Chapter Text
He wasn’t supposed to fall apart. Not in front of them. Midoriya learned early that people felt better when he was fine. When he smiled, even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes. When he held steady while everyone else shook. So he trained himself not to crack. Not to need. Because the world was heavy, and he could carry it—if only to give them a moment to breathe.
He didn’t realize how much he needed to be held, too. Not until they made him stop.
. . .
The hallway outside Ground Beta was too bright for how much blood was on Bakugo’s sleeve.
Not his blood—at least not all of it—but it was definitely enough to set off Midoriya’s internal alarms. His friend was stalking ahead like a feral dog let off leash, shoulders tight, footsteps loud, and refusing—flat-out refusing—to look at anyone.
The mission was over. The villains were down. Class 1-A had made it out, if not unscathed, then at least alive. Technically, that counted as a win.
But Midoriya had seen the way Bakugo had thrown himself into the middle of that collapsing building to shield Kaminari. And the way he hadn’t made a sound when the rubble hit his shoulder. He’d seen the split-second delay when Bakugo tried to throw another explosion and his arm didn’t quite respond.
Everyone else was laughing. Shaky post-adrenaline laughter. Sero and Mina were reenacting something dumb that happened during the fight. Iida was giving a full report to Cementoss and Aizawa. Todoroki was icing his knuckles without blinking.
But Midoriya only had eyes for the boy with blood on his elbow and pride bleeding from his mouth.
Midoriya sped up without thinking. “Kacchan—”
“I’m fine,” Kacchan snapped without turning.
Midoriya winced, but didn’t back off. “You’re bleeding.”
“I said I’m fine, damn it!”
“You’re dripping on the floor.”
Kacchan finally halted and spun to face him, eyes sparking—not with his Quirk, but with pure, unfiltered rage. His jaw was tight. His whole body practically buzzed with tension.
“I don’t need a damn lecture,” he growled. “Save it for someone who gives a shit Deku.”
Midoriya swallowed hard. He knew this version of Kacchan. The post-battle version. The “don’t look at me too closely or I’ll explode” version. But today… today felt different. His voice wasn’t just angry—it was tired. The kind of tired you don’t admit out loud.
So Midoriya stayed still. Calm. A little nervous, sure—but standing his ground.
“I’m not giving a lecture,” he said gently. “I just think you should let Recovery Girl take a look at it.”
“I wasn’t going.”
“You should.”
Kacchan rolled his eyes. “Tch. You would say that.”
“You’re hurt.”
“You’re always hurt and nobody stops you.”
That one landed. Midoriya blinked, taken aback.
“I… I guess that’s true,” he said quietly. “But maybe we should both stop doing that.”
Kacchan looked away.
There was a long pause.
Then Midoriya stepped forward and tilted his head just enough to meet Kacchan’s eyes.
“You’re my friend,” he said.
That did it.
Kacchan recoiled like the word physically hit him. “Don’t— don’t call me that.”
“But you are,” Midoriya said, shrugging like it was the simplest truth in the world. “And if you were the one bleeding on the floor and I didn’t offer to help, I think that’d make me a pretty bad one.”
“You’re always helping people,” Kacchan muttered. “Like some stupid sidekick with a savior complex.”
Midoriya smiled a little. “Better than being someone who bleeds alone.”
Kacchan stared at him.
And then, in a voice low and grudging, he muttered, “…Fine. But if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll kill you.”
Midoriya nodded, like it was a completely reasonable request. “Of course, Kacchan.”
They walked in silence toward the infirmary. Kacchan was limping. Just slightly. Midoriya didn’t mention it.
….
The infirmary was chaos.
Three students from Class B were already lined up against the wall, waiting for Recovery Girl to finish with a busted ankle and a possible concussion. Aizawa stood in the corner, giving clipped orders into his phone. There was an assistant nurse helping tape up Kaminari’s ribs, and a student Midoriya didn’t recognize was curled up on one of the cots, half-conscious with blood running down their neck.
It smelled like disinfectant, ozone, and burned fabric.
Kacchan took one look at the mess, scoffed, and turned to leave.
“Nope.”
Midoriya blocked the doorway.
Kacchan raised an eyebrow. “You gonna make me?”
“If I have to,” Midoriya said.
They stared at each other for a second. Kacchan was still standing weirdly stiff, cradling his left arm like it might detach if jostled. His lip was split. He had a burn along his jaw. He looked like a wreck—and he looked pissed that anyone could see it.
Before either of them could say something regrettable, Recovery Girl glanced up from a patient and waved them off. “Bakugou, sit down. I’ll be with you in ten. Try not to bleed on the sheets.”
