Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time it happens, it comes so completely out of nowhere that Izuku is pretty sure he’s hallucinating. 

"You… what?" 

"I said, I'm sorry. Don't make me repeat it again, Deku." 

Or dreaming, that’s another option. Why else would Bakugou apologize and then say Deku like that in the same breath? But, given that the floor feels real and firm beneath Izuku's feet, and when he pinches himself nothing changes, Izuku is going to put his money on hallucinating. 

“I got enough sleep last night, didn’t I?” He mumbles to himself, “Pretty sure I got at least 5 hours. I’ve gone through days on less before, and nothing like this ever happened, so it makes no sense for a lack of sleep to be the reason now. Maybe all the exhaustion has been building up? Can that happen? Can exhaustion accrue interest?" 

“Deku, what the actual fuck are you talking about?” Hallucination Bakugou asks, looking a weird mix of nervous and irritated. Irritated, Izuku understands, that's a standard Kacchan emotion. But, nervous? Bakugou is never nervous, and if he was he would only be nervous right now if he actually cared about how Izuku would react. Bakugou hasn't cared about Izuku's feelings in years.

“Give me a minute, Kacchan, I need to test something.” Izuku mutters, then he reaches out and pinches Bakugou’s arm too. 

“Ow! Holy shit, what was that for, nerd? You wanna die?!” Bakugou shouts, hands sparking and popping. He doesn’t actually make a move to hit Izuku though, which is another surprise. 

Izuku stares at his own fingers, brows furrowed in confusion, “You felt real too. Maybe just the things I’m hearing aren’t real then.” 

“Are you even listening? Don’t ignore me, Deku!” 

“I’m not ignoring you,” Izuku answers easily, as he gives himself another, much harder pinch, just to be extra sure. His arm has two bright red spots on it now, just above one of his more ragged scars. Izuku frowns at them like they’ve just betrayed him to the League of Villains. “You’re acting so out of character for yourself. I’m just not sure what you’re saying is real.” 

“What I’m s- what the hell, of course everything I’m saying is real!” Bakugou snaps, nose scrunched in an offended snarl. “Is it really that hard to believe I’d own up to my shit?” 

Alright, now Izuku is sure he’s at least having auditory hallucinations. He barks out a laugh, looks Bakugou straight in the eye, and says “Yes.” 

Then Izuku spins on his heel and books it down the hallway. 

Bakugou lets out a completely incomprehensible screech behind him, explosions cracking through the air.

Izuku doesn’t think anyone would blame him for using just the teeniest tiniest percentage of his quirk to move a little faster. Sure, Iida might reprimand him for running in the halls, and Aizawa might give him a disappointed stare, but just “Bakugou” should work as an understandable and acceptable excuse.

He arrives at their classroom door like a racecar screeching to a halt, with the rubber soles of his shoes practically smoking as they leave genuine skid-marks on the vinyl flooring. Only Jirou and Yaoyorozu are there to witness it, and they stare at him with wide eyes as Izuku offers them a quick wave before he flings the door open and marches in. 

“Todoroki.” Izuku says, smiling pleasantly, “Good morning. I need you to make some ice and stick it down my shirt right now.” 

Todoroki lifts his head from where he’d been dozing on his desk, eyes squinted like a disgruntled cat’s, “You need me to what?” 

Still smiling, Izuku grabs Todoroki’s right hand a little desperately, “Ice, down my shirt, now.” 

Todoroki looks extremely confused, as does literally everyone else in the classroom who is watching their exchange, but he obliges.

“WOW that’s cold!” Izuku gasps, as he shakes himself and untucks his shirt to get the ice to fall out, “But I feel much more awake now, thank you.” 

Todoroki gives Izuku another squint, then shrugs without any further questions, and settles his head back down onto his folded arms. He’s a good friend.

“Deku, what was that about?” Uraraka asks, right as Bakugou slams the door open.

Izuku’s not proud of the little “eep!” sound he makes as he ducks behind Uraraka. 

Bakugou stalks over like he’s planning to murder Izuku, chop him into pieces, mail them all to himself, and then dropkick the boxes one by one into the ocean. Izuku likes his body fully intact, thank you very much, so for the time being he hopes Uraraka can forgive him for using her as a human shield. Bakugou actually respects her, so the chance that he’ll be murdering and chopping her up is significantly lower. 

“Where do you get off thinking you can run like a coward from me, Deku?” Bakugou says to Izuku over Uraraka’s shoulder. She glares at him and sticks out her tongue, but Bakugou ignores her - he can only focus on one target to antagonize at a time.

“You know me, Kacchan, running from you was my favorite pastime in middle school. It’s hard to give it up sometimes.” Izuku says without thinking.

He hears himself say the words - which is already a bit of a reality stretch, because never in a million years would Izuku do anything more than dream about saying something like that to Bakugou's face - but he’s not quite sure if they really sound that bitter, or if the ice didn’t work and he’s still having auditory hallucinations. He’s heard himself angry, and upset, and a myriad of other emotions, but the bitterness is new. Izuku never knew his voice could sound like that.

Bakugou reels back, expression wide open and shocked, as if Izuku actually slapping him would’ve been kinder. Izuku is sure he looks just as shaken himself. Acknowledging the specifics of how Bakugou treated Izuku in middle school has always been an unspoken line neither of them had dared to cross, but now that Bakugou's opened the can of worms with a rusty can opener badly labelled "I'm sorry" it seems the universe has decided it’s open season. 

Bakugou gets over his shock quickly, and then his eyes alight with fury. There’s the Kacchan Izuku knows. “You little- after what I just said you go and say that shit? You’re gonna throw it back into my face like that?”

"To be fair to me." Izuku says, "I'm still only 75% sure any of this is really happening."

Aizawa walks in just in time to cancel their quirks and stop a three-way mess made up of Bakugou practically climbing over Uraraka to grab Izuku's hair and burn half of it off, Izuku going under Uraraka's arm to try and escape, and Uraraka launching them both up to the ceiling to get them off of her. Around them a few of their classmates have formed a loose semicircle, half of them chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight!" (Kaminari, Ashido, Hagakure, Sero) and the other half trying desperately to get the fighting to stop (Kirishima, Yaoyorozu, Iida, Ojiro).

Uraraka is spared Aizawa's wrath, but Bakugou and Izuku receive three more days of doing the dorm chores. The entire class is then punished by having to sit quietly and do nothing the entire period, which is really just an excuse for Aizawa to sleep at his desk.

"A whole class of problem children." Izuku hears the man mutter as he sinks deeper than ever thought possible into his sleeping bag. “How did I get a whole class of them?”

Izuku is actually kind of glad for the mandated silence. It gives him a whole forty minutes to just scream to himself inside his head.

Chapter Text

The second time it happens, Izuku is positive he's dreaming.

After the surprise of the first apology wore off, Izuku spent the rest of the day avoiding Bakugou and tearing his mind apart trying to figure out what had caused it. An entire notebook page, now crumpled up and shoved into the back of Izuku’s desk drawer where he will never ever look at it again, is practically soaked in ink with any possible reason Izuku could think of. And even after all that thought, only four stand out as plausible enough to consider seriously.

1. Being kidnapped by the LoV left a stronger impression than first thought. Showed him some of his actions could be thought of as villainous
2. Our fight made him realize I had never looked down on him. Now he feels bad? 
3. Our fight made him realize that hurting me when I was quirkless unable to match his power was wrong
4. Remedial classes are helping? Taught him more about how to save people and be empathetic. This is his weird attempt at getting over the past. Most likely. 
5. He sees me as an equal now only because I have a quirk. Would not be apologizing if I was still quirkless. 

Something about those reasons leaves a sour taste in Izuku’s mouth though, and he can’t figure it out. Everything about Bakugou - his pride, his strength, his hunger for victory - points away from Izuku ever getting an apology, or Bakugou ever wanting to give one. Izuku feels worn down, like he’s been pinning a red string to a cork board all day, and he’s still no closer than he was this morning to really understanding why Bakugou would decide to try and apologize now.  

The whole thing has left him restless, mind wound up like an out of tune music box that just won’t shut up and leave him alone.

Which leads Izuku to where he is now, haunting the dorm kitchen at 2am like a hungry, anxious ghost, who isn't really sure he's actually awake.

The light from the refrigerator is casting the kitchen in a dim, dusty glow, and the whole world hangs silent around him as he stares numbly into it. Nothing inside looks appetizing, or even edible to begin with. Izuku thinks something in the back corner actually growls at him, though again, that could just be because he's definitely absolutely dreaming. 

He shuts the fridge softly to look elsewhere for a snack, but it had been the only light in the room, and now he's just standing in the dark like a fool.

Izuku is halfway through debating the pros and cons of just lighting himself up with One for All to be his own personal neon green flashlight, instead of just turning on the lights, when the lights do him a favor and turn themselves on.

Except it’s not really a favor, because Bakugou is the one who turned them on. Now he and Izuku are staring at each other alone in the kitchen at 2am with a whole lot of sharp utensils around them, while the rest of their classmates are asleep like sane human beings. 

No witnesses. Izuku realizes with a gulp. For whatever might happen next.  

