Chapter Text
april: childhood.
“I’ve missed you.”
The scars are rough, dragging over his arms delicately as his hands travel up his body to his face. He feels him hold his face in his hands and he lets out a sigh at the touch. Though he can’t see him or speak to him, he can feel and hear him. For now, that’s enough.
“You look tired.”
I am , he wants to reply. I’m so exhausted. His words don’t form though, stuck in his throat with his mouth glued shut. He feels the gentle touch of his fingertips over his face, his fingers especially gentle over his new scar.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.”
No, you didn’t hurt me. You’d never hurt me.
“You’re still just as beautiful as I remember, even with the scar. I think it suits you. It reminds me of someone I know here.”
Where is here? Deku, where are we?
His lips are on his all of a sudden, the subtle pressure catching him off guard at first before he gives in. Bakugou blindly reaches for Deku, pulling him in so he can have him for a little longer, using his hands to map out where his green curls are. He chokes back a sob when he realizes he forgot how soft they are.
Deku pulls away from the kiss suddenly, drifting out of Bakugou’s grip. He grabs for him blindly, panicking as he feels Deku completely slip out of his grasp. Bakugou tries so hard to scream, yell, emit any kind of sound to let him know that he wants him back, that he needs him just one second more. Nothing happens.
“Please don’t be sad,” Deku says from somewhere far away, voice choking on emotion. “You’ll see me soon, okay? I’ll take care of you in the meantime, just please, don’t be sad.”
Bakugou falls to his knees, sadness overtaking his body as he feels his chest collapse inwards. He can’t see, but somehow the world is spinning so fast it is dizzying to stay upright.
With a gasp, he finally opens his eyes, jolting upright in his bed. Instinctively, he reaches to his side, searching for Deku. He doesn’t find him, the sheets frigid. Bakugou, however, is coated with a thin layer of sweat. His cotton t-shirt and pajama pants stick to his body uncomfortably but it is the least of his worries at the moment. Right now, he has to find Deku. Where could he possibly be?
The realization brings the crushing feeling in his chest with it. Deku’s dead. His body has been cold for nearly a month. He brings a trembling hand to his chapped lips, fingers pressing into the coarse skin. Deku didn’t kiss his lips. He didn’t hold him close and tell him that he missed him. He didn’t tell him to not be sad. Because Midoriya Izuku is dead.
Nausea rumbles in his stomach. Bakugou is on his feet quickly, breaths labored as he struggles to reach the bathroom. He doesn’t manage to even turn on the light before he is throwing up the contents of his measly dinner into the toilet bowl. He coughs, sputtering out the remainder before collapsing on the cool bathroom floor. This is the third time this week he hasn’t been able to keep his dinner down. His mother will have his head if she finds out, so he decides to just omit this part of the night when she checks in on him in the morning.
Bakugou’s cheek is pressed against the pale tile, the cold finally seeping into his bones. His eyelashes flutter with each blink, red eyes trained on a small paint chip in the wall. The doctor said that focusing on a single point could help relieve nausea. He’s tried this a million times and it has never worked, but maybe this time will be different. While he waits for the disgusting feeling to fade, he lets his mind wander. It’s a dangerous thing to do, especially these days, but he is too tired to bother to think of anything else. And as always, it lands on him.
Deku had felt so real just then, in that dream. Bakugou hasn’t felt his hands or his hair in a month but just now he held him in his arms and can remember what he smells like. It was like Deku was there with him just now as he slept. Bakugou’s fists clench. He wants him back, he wants him back so badly. They never even got to say a proper goodbye, both too focused on confessing their love to one another before Deku faded away. Tears prick at his eyes. Every day, Bakugou lives with regret. The regret that he couldn’t stop him, the regret that he couldn’t save him, but most of all, the regret that he never got to have him.
It’s selfish, he knows. He’s always been a selfish man.
That’s why he is laying on his bathroom floor in the middle of the night, because he can’t for the life of him stop dreaming about a man with green eyes and star like freckles and his heart in his scarred hands. The same man who gave his life not to save the world, because that came secondary, but to give Bakugou a chance at a life where he wasn’t so fucking tired.
Well, hate to break it to you, Deku, but I am still fucking tired. More tired than you can imagine.
Bakugou groans as he feels another wave of nausea hit him. “No...please, no more,” he pleads with himself. “I can’t.” He pushes himself up, head rolling on his shoulders as he positions himself above the toilet bowl once more. It is just bile this time. His torso shakes as he tries to breathe and get the bile out of him at the same time. With a final heave, he feels as though he has finally relieved his body of all of the trauma it can take for the night. So he stands, flushing the contents of his stomach down the toilet, and rinses his mouth out with water from the sink. He looks up at himself in the mirror, disappointed at what he sees.
The new scar is healing grotesquely. It spans his entire face, cutting from the top right of his forehead down across his nose, ending at the lower left jaw. Bakugou hates it. Not because it makes him ugly, he’s never cared about his physical looks like that, but because it is the most glaring reminder of the battle. It’s the equivalent of writing, “You lost Midoriya Izuku”, all over his face in marker. He can’t fight that fact because it is true.
Bakugou tears his eyes away from his reflection, dragging his feet back into his bedroom. The sheets are cold again when he pulls them over himself. With a glance at the clock on his bedside table, he can tell it is just past 5am. Fantastic. He only got three hours of sleep and will maybe get two more. Bakugou’s eyes turn to the framed photo beside the clock and the tears return. It’s his favorite photo of the two of them. Their mothers knew each other since before they were born, so they’ve known each other since they were infants. The photo shows a sleeping baby Bakugou holding a sleeping baby Deku in his chubby little arms, contently sharing a crib. Mitsuki had snapped a photo before the two stirred.
For his own sanity, Bakugou turns his back to the photo, hugging a pillow. A few tears soak the pillow case. He’d give his soul to have the pillow magically turn into a person made of pure sunshine, one with a small beauty mark along his jawline and a twinkle in his eye. The universe is not one to bargain, though.
The night carries on, a headache gracing Bakugou as he tries to force himself to sleep. The thumping pain is at least something else to focus on. As his world slips away, he can swear he does feel the universe pity him, and Deku has his arms around his waist. He buries his nose in Bakugou’s t-shirt and slips his hands under it, rubbing up and down his bare back in repetitive strokes.
“I love you,” he faintly hears Deku say, before darkness consumes him once more.
When he wakes up the following morning to his cell phone ringing incessantly, Deku’s not there. The pillow he had been hugging is on the other side of the bed. Bakugou rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm before he snatches the phone off of the night stand.
“The fuck do you want?” he says, his voice hoarse from sleep.
“That’s no way to talk to your mother!”
Oh, right. His mom is calling to check in. So that must mean that he slept until—
“You better not be just getting up right now, young man. It is nearly noon!”
Bakugou sits upright in bed, just realizing how much sun is pouring in from his open curtains. Weird. He could’ve sworn he closed them last night. The white rays that would usually burn into his eyes are oddly gentler today. He can hear birds chirping outside too, celebrating a warm spring morning.
“Sorry, Ma. I’ll try to be better in the future,” he says.
Mitsuki pauses at the softness of his voice. “Are you taking care of yourself? Eating well? Sleeping okay? Do I need to come by again and—”
“No, no you don’t,” Bakugou cuts her off. “I’m okay, really Ma. I was, uh, about to make breakfast when you called. Been sleeping through the night, too. Honestly, I’m doing great.”
“You don’t need to lie to me, Katsuki. It’s okay to still feel grief. I know you are going through a lot right now and don’t want to talk to many people, but please consider reaching out. I’m worried what all that time alone in your apartment is doing to you.”
