Chapter Text
The envelope sat on his kitchen counter for three days before he touched it.
It had arrived in pristine condition, an elegant white rectangle with gold-trimmed edges, his name written in neat, practiced strokes. Katsuki Bakugou. It wasn’t the first wedding invitation he’d ever gotten, but it was the first one that felt like a gut punch before he even opened it.
He had known this was coming. Of course, he had. Deku and Uraraka had been orbiting each other for years, drawn together by something undeniable. He wasn’t stupid. He had seen it in the way they looked at each other, the way they fought side by side, the way she had always been there, and Deku had always—always—looked at her like she was something worth protecting.
And maybe, just maybe, there had been a time when Katsuki had wished that someone—that he—could be looked at like that.
But that had never been his place.
Not to be looked at like that. Not to be chosen.
Still, the invitation burned in his peripheral vision, taunting him as it sat unopened. Three days of ignoring it, three days of pretending like it didn’t exist, and still, the weight of it pressed down on his chest like a boulder.
The fourth day, he gave in.
He ripped it open carelessly, his fingers tight around the paper, as if bracing for impact. The words stared back at him, delicate and cruel all at once.
Izuku Midoriya & Ochako Uraraka
Request the pleasure of your company at their wedding
The air in his apartment felt too still, too quiet.
Katsuki let out a sharp exhale through his nose, gripping the invitation so hard his knuckles turned white. His name was there, too, in the same delicate gold lettering.
Katsuki Bakugou, guest of honor.
His lips curled in a bitter smirk.
Guest of honor.
The words were a joke. A cruel, twisted joke. What honor was there in standing at the sidelines, watching the one person who had been his everything promise his forever to someone else?
A laugh bubbled in his throat, sharp and humorless.
Of course Deku had invited him. That was just the kind of guy he was—too kind, too good, too fucking oblivious to realize just how much this would rip Katsuki apart from the inside out.
Or maybe he wasn’t oblivious at all.
Maybe he knew, but still hoped that Katsuki would be there anyway, like it wouldn’t kill him to watch Izuku Midoriya, the boy he had spent his whole damn life chasing, choose someone else.
His gaze drifted back to the words on the card, the names that made his stomach twist. He could picture it now—Deku at the altar, nervous and fidgeting, but eyes shining the moment he saw her. And Uraraka, smiling like she had won the whole damn world. Because she had, hadn’t she?
She had won.
The thought settled heavily in his chest, and for a moment, Katsuki couldn’t breathe past the ache of it.
What did it matter if he had tried to change? If he had spent years fixing what was broken inside of him, trying to be better, trying to be someone worth staying for? He had spent so long walking down the same path as Midoriya, always just a step behind, always chasing—only to lose again.
And losing to Deku?
That was nothing new.
Katsuki clenched his jaw, letting out a slow breath through his nose.
Fine.
Fine.
If this was how it was going to be, then he’d do what he always did—swallow the hurt, shove it deep down, and keep moving forward.
Because that was what was expected of him, right? To stand in the crowd, to watch them say their vows, to listen to Deku tell her the same words Katsuki had never dared to say out loud.
And then, when it was over, when the rings were exchanged and the kisses sealed it all, he would do what everyone else did.
He would clap.
He would smile.
And he would pretend.
Pretend that it didn’t feel like the whole world had just crumbled beneath his feet.
He let out a slow, shaky breath and set the invitation down.
The past was the past. He had lost before he even realized he was playing.
And the winner?
The winner took it all.
—
Katsuki Bakugou had spent his whole life winning.
From the moment he could remember, he had been the strongest, the fastest, the one who stood above everyone else. Victory wasn’t just a goal—it was his identity, woven into his very existence. It was the thing that kept him moving forward, that proved, time and time again, that he was worth something.
And yet, as he stared at himself in the mirror, adjusting the collar of his suit, he had never felt like more of a loser in his entire life.
It wasn’t the kind of loss he was used to. Not the sting of a battle gone wrong, not the humiliation of defeat in combat. Those were things he could fix. Train harder, fight stronger, push past his limits until he came out on top again.
But this?
This wasn’t something he could win back.
He had lost before he had even realized he was playing.
