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Denki won’t even look at him.
It’s been days, and everything Katsuki has tried has been a resounding failure.
Apologizing, grovelling, bringing meals to Denki’s bedroom door, taking the attention off of him when their friends’ typical teasing seems to be ramping up too much. Eventually, the stress of it all mounted until he snapped.
(“What do you want from me, for fuck’s sake? I panicked! I had no idea what the fuck was going on and you were wrecked, Sparky. Completely fucking wrecked. I’m not going to keep apologizing forever, damn it!”
A blank, exhausted stare. A door closed in his face.)
So, now he has that to apologize for, too. He’s at the end of his rope. Katsuki knows he has to deal with this somehow, even if that means washing his hands of it and letting Denki ignore him forever. Even if it means forcing himself to forget, forcing himself not to care anymore. People are starting to notice. His friends, especially Eijirou, have been poking and prodding at him, taken aback by his subdued behaviour. Every time someone asks what’s wrong, Katsuki wants to scream.
Often, he notices Izuku sending him knowing looks, with those awful, sad eyes that make Katsuki want to punch his lights out. That make him want to cry. It’s his fault Katsuki’s in this mess in the first place.
(But it’s not. It’s nobody’s fault, nobody but that faceless man’s.)
It’s a Tuesday. One week since Denki last spoke to him. When Katsuki looks in the mirror, he almost doesn’t recognize himself. His eyes are dim and tired, bruised with fatigue. His hair is flatter than usual and all of his fire is just. Gone.
He doesn’t really understand why this is affecting him so much. Why he’s losing so much sleep, so much drive. He wants to go back to before any of this happened, to when he was himself. And Katsuki curses himself for wanting that, for feeling it, because there’s no way his frustration and exhaustion could possibly hold a candle to whatever chaos is brewing in Denki’s mind.
The day drags on, and he tries, as he always has to now, not to pay too much attention to Denki. He isn’t particularly successful, but at least he never gets caught looking.
He hasn’t tried to speak to him since Saturday, when he yelled. He still doesn’t.
He doesn’t, that is, until he’s jogging back to Heights Alliance just before curfew. It’s the first time he’s gone for a run since that night, and the exertion feels good. The burn and ache in his legs is welcome, the endorphins settling some of his rage. As he slows to a walk on the path up to the porch, Katsuki is stopped in his tracks.
There’s Denki, sitting on the steps, looking at his feet.
When he hears Katsuki approach, it startles him, head whipping up and eyes widening. All of Katsuki’s relief drains away, replaced instead by nausea. He watches as Denki realizes he’s safe, as his shoulders relax and his expression settles back into neutrality. A part of Katsuki is glad to know that Denki doesn’t feel afraid in his presence. Still, there isn’t much comfort in it.
Katsuki frowns, averting his gaze. He begins to make his way up the steps, keeping a safe distance from his friend.
“I’m sorry,” Denki croaks.
He stops.
“I’m sorry, Bakugou.”
Slowly, Katsuki tries to process that. He stands in the silence that lingers after Denki speaks, and considers just leaving. Pretending he didn’t hear. Punishing Denki for punishing him.
He turns around and sits, thumbing at the lid of his water bottle. He watches Denki out of the corner of his eye. Denki’s rocking back and forth, slowly and evenly. Self-soothing.
“I’m not mad that you told Midoriya,” Denki tells him. “I’m humiliated. And upset. And I wish you hadn’t, but I’m not mad.”
Katsuki doesn’t know what to say. He takes a sip of water to occupy his mouth, and hopes that Denki will keep talking.
He does.
“I’ve never felt like this before.” Denki’s wringing his hands, refusing to look up. It’s a sorry sight, and it makes Katsuki’s heart clench. “Like, I’ve been sad, and I’ve felt terrible for all sorts of reasons. I’ve probably even been depressed before, at least for a while. But this is. This is different. I don’t know how to describe it, Kats.”
He takes a long, shuddering breath. Katsuki, without even thinking, shifts incrementally closer. Little more than an inch.
