Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Katsuki Bakugo had always believed his strength defined him. Fierce, fast, and relentless—his power was something he’d worked tirelessly to cultivate. It was the foundation of who he was, a reflection of his fiery spirit and unshakable determination to be the best. Ever since he was a child, he'd trained with a singular goal: to surpass everyone, including those who had once been his closest friends. In a world that valued power, Bakugo had always been certain that only the strongest deserved to stand at the top—and that was exactly where he intended to be.

But as much as Bakugo prided himself on his strength, there were moments when his confidence wavered, and it wasn’t because of anything physical. It wasn’t his skill, or his quirk, or even his determination that faltered. It was because of Izuku Midoriya.

Izuku—Deku, as Bakugo had cruelly called him in their childhood—was someone Bakugo had always tried to ignore. The boy was weak, clumsy, and always seemed to be in his way. A constant presence at the edges of Bakugo’s world, he had been easy to dismiss as a failure. Quirkless, timid, and always looking up to Bakugo like a pathetic puppy, Izuku had been a source of annoyance, a reminder of everything Bakugo thought he’d outgrown. Yet, even as Bakugo pushed him away, Izuku refused to fade into the background.

There was something about him—a quiet determination, a stubborn refusal to quit—that always gnawed at Bakugo. At first, Bakugo convinced himself that it was nothing more than a passing irritation, that the boy would remain in his shadow, just another obstacle to crush. But the more Bakugo ignored it, the more the feeling festered. Izuku had always been there, lingering in the periphery of his thoughts. It was more than just annoyance. It was something deeper, something Bakugo couldn’t place, something that made his heart feel heavier.

It wasn't until the sports festival, after they both got U.A., that Bakugo’s world truly began to shift. He fought against Izuku, and for the first time, he didn’t see a weak, trembling boy in front of him. Instead, he saw someone fierce, determined, and powerful. Izuku had changed. No longer the boy who stumbled over his own feet, no longer the one who apologized for taking up space, Izuku had become someone Bakugo could no longer dismiss.

And that realization? It tore him apart.

Bakugo hated it. He hated that, for the first time, Izuku had impressed him. He hated that the boy had become something more than a pathetic loser in his eyes. It made him feel things he didn’t understand, things he didn’t want to understand. It made him feel small.

It was they fought that Bakugo found himself thinking about Izuku more than he cared to admit. For days, the image of his rival haunted him—Izuku’s strength, his persistence, the fire in his eyes. Bakugo didn’t want to acknowledge it, but there was no escaping it. He wasn’t just impressed by Izuku. He was… drawn to him.

The feelings were unsettling, confusing. Bakugo didn’t know how to process them. How could he? He had spent years hating this boy, and now, he was starting to feel something more. Something that went beyond rivalry. Something he couldn’t explain. But the more he tried to shove it down, the more those feelings gnawed at him, relentless and undeniable.

It wasn’t just admiration anymore. It wasn’t just respect. It was deeper—something that ran through his veins like a slow poison, something that made him ache in ways he never thought possible.

The first time it truly hit him was during the battle against the League of Villains, during their internship with the pro heroes. The chaos of the fight, the adrenaline of the moment, had left Bakugo feeling more vulnerable than he liked to admit. And when the dust settled, and he found himself face to face with Izuku, something in his rival’s gaze made his chest tighten. It wasn’t just concern, though Izuku had always been the caring type. No, it was something else. Something far more intense, something that Bakugo could feel deep in his bones.

Izuku cared about him. That much was clear. But in that moment, Bakugo realized something far worse: he cared about Izuku. I mean of course he cared about him but not as much as he thought he did.

The thought was terrifying.

How could he let himself care about the boy he had spent so many years hating? How could he allow his feelings to change so completely? It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Izuku didn’t belong in his world. He was too good, too pure, too kind for someone like Bakugo.

And the worst part? Bakugo knew it.

Izuku had a future filled with love and support. He had friends, allies, and a family who cared about him. People who saw him for who he truly was—brave, kind, and worthy of admiration. Bakugo, on the other hand, had his pride, his anger, and his strength. But none of that could fill the hollow emptiness in his chest. None of it could fill the space that Izuku occupied in his heart, unbidden and unwelcome.

Izuku had everything Bakugo wanted, everything Bakugo needed, and yet Bakugo knew he would never be the one to stand by his side the way others did. He would never be the one to hold Izuku’s heart. That realization tore him apart every single day.

Bakugo tried to ignore it. He tried to bury the feelings. He focused on his training, on his path to becoming the greatest hero. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he pushed, those feelings wouldn’t go away. They clung to him, relentless and unforgiving.

