Archive of Our Own

The war came and quickly ended, and with it came many scars. Both mental and physical. Scars from something so traumatic—so tragic—can take months, even years to heal. But most of the time, more than ever, they don’t leave. They stay rooted, an indefinite reminder of the horrors that were once there, and with it the pain—the agony of how that scar came to be. A physical, emotional, and mental reminder that even if the worst was fought, the memory remains—etched into the soul with no escape.  

Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugo knew these dreaded reminders.

They lived through it. They went through the worst of it. They knew that, and their classmates knew that.

The horrific scenes were televised and later rebroadcast as news of the war spread like a raging wildfire.

And what was shown was…horrendous.

The images were unmistakable, clear, and unavoidable.

Bakugo’s lifeless body lay on the floor, a fist-sized crater on his chest with blood splattered like a twisted art made out of splashed paint. And his face—his expression—lifeless with an unnatural glassy sheen. The crimson liquid streaked his ghostly, pale facial features. He lay there, still, like a discarded doll, unblinking—empty.

Of course, he defied death and survived such a horrific experience all thanks to Edge Shot. His revival and his entry back into the war were the most broadcasted, but still…

The scar remained. The news remained. And the memory—remained.

And Midoriya.

They couldn’t forget the alarming scene of seeing their classmate, their friend, with his arms chopped off from the elbow down. A few of them were at eyesight to see the moment unfold, even if he was largely covered and protected by Mr. Aizawa. Yet, his battered body kneeling on the ground with blood flowing like a faucet was an image that just couldn’t escape them.

And even then, with those jarring wounds, he still fought. Even at the brink of shock, suffering from massive exhaustion, fighting through excruciating injuries, and dealing with the mental strain of the sacrifice that was to come, he fought. He kept being a hero even if his body begged him to stop.

Now, weeks after the war, Midoriya, Bakugo, and the rest of class 2-A were doing everything they could to move forward and continue their high school lives. They trained, studied, smiled when they had to—but the memories clung to them like shadows they couldn’t shake.

The image haunted them all.

The war, the deaths, the injuries, and the sacrifices.

Every time Midoriya and Bakugo suited up, preparing to step back into the hero world, their eyes would drift—inevitably—to the deep, jagged scars carved into Midoriya’s arms. A brutal reminder of how far he pushed himself, of how much he fought and sacrificed. And then to Bakugo—whose chest still bore a hollowed crater, crudely masked by the flickering rhythm of a heart monitor. The one indication that he was still alive, breathing.

What was worse was that they never spoke about it.

The two remained silent, and the class never pushed. They’d rather not force something so traumatic out of them if they were not ready to speak.

But they knew something wasn’t right.

Shinso, who moved into the class 2-A dorms not too long after the war ended, noticed Midoriya coming down to the common room rather frequently. Having such an erratic sleep schedule, he would often find himself in the kitchen making some tea or just enjoying the quiet and solitude of the nightly scenery. When he saw him that night, sitting on the sofa with a cup in his hand, eyes hazed with the shadows of whatever he was recalling, he knew something was not right—hadn’t been for a while.

“Midoriya? Are you okay?” Shinso approached him, noticing he was seated cross-legged, a blanket draped over his legs and a cup of rapidly cooling tea clasped in his hands.

At first, he didn’t say anything—his sunken eyes fixed on the faint ripples of his tea, stirred by the consistent twitches coming from his fingers.

Had he always had tremors? Shinso wondered.

“Midoriya?” He rounded the corner of the sofa and sat down next to him, causing Midoriya to flinch.

“AH!” He yelped, nearly dropping his mug. His gaze darted side to side as if searching for a threat, but as soon as they landed on Shinso’s concerned expression, he relaxed. “Oh, Shinso. It’s just—you.”

Shinso smiled softly, “Yeah. Are you okay? You’ve been a little—absent lately.” He asked, being mindful of his words, not wanting to unknowingly provoke him.

Midoriya’s gaze moved back to the mug, continuing to rest in the middle of his crisscrossed legs. The ceramic clicked faintly as his fingers shifted, now tracing the rim with his thumb, over and over.

“Are you okay?”

He stared at the swishing tea, hoping it would give him an answer. Yet even if he had one, would he tell him? Should he really bother him with this?

Before Midoriya could reply, a sudden, electric pain zinged through his arms, causing Midoriya to yelp, his face contorting into one of pained discomfort.

“Midoriya—”

“Sorry…it’s nothing, just—some lingering pain from my injuries.” Midoriya quickly assured.

“I don’t—” Shinso started, but was quickly interrupted by footsteps coming from behind. He turned toward the sound and noticed that it was Bakugo, shoulders slouched.

“Bakugo?” He asked, his tone cautious.

His classmate stopped, locking eyes with the lavender-haired teenager, saying nothing.

Then, without warning, Midoriya pulled off his blanket and stood, “Sorry, I should go. It’s getting late. Sorry for bothering you, Shinso.” He brushed past Shinso, walked to the kitchen island, and set his unfinished mug on the counter.

“Wait, Midoriya—” Shinso called after him. But Midoriya did not turn back. He passed by Bakugo without so much as a glance.