He thinks this dream has just become a nightmare. 

“What are you doing standing there?” Bakugou grumbles, sounding tired. Hopefully too tired to decide Izuku needs his face exploded. “Get outta my way, idiot.” He stalks over and pushes a very dazed and confused Izuku aside, sliding him - almost gently???? Or at least, not overly violently - away from the fridge so he can open it up himself.

“There’s nothing good in there.” Izuku hesitantly says, right before Bakugou’s face crumples in disgust at the odd things their friends have decided the fridge should be used for. 

“Livin’ with a bunch of animals.” Bakugou says, slamming the fridge shut with a bang far too loud for 2am.

Izuku's brain isn't on all the way. That's his excuse for what he does next.

He flinches. 

It's a big flinch. 

He almost hits the kitchen counter with his back from how big the flinch is.

It’s the kind of full body cringe that Izuku tried to leave behind in middle school, and all Bakugou does is stare at him. Izuku, hand on his chest as if he can shove his heart into calming down, stares right back. 

Then, something unidentifiable passes over Bakugou's face, and he walks past Izuku to the food pantry without a word. 

Upon surviving such a close brush with death, Izuku lets out the breath he’d been holding. 

Although his stomach is still growling angrily, Izuku resigns himself to failing his snack mission and returning to his room empty handed. Behind him, he can hear the sounds of Bakugou crashing throughout every part of the kitchen like an angry hurricane, turning on and off the water, messing with the microwave, pulling things from the cupboards; commandeering the space as he always does. There’s no way Izuku will be able to grab even a protein bar now. 

He has one foot halfway out of the kitchen when Bakugou is suddenly right there beside him oh god.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Bakugou asks with narrowed eyes, looking at Izuku as if he’s a particularly difficult puzzle. It’s not comforting to Izuku, but at least it’s better than being looked at like he’s a piece of roadkill in Bakugou’s way. 

“Back to my room?” Izuku questions. Pinned under Bakugou’s glare, he weirdly feels like that’s somehow the wrong answer. He tries to take another step forward, but Bakugou blocks him more effectively this time, with an arm across Izuku’s chest. 

“Sit down at the table before I fucking make you.” He snarls in Izuku’s face. 

Izuku is way too tired for whatever this is. Bakugou had been acting strangely since Izuku first hallucinated him apologizing, so whatever he’s playing at, Izuku really wants no part in it right now, “Kacchan what-” 

He’s cut off by a shove to the chest, and Izuku stumbles backwards into the kitchen again. He gapes at Bakugou, but Bakugou just points to the table like he’s commanding a dog, before going to attend the beeping microwave.

Izuku is really getting bothered now. 

“No, I’m not going to just sit down because you tell me to.” He says stubbornly, crossing his arms and grounding his stance, just in case Bakugou tries to push him again. 

“Fine,” Bakugou snaps, “Eat standing up, see if I care!” Then he spins, grabs whatever he had put in the microwave, spins again, and shoves the bowl directly into Izuku’s hands. 

Izuku very nearly drops it when the hot plastic touches the sensitive skin of his palms, but he’s not known as “Crazy Pain Tolerance Midoriya” for nothing. Okay, he’s not really known as that, at least out loud, but it’s the principal of the thing as Izuku grits his teeth and bears the heat. Whatever new method of torture Bakugou is trying out, it certainly seems to be working in his favor so far. From what Izuku can guess, the first step is to psychologically confuse your target by shoving them around at 2am. The second step seems to be to burn their hands with freshly microwaved instant ramen noodles.

But they’re not just any instant ramen noodles. They’re the spicy shrimp kind. Bakugou’s favorite. The ones he hides at the back of the pantry that everyone pretends to not see under threat of grievous harm. 

It’s clearly an olive branch, but Izuku stares at it the same way he would a live, venomous snake, if Bakugou had handed him that, “Why did you make me a bowl of ramen?” 

Bakugou looks that odd mix of irritated and nervous again. He grits his teeth and flexes his fingers the way he does when he’s feeling agitated and doesn’t know what to do. “I realized that I sprung that apology on you before.” Bakugou says, with great effort, like the words are painful to force out, but he doesn’t look like he’s done yet. Izuku is already wishing he had sat down when he had the chance. Dream or no dream, whatever Bakugou’s about to say after that definitely isn’t going to be good for Izuku’s health. Maybe Kacchan will accept a doctor’s note to let Izuku be excused from this conversation. “Izuku Midoriya’s heart is weak, like a cowardly baby rabbit’s, and any extra stress from childhood-friends-turned-bullies-turned-sorta-rivals will cause it to explode. To treat this, he’s been prescribed either hiding in his room, or punching the living daylights out of an innocent punching bag, as well as ignoring anything Bakugou Katsuki tries to say to him.”

“I’m trying to show you I fucking mean it, okay?” Bakugou says, “I was shitty to you. And I’m fucking sorry.” 

Yeah, Izuku is way too tired for this. 

He sets the bowl of ramen down on the table behind him, suddenly not hungry at all anymore. Bitterness has filled his stomach instead, and is bubbling up his throat now. Izuku feels like he’s choking, “Who are you saying that for, Kacchan?” 

Bakugou furrows his brows, “What?” 

“You never showed any sign of wanting to apologize before, now all of a sudden you keep cornering me about it.” Izuku says. This is still just a dream. He can say these things because it’s a dream. He can be angry and upset because this isn’t real. “Are you saying sorry for me, because you think I deserve a sorry, or for yourself, because you don’t want to feel bad anymore?” 

Bakugou is quiet. 

Minutes pass like that. Quiet. Just quiet. Bakugou doesn’t explode. He doesn’t yell. Both of them are just… quiet. 

Izuku hates it, but he doesn’t know what else he expected.

“... Goodnight, Kacchan.” He sighs, and leaves the cooling bowl of noodles behind him, heading back to his room before he says something he’ll regret.

Bakugou doesn't stop him this time.

Chapter Text

The third time it happens, Izuku is convinced it’s an effect of the super-duper powerful painkillers the hospital has him on.

His arm is intact, thank goodness, but the same can’t be said for a few of his ribs and his skull.

Izuku is not a fan of the fact that he knows what being hit by a train feels like now. The villain had been desperate when he’d landed a single good hit that pushed Izuku onto the tracks, and it’d been Izuku’s own terrible luck that had brought the train bearing down on him at that exact moment. 

He doesn’t want to think about how damaged he’d be if he hadn’t had Full Cowl spread over himself at 20% upon impact. A few cracked ribs and a cracked skull is a welcome alternative to being dead. 

Aizawa’s face screws up weirdly when Izuku tells him that, but Izuku doesn’t know why. It’s the truth. He really doesn’t mind getting hurt just so long as he doesn’t end up dead - dying would mean losing One for All, which Izuku will never let happen. He’d be letting too many people down if he let the fire of One for All go out with him.

“H’pe I didn’t mess up th’ train sc’dule too bad, or people’s mornings.” Izuku slurs to his teacher, when there’s a stretch of uncomfortable silence too long for Izuku to bear. 

“... You didn’t, Midoriya.” Aizawa reassures, “But I’ll be talking with Endeavor about keeping his work study charges under closer watch.” His tight tone is at odds with the way he helps smooth back Izuku’s hair from his eyes.

To that, Izuku thinks he tries to say something to the effect of “When has Endeavor ever bothered with keeping kids under his care safe? It was partly my fault anyways, for rushing ahead before checking the area or forming a better strategy.” but it comes out sounding like “End’vur sucks thou’h. Plus, I’m r’ly fast.” 

Aizawa gives Izuku a faintly amused look. “I know you’re fast.” He says, almost sounding fond, something Izuku is sure the man wouldn’t let slip if he thought Izuku was 100% in control of his mental faculties. Then Aizawa carefully questions, “If Endeavor sucks, why did you choose to work with him?” 

Izuku flaps a hand at his teacher, and immediately regrets it when the motion of his arm makes the stitches on his side twinge and tug despite all the painkillers. They’re really good painkillers, and Izuku’s been enjoying feeling weightless and numb, but he knows the effects aren’t going to hold up if he keeps jostling himself around. “Tod’roki asked. He’s m’ friend. Frens watch ov’r each oth’r.” 

Aizawa huffs, but Izuku thinks he can see his teacher’s lips turn up just a little bit. It might just be his imagination, and Izuku knows his perception of anything really can’t be trusted right now, but he also knows a smile when he sees one. He considers it a victory, and makes a mental note to tell his friends whenever he gets released from the hospital that he won the “get Aizawa to smile” competition. The prize pool has been growing since the Sports Festival. There’s so much All Might merchandise Izuku could buy with all that yen.

Thankfully, Aizawa doesn’t ask anymore questions, or he does ask more questions and Izuku just can’t remember them. He doesn’t remember Aizawa leaving either, just that between one blink and the next his teacher is gone, and Izuku is alone in the hospital room. 

