Liability

by sandelf

Summary:

After All-Might dies rescuing Bakugou from the League, Bakugou is determined to prove it wasn't for nothing.

But the world is against him, his grief is overwhelming, and his stability is splitting at the edges.

Chapter 1

I’m a little much for everyone

They’re all gonna watch me disappear into the sun

                                                                 -Lorde

 

Bakugou sighs as he patiently waits for his coffee to brew, blissful silence filling the dormitory. It’s seven o’clock in the morning, an hour to go before they need to leave for school, and there are only a few other students up and about. Iida is sat at the dining table, discussing decoration plans with Momo and Uraraka. The table is covered in All-Might memorabilia and red and blue bunting, which they plan on putting up in his honour.

It’s been two months since he died, and three months since Kamino. The show must go on, as they say, so UA has continued to run, and students have continued on like they did before. It’s clear, however, that nobody has quite accepted it yet. Bakugou has barely spoken to Midoriya since, the green-haired boy looking perpetually heartbroken now.

It’s too much for Bakugou to deal with, so he’s kept his distance more than he already did.

He watches Momo, Uraraka, and Iida discuss where the bunting should go with mild curiosity. He understands why they’re doing it, why they feel the need to, but Bakugou still finds it fucking stupid.

He’d never tell them that, though, so he leaves his classmates to their own unique brand of mourning and turns his attention to his coffee.

“Hey, Bakugou!” Uraraka calls out, pulling him out of his stupor as he pours his coffee into the nearest mug. “Do you have any All-Might things you want to add?”

Bakugou glances at the pile, noticing a few figurines that he recognises from Midoriya’s childhood bedroom. He feels a pang of something in his chest and quickly shakes his head before grabbing his mug and disappearing upstairs. He feels their eyes follow him, but nobody stops him.

They’ve been remarkably lenient with him since All-Might’s death. They haven’t forced him into any social situations or reprimanded him for his colourful language, like he had imagined they would when they moved into the dorms.

In fact, if anything, the move has been easier than he ever imagined.

Except for the fact that your childhood hero is dead.

Bakugou doesn’t dignify the inner voice with a response.

He’s always had a running commentary in his head, his own voice pointing out his flaws and errors and forcing him to get off his ass and do some fucking training, you waste of fucking space, but since Kamino the voice has become louder and more aggravating.

He tries to ignore it most of the time, but it’s hard to when it’s his own voice reminding him of his worth.

Couldn’t even show respect for your hero by giving them a token. Absolute joke.

Bakugou sighs.

You have a figurine. It’s hidden in your drawer. What good is it to you now?

He doesn’t touch the drawer, and he doesn’t look for the figurine. Instead, he opens one of his textbooks and begins revising whatever topic he finds first. The rush of information quickly quashes down his own internal voice and he settles into the monotonous rhythm of his book.

 

*

 

He manages a mere ten minutes of relatively peaceful study when a heavy and repetitive knocking on his door ruins it. He tries to ignore it and begins highlighting key pieces of information to remember when the knocking gets even louder. He slams his highlighter down, palms sparking in the process, and storms over towards the door.

“Fucking what?!” he demands, yanking it open to find Kaminari on the other side, looking remarkably awake for this time in the morning.

“Hey, Bakugou! I was just wondering if you’ve done that homework that’s due in today because I think I’ve got some answers wrong and I- wait, hold up one gosh darn second. Are you doing your homework now?” He whistles incredulously. “That is not like you. Do I need to take your temperature?”

“Fuck off. I did that work the day it was assigned.”

Kaminari peers around him again, eyes falling upon the open textbook on his desk. “Are you… are you studying? Voluntarily? At this time in the morning?”

Bakugou shrugs. “And?”

“Man, I don’t even do my work in class, never mind at 7am.”

“And that’s why you’re fucking failing.”

Kaminari pouts. “I’m not failing. I’m just not thriving. There’s a difference.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

He tries to close the door but Kaminari shoves his slipper-clad foot in the way. Bakugou glances down at the obnoxiously pink bunny slipper and then opens the door. To his annoyance, Kaminari’s other foot was wearing a bright yellow bootie slipper.

“What the fuck are on your feet?” The words come out before Bakugou can even consider stopping himself.

Kaminari looks down at his own feet and shrugs. “Well, my mum’s dog ate my other bunny slipper and then I lost my other yellow one, but they happened to be the left and right foot, so I thought, why not mix and match?”

Bakugou stares at the blond, before slamming the door shut in his face and sighing heavily.

“How the fuck have I befriended these people?” he mutters as he heads back to his desk.

You’re lucky you have any goddamn friends.

Bakugou scoffs at the voice in his mind, but he can’t find it in himself to disagree.

Because there’s nothing to disagree with.

 

*

 

Classes go by without fanfare, as there isn’t much fanfare within UA anymore. Bakugou keeps his head down and ignores the incessant requests for help, which Aizawa pretends not to notice, as they complete their latest pop quiz. Despite his study session this morning, he can’t conjure up any motivation to actually try. He messily scribbles down answers, barely thinking about what he’s writing, until the bell finally rings and dismisses them for lunch.

“Bring your quizzes to the front on your way out,” Aizawa requests lazily, barely lifting his head up from the desk.

“Hey, Bakugou!” Kirishima calls out as they all filter out of the classroom. “It’s katsu for dinner today! That’s your favourite, isn’t it?”

Bakugou shrugs, but he doesn’t complain when Ashido, Sero, and Kaminari join them in the walk to the cafeteria.

The students become a bit livelier once sat down with food, but it’s still not enough to shift Bakugou into motion. He listens, somewhat, to his friends’ conversation, until his attention shifts towards the rest of the cafeteria.

He catches a few students looking at him, although they look swiftly away when he meets their eyes. He doesn’t recognise them, fairly certain they’re in general studies, but he knows why they’re looking at him.

Because you did it. And they know it.

Bakugou hasn’t had much of an appetite all day, but the curry in front of him is all the more unappealing now that the voice in his mind has reared its metaphorical head. His right leg begins to bounce, adrenaline building slowly and gradually within him. He recognises the initial signs of anxiety, recognises the developing fight or flight response, but he knows how fucking stupid it would be to react to people simply looking at him. So he stares down at the table in front of him, taking in every blemish and small graffiti he can find, until something clicks in his peripheral. He jerks away from the sudden invasion of his space, finding his four friends staring at him with concern.

“Yo, are you good?” Sero asks. “You really zoned out there.”

Bakugou frowns, eyes darting between each person. “What?”

“We’ve been calling your name for like, five minutes now,” Ashido adds.

Kaminari nods in agreement. “Yeah, you’ve been checked out for a bit.”

Kirishima leans in a little. “Are you okay, Bakugou?”

“Fucking fine,” Bakugou answers quickly. His eyes fall down to his dinner, stomach churning at the sight. “Just not hungry.”

“Did you have breakfast?” Kirishima asks.

“Course I fucking had breakfast, shitty hair. Stop mothering me.”

He neglects to tell Kirishima that the breakfast consisted of a black coffee and nothing more.

Kirishima smiles, although it seems to have lost some of its spark since Kamino. “Okay, bro! We were just talking about what we’re doing at the weekend. Saturdays are off for a while now, so we were thinking we might go to the mall soon!”

Bakugou sighs heavily. “We can’t go off campus without a chaperone.”

“No, we can’t go off campus alone without a chaperone,” Ashido corrects. “As long as we get permission from Aizawa, we can go together! We can chaperone each other!”

“Bold of you to assume Aizawa trusts any of us to go to the mall without an adult present,” Bakugou points out.

Sero raises an eyebrow. “You don’t think he trusts you?”

“I got kidnapped. What part of that screams ‘I can be trusted in the outside world’ to you?”

Ashido smirks a little. “You’ve got a very good point. Still, I think he’ll trust us! Besides, we need something to look forward to. Everything’s been a bit… rubbish, recently.”

Bakugou shrugs.

“He didn’t say no,” Kaminari responds. “That means yes in Bakugou language.”

“No it fucking doesn’t.”

“But you’re gonna come with us, right? We need you to be our bodyguard against any scary and unruly reporters.”

Bakugou sighs and rolls his eyes. “See what Aizawa says first, then I’ll decide.”

Ashido claps and lets out a little ‘yay’ as the others continue to dig into their dinner, satisfied with his answer.

You shouldn’t have said that. You’re only going to disappoint them.

He huffs, ignoring the food in front of him in favour of playing a mindless game on his phone while his friends idly chat.

He doesn’t pay any attention to them, and he ignores the sensation of eyes burning into the back of his head.

 

 

*

 

“Hey Bakugou, are you doing anything tonight?” Sero asks as they make their way through the grounds of the school towards the dorms.

Bakugou shrugs. “Gym.”

“Dude you just had heroics class,” Kaminari interjects from behind. “Why would you exercise again?”

“I swear you went running this morning,” Kirishima adds.

“I go running every morning,” Bakugou retorts. “And how the fuck would you know if I went this morning? You didn’t crawl out of your pit until quarter to eight.”

Kirishima shrugs. “I know you.”

Ashido sighs loudly and appears by Bakugou’s side, bypassing the other boys. “What Sero is asking you, Blasty, is if you’d help us with our maths homework because we suck.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

“And don’t worry about the gym, bro, because you’ve worked out loads today!” Kirishima reassures. “And besides, it’s not like you’re not doing something productive.”

“Yeah, instead I’m doing the damn teacher’s job,” Bakugou snaps back without any real bite.

Kaminari shrugs. “What can I say? Ectoplasm just doesn’t grab me, y’know?”

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Please don’t.”

 

They make their way through the large double doors into the communal area of the dorms, where Kaminari and Sero begin to disappear towards the lifts.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Bakugou questions, roughly dropping his bag to the floor and making Jirou, sitting on the sofa, jump out of her skin.

Kaminari and Sero both falter, turning nervously around.

“Um…” Sero begins. “Upstairs?”

“I think fucking not. We’re getting this over and done with. Sit your arses down at that damn table.”

Kaminari straightens his spine and salutes. “Sir yes sir!”

“Swear to God I will end your miserable fucking life, Pikachu.”

Kaminari smirks as he takes a seat at the table, as though Bakugou isn’t more than willing to follow through on his threat.

 

*

 

The study session goes on until early evening, and Bakugou finds himself significantly less annoyed at the end of it than he had imagined. They make good progress, with Kaminari and Ashido understanding far more about probability than they did before, and they all leave with smiles on their faces.

Yet, Bakugou doesn’t feel the satisfaction he expected to.

He doesn’t feel the pride knowing that he’s just broadened their knowledge and potentially helped them to pass their next exam.

He doesn’t really feel anything.

He should, he decides, go running. He’s already missed his usual routine time and it’s getting progressively darker out.

He’s never been bothered about running in the dark, but he knows Aizawa is watching them all like hawks and he doesn’t fancy being stalked and reprimanded by the man tonight. With a soft sigh, he changes into some joggers and a t-shirt and puts on his running shoes.

For a second, Kirishima’s words drift back into memory. He’d already been running this morning, and their heroics class was well over an hour. He’d been productive from dawn ‘til dusk, so surely he could forgive himself for taking a break.

That’s the fucking lazy way out and you know it. What sort of a hero is lazy?

 

He goes running.

 

He doesn’t stop until his legs burn, an ache that he always takes as an indicator of a good workout. With that, he makes his way back to the dorms where he finds the majority of his classmates gathered in the communal area.

“Kacchan,” Midoriya calls out from the crowd, a weak smile on his face and tears trickling down his cheeks.

Bakugou looks at him, and then at the wall that has garnered everybody’s attention.

The back wall has red and blue bunting along the top, neatly pinned from one end to the other. The windowsills are carefully decorated with the All-Might memorabilia from this morning, perfectly positioned. Bakugou frowns at the sight and becomes very aware of a pressure pushing down on his chest.

“Kacchan?”

“Fucking what?” he demands, finally turning to look at Midoriya again.

Midoriya looks at him with wide, watery eyes and it makes the pressure in Bakugou’s chest increase tenfold. Bakugou makes a break for the lift, prompting the smaller boy to follow him away from the crowd.

“Kacchan, are you okay?” Midoriya asks quietly.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because… because I know he meant a lot to you too. And we haven’t really spoken much since…”

Bakugou gets into the lift and turns to face the teary-eyed boy. “I’m fucking fine, Deku.”

Midoriya nods, although the furrowing of his brows tells Bakugou he doesn’t believe him.

It doesn’t matter though because he really is fine.

 

*

 

He can’t sleep.

His thoughts aren’t racing. His heart isn’t pounding. He isn’t anxious in any way whatsoever, yet he cannot fucking sleep.

He’s been lay on his bed for hours, mindlessly staring at the stark white ceiling. He can’t recall any actual thoughts that have graced his head throughout this. Anything that does pop into his head is fleeting and too quick for him to latch onto.

They’re also too negative for him to want to latch onto.

He lies there, thoughtless and still, as the hours tick by.

He’s not sure what’s changed, in all honesty. Sleep has never come easily for him. He always had too much energy coursing through his veins, too much adrenaline forcing him to be up and active. It’s gotten worse since Kamino, but tonight seems different. Usually, he can eventually drift off. He may only get an hour or so, but it’s something. Tonight, he can’t drift off even for a second.

Usually he places the blame on that stupid fucking inner voice, or on his thoughts, but tonight there’s no voice and there’s no pattern or logic to his thoughts. There’s no vaguely coherent process to work through that may allow him to finally shut off and go to sleep.

His thoughts are both a mess and completely void, and that’s more stressful than the overthinking is.

He alternates between lying on his bed, sitting at his desk, and working out, until the sun comes up and the birds sing their far-too-chirpy morning song.

His small alarm clock (which has never actually been used as an alarm clock) tells him it’s 5am, and he still has a good few hours before classes start. He opts to go running for an hour, enjoying the freedom of the completely empty grounds, before getting back to the dorms at 6am for a shower.

He still has two hours until class, and he is more than happy to spend those entire two hours in the shower.

 

Nobody else seems to be awake, allowing him to venture down to the shower room undisturbed and bask himself in the blistering heat of the water.

He washes his hair and body almost robotically until he’s done. The hot water runs over him in blissfully pleasant torrents and he just stands there, revelling in the isolation. The only sound is the echo of water droplets and it’s the quietest he’s experienced in a long time.

In the blink of an eye, the steam from the shower has filled the room and he finds he can’t recall how long he’s been in here.

As sudden anxiety spikes within him, a door creaks nearby and he jumps.

“Hello?”

Bakugou recognises Ojiro’s unwelcome voice instantly, and his blissful peace fades even faster. He turns off the shower and dries himself wordlessly, pulling on a pair of joggers and a t-shirt before emerging from the cubicle. Ojiro is stood by the sinks when he comes out, looking strangely guilty.

“What?” Bakugou demands.

Ojiro shrugs. “Sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Bakugou sighs softly. “You… you weren’t fucking disturbing me.”

He brushes passed Ojiro without another word, although he can feel the taller boy’s eyes fixed on him as he leaves.

He’s getting sick of that feeling.

Real fucking sick of it.

 

*

 

The day drags and he has absolutely no willpower to focus, but the opportunity to slack off today has been robbed from him. Aizawa has forced them all into groups to create a presentation about different topics.

His team, consisting of Ashido, Jirou, Ojiro, and Todoroki, are to present a piece about how media portrayal impacts public perception of Pro-Heroes.

Bakugou is convinced it’s a dig at his personality but he just can’t find it within him to care. Not that he particularly cared before about what people think of him.

But now he’s trapped in the library with his team and it’s getting progressively harder to ignore them all.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Ashido admits. “Academics isn’t really my strong suit.”

“Me neither,” Jirou agrees.

Ojiro smiles. “It’s okay though, because we’ve got one of the top three students with us!”

All eyes fall upon Bakugou, and he glares at them all from his slouched position on his chair. His arms are crossed over his chest, holding himself so tightly he thinks he might shatter if he loosens up.

“I’m not doing all the fucking work,” Bakugou snaps.

“We don’t expect you to,” Todoroki responds. “But I’m sure you’ll have no problem pointing out when we’ve got something wrong.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Todoroki blinks. “Nothing. You’ll simply know when we’re wrong because you’re good at these things.” He frowns a little, his eyes scrutinising Bakugou. “What did you think I meant?”

Bakugou huffs but doesn’t dignify Todoroki with a response. Instead, he straightens up and drags a scrap piece of paper from the centre of the table and begins to scribble down on it.

Within a few minutes, he’s hashed out instructions for each person in the group with their own areas of the subject to study and write on.

“There,” he says sharply, slamming the paper back into the centre of the table. “Research your bit and we’ll fucking put it all together after.”

Ashido clasps her hands together and grins. “I love working with you, Blasty! Guaranteed good grades!”

“I fucking carry you.”

“And I’ll happily be carried by you forever.”

“Eat shit.”

“Oh so romantic.”

Jirou immediately begins tapping away on her phone, starting her research, when she lets out a loud groan. “Ugh we have hero training next.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Bakugou questions, already jotting down some key notes for his section.

“It’s exhausting,” Jirou comments. “And I can’t be bothered today.”

Ashido sighs. “Oh, you see, Blasty can’t relate to that. Blasty could be half-conscious and he’d still be up for a fight.”

Ojiro perks up at that. “That’s a point. I thought you’d be more tired than you are.”

Bakugou raises a single eyebrow, his attention diverted from his work. “Why?”

“Well, I was up early and I’m knackered. You were up way before me.”

Bakugou tenses, suddenly feeling very exposed by the blond. He catches Ashido, Todoroki, and Jirou watching him curiously and his skin crawls.

“And?” he demands. “Is there a fucking reason you’re policing what time I wake up?”

Ojiro raises his hands in surrender. “No, not at all! I… I was just impressed, that’s all. I hate waking up early.”

Bakugou doesn’t respond to that, returning his focus to the work and waiting patiently for the eyes to stop watching him.

Except they don’t because someone behind him is looking at him. He glances over his shoulder and locks eyes with some girl he doesn’t recognise. She’s glaring at him so deeply, so cruelly, that his palms begin to crackle in preparation.

Her head then drops down to face her textbook and he relaxes his hands, heart pounding with anxiety.

Get used to it.

He huffs at the voice and puts his headphones on, hoping to block out the world.

 

*

 

Heroics is pretty easy going today. They’re given free range to practice one-on-one sparring or lone training, something Bakugou is particularly grateful for.

He likes sparring, but today he just can’t bring himself to bother with others. He’s already been forced into a group activity by Aizawa once today and he refuses to be forced into it again.

Aizawa asks for hands up from anyone who wishes to practice alone and Bakugou’s hand is in the air before the man can finish his sentence. Todoroki also raises his hand.

They’re the only ones in the class who do.

Aizawa nods, respecting their wishes, and directs them to a separate part of the training arena where they would be out of harm’s way from the others.

Once situated, Aizawa turns to leave and Todoroki frowns.

“You’re leaving us?” he questions. “Unattended?”

Aizawa scoffs. “Not a chance. Midnight will be watching over you.”

He nods upwards, where Midnight is sat casually upon a low-rise false building watching them with a smile. She waves with one hand, a croissant in the other.

Bakugou feels a strange swirl of something deep in his chest when he sees her, the same sensation he’s had every time he sees her since the sports festival. Ever since she took away his ability to speak, to move, to argue about the goddamn restraints.

The anger builds, swelling and heat up deep inside, and he curls his fingers into fists as his palms crackle.

You deserved it.

“Bakugou.”

He turns back, finding both Todoroki and Aizawa watching him. “What?”

“I said you’re not to do too much damage, but if you two do end up wanting to spar, you’re free to do it with each other. Okay?”

Bakugou nods. Aizawa stares at him for another moment, his expression utterly blank yet completely scrutinising, and it makes Bakugou feel exposed all over again.

And then the man turns on his heel and disappears from sight, and Bakugou releases a breath of relief.

 

He spends the hour practicing small, controlled explosions with the intention of using them to effectively dig people out of rubble.

See, I can be a fucking hero.

If you don’t blow up the civilians in the process.

The thought sends a shudder down his spine and he abruptly stops his explosions, ignoring the tingle in his palms, and stares at the pile of rubble he’d been attacking. There was a small doll under there that he’d taken from the supply room, acting as his civilian.

Images of torn limbs and burned clothes flooded his mind and he swallows down the lump in his throat.

“Bakugou?”

He flinches at the sound of Midnight’s voice, to his annoyance, and he turns to find her watching him intently from her perch above them.

“What?” he demands, not caring if he appears rude.

“Just checking you’re still with us. You haven’t moved for a few minutes,” she comments.

She likes it when you can’t move. When she can control you. They all do.

He doesn’t dignify her with a verbal response, instead huffing and turning his back on her. He can feel Todoroki watching him intently from his place further away but Bakugou pays him no mind.

His thoughts go back to the doll, to the images of its mangled form and how easily that could be a real person, and he starts to feel sick.

Is this how All-Might felt? When he came to save your sorry ass?

The nausea rapidly worsens and he swallows thickly. He forms a circle with one hand directly over his palm and sends a small burst of an explosion at the slab of concrete closest. To his relief, it cracks down the middle but the damage goes no further, and he immediately rushes over and drags one half of the concrete away. He feels it cut into his fingers, notices the sudden bright red of blood smearing across the grey, but he doesn’t focus on that.

He lets the concrete drop, wincing at the shake of the ground beneath his feet, and finally lays eyes on the doll.

It’s covered in dust and grime, and its face is a little distorted from the weight, but there are no burns and no singes.

“Well done,” Aizawa speaks up, startling Bakugou out of his relieved stupor. “For figuring out a way to use a combative quirk to rescue rather than harm.”

Bakugou shrugs. “Be a pretty shitty hero if I couldn’t save people from shit like this.”

Aizawa shrugs, nodding a little in agreement. “I hope you know you’re gonna be practising this a whole lot now.”

Bakugou nods and feels a swell of pride as Aizawa gives him a quick smile before ordering him and Todoroki to join the rest of the class.

 

 

“You all did well today. It’s good to see,” Aizawa debriefs, his voice devoid of emotion despite his positive words. “Kaminari, I was happy to see you up your voltage without causing damage to yourself. It’s a refreshing change to see you walk out of here rather than being dragged out drooling.”
Kaminari rubs the back of his head, his cheeks blushing a little. “It’s a work in progress.”

“Also, Bakugou managed to utilise his quirk in a purely rescue scenario, without causing damage to the civilian. It was good to see, and I expect to see all of you getting creative with your quirks to utilise them in vastly different survival and rescue situations.” He nods. “Okay. You’re all dismissed. Go home.”

 

*

 

“Hey.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, reluctantly pulling his headphones off before he could even attempt to put his music on. Todoroki appears at his side, looking completely disinterested in having a conversation despite being the one to instigate it.

“What?” Bakugou questions.

Kirishima, Ashido, Sero, and Kaminari all close in on him too and he fights the urge to run, longing for some fucking quiet.

“You don’t like Midnight,” Todoroki observes.

Bakugou frowns, slowing in his fast pace. “What?”

“I could tell,” Todoroki continues. “The way you looked at her whenever she spoke to you. You don’t like her.”

“What’s this?” Kaminari interjects from behind. “Bakugou doesn’t like Midnight?”

“Bakugou doesn’t like anyone,” Mineta pipes up from somewhere unseen. “No surprise there.”

“Actually I do,” Bakugou snaps. “I just don’t like you.”

He lifts his hands a little, allowing his palms to emit just enough sparks and pops to intimidate Mineta, who quickly appears from his hiding spot behind the group and scuttles off.

“So really, you don’t like Midnight?” Ashido asks. “Why not?”

Bakugou glances at her, noting genuine curiosity and not anger or pity or whatever else he’s come to expect, and sighs.

“I have my reasons,” he answers.

Todoroki nods. “I wasn’t asking for your reasons. It was simply an observation. But if you really dislike her, you could request another teacher to observe you during classes like today.”

“Fuck no,” Bakugou snaps. Because that would be showing weakness, wouldn’t it? And you can’t show weakness. Otherwise, what did All-Might die for? “No.”

He storms ahead, promptly ignoring his friends as they begin to debate the possible reasons for his dislike for Midnight. Todoroki is unnervingly quiet, and Bakugou doesn’t like that.

 

The moment he’s free from scrutinising eyes, he goes running.

 

He runs until his inner voice is silenced, until his thoughts stop racing, until the twisting sensation in his chest dissipates.

 

It always comes back. But for now, with the wind in his hair and a burn in his legs, it all stops.

 

 

Chapter 2

Notes:

tw for sexual assault and self-harm

Well prove to me
I'm not gonna die alone
Unstitch that shit I've sewn
To close up the hole that tore through my skin

                                                           - The Antlers

 

 

Bakugou hasn’t slept in a few days.

He’s not entirely sure what’s changed.

Granted, he hasn’t been sleeping well at all since Kamino, but this is ridiculous. It’s 2am, the world around him utterly silent, and he can’t even drift off for a second.

By 4am, he’s finished the research for his section of the group project.

By 5am, he’s out in the cool early morning air running until his feet burn.

He hasn’t, in all honesty, felt much since Kamino. The ache in his chest as his lungs overcompensate for the exercise, the burn in his muscles and bones and joints. It’s all so goddamn familiar. There’s a less familiar sting in his hands, around his fingers, but he ignores it and keeps on running.

At 6am, he finally returns to the dorms. The communal area is quiet so he jumps at the chance to make coffee in peace, undisturbed, and escapes to his room before he sees anyone.

Of course, the universe doesn’t like him quite that much.

He turns the corner from the lift, his room in sight, when Kirishima’s door swings open and the redhead stumbles out rubbing his eyes. He startles upon seeing Bakugou and nearly falls backwards.

“Bakugou!” he gasps. “You scared the hell out of me!” He glances down, noting Bakugou’s joggers and trainers, and frowns. “Have you been out running? Dude, it’s 6am.”

“Yeah, exactly, so what the fuck are you doing up?” Bakugou demands, expertly turning the tables.

Kirishima’s cheeks flush and he scratches the back of his head. “I uh… I may have fallen out of bed. A little bit. Maybe.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes and heads to his room, his coffee calling out to him. He can feel Kirishima’s eyes on him, like always, before he closes his door and blocks the world out yet again.

 

*

 

By the afternoon, the sheer lack of sleep catches up. He’s irritable and his eyes are itching and he wants to be anywhere but here.

To make matters worse, their next class is Art History, with none other than Midnight.

She’s late and Aizawa is elsewhere, giving the students a bit of time to themselves. Iida tries to control them but naturally, none of them listen.

Bakugou is content to wait it out by staring out of the window but his friends don’t allow for that and insist on standing by his desk and making idle conversation.

Bakugou wishes they’d all shut up.

He’s not entirely sure what they’re talking about, and he hasn’t quite managed to click into the conversation yet. Every time he tries, he finds himself drifting off into his own little world.

“Oi.”

Something clicks in front of his face and he flinches, glaring up at the hand’s owner. Sero retracts the limb and frowns.

“You’re ignoring us,” Sero comments.

“I always ignore you,” Bakugou retorts.

Ashido pouts. “What’s up with you today, Blasty? You seem particularly grumpy today.”

“Nothing,” Bakugou responds, crossing his arms. “Just thinking of the million other things I could be doing with my time than sitting here waiting for this bullshit class to start.”

“You don’t like art history?” Kirishima questions with a gasp. “Don’t you find it interesting?”

“Not even a fucking little bit.”

He rolls his eyes and glances over the class, finding Todoroki watching him.

You spoke too damn loud.

Bakugou turns away and focuses his attention on a spot at the front of the class, until the door opens and Midnight walks in. The other students all scramble to get to their seats before she says anything, and Bakugou crosses his arms more tightly.

She glances at him and that same heat swells in his chest. He looks away from her and aims to do so until class is dismissed.

He’s passing the class with flying colours anyway.

He just needs to make it to the end of the class and then he can escape to the gym.

 

He’s not that lucky.

Apparently, the universe has it out for him today.

“Bakugou, can I talk to you?”

Midnight’s voice cuts through like a knife and he longs for the ground to swallow him up. He watches, with some reluctance, as his classmates filter out of the room. He slowly makes his way to the desk, his bag clutched over his shoulder tightly. Behind him, he can hear Todoroki very slowly putting his stuff away.

There’s a strange relief that floods through Bakugou’s entire being, knowing somebody else is here, and he resents that for a moment.

So fucking weak. Scared of a fucking teacher.

“You seemed a bit distracted today,” Midnight says. “Everything okay?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sure? You can always talk to me if you need to.”

Bakugou huffs, dismayed by the slight shake in it. “Don’t need to.”

Midnight doesn’t offer her usual nonchalant smile. She stares at Bakugou with the same level of scrutiny that everyone seems to be giving him at the moment before nodding.

“Okay,” she says finally. “You know where I am if that changes.”

Bakugou scoffs under his breath, but the slight frown in her brows tells him she heard. He turns his back on her and storms out of the room before she has the opportunity to say anything else. Within seconds, Todoroki is by his side.

 

Neither of them speak for the duration of the walk back to the dorms. Bakugou will never tell Todoroki, but he’s grateful for the silence.

He’s grateful for Todoroki’s presence.

Then and now.

When they get to the dorms, their classmates are still in the communal area, having got back just minutes before. Bakugou’s heart sinks a little at the busyness, but he proceeds through the crowd anyway towards the lift.

“Hey,” Todoroki calls out before he can get in the lift.

They’re away from the others, so Bakugou entertains him.

“What?” he asks, without any of his usual aggression.

“If you need someone there, if she tries to speak to you on your own, I won’t judge. Or tell anyone.”

Bakugou frowns. He wants to argue, tell him to fuck off, but he can’t bring himself to. “Why?”

Todoroki shrugs. “I know what it’s like to have your trust broken by an adult who’s supposed to watch over you.”

Bakugou doesn’t thank him. He doesn’t argue or tell him to fuck off. He simply nods, and Todoroki nods back.

Then they part ways at the lift, and Bakugou feels a slight weight off his shoulders.

 

He falls asleep that night and he dreams of blood, and screaming, and All-Might crumbling into dust.

 

*

 

Eyes stinging with exhaustion, Bakugou can think of a million other things he’d rather be doing right now. Mostly, he’d like to be sleeping.

He can already feel the comfort of the pillow beneath his head, can already feel the relief of closing his goddamn eyes.

Then a flash of All-Might, skin cracking and body crumbling, floods his head and suddenly he’s fully awake.

English class is still ongoing, his classmates all blissfully unaware of the horrific image repeating in his mind. For a moment he envies them.

And then his eyes fall upon Midoriya, who has a perpetually saddened expression now despite how much he still smiles, and guilt replaces the brief panic.

You’re not the only one upset. Man up already.

“Hey, Bakugou,” Kirishima’s voice draws him in and he looks over. “You want to team up for Heroics if we can?”

Bakugou sighs softly and shrugs. “Sure, whatever.”

Kirishima beams, sharp teeth bared as he grins, and he begins to put his things back into his bag.

“Alright, listeners!” Hizashi says, standing up and smiling. “No assignments today! Just keep rocking and don’t break any bones in Heroics today!”

Midoriya straightens at that, as the teacher locks eyes with him, and nods enthusiastically.

Hizashi dismisses everyone and Bakugou hastily packs his bag and darts for the door, Kirishima close behind.

“I’m so excited for this today,” he announces unprompted. Bakugou doesn't bother telling him to be quiet. His voice is remarkably less jarring to his aching head compared to certain others in his class. “I can’t wait to just go for it and fight someone!”

Bakugou smiles weakly, but he can’t disagree.

There’s something so freeing about letting go and going all out during their Heroics classes.

He walks in silence with Kirishima, letting the redhead chatter on about new moves he’s been trying out, and tries to focus his attention on today’s class.

 

Class isn’t quite as energetic as Bakugou had hoped. Instead, it’s simply one on one quirk-less sparring.

Bakugou doesn’t complain though.

“Man, it’s gonna be weird fighting you without our quirks,” Kirishima says as they get into position in their assigned fighting area of the training grounds.

Bakugou shrugs. “It’s good to practice your fighting skills outside of your quirk. If you’re too reliant on it and shit hits the fan, you’re fucked.”

Kirishima falters a little. “Shit being… like losing your quirk?”

That, somehow, doesn’t sit well with Bakugou. He tenses, a nauseating swirling suddenly present in his stomach, and he swallows thickly. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Kirishima nods but says nothing further. After a pause, they both getting into their fighting stances. Aizawa, from somewhere nearby, commences the sparring session, and away they go.

 

It goes well, for the most part. Bakugou floors Kirishima multiple times, until the sheer exhaustion begins to catch up. He fights it back, blinking furiously and trying to ignore the burning behind his eyes, when Kirishima kicks out. His foot catches Bakugou’s ankle and pulls the limb from under him. In the tired blink of an eye he’s on his back, the force of the fall winding him.

“Oh damn!” Kirishima exclaims. “Oh man! I can’t believe I floored you!”

Bakugou grumbles under his breath and sits himself up, ribs protesting the movement. Kirishima notices his slow response and any celebratory smiles on his face fade into worry.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Fucking fine, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou retorts, rejecting Kirishima’s offer of a hand up and clambering to his feet. “Let’s go again.”

It happens again. And again. And again. He’s doing well, keeping Kirishima at a distance and blocking his attacks, when his thoughts just…. drift.

He’s pulled back by a heavy fist to the face and the floor comes shooting towards him. He can hear Kirishima celebrating above him but all he can focus on is the twisting shame in his stomach.

Fucking weak. All-Might died for this?

 

*

 

He doesn’t go back to the dorms with the rest of the students after class is dismissed, instead heading straight to the gym.

He does laps of the gym, running until his calf muscles scream in protest, and then turns to the punching bags.

With each punch, flashes of All-Might’s face fill his mind.

You did this. This is your fault.

“I know,” he mutters, his voice faltering with each heavy punch.

You killed him.

“I know.”

You can’t do anything right.

“I know.”

He died for nothing.

Bakugou’s vision blacks out for a second as his knuckles crunch against the bag, sudden pain radiating down every finger and down his wrist. His knees almost buckle, legs shaking with the shock, but by some miracle he remains upright.

His knuckles are split, blood smeared across his hand and bruising already visible across the joints and down his fingers.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Shit, shit, shit. You fucking idiot.”

He gathers his things with his left hand and holds his right hand to his chest, pain pulsating with every second that goes by. It’s already gone 9pm, meaning Recovery Girl will have gone home for the night, and only nurses without healing quirks are left in the school.

You’re on your own, idiot.

With a heavy sigh and his hand clutched to his chest, he heads back to the dorms. They’re thankfully quiet, owing to the time, so he manages to avoid coming into contact with anyone.

The pain continues to radiate as he locks himself away in his room, the bruising becoming increasingly more vibrant and the slightest movement causing waves of pain akin to electric shocks through his system.

You deserve it.

He doesn’t argue.

 

*

 

He manages a few hours dreamless sleep and wakes feeling particularly unrested. His knuckles still pulsate with pain, the skin now a bright array of blues and purples. He can move his fingers, to his relief, but not without nausea swiftly making its presence known.

You fucking idiot.

The fingers on his left hand are marred with scratches from training the other day, something he’s failed to see until now. On his right, the scratches blend into the fresh bruising.

Didn’t even notice, you fucking moron.

The voice makes him flinch, despite himself, and he scrambles out of bed to shower.

 

*

 

Nobody disturbs him today, to his relief. It’s hard enough showering with one hand out of commission without someone invading his privacy too.

At 8am, uniform on and bag packed, he makes his way down to the kitchen to make himself a quick coffee before he faces Recovery Girl. To his dismay, he’s not alone.

Midoriya, Uraraka, and Momo are sat at the table with cups of tea in front of them and talking quietly. At the sofas, Koda and Sato are watching television while Shoji, Hagakure, and Tokoyami pack their bags.

“Fuck,” Bakugou utters before he can stop himself.

A few eyes fall on him, his voice catching their attention. They only spare a quick glance at him before looking away, but it’s enough to emphasise the nice dose of anxiety swirling around in his head right now.

“Kacchan!” Midoriya greets, a little more brightly today.

Bakugou grunts as an acknowledgement and turns his back on them, beginning to brew his coffee. Midoriya doesn’t say anything further, freeing Bakugou to focus on making a coffee one handed.

“Bakugou?” Momo addresses from behind him.

“What?” Bakugou retorts tiredly.

“You look tense. Are you hurt?”

Bakugou sighs. “I’m fucking fine, Ponytail.”

He finishes pouring his coffee into a mug and drains it in one go, barely noticing the heat as it scolds his mouth.

Good job. How the fuck are you gonna wash it one-handed?

As though reading his mind, Momo appears at his side.

“Do you need- Bakugou!” Her eyes are fixed on the bruised mess that are his knuckles. “Oh my god, what happened?”

“Fucking nothing. Back off, alright?”

Momo sighs heavily. “Bakugou, what happened? Did you get into a fight?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou snaps back. “With a fucking punching bag. It was a training accident, alright? Just get off my back.”

“You can’t possibly function with your hand like that. You’re right-handed, aren’t you? How are you going to write if you can’t even pick up a mug?”

“I’m going to Recovery Girl now, alright? I just wanted a fucking coffee first.”

Momo gently takes the mug from him and begins to wash it, eyes flicking back to his injured hand every few seconds. Bakugou growls under his breath but he doesn’t protest. He knows there’s no point.

“You should take today off,” she suggests. “You’ll be tired after healing.”

Bakugou responds by turning his back on her and storming out of the dorms.

He knows it’s childish, but he’s in too much pain and too exhausted to care.

 

*

 

“What on Earth did you do now?” Recovery Girl immediately has very little patience for Bakugou, and he can’t blame her. He’s here nearly as much as Midoriya. “Is Aizawa pushing you all too much again? I swear, that man needs to remember that you are children.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Bakugou answers. “I was training on my own after school. Hit a punching bag too hard.”

Recovery Girl scoffs. “Hard is an understatement. Bakugou, you’ve broken two of your knuckles.”

Bakugou frowns, glancing down at the injury. The knuckles are skinned, bright red in place of his usual pale skin, and deep bruising extending down his fingers and up to his wrist. On closer inspection, the bruising is worse down his middle and index fingers.

“Oh.”

Recovery Girl sighs softly. “You’ve hurt your other hand, too. Although those cuts look older.”

“That happened the other day. Rescue training. I didn’t think it was worth your attention at the time and then I forgot about it.”

The woman glances at him, a strange softness in her expression that makes Bakugou a little uncomfortable. “Don’t be daft, Bakugou. It’s always worth my attention, even if all I do is clean it up a little.”

Bakugou frowns, bowing his head for a moment.

You’re not worth her attention, don’t lie to yourself.

Recovery Girl clears her throat and fixes a smile on her face. “Now then! Let’s get healing!”

 

*

 

Bakugou walks through his homeroom door half an hour late and immediately meets Aizawa’s confused eyes. Aizawa summons him to the front, the rest of his classmates sitting with their heads down working on some assignment in silence.

“Recovery Girl messaged me,” he says. “What happened?”

Bakugou frowns. “Nothing. I hit a punching bag too hard.”

Aizawa nods slowly. “Okay. I would recommend that you go back to the dorms and rest but I know that will fall on deaf ears. So instead, please just take it easy. There’s no Heroics training today so you’re not missing out by resting.”

Bakugou nods and returns to his seat. His hand is still bruised, but it’s faded significantly and the pain is completely gone. In a few hours, the bruising will have gone too.

Kirishima watches him as he sits, concern written clearly across his face, but he thankfully stays quiet and allows Bakugou to catch up with their work.

 

The silence ends at lunch break, though.

“What happened to your hand?!” Kirishima demands as they sit down in the cafeteria.

“Yeah, that looks bad!” Sero agrees.

Ashido shakes her head. “Momo said it was worse this morning.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “It’s not a fucking big deal. I broke a few knuckles training last night. Recovery Girl healed it. What’s the fucking problem?”

The group are silent, staring at him with a mixture of confusion and horror.

“You… you broke your hand, and you don’t see it as a big deal?” Kaminari questions. “How did you even manage that?”

“I hit a fucking punching bag,” Bakugou states for what feels like the millionth time that day.

Kirishima nods. “Okay let’s leave him alone now. I bet you’re tired as hell after that healing.”

Bakugou huffs, but his silence is enough of an answer for Kirishima.

“Okay!” Ashido says, abruptly changing the subject. “I’m gonna ask Aizawa for permission to go out this weekend! I’m assuming he’ll want a leaving time and a return time, so we’ll have to plan our movements well.”

“I wanna go to the games shop,” Sero announces.

“Me too!” Kaminari agrees.

Bakugou lets himself drift from the conversation, poking at his food with disinterest. The exhaustion creeps in, a headache building behind his eyes and an ache in his body that makes him want to curl up and pass out.

That would be weak of you.

Bakugou mentally agrees.

 

*

 

They’re given permission to go out, as long as they stay together and keep their phones and locations on at all times. Bakugou isn’t sure if the idea thrills him all that much, but the others are overwhelmingly happy so he keeps his negativity quashed down. Their excitement only heightens when they get to the train station on the Saturday morning, loudly discussing where they’re going to go and what they’re going to buy.

“Which train is ours?” Kaminari asks, bounding up to Bakugou and invading his personal space.

“Next one,” Bakugou answers. Five minutes.”

Kaminari nods and salutes, to which Bakugou rolls his eyes, before bouncing back towards Kirishima, Ashido, and Sero who are sat on the bench behind Bakugou. He’s by the edge of the platform, hands in his pocket and hood pulled over his head.

He opted for a black hoodie, hoping it’d stop him being recognised, but he knew that would be a pipe dream. He can already feel eyes on him from his left. Three young kids, all glaring at him with so much hate that it sends a shudder down his spine.

Even the League didn’t look at you like that.

His palms crackle from inside his pockets and he curls his fingers into fists, feeling the warmth emitting from the centre. Not enough to burn, but certainly enough to take notice of.

He hears the train before he sees it, relief flooding through him, and the others all crowd him as they wait for it to pull up.

It’s busy, forcing Bakugou to sit beside a stranger as the other four pile into a four seater corner adjacent to him.

Bakugou keeps a slight distance between himself and the man beside him and focuses on the floor in front of him. He can hear Kirishima’s voice but it’s barely audible over the numerous people talking across the train, so he makes no effort to listen. He loses himself in the rumble of the engine for a good ten minutes, the mindless buzz of conversation around him acting as white noise as he drifts away into thoughts he can’t quite grasp onto.

“Hey.”

Bakugou jumps, finding the man looking at him. He’s smiling softly, his hands folded neatly across his lap, and watching Bakugou with interest.

Bakugou frowns. “Uh… hey.”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re that kid from UA, right? You won the sports festival?”

Bakugou swallows the lump building in his throat and shoves his hands back in his pocket as they begin to crackle again. “Yeah.”

The man nods. “I was rooting for you the whole time.” He sighs softly. “It was a shame what happened to All-Might. But I suppose that’s the job, isn’t it?”

Bakugou’s entire body is tense, his jaw clenching so hard that his teeth grind together painfully. He glances towards his friends but they seem blissfully unaware of his discomfort. He doesn’t know why he’s so uncomfortable. The man is being polite, and yet Bakugou’s fight or flight response is in overdrive.

Something is wrong. Something is wrong.

“At least you made it out,” the man continues. He’s still smiling. “I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I didn’t have you to watch on my TV.”

Bakugou’s brows furrow. “What?”

“Oh. I attended the sports festival. I filmed your fights. I find them so thrilling. You really are a wonder to watch, do you know that?”
Bakugou’s breathing too fast. His heart is pounding, he’s too hot, his hands are shaking, the train is too damn loud.

Then the man touches him.

He places a hand on Bakugou’s thigh and squeezes it, that goddamn smile still wide on that goddamn face, and Bakugou’s entire body shudders. He jumps to his feet, moving with more speed than he ever thought possible, away from the man. He knocks into the doorway beside Kirishima and turns on his heel.

The man’s smile has widened, something vindictive in his eyes, and Bakugou swallows down the nausea.

“Dude!”

He jumps again, finding his friends all staring at him.

“Bro, are you okay?” Kirishima asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He looks up at the electronic sign, indicating that their stop is next, and shudders out a relieved breath.

“Fucking fine,” he retorts tightly, his teeth still grinding.

Kirishima frowns, clearly not believing him, and briefly looks towards the stranger before the train pulls to a stop.

Bakugou darts off the train, barrelling through the crowds of people waiting to board, and doesn’t stop until he’s out of the station.

The others catch up after a few seconds, each looking considerably concerned.

“What just happened?” Ashido asks. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fucking fine,” Bakugou snaps without much bite.

Kirishima is still frowning. “Did that man do something?”

“It’s nothing. He was just chatting shit.”

He feels sick. Really sick. Kirishima clearly doesn’t believe him, and the other three keep swapping worried glances, and he feels really fucking sick.

 

He makes it until shopping mall toilets before he throws up.

 

He keeps his vomiting episode to himself, thanking Past Bakugou for remembering mints, and follows the others around in silence. They shop for two hours, darting in and out of all the shops they’d planned to check out. Bakugou spends the whole time hanging back, staying close to the other four but simultaneously keeping a close watch of his environment. Kirishima sides with him most of the time, occasionally drawn away by something of interest. Bakugou’s grateful for it.

But like with Todoroki, he’ll never say it.

Bad fucking friend you are.

“I’m tired,” Ashido declares after leaving the final shop. “Can we get a taxi home?”

“Yeah that’ll be so much quicker,” Sero agrees.

Kaminari nods. “And we won’t have to wait around for the trains. It was so damn busy today. Anyone have any change?”

Bakugou knows what they’re doing. They know they’re doing it for his benefit.

He doesn’t complain, though, and he doesn’t disagree, and he knows that’s only giving away the reality that something happened on the train.

He doesn’t care though.

Because the idea of getting back on that train and seeing that freak makes him want to throw up all over again.

He longs for the hateful glare of children again. He’ll take that over the bizarre, twisted, disturbing loyalty of his supposed ‘fan’ any day.

 

*

 

He goes running again that night. Ignores the glances he gets from his classmates as he rushes through the communal area with his headphones on full blast. He catches a few concerned looks from Todoroki and Jirou but he pays it no mind and continues onwards, breaking into a run the moment he’s out of the door.

He can’t be weak. He can’t let All-Might die for nothing.

That man didn’t think it was for nothing.

Nausea takes a tight grip on him once more and he runs even faster, feet pounding against the concrete floor and vibrating into his skull. He can feel the hand pressed against his thigh, can see that goddamn smile.

Weak.

 

 

Notes:

"will you ever give bakugou a break?"
no no i won't

 

unrelated to the story but if anyone is low on funds (like me) and still wants to help the BLM movement, watch https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCgLa25fDHM all ad revenue goes towards bail funds, funeral payments, and various advocacy groups.
stay strong, stay safe, and keep fighting

Chapter 3

Notes:

warning for depictions of self-harm and general unpleasantness

I keep coming back here where everything slipped

But I will not spill my guts out

                                                         -The National

 

 

The library is busy but quiet, students all gathered for various projects and study sessions. Every table is in use and it does nothing to ease the anxiety that’s been bubbling beneath the surface all morning.

Fucking Mondays.

Bakugou tries to remain focused on their work, tries to contain the negativity trying to breach the surface, but it’s easier said than done.

Although their information seems correct, it’s disjointed and messy. He can’t help but wonder what the hell their lone work looks like.

“What’s wrong with it?” Ashido asks, disappointment creeping into her tone.

Bakugou sighs heavily, staring down at the varying paragraphs and notes scribbled down by each classmate. Ojiro watches with anticipation but doesn’t seem at all upset by the idea that it’s poorly done.

“It’s…”

Say something fucking nice for once.

He sighs again. “It’s alright. The information seems right. You’ve got everything right, it’s just… you’ve all got different writing styles so it doesn’t match up.”

Ashido pouts, gazing down at the scribbled notes in the middle of the table. “Oh. I didn’t think about that. Well, we’re doing it as a presentation, right? So does it matter?”

“Yeah it fucking matters,” Bakugou answers, although he somehow manages to keep the harshness out of his voice. “Aizawa wants a written piece submitted alongside it, so it needs to flow.” Nobody responds, and even Todoroki seems put out by that. “I’ll fucking write it. Won’t take me five goddamn minutes. But you guys had better fucking memorise your section. I ain’t losing marks in the presentation because of your fucking ineptitude.”

“We wouldn’t expect you to,” Todoroki says.

“Right. I’m gonna double check some of our statistics. You guys didn’t reference some of these.”

He stands abruptly, sliding his chair back and garnering some level of attention from others in the room. His team put their heads down and begin going over some other homework they’ve been assigned, as he disappears down an aisle of books to find the one he wants.

After a mere few seconds, he feels something shift to his left as someone comes into the aisle.

“How does it feel, knowing you killed the most beloved hero of our time?”

Bakugou takes a moment before looking away from the rows of books to face the person invading his personal space.

He doesn’t recognise him, so he assumes he’s not in 1-B. Bakugou simply turns his attention back to the books and begins pulling out the one he wants.

“Don’t even have the decency to respond?” the boy demands. “Typical. Typical of the Beast of 1-A to ignore a valid point. Can’t take criticism?”

“I can take criticism,” Bakugou retorts. “I just don’t feel like wasting my time listening to your bullshit.”

It’s not bullshit though is it?

“It was your fault,” the boy continues. “I watched the video. You didn’t even try to help. You just stood there while All-Might was beaten and then left him to die.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, but he can’t find any words to respond.

The kid is right.

Bakugou can’t even deny it, and the kid knows. He smirks at Bakugou’s silence.

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

“The fuck do you want me to say, man?” Bakugou snaps back. “What exactly are you hoping to achieve?”

The boy shrugs. “Wanna make sure you know what we’re all thinking.”

“Message received, pig breath. Now fuck off.”

The boy smiles again and disappears away, leaving Bakugou alone in the aisle.

The anxiety pulls at him until his skin feels too tight, until his breaths are too heavy, until the aisle is too suffocating.

 

He grabs the first book he finds and heads back to the table. Nobody questions him about his silence, nobody seems to notice the way his leg bounces and his breathing quickens and his heart races.

Nobody even looks at him.

He loses himself in the book, loses himself in the work, loses himself.

 

*

 

The thought of food knocks him sick. The smell gravitates from his friend’s trays and he swallows down the urge to throw up. He hasn’t bothered trying to get some food today. Too many eyes on him, too much noise, too much everything.

So he mindlessly plays a game on his phone and pretends to concentrate on the conversation happening around him instead.

“Aren’t you eating?” Sero asks suddenly, after ten minutes of idle chat, and Bakugou realises he can’t ignore them now.

“Not hungry,” Bakugou answers easily.

He doesn’t miss the way they all exchange looks and he wants to ignore it, but they don’t give him that freedom.

“You never seem to eat with us anymore,” Ashido observes. “When do you eat?”

“At the dorms,” Bakugou responds.

“In the morning?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not enough.”

“I’m not fucking hungry, alright? Get off my back.”

Silence falls upon them suddenly and heavily, and guilt digs its way into his heart with total abandon. They’re looking at him with something akin to annoyance and the guilt strengthens tenfold.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

Kirishima smiles. “It’s okay. We shouldn’t keep pushing you. It’s been a bad few months and it isn’t fair of us to keep pressuring you like that.”

Bakugou nods slowly, unable to find the words to respond.

He’s so damn grateful to Kirishima it actually hurts.

Not that you deserve him.

 

*

 

He goes running earlier that night, and for an extra hour. To make up for the guilt of snapping at the only people who can stand to be around him for any length of time.

By the time he gets back to the dorms, it’s gone 8pm and a few of his classmates are cooking dinner. Tokoyami and Jirou are watching some sort of horror film that briefly piques his interest, while Momo and Iida drink tea at the table. Koda and Sato are cooking with Mineta, although the shorter boy seems to be doing nothing more than critiquing their abilities.

His presence immediately angers Bakugou, so he skips the kitchen and darts straight for the showers.

 

The hot water batters against his bare skin, rendering it red, and he can almost feel the guilt and anger and anxiety burning away.

Except for his leg.

He can feel the phantom hand wrapped around his thigh, pressing calloused and unwelcome fingers into the muscle. He shudders, scrubbing at the skin until the sensation is torn away and replaced by fresh grazing.

It stings, but it’s better than the ghostly sensation of cold, unwanted hands touching him.

Like Midnight, like the League, like the stranger.

 

*

 

He wakes up at 3am in a cold sweat, hands shaking and head thudding and heart pumping, to find All-Might in his room.

Standing there, perfectly still, his clenched fists to his hips in a proud and powerful pose with his usual huge smile.

Perfectly straight white teeth visible, clenched together.

Bakugou can’t move, can’t look away, can’t breathe, as the smile fades into a grimace. His muscular arms drop to his sides and the muscles fade away from his biceps, his torso, his legs. His cheeks sink in, sickly gauntness replacing his old healthy complexion. His eyes sink in, dark rings circling them. Those lifeless eyes meet Bakugou’s, and he tries to speak.

Blood trickles out of his mouth instead of words, and a loud crack echoes as his face splits.

Then his arm.

Then his chest.

Then his whole body begins to crumble yet again and he falls to pieces. Bakugou wants to scream but he can’t make a sound, a single tear trickling down his cheek as he fights for breath and fights to move.

“You did this.”

“You should’ve just said yes.”

“You always fight everyone. Just say yes.”

Something grabs his neck. His leg. His arms. Invisible hands grab at him and he can’t say no and he can’t shout and he can’t fucking move

 

A raspy, rabid gasp rips from his throat as he drags himself upright and stumbles clumsily off his bed. He hits the floor, his legs not quite agreeing to the movement, as his palms crackle loudly.

“Shut up,” he growls out with gritted teeth, his voice shaking. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.”

He slams his hands against his own leg to muffle the building crackling emitting from his palms, the heat growing stronger and the crackling getting louder until searing pain erupts from his right leg and everything stops.

 

He stays sat on the floor, in the dark, his stomach swirling and his head pounding, as his leg screams and burns. He’s in boxers but he doesn’t dare to look down.

Can’t bring himself to look at the damage.

A knock at the door shocks him out of his pain-induced stupor and he shakes himself awake.

“What?” he shouts.

“I… I uh… I heard an explosion,” Kirishima’s voice calls through. “I wanted to make sure you were awake.”

Bakugou shudders, his breaths too shaky and his hands trembling. “I burned a hole in my bed in my sleep. No big deal.”

There’s a moment of quiet and for a pain-staking second, Bakugou is adamant the redhead is about to report him to Aizawa. Instead, Kirishima laughs.

“That’s cool. I put my hand through my wall the other day. Don’t tell Aizawa though.”

Bakugou smiles weakly, an unsightly contrast to the tears now tumbling down his face.

“Sorry for waking you up,” Bakugou says quietly.

“It’s cool bro,” Kirishima responds. “Just try not to blow up any more of your bed or Aizawa will be pissed.”

He waits until he hears Kirishima’s door close again before he lets out another shuddering and tearful breath.

His leg is burned, the skin blistering and bruised. His left leg is red and inflamed still from his episode in the shower, almost resembling road rash, but it’s nothing compared to the burn.

He cleans up his latest injury with the first aid kit he keeps in his desk, bandages it, and sits on his floor with his back up against the cold wall in silence. His room seems both too vast and yet too constricting all at the same time, and he can't bring himself to look back at the spot that All-Might was stood in. 

Instead, he shuffles towards his sliding door and peers through a gap in the blinds. 

He stays there until the sun rises, until the burning fades, until he can't feel All-Might's presence behind him.

Until the tears trickling down his cheeks finally dry up.

Notes:

only a short one today :)

Chapter 4

And lately it’s been hard

They’re selling me for parts

                                                     - Alexander 23

 

 

Bakugou is beyond exhausted. He’s not sure how long he slept for last night, but after seeing All-Might stood in his room he was unable to drift back off.

Even his hateful inner voice didn’t blame him for that one.

And now he’s sat in their homeroom awaiting Aizawa’s undoubtedly late entrance, trying to blur out the unnecessary and endless noise around him.

It’s not a special Wednesday. It’s nobody’s birthday, no special event, no special news. There’s no logical reason for everyone to be so damn upbeat today.

Bakugou doesn’t really want to ruin everyone’s apparent happiness but the dull thumping in his skull, alongside the irritating burn in his leg, is making it hard to ignore.

He rests his head in his hands, closing his eyes to the world and trying to focus on the white noise of the blood rushing in his ears, but his classmates’ loud voices break through it. They get louder and louder, outmatching the impossibly loud beating of his own heart, until his legs bounce and his head screams and tension ripples through him like a wave.

“God, can you all shut up?!” he demands before he can hold back, speaking through gritted teeth.

The room falls silent, all eyes on him in shock.

“Alright, chill,” Mineta retorts after a brief pause, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“I suppose we were being a little loud,” Momo sheepishly agrees. “Sorry, Bakugou.”

Kaminari, naturally, cannot hold back participating. “Never thought you’d be the one to tell everyone off for being too loud, Blasty.”

“Trust me,” Bakugou snips back, his head still in his hands. “The irony is not fucking lost on me. But right now my head is pounding and I don’t need you fuckers making it worse.”

Kaminari doesn’t respond, simply nodding in understanding and sitting back in his seat. The room falls quiet, just a low murmur of conversation now audible, when something taps his arm. With a small grunt he lifts his head and turns to find Jirou staring at him, her hand outstretched.

In her hand is an unopened packet of Tylenol.

Bakugou looks at the pills, then up at Jirou, with confusion clear across his face. Wordlessly she thrusts the packet towards him again until he finally takes them from her.

“Keep them,” she says. “In case you need more later. I get headaches too. Loud quirks suck, right?”

Bakugou gives a short, quiet laugh and nods, flinching a little when it makes his head hurt even more, and takes two of the Tylenol with a quick swig of his water bottle.

Jirou smiles, oddly proud, and turns to face the front of the class.

Aizawa arrives a few minutes later, and Bakugou proceeds to force himself to focus.

“You’re gonna be spending this class in the library, finishing your group assignments,” Aizawa declares. “Keep in mind that the written portion is due tomorrow. I’ll finalise the presentation slots and announce them in the morning.”

He dismisses them all to the library, and Bakugou takes no notice of the little group that follows him all the way there in silence. It’s not until they sit down at the nearest table, Bakugou choosing a seat in full view of the door, that anybody actually speaks.

“So, how did the writing go?” Todoroki asks. “Do you need any help with it?”

Bakugou pulls a notepad out of his bag and flicks it open to the right page before dropping it into the centre of the table.

“It’s finished,” he says. “Gonna type it up today.”

Todoroki smiles. “Thanks.”

He drags the notepad closer and begins to read the work as Bakugou’s phone begins buzzing incessantly. The ‘bakusquad’ group, named by Ashido, bursts to life, weird joke after weird joke and meme after meme being sent by every single one of them.

Bakugou doesn’t get any of it.

He glares across the table at Ashido, but her attention is focused entirely on her phone, a goofy smile on her face as she giggles at whatever joke she’s sending now.

 

Blasty: Clearly you guys aren’t using this time to finish your work.

 

He puts his phone down and patiently waits for his group to finish reading through the written work. Ashido snorts, still looking down at her phone, and begins to type.

“Did the painkillers kick in?” Jirou asks softly, keeping her voice down.

Bakugou nods. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Jirou smiles before taking the notebook from Ojiro.

“We’re definitely gonna ace this assignment,” Ojiro declares. “Thanks, Bakugou.”

 

Alien queen: love that you use full punctuation in your texts it’s really cute you’re like a boomer

 

Bakugou sighs. “Oi, Pinky, concentrate or I’m scrapping your section of the written work.”

Ashido drops her phone. “No! I’m sorry I’ll be good!” She opens one of her notebooks and grabs a pen from her bag. “See? I’m working hard!”

“Hm.”

Bakugou gives them all another five minutes to finish reading the notes before taking his book back and standing up.  

“Gonna go type it up,” he announces. “I’ll print off copies for you all.”

He doesn’t wait for them to respond, simply grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder as he heads off to find a free computer.

If anyone catches him limping, they say nothing.

Because they don’t care.

 

He’s left alone for the most part, aside from a few dirty looks from other students. He clocks the boy from the other day sitting at a table alone on the other side of the library. The kid doesn’t appear to have noticed him today, which Bakugou is grateful for.

He doesn’t have the energy to deal with that bullshit today.

He finishes typing up the work and heads over to the printers when he becomes very aware of the all-too-familiar sensation of being watched.

Yet again.

The kid from the other day still has his head down, blissfully unaware of the world around him, so Bakugou’s attention is diverted elsewhere. He scans the room, eyes falling upon every single student in there, until he spots a familiar face.

The blond from 1-B, with a vindictive smile and lazy eyes, watches him from his place at his table. He’s sat with a few others from 1-B but Bakugou can’t recall seeing them before.

He returns the stare for a good few seconds before grabbing the printed sheets and heading back to his group. The burn in his leg worsens with every step but he forces himself to persevere, still feeling Monoma’s eyes on him.

“All done?” Ojiro asks as he returns.

Bakugou nods wordlessly and drops the printed copies of the assignment down on the table. They scramble to grab a copy each and carefully pop it into their bags before Ashido sighs softly.

“English next. Ugh. We didn’t have homework did we?”

“No,” Jirou says with a laugh. “Luckily, or you’d be screwed.”

Ashido grins. “Nah, I’d just ask Blasty to help me do it now.”

She turns to the blond expectantly, but his attention is fixed entirely upon Monoma. The 1-B student is still watching him with that godforsaken smile, and anxiety and anger mix together deep in his chest.

“Bakugou?”

Todoroki’s voice manages to break through the trance, but it does nothing to alleviate the everything building up rapidly inside of him.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he announces, grabbing his bag and hastily throwing it over his shoulder.

“Oh,” Jirou says. “Okay. But we’ve got English class in-”

“Don’t wait for me,” Bakugou orders, not waiting for a response before disappearing from the library.

Nobody shouts after him.

Because they don’t care.

 

*

 

The bathroom is, thankfully, empty, although he’s not entirely sure why he thought to escape here. The bathroom is never his escape.

He glances up to catch his reflection in the mirror as he leans against the sink, finding an exhausted and blank figure staring back at him.

The reflection shares his unkempt hair and his sharp features, but something is wrong. The person looking back at him, with those lifeless red eyes, doesn’t look like him.

The anxiety bubbles and builds until his hands shake and he continues staring back into the eyes of this utter stranger, panic threatening to swallow him whole, until the door slams open and startles him out of his panic-induced daze.

Monoma stalks into the bathroom with that same smile still fixed upon his face, except it’s widened now.

“How the mighty have fallen, hey?” he says with a honeyed voice.

“What the fuck do you want?” Bakugou demands.

Monoma smirks. “I think it’s about time you just cut your losses, don’t you? You give this school a bad name and you know it. And now the number one hero has died because of you. Don’t you think it’s about time you just admitted defeat?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes and sighs. “What’s your aim here? Do you think you might suddenly become the top performer in our year group if I quit?” He scoffs. “Get off my back, fuck face.”

“I’ve been watching you recently.”

“Creepy fuck.”

“And you’re slipping, aren’t you? I mean, you’ve always had a tenuous grasp at sanity, but you’re really losing it. I can see it.” Monoma leans in a little, his usual vindictive smile curling into a tooth-baring grin. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me.”

“Fuck off,” Bakugou snaps, pushing Monoma away.

The other boy laughs, shaking his head as he steadies himself. “Go on, run away to Eraserhead. Before we all see how weak you really are.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes again, a desperate attempt to hide the twisting anxiety and nausea.

He’s right and you know it.

“Go fuck yourself,” he spits, shoulder-barging the other boy before swinging the bathroom door open and making his way down the corridor.

He doesn’t look back to see if Monoma follows, but the sensation of being watched tells him everything he needs to know.

The pounding behind his eyes returns, and his chest tightens.

 

*

 

The rest of the class are already back before he arrives, although the clock tells him he still has two minutes before English begins. Everyone’s talking much too loudly as he storms in so he focuses his attention on his chair as an aim, ignoring everyone around him as he makes his way over.

He catches someone say his name but he blanks them completely in favour of sitting down and relieving the pressure on his burning leg.

The truth hurts more than the burns though, doesn’t it?

He presses gently down on his thigh and winces sharply at the sudden pain, the anxiety suddenly forgotten.

“Hey, Bakugou, we’re gonna watch a film tonight. Do you wanna join?” Sero asks from somewhere behind him.

Bakugou eventually relieves the pressure on his leg and shrugs, still not turning around. Sero cheers and reports back to the others, excitedly telling them he’s agreed, and Bakugou doesn’t bother to correct him.

 

English class goes by without any fanfare, as does Maths, and before he knows it, they’re on their way back to the dorms. His leg burns and his headache is back and Monoma’s voice replays in his head like an echo, and all he wants to do is escape.

But he’s surrounded by his friends and classmates, and he knows Aizawa is lurking somewhere nearby.

There’s nowhere to go.

The thought makes his chest seize up and his breath disappear from his lungs for just long enough for panic to sweep through him, until Kirishima places a hand on his shoulder.

“You good?” he asks, his voice tinny and distant.

Bakugou nods slowly and gazes around.

He’s not walking anymore, and neither are his friends. He can’t remember stopping.

“You sure?” Ashido asks. “You just zoned out big time then.”

Bakugou nods again, his head spinning a little. “Yeah, I’m fucking fine.”

His voice doesn’t betray him, to his relief, and they set off walking again back to the dorms. He catches the others glancing in his direction every few seconds but they all remain quiet, and he can’t ask for anything more right now.

 

*

 

He ends up in Kaminari’s room watching some weird American romantic musical that he has very little interest in, although yet again he can’t recall actually getting there. He sits on the end of the bed, leaning back against the wall with Kirishima to his right and Ashido sat on the floor by his feet, staring blankly at the small laptop screen.

The others all seem vaguely invested, even Kaminari, so he doesn’t complain about the choice of genre. Instead, he pretends to focus.

His attention shifts in and out throughout the film, until he can’t recall a single character name nor any plot change whatsoever. Before he knows it, the credits roll and Sero flicks the light on and everyone turns to one another with smiles on their faces.

“What did you think?” Kirishima asks. “Isn’t it good?”

Everyone begins talking over one another, agreeing that they enjoyed it and getting progressively louder with their opinions, until Kirishima’s eyes fall on Bakugou.

“What did you think?” he asks.

Bakugou shrugs. “Not really my thing.”

Ashido pouts a little and then gazes back at the laptop. “Well, do you wanna pick the next film?”

“Yeah man, we’ll watch whatever you want,” Sero agrees.

