Work Text:
Izuku Midoriya was used to late nights in the UA Support Department workshop. It was quiet, save for the hum of machinery and the occasional spark of a welding torch. He liked it that way.
What he wasn’t used to was Bakugo showing up in his doorway.
Again.
For the third time that week.
Izuku didn’t even bother looking up from the gauntlet he was working on as he spoke. “What did you break this time?”
A familiar scoff filled the room, followed by the sound of something heavy being dropped onto his workbench. “Tch. Gauntlet’s busted.”
Izuku sighed, finally glancing at Bakugo. He stood with his arms crossed, scowl firmly in place, like he wasn’t repeatedly showing up at his workshop with conveniently timed ‘equipment failures.’
Izuku picked up the gauntlet and examined it. The outer casing had a few dents, but nothing serious. More importantly, the mechanisms inside—ones designed to withstand Bakugo’s level of combat—looked fine.
“…You know, for something that’s ‘busted,’ this is surprisingly intact,” Izuku said, raising an eyebrow.
Bakugo clicked his tongue. “Yeah, well. It felt off in training.”
“‘Felt off?’” Izuku repeated, unimpressed. “Kacchan, this thing could survive a missile strike.”
“Are you sayin’ I don’t hit harder than a missile, nerd?”
Izuku gave him a flat look. “I’m saying that if there was a problem, I’d be able to see it. But there’s not.”
Bakugo said nothing, just shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. His foot tapped against the floor, restless.
Izuku narrowed his eyes.
“…You’re not actually breaking these on purpose, are you?”
Bakugo bristled. “The hell would I do that for?”
“That’s what I’m asking.” Izuku placed the gauntlet down and crossed his arms. “Because I’ve fixed this thing three times this week, and every single time, it’s been completely fine.”
Bakugo scowled. “Maybe you’re just blind, dumbass.”
Izuku sighed, rubbing his temples. He could already tell he wasn’t going to get a straight answer out of him. “Okay. Fine. I’ll look it over. Again. But if I don’t find anything, I swear—”
“Just shut up and fix it,” Bakugo muttered, looking everywhere but at Izuku.
Izuku exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he grabbed his tools. The room fell into silence, aside from the occasional clink of metal and the buzz of a screwdriver.
And yet—Bakugo didn’t leave.
Izuku had noticed this before. How Bakugo always lingered. How he leaned against the workbench, arms crossed, watching as Izuku worked. How he never actually seemed in a rush to get his gear back.
It didn’t make sense.
Unless—
Izuku froze mid-adjustment as the realization hit him.
“…Kacchan,” he said slowly, peering up at him. “You like coming here, don’t you?”
Bakugo stiffened. “What?”
“That’s why you keep bringing me this stuff.” Izuku sat up, setting the gauntlet down. “You don’t actually need anything fixed. You just—” He hesitated, the words almost too ridiculous to say out loud. “—want to be here?”
Bakugo scoffed, crossing his arms tighter. “Don’t be a dumbass, Deku.”
But Izuku knew that reaction. That exact brand of deflection. He had grown up with it.
“…Oh my god,” Izuku whispered, realization settling in. “You do.”
“Shut up.”
“You do.”
“I said shut up.”
Izuku grinned, absolutely delighted. “Oh my god, Kacchan, if you wanted to hang out, you could’ve just asked.”
Bakugo turned so fast that Izuku barely had time to register the explosion that went off just far enough away from him to be a warning.
“I don’t want to hang out with your dumbass,” Bakugo snapped, face very suspiciously red. “Fix my damn gear.”
Izuku laughed, picking up the gauntlet again. “Whatever you say, Kacchan.”
And as Bakugo sat back down in his usual spot—arms crossed, glaring at the wall, not leaving—IzuIzu just kept smiling.