Chapter Text
A Home Not Meant For Him
The envelope had been sitting there for three days. White and pristine, untouched except for the faint smudge his thumb had left when he’d first picked it up, contemplating whether to tear it open or throw it straight into the trash. It stood out like a sore thumb against the chaos of his desk — stacked mission reports, half-finished memos, and a coffee ring from the cup he hadn’t bothered to clean up this morning. The golden script on the front caught the light whenever he glanced at it, and Bakugou Katsuki hated how it taunted him.
Midoriya Izuku & Uraraka Ochako cordially invite you — even the words made his teeth itch.
“Cordially, huh,” he muttered under his breath, scoffing. Since when did the nerd start talking like a fucking Hallmark card? That idiot couldn’t even string two sentences together without stuttering back when they were kids.
But Deku wasn’t a kid anymore. He wasn’t the whiny little brat Bakugou had spent years bullying into the ground. He was a hero now. The hero, if you went by the media’s incessant rankings and fan polls. He was a name people whispered like a prayer. A symbol of hope.
But goddamn, he had earned it.
Bakugou’s lip twitched as the thought settled in. He could deny a lot of things — hell, he had a lifetime of practice — but he couldn’t deny that Deku had bled for every inch of his success. It wasn’t just raw strength or some stupid, flashy passed down quirk that had made Deku what he was. It was the unrelenting, stubborn-as-hell determination that had been there since they were kids, the kind that didn’t know when to quit, even when it should have.
He had fought for it, suffered for it, broken himself in ways most people wouldn’t even survive. And Bakugou had watched it all, from the sidelines and from the trenches, fighting beside him in moments that felt more like war than hero work.
And if anyone deserved to stand at the top, it was Deku.
But knowing that didn’t make it easier to watch him standing there, hand in hand with someone else.
It wasn’t just the image that haunted him — the way Round Face’s hand fit so naturally in Deku’s, like it had always been meant to be. It was the way the nerd smiled when he looked at her, unguarded and full of a warmth Bakugou could never hope to match. That kind of smile wasn’t meant for someone like him.
Maybe it never had been.
And it definitely had been his own fault, that it had come to this.
The realization was a slow, bitter poison, the kind that seeped into your veins when you weren’t paying attention, until one day you woke up and realized you were drowning in it. Bakugou hated how pathetic it made him feel. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this — he was Katsuki Bakugou, goddammit, fucking Dynamight, the number two hero who didn’t need anyone.
So why did it feel like his chest was caving in every time he thought about that stupid smile?
It wasn’t fair. No, screw fair — it was unbearable. Because that smile didn’t belong to him. It belonged to her now. It belonged to her laughter, her presence, her goddamn optimism that lit up every room she walked into. It wasn’t just that Round Face had stolen something from him — no, she hadn’t stolen anything. That was the worst part. She hadn’t taken anything that Bakugou had ever been brave enough to claim in the first place.
He gritted his teeth, the tension in his jaw threatening to crack it open. This was his punishment, wasn’t it? For every word he’d spat at Deku when they were kids, every time he’d crushed him beneath his boot, thinking he was doing the idiot a favor. He’d spent years shoving him away, building walls between them with every explosive insult and every pointed glare. And now? Now he was on the outside of those walls, left to watch from a distance as someone else got to see what was on the other side.
Someone better than him.
“Fuck,” Bakugou muttered, running a hand down his face. His palm pressed against his eyes, as if he could block out the images burned into his mind. Deku holding her hand. Deku looking at her like she hung the damn stars.
The pain simmering in his chest boiled over. His fist slammed down onto the wood of his big, expensive office desk, the sound echoing sharply in the quiet room. The impact sent the envelope flying to the floor, its letter slipping out, fluttering like it had been waiting for this moment all along.
Bakugou stared at it for a long, seething moment, the edges of his vision red and blurry. He didn’t want to pick it up. He didn’t want to see the words he already knew were there, scripted neatly in that polite, perfect way Deku did everything these days.
But he rose from his seat anyway, jaw tight as his fingers reached for the stupid piece of paper. It crinkled slightly as he unfolded it, reading the words that were so simple and yet so annoying and hurting.