Bakugou clenches his fists in the sheets. He doesn’t need to be told that again, that someone is “worried” for him. He knows. He just can’t care enough for their pity right now. “I know. I just need a little more time before I go out there. I’d like it if you respected that.” His voice is still uncharacteristically calm, but it is stern.
Mitsuki gets the message. “Fine. Just know that I love you, okay? Your dad and I are always a phone call away, we can be there for you whenever you need us.”
“I know,” he says, confused at why he sounds choked up. “I love you too.”
“Talk to you soon.”
“Bye, Ma.” He holds his breath as he ends the call, exhaling a quivering one when he finally presses the red button. Quickly, as if he expects someone else to walk in, he rubs his eyes and unclenches his fist from the sheets. His headache and nausea from last night are completely gone. Very strange considering that both symptoms tend to stay with him until at least an hour after he gets out of bed.
With a puzzled expression on his face, he forces himself out of bed but neglects to tidy it. Bakugou pulls on his slippers and takes his phone with him to his kitchen, where the dirty dishes from last night’s dinner still lay in the sink. He washes them, the hot water being a pleasant feeling on his hands. The heat reminds him of his quirk. His heart drops at that.
Life without quirks has been tough. People complain constantly on the news and in public. A lot of things are being forced to change, like the way people travel or behave. Bakugou hasn’t experienced the chaos of it all himself since he has isolated himself from the public in his apartment from the past month. What he sees on the news though is more than enough information to let him know that people are upset, but also incredibly sad. Heroes like Hawks don’t have their physical attributes anymore, their greatest prides stripped from them. Some heroes like Froppy kept a physical trait, like her large eyes, but most just had their bodies conform to regular human standards. It’s strange, seeing someone like Mina without her horns, but it is the society that Deku wanted for Bakugou.
Sometimes, Bakugou will hold out his hands, and plead for a small pop! of an explosion to stir. It doesn’t have to be a big one , he reasons. Just a small one, so I can prove Deku wrong, that this isn’t the reality he wanted for me . But every time, his palms just stay empty. Eventually he has to come to terms with the fact that they are not waiting for an explosion to happen but for other hands to take them.
He quit trying to manifest his quirk again weeks ago, after he saw some idiot try and scam the public with a drink that was going to “give them their quirk back for the low price of 9,900 yen!”. Bakugou did not want to be roped in with one of those people, so he just stopped thinking about it.
It’s funny , he thinks as he dries the dishes, how I went from always thinking about my quirk to not thinking about it at all. He fails to realize how it may be even stranger that he can make the decision to not be upset about his loss of a quirk so easily, but he can’t make the decision to stop thinking about Deku.
Once the dishes are dried and put away, he shuffles over to his cabinet where he knows he can find some pastries. Uraraka had dropped off a basket about a week ago and he’s been living off them ever since. She also included a letter in a thin, floral envelope with a wax seal. The seal is still intact.
The pastry he chose today is a flaky croissant. Taking a seat at his kitchen table, he hopes that it is light enough for his stomach to keep down. As he eats, he can hear the rumble of traffic in the street below and the chatter of people returning to their lives. Though he had been given Deku’s blessing to lead the new society, he has not at all been up to it. Power was always something that he wanted but when presented with it, he wanted to shut down. So, while he grieves, the power is in Todoroki’s hands. He’s been doing a fair job, though Bakugou will admit that rather reluctantly. Todoroki will do a fine job while Bakugou takes the time he needs to heal. He wishes he knew how long that would take.
Thankfully, the croissant is easy to finish. The plate is then cleaned with careful hands and put away before numbness engulfs Bakugou yet again. He stands in his empty kitchen, staring out into his empty living room, completely numb to the world. He can feel himself zone out a little, trying to reach another place that is just not letting him in. The pain is redundant at this point but he can’t help it. It’s all he can feel. The world becomes a little out of focus for a moment before he snaps himself back, pushing his hair out of his face. When the blond strands are out of his eyes, he sees him.
A little boy with green hair and freckles like stars stands in his living room, reading the neglected novel on the coffee table. Though, it was less reading and more admiring the artwork the author had done for each chapter. He sucks on his thumb as he flips, completely unbothered.
“Izuku?” Bakugou whispers, though he knows it isn’t him. The Deku that he knows is gone. This little boy may bear a striking resemblance to him but he can’t be him. He’s not so confident in that thought though when the boy’s emerald eyes turn to him.
“Kacchan!” the boy grins, fumbling with his short limbs to run to Bakugou’s side. He clings onto his leg, gripping the worn fabric of his pajama pants with chubby hands.
Bakugou freezes, not sure what to do. This isn’t real , his head tells him. This is a trauma response. But the feeling of this little boy hugging him so close and speaking with such youthful excitement has him unsure. It’s him, his heart tells him. It’s little Izuku.
So he leans down to Little Izuku’s level, smiling softly and looking him in the eye, something he was never able to do when he saw Little Izuku last. “Hey, buddy,” he says in the softest voice he can muster, one he reserves for only the tenderest of moments. “What’re you doing here?”
Little Izuku smiles wide, his faint dimples showing. “I wanted to see Kacchan! How are you, Kacchan?”
“ ‘m alright, Izuku,” he says, refraining from using his nickname for him. This Izuku doesn’t know that name, doesn’t know the hurt and dishonesty that came with that name. Bakugou will try and spare him from that reality for as long as he can. Maybe this is a chance to start over.
Little Izuku isn’t buying his words. He’s always been intuitive. “I dunno. You have a big owie on your face,” he says bluntly. He reaches for it, touching it without asking permission, in the way that children don’t understand personal space. “How’d you get the owie? Does Kacchan need a bandaid?”
Bakugou pushes down his little unscarred hand. “No, I don’t need a bandaid. I am—I was a hero, Izuku. It’s just a part of my job.” He sniffles.
Little Izuku tilts his head to the side. “Sick?”
Bakugou shakes his head. “No, no. I’m…um…” He’s not sure how to describe how he is feeling at seeing him again. Relieved? Thankful? Hopeful? None of those words sound right, so he doesn’t say them. He just lets the sentence hang there, unfinished.
A tiny pout. “I don’t want you to feel icky. Feeling icky is not fun.”
“I agree,” Bakugou replies. “Feeling icky is not fun.”
“So Kacchan does feel icky?”
Bakugou nods, words getting caught in his throat. “Yes. Yes, Kacchan feels icky.”
“Because of owie or because sick?”
“Both.”
Little Izuku frowns before assessing the situation. Bakugou sees the gears turn in his little head, putting together the best plan to reach a solution. His green eyes nearly sparkle when he decides on something.
“I know! Izuku will fix,” he says. He takes a few small steps forward, standing right in between Bakugou’s legs. “Mama fixes all my owies with a kiss. I will kiss it better!”
“Okay,” Bakugou says, his voice flooded with emotion. Little Izuku doesn’t notice, too excited to put his solution into effect.
And he does, kissing the origin of Bakugou’s scar, the top right of his forehead where it begins. He pulls away with a Mwah!, as small children do when they think they have done something extraordinary, and grins proudly. “Kacchan is all better now!”
Bakugou’s heart is heavy, his eyes wet. “I’m all better now,” he still says, wanting to make Little Izuku proud of himself. “You’re my hero, Izuku.”
“It’s Captain All Might! That’s gonna be my hero name when I get my quirk.”
Bakugou feels his heart clench. He wants to warn him about what is to come so badly but he knows he just can’t, either by his own will or by the will of the universe he doesn’t know.
“Thank you, Captain All Might,” he responds instead. “For everything.”
Little Izuku looks pleased. “I give Kacchan hug now!”