Katsuki scoffed at his own reflection, the sound bitter in the quiet of his apartment. His suit felt too tight, the fabric stiff and uncomfortable, like it was suffocating him. He was never the type to dress up, but today, he had to. Today, he had to stand there and play his part.
Today, Izuku Midoriya was getting married.
He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the neatly styled strands until they fell back into their usual mess. He looked exhausted. Maybe because he was. The last few nights had been restless, spent staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment that had led to this.
Every moment where he could have done something different.
When had he even realized it? That it wasn’t just rivalry, wasn’t just an obsession with being better? Maybe it had been during U.A., when he’d seen Deku push himself to the brink time and time again, not because he had to, but because he chose to. Maybe it had been when he saw the way Deku looked at Uraraka—like she was something precious, something worth fighting for.
Maybe it had been when he realized no one had ever looked at him that way.
Katsuki exhaled sharply, pressing his hands against the counter. His grip was tight, his knuckles white.
He had spent his entire life believing that if he was strong enough, if he was fast enough, if he was the best, he would never have to feel this way. That he would never have to lose.
But Deku wasn’t something he could beat.
Deku was someone he had already lost.
And it made him sick.
Not because Deku didn’t deserve happiness—fuck, of course he did. No one deserved it more than him. But because it wasn’t Katsuki who made him happy. It had never been him.
Katsuki had always been the one leading the race. Always the one standing at the top. But somehow, somewhere along the way, he had been left behind.
He let out a dry, humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face.
Didn’t matter.
None of it mattered now.
He would go. He would sit in the crowd, watch them exchange vows, listen to Deku say the words that Katsuki could never bring himself to say.
And then, when it was all over, when Deku kissed her and the whole world cheered—
He would clap.
He grabbed the invitation from the counter, crumpling it in his fist before shoving it into his pocket.
This wasn’t his battle to win. It never had been.
And for the first time in his life, Katsuki Bakugou accepted defeat.
—
Toga didn’t keep up with the news much these days.
Once upon a time, she used to love it—used to relish every article, every breaking report about the heroes she despised, the chaos she and the League stirred up. Back then, she had loved to see their faces twisted in frustration, loved to hear them stammer over how to deal with people like her.
But those days were over.
The war had ended. The League was gone.
And she had survived.
Some days, she still wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
She had spent the past two years drifting in the shadows, staying low, staying quiet. There was no place for her in a world that had already decided she was too broken, too dangerous to be saved. But she had found something—a purpose.
The kids.
She never planned on helping them at first. But the first time she had seen one—a trembling, wide-eyed little thing, quirkless and starving, digging through the trash behind a convenience store—something in her had shifted.
She couldn’t just leave them.
So she had started watching, waiting, following them through the alleyways and abandoned buildings where the lost ones gathered. The ones society didn’t want, the ones who had been cast aside. She led them to safety, to one of those hero-run shelters where they could get food, warmth, maybe even a second chance.
One in particular.
Ochako’s facility.
Toga’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile as she stood outside a small newsstand, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jacket. The headlines screamed at her from behind the glass, but she wasn’t looking at those.
She was looking at her.
Ochako’s face was printed on the front page, all soft eyes and a radiant smile, dressed in white, standing next to him.
"Pro Hero Uravity Ties the Knot! Congratulations to the Hero Couple!"
Toga didn’t realize she was staring until the vendor behind the counter gave her a wary glance. She blinked, looking away, dragging her teeth over her lower lip as she turned her back on the stand and walked away.
She had known this was coming. Of course she had.
Ochako was always going to get her happy ending. She was good.
The kind of good that made the world a little brighter. The kind of good that people chose.
Toga had known, even back then, that she was never going to be the one Ochako chose.
It didn’t stop her from wanting it anyway.
She exhaled slowly, her breath visible in the cool night air. Her fingers twitched at her sides, aching for something she couldn’t have.
She wondered what Ochako would do if she knew.
If she knew the lost kids that showed up at her doorstep, shaking and hungry, had been led there by her.
If she knew that Toga had spent the past two years trying—trying to be something better, trying to fix something in herself that had been broken for far too long.
Would she still have married him?
Toga laughed under her breath, the sound quiet and sharp.
Stupid question.
She wasn’t made for love like that. She had always known that.