As he moved toward the stairs, Midoriya’s lips twitched. Words hovered at the edge of his tongue, but he quickly swallowed them.

Not here. Not in front of Shinso.

Behind him, Shinso let out a slow sigh, “Bakugo, what—”

“Shut up.” He interjected, his tone devoid of its usual gruffness. He stomped into the kitchen and opened the fridge, ignoring his classmate’s stare.

Shinso immediately let the words fall to the back of his throat, a singe of fury crawling down his chest.

He could use his quirk and force him to spill everything and find out what the hell was going on between the two of them, and individually. But he’d rather not. It’ll be rather villainous, and Bakugo would kill him if he did. And it’s not like he’d get much out of him anyway; his quirk couldn’t make someone talk for more than a few sentences.

“Alright.” He sighed. He stood up, put his hands in his pants pocket, and walked to the stairs, heading to his room, his mind occupied.

The way Midoriya’s hands shook, the way his expression moved from vacant to pained was just—concerning. He knew that he and Bakugo were the most banged up from the war, but if it hurt that much, shouldn’t he have said something? Got it treated? And the way Bakugo seemed to clutch his chest and appear more winded than usual was worrying, like the simple act of walking was like running a marathon. But again, what could Shinso do? He wasn’t really good at the whole friend department…rather have his classmates handle it. After all, they are a lot better at this than he was.

The next day rolled around, and the weather turned for the worse.

It was all over the news. A strong typhoon would be passing through Japan with their region predicted to be hit the hardest. Because of that, classes have been cancelled, and all students were instructed to remain in their dorms with hero students on stand-by in case of civilian rescues. Midoriya and Bakugo were exceptions however, since their healing injuries could be made worse by the intensity of the storm and the strenuous nature of the work.

“Man, that storm looks really bad.” Mina pointed out, staring out the window, noticing the strong winds.

Branches flailed wildly under the storm’s strength, leaves whirling like confetti in chaos. The skies were the most alluring, covered by thick, dark, grey clouds, casting the world in unease.

Todoroki, who sat on the sofa across from Mina, looked at her before matching her gaze towards the outside, “Yeah, if they are cancelling school for a few days, then it’s something we shouldn’t take lightly.”

Mina nodded, agreeing with Todoroki’s comment.

The students of class 2-A were doing what they could to pass the time. Somewhere in the dining area, a few were seated, catching up or getting ahead on schoolwork, taking advantage of the extra time. Others were lounging on the sofas, either watching TV, absorbing the news about the storm, or on their phones, scrolling endlessly on the various social media sites. And a few were huddled together, chatting about whatever came to mind.

Everyone was there, congregated and hunkering down this storm together, but there were two who were not there with them.

Uraraka briefly gazed away from her laptop and scanned the vastness of the common room, sighing, “Deku and Bakugo aren’t here. They’ve sure been absent ever since the war. I rarely see them around.”

Iida, Asui, and Shinso paused what they were doing and looked at her. Uraraka continued. “The only time I see them is when they come down to grab food. When they I do, I ask Deku if he's doing okay, but he just tells me he's fine. Still, the way he holds his arms says otherwise.”

“Yeah, and I can tell something is bothering Bakugo. He’s keeping his anger toned down because of his injuries, but I can tell something is up, ribbit.” Asui added.

Shinso watched as the conversation unfolded, remembering what happened last night.

“You—you know how I usually go to the kitchen at night?” Shinso began. The others nodded. “Well, last night, Midoriya was there, sitting on the sofas. He looked absent, like something was on his mind. And then he winced in pain. I noticed it was his arms that caused the discomfort. I wanted to ask if he was okay, but then Bakugo appeared, and when he did, Midoriya immediately left. I tried to ask Bakugo if he was doing okay, but as usual, I got shut off.”

His classmates listened. They didn’t seem shocked—more like they had expected it. Their expressions held a quiet understanding, as if they already knew the two would respond this way. Unfortunately, both were stubborn in their own ways when it came to expressing their feelings or talking about what was bothering them.

“Why can’t those two learn that it’s okay to talk to us if anything is bothering them. They went through the worst of the war, of course, we’ll understand why they are thinking or feeling a certain way.” Iida voiced; sternness fused in his words, yet concern woven throughout.

“I agree. I was worried, but I don’t know them that well; you guys know them a lot better than I do, so I didn’t push.” Shinso added.

“No, it’s fine, Shinso. Those two can be a handful sometimes. Deku is way too selfless for his own good, and Bakugo is just too hardheaded, making it hard to help him—well, both of them.” Uraraka voiced. “You did what you could, we just have to push harder!”

“Oh? How exactly, ribbit?” Asui asked, thinking.

“By confronting them, trapping them, and not letting them go until they say something. It’s not like they can go anywhere; it’s storming like crazy outside.” Uraraka explained.

Iida thought it through, “I’m normally opposed to such harsh methods, but considering how they’ve been acting and how gentle nudging hasn’t been helping, this seems necessary.”

“Well, then.” She stood up. “Let’s go. I’ll see if anyone wants to join, maybe Todoroki.”

“Alright, but let’s not involve the whole class, maybe just us and Todoroki.” Iida approved, also standing up and chopping the air in a comical karate-type fashion. "They’re not going to like us barging in like this, but it’s the only way we’ll understand what’s really been going on with them."

