Chapter Text
Bakugou Katsuki can proudly state that he is a talented man. Be it 20 years ago, when he was still a five-year-old brat, or 14 years ago, when he aced his secondary school, or 10 years ago when he had the highest entrance score into UA. Bakugou Katsuki is intelligent, a Jack-of-all-trades, and he always gets all the attention from everyone, whether they are children his age or the grownups, whether they want to or not. Katsuki definitely does not need their praises to know that he has all the potential. He has been spending endless time and effort for this his entire life, for god’s sake. Only himself knows how hard he tried to make it seem effortless, to make it seem easy, to make it seem like he was born number one. And he will only continue to strive for the best. Therefore, upon graduating from high school, Bakugou Katsuki was still that admirable straight-A student: he finished the school with the highest score, got scouted by countless hero offices and companies, and he even joined hands in protecting this damn country and potentially the whole world. He was so ahead of everyone. Bakugou Katsuki really was at the very top.
Katsuki debuted at number four in the Hero Rankings. It was great. Although Katsuki wasn’t so smug about it, it was not number one after all, he knew that it was a milestone for a new pro Hero like him. And his friends were all happy for him, even more so than Katsuki himself. It was all good and well, he planned to work his ass off and then he might reach number one in six or seven years, realistically speaking and optimistically speaking at the same time. Katsuki would reach his childhood dream in seven years’ time, talking about a dream come true.
That was the story of some years ago, no one really knew the exact time when it all went wrong, even Katsuki. In short, during those 7 years, Bakugou Katsuki, the talented ace, was not doing well. Or not well enough, considering his extremely high expectations of himself. His friends, the unyielding Bakusquad as everyone called them, took turns talking to him each time he slipped down on the chart. They didn’t make it look like they were comforting him, it was just meeting and catching up with each other. Still, he could feel that they care and he let them, even though he would rather mull this over at home in the complete darkness of his bedroom and torture his already damaged stomach with super spicy ramen. Yes, he developed gastritis during the time he was working to fund Deku's armor while trying to uphold his ranking at the same time. So many things went wrong for him, Katsuki didn’t even know how to start thinking about it. Every time he tried to sort them out, he just found himself mentally beaten up by his own brutally harsh criticism because how dare he damage the body he had been keeping in check so meticulously for the goal of reaching number one? Talking about a life ruined.
Maybe it all started after he debuted. He was still himself: a fearless hero who had a high battle IQ and an almost-excessive set of skills. Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight joined every campaign the Hero Commission threw at the heroes, solving big cases left and right, saving people from random accidents on the streets whenever he could see them, patrolling over time to make sure that the beginners wouldn’t miss any villains… He was what they called a workaholic, and he liked that feeling. He liked working rigorously towards his goal. So why and when did the job become so dreadful?
Of course, it had something to do with his attitude. He was still himself, meaning he was still foul-mouthed, short-tempered and seemingly uncooperative. Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight cussed out any citizen that was in his way, or got themselves in danger; cussed out on live interviews, cussed out the annoying reporters; he even cussed out his coworkers, some of whom were slow and straight up stupid, hindering his perfect plans. Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight did not and would not tolerate anyone that made his work harder than it already was, just because they weren’t blessed with a brain that worked. And oh did he pay dearly for that. The ones he cussed out, mostly civilians or reporters, went online and yapped about how he was so aggressive, how they would rather be rescued by someone else that looked less like they hated them. A few of them even went as far as saying if it wasn’t his job, Dynamight would definitely let them die and laugh at how they were so dense, which was totally untrue and just straight up hater’s talk. At first, he didn’t mind, like how he didn’t mind the fearful yet condescending eyes following him in secondary school, or the scrutinizing eyes from high school until now. The people who he actually gave shits about, like older heroes who used to teach him or his old classmates, knew Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight was a great hero. It didn’t matter that the mass disagreed.