“Okay,” is all he can muster before Little Izuku’s arms are squeezing his torso. He’s so small compared to Bakugou, so fragile. Bakugou hugs the small boy back, eyes wet. He holds him with dangerous hands, knowing the fate that this little boy must fight through. Bakugou is a natural born hero. He wants to protect him.
“I’ll keep you safe, Izuku,” he promises. “I’ll keep you safe.” It’s the biggest lie he has ever told.
“I know, Kacchan. But you don’t have to.”
Before Bakugou can question why he would say something so intense, the world is spinning. His back hits the floor and he is numb to the world. The next time he opens his eyes, his arms are empty. Bakugou scrambles to his feet, looking for him, but he already knows that he is gone. The only evidence that he was even there to begin with is the book laying open on the coffee table.
“ ‘Zuku..,” he cries. “Why is this happening to me?”
He falls onto his knees by the book, caressing the page that it is left open on.
The doodle for that chapter is of two boys in a stream.
☆☆☆
Bakugou decides not to tell anyone that Little Izuku visited him. His mother would think he is insane and his friends would force him to see a psychiatrist. He knows that he is being a little crazy, believing that he was truly visited by him. The open book, however, proves that Little Izuku really was there. Bakugou’s not sure what to think of that. In the end, he chooses to ignore it, though it is rather creepy. He’s seen worse in his lifetime. If this is some demon’s way of killing him, well, good. There isn’t much left for him here anyway. At least in death, he can see Izuku again.
He spends the next few weeks idle, slipping in and out of reality. Bakugou doesn’t feel much in that time and remembers even less. There are days that he doesn’t get out of bed, drowning in the guilt and grief. Those days are few but haunt him constantly. His mother continues to call on a daily basis, always reminding him how much she loves him and urging him to go outside. Both things he ignores. Sometimes when he can’t sleep, he’ll pull down a dusty photo album from the top shelf and flip through the laminated pages. The thin plastic is flimsy but it does much to protect the vintage photos from tears.
On the fifth week, specifically a sunny Tuesday, he hears two quick raps on his front door. They catch him by such surprise he opens his eyes from where he lies buried in his sheets. He doesn’t move a muscle as whoever is behind the door knocks again. If he stays still long enough they will get bored and walk away. He can get some more time to sit in his misery.
“Kats, it’s me,” Kirishima’s kind voice calls from outside the door. “Please let me in.”
Bakugou’s mouth is pressed into a thin line.
“I know you’re in there.” A pause. “Open the door right fucking now. I’m not taking no for an answer.” His voice is harsher now. Bakugou didn’t know he could do that.
“Fuck off!” Bakugou finally replies, loud enough to be heard from outside the door.
“No, I’m not going to ‘fuck off’”, Kirishima says. “You need to unlock this damn door right now.”
With a sudden burst of anger and energy, Bakugou throws the sheets off of his body and stomps over to the door, throwing it open to see a shocked Kirishima. “What the fuck do you want?” Bakugou demands.
“Kats…,” Kirishima breathes, eyes wide. “Katsuki.”
“That’s my fucking name, yeah,” Bakugou snaps, voice raspy from lack of use. He clears his throat. “What do you want?”
Kirishima struggles to find the words for a moment, eyes still wide. “I was just coming to check in on you, you know? I haven’t seen you since before…” He trails off, not wanting to mention that day by name, as if it is taboo.
Bakugou grips the door handle tighter. “Yeah? Well, I’m fucking fine, as you can clearly see. I’m not fucking dead or…” He takes a deep breath. “Or anything. So you can go now. Leave me alone.” He tries to close the door but Kirishima’s hand stops the door from hitting the frame.
“No. I haven’t finished checking in yet. You’re going to let me inside, okay?”
Bakugou clenches his jaw. “Fuck off! Please!” He is nearly begging. “I just want to be alone.”
“Being alone for this long isn’t good,” Kirishima replies. “You know, he wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone during all of this.”
“How would you know what he’d want?” Bakugou seethes before exploding. “You didn’t spend his last days with him, watching him plan to practically kill himself for the betterment of some fucking extras. You didn’t waste time fighting with him over his stupid choices during his last days. And you especially didn’t hold him in your arms as he—” Bakugou chokes up, face suddenly wet again. “As he…”
Kirishima is there to catch him when he falls forward, hugging him close. Bakugou is too weak to do anything else but hug back. He sobs into Kirishima’s shoulder and lets him guide them into the apartment. They settle on the couch, Bakugou still clinging on to Kirishima as he sobs harder than he has in weeks. Kirishima lets him cry and doesn’t say a word.
“Why did h-he leave me?” Bakugou asks in between sobs. “He loved me, but he l-left me.”
“He left to make the world a better place,” Kirishima answers in a soft voice. “For you, I think.”
“No, it wasn’t for me.” Bakugou brushes it off immediately. “He did this for the world. He would have stayed if he wanted to do something kind for me.”
Kirishima pulls him out of his shoulder as Bakugou’s breathing had calmed down a little. “Izuku was selfless. I think—no, I know—that the entire class was jealous of that. Don’t get me wrong, we were all heroes in our own right and had our own ways of being selfless, but Izuku was always different in that regard. His body moved on its own in situations of danger. I don’t think I ever saw him hesitate.” Kirishima sniffles, his nose scrunching slightly. “But I think he was also the most selfish person in the class. And that was because of you.”
“This sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me,” Bakugou scoffs.
“He’s cared about you for a long time,” Kirishima continues, looking forlornly at the photo album that Bakugou forgot to put away the night before. “We all knew it. He loved you in some form or another for his entire life. You loved him too. Though your love was not as loud as his, it was still as strong.”
“Fucking ‘course I loved him,” Bakugou admits. He hates that he can confess that so easily now, the words gliding off of his tongue like butter. He hates it, but he doesn’t care, because it is true. “But what’s your point?”
Kirishima sighs. “My point is that he loved you more than he loved the world. It’s just a theory that I have, maybe because I’m a romantic or maybe because I knew you both a little too well,” he smiles gently, “but he started his journey wanting to save the world for the sake of saving it and ended it by saving the world just for you. Izuku loved you enough to give you the world. There aren’t many who can say their beloved honestly managed to give them the world like that. I think it was beautiful of him to do it.”
Bakugou holds a hand to his mouth, afraid he is going to vomit. “Why would you say this to me?” his muffled voice says. “He couldn’t have loved me deeply enough to give me the world like that. Have you fucking met me? I don’t even love myself enough for that.”
Kirishima looks at him with sad eyes, rubbing his back. Bakugou lets him. “Maybe you don’t. But like I said, I’ve spent enough time with the two of you to see how well you compliment each other. You have been in love for a long, long time. Izuku thought you hung the goddamn stars in the sky. I don’t know what happened with you two in those final moments but I do know that he tried to hang on as long as he could for you.”
Bakugou hands his head from his shoulders, the memory that has kept him awake at night replaying for the billionth time in his head like a movie. Deku’s soft, bloodied smile. His sparkling eyes. Their foreheads pressed together as a desperate attempt to hold on to each other a little while longer. The kiss that broke Bakugou into millions of lost pieces.
“Do you know what he said to me, before he left?” Bakugou croaks. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, taking the silence from Kirishima as an urge to keep talking. “He told me that he went through with it for me. He told me to explore the world after he left.”
“Well,” Kirishima says, his voice wet. “There you have it.”
“I don’t want to explore it without him, Eiji. I don’t wanna go anywhere without him.”
“I know,” Kirishima replies, pressing his forehead into Bakugou’s shoulder. “I know.”
