Chapter Text
Mitsuki and Masaru always knew Katsuki had problems, but after he blames himself for Deku losing his quirk, his world starts to tilt—and it’s his own fault.
The hospital room was too quiet.
Katsuki hated quiet.
He hated the steady beeping of monitors. Hated the smell of disinfectant. Hated the way every muscle in his body screamed when he moved.
Most of all, he hated the room across the hall.
Izuku Midoriya’s room.
Because every time Katsuki looked at that door, all he could hear was the final punch.
The final attack.
The moment One For All disappeared.
His fault.
His fault.
His fault.
The door slid open.
“Morning, kid.”
Best Jeanist stepped inside carrying a paper bag.
Katsuki didn’t answer.
Jeanist set the bag on the bedside table.
“You should eat.”
“Not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
“Good.”
Jeanist sighed.
“You know Midoriya would be furious if he heard that.”
The mention of Izuku made something twist violently in Katsuki’s chest.
“Then don’t tell him.”
Jeanist looked at him carefully.
The same way everyone had been looking at him lately.
Like he was a bomb waiting to explode.
Except Katsuki wasn’t exploding.
That would’ve been easier.
Instead he felt hollow.
Like somebody had scooped everything out and left nothing behind.
The silence stretched.
Finally Jeanist spoke.
“Young Midoriya does not blame you.”
Katsuki laughed.
It sounded awful.
“Course he doesn’t.”
“Then—”
“That’s the problem.”
Jeanist frowned.
Katsuki stared at the ceiling.
“He gave up everything.”
The words came out rough.
“He gave up his quirk.”
Silence.
“He spent years breaking himself to save people.”
Another silence.
“And now it’s gone.”
Katsuki clenched his fists.
“Because he was saving me.”
Jeanist opened his mouth.
Katsuki didn’t let him speak.
“If I wasn’t there—”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
“I DO!”
The monitors jumped.
Pain shot through his ribs.
Neither of them moved.
The room became quiet again.
Jeanist looked tired.
Not angry.
Just tired.
“Heroes make choices.”
Katsuki laughed again.
“Yeah.”
“They do.”
“Then why does every choice Deku makes end with him getting hurt?”
Jeanist didn’t have an answer.
Nobody did.
Because Katsuki knew the truth.
Izuku always ran toward danger.
And Katsuki was always standing in the middle of it.
—
Three days later they were discharged.
The reporters waited outside.
The cameras flashed.
The world celebrated.
All For One was gone.
Shigaraki was gone.
The war was over.
People were alive.
Heroes had won.
Katsuki felt nothing.
Mitsuki spotted him immediately.
“Oi.”
She marched over.
Her eyes widened for half a second.
Then her face hardened.
“You’re skinnier.”
“Hello to you too.”
“Don’t get smart.”
Masaru smiled nervously.
“It’s good to see you, Katsuki.”
The smile almost broke him.
Because his parents looked relieved.
Like they’d gotten their son back.
They hadn’t.
They were just too distracted to notice.
—
The first week home wasn’t terrible.
The second week wasn’t either.
The third week was when things started going wrong.
Katsuki stopped sleeping.
Every time he closed his eyes he saw the battlefield.
Saw Izuku standing.
Saw him smiling.
Saw him throwing away the last remnants of One For All.
Then he’d wake up drenched in sweat.
By the fourth week he stopped leaving his room.
Mitsuki noticed.
Of course she noticed.
Mothers always notice.
She found him sitting on the floor one afternoon staring blankly at the wall.
“Katsuki.”
No answer.
“Katsuki.”
Nothing.
She crossed her arms.
“Talk.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You haven’t slept.”
“Sure I have.”
“You look like a corpse.”
He glared.
She glared back.
Normally that would’ve started a screaming match.
Instead Katsuki looked away first.
And that terrified her.
Because Katsuki Bakugo never looked away.
Not from anyone.
Not even her.
Something cold settled in Mitsuki’s stomach.
Later that night she found Masaru in the kitchen.
“He’s getting worse.”
Masaru looked down.
“I know.”
“What do we do?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Because neither of them knew.
Their son had survived a war.
Defeated monsters.
Stood against the strongest villain in history.
And somehow the thing destroying him now was guilt.
The worst part?
Nobody could punch guilt.
Nobody could arrest it.
Nobody could defeat it.
And Katsuki was letting it eat him alive.
Upstairs, hidden behind his bedroom door, Katsuki stared at a text message he’d received an hour ago.
Deku: Mom made too much food. Come over tomorrow.
Simple.
Normal.
Friendly.
The kind of message Izuku always sent.
Katsuki looked at it for a long time.
Then turned his phone off.
Because he couldn’t face him.
Couldn’t look at the smiling idiot who had lost everything and still acted like it was okay.
And somewhere deep down, Katsuki knew something dangerous.
The war had ended.
But whatever was happening to him now?
It was only beginning.
Katsuki thought he could get away with it.
That was the funny part.
He genuinely believed he could walk back into U.A., sit through classes, grunt at people when necessary, and nobody would notice that something was very, very wrong.
For about three days, it almost worked.
Almost.
The problem was that Katsuki’s friends were annoying.
Especially Sero.
“Dude.”
No response.
“Dude.”
Still nothing.
“Dude.”
Katsuki blinked.
“Huh?”
Sero stared.
They were sitting in the common room. Well—Sero was sitting.
Katsuki had been staring out the window for who knew how long.
“Okay.”
“What?”
“I’ve been talking to you for thirty minutes.”
“No you haven’t.”
“I literally have.”
“No.”
“Sato can back me up.”
Sato looked up from his homework.
“You’ve definitely been talking for thirty minutes.”
Katsuki frowned.
“…Seriously?”
“YES!”
Sero threw his hands into the air.
“Dude, either those pain meds have you completely fucked up or something is wrong.”
Katsuki immediately looked away.
Which was answer enough.
The room went quiet.
Sero’s expression changed.
Not joking anymore.
Not laughing.
Just concerned.
“Dude.”
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m fine.”
“Katsuki.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re saying it like a hostage.”
That got a weak snort out of Kaminari.
Nobody else laughed.
Because everyone was looking at Katsuki now.
Too closely.
He hated it.
“Can you all stop staring at me?”
Mina frowned.
“No.”
“What?”
“No.”
Kirishima sat forward.
“You’ve barely talked in weeks.”
“I’m talking now.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
Katsuki felt irritation flare.
Good.
Anger was familiar.
Anger made sense.
It was better than the endless guilt chewing through his chest.
“What do you want me to say?”
Nobody answered immediately.
Because that was the problem.
They didn’t know.
Finally Sero spoke.
“I don’t know.”
His voice was quieter now.
“But something’s up.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes.
“Wow. Great detective work.”
“Dude.”
“No, seriously. Amazing observation.”
“Katsuki.”
“What?”
“You look exhausted.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
“You keep spacing out.”
Silence.
“You barely eat.”
More silence.
“You don’t hang out with us anymore.”
Katsuki’s jaw tightened.
“And every time Midoriya gets mentioned you look like somebody punched you.”
The room froze.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Katsuki stood up so fast his chair nearly fell over.
“Drop it.”
Sero looked surprised.
“Kats—”
“I said drop it.”
The common room had become dead silent.
Kirishima slowly stood.
“Hey.”
“Don’t.”
“Maybe we should talk about—”
“I SAID DON’T.”
Everyone flinched.
Even him.
The words echoed through the room.
For a second nobody spoke.
Then Katsuki laughed.
A short, ugly sound.
“Great.”
His hands were shaking.
He shoved them into his pockets.
“Now everybody’s looking at me like I’m crazy.”
“No one’s doing that,” Kirishima said quietly.
“Yeah?”
Katsuki snapped.
“Then why does everybody keep acting like I’m about to break?”
Because you are.
Nobody said it.
But he could see it on their faces.
Mina.
Sero.
Kaminari.
Kirishima.
All of them.
They looked worried.
The same look his parents wore.
The same look the teachers wore.
The same look Best Jeanist wore.
Like they were all waiting for him to fall apart.
Katsuki hated it.
Because they were right.
