Chapter Text
Katsuki remembers the day clearly. Too clearly.
It was a Thursday afternoon, 4:43 pm to be exact, and he was standing in his bathroom, flexing in the mirror like all teenage boys in their first year of middle school did. His eyes scanned meticulously over each divot in his arm, every line in his stomach, over the pudge that gathered in his thighs. Sure, he worked out, but he still felt weak, chubby. His mother always said it was baby fat, that he would grow out of it when he started doing hero work, but nothing settled the rapidly growing pit in his stomach every time he stared at himself for too long. His waist was so wide, and his arms looked weird at best. His face was—
The sound of a crackling explosion grabbed his attention, his gaze landing on his sparking palm. A tight scowl replaced his features as he hit his hand down against his bathroom sink once, twice, before leaning over the cheap material, staring at himself closer in the reflective surface across from him. His under eyes looked vascular and dark, his nose looked too long, his eyebrows too bushy and close together. He didn't even want to think about how fat his face looked. He felt like he wasn't looking at himself in the mirror, but he was. That was him.
Katsuki puked up his lunch minutes later, and for the first time in awhile, he cried, too disgusted with the mere thought of looking like that forever. He curled up in his bed, not even bothering to get under the covers, and quietly sobbed his eyes out as the images of himself flashed through his brain repeatedly, like a television stuck on replay. He stayed like that for awhile, curled up in the darkness of his room, eyes boring into nothing. Maybe an invisible stain on his wall, or a misplaced book on his shelf. He stared and stared until he heard his mother call him downstairs for dinner.
He wasn't sure what it was, but something in his brain snapped into (maybe out of) place that day. He grumbled something to the old hag about feeling sick, and went to bed an entire hour early. Whether it was because of how tired he was from crying, or to avoid the thoughts about food in general, he wasn't sure, but he knew one thing for sure. He developed an eating disorder that day. Or, it was the day that he finally began to take initiative in trying to lose weight, to try and change his disgusting body.
Bakugou always woke up before the sun. He had done it since he was his 7th grade year, no matter the day, event the previous night or not. He always woke up at 5:30 am on the dot, and that was the absolute latest. He had overslept once in the 3 years that he had started the routine, and it had been due to the fact he was in Recovery Girl's office. He couldn't exactly do anything about it then, especially since he had been knocked out clean during training, and he definitely wasn't going to wake up to any type of alarm.
Today wasn't any different. His alarm rung approximately 3 times before he smacked a hand down over the clock, tossing his legs over the side of his bed as he let out a long, quiet yawn. He slowly stood and pulled his curtains back a tiny bit, cracking his windows open to let in some fresh air. His morning routine went as smoothly as it usually did.
He brushed his teeth, put on a pair of gym shorts and a loose hoodie, taking an extra minute to put on his running shoes. He grabbed his water bottle and stopped by the shared fridge in the dorm kitchen on his way out, filling the cup back up and taking a long sip to wake himself up farther. He had grown to be a morning person after having the same schedule for so long, but he still preferred to be alone. It let him focus better, and it let his temper sit at a flatline for at least an hour or two before it started spiking through out the day.
Katsuki's morning runs also gave him time to clear his head and properly think without the pounding voices of 19 other people in his ears all at once. They gave him a much needed break. He could focus on how his feet hit the ground one at a time, how his arms moved by his sides, how the sweat dripped down his back by the time he was done. The fact that he was stumbling because of how dizzy he was was a separate issue. Actually, it wasn't even really an issue anymore. He had gotten used to chugging a bit more water when his head spun, used to stopping and keeping his knees bent when he felt like his legs were going to give out. It was all normal to him now, so it wasn't a problem. Not really, anyways.
After not almost passing out on the track, he dragged himself back up to his room, ignoring the few people beginning to gather in the kitchen that called out "good morning"'s to him. He pulled his nasty clothes off his body and rinsed the sweat and grime off of him, letting the warm water fall down his body a bit longer than normal. He felt weird today. He felt good, really good, actually, but at the same time, oddly faint. It didn't exactly feel like he was going to pass out, or like the weird euphoria he got after purging, but something different. He felt lighter. Good.
Bakugou turned the water off after washing his hair and body off, wrapping a towel around his waist and pausing in front of his mirror. His abs were more visible now, and he could see his ribs beginning to push against the skin of his abdomen. He felt a swell of pride at that, but something still felt off. Maybe it was just because he always looked weird, or because he physically didn't really know what he exactly looked like anymore. He stared at his own image so much that things started to morph without him noticing. Whether it was his waist seeming wider for seemingly no reason, or his stomach looking like it was sticking out, even when he could feel that it wasn't. His arms seemed fatter sometimes too.
He blinked himself out of the small trance when he realized he had subconsciously been leaning closer to the mirror, taking a step back with wide eyes. He looked... normal. He was still him. He wasn't fat. He looked better. He wasn't that fat kid anymore.
Katsuki towel dried his hair and tugged his uniform on, ditching the tie on his bed. It made his neck look weird anyways. He grabbed his backpack and his phone, slipping the device into his pocket while he slung the bag over one of his shoulders. He felt dizzy. He was nauseas. It was fine. It was a good thing. It meant he was in control, that he was disciplined. Fasting was discipline, and he had discipline. He had control. He was in control of his body. 40 hours was nothing. He could go longer. He needed to go longer. He was disciplined, and he was in control. Fasting wasn't shit, it was just another part of his daily routine. It was fine.
Classes were ass, like usual. He kept himself attentive through studying by chugging his water bottle two entire times, and had to stop by the bathroom during each and every class change to piss. It wasn't unusual. Drinking a lot of water meant his bladder was not going to be the happiest with him.