They cry together, two hearts broken for different reasons, on a sunny Tuesday afternoon. Somewhere far away, someone else is crying too.
august: teens.
Bakugou has come to hate dreaming.
They always tease him in the worst ways, making him believe that he is finally getting what he wants, before pulling the rug out from under him and sending him free falling to painful reality.
Tonight's particularly bad. Deku’s there, because he always is, and Bakugou’s crying, because he always is. Deku’s pushing away his tears with soft kisses on his cheeks, speaking tender words into the puffy skin that are only meant for the ears of a lover. Bakugou’s trying to hold him as close as he possibly can, convinced that he won’t let him slip through his fingers this time. Slip through his fingers? He’s unsure why he thinks he can lose him. Bakugou has him, right? Forever? His head is foggy. Deku keeps smiling at him.
“I’m sorry you cry so much these days,” he says all of a sudden. “I didn’t mean for you to become like me.” A chuckle.
“Become like you?” In recent months, Bakugou has gotten the ability to see and speak in his dreams. With each new sense that he gains in his dream world, he feels as though he is regressing just a little more.
“An emotional wreck. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d ever have to see you cry this much at anyone’s expense.”
“That’s...one way to put it.”
Deku pauses. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that, um. I didn’t know I had such an effect on you.”
“Of course you do,” Bakugou replies, handing his heart to Deku. “I love you so much.”
“And I love you,” Deku says with ease, lowering the pair onto a bed that Bakugou is sure wasn’t there before. They settle into the sheets so that Bakugou is being held in Deku’s arms, his head pressed into his chest. It’s warm here. Comfortable. His eyelids feel heavy.
“I wish I got to hold you more,” Deku declares. “You’re nice to hold, you know? You run like a freaking furnace but you’re still cozy.” He runs his fingers through Bakugou’s blond hair. “I like touching you. You feel familiar, like home.”
“Like home,” Bakugou echoes. “You feel the same way to me.”
Deku hums in acknowledgement, kissing the top of Bakugou’s head. “Is it okay if I ask you a personal question?”
“Whatever you want. I’ll answer.”
“Did—or do, I guess—do you want kids?”
Bakugou blinks several times, caught off guard. “Kids?”
Deku shrugs the best he can in the way that he is positioned. “I gave it some thought when I was younger, you know. I like kids. They have funny tendencies and big dreams. I think I would have enjoyed being a dad, seeing as I’m kind of just a big kid myself.” He chuckles. “Me and them would have gotten into so much mischief together. I think my mom would have loved them too, of course she would, and spoil them rotten.” He’s quiet for a few seconds, lost in the fantasy of children. “So? What about you?”
“Yes. I would have liked them.”
“Oh,” Deku replies. “I didn’t expect that.”
“I can be a surprising guy sometimes,” Bakugou says, lips curling just a little. “They’re nice to have around. They might be little fucking menaces to society but they have spunk. I think any kid of mine would have a fucking backbone too, like me. We’d get along well. I would have loved being a dad.” His face falls. Something doesn’t feel right.
“We’d be amazing dads, Kacchan,” Deku beams. “Can you imagine how chaotic our house would be? With your stubbornness and my determination, I think we would all be constantly bouncing off the walls!”
“Mhmm,” Bakugou hums. “It’d be nice, though.”
“That it would be.”
They fall into a comfortable silence for some time, the heavy feeling returning to Bakugou’s eyelids. “I’m tired,” he announces, tugging Deku closer. He places his hands over as much bare skin as he can.
Deku kisses his forehead. “Then sleep, my love. Sleep.”
A thought tugs at the back of Bakugou’s head. “I can’t.”
Deku pulls the sheets tighter around them. “Why not?”
“You’ll leave.”
He can tell in the way Deku’s breathing stops for a moment that it’s true. Still, it doesn’t stop the persistence of something in his subconscious.
“Get some rest for me,” Deku says, avoiding the question. He continues with his gentle caresses, hoping that the softness will lull his beloved to sleep.
Stubbornness is synonymous with the name Bakugou. “No. What’s going on?” Bakugou shifts in his arms, looking up at Deku. It’s only when he does that does he notice that Deku is crying.
“Kacchan,” Deku says. “Please. Sleep!”
“Not with you crying like that,” Bakugou retaliates, taking Deku’s face in his hands. Deku melts into the touch before pulling away. “Please, angel, please stop crying.”
“I’m sorry for the state you are going to be in when you wake,” Deku stammers wetly.
Bakugou’s head starts spinning. When I wake?
“I tried, I tried so hard.” Deku presses his forehead to Bakugou’s. “I tried so hard to leave you, to finally set you free. But I can’t let you go just yet. You’re not ready.”
“What are you talking about?” Bakugou demands, holding on to Deku as if his life depends on it. There’s a banging pain at the back of his head now.
“I was so selfish to give it to you,” Deku sobs. “I shouldn’t have given it to you. You would have moved on by now if I hadn’t but somehow, even in death, I manage to hold you back.”
That’s when it hits him. Dying. Leaving. Bakugou can feel his chest collapse into itself.
“I wanted a second chance,” Deku continues. “I wanted to see if I could help you just a little while longer, maybe guide you into the arms of another. But my own desires got in the way.” Deku squeezes his eyes shut, forcing more tears out. “I just wanted to love you a moment longer.”
Bakugou’s eyes search Deku’s face for more words, for potential answers. For some reason, though, his vision is foggy. He’s seeing Deku through a sheet of clouded glass. He’s just a blob of green and gray and beige, completely dull. The warmth in his arms is long gone, leaving him in a frigid cold that bites at his bare skin.
“Izuku!” Bakugou cries, reaching out to the sheet of opaque glass that separates him from a life worth living. The glass is even colder than the world around him. He bangs on it with his fists but they just bounce off. He screams in anger, continuing to beat at the material until the splitting headache returns. Bakugou screams in agony as his head and his heart race against each other. He is still screaming when he wakes up.
The first thing he realizes is that he is cold, so cold. The window is ajar, a slight breeze wafting into the room, but he knows that it isn’t enough to make him shiver like this. Bakugou wraps his arms around himself, curling his body inward as he lays on his side. His head is throbbing in pain, but from what he can’t remember. A bad dream, he eventually assumes, since that seems to be the cause of most of his battles with sleep these days. Bakugou stares at the empty side of his bed as he tries to concentrate and remember what exactly he dreamed of.
Deku was there, that’s for certain. There hasn’t been a single dream that he’s had that hasn’t included Deku in some form. He thinks they were holding each other and talking. About kids, maybe? That sounds a bit ridiculous, but it is what his mind is currently supplying so he’ll have to go with it for now. Things get foggy from there. Deku had pulled away from him suddenly, without rhyme or reason. Bakugou thinks he said something about being selfish, but that can’t be right, he’s the most selfless person Bakugou has known. Except when it came to me , he surrenders with a sinking feeling. And then Deku is gone. Bakugou knows that he fought to get him back but his efforts were not enough. Just as it always has been.
Bakugou shuts his eyes and rubs the back of his neck with his hand in a lame attempt to ease the headache. It doesn’t do much. He’ll need to take a pill. With a groan, he stands from his bed, shuffling to his bathroom. The lights flick on easily, the bright light assaulting Bakugou’s eyes before they adjust. The scar across his face is still apparent and ugly, taking away Bakugou’s initial good looks. He personally never thought he was in any way attractive, but he was good at everything else, so he must have been. Now that he doesn’t really have anything, his beauty is just another thing that had to go. The pills rattle in the generic pharmacy bottle as he opens it and pours one into his rough hand.
