Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

HU isn’t exactly everyone’s number-one college choice. 

High school classmates looked at Izuku like he was concussed when he turned in his applications. Not necessarily because of the difficulty to apply, though it’s up there, but more so because of the campus being 45 minutes southwest of Tokyo city and in the middle of absolute buttfuck nowhere. 

Higanbana University is home to the red spider lilies that bloom near the riverbanks and rice fields just north of campus. It’s cliche that they named the university after a damn flower, but he’s heard worse in Western countries. A small college town with a population of around 40,000, HU is smack dab in the middle of downtown Mizu, and there is nothing to do but get shit-faced or drive 45 minutes to the city to get even more shit-faced.

Yeah, for sure a choice on Izuku’s part. 

But, despite its many questionable sides, HU is still considered one of the top campuses in Japan that still holds historic red brick buildings and outdoor study areas. Though it’s most known for its competitive hockey team, Izuku only came for its second known—the competitive fine arts department. 

Demanding doesn’t even begin to explain the Arts and Science College. Every year, only 10 juniors and seniors get chosen to partake in an exhibit showcase at the Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Art—getting a chance to become protégé of the legend and mystery himself in artistic rebellion, All Might. He’s like the Japanese version of Banksy, for fucks sake. And every year, it only gets more competitive and aggressive within each program considering he still hasn’t found anyone. 

The painting and illustration side of the major is the worst out of them all—he knows because he’s actively participating in it. 

His friend Uraraka always asks why he apparently wants to kill himself. 

He doesn’t have an answer for her. 

Izuku scribbles notes in his notebook, trying his best to pay attention to the lecture his Anthropology professor is giving. Brows knit together and teeth nibbling at his thumbnail, he taps the pencil against his forehead in an attempt to jumpstart his brain. It’s only been two weeks of the fall semester, and already he’s been fucked sideways with work for his portfolio and TA schedule. But it’s not like he’s never been able to handle it. 

However, Uraraka nearly drowned him herself when he showed her his weekly rundown. 

The door to the auditorium swings open and Izuku jumps from the sudden noise, unintentionally throwing his pencil in the air. 

The class collectively turns, but Dr. Suzuki sighs up front without even looking from her laptop. 

“Bakugo, take your seat quietly please.” she glares up, glasses perched on her nose. She pushes up her frames and moves over to the projected screen. 

Most professors at any school don’t care if you show up late to class, as long as you’re quiet and respectful—it’s an unspoken rule. But, well, quiet and respectful aren’t two things Bakugou does. Ever. 

Eyes as saturated as red cherries glare upward at the class. A few flinch, moving their gazes back to the professor, but Izuku doesn’t budge. Intimidating and angry, the tall blonde shoulders his bag and sits down in an empty row. Being anything but quiet. 

Izuku rolls his eyes, reaching down to grab his fallen pencil. 

Bakugou Katsuki is the same year as Izuku, a senior on track for a Bachelor's degree and possibly a Master’s degree. Only, Bakugou is not like Izuku in the slightest. 

First and foremost, he’s an athlete with quite possibly the worst ego known to man. A hockey player on scholarship, and an accounting major on the way to take over his family’s successful firm after graduation. 

He’s hot. He’s successful. He’s unfairly smart. 

If it were anyone else, Izuku wouldn’t be talking so poorly. But because it is him, Izuku would say he’s a cocktail called “entitled douche bag” and nothing else. 

Dr. Suzuki clears her throat. “As I was saying…”

Izuku leans back and listens, twiddling his pencil. He can’t help but glance at the back of the blonde’s head. Watching as he sighs and flips the side table up. 

Propping his elbow up and resting his cheek, Izuku narrows his eyes. He’s known Bakugou since freshman year orientation. Well, known is a stretch. Every year they’ve somehow managed to be in one elective or prerequisite class together every semester. Anthropology, Ethics, History, Biology, it was like a game to see if Izuku could go one semester without seeing him. It’s not like the hothead has ever noticed him. He never notices anyone. 

30 minutes of heavy lecture material goes by before Suzuki grants the gift of release. It was a good thing she did, Izuku swore he saw steam rising off some of the student’s heads from how hard they were trying to focus. 

Packing up his computer and notebook, Izuku zips his bag and shoves an earbud into his ear before making his leave. He has the next hour off, and he needs to talk to Midnight about something that came up. She was vague, as always, in her email. 

Teaching Assistant jobs aren’t normally offered to undergraduates unless there are special circumstances. But, Izuku found himself on Midnight’s—the department advisor and modern art history professor's—good side and proved his worth. However, sometimes he regrets even saying yes to the opportunity at times. 

Izuku pulls out his phone as he walks down the hill, noticing a text from Shinsou. Probably asking about meeting with the group after classes. He hums, moving to swipe on the conversation when he hears a second set of steps not far behind him. Narrowing his eyes, he pulls out his earbud to listen. 

It’s not like he’s the only one walking to the art building at this hour, but that’s not the case. 

These steps…sound angry? He can’t tell if this person just walks weirdly down hills or if they think stomping will make a point. 

He reaches the front doors and pulls. 

“Move, nerd.”

Izuku is bumped to the side as a larger and taller figure slides through the door in front of him. Gasping, he adjusts himself in disbelief and disgust. What a fucking-

Instantly, he frowns when he sees who it is. 

In the flesh and blood, Bakugou is stomping through the main entrance like a bull in a china shop. Habitually, Izuku rolls his eyes once again and walks inside. Either he’s lost—which is doubtful, considering “fine arts department” is plastered outside—or he’s here for a class. Which, well, is also doubtful. Knowing him, he’d do everything and anything to get excused from an art class. 

The thought of Bakugou trying to patiently paint a still life is honestly horrifying. 

Izuku turns into the office, pulling his bag off his shoulder to unzip it. “Hey Midnight, I have those papers for you. You wanted to talk to me about something too, right?” He sets his bag down next to the desk. 

Midnight looks up from her lunch mid-bite and smiles. “Mhfh, hey kiddo.” She chews what looks to be a bit of noodle, pointing at the chair next to her with the chopsticks she was using. “Take a seat, let’s have a–” 

“Oi, you the fuckin advisor here?” that very same rough and powerful voice from earlier interrupts her mid-sentence, and Izuku nearly whips his head around so fast he sees white. 

Bakugou is standing in front of her desk, tapping his foot with irritation. His school-sponsored athlete backpack is only on one shoulder as he moves to shove his hands in his straight-leg cargo pants pockets. Izuku hates that he actually likes the way he dresses. But, it really doesn’t matter if he’s even wearing designer, he still looks like a prick from the way he frowns. 

Midnight blinks, swallowing her food. “Wanna try that again, kid?” She puts down her utensils and interlaces her fingers together, leaning on the desk. Her red glasses and long black ponytail add to the piercing glare. 

Bakugou raises his lip in a sneer. He lets out a frustrated growl. “Are you Nemuri Kayama… ma’am?” 

Izuku fights the urge to facepalm. 

Midnight takes one deep breath, raising one of her hands. “Just call me Midnight, no one calls me by my given name here.” She takes a second, tilting her head to the side. “Now, what exactly requires you to grace me with your presence today, Bakugou Katsuki?” 

The blonde doesn’t even flinch at the full-namedrop. Though, who would when they’re probably one of the most famous figures in the whole of this side of fucking town.

Izuku decides to sit down and set the papers on her desk, trying not to make eye contact with this very amazing situation happening right in front of him. 

Bakugou’s eyes dart to Izuku for a split second and he fights the urge to glare back at the blonde. “My advisor said to come talk to you about some fucking options for art electives. He won’t let me opt out and I need at least one to keep my scholarship and graduate.”

“Oh, boo hoo,” Midnight leans back in her chair. “The big tough athlete doesn’t want to paint some shapes?” She pouts her lip, waiting for a response. 

Fucking hell. Midnight is the worst faculty member to be around someone like Bakugou. 

For starters, she doesn’t give even a single fuck about his reputation or his family’s influence. Enough so to risk getting fired. 

As expected, he turns two shades redder and looks like is going to explode. He takes one big step closer to her desk. 

“Listen hag, if you’re just gonna waste my time-” 

“I’ll only waste your time if you waste mine,” she interrupts him, shutting him up immediately. “I will gladly help you get set up in a class that won’t damage your already fragile masculinity as long as you cooperate. Got it?” 

Bakugou flares his nostrils, shaking his head. “Just-” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, “give me some options and I can give you my schedule. This is the last thing I want to do right now, but I wouldn’t be here if I haven’t tried every other fucking option.” 

Midnight stares at him, blinking slowly. “Not any better, but I know this is gonna go on forever and I would like to enjoy my lunch.” She pushes back her chair and opens her top drawer, pulling out a card. She reaches outward, handing it to him. 

He raises a brow, glaring down at the piece of paper. 

“There is my contact information and office hours. Email me and CC your advisor so we can get something linked. We have some spots available in a few of our courses this semester, but that all depends on your current schedule and how flexible it can be.” She scoots back in, grabbing a paper on autopilot and handing it to Izuku. “Studio classes are over two hours, but if you do a form of art history it’s just a 50-minute lecture. The sooner you sign up the better, most courses have started projects and heavier lectures.”

Bakugou looks up from the card and back down. He grumbles, shoving it into his pocket. He doesn’t say anything else, not even a “thank you” or a “whatever”, before adjusting his bag and turning out of the office. 

Midnight shakes her head, grabbing her chopsticks. “God, what a peach. ”

Izuku snorts. “Does that really shock you?” 

“I think I would have had an aneurysm if he didn’t eventually somewhat cooperate.” Midnight twists her noodles before shoving more into her mouth. She nods, grabbing the papers Izuku set out and replacing them with another stack from the side of her desk. “Are all athletes like that or does he just need therapy more than the rest?” 

Izuku grabs the papers, nodding. “Definitely the second option. The rest of his team are chill compared to him.”

He’s been to a few of the hockey house parties because Uraraka is dating the team manager, Iida, and a lot of the players are always kind to him—offering drinks, and asking how he is. 

Kirishima Eijirou, the goalie on the team, was one of the students Izuku helped out in the beginners' art course last year when he started TAing. Since passing the class, the redhead has felt the need to be in debt to Izuku for the rest of his life. Which, well, mostly involves getting the best drinks at the party or occasionally a free ticket to upcoming games—though, he’d never be caught dead going to one.

…that’s a hypocritical statement if he’s ever heard one. 

Midnight hums, nodding as she chews. 

“Anyway…” Izuku notes. “What did you need to talk to me about?” 

“Ah-” Midnight puts her stuff down and swallows. Turning in her chair to face him, she crosses her legs. “Yaoyorozu got offered a study abroad position last minute this semester in France for curation. I think she will be leaving around next week.”

Izuku perks up, surprised. “Oh! Good for her, I know she’s been wanting to go forever.” 

“Mhm.” She pushes up her glasses. “Unfortunately though, with her leaving, Nana will be out of a TA for European 19th Century. If it’s not too much, I might have to have you cover for her while Momo’s gone. 

Ah.

Well fuck. 

“Oh um…yeah, I should be able to. Am I still going to be helping out in your class too?” Izuku bites at the inside of his cheek that’s already worn down. 

Midnight nods. “If that’s not too much for you kiddo. I won’t be as demanding for ya since you’ll be with Nana too. But if it’s truly too much—since you are focusing on your senior exhibit and portfolio this year—I can ask around."

Clenching his fist on his lap, Izuku thinks about all the ways he can say no. Well, all the ways he would love to say no—it’s only the dream. 

He can’t physically say it even if someone hits him in the back of the head with a bat. Uraraka might actually do it when she finds out. She had a habit of resorting to violence more often than not. 

Swallowing down the anxiety trying to crawl itself up his throat, Izuku nods. What’s another few hours on his schedule, huh? 

“Sure, I’d be happy to help.” 

“Oh yeah, you’re definitely going to kill yourself this year,” Uraraka deadpans, looking up from her textbook. 

“Don’t remind me, I am already aware,” Izuku groans, smacking his head on the edge of the table. “Why can’t I ever say no…” 

Todoroki looks over as he blows on his tea. “Because you’re too nice for your own good.” 

“That’s debatable,” Shinsou shakes his head. “He’s a cunt when he wants to be.” 

Iida’s eyes go wide next to Uraraka. “Language!” 

Some people around them turn from the volume, but others mind their own business. It’s not like they aren’t regulars at Plus Ultra Café with a lack of social awareness.

Uraraka smacks Shinsou’s arm. “We’re trying to not let him kill himself this year, remember?” 

Izkuku looks up, blinking. “Says the girl that nearly choked me out last week for missing a party.” He sits up, scooting back in his chair to look at the rows of assignments in his planner. 

Shinsou snorts.  

Uraraka puts her textbook down, shaking her head. “Yeah, 'cause you were in the studio till 3 am like a fucking loser during week ONE. This is our last year, you shouldn’t be stressing yourself like you are.” 

Iida eyes her for her way of words but decides to keep his mouth shut. He has a particularly strong weakness for this girl, no matter how feral she is. 

Izuku crosses his arms, hearing the metal from his rings and necklaces clink together as he moves. “This is also the last year for me to add to my portfolio and impress the committee. I didn’t make it last year so this is my last shot.” 

Everyone here remembers how devastated he was when he wasn’t selected. Uraraka specifically. 

Leaning forward, Uraraka props her elbows on the table. “Look Izuku, sweetie, you know I care and want the best for you. And I know you put your whole soul into this work because it’s your dream.” 

Izuku raises a brow. There’s gonna be a “but”, he knows it. 

“ But …”

Bingo. 

“...I swear to god if you don’t go out with us and get laid or something soon to de-stress, I will actually give myself a lobotomy.” 

Iida chokes on his water.

Nevermind. He revokes his bingo. 

Shinsou lets out a quick “HA!” 

“Uraraka!” Izuku grits through his teeth, slamming his book shut. 

Iida pounds a fist on his chest to clear the liquid from his lungs. “Ochako…*cough* I love you so much but what in the hell?” 

“Language,” Shinsou points a finger with a cheeky grin. 

“Uraraka’s not wrong, you know,” Todoroki chimes in, getting another groan from Izuku. 

Iida pushes up his glasses and scoots out of his chair. “I’m excusing myself to the bathroom.” He pats Uraraka’s head as he stands. “ Behave, please.” 

Izuku shakes his head. “Uraraka, I’m perfectly fine with-”

“With what?” Uraraka smiles, interrupting him. “You’re perfectly fine with Mr. Lefty and Righty?” She holds up her hands and Shinsou nearly collapses off his chair from how hard he starts laughing. 

So much for behaving. 

Todoroki shakes his head, patting the back of Shinsou’s shoulder as he wheezes. 

Izuku’s face heats up and he points a finger to her. “Oh, you think you’re hilarious, don’t you?”  

“I know for a fact that I’m hilarious,” she chuckles, dropping her hands to her lap. “But I’m serious, dude.” 

Izuku rolls his eyes. 

“I am!” She shouts. “You are so stressed and so anxious all the time that I am afraid you’re gonna explode from the pressure. You either need a fuck buddy or therapy, and we all know you refuse one of the two.” 

“We are not having this conversation right now…” Izuku exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Izuku has been celibate for half a year because of his priorities with school and work, and yeah…he’s a bit tense…but that’s not what he needs right now. Absolutely not. 

Uraraka leans back, being the one to cross her arms this time. “Fine, then how do you suppose we change the subject this time?” 

He doesn’t even hesitate for more than 5 seconds. 

“Bakugou is gonna have to take an art class this semester,” he blurts. 

Half the café goes quiet. Someone drops their fork and turns. 

“Oh my god, you’re kidding,” Uraraka says quietly, blinking slowly. Izuku doesn’t say he is, leading Uraraka’s eyes to go as wide as a deer’s. “Oh my god, you’re not. No shit. He’s going to be a nightmare in that poor professor's class.”

Todoroki puts his mug down. “How do you know? Did someone start a rumor or something?” 

Izuku shakes his head. “No, he came storming into Mightnight’s office pissed the hell off when I was there handing her the paperwork I graded. He has to take at least one physical or historical form of art or he’s not graduating. Y’know, since this school’s only two pride and joys are the hockey team and art department.”

“Well, lord knows he’s not choosing the physical one,” Shinsou cringes just thinking about it. “I’m surprised he didn’t find a way to get opted out or pay off the dean to scrub it from his transcript, considering his family basically funds the entire school.” 

Izuku almost laughs. “Oh, he tried. And he made sure to complain about it to Midnight, and considering it’s Midnight, she didn’t give a fuck.” 

“Do you know which class he might be taking?” Uraraka asks. “I hate to admit that he’s smart and will probably do good in the art history classes, but also knowing him he will be a piece of shit the whole time.” 

“Hopefully none that I’m in or TAing for,” Izuku sighs, pushing back a curl that slipped in front of his face. “I’m already dealing with him in my Anthropology class and that alone is enough.” 

Uraraka puts her hands on the table, pursing her lips together. “Oh honey, knowing your luck, you’re probably gonna be the one stuck with him.” 

“Yeah,” Izuku shakes his head. “I just hope you’re not right for once.” 

Izuku drops his bag. “Midnight, don’t look at me like that.” 

Midnight is smiling at him with big teeth, very forced and very uncomfortable. She only ever looks at him like that when she has bad news, terrible news, and even worse news. All of the above, even. 

“Don’t hate me…” 

“Oi, greenie.” 

Izuku snaps his head around, meeting eyes of ripe cherries and a half-lipped snarl. 

“You’re Deku Midoriya, right?” 

“The hell did you just call me?” Izuku almost snarls himself, turning all the way over. 

Bakugou looks down at Izuku slightly, tilting his head. Unimpressed, a brow raises and long blonde lashes blink. “You’re Deku? The damn TA for 19th Century bullshit?” 

Izuku blinks back, even more unimpressed. He scoffs, crossing his arms. “First of all, it’s Midoriya Izuku, and second, yeah I am. Why does it matter to you?” He taps a ringed finger against his jacket sleeve, impatient. He can sense Midnight behind him trying not to die from the sheer discomfort of this situation. 

It’s Bakugou’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah, whatever Deku.”

Izuku gawks. 

“Now, point me in the direction of lecture hall F44 in this fuck ass building, won’t you? I’d rather not be in this depressing ass office any longer than I have to be.”

Izuku slowly turns his head back to Midnight. She cringes, hiding her face in paperwork. 

“I am gonna strangle you,” Izuku mouths before reaching down to grab his bag. 

Exhaling a long breath, Izuku throws his bag over his shoulder. Moments like these make him question how he’s not addicted to nicotine yet. “Yeah, it’s just down the hall. Follow me…” 

Bakugou grinds his teeth from behind and mutters under his breath. “Jesus, everyone in this damn building is extra as hell…”

They don’t even make it two steps before Izuku shakes his head and turns around, making the blonde stop dead in his tracks. 

“Hey, what the fu-”

“Nope. Absolutely not, we’re not doing that. Let’s get this one thing clear before you do follow me into that lecture hall,” Izuku looks up and points. 

The blonde blinks, surprised at the turn of events.

“I don’t give a rat's ass about you or your track record. I don’t care that you think you’re special just because you can hit a fucking puck on ice, or because your family has money.” 

Bakugou’s expression shifts and looks at him like he’s deranged. He opens his mouth but Izuku stops him. 

“I will never see you that way. I will never bend at the knees and do whatever you want just because you think you’re special. If you at any point test me, Nana, or anyone else in this building I will be sure to make your life hell as long as I am grading your papers and standing in for lectures. I’m stressed as it is and I don’t need your bullshit to make it worse.”

“You-” Again, Bakugou tries to open his mouth but Izuku holds his hand up. 

“If you are late or absent consistently, I will lower your grade. If you disrupt the class, I will lower your grade. The fine arts department here doesn’t fuck around and I’m not the only one here who would treat you the same way. Do you understand?” 

Bakugou grips his bag tight enough to hear the strap groan. Clenching his jaw, he raises his chin. “Loud and fucking clear.”

“Good,” Izuku turns and continues to walk down the hall. “Because if you don’t…it won’t be difficult for anyone in this building to make you feel the same way you make everyone else feel.” 

It doesn’t take long for that rough voice to snarl back. “And what the fuck might that be, shortstack?” 

Izuku glances back, narrowing his eyes.

“Small.”

Something weird happens. 

Bakugou’s eyes change for one split second. Just one. It’s too fast for it to seem concerning out too out of character. But Izuku caught it. 

Keeping the same saturation of red, though they seem to soften. Round at the edges, even. Bakugou looks at Izuku like he’s different from everyone else who grazes his presence or breathes the same air. 

Izuku raises a brow and Bakugou blinks, losing that moment he seemed to gain. 

“Okay…” Izuku continues, barely changing his tone from before to stay assertive. “Well, Nana should have made a stack of stuff for you knowing her.” He pushes the lecture hall door open, propping it open with his hip as he turns to face Bakugou. 

He tilts his head and smiles just slightly from each corner—enough to seem off-putting. “So now that you’re just so properly acquainted, welcome to the fine arts department, Bakugou Katsuki .”

Bakugou glares down at him before glancing past his shoulder to all the students looking directly at him from their seats like he’s gone mental. Izuku doesn’t have to turn around to see it with his own eyes, he can sense the aura swelling inside the stuffy room. 

“You’re gonna need all the luck you can get.”

Chapter Text

“Hey…Midoriya, was it?”

Izuku looks up from the stack of papers on top of Nana’s podium. “Hm?” He hums, catching a glimpse of wild curly pink hair. “How can I help you…” he trails off, trying to remember her name from the attendance forms. 

“Ashido,” the girl smiles, offering a hand decorated with sparkly pink fingernails. He takes it, smiling back. 

“Right, of course, sorry I’m still getting the names,” he chuckles lightly, feeling a pat on his shoulder from Nana next to him. 

“Remembering 200 students’ names won’t give you brownie points, kiddo,” Nana jokes, shaking her head as she places a stack of papers into its designated yellow folder. 

He’s choosing to ignore that for now. “Ignore her, how can I help you, Ashido?” 

Nana chuckles, grabbing the folders to head out and leave him to it. 

Nodding, Ashido pulls out a couple of papers. “I just had a question on the homework that was assigned on Monday,” she says, placing the papers on the podium. 

Izuku’s eyes lift as she points to the question, nodding. Aside from her bright pink hair, she’s practically sparkling from all the jewelry dangling from her ears and around her neck. A pretty girl at heart. Gold to accent her eyes and darker skin, diamonds to add a twinkle. He watches as she chews at her thumbnail as she tries to make sense of her question—anxious, nervous.

“I’m not that great with terminology stuff, I always get mixed up no matter how hard I go over it.” Her long lashes blink, fluffy and soft and probably fake, as she looks up at him. “And-” she pauses. “Uh…Midoriya? Is there something on my face?” 

Izuku snaps out of it fast his head rushes. “Holy shit, I’m so sorry.” He must have been looking at her too hard. Grabbing the back of his neck, he cringes. 

“I tend to pay attention to my students—a little too much sometimes—so it’s easier to remember names and personalities. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable, I just noticed you seem anxious and I hold intense eye contact so it probably looked like I was staring pretty hard,” he huffs a nervous laugh. 

Ashido blinks those long lashes before letting those soft lips fall into a smile. “It’s kinda crazy you could tell just from looking at me…am I that easy to read?” 

Leaning forward, Izuku crosses his arms on the podium and shakes his head with pursed lips. “I just have a bad habit of analyzing behavior. I don’t want you to feel embarrassed or anything, I do the same thing with my thumbnail when I’m stressed or anxious,” he says, lifting his chewed-up thumb. Taking his fingers, he slides her paper over and turns it, looking at the question she was pointing to earlier. “Now, what specifically about this question was difficult?” 

Ashido nibbles at her bottom lip, leaning forward. “Well…I’m just kind of having a hard time finding the distinct differences between Neoclassical and Romanticism artworks when we are shown photos, y’know? I know this sheet is just a warm-up to help us before digging into the entire timeline, but I can’t help but feel dumb.” They both look down at the two example pieces listed below the question.  

Izuku nods, looking back up to her. “That’s ok, it’s not always super straightforward. Especially since earlier transitions look similar in styles.” He taps one of his ringed fingers on the wood surface. “Lemme ask you a question,” he says gently with a smile, waiting for a nod from her. “When you look at these two pieces, can you name a couple of things that jump out to you? Don’t think about art or art history for a moment, it can be anything.”

At the corner of his eye, Izuku can see ungroomed blonde hair waiting from a distance—foot tapping impatiently. Instinctively, he holds up a finger. One moment. 

“Well…” Ashido hums, tapping a nail to her chin. She moves her hand and points to the one on the left—Oath of the Horatii, a known classic. “This one looks kind of staged? With the swords help up, and even the women in the background…like they were told to stand there and pose,” she pauses and Izuku nods. “And with this one,” she says, pointing to the one on the right—another popular European art piece, Liberty Leading the People. “…there seems to be more of a dramatic kind of stance. Like it looks more powerful and moving if that even makes sense.”

“Yes!” Izuku exclaims a little too loud, startling her. He cringes, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “Yes, you’re absolutely correct.” 

Ashido smiles, looking down at her paper as Izuku points to the first piece again. “Neoclassical art is defined by calm rationality, clear or staged messages, and expresses its figures parallel to the frame. These works of art are almost trying too hard for the message to get across if that makes sense?” He gets a nod, allowing him to continue. “Romanticism…” he points to the other. “Is emotional, like romance stories. It’s chaos, it’s moody, it’s real life, and it uses the space around it to also tell a story. You can see it the most with facial expressions and body language,” he continues, circling his finger around the center figures. “I won’t overwhelm you because both can go into so much more depth and I will talk your ear off, but I hope that I helped you understand this question at least a little more.” 

Ashido practically deflates in front of his eyes, visibly losing the anxiety that had seemed to nip at her for a while. “God, thank you so so much. I always have trouble in lecture-heavy classes, so you have no idea how helpful you’ve been. I’ve literally had TAs tell me to pay attention harder.”

Izuku smiles, nodding his head. He grabs her papers, handing them back. “Everyone learns differently, no matter who you are. If you have any more questions, don’t be afraid to reach out or catch me after lectures if I am there for the day. These classes aren’t easy and I don’t want you to drown. My email should be on the syllabus.” 

“Thanks again, dude. Man, I seriously owe you one,” Ashido grabs the papers and waves, adjusting her bag before shuffling out of the class. 

He smiles, waiting as she disappears behind the door before he sighs, letting his head fall onto his propped-up hand. He takes a breath, slicking back his hair and sitting up straight. “How can I help you, Bakugou?” 

For the first few lectures, Izuku hasn’t had to call him out on any bullshit. Surprisingly, he comes on time and sits right at the back of each lecture, quietly taking notes. 

It’s almost disappointing. Izuku was expecting to have someone to bitch out weekly, especially someone like him. He doubts it’s because of what boundaries were set a few days ago, considering Bakugou doesn’t listen to people like him who actually have a backbone. 

The blonde clicks his tongue, walking over to the podium. “Do you flirt with everyone in your damn classes, or are you just that desperate for good evaluations?” 

Izuku’s face falls to a deadpan. “It’s called being nice, maybe you should try it sometime,” he says, shaking his head. “Now, how can I help you? I can’t stay long, I have my own lecture to catch soon.” 

Taking off his bag, Bakugou quickly unzips it and pulls something out. “I don’t need any help from you with this damn class. Unlike with pinky before me, I understood the fucking lecture.” 

“Well good for you, oh great scholar,” Izuku’s lips raise, irritated, as Bakugou slams down a folder that appears to be all his missed assignments. Izuku glares up. 

“That was fast,” he says, grabbing the folder. It was only about three sheets, but Nana likes thoroughness and depth when it comes to assignments. Either he really does know what he’s doing, or all of these answers are way too short and lacking in correct detail. 

He’s not going to check in front of the blonde, that right there is a death wish of itself. 

Bakugou grumbles. “Yeah, it’s not rocket science, hair for brains. You act high and mighty about these classes, but it’s fucking child’s play. 

“God, you really hate fine arts, don’t you?” Izuku huffs, throwing the folder on the stack he himself needs to take to Nana’s office.  

“I hate anything that wastes my time and is useless to both me and my career.” Bakugou just about snorts smoke from his nostrils, leaning down to zip his bag back up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, this fucking lecture room reeks of old paint and mental illness.” 

Izuku looks up at the ceiling, taking a breath. He listens to the way Bakugou throws his bag so hard over his shoulder that the objects inside rustle. He hears each step and each breath as he walks to the door and kicks it open. 

Groaning, Izuku leans forward and lets his head fall into his hands. 

This is going to be such a long semester…

Studio hours in the FA building are typically for anyone within the department who needs extra time outside classes to work on projects. It’s not discriminatory to anyone—art majors, and even those who aren’t. Almost everyone comes in with a 24oz energy drink and already-packed eyebags, ready to kill themselves with whatever project they’re working on.  

It’s not uncommon to see one or even three inside the building till ungodly hours, Izuku especially. 

Wiping a bead of paint off on his overalls, Izuku throws his brush into his water cup. His neck is aching like a damn splintering tree trunk due to the criminal positions he’s been sat in all day. He exhales, moving his neck left and right, trying to look at his painting from a couple of different angles before he can say he officially hates it. He’s been spending the last couple of weeks kicking himself in the ass creating bigger and more detailed pieces, hoping they are good enough to impress the committee.  

Impress All Might. 

Rubbing his forehead, Izuku fights the unpleasant urge to throw his paint up at the canvas and smear it grey. Nothing he’s been doing has been even slightly satisfying. Even the piece he’s doing right now that’s touching on sexuality and self-expression in a not-so-forgiving country.  

Uraraka was a little bit more than pissed when he said backed out of going out tonight. A Friday night. A night when everyone and their mother are throwing parties to forget reality and upcoming midterms with substance abuse and sex. 

He apologized like he always does, saying he’ll make it up somehow. She gave him a disdainful look with a quick “Whatever.” 

Deep down he knows she’s mad because she’s worried. But, he also knows deep down that the both of them don’t want that muscle-deep conversation right now because they’re each stubborn in their own individual ways—she will push, he will shove. 

His phone dings. 

Pulling out one of his earbuds, Izuku grabs his phone and swipes it up—cursing when he smears cobalt blue on his screen. 

It’s a Snapchat request. Tilting his head, Izuku winces when his neck finally cracks. His eyes scan the profile and freeze, glancing it over once more. 

He doesn’t even want to know how she found him…

Clicking accept, he preps to throw the phone back on the table but it dings again. 

Alien_Queen69 is now your friend!

Immediately after the notification, another pops up in its place. 

Ashido: Ignore my snap handle, I made it when I was 12 and didn’t know that my actions would be permanent 

Izuku snorts, moving his thumbs to type back. 

Izuku: Don’t worry, I’ve seen worse

Uraraka’s is HarryStyles-wife because she was 11, she was convinced Harry Styles was her husband, and she thought it was funny. 

Plot twist, it was—but not in the way she wanted. 

Izuku: Also, how did you even find me? Are you stalking me?

Ashido: Dude, you can find anyone on the internet these days

Ashido: be so fr

Izuku: fair enough

Izuku: did you need something? It’s not office hours but I can still help if you need

She takes a second to type, allowing for Izuku to adjust himself on his stool. 

Ashido: I love you so much for asking but it’s literally a Friday 

Ashido: the better question is, why are you still in the art building at 9 pm 

Izuku: ok, now you really are stalking me

Ashido: yes, and I’m not ashamed

Ashido: I found and requested you because I wanted to invite you to the house party we’re throwing tonight at 11

Ashido: you seem dope and you have good “I won’t molest you” vibes. Not to mention, I do owe you one ;)

Izuku: wow I’m honored 

Izuku: but idk, I already told my friends I wasn’t going out

Izuku frowns, picking at one of his nails as he stares at his blue-covered screen. She’s really sweet, but he’s already made the decision to go out less this semester to focus on his projects.

Ashido: invite them over too! 

Ashido: you have all weekend to recover from a hangover and work on whatever you’re doing right now

Ashido: midterms don’t start for another week or so and I can tell someone like you needs to get out and decompress

Izuku: dang, am I that easy to read?

He jokes, poking at their last conversation.

Ashido: LMAO, you just seem to have a lot on your plate. Plus, I do wanna get to know you more as a person outside of class

Ashido: we’re the white house off Block 16 if you know where that is. Just across from the soccer fields. 

Izuku bites at the inside of his cheek. 

Izuku: I’ll definitely think about it

Ashido: word, def come! No pressure at all, I just think it’ll be fun for you :)

Ashido: we only have so much time to be young and stupid, yk? 

Izuku: ofc, thank you Ashido

Izuku closes the chat and exhales. It’s only 9:30 right now. Rubbing his forehead with a finger he hopes is clean, he stands. 

He has all weekend…

Groaning, Izuku opens his contacts list and presses Uraraka. This is such a bad idea…

To no one's surprise, she answers extremely fast. 

“If you’re calling to apologize again it’s fine, Midoriya, you know I just-” 

“I have a way to make it up to you,” Izuku interrupts her. 

It’s quiet on her line for a brief moment. “Oh? Color me intrigued. How exactly will you do that?” 

Glancing at his unfinished painting, Izuku closes his fist tight till he can feel his nails form crescents. “Are you familiar with Mina Ashido, by chance?” 

Loud silence.

“Did he just say Ashido?” Izuku hears Shinsou in the background. 

“I-” Uraraka pauses. “Midoriya, don’t fuck with me.” 

Izuku’s brows fold down. “What? No, I—Ashido is my student in 19th century, she invited me to her party because I helped her out with some homework and I’m-” 

“Shut your whore mouth.”

Izuku pulls his phone back and looks at it like she just said a slur.

“Oh my god. Get your ass over to my apartment in the next 10 minutes or I just might hit you with my car.” 

Izuku puts a hand on his hip. “Uraraka wait, what’s happening-”

Silence.

“Uraraka-”

Izuku can hear footsteps and something grabbing the phone. “Hey, yeah sorry she’s having a stroke right now so I’m taking over,” Shinsou says. 

“Naturally,” Izuku rolls his eyes. “But seriously, translate for me. Why is she so freaked out?” 

“Are all those paint thinner chemicals finally getting to your head? Dude, Ashido’s house is the party house. Deep House, ever heard of it? Balls deep in a hangover house? Everyone including all of the athletes and all of the finest men and women you have ever seen go to these parties. You have to know her or have connections to get invited.”

ERROR—402 pops up inside his brain in big red letters. Izuku’s mouth drops and he himself feels like he’s having a stroke. 

A sentence of gibberish rings in the background. “Ah, I think she’s foaming at the mouth now. Just get here soon because knowing her, she’s gonna do everything in her power to make both of us look like a fucking wet dream and I can’t go to war alone, soldier. Todoroki and Iida are busy today so it’s just us, unfortunately.” 

Izuku feels his neck up pale to white. “Oh god-”

Shinsou hangs up, leaving Izuku wondering why— just why— he decided to say yes again. 

“Uraraka, I seriously cannot breathe in these jeans,” Izuku complains, trying to relieve some tension he has in all the wrong places. 

“Relax,” Uraraka chuckles, putting down her eyeshadow palette. She made him sit down so she could try a natural fox-eye look on him. Non-consensually. As always. But, well, he's never technically minded letting her do this on him, since he typically doesn't care too much about how he dresses. “With the button-up showing off all your tattoos and the jeans making your ass look better than mine?? If you don’t leave with another dick tonight, I genuinely might drop out of college.”

Izuku snorts, moving to look at himself in the mirror as she makes her way to her closet to pick out her outfit.  

He won’t say it out loud, but he does look good. Brushing a hand over his arm, Izuku blinks and tilts his head. Small silver earrings shine and his necklace chains tangle with his shirt buttons. Sometimes, only sometimes, with all the piercings, the tattoos, and the jewelry…he can’t help but picture his old grade school self. Braces and big black glasses that never fit his face. Scrawny and small, freckles more prominent than ever like sand stuck on wet skin. 

He can only imagine him staring back in the mirror, smiling with those sad eyes and tired skin. It really has been that long. 

Sighing, Izuku brushes a piece of hair from his forehead. He turns, watching as Uraraka slips on a pink and black corset top before spinning around. 

“So…how are we looking boys?”

Shinsou doesn’t even have to look up from his phone. “Any better and your boyfriend might make you wear the ugly Christmas sweater in his closet.” 

Izuku smiles. “You look great, Uraraka.” 

She grins, showing off those perfectly white teeth and cheekbones speckled with highlighter. Her hair is pulled up halfway and curled, showing off hoop earrings and a simple silver choker. 

He’s always found her beautiful since the first day they met at orientation, no matter how she chooses to decorate herself then and now. 

“Perfect.” She shoots two thumbs up. “Prep yourselves in any way you can before we leave,” she says, grabbing a tube of lipgloss from her vanity and shoving it deep into her jeans pocket. 

“Because this is either going to be the best day of our lives, or we are gonna leave traumatized. Either way, I’m getting plastered.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Shinsou yells with a dead face, lifting his can of spiked lemonade. 

Taking one last look in the mirror, Izuku takes a deep breath. “Your way of motivating needs some work, I hope you know that.”  

Ashido screams when she sees Izuku walk through the door, scaring the guys up front on sober duty. 

With the amount of people and how loud the music is playing, Izuku is dumbfounded that the police aren’t here banging on the front door. Specifically considering the American song “slut me out” is blaring, and he’s pretty sure he saw someone try to light a couch on fire outside. 

“AHHH you actually came!!” She wraps her arms around him and squeezes. He wheezes, returning the hug as he takes in her scent—hair and skin smelling like Malibu rum.  

“Yeah well,” he says, letting her go. “You were pretty persistent.” Getting a good look at her now, he can see she really does stick with the pink theme. “These are my friends Uraraka and Shinsou, by the way.”

Ashido smiles brightly. “Wonderful to meet you both! Anyone who’s friends with him is friends with me.” 

Uraraka looks at Izuku, offended. “So what I’m hearing is I’m not persistent enough.” 

Izuku blinks, unimpressed. “Uraraka, your idea of persuasion is threatening to hit me with your car. Please don’t.” 

“Oh hush, I threaten you with a good time.” 

“Hey, Mina! We’re out of seltzers up here!” A familiar voice calls from the kitchen. 

Ashido holds up a finger. “One moment,” she says, turning her head. “Kiri, you are literally the bartender, that is a you problem, not a me problem!”  

“Fuck!!” 

Ah, the hockey team is here. Which means Bakugou is probably here. Great. 

Ashido turns back, huffing. “Anyway…” She pauses and her eyes find him and do an up and down motion. “God you clean up nice, Midoriya. I didn’t even notice the tattoos. WOW, if I wasn’t a whole lesbian I would fold.” 

Shinsou snorts, patting Izuku’s shoulder. “Yeah, well he’s quite literally so gay so that wouldn’t have worked out anyway, babes.” 

“Really, Shinsou? Have some compassion, he’s gay and an artist. That’s like somehow a double whammy on the spectrum,” Uraraka chimes in. 

Izuku’s eyes blow wide. 

“Oh, I like you two,” she points to Shinsou and Uraraka. “Also he wasn’t fooling anyone, so don’t count me as someone who's surprised.” 

“Guys, I’m right here!” Izuku yells, getting a laugh out of Uraraka. 

Ashido giggles, throwing her arms around his shoulder and Uraraka’s. “Intro is over, it’s drink time, baby!” 

“Finally,” Shinsou whines from behind. 

The smell of sweat and alcohol is almost nauseating. The closer they get to the kitchen floors soaked in beer, the worse it gets. For how large the house is, it doesn’t do a good job of evenly diffusing the overwhelming smell of human bodies and bad habits. 

“Ayyy! Mido-man, what’s up!” Kirishima calls from behind the bar, setting a red cup down and eyeballing a shot. He’s shirtless and wearing a white apron. 

Izuku would be lying if he said this was a first for the redhead. 

Kirishima nods to Uraraka and Shinsou. “What’s up bro and bra, didn’t think I’d see you here either!” 

Ashido facepalms. “Honey, please never call a woman bra ever again.” 

Shinsou snorts, looking at Uraraka. “Oh, I think it's great-” 

He gets an elbow to the ribs immediately. 

“I didn’t think you knew Midoriya, Ash,” Kirishima points a thumb. 

“He’s my knight in shining armor, man,” Ashido gleams, shouldering Izuku lightly. “With his help, I might actually pass art history and bring my GPA up.”

Izuku hums a short laugh. “Don’t be so dramatic, it’s literally my job to help you.” 

Kirishima shakes his head, leaning forward and lightly punching his chest. “Don’t be so modest, bro. I passed your class with an A and that never happens. Like ever. Just ask anyone on the team.” 

Shinsou groans. “All this talk is making me more sober, let's get so drunk I forget my name already.” 

“Yes!” Ashido cheers. “You three are sticking with me tonight.”

“What can I get you guys?” Kirishima asks, keeping that same smile Izuku sees every time they interact. 

Uraraka turns to everyone. “Shots?” 

“Oh my god, Uraraka I will kiss you on the mouth,” Ashido squirms with excitement. “Kiri, get the tequila and the stick, it’s shot-ski time!”

In this case, it's a hockey stick hanging on for dear fucking life.  

Welp, as Ashido said. We’re only young once. 

“Screw it…” Izuku manages to vocalize. 

Uraraka smiles, wrapping her arm around his neck. “That’s more like it.” 

Kirishima pulls it out of god knows where—probably the mono-soaked floor—and slaps it on the table. Grabbing the bottle, he flicks the top off and fills each shot glass to the top. 

“Alright my dudes, you know the drill,” he says, setting down the bottle. 

Izuku preps himself mentally and physically before grabbing onto the edges of the stick, waiting for everyone else before lifting it. 

“3..2..1..DOWN!” 

Right on time, everyone tilts and knocks back the liquid. Izuku hears a few stragglers around the bar hoot and hollers as they take it down. It burns like hell to his stomach and like a flash, his entire body warms up. Tequila is the worst, and never a first choice for him at any event. 

Wiping his mouth, Izuku takes a step back and bumps into someone. Head hitting chest, he turns to apologize. 

Cinnamon…why does he smell cinnamon- 

“Fucking watch it–Deku?!” 

Oh, hell. 

Right behind him, Bakugou is wearing a tight black t-shirt, black stud earrings with a silver chain around his neck, and a disgusted stare. Not uncommon, not surprising—to literally anyone. 

Izuku tilts his head up just enough to keep his neck from craning. He's not significantly taller, but enough to make him tilt his chin. “Yes, it’s me, hot head, no need to yell.” He rolls his eyes and turns back around to face Kirishima. “Also my name is Midoriya, not Deku.” 

Bakugou raises his lip in disgust. 

Ashido looks at Uraraka then back at Izuku and then back at Uraraka. “Oh. This is-” 

Uraraka slaps a hand over her mouth. “Hey Ashido, let’s go play pong!” She doesn’t even wait for an answer before she drags the pink-haired girl by the face. 

Shinsou throws his hands up. “I’m out.” 

God damn it...

He can feel the blonde walk closer, bending down and placing his head just barely above his shoulder. 

He’s way too close for comfort, lips almost grazing his ear and tickling at his hair. If it were anyone else he’d be ok but this? His body is fighting a visceral reaction, or better yet, a swing to the throat. 

“And how did you exactly find your way in here, hm?” Body heat warm enough to feel without contact, Izuku shivers. “Shitty hair, shot of fireball.” He snaps his fingers, grabbing the redhead’s attention. He would be a fireball drinker. 

Kirishima rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah I gotchu cap,” he says, reaching down and grabbing a big bottle of fireball. “Would you like anything else, Midoriya?” 

Izuku tilts his head just enough to side-eye the blonde, blinking slowly with his darkened eyes and curled lashes. He crosses his arms, setting them down on the counter. “I know Ashido, simple as that.” 

Red eyes wander from his face to his arms and Izuku watches as his lips twitch just slightly. 

“And yes, Kirishima, I would love one. If it's not too much trouble, could I get a double of whatever vodka you have?” 

Kirishima pauses as he unscrews the cap of the fireball. “A double now? Usually, you wait like an hour.” 

Izuku smiles, glancing at Bakugou. “I know, a double just sounds perfect right now.” 

A shrug. “You’re the boss my dude.” 

Bakugou’s eyes narrow. “A fucking double?” He turns and glares at Kirishima. “Since when do you let extras get doubles?” 

Oh. Oh, this is fun. Izuku raises a brow, lifting the corner of his lip into an amused grin. 

Kirishima hands Bakugou his shot and starts pouring Izuku’s into a glass, being more generous than the rest. He’s noticed ever since becoming better friends with the redhead, he’s started giving him his shots in actual shot glasses if available. Not plastic ones. 

“Uhh, because he’s nice to me, Bakugou?” He puts the bottle down and slides the double-shot glass to Izuku. “He helped me pass that class last year, remember? I’ve given him extra or better drinks for the past 8 months. I'm surprised you've never noticed.”

Izuku raises the glass to the redhead. “Thank you, Kirishima, as always.” 

Kirishima winks, carrying on with the next person waiting. 

Izuku can hear Bakugou’s chest heaving. He can feel his body heat rise like steam. A bull ready to drag its feet in the dirt. 

Turning enough to lean against the counter, Izuku taps the side of his glass—rings clinking. “You know....” Lifting the glass, he slowly licks drips of vodka from the bottom to the top before knocking his head back. He puts the glass down. 

“You don’t have to suck a dick or be a dick to get what you want.” He lifts his eyes, taking one step forward to poke him right in the chest. 

“Being nice does just as much. ”

Within the hour, it somehow managed to get balls to the wall insane. 

Urarka has already puked and rallied and Izuku might be close to doing the same soon. 

Bodies crammed inside, heat rising—Izuku exhales, running a sweaty hand from his face to his neck as he moves with the music on the dance floor. His head is hot and fuzzy from the marijuana in his sinuses and vodka on his tongue.

It’s so packed, people have pulled themselves up on furniture, the kitchen counter, and the tables just to dance without getting sucked into a pit. 

“NEW MAGIC WAND” blares, vibrating the floors and his ribs as he moves. 

Again, the fact that the cops aren’t here is fucking ridiculous. 

“Hey!” Someone calls from above, grabbing Izuku’s faded attention. 

A tall stranger with slicked black hair and a bright silver nose piercing bends down from the table, holding a hand out. A dangerous smile. An even deadlier figure with tight light washed jeans and an extremely flattering top that is doing way too many things for Izuku right now. 

Oh fuck. 

Shinsou was right, Ashido’s parties have some of the finest men he’s ever seen. He didn’t even think HU housed these people. 

Jesus H Christ, he forgot that hard alcohol makes him horny as hell—the celibacy for months is only making it worse. Uraraka is gonna make fun of him in the morning for being so down bad so fast. Izuku can’t help but bite his lip as he looks up at those dark brown eyes and eager expression.

“Couldn’t help but notice you’re dancing alone, care to join me and make this interesting?” 

Izuku’s mouth parts. 

A hand smacks the back of his shoulder. “Dude…” Shinsou’s drunken voice calls from behind. “If you don’t, I will.” 

“Don’t you dare, Uraraka said it’s gotta be me tonight, ” Izuku elbows Shinsou and smirks before reaching his hand out, grabbing the one offered. 

Pulled up to the table, Izuku feels two warm hands grab his waist and turn him so his back is pressed close to a thumping chest and eager hips. He hums, letting his body melt and move with the rhythm of his heart and the base—not hesitating for a second. 

From waist to hips, hips to thighs, the guy he’s joined groans as he grips tight onto Izuku’s clothes and body. Heat pools down Izuku’s stomach with brilliant ecstasy. It’s embarrassing how long it’s been. 

Forehead dropping to Izuku’s shoulder, they both grind with the beat. Lifting a hand, Izuku can only seem to find himself carding his fingers through the stranger’s hair and holding tight as they make fools of themselves. 

It’s numbing. It’s brilliant. 

They don’t last 2 minutes before Izuku feels one of the hands glued to his body grab his chin and tilt up. It’s unbearably hot and wet, but Izuku doesn’t care. The both of them taste like shitty alcohol and it’s somehow better than mint or any kind of sweet citrus. It's truly intoxicating. 

Lips mashing in a drunken mess, Izuku turns so they’re face to face. Izuku’s hands are in his hair as the grip slips to his ass—squeezing and pulling. He moans, opening his mouth to let a tongue slip through and tease his teeth and lick the roof of his mouth 

The black-haired stranger pulls back. “Is now a good time to tell you my name is Sato Asahi?” 

Izuku grins. “Midoriya Izuku…” 

Sato leans forward and bites at his lower lip. “Well, Midoriya…I think we should-“ 

He’s cut off. 

Izuku gasps, feeling a sudden weight shift to the table. With a sharp elbow to the rib and an aggressive sidestep, both Sato and Izuku are pushed off the table and into the crowd—landing hard on the wet tile. 

People yell and jump out of the way, some try to catch them or break their fall. Others stand, horrified, as the two of them sprawl in a tangled mess of limbs. 

“Midoriya!” Uraraka and Ashido’s voices ring as Izuku groans, grabbing his neck. He lifts his head, watching the crowd split to let the two girls in. His ribs are throbbing and he’s pretty sure he cracked something. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, I saw you two up there and was ready to cheer but then that happened,” Ashido says, shaking her head as she bends down. “What a way to cock block.” 

“Are you two ok??” Uraraka asks, frantically. She holds her hands out for them to take. 

Izuku turns to look at Sato, watching as he rubs the back of his head and nods. “Yeah…” they grab Uraraka’s hands and stand up. If they were sober, they’d be out cold. 

“What the fuck happened…” 

“Hey! That was not cool, dude!” Kirishima yells from the other side of the room. 

All of them look over, finding-

Izuku’s entire body goes ice cold. 

Oh. 

Oh yeah. 

He is gonna fucking lose it. 

Bakugou is standing in his place, holding a short, brunette girl by the waist. She looks just as unphased, if not amused. 

“Not my fault they didn’t have better balance,” Bakugou snarks, rolling his eyes.

“Bakugou! You pull a stunt like that again and you’re fucking out of here,” Ashido almost snarls, baring her perfectly white teeth. 

Bakugou ignores her, moving his gaze to Izuku. Cherry red eyes narrow. 

“Know your place, you fucking suck-up.” 

Izuku returns the same gaze, trying not to growl from the anger bubbling and boiling in his chest. Fists clench. Memories flash. 

Know your place. Know your place. 

He wants to run up there and kick the leg off the table, breaking it while they still stand on top. Embarrass them, humble them. God, he just wants to— 

A hand presses against his lower back. “Hey man…he’s not worth it,” Sato says, glaring upward. 

No matter what you do, it never matters. 

Izuku grinds at his teeth, taking a loud exhale through the nose. “You’re right…you’re right.” He eyes everyone in his group, signaling for the door. 

It’s hard to remember that no matter what, he needs to be a bigger person in this type of scenario. 

Linking his arm with Sato’s he lets his glance slip upward one last time. 

“People like him never are.” 

Izuku wakes up and immediately almost vomits. 

Wincing from the morning sun, he unhappily groans—moving the large arm clutched around his stomach. It doesn’t matter how late he’s out, his body always wakes him up at god-awful hours. 

He rubs his eyes, trying to find his phone to look at the time and text Uraraka. Looking down at the floor, he frowns. 

On the floor next to his underwear. Jesus, in a hurry much, Izuku?  

Reaching down he grabs it and sighs with relief to see it's still got some battery. He lays back down and instantly clenches his jaw from how sore his body is. He genuinely cannot tell if it's from eating absolute shit off a table or getting fucked so hard he screamed last night.

Probably both. 

Sato exhales into the pillow, turning over with a mutter. 

Izuku shakes his head and chuckles. For a hookup, he wasn’t bad. It’s very likely they will repeat their actions if they see one another at a party again.

Sliding up on his screen, he starts typing. 

Izuku: my body feels like it fell off a fucking table

Izuku: oh wait

There is an instant reply from Uraraka. 

Uraraka: I’m surprised you didn’t break your ass honestly 

Uraraka: you FLEW

He forgot that she is dating a morning bird. Being up at 7 am on a Saturday is crazy. 

Izuku: my ass feels broken if that helps 

Izuku: I’m going to be limping for days because of this guy next to me

Uraraka: oh yes you are

Uraraka: well at least I won’t be dropping out of college

Izuku: yeah, you’re welcome by the way

Peeling back the comforter, Izuku pulls himself out of bed to start getting dressed—trying not to cry from pain in the process. He freezes when his eyes catch the mirror on his desk, eyes bulging wide. 

Izuku: I’m gonna murder him, he ate my neck like a fucking mosquito 

Uraraka: AHAHAHAHAH

Izuku rubs his face and his neck. That is a problem for later, good lord. Grabbing his underwear from the ground and a random shirt off his chair, he slips them on and walks out of his room. 

If he’s going to get any work done this weekend without suffering from a full-body hangover, he’s going to need coffee.

And a lot of it. 

Midnight looks up from her computer. “Hey, kiddo, how was the weekend?” 

Izuku sighs, throwing his bag onto the ground. “Oh, you really don’t wanna know.” 

“Considering you look like you got hit by a truck, I will take your word for it,” she responds, patting the seat next to her. 

Izuku got a total of 6 hours of sleep between Saturday and Sunday because he was in the studio trying to finish his next piece. On top of Friday, his body is really choosing to pick a fight with him. 

He’s exhausted.

“What’s on the agenda today?” He asks, leaning his elbows on the desk as he sits. 

Midnight crosses her legs. “Just what I gave you the other day if you haven’t finished grading. I moved the next project deadline to the 18th so you don’t have to worry about grading that assignment for a bit.” She grabs one of the folders and cards her finger through. “I don’t know what Nana has for you, but she should be in the office in like 5 minutes.”

Izuku nods, trying to hide his slight relief. 

Right on cue, Nana walks through the front doors with her white sweater and black skirt—bag, and keys clutched in her hands. 

(For someone who’s 72 and one of the longest-lasting professors here, she always finds a way to look the most put together.)

He frowns, noticing something off with her demeanor as her heels click through the lobby.

Midnight notices, putting her folder down. “Uh oh, what’s wrong?” 

A big exhale. “I’m going to need to borrow Midoriya for a bit, we have a little bit of a…uh…” Nana scratches her cheek. “Issue.” 

“What kind of issue?” Izuku asks, turning in his chair. 

“...a Bakugou kind of issue.” 

A spoon could cut the instant wall of uneasiness that just appeared. 

Midnight smacks her forehead in a facepalm. “I really spoke too soon, didn’t I?” 

Of course, it is. Of course. In what world would Izuku ever get four seconds of peace? 

Covering his mouth with a hand, Izuku tries not to make a face. “Alright,” he clears his throat, standing up. “Let’s hear it.” 

Nana leads him to her office, shutting the door behind them. She takes another breath before pulling out her folders and setting them down with her keys. 

“Is he cheating?” Izuku asks, grabbing one of the folders to flip through. “I wouldn’t put it past him.” 

She shakes her head. “No, nothing like that…” she sits down and takes a folder of her own, carding through and grabbing what looks to be one of his newly turned-in assignments. She sets it down for him to see. “I was looking through his first two assignments he gave you the other day and after some extremely brief analysis I came to the conclusion he’s too…” she hesitates, trying to find the word. 

Izuku grabs the paper and almost immediately upon inspection, he sees the problem. 

“Objective,” they both say with a tired sigh. 

Izuku rubs his forehead as he looks at each of his answers. Short paragraphs each. Name of piece, name of the artist, the reason it was created…these questions require half a page each at least. 

Oh my god. He knew that he turned those in way too fast. 

“He’s going to fail if he keeps answering questions like this, especially on exams,” Izuku groans, flipping the paper over. “This isn’t normal history where you put down the facts and move on, he has to actually analyze and put in his own observations and connections as well.” 

Rubbing her own head, Nana nods. “I expected more from him, honestly. He’s incredibly intelligent despite his attitude.” 

Izuku can’t argue. “Yeah, he is, but he also has made it very clear he hates having to be in this class.” Placing the paper on the table he looks at Nana. “If he sees this grade—which is wow, yikes yeah a 45 percent—he is going to make our lives miserable.” 

Well, more miserable than he already is. If that’s not one way to humble someone, he doesn’t know what will. 

No response. Nana bites her lower lip, clearly bothered by something she’s not telling him. 

“What?” He asks. “What is it?” 

“That’s not all I needed to talk to you about,” she slowly spits out, baring her teeth in a wince. “I spoke to his advisor and coach yesterday…” 

He doesn’t like where this is going one bit. 

“And they said they would like someone in the department to tutor him throughout the semester so he can pass.” 

Something snaps inside Izuku’s head. He heard it. Like taking a dry stick off a tree and breaking it over your knee. 

“Nana…” Izuku shakes his head. “You can’t be serious. The whole semester?” 

She puts her hands up. “I promise I would never throw you under the bus like that. I gave them options out of all the TAs and they chose you because you’re so credible-” 

“Nana, he hates me,” Izuku cuts her off. “And the feelings are honestly mutual. That is a terrible idea.” 

After the whole Friday incident, it’s way worse than she thinks. 

Frustrated, Nana slicks her hair back with a tight hand. “Kid, we are kind of in a bind here. You know how impossible athletes are, especially the hockey players. Especially him. We can’t just let him fail.” 

Izuku scoffs, grabbing the back of his neck with both hands. “Actually, we can.” He walks around her office, clutching at his skin and hair. “It’s his fault he’s not putting in the work, why do I have to put more on my plate so the pride and joy of this town can succeed? Why does everyone around him have to drop to their knees because he has money and a reputation?” 

“Kiddo, I’m sorry-” 

Izuku lets his hands drop to his side. “I can’t, Nana. If it were anyone else, it would be a different story. But this? I don’t have the energy or the time.” 

“We’ll talk to Midnight and see if someone can take over for you in her class and I will cut down your workload.” She looks like she’s going to cry from frustration and guilt. “I am so so sorry, but we need you.” 

“The Bakugous are such high investors in the school they will sue, and one of us can lose our job. It doesn’t matter that we have over 10 years of status, they will find a way. It’s why both his coach and advisor are up our asses and why the dean is so fed up. He’s been an absolute nightmare for the academic side of the school all four years.”

Izuku bites his lip to prevent it from wobbling. He wants to cry, he’s so fucking tired. 

It’s like grade school all over again. Again and again, people with money and power get everything they want. Treat people how they want. Act how they want. Influence who they want. 

Blinking, he wipes a tear before it has the chance to fall. “This year was supposed to be my year.” 

“I know, honey…” Nana mutters, standing from her chair and walking over to him. She reaches out and rubs his shoulder. “I don’t know what else to do.” He backs out of her touch and looks up, trying so hard to stop the tears. His throat is aching and his head is pounding. 

His body hurts, his head hurts, his chest hurts. He didn’t think his limit would be met this early in the semester. 

“Take a breath, Midoriya,” Nana hushes. “You’re gonna break if you don’t breathe.” 

Sniffing, he shakes his head and lifts a hand. “I’m…” he exhales a shaky breath. “I need a minute.” 

“Kid-” 

Turning, he opens her door and slips out before she can finish her sentence. 

Midnight snaps her gaze up. “Oh, how did–Midoriya?” She stands up, startled by his appearance. “Hey hey, what’s–” 

“Is there anyone in the darkroom right now?” Izuku almost snaps, walking quickly through the office. 

“I–no, not for another two hours. Kid, what happened–” 

“Good,” Izuku says, reaching down to grab his bag and storm out of the office. 

Running down the stairs and around the corner, he shoulder checks the heavy metal door—shutting and locking it behind him. All the lights are off but one red bulb and it’s overwhelmingly dark and quiet. It’s cold. The air smells like chemicals and paper. 

He drops his bag, releasing the pressure in his lungs with a heave and a huff. Cracking and cracking like unstable glass, Izuku grabs his hair and pulls. 

He breathes, feeling the tightness in his throat worsens. Dropping to his knees, Izuku curls himself tight and holds his arms close. Tears dripping onto the concrete one by one, he opens his shaking mouth. 

And in one powerful rip of his vocal cords, he screams.

Chapter Text

Izuku was right when he said Bakugou would be livid. 

To be fair, Izuku isn’t exactly pleased himself. No one would in their right mind would be if they were in his position. Midnight decided to cut him loose from her grading, and Nana has now taken it upon herself to treat him like glass ever since he stormed off and screamed his throat raw in the dark room. It’s valid, he can’t lie, considering no sane person does such a thing. But...the treatment makes his skin itch regardless.

The first semester isn’t even a third done and he’s lost sleep, he’s going to end up behind on his personal projects, and now he’s responsible for an emotionally constipated athlete who thinks talking about an art piece will make him spontaneously combust. There are times in his life when he's convinced he did something like break a mirror to warrant such bad luck and shitty twists.  

Tapping his pencil against the table, Izuku stares forward with sour eyes and a twisted expression. Watching as the blonde crosses his arms and huffs, turning to avoid eye contact, Izuku stops tapping. 

They’re in one of the student center study rooms, isolated away from the general public. Considering, well, they will most likely rip into each other every five seconds and they don’t need random strangers to be witnesses. Izuku had to fight an arm and a leg to finally get a meeting set up after three excruciatingly long days, considering the blonde barely checks his email and also, well, hates Izuku. He was about to wave a white flag in the air when finally, his coach pushed—threatened—Bakugou into responding. 

To say this week has been a nightmare would be a sheer understatement. 

“Cooperate, or I have no problem letting you fail,” Izuku says slowly—venom pricking the tip of his tongue. “Let me remind you that we are in this mess because of you.”  

Bakugou side-eyes him, refusing to move his head. “I’m answering the damn questions, what more do you want?” 

Izuku pushes up his glasses, sighing. He was too tired to put in contacts today, already experiencing a raging headache first thing in the morning. “That’s exactly the problem. You’re answering, yes, but you aren’t completing all the required components of the question. This isn’t general world history, art and its history are more subjective even with the objective terminology, artists, and period movements.”

Bakugou scoffs and Izuku almost walks out of the room immediately. Never in his life has he tutored someone so difficult and stubborn, it’s like trying to teach a rabid wolf to roll over. Something has to be triggering his behavior because there is no way someone would act like this unwarranted. Unless he truly is just a sociopath. 

Do it for them…do it for them… 

Izuku takes a deep deep breath through his mouth and grabs the paper, trying to be patient the best he can. “I understand that you aren’t used to this. You’re in an objective major and I doubt you’ve ever taken an art class. But guess what?” He waves the paper. “Nothing is ever just objective in real life, Bakugou. You have to be in tune with your emotions and perspectives, believe it or not.” 

Bakugou narrows his eyes, snapping his head back over. Ah, that got his attention. 

“I am going to ask you one more time. If you fail to cooperate, I am walking out of that door,” Izuku says, putting the paper down to point right at the door behind the blonde. “Why is this piece significant? You are too smart to be pulling shit like this.” 

After a long moment of intense eye contact, the blonde caves and grabs the paper to look at the piece again. “Jesus, you’re so fucking irritating…I’ll do it if you shut the hell up.” 

God, that only took 30 fucking minutes. 

Blonde lashes blink and his chest rises as he takes a frustrated breath through the nose. He’s quiet for a moment, eyes staying focused on the figures and details on the paper. “It’s Neoclassical, first of all.” He says, keeping his eyes down. 

“Correct,” Izuku says shortly. The Death of Marat, it’s a piece that is more on the difficult side to truly analyze from just the photo so he’s going to give the blonde some time to really look. 

“It’s also immortalizing him—Marat.” Bakugou looks up but Izuku doesn’t respond, letting him continue his thought process out loud. His tone is right in the middle, showing no enthusiasm or anger. Just…words slipping from his tongue. Izuku tilts his head. When he cooperates, it’s not all that painful to listen to the way he speaks. If only he went each day acting like this. 

Wouldn’t that be something...

Bakugou rubs his temple with his middle finger. “I can tell a lot of these damn paintings and drawings or whatever are a result of the French Revolution, if not pre. This one, in particular, is a political piece within the midst, if not entirely fucking ridiculous in its sense.” 

Oh? Izuku lifts his hands and presses his fingertips together. “Elaborate.” 

Bakugou leans back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “The way it was painted to the way people fucking interpreted that shit…yeah, he was stabbed to death in a bathtub, which is visceral as hell, but the depiction was a full-blown attempt to turn a damn zealot into a tragic hero who was martyred for a revolutionary cause.” Not even a single stutter. 

Well, fuck. Izuku’s brows raise and he sits up. So he does pay attention... More so, his genuine use of vocabulary and purposeful phrasing—despite the cursing—is fantastic. God, Izuku wants to shove a pencil in his forehead for even slightly praising the guy. 

“Wow, alright. Can you maybe go into depth as to how the artistic methods influence the interpretations? Like lighting or composition…” 

“God, you’re so needy,” Bakugou rolls his eyes, keeping his gaze on the ceiling. “It’s painted to resemble Christian imagery with the lighting and the body positioning. There’s movement in the piece despite it showing a literal fucking dead guy.”

Izuku’s lip curls up in the corner. Good. 

He really is smart, he’ll give him that. The fact he’s gotten the guy to respond this much in meeting one is a miracle. But…he hasn’t gotten to the biggest section of the question yet. He still has one thing to answer to show he’s truly capable without Izuku.  

“Ok, great answer. How about the emotional sense?” Izuku waves his hands as he talks, moving with each word. “We didn’t ask about it in this question, but usually in other questions we ask about personal interpretations and it can take up the most points—40 percent sometimes. What does it remind you of, what does it convey to you as an individual of a different generation, culture, or identity? It can make you sad, or angry, it can remind you of something, whatever. How does this piece make you feel?”

This is usually one of the easiest parts for students to get in their analysis responses. Even if it’s pulling something out of their asses or actually being genuine. “It made me sad because…” or “the messages shown put me right inside, reminding me of the hardships of social class differences then and now.” Even if some struggle, they eventually get it after some guidance and patience. 

Simple, really—so he thought. Art can be corny and dramatic, even in its historical side, but it’s dire for understanding human behavior and stringing connections. It’s kind of why Izuku loves it so much. 

But Bakugou’s face twists into an expression that Izuku can’t quite read. It’s like a switch hit and that slight cooperation and comfort turned itself upside down and into discomfort and disgust. He taps the table, thinning his lips. 

Izuku frowns. “Is there something wrong?” He asks, pushing up his glasses before leaning on his elbows. “You answered everything correctly, god forbid if not perfectly, earlier.” 

Bakugou clicks his tongue as his entire demeanor suddenly changes. “I answered everything you needed for the question, actually, why are you asking more than you fucking need to?” 

Izuku blinks, dumfounded.

“Yeah…you did. But I need to know that you’re capable of making connections outside of just historical facts. As I said, it takes up a lot of points,” he emphasizes, trying to even slightly comprehend the blonde’s expression as he speaks. “We can do a different piece if that’s what you want, but I am going to need a response either way.” 

Stubbornly, Bakugou narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. “Fine. It’s makes me angry.” 

Brilliant. Round of applause.  

Izuku’s eye twitches. He exhales. “Ok… why does it make you angry?”

Bakugou adjusts himself so he’s now staring directly at Izuku with a piercing glare and staggering annoyance. “Are you my fucking therapist?” 

WOW. All that progress just flushed itself right down the toilet in 30 seconds. 

“Are you having a mental episode?” Izuku hits right back, poking his own temple. “All I’m asking is if you can make a simple link on why this piece is significant by using your own personal experiences, emotions, and values.” 

Placing both hands on the table, Bakugou bares his teeth. “And I’m saying that you can get bent.” 

“Oh my god??” Izuku raises his hands and parts his lips in disbelief. It’s a simple observation and response. Two sentences, that is all he needs from him today. This is ridiculous in so many ways. “I hate to admit that you were doing really well, but that obviously didn’t last more than five minutes.” 

“Yeah, because you got mushy and asked about my feelings,” Bakugou snarks, pushing himself out of his chair. “We’re fucking done for the day, I’m not staying here any longer with you making it weird.” 

“Making it weird?” Izuku catches himself huffing out a laugh. “God, you’re so intimidated by emotions it’s almost comical. Sit down, we’re not done.” 

They are both 21 fucking years old, yet he feels like he’s trying to communicate with a toddler having an emotional meltdown. If that advisor and coach don’t compensate him for the brain damage and mental drainage he is receiving right now, he will pull a Bakugou and fucking sue.   

Bakugou snatches his bag instead of sitting back down. “I said we’re done.” 

He groans, putting both hands in his hair. “Is it seriously so hard to show just a little bit of vulnerability and character? I don’t need a sob story, Bakugou, I just need to know what you think when you see it. What you fucking feel.” Letting the grip on his hair go, he throws his hands down onto his lap. 

“I don’t feel anything,” Bakugou snarls with grace. “And I don’t give a shit about what you need from me either.” He slips his bag on and marches toward the door. 

“Ok, you know what?” Izuku shrugs, watching as he does just that. “Fine, then I don’t give a shit if you pass or fail this damn class, you egotistical emotionally constipated narcissist.”

Bakugou freezes, hand hovering over the door handle. He stopped so fast that Izuku nearly swallowed his tongue. 

Shit, he didn’t think he’d actually stop. 

He swallows, standing from his chair. “...I don’t care if you fail and your parents blame me for it. Get me kicked out for it. I don’t care if my life becomes hell because of your insecurities and your refusal to act like a normal human being."

Bakugou turns his head, but Izuku doesn’t stop when he very much should. 

“That right there, what I am seeing and hearing right now?” He motions with one hand. “Shows me you’d rather give up and act like an entitled douchebag instead of admit that a painting makes you sad or angry because it reminds you of your clearly fucked up childhood.” 

Silence. Enough silence a pin could drop and rip through the air like a gunshot. 

Bakugou audibly grinds his teeth and Izuku fully expects him to pounce and throw him against a wall. Manifest the hockey player's behavior and knock his teeth out just for opening his mouth. 

Fuck, he did kind of cross a line with that one. He’ll never come back now and for sure get someone fired. 

“I–”

“You just love to hear yourself talk, don’t you?” 

Izuku’s breath lodges itself in the back of his throat, taken aback. He had every right to just leave, slamming the door behind him. But he didn’t. 

He didn’t. 

“At least I talk, Bakugou…” He mutters, watching as Bakugou turns to look at him, rotten red eyes spilling with irritation.  

Bakugou tsks, ripping open the door. “Whatever you say, Deku .” He slips through, letting the door finally slam behind him. 

Silence. Deafening silence. 

Izuku huffs slowly through parted lips as it all starts to catch up, feeling as if he’d been holding his breath for five minutes. Grabbing at his hair, he stares at the shut door with wide eyes and disbelief. 

Because what the hell just happened?

“Ok, but the fact that you actually got him to talk is impressive as it is,” Uraraka says, turning in her chair and away from her laptop screen. “You’re lucky that you have a backbone.” 

Izuku groans, flopping down on her bed. “Yeah, but he’s still not cooperating in the way I need,” he responds, muffled from the pillow. “I’ll be surprised if he even comes back after today’s mess.” 

Ashido looks up from her spot on the floor. “If it makes you feel any better, no one understands him or why he behaves the way he does.” 

She’s been hanging out with the group, specifically Uraraka, more since the last party. It’s a given now to expect her in Uraraka’s room already working on homework, or painting her nails a fresh pink when he comes over to rot in her bed after classes.

“It’s true,” Todoroki chimes from the beanbag in the corner, glancing up from his book. “I’ve known him a while before college since we both came from Central Tokyo, and he’s always been like this.” 

That’s kind of hard to believe. No one is born a piece of shit unless it's genetics. Almost always something warrants certain behavior—bad parenting, trauma, something. 

He knows because his own father caused some trauma and reactions that he’s still trying to work through. Slowly. 

Izuku sits up and crosses his legs to face them. “Like–did something traumatize him as a kid? Because the fact that he’s so aggressive around the emotional stuff, in art specifically, it’s clear something hit and sunk deep.” 

“Maybe he’s afraid to be vulnerable?” Uraraka shrugs. “His family is pretty psycho, I wouldn’t be surprised if they taught him emotions are a form weakness or whatever.” 

Izuku shakes his head. “I mean, yeah, but with a painting? He’s not stupid, I know he’s capable. He’s obviously intimidated and resentful toward such a specifically small concept…” Izuku mutters. “But I don’t understand why.”

Maybe he really is just afraid of vulnerability, or he has a weird form of Stendhal syndrome. Regardless, it would be nice to be made aware of this so he could come up with a proper tutoring strategy.  

“I’m surprised you haven’t told his advisor to figure it out himself,” Ashido cuts in. “Because making an already busy student deal with a situation like this is crazy. This isn't your problem.” 

“Right?” Todoroki agrees. “I would have said no and moved on. I already do the same with my own dad.” 

Izuku twists one of his rings, looking between the two of them. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have much of a choice.”

The reality is that he has the ability to refuse, no one was truly forcing him to do anything—even when they begged. He almost did say no point blank. But if Midnight or Nana lost their jobs because of this, he would never forgive himself. That, and if another TA or tutor got stuck with Bakugou, he would feel just as sick to his stomach. 

“Don’t put too much effort into someone who doesn’t deserve it, babes,” Uraraka says with a slight shake of her head. She lifts her hand that’s propped up against the arm of her chair. “You tend to have a bad habit of trying to analyze and understand people when it’s not necessary or wanted, no matter who it is.” 

He does, he won’t even try to argue. He did the same to Todoroki and he’s lucky the guy took it as a positive instead of negative. 

Izuku brushes a curl behind his ear. “I know, it’s just…I’m supposed to tutor him all semester to ensure he passes with a decent grade, but I don’t know if I am able to do that if I don’t at least understand the guy a little. It’s like trying to break a traumatized war horse.”

Ashido leans back to lay all the way on the floor, using one of Uraraka’s sweatshirts as a pillow. “Good luck with that, man. He never opens up, not even to the team or the women he dates.”

Uraraka cringes. “Jesus, I don’t even want to know what it’s like dating a guy like him.” 

They both shiver. 

“Ok but seriously, what the hell do I do?” Izuku circles back. 

Everyone shrugs. 

“You guys suck,” he cries, flopping back onto the bed. 

“Ok ok, maybe talk to Kirishima?” Ashido offers. “He’s the only person I see Bakugou interacting with the most out of the team and he could have an idea, but I wouldn't bet on it.” 

Izuku exhales. “It’s a start, I guess. Do you have his number?”

“I have his snap,” she says, and Izuku lifts his head. “But he’s probably not going to respond for a while, he’s got practice till 8 tonight.”

Well…

“You think I could catch him in person? I kind of want to talk to his coach too anyway, just to see if that will get me anywhere.” 

“Good luck if you do. Bakugou will hang you if he sees you there,” Todoroki says, keeping his eyes on the book. “Especially since you just ripped him a new one today.”

Yeah, but he already wants to hang him so there isn’t much of a difference in that expectation.

“I don’t see why not,” Ashido notes. “They let anyone watch practices to keep the community inclusive and the coach is super chill. I can take you if you want so you’re not all alone and defenseless.”

Izuku sighs with releif. “That would honestly be amazing.” 

She pushes herself up, brushing off her jeans. “Besides, Kaminari still has my fucking puffer jacket I let him borrow three weeks ago and it's getting cold.” 

Uraraka shakes her head, turning back to her laptop screen. “This is all going to end horribly…” 

“Oh, absolutely,” Ashido agrees. “But I can’t blame the guy for trying. Let’s go, Midoriya, you’ve got an athlete to tame.”   

Izuku has never been inside the hockey arena once in all four years of his education. He feels like a kid touring the school for the first time ever and probably looks the part too as he trails behind Ashido. 

The building itself is large and obnoxious, right in the middle of campus. But, that’s typically a common occurrence for any large university with a sport that bleeds their money and attention dry. 

“That’s the coach just down there,” Ashido points. “If you explain the situation he should be able to help. I’ll be over there to try and get Kami’s attention so he knows I’m here.”

“Thanks,” he says, getting a pat on the shoulder as she mazes through the rows. He takes in a deep breath of cold air and makes his way down one step at a time.  

Izuku never realized how many players there actually were. At first glance there seems to be about 20—all sporting red and black jerseys with a red hydra dragon symbol on the back. At least the school was sensible to make the mascot something intimidating instead of a spider lily. However, the hydra is still pushing it with the multiple red heads. 

Izuku immediately notices which player Bakugou is. Staying right on brand, the blonde is jersey #1. He doesn’t know really anything about hockey besides the bare minimum, but he at least knows that Bakugou’s position is center and he’s responsible for scoring the majority of the points for the team. Definitely doesn’t help the already swelling ego, that’s for sure.

Izuku reaches the bottom right as Bakugou skids across the ice and sends a puck straight into the net with a slapshot. Cracking against the back wall so loud, that it nearly makes him flinch. 

“Fuck!!” Kirishima yells, frustrated as he drops to his knees a second too late. Though, Izuku is pretty certain no one could catch a puck flying as fast as that one. 

Looking over, Izuku sees the coach standing with his arms crossed and one hand gripping a clipboard. Long shaggy black hair, scraggly facial hair, and eyes so dry it looks painful. 

Huh.

He’s a bit…underwhelming for a hockey coach, honestly. But Izuku really can’t talk, he looks just as rough if not worse sometimes.   

“You need to time it, Kirishima,” the man vocalizes deeply. “You’re dropping too late.” 

God, he sounds like he's on suicide watch. What a way to rip down the coach personality stereotype. 

Kirishima adjusts his helmet, nodding. “Yes, sir.” 

“Uhm…” Izuku mutters, taking a step closer. 

Shifting his gaze, the man raises a brow as he notices Izuku’s presence. “You lost, kid?” He asks, turning to face him. He’s much taller than Izuku, having to look down. 

“I wish I was,” he comments quietly. “No, I’m just here to talk to you and possibly Kirishima about something important regarding one of your players.” 

The man nods, briefly turning his head to the rink. “Hey, take 10 everyone!” He motions to Iida who appears to be on the other side of the stands. “Take stats and check in, Iida, I’ll be just a moment.” 

Iida nods, noticing Izuku next to the coach. He gives him a friendly wave and Izuku returns it. God, he has no idea how he tolerates this place…

The coach looks back. “Ok, what is it I can help you with?” His tone is extremely monotone, so it's a bit jarring, but he’s being nice so far as Ashido mentioned. Most coaches in his experience would tell him to wait or leave. 

Izuku takes a breath. “Well firstly, nice to meet you, my name is Midoriya Izuku.” He reaches out a hand. 

Both brows shoot up. “Shit, you’re the kid who’s stuck with the problem child,” he responds, taking Izuku’s hand. “Shouta Aizawa. You can call me Aizawa, and as you already know I’m a very blessed coach.”

Fighting a cringe, Izuku nods. “Yeah…I just wanted to talk to you about him regarding his tutoring. Kirishima might know more but you’re a good start.” 

Izuku can see Ashido in the corner of his eye tackling a yellow-haired teammate into the bleachers.

“Ashido! That is unacceptable!” Iida yells and Izuku fights a chuckle. 

“I’m sorry for pinning you with this, kid,” Aizawa apologizes, letting go of his hand. “The last time that child got a less than satisfactory grade in a class, his parents nearly got everyone involved fired. And, well, I know the FA department is struggling as is.” 

“It’s ok,” Izuku shrugs. The man raises another questioning brow. “Well, it’s not, but I just want to figure out a solution to make tutoring easier for the both of us. Our first meeting was less than positive, and I’m afraid I will either quit or he will fail if I don’t understand the guy at least a little.” 

His eyes follow the motion, watching the blonde flip his mouthpiece out of the way to get water. 

Aizawa crosses his arms again. “May I ask how he’s making things difficult? It’s an art history class if I remember right. I expected better cooperation since it’s not a physical art class.” 

Izuku explains the situation, refusing to leave out any detail. By the time he’s finished, the coach in front of him holds no confidence in the situation whatsoever on his face. 

“Damn…yeah you’re in a bind, kid.” 