Her kind of love was ugly, was desperate and hungry and wrong. It was the kind of love that people turned away from, that they ran from.
Ochako had never looked at her like she was something worth staying for.
And now?
Now, she never would.
Toga tilted her head back, staring up at the night sky. She could still see the newspaper in her mind, the way Ochako had smiled for the cameras, standing next to him. Deku.
Of course it had been him. It was always him.
Her fingers curled, nails biting into her palms.
She had lost a long time ago.
And just like always—
The winners, the heroes, took it all.
Toga turned on her heel and disappeared into the shadows.
She still had kids to save.
—
Toga didn’t go home that night.
Not that she had a real home. Just a place she crashed when she needed to, a small, run-down apartment on the outskirts of the city, where no one asked questions. But she didn’t want to be trapped between four walls right now, didn’t want to be alone with the thoughts clawing at the inside of her skull.
So she walked.
The city was quiet at this hour, but not silent. Never silent. The streetlights flickered, casting long shadows across the pavement, and somewhere in the distance, she could hear the faint hum of traffic.
She liked the night. It had always felt like it belonged to her—like it was the only place she could exist without being seen, without being judged.
But tonight, the night felt cold.
She stuffed her hands in her pockets, shoulders hunched as she turned down an empty street. The newspaper was still fresh in her mind, the picture burned into her memory like a scar that refused to fade. Ochako, smiling in white. Deku at her side.
Toga had always loved the way Ochako smiled.
It wasn’t fair, really. The way she could make something inside Toga melt, make her stomach twist and her heart feel too big for her chest.
The first time she had seen that smile, she had thought—I want it. I want it so bad.
But Toga’s love was never something soft, never something warm and easy. It was sharp edges and desperation, hunger and wanting until it hurt. She had never known how to love in a way that didn’t consume.
And Ochako had known that.
"People don’t love like that, Toga."
Back during the war, when they had faced each other for the last time—not as enemies, not as friends, but as two people who almost understood each other.
Toga had almost asked her, voice trembling, eyes burning, "If I was just a normal girl… would you love me then?"
Instead she’d managed to slip out, “Am I…cute?”
And Ochako, beautiful, strong, Ochako, had looked at her with something almost like pity.
"The cutest girl in the world."
Toga hadn’t cried that day. She had smiled instead, even as her heart cracked open inside her chest.
Because she already knew the answer.
She wasn’t a normal girl. She never had been. She was something twisted, something broken. Something that people feared instead of loved.
And no matter how much she had wanted it—Ochako was never going to love her back.
Toga came to a stop near the edge of a park, her breath coming out in slow, measured exhales. She closed her eyes, tilting her head up, feeling the night air brush against her skin.
It wasn’t supposed to hurt like this anymore.
She had told herself she had let it go, that it was enough to just help the kids, to bring them to Ochako’s facility and know that, in some small, invisible way, she was still in her life.
But seeing that headline, that picture—
It was like being seventeen again, hearing those words all over again.
"Toga swallowed, forcing herself to breathe, to push it all down. She had work to do. There were still kids out there, kids who needed her, kids she could actually help.
Ochako didn’t need her.
Not then.
Not now.
And maybe she never had.
Toga exhaled one last time and turned away from the city lights, disappearing into the night.
She had already lost.
A long time ago.
—
Bakugou hadn’t planned on getting Deku a wedding gift.
Hell, he hadn’t even planned on going to the damn wedding in the first place. But here he was, standing in the middle of a high-end store he wouldn’t be caught dead in under normal circumstances, scowling at rows of neatly displayed gifts wrapped in pristine packaging.
"Can I help you find something?" The store clerk looked at him warily, probably because he’d been standing there for the past ten minutes without touching anything.
Bakugou exhaled through his nose. Tch. "I got it."
He didn’t.
What the hell were you even supposed to buy for something like this? What did you give to someone who already had everything that mattered?
His hands clenched at his sides as his gaze swept over the shelves. Fancy glassware, expensive watches, decorative shit he was sure neither of them cared about.
It felt wrong. Too impersonal. Too easy.
If he was going to do this—if he was actually going to do this—it had to mean something.
His fingers twitched as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, exhaling slowly. He should just pick something and get it over with. The longer he stood here, the more suffocating it felt.
