Chapter 1: Prologue: Red Eyes
Chapter Text
It’s not easy to love. But you can trample on my heart as much as you want because not loving you is surely an impossibility_ Bakugo Katsuki
December 24th 20XX
The brisk wind pierced through the pores of the boy's exposed skin, Izuku shivered as he clutched his all might figurine tightly. The night was cold and dark, the houses bright with small neon lights flickering, almost terrifying for a clueless eight year old. He took a step back, footsteps muffled by the thick white blanket of snow on the ground, for his older brother with red rimmed eyes to stand. The dusty moonlight twinkled in his brother's tears as they dropped into the white flakes.
"Yugi." Izuku called his brother, his voice low, almost hopeless. The look good brother gave him cast a shadow of fear— some anonymous sorrow— over him.
The houses around them stood unfamiliar around them, two clueless kids lost in a thick forest.
"What's going on?" Izuku asked again, a statement that had weighed heavy on his tongue the whole ride to this foreign place. Yugi rubbed his eyes but he failed to hide the tears the welled in his eyes. He grabbed his brother's arm and squeezed it.
Izuku didn't like that.
He didn't like whatever was going on.
It was the eve of Christmas but it felt like a Halloween night.
Well decorated Christmas trees in the middle of the neighbourhood, neon lights flickering all over, people singing Christmas carols and the thought of opening gifts the next morning always brought him some type of joy but this year was...odd. He doubted he'd even receive even a penny the next morning.
The warmth that spread inside his chest around this time of the year was replaced by a cold smoke, colder than the air piercing his skin like fresh tiny thorns.
Somewhere in the darkest pits of his soul he knew that Christmas would never be the same again. That he'd never see his father dancing to chunky all music from his old cassette player as he danced around the house nor would he taste his favorite strawberry pancakes made every Christmas morning. Nor would he bicker with his older brother about who got the best Christmas presents.
They had left him and his father was not with them.
His mother did not look happy.
Everything has changed.
Cold white dust fell on his hair, his nose and everywhere. Standing up had never felt so difficult.
Yugi had been crying the whole ride to whatever this place was and his mother couldn't even step outside the vehicle.
"Mom?" He called— asked. His voice small, heavy and cautious.
Izuku was so confused(scared).
The two boys stood quietly as they waited for their mother to respond— to step out of the vehicle. Izuku watched her silently, the chilly wind rocked him to the core. Just as her silence.
She took a glance at the two of them for a long-short moment and looked away. As if horrified, like she was staring into the soul of the scariest thing. Then she looked away, like looking too much would hurt. Her shoulders trembled before crooked sounds shattered against the icy wind.
Yugi pulled Izuku for a hug and his body shook. They were crying. They all cried.
Everything had changed.
“Mommy? What's wrong?” Izuku asked. “Where’s Dad?”
The air stilled with his brother, the wind picked up it's pace and swirled like an unannounced storm in his body. The weight of the silence that settled over them almost got his knees almost buckling.
Inko looked at Izuku, her eyes red and exhausted. Izuku felt his eyes sting at the sight. She stepped out of the vehicle and walked to her sons and embraced them, her warmth engulfed him but it wasn't enough. The wind still pricked.
“Daddy’s is not with us." Her voice was firm, a little husky but called. Her words like daggers pierced through his ribs and straight to his heart. A tear froze on Izuku's cheeks. "It’s just the three of us, honey.” She said, kneeling down to cup his chubby cheeks, coated pink from the cruel, unfair wind.
Izuku hated the wind. And the snow. The sound of winter as it whooshed past his frozen pinna, as it settled on his pale thin skin. He hated the neon lights that flickered into the grey surrounding them. He hated her sky, it was dark and boring without the stars. The moon was lonely. He hated the snow that covered his feet. He hated the sound of his mother's voice. He hated the number 'three'.
Their cries swelled around the space they stood. Louder than the flickering of neon lights and the bitter blue wind. Louder than the carols from the neighbouring house. The sounds of their agony blended with the wind and muffled by the snow rising with an anguished melody for none to keep but for three to remember, rising and falling in painful harmony.
***
Days were hard but they passed. Nights were harder, waiting for someone who chose to leave was even harder. Eventually the eight year old swallowed the reality pill— his father would never return— and tried to adjust to whatever life was bound to throw his way.
A months passed and the cruel blue winter melted into spring. The sun shone brighter, the birds chirped happily every morning and the nights were warmer; the stars aligned the sky and yet everything felt the same. The coldness in his chest was too brisk and his heart made too brittle. Close to collapse.
Everything changed, and it was time for him to start school. A new beginning—like his mother had called it. But to Izuku, school felt more like an exile. School always felt like a safe haven, a place muffled from the constant banter from his mother and father, a place he'd hide all that and pretend everything was good. A place to meet new people make friends and yet his new school peeled off that cover for the world to see.
He dreaded going to school.
A sigh left his lips as he placed his backpack on his back and ran to school.
When people left bad things always happened or was it because they were cautious? Because they didn't want to be with the horrible people that they left behind? Because something was wrong with them? Is that why his father left him? Is that why no one wanted to be friends with him?
No. He hadn’t made any friends because he was too afraid to. The world inside his classroom felt as unfamiliar as the town itself. It still felt like winter. Elementary school quickly became a silent torment. A slow agonizing pain. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to belong, maybe it was because Monoma wouldn’t let him.
Monoma was everything Midoriya wasn’t. Loud. Confident. Worshipped. The kind who walked into a room and commanded attention. He was the Regina George of the playground; pretty, popular, soft blonde hair, bright blue eyes, friendly, happy. His father was present— the principal. And everyone adored him.
He had everyone's eyes on him until Izuku became the new 'mysterious' kid.
They were both pretty, both wide-eyed and delicate in a way that made people stare, but Izuku was new. And new things sparked interest. Attention shifted. Eyes wandered. And Monoma hated that.
He wanted to be the center of the universe, the sun around which everyone revolved. Izuku’s presence was disrupting his orbit.
So he made sure Izuku knew his place.
Not through fists. Not through playground fights or stolen lunches. No, Monoma was smarter than that. He didn’t need violence to make someone disappear.
He had something far crueler.
Words. Isolation. A well-placed whisper in the right ear.
And just like that, the green head became a nobody.
Izuku tried convincing himself that whatever Monoma did bothered him the least but he knew how deep rooted his anguish was everytime he met eyes with the other. Or when a sneer was directed his way. When he entered the classroom and everyone quieted down to judge him.
He ignored them(tried to), pulling out his all might figurine from his backpack and smiled as he placed it on the table. It was the only thing he had left from his dad.
A sad smile formed on his lips as he gave it a long glance. His only friend.
Izuku's anxiety kicked in when he heard snickering at the back of the class. He tried ignoring them but they got louder and obnoxious. He then felt something hit his neck. A cramped paper fell to the ground moments later, he looked at it and laughter erupted. The classroom stretched and his feet dangled a height higher from the ground. Higher and higher and higher. His seat became brighter and their laughter swelled, louder and louder.
He spared a glance behind and those taunting sky blue eyes met his own. A chill ran down his spine. Monoma smirked which irked Izuku.
“What are you looking at? Fag.” Izuku looked away. Monoma and his friends, Shindou and Shihai, laughed. Monoma’s laughter louder than the rest, bouncing on the walls of the classroom and meeting the green head with a quenching anger.
Well, he lied when he said no one talked to him. The three had taken a liking to his personal space, well his entire life in general. Whatever he did, whatever he was or whatever he wasn’t, they knew.
They sneered at him everytime they got the chance to. He didn’t understand what the word “fag” meant, but he hated it with every bane of his existence.
Monoma liked throwing it around in his face
His eyes danced around the classroom and surely everyone was staring, some snickered and others pitied him. He caught a glimpse of those familiar red eyes staring at him. The boy looked angry, his face scrunched in a scowl —well he was always scowling. And he always looked, even when Monoma and his friends hadn’t made him the center of attention, he was watching him. Never breaking away. Izuku had to look away getting self-conscious yet again under his intense yet unwavering gaze.
The urge to look back was strong, he could feel the burn of those red eyes on him. The ruby eyed boy that sat at the back of the class.
Whenever it was time to play, Izuku isolated himself at the corner of the playground and held his all figurine closely as he watched his classmates play. A breathy hopeless sigh escaped his lips, loneliness loved to embrace him. It swelled and hugged him tight, sticking to his skin and clinging into his bones they became one.
He missed his old home, his old school. He missed old friends. He missed his father.
“Hey, fag.” Monoma greeted, his tone dripping with mockery— and the others snickered. Izuku startled but he ignored them. The blonde crunched down and gripped him by the strands of his hair, forcing him to face him. Monoma’s eyes burned with fury, disgust and something Izuku couldn’t fully understand.
Then he snickered when the boy winced in pain, tears hot at the rims of his eyes. Serves you right.
“I’m talking to you, little bitch! Didn’t your mummy tell you to look at people when they are talking to you.” Neito's voice was low and it stung.
“He’s so miserable.” Shihai mocked from the side and tear rolled down Izuku's cheek, the three laughed in delight.
“That’s not my name. Don’t call me that.” Izuku protested, trying to pry his hands off his hair. Monoma only tightened his grip, Izuku could feel the burn of his hair being pulled out.
“But that’s who you are. You are always looking at him with your creepy eyes. It’s disgusting.”
Izuku didn’t know who they were talking about and neither did he care.
Shindou snatched his figurine from the ground and Monoma, amused, dropped the desperate boy like a sack. Izuku watched in horror as Neito held of his figurine.
“Give it back!” Izuku yelled, there were barely any teachers around and those who watched did not care. Hot tears pricked his eyes. “Please.” He begged, just like Neito liked but Neito wanted more. Izuku could feel his heart dropping to his stomach each time they tossed it among themselves, their snickering burning a hole in his chest.
Whenever Monoma held it, he threatened to break it. Watching Izuku beg at his mercy was his favorite thing and every time he did, he felt like doing more, stooping lower.
He would look at Izuku, his eyes sinister glinting ever time he saw fear in his green orbs. He loved how self conscious the boy became whenever was around. It stroked something inside him, he loved it more than anything. Izuku was just so pathetic.
“Aww, you’re such a stupid boy. No one is going to help you because you have no one. No one here likes you.” Monoma spat and Izuku listened in agony, a sick feeling swelled inside his stomach. Monoma was right. No one wanted to be his friend, even his own dad left him.
Monoma's laughter thundered in delight.
Izuku used all his energy and pushed Monoma who stumbled to the ground with a loud thud. There was a thick silence, laced with poison and terror. The two minions looked shocked, scared for Izuku. Izuku rushed to pull his figurine from Shindo’s hold and ran. Clutching it tightly.
He ran as far his tiny legs could push him but he was beaten to it. He was pushed to the ground, falling with a thud and bruising good knees and palms. He didn’t even get the chance to whine as he received a kick to the gut, knocking the air out of him. Hot tears ears stained his eyes and he received yet another kick. More painful than the first.
He cried. He looked around, they watched and yet no one came to help him. No one.
“How dare you touch me with your filthy hands!” Monoma seething, yelled. His friends, Shindou and Shihai, looked scared, extremely scared of Monoma.
“Monoma, Mrs. Kayama coming.” Shindou said lowly, scared of being caught, scared what Monoma could possibly do to Midoriya, and at that the trio ran leaving him bruised on the ground. He stood up his knees burning, his body was trembling painfully. He picked up his now dirty figurine and walked away.
At the corner of his eye he saw him, watching like he always did with his signature scowl. Their eyes met for a brief second, burning red ruby and amazon green. Izuku looked away first and ran out of the playground, and out of the school premises.
What did he think? That he would care?
Inko’s first response to Izuku walking inside her house at around 5 pm was shock. “Honey, did you get into a fight at school?” she had asked but then boys his age always got into fights. She sighed. “Go wash up and come eat.” She said not thinking much of it, trying not to.
“Honey your friends were here looking for you. Where have you been?” His mother asked once he made it back to the kitchen. He shrugged, he had stalled on his way back so that it didn’t look like he missed class.
“Who was looking for me?” He asked his voice unsure. Friends? He didn't have such.
“He said his name is Monoma.” His mother said with a chuckle. “Why are you so surprised? He told me he’s your best friend. Such a nice kid.” His mother mused— like what she just said didn’t throw her son in a hurricane of anxiety— as she finished whatever she was doing to finally give him get full attention.
“What did he say?” He asked, heart thrusting hard against the bones in his chest.
“He wanted to catch up on what you guys were doing at school. Poor boy looked so excited and he waited for so long. I didn’t know what to do— you know how awkward I am around people, even kids. I just gave him an album to keep him busy.” She smiled so innocently.
"Our photo album...?" Izuku croaked, his own voice a toxin in his throat. It came out loud and obnoxious. She looked at him, surprised and shrugged.
Izuku tensed. “Mom! Why would you do that?!” His voice thundered and his mother was startled out of the small trance. Izuku couldn’t help feeling so betrayed. “Mom, why would you do that!?” He repeated his voice breaking. His eyes wet.
Inko looked confused. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Why would you do that?!” He repeated, tears like rivers on his cheeks.
His mother blinked at him, her smile half frozen.
“What’s wrong, dear?” she sounded so innocent. So ignorant.
“Why would you —?” his voice croaked,he couldn’t decipher what to say or what to do. His voice dissolved, “mom—” he cracked, crying in absolute fear. He felt betrayed.
His mother just gave away the most vulnerable part of him to the person he disliked most.
“Sweetheart, I just thought—”
“No, mom. You’ve ruined everything.”
***
Izuku had never dreaded going to school like he did now, heart raced, a bird trapped in a cage threshing violently for it's release. Guts tied to knots, melted into a puddle. Palms wet, nerves stretched taut. Voices in his skull loud and relentless, whispering thick and ugly. Vices crawling in his blood, under his skin.
Eyes on him weighed heavier and nastier. It's all in my head, it's all in my head. He lied to himself, something revolting swelled and burst into specs of venom throughout his entire body. His skin crawled and itched everytime someone mentioned a name similar to his or even his name.
The ugly feeling kept on growing as the day progressed, neither Monoma nor his minions looked his way. None made snarky remarks when he passed, none mocked him. They were oddly silent and it was very unsettling.
Time dragged on, the sun was almost scorching and everything was bright, the leaves were greener, the sand in playground was drier and dustier. Everything felt so alive so clean so fresh. A juxtaposition to Izuku's being. It was all in his head, Monoma wouldn't do anything. It was all so calm, so calm it was terrifying.
A calm before the storm, an impending doom. A silence before everything snaps, before everything is destroyed.
Even at the playground, they didn't not bother him. In fact they were no where to be seen.
A thin strip of sweat rolled down his back, it was so hot. He watched his classmates play and wished time would fly so he would get home.
His eyes darted about when he saw him. The scarlet eyed boy laughed, his back facing Izuku. The sound foreign but intriguing. He was laughing with a red and white haired boy. They were always together, even in class, they sat at the back together, quiet. Izuku often times met eyes with that boy though his stare wasn’t as groveling and intense as the crimson stare.
Watching him Izuku felt a surge of happiness flow through him. The desire to be right beside him was growing and for some reason Izuku felt something slash in his chest. It was rude, ugly. He wanted to laugh with him too. He wanted to have a friend. He wanted to be his friend. But why?
The familiar ache burned beneath his chest, like an unwavering flame the longer he stared. Would he ever get a friend? Would he ever laugh like that? Ever?
***
Like the red sea, his classmates parted in the hallway when he passed. Their eyes forming blisters on his skin. The air was thick, heavy like stones clogged his throat, corrosive in his lungs.
Izuku pushed the door to his classroom open and the air was forcefully sucked out of his lungs. He peeped at Monoma who smirked from the from of the classroom, his look grueling and knowing, almost taunting.
The classroom desks were pushed to the side and in his desk was excluded. Right in the middle of the classroom left under the spotlight. His crayons, pencils and drawings were littered on top. Wet and broken. He trotted to the sight and something somewhere within him cracked. Everything was destroyed. His all might figurine broken beyond recognition, crumpled to dust. His lips wobbled and rivers streamed along his cheeks.
Everyone was looking, their eyes like rakes dragged along his skin.
His father smiled at him from the board ahead, and he forgot to breathe. Izuku smiled too, seating on top of his father's shoulder with his all might figurine lifted in the air. The words 'FAG' floated in the air above his head. He choked, lava filling his ribcage. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see. Everything was blurred out but the photograph Monoma stole from his house. The lava burned, he couldn't breathe. His eyes sting. He couldn't breathe.
No wonder he's a faggot, he has no father.
Izuku’s felt his world freeze and then it shattered.
Monoma snickered from behind him, patting him on the shoulder.
“Aww, are you crying? I’m just letting everyone know about you. You said you wanted friends. Your mummy was so worried that you don’t have friends. I’m just helping.” Izuku clenched his fist, his body trembling with overflowing emotions.
He was stripped naked and now every inch of his skin was being peeled off. A ton of eyes were on him. Weighing him down, pinning him to the floor. He looked up and locked eyes with those familiar crimson eyes, a rose petal on fire. For some reason he felt even more exposed. Worthless.
He couldn't really comprehend anything that was happening so he just cried, tears rolling down his face. His breathing harbored and strained.
“I hate you.”. Izuku spat his voice stained with hatred, hurt and anger. His fists collided hard with Monoma’s jaw. He fell to the ground and snickered, Izuku wanted nothing but to cut his lips off and slice out his throat.
“You’re so pathetic. So pathetic and weak.” Monoma spat back with twisted triumph. And even though Izuku was the one on his feet, he knew, he lost.
Without bothering to spare him, or anyone else a glance, he rushed out of the classroom.
Izuku sat on the swing, tears spilling down his cheeks. The more he thought, the deeper the ache grew. It hurt so badly he pressed the shattered figurine against his chest, the jagged edges biting into his palms, but he couldn’t let go. He missed his father— if only he were still here, they would never have ended up in this place. He’d still have friends, he’d still have happiness, free from all these worries. Instead, he wept, because no one cared for him anymore. He was alone. Completely alone.
Mental cranked and the swing next to him creaked. Izuku turned to meet crimson eyes, red lava glowed into forest green.
“Here.” The ash blonde spoke up with his hand stretched towards Izuku. Izuku stared at him with his big round, teary and bloodshot eyes, for a moment before he processed what he’d said. He was holding his bag. It was dripping wet. The boy had picked his things for him?
“I don’t know if I got everything.” He continued, his hand still stretching out, his voice soft and kind.
“Thank you.” He managed to choke out.
The two sat there for what felt like hours, it was silent and comfortable and throughout the comfortable silence he didn’t shade a tear. Maybe because he was embarrassed too cry in front of someone.
Or maybe, maybe because he wasn’t alone this time.
***
Hours past, days followed until a week past. Izuku didn't attend school for an entire week. The fear of going through what happened crawled over him that he fell ill. Would they look at him the way they did in class. Did he look stupid, pitiful, pathetic just like Monoma had called him?
Or did he fall sick because he was too scared? Coward.
Unfortunately for Izuku his sickness didn't last long and his mother wasn't a big fan of him waisting tuition fees at home. School rounded closer than he thought it did and the next Tuesday sitting in his uncomfortable school chair.
Monoma too hadn't stepped into school ever since he left. Word reached his ears that the other had fallen ill too. Too ill he was hospitalized. Rumor has circulated that it was too had he couldn't walk, bedridden.
Everything seemed to have quietened down, no one gave him weird, or pitiful looks. Monoma's friends never spared him a glance or a lowly snicker. As though they dreaded his presence.
Did he punch him too hard? But he seemed fine right after. He even said those mean things to Izuku. Monoma couldn't be sick at the hospital because of him.
But why did his friends look like they were scared of him?
Izuku couldn’t fail to notice the bruises on their skin. They were purple and healing but they were there. Had they gotten into an accident too?
He pushed the thoughts aside, whatever happened to them wasn't his concern. Neither did what happened to Neito.
Izuku hadn't talked to the boy from the swing again. He'd spot him from the back of the classroom but was too afraid to send a greeting.
Rumors were speculating about what happened to Monoma. Some said that the blonde got into a car accident, some said he got bitten up by a group of boys from a class higher because Monoma provoked them —which was believable but still unlikely. Others said Izuku had something to do with it —which was believable and likely but not true.
Izuku still had raging anger. He had thought of ways to back at Monoma when he may bed sick in his bed. I'm ways that would make him loathe even the sight of Izuku but he couldn't bring himself to do any of it.
Coward.
When Monoma walked in class that Friday, Izuku felt some type contentment.
The door clamped shut and the air stilled stale. A silence fell upon the classroom and it swelled, leaving room only for the clanking of Monoma's clutches against the concrete floors.
Monoma's red rimmed eyes danced around the classroom until they met Izuku's. Everyone else's eyes followed suit and Izuku's breathe hitched. It was almost frightening how pale Monoma looked, lips cracked like he'd spent months without a drop of moisture. Bruises decorated his pale skin— the one next to his left eye impossible to ignore.
How was he even able to move.
His left leg barely touched the ground. Supported by a clutch, right arm in a casket. He looked pained, like breathing was like swallowing needles.
Hair on every inch of his skin arose and every cell in his body tensed when Monoma found pace again, headed towards him.
“I’m so sorry, Midoriya.” He said as soon as he made it, bowing his head in shame. The whole class looked at Izuku who was just as shocked as they were. The whole situation scared him a little bit.
Monoma’s eyes darted behind him for a brief second and his body froze. The look of terror in his eyes claimed Izuku. Just as he was about to look back, Monoma stared crying. Silent then hysterical.
“I’m so sorry, I’ll never do it again. I’m so sorry, I’ll never do it again.” he chanted and Izuku just sat there, unsure what to say.
***
The memory of Monoma crying on his knees crushed into him like a hummer to the skull. Followed him like the wind as he swung on the old swing set. Something felt wrong but for some odd reason, Izuku felt a twinge of joy spark like small embers from a fire cracker.
He could tell that Monoma did not mean any word he uttered, he was merely terrified but he couldn’t describe the satisfaction that swelled in his heart seeing the other beneath him begging for a pardon.
His lips stretched lightly and the wind followed him, back and forth, back and forth. The afternoon sun felt warmer that evening and the sky was clearer, brighter. As it shone just to bring a smile on his lips. Maybe there would be stars at night.
Was he horrible for being happy?
Metals clinked again, Izuku turned to look at familiar crimson eyes.
The boy smiled, his smile was soft, cautious, genuine. Izuku smiled back. A quiet silence fell upon them. They both didn't seem to mind.
His blonde hair seemed to glow under the warm rays, his red eyes between lighter and brighter as if they took in every form of light that they absorbed.
Izuku still didn’t know his name.
“My name is Katsuki.” He said— as if he knew just what he was thinking— with a smile and Izuku couldn’t help but mirror it.
“Izu-“
“I know.” That caused his smile to broaden. A surge of happiness built inside when he realized that for the first time in what felt like a long time, he made a friend.
Chapter 2: Intoxicated
Notes:
TW: DRUG ABUSE
Chapter Text
present time
“Inasa is so hot.” Iida spoke gently, and said person walked past. Inasa turned to look at Iida and Iida grimaced, ears reddening. He shyed and turned away to meet Izuku's gaze. Inasa shook his head lightly, and continued with his journey. Izuku laughed.
“Straight, too.” He added with a bit of mockery and playfulness.
Iida groaned and pouted. “Why are all the straight people so fucking hot?”
Izuku smiled.
“They are hot because you can't have them and life's a fucking bitch," Izuku replied matter-of-factly, "... besides... Shinsou's not straight.” Izuku whispered those last two words in the other’s ear and smirked when he was shoved away. He proceeded to wrap his arms around Iida's taller frame, a smug smile dancing around his lips.
"Don't be disgusting." Iida contorted and a laughter bubbled out of Izuku's chest. Chatter around them lowered and a few gazes fell on them. A few that passed by gave Izuku questioning looks/glares. "Shinsou is straight— I've only seen him with girls. And he's not my type—why the fuck are we even talking about that piece of rubbish!" He snapped at the end and Izuku cackled lightly.
"I'd never stoop that low." He adjusted his rectangular frames on the bridge of his nose and gripped the straps of his backpack.
Liar.
"I was just saying..." Izuku slurred, words dancing on the tip of his tongue.
Shinsou was/is good looking and so was Iida. And Izuku was no fool. He had eyes too, he'd seen the way Shinsou looks at Izuku. Whatever stupid shit they were doing was just make believe and there's no way Izuku would fall for it.
"If you like him it's okay. You can tell me. And I know you think he's got don't ya?" Izuku teased, tightening his grip around Iida. "I see how you look at him, I see how he looks at you. Just confess and save us all the sexual tension."
Iida was sighed, clearly irritated or it was just an act. Izuku was no fool.
“He’s Not!" Iida hissed and pressed the bridge of his nose like he always did when stuck on a number. "He's not my type, either— cut this out will you?!" Izuku smirked wider.
"Shut it!"
"I haven't said a thing."
"You're saying it with your eyes! I've told you countless times, I don't like that piece of scum."
"But I haven't done anything!"
"Yes but you're doing it inside your head. STop,"
“You’re so cute.” Izuku mused as he stared at his friend. A small blush creeped his cheeks at the compliment, he was so gullible.
“Shinsou is hot—accept that. And he definitely has this massive crush on you. You should see the way he looks at you, especially when your not looking. It's like you're the most precious thing in the room!” Iida’s face twisted.
“He could be a better candidate for you, seeing how you can't keep his name off your tongue.” Iida said, his voice calm and dipped in sarcasm. Hurt.
Shinsou and Iida have known each other for as long as Izuku's been on earth. Their mothers were college besties and got marred to men that were close to call themselves brothers. Iida and Shinsou attended the same schools ever since preschool. Basically they couldn't escape themselves to save their lives. Both good looking, Iida a nerd while Shinsou a pretty jock that turned heads when he walked past. Quite popular, a reputation heavy on his shoulders, kind, quiet and gentle. Nonchalant with a massive attraction towards Izuku's best friend, his diaper buddy.
No logical explanation could possibly backbone why he would burden himself with the duties of an ICT club after his diaper buddy, that he "hated so much", joined.
Painfully obvious.
Seeing them interact felt like someone grabbed him by the neck and pushed him into a tab full of melting ice. Seeing Shinsou laugh like a maniac each time he successfully pranked Iida was like watched the sweetest angle run off it's pure wings and transform into a diabolical being. Grin wide, fangs out.
Childish. A word to describe the both of them.
Stupid. It was painful watch sometimes.
Izuku just listened to his friend’s banter as they walked towards their lockers, school was as normal as it should be. Hungover teenagers loamed around the school hallways, Izuku looked around, nothing out of the ordinary, no one he wished to lay his eyes on in sight.
Just the thought of him got his heart thumping wildly in anticipation. He exhaled suddenly feeling restless.
Iida was still ranting as they made it to their lockers “… man I hate his fucking guts, he thinks that if he's rich, he can get any fuck he wanted! Bit-
*BOOM*
The entire hallway became silent, well expect from Iida’s heavy gasps.
“…” Izuku snapped out of his thoughts at the loud burst, gasps were heard from those that didn’t give a fuck about minding their own business.
Midoriya turned to look at his friend who looked like the end of the world had flasher before his life. Chest heaving rapidly. Iida’s locker had been blown open. A poster that read #SURPRISE!# with a smily face next to it. It was covered in goo and that same goo trailed down Iida’s face, down to his blazer, ruining his entire uniform.
The slime dropped on the floor with a disgusting splat. This was bad.
“Hitoshi Shinsou you old man’s fart! I swear to GOD! WHEN I GET MY FUCKING HANDS ON YOUR STUPID ASS!” Iida yelled, his voice was threatening, angry. The audience was surprised and seemed to enjoy this, Izuku did too.
He spotted a familiar purple head at the end of the hallway, his snicker couldn’t be missed. Iida spotted him and started sprinting . Shinsou’s laughter could be heard as he ran looking for safety.
They were so adorable, Izuku thought. One day maybe they would be a thing. He’d be their biggest fanboy.
What Izuku didn’t really know was, Iida was interested in someone closer to him than he would ever imagine. Someone so close it might break them.
The bell was sounded and he cussed under his breath knowing he was going to be late for his first period.
…
“I’m fucking slitting his dick off when I lay my hands on him.” Iida spat angrily while staring at his reflection on the glass window of the restaurant where Izuku worked part-time. Placing his fingers through his hair that was dirty with color, probably from the goo.
Izuku just laughed.
He braced himself and walked inside the building leaving Iida outside, preoccupied with his reflection.
“How’s your day Mrs. Kayama?” The middle aged lady smiled in response, she looked so worn out but still managed to look beautiful. Looking around Izuku could tell why she looked as such, the place was buzzing with people and it was just the start of the evening.
“It’s doing great, Midoriya. You’re quite early today.” He shrugged.
“Yeah, thought you might need my help.” And he needed the extra pay. Izuku had answered as he looked around again, his smile dropped, the number kept growing by the minute. Chatter bouncing off the walls of the moderately sized restaurant. It was mostly men in suits, Izuku assumed they were worked in the companies nearby. Tokyo was a busy city after all.
He sighed, endurance is all he needed at the moment. “Lemme go change!” He announced and the old lady nodded. He stared at the waiter’s uniform for a moment, only for a little while, just for a while.
The more he thought about it, the more motivated he became. It was his only ticket to leave that dumpster of a house he was supposed to call a home.
With a smile he walked out of the changing room ready to start another day of work.
“Waiter! Can I get…” The day carried on with numerous calls from both patient and impatient customers. They were too many and by the time they closed down he felt like his feet were in the verge of bursting, his muscles were sore and if he had quite enough, he’d opt for a massage.
As they say, hard work pays. His pay brought a smile on his lips. He pocketed it and headed to where Iida was. His fast asleep on the table at the corner of the restaurant, his PC on, it's light illuminating his pale skin, lips slightly parted as soft light breaths escaped them. His thin rimmed glasses still on as they settled in a somewhat uncomfortable position on his face. Izuku sat besides his resting frame, he recalling the time when the dark blue haired boy told him about the guy from the ICT club that had ruined the software program they were working on.
It seemed like he was working on it and it looked like the boy was almost done fixing it. That and Midoriya’s assignments that were due this week. He smiled and gently woke the other up.
He loved his best friend.
“It’s time to go.” He announced softly and Iida groaned getting up. They walked home.
Once the two went separate ways, and Izuku was at a safe distance, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. It’s glow bright in the dark alley. The smoke was hot and dry against his throat. He felt contented as the nicotine filled his lungs, eating away the stress and frustration buried inside him. It was like a second friend, one that pulled him away from reality, brought him to a place close to happiness, a momentary utopia.
He took short steps as he walked home, dreading his arrival. But the more he dreaded, the closer he got, he exhaled, after all he had no where else to go but home. The walked into the building as stealthily as he could and thanked the heavens when made it to his room without being noticed by his mother or anyone else for that matter.
A soft smile involuntarily made it’s way on his lips when he stared at his moderately sized bed, tiredly he fell on it with a soft thud and let the soft mattress caress him. It was literally the only thing in that house that brought him happiness.
That thought alone worsened his already sour mood. His heart constricted with buried sorrow that was scratched each time he looked around his room, one day though, he’ll be out of this home and he won’t have to see have to them ever again, he won’t have to see their disgusting faces ever again.
His fingers twitched for another cigarette, for another escape. But the fear of his mother finding him in such a state overwhelmed his desire
“Care to greet your mother when you come back home. And you are late! It’s already past 8 o’clock, Mr.” His mother yelled from down the living room, her voice was soft but authoritative. Izuku hated it. He groaned she never cared about what goes around in his life so why the ruckus. "I'm talking to you, Mr. And get down for dinner. Dinner is ready.” She suddenly appeared at the frame of his bedroom door, her hair neatly combed, she was beaming brightly as if excited about something. She then walked away and Izuku sat up.
Surprised.
He stood up nonetheless, his stomach grumbled at the thought of food.
He was about to step out of his room but the pay from earlier weighed heavy in his pocket. Right. He rushed to his closet and pulled out two jars one read “dorm & expenses” and the other read "tuition"
He knew better than to depend on his mother. They were already hanging by a thread, and now there was a man — the one he was supposed to call a stepfather — draining what little they had left. With a younger sister to think about, college had quietly become his problem alone.
But when he lifted the first jar it felt a bit, only just a little bit lighter than before, he panicked lightly and opened the box and it was... empty.
Let’s not panic, maybe I placed it all in one jar. He thought trying to stay calm and checked the other jar and it was empty too.
His heart dropped and his breathing harbored, all his money was gone.
He’s money was gone. All that he’d worked so hard for almost a year now was gone. He breathed shakily as his fingers trembled to open the jars again, maybe he misplaced it, he’ll just have to check around right? Could be somewhere, possibly his closet or maybe I’m his drawers. He could’ve placed it under his bed and it just slipped his mind. Or, or he placed it under the rug—
“Zuku!” His mother called again, her voice impatient. He swallowed back the lump in his throat. His appetite long gone.
“Coming!” No one knew about that money. No one. It was only him. It was his money.
His mother didn’t know that he worked, they all probably thought he was out being the useless son he is getting wasted and dicked down. They wouldn’t check his room, right?
They didn’t know he had money, no one knew.
The dinner table was set nicer than usual, the aroma that filled the room reminded him that the last meal he had was a left over sandwich for breakfast this morning. They were all already sitted.
He stared at the middle aged man that his mother has been in love with for the past nine years, his blood boiled just by looking at him.
“Hi, Izuku. How are you doing?” The man seemed oddly happy, and that was just enough to raise the boy’s suspicion, his eyes darted to the gold wrist watch the man was wearing, Izuku had never seen it. Could it be that he used his money to buy that dumb watch!?
Midoriya sighed, he was probably over reacting. It was best if he didn’t stay here. He looked away from the man— not bothered to respond to his greeting—picked a random plate and headed for his room.
He needed to look for that money or he would lose it.
“Hey, hey, hey. Where do you think you’re going young man?” His mother called and he sighed, getting impatient.
“To my room.” Izuku said turning to look at her, could it be that she cleaned his room? She seemed oddly happy and now it kind of made so much sense.
“You’re eating with us. It’s family etiquette to eat dinner together.”
“It’s it necessary? I mean, it’s not like I ever eat with you guys, you don’t want me…” Izuku was whining but trailed off when he saw his older brother emerge from the kitchen clad in his suit and a bowl in hand. Now it made more sense and his mood worsened.
As much Izuku hated being on the same table as them, he was hungry, so hungry and worn out. Just for the meal.
He looked up and kept glancing at his stepfather, Aizawa, who was now seated right across him. He had an amused smile playing on his lips that only managed to fuel his anger .
Izuku’s eyes kept darting to his wrist and all he thought of was his money, his fucking money. He breathed shakily and stared at him again.
What’s with his fucking smile!
His tuition, his future…, The more he thought of it, the more he lost grip on his sanity. One more look at him and he’ll loose it.
“Izuku, I am here because there are some things I wanted to set straight and I hope you are willing to forgive…” Yugi (Izuku’s brother) started speaking but Izuku was too engrossed in his dilemma to give a fuck about what his brother was saying.
He saw the way Aizawa looked so smug and he couldn’t hold it in. He lost it.
Yugi was silenced the moment Izuku’s fist slammed hard on the dinner table, everyone was taken back by the outburst. Izuku was fuming, eyes zeroed on Aizawa. Bitch had the guts to step in his damn room.
“You old piece of junk, YOU THIEF WHERE’S MY MONEY!” Everyone was silenced and his voice resonated across the entire room, wavering with pent up anger and frustration. He chuckled bitterly and before he knew it he grabbed the man by the collar and everyone gasped. “I want my money! GIVE ME BACK MY MONEY?” His voice cracked at the end, he didn’t even notice the tear that dropped to good cheeks.
Everyone was taken back by the outburst, especially Aizawa. He tried to stay calm but that only fueled the fire.
“Zuku, what are you talking about? What money?” Inko (the mother) asked, shocked. Scared.
“‘What money?’ You know what the fuck I’m talking about!”
“honey, what money?” she asked again, her voice on edge.
“I don’t know, ask this stupid thing you call a husband to give me my money. I really need it. It’s my life .” Izuku cried, never letting go of the man. Fearing he might run away or something along the lines, he couldn’t think straight at the moment.
“Son? Are you alright?” Aizawa said softly, trying to act calm. Izuku was only infuriated, he could tell that the man was now playing innocent, his mother shouldn’t fall for his schemes yet again.
“Don’t call me that! You. Are. Not my father!”
“Are you insane? What are you talking about? You are ruining dinner!” Yugi yelled, Izuku wasn’t bothered to care. He stared at his little sister, the six year old was watching him perplexed, scared?
“Honey are you alright? If you’ve lost your money then I can give it back to you how much was it, mmh?” Izuku looked at his mother in disbelief, she stared at him like he was crazy..! Yugi, too. Of course they wouldn’t believe him, why would they? It was always Aizawa. Aizawa held more value than their own blood. He was the right one and he was wrong, Izuku was villain. No wonder they never cared.
He didn’t deserve it.
“It’s nothing.” Izuku’s voice came out low and cracked, tears blurred his vision. With shaky hands he let go of Aizawa, his shoulders dropped and he cried. Defeated. Had he made a mistake? Was he really mistaken? It made him think that maybe he'd done something crazy, maybe he was wrong but for how long was he going to be the one in wrong.
His money. He worked so hard…
Yugi looked at him with furrowed eyebrows and a furious expression.
“Are you alright?” The question was directed towards Aizawa, he nodded and fixed back collar. Inko gave him a small smile. Izuku felt like the world was mocking him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him today." She added and a heavy tear rolled down Izuku’s cheek.
Was he that insignificant?
“I think it’s a problem from school. Is there something wrong Midoriya? You can tell us. We are more than willing to help. I don’t mind. If it’s about your boyfriend feel free to share it with us. We care about you.” Since when did they care about his relationships? His statements sounded like mockery, Izuku tried ignoring him.
His hand balled into fists, trembling.
“I’m also not fine, Mom. I also want to be asked if I’m alright.” His voice trembled as he choked on a sob. His statement made Inko look on guiltily, her eyes softened.
“Honey…” She said politely as she stepped closer to her son.
“Don’t you dare come near me! Don’t dare try to act like you care about me because you honestly don’t. Don’t make another stupid decision, it won’t make you any less pathetic.” Izuku snapped, his eyes teary and bloodshot. Everyone was a bit taken back by his second outburst.
“Midoriya.” Yugi warned, voice stun and Izuku felt like he could care less , he chuckled bitterly.
“What? I’m not wrong. Yugi himself was a mistake, something my mother despised herself for a very long time then comes I, the gay son. God, I’m such a mistake! Haha, funny how the most beautiful thing in your life right now it’s the biggest mistake that you’ve ever made. Ain’t you tired of making mistakes, mom.” Izuku was just too unsober to filter out his words, his fists were trembling with rage. His mother started sobbing. He cried too, he said it all between tears because he was hurting too.
He been hurting so much for a while now, it wouldn’t be fair if he was the only one hurting.
“MIDORIYA! I’M WARNING YOU!” Yugi probably sounded like a rat compared to the raging emotions that Izuku had kept bottled up.
“I’m just being honest. You left dad and ruined a perfect family for this stupid man.”
*Slap*
“Yugi…” Inko called and held her son’s arm. “Don’t hit him.”
“Mom, you just can’t let him say such. Eri could have heard him.” Yugi said his voice uneven.
“Don’t worry any me, I’m alright. We shouldn’t have staged this in the first place, give him some time. He’s not okay at the moment.” … Wow! Izuku turned and walked away.
He was perfectly fine.
“I’m done, Mom. I can’t deal with more of his delinquency…”
Yugi didn’t even live with them.
If his father was still with them then all this wouldn’t have happened. He missed his father.
His money too.
He needed a smoke.
.
.
.
.
Thee sky was dark giving the moon a chance to shine brightly with the stars, everything seemed lively in it’s dark glory and Izuku’s cheek hurt like a bitch. Yugi’s hand was made of what? Iron? He felt as though his jaw was dislocated.
He ran his tongue on the side of his cheek and laughed. It could’ve been worse.