With nods of approval and their homework ignored, the group made their way to the center of the common room, eager to help their classmates. Motivated to help them move forward from whatever demons were haunting them.

Midoriya hated how much it hurt, how much the pain seemed to spread from his shoulder to his fingers.

Normally, the pain would be dull, an unrelenting ache that would remain constant, never-ending. It’d feel heavy almost—one that never shouted, just whispered all day, reminding Midoriya that it was there, and it was staying, ready to strike when it wanted.

And strike it did. The sensation decided to expose its grotesque fangs.

Every subtle movement felt like hot, electrified needles were piercing his flesh, digging deeper the more he moved. He sat on the side of his bed, arms gently wrapped across his stomach, gently rubbing the scars that meandered over his skin. He took a moment to breath—in and out—letting the pain pass and change back to the constant, uncomfortable, stiff sensation that accompanied the usual ache. His eyes traced the length of his arm, observing the various scars littering his skin.

There were so many, each a reminder of what he fought for—what he lost.

He saved Japan. He’s considered a hero, a legend even. But he lost more than what he gained.

He lost One for All. He couldn’t save Tenko, and now he’s scarred—not just by the emotional pain of it all, but by the physical reminder of everything he once fought for.

Yes, in a way, he has gotten used to the pain—well, not really. He maintained a façade that he was okay, that he was moving on from what happened and accepting his new fate. But the pain, the sensitivity, everything, it wore him down, leaving him exhausted and often times, absent and numbed. He hadn’t asked for help. He didn’t want to because he would rather not be a burden to others. Especially now.

They’d been trying not to, but he could see that they’d been treating him differently ever since he told them he didn’t have One for All. It’s like he was a tampered glass, threatening to break if handled incorrectly.

He hated it. He felt like a burden because of how much they had to worry about him—a quirkless weakling who could no longer fend for himself. This is why he can’t bother them with something like this. It’s something he had to face, not something his friends should feel responsible solving or removing. They didn’t cause this—he did. Therefore, it was his responsibility.

After some time, the pain, thankfully, was subsiding, another attack coming and leaving just as quickly as it made its appearance. With relief coming back to him, he slowly moved and reached toward his nightstand, hating how tight and resistant everything felt. He grasped the pill bottle containing the medicine Recovery Girl had given him, sitting beside the ointment for his rough, leathery skin. With difficulty, he opened the bottle, popped two pills into his mouth, and swallowed. Shaking, he put the bottle back on the nightstand and just sat there, shoulders hunched over, waiting for the effects to kick in.

Eventually, the agonizing sensation subsided, but only to its baseline level. Ache. Stiffness.

“Alright, then…” He grabbed the compression sleeves that had been left beside him after he ripped them off when the episode rammed through. Gently, he eased his arm through the sleeves, wincing as the fabric brushed against the fragile and overly sensitive skin, jolting him with too much feeling, like his nerves were protesting with vengeance.

Once done, he stood up, hearing the violent winds as they wept against his window, causing his room to groan. He knew the storm was here, which sucked for him because now he couldn’t use school as a way to distract himself.

Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. For the moment, he had one thing to focus on.

He headed for the door, his destination clear.

He wanted, no, needed to visit Kacchan.

He didn’t do it often—usually, it was the other way around, with Kacchan showing up at his door and asking how the embers were doing. Midoriya almost never went to him.

He had to fix that.

But about a week ago, they had a bit of a fight when Kacchan came to his room one day. He had asked the same thing he always did:

“How are you holding up? How’s the embers?”

However, Midoriya hadn’t been in a place to hear it.

The weight of everything—figuring out what he was going to do moving forward, dealing with the pain Recovery Girl said would likely linger for years, maybe even forever, and struggling with his identity as a hero—was just too much.

Each heavy; unyielding.

Kacchan tried to help, reaching out in his own rough ways. But Midoriya snapped. Hard.

Normally, Kacchan would have matched his energy and snapped back at him, but he didn’t. Midoriya didn’t know if it was because he had to keep his emotions steady due to his injuries or because he genuinely wanted to give him the space to release all those pent-up emotions.

Midoriya didn’t know, and he didn’t ask.

He just told him to leave, plain and simple.

And Kacchan did—without arguing.

He stayed away, giving him his space for days.

But Midoriya knew he was still worried—for him.

And he hated that.

Despised it.

Even then, he couldn’t isolate himself like this. Kacchan was just as hurt as he was, and after seeing him last night—the pained expression in his gaze—he knew he had to visit. It’ll just be a quick check-in—a “how are you?” and then back to his room. If he wanted to talk more about his troubles, sure, he would listen. But if he stirred the pot back his way…then out he will be.

The walk to his floor was quiet. Thankfully, everyone was in the common room, noticing the muffled chattering coming through the walls. That meant he won’t be stopped, and his trek would remain distraction-free.

He approached Kacchan’s door, the wooden structure facing him. Midoriya took a deep, steadying breath and knocked a few times.

He waited, but nothing.

He knocked again.

“K-Kacchan…hey, it’s just me.” Midoriya proclaimed after the last knock. “Just wanted to see how you are—doing. Is your heart okay?”