Bakugou swallows the pill dry, not feeling like walking to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The pill will do its job either way. With a final look at his scar and a scowl, he flicks the lights off and flops back into bed. The chill that he had felt when he woke up is now gone, though he still feels weirdly empty for some reason. He’s felt some form of emptiness for the majority of the year, but tonight is a little different. It’s more of a yearning than grief. Yearning for someone who will never be able to check “yes” or “no” on a love note. Bakugou hugs the extra pillow he sleeps with tightly, burying his nose in the cotton. His breathing steadies as he forces himself to sleep. He hasn’t cried much recently, which both he and his mother think is an improvement.
Kirishima has been visiting him much more often since they first met in April too. He drops by with company sometimes, mostly old classmates. Each of them are soft spoken and reserved when they see him, as if they are scared of saying the wrong thing to him. Bakugou lets them walk on eggshells around him. He doesn’t think he has the energy to have a cry session with each of them so they can all air out their grief. Bakugou hates how each of their interactions proves his mother right, though. He is doing a little better now that he sees real people on a regular basis.
The pillow is pulled closer to him, eyelashes crushing the surface of the pillow case. Sleep wraps him in its arms and holds him close, just as the figure beside him does. The freckles don’t go unnoticed.
The following day is his normal routine. Bakugou’s taken to walking around his neighborhood in the early hours of the day, watching the sunrise from different locations near his apartment. Each one is captivating and new, from the array of colors the sky chooses to display to the way the clouds part for the beauty of the sun. Secretly, Bakugou pretends that Deku is the one painting the sky for him each morning. He thanks him after each one, appreciating their uniqueness and aesthetic.
On today’s sunrise walk, he leaves the apartment around 6am. He spends about an hour exploring the neighborhood in the dark before deciding on a spot to view the sunrise. The streets are entirely empty, just the way he likes them. The less people who gawk at the former pro hero Dynamight, the better. Streetlights light his way as his sneakers scuff softly on the sidewalk, crickets and other insects orchestrating a soundtrack as he walks by. Deku’s bubbly voice nags at the back of his head that this is the world that he saved for Bakugou. Bakugou hopes that his little attempts at exploring are good enough for him, at least until he is stable enough to go on to bigger things. Baby steps, he reasons.
It doesn’t stop his heart from aching when he finds himself enjoying a Deku-less world.
Bakugou settles at the top of a small hill at the end of his street for the sunrise. He has seen it from its peak once before, back when he started going out for walks in June. The colors were brilliant: bright shades of pink and orange that faded into view from a murky navy blue. He loved it. Today is as good as any to experience it again.
He settles on a patchy of dewy grass, legs stretched out in front of him. The grass is soft under his bare hands. Bakugou throws his head back, taking a deep breath. The fresh air fills his lungs, clean and refreshing. His mind offers something his doctor had said to him this time last year.
“Your lungs are very vulnerable due to your quirk,” he had said. “The amount of debris particles that your explosions kick up will harm your lungs in the long run. Smaller particles will settle into them and make it hard to breathe if you keep using your quirk as often as you do. It could lead to sickness, or worse, cancer.”
Bakugou had scoffed at that. “Whatever, old man. I’m a hero, it’s a part of my job. I don’t give a shit about my lungs.”
Now, he wants to slap himself. Though, he doesn’t really have to worry about the debris now. He can live out the rest of his life without worrying about it, actually. It’s not like he has the explosions to save people anymore.
Before he spirals, he shakes the train of thought out of his head. He’s on this hill to enjoy the sunrise, not have a breakdown. Bakugou opens his eyes, the depths of the sky greeting him. The deep navy is now beginning to lighten, the white stars starting to camouflage. The sun will be coming up soon. His eyes are now trained to the horizon as he waits. A breeze ruffles his hair every now and again, as if it is wishing him a good morning. For a split second, he wonders if it is corny to wish it a good morning back.
Finally, the sun kisses the horizon. The sky bursts with bright shades of orange and yellow and pink and purple and blue, all of them stunning as they fight against the darkness of night. The sun leads the colors through it all. Bakugou watches as the sun continues to creep up into the sky, guiding more colors with it. He’s seen this display many times before but it always amazes him how well the sun knows how to put on a show.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Bakugou whips around to see a boy standing behind him. But of course, it is not just any boy, no matter how plain some claimed he looked.
“Do you mind if I join you?” Deku asks, not waiting for an answer before plopping down on the dewy grass next to him. Bakugou stares at him, unsure of what to say or do.
This Deku is still not his Deku. This one is older than Little Izuku by a lot, but he is definitely not a pro hero yet. This one has the messy green hair Deku has always had, but he stands much taller and much more confident than Deku did in middle school. He also has the twinkle of motivation in his eye that Bakugou was always secretly jealous of. Without a doubt, this is the Deku that he went to UA with.
“Why are you here?”
Deku smiles at that. “Ah, always straight to the point like that. Should have expected it.” He leans back on his hands which are buried in the blades of grass. “You already know why, so I don’t think I’ll answer it. We should just enjoy the sunrise instead.”
Bakugou heeds his advice (he doesn’t think there is any other course of action he can take) and turns his gaze back to the sunrise. It seems to feel more gorgeous somehow now that he knows that Deku is by his side.
“You look really different, Kacchan,” Deku says suddenly. “I had no idea you would become a hero with a cool scar! I wish I got a cool facial feature, though I guess my freckles kind of count.”
“They do,” Bakugou replies without turning back at him. “Very noticeable.”
“In a good way I hope!” Deku chuckles. “I wish we could spar. I wanna see how I would hold up against hero Kacchan! I can use up to 8% right now, but most of that has to be in my legs. It’s really annoying to use shoot style but I’m sure I will get the hang of it soon. I wonder if my shoot style would work well with any of your techniques? I’m not entirely sure it will, since you do primarily use your hands, but the moves could compliment each other well in a battle. The villain would never see what’s coming to them.”
He’s rambling. Bakugou didn’t realize how much he misses that.
“—but that’s just what I think. What do you think, Kacchan? Do you think we’d make a good team?”
Bakugou looks back at him. He glows in the light of the sunrise, though it isn’t much of a surprise. He glows in any lighting. Deku’s just that ethereal.
“Yes, I think we’d make one hell of a good team,” he musters. “The Wonder Duo would kick some serious ass.”
Deku’s face breaks out into a wide grin. “The Wonder Duo?! That sounds incredible! That’s such a cool name, did you think of that just now? Or has it been in the works for a while? Oh, I wish I had something to write that down on, I don’t wanna forget it.”
Bakugou thinks he would have smiled at him if he didn’t feel so hollow. “Don’t worry, you won’t forget. It’s just three fucking words, anyway.”
“Oh. I guess you’re right.” Deku laughs at his idiocy. “What did you think of the sunrise?”
Bakugou turns back to the sun that has now freshly risen. The morning light brought with it the gentle chirps of song birds and the waking up of the neighborhood as people begin another day in their lives.
“It was lovely,” Bakugou says earnestly, meeting Deku’s emerald green eyes. “This one is my favorite.”
Deku smiles, though this time it isn’t as boyish as it was before. This smile has age. It knows its fate. Bakugou would have rather Deku just burst into tears instead of giving him that smile.
“I’m glad,” Deku breathes, voice lighter than air. “I made it just for you.”
Bakugou doesn’t get to say anything else before he is unconscious on the grass.
☆☆☆
Bakugou considers himself lucky that he wasn’t found.
The grassy area that he wakes up in has been warmed by the sun, birds chirping all around him as they welcome him to the late morning. With a groan, he realizes that he has been unconscious for several hours. By the time he gets back to his apartment, it is noon, and his mother is texting him nonstop.
“Yeah, Ma, I’m fine,” he says the second she picks up the phone.