He sighed though, his back rested in the cold roof, smoke seeped past his lips forming a thin grey cloud just above his lips. The feeling was euphoric but shallow. His heart still ached. He could still hear their voices echoing inside his ears, they gaze burning holes in his mind.
He wanted it gone. He wanted to feel nothing. He was too accustomed to pain but this time he wanted it to just disappear.
It was heavy, weighing him down.
He groaned standing up. He threw the cigarette with much force, the tobacco wasn’t going to cut it, he needed something stronger, something fast, impatient, accurate.
He staggered on the rooftop as he slowly made it to his room. Everything was out of place, his clothing layered the floor. His closet hang open, his beddings tossed to the sides.
He'd searched far and wide. For nothing.
A sluggish smile found his lips when he found a small stash of white powder under his mattress, he would have lost it if he lost this too. It was just the two of them now, them against the world.
He took a small sniff of the substance and levitated. His senses dulled and he could feel the heaviness in his chest slowly dispate, their ugly voices quieted and he could no longer feel watched.
The ground melted and so did he.
His back met the cold roof and a chuckle slipped past his lips, the stars seemed to shine brighter in efforts to make him happier and the burden was lifted off, family and money long forgotten. He was happy, he thought he was happy. He then cried and he was embraced. Everything was so beautiful, really beautiful.
It was perfect. Accepting.
After what felt like hours came the numbness, the guilt and the self loath. The heaviness from earlier came crushing like a hailstone, hitting him harder and more painful. He cried for what felt like hours. Fuck, he hated himself.
He hated this.
Izuku had rattling on the rooftop and he turned to look at the intruder. A silly smile arose with the butterflies in his belly.
“Izuku, are you awake?” His deep voice sounded so melodious it had goosebumps growing on his skin. The way his name rolled off his lips was just perfect. He sat and nodded not really having enough energy to stand up or speak. The intruder smiled and sat next to him. His bigger frame towering over him.
“You okay?”
Izuku looked into his eyes — warm, steady, and genuinely concerned. He was one of the few reasons Izuku managed to keep going, the only bright thing the universe had left him as compensation for everything it had taken. And to Izuku, that was enough.
Izuku smiled, soft and a little stupid, like some teenager hopelessly smitten with his crush.
Which he was.
He found Izuku staring and he smiled too, his soft dimples could still be made out under the dusty moonlight. Izuku’s cheeks could probably hurt from all the smiling he was doing but who cares, literally the hottest guy in school was sitting next to him and past 3am.
A soft silence engulfed them and Izuku used this chance to stare at the male, his jawline was even more defined under the shadows of the moonlight, his hair looked a little darker and he looked more beautiful and masculine. Izuku found the urge to lean on his shoulders but was afraid that once he did so the other will vanish into thin air like a cloud. What did Izuku do to deserve a friend like him
“Ehem, so what brings you here?” Izuku finally asks, curious.
“I’ve just been around. Is there something wrong with checking on a friend? I just wanted to see you.” Izuku could feel his cheeks warm, he shrugged and the other smiled.
Friend..
After a while the two climbed off the rooftop and it was time to say goodbye.
“Izuku…” Shoto breathed and Izuku exhaled, this was it! The moment of confession? The I like you, let’s go on a date? Izuku couldn’t help but imagine. “You should stop smoking, it’s not healthy.” Izuku’s smile dropped and a bright light flashed them.
Izuku was disappointed but at least Shouto cared about him. Shoto mumbled a breathy “fuck” and a car honk was heard, laughter followed.
“Goodnight.” Shoto whispered in his ear then pulled him for a brief hug. He then walked away leaving the boy flushing like crazy.
“Man, what the fuck?” Shoto expressed while staring at his best friend who only laughed harder.
“Sorry I ruined your cutesy moment.” Bakugo said and Shoto rolled his eyes, he was bout to sit in the passengers seat but groaned when he saw a girl sleeping in it. Her hair was disheveled and everywhere, her heavy makeup smuggled and her tight red dress a little higher that it should be. Shoto didn’t want to imaging what the two were doing in the car in his absence. He groaned and sat in the back.
“Fuck you, man.”
“With pleasure.” Bakugo responded then laughed, Shoto fought the urge to roll his eyes yet again.
“Just drive.”
Bakugo was in an exceptionally good mood and no, it wasn’t because of the girl that was now drooling on his seat.
It because he was was just in time to ruin whatever that sickeningly sweet moment might’ve blossomed between Shoto and Izuku. He knew Izuku liked Shoto— the damned nerd had mentioned it subtly in their conversations. And Shoto? That Icey hot bastard was getting strangely getting attached. Mentioning him at random times, being overly protective and close.
That didn’t phase Bakugo.
He wouldn’t let Shoto claim what was already his.
The damned nerd belonged to him,
His lips that the other was about to claim, were already claimed by him and he’s more than willing to claim them again and again.
Izuku waved goodbye to Shoto and flashed Bakugo a middle finger. Bakugou only laughed, he looked so cute in his pajamas.
“You know you love me.” He teased “Just admit it.” Izuku scoffed at that.
“You wish.”
And he did. Izuku loved Bakugo, he knew that. The boy just needed a reminder.
Chapter 3: Casual (but wasn't)
Summary:
Like the title, some things weren't casual.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Theme song: Nobody new by The Marias
♪Baby I promise, there nobody new ♪
I hate it
I hate that I’m not the reason you are smiling so brightly yet you are standing right in front of me… Bakugo Katsuki.
.
.
.
That very morning, at around 4am
The tires of the mustang screeched on the cold pavement, Bakugo sighed and drummed his fingertips at the steering wheel as Shoto stepped out of the vehicle, he’d refused to sit in the passengers seat even after Bakugo had dropped that girl off.
The air was thick and cold, he could make out the smoky whitish air that escaped his lips when he breathed.
“Goodnight, man,” Shoto said walking off without waiting for a response from the other. Bakugo wouldn’t give it, and they were both used to it. That’s how his best friend was.
Bakugo sat in his vehicle quietly, he still hadn’t recollected the energy to drive off the Todoroki property. He glanced at his retreating frame silently.
Two children run out of the big home with big smiles on their faces, they embraced Shoto and his laughter could be heard from where Bakugo sat. The twins, a boy and a girl giggled as the male lifted them up and span them around in the air.
Bakugo just looked on, the sight evoked nothing inside him, he just started at the interaction and he wandered if there’ll ever be a day when seeing something like that would bring a smile to his face or maybe cause something to ache inside his chest. Will something like that ever be seen at his place?
Not that he longed for it, he just... wondered.
They would probably look just as pathetic, or worse. He yawned and started the engine.
The drive back home wasn’t so long and soon the gatekeeper opened the gate for him to drive through and he took the route home.
After what felt like hours of navigating through the massive front yard, he made it to the house, he parked his car in the garage as silently as he could and stealthily stepped out. He almost cussed out loudly when the door banged with a loud thud. He tiptoed is way through the mansion to his room, cussing lowly when his shoes squeaked on the marble floors or when he almost knocked down one of his mother’s most precious vase next to the staircase.
He wouldn’t dare to wake up the old hag, she was the scariest when sleep deprived.
Well, she was the scariest nonetheless.
The scariest person he knew after his father.
Just thinking about him made a chill run down his spine.
He hardly made it past the living room when he heard voices coming from the study—his father’s study, he wasn’t one to pry but curiosity got the better of him, none dared to walk into the study when his father wasn’t home, he became even more curious when he heard laughter.
People rarely laughed in his home. In fact they never even smiled.
Booming cheerful laughter erupted. The kind that irked him because he rarely laughed as such.
Whoever it was, was brazen enough and they probably weren’t phased by the presence of his mother.
The laughter became more pronounced as he stepped closer, it was coming from two ladies. Bakugo finally caught a glimpse of his mother’s ash blonde hair that looked too neatly combed for the morning, it cascaded down her back, covering her expensive silk night robes. She had a glass of wine in her hand. As always.
Seeing a smile on his mother’s lips got him halting slightly I’m his tracks, the woman barely laughed let alone smile. The person she was with had their back to him, he couldn’t make out who they were but he could tell it was a girl or most likely a woman.
The frame was familiar but not so familiar.
Whoever it was pricked Bakugo’s curiosity and he walked in. His mother stared at him—her smile dropped, displeased by his rudeness.
The woman turned and he met his sister's gaze, her eyes darted from their mother to her brother, the corner of her lips rose in a smile, a smirk. Bakugo started at her with creased eyebrows, at the slight wrinkles at the corner of her eyes, they were slightly delated and he could tell it was a fake smile.
Something pricked his skin. His pulse rose and he fought the urge to clench his fists.
Bakugo never failed to show his displeasure, her presence only made him question the meaning behind her existence. She didn’t belong here. Not in the house he’s bound to call home and definitely not after she betrayed everyone and decided to side with that MAN.
She didn’t deserve the title “older sister” and his mother had not right to let her inside their home.
He turned around not bothering to utter a word and stormed out of the house, never bothering to look back and ignoring his mother who kept on calling out his name.
The drive back to Izuku’s home was short lived, he let out a light sigh when he noticed that the lights of Izuku’s bedroom where still on. He stepped out of his car and headed for the boy’s window.
.....
Izuku was sitting by his drawers, folding his clothes and tidying up the mess he created when searching for his money when he heard a knock on his window. He turned to see Bakugo who wore a goofy ass smile on his lips. Izuku sighed, he wasn’t in the mood so he ignored him.
He knocked again.
“Come on, it’s freezing out here.” Bakugo whined, Izuku groaned, this man child! And opened the window nonetheless.
“I thought you’ve been here more than a hundred times, opening a fucking window doesn’t require a shitty degree.” Izuku complained and shivered lightly when the cold wind from outside fanned his small, lightly dressed frame.
“Consent.” Bakugo shot back and grinned like an idiot as if he just pulled an Albert Einstein. Again, Izuku wasn’t in the mood.
“Since when did you give a fuck about that.”
Bakugo slightly taken back, only shrugged after he stepped inside the bedroom, standing a little bit too close for Izuku’s liking.
“What are you doing here? Don’t you have school tomorrow?”
The blonde watched the other rubbed his arms before he closed the window and his eyes softened when he noticed that the other was in his shirt that he left here a few nights ago.
Izuku shifted feeling uncomfortable under his gaze, using that as cue to step away from the other.
“This is my home, too. I can come in whenever I feel like.” Bakugo mentioned, looking as serious as he sounded and proceeded to fall on Izuku’s bed, exhaling in delight.
Izuku rolled his eyes, it’s not like Bakugo was wrong. The dude made it a habit; showing up out of the blue, every other night and crushing on the poor boy’s bed.
Izuku might as well charge him for rent.
It's not like Izuku minded sharing a bed with him.
He sighed and walked back to his dressers to finish his clean up, never sparring the male on his bed another glance.
Bakugo groaned, taking off his shoes and sliding under the covers.
“Don’t sleep yet you fucking bear! Take a shower and get changed, you smell like shit.” Izuku ordered from where he was and the other could only be heard grumbling.
Bakugo could make out the edginess in the younger’s voice and it sounded a little hoarse, it worried him a little.
“My toothbrush.”
“It’s in the bathroom, here put these on.” Izuku placed a fresh set of pajamas for the other. The blonde sluggishly stepped out of bed and picked the clothes, it reminded him of the time Izuku warned him to bring his own clothes as he was tired of his big frame stretching out his small "expensive" shirts. He laughed lightly a the memory.
Izuku let out a shaky sigh once the other was away, feeling miserable all over again. He wiped his tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks, trying not to think about his loss.
After they left earlier, he was a mess all over again.
Once Bakugo was all clean and dressed up, he stepped out of the bathroom and tiptoed into the room ready to annoy the hell out of his best friend. He was being weirdly being serious and moody earlier. Which was a tad concerning. He halted when he saw the boy sleeping uncomfortably with his head resting on his folded arms by the edge of the bed, his legs folded and butt on the carpeted foot.
Bakugo squatted and watched as a little drool formed at the corners of his mouth, pink lips parted as soft snores escaped past them and his pretty cheeks were stained with tears.
Yet he couldn’t help but think of how adorable the boy looked.
He knew something was wrong and Izuku wouldn’t tell.
He never did.
A breathe escaped from him, he picked him up and carried him to bed, careful not to wake him up. Izuku only snuggled closer to the comfort of his pillows once laid down. Bakugo sighed and finished what the other was doing then joined him in bed.
He slipped under the covers and pulled the sleeping boy next to him, a knowing smile forming on his lips when the green head only snuggled closer and buried his head in his chest, just where he belonged.
Bakugo kissed his forehead.
“Goodnight, sweet cheeks.” A smile broke on his lips when the other hummed in response.
.
.
.
.
Izuku woke up feeling as though the air was being squeezed out of him. He pulled out of Bakugo’s bone crushing embrace and sat up, suddenly having a great urge to pee.
He looked at Bakugo who looked the exact opposite of the monster he is during day. He couldn’t deny it, Bakugo was effortlessly good-looking and the more he looked at him, the more he was his mind swirled back to the beginning of high school.
The memory hurt, but not enough to break him. But enough to sting.
Now wasn’t the time to gawk at his best friend and neither was it the time to resent him. Not with his bladder on the verge of bursting.
It was all in the past now, the stupid feelings he had for the male were long gone. It didn’t matter now because he had Shoto and maybe Shoto had him, too? Maybe Shoto would requite his feelings, he wouldn’t hurt him.
He exhaled deeply. Thinking about all that was unhealthy. He rushed to the bathroom.
Everything that had happened earlier didn’t change the fact that he had almost nothing for a meal the previous day. He rushed to the kitchen and thanked the heavens that he didn’t walk into someone on his way there. The thought of food got his stomach growling. He found himself smiling wildly when he found food in the fridge and dessert too!
After eating, he walked out of the kitchen and rushed to his room. He was stopped by the voices coming from his mother’s bedroom. He knew he shouldn’t pry but it seemed quite interesting.
He peeped through the slightly open bedroom door.
“Oh, Aizawa. You didn’t have to do all that.” Inko said while staring at her reflection in the mirror, her fingers tracing the piece of jewelry that hung loosely on her chest. Her smile so wide, Izuku could see her pearly whites from where he stood.
“Of course I had to. You deserve it. In fact, you are worth more than. You are a precious jewel. I feel luckiest to have a wife. To have you. You don’t know how miserable my life was before I met you, Inko.” Aizawa said giving the boy’s mother a back hug. He smiled and looked in the mirror, staring at her.
Izuku only stared, the ugly feeling inside his chest blossoming like a rose bud. He watched as the man’s hands rested on her waist they way his weathered head rested on her petite shoulders—and something itched at his skin.
The urge to step in and separate the two of them was there but not so overwhelming. He watched them, glued to that spot for what felt like forever.
The diamond on her necklace sparkled. It wasn’t that big but it was big enough.. Even to the boy it looked expensive, probably at least a couple of hundreds of bucks. If not thousands.
“I love you.” Inko uttered after she turned and looked at the man longingly. If she only knew how much that statement sickened her son.
“If words could express my love for you, then I’ll gladly write for an eternity. I love you so much Inko.” Izuku’s eyes burned with unshed tears and resentment, those words sounded so much like his father.
He felt betrayed. Dejected.
Now all he had left was a stranger whose purpose was to wipe away every single trace of the only man that loved him more than anyone ever would.
He stormed away when he couldn’t bare the sight of his mother and that man —who probably snatched his money— kissing. It’s been almost more than eight years but he still couldn’t accept it. He couldn’t move on.
Izuku tried to push the thoughts aside as tears rolled his cheeks when he walked into the room.
It was no use getting worked up over something like that. Soon he’ll be gone. The only thing he could do at the moment was wait.
He looked at Bakugo who was sleeping so soundly in his bed and he his anger just resurfaced.
One thing about Bakugo was that he had the nerve.
How dare he come to his room so effortlessly every night after sleeping with all those girls from school, after ruining his happiness and ruthlessly breaking his heart. How dare he look so normal when Izuku had to try so hard to look happy in front of him, just so they could stay friends. Like nothing happened between them. How could he be so coy when Izuku was hurting.
Whatever they had was not casual! Why was he acting like it was fucking casual?
It wasn’t so fucking casual when he kissed him every night and told him how much he meant the world to him.
Not when he looked at him like the world would stop spinning if he wasn’t by his sight.
Was it easier to sleep around than to like one person? Was it so hard for Bakugo to show him some affection? To tell him that the liked him too, and that he needed him more than anything?
He was supposed to move on, which he did.
He just a little angry that’s all.
He fell on his bed knowing he would look like some creep if Bakugo woke up to the sight of him crying and standing in the middle of the bedroom like some bimbo. Looking so ugly with his fucking tears.
Maybe he was just overwhelmed. It was a reasonable crush out.
He buried his head in his pillow, the urge to scream in it felt heavy.
A strong grip on his shoulder caused him to halt, he tried wiping his tears and turned to look at Bakugo who was looking at him with furrowed eyebrows, it was dark, Izuku couldn’t make out his expression. Had he heard him cry?
Bakugo didn’t say anything as he pulled him to his chest and let him cry in his arms.
Izuku sobbed, Bakugo didn’t mind and neither did he ask any questions. All that mattered was that he was there for Izuku when he needed him.
Izuku knew he couldn’t stay angry at him even if wanted to.
“Wanna talk about it?” Bakugo asked Izuku when he seemed to have calmed down. The silence was thick and the only sound that could be heard was the beating of the blonde’s heart under the pad of Izuku’s ears, his breathing and the whooshing of the wind outside the house.
Izuku shook his head. He lifted his head such that his chin was resting on the others chest and whispered. “I don’t want to go to school tomorrow.”
Bakugo responded with a smile, he instructed the green head to sit up and he did—they both did. Bakugo’s hands found Izuku’s waist and sat him on his thighs.
He gave him a comforting smile and used the pads of his thumbs to wipe his tears. Izuku felt pathetic, his face was already puffy and red, his heart racing frantically—which was a completely normal response.
He flushed from embarrassment—only embarrassment — under Bakugo’s gaze. The position they were in giving him access to those scarlet orbs. They were so warm, so warm they reminded him why he shouldn’t let him do things like this to him. Bakugo was always so tender it made him pathetic.
Fuck, he practically snorted on his shirt.
Izuku looked away— trying to push down that familiar warm feeling, not again. The longer he stared, the greater it blossomed.
Bakugo pulled him for a hug and didn’t say anything and for that Midoriya was grateful.
“Okay, I’ll stay with you then.”
Izuku’s eyes widened, he snapped out of his embrace to look at him. The other only shrugged and flashed him a boyish grin.
“Why are you doing this, Kacchan?” Izuku asked trying to get away but the other wouldn’t let go, his arms firmly on his waist, holding him down.
“Because I can do whatever the fuck I want and I want to spend the day with you.” He mentioned oblivious to the flush on the other’s cheeks then buried his face in the croak of his neck.
He shouldn’t be doing this, but Izuku let him.
All this reminded the younger why he'd fallen so hard a few years ago and why he tried so hard to fall out of it.
“What? No, you don’t have to. I’ll be fine on my own.” He tried protesting.
“I don’t care.”
“Kacchan, your just being ridiculous.”
“Yeah, whatever you say, nerd. I’m not changing my mind.” Izuku sighed exasperated and looked at the male who wasn’t willing to back down at any point.
“Fine, do as you please.” He said and was rewarded with a smile.
It was quiet for a while and the sun was already kissing the horizon good morning. Bakugo was staring at the ceiling, his arms still around him. Izuku used this as a chance to sneak a peek.
Even his side profile was beautiful, his jawline looked more defined under the soft morning rays. His usually pale skin giving a rosy-orangish glow under the sun. Then his lips, pink and kissable..
No wonder everyone wanted to get under him. He could pull any bitch he wanted.
“So you and Icy hot, huh?” Bakugo said faintly after a while, breaking the silence and causing a blush to form on the younger’s cheeks. Bakugo pulled away to look at him closely, using his arm to rest his face on his palm.
Izuku’s cheeks warmed.
He smiled,
He didn’t smile at Bakugo like that. Not anymore. And he could feel it—Bakugo could feel it—and Izuku hated how that knowledge sat heavy between them. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t what he meant to do. But he couldn’t help the way his chest tightened whenever Shoto’s name came up, the way his pulse reacted like it had been waiting for an excuse.
He knew Bakugo saw It. The shift. The distance.
And maybe, just maybe, his heart wasn’t entirely his anymore. Maybe it leaned—just a little—toward someone who wasn’t Bakugo.
Whatever happened at the start of high school happened.
He’d been a fool, falling for someone that didn’t reciprocate what he was feeling. He wanted to blame him for leading him on but he saw the traps and feel right into them. He allowed him. He was fool for thinking that his best friend saw him the way he saw him.
Yes, they shared a few kisses but friends do that…at some point…
Bakugo was his best friend and nothing more. They’d been friends since he came to Tokyo and Izuku wouldn’t let some petty feelings ruin something that had been going strong for ten solid years.
The good news was: he likes someone else now. Bakugo was out of the question.
The day after that, Izuku walked to school with heightened spirits— guess they both needed the day off and as much as he hated to admit it, he liked it. Even though Bakugo would get extremely clingy, he was fun to be around.
At that thought, Izuku couldn’t help but wonder why Iida still called him a sociopath when all Bakugo was calm and collected. He was a little different from other people but Izuku barely talked to other people… In fact, Bakugo was a bit more human than Izuku was.
Iida called him a mysterious freak with some weird vibes, like a psycho. A hot psycho. Izuku rolled his eyes at that. He chuckled knowing the reason Iida didn’t like Bakugo was because Bakugo was an asshole to him when they’d just met.
Three years ago when he was so fucking delusional. He was young and stupid. Then he believed that they had something strong going on and he was so sure Bakugo was mean to his friends because he was jealous. That he wanted Izuku all to himself.
The thought had Izuku cringing hard. Something was wrong with him. Bakugo was just being Bakugo.
He thinks of me as a friend, or even a little brother…
Long story short, Iida was a fighter and now the most beautiful thing to exist in his stubborn little world.
Speaking of Iida, Izuku’s phone dinged with a message
Iida 😈:
Sorry can’t make it. T.T some fool ruined the software for the program we’ve been working on. TB2T. Bye! C ya at lunch.”
Izuku breathed, looks like he was going to be alone again for the day.
“Watch where you are fucking going, stupid bitch!” A female voice spat and before the green head could react, he was shoved to the ground. His phone fell to the ground with a loud thud and cracked painfully with his heart. The coffee that the culprit was holding spilled on him and some dropped to his phone.
His phone probably lost it’s soul at the torture.
Izuku winced, luckily the drink wasn’t hot enough to leave a burn, but his uniform was messed up. Jaw clenching, breath caught between a growl and a sigh. “Sorry”, He mumbled, eyes focused on his broken phone, he wanted nothing but to pick it up, not yet bothered to look at the culprit.
Yep, it was dead.
“No, it’s my fault. You probably don’t have a phone to replace ‘that’ with.” The voice was too sticky and sweet. The boy looked up and regretted having apologized. Itsuka looked even less apologetic, her tone was anything but. She looked at him with fake pity. Her eyes smudged with mascara and her lips curved up in a smirk.
Anyone could tell that it wasn’t an accident.
“You should have watched where you’re going. All this wouldn’t have happened if you had set your eyes straight in the first place.” She pouted her extremely glossy lips with mockery and then turned to walk away.
Izuku stared at her retreating figure as his pulse quickened. He dared not to speak back knowing if I did, he would end up pulling out a handful of her fake orangish hair. Dragging his name in mad wasn’t on his bucket list.
Fuck, she gets on his fucking nerves!
“Bitch.” He mumbled under his breath, maybe this was his sign to buy a new phone.
With what money though.
He glanced at her retreating figure one last time, no wonder people liked her.
He sighed. His gut clenched, even though he tried so hard to ignore it, he knew. The girl had so much on him.
Bakugo even dated her.
She was the one and only person. The only person Bakugo dated in school, probably throughout his entire life. It wasn’t news when girls came up to him and told him of how his best friend was so good in bed—he didn’t understand why they felt like they had to inform him.
Then, it hurt , just not as much. It doesn’t bother him anymore because at some point he learned to get used to it.
Itsuka though…
She’s shared a romantic connection with Bakugo.
Something Izuku would never have with the other even if he tried. It hurt, it hurt him so much, he wouldn’t deny that.
Even now, a little part of him still stings.
Itsuka Kendo is pretty and tall, her confidence was intimidating. She was curved yet still petite. Her sea-glass green eyes complimented her burnished copper hair so perfectly. Her skin looked so soft, probably soft to the touch.
God, she was gorgeous.
Izuku wouldn’t deny that. If he could see that then what about Bakugo.
And to top it all, she was a girl. Bakugo liked girls, only slept with girls and he probably will till the day he dies.
Maybe that’s why he wouldn’t dare to talk back at her. She was better than him.
Everything about her was a blow to every piece of his fragile eagle.
He’d only lose again if he tried.
The bell threw him out of his train of thoughts and he cowered as the number of students that walked past increased, giving him weird looks.
He was wet, dirty and it was getting sticky. His poor white shirt.
He’d barely taken a step towards the bathroom when fingers closed around his arm— firm yet gentle.
Izuku’s breath hitched when he looked up to meet a tender yet worried gaze.
“You don’t look fine.” His deep voice sounded calm yet concerned and his stupid heart started racing, eyes darting to where his touch lingered, emitting sparks through his entire body. “You alright?”
“Do I look okay?” Izuku tried teasing and the other only cracked a smile.
“sorry.”
Shoto stared at Izuku and sighed “what happened?” Izuku only shrugged
Best he stayed silent. It was embarrassing already, talking about it would only make it worse.
“It’s nothing. Just some coffee, I hope.” He answered trying to sound casual about it. He may have just sounded pitiful.
“Come with me.” Shoto said after a little hesitation. He grabbed Izuku by the hand and he tagged him along, unaware where they were heading but he trusted the other enough not to care.
The only thing he seemed to care about was their entwined hands and how perfectly they just fitted.
Izuku’s cheeks were crimson, too engrossed in his fantasies to realize that they were headed for the boys locker rooms. Once he noticed, his blush thickened as his thoughts ran wild and teenage.
They were going to be alone, in this infamous place, just the two of them!
Were they going to kiss?! Not that he would mind that…
The thought of his veiny hands, warm and firm on his jaw, locking him in place as they kissed flashed briefly in his head. Seeing how large they were over his, Izuku really wouldn’t mind. Or if they roamed all over him as they kissed.
Shit, Izuku needed help.
Shoto stared at him in deep thought.
Please do.
“Sit here, I’ll be right back.” Izuku did as he was told, watching as the boy with mismatched eyes disappeared beyond the walls. A silly smile playing on his lips.
If it were in his head then he’d gladly play along, seeing Shoto that concerned about him made him feel a certain type of way. The good kind of feeling.
Shoto wasn’t like Bakugo. He was sweet and soft, despite his stoic expression. The kind of person that Izuku needed in his life. One that wouldn’t hurt him or play with his feelings.
The kind that Izuku shouldn’t be scared to open up to. The kind that would love him openly, he wouldn’t be afraid to show Izuku to the world.
He wasn’t like Kacchan…
The fuck was wrong with me!
The boy stared at his hands that rested awkwardly on his laps, he shouldn’t be thinking about how something felt different. Or why he was still thinking about him. Or why he could see those red eyes at the corner of his mind.
The way his voice sounded so alien when he asked about him and Shoto. He shouldn’t be digging too much into it.
God, Izuku needed to get a grip!
Shoto returned, saving him from his inner turmoil, with a towel, pair of black shorts and a white shirt. It was the school’s football team’s jersey. Shoto’s jersey.
“I’ve found one clean shower, you can use my shampoo if you want to.”
“You bring your shampoo to school?!”
Shoto only laughed, embarrassed. “I can’t help it. I mean I kinda need it, after you know, practice and stuff.”
“Right. I almost forgot that your part of the school team.” Izuku said through smiles, god he needed to stop doing that.
A silence settled.
“Aren’t you going?” Right.
Izuku nodded a bit frantic and smiled as I embraced his kindness. Shoto smiled back, Izuku’s cheeks warmed at the sight. He needed to get a fucking grip! “I’ll be waiting outside. Call me if you need anything.”
……..
Iida exhaled tiredly when he walked out of the club room. His head ached along with his heart. The issue of the software program almost had him pulling out his hair, he was so frustrated; was on the verge of tears. The funny thing was that the program that he’d been working on for almost two years now wasn’t ruined, it was stolen.
No one in the club had dared to look at him. They all looked tired, defeated, pitiful and mostly guilty. They understood how hard Iida has been working and it broke their hearts that something like this was happening to him.
Iida couldn’t bring himself to look them in the eyes. If he did he would break down.
Shinsou had sat silent in a state of hopelessness as he stared at Iida, Iida couldn’t miss the way he avoided his gaze when their eyes met. He couldn’t even do anything to cheer him up even if he wanted to.
Lunch rolled in and the boy hadn’t stepped foot in a single classroom. He’d been too fixated on finding codes to crack down the software thief but he failed miserably.
He walked to cafeteria and used every ounce of energy in his body not to cry. He tried reminding himself that’s it’s life. Things come and go. Loses are bound to happen. But tell that to the sleepless nights he spent trying to perfect his project. Just thinking of it was painful enough.
Life’s just so unfair.
“Shoto asked me out.” Was the first thing his pretty best friend uttered when he made it to the table. Each syllable that left Izuku’s lips cut sharper than a double edged sword. Iida stared at the green eyed boy hoping he was joking. Izuku only beamed brighter, those emerald eyes were simmering with joy. His eyes darted to the jersey that Izuku was putting on and Iida knew it was “his”
His chest burned and this time he couldn’t help the blur that formed in his eyes.
Talk about a shitty day.
“I, uh, wow. Haha, t-that’s amazing…!”
He couldn’t meet his gaze, his voice wavered and he stuttered with fake enthusiasm. Thankfully or even unfortunately for Iida, Izuku was too elated and flustered to even notice the tears that formed in Iida’s eyes or the way his shoulders slumped. He couldn’t hold his tears in anymore.
Izuku smiled oblivious to the dark blue haired boy’s odd reaction. He echoed Shoto’s words
“‘You free on Saturday night?’ It was definitely a date that’s for sure. His voice was so hot I could melt.”
“You must be excited.” Iida choked out as he swallowed the lump in his throat.
“Of course. I’ve been waiting for this moment since forever. I can’t believe Shoto Todoroki asked me out. Can you believe it?”
“Must be nice.” Iida meant every word, staring at the jersey with envy and a blurred vision. His heart sunk, it must be really nice for Midoriya. I mean he’s going on a date with the only person Iida has liked ever since he was fourteen. It must be nice, Izuku gets to have a date with the person he’s only liked for a month, Iida has only watched him from the shadows, praying silently that one day. He would be his.
That he would notice him, smile at him. Maybe even a wave.
Wow, life is one big bitch.
This surely hurt more than losing that stupid software program. He watched as his life gets slowly eaten away by the agony of a silent and very painful unrequited love.
Saturday evening.
Izuku watched the setting sun and the merging city lights ahead. His smile growing weaker with each minute that passed, his self esteem lowered with a wary state of mind.
It was getting chilly as the sun had finally set and the moon had emerged from the other side of the sky. The stars shone bright and happily in the dark grey sky. A contrast to how Izuku was now feeling. He walked back inside the house and then walked back outside. He was getting impatient and tired of walking out each time he heard a car pass by.
He glanced at the time on his phone and his heart sunk.
It was 10:45pm and Shoto still hadn’t picked him up.
He never came
~♪♪~
Notes:
I don't know what y'all feel about todoIida
Let me know what you guys think, I love comments. ♡♡
Chapter 4: What We Do in the Dark
Summary:
We're slowly diving into the madness (darkness) The abyss is big enough.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku didn’t know what to expect. He sat outside his home staring at his phone— the groggy phone he picked from his mother's cabinet, waiting for a phone call — even a text message.
He got nothing.
The air outside was exceptionally cold that evening. If Todoroki didn’t want to go out with him or if he regretted it then he should’ve just told him. It wasn't that hard.
He looked at himself. He made so much effort... what a waste!
He sighed going back inside his house. Cold and empty as always.
A little bit of him actually thought that he did liked him. That someone would like him. That someone would actually value him and accept him.
Maybe he was wrong.
He swallowed back a whimper as he felt old insecurities resurface. Of course no one wanted to be with him.
Maybe something happened.
Right, he shouldn’t just jumped into conclusions.
But that didn’t change the way he felt.
Dejected. Unwanted.
If something happened he should have called.
A breath escaped his lips again as he sat on the old couch. He knew Todoroki was too nice to do this to him but something inside was screaming at him saying otherwise. Shoto was too good for someone like him.
He checked his phone again even if he knew. No text message. No missed call. No excuse.
Suddenly he was sixteen again, standing alone in the school hallways watching his best friend kissing her. He'd forced a smile then, now he sat alone in his mother’s house fighting the tears that threatened to stain his cheeks.
He wiped the tear that rolled down his left cheek. It happened again. No one wants him.
He scoffed at his thoughts. Todoroki? The Shoto Todoroki he knew would actually want to be with him? What a sick joke! He walked to the bathroom and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Trying to find validation, beauty?
Maybe he didn’t look good enough, what did he think…
He exhaled and looked away now feeling embarrassed.
He shouldn’t let this get to him. No. Not ever.
His fingers twitched and his throat itched.
He walked away and headed for the kitchen. His hands frantic as he checked the cabinets for any bottle of liquor. He smiled guility when he saw Sam’s favorite bottle of rum. He took a sip and sighed. A grin that didn’t reach his eyes stretched his lips as he took the whole bottle out of the cabinet.
Just a little payback
He knew that he wasn’t right for drinking, heck he wasn’t right for doing a lot of things. But he’s only human. He too craves things from time to time.
Even if he did, no one fucking cared.
He too wanted to be loved and cherished. To be told that he’s pretty or good looking. And that he’s a good person. It couldn’t be so hard, right? He wasn’t so different… Why does everyone leave him? Why did nobody want him?
He took another gulp, his face twisted as the liquor burned his throat. It wasn’t enough, he could still feel the void in his chest. He was not feeling tipsy enough, he took another. He was craving the numbness. Hoping the liquid would stop the wind from whooshing right through him. To take away this ache.
He walked out of the house. It was no use waiting. It’s already past 11 pm. Shoto wouldn’t come.
Izuku's feet fumbled and before he knew it, they were sinking into the cold sand. The air was thin and cold—Izuku shivered—, fresh and piercing like tiny needles. There was a minimum chatter around, the waves crashed at a distance. It sound like a whimper, a comfort, you'll be fine. The wind a gentle caress— or maybe it was the liquor.
A sense of security engulfed him. This heavy chest lightened and the pulse between his ribs calmed to a soft hum, a mummer.
It could be the fact that barely anyone was around, most were lovers. Laughing distantly into the wind. Pressed together like they fitted. Others just walked behind him on the pavement. Two lovers kissed in his sight and Izuku looked away, bitter.
His heart coiled and his breath hitched, only for a moment. Maybe that wasn't for him
He focused on the moon, its silver light glinted on the water like glitter. The moon shone dimly in the sky, the city lights over shining it.
The moon was just like him: alone
Izuku smiled groggily and the world spun around him. The ground soft, embracing him better than his own bed.
I can give you company. Izuku thought as he laid in the sand, hands placed comfortably under his head.
The dusky moonlight pressed him down and the wind stilled, the air suddenly warm. It embraced him like a duvet.
Better than home. Izuku mumbled beneath his grogginess and embraced the night.
The soft hum of waves crashing, the distant chatter, dogs barking at a distance. Cruising of vehicles on the asphalt. It all softened and it drove him to a slumber.
***
Bakugo’s footsteps were frantic, his breath harbored, his eyes darting about.
“Shit, shit, SHIT.” He muttered under his breath. His heartbeat wild behind his ribcage,
“Deku…” He called. And again and again. No answer. The man’s sickening voice rung through his head over and over again. Like a faulty TV. Just the thought of him made him rage.
That man had no right to say Izuku’s name like that. Not from his dirty lips. He wasn’t worthy.
“Shit” Bakugo cussed again when he walked inside Izuku’s bedroom and he wasn’t inside. “Izuku!” He yelled, not bothered by the fact that his family could be inside. “Where the fuck are you?” The last statement came out a whisper. His voice shaky.
His breath hitched, shallow and rapid. Sweat clung to his forehead like a second skin. He walked out of the room. His hands trembled as he gripped his bike.
His father’s words echoed in his head. He couldn’t think, he should act
Should I kill him?
That statement blasted between his ears like alarms going on and off.
They couldn’t know where he lives. They couldn’t have taken him.
He exhaled suddenly feeling drained and exhausted. It’s been hours, his breathing was patchy and his body ached. He had practically roamed the entire city and yet he couldn’t find him.
They took the only person he cared about.
Bakugo could feel the ground shake where he stood, the world spun furiously. He could feel the storm spasm inside.
They took him. They took his Izuku.
He was about to drive back off when he remembered the beach, right, Izuku loved the beach so much. The fucking nerd loved the beach, he should’ve thought of it.
He ran towards it with a small flicker of hope. Like a madman.
His nerd was safe. He thought trying to calm down the ticking bomb that was bound to explode from his chest.
The beach was quiet like any beach would be at past 2 am. He could hear the sound of the waves crushing even though he was a number of meters away from the shores.
He scanned through the crowd but still no sign of the green head. At this point, he could feel the thin string of hope he was holding onto slowly snap.
Then he spotted him, on the ground, sleeping…?
Relief washed over him as the rushed closer and it really was his Izuku.
The boy looked so lifeless, at first glance Bakugo thought he was killed and left there. But the boy whimpered as he twisted —as though in bed as— he tossed to the side. The waves washing over his legs up to his waist.
Bakugo didn’t know if he should be glad he’s safe or angry. Or even surprised someone can sleep in such conditions.
A small chuckle slipped past his lips.
At least he’s okay
He carried him up.
Izuku mumbled something incorrect and, unconsciously or maybe consciously wrapped his arms around his neck, letting himself comfortable on the other. His head loosely in mid air.
He reeked of alcohol.
“You came?” It was a whisper. The blonde smiled and nodded.
“Were you waiting for me?” he asked again. His voice calm now that he could feel the other’s skin on his. Izuku gave no answer only snuggling closer to his best friend.
Bakugo had thousands of questions, but they could wait. He glanced at down at Izuku. He could feel warmth radiating off him under the boy’s legs. His concern was him, what would he being doing on a beach drunk?
He never expected Izuku to be a drinker. Not at all.
…
“Kacchan… what are you also doing here?” Izuku asked the moment the said person walked in. He still hadn't made out where he was. Judging from inexperience, he could tell it was a motel room.
Bakugo ignored this question and sat at the edge of the bed he was sleeping on just moments ago.
“Kacchan..” he pressed.
“What? Who else is supposed to be here?” Bakugo asked, eyebrows furrowed. A small blush blossomed on the boy’s cheeks and he looked away, breaking contact.
“Where’s Shoto?” Izuku asked innocently, playing with sheets over his body.
Bakugo’s jaw tensed, his fingers curled into fists besides him. The silence between them twisted, sharp and bitter. Why think of him when they were together?
“He’s not here.” The scarlet eyed spat and he stood up, dropping a sweat shirt and a pair of shorts on the bed. The urge to cuss out was overwhelming. Izuku stared at them eyes slightly wider, eyebrows furrowed. “Take a shower and put this on. You smell like shit.”
Izuku, embarrassed, flushed and picked the clothes.
“Aren’t you going to shower, too?” he asked before he walked into the bathroom. Even in his embarrassed state he couldn’t fail to notice the red or brown stains on the paws of his long sleeved, or some spluttered all over.
“I’ll take one after you.” He responded calmly, falling on the bed on his back.
Izuku gave him a cut nod and looked away. He was about to take a step forward when his best friend called his name.
“Stop mentioning his name wherever we’re together.” Bakugo said sternly then smiled.
..
Izuku exhaled for the nth time that evening/ morning. He didn’t know if he should be happy or sad that it was Bakugo not Todoroki.
Why are you even thinking about it? He groaned into the mattresses. Bakugo only saw him as a friend.
The sound of water running from the other room filled the air.
But he carried you. It wasn’t the first time too. Todoroki wouldn’t. He did not show up.
