Work Text:
Bakugou didn’t notice the comparatively dull city beneath his feet, as the only other person who seemed larger than the world sat beside him. The only other person he admired besides himself, who he had thought was the closest to the hero Bakugou had always wanted to be, was sitting as an equal; the last conversation that untangled their mess of emotions left Bakugou surprisingly light, after such a long time wallowing in guilt.
Did Izuku’s salvation also save Bakugou from this gnawing guilt, he wondered. A simple talk lightens the guilt that accompanied the insecurity he could never wash away. Bakugou wonders if he could kill villains as much as Izuku saves people.
After such a long time of furthering the gap between him and his childhood soulmate by his own hands, it seems as if this long, rough relationship was finally getting closure, here on the edge of a roof, their feet kicking over a drop that both would risk their lives for if the other had fallen. The gap furthered by the years of mistreatment between them is mending, though he’ll always have to live with the soiled, rotten past. His eyebrows knit further as he stared at the grey skyline directly in front of him. He faintly picked up the musty scent of rain, but he’d let himself get drenched if he could just have this moment.
He didn’t want forgiveness. He didn’t think he was ever held accountable for the abuse. Yet, it seems like Izuku, with the same stupidly kind expression he has, had already forgiven him. Izuku had already moved on, and Bakugou couldn’t demonize him, as much as he wanted to. Because Izuku was never the terrible vermin he had convinced himself that Deku would be. He was the person who would always be more of a hero, more understanding, and more courageous than Bakugou will ever be. It was almost as if he could reach the vast sky. Almost.
And Bakugou hated himself for how incompetent he was. Never able to reach the sky, the cloud barrier prevents him from seeing the other side. He’ll just have to learn to live with that. He’ll have to live with what he did. He’ll have to live with a person he wished so desperately to reach, who had exceeded everything he had done, despite all the burns and hatred Bakugou threw towards him. And yet, they were equals. Despite every incredulous thing that seemed to prove otherwise, the last words revealed how they were alike. They were always pushing each other. Maybe they were two stars well above the sky, already.
The Musutafu citizens looked like ants at the height they sat. A world so distant from theirs, which was filled with a silent tone of understanding.
Bakugou glanced from the city to Izuku’s iridescent eyes, which were still staring, far off, a wide and goofy smile etched on his face, uncharacteristically quiet. He had gotten out a lot of what he needed to say, from what Bakugou observed. Usually, Izuku thought out loud, but Bakugou didn’t need his years of experience with Izuku to know how giddy and proud he was, through that ridiculously large grin. He always wore his emotions on his sleeve.
Apparently, Izuku noticed the intense eyes stuck on him, for he slowly turned and locked eyes, his green meeting its opposite red. The exaggerated expression Izuku wore slowly softened into an easy smile, breaths mingling together in the chilled air. They stood at a stalemate, getting lost in the eyes of the other, now full of understanding. Bakugou made sure that every freckle on Izuku’s face, every pore, every strand of hair was ingrained in his memory, at that moment. An unfamiliar, warm feeling enveloped Bakugou’s heart, yet he didn’t fight it, this time.
He didn’t stop to think. He never did when the feeling got too big. He cupped Izuku’s freckled cheeks–heat against the cold–and met their lips together.
For a heartbeat, he thought the world had gone still. And then a hand pushed Bakugou’s chest away, and a shell-shocked Izuku lay before his eyes.
Why did his expression resemble the one on the scrawny, middle school boy Bakugou had bullied so long ago?
Why did he move away, with trembling hands that Bakugou could also notice he was desperately trying to suppress?
Why did he cover his mouth with his hands, as if he hated the thought of the kiss?
Izuku pushed himself to his feet and walked away, the air so cold, yet tense with pressure.
The door to the rooftop closed without a word.
shit.
That wasn't the reaction Bakugou intended for.
Bakugou wasn't really intending to elicit any reaction, but that was just the problem, wasn’t it? He was drawn in, only kissing for his own gain. He really, despite that long conversation, despite it seeming like he was finally becoming a hero, hadn’t changed.
