, and for the first time Izuku really notices the scar that now runs over one of his eyes. “Dunno what I was thinking.”
He leaves, and as is tradition, Izuku follows.
Faintly, he hears Tenya say, “What on earth is happening?”
Izuku would like to know himself.
Kacchan is halfway down the hall when Izuku catches up to him. “Kacchan,” he calls, “what’s going on? Did you need something? Are you okay?”
Kacchan whirls on him, his eyes like fire. Izuku takes a step closer. He’s never been afraid of Katsuki.
But then Kacchan says, “I’d be a whole lot better if you had fucking died after dealing with handjob. Woulda been the best possible outcome. We win, and I win myself some fucking peace .”
And the world goes silent before it cracks. Right down the middle. An unfixable fissure.
Izuku’s mouth forms words, letters, sentences, but no sound comes out.
There’s no way. No way he just said that.
All of his old fears hit him in the gut at once. It feels as though he’s being told to take a swan dive all over again.
“You...” Izuku starts, breathless, pathetic and feeling so, horribly small. For a moment, the anger on Kacchan’s face gutters, but his eyes drift upwards, down the hall, and his resolve settles right back in.
“That’s uncalled for, Bakugou, and you know it,” Shouto says, deadly calm as he makes his way towards them.
“I was going to let you do this yourself,” Shouto continues, “I was going to see if you could show some of the character development you must have gained during the war we just fought, but I know Izuku, and I know he’s going to let you walk all over him. So take it back,” Shouto growls, “or get lost.”
Kacchan smirks, and its a sickly, sour look. “Wow, half baked bitch, look at you, all tough after beating your own fucking brother. I heard family violence cycles, but damn.”
Izuku watches pain flicker through Shouto’s eyes.
And his own anger ignites.
He may not be able to get angry when he himself is wronged, but his friends?
So he wraps his fingers against Shouto’s wrist, knowing fully well he won't use either his hot or cold side if it would risk hurting him, and turns to glare at Kacchan.
“If you’re going to be cruel, go do it elsewhere,” Izuku says. “I really thought you’d grown up, Kacc–” he blinks, and the anger in him turns him some kind of dumb brave, because he repeats, “I’d thought you’d grown up, Bakugou, but it seems not.”
Kacch – no, shoot – Bakugou’s mouth falls open.
“Izu–”
“You can call me what you always have. Deku, or stupid or nerd or quirkless freak or whatever, because it’s obvious the Izuku thing is all for show,” Izuku spits. He’s going to cry soon, he can feel it welling up inside his chest, so he needs to end this quickly.
“Lets go, Shouto,” he says, turning to walk away and tugging on his friends wrist.
Bakugou says nothing as they walk away.
At least, when he breaks down the moment they reach his room, all of his true friends are there with warm words and soft hugs.
He just wishes the friend he thought he’d gained was amongst them.
That he didn't wish Izuku had died in the war.
That Izuku hadn’t spent the past seventeen years loving someone without a heart of their own. Maybe that’s how Bakugou was able to come back to life.
Maybe he’s actually always been this heartless, and Izuku blind to it.
~~~
It’s their first day back in class, and Izuku can feel the holes Bakugou is glaring into the back of his head.
He tells himself he doesn’t care, that he has more friends now than he ever thought possible. Why does he need Bakugou to weigh him down? Izuku has some self-respect, if someone truly wished him dead, of course he’s going to hate him right back.
(Or so he tells himself.)
Aizawa stands at the front of the room, his eyepatch a sore reminder that what they went through wasn't just an awful fever dream.
“Right,” he says, “welcome back, and congrats on surviving not only your first year, but a literal war.” Honest to goodness pride shines in his eye, and it soothes some of Izuku’s hurt. “I’m glad to see you all safe in your seats. Anyways,” he waves his hand through the air, as though he’s wiping the sappy heartfelt words away, “you’re all going to be writing a team essay on what you went through. It’s been ordered by Hound. It’s therapeutic, he said, or something like that.”
Everyone groans. The last thing they want on their first day back to some normality is an essay. But Izuku perks up at the thought of it being a team project – he’s happy to work with any of his friends.