Kacchan muttered something rude under his breath but didn’t argue. He slumped onto a bench against the wall and started peeling off his gauntlets one-handed, wincing the whole time.
Midoriya hovered for a second.
Then, gently, he sat beside him and pulled out the basic first aid kit from the supply cart. He didn’t ask. Just opened it and started laying out antiseptic, gauze, and bandages like it was muscle memory.
“What the hell are you doing?” Kacchan snapped.
Midoriya met his eyes. “Helping.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“I didn’t ask you to blow yourself up for Kaminari, either. But you did.”
Kacchan scowled. “That’s different.”
Midoriya smiled softly. “No, it’s not.”
He reached for Kacchan’s arm. The other boy instinctively pulled back—but not all the way. Just enough to make a point.
Midoriya waited.
Slowly, Kacchan let him take it.
It was worse up close. The skin around his elbow was swollen and already turning a dark red-purple. The tear in his sleeve showed part of the wound—jagged, raw, probably from the impact with the rubble. Midoriya hissed quietly through his teeth.
“This might sting.”
“I can handle it.”
“I know.”
Midoriya worked quietly, dabbing antiseptic and carefully checking for fractures. Kacchan flinched once. Just once.
“…You really shouldn’t be this good at this,” he muttered.
“What?”
Kacchan didn’t look at him. “Bandaging people. You do this too often.”
Midoriya didn’t answer right away.
He wrapped the bandage with slow, practiced fingers, looping the gauze securely around Kacchan’s arm. Not too tight. Just enough to hold.
When he finally spoke, his voice was soft.
“I’d rather learn how to heal than just keep breaking.”
Kacchan didn’t say anything. Not for a long moment.
Then, quietly, he muttered, “Tch… You’re so damn dramatic.”
Midoriya smiled. “You’re welcome.”
He finished wrapping the elbow and reached for Kacchan’s wrist to stabilize the bandage. Kacchan stiffened—but let him. That in itself felt like progress.
Midoriya glanced up once, caught his expression.
Wary. Guarded. Almost… fragile.
He couldn’t help it.
“You’re a good person, Kacchan,” he said, gentle as a whisper.
Kacchan’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide with something sharp and unnamable.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.
Midoriya blinked. “Like what?”
“Like I’m some kind of—hero.”
Midoriya tilted his head.
“…But you are.”
Kacchan looked away, jaw tight.
Midoriya didn’t press.
He just squeezed his wrist once—solid, grounding—and finished the wrap.
Kacchan didn’t say anything else.
Midoriya didn’t expect him to. The silence between them wasn’t comfortable, exactly—but it wasn’t sharp like it used to be. It was heavy. Tired. Like old armor, finally being set down.
As he tucked away the roll of gauze, Midoriya’s fingers hesitated.
He didn’t mean to drift. But his mind went there anyway.
To the first time Kacchan nearly tried to kill him.
Not metaphorically. Not in that schoolyard “I hate you” kind of way. But truly—explosively. That day in the battle trial, when All Might paired them off and sent them into that building like it was a normal lesson. Like they didn’t have years of pain hanging between them.
Midoriya remembered the way Kacchan’s eyes looked. Wild. Cold. Like nothing he said would reach him.
“You’ve always looked down on me, haven’t you?!”
He remembered the feeling of heat grazing his cheek. The moment his legs almost gave out. The realization that Kacchan wasn’t holding back—not even a little.
He also remembered All Might not stopping it. Iida yelling from across the comms. Uraraka too far away to reach him.
He remembered feeling alone.
But even that didn’t compare to middle school.
The day he’d been shoved against the lockers—someone pulling his backpack, another flicking water on his face. A teacher walking by without looking. Kacchan leaning against the wall, arms crossed, just watching.
He hadn’t laughed. Not that time. He’d just stood there and let it happen.
That somehow hurt more.
Because at least when Kacchan was angry, he was honest. But silence? Indifference?
It felt like disappearing.
Midoriya blinked.
He looked down at Kacchan’s bandaged arm, warm and steady beneath his touch. The same arm that once knocked him to the ground. The same hand that used to shove him away without looking.
Now it was still.
Not pushing. Not flinching. Just… letting him stay.
Midoriya exhaled slowly.
They weren’t the same boys anymore.
And maybe—just maybe—Kacchan didn’t want to disappear anymore, either.
He flexed his hand once, testing the bandage like he was trying to find something wrong with it.
He didn’t.
Midoriya stayed quiet, watching from the edge of the bench. His own legs were jittering like they always did when the adrenaline wore off, and he was starting to feel every bruise he’d collected from the mission. But he didn’t move.