He wouldn’t know if he hadn’t tried.
His heart pained. He tried pushing the thought away but it was still gnawing his insides.
Todoroki didn’t show up. He should top thinking about him.
“I’m hungry.” Was the first thing that Bakugo said when he walked out of the shower. Saving Izuku from his inner turmoil. “What do you want to eat?”
“I don’t know. What do you want to eat…?” Izuku trailed off when he noticed Bakugo looking at him. Which was nothing out of the ordinary. They were the only ones in the damned room, of course Kacchan has to look at him when he’s asking a question. There was no need to feel so uncomfortable.
Izuku still squirmed under his gaze. And it was only because he was feeling uncomfortable— he wasn’t good at holding eye contact. Not that he liked him or anything. Not because something chirped inside him everytime those red eyes pierced through his soul.
“Chinese.” Bakugo said as he placed a pair of new socks and snickers on the bed. “I couldn’t find long trousers and it’s going to be cold so put those on.”
Bakugo was acting weird.
. . . . . . . . . .
“Who did it?” Was the first thing the ash blonde aired as soon as they were done making their orders. His gaze was calm but his voice held an uproar of storms. Izuku stared at him, trying to process an answer to a question he didn’t understand
They couldn’t find any Chinese restaurant open at 2am in the morning so they settled for a some junk food.
“What are you talking about?” he finally voiced his confusion.
“Who gave you the drink?” Bakugo asked again. His strict tone sent a shiver down Izuku’s spine.
“No one” he said looking away, he couldn’t bring himself to admit that to his face, but it already happened. There was nothing to do about it.
“Is someone bullying you again?” Something dangerous spilled out of his words, it hung in the air, menacing.
“No one is bullying me, Kacchan.” Izuku defended, pathetic — almost.
“Then why were you passed out on the shores. You could’ve gotten sick for fucks sake .”
Izuku bit his lip and stared at his lap. “No one is bullying me.” He felt like repeating. Hopefully that would change the topic. Going into details of what caused him to be in such a state wouldn’t be a good thing for him.
Just thinking about it hurt.
“Is it her? If it’s her you can tell me.” The blond pressed. He sighed when the other stayed silent. “I’ll find out anyway, you don’t have to tell me.”
“I took myself there. I gave myself the drink. I’m not a kid Kacchan, don’t treat me like one.” Izuku snapped. His anger flared. Why did he have to bring her up like she meant something? Like she mattered. It was never about her.
It's always like this because he thinks of him as a younger brother.
“Why?” his voice was now calm, making him embarrassed of his little outburst.
“Because I wanted to.” Izuku said flatly.
“Did something happen?”
“No…” Izuku whispered feeling a slice in his chest. Why did they ask pretend to care only to drive him to a corner?
“It’s because of Icy hot, isn’t it?” The silence settled like a nimbus cloud. It was more than the answer Bakugo needed. “What happened?”
“I don’t think that’s your business.” Izuku said trying to sound as polite as he didn’t feel. Suddenly there were spikes in the futon on the chair he was sitting on. “You never bothered to tell me about your relationships so why would I tell you about mine?”
“You never asked.”
Izuku knew that was true but at least someone who told you how much you meant the world to them and how much they cared about you should at least warn you if they’re ready to be in a relationship with someone else.
Someone who took your first kiss should at least tell you that they would dump you for years then just come back because they feel like.
“It doesn’t matter now.” The green head replied hating the path this conversation was taking.
“Why do you even like him?” The other couldn’t help but ask. The feeling he got whenever Izuku mentioned someone else gnawing his insides. He hated that he had to feel this way about someone he trusted so much. He hated that things turned out to be the way they are now.
Izuku just wanted to scream at him to shut up.
“He’s kind.” He said after a long pause. “He’s not quick to judge, he takes time to listen. He’s funny but also mature. He doesn’t despise me for somethings that I do, he tries to look at things from my perspective. He hates drama or violence. He’s calm and reserved. He’s mysterious which makes it even more interesting. He’s not the kind to lead me on and leave me just because he thinks it’s fun. And… he’s good looking.” The boy couldn’t help the blush that spread his cheeks by the end of the flaunter.
He looked at the other and became embarrassed as the other just looked on.
“Here you go. Enjoy your meal.” The waitress said breaking the silence.
“Thank you.” Izuku was the only one that replied to the waitress before she left.
The silence was so thick, Izuku held his breathe.
“He’s not what you think he is.” Bakugo said flatly then started eating his food.
A few hours later,
Iida couldn’t sleep, he jumped out of his bed, tired of tossing about. He glanced at his clock and it was already 4 am. He groaned, he had to be somewhere tomorrow yet he hasn’t gotten an ounce of sleep.
Blame it on his nerves.
Jealousy.
He hated to be the one to be feeling that towards his best friend but he couldn’t help it.
They probably made out.
Yep, he won’t be sleeping tonight. Another reason as to why he couldn’t get an ounce of sleep was because he was waiting for feedback about the date from his best friend. And he couldn’t stop thinking about the possible outcomes of their possibly beautiful date. He was feeling so Pathetic.
He sighed, now wasn't the time to be thinking about such. He had a software to build.
He groaned feeling his chest burn with something close to fury all over again. His hard work was tainted, how will he be able to go to MIT now. He took a deep breath and sighed. He could start another one, it wouldn’t be so hard.
He groaned painfully. That software took him to years to build.
He was about to lock in when he heard his doorbell ring. Confused, he ignored it thinking it was just a random person knocking on his door but the ringing persisted. His dad wasn’t home so who would be ringing his fucking door.
He finally got up, irritated when the ringing persisted. Grabbing a bat with him before he climbed down the staircase down to the door. Just in case.
Mastering the courage and least amount of energy he had, he opened the door and swung his bat, ready to hit whoever was behind the door.
Relief and a twitch of excitement washed over him when he laid eyes on the guy he’s been thinking about the whole night.
But that all died down when he saw blood, a lot of blood flowing from Todoroki’s guts.
He paled and Todoroki stared at him, his eyebrows furrowed. His face sweaty and pale.
“Help me.”
Notes:
Let me know what y'all think in the comments.
Thank you for reading and for coming back, I really appreciate it.
Chapter 5: I'm not weak
Summary:
Let's dive a little bit into the Mafia.
Notes:
I hope you guys read the tags. I'll keep on updating them
TRIGGER WARNING: blood, and violence. Murder!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text

Theme song: Alison by Radiohead
Alison I said we're sinking... There's nothing here but that's okay...
Before the date.
The white light from the chandelier above settled on SHOTO’S skin, casting a soft glow. The air smelled fresh and aquatic —like the breeze of the ocean mixed with soft green herbs. The cologne calming his nerves that were coiling like tendrils under his skin.
A soft hum danced in the air. Shoto smiled, his reflection sneered at him, hands fumbling with the strands of his hair. Red and white curls bounced under the tips of his fingers. Perfect. His chest swelled with something warm, close to satisfaction.
He turned to the mirror again, standing in his full glory. Hands limp at the sides. Heterochromatic eyes stared back at him, his —now— wavy red and white hair fell effortlessly over his face, almost covering the scar on his left eye burned like molten lava, he quickly glanced down. The white button looked so comfortable under his brown sweater vest. The thin gold chain settled comfortably on top of the both of them. His black slacks looked good too. He was ready to go.
Anxiety and excitement twisted together, a tangled knot in his chest. Green unruly hair flashed in his mind. His heart leaped in his throat. His breath hitched, and he held onto it like a lifeline. Would he be impressed?
Two years. It’s been two years since he felt this excited about meeting someone. At least the feeling was close to it. That alone was scary. Scary and exciting at the same time. Like playing with fire, he knew it would burn him, but the thrill of not being burnt yet got him pushing further. Tasting the boundaries.
Shoto knew Izuku Midoriya for quite a while. At first— for a long time, he was like something that just existed. Something you never really give the attention of the day because it just exists. But the moment you start paying attention to the details, you get trapped in a haze—you just keep finding something new. Something exciting. Something to keep your eyes glued to it and never look away. Then it owns you, your thoughts, your actions. Everything.
It happened a month ago.
A small gesture —so mundane it should have gone unnoticed. Shoto had been late to class, slipping into his seat just as the lecture begun. He'd forgotten a pen. A minor inconvenience the irritation must have shown on his because— a hand appeared in his peripheral.
"Have."
Izuku had said lightly and looked away almost immediately.
He took the pen and like a fool he watched. The lecture long forgotten.
He spent the entire session watching him, the way his freckles casted shadows over his cheeks whenever he blinked, the way he flinched whenever Bakugo said something absurd behind him, the way he was too focused in class.
He let out a small chuckle.
It made sense why Bakugo tried so hard to hide him away from the daylight. From prying eyes just like his.
Though one day, he just… abandoned him. Someone as precious as Midoriya, was left for the world to discover.
Shoto knew that it was too early to think of being in a relationship with Midoriya. It’s only been a month. Yet everytime he looks into those deep green eyes, kind and soft, yet broken and empty—lonely, he just wants to bring him close and embrace him so tight, so tight he never looks so lost. To make him smile, to see those glassy green eyes that sparkled with so much life a few years ago.
Maybe it was just curiosity. Maybe something dangerous.
"Shoto! Natsuo hide my barbie again!" Fuyumi chirped shoto away from his thoughts. She walked in pouting, her twin trailed behind her, eyes wide with frustration.
"No I did not. Fumi is just jealous because mommy didn't buy her ice cream yesterday." The boy reasoned like he child he was. Fuyumi furrowed her eyebrows and turned her heels to look at him.
Shoto sighed turning from the mirror to the twins.
"Natsuo, give your sister her doll." The boy pouted, eyes dancing between hurt and defeat. Tears welled in natsuo’s eyes.
"But I don't have it." His voice low, convincing.
"Yes you do! I saw you playing with it in the lounge room."
His face twisted into hurt and frustration. "I was not" he said stumping his feet on the wooden floor.
"Yes you were" the girl, insisted.
"No I wasn't "
"Yes-"
"Come down, Fumi. Here's your doll." Shoto’s oldest brother, Touya, walked in holding the barbie doll in his arms. "I found it in my room. Were you playing in my room?"
Fumi’s surprise— excitement slowly morphed into guilt.
"No I wasn't.." she mumbled as she walked to Touya and grabbed the doll and ran out of the room. Natsuo ran after her screaming at her to apologize.
"Don't run in the hallways!" Shoto said but obviously it fell on deaf ears. Or maybe his voice was too low for them to catch. He smiled fondly.
Touya looked at his brother, turquoise eyes narrowed as he skimmed over his outfit. A smile creases his lips and eyes glimmer with a tint of excitement. "Going somewhere?" He asked while grabbing a figurine from Shoto’s dresser. He looked at it long and hard, then dropped it and made himself comfortable on his bed.
"Yes, I have somewhere to be." A warmth spread in Shoto’s chest at the admission. A smile tugged his lips upwards and he looked away, trying to his the crimson blush on his cheeks.
Touya laughed.
"A date?" He nodded. His smile like a flower under the morning sun, it was no use hiding things from his brother. If Shoto tried to hide it, his brother would find out eventually if he wanted to.
"Then you shouldn't be wasting time here, I'm very sure Bakugo hates waiting." He teased. Shoto couldn’t miss the way he slurred the name Bakugo.
Shoto’s smile melted like wax under a flame. A snarl ripped from his throat. Touya laughed harder, the sound sharper than broken glass.
"Not funny, Touya." Shoto said extremely mortified. The brother laughed harder. He was just teasing him, Shoto knew that. But he hated the joke. It always pulled at his strings. It was almost comical, especially the fact that a good number of people from school liked shipping them together.
Even his brother who was four years their senior knew about this silly ship. Maybe it was the fact that him and Bakugo were center of attention for everyone from school. Them being close even made it worse.
"You guys just spend too much time together. It's not my fault you're always kissing his feet." Touya mentioned casually but his voice dripped with mockery. Bakugo was his responsibility. Shoto slowly got attached to him, his role came with understanding and the burden that felt like obligation with years, now a reflex — it was natural to him to protect the blonde. His life was more important than his own. That piece of information was drilled into him from the moment he was born.
He knew how much his brother despised Bakugo; how much he despised him. But some things you just had to live with. Soon he'd be their leader and they had to bow to him like hyenas to their queen.
"Aren't you supposed to be with father right now?" Shoto asked, a measure desperate to stop the flood of thoughts that were dampening his mood. The older sighed, standing up and dramatically stretching his back.
"The boss is coming back today. He’s busy right now." Shoto's heart dropped, then beat fast, and faster. His mouth ran dry. "You should probably go for your date, before it gets late." Before it gets busy. Touya then disappeared behind the walls.
Shoto glanced at his reflection. Was now a right time to go on a date? A now pale eighteen year old boy stared at him. The excitement in his eyes from a few minutes ago had died, like a bon fire on a misty morning.
If he was feeling like this, he could only imagine what Bakugo was feeling.
He swallowed back the lump in his throat. Picked his car keys and stepped out of the house.
His date.
...
The steering wheel creaked under Shoto’s grip, his knuckles bleached white. Faint hues of red neon lights blurred in front of him. The orange light faded into soft grey and blue. His thoughts were loud and ferocious. The traffic lights flickered red. Shit. Something at the corner of his mind was screaming, something was not right. The alarms blared at the back of his mind. He had to make it to Izuku. Nothing was stopping him, not physically. But he couldn’t help but think otherwise. He felt like he should go there earlier, faster. Before something— someone — stops him.
The traffic lights bled green. Shoto slammed the horn. The impatient sound shallowing the engine’s snarl. The cars in front of him were taking forever.
The sound of his ringtone muffled that of cars cruising on the asphalt. He let it ring. He’ll form an excuse. It rung again. And again. One hand clutched on the wheel and the other picked up the phone. Bakugo was calling. He bit the inside of his cheek, guilt coiled in his chest like a serpent. He ignored it and focused on the road. Yellow light from the lampposts flickering like a switch on and off as he drove past them.
Bakugo called again. He couldn’t bring it upon himself to ignore him.
"Why the fuck aren't you answering your phone?" Bakugo snapped, his voice dripping with venom. Not the usual Bakugo but it was understandable. His tone was sharp yet Shoto could feel the panic softening it around the ages. He knew exactly why he was like this. Was Shoto being selfish?
More guilt spilled in his chest like lava from an active volcano. He parked his car.
"I'm driving. Why? What happened?" Selfish! The word blared in his ears like sirens from a police car on a road chase.
Bakugo sighed, so hard Shoto felt it. The silence settled but Shoto could makeout clustering of objects and yelling in the background.
"Just… just come here. Right now." The last statement wasn’t a request. It was a command. The line was disconnected. Shoto would have questioned why but knowing Bakugo, he never spoke to him like that— not when everything is under the palm of his hand. Despite his rude tone, Shoto could make out the desperation, like he was trying to keep hundreds of marbles from falling off a table at once.
Bakugo had lost control.
Dread pilled into Shoto’s guts. He immediately made a U-turn and drove to their hideout.
The tires of his Nissan president screeched on the cold pavement. The black gate closed automatically behind the black vehicle. Everything looked calm.
The three-story mansion gleamed in twilight. It’s rooflines curved upward like dragon claws with black ceramic tiles that glistened like scales in the dusk. The building crafted in traditional East Asian design, the light was delibate, soft amber glows bled through the windows casting shadows on the elegant terrace.
A soft thump hang in the air with each step he took on the stone staircase. It was oddly silent. So silent the splashing fountain water whispered in his ear.
Fuck.
Glass cracked beneath his feet, the faint smell of blood hung in the air. The ceiling high window glass scattered on the floor, a pool of blood was spilled at the entrance. He gulped and stepped inside the exquisite fortress. Everything was destroyed.
Traditional ceramic pots broken on the wooden floor boards, paintings torn. The dark ebony walls were drilled with bullet holes, the bullet shells crackled beneath his feet when he walked.
The gutted feeling restrained him, it stuck to him like glue. No matter how many times he sees blood, dead bodies, he’ll never get used to it. The image stayed pinned in his brain like art pieces for display in a gallery. It crawled inside his skin. It was a part of him.
He walked past a few bandaged men that were cleaning up. They hung their heads low in greeting, shame evident in their features. He bowed to, feeling worse.
The elevator trip to Bakugo’s office felt dragged, this was bad— horrible. Whoever did this knew that the Kumicho was returning, worse—his obsession with making the perfect heir. This was sabotage.
Shoto walked past his own office and knocked on the mahogany door.
The office was sleek, minimalist, yet drowning in unspoken tension. The floor-to-ceiling windows cast long shadows across the black marble desk, behind the windows stretched an exquisite yard, manicured to perfection. A glass of whiskey sat untouched beside a stack of papers, none of which Bakugo had touched in hours.
He stepped in and faced Bakugo and Sero, his second in hand, the man, a year older than the two of them looked, defeated. Worry was written all over his face. Shoto knew it wasn't because of the fresh cut on his cheek or on his leg.
Bakugo looked at the man, jaw clenched hard, his eyes narrowed, focusing hard on him —nothing. His fits were clenched, his hair disheveled. Shoto could tell that the other had pulled out a couple of strands. The aura he gave off dared none to step forward or he would bite. A serpent held by the tail.
When he answered the phone call, Shoto had expected to find a furious middle-aged Bakugo fussing over the smallest of mistakes but this was bad, no this was horrible.
Whoever did this knew what they were doing. They knew what was happening. They knew too much. Just the fact that they knew their location shocked him to the core.
"Sero, you can't act irrationally. I’m not going to fucking send my men to get back a lousy kid." Bakugo snapped, voice laced with venom, eyes burning with fury , his gaze was dangerous—Shoto was surprised the guy was still sitting in front of the blond. Right now Bakugo was a ticking bomb. A small snap and you’re gone.
"That lousy kid is my brother. If I don't act now, my brother is going to be dead. For all we know they are torturing him right now. He may be part of us but he's still a kid. He's only sixteen." Bakugo’s eyes slightly widened. Sero had shot back— desperate, the action took Shoto by surprise, too.
"I’m not going fucking allow that. There’s so much at stake compared to a sixteen year old" Bakugo glared, his voice stern and grounding.
“That’s my fucking brother, Bakugo.” The raven head snapped, reverence gone. The tension thickened, Bakugo was about to snap. The vein on his jawline pulsed, fists clenched tightly at his sides.
Shoto had to step in.
"Sero, can you give me a minute? I'll get back to you." Shoto said calmly, like he’s supposed to be. It was his job to navigate around his higher up, his boss and his best friend. To guide him and minimize the mistakes that could result from his hotheadedness. Which was ironic because the other navigated through tough situations faster then he did.
But, this was different. Bakugo was now a loose screw.
The man hesitated before walking out of the room. Once the mob of black hair was out of sight, Shoto exhaled but only for a moment.
Tension settled in the room like a nimbus cloud.
"We need to get back the boy, Bakugo." Shoto poked the bear.
"Are you fucking nuts? We don't have time for that we're too late. We can't start looking for a single shitty boy, Todoroki. My men are fucking injured. This place looks a mess, he's going to be here soon." His voice was low but guttural. He was scared—vulnerable— which was okay. Only in front of Shoto. He could feel Bakugo’s nerves snap by a heartbeat.
"He's sixteen." Shoto started, sympathetic towards Sero, something Bakugo wouldn’t be. He never was. He never will be.
Bakugo shot him a glare, disbelief masking his fear. "God knows what type of torture he's being exposed to right now. Any moment from now he's going to crack. We don't have any Intel on who they are but they already know so much about us. They know this is our hideout. If we delay much longer, who knows what they boy is going to tell them." He stared into pools of blood, fire dancing around the ages. Shoto stood almost calm in that fiery storm.
Bakugo sighed. “We went through worse.” The statement made Shoto freeze. He was right but that wasn’t the point. “It’s useless going after the kid.”
“Sero is my second in hand.”
“Does it look like I fucking care icy hot?” the blond snapped, fire blazing.
“I know how hard you are trying. We all are but there’s one thing that you are missing.” Bakugo remained silent so he continued. “You want to be perfect,” The statement sliced through the air and straight through the receiver. The blonde was quiet, even though Shoto knew the weight those words, they needed to be echoed. They needed to stick. “but you can’t do that without people who you trust. People that trust you. That's the world that live in Bakugo. You need to earn their trust and it’s through small gestures like these.”
Shoto wanted to say more but he knew Bakugo understood. The silence stretched.
"Get the kid, you two. Don't get caught."
Shoto nodded shortly and walked out of the room too. He found Sero outside, leg bouncing up and down, palms covering his face.
"Let's go. But only us. We can't risk more men." Sero gave a small smile before he stood up and the two walked to the basement, picking a few weapons and two bikes before they left for the hunt.
Shit shit shit . Fuck!
BAKUGO is nervous that he thinks that he could faint.
His mind was all over the place he couldn’t even make the simplest decisions.
He was doing good. He thought he was doing good. He'd secured deals, gotten his hands dirty. He was preparing for this day like a study elementary school kid holding their first drawing to a parent. Ready to be praised.
His feet ached like he’s been walking for hours, his body needed to move so he could think, so he could control the voices crawling inside his mind like maggots, eating away every piece of sanity left. He paced back and forth, the room felt crumped. It was dimly light by the ancient lamp sitting on the dark mahogany of his office desk. A large orb-shaped pendant light hang from the middle of the moderately raised ceiling, styled like an ancient Japanese paper lantern.
“This is your office.” His father said, face neutral as always but he couldn’t miss the excitement that danced around the edges of his voice. His coffee brown eyes lit as he looked around. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Pride boomed from his chest. Bakugo nodded in agreement, he looked around too. His heart raced in excitement, this was not what he’d expected to be gifted for his sixteenth birthday.
To say Bakugo was overwhelmed would be an understatement. The keys of his brand new H1 alpha weighed heavy in his palms. His feet ached after an hour or so tour of the luxury building. The room smelled like freshly crafted furniture, everything was new.
He grabbed him by the shoulders, “What do you think?”
“I like it.” Bakugo smiled like a fool. Not the answer that should come out of the mouth of a future powerful ruler. A Yakuza's son.
“So Naïve.” The father spat, dismissively. Bakugo’s heart sunk. “This is just the beginning. You still have a lot of things to learn, this is your first step. Soon you’ll succeed me and I want you to be perfect.” His words hang in the air like clouds. "Don't embarrass me." He said gripping Bakugo's shoulder so tight it almost hurt.
Bakugo wanted nothing but to make his father proud, to work for the things he received.
“Boys, meet your new boss.” Bakugo turned and number of men looked at him, they were shocked just as he was, some looks dismissive but he stood tall.
Suddenly the weight of his father’s former words hit him like a hailstone. His father grinned. This is what he was made for.
Bakugo exhaled. He sat on the leather seat and turned to look at the two year old painting, a gift from a father for his first day of work. The dragon on the sugar paper stared into his soul. Mocking. He’d failed. He’d promised to keep his father’s eyes shimmering with pride and approval but he kept on disappointing him. Over and over again. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders, heavy— almost unbearable. If he couldn’t keep something minimalist as this, then what about the hundreds of enterprises awaiting him? The hundreds of thousands of men he was supposed to lead?
The blood on his hands, glistening like a glove. A reward. Something itched to him but it wasn’t enough. Not even close.
Thin strings of white smoke danced in the air like a ghost. The room reeked of tobacco and anxiety. The cigarette stick abandoned on the ash tray. He grabbed the glass of whiskey and let the hot liquid burn his throat.
He will be here soon.
On que, the rustling outside came to an abrupt halt. Everything was quiet for a moment before he heard a roar, a greeting in unison that he knew too well.
Shit.
Moments passed and the door opened without warning. No knock. No hesitation. Just the slow, deliberate creak of finely carved oak shifting on its hinges.
A presence filled the room before a word was spoken. His father.
Masuro Bakugo was a man who walked like a king and ruled like a god. The years had carved his face into something statuesque, something ruthless—sharp cheekbones, a jaw cut from stone, a gaze so black it seemed to absorb the light. A single silver streak ran through his otherwise pale brunette hair, a testament not to aging but to a life lived on the knife’s edge. His bespoke suit was midnight, tailored to perfection, and the scent of rare oud clung to him like an unshakable omen.
Bakugo barely had time to rise before—
The slap came fast, brutal, and unceremonious.
A sharp crack echoed through the office, and Bakugo’s head snapped to the side. Pain bloomed across his cheek, but he did not stagger. He’d been hit harder before. By this man.
He stood straight, like nothing happened.
Masuro’s voice was silk wrapped around steel. "I sent you to run a syndicate, not embarrass the bloodline."
Bakugo exhaled, slow and measured, before tilting his head back to meet his father’s eyes. "I do what I think is necessary." His voice was sound and grounded but it wavered. He was weak. He failed him. He still is.
A gloved hand reached for the whiskey glass on the desk, lifting it with the same precision used to wield a blade. Masuro studied the amber liquid before setting it down, untouched. "Necessary," he repeated, a whisper of mockery laced within. "And yet, here we are."
“We’re taking care of it.”
“how many have you lost?” the question suspended in the air.
“five.” The man barely showed emotion yet Bakugo could see it, disappointment turn to anger.
He took a step forward. Bakugo’s pulse hammered in his throat but he didn’t flinch. His chest tightened. Venom radiated from his father’s gaze.
"Should kill him?" Masuro said softly. So soft it was almost gentle.
Bakugo’s breath stilled. Hands squeezing his heart tight. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms, splitting the skin. He didn’t need to ask who.
Izuku.
The name hovered between his ears like a death sentence waiting to be written.
Masuro leaned in, his voice a quiet promise of ruin. "That boy is a weakness you cannot afford."
Bakugo’s hands curled harder into fists at his sides, blood spilling from the small cuts. "He's my best friend."
"A liability," Masuro corrected, the edge of a smile ghosting his lips. "And more than that, if the whispers are true."
Silence stretched. Suffocating.
Then, Masuro straightened, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from his sleeve. "You will leave for Italy tomorrow."
Bakugo’s stomach turned cold.
"You will retrieve your fiancée," he continued. "Your mother has already spoken to her family. The arrangements are set."
His mother.
A woman who had traded the grandeur of Venetian aristocracy for the cold discipline of the Yakuza, yet somehow remained untouchable—never fully belonging to either world, yet wielding influence in both. Bakugo had inherited her sharp features, her calculating mind, but not her ability to bend fate without breaking. She had chosen this life. He had not.
Masuro’s tone remained indifferent. "She expects you to show respect to the traditions that gave you your name. Do not make a fool of her."
A beat passed. Then another.
The father turned, his movements as fluid as a dancer’s, as measured as a predator’s. He strode toward the door but paused just before stepping through. A final glance over his shoulder, sharp as a blade drawn at dawn.
"Do not make me clean up your mess again, son."
And then, with the same quiet grace that had heralded his arrival, he was gone.
Leaving behind only the echo of his presence, the scent of oud, and the weight of an ultimatum that felt heavier than death itself.
The moment the door shut behind his father, the scent of his still lingering like a ghost. A breathy exhaled escaped his lips. His body shook vigorously.
Stones clogged his throat. His vision blurred. Fumbling hands gripped the edge of the mahogany table. I’m not weak. I’m not weak. He chanted in his head, but his voice was barely a whisper in a dark room. A sharp breath escaped his lips and dark spots formed in his eyes. I’m not weak. I’m not…
Should I kill him? It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t the warning. It was a promise.
Bakugo stayed still, trying to keep his head level. He’s safe, I’m going to keep him safe. He’s safe.
A sharp knock rattled the silence. He didn’t respond.
The door cracked open anyway. One of his men—a broad-shouldered enforcer with the scent of cigarette smoke clinging to his suit—stepped inside, head dipped in reverence but voice steady.
"We got one of them," he said. "The raid. We found one of the bastards. Took him to the basement."
The room.
The torture room.
A shrill shot through his spine.
Bakugo ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek, tasting iron from where his father’s slap had split his lip. His hands flexed, his fingers already itching for violence. His father’s threats still clung to his skin, thick as sweat, pressing against his ribs like a second heartbeat.
"Take me there," he said. Ignoring the whispers echoing at the back of his head.
They moved through the corridors like shadows slipping through the veins of the building, the air growing colder with every step. Bakugo could hear his own breathing, slow and controlled, but beneath it, something simmered. A rage that had no name.
The heavy steel door groaned open. The thick stench of blood and bleach hit his nostrils, clinging to the back of his throat like a sickness.
Inside, the man was barely that anymore.
Tied to a metal chair, his body was a ruin of bruises and blood, flesh split open in places where fists had done their work. One eye was swollen shut, the other glassy with pain, but when he saw Bakugo, something twisted in his mangled face.
A smile.
A slow, lazy grin, teeth red with his own blood.
Bakugo’s veins turned ablaze. Silver blades of different sizes and shapes laid on the table across the man. A bright lamp above the man made them shimmer like the ocean under afternoon sun. His fingers hovered over them looking for a perfect one. He hummed in delight after picking the shortest one.
Something sinister crawled inside him. He grinned back at him, wider, like a demon. He loved the way the man’s smile wavered at that.
Bakugo stepped forward, his voice quiet, razor-sharp. "Who sent you?"
The man coughed, a wet, ugly sound. But he didn’t speak. His defiance made Bakugo’s skin crawl in anger.
Bakugo’s jaw tightened. "Tell me."
No answer. Just that smile, that goddamn smile, curling wider despite the agony carved into his skin.
Bakugo reached for the blade on the tray beside him. The handle was cold, familiar, an extension of himself.
The man chuckled, a sick, broken sound. "They know about you," he rasped. "About your little... obsession."
Something flickered in Bakugo’s chest. A warning.
The man’s one good eye glistened. "Green hair… beautiful green eyes." A bountiful laughter erupted in the air, the sound like volcanic explosions in the Bakugo’s chest.
Bakugo stilled. His grip on the blade tight.
The prisoner grinned wider, his lips splitting at the corners. Then he laughed harder looking at Bakugo. His eye glinting with mockery, disrespect. Bakugo loathed that gaze more than anything. "Yeah. They know all about him. How you watch him. How you want him."
Izuku.
The name burned like liquor down his throat.
Izuku, who lived in a world so far from this one, from this blood-drenched room, that he may as well have been a different species. He knew Bakugo. Or rather, the version of Bakugo he was allowed to see. The one who laughed at his bad jokes, who gave nothing away except what he wanted Izuku to know.
Izuku , who had no idea who Bakugo really was.
What he was.
Bakugo knew better, they were just words yet his pulse rose, his father’s words echoing louder with a passing second. The blade sunk into the man’s palm and his sharp screams decorated the air. Something close satisfaction came through his pain.
Bakugo smiled. He was in charge.
He pulled out the blade and struck again. “Tell me.” Izuku was not his weakness. “Who sent you?” Izuku was not his weakness.
The man only cried, pathetic.
The blade sliced through flesh with the precision of a butcher carving meat.
The man screamed. It was getting a little boring.
Blood spilled down his arms, pooling at his wrists where Bakugo had cut deep. His breath came in jagged gasps, but when he looked up, that grin was still there, shaky but defiant.
"That struck a nerve, huh?" he wheezed.
"Shut up," he said.
The man laughed. A guttural, wet laugh that rattled in his broken ribs. "You can cut me up all you want. Won't change what you are."
Another slash. This time, the other arm, off.
The prisoner cried out, body convulsing against the chair, but he didn’t stop laughing. Didn’t stop bleeding.
Bakugo’s vision blurred at the edges. His father’s words echoed in his head—weakness, liability, shame.
The prisoner’s lips trembled, but somehow, even in his agony, he whispered, "He’ll be the death of you."
The knife slid across his throat before the sentence could end.
A single, clean cut.
Blood gushed, dark and endless, soaking the floor. The man's body twitched, then sagged, the light in his one open eye fading into nothingness.
Silence.
Bakugo exhaled. His grip loosened.
The room smelled of rust and sweat, and yet, beneath it all, he swore he could still smell his father’s presence, still hear his voice.
Weakness.
Green eyes.
Izuku, who had no idea he was being watched from the shadows. No idea how many bodies had been buried for him. No idea that his name, spoken in the wrong place, by the wrong lips, could make Bakugo do things like this.
Bakugo turned, stepping away from the corpse, the blade still warm in his palm.
He had done what needed to be done.
So why did it still feel like he was the one bleeding?
_____________________________________________
The city pulsed with neon veins, the streets slick with rain, reflecting the red glow of brake lights and the occasional flicker of a dying streetlamp. SHOTO gripped the handlebars tighter, the vibrations of the engine humming beneath his gloves as he weaved through the endless arteries of the city.
Behind him, the other followed, his bike roaring like mechanical beasts against the quiet hum of the late hour. The boy had to be close. They’d tracked phone movements for hours, tracing his last known location to this district, a part of town where people disappeared like whispers in the wind.
Then, they saw it.
A moderately small building wedge between forgotten city structures. Not much of a hideout—just a place to exist for the night.
Shoto slowed, the other following suit, engines cutting off one by one. The silence was sudden, pressing. They dismounted swiftly, boots touching pavement without a sound. Each movement was methodical. Fluid.
Masks on.
The moment the black fabric slid over their faces, they ceased to be them. The fabric clung to him like a second skin. A different person.
Shoto adjusted his gloves, glancing up at the building. Something about it unsettled him. It wasn’t fortified, wasn’t guarded. No makeshift barricades, no signs of desperate men waiting with weapons drawn.
Almost like a home.
That’s what it looked like from the inside, too. The moment they breached the door, moving like shadows through the dimly lit interior, the sensation crawled over Shoto’s skin. They surged in so swiftly, so easily it made no sense. Almost like a trap. A couch that sagged from years of use. A coffee table cluttered with empty liquor bottles. The faint scent of something warm and familiar—like cinnamon, or the last traces of a home-cooked meal.
This wasn’t a stronghold.
It was a refuge.
And that meant something was wrong.
Shoto’s instincts prickled.
“This could be bait,” he muttered under his breath.
Sero, moving beside him, glanced around. “If it is, we move fast.”
Shoto exhaled, giving a small nod. “Split up. Find him quick.”
They scattered.
Navigating the small space took time—more than he liked. His footsteps were light, measured, moving past closed doors and silent rooms, each breath drawn slow and deep. Every second stretched thin.
Then—
A vibration against his wrist.
He glanced down at his phone.
Sero: Got him. We’re ready to go.
Relief was a fleeting thing. It barely had time to settle before the air shifted.
A presence.
Shoto turned, fast.
A figure stood before him, poised, ready to fight. Their stance was sharp, practiced. Shoto’s body responded instinctively—feet bracing, muscles coiling.
But then—
His breath hitched.
Just for a second. Or more…
Something about the person in front of him—
Familiarity struck like a gunshot. Sharp blue eyes that sparkled brighter than clear sea water, lips so pink, soft, they tasted like cotton candy. Soft blonde hair, so soft the memory of it under the palm of his hands burned.
And in that split moment of hesitation, the alarm went off.
A shrill, piercing wail that shattered the quiet, igniting chaos in an instant. Red lights flickered on and off above them. Tracing the attackers features so gracefuyl. Shoto couldn’t deny it. It was him.
His pulse roared in his ears. He pulled out his wakizashi, arms blared like a mantis ready to attack it’s prey.
His instincts screamed at him to move, to react, to strike—
But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
Because for the first time in a long time, he hesitated. Relief washed over him like a flood, he drowned in it.
Shoto had never feared ghosts. He had lived among them for too long—shadows of the past, remnants of people he had lost, killed, echoes of moments that still lingered in his veins like an old drug he couldn’t quite shake.
But this—this—was something worse.
Monoma was gone. Missing.
He'd vanished from the face of the earth, without warning. Without a goodbye . Not waiting in some distant place for Shoto to find him. He was gone. Swallowed by the earth. A memory buried under time and grief. Shoto had spent two years believing that, forcing himself to move forward, forcing himself to forget the way Monoma used to smile at him like he was something worth holding onto.
And yet here he was.
Alive. In front of him. Ready to pounce.
He moved on instinct, dodging each attack with a fluid grace that should have felt effortless. His body was sharper than it had been two years ago—more refined, more controlled. The boy in front of him was skilled, but Shoto was better. He always had been.
And still, he couldn’t fight back.
His mind screamed at him to wake up, to get a grip, to stop letting this fever dream undo him—but his heart was louder. It pounded against his ribs, aching, breaking, begging him to stop, look, breathe.
Because this was Monoma.
His Monoma.
Monoma, throwing wild punches, his stance a little reckless—like he was desperate. Like he had been fighting for survival all this time, and Shoto had been too blind to see it. With a swift kick, his wakizashi hit the ground with loud clatter.
He was defenseless. He clenched his fists and blared. Not to attack. He couldn’t attack. I defend.
Monoma, surged forward, his hood slipping just enough for the dim light to catch his face—older, rougher, but still him. It really was him.
Monoma, who had disappeared into nothingness, leaving Shoto to drown in the wreckage of his absence.
The realization hit Shoto harder than any punch ever could. He sucked in a breath, heart beating fast. Energy vacuumed out
And it was over. He couldn’t fight.
Wouldn’t.
The hesitation killed him. A silver blade flashed when the blonde swept closer —a twisted smirk on his lips— and stubbed Shoto right through the gut. The pain was immediate, hot into his left abdomen.
Shoto barely processed it. His breath hitched, his body tensed, but he didn’t retaliate. He just stared at the boy in front of him —look at me— at the ghost that was no longer a ghost.
Then came the second strike.
Monoma didn’t hold back.
The knife drove deeper, twisting, sending fire through Todoroki’s nerves. He choked on a breath, knees giving out as warmth spilled down his abdomen, soaking his clothes.
His body folded before his mind could catch up.
The floor rose to meet him, hard and cold against his back. His vision blurred—Monoma still couldn’t see him. The mask was still in place— not bright enough.
It was almost funny.
After two years of clawing at his own memories, after countless nights of wondering what if, after missing him so hard it physically hurt—Monoma still didn’t know it was him.
A sound cut through the ringing in his ears.
A slow, deliberate clap.
Shoto forced his eyes open, his head lolling to the side as footsteps echoed in the silence.
A woman stepped into view.
She was poised, dangerous in a way that didn’t require effort. Her gaze flicked between him and Monoma, lingering on the blood pooling beneath Shoto’s body. She crouched beside him, the scent of jasmine wrapping around him like smoke.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t rush.
She just watched.
Then, with a lazy sort of grace, she reached for his mask. Shoto didn’t stop her. The fabric peeled away, and for the first time in two years, he wasn’t hidden.
The woman’s lips curved. She looked above, to Monoma, then back at Shoto. She laughed, cold and sinister.
Monoma’s eyes widened at the sight. Shoto should be resenting him. Cursing him out. But a smile tugged at his lips.
Notes:
Shoto sounded so much like Kirishima in that scene with Bakugo(started regretting my choices) but whatever. I love Kirishima and I'm sure you guys do to so don't worry you'll see him soon.
Anyway, important question: who do you guys think suits roki better?
Iida
Monoma
Someone from the future :)))
Izuku?
BAKUGO?!?Lemme know what you guys think in the comments, I love hearing from you guys ♡♡♡
Chapter 6: Ghosts
Summary:
What y'all know about ghosts?!
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
three years ago.
“Hi. Wanna go out sometime?”
The grey sky was brightening as strips of golden light seeped through the clouds. The air smelled like the earth and fresh marigolds.
It was just them in the school pavilion, except for a few of his teammates who were also leaving the area. It was way past school hours; the buzzing of students had died down to small whispers from the retreating soccer players.
Shoto smiled like a fool. The said words caused sparks to erupt in his entire body. His heart thundered against his rib cage; he choked on his words.
“H-huh?” His voice came out small and squeaky. A laugh danced in the air, the one that had been taunting Shoto and his sanity for the past six months.
Blue eyes sparkled, staring at his own; blonde hair weaved through the air like a wheat field on a summer day.
“You’ve been watching me for a while. I’ve seen you looking at me.” Monoma continued, smiling.
Shoto flashed in mortification, maybe he’d been too obvious.
“Yeah, that would be great.” He replied nervously, heart thumping wildly in his chest.
Todoroki choked on his blood, the discomfort flashing him back to reality. He threw his head back, and the pain shot from his abdomen and stretched causing him to wince. Thunder clapped inside his head. Nausea crept through him like a ghost from the way Neito was staring at him. Eyes blown wide and lips slightly parted.