What was he thinking? Well, he supposed he wasn't. For someone who prided himself on being such a rational, quick thinker in battles, Bakugou could never quite do that when it mattered, could he?
He was left alone in the biting cold, the earlier warmth he felt leaving his entire body. It was replaced with cold, seething anger. At what, he didn’t want to figure out, yet.
He looked at the grey sky, internally cursing how he couldn't reach it, cursing his stupid impulses, and cursing how he made the only person he ever considered equal walk away, again. Frightened. Disgusted. What a moron Bakugou was.
It wasn’t until he felt something warm on his palm that he realized he had dug through his skin in rage.
What a bother. He left the rooftop, as well, leaving before this musty smell of rain lured him into the cold, stupid water and mixed in with the red blood now dripping from his knuckles.
Because red will never mix well.
The pitter-patter of the rain finally came as Bakugou was disinfecting the wounds on his now messy bed he had folded with military precision earlier. He didn’t bother looking out his window, not wanting to stare at the mocking sky.
After putting on some band-aids over the wound, he convinced himself that it didn't sting from the alcohol, he practically jumped straight into his work. Honestly, he doesn’t understand people who don’t do anything when they’re trying to avoid something else. Being productive in procrastination is much more efficient and lucrative than wasting away.
No, that would imply that he’s avoiding something. He isn’t. He’s simply trying to get through the piles of things he needs to complete.
…
It’s been an hour. He had been reading the same paragraph for the 4th time. This isn’t even a hard paper, and yet he’s wasting away like all the extras he was so disdainful towards. Doing work is useless.
Useless. Deku.
A freckled face looked at him in disbelief and terror as he tried to cover what part of his face he could with his measly, scrawny arms, trembling with so much fervor you’d think he was freezing instead of having just been burnt.
As Bakugou felt his face scrunch up at the memory, he covered his mouth with his palms and let out a muffled groan, letting a string of curses fly out. This was annoying. He can’t work.
Of all things, he wouldn't expect Izuku to just get up and leave. Moreover, he hasn't gotten a single text from that bastard. Usually, after a hangout, Izuku would text him and tell him they should do it again, and that it was fun. Hell, before Bakugou went to bed at around 8, he’d get a ‘good night!” Text from Izuku, even though they both know Izuku won't be sleeping for at least a few more hours.
Right– sleep. Well, it was around his bedtime. He stared at the large, red 1949 glowing from his black alarm that blended in with the rest of the dark room.
Having already finished his bedtime routine, he left the perfectly-positioned pens he was fidgeting with on his desk and tucked himself under the sheets, which were damper than usual from the rain. He's technically already finished work, so he’s ahead of everything. Just as it should be.
Pitter-patter
Pitter-patter
He pulled Deku’s curls, yanking him up, and the boy, though eyes shut with fright, subconsciously tried to follow the force to lessen the tension, though pain was inevitable. Bakugou kneed the stomach of his childhood friend, who curled up in himself and dropped to the floor, coughing. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he embraced the giggling of his classmates. Yet, despite their praise, he still felt a surge of bile and unease roll around when he saw the same, defiant yet teary eyes still so full of life. Even when it seemed like he was winning, his heart felt like it was losing.
The Ding of a notification broke the deafening, annoying sound of rain, although Bakugou was conscious enough not to be annoyed at waking up to it. Not many people can text him with his Do-Not-Disturb enabled, so he quickly snatched it, exposing his arm to the biting chill of the air, eyes squinting at the block of light and adjusting from the darkness, and saw From Deku: “Good night!” on the screen.
A bitter tang spread through Bakugou’s mouth. As glad as he should be that he’s finally received some sort of answer, all he felt was another wave of guilt that washed over everything he thought he stood above.
He clutched the phone as he thought about all the horrible ways he treated Izuku, and how it seemed like he’s hardly changed from that when he pushed himself onto a person that should’ve, could’ve just stayed a childhood friend.