He doesn't stay aware of being alone for long though. After that, consciousness becomes such a fleeting thing; it’s almost frustrating, as Izuku feels like he’s drifting on an ocean current, alternating between being smothered under the waves and gasping for air above them. Sometimes he can hear people talking around him - his mother, doctors, All Might, his friends - but he never stays awake long enough to open his eyes or really register what they’re saying. Everything sounds muffled and watery, and the most distinct words he manages to catch once is someone whispering “Shhh, let him rest.” 

The next time he’s able to claw himself to actual awareness and open his eyes, Bakugou and Todoroki are the ones who have taken up the post at his bedside. Todoroki is a welcome sight, but Bakugou’s presence is certainly a surprise. They haven’t noticed he’s awake yet, so Izuku takes a sneaky moment to let his brain do its best at processing the world around him.

Todoroki and Bakugou are sitting in completely different ways, and the contrast is kind of ridiculous once Izuku notices. Todoroki is sitting stiffly, like he’s been put on guard and is dutifully fulfilling the role, while Bakugou is laying sideways in his chair, legs slung casually over one arm of it and his back propped against the other, like he couldn’t care less if Izuku was getting viciously mauled in front of him. The one thing they share is that they both are equally covered with a good amount of scrapes and bruises. Gauze and numerous bandages peek out from under the edges of their sleeves and shirt collars, but Izuku is glad to see that they don't seem too badly hurt. Not like he is.

He tries to tell them this, when it registers that he isn’t immediately falling asleep again. He’s got to take the opportunity while he can, but again his words come out garbled. “I’m glad you two are alright, what happened after I was hit? Did you catch the villain?” goes through the painkiller filter and comes out the other side translated as, “Y’guys, how’re you? Didja win?” 

Todoroki jolts as if someone has just shoved a horror movie jumpscare into his face, and Bakugou rolls to the side so suddenly he nearly falls off his chair. 

“Midoriya!” Todoroki says, standing up quickly to lean over Izuku’s bedside. “We’re fine. How are you feeling?”

His voice is filled with so much relief - relief that Izuku is okay. With Izuku's emotions already shot in the foot by the painkillers, it’s just enough to trigger his nature as an easy crier.

Squinting to see his friend’s face through the filter of water building up in his eyes, Izuku sniffs and gives a wobbly smile, “‘M good. Sleepy. Th’y can’t get Rec’vry Girl ‘cause skulls ‘r weird.” 

Bakugou snorts, “What’ve they got you on, stupid Deku?” He asks. 

Izuku shrugs. Todoroki’s hands actually keep his shoulders from moving at all, but he’s sure he shrugs. “Don’ know. ‘S strong.” 

“Yeah, we can tell.” Bakugou says with a roll of his eyes. 

Izuku abruptly decides that he doesn’t really want to look at Bakugou right now, or talk to him. Things between them are still super weird, ever since that dream at 2am in the kitchen, and really, not talking to Bakugou is mutually beneficial. 

He turns back to Todoroki, “Wh’ happened aft’r?” 

“We’ll tell you everything when you’re more lucid.” Todoroki says. Which is fair, Izuku will admit that. “Do you want us to call your mother? She was just here, but All Might took her to get some dinner.”

Izuku tries to shake his head, but Todoroki’s hands are suddenly there too, cupping Izuku’s jawline to keep him from aggravating his head wound. “No, m’ good. D’n’t wurry her.” 

“Are you sure?” Todoroki asks, a concerned dip to his browline, looking very much like he wants to protest and call Izuku’s mom anyways. He lets go of Izuku’s head and draws back, hand hesitantly heading for his pocket.

Izuku needs to distract him and he needs to do it now . He reaches out carefully, pushing through the minor discomfort from the IV lines and his wounds, and manages to snag the edge of Todoroki’s shirt before he’s too far away, “Did Ende’vr get in trouble? Aizawa s’d he’d scold him.” 

Todoroki looks at him for a long moment, then says, “I know what you’re doing.” 

Izuku just smiles innocently, hopes it doesn’t look like a grimace, and waits while Todoroki fights the urge to talk shit about his father. 

Izuku knows his friend well though. Todoroki always gives in. Every time. 

With a defeated sigh, Todoroki sits heavily back down in his chair. He makes a show of it, slumping dramatically, even as a sneaky smile flickers in and out on his face. It takes Todoroki all of one second to recover, and then he’s leaning forward, ready to regale Izuku with what it was like to watch the No.1 Hero Endeavor get chewed out by their homeroom teacher who is half the Pro Hero’s size. Izuku tries to push himself up further on his pillow, eager to listen.

And then of course Bakugou, who has been oddly silent, finally seems to pick up on Izuku’s “I don’t want to talk to you” vibes, and says lowly, “Hey Half-n-Half, can you leave me and Deku alone for a minute?” 

Todoroki gives Bakugou a sharp, suspicious glance. Izuku takes the time they spend having an invisible conversation through their glares trying desperately to will himself back into unconsciousness. 

“...Fine.” Todoroki acquiesces, way too easily for Izuku.

“Trait’r.” Izuku gasps, as he watches his guard abandon his post. Todoroki gives an apologetic shrug, but looks far too apathetic for someone leaving their best friend to die, in Izuku’s opinion. 

Bakugou waits until after the door shuts behind Todoroki, once it’s obvious that Todoroki has walked away down the hall, before he stands. He sucks in a long, deep breath, and then violently kicks his chair across the room in a single explosive motion.

Izuku watches the poor piece of furniture crash into the wall with a drugged calm, like how someone would watch a ball bounce across the court in a tennis match, “If yur gon’ kill me, Kacchan,” He mumbles, “Do i’ quick.” 

“That’s the exact goddamn opposite of what I’m here to yell at you about,” Bakugou says, somehow still managing to shout despite his voice never rising above a normal, hospital-acceptable, volume, “You almost fucking died, Deku, do you not get that?” 

Izuku tilts his head best he can to meet Bakugou’s eyes, “Since w’n d’you care?” He challenges.

He really chose a great time to make his grand stand against Bakugou. Drugged to the gills because of a crack in his skull, halfway out of the waking world at any given moment, but Izuku feels invincible. Kacchan can’t touch him like this. 

Bakugou grinds his teeth so intensely Izuku can hear them scrape against each other. It’s a horrible sound, like someone’s running a rock down a chalkboard. How Bakugou’s teeth aren’t completely flat at this point is one of life’s many mysteries. “Bastard. I don’t care. You got a death wish or something? You can’t die till I beat you to being number 1. Till I beat you even with your borrowed power.” Bakugou growls.

Izuku’s eyelids suddenly feel heavier than any weight he’s ever lifted, so he gives up on keeping them up. With his eyes shut, the battle to stay awake becomes 200% more difficult. Izuku can feel himself fading fast. “Y’ keep sayin' you d’n care.” He says, while he still has the awareness to say anything at all, “But y’ keep caring. ‘S weird, Kacchan. St’p it.”

Bakugou makes an incredulous sound in the back of his throat, “Stop caring? You of all people asking me to stop fucking caring? That’s rich. Hate to break it to you, but I can’t stop what I’m not doing, fucker. But so what if I was? Why want me to stop?” 

Izuku shrugs again. Todoroki isn’t there to hold him still this time, so his shoulders succeed in moving the bare minimum amount necessary to call what Izuku did a shrug. “Hurts...” He says, not quite sure what is coming out of his mouth anymore, or if he's even forming solid words. It’s all left to fate and the painkillers now. “Y’ didn’ care ‘n mid’le school, told me t’ kill m’self.”

“Deku?” Bakugou says after a while, voice distant. How did Kacchan get so far away so quickly? “Deku, hey, wake back up. I’m not done talking to you. You can't say somethin' like that and then check out.” There’s a snapping sound in front of Izuku’s nose, but he doesn’t care enough to open his eyes up again. Bakugou has pushed him around since they were four, and has taken so much from him throughout the years. Izuku thinks Bakugou can survive being denied just this once. 

All he can focus on is the soft pillow beneath him, and the gentle angle of the mattress that has him listing ever so slightly sideways. Izuku has sampled a lot of hospital beds over the past year, but he’s sure he’s never been in one as comfortable as the one he’s laying in now. It’s like laying on a cloud, and although he’s been fighting with everything he has to avoid being pulled back into unconsciousness, Izuku is so tempted to just snuggle down into it and give up on staying awake. 

“... Deku, why do you not believe me when I apologize?” Bakugou asks, sounding uncharacteristically quiet and small. That's how Izuku knows it isn't real. Just his vulnerable mind playing tricks on him again.

“It's just a nice dream, Kacchan.” Izuku whispers, right as the painkillers really hook back into him and draw him down deeper into the darkness behind his eyelids, “Can’t be real. ‘S not fair, yer only s’yn it ‘cause I h’v a quirk now.” 

Bakugou says something, but Izuku can’t process it at all this time, the words too quiet and distorted.

“N’thns r’ly gonna ch’nge.” Izuku manages to mumble in response.

He doesn’t remember falling back asleep, but when he wakes up, the conversation he had with Bakugou is nothing more than a hazy and jumbled mess in his mind. The words spoken by the both of them are muffled by his pain, and harder to grasp the more he reaches for them. But Bakugou doesn’t visit his hospital room again, so Izuku is never able to ask about what exactly they said to each other.