Then it went out of hands. Online news clinged to it like hungry vultures, adding “shocking scoops” here and there to make their posts more interesting. Suddenly the whole of Japan agreed that Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight was aggressive and not fitting for his job. He got lesser and lesser deals that regards the public, such as advertisements (good, he hated those anyway), interviews (had never been a fan of since high school), talk shows and public events in general (such a waste of time). Everyone was getting sick of the name Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight at this point. His ranking kept declining, and the only thing keeping it from dropping lower was the amount of criminals he put behind bars and the significant number of citizens he saved. However, they were merely numbers. Less kids wore his stuff, goods of him starting to get discontinued, hero brands stopped including his images with other heroes. On the streets, he got bombarded with rude reporters who seemed like they just needed him to blow up. If he was lucky enough to not get recognised, he would hear people talking shits behind his back. And if he was unlucky, a rotten egg to his hero suit wouldn’t be out of the norm. It was more or less an Endeavour situation all over again, the only difference was that Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight wasn’t even in the top 10, much less number 2.
"He yelled at a citizen? Again? Does this man even want to be a hero? He's friend with Shouto and Red Riot, why can't he learn something from them?"
"I know he's great and all but like, maybe find another profession, am I right? Getting saved by him feels like you're being punished at the same time."
"I rather him not saving me. He's scarier than the villain. He looks like the devil sometimes."
Katsuki, deep down, knew what was wrong. But he refused to change his way of speaking. It was one of his remarkable traits at this point, as if engraved onto him, he wouldn’t change himself to fit in the hypocritical expectations of the public. No, he had his own expectations to meet. Katsuki wouldn’t say it outright, but someone had to say it, that he couldn’t change. Katsuki hated changing, hated things that didn’t make sense. An old-fashioned elderly in the body of a 25-year-old man living in a modern world was what he was. He would stick with his plans and prove, to himself, that his plan was right. It had always been right. So as soon as the public saw his ranking drop and was about to make a whole unnecessary topic about it online, Katsuki managed to climb back to his number 15 ranking by adding a rescue or an arrest. The people joked about it, oh how the glorious Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight once swore to be number one was now clinging to number 15 like it was a lifeline. They also especially loved it when he appeared disheveled, fresh out of a reporter swarm or a haters’ ambush, doing his work relentlessly like an old dog who only knew one trick.
With the increasing number of pro heroes and the absence of an evil overlord, crime rates dropped even faster than Katsuki’s ranking. Patrols started to get duller and duller by each day, which should be a good sign. Katsuki had nothing to solve other than some petty crimes and a few minor traffic accidents, so his minor inconvenience, though his friends would deem his situation with the public otherwise, wouldn’t get in his way of saving someone. His close friends, the Bakusquad, or even Deku and his gang, whom he thought he wasn’t that close with, found the time to accompany him. It was about time this society got better. And Katsuki was happy to see that too, if he didn’t have the dangerous probability of ending his career at number 15, far away from his goal. But whatever, Katsuki didn’t care about it that much anymore. The topic hurt less each time he saw it, the gossip of the public seemed less and less important each time it was heard, everything slipped by, completely negligible to Katsuki. Even the reporters and haters who seemed to be obsessed with him started to get bored. Either that or eggs were becoming so expensive they couldn’t waste them on him.
And his arm. His pathetic right arm that got crushed during the war kept aching as if he didn’t go through excruciating pain during years of rehab to get it to work properly. The stinging pain that ran through his bones whenever he used Howitzer Impact pissed him off, and sometimes when the recoil was too powerful, his elbow would feel like it dislocated. Never the one to cry over spilled milk, Katsuki developed One-arm Howitzer Impact, less powerful but less hurtful, therefore more precise. He managed to keep going. But on humid days, it bothered him with tingling pain, and if he moved too fast it would put him through searing pain just to remind him of his failure from years ago. His deficiency that day would continue to haunt him, in the form of his scars, until his death, and he couldn't do anything about it.