How was Izuku brave enough to text a person who has wronged him so? How had he even faced Bakugou and continued interacting through all this time? Why does Izuku act like nothing happened, when bakugou could vividly remember every frightened wrinkle, shaking of hands, and the wordless fleeing?
Bakugou had never taken rejection very well. As much as he didn’t want to accept it, rejections have plagued his life, almost as much as winning had. 2nd place in the middle school rankings for the first semester. Rejection from a band some kids had formed, even though he was better at the drums than whatever other D-lister they picked. A birthday party that nobody invited him to, even though all the extras went. He had acted like he didn’t care and that such things didn’t exist, but he now has to face it.
Bakugou turned over to the side of the bed and sighed. He can’t keep up with all this sentimental bull right now. The darkness of night swallowed him as he listened, unwillingly, to the pouring water outside.
He kicked the boy on the floor, who didn’t fight back, focusing what little strength he had in covering the back of his head. Each time his feet hit the already battered body, deku coughed, biting his own teeth to prevent any other sound that could potentially escape his mouth. The extras laughed, occasionally giving an extra kid. One even threw a pencil that landed close to Deku’s eye. They only stopped when Deku stopped giving them any reaction, unamused and irritated that the quirkless kid wasn’t even worth the effort for entertainment.
Bakugou slammed down the laptop he was watching a baking video on as his door was swung open without warning.
The perpetrator, as Bakugou slowly turned his head to him, was Kirishima. The only other guy he let have his keys.
“Dude, is that-”
“No.”
“But I just saw-”
“No.”
They stood at a stalemate for a few seconds as Bakugou warned Kirishima to never speak of it as clearly as he could with the glare. Apparently, Shitty hair can take a hint, as he just combed through his shitty hair and sighed.
“Alright, well. Can I sit down, at least? I have some things I think we need to talk about.”
Bakugou rolled his eyes and took out some papers he out in drawers to look over, avoiding his computer, in case it opened back to the baking video. “No.” He didn’t like the sound of ‘things’ that need to be ‘talked about.’
Instead of respecting Bakugou’s wishes and dignity, however, Kirishima closed the door and flopped down on his bed, getting the disgusting, outside germs all over the place where Bakugou sleeps. What was the point of even asking? “Right! So I wanted to talk about your current attitude.”
Bakugou wholeheartedly ignored Kirishima and silently tried to will him to go away.
“See, that’s the exact thing I’m talking about. Usually, when I or others greet you, you grunt, or some form of acknowledgement. But now, you aren’t even responding! Man, you don’t even answer any of the gang’s requests for a hangout session!”
“Well this sure is a nice greeting.” He wasn’t looking at Kirishima, afraid to see how he might’ve made his best friend look. Instead, he flipped the page on the paper he was reading. Something about damage to property and liabilities.
“C’mon, man! Work with me, here! You always say how busy you are with work, in the last few weeks! What’s up with that? Are you sure there isn’t just something you’re avoiding by diving headfirst into your work, again?”
“You’re thinking too much.” Bakugou didn’t want to talk about it. To think about it. As long as he’s being productive, he’s on the way to being the number one. That was always his goal in life, anyway.
After a long pause filled with the sound of shuffling papers, Bakugou thought Kirishima had finally stopped, and was either asleep or had left. However, Shitty hair had to open his mouth, “Is it about Midoriya?”
Bakugou halted his paperwork.
“So it is! You guys had stopped talking entirely before all of this. Don’t think we didn’t noticed.” Although Bakugou couldn’t tell Kirishima’s expression, he could sense some sort of frustration in his voice, and a lingering sense of… another emotion that Bakugou didn’t want to spend more time figuring out. “What happened, man?”
Bakugou pursed his lips. There was no way he was going to explain the failure. The link to the soiled past that Bakugou tried to escape from. The-
“If you don’t tell me, I’m telling everyone you watch baking videos in your free time.”
“I kissed him, and he ran away.”
