Work Text:
Izuku couldn’t sleep. And while that wasn’t particularly shocking, it’d gotten worse the influx of media coverage Todoroki was getting.
He often found himself sitting on the stairs leading up to the apartment, early morning hours the only time he could go outside without seeing a camera. Izuku used to wonder what it was like, to have people watching your every move. Paranoia aside, he didn’t like the feeling of actual eyes on him wherever he went. He couldn’t speak to anyone, couldn’t say hello, couldn’t move without someone catching wind about it.
To have your very existence scrutinized, to the point where you couldn’t function as a result. Izuku couldn’t help but feel sad that that’s what his life had become. Leaving the bedroom was slowly becoming a chore, the blinds had to be black because anything else didn’t obscure the view inside enough. Still, those eyes felt like bugs, crawling along Izuku’s freckled skin.
It was quiet at the moment, however. There was nothing but the breeze that occasionally brought goosebumps over his arms. His slippers scuffed against the steps below his feet, fingers fidgeting with the hems of his sweater. Izuku should have thought about wearing longer pants, but the thought of going back inside was a bit on the nauseating side.
Even an anxiety riddled mess like him needed some fresh air.
His gaze found itself fixated on the stars that dotted the navy blue sky above, and Izuku couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of longing. Desires for freedom. And while someone would suggest that he learn to live with the cameras, the fame, Izuku didn’t think becoming the guitarist of a band meant he get his privacy ripped from him.
“It’s four in the morning.”
Izuku startled at the voice, it cutting through his thoughts and the dark. Eyes turned to focus on Bakugou’s figure, red eyes blazing even in the dark.
“The fuck are you doing up?”
Izuku offered a shake of his head, turning his focus back up to the sky. He heard Bakugou shuffle forward, sitting himself next to him on the top step. The proximity was close, closer than Izuku normally got without the two of them fighting.
He attributed Bakugou’s lax demeanor to the cold night air and the fact it was so early even Izuku wasn’t sure he could get mad. Emotions involved input from the brain cells he currently lacked as a result of sleep deprivation.
“Couldn’t s-sleep,” Izuku murmured, brushing stray strands of hair out of his face, not turning to look at Bakugou, “Too much to th-think about.”
Bakugou made a noise, to which Izuku only rolled his eyes.
“Got something t-to say, huh, Kacchan?”
“Nah.”
Izuku couldn’t help the scoff that left his lips, finally turning his attention to Bakugou. Their eyes met head on, although Bakugou was more so staring at him from out of the corner of his. Staring. Glaring. With his face as set as it was, it was hard for Izuku to tell.
“That’s c-crap and you know i-it.”
“That’s a b-list curse word, didn’t know ya’ had it in you, fucking dweeb.”
He crinkled his nose at that, eyes narrowing, “I can c-curse I’ll have you kn-know.”
“That so?”
“Yeah.”
Bakugou made a noise, one that sounded caught between a grunt and a scoff--and a backfiring car, “You have a fucking swear jar.”
“Cause it’s n-not nice to do it th-that much,” Izuku answered pointedly, “Not all of us h-have the complexity of a middle sch-school student at the a-age of twenty.”
“The fuck does that even mean,” Bakugou asked, shaking his head loosely, gaze turning into a firm glare.
“It means y-you’re immature.”
“Says the disgusting fucker that bought that--”
Izuku clapped his hand over Bakugou’s mouth as fast as he could, shifting so that he could grab a hold of his head momentarily while Izuku looked around. It occurred to him just as Bakugou was speaking that while he couldn’t see cameras or see people, they could be hiding.
Hearing him, listening in to conversations in case they could pick up something foul. Memories flitted back to how they used a fight Izuku and Bakugou had over the contents of a fruitbowl to further the idea that perhaps there was more to their group. There were secrets hidden behind white painted walls and hidden duvet covers--when there weren’t. There was nothing to see, nothing to understand, not that they cared.
Izuku’s heart palpitated harshly, only just registering Bakugou ripping his head out of his grip. Only just, only enough to them come back as Bakugou growled at him. For touching him perhaps, but--those conversations were meant for inside. Where it was safe.
There was nothing glamorous about living in a box, however.
It was Bakugou that knocked him out of it--knocked him out and flat on his backside near the front door.
“O-Ow…” Izuku winced as he came back to his sense, propping himself up on his palms.
Bakugou eyed him again, that questioning, incredulous glare that Izuku had no choice but to become accustomed to. One he’d been getting a lot lately as a result of his panicking. Always fearful but never this fearful, he assumed. Still, Bakugou did nothing to point it out. He only watched briefly before turning his attention over the staircase, focused on something Izuku could not see--something he didn’t want to ask about to avoid being scolded.
Instead, Bakugou got up to his feet, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts while he looked onward. He was looking for something, intently at that, the creases of his brow noticeable even under pale moonlight. Definitions Izuku couldn’t see at any other point of time, how Bakugou stood against a backdrop of black. Somehow, he managed to stand out.
There was a reason he was the lead after all.
“There’s nothing there.”
Izuku started, his own eyes taking a turn to question, “What?”
But Bakugou had never really been one to reiterate or explain himself unless he found it was absolutely necessary--which was never. Rather than answer, he padded over, hand stretched out toward Izuku in a gesture Izuku wasn’t really familiar with when it came to Bakugou. He tentatively raised his hand, Bakugou instead choosing to grip Izuku by the wrist, yanking him up in one fell swoop.
Bakugou let him go immediately once Izuku was up on his feet, making his way down the stairs.
“Kacchan? Wh-where are you going?” Izuku found it in himself to ask.
“Wherever the hell I fucking want.” Bakugou made it down to the bottom step, making his way toward the main street.
Izuku’s lips pursed, and while he didn’t think he understood, and should’ve known better, he followed after Bakugou. To the streets he’d become so fearful of, and as anxiety inducing the thought was, it seemed to be mitigated just by having someone with him. Even if that someone was Bakugou.
“Do you even h-have your keys on you..?”