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The training grounds were almost empty by the time Katsuki Bakugo finally admitted he was exhausted.
The sky had faded into soft shades of orange and violet, painting long shadows across the cracked concrete. Most of Class 1-A had already returned to the dorms for dinner, laughing loudly somewhere in the distance.
Bakugo hated how quiet it became afterward.
He launched one last explosion toward a practice target. The blast echoed through the empty field, sending dust into the evening air.
“…Tch.”
It wasn’t enough.
It never felt like enough anymore.
“You know,” a familiar voice called, “Recovery Girl is going to scold you if you keep pushing yourself like that.”
Bakugo didn’t bother turning around.
“I didn’t ask.”
Izuku Midoriya stepped closer anyway, carrying two water bottles. One was already opened, the other still sealed.
“I figured.”
Bakugo rolled his eyes but accepted the bottle without another complaint.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The silence wasn’t awkward.
It hadn’t been for a long time.
Years ago, silence between them meant anger, resentment, words left unsaid. Now it simply meant they understood each other well enough that conversation wasn’t always necessary.
Izuku sat beside him on the low concrete wall surrounding the training field.
“You’ve been staying out here every night.”
“So?”
“So…” Izuku smiled carefully. “I’m worried.”
“I’m fine.”
“You always say that.”
“Because I am.”
Izuku looked down at the bottle in his hands.
“…You’re lying.”
Bakugo clicked his tongue.
“Damn nerd.”
“You didn’t deny it.”
Another long pause settled between them.
Finally, Bakugo sighed.
“…Extras are catching up.”
Izuku blinked.
“What?”
“They’re getting stronger.”
“You are too.”
“Not fast enough.”
His voice came out quieter than either of them expected.
Bakugo hated that.
He hated sounding uncertain.
“I can’t afford to slow down,” he muttered.
Izuku watched him carefully.
He recognized that expression.
It was the same one Bakugo wore after difficult battles.
The one he tried so hard to hide.
“You know,” Izuku said softly, “everyone else probably thinks the same thing when they look at you.”
“They shouldn’t.”
“They do.”
Bakugo laughed bitterly.
“You’ve got One For All.”
“And?”
“You’ve always had something to chase.”
Izuku froze.
Those words hurt more than Bakugo probably realized.
“…Not always.”
Bakugo frowned.
“I spent my entire childhood chasing you.”
Silence.
Bakugo stared at him.
Izuku gave a weak laugh.
“It sounds strange now, doesn’t it?”
“No.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No.”
Bakugo looked away.
“I noticed.”
Izuku blinked again.
“You… noticed?”
“You followed me everywhere.”
“You told me to stop.”
“I know.”
“…You bullied me.”
“I know.”
Neither of them moved.
The weight of old memories settled over them like cold rain.
Finally, Bakugo rubbed a hand across his face.
“I was awful.”
Izuku immediately shook his head.
“You’ve changed.”
“Doesn’t erase it.”
“No.”
Bakugo looked surprised.
“No,” Izuku repeated. “It doesn’t.”
The honesty lingered between them.
“But…” Izuku continued, “…you’ve spent years trying to become someone better.”
Bakugo let out a slow breath.
“I don’t deserve forgiveness just because I changed.”
“I didn’t forgive you because you changed.”
Bakugo looked at him again.
“I forgave you because every single day after that…” Izuku smiled gently, “…you kept proving that you meant it.”
The words landed harder than any explosion.
Bakugo wasn’t good with emotions.
He could fight villains without hesitation.
He could charge into danger.
He could win impossible battles.
But kindness—
Kindness always caught him off guard.
“You really are an idiot.”
“I’ve been told.”
“The biggest.”
“I know.”
Bakugo bumped his shoulder against Izuku’s.
“…Thanks.”
Izuku smiled so brightly it almost hurt to look at.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You said thank you.”
“I’ll take it back.”
“Nope.”
“I hate you.”
“I know you don’t.”
“Tch.”
Another comfortable silence.
The evening breeze carried the scent of fresh grass through the training field.
After a few minutes, Izuku spoke again.