Silence.

Midoriya could feel his heart beginning to race, the sound pounding in his ears like a ticking bomb, counting down to something he could already see—a dreaded assumption he desperately wished wasn’t true.

Kacchan…

Why wasn’t he answering? He should have said something, even if it was him telling him to go away.

Was he…okay?

Was he okay!?

His body began to shake. His chest tightened as his breath grew shallower, faster and faster. And then—

Flash.

A moment. A memory.

The hallway and the walls around him began to blur, smearing into something else—something horrific that he did not want to see, an event that he did not want to experience.

Not again.

He blinked and suddenly, he wasn’t in the dorms anymore. This place…it was distorted, unnatural. This area…

The electric force field, the destroyed greenery, UA in the background—he was back in the coffin. And there, dead at his feet, he saw him.

Kacchan.

Pale. Dead. Eyes staring at him, devoid of life.

A hollow crater was carved into his chest, blood oozing and staining every fiber of his ruined hero outfit—his face covered in the dreaded crimson liquid.

“No…”

Midoriya’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. Panic ripped through his heart, tearing at his nerves with blinding, godsmacked horror.

“Not again…Kacchan—no, please—not again!!”

Thunder rumbled from somewhere in the distance, resonating deep inside his ribcage, with no escape—with nowhere to strike.

“Deku…”

Midoriya clutched his chest, his nails digging into his shirt, desperately trying to dig his way out of this agonizing nightmare.

“Deku…”

He was too late.

Too Late. Again.

Again!

“Izuku!”

Midoriya gasped, blinking rapidly, noticing hands on his shoulders. Their grip was steady, grounding. His heart continued to hammer outside his chest, but his heartbeat skipped a beat after the sudden disturbance.

“What—”

He stared at the person, watching as their fingers forcefully yet gently brushed his shoulder, immediately yanking him out of the spiral, snapping him back into the present and away from the edge.

Blond hair. Piercing red eyes.

“Kacchan?” Midoriya whispered, voice cracking

“Yeah…it’s me, nerd,” Bakugo said, voice low and gruff, a trifle of sleep still laden in his tone. “Sorry, I didn’t answer. I was—sleeping.” 

“You were—sleeping.” Midoriya said through his breathlessness, recovering from his episode. “Yeah…sleeping.”

Bakugo watched him, feeling how shaky he was, “Izuku, I’m okay. Look,” He grabbed his hand and placed it near his chest, “My heart is fine. Nothing is wrong with me, I’m fine.”

“Yeah…yeah. Sorry, I just had a—moment. Sorry about that.” Midoriya assured. He gently brushed Bakugo’s hands off him, then quickly wiped away the tears that had escaped and crossed his arms over his abdomen. “I just came to check how you’re doing.”

“How I’m doing? Tsk, I should be asking you that.” Bakugo remarked with a scoff, but after seeing Midoriya’s worried gaze, he knew he shouldn’t joke about that right now, he had to give him an answer. “Like I said, I’m fine. I really wasn’t expecting you to come here, nonetheless, see you in the middle of a panic attack.”

“Sorry, I just—after what happened last week—well, I know you gave me space and I appreciate that, but you were also hurt and I worry—so I needed to visit and see how you are doing, should have been doing that more often,” Midoriya explained.

“Got it.” Bakugo replied, “Well, I’m glad you finally came to your dam senses, nerd.”

Midoriya slowly nodded. Their conversation was briefly interrupted by a loud thunder that resonated through the hallway. Heavy rain continued to pour, pelting against the windows in a relentless staccato. The winds whooshed, howling as gusts slammed against the walls, rattling everything around them.

“Dam, that storm is sure strong,” Midoriya mentioned, looking outside, gazing at the dark grey skies.

“Yeah…” Bakugo muttered.

Midoriya turned back to look at Bakugo and noticed something odd about him, something he did not pick up in the midst of his panicked frenzy.

“Why are you wearing your gym outfit? You don’t usually wear it outside of heroic training.” Midoriya wondered.

“It’s nothing. Like it matters to you. If you have nothing else to say, just leave me and—”

“No. Stop right there. Of course, it matters to me.” Midoriya stated. Then, his eyes went wide, realizing why he was dressed like that. “Wait. You’re—not going to train, aren’t you?”

Bakugo’s breathing hitched, turning around to grab a bag from around the corner. Of course, he would read him, it was Deku after all. Well, there was nowhere for him to go, might as well tell him the truth.

“Yeah…I am. Just for a bit. It’s—open gym. Even in this weather, they have the gym open—”

“No.” Midoriya firmly declared.

“What?”

“I said, no. You are not going.”

“Huh!?” Bakugo spat, immediately controlling his bubbling anger, “Deku, I’m going. That gym isn’t going to get blown away, and I’ll be back before the worst part of the storm rolls in.”

He pulled his bag over his shoulder and forcefully tried to scoot away from him, yet he would not let him pass, “Deku. Move.”