You’re invited to celebrate the housewarming of Midoriya Izuku and Uraraka Ochako.
Date: Friday
Time: 7 PM
Place: 243 Evergreen Heights
It even had their stupid names signed at the bottom, like it was some kind of official hero event. Round Face’s handwriting was bubbly and warm, looping over Deku’s neat, methodical strokes. They fit together perfectly, even on stupid paper.
He hated how his name looked on the page. You’re invited. It wasn’t like they’d singled him out. Everyone would be there — their classmates, their coworkers, anyone who wanted to bask in the glow of the perfect fucking couple.
But Bakugou wasn’t like the rest of them. He couldn’t just show up and pretend it didn’t matter.
His thumb brushed over Deku’s name, the ink slightly raised under his skin. His chest felt tight, like his ribs were trying to crush his lungs. He thought of turning up and seeing Deku standing beside her, smiling like he didn’t have a single regret in the world.
He thought of skipping it, burying himself in work or training or something — anything — that would keep him from thinking about it. But the invitation would still sit here, wouldn’t it? Mocking him, daring him to be the kind of person who could let go of the past and just be happy for his friends.
It wasn’t like he didn’t want them to be happy. Hell, they deserved it. Deku deserved it more than anyone. And Round Face — she was… she was good for him. She was the kind of person who brought light to places Bakugou only ever burned down.
By the time Kirishima appeared at his door, Bakugou hadn’t managed to concentrate on the fucking pile of work that came with running a hero agency. His office was littered with unfinished reports, his laptop screen stuck on a half-written email he’d started an hour ago. But his gaze kept drifting back to the goddamn invitation sitting on his desk like it had something to prove.
He ran a hand through his hair, blonde spikes falling messily over his forehead as he glared at the doorway. And there was Kirishima, grinning like an idiot, his massive frame casually leaning against the doorframe like this was just another day. It wasn’t. Not for Bakugou.
“You know it’s Friday, right, Bakubro?” Kirishima asked, raising an eyebrow like he was trying to sound casual. He wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Yeah, I’ve got a calendar, shitty hair,” Bakugou snapped, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. The defensiveness in his tone was automatic, a reflex he’d never quite lost.
Kirishima chuckled, stepping into the room and plopping down into the chair across from him. “Just checking. Didn’t want you to forget about the party tonight.”
Bakugou’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as if Kirishima had insulted him personally. “What makes you think I’m going to that stupid thing?”
“Because it’s Izuku,” Kirishima said simply, shrugging like the answer was obvious. And maybe it was, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
“Tch.” Bakugou turned his head, glaring out the window instead of looking at his so-called friend. And yeah, Kirishima had somehow turned into the closest thing Bakugou had to one over the years. But that didn’t mean he wanted to hear this right now.
Kirishima leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and tilting his head to the side. “Come on, man. You’re not really thinking about skipping, are you? Izuku would lose it if you didn’t show.”
Bakugou’s fingers drummed against the arm of his chair, his scowl deepening. “Why the hell does it matter if I’m there? It’s their stupid housewarming. They’ll have plenty of people blowing sunshine up their asses without me.”
“Because you’re their friend,” Kirishima said, his usual carefree demeanor giving way to something more serious, more grounded. He stood up. “And because it does matter. To them and, honestly? You’re gonna regret it if you don’t go. I just know it, man.”
As Kirishima’s footsteps faded down the hall, Bakugou stayed where he was, silent and still except for the faint twitch of his jaw. Slowly, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as his gaze drifted back to the letter on his desk. It was folded now, creased and crumpled in places, sitting just out of reach like it was daring him to pick it up again.
“Stupid nerd,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, a weak attempt to mask the storm building in his chest.
And maybe Kirishima was right. Maybe Bakugou already knew what he was going to do, even if every part of him hated it.
Because no matter how much it burned, Deku was still Deku.
And Bakugou had never been able to walk away from him.
✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏
The Porsche rumbled to a stop in front of the house, and Bakugou stared at it for a long moment, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. The place looked like something straight out of one of those glossy magazines you’d find in a dentist’s waiting room — modern but not obnoxiously so, with clean lines and warm lights glowing through the large front windows.
Even from outside, Bakugou could hear the faint hum of conversation and laughter spilling out into the crisp evening air. It grated on his nerves more than it should have. He slammed the car door shut with a little more force than necessary, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets as he trudged up the walkway.
The place wasn’t anything fancy, but it was cozy in a way that made his stomach twist. It wasn’t just a house — it was a home. Their home.
A home that wasn’t meant for Bakugou.
As he reached the front door, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorbell. The invitation crumpled in his pocket felt heavier than it had any right to be, like a reminder that he didn’t belong here. Not really.
The quiet buzz of laughter and conversation filtered through the door, muted but unmistakable. He could hear it — Deku’s laugh, warm and stupid and full of the kind of joy that always seemed to bubble over in him. The kind Bakugou could never bring himself to hate, no matter how much he wanted to.
He should’ve left. Should’ve turned on his heel, shoved the invitation into the nearest trash can, and walked away without looking back.
But before he could make a move, the door swung open, and there he was.
“Kacchan!”
Bakugou froze. The word hit him like a sucker punch, soft and familiar in ways he hated to admit. Deku stood there, framed by the glow of the warm light spilling out behind him, and for a second — just a second — it felt like the whole world had gone quiet.
His hair was the same messy mop it had always been, sticking up like it had a life of its own, defying every attempt to tame it. The curls caught the light, a faint halo of green and gold, like something out of a half-forgotten dream. His eyes — those stupidly bright, wide eyes — practically shimmered in the soft light, their usual green now touched with amber. It wasn’t just the color, it was the way they looked at him, open and steady, like they saw everything Bakugou was and didn’t flinch.
He was smiling — grinning, really — like he always did. Like everything in the world was just as it should be. It was the kind of smile that made you feel like you belonged somewhere, even if you didn’t want to. Even if you knew better.
Deku wasn’t wearing anything special — just a plain white shirt and jeans, comfortable and easy. But somehow, he still looked — hell, Bakugou didn’t know. Like he’d stepped out of a life Bakugou would never have, one filled with things he could only ruin. He looked real, grounded in something Bakugou could never quite reach.
And yet, there was more to him than what anyone else would see. Bakugou could see it. The faint shadow of exhaustion in the set of his shoulders, the way his hands — calloused and rough — hung loosely at his sides, ready for anything. Deku didn’t look like someone who’d been through hell, he looked like someone who’d survived it. And yet, somehow, he was still shining. Still so fucking bright.
It pissed Bakugou off, how effortless it all seemed. How someone like Deku — someone who’d fought and bled and broken himself a hundred times over — could still stand here like this. Smiling like the weight of the world hadn’t been on his back for as long as Bakugou could remember.
And maybe that’s what pissed him off the most. That Deku still had it in him to be this way — to be soft, to be good, to be everything Bakugou knew he wasn’t.
“I’m so happy you made it,” the nerd beamed, his voice too bright, too damn sincere. Before Bakugou could snap back some kind of gruff reply, Deku moved closer, reaching out with one arm.
And then he hugged him.
Yeah… what the fuck. He hugged him.
It wasn’t one of those quick, polite pats on the back people gave when they didn’t know what else to do. No, Deku wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like Bakugou wasn’t bristling with the awkwardness of it, standing stiff and frozen as if his body had short-circuited.
He never did that. Deku never did that. Not to him.
And yet, here he was, all stupid warmth and easy familiarity, like they weren’t surrounded by people, like it wasn’t the most uncomfortable thing Bakugou had endured in years.
The scent of him hit next, something fresh and clean, like soap and the faintest trace of something sweet. It wasn’t anything special — it wasn’t even noticeable to most people. But right now, it felt like it was the only thing Bakugou could focus on.
The worst part wasn’t the smell. It wasn’t even the casual weight of the nerd’s arm against his back or the way his stupid grin somehow made the moment feel even more intimate.