Then there was his heart. His literally shattered heart was pieced together in an unsterilized open heart surgery on a battlefield in the fucking sky, operated by a traumatized hero who most definitely didn’t have a doctorate in cardiology, a hero that was definitely not the first one to sacrifice himself to save Katsuki’s weak, pitiful ass. And maybe not the last, if Katsuki didn’t stop being fragile. These days, his hero partners were left to care for his miserable self. Todoroki often volunteered to be his partner, saying that he knew therapeutic tricks to calm the heart and somehow he had learned how to care for cardiovascular patients in his free time. That and Katsuki knew the higher ups let him because he was strong enough to afford a liability like Katsuki, who was going to either scare the citizens away or faint when over exerted.
Katsuki thought about it long and hard too, every time he came home sweaty, dirty and aching. He had started this habit of thinking alone from quite a long time ago, where he would subject himself to the confinement of his bedroom and thought about everything and nothing. Katsuki usually thought back to his younger years. He was doing great, acing everything he did, pretty much like how he was doing now. Complete victory, perfect save, no casualty, everyone coming out of the fight healthy and unscathed (except him, but that happened not too often). He was still talented. He cooked for himself, it still tasted awesome. He wrote calligraphy to decorate his house on Lunar New Year, it looked fire. Was there anything else he could muster up to prove to himself that he was still good enough? Katsuki hadn’t touched his drum set in years, probably not since he graduated high school. He hadn’t tried acting and performing again, since it was a public thing, and the last thing people want was him on stage. Katsuki couldn’t think of another thing that he did well in his earlier years. Maybe that was all to it. That was all to him. Bakugou Katsuki was not a talented man, much less a Jack-of-all-trades, unlike what his friends used to tell him when he was in school. Or maybe they were just joking to get on his good side. After all, Bakugou hadn’t changed from being scary and unapproachable. There was evidence, no one could say otherwise.
Since hero work was becoming less and less, Katsuki could totally let other heroes handle it, the people always preferred them over him anyway, and Todoroki would be better off without baggage. Therefore, he would sometimes leave the bustling city, where there was nothing for him to do, to go to the countryside, the rural area, where very few of them really know who he was, and where people were always in need of manpower. He learned about this place during the team up missions and had the chance to help around with a few things. The people here didn't seem to know his notorious hero works, they were just glad there were more manpower.
Before he knew it, he had been spending more time knee-deep in paddy fields than flying about between skyscrapers. The people here actually knew what they were doing and they took his shouting across the field like it was cheerful chirping. Work went fast and effectively, without a single person who looked like they might accidentally kill themselves, well, from time to time. The change of atmosphere helped with his heart, and being away from the polluted city eased his pain, to some degree.
Katsuki liked working with plants more than he had initially thought. The farmers working with him told him that he had a green thumb, but he thought anyone could do this, really. Plants are quiet. They didn’t loudly cry into his ears about how they were so so so in pain, squirming around so he couldn’t carry them and fly at the same time. They didn’t shout nor shriek with high pitched voices about how they were so scared and clung to his head only to block his vision. They didn’t judge him behind his back after literally being rescued by him either, they told him outright that he was not doing a good job by wilting, so that he knew they wanted more water or fertilizer. It was surprising, but the sound of birds chirping wasn’t as annoying as when he was narrowly dodging them between towers, at least it sounded better on the vegetable garden. They were a nightmare on the rice field though. And the insects were also a problem. They were invasive, and that was the worry of all the farmers he met.
That was where his quirk came into the picture. He had practiced to minimize the strength of his explosion and maximize the smoke it created, so he could detonate his sweat in the middle of the field and smoke out any pests that were being annoying, while cursing them out, just because he could. The farmers loved when he did that. They often patted his back and told him he looked and sounded like a real farmer. That somehow made him proud of himself. The strictly combatant quirk, explosion, proved to be useful even in farming when the user was Katsuki. The quirk that was deemed unsuitable for big cities with a crowded population was now used for ploughing the field, herding the cattle, pulling down old farms,… anything Katsuki could think of to utilize everything he had. He also joined them in the kitchen, and sometimes if he felt generous enough, he would let them pull him onto their small weekend party stage and play the cajón, in which his drumming skill came in handy. For the first time since he could remember, Katsuki felt like every part of him was truly needed, and that was a feeling so refreshing he had to ask himself if he deserved it.