“No. You heard me. I am not letting you go.” Midoriya repeated, his scowl deepening and his determination firm. “It’s not just the storm, Kacchan. You are still recovering. You had a hole blown into your chest, goddamit! They had to essentially piece your heart together!” He took a breath, trying to calm himself as his emotions raced, but failing, “Didn’t the doctors say no extraneous activities for a month? Why the hell are you heading out to train?!”

A moment of silence spread between the two, thick and unmoving. Even the air seemed to stiffen, as if recoiled by not only what Midoriya said but the way he said it. Angry and scared. Just like the time Midoriya snapped at him.

Bakugo listened, watching his childhood friend as he remained still, unpassable. It’s as if he met a wall—not one of brick, but of will. He could tell Midoriya would not let him through even if he tried, even if he fought.

The urge to just blast his face and run off was so big, but using his quirk above its threshold was a big no. And he truly wanted to yell at him and just be the angry menace he usually was, but he couldn’t even do that at the moment. So, calmly, he tried again, “I know it’s dangerous, but I—need this. I hate sitting around while you all continue growing. I can’t get weaker as I heal, I just can’t. How else will I—will I protect—them.”

He swallowed the urge to say “you”.

The wind continued to howl, rain pitter-pattering against the windows with the thunder and lightning showering the skies in a luminescent light show. Midoriya glanced at the brewing storm before moving his attention back to his stubborn friend.

“I know. Don’t you think I’ve been feeling the same way?! Everybody has been telling me to go easy because of my embers—even you.” Midoriya began, the last bit coming out as a whisper. “I haven’t—told them about my pain, just you, and you know why? Because they will treat me as someone to be careful around!”

Midoriya’s eyes bulged in horror upon realizing what he said, “Sorry…I didn’t—I didn’t mean to say that.”

“It’s okay.” Bakugo said before chuckling, catching Midoriya off-guard, “You are actually speaking your mind for once instead of snapping at people or staying quiet. About time.”

Soon, Bakugo began to push away from Midoriya, “I’m still going, though. We’ll talk more about this once—”

“Seriously—”

Out of nowhere, Midoriya powered up his embers—the green electricity from the last remnants of One for All coursing through his blood, zigzagging violently through his body as if fueled by his emotions. He grabbed Bakugo by his shoulders, grasping firmly.

“I said, you are not going!”

Then, with one big shove, he pushed Bakugo back into his room. The force of the propulsion sent Bakugo flying, spine-first, onto the unsuspecting desk. The collision echoed like the roaring thunder outside. The books, papers, and stationery that were laid out on the desk soared into the air as his bones rattled like a struck drum.

“Ahh!” A voice echoed from outside the room.

Stunned, Bakugo used the disturbed desk to pull himself up to look at the source of the yelp.

It was Midoriya. He was folded over, cradling his arms in a tight embrace.

“What the hell, Deku!” Bakugo hissed. “Are you trying to hurt me more than I already am!?”

“Sorry…I—I didn’t mean to do that…” Midoriya quickly replied through his winces. “I just got a little—upset.”

Bakugo huffed as he brushed off the metaphorical dust, his eyes drifting to his bag, now lying half-destroyed near his bed. “Seriously…I would rather not die again, and you shouldn’t hurt does dam arms more than they already are.”

He kneeled to grab his bag, and that action seemed to flick the switch back on in Midoriya.

“Can you just leave me alone!?”

“I can’t—Kacchan. Please stop, why are you such in a hurry to get better!? Just rest!” Midoriya urged, stepping into his room.

Bakugo clicked his tongue and looked away. That stupid lump was forming in his throat again, and he hated it. Why did Deku have to be so damn insistent? Why couldn’t he just leave him alone and mind his own business? This wasn’t his battle—it was Bakugo’s. He had his own struggles to deal with, so why couldn’t he focus on those instead?

But this was Deku he was dealing with. Of course, he would not back off, not when it came to someone’s well-being. Especially his.

But he had to do this…he needed this escape so he could fight this stupid battle raging inside his head.

Tears began to pool below his eyes, but he quickly wiped them away.

“Izuku, I—I can’t let what happened in the coffin happen again…” Bakugo muttered. “I need to be stronger so that doesn’t happen again, and so I—so I can protect you and everyone else.”

Midoriya stared, eyes round with astonishment. So, this was why he was insistent on training even when it was storming? It was like their first fight months ago; he felt guilty for what happened, and he wanted to expel it the only way he knew how. Bakugo knew the danger; he knew he shouldn’t be training, but even then, he needed something to make him feel that he wasn’t moving backward.

The teenager took a deep sigh, “Okay. I see.”

Bakugo sat down on the edge of his bed, bag still firmly in his hands, “What now, then? Are you going to tie me down or something?” He voiced, gaze firm.

Midoriya nodded, “Nope. I’m going to join you.” He uttered, turning around on his heels.

Bakugo’s stare grew large, unable to believe what he just heard, “What…but you were just—”

“I was. But you need a way to deal with what you are feeling. So, I’m going so you do it in a healthy manner.” Midoriya voiced.

“Yeah, like that is happening.”

The two stopped. That was Bakugo’s voice, but…he didn’t speak.

“Who the hell—”

Midoriya turned to look at Bakugo—and in that moment, he got his answer. His grip loosened, and his bag slipped from his hand, hitting the ground with a dull thud. His eyes went blank, and his expression fell slack.

