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Izuku couldn’t sleep. His face burned as it continued to heal, and he kept wanting to scratch his shaved head, which itched uncomfortably against his scalp. Annoyed, he kicked the blanket off his hot body and sat up. He grabbed a hoodie so he could pull the hood over his head—even though he wouldn’t admit it, he had a hard time looking at himself in the mirror; a freckle-free face, a shaved head with a scar—it all looked strange, and he didn’t like it—and he headed out into the dormitory hallways.
He knew Aizawa was watching him through the security cameras, but he also knew he wouldn’t stop him. After the war, he’d tried to give them some space, a little freedom. They needed to rest, regain their strength, but above all, come to terms with what they’d been through. They had lost a lot. Their childhood had ended abruptly and been replaced by a cruel reality that gnawed at them every day and poisoned their childish hearts, which were maturing far too quickly. If any of his students wanted to wander the hallways at night, he let them. They had to come to terms with things he couldn’t even imagine at their age.
Izuku went to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. No one was in the main room. For a few days after the war, everyone had gathered there. Most of them couldn’t sleep alone—they were plagued by nightmares or simply needed the comfort of someone they trusted. They watched movies, played games, chatted occasionally, and some even slept in each other’s arms. A sense of togetherness, a battle against inner demons. They were there for one another. Izuku was glad he wasn’t alone in this, but somewhere deep inside him, a voice kept whispering that he was to blame for everything. If he hadn’t been greedy and hadn’t wanted a quirk to be as great as All Might, the war would never have happened. Or maybe it would have? Who would have been the chosen one to fight Shigaraki? What if they hadn’t won? What if he hadn’t won?
He was having trouble breathing again. He tried to take another sip, but his throat tightened and he had to spit the water into the sink. His stomach churned. He wiped his wet mouth and decided to go out to the garden, where they had a few benches, umbrellas, and flower and vegetable beds that they tended in their spare time and harvested in the fall.
He wedged a pillow against the door to keep it from slamming shut behind him and stepped outside. It was cold. Colder than he’d expected. He sat down at the table they used for barbecues, his feet resting where they usually sat. He tilted his head back. The moon shone brightly, but no stars were visible. They were hiding. Just like him. From the world and from themselves.
He heard the door creak. He turned slightly. “I saw you.” Bakugou. Izuku lowered his head and stared at his feet in his slippers. He’d forgotten to change his shoes.
“What are you doing here?” Izuku asked quietly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.
Bakugou sat down next to him. Izuku made space between them, almost as if he were afraid they’d be too close. He frowned and pulled his hoodie tighter around himself. Bakugou noticed. He frowned too but decided not to comment. “I could ask you the same thing.” His voice sounded so off. Izuku didn’t like it at all. Since when had he started talking to him like that—so soft? He was afraid of the change. He didn’t know what to make of it. Bakugou was anything but gentle. He knew his heart; he knew he was gentle and loving, but soft?
He shifted away slightly again. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. Bakugou grunted. He looked up at the sky, just as Izuku had a moment ago. Izuku took him in. He was wearing long gray pants and a loose white T-shirt—the same outfit he always wore to bed. “You too?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” he replied, his chin still turned toward the sky.
Izuku’s eyes drifted to his right hand, which was completely wrapped in bandages. He’d been at the hospital yesterday for a check-up. They’d told him his hand was healing better than expected, and they’d already loosened the bandages around his fingers. Izuku noticed that there were deep wounds on them, and scars were forming. He swallowed. Bakugou’s skin had always been perfect, smooth, without a single blemish. And now? Because of the war, his body was covered with one scar after another.
Bakugou took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. He turned to Izuku. This time, Izuku focused his eyes on his face. It was no longer covered in bandages, and he could see the stitched wound just below his eye, which stretched across his entire face. Even in the moonlight, he could see it was smeared with disinfectant. He probably let it breathe overnight so it wouldn’t get steamed up under the bandage. He swallowed. He lowered his gaze back to the ground and grew somber.
Bakugou noticed. Everyone was grappling with what had happened and trying to come to terms with it internally. For some, it took longer. Izuku was one of them. He carried the pain and worries of everyone on his shoulders, as if saving Japan weren’t enough for this sixteen-year-old boy who had sacrificed everything—his body, soul, dreams, and quirk—so that others could breathe and continue living.
He was tormented. Wordlessly, yet more loudly.
“I want to show you something,” Bakugou said, and Izuku turned to look at him with interest. He tried to calm his heart, which leapt at the slightest sign of interest from Bakugou, as if he’d won a competition he could never possibly win. “Come closer,” he asked. Izuku obeyed. After all, he always did.
Bakugou held out his right hand; it was just above Izuku’s lap. He pressed his fingers lightly. An orange glow flashed beneath the bandage. Again, after a few seconds. Drops of sweat formed on his fingertips. Soon, a flash appeared around his fingers.
“K-Kacchan,” he said excitedly. Sparks began to fly around his palm. Small, faint, almost imperceptible—but they were there! In a hand that wasn’t even supposed to work, in a hand that was supposed to be buried and burned along with his entire arm, forcing him to learn to use a prosthesis—all of that, just so Bakugou could prove he was stronger than everything the doctors had predicted. He was defying his fate and forging his own path. Toward victory. “Ka—” He wanted to shout excitedly; to ask him how long it would take for his hand to heal enough to shoot out loud explosions again, when he investigated his face. It was contorted with pain. His forehead was beaded with sweat. His eyes were fixed on his palm, staring at it as if hypnotized. Only now did he notice how he was moving his right leg up and down. He was trying to hide his pain. “That’s enough,” he whispered, pulling a little closer to him again, “that’s enough, Kacchan, I’ve seen enough.”