The room blurred suddenly.
His chest felt tight.
Too tight.
He couldn’t breathe.
Not here.
Not in front of them.
Without another word he turned and walked away.
“Katsuki!”
He ignored Kirishima.
“Katsuki, wait—”
The dorm room door slammed hard enough to shake the wall.
—
Back downstairs nobody spoke for a few seconds.
Finally Kaminari winced.
“Well.”
“That was bad,” Mina said.
“Really bad,” Sato agreed.
Sero rubbed the back of his neck.
“I wasn’t trying to start anything.”
“I know,” Kirishima said quietly.
His eyes stayed fixed on the stairs.
“He just…”
The words died.
Because they all knew.
The strongest person they knew looked exhausted.
Not physically.
Something worse.
Like he was carrying a weight nobody else could see.
And every day it was getting heavier.
Upstairs, Katsuki sat on the floor with his back against the door.
His breathing was uneven.
His hands shook.
His phone buzzed.
One text.
Deku: Heard you were back at school today :) How’d it go?
Katsuki stared at the message.
Then laughed bitterly.
“Fantastic.”
A minute later he turned the phone face down.
And didn’t answer.
The day Katsuki got his cast removed, everyone relaxed.
That was the problem.
The doctors were happy.
Recovery was going well.
His arm was healing.
He was back in class.
Back in training.
Back to yelling at people.
Back to acting like Katsuki Bakugo.
Everyone thought that meant he was okay.
It didn’t.
It just meant he’d gotten better at hiding it.
The first thing to come back was skipping meals.
Not obviously.
He wasn’t stupid.
He knew people watched him now.
Especially Kirishima.
Especially his mom.
So he’d grab breakfast.
Take a few bites.
Push the food around.
Throw the rest away when nobody was looking.
Lunch was easier.
Everybody was busy.
Nobody paid attention to who finished what.
Dinner took more effort.
But Katsuki had spent years figuring out how to avoid questions.
Years learning how to disappear while standing in plain sight.
The second thing to come back was throwing up.
Not because he wanted to.
Not intentionally.
His stomach just wouldn’t cooperate anymore.
Every time he forced himself to eat too much, guilt settled in his chest.
Then anxiety.
Then nausea.
Then—
The bathroom.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Nobody noticed.
At first.
Three weeks after getting the cast off, Katsuki stood in front of the bathroom sink.
His knuckles were white against the porcelain.
The room spun slightly.
He splashed water on his face.
Looked up.
The mirror reflected somebody he barely recognized.
Dark circles.
Sharper cheekbones.
Tired eyes.
He looked awful.
His phone buzzed.
Eijiro: Training starts in ten minutes.
Katsuki stared at it.
Then shoved the phone back into his pocket.
He could do training.
Training was easy.
Training meant not thinking.
Unfortunately, training also meant classmates.
And classmates noticed things.
Especially when those things nearly collapsed during combat practice.
Aizawa blew his whistle.
“Bakugo. Again.”
Katsuki launched forward.
Explosion.
Movement.
Attack.
Counter.
Then suddenly—
His vision blurred.
His knees buckled.
For half a second.
Just half a second.
But it was enough.
Aizawa saw.
So did Kirishima.
So did Todoroki.
Hell, even Mineta saw.
The exercise stopped immediately.
“Bakugo.”
“I’m fine.”
Aizawa’s eye twitched.
“You almost fell over.”
“No I didn’t.”
“You literally did.”
“No.”
“You did.”
Katsuki crossed his arms.
Aizawa stared.
Katsuki stared back.
The world’s most stubborn standoff.
Eventually Aizawa sighed.
“Go see Recovery Girl.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
Recovery Girl wasn’t impressed.
“Step on the scale.”
“No.”
“Young man.”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Katsuki immediately knew he’d made a mistake.
Five minutes later he was standing on the scale anyway.
The room became very quiet.
Recovery Girl looked at the number.
Then looked at him.
Then back at the number.
“…Katsuki.”
He already hated that tone.
“What?”
“When was the last time you ate a full meal?”
He looked away.
Wrong answer.
Recovery Girl sighed heavily.
Very heavily.
The kind of sigh adults used when they were already disappointed.
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sit.”
He sat.
She opened a file.
“You’re still recovering from catastrophic injuries.”
Silence.
“Your body shouldn’t be losing weight.”
More silence.
“Katsuki.”
He clenched his jaw.
Recovery Girl’s voice softened.
Which somehow felt worse.
“What’s going on?”
The question hung in the air.
Katsuki stared at the floor.
Because he didn’t know how to explain it.
How every time he ate he thought about people who didn’t get to come home.
How every time he looked at food he remembered Izuku smiling despite losing everything.
How every good thing felt undeserved.
So he settled on the easiest answer.
“…Nothing.”
Recovery Girl looked at him for a long moment.
Then she closed the file.
“That’s not true.”
Katsuki immediately knew this conversation was heading somewhere he did not want it to go.
Which meant it was time for drastic measures.
His eyes widened.
His lip trembled.
Recovery Girl narrowed her eyes instantly.
“…Don’t.”
A single fake sniffle.
“Katsuki.”
Another sniffle.
“Katsuki Bakugo.”
Suddenly he buried his face in his hands.
“W-why is everyone so mean to me?”
Recovery Girl looked deeply unimpressed.
“Oh, for the love of—”
“I survive a war, lose half my blood, get blown up, stabbed, hospitalized—”
“You are not crying.”
“—and now I’m being ATTACKED by an old woman!”
“I am eighty-three years old and can still throw you through a wall.”
The tears vanished immediately.
Katsuki peeked through his fingers.
“Good point.”
Recovery Girl pinched the bridge of her nose.
“You think you’re funny.”
“I am funny.”
“No.”
“Everybody says I’m hilarious.”
“Nobody says that.”
“Kaminari does.”
“Kaminari also tried to microwave a fork.”
“That’s unrelated.”
Recovery Girl sighed.
Long.
Slow.
The sigh of someone who had worked with teenagers for decades.
Eventually she pointed toward the door.
“Go.”
Katsuki blinked.
“Go?”
“To your dorm.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
That should’ve felt like a victory.
Instead something about her expression made him uneasy.
She wasn’t angry.
She wasn’t fooled, either.
She knew exactly what he’d been doing.
Exactly how much weight he’d lost.
Exactly how exhausted he looked.
And she was letting him leave anyway.
Because she knew pushing harder right now wouldn’t work.
“You’re not getting out of this conversation forever,” she said quietly.
Katsuki looked away.
“Whatever.”
“Young man.”
He paused at the door.
Recovery Girl folded her hands.
“When your arm was broken, everybody could see it.”
Silence.
“But some injuries aren’t visible.”
The room felt smaller.
Katsuki hated it.
Hated how serious she sounded.
Hated how much the words landed.
“Have a good afternoon.”
He opened the door.
“Yeah.”
Then he left.
The walk back to the dorms felt longer than usual.
His stomach hurt.
His head hurt.
Everything hurt.
When he got inside the common room, most of the class was there.
The moment they saw him, conversations stopped.
Katsuki immediately regretted entering.
“Why is everyone looking at me?”
“Recovery Girl called Aizawa,” Kaminari said.
“Damn it.”
“What happened?” Mina asked.
“Nothing.”
“Then why’d she send you home?”
“Because she’s old.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is technically.”
Kirishima stood from the couch.
His eyes immediately scanned Katsuki’s face.
Looking for injuries.
Looking for signs something was wrong.
Looking worried.
Again.
Always worried.
“I’m fine,” Katsuki snapped before he could ask.
Kirishima froze.
The common room went quiet.
Because nobody had actually said anything yet.
Katsuki realized that too late.
“…”
“…”
“…”
Sero slowly pointed.
“See, that’s exactly the kind of thing people say when they’re not fine.”
“Shut up.”
“No.”
“Shut up.”
“No.”
Katsuki groaned.
He turned around.
Walked straight past everybody.
Ignored every question.
Ignored every stare.
Ignored Kirishima calling his name.
His bedroom door slammed shut.
Downstairs, Mina frowned.
“Okay, now I’m officially worried.”