Bakugou shrugs again. “I don’t care. Pick whatever you want.”

Kaminari raises an eyebrow but he doesn’t push, instead shuffling over to his laptop and putting on the first film that pops up.

Bakugou doesn’t notice what it is. He doesn’t care what it is.

He just doesn’t care.

 

*

 

He can’t sleep again. That all-too-familiar ache is back behind his eyes, itching like grit and daring him to close his eyes

He isn’t even thinking.

He sits at his desk staring out across the courtyard, watching the stars twinkle above with mild interest. As he watches, the sky seems to deepen and darken from a deep blue into an impossibly dark black, so dark he thinks he might get lost in it.

He wants to get lost in it.

God, he wants to get lost in it.

 

*

 

He runs again at 4am. His leg agonises the whole time, the burn scratching and scraping against the material of his joggers, but the pain keeps him grounded, keeps him present. His laser-like focus is on the path ahead, blind to the world around him. Blind to the sun that starts to rise around 5am, blind to the birds that begin their morning song, blind to everything.

Everything except the path in front of him.

What path? You don’t have a fucking path, idiot.

His pace slows to a stop as the voice in his head echoes.

What path? Where the fuck are you going?

“Good question,” he whispers.

He walks back to the dorms, sweat sticking his shirt to his back and his hair plastered to his forehead, and ignores the kitchen in favour of the showers.

It’s not quite 6 yet, so he has the place to himself. He spends thirty minutes stood underneath the hot water with his eyes closed, letting the stream rush over him like a comforting rainfall. He’s vaguely aware of the water catching against his leg, a distantly searing sensation emitting from it, but he doesn’t care.

He only leaves when he hears movement in the corridor outside, putting his joggers on and balling up his damp shirt and trainers before making his way out. Iida is in the lounge, his slippers shuffling against the floor as he makes his way towards the kitchen. He doesn’t seem to notice Bakugou, to his relief, so the blond continues on to the lift and up to his room undisturbed.

He feels, oddly, no anxiety. His days have been a constant stream of panic and racing pulses since All-Might died but not today.

Today, he’s devoid of any anxiety and any anger and any of the heart-wrenching aches he’s been living with.

You know that’s not fucking normal.

He knows. But it’s better than the alternative.

 

*

 

They hand in the written portion of their presentation that morning, and Bakugou spends the rest of the morning focusing just enough to get through his classes. He makes notes when he has to, nods along when the others do, and somehow manages to answer one of Cementoss’s questions correctly, until lunch break finally rolls around.

He follows his friends silently to the cafeteria, contributing to their mindless conversation with nothing more than a forced smile and an eye roll at whatever Kaminari says.

“You gonna eat anything?” Ashido asks as they reach a table and drop their bags down.

Bakugou shrugs. Ashido stares at him with clear concern and he rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

Ashido grins. “Yay! I’ll come with you! Guys, watch our bags!”

“But I want food,” Sero complains.

“Someone needs to stay with our table,” Ashido argues.

Kirishima smiles. “I’ll watch it. Can you get me some food though?”

Bakugou ignores the rest of the conversation until Ashido, Sero, and Kaminari finally head towards the counter. Bakugou follows and lets Lunch Rush drop the first thing he picks out onto the tray. He doesn’t know what it is beyond it being a rice dish, and he’s not overly bothered.

“You’re looking rough.”

His entire body tenses as the silky voice fills his head, a sudden presence extremely close behind him. He glances over his shoulder to see Monoma with that same cruel smile on his face.

Bakugou doesn’t respond, instead turning away again and focusing his attention on the back of Ashido’s head.

“Did our little talk yesterday keep you up?” he asks. Bakugou continues to ignore him. “You know I’m right. You shouldn’t be here. Do us all a favour and fuck off.”

Ashido, mid-conversation, turns to Bakugou with a beaming smile and her dinner piled haphazardly on her plate. “Blasty, did you like- Monoma why are you so close?”

Monoma steps back a little, the smile never wavering. “My bad.”

Ashido frowns deeply, her eyes darting between Monoma and Bakugou. “Blasty, is everything okay?”

“Fucking fine,” Bakugou snaps. “This wankhammer has no concept of personal space.”

Ashido snorts. “Wankhammer? I’m stealing that one.”

“Whatever. Hurry the fuck up and pay. I’m sick of smelling his dog shit breath.”

Monoma huffs in amusement but says nothing.

Because he’s won and you know it.

He keeps quiet on the walk back to the table, and he keeps quiet while everyone eats. Every so often, he catches Monoma staring at him with that same goddamn fucking smile that makes his skin crawl.

Fuck, I hate that guy.

Nobody makes comment about his silence, nor does his silence derail any conversation they’re having around him. He doesn’t get involved, instead forcing himself to eat at least half of his bland and tasteless meal.

Everyone else seems to love it, and he catches Sero mentioning how hot it is.

Bakugou frowns at his own, and wonders when he lost his sense of taste.

 

*

 

They watch a film again that night. Some comedy Bakugou can’t find the humour in. He appeases the others by forcing smiles whenever someone glances in his direction and pretending to have an interest in whatever plot it has (he can’t recall any), but otherwise remains silent.

And after the credits roll and he’s made his excuses to leave, he spends the rest of the night sat by his balcony door watching the stars above, wishing he could disappear amongst them.

Chapter 5

Because I can't hold on when I'm stretched so thin

I make the right moves, but I'm lost within

I put on my daily façade, but then

I just end up getting hurt again

                                                                      - Linkin Park

 

 

Bakugou hasn’t slept. At some point he got into bed, although he can’t remember doing so, and he spent the night staring up at his ceiling as a motionless lump, doing little more than breathing. He vaguely acknowledges the need for a bathroom but he can’t find it within him to move.

Today marks three months since All-Might’s death. He can already predict that Midoriya will cry, Iida and Momo will put up some more inane and meaningless decoration in an attempt to honour All-Might, and everyone else will share memories and stories of their beloved teacher.

Bakugou wants nothing to do with it.

Any of it.

He wants the ground to swallow him up. He wants the world to stop fucking spinning. He wants everything to just fuck off.

Skip class.

Do it.

Nobody would miss you.

He wants to. God, he wants to. But if he falls behind then All-Might would have died for nothing.

With no small amount of effort, he gets himself upright and begins the pain-staking process of getting ready for the day.

It involves nothing more than a quick shower and a coffee. He briefly considers forcing some food down but the thought makes his stomach flip.

He watches the birds through his window as he sips his coffee, only slightly aware of its bitter taste, and notes just how fucking dull the outside world looks.

 

*

 

There are no new decorations, but everyone does seem a little glum upon arriving at their homeroom. Bakugou avoids contact with everyone, keeping his head down and his arms crossed over his chest so tightly he thinks he might break into pieces if he loosens up.

Midoriya slows a little as he passes by, a weak smile gracing across his young face as he lays eyes on Bakugou, but he doesn’t say anything.

Aizawa walks in only seconds later, looking just as grim as the students, and leans back against his desk instead of sitting at his chair.

“In light of recent events, faculty have been having numerous meetings regarding how we’re going to go forward with regards to your classes and with watching over your mental health. In light of that, we’re currently arranging a guest speaker,” he announces. “It’ll be a couple of weeks until this happens, so be prepared for changes to your class schedules. In addition to that, I will be taking over your Heroics classes. Apparently being your homeroom teacher isn’t enough.”

“Don’t you like being our homeroom teacher?” Hagakure asks.

“No,” Aizawa retorts.

“Liar,” Kaminari mutters louder than he probably intended.

 Aizawa doesn’t grace him with a response, instead sighing heavily and sitting himself down at his desk. “I’ve got nothing else to say. So do ten minutes of self-study before first period.”

Bakugou pulls a textbook out of his bag and drops it heavily onto his desk, startling those around him.

Usually, that would amuse him.

Today, he couldn’t give a shit.

He opens the book to a random page and stares down at the words, finding them bouncing and dancing across the paper. He blinks furiously, trying to contain the movement, but it doesn’t work. His head spins and he huffs in frustration.

Only Iida, Momo, Midoriya, Todoroki, and Uraraka are actually working. Jirou has her earphones in and is bopping her head along to her music; Kirishima is talking to the rest of the Bakusquad from over people’s heads; Ojiro and Shoji have begun to play noughts and crosses; Mineta is doodling what Bakugou can only assume are crude drawings; Sato and Koda are signing to one another; and Tsuyu seems to be bordering on sleeping.

Bakugou looks back at Aizawa, finding the man completely unbothered by the class’s antics, and decides to stare out of the window instead of trying to read again.

The ten minutes before Heroics seem to last forever.

 

*

 

In hindsight, he should have known Heroics wouldn’t go well. He hasn’t slept in days nor has he eaten properly in days, and he’s had a headache behind his eyes for what must be weeks now.

And yet, he didn’t anticipate Heroics being quite this bad.

It’s a simple ‘capture the flag’ exercise, in teams of three. His team, consisting of Kirishima and Tsuyu, are pitted against Koda, Todoroki, and Sero. He’d felt reasonably confident, right before Aizawa commenced the game, that they could infiltrate the opposing team’s base and capture the flag in the given time.

He doesn’t know why he was so confident.

Within seconds of starting, his hands began to shake and his head began to spin and now he’s flying through the air with blood rushing through his ears and his vision blurring wildly.

He can’t pinpoint where his team are, or where he is, or where the damn flag is.

He can’t fucking think.

The whole game is a blur of movement and explosions. He knows a few explosions hit, because he hears Koda’s frightened shriek and Todoroki’s concerned yell, but that’s it.

The rest barely scrape the opposing team, acting as little more than warning shots.

He’s in the process of mentally reprimanding himself when something wraps around his ankle as he’s mid-air, too high up for the fall to be safe.

He gets a brief glimpse of a white tape before he’s forcefully and rapidly dragged down. His usually quick reflexes are nowhere to be found as he hits the floor, his head smacking against the concrete with a resounding crack. His world explodes with searing pain that wraps around to his teeth until abrupt darkness envelopes him.

 

He wakes on his back, the world a distant blur of moving shadows and bright lights that make his skull pulsate with pain. A collection of muffled voices, almost like he’s underwater, echo and repeat around him although he can’t understand any of them. He blinks, his vision slowly returning with each second that passes, until a particularly poignant figure above him comes into clarity.

“Bakugou?” Aizawa’s voice is soft and low, softer than Bakugou has ever heard it before. He stares down at Bakugou with clear concern. “Can you hear me?”

Bakugou opens his mouth and utters out a quiet “yes”, although it does nothing to alleviate the worry on Aizawa’s face.

Another figure comes into view behind the teacher, and it takes Bakugou a moment to recognise it to be Sero.

He’s staring at Bakugou with sheer panic and tears in his eyes, shaking his head.

“Bakugou, I’m so sorry!” he gasps all too loudly, the sound of his voice making the pain in his head significantly worse. “I’m so sorry!”

“Sero, calm down,” Aizawa commands.

“What the fuck,” Bakugou mumbles, his words slurring just enough to concern even himself.

Apparently sensing his confusion, Aizawa sighs. “You’re okay. You’ve had an accident in training, but you’re okay. Recovery Girl is on her way and once we’ve got you comfortable, she’s taking you to the infirmary. Do you understand?”

Bakugou doesn’t understand. Why don’t they just take him straight away?

“You fell from a significant height,” Aizawa explains, although Bakugou can’t remember actually speaking and wonders when Aizawa started reading minds. “There’s a risk that you’ve injured your spine. We can’t move you until we know.” He pauses, looking away and out of Bakugou’s line of sight before his shoulders drop with relief. “Recovery Girl is here now, so just relax and we’ll get you sorted.”

Bakugou closes his eyes, too pained and too exhausted to care about what is happening around him.

He doesn’t feel Recovery Girl assessing him, and he doesn’t feel himself being lifted off the ground.

He doesn’t feel anything, and it’s the best he’s felt in months.

 

*

 

The second time he wakes up, the world is much clearer and much louder. He’s in the infirmary, the searing agony in his skull gone and the muted ache in his burned thigh equally eradicated. A moment of panic sweeps through him at the thought of Recovery Girl seeing the old injury, but he doesn’t have time to dwell as the older woman comes into view.

“You’re awake,” she says brightly. “You gave us quite a scare. Can you tell me where you are?”

Bakugou glances around at the room, finding the lights are turned down and the other beds are all empty. “The school infirmary.”

Recovery Girl smiles and makes some notes on her pad. “Good. And do you remember how you ended up here?”

Bakugou frowns. He grasps at any brief recollection, any brief glimpse of a memory, and comes up blank. “Kind of. I was doing Capture The Flag and I think Sero caught me. That's all."

Recovery Girl smiles sweetly and sits down in the empty chair beside his bed. “I’d be more surprised if you did remember everything. You hit your head and sustained quite a nasty concussion. You were pulled from a rather high drop, but your spine wasn’t harmed. Just your head.”

“Well that’s good,” Bakugou responds with only the smallest hint of sarcasm.

Recovery Girl’s smile doesn’t falter. “I must say, though, your stamina was remarkably low, especially for how active you are. I wasn’t able to treat you using my quirk until you had been rehydrated via IV for just under twenty four hours.”

Bakugou finally notices his hand, a tube running from beneath a small dressing and up to a saline bag beside him. There’s already visible bruising, somehow untouched by her treatments, and he’s suddenly aware of a light stinging from the needle.

“How… how long was I out?” he asks.

“Two days,” Recovery Girl explains. “Before you panic, your classmates have been taking notes. All things considered, you’re lucky. Any worse and you would have been in hospital rather than here.”

Bakugou swallows thickly, the thought of ending up in a dreary hospital making his pulse spike momentarily. Recovery Girl must sense his anxiety, because she reaches a hand forward and gently, cautiously, takes the hand free from needles.

“I know the past few months have been difficult, but it is very clear you haven’t been sleeping or taking proper care of yourself. You can go back to the dorms in an hour or so, when I’ve recruited Aizawa to walk you back, but you must promise me you’re going to take better care of yourself from here on out. Eat regularly, try and sleep regularly, and stay hydrated.”

Bakugou nods, his head spinning a little with tiredness.

Recovery Girl smiles again and sets about removing the IV, all the while humming. Bakugou relaxes back into the soft plush pillows on the hospital bed and gazes up at the ceiling. The constant headache that he’s gotten so used to has gone, his entire being feeling significantly lighter than it has done since Kamino.

He makes a mental note to check his leg once he’s back to the dorms. He’s aware that Recovery Girl can’t always prevent scarring, but there’s a naïve part of him that’s hoping he’ll escape that.

Not that you deserve to.

 

Aizawa appears forty minutes later, offering little more than a curt nod before they begin the silent walk back to the dorms. Bakugou had considered refusing the escort, but within ten minutes of walking his legs begin to shake and his head spins yet again.

“Bakugou,” Aizawa addresses as they come within sight of the dormitory. “Recovery Girl told me about your condition.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou replies. “A concussion.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” He sighs. “Bakugou, you were weak. Startlingly weak. I was on the side of sending you to hospital anyway, but when Recovery Girl noticed how low your stamina was, I was even more convinced you shouldn’t be receiving treatment in a school infirmary. But, Recovery Girl was insistent. You were pretty much asleep for two straight days, thanks to both the head injury and the sedatives Recovery Girl gave you. I’m guessing you haven’t been sleeping?”

Bakugou shrugs. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is if you’re so weak you can’t be healed,” Aizawa argues softly. “Your injury probably would have happened anyway. It happened quickly, and there was little you could have done to lessen the impact. However, if you’d been eating, sleeping, and drinking properly, you would’ve been out of that bed far sooner. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because you’re a good student, and I won’t have you out of commission because you can’t look after yourself.”

They reach the doors of the dormitory, the communal area gloriously empty. His fellow students are all still in class, but three hours of school left to go.

“I get it,” Bakugou says.

“You say that. But I want you to promise me you truly understand what I’m saying.”

“I promise I truly understand,” Bakugou huffs. “Now, no disrespect or anything but I’ve been wearing the same underwear for two days and I want a fucking shower.”

Aizawa nods, a slight grimace momentarily sweeping across his face before he composes himself again. Bakugou pushes open the door of the dorms before Aizawa calls his name once more.

“I lectured Sero on appropriate use of force during Heroics. I assure you, he’s annoyingly apologetic.” Aizawa tilts his head with the ghost of a smile just visible behind the scarf. “So have fun with that.”

Bakugou scowls. “Fucking thanks.”

“Rest up and eat, Bakugou. I expect to see you in tip top shape tomorrow.”

He turns his back and stalks away without another word, leaving Bakugou alone in the entryway of the dorms.

He’s very hungry, hungrier than he ever thought possible, and exhaustion still resides deep within his bones, but the kitchen calls to him. He has a few hours until he no longer has the space to himself, so he makes quick work of gathering ingredients from the little they have in the cupboards.

 

Within half an hour, he has a hot curry ready and steaming, and the sight makes his mouth water. He sits at the empty table to eat, more ravenous than he had ever been in his life. It’s all gone in a quick five minutes, and he quickly washes his cookware and dishes and returns the kitchen to how he found it.

Cleaner than he found it, in fact.

He’s overcome with a strange and alien sense of pride, rapidly followed by guilt.

You haven’t helped with this place at all.

 

Fatigue weighing him down, he has a quick shower and changes into fresh clothes before retiring to his room and losing himself in his music.

 

*

 

He’s woken a few hours later by a repetitive and infuriating knock at his door. He pulls his headphones off, his music still blaring, and glares at the door. The knocking doesn’t stop and he internally resents the fact that he didn’t gain a telekinesis quirk.

“What?!” he snaps from his bed.

“Bakugou!” Kirishima’s voice calls through the door. “We wanna see you!”

“Why?”

“Because last time we saw you, you were barely conscious and we thought you might die!”

Bakugou audibly growls and manages to clamber out of bed, exhaustion from the healing still weighing him down. He unlocks his door and pulls it open to find not just Kirishima but the whole squad, all smiling at him.

“You look so much better!” Ashido says in lieu of a greeting. “You really scared us!”

“Yeah, Recovery Girl said that,” Bakugou retorts. “Now you’ve seen me. Can you fuck off now?”

Kirishima’s face drops. “Oh, did we wake you up?”

“Yes you fucking did.”

Kaminari raises an eyebrow. “Dude you’ve been gone for like days. Haven’t you slept enough?”

“No.”

Ashido elbows the blond in the ribs. “Kami, you know Recovery Girl’s quirk uses stamina. Blasty is gonna be tired for a while.”

Kirishima smiles softly, his gaze lingering on Bakugou a little longer than the others. There’s an unspoken question on his face, one that he doesn’t want to ask in front of the others, and one that Bakugou doesn’t particularly want to hear.

Because at the end of the day, he’s okay.

Sero shuffles forward, gently pushing the others aside so he fills the doorway. His shoulders are slumped and he rings his hands together.

“Bakugou,” he addresses with a shaky voice. “Bakugou, I’m so sorry.”

“The fuck you sorry for?” Bakugou questions.

Sero straightens up at that. “What do you mean? I nearly killed you, man. I… the noise your head made. God, I can’t unhear that. I thought you were dead. I honestly thought I’d killed you.”

Bakugou swallows, his chest tightening and hands beginning to shake. He grips the side of the door as casually as possible to conceal the sudden anxiety rippling through his body.

“But you didn’t,” he replies as lightly as possible.

Sero shrugs. “But I could’ve. It was reckless. We were only training but I acted like it was a real fight.”

Bakugou huffs heavily and grabs Sero by the forearm, dragging the boy into his room. “You lot, fuck off.”

He slams the door shut, leaving the others outside, and turns to the other boy. Sero stands in the middle of his room with wide eyes.

“Are… are you going to kill me?” he asks.

“No I’m not going to fucking kill you. Sit the fuck down.” He waits for Sero to sit down at his desk before he takes a seat on the bed. “Right. I know Aizawa lectured you on appropriate force and all that shit, but honestly, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was all my fault. I wasn’t focusing enough. I don’t know where the fuck my mind was, but it wasn’t on the fight, and I let down my defences. I should’ve been able to slow my descent but I wasn’t paying enough attention. You did everything right, okay? It just… was a bit harder than we probably expected.”

The tension bleeds a little from Sero’s shoulders but his face is still that of a kicked puppy, and it does nothing to lift the guilt from Bakugou’s chest.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sero asks. “You’re not having me on?”

“I’m fine. I wasn’t that badly hurt.”

“Not that bad? Dude, you were in the infirmary for days. Aizawa said we couldn’t come see you because you were out cold the whole time.”

“I…” He sighs heavily, and suddenly becomes very aware of how tired he still is. “I just haven’t been sleeping great recently, okay? So it made it harder for Recovery Girl to fix me. But it’s all good now. Apparently a cracked skull was all I needed.”

Sero smirks. “So next time you’re struggling to sleep, I should just give you a concussion?”

“It apparently works.”

Sero laughs, and it’s enough to alleviate some of the guilt. “Okay. I’m glad you’re good, dude. Everyone was worried about you.”

Bakugou raises an eyebrow. “Really? Why?”

“Because people like you? And they don’t like seeing their classmate get hurt?” Sero shrugs and laughs. “Man, you don’t realise how popular you are. But I’ll make sure that everyone leaves you alone. You still look tired.” He stands to leave, but as he reaches the door he hesitates and turns back to Bakugou. “Dude, you know you can talk to us, right? I know the last few months have been really shit, and I can’t imagine how rough it must be for you. Maybe I’m wrong but I’m willing to bet that’s why you’ve not been sleeping. And you don’t need to answer that. I just wanted to make sure you know we’re here for you.”

Bakugou nods, unable to find his own voice. Sero smiles again, more relaxed now, and lets himself out, leaving Bakugou alone once more.

The boy lies back on his bed, eyes focused on the ceiling, and frowns. He repeats Sero’s words over and over again in his head and considers his relationship with Kirishima, Ashido, Kaminari, and Sero. Imagines telling them about his goddamn nightmares, his unnerving episodes of utter blankness, his apparent new role as the school villain, and the alien voice that keeps beating him down.

He considers chasing the group down and pouring his heart out.

Instead, the voice gets there first.

He’s lying to you. They don’t care. None of them do. You don’t deserve them.

 

He doesn’t go to talk to them, and he doesn’t get back to sleep.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

just a quick one today that i managed to bash out in a few days. and disclaimer although it probably doesn't need saying, a concussion is not a good way to fix insomnia and bakugou is apparently a masochist.

also just wanted to say that i'm finally back at work tomorrow after three months in lockdown. i'm on reduced hours (yay underlying health conditions combined with working with little children) but it may mean i can't get chapters written as quickly. not that i've been writing this particularly quickly but you get my drift.

anyway, i've got loads more of this story to go and we're nowhere near the end of bakugou's miserable, miserable journey so thank you for reading so far and i hope you stick with it!

Chapter 6

I just got lost and slept right through the dawn

And the world spins madly on

                                                                -The Weepies

 

 

 

It’s Monday. Bakugou never quite grasped the hatred people had for Mondays. Aizawa, in particular, always seemed wholly depressed and exhausted on a Monday. There’s even songs written about how bad of a day it is. Bakugou never understood it, but today he does.

Today, everything seems grey. Greyer than the world usually does. It’s raining, dark rumbling clouds gathered overhead with no intention of moving on, and there’s an unseasonal chill in the air. Bakugou pulls his jacket tighter as he heads towards class, his classmates lost behind him. Nobody has really bothered with him since the accident in training. Momo had, to his relief, been the one to take notes for him, but aside from his minute interaction with her, he’s been left well alone.

He thinks he should be upset by that, but he can’t find any ounce of care within him.

He walks to class with his headphones blaring, lost in his head, until he opens the homeroom door and finds Aizawa already seated at his desk. Bakugou pulls his headphones off with a frown fixed to his face.

“You’re early,” he comments. “Has someone else died?”

Aizawa glowers a little, clearly taken aback. “I’m going to assume tactlessness is one of your ways of coping with grief. We’ve got a guest coming in today, remember?”

Bakugou’s chest tightens immediately. “Shit. Forgot.”

“Is that a problem?” Aizawa questions. “I’d like to think you would all benefit from having someone explain the complexities of grief.”

“I don’t need some quack to tell me how to process shit,” Bakugou argues.

Aizawa snorts. “Okay. By the way, your group completed the presentation. I’m very aware you wrote it, and so you’re guaranteed a high grade despite not being well enough to do the verbal presentation.”

“I could fucking do it now.”

“But there’s no need, because it’s been done and you passed.”

Bakugou sighs softly. “Thanks, Teach.”

Bakugou sits without another word and the rest of the class quickly begin filtering in. Kirishima makes a beeline for him the moment he crosses the threshold, with a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Hey!” he greets. “I didn’t see you this morning. Or this weekend. Have you been okay?”

Bakugou shrugs. “I’ve been catching up on the work I missed when I was off those two days.”

Kirishima nods. “Okay. Just wanted to make sure you’re all good, bro! I’d offer to help you out with your work but I’d probably be more of a hindrance.”

That manages to provoke a small smile, and Bakugou shakes his head. “You’re not that bad, Shark Week. Pikachu, on the other hand…”

“Hey!” Kaminari raises his head from his desk. “I try, okay?”

“Who the fuck are you trying to kid?”

“Okay, fine, I don’t try at all. But if I did try, I could excel!”

Bakugou doesn’t respond with anything more than an eye roll, and Kirishima takes his seat nearby. The door opens as the last of the students sit down. Their guest walks in with a soft smile and a skip in her step. Upon laying eyes on her, Bakugou immediately feels the tension bleed from his shoulders. His jaw loosens, no longer gritting his teeth, and he feels his pulse regain some level of normality.

“What the fuck,” he mutters, unable to take his eyes off of her.

“This is Aki Kaida, our guest for the day,” Aizawa introduces from behind his desk. He gestures half-heartedly towards the woman but his attention is focused on the class. “You will give her your undivided attention and your utmost respect. And to those of you who have as much of an aversion to anything related to emotion as I do, don’t blame me for this. This is important.”

Bakugou feels the slightest tug in his chest as his entire being tries to panic, and yet he doesn’t. He can’t. There’s a strange disconnect between his brain and his adrenaline, and suddenly he feels restless.

Aki glances around the room, still smiling. “As you may have noticed, I used my quirk the moment I came in the room to ensure this started off well. My particular quirk has two parts. Primarily, I can influence and read emotion. I can almost feel your emotion if I focus on you, and I can pick up on emotions in the room by simply being here. My ability to control emotion isn’t quite as strong as reading them, but I can create a sense of calm and tranquillity. I call it ‘Serenity’.”

“That’s amazing,” Midoriya says loudly as he scribbles in his notepad.

Aki laughs. “I’m honoured you think so. Okay, my quirk may not be hugely beneficial during fights or taking on villains, but it is helpful in my line of work, which is therapy! And today, I’ve been asked to come in to speak to you all about grief. I will be working through all classes that were taught by Toshinori, so don’t think you’re the only ones.”

Bakugou’s leg bounces as the confused messages in his brain continue to misfire, the adrenaline not quite going anywhere and the anxiety not quite getting to the surface, but instead bubbling beneath.

He wonders if he’ll explode when Aki leaves.

Her eyes flicker towards him, like she knows what he’s thinking, but she simply smiles again and leans back against Aizawa’s desk.

“Okay, so,” she begins. “First of all, I’d like to address grief. Grief is, to put it simply, a response to a loss. You have all experienced a great bereavement at this school, with the loss of your teacher and your friend. I also understand that some of you were directly involved with the situation, which can strengthen the response you have to the bereavement.”

No.

Not doing this.

No.

Aki’s attention falls on him again. “I can already feel that some of you don’t wish to even address the situation, nor talk about the ensuing grief. But please trust me when I say it is important to talk about this. Everybody experiences loss at some point in their life, and yet it seems to be somewhat of a taboo subject. I believe this is harmful to everyone in the long run. By not talking about it, we can be led to believe that there’s a right and wrong way to grieve. On that note, does anyone know the five stages of grief?”

Iida’s hand shoots up, and Aki nods. “Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.”

Aki smiles. “Yes, that’s perfect. Now, the way these stages develop aren’t necessarily in order as grief is not linear. It is complicated, it is messy, and there’s no right way to deal with it. It also manifests in many different ways. We’re going to discuss some of the physiological aspects of grief, as well as the psychological aspects.”

 

 

Bakugou is trying to listen. He really is. But he can’t focus his attention beyond the internal crisis he’s experiencing. It’s the most unsettling and confusing sensation he’s ever encountered and he desperately wants to shout until Aki somehow switches it off.

What if she can’t switch it off?

The thought makes him nauseous, something that definitely does slip passed her quirk, and he feels his stomach swirl.

She talks for an hour, occasionally asking people questions about different psychological facts that Bakugou really doesn’t want to hear. Oddly, she never asks him, and she only chooses Midoriya when the boy raises his hand of his own volition.

It’s like she can read them, read their every thought and feeling, and Bakugou feels wholly violated by that.

 

 

As they finally reach the hour and thirty mark, Aki clasps her hands together and smiles softly.

“Although I’ve been teaching you the psychology of bereavement and grief today, it is important to note the other reason I was asked to come today. Your teachers are all aware that this is a difficult situation to be in, and a difficult loss to endure. While some of you may cope very well, others may not, and it is important that you recognise when you need help. There’s no shame in asking for it.” Her eyes fall to Bakugou once more. “Sometimes, grief is so overpowering that you can’t deal with it alone, and that’s okay. There are numerous resources out there that can help you. I will be leaving the contact details of my own therapy service, as well as others in the area, in case any of you feel you could benefit from talking to someone. And please remember, there is no right way to grieve, and no expiry period for it. If in a week you feel significantly better, that’s normal. And if in a year or two you still struggle to talk about it, that’s okay too. Grief is a difficult road to journey down, but it is possible to weather the storms it brings. My services will be offering free therapy sessions to all students at this school, including an online and telephone service. I’m aware some people may be made uncomfortable by my quirk, and so interactions via the internet or the phone may be helpful in those situations.”

The students begin muttering, most of them intrigued by the idea, but Bakugou wants to do nothing but recoil from it.

She doesn’t want to hear your fucking thoughts anyway.

He turns his attention away from her and out of the window, watching a pair of birds dance around one another against the deep grey sky.

He wishes he could fly away with them.

 

*

 

The rest of the day goes by slowly and lifelessly, those grey clouds still hanging overhead and casting a darkness over the school that only serves to weigh Bakugou down further. He catches Midoriya’s eyes as they head towards the cafeteria come lunchtime, but he makes a point to avoid contact with the boy.

He knows what will be said.

Midoriya will tell Bakugou that he’s going to try therapy, and that he thinks Bakugou should try it too.

It’s all so fucking predictable.

And to be frank, Bakugou just doesn’t have the energy for it.

He drops his bag at the table where Kaminari sits, with Sero fetching his dinner for him. Bakugou makes sure to get the smallest amount necessary to keep him going in spite of his significant lack of appetite. Ashido, Sero, and Kirishima are a few people in front of him and talking away.

“Because of you, we had to have some woman tell us what grieving is,” a voice cuts into his stupor from behind.

Bakugou recognises the honeyed tone immediately and rolls his eyes. “The fuck do you want?”

“Haven’t you noticed?” Monoma asks. “Everyone is miserable and it’s all your fault. You couldn’t just keep your head down and act normal. You had to shoot your mouth off and act all cocky, and you just had to bring in those villains.”

Bakugou tightens his grip on the tray. “You’re acting like I asked to be kidnapped.”

Monoma smirks. “You deserved it, don’t you think? You deserve to be taken down a peg or two. Clearly, nothing the teachers say works. Hell, they had to muzzle you at the sports festival.”

They’re holding up the queue and people are beginning to stare, but nobody steps in and Bakugou doesn’t expect them to.

“Just back the fuck off, alright?” Bakugou snarls.

Monoma tilts his head. “Now why would I do that? It’s just so much fun to push you. Y’know, 1-B used to debate how much it’d truly take to push you over the edge. You’re already pretty fucking mental, but how much would it take to truly send you AWOL? What would it take to get you to leave this fucking school and stop giving it such a bad rep?”

“You would fucking like that, wouldn’t you?” Bakugou spits back. “So you can pretend you’re top fucking dog. Too bad nobody even knows your fucking name. Your entire hero persona is based on copying other people’s fucking quirks. You’re fucking pathetic.”

“And you deserved everything you ever got. I can’t wait for the day the League comes back and wipes away your miserable existence, you fucking murderer.”

Bakugou’s body moves without the express permission from his brain, and his tray is smashing into Monoma’s face within seconds. His nose cracks audibly from behind the plastic tray, the ceramic bowl that was on top shattering to the floor along with it.

There’s a sea of gasps around him but he’s blind to everything except for the boy in front of him.

He drops the tray, coming face to face with Monoma’s bloodied and shocked expression.

“You broke my nose!” Monoma snaps.

“And after Recovery Girl fixes it, I’ll fucking break it again.”

Kirishima appears in his peripheral, grabbing at him and pulling him back away from the blond.

“Bakugou, stop it!” he orders, grabbing at Bakugou’s face and forcing eye contact. “What’s going on?!”

“What’s going on is I’m going to keep breaking this copy fucking prick’s face until he leaves me the fuck alone!”

Kirishima shakes his head. “Bakugou, you’ve got to calm down!”

“Get the fuck off me!” Bakugou snaps, pulling away from Kirishima. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

The redhead’s face drops, heartbreak mixing with the ever-present concern, and he takes a step back. Bakugou makes quick work of leaving, making a point to barge passed Monoma in the process, and doesn’t look back.

 

*

 

He goes to the roof of the school. He can’t recall the journey up here at all, which causes him some level of concern, but the silence is too comforting to care about that. Up here, there are no hateful stares, no whispers, no friends watching him like he’s about to fall apart at any moment.

They wouldn’t be wrong though, would they?

The truth is, he’s a ticking timebomb, and breaking Monoma’s nose isn’t the first violent thing he’s done recently. Granted, most of the violence he’s inflicted has been on himself but the point stands.

Monoma is right. All those people looking at you like you’re a monster are right.

He dangles his feet over the edge and sighs softly. He knows a teacher will be along sooner or later to reprimand him and give him whatever punishment they’re going to give him, but until then, he simply closes his eyes and focuses on nothing but his breathing.

 

*

 

It’s Hizashi who finds him in the end, an hour later. He’s smiling that cartoonish smile that, at this point, Bakugou is convinced is a permanent fixture.

“Hey, kiddo!” he greets with his usual booming voice. “You’re an elusive one, you know that? We had to look on the CCTV cameras to track you down!”

“What a lovely invasion of our privacy,” Bakugou retorts lowly.

It doesn’t deter Hizashi’s smile. “Why don’t we go back inside and talk, kid?”

“Just say what you need to say and let’s have done with it.”

“Okay. Obviously, we’re aware of what happened with that 1-B boy earlier. He’s saying you attacked him. Is that true?”

Bakugou huffs. “Why would I deny it?”

Hizashi moves a little closer but maintains a comfortable distance between them. After a few seconds, he sits down near the edge. He glances over the rooftop a little nervously, but the smile doesn’t fade. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

“Not really.”

“See, Monoma is claiming it was unprovoked. Some of the other students, however, said he was goading you until you snapped. Now, whatever you say will have an impact on the severity of your punishment.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “He was talking shit.”

“So he was goading you? It wasn’t unprovoked?”

“He was saying shit, yeah, but it was all true.” Bakugou shrugs. “He just annoys the fuck out of me and hitting him in his stupid fucking face seemed like the logical thing to do.”

Hizashi’s brows furrow and his smile falters just a little. “Bakugou, what did he say?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“If you tell me, I can make sure your punishment is less severe.”

“Fucking hell. Just punish me and get it over with, teach. Put me in dorm lockdown, kick me out of school, whatever it is you’re gonna do. Stop pussy footing about.”

The smile finally drops. “Bakugou, we’re not kicking you out of school. Whether you tell me what was said or not, other students made it clear he started it and you ended it. He will be getting reprimanded too. But I would like to know what happened so I know how best to approach this.”

“I told you what happened.” Bakugou stands, still stood precariously on the edge. Hizashi’s entire body tenses as the boy’s feet remain positioned dangerously close to the drop. “He said some truths I didn’t wanna hear, and I hit him in the face for it. End of fucking story. Now, are you gonna start my punishment or what?”
Hizashi’s face is unnervingly serious, no evidence of his signature smile anywhere now. It’s almost enough to make Bakugou feel guilty.

Almost, but not quite.

“Yes,” Hizashi says finally. “You can go back to the dorms. You’re on cleaning duty. Cleaning duty and house arrest until Wednesday.”

Two days of what is, in UA’s terms, a suspension.

You waste of fucking space.

He huffs, more in response to the voice in his head than to Hizashi’s punishment, and drops down from the ledge back onto the rooftop. Hizashi lets out a breath of relief before they walk back inside.

 

*

 

He’s just finishing cleaning the dorms when his classmates come back, announcing their arrival with sheer thunderous noise before he even sees them.

Subtly be damned, apparently.

He’s finishing scrubbing the last cupboard door in the kitchen as the door swings open and Kaminari walks in, swinging his bag and launching it across the floor. Bakugou watches him with a raised eyebrow until the electric user finally sees him.

“Oh, hey Blasty!” he greets. “Whatcha doing?”

Bakugou’s attention bounces between Kaminari and the bag repeatedly, but the other boy doesn’t seem to get the message. “Are you really gonna leave your bag on the floor? You fucking animal.”

Kaminari finally notices the used mop and the bucket of soapy water and nods. “Ohhh. You’re on cleaning duty. My bad.”

“So you’d leave your bag there if I wasn’t on cleaning duty?”

“Maybe. It’s been a long day, y’know? Picking up my bag requires a lot of energy I don’t have.”

“Don’t fucking throw it then. Fucking pig.”

Mineta snorts from somewhere near the door. “Careful, Kaminari, or Bakugou will break your face like he broke Monoma’s.”

“That copy freak deserved it,” Bakugou retorts, going back to scrubbing the cupboard door.

Kaminari watches him for a second before frowning. “Are we all meant to scrub the doors when we’re put on cleaning duty?”

“Yes,” Bakugou snaps. “But you don’t. Which is why I’ve been doing it for twenty fucking minutes.”

Kirishima joins the conversation, his bag out of sight and his blazer gone. “Hey, Bakugou, we’re gonna watch some films later. Wanna join?”

Bakugou’s immediate response is to reject him, but there’s a longing in Kirishima’s eyes that finally taps into the guilt Bakugou couldn’t quite connect to earlier with Hizashi.

He sighs and shrugs.

“Yes!” Kaminari exclaims, punching the air. “Yo! Hanta! Mina! Blasty’s down for a film night!”

He hears a distant cheer but doesn’t bother to seek out the source, instead focusing on scrubbing at the questionable stain dripping down the side of the cabinet.

 

He’s eventually left alone, after he’s finished his cleaning duty, so he eats food he can’t taste and scrolls through messages he doesn’t care about. It’s mostly the class chat, talking about whatever classes they had this afternoon and bitching about the workload.

Bakugou locks his phone and shoves it into his pocket, focusing his attention instead on the bland meal in front of him.

 

*

 

He’s on his way to his room half an hour later when Kirishima catches him in the hallway, his smile a little brighter today.

“Hey! You ready for this film? Kami reckons he’s got a really good one for us. One that you’ll like.”

Bakugou frowns. “Film?” The memory of his not-so-concrete agreement suddenly floods his head and he huffs. “Oh shit, yeah.”

“You forgot? Dude it was like… not even an hour ago.”

“Whatever. Let’s fucking go.”

Kirishima eyes him warily, but he says nothing as they walk towards Kaminari’s room.

 

The film is an American anti-hero film, and while it does somewhat pique Bakugou’s interest, he can’t seem to keep his focus on it for very long. He keeps his eyes on the screen, though, rather than admit to the others that he can’t concentrate for longer than five fucking minutes.

How the fuck are you gonna pass any exams with a concentration span like that?

And in the blink of an eye, the credits roll and he can’t remember any of the plot. He recalls a kid with glowing red eyes, and nothing much further.

“What did you think?” Kaminari asks with a grin. “Good, right?”

Bakugou grunts, and it seems to be enough of a response as the others launch into an excitable rant about it.

This goes on for a few minutes, and Bakugou simply loses himself in the lull of noise, until Ashido sighs softly.

“Guys,” she addresses. “You know that woman? The therapist woman? What did you think of her whole… thing?”

“What? Her speech about grief?” Sero asks. “I don’t know, I think we could’ve had that conversation over and done within five minutes.”

Ashido rolls her eyes. “No, stupid. I mean her quirk.”

Bakugou lifts his head, shoulders straightening a little. “It was fucking weird.”

Ashido’s eyes widen at his admittance and she nods in agreement. “Yeah. It was. It was like… like being sedated but… staying awake.”

Kirishima nods too. “Yeah. And like… I wasn’t in control of my own emotions. She said she invokes calm but that felt like more to me. It’d usually make me anxious, someone controlling me, but I couldn’t feel it. I think I wanted to, but I couldn’t get to it.”

“Like your mind was having a battle with itself,” Bakugou adds quietly.

All eyes fall on him. Ashido tilts her head a little and a small pout comes into view. “You have anxiety?”

Bakugou’s chest tightens and for a split second he wishes Aki would appear and make disappear. “Fuck no. I don’t have anxiety. I just… get anxious.”

“It’s okay,” Ashido reassures softly. “I get it too.”

Kirishima nods. “Me too.”

Bakugou doesn’t smile back, but some of the twisting tension in his chest alleviates and he can breathe somewhat easier.

“I hope she doesn’t come back,” Kaminari admits. “She was kinda freaky.”

Kirishima shrugs. “She was, but I also think the therapy thing is a good idea. Even without what happened to All-Might, we’re all probably gonna end up in therapy sooner or later.”

Ashido nods. “Yeah, apparently all Pro-Heroes have licensed therapists attached to their agencies. I don’t know about underground heroes though.”

Sero scoffs. “Can you imagine Aizawa talking about his feelings?”

Ashido laughs and shakes her head. “I don’t think the man has an emotional range. And then you have Deku, the personification of emotion.”

Bakugou huffs. “Idiot doesn’t fucking stop crying. When we were kids, whenever I hurt myself, he’d be the one to cry.”

Nobody responds, their expressions neither happy nor sad and yet utterly unrecognisable to Bakugou. He feels that familiar tension begin to coil itself round again in his chest.

“What?” he questions.

“Nothing,” Kirishima responds. “You just… you never talk about your childhood. It’s weird to hear. Good, but weird.”

“I can picture it now,” Ashido says, smiling dreamily. “Little Kacchan and little Deku, running through the fields and playing on the parks.”

“Fucking whatever,” Bakugou grumbles.

 

They put on another film, and this time Bakugou focuses a little more. Another sci fi superhero film, it’s full of enough twists and turns to keep him invested and focused, and he finds himself quite enjoying it.

He laughs a little when his friends do. He feels the stab of shock at the plot twists and sudden revelations.

He even laughs when Kirishima gasps and slaps a hand over his mouth in complete shock.

By the time the credits roll again, he feels significantly lighter and calmer. Almost how he’d felt when he woke up in the infirmary, momentarily free from all exhaustion and pain and stress.

“I’m tired,” Sero comments, yawning to further his point.

Ashido nods and yawns immediately after. “Me too.”

“Come on, Baku,” Kirishima says. “I’ll walk you back. I mean, I know you’re suspended from classes tomorrow but sleep is still important.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes but gets up anyway. He let’s Kirishima do the goodbyes and follows the redhead out of the room and down the corridor.

“Hey,” Kirishima addresses after a moment of silence. “Those kids told Aizawa that Monoma was saying stuff to you. That he started the fight. Is that true?”

“Doesn’t matter who started it,” Bakugou says. “I fucking finished it.”

Kirishima frowns. “Okay, but I’d still like to know.”

“It doesn’t matter, Kirishima.”

The other boy’s frown deepens but he ceases his questioning immediately, and they fall silent again. Bakugou feels guilt build rapidly up within him and he considers, briefly, apologising.

What good will apologising do? You’ll only hurt him again. And again. And again.

He doesn’t apologise.

He utters a small goodbye when they reach their respective doors, and nothing further.

 

As he lies in his bed, wide awake despite the exhaustion pulling at him, he begins to wonder when he lost the ability to truly enjoy himself.

 

 

Notes:

talk shit get hit

Chapter 7

This boat is sinking,

There’s no sea left for me,

And how the sky gets heavy,

When you are underneath it.

                                                         -Macklemore

 

The words stare up at him with such intensity and aggression that he can almost hear them being spoken. It took a mere two days for word to leave the campus that he had assaulted another student, and Hero sites are thirsting for his blood.

Bakugou isn’t remotely surprised, nor are the words being uttered anything new to him, yet he can’t stop scrolling and he can’t stop taking in the insults and he can’t stop the way his heart sinks with each new comment.

There’s only a few articles, all from just two separate sites, but the comments are in the hundreds.

Each article claims that the information came from an anonymous source connected to the school, and Bakugou is quick to assume the source is Monoma. If not Monoma, then someone else tied to him.

He longs to go to the 1-B dorms and kick Monoma’s head into next week, but he’s very aware that’ll only make matters worse.

One dinner tray to the face and he’s suddenly public enemy number one.

Most of the comments, he can brush off. General fleeting insults about his aggression or his personality aren’t anything new and he quickly skips passed them.

There are some that stand out though.

 

The kid is clearly part of the League. He’s only there to gain information. He’s a fucking spy.

 

Disgusting behaviour. He’s not fit to be a hero. I’d rather die than be rescued by somebody like him.

 

Can someone break his face in return? The League taking him was clearly karma.

 

He’s not sure why those words stand out to him so much. They’re not much different to the things his own head tells him on a daily basis.

And yet he can’t stop reading them.

 

*

 

Today is his first day back since his suspension and his class have made absolutely no comment about any of it. He’s grateful, really, that he doesn’t have to defend himself or argue about his actions.

Even Aizawa barely batters an eyelid about it as he passes by to get to his seat.

He sits down and dumps his bag beneath his chair before leaning back with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His classmates take to their seat, a low hum of conversation in the air, when a figure fills his peripheral.

“Hey,” Kirishima says with a smile. “I’ve been taking notes for you since you’ve been stuck in the dorms!”

Bakugou’s brow raises. “Uh…”

“And Momo rewrote them for you!” Kirishima adds. He drops a notebook onto Bakugou’s desk and grins. “I figured you wouldn’t appreciate my god-awful note-taking.”

Bakugou can’t fight back the smirk. “You said it, not me.”

Kirishima grins, sharp teeth shining ever so slightly in the fluorescent lights. “Bet you were going stir crazy stuck in the dorms. I know how much you like going running.”

Bakugou shrugs. “It was fine.”

Aizawa clears his throat, and Kirishima gives a tight smile before going back to his seat.

 

Class commences, and Bakugou zones out.

 

*

 

He follows his friends into the cafeteria at lunch, head down and mind racing. He can feel eyes on him, can hear the whispers and the mutterings from passers-by, but his friends don’t seem to notice. For a brief moment, he wonders if it’s all in his head, until he hears a bitter scoff from his right and turns his head in time to see a stranger scowl at him.

Bakugou rolls his eyes in an attempt to keep up appearances and focuses his attention on the back of Kirishima’s head as they make their way towards the dinner queue. He spots a single empty table with enough space for all of them, and then eyes up the busy line of students waiting for food.

The thought of being in such close contact with others makes his head spin and his stomach swirl.

“Yo, Shark Week,” he calls out, keeping his voice carefully level. “I’m gonna get a table.”

Kirishima nods. “You want me to get you something?”

Bakugou shakes his head. “No, I’m not hungry.”

He turns his back on the redhead before he can respond and heads over to the empty table. He drops his bag underneath and sits down, his legs bouncing with the all-too-familiar anxiety that courses through his veins.

They’re talking about you.

He glances over his shoulder, meeting eyes with a few unfamiliar students, and looks back again at the clean white table.

They can see right through you. See you for what you are. You exposed yourself and now everyone can see it.

His skin is too tight, his breathing too fast, his head too clogged. He eyes the door, watching it carefully and debating running straight through it and avoiding people altogether.

Kirishima catches his attention with a simple smile and for a moment, the anxiety calms. The boy always has a way of lighting up a room and making things seem a little less bleak.

Something moves in his peripheral and he turns to find a girl stood by his side, staring down at him with an eerily blank expression.

“What do you want?” he asks.

Her stare doesn’t stop. “I was a fan of yours.”

“Fucking excuse me?”

“I was a fan of yours.” She blinks slowly, not even a hint of emotion creeping onto her face. Her thin lips remain a straight line, her eyes wide and intense. “Ever since the Sports Festival. You were a little erratic, of course, but I could forgive that because of the performance you put on. You’re talented. I was told of your… villainous tendencies, but I ignored them.” She tilts her head a little to the left. “But I was wrong, wasn’t I? I should have listened to my friends when they told me what you were. I saw what you did to that other boy. A true hero shouldn’t react like that during a conversation, even if someone was being unkind.” Her stare intensifies further, and Bakugou finds himself drawn into her gaze. He wants to look away, wants to leave, but he finds himself unable to tear his eyes away. “A true hero would rise above it. But you’re not a true hero, are you?” Her eyes seem to darken a little as she straightens her head again. “If you’re not a hero, what are you?”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Kirishima’s voice cuts through and suddenly Bakugou can move, tearing his attention away from the strange girl.

“Nothing,” the girl answers blankly. “I was simply posing a question.”

Kirishima frowns deeply. “I think you should go.”

The girl looks up at Kirishima for a second before turning and moving with such grace that she almost glides, heading over towards a table of general studies students.

“What was that?” Kaminari asks. Bakugou doesn’t remember seeing Kaminari come back from the line. Nor any of the others that are now sitting down at the table.

“She was weird as hell.”

“Yeah she was,” Ashido agrees. “Are you okay, Blasty? Was she bothering you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bakugou retorts. “It’s fine.”

Kirishima shakes his head. “It’s not fine. I heard a bit of what she was saying, Bakugou, and it-”

“Please,” Bakugou says, his tone cutting enough to silence everyone. “Just leave it.”

Nobody speaks for a second, the tension palpable, until Kaminari begins to talk about a new dog video he found that was the most hilarious thing he had ever seen. It’s enough of a topic change to divert the attention away from him, but his appetite has gone and the nausea has a tight grip on him and he can’t quite catch his breath.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he announces, grabbing his bag and fleeing before anyone can argue.

 

He doesn’t go to the bathroom.

He doesn’t consciously go anywhere.

His legs carry him down the winding corridors and up multiple flights of stairs until he’s on the rooftop again, the cool wind soothing and calming against his too-tight skin.

He has another thirty minutes until he has to be back in the classroom and he plans on staying here for as long as possible. It’s quiet here, and he never really gets to enjoy quiet.

His classmates, for the most part, are respectful, but the dorms are never fully silent. There’s always conversation, or music, or doors closing, or showers running. And even when everyone’s asleep, Bakugou can always hear the clattering and groaning of the pipes within the walls.

But here?

Here, he’s so high up he can’t even hear the traffic from across the street. He can’t hear the voices of students enjoying their dinner outside. He can’t hear doors slamming, or birds chirping.

It’s pure quiet, with the light whistle of the wind as a backing track.

He closes his eyes and revels in it, finally feeling his pulse regain some normality and his skin feel more fitting, when the door slams behind him. He jumps, gripping onto the edge of the roof as he does.

“Bakugou?”

He turns, finding Kirishima stood in the doorway looking frazzled.

“What are you doing up here?” Bakugou questions.

“I was looking for you,” Kirishima responds. “I followed you out of the cafeteria and lost track of you, but a general studies student told me he’d seen you on the top floor. What are you doing up here?”

Bakugou returns his gaze to the world around them and shrugs. “Sitting.”

“I can see that, genius. But… why here?”

“It’s quiet,” Bakugou answers.

Kirishima nods slowly and sits down on the floor by the ledge. He keeps a slight distance between himself and Bakugou and eyes the ledge nervously.

“It’s high,” he says. “So high.”

Bakugou smirks. “You afraid of heights?”

“No. It’s just… high.” Kirishima lifts himself further until he can see over the edge and he quickly recoils away and back to safety again. “Nope. Don’t like that. How can you sit like that?”

Bakugou frowns, looking down at his legs as they dangle precariously over the edge. The slightest slip, the slightest push, and he’d be gone.

He can understand Kirishima’s nervousness, and yet he feels none of it.

Not for the height, anyway.

“Heights don’t bother me,” Bakugou says. “I fell off so much shit learning to fly with my quirk that it doesn’t scare me anymore.”

Kirishima laughs. “I bet. What does it feel like? Flying?”

“It’s not technically flying.”

“No I know that, but it’s close enough. What does it feel like?”

Bakugou pauses, gazing out at the deep blue sky and watching the clouds slowly drift. He watches the birds dance about one another as they make their journey across the skies, their destination unknown.

“It feels free,” he says quietly.

Kirishima smiles. “How’d you even discover you could do it?”

“I didn’t. I just… tried, one day. Blew up the floor and realised it lifted me. I kept practicing and perfecting it until I could project myself further and direct myself.” He continues to follow two particular birds with his eyes. “I always wished I could fly. I got as close as possible.”

Kirishima nods. “I get that. Being able to just pick yourself up and fly off somewhere whenever you want. Go wherever you want.”

Bakugou nods too. “Just like a bird. Being able to just… fuck off. No gas or traffic or money to worry about. Just… going.”

Kirishima’s smile widens a little more. “Yeah. Ultimate freedom. Imagine the view you’d have.”

They fall silent, and Kirishima begins to watch the birds too. For a brief second, Bakugou forgets where he is in favour of watching the elegant creatures do their daily journey, but Kirishima clearing his throat pulls him back.

“Bakugou,” he addresses carefully. Immediately, Bakugou feels anxiety grip him tightly and he wants to just get up and leave, but something about the redhead keeps him in place. “That girl, the one in the cafeteria, what-”

“Can we not?” Bakugou interrupts.

“I think we should talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. She was just talking shit.”

“Like Monoma was? Bakugou, how many people have been ‘talking shit’ to you?” When Bakugou doesn’t answer, Kirishima huffs. “Bakugou, how long has this been happening?”

“It’s fucking nothing, Kirishima. Just leave it out.”

“How long, Bakugou?”

The blond sighs heavily. “Since All-Might died. Since that video came out.”

Kirishima swallows thickly. “I didn’t watch it.”

“You didn’t need to. You were there.”

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” Kirishima asks. “What happened to All-Might? The doctors said he was weakened already. He made that choice to go in anyway, and his death was caused by All For One.”

“Hm.”

“I need you to tell me you don’t blame yourself.”

Bakugou, despite himself, laughs. “You know damn well I can’t do that.”

Kirishima stares at him with such sadness in his eyes that it hurts to look, so Bakugou doesn’t. He stares down at the nauseating drop, at the tiny students down below, and ignores the redhead in his peripheral.

“Bakugou, please-”

“Can we just.. not fucking talk?” Bakugou requests sharply. Kirishima’s saddened expression only intensifies and the stab of guilt returns. “I don’t wanna be a dick, and you’re not… you’re not doing anything wrong, alright? So stop making that fucking face. I just wanna… not talk.”

Kirishima nods. “Okay. Okay, we won’t talk. We’ll just… sit.”

Bakugou nods back, and they sit in tense silence for a few minutes.

As the clock ticks on, the tension begins to dissipate, and eventually they’re sat in peaceful silence side by side watching as the world passes them by.

It’s the most relaxed Bakugou has felt in a while, especially with someone by his side. He braves a glance to his right, finding Kirishima’s focus to be entirely on the sky ahead, and he smiles.

Of all the people to be here, he’s glad it’s Kirishima.

 

For a little while, the internet comments are forgotten. The girl in the cafeteria, and Monoma, and the man on the train are forgotten. All-Might is forgotten.

 

For a little while, he simply exists.

Notes:

just a short one today. between work and everything else i'm finding it hard to motivate myself to write even though i've got loads of ideas and i know exactly where this story is gonna go.

however, i'm on even more reduced hours now (thanks covid) so i should hopefully have more time to commit to this

Chapter 8

And I begin to envy the headlights driving south

I want to crack the door so I can just fall out

                                                                                 - Twenty One Pilots

 

 

The air is thick with smoke, rising up from the rubble and remains of crumbled buildings and cracked roads. In the midst of it all, barely visible, All-Might and All For One stand facing one another. Bakugou watches through streaming eyes, vision blurred by smoke and dust and tears as his legs shake beneath him. There’s a grotesque taste in his mouth, the remnants of All For One’s warping, that still has him wheezing and gagging.

“There’s no use fighting, boy,” Twice says. “It’ll be less painful if you come willingly.”

“Fuck you!” Bakugou snaps hoarsely.

The evident weakness in his voice prompts a cold smirk from Twice, and the man approaches. Bakugou immediately throws an explosion his way, warding the man back, but Toga appears at his left side and Dabi on his right. He casts his explosion down to the ground, propelling himself upwards into the air as the two newcomers dive forward towards him. He lands further back, creating a comfortable enough distance between himself and his captors to assess the situation.

All-Might and All For One are going at one another with such force and aggression that the ground quakes beneath them, but Bakugou can see All-Might slowing.

Shigaraki is unaccounted for, which does nothing to help his panic.

Twice, Dabi, and Toga are coming at him once again, and he lets them get closer before darting away again.

Without knowing where Shigaraki is, he’s not willing to simply try and escape, nor is he willing to leave All-Might, but the area is a war zone and bricks and concrete are falling like rain all around him and he just wants to run

 

There.

 

Amongst the smoke.

 

Shigaraki watches with his head tilted to the side a little and an icy smirk visible behind his mask. It’s enough to send a shudder down Bakugou’s spine, to blind him to the rest of the world. He clicks his fingers, and suddenly the League are running at him again. Once more, he sends a blast towards the ground and launches himself upwards when he sees red in the corner of his eye. He falls too fast to see it clearly, but he’s adamant it’s familiar.

“Kirishima?!” he questions, the blast masking his voice despite his volume.

He lands further away from his enemies but not far enough, and they’re quick to descend upon him again and the question of Kirishima is gone from his mind.

“Enough!” All-Might’s voice carries over the battlefield. “We can end this here and now!

"Gladly,” All For One responds silkily.

All-Might is barely upright, blood pumping from a head wound and from a chest wound, and a small trickle escaping from the side of his mouth. A swell of anger erupts deep in Bakugou’s chest and he turns his attention to Dabi and Toga who are coming at him quickly.

“Fuck this,” he snaps. “And FUCK YOU!”

He lifts both hands up and sends quick explosions at both, hitting his targets effortlessly. He then raises his left hand and positions his right hand in a circular position across his left palm and aims it at Twice. A sharp, controlled blast barrels towards him and hits him square in the chest, his clone quickly disappearing as he hits the floor.

“Impressive,” Shigaraki says, calmly closing the distance between them. “I knew you were the right choice.”

“Fuck you,” Bakugou snarls. “I’m not joining your fucking emo band.”

Shigaraki smiles. “So hostile, and yet I can hear the shake in your voice. What would your teacher say, knowing you’re so afraid?”

“I’m not fucking afraid of you,” Bakugou spits back. “Eat shit, hand fuck.”

He sends blast after blast at Shigaraki, the man bouncing back to avoid the explosions. He’s wearing thin, lack of sleep and lack of food weighing down on him with every bit of energy he uses.

“Hold them back,” he tells himself. “Hold them back just long enough for All-Might to win.”

Except All-Might isn’t winning.

He isn’t winning, and nobody is coming, and the League are staring at him with cold eyes and hungry smiles. His shoulders scream with the effort of moving as he lifts his arms once more in a desperate bid to hold them back.

Just hold them back.

Just.

Hold.

On.

 

He wakes to a thin stream of light extending from his ceiling to his floor, his blinds not quite closed all the way. He lies still, a thin layer of sweat sticking his hair to his forehead and his shirt to his back, as his heart races in response to the memory.

It’s 5am, and he’s managed a few hours sleep, and yet he feels utterly unrested. His eyes sting with every blink and his muscles protest his every movement as he sits up and grimaces at the damp pull of his shirt.

“Fucking gross,” he mutters.

He throws off his duvet and grabs a clean uniform from his wardrobe before making his way down to the shower room. He doesn’t encounter anyone on the way, but he isn’t particularly paying attention to his surroundings anyway. There’s a chill under his skin that always seems to cling after he dreams of that day, and he naively hopes the shower will rid himself of it.

He knows it won’t.

 

He stands under the scorching hot water for a little while, letting it run through his hair and over his skin and ignoring the way it leaves his skin red, when flashes of his dream return. He closes his eyes to find Shigaraki’s face staring back at him. Dabi appears with the next blink, and Toga, and Twice, and All For One, and finally All-Might. A sickening rotation of animalistic smiles and cracking skin and blood.

So vivid, so real, that he can feel it and smell it and hear it.

He scrubs at his skin, the phantom blood soaking his hands and his hair and his mind.

The heat-induced redness is replaced by friction burn but he doesn’t stop.

 

He doesn’t stop until all visibility in the room has been swallowed by steam, until the blood has disappeared from his skin, until All-Might stops dying again.

 

He sinks to the floor, the tiles cold against his body, and he watches the water drain.

 

*

 

He feels nothing today. It takes him until midday to come to that conclusion. He eats tasteless food, smiles at his friend’s shit jokes, responds with as few words as possible when someone strikes conversation with him, and he feels nothing.

It’s better this way, he decides. Better than feeling the endless terror of anxiety and panic. Better than the earth-shattering grief that tries so desperately to swallow him whole.

Better than the constant, sharp guilt that stabs at him and digs at him.

It’s better.

 

*

 

The day passes by in a blur. He passed an exam he doesn’t remember taking, they discuss a book he can’t recall reading, and they complete a pop quiz that he forgets the moment he leaves the classroom. By the afternoon, he’s in his costume alongside his classmates for yet another Heroics lesson.

He’s teamed up with Jirou, Uraraka, Hagakure, and Todoroki, or Team A, for a rescue exercise against an opposing team comprising of Sero, Shoji, Tokoyami, Tsuyu, and Mineta, labelled Team B.

“One team will be the Heroes, the other team will be the Villains,” Aizawa explains as the class gather in their teams. “The Villains will have a number of civilians hostage in a building. The Heroes are expected to locate the Villains, figure out how many civilians are involved, and get the civilians out with minimal injury. Team A, you will be the Heroes. Team B, villains. Team B, go now. Find your civilians, take them to your location. Team A will be released in due course.”

“Let’s hope Sero doesn’t knock you out again!” Hagakure says brightly, although Bakugou can’t quite pinpoint her exact location.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Bakugou responds lowly.

Todoroki frowns just a little, enough for the blond to notice but not enough for him to care, but nothing is said.

Uraraka swallows and takes a breath. “Well! I’m excited for this! I wonder who the civilians are?”

“I’m almost positive they’ll be sandbags,” Jirou retorts. “I’ll bet my entire drumkit on it.”

“Oh. Well that’s less fun. It’s always an added challenge to coordinate real people!” Uraraka’s positivity is a little grating, but Bakugou keeps his eyes on the battlefield in front of them.

The scenery is just different enough from his reality to keep him grounded, but it still makes his heart thud loudly as their time counts down.

“Ready, Team A?” Aizawa asks.

They nod.

“Then go save those civilians.”

 

 

At the start, Bakugou is focused. Intensely focused. Within five minutes of being on the field, he notices movement in the top left window of a small building that vaguely resembles an apartment block, quickly followed by an additional body. He clicks his fingers, catching his team’s attention and drawing them back to his position in a darkened alleyway. As he waits for them to return, he spots a third body in the window.

“The hostages are in there,” Bakugou announces, pointing at the apartment block. “I count three villains. I can see them pacing. It wouldn’t make sense for them to position the majority of their team in one location unless they’re keeping all the hostages in one place.” He scoffs. “Amateurs.”

“Would you not do that?” Todoroki asks.

“Would I fuck. Separate the civilians. Make it harder for the heroes to find them, force them to split. It’s easier to take down one hero at a time than a group of heroes all at once.”

“Maybe they know that, so it's easier for them to stick together,” Hagakure suggests.

Bakugou shrugs. “Maybe. But if they go on the defensive in the same room as the civilians, that increases the risk of fatalities, and then they lose their leverage. Plus, if they end up prematurely killing their civilians, we have no reason to hold back against them, increasing their chance of losing.”

Todoroki nods. “I agree.”

Todoroki takes charge with planning out their movements, and Bakugou settles for listening. His job is to draw out any of Team B not in the building and take them down so the rest of his team can take out the others and make the rescue attempts. He considers going subtle, sneaking towards the building, and cautiously capturing their attention.

Instead, he stands in the mock street and lets his palms crackle loudly.

“Oi, fuckers!”

He makes a show of blowing up the front door of the apartment block, assured that the civilians are all on the upper level, and it’s enough to bring the two team B members out of the woodwork. Shoji and Tokoyami emerge from their hiding spots on either side of him, boxing him in. He smirks, raising his hands at each of them, when he’s plunged back into the battlefield of Kamino once again. He can smell the burning rubble and the distant scent of congealed blood and his heart begins to pound, his mouth drying up and his throat tightening.

“I hoped it wouldn’t be you,” Tokoyami admits.

“Don’t tell me that,” Bakugou snaps back tightly. “Be a pretty shitty villain to admit you’ve got a weakness against me.”

He sends numerous explosions Tokoyami’s way, easily keeping Dark Shadow at bay, as Toga- Shoji runs at him from the right. Bakugou thrusts his right arm forward and throws a single explosion in his direction, knocking the boy back. He catches himself with his arms and is quickly back on his feet, but Bakugou simply throws another explosion his way.

“Might as well give up now,” Bakugou says. “It’ll be less painful if you just-”

The words die away in his mouth as Twice’s voice echoes in his head, his explosions faltering just long enough for Dark Shadow to rise up and Shoji to take another run at him again.

He’s quick to take them both down, stronger and larger explosions knocking them both aside a good distance away rendering them both out of combat, but the faltering was there.

He knows it, and Aizawa will know it.

Everyone will know it.

Everyone saw that. Everyone will think you’re weak, and slow, and a waste of space.

The klaxon sounds off a few seconds later as the crackling sound of ice travels above his head across the windows of the building, and a disembodied voice somewhere in the distance announces Team A as the winners.

The rest of his team emerge from the building with seven civilians. They’re not sandbags like Jirou had predicted, but instead mere pieces of cardboard with a frowning face crudely drawn on with sharpie.