Everything stood still, as both processed what had transpired. Bakugou didn’t see what expression Kirishima might’ve had, unsure of what he was thinking. It felt like the ground was shifting beneath him at the confession.
Then, after a flicker of a lamplight, Bakugou heard a shuffling noise. “Damn, bro.”
“Get out.”
Kirishima obeyed this time, as Bakugou heard footsteps to the door, which Bakugou followed. “Okay, well, you can call me if ya want, Alright? I’m here for you, man! Talking about it really does wonde-”
Before Shitty hair could finish his sentence, the door was shut in his face. Bakugou knows he shouldn't have been so aggressive, but he didn't care, as of now, huffing and getting back to his desk and doing his work. Nothing else exists besides him and the papers to defeat.
Bakugou lay on his bed, work due even weeks ahead already done. The sleep took him immediately, and he was plunged into darkness.
Dragged by his left ear, Bakugou took him to the edge of the stairs. Then, without time for any process, Bakugou raised his leg and kicked the nerd down the stairs, hard. He toppled over, scrawny limbs hitting he hard, sharp concrete. Falling, going down–
Bakugou woke up in cold sweat, the bedsheet under his palms singed. Instead of getting annoyed at the thought of needing to change the bedsheets yet again, he felt his chest still tighten up, biting down on his lip to ground himself. The sharp pain he felt wasn’t enough, though, as he felt the guilt bubble up, again, and he jolted himself up, sitting upright, as if that would fix this. Fix all the actions he will never be able to repent for.
These types of dreams occur more frequently since that incident, which he regretted, almost as much as the punches he threw to a kid who wasn’t worthless at all.
The silence in his room was too loud. It was an incessant static in his ear that drove him madder than he already was– a reminder of the god-forsaken thoughts he didn’t want to think. It pressed against his skin, humming between his heartbeat. It was irritating. Maddening.
He took a deep breath. Then another.
His head felt light. Maybe that was why the air never seemed to be enough. Or maybe it was the way his lungs couldn’t seem to decide whether they wanted this stupid, stale air or not. Damn it.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale–
Bakugou covered his head with his hands, cupping his ears. The pressure was overwhelming. Another memory stirred, despite his efforts to suppress it. He used to do this as a child, didn’t he? Curling up like a baby that couldn’t handle the depth of the stupid emotions that it felt more deeply than so many others.
Had the great King Explosion Murder God Dynamight reverted to adolescence from a mere feeling he placed on himself? Like his past self did, he began to pull at his spiky blonde hair, his fingers turning white, the slight tug of pain reminding him that he was alive, though he was vaguely aware of it now.
Frustration was always an emotion he struggled to feel.
His stomach twisted, tight enough to hurt. He got up to get water, some form of salvation that may cure the sharp, throbbing pain. However, he tripped over himself, uselessly falling to the ground. He curled inward, forehead pressing into the floor and hands clutching at the knotted stomach, almost as if he was praying.
But if he were to pray, who would he pray to?
What kind of god would have let him suffer like this?
Breathe. Keep breathing. He had work to do.
Get up. Get up, dammit. It wasn’t that bad. Compared to everything else–compared to the things he’d suffered through–some shit he’s done to someone shouldn’t affect him this much.
Right?
This must be guilt. This must be atonement.
The fucked-up god that never helped him had finally decided to make him pay for his past sins. His breath hitched, vision blurring around the world that now wouldn’t stop spinning.
His eyes burned, knees aching, whole body feeling wrong. Was he overreacting? Probably. Definitely. But it didn’t matter, because she still couldn’t get up.
…
He stayed there for a long time.
Motionless.
Wobbly, weak knees pressed into the cold floor, arms now limp at his sides. A worshipper at the altar of his own guilt.
If someone walked in, they might have thought he was praying.
But he wasn’t
Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t beg.
A god who let him suffer like this wouldn’t grant it anyway. Forgiveness to this selfish asshole that brought hell on earth to another person who still thought of him as a friend? Not after everything.