“…Can I tell you something?”
Bakugo nodded once.
“I still get scared.”
Bakugo frowned.
“Of villains?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then what?”
Izuku hesitated.
“…That everyone expects too much.”
Bakugo stayed quiet.
“I have One For All.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m supposed to become this incredible hero.”
“You will.”
“But what if I can’t?”
Bakugo answered immediately.
“You can.”
“You’re biased.”
“I’m right.”
Izuku laughed quietly.
“I still make mistakes.”
“So do I.”
“I panic.”
“So do I.”
“I overthink everything.”
“You definitely do.”
Izuku couldn’t help smiling.
“But…” he admitted, “…sometimes I wonder if people only see the power.”
Bakugo looked directly at him.
“I don’t.”
“…No?”
“I see the nerd.”
Izuku laughed.
“I mean it.”
Bakugo crossed his arms.
“I see someone who keeps getting back up.”
His voice became unexpectedly gentle.
“I see someone stupid enough to throw himself in front of danger for complete strangers.”
“I—”
“I see someone who’s terrified half the time.”
Izuku’s eyes widened.
“But you move anyway.”
Bakugo looked away again before finishing.
“That’s what makes you strong.”
The words settled into Izuku’s chest with a warmth he hadn’t expected.
He’d heard people call him brave.
Hopeful.
Inspiring.
But hearing Bakugo say it—
That was different.
Because Bakugo had seen every version of him.
The crying child.
The quirkless dreamer.
The reckless student.
The hero still learning.
If anyone knew his flaws, it was him.
“You really believe that?”
Bakugo snorted.
“I wouldn’t waste my breath if I didn’t.”
Izuku smiled so softly it almost looked fragile.
“…Thank you.”
Bakugo scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Quit looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re gonna cry.”
“I’m not.”
“You literally are.”
“I might be a little.”
“You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Without thinking, Izuku leaned against Bakugo’s shoulder.
Bakugo stiffened.
“…Oi.”
“Hm?”
“…People are gonna see.”
“It’s almost dark.”
“…Still.”
“You can move away.”
Bakugo didn’t.
Instead, after several painfully long seconds, he leaned back just enough that Izuku rested more comfortably.
“…Don’t get used to this.”
“I already am.”
“You’ve got nerve.”
“You’ve rubbed off on me.”
“That’s concerning.”
Izuku laughed, the sound light and genuine.
For the first time in weeks, neither of them was thinking about rankings, expectations, or the future.
Just the quiet evening.
The cooling air.
The steady rhythm of breathing beside one another.
Bakugo glanced sideways.
“…You know.”
“Hm?”
“If you’re scared.”
Izuku looked up.
“…Tell me.”
The sentence was short.
Simple.
But Bakugo didn’t say things like that lightly.
Izuku felt his chest tighten.
“…Only if you do the same.”
Bakugo scoffed.
“Making deals now?”
“Seems fair.”
“…Fine.”
“Promise?”
Bakugo sighed dramatically.
“I promise.”
Izuku held out his pinky with an amused grin.
Bakugo stared at it.
“…Seriously?”
“It’s important.”
“We’re adults.”
“It’s still important.”
Bakugo groaned louder than necessary before hooking his pinky around Izuku’s.
“There.”
“You smiled.”
“I did not.”
“You definitely did.”
“Shut up.”
“You smiled again.”
“I’m gonna blow you up.”
“You won’t.”
“…Probably not.”
Izuku laughed until tears gathered in his eyes again.
This time, they weren’t from fear.
Bakugo noticed.
He pretended not to.
Some things didn’t need to be acknowledged aloud.
As the last light disappeared behind the horizon, they remained there together, shoulders touching beneath the quiet summer sky.
Neither of them had all the answers.
Neither of them believed they were enough all the time.
But perhaps that was the point.
Strength wasn’t the absence of doubt.
It was choosing to keep walking despite it.
And somehow, after everything they had survived—after every mistake, every apology, every fight, and every step forward—they had become each other’s quiet place.
Not because either of them was perfect.
But because, together, they no longer had to pretend they were.