Chapter Text
Bakugo doesn’t rehearse.
He never has.
Plans are for people who hesitate, and Katsuki Bakugo has never needed to hesitate—not in a fight, not in a decision, not in anything that mattered.
So when he tells Deku to meet him on the roof, it isn’t supposed to feel like this. Like something is already slipping.
It’s late enough that the city has softened.
Not quiet, the city is never truly quiet, but it feels distant. Lights scatter across the skyline, smeared gold and white, blinking and breathing like something alive. Wind pushes past in uneven bursts, tugging at Bakugo’s shirt, cooling the sweat at the back of his neck.
He got here early. But he tries not to think about that.
He stands near the edge, hands in his pockets, jaw set, staring out like there’s something out there worth focusing on. There isn’t, not really. Just concrete buildings and too fast cars. He just doesn’t want to look at the door.
Deku is late. Well, not late late. Just… later than usual.
Bakugo notices that too.
He doesn’t think about that either.
The door creaks open.
“Sorry—Kacchan, I was—”
“Shut up,” Bakugo cuts in automatically.
It comes out normal. Sharp, Familiar. Which, was good.
Deku laughs a little under his breath, like he always does, like it’s something warm instead of something that used to be edged with nerves.
That’s different. Bakugo notices that.
He—
He doesn’t think about it.
“You said it was important?” Deku steps closer, stopping a few feet away instead of right beside him.
Not glued to his side. Not leaning forward, eyes wide, ready like they usually were.
Bakugo finally looks at him. Deku looks the same. And not.
Older, obviously. Sharper around the edges. The kind of strength that isn’t loud anymore, it just is. It sits in his posture, in the way he holds himself, in the way he doesn’t flinch at Bakugo’s tone or fill the silence immediately.
It’s annoying.
It’s—
Bakugo looks away again. “Yeah,” he says.
Simple and direct, the way everything between them has been lately. Or, well no. Not really simple, but easier than it used to be. Less noise. Less… static. Less of that constant friction that used to spark every time they stood too close. They don’t fight like that anymore.
“I’m building my agency.”
There it is, dropped clean. No buildup.
Deku blinks once. “Oh—Kacchan, that’s—yeah, I mean, of course you are.”
There’s a smile in his voice. Not surprised, not even impressed. Just certain, like this was always going to happen.
Bakugo should like that. He does, probably. “Tch. Obviously.” He shifts his weight. “Got the offers. Picked what I wanted. It’s mine.”
“Yeah,” Deku says again, softer this time. “That makes sense.”
A pause. Wind rushes past, louder now.
Bakugo exhales through his nose. “Join me.”
He doesn’t look at him when he says it. He doesn’t need to, he already knows what this is. Not a question. Well, not really.
Deku doesn’t answer right away.
That’s—
That’s not right.
Bakugo’s eyes flick over, sharp.
Deku’s not shocked. He’s not lighting up, not leaning forward, not already halfway into a ramble about how they could structure patrol routes or optimize response times
He’s just standing there, thinking.
“What?” Bakugo snaps.
Deku startles a little, like he forgot Bakugo was watching him. “Nothing—! I just—”
He stops. That’s worse.
“Spit it out.”
Deku exhales, rubbing the back of his neck.
And there it is, that old habit. That small, familiar gesture that used to mean I don’t know how to say this.
Bakugo feels something tighten, quick and sharp.
Good. That’s good. That means this is still—
“I don’t think I can.”
The wind doesn’t stop, the city doesn’t quiet. Nothing actually changes.
But—but something doesn’t line up.
Bakugo frowns. “The hell do you mean you can’t?” It comes out harsher than he meant, not that he’d admit that.
Izuku doesn’t flinch. That’s…new. Another recent trait about him thats unfamiliar to Bakugo.
“I mean…” Izuku shifts his weight, eyes dropping for just a second before coming back up. “It’s not that I don’t want to work with you, Kacchan. It’s just—”
Just.
Just.
Bakugo hates that word.