Izuku finds that he’s... not really upset by that. The mystery doesn’t eat at him, doesn’t urge him to seek Bakugou out and confront him. It’s kind of nice, to just let it all go for once.

With strict instruction to avoid strenuous activity for at least another two weeks, he arrives back at the dorms to the entire class presenting him a cake baked by Satou that has the words “Congrats on finding more bones to break!” and a little skull symbol decorating the top in bubbly green icing. All anxieties over Bakugou and possibly-real-this-time apologies are pushed aside, so Izuku can have all the room in his heart he needs for laughing with his friends. He sits on the couch, sandwiched warmly and safely between Uraraka and Iida, and shoves chocolate cake into his mouth while an old All Might movie plays on the common room television in front of them. He doesn’t need anything more than this to be happy. 

Chapter Text

The fourth time, Izuku wishes it hadn’t happened. He really, really wishes it hadn’t happened. So he simply tells himself that it didn’t.

The words written on the chalkboard at the front of the room make him stumble when he sees them, but he recovers quickly and keeps walking, trying to act as normal as he can. Ideally, no one noticed his little slip up, but Izuku knows he's suspiciously stiff, and he can’t quite seem to raise his head higher than a practiced down turned angle that keeps his eyes on the ground. Thankfully, no one stops him as he weaves his way through the other chairs and desks to his seat on the far side. 

He pulls his notebook and pencils out of his bag with his neck still bent, and sits down with his eyes boring into his desk. Maybe if Izuku stares long enough at one spot, he’ll spontaneously develop laser vision. It could be possible. Quirks have activated from less. 

Then Bakugou kicks the front of his desk, like he does every day, and Izuku reflexively looks up. His vision immediately bypasses Bakugou’s scowl and tunnels on the words on the board. 

‘Quirk Discrimination’

Now, it’s well known that Izuku likes quirk science. No, wait, he doesn’t just like it. He loves it. Researching quirks had practically been his whole life, back when he’d had nothing else. He can talk circles around anyone on the subject of quirks. 

The class discussion of yesterday had been fun for him. Quirks and their classifications, and their sub-classifications, and their additional characteristics, and Midoriya put your hand down. Take a breath and let someone else answer for once. 

Quirks were comforting. Quirks were something Izuku knew, and could take shelter in talking and thinking and learning about. 

Their downsides were something he knew too. Quirk discrimination was something he knew just as well, if not better, than quirks themselves, though not by choice. There was no comfort in this side of their super powered society. No comfort in sitting on the outskirts of quirk training classes, small and alone with a random activity packet the teacher had thrown at him at the last second to keep him occupied. 

Izuku should’ve known this would be the next thing they’d cover, that it would come up sooner or later in their education. It only made sense, especially after going over the basics of quirks first. He'd been so caught up in the excitement of quirk science, that for a little while he lived in a world where being ostracized from society because of your quirk didn’t exist.

“Quirk discrimination,” Aizawa says, one hand escaping his sleeping bag to tap the board, getting everyone’s attention. Izuku looks up automatically. “Is something very serious. One in five people experience it, for all number of reasons. We talked a lot about types of quirks yesterday. Based on that, can anyone think of what one of those reasons might be?” 

No one raises a hand.

Aizawa sighs, “Anyone? Any examples?”

‘I’ve got an example, it’s called a Deku!’

Izuku drops his eyes to the top of his desk again, and clenches his fists as his arms twitch and tense with the familiar urge to wrap them around his head and duck down, like he used to in middle school. 

Make yourself into a smaller target. Make yourself invisible. Teachers won’t call on you if they don’t see you. Teachers won’t make an example of you if they don’t think they need to.

Aizawa-sensei isn’t like that. He reminds himself, digging his nails into his palms, something in his chest winding tight, Aizawa-sensei wouldn’t do that.

Across the room, Tsuyu raises her hand. Aizawa nods to her and she says, “Having non-humanoid mutations-kero.”

Aizawa nods, but doesn’t write it down on the board. The two words there claim dominion still. 

Shinsou raises his hand next, his face blank. Everyone knows what he’s going to say. “Having a ‘villainous quirk.’” 

Izuku inches further down in his seat. If Shinsou can say it, can address his past and speak it out loud, shouldn’t Izuku be able to do the same? He should be able to bravely raise his hand and say-

“Being quirkless.” 

- that.

Izuku looks up as Bakugou is lowering his hand. 

“There are more, but let’s start with those three, they’re the main categories.” Aizawa says. Then he turns around, and finally writes something on the board. 

When he takes his hand away, a stark white 20% stares back at Izuku.

“Anyone know what this percentage represents?” 

Most of the quirkless population are from older generations, like the 2nd and 3rd, with about 15% of the estimated 20% being 60 or older. Only around 5% are from other age groups, with about 1% being from the 5th generation. 

“How much of the population is quirkless.” Todoroki answers from behind Izuku. He barely hears his friend’s voice over how loud his breathing sounds in his own ears. Can anyone else hear each harsh breath as it scrapes down his throat? Is he being too loud? Subtly, Izuku brings a hand to his mouth, wrapping his fingers tightly over his lips and digging into his cheek. He needs to be quieter. He needs to calm down. He needs to be less bothered by this subject. It’s ridiculous to be getting so worked up over this. It’s in the past. These numbers no longer apply to him. 

Aizawa writes another number on the board - 54%

“And this?” 

Shoji raises a single one of his hands, “How much have non-humanoid mutation quirks.” 

Aizawa nods, “I don’t have a statistic for villainous quirks, because that is a bit more subjective, but there’s quite a lot of people out there who fall into the category regardless.” 

“Sensei, why are you telling us this during hero studies? ” Kaminari speaks up.

Aizawa sets down the chalk and turns to face the class. They’ve all grown used to his usual, dead serious expression, but there’s a new gravity to the way he looks out at them all now. 

“This is something that most people who hope to be heroes don’t realize they’ll need to understand before going into the field.” He says, scanning over his students, “When you arrive on a scene, people will react to you based on your quirk, as well as based on their own quirk - or lack of one.”

Quirkless people are more prone to being injured or dying in villain attacks or being taken hostage in villain attacks. Quirkless people are less likely to trust heroes out of fear. Quirkless people are more likely to c-

“Midoriya.” 

Oh great he’d been muttering out loud hadn’t he? How had Aizawa even heard from halfway across the class? 

“You’re very loud when the room is quiet.” 

Izuku flushes, embarrassed. He looks up, but still doesn’t look directly at his teacher. A small chip in the chalkboard to the right of Aizawa’s head is being extremely interesting right now. “I apologize for the interruption, sensei.” 

Aizawa hums, accepting of his apology, but then of course, of course nothing is ever easy for Izuku. Why would it be? Why would Aizawa just let it go?

“You should repeat what you said more clearly, it was very informed.” 

Informed. 

Informed. 

Izuku doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry. Either way, he desperately shoves down his emotions and clears his throat before he says, as tonelessly as he can, “Quirkless people are m-more prone to being injured, dying, or taken hostage during villain attacks. They are also less likely to trust heroes out of fear.” 

Aizawa rotates a hand - keep going.

Izuku swallows what feels like a huge marble. A marble on fire. It drops into his gut and the flames don’t go out. “T-this is because, without a quirk, it’s harder to defend your- it’s harder for them to defend themselves in the event that someone else is recklessly using theirs.” 

Sludge, suffocating and thick, shoving ruthlessly into his mouth. His feet swinging, kicking at empty air. No way for him to get a grip or fight back. 

Bakugou had been able to make his explosions, had been able to scream and lash out and had refused to go down, but Izuku had just hung there and let himself be drowned on dry land.

Useless.

“Thank you, Midoriya.” Aizawa says, releasing him from the spotlight and addressing the class once more, “There are challenges that come with dealing with any civilian on a scene, but these numbers,” He taps the board, “Matter more for smaller things that, in reality, you will probably end up encountering and finding yourself having to stop more often, especially at the start of your career. Petty thefts, domestic disputes, suicide attempts."

Izuku wants to leave. He wants to stand up and he wants to leave. Would Aizawa kill him - or worse, expel him - if he tried? Probably. Would it be worth it to get out of this conversation? Definitely. 

"Going off of what Midoriya said, does anyone know the quirkless suicide rate?" Aizawa asks, clearly trying to lead into a different point and not really expecting anyone to raise their hand.

Izuku certainly isn't going to, not when his entire body has locked up. His terrible weak rabbit heart is at it again, kicking at the inside of his chest, viciously, violently, loudly. 

But someone does raise their hand.

“Why do you know that?” Izuku asks softly before Aizawa can acknowledge the raised hand. His voice is the only one in the room. “Kacchan, why do you know that?” 

The class is looking at them now, but Izuku doesn’t care. He’s weightless, unbound by their stares. He just wants to know.

Bakugou lowers his hand without even turning to face Izuku, and only makes a dismissive “Tch.” sound. That’s what makes the tightening something inside Izuku's chest snap. 

He launches himself over his desk to tackle Bakugou to the ground before he even realizes he’s moving. 