No, the worst part was the warmth. That goddamn warmth that seeped into his skin like it had a right to be there, filling cracks he didn’t even realize were still open. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel at all.
And it made him wish Deku had never done it. Never reached out, never pulled him into something that felt too much like safety, like home. Because now, Bakugou knew what it was like to be wrapped in it, and he hated that he already knew he’d miss it the second it was gone.
“Alright, let me go, nerd,” he grunted, finally finding his voice as he stepped back, breaking the contact with more force than he needed to. His face was set in a scowl, but his throat felt tight, and his hands stayed stuffed in his pockets, clenched into fists.
Deku just laughed, like he didn’t notice the way Bakugou’s shoulders were wound so tight they might snap. “I’m just glad you’re here, Kacchan. It really means a lot.”
Bakugou didn’t reply, just muttered something unintelligible under his breath as he stepped past him and into the house. The warmth lingered, sticking to his skin like an unwanted reminder, and he hated it. Hated it because it hurt like fucking hell to not be able to feel this longer.
Inside, the house was exactly what he’d expected — bright and lively, a place built to hold laughter and comfort, with every little detail screaming of their combined touch. Deku and Round Face. They even decorated like a damn team.
Little touches here and there, from the framed pictures on the walls to the mismatched throw pillows on the couch. It was the kind of place you’d look at and think, yeah, someone happy lives here.
Bakugou clenched his jaw and kept moving, stepping into the living room where the noise hit him like a wave.
Almost everyone from their old class was there, the familiar faces pulling him back to days he hadn’t thought about in a while. Icy Hot and Four Eyes stood near the open kitchen, each sipping on a beer while engaged in what looked like a painfully serious conversation.
Kirishima was by the couch, grinning as usual, chatting with Pinky and Earphone Jack, who both waved animatedly as Bakugou entered. Dunce Face and Tape Face were over by the dining table, setting up some kind of drinking game that already looked like a disaster waiting to happen. Even Froggy was here, perched on the armrest of the couch, listening intently to something Round Face was saying.
And there she was, right in the center of it all.
Round Face wore a flowy dress in a soft pink, the kind of color that made her look even brighter than usual, like she belonged in a place like this. The deep backline showed just enough to make her look effortlessly elegant without trying too hard, and she held a glass of champagne in one hand, her other gesturing as she spoke. She looked so fucking happy, so content with the life she was creating with Deku, and Bakugou couldn’t even blame her for it.
Because truth was… he—
Fuck .
The thought slammed into him, sharp and unrelenting, and he couldn’t stop it before it burned through the walls he tried so hard to keep up.
He gritted his teeth, fists clenching in his jacket pockets so nobody could see that he was barely holding himself together. His eyes darted away from her, but it didn’t help. Everywhere he looked, the house screamed of them. Their lives. Their story.
And him? He was just the idiot standing on the sidelines, watching it all unfold like some kind of sad, unwilling spectator.
“Oi, Bakugou!” Kirishima’s voice boomed over the chatter, his sharp-toothed grin as big as ever. “You made it!”
Bakugou grunted, giving a stiff nod as he made his way over, already regretting it.
“Holy crap, he actually showed up,” Pinky teased, her grin spreading as she leaned toward him. “Did someone blackmail you or something? You hate this kinda stuff.”
“Shut up, Raccoon Eyes,” Bakugou snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m here, aren’t I? What more do you want?”
“Relax, man,” Kirishima said with a laugh, clapping Bakugou on the shoulder. “We’re just glad you came. We didn’t think you’d actually—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Bakugou cut him off, glaring.
Earphone Jack raised an eyebrow, her expression neutral as she fiddled with one of her earlobes. “It’s a valid point. You don’t usually attend social gatherings.”
Bakugou clicked his tongue. “What, you want me to leave? Fine, I’ll—”
A hand landed on his shoulder, and Bakugou stiffened instantly. The touch was too familiar, too casual.
“Stop teasing him, guys,” Deku said, his voice warm but firm. His hand stayed there, solid and grounding, and goddamn it, why was the damn nerd so touchy today? It messed with Bakugou’s head, more than Deku himself, his presence alone, already did.