“—I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
A while. Bakugo’s chest feels tight, and he doesn’t quite understand why.
“I want to do things differently.”
There’s a beat where Bakugo expects the rest, the explanation. The part where Deku connects it back to him—where he says with you, because of you, alongside you.
It doesn’t come.
“What, you think I’m doing it wrong?” Bakugo scoffs, defaulting, pushing.
Izuku shakes his head immediately. “No! That’s not—Kacchan, you’re—your agency is going to be amazing. I know it is.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Izuku hesitates again. And this time, Bakugo sees it.
Not confusion or his predictable nerves. His face had decision written all over it.
“I don’t want to follow you anymore.”
It’s quiet when he says it. It wasn't harsh. But to Bakugo, it felt more painful than anything hes felt before.
Bakugo laughs. Sharp, completely disbelieving. “Follow—what are you talking about? We’d be partners, idiot.”
“That’s not how it would feel,” Izuku says.
That lands.. Wrong. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Bakugo asks with a raised brow.
Izuku meets his eyes, and there’s no fear there. No apology, either. “It means…” he starts slowly, like he’s choosing each word instead of letting them spill out like he used to. “For a long time, I was chasing you, Kacchan. Even when we were equals—even when we were fighting side by side—it still felt like I was trying to keep up.”
Bakugo’s fingers twitch in his pockets, but he doesn’t move.
“I don’t feel that way anymore,” Izuku continues. “And I don’t want to go back to it.”
Something in Bakugo’s chest pulls tight, harder this time. “So what,” he says, voice dropping, “you think sticking with me means you’re behind?”
“No,” Izkuku says quickly. “It’s not about being behind. It’s just—” He stops again. And then, quieter:
“I want to stand somewhere that’s mine.”
The words settle between them. Heavy, and final.
Bakugo stares at him. Really looks at him, for the first time since he walked in. At the way he’s standing— grounded like he’s already made this choice. Like this conversation isn’t going to change it.
“You could do that with me,” Bakugo says. That one slips out. Unpolished, and too close to something he doesn’t name.
Izuku’s expression shifts—just slightly, into something softer. Something—
"I know,” he says.
And that’s the problem.
Bakugo almost snaps at that. Almost. Because what the hell is he supposed to do with that?
“I know,” Izuku repeats, quieter this time. “But it wouldn’t be the same.” There’s no accusation in it, and that’s what makes it worse.
Bakugo clicks his tongue, sharp, irritated—something to fill the space that’s stretching too wide between them. "You’re overthinking it,” he says. “We’d run things our way. Strongest agency out there. No dead weight. No idiots slowing us down.”
He glances over and Izuku smiles. Not the bright, immediate kind Bakugo expects, but something smaller that doesn’t reach all the way. "That sounds like you,” Izuku says.
It’s not agreement. Bakugo knows that instantly. “And?” he presses.
Izuku shifts again, exhaling slowly. “You’ve always known what kind of hero you wanted to be,” he says. “From the beginning.”
A pause.
“You move straight toward it.”
Bakugo frowns. “Yeah. And?”
Izuku’s gaze drops briefly—to the ground, to the space between them—before lifting again. “I didn’t,” he says.
The wind picks up again, tugging at his shirt, pushing his hair into his eyes. He doesn’t brush it away this time. He just stands there.
“For a long time,” Midoriya continues, “my idea of being a hero was… tied to you.”
Bakugo stills.
“You were the goal,” Izuku says, voice steady, like he’s explaining something simple. “Or—no. Not the goal. The standard.”
He lets out a small, almost embarrassed breath. “I thought if I could keep up with you, if I could stand next to you, then that meant I was doing it right.”
Bakugo’s jaw tightens. “That’s not—” he starts.
But he doesn’t finish, because he doesn’t actually know what he was going to say.
Izuku doesn’t stop. “I don’t feel that way anymore.”
There it is again, that same clear, unshaken line.
Bakugo scoffs, forcing it out. “Yeah, no shit. You finally caught up.” It’s supposed to land like a challenge, Like a reminder. Like something that keeps them in the same space they’ve always been in.