Was he surprised? Scared? Guilty?
He stared at him and his gaze softened.
Shoto had carried so much anger and pain towards the other. Ever since he left without remorse, without consideration for his feelings. He’d imagined cussing him out, he thought of ignoring him for weeks after he returned but he never did. Now here he was, staring down at him, the blade he’d used to stab him clutching tightly in his arms.
He stared at him and he was calm. For the first time in a few years, Shoto was relieved. Nothing bad had happened to him.
“ Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” His attention was snatched away by the lady who was walking dramatically towards him. Her honey-gold eyes that shone like the afternoon sun stared right through him, darkening the deepest of his shadows. Her smile was sweet and gentle, and her short blonde hair fell down to her shoulders. She was beautiful. The kind of beauty that would lure you into a trap that you’re fully aware of. Shoto knew the kind of devil she harbored behind her angelic face, the type of demon she’d release just by opening her perfectly sculptured lips.
“Aww, Todoroki. You’re the last person I expected to see tonight but I guess luck was on my side.” She cooed as she squatted right next to his frame, his blood-soaked her robe but she didn’t care. Why would she?
A hiss cut through his throat when she grabbed him by the chin, her long fingernails dug into his skin, her smile sweet and sickening. She looked down at him, eyes as innocent as ever, he almost mistook that gaze for pity. It made him sick.
After a moment that felt like a lifetime, she broke eye contact and started laughing hysterically like a maniac.
“Don’t tell me you still have the hots for me.” She pouted, her pupils dilating into something sinister. “You know I can’t like you like that.” She laughed again, mocking him. “You’re still a kid. You know that, but it’s cute…”
She then sat down next to him, not bothered by the pool of blood that was now staining her garment. The eighteen-year-old only looked on, he couldn’t move his limbs, and he could feel his energy sipping into the ground. Like a greater force of gravity was exerted on him, he felt like he was sinking into the floor.
“…makes me want to sink my nails into your gut.” Her eyes darkened and her sweet gaze was replaced with something darker. Sinister. It reminded Shoto of her brother.
“I saw my brother just a few days ago. He was so happy and shocked to see me that he ran out of the house in excitement.” She laughed at the memory, her hands stretched to caress his cheek. “Oh poor boy, I guess you’re still his little minion. Barking like a dog whenever he tells you to. How did you get on his sweet side?” Shoto’s lips couldn’t move, her words weren’t just knives— they were poison, sipping through his veins, curving the old wounds he’d tried so hard to ignore.
It took him a few moments to realize that the blade that was used to stab him was laced with poison.
“That sly piece of shit doesn’t like anyone but you and that sly brat.” She spat, mainly to herself. Her gaze was fixed on his face but it lingered beyond that; somewhere distant, lonely and painful.
“You know, people like calling me crazy but they fall for his charm. They don’t know what kind of devil my brother is.” Shoto could almost agree with her. “I can never forgive that sociopath. He almost killed the love of my life. The only person who truly loved me. My poor baby almost couldn’t make out of his comma. I wanted to kill that cute so-called best friend of his so bad. I wanted that brat to get a taste of his own medicine, I wanted to make him pay so hard but if I killed that silly little boy of his, that would make my precious baby sad. You know, unlike my brother, I have basic etiquette. I can never hurt my in-laws. Yugi wouldn’t like to see his little brother dead.”
Her rumble made his fury boil over like water in a pressure cooker. He used every ounce of his energy to say, “But he would’ve killed your brother.” His voice came out weak and strained.
Toga laughed at Shoto’s attempt to speak. “I couldn’t care less about that piece of shit.” She responded bitter, her tone toxic. Her expression laced with anger and loathing but then it disappeared as soon as it resurfaced.
She looked at Todoroki, the excitement that flooded her eyes rose a chill up his spine. “…but now I can get my revenge.” Without a second to spare, she got up and straddled him, her hands finding his neck, cold fingers pressed down his throat. A throaty laugh escaped her lips as both her thumbs found his Adam’s apple, squeezing his windpipe. Shoto gasped for air, his eyes burned as he tried to fight but couldn’t. The poison was weakening his entire body by a fleeting second. Her golden eyes sparkled with excitement watching as his life slowly slipped away, into her arms. She applied even more pressure— laughing harder the more he struggled. Her pupils dilated like a predator after snatching its prey.
Hot tears pooled in his orbs. She stopped above them and then whipped his tears away.
“I would love to have you die in my arms.” Her voice was sweet, almost soothing if not the ghost of her fingers around his neck. “What a beautiful sight it would be! But I want you to die a slow and painful death. Get him to the basement.” She ordered two which were unnoticed until called. Neito was still in sight.
Shoto spared Monoma — who looked more scared than guilty — one last glance before strong arms gripped his own and he was dragged away. “Good job,” Toga said to Monoma and before Shoto could study his reaction, he was dragged away.
two years ago.
The waves crashed against the shores— not in fury but rhythmically. The wind brushed over them causing goosebumps to erupt on their skin. Shoto gently glided his hand up and down on his boyfriend’s arm at which Monoma smiled.
The sun above dipped low, painting the sky with a deep shade of pink and orange. The looked at Monoma, bathed in the dying glow. Cheeks slightly sun burned, hair disheveled and eyes bright, sparkling with something unnameable.
Shoto kissed his lips, unable to fight the urge to.
“Getting brazen, ain’t ya?” Monoma teased.
“I no longer want to hold anything back when I’m with you.” Shoto replied. The response causing a blush to warm his boyfriend’s cheeks.
“really?” Monoma asked like a giddy kid told to open a gift on Christmas.
“yeah.”
“To be honest I found you attractive but I was hoping you’d come and ask me out first. Every time I caught you staring my heart would jump in my chest. I didn’t know it but slowly I was starting to like you too.” Monoma whispered blue eyes sparkled as he stared at his boyfriend, Shoto. Looking at Monoma always felt like staring at the sea, his worries and mischief washed away by the tide behind those eyes.
“I’m such a fool,” Shoto responded exasperatedly. He knew, if Monoma hadn’t come up to him a year ago they wouldn’t be here, sleeping in the sun, watching the waves crashing under the pink sky. Shoto wouldn’t be laughing, the heaviness in his chest would be weighing him down. He’d be lost, wandering like a ghost in a foreign land with no memories but with only a will to move on, to find the worth of staying.
He’d be drenching the pool of blood of those he killed. Whispers of those he had going to kill.
“You don’t have to beat yourself over it. I’m just glad we’re together right now. That’s all that matters to me.” Monoma said placing his chin on top of Shoto’s chest, hand playing with a thin chain that hung loosely on his chest. Shoto then smiled, craning his neck to stare into his blue orbs.
“I love you.” He whispered heart, thundering at the declaration. A warm smile crept his cheeks when he saw his boyfriend’s reaction. It’s been two weeks since they aired those three words to each other, saying them out loud felt different but in the sweetest way possible. Like he was in a dream, floating on clouds.
Monoma’s smile brightened as he got up and straddled Shoto’s lap. Shoto’s eyes widened and that seemed to cause him to laugh. “we’re in public, Neito.”
“No one cares, baby.” He whispered, closing the gap to kiss him briefly on the lips.
“Neito…” Shoto whispered dismissively but his body betrayed him, hands finding Monoma’s hips to hold him in place.
“You love this.” The blond coed between kisses, voice low and daring. “You love me.” He mumbled on his lips before going in for a long passionate kiss. Todoroki kissed him back with just as much passion, heart swelling between his ribs.
“I love you, Shoto.” He said when they parted lips, blue orbs haunting his mismatched grey and turquoise ones. His heart was beating so fast, like a bird trapped in a cage, begging for its release so it could spring up to the sky and spread its wings like it was meant to.
Todoroki wanted to pull out his heart and just give it to Monoma. He wanted to embrace him so tight they’d become one. But that wouldn’t happened.
His hands moved up to his boyfriend’s back and he pulled him for a hug. They stayed like that for what felt like forever, the thought of people watching them dumped in a trashcan. Everything else seemed to blur and it was just the two of them. They and their heartbeats thundering after each other.
They say opposites attract— that the right person just doesn’t complete of you. They bring out parts of you that you didn’t even know you were missing. They complete you in the best way possible.
Maybe that’s why Shoto found himself gravitating towards Monoma. He was wild and spontaneous, living as he wanted to, doing as he pleased. If intrusive thoughts were a person then it would be Monoma. He was so undeniably himself. The kind of person that made strangers feel like they’d known him forever, the kind that turned silence into laughter. His energy was so fresh and effortless, it bounced to those around him. Even to those who just watched.
Like Shoto thought: a dose of sunshine.
Shoto on the other hand had spent years folding himself into shapes created by others. Bound by rules and etiquette. He had a reputation to hold, an image to portray. He hated the hypocrisy. He tried so hard to fit in with people his age but with Monoma, he belonged.
Maybe that’s why he was drawn to Monoma, he held that part of him that he could never have.
“I love you,” Shoto whispered and kissed his forehead, holding him tighter.
Now he drowned in the cold dusty room wondering how everything got so wrong. How did Monoma end up here? Was he going to die? All sorts of thoughts were running through his mind but mostly of Monoma.
Why did he leave so suddenly? The question he’d asked himself over and over again for the past two years. Why was he here, with them? What happened?
Does Monoma care? About Todoroki. Did his feelings fleet or was he just feeding himself with delusions?
Did Shoto even know Monoma?
What Shoto hated most was the fact that he didn’t hate Monoma, even when he surged that blade into his abdomen. Not even a single ounce of hatred.
The room was cold and it smelled of rushed metal mingled with a faint smell of blood and bleach. He couldn’t move his entire body yet his heart thumped furiously. It jumped with joy.
“Todoroki.” The voice came out low and cautious, it sounded so different yet so familiar. Neito. Soft blond hair weaved brightly between cold metal bars. Blue eyes warmed when they found his own.
“W-what are…you doing.. here?” Shoto croaked, fighting to get up but failing miserably.
“Ssh. You don’t have to say anything.” Monoma whispered; the keys he was holding rattled in the silence as he fought to open the cell. After a moment that felt like hours, the door creaked open and Monoma stepped into the room, his eyes darting about the room before they settled back on him; guilt pooling his blue orbs. Shoto’s breath hitched — if that was even possible in his condition. Monoma looked away, he stanched his body forward to pick him up.
After making it out of the cell, Monoma bandaged his wound and gave him a few pills, whispering “I’m so sorry.” over and over again.
Now Shoto sat in an empty hallway waiting for his ex-boyfriend to return so that they could proceed to escape. Shoto would laugh at himself for believing him if this wasn't the only choice he had left.
“I’ve found your comrades..? I don’t know if that’s what you guys call yourselves, they are now waiting for you outside.” He said as he peeled him off the ground. The drug had settled in and Shoto felt like he could move, only for a little bit.
Shoto wrapped his arm around Monoma’s waist and held on for dear life. Monoma’s hand held him in place and the other firm around his shoulders, too afraid to let go or hurt him.
Fortunately, they were able to leave the house, but Shoto was extremely anxious and worried that Toga would suddenly appear or worse, that she was watching them. His main concern was for the other. What would happen next? Would Monoma get into trouble?
What would Toga do if she learned about his betrayal?
"You do not need to worry about me. "I will be fine." Monoma spoke up again, snapping him out of his reverie. He looked at Shoto and gave him a small reassuring smile. "You must leave now."
Shoto was perplexed for a while before noticing that they were outside. The cold wind brushed against his wound.
He had so much to say and so many questions to ask. ask. He stared at him for a while, wanting to express his feelings of longing for unspoken words, as well as his hurt and anger. Everything was on the surface. He felt free to be vulnerable because it was Monoma, but the sting in his heart lingered, and the pain returned.
They stared at each other's eyes for what seemed like an eternity. There was nothing said, but he knew what he knew.
Monoma's face was covered in sorrow, guilt, and regret.
“Neito, I have so many—"
"Shoto! I have finished getting the rides; we need to leave." When he looked back, he saw Sero, his brother, standing beside him. He nodded before averting his gaze.
"You have to leave." Monoma seemed unsure. His voice was quiet and fragile. Shoto paused for a moment, unsure whether to press him further, but then simply nodded and released himself from his grasp.
One, two, and three steps away. Monoma called him.
Shoto looked back, and the blond was approaching him. He came to a close distance, looked into his eyes, and examined him for a moment before cupping his cheeks and kissing him on the lips briefly.
"Be safe," Monoma said, looking hesitant as if he had something else to say, but that was all he said.
Shoto nodded briefly before turning to walk away. His heart was clogged in his throat. Lips tingling from the ghost of Monoma's own lips.
"I love you," Monoma whispered, a sound intended only for Monoma to hear, but Shoto caught it; how could he have missed it?
He walked away, heavy-hearted, daring not to look back.
As the bike surged through the cold wind, Shoto felt a strong wave of nausea. He buried his head behind Sero's back, struggling to breathe as the wind pierced his nostrils like needles. His headache pulsed, and dizziness washed over him like a nauseating wave.
He could feel his grip on Sero loosening with each passing second.
"Hold on tight," Sero warned, slowing down briefly.
"Do not worry, we are almost there," Sero reassured, the wind nearly muffled his voice.
The nights in Tokyo were cold. Cold, dark, and hostile. The winds were harsh on him, and he could feel them on his wound like small multiple punches. His breath hitched as his body gradually gave in to exhaustion.
He shifted his gaze to the sky, his head still resting on Sero's back. Suddenly, the clouds looked fascinating, floating rocks like large grey rocks on top of the dark blue—almost black sky. He wondered if this would be the last time he saw clouds. Witnessing the moon in its twilight splendor.
There were no stars; there never was. When Shoto last saw stars, he was wandering why he had not bothered to look up earlier. What reason would he do this?
He now regrets his inattention. Would he die without remembering the constellations and stars in the sky?
He was afraid. God, he was terrified. He was afraid of leaving his siblings behind, and he was afraid of not having the opportunity to correct some of his mistakes. He was afraid of leaving Monoma without telling him how he felt about him.
Was he doomed to die a failure? He failed to protect his siblings. He could not protect Bakugo; he had failed at his one job.
The engine came to a halt, and Shoto was snapped back into reality.
"Are you sure this is the right choice?" Sero inquired, looking at him worriedly.
Shoto gave a slight nod.
"We can always go to the hospital. The raven head persisted, but Shoto continued to avoid his gaze. "If you try to protect that bi—"
"—I am not protecting anyone, Sero." He interjected. "This is the best option." . We just can not go to any hospital because that will only make things worse. Especially if the police are involved. Not all of them know about us.” He reasoned; Sero was silent, but he could tell he had something to say about the situation. Shoto added, attempting to relieve the tension. "I am safe now; do not worry about me."
"Fine.""Thanks." Sero gave a small, soft nod before walking away.
"Be careful." Shoto breathed deeply as he clutched his abdomen and stared at the house in front of him. He rang the doorbell.
...
Iida was extremely scattered. Shoto's natural pale skin appeared paler than usual—almost white—and he could tell he had lost a lot of blood; it was not spilling, but it had been for a long time. Iida remained motionless, trying not to vomit at the sight of blood; the terror in his eyes reflected the horror of the situation.
"Are your parents home?" Shoto asked, his voice frail. Iida shook his head. He could not miss the look of disappointment in his eyes. He masked it immediately.
"What happened to you?" "Who did this?"
"That does not matter right now; do you know how to provide first aid?" Shoto inquired, breathing heavily. His voice croaked and broke. Iida was surprised by how vulnerable he appeared.
“Yes, but I don’t think I could help.” He trailed off staring at the poorly bandaged abdomen.
“I know you can. Your father is a doctor, isn’t he?” Shoto asked and Iida nodded. “Plus, you used to go to those weird medical camps when you were in middle school.”
Iida nodded again, his heart thumped at the fact that Shoto remembered a little fact about him. He cursed himself inwardly, now wasn’t the time to get all mushy. Shoto was in pain.
“Can you move?” Iida asked, feeling embarrassed for even asking that. The statement came out as low as soft as he could let it. Cautiously he stepped forward and held the patient. Shoto held him back almost immediately, letting his entire weight fall on him. As if he were holding it all in and Iida was just in time to redeem him. That caused a small smile to form on Iida’s lips, heartwarming at the gesture.
In a swift motion, Iida carried his patient. “I’m going to take you to my room, and see what I can do till he comes back.”
Shoto only nodded. Iida could feel his body relax under his hold, or maybe he was just too pained to mind. Either way, Iida held him right, scared of letting him go, scared of hurting him as he took him upstairs to his room.
Tenya knew his dad would throw a massive tantrum if he found out something like this was happening in his house. Especially if it was someone who was in such a terrible state. He only prayed his father wouldn’t surprise him by abruptly coming back from his overnight shift. All he knew was that he had an important brain surgery that day, and he wouldn’t return anytime soon.
Iida promised himself that when the sun rises, he’ll have to drive Shoto to the hospital.
Iida gently laid Shoto on his bed and then rushed to the bathroom to get supplies and a first aid kit. His father being a doctor, they had more supplies in their kit than any regular home. He cut Shoto’s shirt as carefully as he could with a surgical blade. He pulled off the pieces and cut off the cloth used to cover the wound.
Blood spilled from the wound at the action, and he panicked.
Iida paled, nerves coiling at the back of his neck causing a chill to run down his spine when he stared at the cut, it was wide red and a little purplish. It was horrible, to say the least.
“I don’t have any kind of anesthetic.” The nerd announced, voice laced with worry and fear. “ this is going to be painful, so you will have to bear with me for now.” Shoto barely responded.
Iida swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed back the nerves crawling at his skin as he grabbed the small bottle of alcohol. The cold liquid was poured on his fresh wound which got Shoto throwing his head back on the pillow his moans muffled by the piece of cloth Iida placed between his teeth.
“I’m so sorry,” Iida mumbled. Cleaning off the excess fluid. “I’m sorry but we have to disinfect the wound or you could get a bacterial infection.” He added as if the piece of information would miraculously stop the pain the boy in his bed was going through.
Shoto looked like could barely comprehend what was going on. Iida could tell he was in immense pain and he wanted nothing but to ease it away.
“I’m so sorry.” He mumbled again, resisting the urge to hold him and possibly ease his pain in any way possible. Shoto only grunted.
He spared Shoto a glance and kind of wished he didn’t. Shoto had a forehead stained with sweat, eyes closed, head thrown back, and jaw clutched. He could see the veins on his arms as he tightly held onto the silk sheets beneath him, the grip was so tight, that his knuckles turned white. His exposed chest rose and fell unevenly and his abs clenched whenever he pained. The bright light from his bulb cast a warm glow on his sweaty exposed skin that seemed to shimmer under the light. Iida cussed himself for staring too hard at the area below his wound, just above the thin fabric of his underwear.
Shoto was a fucking patient! He’s in pain.
Iida snapped himself to reality, ignoring the flames under his veins and the hammering of his heart against his rib cage.
“I don’t know much.” He warned cleaning up his wound, “I still think we should get you to the hospital.”
“No.” Shoto managed to choke, surprised. “Just help me,”
“Shoto…” Iida tried protesting
“I trust you, please.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Iida nodded and started. He did know a little. It was at times like this that he wished that he attended more medical camps as he got older. He proceeded to stitch up the wound, trying to block out the muffled grunts of pain that weaved in the air constantly.
“If you received another stab, it would have damaged your organs and you’d probably be dead,” Iida said after he was done, he cleaned the wound after examining what he’d done. At least the bleeding had stopped.
“Give me a moment,” Iida mentioned and stepped out of his room, out of the house to the small garden his father grew in their backyard. Relief washed over him when he found the herb he was looking for. He plucked a few leaves and rushed back in.
A little laugh erupted from his chest when he noticed the expression Shoto wore as he watched him grind the leaves.
“Don’t worry, this works.” He said as he pulled up his sleeve to show him a scar on his elbow, “I got it when he was ten or nine, a friend pushed me and I got this massive cut on my elbow.” The memory played vividly in his mind as he spoke. “ My dad wasn’t around he’d gone to Berlin for work, it was just me and my grandma, so grandma helped with his medication so don’t fret.” He was applying the herbs to the wound as he spoke. “My grandma said that’s what they used back in the day. It works”
The tension dissipated once he was done speaking, he offered him a soft smile and he hesitated, waiting for Shoto to approve his actions. Which he did. He applied the herb and then bandaged him.
Once he was done, he brought milk and medicine to feed the other. After a while Shoto fell asleep and Iida was left with the burden of cleaning after the horrid mess.
Shoto woke up to a burning sensation in his abdomen. He whined lowly and he processed his life till he remembered where he was.
“Does it burn?” Iida asked.
“Very Much, Yeah.” At that, the nerd smiled.
“That means it’s working. All we have to do is wait.” Shoto smiled back too, at least he didn’t feel like he was dying.
“How can you be so reckless with your life?” Iida finally asked, he was sitting on the bench by his bed, Shoto craned his head and looked at him for a moment before he responded.
“It’s not like I wanted this to happen to me. It just happened.”
“Why didn’t you go to the hospital then?”
“it’s complicated.” He wouldn’t understand, he didn’t know anything about his father, it seemed.
Thankfully the nerd took a hint that the conversation was uncomfortable for Shoto so he stopped pressing.
“Come here.” Shoto said, his body ridged but his arm was tapping the side next to him. “it’s your bed after all.”
Iida stilled, “It’s okay, I’m fine.”
“Come on, don’t make me feel worse than I already do.” Shoto pressed.
Once he made it next to Shoto, Iida closed his eyes and slept almost immediately.
The sun rose and it’s soft rays caressed Iida’s frame. Shoto had never been this close to him— never stared this intently at him. Despite having a mutual friend, they barely shared a conversation that lasted a minute or so. Shoto wandered why. The thought curled in his chest, restless. Like he was missing out.
Iida was not popular at school but he was known. He was smart, presented himself gracefully and elegantly. He was the kind that people whispered; his name would frequently bounced off the walls of the locker rooms after soccer practice. His teammates would occasionally talk about how they wanted to ruin him, to be ruined by him. Others just wanted to be with him.
Seeing him from up close Shoto could tell why; Iida Tenya was good looks — safe to say handsome.
His dark navy blue hair — possibly soft to the touch — spread over the pillow. His surprisingly long lashes fell over his high cheekbones. His lips — pink and soft — parted lightly as he exhaled lightly.
Shoto’s heart leapt when he caught himself staring.
Beautiful.
….
Izuku pulled his knees to his chest, resting his chin on top of them. The knot in his chest tightened the longer stared. The sound of the cashier’s piecing laughter shot through the air, right through his chest like tiny spears. She brushed her pink hair behind her ear and her eyes twinkled when she smiled at Bakugo. Her smile was so sweet it was sickening. Of course, kacchan would flirt with any woman once he gets the chance.
Typical Bakugo things.
Izuku peeled his eyes away, trying to push back the gnawing feeling that panged his chest.
I don’t care. Not my business.
The thought was more like a reassurance—a bad one at that. His new sneakers were pretty. Plain white, simple, but still beautiful. The lady was also lovely; she appeared to be about their age. Probably about a year or two. The warm light from the bulb a few inches ahead gave them a soft glow, making her lipgloss shine brighter. Bakugo was probably thinking about kissing them.
Not my business. He thought— reassured again. Such trivial things didn't bother him anymore. He doesn’t think of his best friend that way anymore. Izuku moved on.
it was... whatever.
Bakugo’s frame leaned in to whisper something in her ear and she giggled.
Izuku bit his lip. A little too hard for his liking.
How long was it going to take? All Izuku knew was that it was nearly 4 a.m and his sleep deprived eyes were burning from exhaustion. Something burned in chest, pooling down to his stomach. Izuku was only a little angry. Any person would be. Bakugo was being so disrespectful.
He bit harder than he realized, pain shooting from his bleeding lip copper lingering on his taste buds. The grip on his legs tightened, nails digging into his skin. There was no use getting mad. It was the typical Bakugo things…
Bakugo’s lips tugged into a wide smirk. Izuku wanted nothing but to badly slap it off his cheeks.
“Should we get going?” he asked sliding back into his seat. Izuku stared at him for a hot moment, blood boiling. He stood up and walked out of the building, chest heaving lightly. The chilly morning air did nothing to cool his nerves.
It was just a normal reaction. There was no need to read between the lines. Anyone would get angry if they go out with someone only to be abandoned for a stupid cashier. That is what izuku was feeling. Anger. Nothing less, nothing more. Izuku huffed, his strides faster and almost uneven.
Izuku couldn't be jealous. He didn't even like Bakugo like that. Not anymore.
Bakugo was just being… Bakugo. His best friend. Izuku shouldn’t look so much into it. So what if he found him in passed out on a beach and carried to a motel to rest and bought him a fresh pair of clothes and snickers. That's what best friends do for each other. They care. The do things a bit more intimate than normal friends do.
Izuku would be a fool to look so much into it.
He stared at the fresh set of clothes and the new pair of sneakers. The fabric clung to his skin, heavy.
“…Izuku?” Bakugo called from behind, snapping Izuku out of his trance. Izuku stared at him for a moment, then at the hand at the hand that was holding his wrist. Bakugo's grip was firm but also gentle. Izuku looked away, his pulse quickened. He stumbled on his words, unsure what to say. Except for when their skins came into contact, the cold air settled on his skin like a damp blanket, leaving the area hot and tingly. He pulled away.
“You okay?” Bakugo asked, gaze stormed with worry and something Izuku couldn't understand, something that got his gut clenching in an illicit bliss. Not now, Izuku. He hated the way he felt more than anything.
“Do I look like there’s something wrong?” The viridian head said flatly, voice dripping with venom. He could still hear the lady's laughter echoing between his ears. A weight settling in his throat. Hot and uncomfortable. His voice came out harsher than its intent. “I’m okay.”
Red eyes bore holes into his soul, red glowing like molten magma. Izuku shifted on his weight, a warmth pooling in his lower abdomen. He peeled his eyes away.
“…ok.” Bakugo as he nonchalantly placed his hands at the sides of his pocket.
A silence stretched.
The air felt damp on Izuku’s skin, fresh enough to burn, carrying the scent of gravel and fallen leaves. The trees swayed lightly to the somber morning winds, their rustling the only accompaniment to the empty streets. The chirping of crickets was barely audible—just the muffled footsteps and Bakugo’s heavy breathing behind Izuku cut through the silence. A light shiver ran through him, not just from the cold, but from the weight of the quiet
“Can’t you walk beside me like a fucking normal person?” Izuku snapped, getting irritated. He turned to stare at the blond, fuming lightly at which Bakugo laughed. “What are you doing?” he asked and Bakugo shrugged, never whipping the smug grin on his face. Irritated, Izuku turned away.
Did getting that older woman’s number make him that happy? Well, Izuku didn’t care. He—
A yelp slipped past his lips and sliced through the air when Izuku was swept off his feet. He sucked in a breath when he failed to find footing.
“Kacchan, put me down you stupid bitch!” he yelled in protest but his cries seemed to fall on deaf ears. Bakugo’s laughter vibrated through the dense air and through Izuku’s chest. His hold on Izuku’s waist tightened, he pulled him close to his chest and then spun them around, one, two three times.
“It’s not funny,” Izuku mumbled when his feet found the cold pavement again.
“It’s fun,” Katsuki argued with a grin. Izuku rolled his eyes but he smiled too. He had to remind himself that he was still angry with the other. He huffed, the sound only for his ears, and continued waking to wherever the fuck they were headed.
Another yelp erupted from Izuku’s chest when he was lifted off the ground again. This time the blonde held him carefully in his arms, his grip under his legs and back was firm, sending another wave of electricity through the green head.
“Kacchan, put me down, now.” Izuku warned but his voice was barely a whisper, muffled by mortification and the excessive thumping in his chest. He hated this. Blood rushed to his cheeks when Bakugo adjusted, his cold fingers firm against the skin of his thighs. It was nothing, Izuku lied to himself. His heart was thumping wildly because he was being cautious, he was so high up and Bakugo's chest was so close to his body.
It was... weird. That's why his cheeks felt so warm.
Bakugo stared at him and smiled, the smile was quickly replaced by a laughter that sent shock waves through Izuku's body.
“Kacchan, are you even listening to me?” Izuku asked, trying to ignore the way his body responded to it all.
Bakugo only ignored him, he smiled as he drummed his fingertips under Izuku’s thighs causing Izuku’s heart to malfunction.
“I’ll only put you down if you stop being mad at me.” Bakugo retorted, husky voice low—almost gentle. Izuku squirmed, ignoring the warmth that settled on his cheeks, unwelcome.
“I’m not mad at you.” Izuku lied, looking away.
“I know you are.” Bakugo whispered, his voice sounded more sensual that it should have. His breath fanning Izuku's cheeks causing a warmth to pool his lower abdomen. Why was he talking like that?
“I’m not you, stupid fuck. Now put me down.” Katsuki only laughed, Izuku looked away, every cell in his body screaming at him to turn, to look at him. To look at the source of that melodious sound that got him feeling a little giddy inside. He didn’t have the nerve to look away for long, so he turned, and he looked, and his heart leaped.
Light from the street lamp above them fell gracefully on him, his blond hair shimmering like strips of gold, red eyes warm and brighter as they fell on Izuku. His skin glimmered like gold, looking warm and soft to the touch.
“I’m not until you stop being mad at me.”
“’ M not. I’m not, okay? So put me down.” His voice was low and a little croaked at the edges, he cussed inwardly in mortification.
“Really?” Bakugo mused, a classic smirk plastered on his soft lips. Izuku could feel sparks flying where Kacchan’s grip tightened, erupting through his veins like a thousand tiny explosions. His breath hitched and lagged, the thumping of his heart was so wild he felt it between his ears. Even though he hated to admit it, he was flustered. Bakugo knew that too. He laughed lowly, teasing. “I think you are.”
“Kacchan—” he warned with a trembling voice. It wasn’t funny anymore.
“I’m not letting you down unless you stop being mad at me.”
“fine… I’m not mad anymore.” He said dismissively, hoping the other would take the hunt. Bakugo stared at him, the action felt like an eternity, his grip tightened for a second before he gently put him back on his feet.
Izuku exhaled and turned away from him. The area under his things and back tingling from loss of contact. He ignored it. It meant nothing. Bakugo was just being Bakugo. He was just being mean. He was just playing around and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he had to play these games because he thought it was funny. They weren’t funny at all. Especially not when Izuku’s heart was beating so hard he could pass out.
“Don’t be mad at me…” Bakugo said from behind Izuku, trying to catch up. His tone was so low and gentle it hurt. Izuku’s breath stupidly latched when his best friend grabbed his wrist, halting his strides. He was so gentle and careful. Izuku hated it. “please, don’t be mad at me. I don’t like it.”
“I’m not.” And he wasn’t, not anymore.
“Okay.” Bakugo smiled at that.
Izuku hated how he could read him like a novel. He didn’t smile back, his chest suddenly felt heavy. He hated how easily he got emotionally drained with Bakugo around. How he just made him feel… things.
After a while, a silence stretched. Izuku didn’t mind, with Kacchan quiet he gets to have his thoughts to himself without just thinking of anything at all. The silence was comfortable, Izuku focused on the sound of the thumping of their shoes on the concrete and the soft whistle of the wind. Though the longer their silence stretched, the thicker their tension grew.
Occasionally, Izuku could feel red eyes boring holes through his side profile, he sighed through his lips. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, now hating the silence.
“I would ask you the same thing.” Katsuki shit back immediately as if he was waiting for Izuku to initiate the conversation. “What happened to you?”
Izuku tensed, he knew what he was talking about. He could barely make out the expression Kacchan made when he found him by the shores.
“What are you talking about?” Izuku feigned ignorance, hoping Bakugo would take the slightest hint and drop the subject
“Why were you drinking?”
“I told you, I just wanted to.”
“Did something happen with Todoroki?”
Pain, anger, insecurities resurfaced at the mention of that name.
“No.”
“Are you sure? You looked horrible when I found you.”
Embarrassment coiled inside Izuku’s chest like a serpent hiding, ready to pounce on its prey. “I’m fine, Kacchan.” He said dismissively, Kacchan didn’t take the hint.
“You could’ve have drowned, Izuku. You never used to be like this.”
Izuku but his inside cheek, anger swirled inside his chest like a tornado. “A lot of things change in two years, Kacchan.”
Bakugo opened his mouth to say something but he closed it again. Guilt coiled in Izuku’s chest seeing the hurt in his eyes but he pushed it away. He knew his words stung, they stung him too but it’s not like what he said was a lie
They walked for what felt like hours, the sun was starting to peep through the sky when Bakugo broke the silence again.
“Are you tired?” he asked.
“No.”
“You’ve been walking for so long though.”
“I’m okay.”
Izuku quietly listened to Bakugo’s bunter as he led them to his home. Once they made it, Izuku’s heart was in his throat: it’s been years since he last visited that place. He had forgotten how huge it was.
Before he could marvel at how beautiful the building was, Bakugo gripped his wrist and whispered something about not wanting to disturb his parents. They sneaked in from the backyard.
By the time they made it to Bakugo’s room, Izuku was out of breath. Compared to his cramped bedroom, Bakugo’s bedroom was a suite from a five-star hotel in the middle of Tokyo.
The room consisted of ten of his own. The walls were painted black— which wasn’t a surprise to Izuku — with a gentle glow from an orange light that lined the top and bottom of the walls. The windows stretched so high and wide that they covered a whole wall, expelling sunlight into the room and exposing a green terrace at the back of the house. At the front was the mini living room with a black plush — almost velvet couch shaped in an L-shape, facing the giant window.
Floating white marble stairs led to the slightly raised floor where Bakugo’s bed lay with black sheets and orange pillows, facing a large TV screen. Everything about the “room” screamed elegance and Bakugo. There was no painting or figurines of some sort. It was just a room.
If this were Izuku’s room he wouldn’t ever leave his house.
Izuku would opt to play some video games or even play a movie is he weren’t so good damn exhausted.
He plopped down on the bed and an exhausted sigh sipped past his lips.
Izuku wondered why someone would leave such a glorious bed for his old crumped one in his cramped bedroom.
“I’m going to sleep now, close the curtains.” He mumbled kicking off his shoes and sliding under the covers. He sighed in gratitude when Bakugo was compliant.
Relief washed over Bakugo once he noticed that Izuku was sleeping safely in his bed. Green unruly hair sprayed over his orange pillow, and soft heavy breaths escaped his soft parted lips. A knowing smile formed on his lips.
He slid under the covers too, grabbing his best friend by the waist such that his back was pressed firmly on his chest. Just to feel his warmth, to know that Izuku was safe.
…
The creaking of his door startled Iida awake. His body ached as he sat up. His heart was still beating fast, vision was still blurred. He couldn’t make out the person standing a few meters in front of him.
“what’s going on here?” Iida blinked and his heart jumped to his throat when recognition registered. His father.
“Father.”
“What’s this?” he asked again. His voice was low and guttural.
Iida swallowed, not sure how to explain the situation. He stared at the Shoto, soft uneven breaths made his chest rise and fall unevenly. His eyes shut and furrowed. A thin layer of sweat settled on his forehead making the strands of red and white hair above it damp.
Footsteps thundered in the air and before Iida could comprehend, his father was on the side of his bed, looking at his patient. The father grabbed the patient by the wrist and something flashed in his eyes when he looked at Shoto when he finished examining.
“How long has he been here?” he asked composed but panic danced around the edges of his voice causing Iida’s stomach to twist into knots.
Iida didn’t even know for how long he’d been asleep. The amber glow of oranges and pink that bleed into his bedroom window told him that it was almost nighttime.
“since 4 am.” He replied feeling mortified.
His father paled. “call an ambulance right now!” he said, his voice sharp, guttural. Iida only froze, watching his dad pick up Shoto who was unconscious. His body looked frail, arms dangled in the air like spaghetti. Air was sucked out of his lungs, ribs closed making his heart malfunction. His hands stayed frozen, feet glued together under the unbearable weight of his covers.
“Iida!” his father yelled, the sound boomed, clattering like empty tins inside his head. He flinched, snapping out of his trance. “ call for an ambulance right now!”
“O-okay.” He mumbled, fingers trembling as he looked for his device.
Was Todoroki going to be fine?
…
It had been a week. A whole damned week!
The smell of medicine and machines sat at the back of his throat. The sound of monitors beeping alternatively did not make him feel any better. Bright white light from the bulb above cast a glow so bright it burnt under his skin. For a hospital; a place supposed to revive health, this room looked anything but lively. Shoto’s almost lifeless body lay limp on the bed, Iida could barely distinguish him from the sheets beneath him considering how pale he was. His eyes were shut, his lips so pale and cracked. Only the rising and falling of his chest and the sound of monitors reminded him that he was alive and he clung to them for dearest hope.
“you must love your boyfriend so dearly.” Iida snapped his gaze away from the patient and the nurse that had waltzed in flashed him a small smile. He wouldn’t flushed like a tomato at the statement If it weren’t for the bundle of nerves that were coiling under his skin by the growing minute.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
Silence settled like a blanket. The nurse then smiled and looked away but not before flashing him her crimson cheeks. Rustling followed as she started changing the drip bottle.
“he’ll wake up soon. You don’t have to worry about him. Well... it’s okay to worry, just don’t beat yourself over it.” She said then quietly walked out.
How could he not be worried after all that blood he saw spilling from his guts? After he slept off as he was dying in his bed.
“You should go home and rest.” Another nurse walked inside the room and said. “Your father is worried about you.”
“B-but what if he wakes up.”
“You don’t have to worry about that. Your father will give you a call.”
“But—”
“You barely slept the entire week, I’m pretty sure you’ve not attended school for the entire week. Go home, rest and then come back.”
After numerous protests, Iida listened to the nurse and rested. By the time he woke up, it was already evening. He quickly showered and rushed back to his father’s hospital. For the entire week, the only thing on his mind was Shoto, Shoto, shoto, Shoto. He was too worried to go to school, or even leave his sight for a moment, scared that he’d not wake up or worse…
By the time he made it to the building it was almost midnight, the hospital was still busy— as always. But the only thing that caught his attention was several cars and bikes— mostly bikes— parked outside. He didn’t take it into thought until he made it to the floor where Shoto’s room was. Numerous men — guys with tattoos — paraded out of the room. At first glance, Iida thought they were thugs considering the immense number of tattoos and piercings on their skin.
His heart dropped at the sight, a sense of fear overwhelmed him as he tried to walk past them but he was halted in his tracks.
“You’re not allowed in here boy.” One of the men said. His frame towering over Iida by a good couple of inches. He wore a glum expression that rose a shiver through his body.
“let him in.” Someone ordered. Iida turned to meet Bakugo. His expression is calm yet still cocky as ever. “That’s Tenya’s son.”
Tenya’s son? Was he referring to my father as Tenya?
The man’s grip on Iida loosened and he bowed. “Thank you for taking care of Mr. Todoroki.” Iida’s eyes widened, surprised by the man’s change in demeanor. The rest of the thugs, seeing this, bowed too. They yelled in unison. “Thank you for saving Mr. Todoroki.”
Mr. Todoroki?
Bakugo, as if noticing his surprise, chuckled behind him and left.
Inside, shoto lay awake, relief washed over Iida immediately after he lay his eyes on him. Unfortunately for Iida, there were other people in the room.
Except for him, the only people who visited Shoto for the past week were his brother, who Iida came to know as Touya and a friend of his named Sero. Iida watched as a girl, the same age as them if not younger, sat next to the patient’s bed and cracked a joke that made Todoroki crack a small smile.
A long straight hair fell on her back, complimenting her milky white skin the best was possible. Her slender fingers wrapped around Shoto’s arm, and her gaze was so fixed on him, that she didn’t notice him walk in. Iida’s stomach churned at the sight.
Iida recognized Sero and gave him a small greeting.
A dagger shot its way through his chest when Todoroki didn’t notice when he walked in. He’d been looking forward to this moment for an entire week.
“Hi—”
“—Sero, tell your men to go outside. They are ‘scaring’ the patients.” Bakugo cut him off, and everyone’s head in the room snapped to him, then to Iida. He swallowed lightly meeting his gaze with his crush. He offered a small smile.
“Who is this?” the girl asked; not bothered to be polite towards Iida.
