Chapter Text
Hate.
The word has always been a mystery to define. How would one know if they truly hate someone, or if it is not one of the many unknown feelings of humans that are yet to be understood.
The textbook definition did not satisfy your mind. Hence, you sought to make one of your own. A better definition which will accurately describe if the emotions your mother feels for your grandmother are the same as your father feels for his— as he complains to your mom every night— lousy boss.
Fortunately, or unfortunately enough, you got the chance to understand hatred at the ripe age of four.
The hot, bubbling feeling that clouds the better of your judgement and all your manners. One glance is enough to ruin your perfectly playful mood into one more rotten than ruined yoghurt.
At first, the emotion had not occurred to you as one of hate, but of extreme annoyance by seeing your spiky, blonde-haired neighbourhood kid with an ego more inflated than his height.
That kid, with whom you shared your kindergarten, way back home, favourite shops, and even your favourite hero, All Might.
It might have been a good friendship if you were less of a ‘brat’, as he describes with disgust every time he sees you. In your mind, you are a good kid.
A good kid until his infuriating presence brings out the worst in you.
The trickling raindrops turn into a heavy downpour with the passage of time. Despite it being spring, the temperature has dropped by multiple degrees due to the unforeseen rainfall. You blow out a hot breath onto the cold window of the now almost empty classroom, and slide your pinky finger to make the new smiley faces your teacher has started giving in your notebook.
It isn’t like you enjoy staring out of the window for as long as you have been sitting, as of now. But anything is better than facing the remaining students in the class. One green-haired, short-heighted boy with freckles on his face ( you like to think of them as stars), and the other one, whom you are actively trying to ignore.
Red-eyed, blond hair that never settles down, the boy with whom you share more than half of your life— Katsuki Bakugo. You’d rather eat a bag of sour candies than go talk with him.
You hate candies.
Said boy is busy playing a game with the other boy, one where he is always the king and the others act as his servants. However, you aren’t sure whether it is just a game anymore.
His personality outside the game is the same. Smug, thinks he is the best in the room, unbelievably blood-boiling. You press your forehead onto the freezing glass and shut your eyes to drown their ridiculous dialogues out.
From the start, you have hated Bakugo’s guts. He is ridiculously good at everything he does, but that does not give him the permission to think of himself above others. Since the moment you met, he has done exactly that.
Sometimes you wonder where it went wrong. It had been wrong since the first time his mom brought him to your house.
Bakugo’s thunderous laugh comes to a stop, and for those moments, you sigh in peace. The small classroom is not enough to sit at a distance so far from this boy that he would not even notice your presence. But you hope that your posture speaks what your mouth doesn’t. To not disturb you.
“Kacchan, you should not do that,” a distressed whisper comes, you assume from the green boy.
“Shut up, deku!” Bakugo whisper-shouts back. His steps fall softly on the tiles, with a muffled giggle. You tilt your head a little and see the vibrant green pupils signalling back and forth between you and behind in distress. Even with a general idea of what is about to happen, your body doesn’t move.
As expected, a hand tugs on your short ponytail hard. Your head is pulled back to face the crimson eyes of the devil in disguise. One corner of his lips is pulled up in a sneer,
“What are you looking at, weirdo?”
“Let her go, Kacch-” The green-haired boy tries to free your hair from Bakugo’s grasp. But he gets flown away with a rough shove. Pained hisses come when his elbow slams into one of the desks. Your nose scrunches in a grimace. You would rather be hit with a ruler than get your elbow hurt that badly. To your surprise, he still stands up and runs towards the fight.
Bakugo notices your eyes roaming and tugs on harder in irritation. “Are you deaf? Answer me.”
Does he do this for attention, or does he want you to bow at his feet, too, like the others? You only scoff and stare right back into his eyes. The gaze makes Bakugo uncomfortable, but he doesn’t show it on his face. His fingers slip off bit by bit. You take the chance and yank your head back.
Standing straight, you turn to face the blond-haired who almost stumbled on the floor by the yank, and grab him by his collar, “Why don’t you mind your own business, dirtface??”
Briefly struck back by your retort, his eyes widen. It is only a second until his fists yank your collar. “I’ll do whatever I want. You’re just a loser who doesn’t even have a quirk. So you better listen to me if you want to be my friend.”
“Hah?” you scoff, “why would I want to be your friend?”