Izuku shakes his head slowly. “It’s not about catching up.”
Something twists.
“I just…” Izuku hesitates, searching for the words in a way he doesn’t do anymore—not like this. “I want to figure out what kind of hero I am without measuring it against you.”
Silence.
Bakugo stares at him. And for a second—just a second—he doesn’t see the guy standing in front of him now.
He sees—
A small, stupid kid with messy hair and bright, desperate eyes.
Trailing behind him. Always behind him.
“Kacchan, wait!”
Bakugo doesn’t slow down, he never does.
“Did you see that? I—I figured out a way to—”
“Shut up, Deku.”
The kid beams anyway, like being told off is still something to be happy about. Like being close—being allowed to be close, is enough.
“You’re gonna be a hero too, right?” Deku asks, jogging to keep up.
“Obviously,” Bakugo snaps.
Deku grins wider. “Then I’ll—”
He trips over his own feet, barely catching himself. But he doesn’t stop. He pushes forward again.
Bakugo doesn’t look back. He doesn’t need to, cause he already knows Deku’s there. Always there.
“Then I’ll keep up with you!” Deku says.
Bakugo smirks.
“Yeah? Try it.”
“I don’t want to do that anymore.”
The words land over the memory like something final, like a door closing and locking shut behind him.
Bakugo’s hands curl in his pockets tight. “Since when?” he asks. It comes out lower than before. Not sharp, or explosive, or harsh. Something else.
Midoriya tilts his head slightly, like he’s actually thinking about it. “Not all at once,” he says. “It just… changed. Somewhere along the way.”
That’s not an answer. Bakugo’s eyes narrow. “That’s bullshit.”
Midoriya doesn’t react to the tone. “I didn’t notice it at first either,” he admits. “It was just small things.”
“Like what?”
Midoriya hesitates. Then:
“Like not needing to look at you to know what to do in a fight.”
That— That shouldn’t hit.
It’s…practical. Normal, It’s what happens when people learn and get stronger. But…it still lands wrong.
“Like making decisions without wondering what you’d think first,” Midoriya adds.
Bakugo’s chest feels tight again. Worse this time.
“And…” Midoriya pauses, something softer flickering across his expression before he steadies it again. “Like realizing I wanted to stand next to other people, too.”
Bakugo’s brain catches on that.
“Other people,” he repeats.
Midoriya nods.
Something clicks. “Who?” Bakugo asks. It comes out casual and flat like it doesn’t matter. Really, its all that matters to him right now.
Midoriya doesn’t answer right away.
That’s all the answer Bakugo needs. “Who?”
Midoriya hesitates. It’s small, barely anything.
But Bakugo sees it—the way his eyes flick, just for a second, like the answer already exists somewhere outside of this conversation.
Like it’s not something he has to think about.
That’s new.
“Kacchan—” Midoriya starts.
Bakugo cuts him off. “Who.”
This time, it’s not a question.
Midoriya exhales slowly. “Everyone,” he says.
Bakugo’s lip curls. “Don’t give me that bullshit.”
“I’m serious,” Midoriya insists. “I mean—I want to work with people, not just… compete with them.”
“That’s always what we’ve done.”
Midoriya shakes his head. “No,” he says. “That’s what you do.”
Bakugo straightens slightly, eyes narrowing. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”
Midoriya doesn’t back down. not defiantly, but a kind of steady that Bakugo’s only seen when he's not budging.
“You get stronger by pushing against people,” he says. “By trying to surpass them. That’s how you’ve always been.”
A pause.
“It’s not wrong.”
It doesn’t sound like a compliment.
“I just…” Midoriya hesitates, then continues, “I don’t think that’s the only way to grow.”
Bakugo scoffs. “Yeah? And what, you’ve figured out some better way?”
Midoriya’s mouth curves—just a little. Not challenging, but something quieter. “I think I want to help people grow with me,” he says.
Bakugo frowns. “That’s the same thing.”
“It’s not.”
The answer comes too quickly, too certain.