Shinso.

But how—why?

He quickly turned to peek at the door—and there, standing outside, was his lavender-haired classmate, persona cords strapped over his mouth and finger hovering over the knob. And he wasn’t alone. Next to him stood Iida and Uraraka, with Todoroki and Asui just behind them.

“What are you guys—”

“We heard everything.” Uraraka interrupted. “We um—didn’t mean to, but after what you two said, we just couldn’t walk away.”

Iida stepped forward, “Shinso told us how you and Bakugo were acting last night, and we’ve all noticed something’s been off. We wanted to go check in with Bakugo first, and noticed that you were there too. We stopped and listened out of sight. We didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but…the conversation was concerning.”

Midoriya listened, stunned. Were they listening this whole time?

Shinso removed his support mask and let it dangle under his face, “Bakugo is probably going to punch me when I wake him up, but we heard him wanting to go out in this weather, in his condition, to train. I couldn’t—let him do that. We did hear the reason, and we thought you would stop him, but when we heard you were going to join him, I acted.”

Midoriya took a deep sigh. They definitely heard everything, probably witnessed his panic attack. Well, there really wasn’t much he could do; he was cornered with no way out. But at least they stopped Bakugo—now they could find a better, safer way to let out those pent-up emotions.

“How much did you listen?” Midoriya asked, his gaze diverging away from Shinso, now looking at his hands as his fingers twiddled nervously.

“Since you arrived.” Todoroki voiced, scooting in between Shinso and Iida so he could get a better view of his classmate. “We wanted to intervene when you were having the panic attack, but then Bakugo opened his door, and we quickly hid away.”

“I see,” Midoriya uttered.

“Deku, why haven’t you told us about your arms—your struggles? We know how the war affected you; we literally saw your arms get cut off!” Uraraka said, motioning to her friends. “And Bakugo…man, you two just love to hide things.”

Midoriya stayed silent, unsure of what to say. He really had kept quiet about all of this—but only because he didn’t want to burden them. They were already carrying enough from the aftermath of the war. And every time they tried to probe, he’d just snapped. It was like his own mind was screaming, “Don’t tell them,” And he responded the only way he knew how.

Defensively.

As if he was protecting himself from any harm that could come from being—vulnerable.

“We should probably wake Bakugo up before we talk.” Asui intruded. “It’s best we get his thoughts on this as well, ribbit.”

“Good idea, Tsu,” Iida replied. “He is not going to be very happy with us.”

Shinso chuckled, “Well, he can’t attack us cause—you know. But I’m not really on his good side, so he may snap at me. I mean, with a quirk like mine, understandable. I’m used to it. I’ll wake him up now, just make sure he doesn’t run away or something.”

“Don’t worry.” Midoriya began, sitting beside Bakugo, “I’ve been making sure he didn’t run off this entire time.”

Then, with a flick of the switch, Bakugo jolted, the sheen in his eyes coming back. He took a minute to blink, shaking the haze off his mind as he returned back to his bearings. Once things cleared, he glanced at the people around him, his eyes landing on Shinso.

“What the hell! Did you really just—” Bakugo began, fury bubbling viciously, yet keeping it contained despite how dangerously it was spilling.  

“Yes, I did,” Shinso said. “You really think I was going to let you go out in your condition, in this storm!?” he informed him sharply, his tone edged with frustration and concern.

Bakugo blinked, then noticed that there were others in his room. Midoriya was seated beside him, a good foot or two away from him. Shinso moved and took the desk chair, keeping his gaze locked on the teenager as if one glance away would cause him to poof out of the room. Iida, Uraraka, Todoroki, and Asui were mostly scattered, standing and either leaning against the wall or simply occupying an empty space.

He knew why they were here, and he really wanted to kick them out, but that was going to be nearly impossible, especially considering their worried gazes and determined frowns.

“They heard our conversation, Kacchan.” Midoriya began, turning to look at him, nervously rubbing his arms. “And saw—everything.”

“Oh,” Bakugo added. “I see.”

There was no gasp. No dramatic pause or a “how could you do this!?” moment. Just a slight slump in his posture—a tiny slouch, like the weight of the truth had finally landed.

Bakugo surveyed his room and snarled, noticing how tensed everyone was, “I’m not going to run away so stop acting like that, dammit. You can—sit down if you want.”

“Sorry, just being vigilant,” Iida informed.

Both Uraraka and Asui sat down on the floor, legs cross-legged, but Todoroki and Iida remained standing.

“Okay then, you got me—well, us, I guess—what do you want?” Bakugo proclaimed, eyes scanning his classmates.

 “We want to talk.” Uraraka voiced, clasping her hands in front of her. “We’ve noticed over the past few weeks how much you two have been struggling—not just physically, but emotionally and mentally as well. We found out about Deku’s chronic pain, and then we heard why you wanted to sneak out to train in this weather…in your condition. We didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I think it was necessary.”

Bakugo sighed. Of course, they heard. They were always in other people’s business, whether they liked it or not.

“We could have left, but we stayed because we care,” Todoroki informed. “You two went through the worst of the war. We know how grueling it must’ve been.”