Bakugo’s fingers tighten on your collar, and pull you closer until the anger in his eyes could be felt in your burning gaze. “Because I am the coolest person you will ever meet, dumbass!”
The green-haired boy is shaking in his shoes, watching his best friend and you being on the verge of ripping each other apart. It doesn’t matter that all of you were only kids who would be reprimanded by the teacher if they saw the two best students in class fighting like animals. You would rather be an animal than be one of those who followed this loser with their eyes closed.
“Coolest? My mom’s heating pad is cooler than you”
Bakugo’s anger reaches its peak, and he pulls back his arm, folding his hand into a fist to land a punch in your face as if you would let him. Your left hand snakes from his collar to his hair and yanks his head behind, along with his whole body to throw him off.
The moment his eyes squeeze shut in pain, your mind goes blank. Bakugo may boil your blood with his presence, but never did you think of actually hurting him. Okay, you did. But not seriously. If you let go now, his anger would know no limits in lashing out.
In that split second, your body moves on its own. In your favourite cartoon, there is a raven-haired girl who is an expert in combat. Her calm expression as she kicks opponents bigger than her to the floor is what captivates you. The first time you watched the episode, you jumped around the whole house and begged your mom to teach you that move.
You raise your right leg behind your knee and knock forward on Bakugo’s calf with little force. The fingers of your left hand, which are tangled in his hair, slip away. For a moment, Bakugo’s body is in the air, limp of movement. He doesn’t even bother to close his eyes, only staring into the ceiling and waiting for his eventual crash.
Just before his head is about to collide with the ground, your hands stick out on their own and cover the back of his head.
THUD! - Bakugo falls fairly soundless. Yet, he lets out a yelp when you collapse upon him, too.
“Owh! What the hell? Get off me!!” he shouts, but makes no effort to push you off him. For even he realised that it was your hand that saved him, and pushed. Squished under your cheeks, his chest feels warmer than the lowering temperature of the room. It would have been a comfortable pillow if it weren’t for Bakugo, or for his unnaturally fast heartbeats. You raise your head until his expression is in view, and rest your chin down again. The pacing of his heartbeats grows to a concerning level.
“Are you sick?” you ask, with all the seriousness you can muster.
His eyebrows twitch, fed up with your questions, “Do I look that weak? One push ain’t shi-”
“Kacchan!! Your mom told you not to curse!” the soft voice of the broccoli boy comes from right above you. From the top of your eyes, you see his small figure kneeling down beside your tangled bodies.
“And who the hell are you to tell me what to do, deku?” Bakugo spits out.
His name is Deku? You have not seen anyone give their kid such a… creative name. Deku’s eyes falter to the ground, and his words stammer, unable to reply to such a harsh reprimand. You thought they were friends, but it is to be expected. Bakugo treats everyone badly. The thought makes your eyes narrow, and you press your chin down on his chest harder.
“He is just trying to help. Not everyone has a stick up where the sun doesn’t shine”
“WHAT did you just say?” Bakugo barks out. His and your fists shoot out again, but this time you are determined to get the upperhand. He grits his teeth and pulls you up by your collar. Now, you were face-to-face, breathing down each other’s neck in a fire that deku is almost terrified to stop.
You feel a pair of arms lock around yours. From under your armpits, the hands wrap around your chest and pull you off the buffoon of a person. Partially hating, half grateful to Deku, you let out a loud sigh and try to steam off some anger. A sharp pain spreads in your jaw, only then do you realise how hard you were clenching it.
Just then, the door slides open. Dangling off Deku, you don’t turn up to see who entered. Deku’s arms tighten, and he moves to shield your body from whoever had gasped loudly whilst entering.
“M-mom? You’re here? And… teacher,” his voice quietens with each word. The whole scenario must look weird to an outsider. One acting dead on the ground (or wiggling like a fish you couldn’t care less about), one being held up, and the most gentle boy of the class in the position of pulling. Circus.
“I-izuku?” A woman’s trembling, confused voice comes up, whom you assume is Deku’s mother. But who is Izuku? From the side of your eye, you glance up and see the unmistakable familiarity between the mother and the son. They were the same people in different genders and sizes.
The teacher, a young woman with brown hair tied up in a bun, stares at you all with a questioning look. Bakugo refuses to speak and sits up while supporting himself on his palms with a grumble. Neither does Deku.
“Uhm, we were playing house. Deku is playing a thief!” you speak up hurriedly.