Bakugo feels something shift again. That same off-balance feeling from before, like the ground hasn’t moved but somehow he’s not standing where he thought he was.
Midoriya looks away for a moment, toward the city lights. “They’re letting me stay at U.A.,” he says.
That—
That wasn’t part of this. Bakugo blinks. “What?”
“Not as a student,” Midoriya adds quickly. “As a teacher. Well—not right away, but… that’s the plan.”
The words settle slowly, incredibly heavy. Bakugo stares at him. “You’re what?”
Midoriya rubs the back of his neck again, a faint, almost sheepish smile tugging at his mouth.
“I’ve been helping out with training sessions,” he says. “You know, with the first-years. And some of the second-years now.”
Bakugo didn’t know that.
“They asked if I’d consider staying,” Midoriya continues. “Teaching, mentoring… things like that.”
Bakugo’s chest tightens. “And you said yes.”
It’s not a question.
Midoriya nods. “Yeah.”
Of course he did. “You’re giving up field work to babysit extras?” Bakugo snaps.
Midoriya’s expression doesn’t change. “I’m not giving it up,” he says. “I’ll still do hero work. Just… not like you.”
Not like you.
The words echo.
Bakugo lets out a sharp laugh. “Unbelievable.”
But it doesn’t sound like him. Not really.
“You finally get strong enough again to stand at the top, we— I get you a goddamn suit,” he says, voice low, “and you decide to step off the podium? just, give it up?”
“I don’t think that’s what I’m doing.”
“Then what are you doing?” Bakugo snapped back quickly
Midoriya looks at him again, and there’s something in his expression now, clearer than before. Something that doesn’t bend around Bakugo’s reactions.
“I’m choosing what matters to me.”
The answer is simple, and Bakugo hates it.
“Since when do you care about anything more than being number one?” he demands. Though what he really wanted to ask was, 'Do i not matter as much to you?'
Midoriya blinks. And then, very softly:
“I never said that mattered most to me.”
Bakugo goes still. “That’s what you said,” he shoots back immediately. “You said you’d be the greatest hero.”
Midoriya nods. “I did.”
“Yeah,” Bakugo presses. “So what, that changed too?”
Midoriya shakes his head. “No.”
A pause.
“It just doesn’t look the way you think it does.”
That doesn’t make sense. Bakugo’s jaw tightens. “Sounds like you’re settling.”
The word hangs there, sharp and intentional.
For a second, Midoriya’s expression flickers.
Bakugo sees it. And something in him—something ugly—feels satisfied. Then it’s gone.
“I don’t think I am,” Midoriya says. And he means it. That’s the problem.
There’s a subtle shift in the air. The door to the roof creaks open again.
Neither of them turns right away.
Footsteps. Light, and…Familiar.
“Oh—sorry,” a voice says. “I didn’t realize you guys were—”
Bakugo’s eyes flick over. And there she is, Ochaco.
She pauses just inside the doorway, hand still on the handle, like she’s deciding whether to leave.
Midoriya turns. “Oh—Uraraka,” he says, surprised. “I thought you left already.”
“I was heading out,” she says. “I just—forgot something in the classroom.”
Her eyes move between them. Quick, Observing this oddly intimate scene she just crashed.
Bakugo watches the way Midoriya’s posture shifts. Less tension. Less… edge. It’s small, almost nothing. But it’s there, and Bakugo hates the fact he noticed it.
“You done?” Bakugo asks, not taking his eyes off her.
Midoriya hesitates. That’s answer enough.
"Yeah,” he says finally. “I think so.”
Bakugo nods once. “Good.”
He turns, walks past them and doesn’t stop.
But as he reaches the door—
“I’ll see you around, Kacchan.”
He pauses. Just for a fraction of a second. Doesn’t bother to turn back.
“Yeah,” he says.
And then he leaves.
U.A. training grounds.
Smoke in the air, debris scattered across the field.
Deku stands across from him, breathing hard, eyes sharp.
Not trailing behind. Facing him.
“Again,” Bakugo says, grinning.