“You’d think with how rich UA is, they’d be able to afford better fake hostages,” Jirou comments, wafting a few pieces of cardboard as they walk back to the rest of their classmates.

“Jirou, stop abusing the hostages,” Aizawa commands. “Well done Team A. You took down the villains and rescued the hostages with no injuries in a very quick time. Todoroki, good job organising your team and taking your team’s strengths into consideration. You showed good leadership skills.”

 

Bakugou takes a seat on the bench as they await the next group to battle. His friends are pitted against each other, something he’d usually take a great deal of amusement in, but there’s no ounce of excitement or enthusiasm within him today.

He stays seated on the bench, watches with utter indifference, and patiently awaits their dismissal.

 

*

 

He’s back in his uniform before the rest of his classmates and makes quick work of leaving them behind. Aizawa doesn’t expect them to come back to their homeroom before leaving, so he makes a beeline for the dorms.

He’s not lucky enough to avoid stares and whispers of fellow students who, like others, have taken a particular dislike to him since Kamino.

The beauty of numbness, however, is that he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care when two girls in the year above scoff and scowl at him. He doesn’t care when a third spits at his feet. He doesn’t care when he catches someone from 1-B sticking a middle finger up at him and mouthing something undoubtedly threatening.

He doesn’t fucking care, and there’s a strange sense of freedom with that.

 

He enjoys the numbness, he decides.

 

As he makes his way through the corridors, he catches a glimpse of dark black, shoulder-length hair and a contrasting scarf.

“Fucks sake,” he mutters under his breath as Aizawa spots him.

“Bakugou,” the teacher addresses. “Can I have a word?”

Bakugou doesn’t speak, but he nods and follows the teacher into an empty corner of the corridor.

“You were distracted during that exercise,” Aizawa says. “I noticed you hesitate on a few occasions. Most notably when you were fighting Shoji and Tokoyami. Is everything okay?”

“Yep.”

Aizawa sighs, but Bakugou can’t work out if it’s an annoyed sigh or a tired sigh. His face gives nothing away.

“You know where I am if everything isn’t okay,” he continues. “Don’t you?”

 “Yep.”

“Okay.”

Aizawa stares at him for a moment, scrutinizing eyes watching with such intensity that for a split second, Bakugou is adamant the man can read his thoughts.

Don’t want him listening to those nasty things.

Bakugou stares back, silence weighing heavily between them, until the older man nods and turns his back on the student. Bakugou takes that as his cue to leave, and heads for the dorms.

 

*

 

He doesn’t eat when he gets back. He lies on his bed, uniform still on, staring up at his white ceiling from the moment he gets back. He listens to the distant sound of his classmates milling around, talking in the corridor, and going out onto the balcony to talk and hang out. He catches Kirishima’s voice blending in with Kaminari’s and Ashido’s, but he can’t quite hear what they’re saying.

He doesn’t bother to find out.

The sun goes down around 8 o’clock and night begins to crawl into his room, swallowing up the light and leaving him in utter darkness.

Get up and turn the damn light on.

He doesn’t move.

You’re so lazy. Just get up and turn the light on. It’s not hard.

Yet somehow, it’s impossible. It’s impossible to will his limbs to follow basic commands. It’s impossible to convince his body to get up and do this one simple task.

It’s impossible, so he doesn’t do it.

 

*

 

He manages an hour or so of sleep before waking up in a cold sweat with the vague memory of blood and screaming quickly fading as his pulse slows to a normal rate. At this point, it’s 2am. He can hear acoustic music playing quietly next door but no other sign of life. Everything is still and somewhat heavy, like the world itself is weighing down on him. He thinks he might sink into the bed, into the floor, into the endless abyss.

But even that seems like more effort than he can conjure, so he settles for remaining perfectly still, staring up at his ceiling, and counting his even breaths.

 

 

Chapter 9

Notes:

tw for self-harm and slight hints at suicidal ideation

I wear my crown of shit

On my liar's chair

Full of broken thoughts

I cannot repair

Beneath the stain of time

The feeling disappears

You are someone else

I am still right here

                                                     - Nine Inch Nails

 

It’s a Sunday, the dorms still and silent, and Bakugou finds himself awake by 3am. He showers, forces some food down himself (a single apple, but it’s better than nothing), and finds himself oddly bored. He doesn’t want to see anyone, nor does he have any desire to do any schoolwork, but there’s a buzzing energy beneath his skin that merges with his anxiety and contrasts with the utter blankness he’s been experiencing recently. And despite the lack of desire to do anything, he wants desperately to get rid of the buzzing.

Hiking, he decides, is the best course of action. He packs some provisions into a backpack, complete with a first aid kit and portable phone charger, and sets off by 4am. The sun hasn’t begun to rise yet, the sky still a deep dark blue, but he revels in the peace of it. The stars sparkle overhead and he loses himself in them as he walks down the street towards the train station.

There’s a sudden spike in his anxiety as he steps up on the platform, folding his arms tightly over his chest as he holds his head down, his hood covering his identity, and carefully takes in his surroundings.

There’s only two other people there, and neither of them take any notice of him. One is dressed in an oversized, untailored suit with creases on the sleeves and a coffee stain on the white of his shirt. He’s tapping his feet with a nervous energy that Bakugou can feel from where he stands, his eyes darting from the briefcase in his hand to the train times on the screen. The second person sits on the bench nearest the exit, small earbuds in and bopping her head along to the music. She has a large coffee clutched in her hand that she takes a sip of every few seconds, but there’s a content smile on her face despite the early hour.

Bakugou wonders what she’s listening to. Wonders if that’s why she’s so happy.

Music has always been a crutch of his, always been his escape, but he can’t recall ever smiling like that at a song.

A stab of jealousy strikes him deep in his chest and he tears his eyes away to focus on the train tracks. He doesn’t look away until the familiar rumble of the train finally sounds and the PA system announces its arrival.  

All three of them board the same carriage, the only ones on there, but they keep their distance. Bakugou sits within sight of the woman, still smiling contently, and watches her for a few minutes. She’s still sipping that coffee, occasionally closing her eyes as she drinks it. Her shoulders deflate as she swallows, seemingly satisfied, before she leans back into her chair and gazes out of the window. After ten minutes or so, after Bakugou has turned his attention to his own window, she turns her music up loud enough that he can catch some parts of it.

It’s a bubbly pop song with a female vocalist, and after a few seconds he finally gets enough of a lyric to make a note of so he can look it up later.

Listen to it when you get home. Maybe you’ll fucking cheer up then.

He puts on his headphones, drowns out the woman’s upbeat melody with his own less-than-joyful metal, and watches the world go by.

 

 

It takes an hour and a half to reach his destination, during which more people board the train and he has to keep his head down and his focus on his music to prevent the ensuing panic. The thought of someone sitting beside him, talking to him, touching him, makes his skin crawl.

Nobody does, nobody even notices him, and he hurries off the train at his stop without any bother. It’s 6am at this point, the sun rising and the sky now cloudless and vibrant. He arrives at the start of the hiking trail after a thirty minute walk and the air is already warm, something he’s grateful for.

He keeps his headphones on until he’s further up the trail and away from the main road, until there’s no sound from the rest of the world, and then finally removes them.

The trail is quiet, still, and peaceful.

Birds sing overhead as they swoop and swerve around one another, a mesmerising dance taking place in the skies above. He stands and watches them, both small and black, until they dart into a nearby tree and don’t come out.

It falls silent again, his boots tapping against loose pebbles and rocks on the path the only sound around.

In any other situation, he would find the silence to be overwhelming. In the silence, he has no company but his own thoughts. And as he’s discovered recently, he isn’t a fan of his own thoughts.

But here?

Here is different. It’s tranquil, calm. There are no bumbling idiots for him to bump into, or questionable so-called fans to torment him and remind him of his greatest failure. There’s just him and nature.

For the first time in months, he doesn’t feel the same crushing weight. His anxiety is on the backburner, buried and locked away somewhere for when he’s home. The buzzing under his skin fades with each step, and he begins to forget the past few months.

 

 

He walks for two and a half hours of the approximately six hour trail, pausing briefly for a drink and another apple. He puts the apple core in a carrier bag back in his backpack before continuing on, the sun beating down and sweat trickling down his temples. After three hours, he checks his phone and finds no messages and no signal. No matter, he thinks, as he switches it off and shoves it into his bag.

He doesn’t need a phone here.

He doesn’t need to be connected to anyone right now.

He just needs to be connected to the trail.  

 

He trudges on.

 

Bakugou reaches the peak a minute after twelve in the afternoon, the sun edging towards its hottest point as he heads towards the cliff edge. The view is glorious, green trees for as far as the eye can see and mountains in the distance. He sits down on the edge, his legs dangling over, and watches the world in peaceful silence.

He catches sight of a sparrowhawk within ten minutes of sitting, soaring overhead and creating a picturesque image of freedom and strength as it commands the skies.

How Bakugou wishes he could join it.

He glances down at the sheer drop beneath his feet and wonders how far down it truly is. How long it would take to fall. He wonders if his quirk would be enough to save him from this height.

Do it. Let’s see if you can actually fly.

He stares down for another second before leaning back and closing his eyes, focusing on bird songs instead of the voice in his head.

 

 

He stays there for two hours, finishing another bottle of water and tanning himself a little, before beginning the hike back down. It takes him just over five hours, getting to the train station for eight o’clock. Nobody is at his platform and nobody boards with him, but there are more people on this train than this morning. He puts his hoody back on and pulls his hood over his head.

Nobody looks at him until he arrives back at the station, as he gets off the train. He catches a glimpse of an older man watching him intensely from the corner of the platform, a phone clutched in his hand. Bakugou pulls his hood more securely over his head and hurries out of the station.

 

*

 

Kirishima woke up at eight o’clock, and he’s been doing schoolwork ever since. It’s now ten and he can’t see an end to it. He’s about to slam his head into the dining table when Ashido bounces into the room dressed in bright green pyjamas and fluffy slippers.

“Hey Kiri! What are you doing?” she asks, sitting herself down opposite him.

“Trying to do my homework,” he drones out. “It’s just relentless.”

Ashido laughs. “Why don’t you ask Bakugou to help you?”

Kirishima glances at the clock. “He’ll definitely be up by now, right? I haven’t heard anything from his room all morning so I thought he was sleeping in.”

“Bakugou? Sleeping in? That boy doesn’t know the meaning of relaxing. I bet he’s studying too.”

She jumps back to her feet and gestures repeatedly towards the lift until Kirishima finally joins her.

His floor is quiet, as it often is. Shoji emerges from his room as they exit the lift, his hair messy and his eyes sleepy. They greet one another tiredly before Kirishima and Ashido continue on to Bakugou’s door.

They knock to no answer.

“Maybe he’s out,” Ashido suggests. “He goes running a lot, doesn’t he?”

Kirishima nods. “Yeah, maybe. Come on, let’s watch a film or something. I can’t be bothered doing any more work.”

Kirishima sends a text off to Bakugou as they reach the communal area again and abandons his schoolwork in favour of watching a superhero film with Ashido.

 

 

He checks his phone periodically, never getting a response. The hours tick by and as the clock reaches seven o’clock, he decides it’s an appropriate time to worry.

“It’s been hours,” he says. “He hasn’t returned any of my texts.”

Ashido frowns. “I mean, he does go running for ages.”

“Mina, it’s seven. It’s been nearly twelve hours since I’ve been up and I’ve not seen him at all. He’s not here. He’s been out all day.”

“Who are you talking about?” Jirou asks, dropping herself down on the sofa adjacent to Kirishima and Ashido.

“Bakugou,” Ashido responds. “He’s been out all day and we haven’t heard from him.”

Jirou raises an eyebrow. “Does he usually text back?”

“Yeah, all the time. Even if he doesn’t wanna talk, he’ll say something.” Kirishima swallows, his leg bouncing nervously. “What if he’s hurt? What if something’s happened?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Ashido reassures.

“Yeah, he’ll have just gone out for a walk or something and lost track of time."

Kirishima nods, still unconvinced. "Sure. Okay. I'm sure you're right."

 

 

By nine, the girls share Kirishima’s panic. They haven’t resorted to calling Aizawa yet but they’re close.

Kirishima feels sick every time he looks down at his phone and sees the endless unanswered texts.

“Should we tell Iida at the very least?” Jirou asks.

“No, the more people involved the worse it’ll be,” Kirishima says. “Bakugou would hate everyone fussing. It’ll be bad enough that we are.”

Ashido sighs. “Then… should we just… stop fussing?”

“No. Because I’m panicking and I need somebody to panic with me, I just don’t need everyone panicking with me.”

“That’s fair. Okay. Well, should we at least tell Sero and Kaminari? Because they’re texting me right now demanding to know why we’re not watching Mortal Kombat with them right now.”

“Shit. Yeah, tell them to come down here.”

Jirou smirks. “You spend too much time with Blasty. Swearing all over the place.”

“What can I say? He’s a great influence.” Kirishima smiles as he speaks, but it’s not enough to hide the fear in his eyes.

 

 

By ten o’clock, the squad and Jirou are still sat in the living room with their phones out, Aizawa’s number ready to contact. They’ve made excuses all night as to why they’ve been sat here for hours looking varying degrees of concerned, but they’ve been given a wide berth.

Kirishima’s grateful for the space, as he thinks any more people would make him crumble.

 

 

After another few minutes, he lets out a heavy sigh. “Okay, I give up. Let’s call-”

The door swings open and Bakugou walks in, his hood on and his hands shoved into his pockets. He’s wearing a large backpack and there’s a thin layer of white dust on his boots and trousers.

“Bakugou!” Kirishima exclaims, jumping to his feet and rushing over.

The blonde’s eyes widen and he instinctively steps back to avoid Kirishima’s sudden intrusion.

“What?” he demands.

“What?!” Kirishima repeats. “What?! Dude, I’ve been worried sick!”

Bakugou frowns. “Why?”

“You’ve been gone all day. Literally all day. I’ve been texting you and you never responded.”

“Oh. I went hiking and I had no signal so I just turned my phone off. Guess I forgot to turn it back on.” He fishes it out of his bag and turns it back on, immediately greeted by an onslaught of texts from Kirishima and the rest of the squad.

“Oh? Is that your response?” Kirishima questions.

“What’s the big deal, man? Am I not allowed to go out anymore?”

“Well, you need Aizawa’s permission, and you should tell someone! What if something happened?”

“I can look after myself, Kirishima.”

“I know that, but you still worried me! What time did you even leave?”

Bakugou shrugs. “I don’t know. I got off the train around six this morning.”

Jirou’s eyes widen. “Holy shit, man. You’ve been hiking for fucking hours.”

Bakugou shrugs again. “I’m back now anyway. Can you stop harassing me and let me go?”

He starts to walk away, but Kirishima isn’t done. The redhead hurriedly blocks Bakugou’s path and shakes his head.

“No. You can’t leave the house for like… nearly 20 hours and not tell anyone. You can’t ignore your phone or disappear off. You don’t get to do that, Bakugou.”

“Oh fuck off. What are you, my fucking dad?”

“What would your dad say if you disappeared for nearly a full day?”

Bakugou scoffs and rolls his eyes. “He wouldn’t fucking notice. Just like you shouldn’t. Can you move the fuck out of the way so I can go upstairs?”

“No, I want to talk about this. Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t check your phone?”

“Fuck, just leave me alone.”

“Answer me, Bakugou!”

“BECAUSE I WANTED TO BE FUCKING LEFT ALONE!” Bakugou snaps, his shaking hands curling into fists. “I wanted to fucking forget about All-Might and Kamino and that fucking idiot from 1-B for one fucking day! Is that too fucking much to ask?!”

Kirishima’s face drops, his bottom lip quivering with unreleased emotion. He opens his mouth to speak but the words melt away as Bakugou’s breath shakes, his chest heaving with each inhale and exhale.

Kirishima knows the look of panic, has seen it many times in the mirror, and he can see it clear as day in Bakugou.

“Bakugou, I-”

Bakugou turns and storms away, opting for the stairs rather than the lift. Kirishima watches the space he’d occupied and lets a single tear escape down his cheek.

“Kiri?” Ashido calls over. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Kirishima responds honestly. “But neither is he.”

Jirou huffs. “I didn’t realise he was still… y’know. Struggling with that stuff.”

“Well he did break Monoma’s face the other day,” Kaminari adds. “Doesn’t really say ‘I’m a stable and put-together person’ does it?”

Sero punches Kaminari in the arm. “That idiot had it coming.”

 

*

 

Bakugou sits on the edge of his bed, his phone unlocked by his side with Kirishima’s unanswered texts staring up at him. Each text conjured something deep in his chest, something he thinks might be guilt, but he can’t quite reach it.

The peace he felt at the hiking trail, overlooking that cliff edge, has gone. He’s already forgotten how it felt.

He’s back to that blankness that seemed to feel comfortable at the start. It doesn’t feel comfortable now. Not when he knows he should be feeling guilty for his attitude to Kirishima. He knows he should feel ashamed, embarrassed, angry at himself.

Kirishima didn’t deserve that, you piece of shit.

He knows. He knows Kirishima deserves far better, and yet he can’t bring himself to feel guilty. Or sad. Or regretful.

He feels absolutely nothing.

He stares down at his hands, scarred and calloused from years of using his quirk, and sparks them up. The sparks dance across his palms, hot and vibrant, and build up and up until they begin to crackle loudly.

He hears a door slam shut nearby and immediately shuts off his quirk, the sparks disappearing from sight.

After a pause, he sparks up again. This time he rests his right palm carefully over his left forearm and grips tightly, his fingers whitening at the tips under the pressure.

Then he lights up.

 

The pain is instant and explosive, tearing into his skin and his muscles and the very bone in his arm. He holds his hand there for another few seconds before pulling away and closing his eyes, breathing through the searing pain.

 

It’s the most he’s felt in a while.

 

*

 

He doesn’t sleep. Cleaning and bandaging his arm takes a total of twenty minutes, and before long he finds himself sitting on his bed, staring at the wall, willing the hours away.

He feels like he’s waiting for something but he hasn’t quite worked out what yet.

Listen to that song.

Sighing softly, he searches the lyrics he’d noted down earlier and finds the song to be PONPONPON by Kyary Pamyu Pamyu. It is definitely upbeat and it isn’t remotely the sort of song he’s interested in, but he listens anyway.

He listens repeatedly, all night, in the naïve hope he might feel something after.

 

He doesn’t.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

guess who was super motivated to write this week (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ

i know people have been commenting asking when he's gonna get some help, and i did consider rushing it a bit more, but then i also thought mental illness is messy af and doesn't go away easily, so i decided to torment Bakugou further. his experience with depression and anxiety is based on my own experience, down to the change in personality, so I'm gonna try and model his recovery off of mine too (as much as i can without having experienced the same hellish traumas as our boy)

Chapter 10

Notes:

tw self-inflicted injury although it's accidental this time

a new budding friendship? it's more likely than you think

You couldn't conceive
The possibility
That though he loves all of us
He's given up on me

                                               -Gabriel Bruce

 

When Bakugou arrives in class Monday morning, it’s to uncomfortable silence and palpable tension between himself and his friends. Jirou doesn’t meet his eye as he steps through the room towards his desk, the last to arrive, and Kirishima simply watches him with a blend of heartbreak and anger clear on his face.

Bakugou isn’t sure what response Kirishima is expecting, nor what response he needs, so he opts to look away instead.

It’s easier to look away.

Kirishima’s face prompts a swell of something in his chest and it’s too far away and too nauseating to focus on and figure out right now.

“Hey, Kiri,” Ashido says softly. Her low tone suggests she doesn’t intend for Bakugou to hear, but whispering has never been her strong suit and despite Bakugou’s less-than-stellar hearing, he can hear her quite clearly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kirishima responds quietly.

He says something else that Bakugou can’t pick up on, before Kaminari gets involved.

“I know what’ll cheer you up!” he interjects. “Let’s beat shit up on Mortal Kombat! We watched the film and now I really wanna play the game again.”

“Sure,” Kirishima replies, very little enthusiasm in his voice.

“Why does Kirishima need cheering up?” Midoriya asks. “What’s wrong?”

Bakugou looks out of the window.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” Kirishima explains, and even with his back turned Bakugou can hear the fake smile. “Just in a bad mood.”

“You’re never in a bad mood. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Fucking Deku can’t mind his own fucking business.

“I’m sure. Thanks though, Izuku.”

Bakugou’s leg begins to bounce incessantly, the familiar feeling of anxiety rushing through his limbs and desperately needing an outlet. The leg bouncing doesn’t work, especially when he catches Midoriya in his peripheral leaning towards Kirishima and uttering a simply sentence that makes Bakugou’s chest tighten.

“You know we’re all here for you, don’t you? You don’t have to deal with whatever or whoever is upsetting you alone.”

Bakugou’s chest hurts.

It hurts because he is the one who’s upset Kirishima, and Kirishima doesn’t deserve that. He deserves far, far better than that.

He clasps his hand over the concealed bandaging on his forearm, revelling in the sudden deep pain that radiates from the burn. It grounds him, the phantom pain in his chest forgotten in favour of the very real pain of his arm.

Aizawa appears a few seconds later, eyes heavy and his frown even deeper than usual. His eyes flicker over towards Bakugou for a split second before he sits down at his desk and begins the homeroom session.

 

*

 

Today’s Heroics class is a free-choice training session. A few students break off to spar, both with and without quirks, and others choose to home in on their skills alone. Bakugou is part of the latter, eyeing up an isolated corner on the training ground with a singular punching bag that can withstand his explosions should he choose to use them. He waits patiently amongst the class as Aizawa recites the usual spiel about the importance of spatial awareness and remaining conscious of your fellow students’ whereabouts at all time.

Effectively ordering the class to not accidentally kill one another.

Bakugou catches Kirishima watching him with that same combined anger and sadness, and pointedly looks away.

Aizawa lets them go, and Bakugou ignores anyone and everyone on his speed walk towards the corner of the room.

He starts off boxing against the dummy figure, his knuckles colliding against the ribcage and chest of the figure until they crack. He vaguely recalls the sound they made when he broke them and carefully pulls back his punches a little.

 

It’s a two hour class, and he spends the first hour punching the bag. Punch, punch, punch. It takes on Monoma’s face, then Twice, and Toga, and Dabi, and Shigaraki-

 

He only hears the crackling of his palms for a split second before his hand explodes, his fist going through the face of the dummy. He freezes, his arm entirely through its face and the smell of burning rubber rapidly spreading across the room and reaching his classmates.

“Bakugou?”

He’s too busy staring at the missing face to notice the smell of burning flesh has joined the smell of rubber.

“Bakugou, you’ve burned yourself.”

A hand touches his arm and he flinches, rapidly pulling his arm away and twisting to face the intruder, finding Aizawa standing over him with clear concern painted in his eyes.

“What?” Bakugou demands tightly, and a little breathlessly.

Aizawa’s eyes flicker down. “Your hand. You’ve burned your hand.”

Bakugou follows Aizawa’s gaze down to his hand, still clenched into a fist. He can see smoke still escaping from between his fingers and dancing up towards the ceiling. Slowly, he opens up his fist and finds his fingers are raw and blackened.

Much like his forearm, but he won’t be telling Aizawa that.

“Bakugou, if you would like to get out of Heroics classes, I assure you that there are better ways than ending up in the infirmary with Recovery Girl. And yet, that’s the only option you ever take.”

Bakugou glares up at his teacher, finding absolutely zero amusement in the situation. Aizawa’s expression suggests he’s also not finding the situation amusing, and yet the realisation that this is the second (fourth? Fifth? He can’t remember) time that he’s had to leave Heroics early because of an injury is a startling one.

“Todoroki,” Aizawa addresses. “Please escort Bakugou to the infirmary. I’d like to make sure our new problem child doesn’t injure himself further on the way.”

“Fuck off.”

“Gladly.”

Aizawa does, indeed, fuck off. He returns to his usual perch above the training ground to watch the others as Todoroki joins Bakugou’s side. The boy has barely broken a sweat throughout the past hour, and Bakugou can’t recall feeling any heat or cold from his quirk this entire time.

“To answer your question,” Todoroki says, as though reading his thoughts. “I was doing some training without my quirk.”

“I didn’t fucking ask,” Bakugou snaps. “Mindfreak.”

Todoroki smirks, something Bakugou rarely sees on the other boy’s face, and they head towards the door. Bakugou can feel his classmates watching him go, like he’s on parade, and he forces himself to look at the door instead.

He doesn’t want to see the shame on their faces. The laughter. The acknowledgement that he’s doing nothing but fucking up.

He’d rather burn himself over and over again than see that.

 

*

 

Recovery Girl makes quick work of healing him for the most part, applying burn ointment and bandaging to help with the remaining patches of raw pink skin that’s left behind.

Todoroki stays throughout the healing process, and even stays when Bakugou’s stamina all but wears out and he falls asleep on the uncomfortable infirmary bed. He has a restlessly hour of sleep before waking up with a little more energy.

To his surprise, as his eyes adjust to the dimmed lighting of the room, he finds Todoroki is still in the chair beside him, highlighting things in one of his textbooks.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” he questions.

Todoroki glances up. “Waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“That’s not a fucking answer and you know it.”

Todoroki shrugs and closes his textbook. “I thought you seemed like you might need company. Might. I thought I would give you the choice rather than leave after you passed out and let you wake up alone.”

Bakugou doesn’t know how to respond to that. He expects it to be a joke, for Todoroki to be messing with him.

Because nobody ever gives him a choice.

But Todoroki is watching him with the same sincerity he always has, and Bakugou believes his intentions despite his every impulse telling him not to.

“Okay,” he says eventually.

Todoroki nods. He puts his textbook back in his bag and straightens up in his chair. “You ready to go back? Heroics will be over now so… I guess we can just go straight to the dorms.”

Bakugou glances at the clock on the far wall, finding it to be nearly half three, and shrugs. He swings his legs off the bed and cracks his neck. The infirmary beds, while not the worst thing he’s ever slept on, are notoriously uncomfortable. It’s a strange feature for somewhere that involves healing.

“Come on,” Todoroki says. “I want to get back before Izuku steals all of the tea.”

“Never would’ve had you down as a tea drinker,” Bakugou notes.

Todoroki shrugs. “Momo introduced me to it. It’s a good way to unwind.”

Bakugou swings his bag over his shoulder, his head spinning just enough to remind him that he needs far more sleep to finish off healing. “I’m more of a coffee guy myself.”

“I’ve noticed that. I would have thought you would only drink water. You risk dehydration with your quirk don’t you?”

“I do, but water doesn’t do shit after a sleepless night.”

Todoroki nods in agreement. “True. And you seem to get a lot of them.”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“Educated guess. You slept for barely an hour in the infirmary and you were stirring and grinding your teeth for most of that.” They leave the infirmary, shouting a quick ‘thanks’ to Recovery Girl on the way, before continuing the conversation. “Nightmares?”

Bakugou huffs. “None of your fucking business.”

“I get them too,” Todoroki continues, and Bakugou is certain this is the most he has ever heard the boy talk. “Sometimes they’re not too bad, and they don’t bother me. But others are disturbingly real. Those ones are hard to shake off the next day. Bad dreams and memories have a nasty habit of lingering, don’t you think?”

Bakugou swallows, his jaw clenching as he tightens his grip on the handle of his bag. He lets the silence hang around for a few more minutes, something Todoroki doesn’t interrupt, until they’re within sight of the dorms.

“I was thinking about the League,” Bakugou admits. “When I punched that dummy.”

“Punched?” Todoroki questions. “Bakugou, you put your hand through its face.”

Bakugou shrugs. “Semantics. Fuckface from 1-B came to mind too. Maybe I should’ve punched a rubber dummy that time instead of breaking his face.”

Todoroki sighs softly. “That would have been far less gratifying. He deserved it. You are aware nobody blames you for that, aren’t you? You’ve not really spoken to anyone in class since that, but nobody is angry about it. In fact, I think most people were wondering why nobody had done it sooner. He hasn’t harassed any of us since.”

“It’s hard to harass people when you can barely breathe through your nose.”

Todoroki smiles. “His nose has been healed. His pride, however. That’s something Recovery Girl can’t restore.”

Bakugou smirks and lets the expression linger for a bit. Todoroki huffs in amusement and they continue the rest of their walk in peaceful silence. It’s the most content Bakugou has felt in somebody’s company for a while. No hateful stares or insults being spewed at him. No mention of All-Might or the Kamino incident.

For a few minutes, he almost feels like a kid again.

And then they reach the dorms and Todoroki turns to him with zero trace of the content smirk on his face.

“Bakugou,” he addresses, too seriously for Bakugou’s liking. He’s immediately uncomfortable again. “I think you should talk to someone about what happened. About the fact that the League were on your mind that much.”

“I talked to you, didn’t I?” Bakugou retorts.

“You mentioned it. You didn’t talk about it. You can talk about it to me if you want, but I was under the impression that you wouldn’t trust me with that information.”

Bakugou motions to respond before pulling back because, truthfully, he doesn’t have a response.

He doesn’t distrust Todoroki. In fact, he trusts the boy more than he trusts most people. He’s logical, forward-thinking, and confident. If Bakugou had to choose someone to have by his side during a disaster, Todoroki would be one of his top choices.

So why can’t he talk to him?

Why can’t he be honest with him?

Because he doesn’t need to hear your bullshit.

Bakugou’s chest clenches and he straightens himself up, glancing at the door of the dormitory instead of at Todoroki.

“I’m good,” he says after a strained pause. “Punching the dummy’s head off was enough stress relief for one day.”

Todoroki watches him for a few seconds, those scrutinising eyes looking so deeply at him that Bakugou thinks he might actually be able to read thoughts. The stare is intense enough to make Bakugou take a slight step back, something Todoroki notices immediately.

“Okay,” Todoroki agrees. “If you’re sure. But if you change your mind, you can talk to me. Emotions… aren’t really my strong suit, but they don’t seem to be yours either, so I’m sure we can find a way to air out any problems without having to be in touch with our feelings.”

Bakugou nods once and together they step into the dorms, where their classmates are already back. Most of them seem to be gathered in the communal area, either cooking, studying, or watching TV. Bakugou instinctively looks for a familiar mop of gelled red hair before forcing his attention towards the lift.

Todoroki veers off towards the table, where Midoriya is sat with Momo and Iida. Bakugou catches Midoriya looking in his direction with an oddly unreadable expression, but Bakugou chooses not to dwell on it.

He instead escapes to his room, locks his door, and sinks down to the floor by his bed.

He thinks about Todoroki’s suggestion of opening up to somebody. Thinks about how carefree he felt talking to someone like normal, without any outbursts or seriousness. Thinks about waking up with someone by his side, someone who hadn’t left him at the first opportunity.

His mind is racing before he realises, and soon the thoughts begin to overlap into a mess of words and images that he can’t grasp onto.

He doesn’t want to listen to your fucking emotions. He only offered because he had to. Don’t waste his time.

Bakugou sighs softly and lets his head fall back against the soft mattress. That damn voice is right and he knows it, yet the thought is tempting.

Todoroki wouldn’t get emotional. He wouldn’t panic or tell him how to feel. He would just listen. Maybe that’s all Bakugou needs.

He just needs someone to listen.

He doesn’t need to listen. He doesn’t need you burdening him.

 

He puts some music on, plugs his headphones in, and lets himself drift for a few hours.

 

*

 

The self-inflicted burn on his forearm is gone, just some faint scarring left behind. He can blame his gauntlets on that. They do get hot at times. His fingers and palm are still pink, the skin tender to the touch, but he dutifully applies ointment as directed by Recovery Girl.

“If you don’t keep applying this, I will get you banned from training until it fully heals.”

For someone so physically non-threatening, Recovery Girl has a way of getting her message across.

He wraps fresh bandaging around his hand, no minor feat alone, and glances at the clock. It’s just after four in the morning, and he’s managed two hours of sleep. He’s still tired, the aftermath of his healing still very much in play, but he can’t bring himself to go back to sleep. He considers it, the gritty ache of his eyes calling for it, but he knows it’s futile.

He can already envision the nightmares, the blood, the grief.

It’s utterly pointless to try.

His phone buzzes, startling him out of his tired stupor. His first thought is Kirishima, but he knows full well the redhead won’t be texting him any time soon. His mind then returns to the hateful comments left for him online, and he decides to ignore the message.

It’ll be another person telling you what a terrible person you are, as though you don’t already know.

It buzzes again and he sighs in annoyance before unlocking his phone and checking.

It’s an unknown number, but it isn’t a hateful comment.

 

Are you still awake?

 

His heart begins to pound as he nervously glances towards his closed blinds, briefly wondering if someone can see him before he checks the second message.

 

We can study if you want.

 

He frowns, the sudden panic alleviating just enough for him to ask who the unknown number belongs to. A mere thirty seconds pass before they respond.

 

Todoroki. I’m at the dining table if you can't sleep and wish to study.

 

He wants to say no. He wants to snap at the half-and-half fucker and tell him to leave him the fuck alone. He wants to isolate himself completely and utterly.

But snapping at everyone is exhausting. Pushing people away is exhausting. Everything is so damn exhausting, but Todoroki isn’t.

Of everyone right now, he isn’t.

Bakugou grabs his textbook and shuffles down to the communal area where Todoroki is sat alone at the dining table, only a few lamps illuminating the room. The other boy raises his head upon Bakugou’s entrance and looks momentarily surprised before straightening his expression again.

“Hey,” he greets.

Bakugou huffs. “Hey.”

The blond sits down opposite Todoroki and drops his textbook down in front of himself. Todoroki eyes up the mathematics book and smirks a little, gesturing to his own mathematics book.

“Great minds,” he comments quietly.

“I have two questions,” Bakugou says abruptly.

Todoroki shrugs. “Sure.”

“One. How did you get my number? And two. Why the fuck are you still awake at four in the morning?”

Todoroki taps his pen against the book for a second. “I got your number from the group list. You do know you’re in a group chat with everyone, don’t you?”

Bakugou frowns. “No. Oh, wait. I think I muted that shit the day I was added to it. I tried to leave but people kept adding me back in.”

“Yeah. I got it from there. And you’re not the only one who struggles to sleep sometimes.” He spots the fresh bandaging on Bakugou’s hand. “Did you bandage that yourself?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou says. He stares down the other boy for a few seconds longer. “You couldn’t sleep, so you text me?”

“Yes. I figured you would be awake, and if we’re both going to be awake, we might as well keep each other company.”

Bakugou huffs, caught somewhere between annoyed and amused. “We ain’t friends just because you fucking felt obliged to hang around at the infirmary.”

Todoroki meets his eyes. “I know.”

He diverts his attention to his schoolwork, no longer interested in maintaining the conversation. After a pause, Bakugou does too.

 

*

 

They stay there, working, until seven o’clock when their classmates begin to filter into the room looking varying degrees of awake and functioning. Iida is first, as usual, and looks miraculously prepared for the day. He seems surprised to see the pair already up and studying, but he says nothing beyond commending them for their commitment as he heads towards the kitchen.

“I need a fucking shower,” Bakugou comments.

“Same,” Todoroki agrees. He eyes up the fresh bandaging on Bakugou’s hand. “Don’t get that wet.”

“I’m not a fucking idiot, Icyhot,” he retorts sharply.

“Believe me, I know.”

They say nothing further, instead gathering their things and heading to the lift. When they part ways, Todoroki nods with a slight smile that Bakugou feels an uncontrollable impulse to return. 

As the lift doors close, leaving him alone, he thinks back to Kirishima again. Todoroki doesn't quite light up the room in the way Kirishima does, but there's more to that boy than Bakugou thought. 

If a friendship formed between them, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. 

He tries to ignore the voice in his mind that tries to beat that thought down. 

He ignores it, and he holds onto the smile a little longer.

 

 

Chapter 11

Notes:

tw for panic attack

 

This mind isn't mine, who am I to judge?
Oh, I should be fine, but it's all too much

                                                                     - Royal And The Serpent 

 

Friendship has always been a confusing concept for Bakugou. He never really had friends. He and Midoriya were too young, really, for any true friendship to form. By the time it could, he got his quirk and he let it fall away.

Midoriya got the closest, but nobody else quite made the cut. They all liked him for his flashy quirk and for his intelligence. They used him for good grades, for social standing. He got attention for his loudness, and they thrived on that. They hung off him like leeches, sucking him dry until they got everything they wanted, and then left.

Friendship never made much sense to him, until he realised none of that was friendship.

He wonders if what he’s developed with Todoroki is friendship.

They’ve started to silently study. He wouldn’t say they were studying together, as they’re often doing different work and they never utter a word, but they do it alongside one another.

He finds he doesn’t get lost in his own head when Todoroki is studying next to him. The sound of his scratching pen and flicking pages gives him something to focus on when he feels his mind slipping elsewhere.

It’s peaceful, calming.

 

They begin a routine. Every other day they meet in the library after school or in the dormitory communal area and do their schoolwork. The lack of conversation means Bakugou doesn’t have to put any effort into it, so even on the bad days he can still cope with it.

It quickly becomes so comfortable, so routine, that he forgets he ever had a distance from the dual-quirked boy.

It’s on a Thursday, just after lunch break, when someone finally questions it. Bakugou is sat in their homeroom gazing lazily out of the window, his classmates slowly filing back into the room, when Midoriya approaches him.

“Hey, Kacchan!” he greets brightly. Bakugou grunts in response. “So, you and Todoroki seem to be hanging out a lot recently.”

“So fucking what?”

“Nothing! It’s a good thing! I just… it’s nice to see you spending time with someone again.”

Bakugou scoffs. “We just study next to each other.”

“It’s better than nothing, Kacchan. And after everything that’s happened, you need someone to spend time with. Even if all you’re doing is studying.”

“God, you sound like that fucking therapist woman.”

Midoriya blushes. “Well… actually, I’ve been seeing her. Well, not her. Someone in her office. They’ve been helping me come to terms with what happened to All-Might.”

“Fucking glorious.”

“You should try it.”

“When has talking about feelings ever been a strong point of mine?”

Midoriya smiles softly, his eyes momentarily flicking towards the door as Kirishima and Ashido walk in. “I know. But it’s worth thinking about.”

“No it’s not.”

Midoriya shrugs before taking his seat. Bakugou catches Kirishima looking at him as the redhead walks towards his seat, but he turns away before he can detect any level of emotion from the other boy.

You bastard.

Bakugou sighs softly and crosses his arms tightly across his chest, and returns his gaze to the window.

 

*

 

“We’re going to the shopping mall this weekend and you should come with us.”

Bakugou stares up at Todoroki with raised eyebrows and disbelieving eyes. The boy stares back, his expression inscrutable as always, and silence befalls them.

They’ve been studying for an hour now, without a sound between them, and Bakugou wonders why Todoroki had elected to ruin that peace now.

The other boy stares at him keenly and the silence weighs heavily for a solid two minutes more before he tries again.

“You never know,” Todoroki adds. “You might have fun.”

“Why would I want to have fun with these idiots?”

Todoroki shrugs. “Because you might find some of them have a lot to give. Not everyone is going. Just enough of us that the attention won’t be forced on you. I know you hate that.”

“Stop acting like you fucking know me, man.”

“Am I wrong?”

Bakugou’s silence tells Todoroki everything he needs to know, and the boy has the audacity to smirk.

“Fuck, man. What are you even doing at the mall? No one has any fucking money.”

“No but it’s still enjoyable to walk and look around. And I’m sure we can scrape up some cash for food. It’ll be nice, not having to cook for ourselves for once.”

There’s a brief pause, and Todoroki sighs. “Bakugou, Aizawa has given us a pass to leave the dorms without adult supervision. How often do we get this opportunity? It’s been weeks since anyone went.”

Bakugou thinks back to his ill-advised escape to the hiking trail but opts not to mention it. Todoroki tilts his head expectantly and yet again the room falls silent.

Bakugou can feel the pressure already, the demand of his company so fucking obvious, and yet he can’t bring himself to say no.

“Who’s going?” he asks quietly.

Todoroki’s blank stare breaks into a smile that, by some miracle, reaches his eyes. “Me, Jirou, Uraraka, Kirishima, Ashido, Sero, Tsuyu, and Kaminari. See, not everyone.”

“Surprised Deku isn’t,” Bakugou retorts. “The idiot follows you like a lost fucking puppy.”

“Well he might go if you do. Besides, he hasn’t been around me as much since we’ve been studying together.”

A stab of guilt strikes Bakugou in the centre of his chest and it takes the utmost strength to not audibly gasp at the unpleasant sensation. His expression must falter because Todoroki shakes his head.

“We’re still friends,” he assures Bakugou. “He hasn’t stopped spending time with me because we’re spending time together. He just wants to give us space to do our thing.” He pauses, glancing out towards the communal area window overlooking the courtyard. “He’s happy you’re hanging out with someone, you know.”

“Yeah, he told me.”

“Everyone’s noticed you’ve not been hanging around with Kirishima recently, so he’s pleased you’re not isolating yourself.”

Bakugou nods, any words he could possibly find to respond getting lost in his mouth as quickly as he can think them up.

“So, will you come?” Todoroki asks.

“Fucking fine. But if any of those extras annoy me, I’m fucking leaving.”

Todoroki nods. “I understand.”

He returns to his textbook, picking up his highlighter and marking key aspects of text, leaving Bakugou in silence once more.

 

*

 

A little after four in the morning, Bakugou wakes with a strangled scream lost in his throat and the echo of All-Might’s voice ringing in his ears. He scrambles out of his bed, his thin covers too constricting, and falls to the floor with a heavy thump that sends a shock of pain up his spine.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his body shaking aggressively as he tries to get upright.

The room is pitch black, unnervingly so, and he drags himself to his feet and towards his light switch. He slams it on using his whole palm, the skin crackling for a second until the light abruptly switches on.

There’s nobody there.

He’s alone.

Somehow, it doesn’t help.

His crackling hands are clean as he looks down upon them, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he can still see the blood staining the creases between his fingers and across his palm. He can almost feel it. The unpleasant, cracking dryness of old blood.

Without another second, he hastily grabs his towel from where it dries on the radiator and hurries towards the showers.

 

He stands under the hot, fast flowing water for an hour, scrubbing at his skin until its red and raw and scratched. By the end of the hour, his forearms are sore and stinging and the hot water does little to help.

He doesn’t care though.

He doesn’t move.

He stops scrubbing, stops scratching at the already-torn skin, and simply stands there. There wasn’t any rain at Kamino. It was hot and dry, but no rain. Bakugou lets the water rush over him, through his hair and down his back, and lets it ground him.

There wasn’t any water at Kamino.

He isn’t at Kamino.

“I’m at the dorms,” he whispers. “Not there. Here.”

 

After another ten minutes, he finally turns off the water and dries himself off. There’s still no movement around the dorms, the sun barely rising, and he has hours left until anyone would be ready to leave.

Why do you even want to go?

He doesn’t have an answer to that. He returns to his room, locks his door, and sits on his bed and waits.

 

*

 

He heads downstairs at six with a mathematics textbook under his arm and a slight ache behind his eyes. Nobody has risen yet, not even a hint of life anywhere in the building, so he turns on only one lamp positioned by the dining table and sets down his things. He makes himself a coffee in the biggest mug he can find and sits down at the table.

 

His concentration lasts a whole ten minutes before his mind starts to drift and he can no longer focus on the words and numbers written before him. He rests his head on his hand and stares down at his notebook, absently sketching the room.

He doesn’t draw often, but it involves less thinking than schoolwork does, and that works for him now.

 

*

 

The others emerge around eight, varying levels of ready evident. Uraraka and Tsuyu are first, nattering amongst themselves until they see Bakugou.

“Oh,” Uraraka says. “You’re up early.” Bakugou grunts, not stopping his idle sketching. “So, Todoroki said you’re coming with us today?” She bounds over, sitting down opposite him and smiling. “I’m so excited. I’m gonna buy real tea. From a shop.”

“I would like to go to the anime shop,” Tsuyu adds, sitting down beside Uraraka. “I don’t have any money, but I like to browse.”

“I’ll go with you!” Uraraka says brightly. “What are you gonna buy, Bakugou?”

Both look at him expectantly and for a very abrupt second he feels an abundance of pressure, like he’s being interrogated. Except they’re both smiling, there’s no tension or anger in their voices, and there’s no negativity in the air.

“I don’t know,” Bakugou responds after a pause.

Uraraka glances down at his notepad and her smile drops, replaced instead by a wide-eyed look of surprise. “Holy hell. Did you draw that?!”

Bakugou shrugs. “Fucking what?”

“That’s amazing! I didn’t know you could draw! Hey, it’s my mum’s birthday next month. Do you think you could draw up something for her if I give you some ideas?”

“Why the fuck would I do that-”

“Oh, Bakugou.” Kirishima’s voice cuts through the conversation like a sharp knife and it takes the breath from Bakugou. Almost immediately, the guilt he’s felt every single time he looks at the redhead returns with a suffocating intensity. “Are you coming today?”

Bakugou tries to read past the expression on Kirishima’s face, tries to figure out whether or not the boy wants him to come. He gives nothing away.

“Yeah,” Bakugou says.

To his surprise, Kirishima smiles. “Good! It’ll be nice to gets out of the dorms for a bit.”

“Kirishima, did you know Bakugou can draw?” Uraraka announces. “It’s amazing!”

Kirishima’s brows furrow in confusion. “No?”

He moves closer to the table and Bakugou closes the notebook.

“Knock it the fuck off,” he snaps at Uraraka.

He grabs his textbook and notepad and gets up, quickly heading towards the lift. The doors open as he reaches it, revealing Todoroki and Sero.

“Bakugou,” Todoroki greets. “Where are you going?”

“Putting these in my fucking room,” Bakugou retorts.

“You’re still coming, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Bakugou waits for the pair to leave the lift before getting in and pressing the button for his floor. As the doors close, he catches Sero questioning how Todoroki managed to rope Bakugou into socialising.

 

He takes his time returning his books to his room and grabs a black face mask from his drawer, usually reserved for sick days. He knows the others will want to get the train instead of walking and the idea of being visible to random members of the public makes him nauseous.

When he returns, the others have all arrived. Their eyes fall upon him as he enters the room and it’s almost enough to make him bolt, but Todoroki quickly directs everyone to the door and diverts the attention away from him.

He doesn’t thank the boy, but he does give him a curt nod. Evidently it’s enough for Todoroki, as he smiles in response.

 

The walk to the train station is quiet and Bakugou hangs at the back, Todoroki walking alongside next to him. The closer they get, the more aware he gets of the crowds. It’s a Saturday morning so he anticipated them certainly not being the only people at the station, but actually being here is different.

He puts his mask on shortly before they walk through the doors and pulls his hood over his head. Todoroki eyes him up curiously but doesn’t question it.

Nobody does, thankfully.

And nobody questions him when he leaves a space in between himself and the others on the platform.

He hopes the distance will mean strangers won’t think he’s with them. Hopes it’ll hide his identity.

Hopes the man from a few weeks ago isn’t here today.

What the fuck are you doing here?

 

*

 

The train journey is largely uneventful the group sitting across the aisle in seats of four. They talk and laugh for the duration, unbothered by others, until a man and two children approach after the second to last stop. Bakugou crosses his arms over his chest and tries to look anywhere but at the man as he approaches them sheepishly, his hands on a shoulder of each child.

“Excuse me,” he addresses the group with a quiet voice. “I don’t mean to bother you, but we watched the sports festival on TV and my children are huge fans of you all.”

“I like Shoto!” the smaller of the children, a little boy, announces with a big beaming smile. “Your ice is so cool!”

Todoroki smiles. “Thank you.”

The father glances around the group. “I’m sorry to be a bother, but could my children get your autographs?”

“Sure!” Kirishima responds. “Do you have anything for us to sign?”

“Yes, I have a little notepad,” the father says, pulling it out of his pocket. He flicks through some pages until he finds some blank ones. “Here, and I have a pen. Introduce yourselves, kids.”

The boy grins. “My name is Haru, and this is my sister, Hana! We’re twins!”

“Nice to meet you, Haru and Hana!” Kirishima greets, taking the notepad from the father. He writes a small note to the children and adds his name and signature underneath before passing it onto Ashido.

The children get increasingly more excited as the notepad is passed along. Todoroki doodles a little icicle in the corner of his page before signing it, to his own amusement. He motions to hand it to Bakugou, who freezes up. He shakes his head, refusing to uncross his arms. The children watch him expectantly, but he can’t bring himself to move. His eyes drift up to the father, who seems confused.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to sign it if you don’t want,” he assures.

“Bakugou?” Hana says suddenly. Her voice is high, unexpectedly so, and it takes Bakugou by surprise.

Bakugou swallows thickly, his eyes fixed on the father, before nodding. After a pause, Hina smiles.

“You’re my favourite,” she says. “You were awesome at the festival. I can’t wait until you become a real superhero.”

Bakugou inhales sharply and releases his arms, taking the notepad from Todoroki. He signs a quick message and rapidly hands it back, the anxiety routed deeply in his chest refusing to release its hold despite the genuine affection on Hana’s face.

“Thank you all so much,” their father says. “They’ll treasure this.”

“Thank you!” the twins say in unison, bowing politely before being led away by their dad.

Uraraka places a hand over her chest and sighs contently. “That was so cute.”

“I don’t really like kids,” Jirou confesses. “But damn, they really were cute.”

“They even got through Bakugou’s tough exterior,” Kaminari adds with a smirk.

Bakugou doesn’t respond, instead crossing his arms again and staring down at his own boots.

 

You don’t deserve her praise.

 

The mall is quiet, the shops barely open when they arrive. The others chatter excitedly, like it’s their first time coming here, as they step through the doors and take in the large area. Everywhere, bar the restaurants, are open now, and they immediately descend into a chaotic debate about where to go first. Nobody can agree and Bakugou already regrets coming along.

“Why don’t we split up?” Todoroki suggests. “No reason why we have to all stick together. As long as nobody’s on their own, Aizawa’s okay with it.”

“True,” Uraraka agrees. “I wanna go to a makeup shop. I think there’s a new one that’s just opened up.”

“Same,” Ashido says. “But I want to have a look in that anime place first. Do you mind if we go there first?”

“I’ll go with you!” Tsuyu pipes up.

Uraraka smiles and nods. “Sure! Anyone else want to come to the anime shop?”

Todoroki shrugs. “Sure.”

Kaminari and Sero glance at one another before the blond shrugs too. “I’m too cool to watch anime.”

Sero slaps him around the back of the head. “Big fat liar. I caught you watching some soppy rom com anime yesterday.”

Kaminari huffs. “Whatever. Fine. I guess I’ll go with you to the dumb store.”

Bakugou sighs softly, the sound muffled by his mask. Everyone sets off walking in the direction of the anime shop and Bakugou has little choice but to follow. He debates wandering away, turning back and getting the train, but he got lucky with the hiking trip. He’s certain he’ll be banned from leaving campus if Aizawa finds out he’s wandered away. Especially considering his track record.

Against his desires, he follows the group. Hands in his pocket, he keeps his head down and focuses on his classmates’ feet. As they head towards the escalator to the next floor, he spots Kaminari’s shoes slowing down until they join him.

“What?” Bakugou demands.

“Loosen up, man,” Kaminari suggests. “Between the mask and the death march walk, you look like you’re about to kill Captain America.”

Bakugou frowns. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Kaminari laughs. “Man, I thought you’d be all into Captain America. I’m talking about Bucky goddamn Barnes, man. He’s definitely your kinda guy. All brooding and angry and violent. He’s basically you.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes and follows the rest of the class up the escalator to the second floor.

“So you’ve really never watched Captain America?” Kaminari clarifies.

Bakugou shrugs. “Not really a big film watcher.”

“See, that baffles me. Well and truly flummoxes me. You’re missing out. You like reading, don’t you? You should get some of the comics. That shop we’re going to isn’t just anime stuff. I think they have superhero stuff too.”

Bakugou smirks beneath the mask. “Comics don’t count as reading.”

“They have words, don’t they?”

They reach the shop in question a mere few steps later, and the students quickly disappear inside. It’s large enough that Bakugou doesn’t feel immediately overwhelmed by the number of shoppers already present, and he lets himself disappear amongst the aisles. Initially he follows Kaminari, losing Tsuyu, Ashido, and Uraraka to the manga section. Kirishima, Jirou, and Sero head towards the comic book section at the back, and Kaminari makes a beeline for the anime DVDs.

“I thought you didn’t watch anime,” Bakugou taunts, startling Kaminari out of his tunnel vision.

“I don’t,” Kaminari argues, still walking rapidly towards the DVDs. He pointedly ignores Bakugou’s raised eyebrows and shows absolutely no shame as he begins to browse the romance section. “The comics are over that way.” He gestures lazily towards his right. “Go look for any Marvel comic with The Winter Soldier on it. You’ll like him.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, which is all he seems to do with Kaminari, and follows the vague direction. He wanders two aisles of DVDs and turns a corner, finding a small square of comic books and graphic novels. There are two softly cushioned chairs in the middle and a tiny table between them, a couple of comics discarded on it.

As he approaches the shelves, he hears Kirishima’s voice from one aisle over excitedly talking about a DC film with Sero, as Jirou argues about how Marvel is significantly better.

Bakugou finds the Marvel section of the comics and starts to look for anything with ‘Winter Soldier’ written on the side.

After a few minutes, his eyes wander and fall upon a bright sign suspended from the ceiling, pointing towards another section of the store.

 

The Real Superheroes of The World!

 

He huffs and follows the direction of the sign, although he knows what he’s going to find. It throws him, sometimes. They don’t use the word ‘super’ when describing their future careers. Because that’s what it will be – a job. Yet, there are decades of films, shows, cartoons, novels, and comics about superpowers. About superheroes.

They’re beloved, admired, idolised. They swoop in to save the day, all the while living a normal life during the day.

The reality is very different.

It’s strange, he thinks.

As he turns the corner, the breath is abruptly robbed from him. Like something has hit him full force in the chest.

The entire wall is shelved with comics, novels, DVDs, and figurines about famous Heroes.

In the centre of it all, put together like a depressing and mourning shrine, is All-Might.

Bakugou finds himself drawn to it, unable to tear his eyes away despite the building pressure in his chest. He swallows thickly, his throat tightening with the effort, and approaches it. There are a few cheap figurines that bare very little resemblance to All-Might apart from the bright hair and costume, but in the very centre is a photograph. It’s framed and in the right hand corner is a neat signature, and Bakugou can recall seeing that very same signature in some of his school paperwork.

The photograph isn’t a professional image. It’s slightly grainy, evidently taken on an old camera, and All-Might seems to be genuinely smiling. Not his usual tabloid media grin, the one that had journalists swooning, but a real one. It reaches his eyes and makes them positively glow.

A stark contrast to the last time Bakugou saw that face.

There were no smiles that day.

“Bakugou?”

He flinches, turning on his heel. Uraraka, Jirou, and Kirishima are stood behind him, wariness combined with concern evident on each of their faces.

“What?” Bakugou questions, keeping his voice levelled.

Kirishima frowns deeply. “We said your name like five times.”

“Are you okay?” Jirou asks.

“Fucking fine,” Bakugou retorts. “I’m gonna wait outside.”

“Okay,” Uraraka says quietly, moving aside so Bakugou can leave. “We’ll uh… we’ll be right out.”

Bakugou doesn’t reply. He doesn’t look back at them. The pity on their faces is enough. The shop is getting progressively busier and he moves so fast he’s almost running until he’s finally across the threshold and back out onto the mall floor. He moves away from the entrance and leans back against the closest wall, becoming suddenly aware of the fast pace of his thudding heart.

Too fast.

Painfully fast.

He swallows again, his throat even tighter and his chest even tighter, and tries to get a breath in. It’s raspy and shaky and he can’t fucking breathe.

He pulls his mask down and takes a greedy gulp of air, but it doesn’t help.

He’s breathing.

So why can’t he breathe?

Someone touches his arm and he recoils violently away, the hand making another grab at him. It wraps around his forearm, cold fingers digging into his skin, and he pulls his arm aggressively away until he’s free.

And then he’s running.

He’s not sure where but he’s running.

His vision tunnels at the edges and he can’t see anything outside of a single staircase door in the distance. He moves as fast as his gasping, shaking body will let him yet the door gets further away until he’s suddenly barrelling through it, emerging in an empty stairwell.

It’s at that point that his legs give out from under him and he lets himself crumble to the floor, leaning back against a cold brick wall.

Murderer murderer murderer MURDERER

“Bakugou?”

He can’t see. His vision is blurring and tunnelling and his head is spinning and his heart is racing and he can’t fucking see

“Just breathe, Bakugou. Focus on your breathing. Nothing else.”

He listens. He focuses all his energy and attention on his too-fast breathing, and hears someone counting to five. He inhales until five, and then exhales until five.

“Good. That’s good. Keep… keep breathing like that, okay?”

He blinks and looks up to find Kirishima kneeling in front of him, brows furrowed deeply with concern.

“You back with me?” Kirishima asks.

“Where did I go?” Bakugou questions quietly.

Kirishima smiles softly. “Do you remember what just happened?”

Bakugou frowns. “What? I-” He racks his brain, trying to recall the events of the last five minutes, but finds everything after the All-Might photograph to be a messy blur. “I don’t…”

“It’s okay,” Kirishima reassures. “You had a panic attack. Quite a bad one, from the looks of it. I used to get them and when they were bad, I’d basically black out during. Do you… do you want me to tell you what happened?” Bakugou shrugs. “You freaked out in that shop. We spoke to you and you just bombed it out of there like your life depended on it. Jirou tried to speak to you outside the shop but you freaked out even more and ran, so I followed. Everyone else stayed behind. I didn’t think you’d appreciate them hovering.”

“That wasn’t a fucking panic attack,” Bakugou argues, although there’s absolutely no bite to his tone. “I just… I needed to get out of that place. I’m fine now.”

Kirishima’s frown returns. “Bakugou, it’s taken me ten minutes to get through to you. You were basically unresponsive.”

Bakugou stares back at the deep red eyes that seem to be seeing into his very soul. “Ten minutes?”

Kirishima nods. “It’s okay though. It’s uh… it’s not a big deal, yeah? I’m not gonna run off and tell Aizawa that you had a bad time when we finally left the campus.”

Bakugou glances down at the floor. He’s still sat in the corner of the stairwell, and he vaguely recalls opening the doors. Bursting through the doors? He’s not sure.

“Bakugou?”

“What?”

“Do you want to go back to the dorms?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “I don’t need you to fucking look after me.”

“I know. I’m just asking if you want to go back to the dorms.”

Bakugou exhales softly. “Fucking… I… I can’t. Yet.”

Kirishima nods. “That’s fine. We’ll sit here until you’re ready.” He sits himself down beside Bakugou, keeping a comfortable distance between them both. After a pause, Kirishima clears his throat. “I.. I wanna say sorry. For not speaking to you.”

“Not your fault.”

“Well, it is.”

“It’s my fucking fault, not yours.”

“Bakugou, we were both stupid. Don’t just blame yourself. You shouldn’t have gone out for that long without saying something to us. I wouldn’t have told Aizawa you were going if you’d just told me you needed to get out. But… I also shouldn’t have flipped out like that. I was worried, and I panicked, and I reacted really badly. And then because we distanced ourselves I just kept getting angrier.”

“I don’t blame you,” Bakugou responds tiredly. “I didn’t try to speak to you. I felt… I felt guilty every time I looked at you so I decided avoiding you was easier than dealing with that. Seems to be my go to for everything at the moment.”

“You were looking at the All-Might stuff, weren’t you? In the shop?”

Bakugou glances down at his calloused, scarred hands. “Yeah.”

“No one expects you to be over it by now. You know that, right? To be honest, we’re all impressed by how well you’re keeping it together.”

They’re all fucking blind, clearly.

“You know what’s really fucked up?” Bakugou says. “For all the guilt and everything else I’ve had, at the forefront of it all, I blame him. How fucked up is that? He died for me, and I’m angry at him.”

“I think that’s normal. As normal as it can be in this situation. Anger is a stage of grief.”

“God, between you and Deku it’s like I can’t escape that fucking therapy woman.”

Kirishima laughs. “Maybe it’s a good thing you can’t escape her. Maybe it’s a sign.”

“I ain’t going near her again. Fucking mind freak.”

“Yeah she was pretty freaky.”

They fall into easy silence, something so comfortable and familiar that Bakugou forgets where they are for long enough that their phones begin to chime.

“We should probably go,” Kirishima says, glancing down at the group message from Kaminari. “I’ll tell everyone we’re going.”

“You don’t need to come with,” Bakugou points out. “Just… go back with everyone else.”

Kirishima raises a single eyebrow. “You know, for a top grade student, you’re a real idiot sometimes.”

“Fucking what?”

“Why the hell would I leave you right now? I know we haven’t spoken for a few weeks but I’m not that bad of a friend. Now come on. I wanna get the train before it gets too busy.”

Bakugou eases himself up, his legs a little shaky, and Kirishima carefully avoids touching him. Together, they leave the mall and head towards the train station.

 

 

He goes straight to his room when they get back, exhaustion seeping from his bones, and Kirishima doesn’t stop him.

 

For once though, he thinks he’s okay.

Notes:

our boys are back together (ಥ﹏ಥ)

sorry it's taken a while. real life mental health stuff, yknow. it's always good fun.

Chapter 12

Oh, man, I'm in trouble again
Cause everyone's ears are watching me
But I never, ever felt that this would be
Anything more than a makeshift personal IV

                                                                          - Envy On The Coast

 

He wakes the next morning with fatigue deeply rooted in his bones, pulling him deep into his bed and rendering him unable to move. He wills his limbs to move, pleads with any arm, leg, finger, fucking toe to move.

His body doesn’t listen, and he can’t find the energy to fight any further.

Kirishima had said it was a panic attack. Bakugou isn’t sure if a panic attack usually leaves you so mind-numbingly exhausted that even breathing takes more strength than he has. For a brief second, he considers asking the other boy that very question, but he doesn’t know where his phone is and he can’t so much as look for it, never mind text.

He remains glued to his bed, staring up at that goddamn ceiling, and wills away the hours.

 

Bakugou wakes to the sound of incessant knocking, with no recollection of actually falling back to sleep. His limbs feel a little lighter though, and he sits himself up and rubs his hands over his face in a bid to wake himself up further.

Somebody knocks again, harder this time, and Bakugou growls.

“What?!” he demands.

“No one’s heard from you today, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Kirishima’s soft voice carries through the door.

“I’m fucking fine,” Bakugou shouts back. “I was fucking sleeping.”

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. Are you sure you’re okay, though? After yesterday?”

“Yes, Shark Week, I’m fucking fine.”

“Good. Okay. Well, I’m hanging out in Kaminari’s room if you wanna chill later.”

“Whatever.”

He listens for Kirishima’s heavy footsteps as they fade down the corridor and sighs heavily. The negative little voice in his mind has been oddly quiet, but he doesn’t need the voice to tell him he does not want to leave this bed. He knows he should, but he doesn’t want to.

Can’t, even if he did want to.

His limbs just won't move.

 

*

 

He wakes to an ear-piercing noise, shrill and repetitive in his ear, and he slams his hand down against his bedside table until he finds the source of the noise.

His phone, which had been directly beside him this entire time.

He scoffs at his own utter ineptitude before finally switching off the alarm and letting himself flop back against his pillow. His limbs feel wholly heavy and limp, as does the rest of him from his toes to his mind, but he doesn’t get a choice in resting today. It’s 7am, and he has an hour and half to get ready and get to homeroom. He hears some movement in the next room and wonders if his alarm has woken Kirishima too.

He longs to skip class. Hide under his thin covers and escape from the world for another day. Spending Sunday in bed clearly hasn’t been enough.

But they’ve got exams coming up and he knows he can’t risk failing.

 

It takes half an hour, but he manages to get himself upright and down to the showers, where he scrubs at his skin for too long in too-hot water before throwing on his uniform and heading for the kitchen. Iida and Momo are on the sofas, talking over a textbook, but neither one take any notice of him as he begins to make himself some coffee. Nobody else enters the room and he’s free to escape back to his bedroom, coffee in hand, without crossing paths with anyone.

 

He nurses the coffee for the next forty five minutes, using the last fifteen to drain the lukewarm but overly strong drink, before grabbing his bag and heading to class.

He walks alongside Kirishima and the others but doesn’t participate in the conversation. They glance in his direction as they talk, including him in it, but they don’t ask anything of him and they don’t expect anything.

Bakugou is quite content to remain silent and pretend to listen.

He carries this on throughout the day. Stays quiet, using what little energy he has to respond to others through whatever facial expression the situation calls for.

Usually a glare.

He feels the familiar hateful eyes in the hallways and the cafeteria and the library, but he doesn’t look at them. He eats his bland dinner, pretends to listen in class, and patiently awaits the end of the day.

 

*

 

Just hold them back.

That’s all he has to do.

Hold them back and hold on.

All-Might is still fighting but he’s swaying on his feet and there’s blood trickling steadily from his mouth, from his nose, from his ears. Bakugou tries to get closer but the teacher shouts him away each time he tries and puts himself between Bakugou and All For One.

Bakugou wants to listen, wants to agree, but All-Might is going to die if he carries on.

He can’t let him.

He cracks his fingers and fires multiple explosions in quick succession in All For One’s direction, catching a glimpse of a smile beneath his cracked mask.

He rushes All-Might, forcing him into Bakugou’s path. The boy manages to redirect his final explosion, but not quickly enough, and it clips his teacher in the side.

“NO!” Bakugou screams, prompting a cold laugh from All For One as All-Might's legs buckle and he falls to his knees.

“Thanks for the assistance, child.”

“BAKUGOU!”

The voice is a startling crack in the warzone, a soft voice that has no place here. His mind is racing too much and his vision is obscured and his breathing is ragged and he can’t concentrate enough to find the source of the damn voice-

Something hits him in the leg, takes the limb from under him. It’s sharp and hot and he can feel the blood pour instantly.

Toga’s smiling at him from the bushes, lifting a small hand to wave.

“Fuck you!” he snaps, scrambling to his feet despite the burn in his calf.

“BAKUGOU!”

“KACCHAN!”

A second voice. Shrill, tearful, shouldn’t fucking be here.

He fires a sharp, sudden explosion in Toga’s direction, striking her in the face and knocking her a good distance back, before looking to his right. There, in the distance, he sees the red again.

This time, he sees green too.

“BAKUGOU! COME ON! PLEASE!”

He turns from them to All-Might, who is now on his knees. The teacher meets his eyes and nods.

“I can’t,” Bakugou says softly. All-Might nods again. “I’ll come back. I’ll come back with them. Just… just hang on. Just hang on a little while longer.”