“Why do you know the quirkless suicide rate, Kacchan?” Izuku pins Bakugou’s shoulders down as the class bursts to life around them. Hands are instantly there, pulling at his arms, and Izuku shoves them off, writhing and fighting with fire in his veins, trying to punch Bakugou to make up for the one time he wanted to but couldn’t. He fails over and over again, held back just enough that his fist barely grazes Bakugou’s nose each time. 

“I looked it up!” Bakugou yells in his face, “Why do you think, dumbass?!” 

Izuku’s blood roars in his ears, and he doubles his efforts. 

Someone in the crowd of their classmates - maybe Iida? - shouts that he’s overreacting, but Izuku doesn’t feel like he’s overreacting. He feels overheated and angry, furious in a way he hasn’t felt since Kacchan told him to take a swan dive off the roof and then walked away. 

No, this isn’t an overreaction. If anything, this explosion had been a long time coming.

Aizawa’s capture weapon is what finally succeeds at yanking Izuku away. It wraps him up tightly, from hip to shoulder, and Izuku falls to his knees in front of a stunned and frightened class, “You don’t get to know that.” Izuku shouts, still solely focused on Bakugou. “You don’t have the right to know that.” 

“Why not?” Bakugou hisses, like it’s a challenge, despite Kirishima and Sero at his shoulders, trying to stop him from engaging or riling Izuku up further, “What, you didn’t want me to know that 80% of quirkless kids who contemplate suicide go through with it?” 

Izuku watches as his burnt notebook falls through the air. He strains against Aizawa’s capture weapon. “Stop it!” 

Bakugou doesn’t, “Or did you not want me to know that-” 

“Bakugou,” Aizawa says harshly, cutting in, “Enough.” 

Bakugou jerks back, eyes going wide, and then he really looks at Izuku. 

Izuku wonders for a moment, what he must look like to Bakugou. If Bakugou is seeing a smaller, scrawnier Deku overlaid on Izuku like a ghost. Because the other boy pales steadily, and then Izuku sees an emotion on Bakugou’s face that he’s never, ever seen before. 

Guilt.

“I don’t know what the hell this is about,” Aizawa says angrily, “But the moment I’m sure you won’t kill each other you both are standing out in the hall until the end of class, and then we’ll talk.”  

When no one moves, their teacher pulls Izuku to his feet via his scarf, “You first, Midoriya.” 

Izuku complies, disconnected from his body but still quietly seething. He keeps his gaze focused on his feet so he doesn't have to look at anyone, especially not Bakugou. 

“Don’t look so dramatic, problem child.” Aizawa says, “You’re not dying.” 

No. Izuku thinks, and he slowly draws himself back up, I’m not.  

Aizawa unravels his scarf when they’re in the hall, and directs Izuku to stand beside the door with a strict jab of his finger, before he dives back into the chaos of the classroom. Izuku stands there and waits, still feeling like he’s full of hot, buzzing energy, so he shifts back and forth on the balls of his feet while staring numbly at the door across from 1-A’s. He hasn’t had to stand in the hallway since he was 10, when one of Bakugou’s friends - the one with the long fingers and a name Izuku can no longer remember - had filled his desk with markers from almost every teacher’s supplies. They had come tumbling out in a veritable avalanche when Izuku had opened his desk Monday morning, bouncing and rolling in a loud, cruel clatter to the floor. 

Izuku had gotten a mark on his record for that. Even though the teachers couldn’t figure out how he could’ve done it without a quirk.

It takes the few minutes before Bakugou stomps out into the hall for Izuku to bring himself down to a more manageable level of emotion, but Izuku’s breathing is still a touch rapid and ragged. Thankfully, Aizawa points to the other side of the door, a solid couple of feet away from Izuku, for where Bakugou will be standing, “I can’t risk you both being too close to each other.” The man says shortly, sounding absolutely exhausted , and okay, Izuku feels a little bad now, if only for aggravating their homeroom teacher yet again. Aizawa has already gone above and beyond any other teacher Izuku has had in the past, he doesn’t like making things harder for the man. 

After Aizawa leaves them with a parting, disappointed glare, the tension between Izuku and Bakugou wraps around them both in the form of a stiff, silent stalemate. But Izuku is fine with that. He’s fine. He’s absolutely fine. 

“Deku…” Bakugou says roughly, to get Izuku’s attention. Izuku jolts a bit at the break in the quiet, but Bakugou isn't looking at him when Izuku turns towards him. The other boy is glaring at some mysterious point in the distance, and the sunlight from the windows doesn’t quite reach his face. “When I… when I said that. You didn’t really think about doing it, did you?” 

Acid starts dripping into Izuku’s stomach and pooling at the bottom, burning and bubbling. He knows exactly what Bakugou is asking about. Can still hear the words echoing in his head clearly even now. He just hadn't thought Bakugou actually remembered saying it.

He should lie, shouldn’t he?

“Only for a minute.” Izuku admits quietly, not lying in the least, and something petty deep inside him revels in the way Bakugou visibly falters. If Bakugou really did know the quirkless suicide rate, then he shouldn’t have been surprised. “But then I thought, ‘That was stupid of Kacchan, if I really did it, it’d mean he instigated suicide.’” Izuku grimaces bitterly, “And I didn’t want to ruin your hero career.” 

“Do you still…” Bakugou starts, but Izuku watches, a little shocked, as the words die in his throat before they can make it out. Bakugou hunches his shoulders down, looking vulnerable in his own cold, bristling Kacchan way. He doesn't finish his question, but he didn't need to for Izuku to understand what he'd been trying to ask.

“No. Not anymore.” Izuku answers, “Too many people helped me to get here, I owe them too much to give up now.” He makes an attempt at a smile, and forms a determined fist with his right hand, to prove a point. 

Bakugou looks from Izuku’s scarred hand to his face, his eyes sharp and intense. Izuku can tell that Bakugou is really, deeply, looking at him, the same way he had a moment ago in their classroom. It’s a type of consideration that Izuku isn’t used to from him, a type of consideration he'd forced himself to stop hoping for from Kacchan.

Whatever Bakugou sees in Izuku’s smile is enough to make him cover his eyes with a shaking fist. 

“I really fucked you up, didn’t I?” Bakugou asks quietly, voice wavering. 

Izuku’s smile drops. All at once the burning acid in his gut surges, no longer content to sit and eat away at the bottom of Izuku’s ribs. Yet at the same time it’s like Bakugou’s words have poured ice through his veins, and frozen him solid from the heart outwards. 

Every formula, every template, every guide that his and Bakugou’s conversations have ever followed; none of them match this conversation. Izuku had used those guides to navigate conversations safely, keeping a mental catalogue of things to say that would calm Bakugou down, get him burned less, get Bakugou to leave him alone. 

But they’re in uncharted territory, have been there for a while now, and Izuku is only just realizing that he's been left to drift in an ocean without any way to steer himself to shore. He just… doesn’t know what to say to that, to this new, remorseful Kacchan. He doesn’t know what to say at all. 

Don’t give yourself so much credit, Kacchan. You weren’t the only one. He could say.

I’m fine. It’s in the past. He could lie.

Yeah, you did. You hurt me for a really long time, Kacchan. He could say.

I forgive you. He could lie.

But none of those answers would be fair, to either of them. 

Izuku opens his mouth.

And the door opens between them. 

Reality slams back into place, sound and light rushing in to take up their positions again, and without thinking Izuku corrects his posture against the wall just in time for his friends to exit the classroom. He’d forgotten, for a moment, that they were standing in the hallway, being punished.

Izuku dazedly accepts a few worried and sympathetic glances, and Bakugou gets a few firm pats on his shoulder in solidarity, but none of their friends stay. They disappear down the hall to lunch, one by one, even the ones who try to linger - sent away by Aizawa’s looming shadow in the doorway. 

“I’m not even going to try talking to you two at once, but I will be getting explanations out of both of you.” Aizawa says, still so tired, but with an undercurrent of concern that Izuku barely picks up on. “Midoriya, to everyone's surprise, you started it this time, so get in here.” 

Izuku turns and-

A hand on his shoulder stops him. 

He remembers this hand. He remembers the painfully hot pressure as it tried to grind him into the ground. Remembers the smell of his burning gakuran as it sizzled under Bakugou’s palm.

Bakugou lets go almost as soon as he’d put his hand down, but the phantom weight lingers. Izuku isn’t sure if it ever left. 

“Deku, I’m- I didn’t mean for you to- It was wrong and I-” Bakugou struggles. 

Izuku’s head fills with a deep, pounding drumbeat of a thought: shut up shut up shut up.  

He doesn’t want to hear Bakugou try to apologize again. In fact, Izuku thinks he’d be fine with never hearing Bakugou try to apologize ever again. It feels too sincere this time compared to the first time, too close to something genuine that Izuku won’t be able to ignore or turn away.

But they can’t do this right now, not when they have an audience. Aizawa has already seen and heard too much, and Izuku knows their teacher is too intelligent to not already be connecting some dots. 

“Are we done, Kacchan?” Izuku asks, strained and aching. 

Bakugou frowns, and there’s something sickeningly guilty and worried in his expression that Izuku can’t bear, “Deku,” 

Izuku doesn’t really slam the 1-A door in Bakugou’s face, but it’s a near thing. 