“Oh thank god! Katsuki, you had me so fucking scared! Never do that again. Where were you?”
“Out.”
“Oh? What were you doing this early in the morning?”
“Just taking a walk.” He chooses to keep his answers brief to avoid further questioning. Hopefully she will get the message that he just wants to be left alone. Typically, he would be more forward with that, yelling at her and just hanging up once she got confirmation that he wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere. After his meeting with Deku (or at least, some form of him), he doesn’t feel like he can be abrasive. Somehow, he feels oddly calm. Maybe that’s just Deku’s affect on him.
Mitsuki seems pleased by his answer. “A walk is wonderful! Glad to see you are exercising more. Maybe you can get some of your muscle back.”
Bakugou nods even though she can’t see him. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Mitsuki hums. She’s been oddly bubbly lately, which is unlike her, especially with her son. Bakugou doesn’t care enough to ask why she has been acting differently. Maybe she knows something he doesn’t.
“That reminds me, I was calling you to ask you something,” Mitsuki says. “I was talking with Inko the other day, about Izuku.”
Bakugou holds his breath. “Yeah?” The word is strained.
“She’s just as torn up as you are, poor woman, but she asked if...if she could talk to you,” Mitsuki continues, uneasiness in her voice. She’s probably unsure at how her son will react to that. Bakugou hasn’t spoken to Inko properly since he was a child.
“Why does she want to talk to me?”
Mitsuki is silent for a moment. “You were the last one to see him before he, ah, went away. She just wants to get some closure. I think talking with her is a great idea, it may help the both of you heal.”
Bakugou thinks about it for a few minutes, pacing back and forth in his kitchen. Surprisingly, he isn’t entirely opposed to the idea. He does think that speaking with Auntie Inko for a little could help how he has been coping with Deku’s death. She’s in just as much pain as he is. Bakugou’s a hero, right? Isn’t he supposed to help people that are in pain? Even if he doesn’t have his quirk anymore, he still has a responsibility to make sure people are okay. He doesn’t get to help them in the way he is used to, but this should help him learn to save people in a new way.
He exhales deeply. “Okay,” he responds in a whisper, voice raspy. “I’ll see her.”
Bakugou can hear his mother sigh in relief. “Great. Can you meet her later today, at that small cafe near the park? She said it would be around 3pm.”
Bakugou’s hands start shaking. He grips the phone tighter. “Okay. I’ll see her then.”
“I love you, Katsuki. Please play nice.”
“Love you too, Ma. I will.”
With that, he ends the call and promptly drops his phone on the kitchen counter. “Fuck!” he exclaims, face heating up. He has to meet with Auntie Inko today. Deku’s mom. The closest person to him. He has to meet with Deku’s mom. His mom.
Bakugou starts taking deep breaths, trying to calm his breathing. He’s learned a few calming techniques over the past year; they help the most when he is having a panic attack. A breath in, a breath out. Slow. Steady. Calming. He closes his eyes, trying to focus on breathing and not the broken image of Deku’s mother that he had seen on the news. Inko had lost so much in her life. First her husband, a few years back, and now her only son. She knows immeasurable pain and Bakugou thinks that today will just make it worse.
He refocuses on his breathing again, gripping the side of the counter for support. It works to some extent as he manages to calm his shaky hands. A few more minutes and his breathing is steady too and he no longer feels as though he is going to hyperventilate. He could though, at any moment. He’ll just have to distract himself to combat it.
A quick look down at his shirt and pants is plenty of distraction for now. Bakugou needs to shower and change now if he wants to make it to the cafe by 3pm. He certainly can’t meet her in his black tank top and sweatpants. He chews at his lower lip for a moment, brain lagging behind what he needs to do. With a quick glance out the large window that is across the room, he treks into his bathroom and steps into the shower.
The water is hot, thank god, and he lets it run down his back for a while. It feels comforting. There’s been too much and too little going on for him recently that he doesn’t know if he can really focus again. But c’est la vie and he doesn’t have any say in it. Which he thinks is bullshit, by the way. How does he not have a say in the way that he thinks or feels? If he could have it his way, he wouldn’t still be this torn up about Deku. He could function like a normal human being and fulfill his final wishes. Bakugou could move on from Deku and still remember the person he was. He leans his head back into the hot spray. Too bad he’s never really had any self control.
He lets the water wash away all of his worries and fears, at least for now. They’ll come back in the night, vengeful, as always. Hopefully he can squeeze a few hours out of being relatively functional, though. With a clear head (well, as clear as it can get, anyway), he finishes his shower and grabs some clothes. He chooses a plain black hoodie with loose jeans. Bakugou isn’t sure what clothing is appropriate for a meeting like this, so he just chooses what he thinks is the most comfortable.
Bakugou takes a look back at his apartment before heading out. He isn’t sure why. He’ll be coming back in an hour or two and nothing will change. Deep down, he wishes he were in the reality where he could yell, “I’m heading out!” into the space and have Deku skip into the room, smiling wide. He’d say, “See you later, Kacchan! I love you.” before kissing him sweetly. Bakugou stares a moment longer at the rays of sunlight hitting his living room floor before slamming the door closed and locking it.
He keeps his head down as he walks to the cafe. The park his mother mentioned is close by, only a mile walk. People are out and about, going about their lives. He hears a few children giggle with each other as they race each other down the asphalt. They have a torn up football with them and are kicking it back and forth. One has red shoes. Bakugou tears his eyes from them and keeps walking.
The sun is shining on his back as he continues walking, making him pretty warm. He doesn’t want to roll up his sleeves though. The littering of scars on his arms is just going to draw more attention to him. The mask he wears on his face doesn’t cover all of the scar and he is sure that when he sits down at that cafe he is going to get his fair share of weird looks and hushed tones.
The cafe is fast approaching. He can see its orange and white striped overhang now, along with the plethora of tables and chairs it has out front. Bakugou begins scanning through the people that he sees for Inko. He’s a little early, so he doesn’t entirely expect to see her here. He doesn’t have her phone number though, so he will have to just search for her in the crowd. When he does catch a glimpse of green hair, he clenches his fist. It pains him that his first instinct is to call out Deku’s name. Inko is seated in towards the back of the outdoor seating area, away from the majority of the crowd and well into the shade. From what Bakugou can tell, she is nervous. Good. So is he.
She spots him quickly and smiles . Bakugou is a little surprised. She does what he hasn’t been able to do in months.
“Katsuki! It’s so nice to see you,” she calls, her smile wide when Bakugou takes a seat.
“Hi, Auntie Inko,” Bakugou says, taking off his mask so she can see him better. “It’s nice to see you too.”
“It’s been so long. My, you’ve gotten tall!” Inko is so bright and, for lack of better words, Deku-like that Bakugou’s mood can’t help but feel a little lighter when he is around her.
“Yeah. I’m taller than Dad now,” he says. “You, ah…” Bakugou is unsure what to say. He hasn’t had a proper conversation with someone in a while. Kirishima, decidedly, doesn’t count.
Inko just waves her hand dismissively. “It’s alright, honey, you don’t need to find anything to say about me. I’ve just gotten older.” She laughs. “It’s strange to see you now. I’m used to you being so small.”
“I’m sure.”
“Did you know that when you were younger, you and Izuku would make your own hero costumes by taping paper and other things onto your play clothes? I remember you had a little blanket cape too.” Inko takes a sip from her coffee. “You made fantastic little heroes, both young Mighty Explosion and Captain All Might.”
Bakugou marvels in how easy she says his name. It’s as if it doesn’t kill her at all to say it. It rolls off of her tongue like any other word. He wasn’t expecting that, especially since he struggles so much with it. Who knew that five letters (or four, most times) would cause so much trouble?