Then, at the corner of his eye, he saw it.
Tucked away on a lower shelf, small and unassuming. A notebook.
Not just any notebook—a hero analysis notebook.
Just like the ones Deku used to carry around when they were kids.
Bakugou’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he wasn’t standing in some overpriced gift shop. He was ten years old again, watching Deku scribble in one of those damn notebooks, eyes bright, muttering under his breath about quirks and techniques.
Back then, it had pissed him off. How Deku could be so damn excited about heroes, about a future Bakugou thought he had no right to. He remembered the way those notebooks had always been tucked under Deku’s arm, filled to the brim with ideas, strategies, admiration for heroes—for Bakugou himself.
"Kacchan is amazing. His quirk is so strong—"
"Shut the fuck up, Deku!"
Back then, he had hated it. The way Deku had looked up to him. The way he had never once seen Bakugou as something to be afraid of.
And then, years later—Deku had surpassed him anyway.
His fingers brushed over the cover of the notebook before he picked it up, turning it over in his hands. It was a newer version, sleeker, but the moment he flipped it open, he could see it—Deku’s messy handwriting, the way he had always poured his whole damn heart into his notes.
This was what mattered to him.
Not the fancy gifts, not the expensive shit people would buy just to look good.
It was this.
It had always been this.
Bakugou let out a sharp breath through his nose and snapped the notebook shut.
"Gift wrap this." His voice came out rougher than he meant it to.
The clerk blinked but nodded, taking it from his hands. "Would you like to include a note?"
Bakugou hesitated for half a second before he scoffed. "No."
What the hell was he supposed to write?
"Congratulations. Hope you don’t screw it up."
"You win, Deku."
No.
No notes. No words. Just the damn notebook.
It was enough.
As he waited at the counter, his hands curled into fists at his sides, that familiar ache settling into his chest.
This was it. This was the last thing he would give him.
The last piece of the past he could offer before he forced himself to let it go.
The gift bag was handed to him, perfectly wrapped, pristine. Bakugou stared at it for a second longer than he should have before grabbing it and heading for the exit.
This wasn’t a win.
Not for him.
But he’d show up. He’d hand over the damn gift. He’d do what was expected of him.
And then, when it was over—
He’d walk away.
—
Bakugou had never felt more out of place in his entire damn life.
The venue was beautiful. He supposed it had to be, considering it was a wedding for two of Japan’s most beloved heroes. It was held at some fancy-ass garden, with fairy lights strung up in the trees and rows of white chairs set up for the guests. The whole thing looked like it had been ripped straight out of a romance movie.
It made him feel sick.
Not because it wasn’t nice. Because it wasn’t for him.
He adjusted the collar of his suit, scowling as he made his way toward his seat. He had tried to ignore the whispers and lingering stares—Pro Hero Dynamight actually showed up? Wasn’t he and Midoriya rivals?
Tch. Idiots. Like he could have not shown up. Like he could have sat at home and ignored the fact that today, right now,Deku was about to belong to someone else forever.
He dropped into his seat near the back, shoulders tense, jaw tight. From here, he could see everyone—the whole damn hero community had shown up, and then some. His old classmates were all here, chatting quietly, smiling, looking happy.
Bakugou clenched his fists. He had spent his whole life ahead of the pack, standing at the top, making sure no one could ever look down on him. And yet, as he sat there, watching everyone he used to know move on without him, he had never felt more like an outsider.
The music started.
And then—Deku appeared.
Bakugou’s breath caught in his throat before he could stop it.
Deku looked… different. He was in a sharp black suit, his hair slightly neater than usual, though it still had that stupid, messy look to it. His eyes were bright, greener than ever, wide with something that could only be happiness.
Bakugou felt like he’d been punched in the gut.
He forced himself to look away, his jaw clenching so tight his teeth hurt. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his business. It wasn’t his place.
And then, the crowd stirred.
Ochako was walking down the aisle.
Bakugou had to look.
She looked… radiant. There was no other word for it. She wasn’t flashy, wasn’t decked out in diamonds like some celebrities did for their big day. She was just her. Her smile was soft, her brown eyes shining, her dress flowing around her as she walked toward Deku like there was nothing else in the world.
Deku was smiling at her like that too.
Like she was the only thing he had ever wanted.