If he was supposed to atone, then fine. He’ll suffer.
To let the weight of his guilt pin him down.
He wondered how long it would take before he forgot how to stand, his legs already buzzing with numbness, choking on the heavy heart he’s no longer able to bear.
He would have laughed if not for the water that filled his dry lungs. The hero who prided himself on never giving up in battle has a body that can’t even endure the simple emotion of guilt.
Bakugou scrawled up, eyes swollen. He scrambled to grab the phone next to his nightstand, opening the first chat to come up. He ignored all the other texts he’s received.
You:
The door to your face.
7:23PM
Immediately, he saw typing. That bastard had a fast response time. Or maybe he was waiting for someone else.
Shitty hair:
BAKUBRO!!!
7:23
Shitty hair:
What’s good!!!!!!!!!!!
7:23
Shitty hair:
Oh wait, what did you say¿? WHAT DOOR. Are you insulting me
7:23
Kirishima wasn't really the brightest, Bakugou observed. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
You:
No. I shut the door to your face.
7:23
Shitty hair:
Oh! Yes. Wait, is this an apology? Are you apologizing?
7:24
Shitty hair:
Aww, is bakubro saying sorry?
You:
Shut up.
7:25
You:
I’m never apologizing again.
7:25
Shitty hair:
Nooo!!
7:25
Shitty hair:
Did I ruin someone’s character development?
7:25
Shitty hair
You know I was joking, riggghht?
7:26
You:
:Thumbs up emoji:
7:26
Shitty hair:
You know you text like an old man, right?
7:26
Shitty hair:
I bet you’d use a cane and threaten little children to get off your lawn when you get older.
7:26
You:
:Thumbs down emoji:
7:27
Shitty hair:
Thanks. That says a lot.
7:27
Shitty hair:
So… about midoriya…7:30
You:
Fuck you.
7:30
You:
I ain’t saying shit.
7:30
Shitty hair:
Come on, man! You just had some character development!
7:30
Shitty hair:
I thought we were getting somewhere!
7:30
You:
No.
7:31
Shitty hair:
Pleaseeee? What if I only accept your apology if you do?
7:31
You:
Conditional love.
7:31
You:
That just means you’re a bad friend.
7:31
Shitty hair:
WHAT?!?!
7:31
Shitty hair:
PLEASE bro.
7:31
You:
Okay. I will say one thing. Ask wisely.
7:32
Shitty hair:
Did it really take you two full minutes to say this?
7:32
You:
Yes.
7:32
Shitty hair:
So…. What happened between you and Midoriya to get you like this?
7:32
You:
You already asked a question. I answered yes.
7:32
Shitty hair:
WHAT!?! NO I DIDN’T.
7:32
Shitty hair:
THAT WASN’T IT.
7:32
You:
Fine.
7:33
You:
I bullied deku.
Shitty hair:
Dude…
7:34
Shitty hair:
I’m sorry to break it to you, but like…. We all kinda figured
7:34
You:
WE?
7:34
Shitty hair:
Yea, but whatever.
7:34
Shitty hair:
I was asking about that specific event.
7:35
Shitty hair:
There had to be something else that happened, before you never wanted to see the light of day again other than work, right?
7:35
You:
Nah.
7:35
Shitty hair:
Bro.
7:36
Shitty hair:
Fine, you don’t have to tell me.
7:36
Shitty hair:
but just… maybe apologize to him, too?
7:37
The Midoriya apartment door stared back at him, as Bakugou was contemplating whether to enter or not for the last 30 minutes. On one hand, he was already here. On the other hand, he sure as hell didn’t want to be.
After he inadvertently apologized to Kirishima over text, the guy had the gall to speak more about the situation. However, as much as Bakugou wanted to completely disregard all the advice, he admits that Shitty hair does have some points. He should apologize to Izuku, whether he likes it or not. The two have been together for their whole lives, and Bakugou, quite frankly, has a hard time imagining how he would live without seeing that broccoli-haired bastard.
