Chapter Text
Bakugou abruptly stands, the backs of his legs knocking the chair back.
“What the hell did you just say?”
“Dynamite,” the pre-op nurse interrupts, before his next word forms. “Sir, they’re ready for him.”
“Did you hear what he just said?” He asks, knowing she didn't, that it was too faint for her to hear.
“I'm sorry,” she says, unhooking Shouto’s IV bag from its pole and placing it on the bed. “We have to take him back now.”
Bakugou looks at Shouto, whose eyes are closed, his face relaxed except the barest trace of that sad smile.
The gurney clicks and the nurse nods at the tech on the other end to start moving.
“The doctor will find you in the waiting areas down the hall when their finished,” she says as they wheel Shouto through the double doors, leaving Bakugou standing stupidly in the empty space.
“The fuck?”
30 minutes earlier…
Bakugou lets out a long, suffering sigh as Shouto gets a sixth blanket laid upon him by the pre-op nurse.
The layers of preheated sheets started piling on the second Shouto mentioned it was “a little cold in here.” Like the pampered princess doesn't have the ability to warm himself.
Fucking Izuku.
Bakugou should be on his favorite hiking trail right now, enjoying crisp air and burning muscles, not playing designated driver to the half n half bastard.
“ Please Kacchan. Medical arranged for him to have the surgery today, they think it may be infected. I can't stay. You know this op can't wait.”
“I'll go on your mission.”
“You know they won't clear the replacement. Pleeeease.” he pleaded in that annoying as fuck voice. “I don't want Shouto to call a nursing service. He won't ask anybody else… you know he’d do it for you.”
Manipulative bastard.
Bakugou hates hospitals. The harsh lighting, the constant beeping, the cloying scent of bandages, the horrific memories cued by all of the above. He’s seen enough of them to last a lifetime.
Coming here, willingly, in a healthy state, Izuku knew it was a monumental ask.
He also knew Bakugou wouldn't say no, knew why Bakugou wouldn't say no.
It's a deeply buried truth that neither ever acknowledges aloud, Izuku, because he values his life and Bakugou, because he never, ever, sets a goal he can’t achieve.
Shouto shifts in his bed and winces.
“Poor dear,” the nurse tuts, quickly pulling medication from a vial and injecting it into Shouto’s IV. “This will help with the pain.”
She disposes of the needle and adjusts the bed carefully, pulling up the covers to Shouto’s chin.
Spoiled Princess.
“You feeling better dear?” Bakugou asks.
“I am, thank you.”
It rankles, drives him up a fucking wall that even now, after years of bland looks and monotone comments, he still can't tell when Shouto's totally oblivious to sarcasm and when he’s just being a sly little shit.
Shouto’s eyes droop a little, then snap open wide, as though he’s been shocked, then droop again.
Bakugou stifles a chuckle. “All right there, Halfie?”
“Feels,” Shouto scrunches his face as he searches for a word, finally settling on, “weird.”
“Bad?” Bakugou asks.
"No," Shouto says, his tone making it sound like a question. “It’s sort of like I don't care about stuff I think a lot about.”
Bakugou remembers his experiences with pain meds and thinks that Shouto’s inarticulate statement tracks.
The room is quiet but for the beeps of machines and occasional low murmurs of staff as they speak to the other patients behind curtains.
Across from them, a man with a clipboard pushes aside a curtain and leaves the bedside of an older woman. She's wearing a hospital gown and mesh cap, just like Shouto.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Shouto says. “I put you down on my advance directives.”
“What?”
“They’re-”
“I know what they are, shithead. Don’t you have family for that sort of thing?”
Shouto gives him a flat look. Bakugou knows what he’s conveying, well aware that Shouto disapproves of the measures his parents have been taking with Touya.
“I trust you,” Shouto says, emphasizing you . “I know that if something goes wrong with this surgery-”
“We're not doing this, Icy hot. You're getting your appendix out, not having brain surgery. You're gonna be fine.”
“But if I’m not-”
“If appendicitis is what takes you out in the end, I'll pull the plug myself,” Bakugou says with finality, wanting this conversation over.
Shouto smiles, “Thanks.”
“Shut up.”
Bakugou’s phone buzzes with a message from the agency.He takes a moment to browse through a few other texts, all of which can wait.
“Bakugou?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you know that-hey, who’s that?”
Bakugou tracks his gaze. “That's an IV pole, dumbass.”
“You sure?” Shouto squints, unphased by the name calling, unlike the nurse who shoots him a disapproving look.
“Dunno,” Bakugou says. “Why don't you talk to it and see?.”
Bakugou smothers a smirk as he holds a finger over the camera button on his phone, but Shouto doesn't attempt to converse with the pole. Instead, he shifts his focus to Bakugou with him with a sincere, wide-eyed expression. “I know you hate hospitals. I would have stopped Izuku had I known he was calling you.”