One evening, as the sun set behind the U.A. campus, Bakugo found himself alone on the roof. The weight of the day, of the years spent struggling to suppress his feelings, pressed down on him. He was exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally—but there was no relief. The world felt suffocating.

He didn’t even hear the footsteps until they were almost right behind him.

“Hey, Kacchan,” Izuku’s voice was soft, tentative, filled with the same kindness Bakugo had learned to both resent and crave. Bakugo tensed, his muscles stiffening as he turned to face his rival. Izuku’s face was tired, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. But there was something else there—something that made Bakugo’s chest ache even more.

“Deku,” Bakugo muttered, his voice rough as always. He tried to keep his guard up, but there was a shift in him that he couldn’t ignore. Something in his gaze, something Izuku couldn’t possibly see, was different.

Izuku smiled. That damn smile.

“You’re up here alone,” he said, stepping forward cautiously. “I thought I’d keep you company.”

Bakugo didn’t answer right away. He just stared at Izuku, his mind a storm of conflicting thoughts. Izuku, standing there so carelessly, so unguarded, didn’t understand. He couldn’t. How could he?

Bakugo opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words didn’t come. How could he explain what was in his heart? How could he voice the feelings that made him feel weak, that made him feel small?

Izuku waited, patient as ever, but there was a quiet uncertainty in his eyes, as if he could sense something was wrong. Bakugo’s heart twisted painfully in his chest.

And then, in that silence, Bakugo understood something he couldn’t ignore. He loved Izuku. It wasn’t just admiration, it wasn’t just rivalry. It was love. And no matter how much he tried to deny it, no matter how much he pushed it down, the truth was inescapable.

But it wasn’t a love he could ever have. Izuku would never look at him that way. Izuku had someone else. Someone who wasn’t filled with rage and pride and the constant need to be the best. Someone who deserved Izuku’s heart—someone who wasn’t Bakugo.

The pain in his chest was almost unbearable, but Bakugo didn’t speak. He couldn’t. The truth was too heavy. Instead, they sat in silence, the world outside falling away as the weight of their unspoken words settled between them.

"I know he'll never love me," Bakugo thought, the ache in his chest growing sharper. He could never be the person Izuku needed. And yet, despite all of it, he couldn’t stop loving him.

Why couldn’t he stop? Why did this aching desire never go away?

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Bakugo sat there in the quiet of the evening, realizing he was trapped. Caught between a love he could never have and a future that could never be. A love he couldn’t voice, a future he couldn’t change.

And so he stayed, silently tortured, knowing that no matter how many times he told himself to forget, he never would.

Chapter Text

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a soft, golden hue over the U.A. campus it was a Christmas party in the dorms and Bakugo really didn't want to socialize with others. The air was warm, carrying a hint of spring’s newness. Bakugo, as usual, was outside sitting on a bench nearby class 1-A's dorms, away from the chaos and noise of dorms. He liked being alone, away from people. The silence gave him space to think—or at least, it used to. These days, his thoughts were anything but quiet.

He had never been one for doubt, but lately, something gnawed at him from within. Something he couldn’t shake. It wasn’t his training. It wasn’t his rivals or his endless quest to be the best. It was Izuku. Izuku, who had always been there, and yet never truly *there* in the way Bakugo wanted. It was a frustrating, maddening feeling—a bitter yearning that Bakugo refused to acknowledge.

“Hey, Kacchan!”

Bakugo’s hand curled into a fist, his eyes narrowing even before the voice reached him. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Izuku. Always showing up when Bakugo least wanted him to.

“What do you want, Deku?” Bakugo grumbled, his usual sharpness in his voice. But there was no malice in it today. Only weariness.

Izuku stood a few paces away, his expression a mix of concern and uncertainty. His green eyes, always so open, flickered with hesitation as he took in Bakugo’s stance. Bakugo could see the way Izuku studied him, like he was trying to read a book that was just too difficult to understand.

“You okay?” Izuku asked, his voice gentle, as if he already knew something was off.

The words hit Bakugo in a way he wasn’t prepared for. It was the kindness, the softness in Izuku’s voice. It was always like that. Like Izuku cared, like he was always aware of the space Bakugo occupied in the world, and always there to close the gap, to pull him in, even when Bakugo didn’t deserve it.

“Tch. I’m fine,” Bakugo snapped, his voice too harsh to be convincing. But Izuku didn’t push. He just nodded, taking a step back.

“I’ll... I’ll leave you alone then.”

Bakugo didn’t say anything, watching as Izuku turned to leave. He should’ve let him go. He should’ve walked away, let the boy be, but something inside him froze. A spark of something—something desperate—made him call out.