Izuku leans his head back, groaning. “I just don’t understand why he’s being so freaky about that part specifically. It’s not like I’m asking him to reveal a deep-rooted trauma or a dead relative.” 

Aizawa scratches the back of his head. “I’m not much of an art person myself, but I guess I can understand that the concept is intimidating. He might not understand how to make emotional connections and it could be what’s frustrating him. I think we can both agree that the guy is stubborn and doesn’t like to admit weakness.” 

“Yeah, that could be it…” 

But something feels so off about it all. 

“Hmm…” tapping his chin, Aizawa looks over at the team talking amongst one another. “Kirishima!” He says, snagging the redhead's attention. He waves a finger, signaling him to come over. 

It takes a good three seconds before Izuku hears–

“The fuck?!” 

Yup. To be honest, he’s surprised it took Bakuogu this long to notice him here. But to anyone's consolation, he's not very observant of the 'extras' in his life. 

As Kirishima heads over, Izuku watches as Bakugou throws himself onto the ice to skate past him. “What the everloving fuck are you doing here? I told you we were done today,” He barks, skidding to a stop just far enough to be an arms-length away. For someone so aggressive all the time, he really knows how to be graceful on a pair of skates. 

Izuku crosses his arms. “Oh, to watch you play—no, I’m here to talk to your coach so don't get your jersey in a twist,” he bites back, getting an exasperated scoff in return. 

“Bakugou, go back with the team,” Aizawa holds his hand up. “Whatever issues you have against Midoriya can be handled elsewhere. Right now, Kirishima is the only person I need over here right now.” 

Kirishima catches up, looking over at Bakugou as he stops himself at the edge of the rink. “He didn’t do anything to you, man, just chill out.” 

Bakugou bares his teeth before turning and leaving without much of a fight. Thankfully. 

Shaking his head, Kirishima looks back at him before bringing his eyes back to Izuku. “I am so sorry about him, he’s kind of a lot around people he dislikes.” 

“It’s whatever,” Izuku says. “I just wanted to talk to you about him for a second. I’m tutoring him in 19th century because he will fail if he doesn’t pull his head out of his ass, but he’s being impossible.” 

Kirishima nods. “Not surprising, let’s hear it.” 

As he did with Aizawa, he explains the situation but condenses it into a SparkNotes version because they have no time for round two. 

“Sorry man…” Kirishima says. “He’s pretty much lips sealed around me too for the most part. I wish I could help, it really sounds like he has some issues he needs to work through.” 

Fuuuuck. That was no help.

Izuku lets out a frustrated sigh. “It’s ok, it’s not your responsibility to know. I just hoped you had a little bit of information.” 

He can feel red eyes burning into his skull from across the rink. 

Kirishima lifts his arm, rubbing the skin under his helmet. “I do have an idea though, if you’ll consider it.” 

“Oh?” Izuku looks at Aizawa. “What is it?” 

Kirishima leans against the edge. “If you want to get him to talk and trust you even just a little bit, try and study with him outside of campus. Like—go somewhere he wants to go and make it less stressful.” He glances back at the team behind him. “Bakugou is a very stubborn guy, as we all noticed, and he doesn’t like to do anything if he feels like he’s being forced or in a confrontational setting.” 

Aizawa hums. “That…might not be a bad idea.”

“I guess…” Izuku bites at his thumbnail. “But how am I even able to communicate this with him if all I have is his email and no trust that he’ll actually pull through? 

Looking side to side, Kirishima takes his gloves off and holds a hand out. “Gimme your phone, I’m gonna put in his number.” 

Izuku raises a brow and hesitates. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“Probably not,” Kirishima responds as Izuku digs out his phone and hands it to him. “But I do know him enough to understand a little bit about how he ticks. Just tell him that study rooms or the library aren’t going to give him the right environment and you can pay for his lunch or something. He’ll pull through.” 

Izuku has no faith, but it’s a start. 

Kirishima hands him his phone back after plugging everything in. “I also gave you my number since I felt that was appropriate. Let me know if you need any help or anything else.”

Izuku smiles. “I appreciate you.”

Looking at the team across the rink and how restless they’re growing, he’s come to the conclusion it’s time to leave. Poor Iida can only handle so much.

It’s not like he wants to be here any longer than he wants, anyway. It’s freezing in here. 

Lifting his head to find Ashido, he pinpoints her and holds a hand by his mouth. “Ashido! I’m done, we can head out now.” 

Popping up from the stands with a white puffer jacket in her clutches, she grins. “Coming!”

Izuku looks back over at Aizawa and Kirishima. “I appreciate your time, thanks for your help you two.” 

“I didn’t really help much, but anytime, kid. Your advisor has my email, so shoot me anything you need if things get tricky,” Aizawa responds. 

“Of course, man!” Kirishima gleams with a more positive tone than his coach. “I hope it works out, truly.” 

Izuku huffs a nervous laugh, rubbing a hand over his jacket sleeve. “Yeah…”

“You and me both.” 

Izuku collapses onto his bed the second his knees touch the mattress. 

After leaving the stadium, he split off from Ashido to work on his project—even when she tried to drag him with her. But he only lasted about three hours before his entire body tried to disintegrate in the men's bathroom. 

Today was a lot. This week has been a lot. This whole month has been a lot. And all he wants to do is crawl into a ball and die. 

Practically moaning like the dead against his pillow, Izuku takes his phone to set his morning alarm. But, he pauses when his finger hovers over the messages app. 

Create a better environment…

Well, he’s already number one on his most-hated list, might as well risk it. Clicking on the app, he scrolls through his contacts and finds the new number right in the middle. Bakugou Katsuki. 

Turning over in bed, he lays on his back and starts typing in the messages box. It’s late, he probably won’t even get a message till the morning. 

Izuku: This is Midoriya, Kirishima gave me your number (don’t kill him please)

Izuku: If you really do care and don’t want to fail this class, pick a time and a date this week to meet outside of campus. If you don’t, idc. I’ll buy food or something 

Izuku: if all our meetings this semester are like today’s, I might actually off myself 

Clicking his phone off, he sets it on his chest and looks up at the peeling paint on his ceiling. Not even 5 minutes pass before his phone buzzes against his ribs. He grabs and flips it over. 

Bakugou: you’re so fucking dramatic. It’s getting annoying as hell 

Izuku frowns. Well, at least he responded. 

Izuku: takes one to know one

There’s no text back after about a couple of minutes. Sliding up, he sets an early alarm and places it on his nightstand. 

Of course, his phone immediately buzzes twice the second he gets comfortable. 

“Uhg…you dick…” Izuku cries, reaching back for his phone. He freezes when he sees the messages on his lock screen. 

His eyes read over the texts. They read them over again. And again. 

Bakugou: 9:00 p.m tomorrow. Meet in the southside parking lot 

Bakugou: don’t be late or I’m fucking blocking you

He bites his lip, letting the screen fade to black along with the messages it held. 

So Kirishima was right. 

He really did pull through.

Chapter Text

“I knew you’d be up here.”

Izuku pulls out an earbud and turns in his stool, catching Midnight leaning against the open doorway. 

“Oh, hey…” he says, putting the brush he was using in its water cup before rubbing his tired eyes. “What are you doing here so late, Midnight?” 

“I had a meeting that ran late, so I was just finishing up some work…” Uncrossing her arms, she frowns. Standing up straight, she walks inside the studio room—her boot heels clicking slowly. “You doing alright, kiddo?” She asks, grabbing a stool from the corner and dragging it over. Getting a good look at his face she winces. “Jesus, you look like you haven’t been sleeping. You don't need to answer.” She sits down next to him, propping her elbows on her knees. 

Even when he can sleep, he tosses and turns from the anxiety. Izuku swallows, moving his gaze back to his painting. “It’s kind of hard to sleep when I’m behind on everything.” 

Eyes darting from the painting to his face, she purses her lips. “Kid, for as young as you are, you shouldn’t be having a midlife crisis.” One of her hands reaches out to rub his shoulder. Her touch is comfortably warm, and he can feel her longer nails scratch against his shirt. “Tell me, how is tutoring going?” 

“Well…” Izuku trails off. “I’m supposed to meet with him in…” he glances at the clock on the wall. It’s 8:05 p.m. “In about an hour, actually.” 

“This is the second meeting, right?” She asks, getting a nod from him in return. “How did your first meeting go?” She lets go of his shoulder, leaning back.

God, where does he start?

Izuku pinches the bridge of his nose. “It was a nightmare.” Cracking his neck to the side, he sighs. “He was doing great when I pushed him to be a bit more analytical. But, the second I asked about his emotional and personal interpretations, he curveballed. Our meeting essentially ended in us cussing eachother out and he left.” 

“Jeez, kid,” she says, clicking her tongue. “I knew it would be bad, but I didn’t anticipate that.” 

“Yeah, it was bad,” he adds. “Honestly, I could get past him acting like an ass because I’m used to that behavior. But it’s when he all of a sudden got uncomfortable and avoidant…that’s what bothered me. I can’t help but think there’s something bigger going on with him.” 

Midnight’s brows fold down and she picks at some loose skin on her lip. “Uncomfortable in what sense?” 

Izuku looks up in thought. “Like–do you know when someone asks you a very personal question and you don’t know how to answer, so you just get skittish and dodgy?” She nods. “Yeah, it’s like that. He acted like I sat down and psychoanalyzed him and it was weird.”

“What piece was it?” 

“Death of Marat.” 

Midnight shoots him a puzzled look. “That’s so–really, Death of Marat? I don’t think I’ve ever had a student that outright refused to give a response. Even if I did, it never takes more than a few minutes to convince them."

“Me neither,” Izuku mutters, shaking his head. “I talked with his coach and one of his teammates, hoping to get some sort of answer as to why he could have acted that way.” 

“Anything useful?”

“Not really…” Izuku fiddles with his overalls, picking off a piece of hardened paint. “The player I talked to said to try meeting with him outside of class. Make him comfortable and trusting, I guess. I’m meeting him at Southside tonight, but I don’t have super high hopes for it going well.”

No one sane would in this given circumstance. Izuku is just hoping he doesn’t get shot and dragged off into the middle of the woods during this interaction. 

Midnight softly huffs through her nose. “Well…at least you’re doing the best you can, kiddo.” 

“With him? Doing my best means jack shit,” he hums, frustration tickling his tone. “If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what will.” 

Midnight purses her lips. He can feel her thoughts turning inside her head. “Please don’t overwhelm yourself too much with him, ok? I know Nana and I pressed you into doing this, but I don’t want you exhausting yourself when you’re already losing sleep.” Pushing herself off the stool, she pats his shoulder. “I know you have this uncontrollable urge inside you to help people when circumstances push, even when you don’t think you do, but there are times when you have to realize some people in this world are beyond anyone’s help—especially yours.” 

“Yeah…” Izuku looks down at the stained floor as her hand leaves his shoulder. 

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that, funny enough...”

Izuku didn’t quite realize that today was the first day of the year when August’s weather decided to drop below 50 degrees. The leaves have yet to fall and the nights are still acceptably short—an early drop. And, well, he was not prepared in the slightest. 

Shivering, Izuku curses at himself for stubbornly not checking the weather before leaving his apartment. All he has on him is his Carhartt jacket and a beanie that barely does the job, making him wish he paid for a parking pass this year so he could drive to and from school instead of walking or waiting for the bus. 

Bakugou, of course, wanted to meet on the very end of campus at night and directly across the other side of the fucking map. He’s lucky Izuku is familiar with late-night walks due to his less-than-favorable habits or else he would have told him to eat a brick. Though, lately, he’s been very close regardless. Midnight could tell. 

If Izuku a month ago knew that he was getting into the athlete’s car to god knows where and tutoring him, he would probably go into hysterics, throw up, and pass out within the span of four minutes. 

Stepping onto the parking lot, Izuku notices the brand new black Cadillac SUV that almost everyone on campus knows is Bakugou’s. Mostly because it’s modified and basically screams Bakugou Katsuki in every form. It’s parked right in the middle of the lot—like an asshole if anyone was surprised—with the red backlights glowing and the exhaust blowing. 

Izuku frowns. 

With the dark sky, browning trees, and dead campus, anyone would think this was a scene from a horror movie where the character is about to get murdered. 

At this point, murder would be a favor to him. 

The second Izuku gets close enough to see his reflection in the car window, it rolls down and he almost shits his pants. Embarrassingly, he flinches. 

Bakugou is staring at him from the now open window, one hand on the wheel with a less than amused look on his face. “You do realize you look extremely kidnappable, right?”  

Shaking his head Izuku looks off to the side. “Way to be comforting, Bakugou.” 

To be completely honest, Izuku is 5’8”, shaking like a leaf, and walking alone at night. Someone could grab him by the sleeve and shove him into a van so easily if this town wasn’t considered one of the safest in all of Japan. 

Adjusting in his seat, the blonde tilts his head and watches as Izuku takes a shaky breath from the cold. “Are you going to stand out there like a damn idiot, or are you going to get in the fucking car? This was your stupid ass idea.” 

“Don’t know.” Izuku looks back over, bending down to get at his eye level. “Are you gonna kidnap me?” 

It’s Bakugou’s turn to frown. “Don’t be a fucking smartass, get in the car or I’m driving away.” 

Lifting his hands, Izuku gives in. “Alright, alright I’ll get in.” 

Grabbing the handle, he opens the door and throws his bag on the floor before getting in. Almost instantly, he’s hit with the smell of sandalwood and new leather. He’d never been in a car before that smelled like this—so clean and warm. Especially in college, when everyone’s cars are full of McDonalds cups and mystery wrappers that smell like ketchup. Everything about his car is sleek and purposeful, from the way his stereo has red LEDs peeking behind each button, to the small school mascot charm dangling from his rearview mirror.  

He shuts the door, looking over with curiosity and slight nerves pricking at his goosebump-covered skin. 

“So, where are we going?” He asks, leaning back in his seat. Oh my god, he has seat warmers??

Bakugou shifts his car into reverse. “Ask another question and I’m dropping you off at a gas station,” he snarks, glancing behind him. “All you get to know is that we’re getting food first because you so kindly bribed me and I’m starving. You’re not picking though because you probably have shit ass taste.” 

Izuku rolls his eyes. Even in a comfortable state, he’s an a.sshole 

He watches as Bakugou works with his car like its second language, pulling out of the parking spot with one hand on the wheel and one fiddling with the aux. His hair is damp and he’s wearing a school crewneck and light sweatpants—clean and showered since it’s plausible he had practice today. Izuku fights a hum in his throat as he habitually analyzes who he’s seated next to. 

Out of everyone on this campus, it’s the weirdest seeing him in such a humane state—outside of his perfectly picked outfits and groomed appearance. His jersey and intimidating helmet. 

They pull out of the parking lot and into the main road as Bakugou’s stereo starts to sing a mix of Sza and Mac Miller at a mellow volume. Izuku raises his brow. Desperately, he wanted to be stereotypical and see the blonde as a metalhead or someone who bangs his head to EDM, but of course, he actually has a comforting music taste. Jesus Christ, what else makes him so much better than everyone else? 

If he wasn’t so egocentric and narcissistic, Bakugou would probably be the kind of person Izuku would hang out with. 

…

Nevermind. The thought of that is considerably revolting if not nauseating. Like getting a whiff of just spoiled milk and cringing. 

The athlete pulls through Torino’s just two minutes off campus, a local burger and milkshake place that has a quick drive-through but manages to serve food that doesn’t taste like chemicals. It’s a Mizu classic for anyone wanting to “change it up” from the usual fast food that overpopulates their town. As Izuku promised, he paid for both their meals and they drove off—Bakugou refusing to wait to open his bag, taking a large bite of his burger while at a stop light. Izuku only follows suit, taking a few fries for himself. 

The drive is awkward and quiet, and wherever they’re going is just outside south of downtown. With the sounds of eating and the soft hum of music from the speakers, it’s nothing short of uncomfortable and unnatural. If he’s going to be honest, though, everything about this whole night is unnatural. He’s still trying to get caught up with the fact that he’s in Bakugou Katsuki’s fucking car in the middle of the night right now. 

10 minutes pass and Bakugou finally slows down and turns into a lit parking lot of a small unrecognizable coffee shop, relieving some of Izuku’s built-up anxiety. Only some. By minute eight he got paranoid and let himself believe he was being kidnapped, thinking about all the ways he could throw himself out the window and roll down the intersection.

There’s no one in this parking lot but them and one other car. Comforting, really. He’s never usually on this side of town so the shop isn’t familiar at first glance. B.J’s Coffee… The lights inside are dim and it looks like it's closed. Again, comforting. 

Bakugou rolls to a stop and Izuku clicks off his seatbelt. “Is this where you’re gonna murder me?”

Bakugou’s brows fold down as he puts the car in park. “You really do think you’re fucking hilarious, don’t you?” 

Izuku shurgs, grabbing his bag. “Well, I am on the other side of town at a shop that looks closed with someone who probably fantasizes about all the ways he could kill me and hide my body every day.” 

Turning his head, Bakugou looks at Izuku like he’s absolutely lost his mind. “Shut the fuck up, Deku.” He clicks his own seat belt off and opens the door. 

God, he really hates that nickname. 

By its appearance, Izuku expected the shop’s door to be locked. But, the blonde easily pushes them open with the ding of a bell and walks inside—Izuku nervously trailing behind, clutching his bag straps. 

“Ah, Bakugou, didn’t expect to see you today,” a man in all denim—like, all denim—says, cleaning off a mug behind the counter. He’s tall and lanky with blonde hair that’s more golden than Bakugou’s. He’s got to be close to Midnight’s age, if not a little older. 

Izuku tilts his head and taps at one of the pins clipped to his bag strap as Bakugou keeps walking further. Something about him looks familiar, either with the mannerisms or even the tone of voice, but Izuku is having difficulty pinpointing exactly what it is. Weird… 

“Yeah, well, didn’t think I was gonna fuckin be here today either,” Bakugou says with a sigh. “Get me the usual, and whatever the nerd wants. We’ll be in the back room.” 

Bakugou immediately storms off to the back of the café, ditching Izuku by the front counter. Not even a please? Izuku pinches the bridge of his nose and turns to look at the guy behind the counter. “Sorry…I’m tutoring him for art history and he’s being a jerk,” he says, glancing up at the menu on the back wall. 

The man hums a short chuckle. “Well, that is Bakugou for you.” He puts the mug he was cleaning down before placing both hands on the counter. “What can I get for you?” 

Biting his lip, he takes a second before ordering the drink of the day—an iced honey lavender late. But when he pulls out his wallet, the man shakes his head and declines. Izuku raises a brow and the guy smiles. 

“Any acquaintance of him doesn’t have to pay. I got ya, kiddo,” he says turning to start on their drinks. “I’ll bring them to you when they’re done, I’m assuming you want to get started right away.” 

He’s kind. 

Not really someone Izuku expected to be mutual with Bakugou of all people. There has to be some sort of complicated backstory between the two of them, and Izuku is fighting the urge to scratch his itch and find out. 

Not the time or the place Izuku…

“Oh, thank you so much. That was very kind of you,” he says, putting his wallet away. He steps off as the man hums to himself, attempting to find the stubborn blonde that wandered off. 

At the very back of the café—the very back, Izuku had to walk for a good minute to find him—Bakugou is sat at a table with his computer and notebook already out. There’s no one else here but them. It’s probably close to closing time…he hopes it’s ok to be here so late. Joining Bakugou, he grabs his own materials and sets up—looking around the room as he does so. It’s beautiful in here, cozy too. It’s unfortunate Izuku has never heard of this place considering it must be a favorite, though it's a considerable distance. The furniture is vintage but classy, the walls are sanded spruce wood and–

Izuku’s head might have just exploded. Poof. Gone. 

Oh.

My.

God.

“Are these…” Izuku vocalizes, voice cracking, grabbing Bakugou’s eyes from his computer screen. “Best Jeanist’s artworks??” 

Large abstract canvases with a mixed media of acrylic paints and fabric threads…these are the real deal. Not prints, nor copies. Real. The fanboy inside of him is currently shaking at its bars like a zoo animal. He can’t help but drop his jaw in disbelief and awe, he’s never been able to see a real piece or the artist himself because they refuse to sell them to public galleries besides the Metro or speak at events. 

Bakugou scoffs. “For how obnoxiously sharp you are, you’re really fucking slow,” he says, shaking his head as he types on his keyboard. 

“What?” Izuku questions. “Bakugou, these artworks are worth millions, how does he have these just hanging on the walls–” 

“I see you’ve noticed my pieces.” 

Izuku’s head jumps up, finding the café worker with their drinks in his hand. He puts them down, placing a hand on his hip with that same soft smile from earlier. 

Izuku nods like an idiot. “Oh my god, yes. These are astonishingly beautiful semi-sculptural abstract works. I don’t even want to know how you got a hold of the real deals. I would probably sell half of my organs and still be short.”  

The man lets out a quick and amused laugh. “Thank you, kid.” His eyes glance at the big canvas behind them. They soften. “Most don’t really understand my work all that much, but I’m glad you appreciate them like I do.” 

You know that feeling when your brain drops down from your skull and then sends your heart falling straight to your ass? Yeah, Izuku just felt that so fast he nearly fainted.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Bakugou groans, rolling his eyes. 

“I-I-I-you-” he stutters, horrified that it took him this long to make the connections. To be fair, the man never appears in public so it’s not like he’s familiar with his appearance. “WHAT?!” He shouts a little too loud, getting a crack out of the man who is apparently one of the most inspirational abstract artists of this century. Right behind All Might and Hawks. 

“Deku, you’re acting like Jesus just fucking rose again, chill the hell out.” 

Izuku snaps his head over to the blonde. "I don’t expect you of all people to understand how amazing this is. I have always dreamed of being able to meet one of the artists that changed the game for all of us.” 

“Oh get fucked.” 

Jeanist shakes his head. “I like him, Bakugou. You should bring him over more.” 

“Are you serious?” Bakugou clicks his tongue. “If I’m lucky, I won’t have to ever see this shit nerd again.” He glares at Izuku. “I give it a week before I no longer ‘need’ him.”  

Izuku returns the glare, if not tenfold. Wouldn’t that just be wonderful? 

“Well,” Jeanist exhales. “I’ll let you two study. You can talk to me before you leave…what was it?” 

Izuku almost falls out of his chair from how fast he threw his arm and hand out for introduction. “Midoriya Izuku,” he shouts, getting a facepalm from Bakugou. 

The man takes his hand tightly and shakes it. “We’ll talk later, Midoriya. Let me know if you need anything, I’ll be cleaning up front.” He lets go and waves, turning himself around to walk out of the back room. 

Embarrassingly, Izuku stares at his hand like it was practically licked by a mystical creature. Why is someone like him working at a small-town coffee shop?? How does Bakugou know him and why is he acquainted with him?? He has so many questions.

“God, you’re so fucking embarrassing, get your shit together or I’m leaving and making you walk home.” 

Snapping out of it, Izuku nods. “Right, fuck, ok ok.” 

———

“You finished with Q.4?” Izuku glances up from his book. 

They’ve been at it for about an hour. As frustrating as it’s been, there’s been slight progress. Slight. He’s found it better to let Bakugou write out his response so he’s not verbally bombarding him, leading to a full-blown argument. They discuss it when he’s done, digging deeper if he missed something or needs to back his claims. He’s gotten better with the analytical side, throwing in more detailed responses to back up his claims. 

The issue, though, is the same as last time. And Izuku is starting to lose his patience. 

Bakugou sighs, sliding the paper over to Izuku before grabbing his iced coffee and taking an irritated sip. 

Grabbing it, Izuku rubs his eye and focuses on the handwriting in front of him. For the first half of the page, it’s orderly and concise—staying right to the information and even connections. Izuku was never worried about that with him, really. 

But, when it bridges the emotional and personal connection, it’s left blank. 

Lord give him peace…

Looking up, Izuku knows Bakugou knows he didn’t do what was asked. From the way, he’s looking straight forward with the straw still in his mouth. Sucking very slowly. 

Izuku puts the paper down and rubs the back of his neck with both hands, exhaling. “Did you need more time? You left the last part blank again.” His head hurts. 

“No.” 

“Bakugou…” Izuku says, frustration tickling at his tongue. “Please. We will be here for hours unless you do what I’m asking from you. It’s one part of the question. You answered everything else perfectly.”

It’s getting late and Izuku is so tired, his eyes feel like a chore to operate. 

Bakugou doesn’t respond, giving nothing but a twitching brow.  

He tries again, trying to get him to budge just a little bit. “Bakugou-“ 

Bakugou snaps, letting a hand hit the table just hard enough to echo a noise through the room. “I don’t understand the fucking point if I’m giving you the facts and interpretations.”

Izuku flinches. “ Woah, where did that - ”

“Why do I have to give some stupid fucking connection as to why it’s inspiring or why it affects me? Hah?” He leans forward, obviously frustrated himself. “I didn’t paint it, I never will paint it, and if you think I’m going to ever give some bullshit reason as to why this piece of art means something outside of the historical analysis, you’ve really just gone mental.” 

Bakugou has now crossed the line from crazy to delusional. He is being so avoidant it's almost impressive. Though considering the circumstances are sour, Izuku isn’t impressed in the slightest. 

Izuku points at the paper. “It doesn’t matter if it was even painted 600 years ago and makes zero sense. It doesn’t matter if you know the entire artist's life story and why they painted the piece. Putting bits of yourself in art and other forms of expression shows that you are able to make connections with other values, cultures, and ideas. It shows that you aren’t a total selfish piece of shit, you’re self-aware, and you understand the issues that are still happening in our society.” 

Bakugou crosses his arms stubbornly and Izuku has about had it. 

“What is your problem?” Izuku snaps. “I would say it’s a form of entitlement, but yesterday showed me that something about this concept is bothering you more than what you’re trying to give off.” 

Bakugou growls, baring his teeth. 

“If you don’t know how to make connections, I get it, it’s not easy to be vulnerable with art or heavy topics when you aren’t used to it. I’ve tutored so many students and even when they struggled at first they eventually got it. ” He shakes his head, grabbing the paper. “I’m serious when you have to be 100% honest with me if that’s the issue because as I said yesterday, you will fail. This grade right here without the connection outside historical facts would be 54 percent and you will fail the class.” 

He gets the blonde’s expression to crack. “Now there’s no fucking way you think-“ 

“Bakugou!” Izuku raises his voice, slamming the paper down. 

Bakugou Katsuki at that moment, flinches. 

“I know for a fact that something is going on. You are so smart and so capable, even if that means pulling something out of your ass. I’ve met students who hate it just as much but still give a response, even if it makes them uncomfortable or pisses them off because they know it’s dire for them and their grade.” Izuku rubs his forehead, scooting his chair back. “As it’s important to comprehend the events that correlate, it’s just as important to dive in and see a storybook with a mirror inside.” He stands, shaking his head. “We’re all human, whether you like it or not. And we all have regrets, traumas, and history.” 

Bakugou’s eyes are wide and he almost looks a shade lighter. The toxic and aggressive energy that once piled over his body is now paired with discomfort. 

“This piece…” Izuku glances at it one more time. The Third of May. The depiction of the execution of Spanish citizens during the Peninsular War. 

“I look at this piece and I am angry.” He places a hand on his heart and grips at his jacket. “I am angry that execution and genocide are still a common occurrence when this painting was created over 200 years ago. That people suffer and bleed on the rocks and the streets just for the satisfaction of conquering those who fight for identity and their home.” 

Swallowing, Bakugou breaks his eye contact. 

“I am angry that I have felt this same fear with my hands in the air, thinking I was going to die just for being who I am and believing what I believe. My sexuality, my identity, my history are a part of me, but I live every day outside of this school afraid that I will be conquered.” 

Inhaling a broken breath, he lets go of his shirt. 

“That people like you will forever win this god-forsaken war like you always fucking do .” 

Just like yesterday, it’s terrifyingly quiet. It’s dry, it’s uncomfortable, it’s infuriating. Bakugou is left silent and Izuku wants to cry. 

Bakugou’s lips part but Izuku just shakes his head in defeat. He grabs his computer and books, shoving them into his bag. “I’m done for the day.” 

Breaking his silence, Bakugou sits up. “Oi, you can’t leave I literally drove you-“ 

“I’m ordering an Uber. Text me when you’ve found some fucking sensibility. I tried, Bakugou, I really did…I tried to make you more comfortable so you could open up, but even that was pointless.” 

“Deku, what the fu-“ 

Heaving his bag onto his shoulder he walks away, taking the blonde’s place from yesterday. The heaviness in his chest builds like a pressurized can, ready to burst any second. Anger and frustration. Sadness? At this point, he doesn’t even know. Covering his mouth to prevent an out loud cry, he storms through the café.

Bakugou doesn’t follow. 

“Midoriya,” Jeanist’s voice rings from one of the tables. He was reading, probably waiting for them to be done so he could close. 

Sniffing, Izuku looks up to dry the tears trying to form in his eyes. “Hey, I’m sorry for keeping you so late. I’m gonna head home...” 

“Is everything alright?” 

Izuku huffs. “Honestly? No, but I’m not about to rant to a stranger because that's inappropriate.” He shoves his hands in his pockets to find his phone. “I appreciate your kindness today, and I’m very fortunate I got to meet someone as inspirational as you,” he sniffs. “But I need to leave before I make things worse for him and me tonight.” 

Jeanist nods, putting his book down. “I understand. I’m glad you had the power to step out when you needed.” He crosses his legs. “I heard your, well…argument from here.” 

Izuku cringes. He was yelling…

“I’m sorry-”

“I get it, you know.” The man exhales, cutting him off. “You’re very strong for giving him a shot, even when he makes it this difficult.” Brushing a hand over his jean jacket, he looks up at Izuku. “It may be ridiculous to think, but he has his specific reasons for why he acts the way he acts.”

Well, Izuku could have fucking guessed that. 

“Yeah…” Izuku lowers his head, exhaling. “I wish I could just understand .” 

It’s selfish, he knows. But there are times when exposing discomforts for certain circumstances is needed. The last thing he wants to do is push Bakugou past a clear line drawn in the sand, but he has to in order to receive the proper tools to pass. 

“Midoriya…” Jeanist says slowly and softly. “He might never admit it, but he needs help in more ways than in his education. And, well, having someone like you with patience and a will to bite back is the best thing for him, even though it seems wrong and frustrating right now.”

“It really doesn’t feel like it.” Swallowing, Izuku adjusts his stance and looks out the window. “I’m running out of patience, sir…” 

“We all do at times,” he responds, moving to dig something out of one of his pockets. He pulls out a card. “I’m not far away, kid. As I did with Bakugou, I am happy to help guide you or even just provide a safe space.” 

Izuku hesitates, looking at the white card in his hand. “Sir Jeanist…” He grabs the card, looking at the front and back before sliding it into his jacket pocket. “I-” 

The man smiles from his seat, lifting his hand and letting out a soft hum. “There are right and wrong times for questions, kid.”

Izuku slowly shuts his mouth with disappointment, but he understands. 

“Go take a breather. If Bakugou finds himself ready to try again, will you do me a favor?” He waits for Izuku to nod, putting his hand down. “Please give him a chance, at least one more time.” 

Izuku looks down at Jeanist, feeling a horrid combination of sickness and relief. Recognition from an adult that he’s struggling, but a required need to persevere. 

“Okay…” he breathes. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Just off here, right?” 

Izuku nods silently to the driver as he clicks off his seatbelt. Grabbing his stuff, he opens the door. “Thank you so much, have a wonderful night.” The driver gives him a thumbs-up as Izuku shuts the door behind him. He tipped the guy extra because he was in an awful mood the entire time—to anyone, that’s not an enjoyable car ride. 

Uraraka is standing outside her apartment complex in her pajamas, arms crossed. “Are you ok?” She always waits for him at the bottom of the stairs when he texts her like this. Like a mom waiting for her son to come home after a party or a late-night date, curlers in her hair and fuzzy slippers. 

Scratching behind his ear, he bites at the inside of his cheek. “I’m so tired, Uraraka.” 

She sighs as he walks up to her, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. She squeezes him close. “I know...”

Izuku lives alone and has lived alone since sophomore year. It has its perks, yes, considering he's a neat freak and the lack of disruption is great. But there are also plenty of times when he comes home and the weight of everything just makes it all the more lonely. After today, he really didn’t want to go home to a quiet home. 

He drags his feet into her apartment as she unlocks the door. Iida and Ashido turn their heads from the couch and away from their movie. Iida, as always, holds a concerned look with knit brows.

“Babe, go to bed,” Uraraka points at her boyfriend, throwing the keys on the counter. “He’s fine, I got it.” 

Iida usually goes to bed at a sensible time, unlike most college students at any school. With it being past 10 o’clock, it's unnatural to see him awake. 

“Yeah, let the girls have this one,” Ashido elbows him, moving to pause the movie. They’re watching 10 Things I Hate About You, from what he can see on the screen. Iida was definitely watching it just because the girls put it on. 

He nods. “Alright…if you need anything, Midoriya, just come bother me.” 

“Of course, Iida,” Izuku mutters, watching as he pushes up his glasses and makes an exit. He kicks off his shoes and walks over to the couch. 

Ashido pats the seat next to her, moving over. Her hair is lazily tied in a bun and she’s wearing a clear pair of blue light glasses, looking ready for bed herself. He rubs his eyes and sets his bag down before flopping onto the couch face-first next to her. 

“Well, fuck me I guess,” Uraraka jokes, grabbing Izuku’s legs and lifting them so she can shimmy her way under. He can feel her elbows lean against his calves as she moves. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Ashido says quietly, fishing for the remote and hitting restart on the movie. “I’m assuming it’s related to Bakugou.” 

Izuku turns his head and groans into the couch cushion. “It was such a mess today.” 

“I don’t think either of us doubts that,” Uraraka chirps from behind. “Did you guys fight again?” 

He can hear the movie start and he takes a deep breath, intaking the smell of Ashido’s perfume and the old couch fabric. “Fight as in cussed eachother out again, or fight as in I yelled at him, then trauma dumped, and then almost cried in front of him and the coffee shop manager who also happens to be one of the most famous artists in Japan?”

Ashido immediately pauses the movie again, nearly throwing the remote in the process. 

“I-” Uraraka starts, moving his legs in order to force him to sit up. “Dude.”

Ashido helps her, getting him to sit up normally and face the TV. He can feel two pairs of hands on each side of him—supporting both physically and mentally. “Yeah, I think I fucked up a bit,” he leans his head back to look at the ceiling. 

“You think?” Ashido comments. “What even prompted that, aside from him being a douche as always.” She looks at Uraraka on the other side of him, concerned. 

Izuku shrugs against their touch. “He took us to this coffee shop like 10 minutes off campus, which also happens to be Best Jeanist’s fucking coffee shop but that’s not exactly important right now,” he starts, getting a confused blink from Uraraka. They don’t even know who he is so that’s not a conversation for tonight. “It was going fine at first and it had seemed like he was opening up a bit and getting more comfortable. But, as always, he reared like a horse and refused to give me anything when I asked about the personal connections.” 

Uraraka hums. “You totally snapped, didn’t you?”

“Yup,” Izuku says, popping the p. “I wasn’t going to sit there and argue for hours and get nowhere, he clearly doesn’t care and I’m not going to waste my time anymore unless he actively puts in the effort.” He combs his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. “Yes, I could have handled it better, but I fear I was too annoyed.”

He remembers Best Jeanist’s words from before he left and his lips fold into a frown. Truly, he knows that it’s the right thing to do, helping him. Pushing past his own discomfort to help even someone who refuses the help—a little bit inside of him wants to keep trying. But if Bakugou doesn’t reach out this time, he’s done. He will gladly suffer the consequences of dealing with another night just like tonight. 

Ashido tilts her head. “So are you done with the tutoring, then?” She asks, pushing up her glasses. “I’d only assume this was your breaking point.” 

Izuku, unfortunately, shakes his head. “I will stop if I get no effort from him starting now. If I get no text, no call, no nothing, then I will stop. He seemed a bit shaken after I yelled at him, so we will see.” 

It’s the right thing to do, even if everyone including bits of himself thinks it’s a bad idea.

Uraraka’s lips thin and she pats his thigh. “You are so dumb and so persistent, but I can’t exactly blame you.” 

Ashido nods, agreeing. “You’re strong as hell though, I’ll give you that. I would have cried like 12 times by now.”

Izuku snorts lightly before letting out an exhausted sigh. He leans his head over and plops it against Ashido’s shoulder. “You have no idea how much I almost did.” 

Patting his head, she smiles against his hair. “Well, let's keep those eyes dry tonight. We’re gonna watch this movie and rot on the couch till we all fall asleep, alright?” 

“Amen,” Uraraka chimes, leaning her own body against Izuku’s side as the movie is unpaused. 

———

They watch the movie all the way through, Izuku being the only one awake by the end of it. Both Ashido and Uraraka are cuddled up next to him under blankets, breathing softly as the credits roll. He’s so exhausted, but when he’s this tired it takes him too long to fall asleep—his body fighting tooth and nail to drift off while his head is on overtime. It’s just a bit past midnight, but his morning class got canceled due to a professor's illness so he can thankfully sleep in. 

His phone buzzes inside his pocket. 

Confused, he digs his hand into his pants pocket to see who the hell is calling him at this hour. It could be spam…

Turning the screen, he concludes he’s immediately wrong. Izuku sits up, disrupting Ashido who was peacefully leaning against his shoulder. She mutters. Cringing, he re-adjusts her against the corner and slips off the couch as quietly as he can—though the old floorboards make it difficult. 

Grabbing the handle to the balcony door, he opens it and slips out as his thumb hits the accept button. 

“That was fast,” he snarks, pressing the phone against his ear. "What changed?"

“Still fucking pissy, I hear…”

Izuku shakes his head, leaning against the railing. It’s freezing out right now, but he doesn’t want to wake anyone up. “Bakugou, you’re making it really difficult to not hang up right now.” He rubs his eyes with the pads of his thumb and pointer finger. “What do you want?”

“I-” hesitation on the other end. “Look…” He sounds off. Not the kind of off that mirrors psychosis, but just…

Off.

Izuku adjusts himself, leaning an elbow against the rail. He could just be tired, it is late. But then again, he left that coffee shop watching the blonde’s face turn one shade paler. 

“Tonight was fucking ridiculous.”

“No shit,” Izuku says right back like a rebound. 

“Deku…” An annoyed sigh. His voice is low and hushed, avoiding the normally high volume and lack of respect. “For fucks sake don’t make this difficult–” 

Izuku raises a brow, fighting a huffed laugh. “That’s an extremely hypocritical statement.” 

Bakugou growls, clearly frustrated on the other end of the phone. “Let me fucking finish a damn sentence, I know it’s hypocritical you asshole. Jesus…”

Izuku looks inside the apartment, watching Uraraka turn a bit in her sleep. Best Jeanist’s words ring in his ears like an old bell. 

Give him a chance…

“Alright…let’s hear it,” he mutters, playing with the hem of his shirt as his fingers go numb. 

Bakugou sucks in a breath after a brief moment of phone static. “I don’t want to fail this damn class.”

Izuku bites his lips to keep himself from commenting. He hums in acknowledgment instead, looking down at his socked feet. 

“I don’t…” A pause. Izuku can tell by his tone that he’s distressed as he tries to formulate his words. Another sigh. “Want to make this difficult for the both of us.” 

Izuku’s face softens and he adjusts his phone against his ear. 

“I don’t know how to fucking do this.” 

Izuku frowns. “It’s ok to not know,” he says, breaking his silence. “You do realize my job is to help you know, Bakugou.” 

He can sense the blonde shaking his head on the other side. “I don’t understand how it comes so fucking easy to you.” A pause, clear of the throat. “You didn’t bat a fucking eye telling me your interpretation, and I don’t understand how–god it’s infuriating. ”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Izuku crosses his empty arm across his abdomen, looking up at the balcony ceiling. “But you’ll never grow as a person unless you understand what binds you…” he responds quietly. “I won’t be able to help you in this class unless you understand the same.”

There’s silence for a minute. 

“I don’t know if I can do that.” 

“Why?” Izuku shakes his head. “I know I’ve made it very clear I don’t like you, but I’m not the kind of person that shames trauma. No matter who you are, you can talk to me.” 

Bakugou clicks his tongue. “Yeah, well…I don’t exactly have the best track record with people in that department.” 

“You’re not the only one, you know.” Izuku kicks his foot out, hitting a loose piece of wood. “But I’m serious when I say that I won’t help you if you don’t at least try. I'm sure you realized that.”

“I know you are…” He trails off. “And I hate— hate— to fucking admit it, but you’re obnoxiously persistent and I think you’re the only person in my godforsaken life to actually give me a second chance. Someone helped me understand that…”

There aren’t enough people in this world that do that for anyone.

“Well,” Izuku sucks in a breath, feeling the cold air travel down his throat. “The first midterm of this class is in a week and a half. Are you serious when you say you don’t want to fail?”

“Yeah,” he responds a bit softer than Izuku expected. 

Izuku nods to himself. “If you really are, I want you to meet with me every day—or every other day like normal. And every day you are going to tell me bits and pieces of yourself as we work through the coursework.” A terrible idea on his part, but he will admit the blonde did ask for help. And with someone with such a unique issue, this is the only solution he can come up with as of now. 

“I don’t know–”

“Let me finish,” Izuku interrupts him, lifting a finger. “It’s gonna suck, I know—for both of us. I don’t want to therapize you or anything, but clearly, you’ve gone years without a way to vent and it's affecting your school as well as your behavior, so this should help you get a bit more comfortable with the big stuff.” A pause. “ But, and I mean but, if at any point our meetings turn into what today was, I walk out and never come back. Got it?”

Suppose he really is going to do this. In that case, if Bakugou actually agrees to his terms, he needs to set some serious boundaries and ground rules to avoid another meltdown and argument. If Bakugou retaliates, he needs to know when to quit. Walk out and never come back, because he can’t keep running in painful circles for all eternity. 

No matter what other people say try and convince him otherwise. Even one of the best artists in all of Japan. 

“...got it.”

Izuku’s brows jump up. So he is serious…he wonders what changed so fast, pushing him outside of paralyzation. “Alright.” He taps a finger against the rail. “Send me your week's schedule and we will set everything up.” 

“Okay…”

Nodding to himself, Izuku stands up straight. “Well, if that was all–”

“Deku…” an interruption. 

Izuku hums. “Yeah?”

“What did you mean, earlier?” Izuku can hear him swallow thickly on the other end. “When you said ‘people like you,’ to me.” His voice is almost a whisper—tickling the inside of his ear. Terrifyingly soft and quiet for someone like him. It almost sends a shiver down his spine. 

“I–” Izuku takes the phone off his ear and stares at the screen. Can he even answer that right now? He shakes his head. 

“There are some things I won’t share. At least…not right now, Bakugou.” 

“De–”

He hangs up, shoving his phone deep into his pocket with a long exhale out of his lips. He really doesn’t know when to quit, huh?

Walking toward the door, he slides it open quietly before closing it and locking it behind. 

God. 

Uraraka is going to kill him.

Chapter Text

The third time around wasn’t any less uncomfortable for either of them. However, Izuku didn’t quite think it would be a breeze after the other night’s complications and shared words. 

Bakugou followed suit with the plan of meeting every day—shockingly. With a slightly warmer night, he picked Izuku up from his apartment after practice ended before driving them down to a different spot off campus. Yeah, Izuku was slightly disappointed he wouldn’t be able to see Jeanist again so soon, but he understands the need for a different environment. And, well, Bakugou would probably punch him in the jaw if he fanboyed in front of him again. 

They’re parked outside of Cedar State Park 15 minutes North of campus, up on the cliffside just short of the parking lot down the road. Apparently, it’s one of many thinking spots for the blonde because of its seclusion and view. 

The guy really knows how to pick the places that can be crime scenes. 

Cadilac SUVs are massive on the inside, Izuku discovered. Luckily, Bakugou doesn’t have one of those obnoxiously huge ones that scream ‘government official’, but it’s still up on the scale. They put all the seats down in the back with their school supplies sprawled all about, chewing on the snacks they picked up at a nearby gas station. 

This whole situation really is odd—Uraraka made sure to remind him 14 times before he left. If it were up to him, he would have absolutely stuck with the in-school meetings like with all his other students. But, well, considering the less-than-normal circumstance, he actually wants the guy to trust him. Not everyone can handle being stuck in a study room, anxious as hell, and already pissed off. Distinctively, a nostril-flaring bull like Bakugou Katsuki. 

Izuku types on his computer, thankful that he has a personal hotspot, as he waits for Bakugou to jot some more notes down on an example piece he gave. 

“So…” Izuku leans back against the window. “Why HU?” 

They’ve gotta start somewhere, even if it's as cliché as asking why he chose this fucking college out of all the others out there. 

Bakugou pauses writing, looking up from his notebook. His eyes are still so intensely red, even in the dim lighting. He sighs, leaning his head against the window on the side of the car. He smells good, like warmth and a fall night. “It’s the top school in Japan with hockey as a leading sport. Kinda thought you’d assume that, Deku.” His tone’s been a lot, well, softer since they talked on the phone—still nasty at times, but at least he’s not yelling. 

He’s probably walking on broken glass right now considering Izuku’s threat. 

Pressing the space bar a couple of times, Izuku fidgets. “Is that the only reason?” He pauses, turning his head against the cool glass. “I knew I wanted to come here for the art program, but it wasn’t just the academic side that made me choose the campus over the closer ones to home in Kyoto. The distance is nice.” 

Share bits of yourself, and hope he does the same…

Bakugou shrugs, leaning forward to write a few more words. “My damn parents originally wanted me to go to UOT, since that’s where my ma went.”

“University of Tokyo, right?” Izuku sits up. Good, he’s getting there. “It’s pretty tough to get in, I heard.” 

Of course, Bakugou shakes his head. “For your dumbass, maybe.”

Izuku frowns. 

Bakugou twiddles his pencil between his fingertips. “But when they saw I got offered a scholarship for hockey and a spot in the difficult accounting program here, they switched their opinion obnoxiously fucking fast.” 

He nods, watching as Bakugou rubs at his chin. He can hear the faint scratch of growing stubble as he moves those fingers against his skin. “I didn’t expect them to fucking donate and invest in the university. But of course, they had to make sure I was being taken care of since I was apparently too far from home when it’s only a fucking hour max.” He huffs through his nose. “The extras here treat me like I’m some fucking expensive object because of it, and it’s irritating as shit.” His eyes glance at Izuku.

Based on Bakugou’s personality, Izuku always assumed that he was ok with the treatment. Considering his swelling ego and attitude problems, everyone assumed he was a spoiled snob who thought he could get away with anything. 

But this…is different than what Izuku himself assumed. 

Izuku adjusts his back, shutting his computer screen. “That’s kind of suffocating, dude.”

Bakugou clicks his tongue. “It’s fucking whatever. If I can’t change it, might as well act like it matters.” 

Izuku stretches his legs out. The dismissiveness is a little concerning. “Yeah, sure, but that just pisses people off. Including yourself.” He digs his hand into one of the chip bags he bought, throwing a couple in his mouth. “Did you major in accounting just because your parents are accountants, or do you actually enjoy it?”

Accounting is a miserable field. He took a class in high school and nearly killed himself halfway through the semester. But he’ll admit, it makes extremely good money and if he liked math he wouldn’t have totally hated it.

“I’m good at it so…” Bakugou responds but Izuku shakes his head. 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re good at something or not. Do you enjoy it?” 

Izuku’s good at biology, but that doesn’t mean he’d touch that career with a 10-foot pole. 

Bakugou cracks his neck to the side, sighing. “It’s whatever, I guess. I didn’t exactly have a fucking choice in the fact. The sperm donors want an heir to their shitty business and I’m an only child.”

Jesus, that’s fucking depressing. But, well, he can’t say much himself. “I can relate, honestly,” he adds quietly, sliding his computer off his lap to grab his notebook and take its place. Bakugou looks at him. “My dad resents me for picking a degree that ‘isn’t useful’. He wanted me to go to med school in Kyoto ever since I was in junior high, but that’s not the path I wanted.”

He will never forget screaming with his dad in the living room when he applied to the art program instead. Those curses and insults still echo in his brain like permanent scar tissue, even after four years.  

It’s Bakugou’s turn to frown. “So you just…told him to fuck off and did what you wanted? I didn’t pin you as the type to rebel against your damn parents.” 

Izuku shrugs. “In a sense, yeah. I’m disowned now because of it and relying on student loans, but at least I’m happy with myself and my choices.” Propping one knee up, he presses his notebook against his thigh and writes a couple of artworks that could be used today. “Too many people out there live regretting making choices based on the level of money they will make, or how much success they will gain. My dad made great money as a management analyst, sure, but he was fucking miserable and made our lives hell because of it.” He pauses writing, sighing. “Life is too short to not do what you want to do, you know?” 

Bakugou is quiet for a moment. There is an expression of thought strung across his face, brows knit and lips pressed in a small line. 

Izuku lifts his other leg so he’s almost hugging his knees to his chest. “If the circumstances were different, what would have you picked?” 

He doesn’t get a response. At least, not immediately. 

“It doesn’t matter, especially not fucking now.” Bakugou looks down at his paper, tapping the pencil against the top. True, they are seniors. But… Izuku bites his lip, letting his legs drop back down. He uses his foot to tap against the blonde’s calf, grabbing his attention. 

“No judgment, remember?” He says, softly. “I am the one here who chose an art major and you really can’t go lower than that.” 

“You can when you have my reputation,” Bakugou snaps defensively. 

There's the nerve. Izuku raises his hands as a form of white flag. “Okay…I’ll let it drop for now.”

The blonde has been rather responsive all night, so he’ll cut him some slack for a bit. It would be unfair to keep pressing, considering they’ve made this much progress in such a short time span. It’s honestly a miracle they’ve lasted this long without ripping into eachother. 

Blinking, Bakugou chews on the inside of his cheek before going back to his paper and pencil. 

Ten minutes go by of concentrated writing before Bakugou quickly slips the paper off his folder and hands it over to Izuku. He looks uncomfortable and stiff—off. “I’m done with this piece. If you ask me to add anything I will fucking punch you.” 

Hesitating with a raised brow, Izuku puts his notebook down and leans forward, grabbing it—unphased by the threat. Turning it over, he skims through the responses given. He didn’t ask for an essay, but he did want consistent points at least. It would be great if he gave a connection at the bottom, but he won’t start a fight right now. 

As always, his writing is pleasing—even in a note format. Wanderer above the sea of fog, nothing as deep as the one they did last time. 

Izuku pauses at a sentence toward the end. Physically, he pauses. He can feel the blonde stiffen from across the car. 

Tightening his jaw, Izuku reads it over and over, fighting to look up at the blonde and spook him. 

“I feel like I’ve been swallowed whole by this world's greatness, its size. I look at this journey in front of him, and I can’t help but feel afraid of who I am and what I give to this overwhelming purpose.”  

A twinge hits Izuku’s heart like a dull needle. Uncomfortable and sudden. Something about these words and the situation in front of him right now puts a shifted weight on his shoulders. He did it. He actually–

Holy

Shit.

Everything is starting to make sense from the first time they met for tutoring—the way he responded to the way he analyzed. He feels so stupid for not seeing it sooner.

These are the words of a poet. A writer. 

“Did you–Bakugou…” Izuku trails in a hushed tone, putting the paper down in his lap. 

“Yeah, it’s probably not up to your damn standards—I fucking know. But like I said, that’s all you’re getting,” Bakugou exhales, crossing his arms. He’s avoiding eye contact, keeping his gaze at the back of the car. 

“It’s–” Izuku shakes his head. “Can I ask you a question?” He presses. 

“If it’s stupid, I won’t answer.” There’s growing hostility in his tone. Charming. 

Pursing his lips, Izuku looks down at the paper in his lap. “You wanted to be an English major or minor…didn’t you?”

He can hear Bakugou swallow down hard instantly. He forces a tsk from his teeth, a shift in attitude. There is no needed response, not when he’s avoiding verbal denial. 

Parting his lips, Izuku looks at the blonde in front of him with a new indescribable ache in his chest. Vulnerability. From these words, he clearly understands it and can express it. But something is scaring him away from its easy paths. Something making him aggressive and avoidant—insecure. Difficult to express, even though he knows how to. 

He’s afraid. And in turn, he’s angry. 

I don’t understand how it comes so fucking easy to you.

It’s infuriating. 

It’s so contradictory, all of this. But if Izuku presses anymore, he might never know why. There are times when he needs to know when to stop. 

Nodding to himself, Izuku grabs a fresh sheet of paper from his notebook and rips it out. He writes down a new artwork at the top, handing it to Bakugou silently. 

“Your response was beautiful,” he says slowly, watching as the blonde’s face flips to that expression he saw on the very first day. Eyes soft—round at the edges, even. Looking at Izuku like he’s different than all the rest. He doesn’t smile, not even a little. But somehow the eyes speak loud enough. 

He nods back, taking the paper and setting it down like the last one. 

They spend the rest of the night in silence. As the minutes and the hours pass—even after their meeting—Izuku feels the air around them loosen its grip, relieving just a little bit of that pressure that was beating down on both of them. 

Izuku is running out of his apartment when Bakugou lays on his horn impatiently. And if anyone knows Cadillacs, they know those horns are loud and ridiculous. 

“Jesus fucking–COMING!!” He yells, locking the door with full hands and arms, nearly dropping everything as he turns the key. The blonde doesn’t stop honking, even when he sees him visibly running down the stairs of his apartment complex. For once, they aren’t meeting late since he didn’t have practice today. No complaints on Izuku’s part, it gives him more time to be in the studio tonight.  

“Stop stop stop, you’re so annoying,” Izuku groans as he reaches the car door. “Roll down the window, my hands are full and I need you to grab something.”

Bakugou looks at him weirdly before complying. Izuku sticks his hand through, holding out a plastic cup full of iced coffee. 

“Wh-” Bakugou starts, looking at the coffee and then Izuku. “The fuck?” 

Izuku groans, rolling his eyes. “Take it, it’s yours. I’m gonna drop everything if you don’t.” 

Bakugou takes it slowly, letting Izuku grab the car handle and jump into the car with a huff. He’s got his bag, keys, another coffee, and a jacket in his arms—stupid to not at least put the damn jacket in his backpack. “Took you long enough, shit,” he says, putting his coffee in a cup holder. “I nearly dropped it on your clean car and it would have been your fault.” Putting on his seatbelt, he sighs, leaning fully against the car seat to indulge in the warmers.

“You got me fucking coffee?” Bakugou asks, actually confused. Izuku turns his head to see the blonde looking at him like he tripped and ate shit getting into his car. 

“Uhh, yeah?” Izuku says, mocking the same confused tone. “I had time on my way home from class so I thought I’d grab coffee for us. I think I got it right, you just like normal lattes with caramel drizzle right? That looked like your order at the café the other day,” he rambles, reaching into his pocket to grab his phone. The blonde did do well last night, so it’s only fair he compensates for the positive reaction. They'd get nowhere if it was constant drilling. 

Still apparently baffled, Bakugou looks at the cup and then back at Izuku. “I–”

Izuku frowns, looking over. “Everything ok? If I got it wrong that’s my bad.” 

Bakugou shakes his head, putting the coffee in the other cup holder before quickly putting the car in drive. “No, fuck off…you got it right.” 

Izuku blinks, looking out the window. Weird…

“Where to today?” He asks, rolling the window back up. “Just letting you know now, I can’t be too late if we’re going far. I have to be in the art building afterward to grade papers for Nana and finish a painting.” 

“Whatever, you fucking loser,” Bakugou snarks, pulling out of the parking lot. “We’re going to the hockey house, shitty hair needs help on finance so I’m gonna fucking multitask.” 

“Oh,” Izuku says, raising his brows. “Am I even allowed in during the day? Also, we can reschedule if you’re busy with that. I know I said every day but I can be flexible.”

Bakugou shakes his head. “As long as you don’t fucking embarrass me, yeah. And it’s just shitty hair, it won’t take long.” 

“Alright…” Izuku mutters.  

He knows Bakugou is one of the only players who doesn’t live in the house with the team. It could be preference or a little bit of his ego—he’s only a couple minutes down the road in one of the nicer apartments. Though, Izuku doesn’t exactly blame him.

He wouldn’t want to live in a house with that many people either. 

They pull up not even five minutes later. Izuku is standing behind the athlete, awkward as fuck, as the door code is punched in and he’s let inside. It’s weird being here when all the lights are on and he’s actually sober. That’s just typically the case for any house he goes into after getting violated a little. He got whiplash when he walked into Ashido’s for a few minutes to let her grab a jacket. 

“Oi!” Bakugou yells as they walk into the common area. Izuku raises his brows to find it…oddly clean. But that’s just him being judgemental too early. “Shitty hair, I’m fucking here!” 

“Okay!!” Kirishima yells from upstairs. “One second!” 

Bakugou points to the couch. “Just sit there for now, and don’t fucking break anything.” 

Izuku rolls his eyes, putting his bag down and sitting down on the couch with a few questionable stains. He’s a little surprised no one else is downstairs with how many people do live here. “I will try my very best, Bakugou.” 

Kirishima comes running down the stairs loudly—nearly stomping on each step. “I won’t make you stay long since you hate spending time with us but–” he pauses, noticing Izuku’s hair from the back of the couch. “Holy shit, you haven’t killed him yet?” 

Izuku turns around, waving kindly at the redhead. “Yes, somehow,” he jokes, getting an annoyed glare from Bakugou. “How are you, Kirishima?” 

Kirishima shoots him his usual toothy grin. “Doing great, thanks for asking! How about you?” He asks, walking over with his own bag around his shoulder.  

Izuku shrugs. “Well, I’m here so…” He looks at Bakugou with a smug smile, getting a typical disgusted stare in return. It’s sometimes fun seeing how easy it is to poke fun at him. He snorts. “I’m kidding. I’m doing good, just busy as always.” 

“That’s good to hear,” Kirishima responds, plopping himself down on one of the chairs across from him. He pulls out his computer and looks up at Bakugou who hasn’t sat himself down yet. “I only really need help on three problems and then I’ll leave you alone.” 

Bakugou clicks his tongue, sitting himself down on the other chair next to him. “Just show me the damn problems.” 

———

Izuku yawns, propping his leg up on the couch as he scrolls through his phone. It’s only been about 45 minutes, but he didn’t get much sleep last night so the lack of brain activity is tiring. 

Bakugou is—surprisingly—patiently pointing at Kirishima’s screen on the last problem. He can tell Kirishima feels bad for taking so long, with his apologizing and frustrated glances, but the blonde isn’t budging. Even if he does have ‘an attitude’, it’s just his normal aggressive demeanor. Interesting. Izuku tilts his head, watching as they mutter with eachother through the problem. 

“Ohhhh,” Kirishima says, connecting something mentally. “Ok ok, that makes sense now.”

“You fuckin sure? You’re not just saying because you feel guilty?” Bakugou says with a raised brow. “Cause if you are I’ll smack the fuck out of you.” 

Izuku keeps his eyes on the two of them. Specifically, the body language and tone. 

Kirishima nods sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes, I’m sure. I appreciate it as always.” He shuts his computer, putting it back into his bag. “I’ll let you guys work on your own stuff now, I know Midoriya probably has places to be.” 

Izuku shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me, Kirishima. I hope you do well on your assignments.” 

Kirishima smiles at him with a thank you before grabbing his bag and heading up the stairs—much quieter than when he came down. 

Izuku waits for him to disappear before opening his mouth. “You’re so patient with him, you know,” Izuku says, looking over as Bakugou sips at the coffee he was given. 

A short shrug. It seems the longer Izuku’s around Bakugou, the more he realizes how calm he can be given the situation. Well, calm in his own Bakugou way. “He’s annoying as fuck, but it’s not his damn fault he’s dyslexic. The school has pretty shit resources, so…”

“Yeah, it kind of does,” Izuku agrees, unfortunately. Most universities don’t exactly get enough funding for student resources for success. “Well, regardless, it’s very nice of you to help him.” 

Bakugou bites at the straw before putting his cup down to grab his materials. “It’s whatever, Deku.” 

Izuku furrows his brows. That damn nickname…“Can I ask you something?” 

It’s not like he isn’t here to ask questions about the blonde. 

Bakugou turns his head. “You really like fucking questions, don’t you?” When Izuku gives him nothing but a blink, he sighs. “Fine, what?” 

“Why do you call me that?” He asks, crossing his legs and leaning against the corner of the couch. “Deku.” 

It’s not like he’s unfamiliar with the word itself. Deku is the Japanese word for useless, and when Bakugou called him that for the first time, he nearly saw red. Even if it was an accident—for some obscure reason—he never stopped saying it when Izuku clearly had no favor toward it. 

Leaning back in his chair, Bakugou sighs. “To be completely fucking honest? The first time was to piss you off.”

Izuku could have gathered that, honestly. He makes a face and Bakugou looks back, unphased. Propping his elbow against the arm of the chair, he taps at his temple. “It’s only pure habit now.” 

“Why did you want to piss me off?” Izuku asks, leaning forward to grab his notebook and set it on his lap. Bakugou raises a brow. Ah, yeah, he needs to rephrase. “Well, at least before even meeting me.” 

“Simple.” Bakugou presses his chin against the palm of his hand. “You’re the fucking pride and joy of that department—not to mention everyone spoke so well of your ass. Didn’t want you thinking you could act high and mighty around me.” 

Oh. 

Izuku almost finds himself quirking up a smile. He hums, mimicking the position with his chin on his hand. “So you were threatened by me?” He taps his jaw slowly. 

He’ll have to keep that in mind every time the nickname is slipped between his teeth. 

Bakugou’s brows fold down into a glare so fast it must have given him a headrush. “Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Hello-

The way he said that made Izuku’s head feel weird. As if there was a rough purr in his throat with each word. 

He clears his throat, putting on a smile to show amusement. “You’re ridiculous.” Shaking his head, he moves to open his notebook. “Now, are you ready to get started or do you want to keep bickering?” 

“Whatever,” Bakugou grumbles to himself, turning his face to avoid eye contact again. He likes to do that a lot, he realized—looking away just slightly in a moment of discomfort.

Writing down a piece from the recent lecture, Izuku rips out the page and hands it to Bakugou. Grande Odalisque. “Try and stay consistent like you did last time,” he says quietly. “You’re making progress, but I want to see if you actually stick with it.” 

Bakugou huffs through his mouth, placing the paper down on his lap with a folder behind it. Nodding, he grabs a pen and starts looking over the piece—clicking at the bottom with his thumb. 

Watching him focus, Izuku fails to keep his eyes off him for the next fifteen minutes while they work. He can’t really help it. It’s always been a bad habit of his—watching people and their behavior. A couple of the players came down to grab stuff from the kitchen, but quickly scurried the second they saw Bakugou shoot them a glare. 

Breaking his glance, Izuku turns his head to the walls. Framed photos and posters litter the cracking walls with shelves covered in awards—trophies, plaques, anything anyone could think of. Izuku frowns. Most of the photos and awards involve Bakugou’s name, if not only. He scratches at the side of his cheek. 

“Why hockey?” he blurts, turning his gaze back over to red eyes now looking up from the paper. He can see Bakugou open his mouth, but he raises his hand to stop him. “And if you say ‘because I’m good at it’ I might have to hit you.” 

Bakugou’s eyes shift to the side. “Remind me to hit you when this is all over.” Clicking his pen, he sets it down next to his thigh on the chair. A subtle breath flows from his nose—quiet—when Izuku gives him an annoyed glance. 

He caves. “As a brat…I always liked the ice.” 

Nodding, Izuku leans forward on his elbows. It’s gotten a bit easier to get him to talk. 

“My parents have one of those fuckin vacation homes up in the mountains,” he continues, waving his hand as he leans back in his seat. “There was this frozen pond…” 

Izuku can only picture it inside his head. Messy hair and crooked teeth, a child skating around like he ruled the ice—even as it was thin and brittle beneath him. He feels the same way about his work. The rough canvas on his fingertips—more so, the first time he touched one. 

“I’d skate on it for hours every day if I could. I fucking loved having that control over the ice and my body.” Bakugou rubs his thumb across his pant leg. “Of course, seeing me good on skates, they had to sign me up for lessons. My parents.” 

Eyes narrowing a little, Izuku can sense a bitterness in his tone. “You do enjoy it though, right?” 

It would be sour to think even a sport makes the blonde unhappy. Angry. 

“Of course,” Bakugou bites back a little too strongly. He grinds his teeth from the tone, noticing Izuku’s less-than-happy reaction. He shakes his head. “Sometimes, it’s the only fucking thing that makes me feel like I’m back on that shitty pond when nothing actually mattered.” Those cherry eyes go dim as they look down at his paper. “Everything matters now…”

Izuku’s face softens as Bakugou scribbles a couple more words. He slips it off the folder, handing it over. 

“You really like picking the depressing fucking pieces,” he snarks as Izuku grabs the paper. “Was the female slave necessary today?” 

Izuku shrugs, turning the paper over. “Most artworks in this time weren’t painted to express good fortune. The 1800s weren’t a time for a lot of hope.” He looks over the words written before him. As always, they’re intricate and well-placed. He didn’t expect anything different. 

Mm, there are a couple of things he needs to fix though…

Tilting his head, Izuku looks up from the paper. “Mind going more in-depth on why her central gaze is important to the overall interpretation?” He asks slowly. 

“Yeah…” He rolls his eyes. “Women who were slaves and members of harems didn’t exactly get the fucking choice. The direct gaze makes the entire situation less viewable and more, well, experienceable.” There’s a dullness to his tone—irritation, even. “With the lack of modesty in the eye contact, it shows that they aren’t objectified things, but something with a central opinion like the ones doing the objectification.” 

He says these explanations like they’re just simple sentences as smooth and collected as his first language. Izuku's stomach aches at the thought that such words and phrases could be used consistently. God, would he succeed as an English major so well...

“God, you’re so damn smart it’s unfair…” Izuku mutters to himself as he nods at the response. “If you keep this up, you’ll be thankful to know you won’t need me much longer.” 

Bakugou’s lips part, but no words slip between them. Like they’ve stuck themselves in his throat, refusing to budge. 

Skimming over the rest of the response, wanting to get to the end, Izuku bites at the inside of his cheek. The only part that genuinely matters is at the end. 

But Bakugou stops him. “Why art?” he asks, finally letting words slip out.  

Izuku puts the paper down, looking up. He raises a brow. “Hm?”

“Don’t think you’re the only one who can ask fucking questions, Deku,” he says, emphasizing the name. “Go on, answer. Why art?” 

Rubbing his finger over the paper, Izuku looks at Bakugou’s expression for a moment. His eagerness for a response—like he’s trying to steer his attention.

Interesting…

“Similar situation, kind of.” He starts. “As a kid, I always liked to color in those big coloring books you could only get at certain stores.” He remembers one time begging his mom to buy the 150-page book with different kinds of birds he saw at the craft store. There was an obsession he had with making each page pretty and unique. Something he alone could control. 

It’s Bakugou’s turn to nod. 

“I’d fill them within a week if not days,” he continues. “My mom noticed and started signing me up for classes to learn the fundamentals.” Pausing, he tries to think about the best way possible to format this next sentence. “But, well…” 

Bakugou motions for him to continue, annoyed. “Well?”

Izuku’s eyes fall to his lap, licking the side of his dry lips. “My dad wasn’t exactly fond of me taking the classes. He thought it was a waste of money and time—that I should be doing what normal boys did my age.” A sigh. “The classes only lasted a few months before I was forced to quit.”

“...Clearly that didn’t stop you.”

“Fuck no,” Izuku bites back, annoyed at his own memory. “God, I remember that day–I was so angry. I was just a kid but I knew well enough that it wasn’t fair. In spite of him, I continued to teach myself behind closed doors and took classes in school for years.”

He knows Bakugou is going to hit him with the same exact question he can’t help but ask himself. He’s not stupid. 

Do you actually enjoy it? Or are you just doing it to piss him off…

“With art, it wasn’t quite the material that I loved,” he spits quickly, catching the blonde a bit off guard. “It was the expression. The ability to put my emotions, my fears, and my insecurities in a place that wasn’t harmful. And, well, help people who see my work understand that they aren’t alone.” Looking back up, he watches as Bakugou’s manner has gone still. “It doesn’t matter if my father will never look at me the same because of my choices, I’m making my own impact in this world without the need for a dollar in my pocket.” 

The blonde looks away again, holding his chin in his hand as his elbow props itself on the chair. Izuku thins his lips, moving his head just a little to try and read him. 

“If we live a life of constantly trying to satisfy, we’ll never truly be satisfied with who we are. Don’t you think?” He asks, trying to get him to respond or even react. 

Bakugou swallows, centering his gaze—cherry eyes just a little bit darker than usual. “You fucking piss me off, you know that right?” 

…what.

Izuku blinks, dumbfounded a little. “I–what?” 

“It comes so easy to you.” He shakes his head, brushing a few fingers through those blonde spikes of hair. “I don’t understand you, Deku. How are you so unafraid of conflict when you of all people should be cowering in a fucking corner?”

“I don’t–” Izuku stutters. “I don’t think I follow.” 

Clicking his teeth, Bakugou shakes his head and stands up. “Of course you don’t.” He grumbles to himself. “I’m going to take a fucking piss.” 

Izuku’s brows fold. “Okay…” 

He watches Bakugou stomp out of the room and disappear around the corner, slamming a door loud enough for the whole house to hear. 

What the fuck was that? 

Izuku shakes his head, blowing a breath through his lips. His hand finds the paper on his lap, picking it up slowly. 

“I’m a slave to everyone’s expectations. I sometimes wonder what would happen if the ice beneath my feet shattered—drowning me and my never-ending hunger for satisfaction.” 

“Thanks for driving me, you didn’t have to do that,” Izuku says, clicking off his seatbelt. 

Bakugou grunts in response. “Just get out of the car.”

When Bakugou came back from the bathroom, Izuku explained that he needed to leave. He chose not to be specific in his reasons, just that he needed to get started on his grading sooner rather than later. 

When, in reality, he was a bit shaken by their conversation and couldn’t handle staying longer. It seems that as each day passes, the more conflicted he feels about the blonde. The guy is a jerk, he won’t back down from that, but there's something inside of Bakugou that’s screaming out loud…

And Izuku can’t help but be drawn. It’s sickening, almost. 

Grabbing his things, Izuku clears his throat. “It’s supposed to be shitty out tomorrow. If you want, you’re welcome to come to my place and study so you don’t have to drive far. I don’t have roommates, so it’ll be quiet.” 

“We’ll see…” Bakugou says under his breath. 

Izuku’s hand hovers over the handle. “You ok? You’ve been off all day.” 

Grip tightening on the wheel, Bakugou lets out a tsk. “Even if I for some reason wasn’t, it doesn’t really concern you, does it?”

Woah, ok. There’s the normal Bakugou that’s apparently been hiding. 

“Jesus, bipolar much?” Izuku huffs, shaking his head in disbelief at his 180-degree tone shift. “And it doesn’t, but I’m not the kind of person that ignores others and their feelings.” Opening the door, he puts his bag on. “You aren’t exempt just because you refuse to fully come to terms with your own, Bakugou.” 

“Wh–” 

He jumps out and shuts the door before a response can be fully formulated. And the last thing he sees before turning his head and walking away is an expression of anger. 

But with that anger, comes an ugly sight called sorrow. 

Chapter Text

Izuku wasn’t paying attention. To be fair, he never does in this building. 

Trying to carry a coffee, two canvases, and a bag of supplies—all while using his phone—wasn’t a good idea in hindsight. But he also didn’t exactly expect to really be around people this early in the department. 

Bumping into someone’s shoulder, he yelps, letting his canvases and bag fall to the ground with a clatter. 

“O-oh my god–” Izuku gasps, dropping to grab his bag—stuttering like an idiot. “I’m so sorry–”

The person he bumped into crouches down as well, picking up the canvases. He waves one hand to stop the apology. “Oh no, my boy, no need to apologize! I should have moved out of your way.” Standing, the man turns the canvases to peek at them curiously. He’s–wow he’s tall. 

Izuku cracks his neck up to even look him in the eye, he’s got to be over 6’5'. Blonde messy hair and a very skeletal physique—he looks exhausted over anything else.

The man’s brows raise as Izuku stands back up with his bag clutched in his hand. “Did you paint these?” 

Taking a breath to catch up, Izuku nods. He brushes curls from his face, still a mess from the initial interaction. “I did. Definitely not my best, but I’m trying to go back to my roots.” He rambles, dissing himself. “We will see though…” 

The man shakes his head. “I personally find these wonderful.” His voice is deep, but kind. “Your technique is rather unique, and works beautifully with the subject matter of choice.” He takes one last look at them before handing them back over to Izuku. “May I ask who your mentor is?” 

“Thank you, that’s really nice of you.” Izuku half smiles, warmed by the compliment. “I don’t have one, really. I guess my professors? But for the most part, I’ve always worked through it by myself.” He adjusts the bag in his grip. “Do you work for the school? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before…” 

He shakes his head softly, hair moving with each shake. “I’m acquaintances with a few of the faculty here. I just came to…see the place is all.” He glances at the hallway, smiling. “I used to attend here years ago, and it’s nice to see it hasn’t changed much.”

“Oh!” Izuku perks up. “That’s awesome, I don’t usually meet many alumni from the department. What was your name?” He asks, tilting his head. 

Sticking out his hand, the man chuckles. “You can call me Toshinori.”

Izuku puts his bag down briefly to return the hand. “Midoriya Izuku.” 

“Well, Midoriya–”

“Oh, there you went,” Nana’s voice calls from behind Izuku, heels clicking fast. “I was wondering where you walked off to.” 

Toshinori turns. “Ah…you know me, I like to wander,” he says, sheepishly. 

Izuku finds himself squinting in thought. Something is trying to nag at the back of his head. But he can’t quite pinpoint what it is.

Is the man in front of him familiar? Is it his energy or demeanor? It’s like a moment of obscure deja vu. 

“I see you’ve met Midoriya,” Nana says, catching up to the two of them. She clasps a hand on his shoulder. “Kiddo’s crazy talented but more stubborn than you, believe it or not.” 

Izuku rolls his eyes, getting a chuckle out of the man. Nana pats his shoulder, letting her hand slide off. 

“Well, on that note,” Izuku says, grasping all of his belongings. “I need to run and get this stuff sorted out. It was wonderful to meet you Toshinori,” he says with a slight bow. 

“You as well, my boy.” He winks. 

“Try not to stay too late, kid, you need the break,” Nana notes as Izuku moves to walk off down the hall, leaving them to their business. 

“If he’s anything like me, there’s no promises,” Toshinori adds with a chuckle. 

Izuku snorts. “No promises!” 

He can practically hear Nana's facepalm and both Izuku and Toshinori cackle in response.

“What are you doing tonight?” Ashido asks, keeping her eyes down as she scrolls through her phone. 

Humming, Izuku looks up from his computer. “Uhhhh, I’m just meeting with Bakugou but nothing afterward, why?” 

She looks up, a little surprised. “No studio this time?”

Uraraka walks into the room, sporting the same expression. “Did I just hear him say he wasn’t going to the studio tonight??” 

“Unless we’re both having a stroke, I think he did,” Ashido clicks her phone off, sitting up. 

The three of them are in Uraraka’s living room doing homework since they all have buffer time and it’s a Friday. He’s got about two hours until he needs to meet with Bakugou back at his own apartment, so he thought he might come by to relax and get some stuff done. Though, he’s sensing he’s about to get bombarded.  

He rolls his eyes. “I went this morning, actually, so you can halt the applause.”

Clicking her tongue, Ashido shakes her head. “Man, and I thought you had character development.” 

“Right?” Uraraka agrees, flopping onto the couch in between them. “I think I would have celebrated if he broke the streak.” 

What friends he has…

“You guys fucking suck,” Izuku says, elbowing Uraraka as she makes herself comfortable. “But seriously, what’s up Ashido?” 

There are only a couple of options regarding what she is going to ask. It never strays from its consistency. The same usually goes for Uraraka as well. 

“The Shack is throwing tonight at ten, so…” she trails off, blinking those long black lashes. 

He crosses his arms, frowning. That was one of his options. 

“Oh come on!” She groans, throwing her hands up. “If you say no to this when you literally have no excuse I will actually punch you in the throat.” 

Izuku’s mouth drops open and he shoots a glare at Uraraka. “You’re rubbing off on her and I don’t like it.” 

All she does is shrug innocently in response. “She’s kind of right though, you don’t have an excuse. Plus, you know The Shack’s parties are always some of the best.”

The Shack is actually a shack, believe it or not—in its own fucked up way. Unlike Ashido’s house—dubbed Deep House for its reputation of giving the worst hangovers—this one took the name literally. 

Six years ago, a grad student took it upon himself to turn one of the abandoned buildings just short of campus into a party house. Every year since, certain grad students within the college are passed with the responsibility of throwing parties and other functions. This year it’s a group of students everyone calls the ‘Big Three.’ It’s cultish, he knows, but Izuku won’t argue when Uraraka says they do throw some of the best parties all year.

He opens his mouth but Uraraka stops him. “Also don’t argue with the ‘it’s cold out’ bit, because again, you know they always have a bonfire.”

God damn it.

“Let me once again preface that you both suck,” Izuku says, shutting his screen—irritation soaking his body language. 

“So is that a yes?” Ashido asks, tilting her head with a shit-eating grin.

Uraraka leans her back against Izuku’s shoulder. “He can’t say no in these circumstances.” Craning her neck to look up at him, she snickers. “We’ll see you at 9 for pregame, babes.” 

Izuku pushes her off, scoffing. “It’s an ‘I have no choice,’ actually.” He motions to Ashido. “You better do my hair.”

“Yes!” Both Uraraka and Ashido simultaneously yell, leaning forward to give a loud and crisp high five. 

He points, brows raised. “Ok, damn, that was actually good.”

“Right?!”

Even though he expected it, the loud banging on his front door scared the ever-loving fuck out of him. 

“Ack-COMING!” Izuku yells, almost tripping on a rug as he runs out of his room. He grabs the handle, ripping it open to find a very—as always—unamused Bakugou standing with his arms crossed. God, he always looks so pleased…

Izuku frowns, putting a hand on his hip. “Why do you always look like someone pissed in your coffee?” 

Bakugou rolls his eyes, adjusting his bag. “You gonna let me in, or not?” He taps his foot, something Izuku recently pinned as a typical habit.  

Moving out of the way, Izuku waves him in. “Yeah yeah whatever, come in…”

He gives a brief verbal tour of his small one-bedroom apartment. The kitchen, living room, door to the balcony, and down the hall are the bathroom and his room. That’s it—it’s pretty small and anticlimactic, but it's his. He’s lucky rent isn’t bad here and his TA position compensates decently because if not, he’d be stuck scraping each month.

Bakugou doesn't give any response throughout the “tour.” He only really examines the nerdy indie decor Izuku’s gone with throughout the apartment with a somewhat interested—if not barely impressed—expression. It’s odd as it is having him here, but his lack of verbal and physical response makes it worse. 

By the end of it, they end up setting up on opposite ends of the couch awkwardly. The blonde is too quiet today, and in turn, it’s making the air a nose scrunching sour. Izuku knows something is off with Bakugou, especially after yesterday. But it’s not exactly easy to bring it up, not when he’s struggling as it is to communicate on paper. 

“I will probably only have you do two pieces today,” Izuku mutters as he grabs his notebook. “I have plans tonight and I doubt you want to be here long on a Friday.” 

“Whatever,” Bakugou huffs, grabbing a pen and his folder. There’s a vague expression strewn across his face, lashes blinking with slow ease. God, there’s something wrong and it’s making Izuku itch on the inside. 

There are two sides to Bakugou that Izuku has seen so far. One of them is the anger and narcissism that bubbles and boils, but the other is something near unexplainable. A black veil of fear and misery that disguises itself as defensiveness and agitation. He could never find himself understanding the blonde for years, reluctant to avoid shoving him into a stereotype and assumption that he’s all bite and bark. 

Izuku gnaws at the inside of his cheek. Humans are difficult creatures—complex. But no one fits that category more than Bakugou, and all Izuku wants to do is dissect him just to understand why his two sides flip like a coin. 