He aims his palms down and projects himself up, towards the red and the green, his eyes fixed solely on them, when he hears an explosion behind him. It throws him forward even faster and he manages to twist himself around to see All-Might thrown back, body limp like a ragdoll, as All For One watches on with his arms outstretched.

The man hits the floor and doesn’t get back up.

Bakugou hears screaming.

Something wraps around his waist and drags him back before he can even try to reach All-Might.

He can still hear screaming.

Arms wrap around him as he reaches the floor, dragging him back and turning him away from the scene.

The screaming is deafening.

 

Bakugou is in his room, that godforsaken white ceiling hanging over him, and he can’t look away. The screaming echoes in his head, reverberating through his skull and making his entire being ache. He tries to pull his arms up to cover his ears but they won’t listen.

He can’t turn his head.

Can’t move his arms.

Even his toes won’t budge.

His breathing begins to quicken and the screaming gets louder.

“You were such a help, child. That hit really did the trick.”

The voice is in his ear, so close he can feel the breath on his cheek, but he can’t move and can’t scream and can’t

 

He sits bolt upright, a strangled gasp escaping him as he scrambles out of bed to switch on his light.

He’s alone.

There is no All For One, there is no screaming.

He’s alone.

The ragged breathing doesn’t ease and he sinks to the floor, hands shaking violently as he reaches them up to cradle his own head.

“Bakugou?”

Kirishima’s voice is so abrupt that it startles Bakugou all over again, quickening his already out of control breaths.

“Bakugou, are you okay?”

He can’t respond. Can’t find the words. The door handle creaks as it turns, the sound only making him panic more, but the sight of that familiar mop of red hair stops it worsening. Kirishima lowers himself down to the floor beside Bakugou, brows knitted together in worry.

He reaches a hand forward, carefully, like Bakugou is a wounded animal.

Not fucking wrong.

Bakugou doesn’t fight back. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t recoil.

Kirishima slowly wraps his arms around him and pulls him into a soft embrace.

 

*

 

The weeks go by in a blur of unforgiving grey, and before he knows it, they reach the six month mark. His nights have been marred with endless nightmares and he can’t recall the last time he slept without one. Kirishima plays music quietly through the wall, but it does little to help.

School continues as normal, despite the anniversary, although the mood is palpable. Bakugou avoids eye contact with anyone and everyone, refusing to remove his headphones until Aizawa flashes him an expectant glare.

The removal introduces him to a whole new world of unwelcome sounds. Tapping fingers, nervously clicking pens, Midoriya sniffling.

It’s all a little bit too much.

“Today’s Heroics class, we will focus on search and rescue,” Aizawa explains, his tone decidedly more despondent than usual. “Thirteen will be leading, and I expect you to pay attention and show them respect.”

Midoriya’s sniffling gets significantly louder, grating on Bakugou’s last very tense nerve. His leg begins to bounce in an attempt to ease the nerves, and he catches Kirishima watching him carefully.

Aizawa seems to pick up on the heightened emotion, and he sighs softly. “I know today is a difficult day. Trust me, I appreciate that. But, we agreed as a school to remain open today and carry on as normal. It is what Toshinori would have wanted and expected.” He pauses, dull eyes scanning the room. He hesitates when he reaches Bakugou, boring into his very soul, before sighing again. “On that note, if any of you feel you are not able to put your full effort into the practical class today, I will accept any decision to sit out. It will not be reflected in any of your marks, and you will not be punished for it.”

Iida slowly raises his hand. “Sir, how can we possibly be graded accurately if we miss practical classes?”

“You will have other rescue classes,” Aizawa explains. “And this one does not go towards your final grade. It is simply practice. A passing grade is not worth damaging your mental health.”

He looks back at Bakugou as he speaks, but the blonde purposefully gazes out of the window again. He knows it only annoys Aizawa further, but he prefers to live in ignorance.

 

Their morning classes go by slowly but surely, with little to no issues. Bakugou’s focus filters in and out, allowing just enough information in for him to keep up, but any moment of silence gives him the little freedom required for his mind to drift.

Drift back to his dream, to Kamino, to All-Might.

He doesn’t let himself drift in his own head for long, instead watching the clouds form above or the birds soar or the flies rub their tiny legs together on the windowsill.

Watching anything but the replays in his head.

 

He sits with Kirishima, Ashido, Kaminari, and Sero at lunch, his space at the table decidedly empty compared to the piles of food every single one of them has. Kirishima takes notice, glancing worriedly between the empty space and Bakugou, but knowingly stays quiet. Bakugou hasn’t spoken a word since they left their mathematics class, and he’s wholly content with not explaining himself.

Kaminari, however, lacks Kirishima’s tact.

“Yo, dude, you need some food,” Kaminari says loudly, wide eyes staring at the significant lack of food in front of Bakugou.

“I’m not hungry,” Bakugou retorts, startling a little at the roughness of his own voice.

“But we’re doing search and rescue practice today,” Kaminari argues. “Need to keep your strength up!”

“Fuck off, Pikachu.”

Kaminari raises both hands in defeat. “Okay, fine. I won’t show care and consideration for the welfare of my close personal friend Bakugou Katsuki.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, provoking a sharp laugh from Ashido.

“You’ve gotta teach me how you perfected that a-mazing glare. Like, you could kill a man with that look,” she comments with a smile.

“It runs in the family,” Bakugou retorts quietly.

“Does that charming personality of yours run in the family too?” Sero questions. “Bet your mum is actually lovely.”

That gets a smirk from Bakugou. “She’d snap you like a twig.”

“Nah bro,” Sero argues. “She’d love me. All mothers love me.”

“My mum doesn’t love anyone.”

“On that depressing note,” Ashido interjects. “Heroics calls us and I don’t wanna be late. Thirteen has a way of making me feel guilty without even showing us their face.”

“I know right?” Kaminari agrees. “They have an air of sweetness about them that makes me never ever want to disappoint them.”

“And yet,” Ashido comments. “You remain a bitter disappointment.”

“Rude.”

They gather their things and head towards the changing rooms to prepare for class.

 

Once in his costume, Bakugou feels a little more motivated. There’s something powerful about that mask, about the gauntlets, about the vibrant X across his chest. Contrary to popular belief, Bakugou’s confidence has never extended beyond his quirk. His personality, his self-image, he’s never had much confidence in that.

But his quirk? His quirk is something special.

When he wears his costume, nobody looks beyond it. Nobody sees the self-loathing, the anxiety, the self-doubt.

They just see his quirk, and he’s okay with that.

 

He stands amongst his classmates, back straight and jaw tense with slowly building adrenaline as Thirteen outlines their aims.

Thirteen will act as the villain, using their quirk to slow the students down as they race to find the three civilians hidden within the remains of a crumbled building. They’re separated into pairs and given ten minutes to locate the civilians and safely extract them.

As an extra challenge, Thirteen has ordered them to not retaliate, but simply track and evade Thirteen’s quirk in a bid to encourage more critical thinking during rescues and fights against villains.

Seems simple enough, Bakugou thinks, as he is paired with Tokoyami.

He watches his classmates begin, making mental notes of Thirteen’s speed and tactics in preparation.

Todoroki and Sato go up, rescuing the civilians in eight minutes, and only getting pulled towards Thirteen once.

Uraraka and Hagakure are particularly successful, using the invisibility quirk to confuse and distract Thirteen when needed and using Uraraka’s quirk to effortlessly lift the debris from the civilians (which are, of course, made of flimsy cardboard).

Tsuyu and Sato are less successful, rescuing only two out of three by the ten minute mark.

Bakugou feels confident, and Tokoyami seems calm and collected to his right.

“Have you got a plan in mind?” Tokoyami asks. “After all, our quirks are both offensive quirks.”

Bakugou nods slowly. “I’ve got something. Can Dark Shadow carry people?”

 

They manage to reach the site of the collapsed building by using Dark Shadow to carry them both through the alleyways as quickly as possible, using Bakugou’s explosions to distract Thirteen and send them in the wrong direction.  

Then Bakugou uses carefully controlled explosions to break apart the rubble as Tokoyami uses Dark Shadow to take to the skies and watch for Thirteen. After finding the first civilian, they swap. Bakugou uses an explosion to propel himself upwards onto the edge of a low building as Dark Shadow helps to lift debris away from the site.

It’s successful for the first few minutes, until Thirteen finally reaches them.

Bakugou whistles sharply, catching Tokoyami’s attention, before lowering himself down in front of Thirteen, blocking their path.

Thirteen raises their hand, a black substance with tinges of purple rapidly emitting from their palm.

It reaches out towards Bakugou, tendrils of utter darkness closing in on him, and suddenly all he can see is Kurogiri.

In the distance, he hears screaming.

 

When Bakugou comes to, he’s sat in the hallway a little away from the training ground, leaning back against the wall with Thirteen’s helmet staring down at him.

“What the fuck?” he demands, his voice quiet with exhaustion.

“That’s a good question,” Thirteen responds. “You panicked. I lightly used my quirk to move you away from the debris, which you began to fight against, and suddenly you stopped. It was like you were torn between fight or flight.”

“I heard screaming.”

Thirteen sighs softly. “That was you, Bakugou.”

“Shit.” There’s a heavy pause, neither of them moving a muscle, until Bakugou finally gazes towards the end of the hall where the training ground is. “Did… did anyone see?”

“No. Only Tokoyami. I removed you from the situation the moment it began. I wasn’t expecting you to be so… compliant when I moved you.”

“Did I… fight back?”

“You did when my quirk was activated. Not with your quirk though. You just fought. As soon as I deactivated Black Hole, the fighting stopped and you became somewhat unresponsive. As worrying as it was, it allowed me to remove you safely from the situation.”

“Alright.”

“Bakugou, have you experienced something like this before?”

He shrugs, which evidently is not the answer Thirteen is looking for as they tilt their head. Even without a visible face, Bakugou can feel the frustration.

“Bakugou, be honest with me. Have you had panic attacks like this before?”

Bakugou sighs heavily. “Yes.”

Thirteen nods. “I have already contacted Aizawa, who is on his way to us now. You will go to your homeroom with him and talk. I will recommence the class and make up a reason for your absence.”

“What about-”

“Tokoyami is loyal, and he is not daft. I highly doubt he will tell anyone what happened, but even so, I will speak to him.” There’s another brief pause, distant but hurried footsteps ruining the somewhat calming silence. “You’re not alone, Bakugou. I can name many, many heroes who experience panic attacks. I myself have had plenty. But you cannot continue on without talking about them. Okay?”

Bakugou simply nods.

The footsteps get closer until Aizawa appears in his peripheral, his face inscrutable as always but tight shoulders giving away his tension.

“Bakugou?” he addresses.

“Present and accounted for,” Bakugou retorts, giving a mock salute.

Thirteen stands and clasps their gloved hands together. “Now that you’re in safe hands, I will return to antagonising your classmates.”

Thirteen walks away, leaving Bakugou alone with Aizawa.

“Can you stand?” Aizawa asks. “I’d rather we talk in the classroom and not in this dingy hallway which, to be entirely honest, smells like shit.”

“There’s a toilet down there,” Bakugou points out. “Fairly certain people use it for nervous shits before exams.”

Aizawa grimaces. “Lovely.”

*

 

They don’t say much at first. Aizawa lets Bakugou have a moment to himself while he goes and gets some coffee, thankfully bringing one for Bakugou too. He puts both down on his desk and sits himself down on his creaky chair.

“Bring your chair over here,” he suggests. “You don’t have to sit at your desk.”

Bakugou noisily drags his chair towards Aizawa’s desk, leaving dark scuff marks across the tiled flooring. For a split second, Aizawa looks downright amused by the damage before straightening up his expression.

“Thirteen gave me a quick rundown of what happened,” Aizawa explains. “They said it took you a good few minutes to come round. Although you were awake throughout, you weren’t responsive. We are right in thinking this was a panic attack, yes?”

“That’s what Kirishima calls it,” Bakugou says. “I uh… I had one a while ago. When we all went to the shopping mall.”

Aizawa nods. “Panic attacks often have triggers, no matter how small. Do you know what triggered today’s attack?”

Bakugou swallows thickly, his throat and chest and skin suddenly too tight as that deep blackness fills his mind. “Thirteen’s quirk.”

“Oh?”

“It uh… it… it looked like the warp gates.”

Aizawa falls silent, only nodding. It’s all he can do. The room is suffocatingly quiet and Bakugou eyes up the door, the window, any other escape route he can find. The lack of clear escape routes makes his pulse quicken and a cold shiver run down his spine, but then he looks to Aizawa again and finds his pulse settling gradually.

There’s something so calming about Aizawa’s unflustered, composed expression.

“Can I ask you a question?” Aizawa asks after a few minutes of quiet. Bakugou nods. “How long have you been experiencing anxiety?”

“A few months, I guess.”

“Since Kamino?”

“No. Well, kinda. The first month after I was okay. Even after he died, I was okay. I slept more than I’ve ever slept in my whole fucking life. Then… I don’t fucking know. I can’t remember anymore.” He frowns, deeply, still looking at the desk. “I can’t fucking remember not feeling like this.”

“Sleeping a lot is also a normal reaction to trauma,” Aizawa explains. “I’d imagine that was your initial way of coping with what happened. A way of escaping.”

Bakugou shrugs. “Alright.”

“Have you spoken to anyone about how you’re feeling?”

“Kinda. I uh… I had a bad night last night and Kirishima helped. Spent some time with Half-n-Half too. Just vented a bit to him though.”

Aizawa nods slowly. “When you say you had a bad night, what do you mean?”

“It’s not a big deal. I just… I dreamed about it again. Hard to get back to sleep after that, y’know?”

“Yes. I understand that.” He sighs softly, leaning back a little into his chair and grimacing at the sudden loud creak it emits. “Bakugou, I think you should speak to someone.”

“I’m fucking talking to you, aren’t I?”

“No, I mean a mental health professional. Someone who actually knows how to help you deal with these bad nights and panic attacks. I’ve had experiences with it myself, but I’m not an expert and it isn’t my field.”

Bakugou frowns again, meeting Aizawa’s dark eyes. “You… you have panic attacks?”

“Yep. Since I was a kid. Younger than you, I think.”

“Oh. But really though, what difference will it make, talking to some nutjob with a psyche degree over you? You actually do this fucking job. You get it.”

Aizawa’s lip twitches into a small smile. “Trust me, I understand the distrust. But there are professionals out there who have experience in Hero work. If you want, I can contact them. Maybe it’ll be easier to open up to someone who’s actually been in a similar situation.”

Bakugou huffs. “Still don’t fucking know what difference it’ll make. There's nothing fucking wrong. I'm just... I'm tired. I'm fucking tired, that's all."

“They can help you, Bakugou. Give you coping techniques, help you manage the sleep issues and anxiety.” He sighs again. “I didn’t want to tell you this now, because I’m not certain you’re in the right headspace to hear it, but your grades are slipping. While you’re definitely still passing, and with good grades, they’re not your grades. Before this happened, you never accepted anything less than perfection. While I sometimes worried about you overworking yourself, you pushed yourself to always be better. Recently though, that seems to have stopped. You’re very, very intelligent, so I know you understand everything you’re being taught, so that suggests to me that the things that have been going on recently have had an impact on your ability to focus. Am I wrong?”

Bakugou forgets how to breathe, and it takes him a moment to finally gasp out a breath. His fingers curl into fists as his hands begin to shake, opting to hide them on his lap.

“I-”

“Please,” Aizawa says abruptly. “Please let me contact someone for you. You have such a bright future ahead of you Bakugou, and I can’t sit back and let Kamino ruin that for you. I can’t let All For One ruin that for you. I saw you were struggling, but I didn’t do anything. I can’t carry on like that. So please, let me do this for you.”

Bakugou returns Aizawa’s soft yet intense stare, the shake in his hands calming somewhat.

"My mum always said therapy is for crazy people and weak people."

"Your mum is wrong about that. Every single teacher in this building currently goes to therapy. Every single one. Myself included. Every Pro-Hero you have ever watched, supported, or idolised have had therapy. It's just a part of the job. A highly recommended part of the job. It's not weak to seek help, Bakugou. In fact, sometimes, one of the strongest things you can do is admit you need help. Do you need help, Bakugou?"

Bakugou swallows the building lump in his throat, his chest tightening, but Aizawa is a soothing presence and his anxiety gets no further. Despite that though, his vision blurs a little. He thinks he might cry. "I don't know," he responds quietly. 

"In that case, do I have your permission to contact someone? If it doesn't work out for whatever reason, you'll never have to speak to them again. You have my word. I want to see you at your best again, and maybe this is the way to do it. What do you say?"

Bakugou sniffs, and nods. "Okay."

Aizawa smiles again, reaching his eyes in a way that Bakugou rarely sees, and at that moment he realises he doesn’t just feel calm around Aizawa.

 

He feels safe.

Notes:

the boy actually talks to someone!

i started a new role in my job this week and it is v exhausting atm so you may find the upload times even more lacklustre than they already are (sorry) but as we're basically in glorious lockdown once again, i can hopefully dedicate my weekends to writing

hope you're all still invested in this, as i have lots of ideas for our bakugou boi and i still have lots more emotional battering to do

Chapter 13

I'm tired of the fear that I can't control this
I'm tired of feeling like every next step's hopeless
I'm tired of being scared what I build might break apart
I don't want to know the end, all I want is a place to start

                                                                                              - Mike Shinoda

 

 

 

It’s 3am and Bakugou, yet again, can’t sleep. Aizawa gave him strict orders to text or call if he needs anything, but this doesn’t warrant help. It doesn’t warrant anything. He’s not had a nightmare, and he doesn’t feel anything.

He just can’t fucking sleep.

So instead he sits by his sliding door, the blinds open just enough for him to gaze out at the dark night sky. It’s a deep blue tonight, stars very clear above and the vibrant moon casting a light glow across the building and the dewy grass in the distance. There’s a chill in the air that he can feel through his doorway, making the hairs on his forearms stand to attention and a shiver run down his spine.

He zips up his jacket and pulls his hood over his head, never once looking away from that brilliant sky.

When he finally does drift off to sleep, at 4am, he dreams about flying.

 

*

 

He’s exhausted, beyond exhausted, when he finally makes it downstairs at 8am. He’s managed just a few hours sleep but it’s better than nothing, and he didn’t wake up screaming, so he takes it as a win.

His aching body, however, doesn’t agree, and he drags his feet from the lift towards the communal area. His friends are already awake and sat at the dining table hurriedly completing the mathematics homework due today. Bakugou knows he’s finished it, but he can’t remember any of the contents and can’t find it in him to offer help. Instead, he dumps his bag by the table and heads towards the kitchen, much to Kaminari’s chagrin.

“Hey,” Kaminari snaps. “It’s my day to clean.”

“So fucking what?” Bakugou questions quietly.

“Remember when you were on house arrest and had to clean? You flipped at me for throwing my bag on the floor.”

Bakugou huffs. “Difference is, Taser Face, is that I’ll pick my shit up. Your lazy ass would just leave it there. Am I fucking wrong?”

Sero smirks. “He’s not wrong.”

Kaminari pouts. “No need to shout. Just wanna make sure the place is tidy, bro. You’re so grouchy in the morning.”

“Bakugou is always grouchy,” Mineta pipes up from his hiding place on the nearest sofa. “I don’t know why you haven’t figured that out yet.”

“Oh, fuck off, pervert,” Bakugou snaps. “Haven’t you been kicked out yet?”

Iida enters at that point, looking alarmed by the hostility in the air. “I hope we’re not arguing already, Bakugou.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes and groans loudly as he pulls the biggest mug he can find out of the cabinet. “Oh my god, can everyone just leave me the fuck alone?”

Iida exhales. “You know, Bakugou, it doesn’t cost you anything to be nice.”

“Wrong,” Bakugou bites back. “It costs me my fucking sanity.”

Kirishima appears at his side, smiling softly. “I brewed some coffee.” He pushes the cafetière towards him, the coffee inside gloriously black. “Just how you like it.”

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Bakugou asks, pouring himself some regardless.

Kirishima shrugs. “I heard you moving about last night. Figured you hadn’t slept well.”

“I’m good,” Bakugou answers the question Kirishima hasn’t yet asked, knowing full well that there is worry hidden behind the sweet smile. “Just took me a while to fall asleep.”

“I get that,” Kirishima says.

Bakugou grips the hot coffee cup in his hand, sighing softly as he takes that glorious first sip and revels in the warming bitterness, when Todoroki and Midoriya emerge from the lift.

“Oh, Bakugou,” Todoroki greets. “Do you want to study tonight? I’ve enjoyed the break after exams, but we will need to start again now that practical exams are coming up.”

“That’s ages away,” Kaminari interjects. “Like… a whole few months away.”

Todoroki tilts his head a little. “Exactly. They’re coming up.”

“Not tonight,” Bakugou answers. “I’m training with Aizawa.”

“Whoa, wait, hold the phone,” Sero exclaims. “You’re doing extra training? With Eraser Head? And he hasn’t recoiled away and shouted about how he needs to sleep?”

Bakugou shrugs. “No recoiling.”

“What’d you do to earn that much face time?” Kaminari questions.

Bakugou glances at the other blonde. “Maybe I don’t annoy him with incessant fucking questions.”

Kaminari gasps, scandalised. “Excuse me? I have asked you exactly one question. Don’t make me come over there and ask you more. I will. I swear. I will ask you so many questions.”

“Try it,” Bakugou goads. “See how long you last before I take your jaw off.”

“Ooookay,” Ashido says, lifting her head up from her mathematics homework. “I officially can’t concentrate on this work after that glorious threat. Bakugou, as much as I would love to see you remove someone’s jaw with only your hands, this homework is due in like an hour and I understand none of it. Can you please help me?”

Bakugou exhales quietly and takes a big swig of his coffee. “Fine.”

“Yay!” Kaminari celebrates.

“I said I’d help Pinky, not you.”

“Oh. But, I’m only gonna end up copying Ashido, so you might as well cut out the middleman and help me.”

“I’m gonna cut you in a minute.”

Regardless, he sits beside Ashido and snatches her work, immediately highlighting errors and acknowledging what she’s done right.

He chooses to ignore how Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero lean over the table to watch.

 

*

 

The day goes by quietly. It’s been three days since his panic attack in Thirteen’s lesson and nobody has mentioned his sudden disappearance. He hasn’t asked what excuse Thirteen gave, although he’s curious as to what could’ve possibly been so effective an excuse to ward away the vultures that are his classmates.

Even so, he enjoys the freedom from questions and concern and simply focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. He hands his mathematics homework in, only mildly bothered by what his grade may be, and feigns interest in Hizashi’s analysis of No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai.

It’s not that he thinks Hizashi is wrong, it’s just that he’s read the book so many times and analysed it himself so many times that he can’t possibly imagine hearing anything new.

By lunch, he’s bored and tired and already imagining the blissful sensation of his pillow beneath his head.

“I don’t know,” Kaminari says, turning his copy of No Longer Human over repeatedly. “I just don’t get it. I mean, I read it, sure. And I heard what Present Mic said, but I just don’t get it. Was he actually human?”

“You’re stupid,” Ashido says abruptly. “Of course he was human. He’s just unwell and doesn’t really know it. He’s a… there’s a word for it.”

“Unreliable narrator,” Bakugou provides for her. “That’s how I’ve always perceived him.”

“Yes! That’s it. He’s an unreliable narrator.” Ashido smiles. “Bet you got it instantly, Bakugou.”

He pokes at his dinner with a chopstick, his appetite still lost somewhere in the abyss. “I’ve read it a few times.”

“Nerd,” Kaminari retorts. “Can we watch a film tonight, guys? Or play some video games or something? I feel like it’s been forever.”

“We watched films last week,” Sero reminds him.

“Exactly. Forever ago.”

Kirishima laughs. “Sure. I’ve got a few DVDs that haven’t been touched yet. What do you think, Bakugou?”

“Maybe,” Bakugou answers. “Got training first.”

“Ooh, yes, how exciting!” Ashido says.

Bakugou doesn’t respond and goes back to poking his now cool food. The others have already emptied their plates but they seem to opt not to force him to eat this time. Resting his head on his hand as he pokes it, his eyes take in the room.

The cafeteria is busy as always, but he can’t seem to see any familiar faces. Not many have glanced in his direction or glared at him today, which is a definite improvement on the last few months, but he can see Monoma on the other side sat with some other 1-B students. They certainly do glance in his direction.

Monoma himself is still trying to give what Bakugou can only assume is supposed to be an intimidating stare, but it isn’t having the desired effect.

Beside him, there’s a girl with vine-like hair that he vaguely remembers from the Sports Festival. She seems to catch Monoma staring and places a hand on his forearm. With a shake of her head, she has him looking away again.

“I’m feeling an action film tonight,” Kaminari suggests. “Do you have any action films in your little collection?”

Kirishima nods. “Probably. I’ve got some superhero ones too. I want Bakugou to watch one of them though. Have you watched Captain America?”

Bakugou shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Then we need to start with the First Avenger. But I really think you’d like The Winter Soldier.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Sero huffs, slamming his hands down on the table and making eye contact with Bakugou. “You’ve never watched Captain America? Have you been living under a rock?”

Bakugou shrugs. “Don’t really watch films.”

“We need to rectify that. As soon as you’re back from training tonight, we’re watching it.”

Bakugou huffs as a response and returns to poking his rapidly-cooling food.

He knows Aizawa will have a lot to say if he doesn’t eat, and yet his appetite seems to have gotten lost along the way.

Because you don’t deserve the food, that’s why.

He drops his chopsticks and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and sighing softly. Kirishima watches him warily but stays quiet, and his evidently low mood is quickly overshadowed by Kaminari and Sero’s excitable debate about Captain America.

Bakugou spends the rest of the day willing away the hours.

 

*

 

By 4pm, he regrets willing away the hours. He’s sat outside the school gates nervously bouncing his knee. There are no other students in sight, but he still watches over his shoulder expecting an unwelcome visitor to come and figure out what he’s doing.

He can already hear Monoma’s voice, mocking him and spreading the word.

It took him a matter of days, if that, to tell the media what Bakugou did to him. Bakugou doesn’t doubt he’d do the same again.

Spill all of Bakugou’s dirty little secrets.

Maybe he already has.

For a split second, he considers googling his name. His phone suddenly weighs heavily in his blazer pocket, begging to be used, but he refuses. He ignores the voice in his head, ignores the temptation, ignores the knowledge of what he would see if he looked up his own name.

You want to know what everyone really thinks of you, so do it.

Screeching tires saves him from the temptation as Aizawa pulls up in front of him. Bakugou makes quick work of getting in the car and dumping his bag in the footwell, and Aizawa presses his foot down on the pedal.

“Are you okay?” Aizawa asks, after a few silent minutes of driving.

“Fine,” Bakugou answers.

Aizawa nods. “Okay. I’m not convinced, but you don’t have to open up to me. I would, however, suggest that you open up to my friend. She’s trustworthy and she’s safe.”

“Who is she?”

“Aimi. She used to do Hero work, but she found her calling in therapy. She was never one for fighting.”

Bakugou nods, watching the world go by as they head into the city. “And she won’t… tell anyone, will she? That I went?”

Aizawa slows a little, glancing at bakugou quickly before looking back at the road. “What? No, of course not. She legally has to maintain confidentiality for all patients and service users. What makes you think she’ll tell anyone?”

“It didn’t take long for the media to find out I broke that 1-B fuck’s nose.”

Aizawa grips his steering wheel and makes a noise akin to a growl. “That information was most definitely leaked by the little weasel himself. I swear, that uppity little shit-” He stops, side-eyeing Bakugou for a second. “Sorry. I shouldn’t talk about students like that.”

Despite himself, Bakugou smirks. “It’s cool. Glad you feel the same way about him.”

The rest of the drive is spent bitching about Monoma, and for a short while Bakugou forgets where he’s going and forgets about the voice in his mind.

 

*

 

Bakugou was expecting an ageing woman wearing a suit and a severe expression. Aimi is definitely not that. She’s young, with baby pink hair cut into a short bob and impossibly dark eyes. She’s wearing a band t-shirt with a deep orange skirt, and black boots with a mud stain up the side. No part of her look suggests ‘therapist’ to Bakugou, and that somehow comforts him.

She greets him with a beaming smile that causes dimples in her cheeks, and she gestures for him and Aizawa to walk in.

“Shota!” she greets with a soft voice. Almost childlike. “It’s so good to see you again!”

“Hm,” Aizawa responds. “I see you’ve still not mastered dressing appropriately for work.”

Aimi raises an eyebrow. “You don’t get to say anything about my dress sense until you grow out of your emo phase.”

Aizawa sighs heavily. “Bakugou, meet Aimi. Don’t take her shit. I’ll be waiting outside.”

Aimi smiles. “Bye, Shota!” She waits for the teacher to close the door before gesturing towards a large, soft armchair. “Hi, Bakugou. Or would you rather I call you Katsuki?”

Bakugou shrugs. “Either works.”

He sits down on the armchair, almost sinking into the impossibly plush cushion. The office is small, with a corner desk to the left, the armchair he’s sitting on, a matching one opposite, and a two seater sofa to his right. There’s a small coffee table in the centre of the seats with a box of tissues and a file on top.

“I’m going to call you Katsuki, if that’s okay?” she asks. “I imagine you don’t often get called by your given name.”

Bakugou shrugs again. “Not really.”

Aimi sits down on the chair opposite and smiles again. “Can I get you a drink? Anything you want.”

“No, I’m good.”

“Okay. Well, just to begin, I need to inform you about my quirk. I have an emitter quirk that effectively acts as mind reading. Part of it involves being able to detect lies.”

Bakugou nods slowly. “And you managed Hero work with only that?”

Aimi laughs. “You’re blunt. I like it. I trained a lot in hand-to-hand combat and trained with weaponry, but the quirk is useful for commanding the truth out of people. Where a victim is hidden, what a villain’s plans are, that sort of thing.”

Bakugou frowns. “Alright. I can see why that helped.”

“I don’t do that anymore,” Aimi explains. “Commanding the truth. It was helpful during rescue attempts or when dealing with a hostage situation, but not so much in therapy. Lying is common, and it’s often an indicator of a deeper issue. I’m supposed to build a level of trust between myself and patients, but I can’t possibly do that when I’m forcing people to be honest with me.”

“So you can’t turn off your internal lie detector?” Bakugou questions.

Aimi shakes her head. “Sadly not. However, I’d still never force anyone to stop lying unless lives were in danger. Instead, I use the lies to direct the conversation in the hope of encouraging honesty rather than forcing it.”

“We had another therapist come to school a while ago,” Bakugou states. “She could alter your emotions.”

Aimi’s expression falters a little. “Yes. Aki. I’m familiar with her. Although her quirk is good for some people, it’s certainly not for everyone. You didn’t like it, did you?”

Bakugou shakes his head. “No. I didn’t.”

 

 

He sits in Aimi’s office for an hour. After the initial greeting, Bakugou doesn’t say much. He lets Aimi fill the silence by learning more about her quirk, and her method of therapy, before filling in a screening questionnaire about his mood.

He doesn’t look up while he fills it out, and he ignores the way his stomach twists when he sees the word ‘suicidal’.

“All you need to do is answer as honestly as you can,” Aimi says, as though that’s the easiest thing in the world. “This is a judgement free zone.”
Bakugou huffs but continues answering.

He answers honestly, and he refuses to watch Aimi look at his responses.

 

She tells him she’ll read through the screening and see him again in a few days. Bakugou longs to say no.

He doesn’t.

He simply says a quiet goodbye and gets into Aizawa’s car in silence.

 

*

 

The dorms are quiet and still when he gets back, with a few students sat in the lounge watching TV or studying when he walks in. With his hood pulled up, he keeps his head down as he walks towards the lift in blissful ignorance to those around him. He zones out so much that he doesn’t notice someone in his peripheral until his arm connects with them and his heart nearly jolts out of his chest. He turns, almost grabbing for the person as his palm crackles, only to find himself face to face with Tokoyami.

“Sorry,” Tokoyami says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Bakugou lowers his hand. “It’s fine.”

Tokoyami glances quickly towards the others in the room before tilting his head a little. “I just wanted to check that you’re okay. I haven’t seen much from you since the Heroics class.”

Bakugou frowns. “Why?”

“Thirteen asked me not to speak about it, but I have had enough panic attacks to recognise one. They are… unpleasant. If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here to listen. Alternatively, we can sit in silence and listen to music. I hear you enjoy the same music as me.”

Bakugou can’t help but smirk. “All I hear in this shitty building is fucking pop music.”

Tokoyami glowers. “Yes. It’s irritating. However, Jirou also listens to metal.”

Bakugou nods. “Not surprised.”

They fall into an awkward silence for a painfully long few seconds, before Tokoyami announces that he’s going back to watch TV. Bakugou nods and hurriedly escapes to the lift before anyone else can talk to him.

He makes it to his room without bother and drops himself down on his bed, exhaustion weighing heavily on his bones.

That was the longest conversation he’s ever had with Tokoyami, he realises, outside of a Heroics class. Tokoyami’s tone was friendly, but Bakugou can’t even call himself a friend to the boy.

He doesn’t want you as a friend.

He hears laughter suddenly erupt from next door and the realisation that he was meant to watch films with Kirishima and the others makes his stomach twist again.

See? Shit friend.

He flops back on his bed, listens to the joyful laughter through the wall, and sighs softly.

 

*

 

He wakes to a darkened room, silence replacing the laughter he’d heard earlier and an eerie stillness present in the room. He lies perfectly still, a sinking sensation building in his chest as he realises something is wrong.

Slowly, cautiously, fearfully, he glances around the room.

There’s a figure stood in the corner, hulking and towering and shaking, and there’s a strange huffing sound emitting from it. Bakugou watches, his heart pounding and his body unwilling to move.

The huffing gets louder, the figure’s shoulders rising and falling with each unnerving sound. Bakugou’s panicked breathing matches its pace and before he can hold it back, a short gasp rips from him.

The huffing stops abruptly and the figure straightens, somehow appearing even taller than before. Slowly, it turns. Bakugou wants to scream, to run, to fight, but his body won’t move. He can’t speak, can’t breathe.

The figure finally turns, its bloodied face finally coming into view. Its hair is matted to its forehead and its mouth is hung open in a permanent scream, the jaw misshapen and misaligned, but Bakugou recognises the face instantly.

There’s a gaping, bloodied hole in All-Might’s side, the scent of burning flesh reaching Bakugou where he lies.

All-Might stumbles forward, the broken jaw twitching as he tries to speak. The garbled sounds barely qualify as language but as All-Might stretches a shaking, large hand towards Bakugou, the boy knows exactly what he’s saying.

You did this.

“I’m sorry,” Bakugou mutters out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry-”

His hand is moving without any forward thinking, slamming down against the lamp by his bed. Light fills the room and he’s met by utter emptiness.

No All-Might.

Nothing.

The tears begin to roll before he can stop them, still lay on his sweat-soaked bed with his eyes fixed on the spot where All-Might’s battered form had stood.

And as he sobs, the voice in his mind mocks him.

 

You fucking deserve this.

 

His phone buzzes, the sound startling loud in contrast to the haunting silence of his room, and he scrambles to silence it. Kirishima's name fills his screen, a text flashing incessantly as it begs to be opened. 

It's just one simple text, and yet it makes the sobs increase tenfold. 

I'm here if u need someone

He doesn't respond, can't find the words, but he clutches the phone to his chest and, for a little while, forgets All-Might's disfigured face.

 

Chapter 14

A drink
For the horror that I'm in
For the good guys, and the bad guys
For the monsters that I've been

                                                                          - My Chemical Romance

 

Bakugou has been sat in Aimi’s office for half an hour now in utter silence. The voice in his mind tells him he’s wasting somebody’s money, although he’s not sure whose, but he can’t find the energy or willpower or desire to speak. She doesn’t sit and stare at him like he’d expected. Instead, she opts to use the time to sign some paperwork. He watches her small hands flick through the endless pages and scribble her signature onto certain points. She’s older than him by over ten years and has worked in Hero work for a lot of that time, yet her hands are clear of any scars.

No blemishes, no callouses, nothing. Just smooth, clear skin.

He looks down at his own hands, his palms marred by old burn scars and callouses from his years of adjusting to his quirk. A few small scars on the backs of his hands and his knuckles from fights and childhood accidents.

So many flaws, so many windows into his world, and yet nothing into Aimi’s. It’s almost unfair.

“You’re thinking very hard,” Aimi says. Her voice is soft, but the abruptness of her words still triggers a spike of panic. “Do you want to talk about whatever it is?”

Bakugou stares down at his hands for another few seconds before looking back at Aimi’s. “You did hero work,” he says.

“Yep.”

“That involved fighting Villains and rescuing people.”

“Yep.”

“So how come you haven’t got any scars?”

Aimi follows his gaze from his hands to her own and ponders them for a minute or so. “Just because my hands are scar-free, doesn’t mean the rest of me is. Besides, my quirk isn’t physical. A lot of my fighting was done with weapons whilst wearing armour. It left little room for injuring my hands.” She glances at his hands again, noting the scars. “I’m willing to bet yours came from learning to use your quirk?”

Bakugou nodded. “Burned myself a few times.”

Aimi nods. “I can imagine. It’s worth noting, though, that not all scars are physical. Leaving a situation without a physical mark doesn’t mean you haven’t been harmed. The very fact that you’re sitting here with me today tells me you’ve been harmed, Katsuki.” She sighs softly, Bakugou remaining quiet. “I’m never going to force you to talk, and if all you want is a place to safely sit in peaceful silence, then I can provide that. But I can promise you that if you do want to talk, this is a safe place to do that.”

“Talking isn’t really my strong suit.”

“Now, I saw the footage from the Sports Festival. You’ve got a colourful vocabulary at your disposal.”

Bakugou smirks just enough for Aimi’s smile to widen. “Insulting people isn’t the same as talking. Neither are threats.”

“True. Very true. But the point still stands. I don’t know if this is the case for you and I apologise if it’s not, but boys are often raised to believe that it’s weak to talk about your feelings. Or that it’s weak to even have feelings. I want you to know that that isn’t true. It’s okay to feel things, and it’s okay to talk about those feelings.”

Bakugou swallows thickly, his hands feeling uncomfortably hot. They sit in silence for a few minutes. Aimi turns in her seat, ready to pick up her paperwork again, when Bakugou feels the dam begin to crack.

“I can’t sleep,” he blurts out, his heart jolting in his chest. She pauses, slowly retreating away from the paperwork to face him. She stays quiet, giving him the opening to continue, but his chest is too tight and his throat is too dry. She nods, the gesture somehow comforting. “I… I keep seeing him. And them.”

“Nightmares?” Aimi asks.

Bakugou shakes his head. “No. No, I see them. In my room. I dream about Kamino all the time, and then I’ll wake up and… and there’ll be fucking there. Touching me or talking to me. All-Might just.. just dies. Over and over again in front of me. Sometimes I can’t move or breathe and I just have to watch him bleed out on my fucking floor.”

Any trace of Aimi’s smile has gone and she instead looks deeply, deeply saddened. The expression is a disturbing contrast to the deep orange jumper she’s opted to wear today. “Have you ever talked about that to someone?”

Bakugou shakes his head. “I told Aizawa and someone else I have nightmares, kinda, but that’s it.”

Aimi nods. “Katsuki, what you have been experiencing are called hypnopompic hallucinations. They're a type of parasomnia that occur upon waking up. The inability to move is known as sleep paralysis. The two often go hand in hand. Unfortunately, there’s no actual treatment for these, apart from addressing any root causes of the sleep disturbances.”

“Great.”

“I know that’s not what you want to hear. I want to tell you they’re not harmful, but I’m sure it doesn’t feel that way when you’re experiencing it.”

“Nope.”

Aimi smiles again. It’s sympathetic without being pitying, and Bakugou can’t remember seeing anyone master that before. “Thank you for telling me, Katsuki. This is a good step in the right direction.”

*

 

Bakugou didn’t say anything else after that, nor did he speak on the car ride back to the dorms. He expects Aimi will feed back to Aizawa at some point but for now, he’s content to pretend the session never happened.

Aizawa pulls up outside the dorms and unlocks the door, giving a curt nod as Bakugou gets out.

He’s lost in his own head, thinking about everything and nothing, when he walks in, allowing him to completely miss his classmates addressing him as he walks quickly across the lounge floor towards the lift. He becomes aware of someone in his space too late to move away, and the person touches his shoulder. He jumps, hands lifting with crackling palms facing outward, only to find Kaminari staring at him with terrified eyes.

“Whoa, chill!” he begs, putting his hands up in surrender.

Bakugou frowns deeply, slowly lowering his own hands. “The fuck do you want?”

“I was just gonna ask if you wanted to watch a film with us,” he asks. “We’ve literally just finished Fantastic Four and we’re gonna put on the first Iron Man.”

“Kaminari refuses to watch the Marvel films in order because he’s a goddamn heathen!” Jirou shouts from her place on the sofa.

Kaminari rolls his eyes. “So? You wanna join?”

Bakugou shakes his head. “I’m fucking tired, man.”

It isn’t a lie. He’s exhausted. Physically, mentally, socially. For all his loudness and brashness, he doesn’t particularly enjoy talking, and goddamn he has done a lot today. Kaminari hesitates just long enough to make that familiar spike of guilt return, but the sudden smile that sweeps across his face calms it.

“Oh yeah, you’ve been training with Aizawa again!” Kaminari says. “I forgot about that. No worries, dude!”

Bakugou nods, turning towards the lift before pausing. “Uh… maybe tomorrow?”

Kaminari’s face lights up and he turns to those in the living room with a level of excitement akin to a child at Christmas. “Hey guys! Bakugou’s gonna watch films with us tomorrow!”

Jirou, Ashido, and Sero all cheer, only sounding the smallest bit sarcastic, as they wait for Iron Man to start. Kirishima smiles, nodding to Bakugou. Bakugou nods back before heading to the lift, his bed already calling him.

 

*

 

The next day is long, boring, and tiring, but he stays true to his word and appears in the living room after doing some schoolwork. Jirou, Ashido, Sero, and Uraraka are already there, sprawled out on the sofas and making themselves comfortable. One of them is popping popcorn on the hob in the kitchen, presumably Ashido considering the way she keeps staring over at the kitchen. They don’t make a big deal when he walks in, only Sero saying ‘hey’ when he sits down on an empty sofa to the left of the television.

“We were just talking about our teachers,” Jirou explains as he sits down. “Who do you think would win in a fight, Midnight or Thirteen?”

“And we don’t mean a fight with quirks,” Ashido adds. “We mean a good ol’ fistfight.”

“I wanna say Thirteen but probably Midnight,” Bakugou answers, only a touch of bitterness in his voice. “Thirteen is too nice. They don’t even use their quirk to fight if they can help it.”

“True,” Sero agrees. “But those gloves they wear? Bet they’d hurt to be hit with.”

The elevator doors open with a light ding, Kirishima and Kaminari walking down with DVDs in their hands.

“Okay, so since we’re on a Marvel binge, I brought down-” Kirishima pauses as he lays eyes upon Bakugou. “Bro! You came!” His face visibly lights up, his toothy grin widening. “Nice! In that case, we’re watching both Captain America films!”

“I thought we were gonna discuss it,” Kaminari says.

“In the time it takes us to make a collective decision, we could’ve watched the First Avenger,” Kirishima retaliates. “So, we’re watching both Captain America’s. Besides, we all know how much Bakugou would love Bucky Barnes, so it’s happening.”

“Alright, that’s fair,” Kaminari agrees.

Ashido puts the freshly-popped popcorn into the biggest bowl she can find, dropping a few on the floor in the process, and almost skips back into the lounge. She puts the bowl on the coffee table in the centre and grabs a handful before going to sit beside Bakugou.

“Can I fucking help you?” he questions as she sits so close their shoulders touch.

“Nope,” she responds with a smile, before throwing some popcorn into her own mouth.

Bakugou sighs heavily. “Personal space just ain’t a thing for you, is it?”

“Look, man, I haven’t spent any time with you for ages, so you’re gonna sit in my space and enjoy my company,” Ashido says.

Bakugou doesn’t have the energy to argue, nor does he dislike Ashido enough to push her away, so he settles back into the sofa and tries to ignore the discomfort of her bony shoulder knocking into his arm repeatedly as she shuffles into a more comfortable position.

Jirou switches off the light, Kirishima puts the DVD in, and they settle down to watch.

 

When the final after-credit scene of The Winter Soldier ends, Kirishima immediately turns to Bakugou with an eager smile.

“So?” he asks. “What did you think?”

Bakugou nods slowly. “I mean, we all knew it was Bucky in the mask, right?”

“Sero didn’t at first, but continue.”

“It didn’t spoil it though. It was good.”

Ashido nudges him with her elbow. “And? Did you love Bucky?”

Bakugou shrugs. “Sure? He’s a fucking fictional character.”

“Yes, a morally ambiguous fictional character with a deep and interesting background. I thought you’d be all over that.”

“I guess,” Bakugou responds. “His character is definitely more interesting than Captain America.”

Sero grunts from his seat opposite Bakugou. “There’s nothing wrong with Steve, alright? He’s a true American hero.”

“Whoop-die fucking do.”

Uraraka switches the lights back on, and all eyes fall upon Kaminari. He fell asleep sometime during the second film, sprawled across Sero’s lap, and the sudden light showcases the drool pooling onto Sero’s joggers.

“Oh god!” Sero exclaims.

“That’s fucking gross,” Bakugou comments.

Sero, grimacing, pushes Kaminari off of him and onto the floor in a heap. “Damn, what the hell are you, dude? A dog?”

Kaminari, in all his sleep-addled confusion, scrambles upright and blinks. “What? What did I do?”

“You drooled on me!” Sero argues. “What the hell, man? And to think, I was nice enough to let you lie on me!”

Kaminari grins lazily. “I just wanted to share a piece of myself with you.”

Sero throws a cushion at him, nailing him square in the face. Even Bakugou can’t hold back the laugh as Kaminari rubs his nose with a frown.

“I’m going to bed,” Kaminari says glumly, still rubbing his nose and wearing a childish pout as he shuffles towards the elevator.

“Fucking same,” Bakugou states, joining Kaminari in it as the others finish off the third lot of popcorn that Ashido had made.

“So,” Kaminari says tiredly. “How’s training going?”

Bakugou nods. “Alright.”

Kaminari watches him expectantly. “Oh, that’s it? Just alright? Okay. Thought training with Eraser Head would’ve been cooler than that.”

“Grass always looks greener on the other fucking side, doesn’t it?” Bakugou states.

Kaminari frowns. “I… guess. So… I shouldn’t be jealous that I’m not doing extra training with him?”

Bakugou scoffs. “No, you definitely shouldn’t be jealous.”

“Good to know.” The frown doesn’t lift. “Is everything alright, dude? Like… he isn’t pushing you too hard or anything?”

Bakugou shakes his head, watching the floor number change as they reach Kaminari’s. “Nope, it’s all good.”

Kaminari nods. “Alright. Good. Okay. I’ll uh… I’ll see you tomorrow, man.”

He waves over his shoulder as he steps off the lift. Once the doors close, Bakugou lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 

*

 

He goes a week without seeing Aimi. Neither he nor Aizawa talk about the therapy sessions, and he doesn’t know how much Aimi has told his teacher, but he’s content to live in blissful ignorance for a little longer. They have a few days until their mock exam results come out so classes are slow, boring, and uneventful. He spends his evenings watching films with the others, and his days blindly revising for classes he doesn’t particularly care about anymore.

He’s in the cafeteria line, his friends already sat at the table with their food, when a voice disturbs his peace.

“You gonna bludgeon someone with that tray again?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes but refuses to turn around. He knows Tetsutetsu’s voice, and he doesn’t need to confirm the boy’s presence by giving him attention.

The loud huff that follows his silence suggests Tetsutetsu needs Bakugou’s attention. Further motivation to not turn around. He focuses his attention on the back of the head of the girl stood in front of him, only gaining mild amusement from the clear annoyance behind him.

“It’s rude to ignore a person when they’re talking to you,” Tetsutetsu snaps.

Bakugou glances over his shoulder, barely meeting Tetsutetsu’s eyes, before looking back at the girl in front again. This does nothing to ease Tetsutetsu’s frustration, prompting another annoyed huff from the taller boy. Bakugou’s expression remains blank, effortlessly hiding the intense amount of enjoyment he’s getting from this.

“You’re such an asshole,” Tetsutetsu says. “Everyone thinks so. Do you even know what they say about you online? Monoma showed me some things. Maybe you should’ve thought twice before hitting him with the tray.”

“So he was the one who cried to the papers?” Bakugou finally responds, catching the other boy off guard.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sounds like you did.”

“I didn’t!”

“Are you giving away your precious Monoma’s secrets? That he’s a fucking snitch? Oh dear. Monoma won’t be happy about that.”

“Oh…” Tetsutetsu almost growls. “Fuck you, man.”

Bakugou turns back around, gets his food, and heads back to his friends without any further disturbance from the taller boy.

Jirou watches him as he sits down. “What was going on? That 1-B guy bothering you?”

“Same shit, different arsehole,” Bakugou responds. “You reckon you could make a career out of pissing people off? Think it might be my calling.”

“If there’s a job for that, I’m sure you’ll ace it,” Sero says.

 

That night, as he lays in bed listening to the distant sound of Kirishima’s music through the thick walls, he considers Tetsutetsu’s words.

Look up your name.

He knows it’s a bad idea. He knows nothing good will come from it. He knows it’ll only be negative reports.

Do it anyway.

He grabs his headphones and flicks through his music, pressing play on a random song before putting his phone down and staring up at the ceiling.

 

He falls asleep to thrashing guitars and growling vocals, and he doesn’t look up his own name.

 

 

Notes:

sorry it's so late i don't even have a real excuse. lockdown is just a big ol' bitch

Chapter 15

So impressed with all you do
Tried so hard to be like you
Flew too high and burnt the wing
Lost my faith in everything

                                                        - Nine Inch Nails

 

Bakugou wakes up angry. Impossibly, unbearably angry. He can’t remember any dream, nor can he pinpoint why the fuck he’s so raging, but it’s 5am and the anger is bubbling beneath his skin.

He goes for a jog to relieve some of the tension. It quickly becomes a run, then a sprint, until he’s lapping the campus with his palms crackling and popping and his calves burning with exertion.

 

He stops after an hour, when his legs burn and his chest aches, yet the anger still bubbles beneath the surface, threatening to spill over at any given time. He spends another thirty minutes under a hot stream of water in the showers, basking in the almost painful battering of water against his skin. It isn’t enough though, and he feels restless and annoyed. Like the unending, unexplained hatred deep within him is about to burst out of him in a fit of rage.

But Kirishima is the first person he sees, as he makes himself a coffee around 7am, and he feels the desire to let rip at anyone lessen.

“Morning!” Kirishima greets brightly.

“Mm.”

Kirishima immediately picks up on his mood because the beaming smile on his face falters ever so slightly before he fixes it back on again. “What’s up with you?”

“Fucking nothing.”

The smile falters again, for a little longer. “Seriously, bro, is everything okay?”

“I mean it. Literally fucking nothing. I just can’t be fucked with today.”

Kirishima smiles more genuinely this time. “I get that. When you get like that, you’ve just gotta keep your end goal in mind and know that you can’t quit before you even get close to your goal.”

Bakugou raises an eyebrow. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m saying don’t get all annoyed and pissed off and throw in the towel before you reach your goal, man.”

“I didn’t say I was gonna throw in the towel.”

“If you quit today and refuse to go to class, that’s throwing in the towel.”

Bakugou has to hold back the annoyed growl that almost escapes him. “It’s too early for your pseudo-philosophical bullshit, man.”

Kirishima laughs, and the almost musical sound is such a stark contrast to his dark mood. “Okay I’ll stop annoying you now. But really though, please still go to class.”

“Of course I’m fucking going to class. I’m up aren’t I?”

“You’re always up. I feel like you don’t sleep.”

“Whatever.”

 

*

 

By the time homeroom commences, Bakugou hasn’t felt even a slight boost to his mood. In fact, everything is making it worse.

Tripped over a bit of uneven pavement and nearly fell? Instant stab of anger.

Mineta walking into him? Rage bubbles even more.

Someone from 1-B acknowledges him? God, he wants to fucking stab someone.

“Hey, Kacchan.”

Bakugou doesn’t hold back the growl this time. He refuses to turn back to look at Midoriya, instead keeping his eyes on Aizawa as the teacher prepares to start their homeroom session.  “Fucking what?”

“Are you okay? Your legs haven’t stopped moving since you sat down and that tends to mean you’re stressed.”

“You’re stressing me out.”

“I’ve not seen you yet today.”

“And yet you’re still stressing me out. Amazing. Maybe you’ve got a second fucking quirk.”

“Okay, sorry. I won’t bother you.”

The despondent tone in Midoriya’s voice only adds guilt to the anger and that does nothing to ease the building anxiety and adrenaline coursing through Bakugou’s veins.

His legs keep bouncing, and he holds an iron-clad grip on the pen in his hand.

Aizawa clears his throat, pulling all eyes onto him.

“For today’s Heroics class, we’re pairing up with 1-B. I feel you’re all getting too comfortable with each other’s quirks and fighting styles and we need to mix things up. You will be fighting one on one with a student from 1-B, whose name will be selected from a hat. Each fight will last three minutes, and during those three minutes you must eject your opponent from the designated space. However, to make it extra interesting, there will be no quirks used. Only hand-to-hand combat. When I last assigned non-quirk exercises, most of you opted to not spar with others. That isn’t happening today. I want to see you all utilising the hand-to-hand combat I have definitely been teaching you, and that you have definitely all been practicing.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes so hard it almost gives him a headache. A few of his classmates begin nervously muttering, the likes of Mineta and Uraraka vocally expressing their dislike about the lack of quirks.

“No point dragging it out. Let’s pick our opponents,” Aizawa states. He pulls a Tupperware box from his desk drawer filled with folded pieces of paper.

“That’s not a hat, sir,” Kaminari points out. “You said we’d pick them out of a hat.”

Aizawa glares at him as he stands up. “Thank you for informing me. Your observational skills are truly, truly impressive. Now, I’m going to come round with the box and you’re all going to pick a name out. Whoever you pick will be your opponent. And if you want, I’ll let you be the bearers of bad news for 1-B.”

He wastes no time making his way down the aisles, and Bakugou watches his classmates pick their paper. Some look excited or intrigued, and others look downright terrified. When it reaches him, Bakugou grabs the closest paper to him.

When he unfolds it, his heart skips a beat.

For the first time in his life, he’s fairly convinced that there’s a higher power. And that higher power is definitely watching out for him.

He’s grinning before he realises it, catching the attention of Jirou and Shoji, whose faces drop with fear.

“Oh no,” Shoji mutters.

“Oh my god you’re terrifying,” Jirou says. “Who did you get?”

“I swear there really is a fucking God,” Bakugou says. He turns his paper and lifts it, showcasing the clear evidence of the existence of a god. In the centre of the paper, in neat black ink, is a name he’d never thought he’d be happy to see. “Neito fucking Monoma.”

“Holy shit,” Jirou comments. “Dude, are you gonna kill him?”

Bakugou reads the name again, almost expecting it to morph into somebody else instead. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Who did Bakugou get?” Kirishima asks. Bakugou shows him the paper. Immediately, the redhead’s eyes widen. “Oh no. No no no. Bakugou, don’t do anything stupid. Please. I couldn’t cope coming here without you. It’d be so boring.”

“This definitely won’t be boring, man.” He cracks his knuckles, a sadistic smile fixed on his face.

Jirou, Kirishima, and Shoji exchange concerned expressions before following Bakugou’s gaze towards Aizawa.

 

*

 

Bakugou is buzzing with energy. The anger still bubbles within his chest, lying dormant as it awaits the chance to be unleashed, but the Heroics class after lunch is enough to keep him going.

They’re sat in the cafeteria, but Bakugou is too amped up to eat. Kaminari is inhaling his second helping of food and Sero is watching him in mesmerised horror, as Ashido and Kirishima gossip about her dating app.

“What about her?” Ashido asks, pushing her phone into Kirishima’s face. “She’s cute, right?”

Kirishima nods. “Yeah, she’s cute,” he answers as he chews his food.

“Stop talking with fucking food in your mouth,” Bakugou snaps. “Oi, Pinky, you like girls?”

Ashido lowers her phone a little. “I mean, who doesn’t?”

Bakugou nods. “True. Show me.”

She beams and thrusts her phone forward again. The girl is posing in front of the entrance of a gig venue with a smile and a peace sign, wearing an anime t-shirt. She has bright, fiery orange hair, but her eyes capture his attention more. There aren’t any clear pupils or irises, instead just deep red.

“Her eyes are awesome,” he comments.

Ashido laughs. “She can basically set herself on fire. She said her eyes have some relation to it but I didn’t really understand.”

“How old is she?” Kaminari asks. “Can you even go on dating apps?”

Ashido rolls her eyes and scoffs. “She’s 16 too. And yes, I can go on dating apps. Look at me, using dating apps.”

“Can’t you just meet someone in real life?” Sero questions. “What’s wrong with the people here?”

“The fuckheads at this school aren’t cool enough for Pinky,” Bakugou retorts.

Ashido pauses, eyes widening a little at the compliment before she smiles widely. “Thanks, Blasty!”

Kirishima smirks. “Aw, bro, look at you, opening up and being nice.”

“Fucking whatever.”

Kirishima pushes his empty dinner tray towards the centre of the table, still smiling. He motions to speak when something past Bakugou’s shoulder catches his attention, robbing his smile. “Can we help you?”

Bakugou turns to find Monoma approaching quickly, his usual smug smile fixed on his face. The sight of him makes the dormant anger come alive a little more and it takes all of Bakugou’s internal strength to resist punching him.

“Everyone tells me you’re overly nice,” Monoma responds to Kirishima. “I’m not so convinced, because people usually say hello first.”

“Some people don’t deserve my niceness,” Kirishima says.

“Seriously, what do you want?” Ashido demands.

Monoma raises his eyebrows. “So rude, all of you. I just wanted to see how excited we all are about joining up this afternoon for Heroics. I’m so excited to see how you all cope with hand-to-hand fighting.”

“With any luck, you won’t be able to see anyone else’s fucking fights,” Bakugou snarls.

Monoma glances at him, the smallest falter to his smirk. “And what does that mean? Are you insinuating I’ll lose my fight?” He glances around the cafeteria, spotting the 1-A students dotted around. “I fancy my chances to be honest.”

Bakugou can’t fight back his own smirk. “Oh. That’s fucking funny. Nobody’s told you, have they?”

“Told me what?”

“You’re fighting me, fuckface.” He stands up, coming face to face with Monoma. “And I’m going to make that dinner tray seem like fucking child’s play.”

“Very confident for an angry Pomeranian.”

Bakugou laughs, the sound low and rumbling. “I suggest you take your shitty attempts at wit back to your stupid little entourage and eat the rest of your dinner, because after today you’ll be eating through a fucking straw.”

It’s enough to make Monoma take a step back, at which point Bakugou finally notices that half of the cafeteria have noticed the interaction and are watching with interest. Somehow, in the distance, he spots Midoriya’s green mop in the crowd.

“You talk like that, yet you still think you’re a hero,” Monoma states.

“I could say the same to you. You’re just too fucking dim-witted to come up with anything legitimately threatening. Now run the fuck along, copycat.”

Bakugou stays standing, refusing to back down, until Monoma finally turns his back and walks towards his table again. Bakugou watches him the entire time, taking great joy whenever Monoma looks back over his shoulder, and only sits down once Monoma is back at his table.

There’s a brief moment of silence as his friends stare at him before Kirishima breaks it.

“Dude, please tell me you’re not really going to cripple him. There’s only so much Recovery Girl can heal in one go and like I said, I’ll be really bored here if you get kicked out.”

Bakugou shrugs. “I won’t cripple him. But you best fucking believe I’m going to put the fear of fucking God in him.”

“You don’t need to touch him to do that,” Kaminari says. “Just talking to him would do that.”

Bakugou smiles. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever fucking said to me.”

 

*

 

His Hero uniform has never felt so constricting yet so powerful before, as he stands in the PE grounds awaiting the start of the 1 on 1 battles. Class 1-B are waiting nearby on an opposing set of benches. Although the classes were given permission to mix, they all elected not to. They’re all watching one another and discussing strategies, but Bakugou’s attention is fixed solely on the arena before him. He can already picture himself in the middle, bloodied fists pummelling Monoma into the ground until the boy is nothing more than a mangled mess of bruising and swelling.

He won’t go that far, of course, but goddamn he wants to.

His thoughts briefly drift to the media, and how they would absolutely love him to lose all control and bludgeon the kid to death, and it’s enough to force him into planning an actual strategy.

Green hair fills his peripheral and he looks down to his right, Midoriya gazing up at him with an odd mix of eagerness and concern in his large eyes.

“What?” Bakugou demands.

“You’re quiet,” Midoriya says. “It worries me.”

“I’m thinking.”

“You don’t usually think so obviously. Usually you think while you’re making grand proclamations about how you’re going to win, and then you do win. What’s different this time?”

Bakugou finally glances towards 1-B, immediately spotting Monoma amongst his friends. The boy doesn’t look up, but Bakugou can see the tension in his shoulders. It’s enough to relax him a little.

“I don’t talk strategy with you,” Bakugou responds to Midoriya.

Midoriya shrugs. “I know you don’t. But I wanted to make sure you weren’t anxious about this.”

Bakugou scoffs. “What would I be fucking anxious about?” The green-haired boy simply watches him, prompting a huff from Bakugou. “I’m not fucking anxious. I’m thinking.” He eyes up Monoma once more before gazing back at the battleground. “When I hit that copy and paste motherfucker with the tray, it reached the local media. Reporters fucking loved that I’d acted out, that I’d somehow proven to them that I have villainous tendencies. Here, I’m within my right to go all out and batter the arsehole, but they’d still use that to badmouth me. So, I need to play it carefully.”

“I saw the articles,” Midoriya admits. “I’d hoped you hadn’t.”

“Of course I fucking had.” He sighs softly. “We all fucking google our own names, don’t we?”

“I hate to admit it, but yes. After each fight, I look myself up to see how others had analysed it,” Midoriya says. “Especially after the Sports Festival.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “They fucking love you, Deku. They don’t quite feel the same way about me.”

“Does that bother you?” Midoriya questions gently.

“Does it fuck. What bothers me is false fucking information. Monoma provoked me, and he deserved that tray to his fucking face. He deserved more than that. And he’s going to get more than that now, and it’s going to be within the rules of the game. All they’ll be truthfully be able to say is how shit of a fighter Monoma is.”

Midoriya nods thoughtfully. “In that case, I’m looking forward to seeing you beat him.”

“Whatever.”

 

*

 

There’s a number of fights before Bakugou’s. He watches Ashido take on Awase and coming out the victor, something Bakugou plans on congratulating her for after. Momo, Iida, and Tokoyami win their fights against some 1-B students Bakugou doesn’t recognise. Tsuyu, Sato, and Koda lose their fights against some more students Bakugou doesn’t know the names of, but by that point he’s too focused on Monoma to care.

The copycat is staring at him, his expression utterly blank, but Bakugou can read through it. He’s rattled, and it gives Bakugou a rush of excitement.

Their names are called and he steps to the battlefield, his classmates cheering him on as he places his feet shoulder-width apart in the dirt. Monoma stands a distance away, his attention diverting from Bakugou to his own classmates, further proving that he’s unsettled.

Bakugou cracks his knuckles and then his neck. Aizawa begins a countdown, so Bakugou burns off the remains of the sweat on his palms with a series of controlled crackles. He has no intention of breaking the rules by using his quirk, but he revels in the way it makes Monoma’s eyes widen.

“3, 2, 1,” Aizawa counts down. “Fight!”

Bakugou stands still, a slight smile spreading across his face. Monoma frowns and takes an apprehensive step forward, but Bakugou continues to stay still.

“What are you doing?” Monoma demands.

Bakugou shrugs. “Letting you get the first hit in.”

Monoma stops. “What? I’m not a goddamn charity case. God, you’re so far up your own arse. I could beat you with my eyes closed.”

“Then do it. Prove you’re more than a fucking cocky arsehole whose entire quirk is based around taking other fucking people’s and beat me. Bash my fucking face in. Crack my fucking skull against this fucking floor. Come on. Do it.”

Monoma growls, clenching his fists tightly, and breaks into a run. Bakugou shifts himself so he’s physically stable and waits.

Time seems to slow as Monoma closes the gap between them and lifts his right fist, aimed perfectly at Bakugou’s face.

Bakugou, true to his word, lets Monoma get the first hit in. His knuckles connect with Bakugou’s cheekbone and eye socket, knocking his head to the side, but his feet stay firmly to the ground and he doesn’t shift.

He hears gasps behind him and, somewhere amongst it all, Kirishima’s voice breaks through.

“Trash him, Bakugou! Beat him to the ground!”

Bakugou smirks. Monoma throws another fist at Bakugou’s face, but this time he catches it in his still-warm hand before meeting Monoma’s eyes.

“I said you get the first hit. That’s the only one you get.”

 

Bakugou spends the next minute punching, kicking, and throwing Monoma to the ground. He’s careful not to do too much damage, holding back his punches and kicks, but he revels in the panicked gasps Monoma makes whenever he can finally come up for air. He launches Monoma out of the zone, signalling the end of the fight and prompting Aizawa to ring the bell.

“You fucking arsehole,” Monoma snarls from his spot on the floor.

Bakugou approaches him with a smile. “I told you, you get the first hit. I didn’t say you’d get any others. I hope you enjoyed it.”

“Bakugou Katsuki of Class 1-A is the winner!” Aizawa announces with the slightest ounce of pride in his voice.

Bakugou returns to his class, only slightly aware of a throbbing around his eye, and leaves Monoma in the dirt. And for the first time that day, the anger feels lighter.

 

 

Notes:

hope you all had a merry christmas!

Chapter 16

Something has been taken
From deep inside of me
A secret I’ve kept locked away
No one can ever see

                                                     - Linkin Park

 

In the two days since his fight with Monoma, Bakugou has been in high spirits. It’s refreshing, waking up without the bubbling anger and anxiety. His mornings have consisted of calm, pleasurable runs around the dorms and a coffee with Kirishima before classes start. Monoma has kept his distance and he hasn’t had to go to see Aimi week, so his pessimism has been pushed to one side for once.

It’s 8am, and he’s fresh out of the shower after a morning jog on his way into the kitchen. Kirishima has already brewed up two coffees and is setting them down at the table when Bakugou gets there. Ashido and Sero are sat at the table too, with a can of energy drink each in their hands and arguing about whether Marvel is better than DC.