“Iida, from school,” Bakugo replied.
“Hi.” Iida greeted the girl and she smiled.
“Momo. Momo Yayurouzu.” She got up from her seat, and straight towards Bakugo. Her smile brightened when she linked their arms, her eyes sparkled with pride as she said,
“Bakugo’s fiancee.”
The room stilled; Iida waited for Bakugo to throw a rude remark her way for saying such an outrageous thing but it never came.
Izuku was not going to like this shit.
Notes:
I'm sure a number of y'all didn't want the Todoroki scenes but I felt like they were necessary for the plot to build. I can assure you that the next chapters will be based solely on BKDK.
Thanks for reading upto this point.
Chapter 7: The moon was lonely
Summary:
Loneliness is a pest— until it grew teeth. And it turns into a beast that feed on every inch sanity, happiness you have left.
Notes:
First of all, sorry for the long wait for those that were waiting for this..
But here you go, 10.5k wordsTW: SA(brief), Mental health issues.
Loneliness.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
a week earlier
The chirping of birds outside had subsided, and the warm morning sun had turned scorching.
The girls' excitement grew as they ran through the hallways, their bare feet tapping lightly on the cold marble floors. The door before them stood enormous compared to their frail bodies.
“Are you going in first?” The younger one — Katsura— with dark red eyes and brunette hair asked the other, who only shrugged. Her devious smile mirrored her twin's.
“I don't know, do you want to go first, Katsura?” The blonde—Hikari— asked, her coffee-brown eyes bouncing from her twin to the task at hand. Katsura shook her head.
“Let’s go together.” She announced, holding her teddy bear to the side just to hold her sister’s arm. “Give me your hand.” Giggles erupted from the twins as the two pushed the door open. Their footsteps rushed as a sling ting of adrenaline pulsed through them; their movements halted when they spotted their brother sleeping in his bed.
“There’s someone else.” Hikari mentioned causing them to halt their movements. Without a verbal instruction, they climbed the bed as stealthily as they could. The two jumped off the bed when they spotted a green head lying next to their brother. They ran out of the room giggling; excitement bubbled in the house as they rushed for their parents.
Mitsuki laid down the magazine she was skimming through as soon as what one of her twins said registered. Anger coiled inside her chest like a seething serpent. How dare he be so reckless and do such an outrageous thing with his father around?
She pushed her way through the hallways, dread pooling in her stomach with every step she took. She pushed the doors open, and her heart dropped.
She was almost relieved that they had their clothes on.
Bakugo slept silently, his left arm hovering above the boy next to him.
Deku.
The green head laid his head on her son’s chest, strands of green hair splattered all over her so. The sight is almost intimate.
Her mouth turned sour.
It could’ve been anyone but that kid. It was always that kid.
She stepped closer to draw the curtains and then turned away from the sight. The urge to shake them both awake prickling under her skin like tiny needles. It took everything in her body not to. She exhaled; her disappointment morphed into anger.
Too preoccupied with her thoughts, she took a step back, and her back hit a broad, hard chest.
Too late, she thought; the man had seen just as much. Katsura giggled as she grabbed her father's arm; he looked away, and the mother breathed; they were married, but something always told her to turn her gaze away whenever their eyes met.
It was barely a whisper, but it was always there. It could be because of the way her husband carries himself with such authority or maybe just everything about him in general.
That didn’t change the fact that she loved her husband, even though that wasn’t the case for him. His ambitions were bigger than his love for her and for their children. And because of that, their family slowly and unsteadily fell apart.
It felt so cold and empty without her eldest daughter. Most certainly, it was so lonely.
Masuro’s expression was calm. Stoic.
He held a tenderness in his gaze that anyone else would think he’s sweet and warm. But Mitsuki knew better. Behind those calm— mostly mistaken warm— brown eyes, she could clearly see the storm raging behind them. A monster trapped and restrained by the shackles of morality and human decency. Ready to pounce on his command to completely and utterly destroy his prey.
“Leave him alone.” Mitsuki said softly but firmly. Without breaking eye contact, she stepped closer to him and held him gently by the arm. Her gesture was soft and delicate —almost robotic. The last thing she needed was her oldest son and her husband at each other’s throats on the first day she got to have the entire —almost entire— family together under the same roof after months of being apart.
“At least for now.” She added, then walked away. A breath slipped past her lips when she heard heavy footsteps after her own.
“Only for now.” Masoru said, his voice slicing through the small flicker of hope she’s collected.
***
Izuku woke up to an uncomfortable heat beneath the heavy covers.
A throbbing pain plunged through his skull when he sat up too fast. He winced at the brightness of the rays that bled through the window. Did Kacchan open the curtains? He slowly shifted his gaze to the side; Bakugo lay next to him, asleep. It wasn’t him.
He pushed the useless thought aside.
Lazily, he got up and closed them. His body felt heavy, eyes still groggy with sleep. He slid back under the covers.
It wasn’t odd, sleeping next to Kacchan, yet he still couldn’t get used to it. The softness of the pillow embraced him as he stared at the male beside him.
Suddenly Izuku was staring at a calm lake; birds chirped from a distance as the water stretched out to the horizon to kiss the skyline. Golden pools of light kissed his skin, and the waves crashed softly over themselves. The grass beneath him was soft to the touch as the wind blew softly, caressing him in a soft whisper.
Izuku’s heart thumped at the thought, eyes glued to the male.
The sheets barely covered his shirtless body; porcelain skin looked soft to the touch, pale, a soft contrast to the black duvets. Kacchan’s face was turned to the side of the bed, giving Izuku a glimpse of his back, broad shoulders, and firm muscles that flexed when he buried his arm under his pillow.
Heat rushed through Izuku’s body, heart unbearably fast when realization clocked in like a head-on collision.
Kacchan was shirtless.
A few rays spilled from the small uncovered part of the window, illuminating the room in a deep glow. Bakugo’s breathing was slow, heavy, and uncalculated.
He was asleep.
His soft —almost inaudible— snores danced around the room, wading through Izuku’s chest and settling in the pool of his stomach. The duvet barely covered him, exposing a scar right above his underwear at the lower side of his left abdomen.
Izuku sucked in a breath. When did Kacchan get this scar? He’d never seen it, and they’ve seen each other naked a few times ever since they were kids. It was a thin and light pink strip covering up to a whopping four inches of his stomach. Could he have gotten it in the two years they spent apart?Izuku stared at his best friend’s toned abdomen longer than he should.
Bakugo had gotten taller, but Izuku didn’t think he’d gotten this ripped. He bit his lip; something bitter clogged his throat when his eyes fell back to the scar, a symbol of the time they lost, a trigger for those gruesome memories. The scar told stories, stories not meant for Izuku; it held secrets his best friend wouldn’t entrust to him. A gap before them. A brutal reality.
Ever since they started talking again, ever since Bakugo started sneaking into his bedroom almost every night, Izuku had been keen on things like situation ship, closeness, and intimacy.
Kin was showing skin, and thus, today would mark the first time he’d seen his best friend shirtless after two whole years.The urge to touch him was inevitable.
The pulsing of blood muffled any form of sound as he lifted his hand to trace the scar. The skin felt warm against his cold fingers; flames burst under his touch. His fingertips barely grazed the area, scared to wake him up, scared that he might be in some sort of dream and that doing so would snap him out of it.
His heart leaped in his throat when he did, soft skin under the pad of his fingertips. Fuck, he probably looks like some creep.
The urge to trail deeper was almost unbearable. He pulled away, unfocusing his eyes from the tight muscles of his best friend’s abdomen that peeped at him.
Jesus, Izuku needed to get a grip. He looked at the scar again—for the last time— and thought. That must’ve hurt. Black ink traced along the curve of his spine, words written boldly in Japanese traditional letters.
He propped himself up by the elbows to get a better glimpse at the tattoo.
His eyes wide with surprise, he felt like a mother going through their child’s stuff only to discover they really didn’t know them like they thought they did.Bakugo? Tattoos?
Looking at Bakugo felt like reading a book he’d read thousands of times, only this time he finds out they changed the pages and the plot without him knowing. Now he’s staring at the pages, unsure of what’s to happen next.
Did he know Bakugo? Was time capable of changing someone so much?
He knew things had changed and that two years wasn’t fucking nothing. No amount of pretense could change that. But it pained.
Not knowing the simplest things like this felt like Izuku was lying next to a stranger. He cranked his neck to get a better read; someone knocked on the door.
“Mr. Bakugo.” A lady’s voice called from behind the mahogany door; her tone polite yet calculated. Izuku froze, now wider awake. He pinched the spiky blonde awake.
“There’s a lady at your door; wake up.” He whisper-yelled only for the other to grumble and turn so he was facing Izuku.
“Let her in.” Bakugo mumbled, and Izuku’s eyes shot wide.
“What?! She can’t find us like… this.” Izuku retorted in mild mortification. Bakugo grumbled something inaudible to Izuku. He turned to face the green head, and Izuku’s heart leaped for a second.
“Just let her in,” he mumbled, with sleepy eyes as he gripped his pillow and pressed into it. Izuku would swoon at how gorgeous he looked for doing that if it weren’t for the nerves crawling under his skin.
“Mr. Bakugo…?” The lady tried to sound polite, but Izuku could feel her tone dragging, impatient. He squeaked.
“Come in,” then jumped off the bed, unsure how to act. The lady flashed him a practiced smile once she was in.
“Mr. Bakugo wants both of you down for lunch.”The silence thickened and fell on them like a wet blanket. Bakugo shot up; the lady only stood for a moment, as if waiting for the information to sink in. She bowed lightly and stepped out of the room.
Izuku looked at his best friend, and he paled. Shit. Izuku had met with Bakugo’s father but only a few times.
Only twice.
The first time he met with him was when they were still in middle school, back when he and Bakugo were tied to the hip. Izuku could tell that he was no ordinary man —which made sense because he was Bakugo’s father. But there was something about him that made Izuku feel the need to present his absolute best around him. All he could remember was the soft hum of disapproval that the man cast at him when Bakugo introduced him as his best friend.
He could vividly remember the way his chest panged painfully at that.
The second time, though…
Izuku had been a stuttering mess. His pulse was erratic under his palms where he held Bakugo. His breathing was ragged and muffled as Bakugo’s lips devoured his own. He moaned into him, pressing down harder on his best friend, earning a mouthy groan. Izuku was a spluttering mess when strong hands gripped his arse and pressed down hard.
“K-kacchan…” he moaned breathily, and their lips parted. Moist lips trailed down his neck and his collarbone, teeth grazing the area before they sunk deep.
Lust swelled in his chest and burst into flames, setting his skin on fire and frying his mind.
“Izuku...” Bakugo moaned against his skin, warm fingers slipped under his shirt. Emitting sparks all over his body. A warm pool swarming in his abdomen to his groin, where Bakugo’s pressed hard. It was too much; Izuku couldn’t think.It felt so good.
Izuku didn’t think it was possible, but he felt himself melt like wax near a flame when his best friend thrust lightly upwards to match his subtle grinds. He could feel him under the thick layers of fabric between them.
“…ngh, Kacch—” he cut him off by claiming his lips again, hot tongue thrusting inside his mouth.
It was too much. It wasn’t enough.
It shouldn’t feel this good, especially when—
The door was pushed open, and Bakugo’s father stepped in.
Izuku’s chest heaved in great mortification and terror as he jumped off Bakugo. Eyes blown wide, lips parted and swollen. He looked a mess, and Bakugo had looked worse.
The man had his face twisted in disgust. Izuku was so scared watching the way the man clenched his fists as his eyes darted between them, trying to decipher what he caught them doing. Izuku’s face burned red when his eyes lowered to the tent in his pants; his blood turned as cold as ice watching the man’s face twist into something darker.
Anger. Disappointment? Embarrassment?
Without uttering a word, he turned on his heels and walked out of the room.
Izuku had exhaled, but he was scared, scared of what would happen to him. What would happen to Bakugo?
Izuku’s pulse thrummed the more he thought about what would happen. He pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind and stepped out of Bakugo’s bedroom, mentally preparing himself for the worst.
The soft scent of lavender and trees fanned his nostrils the moment he stepped out of the room. The soft afternoon sun shone brightly from a distance, casting the hallway in a golden embrace. His footsteps echoed against the high ceiling walls, his sneakers foreign above the expensive marble floors. His heartbeat quickened as he climbed down the staircase.
Expensive portraits and paintings lay perfectly on the walls, staring at him, almost mocking. He cursed inwardly. He’d forgotten how rich Bakugo’s family really was.
He was wrong when he said he was prepared.
The aroma hit him before he made it to the dining room. Savory and warm— Japanese cuisine laid out in perfect rows on the long, square dining table. The white marble gave the food a sharp contrast; dishes were laid out with such precision it looked more like an art exhibition than a meal. His stomach grumbled at the sight; rice looked like clouds in bowls with dark ceramics, and silver cutlery was aligned perfectly next to the dishes. A huge and visually expensive chandelier hung over the table. The entire layout was a sight straight out of a drama.
His sneakers squeaked against the hard marble as he moved, the sound so foreign, so unwelcome. He forced a smile and bowed when he glanced at Bakugo’s mother, trying to fight the nerves that were tugging his lips downwards.
“Deku.” She called, smiling back. She hadn’t changed from the last time he saw her. Unlike Bakugo’s father, Izuku had so many run-ins with Bakugo’s mother. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you again. Mrs. Bakugo.” Izuku said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.
A giggle bounced in the room, and Izuku snapped his gaze to the twins; they were already eating, sitting at a different table. Lower and more child-friendly. They’d grown bigger too.
“Have a seat.” The lady finally said, and Izuku obeyed, prying eyes away from the girls only to meet eyes with their father. Izuku paled, color draining from his cheeks.
From Izuku’s unfortunate encounters with this man and a few stories from Bakugo. Izuku knew that Bakugo’s father was a quiet person. Quiet, calm, and collected.
He held the kind of silence that boomed loud and quaked you from where you stood. The kind of person who watches you like a predator haunts its prey and takes you down with such precision you don’t see it when it’s coming. He held the kind of silence that screamed for order and respect. Yet he had this soft and kind look that Izuku found a little unsettling.
His eyes were warm, but beneath all that, there was something dark and chilling.
Or maybe Izuku was just being dramatic because of the first impression the man gave him when he was still in middle school.
Sitting across from him felt like diving into a nauseating wave. His silence was heavy and grounding. It settled in Izuku’s chest like a dagger and blared in his head like a thousand sirens.
Izuku knew better than to avoid his contact, yet something told him that he’d done worse than that. Far worse.
Something bitter rose at the back of his throat when he got up to greet the man only to receive no response, not even a grunt.
He forced another smile, but it only felt like a grimace. The air was thick, and not from the spices or from the warm vapor from the soft white rice in front of him.
He swallowed the lump in his chest, his heartbeat rising with something close to fear. He didn’t know why.
“Katsuki.” Mitsuki called, and all heads but Izuku’s turned to stare at the called person. He heard a grumble and felt the seat next to him shift as a warmth settled beside him.
Izuku couldn’t bring himself to look at him. Not with his father watching.
Not with the memory of what happened two years ago lingering at the back of his mind, possibly Bakugo’s father too.
Bakugo was silent, glaring at the plate of food before him, his grip on the chopsticks so tight he almost bent them.
The twins' giggles danced in the air, molding with the clunking of spoons and metal chopsticks against ceramics. Occasionally Izuku would feel a glare burning on his skin— or maybe he was just being paranoid.
“So…how’s your food, Deku?” Mitsuki asked, cutting the silence. Bakugo flinched beside Izuku.
“It’s delicious.” He replied honestly. It would taste better if he were anywhere but here.
Mitsuki smiled at his response. “Glad you liked it.” Her smile was warm; Izuku could feel a few nerves loosen at her gesture. Her eyes were a crimson blaze like her son’s, just not as bright.
“I actually cooked that.” She said in a matter-of-fact tone as she popped some rice in her mouth.
“You did?” This time Izuku was genuinely surprised; he smiled, his guard dropping immediately. “This is so good.” He continued, the flavors bursting in his mouth.
“Katsuki can teach you. He loves —well, he used to love — cooking with me.” Izuku’s eyes budged; for a moment he forgot there was someone else other than his best friend and his mother.
“Kacchan can really cook?” He chirped, turning his head to look at said person. Bakugo was silent, jaw locked, eyes fixed on his plate. Izuku looked away, embarrassed.
Kacchan was oddly quiet.
Maybe he just didn’t want to engage in the conversation.
The woman smiled wider, eyes sparkling with amusement. Izuku smiled, too. “Kacchan?” she asked. Her gaze falling to her son, then back at Izuku. “You still call him that nickname?” His face flushed. Maybe he was getting too comfortable. But that’s the thing with Bakugo’s mother: she was so easy to get along with. He’d been too drowned in anxiety earlier; he’d forgotten how warm the woman had always been towards him. His worries faded like an isolated cloud in the sky.
“Are you guys together now?” Her voice was so sweet and sticky. Izuku stilled, suddenly aware of Bakugo’s father’s presence in the room. He swallowed; it was a simple ‘yes or no’ question, yet it felt harder than his recent calculus tests.
His throat dried, and the piece of meat in his mouth turned bitter and rotten. Izuku didn’t want to answer that question. He turned to his best friend, his jaw clenched, his grip on his chopsticks so tight his knuckles turned white, Izuku feared the metal would break.
“Uh…n-no, it’s nothing like that—”
“What kind of question is that?” Bakugo’s husky voice sliced through the air. Izuku tensed, ribcage closing in, making his chest hurt.
“When did you guys start dating?” The question was harmless, and yet—
“We are not.” Bakugo said flatly, staring dead on at the woman, his words burnt, leaving blisters inside his chest. “That can never happen.”
Piercing wind forced its way into Izuku’s chest, and it twisted like a tornado. Bile rose up his throat, hot and relentless.
“Is that right, Deku?” Izuku choked on his words; something about the way he said it stirred something inside his chest. Something hot and dirty. Something he’d buried years ago. Izuku forced a little smile.
“Bakugo is my best friend. Something like that is… ridiculous.” So ridiculous, Izuku must have forgotten for a moment. Why was he feeling stupid now?
“That’s not what we saw this morning.” A deep guttural voice cut through the air; Izuku paled. His nerves settled, then burst like firecrackers. Maybe it would be best if he never came back to Bakugo’s home.
“That happened by mistake.” Katsuki’s voice was firm, but he could feel it tremble so lightly he almost missed it.
“What’s your name, boy? ” Izuku’s heart dropped to his stomach. He snapped to look at the man and used every ounce of his energy to keep looking at him, fearing looking away would be a sign of disrespect.
“My name is I-izuku. Izuku Midoriya.” There was a silence. A kind that shot daggers through the viridian head’s entire body, pinning him in place and leaving him vulnerable and hopeless. The hair on his skin rose, his mouth turned sour, and he felt exposed under his gaze.
A smile.
A fucking smile broke on his lips. It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t grand—in fact, it was so small and the sight didn’t last for a second— but it was a smile nonetheless.
You could see the surprise on each of their faces.
“Kid, have some ground if you mention your name.” The sentence wasn’t light; it wasn’t heavy either. He nodded, and for some reason the tightness in his chest lessened. Maybe it was the way he smiled, or maybe it was the way he felt the warmth from those coffee-brown eyes settle in his chest.
“Izuku? ” Mitsuki chirped in. “I thought your name was Deku.” Izuku chuckled nervously.
“No, that’s just a nickname.”
“So, tell me, boy. What are your plans for the future? ” It was a simple question. Izuku had never felt relieved to be asked about his future.
“Oh, I’m not sure if I should be a robotics engineer or—” The conversation flowed effortlessly after that, chatter bouncing from Mitsuki and Izuku. And the constant giggles from the twins at the other table.
Bakugo was silent, and his father had left the table after receiving a phone call not moments after he interacted with Izuku. Occasionally, Izuku spared a glance at his best friend. Offering a smile that wasn’t returned when they made contact.
What was wrong with him?
He pushed the thoughts aside. At least both Bakugo’s parents were opening up to him.
***
Monday
“Get out of the way, bitch! ” The sneer shot right through his ears. He winced, and before he could process that statement, someone almost pushed past him, forcefully shoving his shoulder in the process.
“Bitch,” Izuku muttered under his breath as he rubbed his throbbing shoulders.
The hallways buzzed with students; their chatter filled the air like a swarm of restless bees. The air smelled of cheap perfume and pencil shavings. Sneakers squeaked on the floor and echoed in sharp bursts. Most of the students were in groups of two, three, or even more, reminding Izuku how alone he really was.
His eyes danced around the crowd, hoping to find a tall, navy-blue-haired boy with thick, rectangular glasses, but his lanky frame was nowhere in sight. Izuku’s shoulders slumped.
Throughout the entire weekend he couldn’t get hold of him; his old T9 from the 2000s didn’t make things better. With barely any access to the internet, Izuku couldn’t communicate as efficiently as he usually did.
His sour mood worsened at the thought. It’s not like he had any hopes of getting a new one soon. Especially not after the cute little stunt he pulled during dinner a few weeks ago.
A throaty sigh escaped his lips. Just a few months and he’ll be free.
Independent.
Itsuka glared at him as she walked past. Nothing out of the ordinary, but an uneasy feeling settled in his gut. He despised the fact that she reminded him of Bakugo.
Bakugo.
Crimson eyes narrowed and became stoic.
The thought of him triggered his memory two days ago. He could still see the look of disapproval in his eyes as he dismissed him so casually in front of his parents. Izuku tried to tell himself that he did not mind, that he didn’t care about what Bakugo thought about him, but his body screamed otherwise.
They had not talked since that afternoon. Izuku had tried calling him a few times that night and countless times the very next day, but it was just like shouting into a storm—his voice swallowed whole by the wind, leaving no echo, no proof he had ever spoken at all.
Izuku only hoped he wasn’t mad at him.
He typed a short text to Iida, hoping he would respond to him this time.
Midoriya: I’m already at school. Where are you?
He stared at the message on his brick phone. Delivered. The entire weekend all he received from the other was radio silence. Not even a simple phone call. Izuku sighed, placing the device in his backpack as he weaved through the crowd of hormonal teenagers.
Soon class started without a sight of Iida. Shoto and Bakugo, too. Izuku tried not to think about it, but each time he stared at the empty seat beside him and the two a few rows behind him, he couldn’t help but spiral. His insecurities creeping in from the dark into the surface like earthworms after a storm.
When it came to making friends, Izuku was horrible. It was at times like this that he was grateful for having Iida as a friend. Ever since what happened back in elementary school, the concept of having friends felt like rocket science to him. People were just so complicated.
Or maybe he was the problem.
That made sense, considering the fact that he couldn’t even get along with the people that sleep under the same roof as him. Maybe he was so… average. No one wanted boring. Izuku embraced that thought as he walked inside the cafeteria.
At least he didn’t have to worry about having eyes on him.
The last time he felt this isolated was back in elementary school when no one wanted to be close to him and two years ago when he realized it was too late to make new friends.
The cold piece of metal burned under his grip; the food on the tray looked appetizing, but the knot in his chest coiled in his gut, leaving no room for any food. It’s not like he was hungry anyway.
His eyes darted about until he spotted a familiar bush of purple hair. He swallowed his nerves as he stepped closer to his table.
“…I hid his other phone, and he became frustrated, and when he found out I hid it, he told me not to play with his fucking emotions. *Scoff,* how the fuck was I playing with his emotions when he was the one cheating on me? I mean —” the girl who was talking quieted.
Grim silence stretched through the air when Izuku made it to Shinsou’s table. The jocks halted their chatter to stare at the intruder. Izuku swallowed and greeted them.
Shinsou looked surprised and never bothered to hide it.
"Izuku?! ” One of the girls on the table called; her high-pitched tone sliced through the air, making the green head even more nervous. Izuku smiled in acknowledgement. It was a classmate, Mina. Her pink, fluffy hair was hard to forget. Seeing the attire she wore, Izuku deduced that she was a cheerleader. “What brings you here? ” she continued, her fingers playing with the hair of the blonde boy she was sitting on. The boy— whose face he couldn’t make out— had his head buried in her bossom. His fingers played with the skin of her exposed thighs before they dipped a little deeper. Izuku had to force his gaze away as one of the girls groaned, Get a room, geez.
“I want to talk to Shinsou,” he said, his gaze meeting said person. A few curious gazes flew at Shinsou, then back to Izuku.
“Did you talk to Iida on the weekend? ” he asked once the attention drifted from them. Shinsou only shook his head. “You don’t know where he is? ” Shinsou shook his head again, and Izuku sighed. It’s not like he expected more than three words from the jock’s lips.
He walked away. One of the boys on the table wolf-whistled, and the crowd cheered. Izuku fought the urge to roll his eyes, not sure if the gesture was directed towards him or if it was just their usual banter.
Another sigh slipped past his lips when he made it out of the cafeteria and soon out of the building. The plate of food weighed heavy like a piece of garbage.
Once he made it to the pavilion, he placed it to his side and sat down unceremoniously. The sun shone on the wet grass of the soccer field, and the air smelled like flowers and freshly cut grass. Chatter of students in the distance sounded like a dying music device. Wind blew his hair over his face. He sighed, leaning back with his elbows on the incline above the one he was sitting on. There barely was anyone, except the three first years playing football at the corner of the pavilion and the two other students making out.
Izuku groaned and pried his eyes away from the sight.
Which was a little hypocritical of him since he’d done the same thing just a few years ago. Someone laughed; Izuku snapped his gaze to Shinsou.
“Mind if I join? ” he asked, holding his own plate of food. He wore a soft smile on his lips, the sight so rare it got Izuku a little nervous. There were bags under his eyes, as always, like he'd missed sleep for a year. Izuku couldn’t miss the light sparkle in his eyes when he smiled.
“Sure,” Izuku responded almost too quickly, placing his own plate of food at the other side so the intruder wouldn’t feel that much of it.
"What brings you here? ” Izuku asked, trying to sound polite.
“Just thought I could make friends with an acquaintance.” Shinsou mimicked Izuku’s actions, lunch plate to the side, elbows resting on the step above them, gaze fixed ahead. A soft wind blew, and Izuku smiled.
“Oh, ahh…thanks.”
“I noticed that all your friends are missing.” Shinsou was surprisingly blunt.
“Oh. I’m fine, actually.”
“Right…” he trailed off, his gaze now on Izuku. “How did you even get to be friends with Bakugo? ” Shinsou asked, the question intended to break the silence. “Not in a condescending way, or anything; it’s just that you guys seem… different.” The statement burned lightly. He hated it whenever his friendship with Bakugo was questioned. In such a manner, no less.
“How different?"
“I think you’re a nice person; it’s just weird seeing you with someone like Bakugo.” Izuku didn’t like the way their conversation started off.
“Bakugo is nice. You guys don’t know him; he’s nice once you get to know him.” Izuku knew what he was hitting on. Bakugo was different; he was loud at times but secretive. He wasn’t easy to approach because he gave off that intimidating aura. He barely had many friends and was quiet unless provoked— which was unfortunate because Bakugo was provoked so many times.
“Really? ” Shinsou asked, not really surprised by his answer.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe I don’t know him that well.”
“You don’t,” Izuku chirped. “If you try to get to know him, you’ll love him,” Izuku added unnecessarily and regretted it immediately when Shinsou smirked and quirked an eyebrow. Izuku was starting to get why Iida found him unbearable.
“I guess it makes sense how he’s so close to Shoto,” he mused. Shoto was a ball of serotonin; of course it made sense that he and Bakugo were best friends!
Shinsou looked at Izuku longer as his smirk widened. “I see, you like him, don’t you? ” Izuku flushed crimson.
“What are you even saying? ”The question was like an earthquake, but he stood firm. “Kacchan is my best friend! ”
“Kacchan? ”
“Why are you even asking me this? ”There was an urgency in his voice, and Izuku hoped Shinsou missed it. Of course he did not like Bakugo. That was two years ago, and those stupid feelings were subdued with time.
“I’m just creating a conversation.”
“Okay, do you like Iida? ” He countered. A laugh burst through the air. Izuku snapped to look at Shinsou, and it was a rare, genuine laugh. Surprised, he looked at him longer. Seeing Shinsou laugh was a sight to behold. “You don’t ? ” Izuku asked again. Shocked when the purple head shook his head. “Why not? I thought you guys were in love or in some twisted situationship.” Izuku conjured another laugh that danced in the air.
What was so funny?
“You’re so cute,” Shinsou said after he came down. “But no. Not anymore.” He added, and Izuku felt the lingering pain in his voice. “Loving someone who doesn’t even care about you is not healthy, you know.”
Those words floated like clouds in the back of his mind. Dark and heavy like the nimbus. The clouds poured rain as the words sunk in.
***
Orange evening light spilled across his desk, thin and impatient. Izuku slumped in his geometry seat, doodling absently at the edge of his notes. He’d already scribbled down everything important—now it was just a matter of waiting for the bell. When it finally rang, sharp and merciful, he barely had time to register the rustle of papers or the muffled laughter behind him before shoving his things away. His fingers ached, stiff as if wired with metal, and he dropped his pen with a sigh. Rolling his wrist, he stretched like someone who’d spent hours fighting a keyboard instead of solving proofs.
“Izuku! ” The teacher called just as he got up to leave the classroom. Impatiently, he turned to look at her. “Go to the head teacher’s office immediately after this.” Then she looked away like what she just said didn’t quake him from where he stood.
Thunder clapped in his chest, heartbeat loud and visceral. His ears rang as her statement played over and over again at the back of his head. For a moment he stayed rooted in the spot, a million scenarios going through his head. What could have happened? Did they know about his habits?
Ironically, if not, at the corner of his eye he spotted him, Spinner, and his blood pressure rose. Spinner looked at him with a puzzled look before he stepped closer to him.
"If you snitch on us, I’ll kill you.” He spat venom, and Izuku paled; the words sunk into every cell of his body.
“I won’t. Besides, I don’t think they are calling me because of that,” he reassured the delinquent. Mostly himself.
It wouldn’t be about that. It can’t be. It was just a one-time thing. No one noticed. Well, two times, and it was only because of curiosity, and he didn’t even do it at school; he was at home.
“Okay.” The pink head said, more calmly and friendlier, “Maybe you can come back. We got better goods.” He whispered after closing in, a smirk tugging his lips upwards.
Izuku only nodded; he wasn’t doing that shit again.
Izuku bit his lip, and he tightened the hold on the straps of his bag. With heavy steps he trotted through the hallways, heart heavy with anxiety. He slowly made it to the office.
“Come in.” The command came quickly as soon as his knuckles collided with the doorframe. He was a mess; his thoughts were jumbled everywhere. Nerves burst under his palm when he gripped the handle and pulled the door open.
"Good even—”
“ Sit down.” The man cut off; his gaze was still fixed at the huge pile of documents on his desk, his hand movements frantic as he signed or marked the documents. The curtains were drawn shut , cutting off any light from outside. The scent of ink, old paper, and cologne nuzzled in the air.
The whooshing of the pen on paper mingled with the soft hum of the printer and faint chatter from the students behind the walls. Izuku tried setting his arms on the smooth wooden armrest, but the action only made him uncomfortable.
Izuku exhaled through his nose; he leaned forward, elbows resting awkwardly on his thighs, thumbs painfully digging into his palms. The longer the man took to acknowledge his presence — or just give him the attention — the more his anxiety kicked in.
Maybe someone spotted him drunk at the beach, and they told his teachers; it was absurd but clearly possible considering the popularity of their school. Or maybe it was something else. Did someone spot him smoking? But he never smoked at school. No, it couldn’t be that his mother spilled about what happened that night he went on a rampage, but why? Does this mean he’ll be getting counseling? Their school had a strict policy against disrespect and moral decay, so that could be why.
It could be the substance he bought a few weeks prior; someone might have spotted him with Spinner. But it was only twice; he promised himself he wouldn’t do it again. They wouldn’t know that, would they? Did this mean that he was getting expelled?
A silence passed.
The sound of the pen dropping on top of the desk was sharp enough to halt the spiraling of his thoughts.
“How’s your evening, Midoriya? ” The man flashed him a sick, professional smile. Izuku fought to smile back.
"It’s normal, sir.” He managed to choke out. The feeling was sickening, especially when the man looked at him, searching for something. The man nodded shortly, his gaze shifting away from him as he started looking for something. The sound of cabinets being clunked and papers shuffling did nothing to calm the beast threshing away every piece of sanity he had left.
The man whispered a small ‘anha’ when he found what he was looking for.
“I’ve been watching your progress over the years, and I cannot express how disappointed I am.” He said it flatly, void of emotion. Izuku’s chest constricted. If he was pale earlier, now he was white.
The man stared at the piece of paper he found earlier and tsked.
Even though he was known for being calm and fun, Izuku felt otherwise sitting in front of him.
"Your mother came over this morning. She told me not to tell you, but I think you deserve to know.” It felt like the world was falling apart; his mouth ran dry, and the chair he was sitting on was sinking in the ground.
“Oh.”
“She’s worried about you, and now I can see why.” Izuku stayed silent, unsure what to say. He can barely make out his voice over the blood pumping to his ears. She must’ve found the buttered cigarettes in the trash can. Or worse…
He was getting expelled. He definitely was.
“Your grades are horrible.”
“What? ” Oh.
“Midoriya, you used to be the top of your class. Now you can barely make it to the middle.” Izuku never thought that such words would bring him so much relief. He sighed on reflex. He looked away, eyes burning; he was so relieved he could cry. So this is what it was.
"What happened? ”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“This is so unacceptable. This is outrageous. I expect these grades from the likes of Denki and Mineta, but not you. You were an ace.”
“I’m sorry.” He could only say as the heaviness that had settled in his chest evaporated.
“Is there something going on at home? ” Even if there was, he wouldn't tell.
“No.”
“Is someone bothering you? ” The principal didn’t even sound concerned when he asked.
There were so many. “No.”
“Then what is happening?"
“Nothing.” The man sighed, exasperated.
“I’ve arranged tutor sessions with Mr. Riku starting tomorrow after class.”
“But I have…” Telling a teacher he had a job wouldn’t be the best take in this situation. “… things to do.”
“Cancel them. You’re starting tomorrow.” How could he protest that?
***
His feet hurt like a bitch.
He was walking for almost ten minutes, but they felt like jelly. Maybe he should start working out. He snapped out when his eyes landed on the house he was looking for: Iida’s home.
He gaped at the building before him. Just like Bakugo’s home, it was fenced. A black, fancily decorated gate prodded to the sky only It wasn’t as big as Bakugo’s.
Izuku gulped, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
Iida wasn’t the type to miss school; heck, he couldn’t even skip a single class. Him missing an entire day without any explanation was a little worrying. He probably was sick, and as a good friend, paying him a visit to show him that Izuku cared wouldn’t be that bad of a gesture.
The sky was still bright, but the sun was digging deeper into its exit.
He pressed the bell button and waited for a response. Izuku stood for minutes that felt like hours, shifting weight from foot to foot—
“How may I help you?” A voice sounded through the white box next to the doorbell.
“I’m looking for Iida. Iida Tenya.” He spoke casually through the very same box awkwardly, hoping that’s how the system worked. A heavy silence rested as he waited for a response.
“I’m sorry, but the person you are looking for is not attending to any guests right now.”
“Tell him it’s Izuku Midoriya that’s looking for him.”
The last response came oddly fast. “I’m sorry, but the person you are looking for is not home at the moment. Goodbye.”
The line was cut.
He tried communicating, but there was no response.
Stinky rich people, he mumbled under his breath as he tried again but in vain.
Dark bluish hues blanketed the skies by the time he decided to give up and go to work and fire himself.
Tuesday
The next day was no different.
The three of them were out of sight and he still had one of those awkward lunches at the back of the school building with Shinsou.
The classroom sessions dragged, and time seemed to still and blur his environment, which he didn’t mind. The only different thing about that particular Tuesday was the fact that he was to start his math tutoring sessions.
By the time the evening rolled in, he was exhausted both mentally and physically. He would add spiritually, but that would be melodramatic.
He groaned internally as he dragged his feet through the hallways in search of the tutor hall. His detest increased and his morale decreased a handful when he saw who was supposed to tutor him. Of course it would be him.
What did he expect? That they would leave an experienced, respectable teacher with a boy of a humble background like him?
The urge to turn on his heels and walk away had overpowered him, but too late, the man had spotted him.
“Midoriya? Come inside.” The boy groaned but walked in. The man smiled lightly.
“When is everyone else going to come?” he asked, absently watching the man lay down a couple of textbooks in front of his desk. His demeanor was calm and collected, but it gave off some sort of recklessness.
It was hard for Izuku to take a man such as him seriously. In fact, Izuku wasn’t very fond of the teacher. He was young, just a few years fresh from college. He was infamous for his stupid jokes and unprofessionalism. He was the kind that used his authority to provoke students, and unfortunately for him, it always backfired.
Izuku knew all that because he taught them math sometimes. He always dressed exceptionally, and not in a good way, like he was begging for attention, especially from the girls. Which was ironic because his job was to stand in front of students.
He was a little good-looking, not exceptionally. Just enough to turn a few heads in a setting like school filled with cranky middle-aged teachers and hormonal teenagers.
Rumor had it that he slept with a few students, which was believable considering the type of man Mr. Riku was, and his classmates were a little… jumpy.
Plus, the guy flirted so openly in class, and it was weird and uncomfortable to watch.
If Izuku could use one word to describe him, it would be "disgusting".
“You’re in my class?” the man asked, amusement sparkling in his eyes. Even his eyes looked predatory. Or it could just be that Izuku already printed an image of the teacher in his mind.
“Yeah.” Midoriya replied, bored.
“This is my first time seeing you.” Of course it was. Riku smiled. More like grimaced. Something about the way he gazed at him got him shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
A silence followed.
“Most students don’t coach at school; they have private tutors and scram school. Things like that, they prefer professionals.”
Izuku knew that. And it sucked, but he didn’t have any other choice here, did he? He peeled his eyes away from the teacher and pulled out some of his textbooks. Ignoring the growing uneasiness that crawled up his spine, like ants marching up a hill.
“I’ll give you a simple test so I can see the areas that you need to work on.” He offered a comforting smile, and Izuku felt a few of the taut strings of nerves loosen. He tried to smile back, gripping his pen as he watched the man pull out a few sheets.
***
By the time they finished, it was already past 6 o’clock, and Izuku was drained. He walked in exhaustion.
A single chill rushed through his veins as he walked alongside the pavement of the empty street of the familiar neighborhood. The air was fresh and had a lightness to it that Izuku could not describe.
It smelled like trees and gravel. The pavement and roads were so clean that he could walk barefoot if he wanted to and find no speck of dirt under his feet.
A breathy sigh vibrated past his lips, just as it had the day before when he walked away from this now-familiar neighborhood.
Fire blazed through the clouds, casting warm hues of reddish-pink, blue, and orange across the sky. A soft breeze swirled past him, almost throwing him off his feet.
Iida wasn’t home.
At least that’s what the lady from the speaker had told him. He walked lazily; his legs were worn out by the time he made it to the train station.
He sat, the familiar sound of the monotone robotic lady voice was almost inaudible as he danced to the tune of his thoughts.
He was in a thick forest, and he walked around aimlessly, lost. Alone. The clouds were a dark shade of gray, and the sky was painted black. The moonlight was so dim it barely lit his pathway.
Kacchan.
The name casually floated in— uninvited yet welcomed. The stars glimmered, the trees danced, the earth breathed beneath his feet, and the animals growled at a distance. It was a little scary, but at least life bloomed around him.
His thoughts were thrust back to the last time he saw him; his chest clenched at the memory. He couldn’t meet his eyes; he didn’t even say goodbye.
He bit his cheek and forced himself to think of other things. Food , money. Differentiation. College. But it was all so grey, so void of color, it was almost blinding. Not a single ounce of joy filled him. Everything was so dull and unreal.
Joy.
Something he forgot existed. When was the last time he felt something like that?
Two years ago? No. Maybe ten years ago? No. Right.
Saturday night — Sunday morning.
Eating in diners at 3 am. Piggyback rides. Stinky rich neighborhoods. Useless banter and teasing. Red, soul-piercing eyes. A bratty mouth. A soft heartbeat under the pad of his ears. Chilly and dewy morning air. The faint smell of cherry blossoms and cheap motel shampoo lingering in that ash blonde hair. The faintest touch of lips at the back of his neck. Thick black duvets and a strong arm wrapped around his waist, his back pressed against a rock-solid chest;
He'd felt it a few days ago.