Bakugo quickly looked at Midoriya and saw him fidgeting, pulling at the cuticles of his nails.

“And we wanted to give you all some space. But after noticing how distant and dismissive you were becoming, especially after what happened with Shinso last night, we knew we couldn’t just stand around as you two were fighting your own demons, ribbit.” Asui stepped in.

“We are not just your classmates; we are your friends. We care about you.” Iida voiced. “You don’t have to spill everything today, but hiding your feelings isn’t going to help you move forward. So, let’s start with what you were just talking about—think of it as continuing the conversation you two were having.”

Almost on queue, Bakugo and Midoriya glanced at each other, wondering what they should say, if anything. There was silence, wrapping around them, thick as a fog. The only sounds were those from the roaring storm, pounding against the walls, and the subtle rustle of clothes as they shifted, waiting nervously.

“You first, nerd,” Bakugo whispered.

Midoriya jumped, his comment hanging in the air, “Oh…um, okay.”

He hesitated, unsure where to begin. He didn’t want to talk—didn’t want to be here. Every part of him screamed to get up and run. But as much as he hated to admit it, he’d been running for too long, pushing everything aside and hoping his problems would somehow disappear.

But they haven’t.

They were still here, and they’ve gotten worse.

The familiar ache in his arms bloomed, mixing with the stiffness. The occasional sharp pains that stung like hot needles had become more persistent, forcing a wince out of the teenager.

Yeah, he couldn’t keep running. Not anymore.

Midoirya took a deep breath and began, “A lot—has been in my mind.” Everyone listened as he kept his head down, twiddling with his fingers, which felt unusually cold and clammy. “My future and just the guilt of everything…feeling as if I could have done something else to save Shigaraki. I knew this was the best-case scenario, and even he wanted death to be his end, but if only there was something I could have done differently. And the embers. They will be gone one day; I don’t know when, but soon. All Might told me it might take years before they’re truly gone, but I feel them getting weaker by the minute. I have a feeling I’ll be quirkless before I graduate.

“And just knowing that, as all of you get better and better, I’ll be falling behind. What I hate the most is knowing how you’ll treat me in the future—like I’m broken glass. And I don’t want that…that’s why I’ve stayed quiet about the pain in my arms…about everything.”

Midoriya took a quick breath, urging the lump forming in his throat to go away.

“I guess I’m just worried about the future. I know there are other professions outside of hero work I could go into—like teaching. It’s always been something that’s fascinated me. But I’m just worried that you will—you will—”

“Think less of you…” Todoroki finished for him.

Midoriya sucked in a sharp breath, his words feeling foreign, “Y-Yeah…and I also haven’t said anything cause you all had it just as bad. Like Kacchan, I saw you dead. That image—I don’t want to see that ever again. So yeah—that’s what’s been going on.”

The tears were making an appearance, threatening to spill. His throat tightened as sobs wanted to tear through his chest. He pulled a hand to his mouth, desperately trying to swallow the sorrows forcing themselves out.

“S-Sorry…” He mumbled, lips quivering.

“Don’t be, Deku.” Uraraka voiced, grinning softly. “You told us more than we expected. That is very brave of you. I’m sorry you have been feeling this way, but what you said about treating you less than or ‘weak’, well, that is complete nonsense! We would never think that of you, Deku! Quirk or no quirk!”

“Uraraka is right,” Todoroki said. “You’ve proven how formidable you are, even without a quirk.”

Midoriya nodded, continuously sniffling, resisting the downpour of tears that wanted to flee.

“Also, about teaching, didn’t Mr. Aizawa talk to you about shadowing opportunities?” Shinso added.

“He—did,” Midoriya replied.

“Then take it. Try it out. See if it’s something you’ll enjoy. If you decide to teach, knowing who you are, I’m sure schools will be fighting to have you teaching at their school.” Shinso finished.

Midoriya nodded, “Sounds good, and thanks.”

“You stupid nerd,” Bakugo whispered, causing Midoriya to turn and look at him. “Those dam arms of yours. You tell me but not everyone else, you idiot. And I don’t care what anyone says, you are going to be a hero when we graduate. I will make sure it happens. So do not dare say your future as a hero is over because it isn’t! We will deal with those arms of yours and everything else because you will be a hero. But first…stop hiding this crap.”

Midoriya couldn’t help but be taken aback by Bakugo’s comment. Those words were the last thing he expected to hear from him—there was so much hope laced in those words. Hope for him.

A quirkless hero? Was that even possible?

He’d have to ask him more about this later, but now—Kacchan.

“What about you, Kacchan? How have you been—feeling?”

At those words, Bakugo seemed to retreat as he crossed his arms and slouched slightly. His eyes moved to look at the ground, avoiding their piercing gazes.

“You can’t run from this.” He mentally commented. “Not anymore.”

He took a quick breath and spoke, “Before you all stormed in, I was telling the nerd how I’ve been feeling these past few weeks.”

Suddenly, everything around him felt magnified—the storm raging outside, the quiet breaths of his classmates, and worst of all, the cold metal stuck to his chest. Every faint beep from the monitor echoed like an accusation: This is your fault.

His mouth tightened, emotions shimmering just below the surface.