“A lot has changed,” he replies simply, unsure of what else to say. Though, that is enough to bring the table into a somber mood. Inko’s smile falters a little, and for a split second, Bakugou catches a glimpse at the mourning behind her expression.
Inko knits her fingers together. “Yes. Yes, a lot has changed.” She studies his face for a moment. “Mighty Explosion now has a scar across his face.”
Bakugou nods. “And Captain All Might isn’t here.” He fights the urge to bite his tongue. That was too blunt, he’s sure of it. He’s always had a hard time communicating with Auntie Inko this way. She’s one of the few people his abrasive personality is just not something he can express. She’s too sweet for that, undeserving.
To his surprise, though, Inko just nods. “Yes. Captain All Might isn’t here. That’s precisely what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What is there left to say? He’s been gone for a while, Auntie. I don’t...I don’t know what else is left to say about him.”
To that, Inko gives a classic motherly look: one of Really? Are you really going to play dumb when the broken vase is sitting by my feet? . “There’s plenty left to say about him and I know you know that. I want you to be honest with me.” She looks him right in the eye. “What are you going to do now that he’s gone?”
Bakugou taps his fingers on the table. “What I’ve already been doing,” he responds. “Living my life. Moving forward.”
“But you aren’t moving forward at all, Katsuki.”
Now Bakugou can feel his temper flare up. “How would you know? We haven’t spoken in years! You don’t know anything about me.”
Inko chooses to ignore his sudden impoliteness. “I can tell when I look at you. You have bags under your eyes, so you’re clearly not sleeping too well. You’re skinnier than before and you’ve lost some muscle. Your face is the most telling, though. Your eyes are always looking for him, aren’t they? Scanning crowds for his hair? Filtering through faces for his smile? You don’t want to believe that he’s really dead.”
“Of course I don’t!” Bakugou cries. “Auntie I think we can both agree that we want him back.”
Inko looks at him with sad eyes. “Of course I do. But I also know that my son did the world a service. He’s the greatest hero, afterall, as what the papers have dubbed him. His name will go down in history.” She smiles again. “I’ve never been more proud of him.”
Bakugou settles back in his seat, the vintage metal chair creaking slightly. “Me too, I guess.”
Her lips purse together into a thin line. “I think I know how to help you move forward. There’s a reason I asked you here, you know.”
Bakugou knits his fingers together. “Okay.”
Inko pulls a keychain out of her purse. The several bronze keys jangle along with two keychains. One of the keychains is easily recognizable; Bakugou is an expert in All Might merchandise. The other is of Dynamight’s gauntlet. It doesn’t take an expert in Dynamight merchandise (or Dynamight himself) to know who’s keys these are.
“This is Izuku’s apartment key,” Inko confirms. “He said in his will that he wants you to have something inside of it. I don’t know what that thing is but his note to me said that you would.” She slides the keys across the table at Bakugou who stares at them, frozen in place. “Go. Take what you need. Maybe that will help you be whole again.”
If Bakugou could back away from the horrifyingly familiar keys he would. “I can’t.” He shakes his head violently. “I can’t take them.”
“You will,” Inko says with a sternness in her voice. “Take your time with them. Visit the apartment a few times if you need. It was paid off for the year, so I have just been letting it be. Go over there when you can, and when you’re ready, take what you need.”
Bakugou looks from her to the keys and then back again. He hasn’t stepped foot in that apartment since the day he lost him. He isn’t sure that he can go back there ever again. Most certainly, he is afraid that if he goes inside, he will never want to come back out.
“Take the keys, Katsuki,” Inko insists again. “Izuku told me you had no fears.”
“Except for him,” Bakugou says, voice wobbly.
Inko brushes her bangs back from her face. He can tell that she’s fighting tears too. “Katsuki, I’m not going to beg for you to go. You can get up now for all I care, I already have enough to remember him by. But you don’t have anything, and sometimes, I think that you might be the one who needs that something, whether that be a blanket or shirt, more than I do. Take the keys. Move on.”
She has other things to remember me by, though. Photos, videos, and all my All Might things from when I was younger. You don’t have anything.
Bakugou pockets the keys. They are heavy, like a lead weight. But he can carry them.
“Thank you, Katsuki,” Inko sighs earnestly. “For loving my son.”
december: adulthood
The apartment is just as he left it.
Most things are put away and covered with a thin layer of dust. His books are still shelved neatly. All Might figures stand proudly next to them, though they are also a little dusty. From first glance, the apartment doesn’t look lived in at all. But upon closer inspection, there’s an open book laying on the coffee table. There’s an empty water glass sitting alone on the kitchen counter. A few jackets are hanging off the back of a chair.
The first thing Bakugou does is open the windows. Sunlight streams into the room, illuminating the living room for the first time in months. The snow outside falls softly, frosting the windows. The room is warmer, somehow.
This is Bakugou’s fifth time at the apartment, but his first time inside. Each of the previous times he has tried to open the door, he either teared up before he could even put the key in the lock or just stood in front of the plain metal door and stared. Once, embarrassingly, he actually tried to knock. Now that he is actually inside, though, he doesn’t understand what he had to fear. It feels like he’s home.
Bakugou wanders around the living room for a while, eyes taking in everything that he can about the place. He tries not to disturb much, but does pat the dust out of the couch before taking a seat. It’s quiet. Peaceful. He closes his eyes. If he concentrates, he can hear Deku laughing next to him at a movie. He can hear him pace in his room late in the night when he thought Bakugou was fast asleep. Worst of all, he can hear the fight that they had a few days before Deku left him echoing throughout the living room. He regrets that so much, but not for the reasons that one may think. Bakugou wishes he could have forced him to stay.
His eyes snap open. The apartment is empty, just as it was a few moments ago. He stands, eyes drawn to the door that leads to Deku’s bedroom. Bakugou knows what he needs to go take now, but he’s not entirely sure that he has the will to do it. He takes each step with a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists as he approaches the painted wooden door. His hand secures itself around the metal knob, and with a simple twist of his wrist and some pressure, it pops open.
Deku’s bedroom can only be described as full of light. He had left the blinds open before they left that day, so the sun has been streaming onto his sheets for months. The bed is still unmade. His desk is cluttered with knick knacks and random papers, notebooks are even popping out of the bottom drawer. Bakugou just stares, taking everything in. Everything in this room reminds him of Deku and everything that they had. It’s beautiful.
Bakugou looks down at the bottom drawer of the desk, reaching out with shaking hands to take out the first notebook he sees sticking out from the drawer. The paper slips out of the drawer with ease, and he sits gently on the bed to read it. The bed dips slightly with his weight, the sun warming his back. He flips it over to see the cover, the number 99 written in red ink across the front lines. With a trembling breath, he thumbs through the pages.
This must have been his last notebook. There are entries dated starting six months before he left to the day before, along with pictures and doodles to accompany them. They are just as sweet and bubbly as Deku was, recounting what he had done that day or what he had seen with extreme detail. Bakugou’s heart clenches when he notices that most of them include descriptions of him. Post its litter the pages of this one too, pointing out things to Bakugou like Sero had totally pranked me with that “Deez Nuts” joke. I’m going to have to try it on you later and see if you get it, but I’m sure you’ll be mad at me. Bakugou runs his fingers over the pen ink, absorbing the fact that these are some of the last words Deku wrote. He continues to flip through the pages until something falls out from the end of the book, floating down onto the ground. Bakugou watches it fall, eyebrows knit together when he leans down to pick it up. Across the front, in big red letters, is scratched: To: Kacchan .
Kacchan.