“How can you drink that stuff?” Kirishima questions, grimacing as he sits down.

Bakugou sits beside him and thanks him with a nod as the redhead slides a hot coffee to him.

“It’s so good,” Ashido says, holding the can with both hands and loudly slurping it.

“Bet if you drank this before you worked out, you’d be able to exercise for hours,” Sero suggests.

Kirishima shrugs and flexes one of his arms, his biceps almost bulging in his white shirt. “I think I do alright without the can of sugar.”

“Excuse me,” Ashido interjects. “It’s a can of caffeine. The sugar is just an added bonus.”

“Whatever it is, it’s gross,” Kirishima decides. “Where’s Kaminari?”

Sero huffs. “He was up all night playing Final Fantasy. He’s probably going to be late.”

“Let’s make a bet,” Ashido suggests. “Everyone guesses how late he’ll be, and the closest wins.”

Sero rubs his hands together with glee. “I’m in. What are we betting?”

“How about… the furthest away has to do the winner’s homework for a week?” Kirishima offers.

“Fuck no,” Bakugou retorts. “You guys can’t be trusted to do your own fucking homework, never mind somebody else’s.”

“True,” Ashido agrees.

“Alright let’s just throw 700 yen in each. Closest gets the money,” Bakugou says.

Ashido grins. “Yes! I’m gonna guess he’ll be… 5 minutes late.”

“Nah,” Bakugou says. “Twenty minutes.”

“Harsh,” Kirishima responds with a laugh. “Ten minutes.”

Sero shrugs. “Guess I’ll go fifteen minutes.”

“Wait, what if he’s like… seventeen minutes late?” Ashido questions.

“Then we’ll split it,” Bakugou suggests. “Two closest answers.”

Kirishima nods. “It’s a deal.”

They all shake hands and proceed to finish their drinks before preparing to set off for class.

 

*

 

Aizawa begins homeroom by slamming his hands down on the desk and dramatically rising to his feet, the bags under his eyes particularly prominent today.

“I am a whole new level of tired today, children, and therefore I ask that you keep the volume level to a minimum and don’t do anything to rile me up. Marking your mock exams has given me the world’s worst headache that not even Recovery Girl can fix.”

“Um, sir?” Hagakure questions gently, her sleeve rising as she raises her hand. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Does it mean we all did badly?”

“Well, that’d be a spoiler, wouldn’t it?” Aizawa retorts. “Now, we’ll be having a lowkey heroics class this afternoon. We’ll be practicing some defensive techniques against some offensive dummies created by the support class. If any of you are familiar with Mei Hatsume, you can imagine the sort of fun you’re going to have.”

Bakugou can’t hold back the groan, and Midoriya seems similarly unenthused by this information.

“I have no other messages for you, so-”

The door slams open, Kaminari lumbering in, his blazer tucked under his sweat-stained armpit and his hair in disarray.

“I’m so sorry!” he exclaims. “I’m so, so sorry! I woke up late!”

Aizawa frowns deeply. “Just sit down and be quiet.”

Kaminari nods repeatedly. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”

Bakugou glances at the clock, noting that Kaminari is exactly ten minutes late. With a smirk, he glances towards Kirishima and nods.

On any other occasion, Bakugou hates losing. But somehow, if Kirishima is the one winning, it’s a little less disheartening.

 

The day goes by as uneventfully as always. Teachers make vague references to exam results, none of which fill the students with much confidence, and the likes of Kaminari and Sero waste class time playing games on their phones under the desks.

They’re utterly convinced the teachers don’t know, but Bakugou’s knows the teachers just don’t care anymore.

By lunchtime, they’ve been assigned three new pieces of homework, and Kaminari and Sero are unaware of any of it.

“It’s not my fault!” Kaminari argues.

“Well, who’s fault is it?” Kirishima questions. “Because you two were the only ones playing on your phones.”

Kaminari pauses, glancing down at his phone angrily. “It’s the game maker’s fault.”

“Oh fuck off,” Bakugou huffs. “Just put your damn phone down for once and listen, and maybe you wouldn’t need extra tutoring.”

Ashido snorts. “Who are you trying to kid? Kaminari will always need extra tutoring.”

“Besides,” Sero argues. “If we put our phones down, we’ll get super bored and then we’ll just have to hassle you more often, and I’m sure you don’t want that, do you Bakugou?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes but doesn’t respond.

“And, without my phone, how am I going to google myself and monitor how famous I’m getting?” Kaminari asks.

“You google yourself?” Ashido questions.

“You don’t?”

Bakugou is immediately uncomfortable, shuffling a little in his seat.

“I’ve googled myself,” Kirishima admits. “It’s mostly stuff about my fight with Tetsutetsu at the Sports Festival.”

“Positive?” Ashido questions.

Kirishima shrugs. “Kinda. There’s a lot of debate about whether I should’ve won the arm wrestle.”

“What about you, Bakugou?” Sero asks. “Have you googled yourself?”

Bakugou takes a careful breath and meets the other boy’s eyes. “You know footage got out of Kamino. You think I need to google myself to know what my name is plastered on?”

The table falls quiet, uncomfortably so, and Bakugou recoils internally at the return of the all-too-familiar guilt.

“Good point,” Kaminari says after a pause. “I googled myself once, but there wasn’t much on there. It was a bit depressing, to be honest, so I didn’t do it again.”

“You should make a TikTok and go viral,” Ashido suggests. “That’ll get your name out there.”

They carry on thinking up ways for Kaminari to become more famous, but Bakugou has already mentally retreated and stops listening. He stares down at his untouched dinner, food he’d forgotten he’d bought, and swallows down the sudden nausea that rises.

 

*

 

The anxiety doesn’t settle by Heroics. Not even his costume grants him the self-confidence it usually does. His skin is too tight and his throat is too dry as they stand in the gym hall listening to Aizawa explain the expectations and rules.

The offensive bots that Hatsume conjured up aren’t much to look at, resembling a punching dummy, but the metallic arms are intimidating and the long legs are telling of the speed they’ll inevitably move at.

“She’s really outdone herself hasn’t she?” Midoriya’s voice pulls Bakugou out of his stupor.

The smaller boy looks just as anxious, staring at the bots with wide eyes and a quivering bottom lip.

“Thank you, Izuku!”

The sudden voice has both of them spinning, Bakugou raising his hands in preparation and Midoriya biting back a scream. Hatsume grins widely at the pair, tilting her head and putting her gloved hands on her hips.

“So, you like my babies? I know they’re a bit much, but I was told you guys needed pushing.”

“How long did these take you?” Bakugou questions, returning his attention to the bots.

Hatsume shrugs. “I already had the skeleton built so I could quickly adapt them for whatever the school wanted to use them for. Power Loader helped me to build the skin and add the limbs.”

“Are they going to kill us?” Midoriya asks, noticing a number of teachers now entering the hall.

Hatsume laughs obnoxiously and slaps Midoriya on the back. “Of course not! But, you know, robots can be unpredictable!”

“So… the teachers are here in case your ‘babies’ gain sentience and try to kill us all,” Bakugou fills in.

Hatsume smiles again. “Yep! Hey, aren’t you Bakugou Katsuki? You were awesome in the Sports Festival! Can I adapt your outfit? Please? I’ve got so many ideas. I bet your hearing is affected by your quirk, so I’ve got a few ideas of subtle ear defenders that can-”

“Look, crazy, I get that you’re excited but fucking hell, dial it back a notch,” Bakugou demands.

Midoriya’s face drops as he looks between the two of them, anticipating the worst, but Hatsume simply smiles again.

“Sorry! I just really love building things. I’ve been helping Izuku adapt his outfit, so I’d love to help you with yours!”

“Kacchan designs his accessories. Like the gauntlet!” Midoriya explains.

“That’s so cool!” Hatsume retorts, reaching out to touch the gauntlets.

Bakugou moves out of her reach, his focus now on the teachers instead of the bots. As well as Thirteen and Present Mic, Midnight is there waiting for the class to commence. He watches her with bated breath, hands closing into fists as she smiles and chats away to Thirteen.

“Hey, Kacchan. Kacchan!” Midoriya’s voice yet again cuts through his thoughts and he flinches, glaring down at the other.

“Fucking what?” he demands.

“You zoned out for a bit there,” Midoriya says softly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fucking fine, Deku. Fuck off.”

He hears his own voice and attitude, a stark change from a mere five minutes ago, but he can do nothing to stop it exuding from him until Midoriya has already quietly apologised and wandered away towards Todoroki, who watches him carefully. Bakugou meets his gaze, frowning when Todoroki gives him a thoughtful nod. Bakugou returns it, despite himself, and looks back at the bots.

He refuses to look at Midnight.

 

She’s assigned to him.

He fights his bot at the same time as Todoroki, Uraraka, Kaminari, and Shoji, and Midnight is monitoring him. She’s supposed to be watching Uraraka too, but she’s closer to him, and that’s too much.

He stands in front of the bot, cracking his fingers and making sure the gauntlets are securely in place, as she paces a short distance behind him.

He can hear her every footstep, can almost hear her soft breaths.

With a deep inhale, he tries to focus on the bot.

“Ready?” Aizawa calls out. “Remember, you’ve got to last three minutes. These bots will come at you hard and fast, so your goal is to survive. If you tap out, or if you are seen to take what would be life-threatening hits, you’re out.”

Bakugou nods and listens as Aizawa begins the countdown.

He reaches 1, and the bot immediately springs to life.

It’s fast, forcing Bakugou to immediately bounce out of the way of its attack. The hands, on closer inspection, are soft and blunt, not meant to cause any real physical harm, but Bakugou is taking no chances. He’s quick on his feet, blocking any hits that come his way. Aizawa urged them not to use their quirks unless necessary, to emphasise the importance of blocking rather than simply jumping to offense, but his palms itch with a desire to explode the fucking thing.

And then he catches sight of Midnight, smiling at him. It’s not a particularly vindictive smile, or unpleasant, but it’s enough to stop him in his tracks. Enough for the bot to grab him by the back of the neck with those soft, almost human hands. He sees white, the fingers pressing into his throat. He can feel the breath on the back of his neck, can hear that fucking voice.

He grabs the hand with both of his, his quirk activating instantly. The explosions are hot and continuous and the white expands until he sees absolutely nothing.

 

*

 

He’s in the infirmary again. Even with the sleep-addled blur of his vision, he recognises the fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptic immediately. He hears Recovery Girl and Kirishima talking quietly beside him but he's too focused on blinking away the blur to speak to them. After a few minutes, once his vision has cleared, Kirishima glances in his direction and gasps upon seeing his eyes open. He scrambles out of his chair to get closer, startling Recovery Girl. 

“Oh, Bakugou!” Kirishima blurts out, scrambling to his feet. “Bro, are you okay?”

“Why the fuck am I here again?” Bakugou growls out.

Recovery Girl sighs softly, moving closer to Bakugou with a clipboard in hand. “Well, you sustained some pretty serious burns to your neck using your quirk in such close proximity to your skin. You obliterated the robot’s hand completely.” Bakugou inhales sharply, hands reaching up to touch his neck and finding thin bandaging. “The bandaging is to prevent any risk of infection while the burns finish healing.”

“You… you didn’t stop. When you blew up the hands, you didn’t stop,” Kirishima fills in. “The hand just fell apart, but you kept going.”

“Did I pass out? That's fucking embarrassing."

Kirishima swallows thickly. “No. You weren’t responding to anyone, so… Midnight had to…”

He doesn’t need to say anything further. Bakugou inhales sharply and stares down at his hands. The source of almost every injury he’s had that’s landed him in here.

Recovery Girl smiles gently. “I’ll leave you to wake up a little more. You can go back to your dorm tonight when you feel up to it, but Kirishima can stay with you until you’re ready. You’re not to do any physical exercise for the next two days to ensure you’re fully rested. This could have been really serious, Bakugou. It’s quite frankly a miracle it isn’t more serious.”

She wanders off to her office, leaving the two alone.

“Bakugou, what happened?” Kirishima asks. “You’ve been good recently. Haven’t you?”

“It touched my neck,” Bakugou answers. “It touched my neck and I… I was just there again. God, what fucking hero am I if I freak the fuck out and hurt myself if a villain attacks me?”

“Bakugou-”

“No, Kirishima! What fucking hero can I fucking be?”

“Bakugou, please. I want to ask you something else as well.”

“What?”

“You froze before the robot even touched you. You were solid at the start, and then you suddenly just… stopped. I don’t think anyone else really noticed what was actually happening but I saw you looking at Midnight. Dude, what’s the deal with her?”

Bakugou chews on his bottom lip, staring down at his hands. “It’s fucking nothing.”

“Katsuki. Talk to me. Please.”

Bakugou sighs heavily, still staring down at his calloused and scarred hands. Like his throat, they have thin bandaging across his palms. He wonders what they look like underneath. What his neck looks like.

You deserve this.

“Katsuki?”

“Everyone… everyone fucking wants something from me. And they think they can just take it. The teachers are supposed to be different, but she’s not. She knocked me out so they could drag me out of that arena in the Sports Festival, and so they could fucking tie me up and muzzle me like a fucking animal. I woke up before the ceremony, you know. I woke up and told them where to shove their fucking medal, but they wouldn’t take that as an answer. They wouldn’t take no as an answer, so Midnight used her fucking quirk on me so they could tie me up.”

“Oh… Katsuki…”

“And then she just… she just has no idea. She was fucking smiling at me, like nothing was wrong. Like she’s so fucking unaware. She has no fucking guilt. How the fuck can she just… can she just walk around without any fucking guilt? Why do I have to be the fucking guilty one all the time? Why am I the one who ends up bloody and bruised all the fucking time, when I’m not the only one who fucking deserves it?”

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until Kirishima throws himself forward and wraps his arms around Bakugou’s upper body. Bakugou’s first instinct is to pull back, but a small voice tells him to stop. He lets Kirishima pull his head into his chest and stays still.

For a moment, he just lets himself cry.

 

*

 

The two days of peace and tranquillity are long forgotten. He’s banned from exercise so he can’t go running to rid himself of the anxiety that ripples beneath his skin, making it too tight and suffocating.

He doesn’t sleep the night he got back from the infirmary, nor does he sleep the next night. Not even a minute.

The other students celebrated reaching another Friday with a film night, but the very thought made Bakugou nauseous. He stayed in his room with the lights off, staring at the wall opposite his bed, until the clock strikes 3am. Tiredness pulls at him, making his eyes itch and his head spin, but as he drifts, the sensation of phantom hands stroking the back of his neck return in full force and he startles himself awake again.

“Fuck,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

With heavy limbs, he drags himself out of his room and down towards the kitchen with nothing but coffee in mind. He hasn’t eaten since he left the infirmary but just like socialising, the thought of food makes him sick.

He’s halfway through brewing his coffee when he hears heavy footsteps emerging from the lift. He glances over his shoulder, hands crackling, to see Todoroki approaching him. His movements are loud, much louder than the other boy ever moved. Like he’s alerting Bakugou to his presence.

Because you’re a fucking hazard. Can’t be making you jump, you might kill someone.

“Can’t sleep?” Todoroki asks.

Bakugou eyes him up for a moment as he stirs his coffee. “No.”

“Same here,” Todoroki responds. “Thought I’d make a drink too. Wanna sit for a bit? We’ve not done that in a while.”

Bakugou wants to say no. He wants to run back to his room and hide away in the dark, but he can’t bring himself to.

“Have I ever told you about my dad?” Todoroki asks as they sit down. Bakugou shakes his head. “He’s a bastard. He’s now the highest ranked hero, and every person who supports and praises him has no idea what he’s really like. He only had me to try and produce the perfect hero. A kid with the perfect quirk. He and my mum don’t love each other. They never had kids or got married for love. It was all to make kids that’d one day be a successor to beat All-Might.”

Bet he fucking loves me, then.

“Always thought he was a dick,” Bakugou adds.

Todoroki nods. “People with unconventional home lives tend to be able to spot other people’s unconventional home lives.”

Bakugou frowns. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you never, ever speak about your family. You’re more organised and stricter with yourself than anyone I’ve ever met, which always suggests to me that you’ve been raised to be that way.”

“My parents weren’t strict. They left me to my own devices.”

“So you raised yourself? Bakugou, that doesn’t scream ‘healthy home environment’ to me. And trust me, I know all about unhealthy environments.”

“When I agreed to sit down here, I didn’t expect to be fucking psychoanalysed. I get enough of that with Aizawa.”

Todoroki frowns. “What?”

Bakugou’s heart skips a beat. “Nothing. I’ve had enough of this.”

“No, Bakugou, talk to me. What-”

He grasps Bakugou’s forearm. It’s gentle, but it’s a mistake. Bakugou twists his arm violently out of Todoroki’s grip, palms crackling as he moves. Todoroki flinches and takes a step back and the two boys stare at each other in horror.

“Don’t… don’t touch me.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Just back off, Todoroki.”

The other boy takes a step back and lets Bakugou leave, the boy wasting no time escaping to his room. He locks the door and sinks back down to the floor, resting back against his bed. He can still feel Todoroki’s grasp on his forearm. He can still feel Shigaraki’s hold on his neck. Can still feel Midnight’s gaze as the mist envelopes him again and again.

 

He puts his headphones on and flicks through the music on his phone until he finds the song he downloaded the day he went hiking, in the vain hope the joyful vocals and upbeat rhythm will keep the empty misery at bay.

 

It doesn’t.

 

The song plays on repeat, and with it, one singular thought.

 

I can’t do this.

Chapter 17

Notes:

:)

Well you look like yourself
But you're somebody else
Only it ain't on the surface
Well you talk like yourself
No, I hear someone else though
Now you're making me nervous

                                                            - flora cash

 

 

Bakugou has always been confident, independent, and sure of himself. He’s never placed much focus on appearance and he hasn’t particularly cared what others think of him, but he’s also never been unhappy with how he looks. He knows he’s attractive, as others have made that clear, and he’s content with that.

Which is why, as he gazes back at his reflection, he doesn’t recognise the shell in front of him. Dull eyes are framed by deep dark circles, contrasting with his pale complexion. His hair is unkempt, more so than usual, and seems to have lost some of its vibrancy. His cheekbones are more prominent than ever, matching his slender frame. He glances down, picturing what lies beneath his school shirt, and considers the toned muscles that are gradually weakening. He knows his body fat is low, worryingly low, but the very thought of eating makes him want to vomit.

The eyes are the worst part, though. There’s no life in them. He doesn’t think there has been for a while. He’s not sure how he hasn’t noticed before now.

His phone buzzes, startling him out of his stupor.

 

Kirishima

there’s coffee waitin for u

 

He lets out a shaky breath and laughs. He can’t rely on much, but he can always rely on Kirishima.

He puts on his blazer and grabs his bag before heading out of his darkened room and down to the communal area. It’s 8am, so most of his classmates are already downstairs. He catches their attention as he emerges from the lift but he keeps his head down and avoids meeting anyone’s eye.

It works until he passes the table, where Todoroki sits with Midoriya and Momo. Bakugou braces himself for Todoroki to say something as he walks past, but Todoroki simply nods and returns his attention to Midoriya.

“Hey,” Kirishima greets. “Extra coffee?”

Bakugou nods. “Yeah.”

Kirishima glances around the room before leaning closer. “Dude, when was the last time you slept? Really?”

“Last night.”

“How long for?”

“Who are you, my fucking mother?”

Kirishima raises an eyebrow. “I get the feeling your mum wouldn’t be asking these questions, so maybe I’m just a concerned friend.”

“Maybe you should concern yourself with boundaries instead of my sleeping habits.”

Kirishima huffs and pushes the mug of coffee closer before storming away.

There you go, fucking up again.

He takes the coffee, ignoring the stares he’s getting from the table, and huffs heavily. He watches Kirishima sit himself down heavily on the sofa beside Jirou and catches a glimpse of an irritated expression, and it’s enough to make his stomach turn.

He necks the coffee in one and washes the mug out before turning to find Midoriya with his head in his hands and Todoroki leaning closer. Bakugou frowns and approaches cautiously. He looks towards the lift, as though heading in that direction, as he passes the table in time to hear Midoriya sniffle.

“What’s up with Deku?” Bakugou asks, maintaining a harshness in his tone for good measure.

“It’s nothing,” Midoriya says, lifting his head and showcasing red-rimmed eyes. “Honestly.”

“Doesn’t fucking seem like nothing,” Bakugou comments.

It’s your fault. What have you done now?

“It’s just… one of those days, you know?” Midoriya admits. “Generally I’m okay after All-Might, but today is just a bad day. It’ll pass, don’t worry. I get it sometimes.”

Bakugou frowns, his heart pounding in his chest. “You do?”

Midoriya nods and sniffs. “Yeah, sometimes. Most days are good, but some aren’t.”

Todoroki smiles softly at the green-haired boy. “It’s a normal part of grief. Years could pass and you might still have days like this.”

Bakugou swallows thickly, his throat suddenly dry, and excuses himself quietly.

So it is your fault.

 

He spends his morning classes in silence, refusing to respond when teachers call on him and not acknowledging his classmates. They don’t acknowledge him either, which alleviates some of the usual guilt. He avoids making eye contact with Kirishima and Midoriya too.

 

By lunchtime, he overhears Kaminari and Sero excitedly talking about a new lunch menu that’s being introduced today, something Ashido and Kirishima immediately jump in on. He tries to zone them out, but Kaminari’s voice carries and Kirishima’s low, despondent tone is enough to make his heart pound and his chest tighten.

 

He spends his break on the rooftop. It’s overcast today, a cool breeze running through his hair and sending a shiver through his body, but it doesn’t bother him. He watches the birds fly above, watches some students mill around on the grass in front of the entrance, and tries not to think for just a little while longer.

 

*

 

He does a stand up job of avoiding anyone and everyone all day, until he returns to the dorms. He’s within arms reach of the lift, on the homestretch, when Kaminari’s voice catches his attention.

“Hey, Bakugou! I really need your help!”

Bakugou bites back a groan and turns. “What?”

“Well, we get our exam results back in two days and I just know I’ve failed, so I wanna at least do well on the English homework, so can you please help me?”

“That’s due tomorrow.”

“Yeah, and I’m like… half-way through. I just really need help! Please?”

“Go ask Kirishima. He’s good at English.”

“Bakugou, come on, dude. Everyone knows you’re fluent in like four languages. Please?”

“First of all, someone’s lying to you. And secondly, I’ve already got plans tonight that don’t involve coaching someone through homework that they should’ve already fucking finished.”

Kaminari raises his eyebrows. “Wow, Kirishima was right. You are being a dick today.”

His words catch Bakugou off guard just enough to make him falter.

“Whatever,” he snaps, slamming his hand against the call button of the lift. “Like I said, I have fucking plans.”

Kaminari rolls his eyes. “Alright, fine. Hope they’re worth being such a dick about.”

Kaminari walks away, leaving Bakugou alone with his thoughts.

 

*

 

“I hear you had another panic attack. Do you want to tell me about it?”

Aimi’s gentle, patient tone is met by silence. Everything she’s said has been met by silence. He’s been here for forty five minutes and he knows he needs to open up. He knows that the school is paying for this, providing him with an opportunity to get himself straight, but he can’t find the words in him, nor can he find the willpower.

Aimi is wearing orange again today. Bakugou suspects it’s her favourite colour. He considers asking her, but he can imagine her using that as a gateway into a deep conversation that he doesn’t want to engage in.

“Katsuki, I have some things we need to discuss. As you know and as per your permission, I’ve been keeping Aizawa informed about some of the things that have come up in your sessions. Having looked at your responses to your psychological evaluations, I believe it would be best if your parents were informed.”

Bakugou straightens up. “No. Not a fucking chance.”

“Katsuki, you need support and treatment. You have a history of self-destructive behaviour, and that puts you at risk of harm. I’m within my right to go over your head and inform your parents of that to ensure your safety.”

“They won’t care, I can fucking promise you that.”

“I’m going to give you a chance to tell them yourself. Okay?”

“Tell them what? That I’m talking to a fucking psychiatrist?”

Aimi takes a breath and places her hands over her lap. “Katsuki, your evaluations, medical history, and sessions all point towards complex post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, and generalised anxiety disorder. These are serious but can be treated.”

Bakugou can’t speak. He can barely breathe. He can hear Aimi still talking but the words are lost in the ether. He doesn’t realise how much time has passed until Aimi clicks her fingers and he jerks back into this bitter, dull reality.

“You zoned out,” Aimi explains. “Sorry for that little tactic, but I figured you wouldn’t want me to touch you.”

“Good call,” Bakugou answers tightly.

“Can you please repeat back what I just said to you? How much did you hear?”

Bakugou swallows. “PTSD is for soldiers. For people who have survived shit. Firefighters, Heroes, all that shit. Not me.”

Aimi tilts her head. “Do you not see yourself as a survivor, Katsuki?”

He doesn’t answer that. He doesn’t have one. Aimi lets the silence hang for a few minutes before clearing her throat and handing him some pamphlets from the table beside her.

“These aren’t extensive, and they aren’t the best literature, but they’re worth reading,” she explains as Bakugou turns them over in his hands. “If you want to read more detailed information about GAD and CPTSD, I can recommend some theorists and psychologists to research.” She clicks her teeth. “I almost forgot. I managed to find some information on parasomnia too for you to read through. It might help you to understand your sleep problems a little better.”

Bakugou stares down at the pamphlets and the printed sheet describing parasomnia and sleep paralysis. It’s all a touch overwhelming, his leg bouncing to the rhythm of his anxiety, and Aimi immediately takes notice.

“Don’t push yourself to read it all,” she says. “It’s just to help you gain a bit of perspective and understand why you have been feeling the way you have.”

Bakugou nods. He glances at the clock, noting they’re nearing the hour mark. “Okay, is that it? Because we’re out of time.”

“Not quite yet,” Aimi says. “Katsuki, I think you need to consider medical treatment alongside your therapy.”

“Like what?”

“Like medication.”

“Fuck no.”

“Katsuki, therapy isn’t enough to help you. Not right now. Of course, I can’t force you to take any, but I can give you my professional opinion. There’s no shame in taking medication. Plenty of Heroes do.”

Bakugou huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “What sort of medication?”

“Antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication would be where I’d start. I know some doctors may want to look into sleeping pills, but I don’t think that would be beneficial for you just yet. The antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication, however, I believe would be.”

Bakugou grunts a noncommittal response and allows a moment of silence to fall over the room. Aimi doesn’t spend the moment staring at him, instead she flicks through some paperwork. He sees his own name at the top of one of the inner pages and wonders what she’s written about him.

“I’m going to write a prescription ready for your session next week,” she decides. “You have until then to do whatever research you want and make a decision.There is a chance, though, that you may need parental permission to have the antidepressants prescribed, so it’s in your best interest to address it with them.”

Bakugou nods. “Is that it?”

Aimi nods in return. “Yep. See you next week, Katsuki. And remember, if you need to talk sooner, my phone is always on.”

Bakugou doesn’t respond, and he doesn’t get the pang of guilt when Aimi smiles at his silence. He never does with her.

 

*

 

Aizawa is sat in the waiting room of the clinic when Aimi and Bakugou emerge from the office, reading a newspaper. He drops it carelessly to the table when he spots them.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

Bakugou huffs and walks straight past towards the main doors.

“Can you give me a call when you get the chance, Aizawa? Sooner rather than later, though,” Aimi requests.

Aizawa nods. “Sure. See you later, Aimi.”

Bakugou waits for his teacher to join him before letting the door swing shut behind them. He wants to ask what Aimi wants, but he knows they’re going to talk about him. He chooses not to think about it, and instead basks in the silence as they drive back to the dorms.

 

*

 

The next day flies by in a blur of lectures, idle conversations, and uncomfortable eye contact with his friends. He purposefully avoids them all, spending any and all breaks on the school roof. He vaguely feels the pang of hunger somewhere amongst it all, but it’s nothing more than a mere inconvenience now. He returns to the rooftop after the final bell rings, finding it much more appealing than returning to the dorms.

Kirishima has spent most of the day staring at him sadly and he’s not sure he can deal with any conversation today.

You hurt him, you deserve to be hurt by him.

He knows it’s his fault, but he still doesn’t want to face it. Can’t face it. So instead, he sits on the roof with his legs dangling, and watches the sun go down.

 

*

 

It’s exam results day. They’re receiving their results in an envelope during homeroom. It’s how they’re starting their day. Bakugou hasn’t started his day on a positive note much in the last few months, but even he thinks there’s an element of sadism in this.

“It’s just depressing,” Uraraka says as she sits down at her desk. “I mean, there’s no good time to get exam results, but at like… half 8 in the morning? It’s cruel.”

“I agree,” Momo says, nodding. “I don’t like it at all.”

Jirou scoffs as she passes. “You don’t like it? You’re guaranteed to have passed. I bet you got 100% in everything.”

Momo blushes. “I mean, I don’t think I’ve gotten 100%.”

Jirou smirks and rolls her eyes before sitting down in her seat.

Bakugou watches the exchanges through the reflection of the window, instead of watching the dull clouds and heavy rainfall that he’s been watching since 3am.

“Hey, Bakugou,” Jirou says. “Bet you passed everything with flying colours too.”

Bakugou huffs but doesn’t turn around. He can see Jirou’s frown as she turns away and begins a conversation with Kaminari instead.

The stab of guilt returns.

 

Aizawa walks into the room a few minutes later, just as the conversation settles into silence, with a box of envelopes. He places the box down on his desk and clears his throat.

“Your exam results,” he says. “Let’s not waste any time, as I’m sure delaying it any longer will just cause more stress than I care to deal with.”
Iida nods. “Would you like help handing them out, Sensei?”

Aizawa sighs. “No, that’s fine. Just… stay sat down.”

He silently hands out all the envelopes, hesitating a moment too long by Bakugou’s desk as he hands him his envelope.

“Can I speak to you after school?” he asks.

Bakugou frowns. “Sure.”

Aizawa nods and continues on, leaving Bakugou to stare at the nondescript white envelope on his desk. It’s clean and clear of anything bar his name printed neatly in the centre. Nothing about it is intimidating, or frightening, and yet the sudden burst of anxiety that sweeps through his body takes his breath away. He can hear others opening up their results, hears gasps of relief somewhere behind him, but he can’t bring himself to open it.

He hadn’t cared about any of his schooling since All-Might, and yet suddenly he cares?

Fucking joke. You know you failed, so just fucking open it.

He opens it, tearing the envelope in the corner as he does. The paper on the inside is neatly folded into three, and the seconds it takes to unfold it feels like forever.

It takes him a moment to really comprehend the words and numbers written. He looks at the results, then checks his name at the top.

 

His results are a sea of Bs and Cs. Not a single A in sight. He stares at the little numbers as his hands begin to shake and his fingers curl around the paper.

“Bakugou?”

He jumps, slamming the paper face down on the table as he turns to face Jirou.

“What?” he demands tightly.

Jirou frowns, concern written across her face this time. “Are you okay, man? You look really pale.”

“I’m fucking fine,” Bakugou snaps back.

He’s not fine. He knows that. He’s sweating and his chest is tight and his skin is tight and the air is too tight and he is not fine.

He stands abruptly, his chair scraping the floor as he moves, and announces to Aizawa that he’s going to the bathroom. He doesn’t wait for permission or turn around. He lets the door slam behind him and doesn’t look back.

 

Nobody’s in the bathroom when he gets there, giving him the freedom to collapse into a cubicle and lock the door behind him without accusatory stares or people questioning his mental state.

The cubicle smells, and there’s grotesque graffiti up and down the walls, and yet it’s the safest he’s felt all morning.

 

*

 

Jirou watches Bakugou leave with a heavy heart, flinching with the rest of the class as the door slams shut behind him. There’s a brief pause until all eyes fall on her. In particular, Aizawa looks at her directly.

“What happened there?” he asks. His tone is gentle, but she can hear a pointed tone behind his softness.

“Nothing, sir, I just asked him if he was okay cos he… he kinda seemed like he wasn’t. I think he proved my point.”

Aizawa stares her down for another few seconds before nodding and thanking her, turning his attention back to his desk. Jirou lets herself breathe for a moment until Kaminari grabs her attention.

“What happened, man?” he asks.

Jirou shakes her head. “I don’t even know. He looked like he was gonna be sick.”

Midoriya clears his throat and nods towards the paper left on Bakugou’s desk.

“I think it was the results,” he says. “I… I think he might’ve failed.”

Jirou glances around and makes a quick grab for the paper. Midoriya gasps but she’s already turning the page over before he can argue.

“Oh,” she comments. “He didn’t fail.”

“He didn’t?” Midoriya asks. “I wonder what upset him then.”

Jirou shakes her head. “Nope, no failing here. There’s like one C, but the rest are Bs. And decent Bs too.”

Midoriya’s face drops. “No. No, he did fail. Anything less than an A is a failure for Kacchan.”

He eyes up the door with worry in his eyes, and Jirou places the paper back on Bakugou’s desk.

“Sir?” Midoriya addresses, raising his hand. “I’m just going to go to the bathroom and-”

“No you will not go to the bathroom,” Aizawa responds.

“But.. I-”

“Unless you can honestly tell me you need the bathroom for your own needs, you will not be going.” Midoriya lowers his hand and pouts. “That’s what I thought.” Aizawa pauses. “He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

 

*

 

Bakugou returns after twenty minutes, straightening his blazer and refusing to meet anybody’s eyes. Throughout morning classes, he keeps his head down and doesn’t acknowledge the paper on his desk.

He feels eyes on him but doesn’t care to see whose eyes. Cementoss had already commenced English class when he returned, but the teacher said nothing of his abrupt entry.

Similarly, nobody says anything when he just as abruptly leaves at the lunch bell, disappearing down winding corridors and up numerous stairs until he’s finally back on the rooftop, away from everybody. The air is cool and the wind is stronger up here, running through his hair, but it’s peaceful.

The exam results weigh heavily in his bag as he sits down on the ledge, dropping the offensive object down to the floor and letting his legs dangle.

 

He loses track of time, watching the clouds drift overhead, until the door opens behind him. There’s a pause, during which Bakugou doesn’t turn his attention away from the clouds, before the guest speaks up.
“Bakugou?”

Aizawa isn’t a surprising presence.

“Here,” Bakugou says, his voice low and rough.

“Hizashi said you’d be up here.”

“Mm.”

Aizawa sits himself down beside Bakugou. “Gotta be honest. Not a great lover of heights.”

Bakugou doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t. Aizawa lets another few minutes of silence go by before trying again.

“You’ve been up here for a while, you know. You’re missing art history.”

Bakugou scoffs. “No big loss.”

“Your love for learning has always been obvious, Katsuki. Since the day you started here, I could see it in you. Whatever the subject, you found to enjoy. And then suddenly, that changed. It was sudden, and if I’m correct, it’s since the Sports Festival. What exactly is the problem here, Katsuki?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “The problem? What isn’t the problem? I got fucking kidnapped twice, this school fucking restrained me like I was a common fucking villain, nobody will leave me the fuck alone, and All-Might is fucking dead.” Jaw clenched, he finally turns to look at his teacher. “Did I miss anything?”

“Who won’t leave you alone?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter, Katsuki. Who?”

“Everyone. So-called fans, people who blame me for All-Might dying, people who just think I’m destined to become a villain. They won’t leave me the fuck alone. I can’t even get on the train without someone looking at me like I’m a piece of meat, or talking to me, or touch-”

He stops himself and looks down at the floor beneath his dangling feet, too many metres down to estimate. Aizawa is uncomfortably silent, and it takes another few minutes for him to try speaking again.

“Who touched you, Katsuki?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bakugou answers quietly. “It was nothing.” He stands up very suddenly, visibly startling Aizawa into reaching out, before he jumps down onto the rooftop again. “I’m not going back to class.”

Aizawa nods. “I understand. But before you go, Aimi called me. She expressed some significant concerns. She doesn’t think I should be the appointed adult in this situation, and she wants you to contact your parents about everything. She can’t actually prescribe you any medication without parental permission.”

Bakugou sighs heavily and nods. “Fine. I’ll call them.”

Aizawa nods back. “That's the condition for you skipping the rest of the day. If I find out you haven't even tried to call them, you'll have to stay behind after school until you catch up with what you missed."

"Whatever."

He doesn't look back as he heads back into the school and down the stairs, blood rushing through his ears and his heart already pounding at the very thought of ringing his parents.

 

*

 

It takes him two hours to pluck up the courage to ring either of them. He decides his father is the safer first choice, the number sitting on his screen for way too long as he paces the room and cracks his knuckles repeatedly.

Eventually, he caves and presses the call button. It rings for 30 seconds or so, each moment that passes striking more and more anxiety deep within his chest, until it goes to voicemail. He hangs up rather than leaving a message and tries again. After the second voicemail notification, he gives in and finds his mother's number. He hasn't really spoken to her since he moved into the dorms, nor has he had much desire to. Deep down, he knows how this conversation is going to go, and yet he has very little choice.

He takes a deep breath before dialling.

She answers after a mere second, like she was waiting, and that doesn't help any of his anxiety.

“Mum?” he asks, his voice low and shaky as he grips the phone tightly in his hand.

“Katsuki?” Her harsh voice cuts through his panic like a knife.

“Mum, I need to talk to you. I.. I’ve been seeing this therapist. School made me. They’re… mum, they’re-”

“Bs, Katsuki?”

“What?”

“Your results. They came through the post today. Do you think Bs are an acceptable highest grade? Because I don’t.”

Bakugou takes a shaking breath and closes his eyes. “Mum, please. I fucking… I need to-”

“No, Katsuki. This is not good enough.”

“Mum, they’re saying I have PTSD. I need help, mum.”

“I’m not interested in your excuses, Katsuki. I am utterly appalled by these grades. Your reputation is already causing issues, but I will not have our name sullied by failure too. Do you understand me? I have half a mind to drag you back here, as the dorms are clearly doing nothing but aiding your laziness.”

“Fucking… mum, please-”

“I heard all the excuses in the book when you were a kid, and I won’t hear them now. You will resit all of your exams, and you will get nothing lower than an A. Is that clear?”

Bakugou inhales deeply. “Or what?”

There’s a heavy, painful pause that only serves to heighten his sense of panic.

“We’ll address that if we come to it. I suggest you ensure it doesn’t, for your sake.”

She hangs up before he can formulate a response, leaving him in a thick and suffocating silence. He stays perfectly still, blood pumping in his ears and his heart beating rapidly against in his chest, when a sudden burst of rage sweeps through him. It overtakes his limbs and his heart and his head and before he knows it, his phone is being launched across the room. It cracks against his wall and clatters to the floor.

As it falls, so does he, and he sinks to the ground.

 

*

 

He can't breathe. He can't think.

Without his parent's consent, he can't get the medication that Aimi thinks he desperately needs. 

His parents have a hold on him, like everyone does. 

Even when he thinks he has control over a situation, the adults in his life prove him wrong. 

He needs out. He needs fucking out. He hasn’t managed to get a full breath out since his phone left a crack in the wall, and he isn’t going to find it trapped in these suffocating four walls. He pulls his door open, the wood suddenly heavier than ever, and lets it slam against the wall. He’s almost staggering as he makes his way down the corridor to the lift.

When he reaches the ground floor, he’s met by way too many classmates. They’re a blur in his panic, just faceless figures blocking his path to freedom.

He pays them no mind. He can’t afford to. His barely-functioning eyes find the door and he makes his way over, very aware of his ragged breaths, when a figure invades his peripheral.

“Kacchan?”

Bakugou falters, blinking until he can finally see Midoriya.

“What the fuck do you want?” Bakugou demands, his voice audibly shaky.

Midoriya frowns deeply. “Are you okay, Kacchan? What’s wrong?” He has concern written deeply in his face, in his eyes. It’s so legitimate, so serious, that Bakugou can’t help but laugh. “What.. what’s so funny?”

“I don’t get it. I don’t fucking get it. You should fucking hate me, and yet here you are.”

“Why would I hate you, Kacchan?”

“Why wouldn’t you? I tormented you, I ridiculed and bullied and abused you, and when we finally got to a point where we could have normal interactions, I fucking killed your only father figure. I took away your only source of hope, and yet you keep fucking treating me like I’ve never fucking hurt you.”

Midoriya shakes his head. “Kacchan, I could never hate you. Why… why would you think that?”

Bakugou scoffs, the amusement long gone. “I’d hate me if I were you.”

He already hates himself, but he doesn’t say that. It doesn’t need saying. Midoriya starts to cry, the tears silent but very, very clear, but Bakugou’s panic is too tightly wound to let the guilt seep in.

“For what it’s worth,” he adds. “I’m sorry.”

He turns his back on Midoriya and heads towards the door, blind to the numerous other students in the communal area. He’s reaching for the handle when Midoriya shouts out again.

“Where are you going?!”

“I need fucking air.”

He lets the doors slam shut behind him before he breaks into a run, his destination a short distance away. As he makes his way there, cold air pinching at his bare arms, the same few words repeat in his head.

You deserve this.

 

 

Chapter 18

Notes:

tw suicide attempt

:)

Mama wipe this blood from my face
I'm sick and tired of the war

                                                                   -Antony and the Johnsons

 

The air is cold up here. It bites at his arms, his face, his feet. He can hear distant traffic, hear the birds returning to their nests, hear the sound of his own racing heart. He closes his eyes, feels himself swaying in the breeze. The rooftop is lacking its usual comfort tonight and he’s not sure why. He came up here in a bid to find that sense of calm and serenity the height usually grants him, but that’s gone tonight. There’s no serenity. Not anymore.

Instead, his mother’s voice rings in the back of his mind.

And Monoma’s.

And Shigaraki’s.

It builds in an overwhelming crescendo of pure fucking misery, reminding him over and over of his own goddamn failures. Their voices get louder and louder, Bakugou slamming his hands over his ears in a desperate attempt to block them out.

But he can’t because they’re in his goddamn head.

You can block them out. You know how.

He focuses in on the birds. Listens to their singing, their chirping, as they dance their usual dance. After a few seconds, the hate and the anger and the aggression fades into silence, and all he can hear are the birds.

So free, so happy.

He’s never known that existence.

He’d like to.

Join them. Fly. Fly. Fly.

 

 

Okay.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Midoriya watches the doors slam shut, his mouth dry and his heart thudding, when Todoroki and Jirou appear at his side.

“What the hell was that?” Jirou questions.

Midoriya shakes his head. “I don’t even know. He didn’t look okay at all.”

Jirou sighs. “He hasn’t looked okay for a while. He isn’t even wearing shoes.”

Midoriya’s brows furrow. “I didn’t notice.”

“Where’s Kirishima?” Todoroki asks. “He might know if something’s happened.”

“He’s been studying with Kaminari and the others all afternoon,” Jirou says. “Lemme text him and get them to come down.”

Midoriya begins chewing on his fingernails, until Todoroki gently takes his hands and lowers them.

“It’s okay,” Todoroki soothes.

Midoriya shakes his head, noting the tears that trickle down his cheeks. “No it’s not. He’s not okay.”

It takes a few minutes, but Kirishima emerges from the lift with Ashido, Sero, and Kaminari in tow.

“What’s going on?” Kirishima questions tiredly.

He glances around, noting Momo, Uraraka, Tsuyu, and Iida sat on the sofa with the television playing quietly, and Koda and Sato in the kitchen baking. It seems calm, so the sight of Midoriya openly crying in the middle of the communal area sends him in a state of worry.

“What’s happened?” he asks, immediately more awake.

“Something’s wrong with Bakugou,” Jirou answers while Midoriya sniffles quietly.

Kaminari huffs. “Has he been a dick to you too? He’s been such a dick the last couple of days.”

Midoriya shakes his head. “The opposite. He apologised to me for everything that went down before we came here.” He’s crying harder now, so Todoroki guides him towards the sofas as the others all follow. “He started saying all this stuff about how I should hate him, and that he’d hate himself if he was me. I think he was telling me he does hate himself.” He meets Kirishima’s eyes, which are similarly filling with emotion. “He said he killed All-Might.”

Kirishima frowns. “He didn’t, though.”

“He doesn’t see it that way,” Todoroki says. “He’s been getting a lot of abuse from fans ever since the kidnapping, and a lot of them accuse him of contributing to All-Might’s death, if not directly causing it.”

Kaminari sighs heavily. “I don’t get it, man. It was clearly All For One. How would anyone think Bakugou killed him?”

All eyes fall on him, with Ashido being the one to break the confused silence.

“Did you not watch the CCTV footage that got leaked?” she asks. “Dude, All-Might got caught in the crossfire. Bakugou was trying to fight back, and he threw an explosion but All For One managed to pull All-Might in the way. Bakugou hit him with a hell of an attack.”

Kaminari clasps a hand over his mouth. “Oh my god,” he says, his voice muffled. “Oh my god I didn’t know. I didn’t watch it.”

Ashido nods. “We all know he didn’t kill All-Might. All For One did, but I can also understand why he’s utterly convinced he did.”

“He’s not doing well,” Jirou adds. “He didn’t do great in his exams, or at least for his standards, so his work is slipping. He looks sick all the time, and I don’t think he ever sleeps, and his moods change so damn quickly I can’t keep up with them.”

“He doesn’t sleep,” Kirishima admits. “I hear his music turning on at random times in the night, and then when my alarm goes off, the music is still playing. He always told me he needs silence to sleep properly, so I learned that when there’s music on, it means he’s awake.”

“I didn’t really notice,” Midoriya says softly. “We’ve all been struggling, so I just thought he was struggling the same as the rest of us. I think he’s finding it even harder. He’s never been good at handling his emotions.” He lets out a small sob and wipes away his tears, huffing a little when more fall in their place. “What do we do? Where would he have gone? Kirishima, he wasn’t wearing shoes!”

Kirishima places a hand on Midoriya’s shoulder. “First of all, we calm down. Did he say anything about where he was going?”

“He said he needed air,” Jirou answers.

“Okay, and he went without shoes or anything, so let’s assume for a moment that he’s literally just getting some air. We’ll give it… we’ll give it five minutes, and if he doesn’t come back, we call Aizawa.”

Todoroki’s eyes are downcast, the deep thought clear despite his blank expression, and it does little to help ease Midoriya’s worries. There’s a heavy pause, everybody present watching the door with tension in their shoulders.

“Nope,” Ashido says. “I’m gonna see if I can see him out of the window. If he’s gone to get air, without shoes or anything, he’ll still be around the building, right? And it’s not that dark out yet so we should be able to see him. Right?”

She gazes around at everyone, as though waiting for their blessing, and then darts towards the nearest window. She’s frantic in her movements, and for a moment Midoriya feels valid in his concern.

Everybody watches her dart from window to window, pressing her face up against the glass with her hands cupped over her forehead at each one, more panic seeping from her with every window she reaches.

“I can’t see him,” she announces as she reaches the kitchen side. “Guys, I can’t see him.”

“Calm down,” Kirishima urges, although there’s a tightness in his tone that gives away his own fear. “We could just go out. If we see him and he doesn’t want us there, we’ll just go back inside.”

“Just us,” Midoriya says. “He’ll probably flip if he sees anyone else.”

Kirishima nods and together they hurry through the double doors and outside.

In the few minutes it takes to glance around the sides of the building, they both imagine a scene playing out. They spot an unhappy, stressed out Bakugou, shoeless and shivering in the evening chill, sitting on the ground staring up at the sky. They have a short and mostly one-sided conversation, and eventually Bakugou follows them back inside, and all is well.

Instead, they’re met by a terrifying silence. No Bakugou, no one-sided conversation, no ‘all is well’.

He’s nowhere in sight.

“It’s like the hiking thing all over again,” Midoriya says. “Isn’t it? He’s gone off without thinking, without telling anyone.”

Kirishima shakes his head. “No. No, this is different.”

He rushes back inside, Midoriya following close behind, and almost barges past Kaminari to get his phone from where he’d placed it on the armrest of the sofa.

“You didn’t find him?” Momo asks, now stood by the window.

“No,” Midoriya answers with a quivering voice.

Kirishima rings Bakugou’s phone, his foot tapping against the floor impatiently with every unanswered second that goes by.

“Fuck,” he grinds out.

“He’s rubbing off on you,” Sero says quietly. There’s no humour in his voice.

“I’m going to his room,” Kirishima decides. “I… I’m going to his room.”

He doesn’t wait for anybody to follow, and he doesn’t bother with the lift. He makes it up there in record time and finds Bakugou’s door wide open.

“He didn’t even lock his damn door,” Jirou comments, startling Kirishima with her unexpected presence behind him. She peers into the room and immediately notices a dent in his wall, behind the handle. “He slammed this. Dude, how did you not hear it?”

“Not all of us have a hearing quirk,” Kirishima snaps before correcting himself. “Sorry. I wasn’t in my room, I was in Kaminari’s. Fuck. Fuck, man.”

He turns the light on and immediately, his attention turns to the phone sitting discarded on the floor, a suspiciously rectangular hole in the wall nearby. By some miracle, the phone is still unlocked and still working.

“What are you looking at?” Jirou asks, watching him flick through the phone.

“He rang his mum,” Kirishima says with a shaky tone. “He’s got a missed call from his dad too.” There’s a beat, and Kirishima exhales sharply. “I bet he told his mum about his grades. He once told me she didn’t like anything less than an A. Maybe she’s even stricter than I thought.”

“We should call Aizawa now,” Jirou says. “I don’t like this.”

Kirishima puts down Bakugou’s phone on his desk and pulls out his own phone, wasting no more time and dialling Aizawa’s number whilst mentally chastising himself for the time he’s already wasted. The teacher answers almost immediately.

“Kirishima?”

“Eraserhead, I think something’s wrong. Bakugou walked out about ten minutes ago and we can’t find him and-”

“I’ll be right there.”

Kirishima lets out another sharp exhale and follows Jirou back downstairs in uncomfortable silence. They relay that Aizawa is on his way to the others, and they sit down together. Nobody speaks, but all glance nervously towards the door.

 

*

 

When Aizawa arrives mere minutes later, it doesn’t give them the sudden sense of relief they all thought it would. He swoops in with a severe expression and tension tight in his jaw, questioning them before he's even through the door.

“What happened?” he demands, eyes scanning every single person in the room.

“He apologised to me,” Midoriya says. “He looked like he was freaking out, and then he started telling me I should hate him, and that he hates himself, and then he went out. Sir, he didn’t have shoes on.”

Aizawa places a hand over his mouth, the other crossed over his chest tightly.

“How long has it been?” he asks.

“Ten minutes or so,” Kirishima answers. “I think longer. Fifteen maybe.”

Aizawa sighs. “Too long. Does he have anywhere he goes when he needs to escape? Anywhere that feels safe to him?”

Kirishima shrugs. “He usually goes running, or to the gym, but this…this feels different. I don’t… I don’t think he’s okay at all. He rang his mum.”

Aizawa’s face drops. “Shit. And he apologised to you, Midoriya?”

At Midoriya’s nod, Aizawa’s face visibly pales.

“Sir, what is it?” Uraraka asks, having been uncharacteristically silent throughout.

“I know where he is. Somebody call Hizashi and have him meet me at Bakugou’s spot. He’ll know what it means.”

Aizawa breaks into a run. Kirishima quickly follows, sprinting as fast as he can behind his teacher. He vaguely hears Aizawa shouting to everyone to stay put, but Midoriya ignores that too.

 

 

They follow him back into school, through corridors lit with emergency lighting and past empty, locked classrooms. Their footsteps echo and their shoes squeak against the freshly-cleaned tiled flooring. They follow him up winding staircases, up and up, until they reach a set of stairs heading for the roof.

As Aizawa rips open the door, time seems to slow down. Kirishima can’t move fast enough, can’t make it up those damn stairs fast enough. He throws himself through the doorway, onto the rooftop, in time to see Bakugou stood on the edge. The door opened with a bang, and yet he doesn’t seem to notice them. He doesn’t seem to notice anything except the ground below.

He looks up at the sky as they run across the rooftop, closes his eyes, and takes a step forward.

 

 

Midoriya screams.

Kirishima falls to his knees.

Aizawa’s capture weapon reaches out, and Kirishima covers his eyes.

There’s a heavy thud metres away, but Kirishima can’t look. Can’t pull his hands away. He hears Midoriya sobbing beside him, hears someone else sobbing too.

“Did he catch him?” Kirishima asks. His voice is shaking, muffled, and he realises he’s the one crying.

“He got him,” Midoriya says with a whisper. “He got him.”

Kirishima’s breath falters as he finally removes his hands from his eyes. Bakugou is in Aizawa’s arms, still wrapped up by the white material, his entire body shaking violently as he sobs and swears and curses into Aizawa’s chest.

Aizawa, as he grips the boy tightly in his arms, is crying too.

 

*

 

They don’t move for a while. Hizashi arrived at some point, but Kirishima isn’t sure when. He didn’t say anything, still hasn’t. Just pulled Kirishima and Midoriya in for a hug and turned their heads away from Aizawa and Bakugou. Nobody’s entirely sure how much time has passed since they reached the rooftop. Kirishima doesn’t want to pull away to find out. Doesn’t dare move.

“Hey.”

It takes him a moment to realise Hizashi is speaking. When he finally lifts his head, Midoriya and Hizashi are looking at him, both of them with tears streaming down their faces.

“Let’s go,” Hizashi says.

Kirishima shakes his head. “No. No, I can’t. What-”

“He’s okay,” Hizashi assures, letting go of Midoriya to place both hands on Kirishima’s shoulders. “Aizawa got him. He’s safe. But what he doesn’t need right now is an audience.”

Kirishima swallows thickly, staring back into Hizashi’s watery eyes, before finally braving a glance to his left. Bakugou is still held in a tight, protective embrace, yet to move from it. From a distance, he looks unnervingly still, but the light shaking of his shoulders tells Kirishima that he really is alive.

Not well, but alive.

“Come on,” Hizashi says. “I’ll walk you both back to the dorms. Unless you’d both rather go home, in which case I’ll drive you both.”

“No,” Midoriya says. “I want to go back to the dorms.”

“Same,” Kirishima agrees quietly.

Hizashi nods and guides them both to their feet. He gives Aizawa another glance before reaching for the door. Kirishima is last through, hesitating in the doorway for another moment longer and giving one last look at Bakugou.

It’s Midoriya, grasping his forearm gently, that gets him moving in the end.

“It’s okay,” Midoriya whispers, but the tears that continue to fall steadily betray any truth in that.

“No it’s not,” Kirishima says. “None of this is okay.”

Midoriya almost drags him away as Kirishima’s breathing begins to quicken.

“Can you hang on until we’re outside?” Midoriya asks. “Because I know you’re freaking out, and I am too, but Kacchan can’t hear us freaking out right now.”

Kirishima nods quickly and silence replaces his ensuing panic.

 

*

 

He holds it in until they reach the dorms. Their classmates, every single one of them, are in the communal area. The TV isn’t on, and not a phone is in sight. They’re just sat waiting, patiently, worriedly.

Kirishima takes in the frightened eyes staring back and bails, unable to meet any of them.

“Bakugou is okay,” Hizashi announces. “He’s with Aizawa now.”

There’s a chorus of relieved sighs and gasps, and a quiet buzz of conversation begins.

“I doubt he’ll be back at the dorms tonight,” Hizashi continues. “But I’m going to wait here and keep you all updated. But I also ask that you give Midoriya, Kirishima, and Bakugou some space. Okay? If or when any of them want to talk, they’ll decide that.”

Everyone nods in agreement and nobody protests when Kirishima hurries towards the lifts, Midoriya close behind.

 

Kirishima holds it together in the lift. He holds it together in the walk down the corridor, as he passes Bakugou’s bedroom. The door is still wide open, his phone left on his desk where he and Jirou had put it earlier. He closes the door gently before entering his own room.

Once he’s across the threshold, he lets himself crumble.

Midoriya falls with him, and the two boys sit together on the floor of Kirishima’s bedroom in silence.

 

*

 

“I should’ve known,” Kirishima says, breaking the silence that has enveloped them for the past twenty minutes. “He’s been so different lately, so distant. He doesn’t even look like himself anymore.”

“He’s always had periods like that,” Midoriya explains. “He puts so much pressure on himself, always has done, and when things don’t go how he intended, he can’t deal with that. His parents never really accepted anything less than perfect, even when he was little, and I think that left a mark.”

Kirishima exhales sharply. “I want to blame them, but I don’t know them well enough. I want to blame Monoma too. And the League.”

“I think they are all to blame. And all those people who insult him online because I know he reads all those articles. He told me once he googled himself but didn’t care what people thought, but I know that’s not true. He cares way too much. He’d rather… he’d rather end it all than be seen as being a villain. As less than perfect.”

Kirishima swallows thickly as more tears threaten to fall. “I wanna see him.”

“Me too.”

There’s a soft knock at the door and Kirishima tiredly calls the visitor in. Hizashi opens the door and peers his head around, uncharacteristically quiet and reserved.

“Are you two doing okay?” he asks gently. The boys both nod and Hizashi enters the room fully, closing the door behind him. “Bakugou is staying with Aizawa tonight. He’ll be coming back to the dorms tomorrow while everyone else is in class, if he’s up for it.”

“He doesn’t… he doesn’t need to go to hospital?” Kirishima asks.

Hizashi sighs. “Honestly, Aizawa did consider that, but I think we’ve all agreed a hospital setting won’t be much help to him. He’s in good hands.”

“What about his parents?” Midoriya asks. “He’d tried calling them but his phone is still in his room.”

Hizashi nods. “Aizawa is going to attempt to contact them. Is his door unlocked? I’d like to take his phone to him.”

“Yeah, he’d left it open when he… when he went.”

Hizashi nods again. “I don’t expect either of you to be in classes tomorrow. I honestly don’t. But I expect everyone else to, because Bakugou doesn’t need everyone here when he comes back. If you two need to talk to anyone, my phone will be on tonight. I ask that you don’t contact Aizawa for tonight, but I’m available. For anything.”

The boys nod.

“Thanks,” Midoriya says. Kirishima repeats it, quietly.

“Get yourselves a hot drink, something to eat, and try and get some sleep. I’ll be back in the morning.”

They say their goodbyes, and the boys watch Hizashi leave. Neither of them move from their spot on the floor, neither being able to find the energy or desire to do so. They don’t even speak.

After a further ten minutes of silence, Kirishima’s phone begins to buzz. He lets it sound off for a while before wearily looking.

“It’s just Mina,” Kirishima says softly. “Asking if everything’s okay.”

Midoriya checks his. “Mine was on silent. Shoto text me a while ago.”

Kirishima chuckles quietly. “Guessing they got nominated to check in.”

“Apparently.”

Neither Kirishima nor Midoriya have any desire to sleep or be alone. There’s a heavy weight pressing down on both of them, threatening to break them, and there’s a high chance it’ll succeed if they separate. So they don’t.

They stay together, on that uncomfortable bedroom floor, and talk about everything and nothing until the sun comes up.

 

 

Chapter 19

I'll rise up
Rise like the day
I'll rise up
In spite of the ache
I will rise a thousand times again

                                                          - Andra Day

 

 

 

Bakugou gets exactly thirty minutes of sleep that night, waking up at 4am with a lost scream in his throat and a flash of red blood in his vision. He can’t recall the dream but the shaking of his hands and the fast beating of his heart tell him enough.

He spends the rest of the night lay on Aizawa’s sofa, staring up at the ceiling and ignoring the painful ache in his ribcage that he woke up with.

There’s a single small lamp switched on in the corner, providing Bakugou with a little bit of vision. Aizawa’s apartment is small, a one bedroom with a combined kitchen and living room. It’s surprisingly neat and minimalist, with marble countertops and white cabinets in the kitchen, and two soft black sofas in the living room. A small breakfast bar with two black stools divide the sections. He has a small flatscreen television facing both sofas, with a black coffee table in the centre.

He seems to also have a collection of candles. Bakugou is able to count fifteen from his place on the sofa. Aizawa’s small bathroom also has five on the shelf.

Of all the things he could imagine Aizawa collecting, candles was not on the top of the list.

The biggest surprise of being in Aizawa’s apartment, however, is that apparently Aizawa does not live here alone.

Hizashi came over to give Bakugou is phone back, and he walked into Aizawa’s bedroom like it was the most natural move in the world.

He’s fairly certain the pair haven’t had much sleep either, as he repeatedly heard the clicks of a light being switched on and muffled conversation happening at random points in the night, but the guilt crept in whenever Bakugou thought too much about it, so he didn’t let himself.

But now it’s 7am, and he’s still alone, so he drags himself up to his feet and into the kitchen to make some coffee for everyone.

It’s the least he can do, after all.

Aizawa only has instant coffee, something Bakugou’s aching arms are grateful for. His whole body is aching, now that he thinks about it, but he can’t dwell. Won’t dwell.

As he finishes the final cup of coffee, the bedroom door opens and Hizashi walks out in only a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Upon seeing Bakugou, Hizashi gasps and darts back in the room.

He emerges a few seconds later with a pair of pyjama bottoms on, blushing as he comes back out.

“Sorry,” he says. “I forgot you were here for a second.”

“It’s cool,” Bakugou says quietly. “Not the worst thing I’ve ever seen. Don’t be offended if I mention you to my therapist though.”

Hizashi smiles. “You made coffee?”

“Did someone say coffee?”

Aizawa stumbles out of the room, somehow looking more exhausted than he usually does. His hair is pulled back in an incredibly messy bun, and the dark circles around his eyes have almost taken over his entire face.

Bakugou wonders if he looks the same.

“Gimme coffee,” Aizawa orders.

“I didn’t make it,” Hizashi says, raising his hands. “Bakugou did.”

Aizawa straightens up, blinking himself into consciousness a little further. “You did?”

Bakugou nods. “It… it’s the least I can do. Right now, anyway.”

Aizawa softens a little, taking the boy in for a moment before reaching out for the closest mug. He takes a sip, seemingly unperturbed by the heat, and nods.

“I knew it,” he says. “Hizashi, your coffee is the worst coffee in existence.”

Hizashi’s face drops. “Hey!”

“A sixteen year old boy can make coffee better than you. Re-evaluate yourself.”

Hizashi pouts and sits himself down on the nearest sofa. Bakugou hands him one of the remaining two coffees, the only one with milk in.

“I used to make it for my parents,” Bakugou explains. “They liked it to be perfect.”

“Speaking of,” Aizawa says seconds after draining the remains of his drink. “Now that I’m semi-awake, we need to speak about that.” Bakugou’s shoulders slack, and Aizawa immediately picks up on the change of demeanour. “We don’t need to talk about last night right now, but I want to talk about your parents. Did you speak to them?”

“My dad didn’t answer,” Bakugou says softly. Aizawa guides him onto the other sofa before sitting beside Hizashi. “My mum answered so quick I think she’d been waiting for me.”

“And?”

“She didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything I had to say. She just wanted to know why I’d failed.”

Hizashi’s eyes widen. “Excuse me? Failed? You didn’t fail.”

“My highest grade was a B. That’s failure.”

There’s a heavy pause as Hizashi and Aizawa exchange something unspoken.

“Jesus,” Hizashi mutters.

Aizawa slaps him on the arm and sighs. “Okay. So she wouldn’t listen to what you had to say?”

“She just said I had to do better in my resits. And that it was all just an excuse for why I’d failed.”

Aizawa runs a hand through his messy hair and sighs heavily. He seems to sigh a lot nowadays.

“Okay,” he says. “So she won’t give permission for your prescription.”

Bakugou shakes his head. “There’s no point asking her.”

“What about your dad?” Hizashi asks.

“He didn’t answer. After mum, I didn’t try him again.”

“Understandable. But I still think it’s worth trying him. If you want, I will try. Save you the unnecessary anxiety.”

Bakugou doesn’t answer initially. He doesn’t want to admit that the idea of talking to his parents makes him think about that rooftop again. He doesn’t want to admit that talking to his parents makes him weak.

But his silence serves as an answer, and Aizawa nods in agreement.

“We don’t have any clothes that will fit you,” Aizawa says after a pause. “But you’re free to shower here anyway.”

Bakugou swallows thickly and nods. “Thanks.”

They finish their coffees in silence, the distant sound of traffic providing a soundtrack to their emotionally-drained morning.

 

He has a shower after his coffee. Aizawa’s shower takes a good five minutes to warm up to an acceptable temperature, and he hasn’t plucked up the nerve to check his phone yet, so he resorts to spending those five minutes facing the stranger in the mirror. Somehow they look even more alien than usual today. Red eyes are dull and lifeless, dark rings framing them now more vibrant than his irises. Taking his shirt off shows a blue bruise wrapping around his ribcage, extending from one side to the other. It’s harsher on his right side and the sight provokes a blurred memory of something wrapping around his waist.

The capture weapon. The weapon that was needed to drag your sorry ass back onto solid ground.

He takes a shuddering breath and glances down at the floor. Is he really on solid ground? He’s not so sure.

 

*

 

After his shower he feels a little more refreshed and human, and he returns to the living room to allow Hizashi and Aizawa to get ready. Not much else is said between the three of them, but the quiet is welcome and pleasant. He expected an uncomfortable tension after last night, but the only tension present is in Bakugou’s shoulders.

He’s never been more grateful for his teachers than he is today.

You don’t deserve them.

He scoffs at the voice in his head, but he doesn’t disagree.

 

*

 

Hizashi leaves for work half an hour later, but Aizawa doesn’t. It unnerves Bakugou, in all honesty. It’s approaching half 8, yet they still haven’t made any move for school. He wants to ask, wants to question what’s happening, but he’s very aware he’s already breaking boundaries just by being here. Aizawa likes his space, and Bakugou is very much invading that. He doesn’t want to start questioning the man too.

By 9, Aizawa emerges from his room fully dressed, his hair scraped back into a messy bun. He doesn’t appear annoyed or tired, nor does do any of the tutting or eye rolling that his parents would do if he were in their way too much. In fact, he walks around Bakugou like having him there is the most natural thing in the world.

Bakugou watches him make another two coffees in silence, knee bouncing nervously. After a pause, Aizawa finally looks at him.

“What’s making you anxious?” he asks.

Bakugou’s body tenses and freezes up. “Uh.. what do you mean?”

“You bounce your leg like that when you’re anxious, don’t you? I’ve noticed that. Do you know what’s making you anxious right now?”

Bakugou swallows thickly and casts his eyes down to the floor. He hears Aizawa shuffling and looks back up in time to see him move to the sofas and place the two coffees down on the table. He pushes one towards Bakugou and sighs softly.

“I know you find it hard to trust adults,” Aizawa says. “But I’m asking you to try and trust me.”

“I do,” Bakugou answers quickly. Aizawa takes a sip of his coffee. “I do. You’re the only teacher in that place I do trust.” He runs a hand through his hair, finding it matted in places. “We’re still here,” he says. “You should be running homeroom right now, but instead we’re still here. You’ve not said anything about going to school. I’ve not said anything. I don’t… I don’t know. It just made me nervous, alright?”