“I’ll call out the groups. You’ll find the partnerships are based on who you were around most during the last stage of the war,” Aizawa says.
Izuku’s stomach drops, now heavy with the ice solidifying there.
Oh no.
“...Iida and Todoroki…”
Maybe he’ll be with Ochako? After all, that is where he was first sent–
“...Uraraka and Tsu…”
Frick.
“...Midoriya and Bakugou…”
All right, he can do this. Izuku takes a deep breath. In and out. If he can live after all he’s gone through, he can live through this one last project together. After, when they’re done and the paper is turned in, he’ll explain to Aizawa-sensei that they can’t be partnered up anymore. He’ll blame it on… Trauma, yes, that.
“Fuck this,” he hears Bakugou mutter, and a bit of the anger returns, thawing the ice in his gut.
“Fuck you,” Izuku replies without thinking.
The class falls pin-drop silent.
“Did Midobro just say the F word?” Eijirou asks, one part dumbfounded, one part gleeful.
“Holy shit,” Denki breathes.
“I knew it would happen one day!! I told you!!” Hanta says.
Izuku hears Tenya sigh. Shouto laughs, smothering the sound with his hand.
Behind him, he hears Bakugou stand. His chair scrapes harshly against the tile. “Who the fuck taught you to talk like that, nerd? And who the motherfuck told you it was okay to curse at me?”
Internally, Izuku is freaking out. He’s a little worried Aizawa is going to call his mom.
Externally, he’s calm, cool and collected. A true chilled cucumber.
Slowly, as though he's bored and this is all below him, he twists in his seat to look at Bakugou. He arches one brow, and Bakugou seems to flinch back at his devil-may-care expression.
“No one has the authority to tell me to do anything , Bakugou,” Izuku says. “I just saved the whole damned world from the super-villain who took down All Might, and you think I can’t say a bad word? Grow up.”
Their class goes bananas, and in the mayhem, Izuku hears Aizawa cracking up, hears Ochako hoot and holler, hears as Eijirou begins to placate his precious Bakubro (no, Izuku isn't, wasn't, and never will be jealous. Not at all. No way. Why would you even think–) but he pays them no mind as he simply stares Bakugou down.
Crimson eyes sear into his. You’re starting a war here, Bakugou seems to say.
Bring it on.
~~~
“Izuku-kun,” Tenya says, “as much as I enjoy your company, shouldn’t you be working on your own paper? We only have until the end of the week to complete them, you know.”
They’re in Shouto’s room, sat on his tatami mats. Izuku likes it in here. It’s so different from the rest of the dorm that it feels like an escape. Sure, he’s intruding as Tenya and Shouto work on their paper, but Shouto has said Izuku was always welcome here–so here he is.
“I think if I approached Ka–Ugh, Bakugou right now, he’d explode me,” Izuku replies. He looks to Shouto. “It’s okay that I’m here?”
Shouto nods, “Always, you know that.”
So he stays and listens to them re-hash their fight against Dabi, and when the hours have passed and he really needs to start the homework for his other classes, Izuku excuses himself and leaves.
And why, when he opens the door to Shouto’s room and walks into the hall, Bakugou happens to be walking past, he does not know. Maybe the powers that be hate him. Maybe AFO is haunting him. Whatever the cause, the temperature seems to drop to below freezing when the door clicks shut and they lock eyes.
Bakugou’s gaze strays from Izuku to look at the door he just exited. He laughs once, a cruel sound. “Leaving half n’ half’s room. Of course. Why am I not surprised.”
Bakugou’s words from last night come back to him, harsh and stinging like paper cuts.
I’d be a whole lot better if you had fucking died
I heard family violence cycles, but damn
Izuku decided in class today that he likes curse words. They draw a reaction out of people. They feel like speaking power, like incantations.
So, yeah, fuck this guy, he thinks.
“Go to hell, Bakugou,” he says, and wow is that a rush of feeling. What he’s feeling, he isn’t sure exactly, something like adrenaline and fear, but he doesn’t want to take back the words.