Today was another one of his rural escapes, because Tokyo could afford to miss him for a while when these farmers needed help harvesting before a big rain came. Katsuki went there as soon as he reported his absence and finished checking around the city, which took up his morning. His coworkers in the Genius Office were understanding, since they were used to his regular absence by now, though he never told them why, except for Best Jeanist and Edgeshot who kept fussing over him like concerned mother hens. He was about 80% sure they were pitying him behind his back, thinking he was avoiding the public eye as much as possible. Anyhow, Katsuki managed to get to the town after lunch time.
“Katsuki! You came!” An excited teenager greeted him. “I knew you would!”
“Of course, since you guys always bite off more than you can fucking chew.” Katsuki scolded. “And call me Bakugou-san!”
“But granny calls you ‘Katchuki’ all the time!” The teen whined.
“That’s because she’s old, she just says whatever!”
“I’m young, I just say whatever too!”
“Arghhh, get lost!”
A soft laughter could be heard behind Katsuki as a man approached them. Katsuki knew him. He was this little headache of a boy’s older brother, though Katsuki doubted it since they looked nothing alike. The asshole was a bit taller than Katsuki, farmer work made him buff and tanned, looking a tad intimidating at first glance but this buffoon was all gentle smiles and caring heart. That reminded him of one of the idiots he knew. He registered him as "Smiley Face" in his head. The guy was holding a small metal tray with food.
“Bakugou-san, I bet you came without eating again.”
Katsuki opened his mouth and was about to argue, even though the man was right, but the food in his hands smelled too good to not dig in right away. Begrudgingly, he mumbled a “none of your business”, a “thank you for the meal”, and a “it smells good” respectively. Katsuki took the tray, placed it on a chunk of straw and sat cross legged on the ground, then started eating like a true farmer who was having his lunch during his break on the job, while muttering compliments here and there. It deserved his praises. Food served directly from the field to the kitchen and to the table was something else. The other man watched him with a smile on his face, probably happy that his food was appreciated. Katsuki knew the guy well enough to indulge his teasing and his stupid smiley face from time to time. He reminded him of the idiots who called themselves Bakusquad. He hadn’t met them for a while, telling them that he had business to attend to. He actually did, like really. After the meal, Katsuki worked on the field with the villagers, and got the harvesting done before sunset.
“You’re awesome, Katsuki!” A teen ran up to him, on his tippy toe to hook his arm around Katsuki's neck.
Deep breath.
“A real life saver, I’d say.” An uncle slapped his hand on Katsuki's back, and it stayed there.
They are harmless. Deep breath.
"Such a good kid." A short grandma patted his hip, the highest place she could reach on his body.
Deeper breath.
Stop breathing. You're making it worse.
“Quit it!" Katsuki shook their hands off as he shouted. "Don't get all chummy with me!"
You ruined it.
He was still trying to get used to them being all handsy with him. His mind had associated crowds surrounding him with reporters and haters, so whenever the villagers got too close too fast, the voice inside his head screamed at him to run. Run as fast as you can. Find shelter. Hide away. When that happened, Katsuki would freeze right where he stood, cold sweat seeping into his clothes, his breaths short and laboured. Nevertheless, he was able to break a small, wobbly smile, and his hero mask helped him hide his panic. Katsuki had harder time stopping himself from flinching each time people patted him on the back. He didn't like people sneaking up behind his back or touching him for behind. He hated when he couldn't see what was approaching. Katsuki wouldn't call it PTSD, but being kidnapped at 15 certainly distributed to that.
Katsuki covered his mouth with his gloved hand, trying to mask his discomfort. Shiver ran down his spine, goose bumps pricked his skin and something felt like bile ran up his throat. He dry gagged. It wasn't loud. They probably couldn't hear it. No one's going to know his weakness. Katsuki swallowed once. Then twice. He gagged again. It felt lighter. They probably didn't see it either. Katsuki was grateful for his mask.
“Bakugou-san,” Smiley Face, the young man who gave him lunch earlier, approached him and kept a reasonable distance, “would you like to stay for dinner?”