Aizawa can’t hold back the smirk that suddenly appears. “I think that’s the most you’ve spoken without swearing. I’m proud.”

“Growth,” Bakugou says lowly.

“The change in routine will be unnerving, I get that. But I’m also not about to leave you alone when that is quite clearly the opposite of what you need. So instead, we’re going to stay here until you’re ready to go back to the dorms, and I’m going to speak to Aimi to try and start the process of getting you on medication.”

“But my mum-”

“I’ll speak to your father,” Aizawa assures. “We’re not leaving you without any further help, okay?”

Bakugou nods. “Okay.”

 

*

 

He’s sent to see Aimi before he can return to the dorms. The hour is a blur of empathetic glances, stretches of silence, and the sound of his own pulse thumping in his ears. Aimi is more reserved today, her face betraying more genuine emotion than usual.

She looks bothered, upset.

Bakugou assumes it’s his fault and thinks about apologising, the voice in his head telling him to, but he stays quiet.

He’s not wearing shoes and she is yet to comment on it. He catches her glancing down at his socks, loaned to him by Hizashi, but she says absolutely nothing.

After another stretch of silence, Aimi sighs.

“Bakugou,” she says. “In light of last night, I’ve been going over your notes. I feel it would be in your best interests to refer you to someone slightly more experienced than me.”

“But-”

“I’ll still be working with you. I’ll still be in charge of your regular therapy sessions. But, I believe a psychiatrist will be your best next step. I think I underestimated how much your trauma was affecting you, and for that I’m sorry.”

Bakugou frowns. He was expecting disappointment and anger. Expected to be forced into apologising. Instead, Aimi has done the apologising.

And by the slight upturn of her brows and the tightness in her lips, the apology is genuine. No crocodile tears like his mother always produced. She’s just genuinely sorry.

And he doesn’t understand why.

“I’ll fast track the referral,” Aimi continues. “Make sure you’re not left for too long. We’ll make sure you have written permission from a parent for medication too.”

Bakugou nods. “Okay.”

 

He leaves with her personal number – with the promise that she’ll answer if he calls no matter the time – and a deflated emptiness inside. He’s not sad, or angry, or particularly self-loathing today. Last night is still a blur and he doesn’t care to make sense of any of it yet.

The dorms are quiet when he gets back, the car journey with Aizawa similarly quiet. Everything is just quiet.

He says a quiet goodbye to Aizawa before heading back inside, greeted by a communal area that suddenly seems more open and far bigger than it did yesterday. It seems to take a lifetime to reach the lift, although he’s already been assured that most of his classmates are on campus.

He knows Kirishima and Midoriya are around somewhere. A part of him wants to reach out to them, tell them about Aizawa’s apartment and about Aimi and about his nightmares. He wants to do what Aimi has been encouraging him to do for so long.

 

Instead, he goes to his room and he sleeps a dreamless sleep.

 

*

 

He doesn’t attend classes for a few days. Aizawa and Aimi both told him to remain in the dorms and focus on taking care of himself while they wait for the psychiatrist appointment. He doesn’t make an effort to go and see anyone, pretends he doesn’t exist when he hears people walk past his door, but he does respond to texts and he answers Aizawa’s various phone calls checking in.

After two days, Aimi calls him with confirmation of an appointment with a doctor. It’s in another two days, which means even longer until he can attend classes again.

He can’t decide if he’s happy about that.

 

*

 

The days blur. Everything’s blurry at the moment. He’s been melting into his bed for a number of days now, staring up at that blank ceiling and thinking about everything and nothing all at once. He knows Aizawa didn’t keep him from class with the intention of isolating him, but that’s exactly what Bakugou has done with the time.

He didn’t even want to isolate himself. He slipped into it effortlessly.

As though sensing his conflicted mood, his phone buzzes with a text from Kirishima.

 

U good?

 

Bakugou stares down at his phone and rereads those few letters over and over again, as though replying is the hardest thing in the world. After a few minutes, he replies with ‘yes’ and waits.

Kirishima doesn’t hesitate.

 

U wanna talk?

 

About what?

 

Anything. We don’t have to talk about the roof incident if u don’t want

 

Bakugou sighs heavily. He knew, of course, that everyone would find out sooner or later about what happened the other day, but seeing Kirishima say it so clearly sends waves of dull panic through his body. Panic he’s too exhausted to respond to.

 

Not right now. Thanks though.

 

He turns off his lamp and rolls over, staring at the wall inside of his ceiling for a change of scenery. Kirishima doesn’t text back, but music begins to play through the wall. Bakugou closes his eyes and listens, losing himself in the distant bass and soothing vocals.

 

*

 

The psychiatrist isn’t as warm as Aimi. He’s tightly wound, severe, and nothing in his persona makes Bakugou want to open up and talk. Except, the doctor doesn’t seem to want him to talk. He asks clinically simple questions and expects simple yes or no answers. He rarely looks at Bakugou, focuses his gaze instead on the file on his lap. He takes notes as Bakugou answers the questions, occasionally glancing up at him over half moon glasses. Bakugou forgot the man’s name within minutes of entering the room, and he’s yet to find a certificate or book with his name on it. In fact, there’s a striking lack of anything on the walls of the office. It’s impersonal, medical, and absolutely nothing like Aimi’s office. A single cactus sits on the windowsill, tiny and sad, and Bakugou feels the sudden urge to liberate it from this dull, lifeless room.

The doctor continues asking his list of questions, and Bakugou continues to answer them, without any form of eye contact. After a while, Bakugou begins to suspect the doctor has absolutely no interest in being here.

Then they get to the topic of The Roof Incident and suddenly the doctor is looking at him significantly more.

“Have you had any suicidal urges in the past four days?” he asks, making direct eye contact.

Bakugou swallows thickly and shakes his head. “No.”

“Have you had any suicidal thoughts in the past four days?”

“Is that different to urges?”

“Yes.”

“Then no.”

The doctor nods, scribbling down notes. Silence envelopes them again and Bakugou finds his pulse beginning to raise and nausea beginning to rise up, clawing up to his throat. He closes his eyes and focuses on the sound of traffic through the window. The unhealthy rumble of an old engine lumbering past. The harsh, loud bellow of a motorbike shortly after. Muffled conversation of pedestrians passing by. It grounds him, and he feels his pulse slow gradually.

“Katsuki?”

The doctor is watching him curiously, his pen hovering above the paper.

“What?”

“I asked you how you’re sleeping. Any nightmares?”

“Some.”

“How regularly?”

“Pretty.”

“So every night?”

“Nearly every night that I sleep.”

“Okay.”

Silence again.

Bakugou watches the doctor in return, notes the confident way he scrawls on the notepad. His glasses slide slightly down his nose and he uses his free hand to push them back into place.

“I see in your file you’ve been experiencing hallucinations,” the doctor continues.

“Not really. More like… dreams, but in real life.”

“Hallucinations,” the doctor repeats. He scribbles something down again. “Your therapist wants you to be prescribed antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication. I believe that’s a good step to begin with, alongside your talking therapy. I am happy to prescribe you said medication today.”

Bakugou frowns. “Today? I thought we needed my parent’s permission.”

The doctor glances down at his paperwork. “I have a signature here from your father. That’s adequate for me if it’s adequate for you.”

Bakugou nods slowly. “Sure.”

 

There’s no conversation after that, just a curt and professional goodbye, and a please close the door on your way out. Bakugou returns to Aizawa’s car with the prescription slip in his hand and a strange swirling sensation deep in his chest.

“How was it?” Aizawa asks.

“He’s prescribed me some meds. When did you get my dad’s signature?”

“Yesterday, luckily. I wanted you to talk to him when you’re actually ready to, not because you had to. I made that mistake once and I won’t do it again. So, how was this new doctor?”

Bakugou shrugs. “Bit of a dick. Didn’t really say much.”

Aizawa’s attention bounces between the road ahead and Bakugou. After a moment, a small smirk begins to creep across his face.

“You like him,” Aizawa says.

“What? No I don’t.”

“You do. You like the doctor. He’s blunt and to the point, which is why Aimi thought you’d gel well with him, and you did.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes but he doesn’t bother to argue because, against his better judgement, Aizawa is right.

The doctor, although Bakugou can’t remember his name, was pleasant enough. He didn’t ask pointless questions, he didn’t make the conversation emotional, and he didn’t try to empathise or relate.

Bakugou has grown to appreciate Aimi, has maybe even grown to like her, but talking is hard. Putting his feelings into words is hard. Although she always says they can sit in silence, he knows full well Aimi welcomes him into that office each week expecting him to talk.

The new doctor was a refreshing, if curt, change.

Aimi knows him too damn well.

 

Notes:

im so sorry

i dont even have a reason to not upload

pls forgive me

Chapter 20

The first time that I sought for grace
But not the last lung I'd put to waste

                                                                                        -Vancouver Sleep Clinic

 

An orange stream of light creeps into his room, illuminating it with a warm glow. He woke before his alarm today, as he usually does, but this time with an aching jaw and a shake in his bones. It took him every ounce of energy he could conjure up to put his uniform on and even more to open up that little box hidden away in his bedside drawer.

Aizawa thought organising the medication might help him feel some level of control at the beginning. Bakugou thought it was stupid, but he did it anyway. Listening to Aizawa hasn’t done him much damage so far, he thought.

He takes out the two little pills sitting in today’s section and holds them in the palm of his hand. One small pink pill, one capsule. Neither are particularly daunting, or intimidating, or frightening, but they’ve brought with them excessive shaking, a jaw wound so tightly his teeth ache, and intense nausea. He can’t hide the way his hands tremble uncontrollably or the way his leg bounces as though someone else is controlling it, and it’s all because of these two little pills.

Might as well have a neon sign saying ‘crazy’ above your damn head.

Logically, he knows all medications carry side effects with them, some more obvious than most, but he never anticipated it happening with these. For a split second, he considers binning them. Considers disregarding everything Aizawa and Aimi and the psychiatrist and everyone else has said. Considers the fact that medication that is supposed to be helping him is instead making him feel worse.

He takes them anyway.

 

*

 

When he heads downstairs ready to head off to campus, he finds Kirishima, Sero, Kaminari, and Ashido sitting on the sofas with their bags at their feet. They all spring to life upon seeing him, faces visibly brightening, but nobody rushes to him. Nobody invades his space or overwhelms him with their damned loud voices.

They’re respectful.

“What?” he demands. His jaw hurts with the effort of speaking.

“Dude, we’ve not seen you in ages,” Kaminari exclaims. “We’re buzzed! Wanna walk to class with us?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope!”

They all jump to their feet and grab their bags. Bakugou leads the way, walking off ahead and allowing them to follow closely behind. They begin some mindless conversation that provides him a remarkably comforting white noise.

“Hey.” Kirishima’s voice disturbs the white noise as he appears at Bakugou’s side, matching his pace and putting a small amount of distance between them and the others.

“Hey,” Bakugou replies.

Kirishima smiles before clearing his throat. “So… how’ve you been?”

Bakugou inhales sharply and keeps his attention on the path ahead. “Y’know.”

“Yeah.” They walk in silence for another few seconds until Kirishima stops and sighs heavily. “Okay. I’m sorry if this is weird for you but… dude, I’ve really missed you.”

Bakugou stops too, frowning deeply. “Fucking hell. I don’t…” He stops, swallowing down the sudden anxious lump in his throat.

They’re alone for a grand total of two seconds before the others join, slowing to a stop and gazing in confusion at the two boys.

“What’s going on?” Sero asks.

“We’ll meet you in class,” Kirishima says quickly. He doesn’t look away from Bakugou, the seriousness on his face leaving little room to argue. The group mutter their agreements and slowly but surely go on ahead. They all, one by one, glance over their shoulders, but they all respect their privacy. Bakugou watches them, wishing they’d come back to save him from this conversation.

“I’ve been wanting to see you all week,” Kirishima admits. “Aizawa said to give you space until you were ready, so that’s what I did, but I really wanted to see you.”

Bakugou huffs. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you want to see me?”

Kirishima’s brows furrow in utter confusion. “Because we’re friends? And friends enjoy each other’s company?”

Bakugou glances again at the three walking away. Any concern they showed just moments ago has gone, and he can see the animated and excitable way they interact with each other even from this distance. There’s an energy in each of them that he can’t even fake. Even Sero, who is one of the more quiet and calmer classmates, has an easy-going pleasantness that makes him so easy to be around for everyone. He can’t recall anyone in the class having anything unkind to say about him. About any of them.

He’s the odd one out, and he can’t imagine Kirishima doesn’t see that.

“How much have you really missed out on by not having me around?”

Kirishima’s face drops, his shoulders slumping with the sudden emotion that seems to overtake his entire being. His bottom lip quivers and his eyes shimmer with unfallen tears.

“What?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bakugou sighs. “Come on. I love to call everyone else fucking extras but let’s face it, that’s exactly what I am. I’m a fucking bystander in this little group. I don’t blame you for it, but don’t lie to me. I add absolutely nothing to this.”

Kirishima looks downright devastated and that familiar pang of guilt reappears swiftly. Kirishima turns away, taking a moment to compose himself with a series of carefully counted inhales and exhales, before finally turning back again.

“Katsuki, you’re just quiet. You know that’s okay, right? You don’t have to fill the silences or make conversation with everyone. Hell, you don’t even need to be good at conversations. We’ll still want to be around you. And we definitely noticed you weren’t there. We always notice when you’re not there.” He swallows thickly. “And… I don’t like it when you’re not there. It’s different, and not good different.”

Bakugou wants to argue, wants to question him, wants to accuse him of lying, but Kirishima still has that heartbroken glint in his eyes and he can’t bring himself to make it any worse.

“Sorry,” he says after a pause.  

“Don’t be sorry,” Kirishima says softly. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. Come on, Aizawa will flip out if we’re late.”

Bakugou nods. He’s never been particularly good with words but right now, they’re utterly failing him. He lets Kirishima guide him to class, a comfortable silence filling the space between them.

 

*

 

Bakugou isn’t religious, but he’s fairly certain some kind of higher power is fucking with him today. Of all the classmates he could be paired with on a two-person assignment, he’s paired with Midoriya. Cementoss must have it out for him, he decides.

The unpleasant news, along with the emotions drudged up by Kirishima that morning, has had him reeling for most of the day, and it seems his only moment of peace is the walk home. He made a point of hiding in the bathroom for a few minutes to ensure his friends had already gone on ahead before beginning his journey home, determined to get some quiet for once.

But of course, a higher power fucking hates him, and his moment of peace lasts thirty seconds before it is destroyed by Midoriya.

“Kacchan!” he greets loudly. “I’m so glad we get to work together! You’re so good at English, so I’m sure we’re going to do great!”

Bakugou doesn’t reply, doesn’t even acknowledge Midoriya, but that does little to deter the boy. He continues to rabbit on about his ideas for the assignment for another few minutes before finally noticing Bakugou has said nothing.

“Are you okay?” Midoriya asks.

“No. I’m not.”

“Oh my god what’s wrong?”

“I’m being followed by a 4ft tall imp.”

“Oh. That was mean.”

“I’ve definitely said worse to you.”

“It’s still mean though.”

“What do you want, Deku?” Bakugou finally questions. There’s no bite to his tone, but he hopes there’s enough annoyance to dissuade him from talking further.

There’s a pause, initially welcome, but then Midoriya’s steps falter and Bakugou finds his own doing the same. The excitement on Midoriya’s face is replaced by something akin to sadness, and it’s so sudden that it makes Bakugou’s stomach do somersaults.

“It’s just… I haven’t seen you really or spoken to you since.. since that day. And I’ve been really worried about you. I know you’ve been with Kirishima and Ashido and the others, and that’s really good, because it’s important to have a support system, but I wanted to make sure you’re okay and although I could always ask your friends, it’s more important that you tell me yourself because I don’t want others putting words in your mouth and-”

“Deku.”

“What?”

“Shut up, man.”

Midoriya smiles softly.

“Shall we start that assignment tonight?” he suggests. “Then we can get it finished quicker.”

Bakugou smirks. “That’s the smartest fucking thing you’ve said in ages.”

 

*

 

By the time they return to the dorms, their moods have lifted significantly. They’ve already begun discussing ways of distributing the work evenly between them to ensure it gets completed as efficiently as possible, considering their strengths and weaknesses, and Bakugou is eager to get started the moment they step through the doors.

Instead, they’re greeted by Kaminari wearing a huge smile and an apron.

“Bakubro! We’ve been waiting for you!” he greets, abruptly, halting Bakugou and Midoriya.

“Why? What the fuck do you want?” Bakugou demands.

“You, man! We’re cooking tea, and we’re gonna cook for you too, and we’re gonna eat together like proper adults.”

Bakugou eyes the kitchen, spotting the already impressive mess they’ve made of the place, and groans.

“Are you fucking serious? I need to do this work with Deku, and-”

“That’s a great idea, Kacchan!” Midoriya interjects. “You eat with your friends, and then when you’ve finished, text me and we’ll study!”

Bakugou sighs heavily, looking between Midoriya and Kaminari, before rolling his eyes. Kaminari takes this as an agreement and raises his arms in the air.

“Wooooo! We caught a wild Bakugou!” He sprints back to the kitchen, waving his arms, and jumps at Sero. “He agreed!”

Sero shoves him away. “Hey, this is delicate work! I’m cooking.”

Ashido approaches him, much more calmly than Kaminari, and smiles. “We’ll do all the cooking and cleaning, so all you have to do is relax!”

Bakugou huffs. “Sure.”

“I know, I know. You don’t know the meaning of ‘relax’. But just trust us, Kirishima researched the shit out of this dish and it’s simple, so even Kaminari can make it!”

It doesn’t comfort Bakugou in any way whatsoever, but he sits down at the table anyway and watches the group as they systematically take the kitchen apart in a bid to cook.

His hands begin to shake and his jaw begins to clench after five minutes or so, but he hides his hands beneath the table and chews on his tongue and refuses to take his attention away from the chaos in front of him.

 

*

 

The food is actually edible. There’s flavour. Nothing is burned, nothing is under or overcooked. Kaminari, Sero, and Ashido waste no time tucking in the moment the plates hit the table, but Kirishima waits for Bakugou to take his first bite before he starts eating.

“So?” Kirishima asks quietly, leaning in towards Bakugou.

Bakugou nods. “Not bad.”

Kirishima’s face drops a little. “What did I miss? Did I forget something?”

“No, not at all. It’s good, man.”

“No it’s not.”

“It is.”

The others slow their eating, now watching the exchange nervously. It’s not helped by the way Bakugou’s hands tremble as he works the chopsticks, which he doesn’t doubt they’ve noticed now.

“Look, the only thing I’d do differently is add more spices,” Bakugou says. “That’s all, man, fuck. Everything’s better when it’s spicy.”

Kirishima smirks. “Alright then. I’ll take that in mind next time.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Ashido asks, her eyes cast down at Bakugou’s hands.

“Fine,” Bakugou answers quickly. “Eat your food and shut up.”

They continue to eat in silence and Bakugou pretends he doesn’t notice the attention that continues to drift to his shaking hands.

 

*

Midoriya is sitting in his room when Bakugou finishes with his friends, staring at his laptop screen intently. The shorter boy doesn’t seem to notice him even walk in at first, fixated on whatever he’s looking at, so Bakugou gets a little closer and waits.

And waits.

And waits some more.

Still Midoriya doesn’t take any notice.

“Oi, Deku, what the fuck are you doing?”

Midoriya jumps, his wheeled chair flinging him back into the wall and the pen that was clutched in his hand flying in the opposite direction.

“Oh my god how long have you been there?!” Midoriya demands, panting desperately.

Bakugou shrugs. “Like… five minutes? What the fuck are you looking at?”

Midoriya blushes and closes his laptop. “I uh… I was looking at blog posts about the top ten Heroes. I thought you were going to text when you’d eaten!”

“Why would I text when I can scare the shit out of you instead? Now come on, let’s get this shit over and done with.”

Midoriya nods. “Yep! Then you can sit in your room and listen to your angry music, and I can add some more things to my notebook!”

Bakugou sighs and sits down on the floor, where Midoriya joins him, and they begin to work through the worksheets provided by Hizashi. They’re translating interviews from English heroes, using both written transcriptions and verbal interviews to highlight the differences between local dialects.

It’s all quite basic, but the audio seems to be giving Midoriya physical pain.  

“Why is it so hard? I swear that’s not an English word. I’ve never heard that before.”

“I thought you were good at English.”

“I thought I was too. I don’t get this guy’s accent at all. I swear I’m never moving to England for work.”

Bakugou stares at Midoriya for a moment before sighing heavily. “Jesus Christ. We’ve literally got two sections to translate. That’s it.”

“And the written one is okay! I think. Apart from these two words that I think are completely made up. But have you heard this guy speak? That’s not English! I’ve watched English TV shows. That’s not what they speak like.”

“They have accents, moron. That’s the point.”

“But-”

“Fuck, I can’t believe I have to work with you.” Bakugou huffs, letting silence return to the room. Midoriya begins to furiously scribble on his copy of the transcription, glaring red ink standing out against the black words. Bakugou watches him for a few seconds as a sudden wave of confidence hits him. “Hey, are you still seeing that creepy counsellor?”

“Aki?” Midoriya asks. “I’m seeing someone who works in her clinic, but not Aki. Why?”

“Have they made you take meds?”

“I have some anxiety medication for if I get really anxious,” Midoriya says matter-of-factly, still scribbling down notes. “Why?”

“Just asking.”

Midoriya looks up from his work and frowns. “Are you going to therapy, Kacchan?”

“None of your fucking business.”

His hands are still shaking and his jaw is still working itself out of his control, and he knows he can’t hide it. Midoriya watches the tremble in his limbs and frowns more deeply.

“Are you on medication now?” he asks bluntly. “I figured they’d recommend it. You weren't in a good way.”

Bakugou frowns now. “What does that mean?”

Midoriya puts his pen down. “Okay. So… how much do you think I know about what happened?”

Bakugou swallows. “I assume everyone knows everything by now.”

Midoriya takes a deep breath. “Kacchan, I was there.”

The world seems to stop. Any and all sound ceases and all he can focus on is the blood rushing in his ears as Midoriya meets his eyes.

“Tell me you’re fucking lying.”

Midoriya shakes his head. “I’m not lying. I’m sorry. Kirishima was there too. I didn’t know if Eraserhead would have told you, but-”

The conversation he had with Kirishima comes flooding back, the context now so much worse than he could have ever imagined. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck.”

Midoriya’s eyes widen. “Should… should I not have told you?”

Bakugou shakes his head. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

“Kacchan, I’m sorry-”

“I… I need to go.”

He grabs his bag, leaving his notes behind, and hastily exits, unintentionally slamming Midoriya’s door shut behind him.

 

He makes it to his room just as the memories of that fucking day begin to flood his head in a barrage of rushing wind, a suffocating tightness around his chest, and screaming.

So.

Much.

Screaming.

Multiple voices, not one of them his, and they’re screaming his name.

 

Midoriya and Kirishima were there. They saw him at his weakest. They saw him throw himself off the top of the building. They saw him being roughly dragged back onto solid ground by their teacher. They saw him crumble and break and fall apart, and they screamed his fucking name.

 

 

Notes:

bakugou is having Too Many Emotions and a Not Good Day

and i imagine the english heroes they were listening to had a geordie accent cos they have their own goddamn language i swear

also covid is still a big ol bitch amirite?

Chapter 21

I’ll never be, be what you see inside

You say I’m not alone, but I am petrified

                                                                              - Twenty One Pilots

 

Bakugou has faced many dangers. He’s cheated death on numerous occasions. He’s faced off against highly dangerous and lethal villains, and he walked away. Better heroes have fallen to the same villains and he escaped relatively unscathed. He’s faced death and survived more than any sixteen year old should have, and yet all of those experiences pale in the face of this one right now.

This one, somehow, is more terrifying.

The door before him would be familiar and safe on any other occasion, but the very thought of knocking sends shock waves of nausea rippling through his very being. He has a somewhat simple task ahead of him, yet it’s a task that has had him wide awake and panicking for the past 24 hours. He’s still attended classes, although he can’t recall what he was taught in any of them, and he still exchanged pleasantries with his classmates, but he’s not sure he’s been truly present at all. His mind, throughout, has been fixed on this task.

His mind wanders back to Midoriya, to the calm and collected way he revealed the truth of that day on the rooftop. A truth that Bakugou had apparently repressed successfully until now.

That pesky voice in his mind urges him to turn and run, but he instead lifts a shaky, sweaty hand and knocks heavily on the door. The urging gets louder and louder, and then the door swings open.

“Katsuki!” Kirishima greets brightly, already moving aside so Bakugou can enter the room. The bright smile on his face fades rapidly. “Are you okay?”

“We need to talk,” Bakugou says abruptly. “But… I can’t. But I’m gonna try. So I need you to just sit and fucking wait, okay?”

Kirishima nods. “Um… okay. Yeah. That’s okay.”

He gives Bakugou a moment to enter and shuts the door behind them. Bakugou stands in the middle of the room, looking a little lost and somehow significantly younger than he did a moment ago, so Kirishima sits himself down on the bed. After a moment, Bakugou sits beside him.

They remain there, in silence, for an hour. The deep blue sky morphs into a brilliant orange as the sun begins its descent, darkness beginning to creep into the room. Kirishima repeatedly motions to switch on his lamp, just metres away from his hand, but eyes up Bakugou and stops, like he’s a frightened animal that may attack and flee if startled.

“Fuck,” Bakugou suddenly breathes out. “I wanted to say something earlier, but it’s taken me all fucking day to try and work out what the fuck to say, and I still don’t know.”

Kirishima frowns. “Just… take your time.”

“I know you were there,” Bakugou says tightly. “On the roof. Deku told me yesterday. I didn’t see you and I didn’t remember hearing anything until… until last night.”

Kirishima’s frown deepens. “What did you hear?”

“Screaming.” Bakugou’s leg begins to bounce. “I thought it was me.”

“You were-” Kirishima stops himself, casting his gaze down to the floor, shame riddling his face. Bakugou stares at him, wordlessly requesting that he continue his thought. Kirishima looks back up again and frowns. “You were silent.”

Bakugou nods. They slip back into silence again, any and all words Bakugou had conjured up suddenly lost. Kirishima’s bottom lip quivers and he softly bites down on it in a bid to hide it. Bakugou breathes through the sudden wave of guilt that sweeps through his chest and stares down at his boot-clad feet.

“I never wanted witnesses. I didn’t want to… to put that on anyone. I didn’t… I don’t even know what I wanted. I don’t think I went up there to do it. Not really. There’s this voice in my mind. All the fucking time. The whole time I was running there, it was telling me how much better things would be if it all just stopped.”

Kirishima lets out a small gasp and begins chewing on his nails. If Bakugou were to look up, he would see tears building in Kirishima’s eyes.

So Bakugou doesn’t look up.

“I didn’t go up there to kill myself,” Bakugou continues. “I needed space. I needed to just escape. The rooftop is so quiet and far away from everyone else, it was the only place I thought of going. But it wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t quiet because my own damn head wasn’t quiet. I just wanted it to stop, and it wasn’t. But that voice was there, telling me to jump, and the moment I stood up on the ledge it all suddenly… went. It was like a switch had been flicked and suddenly it was the only thing that made sense.”

Kirishima is openly crying, a hand over his mouth to conceal the sobs that threaten to interrupt Bakugou.

“And now they’ve got me on medication. And it’s making my goddamn skin itch, and my jaw hurts, and I can’t fucking sleep, but the worst part… the worst part is, I don’t fucking know who I’ll be once they start kicking in.”

Kirishima stifles his sobs long enough to move his hand away. “W-what do you mean?”

“I don’t remember anything being any different. All the way through, I’ve been going through the motions with the idea that it all started with Kamino, but it didn’t. I don’t remember being happy even before Kamino happened. I don’t… I don’t think I know what happiness is. So I don’t… I don’t fucking know who I’ll be when it’s all over. I’m scared, Eijirou. Really fucking scared.”

Kirishima takes a moment to compose himself and Bakugou doesn’t bother to fill the silence. He can hear Kirishima’s ragged breaths as clearly as his own, can almost hear Kirishima’s racing heart.

Bakugou already knows what Kirishima is going to say, because Bakugou is already thinking the same.

You’re victimising yourself. You’ve traumatised two of your friends, and you’re here with your ‘woe is me’ attitude and your sob stories, expecting sympathy that you clearly don’t deserve.

Except he doesn’t think he wants or expects sympathy. He just wants Kirishima to understand. That’s all.

So in those short few minutes of silence, he decides he’s okay without sympathy. He doesn’t need it.

“Katsuki,” Kirishima begins. “I want you to know a few things that you clearly aren’t aware of. Firstly, none of what has gone down over the last few months, or even before Kamino, is your fault. None of it. Absolutely none. Whatever you went through as a kid, and what you’re going through now. None of it is your fault. Secondly, your mental illness isn’t your personality. Yeah, you might behave differently when you’re unwell, and you might be less sociable and more irritable on bad days, but you’re still you. You’ll still be you on days when you can’t get out of bed or the mere thought of All-Might gives you a panic attack. You’ll still be you when you’re angry, or sad, or numb. And you’ll still be you when all those bad things are happening less often because the medication is finally doing its job. Katsuki, you’re so much more than your trauma. Your trauma doesn’t get to define you. Please, please don’t give it that power.”
Bakugou doesn’t realise he’s crying until Kirishima finishes his speech. He inhales sharply, the sound shaking as tears slowly tumble down his cheeks. Kirishima is crying too, quietly now, and yet again silence falls upon them.

Bakugou has nothing to say.

They sit side by side, their breathing slowing to match one another’s as their anxieties begin to calm and their racing hearts begin to reach a normal rhythm. They remain this way for another hour, except the tension and the worry has dispersed a little.

"Hey," Kirishima says softly. "I was thinking of getting the others together and watching a film tonight. You fancy it? Or if you'd rather watch a film just us two, that's okay too. Or, if you'd just rather be alone tonight and not socialise, I totally get that too. Whatever you want."

Bakugou watches Kirishima warily, almost waiting for a big reveal or a punchline to explain Kirishima's kindness. 

Because nobody is that kind and unwaveringly patient. 

Nobody except Kirishima.

"So?" Kirishima asks again. 

Bakugou doesn't know where his head space is, nor does he know what he wants to do. There's only one response on his mind right now. 

"Thank you, Eijirou." 

Chapter 22

Broken stones, broken lightning
This house of doubt is all we know
Chasing down the silver linings
Of wounded minds and wounded souls

                                                                 - Dotan

 

 

There’s someone in the room with him. Something. Bakugou has been watching the humanoid figure for a few seconds now as it takes residence in the dark corner of his bedroom. It sways back and forth with jerky movements, its eyeless head twisting with each sway until its bloodied and grotesque smile is where its forehead should be. Bakugou can feel the distant pounding of his heart, can hear the blood rushing in his ears, but the process of moving his body seems to take a lifetime. The being takes a step forward, the mouth widening to allow blood to trickle down its face and onto the floor in thick strings. A raspy groan follows, becoming louder and louder and louder until

 

The subconscious hold on him is released and Bakugou sits bolt upright, slamming his hand down on the switch to his lamp. The being is gone in a flash. Bakugou lets out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding and closes his eyes, exhaustion still clutching him tightly. When he opens them again, the room is still empty. There’s no strings of blood on the floor, and no unwelcome guest to be seen.

 

*

 

Bakugou is exhausted. He’s already in the kitchen when his friends finally emerge that morning with their uniforms on and their bags packed. Kirishima tries to hide the look of concern that immediately envelops his face upon seeing Bakugou there at the table, clutching a cup of coffee tightly, but he does a poor job.

“Are you okay?” Kirishima asks.

Bakugou nods his head towards the kitchen counter, where four more cups sit. Ashido wastes no time rushing forward.

“Oh Bakugou, you absolute babe,” she exclaims, grabbing the mug closest and immediately gulping down some.

“Bakugou?” Kirishima addresses again. “What time did you get up?”

“Too early,” Bakugou answers honestly, staring down at his coffee. “Had one of those dream things again.”

Kirishima frowns. “I thought the-” He silences himself, noting the way their friends are still hovered in the kitchen around the coffee. He lowers his voice. “I thought the medication was starting to work.”

“It is. Just not for them. They can’t really give me medication to stop dreams, dude.”

“Yeah, I guess not. What was it this time?”

Bakugou sighs heavily. “Y’know, man, I don’t really wanna think about it. It wasn’t All-Might, if that makes you feel any better about it.”

Kirishima doesn’t answer, not that Bakugou needs him to. They both settle for drinking their coffees in silence as the rest of the group join them at the table. The three bring an incessant chatter, one that Bakugou doesn’t tune into. The memory of that humanoid being hovers in his mind like a constant nightmare, never quite out of view, and a part of him expects to see it again when he blinks.

Instead, all he sees is Kirishima.

 

*

 

Classes go by quickly and uneventfully, and Bakugou finds himself a little more focused than he has been over the last few months. Like his head is a little clearer. He catches Aizawa watching him every so often but it doesn’t bring about the stab of anxiety like it used to. Aizawa nods, and Bakugou nods back.

Upon the bell dismissing them for the day, Bakugou follows the rest of the class as he packs up his books and readies himself to leave.

“Bakugou?” Aizawa calls out. “Can I speak to you?”

“Sure.”

He hovers at Aizawa’s desk until his classmates filter out, the low hum of conversation gradually quietening as they disappear through the door and down the hallway. Midoriya is the last out and he fires one last concerned glance at Bakugou before closing the door behind him.

“How are you doing, Bakugou?” Aizawa asks.

Bakugou shrugs. “Alright.”        

“Bakugou.”

“I am.” He pauses for a moment, taking a mental note of the lack of a tremor in his hands and the lack of nausea swirling around his stomach. “The side effects are wearing off now. I’m not as anxious now.”

“Good. That’s good. I’ll be honest, I was concerned you wouldn’t take the medication.”

“Trust me, I debated binning them. But what good would that do when I was already feeling pretty shitty?”

Aizawa nodded. “I’m glad. Are you sleeping?”

“Sometimes. It’s getting a bit better.”

“You’re due to see Aimi next week, remember? But you can always rearrange it for earlier if you need to.”

Bakugou fights back rolling his eyes. “I know. I’m fine.”

Aizawa nods. “If that changes, please let me know. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Aizawa nods again, dismissing him, and Bakugou leaves the classroom with a strange lack of anxiety in his chest.

 

When he gets back to the dorms, he’s greeted by his friends sitting at the sofas leaning in closely, talking in hushed tones. The moment Bakugou steps across the threshold, Ashido glances up and gasps.

“Bakugou!” she exclaims. “Hey! Is everything okay?”

Bakugou frowns. “Yeah. What the fuck are you guys doing?”

“Nothing!” Sero responds. “Just talking shit. Do you wanna play Tekken? I’ve been thinking about it all day and I really wanna play against you.”

The swirl of anxiety is back. He looks at every single person on the sofa, takes in the strange expression on their faces. Like they’ve been caught.

They’re talking about you. They’re mocking you. They hate you. Just walk away.

“Bakugou,” Kirishima’s voice breaks through the internal self-sabotage. “If you win, Sero has to cook. If Sero wins, you cook.”

Bakugou takes a breath, finding it unsettlingly shaky, and shrugs. “Fuck it. Sure.”

 

*

 

Bakugou wins, of course, and Sero makes a strange ramen dish his mother taught him to make. It tastes relatively bland, lacking the spice Bakugou thrives on, but it’s edible and he can’t bring himself to insult any part of it.

Especially not when Sero begins to explain his sentimental love for the dish.

Why be nice to them when they clearly don’t even like you?

He ignores the voice in favour of listening to Sero, watching the genuine smiles on everybody’s faces, and hopes his paranoia has no real basis.

After eating, Bakugou excuses himself to do some schoolwork. He's on his way up when Kirishima catches up to him with a beaming smile on his face.

"Hey, mind if I join you?" he asks. "I need some help with maths and I know you're really good at it."

Tell him to fuck off.

"Sure," Bakugou says through gritted teeth. No matter what that bastard internal voice says, he can't really bring himself to say no to Kirishima. 

Kirishima mutters a 'yes' under his breath and fist bumps the air as they get into the lift. 

"It's not that exciting," Bakugou states. "It's homework."

"Yeah, but if you're helping me, I might actually pass it for once."

"You're not that bad at maths, dude."

Kirishima smirks. "Look at you, being nice."

"Fuck off."

 

They work into the night, and Kirishima remains remarkably focused and productive the entire time. He consistently answers questions correctly, but hesitates and doubts himself at every single turn, something that makes Bakugou's chest jolt. 

"You know," he says. "You're not actually bad at maths. You're getting all of these right without me helping you."

"It's just because you're here, man."

Bakugou huffs. "You need more faith in yourself."

"Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you."

Bakugou doesn't have a rebuttal. Kirishima smiles and carries on with the final question of the homework. Bakugou, already completed his, watches Kirishima scribble the calculations without much hesitation. The internal voice is quiet this time. For once, it also doesn't have a rebuttal. Bakugou checks through his work before closing his book and grabbing his phone, pretending to busy himself until Kirishima is finished.

"Okay," he says a few minutes later. "I think I've got it."

"You know you've got it."

"Can you please check it though?"

Bakugou sighs but takes the book anyway. As he thought, Kirishima has it right. He throws the book back and just rolls his eyes, prompting another wide smile from Kirishima.

"Thanks, dude, you make homework so much more fun!" 

"How? We've barely fucking spoken."

Kirishima shrugs. "I don't know. You're just fun to be around."

"Sure."

"No, really. We were all talking about it before, actually."

The familiar jolt of anxiety returns and takes his breath away for a split second, like a punch to the gut. "Is that why you all went quiet when I walked in?"

Kirishima's smile falters. "I knew that weirded you out. Look, honestly, it's nothing to worry about. We- We were talking about your birthday. It's in a few days, isn't it? They wanted to throw you a surprise birthday party but I was trying to talk them out of it because I knew you'd hate it. It's still a work in progress."

Bakugou frowns deeply. The voice is still absent, but Bakugou knows it would be telling him to ignore Kirishima, or accuse him of lying. Except, Kirishima is a very bad liar, and the look of concern on his sunny face is anything but unconvincing. 

"Is that all?" Bakugou questions softly.

"I swear. We weren't saying anything bad about you, if that's what worried you."

"Pffft. I don't worry about that shit."

Kirishima huffs. "It's okay to worry about that. I always do. Hell, it's why you're one of my favourite people. I always know where I stand with you. You don't bullshit anyone."

The sudden compliments don't settle well within Bakugou, so he simply nods and tries not to fold in on himself. Kirishima seems to pick up on that and slaps his hands down on his thighs.

"Right, okay, we're all caught up here, and I'm exhausted, so I'm gonna go to bed. See you tomorrow, Katsuki!"

Bakugou watches him leave, hears the door click and Kirishima's own door unlock next door. Quietly, as the second door closes, he responds.

"See you, Eijirou."

 

Notes:

hey remember me

i lost all motivation to write cos of ill health and stress at work etc etc but im back and here's a short wholesome one for you

Chapter 23

'Cause life has been insane but

Today has been OK

                                                         - Emiliana Torrini

 

 

He’s not sleeping again. The side effects of his medication have all worn off, and he’s finding the dull ache in his chest is less significant now, but he still can’t fucking sleep. It’s 4am, the sky still dark outside and not a single sound around him aside from his own heavy breathing. He stares at the ceiling until his eyes blur and water and the slight imperfections in the paint begin to distort and twist.

Time drags on and on. By 5am, his eyes sting with exhaustion but still he cannot drift off. He takes a dose of his anxiety medication, hoping it may calm him enough to finally fall asleep, but by 7am he’s still awake and staring at that goddamn ceiling. He drags himself out of bed by this point, showering and dressing in a slow stupor of tiredness.

This is day three of no sleep, and he can feel it in his bones. Once dressed, he stumbles downstairs to the kitchen where his life-saving coffee awaits him. Kirishima and Ashido are already there, talking amongst themselves as they make some drinks. At the table, Koda and Sato are sat eating breakfast. Ojiro, Tsuyu, Uraraka, and Shoji are on the sofas watching TV. For the amount of bodies in the room, it’s quiet and settled, and Bakugou is unbelievably thankful for that.

“Bakugou!” Kirishima greets as he trudges into the room. As he gets closer, Kirishima’s smile fades. “You haven’t slept, have you?”

“When do I ever fucking sleep?” Bakugou retorts.

Ashido thrusts a mug of hot black coffee into his hands.

“Why can’t you sleep, Blasty?” Ashido asks.

Bakugou almost shouts at her for her naivety, before sparing a glance at Kirishima. Kirishima and Midoriya are the only ones that Bakugou has spoken to about recent events. He assumed everyone would know by now, but the innocence on Ashido’s face tells him that isn’t the case.

“I’ve never slept well,” Bakugou responds. “Recently it’s uh… it’s harder.”

Ashido nods, taking a sip of her tea. “I get that. I used to have insomnia really bad. There’s no shame in taking sleeping pills, Blasty.”

She smiles and excuses herself to return upstairs for her bag, leaving Bakugou and Kirishima alone. Bakugou watches Ashido leave before looking down at his coffee.

“You didn’t tell her,” Bakugou states. “You didn’t tell any of them.”

Kirishima’s brows furrow. “Why would I? You told me, not everyone else. It’s not my place to tell them your business. Saying that, though, you should try talking to the others about everything. I know Kaminari is completely tactless sometimes but honestly, they’re all super understanding. And you’d be surprised by how many people can relate to… to mental health stuff.”

 Bakugou drinks his coffee without responding, nor does Kirishima seem to expect one, as he ponders Kirishima’s words.

 

*

 

He makes it through the school day without incident, but by the last period there’s an ache in his skull and his eyes burn under the fluorescent lights of the classroom. He rests his head in his hands as Aizawa delivers the last class of the day. If Aizawa notices the lack of participation on his behalf, he doesn’t say anything.

Midoriya notices, however, and repeatedly pokes Bakugou in the back with his ruler until the blond finally turns.

“What the fuck do you want?” Bakugou snarls as quietly as possible.

“Are you okay? You look ill,” Midoriya comments.

“I’m fucking tired, get off my back.”

Bakugou turns back around, ignoring the way Aizawa watches him intently, and continues to massage his temples until the dismissal bell finally rings. To his relief, Aizawa says nothing to him and allows him to escape before everyone else, bordering on sprinting back to the dorms.

His bed calls out to him, despite the clock not even striking 4pm yet.

 

*

 

He passes out the moment he gets back to the dorms, blazer and shoes still on, for a grand total of three hours. Distant screaming and the strong stench of blood rips him from his restless slumber and he damn near falls off the bed.

“Fuck,” he mutters, shaky hands rubbing at his eyes.

A knock at the door startles him further.

“Katsuki?” Kirishima calls out. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fucking fine,” Bakugou shouts back. “I’m fine.”

“Well, we’re hanging out in my room if you wanna join? No pressure. You can just sit on my bed in silence if you want.”

Bakugou exhales sharply. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Okay, great!”

Bakugou slowly, tiredly, strips out of his uniform and grabs the first t-shirt and pair of joggers he can find before shuffling out of his room with his phone firmly grasped in his hand. He finds the door to Kirishima’s room wide open when he gets into the corridor, his friends all gathered around the room staring fixated at Kirishima’s laptop screen.

“Hey, Blasty!” Ashido greets. “We’re watching memes on YouTube.”

“Sure you are,” Bakugou says, finding a comfortable space at the end of Kirishima’s bed, within sight and movement of the door. Kirishima sits beside him and smiles before settling down to watch the screen.

It’s mindless, immature humour, and Bakugou doesn’t get any of it, but his friend’s faces light up with every stupid joke that pops up on screen and he can’t help but enjoy himself.

Tiredness be damned.

 

*

 

He gets another hour of sleep that night, and then another three hours the next night. He’s fast approaching his next session with Aimi and he longs to be able to tell her that he slept a whole night without stirring, but so far the universe seems to be against him.

By Saturday, thankful to have a day off from classes, he decides to finally try and have a lie in. Until 11am, nobody bothers him. Not one text, not one knock, nothing. Just blissful silence. He doesn’t sleep, but he remains lay on his bed and closes his eyes and for once, his muscles relax into the bed.

At 11am, his phone buzzes to life.

He ignores it at first, opting to keep his eyes closed to the world, until it goes off repeatedly. With a loud groan, he sits up and grabs the phone.

Message after message from Kirishima, filled with smiley faces and weird gifs, telling him to please come downstairs. Bakugou groans again but finds himself moving anyway. His shirt is creased from sleep and he’s been wearing the same joggers to bed for three days, but he can’t find the energy to both get changed and go downstairs, so he opts to keep Kirishima happy instead.

When he gets downstairs, he’s greeted by Kirishima, Ashido, Sero, and Kaminari all sat around the table with coffees in front of them. In the centre of the table is a big plate of souffle pancakes.

“What the fuck is this?” he questions, his voice rough with tiredness.

“We asked Sato to cook us some breakfast,” Kirishima explains. “They’re not as sweet as he’d usually make them, because we know you’re not a fan of sweet things, so hopefully you’ll like them. We invited him to eat with us but he wanted us to have the room to ourselves.”

Bakugou frowns. “Why?”

Kirishima shrugs. “Why not? Sit down, eat! I made you coffee too.”

Bakugou sits, still eyeing up the table with a mixture of confusion and distrust. It’s then that he glances down at his phone and notices the date.

April 20^th.

His 16^th birthday.

Shit.

“You guys know you don’t have to do any of this shit, right?” he says quietly.

“We know,” Kaminari says. “But we want to. Besides, we didn’t do anything. Sato did the baking and Kirishima made the coffee. Me, Hanta, and Mina are just here to look pretty. Now, shut up and eat your pancakes like a good birthday boy.”

“Swear to god, it’s like you want me to stab you in the face,” Bakugou growls.

Kirishima huffs. “Right, enough antagonising and threatening violence. Food time!”

They eat in silence, and Bakugou takes the moment to check out the room. There’s no decorations, no balloons hiding anywhere, no presents hiding.

Just food, and his friends.

He can, he decides, cope with this.

 

*

 

They retire to Kaminari’s room to play some video games after cleaning up the kitchen, and still there’s no pressure to participate or talk or do anything but exist. Bakugou plays a few rounds of Tekken, winning each fight, before sitting back and letting everyone else try.

“Sero, you suck at this,” Kaminari taunts.

“Suck? Dude, I’m beating you. Look at your health.”

“Nah, bro, I’ve got this. Don’t I, Bakubro? I’ve totally got this.”

As he speaks, his character is obliterated by Sero’s.

“Yeah,” Bakugou agrees. “You’ve totally got it.”

“Dammit,” Kaminari mutters.

“Okay, my turn!” Kirishima exclaims. “Swap places with me, Denki. I wanna beat Hanta.”

Bakugou smirks as Kirishima grabs the controller and flashes his shark-like teeth.

“Hey, Bakugou, your phone is flashing,” Ashido points out.

His chest clenches.

It's your mum. Wishing you a happy birthday. Finally.

Except, it's not. He pretends he hadn't rushed to the phone, that infantile excitement hadn't spurred him on, when he finds it's simply a low battery notification.

"Needs charging," he says tightly, trying to keep his usual tone in check. 

His friends don't seem to notice and he lets out a short exhale of disappointment before leaving the room to head back to his own. He crosses paths with Shoji on his way up, returning an oddly warming nod from the taller boy, before reaching his room. It's quiet on his floor, as usual when Kirishima is elsewhere, allowing Bakugou a little bit of peace as he plugs in his charger and drops his phone unceremoniously on the bedside table.

The creak of a floorboard echoes and he spins on his heel, only to find Ashido lurking in his doorway with a sheepish smile and her hands behind her back.

“What are you doing, Pinky?”

Ashido grins. "Okay, so I didn't want to do this in front of everyone else because I knew you wouldn't appreciate it. I also know you wouldn't want any of us to get you a birthday present, but I've got you something anyway." 

She pulls out a box she had been concealing behind her back.

“What the fuck, Pinky?!”

“I know, but just trust me, okay? I think you’ll appreciate it.” She hands him the box and stares at him expectantly. “Go on. Open it.”

With a frustrated huff, Bakugou takes it. It's poorly wrapped in deep blue wrapping paper, complete with a gold ribbon to keep everything in place. An old gift tag is taped to the front, with 'Blasty' written in delicate, neat handwriting. The handwriting is a stark contrast to the wrapping. Bakugou raises an eyebrow at Ashido before pulling on the ribbon and the tape, the paper falling away in one piece. 

There's an old cardboard box inside, already opened and broken at the edges where it has clearly been opened and resealed many times. 

Ashido stares down at her feet, shuffling her toes against the carpet. "You know how I said I've struggled with insomnia? Well, Tsuyu gave me this when we first started here and it helped when I couldn't sleep. I thought... I thought you could try it too."

It's a light. A galaxy projector, to be precise. 

Bakugou stares down at the box in his hands, torn between the absolute embarrassment of needing a night light at 16 years old, and being so unbelievably grateful to the understanding and observant person that Ashido is.

"I didn't pay any money for it, so you don't need to feel like you owe me anything," Ashido adds. "And if it doesn't work, you can just sneak it back to my room no questions asked. And you can keep it for as long as you need. Just... give it a try. Just put it on, stare up at the ceiling, and let yourself... drift away, if you get me."

Bakugou swallows the building lump in his throat, still staring down at the box, before finally looking back at Ashido. There's no humour on her face, no judgement, no mockery. Just a genuine smile, with a crinkle of the eyes and a barely-there dimple in her cheek. 

“If you tell anyone I have this, I’ll rip your arms off and beat you to death with them.”

Ashido smiles. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

He sets the box down on his bed and turns to leave his room with Ashido in tow. As he locks his door, he glances back at Ashido.

“Thanks,” he says softly.

“You’re welcome, Blasty.”

 

*

 

They return to their friends to recommence a night of gaming, laughter, and mocking Kaminari for his poor gaming ability.

And when he retires to his room, tiredness finally pulling at the edges, he loses himself in the brilliant array of colours, patterns, and galaxies dancing across his previously-white ceiling, and any embarrassment he feels blissfully fades away with his consciousness.

Chapter 24

Devil's on your shoulder
Strangers in your head
As if you don't remember
As if you can't forget

                                           - Aquilo

 

Bakugou wakes up to two messages on his phone from yesterday. The first from Midoriya, an overly enthusiastic paragraph filled with emojis wishing him a happy birthday. The second is from his father.

It’s short and sweet, as it is every year.

‘Happy birthday, Katsuki. I miss you’.

Bakugou stares at the text and finds himself oddly unable to identify what he is feeling. His chest tightens and he feels nausea beginning to creep up, but it goes no further than that. His pulse remains stable, his hands remain steady, and after a few minutes the nausea and tightness fade away.

He hasn’t spoken to his parents in a while. He can’t actually recall the last time he spoke to his father. He doesn’t want to think about the last time he spoke to his mum.

He chooses to ignore Midoriya’s message, because anything else would be too out of character for him. For his dad, he sends back a short ‘thanks dad’ and locks his phone. It’s Sunday, with no classes, and no need to look at that damn screen again.

 

*

 

He goes for a run that morning. For a glorious two hours, he focuses on nothing but the wind in his hair and the sun rising through the clouds.

 

*

 

When he returns to the dorms, a few other classmates are up and milling about in the kitchen. Jirou is cleaning alongside Momo, as is their job this week. Bakugou mutters a quiet apology as he shuffles past Jirou to get a mug out of the cupboard.

“No problem,” Jirou says, scooting out of the way. She pauses her cleaning of the countertop to let Bakugou make his coffee. “I’m sure my cleaning is nowhere near your standards, but it’s looking pretty good, don’t you think?”

Bakugou raises an eyebrow. “The fuck you talking about? It looks fine.”

“Oh?” Mineta’s voice pipes up from the sofas. “Is that Bakugou I hear being nice? Oh god, the world must be ending!”

“Shut the fuck up, pervert,” Bakugou snarls. “Or I’ll rip those stupid fucking balls off your head and shove them down your throat.”

Mineta has the good sense to shrink back down into his seat and pout at the TV. Uraraka, sitting opposite him with a book in her hand, does a poor job of hiding her amused smirk.

As Bakugou finishes preparing his coffee, the lift doors open and rushed footsteps echo through the room.

“KACCHAN!”

“Oh fuck,” Bakugou huffs.

He turns to find Midoriya sprinting at him gracelessly with a huge, toothy smile fixed on his face.

“Hug me, and I’ll headbutt you,” Bakugou warns as Midoriya closes the gap between them.

Midoriya halts at the last second, the grin still wide as ever. “Fine, no hugs. But I hope you had a good birthday! And I even listened to you this time and didn’t get you a gift!”

“Wait, it’s your birthday?” Momo questions from the main doors, where she’s cleaning the windows.

“Yesterday it was!” Midoriya answers. “Our Kacchan is 16 now!”

“Oh, Bakugou! You should have said something! We could have celebrated!” Momo says with a frown.

Bakugou huffs. “Fuck that.”

“Come on, Bakugou! It’s your 16^th! That’s worth celebrating!” Jirou states.

“Nope. Was my 16^th. Now I’m just 16. Can we move the fuck on now?”

Bakugou is less polite now in his hasty exit of the kitchen. He hears a muttered conversation between Jirou and Midoriya but doesn’t bother to hang around to catch the details. Mug in hand, he escapes to the lift.

As the doors open, he comes face to face with Sato.

“Oh, hi Bakugou!” Sato greets. “Did you have a good day yesterday?”

“Hm,” Bakugou grunts. 

Sato gives him a curt nod in response and silence befalls them as they cross paths. As he steps into the lift, Bakugou feels a stab of guilt. 

"Hey Sato," he says quietly.

There's a heavy pause, before Sato's voice responds with an uncertain "yes, Bakugou?"

"Thanks. For the food. It was great."

He can hear the smile on Sato's face. "Thanks, Bakugou! It was an honour!"

 

*

 

Bakugou spends the rest of the day studying. He ignores his phone as it occasionally buzzes with group texts or random news channel notifications. When Kirishima repetitively knocks on his door in a desperate bid to avoid studying, Bakugou sternly sends him on his way with half-hearted threats of violence. All in all, the day is productive, and his internal voice keeps itself at bay.

He doesn't think about how his mother never wished him a happy birthday.

He doesn't think about All-Might. 

He doesn't think about anything but the work in front of him.

 

*

 

Aimi isn’t dressed as colourfully today. She’s in a black t-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans, lacking her usual youthful flare. Bakugou initially debates asking her if she’s okay, but the voice in his head tells him that’s stupid and he chooses to keep his mouth shut instead.

The first ten minutes are silent, as usual, and Aimi takes the time to finish filling in some reports.

“How did your birthday go?” Aimi asks, her attention still on the report resting on her lap.

“Alright,” Bakugou answers. “Someone gave me this stupid lamp to help me sleep.”

Aimi looks up. “Did it help?”

“Weirdly, yeah.”

She nods, smiling a little, and looks back down at her work.

“My dad text. Wished me a happy birthday. Said he fucking misses me.”

“Do you miss him?”

Bakugou sighs. “I don’t know. We’ve never been close. I got on better with him than mum, but still.”

Aimi nods. “Did you reply?”

“Said thanks. Didn’t really feel like opening it up to a phone call or any of that shit.”

“Good. That’s good. So you’re still not sleeping very well. How’s the anxiety?”

Bakugou pauses, thinking about that pesky voice constantly lurking in the back of his mind. “Alright, I guess. Still there but not really… controlling shit, if you get me?” He takes another sharp breath. “I have this like… this voice, in my head. I’m not hearing voices or anything but it’s all the negative thoughts I’ve ever had just repeating in my head.”

“Did you hear this voice on the day you went to the rooftop?” Aimi asks, her voice oddly serious.

Bakugou shrugs. “Kinda. It’s my own voice though. Like I said, I’m not hearing shit. I’m not crazy.”

“Hearing things wouldn’t make you ‘crazy’, but that’s not what you’re experiencing,” Aimi reassures him. “What I think you’re experiencing are called intrusive thoughts. They’re very common amongst people with mood disorders and anxiety. Have you noticed a difference in these intrusive thoughts since starting your medication?”

“It’s easier to ignore now. Sometimes.”

Aimi nods. “Okay. Now, I want to stress that it’s important not to disregard these thoughts entirely. They’re a manifestation of your mindset, and so it may help you gain an insight into how you’re actually managing your mental health and what your triggers are. Next time you have them, I ask that you consider what the situation you were in entailed, what the thoughts were, and how realistic they were. In fact, I would like you to try writing down these thoughts when you can and next to it, the reality of the situation. What was your last intrusive thought that you can recall?”

Bakugou frowns. “I uh… my friends were all talking and they went quiet when I walked in. I told myself they hated me, basically.”

“And how realistic is that? Do you truly believe they hate you?”

“I asked Kirishima. He said they were talking about my birthday.”

“Do you believe Kirishima?”

Bakugou pauses, eyes fixed on the ground at Aimi’s feet as he pictures Kirishima, all sunny smiles and pure love and care. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

 

 

Chapter 25

Notes:

accidentally went awol

soz

Even if the sky is falling down
I know that we'll be safe and sound

                                                                          - Capital Cities

 

 

Bakugou wakes after a remarkably restful and dreamless sleep to a repetitive thumping at his door. He groans quietly, the groan getting louder as the thumping persists. The intruder takes no notice of his annoyance.

“Fucking what?!” he shouts.

“Bakugou!” Kirishima’s oddly excited voice carries through the door. “Are you up yet?!”

He glances at his phone, his neck cracking as he moves, and finds ’06:57’ glaring up at him from his too-bright screen. Three minutes before his alarm was even due to go off.

“I’m not late, Shark Week!” he shouts back.

“I know! Can I come in?”

Bakugou groans again, continuing the groan as he clambers out of bed and towards the door. He unlocks it and pulls it open with the same groan, only stopping when he comes face to face with a fully dressed and wide awake Kirishima.

“That was dramatic,” Kirishima notes.

“The fuck are you doing up and ready?” Bakugou questions.

“Well, I fell asleep studying last night and woke up really early, so I thought, ‘what would Bakubro do?’ So I went for a run! Dude, I feel so alert and ready for the day!”

Bakugou huffs. “Good for you. Why do you need to bang on my door because you went for a run?”

“Because I thought you’d already be up. And also, because I wanna join you next time you go on a morning run!”

Bakugou sighs again. “If I say yes, will you promise not to wake me up by trying to knock my fucking door down?”

Kirishima grins. “Sure! Also, the guys wanna go to the mall on Sunday, so I wanted to see if you wanted to join us. I didn’t want to ask you in front of everyone because I didn’t want them to pressure you, but please think about it.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes.

“Please, Katsuki. Just think about it.”

Bakugou swallows thickly. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

 

*

 

For most people, the idea of going to a shopping mall to hang out with friends is a simple and somewhat boring idea. It requires no thought, no mental preparation, no time to think about it. But, Bakugou supposes, that’s the thing about mental illness. It doesn’t discriminate between major life decisions and minor activities. Everything, somehow, is a draining and daunting prospect.

Bakugou wishes it wasn’t.

He wishes he wasn’t sat in Midnight’s class thinking about the shopping mall instead of whatever Midnight is teaching them. He wishes the very thought of leaving the dorms didn’t make his chest tighten and his head spin.

He wishes looking for Midnight for too long didn’t trigger a sudden swirl of nausea in the pit of his stomach.

He wishes the foghorn-like siren going off in his skull, reminding him of the last time he left campus, would shut the fuck up.

Midnight poses a question to the class, forcing Bakugou to snap back into the room. She glances at him but for no more than a second before selecting Shoji to answer.

She hasn’t really looked at him for a while, now he thinks about it.

Maybe she knows. Maybe she knows he can’t stand to look at her, to be near her. He wonders if Aizawa has noticed.

That thought alone, the thought of even attempting to address his issues with Midnight, sets about a new wave of anxiety, so he shifts his thoughts back to the shopping mall.

 

Somehow, that’s less daunting.

 

*

 

His academic classes throughout the day are wholly unproductive, but today he finally gets to participate again in Heroics and the buzz of anxiety is oddly motivational as he steps out into the gym alongside his classmates. It’s a standard class today but somehow, that’s even more thrilling to Bakugou. They’re working on individual development with focus on personal quirk strengths, with Bakugou’s being offensive attacks. He’s given an area to work in a little away from everyone else, giving him some freedom to practice some new techniques without blowing anyone up accidentally. Aizawa is lurking close by and Kirishima is placed in the neighbouring section as (Bakugou assumes) a safety net but being back in his uniform is utterly indescribable. Hizashi, keeping watch above and aiding Aizawa in his assessment of everyone, finishes announcing the general expectations of the hour, and then asks everyone to begin their starting preparations. Bakugou slips his gauntlets over his arms, the heavy weaponry enveloping his forearms completely. An immediate sense of safety washes over him like a warm wave and he can’t fight off the small smile that twitches onto his face. He cracks his knuckles and looks up, spotting Aizawa nearby.

The dark-haired man nods, and Bakugou returns the gesture.

“Ready, listeners?” Hizashi calls out. “Remember, you have the whole hour to prepare these techniques! Take your time and remember to take breaks! Go!”

The room comes alive with activity, the energy absolutely buzzing. Only half the class are in this part of the gym, with the others in a separate area to give them more space, so the noise is thankfully kept at a minimum. Once he focuses on the multiple targets in front of him, including a huge thick slab of rock, he loses all sense of those around him.

 

*

 

He feels lighter than he has in a while, a world of anger and aggression and anxiety lifted off his shoulders with every explosion he fired at the targets. By the time the class is over, the targets are completely obliterated. It’s healing, relieving, and he feels almost renewed when he heads back into the changing rooms to remove his gear. The sense of safety and security dwindles ever so slightly when he removes the gauntlets, but the buzz of energy is enough to push that to the back of his mind.

“Hey, were they some new moves I saw out there?” Kirishima asks playfully as he appears at Bakugou’s side.

“Why were you watching me instead of focusing on your own shit?” Bakugou questions without any bite to his tone.

Kirishima shrugs. “I wanted to see what you were working on.”

“Explosions. What were you working on, apart from watching me, you fucking stalker?”

“Hey now, I’ll have you know I was working very hard on hardening myself up.”

Kaminari comes into view from around the corner, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Waheyyyy, I bet you were.”

“Not in a sexy way. In a purely heroic, manly way,” Kirishima retorts, flexing his biceps for good measure.

Bakugou clicks his teeth. “Sure, whatever you say.”

They continue changing back into their uniforms as the rest of their classmates begin to file into the room. Bakugou carefully assures his scarred thighs remain unseen as he pulls up his school trousers.

The thought of anyone seeing them, even Kirishima, makes his head spin with panic.

“Hey,” Kirishima addresses. “Have you thought any more about coming with us at the weekend? I get it if you don’t wanna come, and I don’t wanna force you at all.”

Bakugou sighs softly. He motions to say no, to refuse, to run away, and then that pesky goddamn inner voice pipes up.

You fucking wimp.

“You know what?” he says forcefully. “Sure. Fuck it.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“I can’t lock myself up here like some fucking damsel. Why the fuck not?”

“You ain’t no damsel,” Kaminari interjects, appearing from behind Kirishima. “I mean, you’re cute, but you’d be a scary ass damsel.”

“Besides, it’s just the fucking mall,” Bakugou adds.

Kirishima grins a toothy grin. “That’s my bro!”

Just a fucking mall, he repeats to himself. Just. A. Mall.

 

*

 

The mall is busy. Really, really, busy. There’s a constant buzz of voices and footsteps and shouting and general noise that makes Bakugou’s head spin. He tries to focus on Kirishima and the others, tries to ignore the high-pitched scream of a child to his right and the heavy slam of a fire door to his left.

“Come on!” Kirishima urges. “Apparently that comic book place has some new books and stuff in. You like reading, right?”

“Sure,” Bakugou says with a shrug. He hopes his voice doesn’t give away the anxiety building rapidly within him.

Kirishima smiles and turns on his heel. The entire group are up ahead of him, joining the crowds of shoppers milling about.

Bakugou doesn’t intend to slow down. He doesn’t know why he’s slowing down.

His legs seem to fail him as he watches his friends gradually disappear from sight, swallowed by the crowds. He can’t hear them anymore, can’t see them anymore.

The screaming child gets louder and louder.

Is it fucking following me?

He keeps walking but the crowd seems to be drifting away from him, carrying his friends away like a goddamn wave. He keeps moving, his chest heaving as the panic threatens to take over.

“Kirishima?” he calls out, his voice softer than he ever wants it to be.

Nobody responds. Nobody even hears him over the sound of that goddamn screaming.

“Fucking hell,” he growls. “Can someone shut that fucking kid up?!”

He turns to his right, ready to confront the parent of the demonic-sounding screeching child.

There is no child.

All-Might stands in the open courtyard of the mall, bloodied mouth gaping open and wide eyes fixed directly on him.

And emitting from that grotesque, disjointed mouth, is that awful goddamn child-like sound.

Before Bakugou can stop it, he too begins to scream.

 

He sits bolt upright, a strangled gasp escaping his throat. His thin bedsheets wrap suffocatingly around him and he scrambles to escape. The more he tries to fight it, the more it seems to wrap. His frazzled brain can’t distinguish up from down or left to right and he can’t fucking breathe-

 

He falls from his bed, his head catching against his bedside table with an almighty crack for good measure as he goes down. He hits the floor just as heavily and the bedsheets fall away from him with ease.

He remains where he fell, his chest heaving and tears brimming at the edges. His limbs feel free, less constrained, but his chest is still so goddamn tight.

The anxiety meds. You fucking idiot, take your meds.

They’re in his drawer. Right in the drawer he just fell into. They’re right there, but just reaching for them seems absolutely impossible right now.

He hears a creak to his left and a beam of light suddenly illuminates his darkened room and temporarily blinds him to everything but the bedsheets at his side.

“Katsuki? Oh fuck.”

Bakugou looks up and sees bright red, a beacon of light amongst the darkness of his current existence.

“Are you having a panic attack? You’re having a panic attack. Okay. I can do this. Just… just tell me something you can hear. Three things you can hear.”

Bakugou doesn’t respond, his rasping breaths too loud to focus on anything else.

“Katsuki. Okay. Three things you can feel.”

That. That he can do. Shaking hands grasp at his sides. “Floor. Bedding.” He grasps for a third. Can’t find a third. Can’t will his arms to move any further for anything else.