As he walks by, their shoulders check, and he can’t be sure, but he thinks Bakugou whispers, “I’m already there.”
~~~
Thursday, the day before their paper is due, Izuku finally musters up the nerve to hunt down Bakugou so they can start their partner paper.
He finds him deep in the library, his backpack slung onto the chair besides him, his books and papers and pens strewn across the tabletop so no one else might find the space to join him. Izuku rolls his eyes, because it’s all so typical Bakugou.
“Hey,” he says lamely as he reaches the end of the table.
Bakugou doesn’t look up, but he replies with a huff that Izuku knows by now is a half-greeting.
“We need to work on our assignment.”
Bakugou looks up from whatever he’s working on to stare at Izuku. He looks tired. “Already finished it,” he says. “I’ll tell Aizawa we worked on it together or whatever the fuck kind of teamwork he’s looking for.”
Izuku crosses his arms. “But I need to sign it.”
“Did it for you.”
“How do you know my signature?”
Bakugou blinks. “You probably know my shoe size, my blood type, my exact weight and all of the aspects of my quirk. And yet you think it’s odd I’d be able to forge your signature?”
Izuku nearly blurts out the exact facts he just mentioned, but he bites his tongue. He guesses Bakugou has a point. They have always been shoved together in a way.
“Fine, whatever.” Izuku turns to go.
A fist grips into the hood of his sweatshirt. “You’re really not even going to ask to read it first?” Bakugou asks. There’s something like desperation in his voice. Izuku ignores it.
Izuku glances over his shoulder and wow Bakugou is a lot closer than he was expecting. Their noses graze, and Izuku feels his stomach clench. Bakugou doesn’t back away. Neither of them do.
“Um,” Izuku manages, “I guess I could read it.”
Bakugou’s eyes search his, darting, looking for something. They then fall to Izuku’s mouth, and Izuku thinks right here, in this moment, he is going to die because his heart is about to jump out of his chest and crawl into Katsuki’s.
Then, someone drops a book somewhere in the labyrinthine stacks, and they jump apart.
“I–” Izuku feels his face heat. Watches in horror and fascination as a faint trace of pink colors Bakugou’s own face. “Shitfuckigottagobye!”
“Oi!” Bakugou calls after him, though he does not follow, “I told you to stop fucking cursing!”
~~~
The following Monday rolls around like a bad omen, and Izuku is nervous to go to class. They’re supposed to get their grades back on the partner paper today. He has some awful feeling Aizawa is going to know he did not participate at all, and that he’s going to fail him and then call his mom.
“I noticed most of you only turned in one physical copy of your papers,” Aizawa says to start class, “so I went ahead and photocopied the original and graded both so you each might have a copy.”
A paper plops down onto his desk as Aizawa walks down the rows to dole out his judgement. Izuku's eyes skim the first few sentences.
There, in Bakugou’s perfect, small handwriting, it says:
Historians will say there’s glory after a war is won–a sense of peace and righteousness. They speak of celebrations in the streets and the warm welcoming of soldiers. Perhaps quirks have changed this long-standing belief, that to win is to begin anew and better and brighter. Whatsoever the cause is, it is our opinion that to win a war is to sacrifice part of yourself, is to forgo your morals for the safety of the many.
And perhaps, it is also to build bonds that seem solid as the threads of fate, only to watch as they fray and snap as normalcy returns. It is to watch as your heart walks away from you after you’d finally thought you’d regained it. It is to be alive, but only in the form of the walkingdead.
In the following paragraphs we will discuss what we went through and how we feel now, having come out the other side as….
Izuku feels his mouth go dry. Build bonds as solid as the threads of fate only to watch as they fray? In the form of the walkingdead?
He thinks of how Bakugou whispered that he already was in hell.
He thinks of how he lorded over Izuku in the hospital, waiting until he woke up, curled, small, like a child, into his side.
Nothing makes sense and everything is backwards and his head hurts.
There’s no time to think on it as Aizawa announces they’re sparring today–for them to all head down to the locker rooms to get ready.