Like she was his.
Bakugou’s chest burned. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
It should have been me.
The thought hit him before he could shove it down. Raw. Ugly. True.
He had spent years trying to prove himself, trying to be the best, trying to show Deku that he wasn’t someone to look up to—he was someone to stand beside.
But it had never been him.
Maybe it had never even been an option.
His fingers dug into his palms, nails biting into skin as the ceremony continued. Words blurred together, a soft hum in the background as he stared blankly ahead.
"Do you, Midoriya Izuku, take Uraraka Ochako to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
Bakugou swallowed.
Deku’s voice was steady, unwavering. "I do."
That was it.
It was over.
Ochako said her vows next, her voice warm, filled with quiet affection.
"I do."
The officiant smiled. "Then by the power vested in me—"
Bakugou stopped listening.
He didn’t need to hear the rest. He knew what came next.
The kiss. The applause. The happy tears. The moment where everyone stood up and celebrated, because the whole world knew that Midoriya Izuku had won.
And Bakugou had lost.
He forced himself to stand with the rest of them. Forced himself to clap. Forced himself to keep his face blank, even as something inside him twisted so tight it felt like he might snap.
This was what was supposed to happen.
Deku had always been the hero. The one who saved people. The one who smiled through the pain, who reached out a hand and pulled others up with him.
Of course he would get the happy ending.
Of course he would get the girl.
Bakugou didn’t even know if he had wanted her. Not like that. Not the way Deku did. But that wasn’t the point.
The point was—
It had never been Bakugou.
Not the one Deku had looked at. Not the one Deku had chosen.
And now, he never would be.
And all Bakugou could do was stand there and clap for the one who had beaten him without even trying.
—
The reception was loud.
Too loud.
Laughter, clinking glasses, the hum of conversation—all of it blurred together, pressing in on him from every side.
Bakugou sat stiffly at his table near the back, arms crossed, jaw tight. He hadn’t spoken to anyone since he got here, hadn’t touched his drink, hadn’t even acknowledged the looks people kept sneaking his way. He was just waiting.
Waiting for the moment he could leave.
He should have left already. Should have walked out the second the ceremony ended. But the damn gift was still in his pocket, wrapped up neatly in its bag, tucked away like some kind of unfinished business.
He didn’t know why he even bothered.
He could have sent it later, could have mailed it, could have just thrown the damn thing away and been done with it.
But some stupid, stubborn part of him wouldn’t let it go.
So he stayed.
He watched from a distance as Deku moved through the crowd, grinning like an idiot, shaking hands, hugging people, getting dragged onto the dance floor by a laughing Ochako.
Bakugou’s stomach twisted. He looked happy.
And maybe that was the worst part.
Because Bakugou had spent so much time—too much time—telling himself that Deku would never really get it. That he would always be that same wide-eyed idiot, always chasing after something just out of reach, always one step away from breaking.
But now—he wasn’t chasing anything.
He had already caught it.
And Bakugou was the one left standing in the dust.
His fingers curled around the edge of the gift bag. Enough.
He stood, moving toward the quieter side of the venue, away from the dancing, away from the celebration. If he was going to do this, he wasn’t doing it in front of an audience.
It didn’t take long for Deku to find him.
"Ah—Kacchan!" His voice was bright, breathless, like he still couldn’t believe tonight was real. "You stayed!"
Bakugou rolled his eyes. "Tch. Don’t make a big deal out of it, nerd."
Deku laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, sorry! It’s just—I wasn’t sure if—"
"Here." Bakugou shoved the gift bag at him before he could finish.
Deku blinked, startled. "Oh."
He took it carefully, glancing up at Bakugou before pulling out the small, neatly wrapped notebook. His fingers hesitated on the cover for a second before he flipped it open—and froze.
Bakugou didn’t say anything.
He just watched.
Watched the way Deku’s expression shifted, the way his eyes widened in quiet recognition.
Because he knew.
Of course he did.
Bakugou could almost see it—the memories flickering through Deku’s head, the endless hours spent scribbling notes, the way he used to clutch those old notebooks like they were his whole damn world.
"Is this…?" Deku’s voice was quieter now.
Bakugou shoved his hands in his pockets. "Figured you’d appreciate it."