“Okay. Okay, two is fine. What can you see? Tell me three things you can see.”

Bakugou blinks. “My wall. My desk.” His eyes flicker to his left, where a usually bright and happy face is looking down at him with deep-set fear. “You.”

Kirishima’s lips curl into a small, tight smile. “Three things you can hear.”

Bakugou inhales and exhales sharply. “There’s… there’s a clock ticking. I-I don’t know where.”

“That’s okay. Three things you can hear.”

“A clock.” He pauses. “A bird. You.”

Kirishima nods and slowly sits down beside Bakugou, having apparently been squatting this whole time.

“Can I look at your head?” Kirishima asks gently.

“My head? Why?”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay. Can you look to your left?”

Bakugou huffs but does as asked. When he looks back, Kirishima smiles.

“That’s all I needed.”

A shadow casts darkness on the light coming from the corridor as a figure fills the doorway.

“What’s going on?” Shoji asks tiredly.

“Can you call Aizawa please? Otherwise we’re all good here, bro!” Kirishima says with a grin.

Bakugou’s eyes are adjusting to the contrasting light in the room now. He starts to get up and, to his relief, Kirishima doesn’t stop him. He walks over to the doorway to turn on the light, coming closer to Shoji. There's a sway in his step that nobody comments on.

The taller boy frowns deeply but keeps quiet. After a pause, he nods and disappears back to his room.

“I think you should sit down,” Kirishima suggests.

“Why?” Bakugou questions.

“You’ve just had a pretty hardcore panic attack, so just come and sit down and we’ll just chill for a bit.”

Bakugou, again, huffs, but finds himself doing as Kirishima requests anyway. They sit down on the bed together, Kirishima on his right, and they fall blissfully silent.

 

*

 

Aizawa arrives just five minutes later, but in Bakugou’s confused and sleep-addled mind it feels like a lifetime. Kirishima never moves, never even shifts, from his side, a constant source of stability. The intense and suffocating panic doesn’t return but his hands are still shaking and there’s a dull ache in his skull.

“Bakugou?” Aizawa’s voice calls out softly. His thin frame seems oddly foreboding and Bakugou feels anxiety beginning to rise again. “How are you doing, Katsuki?”

The use of his first name is startling, enough to pull him out of his own head for just a second.

“What?” Bakugou questions.

Aizawa approaches cautiously. “Shoji said you might need to see me. Are you cool with me coming closer?”

Bakugou frowns. “Sure.”

“He hit his head,” Kirishima fills in. “I think he fell out of bed. He was… he was confused. Out of it. I don’t know how bad it is.”

Aizawa squats down beside the boys and takes a quick look at Bakugou’s head. There’s a small cut to his forehead, just above his brow, and it’s bleeding sluggishly.

“Head injuries tend to bleed a lot,” Aizawa explains. “That doesn’t necessarily indicate how severe it is.”

He pulls out his keys, finding a small torch amongst the various keys and keychains. Including one, Bakugou notices, featuring a photograph of a young Aizawa with a white-haired boy.

“I’m going to shine this into your eyes,” Aizawa states. “It’ll be uncomfortable, but it’s important and it’ll only be a moment.”

“Whatever,” Bakugou answers.

He’s feeling more like himself with every second that passes.

Aizawa uses his left hand to lift Bakugou’s head gently, and then uses that same hand to prop open his left eyelid. The right hand comes up and shines a small but bright light into said eye. He repeats this with Bakugou’s right, before switching the torch off and letting go of Bakugou’s face.

“Pupils are responding normally,” Aizawa says. “Did you lose consciousness at any point?”

“I don’t think so,” Bakugou answers, a little more softly than intended. “It was… it was all a bit… chaotic.”

Aizawa nods. “Understandable. Recovery Girl should be able to help with the wound-”

“No!” Bakugou snaps. “No. I’ve bothered her enough with my bullshit.”

“Katsuki, it’s her job to deal with your bullshit. And mine. And everyone else’s here. You don’t bother her by going for necessary medical help.”

“I said no.”

Aizawa takes a breath, and it triggers another guilt response deep within Bakugou.

You’re being difficult. Stop being so fucking difficult.

“Okay,” Aizawa agrees. “Then I’ll treat it myself. Kirishima, can you please go and get the first aid kit from the communal area?”

Kirishima nods and moves to stand. Without thought, Bakugou wraps his hand around Kirishima’s forearm and holds him in place. He immediately lets go and curls in on himself with shame, but Kirishima plants himself firmly back down.

“Okay,” Aizawa says quietly. “I’ll get it.”

He leaves the boys alone and Bakugou waits until the footsteps have quietened before speaking up.

“Sorry,” he says.

Kirishima glances at him. “What for?”

“For all of this. For the stupid nightmare. For the stupid head injury. For… for not letting you go. You can go. If you want.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Kirishima says firmly. “As long as you want and need me here, I’m here.”

 

 

Aizawa returns shortly after, first aid kit in hand, and carefully tends to the minor wound on Bakugou’s head. When he finishes, the blood is relatively cleaned up, and the paper stitches applied are hidden with a small dressing.

“All done,” Aizawa announces. “Katsuki, is there anything I can do for you right now? Anything further?”

Bakugou shakes his head. “Sorry.”

“No apologies needed, Katsuki,” Aizawa retorts. “I told you. I’m here for you. You too, Kirishima.” He smiles at both of them before rising to his feet. “You both need some sleep. If you turn up to class late tomorrow, I’ll understand.”

He leaves them alone, closing the door behind him. The boys don’t move for a while, nor do they speak. Bakugou is exhausted and he can’t imagine Kirishima feels much better. The silence remains until Kirishima attempts to stifle a yawn.

“You can go, you know,” Bakugou says. “To bed.”

“And you? What will you do?”

Bakugou shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You need to sleep too.”

“I uh… I don’t think I can.”

Kirishima smiles softly. “What if I stay with you?”

He collects the blankets from the floor and then gets onto the bed. After a pause, he pats the space beside him. Bakugou joins suit and, with Kirishima’s guidance, lies down.

There’s a small gap between them as they both look up at the ceiling.

“This feels weird,” Bakugou comments.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No.”

Kirishima pulls the blanket over them both, the gesture serving to ground Bakugou even further.

“I don’t think I can go to the mall tomorrow,” Bakugou says quietly.

Kirishima nods. “That’s okay. You’ll get there. You have all the time in the world.”

“Do I?”

“Yep. You do. All the goddamn time. I swear.”

 

Chapter 26

Can somebody help me out?
I can't find my feet
I'm sinking in the deep

                                                                    - Vancouver Sleep Clinic

 

The night terror had a bigger impact on Bakugou than he anticipated. He’d woken the next morning, Kirishima snoozing quietly by his side, feeling drained and numb. Two days on, the feeling hasn’t dissipated. It’s a strange sort of blankness that’s coloured his view of the world in a dull, lifeless grey. He attends classes, studies with Kirishima, hangs out with the others, takes his medication.

It's all on autopilot, yet again.

He finds himself in front of Aimi again, earlier than intended, because of that same damn night terror. Her pleasant face gives nothing away, her thoughts on his progress impossible to read.

“What triggered it?” she asks.

Bakugou shrugs. “Kirishima invited me to the mall.”

Aimi nods, taking notes in her book. “Okay. And what do you remember upon waking up?”

Bakugou swallows, expecting a burst of anxiety. Nothing comes. “I couldn’t move properly. I think I was caught in my bedding. I remember hearing Kirishima talking to me but everything is a blur until he started getting me to count things.”

Aimi nods again. “And the head injury was a result of falling out of bed, yes?”

“It wasn’t intentional if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Not at all. I just want to get a clear picture of what happened.”

Bakugou huffs. “The same thing that always happens. Shit starts to get better and then a stupid dream derails me.”

Aimi puts the pen down and rests her hands on the notepad. “Katsuki, this isn’t your progress becoming derailed. Recovery isn’t linear. It’s not a straight line from initial trauma to recovery. There’s moments that knock you off course, force you to change direction. There’s pauses, breaks, hills and cliffs. There’s people that will block your path, yourself included in that. This is a difficult road you’re going down, but it’s a necessary one.”

“Fucking long one.”

Aimi smiles softly. “Katsuki, your trauma is a part of you. Nothing will change that, unfortunately. However, it’s up to you whether you let it destroy you or allow yourself to grow from it. It’s a part of you, but it shouldn’t define you.”

Katsuki lets out a small laugh. “Kirishima said something similar.”

“Kirishima sounds like a wise person.”

“Not sure I’d say wise.” Bakugou gazes off through the window in thought. “He’s definitely something.”

 

*

 

He expects ‘feelings’ to return after talking to Aimi. They don’t. He wakes the next day, and the next, with the same empty hollow sensation in his chest and the same dim tone of the world.

Nobody mentions the fact that neither he nor Kirishima went to the mall, and he doesn’t bother asking Kirishima why he chose to stay behind. He already knows Kirishima would give some emotion-driven, deep answer about how Bakugou is more important to him than some stupid mall.

Bakugou disagrees, but he knows that will also fall on deaf ears.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Ashido’s voice pulls him from his own head.

He blinks, finding the others focused on their homework as they sit around the dining table of the dorm. Ashido tilts her head and smiles softly, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Nothing,” he answers.

“You can talk to me, you know,” Ashido comments.

Bakugou glances at Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero with a frown.

“They’re not paying any attention,” Ashido says, her voice a little more hushed now. “I swear.”

“It’s nothing,” Bakugou reiterates.

Ashido nods. “Okay. But like I said, you can still talk to me. Even about nothing.”

She starts to scribble some answers down in her mathematics homework, softly humming a rhythm Bakugou doesn’t recognise.

“Do you…” He exhales sharply. Ashido doesn’t look up from her homework. “Do you ever feel like you’re losing your fucking mind?”

Still staring down at her work, she smiles. “All the time.”

Bakugou nods. “Fucking sucks.”

“Yep. Really fucking sucks.”

“Whoa, is Ashido swearing?!” Kaminari exclaims, finally lifting his head. “What did I miss?!”

“Something so profound, your tiny little brain couldn’t comprehend it,” Ashido retorts with a sweet smile.

“So rude.” Kaminari pouts.

Ashido leans across the table to pat his forearm comfortingly. “I’m only joking, my favourite little Pikachu. You’re a deeply profound person with a big beefy brain.”

Bakugou watches Ashido curiously for a moment before diverting his attention to his own work.

 

*

 

He's been running in the mornings again. A simple physical routine that keeps his mind and body occupied during the quiet and still moments where those nasty little lingering thoughts may seem particularly loud. The air is crisp each morning, a sharp alarm that wakes him up more abruptly than any coffee ever could. The nightmares that linger in his mind each day try to catch up with him, but each day he runs faster and faster until they're a distant memory. 

He skids to a halt outside the doors of the dorm, his legs shaky and chest tight. His calves scream out their protest to the brutality he subjected them to as he drags them back inside, as they do every morning. 

To his surprise, however, he's not alone this morning. Ashido is sat on the sofa, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped protectively around them. She’s resting her chin on her knees and staring forward, brows furrowed in deep thought. There's one lamp on, the rest of the room cast in the early morning glow of the sunrise. 

“Ashido?” he questions.

She jumps, her grip on her own legs not wavering, but relaxes upon seeing Bakugou. “You scared me.”

“What- what are you doing up?” he asks. He stays by the door, his legs begging him to sit down.

Ashido shrugs. “Bad dream. I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“That sucks,” Bakugou states.

Ashido nods. “Yep.”

Bakugou swallows thickly. He eyes up the lift, considers just walking straight back to his room, but a voice in his mind tells him no. He waits in awkward silence for another few seconds before Ashido speaks again.

“Bakugou?” she calls out.

“Yeah?”

“I know… I know you don’t like touching. But can you… can I sit with you? Just for a little bit?”

Bakugou answers by approaching the sofa. He sits down, leaving a slight space between them, and stares forward at the TV. The screen is black, allowing a mirror image of himself and Ashido to be cast across the glass. They both look impossibly small. He feels impossibly small.

He glances down at Ashido and wonders if she feels small too.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asks.

“Sure.” He looks back at their reflection.

“Do you have nightmares?”

Bakugou clears his throat. “Every night.”

Ashido sniffles. “Me too. I dreamed that we got attacked. I watched everyone die and I couldn’t do anything about it.” Bakugou stiffens up beside her and Ashido glances down and frowns. “Sorry.”

“No. Don’t be. It’s just… shit.”

“Yeah. It is.” She swallows, tears welling up at the edge of her eyes. “Sometimes I think we’re too young to be doing this.”

Bakugou can’t help but laugh. “Damn right we are.”

“Do you ever wonder what you’re doing here?” Ashido asks. “Why you’re putting yourself through this, just to go through an entire career of it?”

Bakugou exhales softly. “All the time.”

"Is that why you run?" Ashido asks. "Because you have nightmares?"

"Sometimes. Mostly for fitness," Bakugou answers, before sighing softly. "Sometimes though..."

He trails off, swallowing thickly. Ashido watches him curiously.

"It's okay," she whispers.

"Sometimes I think I'm trying to outrun the monsters I see every night."

Ashido looks down at her hands as she picks at her nails. "Do you think you'll ever outrun them?"

"I hope so."

"Me too."

Ashido forces a smile, the movement of the muscles causing a tear to drop down her cheek. Bakugou watches it fall and turns to look back at the reflection again. Slowly, Ashido leans her head towards Bakugou until she’s resting against his shoulder. Somehow, in their mirror image, they look even smaller now.

 

 

Notes:

just a short lil one with a bit of bonding

Chapter 27

Notes:

tw for brief suicidal ideology mention

CHAPTER 27

 

A question that sometimes drives me hazy

Am I, or the others, crazy?

                                                                   - Albert Einstein 

 

Bakugou’s morning routine is plagued by the desperate need to protect Ashido from the things that keep her awake at night. He left her on the sofa on her own request, left her behind with the memory of bodies and blood still haunting her, and the guilt has been eating away at him since. His shower feels more scalding than usual, a suitable punishment he thinks. His coffee is bland and tasteless, and the building is too quiet for comfort.

But when Ashido emerges, at 8am ready to walk to homeroom, she’s bright and happy and laughing with Uraraka. Bakugou frowns deeply as he watches her walk from the lift to the kitchen, her smile large and inviting. He remains seated at the dining table, hand clutched around the rapidly cooling coffee cup, and watches her.

“I’m telling you, you’ll love it,” Uraraka says as she pours water into her cup. “It’s so funny.”

“I’ll give it a watch,” Ashido agrees. “Can I borrow the DVD sometime?”

“Sure!” Uraraka spots Midoriya exiting the lift with Todoroki and waves. “I’ll catch you later, Mina.”

“Bye!” Ashido heads over to the table and greets Bakugou with a cheery ‘hi’.

“Are you good?” Bakugou asks.

Ashido tilts her head to the side. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Bakugou’s brows furrow and he glances around the room, noting the other students milling around as they prepare for the day. “You didn’t seem good earlier.”

Ashido shrugs. “One of those things. You can’t dwell on it all day, otherwise you’ll never get anywhere.”

“But…” Bakugou exhales. “Are you sure?”

“Bakugou, I promise, I’m all good.” She shrugs again. “Act as if you already have it, right? That’s what they say.”

Bakugou nods slowly and glances down at his coffee.

“Bakugou?” Ashido addresses. She waits until Bakugou looks back up. “Are you okay?”

Run away.

His mind flickers to the little tub of pills in his bag. To the dirty little secret he’s been keeping from everyone but Kirishima. He thinks back to the rooftop, to the mall, to all the faded self-inflicted scarring across his body.

With a soft exhale, he reaches into his bag. He peers around first, ensuring nobody else is looking in their direction, and pulls out the pills. He keeps his hand wrapped around the tub as he slides it across the table to Ashido. It takes him a second to release his hold on it. With a frown, she takes it from him and looks at the label.

“What are these?” she asks quietly.

“Antidepressants,” Bakugou answers just as quietly. “For PTSD.”

Ashido nods. She slides them back over to him just as discreetly as he handed them to her and smiles.

“There’s no shame in them, you know?” she says.

Bakugou shrugs. “I know.”

“Do you, though?”

 

*

 

He expects to be riddled with shame and embarrassment and anxiety after opening up just a little to Ashido. That niggling little voice in his mind tells him she’ll tell everyone, and they’ll gather together to laugh at how weak he is.

But that doesn’t happen.

He doesn’t feel shame, or embarrassment.

Nobody looks at him with pity or mockery. Even Ashido doesn’t treat him any differently.

They go through classes like normal, through breaks like normal, and the day passes like any other day.

By the final bell, it’s like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Only a small, minor weight, but enough to notice.

And Kirishima must notice it too, because he gravitates towards Bakugou with a positive energy that has been severely lacking recently.

 

After classes are over, the group gathers together in Kirishima’s room to do homework. It’s a system that’s been working for them recently, especially with Bakugou’s guidance, and Bakugou is remarkably comfortable simply sitting on Kirishima’s floor and silently working whilst the others chat and laugh as they scribble their answers. They’re partway through their English assignment when Kirishima’s phone buzzes. He drops his pen to pick it up and check it, a smile spreading on his face as he reads the message.

“Who’s got you smiling?” Ashido asks with a wink.

Kirishima rolls his eyes. “It’s my mum. She likes to send me jokes she’s heard to see if I’ll find them funny. They’re usually not very funny but stupid enough to get a laugh.”

“Those are the best jokes,” Sero responds.

“I’ve got one,” Kaminari says. “Why don’t you see pigs in trees?”

“Why?” Kirishima asks.

Kaminari stifles a laugh. “Because they can’t climb trees.”

There’s a momentary pause before everyone but Bakugou begin to chuckle, paired with some eye rolls.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Bakugou mutters.

“I know a good joke about an umbrella,” Sero says. “But it usually goes over people’s heads.”

Kirishima groans, and Bakugou debates slamming his head into the wall to escape the torment. Kaminari gets out his phone and begins rapidly typing away.

“I’m gonna find some more,” he states. “This is fun.”

“No. Stop,” Bakugou argues. “Stop getting distracted and do your damn work. You can rot your brain with stupid fucking jokes when you’re finished.”
Kaminari huffs and puts the phone back in his pocket. “Fine. But just know, I’m going to blow up your phone with these jokes from now on.”

“Do it. See what happens.”

 

They get back to work quickly, the jokes forgotten and the distraction over, and there’s a productive calmness within the room. Within an hour, everyone has finished the assignment. They all take a moment to sit on their phones in silence, Bakugou using it to check over his own answers rather than touch his phone, but a buzz from it ruins this plan. It’s not a text like Kirishima’s sudden glance must expect, but an alarm.

Medication.

Bakugou’s heart jolts. He can almost hear the anxiety medication rattling in his bag to his left, calling out to him, calling out to everyone. He stops the alarm and stares down at the work for a little longer. Kirishima is still watching him, concern evident on his face now, and Bakugou tries to ignore it.

The rattling continues, triggering a pounding in his chest and his head. His body is heating up, tell-tale signs of the exact anxiety those damn pills aim to manage, and yet the thought of pulling them out of his bag in front of everyone makes him want to flush them all. Or take them all, he’s not sure.

“Bakugou?” Kirishima questions.

“What?” Bakugou asks tightly, through gritted teeth.

“Are you okay?” Kirishima’s voice is lowered, but in a room this size there’s no real way to have a private conversation with others in the vicinity. Even so, nobody else looks up from their phone.

“Fine,” Bakugou answers. His teeth feel odd. He bites down on the end of his tongue instead of gritting them.

“Just take them,” Kirishima whispers.

Bakugou takes a deep breath and clenches his fists. “I’m on meds,” he announces. “For PTSD.”

Sero and Kaminari’s heads snap up from their phones, but nobody speaks. They watch him with remarkably unreadable expressions, while Ashido tilts her head slightly.

“I’m on antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds and I have been for over a month now, and it’s kind of working but it’s shit, and it’s embarrassing, and I have to take them right now and it’s not a cure so I still have to deal with this shit and it’s so fucking stupid.”

“Shit, man,” Sero breathes out. “That sucks.”

Bakugou swallows the thick lump that’s building in his throat. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no,” Sero interjects. “No, you should. You shouldn’t hide stuff like that. It just sucks. You’re only sixteen and life has already knocked you about enough to cause PTSD.”

“It’s cool,” Kaminari responds. “I go to therapy and I haven’t been through half of what you have. Being medicated and having problems doesn’t make you any less terrifying.”

“Good,” Bakugou retorts, with little bite.

Silence befalls them again, the pounding in Bakugou’s chest the only thing he’s truly hearing now, until Ashido stretches and sighs loudly.

“We worked hard then,” she says. “I think we should watch a film to reward ourselves.”

“Good idea. I’m feeling comedy,” Sero states.

Kirishima grins and shuffles over to his shelf. “Let me see what I have.”

Ashido catches Bakugou’s eye and nods lightly towards his bag. When he follows her gaze and looks back to her, she nods again.

“It’s okay,” she mouths.

Bakugou nods back. Despite himself, he waits until everyone is looking towards Kirishima’s shelf before he quietly pulls his bag over. The pills, by some miracle, make little noise as he shakes one out. He dry swallows it and has it all back against the wall before they’ve picked a film.

The pill definitely hasn’t kicked in yet, and won’t for another twenty minutes or so, but there’s a lightness in his shoulders he isn’t used to. He chooses not to dwell on the fact that a group of fifteen and sixteen year olds are all on medication or attending therapy already.

 

*

 

“I told my friends. About the diagnosis.”

“And?”

“Nothing. They just… I don’t know. It was like telling them I had a cold.”

Aimi smiles. “Good. Mental health is just as important as physical health, and mental illness is just as common. I’m glad you feel you can be more open about it now. It’s a good step towards recovery. How do you feel now you’ve told more people?”

Bakugou sighs softly. “Good. I think. Lighter. I uh… I think I wanna talk to my parents about it now.”

Aimi lets her calm façade slip for just a moment, with her eyes widening for a split second in surprise. “Okay. Tell me more.”

“They have a lot to answer for. Especially my mum. I think I’m nearly ready to face them about it. Not yet, but nearly.”

Aimi smiles. Her eyes wrinkle at the sides, and Bakugou frowns a little at the genuineness of the expression.

“Good,” she responds. “That’s good. And when you’re ready, I’ll be here to help you through it. And so will your friends.” She taps her pen against her notepad for a few seconds. “It probably isn’t very professional to say this, but I’m proud of you, Katsuki. You’ve already come a long way.”

Bakugou nods, tightening his body in embarrassment. Despite it, the little voice in his head pipes up.

I think I’m proud of me too.

 

Notes:

mental illness is a big ol' bitch so i thought i'd be a bit kinder to bakugou in this not so grand return

Chapter 28

I wanna heal, I wanna feel

Like I'm close to something real

I wanna find something I've wanted all along

Somewhere I belong

                                       - Linkin Park

 

“Oh come on! Why isn’t my guy doing anything?”

“Because you suck.”

“No way. I’m awesome. My controller isn’t working.”

“You can’t keep blaming the Xbox for your poor gaming skills.”

“Look! Look! He isn’t kicking! This is the kick button!”

“No. No it’s not.”

Kaminari and Sero have been arguing throughout the entire gaming session, commencing the moment Sero began to beat Kaminari. Bakugou has his mathematics notebook in front of him, idly reading through his notes as he sits on Kaminari’s bed between Ashido and Kirishima. Kirishima is studying also, frantically scribbling answers down on the homework due in yesterday. By some miracle, Ectoplasm was feeling generous and gave him an extra day to hand it in. Ashido is absent-mindedly scrolling through her phone, paying no attention to the playful shouting taking place on the floor in front of them. Every so often, she nudges Bakugou to show him a meme. They never provoke a laugh, but the soft grunt that emits from him tells her he’s finding it at least somewhat amusing. And that’s enough for her.

It's been eleven months since All-Might died. Bakugou is more open about taking his medication in front of the others, with it becoming a background event occurring during study sessions or socialising. He still avoids prolonged contact with the rest of the class, but it’s no different than before Kamino.

Ashido lowers her phone and glances over at Bakugou for a moment. He has his back resting against the wall and one leg pulled up, on which his notebook is resting. He looks relaxed, more relaxed than he ever used to, as he flicks through his notes and highlights the occasional equation or comment. The slight frown in his brow is still there, as it always is, but there’s a calmness about him that’s been severely lacking recently.

Ashido smiles.

“What?”

Bakugou’s voice startles her out of her thoughts. “Huh?”

Bakugou looks up from his work and stares at her, red eyes intense. “The fuck you staring for?”

Ashido’s cheeks redden as picks her phone back up. “Sorry. Nothing.”

Bakugou scrutinises her with his hardened glare for another moment before returning his attention back to his work. Ashido lets out a soft exhale and goes back to her phone.

Sero and Kaminari go back to quietly playing their game as Kirishima finally finishes his work.

“Bakugou?” Kirishima asks. “Can you check over this for me?”

There isn’t even a hesitation. Bakugou drops his work and grabs Kirishima’s homework from him, placing it upon his lap to read through.

The evening, in all, is pleasant. Things in general are pleasant. He spends his evenings with his little friendship group, studying and hanging out. He’s more focused in classes. He’s sleeping better, eating better, functioning better. His grades have climbed back up to where they should be, and his physical performances in hero class are what everyone has come to expect from him again. Things are better.

For now.

The voices, those nasty little intrusive thoughts, are easier to ignore, but they are very much still there. Aimi had told him to not disregard them completely, but he knows how irrational the paranoid, anxious thoughts are. What other choice does he have but disregard them?

Things are better. Not great, not healed, but better.

The voice may tell him for now, but he can ignore that. It’s wrong. Things are fucking better.

 

*

 

He wakes in a cold sweat, a distant screaming the only memory his mind clings onto as he’s pulled from his dream by his own pounding heart. There’s music playing quietly to his right, from a pair of headphones he doesn’t remember putting on. His study materials are still on the desk where he dumped them when they finished hanging out that night and his phone is on the bed beside him. It’s barely two in the morning, he’s dismayed to find, and tiredness stings his eyes. He lies back down, staring up at the ceiling. It’s been a while since a dream woke him up like this. He holds onto the fact that he can’t remember the dream, ignoring the knowledge that he knows damn well what the dream was about.

The first anniversary is approaching fast, too fast. He anticipates worse dreams. Anticipates flashbacks. He anticipates.

 

*

 

“So?” Aimi begins, tapping a pen against the notebook on her lap. Her expression is soft, approachable. As always. “How are you doing?”

Bakugou nods. “Good. Better.”

“You look more restful. How are you sleeping?”

“Better. Still have nightmares. I don’t remember them all as much now. I can usually go back to sleep after them if they wake me up.”

Aimi nods, takes some notes, and smiles. “Good! I understand you are back to a healthy weight again, which is good to hear. How are things with your friends?”

Bakugou shrugs. “The same. Don’t really need to talk to them about it but I don’t have to hide the meds now.”

Aimi nods again. “You’ve mentioned before about being distrustful of certain teachers, but you’ve neglected to tell me which this whole time. I’m still not expecting you to tell me, but how is that going?”

“I still don’t trust them,” Bakugou admits. “But I can look at her- them without… y’know.”

Aimi nods for a third time. The smile never wavers. “Good to hear. That’s good progress.” She clears her throat, gazing down at her notes, before meeting his eyes.

“Now. We’ve discussed your parents on occasion.”

“About that,” Bakugou says. “I uh… I think I want to speak to them. About everything.”

Aimi tilts her head a little. “Okay?”

“I’m gonna speak to Aizawa this week about setting up a meeting. I haven’t been home since we moved into the dorms, and they haven’t called. Got the odd text from my dad here and there but that’s it.”

“Is that normal for your relationship with them?”

“I guess. Didn’t really see it until moving out of the house but sure. They’ve never been wholly affectionate. Don’t think they really give a shit that I don’t visit.”

Aimi takes more notes. He wishes he could read them.

“If you’re ready,” Aimi continues. “Then I am supportive of a meeting with them. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it. There are ways of ensuring you never have to go back. In fact, I’m sure Aizawa would be more than willing to help you with that.”

“I know.”

“Whatever the outcome of your meeting with them, there are options for you. Remember that.”

Bakugou nods. “Sure.”

 

The session dwindles a little after that. Bakugou feels exhausted, physically and mentally, and Aimi must see that. She lets him sit in silence, continues her paperwork, and he simply exists for a while. The room is peaceful. More peaceful than the dorms can ever hope to be. So for the final fifteen minutes of the session, they simply exist.

 

*

 

Aizawa scrutinizes him as he sits in the teacher’s lounge, a black coffee in hand. Bakugou sits opposite on the sofa, hands nervously wringing. His leg bounces for a moment before he places a hand on his knee to still it. Aizawa’s eyes scan down to said leg before looking back up at his face.

“Are you sure?”

Bakugou suddenly isn’t. “Yes.”

Aizawa nods. “In that case, we will hold the meeting here. I want it to be somewhere safe for you. Is that okay?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

“No, I need you to be certain. If you are uncomfortable with any of this, we won’t go ahead.”

Bakugou scoffs. “I’m uncomfortable with all of it. But I need to do it. I want to do it. I’m ready.”

“Okay,” Aizawa agrees. “I will contact your parents and set up a meeting for tomorrow. Okay?”

“Sure.”

Bakugou stands, itching to leave.

“Bakugou.” Aizawa’s voice is oddly emotive, but Bakugou can’t pinpoint what emotion it is portraying. “Please. In the unlikely event they don’t show up, please don’t let it drag you back down. I know that’s easier said than done, but you’ve made a hell of a lot of progress here. I don’t want them ruining that.”

“I ain’t making any promises, teach,” Bakugou retorts. He falters, noting Aizawa’s genuine concern. “Sure. I’ll try.”

Aizawa nods. “That’s all I ask.”

Bakugou nods back. And as he walks back to the dorms, he takes a deep inhale and drops Kirishima a text to gather the others in his room as he has some shit to tell them.

Aimi would be proud.

 

When he gets back to the dorms, he ignores absolutely everyone who is gathered on the sofas in favour of rushing to the lift, eager to get this over and done with. The anxiety, kept well at bay by his medication, is rearing to the front now. The lift seems to take forever and by the time he’s reached his floor, he’s almost hyperventilating. He can hear Kaminari’s voice as the doors open, Kirishima’s door left ajar for him. He debates cancelling it and hiding away in his room, but that voice doesn’t allow him.

Don’t be a damn coward.

With another breath, he pushes Kirishima’s door open. The group startle and look up. Each one smiles in greeting, but Kirishima simply stares with evident worry.

“I’m gonna make this quick, cos the thought of it makes me wanna throw up every fucking thing I’ve eaten today,” Bakugou begins bluntly. He sits himself down on the floor. He doesn’t ask everyone, but they all join him on the floor anyway. “My parents are coming to the school tomorrow for a meeting. So I can tell them everything that’s been going on. Including- Including the roof thing.”

“Shit, man,” Sero breathes.

“You want us to come?” Kaminari offers. “Let us come. I’ll tase a bitch if anyone fucks with you.”

Bakugou frowns.

He’s clearly been spending too much time with you.

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter,” Bakugou snaps. “I can do it on my own. Well, I would, but Aizawa insists that he has to be there for legal reasons.”

“Is that in case you snap and kill your parents?” Sero asks. “Because, I’d get it.”

Bakugou huffs. “Or she snaps. You haven’t met my mother. She doesn’t need an explosion quirk to finish someone off.”

“Neither do you,” Ashido points out.

“Regardless. That’s what’s going on. Alright? Now, before you ask, I don’t wanna watch a fucking film. I’m going to bed.”

Kirishima’s jaw works as he comprehends everything. “Bakugou? Do you want us to wait for you? Hang out until the meeting is done?”

Bakugou raises an eyebrow. “Don’t be a fucking idiot, Shitty Hair. It might take forever and you’ve got better things to do.”

Ashido nods. “Okay. If you’re sure. Is there anything else we can do? I can send you memes. I found a compilation of vines I think you’ll find funny.”

“You’re gonna send me them anyway so I don’t know why you’re asking. Right. Any questions? No? Good.”

He stands, ignoring the fact that everyone is still gaping at him in confusion and worry, and walks out.

 

An hour later, he hears everyone leave. Shortly after, Kirishima’s music comes on.

 

That night, Bakugou finds sleep hard to come by again. He stares up at the ceiling, listens to the distant sound of music from Kirishima’s room. Listens as the music switches off. Watches as the hours tick tick tick by.

By 3am, he caves and pulls out the ceiling lamp Ashido had given him. Once switched on, he lies back and watches the swirling patterns dance slowly, calmly, across the tiled sky. And slowly, he drifts.

 

*

 

He wakes with a start, dreams of broken jaws and pools of blood and his mother haunting the back of his mind. His mouth is dry and his chest is tight, but the light is still on. He remains lay on his back, watching the light until the pounding in his chest lessens and the dream fades even further away.

Of all the nightmares he’s had, it wasn’t the worst.

What sticks with him most, however, is her. He hasn’t seen her since he left the house with his suitcase of minimal belongings. Since he moved into the dorms. Hasn’t heard her voice since she drove him to the brink of existence. Hasn’t had any contact with her since he updated her on his improved grades. He got a simple ‘good’ back and nothing else. The voice in his head reprimands him for not thinking of his father, but he doesn’t really care. His father has always been the more caring parent, but only in the most simple, basic way possible. His birthday messages and compliments on his accomplishments read more as formalities than genuine emotion. But, it’s still more than his mother can force out.

The thought of seeing her makes his chest tighten all over again. So much so that even the pretty colours above can’t help. He turns it off and opens his blinds, wincing a little at the sudden daylight that fills the room. It’s 7am and he can hear movement in the hallway. He waits for the movement to stop before beginning his morning routine.

 

*

 

He spends the day wishing for more time before he has to go to the teacher’s lounge. He wishes he had heroics class to expel some anxious energy. Wishes the school went on lockdown. Wishes he didn’t agree to it.

You did this to yourself.

He knows. And he also knows he has to do it eventually. It doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Before long, the final bell rings and he knows the moment has arrived. He wishes for more hours in the day as he stands from his seat and heads out of the door.

“Good luck, Katsuki,” Kirishima says softly as he too leaves the class.

“Whatever, Eijirou,” Bakugou replies.

He doesn’t look back. If he looks back, he knows he’ll leave. He focuses his attention on the path ahead as he goes up the stairs and down the corridor towards the teacher’s lounge.

They won’t be there. Why would they? They don’t care.

He’s not sure what to expect. Not sure what he wants to happen.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is to open the door to find them already there.

Aizawa is stood near the door when he comes in, body tense and jaw clenched. His mother and father are sat on the sofa, adjacent to the door, looking just as tense.

“Katsuki,” Mitsuki greets, curtly.

“Mum,” Bakugou replies.

Aizawa clears his throat. “Come in, Bakugou. Take a seat.”

Bakugou does as he’s told. Once seated, he expects something to happen, but nothing does. It remains silent. Uncomfortably so. Mitsuki isn’t looking at him. Instead, she’s staring down at the thin carpet. More precisely, at a stain on the material. Bakugou wonders if that’s how she views him. A stain upon her immaculate record.

His father disturbs the silence with a slap against his jean-clad thighs. It makes Bakugou flinch.

“Right,” he states. “Mitsuki, would you like to start?”

Aizawa sits down on the armchair between Bakugou’s chair and the sofa.

Mitsuki looks away from the stain and at her son, her expression blank as her eyes bore into him. He wants nothing more than to hide. To let the ground swallow him up and be done with this. But he’s worked too damn hard to get to this point and he can’t walk away now. Not when he’s got both creators in a room with him.

In a safe room, no less.

Mitsuki swallows thickly. “I was never meant to be a mother.” Her voice is sharp, as it always is, but there’s a shake to it Bakugou has never heard before. “It was never part of my plan. I never played with dolls as a child. I never dreamed about the big white wedding or the picket fences or the nice house with a bassinet in the corner. I wanted a career and I wanted to be selfish. Even when I met your father and fell in love, I was content to a selfish life where I could have all my desires and wants met whenever I wanted without something to be responsible for.” She looks down at the stain for a moment and then back at Bakugou. “And then I fell pregnant.”

“So I was a mistake?” Bakugou asks through gritted teeth.

“Honestly? Yes. We used birth control. We used condoms. We took all the necessary steps but evidently it didn’t work.” She lets out a cold laugh. “Shit, kid. You were stubborn before you were even formed. I thought about getting rid, but your father was so damn happy when I told him. You should’ve seen his face. He was over the moon.”

Bakugou glances at his father and realises he’s never seen his father ‘over the moon’. He wonders what that looks like.

Mitsuki looks to her right, her face softening as she gazes at her husband’s face. “Who was I to take that happiness away?”

Bakugou exhales. “Did you ever love me?”

“Of course I did,” Mitsuki answers quickly. “I do. It’s an innate, biological love. I felt it the moment I gave birth. But bonding? Bonding with you? That was beyond my capabilities. And I tried. Believe me, Katsuki, I tried. I did everything the baby books told me to. I tried to meet all your needs as soon as they arose. But shit, like I said, you were stubborn. You spat out the milk I fed you. You cried if I held you too long. You hated me changing your nappy. Fuck, you’d cry sometimes if I smiled at you. But your father? Your father had it down.” She shrugs. “I distanced myself because that’s what worked. I provided, your father did the parenting thing. And evidently it wasn’t a bad thing. You were so independent from so young.”

Bakugou clicks his teeth. “You get it’s not normal for a six year old to be cooking their own meals, right? You get a seven year old shouldn’t have to make the most perfect coffee possible for their parents?”

“I know. Maybe I distanced myself too much. Too much that we couldn’t find our way back.”

“Our way?” Bakugou repeats, a slight gasp in his tone as the air seems to leave his lungs.

Masaru shuffles uncomfortably in his seat. “Katsuki?”

“This was you,” Bakugou snaps. “Not me. You distanced yourself. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. I became independent because I didn’t have any other choice. Our household was survival of the damn fittest. Eat or be eaten. Kill or be killed. So no, you couldn’t find your way back. But I never went anywhere. Don’t put that on me.” He inhales and exhales sharply, the breath shaking on exit. “I’ve worked through so much shit over the last few months and goddamn, I’ve still got a lot to work through. I thought the League was the main cause, but it’s not. The League was the icing on the cake but you two? You two were the fucking batter.”

“Two?” Masaru questions, brows furrowing in confusion. Beyond there’s confusion, there is visible hurt.

“Yes. You two,” Bakugou reasserts. “You both have a part to play. Yeah, you may have been present, but you enabled mum’s behaviour. You enabled her attitude. You might have been attentive and there when I was a baby but as soon as I became independent at a disgustingly fucking young age, you let me. You’re… you’re a fucking doormat, dad. Mum tells you to jump and you say how high.”

“Katsuki, I have always been there for you,” Masaru says. “I was there to hold you when you cried. You just…. You didn’t cry.”

“No,” Bakugou replies with a laugh. “No, I just threw myself off of a roof instead.”

The tension in the room increases tenfold and the look on his parents face is almost laughable. Masaru is crying, the tears silent and sudden, and Mitsuki is staring at him with wide eyes.

“We couldn’t have seen that coming,” Mitsuki says defensively.

Bakugou shakes his head. “Couldn’t you? Do you not fucking remember the conversation we had on the phone that day?” He huffs in disbelief. “Everything was leading up to that, wasn’t it? You can see that. The anger, the aggression. Even before the multiple kidnappings and the attacks I’ve endured. And before you blame the school, the first kidnapping happened before I even got into that damn place.” Bakugou sighs. “It was all symptoms, ever since I was a fucking kid but instead of addressing it, you just let yourselves believe that anger and aggression is who I am. You let yourselves believe it was an excuse for my failures.” He looks back at his mother, meeting her deep eyes and refusing to look away. “I’m more than that. I’m more than my anger and my trauma and my fucking hate for everyone and everything. There’s more to me than that. And it should have been you two to show me that. Instead, I learned it by myself.” He catches Aizawa’s eye. “Partly by myself.”

“What do you want us to say?” Mitsuki questions.

Her tone is blunt, more like the voice Bakugou usually hears when he speaks to her. He starts to wonder if any of the brief emotion she expressed was real.

“I don’t want you to say anything,” Bakugou retorts. “But I needed you to hear that. I also need you to know that I won’t be coming back.”

Masaru gasps. “What?”

“Since moving out, I’ve made progress that I don’t intend on going back on.” Bakugou takes another deep breath. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. But I won’t be going back to your house.”

“Your home,” Masaru says quietly.

“Your home,” Bakugou corrects. “It’s never felt like home to me.”

Mitsuki clicks her teeth. He wishes she could cough up some level of emotion. Instead, she sniffs.

“Okay,” she agrees. “That’s your decision.”

“It is.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay.”

Masaru is still crying. Bakugou doesn’t think he’s stopped since he casually mentioned his suicide attempt. Aizawa notably doesn’t look at the man, his focus instead upon Mitsuki. He seems on edge. But Bakugou knows his mother isn’t going to do anything. Her hits and slaps and throwing of objects have occurred, but they’re not random and they’re not happening now. She isn’t emoting enough.

She does, however, manage a slight smile. “You’ve got a backbone.”

Bakugou shrugs. “How the fuck do you think I survived a hang out session with a bunch of villains? Didn’t exactly lie down and take it. I'm not as weak as you fucking think I am.”

Mitsuki’s smile drops immediately. She doesn’t argue though.

“On that note,” Bakugou says. “I’m fucking done. Aizawa, I’m going back to the dorms. You got no issue escorting these two out, have you?”

Aizawa watches Mitsuki warily for another moment before rising to his feet. “Not at all.” He walks with Bakugou the short distance to the door. Before he opens it, he leans closer. “Good job, kid.”

“Fuck off,” Bakugou retorts before he can hold it back.

Aizawa, despite himself, smirks. “I’m serious. Now go and get some sleep.”

Bakugou salutes, which provokes an eyeroll from the teacher, before opening the door and stepping out. He shuts it behind him, not caring when it slams. A swell of despair sweeps through him from his head to his toes but before he can really feel it, he spots a group of delinquent youths making themselves at home on the floor further down the corridor.

“The fuck are you lot doing?” he demands.

Kirishima is first to rise, the other three scrambling up seconds later. “Waiting for you.”

“Why? Like I said, you’ve got better things to do than sit here for ages.”

Kirishima shakes his head. “Katsuki, there is nothing better for us to do than be here right now.”

Ashido smiles. “Nope. It didn’t matter how much you told us otherwise. We were always gonna wait for you. Now come on, a film night is waiting for us.”

Bakugou groans. “Fucking really?”

“Don’t complain,” Kirishima says. “It’s a horror film night. Just for you. And for your amusement, I picked a particularly gory one.”

“Why would that amuse me?” Bakugou queries.

“Because Kaminari and Sero hate gore,” Ashido answers with a dark smirk.

Bakugou look over at the two, who visibly pale at the thought.

“Fuck it,” he says. “Why not.”

There’s a strange pit of anxiety and sadness lurking deep within his chest as he walks away from the teacher’s lounge and out of the school. It doesn’t alleviate as he reaches the dorm. It doesn’t alleviate as he listens to his friends mindlessly chatter about absolutely nothing. He doesn’t think it will alleviate for a while.

But as he looks at them, their smiles and their carefree attitude, that anxiety twists to something less devastating as he thinks about them giving up their free time for him.

They waited for him.

“Of course we did,” Kirishima says quietly.

Bakugou flinches.

Did you say that out loud?

“We always will wait for you,” Kirishima adds.

Bakugou takes a shaky breath and falters a little, falling behind as the others head towards Kirishima’s room. Kirishima stops too, remaining back with the blond.

“Eijirou,” he addresses. “Thank you.”

Kirishima smiles and, as always, it lights up the darkness looming in his peripheral. “Always, Katsuki.”

 

Notes:

whoops

long time no post

:)

Chapter 29

The loneliest moment in someone's life is when they are watching their whole

world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly

                                                                                 - F Scott Fitzgerald 

 

Bakugou is seated at the dining table, headphones blasting heavy music as he crams for their next lot of exams. They’ve got a while yet but the series of setbacks over the last eleven months have him dreading falling behind again. Momo and Iida are sat on the other end, similarly studying, while Jirou sits beside him with her own music. Occasionally, she taps him to show her working, make sure it’s right, before continuing on. On other occasions, she will show him her phone to suggest some new music. Bakugou hasn’t spoken a word, but he returns the favour by showing what he’s listening to.

It's a good system.

Todoroki is on the sofa beside Midoriya, talking quietly, while Satou and Koda are in the kitchen. Bakugou pays them little attention but he does appreciate the pleasant smell emitting from the oven.

It’s been a week since his meeting with his parents and he hasn’t been sleeping well again. He’s been successfully distracting himself since he left the teacher’s lounge through schoolwork, exercise, and hanging out with his friends, but it’s beginning to grate on him. He can feel the anxiety and distress bubbling beneath the surface but he’ll be damned if he lets it break through.

“Hey, Bakugou,” Jirou calls out quietly. She removes one of her earphones. Bakugou pulls his headphones down. His music blasts out and Jirou smirks as Iida lifts his head with a grimace.

“Bakugou, must you listen to it that loud?” Iida asks. “You’re going to go deaf.”

“I’m already going deaf,” Bakugou retorts.

Iida clicks his teeth and returns to his work.

“Anyway,” Jirou continues. “The music department got some new instruments. I hear their drumkit is amazing. Wanna check it out this week?”

Bakugou shrugs. He hasn’t played drums in a while. “Sure.”

“BAKUBRO!”

The excited squeal has him flinching and rushing to put his headphones back on, but Kaminari and Sero are already in view and racing towards him.

“The fuck you want?” Bakugou demands. “I’m working.”

“You need cheering up,” Kaminari states. “And so, we’re going to help you with that. I’ve gotten permission from Aizawa already and tomorrow we’re going on an adventure.”

Bakugou raises an eyebrow. “An adventure.”

“Yep!” Sero adds. “We found a rage room in town! An hour to just smash stuff up.”

“What the fuck makes you think I’d wanna do that?”

Kaminari rolls his eyes. “You love destroying things.”

“I like doing lots of things. Alone.”

“Sure. Whatever. And now you’re going to love smashing things up with your bestest friends in the whole wide world!” Kaminari continues. “Come on, Bakugou. It’ll be fun.”

Bakugou takes a deep breath. He catches Jirou’s eye. She’s watching him with some level of concern and equal curiosity. He looks up to see Todoroki and Midoriya also watching him now. Like he’s some form of entertainment.

“Stop fucking staring,” Bakugou snaps. “Fucking fine. I’ll go. Now run the fuck along and let me study.”

Kaminari claps his hands. “Yay! I knew we’d break you! Now, we need to-”

“Go, or I swear to god I’m gonna jam my pen into your eye.”

Kaminari and Sero shuffle off, chattering excitedly as they disappear around the corner, no doubt to tell Ashido and Kirishima that he’s agreed to join.

Jirou laughs. “I don’t know how you have the energy for that all the time.”

“I don’t,” Bakugou retorts. He shrugs. “They’re not that bad all the time though.”

Jirou smiles, eyes wrinkling in the corners. “I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve heard you say.”

“Fuck off. I’m a fucking delight.”

“Ha, sure,” Jirou snorts. “But I wouldn’t have you any other way.” She pauses, tapping her pencil against the table for a moment. “Hey, can I come? I’ve heard loads of things about rage rooms and they look really fun.”

Bakugou wants to slam his head against the table. He knows they’ve invited him to this experience as a means of expelling some emotion in the best way he knows how. Through physical aggression and violence. But he’s barely ready to address the built up rage and anguish deep within whilst alone, never mind with an audience. And an audience consisting of extra people?

But Jirou is watching him with genuine interest in her dark eyes and he can’t bring himself to say no.

“Fucking whatever,” he caves. “But anyone else asks, I’m not fucking going.”

He doesn’t say it to anyone in particular, but Midoriya ducks his head out of view and Iida and Momo are suddenly scribbling furiously on their notebooks.

Todoroki, meanwhile, smiles.

 

*

 

He’s up hours before anyone else. By 6am, he’s already completed an hour’s run and showered. There’s an itching beneath his skin and his legs bounce each time he’s still for too long, so he resorts to heavy music and studying again. He started off in his room but his usual sanctuary quickly became claustrophobic, and so he finds himself in the communal area at the dining table. He’s alone, as he expects for this time in the morning, and the hours fly by as he loses himself in the music and the work.

So much so that he’s startled when a figure joins him.

“Bakugou, you’re up early,” Iida comments, dressed in striped pyjamas and a pair of bunny slippers. His glasses are slightly askew.

Bakugou shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Iida clicks his teeth. He heads into the kitchen to get a glass of water before returning. Bakugou lowers the volume of his music but doesn’t remove the headphones. Iida simply watches him for another minute before Bakugou finally looks up.

“Fucking what?” he demands.

Iida sighs softly and sits down. “Momo and I, as class presidents, have been giving you a wide berth to process the events of the last year. You seem to have a support network around you which I am happy to see is helping. At least, I hope it’s helping. I used to think you wear your heart on your sleeve but as I’ve gotten to know you, I realise that’s not true.”

“The fuck are you going on about?”

“You’re a very hard person to read, Bakugou. You’re outwardly expressive but only so far. The only genuine emotion I think I’ve ever seen on you is anger, and even that I think may be a mask for something deeper.”

Bakugou feels exposed. His skin is crawling and his chest is tightening and fucking hell can we just go to this damn rage room so I can smash shit up?

“What’s your point?” Bakugou questions sharply. “Or are you just wanting to read me to fucking filth?”

Iida smiles. “My point, Bakugou, is that over the last few months you seem to be letting your guard down around certain people. I see you relax more. I’ve seen you smile. And not that slightly disturbing smile you have when you fight. A real smile.” He exhales sharply and clasps his hands together. “Bakugou, I don’t expect you to come to me for support. I realise we are very different people and perhaps our methods of coping just don’t align. However, with the anniversary coming up, I want to remind you of the importance of confiding in others. Please, don’t suffer in silence. Don’t allow things to drag you down again. I speak for everyone in this class when I say we want to see you thrive. We want to see you happy. You deserve to be happy. So please. The work you are doing to progress as well as you have. Don’t let it stop here.” He stands, his chair sliding across the floor as he moves. “You’ve still got to reach number one, right?”

He doesn’t wait for Bakugou to reply. Not that Bakugou can. He watches the class president saunter away like he didn’t just crack open Bakugou’s chest and leave it out in the open for all to see. His music is still blaring but he doesn’t move to turn it off.

He doesn’t move at all.

 

*

 

Bakugou remains silent for the duration of their journey into town. He keeps his head down as his friends chatter excitedly about the trip. He ignores the cool looks he receives from strangers on the train and the concerned glances he receives from Kirishima.

All he can think of is Iida’s words. They replay over and over again in his head.

We want to see you thrive.

Do they, though? Because the internet, the public, seem to think otherwise. He hasn’t looked up his own name in a long time but he knows nothing will have changed.

We want to see you happy.

When they arrive at the venue, he gives a curt, quiet thank you to the staff as they’re handed overalls and protective gear. There are signs all over the building reminding customers not to use their quirks and Bakugou quickly pops off some sparks from his palms before donning some gloves. They’re split into two groups. Bakugou follows Kirishima and Ashido into one room as Kaminari, Sero, and Jirou go into the neighbouring room. Inside, the room itself is large and full of random objects. Numerous TVs sit in random spots. Kitchenware, glass bottles, photo frames, chairs, tables. Everything gloriously breakable, positioned across the room. And in the corner are axes, hammers, and a metal baseball bat.

“You ready?” Ashido asks.

Kirishima grins. “Hell yeah!”

He picks up an axe and sets upon one of the tables, swinging the axe above his head and bringing it down onto the centre. It sticks in, splintering the table down to the edge. He rips the axe back out and swings it back down again until the table separates completely. Ashido clasps and cheers before picking up a hammer and smacking it against one of the TVs. Bakugou watches them both, stomach churning, before eyeing up the baseball bat. He’s no stranger to destruction. His quirk thrives on destruction. But doing it in this manner, with his bare hands, knowing the aim is to vent some frustration, feels too open. Too exposed.

He's tired of being exposed.

Even so, he picks up the bat and walks slowly over to another TV. With a breath, he swings it down. And again. Over and over and over again. Before he can hold it back, a sound escapes behind gritted teeth and he’s screaming.

“FUCK!” he spits, smashing at the TV until the screen shatters and the frame begins to splinter. “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!”

He throws the bat without thinking, launching it towards the kitchenware. The plates stacked up are immediately shattered, shards flying across the room. He freezes in place, chest heaving, as someone touches his shoulder. He flinches but they don’t let go.

“Katsuki?”

His hands are shaking. He thinks he might be crying. Someone to his left is sniffling so they must be crying too. His legs buckle beneath him and he sinks to the floor. The people on either side come down with him.

“I’m sorry.” Ashido’s to his left. Her voice is shaky. “I’m sorry everything is so bad. I’m sorry we can’t do anything to stop it.”

He takes a trembling breath and confirms yes, he’s definitely crying. Kirishima’s red hair fills his peripheral to his right as he hooks his arm around Bakugou’s and leans in even closer. On any other day, the physical contact and lack of personal space would send him into a tailspin of panic but today he can’t bring himself to move away. Ashido copies the gesture on the other side and rests her head on his shoulder.

“Glasses-” he begins, his voice just as shaky as his hands. “Said I deserve to be happy.”

Kirishima nods. “You do.”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“Honestly?” Ashido replies. “Neither do I.”

“We’ll figure that out together,” Kirishima adds. “Always.”

Ashido sniffs and straightens up. For a split second, Bakugou misses the contact.

“We’ve got another forty five minutes of chaos and destruction ahead,” she points out. Bakugou finally looks up to see her wiping tears away before putting her goggles back on.

“I say we spend those forty five minutes breaking every single thing in this room,” she continues.

Bakugou nods. To his right, Kirishima grins. His eyes sparkle with unshed tears but the smile is genuine. So genuine it seems to right all the wrongs in the world for just a moment. Together, they stand up and pick up their weapons of choice. And together, they destroy everything.

 

That night, Bakugou feels a little lighter. There’s a dull pain behind his aching eyes and he feels physically and mentally exhausted, but he’s lighter. He’s sat in Kirishima’s room as the group watch some films and relax. Jirou told him they’d similarly gotten emotional. All three of them as the time went on, any emotions hidden away had risen to the surface and all three of them walked out with dried tears and relieved smiles. Bakugou glances at everyone, all fixated on the animated film they’re watching, and wonders if the things that haunt him are haunting them too.

He thinks of All-Might, of Shigaraki, of All For One, of his mother. He thinks of his own ghosts, the ones that lurk in his mind and in the corner of his bedroom, and wonders what their ghosts look like.

Chapter 30

Notes:

whoops

:)

I don't feel safe in the halls
There are bruises on the walls
There are bodies in the floors
And they breathe so loudly
I wish I could move
Get up and walk right out this tomb
Do our saviours die too soon?
For my sins surround me

                                                                      - Ren and Chinchilla

 

 

It’s back. The raspy, crackling breaths sounding from directly behind him, the blank wall he’s facing providing him with little relief from the horrors in his room. He can’t see the source of the sound, but he doesn’t need to. The sound is enough, its breaths wet and laboured. The smell too. A strong, nauseating scent of rotting flesh and congealed blood.

He can’t move. He tries, starting with his toes, but they won’t move. Only his chest rises and falls, deeper and faster as panic creeps up steadily. The breaths behind him turn into a high-pitched keen, like a wounded animal. It sounds so goddamn agonising, so goddamn sorrowful, and he feels tears slip down his cheek.

“Katsuki…”

The voice, disembodied and haunting, cuts through the wailing and silences it. Its close enough to move the hair on the back of his neck. Close enough for him to feel the warmth against his skin. And yet he can’t fucking move. He wills his fingers, his toes, anything, to move and run. The desperate attempts only serve to encourage the being further and a cold laugh echoes from within the darkness. He closes his eyes tightly, more tears dripping down, when an icy hand touches his head, runs its fingers through his hair, reaches for the back of his neck, tightens its grip -

He sits bolt upright, a strangled gasp escaping him as he draws in a desperate breath. He’s met with an impossibly large, empty room. No monstrous figure lurking in the darkest corners. No Shigaraki to steal him away. No gaunt, bloodied All-Might to drag him down into the hellish abyss.

Just himself and his steadily falling tears.  

With a violently shaking hand, he reaches out for the bottle of water on his bedside table. It takes him a moment to open the lid, sweaty palms slipping more than once, and drains half the bottle in one gulp.

Sleep paralysis is dehydrating, apparently. 

The shaking doesn’t dissipate but his head clears a little with some hydration, so he takes the moment to spare a glance at his phone. It’s 3:44 precisely. The sun isn’t even up.

“Fucks sake,” he mutters.

Sleep is long gone, lost to the ghosts once more, and so he eases himself out of bed and heads towards the showers to wash off the horrors.

 

He loses track of time in the hot shower. His sleep-deprived brain is too exhausted to actually think, and if someone were to ask him what was on his mind for the full duration of the shower, he couldn’t answer.

He’s in there long enough for someone to enter the bathroom, the fire door slamming behind them. It makes him jump and kickstarts his fast-paced pulse all over again. With a sharp curse under his breath, he turns the shower off and dresses.

When he emerges from the showers, Todoroki is at the sinks washing his hands.

“What are you doing up so early?” he asks, meeting Bakugou’s eyes through the mirror.

Bakugou raises an eyebrow. “Could ask you the same thing.”

Todoroki shrugs, dries his hand on a paper towel. “Bad night. Gave up trying to get back to sleep.”

Bakugou watches the other boy for a moment before nodding. “Same.”

“Wanna watch TV?” Todoroki invites. “Late night terrestrial TV is surprisingly entertaining.”

Bakugou studies the other boy for a moment, wary of some ulterior motive, but he continues to dry his hands on the paper towels like it makes absolutely no odds to him whether he agrees or not.

“Sure,” Bakugou agrees, still watching Todoroki carefully.

He drops his towel in the wash basket and follows Todoroki down to the lounge. It’s dark, all the blinds closed and lights off, and for a second Bakugou swears he can see the figure that lurks in his room standing within the shadows, waiting for him. Todoroki switches on a few lamps and Bakugou gazes around the empty room, heart pounding.

“You good?” Todoroki asks. Bakugou nods. “Don’t expect anything clever or witty from these shows. They’re good for mindless entertainment when you don’t want to think for a while.”

Bakugou eyes the room, still expecting a blood-soaked, gawking figure to appear. “Whatever. Sounds good to me.”

Todoroki sits himself down and switches on the TV, keeping the volume at a respectable level. Bakugou sits on a separate sofa with a view of the whole room. He spends little time actually watching the TV and he can’t pinpoint why he’s so on edge about something appearing. There’s a sinking sensation within him, making his chest feel tight and hollow, and he can feel his heart pumping far too fast for comfort. Todoroki’s attention is fixed on the screen but every so often he glances in Bakugou’s direction for a second.

“What’s going on?” Todoroki questions after twenty minutes of ‘watching’ the TV.

“Nothing,” Bakugou retorts. He answers too fast, he knows, and it catches Todoroki’s attention.

“You’re staring around the room like you’re expecting something bad to happen,” Todoroki calls him out. He’s looking at the TV again. “Is it just anxiety, or do you genuinely think something’s going to happen?”

Bakugou inhales sharply. He suddenly feels sick. “I don’t know.”

“I had a nightmare,” Todoroki says. “That I murdered my dad. He didn’t even do anything to me. I went home, bludgeoned him with a hammer, and burned the house down. I swear when I woke up, I could feel the weight of the hammer in my hands. I thought I could feel the dried blood on my hands. It felt real.” He shrugs. “I know it’s not. And I never have thoughts of killing my dad. Not consciously, anyway. But that doesn’t mean I can shake the dream off so easily.”

Bakugou nods, his foot tapping uncomfortably as he processes Todoroki’s words. The boy still isn’t looking at him and that makes everything a little easier to cope with.

“I have these dreams,” Bakugou begins. He stares down at the laminate flooring, spots a scuff mark beside the leg of the coffee table. “I’m awake, but my brain isn’t registering that, so it’s like… it’s like whatever I’m dreaming about is right in front of me.”

That really catches Todoroki’s attention. He turns, a look of genuine concern evident across his face.

“Wow,” he replies. “That’s rough. Like a hallucination?”

“Kind of,” Bakugou explains. “I usually see All-Might. Or… something pretending to be him. Tonight I had my back to the room so I didn’t see anything but I heard it. Heard it breathing. Felt it touch me.” He shudders involuntarily, a cold trickle down his spine. “It took me a while to be able to move.”

Todoroki’s eyes widen a little. “That’s… horrifying.” He looks away, towards the TV, and inhales. “It’s like a ghost. Do you believe in ghosts?”

Bakugou smirks. “That word has been on my mind a lot recently but no. I think everyone’s haunted by something, but not actual ghosts. Maybe just… things from their past. People. Experiences.”

Todoroki nods. The look of horror fades a little, but not completely. “That’s very insightful of you, Bakugou.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s more like it.” He sighs softly. “It’s so stupid. We survive all these traumatic experiences, escape them, only to relive it every night.”

Without thinking, Bakugou responds. “Almost makes you wonder what the point of surviving was.”

Todoroki watches him, expression as blank as usual. Even the concern from the paralysis has gone, in its place an oddly studious look that makes Bakugou feel like he’s on display.

“Do I need to be worried? Am I gonna find you hanging in your room one day?” Todoroki asks. The bluntness is blindsiding.

“No,” Bakugou answers after a pause. “No, you don’t need to be worried.”

He thinks about the little box of pills in his room. Thinks about what he would be like right now without them.

Todoroki goes back to watching TV, although the somewhat vacant look in his eyes tells Bakugou he isn’t really watching it.

They don’t speak for the rest of the night. Eventually, the sound of the mindless sitcom being broadcast is enough to drown out their own thoughts.

For a little while, they sit in blissful ignorance of their own circumstances.

For a little while, they just exist.

 

*

 

Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary since All-Might’s death. A whole year since his rescue saw the brutal fall of the nation’s beloved number one hero. The tension within the dorms, and the school on the whole, is palpable, and Bakugou wants nothing more than to hide away. He has an appointment with Aimi after school, something he was outwardly against but Aizawa was very, very insistent about. And even now, as he sits in class, the teacher is staring at him expectantly. They’re doing independent study and the class is surprisingly quiet, but Bakugou is certain nobody is actual studying. As he scans around the room, he spots signs that people’s minds are elsewhere. He can hear Midoriya sniffling. He knows if he turned, he’d see the boy cry quietly to himself. Kirishima is chewing on his lip and tapping his pencil, but his eyes keep drifting to their classmates. Todoroki is watching Midoriya with the same concern he showed Bakugou earlier that morning. Aoyama and Ojiro keep exchanging sad glances, eyes downcast in a way that is wholly uncharacteristic for the two of them.

It makes Bakugou uncomfortable, and he turns to stare out of the window instead of looking at anyone else.

He gets very little work done during independent study but he can’t bring himself to care when the voice in his head reprimands him for his laziness.

The rest of the day goes by slowly and with ever present anxiety bubbling just beneath the surface. He notices a few more glares than usual today but he doesn’t pay too much mind to who he’s receiving them from. Nobody says anything to him and he takes that as a win. Even Monoma keeps his distance, as he has done since the tray incident.

Since you broke his nose, you fucking monster.

Afternoon classes are quiet, with both students and teachers dreading the upcoming day, and before he knows it the bell is ringing and Aimi’s office is calling him.

 

*

 

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?”

Bakugou doesn’t look up. Aimi is dressed in black today. It always makes his heart sink when she lacks her usual bright colours. There are slight dark rings around her eyes and if he squints, she almost resembles Aizawa.

If Aizawa had pink hair.

The thought almost makes him laugh but Aimi’s severe expression robs that away before it can surface.

“I don’t know,” Bakugou answers honestly.

Aimi nods. “I’m going to say some words, and I want you to give me the first thing that comes to mind in response. Okay?” Bakugou shrugs and Aimi nods again.

Aimi clears her throat and begins. “School.”

“Progress.”

“Home.”

“Dorms.”

“Tree.”

“Peace.”

“Sleep.”

“Blood.”

Aimi falters, but only for a second. “Hero.”

“Villain.”

“Friend.”

“Kirishima.”

“All-Might.”

“Murder."

“Kamino.”

“Regret.”

Aimi stops, lowers her pen, and fixes Bakugou with a calm, intense stare. “I’m glad, truly glad, you can find positives in some of those answers. All of those responses are telling. Are you still having sleep paralysis?”

Bakugou nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I usually… I still see him.”

“All-Might?”

“No. It’s not All-Might. It looks like him, but it’s not him. I was there at the end and that-” He stops, images of All-Might’s lifeless body lay amongst the rubble and dirt flooding his mind. “That wasn’t what he looked like.”

Aimi nods, noting something down. “Tomorrow is a big day. Aizawa has told me the school is holding a memorial ceremony for him. I know you’ll feel obligated to attend, and not just because he was your teacher, but I urge you to put your mental health first. If you do not feel you can do it, don’t go. Nobody will think less of you.”

Bakugou laughs, the sound short and bitter. “Easy for you to say. It’s nearly been a year and I’ve still got fucking extras muttering shit in the corridors and glaring at me. If I don’t turn up, that’ll just be more proof of my guilt.”

“Do they actually see you as guilty, or are they simply using you as an outlet for their anger?” Aimi suggests. “These students are children. They aren’t able to face down with the people who killed All-Might and punish them for what happened. You’re an easy target in their eyes because you’re there. I’ll be honest, Katsuki. I saw the video. I read the police and incident reports. I read the medical reports on both you and All-Might. You are not remotely guilty for what happened to him. The injury you inflicted, although it looked bad, was nothing. If it had occurred earlier on in the fight, he probably would have been able to shrug it off like it was a papercut. You deflected it, Katsuki.”

Bakugou’s whole body feels numb, but he thinks he’s crying. Aimi hasn’t looked away, still staring at him with those dark eyes that feel equal parts comforting and intrusive.

“I hit him, though,” Bakugou argues quietly.

Aimi shakes her head. “You clipped him. The children in your school are angry and they are grieving, but their anger is not at you. They might think it is, but that is because, like I said, they are children.” She sighs softly, finally dropping the stare. “I know you don’t believe me yet. And before you ask, I don’t need my quirk to know you’re not lying. I know you genuinely believe they blame you. Just as much as you genuinely believe you lead to his death. But you didn’t. And eventually, everybody will see that. Just like you will.”