He’s not fast enough though.

Not fast enough to keep himself from having to hear those two impossible words in Bakugou’s voice one more time.

Chapter Text

The fifth time happens at the start of their second year. Honestly, by then, after so long without Bakugou trying again, Izuku had done a pretty good job at convincing himself the previous three (three and a half? four?) times really had all been in his head. Then he promptly set about repressing them the same way he repressed all his painful memories of middle school and his childhood. 

Aizawa actually lets them go to Second Year Orientation this time, instead of pulling their class outside for a surprise quirk test like he had in their first year. Izuku doesn’t know if it’s just him, but he almost would’ve preferred a quirk test. He knows what to expect from a physical exercise like that, but sitting among all the students from other courses, being forced to relax and listen to what is actually a pretty normal school orientation, it's... a little weird. Nedzu has been standing on the podium and chittering away for about a half an hour already, about how the start of the year is perfect for new beginnings, about how the process of moving into their second year dorms will go, about how he’s excited to see them all excel past the expectations they gave him as first years.

It’s a lot, and it’s honestly kind of boring.

So it’s really no surprise that Izuku ends up zoning out about halfway through. 

Or at least, he tries. He puts in a really good effort at zoning out. But it was mandatory that they sit according to their class seat numbers, so he’s really not in the best place to do so, stuck sitting with Bakugou on one side of him and a successfully zoned out almost-asleep Shinsou on the other. Izuku’s almost envious of his friend; Yaoyorozu seems to be leaving him to doze in peace, while Izuku has to deal with Bakugou’s elbow viciously digging into his side every couple of minutes, as if Bakugou’s made it his sole purpose to keep Izuku awake for the entire event.

The sixth time it happens Izuku impulsively decides to retaliate. He ruthlessly jabs his own elbow down into Bakugou’s ribs, unexpected enough and hard enough that Bakugou actually jumps in his seat. Shoji, sitting behind them, reacts impressively quickly at the sign of more violence to come, reaching through the seats with three of his arms to erect a fleshy barrier between the two of them.

“I can’t believe you guys, it’s our first day as second years and you’re still acting like five year olds.” Jirou hisses, jabbing Izuku in the back of the head with one of her earphone jacks.

Izuku doesn’t have anything to say to that. He sinks down in his seat, face red, embarrassed beyond belief that he’d given in and hit Bakugou back. Even when they were actually five he never did that. 

The only thing that pulls Izuku out of his shame spiral and terrible slumped position is All Might stepping up to the podium. At some point, while Izuku had been covering his face with his hands, Nedzu had hopped down, and now All Might is there, fiddling with the mic, doing his best to adjust it correctly for his height.

Izuku pushes himself back up in his seat instantly, eyes glued to the front now, hyper focused. 

Slowly, still watching the backs of Bakugou and Izuku's heads warily, Shoji lowers his arms, probably hoping that All Might's presence will keep them from going at each other again. And he's right. On the other side of the barrier Bakugou is focused on All Might too. He's more subtle than Izuku, but his attention is unmistakably fixed forwards.

“I’m so, so grateful that I’m able to be here today, to welcome you all into your second year, able to see how far you’ve all come and how far I know you’ll go.” All Might starts, voice thick, and yep, that’s all it takes for Izuku to start crying. 

“Crybaby.” Shinsou whispers teasingly to him, but Izuku doesn’t even care. His heart is twisting in his chest, and he’s happy, he’s so happy, but it hurts. 

Only months ago he held his fist out in the air as the sun burned orange behind him, promising All Might they’d bend fate together. The fact that All Might is still here, still able to stand tall and watch over everyone, is already a miracle - but where will things be in another year? 

All Might is wearing a suit that fits, so he doesn’t look quite as sickly as he did when he had to wear larger things that swamped his form, but Izuku knows what to look for. The man's thin neck and sharp jawline still stand out. His hands still shake with weakness when he clutches the sides of the podium. His smile is still oddly skeletal as it stretches the tired skin on his face into well-worn wrinkles.

How much borrowed time does Izuku have left to save him? 

An elbow jabs at his arm, right as Izuku is bringing his hands to his face to try and brush away the tears, and for a split-second Izuku's emotions short out and he has a single clear thought of Oh. I’m going to kill Kacchan. 

He goes dangerously tense, waiting for Bakugou to test him again, upset that he has to split his attention between listening to All Might and bracing himself for another poke from his right.

But Bakugou doesn’t jab him again. Now that he knows he has Izuku's attention he leans into Izuku’s space ever so carefully, cleverly leaning his head on his hand to make it seem natural, and then he says under his breath, “Stop crying. It’s too quiet compared to your usual dramatic blubbering. You’ll give yourself away.” 

Izuku clenches his fists and rubs his knuckles into his eyes, but he knows Bakugou is right. Tiny spots of light burst in his vision, like the familiar pinpricks of energy he sees when immersed in One for All, and Izuku does his best to reel in the tears and ground himself.

“I’m sure you’ll all be incredible heroes.” All Might says from the front, finishing his speech. 

All the gathered second years stand and clap, laughing brightly and cheering, and Izuku really tries to hold it in, he really does, but he dissolves back into tears. 

Bakugou’s stare is a quiet, heavy weight on him through it all. 

It reminds Izuku too much of Kamino.

When the excitement dies down, the classes are filtered out of the auditorium one by one, with 2A going first. They make a show of standing and obediently following Aizawa out while the other classes can see them, but any illusion of order and respectable behavior goes out the window the moment they get close to the dorms. Their double-file line collapses in on itself, much to Iida’s dismay, as everyone gravitates into their usual friendship bubbles and begin chatting excitedly about the new dorm building. 

“Do you think the rooms will be bigger?” Uraraka asks excitedly, pumping her fists as she walks. 

“I don’t know, I do think it’d be nice if they have private bathrooms though.” Izuku offers, trying to drum up the same level of excitement, stopped only by the dull ache that still throbs in his chest. 

They’d dropped off their belongings at the building earlier, before orientation, but had been herded away before getting any chance to explore. All Izuku knows is that he’s on the fourth floor this time, instead of the second, and his floormates are Sero and Iida. He’s looking forward to being a bit higher up; the breeze never went very fast past his second floor window, and Izuku likes being able to feel the freedom of the fresh air sometimes, when it feels like everything is pressing down on him. 

He immediately regrets looking forward to anything at all though, when Aizawa tells the class that they’ll be carrying their belongings to their rooms. On their own. Up the stairs. Suddenly, the fourth floor doesn’t seem as nice.

“The elevator is out of order.” Aizawa says dryly, standing in front of what Izuku and everyone else can see is a perfectly serviceable elevator. “Use your quirks however you like, just no property damage. We just moved in. You can work together, but no one is allowed to badger Satou, Shoji, Uraraka, or Midoriya into carrying their things. If you don’t finish by dinner, you’re on your own for finding a meal.”

"It's probably a ruse!" Kaminari cries out, but it doesn't stop everyone from scrambling into action, climbing over each other like ants to get to their belongings. Everything had been left in a horrendously huge pile outside the building, boxes and furniture and bags stacked carelessly on top of each other like the world’s worst jenga tower. So it's no surprise that the whole thing very quickly collapses into pure chaos.

Izuku watches the mad frenzy from the fringes, eyes wide, wisely waiting for everything to die down so he can peacefully grab his duffle bag, two boxes of supplies and decorations, and the new beanbag his mom had bought him. He’ll likely be one of the last people setting up their room when the inevitable room tour happens later, but Izuku really doesn’t mind. He’s not worried about being unable to catch up with everyone. Not anymore.

If anyone notices him obviously having a Midoriya Moment, they’re merciful, and thankfully don’t call attention to it. Izuku is left alone until he feels emotionally ready to dive in and pry his duffel bag from the bottom of the still relatively large pile. He tugs the strap over his shoulder, then tucks one of his boxes up under the other arm, and he gets to work marching up the stairs.

Although Aizawa had threatened them with being on their own for dinner if they took too long, it doesn’t take their class more than a few hours to get all their things into their respective rooms and unpacked. Every room might not be set up nicely yet, but at least everything is in its place. Most of the struggle was only in the beginning, and now that the dust has settled, everyone finds themselves gravitating to the common room, left with more time on their hands than expected before the end of the day. 

It’s easy for them all to spread out in the cozy space, two couches and a few plush chairs providing no shortage of comfortable spots to relax. Izuku quickly and sneakily slides onto the end of the furthest couch of the room, the one closest to the windows, claiming it for himself by burrowing into the cushions like he’s planning to hibernate there. The huge, well-worn All Might hoodie that Izuku changed into after setting up his room definitely helps drive his claim home; face nestled into the fabric and feet tucked up under him, he doesn’t plan on moving even if Shigaraki himself were to come in and threaten his life.

“Agh, Midoriya, you always take the spots near the windows.” Hagakure huffs when she comes in, floating tank top and sweatpants bobbing past Izuku to go settle down on the other couch between Yaoyorozu and Ojiro, “You just absorb sunlight for power, don’t you?” 

Izuku snickers, and frees his mouth from his hoodie collar to play along, “Oh, yeah, for sure. My freckles are where I store it all.”