“Can’t.” Bakugou answered curtly as he was preparing to leave as soon as he could. “Have a meeting coming up.”
“What a shame. I made mapo tofu today.”
Bakugou really felt like he couldn't stomach anything, still, he stopped. In short, he came back to the company with a serving of mapo tofu with rice on the side in a lunch box. He curtly nodded at his coworkers as greetings before going straight to his office. There was some time to spare before being trapped in a dragged out meeting, and if he didn't eat now he'd have no chance to until midnight. So trying to eat now was better than risk poking holes into his already weakened stomach. Luckily, his office was a private space. However, when he reached his office, someone else was already there.
“Bakugou!” The idiotic face of Half-n-Half greeted him as he opened the door.
“The hell are you doing here?” Katsuki scowled.
“We’re partners for the new mission. I’m here for the briefings.” Todoroki said, absolutely immune to the anger.
“No, I mean what the fuck are you doing in MY office!” Katsuki raised his voice as he put the container onto his desk with a thud and sat down.
“I wss waiting for you.” Todoroki explained, he walked around the table to stand beside Katsuki, his left hand rested on Katsuki’s chair while he leaned on the table, almost caging the blonde, his actions practiced, natural, like it was normal. “I thought we could catch up. We rarely meet these days.”
“What? Miss me?” Katsuki sarcastically asked with a sneer.
“I really like running into you during patrols. It makes the shift more exciting.”
Katsuki didn’t expect Todoroki to be so genuine, so he was left speechless before grunting and swatting him away to turn back to his mapo tofu. Nonetheless, if driving Todoroki away was that easy, Katsuki wouldn’t have to admit that the fucker was his friend in the latest interview. Very begrudgingly. (People speculated that he was clinging onto the Number 2 Hero to save his popularity, so he never did that ever again.)
“You cooked before coming here?” The taller asked.
“No.” Katsuki answered simply before taking a bite. It was good, even though he didn't really want to take another bite.
“You… bought it?” Todoroki asked again, uncertainty laced his voice as he knew Katsuki would only willingly order takeouts when the world collapsed.
“No. Someone made it for me.”
“Who?” Todoroki shifted closer, the heat from his left side was radiating. “Is it someone I know?”
“No.”
Todoroki pouted and stayed glued to Katsuki’s side as he ate, looking like he wanted a bite of something that was most definitely not mapo tofu because the wimp still couldn’t handle spice after all those years. Of course, Katsuki didn’t give him a single bite no matter how hard he stared.
“You shouldn’t eat spicy food anymore. It hurts your stomach.” Todoroki lowered himself onto his knee, but that only brought him face to face with the blonde. Katsuki hated tall motherfuckers, especially when they voluntarily kneel just to look at him with their mismatched reprimanding-yet-concerned-in-a-warm-way eyes.
“It’s okay from time to time.” Katsuki knew that Todoroki was right, yet he couldn’t help being stubborn. And he also felt Todoroki's gaze burning the left side of his head, but he wouldn’t meet those eyes.
The briefing, as Katsuki predicted, was unnecessarily long (another thing that got Katsuki on bad terms with some new comers was that he had no patient for bullshit like warming-up or beginner mistake). By the time it ended, it was already nearly midnight. Katsuki hated getting off work late. It messed up his sleep schedule and he would end up thinking more than sleeping, then wake up feeling heavy and nauseous. Nevertheless, working overtime in the hero industry was unavoidable. At least Katsuki could be glad that he wasn't out spying on criminals' ass, he hated that part of being a hero the most (sucks for Eye Bags though). Before going home, he checked his mail for the last time, checked the progress on the pile of paper work that he was gradually solving, the state of everything in his room and grabbed the half emptied lunchbox with him. When he went out, he saw Todoroki waiting for him in the corridor.
"I'm craving some cold soba. Would you like to get some late night snacks with me?" Todoroki casually invited. It wouldn't be out of the ordinary for Todoroki to invite him, they actually ate together a lot, be it because of work circumstances or just hanging out.