He wasn’t done yet.
“Do you remember that day in the battle trial?” he asked, voice soft.
Kacchan shot him a sharp look. “Which one?”
“You know the one.”
Kacchan’s jaw tightened.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I remember.”
Midoriya nodded, not looking at him this time. Just kept his eyes on the way Kacchan’s fingers twitched beneath the wrap. “I thought you were going to kill me.”
Kacchan flinched. Barely. But Midoriya felt it.
“…I almost did,” he said, voice low. “I was so pissed. At you. At everything.”
There it was.
No excuses. No backpedaling. Just the truth. And it hurt. But it also made breathing easier somehow.
Midoriya smiled. Not because it was funny. Just because he didn’t know what else to do with the ache in his chest.
“I think I hated you for a while after that,” he admitted.
Kacchan snorted. “Only fair. I hated me, too.”
Midoriya blinked.
Kacchan didn’t say it again.
Didn’t need to.
Silence settled between them. This time, not sharp. Not tense. Just real.
“I meant what I said earlier,” Midoriya whispered. “You were a hero today.”
Kacchan made a face. “Tch.”
“You saved Kaminari without even thinking. You took the hit like it was nothing.”
“It’s not like I planned it—”
“I know. That’s what made it heroic.”
Kacchan stared at him.
Then looked away.
“…You’re so fucking annoying,” he muttered.
Midoriya grinned. “I get that a lot.”
He nudged Kacchan’s arm gently—right where it was safe to touch. Not pushing. Just reminding him: I’m still here.
Kacchan didn’t move away. He rubbed his bandaged arm like it was itching under his skin.
Midoriya didn’t say anything. Just sat beside him, steady and quiet, the way no one had ever sat beside him in middle school. The way he wished someone had.
The hum of voices in the infirmary had died down. The lights buzzed overhead, and somewhere in the back, a machine beeped too fast.
“Y’know,” Kacchan muttered finally, voice low and uneven, “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
Midoriya blinked. “Do what?”
“Take the hit for Kaminari.” He scoffed. “Wasn’t some noble decision. I just moved.”
Midoriya nodded slowly. “Still counts.”
Kacchan scowled at the floor.
“You always make things mean more than they do,” he grumbled.
“Maybe,” Midoriya said. “But you always act like things don’t mean anything when they do.”
That made Kacchan look at him.
Really look at him.
Like he wasn’t used to being seen and kind of hated it, but couldn’t look away either.
“I was scared,” he said.
Midoriya’s breath caught.
Kacchan’s eyes dropped immediately, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
“Not of the villains,” he added, too quickly. “Of… screwing up. Of freezing. Of someone getting hurt because of me.”
His hands clenched around the edge of the bench.
“It’s easy for you,” he muttered. “You always know what to say. What to do. You’re the one people follow.”
Midoriya stared.
Was that… admiration? From Kacchan?
It felt like watching the sky crack open.
“It’s not easy,” he said, voice soft. “I’m scared all the time.”
Kacchan looked at him sideways. “Yeah, but you don’t let it stop you.”
Midoriya gave a tiny smile. “Neither did you.”
Another pause. Heavy. Real.
“…Don’t tell anyone,” Kacchan said finally, eyes back on the floor.
Midoriya nodded. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
They sat in silence again, but this time it didn’t buzz or ache. It just was.
Kacchan’s shoulder brushed his once—barely there—but he didn’t pull away.
Midoriya didn’t move.
…
The infirmary had emptied out.
Recovery Girl waved them off with a half-hearted grumble about teenagers being too dramatic for their own good. Kacchan grunted something that sounded like thanks, but didn’t slow down on his way to the door.
Midoriya followed a few steps behind.
The sun had started to dip outside the windows, throwing long slats of gold across the hallway floor. Their shadows stretched ahead of them—side by side.
At the end of the hall, Kacchan paused.
Midoriya almost bumped into him again. “Kacchan?”
Kacchan didn’t turn around.
“…You said I always act like stuff doesn’t mean anything,” he said, voice low.
Midoriya nodded, unsure where it was going. “Yeah?”
Kacchan’s hand twitched at his side.
“…It’s not nothing.”
Midoriya blinked. “What?”
“That you wrapped my arm,” he muttered. “That you sat with me. It’s not—”
His voice caught for a second. Rough.
“…It’s not nothing.”
Midoriya stared at him.
Kacchan didn’t wait for a response. Just shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking, like he hadn’t just broken open six years of emotional repression in one breath.
Midoriya let him go.
But as he stood in the hallway, heart aching in a way that wasn’t quite pain, he smiled.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “It’s not nothing.”