Bakugou’s shoulder burned where Deku’s hand rested, but it was nothing compared to the fire in his chest when Deku’s green eyes found his. Bright and clear, too honest for their own good.
And in those tiny moments — seconds that stretched longer than they should — Bakugou always questioned if Deku saw it. If he really saw it. The things Bakugou tried so hard to bury. Saw what Bakugou had never been man enough to say.
“You want something to drink, Kacchan? Beer?” Deku asked, his voice light, his smile so fucking genuine it hurt.
Bakugou shrugged, forcing his voice into something neutral. “Why not.”
He followed Deku toward the kitchen, his boots heavy against the hardwood floor. As they walked, Bakugou’s sharp gaze darted around, taking in the rest of the house — the carefully chosen furniture, the framed pictures on the walls, the stupid little knickknacks that made it look like a goddamn catalog.
“So, you’re playing good civilian with wife and house now?” Bakugou drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
God, he was so damn petty. No, he wasn’t just petty — he was being an asshole. But he couldn’t help it. The words slipped out, sharp and bitter like broken glass, before he could stop them.
Deku paused, glancing back at him with a faint frown, but it wasn’t the kind of look that cut. No, it was worse. It was understanding, like he saw straight through the barbs to whatever Bakugou was trying to hide.
“I guess so,” Deku said, smiling again, softer this time. “It’s nice, though. Having a place that feels… stable, you know?”
Stable . That word landed like a punch to Bakugou’s gut, even though Deku had no idea. Of course it was stable. That was what Deku always did — he built things up, held them steady, made them better. Meanwhile, Bakugou…
“Tch,” Bakugou muttered, shoving his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. “Sounds boring as hell.”
No. It fucking didn’t.
It sounded like exactly the opposite for Bakugou. Stability, comfort, the kind of peace that came with sharing something — anything — with someone who made everything feel less unbearable? That didn’t sound boring. That sounded like a goddamn miracle.
And honestly? It wouldn’t have mattered if it were for a house, or some shitty apartment, or even a goddamn cardboard box. Bakugou knew, deep down where it hurt to think about, that sharing — whatever it would be — with Deku, would be anything but boring.
But he would never say that out loud. Hell, he wouldn’t even let himself think it for more than a second before stuffing it down, burying it beneath years of sharp words and stubborn silence. Because admitting it, saying it, would make it real. And real was dangerous. Real meant cracks, openings where everything he’d built up to protect himself could come crumbling down.
So instead, he said nothing.
The words hung in the air for a moment, unchallenged except by the faint frown that flickered across Deku’s face.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you, Kacchan?” Deku said finally, his voice lighter, breaking the silence with one of those soft laughs that always hit Bakugou wrong, like a pressure building in his chest, too tight and impossible to ignore. “But it’s not so bad. It’s actually… quite the opposite.”
Deku’s eyes shifted then, subtle, or maybe not as subtle as the nerd probably thought. They flicked toward Round Face, who was laughing at something Frog Girl was saying. The way his expression softened, the way his shoulders relaxed just a little more — it was like he couldn’t help it. Like the sight of her was all it took to make him feel grounded.
Bakugou felt his jaw tighten, the ache in his chest sharpening into something colder. He shouldn’t care. He had no goddamn reason to care. But seeing that look — the one Deku didn’t even realize he wore — made Bakugou wish he was at the receiving end of it.
And he hated that he wished that.
Wishes were for the weak, and wishes were nothing more than the shattered remains of dreams people didn’t have the guts to fight for. A crutch for cowards who let fear win. Wishes were what you had when you couldn’t reach out and take what you wanted.
And Bakugou wasn’t a coward. Not on the battlefield, not as a hero. But here? Here, where the fight wasn’t against some villain but his own goddamn heart? Maybe he was.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away before that stupid, warm light in Deku’s eyes could crack him open any further.
“Tch,” Bakugou grumbled, “whatever.”
Deku didn’t push, just opened the fridge, pulling out two beers, the glass bottles clinking softly together before he handed one to Bakugou.