He quickly scribbles down a work that was covered in the last lecture, ripping out the page and handing it over to Bakugou. The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli. He doesn’t let go of the paper immediately, getting a weird glare in return. 

“I want you to do it differently today, okay?” He says, letting it go slowly. “Ignore the practical analysis, you’ve shown me that you’re more than capable. Just give me the personal connection.”

Bakugou opens his mouth but Izuku stops him. “I’m not asking for a full page. All I want is at least five sentences. That’s it.”

Bakugou puts the paper on top of his folder. “That’s a lot to fucking ask, Deku.”

He shakes his head. “If you think five sentences is too much, you’re in for a rude awakening next week when you take the first exam.” Izuku looks at Bakugou’s twisted snarl, refusing to budge. “Five sentences. I’ll give you half an hour.” 

The grip on Bakugou’s pen tightens. “Fine…” 

30 minutes go by painfully. The entire time, Izuku could tell Bakugou was incredibly uncomfortable jumping straight into it. As guilty as he felt, he needed to do it. He needed to see if the blonde really was serious about all of this. 

There are times when making the situation uncomfortable is needed. Izuku especially knows that.

The corner of Bakugou’s mouth twitches as he stares down at his work. 

“Don’t strain yourself,” Izuku says softly, taking note of the agitation in front of him. “If you didn’t get the five sentences that’s ok, I’ll take what you have.” 

“Don’t fucking baby me,” he snaps back. “I have the damn five sentences, just give me a second.” 

Putting his hands up, Izuku nods. “Ok, take your time…” 

The blonde stares down at his paper for another five minutes. It’s a bit worrisome, considering he’s not editing or adding with that pen in his hand—just staring. Typically, it’s not something anyone would really pay too much attention to, but Izuku does the same thing when he’s either sleep-deprived or overwhelmed. It looks like he’s fighting dissociation. 

Shit. Something’s wrong—like actually wrong. 

Izuku taps his pen against the hard plastic of his notebook. He exhales harshly through his nose. God damn it, Izuku... “Is everything ok?” He blurts, finally scratching that itch that was driving him insane earlier. 

Bakugou’s eyes snap up, a bright hot red. “What gives you the fucking impression I’m not?” 

“Well…” Izuku thins his lips before hesitantly pointing at the paper. “It might be because you’ve been staring down at your work for five minutes without even touching it.”

Narrowing those intense eyes, Bakugou grips at the paper till it wrinkles. He tears it off his folder and leans forward, shoving it onto Izuku’s chest. 

“I’m just making sure I meet your stupid fucking standards,” Bakugou growls, leaning back against the edge of the couch with crossed arms. 

Lord, his excuses are always so lame. Izuku takes the paper and smooths it out. “Whatever you say…” 

The piece Izuku chose was definitely a lot, considering it depicts dark supernatural subjects. It’s technically the end of the 18th century, but in the lecture, Nana wanted to emphasize even the earlier periods that involved Romanticism aspects—specifically, how it transitioned from early to late. 

Bakugou turns his head to avoid any possible eye contact as Izuku starts reading. He’s doing it again…

In a near instant, Izuku’s face drops. 

“Sprawled in an expression of fear or ecstasy, the woman finds herself trapped by the nightmare curated within her own head. Mental, yet a feeling of physical connection, I too understand the unbearable weight on one's chest. The nightmare I face was birthed for me with a purpose to produce fear—to push and foresee a possible future if I so choose to ignore its fangs. I have no choice but to let the darkness consume my being every time my eyes shut. To let that imp dig its claws into my ribs—never letting go as long as I still breathe.”

Izuku finds himself staring down at the paper for a long moment, just like Bakugou earlier. His chest throbs with a deep-rooted ache even after he finishes that last word. 

“I– Bakugou… ” He swallows, rubbing his thumb across the handwriting. “Why did you ever stop writing?” 

If he actually pursued a form of English as a major, there is no telling what his writing would produce. Each time Izuku gets the chance to absorb these words, he’s starved for more. Invested and attached—it’s the same as spending hours gazing at a painting hung on the wall in a gallery. 

It’s art. He wants to punch himself in the fucking face for even thinking this, but Bakugou Katsuki is, without a doubt, an artist. A tortured poet. 

That itch comes back tenfold. 

“Just fucking tell me how I did,” Bakugou mutters, still refusing to look Izuku in the eye. “I don’t need the extra yapping.” 

“Yeah but–” 

“For once, drop it,” Bakugou bites, finally bringing his eyes to Izuku’s. His voice cracks and Izuku’s mouth snaps shut.  

Taking a slow breath, Izuku looks down at the paper. Clicking his pen, he writes down a number at the top, circling it. Bakugou practically snatches it out of his hand as soon as he lifts it. 

“I understand your discomfort,” he mumbles cautiously as Bakugou’s eyes scan the good grade he was given. “But you also did agree to my terms…” Bakugou grips at his pen. Shit. “...If you want to continue learning how to succeed in this class, you need to allow yourself to–”

Bakugou’s grip grows so strong, he snaps the plastic part off the top of the pen. “To what? Be vulnerable?” He presses. “Humble yourself, Deku. You don’t need to know everything about me. You never will know everything about me because stuff like this? It doesn’t matter. Why do you think it matters so much?” 

Like at the café, Izuku can physically feel the air thicken and turn damp.

He sits up. “Because I can tell you’re upset. You’re uncomfortable and you’re angry, and whatever it is that made you feel so afraid of your own words, it’s poisoning your ability to let out even the smallest frustrations. It took almost a week for me to get five sentences out of you.” A pause. “Just like with all the other questions I asked you this week, this helps me comprehend the kind of person you are and how I can help you.” 

“Now you better fucking–”

“Why are you so afraid!? God, one step forward is two steps back with you!” Izuku shouts. As he did earlier, Bakugou’s mouth snaps shut. “Before it all started, I was certain you refused to cooperate because you believed all of this was stupid and beneath you.” He reaches forward and grabs the paper that is in Bakugou’s lap. “When you finally let some of this out, I realized that over anything else you were and are just afraid. It all comes out in waves and is never consistent, but I see it. ”

Bakugou gives no response, so Izuku can only continue digging to get one. One second he can open up and the next he shuts down—it’s infuriating. He can’t do it anymore if it continues like this. 

“But let's be honest for a second, alright? Are you afraid of yourself, or is there something out there that you find yourself deeming the nightmare?” 

The color in Bakugou’s face drains as he hears Izuku reference his recent analysis. “I don’t–”

“Do you find it so repulsive that you’d rather let those impish forms tear you limb from limb–”

“I-” the blonde squeaks, forcing his hand to stop from trembling. 

“...over admitting that–”

“Stop–”

“...it is fucking ok to be–”

“I don’t–UHG! Shut up SHUT UP!” Bakugou borderline screams, grabbing at his hair with both hands. “I can’t help it! I can’t!! ” 

Izuku flinches back, horrified by the sudden and sheer volume. He’s silenced. 

“All of this is new to me, ok?!” Throwing his hands out, he struggles to keep his breathing consistent—staggering. “No matter what I do, I can’t fucking do it. I can’t fucking let it all out because all my life I have been thrown in a cage to behave. To keep in the things that make me weak.” Hitting his chest, he outcries. 

The words Izuku had are stuck in his throat like bile. 

Bakugou points right at him with an angry finger. “You have spent all this time pushing me in a direction I can’t go. You ignorant piece of shit. ” He attempts to suck in a breath but it gets stuck—shortened. “I don’t know how to do this.” He gasps. “So don’t you fucking dare assume I can bend at the knees just because you told me to... ”

What is being expressed in front of Izuku is pain. Nothing filtered with anger or resentment like before. Just pure pain— built up so much that all it’s able to do is explode uncontrollably. 

And Izuku doesn’t know what to do. 

“I’m sorry .” Izuku finally lets his words slip.

Bakugou shakes his head, taking another panicked breath. 

“I know it hurts so bad, I know,” he continues. “I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to empathize with what I’m given, but I need more from you.”

“Really? Cause you’re doing a really shit fucking job,” Bakugou huffs. 

Izuku genuinely can’t tell if he’s going to cry or scream. His head is on fire. “So help me help you!” He pushes back. “I am trying so hard in the way I know, but this will only work if you just let me understand. I can’t keep doing this if all you’re going to do is refuse to open up just a little bit despite your discomforts.”

His neighbors will most likely be texting him soon. The volume that’s projecting from his apartment has to be concerning to anyone nearby. 

“You–” Bakugou growls, gripping at his shirt. “God, you’re so hypocritical!” He hits right back—face bright red. 

“I’m hypocritical?!” Izuku yells with disbelief. 

“Damn fucking straight. So you want me to open up? Fine.” He shrugs harshly. “But you better fucking tell me just why you’re so adamant in hating people like me first. ” 

Metal pole straight to the back of the head with that one. Hard and fast, no mercy—Izuku’s eyes go wide. 

“I–” Izuku freezes, brain going completely blank. The blonde hit him hard with something he didn’t expect, and his entire thought process shut down because of it. 

“Yeah?” Bakugou questions, hands shaking by his side. “Not so fucking high and mighty now, huh?” 

Izuku physically can’t respond, opening and closing his mouth like a fish gasping for air. Fuck he has a point. 

“I–wh–” Izuku chokes on his own words. Bakugou just looks right back at him, disappointment bubbling inside his chest with the already overwhelmed emotions stacked high. 

The blonde exhales, trying to control his breathing. “God, this entire fucking situation is fucked right in the ass.” He abruptly stands up from the couch and Izuku’s gaze snaps up. 

He fully expects the guy to grab his belongings and walk out the front door, never coming back. Go the rest of this semester avoiding Izuku and both of their crystal clear issues.  

But he doesn’t. 

“I need to fucking step out or I will do something I regret,” he says, once again trying to control his breathing. “Let me know when you’re done making a mockery out of the both of us and then maybe I will fucking consider having a conversation,” he says, grabbing a tube out of his bag. He stomps to the balcony and slips out, leaving Izuku sitting on the couch—baffled and tinted with embarrassment. 

For the first time since meeting, it’s Bakugou’s turn to step out. And for once, since they started meeting, he had every right to. 

Izuku has been a hypocrite. 

He watches everything through the glass door, hand lifting to rub at his mouth—too stunned to do anything else. Bakugou’s hands are in his hair as he paces across the wood balcony, trying to take control of each breath as they are inhaled and exhaled. He soon wastes no time popping open the tube he grabbed, dumping a half-gram joint into the palm of his hand—still shaking from the forearm down. 

It’s humanizing…observing such a behavioral switch and low point. Bakugou pulls a lighter out of his pocket and sparks it. Almost instantly, the distraction in both hands calms the tremble in his fingers—relaxing both shoulders. 

Dropping his hand to his lap, Izuku steadily takes a breath of his own. Realization. They are both afraid in their own way—afraid of their histories and what binds them. Bakugou has been trying, even as the world around them crumbles as it's done. 

He blinks, rubbing both palms down his pants. It’s about time Izuku showed him that he too can be unguarded in every sense, not just the filtered descriptions. 

Standing from the couch, he walks over to the balcony door and slides it open. Bakugou doesn’t flinch, keeping his stance guarded—facing forward as he holds the lit joint between his fingers. 

A deep sigh from the blonde, tired and frustrated. 

Pursing his lips, Izuku brings his head down and shuts the door behind him. It’s a cool temperature, but nothing close to bone-chilling. The silence and steady wind make for a comfortable night—despite the heaviness in both of their chests. 

Placing himself a safe distance away, Izuku leans his elbows against the splintering railing. 

“I didn’t take you as the kind of person that smokes…” he breaks the silence with a mutter. 

Bakugou clicks his tongue before pressing his lips to the joint—dragging out the smoke. He exhales, leaning his own arms against the wood. “And I didn’t take you as the kind of person to be obnoxiously fucking stubborn.” His eyes glance to the side, still a bright red despite the dimming sky. “But here we are.” 

He looks much calmer, panicked breathing now subsided. The irony of it all is almost comical—inhaling a form of smoke to calm one's breathing. But Izuku won’t lie and say he’s never done it himself. 

It’s interesting how similar the two of them are in certain cases. 

Izuku swallows, turning his head to look forward. “I owe you an apology.” The blonde nods, lifting the joint back to his mouth. “I didn’t realize I was pushing too hard. Or that I wasn’t being fair to you.”

“Yeah, you were being a real proper dickhead.” An exhale. “...but it’s not like I made it easy, either.” Bakugou sticks his hand to the side, offering the lit joint to Izuku. 

Truce…

He hesitates, looking down at the strong hang holding something so small and delicate. Stepping closer, he takes it—shivering when their fingers brush against each other. 

Izuku licks his lips, nodding. “What a mess we are…” he takes it. It’s smoother than he anticipated, trailing down his throat and into his lungs like water. He releases it, watching as the light grey smoke pushes between his lips and diffuses. 

Bakugou hums in agreement, kicking his foot out and tapping the bottom of the rail. 

Lowering his hand, Izuku crosses his arms and sighs. It’s time for him to be fair... “I grew up in a fairly wealthy neighborhood, despite barely making the middle class line.” He’s never even been properly honest regarding this with Uraraka. 

Bakugou turns his head, showing slight surprise in those eyes—blonde brows lifted. 

“I never fit in, considering I was very much obviously a closeted queer, and the schools were full of bigoted opinions.” He swallows, taking another drag. “But honestly…the worst of it was in my own home.” 

“Your dad, I assume?” Bakugou asks as Izuku hands the joint back over. He nods. 

“Yup,” he confirms, popping his p. “He was your average high-salary working father who believed men should be the only ones to provide, leaving women to stay home with the kids and do housework. A real class act guy…” He looks down at his hands, brushing his fingers across the aging wood. “He believed his own son should grow up normal and fit the same stereotype—pushing an uncomfortable need for perfection.” 

Clasping his hands together, Izuku turns his head to watch Bakugou take a hit. “Before I got to understand you, I assumed you were just like him and all the others out there who curse at the minority…who refuse to hear out anyone but themselves.” 

Bakugou taps the ashes off the joint, handing it over. He listens quietly. 

Taking it, Izuku repeats his previous motion—sucking in a breath of smoke. “I got outed in high school…which is a story for another day,” he says, whispering the last part under his breath.  “When everyone and their mother caught wind of it, I was bullied relentlessly by even the ones that I thought would support me.” He pauses, huffing a short laugh. “God, if it weren’t for my mother I don’t think I would have survived.” 

His mom was his only sanity. The raft he held onto during the storms and currents. A woman who cared more about him than her own self, and the degrading even she received from her husband. 

Looking down at the joint now burned past halfway, Izuku swallows the dryness in his throat. “The ones that picked on me at school never got in trouble…all because of daddy’s money and influence,” he tsks, taking another hit. “No one cared about the scrawny fag who didn’t even want a ‘real career’ after school.” Lifting his lip in a snarl from the memory, he passes it back over. “I was a joke.” 

Bakugou takes it slowly, turning his head to look right at Izuku. He returns the gaze. 

“After I graduated, I told myself I was never going to let anyone tell me anything different. Or even think that because they have privilege, they can treat me like the dirt they walk on.” A pause. “I may be disowned because of it all, but at least I will never live a life obsessed with the idea of being understood.” 

They’re left looking at each other—observing their own reflections within each eye. It’s the first time they’ve ever given real eye contact in the years they’ve graced the other's presence. And as Izuku sees himself within Bakugou’s eyes, he also feels the recognition coming from that expression. 

The blonde is the first to break the contact, turning to look out at the view. 

Izuku’s heart aches as he too turns his head. He sighs. “I think a little bit of me wanted to push you so badly because the more you told me…the more I saw myself in your experiences.” 

He can see Bakugou’s lip twitch in the corner of his eye. “I’m going to ask you this again…” Standing up straight, he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Why?” 

Bakugou looks down at the rail and exhales, pressing the end of the joint into the wood to kill it. Part of Izuku expects no response—a continuous refusal even though he compensated as requested. But the other knows he will still try. 

A clear of the throat. “...I never had a moment where I could fucking think or speak for myself.” He sets it down gently so it doesn’t roll off. His vocal cords are strained, and rough around the edges. Sensitive, even. “Writing was the only thing I was able to control. It’s still the only thing I can control in this damn life, other than being on the ice.” 

Izuku nods. “Your parents didn’t want what I became…huh?”

“Mostly my mom but…yeah.” His arms cross and he turns around to lean his back against the rail. Softly, he huffs. “I was limited my whole life, given a purpose by someone else.” Heavy eyes flicker to Izuku. “Now I’m 21 years old and wondering what the fuck I’m supposed to do with myself. Because I don’t want this—I never wanted what I became, Deku.” 

Purpose is a nasty nasty thing—a fire. It can give life, but on the other side of it all, it can bring pressure and decay. A nightmare. Bakugou is deteriorating because he was never given the option to make a purpose for himself, and now he’s left scraping together shattered pieces of his history to figure out just who he is. An accountant? A star hockey player? An artist? 

Or just a human…

Though they are similar, Bakugou never found that spark to become the person he wanted to be. To find that purpose or seek individuality outside an outside opinion... 

“It’s never too late to become the person you want to be, Bakugou,” Izuku slips from between his teeth. He takes a step closer and pulls a hand out of his pocket. “But only you can make that decision for yourself.” Lifting his hand, he hesitates just barely above the blonde’s shoulder. “And I do still want to help you, regardless of it all…if you’ll let me,” he says, finally letting his hand settle onto that shoulder. A first touch, maybe even the first time trusting. 

He’s warm, overpowering the cold evening air.   

“Yeah…” Bakugou mutters, staying within the touch—no flinch, no retraction. He looks up at the ceiling. 

“...I think I might.”

Chapter Text

The best part about having a friend whose boyfriend is always sober is rarely needing an Uber. 

Iida and Todoroki don’t typically choose to go out, unlike the rest of them, but when they do, they most definitely make it matter. 

Parking just down the road from The Shack, Iida gets out and opens the door for Uraraka on the passenger side. Everyone else knows the drill, opening their doors to crawl out of the clown car—a white Nissan SUV that’s a lot smaller on the inside. Ashido had to sit on Shinsou and Izuku’s laps as they all prayed Iida didn’t get pulled over.    

“Such a gentleman,” Ashido teases as Iida steps over and offers his hand to her—as he did with his girlfriend. 

“Hey, where’s my hand?” Shinsou jokes when Iida walks away with the girls, leaving the guys to climb out on their own. 

Izuku snorts, shutting the door behind him and Todoroki. “You’ll get your hand when you stop being so chicken about you know wh–” 

Shinsou punches his shoulder with a closed fist. 

“OW?!” 

“No assaulting eachother!” Iida yells—a tired dad leading the family through a busy parking lot. 

Todoroki’s brows lift, startled at how fast that punch was thrown. “That was like reflex, Shinsou.” 

Izuku rubs his now throbbing arm. “Yeah, it just proves my point more…” 

He’s had a fat crush on one of the hockey players—Kaminari Denki—for months now, but he’s not doing anything about it because it's “embarrassing.” 

Truly, anyone on the team but Bakugou wouldn’t be considered embarrassing. Everyone would agree with that. 

“Mido is right, Shinsou!” Uraraka chuckles, turning her head from ahead. “You’ve gotta confess eventually!” 

“I would actually rather let Bakugou hit me in the face with his hockey stick.” 

“You sure you don’t wanna ask Kaminari to do it instead?” Izuku shoots back immediately and Shinsou’s mouth drops open. Karma. 

“HA!” Ashiso squawks a laugh. 

Todoroki cringes. “He kind of got you with that one, man…” 

“You guys fucking suck,” Shinsou groans. 

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that one today,” Uraraka says, looking at Izuku. He just rolls his eyes right back without giving her the satisfaction of a response. 

Like most of the parties in Mizu, on and off campus, the music is cranked so loud that it can be heard around the fucking block. Though the police care little about noise complaints unless it's a genuine threat to safety, The Shack is far enough away from neighboring houses to really cause a “problem.”

No one has genuinely gotten a noise complaint in five years, and the last one resulted in eggs down the chimney. 

“Everyone got their drinks?” Uraraka asks as they make their way up the gravel driveway. 

Lifting their tumblers full of a straight violation, it’s confirmed. The one thing that sucks about these parties is they don’t offer anything due to the sheer amount of people that come.

Leaving Uraraka’s side up front, Ashido skips back to Izuku—jewelry jingling like a cat’s collar. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, she grins with those sparkling teeth. She chose a cute baby pink silk top with light-wash jeans to make her hair and skin pop. “Alright, let’s hear it…” Long nails card through his freshly done hair—tamed and lacking its signature frizz. “Gimme the odds of you getting fucked tonight.” 

7/10. Anyone willing to give him the light of day will get their dick sucked. 

Izuku elbows her lightly, keeping those thoughts to himself. “You have amazing priorities, Ashido.” 

“So I’ve been told,” she says, elbowing him back. “If I see that delicious man you had wrapped around your finger last time, I’ll be sure to send him your way.” 

“You better, honestly.” He’s serious. That man was a good fuck and he won’t pass it if it comes walking up to him. 

Ashido and Uraraka dressed him in a clean look today. Straight-leg jeans with a pearl white oversized button-up that's tucked in the front. It’s not too cold tonight, so he can get away with fewer layers. 

They walk through the open doorway, overwhelmingly feeling the bombardment of a warmer temperature—pure sweaty body heat. If Izuku was wearing his glasses, they would fog like no tomorrow. With the music blaring so loud that the floors are shaking, all six of them collectively agree that their spot for the night will be outside by the fire. A drunk college student-made bonfire has to be better than this. 

Izuku takes Ashido’s hand and leads the way through the crowd, pushing through with polite “excuse me’s” and “I’m sorry’s” to avoid unwanted conflict. They hear Uraraka and Iida branch off to find someone, leaving just the four of them to struggle the rest of the way. 

“Hey, Ashido!” A familiar voice calls from one side of the crowd. “Ashido!!” 

“Kami??” Ashido has to scream back to even hear herself speak. Holy fuck it’s so loud in here. They’d have to play marco polo just to find someone three feet away. 

Practically birthed from between two people, Kaminari squeezes through the crowd—out of breath and red in the face like a ripe tomato. “I am not going back in there,” he gasps. 

Ashido steadies him, trying not to laugh at his messed-up hair and wrinkled clothes. “Dude, you look like you just got railed.” 

Kaminari’s face deepens a shade—if that was even possible. “Seriously?” He attempts to fix his hair and smooth out his clothes, but without a mirror, he makes it worse. 

That's when a lightbulb flashes. 

Izuku eyes Ashido and she repeats the same gesture, grinning. “Hey Shinsou!” They both turn and yell, grabbing their purple-haired friend’s attention. 

“Yeah?” he responds, disoriented and already tipsy. Todoroki, who’s right next to him, understands the assignment and steps to the side as Ashido leans forward and grabs Shinsou’s wrist. With one swift yank, he stumbles and the both of them jump out of the way so he ever so perfectly bumps into Kaminari’s chest. 

Call them Cupid’s little helpers for the night. 

“Kami needs someone to help fix his hair, why don’t you be a dear and help him,” Ashido says, linking her fingers with Izuku's hand—prepping to bolt. 

“N-now w-wait a sec–” Shinsou stutters. 

“Have fun!” Izuku yells and they take off through the crowd. 

“FUCK YOU!!” 

Todoroki busts out laughing as they run away, swimming through the pool of bodies. It’s not until they hit a dead spot in the house that they let go of each other's hands, breathing heavily from the heat. It took everything in them to not drop their cups on the ground as they ran. 

Izuku huffs, putting a hand on his chest. “Oh my god, he’s going to kill us tomorrow.” 

“Not if he gets that proper dick down,” she says, lifting her ringed pointer finger to correct him. 

“We are terrible,” he snorts, lifting his cup to take a sip of his drink—instantly regretting it when he remembers how much alcohol is inside. The little juice doesn’t even begin to mask the rubbing alcohol taste that burns from the tip of his tongue to his throat. 

He feels Ashido’s positive energy diminish like the snap of a finger and Izuku raises a brow. Something soured her mood, and very fast. “You alright?”

She clicks her tongue. “Yeah, Bakugou’s here.” She points to the living room just across the room. “If he tries anything tonight, Midoriya, I will actually lose it. I am still not over that table incident.” 

Well…

Bakugou turns his head mid-conversation with Kirishima. They make eye contact—snapping together like a puzzle. 

“Shit, he saw us,” Ashido curses, grabbing Izuku’s arm. But, he brushes her off. 

“It’s cool, Ashido,” he mutters. Letting his lips form into a toothless smile, he lifts his hand and waves. It takes a second, but he observes closely as the blonde dips his head into an acknowledgment nod before returning to his conversation with the redhead. No scowl, no sneer, no irritated soaked expression. Just a nod. 

God, Izuku a week ago would think he was possessed. 

It seems that Ashido, today, is in that very boat. 

“I–what just happened?” She asks, shock and a smidge bit of horror spread across her face. “Am I having a stroke? I think I smell toast.” 

Izuku shrugs. Anyone who isn’t aware of their current standing would be just as surprised. To be fair, they did file a truce like three hours ago and he didn’t mention it to his friends yet. “Funny enough, we’re actually on decent terms now,” he says, taking another sip of his drink with a cringe. “Well, we fought like hell first, but then we came to a mutual understanding.” 

“Wow,” she says, exasperated. Her long lashes blink. “Definitely didn’t think that would go on my bingo card this year.” 

“Me neither, honestly,” he agrees, moving toward the back door with Ashido trailing behind. There are a lot of things that have happened within the last week that no one in his life could ever properly process. Including Izuku himself. 

Having a mutual alliance with Bakugou, for one, is a lot to swallow down. But, well…

He can’t exactly complain.

———

Izuku exhales from his seat on the wooden bench, letting the heat of the bonfire warm his face and exposed arms as he watches his friends dance like drunken idiots—Uraraka and Ashido pulling Iida around to get him to smile. Todoroki is busy trying to avoid conversation with Yoarashi, a guy who’s apparently in the same communications class. Shinsou, though, is on the opposite end of the spectrum, sitting on the barely stable gazebo stairs with Kaminari next to him—bumping knees. Izuku pays attention to Shinsou’s nervous fingers playing with the hem of his shirt, listening to the sparked-up blonde’s words. 

Lips quirking up, he lifts the straw to his mouth and takes a sip of his drink—feeling the buzz enough to disregard the offensive taste. Sometimes, people-watching is all he needs at a party—gazing at people being people. Witnessing relationships form, maybe even break. It’s riveting. Humbling. 

He senses a second body, grass crunching beneath their shoes. “You do realize you look depressed as shit just sitting there, right?”

Looking up, Izuku locks eyes with Bakugou. Red eyes reflecting the hue of orange and yellow from the fire, the blonde makes himself comfortable just a foot away from Izuku on the bench. 

Huffing an amused chuckle, Izuku takes another sip of his drink. “It’s nice to just watch sometimes, you know?” 

It’s an unexpected development—catching the blonde out here within the quiet night instead of getting his face sucked by the next pretty girl that worships him. 

A hum. Bakugou digs his thumb into the tab of his seltzer and cracks it open with a fzzz. He’s sporting his usual studs and chain necklace, but the outfit consists of a black button-up instead of the casual t-shirt he typically favors. It’s nice—fitting, even. 

He can smell that same cinnamon as last time.  

They go a moment without speaking, just finding themselves surveying the people around them—sipping at their drinks without even a pinch of staggering awkwardness. They’ve moved past that a while ago. It’s humorously ironic to think the last time they were in a party setting, Izuku was shoved off a table by his hands. 

Bakugou eventually breaks the silence first, a roughness edging his speech. “What do they mean, by the way?” he says softly, almost too soft to properly register. 

“Hm?” Izuku tilts his head, noticing those eyes staring right at his arms—standing still to analyze and possibly interpret. “Oh! My tattoos?” He lifts his arms, looking over the ink evenly spread across each arm. 

“Noticed them last time.” Bakugou nods, lifting the can to his lips. “I don’t see you as the kind of fucker to get random tattoos without a meaning. You’re too sappy for that.” 

Izuku rolls his eyes. Alas, he’s not incorrect. Brushing a hand over his left arm, he takes a shallow breath. Not many people ask about his tattoos. Japan has come a long way from its original standards, but that doesn’t mean there still aren’t a select few who care less for the look. 

He’s very lucky that he didn’t have to pay much for these. Having classmates in the art department who wished to pursue tattoo work were always thankful to him for the practice and portfolio work. Though a couple of them need touch-ups, the rest came out beautifully despite the lack of professional standing.

He’s always believed that every artist deserves a chance to shine. 

“They’re all black patchwork sleeves…” He starts, moving the bits of his shirt sleeve out of the way to point to a few on his shoulder. “A couple of them are personal like my birth flower—larkspurs—and outlined album covers of songs.” Trailing his fingertips down, he pauses at his forearm and elbow region. “Almost everything else is artworks that inspired me.” 

Bakugou squints, moving his face closer to look at the finer detail poked and etched within his skin. Izuku swallows, looking back down at his arm. “Like this one…it’s a mix of Van Gogh’s Starry Night and Sunflowers.” He moves his finger down further. “And this one came from one of All Might’s works, I Am Here.” 

One thing to know about All Might’s work is that he created a completely fictitious character to appear in every single one of his propaganda works—the figure that represents his artistic persona. In this particular one, he’s crouched in a lunge while holding up a mass of destructive words and concepts that plague society or individuals. To some, it’s a play on representing the public's responsibility to carry and save the dying world the government has projected. For others on the other side of the spectrum, it represents a deep-rooted craving to be a hero—self-destruction just for satisfaction. 

The first time Izuku saw it, he cried like a baby.

“I can’t imagine your father finding these appealing,” Bakugou says and Izuku can’t help but let out a quick laugh. 

“You’re right about that,” he responds, putting his sleeve back down. “I’ve shown my mom and she loves them, but he has no idea. I have maybe spoken to him a total of five times since I graduated.” 

Bakugou raises a brow. “How the fuck does that work? Don’t you go home for the holidays?” 

Izuku shrugs as his fingers play with the straw on his cup. “Uraraka coincidentally lives in the same city as me, so I stay with her. I visit my mom when he’s not home, but for the most part, we’ve been no contact ever since I was disowned.” 

“That’s insane, Deku.” 

“It is what it is,” he responds, nonchalantly. It’s a bitter reality, he knows, but there’s no point in spending his life upset at something he shouldn’t waste his breath on. “Do you think you’d ever get tattoos?” He asks, flipping the conversation off course. 

It’s Bakugou’s turn to shrug. “My ma about ripped me a new asshole when she saw these.” He points to the earrings in his ears. “So I can’t imagine what a tattoo would fucking do.” 

Ah, yeah. Strict parents. 

“You’re an adult, you know,” Izuku reminds him. “You’re pretty sensible and you make somewhat decent decisions, I doubt that any tattoo you would get would be considered ‘offensive’ in the sort. Though, a part of me wouldn’t put it past you to put ‘fuck you’ right on your forehead.”

That gets a chuckle out of the blonde. He doesn’t hear him laugh often, so it catches him by surprise—just as rough if not higher pitched. It's satisfying, almost. “I might steal that idea.” 

“Let me know if you do, I have some good artists in the area.” He jokes, lightly elbowing Bakugou’s arm. The blonde elbows back, rolling his eyes. “No but seriously, if you could get one, what would it be?” 

Tapping at his can, Bakugou looks up at the sky. The fire paints his blonde lashes, producing a subtle creamy orange. “Never actually thought about it, honestly.” 

“Hey!!” A voice booms from the doorway, catching both of their attentions. Izuku turns around, brow raised. 

Mirio—one of The Big Three hosts—stumbles out of the house and leans over the rail of the porch, holding a red solo up in the air. “Rage Cageeeee!” 

Ashido howls from excitement, throwing her hands in the air. Rage Cage is one of those party games that gets everyone excited, even if they aren’t the ones actively participating. To either watch players get shitfaced drunk from the bitch cup or even just stand to cheer and boo—it never fails to bring different people together for one common cause. 

And Izuku isn’t usually the kind of person to back down from these challenges. 

He turns his head to Bakugou. “Well?” he quirks up a brow. Might as well see just how competitive this guy actually is outside the rink. 

The blonde returns the gaze, letting his lips curl into a merciless smirk. “You’re fucking on, shithead.” 

———

Around ten people are circled around a beer-soaked table, pressed against the chests of those who wish to indulge in the viewing experience. He can feel Uraraka and Iida behind him, holding his shoulders for support. 

It’s like a fucked up betting arena at first glance—he won’t lie. 

The first round includes mostly random people, besides Izuku, Bakugou, and Ashido. Of course, Bakugou wanted to be right next to him on the right so he could stack his cups at every opportunity. He looked cheeky as fuck when he shoved his way to that spot, blissfully unaware of the mistake he just made.    

Bakugou isn’t exactly aware that Izuku has never lost a game of Rage Cage yet. But he doesn’t need to know that right now. 

Mirio stands on a chair to yell the rules to those who don’t know how to play. 15 cups placed around the table, a quarter full of beer, with one in the center called “bitch cup.” Two players on opposite ends of the table grab and drink a cup before placing it onto the table to bounce a ping pong ball inside. If it bounces first try, you can pass it to anyone in the circle to have them repeat the action. More than one try, though, you must pass it clockwise to the person next to you. 

If another player passes the cup to you before you finish bouncing your ball, those cups are stacked and you must take one from the center—drink it to make a new cup for playing. 

As the game continues, the cup stacks will grow—increasing the difficulty of bouncing the ball. Simultaneously, the cups in the center diminish and slowly leave just the bitch cup behind. If the ball is bounced into one of the inside cups by accident, it must be consumed and added to the stack. 

The loser, as anticipated, takes the bitch cup and kneels in front of everyone to chug it. Varying on who makes the cup, it can either hold a full cup of just beer, hard alcohol mixed with beer, or something positively foul. 

Izuku once played a game near Christmas time where the bitch cup had vodka, boxed wine, and fucking egg nog. The loser immediately spewed the second it touched his lips. 

Many would be under the impression it’s chaotic and extremely stressful. And, well, they are correct. But it’s fun once the steps are memorized.

Bakugou and Ashido are the first to go, standing on opposite ends of the table with cups in their hands. 

Mirio lifts his hand in the air and chops it down. “RAGE!!”

Downing the cups, they begin. 

As predicted, it’s instant disarray inside and outside the circle. At one point, Ashido drops her ping pong ball on the floor and screams bloody murder, diving under the table to grab it to only find out she had been stacked upon resurfacing. 

Most of the cups consumed were done by random people—only one by Izuku because Ashido decided to be a dick and stack him. 

“Come on, Midoriya!” Uraraka cheers as he makes it into his stack first try, grabbing it and passing it counterclockwise to Bakugou—throwing the rotation off. They’re at the point in the game where things get faster, and the stacks pass with higher volume—making it very easy to put someone dead center in the mix.

Oh, how this will be fun. 

Everyone yells, losing their minds over the fact that Bakugou Katsuki is getting put in the cage—sandwiched between two people who keep passing him the stack. 

Unprepared, the blonde’s entire body violently reacts. “What–FUCK!” 

Izuku cackles, watching him struggle twice before eventually making it in. As it’s passed back to him, he bounces it first try and shoves it right back over again. 

The blonde screams. 

“I’m pissing myself!” Uraraka dies laughing as Bakugou curses like a drunken sailor with every missed try. The person next to him passes the cup, stacking it before he gets the chance to make it. 

“FUCK!!”

Izuku grabs his stomach and leans forward—laughing so hard it aches his core. “Come on, Mr. star athlete, I expected more from you,” he teases. 

Bakugou shoves him with a wet hand as he grabs a cup and knocks it back. “Shut the fuck up, you’re just getting lucky.” 

“Uh huh…” Izuku smirks as Bakugou puts the cup down and finally shoots it first try. He passes it clockwise intending to get his revenge. 

“Keep telling yourself that, Bakugou,” he says with a shrug, grabbing the cup and the ball—sinking it in the first try once again. Countering that so-called revenge. 

Bakugou’s jaw drops. “I am going to fucking kill you!” 

Ashido points across the table and roars with laughter. “Holy fuck, he’s kicking your ass!!” 

“SHUT UP!” 

Again and again, Izuku stacks him until there is just one cup left in the center. Bitch cup. It’s do or die now, and Bakugou has now drank at least 40% of the cups by himself—buzzed and pissed the hell off. 

Most of the other players have noticed they thankfully won’t be included now that Izuku is playing the Devil’s game—passing it to Bakugou and only Bakugou—and are instead, leaning over the table to increase the pressure.

Izuku puts his cup down and looks over at Bakugou, who’s having to hold onto the edge of the table for support. “It’s just me and you, blondie .” 

Bakugou bares his teeth competitively. “That last cup is yours, you piece of shit,” he says as he bounces the ball against the soaked tabletop. 

Izuku, Bakugou, and the third random person go at it for another minute. Izuku is given his cup as Bakugou is already bouncing his—neck and neck. The pressure is high. 

Is this what playing a damn sport is like? 

“Let’s fucking go!!” Ashido cups her hands around her lips and cheers. 

“This is insane,” the third person comments, amused. 

As if it’s all playing in slow motion, Izuku and Bakugou both bounce their balls. 

But Izuku's ball is the only one to drop into the cup, and everyone absolutely loses it. 

Uraraka jumps on him, nearly taking him out from the sheer excitement. “And he does it again!!” 

Bakugou slams his hands down on the table and yells. “SHIT! FUCK!! ” 

Shaking Uraraka off, Izuku pats his hand on the blonde’s shoulder with a wide unshakable smile spread across his lips. “God on, number one, drink up!” He reaches forward and grabs the cup, lifting it out for him to grab. 

“You’re a cheap mother fucker.” The blonde takes it and groans as he stares down at the contents. “I actually hate you so fucking much right now.” 

“I believe that,” he snorts.  

Taking a kneel, Bakugou places the cup to his lips and flips Izuku off with his free hand. 

“CHUG CHUG CHUG–” everyone starts to chant in synch, some pounding their fists on table tops. 

Taking in large swallows, Bakugou gags but pushes on. Izuku watches as his Adam's apple bobs—liquid pooling out of the corner of his mouth and streaming down his jawline and neck. He can hear each deep gulp and its intensity, the short desperate breathes with each—

….

Izuku almost backhands himself so fast. Did he just–did–his head goes sheet blank. 

There is no way he just made Bakugou Katsuku chugging a drink sexual.  

Bakugou groans and Izuku’s gut betrays him, putting an all-too-familiar hot sensation in his core that makes him want to do a backflip and break his neck. This is so inappropriate beyond every level on the spectrum, they just got to a point of tolerating each other for not even half a day and he’s already fucking turned on. 

He tries to take a deep breath. It’s just the alcohol making you horny, Izuku. It’s just the alcohol–

After swallow seven, Bakugou crushes the cup and throws it into the crowd. Standing up, he looks around with bared teeth like he’s about to lunge. “You fucking cunt, you put chopped-up jello shots in there?!” 

Everyone busts out laughing. That had to be a textural nightmare—Izuku would have yacked if it were him in the blonde’s shoes. 

“Jesus Christ…” Bakugou wipes his mouth and walks over till he’s practically toe to toe with Izuku. He tilts his head down and pokes Izuku’s chest—so close he can smell the alcohol on his breath. God, why does it smell so good? Again, Izuku’s own body double-crosses him and he has to swallow down a guttural reaction. “Remind me to never play that damn game with you again.”   

Izuku pushes him back—not even hard enough to be damaging. The skin-to-skin contact felt way hotter than normal. “Yeah, mkay, you’ll be crawling back for round two in no time.” Stop flirting you dumb piece of fucking shit– This is so bad. 

So so bad–

Bakugou crosses his arms, outlines of each bicep muscle forming on his already sculpted form. “Oh yeah?”  

FUCK.

Izuku’s heart does a fucking cartwheel and his eyes come close to projectile flying out of his eye sockets. What the absolute fuck was that?? What was that, Izuku? Huh?? Get fucked and die. 

With the grace of god on his side, a song he knows starts playing on the speakers. And of course, it’s Slim Shady by Eminem because he’s a goddamn loser who memorized all the words in high school.  

Everything that is happening right now classifies as mortifying and he might just die in a hole tonight. 

“Oh!” Izuku awkwardly laughs, desperately looking for Uraraka amongst the crowd. “Gotta go, I can’t miss dancing to this song with Uraraka or she’ll kill me.” He doesn’t even wait for a response before darting away—diving straight into the crowd forming on the dancefloor without any consideration to those around him. At one point he might have accidentally elbowed a girl in the back of her skull. 

The second he sees that signature short brown hair, he grabs her wrist so hard she jumps four feet in the air and nearly screams. 

Whipping her head around ready to fight, she deflates with relief when she notices who’s holding her. “Midoriya! Good god–don’t grab me like that!” She puts a hand on her heart to ease the near heart attack. “Are you ok??” 

Izuku puts both hands on her shoulder and shakes his head—trying to swallow his heart that’s hammering up his throat. “I am a dead man. A dead dead man, Uraraka.” 

“What did you do??” She grabs his hands and squeezes, noticing the distress. 

What didn’t he do??

Knocking his head back, he groans. “I may or may not have just gotten very turned on watching Bakugou take bitch cup–”

“YOU WHAT?!” Uraraka screams so loud three people around them turn around. They both cringe, waving to apologize. “You what??” She repeats, quieter with the same stern tone. 

He slips out of her grasp, covering his face with his hands—embarrassed. “I don’t know. I think I’m going mentally insane, Uraraka. We just found a middle ground and I’ve already made it weird.” 

Covering her mouth, Uraraka looks at Izuku—bug-eyed and horrified. “Honey, you’re his tutor–”

“I know!” He yells back, grasping the back of his neck as the rap in the background intensifies. 

“Did he notice??” She asks, eyes stuck wide. 

“I hope the fuck he didn’t! ” Izuku belts. “I am praying to every god out there that this is a one-time thing and I’m just drunk because this is so fucking bad–”

“Ok, let’s not panic,” Uraraka cuts him off, trying to de-escalate the situation and raising panic within Izuku’s entire body. “You’re drunk and he’s just objectively extremely attractive. It’s nothing else, ok?” She grabs both sides of his face. “Nothing else.” 

Izuku nods into her touch. “Nothing else.” He breathes, allowing himself to calm down a little. It’s nothing else, he would never. The very thought makes him want to vomit his stomach onto the floor, and that alone is disturbingly comforting. 

If he was thinking the opposite, they’d be in trouble. 

Her hands are colder than the air around them. “Don’t let this fuck with your head. I think we’ve all had a moment of weakness like this and it’s ok.”

Another nod. “Right…” he agrees, letting her hands slip off his face. “You’re right…I just panicked.” 

“Rightfully so,” she doesn’t hold back. “I would be throwing up if I was in your position.” 

"I might." He places a hand on his stomach, struggling with the thought.

Reaching forward, she grabs his wrist. “Okay let's dance and forget all about it, alright? We’re not going to let that blonde ruin our night twice.” 

He smiles with relief. “Yeah, let’s go.” 

———

It seems Izuku has found himself within a brilliant sense of deja vu. 

“Midoriya,” Uraraka nudges his side, snapping him out of the trance he had found himself nudged in. He watches as she moves her eyes to someone or something behind him, and he looks over his shoulder to follow the gaze. 

Lo and behold, Sato is standing on the other side of the dancefloor, cup held tight in his hand with a lewd grin across his lips. It seems they both know where to find eachother when the time comes. 

“Oh yeah, he’ll fix you right up,” Uraraka teases. 

“You’re not funny,” he remarks, pushing her away as Sato puts his cup down and makes his way through the crowd. Low and filled with lust, those eyes stare him down and practically scream you’re mine tonight. 

Yeah, he needs that right now. 

Distract him, feed him.

Izuku licks his lips, eyeing each corner of his face—eyes to nose to lips. “Funny seeing you here…” His heart beats with the base. 

Sato chuckles deeply as he now stands just a foot away. “You know…” he purrs, reaching out and grabbing Izuku by the belt loop—inching him closer. “Part of me regrets not getting your number on that first day.” That same hand trails from the loop up to Izuku’s waist—breath hitching and lips parting.

Izuku looks up, eyes half-lidded and cheeks now flushed with heat. “Only part of you?” He tilts his head, humming, as he moves back to moving his hips to the music. 

Leaning in till their noses touch, Sato grabs Izuku’s lower back and closes the distance between their torsos. He can feel that hot breath on his lashes as he grinds, getting a huff from Izuku’s lips. Sato smiles. “I don’t need your number when it seems I know exactly where to find you.” He presses closer and Izuku bites the inside of his cheek to fight a moan. He can feel both of their growing problems as they move against eachother to the beat, restlessness and arousal brewing the longer they stand and tease. 

They’re playing a dangerous game right now in public, and Izuku is way too horny right now to stop him from stepping over that line. 

“And where might that be?” Izuku breathes, sliding his fingers up Sato’s exposed bicep. The tightness of it all is now rearing painful.

“Right on the dance floor…” Sato trails, lowering his chin till their lips are just a breath apart. “Moving those hips and that fucking ass, practically begging to take someone’s every inch.” He nips, rolling his hips with intensity. 

The fire builds inside Izuku like an inferno, messing with his head’s clarity and focus as he slowly blinks up. “So what are you waiting for?” He says hoarsely. “Make me take every single inch.” 

Sato grabs his chin and closes the distance without a second of hesitation, consuming every bit of Izuku’s being in a fit of desperation. They groan with each slip of the tongue, scraping teeth, pushing back and forth with eagerness and deep desire. Like the first time they kissed, it’s unbearably hot and wet. He can taste the sweat on Sato’s upper lip and the bitterness of Tequila on his tongue. 

They don’t even last two minutes before Sato breaks away. “Fuck, I–” 

“Let’s get out of here,” Izuku mumbles into his ear, still digging crescents into the shoulders of the man who stands just an inch away. He’s speaking for both of them when he says they’re at a point where clothes shouldn’t be on either of their bodies anymore. 

Sato shakes his head, swallowing hard. There’s a look of contemplation on his face. “I have a better idea.” Sliding his hand down and grabbing Izuku’s hand, he turns and pulls him through the crowd. 

It isn’t until they’re running down the basement stairs Izuku opens his mouth to speak. “What are you doing??” He whispers. No one is allowed down here—it’s a spoken rule. “We can’t–”

It’s not because of the danger or the lack of renovation—far from it, actually—it’s because three years ago, the downstairs got turned into bedrooms and a common area for the grad students in charge. To be honest, it’s only really there for precaution in case they or permitted people need to stay. 

Or to get fucked, but either way, it’s an absolute no for outsiders. If they get caught they could be kicked out.

They hit the bottom and the only light source is a small table lamp in the corner of the room. “Sato, we are going to get in so much trouble if we–” he hisses through his teeth but doesn’t get very far with his contradicting statement. 

Pushing him against the nearest wall, Sato’s lips are back against Izuku’s—hungrier, faster. His tongue licks the roof of his mouth, forcing an involuntary groan out of Izuku’s throat. The drywall is rough against his back, cold and uneven. 

Bucking his hips with a plea, Izuku hums hotly with satisfaction as Sato’s hands move their way down and fumble with the buttons on his jeans—unzipping impatiently. A bolt of electricity shoots down his spine as a dry hand pushes the hem of his underwear down, pulling out his agonizingly hard erection. That same wet tongue that violated the inside of his mouth earlier licks up the side of his neck, turning to sloppy kisses and nips on Izuku’s jawline. 

He can’t help but cry out as Sato starts slowly stroking the length of his dripping cock. “Fuck…” Izuku curses, arching his back into the touch. His heart is pounding from the nerves of being caught, but the bliss that coats his skin stops him from discontinuing. 

“Were you telling the truth…” Sato whispers with each pump, tickling the inside of his ear. “Will you take every inch right here?” 

Izuku’s dick twitches, and he can’t help but fuck up into Sato’s hand to chase the feeling that has him biting his bottom lip. Please. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” His voice is rich with desire, reaching down with his other hand to pull the rest of Izuku’s underwear and pants down to his knees. 

He’s grabbed by the waist and flipped around so his face and chest press against the wall—ass out and curved to perfectly compliment the height of Sato’s groin. The only perk of being shorter, really…

Hearing the visceral sound of spitting, he shivers as one hand grabs his ass and the other spreads him wide. 

“Oh-” Izuku inhales, getting little to no warning, as the man’s first finger slips inside. Spit is a shit lubricant, but at least they aren’t doing this completely dry. 

Moaning with a closed mouth, Izuku’s whole body flushes with heat. 

Impatiently, one turns to two, two turns to three, and Izuku is clenching his fist hard—struggling with the urge to pound his hand against the wall as it all burns so good. “Sato–” he cries, pushing back and into his fingers as they slide in and out. “Please–” 

“Look at you…” Sato coos, pulling out his fingers swiftly. “...so fucking hot when you beg.” 

The sound of Sato’s zipper being undone echoes through the empty basement, and soon enough, Izuku feels the wet drip of pre-cum pressed against his entrance. He shutters, swallowing down the saliva building inside his mouth. 

“Relax,” Sato mutters. He pushes in and Izuku gasps, throwing his head back. He cries out as the man behind him slowly starts to ease out. 

The slowness lasts a good five seconds before Sato finds his momentum, squeezes both sides of his ass, and thrusts. 

Holy fuck. 

It’s too much—the heat, the fullness, the buzz of nerves. 

Izuku whimpers as he takes his other hand to start rubbing his painful erection sandwiched between his stomach and the wall. 

A stair creaks. 

“You sure we can be down here?” A feminine voice whispers from the stairs and Izuku’s eyes blow wide. 

“Sato–” Izuku grunts as Sato digs his nails into the skin of his hips and pounds every inch inside, cutting him off. Slapping a hand over his mouth, Izuku bites his tongue to stay quiet even though his body burns with euphoria and all he wants to do is scream against the drywall. 

He can hear a second voice with the creak of the wooden stairs. “Yeah, I’ve been down here all the fucking time. Never been caught.” 

Oh.

No. 

Taking his sweating hand off his mouth to press it against the wall, Izuku huffs. “ Sato, there's– fuck– ” he out loud moans as Sato rotates his hip and rams right where he needed. His body explodes from the inside out. 

Izuku’s face flushes red as his cheek rubs against the wall. He’s not going to make it much longer, already feeling the painful build-up rise like magma. 

Sato is either too drunk and into it to notice the approaching figures, or he’s really just that much of an exhibitionist. Izuku lets go of his aching dick and reaches back to separate their bodies before they get caught. 

But with his unbelievable lack of luck, he’s too late. 

A gasp. “Oh my god –I’m so sorry–” a girl reaches the bottom of the stairs and, mortified, turns around immediately. 

“Oi, why the fuck did you–” And with even worse luck, Bakugou fucking Katsuki was the other figure.  

Past Izuku can eat a fucking brick. This is so much worse than a simple turn-on incident. 

Panting against the wall, Izuku’s eyes meet red for a split second before the blonde retreats back upstairs. Flashes of events pile inside Izuku’s conscience—the bob of his throat during each swallow, the look on his eyes as he teases or scowls, the noises–

“Ah-” Izuku whines as his head is no longer filled with thoughts of Sato or even embarrassment. The buildup intensifies like nothing he’s ever experienced—so painful and so hot it feels so good. 

Sato picks up his speed, fucking his body against the wall with intense rhythm as Bakugou’s eyes and lips stain the inside of Izuku’s mind. He can’t get him out of his head, he can’t–

The buildup finally releases, sending a chain reaction of sparks all throughout Izuku’s body with a jolt. He gasps, leaning his forehead against the wall as he’s consumed with overwhelming delirium—fighting to scream a name that doesn’t belong to the one pinning him. 

He’s fucked through his orgasm, warmth pooling in his belly and neck dripping with sweat as his mind wanders away from this basement and to two things, and two things only. 

Blonde hair…and cherry red eyes.

Chapter Text

Izuku sat inside Iida’s car in complete silence. 

He sat in complete silence even after getting dropped off. Entire body shutting down, Izuku genuinely couldn’t tell if he was going to be sick or if throwing himself in front of the traffic was the better option. 

It’s past two in the morning, and all he can physically muster is stare up at his ceiling—fully clothed and still reeking of sex and regrets. 

After Sato finished, Izuku hurriedly pulled his pants back up, ran up the stairs without even uttering a word, and begged his friends to leave before he had another chance to test the ‘it can’t possibly get worse’ theory. 

Truly, he could move past the whole ‘getting caught having sex in the basement’ act, because shit happens even though it's still embarrassing. But it’s the fact that Izuku was pushed into the most mind-boggling orgasm like he was some goddamn virgin getting hot and bothered for the first time—all because he saw Bakugou. 

All because he saw Bakugou. 

Was it just a fluke? Was all of this just some fucked up accident? Or did he seriously just break the barrier so bad it can’t be mended…

Fuck, he needs to talk to someone about this before he spends the entire night in an unshakable limbo. Groaning, he reaches his arm over to the nightstand and fumbles for his phone—nearly dropping it as he unplugs it off the charger. He doesn’t spend the time debating who to text, knowing full well who is going to respond immediately at this hour. 

Ashido is the only person he knows who is probably still awake. Sliding up on his screen, he starts typing in their chat. 

Izuku: Are you awake? 

She, not surprisingly, responds within the minute. 

Ashido: yes sir

Izuku: are you sober?

Ashido: no sir :)

Ashido: but I’m mostly functional. You alright babe? 

The answer is no. He is absolutely not ok. Not even in the slightest. 

Izuku: No

She types for a bit. 

Ashido: I assumed as much, you were clearly very traumatized but no one wanted to say anything, considering you would have probably opened the car door and rolled out on the highway 

Ashido: What happened? You dipped with Sato somewhere and then came back looking like someone kicked the bucket

Izuku plops his phone onto his chest, grabbing his oily face with a groan. This is so fucking bad. Even thinking about it throws his brain into a back handspring. 

Drawing in a deep breath through his nose, he picks his phone back up and types. 

Izuku: before I even start, please promise me you won’t freak out

Ashido: …ok? 

Ashido: You’re kind of scarring me. It sounds like someone actually did kick the bucket

Izuku: No, I’m serious. Promise you won’t freak out because this is so bad, Ashido

Ashido: shit, alright man. Let’s walk through it

Yeah, walk through. Izuku would rather sprint full speed and get it over with. 

Izuku: I had a very very very embarrassing moment of weakness during rage cage and then it all spiraled 

Ashido: weakness in what sense…

Izuku: …I got turned on by Bakugou

Ashido: …oh sweet jesus–

He can only picture her staring up at her lit phone, now very sober. 

Izuku: let me finish

Ashido: Should I though??

Izuku: yes, because it gets worse

Ashido: how the fuck does it get worse??

Izuku: oh I’ll tell you

Izuku: Sato took me downstairs to fuck (yes I know that was a terrible idea but I was drunk and stupid) and while he was seven fucking inches inside of me, guess who walks downstairs?

Ashido: no...

Izuku: YES

Izuku: we made eye contact and for some very not funny reason, it bitch slapped me into a fucked up fantasy and I ended up having the best orgasm of my life 

Izuku: So in conclusion, Ashido, I want to kill myself and I need you to tell me something sensible or else I might actually go through with it

Ashido: I–

Ashido: ok this conversation is not for tonight, we need to have this when we’re BOTH sober and have the night to think

Ashido: take a deep breath, it’ll be ok

Izuku: I’m freaking out NOW though 

Ashido: oh I don’t doubt that for a second

Ashido: but it won’t do you any good if you don’t sit and process first 

Frustrated, Izuku exhales. He wanted a response and he got it, so he really shouldn’t complain or argue—though he’s itching to. Worse, it’s a sensible idea so he really shouldn't argue. 

Uraraka would tell him the same thing. Or she’d panic with him and make it worse—no walking the tightrope in between. 

Ashido: tell you what

Ashido: I’ll pick you up in the morning to get coffee 

Ashido: we will do the run down then and assess the situation once things have cooled down, ok? 

Izuku: ugh

Izuku: I hate that you’re right

Ashido: I always am

Ashido: but seriously, take a breath and think it through tonight

Ashido: it could have just been a really fucked up coincidence or fluke

Yeah…

Izuku complies and brings in a deep breath—deep enough his lungs burn from the bottom up. 

He certainly hopes it is either of those options.

Ashido taps the side of her coffee cup, her sparkly pink nails shining in the oversaturated café lighting. 

“You ok?” she asks quietly, focusing on the dark circles printed under his eyes and slouched back. Her lips are pursed tight.

She picked him up in her tiny black Jetta way too early for him this morning, but if he’s going to be honest, any time would have been too early considering he couldn’t even shut his eyes last night without getting war flashbacks. 

Running a hand through his hair, he shakes his head. “I didn’t sleep last night.” 

Ashido winces, lifting her cup to sip out of its straw. “Yeah…I’m sorry for leaving you hanging.” Putting the cup back down, she clasps her hands together—sighing. “But I think having that conversation at two in the morning while still semi-drunk would have been awful for the both of us.”

He nods, agreeing. “You’re right. I was mad at first but looking back, I know it would have just made things worse for me.” His fingers play with the coffee cup sleeve hugging his drink, still hesitant to drink it. 

“Do you want to walk through it again?” She says, keeping her voice lowered. It doesn’t matter if it’s Plus Ultra Café, this information is beyond what the public’s ears can hear.

He does just that, slowly moving through each detail of the night—leaving out nothing. He ensured her that this incident was not, in fact, something he could move on from easily. 

And he might be traumatized for the rest of his life. 

Stuck in thought, Ashido nods. “Ok… shit, ok.” 

“Uhg,” Izuku groans, letting his head fall and bang against the edge of the table. This is not the first time he’s done this here. In all probability, the baristas think he’s mentally declining. 

“Hey alright, let’s not panic,” Ashido tries to reassure him. “It was probably just really shitty timing and a whole lot of unnecessary hormones.” 

Izuku looks up from the table. 

“Do you actually want him to fuck you?” She says and he can instantly feel his cheeks darken to beet red. 

“Jesus Christ, no I don’t,” he hisses, dropping his forehead back down, muffling his voice with the wood. “Well, I mean…kind of?” He admits, grossed out by the very thought. “But I feel like if it were to actually happen I would throw up.” 

It’s true. It doesn’t matter how tall, built, and fucking hot the guy is, if Bakugou were to actually dick him down he’d consider checking himself into a mental hospital for insanity. 

“Alright…” Ashido nods her head, leaning back in her chair with crossed arms. “Well, that’s a good sign at least. It shows you just validate the fact that he’s hot and nothing else to you.” A shrug. “You were drunk last night so…” 

“That still doesn’t excuse it though.” He sits up, putting his face into the palms of his hands with a groan. “I’m so disgusting.” 

A noise of disagreement slips out of her mouth. “We all have moments of weakness,” Ashido shoots back, grabbing her coffee. “We’re human, and sometimes that comes with unsavory feelings or emotions. Let’s be honest, I feel like everyone has had at least one awkward or weird sex fantasy about the wrong person. I know I have, and I wanted to bleach my brain because of it.” 

True…

Sighing, Izuku reaches for his coffee. “I guess you’re right…” He takes a sip, letting the bitter-sweet combo reset his brain. 

Sex is, unfortunately, a big thing in college. Hookups, situationships, losses of virginities, drunken mistakes, short or long relationships—Izuku has made his fair share of mistakes within a few of those categories. But they never meant anything. 

There should be no difference with this one. 

Ashido tightens her pink glossed lips, setting down her coffee cup. “It’ll be ok.” A small pause. “I know it feels like the end of the world right now because I would be feeling the same thing, but if you let it drive you crazy it will make things worse. For the both of you, honestly.”

Izuku nods, eyes glancing at the other tables. He doesn’t want to make their situation awkward. The last thing he wants is to freak out or grow distant because of a mistake he made.  

It’s not fair on Bakugou and all the progress he’s made—both as a person and as a student.

Above all else, it’s not fair on the possible friendship that they’ve been cultivating.  

Leaning forward, Ashido tries to smile and bring in positivity. “Look…” she reaches forward and grabs his hand, snagging his attention back to their table. He can feel the tips of her nails and the chill of her palms. “Tell you what, if this happens again when you’re sober, then I would maybe take a step back. But if you hang out with Bakugou and nothing happens…” she squeezes his hand. “Then you know it was a one-time mistake, right?” 

He nods, squeezing back. “Right.” 

“Good,” she assures, letting go of his hand. “You also know I’m here to help you and give support no matter the outcome, right?”

Izuku gives her a look, trying to hide his smile. “If you make me say ‘right’ one more time, I’m gonna smack you.” 

“I’m serious though!” She chuckles, letting the short laughter lean her back against the chair. “I may have not known you long, but you’re a really good friend and I want to return the favor. I’m here no matter what.”

Izuku’s heart warms at the statement. He doesn’t have a lot of people close to him in life, so it always means the world when someone chooses to keep their hands held close—refusing to let go, even when the odds ask for it. Yeah, he has friends, but there is a big difference between the people who are there till the fire burns bright, and those who stay till its smoldering dissipates. 

When he first met Uraraka during orientation, he—for the first time—understood what true friendship is supposed to be. Immediately understanding his lack of social skills and brewing nerves within the first five minutes of the group ‘mingling’, Uraraka walked right up to him, complimented his band t-shirt, and then never left his side. When someone made a snide comment about his big dorky red shoes during their lunch break, she grabbed a spoon and hucked it at their face so hard they flew out of their chair in front of the entire dining hall.   

They’ve been best friends ever since, even during the ugliest parts of both their college lives. 

He knows it will be the same with Ashido. 

“Ok ok, all things aside,” she says, moving on. “Was the sex at least good?” 

He reaches forward and hits her arm. “Ashido!” 

“What?” She exclaims, giggling at herself. “It’s a genuine question.” 

Groaning, he covers his face to hide the smile creeping up his lips—he’s not giving her that satisfaction. “Considering I didn’t shove him off even when we got caught, yes it was good.” 

Technically, he did put in an attempt—as half-assed as it was. But, well, it failed miserably in every way imaginable. In his defense, his G-spot was being rammed into like it was an obnoxiously big red button so all proper muscle function was thrown out the window. 

“Good, focus on that part,” she says with a proper cheeky grin. 

Rolling his eyes, Izuku gives her the satisfaction of a creeping smile this time. As ridiculous as that is, he won’t lie and say the sex wasn’t good or that he didn't have a really good night with him and his friends. 

Izuku picks up his drink and presses his lips on the lid. The bell dangling the front door dings, grabbing half of Izuku’s attention mid-sip. 

Sucking in a breath—and unfortunately, his hot coffee—he chokes and almost drops his drink. 

“What the hell–” Ashido swings her head around in confusion to pinpoint what exactly he just saw walk through the café door. Her mouth clamps shut before she backtracks her action and looks right back over to him—eyes wide.  

“Oh…oh yeah, you do have terrible fucking luck. Oh my god– ” 

Izuku glares at her as he tries to clear his windpipe, punching his chest with a closed fist. He is fully aware, there’s no need for a verbal reminder. 

Bakugou is walking right inside, backpack thrown over his shoulder and clutched tight—a signature glare strewn across his face, if not slightly littered with confusion. It wouldn’t be an issue if he was a regular of Plus Ultra, mostly just bad timing and luck on Izuku’s part. But that’s the thing, it is an issue. In all four years of his education here at HU, Izuku has never once seen him inside this establishment. Ever. 

Most peers rarely see him off campus or the hockey rink, not counting party settings or large events. To Izuku’s knowledge, the only coffee place Bakugou regularly visits is B.J’s. 

It seems most of the regulars notice the irregularity as well, giving the blonde weird looks as he mazes his way between the tables. More specifically, he mazes his way between the tables on a clear path toward Izuku. 

Yeah.

He’s gonna vomit. 

At least Ashido was right, last night happened purely because he was drunk and horny—considering right now he’s very sober and very much not thinking the same things, even when the blonde looks good as hell. Luckily all sexual thoughts that once clouded his head have now flung out of his ear canal and onto the fucking floor. Splat. Gone. 

But now his heart is no longer hammering from desire, but from unfiltered fear.  

“I’m uh…” Ashido stands, pointing to the bathroom. Clearly, she notices what’s about to happen. “I’m gonna…” 

Finally coughing out the last bit of his coffee, Izuku grits his teeth. “Don’t you dare.” 

She dares. Bee lining it to the bathroom, she ditches Izuku to deal with the consequences of his own actions. Considering Bakugou is now three feet away, he has to be mindful of what face he makes due to the decision. 

Fuck. 

Bakugou stops right in front of the table, looking down at Izuku with folded arms. He’s frowning, clearly upset. Yeah, it’s decided, he crossed a line and Bakugou somehow knows it. 

Mother fucking fuck–

“Bakugou, hey…” he clears his throat to mask his panic, glancing at the people obviously staring at them. “What are you doing here?” He asks, lowering his voice. 

Clicking his tongue, Bakugou adjusts his stance and taps that goddamn foot. “Four eyes said I’d find your ass here. We need to talk.” 

Son of a fucking bitch Iida fuck fuck fuck–

Izuku swallows, continuing to avoid eye contact. “Right here?”

He looks at Izuku, annoyed. “Oh, you want to have the conversation here? Alright, well I guess I’ll just tell everyone here–no, dumb fuck, we’re not having this conversation in public. Get up, I’m taking you somewhere else.” 

“I–” Izuku stutters. “I-I can’t just leave, I’m here with Ashido–”

“Did you drive?” Bakugou interrupts him. 

“I–” again, he stutters. “No, she did but–”

“Cool.” Bakugou reaches down and grabs Izuku’s bag before turning and walking toward the front door. 

Izuku can’t do anything but drop his jaw and stare at the back of the blonde’s head. Is he fucking serious right now? This whole interaction is bitch slapping the sense right into him, honestly.

What the hell did he see last night?

Scoffing, Izuku grabs his things and scoots out of his chair to chase down the stubborn ass that’s walking away with his belongings. “You are so ridiculous, I swear to god.” He reaches Bakugou, grabbing his bag out of his hands with a tug. 

Bakugou turns his head with a raised brow. “You really wanna get into that dick-measuring contest right now?” 

At least three people turned to that comment. Jesus Christ, he cannot be here anymore this is mortifying. 

Izuku slaps his forehead in a facepalm. “Just–let’s go please, you are so embarrassing. ”

Bakugou dares to snort at that, pushing the door open with a ding. “Yeah, you clearly didn’t have a problem with embarrassment last night–”

“Oh my god!!” Izuku yells, pushing Bakugou out the door and in front of him to shield the bright red cheeks he’s now displaying for all to see. 

He throws himself into Bakugou’s car and slams the door shut so he’s no longer in public view, hiding his face in his hands as the blonde scoots into the driver's side. He starts the car, turning to look at Izuku. 

“You know–” Bakugou tries to comment but Izuku lifts a finger. 

“Just drive,” he interrupts, leaning his head against the headrest. “I swear to god.” 

He’s gonna kill him. 

Bakugou makes another irritating noise of amusement, before putting the car in drive and speeding off. 

———

Izuku didn’t say a word the entire car ride. To be fair, what the fuck would he say?

Hey, I accidentally thought of you while I was getting fucked last night, and now I can’t look you in the eye because I think you think you know what’s going on, sorry!

Shifting to park, Bakugou leans back, takes his seat belt off, and looks over—crossing his arms one over the other as usual. He took them to the lookout spot they would frequently visit for studying, far away from listening ears. 

Izuku is currently trying to not shit his pants. Swallowing, he clenches his fist on his lap. “Uh…” 

“Why have you been ignoring my damn texts?” Bakugou asks, brow raised.  

Izuku’s mouth hangs open. What? Ignoring him–

“Huh?” he questions, genuinely confused. “I never got any texts from you?” 

Bakugou raises a brow. “Unless I was fucking high, I’m pretty sure I texted you about twelve fucking times.” He taps a finger on his forearm. “At first I was annoyed as hell, and then I thought that asshole drugged you or something because you always fucking respond early in the morning and I wasn’t ready to have to look for another damn tutor.” 

“What??” Heart-stopping inside his chest, Izuku leans forward and slips his phone out of the back pocket of his pants. He unlocks it and instantly opens the messages app. 

Lo and behold, twelve texts from Bakugou Katsuki stare right back at him. All left on delivered between 1:00 a.m. and 10:00 a.m.

Fuck. 

He briefly scrolls through them. Along with a few messages of concern and surprising reassurance to not be embarrassed, the words “fuck you asshole” are said about 20 times with as much care as Bakugou is able to harness. Charming. 

At least he had the decency to text him to make sure he wasn’t dead. 

“Sorry…” Izuku cringes, turning off his phone. “I kind of didn’t look at my phone at all last night and this morning.” He sighs, brushing a hand through his hair. His phone has been on DND and he hasn’t even texted Uraraka today—only really focusing on his conversation with Ashido. “I had a lot on my mind.” 

Bakugou shrugs, shaking his head. “It’s fucking fine, Deku, I was just irritated as shit because I thought you were gonna ghost me over something as stupid as me walking in on you.” 

Oh. Ok. So he doesn’t know that it’s actually so much worse. More importantly, it seems he genuinely seemed concerned about Izuku leaving. He swallows again. 

“Bakugou, that was mortifying,” he says with a huff, turning to look at him. “I thought you’d be the one to ghost me.” 

Folding his brows, Bakuogu shoots him a confused glare. “Because I accidentally saw you getting ass fucked in a basement of a party? Be for real, Deku, I was literally going down there to do the same thing as you. I’m no better.”

You are, though. 

Izuku’s stomach twists uncomfortably, he definitely could have phrased that better but oh well. 

“I don’t know…I still freak out about that stuff more than most since it’s not, well… straight sex.” Izuku shrugs, trying to hide the fact that he’s still self-conscious and fresh out of a humbling experience. It’s not easy having this conversation with anyone, even with the very person he’s been the most honest with all week. The most vulnerable with. “It’s still embarrassing.” He leans an elbow against the middle console. “To add, we just got to a point where we aren’t strangling each other so I thought I ruined it, I guess.” 

Bakugou nods with somewhat understanding, nibbling at his bottom lip that’s cracked from the dry weather. “You overthink too much.” 

“You just came to that conclusion?” Izuku snarks back. 

Bakugou rolls his eyes and lightly smacks Izuku’s arm with a backhand. “Shut up. I’m fucking serious, you’re going to have to do way more than that to make me ditch your ass.” 

That’s…actually comforting—in a fucked up sense. Izuku’s face softens and he leans back, processing his words. “Do you actually mean that?” 

It’s quiet on both ends for a moment. Bakugou’s demeanor changes, eyes flickering to avoid direct eye contact. He looks forward and rests a hand on the bottom of the steering wheel. “You drive me up a wall but you’re not insufferable, Deku, believe it or not.” He takes in a slow breath and licks his lips. “Plus, why would I leave when you’re literally responsible for preventing me from failing this damn class. Pretty counter-productive if you ask me.” 

“Touché,” Izuku comments, looking out the side window. “I just…I don’t know, I’m pretty unlucky with people sometimes. I got scared because, believe it or not, you’re not insufferable either, Bakugou.” His eyes trail back over to the blonde, smiling. “And I didn’t want to lose a possible friend over my own mistakes.” 

Brows raise at the word “friend” and Izuku cringes internally at that mistake. He might have pushed another boundary. His brain and tongue have no bounds. 

Clicking his tongue, Bakugou shakes his head. “Yeah, it’s whatever. Just don’t make it a habit, you look ugly as fuck when you’re getting railed and I don’t want that shit forever engraved in my brain.”

Izuku gasps, reaching over to smack his shoulder. “Oh, you dick.” 

Snorting, Bakugou hits back—lighter than before. “That’s fucking payback for putting me in the cage last night, you damn menace. You had no right being good at that fuck ass game.” 

“Hey, it’s not my fault you just suck a rage cage.” 

Once again, Izuku has found it quite entertaining to tease the blonde and his short temper. He watches the blonde’s jaw drop. 

“Oh yeah, you’re fucking walking home. Get out.” He points to the door and unlocks it, getting a chuckle out of Izuku. 

“Nah, don’t kick me out because you’re mad you lost, that just makes it worse for you,” Izuku shakes his head and sticks his tongue out, getting a half-assed middle finger in response. 

The light-hearted laughter wears out, leaving the two of them sitting, enjoying a moment of dimmed music and cranked seat warmers. Izuku is thankful that even with the events of yesterday, things won’t change between the two of them. It’s no lie that he was worried, anyone would be. A part of him will still be petrified that he will fall back into that weakness and fail to get back up, but it’s not worth it wallowing in the what-ifs when in the end, it could all mean nothing. 

Because nothing ever truly matters in the grand scheme of things. Things are too fragile to waste opportunities, especially with possible friendships and anything deeper. 

Izuku’s lips curls upward tenderly and he tilts his head in thought. “You busy the rest of today?” An idea comes to his head. If he really wants to test the waters, now is a good time. 

Hesitantly, Bakugou responds. “I just have homework, why?” 

Izuku hums excitedly. “Let me take you somewhere this time,” he says, taking his phone and opening Google Maps. “I think I have a place you might like.” 

“I didn’t bring my study materials,” Bakugou’s voice trails with questioning and curiosity. 

Shaking his head, Izuku types in the location. “You’ve been improving, I think one day off wouldn’t hurt,” he comments, looking up from his phone briefly. He notices an off-ness to the blonde’s presence, confusion maybe, as red eyes blink slowly and lips part. “Are you down? If not you can totally take me home and we can just study tomorrow or later in the week.” 

Thought turns within his head visibly for a minute. Hand gripping at the steering wheel, Bakugou lets the other grab his gear shift—putting it in reverse. “Well, plug the damn directions in. Let’s see if you’re as bad at picking locations as you are at being slick.” 

Izuku groans, throwing his head against the headrest. “Oh, fuck you. You’re never letting me live that down, are you?”

Smile creeping on his lips, Bakugou allows a deep-chested chuckle to emerge from his mouth. “Nope.”  

“Where the fuck are you taking me?” Bakugou asks, irritated, as he’s led down the sidewalk of one of the old town shopping strips just eight minutes away from their lookout. 

The thing about Mizu is that even though it's a small part of Japan, it's very spread out because of the geography. With the driving distances, it becomes a sort of placebo—thinking it's somewhere else when in reality, it’s the same fucking town. That’s the most excitement anyone can get while staying at a place like this. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Izuku responds from ahead, taking a turn around the block. He stops only when they reach one of the older stores with a big spruce door and a pretty red-painted welcome sign. 

Grabbing the handle, he opens it—automatically welcomed by the smell of old paper and leather. Bakugou is reluctant to enter, hovering near the front door with uncertainty. It takes Izuku waving him in to get his foot inside the store. Another thing he’s noticed about the blonde’s habits is his surprising skittishness around new things. Like a fawn tip-toeing through tall grass, ears pinned. 

There are times when he tries to mask it, but Izuku can tell when he’s purposely hesitant. 

“What is…” Bakugou trails as he scans the inside of the store. 

“Welcome in!” An older woman chirps from behind the counter, putting a book down to wave. 

Izuku reciprocates, smiling with a short nod. 

The Tattered Nook is a hidden gem inside Mizu that Izuku frequents only when he has the time. It’s not a favorable distance compared to most other shops near campus, but it’s still a treat to come if he’s in the area. Not only is it a used book store, but TTN is a collectors-level store that holds even original copies of novels, series, journals, and more. The interior is board squeaking old, but comforting to remotely anyone who enjoys literature or prefers quieter places to study. 

“It was just a hunch that you’d like it, so if it’s not for you, we can absolutely turn around right now,” Izuku says, spinning around. “Your writing is so wonderful, I could only assume you grow inspiration from the literature around you.” 

“I–” Bakugou hesitates again, looking around with an unreadable expression. 

Izuku chews on the inside of his lip. “Here, let me show you this section. They have a ton of original copies here.” Reaching forward, he grabs the blonde’s wrist and leads them through the stacked aisles, ignoring the fact that his skin is hot to the touch.

He lets go, stopping in front of the poetry novels. “They take donations or even collect through flea markets and other providers.” He grabs one of the books and shows off the old original leather that was only ever produced in early editions of book printing. He shrugs. “I don’t know, I think this place is pretty cool—all the history and inspiration that’s been mended inside each bind. I think there are a couple here that are a couple of centuries old—not for sale, of course.”

Eyes moving from Izuku’s hands to the shelf, Bakugou’s hand reaches out. His fingers trail down the spine of a book, stopping to pull it out of the shelf slowly—delicate and careful to avoid damaging the fragile pages. 

Izuku still finds it so intriguing to watch someone so bold and so aggressive handle something so meticulously. 

“I…I haven’t read anything like this since high school,” he says quietly with his breath. Those same fingers open the book, sliding across the stained pages. “My parents restricted it because it distracted my studies or practice time, so I stopped...” 

That’s not surprising to him. Every time Izuku hears more information regarding his parents, he’s irritated to no end. Not having the freedom to that degree is so suffocating, especially in the creative world. 

“Who was your favorite author?” Izuku asks, putting the book he was holding back. He watches the blonde’s eyes dance across the pages of his, flipping through with care. Biting his lip, he stalls in thought. 

Izuku swallows. “Remember, no judgment zone.” 

Relaxing his shoulders, Bakugou nods with a slow sigh with the reminder. “It’s fucking basic but…Edgar Allen Poe.” He closes the book and puts it away. “I had an English teacher in high school who constantly gave me the books she’d finish reading. Mrs. Nakamura…god she drove me fucking crazy but she liked me for some reason.”

“I don’t think it’s basic, I’ve always enjoyed those pieces too,” Izuku sympathizes. “Poetry was another huge inspiration for me and my paintings, that and music.” 

Nodding, Bakugou steps off to the side to look at the other wide variety of books and journals. “I won’t fuckin lie, I do kind of miss it.” He picks up another book, reading its back. “A lot of extras think I could never be interested in something like this because of the stupid fucking ‘rich athlete’ stereotype. But stuff like this is the only thing that ever felt truthful, frankly. I liked feeling as though I was getting honesty for a few minutes a day.” 

“I can’t blame you for that,” Izuku says with a light-hearted snort, picking up a book for himself. “Painting, writing, whatever—it all seems to be more honest portrayals and conversations compared to what we surround ourselves with on the daily. It’s kind of refreshing.” 

“True fucking that,” Bakugou agrees, putting the book down to grab another. 

Izuku leads the blonde around the shop for what feels like hours. With each pass and each book picked up, he notices Bakugou start to relax. He notices a small smile with each new book he reaches for and comments regarding pieces he used to read—a proper show of the character he chooses to hide. 

He’s smarter in so many more ways than just academics, and it’s so enthralling to Izuku to watch him express his thoughts and opinions without a filter or shadow of a doubt. It used to piss him off before truly knowing, thinking that all his brains came from born talent and handed opportunities—nothing like what he’s seeing with his own eyes right now. 

Bakugou isn’t just the unfairly hot and talented athlete. He’s a lot more, and he’s happy to be given the chance to see it. 

It’s certainly sobering after the events of last night. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Bakugou stops in his tracks in front of a table. It catches Izuku’s attention and he turns, hands full with a couple of books, he plans to bring home today. 

“I used to love this fucking book.” 

Standing on his toes to get a view of the cover, Izuku hums with approval. “Oh shit, Songs of Innocence and Experience, that’s a really good classic. It looks old too—probably one of the earlier prints.” 

Bakugou picks it up, taking more time than the rest to examine and soak up its appearance. “I remember my mom threw out the copy I had years ago and I was fucking pissed.” 

Izuku eyes the plastic price sign. It’s a really good deal, not even exceeding 2500 yen.

“Buy it,” Izuku nudges him. “She can’t throw it out all the way over from Tokyo.” If it were him, he would. There’s only so much strict parents can do in certain circumstances. 

He can see the sadness behind Bakugou’s eyes as his hand traces over the fading book title. Like waves of unsavory nostalgia just hit him and are unwilling to fade out. 