“Join the club,” Sero muttered.
Kirishima stared at the staircase.
His jaw tightened.
Because he’d known Katsuki a long time.
Long enough to know the difference between angry and hurting.
And lately?
Katsuki wasn’t angry.
He was exhausted.
And no matter how many times everyone asked if he was okay…
The answer never changed.
“I’m fine.”
Even when it was obvious he wasn’t.
For a while, Katsuki got away with it.
That was the worst part.
Nobody caught him.
Nobody stopped him.
Nobody dragged him into some dramatic intervention.
Life just… kept moving.
Classes.
Training.
Homework.
Patrols.
The world continued turning.
And somehow that gave Katsuki a strange sense of satisfaction.
Every skipped meal.
Every fake excuse.
Every “I already ate.”
Every “I’m not hungry.”
Every lie that worked felt like proof.
Proof that he was still in control.
Proof that nobody knew what was happening.
Proof that he could hide anything if he wanted to.
It was stupid.
He knew it was stupid.
But the feeling was there anyway.
Unfortunately, hiding things didn’t make them disappear.
It just made them grow.
The guilt was still there.
The nightmares were still there.
And now something new had joined them.
Insecurity.
It started small.
A comment from a classmate.
“Bakugo, your hero costume needs adjusting.”
Nothing mean.
Nothing cruel.
Just an observation.
But Katsuki spent the next hour thinking about it.
Then it got worse.
He’d catch his reflection in windows.
Mirrors.
Storefronts.
He’d stare a little too long.
Pick apart every flaw.
The dark circles.
The tired eyes.
The scars.
The way his costume fit differently now.
Every little thing became another reason to criticize himself.
Another reason he wasn’t good enough.
Strong enough.
Fast enough.
Hero enough.
One afternoon, Class 2-A was reviewing footage from a training exercise.
Everyone sat watching the screen.
Laughing.
Commenting.
Making fun of each other’s mistakes.
Normal stuff.
Then one clip showed Katsuki.
Just for a few seconds.
A freeze-frame from the middle of a fight.
Someone behind him laughed.
Not at him.
At something Kaminari had said.
But Katsuki’s brain immediately decided otherwise.
They’re laughing at you.
Look at you.
You look pathetic.
Slow.
Weak.
The thoughts came so naturally now he barely noticed them.
By the end of class he was furious.
Not at anyone else.
At himself.
The scary part was that nobody could see it.
From the outside, Katsuki looked normal.
He still yelled.
Still won fights.
Still told people to shut up.
Still acted like Bakugo.
Inside, though?
Every mistake felt enormous.
Every criticism lingered.
Every compliment felt fake.
When people praised him, he assumed they were being nice.
When people worried about him, he assumed he was being a burden.
When people tried to help, he pushed them away before they could.
Because if they got close enough, they might realize how much he was struggling.
And if they realized…
Then everything he’d worked to hide would come crashing down.
The first person to notice something was different wasn’t a teacher.
Wasn’t Kirishima.
Wasn’t even his parents.
It was Mina.
Because Mina noticed weird things.
One evening she was rambling about a gossip article while everyone sat in the common room.
Halfway through her story she stopped.
“Wait.”
Everyone looked up.
“What?” Kaminari asked.
Mina pointed.
“Katsuki.”
“What?”
“You haven’t insulted anyone in twenty minutes.”
The room went silent.
Katsuki blinked.
“…What?”
“That’s not normal.”
“That’s definitely not normal,” Sero agreed.
“Concerning, actually,” Kaminari added.
Katsuki rolled his eyes.
But Mina kept staring.
Not joking now.
Actually staring.
Because she’d noticed something else.
Something nobody had put into words yet.
Katsuki wasn’t getting better.
He was getting quieter.
And somehow that was a lot more frightening.
Especially for someone who used to light up every room simply by arguing with whoever happened to be standing closest.
It happened completely by accident.
The plumbing in Katsuki’s dorm bathroom had broken that morning.
Some pipe issue.
Maintenance was working on it.
Which meant everyone on that floor had to use the community showers for the day.
Katsuki hated community showers.
Too many people.
Too many chances to get caught doing something he didn’t want anyone seeing.
Unfortunately, his stomach had other plans.
The afternoon had already been rough.
Training.
Classes.
A headache that wouldn’t go away.
By the time he got back to the dorms, nausea was twisting his stomach into knots.
So he grabbed a towel and headed for the showers.
The hallway was empty.
Good.
The shower room was empty.
Better.
Katsuki locked himself in one of the stalls and leaned against the wall.
His breathing was uneven.
Maybe it’d pass.
Maybe if he just sat here for a minute—
It didn’t pass.
A few minutes later he was hunched over, feeling miserable.
When it was over, he sat on the floor for a moment with his eyes closed.
Exhausted.
The whole thing had left him shaky.
“Dude?”
Katsuki froze.
His heart dropped.
Jiro’s voice.
Right outside the stall.
“…Bakugo?”
Great.
Just great.
He immediately stood up.
“I’m fine.”
There was a pause.
Then:
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m taking a shower.”
“No you’re not.”
“How would you know?”
“Because the water isn’t running.”
Damn it.
Katsuki rubbed a hand over his face.
Jiro stayed quiet for a second.
When she spoke again, her voice was careful.
“You sick?”
“No.”
“Bakugo.”
“No.”
“I literally heard—”
“No, you didn’t.”
“That’s not how hearing works.”
Katsuki groaned.
The stall door remained firmly shut.
Jiro leaned against the sinks outside.
“You don’t look great lately.”
“I’m fine.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The line.”
“What line?”
“‘I’m fine.’”
Katsuki rolled his eyes even though she couldn’t see it.
“Because I am.”
“Sure.”
“I am.”
“Right.”
The conversation went silent.
For a second, Katsuki thought she might leave.
Instead she spoke again.
Quietly.
“Look.”
He didn’t answer.
“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong.”
Silence.
“But something’s wrong.”
His jaw tightened.
Because he hated that sentence.
Everybody kept saying it.
Like it was some undeniable truth.
Like they knew him better than he knew himself.
Jiro sighed.
“I’m not gonna force you.”
“Good.”
“But if you need help—”
“I don’t.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t.”
Another pause.
Then Jiro’s footsteps started moving away.
Before she reached the door she stopped.
“You’re not as good at hiding stuff as you think you are.”
Then she left.
Katsuki waited several minutes before leaving the stall.
The room was empty again.
Thank God.
He splashed water on his face.
Looked at his reflection.
And immediately looked away.
That evening, Jiro found Mina in the common room.
“Hey.”
Mina looked up.
“What’s up?”
Jiro hesitated.
Because she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d heard.
Or what she’d seen.
But something about it sat wrong.
“Have you noticed Bakugo acting weird?”
Mina immediately laughed.
“That doesn’t narrow it down.”
“I’m serious.”
The laughter faded.
Mina sat up.
“What happened?”
Jiro glanced toward the staircase leading to the dorm rooms.
“He says he’s fine.”
Mina snorted.
“That’s suspicious already.”
“Yeah.”
Jiro crossed her arms.
“He looked awful.”
The room grew quieter.
Because that wasn’t exactly new.
Several people had been noticing little things.
The problem was that every little thing, by itself, seemed explainable.
A bad day.
Stress.
Recovery from injuries.
Nightmares after a war.
Each piece had an excuse.
Nobody had put all the pieces together yet.
Upstairs, Katsuki sat alone on his bed.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Kirishima.
You okay?
Katsuki stared at it.
Then typed the same response he’d been giving everyone for months.
I’m fine.
He hit send.
And for a moment, he almost believed it himself.
Katsuki told himself he was going for a run because he needed to clear his head.
That was the excuse, anyway.
The real reason was harder to admit.
Lately, every time he looked in a mirror, he found something wrong.
A scar.
A bruise.
A feature he didn’t like.
His brain had become cruel.
Constantly pointing out flaws nobody else seemed to notice.
So he laced up his shoes and went running.
Maybe if he ran hard enough, the thoughts would stop.
They didn’t.
About twenty minutes in, Katsuki realized he’d made a mistake.