He’d felt it a few weeks ago in his bed when arms wrapped around him and brought him comfort. When a low, husky voice whispered that he’ll be okay.
He'd felt it two years ago when soft lips brushed against his own, against his skin, against his morality.
He felt joy just a few days ago, but why did it feel like it had been an eternity?
He snapped his head to the glass window of the moving train. At least the sun looked beautiful. At least the birds floated happily in the sky.
Joy.
That’s not what he had felt.
It was something close to it; maybe it was just the fragments. If joy was a cloud, then all he got were the thin streaks of white that barely coated the sky. The little specks. Just the crumbs. An illusion. A delusion.
Izuku had never felt joy.
He just wanted to.
So he kept living, trying.
Yet he kept failing.
The monotone voice sounded again. He snapped back to reality and jumped off the train.
It was dark, the sky was a mix of grays and the darkest shades of blue, and the moon was lonely.
After a few minutes of trekking, he was met by a calmness. He felt like he could breathe out of the sight of preying eyes. The box of cigarettes weighed heavy in his backpack, like a barricade of rocks planted on his shoulders.
He shifted his feet and altered his course. No one would care if he returned home late anyways. Guilt mixed with relief settled in his chest as he walked further away from the path that would lead him home. As he walked, he felt comforted by the whooshing of the wind and barking of dogs in the distance.
He arrived at the familiar playground and placed his backpack on the sand-covered ground. The coldness enveloped his palms as he sat heavily, holding the metallic chain of the swing for anchorage. A breath he did not realize he was holding escaped his lips.
It was better than home.
His chest blossomed with a calmness. He looked ahead, at the deserted playground.
The rusted slide and the old monkey bars.
An involuntary smile made its way to his lips, his chest lightened, and his eyes watered. This was nice, calm, and lonely. He gripped the chains tighter and pushed his body forward. A laugh burst from his chest as he swung, the wind slapped against his skin softly it reminded him of something he didn’t know he missed. He smiled, welcoming the rush of a revisited childhood.
Adrenaline surged through his veins and quickened his heartbeat. This was fun. This was enough. Enough to make him forget the twitching in his fingers, the longing in his chest. The whispers between his ears.
His fingers twitched,
and he held on tighter; the wind slapped harder across his cheeks when he pushed harder and swung faster. He forced a laugh out of his throat. He pushed himself harder, forcing himself to forget the aching in his chest. This was enough. He pushed himself harder and gripped tighter, forcing himself to ignore the monster growling at the back of his mind. He laughed harder. This was enough.
No. It wasn’t.
He stopped movement immediately and stood up.
Maybe the slide was a bit more fun. He walked over and tried to crack a smile. Forced a laugh. It could be fun. He climbed up the ladder, a little too small for someone his age. A little thrill blossomed in his chest. A spark burned, but it was the kind that dies out the moment you see it. The kind you see when you rub two stones together in complete darkness.
He slid down the slide, his frown dampened.
So was his mood, like bread dipped in hot tea.
This was not fun.
Not anymore.
He lay on the slide, awkwardly. His upper body to just below his middle thighs laid on top of the plastic, his legs lying uncomfortably in the sand.
He glanced up at the sky; the moon stared back at him. It’s light heavy on his face.Still no stars in sight.
The moon was lonely.
Izuku bit his lip, the uneasy and arrhythmic tapping of his fingers at the side of the plastic cutting through the silence. His body ached with so much desire he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He took a glance at his backpack; it was screaming for him, like a bottle of cold water in a desert.
Fuck it.
He got up, and with fumbling hands he opened the zipper, rummaging through the bag. He sighed on reflex, his fingers calmed around the box. He pulled it out and picked a cigarette. He fumbled for a second for a lighter. The stick sat naturally between his lips. The glow from the lighter dimly illuminated the playground. The stick glowed too, and he inhaled.
The calmness came to him naturally as he let the toxin fill his lungs. The twitch in his fingers stopped, and his mind floated.
He pulled out his brick phone, dialed, and let the sound play for eternity. No one answered. He looked at the name Iida on the screen, and he pressed the call button again.
No answer.
He flipped the phone shut.
Since morning he’s talked to only three people: His mother, who was nagging him about being late for school. Shinsou at lunch and the stupid math teacher. He laughed bitterly.
His shoulders trembled as the sound erupted in the air, so feral, like popcorn under fire. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
The moon looked so lonely.
Wednesday.
Wednesday flew by like a whirling wind. Everything was quiet and normal except for the fact that Shinsou joined him for lunch again.
Their lunch was mostly quiet; sports topics danced around their conversations a few times, and pretty much nothing else. Izuku felt grateful for that; at least he didn't have to lose his mind over the loneliness that slowly itched itself inside his skin.
Thursday
Izuku used to love math. He used to love it because it was easy; the concept of solving problems just by jotting down a few numbers and letters on paper was fascinating. It came to him like a second nature, like some sort of comfort. He didn’t need to read math to pass; he just knew it.
Not anymore.
Izuku was puzzling over the differential equation. His head pounded from thinking too much; whatever approach he tried, he failed.“If you can’t do it, then let me know. I’m here for a reason, you know.” The man aired his tone a little too unprofessional.
Izuku flinched lightly, eyebrows furrowed as he glared at numbers scribbled down in his notebook. It made no sense.
“Midoriya-san?” the man called again, his voice doubling up Izuku’s confusion. Frustrated, he placed his pen down in surrender.
“It doesn’t make sense. I’ve tried the product rule, even changing the variable…” He trailed off, his voice low and frustrated. He hated this feeling. Feeling stupid. Math was so easy until his second year.
“I understand.” The man said, standing up and grabbing a piece of white chalk. He scribbled something on the dark green board. “When we change the variable, the derivative changes, so you must change the limits for the new derivative. Assuming z = 2x² + 3x, dz/dx equals 4x + 3. Thus, dz=(4x+3)dx. That’s our new derivative.” Izuku just saw stars.
“Do you understand?” He nodded; maybe he did a little.
“Okay, come try it on the board.” Izuku swallowed and stood up, gathering the courage to do so. As he tried the equation, he could feel his eye burning holes into his body. He fixed his eyes on the screen, trying not to let it bother him.
“Let’s see.” The voice came from behind him. It was so sudden, he could feel his breath hot against his neck. It was shaky and heavy, making him uncomfortable. He gulped, trying not to decipher the man’s action. He continued scribbling with the chalk.
“This doesn’t look right.” The man said again, his breath was heavier, hotter against his neck. Izuku could feel him close in until he could feel his heat radiating to his own skin.
A jolt shot down his spine as something hard pressed against him. His breath hitched—no, he must’ve imagined it. A choked gasp broke past his lips. Color drained from his skin, and his eyes widened in shock; his heart stopped, and he pulled away immediately. Dropping the piece of chalk with fumbling hands.
“Sir, what are you d-doing?” Izuku asked, cautious and alert. His senses blaring like alarms and his defenses on. His heart thumped ferociously in his chest. When his gaze lowered, he paled. His vision blurred. This couldn’t—wouldn’t—be happening. Not here. Not like this.
“Look, Midoriya. It’s okay.” The man called as Izuku stepped away, barely. His feet padded against the floor in a distorted rhythm. There was no trembling in his voice, not even a stutter. Izuku packed his things and left immediately, fearing what would happen if he stayed any longer. …
Friday
The next day passed in a blur. Shinsou had mentioned his match, but Izuku felt too mentally exhausted to attend. Besides, he didn’t have anyone else to go with; he’d only look like a fool if he did.
He did not attend the tutoring session. Not after what happened. Look, Midoriya. It’s okay. The way he said it was so normal and calm it sent chills down his spine.
Now he lay in his bed, tossing back and forth, bored eyes scheming over the All Might manga he’d read more than a thousand times. He let out a frustrated sigh and slumped the manga on his bed. He pulled out his T9 and switched it on; hopeful eyes stared at the bluish screen, waiting for a notification to pop up.
He got none.
He groaned lightly and placed the device under his pillow. What did he expect? He glanced at his clock and sighed again. It was a few minutes past midnight; his mother and Aizawa were probably asleep.
He pushed out of bed, tired of forcing sleep; he schemed over his manga shelf. He’d read most of them, and the others he was skeptical about reading. He picked a random one and headed back to his bed.
After what felt like hours of staring at a page in the manga, Izuku exhaled, extremely bored. Maybe he should have accepted to go for the after-party. He pulled out his phone and stared at the text he got from Shinsou a few hours back.
Shinsou: We won!
Shinsou: You should come for the after-party.
He looked on and decided not to; it was too late. After trying to fall asleep for ten minutes straight, Izuku gave up. He headed to the rooftop, laid down a bedsheet, a pillow, and a thin blanket, threw the manga he had picked up earlier, ran back to his room, and rummaged through his pockets for a thin bag of white powder.
It's only the third time; he wouldn’t do it again. In fact, he wouldn’t have done it if Spinner wasn’t so damn persistent. The smoke curled from his lips, dissolving into the night like ghosts. For a moment, he could almost forget. His back slouched against the wall, frame enveloped by a thin blanket; the cloth barely blocking the cold wind that pierced through his skin. His face felt cold under the slapping wind, only warm by the lips that held his cigarette in place.
He sniffed, nose runny from the cold and something else. Something that got him floating and skimming above the clouds. He laughed, feeling hazy, his loneliness cast to the void. His hopelessness embraced him as he floated. The stars shone brightly next to the moon, and they danced in harmony, dancing to the tune of his heartbeat.
And then it stopped abruptly, and he left flat from the sky.
The roof beneath him was solid and grounding.
He whipped his nose and dusted the cover of the manga with thick white powder; he used the glowing cigarette to collect it in a thin line, and a throaty giggle escaped his lips.
The strings of morality snapped. He laughed lighter after he dragged his nose over the line, taking everything in and not leaving a speck out. His head was thrown back as tears stained his eyes. And he was floating again.His pulse roared; he could feel the drug surging.through his veins like gas in a bottle of soda.
“Izuku?” A voice snapped, and he turned to look at Iida.
Great.
Notes:
Kudos and comments are appreciated♡♡
Chapter 8: Blind, Bakugo. Blind (Do you See Me Now?)
Summary:
Just so you know, I cried before I even finished writing the draft of this chapter.
Enjoy ~
Notes:
TW: S'A, bullying, panic attacks and too much arguing (٥↼_↼)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
theme song:
LOVE LOOKS PRETTY ON YOU By Nessa Barrett:
♪for the first time, this isn't painful, I feel like an angel in white sheets ♪
Hm: Normalcy By Gigi Perez
♪Someone's getting hurt ♪
A good boy.
Three words that had defined him. Three words that now felt like an ill-fitting uniform. Something he’d outgrown without even realizing.
Izuku Midoriya was all that; he took notes on everything for every class he took and was the kind of student that greeted teachers whenever he ran into them instead of running away or avoiding them. The kind that flinched when delinquents from class 3-B scraped chairs across the floor or when they made a ruckus about a fight, who pinched his nose whenever he walked past a group of students smoking behind the school library (afraid that even the thinnest of sniffs would get him lung cancer.)
Teachers used his essays as examples in class. His classmates copied his notes for reference; he was the first person everyone ran to when they had a problem understanding an equation or anything academically related.
He was all that until he just… wasn’t. And everything just lost meaning.
Now classes dragged on for hours; calculus felt like reading a Shakespearean sonnet. Writing down notes felt like a chore. Thousands of unfinished assignments lay at his disposal. His grades slipped—and he didn’t even care.
When had it all started?
When did he lose his passion?
When he was younger, he had dreams. He wanted to be a motor engineer—maybe it was overboard—and he’d worked hard for it. Taking extra personal courses in calculus, reading past sleeping hours. Taking up extracurricular activities, heck, he’d even joined the robotics club. He’d been so active, sorting out the universities he’d apply to once he started his third year. He’d given up sports, friendships, even sleep—all for a future that now felt like someone else’s dream.
He'd never been a criminal, never talked back to teachers, never fought with his peers; heck, he didn’t even have a single record for a skipped class. He never knew how it felt to have nicotine clog his lungs like thick clouds.
Now he sat in the principal’s office, thumbnail between his teeth as he watched his mother’s furrowed eyebrows as she listened to his math tutor rant about how he skipped their Friday tutoring session. And how insufferable he had been for all their tutor sessions.
Izuku pressed his right thumb into his left hand, hard, the weight of the head teacher’s gaze pressing him into the soft leather seat.
“I don’t want to be tutored by him again.” He said, cutting off the principal. They were discussing ways to improve his grades, and one of them was tightening his schedule with Mr. Riku. Izuku detested that more than his dinners with his stepdad.
Eyes settled on him, and Izuku regretted having said that only when the principal glared at him, disbelief clouding his eyes. His eyebrow twitched lightly, his grip on the fountain pen he was holding firm. It was giving, 'What nerve you've got, young man.' Izuku looked away, guilt coiled in his chest when he darted his gaze from the man only to meet his mother’s questioning eyes that were filled with rage, disappointment, and anger.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Nezu.” She said almost immediately. Her hand slid to his side, and she pinched—the action subtle, only for his eyes—him hard, hard enough to tear his skin. He groaned lightly in pain, rubbing the area that now stung and burned.
His mother was angry, but he didn’t care, not when the predator was in the room with him, staring at him. His gaze blazing under his skin, unbearable.
“But you need help.” Mr. Riku said in a matter-of-fact tone, a lazy smile hanging ghostlike on his lips. Izuku could feel his blood boil. His grip on the armrest tightened, but he forced himself to look away.
Ever since he was called into the office, he was acting calm and professional; adding fuel to Izuku's fire. Riku was poised calmly like a butler acts before his master when it came to the topic of Izuku’s academics. ‘Your son has so much potential, but he wastes it on boys.’ The hypocrite mentioned, the lie glistered like constellations in the sky, and his mother was lost in a trance. She’d sighed and agreed, ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with him; he even brings boys home.’ At that the principal sighed, eyes slightly wild with shock, and then his face rested in disappointment.
Izuku wanted to scream, to grab Mr. Riku by the throat or maybe slap him hard across his face for saying something like that about him. He pushed thought to the pits of hell, knowing how that would turn out. It wasn’t true; he didn’t even know anything about him; he didn’t even know him until last week.
“I don’t need help. I can do this on my own.” Izuku said again. His voice was low. Calculated.
“Izuku!” "Inko warned, her sharp voice slicing through the air." Why did they have to involve his mother? He only missed one day. One fucking session.
Mr. Riku wore an innocent façade, and he pulled it off perfectly. His looks are doing him quite a favor. It made Izuku sick to the stomach. It wavered ever so lightly when he looked at him; his gaze was filthy, and it would linger for longer than Izuku wanted. He wanted to jump out of his seat whenever he caught him looking. The memory of the previous Thursday played at the back of his mind relentlessly; Izuku couldn’t shake off the feeling of him pressed onto him, his sickening heavy and hot breath brushing against the back of his neck, his cheap cologne piercing his nostrils like needles. Just the thought of it had his heart racing in fury.
He wanted to expose him, to tell his mother that he was a predator and that he touched him. But his mother believed people's words over her own son; she would find him being beaten to a pulp, and she’d ask the attacker why they were beating him up and never him or if he was okay. She never took his side, so why bother? If he said something, Mr. Riku would feign innocence, and she would buy it; that would make him look like he was nuts or like those people that used their body to get away with things.
Or worse: his mother would believe him, but she’d add, ‘That wouldn’t happen if you didn’t try to throw yourself at him.’ Which honestly was worse and he didn't want such be aired in front of the principal or even Riku.
Besides, admitting it out loud felt like surrender. Like opening the doors for embarrassment, shame, and judgment. Opening floodgates that he wouldn't be able to close or even he’d be hit by the waves immediately—then he’d be helpless and stupid. He did not want that.
Izuku swallowed and told himself that it wasn’t that big of a deal. It was a small incident—maybe even an accident.
“…I don’t know what happened to him. Things were going well, and then he just didn’t come back…” Mr. Riku’s voice floated in the air like nimbus clouds, dampening the mood with a promise of rain—a storm. Bile rose up Izuku’s throat and clogged it; he could still feel his hot breath against his neck. His cheap cologne under the tip of his nostrils he could almost taste it.
The urge to get up and throw the seat he was on at him blossomed each time the hypocrite moved his uncommendable mouth.
“Mom…” he called, pleading. Moving his hand to cover hers. She pulled away and ignored him like he burned, like he was irrelevant (which he was). Izuku sucked in a breath, painfully. His ribcage squeezed tight against his heart, momentarily stopping his heartbeat.
“I’m so sorry, Principal Nezu. Can you give him another chance?” she said softly. Something bitter spread in his chest like a wildfire, slow but all-consuming. He clenched his fists, nails digging into the palms of his hands.
“I can, but if he does this again, I’m afraid I’ll have to suspend him.” Mr. Nezu said, placing his fountain pen on the table, dramatically leaning back, and folding his arms across his chest. Izuku wanted nothing but to leave.
“How’s that fair, Mom? I told you I don’t want to be around that man. Can’t you find someone else? Like a proper tutor.”
"Izuku!" Inko blurted out, exasperated.
“What’s not fair is you throwing away your life for God knows what!” Inko snapped at him. “Please, stop talking." She then turned to Nezu. "Principal Nezu, don’t let him slack off. Do anything, even if it means a punishment. I wouldn’t mind, but please, please don’t give him a suspension.”
“Ma’am, we’ll do our best.” Mr. Riku cut in, his voice sickeningly sweet. Izuku wanted to scream at him to shut up and throw the damn lamp from the principal’s table at his face.
“Thank you, sir.” His mother smiled, something Izuku had never received from her in years.
“I think it’s settled then.” Nezu smiled, and the mother beamed brighter. Once the meeting was adjourned, she stood up, grabbed her son by the arm, and guided them outside.
The door banged behind him with an exaggerated thud. He groaned lightly when attention was drawn to him. Students stared at them with questioning looks; he looked away, hoping to avoid eye contact. He could smell a number of rumors that were about to spread: cheating on a test, was he caught smoking? Did they find him making out with someone in the classroom? Those were the common offenses that called for parental visits on normal school days.
His feet padded against the warm cemented floor, and he trudged lightly behind his mother, head hung low in embarrassment. He’d hoped that by the time they made it out of the principal’s office, it was time for first period, but they didn’t even last more than an hour in there; everyone was out, and they were all watching him. Scrutinizing, judging.
His heart sank when they walked past his classroom; his gaze fell momentarily on Iida. He was already poised in his seat, his gaze solely fixed on his desk and his books. He probably was reading something about coding or jotting down math equations. The slight commotion outside caused him to snap his gaze away and look to Midoriya. Izuku’s chest tightened; he sucked in a breath, and he looked away. He was still angry with him and vice versa.
He'd said some horrible things to him the previous Friday night out of spite, but he still felt less guilty about it. His anger towards him outweighed any moral jurisdiction he had.
~~
The wind swept past, and the scent of nicotine mixed with trees and fresh earth morphed into the air. The air was thin and sharp, piercing at the back of his head like needles. The wind—cold and impatient—whooshed past his ears; the sound he’d appreciate if it weren’t for the male standing above him.
Izuku looked up and sniffed. The static noise in his head burned, his body light and the ground beneath him slightly wobbly. Dark blue eyes widened to meet his, judgement clouding over Iida’s actions as he stepped forward and pushed the manga away from his hold. Midoriya laughed; he rubbed off the white streaks of powder from the tip of his nose with the palm of his hand.
Iida’s eyes narrowed, jaw clenching and fists tight. Izuku looked at him, a scoff slicing through his throat.
“What the fuck are you doing, Midoriya?!” Iida’s question hung uselessly in the air. His eyes were terrified as he stared down at him. Izuku hated that look; he hated it when Iida judged him because he was just like him. “Are you stupid?” Iida spat venom, and it stung.
“'Are you stupid?'” Izuku sputtered; everything was spinning and out of focus except his friend that stood straight like a hulk. “Am I stupid?!”
“Midoriya...” Iida was slightly taken aback. He bent over, and a giggle bounced from Izuku’s lips. It was hot and bitter.
“Don’t say my name like that, you disgusting piece of shit!” Izuku’s voice was low, his words came out slurred, but he meant every single one; well, he did at that time. He was still angry, very much so. How dare he waltz in and ruin his moment? How dare he just appear after disappearing for a week and act like that around Izuku? He was the stupid one for that.
“Midoriya…” Iida swallowed, sitting down next to Izuku, and another bitter laugh burst out of Izuku’s chest. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Iida, aren’t you wondering where I learned these habits from?” Izuku taunted, like he won’t take accountability for his words later. Iida flinched; Izuku glared at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes. He sniffed again, the toxin sharp again in his skull. His head was spinning when he forced himself to focus. He gave up, and his body melted into the ground. “Stop looking at me like I’m disgusting. You’re just as horrible.”
“Midoriya…” Iida sounded almost defeated. “Uraraka—” Izuku’s pulse quickened. The word, like ice-cold, splashed in his face. His sobriety claimed him for a moment, and the ground beneath him firmed.
“Don’t you dare mention her name like that!” Izuku snapped, flames bursting under his skin. “You don’t deserve to. None of us do.”
“Izuku—” Despite his outburst, Iida’s eyes softened; guilt and pain flooded his gaze. Izuku looked away; he didn’t want this. Not now, not ever.
“Leave me the fuck alone, Tenya. Go back to where you fucking came from.”
~~
He snapped his gaze away, and he almost trampled over his feet when he fought to match up to his mother’s pace. “Hurry up.” She spat angrily. Izuku sighed, his own anger boiling up as he walked.
The sharp autumn wind slapped hard against his cheeks once they made it out of the building. He sighed lightly; at least they were out of earshot from his classmates and the entire fucking school, and yet he felt their gazes from a distance, moving at the back of his mind like maggots. Inko stopped in her tracks and turned to look at him, her façade dropped, and Izuku exhaled. To this day it still puzzles him how she was so good at masking her expressions.
She sighed so loud and heavy, the sound bouncing against Izuku’s chest like drumrolls. Her shoulders slouched. “Izuku…” she breathed, frustrated, like his name was weighing her down. Like he was a burden she was tired of carrying.
“What is wrong with you?” Venom dripped and contaminated the air, making it sour and unbreathable. Eyebrows were furrowed and features tightened in a scowl/frown. She crossed her arms, pressing them tightly to her chest. Izuku stumbled on his words for a moment. How was someone supposed to respond to that? The cool air settled on his skin, thick with a tension.
What was wrong with him? Nothing.
“Nothing’s wrong with me. That man is disgusting, Mom.” Izuku managed to reply innocently, unconvincingly. Inko responded with a glare and a scoff.
“Are you serious, Izuku?” Spite danced around her voice, and the question burned through him like a growing furnace. His fists clenched, anger slowly seeped through him like a smoke, coiling around his blood like a ghost.
“Why would I be lying to you?” Izuku scoffed at his question. The air between them was getting thicker. He despised this; the last thing he wanted was to have an argument with his mother in front of everyone from school.
A silence stretched. Izuku sucked in a ragged breath, getting a little impatient. After weeks of pretending he did not exist, she had the audacity to pretend she wanted to be involved in his life. Like she was the ‘oh-so-great’ mother. The last time they had a serious conversation was back then at the dinner table a few weeks back, and now this?
“Do you not want to study anymore?” The question hung in the air as a warning, a threat, like a gun pointed at his head. He stared at his mother in disbelief. He knew exactly what those words meant, what she could do.
“I do.” The words felt like surrender.
“Then why are you doing these… things?” Disgust ripped through the hair, it dripped hot and heavy like magma. Her glare was piercing, grounding. The last time she looked at him like this was almost two years ago, when she walked in on him making out with a boy in his bedroom. The memory had him coiling in embarrassment.
“I’ve not done anything wrong.” Izuku protested. That man is a pervert; he almost did something horrible. The words burned at the tip of his tongue, desperate to be realized—but what would she do about it?
Nothing.
“Izuku, don’t take me for a fool.” She whisper-yelled, her eyes almost moist—now wide. A kind of anger danced behind her globes, almost taunting. Why was she overreacting over a stupid tutoring session?
“What’s wrong with you, Mom? Why are you overreacting?” Puzzlement and disbelief rang through the air, his voice was almost mocking. Inko’s eyes shot wider, tracing him like a specimen under glass, like he’d killed her favorite pet and then blamed it on her.
“Izuku!” she warned. “Don’t overstep your boundaries.”
“What do you want, Mom?” Whatever she was trying to do was dragging, and Izuku preferred sitting in an extremely boring lesson to being here with her. His attitude earned him a sour scoff. Her hands trembled; the purse under her tight grip almost tore. Izuku knew if another word slipped past his lips, he’d earn a slap. Rebellion crawled through his body, under his skin, through his blood, and rested in his chest, begging for release.
“I’m not going—”
Soft porcelain fingers brushed through silky dark green hair. An exasperated sigh claimed the silence. And another. And another. Inko’s gaze softened, yet it held that anger. A chilling anger that weighed heavier than the sunrays on Izuku’s skin. A twinge of fear overcame him. Only a twinge.
“Are you doing drugs?”
The air around them was sucked into a vacuum, replaced by a thick tension. Izuku paled; her words flickered between them like an open fuse, sparks sharp and ferocious flying about. Her words burned every piece of his body, every inch of his skin. For a moment he was rendered powerless, speechless. He choked on his breath, and his eyes burned; he couldn’t look at her. Her gaze was sharp like a blade, bright as a flashlight, illuminating the dark corners of his mind. Exposing his darkest secrets, bringing them to light.
The ground felt soft and hazy; he could feel himself sink, but he stood straight on the cold concrete. How did she—
“W-what?” He managed to croak. His voice was unsteady, cracking open his safe, the flashlight falling inside it.
Stage lights shone brightly on him; his mother, his only audience, didn’t seem pleased with his act. In fact, she was not happy one bit. He had to make her content, happy. “Why would you say something like that?” Izuku asked, biting back his nerves, finding his ground, and ignoring the dryness in his throat and the tremor that was threatening to claim his body.
She can’t know that! She’s not supposed to know that. How did she find out? Iida? Did Iida snitch on him? But… he wasn’t an addict. He was far from that! He only did it like... a few times. Only three times… well, maybe a little more than that, but not enough to label him as a user.
A cold sweat coated his back.
She was NOT supposed to know that!
“Izuku!” she almost yelled—at least that’s what she sounded like—eyes a few millimeters wider. Izuku swallowed; it was a warning, he knew it, but she was not supposed to know.
“I don’t understand what you are talking about.” He lied. He swallowed his truth and hoped his voice sounded firm and convincing.
It didn’t.
A slap came sharp against his cheek. He stumbled slightly on impact. His cheek burned with a slight hum and a sharp sting.
“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare act like a fool! And don’t try to fool me!” She spat, her voice trembling with such anger he had never felt.
But she wasn’t supposed to know.
“Mom, I don’t—”
“Then explain this! Explain this to me, Izuku.” She pulled out an empty packet. She held it high with the tips of her thumb and index finger, like it was some ugly bug. White dust specks dusted on the clear walls of the small plastic bag.
Izuku knew exactly what it was. His eyes burned the longer he stared; he looked away.
“I found this in your room.” She said almost quietly, disbelief clouding her tone.
“Mom.” Izuku spoke softly, his voice croaked—dramatically. Tears gathered at the rims of his eyes. “I’ve been trying so hard.”
“Answer the damn question, Izuku.” Her chest heaved. Her palm wide open, the exhibit clear under the sun rays, glistening like a small pond in her palm. “Is this yours?”
“No,” he lied, “I don’t even know what that is.” More lies.
“You know what this is! Don’t. Don’t play with me!” Now she yelled, and Izuku flinched. His heart sunk. It was the first time he ever heard a sound that loud coming from her mouth. She was always calm and quiet; even now, he could feel her holding back. Even when they were kids, she never yelled or barked when he and Yugi went bonkers in the home. She never scolded Yugi whenever he beat him up. She’d only soothe him and calmly tell Yugi that it—beating up his brother—wasn’t right.
And that memory sprung from the back of his mind and tugged painfully at his heartstrings.
“Mom!” He called again; this time it was a desperate and hopeful cry. A small part of him hoped that she’d listen to him, that she’d believe him even when he was clearly lying to her. He hoped she would. That part of him was small, but it was loud, loud enough to whisper hopeful things just so it could break him. Tears rolled down his cheeks. “I can’t believe you think of me in such a way.” His voice was wet, pained.
She was so quick to believe them. To jump into conclusions. She didn’t hesitate to yell at him. She just knew, and something about that just hurt. Even though, even though he was guilty, she shouldn’t just… believe that.
He couldn’t be that horrible, could he?
*Slap
Izuku stumbled on impact, and he shook. He clutched his cheek. His mouth tasted like copper, like disappointment and anger and hatred. Tears kept spilling out, and he let them.
“Am I that disgusting, Mom?” He would flinch at how vulnerable and pathetic he sounded. For years he’d maintained this 'façade' that whatever she did didn’t bother him; he’d never cried before her because she didn’t really care. He looked at her for a minute, searching for a sign of weakness, that she wavered, that she’d been taken back.
Nothing.
Suddenly he was eight years old, standing in the living room, crying with blood rushing out of his nose, watching his mother embrace his brother, her back facing him. “Am I so disgusting, Mom? Am I that horrible that the first thing you think of when you see that is… that?” Izuku couldn’t say it; he couldn’t imagine his mom imagining (seeing) him passed out on a high.
“Why don’t you trust me, Mom? I’ve been so good, Mom. I’ve been trying so hard. I’ve been trying my best at school, but things just… aren’t going my way. I’ve been trying so hard, but you never acknowledge me. You act like you care, but this is actually the first time you’ve seen my report in years. I’ve been working my butt off, juggling between part-time jobs and school. I was saving up for college, Mom. Why would I do such things?” His chest was heaving; he wiped his tears, but more just spilled. “Why can’t you just… see me?”
He felt so jumbled into his lies that he couldn’t decipher whether what he felt was the truth or pretense.
Her gaze trembled lightly; she gripped the thin plastic and hid it between her fist.
She shoved it in his face(embarrassed). “Then explain this.” Her voice was lower, calmer. A soft breeze of relief washed over him, only a gust of it.
“I don’t know. It could be anyone’s from class, and I brought it by accident. I don’t even know what that is.”
“…are you sure?” she asked, sounding unsure. Embarrassed. Izuku whipped his tears—he couldn’t feel any. Not anymore.
He nodded. “Yes. I don’t even know what that is, Mom.”
“Thank God.” She breathed and shoved the plastic in her purse. Izuku had to refrain from sighing or smiling. She was not going to find out. She never will. At least he could rest assured for now. He maintained his façade, a few dry tears rolling down his cheeks.
A smile broke on her lips, and she exhaled. “I really thought…”
An awkward silence settled. Izuku hated it. He didn’t like that she came to his school not because she was really concerned about him.
“You’ve never really cared about what I do in my life. I should have known this is what you came for.” He spat and walked away. She called him, but her cries fell on deaf ears. If she really wanted to talk to him, she’d run after him. Even a little.
She didn’t.
***
Izuku hated one thing about himself: he was too forgiving. A pushover. He didn’t know if he could call that kindness or the fact that slowly, without realizing it, he lost his self-worth, so he let people trumple over him.
His chest tightened whenever he forced a smile and let people insult him. Like the other day when he was sitting by the pavilion and a football hit him hard on the head, he smiled through clenched fists when one of the jocks came up to him to ‘apologize’ and pick up the football lying beside him. Or that time in middle school when Mina made fun of him for being a nerd; laughing at his thick round glasses— along with the entire class— calling them tacky, and saying that his notes were too neat. He laughed it off, but it hurt.
But Bakugo?
Bakugo was different. Because Izuku had forgiven him before he even apologized.
He opened the door for him the moment he came back after waiting patiently for years—no. The door was already open; it had been that way ever since he decided to walk out, hoping he would return.
Izuku remembered that day so vividly; he’d been surprised but mostly elated. He’d been excited to go home; it had been a Friday, and it was the busiest day at his workplace, and it also happened to be the day the newest volume, ‘The All Might Chronicles,’ would be released. Izuku had laid out a plan: to work as fast as he could, and after his pay, he’d rush to the comic store before the comic ran out of stock. Then Bakugo casually came by his seat with a simple,
“Hi. Izuku. Can we talk?” And like a fool, he said yes, his plans for the day immediately forgotten. All that resentment he harbored for two whole years vanished like a fog the moment he saw those red eyes; he drowned in them and smiled like a stupid bimbo when Bakugo smiled at him. They didn’t even talk; they just wasted time at some shitty arcade, like those years of silence meant nothing. And Izuku? He fucking melted for it. He crawled back to him like a stupid dog.
Izuku detested himself for being so gullible.
Or maybe he waited for so long for his best friend to come back to him that when the chance showed itself, he sprung onto it, like a desperate man in a desert for a scoop of water.
Was that stupid?
Maybe it was, but he was happy. He was happy that Kacchan sneaked into his bedroom at night and that he slept in his bed and sometimes put on his goofy shirts, and he cuddled with him. He was happy when Bakugo sometimes kissed him on the cheek or even at the back of his neck. He was happy that it was easy to sleep with Bakugo’s scent colonizing his bedroom. He was happy that now, they sat together at lunch and they’d goof around. He was happy that Bakugo smiled whenever he saw him in the school hallways and that he’d swing his arm around his shoulders and pull him closer to him.
Maybe he was just pathetic. Maybe that’s what he’s meant to be. A fucking rug; useful until it was all torn up and rotten.
But he was happy.
But was he?
Or was he just used to it?
So forgiving that he now watched as Riku’s frame moved in front of him, back against him as he scribbled equations and expressions on the board. Izuku knew that he was probably saying something important, but he was too preoccupied with his dilemma to give an honest fuck.
He breathed lightly, nails between his teeth, foot bobbing under the table. What is Kacchan doing right now? What if he doesn’t want to see me anymore? What if he just left the country and wouldn’t return? Izuku bit harder, the metallic tang of blood booming on his tongue. He wouldn’t do that again, would he? He wouldn’t abandon me again because he said he cares about me. He wouldn’t do that again, he promised. (But he did it before. But he—) He bit harder; the pain was easier to focus on than the doubt.
“… giving us a quadratic equation: x² + 3x + 9 = 0.” Izuku snapped his head to look at his tutor. “Are you even paying attention?”
“…yeah.” He mumbled, pretending to write something down in his notebook. His thumb burned under the pressure, blood forming around the bite wound.
“Okay. Let me go again because you probably didn’t understand.” Izuku just nodded and zoned out again when the man faced the board.
Just like two years ago, he had disappeared for weeks, and when he came back, he had changed. He had gotten a girlfriend, which hurt, and he didn’t want anything to do with me. He ignored me for years. Must have been what I did or maybe what I said. Maybe I was too clingy, and it irritated Bakugo, so he pushed me away. Or maybe I’m just disposable.
Izuku’s thoughts spiraled, like a tornado swirling everything out of place, destroying if not displacing.
Maybe Kacchan had seen through him; he had noticed that he liked him and was disgusted. Izuku was his best friend! For fuck's sake! Best friends don’t fall for each other! Maybe they kiss and touch and stuff, but that’s all; normal best friends do that. Iida and Ochako used to—
Izuku choked on that thought. He shouldn’t bring her up. Her name didn’t deserve to ring in his disgusting head because—
“Hey! Are you even paying attention?” The man asked again, his voice itching with irritation. Izuku snapped to look at Mr. Riku. His face was twisted in irritation—close to anger.
“Yes.” Izuku lied. Mr. Riku scoffed.
“Come try this number out, then.” The challenge hung in the air, dripping with mockery. Izuku stared at the board; he didn’t understand anything at all. He stood anyway, stepping into the rhythm of his lie.
He scribbled some nonsense on the board and walked away. What’s the worst that could happen? Detention? A lecture? Nothing he hadn’t served before. Mr. Riku’s mouth moved, but Izuku was already gone. He couldn’t bring himself to take the man seriously.
“You think this is a joke?” Riku scoffed, irritated. “You better take this seriously. At this rate you might not even graduate from high school. Or worse—you’ll end up where people like you belong: nowhere.”
Riku smirked. Silently yet vividly mocking. His words were like blunt daggers in his chest. They sliced slower and more painfully than any blade. Shame possessed him like a ghost. Like a serpent, it slithered in silence, coiled around his bones, and spat venom as it whispered ugliness in his mind. He knew exactly what Riku meant; he saw his grades. His zeros stared at him with wide eyes at the back of his mind. He's been watching himself, his actions, his thoughts, his everything. Today's morning was just a slap across his face. What was he even doing?
The worst part: he couldn’t stop. He’d grown accustomed to the rot inside him. Like a beggar too used to hunger, he’d started to like the ache—proof he was still alive. “Are you going to waste this time, or are we going to make use of it?”
He didn't like it.
“Let’s make use of our time.” Izuku said, low. The man smiled, rubbing the blackboard and repeating the explanations again.
Izuku paid attention this time; what happened the previous Thursday was buried behind the pages of his notebook, and its whispers were blocked by the sound of his pen scribbling hard across the paper, blurred by the equations floating in his mind.
~~
“You are actually smart.” The man commented after skimming through the small assignment he’d given the younger after his small lesson. Izuku smiled at that. “You would do great if you actually paid attention in class. You’re always zoning out; it’s irritating.”
Izuku bit his lip and nodded, discomfort crawling at the tips of his skin when he noticed how informal the conversation was getting. How Riku’s gaze fell to his lips and lingered. His cologne nuzzled in his nostrils, reminding him of the fateful Thursday.
“Thank you.” He mumbled, clutching his book and stepping away from the man.
“Teaching you in my free time is exhausting. I need a reward, don’t you think?” Riku’s voice twisted into something darker—almost diabolical. It was low, unsettling. He got up from where he sat, footsteps trailing behind the student.
Izuku politely smiled and nodded. He packed his things: notebooks, pencils, pens, a calculator, and textbooks. He breathed when he packed it all, suddenly very conscious. Desperate to get out.
The sky was a deep shade of orange and pinks and blues. The golden strips of sunrays bled into the classroom, giving it a warm, comfortable glow, but the sun was setting so fast the room was getting dimmer by the passing second. The shadows were getting darker and thicker.
Birds chirped outside, flying in groups saying good night to the world. Their silhouettes decorated the skies as a chilly wind pushed through the windows and lightly swept past him. He took a step forward; the thud echoed in the room, reminding him that they were alone and possibly the only ones in the entire block. He swallowed.
This could be bad.
“Going so soon?” Riku asked, his shadow stretched across the floor, swallowing Izuku’s own. Closer and closer. His eyes skimmed over Izuku, causing a hot pool of disgust to crawl up his spine. Riku’s eyes were sharp, dark, and dilated. Predatory. Light from the outside reflected in his eyes, making them appear like a flood. Izuku couldn’t tell if it was the shadows or something else.
Izuku sped up, closing the distance between him and the door, and the knob didn’t turn. The realization hit him like a bucket of ice-cold water. Behind him, Riku’s footsteps stopped—deliberately. Izuku twisted the knob again; his desperation danced through the room.
“I haven’t gotten my payment yet.” Riku said. He was close, so fucking close.
“What—”
Before Izuku could process, lips crashed on his own forcefully. He froze, his body barely moving under the man’s weight overpowering him. After a few seconds that felt like forever, he tried pushing him off, using every ounce of energy he had, but the man was stronger than him, taller, towering over him, and suddenly Izuku felt helpless. His cologne—too sweet, like rotten fruits—filled his nostrils. He could almost taste it. The doorknob dug into his spine. The man pressed harder. It hurt. He winced in pain, eyes budged, heart thundering behind his ribcage. It hurt.
Tears welled in his eyes, hot against his cheeks. He felt completely overpowered; his hands shook as he gripped him by the hem of his shirt and tried to pry him off. But he was like a leech.
Disgust crawled up his spine, hot at the back of his throat. This…this can’t be happening. Hot breath, lips, teeth, warm tongue—no.