Deku flinches. The shade of his cheeks, which were already light pink, turns into a violent red, and he buries his face in your hair to avoid his mother’s gaze. Confused, you nudge him a bit.
“Deku? Are you okay? Did you not like your role?”
He shakes his head but doesn’t look up, “No, it's alright. You’re very smart”
From the side, his mother chuckles. Not a clue passes in your brain, so you keep looking between Deku, his mother and the teacher, until the teacher shakes her head and steps into the classroom.
“[name], you and Izuku have been studying in the same class since the start. I thought you knew each other’s names.” She crouches down to your level and pats Izuku on his back. “His name is Izuku, not Deku. I thought both of you were friends with Katsuki,” She smiles and turns to the gremlin sitting on the floor.
When the words ‘friends’ and ‘katsuki’ fall in the same sentence, the sneer Bakugo sees on your face can rival his scornful glare.
“She is NOT my friend,” he shouts.
“He is not my friend,” you say.
Bakugo scoffs and stands up to his full height, maybe even standing a little on his tiptoes to look down upon you, “she doesn’t even have any friends. Why would I want to be with someone like her?”
The teacher frowns, “Katsuki! That is a very rude way to talk to your classma-”
“I do have friends. De- izuku is my friend!” You, too, stand up and grab the blushing boy’s hands without looking, in a rather firm grip. His pressing warm fingers are a comfort to touch, only if you were not in a fit of rage against the bane of your existence. Insisting, you turn for Deku, or Izuku, “you are my friend, yes. You are”
The poor boy must be seeing stars around his head. Stammering over his words and flushed, Izuku only manages a nod with a wobbly smile. Something in your heart fills with happiness at his reaction, and you grin back at him.
“Okay, okay, let's exchange introductions, then Izuku has to go home,” the teacher urges, patting your backs.
You part your lips, but Izuku is faster with his words. “I-I’m Izuku Midoriya. Nice to meet you.”
“Izuku, nice to meet you, too. I’m-”
“[Name] [Lastname]. I know. I had always thought of you as my friend,” he gives your hand a featherlight squeeze, as if you were someone to be handled with utmost gentleness. With a small smile, he goes to his mother, who was already holding his bag, and they leave under an umbrella in the rain.
From a distance, you see the small boy still waving goodbye, with his pinkish cheeks and adorable grin.
The teacher slides the door closed again and drags her gaze over the two of you, expecting another outburst. When she sees that neither of you speaks up again, she sighs and goes to her table in the corner to resume whatever she was doing.
Meanwhile, you look down at the hand Izuku held. It was an oddly warm feeling. A fleeting emotion you did not quite understand. Nonetheless, elation overcomes all other emotions as you have made your first friend and had the last word against Bakugo. The grin doesn’t wear off.
Happily humming a tune to yourself, you pull a chair with you to the bookshelf. Reading the story of the little mermaid, as your very great idea, in the rain would be the best way to use your time before your mom comes. Your fingers touch the smooth spines of the hundreds of storybooks, eyes searching for the one until something else catches your attention.
A weird wooshy noise from the corner. It is a small one, still odd nonetheless. Searching for the source, you turn sideways.
And suddenly, you can neither believe your eyes nor move your body an inch.
Frozen in your shoes, your eyes bulge out at the source, or more specifically, the harsh mutterings of the spiky blond. His folded arms are both a guard and a way to express his annoyance or anger at something you are not aware of.
“To hell with it. Why not me?” He grits his teeth and mumbles to himself again with his chin down.
You are sure that if you stare for a few seconds longer, you would actually see the negative aura emitting out of this pomeranian. Never in your long life of four years had you seen him act like this, not even when you stole his All Might figurines that one time because he annoyed you too much.
Blinking to come back to your senses, you slowly take a few steps towards him, “Oi… Bakugo”
His body jerks, but he doesn’t look up. Not until you reach his front and stare with visible confusion, Bakugo glares, “What do you want?!”
“Nothing- are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he barks.
You shrug, “You were acting odd, so I asked.”
For a second, you almost mistake the look in his eyes as soft, but he frowns, “Why bother with me? Go to your new friend.”
You blink, unaffected, and everything else goes above your head, “he just left.”
The response makes his mood worse, you don’t realise why. He snaps his head away and doesn’t bother to reply. People always note that you are inquisitive, and perhaps far too prying for Bakugo’s liking, too. So, you take an action far too close, for his liking or unliking.