The world felt slightly tilted.
His legs felt heavy.
His head hurt.
When he stopped at a crosswalk, black spots flickered at the edges of his vision.
“Dammit.”
He put a hand against a nearby fence until the dizziness passed.
Then he kept running anyway.
Because turning around would mean admitting something was wrong.
And Katsuki had gotten very good at pretending nothing was wrong.
By the time he got back to the dorms, he was exhausted.
Not normal exhausted.
The kind that settled into his bones.
The kind that made standing feel like work.
Fortunately, nobody was around when he slipped upstairs.
Or so he thought.
A few days later, Class 1-A was hanging out in the common room.
Movies.
Snacks.
The usual.
Katsuki was sprawled on one end of the couch, pretending not to listen to Kaminari’s latest terrible story.
Everyone else was distracted.
Everyone except Kirishima.
Because Kirishima had been watching Katsuki for weeks.
Not in a creepy way.
In a worried way.
And he’d started noticing patterns.
How Katsuki avoided meals.
How tired he always looked.
How loose his clothes seemed.
How he sometimes stared at himself in reflective surfaces with an expression Kirishima hated.
Like he was judging himself.
Like he was losing a fight nobody else could see.
That night, when Katsuki stood up from the couch, Kirishima noticed something else.
A brief glimpse of bandaging under his clothes.
Not an injury.
Not something Recovery Girl had mentioned.
Just… something odd.
Something that didn’t make sense.
Kirishima frowned.
“Kats?”
“What?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“No.”
“You didn’t even hear the question.”
“Still no.”
A few people laughed.
Normally Kirishima would’ve laughed too.
This time he didn’t.
“Katsuki.”
The use of his full name made Katsuki pause.
“What?”
Kirishima hesitated.
Trying to figure out how to say it.
Trying not to make things worse.
Because lately every conversation felt like stepping onto thin ice.
“Are you taking care of yourself?”
The room fell quiet.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Enough that several classmates looked over.
Katsuki immediately bristled.
“The hell kind of question is that?”
“A normal one.”
“I’m fine.”
There it was.
The phrase again.
The one everyone was getting tired of hearing.
Kirishima looked at him carefully.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
The answer came too fast.
Too sharp.
Too practiced.
And Kirishima knew it.
Katsuki knew he knew it.
For a second neither of them spoke.
Then Kirishima sighed.
“Okay.”
Which somehow felt worse than arguing.
Because Kirishima didn’t look convinced.
Not even a little.
Later that night, Kirishima lay awake staring at the ceiling.
Something was wrong.
He was sure of it now.
Not because of one specific thing.
Because of all of it.
The exhaustion.
The isolation.
The skipped meals.
The way Katsuki seemed to be shrinking into himself despite acting normal.
The way he looked at himself.
The way he never seemed happy anymore.
Kirishima didn’t know exactly what was happening.
But he knew one thing.
Katsuki wasn’t getting better.
And sooner or later, somebody was going to have to get through that wall he’d built around himself.
That night, Katsuki stood in front of the mirror in his dorm room.
The lights were off except for the lamp on his desk.
Everything was quiet.
Too quiet.
He stared at his reflection for a long time.
Long enough that his eyes started picking apart things nobody else noticed.
Or maybe things nobody else cared about.
The scars left by the war.
The dark circles under his eyes.
The way he carried himself differently now.
Every flaw felt magnified.
Every insecurity seemed louder in the silence.
But in his eyes he could see the fat around his thighs. Looked like the pants wheee chocking his legs.
He lifted up his shirt,and saw the fat coating of meat around his ribs and stomach.
He knew what he had to do.
first he kneels in front of the toilet,one hand gripping the seat with one hand the other down his throat.
’gag’
and then it comes out.
He washes his hands,once,then twice,the a third time.
it made him feel so gross yet so good.
He walks over to his desk and grabs the duct tape.
pulls his pants down,and starts taping around his thighs,tightly to where it hurt.
By the time he looked away, he felt worse than when he’d started.
Which was becoming a pattern.
The mirror never made him feel better anymore.
It only gave his thoughts something to focus on.
Something to criticize.
Something to hate.
“Pathetic,” he muttered.
The word echoed through the empty room.
A few minutes later he pulled on his usual baggy sweatpants.
The kind nobody questioned.
The kind that hid everything.
Because lately Katsuki felt like hiding was the only thing he was good at.
Hiding the nightmares.
Hiding the guilt.
Hiding how exhausted he was.
Hiding how little he’d been eating.
Hiding how much he hated looking at himself.
By the time he crawled into bed, his chest felt tight.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Like there was a weight sitting on top of him.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
A text from Kirishima.
You wanna train together tomorrow?
Katsuki stared at the message.
For a moment, he considered ignoring it.
Like he’d ignored so many others.
Then another text appeared.
No pressure. Just checking on you.
The knot in Katsuki’s chest tightened.
Because that was the problem.
People were starting to notice.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
Enough for Jiro to ask questions.
Enough for Mina to watch him.
Enough for Kirishima to worry.
And that terrified him more than being caught.
Because if they saw how bad things had gotten…
If they saw how much he was struggling…
Then they’d look at him differently.
The way Recovery Girl had.
The way his parents sometimes did.
Like they were afraid for him.
Katsuki turned the phone face down.
He didn’t answer.
Across the hall, Kirishima looked at the unread message and frowned.
Something in his gut told him things were getting worse.
He just didn’t realize how much worse yet.
The next afternoon, Katsuki’s plan was simple.
Avoid lunch.
Avoid people.
Avoid questions.
Unfortunately, Hitoshi Shinso had apparently decided that wasn’t happening.
“Sit.”
Katsuki looked up from where he’d been trying to leave the cafeteria.
“No.”
Shinso pointed at the chair across from him.
“Sit.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll tell Aizawa you’ve been skipping meals.”
Katsuki froze.
Shinso smirked.
“Thought so.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Sit down.”
Grumbling under his breath, Katsuki dropped into the chair.
Immediately Shinso slid a tray toward him.
Katsuki stared at it like it had personally insulted him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That’s funny.”
Shinso leaned back.
“Because I didn’t ask.”
Katsuki glared.
Shinso glared back.
Neither moved.
Eventually Katsuki grabbed the fork.
Mostly because he knew Shinso was stubborn enough to sit there all day.
“Happy?”
“No.”
Katsuki took a bite.
Then another.
Then another.
The food felt heavy.
Every swallow felt wrong.
His stomach twisted.
By the time he’d eaten about half, nausea was creeping up his throat.
Shinso noticed immediately.
His eyes narrowed.
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You look green.”
“I’m always green.”
“No, that’s Midoriya.”
“Shut up.”
Shinso didn’t.
He kept watching.
Which made everything worse.
The cafeteria suddenly felt too loud.
Too crowded.
Too hot.
His heart started pounding.
The room tilted slightly.
Katsuki stood abruptly.
“I’m leaving.”
“What?”
“I’m done.”
“You barely—”
The chair scraped against the floor.
“I’m done.”
Then he walked out.
Fast.
Too fast.
The moment he reached the hallway, panic crashed over him.
His breathing became uneven.
His stomach churned.
He pressed a hand against the wall.
Not here.
Not now.
Not—
He spotted a large trash bin near a vending machine.
The hallway was empty.
Thank God.
Katsuki stumbled toward it.
A few moments later he was bent over, feeling miserable.
When it passed, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and closed his eyes.
Humiliation burned through him.
This was ridiculous.
Pathetic.
Weak.
Exactly the kind of thing he hated.
He stayed there for several seconds.
Trying to pull himself together.
Trying to look normal again.
Then he straightened up.
Only to freeze.
Someone was standing at the end of the hallway.
Shinso.
The two boys stared at each other.
Neither spoke.
For one horrible second Katsuki considered pretending nothing had happened.
Then he realized Shinso had obviously seen enough.
“Damn it.”
Shinso’s expression had completely changed.
Gone was the usual dry amusement.
Now he just looked concerned.
“Katsuki…”
“I’m fine.”
The words came automatically.
Instantly.
Shinso actually looked annoyed.
“Seriously?”