Stop, stop, stop—
Izuku bit his tongue, which caught him off guard. He stumbled, and Izuku pushed him off, using that as leverage to kick him in the guts and in his groin. The man groaned in pain, cussing incoherently beneath his breath. Izuku’s heart was frantic as he stared at him; anger boiled inside his veins. He punched him square in the jaw, and he fell to the ground. With trembling fingers, he picked the keys from the man’s desk and rushed out of the classroom.
…
Itsuka was bouncing from excitement. She sat in the empty classroom and watched below as the last bunch of jocks stepped out of the school gates. She scooted closer to the window to get a closer look below; there was no more walking out. She exhaled heavily; it was already 6 o’clock. What was taking them so long! She opened her phone, hoping for a text from that stupid math teacher. Nothing yet.
She sighed.
The longer she waited, the more she felt like backing down, but she didn’t want to. In fact, it was too late to back down. A smug smile formed on her lips, and her chest swelled with excitement and jealousy. Izuku’s sickening face was still pinned at the back of her mind like some painting; she wanted nothing but to tear it down and burn it to ash.
The only way to kill that envious flame that burnt down every piece of self-esteem and happiness was to burn out his own. The thought of seeing him suffer only dimmed the flame. It was not enough; it was far from it. She needed to see it.
Izuku had to suffer, just like she did.
Everywhere she went, whoever she met saw him printed on her forehead. His victory followed her around like her own aura. So did her loss.
She wanted her revenge. To strip him of everything he took away from her. Her happiness, her respect, her Bakugo.
Her phone dinged with a notification. She piped up when it was from him.
Riku-fucking-sensei: Now’s the time. Get ready.
Me: Thank you so much, sir. Idt I can get to thank you enough.
Riku-fucking-sensei: You promised to visit me tonight.
Me: I’m just teasing you, lol.
Riku-fucking-sensei: Don’t forget to blur my face.
Me: ofc! We wouldn’t want your beautiful face on the school hallways.
She smiled. Fool.
Swiftly, she made it to the hallway, careful not to be seen. They were in sight, just where Riku told her they’d be. Her veins tinged with excitement when she caught sight of that familiar mob of unruly green hair. A chill shuddered through her body when she noticed him, his head slightly turned away from the door, his side profile in clear view from her angle. She laughed lightly under her breath, switching on her phone camera. You’re smart, Mr. Riku. But not as smart as me. She thought of pressing the record button.
Not an ounce of remorse hummed through her as she recorded the entire scene; she made sure both their faces were captured. The doorknob twisted, and she ran to the closest room, hiding in its shadows, away from her soon-to-be victim.
The door banged, and the viridian head stormed out of the classroom. Face taut, lips swollen, jaw clenched, clothes disheveled as well as his hair.
Too bad, Izuku. It looks like Bakugo is going to see this.
…
Rainy days.
Cold, dark, and misty. Water puddles flooded the concrete floors; the air smelled like earth and something that lingered, something that itched under skin like it belonged.
Rainy days symbolized life, a promise of growth. A sprout, for something beautiful and innocent.
Time slowed on rainy days, yet it felt rushed. (They were dramatic, melodramatic). With them also came erosion, exposing the memories he’d buried deep into the shallowest surfaces of the earth.
Izuku hated rainy days.
Today was a rainy day.
The sky roared angrily after a thin line of electric whites and blues sliced through it. The soft hum of raindrops falling on the pavement filled the air, and water droplets settled on his condensed window, gathered to form trails of water. His gaze rested there for a while, and Bakugo—puzzled and confused (almost hurt)—stared back at him, knocking on his window frame rhythmically and then not, asking him to open it. Izuku wouldn’t; he’d turn his head and pretend to be asleep, hoping for the blond to go away, which he did after a few hours.
Izuku he'd sighed. Eyes forced shut. Izuku never locked his window. A twinge of guilt coiled between his ribcage and settled. The approach was a stupid one, but it was one nonetheless. Besides, with his doom looming at the back of his mind, he didn’t have the energy to talk to anyone. Especially not Bakugo.
Izuku drove his thoughts away from the previous night and tugged his uniform. The material felt too heavy under his skin. On days like these, he hated being a student, vulnerable and dependent. Unable to make decisions that could be respected, like taking a break from school for the entirety of next week, if not more.
He sighed. Exhausted in all forms humanity could conjure.
He yelled goodbye as a reflex as he trudged past the living room, and a soft gust of warmth settled in his chest when his stepsister, Eri, yelled one back. Only her, as always.
A thin but hostile breeze swept over him when he stepped out of his home; it settled on his way to the train station and lifted when he found a soft spot in the train. Buildings blurred at the back of his mind as he sat in the warmth. Izuku let his thoughts skip him through time.
Sadly, the ride to hell was quick, and he was standing outside his school’s gates. The cold bit into his skin, and he buried his hands in the pockets of his school blazer. Dread pooled at the back of his mind as he cleared the distance to his classroom block. The cold was sizzling and he had to clench his teeth to bite back a shiver. He cussed inwardly when it hit him: He forgot his scuff on his mattress.
Kacchan despised this weather. I wonder if he’ll be okay. The little bitch executing instructions in his mind needed to be killed.
No. It didn’t matter, he can catch The Cold and Izuku wouldn’t care. Maybe he’d ignore him for a week and make it even?
It didn’t matter.
Izuku was still too bitter to face him— or anyone.
The hallway welcomed him with dreadful silence.
The moment he took a step into the floor building of his classroom. The enormous wave of chatter died, the kind of silence that followed a power outage. Dead in shock. Eyes found him and scrutinized.
Izuku was rarely the center of attention. In fact he never was. He’d only been one only twice in his entire life.
- when he was born,
- back in elementary school when his bullies came to him all beaten to a pulp just to apologize. Rumors had spread like wildfires about him: how he’d hired goons to beat him up. Well, maybe not him but maybe his mother or someone close to him. At first he was glad he didn’t have a person breathing down on his neck until no one wanted to be his friend.
Attention was a sign that things would go terribly for Izuku.
The feeling of hundreds of eyes on him was something that he’d never forget. Till his day it haunted him whenever he walked through the school hallways or when he walked into class or did anything similarly mundane to that.
The attention he was getting felt unbearable. Like he’d been thrown in a pit filled with bugs, and thousands of them crawled up his skin, his hair, under his garments.
He tightened his hold on the straps of his backpack as he pushed through the hallways.
It was nothing. He’s just paranoid.
Maybe he was just imagining it, and his delusions had taken over his judgment. But the line between reality and imagination was so thick and clear.
And human beings were hostile creatures. Deadlier than any beast.
Someone whispered, possibly to a friend or classmate. “Bro, I didn’t know he was such a slut.”
“Me neither.”
“I didn’t even know him. Is he the one? Bro, if he is, then what the actual fuck—”
“It’s always the innocent-looking ones.”
The words sunk deep, but he pushed them down lower, below his interception and perception. Someone must’ve seen it; someone must’ve been there, and they just watched. He’d tried pushing that possibility aside as he lay awake in bed the previous night. He’d prayed so hard that no one did.
Of course they did.
Students peeped from their classroom windows to gawk at him. Some were subtle, others shameless. His chest burned, and his skin pricked under the stares. He hated this so very much. He needed to get away. Away from them. His throat tightened, and bile rose up his throat. Their whispers were loud, bouncing between his ears and echoing over and over and over again.
That’s him?
What? He looks like he doesn’t even know what a kiss is.
I’m not surprised Bakugo’s been so close to him. They’ve definitely been fucking.
Bakugo’s a slut, too. Me neither.
Put some respect on Bakugo’s name. He wouldn’t go for such a lowlife.
That’s so disgusting.
Not Mr. Riku, though; anyone but that horn dog.
Was he that desperate?
It’s always the quiet ones.
He definitely wanted it.
He pushed to his classroom; slight relief washed over him when there were a few students in his classroom. He hurried to his seat, his chest burning with uneven breaths.
Big mistake. His heart skipped eight beats as he looked at himself, lips locked with the teacher; they looked intimate. The palms of his hands were on Riku’s chest, and… they looked intimate. A word written next to the picture screamed at his face. ‘SLUT!’
The world stopped spinning, and he was in elementary school watching his life being exposed and torn away from him. His fists tightened, and so did his shame.
He breathed too sharply, the air thrusting through his lungs like spears, the feeling of him pressed into the wall, the doorknob digging into his ribs, his lips locked with that man, engulfing him like an anaconda coils around its prey. Every inch of his body was crushed; he could feel his bones break as the air slipped out of him. Like a tenacious ghost that has been haunting him for years finally found him. He sucked in a breath, but he couldn’t breathe; his tubes were closed, and the walls closed in so fast. He needed to get out.
For a moment he couldn’t move. He forced it.
Feet thumped heavy and rapidly against the smooth concrete , seeking an exit. The beast squeezed tighter till he was numb.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
Feet trudged faster, breaths came in like hot gasps of burning sulfur. They were watching him; he needed to run away from them. From the demeaning laughter and sneers. He rushed to the bathrooms and locked the door behind him. The ground pulled him down, and he let it.
You’re disgusting. Father left because of you. Don’t you see? You’re the problem. No one wants you because that’s what you are: a disease.
His brother’s words rung through him over and over again like a broken record. He shook his head, NO. No he wasn’t.
He's so… I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He has a problem. Something’s not right with him. His mother had said to Yugi.
“No. No…! I don’t… have a problem.” Izuku whispered to himself between gasps. Hot tears brimming at the rims of his eyes. He was okay.
You’re so disgusting! Yugi had sneaked and could feel his words, burning like molten lava in his chest.
Then he could feel Riku, pressing against him. This breath in him, his cologne all over him like a second skin. Izuku was feeling helpless all over again, unable to move. He could still feel him, under his skin, his hands locking him in place.
God, he wanted it gone. All of it.
A knock sliced through the bathroom. Izuku could barely hear it under the sound of his breathing and over the demons that were screaming and thrashing violently inside his head. And another knock thundered, louder.
“Midoriya, it’s me. Iida.” The knocking was relentless, echoing through the deepest corners of the room. Izuku couldn’t move. His body was foreign. His knees were weak, his body felt heavy and ground was pulling him down hard. Izuku didn’t want to talk to him— not to anyone. He gasped silently. He couldn’t face him.
“Midoriya, open the door!” Iida knocked again sounding impatient, panicked. Izuku wanted to scream at him to go away but no words came out, only choked whimpers and ragged breaths.
“Izuku.” The knob twisted furiously, he could only look at it with blurry eyes.
“Izuku.. please come out.” Iida sounded scared. Izuku didn’t want anyone to see him. Not anymore. He’d rather sit alone for the rest of his life and just rot.
Keys jumbled from behind the steal door and the door swung open. Iida stepped in and stopped mid way when he glanced at him. A relief breath hitched off his lips and he locked the door behind him.
Izuku could barely register what happened next as his panic swelled, the air inside the bathroom was not enough for two people. “G-go…a-away..” he choked.
Iida pulled him in an embrace. He didn’t fight it. Didn’t have the energy to.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” He cooed, patting him softly.
“I… I… didn’t…”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything.” Iida said softly. But Izuku felt the need to say,
“I didn’t… I didn’t… He… He did… He forced himself on me.” He managed to say after he found his voice. Iida stilled.
“What?!” His voice was low, but surprise was laced in his tone. He pulled away from the embrace and cupped his cheeks to look at him.
The door swung open, and Bakugo stepped in, eyes narrowed. Lava boiling in his gaze. He trotted fast and pulled Izuku by the arm and dragged them out of the bathroom.
***
a little earlier
The morning rays bled through the glass windows; golden pools of light fell on the shelves, casting thick shadows in the library. The air was thin and a little chilly; it smelled of icho leaves, old books, and wet earth. Everything was silent, just as he liked it, and empty. The sound of the librarian’s pen thrummed lightly at a distance. It was just them in the room.
Bakugo sighed.
Izuku was angry with him, and it was understandable; he’d gone without communication, and worse, he brought someone back with him. (He didn't know that... for now.)
Bakugo sighed. He tapped his pencil rapidly on the hard wood, forcing himself to concentrate on the notes about the lessons he missed throughout the entire week. His mind flew back to the night before.
Izuku never locked his bedroom window. At least not since they got back on good terms. He sighed and looked towards the windows, hoping to catch something to grab his attention lightly so he could concentrate again on the pages that stared intensely at him. He skimmed through the pages, but his patience grew thin; the constant ping of notifications on his phone wasn’t making it better.
With a light groan, he picked the device up. Most of them were from Momo, asking what she needed to shop for and that she was excited to start going to school with him. He sighed, another problem for another time. The other messages were from Itsuka. She wanted to talk to him. Bakugo ignored them both.
Izuku seemed very angry the night before. Was it because he’d found out about Momo?
No, he purposefully asked Iida not to spill anything to him about it.
Bakugo sighed again. He was behind on so many assignments; thinking about Izuku shouldn’t be part of his agenda. He peeked at the box in his backpack. He wondered how Izuku would react if he gave it to him. Bakugo remembered what Shoto told him before he came to school, that Izuku’s phone was spoiled. Izuku would probably think that Bakugo was going overboard. He’ll just say that it’s a gift from all the birthdays I missed. He’d love it.
He shoved the device deeper into his backpack and concentrated for the next hour. The moment he placed his pen down, his phone dinged. It was from Itsuka.
Itsuka [now]: I guess you don’t care about him.
He read his home screen and noticed he had several others from her. He clicked on it, and his phone flooded with texts.
Itsuka [6:32am]: hey,
Itsuka [6:33am]: Idk if u a in the gc but I think u shud c ts.
Bakugo had to read the message a few times to understand what the fuck she was saying. Couldn’t she type normally like a maturing eighteen year old?
Itsuka [6:40am]: [photo]
Itsuka [6:41am]: crazy, isn’t it? Hu knew Midoriya was such a slut. 🫤🤯🥀
Slut.
Slut?
The word echoed between his earlobes like a trapped whisper. It bounced off the walls of his skull, pulsing with each heartbeat, growing louder, sharper until it wasn’t just a sound but a presence.
The edges of his screen cracked causing the edges to seem like spiderwebs. His palm throbbed from the pressure but that was nothing compared to the turmoil growing like a hurricane inside. His gaze was stern, fixed on the screen, never blinking. The longer he stared the more foreign the photo seemed but at the same time; the more real it seemed.
Venom pulsed in his heartbeat, circling through his entire respiratory system and clouding his judgement. His fingers twitched as they zoomed in. Surely it couldn’t be who he thought that was.
But it was.
Izuku stood in pixels behind the doorframe, their classroom doorframe, with his eyes lightly closed, his arms held the man’s chest as the man pinned him against their wall, their bodies pressed so close it stirred something hot and relentless in the pit of his stomach. Bakugo’s head spun lightly seeing their lips pressed together.
His Izuku was making out with their fucking math teacher.
Itsuka [7:15am]: Guess u don’t care abt him.
Itsuka [7:30am]: Are you ok?
***
Life was ironic, ironic in a manner.
Blood thrummed against his veins, mimicking the erratic and angry pulse of his heartbeat. His patience was wearing thin like a string stretched so tight and taut that it would snap if stretched a millimeter tighter. Seeing the math teacher smile so effortlessly and innocently was doing just that to him.
He stared at the ghost smirk that lingered as he spoke, as if it was meant for him. To mock him. His nails burned under the palm of his hand from fisting so hard; each time the man’s gaze fell on him, he wanted nothing but to hit him square in the jaw. The urge to abuse his authority and embarrass him in front of everyone loomed beneath the tips of his palms. Overbearing.
Izuku wasn’t in class.
Bakugo’s desk was clear, no books or textbooks in sight, just both his hands clenched tightly above it. A sign of defiance, a provocation. A trap, and Katsuki wanted Riku to fall for it.
Two columns ahead was Izuku’s own desk, empty. No green head was in sight.
“Bakugo?” He shot at the teacher; the urge to dismantle every piece of skin on his face grew with a lingering gaze. Everyone’s gaze flew towards him, and he wasn’t bothered in the slightest.
He stood up, making sure the screech of his seat was loud, slow, and mocking, and walked out of the classroom without owing him an explanation. He didn’t need to.
He needed to find Izuku.
***
Bakugo’s grip on Izuku’s wrist was iron-tight, fingers digging into his flesh so hard. Izuku protested, saying something that he couldn’t decipher under the sound of his nerves churning and his fury whispering vices at the back of his mind.
The hallway blurred as he dragged Izuku, ignoring the whispers and stares that followed after them like shadows. He didn’t give a fuck about them; all he could see was that man pressing on him, kissing him. Fuck! He held tighter, ignoring Izuku’s protests and attempts to pry him off.
“What the f-fuck, Kacchan?!” Izuku yelped when he shoved him inside an empty room and closed the door behind him. He exhaled when he turned to look at Izuku again.
Izuku looked at him with his big, bright green eyes. They were wide with surprise. A soft shade of red settled around the edges. Izuku’s nose was red, a tinge that made him look adorable, if it weren’t for that photo that was plastered like a billboard in his mind.
Bakugo was blind, blinded by his anger and the sick, hot feeling crawling at the back of his throat. He couldn’t see Izuku. He only saw him with him.
His gaze fell on his lips. Pulp, pink and swollen. Something hot and twisted at the pit of his stomach. His stomach twisted, and he stepped closer to grab Izuku by the chin. His thumb running over the soft flesh of his bottom lip before tugging it downward and… bite marks. Fucking bite marks! They were faint, almost gone, but they were there.
An exhibit, clear as broad daylight. It happened. Izuku really kissed that disgusting piece of crap. It wasn’t some photoshopped image, as he hoped, or some sick AI-generated image that someone created to piss him off.
It was true.
Izuku did this.
But why?
Jealousy crawled inside his chest like a beast, thrashing violently; tethered and untamed.
“What the actual fuck, Izuku?” Bakugo spat, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Izuku’s cheeks. “What the fuck were you thinking? Riku? Of all people?”
Izuku flinched; something flashed in those green eyes, his hopeful look despaired and was replaced by hurt and despair. Izuku trembled lightly under his gaze. Green eyes narrowed, menacing.
“Fuck you!” Izuku spat, glassy eyes dancing under the soft warmth from the bulb above them. He slapped Bakugo’s hands off him. His voice was low and poisonous, seeping through Bakugo’s chest and settled.
“‘Fuck you?’ Izuku, do you even listen to yourself saying that? That is a fucking teacher for fucks sake!”
Bakugo was blind, blinded by his fury and jealousy.
“What I do with my life is none of your business.” Izuku had managed to choke out after a moments hesitation. Fist clenched at his sides.
“It is.” Bakugo growled. Of course it fucking was.
“No, it’s not. This is my life, I can do whatever the fuck pleases me.” Izuku never swore, he hated it when people did that, especially in front of him.
“Izuku!”
“Please, stop acting like that, Kacchan.” Izuku’s voice was low, calm but there was a weaver, a tremor and Bakugo was too blind.
“Acting like what?”
“like a hypocrite. That’s what.” Bakugo felt something boil. Something relentless, like an impending doom.
“What—”
“You don’t get to lecture me about morals, Kacchan. We both know that you’re more disgusting than me. At least I don’t sleep with everyone in my class.” Something simmered and swelled. It swiveled, ready to burst and ruin.
“what-”
“You don’t own me, Kacchan. You don’t get to- to interrogate me about who I kiss or spend time with.”
It exploded.
“Were you that desperate?”
Izuku flinched, but his glare didn’t waver. His eyes were wide and glassy with unshaded tears. Something coiled in Bakugo’s chest.
Bakugo was so fucking blind.
“I can ask you the same thing-”
“At least I don’t spread my legs for a lowlife like —”
Bakugo stumbled on impact of Izuku’s punch. He tasted blood, and his cheek burned.
“You don’t know anything!” Izuku’s chest heaved as he yelled. Tears streamed down his cheeks continuously, his eyes tainted with hurt and anger.
Bakugo laughed humorlessly and found his footing. Now Izuku’s defending the guy? Did he like him? Damn right he didn’t know anything, and it was driving him insane! “Of course I don’t know crap! I should’ve known that you like them older.” Mockery dripped off his tongue, its poison evaporated in the air—concentrated. All he could see was him and his hands all over Izuku, and he was fucking losing it.
“What?” Izuku’s voice was barely a whisper, like he’d been drained of energy. His voice sounded pained, but Bakugo could still see them, pressed so tightly together. He could still see him kissing him, so painfully. It made him sick and bitter.
“You like that kind of stuff, don’t you? I should’ve known.”
“I hate you.” Izuku spat. “I fucking hate you. God, you don’t know how much I hate you. I hate you with every fiber of my being!” His chest heaved as he spoke, tears rolling down his cheeks, eyes unblinking and solely fixed on his. Unwavering. Bakugo was taken aback. “You disgust me.”
A silence settled; the tension seemed to have lessened, but Bakugo could feel something being ripped apart behind his ribs. Izuku was crying so hard his shoulders were shaking, his sobs hysterical, and they cut right through Bakugo’s chest.
“I fucking hate you, Katsuki.” Izuku said and walked away. The door closed with a bang and caused a wind to sweep over him. He stumbled.
“Izuku hates me?” he whispered into the resumed silence, the statement echoed in the empty room. It swept through him like a cold breeze, swirling around as it grew and grew, causing turmoil until it swirled like a tornado.
He hates me? No, he didn’t mean it. He can’t mean it.
Bakugo stormed out of the room. He had to ask Izuku if he meant it. He rushed back to his classroom and stormed in, not bothered if there was a teacher or not. He stopped by Izuku’s desk, and he wasn’t there.
An image was taped on the desk. He pulled it off; it was the same image he received this morning. He gripped it tightly and stormed out of the room. He needed to find Izuku; he needed to know if he really hated him.
He wasn't by the locker, but the damned picture was taped on his locker. He pulled it off. Did everyone see it? His stomach dropped at the realization. Everyone saw this? Did Izuku know about this?
Bakugo’s fingers tightened around the crumpled photo—Izuku’s face flushed, Riku’s hands gripping his waist like a claim. His thumb smeared over the ink, as if he could erase it. But then—
He pulled out his phone from his pocket. The screen glared up at him, another image loading in jagged pixels. The same scene, but sharper. Wider. Izuku’s hands weren’t clutching Riku’s shoulders—they were pushing. His lips weren’t parted in pleasure—they were bleeding. And his eyes
—his eyes were fucking terrified.
The classroom door slammed shut down the hall. Bakugo’s lungs locked. The realization hit like a knife-twist:
What the fuck has he done?
~~
♪i love how you love me, so delicately♪
Notes:
Sorry I had choose an ironic song for this chapter. ｡◕‿◕｡
Time to take the drama down a notch; time for more action. I promise this is the last time you'll have to read a chapter with such tag warnings. Time to get rid of Izuku's suffering: Bakugo.
Thanks for reading!
Kudos and comments are appreciated.♡♡
Chapter 9: Extra: Itsuka
Summary:
Itsuka is a lovely girl...?
Notes:
This part was supposed to be an extension of the previous chapter but I'm not good at extremely long chapters so here you go.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Bakugo trudged outside the building.
The sun hung bright and high above his head, its golden rays glinting silver on the surfaces of water in the potholes. The ground beneath was damp and firm, sharp post-rain winds bit into his skin harshly, and the scent of earth and grass fanned his nostrils. The sky was still clear, but streaks of grey clouds covered the blue sky. Birds chirped happily, and car horns blared at a distance.
Bakugo exhaled deeply.
The sound of paper crunching beneath his fist and the slight pain that shot through his palms under his fingernails were a reminder that he’d messed up.
Really bad.
He couldn’t find Izuku anywhere.
The viridian head had just vanished without a trace, with just a snap, just a thud of the door they stood behind together moments ago, and he’d disappeared. Like a ghost in the mist.
Bile rose up his throat, his panic swelled beneath his chest, under his palms, and pulsed through his veins. I hate you. Izuku’s words blasted through his head, threshing inside his walls.
Bakugo had searched the entire school, every classroom, behind every door, and on top of every roof, but he couldn’t find him. The posters he’d yanked from the walls—each one of Izuku’s face—bled through his memory like molten sulfur, burning through every thought until he couldn’t think straight.
Not now.
He needed to find Izuku first.
The idea of sitting through periods without him felt unbearable. Nothing bad would happen if he skipped another day. It’s just school anyway.
“Katsuki!” Bakugo felt a grumble crawl in his chest when that familiar voice sliced through the icy air. Irritation itched between his furrowed eyebrows. He trotted forward; he felt his energy drain with every step he took. “Where are you going?”
He quickened his footsteps, hers faster behind him. Till she caught up.
“Katsuki, don’t tell me you’re skipping class.” Her tone dripped with manufactured sweetness. Infuriating.
He ignored her, anger slowly bursting like firecrackers in his veins.
“I don’t want to stay at school. It’s getting a little too boring for me. Mind if I come with you?” Bakugo only grunted, which caused her to smile and walk steadily beside him.
The memory of the photo she sent him earlier flashed in his mind like an uninvited guest. A thought crossed his mind—dark, sinister, but welcome. The chilliness under his skin warmed, and the humming halted. A mini surge of adrenaline burst in his body, combined with anger and the desire to destroy.
Itsuka’s golden orange hair was tied in a perfect ponytail, hazel eyes brighter under her thin mascara and the soft glow of the morning rays, her lips pink and too glossy for a school day. Her blazer fit perfectly on her shoulders; three of the buttons on her thin white uniform shirt were unbuttoned, showing a questionable amount of cleavage.
He studied her gloriously and smiled when their eyes met. She beamed brighter than a kid at Christmas.
Izuku’s wet eyes found his own; his soft sobs lingered in his mind like music from a broken record. The sound was like daggers through his entire body. The memory of his recent mishaps found a home in his mind.
"Does this remind you of something?” Itsuka slurred, shoving against his chest. The image of Izuku from his phone—burned into his mind—refused to fade. It clung to him like a ghost, whispering in his ear, stoking the anger that thrummed beneath his skin.
“Yeah.” Damn right it did. If she did what he thought she did, she’s going to have to pay.
“Two years ago. When we dated.” She said—in a matter-of-fact tone—with a smile, her eyes brimming with a kind of hope that Bakugo loved to destroy. “I remember you hated school, and we’d skip every morning period.”
Bakugo grunted in response.
After insufferable hours of weaving through the small town near their school, they took a train to the city. Itsuka beamed throughout, keeping as close to him as a moth to a flame. Like a bee on a bright flower. Her smile never wavered, eyes glittered annoyingly, like streetlights glaring through a fogged-up window and pink lips curved in soft bows. The whole ride to the city she pressed against him; his patience was already paper-thin, and she was testing it like an idiot poking a grenade.
His irritation festered like a wound, throbbing with every second they pressed together in the cramped train. The curious gazes of commuters—office workers, most likely—clung to them like damp fabric, itchy and inescapable
Once they made it to Shinjuku, Bakugo felt like he could breathe; the smell of gravel, oil, and the faintest of flowers that lingered on the streets was a million times better than the scent of Itsuka’s sickeningly sweet perfume.
Bakugo was silent the whole time, unsure of how to go about the situation, how to execute his plan. Plus, he really didn’t have much to say to her. Each time he glanced at her, an uncomfortable feeling blossomed in his chest and settled, like a thorn in his windpipe, a bundle of nerves that coiled in his chest like a massive blood clot.
The air around them wasn’t uncomfortable or tense. It was stale.
“Ever been to Shinjuku?” he finally asks, and she looks at him, blooming like a flower before it withered, nodding.
“My mom used to love Shinjuku. We came here every time she felt like it.” Bakugo could see the sparkles in her eyes, alight, brighter than fireworks on New Year's. He smiled at her, bringing his arm out for her to hold, ignoring the curious gazes that fell on them. He should’ve changed from his school uniform.
“Shinjuku is romantic, isn’t it?” He whispered, sliding his hands into her own and entwining their fingers. Itsuka flushed; he knew she wanted this. She wanted this and more.
Make her feel good, comfortable enough to trust you. Give her hope and ruin it. Break her beyond repair. Make her pay tenfold for Izuku’s tears. For his broken relationship. Itsuka didn’t deserve violence; shame, a bitter serving of her own expertise.
Itsuka’s banter ceased not as they trudged the greyish silver streets of the city. So did time. The sun was above their heads, dimming uncomfortably if not unbearably, when Bakugo suggested,
“Don’t you want to try out some cakes? I know a café that makes strawberry-orange cakes.”
“You remember that?” Itsuka was rendered surprised; her voice was soft and vulnerable, just like Bakugo wanted. Or maybe she was forcing it, whatever it was. Bakugo didn’t care; he palmed her cheeks and looked deep into her hazel eyes. She blushed. Such a fool. “That’s my favorite cake. I thought you didn’t remember.”
“Of course I do. How can I forget something so mundane?” He whispered, just like she wanted it. A soft gasp escaped her throat; he closed in.
If Bakugo hadn’t nicknamed her strawberry-orange before he knew her, he wouldn’t remember.
He stepped away, and her banter grew as they walked past a few blocks.
“Shut the hell up, or I’m dragging us the hell back.” Bakugo growled, but the damn girl only smiled like it was funny.
“Right!”
Bakugo sat in the café with his lips pulled into a scowl. Itsuka’s chatter danced around their table but was muffled to his ears. Why the fuck did he come here for anyways?
“… and she said that I wouldn’t be able to—”
“— if you’re done eating, then get the fuck over with it. I don’t want to be here the whole damn day.” Itsuka looked puzzled, but then she looked at Bakugo, then his plate, and her gaze softened.
“Right. Can you wait for me real quick?” She says, getting up.
“Do whatever the fuck,” Bakugo grumbled, trailing his gaze away from her. A relentless fury buzzed under his skin, humming softly with disapproval like a distant machine. Goading his nerves, urging him to act, to snap— fucking explode. He sighed. Why the fuck did he even agree to do this?
She smiled and then disappeared with her schoolbag. His gaze fell on her phone she left on the table; it vibrated with a notification, and the screen lightened. The name Riku displayed on the screen, and his senses quickened.
He dragged it closer to get a clearer view.
Riku-fucking-sensei [12:46pm]: What the fuck did you do, Itsuka!
Riku-fucking-sensei [12:46pm]: Why didn’t you blur my face!!!
Riku-fucking-sensei [12:47pm]: You little bitch! We agreed on only one picture! Why are there so many different pictures around the floor?
The cold fork burned under his fists, his heart race quickened like the need to thrust the phone on the wooden floor. Footsteps thrummed lightly, and Itsuka beamed, her makeup sharper and cleaner. Bakugo looked at her grin, and he wanted nothing but to grab her by the neck and feel as her pulse stopped beneath his palm.
You don’t know anything!
He could understand now why he’d been so tense. Why he was crying, why he was so fucking angry with him. The memory of his red-rimmed eyes came to him like a punch to the gut.
Izuku’s hands were shaking, Bakugo noticed—of course he fucking noticed—but he brushed it off. Like a fool. Like always.
And now he was choking on the agreement.
He'd been so fucking blind, so fucking stupid! What the fuck was he even thinking? Going after Izuku like that? Like a mindless beast, like a fool under a spell.
I hate you, Katsuki.
I hate you, Katsuki.
I hate you, Katsuki.
I hate you, Katsuki.
I hate you, Katsuki.
I hate you, Katsuki. I hate you, Katsuki.
I HATE YOU—.
The sirens in his skull screamed, a ceaseless fucking loop, thrashing against the walls of his mind. No release. No escape. Just this. Just—
I HATE YOU.
The words boomed like thunder before a storm. Like an explosion in a landmine.
NO!
Izuku must really hate him now. He stormed out of the café knowing if he stayed a second longer, he’d do something that both he and Itsuka will never forget for the rest of their lives—well, mainly Itsuka.
His feet pounded the pavement, faster and harder, like he was late—but he had nowhere the fuck to go. His mind was a warzone: useless clarity one second, choking confusion the next. Useless. Stupid. His palms itched with the urge to blast something apart, but there was nothing to fight but himself.
Izuku’s soft, round eyes stared at him, pained but patient. His sobs cracked beneath his earlobes and rested in his chest, haunting him. God, what the fuck was wrong with him?
Please don’t hate me. I’m so sorry.
He whispered, but the words tasted stale on his tongue. He pulled out his phone to call his best friend, but he was sent straight to voicemail. He tried multiple times but failed; his frustration grew morbidly into anger, and he threw his phone on the concrete. It broke with a loud crack, its pieces scattering like the thoughts inside his head.
God, he was so fucking angry. At himself, for being a damned fool. For being so blind and hurting Izuku again. He'd promised he wouldn’t, and yet he failed. He was such a failure.
He was so angry at Riku and Itsuka. For doing whatever the fuck they did.
Itsuka.
His feet padded fast and impatiently against the concrete as he stumped his way back to the café. He needed fucking answers. Why would she do something so fucking ugly? What the fuck was her problem?
She wasn’t there.
He exhaled, even if he blamed them for what they did to Izuku. He’s the one who failed him.
***
The next day, Izuku didn’t come to school. He probably was avoiding him. He didn’t want anything to do with Bakugo, not anymore.
Bakugo’s eyelids were heavy as his sleep-deprived body. Anger goaned against his veins as he stared at Izuku’s empty seat in their class. He’d gone to his house the previous night, hoping he’d find Izuku and apologize; he wasn’t there. He’d knocked on Inko’s door, begging to see her son, and they both walked to his room, but he wasn’t there.
Bakugo had sat outside his window for hours, hoping that at some point Izuku would show up; he never did. He’d sat in the nit-biting cold as his thoughts spiraled like a hurricane. His father’s words swung in the misty wind, brushing against his skin like thorns.
“You’ve always been a fool, son. I never thought you’d be this foolish.” He’d said with a thick cigar between his lips. He sat behind his desk, and his lips curled into a grin. “A time will come when you will get rid of him with your own bare hands.”
Those words now taunted him more than the threat of his father killing Izuku. Is this what his father was doing? Did he involve Itsuka?
Bakugo would never kill Izuku, ever.
“You okay, man?” Shoto pulled him out of the hurricane— the one that has been tearing him apart from the inside. He looked concerned, pale as a ghost. But at least he was upright — unlike last week when Bakugo found him half-dead in a hospital bed.
“You don’t look fine yourself.” He said. Shoto smiled weakly.
“I felt some of my things in the locker rooms. I don’t want to go there, not like this.” Bakugo could see how the red-white head struggled to sit up straight in class. Guilt coiled in his chest each time he looked at him.
“I’ll get them for you.” Shoto was about to protest with some shitty excuse, but Bakugo was already up and gone.
Bakugo hated soccer teams’ locker rooms. They carried a scent of a memory he always forced himself to forget. The heavy scent of sweat, soap, shampoo, and deodorant loomed in the air; it was hot and almost unbearable; breathing came secondary to surviving.
The sound of the jocks laughing slapped against the walls and became more vibrant the closer he stepped.
Something in his gut clenched. A sour taste that always lingered under his tongue surfaced uglier than ever. A wave of nostalgia mingled with long-lost envy crashed into him when he found them huddled together, watching something.
You used to be one of them. You could’ve been here if you weren’t so stupid and reckless. The angry voice at the back of his mind whispered.
He sighed and pushed his feet to Shoto’s locker, right next to an old and empty one he used to call his. He pulled out the only bag inside and stepped back.
“Bakugo?!” Kaminari called, and everyone snapped to look at him. Lewd sounds from the phone in the middle of the huddle sounded louder when they quieted.
“What brings you here?!”
“Bro, I didn’t know your girlfriend was such a slut.”
Kaminari and Aoyama said at the same time. Aoyama’s cheeks were tinted crimson. A moan sliced through the device. And another, after another.
The boys snapped their gaze away from Bakugo, faces split into laughter and whistles as they focused on the device. Cheering followed.
“Bro, she’s so slick. Man, Aoyama, you've got game.”
Their roars arose with his curiosity. He stepped closer to see, and Itsuka’s watery eyes on the screen met with his. Her exposed bosom bounced behind the pixels as her body rocked to the beat of the boy above her. Her moans became louder until the faceless boy fell on top of her.
“I can’t believe you had all that, man.” Tamaki praised, and the others agreed in unison. Bakugo ignored the compliment; he’d forgotten that the soccer team was a bunch of menaces.
Bakugo’s eyes were still glued to the screen, now dimming into a faint gray. The gears in his head screeched to a halt—then shifted. His breath caught for half a second. Something sharp flickered behind his eyes, and his jaw clenched.
“Can I see that?” he asked Aoyama, who was holding the phone. Aoyama nodded and stretched his arm.
The video played again, his ex smiling as she looked at the screen, undressing down to her undergarments. She fell on the bed and spread her legs; the man holding the camera laughed, and Bakugo paused the video.
That’s all he needed.
“Oi, send this to me.” He said unrestrained to Aoyama, and the room fell silent for a moment. Kaminari smiled first, and then the rest of the team.
“You’re so freaky, bro.” Kaminari laughed.
One of the jocks said, “Bro, first wait for me to get my turn with her.” And a series of “me, too.” Followed after.
Bakugo laughed. Like he ever would. His phone dinged with a notification, and he smiled, walking away.
He looked at the video and didn’t hesitate to send it to Hinari.
Ex: He wasn’t proud of it. But pride hadn’t saved Izuku from the hell they’d pulled him through. Shame could come later. For now, he needed justice—even if it came dressed as cruelty.
Notes:
Kudos and comments are appreciated!! ♡♡
Kinda feel like some chapters would be confusing/ some might not make sense but I promise they would later.
Chapter 10: Drunken beaches, first kisses
Summary:
Even friends need some time apart.
Chapter Text
Izuku found it odd.
The way his brain brought back the strangest of memories at times when his life was standing on top of paper-thin ice water. Like it’s giving meaning to life or maybe it’s some sort of warning or a past warning. It could even be a foreshadow.
Izuku wondered why all he could think of was the memory of that particular summer three years ago.
Izuku remembered being young, a strawberry ice cream between his fingers; the cold liquid that melted between his fingers and dried uncomfortably sticky. The sun that streamed through the leaves of the tree he sat under, the thin breeze that swept over him occasionally and the soft sent of water and fresh earth that lingered in the air. The uncomfortable heat that forced him shirtless.
He was happy. He loved how his great godfather smiled each time he returned from the farm him with fresh bowl of strawberries. He loved teasing the grumpy old man because he knew that deep down, he loved it.
The nights were always bright and the moon was never lonely. Constellations aligned beautifully in twilight and Izuku would spend hours gazing at the sky. Tracing stars with his index as he thought of nothing.
The roasters crackled every morning; he remembers not being happy by the suddenness. Izuku barely had any friends that summer but that didn’t matter because he spend most of the time in his grandfather’s farm. Looking after sheep and cattle, making scare crows, chasing chicken around in the seamless farmland and being extremely frustrated, angry and tired from doing so.
Izuku had made a friend during that summer; he’d gone for a swim after a long day at the farm and he met him. They were at the beach, along with a few kids from the countryside. His grandfather had bought him a surfing board and told him of the surfing lessons by the beach.
Just like him, that friend was also a visitor to the town just for the summer. During their two hours lessons, the two instantly clicked and swam together the entire afternoon. The sun rays glistened on the water like gold liquid and it shimmered like glitter. His heart raced as they swum, whenever their skins touched lightly; he shivered or flinched, as if stroked by a beam of electricity. Effortless laughter burst from his throat as the lukewarm water embarrassed his skin and as his feet dangled in the endless pit of salty water.
Izuku remembered the way their lips touched, the warmth in his chest that was abundant like the summer rain. The way he floated in his arms as well as trembled vulnerably. His cheeks burned from smiling to hard and reddened from the heat of the sun and something more.
Izuku remembered those grey eyes and they seemingly touched his soul the moment their lips parted.
He waited for him the following day and he never came back.
Izuku never asked for his name.
Izuku raised small number of rabbits near the farm house. They hoped with excitement whenever he came over with his basket of vegetables from the farm, how happily and rabidly munched over the food. He’d sit for hours and watch them, pride swelling inside his chest. He remembered how that joy slowly faded. The huge chunks of food his rabbits left over as a disease slowly eat them all up.
He was so scared, they called a vet over and he told them. ‘there’s nothing to be done. They’ve all contracted the disease. It would be better if you kill them all or just watch them die.’
Izuku didn’t believe the professional. And he wasn’t willing to kill his babies.