Bakugou shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says with a disappointed exhale, placing the book back down on its designated spot. “My parents have full access to my damn bank account, I don’t really want the hag to see me buying something she disapproves of. I’ve had too many fights with her recently…” 

Izuku’s brows fold down. “It’s just a book. Are they seriously that controlling that they don’t want you to even look at something you enjoy?” Censoring literature is a little too conservative, even for most. 

A shrug. “It gets pretty damn exhausting running in circles after a while…so I just caved, I guess. Maybe when I graduate I’ll finally be able to have control over at least this one fucking thing, but knowing my luck the chances are slim.”

Oh yeah…Bakugou is set to take over the family business when he graduates in the spring. Considering he’s 21 and still has his parents up his ass during every twist and turn, there’s no set doubt that they will continue to hold his puppet strings till they eventually wear down and snap. 

If Izuku’s life and eventual choices were even slightly different, he’d be fighting that same battle with his father. 

“I may not live the same experience as you, but I get it. Regardless, it still sucks,” Izuku says quietly, nipping at this bottom lip as the blonde walks away from the table—a bob of his head as he acknowledges his words. 

Izuku’s heart can’t help but ache. 

Bakugou eventually complains about his finance assignments due at the end of the day, and they head up front to wrap it up. Izuku won’t lie when he says he’s a little upset the blonde didn’t choose to buy anything, even though there's a clear yearning behind those red eyes. 

He wonders…

“Oh wait, one second, I forgot to grab a book for Uraraka,” Izuku says to Bakugou, placing his stuff on the front counter for the woman to check out. “I’ll meet you back at the car if you want, I’ll only be a second.”

The blonde grunts, grabbing his keys out of his front jacket pocket. “Whatever loser, I’ll pull the car up front since I know your ass will be more than a second .” 

“Okay!” Izuku utters back, waiting for Bakugou to exit the store—bell jingling above—before he runs back to the section they came from and snags Songs of Innocence and Experience without a stutter in his step.

A small root inside of him is pulling and telling him not to do it as he grasps the book in his hands—just leave it be and move on. But god, everything else is just screaming for him to buy it so he can have even one piece of his childhood back. 

He saw Bakugou’s eyes. His assumption was right regarding Bakugou’s love for reading, but he didn’t take into consideration that the guy is still tethered. 

“Is this everything for you?” The woman asks as he sets the book on the counter with the rest. 

He nods with a smile, digging out his wallet. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Oh, you have wonderful taste,” she comments as her cracked hands go through each book and carefully place them in a paper bag. “I’m glad this one has finally found its home.” Her finger taps at the one he grabbed for Bakugou. 

“Me too,” Izuku hums, pulling out cash. He hands her an even amount, telling her to keep the rest since they take optional donations. With a thank you and a wave, he’s off holding more books in his hands than he originally thought he’d be leaving with. 

And he’s not complaining one bit. 

Right on cue, Bakugou’s black Cadillac pulls next to the curb and stops. Izuku climbs in and buckles up, setting the bag in his lap. 

“I didn’t take pink cheeks as the type to read,” Bakugou remarks, putting his sun visor down. 

Izuku hides his smile, tucking the crinkled bag close. “She has her moments.” 

“Hm, whatever.” Bakugou turns the wheel with his palm, setting them off on the road back to campus. 

The duration of the drive is quiet again, but unlike most times they sit in silence, this one lacks discomfort. He’s found himself more fond of this car interior—comfortable in the leather seats and hushed music Bakugou plays. More so, he’s found himself properly content with their situation—glad to finally rid the anxiety and tenderness he once held in so tight just hours ago. 

Eventually, Bakugou pulls into Izuku’s apartment parking lot and parks up front. 

Clicking off his seatbelt, Izuku turns to look at Bakugou. “I know you didn’t end up buying anything, but did I at least not fail at picking the place this time?” 

Bakugou rolls his eyes, resting fully against his seat. “No, you didn’t do half bad, nerd. But I wouldn’t push that damn luck.”

“I will take this victory and run with it,” Izuku jokes, collecting all his belongings from the floor in front. “Oh and before I leave, actually…” Digging a hand into the paper bag, he pulls out the book. “Here.”

It takes a good buffering six seconds before Bakugou sits up so fast he nearly knocks into the gear shift. “No.”

“Yes,” Izuku counteracts, smiling. “Take it, it’s yours. Your parents don’t have my bank account information. And I paid in cash, so…”

 “I–” Bakugou swallows his tongue, caught off guard by the gesture itself. He reaches out and grabs the book. “Deku, what the hell…”

He chuckles, shrugging lightly as his chest warms from the blonde’s softness. “Punch me in the face if you want, but I couldn’t let you go home today without that book. I would have been up all night pissed at myself.” 

“I don’t–” Bakugou stammers, looking at the book that’s now resting comfortably in his hands. “People don’t usually get me fucking things, I don’t–” 

Izuku pinned Bakugou as the type to struggle with gift receiving. He noticed it at first when he brought coffee for the both of them the other day. It doesn’t matter if it’s even an exchange between wealthy individuals who receive more than give, some just don’t know how to take it. 

It’s not always easy, especially for those who have had bad experiences with the concept. 

“You don’t have to say anything right now, or ever, but…” he outstretches his hand. “Friends, at least?” 

Bakugou looks at his hand, confused. He reels back a little, raising his lip. “Did you seriously buy me this book just to bribe my ass?”

Oh, Bakugou…

Izuku laughs at him and his jumped conclusion. “You and your assumptions…no, I bought you that book because I wanted you to have it, not because I wanted something from you. I just thought we’re also at a point that’s past just tutor and student, don’t you think?” He tilts his head with the question, observing the blonde’s brows relax. 

“I…guess you’re fucking right,” Bakugou caves, letting his body move back toward his hand. 

“So?” Izuku asks, lifting his hand a little. “Friends?” 

Bakugou looks up and then down at his hand one more time. He visibly swallows, Adam's apple bobbing softly, before setting his book down. He reaches forward and clasps his warm hand with Izuku’s. He almost jolts from the roughness of his calluses and dried fall skin. 

“Yeah, friends or whatever.” 

Izuku beams, shaking their hands once. “Perfect.” 

Letting their grasp loosen and break, Izuku picks up his things and opens the car door. “Text me about when you want to study next since the exam is on Tuesday. Or if you want to just hang out, either works for me.” 

“Sure…” Bakugou nods, tracing the outline of the title printed on his new book. 

Shutting the door after a brief wave, Izuku walks up his apartment’s stairs—expecting Bakugou to pull out of his spot and head out before he even gets the chance to take out his keys. 

But he doesn’t. 

Izuku unlocks his door and slips in, putting his belongings down before sneaking over to his window to get a glimpse and see if he’s left yet. 

But he hasn’t. 

Izuku leans his elbow against the windowsill, paying close attention to that obnoxious car. From what he can see through the tinted windshield, Bakugou hasn’t placed his hand on the gear shift or turned to check his blind spots. 

He’s sitting with his head hung, staring at the book settled on his lap—showing no sign of moving any time soon. 

Chapter Text

The music inside Izuku’s earbuds blares louder than usual, canceling out the buzzing white noise of the studio. Bobbing his head to the beat, Izuku dunks his brush into its water cup, swirling it till the deep blue weakens. It’s been a while since he’s properly been in the zone while painting. 

Typically, his uninterrupted concentration and focus lock in when he’s not overly stressed—a rare occurrence. He was surprised to be put in that state of mind today, all things considered. 

“Oi!”

Izuku yelps, throwing his wet brush into the air—betrayed by his reflexes. It clacks onto the floor as he spins around in his stool, fingers ripping out his earbuds. 

The last person he expected to be standing behind him is right there, arms crossed and toe-tapping against the tile. 

He frowns. 

“You scared the fuck out of me,” he exhales in Bakugou’s direction, clutching his heart. 

Bakugou tilts his head, letting those arms unfold and swing at his side. “Not my fault you didn’t hear me calling your name twelve fucking times.” 

Slipping his earbuds back into their case, Izuku shakes his head. “My bad, I wasn’t anticipating anyone to be up here.” Reaching down, he picks up his brush and lazily throws it back in the water cup. “What are you doing here, anyway? You’re never upstairs.” He catches himself crossing his arms and completely spinning a 180 around in his stool. 

He surveys Bakugou’s body language and the way his red eyes squint as they begin to fully notice the painting Izuku’s been working on. “I wanted to see what exactly you do up in this stuffy fucking room.” Walking closer, shoes clicking on the floor, the blonde hums. “Hm, you’re actually not terrible.” 

Izuku reaches back and swats his thigh. “Oh, so you assumed I was shit this whole time?” 

“I assumed you came up here to practice since you’re always coming here,” he emphasizes, poking his shoulder blade. “You’re clearly better than most of the extras I see parading around this damn building, I don’t see the damn need to be excessive.” 

Izuku straightens his back, caught off guard by the overall possibility that Bakugou Katsuki just complimented him. He needs a recording just so he can confirm he’s not schizophrenic.

“Well…” Izuku trails, shrugging. “Why do you practice hockey almost every day even though you’re already the best player on the team?” 

Bakugou’s face twists in thought. “Mostly to keep my damn coach and parents happy.” His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. “But knowing you, you want something deeper, so I guess it’s so I can make a damn goal and eventually gain the satisfaction of reaching it.”

Of course, even he wouldn’t care about the purpose of his own practice. But, to be fair, he’ll cut him some slack. When talents or drives become less personal, it’s hard to reach for that original motivation that was tainted. They’ve talked about it already. It’s more than just likely that Bakugou is still doing hockey now despite it all because it's a habit and gives him that control he’s been starved of. 

Izuku relates to most of those aspects. 

“Exactly,” Izuku says, snapping his paint-covered fingers. “I’m honing my skills with each piece I work through—setting goals and reaching them. Or, really, I’m trying to create works for my portfolio that people would actually give a damn about.” He rolls his eyes at the last bit, annoyed that he’s felt so pressured for so long when there’s a high chance he probably won’t make it again. “I didn’t make it last year so…it needs to be perfect.” 

“Make it last year for what?” Bakugou frowns, looking back at the painting again. “Also, isn’t it like…counterproductive as hell trying to be perfect with something so damn subjective?” 

Izuku raises a brow, surprised as always by the words that spit out of his mouth. “Wow, you really are selective with what you view about this school…basically, every year, the Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Art picks 10 artists to be a part of a competitive gallery. With this, they invite All Might himself to go through each one to possibly find his new protegé.” He breaks to take a breath. “It’s kind of a big deal at this school, you know...” 

Bakugou doesn’t look any less confused after the explanation. “So…has anyone laid out what he’s looking for or are you all just breaking your backs for no reason only to get rejected?” 

…huh?

Izuku bites his thumbnail, briefly peeking at the painting he was working on. “Well, no but–” 

“That’s kind of fucking exhausting, Deku,” Bakugou interrupts him. “What’s the point of creating something to satisfy other people just for it all to be torn apart anyway? I didn’t think you of all people would be bound to that considering your whole spiel about purpose and shit.”

Izuku’s jaw magnetizes itself toward the ground. “I–”

Bakugou throws a quick finger up to point at his painting. “This, is this one the way it is because it’s what you wanted to paint, or are you only thinking about what fucking extras like?” 

Izuku is gagged. Opening and closing his mouth, mentally stuck, he doesn’t think he can answer that. He always does personal concepts, yeah…but he supposes it’s all influenced by external factors as well.

Will other people like this? What would All Might like? What would the people who judge this like? A never-ending spiral, even as he picks up the brush to silence it all. 

Bakugou grunts, disappointed by the lack of an answer. “Is there anything you’ve made that doesn’t have some fucking tie to that?” 

Izuku glances at his cubby where most of his paintings are stored. “Uh, yeah I have a couple but–”

“Show me.” 

“What?” 

“Show me,” Bakugou repeats like a broken record, not budging. 

Jesus, he’s especially stubborn today. 

“Okay…” Izuku hesitantly agrees, standing from his squeaking stool. He shuffles over to his cubby and flips through the canvases. He was being truthful when he said a couple, the most recent only being the ones he had when bumping into that man—Toshinori. They’re good, but he never thought they’d actually make it passed proofing. “I have these two, I guess,” he says, pulling them out awkwardly. Bakugou’s never actually seen his art before, so it’s a little intimidating bringing out more than one to look at. 

Bakugou walks over so Izuku doesn’t have to struggle with carrying them—they aren’t exactly small. He painted them when he was dealing with a rough patch, exceptionally influenced by his heated emotions. Same level of intense rendering as everything else, but an inclusion of messier components as its pairing. Everything but perfect. 

It truly represents what it feels like to be morally aware in a broken society filled with self-consciousness, anxiety, and war. Yeah, he was in a mood that month. 

At first glance at the pieces held up by Izuku’s hand, Bakugou’s facial expression changes. It’s not dramatic, but enough to note a difference. His eyes are soft and the corners of his lips are still, relaxed as if the whole of his face went numb. Moving closer, he lifts a hand and covers his mouth—pointer finger resting across the horizontal line across his lips, thumb pressing his chin. 

“Why don’t you have more like this?” He asks, breaking the silence. 

A disheartened shrug. “I actually used to paint a lot more like this when I first came to art school, but that changed after I noticed the kinds of pieces being accepted to the gallery—bigger, more detailed. I think a part of me wanted to see if I still could when I did these, but I don’t know…they don’t fit in the norm so they don’t matter as much.”

“Well, that’s fucking stupid. Just because those things got accepted doesn’t mean you should fucking be like them,” Bakugou curses, still keeping his eye on the pieces. “These are way better.” 

“Really?” Izuku says, a squeak in the last syllable. 

“Uh, yeah?” Bakuogu says, phrasing it like he’s stupid. “The others are good, don’t get me fucking wrong, but they’re—what’s the damn word—they’re forced. I can tell you’re trying too hard. These two though, they’re unique and actually look like something you’d pull out of your own ass.” 

“Oh,” he swallows, turning to slip the paintings back into their cubby. “Someone else said something like that too...” He remembers when Toshinori complimented these pieces and disagreed with him when Izuku said they weren’t his best.

“Yeah, and they’re right.” Bakugou crosses his arms. “Do you actually like painting all this useless crap?” 

Izuku snaps his head around. “Of course I do.” Why is he pushing so hard about this? It’s starting to irritate him. “Why would I continue to do it if I hated it?”

Bakugou shakes his head, disagreeing. “I didn’t say you hated doing it, I’m saying I don’t see any clear enjoyment with the subject matter. To me, you seem fucking miserable—just doing it because you feel like you need to impress.” Motioning to the cubby, he lets out a frustrated growl. “Tell me right now, how did you feel making those paintings compared to the ones you make for other people’s satisfaction?” 

“You’re being awfully pushy, you know?” Izuku says back, walking back to his easel and stool. 

Bakugou snorts with disbelief. “I learned a thing or two from you.” 

Oh. Yikes. 

Izuku cringes, stopping and spinning around on his heels. “Touché…” He needs to learn how to not be a massive hypocrite in these situations. 

Bakugou sighs, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. “Look, I don’t wanna piss you off, Deku–”

“You’re not, and you won’t,” Izuku interrupts him this time, crossing his legs and looking down at the ground. “They’re perfectly fair questions, I’m just being an ass as always.” Sighing himself, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his overalls. “I’m being defensive because I, honestly, couldn’t tell you. I stopped doing art for myself and only myself a long time ago, because at the time, it seemed like those pieces wouldn’t get me anywhere.”

Bakugou thins his lips. “You do realize that’s one ticket to getting burnt out, right?” 

Izuku huffs half-heartedly, looking up from the floor. “Yeah…”  

“Why don’t you try and do something for yourself for once? Do more art like those ones.” 

Izuku bites his lip, kicking a foot out. “I don’t know…” 

Leaning against one of the side tables, Bakugou brushes his thumb over his nose. “You said it yourself when we first started studying for this fuck ass class. ‘Life is too short to not do what you want to do,’ hm?”

Izuku rolls his eyes, allowing a curl of his lip. “Oh, using my own words against me, how cruel.” 

“See how annoyingly persistent it is?” Bakugou presses. “Can’t argue with your damn words, even if we all want to.” 

“No, I suppose not,” Izuku caves, taking a hand out of its pocket to tuck a curl behind his ear. Bakugou really did decide to make him eat his own words today. “I guess…I guess I can give it a shot,” he stutters. 

“Good, you actually listened–”

“But,” Izuku emphasizes, cutting him off. He’s not about to do this process alone. “If I’m going to do this, you have to write something completely original too. Something for yourself.”

Caught in the trap he set himself, Bakugou tenses. His jaw slants as he grinds his teeth. “...Shit, I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” 

Izuku chuckles. “Yeah, you did.” 

Exhaling—defeated—Bakugou looks up at the ceiling and groans. “I guess it’s only fucking fair.” 

“Cool, it’s settled,” he nods. “But just so you know, if you dip on me there will be consequences.” 

Bakugou shakes his head, properly amused. “Consequences my ass, I’ll show you real consequences if you don’t hold up your end of the deal.” 

Izuku, smugly, grins. “You really wanna do that dick-measuring contest right now?” 

“Oh, fuck you,” Bakugou snarks, turning to exit the studio—not willing to stay and entertain the teasing. 

“HA!” Izuku cackles, getting nothing but a raised middle finger in return. 

But, before Bakugou is completely out of the door, Izuku calls out. “By the way, do you still want to do one last round of studying? Your exam is tomorrow.” They didn’t hang out on Sunday due to schedule conflicts, so they really do only have one more day to confirm he’s ready for this first exam. 

Izuku won’t lie and say he isn’t nervous. Bakugou’s been doing really well, but he’s also unpredictable. There’s no telling if he’ll freeze during the exam, and Izuku doesn’t want to take any chances. 

Bakugou takes out his phone and looks at it, humming. “Yeah, pick me up at my place at 9 after my practice. I’m tired of driving your ass.” 

“Fair enough,” Izuku says with a shrug. He hasn’t driven them once, so it’s nothing to argue—gas is fucking expensive. “See you then.” 

“Whatever,” Bakugou scowls, walking out to leave Izuku to his painting. 

The normalcy of their conversations lately has been…well, nice actually. There’s no feeding the argument against the fact—he doesn’t hate the blonde. Not like he did freshman year or even a few months ago. 

To be fair, with their little “bonding moments” and Izuku’s unfortunate sex fantasy, they have hit a point where going back to their original stances would be unlikely.  

Sitting back down on his stool, Izuku grabs his paintbrush and stares ahead. He stares at the high detail, the push for perfection, and the proper color choice. The size, the expression. He ponders the blonde’s words and opinions regarding all of this as he looks at the story painted in front of his eyes. The story…Izuku bites the inside of his cheek. 

The story that is painted in a style it's not intended for... 

Fuck, Bakugou was right, wasn’t he? Izuku finds himself glancing at the cubby with a pained expression, reality crashing down on his shoulders. 

Life’s too short to not do what you want to do.

He tightens his grip on the brush. 

Fuck…

He puts the brush back down to rub a hand over his mouth. His throat feels tight—tighter the more he swallows. 

Through all this desperation and desire, just when did he start to forget the reason he started all this in the first place?

Izuku is aware he drives what people call a ‘lesbian car,’ so it was no surprise when Bakugou barked a laugh the second he saw it outside his door. 

“Of course, you would drive a fucking Subaru,” Bakugou comments as he climbs into the passager side, throwing his bag into the back. 

As always after his practices, he smells clean—like expensive shampoo and skin care. Hair damp and groomed, Bakugou cards his fingers through to slick it out of the way. 

Izuku rolls his eyes. His car is an old Subaru Forester, dark blue and semi-rusted on the back bumper. Despite its appearance, it runs great and has become a sort of comfort throughout the years he’s had it—since sixteen, to be exact. He’s decorated it with boho seat covers, stickers on the dash, and keepsakes dangling off the rear mirror—a polar opposite to Bakugou’s sleek and barely touched interior. 

As Bakugou moves to click his seatbelt on, he pauses—looking at the objects dangling from his mirror. “Does…” He pauses, reaching forward to grab one of them. “Does this say fucking Pussy Wagon?” 

Izuku laughs from the belly up, reaching forward to recenter it after Bakugou’s touch. “Yeah, Uraraka got it for me as a joke and I think it’s hilarious.” Most of the things inside his car are either ironic as hell or just flat-out funny. “Ironic, isn’t it?” 

He’s made sure to live his life without a boring car—creating a comfortable space for those he drives. Occasionally cluttered but never really dirty, he’s appreciated the way people visibly relax and loosen when they sit down. Lacking the fear of touching or scuffing something. 

“That’s actually funny as fuck,” Bakugou agrees. “Tell her to send me the damn link.” 

Izuku reaches over and nudges him. “Nah, it’s not as funny when you’re straight.” 

Bakugou doesn’t respond—not even with a facial expression—and Izuku blinks. Hang on a second–

Hovering his hand over the gear stick, Izuku turns his head. “Wait, you are straight, right?” 

“Of course, I am,” Bakugou snaps a little too fast—defensive. A fiery reflex, uncontrolled. 

Izuku puts his palms up to ease him. “Hey, it’s all good. I assumed you were but I thought I’d ask and be respectful.” Letting a hand drop, he shifts the car into drive. “You know I would be the last person to be weird about it if you weren’t right?” He asks, trying to keep the care in his tone. 

Bakugou doesn’t respond again and Izuku drops it without argument—assuming this is touchy for him. Taking his parents into consideration, there’s probably some forced internalized homophobia and he’s not gonna press. That’s a conversation for another day. 

Even if he is curious beyond anything. Bisexual? Pan? It’s hard to see him other than a fuck boy. 

“Anyway,” Izuku moves on. “Where do you want to go today?” He turns the wheel and pulls out of the parking lot. 

Bakugou sighs, leaning his head back against the headrest. “I want coffee because I’ll be up late tonight so…if you behave–”

Izuku happily gasps, knowing where this is going. “I get to see Best Jeanist again??” 

A groan. “Already, you’re not behaving,” Bakugou comments, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

B.J.’s is a public place and Izuku has had every right to go on his own, but it always felt respectful to only go when Bakugou goes. It is his little place of comfort. 

“I will behave, I swear,” Izuku interjects, raising a hand to promise. His chest is buzzing with excitement at the opportunity to speak with him again—see that gorgeous artwork.

“You fucking better.” Bakugou crosses his arms and relaxes against his seat, chest deflating with a tired exhale.

Izuku smiles, satisfied, as he plugs in the directions and reaches forward to turn up his music a couple of notches. 

They make small talk throughout the drive, nothing farther from casual. It’s an interesting switch—being the driver in this scenario. Usually, he’s the one turning his head to look at Bakugou’s side profile as he speaks, his arm resting against the center console while the blonde holds the wheel with a relaxed hand. Izuku feels those red eyes on him as he watches the road ahead, gripping the bottom of the wheel with one hand. 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Izuku starts on a different topic as he turns left in the intersection. “How did you get so close with Jeanist?” It’s worth a shot to ask, considering they’ve grown closer since that first time. 

He hears Bakugou inhale through his nose, tapping the side of his door under the window. A sigh. “I met him, god, three fuckin years ago?” Bakugou ponders to himself, finally allowing this break of information. 

Izuku nods, flicking on his turn signal to change lanes. Shit, freshman year. 

“Believe it or not, I was a damn mess my first few years here,” he continues, speaking with his hand. “Though I’m pretty fucking sure everyone and their damn mother knew that.” 

“Yeah,” Izuku cringes with bared teeth. He was—even more so compared to this year. He’s a prick now, yeah, but two years ago he was the very definition of anger issues. “If it at all gives you any solace, everyone was a hot mess in their first years. I went through some pretty rough phases myself.”

Bakugou makes a noise of disagreement in his throat. “Deku, I cussed a professor out during week one of my freshman year because they didn’t give me an A. I was a cunt.” 

Izuku can’t help but snort. “You still are sometimes.” 

Bakugou turns his head. “Do you want me to continue?” 

Lifting his hand in apology, Izuku snickers. “Sorry, you know I had to. Please continue.” 

Rolling his eyes, Bakugou re-centers his head—looking forward at the dimly lit road. “I got in a fight with my mom during parents weekend over some bullshit I honestly can’t even remember. Most of our arguments are just some knit picky shit she does.” He pauses to take a frustrated huff. “I was so angry I just got into my car and, well, fucked off without a plan.” 

Izuku doesn’t respond, letting his slight nods do all the talking he needs. He knows the feeling—being so angry at a parent that all you can do is just leave. Get in the car and go. 

“I found his place after driving around for like half an hour. I don’t know what fucking possessed me to pull into the parking lot and walk in five minutes before closing like some jagoff…” He brushes a strand of hair out of the way, looking over at Izuku. “I think Jeanist was the first person that was brain-dead enough to be nice to me.”

Izuku can only imagine it. A moody 18-year-old Bakugou stormed inside, nostrils puffed. Jeanist looking up from his rag and glass—noticing the distress in Bakugou’s face and angry breath. He can imagine the man sitting Bakugou down and giving him a drink—no small talk, not even a hello. 

Just silence and understanding. Midnight was that person for Izuku all those years ago, sitting him down with no words to reevaluate the world around him. 

Humming, Izuku smiles as he slows the car down and pulls into the parking lot. “Well, I’m glad you found someone who understands.” Swinging into a spot, he sifts to part. “I know that probably felt good to have someone who listened.” 

A grunt of agreement as Bakugou clicks off his seatbelt. “You’re like him in a lot of ways, actually,” he says, reaching back to grab his bag. 

Izuku raises his brows, turning his whole body to the words. “Wait, really? In what way?”

Snatching his bag, he sits back down and grabs the door handle. “You’re both a pain in my fucking ass.” 

Face falling to a deadpan, Izuku sighs—annoyed. “Should have seen that one coming, honestly.” 

“Yup,” Bakugou snarks back, popping the p. 

They both eventually walk into the café, and Bakugou calls out as soon as the door is opened. “Oi, get me my usual.” 

Jeanist looks up from his POS, raising a crooked brow—unamused. “Good to see you too, Bakugou.” His eyes drift, catching Izuku by his side. The brow relaxes. “Oh, Midoriya, welcome back.” 

Bakugou tsks while Izuku waves, vibrating from excitement. “Hello!” He chirps. “How are you today, Sir Jeanist?” 

Jeanist chuckles at the formality, closing out of something on his screen. “Doing quite well, kid. I see Bakugou didn’t chase you away, after all.” 

Izuku shakes his head, extending an elbow to nudge the blonde. “Nah, I’m too stubborn. But not as much as him—can’t beat that.”

Bakugou elbows back, jabbing him harder in the ribs. 

“Ow??” Izuku hisses, rubbing his side.

Adjusting his bag, Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Order what you want, dickhead, I’ll be in the last spot setting up.” 

“Yeah yeah.” Huffing, returning the same eye roll, Izuku turns to Jeanist and smiles. “I’ll just do a vanilla latte if that’s alright. Iced would be wonderful.”

Jeanist nods, grabbing a couple of cups from the stack to his right. “That is more than alright, Midoriya.” 

Once again, he denies payment and shoos Izuku off. He won’t stop trying to pay and Jeanist knows that—prepared to shoot it down every time. 

With a rough exhale, Izuku sits down at the back table—setting his bag down on the neighboring chair. “Before we start, I do want to ask how you initially feel about the exam tomorrow.” He unzips his bag, pulling out a pen and notebook. “I assume since you go to class, you know how she’s going to format the exam, right?” 

Bakugou nods with a straight face, taking out his materials. 

Nana’s exams aren’t easy, though, most art history or any history-related courses typically fall into that category depending on the professor. Ten multiple choice questions based on artworks projected on the classroom screen, and three long answer essay questions that require at least a page response. Everyone has two hours to finish unless there are special circumstances. 

He knows Bakugou has the multiple choice in the bag, everyone usually does. But, it’s the essay questions that are a bit trickier—for anyone. They require a special kind of analysis, the kind that Izuku has been pushing Bakugou with this whole time. 

“Cool,” Izuku pauses, opening up his notebook and pulling out a packet from the outside sleeve. The artworks are directly pasted onto the pages to avoid confusion. “I went ahead and printed the practice exam Nana provided on her course material page.” Placing it on the table, he slides it over for Bakugou—stapled and printed cleanly. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” 

Bakugou clicks his pen, flipping the page of the packet with a propped brow. “Your expectations for me are too damn high.” 

Shrugging, Izuku crosses his arms and leans back against his chair. “Maybe, but that’s because I see your potential. Take all the time you need for this, I’ll be working on an assignment while you work.”  

Bakugou nods, propping an elbow on the table to lean against his hand. Twirling his pen, he begins. 

After about an hour of typing on his computer, occasionally glancing at the blonde and his concentrated expression—slow meticulous writing—he shuts the screen. “I’m gonna grab another drink, keep working.” 

Bakugou grunts in response, keeping his head down as Izuku slides out of his chair with the empty coffee cup in his hands. 

“Hey, Sir Jeanist?” Izuku says peering around the corner. 

The blonde man looks up from his book. “What’s up, kid?” Shoving his bookmark between the pages, he shuts it and sits up from his chair. “Need something more to drink?” 

Rubbing the back of his neck, he nods sheepishly. “If you don’t mind, I know it’s late. But if you closed everything down don’t worry about it.” 

“Not at all,” he says, shaking his head. “I always keep extra of my cold brew in the fridge when he comes in so I can still close out and be of service to him.” Standing from his chair, he makes his way to the back counter. 

“That’s awfully kind of you,” Izuku says, walking over. He sets his cup down and leans forward against the countertop. Jeanist takes it and pops the lid off, smiling in response. 

“While you are over here…” Reaching down into the fridge, the man pulls out the coffee pitcher. “If I may ask, what did change your mind about all this?” He asks. 

Izuku lifts his eyes, straightening his neck. “It was actually an argument we had that kind of snapped it all into place.” He answers, scratching behind his ear. “He made me realize I wasn’t exactly being fair myself, so, after we both opened up there seemed to be more room for trust.” 

Jeanist nods, scooping a small amount of ice before adding the coffee. “Trust is hard to come by, especially for individuals like Bakugou. I’m sure it meant a lot to him, considering a majority of the people in his life mostly tell or judge instead of listen and relate.” 

“It goes both ways,” Izuku admits, adjusting his feet as he leans. “In all honesty, I hated the guy for years before I learned that he’s got his issues just like everyone else. But…unlike us, he was never given the same tools to overcome.”

“I assume that’s why you decided to help him, hm?” He’s asked. “To help him carve those tools?”

Nodding slowly, Izuku reaches out his hand and scratches a loose piece of wood. “We’re both going through a lot, but it hurts me more to see that he’s never really been given the option to cope properly.” 

Jeanist makes a humming sound in agreement as he pumps in some flavoring. “I can sense that this overall interaction with Bakugou is helping you too, huh?” 

Izuku huffs through his nose shortly, smiling. “He’s a pain in my ass, but I can’t argue that he’s made me realize a thing or two.” Shrugging, he straightens his back. “As bizarre as that sounds.”

“It’s not bizarre,” Jeanist says mellowly, opening the fridge back up to grab the milk and put the coffee back. “It just means you’re seeing the person Bakugou is without all those filters and expectations. He’s a good kid, but not everyone has the patience like you to accept that.” He pauses, pouring in the milk and stirring. “You do have my card still, right?” 

Izuku chuckles, attempting to hide his embarrassment. “It’s pinned on my bulletin board...” 

“Good,” Jeanist assures, finishing up and handing him the new refill. “Like I said last time, you have a place here. Even without Bakugou.” He turns to put everything away. “I never said it last time, but as someone who’s been through a fair share of tough experiences and choices, I knew that a comfort place and an adult who listens was all I ever wanted when I was in college. This place will always be here for whatever inquiry, kid.”

“Thank you.” Izuku wraps his hands around the chilled plastic cup. “That means a lot...” 

Well…that certainly explains it. Mentally checking off a few questions he had on his list regarding the artist, he understands now why he came here. Why he’s helping Bakugou and other students who wander inside... 

Dipping his head with one more thank you, Izuku leaves to give Jeanist the peace of cleaning up—joining his table with Bakugou once again. 

“How’s it going?” He asks as Bakugou’s eyes lift from the paper. 

“I just have the last written question,” he responds shortly, scribbling out another sentence. 

Izuku widens his eyes. Wow, that was fast. Though, the multiple-choice was probably a breeze for him—cutting down a chunk of the time. 

Izuku opens his laptop back up. “Take your time, just let me know when you’re done and we’ll go over it.” 

“Mhm,” Bakugou murmurs, continuing with his work. 

About fifteen minutes pass and the blonde sets his pen down. A sigh, cracking his neck to the side. “I’m done.”

Izuku looks up from his computer. “Oh, perfect.” He closes the screen and slides it to the side to grab the packet. “I’m going to grade you like I would for the real exam, so be prepared for that.” 

Bakugou crosses his arms, relaxing his strained back. “Do whatever, I just don’t wanna look at that shit anymore.” 

Fair. 

Izuku, with understanding, nods. Grabbing his pen, he flips to the multiple-choice questions and scans through each one. To his surprise, he does get one wrong—a trickier question.

Bakugou visibly tightens his jaw when Izuku crosses the problem and circles the correct answer. He cringes, knowing that was probably a blow to the stomach. 

Moving onto the written responses, Izuku adjusts himself in his seat and gets started. 

The first two written responses are done beautifully, obviously, with a couple of small errors regarding period interpretation and real-world connection. But, only enough to doc him just a couple of points—nothing serious, just knit picky. 

And then he reaches the third. He turns the page and folds down the packet so it lays smooth. Eyes focusing on the neat handwriting, he feels a numbness in his face. A different feeling inside his gut. 

Artwork Name: The Raft of Medusa 

“A bridge between two art movements—classism and romanticism—The Raft of Medusa painted by Théodore Géricault in 1819 depicts the wreck of a French frigate and its passengers left to die as it sank. Not only does he use the triangle method to place the higher more striking forms, but he also uses romantic symbols with the expressions and body movements of each individual on the raft. Truly conveying the anguish and pain as they stack one another to wave the flags for help, it does nothing but demonstrate desperation, defeat, and eventually death. A timeline of aspiration to eventual abandonment and death—the ones with ambition still holding themselves high, waving a flag to the distant boat that may as well just be a figment of determination. 

Not only does this illustrate a real event that took place close to the completion of this work, but it also dives into the concept of the human condition and how we as people move through hope and eventual grief. I look at this piece and I am reminded of the tortuous cycles that we as individuals go through to either receive the attention and recognition we desire or to be saved from what sinks us to the ground.  

As I look at this piece, I am reminded of the life I live. How I spent the first years of my existence waving that flag with hope, only to slowly climb down the ladder and wait for my time to drown. The energy has been expended as I wait for my last breath, my death. Self-destruction and allowance to deplete this simple life, I have forgotten what it means to be hopeful—to be sat up top waving that flag, even though I knew deep down that boat would never come in time and save me from a life I don’t find worth living.”

….

Izuku didn’t know he was crying, not until he blinked and a tear fell to the page—soaking and bleeding into the ink.  

“Deku…”

Snapping into place, Izuku lifts a hand and wipes the tears with one swift motion. He sniffs, keeping his head down—refusing to look up at the blonde because he might just burst into a sob. 

He is aware the words depicted illustrate how Bakugou has lost the ability and the desire to help himself—to reignite that spark and start living. But the second he hit the second paragraph, Izuku couldn’t help but see himself. 

Oh, how it aches to know they both lived through a part of their lives not worth living—afraid of the things that bind them and sink them further and further. How exhausting it was to fight when there was no use no matter how hard they waved that flag or screamed for help. 

Izuku gave up, but instead of descending from the pile and eventually letting a part of himself die, he jumped into the water and swam despite the currents. He’s still swimming, feeling the exhaustion catch up, but that hope at least returned. 

But Bakugou has not made that leap, if he will ever. Not yet. 

Clicking his pen, Izuku flips the packet over and writes a score up top. Exhaling, he looks up and hands the blonde his graded practice test. 

They both look at one another for what feels like a century. Red meeting green, lips parted and chests halting their movements. A mirror, a reflection. 

Bakugou looked at this raging water, pondering whether or not to jump and take the risk, or let himself slowly drown with everyone else. Izuku can tell that all he wants is to take that leap and take that chance of finding something better beyond the horizon. Surviving and living. 

Looking down at his test, Bakugou’s lips open past just a part. He swallows, looking up at Izuku and his still teary eyes. 

“Congratulations, Bakugou,” he says, forging a wobbly smile. “I think you're gonna do just fine.” 

You’re going to make that leap.

If it’s the last thing Izuku does. 

“Why did you fuckin cry earlier?” Bakugou asks as Izuku drives down the barely lit road, music just barely registerable. 

Finally, over his moment, Izuku glances over to the side and awkwardly shrugs. “I meant it when I said your writing is exceptional.” He smiles, reaching forward to fumble with the heat settings in his car. “I tend to get emotional with art and writing if it speaks to me.” 

Bakugou doesn’t verbally respond, keeping his weird stare instead. 

“Are…are you weirded out that I did?” Izuku asks, concerned by the fact as he lets one hand go of the wheel. 

“Nah,” Bakugou finally responds quietly. “Just…didn’t think I could fuckin do that.” 

“What? Make people cry?” 

“Make people feel what I feel.” It’s faint, but Izuku heard it. 

Bakugou looks away and Izuku keeps his eyes on the road, gripping the wheel as he fights the urge to turn his head and look at him.

He heard it. 

Sucking in a breath, Izuku flicks on his turn signal and turns the wheel. “I’m not lying by the way. I think you’re going to do great on this exam.” 

Bakugou shakes his head. “You sure do have a lot of confidence in me.” 

“Well…” Izuku trails, recentering his wheel. “I am the one who’s seen all you’ve written. If it’s any consolation, I feel like I’m the one person who should have confidence in you right now.” 

A roll of the eyes. “I guess that’s fucking–” 

“Oh my god wait–” Izuku perks up and cuts him off, hearing the faint tune of a certain song. “This song has been stuck in my head for weeks, do you mind if I blast this?” 

Bakugou looks at the stereo and back at Izuku, nodding. “I don’t give a fuck.” He lifts his arms and rests his hands behind his head. “It just better not be irritating as shit.” 

Izuku beams, leaning forward to crank the volume. “Don’t worry, I think you’ll like this.” 

The base pumps under his seat as he leans back, enjoying the sound and the feel of this song all around him. Yesterday by Austin George. He loves music, but very few songs touch him deeply. This one in particular, he can scream over and over till his throat runs dry. 

Izuku inhales and opens his mouth as the singer starts his next line. 

“You loved me right then ran me dry…” Izuku sings with the beat and Bakugou turns his head.
“And left me wanting more…”

Bakugou lowers his hands to his side, eyes now completely captured within Izuku’s voice and subtle movements—widening. Izuku can feel his eyes, his presence as he sings, and he allows himself to be swallowed by the music. 

“I dreamt of you eight times this week,” he continues, smiling with the words. “Guess I just miss your company,” Izuku belts with confidence his high school self would never dream of. 

“Cause time goes by the seasons change.” He taps a finger on his steering wheel, bobbing his head with excitement as the beat pushes through his body and into his lungs. 

“But I’m still stuck in yesterday .”

Chapter Text

“Kid, are you good?” Nana whispers from her spot up front, chair squeaking beneath her weight as she shifts.  

Izuku’s knee has been bobbing since the start of the exam—anxious and unavoidable. Ever since Bakugou was given his paper and told to flip it over, he’s been stressed. Twisting his rings, tapping his foot, all of the above. Ashido is taking her exam now as well, but he’s afraid to say that she’s the least of his concerns at the moment. 

Izuku nods, still bobbing his knee and leaning forward in his chair. “Yeah, just a bit nervous,” he whispers back. “I know he’s ready, but there’s still no predicting how this will turn out.”

Nana’s lips tighten and she reaches her hand out, squeezing his shoulder. The warmth startles him. “It’ll be alright, I have faith.” The palm of her hand spreads and rubs his shoulder blade to soothe him. The bobbing in his knee slows down as he takes a collected breath. “Even if for some reason it doesn’t, you can’t put all that pressure on yourself.” 

Easier said than done, honestly. 

“Yeah…” Izuku huffs between his teeth, leaning back in his seat. “You’re right.”

Letting go of his shoulder, Nana smiles. “I know I am.” Patting her thighs, she stands to do another round of surveillance around the room—checking for possible questions or cheating. 

Izuku waits up front for anyone who finishes, keeping himself still in the chair—trying to keep his eyes anywhere but on the blonde’s focused brows and nibbled lips. He can tell Bakugou is nervous, putting his work on something that might not be read by Izuku. It’s not easy, not even a little. 

If Bakugou succeeds on this first hurdle, clearing it despite the struggle, Izuku will take the damn guy to ice cream. Like a father sitting on the sidewalk with his kid, holding two cones after winning the first t-ball game of the season.

The hour flies and students begin to filter out, handing their exams to Izuku and Nana. Some with confidence strewn across their faces, and some pale with nausea. 

Ashido walks up, looking neither confident nor nervous. With her pouty pink lips sucked in tight and her hands clutching the paper. “I either did so bad or I nailed this,” she mutters, trying to stay light-hearted in her tone. 

Izuku takes her test and smiles. “I’m sure you did great, Ashido,” he says, trying to reassure her. “We tend to try and give a little grace if we see you put in effort.”

Mouthing a thank you, Ashido heads out, and more trail behind—leaving behind just a dozen people including Bakugou. They have 25 minutes, which is more than enough time, but he can tell the panic is starting to settle.

Bakugou is biting his nails as he writes on the last page, hand speeding up. 

Relax… Izuku wants to say to him. Put his hand on his shoulder and tell him to take a breath. 

Nana notices the same, glancing at Izuku with worried purple eyes. Her elbow nudges him. “Go check on the remaining stragglers.” 

He doesn’t need her to say that twice. Standing up, he makes his way through the rows—checking on each student to make sure they are ok and if they have any questions. Not many professors do this, but she’s always been keen on creating a healthy relationship so they know it's okay to struggle and ask for help. Not everyone has equal ability to finish fast or comprehend information easily. 

Walking behind Bakugou’s row, he stops and leans forward above the blonde’s chair—slowly placing his hand on his tensed shoulder. “Hey, take a breath.” 

Bakugou flinches at the touch but soon relaxes into it—keeping his eyes on the exam in front of him. 

“Relax, you’re going to do just fine,” Izuku says, comfortingly, as he lets his hand drift off the blonde’s shoulder—tempted to let it linger.

Bakugou nods ever so slightly, adjusting the pen in his hand. It’s delicate, held so carefully by strong fingers and their grip. Izuku takes a moment to make sure he’s truly right before stepping out of the row and walking back down to the front of the auditorium. 

Nana smiles as he sits back down, crossing his arms. His knee is still this time. 

Shuffling the papers in her grip, Nana licks the corner of her lip. “I saw how relaxed he got around you,” she mutters quietly—loud enough for only Izuku’s ears. 

He turns, blinking with a tilted expression. 

Nana chuckles, paperclipping the stack. “I know your whole situation wasn’t favorable…but I can tell that he really needed someone like you, Midoriya.”

Izuku’s lips curve up slightly. He could say the same thing about himself, needing someone like Bakugou. “Yeah…he’s been doing really well. I’m honestly really proud of him.” 

“And I’m proud of you,” she emphasizes. “You were given a really tough task, but you persevered. If he does well on this exam, there’s a chance you can be cut loose from this responsibility.” 

Izuku’s smile slowly drops and he nods, looking down at his legs. Yeah…that’s right. 

It’s weird to say he’s disappointed, sad, even. At the beginning of the semester, he’d be on his knees screaming with joy. But now? He doesn’t know how to feel about that—not knowing if the blonde will leave and never come back if given that option. That this really was temporary for both of them. 

He’s snapped out of his funk when a throat is cleared in front of him. Looking up, Bakugou is holding his exam, ready to pass it along. He finished. 

Izuku reaches forward and takes it, checking the front to make sure his student ID and name are all printed in the right spots. He nods, looking back up to meet his eyes with Bakugou’s. 

“You’re all set,” he says with a smile. “Everything should be graded by the end of the week.”

Quietly, Bakugou nods and adjusts his bag. “Thanks.” 

Before the blonde turns to leave, Izuku reaches forward and loops a couple of fingers through a backpack strap. Bakugou stops, glancing back. 

“I’m really proud of you, you know?” He says, genuinely. Letting go of his strap, he leans back. “I have no doubt you did great.” 

A twisted look of surprise and confusion is wiped across his face. Lips parting, Bakugou swallows. “Yeah, we’ll see…” With a grunt, he shoves his hands into his pockets and walks off. But his expression stays behind, still embedded into Izuku’s retinas. 

That was an expression he’d seen before, but not by many. It typically arises when uncommon phrases are expressed. 

I’m proud of you.

I love you.

It’s not your fault. 

For Bakugou, it’s the first option. Biting his lip, Izuku hands Nana the exam as he thinks to himself. There’s no doubt that his parents rarely even spoke the phrase, if ever. Izuku's father never uttered it himself, so he knows the feeling. 

It’s truly bizarre hearing someone say it for the first time. But Izuku wasn’t exaggerating when he said it—no need for sugarcoating or lying through his teeth. 

He really is proud of him.

“Well, it’s done,” Uraraka says, nudging his leg with hers. “You somehow did it with only one major mental breakdown.” 

Izuku rolls his eyes, nudging back from the spot on his couch. “This was only exam one out of the few we have this semester. Who knows how the rest would go.” 

He hasn’t hung out with Uraraka one-on-one in a while, so it’s been nice to recharge with her. Of course, he had to update her— slowly adding the details so she wouldn’t smack the shit out of him. 

Regardless, she still wanted to smack the shit out of him—even with his caution. But she subsided when he finished explaining the situation, allowing room for understanding and support. He was never really worried about that.

Nodding, Uraraka gives him a contemplating hum. “Well, if luck is on your side for once, if he nails this exam you might not have to tutor him anymore.” She scratches behind her ear, pulling a couple of pieces of brown hair out of her claw clip 

Izuku, without attempting to hide his disappointment, frowns. It turns out everyone is fond of reminding him of this. Nodding, Izuku turns his head—leaning an elbow on the arm of his couch. 

Uraraka’s face drops. “Wait…” Sitting up, she scoots over on the couch. 

He doesn’t respond, covering his lips with the hand that’s propped up. He swallows. 

“Oh my god, you don’t wanna stop.” She blinks in a moment of realization, reaching forward and grabbing his arm to shake it. “I know you said things were better between the two of you, but you fucking like him, don’t you?”

Izuku’s eyes blow wide and he rips his hand off his mouth, spinning his whole body 90 degrees. “No, I don’t!” He exclaims, trying to keep his cheeks from turning bright red. 

Uraraka crosses her arms, not convinced, and he groans. God, she’s the worst.

“I don’t! I swear to god.” His head leans back so he stares up at the ceiling, face hot from the whiplash she just gave him. “It’s platonic, so very platonic. There’s nothing wrong with me wanting to hang out with another guy.”

Uraraka opens her mouth but Izuku re-centers his head and glares. “If you bring up Friday, I’m kicking you out.” 

Uraraka busts out laughing, and Izuku is appalled. 

“It’s not funny!” Izuku tries not to laugh himself, affected by her contagious giggles. 

Mid-laugh, Uraraka takes a deep breath—placing a hand on her chest. “It’s a little funny.” 

Reaching back, Izuku grabs one of the pillows and throws it at her. “You are the worst, I hope you know that.”

Swatting the pillow away, she sits up as the laughter fades. “Oh, you love it. ” Crossing her legs, she smiles at his irritated glance. “You do know I’m kidding though, right? I believe you, really. You’re just so fun to tease.” 

Rolling his eyes, he pouts. “Yeah, I know. ”

“But…” she trails, bending over to grab her water bottle from the center coffee table. “If you did like him, just know I’d support you no matter–”

“Oh you little shit,” he kicks her shin. She flips him off, taking a sip out of her straw with a satisfied smile on her lips. 

There’s a sudden knock at the front door and Izuku doesn’t think before belting. “Door’s unlocked!” Assuming it’s Shinsou or Torodoki coming by after their school days, he speaks out of habit. 

Big mistake on his part. 

The door opens and they both turn. Uraraka inhales sharply and chokes on her water, spitting it out all over the coffee table. 

It seems the blonde really likes to show up at comically irritating times—summoned by the awkward conversations and mentions. He’s standing at the door, hand still clutching the door handle with a raised brow. 

“Bakugou!” He squeaks. “Wh-what are you doing here? I didn’t think we were meeting up today,” he sits up, flustered. This is the second time now he’s shown up around Izuku without a plan beforehand. He’s not mad, considering all his friends do it anyway. It’s just the abnormality of it that startles him. 

Uraraka punches her chest behind him, trying to clear her throat. 

“Nah, I just needed to talk to you about some bullshit,” Bakugou says, unbothered. His eyes move to look at Uraraka still trying to dislodge the water from her windpipe. “Alone.” 

Izuku turns to Uraraka. She looks at him, struggling. Lifting her hands, she clears her throat a few times. “Hey man, I’ll step out.” A cough. “Don’t wanna be a cock block.” 

Izuku’s jaw drops and she smirks devilishly, standing up from the couch before he can catapult another pillow at her. “I’ll be in your room trying to get the rest of this fucking water out of my lungs.” She heaves, hacking every couple of steps down the hall. 

Taking a deep breath, Izuku leans forward and pinches the bridge of his nose—hard. “Sorry about her, she’s lives without a filter. You can come in.” 

Doing just that, Bakugou walks in and kicks his shoes off by the door. “I see where you got your irritating charm from,” he comments, getting a sigh from Izuku. 

“Har har,” he pretends to laugh, crossing his arms as Bakugou walks over and plops down on the couch. He lets out a frustrated breath, rubbing his neck with both hands as his body relaxes against the cushions. 

He appears more…agitated than normal. Not in an angry sense, though. More, well, bothered. He looks like he’s had a long day.  

“What’s up?” Izuku asks him, lifting one of his knees to his chest. “Are you worrying about the exam?” He told the blonde not to worry, but telling someone how to feel doesn’t always guarantee results, especially with a guy like him. 

Shaking his head, he drops those hands into his lap. “No, you said not to worry so I’m not fuckin worrying.” 

Izuku’s brows lift. He redacts his last statement. “Oh, so what’s going on?” He wraps an arm around his shin, leaning forward. 

Turning to look at Izuku, Bakugou’s half-lidded eyes blink. “You know how we have that game coming up this weekend? The one against our damn rivals?” 

Izuku hums, acknowledging. Every year from the beginning to the middle of the fall semester, their school’s hockey team plays the Shiketsu Sun Devils. Shiketsu University is just barely at the center of Osaka Japan, and is one of the toughest teams in their division. Every school has its rival. Theirs? Shiketsu. And it's a nasty one. 

“What about it?” Izuku continues to ask. “If I remember, you guys have won most of the games against them so far. I didn’t think much of it.” His fingers play with the hems of his joggers, curious as to why Bakugou is so bothered right now. 

“Yeah, well, that’s not the damn problem,” he growls, lifting the corner of his lip so he canines show. “The problem is that my fucking parents are coming this weekend and didn’t tell me. I found out through my bootlicking Accounting–462 professor an hour ago, and I’m pissed. ”

Oh. Yeah, that certainly explains it. If Izuku were in his shoes, he’d be having a stroke right about now. He can imagine Bakugou screaming and storming out in the middle of a lecture after hearing the news. 

“Fuck, okay– fuck,” Izuku stutters, dropping his leg down next to his other. “Are you going to be ok? That’s a lot of pressure, especially on this weekend.” 

“To be honest, Deku? I don’t fucking know,” Bakugou huffs, lifting a hand out of frustration. He lets it fall into his hair, brushing it back and away from his forehead. “I haven’t seen them in months and I just know they’re going to fucking be up my ass the whole time.” 

“What do you want me to do about it?” Izuku asks with terrible phrasing, and Bakugou side-eyes him. 

“The fuck did you just say?” He snaps, sitting up. 

Izuku flinches violently, raising his hands as he realizes the mistake in his phrasing. “Oh my god, that came out so wrong. Let me rephrase.” Wincing, he restarts. “What can I do for you to help you? I’m not being snarky, I just want to try and help but don’t know what you need in this situation.” Goddamn it Izuku…

Bakugou lowers his defense as he realizes Izuku’s intent. “Okay…” He bites the inside of his cheek and Izuku can see the motion of his jaw as he chews. “Look, I’m here because I need someone to be there so I can focus on something else. If I don’t have a distraction I’ll blow up on the ice and the damn team doesn’t deserve that.” 

Izuku tries to fight a cringe, scratching the back of his head. “Oh, uh, I don’t know…those games are a lot, Bakugou…” 

Izuku doesn’t go to the games, as he’s mentioned thousands of times. He might not be able to handle going for the first time on a big game such as this one. The screaming and cursing of aggressive fans—his anxiety would violate him.

“I understand you don’t like this shit,” Bakugou admits, looking away to avoid eye contact. “And it’s not exactly fucking fair of me to ask you to do this because you’ve already broken your back to help me when I don’t deserve it. But…I genuinely don’t know any other extras to ask.” 

Izuku’s face softens. 

Bakugou exhales sharply. “You’re the only person on this fuckass campus who actually knows the extent besides shitty hair. I will literally get you and whoever you want fucking tickets so you don’t have to pay, and I will make sure your seats are above the team so you’re away from most of the batshit insane people. I just…” He pauses to swallow, seemingly starting to get a little worked up. He takes a collected breath through his thinned lips. “My parents bring out a part of me that I hate. I can’t be that person this weekend.”

This is a bit of a shock to him, but he doesn’t blame or argue with the fact. Izuku can tell Bakugou is scared right now—still not used to reaching out. It was tough as it was for him to ask Izuku to continue tutoring, so he can’t even imagine this. Something as personal and intimate as his parents.  

Despite it all, he’s asking for help right now. And…that’s the only thing Izuku needs to be convinced.

Insecurity takes the reins and Bakugou’s face stiffens. “Never mind…it’s fucking dumb, I don’t know why I even asked.” He stands up.

Izuku snaps his arm out, grabbing his hand before he can step away. 

Bakugou’s entire body stiffens and his head spins around. The expression on his face is not anything Izuku expected.

“Hey hey…” Izuku says quietly, pulling him back down so he’s seated again. He doesn’t let go of his hand, but Bakugou doesn’t shake him off. “It’s not dumb and it never will be. Yeah, those games are…not my thing, but I can tell this is really bothering you and it wouldn’t be fair of me to dismiss that.” Bakugou’s hand is so warm. Everything about him is. “Do you really want me there?” Izuku asks, care laced on his tongue. He gets a subtle nod from the blonde and that’s all that’s required. He smiles. 

“Okay, then I’ll be there.”

Izuku doesn’t realize he’s rubbing the back of Bakugou’s hand with his thumb—softly in circles the same way his mom used to do—not until Bakugou’s eyes find his. He realizes the mistake, retracting his hand. 

“I–fuck, I’m sorry…force of habit,” he says with a mutter, expecting some form of disgust in return. But, as he has been these past few weeks, he surprises Izuku. 

Shaking his head, Bakugou takes that hand and drags it along his thigh. Something Izuku does when his hands start to sweat. “Don’t worry about it…” 

After a moment, Bakugou stands and Izuku doesn’t stop him this time. “Thanks, or whatever…I’ll text you the tickets and times.” 

“Of course,” Izuku responds, looking up. “If anyone’s going to get it, it’s me.” 

Bakugou leaves his apartment after one more nod and a slip of the shoe, leaving Izuku sitting on his couch alone. 

“Midoriya…”

Izuku jumps, turning around to see Uraraka standing at the edge of the hallway. Jesus, he forgot she was here. “Fuck, you scared me. Did you hear all of that?” 

“I did.” Nodding, Uraraka looks at him, unreadable. “And…are–are you sure you don’t like him?” She asks, serious this time—no room for teasing or joking. “I’ve never heard you talk to anyone like that.” 

Izuku looks at her, taken aback. “I–” For some reason, he hesitates. “No, I don’t.” Breathing through his nose, he turns and looks down at his hands. Specifically, the one that had gripped the blonde’s so tenderly. 

“I…I don’t know what that was.” 

Izuku is texting Todoroki about a study session when Nana drops a fat stack of exams in front of him. Looking up from his phone, he catches her looking down with an apologetic cringe—deep lipstick emphasizing her white teeth and their grit. 

“It’s a lot today, so I apologize for that in advance.” She sits across from Izuku in her office, sighing as she grabs a pen. “I have a conference tomorrow so I want to get as much grading done between the two of us before then. Not to mention, it would be favorable to have these done before this Saturday anyway since it’s going to be a chaotic weekend and an even more chaotic week following.” 

Turning off his phone and shoving it into his pocket, he unclips the stack. “It’s ok, I anticipated it. This whole month is a lot for every department.” He flips through, curious to see if she gave him Bakugou’s exam or not. 

She notices his priority, pulling out one of the packets from her own stack. “Sorry, kiddo, I’m going to be grading his exam to be fair since you have slight bias now. But, I’ll let you look at it when I’m done.” 

Damn…

It’s fair, he should have expected that. It’s always been the case with the students he’s one-on-one tutored. Nana grades them to avoid bias and many complaints in the end by others. 

He nods, hiding his disappointment, before pulling out his first exam to start the grueling grading he has to come. 

———

Cracking his neck to the side with a pop, he groans. His body is starting to argue the later it gets outside. He can tell Nana is feeling the same, struggling to keep her eyes open as she scribbles grades and notes. 

Yawning, she flips through one of her last exams—eyes scanning over the multiple choice quickly. She flips, not noting any errors with the first half. 

After going through the first written problem…she stops. Her tired eyes wake up. 

Tapping her nail on the table, she grabs his attention. 

“Hm?” he hums, looking over—a little disoriented. 

“I fear I might be hallucinating from lecturing all day,” she says, looking at the writing in front of her. 

“What’s up?” he asks, peering over to see whose exam she’s reading. He perks up, realizing it’s Bakugous. “Oh! Yeah, I told you he’s been holding out on us. I thought the same thing when I read his first practice response.” 

She blinks, holding the paper farther away. “Holding out is an understatement. His writing is beautiful.” Nana has to adjust her glasses, making sure she’s seeing the text in front of her correctly. “How did you accomplish getting this level of vulnerability out of him?” 

Izuku leans back and ponders back on the past couple of weeks. A lot went into it, truly—he can’t take all the credit himself. It was a difficult process at first for both of them, but once those walls dropped, it didn’t take long for trust to soon make its way inside. “I made him realize how important it is to be honest with ourselves, inside and outside of school,” he says with a shrug. “I stopped making our tutoring sessions feel like work and just spent that time making him feel comfortable with the uncomfortable. I think once he realized I wasn’t going to treat him like most others in his life, he let himself open up.”

Nana puts the exam down, taking off her reading glasses with a swift hand. “Kid, the fact that you got the student with the worst track record around professors and TAs to cooperate astounds me. I see why he’s so relaxed around you now.” She struggles to find her next words for a second, motioning down at the exam. “This is one of the best-written responses I have ever gotten on an exam. Kid, you have a real way with people, I’m not exaggerating.”

Izuku blinks, unaware of how to take what she just said to him. “Oh, uhm, thank you?” He shifts in his seat. “I’ve always just…had urges to help people my whole life when the circumstance permits it, I guess? I don’t know, I’m not usually told I’m great with people like what you’re insinuating.”

Crossing her arms and leaning forward, Nana shakes her head. “You’re so modest it infuriates me.” 

Izuku opens his mouth and squeaks a syllable, but she holds a hand up, stopping him. 

“I know we’ve discussed this a few times, and I know your end goal is to one day create work like All Might, but can I ask you something?” 

Izuku nods, fidgeting with his rings.

“What is it you wish to do once you graduate? Pushing all of that away till you’re left with one single purpose, what is your goal?” 

“I–” Izuku pauses mentally, biting his lip to take a moment and think. What…does he want? Has he ever actually thought about that in the long run? He knows he’s always had the drive to create and inspire like all those who have done the same before him, but, ever since he last talked with Bakugou…

“I don’t know…” He answers quietly. 

Nana frowns, tilting her head. “I think you do know, but years of pursuing purposes that don’t complete you have scrambled the very thought.” Reaching forward, she takes his hand that’s resting on the table and squeezes. He swallows. “I can’t be the one to tell you what story you are to follow, but I know deep down you’re meant for more in this world—with both art and beyond.” 

His words are caught in his throat, unable to escape. 

She smiles, letting go of his hand. “Definitely think about it, ok? I’d hate for you to not use both of your talents and turn it into something worth all of our while.” Picking the exam back up, she flips to the next written question. “No matter what you do, you’ll bring greatness, but we can only be greater if we do what makes us whole.” 

Her words…always a marvel. 

Izuku finally chokes out the words that were piled up inside. “You really do like to find the oddest times to be philosophical, don’t you?” 

She snickers, putting her glasses back on slowly. “I’ve been around a long time, Midoriya, I know what I see when I see it. I did with my young pupil years ago. You...remind me a lot of him, actually."

Izuku nods slowly, going back to playing with the cold silver around his fingers. “That’s crazy you saw that because I was able to help one person…” 

Nana hums a short laugh to herself, smiling with that dark lipstick and intense dimples. “Kid, if you can help a troubled boy find his way after years of being blind…”

“There’s no telling what you’ll truly accomplish."

Chapter Text

“Dude, I can’t believe the person that convinced you to go to a game was Bakugou fucking Katsuki,” Shinsou says, impressed, as he throws on a sweatshirt. “Not even your last situationship could convince you.” 

Izuku shrugs, purposefully ignoring the last comment, as he looks at himself in the mirror, clipping on some stud earrings. “Yeah, but Bakugou also asked for help. The guy never asks for anything so I can’t just say no.”

“Well…” Todoroki says with a contemplating tone, looking up from his phone. 

“Ok, yeah, I could have said no,” he says, turning around. “But he’s my friend, guys, believe it or not.” He looks at Uraraka and points. “Not a word from you.” 

She throws her hands up, bracelets jingling with the movement. “I wasn’t gonna say it.” 

Izuku took the offer of bringing whoever he wanted, spreading the tickets amongst himself and his friends. Iida will already be there due to his management role, so Uraraka, Ashido, Todoroki, and Shinsou will be joining him in the stands so he doesn’t have an anxiety attack or throw-up. There’s still a high probability that he will, but it’s preferable to lessen the chances. 

The game hasn’t even started, and already it’s a shitshow all around campus. 

Ashido sits up from Izuku’s bed, placing her hands on her lap with a plop. “So…ok, lemme get this straight. He wants you there, above the team, so he could look at you to stay calm?” 

Izuku nods, raising a brow at her intended tone—not getting her lead. 

She blinks her long lashes. One. Two. “Dude, that’s so fucking gay.” 

“Right?!” Uraraka blurts loudly with agreement, leading to a roar of laughter from Shinsou. 

“He’s not even gay!” Izuku barks before groaning and turning to slam his head on the vanity. 

“Really?” Todoroki genuinely questions, confusion teasing his tongue. “Could have fooled me with the way he acts with you.”

Izuku growls, frustrated, as he feels his face heat up against the wood. “I am not having this conversation right now or ever with you guys.” Sitting up with a deep breath, he brushes his curls back—fixing them from their wild position. “He needs a friend’s support today while his parents are here, and that’s all it is.” 

It’s been days since Bakugou came over, but his brain still won’t let him forget or move on from that one moment. The moment when the blonde didn’t pull away or curse profanities after Izuku crossed that boundary, or how soft his eyes looked. How comfortable he was…

It was weird. All of it was weird.  

And Uraraka loved to remind him of it afterward. 

“Mhm…” Ashido hums, not convinced. She eyes Uraraka and all Izuku can do is roll his eyes at them in the mirror’s reflection. 

“ Anyway,” Izuku says, attempting to move on, as he stands to walk over to the closet. “Are we ready? I want to get there early so we can beat the crowd.” Sliding his closet door out of the way, he flips through the hangers and stops at a red and black crewneck—one of the only school-related pieces of clothing he owns. 

Shinsou actually agrees, allowing the drift in conversation. For once. “Oh yeah, we should definitely head out in a couple of minutes. I want to actually avoid the fist fights this year.” 

Pulling the crewneck off its hanger, he throws it on over the long sleeve he’s already wearing. It’s not warm in that building whatsoever. 

Todoroki shuts his phone off, shoving it into his pocket. “Didn’t a Sun Devil last year throw a whole fish at someone in the student section line?”

“Oh my god,” Shinsou chuckles, looking up. “Yeah, I only remember that because they threw it at the back of Monoma’s head. He smelled like rotting fish all day and he was pissed.” 

“Well, it’s Monoma, knowing him he deserved it,” Uraraka pipes in and everyone nods in unison.

Walking back over to his vanity, Izuku does one last check in the mirror—fixing his hair and adjusting the sleeves on his sweatshirt. He can’t help but feel nervous. It’s not exactly just because of the size or intensity of the event itself, but because he’s not so sure how this entire day is going to go outside of that concept. 

If Bakugou is going to lose his cool despite Izuku being there. If he runs into unsavory people. There’s no predicting how the events will spiral if they do. 

Ashido appears behind him, setting a hand on his back—placing her chin on his shoulder. “Everything will be ok.” He can feel her hand drift up to squeeze the opposite shoulder. “And if it is a total disaster, we’ll leave and get shitty food instead.” 

His lips curve up as he views their reflection. His head tilts to the side, leaning against her clean-scented hair. Taking in a deep breath, he finishes adjusting his outfit. Alright.

Let’s get this over with…

With their incredible but very rare luck, they did beat the fistfights. 

Five minutes after their tickets got scanned and they wandered through the stadium, someone got punched in the jaw just short of the ramp entrance. Does anyone know why they got punched? No. Does anyone ever know? 

Absolutely not. 

Izuku is just relieved he was lucky for once, able to avoid the other end of someone’s fist on an already stressful day. 

It took them a while to find their seats, having to physically push and shove through a sea of people attempting to do the same thing all at once. It’s another reason he’s never truly liked these events. It’s irritating as fuck. 

Sitting down with a sigh, Izuku throws his stuff under the seat and scans the rink ahead of him. Bakugou managed to get them, well, really good seats. Right above the team’s pit while the ice is in complete view, Izuku won’t lie and say it’s not perfect.

“I kind of expected the asshole to get us nosebleeds.” Shinsou leans back in the uncomfortable plastic seat. “But then again, he does want to see your face,” he teases and Izuku wastes no time, smacking the back of his head. Hard. 

He cries out in pain, rubbing the sore spot with a wince. “Yep…yep, I deserved that one.” 

“Alright guys, I know we really wanna tease him,” Uraraka says, sitting herself down on the other side of Shinsou. “But the whole goal of today is to make his first game not suck.” 

“Yeah yeah,” Ashido agrees, rolling her eyes as she plops into Izuku on the left. “I guess you’re right.” 

Izuku snorts, lightly elbowing her. “I’m gonna regret bringing you guys, aren’t I?”

“Most likely,” Todoroki chimes in as he sits with the rest. They have about five minutes of peace to themselves before voices under them catch their attention. 

“Oh, hey guys!” Someone calls from below. They all look down into the pit, finding Iida and the coach—Mr. Aizawa. They must be checking over some last-minute stuff before the game. 

“Hey babe!” Uraraka chirps, stepping close to the plexiglass that forms a barrier between the two of them. 

Iida chuckles, stepping up on one of the benches to kiss his mouth and press it against the glass. Gross. “Hey, Ocha. It’s funny having you so close, normally you’re near the nosebleeds.” 

Shinsou smirks and Izuku knows what’s about to happen next. “Well, we can thank Bakugou-”

Again, Izuku smacks the back of his head. Harder. 

“How did you hit even harder, ugh!” Shinsou curses under his breath as he, again, rubs the sore spot. Izuku would have swung with more energy, but he’s got rings on so he’s not looking to accidentally puncture him. 

Shaking his head, Izuku stands to look down like Uraraka. He crosses his arms, huffing, as he starts to feel the frigid air around him, even with his two layers on. 

“Hey Iida, Mr. Aizawa,” he says with a wave. “How’s everything going for you guys?” 

Iida steps down from the bench and exhales roughly, adjusting the clipboard and papers he has in his grasp. “Stressful, honestly.” He looks to Aizawa, pushing up his glasses. “It always is around this time of year.” 

Izuku nods, huffing sheepishly. “I guess I really did choose to come to the worst game of the season.” 

Aizawa steps forward and looks up—crossing his arms in authority. “I gather things are better between you and the problem child then, right? I haven’t seen you since last time so I assumed all was fine.” 

“You could say that, yes,” he responds with a small smile. “He asked me to come today to help keep his mind elsewhere, so I’m here for support. If we weren’t on good terms I definitely wouldn’t be here right now.” 

He senses Shinsou preparing to say something, but he knows better after a moment of contemplation. 

Aizawa nods briefly. “He told you about his parents?” 

Izuku cringes, not even trying to hide it. Scratching behind his head, he exhales. “Yeah…”

It’s Aizawa’s turn to exhale a sigh. “I wish we had the power to ban them, in all honesty—all we’re able to do is kick them out when they cause a scene. They’re such a big stress element to the kid, it makes him manic. With a game like this, he really doesn’t need to be amped up more than his usual self. They always sit close to the ice too so it’s hard to avoid their presence.” He combs a hand through his long black hair, brushing it to the side. “I’m glad he trusts you now, to a certain extent. He really needs the distraction.” 

He’s glad too…

Izuku adjusts himself. “We both have shitty parents, so it was easy to understand the situation and empathize.” He pauses, glancing at the ice. “Is he doing ok now?” 

“If by ‘ok’ you mean his usual Bakugou self? Yes,” Iida cuts in and Aizawa nods in agreement. 

“But…” Aizawa puts a finger up. “I know that’s going to change the second he makes eye contact with his parents, specifically his mom.” 

“I assumed as much…” Izuku says, trailing off. “Where do they usually sit so I can try and help out in that sense.” Maybe if he knows where the two sit, he can follow the blonde’s gaze. If he’s slipping, Izuku could grab his attention before sinking too deep. 

Aizawa turns and points to the other side of the rink. Directly across from them. “Front row, typically. Sometimes they go up into the VIP lounge seats above to flaunt, but that’s not guaranteed for this game.” 

“God, if my dad sat that close during one of my events I would have an aneurysm,” Todoroki comments. Izuku would too, honestly. 

“Oh, he does,” Iida says, looking down at his papers. “But maybe this time it will be different.” 

Izuku sure hopes so. It already pains him to see the blonde uncomfortable when it’s just the two of them. If he sees Bakugou break down in front of a giant crowd it would physically hurt. There is just something about watching strong people being reduced to ash that upsets his stomach worse than any illness or overwhelming hangover. 

“I sure as hell hope the same,” Aizawa says, glancing at his watch. “Okay, sorry we need to cut this short, kiddo. Iida, can you make sure we have everything accounted for here? We need to head back and get the team ready in the next five minutes.”

“Of course, sir,” Iida stands up straight and nods. 

Looking up at Izuku one last time, Aizawa actually forms a real smile. “Thanks for looking out for him, Midoriya. There aren’t a lot of people who do.” 

“It’s no problem…” Izuku mutters as they make their leave. He sits back down next to his friends, desperately attempting to avoid the clear yearning for conversation from them. He clears his throat and reaches under his seat to grab his phone. 

“Midoriya…” Uraraka starts. 

“Not a word, please,” he says, irritated, as he lifts a hand and continues to dig through his bag with the other. 

“No, Midoriya,” she presses, reaching a hand over Shinsou to grab his shoulder. 

He pulls out his phone and sits up. “What?” He snaps. But his face falls to neutral when he sees the expression on Uraraka’s. She’s darting her eyes toward the ice, trying to move his attention to something. There’s a tenseness within her body. 

“Holy fuck,” Ashido says as she realizes before Izuku. 

“What? What do you see?” Izuku says, trying to follow their eyes. 

“Oh,” Todoroki says. “Shit, I forgot how much Bakugou looks like his mom. It’s actually uncanny. ” 

That’s when Izuku sees it. Sees them. 

Finally following Uraraka’s darting eyes, his eyes lock on two bodies sitting down directly across the ice rink. 

Bakugou’s parents. 

His father looks nothing like Bakugou, plain all around with his glasses and still facial expression. While his mother…it’s not unusual for kids to be splitting images of their mother or father. But Izuku really wasn’t expecting this. Bakugou’s mom looks exactly like him—with the way she crosses her arms, the scowl, and even her eyes. The eyes. 

His breath lodges itself inside his trachea, refusing to budge. Swallowing down the lump forming within his throat, Izuku finds himself clenching both fists on his lap. 

Not only does Bakugou’s mom look displeased, and irritated about being here, she isn’t even fully here. With an earpiece in, signifying she’s still on the clock, she stares down at her phone with a frown. 

And something…something about that…

Grinding his teeth, Izuku takes a deep deep breath through his nostrils. 

Something about that makes his blood truly boil.

“Alright, everybody!” 

The lights dim and spotlights drop. The crowd goes wild. 

Izuku looks up from his phone, startled by the suddenness of it all. He expected volume, but not this much. The announcer stands carefully in the middle of the rink, microphone in hand with a big bright smile. He has wild blonde hair and glasses, not something he’d anticipate from someone announcing for a college hockey game. 

“I know you’ve all been waiting for this moment…” 

Hoots and hollers. Whistling from the crowd. 

Seat creaking, Shinsou leans over till his lips almost brush against Izuku’s ear. “That’s the coach’s husband.” 

A violent reaction is shot out of Izuku. Whipping his head around, his jaw drops—now tuning out all the announcements that follow. “No way .” 

Shinsou snickers. “ Way. I didn’t wanna believe it myself but it’s true.”

“How do you know?” Izuku questions. “Isn’t the coach super private?”

Shinsou nods. “Kaminari confirmed it, he apparently walked in on them kissing. God, they’re so gay for eachother it’s honestly funny.”

The tired and energetic pairing…huh? Who would have thought? Wait– 

A smirk makes its way up Izuku’s lips as he processes the words that came from Shinsou’s mouth. “Oh, so you and Kaminari…”

In a flash, Shinsou’s face turns red. With how pale his skin is, it’s extremely noticeable “I-I wait –” He groans, putting his face in his hands. “Fuck, I deserved that.” 

Izuku laughs, lifting his hand to pat Shinsou’s shoulder. “Yeah, you did.” 

“And now for the moment, you’ve all been waiting for…” the announcer shouts, grabbing Izuku’s attention back to the ice. 

“Traveling from Osaka Japan…” The spotlights turn to the opposing team’s corner. “Give it up for our faithful rivals, the Shiketsu Sun Devils!!” 

The booing outweighs the cheers by a landslide —the only ones showing support are the students who traveled from Shiketsu themselves. As each player from the opposing team skates their way onto the ice, the rest of the crowd stands and riots. 

The thunder of each vocal scream and stomping feet roars inside Izuku’s ribcage. It’s truly an out-of-body experience.

“Alright alright alright…” the announcer laughs, trying to calm the crowd. “I believe now is the moment you’ve all been waiting for.” 

The color of the light switches, now a bright red against the blanched rink. It swirls and swivels around the other corner as the school’s fight song begins to play overhead. 

“Let’s hear it for our very own Higanbana Hydra’s!!! ” 

Bursting out like wildfire, the team makes their grand entrance—Bakugou right up front with the bright red #1 on his jersey and helmet. He skates with confidence, each step made like he’s dancing on water. He’s only ever seen the blonde skate once, but that was in a practice setting. 

That is child’s play compared to the way he’s presenting himself now. 

The crowd belts its support as Izuku’s eyes focus on Bakugou and only Bakugou. They focus on him as the entire team makes their round on the ice. As the teams split and divide, some entering their designated benches with the coaches. As the ref makes sure everyone on the ice is in position. 

Izuku watches Bakugou and his eyes—where they move and where they focus. He watches as Bakugou pinpoints his parents, and he watches when his body language stiffens like the ice beneath his skates. 

His head turns, and those now panicked eyes meet Izuku’s.

Look at me. Izuku thinks to himself. Look at only me. 

Swallowing, Izuku points at the blonde and then to himself—failing to miss even a beat. He opens his mouth as the puck is put onto the ice. 

“It’s just you and me, number one.”

—

“Come on!” Uraraka shoots out of her seat and screams. “Sero you had that!” 

The game is close. The team losing by two points, it’s been stressful for everyone within the coliseum. Especially Izuku for it being his first time around so much of everything at once. 

And it’s not even the second period…  

He never exactly pinned himself to ever be an involved fan—screaming, cheering, booing, and jumping with the crowd. Sports were never his thing growing up, especially the high-contact ones. But something about this is different. Something about knowing the people down on the ice and feeling the energy with his friends is altering a piece inside Izuku. 

He can’t help but feel the emotions and the energy of the team—with Bakugou. With every pass and everybody check, he’s screaming or covering his mouth. With every loss his stomach hurts. The anxiety is flaring like no tomorrow, but he’s too consumed to truly notice it. 

Taking a deep breath, Izuku grips onto the arms of his chair—tapping a ringed finger. Looking straight forward, he shakes his head at Bakugou’s mom who has yet to look up from her phone and watch her son. Observe how well he's doing right now under all this pressure, and how unfairly talented he is. 

Izuku understands why the whole town is obsessed with him now, though he never doubted it. 

Sneaking his way between the two defensemen, Bakugou smacks his stick against the puck with a crack—picking up shards of ice with its strength and motion. The goalie drops fast to his knees, stopping it right in front of the line. 

“Fuck!” He hears Bakugou growl loudly behind his helmet, skating behind the goal to gain back his momentum. He punches the glass, startling an unsuspecting fan. 

Leaning forward, Izuku’s grip intensifies. Calm down…

Bakugou skates against the wall by his parents, trying to keep his vision front and center as the puck is thrown back onto the field. But that’s when the timing of it all laughs in his face. 

Pulling off her headset and turning off her phone, Bakugou’s mom finally looks up from her screen. Izuku sees it and he feels it all in one second—the blonde meets her gaze and he stiffens from head to toe, movements turning choppy and panicked. Breathing picking up. 

Izuku can hear Aizawa in front of him curse as he too realizes what is happening. “Shit, he’s in his head.” 

Swallowing, Izuku lifts his hand and covers his mouth—rubbing it anxiously. Take a breath, damn it…

Kaminari passes the puck to Bakugou as he’s trailed by an opposing member, yelling for Bakugou to carry it. Shoving someone out of the way, Bakugou snags it and turns around —guarding it close. He has it, but for how long? 

Through the commotion of it all, his head moves up, and makes the awful mistake of looking to the wrong side of the stands. Izuku’s entire body goes numb as he realizes what’s about to happen. 

Fuck. 

Slithering between his stick and the puck, a Shiketsu player steals it and rams Bakugou’s side—sending him shoulder-first into the glass. Painfully loud. There’s a collection of ‘ooos’ and cringes as he’s almost taken to the ground by another player. Izuku sucks a breath through his teeth as Bakugou pushes off with a snarl. 

The gloved grip on his stick is tight and the rage on his face is red, even through his secured helmet. 

“He’s going to lose it…” Ashido comments, biting on her thumbnail. 

Bakugou’s mom narrows her eyes at the mistake, and Izuku catches himself grinding down on his molars. His own father looked at him the same way as a kid, disappointed and unimpressed. He just knows Bakugou’s skin is hot to the touch from the rage. 

Practically running on the ice, Bakugou catches up to the players fighting for the puck. Shoving himself in front of Sero to take his place, he winds his stick back…

“Bakugou, don’t!” Sero yells as he skids to the side. 

“Oh, shit,” Shinsou gasps, standing to his feet. 

Swinging full force, Bakugou—very obviously—misses the round black target and swipes his opponent’s feet, catching the blades and sending him  lying face forward into the ice. He crashes, crumbling onto the slick surface before colliding into the wall with as much force as Bakugou before. 

Izuku gasps and so does the rest of the crowd. A dirty blow, even for the worst. 