Their fingers brushed, just for a second, but it was enough. Too much, really. A jolt of heat shot through Bakugou, the kind that made his stomach twist into something ugly and desperate.
And fuck, he didn’t want Deku to retreat his hand. He wanted that touch to linger, just a little longer, even if it was stupid, even if it was nothing.
But then all he could think about was how those same hands, those fingers, were probably touching Round Face. Sliding over her skin, gripping her hips, tangling in her hair. And not in some abstract way, no, because this wasn’t just some fantasy he was pulling out of nowhere.
Deku was hers. That’s what people who lived in houses together did, right? They fucked on new sheets, made each other scream in ways that echoed through walls that were supposed to mean something.
Shit.
Bakugou tore his gaze away, the beer cold in his hand, grounding him just enough to stop the spiral. But the thoughts didn’t leave. They never fucking left.
“I’m glad you’re here, though,” Deku admitted, leaning against the counter casually, like he wasn’t just shoving a knife deeper into Bakugou’s chest with every word.
His voice was soft, casual, like it was just a fact. But those words... they hit harder than any punch Bakugou had ever taken.
“It wouldn’t feel right without you.”
Bakugou’s grip tightened on the beer, the glass cool and solid in his hand, grounding him in a way that Deku’s words never could.
He wanted to snap something back, to tell Deku to shut the hell up, to stop saying things like that so fucking easily. But instead, all he could do was let out another quiet grunt, tipping the bottle to his lips and taking a long drink. The cool bitterness slid down his throat, grounding him just enough to keep from snapping — or saying something he’d regret.
But of course, that fragile moment of control couldn’t last.
“Hey, Bakugou!” Round Face’s voice cut through the noise of the party like a bell, warm and bright as she approached them. Her nearly empty champagne glass caught the light as she walked, the soft pink of her dress swaying with each step. Bare feet padded softly over the hardwood floor, carrying her toward them with an effortless ease that only added to the weight pressing down on Bakugou’s chest.
She came to a halt beside Deku, her smile radiant as ever, and in one smooth motion, Deku slid his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. The same arm that had hugged Bakugou earlier.
And wasn’t that just the cherry on top?
Would it be impolite to fake a headache and leave? To tell them he wasn’t feeling good, because fuck, he didn’t feel good. Not that it had anything to do with his head or stomach or any of the usual excuses people used.
No, it was something else entirely. Something worse.
His heart.
But you couldn’t leave the party of one of the… no, the most important person in the universe to you because you’re having a heartbreak right in front of them.
It wasn’t like he could just say, Sorry, Deku, I can’t watch you play house with Round Face while I stand here like an idiot wishing I was in her place.
So instead, Bakugou stayed frozen in place, his hand tightening around the neck of his beer bottle as he forced himself to stay rooted. Because leaving would be weak, and he wasn’t weak.
But he was a fucking coward in that regard. Had been nearly half of his life.
Round Face glanced at him, her warm brown eyes filled with that same genuine kindness that made it impossible to hate her, no matter how much he wanted to. “So, how’s the agency going?” she asked, her voice light and conversational, like she wasn’t standing there with Deku’s arm casually draped around her.
Bakugou shrugged, his free hand shoved deeper into his jacket pocket. “Fine.”
“Just fine?” she teased, a hint of playfulness in her tone. “You’ve done amazing things, Bakugou. You should be proud of what you’ve built. I saw a news broadcast about it. You’ve got some incredible sidekicks working for you,” she said with an easy smile before glancing at her boyfriend — or, Bakugou thought bitterly, if he stopped pretending not to notice the engagement ring glinting on her finger, her soon-to-be husband.
“Am I right, Izuku?”
Deku’s face lit up in that stupid, familiar way, his grin so wide it looked like it could split his face. “Absolutely! Kacchan’s agency is incredible. Everyone I talk to has nothing but good things to say about it. You’re running one of the best teams out there.”
“Stop blowing sunshine up my ass, nerd,” Bakugou muttered, though the words lacked their usual heat. He couldn’t even manage his typical bite — not when Deku’s gaze was so steady, so full of unshakable belief in him.