“I’m fine.”
“I literally just saw—”
“You saw nothing.”
“Katsuki.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Shinso stared.
The silence stretched.
Then Katsuki pushed past him.
Conversation over.
At least for him.
Unfortunately, Shinso wasn’t willing to let it go.
Neither was Jiro.
Because somehow, by dinner, Jiro already knew something had happened.
Katsuki suspected Shinso.
Shinso denied it.
Which basically confirmed it.
Now he found himself trapped in an empty music room after classes.
The moment he walked in, he knew he’d been ambushed.
Jiro sat on one desk.
Shinso leaned against the wall.
Both looked way too serious.
Katsuki immediately turned around.
“Nope.”
The door slammed shut.
Shinso was faster.
“Damn it.”
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“Katsuki.”
“No.”
Jiro crossed her arms.
“You’re making this look incredibly suspicious.”
“I don’t care.”
“Clearly.”
Katsuki glared at both of them.
“Can I leave now?”
“No,” they said simultaneously.
“Traitors.”
“We’re not your friends,” Jiro replied.
“You literally are.”
“Unfortunately.”
For a brief second, the familiar banter almost felt normal.
Then Shinso’s expression hardened again.
The room became serious.
“Katsuki.”
“What?”
“What happened in the hallway?”
“Nothing.”
“Katsuki.”
“Nothing.”
“Katsuki.”
“Nothing.”
Jiro groaned.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“Do you hear yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“You sound ridiculous.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Silence.
Then Jiro leaned forward.
“You haven’t been eating.”
“I have.”
“You barely touch your food.”
“I eat.”
“Not enough.”
Said too quickly.
Too defensively.
The room quieted.
Because that response had been telling.
Katsuki realized it immediately.
“Damn it.”
Shinso rubbed his face.
“When was the last time you slept properly?”
Katsuki didn’t answer.
“See?” Jiro said.
“That wasn’t the question.”
“You still didn’t answer.”
Katsuki looked away.
The concern in their faces made something uncomfortable twist in his chest.
He hated concern.
Anger was easier.
Concern meant people cared.
Concern meant people were paying attention.
Concern meant they might actually see through him.
Jiro’s voice softened.
Which somehow made everything worse.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Katsuki.”
“Nothing.”
“You know we don’t believe that.”
“Then stop asking.”
The words came out sharper than intended.
Jiro flinched.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
And immediately guilt joined the growing pile of emotions in Katsuki’s chest.
Fantastic.
Now he felt bad too.
The silence stretched.
Finally Shinso spoke.
Not angry.
Not frustrated.
Just tired.
“You don’t have to tell us everything.”
Katsuki stared at the floor.
“You don’t have to explain every thought in your head.”
Silence.
“But you can’t keep pretending everything’s normal.”
That hit harder than it should have.
Because normal.
Normal was the thing Katsuki wanted most.
He wanted things to go back to before the war.
Before One For All disappeared.
Before the guilt.
Before the nightmares.
Before every mirror became an enemy.
Before every meal became a battle.
But none of that was coming back.
And deep down, he knew it.
The room felt suffocatingly quiet.
Finally, after nearly a minute, Katsuki spoke.
His voice was low.
Barely audible.
“…I don’t know.”
Jiro blinked.
“What?”
Katsuki clenched his fists.
“I don’t know.”
For the first time in months, it was the truth.
Not “I’m fine.”
Not a lie.
Not an excuse.
Just the truth.
He didn’t know how to fix what was wrong.
He didn’t know how to stop feeling guilty.
He didn’t know how to stop hating himself.
He didn’t know why everything felt so difficult.
And judging by the look that passed between Jiro and Shinso, that single honest answer worried them more than all the lies combined.
The room went quiet after Katsuki’s admission.
“I don’t know.”
It was such a small sentence.
But for Katsuki Bakugo, it might as well have been a confession.
Jiro and Shinso exchanged a glance.
Neither of them looked satisfied.
If anything, they looked more concerned.
“Katsuki,” Jiro said carefully, “how long have you been feeling like this?”
His shoulders immediately tensed.
“Drop it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know.”
“Then answer it.”
Katsuki stared at the floor.
The pressure behind his eyes was getting worse.
He suddenly wanted to be anywhere else.
His dorm.
The training field.
A villain attack.
Literally anywhere but here.
Shinso frowned.
“You’ve been exhausted for months.”
“I’m fine.”
The words slipped out automatically.
Jiro groaned.
“There it is again.”
“Because it’s true.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I have eyes!”
The sharpness in her voice made Katsuki flinch.
Just slightly.
But both of them saw it.
And that made everything worse.
The room felt too warm.
Too small.
His heart was beating faster now.
“Katsuki,” Shinso said, softer this time, “we’re not trying to attack you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“We’re worried.”
The word hit him like a punch.
Worried.
Everyone was worried.
His parents.
Recovery Girl.
Kirishima.
Now these two.
Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?
“I’m going back to my dorm.”
He stood.
Neither moved.
“Katsuki.”
“Move.”
“No.”
His pulse jumped.
“Move.”
“Not until—”
“I said move.”
The room suddenly felt like it was closing in around him.
His chest tightened.
His breathing became uneven.
Jiro noticed first.
Her expression shifted.
“Hey.”
“I’m fine.”
“Katsuki.”
“I’m fine.”
His hands were shaking.
He shoved them into his pockets.
That didn’t help.
Shinso straightened from the wall.
“Take it easy.”
“I’m taking it easy.”
“No, you’re not.”
The concern in his voice made something twist painfully in Katsuki’s chest.
The room blurred slightly.
His stomach churned.
Not now.
Please not now.
He swallowed hard.
The feeling didn’t go away.
“Katsuki?”
Jiro’s voice sounded farther away than it should have.
“I’m leaving.”
He took two steps toward the door.
Then stopped.
The dizziness hit all at once.
The floor tilted.
His vision swam.
“Katsuki.”
Shinso was moving now.
Actually worried.
Actually scared.
And somehow that made everything worse.
Because now they could see it.
They could see he wasn’t okay.
The anxiety he’d been carrying around for months crashed into him all at once.
The questions.
The guilt.
The exhaustion.
The constant pretending.
It all became too much.
He doubled over suddenly.
Jiro jumped off the desk.
“Katsuki!”
For several long moments nobody said anything.
The room was silent except for Katsuki trying to steady his breathing.
When he finally looked up, he looked furious.
Not at them.
At himself.
Because he’d lost control.
Because they’d seen.
Because there was no pretending that everything was fine anymore.
Shinso’s voice was careful.
“How long has this been happening?”
Katsuki didn’t answer.
“How long?”
Silence.
Jiro’s eyes widened slightly.
“…Oh my God.”
Neither of them needed an answer anymore.
The answer was written all over him.
The weight loss.
The exhaustion.
The skipped meals.
The anxiety.
The way he’d nearly collapsed.
The way he looked like he hadn’t slept properly in months.
For the first time, Katsuki didn’t have a comeback.
Didn’t have a lie ready.
Didn’t have an excuse.
He just stood there breathing hard while two of his classmates looked at him with growing alarm.
And for the first time since the war ended, he couldn’t hide how badly he was struggling.
The tension in the room hadn’t gone away.
If anything, it had gotten worse.
Katsuki was sitting on the bathroom floor now, one arm draped over a bent knee, staring at the tiles like they had personally offended him.
Jiro had grabbed him a bottle of water.
It sat unopened beside him.
Neither of them had mentioned it.
Neither of them had mentioned what had just happened, either.
The silence stretched.
Then Shinso’s phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
“Dad.”
Jiro snorted.
“You’re still calling him that?”
“He’s literally my dad.”
He answered.
“Aizawa speaking.”
A pause.
Then Shinso rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.”
Another pause.
“No, I didn’t forget.”
Pause.
“Dad.”
Pause.
“I said I’m coming.”
The call ended.
Shinso looked tired.
“Apparently, I’m required to return home before he starts assuming I’ve been kidnapped.”
Jiro nodded.
“Fair.”
Shinso looked at Katsuki.
Not angry.
Not annoyed.
Just worried.
Again.