“Wait.”

Izuku paused, his back to Bakugo. “Yeah?”

Bakugo swallowed hard. His throat felt tight, like he had a lump lodged in it. His mind raced with thoughts, with words that didn’t make sense, words he couldn’t say. Why did he always care? Why was Izuku always there?

But instead of speaking, Bakugo just shook his head, the words dying on his tongue. Izuku turned back, his smile as warm as ever, that same, annoying kindness filling his eyes.

“Alright, Kacchan. I’ll see you later,” Izuku said before he walked off, his steps light, his energy as infectious as always.

Bakugo clenched his fists, feeling the familiar rush of frustration surge through him. He hated this. Hated that Izuku could always make him feel something. Hated that no matter how much he pushed him away, Izuku kept coming back, like a constant reminder of everything Bakugo couldn’t have.

But even in his frustration, he knew. Izuku was different. The way he looked at the world. The way he looked at Bakugo. Bakugo had never been able to figure it out. Maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe he was afraid of the answer.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden voice from below.

“Deku! Wait up!”

Bakugo’s head snapped toward the sound. His eyes narrowed as he watched his classmate, Ochaco Uraraka jog up to Izuku, her cheerful, bright voice cutting through the quiet. She was always so full of energy, always so… happy. So carefree. Bakugo knew that she had a soft spot for Izuku, and he couldn’t quite figure out how to feel about it.

Izuku turned around to face her, and Bakugo saw that familiar, warm expression he’d seen so many times before. The smile that only Izuku gave to people he cared about. The kind of smile that made his chest tighten, even when he didn’t want it to.

Uraraka reached Izuku, a playful smile on her face as she caught her breath. “I was looking for you,” she said, her tone light and teasing. “You always run off ahead of me.”

Izuku scratched the back of his head, laughing nervously. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to leave you behind.”

Bakugo watched them from his vantage point on the roof, feeling an unexplainable, aching pang in his chest. They were so *comfortable* with each other, so at ease. He could see it, the way Izuku looked at her, the way she looked at him—like there was a bond, a connection that Bakugo could never understand.

“Hey, wanna go grab some food?” Ochaco asked, her voice bright with excitement.

Izuku nodded, his smile never fading. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

As they turned to leave together, Bakugo’s eyes narrowed. The words he’d heard from Izuku earlier echoed in his mind: “I’ll leave you alone.”

He didn’t know why, but the idea of Izuku *eaving him alone—of Izuku being happy with someone else, with Ochaco—felt like a punch to the gut. It was suffocating, crushing. And as he watched them walk off together, Bakugo realized, in the most painful way, that Izuku’s heart was never his to claim.

Later that evening, Bakugo sat on the roof again, but this time, he wasn’t alone. The sun had set, and the night sky was full of stars. He watched the distant lights of the city twinkle like little diamonds, but his mind wasn’t on the view. His mind was on Izuku and Ochaco.

The knot in his chest had only grown tighter, and he found himself replaying the scene over and over in his head. Izuku and Ochaco—so natural together, so right. They shared something Bakugo would never have. Something he would never be.

Izuku deserved it, he knew that. Izuku was the kind of person who gave everything for others, who loved with all his heart. But that didn’t make the pain go away. The ache of seeing Izuku happy with someone else—it twisted inside him, relentless.

“Why does it hurt so much?” Bakugo whispered to himself, though he knew there was no one around to answer.

He had always been so sure of himself, so convinced that he was meant to be the best. But now, now that he had confronted the truth of his feelings for Izuku, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to move forward when the one person who mattered most to him would never see him the way he saw them.

His thoughts wandered back to his previous moments with Izuku—their rivalry, their fights, and, surprisingly, their quiet moments too. And as much as Bakugo hated to admit it, those moments had become his lifeline. They had become everything. Yet now, they felt like a distant memory, fading faster than he could catch up to them.

Bakugo let out a bitter laugh, leaning back against the wall of the roof, his gaze fixed on the stars.

“Nobody’s special,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “Nobody’s actually special.”

The words felt heavy on his tongue, the truth of them sinking in like a stone in his chest. Izuku, Ochaco—they were special to each other. They fit together, like two puzzle pieces that just belonged. And Bakugo… Bakugo was just… Bakugo. Just a guy who was always fighting, always pushing forward, never stopping. Always alone.

“Nobody’s special,” he repeated quietly, the weight of it finally sinking into his bones.

And for the first time, Bakugo wasn’t sure if he meant it about Izuku. Or if he meant it about himself.