Bakugou sucked in the hot, humid air and clenched his fists. He was not scared. He would not be afraid of a measly conversation. Despite every nerve in his body wracking him and trying to convince him to leave, Bakugou lifted his hand and knocked the door three times.
As it opened, the face of Izuku’s mom stared up at him. “Ah! Katsuki!”
Katsuki’s stomach dropped to the floor,
“It’s been so long! What brings you here?”
“I’m here to speak with Izu-”
“Come in, come in!” Despite her small and seemingly frail body, Mrs. Midoriya quickly pulled Bakugou by his sleeves rather quickly, the cool air of the apartment relieving his skin from the suffocating heat.
Before he could object, he found himself at the wooden table and chair in the Midoriya living room. Inko took the seat facing Bakugou, who very promptly tried to act as respectfully as he could in front of the elders. “It’s been so long since you’ve visited!” She exclaimed, in which Bakugou responded with a grunt. The respect, is, to say, below the standards of an average person.
The distinct, all-year-round peppermint fragrance, despite it being nowhere near December, brought him back to the times he would visit the household as a kid, when he would play around with Deku, and they’d eat the snacks or dinner that Deku’s mom would make. Her food was always the best.
A picture on the wall caught his attention. It was one of him and Izuku smiling together, in matching All-Might merch. Mrs. Midoriya also noticed, cranking her neck to see what he was looking at, despite him quickly glancing back at her. “Ah, I remember that day!” Bakugou did, as well. “It was Little Might’s birthday.” She’s still using that ridiculous nickname. “Both of you guys were so happy when you got the merch.” He felt like he was on top of the world.
When she looked back at him, he just nodded in agreement, trying not to scowl, somewhat. As attentive as ever, Inko’s face gave out a frown. “Are you alright?"
Now, one thing to note about Katsuki Bakugou is that you don’t question his well-being, because he believes himself to always be the best, and always be at his best. Any concern is translated into complete doubt of his character.
“Hah?” He blew up, all his repressed anger following suit. “The hell did you just say?!”
As if to represent the anger, the kettle from the kitchen started screeching. Mrs. Midoriya, though a flicker of fear flew over her face, had it replaced with the same resilient determination Bakugou had seen on her son, clutching her hands together, as if to hold herself down. “Young man, watch your mouth!” Then, she gave a sigh. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I need to handle something in the kitchen. Then, you can tell me why you’re here, over dinner.”
As she waddled her way towards the sound of the blowing kettle, Bakugou settled a bit more. While he didn’t oppose trying out Mrs. Midoriya’s cooking again, he also didn’t want to be caught by the person he wronged in every part of life, eating with his mother. However, as he was trying his best to stealthily make his leave, he heard a “tsk!” of pain.
The blonde ended up rushing over, met with the sight of Mrs. Midoriya, with gloves on, in front of an open oven. Putting two and two together, he grabbed the burning-hot metal pan in the oven. “Where do you want me to set this?” He asked, still holding it.
“K-Katsuki! Your hands!” She covered her mouth with her still-gloved hands, face etched with concern. Quickly, realizing that she was on time, which she believed was hurting him, she pointed to the mat on the table.
“It’s fine. My hands don’t burn. They have to be fireproof with my quirk.” He explained, setting the pan on the table. “I barely feel anything.” As if to prove it, he held out his pulsing, hot hands for her to see.
She sighed in relief. “Don’t scare me like that!” The more Katsuki observes Mrs. Midoriya, the more he’s reminded of Izuku. Then, she smiled the same goofy, wide smile that Izuku has, palming the hand he held the metal pan with. “But thank you, Katsuki.”
He pulled at his pants. The guilt is overflowing. “You wouldn’t be thanking me if you knew what I did.”
She frowned, still holding his hands up with her own. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“I bullied your son.”
A moment paused. Her eyes were wide. Yet, instead of anything else Bakugou could expect, she squeezed his hands again, still not letting him go. “Katsuki…” She gently whispered, lower lip slightly wobbling. He didn’t understand what that tone meant. She didn’t sound angry. Was she scared? There wasn’t a quiver in her voice, so perhaps she’s disappointed. “I know.”