Katsuki hated that look.
“Don’t.”
Shinso blinked.
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that.”
Something flickered across Shinso’s face.
“Then stop giving everyone reasons to.”
Katsuki looked away.
A few seconds later, Shinso left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Leaving only Katsuki and Jiro.
And silence.
A lot of silence.
Way too much silence.
Jiro hopped onto the counter beside the sinks.
Katsuki remained on the floor next to the toilet.
Neither spoke for nearly a minute.
Then Jiro broke first.
“So.”
Katsuki groaned.
“No.”
“So can you ingest food at all?”
Katsuki looked horrified.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A valid one.”
“It is not.”
“You just got sick after lunch.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
Jiro raised an eyebrow.
“It means something.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Katsuki buried his face in his hands.
“This is the worst conversation I’ve ever had.”
“I doubt that.”
“It is.”
“I’ve heard some of your conversations with Midoriya.”
“…Second worst.”
Jiro smirked.
For a moment the tension eased.
Only for a moment.
Then her expression softened.
“Seriously.”
Katsuki’s shoulders immediately tensed again.
“Do meals make you feel sick a lot?”
The question hung in the air.
Katsuki didn’t answer.
Which was answer enough.
Jiro sighed.
“How long?”
Silence.
“Katsuki.”
He rubbed his eyes.
“A while.”
“A while as in weeks?”
No answer.
“A while as in months?”
The silence got heavier.
Jiro’s stomach dropped.
“Oh.”
Katsuki hated that sound.
That realization.
The moment someone figured out things were worse than they thought.
He stared at the floor.
“I didn’t ask for a diagnosis, Earphone Jack.”
“I’m not diagnosing anything.”
“Good.”
“I’m asking because you’re my friend.”
The words hit harder than expected.
Friend.
Katsuki didn’t know what to do with that.
Friends were supposed to be easy.
Friends were supposed to mean movie nights and stupid arguments and Kaminari doing something idiotic.
Not this.
Not sitting on a bathroom floor after nearly getting sick from anxiety.
Jiro leaned back against the mirror.
“Does anyone else know?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Nobody knows everything.”
That answer slipped out before he could stop it.
Jiro frowned.
Because that wasn’t a denial.
It sounded more like an admission.
People had noticed pieces.
The exhaustion.
The weight loss.
The isolation.
Nobody had seen the whole picture.
Until now.
Jiro was quiet for a long moment.
Then she picked up the water bottle and tossed it toward him.
Katsuki caught it automatically.
“Drink.”
“I’m not—”
“Drink.”
He glared.
She glared back.
Eventually he took a sip.
Jiro looked absurdly pleased with herself.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Pretty sure I do.”
“You voluntarily listened to Kaminari explain conspiracy theories for three hours last week.”
“Your point?”
“That alone proves you’re capable of caring about people.”
Katsuki groaned.
Jiro smiled slightly.
Then the smile faded.
“Katsuki.”
He looked away immediately.
“Have you told your parents how bad things have been?”
“No.”
“Kirishima?”
“No.”
“Midoriya?”
His jaw tightened.
“No.”
Jiro noticed.
Of course she noticed.
The mention of Midoriya always did something to him lately.
Something painful.
She didn’t push it.
Not yet.
Instead she asked quietly,
“Are you tired?”
Katsuki almost laughed.
The question sounded ridiculous.
Of course he was tired.
He was exhausted.
Tired of feeling guilty.
Tired of pretending.
Tired of lying.
Tired of worrying everyone.
Tired of being worried about.
After a long silence, he finally answered.
“…Yeah.”
It was barely above a whisper.
Jiro looked down at him.
And for the first time all afternoon, she didn’t ask another question.
She just sat there.
Keeping him company.
As if making sure he didn’t have to be alone with all of it for a little while.
The next morning, neither of them intended to skip class.
At least that was the story they were sticking to.
“Kaminari distracted us.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet,” Jiro said. “I’m still workshopping the lie.”
Katsuki snorted.
Somehow, after yesterday’s disaster of a conversation, he’d ended up sitting with Jiro behind one of the older training buildings instead of in homeroom.
The weather was nice.
The area was quiet.
And for the first time in weeks, nobody was asking him if he was okay.
Jiro was leaning against the wall, scrolling through her phone.
Katsuki sat nearby with a bottle of water she had practically forced into his hand.
Neither had spoken much.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.
Just… easy.
Then Jiro suddenly made a weird choking noise.
Katsuki looked over.
“What?”
She shoved her phone toward him.
“Look.”
He glanced down.
It was an old video.
Apparently from their first year.
The camera quality was terrible.
The angle was terrible.
Everything about it was terrible.
Then he realized what he was looking at.
“…No.”
Jiro immediately lost it.
The video showed Kaminari trying to impress everyone by jumping over a bench.
Instead, he’d caught his foot and face-planted directly into a bush.
The video ended with Mina laughing so hard she dropped the phone.
Katsuki stared for two seconds.
Then three.
Then—
A laugh escaped him.
A real one.
Not sarcastic.
Not mean.
Just genuine amusement.
Jiro’s eyes widened.
“OH MY GOD.”
“Shut up.”
“YOU LAUGHED.”
“Shut up.”
“You actually laughed!”
Katsuki was already regretting everything.
Unfortunately, Jiro was now laughing too hard to stop.
Which made him laugh again.
Which somehow made her laugh harder.
Five minutes later they were both sitting on the ground absolutely losing it.
Neither could even remember why it was so funny anymore.
Every time one of them started calming down, the other would wheeze out:
“The bush—”
And it would start all over again.
At one point Jiro had tears in her eyes.
Katsuki’s stomach hurt.
The good kind of hurt.
The kind that came from laughing too much.
Not the constant ache he’d been carrying around lately.
For a little while, everything else disappeared.
The guilt.
The anxiety.
The exhaustion.
The war.
All of it.
Gone.
Just for a few minutes.
Eventually they started calming down.
Jiro wiped her eyes.
“I can’t believe you’re laughing at Kaminari getting injured.”
“He wasn’t injured.”
“He screamed.”
“He always screams.”
“Fair.”
Silence settled between them again.
A comfortable one.
Then Jiro glanced over.
Katsuki was still smiling slightly.
A tiny smile.
The kind most people would’ve missed.
Jiro didn’t.
Because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him smile without forcing it.
The realization made her chest tighten.
Because underneath all the jokes and arguments and stubbornness…
He looked younger when he laughed.
Like the weight he’d been carrying disappeared for a second.
Then Katsuki noticed her looking.
The smile vanished immediately.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“No I’m not.”
“You are.”
Jiro rolled her eyes.
Then she stood.
“We should probably go back.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Aizawa is going to kill us.”
“That’s a future problem.”
Jiro stared.
Then started laughing again.
“Who are you and what have you done with Bakugo?”
“Shut up.”
But there was no real bite behind it.
And for the first time in a very long time, Katsuki didn’t feel completely miserable.
The feeling wouldn’t last.
Jiro knew that.
He knew that too.
But it was there.
A small crack in the darkness.
And sometimes, that was enough to get through one more day.
The laughter eventually faded.
Not all at once.
Just little by little.
Until they were sitting in comfortable silence behind the training building.
The sun was warm.
The grass moved in the breeze.
For a while neither of them spoke.
Katsuki was staring at the sky.
Jiro was picking at a loose thread on her sleeve.
It should’ve been a good moment.
But Jiro couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday.
About the bathroom floor.
About how exhausted he looked.
About how he’d admitted he didn’t know what was wrong.
Finally she broke the silence.
“Can I ask you something?”
Katsuki immediately groaned.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The serious conversation.”
Jiro rolled her eyes.
“You knew it was coming.”
“Unfortunately.”
For a second she almost laughed.
Then her expression softened.
“Katsuki.”
He didn’t look at her.
“What?”
She hesitated.
Trying to find the right words.
Trying not to make him shut down.
“What makes you do it?”
Silence.
Katsuki’s shoulders tensed.
Jiro continued quietly.
“What makes you do that to yourself, Bakugo?”
The question hung in the air.
For a long time he didn’t answer.
The breeze moved through the grass.