~~~
His UA jumpsuit feels scratchy against his skin. He feels nervous. He actually jumps when Shouto comes up beside him after they’re done changing.
“Everything okay?” Shouto asks, brows drawn together as they walk into one of the open gyms together.
Izuku nods, swallows, and lies. “Of course! I’m a-okay!”
Shouto huffs. “So what you mean to say is Bakugou wrote something worldview-changing in your partner paper and now you have no idea what to do.”
Izuku blinks. “I hate you.”
“No,” Shouto smiles, “you don’t. But hey,” he leans into Izuku, knocking their shoulders together, “you always find the right path. Oh, and, please do so quickly, because I did place another bet with Hanta.”
Izuku groans. “Where did this propensity for betting come from?”
“From the ease of access I have to Endeavors bank account, of course.”
Izuku giggles, and it’s the lightest he’s felt all day. He makes to thank his friend for picking him up when he’s needed it most, but before he can, Bakugou walks by, side-eyeing them.
Izuku clams up, he can’t help it.
At the sparring rings, Aizawa calls out pairs. Izuku’s first fight against Momo is long lasting and exhilarating. After he wins, he comments on how much stronger she’s gotten, how impossible her quirk is to beat.
“But you managed,” she laughs, smile bright and pretty as always.
Izuku grins, “I don’t count.”
From across the gym, Bakugou huffs, “Cocky little bastard.”
And that’s about enough of that.
“Spar with me next, Bakugou,” Izuku calls, and the room immediately feels supercharged. Mumbles and murmurs spread around like fire, questioning what’s happened; when Izuku quit calling Bakugou Kacchan; if they think they should get Aizawa’s attention or a fire extinguisher.
“Gladly,” Bakugou replies with a smarmy look, and Izuku feels One for All crack across his body, lighting him up like neon.
They circle one another in the ring, ignoring the way the rest of the class has frozen in order to watch.
“Make a fucking move, idiot,” Bakugou snarls.
“I’m waiting on you, Bakugou, like I have my entire life,” Izuku says.
“What the hell could you possibly mean by that? I’m over here waiting on your ass to wake up, waiting to talk to you about everything, waiting to fucking cut my own heart out and hand it to you and you start talking about someone else!”
Izuku straightens, the spar forgotten. “What?”
Bakugou stands tall as well, one arm sweeping out to point at a gleeful looking Shouto. “The first thing you asked about was Todoroki fucking Shouto! We practically die for one another and you’re over here drooling over half n’ half, letting him hang all over you, sharing your bed with him, coming out of his room late at night –”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Izuku raises his hands in front of himself. “Hold on. I – you think I’m with Shouto?”
“Of course you are!” Bakugou shouts. “What the fuck else are you? Super, really good friends?” he asks, tone mocking.
Absently, Izuku notices Eijirou as he approaches Bakugou from behind.
He ignores the interloper, saying, “I am being dead serious right now, Bakugou, yes, we are just super, really good friends.”
Two rings away, Shouto cups his hands to his mouth and yells, “Bakugou, I’m dating Hanta. Have been for two months.”
Bakugou’s mouth falls open. “What? ”
“You’re a gosh dang idiot!” Izuku yells. He can’t believe they could have avoided all of this.
Bakugou looks at him, incredulous and livid. “ME?! I’m the idiot?! You’re the worst fucking person to ever have been–”
Izuku doesn’t wait to hear the rest. He raises a fist to strike first.
Bakugou catches it, reflexes otherworldly as always, and squeezes hard enough to break bone.
The air between them feels heavy, weighted with something and Izuku is overwhelmed with the proximity and the realization that maybe, just maybe, he hasn't been alone in his feelings.
“Oh give it a rest already!” Eijirou says, stepping into the ring behind Bakugou. “You really need to be nicer to Midobro, Bakubro. Let me help! Hug it out!”
Eijirou gives Bakugou a shove, and he stumbles forward. Izuku raises his free hand to grip Bakugou’s shoulder, stopping him from colliding with him, but leaving them nose to nose. Bakugou finds Izuku’s hip as a resting place for his free hand, a way to steady himself.