"No." Katsuki answered shortly and kept walking by. But he caught Todoroki's eyes and subconsciously decided to add, "it fucks up my biological clock."
"But you haven't had dinner." Todoroki followed him and matched up with his pace effortlessly as if he had always been intentionally doing this.
"The mapo tofu was my dinner."
"I thought it was your lunch?"
"I had lunch before coming. Unlike you, I actually have a healthy diet." Katsuki said as he jabbed his elbow at the taller's arm, hoping he would drop this stupid invitation.
"We can have a sleepover. My place is closer to the departure location, we can sleep in a few more minutes."
"What are you, a five-year-old? I could sleep in a few fucking minutes if you stopped pissing me off!" Katsuki raised his voice, like always, yet he felt his throat strain.
"Oh, okay. Good night then, Bakugou." Todoroki said and looked at Katsuki one last time before parting ways with him.
Katsuki didn't like the sound of that one bit, yet he had no idea why. Maybe it was just Todoroki being annoying by default. Maybe he just hated kicked-puppy eyes. Whatever, nothing couldn't be solved by a good night sleep. But it was just irritating that the doofus's place was in the same direction he was taking, which meant IcyHot purposefully went in the opposite direction to freaking avoid him, like he was a hazard to a good late night snack and a good night sleep. Again, whatever, he was not going to engage in stress-induced thinking out in public, right at the big gate of his company. With angry footsteps, he carried himself home, where he aggressively kicked off his boots into their rightful places, washed the container with the force rivaling a high-pressure hose, boiled himself in the shower, scrubbed all dead skin and dust off his face, killed the germs in his mouth and threw himself to bed, his thick blanket weighted heavily over him like he wanted it to crush him into unconsciousness.
Working overtime sucked hard, after all. There he was, eyes wide open like an owl at 2 AM, which was not recommended for humans, mind running 3 topics per minute. All of that happened, just because it was pass the perfect time to hit the bed. Katsuki hated himself. He could take some pills, but he had been warned recently that the effectiveness was wearing off since his body was too used to that kind of sleeping pills, and he hadn't had the time to find new prescriptions yet. So he had to lay here, contemplating his bad decision. Just when he about to try and close his eyes again, his phone screen lighted up.
"Are you up?" The message read. The sender? Half-n-Half bastard.
What was the meaning of this message anyway? Katsuki didn't have the energy to pick the phone up, let alone the energy to reply. It was way past his social hour. Despite his ignorance, the phone screen lighted up a few more times, not that he was counting. However, the worst thing was that Katsuki knew why this was happening to him. Laying completely still, all he could here was his thinking and an annoying ringing in his brain.
Katsuki was smart enough, and Todoroki was the farthest from being subtle. It was clear as day that the IcyHot bastard had feelings for him. Katsuki couldn't really pinpoint when this tragedy started, still, he knew that it was not too recent. He wasn't a cold hearted chump, of course he felt the weight of those mismatched eyes burning into him. It used to bother him, but he managed, because Halfie would get over it eventually. Katsuki was sure of it. He didn't even have to point out why, anyone who knew as much as his name could dish out at least two reasons. Number one, he was Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight. Number two, he was Bakugou Katsuki. None of those were lover material. Todoroki was smart, he would soon be enlightened and choose better, Ponytail for example, Katsuki had seen the fans shipping them. Katsuki wouldn't be involved at all and he would be fine. He would be sound.
Eventually, the constant ringing in his brain pitched down to a less hateful buzz. Katsuki laid on his back, looking at his ceiling. He could see the moonlight spilling through the gap between his thick curtains. With the pale light from the moon, he could still see everything in him room clearly, unmoving, no blind spot. Even his bed was the one-block framed kind that didn't allow any opening underneath, his closet was the see-through type, and his bathroom was beyond his locked bedroom door. The ringing in his brain slowed into a dull hum. When he closed his eyes, the light shed on his eyelids, and he could see the darkened part where his curtains covered the window, which was closed tight. The only thing moving was the air in his air vent that got checked regularly, and Katsuki's heart, brain and his body as a whole, still working diligently after everything.