Students could be heard somewhere in the distance.
Life continued around them.
But neither moved.
Finally Katsuki spoke.
“…I don’t know.”
Jiro frowned.
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“It is.”
“No.”
He sighed heavily.
The kind of sigh that sounded exhausted all the way through.
Then he looked away.
“You ever know something’s stupid?”
Jiro nodded.
“Sure.”
“But you keep doing it anyway?”
The words came out rough.
Like they hurt.
“Yeah.”
Katsuki stared at the ground.
His jaw clenched.
“I know it’s stupid.”
Silence.
“I know it doesn’t help.”
Another silence.
“I know it makes everything worse.”
Jiro listened.
Didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t push.
Just listened.
Katsuki swallowed.
“It’s just…”
The words caught.
For a moment he looked angry.
Then tired.
Then something else.
Something sad.
“Every time I try to eat lately…”
He stopped.
Jiro waited.
“…it feels wrong.”
Her chest tightened.
“Wrong how?”
Katsuki laughed bitterly.
A humorless sound.
“I don’t know.”
The answer frustrated him.
She could tell.
“I just…”
He rubbed a hand over his face.
“People died.”
Silence.
“The war happened.”
Another silence.
“Deku lost his quirk.”
Jiro’s heart sank.
There it was.
The thing underneath everything.
The thing nobody had been able to touch.
Katsuki looked away.
“He gave up everything.”
His voice had gone quiet.
Dangerously quiet.
“And everybody keeps acting like it’s okay.”
The words cracked slightly.
Barely noticeable.
But Jiro heard it.
“So every time something good happens…”
He laughed again.
“Every time I eat.”
Silence.
“Every time I sleep.”
Another silence.
“Every time somebody worries about me.”
His hands clenched.
“It feels like I didn’t earn it.”
Jiro stared.
Because that wasn’t insecurity.
That wasn’t vanity.
That wasn’t what she’d expected.
It was guilt.
Pure, crushing guilt.
The kind that had rooted itself deep inside him.
“Katsuki…”
“I know.”
His voice was sharp.
Defensive.
Like he already knew what she was going to say.
“I know it doesn’t make sense.”
“No.”
“It doesn’t.”
“No.”
“It does.”
Jiro looked at him.
Really looked at him.
The tired eyes.
The exhaustion.
The way he held himself like he was carrying something heavy.
“It makes sense that you feel guilty.”
Katsuki looked up.
Surprised.
Jiro continued.
“But feeling guilty doesn’t mean you’re guilty.”
He froze.
Nobody had said that before.
At least not like that.
Not without immediately following it with a lecture.
The breeze shifted again.
Neither moved.
“You think Midoriya would want this?”
Jiro asked softly.
Katsuki immediately looked away.
Because he already knew the answer.
“No.”
“You think he’d be happy if he knew how miserable you are?”
“No.”
“You think he’d blame you?”
His jaw tightened.
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
Without hesitation.
Because Deku never blamed anybody except himself.
Jiro nodded.
“Then why do you get to blame you?”
Katsuki didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Because he’d never asked himself that question.
Not really.
The silence stretched.
Then Jiro leaned back against the wall.
“I’m not gonna pretend I know how to fix this.”
A small laugh escaped Katsuki.
“Good.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“But I don’t think punishing yourself is working.”
That earned another bitter snort.
“No kidding.”
For the first time, there was the faintest hint of a smile on Jiro’s face.
And after a moment—
The tiniest one appeared on Katsuki’s too.
Not because he felt better.
Not because everything was magically fixed.
But because for once someone had stopped treating him like a problem to solve.
They’d just listened.
And right now, that felt like enough.
Once Katsuki’s bathroom was fixed, he thought things would get easier.
No more shared bathrooms.
No more accidental run-ins.
No more Jiro catching him at the worst possible moment.
Just privacy.
And privacy, Katsuki figured, meant nobody would notice what he was doing.
The problem was that he underestimated how observant his friends had become.
Not because they were spying on him.
Because they cared.
For a few days, everything seemed normal.
Too normal.
Katsuki started disappearing more often.
Skipping movie nights.
Skipping common room hangouts.
Spending long stretches of time alone in his room.
Whenever someone knocked, he’d yell that he was busy.
Whenever someone asked how he was doing, he’d say he was fine.
The usual.
Only now, people weren’t buying it.
One evening, Mina looked around the common room.
“Where’s Bakugo?”
Nobody answered immediately.
Then Kaminari blinked.
“…Wait.”
“What?”
“I haven’t seen him all day.”
Jiro looked up from her homework.
“Neither have I.”
Kirishima frowned.
That wasn’t unusual by itself.
But combined with everything else?
It bothered him.
A lot.
Meanwhile, Katsuki sat on the floor of his room.
The lights were off.
His phone buzzed periodically with messages he wasn’t answering.
He knew people were worried.
That was part of the problem.
Every worried look made him feel worse.
Every concerned question made the guilt heavier.
So he’d started avoiding everyone.
It was easier that way.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
A knock sounded at his door.
Katsuki ignored it.
Another knock.
“Go away.”
“No.”
Kirishima.
Of course.
Katsuki groaned.
“I’m busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Stuff.”
“Very convincing.”
Silence.
Then another knock.
“Kats.”
“Leave.”
“No.”
Katsuki dropped his head against the wall.
Stubborn idiot.
Unfortunately, Kirishima was almost as stubborn as he was.
Several minutes later, Katsuki finally yanked open the door.
“What?!”
The words died immediately.
Because Kirishima wasn’t alone.
Jiro was there.
Mina.
Kaminari.
Even Sero.
The entire group looked back at him.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Intervention!” Kaminari announced.
“It is not an intervention,” Jiro said.
“It kind of is,” Mina replied.
Katsuki immediately tried closing the door.
They stopped him.
“Absolutely not,” Jiro said.
“Nope,” Mina agreed.
“Not happening,” Sero added.
Katsuki looked genuinely offended.
“You people are the worst.”
“We know.”
For a while they just sat in his room.
Nobody forced a conversation.
Nobody demanded answers.
Kaminari talked about something ridiculous he’d seen online.
Mina gossiped about classmates.
Sero made terrible jokes.
Jiro complained about homework.
The conversation drifted around Katsuki rather than toward him.
And slowly, despite himself, he started participating.
A comment here.
An insult there.
A sarcastic remark.
Tiny things.
But enough.
At one point, Kirishima glanced over.
Katsuki was arguing with Kaminari about something completely pointless.
His expression was annoyed.
Animated.
Alive.
It was the most normal he’d looked in months.
Not fixed.
Definitely not fixed.
But present.
Actually present.
Kirishima smiled slightly.
Jiro noticed.
She didn’t say anything.
Neither did he.
Because they both knew something important.
Whatever Katsuki was struggling with wasn’t going to disappear overnight.
There wasn’t a single conversation that would solve it.
No dramatic breakthrough.
No magical fix.
Just people who cared enough to keep showing up.
Even when he told them not to.
Especially when he told them not to.
And for the first time in a long while, Katsuki wasn’t alone in his room.
Even if he complained about it the entire time.
The fight started over something stupid.
Most fights between Katsuki and Mitsuki did.
A dirty dish.
A missed phone call.
A sarcastic comment.
Nobody could remember exactly what the first argument was about by the end.
Because it stopped being about that within thirty seconds.
Katsuki had come home for the weekend.
Normally that would’ve been fine.
A little loud.
A little chaotic.
But fine.
Unfortunately, both he and Mitsuki had been running on short tempers for months.
And eventually, something had to give.
“What do you mean you forgot to answer your phone?” Mitsuki snapped.
“I forgot.”
“You had twelve missed calls.”
“I was busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Living my life.”
Mitsuki’s eye twitched.
Masaru immediately sensed danger.
The way one senses an approaching natural disaster.
“Maybe we should all—”
“No.”
His wife and son said it simultaneously.
Masaru sat back down.
The argument escalated rapidly.
Like it always did.
Voices got louder.
Neither of them backed down.
Neither of them ever backed down.
“You disappear for days!”
“I’m not five years old!”