Izuku feels the racing of Bakugou’s heart, pressed chest to chest like this.
And then his brain disconnects from reality as he presses his mouth against Kacchan’s.
It feels like a punch, like a blow, like his lungs don’t know how to draw breath anymore. His blood feels like an oil slick over dangerous waters and someone’s thrown a match atop it. It’s the exact kind of danger he craves–like breaking his bones and mending them only to go do it again the next day.
But when Kacchan doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything, he panics and pulls away.
He doesn’t go far, but he puts enough room between them in order to look into Kacchan’s eyes. His wide, terrified eyes.
“K-Kacchan?” Izuku says.
And the worry melts off of Kacchans face like that was some kind of magic word.
“Fucking finally, nerd,” he whispers, leaning in so the words are muttered against Izuku’s mouth. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to hear you call me that stupid nickname. Stop with the family name bullshit.”
They’re kissing again, but this time, they’re really kissing.
Kacchan slides his hand up Izuku’s side until he’s gripping tight to the back of his neck, holding him in place. Izuku moves his hand to Kacchan’s cheek, his thumb near the corner of Kacchan’s mouth.
It’s fast and implausible and a dream and Izuku feels right at home.
“Oh,” he hears Eijirou say, “oh dang I really just thought they’d hug.”
“Hanta,” Shouto calls, “that's two date nights you owe me now.”
Izuku thinks he hears Ochako say, “It’s actually happening! Tenya, take a picture!” but he can’t be certain because Mina and Denki are screaming banshee in a haunted wood style.
He laughs, so full of everything, all of the feelings, and can feel it as Kacchan smiles against his mouth.
“Damn nerd.”
~~~
They become the sort of couple everyone hates–but only because they’re jealous.
Once Kacchan had explained he didn’t mean a word he’d said after the hospital and Izuku explained, yeah, duh, same , things fit together like a puzzle that was just missing one piece in order to be perfect.
They’re at lunch, the Dekusquad and Bakusquad squashed together into one table, Izuku perched happily on Kacchan’s lap.
“Open,” Kacchan orders, and Izuku happily obliges as Kacchan pops a piece of chicken from their shared yakisoba into his mouth.
“That’s horrifying, really,” Denki says from across the table.
“What is?” Eijirou asks.
“Seeing Kats be so… I don’t know… Mushy?”
“He was always like that with Deku,” Ochako says, “you all just decided to ignore the obvious pining.”
“Honestly I didn’t know I was in love with this little fucker until I literally died, but go off cheeks,” Kacchan says absently, too busy readying the next bite for Izuku.
Izuku, who is now sputtering and squeaking because–
“You love me?!” he screams.
Kacchan startles, turning quickly to look at Izuku. He blinks, and then stands so quickly Izuku topples out of his lap and onto the floor. He strides toward the door, making his escape from any kind of emotion or embarrassment, but stops, his hand on the handle, ready to turn and leave.
“Holy shit,” Hanta says, his voice easily heard as half of the cafeteria is watching the show they’re apparently putting on for UA today.
“Two thousand yen he turns back around for Izuku,” Shouto replies.
“Todo, you really must stop betting Endeavors money,” Tenya says.
“Todo is only for Saturday's, Iida,” Shouto replies, “and Endeavor is a bitch who doesn’t deserve a redemption arc.”
With a huff audible from even this distance, Kacchan turns around and stomps back to where Izuku still waits, sprawled out on the floor. He grips the arm Izuku extends, a small smile on his face, and begins to laugh as Kacchan yanks him up, only to then toss him over his shoulder.
“Lets get the fuck outta here, ‘Zuku,” Kacchan says.
Izuku is hanging down Kacchan’s back, limp like a lazy cat. He slides his hand casually, oh so easily, natural as anything, into Kacchan’s back pocket. Because why not? They’re together. Kacchan loves him. He can do things like this now.
“Okay, Kacchan. Whatever you say, Kacchan.”
~~~
They won't fight like that again until they're 23 and Katsuki comes back to their apartment to a dog he did not say Izuku could get - but that's a story for another day