Denki rubs his eyes, still watching the ground, and continues, “Everyday, I wake up and have to remember, and then wish I hadn’t. I’m so embarrassed and I’m angry that I feel like that.” He finally looks at Katsuki. His face is devastating. He looks so lost. “I know it’s not my fault, because everyone always says you can’t blame yourself when someone hurts you like that. But I’m the one who went out after curfew, I’m the one who stopped at the park, and I’m the one who didn’t leave just a minute earlier. So I know it’s not technically my fault, but it doesn’t feel like it. And I don’t know what other people will think. If they’ll blame me.”
Katsuki gapes. He shakes his head and shifts even closer, tamping down the urge to shout.
“Denki, nobody would blame you. Especially none of these stupid extras, they fuckin’ love you,” he argues.
Denki smiles, but it’s hollow. Exhausted and sad.
“You can’t know that for sure,” he replies. “I know that some of them wouldn’t. I know Midoriya wouldn’t. But you never really know until you know. And I can’t- I can’t deal with anyone blaming me right now, or probably ever, because I still can’t convince myself to stop blaming me. It’s all too much.”
His eyes are glassy, and it’s in noticing that, that Katsuki also notices the redness. Denki’s already been crying today. Recently.
Katsuki’s tried, over the last few weeks, to imagine the pain. What it would feel like if he were in Denki’s position. He can’t. That degree of violation, that monster of self-blame, the proceeding loneliness, it’s all alien to him. The closest he can get is the villain that attacked him in middle school—and he was rescued back then. Nobody came for Denki.
It’s impossible, he realizes, to be angry at Denki right now. Truly angry. Any frustration he feels is laced with heartache.
Katsuki swallows around the lump in his throat, looks down at his knees.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
For a minute, Denki is quiet. The silence prickles at the nape of Katsuki’s neck, taunts him. He wants to break it, say something more, find the correct combination of words to fix everything. He can’t think of anything.
Eventually, Denki seems to figure out what he wants to say.
“I don’t need you to be sorry. I just need you to not tell people. I need. I need to be able to control something about it. And I know that’s not fair, and I’m really sorry, but it’s okay if you don’t do anything else. You don’t have to look out for me like you have been, just, please just don’t tell anyone else.” His voice is desperate.
And if he can’t fix it, then he can at least give Denki this. So, Katsuki nods. He sets his water bottle on the step beside him, angling his body towards his friend. He knows it probably isn’t right, but he feels a little better.
“I’m still gonna look out for you, idiot,” he grumbles.
Denki smiles. A real one. It’s tired and thin, but real. Not one of those forced, massive ones he’s been sporting in the company of others for weeks, nor a bitter, sad one. It’s relieved and kind. And it goes against most of his instincts, completely shatters his touch-averse reputation, but Katsuki opens the arm closest to Denki. An offering. Denki stops rocking.
“I’m all sweaty,” Katsuki warns.
It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because Denki’s already scooting closer and settling into the line of Katsuki’s body. His head rests in the crook of his neck, knees knocking against Katsuki’s, and the slow exhale he releases as Katsuki folds him into his arms is more than worth it. The warm weight of Denki leaning on him, calm and safe, is a balm on his sore heart. Denki’s hands stay folded in his lap, but Katsuki doesn’t mind doing all of the holding. It’s what he needs, anyway, more than being held back.
“Thank you,” Denki whispers.
Katsuki grunts, running his hand down the curve of Denki’s back. He thinks about healed scrapes and bruises, how they’re gone now, but not really. He rests his chin on the crown of Denki’s head and stays just like that, with no intent of pulling away until Denki does.
“Is it…” Denki trails off for a moment, seeming uncertain. He only continues after Katsuki squeezes his arm and hums, prompting him. “Is it still okay for me to sleep in your room sometimes?”
While a part of Katsuki appreciates that Denki’s asking, offering him an opportunity to put in place boundaries that weren’t there before, he can’t help but scoff. He’d gotten used to coming back to his room to find Denki already there, curled up on his loveseat or in his bed like he belonged there; to waking up in the middle of the night to Denki sneaking into his room and crawling into bed beside him; to Denki taking long naps, his soft breaths a soundtrack to whatever Katsuki might be working on; to sending texts after finishing his homework asking, are you coming here tonight?
The last week, without any of that, has been weird. Wrong, in a way, for more reasons than the obvious.
“Don’t ask stupid questions, Sparky,” he says. “Obviously it’s fine.”
Denki huffs, something like a laugh, and it’s the sweetest sound Katsuki’s heard all week.