The evening dragged on. The house filled with the ebb and flow of laughter, conversation, and the faint hum of music from a speaker in the corner. Bakugou did his best to engage — talking shop with Icy-Hot, nodding through one of Dunce Face’s stupid jokes, and grunting noncommittal replies when Pinky teased him about loosening up. He was trying. Or at least pretending to try.
But as the hours ticked by, the effort felt more and more like an uphill climb.
When the beer ran out, he reached for champagne, pouring it into whatever glass was closest and swallowing it down without caring about the taste. It was fizzy, bitter, and somehow too sweet all at once — just like this whole fucking night.
He watched as the crowd thinned, classmates and colleagues saying their goodbyes one by one. Kirishima left to move his car, Dunce Face stumbled out with Raccoon Eyes and Tape Face, and even Icy Hot eventually nodded a polite farewell.
Round Face had long since gone to bed, her steps soft as she had climbed the stairs with a kiss pressed to Deku’s cheek, her arm brushing his on the way. Deku had smiled after her, his expression warm and tender in a way that made Bakugou down the rest of his champagne in one long, bitter gulp.
Now, the house was quiet. Just him and Deku left.
“Kirishima’s outside,” Deku said softly, his soft voice cutting through the heavy silence. He was standing near the door, his green eyes steady as he looked at Bakugou. “Said he’ll give you a ride home.”
Even now, the nerd couldn’t stop caring for him. But Bakugou knew better. It wasn’t anything special. It wasn’t about him.
This was just the nature of Deku — always kind, always giving, spreading himself thin for everyone he cared about.
Bakugou huffed, pushing himself off the couch. He wasn’t drunk — not enough to lose control, anyway — but the alcohol had loosened something in him, dulled the sharp edges he usually kept honed to perfection. His steps weren’t quite as firm as usual as he made his way toward the door.
Deku stood waiting, his smile softer now, less radiant but no less genuine. “Thanks for coming tonight, Kacchan. It meant a lot to me. To us.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Bakugou muttered, his voice rough as he reached for his jacket. The words felt automatic, detached, like they didn’t even belong to him.
He shrugged the jacket on, jerking it roughly over his shoulders as he avoided looking directly at Deku. The familiar ache was back, sitting heavy in his chest, but he ignored it. Ignoring it was all he knew how to do.
But then Deku took a step closer.
Before Bakugou could react, Deku pulled him into another hug, his arms firm and steady as they wrapped around him.
It wasn’t the first hug tonight, but this one felt different.
It lingered.
And this time, Bakugou’s walls cracked.
For a split second, he hesitated, standing stiff and unmoving. But then something gave way — the alcohol loosening the grip of his usual restraint — and his arms moved, wrapping around Deku’s solid back.
It was awkward at first, stiff and uneven, but then his grip tightened, his hands curling into the fabric of Deku’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Deku didn’t pull away.
“You’re everything, you know that?” The words slipped out, low and rough, before Bakugou could stop them.
Deku stilled, his breath hitching faintly.
Bakugou hated himself for saying it. For letting it escape. But he couldn’t stop now. His voice cracked as the rest tumbled out. “Everything you touch… you make it better. Stronger. You make people better. Even me.”
It was raw, and it hurt like hell to say, but the alcohol and the moment had ripped the words free from where he’d buried them.
Deku pulled back slightly, his hands still on Bakugou’s shoulders as his wide green eyes searched his face. “Kacchan…”
“Don’t,” Bakugou mumbled, stepping back abruptly and pulling out of Deku’s grasp. His hands balled into fists at his sides, trembling slightly. “Don’t answer that…forget it. I’m just drunk.”
“Kacchan—”
“Shut up, nerd.” His voice was sharp, but his eyes burned, and he couldn’t bear to look at Deku any longer. He turned sharply, yanking the door open as the cool night air hit him like a slap. “I’m leaving.”
Deku didn’t stop him, but the weight of his gaze followed Bakugou as he stepped outside.
The ache in his chest felt even heavier now, almost unbearable. Because Bakugou knew one thing for sure:
He’d regret tonight. And he knew Deku wouldn’t forget it.