“Whatever you say.”

Aimi smiles. It doesn’t meet her eyes but it’s warming anyway. “I got you a prescription. Some mild sleep medication. I spoke to your psychiatrist about getting them and he was very reluctant due to your age, but we agreed on a mild dose. I hope, at the very least, it will allow you to get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

She hands the prescription and the medication over, which Bakugou takes with a quiet ‘thank you’. The box, although light, feels heavy in his hand and it feels like starting his medication all over again.

“You don’t have to take it,” Aimi says. “But I would recommend it. At least tonight. Take it after food an hour before you plan on going to sleep. It may kick in sooner or perhaps a little later. No operating machinery, using your quirk, or anything else reckless or adventurous whilst on it.” She studies him for a second. “You’re doing well, Katsuki. Little setbacks like your sleep issues do not mean you’re not getting there.”

Bakugou nods. “Thanks, Aimi.”

Aimi’s smile widens, her eyes crinkling just a little at the edges.

“You’re welcome, Katsuki.”

 

*

 

The sleeping pill helps. He sleeps a dreamless sleep and wakes heavy, aching, but he’s slept. It’s an improvement. There’s no screaming echoes in his head or dried blood on his palms. He just is.

It’s five in the morning, to his dismay, but he remains lay in bed. The date looms over him forebodingly and he briefly considers spending the day hidden amongst the darkness of his room until the clock ticks beyond midnight, but he knows he can’t.

That’s the move of a coward.

That’s the move of a villain.

He refuses to be what the public perceive him to be.

So at six, he gets up and showers. Despite the distant sinking sensation within his chest, his mind is oddly blank as he lets the warm, soothing water run over his bare skin. Like it’s washing off the sleeping pill. Washing off the impending anxiety. When he finishes, Koda is shuffling into the showers wearing a pair of pink bunny slippers. He startles upon seeing Bakugou and signs sorry, to which Bakugou signs back ‘no problem’. Koda seems to lighten up a little, not holding himself quite as tightly, and disappears into the shower area. Bakugou doesn’t cross paths with anyone else as he goes back to his room, the dorms quiet and still.

The stillness comes to an abrupt halt when he enters the communal area at half seven. Most of the students are already up, undoubtedly nervous about the day. Midoriya is already crying, sat on the sofa with his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking as Todoroki and Uraraka attempt to comfort him. Uraraka is crying too, her eyes framed red and bottom lip wobbling, but Todoroki seems to be holding strong. He lifts his head as Bakugou enters the room and gives him a curt nod but does not move from his place beside his best friend.

“Bakugou.”

Kaminari is in the kitchen, a few mugs positioned in a line on the counter.

“Hey,” Bakugou greets. His voice, to his surprise, is a little hoarse.

“I made you a coffee,” Kaminari states. “It uh… I don’t think it’ll be any good. I know you like it strong so I just put a shit load in.”

Bakugou forces a weak smile. It’s small, strains his cheeks, but Kaminari’s face lightens a little at the expression. He takes the mug offered and takes a sip. It’s strong and that is all he expects from his coffee.

“Sorry,” Kaminari mutters, lowering his head. “I know Kirishima makes it better.”

“No, it’s okay,” Bakugou replies. “It’s uh.. it’s good. I swear.”

Kaminari smiles. “The others are on their way down. They kept forgetting things. I think everyone’s a bit… scattered.”

Bakugou swallows thickly, eyes briefly darting towards the shrine in the corner of the room. He hasn’t looked at it since they first put it together all those months ago. Even now, with a sparse glance, it makes his chest tighten and his throat close.

“How are you doing today?” Kaminari asks.

“I’m good,” Bakugou answers too quickly.

Kaminari doesn’t press him and they fall silent again, sipping their coffees and waiting. Ashido, Sero, and Kirishima join them five minutes later. They all look tired dragging their feet a little as they walk over. Kaminari wordlessly hands out coffees and teas and everyone drinks it without comment.

It’s another minute before Kirishima looks at Bakugou.

“Hey, bro,” he says softly. He smiles. It doesn’t meet his eyes. It makes Bakugou nauseous.

“Hey,” Bakugou replies just as softly.

Kirishima positions himself at Bakugou’s side, so close their arms are touching, and sighs.

“Did you sleep alright?”

“Doc gave me sleeping pills,” Bakugou explains. “Woke up early but they knocked me the fuck out.”

Kirishima snorts. “I think I need some.”

His eyes fall upon the shrine and Bakugou opts not to follow the gaze.

“Class!” Iida addresses, clapping his hands together. Midoriya lifts his head at the sound and his eyes, puffy and swollen, make Bakugou want to hide away. “Today, we are all in this together. If you need to leave, if you need time away, if you need to talk, please confide in your fellow classmates. Nobody will judge you for crying or for struggling through this day. We are here to pay respects to our teacher, our friend, our number one hero. If it becomes too much, that is understandable. Please know you can come to myself or Momo at any point.”

“With that,” Momo continues. “Let us walk to class together.”

 

The walk is a world away from the usual short journey to school. There is no panicked, last minute homework attempts. There’s no one downing an energy drink to power through the day. Nobody is cracking jokes or paying someone to cheat off of their pop quiz.

The silence weighs heavily on him, pushing him down so hard he thinks he might sink through the floor. It’s almost suffocating.

Bakugou wants to go home. He wants to go back to the dark den of his bedroom and pretend he doesn’t exist. He wants to pretend All-Might doesn’t exist.

He doesn’t. Not anymore. Thanks to you.

His stomach is churning and his head is spinning but he keeps walking. Kirishima remains fixed at his side, never drifting away, and it’s just about keeping him grounded in reality.

 

Aizawa is already in the class when they arrive. He’s sat at his desk, head down and some schoolwork in front of him. He puts it away as everyone filters through the door and waits until everyone is sat down before he stands.

“Today is a hard day,” he states bluntly. “In half an hour, we will be heading into the hall for the memorial service. As a school, we have agreed that if anyone needs to leave for air, they are free to do so. We just ask that you do it quietly and respectfully for all those remaining. I would ask that if you do need to leave, you remain by the school. Go outside or come back here. There are no classes on today but we ask that you do not return to the dorms without seeking permission from us first.” He eyes Bakugou. “We need to know that you are all okay before you disappear from sight.” He nods and sighs softly, his shoulders dropping a little.

“Please take some time to prepare yourselves.”

Bakugou doesn’t want to. Not at all. He wants the ground to swallow him up. He wants the world to spontaneously end. He doesn’t want any of this.

“How?” Midoriya pipes up from behind. “How can you prepare yourself?”

Bakugou doesn’t want to turn around. He can’t face seeing those puffy, bloodshot eyes.

“You can’t,” Bakugou utters.

He hears a sniffle. “Are you okay, Kacchan?”

“Fine.” He swallows down the lump in his throat. “You?”

Another sniffle. “I’m okay.”

Kirishima watches him. He can feel those intense eyes staring deep into his soul. Instead of looking, or acknowledging any of the quiet, tearful conversation happening around him, he chooses to embrace numbness. He stares out of the window, watching some birds fly overhead, watches some cars drive by. He wonders where they’re going. Wonders where the birds are going. Wonders how much better life would be up there in the clouds.

“Okay.” Aizawa’s voice startles him out of his thoughts and he looks to the clock, realising the time has come already. “Follow me, please.”

 

The class walk single file into the gymnasium, where most of the school are already gathered. Eyes fall upon them almost immediately and the silence within the room is haunting. He can feel the eyes that are focused on him, can see the glares and the disgust, and he averts his gaze to the pair of feet in front of him. He keeps his head down until he’s led to a seat beside Kirishima. They’re given the freedom to choose where to sit, and he didn’t realise it was Kirishima he was following until they’re sat down but fuck is he grateful for that. Kirishima places a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezes it once before moving away again, attention fixed upon the stage in front. Bakugou says nothing. He’s not sure he has a voice anymore.

And, once they’re all sat down, the memorial begins.

 

It’s awful. Just as awful as he’d imagined. Teachers, all wearing black instead of their usual hero uniforms, take turns making speeches, giving their condolences to one another whilst sharing their own experiences and funny anecdotes with All-Might. It’s during the third anecdote that Bakugou realises they have been using the name Toshinori, not All-Might, throughout the whole event. Talking about the friend, not the colleague. Amongst the pictures on the stage, where he’s strong and broad and smiling, are scattered images of his true self. Gaunt, weak, but still brightly smiling. The slender, weakened version is somehow less daunting to look at and Bakugou keeps his attention on those. When he tries to look at the others, he can only see blood and death.

 

The speeches turn from sweet, funny anecdotes about All-Might’s career and personal life to heart-wrenching proclamations of love and affection. Not from colleagues or fellow heroes, but from friends. Nedzu takes to the stage to share his thanks for All-Might’s commitment and loyalty to the school and to the hero commission, which sends a shudder down Bakugou’s spine. His words are monotonous, scripted, and a world away from the emotion-driven speeches given by the other teachers.

It settles uneasily in Bakugou’s chest and he looks away again, instead staring down at his hands as he clenches his fists tightly.

This is all your fault.

 

His body is moving before his brain really registers it. He makes no noise, silently gliding through a sea of emotion until he’s out of the hall and into a never ending, grey hallway with winding corners and locked doors. It takes him a lifetime to reach the exit, to burst out into a too-bright outside world. An endless flashing has him flinching back towards the door again.

“Bakugou! Bakugou Katsuki!”

The voice, strong and confident, is a jarring addition to the murky and muffled world he’s found himself in since the memorial started, and he blinks past the flashing.

To his horror, the flashing is coming from cameras.

A sea of them.

About twenty, he’d estimate.

With twenty vultures standing behind them, peering from around their equipment to get a better glimpse of the boy who killed All-Might.

“Bakugou! What do you have to say about accusations that you were paid by the League to aid in the killing of All-Might?”

“Bakugou, do you feel any remorse for how it went down?”

“What about the rumours that you bullied your classmates before starting at UA? Do you have anything to say?”

Bakugou can’t breathe. He can’t see the faces behind the voices – they’re nothing more than flashing cameras and venomous words.

Something grasps his forearm, and he flinches away so violently that he smacks into the edge of the doorway, cracking his head against the frame. The grip tightens again, and before he can fight it, he’s being dragged through the door and away from the peering eyes. The door slams shut, the noise too loud, and he pulls his arm away from whoever has their hold on him. The force has him stumbling and he hits another wall. This time, his legs cannot hold him up and he slides down to the floor. His arms are shaking, his vision blurring, and something is sat upon his chest and fuck he can’t take a breath.

“This is bad.”

The voice is familiar. He knows it. But his brain isn’t working enough to figure out who it belongs to, and it has him spiralling down into the pit of darkness even quicker.

“Go get Aizawa.”

“Who even let them all through the gates? Fucking animals.”

The voices are all around him and he can’t figure out who they are or where they are, and he clasps his hands around his ears and closes his eyes in a desperate attempt to block it all out. He’s hot, too hot, and the voices only get louder and closer. Something grabs his hands and he panics even further, battling to get away, but he feels nothing but walls around him. He’s boxed in. Fucking boxed in.

“Please! Please, get Aizawa! Katsuki, can you hear me? You’re going to hurt yourself. I need you to put your hands down. Please.”

He can’t. He can’t move. He’s frozen in place and his eyes won’t open; his hands won’t unclench from their tight grip in his hair. The hold on his forearms tightens, and from deep within his chest, he screams.

 

*

 

When he comes to, he's in their homeroom. He's sat up, back against a cool wall, with ice packs positioned on his hands being gently held in place by Kirishima. Usually the brightest star in the goddamn galaxy, Kirishima is openly crying and staring down at the floor. Bakugou blinks, utterly confused. Ashido is sat on Aizawa's desk, her hands hidden beneath her legs, and Kaminari is sat beside her with his head resting upon her shoulder. Sat on the floor at their feet is Sero.

They're talking quietly, Bakugou realises, but he can't hear them. 

 

"Kirishima?" he whispers. 

 

Kirishima's head jolts up and he almost drops the ice packs. "Katsuki!"

 

Bakugou looks down at his hands. "What... what are you doing?"

 

Kirishima follows his gaze and sighs softly. "Dude, you had a major panic attack. Really bad. You weren’t responding and your quirk kept triggering and I thought you were gonna blow your own head up. Aizawa ended up cancelling out your quirk so we could get you out of the corridor.”

 

“And the ice?”

 

“Grounding technique,” Kirishima explains. His voice is surprisingly steady, a stark contrast to the raw redness of his eyes. “It was Todoroki’s idea.”

 

Bakugou looks around the room, his vision a little blurry. Todoroki is nowhere in sight. As though reading his mind, Kirishima huffs.

 

“He’s with Aizawa doing some… crowd control.”

 

Bakugou frowns. “Crowd control?”

 

A flash fills his mind and the memory of what just happened floods him in seconds.

 

“Shit,” Bakugou mutters. “Shit, shit, shit.”

 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Kirishima reassures. “Aizawa is having every single reporter out there blacklisted. None of them will work again when he’s done with them.”

 

“What they did was wrong,” Ashido speaks up from the desk.

 

Bakugou clears his throat. “What… how did you even find me?”

 

“When you left the memorial, we all decided to go with you,” Kaminari explains. “But even when distressed you’re pretty fast so you were already out of the door before we reached you. The reporters were a shock to us too. They were just photographing you, shouting at you. They’d been doing it to some other students leaving the memorial too, but for you it was like…”

 

“Like payday had come,” Ashido adds bitterly. “Fucking monsters.”

 

Kaminari nods. “Exactly. Kirishima tried to pull you back inside when we realised you were freaking out, but you put up a bit of a fight. Pretty sure I heard you smack your head a few times.”

 

Bakugou hums. Now they mention it, he becomes slightly aware of a dull ache in his skull.

 

“You eventually… you stopped screaming when we got you into the homeroom,” Kirishima continues. “I think the change of scenery helped. Maybe different smells or something, I don’t know. But you went silent and stopped responding. Todoroki had the idea of using ice to keep you grounded and make you respond again.”

 

He’s lost time. The thought knocks him sick. “How long? How long have we been in here?”

 

“Not long,” Sero says. “Ten minutes, tops.”

 

The response is better than he expected. He can cope with ten minutes. Kirishima removes the ice packs, his skin a little pink beneath them, and he nods in thanks. The door swings open, Aizawa and Todoroki walking in with faces like thunder.

 

“Katsuki,” Aizawa addresses, his voice softer than his expression. “How are you feeling?”

 

Bakugou nods. He looks at his friends, at the expectant way they await his response, and shrugs. He feels small. Like a young child.

 

“Got a headache,” he replies quietly. “M tired.”

 

Aizawa nods. “I’d expect nothing less. All of you can go back to the dorms. You are not to go anywhere else.”

 

Bakugou’s chest clenches. “But, what about-”

 

“They’re gone,” Aizawa cuts in. “Every single one. And once you’ve left, I will be figuring out who the hell thought it would be a good idea to let a gang of abusive, abrasive reporters into a school currently holding a goddamn memorial service. And let them remain unsupervised for long enough to verbally abuse a goddamn child-” He stops, like he suddenly remembers where he is. “I apologise. That was unprofessional.”

 

Kaminari grins. “Nah, man. Rant away.”

 

“Go on. All of you. Get some rest.”

 

Nobody waits for further encouragement. Bakugou’s legs are a little wobbly when he stands but Kirishima doesn’t move from his side. The walk back to the dorms is quiet and sad, but there’s no one else around and they’re able to make it to Bakugou and Kirishima’s floor without any issues.

 

“Do you wanna watch some films?” Kirishima asks. “If you’d rather go to bed, I understand. But-”

 

“Sure,” Bakugou replies. He doesn’t want to be alone. Not right now.

 

Kirishima smiles. The redness seems to have faded and he looks more like himself again. The group all gather in Kirishima’s room, barely enough space for them all, and he fires up the first DVD he finds.

 

Bakugou sits in the corner of the room, two walls supporting him, with Kirishima on one side of him and Ashido on the other. He doesn’t have a good view of the laptop screen and he doesn’t care. Todoroki is on the foot of the bed, sitting straight and watching the screen with an oddly interested intensity, whilst Sero and Kaminari sit on the floor side by side. Ashido rests her head on Bakugou’s shoulder. Before he really processes it, he’s resting his head on hers.

 

And when he drifts off to sleep, it's with his closest friends by his side and to a dreamless sleep. 

Chapter 31

I don't know how I got this way
I know it's not alright
So, I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit tonight

                                                                - Linkin Park

 

 

Two steps forward, one step back. That’s what Aimi said the panic attack was. Despite the setback, it’s still one step forward.

It’s been a week since the memorial, and six days since an emergency session with Aimi, and he’s been repeating that statement in his head like a mantra every morning since. He hopes that maybe, the more he says it, the more he’ll believe it.

Because right now he doesn’t.

His bones ache with an intense weariness that no amount of disturbed sleep is fixing and the person looking back at him in the mirror is wholly unfamiliar again. The knowledge that his panic attack was photographed and will undoubtedly be published for the gawking eyes of civilians weighs heavily on him but he refuses to look it up. Refuses to google his own name.

The temptation lurks in the dark crevices of his mind, but he resists.

He has to.

He knows he won’t like what he sees if he gives in.

At three o’clock in the morning though, as the night ticks along and daybreak looms, the temptation is crawling closer to the forefront. He lies still, in the dark. His room is silent but he swears he can hear his phone calling out to him.

Do it. Look it up. Do it. DO IT.

He grabs the lamp loaned to him by Ashido from its hideaway under his desk and plugs it in. He sits down on the floor, back against the frame of his bed, and switches it on. Immediately, the darkness of his room is swallowed by the warming glow of the lamp. Colour sways and dances around him, drawing him in and out of his own mind almost instantly. A few seconds go by until a light knock at the door startles him from his staring.

He waits, staring at the door, until it knocks again.

“What?” Bakugou calls out.

“It’s me.” Kirishima’s voice is immediately soothing. “Can I come in?”

Bakugou clears his throat. He looks at the lamp, a swell of shame almost taking his breath away. “Uh, sure.”

There’s a momentary pause before Kirishima comes in, peering around the door before he enters. He closes the door behind him and glances briefly at the lamp before looking back at Bakugou.

“I heard you moving about,” Kirishima says. “I figured you couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t either.”

Bakugou shrugs. Kirishima crosses the room and sits down on the floor beside him. They watch the colours climb across the walls and the ceiling for a little bit before Kirishima smiles.

“Where’d you get this?” he asks.

“Ashido let me borrow it,” Bakugou replies quietly. “To help me sleep.”

Kirishima’s smile widens. “She let me borrow it once too. It works wonders doesn’t it?”

Bakugou nods. “Why can’t you sleep?”

The smile fades. “Haven’t really slept properly since the memorial. I think maybe I’ve been ignoring all the thoughts and feelings about it until now.”

“I get that.”

They fall quiet again. They sit together for over ten minutes, the lamp almost hypnotic, before Bakugou’s eyes become heavy.

“Go to sleep,” Kirishima urges. “It’s alright.”

“But you can’t sleep.”

“That’s okay.”

“It’s fucking not.”

Kirishima laughs, the sound short but sincere. “Wait here.”

He gets up and leaves the room, and Bakugou is almost floored by a sudden longing for him to just come back.

He’s back before Bakugou can comprehend the feeling, bedding bundled up in his arms. He gently closes the door behind him and grins.

“What are you doing?” Bakugou asks.

“I’m sleeping in here. We can both use the lamp. And don’t work out in the morning. Just sleep. Sleep is just as important as exercise.”

Bakugou clicks his teeth but climbs back up to his feet anyway. He watches, awkward, as Kirishima sets up a makeshift bed on the floor. He waits for Kirishima to settle down and get under the duvet before he gets back into bed.

They lie in their beds, staring up at the ceiling, as sleep pulls at the edges of Bakugou’s consciousness.

“Good night, Katsuki.”

“Night, Eijirou.”

 

 

 

*

 

Classes have been strange since the memorial. The teachers, all in their own stages of grief, seem to be focusing more on maintaining morale than actually teaching, and Bakugou can’t bring himself to be mad about it.

He’s still studying, still staying on top of his work, but he can’t deny that morale is fucking low. Has been ever since that day.

Present Mic’s English classes are usually relatively light-hearted, but even more so today. He has the class set up groups and complete some pop quizzes together with the promise of a prize at the end.

“It’ll have no impact on your final grades,” he’d said at the start of class. “So don’t worry about getting it right. But if you do, prizes await.”

Bakugou had been immediately swarmed by his friends as soon as Present Mic gave them the freedom to choose groups, and now his desk is surrounded by poorly motivated and easily distracted children.

“Concentrate,” Bakugou snaps as Kaminari and Sero lose focus for the tenth time. “We’re only halfway through.”

“There’s no prize for who finishes first, Bakugou,” Ashido reminds him. “Only top score.”

Bakugou levels her with a glare. “Your point?”

“It’s all good, bro,” Kaminari says. “We’ve got this!”

“You mean I’ve got this. You’ve got the reading comprehension and attention span of a fucking parrot and Sero’s grasp of Japanese is tenuous at best, never mind English.”

“What about us?” Ashido asks, pointing at herself and Kirishima.

Bakugou shrugs. “You guys are fine.”

Sero gasps. “I knew you had favourites. How rude.”

Kaminari fans himself, scandalised. “I am outraged. Here was I, believing I was your closest friend in the whole world, Bakugou Katsuki, and now I learn you have favourites? And I’m not one of them?”

Bakugou exhales sharply. “If I tell you I like you, will you do the goddamn quiz?”

Kaminari grins. “Yes. One hundred percent. I will dedicate my whole life’s purpose to this quiz right now if you tell me you like me.”

“Fine. I like you.”

Sero and Kaminari high five, catching the attention of Iida on the other side of the classroom.

“I hope you are working, classmates,” Iida warns them.

“Focus on your own quiz,” Bakugou snaps back. “But he’s not wrong. You guys need to answer some of the questions. I ain’t doing it all for you.”

They continue with their work, with Bakugou, Kirishima, and Ashido doing most of it and Sero and Kaminari offering up suggestions for answers every so often. They work surprisingly well together and after a short while, everyone gains some traction.

Before long, they’ve answered the final question and Bakugou raises the paper for Present Mic to collect.

The rest of the class finish shortly after.

“I will mark them now, and let you know who wins!” Present Mic announces. “Please, study amongst yourselves!”

Bakugou does exactly that, pulling out some of his workbooks. Kirishima sidles closer and does the same, while the other three pull their phones out and begin playing some multiplayer game.

 

Ten minutes later, as the day draws to an end, Present Mic announces Bakugou’s group as having the highest score of 100%. He expects Iida and Momo, the top two in the class, to be bitter. Instead, they nod to him in a show of respect. He returns the gesture and returns the fist bump Kirishima offers him.

“Right, listeners,” Present Mic says. “Well done today. See you all next week!”

“Wait, what was the prize?” Uraraka asks.

Present Mic frowns. “Prize?”

“Yeah, you said the highest score on the test got a prize,” Jirou adds.

Present Mic smiles. “Yeah… the prize is gloating rights!”

“Goddammit,” Kaminari mutters.

“Should’ve guessed,” adds Sero.

They pack up their belongings and filter out of the room, Bakugou holding back the urge to roll his eyes at Present Mic for the sheer deception. He would’ve worked hard at the test regardless of the promise of a prize, but it’s the principle of the matter.

As they head back towards the dorms, Kaminari throws his arms around Kirishima and Bakugou’s shoulders.

“Maybe the real prize was the friends we made along the way.”

“Fuck off.”

“Maybe not.”

He releases his hold before Bakugou can throw him off and drops to Sero’s side. They walk back to the dorms in comfortable silence, idle conversation occurring around them as the entire class make their pilgrimage home.

“As much as it was teaching us something, that quiz felt a little pointless,” Sero comments as they walk. “If it didn’t impact our grades, why bother?”

“To boost our moods,” Bakugou states quietly. “Still teach us something but keep it light-hearted and fun. And it proved that you guys aren't as dumb as you pretend to be.”

Kaminari hums. “Not a bad idea. Present Mic is full of bright ideas.”

“I think we should celebrate our big win,” Ashido suggests. “Film night?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Sero agrees.

“What film?” Kirishima continues.

They proceed to discuss film options and Bakugou hangs back, content to listen. Kaminari is on his phone, typing intensely and falling behind a little. Without really meaning to, Bakugou slows down too. There’s a seriousness to Kaminari’s face that is wholly alien and it unsettles Bakugou, so he slows and he waits and he walks by Kaminari’s side.

They’re nearly at the dorms, the building within sight, when Kaminari stops completely.

“What is it?” Bakugou asks.

Kaminari watches the others go on ahead before sighing softly. “My mum just sent me a news article.” He stares down at his phone for a second before looking up, meeting Bakugou’s eyes. “It’s about you.”

Bakugou immediately averts his gaze and begins walking again. “I don’t wanna know.”

“Bakugou, wait,” Kaminari pleads. “It’s not like that. It’s not… it’s not like the others.”

“I said I don’t wanna fucking know.”

“Can I at least send it to you?” Kaminari requests. He begins walking again, jogging just enough to reach Bakugou’s side before matching Bakugou’s pace. “Then you can read it whenever you’re ready. If you’re ready.”

Bakugou doesn’t reply. Kaminari nods and looks down at his phone again, and Bakugou knows without a doubt he’s sending it.

But he isn’t going to read it, because what’s another article listing his faults? What’s another news reporter who knows him better than he knows himself? What’s another piece of writing broadcasting every single mistake he’s ever made? He’s read them all. Lived through them all.

 

*

 

They watch some American comedy. Bakugou doesn’t pay much attention to it. Doesn’t pay much attention to anything. Kaminari keeps glancing at him, that damn phone still unlocked in his hand. He doesn’t seem to have sent it to anyone else, to Bakugou’s relief, but he’s clearly re-reading it.

What the hell is so damn interesting that he has to read it multiple times? he wonders, and continues to wonder until the film is nearly at its end and Kaminari finally closes the article. They put another one on, and yet again Bakugou pays no attention to it.

He stares blankly to the side of the screen for the first twenty minutes before finally caving, his hands itching with the need to just open the damn fucking article and-

He opens it. Kaminari watches him warily.

He expects a well-written tirade of insults masquerading as news, perhaps with a clipped video added to further perpetuate their hatred of him to the wider public in case not enough people despise him. Expects to be ripped to shreds once more.

There is a video, but it isn’t from the kidnapping. It isn’t All-Might’s death, or the sports festival.

Instead, it’s him outside of his school, panic etched clearly upon his face as he’s unceremoniously dragged back through the doors by Kirishima. He can barely stay upright, and although he has the volume turned right down, subtitles inform him someone, somewhere, is saying ‘oh my god’ repeatedly. The video cuts out before the door is shut. There’s a content warning before the video and after it, some contact numbers to various mental health charities are listed.

The article title is bolded, drawing him in, and that alone is enough to tell him everything he needs to know.

The Cost of Heroics: Is Our Children’s Mental Health Worth It?

His breath is taken away and he lets out a small huff of air. It’s not enough to attract the attention of the others in the room but Kaminari is still watching him. He meets his eyes, and the blonde nods once.

With a thick swallow, Bakugou continues to read.

There is beauty in a world of wonderful, magical, and awe-inspiring abilities. There is beauty in a world where we have people who have trained and dedicated their lives to saving others, no matter the cost to their own health. There is beauty in a world where these heroic acts can be seen, recorded, broadcast, and celebrated for the world to see.

However, there is also an ugliness there under the surface that we have been seeing much too much of recently. The world of social media allows us to express our opinions with little room for actual consequences, but there most certainly are consequences. A shining example of this is given above, in the form of recent footage taken from UA on the day of Toshinori Yagi’s memorial service. In it, student Bakugou Katsuki is seen in the midst of an apparent panic attack. Bakugou has been the victim of an onslaught of abuse through the media, by supposed hero fans, and it is time we address the reality here.

While Bakugou Katsuki and his fellow students are heroes in training, preparing to dedicate their entire lives to being in the public eye in order to save those who need it, they are still children.

They are children with thoughts and feelings, and they have been prematurely thrust into a world of cruelty and violence, and we the public have allowed it. A quick research into UA’s history paints a picture of poor mental health support and a catalogue of mental health conditions triggered by traumatic events endured before graduation.

Bakugou’s public panic attack is surely only a glimpse into what lies beneath the surface. Nobody walks out of a kidnapping situation with only physical injuries. Members of the public who have survived villain attacks will attest to the psychological scars it leaves behind, and yet those same members of the public are so willing to vilify and demonise a child who has survived and endured far more, and is willing to do it all over again, repeatedly, in order to be a hero.

 

He stops. Lowers his phone, catches his breath, doesn’t meet Kaminari’s watchful eye. A quick skim read further examples more traumatic events. The sludge attack, the multiple League attacks that lead to the kidnapping. It doesn’t list the events that aren’t public knowledge – his suicide attempt, his parents, the man on the train. Even without those additional instances, the message is put across easily and clearly.

“Back in a minute,” he whispers. Kirishima nods, glancing at him for a moment before he gets up and leaves the room.

He heads straight to his own, a tingling ache behind his eyes and a tightness in his chest that worsens with each inhale and alleviates with each exhale.

People have read that.

People have watched the video of his panic attack and shared it and discussed it.

He feels sick. He feels exposed.

He feels exposed and vulnerable and studied.

But beyond it all, for the first time in his short life, he feels seen. Genuinely, truly, seen.

His door opens and he expects Kirishima, but instead Kaminari walks in. He’s serious, jaw tight.

“You read it,” he states bluntly. Bakugou nods. “Are you okay?”

Bakugou inhales sharply, shakily, and sits down on his bed. Kaminari sits down beside him and says nothing.

“There’s been lots of articles,” Bakugou says softly. “And the ones that aren’t negative are just spouting data and figures about fights. The ones that are though… fuck me, they’re so fucking hateful. They make me look like a ray of fucking sunshine.” Kaminari laughs, the sound short. “That’s the first article I’ve ever seen that didn’t label me a monster, or a villain.”

Kaminari nods. “When my mum saw it, she sent it me because… because it made her sad. She asked me to check in on you. She actually asked me to hug you from her.”

“Please don’t do that.”

“Believe me, I won’t.” He shrugs. “But I can’t promise she won’t hug you next time she sees you.”

Bakugou stares down at the floor. “It’s weird. You guys have been saying this whole time that I’m none of those things. That it’s okay to need help, all that shit. And I know you all mean it but it also feels kinda like you have to say it.” Kaminari opens his mouth to retort but Bakugou shakes his head. “I know that’s not the case, but that’s how it feels, alright? But this… seeing it laid out like this, by a stranger who doesn’t benefit at all by being nice about me? It’s…”

“Validating.”

“Yeah. Validating.”

Kaminari smiles, but it falters after a second. “It’s got a point, though. I think Aizawa needs to see this. Something clearly needs to change here.”

Bakugou sighs softly. “To be honest, I think the school is doing what it can. This is the career we’re choosing. We just… we’ve been unlucky. We were meant to put up with violence and chaos and death after we graduate, not before. We just got a lovely sneak preview in our first fucking year.”

“So what, this is it? We just learn to cope with it?”

Bakugou shrugs. “Pretty much.”

Kaminari frowns deeply, staring down at the floor. “Makes you question why we bother going into this job.”

“Because it’s all we’ve ever wanted,” Bakugou replies softly. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be number one. And now… now I don’t know if that’s it. I expect to be number one. I want to be a hero.”

“Save lives,” Kaminari adds.

“Exactly.”

Kaminari looks up, sighing, and lets his shoulders slump for a moment. “I guess saving the lives of innocent civilians will be worth it. I suppose.”

“It’ll be thankless and horrifying but it’ll be so goddamn good. Plus, smacking a bad guy in the jaw will be legal.”

Kaminari grins. “Awesome.”

There’s a soft knock at the door and it’s opening before Bakugou answers. Kirishima pokes his head in.

“We realised you’d both disappeared so I wanted to check on you,” he says.

“We wanted to!” Ashido’s voice calls out from behind. “Sero’s here too!”

Kirishima rolls his eyes but smiles regardless. “You guys okay?”

Bakugou smirks. “We’re just… contemplating our shitty future careers.”

Kirishima opens the door fully and the three step in. “Oh yeah, it’s gonna be an absolutely terrible career choice.” He grins, meeting Bakugou’s eyes. “I can’t wait.”

 

 

 

Notes:

had a four month long brain fart and ran out of any and all ideas for this

however that's now settled somewhat and i have a few ideas of how i'm going to end this. the question is do i end it happily or not

Chapter 32

This could be the end of everything
So, why don't we go somewhere only we know?

                                                                         - Keane

 

Music wakes him, distant and gentle. Its acoustic, soft rhythm and the low, smooth voice accompanying it is neither familiar nor what he would usually opt to listen to, but it lulls him into consciousness slowly and comfortably. Bird songs provide backing vocals and as he blinks himself away, his eyes fall upon the warm glow of sunlight peeking through gaps in his blinds and casting itself down his wall, like a split in the room.

He lies there long enough for the music to change to something a bit more upbeat, with bass, and decides it’s time to get up.

He hears some movement on the corridor as he goes about his morning routine but sees no one until he goes down to the kitchen, bag slung over his shoulder, to make a coffee.

Jirou is at the counter already and pulls out another mug as he approaches, sliding it towards him.

“How you doing?” she asks, staring down at her coffee as she stirs it.

Bakugou shrugs. “Alright.” He pauses, watching the way she slowly stirs. “You?”

“Alright.”

Behind them, Momo and Iida enter the room, animated as they discuss their latest adaptations they’ve designed for their costumes. Jirou watches them and smiles, blushing a little as she looks back at her coffee.

“What’s up with you?” Bakugou questions. “Pretty sure you’ve stirred that enough.”

Jirou sighs softly. “It’s nothing. Really. Nothing bad, anyway. I’m just… working up the courage to uh… to tell someone how I feel.”

Bakugou feels his chest tighten a little. “Oh.”

Jirou laughs. “Sorry. Were you expecting something a little less.. I don’t know. Nice?”

“I don’t know. Guess things haven’t been nice lately.” He shrugs. “It’s a refreshing change, to hear someone’s problem being something so…”

“Nice.”

“Yeah. Nice.”

Jirou takes a sip of her coffee. She glances over her shoulder at Momo, that same blush colouring her cheeks once more. “Well. Hopefully it’ll be nice.”

“The way you look at her,” Bakugou says. “Pretty sure she looks at you the same way.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. I think.”

Jirou smiles into her coffee. “If she doesn’t feel the same way, I’m blaming you.”

“Cool.”

 

The school day goes by quickly, and by one o’clock he’s in his hero costume and they’re learning to track. An unidentified teacher is hiding somewhere in Ground Beta and the students, split into teams, are tasked with figuring out who the teacher is and discovering their location within a set time.

Bakugou, Todoroki, and Tokoyami are amongst the fastest, identifying and tracking down Ectoplasm within thirty minutes. After bursting through the door of the office block Ectoplasm had been hiding in, the group returned to the class to applause and praise.

“Good work,” Todoroki says with a nod. “You’re significantly easier to work with as a team now.”

“Fuck off.” He rolls his eyes as Todoroki smirks. “Thanks. You’re not too bad yourself.”

“Was that an honest to God compliment I just heard from Bakugou Katsuki?” Sero exclaims from the back of the group.

He and Kaminari push through to the front, both with wide eyes and feigned horror.

“Where is our Bakugou and what have you done with him?!” Kaminari demands.

Bakugou huffs and sits himself down on the bench, arms crossed over his chest. Todoroki sits beside him, a comfortable distance between them, as they settle to watch the next group.

Kirishima is grouped with Uraraka and Shoji, and they’re able to identify and track down Snipe in forty five minutes. He comes bounding back over, shoulders relaxing and his usual smile spread across his face. It widens, Bakugou notes, as he approaches him.

“I know it wasn’t as fast as you guys,” Kirishima says. “But I’m pretty proud of myself!”

“You should be,” Bakugou replies. “We had different teachers. They’ll hide themselves differently. You can’t compare them.” He shrugs. “But you were undeniably great.”

“Was I awesome and manly?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Kirishima raises a fist and Bakugou bumps it without much thought. The action serves to widen that smile even further and Bakugou feels a flutter deep in his chest.

Kirishima collapses down on the bench between Bakugou and Todoroki and together they watch the rest of the class.

 

⸎

 

The kitchen is quiet tonight. Most of his classmates are up in their rooms, with the exception being Shoji and Ojiro watching TV in the lounge. He’s making a curry, his headphones providing him with a heavy booming soundtrack. It’s almost ready when Kirishima appears in his peripheral, waving.
“The fuck you waving for?” Bakugou questions as he uses his shoulder to knock his headphones away from his ear.

“I didn’t want to make you jump,” Kirishima answers.

Bakugou pauses his stirring, studying the redhead for a few seconds. “Oh.”

“That smells amazing,” Kirishima states, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. “Oh my god.”

Bakugou pulls out two dishes. “Good job I made extra.”

He dishes out one portion and slides the bowl towards Kirishima. He then adds some additional spices to the rest and dishes that out for himself.

“You made some for me?” Kirishima asks. Bakugou shrugs. “You’re the best, man.”

They sit down together at the table and Kirishima is utterly silent throughout the whole meal, instead focusing all of his attention on the food. His face is slightly flushed by the last mouthful, testament to the slight amount of spice Bakugou had added.

“That was amazing,” Kirishima compliments. “If you ever decide against being a pro hero you should definitely be a chef.”

Bakugou feels his cheeks heat up. “Nah, fuck that.”

“You swear like a chef,” Shoji pipes up from the sofas. “I saw a show about an English chef who swears all the time. You’re like him.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes but says nothing. They’re right, anyway. Instead, he picks up the bowls and takes them back to the kitchen. Before he can get them in the sink, Kirishima appears and swipes them from him.

“Nope,” he says. “You cooked, I clean.”

“But-”

“No arguing. I’m cleaning.”

Bakugou raises his hands in defeat and hovers awkwardly in the kitchen as Kirishima cleans the dishes. He hums as he works, smiling all the while.

He’s always smiling. And somewhere deep within, Bakugou hopes he never stops.

 

⸎

 

“Please! Please please please!”

“No.”

“Pleeeaaase.”

“What part of ‘no’ are you not understanding?”

“The ‘no’ part.”

Bakugou wants to slam his head into a wall. Shoji and Ojiro let slip that Bakugou had cooked for himself and Kirishima and that the food smelled divine, and now the class are taking it in turns to beg him to cook for the whole class again.

He knows full well he’ll relent eventually, because nowadays he can’t seem to bring himself to fully refuse these people, but he’s determined to hold off for as long as possible.

He’s not even sure why.

Part of him genuinely cannot be bothered cooking that much food.

Another part of him wants to, but also revels in the opportunity to torment the others.

He leans towards that part of himself. Lets his classmates play rock paper scissors to decide who will beg and plead with him next.

Some are more annoying than others.

Naturally, Midoriya is the most annoying. Almost sheds real tears in what anyone else would see as a bid to garner sympathy. Bakugou knows the tears are real and Midoriya is just that emotional that the thought of eating together as a class makes him weep.

Mineta lasts barely ten seconds and was threatened with having his teeth knocked out the back of his skull if he didn’t back off.

The others try their very best but, alas, are unsuccessful. Ashido nearly cracks him, as does Jirou.

“But this could be mine and Momo’s first date,” Jirou had claimed as a last ditch attempt to sway him.

“I know damn well you guys aren’t going to spend your first date with these fucking losers.”

Every single classmate has been to him at least once as the week went by, and Bakugou stands strong.

Until, of course, Kirishima comes along to ruin it.

“You’re gonna cook for them all,” he says on the Thursday, four days into this battle of the wits. “You know you will.”

“And why the fuck would you think that?”

“Because you love cooking for other people.”

“I love cooking for y-” He stops himself, mentally reprimands himself for the slip up. It gives Kirishima pause, though, and the redhead’s cheeks flush a light pink.

“I’m not fucking doing it.”

“You’re only doing this because you’re stubborn,” Kirishima says. “But as stubborn as you are, you’re also a really good person who loves doing things for other people. So you know you’re gonna cook for everyone. And everyone will appreciate it and be at your beck and call for however long you desire.”

“I don’t want that,” Bakugou retorts. He sighs softly. They’re in the library, the rest of the class too focused on their own studying to listen to their conversation. He watches them all and imagines them, briefly, enjoying a homecooked meal. He knows most of them can’t cook, knows they’re reliant on ready meals and whatever hot food they get on campus on a school day. They’re inept and childish and needy. Oh so fucking needy. “Okay, fine. But you guys are coming with me to buy the ingredients.”

Kirishima’s face brightens up, sharp teeth bared as he beams. “Of course we are.”

 

⸎

 

The markets are within walking distance, saving him the pain of public transport. He thought walking might help him to evade the looks and jeers of the general public.

He's wrong, of course.

Within a minute of them reaching the more populated areas, he finds eyes fixed on him, watching him as he passes. People whisper to one another, covering their mouths to protect their secrets further.

Damn he wishes he had Jirou’s quirk.

“Ignore them,” Kirishima says, leaning closely into him.

“Trying.”

Kirishima smiles softly. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

Bakugou hands out some small lists to everyone and the group split off, with Ashido skipping off on her own, Sero and Kaminari veering off to the left, and Kirishima and Bakugou to the right. Kirishima natters as they peruse the vegetable stalls looking for the correct items, talking about everything and nothing. If Bakugou was interrogated about the conversation, he would not be able to recall a single thing Kirishima has said so far.

Regardless though, just the sound of his voice is enough to keep his head above water and ignore whatever stares he’s getting.

He selects his ingredients and puts them in paper bags before heading over to the shopkeeper. The owner is an elderly man, short in stature and wearing a much-too-large apron. He’s talking to another customer as they approach, his voice light but stern and professional. He waves goodbye to the customer and then turns to Bakugou, where his expression immediately softens.

“Hi, sir,” Kirishima greets, smiling brightly.

Bakugou wordlessly hands over the paper bags. The shopkeeper takes them but keeps his eyes on the boys, and for a moment Bakugou thinks he’s going to accuse them of stealing.

Instead, he smiles. Large, full of life. He’s missing a few teeth and the skin gathers up across his cheeks in harsh lines, showing his years. His eyes, though. His eyes are young. Bright. And boring into Bakugou.

“Mr Bakugou,” the man says. He nods politely, the smile still fixed firmly in place. “It is a pleasure to serve you today.”

Bakugou glances at Kirishima, who bares his teeth in a wide grin, and swallows down the anxious lump in his throat.

“Uh, thanks,” he says. “Just these, please.”

The man nods again and types in the totals into a calculator. He then wipes the totals away and places his hands in front of him. “No charge.”

“What?”

“No charge.”

“I… I don’t understand-”

“My granddaughter is a big fan,” he states. “She tells me you are a hero, and that you will be number one. I do not pay much mind to the news, but I trust my granddaughter’s judgement.” He reaches into his apron pocket and pulls out a small phone. “But may I ask, in lieu of cash payment, for a photograph? My granddaughter would be very jealous.”

Bakugou has forgotten how to breathe.

A small part of him wishes a villain would come and crush the marketplace so he has an excuse to run.

Instead, Kirishima takes the phone, bouncing on his heels like a goddamn puppy, and holds it up towards Bakugou.

“Go on!” Kirishima urges. “It’s okay. Go on.”

Bakugou awkwardly shuffles around to join the shopkeeper. He goes to reach an arm around him, but Bakugou instinctively flinches away. The man’s smile falters.

“Sorry,” Bakugou mutters.

“Do not apologise, young man,” the man says softly.

He doesn’t touch him, instead leaning slightly closer so they’re both comfortably in the shot. The man beams, all gums and yellowing teeth and pure joy, and Bakugou forces his own. He can’t remember the last time he posed for a picture, nor smiled for one, and the process feels very foreign. Kirishima lowers the phone once the picture is taken and inspects it. His face brightens as he hands the phone back over.

“It’s a great picture,” he says.

Bakugou doesn’t look. “Please,” he says. “Let me pay you.”

The man shakes his head. “No. This is payment enough. I wish you the very best, young man.” He looks at the picture and giggles. “My granddaughter is going to be very jealous!”

He hands the paper bags back over and shuffles away to show another worker the picture, excitedly chattering as he goes.

“That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Kirishima says as they walk away.  

“Even cuter than those kids on the train?” Bakugou asks.

Kirishima ponders this for a moment. “Yeah, I think it might be. A little old man wanting a picture with a superhero to show off to his granddaughter? Yeah, super cute. And, I also took a sneaky one on my phone.”

Bakugou raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I’m a rebel who refuses to conform to society’s expectations.”

“What?”

“I wanted to have the picture on hand in case you ever need to see how happy you make people.”

The answer is so honest that Bakugou can’t find a response, but Kirishima skips off ahead towards the others without waiting for one. Bakugou watches him, a swell of something takes the breath out of him, as he smiles and gesticulates to the rest of the group.

His friends are all, for lack of a better word, odd. They’re brash, loud, unintentionally attention-grabbing, annoying, and infuriating. And he, he now realises, loves them more than he thought he ever possibly could.

But Kirishima?

Kirishima shines brighter than anyone he has ever met.

 

⸎

 

Bakugou enjoys silence. Relishes in it, really. But the silence in Aimi’s office is decidedly uncomfortable and suffocating. She’s filling it with the rhythmic tapping of her pen against her notebook, resting on her lap, and she’s fixing Bakugou a knowing look.

“What’s wrong?” Aimi asks.

To her credit, she’s given it a solid twenty minutes of silence before she asks. That doesn’t make the question any more pleasant. He considers lying, but the knowledge of her quirk weighs heavily on him.

She once said she’d never force a patient to admit they’re lying, but that doesn’t help him right now. Her lips are curled into a slight smile, the expression equal parts professional and warm. Dark eyes, despite staring through him, are inviting and gentle.

He can’t lie to her.

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly.

Aimi tilts her head a little. “Tell me more.”

“It’s Kirishima,” Bakugou adds. “He… I don’t know.”

“Has he done something?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” He sighs heavily. The words are lost in his mind, in whatever distant emotions are twisting themselves into knots in his head. “He’s… himself. Just himself.”

Aimi watches him. She’s stopped tapping the pen but Bakugou can’t recall when. That professional smile begins to lift, turning into something even warmer.

“This is a good thing, right?” she asks. “That he’s being himself.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“And that makes you feel something.”

Bakugou swallows. “Yes.”

Aimi chews her lower lip for a moment, the smile still present. “Can you tell me more about what it makes you feel?”

“Not really.”

“That’s fine.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to. It… fuck. I don’t know. I don’t know what it makes me feel. It makes me feel fucking sick. And confused. But I think I’m… happier when he’s around.” His throat is dry. He clears it. “I don’t know what to do with that. I feel like he’s making me vulnerable and that’s just the fucking worst.”

Aimi nods. She writes something down on her notebook and then sighs contently. She places the pen down on the pad and rests both hands over it. Her nails are painted a soft pink that matches her hair, and he now notices a silver band on her left ring finger.

“I firmly believe in the importance of learning who you are by yourself, without being defined by another. Learning how to be happy as an independent individual is also important. However, I also firmly believe you should cling onto people who make you happy. Vulnerability is scary but it’s also freeing. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable around someone, choosing to be, is a sign of trust.” She looks at him, really looks at him, again. She’s smiling still but it’s softer again. “Trust won’t come easily to you. I don’t think it ever has. You admittedly haven’t gone very deeply into your early childhood, but I expect you didn’t trust easily when you were younger either. And if you did, that was shattered by the adults in your life.”

He scoffs. “Got that fucking right.”

“So now you’ve found someone you trust. Someone you trust so deeply that it makes you feel vulnerable. I think you need to lean into that. Let him in. Let down those walls you’ve so carefully constructed for so long.”

“What-” He stops, his voice cracking. Aimi watches him. “What if he breaks it?”

The smile fades. “You need to figure out if this is a risk you’re willing to take with him.”

“Is it?”

“I can’t answer that. What I can tell you, though, is that you can’t let that fear of getting hurt again stop you from being happy.”

“Easier said than done.”

“I know. I know it is. But right now you have someone who makes you happy. That thought is scary and new but it’s good. Okay? It’s a good thing. A very good thing. And so I want you to hold onto that. Okay?”

“Okay.”

 

⸎

 

He starts cooking as soon as he gets back from his therapy session. Most of the class give him a wide berth while he works, but Kirishima remains by his side throughout the process. He makes another curry since Kirishima liked it so much last time, making it even more mild now, and it doesn’t take long. He doesn’t have much of an appetite by the time he’s finished and lets everyone else gather and dish out their own portions before he gets a small amount for himself. He sits between Ashido and Kirishima, a positioning that is proving particularly comfortable nowadays, but today there’s an odd feeling in his chest. He has no reason to feel anxious. No reason to feel down, or lost, or any of the usual feelings he’s endured in the last year. He isn’t even sure that’s what he’s feeling.

But there’s something uncomfortable settling in his chest and it robs him of his appetite. He manages a small amount of curry but, to his relief, that goes unnoticed by everyone else. The room is noisy and busy, which does nothing to help whatever emotion he’s in the midst of. He tries to focus on at least one conversation, but all the voices blur until they’re unrecognisable and the effort of trying triggers a headache behind his eyes.

He gives it ten minutes before he excuses himself. It’s late anyway, he tells himself. He’s tired. Nobody stops him, but they do wave goodbye in such a cadenced manner that it almost resembles a Mexican wave.

It would amuse him on any other day. Today, though, he feels nothing. He drags himself to his room and closes his door tightly behind him, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding the moment he’s locked away. He keeps the lights off and collapses onto his bed, drifting into an uneasy sleep remarkably quickly.

 

He’s woken by screaming. Blood-curdling, high-pitched, animalistic screaming. It’s right in his ear and his eyes open, but his body refuses to move. The screaming is endless and moves from one side to another, travelling repeatedly. He wills it to stop, begs it, but his voice is nowhere to be found. It seems to get louder, and a cold chill envelops his limbs as a heavy weight sits upon his chest, pressing him down further and further into the bed. He blinks, the only part of himself that will respond to his commands, and as his eyes open again he finds a face staring back at him.

Nose to nose.

This stranger, with beady black eyes, blinks back at him. Pale skin, almost grey, is tight across the forehead but those beady eyes fill up so much of his vision he can’t see anything else.

He wants to scream but he can’t. He can’t breathe. The figure blinks again, almost copying him. He tries to close his eyes but finds he can’t. Something grasps him gently by the face, cold and alien, and slowly begins to squeeze his cheeks. The blinking ceases and blood begins to trickle down the forehead and between those big, black eyes.

 

And then Bakugou screams.

He sits bolt upright, the sound tearing from his throat, and he clambers out of bed and lands awkwardly on the floor. He slides himself away from the bed until his back reaches the wall and he stares forward at the space that thing had occupied.

There’s nothing there.

There was never anything there.

And yet he can almost feel those icy hands on his face. Can still see those void-like eyes boring into his very soul.

The door bursts open and the sudden light momentarily blinds him. Bakugou immediately goes on the defensive, lifting his crackling palms ready to fight.

“Katsuki, it’s me!”

The door slams shut, the sound jarring, and he releases a small explosion. Something warm and strong wraps around his hand and Kirishima’s face suddenly fills his vision.

“Katsuki.”

“Eijirou.”

Kirishima smiles, but it’s strained and doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He lowers himself down until he’s knelt down and slowly lowers Bakugou’s hand. Bakugou looks down and finds Kirishima has activated his quirk.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Kirishima interjects. “No, don’t apologise.” He lets go of Bakugou’s hand. His fingers burn, some slight blistering across the tips where they met the wrong end of his own quirk. If anyone else had come in, that would have been their face. The thought makes him nauseous and those destructive hands begin to shake. “Katsuki. Listen to me. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I could’ve hurt you.”

“But you didn’t.” Kirishima takes his hand again, gently this time. “You hurt yourself though.”

“It’s fine,” Bakugou whispers.

Kirishima sighs softly. “What happened?”

“Nightmare.”

“Okay,” Kirishima says with a nod. “Okay. It’s only eleven. You can still get a good night’s sleep.”

The thought of lying back in that bed, back with that thing, makes Bakugou’s head spin. He lets out a small, involuntary sound and Kirishima’s face softens even more than it already was.

“I’ll stay.”

“No, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to. But I’m going to.” Kirishima pauses. “If you’re okay with that.”

He needs to say no. Needs to. For his own sanity. He needs to say no and escape this whole interaction and be alone once more. Instead, Aimi’s words echo in the back of his mind and images of that monstrous face hovers around them.

“Okay.”

Bakugou remains on the floor for a little while longer. Kirishima goes into his bag and pulls out his anxiety medication, wordlessly getting out the correct dosage and grabbing his water bottle from his desk. Bakugou takes it almost robotically and remains on the floor for long enough for the medication to begin to work.

Kirishima remains on the floor beside him that whole time.

After a lifetime, or perhaps just an hour, Bakugou stands up. His head is aching and his body burns, his fingers too. Kirishima moves with him until they’re both lay on the bed. Kirishima lies by the wall, giving Bakugou the space to leave the bed if he needs to. An escape route.

He turns on the lamp and, side by side, they watch the colours dance.

“You weren’t okay at dinner,” Kirishima says tenderly. “Were you?”

“I didn’t have a reason not to be,” Bakugou reacts.

Kirishima exhales sharply. “Sometimes there isn’t a reason for being sad. You’ve come a long way, Katsuki, but you’ll still have bad moments and bad days. I think tonight was a bad night.”

“Maybe.”

“That’s okay, though.” Kirishima turns his head, so Bakugou follows suit. He meets Kirishima’s deep, thoughtful eyes. “It’s not a step back.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

Bakugou looks back up at the ceiling. His vision blurs as tears build in his eyes. He tries to blink them away to no avail. A tear drops down his temple into his hairline.

Kirishima’s hand grasps his own and he flinches, tightening his into a fist. Kirishima lets go, his expression measured and calm. They both pause for a moment, the tears still trickling slowly but surely. Kirishima slowly offers out his hand, laying it on the bed between them. Bakugou looks at it, at the empty palm. So daunting and terrifying and inviting. Slowly, he places his hand on the empty palm. Carefully, gently, Kirishima’s fingers curl around his own.

“It’s okay,” Kirishima soothes.

Bakugou’s hair is damp. He knows his pillow is too. He doesn’t fight the tears though. Instead, he lets them flow and he keeps hold of that warm, comforting hand.

 

 

Notes:

to those who have been wanting some more baku/kiri content - enjoy

:)

also we're coming towards the end now and an ending is being established in my lil brain

Chapter 33

Notes:

been a while

whoops

sorry about that

The first thing that Bakugou notices when he wakes is that his hand is empty. As he opens his eyes, gritty and sore from tiredness, he finds that comforting face is still beside him, sound asleep and looking decidedly peaceful.

Bakugou doesn’t want to ruin that peace, and so he remains perfectly still.

The lamp is still on, the boys having fell asleep before they could switch it off, so he watches the swirling patterns for a while. The colours mix and dodge and dance and his eyes follow every movement. His mind drifts, thoughtless and blank, as he focuses on nothing but those colours.

“You awake?”

He startles a little, finding Kirishima looking at him tiredly. His hair is unkempt and dishevelled and yet he looks even more approachable than usual.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Only for a bit though.”

“You could’ve gotten up. You wouldn’t have woken me.”

“I might’ve.”

“And?”

Bakugou shrugs. He sits up, groaning a little at the movement, and switches off the lamp. It’s just after eight, a longer lie-in than he ever usually grants himself. A swell of guilt leaves him momentarily breathless but a short laugh from Kirishima brings it back.

“Not gonna lie, your bed is far comfier than mine.”

Bakugou smirks. “Everything about me is the best. Even my bed.”

“You got that right.”

Bakugou shakes his head and sighs. “I need a coffee.”

“Same.”

They get up, Bakugou opening his blinds before they leave the room. It’s a Sunday and most of their classmates are still sleeping. Iida, to nobody’s surprise, is awake and studying at the dining table. Tokoyami is sat on the sofa reading a book, and Sato sits opposite studying a baking book.

“Bakugou,” he greets as soon as they reach the common room. “What’s your opinion on cakes?”

Bakugou shrugs. “Not much of a sweet tooth.”

“Understandable. I’ve been trying to perfect this particular red velvet cake and I’m missing something, but I can’t pinpoint what.”

“I always just experiment with ingredients,” Bakugou says softly. “Throw things together and see what happens. I don’t know if that works with cakes though.”

Sato nods thoughtfully. “I’ll give it a try.”

He joins Kirishima in the kitchen, who is already in the process of making coffees, when Ashido’s voice echoes from the stairs.

“BAKUGOU KATSUKI!” Ashido bursts into view, her striped pyjama bottoms and oversized t-shirt combined with messy, unbrushed hair serving as a good indicator that she’d only just woken up. “I have a bone to pick with you!”

“What bone is that?” Bakugou questions.

“Explain why you didn’t tell me you had such a goddamn cute moment at the market yesterday,” she demands, thrusting her phone forward until it fills his vision. “I had to find out through the internet?!”

The photograph of himself and the shopkeeper has been uploaded onto social media, alongside a sweet comment.

“They posted it?” he asks quietly.

“His granddaughter did,” Ashido explains, her tone calming a little. She’s smiling as she gazes back at the picture. “She said that she wants everyone to know that Bakugou Katsuki is really lovely and is nothing like the papers paint him to be.”

Bakugou huffs, picking up his coffee from the counter and gripping it tightly. It’s hot in his hand, stinging the tips of his fingers but it keeps him grounded.

“This is a good thing, Katsuki,” Kirishima says softly.

Ashido blushes a little as she locks her phone. “You’re so lovely, Bakugou. But also very scary and intimidating.”

Bakugou stares her down, jaw tight and knuckles whitening. “Good.”

“Must go,” Kirishima announces, taking a big swig of his coffee before he does. “I need to hose the porcelain.”

Ashido watches him go, brows furrowed. “What?”

“He’s going for a piss,” Bakugou explains, staring down at his coffee.

Ashido grimaces. “Ew. You boys are gross.”

“Hey, fuck off, don’t lump me in with that shit. He’s learned that from tweedled dum and tweedled dee.”

Ashido’s grimace twists into a grin. “On that note, I’m gonna go shower. Don’t stray too far, Bakubro. I feel like harassing you some more today.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes and remains put as she skips out of sight. He leans back against the counter and embraces the sudden and undoubtedly temporary silence. He takes a measured breath and gazes down at the murky black of his coffee.

“So.”

The voice drags him from his thoughts. Jirou is approaching slowly, smirking, like a predator stalking its prey. He watches her warily as she closes the gap between them.

“So,” she repeats when he says nothing. “’Katsuki’?”

“Just figuring out that that’s my name?”

Jirou rolls her eyes, the smirk still very much present. “Nobody uses your first name. What makes Kirishima so special?”

“Fucking nothing. Besides, fuck off using your quirk to listen in on other people’s conversations.”

“First of all, I didn’t listen intentionally. And second of all, this place is really boring in the morning and if I can’t spy on everybody else’s dull conversations, what can I do with my day?”

“You need a new hobby.”

“I did ask you to check out the musical instruments with me.”

“Are you incapable of doing that alone?”

“No, but it’s more fun with someone else and you’re the only one here who can play and instrument and has my taste in music.”

Bakugou inhales sharply. “The fuck you want, Ears?”

“Nothing.” Jirou grabs a cup from the cupboard. “You were right, you know. Momo was looking at me the same way. She almost jumped me when I asked her out on a date.” She starts to make a tea. “And I can tell you right now that Kirishima looks at you like that.” She pours some hot water into her cup, the teabag colouring the water quickly. She stirs it, strengthening it even further, before meeting Bakugou’s eyes. “Whatever it is he’s feeling for you, I think you feel the same way.”

Bakugou eyes the pair in the living room, relieved to find they’re both still very much invested in their reading. Jirou has focused her attention back on her tea, adding a gross amount of sugar to it before removing the teabag and placing it in the bin. She washes her spoon before she picks up her mug and faces him once more.

“Is this all news to you?” she asks. Her face has softened, any trace of the smirk gone and in its place is something akin to concern.

“No,” Bakugou admits quietly. “New, but not news.”

The concern is quickly replaced by a sweet smile. “Have you ever asked anyone out on a date before?”

Bakugou shakes his head. “I didn’t have much need for actually dating someone. Got my needs met.”

Jirou’s eyes widen and Bakugou has to hold in his laughter. He’s not lying. He’s in no way innocent. But dating? What use has he ever had for that?

“Okay, that’s my fault for trying to open that can of worms,” she says. “But I think if you’re gonna have anyone as your first ever date, Kirishima is a good one.”

As though being summoned, the boy in question appears as the lift doors open.

“I don’t think I’m the right kinda person for someone like him,” Bakugou says lowly.

Kirishima grins as he approaches. “Whatcha talking about?”

“Telling him all about my date with Momo,” Jirou says without missing a beat. “He’s absolutely enthralled.”

“I bet,” Kirishima says with a laugh. He picks up his mug and finishes the last of his coffee in one big gulp. “I saw Sero on the way up. He said we should game today. You up for it?”

“Sure,” Bakugou replies.

Kirishima grins and begins to wash his mug. Bakugou watches him, the action catching Jirou’s attention. She leans in closer whilst still maintaining a comfortable space between them.

“For the record,” she says in a whisper. “You’re good enough for him.”

“Fuck off,” he mutters back.

“You are,” Jirou reaffirms. “Please don’t forget that.”

 

Bakugou spends the day quietly being with his friends, but the nightmares still hang in the back corners of his mind, waiting patiently for him to close his eyes so they can latch on once more. As night draws in and the group begin to get tired, the thought of being alone fills him with a panic unlike that which he’s all too accustomed to. He watches Kirishima rub at his eyes and stretch and the need for him to stay is almost overwhelming.

But he refuses to ask.

Because you’re fucking weak.

Bakugou internally shakes the thought away.

Kirishima must sense his mental battle, as he taps him on the wrist and smiles.

“You good?” he asks.

“Fine,” Bakugou replies.

His jaw is aching, a telltale sign he’s been gritting his teeth again.

Kirishima leans in closer and lowers his voice, keeping their conversation private as the other three play one last round of Mario Kart.

“I can stay again, you know,” Kirishima says. “It’s not a problem. Like I said, your bed is way comfier than mine.”

Bakugou swallows thickly. There’s an odd longing look in Kirishima’s face, like he wants him to say yes. And God knows Bakugou hates letting down that walking goddamn piece of sunshine.

And yet, the thought of saying yes seems so wrong.

And he can’t figure out why.

“No,” he finally answers. “Not all night, I mean. We can chill.”

Kirishima’s smile doesn’t fade. He doesn’t look sad, or disappointed. And once the final round has been won by Ashido, who graciously accepts the win by relentlessly taunting the other two boys, they return to Bakugou’s room.

They lie on the bed, the lamp on once again, and a new, more pleasant voice in Bakugou’s mind tells him it wouldn’t be so bad if Kirishima stayed.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Kirishima asks. He’s playing a game on his phone, keeping the interaction somewhat casual.

“I’m not… rejecting you. You know?” Bakugou says tightly.

Kirishima pauses and lowers his phone. “Go on.”

Bakugou exhales sharply. “In the last year, the only time I’ve been able to sleep is if I’m medicated, with someone else, or had my head caved in. Out of all of them, you being here is definitely the uh…the preference.” He exhales again, shakily this time. “But I don’t want it to be like this anymore. I want to be able to just sleep like a normal fucking person.”

Kirishima nods. His hair brushes against Bakugou’s cheek with the movement. “For the record, I never thought you were rejecting me. You can say no to this at any time at all. Hell, you can drag me out while I’m asleep if you want. Consent, my dear Katsuki. Consent. However, your concerns are completely valid, so maybe the solution here is to confront whatever it is that’s keeping you awake.”

“Oh wow, thanks. That’s such an easy solution.”

Kirishima huffs out a short laugh. “Look, everyone has a past. Some people are haunted more than others by theirs. Maybe you’re just… really haunted.”

Bakugou thinks back to his conversation with Todoroki, to the thought of ghosts. He can identify his own ghosts with ease.

“So I need to confront the ghosts that haunt me?”

“And banish them straight to hell,” Kirishima continues.

Bakugou frowns. It sounds complicated, and yet the solutions creep into his head almost instantaneously.

“I think I know how I can start.”

Kirishima looks at him. Their faces are so close, Bakugou can smell his peppermint toothpaste.

“Wanna share?”

Bakugou sighs softly. “Let me figure it out. Then I’ll let you know.”

He sits up and grabs a notebook from his bedside drawer. With the first pen he finds, he begins scribbling down the identifiable ghosts that lurk in his mind.

Kirishima watches him for a second, a moment of concern etched on his face before it’s replaced by sheer tiredness.

“Well, if you don’t mind me staying here a bit longer, my cats need tending to and like I said, I prefer your bed.”

Bakugou lifts his head, pausing in his frantic notetaking. “Your cats?”

Kirishima shows him his phone. He’s playing a game consisting entirely of caring for numerous cats of different breeds, the colours all pastel and soft. He turns the volume up for the full effect, showcasing its gentle and tinny soundtrack.

“Have fun with that,” Bakugou says.

Kirishima nods. “I will.”

 

Bakugou continues with his writing until he has pages of people, thoughts, regrets, and accusations scribbled down in a lacklustre manner. Kirishima fell asleep around an hour after he began and Bakugou has absolutely no desire to drag him out, despite the permission to do so.

Instead, he lies himself down beside the other boy and grips the notebook to his chest like a lifeline.

Tomorrow, he thinks, he’ll start confronting and vanquishing his ghosts.

Tonight, he’s content to remain right here next to Kirishima.

Notes:

i think i've said before that the portrayal of ptsd here mirrors my own and this has been a therapeutic exercise. the causes of the ptsd differ, but the experience with self-harm, suicide, and all the other fun stuff is there

however, unfortunately i experienced some more traumatic events that have re-triggered my ptsd and i haven't written anything since i put the last chapter out. partly due to having absolutely no motivation or desire to do any hobbies anymore, and partly because i found the main topics in this story in particular quite triggering.

now, though, nearly a year on, i think i'm finally getting back to myself again and with that comes a love of writing. i'm no longer triggered by my own stupid story, i want to do my hobbies again, and i have spent too much time on this story to just leave it to collect dust, so here's my lil vow that it's gonna be finished and i hope you all like the ending.