“You look exhausted!”
“I’m FINE!”
The moment the words left his mouth, Mitsuki froze.
Not because of what he’d said.
Because of how he’d said it.
The same way every time.
The same answer.
Always.
“I’m fine.”
Something in her expression changed.
“Katsuki.”
“No.”
“Katsuki.”
“No.”
“Stop saying that.”
His chest tightened immediately.
“What?”
“Stop saying you’re fine.”
The room went silent.
Dangerously silent.
Masaru looked between them nervously.
Mitsuki crossed her arms.
“You think I don’t see it?”
Katsuki’s stomach dropped.
Immediately.
“You barely come home.”
Silence.
“You barely answer calls.”
Silence.
“You look tired all the time.”
More silence.
“And every time someone asks how you’re doing—”
“I’m fine.”
The words came out automatically.
Mitsuki slammed her hand on the table.
“THAT!”
The sound echoed through the kitchen.
Masaru nearly jumped.
Katsuki’s jaw clenched.
“What do you want from me?”
“The truth.”
“I told you.”
“No.”
Mitsuki pointed at him.
“You gave me a script.”
The room became very quiet.
Because that hit closer than either of them wanted.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Katsuki laughed.
A short, angry sound.
“Of course.”
“Katsuki—”
“No.”
He stood up.
The chair scraped violently against the floor.
“You don’t get to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you’ve suddenly figured everything out.”
Mitsuki blinked.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means where was this before?”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Immediately.
The room froze.
Even Katsuki looked shocked.
Mitsuki’s expression hardened.
“What?”
His heart was pounding now.
Too fast.
Too loud.
“Forget it.”
“No.”
“Katsuki.”
“Forget it.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked like a whip.
The old familiar command.
The one that used to stop him in his tracks.
Not today.
“You wanna know what’s wrong?” he snapped.
“Fine.”
Silence.
“Everybody keeps asking me that.”
His breathing was uneven.
“Teachers.”
Another breath.
“Friends.”
Another.
“You.”
Mitsuki stared.
“And nobody listens when I answer.”
The words hung in the air.
Raw.
Painful.
Honest.
For once.
Because the truth was that Katsuki didn’t have a neat explanation.
Didn’t have a solution.
Didn’t know how to put months of guilt and exhaustion into words.
And every time someone demanded answers, it just made him feel worse.
For a second, Mitsuki looked angry.
Then frustrated.
Then something else.
Something closer to hurt.
“I’m trying to help you.”
The anger drained out of Katsuki all at once.
Leaving only exhaustion.
“I know.”
His voice was quieter now.
“I know.”
The silence that followed felt awful.
Because neither of them actually wanted to fight.
Neither of them knew how to stop.
Finally Katsuki looked away.
“I’m done.”
“Katsuki—”
“I’m done.”
Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Fast.
Before anybody could stop him.
Before anybody could say anything else.
The stairs shook beneath his footsteps.
A moment later his bedroom door slammed hard enough to rattle the hallway.
Downstairs, silence settled over the house.
Masaru rubbed the back of his neck.
“…That could’ve gone better.”
Mitsuki didn’t answer.
She was staring at the staircase.
Thinking about the dark circles under her son’s eyes.
Thinking about how defensive he’d become.
Thinking about the way he’d looked when he’d said:
“Everybody keeps asking me that.”
For the first time, she wondered if she’d been asking the wrong question.
Not what’s wrong?
But how long have you been carrying this alone?
Upstairs, Katsuki sat on the floor with his back against the door.
His pulse was still racing.
The fight replayed in his head.
Every word.
Every expression.
Every mistake.
And despite how angry he’d been a few minutes ago, all he felt now was tired.
Just tired.
The kind of tired that sleep never seemed to fix.
The house was quiet after the fight.
Too quiet.
Mitsuki was downstairs pretending to watch television.
Masaru was pretending to read the newspaper.
Neither was actually doing either.
The argument kept replaying in both their heads.
Eventually Masaru stood.
“I’m going to check on him.”
Mitsuki didn’t look away from the television.
“He’s just going to yell at you too.”
“Maybe.”
“He got that temper from you.”
Masaru smiled slightly.
“I’m pretty sure he got it from you.”
Mitsuki threw a pillow at him.
A few minutes later, Masaru knocked on Katsuki’s bedroom door.
No answer.
He opened it anyway.
The room was dark.
The curtains were closed.
A lump sat in the middle of the bed beneath several blankets.
Masaru immediately knew Katsuki was awake.
“Katsuki.”
A grunt came from the blanket pile.
“Dinner’s ready.”
A pause.
Then a muffled response.
“You and Hag can eat.”
Masaru hid a smile.
Even after all these years, Katsuki still called Mitsuki that when he was upset.
“I’m not hungry.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because lately, that answer came far too easily.
“Just leave me alone, Dad.”
Masaru didn’t leave.
Instead, he crossed the room and sat carefully on the edge of the bed.
The blanket lump shifted slightly.
Neither spoke for a moment.
Finally Masaru sighed.
“Katsuki.”
No response.
“Your mother loves you very much.”
The blanket shifted again.
“She just doesn’t always know how to show it.”
Silence.
“Neither do I, sometimes.”
That finally got a reaction.
A small one.
The blanket lowered enough for Katsuki’s eyes to peek out.
Masaru smiled softly.
“We’ve never been very good at saying things.”
A weak snort came from beneath the blanket.
That was true.
The Bakugo family specialized in yelling.
Not feelings.
Definitely not feelings.
Masaru reached over and gently brushed some blond hair away from Katsuki’s face.
“You know your mother worries about you constantly?”
Katsuki looked away.
“Yeah.”
“She’s worried now.”
“She’s always worried.”
“Because you’re her son.”
The room fell quiet again.
Masaru’s smile faded.
“We’re proud of you.”
Katsuki’s eyes squeezed shut.
“All the time.”
The words came out softly.
Honestly.
“No matter what.”
Something in Katsuki cracked.
Just a little.
“We worry all the time too.”
That did it.
The tears came suddenly.
Not dramatic.
Not sobbing.
Just quiet tears he clearly didn’t want anyone to see.
Immediately Katsuki rolled over.
Trying to hide his face.
Instead he ended up pressing it against Masaru’s lap.
Like he used to when he was little.
Before U.A.
Before the war.
Before all of this.
Masaru froze for half a second.
Then carefully rested a hand on his son’s hair.
Neither mentioned the tears.
Neither needed to.
For several minutes the room remained silent.
The only sound was Katsuki trying very hard not to cry.
Eventually he spoke.
His voice was small.
Painfully small.
“I love her too.”
Masaru’s heart broke.
Because of course he did.
For all the yelling.
For all the arguments.
For all the slammed doors.
Katsuki loved his mother fiercely.
Just like she loved him.
Neither of them were very good at saying it.
Masaru stroked his hair gently.
“I know.”
Katsuki laughed weakly through the tears.
“She’s so damn annoying.”
Masaru chuckled.
“You’re very similar.”
“That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“It might be.”
Another laugh escaped Katsuki.
Small.
Shaky.
But real.
Masaru smiled.
Then after a moment he said quietly,
“You don’t have to carry everything by yourself, you know.”
The laughter vanished.
The room became still.
Masaru didn’t push.
Didn’t demand answers.
Didn’t ask questions.
He simply sat there.
Offering the truth.
“You’ve been trying very hard to look strong lately.”
Katsuki stared at the blanket.
“And I’m proud of how strong you are.”
A pause.
“But strength isn’t carrying pain alone.”
Katsuki’s throat tightened.
Because part of him knew that.
Had known it for months.
He just hadn’t believed it applied to him.
Masaru squeezed his shoulder gently.
“You don’t have to tell me everything tonight.”
Silence.
“You don’t have to fix everything tonight.”
More silence.
“You just have to let people love you.”
That hurt more than anything else.
Because after everything that had happened…
Katsuki wasn’t sure he deserved it.
And somehow Masaru seemed to understand that.
Because his father simply smiled and said,
“You don’t earn being loved, Katsuki.”
The tears started again.
And this time, Katsuki didn’t try quite so hard to hide them.