Deku swallowed. "Kacchan, this is—"
"Don’t make it weird." Bakugou cut him off before he could say anything sentimental.
Deku’s mouth snapped shut, but there was something in his eyes—something warm, something almost grateful.
He looked down at the notebook again, his fingers brushing over the cover, like he still couldn’t believe it was real.
Then he smiled.
Not the wide, stupid grin he’d been wearing all night. Something smaller. Softer. Real.
"Thank you," he said.
Bakugou looked away. "Whatever."
It was stupid. It was small. It didn’t change anything.
But maybe, just maybe—
It was enough.
—
Toga was good at disappearing.
Always had been.
It was second nature by now—the way she could slip into a place she didn’t belong, moving like a shadow, never drawing attention.
Tonight was no different.
The wedding reception was packed with heroes. Pros, sidekicks, even a few government officials. It should have been impossible for someone like her to be here.
But Toga wasn’t here as Himiko Toga, wanted criminal, former League of Villains member.
She was just a nameless face in the crowd. A girl in a borrowed dress, her blonde hair pinned up in a way that hid her features just enough. No one gave her a second glance.
No one ever looked for ghosts.
She wasn’t here to ruin anything.
She just wanted to see her.
One last time.
Her fingers curled slightly as she walked along the edges of the party, keeping to the quieter areas. She had to fight the old instincts, the sharp thrill that came with slipping into places unnoticed. This wasn’t the same. She wasn’t here to hurt anyone.
She just… wanted to know.
And then—she saw her.
Ochako.
Standing near the dance floor, laughing softly as she spoke with a group of people.
The same brown eyes. The same warm, bright energy that had always drawn Toga in, even when she hadn’t wanted it to.
But something was different now.
It wasn’t just the dress, though Ochako did look beautiful, wrapped in soft white lace, glowing under the golden lights.
It was the way she carried herself.
Happy. At peace. Complete.
Because she had everything she had ever wanted now.
And it had never included Toga.
Toga’s chest ached, but she didn’t move. Didn’t dare step any closer.
This was all she had come for. This moment.
To see it with her own eyes.
To accept it.
She had spent so long lingering at the edges of Ochako’s world, leaving lost children at the doorstep of her facility, giving them a chance she had never gotten. It had been enough. It had to be enough.
But now—it was time to let go.
She forced herself to take a step back.
And then another.
And then—
Ochako turned.
Their eyes met.
Toga froze.
Her heart lurched, her breath caught.
Ochako’s brows furrowed, confusion flickering across her face. She didn’t recognize her immediately—of course she wouldn’t. Not like this. Not with the mask Toga had wrapped herself in.
But the moment stretched, too long, too fragile—
And then someone called Ochako’s name.
Just like that, the moment broke.
Ochako turned away.
Toga didn’t wait.
She disappeared into the crowd, slipping back into the night, into the city, into the place where no one would ever see her again.
She had everything she needed.
A glimpse.
A memory.
And the quiet, aching truth that she had lost.
—
Toga couldn’t remember the last time she had cried.
Not since she had shed the last remnants of her old self, the villainous girl who wore the mask of insanity and danger. The girl who had dreamed of nothing but chaos and bloodshed, of taking what she wanted with ruthless hands. That Toga had been consumed with hatred, with need—obsession.
But this Toga, the one who had watched from the shadows as Ochako danced with Izuku at their wedding, the one who had slipped away before she could be seen—this Toga was lost.
She didn’t know what she wanted anymore.
She didn’t know if she even knew who she was.
Sitting in the small apartment she had claimed for herself, the walls feeling smaller than they ever had before, Toga buried her face in her hands. The quiet hum of the city outside did nothing to drown out the noise in her head.
It was supposed to be different.
She was supposed to be free now. She was supposed to have found a new purpose, a new life. She had convinced herself that helping those kids—those lost souls who were just like she used to be—would fill the hole inside her. That it would make the pain of never being able to have the things she wanted more bearable.
But all it did was make the ache worse.
She had thought maybe, just maybe, she could be near Ochako without it breaking her. But it had been too much.
She had stood at the edge of the wedding, watching Ochako’s smile as she stood in the arms of the man who had always been by her side. The man who had always been better. Smarter. Stronger. The one who was always going to get the girl.