“You pretentious asshole!” Another opposing player grabs at the back of Bakugou’s shirt and yanks him back, ruining his balance to throw him to the ice. But Bakugou is quick. Snagging his stick, the blonde brings him down with him in one swift pull.

Izuku grips at his hair from the stress as more players join the fight to break it up before it gets worse. Whistles scream and the crowd goes nuts as it all unfolds. A typical hockey brawl, but there’s nothing typical about the start of it all. 

A penalty is thrown and no argument is made as Bakugou and another player are flagged for a much-needed time-out. 

Sero pulls Bakugou off the ice and grabs his shoulder pad. “What is your problem?!”

Izuku wants to jump down there so badly. Every muscle in his body yearns to just do it and shove everyone away. Don’t make it worse. Don’t make it worse. 

Pushing him off, Bakugou grabs his stick and skates toward the penalty box as he’s replaced by another player. Hands shaking, grip tense, it’s bound to blow. 

For two minutes, Izuku watches the blonde seethe with each second that passes that he's not on the ice. 

Jesus this isn’t good…

When he’s finally called back to the team, Izuku can’t help but stress. He can tell the coach wants to cuss him out but knows it will only make it so much worse in this circumstance. 

Stepping into the pit, Bakugou rips off his helmet and hucks it against the wall. With sweaty hair and red cheeks, he’s flustered and pumped full of negative emotions that are beyond his own control. 

Aizawa tries to grab him to calm down his breathing, but the blonde dodges the grasp—running his own hands through his hair and pulling at the ends. It could be his vision deceiving him, but those red eyes are starting to look wet. 

He’s going to have a nervous breakdown if he can’t control any of the factors that are clearly pestering and biting at his nerves. 

Aizawa eyes him and Shinsou nudges his arm, but he’s already leaning forward. 

“Hey,” he says, grabbing Bakugou’s attention. “Hey, look at me.”

Chest heaving and lips parted, Bakugou looks up at Izuku with wild eyes. Fire burning. 

“What’s going on? ” He asks, waving Bakugou to step a little closer to the glass so he can properly hear him. “Are you really going to let her fuck with your focus now? When you’ve been working this hard? Breathe.”

Eyes darting to the side, avoiding eye contact, Bakugou huffs a half-assed breath. “I fucking can’t help it,” he hisses through his teeth. “She watches me like–”

Nope. The fire that burns inside Bakugou’s eyes flickers inside Izuku’s chest. A torch carried, one to the other. 

“She hasn’t even been watching you this whole time! She just put the damn phone down!” He yells, interrupting, unfortunately making the blonde flinch back a bit from the volume. “Don’t let her gaze fuck with your head. Not when there are so many other people who actually care.” 

His attention snaps back over. “Deku–” 

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I know it’s tempting. I know. But if you feel her eyes on you, don’t turn to face them. Look at me.” He points to himself, feeling the tip of his finger on his chest. “You wanted a distraction, so let me be that distraction and look at me.” 

Bakugou looks up at him, gobsmacked. His chest is still rising and falling with intensity, and that flame still burns. But Izuku can tell it’s with another purpose. 

“Look at me,” Izuku repeats and Bakugou swallows with a slow nod. He fights the urge to leap over this barrier and brush that sweaty hair out of the way. “No one else is here but us. Okay?” 

Another nod, but Izuku wants it vocalized.

“Okay?” He repeats. 

“Okay,” Bakugou chokes out. 

Feeling himself slip, Izuku stands up straight—keeping his eyes on the blonde as his finger jabs into the glass. “She is nothing here. But you? You’re everything.”

Bakugou’s eyes widen as Izuku’s eyes glance at the time and the score. “Show me that you know that too.” 

Chest pauses, breath being held, Bakugou nods. “Okay…” 

A whistle blows, snapping them back into this reality. Aizawa finds the time right, bringing Bakugou’s attention to the game as Izuku exhales and sits down—rubbing his forehead. It’s still not even half time and his head is pounding. 

Looking over to his friends, he’s greeted by blank stares and slacked jaws. Dropping his hand, he raises a brow. “What?” 

Lifting his hands, Shinsou looks away. “You know what? It’s not worth getting smacked again.” 

Nodding with pursed lips, Ashido pats his back. “Wise choice, babes.” 

With his usual habit, Izuku rolls his eyes and props his elbows up onto his knees—looking forward to the game.

Letting his eyes glance up, Izuku makes eye contact with Bakugou’s mother who’s found herself now glued to him and the pit. Deep dark eyes and folded brows. He has no doubt, considering he did almost bend all the way into the team’s box to knock some sense into her son. 

Unamused and unphased, Izuku tilts his head and narrows his eyes. 

She thinks she has her son’s attention wrapped around her twisted finger, but no, Izuku isn’t about to let her take it without a fucking fight. 

He smiles, getting a twitch from her brow. 

Let the true game begin.

Bakugou’s mom stands from her seat, but Bakugou looks at Izuku. 

His mom stares, clenching her fists and curling her lips, but Bakugou looks at Izuku. 

Minutes pass, the hird period begins, and with each opportunity, Izuku makes his mark. Every time he even senses a switch in the direction of the blonde, he’s yelling. Even as he’s swapped for a break, Izuku makes him turn around. 

He asked for a distraction. A distraction he’s getting. 

“Eyes on me, take your shot!” Izuku belts as the blonde flies across the ice. 

A slapshot. Crack. Into the net and the buzzer blares. 

Izuku and his friends scream with the crowd as another point blinks onto the scorecard. It’s intense. It’s nerve-racking. It’s beautiful. 

And the best part of it all? Bakugou looked relaxed and for once… happy to be at his own game. 

An astounding victory till the end, leaving the entirety of the stadium to go ballistic with its unexpected outcome. Izuku can’t help but say he doesn’t regret coming, though it sounds strange to say—even for himself. 

“Fucking hell, that game was insane,” Shinsou says as he collects his things from under their seats. “I still can’t believe someone snuck another fish inside and threw it onto the ice.” 

Izuku snorts. “Personally, I can’t believe it took them a whole five minutes to get it off the ice.” 

Even though it was a huge inconvenience for everyone, no one could hide the looks on their faces. It was pretty fucking funny. 

“Seriously, what is that school’s obsession with fish?” Todoroki comments, getting shrugs from everyone all around. 

“Beats me, honestly,” Uraraka adds, slipping on her jacket. “On another note, are we all still down for dinner tonight? I was thinking about Varsity since it’s close.” 

Ashido jumps up from her seat. “Works for me, as long as I get to ride shotgun this time.” 

Izuku nods. “Yeah, I could get behind that–” he pauses mid-sentence, caught by something in the corner of his eye. 

Turning, he squints to view the edge of the rink. There, he finds Aizawa peering around the team’s entrance—waving for him to come down. Urgently, to add. 

His stomach drops. 

Shit. Something’s wrong. 

“Uh…” he trails off, adjusting his bag over his shoulder. “Actually, can I meet you guys at the car park?” 

Everyone glances back at him, confused. “Uh, sure? Everything ok?” Uraraka questions, concern tickling her throat. 

Probably not.

“I hope so?” Izuku says, scratching the back of his neck as he continuously looks back at Aizawa. “I just need to go check on something, but hopefully it won’t be long. I’ll text you if I end up needing to meet you at the diner.”

Uraraka’s eyes find the coach and her face relaxes, understanding. “Ohhh. Yeah, it’s no problem, just text me.” 

“Sounds good, see you soon,” he confirms, moving to walk across their row. 

“Just don’t do anything stupid!” She loudly states before he gets too far. 

He waves over his shoulder, not bothering to vocalize a response. Knowing him, he most likely will do something stupid. 

Already, he’s made an enemy of himself, so there’s no doubt he’ll dig a deeper hole. 

After making his way through the stands and down into the back athletics tunnel—where he had to painfully badger a security member to let him in—he finally catches the coach by the locker room. 

“Hey,” he huffs, rubbing his sleeve nervously. “What’s going on?” 

The look on the man’s face solidifies it. Reaching out and lightly grabbing Izuku’s arm to lead him, Aizawa takes a deep breath. “It’s his parents…”

Shocker. 

Snapping his head up to look him in the eyes, Izuku sneers. “Great, what the fuck now?” 

Rubbing his forehead, Aizawa tries to formulate the words. “To put it lightly, they’re livid.” 

“About what??” 

A bang erupts behind a closed door up ahead and they both flinch. 

“Listen here you fucking brat, you will never act this way again. Do you understand?!” 

An ill feeling sinks itself into Izuku’s gut. The tone, the volume… it’s just like how his own father spoke to him growing up. 

Izuku shutters. “Fuck…they’re mad about me distracting him.” 

“It’s not your fault, kiddo,” Aizawa mutters between his teeth. “I expected this to happen, but right now I just need you to be here to possibly get him somewhere safe once it cools down. I can’t stomach another day knowing he’s put into such a bad mindset.”  

“Couldn’t someone from the team? I don’t want to make it worse…” Izuku says just as quietly. 

“Why do you fucking care?!” Izuku hears Bakugou yell back in a plea. “So what I didn’t acknowledge you, I won the damn game didn’t I?” 

Another bang—a fist over a table, to be assumed. “You’ve embarrassed us, is what you did! How am I supposed to explain to all those clients and faculty that our own son wouldn’t even look at us at the game we funded?!” 

“Do you blame me?!” Bakugou screams back and Izuku lifts a hand to his mouth—pained by the crack in his voice. “Dad was the only one who fucking watched the whole game, but I can’t even count it because he just sat there!”

The fact that they are having this fight in a semi-public place is astounding. Not even Izuku’s father had the balls to put his behavior out like that—keeping it behind closed doors 80% of the time. 

Aizawa swallows thickly, taking in slow shallow breaths. “Yeah, but the kid’s most comfortable with you—I can tell. I wouldn’t have asked you down here if I didn’t believe you were the best option in this case.” 

“I–”

“Both of you need to calm down– ” another voice, Izuku assumes is Bakugou’s father. 

“You know what?” Bakugou interrupts. “I’m done, there’s no fucking point because you won’t listen to me. And for once, Dad, take my damn side! You're just as bad when you don't say shit!” 

“Son–”

“Katsuki, don’t you dare leave this room!” 

The door handle turns and Izuku flinches, stepping back. Aizawa grabs his shoulder and moves him behind his body—cautious. 

“Oh, I fucking dare!” The door is swung open so hard it slams against the concrete wall with a crack. “This conversation is going fucking nowhere–” 

Bakugou stops, words stuck in his throat with shocked eyes and sickeningly pale skin. 

Izuku peers from around the coach’s back, catching his expression and parted lips. 

“De–”

“Nowhere? Fucking nowhere? You–” Bakugou’s mom halts just inches away from her son, ending mid-thought as she too meets Izuku’s wide green eyes. “You.”

Oh fuck. 

Aizawa extends his hand out, guarding Izuku’s chest. “Mrs. Bakugou, if you choose to make more of a scene here I will have to ask you to leave.” He stands tall. “I cannot tolerate this behavior around my team and their peers on a day like this.”

Offended and quite honestly disgusted, she looks at Aizawa with a growl deep in her throat. “With how much money I pay for your program? Know your place, Aizawa.” Heels clicking, she pushes past Bakugou in the doorway—strutting toward the two of them just a couple of feet away.  

Snaking her way around Aizawa’s side, she points at Izuku. “More importantly, who are you? ” 

“Ma–” Bakugou speaks up but is silenced by a snap of her fingers. The very sound puts a visceral feeling down Izuku’s spine. 

Again, Aizawa shields Izuku with a hand. But it does nothing to hide the dragon’s nostril flare in front of them. 

“You dare to look like you’re above me throughout the game, and distract my son?” She questions, stepping closer. “Who do you think you are, boy?” 

“Mom,” Bakugou hisses and Aizawa opens his mouth, ready to defend all the way. 

But Izuku is getting quite sick of it all. 

Grabbing the coach’s arm and pushing it away, Izuku steps in front and looks up at the taller woman—narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. Plenty of practice for years…

“Who I am doesn’t concern you,” he says deep in the back of his throat. “How I look at you doesn’t concern you.” 

Her lips part but he lifts a hand, interrupting the brewing thought. “I came here to support him unlike you, so take that anger and direct it somewhere else. Your son might be able to tolerate it to some degree but I won’t.”

Bakugou looks at Izuku with a stare he can’t read. The bizarreness of this whole situation is making him dizzy. It’s like he’s yelling at Bakugou from three weeks ago—the anger and stubbornness, no empathy whatsoever. 

Clenching her fist, Bakugou’s mom snarls behind her bared teeth. “Now you–” 

“You better cut the shit because you have no authority over me.” Again, he interrupts her. “Now if you’re done tearing into your son even though all he did today was win a fucking hockey game and make you look good, I am going to take him with me to do something positive which you clearly aren’t capable of doing. Capeesh?” 

Silence. Enough to make their breathing loud. 

“Holy shit, kid,” Aizawa whispers as Bakugou’s mom is left speechless—struggling to formulate a response due to the shock of being told off by a stranger. 

Checkmate.

Bakugou’s father walks over to her, just barely glancing at Izuku as he does so, placing a hand on her now-shaking shoulder. “Come on, honey...”

Shaking his hand off, she huffs an angry breath through her nose. “When I find out who you are, you’ll regret opening your fucking mouth. I promise you that.” 

All Izuku does in response is lift his chin and glare back. Do your worst. 

“Enough,” Aizawa says, crossing his arms. “Leave or security will be called.” 

A minute of harsh stares goes by. Izuku can’t help but think she’s going to swing with how hard she’s shaking. It feels like forever, but eventually, she caves. 

“ Fine. We’ll be having this conversation later, Katsuki. ” One last angry huff and she’s turning on her high heels and marching down the hall—husband close on her tail with a somewhat apologetic glance. 

They’re let out the door and the very second her blonde hair is out of view, Izuku’s knees turn to jelly and he drops to a crouch—placing his face in his hand with a deep breath. “Jesus Christ…” 

He knew Bakugou’s parents were a mess, but he didn’t expect that. 

Aizawa wipes a hand down his sweating forehead, blowing cooped-up air through his lips. “Kid, you either have a death wish or you are just plain insane. Not even security can shut her up as fast as you did.” 

Looking up at the man, Izuku shrugs. “I grew up with a narcissist as a father, sir. I learned the game young.” 

The man blinks at him, too tired to even think about objecting. “Fair enough...though that does draw some concerns for later,” A pause as he turns to look at Bakugou who has yet to move a muscle since the interaction. “More importantly, are you ok, Bakugou?” 

Swallowing, Bakugou nods—stuck in his trance. His body is still in defense mode, struggling to break free even though the threat is long gone.

Standing back up, Izuku steps over to the blonde. “Hey, look at me.” He waits for Bakugou to turn his head and look at him. “Take a breath, that was a lot.” 

Another swallow, thicker. The blonde finally lets a deep breath escape his tight lungs. As it shakes out of his lips, his hands join the motion. Eyes wet, neck strained.  

He’s going to have a breakdown, and unlike most, Izuku can tell from the look on his face that it’s one that needs to happen. 

Izuku glances at Aizawa and then at the room’s open door. “Please make sure no one comes in.”

No protest, the man nods. Izuku takes that approval and reaches forward—grabbing Bakugou’s wrist gently. He feels the blonde flinch from the touch, but he lets his hand drag down. A thumb circles the top of his hand and soon, his body relaxes into the touch.  

Leading him into the room and shutting the door, he turns to look up at the trembling athlete who stands in a jersey too big for his shoulders and torso—missing its padding. He squeezes his hand. 

“Let it all out.” 

Bakugou gnaws at the inside of his cheek, turning to look away as he still holds it in despite the crumbling dam within. Embarrassment or just habit, Izuku can’t handle it another second. 

Lifting his other hand, Izuku finally does what he’s wanted to do for so long—grab the side of his face and make him look back.

“Let it out.” 

It starts with the quiver of his lips and eventually leads to the hunch of his shoulders. Bakugou gasps, covering his mouth as tears well and fall from his blinking eyes. It hurts to see, but it hurts more to know why. 

The hand that rests on Bakugou’s cheek travels to the back of his neck. Pulling him in, Izuku presses the taller man tight to his body. He lets go of his hand and wraps it around his back, pulling tighter—tenderly secure. 

Izuku almost jumps from how fast Bakugou takes his own arms and wraps them around his body. The warmth of this new embrace lasts little time, as it’s soon replaced by shaking shoulders and a heaving chest. He can feel his heartbeat against his own. 

“It’s just you and me…” Izuku confirms, gripping comfortingly at the sweaty strands of blonde hair. “You don’t have to hold it in anymore…” 

It takes all of five seconds before Izuku finally hears the break of a sob. The sound of a stuffed nose and tight trachea. Bakugou, a man he once never thought would give him the light of day, stands hunched over in Izuku’s arms. 

And Izuku lets him cry, even as his shirt is stained with tears and the grip on his arms tightens as if to never let him go. 

“Let it out, you're okay.”

Chapter Text

By the end of his sobs, Izuku is left rubbing the blonde's shoulder blades with a soft hand—slowly brushing his fingers against the fabric of his jersey. He can feel his sweaty hands grip his own shirt, wrinkled at the base. 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but it doesn’t matter. In times like this, time is only a construct. 

“Are you ok?” Izuku asks, muffled against his body. Lifting his chin and propping it onto his shoulder, he brings his hand up to the back of Bakugou’s neck. 

He doesn’t expect Bakugou to be ok. He never could—especially after a fight like that. 

The grip on Izuku’s shirt loosens as the blonde takes a deep breath. Breaking the hug, he steps back and sniffs—wiping his nose with the edge of his sleeve. His eyes dart to the side, embarrassed. His cheeks are red—flushed to the same color as his eyes. 

“Yeah…” he clears his throat. The lack of eye contact tells Izuku that he’s lying. Clearer than any summer day in Mizu. 

Despite this, Izuku can tell crying helped alleviate at least a little bit. 

Izuku frowns, looking up at him. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Huffing, Bakugou puts his hands on his hips and looks up at the ceiling—eyes still wet and threatening to spill again. “Honestly, I fucking don’t, but I know I should.” His throat is raw, making him swallow down the pain. 

Yes, you should.

“It would help,” Izuku agrees, stepping forward. 

Bakugou sniffs, bringing his chin back down. His body language is screaming uneasiness. “God, how are you not looking at me differently?” A sigh. “I’m a damn mess but you still look at me with those same fucking eyes.”

Tilting his head, Izuku bites at the inside of his cheek with his molars. “Because showing emotion doesn’t make you any less human. Or any less of the person you are.” He reaches forward, placing a solid hand on his shoulder. “I would never shame you, Bakugou .” 

Looking over at Izuku’s hand for a long moment, Bakugou eventually steps out of the touch— shoving a pin inside Izuku’s heart. “You don’t have to fucking be here anymore, you know…don’t the extras have plans with you?”

Don’t push me away…Don’t look away…

Shrugging, Izuku folds his arms. “Yeah, but they can wait. It’s not like I don’t see them almost every day.” He taps a finger onto his arm, fighting the urge to touch him again. “I’d rather be with you.” 

There are times when picking and choosing is necessary. When there is someone in need, someone who deserves much-needed comfort, dinner with his friends seems less of a priority.

Taking one of his hands, Bakugou rubs at his forehead—index finger and thumb tight against his skin. Calming the throb in his skull. “God, I need a fucking drink…” 

Now that’s a statement Izuku can agree on. 

Izuku snorts lightly. “You and me both. After five minutes around your mom I was stressed, I can’t imagine how you feel.”

Scoffing, Bakugou crosses his arms like Izuku. His eyes are still red-rimmed—puffy. “You have no idea…” 

Izuku tries to smile, bringing up the corners of his lips slowly. An idea forms and braces at the tip of his tongue. “I have alcohol back at my place if you are interested. We can talk about everything, or we can just drink—whatever you want to do. You’re not far from me, so you could walk home or just crash on my couch too.” 

Bakugou turns his head, brows scrunched in a particular manner—suspicious. “Is there a catch?” 

This guy…

Izuku’s mouth opens, baffled. “I–what is it with you and catches? No, Bakugou,” he chuckles into the letters of his name. “I’m just offering you a safe place to wind down without being alone. I have a load of alcohol left from the last pregame and like every subscription known to man on my TV.” 

It’s heartbreaking to think the blonde has such bad trust issues. That there will always be a catch to an act or service. But Izuku can’t say anything himself, considering he was the same way for a long time. 

Bakugou’s shoulders relax a little. Izuku can see the tightness in his chest dissolve. “Didn’t picture you as the type to have every streaming service. Aren’t you broke as hell?” 

Izuku snorts. “Yeah, but Todoroki’s dad isn’t. We swiped his credit card information two years ago and he still hasn’t noticed.”

Bakugou makes a face of amusement, huffing a short laugh. “That damn half-and-half is extremely committed to pissing off his dad, I’ll give him that.” 

“Yeah, well, it's easy when your parent is a massive asshole.” Izuku unfolds his arms, adjusting the ring around his thumb as he continues to keep a relaxed smile. 

“Fucking preach,” Bakugou groans, looking back up at the ceiling. His tone of voice is returning, which is comforting to Izuku. It shows that he’s no longer on that awkward bridge of ‘I’m ok’ and ‘I’m going to ball my eyes out.’

Which, for anyone, is a good sign. 

“So…” Izuku trails, reaching forward to nudge the blonde. “Is that a yes?” 

Bakugou brings his gaze back down and Izuku watches as his wet blonde lashes blink—so unfairly long. He sighs, lifting his shoulders into a shrug. “If it’s free alcohol, then yeah…why the fuck not?” 

Izuku’s smile widens, teeth peeking between his lips. He can’t help but feel the steady growth of excitement. A little bit inside him is looking forward to spending more time with the blonde—even if it sounds a little weird to say right now. They did just break a boundary, despite its highlighted need. Touching in such an emotionally vulnerable way. 

But…Izuku itches with the overwhelming desire to understand and comfort the pain that still throbs in front of him. Touch his hand and rub his back as he rants or even just talks about a stupid accounting exam. 

Sue him for it, but all Izuku wants tonight is the unadorned satisfaction of making a friend feel validated for something as simple as being human.

Izuku types at his phone as he towel dries his hair, looking down at the screen with little attention to his surroundings. 

Bakugou needed to finish talking with his coach and go home to shower before anything else, so Izuku took advantage of the extra time to shower himself. He always feels gross after big public events, so it was a blessing more than anything.

His screen lights up with Uraraka’s contact, buzzing to signal her call. He accepts it, tossing the towel onto his bed with a sigh. 

“Damn, you guys ate fast.” Putting the phone on speaker, he turns to rummage through his closet for a t-shirt or long sleeve. He’s just in shorts at the moment, exposed to the chilled air of his poorly heated apartment. It’s weird, but he’s never liked wearing pants after showering—even though it’s below 50 outside. 

“Actually,” Uraraka corrects on the other side of the call. “Varsity was up the ass ridiculous with its wait time, so we went to Torino’s instead. Should have seen it coming with the game.” A brief pause and the sound of a wrapper. He can hear her take a bite of what’s most likely a burger. “We’re back at my place eating,” she says, mouth full. “Todoroki’s currently trying to get us to watch Frozen for the fifth time this month.” 

“Sounds like him,” Izuku snorts, grabbing an oversized sweater from the back. He can tell it’s one of his mom’s, cream with a delicate knit—smelling like her. It’s big enough to hang off his shoulders, something he’s always loved in certain clothing. “Sorry again that I couldn’t join you guys. This shit was just…kind of tricky.” 

Slipping on the sweater and adjusting his necklace, he turns and grabs his towel as Uraraka makes a sound of understanding with her chews. 

“Eh, you’re all good, man. It’s not like we don’t do this weekly.” 

Izuku smiles to himself, slipping out of his bedroom. 

“I’m just glad you came to a game with us for once, ” she adds and Izuku can hear a muffled comment from someone else in the room. Uraraka hums. “Oh yeah, is Bakugou ok? You briefly texted about it but I didn’t get much of the detail.”

Lifting his lip, cringing, Izuku walks into the bathroom. “To put it in simple terms, no.” He hooks the towel onto his door rack before turning to face the mirror. “He had a breakdown and I had to literally hold him as he rode through the motions,” he says, shaking his head as he places his phone on the countertop. Grabbing his curl cream, he habitually flips the cap off and takes what he needs—combing it through his hair. “I met his mom, it was rough.” 

“Yikes,” Uraraka hisses. “I assume you’re hanging out with him tonight, then?”

A nod, though she can’t see it. “Yeah,” he says with an exhale, closing the cap and setting the bottle down. “I invited him over. We both need a drink bad after this whole week, but it’ll be chill. Hopefully .” 

He flicks off his light and walks out, heading for the kitchen to wait for the blonde in question. It would be preferable to actually see what alcohol and mixers he has before he shows up. 

“Just be careful,” Uraraka warns, jokingly, shoving more food into her mouth. “When you drink a lot you forget to think and we both know what happened last time…” 

“Don't be cheeky,” Izuku groans with a chuckle, trying to conceal the fact that his cheeks are now warm to the touch and a shade darker. 

A collection of laughs on the other end. He can only assume Ashido is pissing herself. “I had to, you know that.” 

Izuku rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah…”

With a chuckle, Uraraka wads up her wrapper. “Anyway, just wanted to check in. I’ll let you go since I’m assuming he’ll be over soon.” She clears her throat. “But you better be down for coffee in the morning so I can hear the tea.” 

He rolls his eyes, walking into the kitchen to pull open his fridge. “Always, I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Love ya.” 

“Love you too,” he ends, clicking off the call and tossing his phone onto the counter. 

Right on time, a knock thumps against the front door. Turning his head, Izuku calls out. “Door’s unlocked!” 

Door knob twisting, Izuku watches as Bakugou opens the door and slips inside. A wave of easiness washes over him as a version of the blonde he’s never seen yet stands at the front entrance. Though it’s not unusual to see his usual clean and freshly showered look—damp hair and comfortable clothing—there’s an obscure softness to his entire demeanor. From the oversized black sweatshirt and the activewear shorts that look worn, he looks oddly… simple.  

Standing straight, Izuku closes the fridge—swallowing. 

“You’re gonna get fucking robbed if you keep leaving your door unlocked like that,” Bakugou snarks, tossing his keys onto the counter as he kicks off his shoes.  

Izuku snorts, crossing his arms and leaning a shoulder against the fridge. “Yeah, someone’s definitely going to want my used furniture from Facebook Marketplace and atrocious wall decor.”

If someone did indeed try to rob him, he’d probably be hate crime instead. 

Glancing at the interior as if he forgot what his apartment even looks like, Bakugou shrugs off his bag and hums. “Touché.” 

Rolling his eyes, playfully, Izuku shuffles over to his cabinet. “How was the rest of your debriefing, by the way?” He asks, grabbing two bottles of alcohol by their necks. He’s got tequila and vodka, a real variety. There’s wine too, but he wasn’t sure if the night was qualified for it. 

An irritated grumble can be heard. “Annoying, but not as much as usual since coach didn’t want me to fucking kill myself in front of the team.”

“Understandable,” Izuku nods, biting down on the inside of his cheek as he sets down the bottles. 

Bakugou slides one of the barstools out, sitting with a deep sigh. Izuku looks up at him from the bottles, tilting his head. “You wanna talk about tonight? Or…do you want alcohol first?” He taps the side of the vodka bottle with his pointer finger.

He already knows the answer but thought to ask regardless. 

Lifting a hand, Bakugou cards his fingers through his hair. There’s only a second of contemplation. “A drink, please.” 

Another nod. “Thought so.” Turning, he opens the same cabinet and grabs a couple of glasses. “Tequila or vodka? I also have wine but I don’t really pin you as a wine guy so…” 

A hum. “Well, you’re fucking right on that one. Wine makes me contemplate death, so tequila.” 

“I totally get that,” Izuku snorts, turning back around. “When I’m wine drunk I either end up sobbing or passing out at the end of the night.” He grabs the tequila bottle and twists off the top, prepared to pour some for himself as well. He’ll typically do tequila in a mixed drink, but taking shots of it is absolutely horrendous. 

Bakugou huffs shortly. “I can’t do a lot of vodka either, shit makes me weirdly horny.” 

Izuku’s eyes damn near blow out of his skull.

Oh. 

That was a sentence Izuku didn’t expect to hear out of that man’s mouth. Ever. It’s almost worse that he said it with such casualness. 

Izuku physically pauses, hand still on top of the bottle, as his stomach flips inside his body. He swallows, taking the cap and setting it on the counter. 

“Weirdly enough, same,” he relates—trying to keep himself from turning red in the face. Too many memories from that night still haunt him—still fresh. “A lot of hard alcohol will, unfortunately, influence me,” he chuckles, nervously. He walks to the fridge and pulls out a couple of bottles of juice and club soda. “It’s honestly really embarrassing sometimes.” 

Bakugou’s eyes watch him with intent. Nodding, he leans his elbow on the counter. “So that black-haired twink was a result of that, I assume?” 

That asshole. 

This time, Izuku’s face goes beat red so fast he nearly shoots up and slams his head on the freezer door. “Oh my GOD–” he spins to set the bottles on the counter before immediately covering his face with his hands. He will live his whole life with reminders.

Bakugou barks with laughter and Izuku groans. Letting go of his face, he points to the blonde. “You are no better than me, you dick.” He’s going to regret inviting him over with how the night is already progressing. 

Bakugou lifts his hands, still amused. “Never said I was, you’re just easier to tease about it.” 

Izuku shakes his head, biting at his lip as the heat on his cheeks struggles to disappear. “Can’t believe I’m making you a drink while you’re harassing me .” 

“So fuckin dramatic,” Bakugou continues to tease with a roll of his eyes. 

Izuku chooses to ignore him, knowing he’s just trying to get a rise out of him. Sometimes he hates him for that. 

Moving on, he finishes making their drinks by just creating a simple mix of a double shot of tequila, club soda, and grapefruit juice. He could have done something sweeter but wasn’t exactly in the mood to deal with a hangover in the morning. Not to mention, tequila pairs really well with citrus. 

Bakugou takes a sip, humming with surprise as they gravitate to the couch. “Hm, it’s actually not bad.” 

Izuku looks at him, betrayed. “I swear, sometimes I believe you go every day with zero faith in me.” 

“Eh.” Bakugou shrugs, plopping down in the corner. “The day varies,” he says smugly. 

Izuku blinks before reaching down and grabbing one of his throw pillows—hucking it right at his chest. “I guess I won’t tell you how you did on your exam, then.” 

“Don’t then,” Bakugou says with a shrug, taking a sip of his drink. “I doubt I fucking did all that well, anyway.” 

“Oh.” Izuku frowns. Setting his drink on the coffee table, he sits down across from the blonde. The air around them shifts to something a little less sweet—faster than he anticipated. 

“Do you really believe that?” 

A shrug. “I may seem like I get cocky about this kind of shit, but I typically don’t allow myself to go into anything with high expectations. Better than being humbled.” 

Adjusting himself so he’s sitting crisscross, he turns to face Bakugou. For being as cheeky as he is, it’s sometimes alarming to still see bits like this slip through. 

“I mean…sure?” Izuku grabs his drink, tapping at the glass with a sigh. “But it can be pretty dejecting to always be in that mindset. It’s not a cocky thing to think you’ll do well on an exam because you worked hard.” He takes a sip, letting the bitter-sweet combo light up his tongue. “I can confirm that you did do really well. One of the best scores in your section, actually.” 

Bakugou’s brows shoot up. “Did I fucking actually?” 

“Yeah, you aced it,” Izuku huffs, confounded. “I told you I believed in you and your abilities, considering you worked so hard and pushed past your comfort zones. There was zero doubt on my end.”

Why was there some on yours…

The blonde half nods, looking down at his glass. His face is unreadable, tight, and fixed—stuck in a mindset.  

“You’re a beautiful writer, Bakugou. You’re smart and more than capable of doing well academically,” he assures, putting his drink back. “I wasn’t ever lying. It’s ok to be confident and feel good about that, obviously to a certain degree.” 

Bakugou clicks his tongue, lifting his glass to take another sip. Izuku watches as his lips tighten as he swallows. “I fucking guess.” He lowers his glass. 

If it were any other circumstance, Izuku would laugh at the irony of it all. An arrogant athlete who’s revealed to have confidence issues. 

But…nothing about this circumstance, after truly knowing, is funny. 

Izuku’s brows scrunch, coming to a slight conclusion of it all. “It’s because of your mom, isn’t it?” It all comes full circle, after all. There wouldn’t even be a lick of surprise on Izuku’s face. 

Bakugou nods. “Yup,” he says, enunciating the p. 

Izuku thins his lips, swallowing. “You think you’re ready to talk about it?” 

“Nope,” he says, sighing. “But like I said earlier…I fucking should.” He takes another sip, bigger, before setting his glass down on the table. “Considering I cried like a fucking baby not even two hours ago over something stupid.” 

“Well, I don’t think it’s stupid. It’s all really difficult and complicated for anyone.” Clasping his hands together in his lap, Izuku looks at the blonde softly. “As someone who’s also experienced parent trauma, it took me a long time to figure out how to comfortably come to terms with it all.” 

Bakugou sighs, leaning his head against the back of the couch. “I just–” Taking his hands, he rubs at his face—dragging them down his neck. Izuku can tell all of this is eating his insides raw.

“God, I just could never win with her. It’s all so fucking infuriating and confusing .” 

There’s a chance all this information will explode out of Bakugou in a messy jumble of words. For some, it's stuttering and choked-up lungs, while for others it might mean spilling guts and frustration—finally able to speak. 

“What situation with a parent isn’t?” Izuku says, trying to bring in a little light. 

“Right?” Bakugou agrees, dropping his hands to his lap. “Like fuck. All my life she’s downplayed all my damn accomplishments and made me feel useless. I’ve moved out, but she’s still breathing down my fucking neck to make sure I am and always will be the perfect son and example of her.” A shake in his head, frustrated. “Just today, I won a very important game for a lot of people, but even that didn’t matter because I didn’t do everything she wanted me to do. I embarrassed her, is what I did.” 

Nodding, Izuku adjusts himself into a more comfortable position so he can properly pay attention to the blonde’s words. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been able to do what I wanted to do,” he continues, swallowing thickly. “And I don’t think I ever will, because I was born and destined to be known and take over a stupid fucking company till the day I die or reproduce another heir.” Bakugou turns his head, red eyes glistening. “Now how fucked is that?” A long shaky breath escapes his lungs, as he’d been holding it nearly the whole time. 

Breathe, it’s ok…

Izuku purses his lips, making sure to keep his eye contact. Make sure Bakugou knows that he is listening. 

He clears his throat, turning to look ahead. “Because of her, I don’t… like anything about me, Deku. No matter how hard I try to make others perceive it differently. And that’s all because growing up, she made me believe that being an angry, egotistical, uncreative, and distant person is the easiest and most successful way to live.” He rubs his nose with the pad of his thumb, sniffing and looking away. Another deep breath through his dry lips. 

Izuku could tell by the roughness and tightness in his throat that he might cry again—rightfully so. 

Oh, Bakugou…

He aches to give him another hug. 

“If it makes you feel any better…” Izuku slowly cuts in, grabbing the blonde’s attention back to his gentle expression. “I don’t think anyone on this planet loves everything about themselves. We’re all complicated and messy, even the most ‘perfect’ ones. And that just makes us all human.” 

The wetness in Bakugou’s eyes doubles. He takes both hands and wipes the tears, clearly frustrated that he’s crying again. 

Izuku leans forward, nudging Bakugou’s arm. “Don’t be ashamed for being a human being with faults. After getting the chance to really know who you are outside of your walls and perceptions, I understood that you are just a person with a complicated past who’s trying to be better .” 

Bakugou nods with his words, looking forward. There's no doubt he's overwhelmed by the emotions, and not used to the public display. Or, well, the vulnerability of it all. 

He’s come a long way, but that doesn’t mean there are still things that push the limits. 

“I don’t like to throw this word around, but your mom is a fucking bitch all around,” Izuku decides to blurt, breaking the small moment of silence. 

That gets a surprised snort out of the blonde, making Izuku smile. 

Looking down at his lap, Bakugou plays with the seams of his shorts. “You’re insane, by the way. I have never met anyone who’s had the balls to speak to her like that. Every day you fucking find a way to shock me.” 

Izuku shrugs, unbothered. “Look, just because someone has authority and power doesn’t give them any right to speak to anyone that way, especially to their son. Act like a bitch, and I will gladly be a bitch back. I learned it with my own father.” 

Bakugou’s lips curl up and Izuku returns the look, widening his smile. There’s an easiness to his body language now—relaxed. 

“Do you feel any better?” He asks the blonde. “It’s ok if the answer is still no.” 

Looking up at the ceiling, Bakugou swallows. “No, yeah…I do feel better I think. I don’t know, it’s fucking weird actually talking about it.”

Izuku can’t shun him for that. It’s normal to feel confused when it comes to such intense feelings, especially shunted ones. 

“It only gets easier from here. It’ll still be difficult, don’t get me wrong,” Izuku assures. “But learning how to let it out is so crucial, and I’m proud of you for trusting me enough to help you through it.”  

Bakugou continues to look up at the ceiling, eyes no longer wet and face no longer tight. He makes a small sound of contemplation. “It’s a little fucking funny to think about where this all started. You hated me, and now you’ve invited me into your home and said you were fuckin proud of me like a damn loser.” 

Izuku chuckles, covering his mouth with the side of his hand. “You better feel honored, the day I found out I had to tutor you I screamed in the dark room. I call that progress.”

Bakugou turns his head, fighting a laugh. “You did not.”

“I did,” he confirms, turning to grab his drink. “But that’s when I didn’t know who you were. I’m pretty sure your parents have now taken that spot.” The glass is cold and wet against his fingers, ice now melting inside. He takes a quick sip. “Though, I don’t think they could ever redeem themselves out of it like you did.” 

“Oh really?” 

“Yep,” he says, putting his drink down to replace it with his TV remote. “Not only would it be on sight the second I see them again, but I also would never let them touch my remote with even a fingertip.” He moves to hand the blonde the remote. 

Bakugou looks at him blankly. Two blinks before he grabs the remote from his hand, still puzzled as it's resting in his palm. 

“Pick whatever you want, today you get a choice.” 

Cherry eyes look at him like they’ve never looked at him before. Dumbfounded, round, and full of relief. Like no one in his life has ever told him he can choose without a fight. 

There’s a twist in his mouth like he’s fighting the excited smile trying to bloom like a summer flower. 

Clicking on the TV, he begins to scroll.

Two drinks in, and they’re both comfortably buzzed—not in the mood to take it up a level. More so, not in the mood to pour another.   

Warmth in his chest and easiness in his head, Izuku relaxes into the couch—unbothered by the occasional bump of Bakugou’s knee or foot as the TV plays in front of them. 

As most things tend to be between the two of them, the naturalness of it all is so bizarre, but feels so right. 

Bakugou ended up turning on the 2012 Avengers movie. Izuku could tell he was a little nervous turning something on, waiting for a critique, but instantly deflated when Izuku exclaimed that it was also one of his favorite movies.  

Turning his head, Bakugou adjusts his leg till his knee is just barely touching Izuku’s. It’s terrifyingly warm, putting a buzz in his body. Izuku looks down, now noticing just how toned and smooth his uncovered legs truly are—for once not hidden by pants or gear.  

“I used to dream about what it would be like to be a fucking superhero in these movies,” Bakugou comments, crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought Iron Man was so damn cool as a brat, I wanted explosion hands as my power.” 

He would have explosion hands as a superpower.

“The explosion hands totally tracks. I loved Iron Man too, but Captain America was my favorite growing up.” Izuku hums a small giggle deep in his throat, turning to look at him. “Don’t make fun of me, but Bucky was actually my gay awakening.” 

“Oh.” Bakugou covers his mouth with a quick hand to stifle a brewing laugh. “I am not surprised in the slightest, especially after seeing your clear fucking type at those parties.” 

Izuku’s jaw drops. “I would say ‘how dare you’, but you’re so right.” He smacks the blonde’s shoulder. “I tried to deny it for years but then The Winter Soldier came out and I folded .” 

“My god. It was the hair and mask, wasn’t it?” Bakugou smacks him back, playfully. 

“It was totally the mask,” Izuku admits as they both roar into laughter. 

As they laugh, their legs gain more contact and they manage to inch just a little closer to one another on the couch. A warmer, different feeling presses itself inside Izuku’s chest—heavier. It’s hard to catch, but his heart starts to beat just a little faster. 

With a deep exhale, Izuku smiles and turns to look at the movie. He can sense Bakugou’s eyes linger just a while longer before doing the same—his leg still leaned against Izuku’s unmoving. 

They finish the movie not long after, both stretching their arms and backs as the credits roll.  

“Want to watch something else?” Izuku asks, dropping his arms down after he hears a satisfying pop in his lower back. “You can pick again, I’ll watch anything.”

Bakugou grins. “How about Captain America: Civil War? Haven’t seen that one in a while.” 

It takes all of three seconds for Izuku to understand why he is choosing that movie. “I swear, I just need a vow of silence at this point.” 

“What? What did fucking I say?” Bakugou says, humor dusting his tone as he scrolls through the Marvel movies and clicks on the one he mentioned. He’s closer than before, and Izuku can practically smell the kind of laundry detergent he uses. He can almost feel his face warm up from the proximity, but all of it could just be their combined body heat. 

“God, you love to fucking tease me, don’t you?” Izuku shakes his head, slightly amused at his attempt to fuck with him. 

“Oh come on,” Bakugou–criminally–purrs. Purrs. “You know you love it.”

A punch to the gut would do less harm than the feeling that just aggressively inserted itself into his core. Like doing front flips on a trampoline while incredibly motion-sick. 

Izuku’s eyes go wide and he looks away to prevent a very unfortunate face from manifesting. The feeling in his stomach was a direct repeat of that night. That heaviness in his chest from earlier deepens and his heart rate picks up.

This time, he isn’t even drunk. No placebo, no fluke. This time, he realizes the warmth and heaviness from earlier in the night was not just from the buzz he was feeling. This time he realizes Bakugou Katsuki is fucking beautiful and he has nothing but himself to blame for such an emotive conclusion.

Fucking shoot him dead. Right now. 

“Uh–” Izuku stutters. 

This is bad. This is so fucking bad. He’s screaming at himself internally to say something and make it less awkward. His heart is pounding. 

“Oh!” He exclaims, clearing his throat in the hope of changing the subject. “I forgot to ask, but are you walking home or do you need to crash here?” He swallows deeply, any deeper and it would have made a noise. 

Bakugou raises a brow but eventually looks back at the TV as the movie starts. “I will probably end up passing out here. I’m fine on the couch, just get me a blanket and I’ll knock.” 

“Cool cool,” he responds with one too many ‘cools’, cringing at himself internally. 

“You good, Deku?” Bakugou asks, so fucking oblivious to how soft and unforgivable his voice is right now. 

Izuku could fucking moan, but this time he has no other man to grab onto as a distraction. He needs to leave. He needs to leave this room right now. 

Nodding, Izuku licks his lips. “Yeah, I’m good.” He runs a sweaty hand down his leg as heat trickles down his stomach. “I think I’m gonna go wash my face and stuff so I can just go to bed after the movie.” 

“Want me to pause?” He asks and Izuku immediately shakes his head, standing from the couch. 

“Nah, I’ve seen it enough to know all the words. I’ll only be like 10 minutes.” 

“Alright…” Bakugou shrugs, leaning back to get comfortable as Izuku shuffles down the hall to the bathroom, trying his best to avoid rushing so the blonde doesn’t get suspicious. 

The second the bathroom door shuts, he locks it and slides down to the ground—heart hammering in his chest and discomfort rising in his shorts. 

Listening to the muffled play of the TV, he places a hand on his chest through each breath. Breathe…

Shutting his eyes to try and take a few collected breaths, he soon enters regret as he’s bombarded with perverse mental images. How near hairless Bakugou’s legs were, smooth to the touch—defined and strong. The way his hands held the glass. The edge in his voice as he practically purred with those dry lips. 

Slapping a hand over his mouth, Izuku hides a gasp as his situation burns down below. Just like at the party, he is faced with a really really inappropriate situation. 

Taking in a slow breath, he stands and leans his elbows on the bathroom counter—staring at his beat-red face and dilated eyes in the water-stained mirror. Reaching forward, Izuku twists the sink handle to its full capacity. 

Biting down hard on the inside of his cheeks, he shuts his eyes tight. Heart quaking inside his chest, he takes his right hand and slips it beneath his shorts and underwear—shivering from the touch.

He damn near pounds on the counter from how sensitive everything feels, already rock hard. Shuttering, Izuku forms a fist with his other hand—hunching his back as he pulls his swollen dick over his shorts. 

Desperately wanting to scream, he takes his other hand and shoves part of his shirt into his mouth before slowly starting to pump from base to tip. He shutters, biting down on the cloth. 

He feels so disgusting. So guilty. 

But the images of Bakugou from the last party, images of Bakugou drenched in sweat from his games, freshly showered and smelling so good–

Picking up his pace, Izuku huffs through his nose. 

He can only imagine his big hands wrapped around his aching length. Being pressed against the wall as his hips are grabbed till they’re bruised. 

“Mhm…” Izuku moans into his shirt, biting harder. 

The purr of his voice, the roughness. Oh, how would he feel? Would Izuku dig his nails into his shoulders as he’s ruined? Would he drag his sweating hand down the toned chest and abs–

He grips the counter as he fucks into his hand, delirious as the pleasure of it all is nothing he’s experienced before.  

Breath picking up, speeding up. 

“You know you love it.”

Back arching, core clenching, Izuku bites down on his shirt and tongue hard as he releases. It’s like firecrackers in his stomach, bursting all throughout his lower abdomen. 

He pants, stroking through his orgasm as he cums into his hand—dripping into the bathroom sink. He's currently trying not to focus on how fucking disgusting it is till he’s emptied. 

It isn’t until he’s standing, gripping the sides of his bathroom counter to fight the lightheadedness, that he realizes just the extent of what happened. 

Fuck. Izuku brushes a hand through his hair. 

Fuck. 

Did he seriously just– oh my god. 

He takes a second to collect himself, brain in a fog, before numbly cleaning everything top to bottom, washing his hands and face, and brushing his teeth. It’s all a fever dream, and he can’t quite freak out yet. 

Opening the door, he nervously wipes his hands down his shirt—anticipating to see Bakugou turned around in horror or in disgust, clutching his keys and bag. 

But, thankfully, the blonde is still lying on the couch with the moving playing loudly when Izuku walks into the living room. 

“Hey…sorry that took so long–” he starts as he rounds to the couch, stopping himself as he notices shut eyes and a still body.  

Izuku’s shoulders ease. He fell asleep…

And of course, he fell asleep without a blanket or anything. 

Rubbing his temple, Izuku allows himself to take one big exhale through his lips before tiptoeing to the blanket basket. He grabs an orange fuzzy blanket and unfolds it, turning back to the couch slowly so he doesn’t trip. 

Gently draping it over Bakugou’s body, making sure to cover his legs, Izuku sits down on the end of the couch—eyes glued to the blonde and his slowly rising chest. For someone so abrasive, he sleeps so peacefully. So softly. 

Izuku’s heart twinges as he fights the urge to reach over and brush a piece of hair away from his brow. Arching forward, he drops his face into his hands and sighs. Jesus Christ…

Uraraka was right. 

He has feelings for Bakugou. 

And he’s got it bad. 

Chapter Text

To Izuku's horror, there seems to be a recurring theme happening this semester. 

Staring up at his ceiling, dead tired, Izuku rubs his eyes till he sees stars. Refusing to shut them last night—afraid of an unfortunate mind slip—he got no sleep. Though, it was to be expected. 

Groaning, he drops his hands onto his chest to feel the heart inside throb. Is all of this real? A dream? Or was last night just a nightmare he manifested…

He likes Bakugou. 

Unlike most sane people when crushes develop, kicking feet and swelling hearts, Izuku can’t help but sense immense dread circulate throughout his body. He wants to kick, but not with a delighted squeal. 

It’s almost nauseating. He feels sick. Not just because of what he did last night, or what he thought, but because it was for a man who might never feel the same thing as him. 

Who would never reciprocate...Who he’s supposed to be aiding. 

God…his friends are going to have a field day with this one. He hasn’t liked anyone to this degree since his sophomore year. A disaster that was. 

Biting the bullet, he sighs and rolls out of bed—dragging his bedding to the ground from its motion. He has to leave his room eventually, though the thought that the blonde is still in his living room is making it particularly difficult to obey. 

Yawning, he quietly slips out of his bedroom and walks down the hall to the kitchen—moving on autopilot to start his coffee pot and let it brew as he gets ready for the day. He knows that he’s having coffee with Uraraka later, but he desperately needs caffeine to make it till then. 

He’ll probably get a chai or something…

His eyes blink tiredly as he opens the cabinets, grabbing his bag of grounds. 

“Jesus, even on the weekend you’re up at the ass crack of dawn.” 

Izuku yelps, dropping the bag onto the ground as he spins around—alarmed. 

Bakugou is lying on the couch with his phone held close, raising a brow at Izuku and his more than obvious horrified expression. He can feel his face heat up from embarrassment and realization.

Of course, it is all true after all. Even this early in the morning, Izuku can’t help but feel weak in the knees from his simplicity and effortless expressions. An arm around his head, exposing part of his abdomen as the sweater is pulled. Bedhead. He swallows. God damn it…

It takes him a second too long to realize he’s been staring. Mentally slapping himself in the face to snap out of it, Izuku clears his throat and bends down to grab the bag he dropped—cursing under his breath as he finds speckles of coffee grounds on the hardwood. 

“You’re one to talk,” he mutters, setting the bag down and flipping open the top of his coffee machine. “Did you sleep ok?” 

Bakugou grunts a sound that’s neither positive nor negative. “Better than I thought, but I could have slept longer. It’s literally seven in the fucking morning.” 

“Do you want coffee?” Izuku asks, swallowing down a hard lump in his throat. He can feel his hands start to tremble as he scoops in the grounds and hits start. There’s something about being in the same room right now that feels especially sensitive—like his heart is visibly bleeding onto the counter all for the blonde to see. 

Nothing is different, but shit everything is different. 

“If it’s strong, yes,” Bakugou responds with a stretch and Izuku damn near snaps his own neck as he makes the mistake of looking over. 

Toned abs and a defined abdominal v-line—pressed and perfect like marble or clay. Art in front of his eyes. 

Jesus take the wheel and crash into a ditch. Fuck!

Whipping his head back, he takes the bag and practically throws it back into the cabinet. “C-cool, it’ll be done in a few minutes.” 

He doesn’t even wait for a response before hurrying to the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Locking the door, all he wants to do is grab his towel, ball it up, and scream bloody murder into its fibers.

“C-cool” What the hell was that?? 

Taking a deep breath, Izuku turns and twists the sink handle. Splashing his face in cold water, he rubs at his oily skin till it feels raw. 

“Get it together Izuku…” he mutters to himself as he turns off the sink and dries off. He blows a breath through his lips. Of course, he should have seen it coming, no simple turn-on incident is the end. 

The problem now, though, is this is way beyond anything he can save or push away. Unlike last time…

Staring in the mirror as he wets his toothbrush and sticks the end in his mouth, he recollects the conversation he had with Ashido in the café. Thinking about how she mentioned one more incident sober should lead to a reevaluation. Because one more solidifies the realness of it all. 

He spits into the sink. Could he even fathom that? Does he have the strength to back away? 

Izuku couldn’t even if all the cards told him so. Leaving Bakugou would kill him, and there is no telling what it would do to the blonde—just learning to be vulnerable, only to be left behind in the end. 

He could dive into a situationship with Sato to distract himself, but he knows something like that is unfair to both himself and the raven-haired man. 

Izuku finishes up, brushing his tongue before spitting one more time and rinsing everything off. A sigh as he drops the brush into its cup. All of this is a mess.  

But, really, falling for an off-limits friend is a mess in any situation. He seriously doesn't know what to do, not this time. 

He starts to card his fingers through his hair, debating styling or just letting it go wild today when he hears muffled words outside in the living room. Raising a brow, he brushes his hands on his pants and turns to unlock the door. Twisting the handle, he’s met with the sounds of loud arguing on the phone. 

“Ma, I’ve told you fifty fucking times that I am not going!”

The embarrassment and nervousness he once felt instantly flushes itself down to his feet—immediately replaced with a boiling hot flash. 

Izuku speed walks down the hall and turns the corner, finding Bakugou standing in the living room with a hand gripping at his hair. He’s holding his phone to his ear, rearing the possibility of throwing it at the wall. 

“Again, I don’t care that I ‘embarrassed you and need to make up for it’, I can’t just drop everything and–” he’s interrupted by muffled yelling on the other end—loud enough to be heard without being on speaker.  

The floorboard creaks and the blonde notices him, glancing to the side. He looks like he’s gonna be sick. 

Izuku should have guessed that a scene like last night would only result in this. Guilt starts to overwhelm him, as he knows he’s partially to blame. 

He swallows, walking over. ‘Speaker,’ he mouths and the blonde nods, obeying. 

Pressing the speaker button, Bakugou takes the phone off his ear and holds it out. There’s no hiding it and the blonde knows Izuku just wants to help. 

“—you are such a brat, Katsuki! Your father and I take time out of our schedule to come down to visit, and all we get in return is a shitty attitude and an embarrassment of a display. And now, after giving you the night to cool off, you still flat out refuse to make up for it at the one event that means everything to this family.” 

Izuku’s eyes snap up at Bakugou’s. He watches as his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows down what must be a scream of frustration. 

“First you let that green-haired street trash insult us, and now you’re talking back? I am giving you a chance to make it up so I swear to god, Katsuki–”

Izuku almost grabs the phone in a blind fit of rage when Bakugou takes the reins. 

“Ma!” he interrupts, nearly making Izuku flinch from the rashness. “Leave him out of this, please. I’m fucking sorry that I fucked up last night but like I said, I can’t just drop everything next weekend and drive 3 and a half goddamn hours for one lousy night in Saitama.” 

Izuku wants to smack him for even apologizing, but he stays quiet—letting the blonde work through it the best he can. 

“You don’t have a choice, Katsuki! We’re meeting with the coordinator in an hour. He came all this way to Mizu for a panel and to watch your game, which you so kindly acted like a damn child at.” 

Izuku’s heart stings. They never even cared about him to truly visit with no strings attached, it was all for business. What a slap to the face…

Katsuki huffs, connecting everything. His red eyes look up at the ceiling. “Wow, unbelievable. Good to know you seeing me wasn’t even your priority for this weekend. Should have fucking guessed, no wonder you’re so damn pissy about all this.” 

Izuku knows how this is going to go. No matter how hard Bakugou pushes, narcissism always stands one step forward. And when it doesn’t? It stomps the back of your heels and makes it to the front. 

He won’t win this fight. Even if he does, it’s going to leave bruises. 

“Don’t you dare twist this, Katsuki,” his mother hisses. “I have had it with you this semester. If you don’t come to this event and show us all that you are serious about your future, I will be pulling you out of hockey permanently and placing you into the finance department to work under an advisor.” 

A sinking feeling hits the bottom of Izuku’s stomach. Flashes of high school hit him and hit him hard. Flashes of glass breaking and screaming inside his own home. Packed bags and sour goodbyes. 

“You can’t do that!” Katsuki yells, sounding on the brink of tears, and Izuku can practically feel the blonde’s heart aching as the seconds tick on the clock. Taking away the last thing he has control over? Forcing more and more like a snake coiling around its prey—squeezing till its last breath is drawn?

No.

Without thinking, Izuku snatches Bakugou’s phone out of his hands. It’s quick and impulsive, so much so that Izuku doesn’t know he did it till it’s been done. 

A gasp. “Deku, what the hell–”

“Hi, Mrs. Bakugou?” Izuku starts, digging his nails into the phone case to ground him. Bakugou tries to grab his phone but Izuku puts his hand out, placing it on the blonde’s thumping chest. 

Bakugou doesn’t push anymore. 

“I-excuse me?” his mother asks, taking a second to register who she’s speaking to. “Who the fuck is this?” 

Izuku clears his throat. “Hi, yeah, street trash here. I had something to say about all this.” 

It all clicks. “ You– ”

“Me, yes,” Izuku confirms, irritated. “Bakugou will be going to the event.” 

Bakugou’s whole body teses behind Izuku’s hand. The movement and heat of it all puts a haziness inside his head that he’s forced to ignore.

“Deku–”

Izuku puts a finger up to silence him. “He will be going but on one condition.” 

“Oh yeah? And what might that be?” She huffs with amusement like he’s some kind of joke to her. A pebble under her shoe.  

Izuku eyes the blonde and quickly licks his lips. “I am going with him.” 

Bakugou’s eyes blow wide and there is a surprised stutter on the other end of the phone. His own brain is screaming at him to stop talking but he’s already knee-deep. 

“Absolutely fucking not–” she tries to reject, but Izuku isn’t going to let her speak. He’s going to do exactly what he did with his father—not give her a chance to make it about her. Take control and don’t let her have everything she wants.

“No, I’m serious, he is not going unless I come with him. You are his parent, yes, but it is not fair for you to force your adult son to partake in something he is not comfortable with.” He pauses, taking his hand to grab Bakugou’s arm. He rubs his thumb across his bicep without thinking. It’s going to be ok. “You want him to behave? Show that you will compensate.” 

“I–” she stutters, taken off guard. 

“Well?” Izuku asks, sparking up a nastier tone. Stand tall, don’t bend down. He learned young that cowering will send the dominos tumbling. 

A sharp exhale, frustrated, after a few long silent seconds. A break in her stature. “You and me, child, will be having a conversation in private when you arrive. Am I fucking clear on that?” 

It’s a price he’s willing to pay. 

“Crystal, see you then,” he says and ends the call, tossing Bakugou’s phone onto the couch as it immediately erupts in another fit of buzzing. 

Taking a breath, Izuku looks back over to Bakugou—who’s returning the look in utter dismay. The adrenaline of it all has yet to leave his system. 

“Wh–” he stutters. “What the fuck did you just do?” His eyes glance at the phone blowing up on the couch but Izuku squeezes his arm again, grabbing his attention. 

“She gave you an ultimatum so I gave her an ultimatum back. I knew she wouldn’t quit,” he responds. Bakugou’s eyes dart to the hand holding his arm and Izuku is snapped back into his reality—now finally past the adrenaline rush. A wave of heat flushes from head to toe and he lets go. He’s reminded once again of his situation. 

Oh shit …oh shit what did he just do–

He shutters, glancing to the side. “I-I knew she wouldn’t stop harassing you until you finally caved, it’s what narcissists do—push and push till they eventually get what they want.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I just…I couldn’t stand the thought of her torturing you alone. Not since I finally saw the way she treats you.” 

“But you’re putting yourself in a bad situation in return,” Bakugou strains, shaking his head in disbelief. “Why the fuck, Deku?” 

To be straightforward, part of Izuku doesn’t know the full answer. He just had a debate in the bathroom whether or not to step back. But something primal inside came over him. Something made that decision for him. 

His chest tightens. “Because you’re–” he nearly chokes on his words, clearing his throat. “Because you’re my friend, Bakugou.” Saying that hurt his stomach, even though he really wanted it to not. “Let me do this for you, ok? Fuck, let me continue to help you.”

God, let me try to get over these feelings without pushing you away. Find a way to make it work. 

Gliding his fingers through the tufts of spiky hair on his head, Bakugou sighs. “Shit…Jesus Christ, you’re unbelievable.” 

Izuku swallows, gnawing at his cheek. He realizes he might have actually made a far bigger mistake than he originally thought. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t have a right to insert myself in like that. Something kind of just came over me–” 

“No, don’t fucking apologize it’s fine–” Bakugou groans, dropping his hand. “It’s fine, Deku, I’m not mad at you. I’m honestly just scared shirtless and so confused right now and don’t know how to handle it all.” 

A beat skips inside his chest. The worst comes to mind. 

Izuku kneeds his brows together. “What’s going on?” He asks softly. “Talk to me, Bakugou.” 

Bakugou rubs his face with one hand. “I don’t–” he struggles, inhaling another breath. “This is all new to me, Deku. I’ve never had anyone do something like this for me…be so willing to do the uncomfortable just to make my life fucking easier.” 

Izuku swallows thickly. 

“ You… ” Bakugou drops his hand and walks closer. So close that Izuku could feel the heat rise up through his chest and to his cheeks. He swallows again as his heart pulsates with increased intensity. Don’t. Please don’t- 

“I don’t understand you,” Bakugou drags out, dropping his head onto Izuku’s shoulder. 

Frozen. Izuku’s entire body goes still. Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.

Fuck. 

Biting down on his tongue, Izuku shuts his eyes as he smells Bakugou’s morning breath—fighting the urge to just step away and tell him to stop touching. Stop making it worse when Izuku himself is already walking that path. 

It hurts so bad, this feeling within. This feeling of unrequited unknowingness of it all. But it’s not Bakugou’s fault. It’s not his fault.

And he simply cannot punish the blonde because of it, especially when he’s finally begun to let in that vulnerability and friendly intimacy that has never shown the light of day. 

He takes his arms and envelops the blonde, squeezing to distract himself from the painful pound inside his chest. To stop the shake in his hands. 

Bakugou doesn’t hug back, keeping his arms to his sides as he exhales into Izuku’s shirt. 

“To be honest…” Izuku starts, clenching his hand tightly on the back of his shirt. “I don’t understand me sometimes either.” 

“So…” Uraraka trails, trying to mentally catch up as Izuku attempts to not zone out ahead. “If I heard it all correctly, you–” she pauses, leaning back in her driver's seat with a puzzled expression. “You realized you have feelings, and instead of taking a second to think it all through, you agreed to go on a trip with him next weekend that’s 3 and a half hours away? A trip that his whole psychotic family will be at??” 

Izuku bites at his straw. “Uh…yeah that pretty much sums it up.” He swallows, gripping his plastic cup. 

Uraraka blinks at him, and she blinks at him hard. “I know we’ve all been teasing you about this, which in hindsight definitely didn’t help, but considering this has gone from innocent to reckless really fast…I’m slightly worried.”

After a silent hour of sipping coffee on the couch with the blonde, Izuku had called Uraraka to immediately come and pick him up as soon as Bakugou left. He didn’t care that she was still in bed with Iida, comfortable as can be.  

However, as soon as he briefly explained his predicament, she shot out of bed so fast Izuku could have sworn he heard Iida fall off and onto the hardwood ground. 

“I really fucked up, didn’t I?” he groans, lifting his leg up onto the seat. 

“A little bit, yeah,” she presses, looking at him with worry. “I haven’t seen you act like this since sophomore year.” 

He doesn’t need her to remind him to know that. Sighing, he leans his head back against the window. They’ve been parked in the Southside parking lot for about 20 minutes now, taking advantage of the privacy within a closed and quiet space away from others. 

“I just…” He plays with the straw with his fingertips. “ God, something came over me. That stupid part of me jumped before I could think.”  

It’s scary. Really scary, especially when he knows the bottom is all concrete.

Urarka frowns, putting her drink into the center console. “I know you really care about him, especially when you see so much of yourself in his experiences,” she sighs, lifting her leg like Izuku. “I don’t blame you for making the decision, or for your feelings, I just don't want you getting hurt.” 

He knows. 

Sliding a thumb over his lips, Izuku nods. “I know, Uraraka…I just– fuck.” He lifts his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. This all is a mess. 

Everything would be different if the blonde wasn’t straight. If he wasn’t Bakugou Katsuki. 

But he is, and everything about it is utterly devastating. 

“Look,” she starts, reaching out a hand to rub his bicep for comfort. “I know you, and I know you’re going to drive yourself insane because of all this.” 

He turns his head to her, still pinching his middle brow. 

“Let’s not go down that hole yet. Maybe tell me about why you like him. Like…what parts of him drive you to act so intensely?” She lets go of his arm, shrugging. “I don’t know, maybe it’ll help figure out the root so you are able to find a way to move past it all.” 

Izuku swallows, putting his drink down next to hers. Wrapping an arm around his knee he takes a second before nodding. He’s always appreciated her for trying to be supportive when it's needed, despite the road bumps. “Alright…” 

He doesn’t have to think for very long. 

“Uhm, well he’s really attractive, obviously,” he starts, getting a roll of the eyes from Uraraka. No shit, anyone with eyeballs knows that. “I..” his chest starts to tighten like earlier, hands around his lungs. It was never his generalized attractiveness he found so endearing at first...  

“I really like his eyes—how red and powerful they are, and how they can look so soft at the same time.” He brushes his fingers across the seams of his pants. “How intelligent he is, with the way he handles his words in the right setting and on paper. God, Uraraka his writing is so beautiful—he has such a way with vulnerability when he’s pushed in the right direction.” Izuku grips at his pant leg. “I love how human he is even though everyone else in this town sees someone perfect and untouchable—how I’m one of the only people he lets see its reality. He knows how to match my energy and put me in my place, and I can’t help but be obsessed with the way he smells in any situation. The cinnamon at parties, and the cleanliness after showers. Even his morning breath.” A short laugh bubbles in his throat. “That even though he caught me doing something most people find disgusting and disgraceful, he never saw me in a different light. That even though he knows I’m gay, he lets me touch him and sit so close– ”   

He catches himself amid a ramble, slamming his mouth shut as a blush creeps up his neck. He hasn’t rambled like that since–oh. 

Oh.

Uraraka stares at him with an open mouth. “Dude...” She swallows, closing her parted lips. “You’re so screwed.” 

“Uraraka!” He exclaims, grabbing his face with a groan. 

“I’m sorry!” She yells back. “I genuinely thought that there would be some buffer around this for me to point out, but you really like him. Like really like him, I’m shocked it took you this long to come to its terms if I am going to be honest.”

Clearly, it’s because his mind was fighting tooth and nail for this not to happen. Of course, his body was the first to betray him and open up every single door regardless. Even the ones he bolted shut years ago.

“Jesus, what the hell am I supposed to do now, Uraraka?” He asks, pain and panic now starting to seep into his tone. “I don’t want to hurt him or scare him away. I know that I should be considering myself, but I can’t help but only worry about him.”

He watches as she struggles to find the words, fidgeting with her fingers. 

Izuku shakes his head, frustrated at himself and all that he’s done to make it worse. “I fucking can’t help but only worry about him,” he repeats, and Uraraka’s face drops. “And even though the world is screaming for me to stop, I would rather drown than leave him behind like everyone else in his life. Because I know exactly how it feels.”

Uraraka doesn’t say a word and he doesn’t realize he’s crying till a warm tear drops onto his cheek. It’s sobering, to realize the heaviness of it all—the bitterness. Sniffing, he turns his head and swiftly wipes the tear. 

But it doesn’t do much to hide the pain. He thought talking about it with her would help, but in reality, it just hurt even more. 

“Oh, honey…” Raising her armrest, she opens her arms and grabs him tightly—ignoring how uncomfortable and awkward the positioning is. It doesn’t take long for Izuku to return the grasp, latching his arms around her smaller body. 

He chokes on his own breath as he tries to take it all in. “Why did he have to be straight, Uraraka?” 

“I know…” she hushes, tightening her hold on him. 

Blinking another tear, Izuku allows it to fall onto her shoulder—soaking into the pink sweater on her shoulders that just faintly smells like Iida. 

“Why did he have to be straight…” he mutters one last time, before letting the reality of it all sink down into his bones. 

As Bakugou did last night, he breaks down. But this time, the blonde will never understand why. 

Izuku rubs his dry and heavy eyes with the back of his hand, trying to keep himself awake despite it being a normal hour of the day. The Red Bull he’d chugged hadn’t worked, at least, not yet. 

But he’s not banking on it, not after crying earlier and it being a rough weekend as it is. 

Phone buzzing against his paint cart, Izuku puts his brush down and grabs it. Taking a quick glance at the contact, he lets himself smile—sliding to answer it. 

“Hey, momma,” he says, leaning forward on his knees—ignoring the wet paint that now stains his elbows. 

“Hi, sweetie,” her soft-spoken voice tickles his ear and relaxes his shoulders. “This a good time?” 

It’s always a good time with her. He hums, nodding to himself. “Always. I’m just at the studio, what’s up?” 

Izuku hasn’t called his mom in a while. Texting, yes, but he hasn’t had the chance to truly hear her voice in well over a month. Not because of any issues, thankfully, but simply because he hasn’t been in the right mindset. With school, tutoring, his portfolio, Bakugou…

The timing is impeccable if anything. He really did want his mom after a day like this. Even if it feels selfish all things considered. 

He can hear her rustling for something in what he assumes is a cabinet. “Your father is out for the day and I’m doing housework, so I thought I’d see how you were doing. It’s been a bit since we’ve called.” 

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh, tightly pressing his fingers on the back of his neck with a wince. He can feel a knot trying to form. “I’m doing alright, but definitely biting off more than I can chew. You know me and my habits."

His mom makes a noise of slight concern. “Habits I do wish you’d break sometimes. But I know you can’t help it.” A pause as the cabinet drawer is shut. “Tell me what’s going on. Is it just school? Friend stuff?” 

Dropping his hand to his lap, Izuku nibbles at a loose piece of skin on the inside of his cheek. “A little bit of everything, but yeah, school is a part of it.” The stool beneath him squeaks as he adjusts. “I don’t remember if I told you, but I’m tutoring someone through the semester.” 

“Oh!” His mom exclaims, chipper to try and add light. “How’s that going?”

Complicated.

“It’s… going,” he says, not sure how to even explain his situation. Or if he could. He swallows. 

Having that conversation with Uraraka was hard enough. 

“Tough student?” 

“At first, yeah,” he admits, reaching over to pick at his palette’s dried paint spots. “But getting closer and building trust made it easier as it went on. The problem though…is I think we’ve gotten a little, well…” he struggles at the last bit, clearing his throat. “ Too close.” 

“Oh,” she says with a little less excitement. Realization. “Ok, well are you being safe, Izuku?” 

His face heats up. God, mom…

He hisses through his teeth with a cringe. “Oh my god, not–” he exhales as the warmth on his face makes him feel dizzy. “Not that close, mom.” Partially his bad, he should have known phrasing it like that would only lead to a mother’s assumptions. 

“Well I don’t know, ” she says, clearly unphased by her previous words. “You know I jump to those conclusions. I’m aware you don’t have to worry about getting anyone pregnant, but safe sex is always important regardless.” 

“Mom-” he strains. This entire weekend is going to be his breaking point, for god’s sake–

“Don’t mom me, Izuku, I’m allowed to ask embarrassing questions,” she huffs, lightheartedly knowing he’s embarrassed right now. “Now tell me about this person, I assume they’re a he?”

She’s known for a long time—around middle school. He remembers being scared out of his mind walking up to her in this kitchen, ready to spill his guts, when she took his hand a smiled. Sitting him down she made sure to give him no worry.

She already knew. 

“Yeah, they’re a he.” He takes a deep breath to try and ease the heat on his cheeks. “And he drives me crazy.” 

A chuckle. “You like him, huh?”  

Izuku’s eyes drop to the paint-stained floor. “Yeah…” 

His mom senses his shift instantly. He can hear her adjust the phone by her ear. “What’s wrong, Izuku? You don’t seem thrilled with it all.” 

Izuku shakes his head. “It’s hard to be thrilled when it’s for someone who will never feel the same. I talked with Uraraka about it, and I love her, but she didn’t help the way I wanted her to. I feel disgusting more than anything, honestly.”

Dirty. Wrong. 

“You’re not disgusting, honey.” He can hear the break in her voice, devastated that her son could think such a thing about himself. “Love is a complicated complicated thing that evolves and changes every day,” her words soften. “I may never be able to understand the kind of ache you go through, but I’m also not inexperienced. We as people sometimes can’t control the emotions and desires that run wild within us, and simply being ashamed only makes it hurt more.”

“I just–” He struggles to find the words, peeling off a chunk of dried cerulean. “I don’t know what I’m doing. It seems that even though I know I need to step away, I end up making it worse instead.” 

Fuck, he really wishes she was here. He misses his mom, more than he thought. 

“Well…” she starts. “Things do get complicated when the head and heart are facing two different directions.” 

“But which side am I supposed to listen to?” He huffs, swallowing down the tightness in his throat. He really doesn’t want to cry again. “I don’t want to lose him, and I don’t want to feel like this either.” 

“I can’t be the one to tell you that, sweetheart,” she sighs, sadly. “All I can tell you is that no matter the outcome of this situation, you must be kind to yourself. You worry a lot about the others around and the future ahead of you more than you think, and in turn, it leads to your own exhaustion.”

“You make it sound like it’s easy.”

“It’s not,” she admits. “It’s hard and it sucks. I know because I’m still married to your father, and I have yet to find that kindness toward myself as well.”

Izuku nods, though she can’t see his motion. “You really do need to leave, mom…”

“And you really need to cut yourself some slack, Izuku,” she comes right back and he shuts his mouth. “The future is uncertain for us all. It’ll pass, or it won’t. But you won’t be able to reach that ending till you come to peace with it first.”

He swallows again as he listens to her short breaths. The way she clicks her tongue in thought. “So what do I do? Do I just continue on like nothing happened?” 

“Not necessarily,” she pauses. “I think it’s more about acceptance—accepting that we can’t control what happens, only what we perceive. He will either never feel the same, or something might surprise the both of you. If you spend too much time obsessing over one single probability, you’ll ruin the chance for something better, or the goodness you hold at this moment.” 

“Oh…” 

“You care about him, right?”

His heart squeezes. “More than anything.” 

She chuckles at his quick response. “Then continue to care. Be by his side, respect the boundaries, and continue to cherish the goodness of it all. If you reach a point where you must grieve, then grieve. But also don’t be afraid to have a conversation with him if it at all ever gets to be too much. In those moments, you’ll know what part of your head and heart to listen to—but you won’t know until the time comes.”

Izuku smiles, fighting the tightness in his throat and the heat in his eyes. The need to cry again. He appreciates his friends and their words and willingness to help, but he forgot how much he appreciated his mom’s words as well. She always knows what to say. 

He needed this. He needed this a lot. 

“Fuck, I miss you, momma.” 

“Language,” she teases. “But, I miss you too, sweetheart. More than anything.” She sniffs and he knows she’s near tears herself—always emotional like him. “Don’t tear yourself down, ok? Most love isn’t supposed to be something we regret.”

He can’t help but frown, lifting his hand from the palette. His heart aches differently. 

“Do you ever regret loving Dad?” 

Her tongue clicks again. “I don’t regret falling in love.” She pauses to take a shaky breath. “I wouldn’t have you or the positive memories if I didn’t. But what I do regret is not listening to my head when it was telling me it was time to go, and now I’m not sure if I can now.” 

“I’m sorry, Mom…” he swallows, knowing leaving her alone with him destroyed him on the inside. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she shuts it down. “It’s not fair for you to live a lie just to satisfy another person’s desires. You left when you knew you needed to, and I will always be proud of you for it.” 

He doesn’t respond. Just nodding to himself, he fails to keep in the swelling moisture inside his eyes. He blinks a tear onto his lap. 

“Now,” she sniffs, clearing the build-up from her throat. “Enough of this boy talk, I want to hear how everything else is going.” 

“Okay.” He chokes a laugh, lifting his thumb to wipe at his eyes. “Do you maybe wanna hear about my new friend Ashido? I think you might like her.”

She snickers and he can hear her grab one of the kitchen stools—pulling it out so she can sit and listen.

 “I would love that.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, Nana, I brought–” Izuku opens her office door, noticing mid-sentence she isn’t inside. He hums to himself, shutting the door behind him and placing the two coffees on her desk. 

He’s been coming in during the early mornings throughout the week to get as much grading done as he can for her, considering he won’t exactly be available through the weekend. It’s fortunate timing that they already got most of the big grades submitted, just leaving the minor discussion assignments. 

Though, they are a bit more nit-picky than he would have liked. 

With a slow exhale, he digs out his computer and opens up the grade log—glancing at her desk to see if she left out his pile from yesterday. He frowns, not seeing them in their normal spot. Before sitting himself down, he walks around to her drawers to see if they were possibly shoved into its organized file for the section. 

Pulling open the top drawer, he bends down and starts to flick through each file—looking for her labeled 19th-century third section. If there’s one thing he likes most about Nana, it’s that she’s organized. But, as he flips file to file, his fingers stop on something different. 

His teeth find his bottom lip, nibbling out of curiosity. There’s a file with his name on it. That’s… weird. 

Grabbing the file with a careful hand, he debates opening it—unsure whether he’d like the content within. Does she have files on all of the TAs? Maybe she has to keep a file on all the students in the upper division programming…

Or maybe…his fingers tease the corner of the folder, folding from temptation. It could be something else…

The door opens and out of pure panic, he shoves the file back in and slams the drawer shut on his fingers. 

“Shit!” he yells, shooting up and nearly falling back from the shock and pain of it all. He grabs his hand and winces. “God, that’s gonna–” Turning his head, he closes his mouth tight to prevent another word from spilling. 

Nana is standing at the door with her friend, Toshinori, And they’re both looking at him like he’s gone absolutely mental. 

“You doing alright there, kiddo?” Nana asks, brow raised. 

Shaking out his now throbbing hand, he nods his head—embarrassed. “Y-yeah, sorry I was looking for the section three discussion papers. You just startled me is all.” 

“Ah, sorry about that. I have them right here, actually–” she starts, lifting a file in her hands as she looks over at the desk—noticing the second coffee by her computer. Her eyes light up. “Did you bring me coffee?” 

Izuku nods again, chuckling sheepishly as he clenches his hand to try and dull down the pain. “I felt bad for always coming so early…” He’d do it with Midnight too, bringing her a sweet treat or caffeine if they were both finding each other’s presence more frequently in the week. 

Her glossy lips relax into a soft smile. “Midnight better be careful, I might take you permanently with this treatment.” She walks inside, letting Toshinori trail behind. 

Snorting, Izuku walks out from behind her desk and grabs the file from her. “Good luck with that.” He sets it down next to his computer and looks up at the taller man, lifting his hand for a small greeting. “Hey, Toshinori, how are you doing today?” 

Toshinori smiles down, bright white teeth unafraid of showing. “I’m doing just fine, young man. And yourself?” 

“Busy, but good,” he responds, sitting himself down. “What brings you back to campus?” 

It’s not always a common occurrence to see alumni on campus—often, at least. Mizu isn’t exactly in close proximity to larger cities where most go after graduation. He can only assume it’s like that for the older man. 

Toshinori hums, pulling out another extra chair as Nana sits herself down. “Ah, simply getting stuff in order. She’s aiding me with an event that’s taking place in a few months, so I’ve been traveling over here more often since she’s busier than normal this semester.” He taps a long finger on the desk, getting a slight grin out of Nana. “Did I ever mention she was my mentor back when I attended here?” 

“Oh, hush,” Nana lightly kicks him under the table as she takes a sip of her coffee. 

“No, you didn’t.” Izuku’s eyes brighten as he leans back, glancing between the two of them. “That’s really cool, I had no idea Nana took individual students under her wing.”

Though, there is a lot he doesn’t know about the woman in question. It’s been nearly four years and he still doesn’t know much about her besides the basics. 

“Yep!” He chuckles. “Class of 97 and 99! Got my masters with her help as well.” 

Nana rolls her eyes playfully. “That was over twenty-five years ago, you’re making me feel old.” 

“We’re both old, Nana.” Toshinori shrugs, getting another kick under the table from his mentor. 

Izuku snorts at the bickering, leaning forward and rolling up his sleeves—preparing to get everything started before he gets too distracted. Even though he does want to keep chatting.  

Toshinori’s eyes find his arms through the motion, and he makes a face that could only be registered as awe. “Oh my, those are some beautiful tattoos, young Midoriya.” 

“Hm?” Izuku looks back over, taking a second to register. “Oh, thank you!” He looks down at the ink, specifically the All Might one on his forearm. He realizes the older man probably didn’t see them last time due to the fact he always wears long sleeves. “I couldn’t not get tattoos from my favorite artists, you know?” 