You lean in and grab his cheeks in your small hands, and pull him to face you until your foreheads are almost touching.
“What were you muttering about?”
Under your palms, his face is hot with anger. A crimson close to the colour of his eyes flushes his cheeks and ears. It is a total overreaction for whatever upset him, because never had you seen him so angry that he became red as a flower.
“No-nothing you should know about!!!” You notice his canines sink into his lips hard as he swats your hands away. Boys are such drama queens.
Before you can ask further, someone bangs the door open with a sharp move. The person, bottoms drenched in rain from running, holds one umbrella in her hand and one above herself. Both your attention snaps to the door. The woman had the same blonde hair as the boy currently fuming under you, and the same crimson eyes.
“Katuski! Im here!” the woman calls. Her eyes search for her son first, then another figure. Spotting you, she speaks gently, “[name], dear, your parents are stuck in the office because of the rain. I will be taking you home, okay?”
Judging by the time, you expected that someone else would come, so you simply smile and give her a nod. You are not sure if she actually doesn’t mind or ignores the position you and Bakugo are in, but she turns to have some small talk with the teacher. Enough time to pull away from her son.
From the table, you pick up your bag, and a fuming Bakugo does the same. His mom was like your second mom, so you were never shy around her, even felt comfortable as she always showered you with love. But when you part your lips to call her, your mind goes into a dilemma.
There is a big Bakugo.
Then a small Bakugo.
What are you supposed to call them? Let's ask the small one first.
“Ba- Hey, you!”
Bakugo grumbles when you call him, “What?”
“The others, what do they call you?”
At that, he smirks and lifts his chin proudly while pointing his thumb towards himself, “the coolest person ever.”
You deadpan, “Lie. What else?”
Bakugo very much took offence at that part, but with his still malfunctioning system, he replies, “My name, of course. It's Katsuki, you dumbass”
You nod, and try to repeat his name until it doesn’t sound foreign on your tongue, “katsuki… katsuki.” After a few times, it feels odder, to say the least. So, you give up. “Tell me something better. Im not calling you catsushi”
“IT'S NOT CATSUSHI!” he bursts out in anger, but you interject.
“Kacchan, yes. Izuku called you that. You’re kacchan.” You point towards him, “Kacchan”
Bakugo’s left eye twitch as if he is holding back his palms from blasting you to the other side. You are more than sure that he would have done that if his mother were not here. “Fine, call me that. But don’t blame me if I beat the shit out of you for calling me that.”
His threat makes you laugh, and hold up your fist too, “Don’t worry. When I get my quirk, I will definitely destroy you.” Those words hold a resolve and determination almost abnormal for someone like you. It is a promise. To one day make this boy bow down to you, like he makes the others do. And you will do it. Dream of it until it is achieved.
Bakugo’s eyes grow wild, like a fire lit under the crimson pupils. He is determined on his own for the same goal as you. Even without him shouting about it as he does about his other things, you know it. You know him more than he realises.
Before either of you can extend the argument further, his mother calls both of you to the door. Her umbrella is already open and ready to go. Maintaining a heavy distance, you and he stand on either side of his mother. But she bends down and hands Bakugo the other umbrella.
“You two use this umbrella. Mine is too small for the three of us. And Bakugo Katsuki, don’t you dare push [name] into a puddle or get her wet in the rain. Understand?” she speaks in a tone which leaves no place to argue for him.
Bakugo grimaces and hesitantly nods while muttering curses under his breath. You, too, reluctantly stand under his umbrella. Already embarrassed and mostly angry, you two are about to step out when his mother stops you two again.
“Wait,” she takes his and your hand, then puts them on the handle. On top of each other. “Hold it together. You two are so small that you will definitely fly away,” Bakugo barfs and tries to pull his hand away, but her grasp is firm. While you feel all the light of your eyes dulling away at his touch.
So it is under the umbrella, in the middle of angry, crashing rain. Jumping over puddles and holding hands. It is every moment that your eyes land on the spiky blond. They all have something in common other than the rain. It is the fact that you want to rip off your hand and throw him into a drain at the same time.
It is the fact that you discover hate without realising the meaning of it.
It is the future of every passing day that you will spend hating, seething, and annoying this guy until the end of time.
This is, by your great pleasure, something you realise pretty soon.