The one who was never going to be her.
Toga squeezed her eyes shut. It wasn’t like it mattered.
She had always known it was impossible.
It was just the way things had always been.
She was a ghost.
A ghost who haunted the edges of their lives, watching from the outside as everyone else moved on, got what they wanted, and left her behind. She had wanted so badly to be part of their world, to have a place where she could belong, but all she had ever been was an outsider.
And tonight proved it.
She didn’t belong there. She never had.
Toga stood and moved to the window, staring out at the city below. The lights flickered in the distance, a never-ending sea of yellow and orange. It reminded her of the fire she had once wanted to set, of the destruction she had thought would fill the hole inside her. But now, all that was left was the silence, and the weight of things she would never have.
—
Bakugou had been driving for an hour before he realized he wasn’t heading anywhere at all.
The roads blurred past him, the headlights of his car cutting through the night like a sharp blade. He didn’t know where he was going, didn’t know why he was still out here, but he couldn’t stop moving.
The image of Deku standing at the altar, the soft smile on his face as he took Ochako’s hand—it kept replaying in his mind.
He didn’t even know why it bothered him so damn much.
It was supposed to be fine. Deku deserved this. He had earned it, fought for it, loved with all his heart. And Bakugou—Bakugou had known from the start that Deku and Ochako were meant to be together. Hell, he had watched it happen. He had been there through it all.
But none of that made it hurt any less.
None of that made it any easier to accept.
And yet, here he was, driving through the night, trying to outrun something he couldn’t quite name.
He pulled over, the car slowing to a stop on the side of the road. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, teeth grinding.
Why the hell did it hurt so much?
The realization hit him like a wave crashing over him, dragging him under.
Because he had lost.
He had lost something he hadn’t even known he wanted until it was too late.
His hands gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. He had told himself for years that it didn’t matter. That Deku was the one who had it all. That Deku was the one who was always going to be the hero, always going to be the one people loved.
But Bakugou never realized how much it stung to be on the outside of that love.
To be the one standing there, clapping, pretending that it didn’t feel like his heart was being torn out of his chest.
He had been so damn sure that he didn’t need anyone else. So sure that being alone, being strong enough to rely only on himself, would be enough.
But now—he was sitting here, empty.
The silence in the car felt suffocating. He could feel the cold bite of the wind through the cracked window, the night pressing down on him like a weight.
This was it.
This was what it felt like to lose everything without even realizing it.
—
Toga’s eyes flickered over the small table in her apartment. The photo of her with the kids she had helped, the faces that had looked up at her with hope. She had given them something no one else had, something she had never gotten—a chance.
But now, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had been lying to herself.
She wasn’t giving them hope. She was just passing the time, pretending that something else would fill the void inside her.
But it never did.
The empty space inside her was still there, growing bigger with every passing day. Every time she saw Ochako’s smile, or Deku’s determination, or felt the weight of the world shifting around them—it reminded her of what she would never have.
She wasn’t like them.
She was always going to be a ghost.
But somewhere, deep down, there was a voice that whispered.
Maybe ghosts could find peace too.
Maybe one day, she would stop chasing after things that didn’t belong to her. Maybe she could learn to be content with the things she had.
It would never be enough. But maybe—just maybe—it was enough for her.
—
Bakugou’s fists slammed into the steering wheel again, his frustration spilling over. His eyes were bloodshot, his breathing ragged.
It wasn’t supposed to hurt like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—the emptiness, the bitterness, the crushing realization that he had been holding onto something that had never been his to begin with.
His phone buzzed on the seat beside him, and he reached for it, wiping a hand across his face. It was a text from Kirishima.
‘You alright, man?’
Bakugou stared at it for a long moment, his chest tightening. He should answer. He should tell Kirishima he was fine. That everything was fine.
But the truth was—he wasn’t.
He wasn’t fine.
And he wasn’t sure if he ever would be.
The weight of everything—of the wedding, of his feelings, of the love he had never been able to give—pressed down on him, suffocating him. He could feel the pull of it, the ache in his chest that would never go away.
I’m not fine.
It was the truth he had never allowed himself to say before. And now that he had said it—he didn’t know how to take it back.
He wasn’t fine.
And maybe—just maybe—he never would be.