So much for not getting distracted. 

Toshinori nods, leaning in closer. “The Van Gogh one is lovely, and…is that I am Here? ” There’s a tone change in the man’s voice, but not enough to sound concerning. More surprised, if anything. 

“It is.” Smiling, Izuku pulls up his sleeve a little bit more to expose the full surface area. “It’s one of my favorite pieces by All Might. When I got the chance to see the piece in person, I knew I needed it as a print or tattoo.”

“Good choice,” he responds, leaning back in his chair. “It’s definitely one of my favorites too.”

Nana chuckles. “You both truly can’t help it.” Her hands clutch her coffee cup softly, painted nails popping with the white of the paper. “Let the kid get started, Toshi.” 

“Ah!” Toshinori realizes his fault. “My bad, my boy. I tend to get chatty and don’t realize.” 

Izuku shakes his head. “No worries at all, I like talking to you guys so it’s on me for getting distracted too,” he says, scratching the side of his lip. “I’d be happy to talk to you more next time you’re on campus and we’re both free.”

Truly, he would. There’s something about the older man that has Izuku so captivated— something about him that he can’t pinpoint that’s ever so slightly itching the inside of his head. 

Not to mention, he makes good conversation. 

A nod of agreement. “I’d like that, Midoriya.”

Nana puts her coffee down, moving to type on her keyboard. “By the way, while I have you here, kiddo…” she says, changing the subject to get things back on track. “I might have you take a little more from me to grade if you have the time. I know it’s not your section, but I had a couple of students in my 102 course email me their papers late yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah,” Izuku responds, glancing at his own computer. “Just forward them to me and I can take a look after I’m done with the discussions. It’s the paper on Academy influences, right?” He remembers the paper she’s referring to, having taken this class ages ago at the beginning of his major requirements. 

“How you remember everything with these courses is beyond me,” Nana comments keeping her eyes on the screen in front of her as she navigates. “Yes, I’ll forward them to you. Just have them to me by next Tuesday, no big rush.”

Leaning on his elbows, Izuku waits for the notification from her in his email to pop up. “I’ll probably have them done by tomorrow. I’m going to be out of town this weekend if I ever mentioned to you.” 

“That’s right.” A couple of clicks on her mouse. “Saitama?” 

Nodding, he doesn’t even try to stifle the sigh that slips from his dry lips. “Saitama, yeah.” He reaches for the papers by his computer, opening the yellow file. 

Toshinori snorts at that, crossing his arms. “I’m guessing it’s not for anything fun?” 

Izuku makes a noise of uncertainty, pulling out the first few papers. “I wouldn’t say going to a friend’s family work event is exactly fun, but there’s no telling how it will all go.” Reaching over to Nana’s desk, he grabs a pen from her utensil cup—clicking it. “He’s…going through a lot and didn’t get a choice in opting out of this, so I told him I’d go to help make it less stressful.” 

And to make sure his family doesn’t pull any shit. 

“I don’t blame you for being worried,” Nana responds as Izuku starts reading through the work in front of him. “The Bakugou’s are a mess.” 

“The Bakugou’s?” Toshinori cuts in, brows slightly raised. “God, I can definitely agree—from my own experience. That family does not like me–” he’s cut off by Nana kicking him under the table again—exceptionally harder this time. “OW??” Reaching down, he rubs the sore spot that’s most likely forming from the continuous kicks. 

Izuku snaps his head up. “The hell was that?” That was a warning kick if he ever saw one. He does it with Uraraka when she doesn’t know when to shut her mouth. 

Innocently, Nana smiles at Izuku. “Nothing, it’s just not the time or place,” she says through grit teeth at the man, “ for him to be talking poorly about them, is all.”

Izuku raises one brow. “Okay?” That was weird. 

Toshinori sits up, clearing his throat. “Yeah, uh…we work nearby back in Tokyo so I’ll yammer for hours about them and their irritating opinions.” He scratches the back of his head as Nana gives him a ‘be careful’ glance. “We can talk about it some other time, but I’ll let you work for now and stop distracting you guys for real this time.” A lighthearted smile, one that looks a little too forced to be natural. 

Blinking, Izuku looks back over at his computer and work. “Alright…” 

Yeah, that was really weird. 

It’s like there is something deeper involved in such interactions between the man and Bakugou’s family. Something more than just irritations or bump-ins. Enough so to make even a simple conversation complicated.  

Izuku types at his computer as the two adults in front of him give eachother glances. He thought before the itch inside his head was annoying…

But after that whole conversation? 

There is something about that man…and the itch inside can’t help but grow.

Izuku fights to roll his eyes when he hears Bakugou honk his horn outside the apartment complex. Loud, as always. 

“So impatient…” he mutters under his breath, grabbing his backpack and duffle bag—throwing both over each shoulder as he looks for his keys and wallet. 

Along with keeping himself busy in school and work, Izuku has somehow slightly convinced himself that everything will be fine. A few deep breaths, reassurance from his mom, and a lot of thinking—a challenge it still will be. 

Because truly, there is really nothing good he can do in this situation besides to wait and see. 

Taking one more big deep breath, he opens the door and unlocks it behind him—peeking around the corner to see Bakugou’s car waiting with its hazards blinking. It’s early. 8 a.m. early. 

But, the blonde wanted to get there before his parents to have some breathing room and Izuku couldn’t exactly complain or protest the fact. He’s lucky he’s usually up early anyway. 

“My neighbors are going to hate you, Bakugou,” Izuku snarks as he opens the back door and throws both bags in. He swallows, trying to keep his cool as they make brief eye contact. 

Deep breaths, Izuku…

“Yeah, well, they all can suck my fucking big toe. Get in, loser,” Bakugou says with a huff, gripping the steering wheel. He’s already tense, it seems. 

Getting in, Izuku looks at him with a worried glance—shutting the door and slipping on his seatbelt. His need to take a deep breath dissipates. “Talk to me, what’s going on?” 

Clicking his tongue, Bakugou puts the car in drive and presses the gas. “It’s nothing, I’m just fucking stressed and slept like shit last night.” Izuku watches his finger tap on the leather of the wheel, exhaling roughly as he turns. “We’re stopping at Cosmo’s to get gas first and grab whatever the fuck for caffeine and food. I don’t want to stop unless we need to.” 

Izuku anticipated a bit of uneasiness from the blonde during this trip, especially the drive. He can’t blame him for it, it’s not exactly a getaway trip full of relaxation. 

“Fine with me,” Izuku responds, leaning back in his seat. “I’ll buy whatever you want from inside, just pick it out.” 

Bakugou snorts as he stops at the stop sign ahead, warming a little bit of Izuku’s heart as he lightens up. “Aren’t you the broke one here?”

This time, Izuku allows an eye roll as he smiles and looks out the passenger window. “I could not  buy you snacks.”

“Nah, no takebacks. I want my onigiri and shitty iced coffee.” 

A chuckle. “That’s what I thought.” 

Sticking the gas pump into his monster of a car and sliding his card to pay, Bakugou walks up to the station door close behind Izuku. 

“I don’t even want to know how much it costs to fill up your tank,” Izuku jokes, opening the door to let the blonde in first. “I think I would cry.” 

“Half the time I don’t even want to fucking know either.” Bakugou shakes his head, beelining it to the drinks section to grab his coffee. 

“Get more than one if you want, it’s going to be a long drive,” he shouts to the blonde as he makes his way over to grab some of his own snacks. He’s not usually one to eat a lot for breakfast, so a pastry, some chips, and an energy drink will do him just fine for a while. 

Besides, long drives like this eliminate his appetite anyway…

After grabbing a couple of things, he makes his way down the other side of the store to look for chips he might crave. 

Turning down the next aisle, paying little attention, Izuku ends up bumping into the back of someone. He flinches, gasping slightly at his error. “Oh my god, I’m so sorr–”

“It’s no worries–” The stranger turns, dark eyes going wide as the both of them realize at the same time that neither of them are exactly strangers. 

He'd love to know what god he pissed off recently to cause this.  

“Oh, Midoriya!” Sato says, surprised, blinking down at Izuku and his buffering expression. “Funny seeing you here so early.” 

This is all a little disorienting—humbling, even. But it usually always is when it comes to bumping into hookups during the light of day. 

“H-hey!” Clearing his throat, Izuku looks up. “Yeah, I’m going out of town this weekend so I’m just grabbing some stuff for the road. How’s it going?” The last time he saw Sato, he was running away after Bakugou watched him get railed against a dirty basement wall. 

Fucking yikes.

At least he doesn’t seem upset about it…

A nod. “It’s going good, I have a long shift today so I came for a similar reason. Snacks and energy,” a chuckle as he reaches back and scratches his neck. He really is a handsome man—even in the lighting of a gas station: good skin, clean clothes, an easiness to his presence. 

Sure, they’ve fucked twice, but that doesn’t mean he’s had the full opportunity to gaze at his physical features in broad sober daylight outside of a bedroom. Again, prefacing, sober. 

Tilting his head, Izuku crosses his arms and glances to the side. Bakugou walks into view, catching his eyes and stopping. Fuck, not again. “W-where do you work again? I’m sorry, I don’t know if you ever mentioned.” 

“It’s no worries,” he says, licking his lips. “It’s not like we do much talking when we see one another, anyway.” 

Bakugou’s jaw drops with disbelief and Izuku can feel his face go hot in an instant. 

Sato smirks, noticing the reaction as he steps a little closer—sliding into his personal space. “I just work over at The Foundry as a server around the corner.”

“Oh! That’s cool, I haven’t been there in ages…” Izuku exhales, lifting a hand to play at the collar of his shirt. Bakugou narrows his eyes and shuts his mouth tight, making him swallow hard. 

Don’t look at me like that, not here.

This feels inappropriate.  

Biting at the corner of his lip, Sato does an up and down and Izuku nearly dies on the spot. “Well, I do give out free drinks to–”

A groan. “Alright shithead, I’ve got my stuff, let's get fucking moving,” Bakugou snaps, interrupting Sato’s words. 

The black-haired man whips around, leaving Izuku absolutely mortified and red in the face at what is most likely to come. 

Bakugou lifts his lip in a sneer, showing off disgust and lack of amusement at the situation as a whole. “Got something to say, you fucking Hot Topic extra ?”

“Bakugou…” Izuku grits through his teeth.

Jesus!

Sato turns back with a raised and confused brow—ignoring the blonde’s threat. “Bakugou? Really?? Ok, I’m not even going to ask because I’m assuming it’s a long story…” He points a thumb back and Izuku watches as Bakugou’s nostrils flare like a bull’s. “Like, a really long story.”

Long story doesn’t even begin to summarize. 

“Uh…yeah,” Izuku says, trying to look at Bakugou and signal not to cause a scene. That is the last thing he needs right now. He’s snapped back over and almost jumps when a hand touches his shoulder softly. 

“I won’t keep you much longer, I know blondie over here is particularly impatient.” Sato reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone with the other hand. He holds it out for Izuku. “Let me at least get your number. I didn’t get the chance last time.” 

Swallowing again, Izuku clenches his fist and reaches out to grab it. “F-fair point, that was my bad…” he types in his digits quickly before handing it back. With each number punch, he could feel the hot red irises of Bakugou’s eyes stare him down hard. Watching as a hawk does to its prey. 

His stomach tightens. 

“Thanks,” Sato responds, keeping his head low. He taps on the screen and Izuku feels his phone buzz in his back pocket. For just a split second, the guy turns to glance at Bakugou. 

“Text me whenever you need to get your mind off things. If not, it seems we always know where to find one another in the end.” He looks back, winking, before stepping to the side to leave the aisle. 

Rubbing a hand over his mouth, Izuku turns to the side—avoiding Bakugou’s stare. He feels hot all over, bothered. Not because of the purr in Sato’s voice, or the closeness of his body—reminders of his hands and heavy breath during sex. Not because he just got his number, either. 

But because Bakugou watched the whole thing with a look in his eyes that felt near predatory. 

Bakugou starts walking over but Izuku puts a finger up to prevent a word from slipping. Not a word in while we still stand in this gas station…

He quickly views the aisle and grabs a bag without thinking too hard, turning to walk up front—the blonde trailing close behind with his own findings. The cashier understands the memo, scanning and bagging quickly with a friendly smile. Izuku pays and thanks them before speed walking out to the blonde’s car—opening the door and throwing himself inside.

Exhaling, he puts the bag down and rubs his face with one hand—stopping at the bridge of his nose and squeezing. He listens to the sounds of Bakugou fiddling with the gas pump, keeping his face forward even as the blonde opens the door and climbs in. 

Shutting the door, Bakugou looks over. But Izuku refuses to look back.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the blonde breaks the moment of silence, grasping the wheel as he presses start on the ignition. 

“Can we please pretend that didn’t fucking happen?” Izuku begs before groaning and covering his face with both hands this time. “For my sanity.” 

“Fuck no,” Bakugou, unfortunately, disagrees and shifts into drive. “Watching him flirt with you in a gas station just might have been my 13th fucking reason.”

Izuku wincnes. It was kind of his too, but for other reasons. “It was really awkward, I know–”

Bakugou lets out a tsk. “Fucker wants to get his dick wet so bad is what it was.” He pulls out of the gas station, making his way down the main road. “Fucking pissed me the fuck off...” 

Wait….huh?

Dragging his hands down his face, Izuku finally looks over. “It…huh? Why do you care about that? I didn’t think you cared about my sex life like that, Bakugou.” 

“I don’t,” the blonde says a little too fast, visibly swallowing. “But I do care when it comes to some shitty fucking guy who acts like that. Even I have fucking class.” He shakes his head, looking at the road ahead. “You aren’t seriously debating fucking him again, are you?” 

Izuku blinks at this outburst, unsure of how to take it all. He…really is mad about all of this too—he can tell with Bakugou’s body language and grind of his molars. 

Uraraka doesn’t even get this defensive and angry about the guys he chooses to sleep with. Because it’s just sex. Unless it was ever more. 

“Would…would it really bother you if I did?” He asks, leaning back as he tries to make sense of the blonde. How confusing he can get in such a short time span. “It’s just sex, it’s not like we’re dating or anything.”

Bakugou swallows, thicker this time. Izuku’s face drops. 

“Bakugou–” 

“No,” he responds, gripping tightly at the wheel. “No, I don’t fucking give a shit,” he repeats, almost as if he’s convincing himself more than Izuku right next to him. “Now hand me my coffee before I properly lose my mind.”

Izuku doesn’t say anything, reaching forward and digging through the bag. He pulls out his coffee and hands it over, grabbing his own drink in the process. 

They both crack open their drinks and sit in silence for a moment, listening to the soft hum of music and the tires rolling on the asphalt below. 

Rubbing a hand over his chest, Izuku takes a deep and slow breath—lifting his drink to take a sip. His brain wants to overthink the whole thing—make him spiral. Wonder why the blonde was so aggressive about it all. So protective. Feed himself lies and hopes that’s never meant to last.

But…it really will do him no good. It’s not worth it when the more than likely reality of it all is he’s a friend acting with care. 

It’s not worth it. 

With his other hand, Izuku grabs his phone from his back pocket—squeezing it close to his side. 

Not when he’s already fighting the current while thigh-deep in these waters. 

Yawning, Izuku stretches out his legs under the glovebox—trying to ease out the tightness forming in his hamstrings. 

“You doing alright?” He asks, looking over at Bakugou as he lifts his arms over his head. He winces as something in his shoulder cracks. “We can switch if you need, I know you said you didn’t sleep well.” 

Bakugou shakes his head, sighing as he reaches for his now second coffee. “It’s fine, it’s only another hour.” 

 “Alright, just let me know,” Izuku says, nodding as he looks out the window. They’ve been on the road for about two and a half hours now, mostly sticking to their silence and music. It’s hard to find conversation this early in the day, especially in a long drive. 

But Izuku doesn’t exactly mind. The scenery is pretty in this part of Japan and the casualness of it all is nothing to frown upon. Besides, Bakugou is clearly exhausted and not in much of a mood to be super chatty. 

“Oh, by the way…” he says, remembering a crucial detail that he’s yet to confirm. “What even is this event we’re going to? I don’t think you mentioned the whole gist yet.” He sits up straight, looking over with his arm propped against the side of the door. “All I know is that it’s an important event for your family, and I had to pack dress clothes so I don’t embarrass myself.” 

Bakugou clicks his tongue against his teeth, putting his coffee down. “It’s a fucking conference.” He shakes his head, annoyed. “Every year they have a really big one to bring together all the collaborators, business partners, and investors for a chance to kiss ass and make more money. On top of a panel, they do a dinner toward the end—which is why I made you pack those stuffy ass clothes.” 

God, how suffocatingly stuck up. 

Izuku lifts his lip in a cringe. “Ew, and they make you go every year?” 

A shrug. “Usually I can get out of it if I have a real excuse like hockey or midterm prep,” Bakugou says with a sharp exhale. “But not this time .” 

“I guess it’s good you don’t have to miss a game this weekend, since you’re next one isn’t for a bit,” Izuku says, trying to add some positive to it. He knows it would only be two times more stressful if the blonde was missing a game just to drive three and a half hours out for ass-kissing and dinner. 

Izuku would be going feral if he were in those shoes. 

Bakugou shakes his head. “Yeah, well, knowing her she would have made me go this time regardless if I had a damn game or not. She’s hard to banter with when she gets like this.”

“I could gather that…” Izuku says, trailing off—watching as Bakugou’s hand on the steering wheel tightens. 

It’s silent between the two for a few beats of the song playing on the stereo—Vide Noir by Lord Huron. 

“Can I ask you something?” The blonde asks, glancing away from the road. He reaches forward to fiddle with the controls, reducing the volume to a hum. 

“Uh, yeah,” Izuku responds, a little hesitant. He licks his lips. “Hit me.” 

Bakugou swallows. “How do you…” he pauses, struggling on the next part of the sentence. “Articulate your words so damn well?” He lifts his hand off the wheel, waving it with his words. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like–” a huff. “I have never in my damn life gotten my mom to actually listen to a word I say. But you got her to shut up and actually compensate for something. Twice.”

Izuku nods in understanding, lifting one of his legs up to the seat. It’s fair for the blonde to be curious about it all. He’s never exactly been super clear on how or why. “Well, for starters, she’s not my mom.” 

Bakugou blinks, a little annoyed at the answer. “No fucking shit, jackass.” 

Grimacing, Izuku puts one of his hands up. “I know I know, let me finish.” He puts the hand back down when the blonde eases up, wrapping it around his knee. “She’s not my mom and she has no personal ammo on me, which makes it easier to bite the bit.” He watches Bakugou nod a little as he listens, turning to look back at the road fully. “But …it’s also because I learned the game on how to talk to people who behave like her.”

“Your dad?” Bakugou asks and Izuku nods. 

“I’ve told you a bit about him and how he was growing up.” He starts, getting a nod from the blonde this time. “I actually didn’t start learning how to stand up for myself until I was in…god, high school? I think I was fifteen.” Looking down at his arm wrapped around his knee, he pinches the fabric of his pants. “He was always emotionally and verbally abusive, kind of like your mom but with less screaming. Comments here and there, misogynistic ideals, arguments weekly about stupid stuff—jabs to the ribs, really. It was never awful, but it was never pleasant either.” A sigh as he pulls at a loose thread. 

“It got bad fast when I was outed during my sophomore year.” 

Bakugou’s eyes snap over and Izuku’s heart twinges tightly. He clenches his jaw, keeping his eyes forward. 

“I assume this is the ‘story for another day’?” Bakugou asks, referring to one of their last conversations on his balcony. 

Izuku winces, still facing forward. “Yeah…” a deep breath. “My mom already knew I was gay in middle school, but he never found out until everything spread like wildfire around our town.” He swallows thickly as the memory bubbles within his brain. “I was stupid and wrote a note to the guy I had a crush on—Slipped it in his locker. Of course , he took it and plastered it all over the school after telling all his friends,” he scoffs. “I was very quickly treated like a disease.” 

In the corner of his eye, Izuku can see Bakugou frown—his fingers rubbing at the wheel’s leather. 

Izuku clenches his fist, catching the edges of his pants. “My dad came home so angry after one of his co-workers told him, I thought he was going to hit me.” He pauses. “And that’s kind of when everything snapped, I guess.” 

He remembers the specific feeling—like a thread snapping under stress within. It was so fast he almost didn’t feel it, but the emotions that boiled over afterward made it hard to miss. A chain reaction, it was. 

Izuku takes a breath, holding it in for a second. “It all exploded and we got into a massive fight. Things were thrown throughout the house, his hand was bleeding at one point from breaking a glass…we didn’t stop until my mom cried and begged us to. God, it was terrifying, but after it all ended, I realized how good it felt to finally hit him back and leave a mark.” 

He lets himself turn to look at Bakugou. “I only got more practice after that. Turns out being the quiet kid all my life gave me great analyzing skills.” His lips curve into an awkward smile, trying to be light-hearted about it. 

“So…what? You just analyzed the shit out of your dad and used it against him?” 

“Pretty much,” he says with a shrug. “Over the years I learned that he liked to be on top of people. So, when I managed to finally teeter that control, it became a lot easier to throw him off guard. Doesn’t mean all of it doesn’t hurt any less, but at least I can hold my own when the situation calls for it.” 

He notices the blonde chewing at the inside of his lip as each word is spoken. Izuku frowns. 

“It’s not easy, Bakugou,” he says softly, trying to reassure him. “I had to leave home because it got so exhausting. And every parent is different.” 

“So…” Bakugou visibly tries to piece everything together. 

“Your mom is a tough case because she uses volume to take control on top of already being an extremely stubborn narcissist,” Izuku cuts in, hoping to help give him some clarity. “I’ve only been able to catch her off guard because I’m a random stranger who didn’t just yell back or feed into it. I asserted myself, stood my ground, and showed that I wasn’t taking her bullshit.”

Bakugou shakes his head. “I don’t exactly know how to do that though.” He grabs his drink and takes another sip, licking his teeth after each swallow. “I just get so angry and lose my control.” 

“It’s hard not to,” Izuku admits. “I still have my moments where I lose my cool because of him, believe me. But in the end, it’s about understanding the boundaries you need to set and further enforcing them.” 

“But if I do that–”

“You’ll be shackled?” Izuku finishes for him, getting a faint nod in response. He knows the feeling. “Bakugou…I know it’s a leap, but have you ever considered allowing yourself to be disowned or even going as far as legal unbinding?” 

It’s…a lot to mention, especially to someone so intertwined with the family. Emancipation is a hefty process and getting disowned isn’t exactly sugar in tea. 

As expected, Bakugou shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t know…”

“I’d never tell you what to do, especially when it comes to family,” Izuku drops his hand back down to the seat. “But as someone who has been disowned by their father, even though it sucks really bad—like really bad—it eventually feels really good to no longer experience the pressure of satisfaction. I’d rather be broke and happy than comfortable and suffering, and I know deep down you do too.”

A writer living his dreams, or even pursuing a really good business job with his soon-to-be degree. He can do all of that without his parents, even though it’s probably fucking terrifying even thinking about it. 

He could be happy…

Izuku doesn’t realize he’s doing it till it’s already done. His hand slowly inches over and grasps Bakugou’s shoulder, squeezing it with assurance. 

Bakugou’s head turns away from the road, locking eyes with Izuku. Lips parted just barely and an expression so neutral, so soft…

Izuku’s eyes blow wide as he finally registers the warmth from Bakugou’s body heat and his sweatshirt travels up his arm. He lets go. “Ah–sorry…I shouldn’t be distracting you.” He shutters, looking out his passenger window to hide the blush that’s more than likely forming. 

A tongue click. “It’s fine, Deku…” 

“Uh…” Izuku clears his throat, cursing at himself internally. “But yeah…even though overall your whole situation is really challenging, I'm not going to leave you high and dry. I want to help in any way I can, especially in relation to your mom.” He clenches his fist by his side and takes a breath, looking forward so he can glance back at the blonde. “I didn’t exactly invite myself to come on this trip purely for the free food and luxury stay.” 

Bakugou bites down on both lips, stifling a chuckle. “You’ll probably change your mind after my mom either murders you or yells till your ears bleed when we get there.” He nudges Izuku with his elbow, making his heart skip a beat just slightly. “I’m a little fucking nervous about what she’s gonna do.” 

“Honestly, me too,” Izuku admits, huffing nervously. “But if she tries anything sketchy at all, I’ll just do what I did to my dad and throw a banana at her to confuse her and then run out the door.” 

Bakugou’s whole body physically pauses. Blinking, he glances at Izuku with a dumbfounded expression. “Did…did you actually fucking do that?” 

Izuku raises a brow before unfortunately realizing he never actually told that story. “O-oh my god, did I never tell you about that?” He puts a hand over his mouth. 

“No?!” Bakuogu yells, clicking his cruise control on so he can rest his feet. “You threw a fucking banana at your dad??” 

Izuku busts out laughing, uncontrolled. “He was yammering for like 30 fucking minutes and I couldn’t just walk away, so I reached over to the fruit bowl, grabbed it, and then threw it at him.” He takes a breath, pressing a hand over his stomach. “It hit him across the face so I booked it out the front door.”

“Jesus Deku!” Bakugou barks, now fully engulfed in his own laughter. “A fucking banana?!” 

“A banana!” He yells back. “He locked me out of the house for three hours and I had to crawl through a window to get back in, but it was so worth it.” 

His mom nearly pissed herself laughing when he told her, even though he did damage the window frame trying to get back inside.

“You are fucking insane,” Bakugou exhales, brushing a hand through his hair—a grin painted wide across his face. Worries forgotten. 

He really does look good when he smiles.

Izuku smiles back at him, unable to control himself as his heart flutters at the sight. Painful. “Yeah…” He grips his shirt, swallowing down the thump inside his throat. 

“I guess I am.”

Chapter Text

Izuku steps out of the car, stretching his legs with a pained wince in the back of his throat. Everything feels stiff, and it’s nice to finally step out of the car and breathe some fresh air.

The last hour was rougher than they both anticipated. 

Saitama is beautiful—from the city to the secluded scenery. He’d only ever been once before, and though the duration was short, he enjoyed the time spent. 

Up in the more rural area, with less hectic traffic and city life, they traveled their way to the conference housing the company rents out. Expensive architecture, walkways, and even car parks—Izuku almost feels wrong for even stepping foot on the gravel beneath his feet. 

He told Bakugou the place was incredible as they pulled into the lot, and the blonde simply just told him to can it with the awe. Though, he kept thinking it. The wooded buildings, greenery that’s painted orange with the fall’s fresh entrance, and an exterior smell that can only be described as clean. 

“If I assumed correctly, the hag shouldn’t be here for another hour or two,” Bakugou says, huffing as he cracks his neck to the side. 

Nodding, Izuku walks over to the side of the car and opens the back door—grabbing his bag. “What’s the plan for the time being?” He shuts the door. “Just lock ourselves in the room and prepare for my imminent doom?” 

He’s not necessarily worried about his conversation with Bakugou’s mom. It’s what might happen after his mind is more occupied on. 

“Nah.” Bakugou slams his trunk shut and locks the car. “We’ll throw our shit inside our floor and then we’re going out for a bit so I don’t kill myself.” 

Izuku raises a brow, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “Floor?” 

“Yeah, floor. You deaf?” Bakugou motions to the building closest to them. One of the nicest ones on the strip. “You think my fuck ass parents would allow the family to be secluded to one room per party? We get the whole third floor, let’s go.” 

Blinking, Izuku fights the urge to drop his jaw as Bakugou leads the way down the pathway. “Oh my god…” 

Rich people…

He should have honestly expected it, all things considered. It is the Bakugou family. 

They walk into the building, Izuku trying to keep his shock to himself as he stares at all the expensive interior design choices that only rich people could love—slightly tacky but clearly expensive.  

Nonetheless, it’s still a gorgeous scene. Izuku’s not usually in nice places like this, only really visiting them as a kid when his father would attend conferences. 

It was his way of trying to set an example, which truly did backfire in the end. 

Rubbing his eye with his pointer finger, Bakugou presses the elevator button and sighs. Izuku frowns at the sight. He knows the blonde is exhausted right now, not to mention probably anxious as hell. 

“It’ll be ok,” he mutters, grabbing his attention. He isn’t alone this time, not to mention Izuku won’t let anything happen to him as long as he is here.  

The elevator dings and the doors creak open. Walking inside, they both move to lean against the back wall as Bakugou presses the third-floor button. 

“I know, it’s just fuckin nerves,” Bakugou admits, adjusting the bag on his shoulder as the doors shut. 

Izuku nods. “I don’t blame you, I’d be nervous too. But this year will be different, you know?”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m here this time.” 

Elevator humming with each level rise, Bakugou looks at Izuku with an expression most consider as ambivalence—unable to distinguish just how to feel as Izuku comforts. Sad? Hopeful? 

Those big ruby eyes stare at him like he’s on another planet. 

Izuku swallows, grip tightening on his bag. He could swim in those crimson pools. “What?” 

“Nothing.” He shakes his head before turning to look at the closed doors. 

It’s obviously not nothing…

Dinging, the doors open to reveal the third floor. Bakugou huffs and walks out, letting Izuku trail behind closely. Immediately, he nearly trips from the sight of it all. 

Bakugou wasn’t pulling his leg, they really do have a floor to themselves. Kitchen, living room, bathroom, bedroom. 

Judging by the surface area alone, it’s bigger than his damn apartment. 

“Wow…” Izuku let's slip. 

“I told you to quit it with the awe,” Bakugou says, rolling his eyes. He drops his bag on the floor in front of the couch. 

“Well, I can’t exactly help it.” He drops his bag next to his. “We were well off but never this well off. Do you have this whole floor to yourself when it’s just you?” 

“Usually.” He plops down on the couch, rubbing the back of his neck with both hands. “Unless I go to the bars late as fuck and bring someone back for the night.” 

Izuku tries to pretend he didn’t just feel a weird knot form inside his stomach. The very thought of Bakugou fucking a girl in this same room…touching her and kissing each inch of her body… 

He clears his throat, banishing those foul thoughts to the depths of hell where he so belongs. 

Looking up at the ceiling, Bakugou exhales. “But yeah, it’s usually just me.” 

“I’m sorry, I bet that can get pretty lonely…” Izuku joins him on the other side, sitting down softer. 

“It’s whatever.” A shrug. “It’s been my whole life, so you eventually get used to the quiet.” 

There’s definitely a disconnect. Feeling so lonely even with all this stuff all around, all this space. It’s…kind of no wonder Bakugou’s so jumpy when it comes to human connection, he was deprived of it. Even in the simplest of forms. 

Izuku opens his mouth to respond—tell him it still sucks and he didn’t deserve a life such as this. But Bakugou takes his hands and drops them on his lap loudly, stopping him before he can start. 

“By the way, there’s only one bed ‘cause it’s normally just me, but I can take the couch.” He motions to the room across from them. “I get so damn tired after these things I’ll knock anywhere, anyway.” 

Izuku looks down at his lap as he fidgets at his rings. He really wants to propose another option, deep down. Share the bed so they can drift to each other’s breathing…

God, he’s so gross. That is not an option. 

“I also don’t mind the couch,” he says quietly, spinning his thumb ring. 

“We don’t have to figure it out now, I was just saying.” Bakugou pulls out his phone to check the time. “Though, I do have a question for now.” 

“Hm?” Izuku hums, furrowing his brows. “What about?”

“It’s about what we’re going to do while we wait for Medusa to show up.” He turns his phone off, setting it on his thigh. 

“Alright, shoot,” Izuku says with a small nod, adjusting himself so he’s turned toward the other’s body. Their knees bump, sending a shock down his spine. 

Then, Bakugou’s head turns to face Izuku’s—lips curling up ever so slightly in the corners. 

“How experienced are you with ice skating?”

“If I break my ass, I’m suing you,” Izuku comments loudly as he attempts to tie the laces on his skates tightly. 

The answer to Bakugou’s question was, in fact, he’d never skated before in his life. Sure, he roller-skated as a kid, but there’s a difference between four wheels on concrete and a blade on ice. 

There’s not much confidence inside Izuku’s body right now, but he wasn’t one to say no to something like this.

Bakugou snorts, walking over with his skates already laced and tied tight. He makes his way across the rubber mat like he was born with them already attached to his feet, weirdly graceful. 

There’s a small rink only a few minutes away, apparently only used for events or kid’s practices. But, Bakugou is known well enough for his talent even outside of Mizu, so one call and the whole rink is reserved for as long as he desires.

“Here,” he starts, crouching down in front of Izuku and the bench. Their eyes are parallel now, faces too close. He can smell Bakugou’s coffee breath. He can see each blonde lash. 

Izuku swallows. 

Bakugou’s hands find his skates, tugging at the laces. “It helps when they’re tight enough to support your damn ankles.” 

Izuku looks away, hiding the blush creeping up his neck. Despite the need to be tight and secure, the blonde is somehow being gentle. 

“There.” He ties off the last one. “You should be good, now if you fall we know it’s not the skates' fault.” Standing up, he offers his hand. 

Izuku turns back over, confident he’s still red, as the hand is held out just for him. He feels a sense of hesitation for the first time, lifting his hand and carefully placing it on top of his palm. 

Everything feels so warm. 

Tugging, Bakugou helps him up to his feet. “Alright, one step at a time, you fuckin baby deer.” 

Izuku rolls his eyes, taking a step and almost instantly he comes close to rolling his ankle. A hand finds itself on his lower back quickly as he struggles, tightening for support. 

His heart almost kills itself inside his chest immediately. 

“I–” He stutters, finding his balance as the blonde’s hand slips from his back to his hip—retreating painfully slow as Izuku gets his bearings. “I-I think I got it.” 

Again, he swallows—taking every bit of moisture in his mouth. 

“You’ll get used to balancing, just take it slow or you’ll face plant,” Bakugou chuckles, holding his hand tight to lead him to the ice. 

Izuku nods, chest swelling uncomfortably with each slow step to the rink. Despite how freezing it is inside, everything feels so warm. 

“Here, grab the rail for support,” Bakugou mutters into his ear as he steps onto the ice first with ease. He takes Izuku’s other hand and places it on the rail, coaxing him to carefully step onto the surface. 

God he probably looks ridiculous…his face feels so hot he might pass out. “This is so embarrassing…” he admits as he grips onto the rail for dear life—somehow staying upright. 

Bakugou shrugs, letting go of his hand. “Yeah, you look a little fucking stupid but that’s nothing new.” 

Narrowing his eyes, Izuku swats him and almost falls in the process. He grabs the rail with both hands, gasping. “You’re such an ass… ” he grumbles as he lifts each foot one at a time to try and move. 

Snickering, Bakugou moves to skate backward—graciously sliding the blades across the ice like it’s nothing. “Think of it as walking backward with forward momentum.” 

“That makes no fucking sense .” 

Again, Bakugou laughs. He spins around, making the rink his with each plant of his skates. “I’m serious. As you take a step, push your skate forward and out.” Demonstrating, Bakugou skates back over to Izuku. His feet slowly show the motion, careful and considerate. 

It’s mesmerizing. 

Sliding to a stop, Bakugou looks down at Izuku with a relaxed smile he hasn’t seen in days. No stress, no anxiety. Excitement to share someone his passion. It’s such a nice sight to see. 

Looking down at his feet, Izuku huffs. “Okay…” He straightens his body and takes one hand off the rail, doing just what Bakugou said. One foot in front of the other…lift…and push. 

He moves, to his surprise. Again, he does it slowly. 

“There you go…” Bakugou chirps. “Fucking knew you’d learn quick.” He says the last bit under his breath, but loud enough for Izuku’s own ears to hear. 

“I still feel like I’m going to slip at any second.”

“Just take your time, Deku.” 

The amount of patience Bakugou has for Izuku right now is astounding. He’s being so gentle, so kind—even in a place where he should be able to relax with no worries. It reminds him of when he aided Kirishima in his homework, refusing to show frustration or annoyance. 

And it’s not helping Izuku one bit with his situation. 

“I’m surprised you’re being so patient with me,” Izuku says, making slow progress around the rink. Each step gets easier, but he still won’t let go of the rail. 

Bakugou clicks his tongue, skating up so he’s right next to his side. “You were patient with me when I was being a bitch, I feel it’s only fair.” A shrug. “Besides, this shit isn’t easy first try. I busted my ass a lot as a brat.” 

Izuku chuckles, keeping his eyes down on the ice. “You know, most people quit when things get too hard.” 

“Funny thing is…” Bakugou trails. “I liked that part the most.” 

“Really? ” 

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh, smiling to himself. “Fucking loved the idea that this wasn’t easy. Made me want to get out on the ice more and conquer it. It’s…you know it’s kinda like riding horses, actually.” 

Horses? Izuku finally looks up from the ice. He snorts. “That’s an interesting comparison.” 

“But it is though,” Bakugou emphasizes. “There was this fuckin chick I went to high school with who was a competitive show jumper. You know, rich people shit.”

Izuku can’t fight to roll his eyes with a playful head shake. “Rich people shit.” 

Bakugou continues. “Horses are big fucking animals. They’re assholes, they’re highly reactive, and they rely on a lot of support. She used to tell me how her horse either spooked and threw her off or how she’d fuck up and knock a rail. It was frustrating, but learning how to control something so powerful and unpredictable is kind of fucking amazing.” 

Blinking, Izuku’s mouth parts just slightly. “You know, I never thought about it that way.” 

Bakugou nods. “Ice is unpredictable. That’s why it feels so damn good to just glide across the surface and find absolute control over your entire body, moving it in a specific way so you adapt. You fall, you hurt yourself, whatever. But that’s when you just get back up and try again.”

The way he talks about this is strikingly similar to how Izuku talks about art and its history. The attentiveness and understanding for such a difficult task and the need to adapt. 

He’s…

“You’re amazing, you know,” Izuku slips out, eyes widening when he realizes he said it out loud. 

Bakugou’s head snaps over and he can feel himself go red. “I–uh…you’re just—” he clears his throat awkwardly. “You’re just so passionate, even in the ways you don’t think you are.” 

Slowing down next to Izuku, Bakugou stares closely—blonde lashes blinking slowly. There’s a sense of curiosity and wonder, viewing Izuku like those soft words he just said meant more than it intended.  

And it just makes him look all the more handsome. 

The moment ends quickly as Bakugou grabs his hand, pulling him off the rail. 

Izuku gasps. 

“W-wait!” he stutters. “What are you–” 

“Just trust me,” Bakugou says, leading him to the center of the rink. Izuku’s legs are shaking beneath him, hand clutching Bakugou’s so tight he might be breaking his fingers. 

But the blonde doesn’t let go. 

“You’re crazy, I’m going to fall and bring you down with me,” Izuku huffs, trying to keep up. 

“Don’t be dramatic.” Glancing back at him, Bakugou gives him a toothy grin. “You’re going to be just fine.” 

With that look alone, Izuku sort of believes he will be. 

Focusing on his movements, Bakugou slowly lets go of his hands—sliding them away till just their fingertips touch, till they finally break apart. 

“One foot in front of the other, Deku.” 

Nodding, Izuku slides forward. Bakugou inches away from him the faster he gets the hang of it. Pushing and pulling, Izuku finally begins to understand the movement. Muttering under his breath with each step, he picks up the pace. 

Push forward, slide out…push forward slide out. 

He’s interrupted by the sound of Bakugou laughing. 

“God, you’re such a nerd. You would mutter the steps under your breath.” 

Dropping his jaw, Izuku shakes his head and can’t help but laugh himself. “Oh you think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“Very.” 

“You…” Izuku growls and Bakugou sticks his tongue out—speeding up to ditch him. “Hey!” 

Izuku chases after him—awkwardly and a lot slower than he would have liked. But, truly, in any circumstance, Bakugou could skate laps around him. 

And he would surely watch. 

“You’re such a dick,” Izuku laughs, reaching out to try and catch the blonde who’s teasing him with close approaches. “Never be a teacher.” 

“Yet you’re already skating better,” Bakugou argues, skidding to a stop in front of him. He crosses his arms and looks down, amused. “I think I’m a wonderful fucking teacher.”  

Looking up, Izuku crosses his arms in the same way—mockingly. He moves to take a step forward. “Yeah? Well–”

Izuku loses his balance, feet moving forward and body going back. And, unfortunately, because he’s nowhere near a rail, he grabs onto Bakugou’s arm and pulls. 

“Shit!” Bakugou yells as he’s pulled with the momentum and taken down to the ice below. With a crack, Izuku lands on his back with the blonde just inches above him. 

Gripping Izuku’s shoulder while propping himself up with the other hand, Bakugou groans. “Are you ok?” 

“Yeah…” Izuku winces, rubbing the back of his now throbbing head as his other hand holds the blonde’s bicep. “I told you…” 

“Yeah yeah, I guess I learned my…lesson…”

And in just one second, the world stops spinning. 

They both look at eachother as their chests rise and fall. The chill of the ice under Izuku’s body, the warmth of Bakugou’s right on top. Izuku can feel Bakugou’s heartbeat through his palm. 

He is so much bigger than him. So much wider. 

Bakugou’s mouth is open, drawing in and pushing out slow breaths. His eyes are low as he stares down at Izuku with an expression he can’t read. An expression he doesn’t understand. 

They both swallow, watching as each other's Adams apples bob up and down. Bakugou’s lips are so close. So close he could just reach up and catch them. He can feel his own heartbeat pounding inside his body and thumping against the ice. 

They’ve been staring at one another for too long, staying in this position too long. 

And then Bakugou licks his lips, inching forward. 

What the fuck!?

Panic. An aggressive heat explodes inside Izuku’s chest and trickles down to his stomach. His brain screams bloody murder within. 

Is he about to kiss me? Is Bakugou fucking Katsuki about to kiss me? And am I about to fucking let him? 

Izuku catches himself relaxing his eyes, squeezing the blonde’s arm with his fingertips. 

It’s a trap, it isn’t real.

Maybe he just has an eyelash on his cheek or something. Maybe–

“Ah, I thought I’d find you two hiding here.” 

Izuku’s eyes blow wide and Bakugou freezes, looking up and breaking their eye contact. Almost instantly, the blonde’s body tenses, and his heart rate spikes. Izuku turns his head, craning it to try and see. 

But, the bitter tone has made it a little too obvious who it is. 

“You’re early, mom…” Bakugou sighs, letting go of Izuku to stand up. He gets to his feet, holding his hand out for Izuku to take it. 

Taking it, Izuku is lifted off the ground slowly so he doesn’t fall again. He swivels on the ice, making eye contact with Mrs. Bakugou. 

And she does not look impressed. 

“And you already have attitude,” she says back, bringing her eyes over to Izuku. “You, young man, are coming with me now.” 

Ah.

Shit. 

Bakugou glances at Izuku, worry glazing over his eyes. 

Swallowing down his nerves, Izuku takes his hand and places it on Bakugou’s shoulder. “It’s ok, I’ll be fine.” 

Letting go, Izuku starts to skate to the exit. Bakugou tries to follow, but his mom puts her hand up. 

“I’ll have you meet us back at the conference hall, Katsuki. I’d like to have a long word with him.” 

Looking back, Izuku can see a face of worry. A face of panic—uneasiness of this situation ahead. Fear. And that very sight alone reminds Izuku just why he came on this trip in the first place. 

Narrowing his eyes, he spins his head back around. “Well, that’s good, because I believe I also have some words to share, Mrs. Bakugou.”

Grabbing the rail, he steps off onto the mat—eyes glaring daggers at the woman just a few feet away. She lifts her lip in disgust. 

“And I’m pretty sure you’re not going to want him to hear what I have to say to you.”

There is nothing more awkward than sitting in the back of a car alone while being chauffeured by your friend’s mother and her assistant.  

That’s what Izuku has concluded. 

Bakugou’s mom practically slammed his door after he climbed into the big black Cadillac that matched her son’s, seating herself in the front with her assistant at the wheel—silent the entire drive. 

He picked at the skin around his nails through each twist and turn, each clear of the throat. He knows what he’s going to say, but he has absolutely no idea what she will be throwing at him. Izuku has to mentally prep himself the same way he would with his father—try and stay calm, don’t overreact, expect everything and anything. 

Keep your motives strong. Don’t break.

Do it for him. 

They pull into the car park and before he’s allowed another second of prep, he’s pulled from the back seat. Doing the best he can to stay stern and unprovoked, he follows behind the woman’s clicking heels till they’re elevated up to her floor. Till they’re alone.

It’s like he’s being led to his death. 

Her floor is somehow more grand compared to Bakugou’s, but he’d rather shoot himself dead than give her the satisfaction of a compliment. 

Speaking not even one word, Mrs. Bakugou silently walks into her kitchen and opens the cabinets next to the sink, taking out a bottle of expensive bourbon. Ew.

Grabbing two lowball glasses just underneath, she turns and sets them down on the counter with a clack. Twisting off the top, her hand pours the two glasses. 

“Oh, uh–” Izuku tries to decline, not wanting to accept the drink. But Bakugou’s mom lifts her eyes in a glare—waiting till the pour finishes.

“You take what is given to you, child,” she snarls, setting the glass down on the other side of the island. “Now sit.” 

Fighting a sigh, Izuku decides to cooperate with this one—taking a seat at one of the barstools. His hand finds his drink, playing with the decorative glass indents with no intention of actually drinking its contents. 

Mrs. Bakugou taps the side of her glass before lifting it and taking a long sip. “Tell me…” She licks her teeth, looking at the glass that now glistens in front of her face. “Who exactly are you?” 

The coldness in her tone is unexpected, taking the reins instead of a fiery explosion called anger. She’s starting to sound a lot more like his dad now that the volume is out of the picture…

Izuku bites at the inside of his cheek. “Midoriya Izuku,” he answers, bitterly, trying to keep his stance in this fight. “Senior, same year as your son.” 

The woman in front of him freezes as her lips press onto the glass for another sip. And when someone stops like that, it never means anything good. Narrowing her eyes, she lowers the drink to the counter. “Midoriya? As in Hisashi Midoriya?”

Izuku’s blood runs cold. Like stepping into a cave with little air, little warmth—goosebumps. 

Fuck. 

Gripping the glass tight in his palm, Izuku gnaws harder at the skin inside his cheeks. “How do you know my father?” He asks, gritting his teeth. 

You really know when to make things worse, don’t you, Dad?

She hums, unamused tickling her throat. “He was one of our temporary analysts when our company first started.” Her finger taps the rim, nails painted red—shiny and sharp. “What a fucking egotistical smartass. Didn’t think he had the capacity to raise children.” 

Izuku cracks his jaw, switching to bite at the other side of his cheek. Hypocrite… “He doesn’t, so I wouldn’t consider that an incorrect assumption.” 

Mrs. Bakugou raises a brow. “Not a fan of your own father, I see. That’s pretty fucking shameful, disregarding your blood—despite the rat that he is. I take it you’re the disappointment of the family?” 

“Sure as hell am,” Izuku spits quickly. “Got any other assumptions you’d like to ring by me before we dig deep?” 

She clicks her tongue. “Cheeky.”  

“Thanks,” Izuku says, laced with attitude. “I put in the effort.” 

If he were speaking to his father right now, he’d be in his face by now. He’s pushing the fine line, but it’s a necessary step in assuring she knows he won’t bow down. 

Grinding her molars, the woman in front of him puffs her chest. “Alright, answer this for me, Midoriya.” His name slips off her tongue like poison. “How exactly did my son involve himself with the likes of you?” 

There it is. There’s the question Izuku did anticipate. He taps the glass. 

“If you really want to know, I’m his tutor for a class you didn’t want him taking.” He stops tapping. “But I guess you could also consider us friends, after everything.” 

The grind in her molars grows, audible now. “Art student. You just keep getting better and better. I knew I could sniff out a piece of trash that day you decided to open your dirty little mouth and insult us.” Lifting the glass, she takes a short and irritated sip. “It’s no wonder Katsuki has been acting out, I told him not to subject himself to that environment.” 

Here we go… the blame game. 

Izuku can’t help but scoff. “Oh, yes, god forbid your precious heir to the throne interacts with someone who paints and has tattoos.” He senses his irritation growing at the same level. “Sorry to break it to you, Mrs. Bakugou, but your son has been bitter with you before I even came into the picture. His ‘behavior’ was a shift bound to happen, and only came quicker because it seems I’m the first person in his life to actually understand him.” 

“Oh, that’s fucking rich,” she says, amused. “You, a lowlife, understand my son.”

Izuku’s chest hurts from how angry he’s starting to get. The deflecting, the blame shifting. 

“Yeah, it’s fucking rich.” He shrugs. “I know, unbelievable, I make your son feel comfortable and safe, fucking sue me. It’s about damn time someone did.”

“Careful what you say next.” A warning. “Know where you stand.” 

A warning he doesn’t intend on listening to. 

“No, I won’t .” He disagrees. “You clearly only wanted to talk to me here, yell at me, so I feel inferior just like everyone else below you. To get what you want. Because you didn’t like that someone for once stood up and yelled back.” He pauses, watching her live reaction. “Well guess what? I don’t fear you, and I don’t intend on bending at the knees just because you think your shit doesn’t stink. You are a terrible mother who wants to blame everyone but herself for a failing relationship with her son. And I will not take you–”  

Slamming her hand on the granite, Bakugou’s mom silences him. Explosive, sudden. There is the volume that’s been missing. “You have a lot of nerve, child! I’d like to know where you get the audacity of making me the villain when all I’ve done his whole life is make sure he succeeds. When someone like you wouldn’t know what it involves.” 

I’m such a bad parent, aren’t I? I’ve done everything for you and this is what I get in return?

Crack. Izuku feels something crack inside. 

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit,” Izuku snarls. 

Her face contorts. “ Excuse me?” 

“Just because I involve myself in the arts doesn’t mean I’m incompetent. I understand fully what your intentions are and what his ‘success’ involves, and that’s why I find myself so disgusted .” Clicking his tongue, he shakes his head and glances to the side. “Limiting his creative freedom, teaching him emotions are weakness, and forcing ideals down his throat till he’s numb? Have you taken a second to actually look at your son and see the damage you have done—doing what it takes to succeed?” 

Another slam on the table. “I am raising a professional worthy of ownership!”

Izuku slams back. “He’s your son, not a fucking employee!”  

She is supposed to love him, support his dreams, and take care of every aspect of his life. She is supposed to be a mother. 

Mrs. Bakugou looks down at him and presses her finger on the counter hard. “I am doing what is best for his future. I’m not here to coddle him or tell him all dreams come true, I’m here to make sure he–”

“What? Lives a rich life with zero worries and a big shiny CEO plaque?” He interrupts her. “Be honest with yourself, Mrs. Bakugou, your efforts have done nothing but make a shell of a man who is scared to open up and form proper relationships.” 

Mrs. Bakugou looks like she’s about to explode. 

“And what the fuck gives you that impression? Huh? You’ve known my son for a fragment of his life, yet you have decided to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong and make a mess out of everything. Where do you get the right?” She says, appalled by his audacity. “Where do you, a small-town faggot with unrealistic dreams and a life full of debt, have the right?”  

Izuku almost laughs. He almost laughs. Now he really sees where the internalized homophobia comes from. 

“This faggot, Mrs. Bakugou, has the right simply because I have done one thing better than you ever will regarding your son.”

“And what the fuck is that?”

“ Know him.” He raises his shoulders in disbelief. “Unlike you, I know him. You had 21 years, yet I somehow managed to do a better job of knowing the kind of person he is. The kind of person he wants to be.”  

She opens her mouth but he stops her, not even giving the chance for another argument to erupt. “You’re threatened by me, aren’t you? You want me gone and out of his life, away from his future because you’re afraid he’s going to eventually realize he isn’t as shackled as he thinks he is, huh? That a lowlife like me can convince him there are other ways to live besides what you planned out for him.”

Again, she tries to speak but he’s too quick. Izuku shakes his head, sticking out his lower jaw as the anger seethes. “Blame me all you want, Mrs. Bakugou, but he’s started to ‘act out’, not because of me, but because he’s finally started to realize what he does and doesn’t deserve, especially from a parent.” He points at her, feeling a full curl in his lip. “Sure, I’ve helped him figure that out, but he didn’t have to listen to me. He didn’t have to push away.”

“He is pushing away because you've finally broken him. You have broken your son to a degree where you will never get him back to his original pieces, and he will forever resent you for it. If you continue to force him through this path, he will never forgive you. I didn’t do anything for him to already know that, I just simply confirmed it from an outside perspective.” 

“I’m not threatened by you, child.” A shake of her head, venomous grit in her teeth. “I am disgusted by the very thought that you think I will let you affect our family or how his future plays–”

Stubborn, narcissistic, unbelievable–  

“Jesus Christ!” He yells back, loud. “Get seriously bent with that future talk, if you really cared about his future, you’d listen to a damn thing I’ve said and know that he doesn’t want what you want for him!” His mother stares at him, mouth open. “Screw that fucking future because that’s just a lifetime of suffering. You call my dad egotistical and self-absorbed but look at you, acting just like him! You’re refusing to accept that a poor life can also create happiness and success and because of that, you don’t even know what your own son wants!” 

“What–”

“To live! To fucking live .” A little bit of his own hatred and sadness pools out with that sentence. His own anger toward his father. “Your son wants to live a life he creates!”

Bubbling with an inexplicable fire within, Izuku clenches his fist on the counter. “So go ahead, Mrs. Bakugou. Tell me to get the fuck away from your son—do it. But first, tell me about the son you speak of.” 

“Now that’s just–”

“Tell me!”

Bakugou’s mom goes painfully still for the first time in this argument, somewhat still surprised that he can challenge her game. 

Izuku growls. “Tell me who he is. Tell me what his favorite food is, or even his favorite movie. Tell me why he loves hockey, or what his favorite subject in school is. Prove to me that he is a human beyond the machine you’ve created and he doesn’t need someone like me to care about every aspect of his life outside of the future you set in stone.”

Standing still, she gives no response. Not even a word. He caught her in a loophole, and now she’s buffering.

“Until you have the right to tell me, I will not be leaving your son alone. I will not leave your family alone.”

She breaks her silence. “You fucking brat, you –”

Izuku huffs a short laugh. “Oh, this not going the way you wanted?” He questions, tilting his head. “Am I frustrating you?” 

“You–” she stammers. 

He tsks. “Funny. Now you know how it feels to speak to someone like you .” 

Her mouth snaps shut. Silenced. 

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Izuku looks down at his full glass. “If you even took a second to listen to your son, instead of yelling over him every second of the way, you’d know he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to take over your business and he doesn’t want to feel like he’s worthless beyond that.” He looks back up at her. “In the short time I’ve known him, I could tell you his favorite food and his favorite movie. I could tell you that he’s one of the most amazing writers of his generation and that ice skating is his way of escape.” 

“But, you knew that, right? Because you’re his mother, and you know everything about him and his future.” 

Narrowing his eyes, he watches as she swallows and fights to keep their eye contact. The only sound he can hear from her is the sound of words stuck in the back of her throat—bobbing in and out. She has nothing to say.

Izuku shakes his head. Yeah…that’s what he thought. “What a fucking joke. You know nothing about your son, yet you have so much to say about him and his supposed future. Will you finally know after he’s left, never to speak to you again?”

His father never did, who is to say she’ll be better? 

Exhaling roughly, releasing a heavy weight off his shoulders, Izuku brings his gaze to the drink once again. “Think long and hard, Mrs. Bakugou.” Grabbing the glass he swirls the contents. “I grew up with a father who made my life hell—I’m not afraid to stoop low to make people like him feel the exact same way. Small and obsolete.”

Lifting it to his lips, he knocks back his head and takes it all down with just a few swallows—ignoring the revolting burn traveling down his esophagus. He puts it down, battling a cringe. 

“I’m finished with this conversation, and I believe you are too.” Pushing his stool all the way back to scoot out, he gives her one final glance. “Until you are capable of speaking with me without yelling or calling me a slur, I will be with your son making sure this night is nothing but good for him. Because he deserves a night to go his way for once.”

Izuku walks over to the elevator and presses the button—doors opening immediately. He walks inside, refusing to turn around and even look at her one final time. His entire body hurts from the whirlpool of rage and sadness cycling through his nervous system. His blood. His bones. 

And as the elevator doors shut, he hears Bakugou’s mom break from her trance and release a guttural yell before throwing her glass full force against the wall. 

Crack and shatter.

Bakugou whips around as soon as the doors ding and slide open. 

“Deku…” 

Izuku looks at the blonde, emotionally and physically exhausted —finally feeling the adrenaline of it all wear off as the elevator descended. His whole body feels heavy, inside and out. 

“Are you ok?? I heard glass–” 

Izuku wastes no time, speedwalking out of the elevator and toward Bakugou. Shock washes over the blonde as he doesn’t know what he’s about to do. What he’s about to say. 

He puts his hands up as Izuku full force wraps his arms around Bakugou so tight, he can hear a squeak push itself out of his lungs. 

And the second he makes contact with his friend, he feels himself start to tear up. 

“Deku, what the hell happened?” Bakugou mutters against his ear, slowly placing his hands on either side of him. 

“I fully understand now,” Izuku chokes. “I understand the pain you went through. The pain of never feeling seen or heard. And I’m so sorry.” He squeezes tighter. “I’m so fucking sorry .” 

It takes all but a second for Bakugou to return the tight embrace, squeezing hard if not harder. Izuku can practically feel the heartbreak inside his chest with each thump, each grip on his shirt—melting with the pound in his own skin.

Nothing else is said as Bakugou rests his chin on top of Izuku’s head—holding him closer than they’ve ever been before.

Chapter Text

Izuku is busy fussing with his tie when his phone buzzes beside the sink. 

Exhaling a frustrated breath, he drops the ends and turns to the bathroom counter—grabbing his lit-up phone. 

Uraraka: how’s the trip going? 

Ashido: omg yeah

Ashido: how’s the tension? Thick as a board? 

Iida: Ashido…

Izuku swallows, looking up at the ceiling as he habitually slides his finger up on the conversation. He hasn’t talked with them since he left, only somewhat ‘communicating’ over Snapchat. 

This whole day so far is a coffee sit-down kind of conversation. Or two shots of tequila and a mental breakdown. 

Izuku: funny thing about that

Uraraka doesn’t even wait a full minute. 

Uraraka: OMG DID YOU TWO FUCK

Iida: OCHAKO

Shinsou: hey, she’s asking a very good question here

Izuku pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing his hand down to his mouth. He’s not even in the same room as the blonde right now and his face is starting to feel hot.

Izuku: NO 

Izuku: JESUS CHRIST

Todoroki: but something did happen? 

Ashido: I give it 3 hours 

Iida: all of you are terrible

Izuku: Ignoring everyone but Todoroki right now

Izuku: Kinda? I don’t know, I think I’m being delusional

Looking up at the mirror, Izuku notices the pink tint on the tip of his ears—traveling to his cheeks. 

Shinsou: define delusional 

Izuku: Bakugou’s been acting strange all day. I’ll go into more of the details later

Izuku: But he took me ice skating a few hours ago…

Ashido: gay

Uraraka: gay

Izuku: I swear to fucking god

Uraraka: ok ok I’m sorry, please continue

Uraraka: we will refrain

Izuku rolls his eyes, moving his thumbs to type again. 

Izuku: I fell and took him down and instead of immediately standing up and offering a hand, or even cussing me out

Izuku: he leaned in and I think he tried to kiss me 

His face heats up more at the short-term memory. 

Shinsou: the fuck you mean, you think?? 

Izuku: I DON’T KNOW

Izuku: his fucking mom came in right before anything happened 

Shinsou: what a way to cock block

Shinsou: that’s almost worse than when Bakugou shoved you off a table

Izuku: shinsou, not helping 

Uraraka: oh shit, you two had a conversation, didn’t you? Are you ok?

Izuku: I’m fine but I ended up cussing her out

Izuku: now I’m getting ready for this event 

Izuku: which is in like an hour

Izuku: and I’m trying not to have an anxiety attack over the fact that my friend might have tried to kiss me, his mom might attempt to kill me in the woods, and I just realized I don’t know how to tie a fucking tie

Ashido: :D ??

Uraraka: Midoriya…

Todoroki: well

Todoroki: that’s god awfully unfortunate 

Izuku: thank you for informing me Todoroki

Iida: I’m teaching you how to tie a tie when you get back

Iida: how you’ve gone this long without knowing is astounding

Izuku: Iida my dad disowned me before he could properly teach me 

Iida: …touché

Uraraka: do you want one of us to call you?? This is a lot babes 

Izuku sighs, brushing a hand through his curls—pulling out strands that have caught themselves in his earrings. 

Izuku: no it’s fine

Izuku: besides, he’s in the room next door I don’t think it’s appropriate 

Uraraka: damn

Ashido: are you gonna be ok?

Ashido: the whole Bakugou thing is a lot on its own

Izuku: I’ll be fine, it’s nothing I can’t handle

Izuku: but if he acts weird again I might have to have a conversation 

Izuku: because I don’t wanna fuck up and get the wrong impression

Uraraka: yeahhhh that’s messy as fuck

Messy as fuck is an understatement

Shinsou: just keep us updated

Shinsou: you know all of us would drop everything and drive down to grab you if something happens

Ashido: once again, I give it 3 hours

Ashido: but in all seriousness like Shinsou said, keep us updated 

Uraraka: yeah, we’re here for you love

Izuku flinches to a knock on the door. 

“You almost done in there, shithead? Or did you fall and crack your damn head open?” Bakugou’s muffled voice calls. 

“Yeah, one sec!” Izuku yells back, attempting to swallow down his nerves quickly. Looking down at his phone one last time, he sends a quick ‘Thanks, I’ll talk to you later text’ and shuts it off. 

One deep breath in, one deep breath out—he twists the door handle and opens. “Sorry…”

“It's–”

They both buffer, looking at one another in their dress clothes, as Izuku steps out of the bathroom. 

Shit. This is worse than he thought. 

Bakugou is in a tight black suit with a tie that perfectly matches the color of his eyes—hugging that slim waist and muscular shoulders like second skin—purposeful, unlike Izuku’s. 

His own is too small for it being a couple of years old. A forest green tie that has yet to be done with a full-piece suit gripping his ass and thighs the most. He’s slightly self-conscious at the fact, but the envy and awkwardness are slowly taken over the more the blonde stares. He can’t read his face no matter how hard he tries. 

Bakugou’s eyes eventually find his tie and he raises a brow. 

“Uhm…” Izuku grabs the ends of his tie, trying to stray from nervously shaking his hands. “I was never taught…”

Bakugou nods, walking forward. Entering Izuku’s personal space, he grabs his collar and pops it up. 

Izuku shivers. 

“You’re good…” Bakugou hums deep, exhaling against Izuku’s skin. “Didn’t expect your piece of shit father to anyway.”

Izuku’s chest rises slowly as he takes in the intense aroma of Bakugou’s expensive cologne. The one that smells so strong of cinnamon—fall season. He’s so close, almost as close as when they were on the ice. Breath slow, eyes low. 

It’s making his heart race, jumping with each touch on his shirt collar. His tight jacket.  

Tugging at his tie, Bakugou carefully flips each piece where it needs to be—concentrated. It’s pulled and fastened, dangerously close to his neck. Izuku’s mouth goes dry and he swallows, feeling the hints of Bakugou’s fingers against his bobbing Adam’s apple. 

Slipping his hand down the length of his tie, Bakugou stands still for just one more moment—though the task is complete. It’s horribly intimate, too much. 

All Izuku wants to do at this moment is grab Bakugou’s fiery red tie, and pull him in. 

Clearing his throat, the blonde takes a step back. “I didn’t think you had a full set if I’m going to be honest.” He sniffs, brushing a thumb under his nose. 

Izuku fights the blush creeping. “Oh, yeah,” he responds quietly, taking a step back himself and shoving his hands in his pockets. His dress shoes clack against the wood louder than he would have liked. “My mom bought it for me a couple of years ago so it’s a bit tight, but it’s my only one…”

Bakugou’s eyes trail each inch of his suit one more time. Jesus. “Don’t worry, I think it looks good that way.”

And if that didn’t just make his dick twitch, Izuku doesn’t know what will. His eyes widen slightly and he turns his head the same way Bakugou does, avoiding eye contact. 

“Thank you,” he says, swallowing. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” You look fucking incredible. 

Bakugou snorts, shaking his head. He turns and walks toward the couch to grab his phone. “They only look good on me tight. My mom fucking hates that I wear them like this, but it beats looking like a damn box.”

Izuku chuckles at that, picking at the skin around his thumb inside his pocket. “It does suit you.” No pun intended. 

“Damn straight.” Bakugou pockets his phone and turns, looking over his shoulder. “You ready to go?”

No.

“Yeah,” Izuku says with a huff, walking over to the door. “Ready as I’ll ever be…”

Bakuogu joins him up by the door, nudging his arm with his elbow before opening the door. The contact is like fire. “1000 says my mom will immediately insult either one of us within five minutes.”

Izuku nudges back, sickeningly treasuring the contact, and walks through first. “2000 yen says she somehow insults us both at the same time.”  

“Damn, that’s a better bet.”

“Oh, and I’ll add on another 500 yen if she calls me a slur again.”

The door shuts behind them and they both walk down the hall side to side. 

“I’m fucking sorry, again??” Bakugou turns his head, unaware of that missing detail from their conversation earlier. He did tell him most of the details, but they were both so exhausted the conversation never finished—leaving them both lying on the couch in silence till it was time to get ready.  

Izuku cringes. “Yeah she called me the f slur, but don’t worry, I’m fully equipped and ready to call her a bitch if she does so again.” 

He is. Absolutely. 

His mom would smack the shit out of him if he knew he was using that type of language, but there are times when it truly is necessary. 

Bakugou laughs at that. “If you call my mom a fucking bitch in public, I’m giving you the full 2500 yen immediately.” 

“Honesty?” Izuku admits, pressing the elevator button for the blonde. 

“In the end, I’d gladly do it for free.” 

Izuku wasn’t exactly prepared for the sheer size of the conference building. Or how truly nice it would be on the inside. 

It’s technically a hotel with a large conference hall on the bottom floor—equipped with a bar in the back and dining set up just short of the podium. It seems most people who attend stay here, but it’s no surprise the Bakugous' of all people would get their separate living arrangements. 

“Jesus, it’s huge,” Izuku mutters as Bakugou takes the lead toward the cluster of tables wearing white tablecloths and expensive centerpieces. 

“Well, it’s my fucking mom we’re talking about,” Bakugou responds in the same low tone, stopping at a table more in the back. “Everything’s gotta be ridiculous.” 

“Eh, fair point.”

Sitting down, Bakugou props his elbow on the table and rubs at his temple—seemingly already stressed and rearing a headache. 

Izuku frowns, joining the blonde in the seat next over. “Remind me of the itinerary? Just so I can be better prepared in case she tries to jump you.” Or, in better words, to know when to keep him calm and stress-free while he deals with an event as pointless as this. 

Clicking his tongue, Bakugou drops his hand down onto the table—dangerously close to Izuku’s. “The panel is at 6:30, which usually lasts about an hour or two. It fucking depends on how many questions are asked or the type of information covered. I used to sit up on the stage while it happened, but I argued out of it a couple of years ago because it made no fucking sense for me to be up there.” He sighs, looking forward to the podium and set stage. “Dinner is immediately after, but I might try and see if we can sneak out while my mom is busy sucking up to investors. The food is bland as shit anyway and I’d rather kill myself than make conversation with people at our table.”

Nodding, Izuku follows his gaze. He probably won't be hungry after all this anyway. “We can definitely do that.” A thought comes to mind as his eyes dart across the room, watching as more finely dressed men and women enter. “You briefly mentioned but also not really, is your whole family going to be here? Or just your parents?” 

If it’s the whole family, Izuku might just join Bakugou and off himself with the closest available busy road. 

Bakugou’s lip twitches. “It’s usually just my damn grandparents, if that’s the case. My mom was an only child like me and my dad’s family lives all the way in Sapporo so they aren’t usually invited unless it’s an award ceremony.”

“Eesh, that’s–”

“Well, look who decided to show up on time for once.” 

Izuku doesn’t need to turn to know who it is. Based on the tone, and the sudden drainage of color from Bakugou’s face, he already knows. 

Eyes glancing behind Izuku, Bakugou cracks his jaw to the side—clenching it tight. His fist grabs a handful of the tablecloth, gripping tight in a closed fist. 

Izuku turns, meeting the eyes of Bakugou’s mother and another woman. Izuku nearly jumps at the sight of her, unprepared for the extra body.

She has silky grey hair and expensive jewelry on every inch of her body—wearing a knee-length dress with heels wildly too inappropriate for a woman her age. The wild hair and sharper features must have come from the paternal side of his grandparents, because she does not look related to Bakugou or his mom, aside from the dominatingly red eyes. 

“Hey, Nan… ” Bakugou fights the name as he speaks it, pained by its heaviness. 

“Katsuki, wonderful as always.” The woman thins her dark-stained lips. “I see you’ve brought a friend with you. I wasn’t made aware of any companions this year.” She motions to Izuku, walking closer with her hand stretched out. No smile, no excitement. 

“He’s just a…” he chokes on his words as if they strangled him from the inside. “He’s a friend from school, Nana.” 

Bakugou’s mom glares at him. “An annoyingly persistent one, at that.” 

Izuku ignores the comment and reaches up, taking her hand—clasping it tight despite both of their many rings and the discomfort they bring.

“Izuku Midoriya,” he says nonchalantly, internally waiting for the moment she spits fire from her tongue just like Mitsuki. 

“Pleasure,” she responds with a bitter tone, letting go of his hand. She doesn’t even bother with an introduction. 

Bitch.

The woman’s eyes trail Izuku’s suit with mild disgust. “I see it’s a trend amongst the younger generations to wear unpleasantly tight clothing. Not to mention last season.” She looks to her daughter, receiving the same disappointed look.

A click of the tongue. “Katsuki knows it pisses me off. It’s wildly unattractive, and I can only assume his little…choice in a friend dresses like this just to present himself.”

Oh. That was quick. 

Instantly, Izuku bites his tongue to stop himself from laughing at her face as Bakugou fails and snorts next to him. Izuku elbows him. 

His mom raises a brow. “Something funny, Katsuki?”

Punching his chest, Bakugou shakes his head as he coughs. “No, it’s fucking nothing. Just choked on my spit.” 

Izuku damn near dies . 

“Do you see what I have to deal with?” His mother rolls her eyes. “Very childish of you, Katsuki.” 

“Well,” Bakugou’s grandma places a hand on her chest. “I do hope this rebellious behavior doesn’t last much longer, your company needs dependability, Mitsuki.”

Izuku and Bakugou eye eachother, both biting their tongue while keeping their toes on the edge. 

“It won’t,” his mother says, venomously. “His father and I will make sure of it before it’s time.”

Izuku can hear Bakugou grab at the tablecloth tighter, cracking his knuckles.  

“Don’t you two have better things to do right now?” Bakugou says, clicking his tongue. “Instead of fucking talking like I’m not here.”

“Katsuki.”

“He’s really has gotten rather cheeky,” his grandmother scoffs. 

“Yeah,” a snide reply. “I wonder why.” Bakugou’s mom eyes Izuku dead on. A childish blow, straight from her pink lips.  

But nothing he didn’t expect, especially after a fight like what they had. She’s going to make rude comments here and there to attempt a rebuilding of the ego he tore to shreds, do anything to make herself feel on top. 

Unfortunately for her, he isn’t done showing her his colors yet. 

Smiling, Izuku places both hands on his lap. “Well, it’s been lovely, but Bakugou and I were in the middle of a conversation regarding our studies. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to make your comments later.” Contorting her face with a fit of sour anger, Bakugou’s mom opens her mouth but is cut off. 

“Very well,” Bakugou’s grandmother says with a huff. “I must see what your husband and father need help with before it all begins.” Turning on her high heels, the woman grabs her daughter by the elbow. “Come along, dear.”

Bakugou’s mom could very well be snorting smoke. Lifting her lip in a sneer, she gives Izuku one last look before turning with her mother. They both make their way toward the front of the room where Bakugou’s father and an older man stand waiting.

Izuku doesn’t take long before opening and holding his hand out, biting his lip as it forms into a smile. 

Bakugou doesn’t even fight it, slightly laughing to himself as he pulls out his wallet and slaps 2000 yen onto Izuku’s hand. 

Izuku pockets it. “Dear god, there’s two of them.”

“It’s so much worse when it’s not in public.” 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second.”

Shaking his head, Bakugou crosses his arms and leans back into his chair till it creaks. “I’m surprised she still tried to take your ass down after the fight you fucking had.”

Izuku rolls his eyes, crossing his legs. “She definitely won’t stop, even though I did rip her a new one.” He shrugs. “Whatever makes her feel better about herself, I guess.” 

They sit quietly for a moment, watching as more and more individuals walk inside and find their seats. 

“I still can’t believe you guessed that shit,” Bakugou breaks the moment.

Izuku sputters, caught off guard, and covers his mouth so he’s not loud. “Even I’m a little shocked it was that quick.” 

“Fucking ridiculous…” Bakugou huffs, a laugh tickling the tone. 

Leaning back, Izuku chuckles with him—turning his head to look at the blonde. And there it is, staring right back at him. That softness he’s been seeing more than usual. 

That expression. 

Izuku’s heart melts like snow in the sun. He opens his mouth but is quickly interrupted by the blonde tapping the table with an impatient pointer finger. 

“You want a drink?” Bakugou asks. “I think we’re both gonna fucking need one after that.” 

Izuku closes his lips, twitching the corner of his mouth into a mid-smile. “Yeah, that’d be great. Just get me the same as you.” 

Nodding, Bakugou stands and heads over to the back bar, leaving Izuku to sit alone at their table—grappling with the estranged thoughts tangling within his head. Exhaling, he props his elbow on the table and rubs stressed circles on the soft side of his temple. 

He does need a drink, but not for the same reason. 

Izuku massages the back of his head and vertebrae, attempting to soothe the climbing soreness that’s been forming from when he fell. It doesn’t help that these chairs are uncomfortable, putting more strain on his back and neck. 

Bakugou takes a sip from his gin and tonic, looking over as Izuku winces—hitting the right spot. “That ice did a number on your ass, didn’t it?” he puts his glass down. 

“Yeah,” Izuku breathes. “It’s not bad, just sore.” 

The room is now packed full of people, including a few older women at their table. Luckily, none of them have tried to make conversation yet—roughly due to Bakugou’s nasty resting face and Izuku’s lack of interest. 

“You hit your head, right? You basically fucking banana peel slipped.”

Izuku snorts. “I’m graceful, I know.” He continues to knead at the spot. “It hit right on the back and it strained my neck, but it’s no big deal.”

Folding his brows down, Bakugou tilts his head and reaches out. Izuku flinches as rough warm fingertips suddenly replace his on the back of his head—through the tangled curls. Rapidly, a blush creeps up his neck and dries the inside of his throat. 

“Uh, Bakugou…” he mutters, eyeing the women at their table who haven’t seemed to notice the blonde’s contact. “What are you–”

Bakugou hums. “Here?” 

“...Uh,” Izuku forces the dry lump down with a thick swallow, keeping himself still so he doesn’t lean into the touch. “Yeah, it’s there and a little down.” 

Criminally, Bakugou moves his fingertips down. Shit. 

Shit.

Izuku bites the inside of his cheek as heat blooms inside his chest and up to his head from the touch. Continuously, the blonde has been acting weird. More touchy, more…Izuku doesn’t know how to explain it. Every time Bakugou looks at him, the world stops moving—stops making sense. He doesn’t know if it’s because of his own doing—unintentionally being touchy when he comforts his friend, inviting a mutual return—or if something more is brewing inside Bakugou’s head.  

Regardless of its reasoning, if he keeps doing this, touching him and looking at him, Izuku doesn’t know what might happen next—or if he has the strength to stop himself from making a mistake. 

The hair on the back of his neck rises as the touch slides down. “You really are fucking clumsy…just ice it later and you should be fine.” 

Adjusting himself, Izuku turns so Bakugou’s hand can no longer reach. If it traveled any lower, Izuku would have accidentally made an inappropriate noise. And wouldn't that just be the cherry on top of this whole situation?

Huffing, Izuku glances to the side. All of a sudden his tie is starting to feel a little too tight… “Icing doesn’t work that well for me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…” Izuku nods, taking his thumb to his lip to chew on it. “I came to that conclusion after I was pushed off a table not too long ago. The icing only helped with the bruising.” 

Bakugou thins his lips after a quick moment of realization and Izuku can’t help but softly smile nervously as he bites off a loose piece of skin. It’s funny they’ve gone this long without bringing it up. 

Might as well now.

“I wonder who did that.” 

Bakugou knocks his head back, taking both hands and using them to cover his face. “Fuuuuck, I did push you off a table…”

Izuku pulls away from his thumb, moving to grab his drink. “You did. I was bruised for a week.” 

“God, and you flew off that bitch too.” Bakugou’s tone is on the verge of laughter, but Izuku can tell there’s a hint of guilt pushing itself through. “Oh my god, I was such a shithead.” 

The women at their table snap their heads over, a little horrified at the language used. But they turn away when they notice Izuku’s ‘leave it be’ face. He’s truly not in the mood for that kind of argument right now. 

They can complain to Mrs. Bakugou later.

Izuku nudges him and leans his arm on the table as he takes a small sip of his drink. Bitter, but needed. “Uraraka and Ashido were ready to throw hands.” He licks the reminisce of the gin off his teeth. “I’m a little surprised the girl you were with was fine with it, if I’m going to be honest.” The memory of his arm around that girl’s waist makes the bitterness in his throat turn rancid. He swallows it down. 

“She was kind of a bitch, if I’m going to be honest.” Bakugou sits up, cringing. “A bad fuck too.” His fingers curl around the glass in front of him. “Don’t know why I wasted the time to try and act all high and mighty and un bruise my damn ego.” He takes a sip, putting the glass down harder than usual. “Just made you more mad and I ended up with claw marks all down my fucking back that took a week to heal.” 

Claw marks. 

Izuku has found it a habit to swallow at every word the blonde says. He wants to punch his heart for having the audacity to speed up. “Well, instant karma I guess.” 

“Fucking right? She was like the damn wolverine with those nails.” He shakes his head. “Don’t get me wrong, I like a mark but not like that.”

“No yeah, that’s ridiculous,” Izuku comments, taking another sip of his drink to hide his face. Hide the fact that he can’t stop himself from picturing his own hands scratching from shoulder to lower back. He shifts in his seat. 

Bakugou gets ready to comment again, but he’s stopped by the sound of a mic turning on. A quick tap tap. Everyone diverts from their conversations, quieting down as a throat is cleared. 

Putting his drink down, Izuku eyes Bakugou before turning his attention to the front. 

“Good evening everyone—investors, directors, family, and long-term supporters.” Mitsuki’s voice echoes through the conference room, powerful and assertive. She waits till everyone goes silent. “Before we begin, I would like to provide a thank you to all of you for making it to this year’s event. Both old and new, your diligence with this company and its values have been greatly appreciated, and we wouldn’t be at this monumental step in our lives without this support.” 

The crowd provides a generous round of applause, feeding into the woman’s already swelling ego. Izuku rolls his eyes as she places a hand on her chest and smiles with the praise.

“You all are too kind…” Looking back at the bodies behind her—Bakugou’s father and a few others Izuku guesses are members of the board—she gives a small nod.   

“Now now, before we get too distracted, let’s get this panel started…” Red eyes move through the crowd and find Izuku, locking in tight. 

“Shall we?”

Izuku’s head hurts. But this time, it’s not because of his fall. 

Cracking his neck to the side, he exhales roughly. “This is somehow worse than our Anthropology lectures…” he whispers, propping both elbows on the table to rub his eyes. 

The panel has been in full swing for a little over an hour now, just now rearing the end of the Q&A section. It’s not necessarily the content itself that’s irritating Izuku, but the fakeness behind Mrs. Bakugou’s tone as she moves through it—hiding her colors with a black and white veil. Kindly answering questions and joking with her peers. 

Izuku could count the amount of times he and Bakugou rolled their eyes within the first half an hour.  

“Yeah, cause at least Suzuki knows when to fucking quit,” Bakugou mutters back, tapping his fingers impatiently against his leg. 