“You what?”
“Katsuki, I’ve known for a while.” She sighed. “I knew that my baby Izuku’s scrapes and bruises weren’t because of his clumsiness. I knew that quirkless people have a higher likelihood of bullying.” Everything seemed like it was spilling out for her, the calm composure slowly escalating. " I knew that, and I knew that the friend he used to play with had a powerful quirk and aggressive tendencies.”
Her face scrunched up, this time, swelling with tears, the hands around his feeling heavier than before. “I know from Mitski that you two grew apart, and that you started calling him that horrible nickname.” Her voice was tight, tears threatening to spill. “I knew that the hero's name he chose had to do with you. I saw him flinch every time I mentioned you, and yet…”
She fell to her knees, hands still holding his. This time, however, it seemed to be for her own comfort. “I couldn’t do anything,” She sobbed, tears spilling down her cheeks, head to the floor. He didn’t know what to do, especially around people who got emotional, like this. He feels like a stranger in his own skin. “I didn’t do anything.” She wailed, choking on her own
Katsuki, emotionally constipated and unable to do anything in the presence of anyone trying to process theirs, could only stand there, awkwardly, as the woman cried. He pondered how everyone he knew probably knew about the past he had with Deku. He offered no words of comfort, vaguely wondering if he could try and hug her before brushing that thought away.
Instead, he knelt by Inko’s side. He could only offer himself.
“Why aren’t you mad at me?” He blurted out.
Inko’s watery eyes blinked up at him, a puzzled expression on her face. “S-Sorry…?”
The physical contact being suddenly so much, Katsuki removed his hand, frowning even more. He pursed his lips, avoiding the obvious question. “I should be the one apologizing,” he muttered.
“Dear…” Inko kindly offered, yet was visibly unable to place her thoughts into any words, driving him out of his fucking mind. “I-I already forgave you.” She sniffed, wiping her rolling tears away.
Bakugou never asked for her forgiveness. He never wanted it, just like how he never wanted Izuku’s forgiveness. He sure as hell doesn’t fucking deserve any of it. What’s with the Midoriyas and their urge to offer Bakugou forgiveness that he never asked for?
He couldn’t tell what face he was making, but it made Inko surge forward, enveloping him in a tight, heartfelt hug. Bakugou didn’t know how to react when the mother of the boy he’s tormented for years squeezed him tightly, more than his own had, in such a way that felt reassuring and revolting.
Slowly, he allowed his head to rest on her warm and gentle shoulder. And if she felt a wet tear stain her clothing, she said nothing of it.
You:
I talked to his mom
5:15
Shitty hair:
WHAT!1!!!1
5:15
You:
Why’d you add so many 1s
5:15
Shitty hair:
It adds to my tone
5:15
You:
What
5:16
Shitty hair:
Never mind that.
5:16
Shitty hair:
What are you planning??
5:16
Shitty hair:
Why’d you talk to his literal mom. Dude
5:16
You:
Do you think so lowly of me
5:17
Shitty hair:
Well, I mean…
5:17
Shitty hair:
So what happened?
5:17
You:
We talked.
5:18
Shitty hair:
About…?
5:18
You:
Take a guess.
5:18
Shitty hair:
I dunno, man. The socioeconomic state of the world probably isn’t one of the topics.
5:19
You:
Fuck. You.
5:19
Shitty hair:
I’m joking! It was a joke!
5:19
You:
Whatever. It was a nice talk.
5:20
Shitty hair:
What???
5:20
Shitty hair:
DID I HEAR THAT RIGHT.
5:20
Shitty hair:
HEY DON’T IGNORE ME
5:22
9+ messages
Bakugou put down his phone. He may visit the Midoriya household again.
They meet in the most ordinary way possible.
Under the buzzing, fluorescent lights of a run-down grocery store, I reached for the same milk carton.