“I was—telling him that I—that I wasn’t strong enough…that what happened in the coffin was because I was too weak, and I hate that.” Bakugo began, struggling to enunciate his words. “And I hate seeing that, constantly. How you all look at me and treat me like I’m—fragile.”

Bakugo chuckled and then placed a shaky hand to his chest, “Well, in a way, I kinda am…can’t use my quirk or even get angry without my heart having another episode. They tell me it’ll get better, that I will be at my strongest again. But I can’t help the part of me that keeps saying I won’t get better, that I will just stay like this if I don’t—do something about it.”

“And that’s why you wanted to train…” Midoriya whispered.

Bakugo stopped to glance at Midoriya. The teenager returned his gaze. Immediately, his eyes widened.

“Oh, sorry, Kacchan! Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Bakugo sighed, “It’s fine. You already figured that out anyway. The reason I wanted to go out was because I wanted to stop feeling like that. Useless. A failure. I’m scared that if I don’t work on this now, I won’t get better. I will just remain like—this.”

There was silence as Bakugo’s words seeped in. But the quiet was deafening. Frightening.

He’d said too much. Talked too much. They were probably thinking he was weak—fragile. He should’ve just kept his mouth shut, kept it all to himself, and never dragged anyone into his mess—

“Thanks for telling us, Bakugo,” Uraraka said, breaking the silence. “We knew something was up, but just like with Deku, we wanted to give you some space. We should have said something earlier.”

Bakugo blinked, lost for words. “N-No…I probably would have yelled at you if you did.” He implied.

“Bakugo, I don’t think you are weak.” Todoroki jumped in. “It’s amazing you are even walking and talking to us. What we saw was—terrible. It’s honestly impressive how much you have recovered.”

The group nodded in collective agreement.

“And Bakugo, we know you’ll get better—and you should believe that too. It won’t happen today, or tomorrow, or even in a week. But you will get there, and you’ll become the hero you’re striving to be. You just have to be patient and work toward that goal in a way that won’t harm you or break school rules,” Iida said.

Bakugo listened, taking their words in.

"Also..." Midoriya began, softly, his eyes locking with Bakugo’s. "Pushing yourself when you're barely standing won’t help you. It'll only break you more."

He let out a shaky chuckle, the sound carrying more weariness than humor, “You said you want to be competing and on my heels for the rest of our lives?”

Bakugo’s breath caught in his throat.

“Then…do it.” Midoriya’s expression shifted into something gentle, something sincere. “Get strong, get better because, one day, who knows, I might be flying so far ahead of you that you’ll need everything just to keep up with me.” Midoriya smiled, lips trembling at the corners.

The explosion quirk user let out a breathy laugh, “Like I’ll let that happen.”

Midoriya's smile grew, happy to see the spark of fire returning to Bakugo’s voice. It was a glimpse of the fierce determination he knew so well.

“Oh, and Deku.” Midoriya stopped, his smile falling, “Thanks for stopping by and kicking some sense into me. All of you. You are right, I can grow even if I’m still injured.”

Midoriya’s grin came back, soft and understanding, “Of course, Kacchan. We've got to move toward our goals together.”

“Yeah…together,” Bakugo muttered.

“Well,” Shinso cut in, “looks like us barging in helped after all. Oh—and Bakugo, sorry for using my quirk on you like that.”

“Tsk, it’s fine. At least now I know what it feels like for whenever I get trapped in it during hero training. But like I’ll give you the chance to use it on me again.” Bakugo mocked.

“Sure.” Shinso chuckled.

“I’m glad this was useful. It’s important that we discuss this with each other, especially if it’s bothering us.” Iida voiced, his lips curving into a gentle smile.

“Agreed!” Uraraka yelped. “We have to look after each other while we are recovering from the war.”

The group nodded in quiet solidarity—but Bakugo and Midoriya paused.

Their eyes met, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them—wounds too deep for words.

Then, almost simultaneously, they gave small, reserved nods. It wasn’t a loud approval, but it was enough. A silent promise.

A promise that they would move forward.

“Okay, then.” Uraraka stood up, Asui following her. “We have some work to do, so we should be heading out. Want to come with us? I think the rest of the class would love to see you all.”

“Oh, yeah, they have been quite worried about you.” Todoroki voiced.

Midoriya let out a gentle chuckle, “Oh, yeah, you are right. I haven’t even said ‘hi’ to them.” He slowly stood up and headed to the exit. “I have to change that.”

Eyes went over to Bakugo.

“Alright, I’ll go too, but mostly so they can stop bothering me,” Bakugo exclaimed.

“Amazing! Well, let’s go.” Iida verbalized.

Soon, the group made their way out of Bakugo’s room, each making sure to thank their classmate for allowing them to hang out and apologizing for intruding. They walked over to the elevator and descended, quickly arriving in the common room.

“Midoriya, Bakugo!” Kirishima exclaimed, waving at them from the sofa, being the first to notice them. “Good to see you two.”

Midoriya waved back, “Same here.”

The two trailed behind their classmates, step by step, until they reached the rest of their class—together.

A new path lay ahead, steady and blazing with purpose.

You will be a hero, Deku.

You will heal, Kacchan.

And we’ll keep chasing each other…for the rest of our lives.