“Not with you though. I don’t know if you noticed, but she hates you,” Izuku adds, leaning close. 

“I’m pretty sure the whole school and their mothers know that. She’s not fucking slick.” 

Izuku snickers quietly and the women at their table turn again—disgusted by their behavior. Bakugou flips them off immediately and they turn right around quicker than last time. They’re nosy, but the ability to confront is clearly nonexistent. Most people are, especially in a crowd like this. 

Mitsuki clears her throat on the stage, walking with clicking heels to place the microphone back on its stand. “I believe that was a perfect close to our Q&A, thank you again Dr. Sen for your last question to close.” 

“Finally…” Bakugou scoffs, taking his drink and knocking back the little he had left. 

“I know you all must be hungry, and I do promise service will be provided shortly,” she continues with charm sprinkled in her tone. “I only wish to address one last thing, and I assure you it won’t take too long.” 

Izuku crosses his arms, leaning back with an unimpressed expression. What exactly does she have to say now? 

She smiles, and that look alone is nerve-racking. “Most of you are aware of my only son, Katsuki.” 

Izuku’s face drops like a pin. He can hear Bakugou next to him suck in a sharp breath.

Oh son of a–

“Currently in his last year over in Mizu, his father and I couldn’t be more proud of his development.” Swiveling, she motions to his dad behind her. Though…the man doesn’t quite look as happy as her. He’d go as far as saying he looks uncomfortable as he stares up at his wife. 

Probably because she’s lying through her fucking teeth, and even he knows it. 

“He’ll soon be graduating with his degree, ready for his next steps as an adult in the workforce.” 

Izuku turns his head, and his heart drops down to his stomach. Bakugou is gripping his pants so tight, that his hands are trembling. 

Centering his gaze, his mother darts her eyes through the crowd—pinpointing Izuku and her son almost instantly. Her eyes stay locked. 

“Some argued and some found themselves stubbornly against it, but it only pushed us on harder—solidifying a brilliant future for him and all our family has built.” 

That cheeky–

This isn’t good. Fuck this isn’t good. He should have known she’d pull something like this to assert herself. Izuku bites the bullet, reaching over and grabbing Bakuogu’s hand. The blonde jumps from the contact, eventually relaxing as Izuku slowly laces their fingers. 

“Squeeze,” Izuku says only loud enough for neighboring ears. “Squeeze as tight as you can.” 

Bakugou does so, replacing the force he once put on his pant leg and transferring it to Izuku’s hand. He ignores the pain, the metal from his rings digging into his skin. He ignores it, just so Bakugou can get a little bit of comfort.

“And with that, I wanted to announce our next biggest step for the coming new year.”

Don’t you fucking dare. Izuku glares forward, squeezing Bakugou’s hand back under the table. 

“After Katsuki’s graduation in May, he will be interning at our South location before the fall, where he is to finally become the new face of this company.”

She dared. Oh, she fucking dared. There has only ever been one other instance where Izuku’s blood truly boiled and sizzled inside his body. And that’s when his father got in his mom’s face and screamed. 

The crowd begins rounds of claps and Bakugou’s breathing picks up. Panicked, overwhelmed, caught off guard. 

“Now Katsuki,” she says with a devilish smile, pulling out the mic from its stand. “Why don’t you come up and say a few words to your soon-to-be peers?” 

Everyone in the room turns, and that’s the exact moment—the exact moment—everything turns to absolute shit. Izuku should have guessed there was a reason she wanted him here so bad, besides to ‘make up for his behavior.’

He should have fucking guessed. 

Lights shine on Bakugou, hot spotlights, and shining stage lights. He’s one to love the attention, love the crowd and the cheering—but on his own terms. When he has one and deserves the attention. Not when it’s forced down his throat like a syringe full of medicine. 

And certainly not for something like this. 

Izuku watches as tears prick the edges of Bakugou’s eyes, teasing the possibility of being spilled in front of all these people. In front of his parents. 

“Come on, Katsuki.” 

Don’t do it. Izuku practically begs inside his head for Bakugou to not go up onto that stage, even though he must feel that he has to—meet in the middle and end this war, or run off and continue to fight.

Don’t do it. 

Izuku squeezes the blonde’s hand tighter. The pain he must feel has to be unbearable, and only he understands that. Only he knows the indescribable ache of having to choose. Having to choose between staying home, or packing his bags and leaving for good. A father. A mother. Two ends of the spectrum, yet so similar in so many ways. He brushes his thumb over the top of Bakugou’s hand and bites at the inside of his cheek.

Mitsuki’s brow twitches, breaking from impatience. “Don’t be shy, son, come show everyone that son I praise.” 

Bakugou shoots out of his seat, ripping his hand out of Izuku’s grasp. Prepared to yell his name or do something to get him to stop, Izuku stands with him. Only, Bakugou doesn’t begin his journey to the front of the stage as he thought. 

He turns and bolts out of the room’s exit. 

People gasp and Mitsuki nearly drops the mic from her hands. The lights still shine in Bakugou’s place, lighting up Izuku as he stands still—catching the tail end of Bakugou as he storms down the hall. Whipping his head over, Izuku makes eye contact with Mrs. Bakugou, and the pure shock wiped over her eyes and lips. 

He narrows his eyes and curls his lip as a snarling wolf would. And if that doesn’t give her the memo, nothing else will. 

I told you so. 

Bakugou’s father stands from his seat, worry flushing his expression, as Izuku pushes his seat out of the way and speed walks out of the room to follow suit. 

“What are you doing?? ” Izuku hears her yell, but he doesn’t have an ounce of care to know who it was directed toward. 

Heart pounding like the beat of drums, he sprints around the corner and reaches out—grabbing Bakugou’s wrist before he can kick the front doors down. Panicked, Bakugou throws his hand to the side to avoid the contact, turning around so fast he nearly falls backward. 

“Woah, hey,” Izuku hushes, holding his hand out. “It’s just me.” He huffs, trying to catch his breath. 

A frustrated noise rumbles through Bakugou’s throat as he grabs his tie and rips it down. Placing both hands on the back of his neck, he heaves in a poor attempt to calm down and stay collected. But his breathing is so hard and the tears have already begun to fall, there’s no turning back now.

“Baku–”

“Katsuki!” 

Izuku spins around on his heels and immediately stretches his arm out to shield his friend—teeth bared with feral rage. 

Out of anyone inside this entire hotel, Izuku didn’t expect this one person to be standing on the other end of the hall—panting with his hand placed against the wall. But there he is, the father of the blonde behind him. Brown spiked hair and lowered glasses, no anger like the woman he married. But…

Something completely different. 

“Mr. Bakugou…” Izuku says with caution. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.” He’s never spoken to this man one-on-one before, unaware of his behavior as he normally stays quiet.

He can hear Bakugou’s breathing turn hoarse as it picks up. 

“I just–” he starts, putting a hand on his chest as if something inside is eating him alive. 

Izuku shakes his head. “Whatever you have to say, say it later. Now is not the time.”

“I–”

Izuku ignores him, turning around. He places quiet hands on Bakugou’s shaking shoulders and leans in close. “We’re going to get out of here, ok? It’s going to be ok.” 

In and out in and out, Bakugou breathes through his open mouth. Leaning forward he places his forehead on Izuku’s and nods. Through the contact, Izuku feels the heat and throb of the blonde’s headache and rush of nerves. The overwhelming surge of emotions that must be drowning him like an endless body of water. 

“Katsuki! Masaru!”

Izuku wastes no more time, breaking the contact and grabbing Bakugou by the bicep. Leading him out the door, he provides no satisfaction of looking over his shoulder as Mrs. Bakugou storms into the hallway. Not even to glare or hiss like a serpent's tongue. 

Not even to see the unexpected pain displayed on Masaru Bakugou’s face. 

Bakugou is quiet on the way to their floor, having cried and screamed it all out on their walk back. A lot of it was a jumbled mess of curses and frustrated yells, kicking nearby trashcans, but Izuku didn’t stop him to try at calming him down. Even when multiple people looked at them like they were drunken idiots. 

Screaming it out was more needed than a gentle conversation. If he were in the blonde’s shoes, he’d want the same thing. 

Izuku takes his jacket off and kicks his shoes off the second his feet touch hardwood, throwing it onto the couch combined with a long sigh. That all was much worse than he anticipated. 

“Do you feel any better?” Izuku asks quietly as Bakugou shuffles inside and does the same—leaving just his white button-up and loose tie. 

Bakugou grunts. “Kicking a dent in that trashcan definitely fucking helped…” He rubs a hand down his face, placing the other on his hip. 

Loosening his tie, Izuku turns to look at him. “But?” 

“But, I’m still fucking livid.” He shakes his head, trailing his hand to the back of his neck and squeezing. “I cannot believe–no, actually I can believe she did that. Making an announcement just to trap me, and then my dad? What in the hell was that…” He sounds like he’s going to scream again.

Izuku frowns. “Do you want to talk about it?” Please, talk about it. 

Dropping his hand to his side, Bakugou exhales. “For once, I actually do. But I need some more air first. I thought I was going to pass the fuck out in that conference hall.” He motions to the balcony, stepping in its direction—too tired to put his shoes back on and fuss about it.

“Of course.” Izuku bobs his head, following behind Bakugou and his slow movements toward the balcony doors. 

Opening them, they both step out into the cooled fall air—hair and ties blowing with the breeze. It’s cold, but not unbearable like the coming nights in Mizu where hair stands on end and runny noses feel like ice. The last time they both stood on a balcony such as this, they had shared their first moment of understanding next to the smoke of a lit-up joint. 

Funny how certain things develop. 

“Now all we need is a pre-roll,” Izuku tries to joke, crossing his arms and leaning his back against the rail. 

Bakugou hums, lips barely twitching into a considerable smile. Leaning forward over the rail, he stares out to the mountains and its partnering sky—shoulder touching Izuku’s. The whites of his eyes are red, paired with the puffy lips one only gets from crying. 

The wind blows, tangling his bangs by his brow. As he stares, all he can think is that Bakugou has spent years dealing with all of this… alone. Staring off to those mountains with no shoulder to bump, and no ears to listen. 

Pursing his lips, Izuku turns to look away—facing the interior of their floor. “That really is your life, huh?” He asks, picking at the seams of his shirt sleeve. 

Bakugou sniffs. “...that is my life.” 

“I’m sorry, Bakugou.” 

Izuku’s shoulder feels the pressure of a nudge. “You apologize too much.” 

“And you deal with too much.” Blinking, Izuku’s head turns just slightly as Bakugou sighs and drops his head. “Your dad seemed to have noticed. What do you think he had to say?”

“Who fucking knows,” Bakugou grumbles. “My dad’s always been one to keep his fucking mouth shut, even when she’s yelling at him.”

Izuku hums, pulling out a loose thread and kneading it between his fingers. “...He looked shaken.” 

Kicking out, Bakugou taps the bottom of the rail with his socked foot. “It’s fucking too late for him to feel guilty. He had 12 years to say something and have my damn back, but he chose her over me every single time.”

Yeah…

The fucked up part about it all is that he understands more than Bakugou knows. The first time Izuku saw Masaru turn over his shoulder at the hockey game, he knew. He knew. He could see a trapped partner, unaware of what to do or how to stand on his own two feet without falling. 

He could see his own mother. 

But the main difference between the two of them is that Izuku’s mother found the will to draw the line—a son, or a lover. Though she’s still trapped—missing her opportunity—there is no day that his mother would unbar her teeth and choose his father over him. 

If that opportunity ever rose again, she would pack her bags and leave nothing but a fading memory.

But…life is complicated. It's always complicated, especially for the ones whose hearts bleed the most. 

“I can tell he’s trapped too, you know…” Izuku adds. “But his real mistake was not learning the time to protect you as well, and for that, I don’t blame you for possibly never forgiving him either..”  

“Yeah…”

“Is it fucked up for me to say I’m proud of you?” 

Bakugou scoffs, keeping his head low. “For what, being a coward? Having a mental breakdown in front of like 75 people?” 

No…

“For finally stepping away in a way that makes a difference,” he argues. “Do you realize how much willpower that takes? Walking out even though everything inside your head was probably screaming at you to just step on that stage and accept it?” 

Slamming the door behind him with nothing but two packed bags and salty tears. Regrets, but not enough to make him open that knob and say sorry. Fears, enough to truly push his back with a palm to his car and drive away.

“It doesn’t fucking feel like something to be proud of.” Bakugou lifts his head. “Everything honestly would have just been easier if I did.” 

“Sure.” Izuku shifts, turning around so he too is facing the scenery. “But you didn’t.” 

A deep exhale. “I didn’t.” 

Crimson eyes find his, and the silence turns loud. Louder than the trees in the wind, or the creaking windows. 

“What went on through your head?” Izuku asks softly, leaning into Bakugou’s shoulder this time. They’re close—close enough to smell each other’s breath, or even feel the thump of their hearts through their sleeves. “When your mom said those words?” 

Long blonde lashes blinking, Bakugou’s face softens. “Honestly…” he trails. “All I could think about was you.” 

You. 

Izuku’s heart shoots into his throat, gagging him. “Me?”

“You,” he repeats. “All I could fucking think about was you… and how long you’ve been stubbornly helping me even though you’ve just barely begun to know me. Even though I treated you like shit on the side of the road.” 

Izuku’s eyes break contact, looking down at his hands that are just a pinky away. 

“And I thought about how much fucking farther away you stand with this, knowing yourself and what you deserve.” Their hands graze and Bakugou shutters. “I wanted to know what that felt like.” 

“And?” Izuku questions. “What did it feel like?” He brings his gaze back up from their hands, finding the blonde just an inch closer. 

“It felt like nothing I have ever felt before. It felt weird but… good, as bizarre as that sounds.”

They look at one another for what seems like an eternity, swallowed by the slow silence of their breathing and the earth’s. Bakugou looks at Izuku with that expression, that same expression that has been driving him insane—enough to make him rip his hair out and yell. 

Izuku wants to kiss him so badly right now. He wants to grab each side of his face and pull him in so hard their teeth clash—arms wrapping around one another, connecting like the missing pieces of a puzzle as they grip and pull. 

He licks his lips. 

But it isn’t fair, or right. 

Izuku breaks the silence. “What’s going on behind those eyes, Bakugou?” Why do you keep looking at me like that…

“What do you mean?” 

“You…” Izuku pauses. “I can’t help but notice you look at me like that a lot. At least, since we first started talking.” He fiddles with his fingers. “I can usually read you pretty well, but not when you do that.” Even on the first day, when Izuku put Bakugou into his place before lecture. He stared at him like there was something…different. 

Something more. 

He hears Bakugou swallow thickly, overcoming the breeze. “I…” he falters, taking a deep breath through his nose. 

“You don’t have to answer,” Izuku says quietly. “I was just curious–”

“You make me feel… different sometimes,” Bakugou finishes, breaking the last part of his sentence.

“Different?” 

“Like–” Bakugou struggles, standing a little straighter. “You say stuff, or even the way you touch me or comfort me…I can’t help but feel, god I don’t know, fucking strange inside?”

Izuku’s stomach drops down to the balcony deck. His worst nightmare might have just come true, the queer kid making their friend uncomfortable. “If I made you uncomfortable, I’m so sorry–”

“ No,” Bakugou quickly emphasizes, snapping his head over. “No, shit it’s–it’s not that.” Struggling to find his words, he grips the rail. “Fuck, I'm so shit with this.”

“...What’s going on, Bakugou?” Izuku hesitates, nervous with the tone and body language at his side. 

Growing restless, Bakugou turns his body to face Izuku’s—leaning his elbow on the rail. “I-I’ve been really fucking confused, lately, Deku.” Sniffing, he brushes his hand under his nose. “I think I owe you some honesty, considering you’ve done this much insane shit for me.” 

Izuku turns, doing the same as the man in front of him even though everything inside his body is boiling with nerves. “A-are you ok? What’s–”

“Do you remember asking me, in the car, if I was straight or not?” 

Sirens blare. Izuku’s jaw snaps shut—so loud his teeth clack. Not only is his stomach still on the floor, but now his face and neck are starting to feel distressingly hot. He pulls at his shirt collar, clearing his throat. 

“I uh, yeah. I remember.” Shit!

“I think…” Bakugou groans, struggling to push these words out. He looks up for a second. “That uh, I wasn’t entirely truthful with my answer.” 

Hit him with a brick knock his ass out, son of a fucking BITCH—

“Oh,” Izuku blurts. “Well–” another clear of the throat, more awkward this time. “You know I support you no matter what. Was there a reason you were afraid to tell me then?”

“That’s the thing . ” Bakugou lowers his head and his cheeks are red. “I didn’t exactly...stop denying it till recently.” 

Copy and paste. Son of a fucking BITCH.

Izuku adjusts his stance—anxious.

Bakugou takes a step forward and Izuku almost faints. So close, their chests are now a breath apart. He can hear the pound of Bakugou’s heart, despite all that conquers. 

Izuku tilts his head up. “Bakugou…are you–”

“My mom always told me growing up, that…queer people were always meant to be looked down upon. That it wasn’t natural for these feelings to build, and they would burn in hell for all eternity.” Bakugou grips his shirt, right over his chest—knuckle grazing Izuku as it moves. “I was scared. I’m still fucking scared.”

Swallowing, Izuku keeps his head up. He’s scared too, fuck he’s terrified. Bakugou has had an emotionally scarring day, and there’s no telling what is true and what isn’t. 

He might have tried to kiss him at the ice rink. Will he try to kiss him again?

Bakugou’s chin tilts down. “But every time I see your stupid fucking face…it goes away for just a second.” He can see his throat bob. “I just want some clarity for once, Deku. I want–I want to know if this is real.” A shaken breath. “I want to know if I’m truly…” 

Izuku’s hand grabs his bicep. “Hey hey…” Squeezing, he habitually rubs his thumb up and down. “There is nothing to be ashamed of. I know this is scary, I know.”  

Coming out is nothing like a walk in the park. It’s nothing like people try to say, not even one bit. It’s a hike in a hurricane or a drive through a flash flood. 

And for Bakugou of all people, it’s all of the above all at once. 

“God…” Bakugou almost huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “The craziest damn part about this is that through all this confusion and fucking fear over either outcome.” He takes a deep deep breath and looks Izuku directly into his big green eyes. 

“I find myself wanting to kiss you so fucking bad.” 

Eyes blowing wide, Izuku’s body goes still. He can feel his face turn a shade darker as he subconsciously swallows—his heart pounding so hard it's felt inside his head. This isn’t happening…

“Deku, can I ask you something?”

Another swallow as if he’s choking down bile. “Isn’t that my line?” 

“Deku.”

“Yes,” he blurts. “Ask me anything, please.” He can’t help but sound breathy as the lightheadedness kicks in. This isn’t happening, it’s a dream. His heart pulsates painfully. 

Somehow, Bakugou finds a way to bring their bodies closer. “What…what would you do if I kissed you right now? To see if I’m right.”

What would you do? What would you do?

What was he prepared to do on the ice? 

Half lidding his eyes, Izuku leans forward. “I would let you…"'

Sharing breaths, Izuku’s lips just barely graze Bakugou’s as they hover so close the tips of their noses touch. Taking his hand, Izuku slides his thumb under Bakugou’s eye and lightly caresses the side of his cheek. He can feel him shiver under the cold metal of his rings. “I…” He shakes his head though his chest is aflame, trying his best to snap out of this clear fantasy. It’s not right. “Shit, Bakugou I can’t. You’re not in the right headspace for this and I don’t wanna–”

“Shut up.” Bakugou’s hand tops Izuku’s, squeezing. “Deku, for the first time in my life I feel sane. If I don’t…if I don’t try or confirm, then I might actually go fucking crazy.” He Leans in till their foreheads press together. “Now I’m going to ask you again…” 

“What would you do if I kissed you?”

Izuku nearly folds at the knees. It’s a question he’s wanted asked for days if not weeks, circulating in his mind space like pesky mosquitos that never cease. 

What would you do? What would you do?

What–

He can’t hold on any longer. Izuku grabs the other side of Bakugou’s face. “I would kiss you back.” 

It didn’t happen as fast as Izuku had anticipated, but it was still quick. His chest bursts as Bakugou closes the distance and captures his lips, consuming his well-being like a lit match in a dense forest. Neither of them moves or opens their mouth to invite a deeper push, standing still as they hold their lips together like they will be separated and forever forgotten. 

He tastes like gin and the salt from his tears, and his lips are softer than Izuku would have ever thought. 

Bakugou is the first to let go, slowly retracting his lips with a wet smack. Exhaling he looks down at Izuku, saying nothing. Doing nothing. 

The brilliant burst of excitement dies and smolders—the end of a cigarette in its tray. 

Fuck, he messed up.  

“I-I’m sor–” Izuku lets go of his face and tries to apologize, but he’s stopped before he can finish even one more word. 

Bakugou grabs him by the tie and yanks.

Chapter Text

"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." Edgar Allan Poe

It took all but one second for the panic to evaporate away. As Bakugou grabbed Izuku’s tie, colliding lips once again, there seemed to be nothing. Nothing but a dream. 

“Mhmf!” Izuku muffles behind that same pair of lips. Harder, more aggressive. Desperate. 

It’s like a huge weight has finally been lifted from his shoulders, and Izuku takes his arms and wraps them around the blonde’s neck—pushing into the kiss. 

Grabbing Izuku’s lower back with his other arm and pulling, Bakugou groans. A flash of heat pools into Izuku’s abdomen and he too groans, opening his mouth to let in more of Bakugou. More of his scent, more of his lips. 

It’s everything he dreamed of. Fantasized about. From the way his hands grab him to the way his lips feel, Izuku is melting like fresh wax on a summer day. He gasps as Bakugou’s tongue slides in, teasing his lower lip before reaching and twisting with his own salivating tongue. Fucking hell, Izuku grasps onto Bakugou’s shirt and tangles his fingers inside his hair. He opens his mouth wider. 

Breaking for just a second, Bakugou pants. “Fuck.” He dives back in, letting go of Izuku’s tie so both hands can wander across his back—sliding down to his tucked shirt and tight pants. 

They’re still outside, still in the cold of this balcony. 

Gripping each side of his ass, Bakugou lets his lips slide off to moan in unison with Izuku. It’s hot, it’s tight, and Izuku selfishly needs more. 

Letting go of Bakugou’s hair, Izuku wraps his hand around that bright red tie and pulls—leading them back to the safety and warmth of their floor. The blonde shows no sign of protesting, stepping with Izuku though their lips still connect in sloppy desperation. 

Slipping through the glass door, Izuku kicks it shut behind them. 

He has no clue how they eventually got to the bedroom behind a closed door—everything blurred the second that their feet touched hardwood. 

Dropping onto the bed and pulling Bakugou over top of him, Izuku scoots and spreads his legs so the blonde can perfectly slot himself in between—grinding down on the tightness in his dress pants as he does so.

“Fffuck,” Izuku curses, arching his back as the pain turns to pleasure in an instant. Bakugou seems to be in the same boat, as he can feel a similar bulge growing harder as they shift. 

“Oh my god,” Bakugou gasps, taking a second to drop his forehead on Izuku’s collarbone. 

Izuku breathes, sliding a hand back into Bakugou’s hair as their chests rise and fall. Lifting his head, Bakugou stares down at Izuku with dilated eyes and cheeks flushed with crimson. Izuku’s hand glides from his hair, traveling down his neck to his shoulder to his chest. 

“Fuck, Deku…”

Izuku tilts his head up and catches his lips again, clashing teeth with awkward momentum filled with hunger. 

Yeah. Fuck. 

The heat multiplies as Bakugou’s hips find comfort in both their tight pants, thrusting up. Izuku sees stars, digging his nails into his shirt’s expensive white fabric. Another thrust and they both have to unlatch to properly whine. It doesn’t take long for Izuku to let go and, with trembling hands, rip at Bakugou’s collar and buttons. Off off off off–

Bakugou immediately gets the memo, helping Izuku. Sitting up with his body still between Izuku’s legs, Bakugou undresses from the waist up—throwing his shirt and tie to the side. Saliva practically pools down Izuku’s throat as he stares up at the huffing chest and flexing abs. Reaching up, he brushes his fingertips across the defined abdomen, stopping at the waistband as Bakugou shutters. He’d never been with a man as fit as him—beating Sato’s lean body by a landslide. 

He remembers the morning in his apartment when Bakugou stretched and revealed a criminal physique that nearly made him run to the bathroom a second time and scream. 

Overcome by past and present desire, Izuku’s fingers latch onto Bakugou’s belt loops—wrapping his legs around the blonde’s lower half. They flip positions, leaving Bakugou caught off guard with wide eyes and somehow harder as Izuku sits on top with heavy legs. 

Sliding his tie out of its hold, Izuku moves to take his shirt off—tossing it into the same pile. Legs straddling Bakugou, he swallows before bending over and opening his mouth. 

Bakugou moans, flying his hands up to grab and squeeze Izuku’s ass as his tongue drags its way up the blonde’s lower v-line all the way up to his neck. His sweat tastes sweet, which shouldn’t even be fucking possible—addicting and impossibly enjoyable. It mixes with his cologne, intoxicating every sense and nerve within his brain.

He sucks and nips at Bakugou’s neck, finding incredible pleasure in the taste of warm skin and the feeling of bucking hips—tight hands and a tighter groin. Impatience finally sets on the other end and Bakugou’s fingers find themselves pulling and tugging at Izuku’s pants.

Is this really–

The motion slaps Izuku across the mental plane and he breaks from Bakugou’s neck. Sitting up he takes his hands that once wandered over this sculpture of a body, placing them over the athlete’s—holding them still. This is happening fast, they need a second. 

Panting, Bakugou looks up confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Just…wait a second.” Shaking his head, Izuku swallows and joins the heavy breathing. “This is a lot, it’s going to be a lot…. ” he squeezes Bakugou’s hands. “This…this isn’t the same as what you’re used to.”

I don’t want to scare you away. Make you realize you were wrong—no matter how badly I want this. 

“Deku.” Bakugou shakes his head back. “You think too damn much.” Adjusting himself, he lifts his hips and regains the reins slowly—flipping Izuku onto his back once again. 

“I just don’t want to overwhelm you,” Izuku nearly whispers as his head sinks into the pillow, softly placing his hands on either side of Bakugou’s shoulders. 

“You won’t.”

He sounds so sure... 

“Do you…” Izuku pauses. Do you know what to do? 

There’s…a bit more prep involved when it comes to sex like this. He has the right to be nervous, and hesitant even, considering Bakugou has never done this with another man before. Considering he is probably the first guy he’s even fucking kissed. Izuku isn’t shy to open himself up if need be, he’s done it before. But…

Bakugou hums, finally understanding Izuku’s worry. “If you’re nervous about me being completely oblivious, don’t be.” He exhales. “There are a lot more women out there that like shit up the ass than you think. And…” a slight pause. “It’s not like I haven’t done it to myself when I was trying to figure my shit out.”

Izuku’s face bursts, and he’s pretty sure its color matches Bakugou’s eyes. “Oh. ”

Jesus Christ, being bi-curious really does wonders sometimes. He’s a damn top but of course he fucked himself with his fingers just to know if he could. 

That competitive asshole, Izuku is so fucking screwed. 

Snickering at the physical response, Bakugou leans in closer—one hand placing itself on Izuku’s hip. “Besides…” he purrs in Izuku’s ear and he shivers. “I’m pretty sure I’ve subconsciously wanted to fuck your brains out of you ever since I saw what kind of faces you make as you’re ruined.” He slowly grinds up, sending a bolt of electricity up Izuku’s spine. 

“Did you know I fucked that girl that night…and almost said your name when I came?”

The basement. That fucking basement–

Izuku doesn’t hide it, he replies with a dirty moan—remembering just how he felt as that orgasm ripped through him that fateful night. 

Bringing his head back to face Izuku, Bakugou smirks. “Now if you’re done worrying like a damn idiot, I’m going to take your pants off now.”

“Please,” Izuku breathlessly replies before hastily helping the blonde unbutton and pull his pants off. 

If anything truly solidified the consent in this situation, it was that. 

After Izuku’s pants, socks, and underwear are pulled off, leaving himself bare, Bakugou stares down at the painful erection Izuku holds— swallowing. Izuku can only respond by reaching up and unsnapping Bakugou’s buttons. 

Everything is now off, thrown to the side without a care despite its value. And, well, Izuku has found himself making the same face as Bakugou—wide eyes while swallowing thickly.

He is fucking huge— the sight itself makes his insides throb. 

Thoughts and prayers to all the women’s cervixes he's bruised, because oh my god.

The staring doesn’t last long, as Bakuogu grabs Izuku’s chin. Unlike the last times Bakugou has kissed him, the teasing and entanglement, his tongue shoves itself down Izuku’s throat—hands gripping his hair to hold him close.

“Mhm!” Izuku muffles, mouth full and overwhelmed. His hands snap up, grabbing at the blonde’s shoulder blades again. It’s intense and god is it a drunken fantasy—feeling so full by even just the wetness of his tongue and pressure of his hands. Their erections brush and rub, pushing out frustrated groans from the both of them. Everything is so hot—so much —and Izuku is fighting to stoke his weeping dick as it begs for more attention. 

Bakugou breaks from their lips, kissing and sucking on Izuku’s jaw and neck with obsession—trailing lower and lower till he reaches his chest. It’s incredible, everything from the feeling of his lips to the heat of his tongue as it’s dragged across his skin—his rough hands trailing over his nipples with curiosity. As his lips pucker and suck, leaving a mark for his morning self to adore. 

The only time Bakugou lets go to breathe, he reaches a hand over to the nightstand—fumbling for the drawer. Completely consumed in ecstasy and the need to catch his breath, Izuku barely even notices the bottle and pack of condoms Bakugou yanks from the interior of his nightstand, throwing them onto the other side of the bed. He had to have put them in there today-

“Spread yourself, Deku,” Bakugou’s husky voice demands, and Izuku’s legs listen—opening wide. There’s a pop and the sound of a bottle squeezing before Izuku feels one of Bakugou’s hands grab his thigh tight—pushing it out farther. “God…these fucking legs ...” 

Izuku pants. “Bakug–ah!” he gasps, digging crescents into the athlete’s shoulders as one finger slips inside—cold and sudden. Subconsciously, he tenses from the lack of warning. 

“Relax,” Bakugou affirms quietly and Izuku nods, relaxing his lower half as best as he can so Bakugou can work his way inside. 

Toes curling from the pressure, a moan bubbles inside Izuku’s throat and he spreads wider—allowing Bakugou to sink his finger in deeper and add another. And another. 

“Hah–” Izuku cries as one finds itself turned to three. It’s just like if not more than he imagined—the competitive aggression and perfection of each pump. He can’t handle any more teasing, any more build-up, or else he truly won’t last any longer. “Bakugou, fuck, please–”

Like the asshole he is, Bakugou smiles. Leaning his head close, he curls his fingers up—sending Izuku into the stratosphere. “Good to know you’re impatient as fuck in bed. Good to know. ”

Izuku growls, digging his nails into Bakugou’s skin. Asshole!

“Use your words, Deku,” Bakugou’s voice rumbles. 

“I need–” Izuku struggles, fighting to breathe as Bakugou presses deeper. 

“What do you need?”

I need all of you, every second, every pulse, every touch–

Bringing his chin down and dragging his nails down Bakugou’s back, Izuku stares up at red.

“I need you to fuck me.” Frustration laces his tone with a groan. 

A smile deadlier than anything he’d seen. Canines poking between his teeth, Bakugou grabs Izuku’s thigh with his other hand. 

“There’s that fucking attitude.”

Izuku bites his tongue as Bakugou slides his fingers out, missing the fullness and the burn. He watches the blonde with half-lidded eyes reach over and grab a condom—placing the plastic in his mouth and ripping. 

Izuku nearly finishes on the spot.

Before they both know it, Bakugou slips the condom on and hoists Izuku’s heavy legs over his shoulders—pressing down till his own dripping cock brushes against his stomach. They breathe in synch and with one squeeze of Izuku’s hips and a tightening of Izuku’s grip on the back of his shoulders—he sides in. 

Izuku sees white.

“Fuck, Deku, shit–” Bakugou’s fingertips dig into his hips harder, definitely leaving bruises. “You’re so fucking tight–”

Relaxing around Bakugou, Izuku’s stomach erupts into flames as each inch slowly pushes his full length inside. It’s so big, so much all around—almost too tough to swallow in. But regardless of its overwhelming power…

He still needs more. 

After all this time holding it in, he needs more. 

Izuku moans and bucks up with impatience into Bakugou, getting a similar noise and wide eyes in reciprocation. 

“Oh…” Bakugou realizes just what he wants.

“Oh yes.” 

The athlete gives Izuku all of three seconds to prepare before he slides partially out and dives deep with a back-breaking thrust. 

“Fuck!” Izuku curses, scraping his nails across Bakugou’s back. “Oh my god–” It’s exactly what he needed. This desire, this pure fuck of aggression and crave to be ruined. 

It’s bliss, it’s everything. Izuku screams as Bakugou pounds into him till the bed shakes—till he hears the sound of wet skin and heavy balls slapping. The very sound of breathing and breathless cursing is enough to make him want to cum hard. 

“Fuck, you feel so damn good,” Bakugou hums as he rotates his hips and finds the spot. “So fucking perfect around me…” He’s a talker. Fuck, he’s a talker. 

“Bakugou…” Izuku whines. It’s better than I imagined as well. Hotter, more satisfying, incredibly–

“You drive me fucking crazy.”

You’re telling me.

Bakugou grabs both of Izuku's legs and throws them off his shoulder with a huff like he weighs nothing. Izuku isn’t even able to process before the blonde pulls out, grabs him by the waist, and flips him to his stomach. 

“God, I’ve wanted to fuck you from behind all day,” Bakugou mutters, pushing himself inside deep and forcing Izuku to arch his back till it hurts. He has to grab the headboard for support, burying his head in the pillow as he feels his eyes roll back—so very consumed. “I wanted to take you down on the ice. Bring you to the locker room and fuck you bent over a bench.”

That very fantasy makes his head do front flips.  

“Seeing that cheeky prick flirt with you in that gas station…” Panting, Bakugou pounds into him like a hot and bothered teenager—riled up and desperate. “Being reminded of his actions—defiling you against a dirty wall like a slut .” 

Jealousy.

The flames within Izuku’s body grow, circling around his abdomen and crackling. He’s not going to last much longer. “Mm-ah!”

“It made me so fucking angry. ” One two three, Bakugou picks up his pace and Izuku arches more so his prostate is properly destroyed —reaching with his other hand to start stroking himself as the pain grows unbearable. “Treating you like a callable fuck …made me want to do better…make you feel so fucking good and scream my name instead.”

Make me feel good. Ruin me. Ruin me—

“Did you picture me like I did, Deku? ” he pants, taking one hand and pressing it down on Izuku’s back. “My hands by your throat as I make you cry for more?”

Yes. God yes…

“Baku-hah!” Izuku bites his bottom lip. “Yes, yes– ”

Nails scarping on Izuku’s hips, thighs, and ass, Bakugou thrusts with mania—so close. “I pictured you, your thighs, and your slutty waist–” he pauses to moan, overwhelmed with pleasure. “Bouncing on my cock or taking it so good like a fucking whore–”

“Fuck, make me take it…” Izuku begs as tears form. Sweat drips from Bakugou’s forehead onto Izuku’s back, cold against his feverishly hot skin. “Make me need it.” 

Legs and back starting to ache, Izuku pumps his closed fist around his swollen shaft faster. The build-up is just like if not more than when he pictured Bakugou that night. When he touched himself in his bathroom.

“Shit,” Bakugou gasps as Izuku swallows him up and forces them both into mind-numbing delirium. “I’m close, I’m so fucking close—”

“Me too, Bakugou, me too I can’t—”

Bakugou cums first and hard. 

With trembling hands, he pulls Izuku toward him, slams into his G-spot, and jolts with gratification as Izuku’s walls tighten around his dick. A dirty whine escapes from his throat, high and satisfied.

And that…

That sound itself sends Izuku over the edge. 

Izuku’s abdomen bursts like lightning and a wave of pleasure trickles from head to toe. He cums intensely into his hand, shaking as he slows his strokes at the same pace as Bakugou’s hips—so good his head goes fuzzy like old tv static. So good he wants to chase this feeling forever.

A dream this was, a dream no more. 

They ride through their orgasms, slow and steady as Izuku’s insides pulse. Bakugou pulls out and rolls over, collapsing onto the other side of the bed—consumed with exhausted breathing and post-orgasm shock. With trembling hands, he slips off the full condom and tosses it onto the floor. 

Disgusting, but it’s hardwood—they’ll live. There’s no way they’re moving after that, after all. 

After that.

Izuku sucks a breath through grit teeth and lifts himself up after a full minute of processing—turning so he’s now on his side and facing the blonde. He wipes off his hand with a sock that didn’t quite make it off the bed, watching as Bakugou stares up at the ceiling with wide eyes and a rising chest—lips slightly quirked up. Euphoria. 

“Oh my god…”

Smiling, Izuku swallows and slows his breathing down. Reaching out, he places a hand on Bakugou’s sweaty chest, snapping him out of his moment. 

“So…” he whispers, rubbing his thumb across his skin. “Did that help you grasp some understanding?” 

Considering they just fucked so hard they might have chipped off paint from the wall, he’s assuming it’s a yes. 

Bakugou turns so he’s on his side like Izuku, facing his green eyes. “Deku, I have never finished so hard in my life, I think I almost pulled a fucking muscle. You tell me.”

Izuku hums a short chuckle, taking the hand he had on his chest to brush a piece of hair away from the blonde’s eyes. “You know…I’ve wanted you to touch me like that for so long. ” His hand grasps Bakugou’s cheek. “I just never wanted to make you uncomfortable.”

“In all this time, you’ve never done such a damn thing.” Long lashes blink. “I don’t…think I realized how badly I fucking needed all of that. Needed all of you, ” Bakugou replies, leaning into the touch. “I was just so fucking consumed with fear.” 

Izuku lightly brushes his thumb side to side across his cheekbone. “It’ll be scary for a long time.” He feels Bakugou nod in his touch. “But I’m proud of you, and a little selfish bit inside of me is happy this happened.” 

Bakugou smirks, taking his hand and doing what Izuku did earlier—brushing a curl from his face. “Oh yeah?” 

Leaning forward, Izuku pulls the blonde in and catches his lips softly—gentler than their last. He can taste the sex on his lips, the sweat above his cupid’s bow. Breaking, he leans his forehead against Bakugou’s. 

“Yeah.” 

He feels those big rough hands wrap around each side of him, pulling their bodies closer. Their legs tangle as Izuku slides down so his head rests against Bakugou’s chest—listening to his heartbeat and even breathing that he’s only ever heard when they’ve embraced. Fingers slide up to the back of his neck to play with his curls—mindless and caring. 

Everything and more he could have imagined. 

“Me too, Deku…”

“Me too.”

Cracking his eyes open as the sun peaks through cracked shades, Izuku winces.

God…

Hearing a tired groan from behind, he feels an arm tighten around his torso and pull him close to a warm chest. Unable to fight it, he smiles to himself—placing one of his hands over the one that holds him dearly. 

The realness of it all set in the moment they both drifted off to sleep last night, too tired to shower off their mess. And the realness of it all has solidified now that he’s awake and aware of this body that presses against his back.

They had sex last night. 

Hot desperate sex that he would kill to feel for the first time again. 

Izuku isn’t kidding when he says the person he was a month ago would strangle him till his face turned blue. But he’s not taking anything back, not ever.  

Jesus, his friends are going to have a cow.

A whirring noise outside the bedroom catches Izuku’s attention. Frowning, he lifts his head—disrupting the blonde behind him.

“Mmm go the fuck back to sleep nerd…”

“Sorry, but do you hear that?” He mutters back, voice hoarse. He rubs his eyes. “It kind of sounds like–”

The elevator dings.

Both he and Bakugou shoot up so fast, that Izuku nearly flies off the bed and onto the hardwood floor. 

“Katsuki?”

Eyes blowing wide, Izuku turns and finds a similar if not even more horrified expression. They both glance at each other's very much naked bodies and bruised necks, frozen with fear. 

“Fuck, it’s my fucking dad,” Katsuki strains through grit teeth. “What the fuck is he doing here??”

They don’t have enough time to come to a proper hypothesis. 

“Katsuki? Are you awake?” His father calls from the living room, footsteps growing close. 

Izuku’s body kicks into fight or flight, throwing the comforter off his body and jumping out of bed. He’s too panicked to process the absolute pain throbbing up and down his back and ass, knowing full well it’s going to hit him like a truck once he relaxes. 

“Deku!” A loud whisper. “Get the fuck back here–”

He tip-toe runs over to the blonde’s duffle bag, ripping open the zipper and rummaging to find something to throw on fast—angry with himself for keeping his own bag outside on the couch. 

“Katsuki? Look, I’ve come to apologize for last night…”

He throws on one of Bakugou’s black sweatshirts and grey sweatpants, cinching the waist so it doesn’t fall off. Grabbing the hoodie strings and pulling, the hood closes around his neck and he turns—bee-lining it for the door. 

“Deku–fuck,” Bakugou curses, realizing what Izuku is about to do. He grabs the covers and buries himself underneath. Hidden. 

Before the door handle can be twisted on the other side, Izuku grabs it first. He opens the door just slightly, peeking through. 

“Kat–oh!” Masaru exclaims, surprised and shaken by the unexpected face. “Midoriya, I’m so sorry!”

“Hey, Mr. Bakugou…” Izuku trails, gripping the side of the door. He can hear Bakugou rustle under the covers. 

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, Midoriya. I wasn’t expecting you to take the bedroom last night, so I assumed my son was in there.” 

Oh, you blissfully ignorant man. 

“Yeah…” Izuku clears his throat. “Yeah, he took the couch last night to be courteous.” 

“That was awfully considerate of him…” Masaru nods, glancing away for a second to push up his glasses. It’s…odd hearing him speak this much. However, last night was a breaking point for a lot of people, not just Bakugou.

Izuku looks him over, a little shocked at the personality and body language in front of him. Quiet, gentle, uneasy.

A man who doesn’t deserve to be stuck in this kind of relationship. 

“Is there something wrong, sir?”

“No, I just–” the man scratches the back of his beck. “May I ask where he is right now? I wanted to try and talk with him before you two leave.”

Izuku swallows and shakes his head with a lie. “Sorry, uh your son went on a walk to get some air not too long ago. You just missed him.” 

“Ah…” Sad brown eyes find Izuku’s. “Well then no worries young man.” He pockets his hands into his pants and turns to the side. “I’ll have to catch him next time…” 

Izuku’s heart squeezes as he watches Masaru move toward the elevator. A part inside of him wants to let him go and atone for his mistakes, unable to gain the closure he’s most certainly searching for. But…the other part of him is screaming to reach out and stop him as if it were his own mother in front of him. 

Afraid and pulsing with guilt. 

Slipping through the door’s opening, Izuku shuts it behind him—catching the man’s attention before he can take another step away. 

Motioning to the balcony with his head, Izuku exhales deeply to himself. 

“I think we should take a step outside, Mr. Bakugou.”

It’s cold out, still brisk from the night’s cool wind and mountain air. He never got a chance to look at the time, but judging by the level of light and tone of the breaking sky—it is close to 8 or 9 in the morning. 

Izuku shivers, crossing his arms before leaning his back against the rail—biting his tongue as the soreness settles. His eyes catch Bakugou’s father shifting uncomfortably across from him. 

A completely different kind of energy compared to his mother, who sneered as she held bitter alcohol close to her pursing lips—ready to snap. 

Izuku sighs. “I’m assuming you realized you messed up, hm?”

He can hear the man swallow. He sighs himself, walking to the metal railing. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” A hand brushes through brown spiked hair, gripping at the ends. “This was probably a stupid idea...the damage has been done.”

The sight…

Izuku’s lips relax downward. 

The sight reminds him of Bakugou. 

“Well…” He trails, turning his head so he faces the door—shoving his hands into Bakugou’s sweatshirt. “Your son may not be here to hear these words, but I’m here to listen.”

His head turns. 

“I understand more than you might think.”

It takes a couple of minutes, but eventually, the man across from him sucks in a breath. 

“...I can tell you’ve been a good friend to Katsuki,” Masaru says quietly, tapping the cold rail with his other hand. “I want you to know that I appreciate it. He’s needed someone like you in his life for a long time, unlike what Mistuki thinks.”

Izuku nods, listening without interrupting with a word or a hum. 

“I don’t blame you for feeling anger toward my wife, or me, for that matter,” he continues, letting go of his hair. “And I don’t blame him for feeling the same. We deprived him of a life worth living, only truly thinking of what we thought was best for him and the person he’d become.”

Huh…they really are polar opposites. 

“I want him to know how sorry I am for being a bad father. I finally realized last night just how… awful it all actually was. It was sobering. I’ve never seen him so upset before, and it made me realize that all this time while I was too blind to change, he was suffering beyond anything.”  

He’s an awkward man, definitely someone who struggles to properly word what comes to mind. But Izuku could tell he’s trying. Though his insides are probably boiling from the confusion of emotions.  

Izuku turns, leaning his hip against the rail so he can properly face him. “You know, you don’t have to take all the blame for your wife’s actions. Or her words.” He pauses, watching as Masaru looks up at him again with those eyes that are far too soft for his face. “Sure, you didn’t help. But I can tell you aren’t the kind of person to hold those ideals so tight.” 

“Pardon?”

Izuku shrugs. “You’re feeling guilty, for starters. You looked guilty and uncomfortable last night, and I could tell just from that that you aren’t exactly the kind of person to do things with malicious intent.” 

Masaru’s lips part. 

“There’s no excuse for letting the abuse continue, or for allowing yourself to pick sides and assume this set future truly is best just because your wife said so. But you also ran after Bakugou last night with such sadness. Regret .”

Something he’s always wanted his own father to do deep deep down. 

“I wouldn’t consider you a bad father, sir. Just someone who needs to apologize and set himself on a proper path of change. Even if it’s too late for forgiveness, that doesn’t mean you can’t do better.” 

A slight curl of the lips appears on Mr. Bakugou's face. A hum. “You speak as if it’s from experience…”

“I am speaking from experience,” Izuku confirms and the older man snaps his head over. “I’m speaking from the perspective of someone who was raised by a horrible father. As someone who saw what that does to a significant other as well.”

“Oh…” 

Blinking, Izuku’s lashes flutter in the breeze. “Are you happy?”

The man’s eyes widen slightly. “I–” he stutters, caught off guard by the question. “What?”

“I asked if you were happy,” Izuku repeats. “With your marriage, your family relationships, your life. It’s easy to take the blame and feel guilty without realizing you too are a subject of displeasure. Bakugou deserves better, but that doesn’t mean you don’t either.”  

“I don’t…understand…” 

“Mr. Bakugou…” Izuku says, grabbing his eyes again. “I used to see your son as an arrogant asshole who only cared about his success, but now I see someone who was damaged enough to believe it. I used to see you on the same level as his mother, but now I see an exhausted purpose.” 

Bakugou’s father goes quiet, like he doesn’t believe this. 

“What I’m trying to say is that yes, you’ve made a lot of mistakes, and you’ve realized them too late. And yes, your son may never forgive you, as I will never forgive my own father,” he solidifies. “But you also deserve better too, sir.” 

Masaru swallows thickly. “Even–” he exhales. “Even when I don’t believe I do?”

“Even when you don’t believe so.” 

It’s the people who doubt who are worthy.

“So…what am I supposed to do?” There is a yearning in his voice. A need to truly know what to do and how to do it. 

It seems he’s never truly lived his life outside his wife or his son, at least…not for a long time. 

Izuku shrugs, standing up straight. “Live. Let your son live .” He takes his hands out of the sweatshirt pockets. “I see a fire inside Bakugou that begs to burn, and I see one inside you that’s dying. I can’t tell you what to do or how to do it, because that’s for you to figure out. But if there’s one thing I learned from my own experiences and watching my mother and her relationship, it’s that it’s never too late to try.” 

Glancing to the side, Izuku catches movement. He turns his head, making eye contact with Bakugou. he managed to pull himself from bed and walk out of his room in a t-shirt and shorts—face held with acceptance. 

Izuku nods to him and himself. 

“Try and think about that, sir. I think you owe your son at least that.” He moves toward the door without waiting for a response, knowing the man he’s been speaking to will need the time to properly process. 

And there are times when knowing when to stop is needed. He’s said what he wanted to say. 

“Midoriya,” Masaru calls, stopping him as his hand hovers over the handle. He looks over his shoulder. 

“Thank you.” He pushes up his glasses. “You have a really good head on your shoulders, young man. Please keep being kind to my son, it means the world to me seeing that someone cares.”

Izuku smiles softly, showing no teeth. “I will.” 

Slipping through the door, leaving Bakugou’s father behind on the balcony, Izuku quietly walks across the hardwood toward the blonde. 

He looks nervous. 

“Hey…” he mutters. “You ok?”

Bakugou nods, eyeing the balcony and his father outside. “Thank you for talking with him, Deku.” He lets Izuku rub his shoulder comfortingly when he comes near. “But I think…yeah. I think I need to talk to him too.”

Izuku raises his brows, tightening his grip on his shoulder. “Are you sure?” 

Another nod. Bakugou places his hand on top of Izuku’s, squeezing. “Yeah,” he says with a deep exhale, walking forward so their touch falls. “It’s time I learned to be brave.”

Izuku understands, nodding as his lips twitch into a proud smile. “I’ll leave you be, then.”

He sticks around for a minute, watching Bakugou open the door and replace Izuku’s spot across from Masaru. He watches as the man’s eyes go wide and he stands up straight.

And he watches as they both start to speak. 

Turning away, Izuku makes his move to the bathroom to give them privacy—rubbing his tired eyes through the motion. He feels gross and god does he stink bad.

His body is craving a good long shower and some strong coffee, especially considering they’ve got a long drive ahead of them soon.

And especially after last night and this morning. 

Shuffling in and closing the door behind him, he pulls off the blonde’s clothes as well as the jewelry he left on last night and places them in a neat pile on the floor. Standing up straight, he groans—kneading a knuckle into his lower back as he turns to look at himself in the mirror. 

Eesh…

First and foremost, his neck looks like the aftermath of a vampire attack. Secondly, his hips and legs are covered in fingerprint bruises and claw marks. While he probably should cringe at the sight, the fucked up part inside of him loves it—loves seeing these marks and this leftover desire. 

This want.

Grazing his fingers over each mark, he bites his twisted smile—trying to stifle a giggle. He only really saw Bakugou’s neck and chest before everything happened, but lord knows his back is not looking much better. 

He wanted to scrape him up badly the second he was told about the woman he slept with that night of the table incident. And oh did he do such. Jealousy is a dangerous weapon, sharp and desperate. 

Izuku turns the shower on, letting it run hot. 

Last night really did change a lot for both of them. Not only did they fuck—and fuck hard— but they connected in a way that allowed for more vulnerability, more trust. And more honesty. 

There truly is a permanence to their actions. 

Stepping in, Izuku sighs with glee as the hot water sprays his chest and face. Dragging his hands up and through his hair, he cracks his neck to the side. 

A couple of minutes pass and the bathroom door slowly creaks open. Wiping his face, Izuku focuses forward as the rustle of clothes and tired breaths join the patter of water. He doesn’t need to search the silhouette on the other side of the curtain to know who it is. 

The shower curtain is pulled to the side behind Izuku, and a body steps in. 

“How did it go?” Izuku asks, reaching for his body wash he pre-set out while getting ready for dinner. 

Two big warm hands grab his waist and a chest presses itself against his back. Bakugou hums. 

“Better than I thought.”

Izuku nods against him, opening the bottle. But Bakugou snatches it from him before he can pour out its contents. He sets it down on the shelf next to them. 

“He apologized.” 

“And?” Izuku asks, unfazed as Bakugou lathers his hands and massages the body wash through Izuku’s shoulders and arms—traveling down his back. 

Bakugou sighs, wrapping his arms around Izuk’s front to get his chest and stomach. Though this is technically foreign for both of them—this level of intimacy—it feels so natural. 

So right. 

“He wants to try and do better,” the blonde continues, pressing closer to Izuku. “And…I don’t know.” Another sigh. “I feel like I should fucking forgive him, but deep down that option hurts.” 

Izuku shrugs, finally turning to face him. “Forgiveness is a fragile concept that’s different for everyone.” He reaches back for the body wash, taking out his own portion. “I told him that he can’t expect you to forgive him, and if you didn’t he still needed to try and do better regardless.” 

Bakugou nods as Izuku presses his hands on his chest, working the soap into his soft skin. “It’s all so fucking complicated.” 

“It’s never not in this kind of situation,” Izuku agrees, traveling his hands up to Bakugou’s bruised neck. “But I’m really proud of you for moving forward despite it.” 

Bakugou snorts, poking a finger to Izuku’s stomach. “That’s the second time you’ve said that in 24 hours, you fucking sap.” 

Izuku rolls his eyes, wrapping his hands around his neck and pulling close. “I may be a sap, but I mean it.” He brings Bakugou’s head down so their foreheads touch—feeling those hands grab his waist. “I’m really proud of you.”

Bakugou leans forward and captures him. They both sigh into the kiss, bringing in both scents of their morning breath and Izuku’s sage body wash. 

He never thought it would be as good as their first, but he was wrong. With every connection, every slip of the tongue and deep press, he feels his insides explode like fireworks. 

Izuku breaks for a second, blinded by the water over his eyes. 

“You really do drive me fucking crazy,” Bakugou says, wiping the water from his eyes so he can see. 

Izuku leans into his touch, sighing. He kisses Bakugou’s palm as it slides away—craving to kiss every single inch of him as he stands so close.

“You have no idea how much I feel the same.”

But unlike all the other times he craved, unable to pursue…

Izuku takes his hand before it retreats all the way back, pressing his knuckle it to his lips. He kisses each finger. He kisses the top of his hand, his wrist, and his forearm. 

He satisfies this craving and kisses each inch.

Just because he finally can.  

“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”

Chapter Text

Throwing their bags in the back, Bakugou huffs to himself before opening his door and sliding into the driver's seat. He vocalized that he wanted to get back to campus earlier than later so he could get work done, and Izuku agreed due to his own needs—needing to get caught up on his portfolio and TA work since this past week has put him behind. 

Though, for once, he’s not too mad about the distraction lately.

Glancing over his shoulder, Izuku makes eye contact with Bakugou’s mother—who is, uncharacteristically, quiet. With her lips thin and crossed arms, she stares at him as he joins the blonde inside the car. He can’t tell if it’s because inside, she’s seething with anger, or if it’s simply because she has nothing to say or to do. 

Regardless of what she thinks right now, they’re both leaving. And for all it’s worth, Izuku hopes Bakugou never comes back. 

Masaru walks out the door and joins his wife, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing. The look on his face says everything. 

Just leave it be. 

She side-eyes him, sucking in a deep breath. Mr. Bakugou gives the car a stare of his own before smiling and lifting his other hand in a shy wave.

Izuku returns the smile, nodding as he buckles his seatbelt. 

“You ready?” He asks, turning to Bakugou and his hand on the gear shift. 

Sighing, the blonde shifts into reverse and grips the wheel. “I’ve been fucking ready ever since we came.”

Sympathetically, Izuku lifts the corner of his mouth and reaches his hand over—placing it on the athlete’s thigh. 

Almost instantly, a hand settles itself on top of his as they drive away down the gravel path. 

Through his mirror, movement is caught and Izuku catches Bakugou’s mother and her petty leave—walking away with nothing but a sour look and no lick of regret, slamming the door behind her. 

But her husband stands without letting her drag him inside, waiting for them to turn the corner and disappear down the mountain roads. 

He waits, and that sight alone reminds Izuku of his mother four years ago. Standing in front of their home as he drove away in a packed car, a smile with tears on her face because she knew the time for change was amongst them. 

That nothing will ever be the same again, but not in the ill way everyone perceives. 

For the first two hours of the drive, they can’t keep their hands to themselves. Though, who can really blame them? 

It seems last night had opened a completely new territory, lifting the wooden gate to their desires and needs to receive and provide affection. Mostly, the drive consisted of Bakugou’s hand resting on Izuku’s thigh while he scrolled through his phone or vice versa—rubbing a thumb across the back of Bakugou’s neck to ease the stiffness. 

They’re quiet, keeping the drive time to reflect and think or converse with minor chats. It’s been a long weekend so it’s only fair they spend these hours soaking it in. It’s all so natural and, well, it feels good to no longer push down the feelings that have been driving Izuku mental. To allow this feeling of appreciation and acceptance. This feeling of lust. 

This feeling, this experience…

Izuku spent most of the drive thinking about this, but it's an inspiration. A true inspiration. And for the first time in a long time, Izuku might just start planning to paint something different for this portfolio. Something more.

Izuku can’t help but smile to himself as he mazes through the concept. Kneading his thumb harder into Bakugou’s lower neck. Hitting a tough knot, he shivers as a deep moan of satisfaction rumbles through the blonde’s throat. 

The same moan he made when he pushed his length inside till he was balls deep. 

Fuck. 

It seems last night didn’t quite give him all his fill. Swallowing, Izuku shifts in his seat— trying to avoid getting all hot and bothered when they have one more hour of this drive. 

But he’s not exactly all that successful. 

He senses the blonde grin next to him. “You good over there, Deku?”

God, it’s unfair. Izuku huffs, covering his mouth as he turns to look out the window—face feeling flushed. It’s a little embarrassing how easy it is for him to get riled up. That nickname drives him absolutely up a wall but a sick part inside of him loves how it sounds as it rolls off Bakugou’s tongue—as it purrs up his throat. 

“You make me feel crazy,” he responds, muffled by his fingers. 

Bakugou snorts. “You kind of already mentioned that this morning, nerd.” Like earlier, one of his hands drifts from the wheel and lands on top of Izuku’s thigh. 

The touch warms his stomach. 

Shaking his head, Izuku turns to look at Bakugou—sliding his fingers away from his lips so the blonde can truly see the hold he has. “No, not the full extent.” 

Looking away from the road for a split second, Bakugou catches the deep blush forming on Izuku’s cheeks. “Oh?”

With the new discovery, Bakugou licks his lips and creeps his hand closer—massaging his fingers into the sensitive inner thigh skin. 

Jesus, they’re both terrible. It hasn’t even been a full twelve hours. 

Izuku clears his throat, sighing into the touch. “That nickname…” 

A chuckle as the touch gets hotter. “Still drives you mad?”

“Yes…but not in the same way anymore,” Izuku huffs as the lightness flushes through his head. Deku Deku Deku. That nickname danced through his head within a fantasy—a possessive uniqueness. 

“You mentioned to me last night…” Izuku pauses to swallow, taking all the overwhelming moisture. “Picturing me.”

Bakugou’s hand grips his thigh tight and he can hear a small sound of dismay. All of it—from the touch to this tenseness—turns him on. 

Izuku takes Bakugou’s hand and slowly drags it to his groin, palming it. His long arms make it easy. Too easy. 

Bakugou inhales, squirming in his seat. Izuku hears him click on cruise control and tighten his grasp on the wheel with his other hand. “Shit…”

This is dangerous, but they’re on a steady road in the middle of nowhere. Izuku is prepared to stop if they escalate too much, fully aware. 

“I fear I might have been in the same boat,” he admits, guiding Bakugou’s hand as he grows painfully hard. “Did you know that when you drank that bitch cup it turned me on?” He pauses, exhaling. “I only let Sato fuck me that night to get you out of my head, but then you came downstairs…”

Bakugou pushes what Izuku can only assume is a frustrated mutter, moving his legs in his seat and gripping the wheel—struggling with the want to touch the tent in his sweatpants, but also to keep his one free hand on Izuku. 

Pushing his hand down, Izuku moans and manually spreads the blonde’s hand so it completely covers him up. “When you came over and stayed the night, I couldn’t help myself–” he gasps as Bakugou takes the reins and closes his hand. “I–hah, I touched myself in my bathroom. I fucked into my hand as I thought about your hands wrapped around me or the way you’d say Deku in my ear.” 

“Fuck,” Bakugou curses, growing restless. “Fuck, Deku.”

A spark ignites inside.

“Yes,” Izuku praises. “That nickname…that nickname, it makes me think about what I’d call you. If it would make you feel just as crazy as me.” 

Without shame, he pulls the hems of his joggers and underwear down—pulling himself out for Bakugou. The chill of the AC air makes him shutter and a second passes before the athlete’s large hand wraps itself around him, returning the warmth. 

“What would I call you…what would I call you…” Izuku whispers mindlessly, whimpering as Bakugou’s thumb slides over his tip and teases his dripping slit. He barely notices the dryness of it all. “Bakugou…Katsuki… mmmn.”

Taking advantage of the cruise control, Bakugou crosses his legs and rubs them together to get himself off—crying from the friction and need for more. “God, you fucking suck.”

“Kat…mm-hah, Baku–”

“Deku…” his hand pumps down to his base, teasing. He keeps it slow and concentrated, careful as they’re on the road. 

A bizarre idea comes to Izuku’s mind. Almost as if another version of him abroad is screaming it into his head. It’s childish, it’s foolish, it’s–

“Kacchan…”

That does it. Oh, that does it. 

Bakugou inhales a mouthful of air, taking his other hand and clicking off cruise control to slam his foot on the gas. They both know there’s a rest stop not too far from here.

Izuku smirks at the impatience, deciding to kick it up a notch. He grabs the blonde’s hand once again and pulls it off—lifting it to his mouth this time. 

Licking from his wrist up to the tip of his middle finger, Izuku kisses and laps at the sweat of them both on his palms. Parting his lips, he pushes Bakugou’s fingers into his mouth and dives deep.

Bobbing his head on Bakugou’s fingers, he swirls his tongue around each tip—sucking on his sweet taste. His absolutely addicting taste. 

“Oh fuck me,” Bakugou groans, pushing his fingers deep into Izuku’s throat so he gags. 

The upcoming rest stop sign flies past them as Bakugou speeds up, lacking the fear of being pulled over as he’s a little too preoccupied. 

Flicking the turn signal, Bakugou whips his car into the lot and both of them sigh with relief as they see no one else is parked. The blonde wastes not even a breath, turning his car into the furthest spot that’s under a tree and shaded—practically breaking his gear shift from how hard he slams it into park. 

Both of their seatbelts are unbuckled and thrown off of their bodies and Bakugou reaches down to grab the lever under his seat, pushing it as far back from the wheel as possible. 

Before Bakugou can pat his ready lap, he’s beaten in the chase as Izuku is already midway climbing over to the other side of the car. He sits himself down hard, getting a wince and a curse out of Bakugou and his aching untouched dick. 

Lips collide, and hands grab like hungry animals. Izuku moans into Bakugou’s mouth as he ruts his bare length against Bakugou’s sweatshirt. 

Hand already wet, Bakugou breaks from the kiss and pulls Izuku’s pants down to his mid-thigh. “Lean into me, Deku…” he whispers, squeezing his ass and previous sensitive bruises. 

Exhaling against Bakugou’s lips, he leans forward and arches his lower back. “Okay, Kacchan…”

“Oh my god. ” Bakugou gasps from the name, slipping a finger inside Izuku’s quivering hole. 

It hurts bad because of their previous night but Izuku doesn’t care. The overstimulation and leftover soreness almost make it intoxicatingly better. 

Two fingers aren’t even in and Izuku needs more now, he needs it all. Fuck the prep, make it hurt. Make him scream –

Bakugou reads his mind, clearly noticing the impatient frotting and tight grip of his hair. Pulling out and lifting his bottom half with Izuku still on top, he slides his dick out of his pants. A deep pink pulsing with pre cum, the blonde cries as it brushes between their bodies and against Izuku’s own. 

Taking his hand, Bakugou opens and searches blindly in his center console—letting Izuku lick his lips and twist their tongues. Letting him grab and grip at his blonde spiked hair that’s so soft to the touch it’s incredible between his calloused artist fingers. If he had his rings on, they’d be a tangled mess. 

Izuku hears the crinkle of a wrapper, assuming it’s a condom. But, well, he’s a bit too distracted to care what it is. He’d let the blonde fuck him raw and fuck him hard any day of the week, but not everyone feels comfortable with that pure exposure at first. 

Bakugou is used to fucking women, after all. 

Mind wandering down that path, Izuku wonders to himself what girls he’s taken here. What girls he’s thrusted into to make the car shake, and what names he’d scream. Grunting at the sour thought, Izuku sits up till his head touches the roof of the car and he grabs Bakugou’s prepped cock. 

“Deku–”

Jealousy is a thing they both share, afterall. 

Leaning forward, Izuku hovers over—teasing his entrance with Bakugou’s tip. One breath is shared between the two of them before Izuku slams down and takes all of the blonde’s length at once. 

They gasp in synch, immediately consumed with sparking pain and pleasure. 

“Fuck!”

“Hah…. hah…” Izuku grits his teeth and begins slowly rocking, digging his nails into the leather headrest. His entire body is on fire from the leftover residue from last night's sex and impossibly tight situation. His head is in hysteria as the pain and pleasure intertwine. 

“Fuck, oh my god–” Bakugou takes both hands and cups each side of Izuku’s hips—squeezing and pulling him closer. “Deku, Deku.”

“Kacchan…” Izuku calls, lifting up to start fucking himself down onto the athlete. “ Kacchan. ”

Izuku doesn’t typically like car sex. It’s tight and uncomfortable, and finding the right position is awkward on its own. But with Bakugou…he feels that sex anywhere with the blonde would push his mind away from the discomfort. 

Would make him feel everything. 

The car starts to shake and creak on its wheels as Izuku rides Bakugou to chase this inexpressible craving.  

Foreheads touching, they both pant and moan with each bounce and shift. Bakugou moves his hands down and latches hard on Izuku’s ass, forming more and more tiny bruises for him to count in the aftermath. Sweat forms and drips down their necks and under their clothes, adding to the heat. 

“Mmn …” Bakugou groans. “You impatient little fuck –feel so...so good.”

Izuku nods, mindlessly beginning to touch himself as he picks up his pace—stroking up and down as he rides harder. 

“Calling me that ridiculous nickname–”

“Kacchan…” Izuku teases. 

Bakugou bucks up into him and he nearly hits his head on the ceiling. “Fuck, you fucking suck–” 

“I will never get enough… hah– never get enough of you…” Izuku mutters against Bakugou’s lips. “You make me want more, Kacchan.”

That sentence does something to the blonde. 

“Fuck, say it again.” Bakugou’s eyes roll back and he leans farther into his seat. 

“I want you. I need all of you. You make me want more and more, Kacchan–”

“Fuck, shit, yes–”

Pumping faster, Izuku feels the firey build-up in his core travel down and down. 

“Deku...”

“Kah– Kacchan.”

“Dek–”

Izuku clasps his hand over his tip and trembles as he’s torn through an orgasm—somehow better than their first time. He cries, throwing his head back as Bakugou continues to hold his hips and guide Izuku up and down. Cum drips down his wrist, soaking his palm. 

“Fuck I’m gonna–”

Bakugou follows suit, doing what he did last night and pulling Izuku toward him as he finishes. Letting out a guttural whine he arches his back and empties into the barrier between them. 

For how big he is, he truly does know how to moan like he’s the one being ruined. 

They both slow down, ending this bliss with equal panting and trailing fingertips. Izuku lifts his hand and looks down at his mess, cringing as his mind tries to catch up beyond this exhilaration. 

Before he can ask Bakugou if he has a rag in here, he feels a hand grab his arm. 

The blonde brings Izuku’s hand to his puffy lips, parting them to slip out his tongue and lick the cum off of his wrist and all the way up his fingertips. Mimicking Izuku’s motions from earlier.  

Oh my god.

Izuku’s face flushes hot again as Bakugou sucks on his fingers to lick him clean and swallow down every last drop. 

This guy is going to be the fucking death of him. 

Pulling his fingers out of his mouth with a pop, the blonde grins and licks his lips. Grabbing the back of Izuku’s head he pulls him into an open mouth kiss—pressing his tongue against Izuku’s to share the salty taste. Share this moment.

It is everything.

Not long after, Bakugou eventually lifts his hips—signaling for Izuku to join so the blonde can finally pull out properly. 

Neither of them move from their positions. Izuku still sits on top of Bakugou, enjoying the touch of those big hands on his waist. Enjoying the warmth of his body underneath. 

Catching up, Bakugou chuckles lightly to himself—looking up at Izuku. “We’re both fucking terrible.” 

They are. 

Wrapping his arms around the back of Bakugou’s neck, Izuku joins him with a snicker. “Can you blame us?” 

“No.” A shake of his head. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been fucking horny all week.”

Izuku snorts, brushing his thumbs against the back of the blonde’s sweaty neck. “I literally just told you I masturbated in my bathroom with you in the living room.” 

“Touché.” Bakugou squeezes his hip, teasing him. “I bet it was so hard for you not to scream my name.” 

“I had to gag myself with my shirt,” Izuku admits, getting wide surprised eyes back.  

“You’re a dirty little shit, huh?” Bakugou grins. “Caught me off guard with that a bit last night.” 

Izuku rolls his eyes, taking a second to tuck himself back into his pants. “And you are a needy son of a bitch. Don’t think I’ve ever heard a guy whine when he cums.” 

Bakugou’s grip tightens hard on a few of his bruises. 

“Ow ow ow, ok ok,” Izuku laughs, unwrapping his hands to punch the blonde in the shoulder lightly. “I deserved that one.” 

Bakugou pokes his forehead. “Damn straight, not a word about that to anyone or you’re dead.” 

Laugh fading, Izuku keeps his smile and reaches down—helping the blonde take the condom off. “Well if it brings you any comfort, I think it’s cute.” 

“Whatever, nerd.” Bakugou’s face turns a shade pinker and he glances to the side. “God, speaking of fucking cute.” He takes the condom from Izuku’s hand and tosses it into a small bag in the back seat designated for trash before he tucks himself away. “Where the hell did that fuck ass nickname come from?”

Oh. 

Oh right. 

Izuku’s face flushes to the same color, matching Bakugou. “I honestly don’t know. It was like something came over me—like someone from an alternate universe took the reins and screamed it inside my head. It was kind of bizarre.” He shrugs. “But it’s corny as hell, so I probably won’t let it stick.” 

Bakugou shakes his head. “Nah,” he exhales. “Keep it. I kinda fuck with it.” 

“You do? ” Izuku asks, a little shocked. “You’d let me call you Kacchan?” 

That’s… definitely a plot twist. 

Another shrug. “Why not? You let me call you Deku and that literally means fucking useless so I feel it’s only fair you nip me in the ass with something like that.” Hands traveling under Izuku’s sweatshirt, he massages his fingers into his bare lower back. “Besides, a small part of me weirdly goes fucking mad when you say it. Nearly came on the spot when I heard you moaning it.” He pauses for a second. “Ah, maybe don’t fucking call me that in public now that I think about it. At least for a bit.” 

Izuku chuckles. “Don’t worry, if Uraraka heard me call you that I’d probably never hear the end of it.” His fingers twist into the blonde baby hairs on his neck. “The world doesn’t need to know I can make the great Bakugou Katsuki fold quite yet.” A wink and Bakugou’s face twists. 

“You little shit.” Tilting his chin up, Bakugou holds his breath. “God, fuck, say it again.” 

Say it again. 

Leaning in, Izuku touches his nose with Bakugou’s. “Kacchan.”

Groaning, Bakugou pulls Izuku in by the back and kisses him. He kisses him hard. 

Say it again. 

Izuku hums into the embrace, breaking for just a second. “Kacchan…” He looks into the eyes of the athlete, feeling himself drown in those bright cherry eyes that stare back with nothing but fascination. 

“Deku…”

“Kacchan.”

Bakuogu pulls up to Izuku’s apartment with a long, tired sigh. 

It has been…a very exhausting weekend. In many ways. Izuku is about ready for another full body shower and a 6-hour nap before he can find the willpower to force himself to go to the studio. 

Shifting to park, the blonde brushes a hand through his hair. “Thanks again, nerd. I don’t think I would have survived this weekend without you if I’m gonna be completely fucking honest.” 

Izuku takes off his seatbelt. “Of course, you know I’m here for you.” He smiles softly, leaning over. “Besides…” Quickly, he catches Bakugou’s lips in a kiss—lingering for a second before pulling away. “You repaid the offer pretty quickly, Kacchan .” 

Cupping the side of Izuku’s face, Bakugou holds him near before he can retreat—dragging a thumb across his cheek. From the look on his face, Izuku can tell he wants to say something more—his smile slowly fading. “I–kind of speaking of…” he huffs, letting Izuku go. “I was thinking in the car and I know we should have a longer conversation later like fuckin adults later but…can–” he struggles like last night, clearly still not used to sharing these types of thoughts out loud. “This has all been fucking incredible, Deku, but while I figure my damn shit out can we…”

From the discomfort, Izuku can tell what he means. 

Izuku takes his hand and squeezes, giving a look of assurance. “You want to keep this all private for now?” 

Swallowing, the blonde nods. “It’s kinda unfair considering we just fucked twice and now I’m asking you to keep your damn mouth shut like a jackass, so I don’t blame you if–”

“It’s ok, Bakugou,” Izuku cuts him off, switching back to the given name. “We all move at our own pace and this is still very new for you. The last thing I want is to scare you or, worst case, out you when you’re not ready. I’m literally the one who stopped us last night to make sure you were comfortable.” As he’s done over and over, he rubs his thumb over the top of Bakugou’s hand. “I’m just happy we have more, I don’t need anything above that.” 

“Are you fucking sure?” Bakugou presses, adjusting his hand so he can squeeze back. 

“I’m sure.” Izuku nods. “It took me years to finally be comfortable in my own skin, I can’t expect you to do the same in a few days. If you haven’t noticed, I care about you a lot and I want to keep spending time with you—with or without a label.”

He’s telling the truth. Izuku has never exactly been the type to need a label over something unless the situation truly calls for it. And he can’t expect Bakugou to know all the answers and have confidence after two fucks and a couple of reassuring conversations. 

It’s going to take time. Time he’s willing to be patient and understanding. 

Bakugou sighs again. “You do too fucking much for me, you idiot.”

Izuku shrugs, letting go of his hand. “You’re just not used to people actually giving a damn. I’d never drill into you with something like this—it’s your identity and our judgy ass school doesn’t need to know that business until you’re truly ready for them to.”

It was all he ever wanted in high school, and that was taken away from him too fast. 

The blonde nods, though it seems he’s still visibly unsure. Izuku brushes his knuckle across his shoulder, curling the corner of his lip into a comforting smile. “I’m serious, it’s ok. If you want to talk about it more sometime this week I am more than happy.”

That seems to relax him a bit. 

“I think I’d like that.” 

“Good.” Izuku nods, slipping his fingers into the door handle and popping it open. “Just maybe not tonight because I’m about to shower and then die for the rest of the day.” 

Bakugou snorts, keeping a close eye on Izuku as he steps out of the car to walk around and retrieve his bag. “Two showers in one day?” He says in a joking tone. 

Rolling his eyes, Izuku throws his bag onto his shoulder. “Gee, I wonder why? ” Before shutting the door, he gives the blonde a wink. “See you later, Kacchan.”

“Bye, nerd.” 

They part ways—Izuku slowly struggling up his stairs with sore everything as the blonde drives off. The chances of him actually making it to the studio today are slim, but knowing him and his stubborn needs he will find a way and hate himself for it later. 

Cracking his neck to the side with a sigh, Izuku digs his keys out of the side pocket of his bag and unlocks his door—opening it wide without care of it hitting the back wall. On autopilot, he kicks his shoes off, tosses his keys onto the counter, drops his bag, and moves to take his sweatshirt off. 

He turns his head midway through taking off his shirt and freezes. 

Uraraka and Ashido are sitting on his couch staring at him. Mouth open and biting a piece of toast, Uraraka looks at him and his now exposed neck with wide eyes. 

She drops the toast onto the floor. 

“No fucking way.”

God, he regrets giving her a key to his apartment. 

Ashido screams and points after a comedic five-second pause. “YOU HORNY FUCK!”

“Jesus Christ!” Izuku puts his shirt back on, covering his neck with his hands. “What the hell are you doing here?!” 

“Apparently to catch you lacking,” Ashido cackles. 

Uraraka grabs her fallen food, trying not to laugh with their pink-haired friend. “Tenya had an internship interview over Zoom so we came here to work on homework and wait for you–oh god…” She tosses the toast onto her plate, covering her mouth. “I texted you! But it probably didn’t go through because of your service!”

Ashido turns to Uraraka. “Did I not say give it a few hours? Holy fuck this is amazing—” 

“God!!” Izuku groans as his face flushes red. This is not how he wanted them to find out. 

He’s just glad the blonde didn’t decide to come inside. Now that would have been traumatizing.  

“I’m so sorry,” Uraraka says, letting the laugh come through this time. She pats the spot next to her on the couch. “Oh my god, come here–”

“No, fuck you.” Izuku rubs a hand over his face, pulling his lower lip. “I’m going to the bathroom to take a shower and scream into my towel for the next hour.” 

“You’re so dramatic,” Ashido jokes, sitting up with a hand on her stomach. 

“Do you want me to tell you to get the fuck out??” 

“Never mind, enjoy your shower!” 

With a huff, Izuku stomps around the corner to his bathroom and slams the door behind him. He really was planning on telling them regardless, the whole group in fact, but not immediately upon entering his own goddamn apartment. 

Phone dinging in his pocket, he pulls it out. 

A notification from Uraraka finally goes through about entering his apartment. He pinches the bridge of his nose, setting it down on his sink with a good long sigh. 

This weekend isn’t real. 

Showered, dressed, and a little less stressed, Izuku walks into the living room as he towel dries his hair. Feeling clean once again without the threat of another…moment. 

Turning in their seats, Uraraka and Ashido stare at him with closed lips—clearly wanting to say something to him while he walks over to the couch. 

Sighing, Izuku tosses his towel onto the back of one of his barstools. “Whatever you want to say with no filter, say it now.” 

He probably shouldn’t have offered that. 

“You two fucked, didn’t you?” Ashido doesn’t even wait a second. 

Uraraka facepalms. “Way to ease into it…”

Face flushing, Izuku grabs a pillow from the couch and hucks it at her—sitting down between them both. He fights a wince from the pain of now two intercourses. “Yes, Ashido…” he says with an exhale, covering his face again. “To put it simply, we fucked.” 

He’s not necessarily embarrassed about it all, considering he’s told both of them about his sex life openly. It’s just the elements of this information specifically that make him easily flustered. They have been teasing him about the blonde for some time now.  

And the fact that it just happened and he wasn’t prepared to have this conversation right now in his living room—as mentioned. 

“I feel like we need a breakdown of events because I’m assuming it happened not even a few hours after we last talked.” It’s Uraraka’s time to butt in. “You had sex with Mizu’s most known guy who we assumed was straight till now."

Izuku nods, biting his lip. “...twice.”

Uraraka’s face goes blank. 

“You two fucked twice??” Ashido yells, jaw-dropping. “You had sex with Bakugou Katsuki twice?!” 

“Ok, yeah now we really need you to break it down for us,” Uraraka presses. “It hasn’t even been a full day.”

It hasn’t, and a big chunk of his subconscious doesn’t regret a thing about it. Izuku looks up at the ceiling—cheeks hot to the touch. “Well–”

He walks them through it all. From the moment Bakugou tried to kiss him on the ice rink, to the car sex. From the soft touches to the shared shower—he leaves out no details. Well, besides the nickname.

They don’t need that detail yet. 

“Having car sex in broad daylight at a rest stop is fucking insane,” Ashido cuts in. “That right there solidifies just how down bad you two are for eachother.” 

Izuku rolls his eyes, still a little red in the face. “There was no one there.”

“That does not make your case better.”   

“I mean, all things considered,” Uraraka adds. “Are you at least happy it happened? You’ve been an anxious mess about it all for the past week or so.”

A quick nod. “I am, which feels weird to say.” He sits up and crosses his legs. “I don’t think I ever pictured myself getting involved with Bakugou, more so sleeping with him, but I do really like him...” 