“I knew it.” Hagakure says seriously, but barely holding back her giggles. 

Hagakure then turns to talk to Ojiro, so Izuku relaxes and lets his head fall back into his hood again. The zone out time he hadn’t truly gotten earlier is coming to collect now, and he gladly lets his thoughts fog over as the ambient sounds of his classmates surround him. 

Todoroki sits down in the middle of the couch, his left side against Izuku, and suddenly the room is full with a soft, pleasant warmth. Izuku practically melts into the comfort of it, feeling safer than he’s ever felt before. He’s not just surrounded by his friends, he’s surrounded by future heroes, who all worked so hard to get to their second year, and who somehow, through the miracle All Might handed to him, care about him. 

“I’m so blessed.” Izuku whispers to himself, nearly nodding off. He never thought he’d get here. Never thought he’d ever get to have anything like this. 

The day has already been a rollercoaster of emotions, and it’s not even over yet. Izuku isn’t sure how much more his heart can take. 

He dozes for a little while, until the conversation of the room around him grows too loud for his half-conscious mind to ignore. His eyelids are still heavy, weighed down and kept shut, so for a while Izuku saves his energy and simply listens without adding to the conversation.

“We could do the room tour now? People can’t escape by saying they’re going to sleep if we do it now.” Ashido suggests with a scheming smile, from where she’s hanging over the back of the couch and idly braiding Yaoyorozu’s hair. Izuku opens one eye to look at her, and thinks she maybe nods his way when she says the word sleep , but he’s still just tired enough to not care.

Aoyama strikes a pose from his chair, kicking his leg up and tilting himself back, “You all are just going to be positively ~dazzled~ by my room, I’m sure I’ll win this time.” 

"I dunno, if Satou has cake like he did last year, he could end up taking it all again." Sero comments.

“Shinsou absolutely has to see Midoriya’s All Might shrine room first though.” Kaminari chimes in, sounding way too enthusiastic. 

Izuku snaps his eyes open. He is definitely 100% awake now. 

Shinsou turns, deliberately slow, to look at him with an eager smirk, “His what?”  

“It’s not a shrine!” Izuku splutters, going a bit red. He pulls himself up the couch so he's sitting up straighter, to better face his friends. “And I toned it down this year, anyways. A few things got destroyed when my quirk fired off in my sleep that one night, so I left most of it at home uh, just in case.”

“Oh yeah, I always forget that happened!” Kirishima says. He’s sitting on the floor in front of the other couch with Bakugou, his weight leaning against Bakugou’s side, elbow boldly resting on Bakugou’s shoulder, “That was kinda crazy bro. Not gonna lie, your quirk scares me sometimes.” 

Kirishima’s words are said with an easy tone, but they still send ice through Izuku’s veins. He… doesn’t really know what to say to that. Because sometimes One for All scares him too. It feels like there is a deep, fathomless well inside him, and every time Izuku thinks he’s drawn up the most power that he can, something reaches up from the dark depths to pull him further down and forces him to scoop out more. One for All is hungry, and massive, and Izuku doesn’t know how to respond to Kirishima without letting some of his fear of it slip. 

And he can’t look at Kirishima without making eye contact with Bakugou, who has returned to staring at Izuku steadily, expression unreadable. Which certainly isn’t helping Izuku calm down or think of anything normal to say that will shift the attention away from him. 

He tugs at the fingers of his right hand, using the ache of them to ground him, “I-I mean, I’m still getting a handle on it, but, hopefully that kind of thing won’t happen again?”  

Izuku winces the moment he says it. He should be a master at lying about his quirk by now, operative word being should. Izuku knows that lying isn’t his strong suit, avoidance and denial are really all he has, and being asked directly is a different matter entirely. It’s been nearly two years since he received One for All, and yet there he is, standing in the middle of all his friends, caught stumbling over half-truths and letting too much information slip out of his mouth. 

“Still getting a handle on it - kero? I know you had trouble at the beginning of the year, but you’re still struggling, Midoriya?” Tsuyu asks, touching a finger to her cheek the way she does when genuinely curious about something that is deeply suspicious, and it’s a cue everyone in their class knows to pay attention to at this point.

Nineteen pairs of eyes swivel to Izuku, the room falling to a hushed quiet. Izuku knew the mystery of his quirk had been the subject of some class A gossip; he’s heard the whispers, and has caught the tail ends of furtive conversations that cut short when he walked into class. But up until this moment, frozen in the spotlight, does it hit Izuku that he had never really understood just how badly his friends craved answers. 

“Uhm, I, uh-”

“Obviously he’s still struggling.” Bakugou interjects brazenly. Izuku doesn't relax yet, bracing himself for the rest of the insult, until Bakugou adds, “We all are. We’re not here because we’re perfect with our quirks or at being heroes already, damn.” 

A blue screen, complete with a big bright glaring “ERROR” smack-dab in the center of it, replaces Izuku’s brain. 

Bakugou couldn’t have been the one to say that. It might’ve sounded like him, but Izuku is sure Bakugou definitely didn’t say that. For Bakugou to admit he wasn’t perfect, that he had things to learn just as they all did… it wasn’t possible. Izuku had never heard him say anything even close to that, not since the aftermath of their very first fight at UA. Was Izuku having auditory hallucinations again? Maybe Shinsou was mimicking Bakugou’s voice for fun? Was Bakugou sick? Was it Toga in disguise?

Izuku’s mouth opens and shuts, as he gapes, shell shocked, at a flustered and frustrated Bakugou, “Kacchan… Did you just include yourself in that statement?” He manages. 

Bakugou surges to his feet. Behind him, Kirishima tilts over and falls to the ground with a soft thump and a quiet "oof."  “Shut up, Deku! Don’t put words in my mouth!”

He stomps through the group, roughly checking Izuku’s arm with his hip when he passes the couch on his way to the stairs. Izuku shrinks away and rubs at the sore spot, eyes following Bakugou’s back as he walks away.

“Somebody stop him!” Ashido cries out, reaching dramatically for Bakugou, “The room tours!” 

“I don’t want any part in that shit!” Bakugou kicks open the door to the stairwell with an explosive bang, shaking the wall, and then he’s gone. 

“Do you want me to go get him?” Kirishima asks, now laying on his side casually, with his head propped up on an arm. Bakugou’s steps are so heavy that they can still be heard, though they’re growing fainter the higher he gets. “As long as he’s awake we still have a chance.” 

And because Izuku has no sense of self-preservation, as many people have frustratedly told him over the years, he blurts, “I’ll go get Kacchan.” 

He’s bouncing over the back of the couch before anyone can stop him, trailed by Ashido wailing, “But the tour!” 

“You’re just doing this to get out of showing us your fanboy cave!” Uraraka accuses.

“We’ll see it eventually you know!” Hagakure yells after him. 

Izuku turns when he reaches the stair door to give his friends a joking salute, and then closes the door behind him on the chorus of shouts that go up just to be quickly muffled when the door closes behind him. 

The slam as the door seals shut echoes brutally in the small space, like the ringing of a death bell, and Izuku abruptly realizes that he’s just shut himself into a stairwell with Bakugou. 

Grin dropping, Izuku proceeds carefully, flashes of being shoved down the stairs of Aldera too many times to count playing in his head like a terrible montage. Bakugou wouldn’t do that to him now, Izuku knows that. It had taken a while, but he knows that.

Neither of them are the children they were anymore, and Izuku is nothing but grateful for that, but that doesn’t mean the actions of those children hadn’t left scars.

“Kacchan?” He calls hesitantly, voice bouncing off the walls. He puts a foot on the first step, and winces at the high pitched whine of it. He has a lot of muscle, but Izuku doesn’t weigh that much that the stairs would make that kind of worrying noise. The dorm buildings are only a year old, for the stairs to already be in such a state is just ridiculous.

Nonetheless, he continues climbing, resolute. He didn’t go after Bakugou just to bring him back to the group, after all. Izuku had another, more personal reason.

Above, he can still hear Bakugou steadily stomping upwards. If he’s quick enough, he can catch the other boy before he gets out on his floor. 

“Kacchan!” Izuku calls again, louder. 

This time, the footsteps above him stop.

Izuku has to jog a bit, but Bakugou hadn’t been too far above him - and Izuku practically gets the life scared out of him when he turns a corner and finds Bakugou standing on the landing a few steps above him, glaring down on his head. He forgets, sometimes, how quiet Bakugou can be.

“Oh my gosh,” Izuku gasps, putting a hand to his heart, “You startled me, I didn’t expect you to be right there.” 

Bakugou doesn’t react at all to the fact that he managed to scare Izuku. He doesn’t laugh, or rub it in Izuku’s face, or anything of the sort. He just glares. “What did you chase after me for, Deku?”

Well, no nonsense then. It seems Kacchan wants to get right into it.

“You’ve been helpful lately, with keeping… y’know,” Izuku gestures awkwardly at himself, and huffs when Bakugou just raises an eyebrow, “You know,” He repeats with more emphasis and faster hand motions, “a secret. So I guess I wanted to say thank you. It’s… nice not having to guard this on my own.” 