Bakugou scoffs, “Like the nerd could force me into anything I didn't want to do.”
Shit. He didn't mean for that to sound so…honest.
“Thank you for doing this.”
“Shut up.”
“Seriously, you're the best,” Shouto says, then laughs, like he just made a joke. “Kacchan’s the best!” he calls out, perfectly imitating Izuku’s lively inflections.
Bakugou winces and looks at the nurse. “Can you, like, put him to sleep or something?”
The feckless woman just smirks at him, then proceeds to lovingly tuck the edges of Shouto’s blanket like he’s a fucking toddler.
Useless.
She doesn't even notice that the cap on Shouto’s head has shifted down his forehead, dipping over his right eyebrow.
He looks like an idiot.
Bakugou reaches out and adjusts the elastic, his finger brushing lightly along the smooth skin of Shouto’s cheek. The cap is secured back on flattened white hair before he even realizes what an odd impulse it was.
Shouto seems to notice too because his eyes widen at the gesture.
As nonchalantly as possible, Bakugou pulls his hand away, sits back in the chair and pretends to adjust his sleeve.
“Your eyes’r a pretty color.” Shouto says, as though he’s making an observation about the color of the walls, as though he has no idea what kind of power he wields over Bakugou’s circulation.
In a display of well-practiced arrogance, Bakugou casually replies, “I know.”
“Like Hawks’ wings.”
“Fuck you.”
Stupid bastard.
The corners of Shouto’s quirk. “I'm glad we're friends.”
Friends.
It wasn't long ago that the word would have set him off. It still does in a way.
A moment passes.
Then another.
Friends .
It feels true.
And yet.
Shouto remains patiently quiet, snug in his cocoon of blankets. He never pushes, not when it matters.
Another moment passes and something tight, something deep and contracted starts to loosen in Bakugou’s chest, making him reach out again and poke Shouto through the side rails. “Yeah, ok,” he says, letting his voice soften. “Friends.”
Shouto’s slight smile remains, but the wrinkles around his eyes flatten as he focuses on the ceiling.
“You ok?” Bakugou asks.
“Yeah,” Shouto says. “Was just thinking about airports.”
He’s so fucking weird.
“I remember once, when Natsuo came home from a year abroad, my mom invited his girlfriend to come with us to greet him as he came out of the terminal.”
Bakugou stills. Shouto never talks this openly about his family.
“When he got off the plane, he greeted my mom and Fuyumi with hugs and me with a shoulder slap. But when he got to his girlfriend, he just stood in front of her, a small smile on his face.”
Shouto’s eyes move back and forth as though he’s watching the memory unfold. “Natsu said, ‘hey’ and she smiled back, and said ‘hey.’ Then they just turned and walked to baggage claim. Side by side.”
Shouto lets out a long yawn and his words slow. “I remember being so confused. I thought people who liked each other acted like the people in Fuyumi’s favorite movies. But she explained I shouldn't focus so much on what they said or did in the moment but what those words and actions conveyed … At the time, I didn't understand but…”
Shouto’s slow blinks turn into closed lids and soon his breathing evens out, leaving Bakugou feeling sort of suspended, as though he’s right at the crest of a rollercoaster, not quite able to see what's on the other side.
Minutes pass.
Shouto snores. And somehow, makes it sound unassuming and graceful.
Bakugou calculates it's been about a year since they've l spent any meaningful amount of time in each others’ company.
A year packed with missions and training and paperwork, none of which has prevented an almost daily barrage of random emojis, cat memes, and pictures of menus with “can you tell me what to order?” The idiot still doesn't know how to feed himself.
Bakugou studies him, soft, unfairly pretty, even in a fucking shower cap.
His hair’s pulled away from his face, baring parts Shouto usually prefers to keep covered, the uneven skin a contrast to the almost porcelain-perfect rest of his face.
Bakugou’s seen Shouto naked, in locker rooms, touched almost every part of him, sparring, beaten the shit out of him and been beaten by him in return.
But this quiet moment, watching him, at peace and unguarded, this feels so much more intimate.
He can't do this.
Bakugou looks around for the nurse to let her know he’s heading to the family waiting area when Shouto’s eyelids flutter open.
“You're still here,” he whispers.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Shouto’s nose crinkles in amusement. “Going to miss you.”
“Not going anywhere, Halfie.”
“But I am,” Shouto says, his eyes drifting closed again. “Accepted Hawks’ offer.”
“What?” Bakugou sits up. What offer? Nothing simple comes out of that man’s office. Nothing…local.
Shouto dozes in and out and mumbles something.
Bakugou leans closer, gripping the railings of the gurney, trying to catch the end of Shouto's sentence.
“...even though I'm pretty sure I'm never going to get over you.”