Izuku nods.
They launch at each other at the same time.
Explosions.
Impact.
Force meeting force.
Equal.
Bakugo laughs, loud and wild.
“Finally,” he says.
Bakugo steps into the hallway, door swinging shut behind him.
And for the first time, that memory doesn’t feel the way it used to. The hallway is too quiet.
Bakugo walks straight through it, past classrooms, past lights that are still on for no reason.
Past voices echoing faintly from somewhere down the building—students, probably, or extras finishing up something that doesn’t matter.
He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t think.
Because the second he does—
“I don’t want to follow you anymore.”
Bakugo’s jaw tightens.
Tch.
He pushes the door open harder than necessary, stepping outside into the night air again. It’s colder now. Or maybe he just notices it more.
“Not like you.”
His hands curl at his sides.
“Other people.”
The words don’t stack right. They don’t fit together. They don’t—
Bakugo exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Doesn’t mean anything,” he mutters under his breath.
It shouldn’t. Deku’s always been like that, always running after everyone, always trying to save everyone.
Always—
Bakugo stops walking.
That thought— It doesn’t land the way it used to. Bakugo’s chest tightens.
That’s not new. It’s not like Midoriya suddenly started caring about other people. He always has.
So why does it feel.. Different.
Bakugo starts walking again, faster this time, foolishly thinking outrunning it will do something.
“He said it like it was new,” Bakugo mutters.
Like it meant something, like it mattered more now.
His steps slow.
“…realizing I wanted to stand next to other people, too.”
Too.
Bakugo stops again.
“…too?”
The word sits there.
Ugly.
Because too means—
It means not just you.
Something shifts. Not a full realization, but dangerously close.
Bakugo’s chest feels tight again, worse than before.
After the war.
Everything’s wrecked. Burned, broken. Whatever adjectives were left to describe this mess.
Bakugo leans against the remains of what was a wall, bandages tight across his arms, his side, his chest.
Everything hurts.
Deku sits next to him.
Close. Closer than usual, bodies touching but being in too much pain to blush over the proximity.
Not talking. Not rambling. Just… there.
For once, he’s not looking at anyone else. Not checking on anyone else. Just him.
“You’re not dead,” Bakugo mutters. Deku lets out a weak laugh. “Neither are you.”
Silence.
Then—
“…we’ll get stronger,” Deku says.
Bakugo glances at him. “Yeah,” he answers.
And for once— It feels like they meant the same thing.
Bakugo exhales sharply.
That memory.. used to feel—
He frowns. Like something solid. Like proof.
Proof of what? His jaw tightens.
“Doesn’t change anything,” he mutters again. But it does. Because now—now that moment feels… Smaller. Not fake, just not exclusive like he thought it was.
Bakugo’s stomach twists.
“…I wanted to stand next to other people, too.”
That means—Even then—
Bakugo’s fingers curl into fists.
“No.”
The word comes out low, Immediate.
That was different. That was—
Bakugo shuts his eyes for a second and replays it. Deku sitting beside him, close, quiet.
But…
Was he there because it was Bakugo?
Or— Because that’s just what he does? Because he stays. He always stays.
The realization doesn’t hit all at once. Instead, It seeps, slow and unwelcome.
“He would’ve done that for anyone,” Bakugo says under his breath.
The words feel wrong, but not wrong enough. Not enough to dismiss.
Bakugo laughs, sharp and empty. “Of course he would.”
That’s who Deku is. That’s—That’s always been who he is. So why—Why did Bakugo think—
His breath catches slightly. He looks down at his hands, At the tension in them. The way they don’t relax, small beads of sweat forming and causing little sparks.
“…I thought we were building something.”
The thought slips in uninvited. Bakugo freezes.
No. No, that’s—that’s not—
He exhales hard, like he can force it out. “Idiot,” he mutters.
But he doesn’t know who he’s talking to. Because if Midoriya—
if Deku was always like that, Then..
Bakugo’s throat feels tight. "…was I the only one thinking that?”
Silence answers him.