Bakugou frowns and crosses his arms over his chest, “Don’t thank me, Deku.” Is all he says.

It’s… less from him than Izuku was expecting. “What? Why not?” Izuku asks, confused, and unable to help the irritation that sparks to life inside him. Every time he thinks he and Bakugou are finally beginning to understand each other better, Bakugou turns him away like this. They’ve been caught in a dizzying two steps forward five steps back situation for so long it’s starting to make Izuku motion-sick. “Does this have to do with your ‘don’t look down on me’ thing?”

A frustrated sound gathers in the back of Bakugou’s throat, something almost like a growl, and Izuku instinctively leans away despite how far apart they are, “No, it doesn’t.” Bakugou snaps.

“Then what is it? Do you still hate me so much you won’t even accept a thank you from me?” Izuku snaps right back. They’re both on the defensive with their hackles raised now, but it’s still a stupid thing to say, something Izuku never should have let out of his thoughts.

But Bakugou refusing his thanks hurts more than Izuku expected it to, and he’s angry about it. 

“It’s not that.” Bakugou insists through bared teeth. 

“Oh, so it’s not because you hate me, and it’s not because you want to be better than me, or because you think I think I'm better than you.” Izuku shoves his palms into his eyes, feeling a headache building behind the bridge of his nose, “Well, there go my options.” 

“What does that mean, you damn nerd?” Bakugou snarls.

“It means I don’t know what you want from me, Kacchan!” Izuku bursts out, throwing his hands away from his face. Bakugou stares at him with wide eyes, like he’s never seen Izuku before in his life, “We work together well sometimes but then other times you just- you- argh it’s so frustrating!”

“Do you seriously not fucking get it?” Bakugou asks roughly, with a flavor of disbelief just short of fuming. 

“Of course I don’t!” Izuku practically shouts, “You expect everyone to be able to read your mind but of course I don’t!”  

“I don’t deserve it!”

Izuku goes quiet, the world tilting on its axis. 

But Bakugou still stands there a few steps above him, a fixed point. His chest heaves with every hard breath he takes, red eyes spitting furious sparks but not at Izuku for once. Not at Izuku. 

“I don’t deserve your stupid thanks.” Bakugou hisses into the quiet that has squeezed between them. “I’m- I’m working on it, I’m working on it. But I don’t deserve it yet. Keeping your ridiculous quirk a secret is the least I can do right now. So don’t thank me, Deku.” 

Izuku feels his heart drop all of its anger, the emotion draining away, leaving him feeling small. He stretches out his crooked right hand, reaching upwards towards Bakugou, “Kacchan…” 

Bakugou bares his teeth and steps backwards, away from Izuku, “Shut up, Deku.” He whispers, curling his fingers into his palms. 

Izuku goes still, and he understands. Bakugou still isn’t ready to take his hand.

He pulls his arm back in, tucking it to his side. 

“I…” His mouth feels dry all of a sudden, and there’s a lump in his throat that wasn’t there a second ago, “I can tell you’re working on it. I can tell you’re trying, Kacchan.” 

Bakugou rolls his eyes and scoffs, the sound weak and uncomfortably wet. Izuku hopes Bakugou isn’t going to cry. He really isn’t sure how he’d feel if Bakugou started crying.

He’s only seen Kacchan cry three times all their lives. Once, when they were little, the circumstances foggy and forgotten, the second, after their first fight, and the third, when they’d fought at Ground Beta. 

“I can.” Izuku reinforces, “But…” And he swallows hard, then forces himself to say the words, to not let them simmer in silence anymore, “I think you’re right.” 

Bakugou’s expression opens up vulnerably, and Izuku doesn’t know whether to hate it or be proud of Kacchan. They both really have come a long way. 

But Izuku still can’t help but fall back on old habits and wrap his arms around himself, grabbing at his elbows, folding himself away, “You… don’t deserve it. A thanks, maybe, because I am grateful, but anything else?” Forgiveness? Real friendship? Real rivalry beyond whatever act they’ve twisted their messy history into?  “I can’t just forget everything. And I know if I tried to forgive you right now it'd only make you angry. I think we’re both… not there yet.” 

Bakugou lets out a measured breath through his teeth, and looks away, “When do you think we will be, huh?” 

Izuku is tired, he’s so bone-deep tired, as he sighs, “I don’t know, Kacchan.” 

Maybe… maybe when Bakugou finally uses the name ‘Deku’ without wielding it like a weapon to use against Izuku, or holding it in his mouth like it’s poison. Maybe that will be the day.

“Great, that helps.” Bakugou rolls his eyes, but he’s hunched and upset and Izuku knows that Bakugou is a person of action and not being able to act is killing him.

And there’s something that Izuku’s been thinking about. Something Izuku has been trying to ignore because he thought it’d never change, but maybe this can work for the both of them. It'd be a good step forward.

“For now, there is something that- I mean I guess I just thought, that if you want to do something for me, this could be that something, but you don’t have to, and I-” He stutters, hesitating, all of a sudden nervous.

“Spit it out, Deku.” Bakugou snaps. 

So Izuku pushes it all out in a rush, “Stop coming to my meetings with All Might please?” 

He wants that back. He wants that time where it was just him and All Might back. Especially now that that time might be limited.

Bakugou doesn’t immediately agree or disagree, so Izuku's anxiety pushes even more words out.

“I can catch you up on all the info afterwards and you can still help me test for more quirks if you want to be a part of that but I think it’d be beneficial to all of us if All Might and I were able to talk on our own about the more delicate parts of One for All that you might not understand because it’s not in your head but- but that isn’t to say you’re not smart or anything Kacchan I just really really don’t- I don’t...” 

Izuku’s voice stalls in his throat, and a dark look passes over Bakugou’s face. He finishes Izuku’s sentence for him, “You just don’t want me there?”

Izuku knows he's in dangerous territory, but he stands his ground and nods despite how loudly his heart is pounding now.

For a single, terrifying second, Bakugou’s dark expression transforms into something thunderous and indignant and furious. It flashes through him in an instant, and then, surprisingly, disappears just as quickly, being forced down by Bakugou into just... irritation.

“... Fine.” Bakugou says, teeth scraping over the shape of the word. Then he jabs a finger at Izuku. Izuku has no doubt that if they were closer together, that finger would be painfully digging into his chest, “But you will keep me updated. I’m not gonna let you try and sneak some secret move or new quirk past me to get the upper hand.” 

Izuku definitely hadn’t expected to win that with such little yelling, and is too relieved to say anything other than, “Of course, Kacchan.” 

Bakugou makes a “hmph” sound, apparently satisfied. There’s still anger in him though, Izuku can sense it. He’d spent too long learning how to gauge Bakugou’s mood to not be able to. 

But Bakugou visibly is restraining himself, visibly holding himself back. Izuku wonders if Bakugou knows how much that means already. 

“Is that it?” Bakugou asks tightly, shoving his hands into his pockets with far too much force. 

Izuku can only nod, really. There’s… nothing else to talk about, at least not right now. They, Katsuki Bakugou and Izuku Midoriya, just had a real conversation. They’d talked, and Bakugou hadn’t just screamed at him and Izuku hadn’t just screamed back until things turned to blows. The things they said had been honest and productive , and Izuku is beginning to feel a bit shell shocked and speechless as reality sinks in.

“I’m gettin’ my ass out of here then,” Bakugou grumbles, and he turns to continue climbing the stairs.

Izuku finds his voice just in time, “H-hey Kacchan? One more thing,” He says.

Bakugou stops, foot held up mid-step, and throws his head back with an exasperated groan. It’s not a seriously frustrated sound though, it’s more in the tone Bakugou would use with Kirishima, or Kaminari; anger but with the edge softened, “What now , huh? You’re really fuckn’ pushing it."

Izuku takes a chance on a lopsided smile, something small and genuine that has more hope behind it than Izuku thought there would be, “We still have the dorm tour to do, if you want?” 

Bakugou sneers, but pulls his foot back, “Damnit, everyone really wants to do that?” Izuku nods, “Ugh, those extras will just come banging on my door if I’m not there from the start.” 

He starts descending the stairs now, towards Izuku, rather than away. 

Izuku doesn’t flinch when Bakugou steps up to him. Kacchan has always been taller, but for once, it actually feels like they’re seeing eye to eye.

“Well? You coming too, nerd?” Bakugou asks, hands still firmly in his pockets, as if he’s afraid Izuku will suddenly try to grab his hand at any second. It’s almost funny, but also, there's something about it that makes Izuku's heart twinge. They're still not there yet, he reminds himself. 

"Yeah.” Izuku confirms softly.

“You better. If I have to suffer this you do too.” Bakugou grumbles, as he breaks their eye contact and goes around Izuku to head down the stairwell first. 

Now Izuku is on the higher landing, looking down at Bakugou. 

“Thanks again, Kacchan.” He can’t resist saying.

“Fuck off,” Bakugou snaps, without bite, “What’d we just talk about, huh? Did you listen to a damn word? Save that thanks for when you believe my apology is real.” 

I knew they were real every time. Izuku doesn’t say.

“Okay, Kacchan, I will.” He says instead.