“No,” Bakugou said proudly, “You didn’t.” With that, small orange flashes began to appear beneath the bandage. From his fingertips, across his palm, forearm, and up his arm, all the way to his neck. Izuku’s mouth fell open in surprise. Bakugou—his explosions—were everywhere. “Cool, huh?” His voice was hoarse, but there was still pride and excitement in it as always.
“That’s awesome, Kacchan,” Izuku whispered admiringly, and without realizing it, he reached out his hand toward his neck, which was pulsing with orange and forming beads of sweat that slowly exploded. He wiped one drop away with his finger. It was sticky. “Can you use your quirk all over your body now?”
“Yeah,” Bakugou said proudly, resting his hand on his knee. He hadn’t stopped emitting little sparks from it, but he had to put it down now. It hurt to keep it outstretched for so long. He was far from the end of his recovery. He still had a long road ahead of him. “I can’t wait to master this. I’ll be unstoppable.”
Izuku smiled. That enthusiasm was almost contagious. But—but… “That’s great,” he said honestly, trying to hide just how much it pained him that he would never use a Quirk again. Sure, he still had fragments within him that allowed him to use at least bits and pieces of his former abilities; but it wasn’t enough. He knew that his ability would eventually fade away, and he’d be back to being the good-for-nothing everyone had seen him as for most of his life.
Where did all this negativity come from? He’d always tried to rise above it, look at everything from the positive side, find the silver lining in everything. But on the battlefield, he’d left behind more than just his dream. It was hard to grapple with all of it.
“Hey.” Izuku flinched. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even realized he’d fallen silent. He wanted to say something, but instead was surprised to feel a salty taste in his mouth. He raised his hand to his face. He was crying. Quietly. But the tears were big, hot, and very salty. He blinked quickly, but instead of stopping them, it made them flow even faster.
“D-Damn it,” Izuku whispered and began wiping his tears with the sleeves of his hoodie. Bakugou looked at him with an uncertain expression on his face. “I’m sorry, I-I…” He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for. He was used to saying it. It was slowly losing its meaning.
Bakugou reached up to his head and pulled off his hood. Then he moved his hands to his face and took his hands in his own. He placed them in his lap. “Look at me, Izuku.” His name sounded so sweet and intoxicating coming from his lips. Izuku had grown accustomed to it. Ever since that rainy day when he’d said it for the first time and fallen into his arms, he couldn’t forget how powerfully his heart had raced. “You know you can cry, scream, and curse, right?” Izuku sniffed and tried to object, but he couldn’t. Bakugou didn’t give him the chance. “You’ve been through a lot. We all have. But you’ve lost more than the rest of us.” Izuku flinched when Bakugou grabbed his shoulder with his good hand and pulled him close to his chest. He rested his chin in Izuku’s green hair and closed his eyes. “Scream. You can. I’ll hold you so you know nothing can happen to you.”
Izuku lost control. He took a deep breath and began screaming, crying, and wailing at the top of his lungs into Bakugou’s chest. Occasionally he whispered or said something, but his words made almost no sense. He was crying because of the pain, the sadness, and the fear that had been building up inside him. He cried for Shigaraki, for his mother, whose hair had turned white with horror, for the Quirk that wasn’t his, but which he had so desperately wanted. He cried for what he had lost, what he had gained, what might have been. He could still see Bakugou’s lifeless body before him, his chest heaving as Edgeshot tried to resuscitate him. He would never erase that scene from his memory. It would haunt him in his dreams forever.
Bakugou sat there, his bandaged arm on his lap, his other arm around Izuku’s shoulder so that his palm could touch his hair and stroke it. Occasionally, he brushed against the shaved patch and twitched his fingers. It was so strange to feel his skin in a place that, just a few weeks ago, had been covered by a thick mane of the strangest color he’d ever seen.
After a few minutes, his sobs subsided. “Better?” Bakugou asked him cautiously. He didn’t say anything. Bakugou tilted his head down slightly so he could look at Izuku’s face when he felt Izuku touch his cheek. “Izu—”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he leaned in and kissed him.
Bakugou flinched. He wanted to pull back, to push him away, but when his wet, salty lips touched his, he suddenly stopped thinking rationally. His mind told him to do something, but his body wanted to lean in toward Izuku just a little more. To taste him more deeply. To press him closer to his body. Izuku parted his lips slightly, wanting to taste more of the man who had been his inspiration, his desire, and his mystery for so many years, when—
BOOM BOOM BOOM
They both pulled away from each other sharply. Bakugou wiped his wet mouth. His face was flushed not only from the kiss, but also from what he had just done. “K-Kacchan,” Izuku laughed. Sparks and stars were flying around Bakugou’s head. It looked—beautiful. As if he were the ruler of the sun itself, which had just decided to shine right next to his face. Bakugou grumbled and looked down at the ground. “That’s beautiful,” Izuku whispered breathlessly.
“You idiot,” Bakugou laughed and pulled his hand away from his mouth.
Another tear rolled down Izuku’s cheek, but immediately after, he started laughing. Bakugou, without knowing why he did it, started laughing too. They sat there, laughing into the night and enjoying the small, hot sparks flying around them.
They were processing the emotions and experiences of the battle in their own ways. But they were there for each other. They’d get through this.