Bakugou holds the paper in his hands as tenderly as possible, notebook sitting beside him, forgotten. He doesn’t want to unfold it. It’s too early. He can’t see it, he can’t accept whatever it says. Inko’s voice replays in his head though: Take what you need. Maybe that will help you be whole again. Bakugou is holding his missing piece in his hands. He opens the paper.
Kacchan—
I want to start off this letter by saying I’m sorry. You’re asleep on the couch right now. It’s a week until the battle. I know that by the time you read this, the deed will be done, and if everything went according to plan, I’ll be dead. Knowing you, you wouldn’t have admitted that until now. So stubborn, Kacchan. But I can’t blame you for that, because so am I.
It’s weird writing to someone when you are about to die. It’s a funny feeling in your chest, not quite unlike butterflies. I’d say it feels something like dandelions, like when you blow on them to make a wish and the seeds fly everywhere. It feels light and settling but also fills me with great fear with how you are going to handle this letter. You’ve always been the explosive type (pun intended), but I urge you to hold off on tearing this paper to pieces until you read every word. After that, I don’t care what you do with this. I won’t be around to support you any more.
I love you, Kacchan. Romantically. I’m not sure if I ever got to confess that to you in life. I’ve been wanting to for such a long time, since UA actually. Probably since childhood. I just haven’t been brave enough to. I’m brave enough to sacrifice my life for the global population but not to tell my childhood best friend that I love him? Kind of pathetic, honestly. Kacchan, I care about you so deeply that it hurts. I’ve watched you grow from an ambitious little kid to a strong and independent hero. You’re the great Bakugou Katsuki I’ve always known you’d be. I’m overjoyed that I get to call someone as extraordinary as you my partner and friend. Friend? I guess that is the most fitting for right now. I don’t even know if you feel the same way about me. Frankly, I don’t care. I love you.
I’m sure that you have found this letter either very soon after my death or years later. I’ve seen you grieve before, it’s painfully inconsistent, so hopefully this letter will be applicable in both scenarios. It pains me to see you so sad. I hope you’ve been eating and sleeping well, since I know you have very poor habits when you’re depressed. Please, stop reading now if you haven’t eaten or slept in a while and go take care of yourself. I promise you the ink will still be on this page when you return.
What I am about to tell you is very important, so read closely. Midoriya Izuku is a very selfish man. He has done much for the world, sure, but he also does so much for himself. What he is about to do is the most selfish thing he has ever done: stay alive.
I’m with you, Kacchan, because I had a plan. I decided this morning, when I walked by your sleeping form on the couch, drool coming out of the side of your mouth, that I was going to stay alive for you and take care of you. I was going to do it through One For All. You may think that everyone on Earth is quirkless right now (and will be, forever), but there is one person left with a quirk. It’s you, Kacchan.
If everything went to plan, I gave you One for All. Not all of it, just a drop, Enough to keep me in your dreams and in your presence while you grieve. I don’t know how the whole thing works. I barely mastered talking to past users though I’ve had the quirk for years. But I’ll be giving the tiniest amount to you nonetheless, because Midoriya Izuku is selfish, and he wants to love you for as long as he can.
I hope I made the right choice. I hope I was able to help you heal, at least a little, and fix the world. I hope that you’re happy now, maybe in the arms of another, maybe with plans for a future of your own. Regardless of what it is for you, I just hope you are happy. I’m leaving this world so that you can have it for yourself. I want you to be able to have the future you want, the dreams you want. I want everything to be perfect just for you. I know man can never create perfection. Perfection is unattainable. But I will do my best to get it as close as I possibly can for the man I love so dearly.
I may be dubbed the greatest hero in the history books (sorry for stealing your thunder there, I know we were both in quite the competition for that name), but I think that there is another title that will suit you better. It’s a little dark but I think once I explain it, it will make more sense to you. If I’m the greatest hero, then you’re the greatest sacrifice. Some may call me both. I did die, after all, but I believe that you are the greater sacrifice. I hurt you beyond repair with this decision. I hurt you and I’m so incredibly sorry. The pain you are in is the one thing I can’t entirely fix in this perfect world. I’m so sorry. I hope I can help you heal, at least a little.
One for All will guide you the best it can and hang on for as long as possible. It’s a persistent quirk. And I am a stubborn man. We’ll manage.
Keep the notebooks. I know I said this to you before but I know you are tempted to not listen. Keep them, I insist. You’re going to deny a dying man his final wish?
I’ll see you in your dreams, Kacchan.
Until the future,
Deku
Bakugou is sobbing. They wrack his body, choking him from the inside. It’s brutal. It’s hurtful. It’s freedom. When he opens his eyes from the tears, he isn’t on Deku’s bed. He is in front of a large sheet of glass, a very familiar one from months before. Except this time, he can pass through it. Without another thought, he stumbles through it, pushing the tears out of his eyes.
“Izuku! Izuku!” he calls into the abyss, searching for him. He knows he is here. He’s seen him so many times before, both in and out of his dreams. How romantic!
“Izuchan!” he finally sobs, the childhood nickname that his mouth hasn’t spoken in years burning his throat. It does the trick, though. Deku approaches from out of the inky blackness around them, arms open wide. His hero costume looks so good on him.
“Kacchan!” Deku cries, running to him. They collapse into each other, clinging onto one another for dear life. Bakugou runs his hands through Deku’s hair, his gorgeous curls, and squeezes his arms. Everything feels so real. It is .
“I can’t fucking believe you,” Bakugou bawls into his shoulder. “It was you? This whole time? Every time?”
“It was me, Kacchan,” Deku howls back, taking in just as much of Bakugou as Bakugou is of him. “It was always me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I thought I was losing my motherfucking mind.”
Deku pulls Bakugou out of his shoulder so he can look him in the eye. Green has never looked so alluring. “You needed to heal. I was just here to help you.”
Bakugou captures his lips in a deep kiss, one that sends them falling to the floor, Deku below him. “Don’t do this shit again,” Bakugou says in between kisses. “I love you so fucking much it burns me.”
“I love you too,” Deku replies, smiling. “I love you too.”
Bakugou pulls away after a few minutes of kissing the love of his life. If Deku is admitting to all of this, then that must mean…
“Is it time?” Bakugou asks, voice low and raspy.
Deku nods. “It is. I’m just selfish.”
Bakugou hangs his head between his shoulders. It’s been a long journey. He’s tired. When he looks down at Deku, he can tell he is too. It’s time they both rest. Separately, but only for now.
“Thank you, Izuku. For everything you have done for me. For loving me,” Bakugou says as he pulls them both to their feet. He holds on to Deku’s hand even when they are balanced.
Deku beams at him. “Thank you, Katsuki. For just being you.”
Deku's hand suddenly starts to feel light, like dandelion seeds. It fades away, the sheet of glass between them once more. Deku smiles at him from the glass, tears still running down his face. Bakugou can tell that this is the happiest he has ever been. Deku presses his palm against the glass.
“Love your life, okay? Don’t just live it.”
Bakugou puts his palm on the glass, right over Deku’s. “Anything for you.”
With one final grin, the glass shatters. Deku breaks into a million pieces, floating up into the not-so-scary emptiness of space. Bakugou watches him go, his fear going with him. It’s finally time to let go.
Bakugou wakes slowly on Deku’s bed. The sun is shining, meaning he slept through the night for the first time since Deku died. He missed the sunrise, but that’s okay.
He smiles.
And gives Todoroki Shouto a call.
I know. But you will make it out of that fight, okay? I promise on everything I hold dear to me that you, Kacchan, will make it out alive and go on to live a life of celebrity and happiness. It's my final gift to you.
☆☆☆