Uraraka smiles at that, noticing the purity of his words. 

“I don’t think anyone pictured that,” Ashido comments and Izuku lightly elbows her. 

Uraraka leans on her knees. “So…what, is he bisexual? Pan? Or is he just strictly Midoriya-sexual?” 

Izuku shrugs. “We…haven’t exactly gotten that far.”

Uraraka raises her brow. 

“Well–” Izuku exhales. “This all just happened, and he’s grown up with a lot of forced homophobia in his life so this is pretty scary for him. It’s all new and confusing, so we’re going to keep things lowkey so he can grasp his bearings.” 

“And you’re alright with that?” Ashido comes in with a legitimate question, breaking from her jokes. 

“Clearly he has feelings for me, we established that,” Izuku says with a nod. “And I’m not the kind of person who’s going to force a guy to know who he is for my benefit. I enjoy spending time with him and— yes Ashido, I enjoy the sex too.” 

She shuts her mouth. 

Fiddling with his fingers, he looks down at his lap. “I don’t think I’ve felt this way about someone in a long time…so I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

Uraraka and Ashido glance and one another for a brief second, raising a flag for Izuku in his mind.

“What’s wrong?”

“...I’m happy for you, so so happy for you and the growth between you two,” Uraraka starts, hesitating. “And I’m glad you’ve found someone who obviously cares about you too, because you deserve it more than anyone.”

“There seems to be a but in there somewhere,” Izuku says, turning his head to her. 

Uraraka thins her lips, solidifying the conclusion. “You know we just worry, especially me,” she admits. “That last guy sophomore year really made me mad, so I can’t help it.”

Izuku nods, fighting to roll his eyes because God does she worry.

“While I want you to keep pursuing this, I also want you to be careful. I never told you this originally because, if I’m going to be honest even though we teased you, I had no idea things would actually get this far all things considered.”

“What do you mean?” Izuku questions. 

A deep breath from Uraraka. She crosses her legs. “You sometimes don’t realize how much of yourself you put into a relationship or the people in your life, and it ends up damaging you.” She pauses, leaning up against him. “You’ve been doing all of this stuff for him, and it makes me anxious to think he will take advantage of that and not give you the same attention in return. I mean, you jumped into Saitama even though you are swamped with work and school.” 

Ashido nods, agreeing with her. “Not to mention—even though it isn’t always true—he can have the reputation of being a fuck boy to the people he dates or hooks up with. As Uraraka said, we’ve all been teasing you and supporting the idea of this, and we do still support it, we just–god how do I phrase it?” She looks to Uraraka for support on the other side of Izuku. 

“Just…” Uraraka reaches over and grabs his hand, taking the reins from Ashido. “Put yourself in front too. This is a big year for you and your portfolio and I just know it would kill you if something distracted you from your studies. I can see Bakugou has turned out to be a good person to you, but while you develop this relationship with him also be sure to make time for yourself and your own development.”

“Oh.” Izuku squeezes her hand, taking the reassurance. “I...”

“Don’t let our words beat you up or make you back up, babes,” Ashido leans in too, propping her head on his shoulder. “We just don’t want you getting hurt.” 

“Yeah, what she said,” Uraraka agrees. 

The funny thing about all of this, is Izuku does know how to put himself first. Just, not in this kind of circumstance. Ever since high school, he prided himself in changing his attitude and doing everything he could to better himself. 

But when it comes to relationships, friendships, and partners—he’s still weak. He’ll still do anything for them if they’ve proven themself, like the loyalty of a dog. When good people come closely into his life, he can’t help but feel attached—moving past the snarling teeth and defensive bark. 

At least, until they push the last button. Uraraka knows because she’s firsthand seen it herself. 

And so does his mom. 

“Thanks for looking out for me you two,” Izuku says, leaning his head against Ashido’s. “I’m glad I have friends that care about my well-being. To keep both your hearts at ease, I’ll be careful. In any case, as much as I can.” 

It’s not easy to break habits, especially ones that are engraved. But he will do his best for them. And, well, for himself as well. 

“Of course, you know we’re always here for you.” Ashido nods under him. “And don’t you fret, if he does pull some shit I’m not past making him bite the curb.” 

Izuku snorts. “And don’t you worry, because Uraraka will join you.” 

Uraraka sits up abruptly. “No, because dead ass, I will. That last guy was such a prick, that Midoriya had to hold me back from keying his car.” 

He did. That day was a mess for everyone. 

“Oh my god,” Ashido says while letting a laugh bubble in her throat. “I once stuck peanut butter sandwiches face down on some guy’s windshield and then slashed all but one tire because insurance only covers four.” 

“Holy fuck.” Izuku sits up, looking at Ashido in horror. “What did the guy do to you??”

“He cheated on my friend Jirou with her cousin.”

Uraraka blinks a good four times. “Oh nah, I would have lit the whole car on fire.” 

“We genuinely thought about it.”

“Well.” Uraraka shrugs. “Bakugou better watch out then, because Torodoki knows how to get illegal fireworks and I’m not past blowing his annoying ass Cadilac up.” 

Ashido snorts. “He would know where to get fireworks.” 

“Right??”

“You guys are ridiculous,” Izuku laughs and soon enough, they’re all giggling amongst one another on the couch. 

“We may be ridiculous but at least we’re loyal.” 

“True dat.”

They continue to laugh, and as Izuku laughs with his friends— joking and talking about the weekend—he lets those words from earlier play within his mind.

A record player, broken and made to repeat. 

Put yourself first too…

“Oh! A blank slate?” Midnight comes walking into the studio, surprised to see Izuku setting up a new canvas instead of finishing his old piece. 

Turning in his seat, Izuku huffs lightheartedly. “Yeah…” he scratches the back of his neck. “I needed a change.” 

“Something different? Man, who are you and what have you done with my student?” She jokes, pulling up a stool habitually. 

“New inspiration, is all.” He smiles to himself, leaning forward to adjust his easel. He sees her dig into her bag and put down a juice drink for him on his rolling cart. 

“How was the weekend by the way?” 

“Thank you,” he says quickly, picking up the bottle. “And as for the weekend, it definitely didn’t go how I expected.” 

“Good or bad?”

“Both honestly, depending on what parts of the weekend you count. His mom is a real class act pain in the ass so that was delightful to deal with.” Twisting off the cap, he takes a sip—feeling the immediate bliss of sugar on his tongue. 

“And Bakugou?”

Izuku’s face, unfortunately, goes pink—painting the picture for his professor. 

“We’ve…gotten closer, that’s for sure.”

Midnight freezes with her own drink in her hands. “Ah, please spare the details.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” 

Before Midnight can make another comment, or even twist off her cap, the sound of panicked heels clacking against tile catches both of their attentions. 

Midnight squints, looking to the side. “Why am I getting a really big sense of deja vu right now…” 

Izuku opens his mouth to agree but is interrupted by a very out-of-breath Nana at the doorway. 

Midnight shoots up out of her seat. “ Woah, you good honey?” 

Leaning against the wall, Nanna nods—grasping her bearings with deep breaths. For someone as old as her, she shouldn’t really be rushing around a lot. 

“God, do I wish to be in my prime still,” she responds, swallowing and placing a hand on her chest. “Midoriya, love, can we have a moment?” 

Izuku and Midnight exhange glances. “Uh, sure,” he says, scooting out of his stool. 

Nana takes him out into the hall and around the corner, stopping when she finds a quiet enough area. 

“What’s going on, Nana?” He asks, crossing his arms nervously. “Is it something with a student?” 

“For once, no.” She shakes her head, only amplifying Izuku’s nerves. 

He shifts his stance, glancing to the side. Well, shit. “So what is it? You’re making me nervous.”

There’s an awkward pause before Nana grasps the willpower to blurt out her sentence. “My source with the committee handling the gallery event just got in contact with me…”

Izuku’s heart drops to his feet and he instantly feels sick. Whenever the committee is referenced, his entire body reacts to it. Good or bad. 

“They’re pushing the deadline for portfolio submissions backward.” 

Izuku doesn’t know how it’s possible, but his heart just sunk under the tile flooring and to the basement floor. His stomach might be joining soon. 

“What??” Izuku responds, panic lacing his tone. “What do you mean they’re pushing it backward?” 

Looking ill herself, Nana takes a second to lean against the wall. She rubs a hand over her forehead. “All Might is getting sick, kiddo.” 

Yeah, his stomach just joined his heart. 

“Woah–huh?” Izuku covers his mouth with a hand, pinching his lower lip. “He’s getting sick? W-what do you mean, he’s getting sick?” 

So many questions, so much being handed to him in such a short period. His idol is sick and now he might have to rush his portfolio he semi-hates? What the fuck?

“I can’t…” she struggles, shaking her head. It’s odd, but she looks very shaken about it—personally over professionally. “Those aren’t details I can share, but he has extensive treatment scheduled for next semester when the gallery event is taking place.” 

“So they’re pushing the event for this semester before his treatment?” Izuku breathlessly asks, starting to feel lightheaded. “When’s the date, Nana?” 

She nibbles her lip nervously. 

“When is the date? ” He repeats, trying to stay calm. 

Placing a hand on her stomach, she takes in a shaky breath. “November 18th is when portfolios are due. The first rounds of critiques at the gallery are end of November and the main event is taking place end of December.”  

Izuku is going to have a fucking panic attack. The first day of September is not even a week away. He’ll barely have two months to finish his portfolio.

Putting his hands behind his neck, Izuku turns to start pacing back and forth. “Oh my god, so in two months ?” 

This seriously can’t be happening…

“It’s unavoidable, I’m so sorry , kiddo,” she apologizes, trying to calm him down with raises hands. “I know how amped you’ve been about this so please let me help you alleviate some stress. Let your teachers help you.” 

Izuku almost laughs. “How? Remove me from TAing? I need that to pay my bills, Nana.” 

“By giving you support,” she corrects him, walking closer to him. “Quit being stubborn for a moment and let us help you like you’ve helped us all this time. Let us help give you crits and organize your portfolio so you don’t burn out.”

Izuku shakes his head, dropping his arms. “I can’t let you do that, it’s not fair to the other students–”

“Kid,” Nana interrupts him, placing both hands on his shoulders to hold him still. “In all four years I have known you, you have worked the hardest out of any student. If anyone deserves the support, it’s you.” 

“I seriously can’t accept it…” Izuku shakes his head, trying not to cry as the overwhelming surge of news and emotions weighs him down. 

“Well, that’s too bad.” Crouching down, the taller woman meets his eyes. “Because we’re going to help you anyway.” 

Izuku wants to keep fighting—biting the bit and bucking. He wants to scream his head off into the dark room again because all of this isn’t fair. 

But he doesn’t, because those words inside his head play again and again. But this time, for a different circumstance. 

Put yourself first too…

Sighing, Izuku nods slowly—blinking a tear that refused to dry. 

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

Hell N Back by Bakar plays on Izuku’s speaker as he multitasks—scrolling through his email while scribbling on the papers he’s been tasked with grading. 

It’s been hours of him trying to cram in as much work as possible so he can focus most of this week on his new work. To say he’s stuck in an involuntary rhythm is an understatement—having not looked away from his desk unless it was to adjust himself on his chair. 

He’s exhausted, running on multiple cups of coffee and barely anything to eat.

Not noticing the knocking on his door, he reaches forward for his cup—taking a long sip of his now watered-down iced latte. 

“Deku??” The blonde’s voice calls, accompanied by the door hinges squeaking. 

Nearly choking, Izuku puts his drink down. “In my room!” He forgot he was planning on hanging out with the blonde today before going to the studio, shit. God, what time is it?

He continues to scratch grades onto the packets, tapping his fingers on the computer keypad as Bakugou’s loud footsteps echo through his hallway. 

Izuku can hear him enter the room and chuck his backpack onto the floor, but he doesn’t turn around in time before two strong arms wrap themselves around his shoulders and chest. Leaning back into Bakugou, he sighs while the athlete’s face buries itself into his hair—inhaling. 

The warmth of his embrace feels good, a recharge if you will. He’s been stuck in his position too long without any contact. And, well, it’s been a couple of days since he’s properly been touched by Bakugou. 

Two fingers press under Izuku’s chin, tilting him up. 

Exhaling into the kiss, Izuku allows himself to press back—just for a moment. Just long enough to enjoy the warmth of his lips and those fingers on his skin. It’s broken as he’s anticipated, but not by his hand. 

Bakugou’s head turns, noticing the mess his desk is. “Fucking Christ, how long have you been at this desk?” He picks up an empty cup, briefly inspecting it with concern. 

Izuku swallows. “Not…long,” he lies, scratching his neck with the back of his pen. 

He can sense the man behind him blink slowly. 

“You’re, like, actually so shit at lying it’s astounding.” Clicking his tongue, Bakugou backs off and turns around. Izuku raises a brow, swiveling in his chair to see the blonde rummaging through his backpack. 

He pulls something out, throwing it behind him to Izuku in his seat. 

Gasping, Izuku panics and nearly misses it—fumbling with the object in his hands and lap. Getting a good grip, he looks down. 

“Did you get me food?” Izuku questions, looking down at a neatly wrapped piece of Onigiri from the store just down the road. 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, I grabbed a few on the way here and I’m glad I did,” he responds, sitting up with a few more things in his hand. “You look like you’ve only eaten the ice cubes in your damn drinks today.” 

“Hey, iced coffee ice cubes are very nutritious,” Izuku tries to add light, joking. But, the blonde looks back—unimpressed. 

“You’re a fucking idiot. Eat the damn food.” 

Izuku frowns, unwrapping the plastic. “Ok, mom.”

Flopping onto Izuku’s bed with his computer and a book, Bakugou exhales and makes himself comfortable against the wall of pillows Izuku built. Lifting one arm, he props it behind his head. Getting a closer look, Izuku notices the book now placed on his chest is the one he bought him not too long ago—a bookmark placed right down the middle. 

Izuku bites his lip, smiling. Unwrapping his snack, he takes a bite. 

Without looking over, Bakugou speaks. “Should I be worried that your dumbass is clearly more stressed than usual? You looked like you were gonna fucking explode in both lectures today.”

Izuku swallows, thinning his lips. He shakes his head. The blonde knows about his current predicament regarding the submission deadline, more so the length of time he’s been spending at the studio. “No…” He sighs, placing the food on his desk, and rubbing his temple. “I’m fine, I’ve just had to scramble my schedule so it’s throwing me for a loop. Once I get these pieces confidently in a good spot I’ll be able to get back into a normal schedule.”

The blonde raises a brow. 

“I’m serious,” Izuku presses, swiveling in his chair. “It’s fine. Really, nothing I can’t handle. I think I have a good direction going with these works, it’s just all the outside work on top of it that might be the issue.”

It’s absolutely the issue. If he didn’t have to work and deal with other coursework, he’d have these pieces done in a couple of weeks without any stress. But, unfortunately for him, his circumstance isn’t going to cut him the slack he so desires for this to happen. 

And it’s starting to drain him, more than he anticipated. It doesn’t help that this is a huge part of the semester for Bakugou and his hockey team as well—games racking up to the final divisions. Though he was just lectured about taking time for himself, an invisible string inside his heart tugs at the thought of missing something so important. 

Losing the chance to show how much he cares and wants to try to be human outside of his studies. He knows it would only make it worse.  

“I noticed.” Bakugou eyes his desk and Izuku can’t help but embarrassingly blush. Exhaling, Bakugou sits up a little. “Come here, get off that fucking chair and take a break. I think you can afford to lay down for five goddamn minutes or even talk about what’s bugging you.”

He could try to argue, but it wouldn’t get him far considering the stubbornness of the man on his bed. Grumbling, Izuku stands from his seat for the first time in hours—feeling his spine crack and legs tense. Taking his glasses off, he tosses them onto the desktop.

He walks over to his bed and flops directly on top of Bakugou. 

“Ack–Jesus!” Bakugou groans. “I didn’t say on top of me you shit.” 

Adjusting, Izuku moves so he’s completely spread over the blonde—placing his face on top of his chest. “You are literally in my spot.” He can feel those hands place themselves in his hair and on his back. “Besides, you’re more comfortable anyway.”

He doesn’t need to look up to know Bakugou is rolling his eyes. It makes him snort, lifting his head up and propping his chin to stare at those red eyes. 

“Forgot to ask, but you comin this weekend?” Bakugou asks, craning his neck. Izuku can feel the hum in his chest as he speaks. 

“If I don’t die by the end of this week, absolutely.” Grinning, Izuku leans in close till their noses threaten to touch. “I’ll wear a jersey with your number and make a cringe sign and everything.” He snorts, adding light to his very sarcastic comment. 

But, judging by the blonde’s immediate facial change, he didn’t get the joke or tone. Eyes widening, Izuku sits up. “I’m kidding, I–”

“I know I know,” Bakugou interrupts him, sighing and placing a hand on his face. “Sorry, I just–” 

Izuku sits up fully, straddling Bakugou. “Here–sit up,” he says, guiding the blonde to sit up straight with him. Climbing off, he sits himself next to the blonde so they can properly speak—given, well, this subject is a bit more touchy than the rest. 

It’s all so new. 

“Do you want to talk more about it?” Izuku asks, referencing their conversation in his car. “It’s worth getting it off your chest.” He reaches out, brushing back blonde locks. 

“I guess??” A frustrated breath as he leans into the touch—eyes staring off. “It just feels fucking dumb to be this affected by it. You literally made a joke and I froze up.” 

“Well, it’s not dumb,” Izuku argues, tilting his head as he lets go. He can still hear the music play on his speaker, changing songs. “I know I can’t just tell you how to feel, but I can at least help acknowledge what’s bothering you.” 

Bakugou turns his head, face visibly twisted with insecurity. A sight Izuku still has yet to get used to. “God, how are you so fucking good at this?”

“Good at what?” A raised brow. 

“I don’t know, not letting any of this bother you?” Bakugou responds softly. “Knowing exactly what to say…it’s like that stuff with my mom,” he lets out a click of the tongue. “I’m usually not surrounded by people who actually have their shit together.”

Izuku huffs with a small smile. “Having my shit together is a stretch.”

Bakugou nudges him. “You fucking know what I mean, asshole.”

“I know I know,” Izuku nudges back, chuckling. He lets his mind wander for a moment, picking what to say. How to say it. 

“Well…” He blurts, letting his words trail. “This isn’t exactly my first rodeo.”

Bakugou turns so he’s on his side and Izuku does the same, sliding down so his head comfortably props against one of his pillows. “I only learned what to say because of what I myself experienced.” Fidgeting with the ring on his thumb, he bites at his cheek. “I’m serious when I say I understand your insecurity and unsureness. People are cruel, but our minds are the ruthless ones.” 

He feels the blonde’s gaze shift to watch as he plays with each ring—spinning and twisting. “It took me a while to let people in after all that happened in high school. I was so focused on the negative possibilities that I ended up ruining myself and chances for more.” 

“So what changed it all?” Red eyes gace back up. 

Izuku purses his lips for a moment, before letting out a deep breath. “I fell in love.”

Izuku can sense the blonde tense next to him. He doesn’t blame him. 

A part of him wanted to tense as well. 

“His name’s Hiroto…I technically met him during my freshman year during orientation, but we didn’t get close till about a year later. God, I fell hard, Bakugou—despite all those months of him leading me on and teasing me.” Letting go of his rings, he lets his hands rest on the bedspread. “We ended up getting together during the spring semester of my sophomore year after a few too many drinks and a drunken confession on my couch.”

The memory of him on his lips is like fire. Burning and stinging. 

“I…wanted to keep things private. At least, for a while until I felt comfortable. I was never the kind of person to need my relationship to be public, on top of still being nervous. It was the opposite for him, but he seemed understanding in taking his time with me.” It’s sour, thinking about it all. Everything that happened all those years ago still makes his blood boil and melt. “Of course, I should have known better.”

“What the fuck did he do?” Izuku can hear the hostility in the blonde’s tone, edged with anger. 

“Oh, I’m getting there.” Lifting a hand, Izuku brushes and grips at his curls. “I did all this stuff for him, reaching outside my comfort zone to make him happy, hoping that our relationship and care would make the anxiety disappear. It did, for a little. Until he eventually got fed up with me.”

He wants to scoff thinking about it all. 

“He’d leave early if I didn’t want to have sex, and he seemed more distant than usual in public—not even wanting to sit next to me. Like it was a pointless act or an embarrassment. I was trying my best, but his behavior only made me shrink back more.” 

“Jesus…”

Jesus is right. Izuku nods. “The limit was met when he invited me to a party and as I got there…I received no acknowledgment, and he had an arm wrapped around another man’s waist.” Feeling himself clenching his fist, he attempts to relax. 

Bakugou reaches out, grabbing it. 

Izuku can’t help but choke out a laugh as the blonde tightens his grip. “I felt so ashamed. I asked him to come over the next morning and talk, and needless to say he came over with the will to gaslight me. Told me that if I didn’t want to hide he wouldn’t have felt obligated to cheat.” Izuku shakes his head. “He said my ‘mental issues’ and certain traumas were a turn-off to him and I almost punched him in the throat. I think at that point I nearly blacked out—sending him home as I cried with so much rage.” 

“Fucking hell, Deku, I think I would have throat punched him.”

“Uraraka almost keyed his car, so you and she were in the same boat.” 

He’ll never forget how angry she was. How broken he was. It took him months to finally have the confidence to go out and meet new people again. To feel good about himself…

Looking down, Bakugou ponders with hesitance. “How did you even overcome something so shitty?”

Izuku shrugs. “I took time for myself and learned the duality of what I deserve and don’t. Sure, my friends helped me too, but there’s only so much they can do for your own growth.”

It almost feels good to talk about it all again, especially to someone like Bakugou in his life. 

“There is nothing wrong with wanting to keep this part of yourself private,” Izuku presses, taking his other hand and placing it on top of Bakugou’s. “For the longest time, I made myself believe that if I was different, Hiroto would have stayed. If I made myself uncomfortable and forced it, it would all work out. But that’s not how it works in the end, it’s just how you create pain and even more trauma. Your partner is supposed to help you feel comfortable and safe, making it easier for that part of you to come out, not force you and make you feel ashamed for hiding.” 

Bakugou bites the inside of his cheek, emotions welling.

“I took a break from relationships, sticking to the meaningless hookups, and allowed myself to become comfortable over time. Meeting people in my community made it easier, and slowly immersing myself publicly created confidence. But I did it at my own pace, not because a partner said I had to. I created a healthy relationship with myself and my identity, even though moments like that made it difficult.” Izuku catches himself smiling. “Now I’m at a point in my life where I don’t care anymore. I fought the battle that is identity anxiety and I can now confidently say that no matter who I am with, I’m just happy to be in their presence—public or not.”

Extending his arm out, Izuku cups the side of Bakugou’s face and pulls him close—rubbing his cheek with his thumb. “I have no say in your identity or how long it takes for you to feel comfortable, and I am completely okay with that. Labels, no labels, none of it matters. As long as I get to be by you, no matter where, I will always be satisfied.” 

Unprepared, Izuku is taken aback but the sudden blink of tears from Bakugou’s eyes. Worried, he wipes one away with his thumb, and the blonde sniffs, turning. 

“Fuck, Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me,” Bakugou curses, rubbing his eyes. “Why am I acting like this?” Another sniff. 

“Hey…” Frowning, Izuku reaches over and pulls Bakugou back. “None of that, remember what I said at your game?” Referring to the breakdown he helped him through, he waits for a small nod from the athlete. “You’re not weak for feeling emotional, especially about something so deep-rooted as this. Let it out if you have to—tell me what’s bothering you.”

Bakugou huffs, grabbing Izuku’s wrist as it holds him. “I don’t even know what I’m fucking feeling. All my life I've never known what I’m feeling.” A disheartened mutter. “It’s like my insides are on fire and I have no way of putting it out.” 

Nibbling at his lip, Izuku continues to stroke his cheek with his thumb. “Don’t strain yourself. If you fight and push for these feelings to make sense, the fire will only burst hotter.” 

“So what the hell am I supposed to fucking do?” Bakugou almost yells, biting his tongue after his words. “I can barely even handle myself in a straight relationship, how can I possibly grasp this shit when–” he cuts himself off, exhaling roughly. “I’ve only ever been told what to do my whole life, how am I supposed to listen to myself when I don’t even know where to start?” 

Oh, how this cuts deeper than a knife, this trauma—this struggle. Unable to speak for himself anymore, asking for help though he yearns to make the decisions for himself. 

“Your feelings, your emotions…” Izuku pauses, shifting closer. “They can either be your shackles or your wings, it all just depends on how you let them hold you—what you listen to.” 

“What do I even listen to? How the fuck do I know what’s right?”

“There’s never a concrete right or wrong.” Izuku moves his leg up, linking it between the blonde’s. “I can’t be the one to tell you how to feel, but have you maybe thought about starting with what you want? Not what someone else wants, or what you think you want—what do you want this second? What is your mind telling you behind the fog?” 

Shamefully, Bakugou wheezes out a teary laugh. “To kiss you. All I want right now is to fucking kiss you.” 

Izuku takes Bakugou’s face with both hands, smiling. “So kiss me. Kiss me, hold me, touch me— it all starts with listening and eventually doing. You’ll lose this shame the more you do.”

No more breaths, no more words—the blonde closes the distance hard. 

Gripping his hand in Izuku’s thick curls, he opens his mouth wide and swallows up every second, every taste. He listens to his desires and his wants, adjusting so he hovers over top of Izuku. 

But he also listens to Izuku’s. 

Hearing the whine and gasp deep inside Izuku’s throat, Bakugou slides his hand up his shirt and touches every inch of his chest and abdomen. Playing with his sensitive nipples, and grasping at his pectorals. 

So much for resting. 

They don’t go further, though they could. Touching and kissing, sucking and nipping, they take pleasure in this simplicity of needing nothing more. Izuku couldn’t complain, he’s loving every single second of this—knowing he folds over even the simplest of touches from those rough hands. 

Loving the confidence, the want. 

Lips swollen, breaths lost, Bakugou breaks and looks down at Izuku with a pant—flushed cheeks and ruined hair. 

Matching his hard breathing, Izuku reaches up and latches his fingers behind the blonde’s neck. Thinking he’ll flop over on his back from exhaustion, he preps to move over. But, that’s not exactly what happens. 

Laying down on top of Izuku, Bakugou rests his head on his chest—letting out a big sigh as he makes himself comfortable, wrapping an arm around Izuku’s shoulder and tangling their legs. A little shocked, Izuku’s hands hover over his head and back, taking a second to be placed down with comfort. 

Bakugou is heavy, but the way he sprawls himself is nothing but comfortable—a weighted blanket if you will. Carding his fingers through those blonde locks, Izuku relaxes his head and lays fully down—allowing his body to be embraced by both this warmth and weight. It’s grounding. 

It’s what he’s needed for a while, especially with the stress trying to pull him down. 

“Is this ok?” Bakugou asks, muttered by Izuku’s shirt. 

Looking up at the ceiling, Izuku’s lips curl upward. “More than ok, Kacchan.” 

They both start to drift, tired both physically and mentally from a week worth calling hell. Izuku’s fingers slow down, eventually resting still inside Bakugou’s hair and on his back. 

They both drift as the song Vienna by Billy Joel sings its lullaby. 

More than ok.

Adjusting his canvas on the blank wall, Izuku steps back. 

Flicking on the LED lights in the lighting studio, Nana crosses her arms and takes a step back with Izuku—tilting her head to get each angle. Her heels click against the tile, her hip popping out as she observes. 

She hums. 

“Oh god, it’s shit isn’t it,” Izuku deadpans, rubbing a hand over his forehead where a headache is forming. He’s still wearing his paint overalls, practically solidified from how many layers of paint there are on his legs.

“You are so dramatic,” Nana responds, rolling her eyes with a lighthearted smirk. “No, kiddo, it’s not shit.” Walking back up close to his work, she raises her hand and points. “The hints of impressionism in your backgrounds…that’s a new touch, right?”

“It is.” Izuku nods, placing his hands in his paint-crusted pockets. “I’ve always enjoyed mixing abstract with realism, so I thought I’d give a bit of impressionism a shot. I’m trying to go a different route after all…”

“Well I think it works well, Midoriya,” she says strongly, nodding. “Without thinking of my approval or anyone's opinions, are you happy with this result?” 

Izuku takes a second to observe his painting for another moment in this lighting—the even spread. His eyes flicker from the quick strokes of darkness in the corners followed by a brightness, a light in the center. Two bodies twisting together, gripping with desperation—lit up within this darkness all around. 

To be loved, to be held, to be wanted. Intoxication that’s called intimacy. 

This feeling of desire he’s found himself upon once again. 

Izuku hums to himself as did Nana earlier. “Yeah…I think I am.” 

He feels her hand pat his upper back. “Well, then we’re in a good spot. Just keep doing what you’re doing, kid.” 

“Any feedback?” He asks, motioning to his work again. 

“To be honest, no.” She shakes her head rather quickly. “It’s one of the best works I’ve seen this semester and I can tell you’ve had a real shift in motivation. The only thing I could say is that if you want to show the committee your drive, I would possibly turn this work into a series or create a coexisting work that conflicts with the message.” 

“I thought about a series,” Izuku notes. “I’m not sure how many I can do in my short period, but I would like to do at least three more.”

Nana cringes. “Three? Yeesh, kiddo...” 

Izuku knows that’s a lot, especially for his already strained schedule and stress build-up. But truly, if he wants to show the committee and All Might his best, he’s going to do his best. 

Sighing, Nana squeezes his shoulder before letting go. “Your stubbornness is beyond me or even my own pupil.” He watches her rub her temple in the corner of his eye. “At least you’ve found your footing again. Can I ask what led to this piece and what might come next?”

Izuku is unable to fight the smirk on his lips. Biting the corner of his bottom lip, he looks down. “A certain someone just made me realize there’s more to creating besides satisfying. I guess you could say I’m making it more personal this time.” 

“Well, I’m glad you listened. I was starting to get worried about you—it seemed you lost your spark for a bit.” 

Yeah…

“Anyway,” Nana says with an exhale, putting her hands on her hips. “I’ve gotta run, lecture prep can’t do itself, unfortunately.” 

“Need any help with that?” Izuku asks, turning away from his painting. 

Nana looks at him like he’s grown another head, blinking slowly. One and two. “Kid, if I wasn’t your superior I would smack the hell out of you.” She waves her hand out. “Go, shoo, get some coffee, or take a break for your sake, you literally did all of my grading for the week already.”

Izuku snorts, getting the memo. “God, you’re all too good to me I swear.”

“We could be better,” she argues. “Now scram, I don’t want to see you in this building for the rest of the day.” 

“Okay okay,” he giggles, moving over to the wall to unmount his canvas. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Nana.”

Turning to walk out of the lighting studio, Nana waves. “See ya, kiddo.”

Listening to her heels clack through the hallway, Izuku carefully unhooks his painting and pulls it down from its mount—being sure to hold it with care as it's still fresh. Mentally, he reminds himself that once it's dried he needs to varnish the exterior so it’s ready for display. 

Among other things. 

It’s not exactly a small canvas, so he grabs the center and keeps it close in prep for transit through the building to the private storage room. Midnight was kind enough to let him use one of the empty master’s students ’ studios for stowage—something he’s wanted in the back of his head selfishly for a while. Cubbies are great, but not so much for his anxiety and large-scale important pieces that exceed 24x36. Emphasis on the important. 

Izuku makes it only a few steps before his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. A phone call. 

“Shit…” he curses to himself, putting the canvas down against the wall so he can dig out his phone. Turning his screen to answer, he pauses. It’s his mother. 

Smiling, he clicks the answer button and places the phone to his ear. 

“Hey, momma.”

Immediately, he senses something off. For starters, it sounds like she is in the car due to the static he only ever hears when she’s connected to her stereo. She never calls him in the car unless it’s important. 

“Hey, sweetie…” she huffs, shaken. 

His smile drops. Izuku makes haste, grabbing a barstool and sitting down. “Something’s wrong. What’s wrong? Why are you calling me from the car?” 

She hesitates. “I’m…I’m on my way to Mizu, I didn’t know where else to go and I needed to get out quick.” 

Mizu is hours away. She’d only ever drive this far without warning if–

Red is the only color Izuku can see right now, blinding his senses. “What the fuck did he do?” He grits through his teeth, gripping tighter at his phone. 

Silence. Not even a comment regarding his language use. 

“Mom, what the fuck did he do?” He repeats, louder this time. “I swear to God if he hit you–”

“He didn’t hit me,” she rejects quickly. “Though if I didn’t get out, he might have.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Izuku takes a breath to try and stay calm. One breath in one breath out…

“Ok… ok, what happened? Are you ok?”

“I’m alright honey, just shaken and honestly pretty angry at your father.” A pause. “I think today was my wake-up call to finally allow myself to get out.” He can what her flick on her turn signal. “He came home from work a lot more amped than normal and reeking of alcohol, saying he was demoted because of some call his direct supervisor got from a woman with the last name Bakugou? It sounds familiar, I think that he worked for that family some time back. I don’t know, he was intoxicated and kept spewing stuff that didn’t make sense, like how you were to blame for all of his misfortune and embarrassment—to be honest, I don’t understand why you were brought up in the first place, it’s not your fault he got demoted.”

Izuku’s heart falls like dead weight. 

“When I find out who you are, you’ll regret opening your mouth. I promise you that.”

Grabbing the front of his shirt, Izuku swallows down a lump the size of a baseball. 

“You’ll regret opening your mouth.”

“He started to get violent even after I tried to calm him down, so I packed a bag, grabbed my keys, and, well…I left. It was an adrenaline rush, Izuku, I don’t even remember how I got into the car so fast. I’m still shaking and I’ve been in the car for a little over an hour, and I know the second I step foot in your apartment I will probably break down.” 

Rubbing a palm over his mouth, Izuku exhales a shaky breath of his own. “Oh my god.” 

“I’m sorry to jump this on you, I know you’re jammed with so much work right now–”

“No no, don’t apologize,” he says, stopping his mom mid-sentence. “I’ve told you hundreds of times that my home is your home if something like this were to ever happen. Doesn’t help that this specific situation is definitely my fault.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Izuku wants to scream so badly right now. Of course, this would bite him in the ass and fuck over his own family drama. Only Mrs. Bakugou would find a way to make it even. 

And of course, he would underestimate it all, thinking it would be easy from here on out. 

“I’m not going to explain this right now while you’re driving, so I am going to wait till you get here.” Shaking his head, he stands from the stool with a hand on his hip. “You said you’re about an hour in? Do you want me and Uraraka to meet you halfway? I don’t know if I feel comfortable with you driving that long.”

“I’m alright, Izuku. It’s mostly a straight shot from here and I’ve got my podcasts to keep me company,” she says, trying to add a little bit of light to this dim situation. 

“Mom…” he strains. 

“Izuku,” she shoots back. “I’m okay, I promise. All that matters is I got out before it got worse and I’ll get there before nightfall.”

This is such a disaster. “Fine,” he caves. “But I’m stalking your location the whole time and you better call me every time you stop for gas.” 

“I thought I was the mother?” She snickers and Izuku rolls his eyes. 

“Mom.”

“Okay, I’ll keep you posted sweetheart.” 

Sighing, Izuku looks up at the chipped ceiling. “Thank you.” 

“I love you, Izuku.”

“I love you too, mom.”

The call ends but Izuku doesn’t lower his hand for another minute, standing still with this echo of realization. This frustration called reality.

Taking his phone, he looks down at the screen and slides up on his old conversation with Uraraka to let her know briefly of the situation. Turning it off, he places his phone in his pocket before lifting his arms and firmly grasping the roots of his hair—pulling. 

The pile is getting higher and higher. And soon enough, all it’s going to take for this mass to collapse is one tiny little shove.

Chapter Text

“Hey, relax, it’s gonna be ok,” Uraraka mutters, rubbing circles in the back of Izuku’s shoulder as he taps his foot anxiously. “She finally got out, let’s just focus on that for now.” 

Shaking his head, Izuku habitually bites at the skin around his thumb. “It’s hard to only focus on that when I know he’ll go mental and try to find her.” 

His father isn’t exactly the kind of individual to let things go as the world wishes it so. He forces himself through, as a narcissist would, to get the ending he wishes so. And knowing him, right now he’s not happy about his wife packing and turning tail. 

Furthermore, Izuku knows he is going to get most of the blame. It’s not like he cares, he’s already 10 feet deep in the disowned scroll, but it’s now affecting his mother. 

And that…that’s what he’s feared for a long time. 

Uraraka sighs, letting him go. “Then if that’s the case, we call the cops or Todoroki blows up his car. Maybe both. But that’s not a right now problem, okay?”

Exhaling, Izuku knows she’s right. He knows. 

“Okay…”

“Oh, that’s her car!” She exclaims, pointing down the end of the parking lot. 

Shaking out his hands, Izuku takes one last deep breath as his mother pulls into a spot in front of his apartment. Her light blue Nissan slows to a stop, shutting off with its old faded headlights. 

The door opens and Izuku walks over dead on his feet, grabbing his mom into a hug before she’s even fully out of the car. 

“Hi, honey,” she murmurs tiredly into his shoulder, standing on her tiptoes to hug him back. 

His mother smells like lilacs, and her embraces are nothing but warm and tight. He inhales, propping his chin on her head as his fingers tangle in her hair. Not having hugged her in months, he takes the time to study this feeling—savor it. 

There’s a difference between hugging your mother and any other person on this planet. It’s like being able to breathe again for the first time, having spent years within the cemented streets filled with smog and cigarettes. Like lying down for the first time in hours. Or like seeing your favorite musician for the first time front row. Nothing could ever compare. 

“Hey, mom…” he finally lets her go, stepping back. “How was the drive?”

Lightly, she smiles before turning to get her stuff from the car. But, Uraraka beats her to it. “Long, but nothing I couldn’t handle—oh, sweetie, you don’t need to do that.”

“It’s pointless arguing,” Uraraka insists, throwing the duffle over her shoulder. “Now let's get inside so you can rest.”

They collect all her belongings and head up the stairs, walking through his front door as the sky turns a shade darker. It’s strange, having her here. A twisted part of him is happy to see her and enjoy her visit, but the other won’t cease its tension even though Uraraka said to let it pass. 

“You can take my bed, Mom,” Izuku points down the hall briefly as he kicks his slippers off. “I’ll take the couch until Shinsou brings me his air mattress tomorrow.” 

“Izuku…” His mom looks up at him as she places her keys and phone on the kitchen counter. “You don’t have to do that, I’m fine on the couch.” 

“And I am also fine on the couch. Take it, there’s no debating,” Izuku argues back. “You had a long day and I want you to get some proper sleep.”

Shaking her head, his mother sighs with defeat as she goes to sit on the couch—knowing full well that he’s just as stubborn as her. “You really are my son, huh?”

Nodding, Izuku shuffles behind to join her. “100%.” Sitting down, he makes room for Uraraka on the other side. “Are you hungry by the way? I have some leftovers or I can run and grab you something.”

“I’m going to be honest, I have no appetite right now.” Swallowing, she leans all the way back. “Everything is still trying to process in my mind.” 

He can’t blame her one bit. If he were in her shoes, he might have gotten sick by now—nauseated. 

“I’m just trying to wrap my head around how this is your fault,” she continues, turning her head to look at him—confused. “Are you not telling me something?”

Gripping at his pants by the knee, Izuku gnaws at his cheek. “You know that boy I mentioned not too long ago? The one I’m tutoring?” 

Nothing gets past his mother. Blinking, she sits up. “He’s a Bakugou, isn’t he?”

“Yup.”

“You pissed off his family, didn’t you?”

“Yup.”

“Well, that’ll do it.”

Rubbing his eyes, Izuku leans forward on his knees and groans. “I’m so sorry, mom…”

His mother jabs him with her finger, looking at him with a concerned, if not puzzled, brow. “Why are you apologizing? I know you, Izuku, and you don’t usually tick people off unless they deserve it. Not to mention, you aren’t responsible for the actions they choose to partake in—that’s all them.”

Uraraka raises a finger to chime in. “Cutting in for a second, yeah, they really deserved it.”

Adjusting herself to sit cross-legged, his mom places a hand on his shoulder. “People always have a choice in their decisions. Just because you made them feel ill doesn’t mean they had the right to target you where it’s sensitive,” his mom continues, rubbing her thumb across his shoulder blade. “I assume this has something to do with how they treat their own son?” 

“It’s…” he pauses. “A bit more complicated than that, but yeah, long story short it does.” 

Smiling, she gets him to look over. “Then I can tell you care about him. Did things end up working out between you two?”

Uraraka snickers. “Oh, you can definitely say that–” She starts but Izuku sits up and elbows her hard. 

“Uraraka… ” Izuku grits through his teeth. 

“Oh!” His mom realizes, eyes wide. “Well, I guess you could say I wasn’t exactly too far off on our last conversation.” 

Jesus Christ.

Uraraka laughs, and Izuku leans back—groaning with hands slapped over his face. He is not having this conversation, and now especially is the worst time for that. 

“Mom, I will actually waterboard myself in my bathroom if this conversation doesn’t stop in the next 5 seconds.” 

“Oh, stop,” she nudges him. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“I feel like me not wanting to talk about a sexual partner with my mother is completely warranted.” 

His mom chuckles. “Alright alright, I’ll stop. You know I just like to tease.”

Dragging his hands down his face, Izuku grumbles. “I am well aware.”

Patting his shoulder, she uncrosses her legs and sits up properly. “Okay…on that note I am going to leave you two be. It’s time I turned in for the night.” Standing up, she stretches her sore legs. 

“Extra towels are under the sink and if you get cold I have blankets in my closet,” Izuku mentions before she can wander off. 

She turns, looking down at him with an expression not quite readable. A hum. “Just when did you get so grown up, Izuku?”

A long long time ago…

He doesn’t reply to her question, just smiling back. “Goodnight, Mom.”

“Goodnight, Izuku.”

His mom quietly grabs her bag and makes her way down the hall to his bedroom. Like the shot of a gun, the second his door closes he catches himself deflating in his seat. 

“God…” he breathes, putting strain on the bridge of his nose as he rubs between his fingers. His head hurts, his stomach hurts, everything hurts. 

Frowning, Uraraka scoots closer and leans her head on top of his. “You really did have to grow up fast, didn’t you?”

He nods under the weight of her head. “Fuck, this fucking sucks, Uraraka.” He rubs the bridge of his nose tighter, though he knows it won’t stop the frustrated tears trying to spill. 

She grabs his free hand and squeezes it. “It does. But you’ve got people to help you through it this time.”

“I guess you’re right…”

Lifting her head, she turns to glance down at him. “Wanna watch a shitty movie? It’s the weekend tomorrow so I can stay as long as you want.”

As tempting as that offer sounds…taking a deep breath, Izuku sits up straight. “Nah…I appreciate it but I think I need the night to process some stuff alone.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah…thank you though.”

“Well…” Standing up, she stretches her back side to side before walking over to the door to grab her purse and keys. “If you change your mind just call. I’m here for both you and your mom whenever you need.”

Izuku forces a smile, too tired to feel the relaxed realness of one he probably needs. “Goodnight, Uraraka.”

“Goodnight, Midoriya.”

Uraraka slips through the front door quietly, taking into consideration his mother. 

Letting out what feels like years of air out of his lungs, Izuku lies to the side. He doesn’t bother grabbing a blanket, nor does he bother to even get up and brush his teeth or grab a cup of water. Pulling his legs up close to his chest, he grips at his hair tight. 

This sucks. God, this really sucks. 

Gritting his teeth, Izuku hunches in fetal—spiraling as this mental turmoil begins to finally catch its course. 

Will he handle this? Will his mind and body give him peace as he’s thrusted upon this task of keeping it together for his mother, for his relationships, and for the sake of his work? 

Izuku hunches tighter, feeling the grooves of the cushion seams on his spine. 

Selfishly, he wishes two arms pulled him close and held him—telling him it’ll be ok as kisses planted on his head and neck. Feeling and hearing the breath of a certain blonde as he drifts. 

But unselfishly, he hates the idea of Bakugou possibly seeing him so unraveled like this. A ball of yarn that’s lost its form and its structure—spilling from the sides and tangling all within. Who is he to fall apart right now when there is no room? Could he stomach those eyes seeing him like this?

It’s not his emotions he feels ashamed of, no.

It’s hypocritical, he knows. He’s always been a massive hypocrite. Guiding his friends when he can’t help but refuse help himself—a weakness he holds. He hates the idea of seeing his own mother witness the same thing, or anyone for that matter. Tears are one thing, frustrated yells and angry rants are another, but when it comes to this numbness—a depressing inhumane sight that is physical weakness—there is no reality where he wants his loved ones to see or hear the state that this is. He is guilty. 

But who is he, a man who once felt so weak all his life, to do but prevent that feeling from ever rising again? Help those around him to give him a sense of accomplishment, but dare he ask for the same in return. 

He balls himself up on this couch alone, pretending he could hear the faint snores and humming in his ear. Life is a complicated thing, and boy does he wish it wasn’t so…

“...id..”

“Ki…d.”

“Kid!” 

Izuku gasps, snapping himself back into reality as he looks up from his computer. 

Midnight is looking down at him with two cups of coffee in her hands. She’s looking down at him like he just yelled a slur, horrified. 

“Are you okay?” she strains, setting down a cup for him next to his keyboard. “I was calling your name right in front of you for like a full minute.”

Rubbing his eyes, Izuku winces as he realizes how dry they are. “Yeah yeah…sorry, I was just really focused.”

He really had no idea she was standing there, let alone calling his name. 

The woman frowns. “I think it’s more than that,” she disagrees, pulling out the chair on the other side of the table. Putting her bag down, she joins him. He’s sat in the main lobby of the art building, working on his grading in a dissociative state. He…might have not slept well last night, and he can’t seem to focus back home. “Your dark circles are telling me different things.”

“Ah…” He scratches the back of his head and grabs the coffee, taking a quick sip even though it’s clearly burning hot. He cringes, putting it down. 

“Kiddo, you’re not looking so hot.” Midnight reaches over and shuts his screen. “I fear that everything is catching up to you fast, regardless of our help.”

“It’s fine…” Izuku sighs, leaning back. “It’s fine, I–”

“Midoriya.” Midnight stops him. “I know you don’t usually like to admit when you’re struggling, but I can tell when you’re overwhelmed. The last thing I want is for you to end up screaming in the dark room again because it all became too much.” 

Shamefully, Izuku turns his head and crosses his arms. 

Midnight leans on her elbows, pushing up her red glasses. “What’s going on, talk to me.”

Rubbing his bicep, Izuku swallows. He doesn’t want to have this conversation with her. “Just the typical stuff, Midnight. My portfolio, work, family shit, the whole nine yards.” He grabs the back of his neck tightly. “I’m telling you it’s fine, it’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

That response doesn’t ease his teacher’s worry, he can tell by the way her brows are scrunched and her cherry lips are thinned. 

“We all are capable of handling a lot in life, but that doesn’t mean you should handle it. You tell us about your struggles but you never actually let us do anything about it to help you. We practically had to scruff you to let us help with your art.”

“And what I’m telling you right now, is that it’s fucking fine,” Izuku practically snarls, reeling back when his tone registers. When he sees the look on her face. “Sorry…just–” he drops his hand to his lap. “I’m sorry. I really really don’t like it. I spent a long period of my life unable to do things on my own or even stand up for myself and I–”

I can’t stand the feeling. I can’t stand feeling weak. 

“Please, I’m fine.” He firmly ends his thoughts. Izuku can tell Midnight is itching to argue back and spiral the two of them into a trauma dump. He knows deep down she wants him to let it all off his chest even if it lights this whole building on fire. 

But she does what Izuku wishes. She drops it.

“Alright, kiddo…I’ll drop it.” Exhaling, frustrated, Midnight adjusts her glasses before standing. “By the way, since she knew you’d be here, Nana wanted me to give this to you considering she’s out this weekend.” Reaching into her bag set on the floor, she pulls out a packet. From these actions, it’s clear she expected to see him in the building today.

Raising a brow, Izuku takes it—internally hoping it’s not more grading. Looking down at the front, he’s proven wrong. 

“It’s Bakugou’s last assignment, she thought that you’d like to see it. I’m not sure why, but I can only assume it’s because of his response flagging concern,” Midnight says quietly. “Now please, don’t stay long here. Enjoy your weekend, go to the game, relax—I don’t care. I know it’s clear I expected it, but it physically pains me to see you here on weekends.” 

He was planning on going to the game regardless, so at least he can attest later on. “I won’t be much longer, don’t worry.”

“Alright,” she huffs, tossing her bag back onto her shoulder and grabbing her coffee. “God, you kids are going to be the death of me…”

Midnight walks to her office as Izuku flips the packet. It was an assessment the class did not too long ago, last week to be precise. Just a minor analysis on the Baroque and Rococo periods. One piece sampled was Judith Slaying Holofernes —a brutal depiction of a decapitation. 

If he’s going to be honest, he’s a little nervous to be reading this right now. Since the blonde’s improvement, he hasn’t had a dire need to tutor him or aid in his responses. Butt hurt he’s been not seeing such wonderful words, but understanding in letting him grow without Izuku breathing down his neck. 

He got a good grade, so Bakugou slipping up isn’t a concern…

Izuku flips to the response page, skimming over the prompt and then to the blonde’s handwriting. 

Essentially, all Bakugou had to do was address the two pieces—one Baroque and one Rococo—and explain the artistic differences as well as a personal connection to at least one of the works, making it relevant today.

After a straightforward and—unsurprising—incredible response to the differences, Izuku hums and reaches for his coffee. Blowing on it this time, he presses his lips to the plastic opening. 

But he pauses before the liquid can even tease his lips. 

“I’m afraid—if not deathly—of my chances of slipping up. Will I drift away as he did drunkenly, unaware, only to be blindsided by this feeling of regret? Will my head be taken, sliced, and hacked, by the fear I can’t seem to shake? I’m full of blissful ignorance, but the day it becomes reality might be the day I lose my head.”

Putting the packet down along with his coffee, Izuku places a hand over his mouth. The last sentence runs in his head over and over. 

But the day it becomes reality might be the day I lose my head. 

Drifting from his mouth to his eyes, Izuku rubs them with a tired breath. 

Guilt and fear never cease for either of them, so it seems…but the question for Izuku is:

Just what exactly are you afraid of, Bakugou?

“Hey, mom!” Izuku calls as he rushes into his apartment and practically kicks his shoes into the living room. 

He cut it too close, pushing his stay at the art building on top of having to run home. If it weren’t for Uraraka’s text, he wouldn’t have checked to see the time. 

“Hey, Izuku!” She calls from the kitchen, unwrapping food from some grocery bags. 

“You got groceries? You didn’t have to do that,” he says as he runs to his room. 

He can hear her sigh from down the hall. “Honey, you’re letting me stay here it’s only fair of me to get you some food.”

Dropping his bag on the floor, Izuku rummages for his wallet and shoves it into his pocket. God, he’s gonna be late…the only reason he didn’t go straight to the stadium is because he’s literally unintentionally wearing the opposite team's colors, and knowing his school, he’ll get jumped in the men's bathroom. 

Hurrying to his closet, he stips off his jean jacket before throwing on a school crewneck. His hair is a mess and he looks like a total wreck, but there’s no time to really asses the situation and improve. 

“Will you be home for dinner?” His mom asks as he pats his pockets to make sure he has his phone as well. 

“I’m not sure, so just don’t plan on me, Mom!” 

“You’re going to the game, right?”

Speed walking out of his room and down the hall, Izuku hollers back. “Yeah, and I am going to be late if I don’t leave in the next five seconds.”

Grabbing his shoes and slipping them on, thanking god they are Doc Chelsea boots, he huffs. Keys…keys– fuck he left his car running outside. 

“Take a breath, Izuku,” his mom urges. “Tell your friends I said hello.” 

“Will do.” Opening the door, he peers back. “Keep the door unlocked again since you have my main key. I should be getting a spare tomorrow.”

“Alright, honey!”

“Bye, Mom.”

“Have fun!”

Shutting the door, he practically leaps down his staircase and throws himself into his still-running car—shifting it harshly into reverse. 

As he drives out of his parking lot, his stomach churns. Something feels off, something feels—he’s not sure. It’s like a skin-itching sensation of doing something wrong or forgetting something, unaware of the specifics. Unaware of why.

But Izuku ignores it. He ignores it like the rest of his feelings all day as he presses his foot on the gas pedal. 

Izuku rushes through the stadium doors, pulling out his mobile ticket to get scanned before twisting through the crowd to find his friends. They were two minutes away from closing the front entrances.

Luckily for him, the stadium is only a five-minute drive from his apartment. But that doesn’t mean he didn't floor it the entire way—getting flipped off by a random man for speeding into a parking spot before him. 

“Midoriya!” Uraraka’s voice calls from his right. 

Swiveling and nearly tripping, Izuku deflates when he sees Uraraka speed-walking toward him from the concessions. Holding a couple of snacks and water, she tosses a box of candy at him and starts to lead the way. “Oh my god, you cut it so close.” 

Almost dropping it, Izuku follows behind. “I know I know…”

“Also you look like shit, please tell me you at least got some sleep last night?” Turning into one of the entrances, she grabs his wrist and leads him to their seats just a few rows up from the protective glass. 

“Uh…”

“Never mind, you clearly didn’t.” Tossing a box at Shinsou, she sits herself down and pats the aisle seat next to her for Izuku. “Found him, you guys.”

Izuku sits with a huff, out of breath and thankful that he made it right as the lights started dimming. 

“Wow, you look like a bag of smashed ass, dude,” Shinsou says with a cringe, popping open his box of candy. He pours out a handful, tossing them into his mouth. 

Placing a hand on his chest to catch his breath, Izuku side-eyes his friend. 

“Cut him some slack, guys, he’s been more obnoxiously busy than normal,” Ashido cuts in, leaning forward to look at Izuku. She cringes. “Nah I can’t argue, he’s right, you do totally look like a bag of smashed ass.” 

He can physically feel his eye twitch. 

“You guys are great, thanks,” Izuku snarks, leaning back. “Making me feel so much better about myself.”

Uraraka and the others exchange glances as he rubs his temple. 

“Genuinely though, jokes aside, are you alright?” Todoroki voices. “We’re actually getting worried, you’ve been out of sorts all week.”

Brushing a few curls out of the way, Izuku glances at his dual-colored hair friend. His temper is being tested right now, hearing the same question over and over and over– “I’ve just had a lot on my plate, Todoroki. It’s fine, I’ll talk about it all later with you guys when we aren’t in the middle of a stadium.

“Talking about it is one thing, Midoriya,” Uraraka mutters, and something cracks inside his chest. “Lowkey, I thought getting laid would help with your stress back then but I was wrong. I think you seriously need some real help with alleviating–”

“I don’t need help,” Izuku snaps, stopping Uraraka’s words. “I am fine, it’s all fine, now can we please just watch this game without anyone worrying over me for five fucking seconds??”

The looks on his friends' faces are a punch to the gut. God damn it. 

“I’m sorry…” he bites his cheek. He needs to cool off, he’s been a snappy mess all day and none of his friends or peers deserve the bared teeth. 

He’s afraid that anger might surface around the blonde later, and he truly doesn’t deserve that. 

“I know you are, man…just–” Uraraka pauses, patting his knee. “You know we hate it when you get like this. You really like to pick and choose when you say no, don’t you?”

Izuku doesn’t respond, sighing as he looks out to the ice. 

The argument they could have right now isn’t worth it, and his brown-haired friend surely understands that. 

Uraraka sighs with her own tone before she elbows him lightly. “Hey, take a breath. Let’s enjoy the game, alright? No more bugging you, okay?”

Listening to her, he takes a deep breath as he listens to the noise of the crowd. As his fingers pick at the opening of the candy box in his lap. As announcements start and the athletes enter with gliding skates and amped expressions.  

 “Okay…”

“Christ, I forget how big Sato is. He nearly put that guy in the wall.”

“Right?” Uraraka agrees with Shinsou as the whistle is blown and Sato is shunned to the penalty box. He got a bit too defensive, shoving a player into the glass so hard it almost cracked. 

“The guy’s a cinderblock, a total 180 degrees to the Sato Midoriya fucked.” 

Izuku chokes on his candy.

“HA!” Ashido barks, pointing and laughing as Izuku punches his chest to dislodge the gummy snack from his esophagus. “God, I love common family names they make me laugh so fucking hard.”

“Oh my god you guys, shut up,” Izuku hisses, finally getting it. 

“No, but could you imagine if Midoriya fucked that Sato? The size difference is actually insane, he’s even bigger than Ba–” Ashido catches herself, remembering where they sit. “Barry…yeah, remember that guy Barry you hooked up with?”

“You’re an idiot,” Uraraka deadpans. 

“Hey, I caught myself.”

“You guys are unbelievable for talking about this in public,” Todoroki says under his breath, taking a sip of his water. 

“Yeah, I second that,” Izuku groans while red in the face, unable to help himself. “You’re all so embarrassing, it hurts.”

“More embarrassing than how long it took for you to realize how down bad you were?” Shinsou smirks. 

Izuku blinks. “Aren’t you literally hooking up with Kaminari after months of pinning?” He turns, catching Shinsou’s now wide eyes as he grabs his moment of payback. 

“Never mind, I’ll shut up.” 

“Thought so.”

“Alright enough embarrassing each other, we’ve got one more period left of this game and so far we’re demolishing the other team,” Uraraka pipes up, pointing to the scoreboard and its countdown. “Let’s go ape shit and make our whole team hate us for how loud we are.” 

“So much for not embarrassing each other.” Izuku rolls his eyes. 

“Hey, this is different, now stand up ‘cause we’ve got two blondes to cheer for.” 

Izuku snorts, lightly smacking her shoulder at the same time as Shinsou. 

Peering down into the ice, Izuku catches Bakugou’s focused eyes through his helmet. Smirking, the athlete winks before sliding over to the center of the rink to face off—stick down and ready as the whistle is blown. With the slow of a heartbeat and the silence before the puck is dropped, Izuku grips the edge of his seat and smiles back. 

The lineman redies the puck, hovering it over as Bakugou and the opposing player tense. Crack. The puck drops and mayhem commences. 

Izuku shoots out of his seat, yelling with his friends as Bakugou snags the puck first and bolts. 

Virtually dancing around each player, Bakugou passes the puck to his upper right wing—Kaminari—before advancing with determination and aggression. 

Kaminari gets boxed in, yelling for someone to cover. Passing it through the gap of two players, he’s nearly boarded as a teammate scoops the puck and moves onward. 

It’s stressful, all of it. Izuku can’t keep up as this fast-paced chaos jumps back and forth, but he also can’t help but feel such riveting excitement as Bakuogu and his teammates conquer the ice below their feet and the others that threaten its presence. 

“Oi!” Bakugou yells, smacking his ready stick on the ground. The player passes it to the blonde, yelling for him to go as the opposing team’s offense swarms. The right defenseman quickly meets the pace of Bakugou, shoving himself up close to try and knock the puck from his handle. 

Izuku can see the grit of the blonde’s teeth. He can see the desperation to find a plan as he skates in circles to shake this player’s stubbornness. 

Come on…

And that’s when Bakugou does something nearly impossible. The air gets sucked out of Izuku’s lungs as he watches the gears shift inside his head. As he uses that big beautiful fucking brain.

“TAPE FACE!” Flipping his stick, he flicks the puck backward with the blade end between the defenseman’s skates right toward Sero. 

“Oh my GOD?!” The announcer screams into the microphone and stands up, nearly knocking his entire setup down. 

Sero, somehow prepared for such an ungodly pass, winds his arms back and smacks the puck hard—sending it shooting fast into the top right corner of the net, too fast for the goalie to reach. 

The overhead siren wails and everyone goes nuts.

“YES!!” Uraraka howls, grabbing Izuku’s shoulders and shaking them as she jumps up and down. “HAHA!! That’s what I’m talking about! God I fucking love this school.” 

Izuku laughs hard at Uraraka’s loss of control, shoving her back as she comes close to climbing on top of him. 

The Hydra’s cheer, skating over to pat Bakugou and Sero’s backs for such a move. It doesn’t matter that they’re so far ahead, they treat it like a lifesaving goal, and rightfully so. 

Again, their eyes meet. The excitement and ear-ringing bliss spread across Bakugou’s face is brilliant. Gorgeous. Green meeting red, Izuku beams and opens his mouth to yell and cheer—support this man he’s held so close just a few days ago. Feel this feeling of being human for the first time in days. 

But words are unable to slip out, as his phone begins to frantically buzz inside his pocket—breaking him from this trance. 

Severing the eye contact, Izuku reaches for his phone and looks at who’s calling. Eyes going wide, he answers it and plugs one ear to hear better. 

“Mom??”

“CALL THE POLICE!!” She screams bloody murder on the other end, so loud he can hear it over the cheers of the crowd around him. Never in his life has he ever yelled so loud and so–

From his brain to his heart to his stomach, everything falls to the cement floor with a splat. He might be sick. 

No. Nonononono–

“Mom?!” Izuku yells back. “Mom, what’s–” 

Ever so, he can hear the faint yells and banging from the inside of his apartment. And he can hear a male voice boom from the other side of the room, unable to make out the words. 

“Get away from me!” She yells, directing her fear toward this other figure. “Don’t you dare–”

The phone suddenly fuzzes and clatters to the ground as the whistle down below is blown. 

Shock isn’t a word remotely close to what Izuku feels. Neither is the word called fear. 

“Midoriya?” Uraraka touches his shoulder and he flinches. “What–”

“Call the police,” he says, swallowing down a massive stomach acid-tasting lump in his throat. He pulls his keys out of his pocket on autopilot. “Call the police for my apartment now.”

“What–” Uraraka’s face falls as the realization hits her harder than a truck as it did with Izuku just seconds ago. “Oh my god, he didn’t.” 

One last time, Izuku snaps his head down to the ice and makes eye contact with Bakugou. One last time, he stares at those big red irises. But unlike the last times he’s met that face and those eyes, he does not smile, no. 

Giving Bakugou a panicked look, he grips his keys and turns tail—running down the stairs and out the arena entrance. He ignores the yells for him to slow down. He ignores the people telling him not to exit out the doors he kicks open. 

And he ignores the throb of his heart as he runs to the car park faster than he’s ever run in his life. 

Izuku thanks every single god that exists for not getting pulled over as he pounds at 60 mph in a 20. 

Whipping into a parking spot so fast he nearly shoots into the staircase, Izuku rips the keys out of its ignition and moves. 

The second his car door is slammed he hears something shatter inside his apartment. 

And that? Ohohoho, that sent his entire body on fire. 

On top of the screams from his mother, Izuku’s front door is open and it makes him want to vomit. He told her to keep the door unlocked like a fucking idiot –

Running inside, Izuku sees it. He sees him. All senses of control throw themselves out his window. Every single ounce of stress he’s had piled up on his shoulders releases like an atomic bomb. His fists clench tightly till pain sparks.

Sucking in a breath, Izuku turns the corner and–

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY MOTHER!” he shrieks and the very man he hasn’t seen in over four years turns. Dropping his raised fist, his acidic eyes go feral—backing away from the cornered stance he had against his mom. 

Gasping, his mom clutches her chest. “Izuku, don’t–”

His father is tall—taller than Izuku. With curly black hair and sharp bone structure, his face twists into something sour with ease. An image he never wanted to see again. A spine-rattling, rage-filling, picture that should have only stayed in his memories—his nightmares. 

He hasn’t changed one bit. 

“So you finally joined us, huh, Izuku? ” Clenching his own fist till his knuckles crack, his father walks over to Izuku with his boots pounding against the hardwood. 

Puffing his nostrils, Izuku stands tall. “If you don’t get out fuck of my apartment in the next minute, I will call the police.” A bluff, considering Uraraka has most likely already made the call by now. 

Clicking his tongue, the man in front of him opens his arms out. “You’ve got a lot of mouth for a child who still can’t seem to learn his place.”

Learn your place. Learn your place. Learn your pla–

If it were physically possible, Izuku would be puffing smoke. “You are the one that disowned me. You are trespassing on my property. You threatened my mother. I will use my mouth to yell and scream until the day I die.”

The sour expression goes rancid. Eyes flicking dark, his father’s presence grows taller—a shadow. “You really are the worst thing I’ve made, aren’t you? Even after four years you can’t help but hold the title strong.” 

A phrase too predictable to hurt. Izuku stands with caution, holding his keys between his fingers. 

“Get… out,” he grits through his teeth. 

“I won’t be doing such a thing.” His voice rumbles thickly. “Not until your mother agrees to return with me and you finally learn to be fucking sensible.”

“Get a grip, I spent most of my life trying to be sensible. But you were still never satisfied.” He narrows his eyes as his dad takes another step forward. 

Don’t move, don’t cower. 

“How could I be satisfied?” He almost laughs down at Izuku. “My only child turned out gay and failed his family and everything that was built. Now after four years, you have managed to ignorantly piss off an important group of people and embarrass me once again .” 

Izuku growls, gripping his keys tighter. 

“Are you satisfied, child?” Another step. “Are you satisfied with being a failure and making life difficult for your family? For your mother ?” Another.

Izuku bares his teeth. “Oh, don’t you dare feed me that bullshit again, Dad? Even after years, you can’t seem to let it go–”

His father shoots his fist to the side, punching the wall to Izuku’s right. 

The drywall crumbles and Izuku’s face pales. Never in his time back home did he get aggressive like this—only ever throwing objects and getting up close. He feels himself go sheet white as he realizes the severity of this situation. How four years away from his father gave him the chance to adapt, to grow angrier, and–

“Shut your mouth!” He yells, dropping his fist. “You will not be running it anymore, not like all those last times.” The closeness brings a whiff of alcohol on his lips—not new but lasting.

The cops couldn’t be any slower at their jobs right now. 

“Hisashi!” His mother pleads from the living room, cowering by the balcony door. 

“I will be, actually.” Izuku swallows and tries to stay still, tilting his chin up. “I don’t know what you thought would happen coming here, but neither of us are obeying.” Glancing at his mom across the room, he holds his breath. “Not anymore.”

Completely violating Izuku’s personal space, his father comes really close. “Careful, Izuku. That little stunt you pulled with the Bakugous was beyond my limit…I suggest you atone before I make you regret it.”

Curling up his lip, Izuku is unable to fight the bubbling temper inside despite the nerves battling its reach. He makes a mistake and tsks. “Try me–”

Reaching out, he grabs Izuku’s crewneck by the front tight and shoves him back. The wind almost flies out of his lungs and he gasps, dropping his keys. 

“Stop it!!” His mom screams. “Hisashi stop !”

“What have I done to receive such treatment and resentment from you, boy?” a snarl as his fist clenches tighter—wrinkling the fabric of his shirt. “I gave you everything to succeed and a proper path to follow. And what do I get in return?” Another shove, harder this time as he seeths. “I get a child who diverts from the path of tradition and rightfulness, a queer and a self-centered brat. I get–”

Izuku feels his mind and body crack like fine-aged china. After this month, this week, and this day it hurts. It hurts– “I was miserable!” he yells, grabbing his father’s wrist. “You never let me live beyond your stupid fucked up fantasy and I couldn’t breathe! You’re supposed to love me no matter what, you’re supposed to support me and my dreams.” He gasps for air as his chest burns and his eyes moisten. “All I ever wanted was a father that made me feel whole but instead I got you—a stubborn narcissist who spent his whole life making other people’s lives hell because he hated his.”

“You–” his father starts but Izuky has had it. Sticking his leg up and out, he kicks his father off of him. He stumbles back and Izuku takes his moment to get out of the corner he was in. 

“You broke me!” he yells, backing up and over to the other side of his apartment. Tears stream as he holds himself with continuous caution. “Because of you I still feel weak. I still can’t handle looking at myself in the mirror and seeing that small little kid who just wanted your approval. The kid that was bullied yet you did nothing. The kid that wanted love but you condemned him to burn!” 

“You will always burn!” His father booms over him, following him with each step. 

Shaking his head, Izuku’s breathing staggers. “Keep believing that. Keep thinking I’m the one who’s going to suffer for my actions.” Placing his hand on the counter, he shields himself. “Think long and hard, Dad, no child and no mother ditches the man of the house for no damn reason.” His eyes catch a glass bottle of vinegar, and his hand trembles. 

“That is enough out of you!” His father moves forward again but Izuku isn’t about to have that. Not with this internal fire within. Not with this ache. A spark and a light.

An explosion is imminent. 

Snapping his hand out, he grips the neck of the bottle and swings it down—crashing the end on the countertop with a shatter. 

His mother gasps and flinches as red vinegar splashes on the ground with sprinkled glass. Loud if not louder than all his father’s attempts to make himself known. Huffing, Izuku lifts the broken end so the man in front of him halts.

“Another step and I’ll lunge.” His vocal cords roughen like sandpaper as he growls. “Another word and I’m going to lose it, I swear to fucking god.”

Everything—from the emotions swirling inside his head like a hurricane to the physical exhaustion—is making his ears ring and his grip tighten. So much so that he doesn’t notice the sounds of tires squealing, and footsteps thumping up the stairs. 

Nor does he see a particular blonde gripping a hockey stick tight at the open doorway. 

Eyes narrow. “ You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Oh my god, I would.” Tears dripping with the vinegar, Izuku spirals. “Get it through your thick fucking skull and understand this. You are the reason this family failed, not me. You are the reason mom left. You are the reason you got demoted because guess what? The Bakugous hated you from the beginning and they too are a bunch of egotistical assholes that thought getting at you would hurt me! Little do they know I couldn’t care and I never will! Everything you touch turns to dust—every little spark of enjoyment, every little dream.” He waves the bottle to the side. “Get out of my apartment, get out of my head!! Get the fuck out of my life! I–”

Something snaps and his father rushes forward—grabbing Izuku’s wrist and ripping the bottle from his hand. He throws it to the side and pushes him back and back till he hits a wall once again. 

Head smacking against the drywall, he sees stars. 

“Izuku!!”

Hand by his throat, Izuku’s father hisses. 

But before he can open his mouth. Before he can get the last word or last moment of satisfaction–

A loud crack erupts and echos through the whole of Izuku’s apartment. Only a second passes before his father lets go and his body drops to the ground—limp. 

Izuku gasps, body stuck in its frozen stance. 

Behind the fallen body of his father, stands Bakugou with a now broken hockey stick and huffing chest. 

Slapping a hand over her mouth, Izuku’s mom goes still with Izuku’s. Somehow stiller than the unconscious body on the floor. 

“Deku…” Bakugou pants, lowering his stick. “Are you–”

“I-I-I Bakugou, what–” Izuku’s knees buckle as everything— everything finally catches up. 

Anger now fading, adrenaline ceasing, his vision blurs as police sirens wail down the road. 

As Bakugou drops his stick and runs forward, catching him before he falls.

He can feel those warm hands grip him tight and lower him to the ground. He can faintly hear the cries of his mother and the boots of officers entering his home. 

But he doesn’t lay with relief as his mind drifts to unconsciousness—rearing the possibility of passing out. Instead, he looks up at those red eyes and he can’t help but hate himself. 

Hate himself because Bakuogu saw just what he didn’t want. A distilled memory and its attached expression. 

A weakness. 

“But the day it becomes reality might be the day I lose my head.”

Chapter Text

Izuku opens his door with a huff, tossing just two big bags of essentials and keepsakes over his shoulders. They’re at the tail end of a fight and Izuku is so amped he can’t take it anymore. 

Screw leaving his bedding, screw the random pairs of socks, it’s all replaceable. 

Leaving early though college move-in isn’t until tomorrow, he has decided to risk staying at a hotel alone while praying his car doesn’t get broken into. Because truly, anything is better than one more day of this hell—this neverending torture called blood relation. 

“—and you better think wisely. Go the route you want and you’re officially cut off, Izuku—no funds will be sent, you–”

“Good!” Izuku yells, quickly running down the stairs as his father yells at him. “Disown me, don’t pay for my school, cut me off—do it. I don’t care!” 

His father almost looked wide-eyed—shocked at the agreement. 

“I would rather rot in a piss-soaked cardboard box than live another day in association with you. Keep your money, keep your excuses, no matter what you say I will be going to this school and I will be pursuing this degree.” Huffing, he stomps over to the foyer and slips on his old reliable pair of red shoes. He grabs his keys off the hook. “I’m not living through this lie you’ve cultivated anymore.” 

Marching up behind Izuku, he points aggressively—not entering too close. “Careful, Izuku, you have no idea how permanent that statement is. Knowing the weakness you’ve held for most of your life, you’ll wish you disagreed. Being the person that you are, pursuing such a useless degree, you will be nothing. And while you beg for a rewind, I will be standing behind a locked door telling you I told you so.”

Izuku snaps his head over. “For once, Dad, I’m done arguing with you so you feel satisfied. If I regret it, fine, I’d rather live with the fact that I left when I had the chance.” Grabbing the front door handle, he shakes his head. “I’ll be on the other side of that locked door, but not in the way you think.”

Before his dad can even utter another syllable, Izuku opens the door and slams it behind him.

The child inside of him wants to sob as he storms down the driveway—tears slowly streaming. He gets into his car with his two packed bags—turning on the ignition. 

But the person he’s become refuses to give that satisfaction. Though it’s sour, though it is nothing he ever wanted to participate in, it is time he learned to mourn the death of the father he had. 

Still breathing, he is, but the definition of a father being murdered within. 

There is no telling when he will ever see him again if he ever will. Months, years, decades, no matter the time stamp Izuku knows the day it arises he will have to treat this corpse as a living ghost. Put his foot down and yell—banish the old person he was, no longer letting the cracks seep. 

Weak, he will no longer be. The time his father is seen again, he will be sure it’s known—no backing down, no running. 

He will have it together. He will have it together. Letting slip, fine, but don’t let it disintegrate. Grow this career, hone this drive—do it without aid. 

He is officially on his own. 

Turning the wheel, he zones out while his playlist plays a throwback worth calling whiplash. Bo Burnham’s song Goodbye plays its melancholy tune, scratching with the rhythm of worn tires. He wipes his tears. 

He sees his mom in his mirror, a sad—but proud—smile spread across her lips as she knows it is long past the due date for him to leave. Standing on the porch as he drives away, a car packed full. 

But he sees no sign of his father, not even a peek through the front door. 

Reaching for the stereo, he turns up his music. 

“So this is how it ends…

I promise to never go outside again

Am I going crazy? Would I even know?

Am I right back where I started fourteen years ago?

Wanna guess the ending? If it ever does?

I swear to God that all I ever wanted was a little bit of everything, all of the time. A bit of everything, all of the time.

Apathy’s a tragedy, and boredom is a crime

I’m finished playing, and I’m staying inside.”

Izuku’s eyes fly open.

His body attempts to shoot forward, but the pain in the back of his head and neck sends him wincing—grabbing his head instead. 

God…

Eyes focusing, his wince turns to a hiss as he finds the light above him too harsh. Too artificial. 

Where the fuck is he–

A hot pain hits his arm and he looks down, finding an IV connected to his forearm—twisting wrong in his vein from his position. 

Ah.

It’s embarrassing how long it takes Izuku to realize he’s in a hospital room. The scratchy quilt, mediocre mattress, and sterile smell—it’s all too iconic. Though, it’s hard to understand why he’s here in such a place when he wasn’t injured. He wouldn’t be surprised to hear he passed out. 

But passing out rarely warrants a hospital visit. Don’t ask how he knows that. 

A tuft of blonde appears in the corner of his eye and he slowly sits up, still grabbing at his head to fully catch a glimpse. 

Red eyes stare at him as his green blink back. At that moment, as Izuku looks at Bakugou who’s sat on the floor with his arms propped on his bed—seeming to have woken up himself, though in a far less comfortable position—he holds his breath. 

“Kach–” he coughs, throat dry from this freezing room and throat run ragged. 

Bakugou sits up, an expression of worry stained on his face like blood—Izuku wants to vomit. Just like that look he gave him as he held that broken stick. Eyes finding a cup of water by his nightstand, the blonde preps to stand and hand it to him. 

Putting his hand up, Izuku stops him as he clears his throat. Reaching for it himself, he takes a sip and sighs with relief as it soothes the scratching ache. 

Lowering the cup, Izuku takes a breath. “What the hell happened?” Glancing around the room, he notices the lack of visuals on his mother. Or, really, anyone for that matter. He, too, sits up—ignoring the pain. “Where’s my m–”

“She’s safe,” Bakugou responds, keeping it short. “Lay back down, please.”

“I’m fi–”

“If you finish that sentence, I’m fucking knocking you back out.” The sternness in his voice is unexpecting. Sobering. 

Not really in a physical position to argue, Izuku puts his cup down and lays back. Exhaling, his fingers find the quilt and squeeze its edges. 

“Why am I in the hospital?” 

“You’re fucking kidding, right?” Bakugou asks, scooting closer so he’s now knelt right next to Izuku. 

“No?” Izuku responds with just as much of a confused tone. “I–”

Bakugou interrupts him. “Deku the damn doctor told me that you were so severely stressed and sleep deprived that your body went into crisis mode. You passed out and wouldn’t wake up because you were concerningly fucking dehydrated—my guess is from all the nonstop caffeine you’ve consumed—so they had to hook you to an IV. Not to mention your fuck of a father slammed you so hard against the wall you were a hair away from a concussion. I don’t wanna fucking hear it.”

…

There’s no possible reality where he can dodge that one. 

“Oh.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” He grabs Izuku’s hand so it stops clenching his quilt. 

He wasn’t.

“Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

Guilty, Izuku glances off to the side where the window is. It’s morning—late morning. “I didn’t think it was going to escalate to that level so fast. I promise I was going to tell you, I just–”

“I’m not just talking about the stuff with your parents.” Again, the blonde interrupts him. “Even though I want to, I’m not going to badger you too much on that because your own mother told me this shit happened within literally 24 hours—no one could have predicted that. I’m talking about everything else.”

Everything else.

He wants to crawl out of his skin and leave. He can feel the blonde rub his thumb up and down the top of his hand just like how he would, and for some reason, it makes him feel ill. The comfort is bliss, the comfort is grounding, but fuck the comfort right now is repulsive. 

He wants it he wants it, but the searing heat only persists against it. 

His hand is squeezed to grab his attention. “Deku.”

He bites his cheek hard. “It…wasn’t something I found worth worrying you about. I had it all handled.”

“Do you call ‘handling it' spiraling and then collapsing from exhaustion?”

That hit a nerve a little harder than he would have liked. 

Bakugou squeezes his hand again, gentler. “You’re pretty damn good at making it seem like you’ve got it all together until it comes to your own current problems.”

“Can we–” Izuku sighs harshly, too much so that where he almost coughs again. “Can we not get into this right now?”

He’d rather talk about his piece of shit father than this. 

“Deku…”

“Bakugou. ”

Frustrated, but not willing to dig in this state, Bakugou nods. Getting into an argument inside a hospital room isn’t exactly a good idea. “Fine…”

“How did your game end up going?” Izuku decides to ask, both curious to know but also itching to change the subject.

Bakugou sighs, letting Izuku’s hand go and scratching the back of his neck. “I left before it ended, but we were so damn ahead I wasn’t fucking tripping dick about it–”

“You left??” Izuku shoots up and Bakugou nearly tackles him. 

“Deku, fucking–” Bakugou groans, taking his hand and physically pushing Izuku back. “ Jesus, chill the fuck out, I’m gonna make that damn doctor drug you for fucks sake.” He keeps his hand on his chest. “Yes, I left. But do you blame me?” He asks—genuine. “You looked at me like someone died and then fully sprinted out of the arena. I couldn’t stay after seeing that.” 

Izuku makes a face. Jesus Christ Izuku…“Sorry…I shouldn’t have–”

“Oh my god, I am going to strangle you.”

Izuku cringes, noticing the irritable stance the blonde is taking. 

“Your dad was going to choke you out, I’m glad I did ditch the fuck ass game. Aizawa can eat a brick if he gives me shit later about it.”

Still, his stomach doesn’t like all of this. He still doesn’t like that Bakugou had to see that. So much for changing the subject entirely.