For a moment, it’s like nothing’s changed. The same scarred hands and startled pause.
Bakkugou’s throat tightens when he remembers. He mumbles a stiff “sorry,” avoiding the green eyes, leaving before the silence can swallow him whole.
Before he could even roll past the aisle, a rough hand caught his.
“Wait.”
…
…
Bakugou found himself sitting on the concrete bump by the back door in an alleyway with his childhood friend, grocery bags scattered between them. A few apples roll towards the gutter; one stops against Bakugou’s shoe.
Of course, he has to pick it up, squinting at its color.
“These apples are horrible.”
The other guy looks over. “Then how do you pick the good ones?”
“For starters, look for apples that aren’t bruised. And this one isn’t even fully ripe. It has hints of red, but half is green.”
“Why do you know so much about apples?”
“Why buy them when you know nothing?”
“I’ve heard an apple a day keeps a doctor away,” Izuku tries, smile unfaltering.
Bakugou, however, snorts. “And yet you always end up in hospitals.”
“Not anymore, with these.” He held them up from the ground like they were trophies, and Katsuki could only hope Izuku wasn’t planning on eating unwashed fruits that just rolled across the ground of a dirty alleyway.
“I’m glad you aren’t in charge of your own nutrition, at least.”
“Yeah, my mom cooks. Speaking of– have you been visiting?”
“Did that bitch tell you!?”
“Don’t say that about my mom.” He huffed, expression melting into a smirk. “But no, she didn’t. I had some hunches.”
“Such as?”
“You tell me why you’ve been coming over, first. Without telling me or saying hi.”
“So I can finally mean the your mom jokes.” Katsuki quickly shot back.
“Hey!”
It was Katsuki’s turn to smirk.
There was a lull. Unspoken words hung in the air like a can waiting to burst open. The street light next to them was humming on as they entered the twilight zone. When Katsuki stared up, he couldn’t see the stars. Only a void of black, filled with the distant smell of gasoline.
When the nervous space takes the second for a second too long, Bakugou’s voice cracked open. “I’m sorry.” He choked out, for the first time in his life. The small walls in the alleyway felt like they were closing in on him as he spoke. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I bullied you. I'm sorry I kissed you.” He continued trailing off, palming the apple. “I messed everything up again.” His chest was unbearably tight as he spoke.
He then felt pressure on his shoulder, pulling him to meet the grassy bangs of the man he’s tormented, who didn’t seem one bit afraid. Their foreheads bumped against each other.
“Hey,” the shorter murmured. “It’s okay.”
With the same gentle gestures as Inko, Izuku’s voice disgustingly released some tension, driving Bakugou up the fucking walls. “No, it’s not.” He hated how his voice cracked. How he always got so emotional at every turn. How he remembered everything. Izuku was always the one saving him, despite him being the bully.
“Then it isn’t. But I’m still here.”
Here, like always, never too far apart. Inseparable stars in a void of black, shining together. Bakugou didn’t know he was crying until he saw the dark spots of tears on the concrete. He tries to pull back, straighten himself, or maybe hide the wet face, but the other doesn’t let him, holding him tighter.
And then, like the idiot he is, Izuku began to cry as well.
“Now, why the hell are you crying?” Bakugou demands, voice thick.
“I-I don’t know!” Izuku laughs wetly, voice ringing melodically in the alleyway. “I just-just felt you cry, and…”
They both began smiling widely while crying like lunatics, foreheads against each other. Bakugou’s laugh cracks into another sob. “This is so stupid,” he muttered, breaking his face away from the bond after a moment of awareness.
“Yeah.” Izuku softly replied.” “Kinda nice, though.”
Bakugou snorted, resting the back of his head on the dirty alleyway brick wall. “You’re an idiot.”
As he looked around, taking in the air that hadn’t been stabbing his lungs for so long, he was surprised to find the apple still under his hand. The red and green stripes blended in, lines blurring together, mixing better than Bakugou had initially realized.