The real shit show started when they got told they were training today. Not by themselves either. With a partner of their choosing. Once they had all changed and made their way to the training gym, his eyes searched the crowd of students for a particular red head, but he was no where to be found. A small scowl pushed its way onto his features, but before he could ask anybody where the damn boy was, he felt a hand land on his shoulder, an out of character flinch making him step forward. He whipped around, and low and behold, there he was. Kirishima. Standing there with the absolute dumbest grin on his face, his hair spiked up in that stupid style he tried to convince him to change every time he saw it.
"Hey man, are you trying to—"
"Shut up. Come on."
Katsuki cut the man off before he could even finish talking, stomping his way over to an open spot in the gym with a huff. He heard Kirishima pad behind him quickly, hearing him yap on about something he didn't really care to listen to.
After they both had a minute or two of stretching in relative silence—sub the red head trying to ask him about his day, which he only grumbled a half-assed response to— they started training.
It started relatively normal, just a bit of hand to hand, both of them throwing punches and kicks. Bakugou's hits, usually precise and calculated, lacked both of them elements today. Maybe it was just an off day. Yeah. It wasn't because of his fast or anything, because he fasted all of the time, and he was just as meticulous most of the time during those. It was just an off day. That was all it was.
It wasn't until they started fighting with their quirks did it really begin to show. His blows were hardly doing shit to Kirishima's unwilling composure with his hardening, and he swore to god that he could feel him holding back. What the fuck?
"Why the fuck are you holding back shitty hair?!"
He shouted, lips twisted into a snarl, his eyes sharpened into a glare. That question seemed to throw Kirishima off of his train of thought, because when his arms opened slightly, as if it was instinct to defend himself with his whole body instead of just words, Katsuki lunged froward and grabbed onto his wrist with the tightest grip he could manage. He twisted his body and pulled the males arm over his shoulder before slamming him down into the padded ground below them, a shit-eating grin on his face. Bakugou placed his hands on his bent knees and let his head hang forward for a moment to cure the overwhelming wave of dizziness before standing back up straight, getting back into a fighting position as he saw Kirishima begin to stand back up as well. When his mouth opened to speak, the red head beat him to it.
"I'm not holding back, Bakubro! Maybe I'm just finally catching up to your power level!"
The boy grinned as he spoke, and Katsuki wanted to punch him straight in those dumb shark teeth for it.
The next ten minutes went by in a blur. They threw more hits, more punches and kicks, and Bakugou ended up getting Kirishima on the ground two more times before they were in the last 5 minutes of class.
Their last fight was going fine, and even if he felt a bit winded and light-headed, that was normal after extensive training. It wasn't because of this stupid fast—
"Hey, why weren't you at breakfast this morning, man? It's the most important meal of the day, you know!-"
And with that, Katsuki hesitated on his next hit. The result was getting the same treatment that he had given Kirishima earlier. A hefty slam into the ground, which knocked the wind out of him so fast that he couldn't even sit up for a few seconds after, too busy trying to get oxygen back into his lungs. God, he hadn't been this dizzy in ages.
When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he blasted it off, standing up too quickly and having to hunch right back over, air flooding his body as he took deep breaths. In through his nose, out through his mouth, in through his nose, out through his mouth—
"...ugo. Bakugo! Hey, are you okay? My bad, didn't mean to slam you down that hard-"
God, his ears were ringing so loudly. He shot a glare at Kirishima, distantly hearing Aizawa telling them to come on, that training was over. He had never walked away faster.
Katsuki changed quicker than he ever had in the locker rooms, putting the UA uniform back on and feeling like he was being suffocated by the collar. He slung his bag back over his shoulder and grabbed his phone out of his locker, his head whipping around when he felt the presence of someone behind him. He wasn't even surprised to find Kirishima behind him. What he was a bit confused to see was how... worried he seemed. His brows were furrowed a bit, he was picking at the invisible hang-nails, and his teeth were digging into his bottom lip so hard that he looked like he was going to tear the skin at any moment.
"What the hell do you wa—"
"I'm sorry about training today! I over did it with that throw, and if you need to go to Recovery Girl or anything, I can definitely—"
"Shut up."
He pushed past the red head, accidentally shoulder checking him as he walked. If Kirishima could injure him that easily, then it was Bakugou's fault for not being strong enough. If he wanted to become number one then he needed to get used to training without food. What type of hero was he if he couldn't go a few days without eating? Training shouldn't be a problem. It wasn't a problem, today was just an off day. It was an off day, and he would get better. He could be better, he always could.
When Katsuki got back to his dorm a few minutes later, he discarded his bag onto his desk, throwing his phone on the charger beside his bed before undressing and getting back into the shower. He felt off. He felt disgusting. He was losing himself if he let Kirishima beat him so easily, if he hesitated by being asked such a simple question. He wasn't at breakfast because he didn't need to be. He didn't need to be filling his body with meaningless calories. If he waited long enough, then he would stop feeling hungry. Eating now would only ruin his progress. His stomach gave a long rumble in response to his thoughts, to which Bakugou subsequently sparked an explosion in his palm that was quickly extinguished by the shower water. He finished washing off and avoided his bathroom mirror as he dried, pulling on his baggiest t-shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants. He couldn't bear the thought of wearing something form fitting now.
He flicked his light switch off, the sound of the small click making his mind go blank for a moment. Bakugou set the alarm on the clock beside his bed—5:30 like always— and then crawled under the covers, wrapping the blanket around himself and curling up into a tiny ball. He was fine. Today was just an off day. He hadn't binged, hadn't even broken his fast, and he burned a good amount of calories during his run and training. He was disciplined. He was in control. He was fine. He was starving, and that was a good thing.
Katsuki fell asleep with only one thing on his mind for tomorrow: watch the hours of his fast go up, and see the numbers on the scale drop. It was addicting, and he'd be damned if he let shit get in his way.