He held onto a hope and continued feeding them, feeding herbs and hoping miraculously they’d heal. Slowly, one by one, they died. Slow and painfully.
The smell of soft hay stunk with death. He’d desperately hold them, embraced them as they trembled in his arms. He prayed they keep alive. That maybe if he held on they would hold onto life too.
They never did.
“You’re only hurting yourself and the bunnies, young Midoriya.” His grand-godfather had said with concern. “They are in so much pain.” Izuku knew, he watched their frail bodies sulk and tremble. But he couldn’t.
“I know.”
“We can rid of them all without you around.” Toshinori suggested. Izuku would still know, he consented the death.
“No. I don’t want that.”
Just like that, that summer slowly became a pain. He’d come back to his godfather’s home with a few of them dead. Until they all died. None of them survived.
If he’d listened to his grandfather, then he wouldn’t have gone through that pain the entire summer. If he’d been brave enough to let go when he noticed that wrong was the only direction things were taking, maybe it wouldn’t hurt much and maybe he’d move on faster.
~
Maybe if he’d realized that nothing would change with Bakugo and that he should take a step back, maybe he would not be feeling like this.
~~~
Izuku rushed, his footsteps then harbored against the cold pathway, lingering beats longer if not moments. He huffed, hoping the air seeping through his lungs would cool the burning in his chest. Trembling fingers clutched the fabric close to his chest. Desperate whimpers burst from his chest and he clumped his mouth to muffle the sounds.
He embraced his patheticness, slowed down his pace and waited for footsteps to echo behind his own. For a husky voice to desperately call out his name, a hand to grab his wrist and for the words ‘I’m sorry, Izuku.’ to slice through the post-rain misty wind.
Nothing came.
Harsh winds slapped his cheeks when he stepped outside. Frantic, he found a place to hide; at the side of the building.
He didn’t want to look stupid. He just was. Kacchan’s words echoed at the back of his mind and shattered like bombs on a battle field, relentless. Blasting away the lingering feeling happiness leaving shells of pain and looping flashbacks of what happened earlier.
Izuku didn’t seem to care about that, not at the moment.
All he could see was Bakugo, the look of despise burning like hot lava in his crimson eyes. His words that caged his heart; as if trapped between thorns.
Izuku was so pathetic.
After moments, he sighed, as if finding breath. He sat in silence and left the chilly air settle around him like a blanket. The void in his chest and grew as if in comfort. He could feel his emotions rage like a beast trapped in a deep cage, shoved down to the deepest parts of his soul, it raged and his emotions overlapped, leaving his body humming with the residue. He sat in silence as his body trembled; fighting to ignore them, as if they weren’t apart of him.
He rejected them but they claimed him tenfold.
They tore him apart from the inside.
He sat alone patiently waiting, for husky voice to call out his name. For ragged sprinting; to be found and embraced.
God he was so stupid!
An involuntarily tear wetted his cheeks again. He wiped it off but more followed, streaming down like an overflowing river. The beast had broken free and it boared at the surface. Menacing.
“Midoriya!”
Izuku bit back a sob. He wiped his tears again.
“Midoriya!” Iida called again. Izuku didn’t want to be seen. Not by him.
Iida’s footsteps padded fast and louder by the second. Then they faded. It was when Iida left that it hit Izuku: how he looked pathetic sitting at the side of their school building hiding from everyone(hoping to be found) and crying.
His head throbbed when he got up to leave. Skipping class for a few days wouldn’t hurt, would it?
“Does this remind you of something?” That familiar voice cut through the soft breeze. Izuku wished he didn’t look up. His ribs coiled painfully around his chest. Thorns pierced through his ribs and straight to his heart. It winced and whined at the unfairness of it all. Exhausted.
Something quaked inside him and many things crumbled to the ground, ashes. Bakugo smiled down at Itsuka and Izuku pained.
He wished that word never left his mouth.
“Yeah.”
The beast growled and Izuku swelled with emotions. For a moment, barely a second, he froze in place. His body giving into pain, every inch of his body crumbled to the ground like pieces of a Legos but he was still stood. His vision blurred.
“Two years ago. When we dated.” The words flooded on the surface of the ocean he was drowning in. “I remember you hated school and we’d skip every morning period.”
Itsuka flaunted and Bakugo smiled as they disappeared behind the walls of the school gate.
Suddenly Izuku was sixteen again, watching his best friend ignore him as he disappeared in the sea of students; Izuku felt stranded and suffocating. Floating in uncertainty.
…
The house swallowed his footsteps whole. Izuku shivered, not from the cold— but from the warmth. Sudden. Foreign. Eerie. The entire day had been cold and gloomy, grey streaks had painted the skies during the day and now the sky was black, thick grey clouds decorated it like a thick smoke, the moon shone dimly and the stars had fled, leaving the hum of the hallow night.
His mother was at work and so was his step dad, his sister, Eri was not home, probably with the baby sitters. He huffed and dropped to the couch with a heavy sigh. Swollen eyes burned under the dim light of the leaving room.
Embarrassment prickled under his skin. His feet burned for walking for hours, his thoughts had blurred his sight and drove him to wherever. How he found home? He doesn’t remember. How was he to face his classmates soon or anytime to come?
Izuku was exhausted.
Of school, of having to wake up every morning to just breathe. Of his mother’s voice. But mostly—of Bakugo.
Exhaustion was a toothless hunger.
Tired of the pretending—the way his smiles slit his cheeks like paper cuts.
Tired of love that wasn’t love, just wanting. Just begging. Just Bakugo’s name rotting between his ribs.
(And worst of all? He was tired of being tired.)
Tired of the thick smoke that sooted the back of his throat. The ugly taste of dry ash on his tongue. Of his runny nose and the feeling of being forcefully thrown back to the earth from his high.
Tired of chasing for happiness.
He wanted him back, the old Izuku.
Now he was just a worthless delinquent who seemed not to have a future. Izuku couldn’t see himself there, that image he’d painted for himself had vanished, like vapor in a hot summer afternoon.
With his arms around his chest and heels pressed onto the soft couch, he painted his gaze to the ceiling and thought about nothing. White noise buzzed between his ears and he hummed to the slight comfort that swarm his body.
The weight of his comfort pressed him onto the couch and the silence stretched.
No.
He sat up and reached for his bag, instinctively he reached for the small box buried in the safest corner between the pieces of cloth. He pulled it out—almost empty— and the guilt that weighed in his chest after he picked a stick and placed between his lips came almost like a comfort.
The outburst of emotions that boiled over earlier now like a thin layer of water sizzling on a hot pan.
Relief washed over him like a tidal wave, just from placing the stick between his lips, and giddiness rocked in body as he played with a lighter in his hands.
After a moment of teasing, the stick glowed and the sizzling stopped immediately. Everything felt calm as his veins constricted with the drug. His lungs pressed with the toxin as breathing halted momentarily.
Death felt welcome at that moment.
Izuku inhaled the drug and held, let it sting, wondering if he held on longer he’d have to be no more. Cease to exist.
How would that be like? Would that haunt his mother? Would she miss him? Iida would cry, maybe. Bakugo would forget about him… probably.
He didn't like that, so he exhaled.
When he started smoking, he thought it’d be cool, a little rebellious and fun. Izuku didn’t think it’d become a comfort. A friend he confided in without the eyes of the world painted on him. One that embraced him the darkness, when no one was watching, when he needed to be seen most.
Eyes.
An anxious pulse thrummed through him. He stood up and went to his mother’s room, the kitchen, Eri’s room. They were empty.
It didn't matter, he picked his bag and rushed to his room.
His phone dinged with a notification.
Iinerd: where have you been the entire day. Pick up.
Izuku sighed and pulled his phone away.
He knew it was stupid to mop over someone, people had bigger problems in life he knew that, but at that time it felt like his world was collapsing, the pillars of his foundation were cracked. And he was slowly crumbling to nothingness. He didn’t know how to navigate the feeling of being abandoned. Even though that’s not technically what happened, that’s what he felt like.
It felt like going for a walk through the woods with a friend. At first it was beautiful, the trees are green, the ground was soft beneath his feet. The air was warm and fresh, like nature. The birds were chirping harmoniously, the melody was soft on his ears. And he was a little giddy inside, especially because of the fact that this was their first time and then he got so excited, so caught up in his bewilderment that he forgot that where he was could be more dangerous than it is. And then he got lost, he’d travelled for far into the woods and he lost them. They abandoned him. Then he had no one but the beasts hiding behind the trees, lurking in the shadows, waiting for night to fall so they could pounce.
Then he was trapped, in a endless forest. The nights grew dark very fast. Cold and lonely. He knew he wouldn’t find a way out soon, so he’d compromise, a fire to last him a night in the wildness, food to keep him through the day. A partner, a friend.
His cigarette stick.
Izuku had tried finding that solace in other people, in the arms of strangers, beneath the breaths of his classmates, his friends but no, nothing compared to the way his best friend’s soft caresses on his back calmed the ragging storms inside him. To the way his best friend whispered incorrect things to him in the night, the way he held him and kissed him and touched him.
Izuku had tried finding it all in other people but it wasn’t enough.
They weren’t Bakugo.
Now he’s got to live with the fact that he never will.
Now the feelings he’d bottled up haunted him like a demon that had been trapped for thousands of years, enraged and bloody thirsty, ready to salvage any form of life that crosses it’s path.
A thin strip of white smoke danced it’s way from his lips and ceased into the air.
Red eyes bore into Izuku’s soul.
Was he sad? Angry? Jealous ? Disappointed? Or did he just despise Izuku for what people said. For what he saw.
Izuku’s blood boiled. He didn’t regret whatever he said, in fact he was relieved that he got to say a few things. Though it wasn’t enough. Not even close. Izuku wanted him to hurt too. To hurt just like he is. Or even more.
At least if he couldn’t requite his feelings, Bakugo would mutual his pain.
Yet Bakugo wasn’t phased.
He was probably busy doing God knows what with his stupid ex girlfriend.
“I don’t care anymore.”
Izuku pulled out another cigarette from his backpack. The box was nearly empty. He sighed, pushing away his mother’s voice whispering in his ears. A stick rolled inside the almost empty box. He’d promised himself that it would be his last box; that he would stop smoking once he's doing with it. But when he placed the last sick between his lips, dragged in the first strip of smoke into his lungs, he knew he was just lying to himself.
A fresh breeze swept through the nicotine saturated room. Izuku shot up at the suddenness. Iida stepped inside his room through the window and sighed, leaving the window open.
Irritated, he plopped back on his bed, ignoring the male.
“What do you want?” Izuku asked, cigarette between his lips. His body rigid, a little stressed he’s caught, but it was Iida.
Iida was just like him.
“You look like shit.” Footsteps huddled closer and a weight dipped on the side of his bed.
“Thank you.” Izuku replied, sarcastic.
Iida bent over to meet his view. He smiled warmly and Izuku felt himself relax a little. The cigarette between his lips settled between Iida’s lips a second later.
“I thought you stopped smoking.” Izuku countered, propping his elbows to meet Iida’s gaze. Thin white clouds danced from Iida’s lips to Izuku’s face.
“I thought you did.”
“…”
Fair enough.
Izuku stayed silent for a while. Watching as the stick glowed and as the smoke beautifully cradled Iida’s lips. Some part of him whimpered when he realized that the other was soon to finish his last stick but every cell of his being knew why Iida did that.
Guilt.
One thing he knew about Iida was the fact that he wore his emotions like a cloth. Guilt enchanted his face as he finished the cigarette, not wanting to see Izuku smoke. Just like it did Friday night when he found him snorting…
It wasn’t Iida’s fault that Izuku was like this but Izuku knew that Iida blamed himself because Izuku fell into such habits because Iida introduced them to him.
“What did Bakugo say?”
Iida asked after throwing the used up stick out of the window.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Izuku mumbled. His lips tingled from the lack of it. The need to burn his blood with the toxin made his frame lighter in want but he couldn’t. Iida wouldn’t let him.
Their silence bloomed and Iida smiled, soft.
“He’s an asshole.” Iida said. Patting the green head on the shoulder.
Izuku only croaked a smile.
“Is your mom around?” Izuku shrugged, his smile was a cracked thing. “Pretty sure your mom thinks we’re in love.” (If only love were that simple.)
Izuku laughed but he agreed.
“Well, she found us kissing that one time.” They both flushed at the memory, and when their eyes met, they laughed.
“Who’s fault was that?”
“Not mine. You’re the one who accepted to kiss me.” Izuku interjected with a smile.
It could be the fact that Iida dragged in an obsessive amount of smoke in a short time span that got him to say:
“We can kiss, if you want.”
And maybe it was because of his desperation, loneliness, his pent up frustration and anger that got Izuku to reply:
“Would that be okay?”
His heart race peaked, streaks of nicotine flowed effortlessly through his veins. His mouth dried as he watched Iida nod.
“It would be just like the last time.”
The last time: desperate, angry and it was just a kiss. No feelings involved. Just to evaporate that pent up frustration. Just the need to be touched and the power to touch back.
Izuku stared at Iida, his thoughts firecrackers in a soft briskly night.
“No. We shouldn’t be doing that.” Izuku managed to say. He breathed away the heat in his chest. He shouldn’t be kissing his friends.
Iida smiled either away.
“Get up.” Iida got up.
Izuku, confused, got up per request and followed Iida out of his bedroom and out of the house.
…
“You brought your motorcycle?” Izuku said with widened eyes as he closes in next to the bike, Iida chuckled lightly from behind. “I thought you don’t ride it anymore.”
“I don’t . Only for tonight, I want to do something.”
They were outside Izuku’s home, he turned to look at Iida who only shrugged.
“That’s kinda hot.” The green head teased. His smirk widened at the soft crimson stain on his victim's cheeks. “Especially for a nerd like you.”
“What does that mean?”
Izuku ignored the question as he inspected the bike. A soft bubble of excitement floated through him. His fingers traced the cold leather around the seat. Was he going to ride this?
“How did you even learn?” Izuku asked, watching his friend carefully. “You don’t look like you’d even hop on one.”
Iida was silent for awhile, as if contemplating his response.
“Back in middle school, I had a crush on this guy… He was sort of a biker. We used to work together at a café in the summer. I wanted to impress him so badly. I told my dad to get me one.” Iida laughed, a little bitter. “I was so foolish back then. I kind of tried to seduce him by telling him to teach me how to ride one—which he did— but I later found out he was dating someone.”
The image of a fifteen year old Iida trying impress someone got Izuku cackling a little. Him sitting on the machine with his thick rimmed rectangular glasses got Izuku harder.
“Oh.” Izuku mouthed after Iida’s words sunk in.
Quite the information for someone as secretive as Iida. “Are you telling me this because you want to make me feel better?”
“Yes.” Iida said hoping onto the machine. The sight was still bizarre to Izuku. He smiled, gesturing the viridian head to hope on. “But I also wanted to tell you about it.” Izuku smiled. He wanted to press more, but this was enough for now.
At least.
The engine roared and the vehement clatter of its vibrations filled the silence. The warm scent of Iida’s cologne mingled with the night and swam through Izuku’s nostrils as he tightened his hold around his best friend’s waist. They weaved through the traffic and his heart rate soared each time the machine tilted to the side to make a sharp corner or to by pass the traffic. Laughter slithered through Iida’s body and bounced to Izuku.
Adrenaline peaked as the cold hard wind slapped against his face.
The thrill of rebellion hit him like a wave and washed away his distress. By the time they came to a stop, the weight between his chest had completely lifted and his cheeks burned from ear to ear.
“Your good at this, Iida.” Izuku commented as they both got off. He scanned his surroundings and flashed his friend a puzzled look. Neon lights shone brightly and colored his soft skin, Iida’s pink lips curved up.
“I wanted to try this once in my life.” He mentioned but Izuku was still confused.
Izuku felt another wave of excitement build through him as he followed the big nerd inside the hardware store.
After a few minutes, they returned with two buckets of paint, a screw driver and two baseball bats. Izuku bounced on his heels as they stepped outside, bottom lip between his teeth as he tried to contain the excitement that flooded inside his throat.
As weird—unbelievable— as it might seem, Iida had always been one to wring out the sneakiest and goofiest rebellious side of Izuku. It almost came as an encouragement; to live life to the fullest. If someone whose entire life was bound by laws and principles gets out of his shackles to test the delicacies that life had to offer, then what about Midoriya.
And Tenya was so good at his pranks, they always left Shinsou writhing in silent agony.
“Are you ready?” Iida’s voice was low but held a promise that Izuku couldn’t decipher. His excitement boiled over and he nodded.
Izuku’s chest thrummed under the pace of his heartbeat when they hit the road again.
“Where are we going?” he managed to ask, Iida was silent for a moment, the sound of wind slapping past them and the distant and close roaring of car engines blared.
“Riku’s.” Iida said flatly. Izuku’s voice cracked in his throat. “We’re going to make that asshole pay.”
The silence stretched, Izuku’s mood that had worsened at the mention of that name but slowly brightened as he took in Iida’s words. It was too late to back out now.
Izuku spotted Riku’s unwashed car from a distance. The engine died and they both stepped off the bike. Iida smiled, his gaze fell to the house that loamed before them. Izuku tried to smile back.
“What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to make him pay.” Iida’s guttural voice soothed the slight ache that had resurfaced in Izuku’s chest.
“…”
“Okay.”
Iida smirked at his response, he dropped the bag that held the paint, bats and screws on the ground. “We won’t take long.”
Izuku only nodded. Iida handed Izuku one of the metallic baseball bats. The chill on the metal mingled with the warmth of his palm and erupted a shiver through him.
“Do whatever you want.” Iida assured again. Izuku looked at him like a child given candy past their bedtime.
“You sure?” There was no hesitation in Izuku’s voice, just the fear of getting caught. He wanted to do whatever he was about to do. The burn for revenge filled his veins with adrenaline, pleading eyes looked at Iida waiting for a signal to commence.
“Yes. Go ahead.”
Izuku took a few steps towards the teacher’s vehicle. It was coated with dust, the back shield had words, ‘wash me you lazy fuck’ and a small dick drawn beneath the ‘fuck’. Izuku laughed at the humor and from excitement.
He looked back at Iida, like a child waiting for his parents approval. Like a child on their first football game, seeking for encouragement through the presence of their parents. Iida smiled now from the teacher’s door. It was dim so Izuku couldn’t make out what it was that Iida was doing.
Iida flashed a thumbs up and Izuku swung the bat.
The sound of glass cracking beneath the cold metal filled the silence. Despite the chilly air, Izuku felt a warmth under his skin, Riku’s voice echoed between his ears and his anger boiled over. He smacked the rare shield again and again until the glass shattered.
Izuku couldn’t hear his laughter that floated in the air over the sound of the excitement that flooded his mind. Neither did he hear the sound of the car wailing.
Riku deserved more than this because he ruined everything for Izuku. He ruined his life. Everything was stripped away from Izuku’s life the moment he placed his damned lips on Izuku’s lips.
Riku’s breath. Smash.
Riku’s cologne. Smash.
Riku’s ugly hands. Smash.
“Were you that desperate?” Smash. “At least I don’t spread my legs for a lowlife like —” Smash. “I should’ve known that you like them older.” Smash.
Smash. Smash. Smash.
He ruined everything. The voice chanted in Izuku’s voice over and over again.
Izuku’s guttural roar filled the air as he kept on destroying the teacher’s vehicle. From the rareshield to the windshield, to the window and the sides. He hit hard with all his might. With every ounce of energy in his body.
Izuku huffed, a tear fell heavy one the concrete — the baseball bat fell to the ground with a clatter. His hands burned; unable to move further. The desire to continue was there, overwhelming, but he’d used up all his energy. Every ligament between his meat burned, torn. It was frustrating. He broke down and his body trembled hysterically as tears burned in his eyes.
Iida came up to him and smiled.
“You did good.”
His sense of hearing dramatically returned. The sound of the car’s siren filled the air, it was so loud it burned Izuku’s ears, the sound of a man yelling sounded distant and muffled by the wailing of the siren.
Izuku laughed knowing it came from Riku who was locked inside his own house.
How does it feel to be rendered hopeless, Riku.
Iida splashed a bucket of red paint all over the destroyed black car. Izuku laughed and tears rolled down his cheeks.
He was so happy yet so sad at the same time.
But most of all, he was grateful.
Riku smashed his door open and yelled. Izuku and Iida as laughed when the man slipped into the pool of paint Iida had poured at his pouch. Excitement bubbled in the air as the two ran to the motorcycle, leaving behind a wailing man.
Cussing loudly with his paint streaked skin.
***
The waves crashed to kiss the shores and birthed a soft foam. The moon beamed dim in its lonely light. Twilight basked the earth and the sound of water slapping against each other swept past Izuku like a whisper. The soft taste of salt settled in his tongue when he breathed and thin grains of sand pricked his skin where he lay.
A shaky breath vibrated past his chest.
After they left Riku writhing in agony and anger, Iida drove them to the beach and Iida muttered something about needing air—or maybe it was an excuse to escape the weight of Izuku’s sobs still clinging to his back.
The entire ride back to the beach Izuku’s tears had soaked into Iida’s jacket, silent but relentless, like the tide eating the shore. Iida never turned around. Maybe he knew some wounds needed to bleed alone. Izuku swore into the wind—no more vandalism, no more chasing ghosts, no more letting Bakugo’s shadow strangle him. (But promises made in the dark rarely survived daylight.)
Another breath stretched through the silence. The beach was deserted, the way Izuku preferred it. No eyes to see the cracks in his armor, no voices to drown out the one in his head that whispered: Pathetic.
“I brought us beers.” Iida announced, sliding next to Izuku.
“You bought beer? Why?” Izuku looked at him perplexed. Iida just shrugged with a smile as he pulled out a bottle from the polythene. Izuku mirrored his actions. The coldness of the bottle arose a shiver through him.
“I just thought we would need it. Plus, I don’t want to go home yet.”
Izuku warmed despite the cold salty air that whooshed over his skin. He looked at Iida who seemed to hate having brought up his family. Izuku smiled, hoping the gesture assured Iida that he wouldn’t ask more about the situation.
The soft liquid slid down their throats as the sound of waves dancing on the water and the distant honking and cruising of asphalt on traffic filled the silence.
“What did Bakugo say?”
Izuku was floating in the sand when the question was suspended in the air. He was laying on his back with his limbs spread out like that of a star fish. His mouth hung open but his answer clogged his throat.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.” Iida added immediately.
The sky above them spun, Izuku watched the clouds dissolve into each other as his vision blurred.
“I’m done with him.”
Even in his groggy state he could still make out that image from earlier that morning. Bakugo smiled down at Itsuka from beneath the clouds then stared down at Izuku.
Izuku wasn’t going to dwell on that, he pushed the image aside and sat up to meet Iida who was silently watching him.
“Do you think about him?” Izuku mouthed. Iida furrowed his brows. “That guy, the one you wanted to seduce.”
The moonlight glistened silver on the surface of the water and bounced to Iida’s face. Iida smiled painfully, yet there was a softness to his expression.
Izuku knew that look. He wore it often times than he intended.
“Yes.” Izuku’s heart ached.
“A lot.”
Two words threatened to erupt from his throat like ash from an active volcano. They clogged in his throat. Izuku swallowed, he’ll only sound like a fool if he said it out loud. So he asked,
“Do you still like him?”
Iida looked at Izuku, soft curly waves crashed in his dark navy blue eyes. Izuku had never seen him like this— maybe he never cared to look.
Guilt burned in his chest at that, for being so self consumed he forgot to look at those around him.
“Yes.”
The word burned in Izuku’s chest because he knew if he were asked the same questions, he’d respond with the very same words. “It’s so stupid and pathetic but I don’t know what to do about it.”
Two words hit Izuku like a tide. He clumped his mouth shut because letting them out would mean relapse and he never did that.
He never fell back into old habits.
Their fingers coiled around the cold beer bottles and the brutal winds caressed their skin. They laughed and giggled as they drunk away their sanity. Their conversations bounced from past lovers to school to fish and to completely nothing. The alcohol dissolved their worries and they got up, recklessly, and ran to the waters and all over the empty beach.
Squeals bounced in the air as their warm feet were sucked in by the cold water that wetted the calm sand.
Their voices slapped against the wind just us their toes dipped into the surprisingly warm salty water.
“Do you think fish have sex?” Izuku slurred with a giggle. His body purred as he walked behind Iida who was just like him— if not worse.
“No.” Iida laughed. “They just rub against each other and they lay eggs.”
Izuku burst into fits of laughter and Iida chimed in.
“If we were fish, we’d have quite a few of them.” Iida giggled in agreement.
Their laughter quieted once they made it to Iida’s bike.
“Hop on. I have something to show you.” Iida wobbled as he jumped on the bike. Izuku laughed at him and jumped on the vehicle. The world dissolved into unrecognizable embers, it wobbled and melted beneath them. The engine veered as they disappeared into the city lights.
***
Thursday
***
Sunlight slipped through the windows, fractured, just like his thoughts. Izuku groaned blinking up to an unfamiliar ceiling. His body felt heavy and ladened onto the mattress. Pressing his elbows into the mattress, he pushed himself up and a muffled wince slipped his lips.
Every inch of him screamed, bruises throbbing fresh, his left ribs aching with each shallow breath. His throat was dry like he’d spent months without a drop of water. His jaw burned— infact his whole body was just a mess. Like he’d lent it to someone only to be brought back abused and torn all over.
A glance at his palms and bile rose up his throat, they were reddened with bruises, his chest and beside his ribs were pain patches, specifically the left side.
“Stop moving you dimwit, you’ll make the pain worse.” Bakugo said when he stepped into the room. Confusion hit Izuku harder that his migraine. He knew that he sure as hell wasn’t in his bedroom nor Bakugo’s.
“W-where…am..I?” he asked, voice hoarse and throat painful.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk.” Bakugo said softly, oddly calm and gentle. “Don’t strain too hard.” Izuku’s eyebrows furrowed but the action made the buzz in his skull a little more painful.
Bakugo’s palms found his forehead. Cold against his burning skin. His eyebrows were furrowed but his gaze was warm, like a bonfire in the middle of a snow storm. He bit his lip in deep thought we he retracted his hand. Unconsciously, Izuku gasped at the loss of skinship.
“What are you d-doing?” the green head croaked. Eyes shot wide, everything was so weird. Was Izuku dreaming? The last he remembered was being with Iida at the beach with a bottle of beer in his hand.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to be afraid.” Izuku was baffled, Bakugo was never so soft, never so kind, he never seemed so… scared. Izuku could see the fear smeared all over his best friend’s face. He could feel it sizzling under his own skin. But why though?
“I’m not going anywhere.” Bakugo said again, cautious. Thumb rubbing off the wetness on his left cheek. Was he crying? Another tear rolled down his cheek. And another.
Izuku was crying.
But why?
“I’m so sorry, Izuku. I’m very sorry.” Bakugo rasped, bending forward in attempt to embrace Izuku but he stopped. His body trembled with hysterical sobs when Bakugo finally dived in and pulled him to him. His wails ceased not, only sharpened when the weight of his emotions pressed down into him.
His walls heightened but behind those walls spread a warmth. An ugly warmth that slithered and burned.
Izuku’s thoughts were jumbled, everything was a mess. Nothing made sense. Bakugo was oddly soft; Izuku couldn’t stop crying. His emotions outweighed the pain in his body. He couldn’t understand anything but he knew one thing:
He didn’t want Bakugo near him.
His anger boiled over when the memory of being trapped in that room, Bakugo’s judgement, his words that still tormented him. His anger raged like a storm and he pushed him off with all his might.
“Don’t touch me.” Izuku pat, his entire body sizzled in pain at the action, Bakugo’s eyes narrowed but he overcame his shock instantly and crimson eyes softened; as if understanding — but understanding what?!
“I’m sorry.” Bakugo apologized and Izuku’s anger burned like hot metal under his skin, he didn’t like this and he wasn’t to fall for Bakugo’s bullshit again.
“Does it still hurt?” The ash blond asked, eyes falling on the left side of the green head’s exposed abdomen. It burned.
Bakugo didn’t need to know that.
Izuku hated this; this excessive kindness Bakugo showered him after he did something wrong. Like Izuku doesn’t deserve to leave. Like he wasn’t supposed to. He hated how he knew how much Bakugo’s actions affected him(how he craved them on a daily), how badly he wanted to crawl back into his chest and rekindle the fire in the darkest pits of him. How badly he craved his arms around him—then and— now. He hated Bakugo because he’s not supposed to be feeling like this, he wanted it gone.
But Bakugo never made it easy.
He was always there, looking at him with those stupid eyes, each time warmer— more beautiful—than ever. His words kinder and Izuku just wants it gone. To breathe even if it’s for a moment.
But Bakugo never made it easy.
Izuku hates him.
“Leave me alone!” he choked on a sob. His words seeped through the air only to meet a barricade. “Why don’t you just leave me alone?” he whispered between tears, he brought his knees to his chest and cried away the weight buried hot in his chest.
Bakugo silently watched. “I’m sorry.”
No, sorry wasn’t going to cut it. Izuku needed to leave. His stood up and his brain melted. He winced painfully as he lost balance, dark spots coated his vision. Strong hands held his body;
“First rest.” Bakugo sat him back down.
“No. Don’t touch me, you asshole.” He raged and peeled Bakugo off. He needed to leave.
Stood up again and his brain burned, his vision darkened and his knees buckled. His entire body buzzed with dizziness, he couldn’t see for a moment but he could feel him, closing in.
“Don’t Touch Me, Bakugo.” He warned, his body felt painted to the floor, like he was some piece of gum. His head buzzed painfully with a massive migraine, he should never drink with Iida again or cry immediately the next morning.
“Please.” His hands sunk into the ground at the plea. An overwhelming fear swelled in his chest.
~~
Izuku’s feet padded against the concrete, fast, unrhymed. His heart was racing, beating painfully against his ribcage, begging for an escape like a bird trapped in a cage. Izuku’s legs felt like jelly but he forced himself to move, the fear of death loamed over him heavy like the presence of a demon. Short breaths came out as sobs as he climbed up the stairs frantic.
He pushed the door and the cold wind slapped against his skin. He breathed in agony. He was doomed, the sound of cars cruising on asphalt felt distant from how high he stood, the wind whooshed loud, mingled with sirens and faint music from bars a good number of floors below. A man sneered behind him in a menace, he turned to meet blood thirsty eyes, the knife in his hands glinted its silver under the bright neon city lights. Izuku was trapped and he was going to die,
~~
Izuku’s breath hitched—the knife’s glint, the neon lights, the man’s snarl—all seared into his skull. He flinched when Bakugo’s hand brushed his wrist.
“Let me drive you home.”
His worry danced in the air as it wore his entire features. “Izuku.” Bakugo pleaded, warm fingers engulfing Izuku’s wrist.
Izuku looked away, heart on the verge of exploding in his chest at magnitude of various emotions beaming throughout his body, Bakugo's touch, like explosions in his skin. He was confused—why was Bakugo acting like this, terrified—the memory awakened a kind of fear he’s never felt before, angry, hurt and that bitter sweet feeling that lingered like a whisper in his entire body.
“Fine.”
Bakugo smiled and Izuku’s breath hitched. Warm fingers stayed glued to his wrist as they navigated the building — foreign to Izuku. A few parts felt oddly familiar. Strips of the memory from earlier flashed in his mind. His head hurt from thinking too much. Worry encased Izuku.
Strange men bowed to them as they walked past. Their gazes left a lingering sense of fear inside Izuku. Most looked older than them, the ink that decorated skin a sight. Izuku had never seen so many thugs together in one place. What baffled him most was the amount of reverence they offered to his best friend.
Sob consciously he stepped behind him, hoping he’d never let his hand go.
One man caught his eye. The tattoo on his neck, it was just like that of the man from his memory. His breath harbored and Izuku’s terror dominated.
“It’s okay, don’t worry. I’m here.” Bakugo affirmed, tightening his hold as a gesture of comfort that Izuku embraced. “They won’t hurt you. Not when I’m around.”
Izuku calmed, mostly because they stepped outside the building. Bakugo’s words lingered, echoing through his entire body.
Izuku hated him. Hated how his traitorous fingers still curled into Bakugo’s sleeve.
***
The sun bled through the windshield, staining the dashboard gold. Izuku shivered at the wind that lurched through the open windows. He closed them and leaned against the glass, gaze fixed on the scenery that sped past them.
A silence settled and the tension thickened.
His chest was heavy but hollow. It felt like a cold wind stirred softly inside him, piercing painfully. His mind was desolate but his body hummed with a residue of unbled emotions. Izuku sighed, trying to push back the tears that burned at the rims of his eyes.
He was so pathetic.
Bakugo was silent. Eyes fixed on the road, though Izuku occasionally felt Bakugo’s gaze on his frame.
“Let’s stop talking for a while.” Izuku finally spoke into the resumed silence. He breathed when the words finally left his lips, his chest burned but that didn’t matter.
He was doing this for him. It’s better you kill it than watch it slowly rot.
Bakugo was silent and the air seemed to grow heavy. His silence was suffocating. Izuku awkwardly lowered the windows in attempt to calm his nerves, left in some air to cool the burning tension.
“Why?” Bakugo sounded helpless, just like the cells in Izuku’s body begging him to take back his words. His knuckles whitened on the stirring wheels, the scenery outside the vehicle slowed down. Bakugo’s jaw clenched and he spared Izuku a glance.
“I can’t… I don’t want to do this anymore.” Izuku whispered, as if unsure of his own words. Did he want this? Did he want to stay away from Kacchan? No.
No, he didn’t.
He needed to.
“What can’t you do anymore?” It was that tone from earlier. That sickeningly sweet tone that sounded nothing like Kacchan.
“I don’t want to be friends with you.”
Izuku internally winced, his voice was nothing like him. Every inch of his skin burned just like the lie under his tongue. He swallowed a sob and looked away, the guts to look at Bakugo thrown into the trash. His body pained but not from the bruises that sizzled under his skin.
It was for the best. It was already dying anyway, better to kill it that to watch it slowly fade and die. Better to be pessimistic than to feed onto the bitter sweet delicacy of a false hope.
“What the fuck are you saying?!” Bakugo spat. The vehicle jerked forward, unmoving, parked in the middle of the road. Izuku didn’t even notice it stop. “What’s wrong?” that soft voice, again!
Izuku bit back a whimper. Lip painfully stuck between his teeth.
“Is it because of what happened yesterday?” he seemed desperate as he bent forward to Izuku, begging for attention. “Izuku, please.” He whispered and his trembling hands held Izuku’s.
Izuku pulled away, like he’d been burned.
“Kacchan…”
“I’m sorry, please. It won’t happened again.”
The memory of Bakugo’s furious gaze glared at Izuku, “Were you that desperate?”. “At least I don’t spread my legs like —” he flinched desperate to kill that memory and bury into the deepest corners of the earth.
It would happen again, maybe Bakugo wouldn’t say those words again but he would leave him again. Izuku would be alone again and he wasn’t willing to go through that again. To patiently wait for Bakugo to come back to him, and cherish him like he desperately needed him to.
Bakugo will always run to someone else, and Izuku didn’t want to see that. He’d prefer it to happen after he’d gone, when he’s not forced to watch the cruelty of that moment unfold before his eyes.
He wasn’t willing to take another blow.
“Please, leave me alone, Kacchan.” He croaked and tears rolled down his cheeks. His hands trembled to wipe them immediately.
“Izuku please.” Bakugo’s desperation hung in the air, Izuku was too coward to look at him. His gaze stayed on his lap when two drops wetted his pants. He trembled as more tears fell on the fabric. That’s when he realized;
He was putting on Bakugo’s clothes.
“Leave me, alone.” He whispered and pulled the door open and exited the vehicle. His feet padded against the tarmac desperately as he heard the door to Bakugo’s car bang. Vision blurred, he stumbled into the street, shoulders hunched against the inevitable shout of his name. Don’t follow me, he begged silently. Please, just this once, let me go.
***
Friday
***
School felt words. Students loitered recklessly around the school grounds, like it were a public holiday or maybe some sort of event was taking place. It was no public holiday. And there definitely was no cute event.
Everyone was loud and unbothered. Excited. Izuku could tell from how louder the chatter was.
Izuku stepped inside the hallways anticipating eyes on him but no one was bothered to look his way.
The weather was warm and most of the students were happy, later he found out it was due to the fact that there was barely any teacher present.
Footsteps huddled when he came close to his classroom. His now cold fingers trembled lightly as he grabbed the knob. Were they going to judge him? Or did they forget what happened on Tuesday? Someone must have removed that ugly picture. Right? What about Riku? Did he report them to administration for what they did to him on Tuesday night? Did he even see them?
Izuku’s breath hitched, lungs refusing to expand. His feet locked on the floor— quick sand dragging him under. His pulse spluttered, erratic as his thoughts spiraled.
Bakugo.
What about him? Izuku shouldn’t care what he thinks. They weren’t going to be close anymore. They never were.
“Are you okay?” A firm grip on his shoulder snapped him out of his trance. His breath hitched when he turned to look at the stranger.
Striking grey eyes sparkled when they met his. Hooded eyes widened when they took him in and Izuku’s heartbeat quickened as it dropped to his stomach to meet the butterflies. Izuku’s eyes dropped to the hand on his shoulders and his knees almost buckled.
This can’t be happening!
“You…” Izuku choked. “W-what? How? W-what are you doing here?”
Izuku looked at the stranger — him. His mind flooded back to that summer. Warm waters that shimmered gold under the sun. Thin air that carried the faint scent of flowers and freshly cut grass. Muffled clatter and the sound of water slapping against his skin.
Swim racing. Kissing.
Kissing people whose names you didn’t know.
“What’s your name?” Izuku blurted out. Overwhelmed and shocked.
He—him— weaved a hand through the thread of brown hair that fell on his face, as if anxious, with a smile that stretched to Izuku’s own lips. Izuku’s chest blossomed with a kind of happiness that he’d forgotten he could possess.
“Rody.” The name floated through the air effortlessly. Rody, the name of Izuku’s first kiss. “Rody Soul.”
“What are you doing here, Rody?” A knowing smile formed on Rudy’s lips when Izuku breathed his name.
They were both gawking at each other and suddenly Izuku was fifteen again in a countryside swimming next to this unknown stranger with these gorgeous eyes.
“I study here now.” Rody mentioned. The siren sounded.
“You’re in my class?” Izuku asked with a smile as they both stepped inside the classroom.
“Starting today.”
Izuku walked to his table, the male trailing behind. His earlier thoughts dissolved into the thought of the male behind him.
“This is where I sit.” Izuku shrugged off his backpack and sat, ignoring Bakugo’s piercing gaze that followed them the moment they entire class.
Their homeroom teacher walked in and Rody groaned dramatically, erupting an unannounced giggle from Izuku’s chest.
“We’ll talk later.” Rody whispered and stepped away.
Izuku’s chest burnt at the warmth that spread inside him. Though he couldn’t ignore the way his chest coiled around his heart each time he felt Bakugo’s gaze drilling holes inside his back. Izuku groaned lightly and pulled out his textbooks.
His earlier dilemma crumped like a paper and thrown out of the window.
Beside him, Iida sat silently.
Izuku’s thoughts were scattered throughout the entire period, his eyes moved to his side involuntarily each time a swish of nothingness crossed his mind. Rody would smile at him whenever their eyes met and Izuku would look away like a fool. With a thrusting heart and immobile thoughts.
He then painted his gaze ahead when he heard a scoff or some sort of inaudible remark behind him from none other than Bakugo. His heart sunk almost immediately and his mood dampened ten times over.
By the time the first period ended Izuku was feeling extremely exhausted and detached. The joy of meeting an old acquaintance burned to the ground leaving no ashes to reminisce over.
“I’m sure most of you know this but unfortunately Mr. Riku will not be teaching anymore.” Izuku’s color drained at the mention of his name, he pressed into his seat anticipating everyone’s gaze on him. Though they never did, Izuku felt uncomfortable at the mention of that name. His throat ran dry at the words that left the homeroom teacher’s mouth next. “He was attacked in his home on Thursday night and he was found unconscious with a massive stab wound below his abdomen.”
The sound of everyone’s gasps loamed in the air. And Izuku paled.
“His funeral is currently being held. Feel free to come pay your respects.”
Izuku stared at his neighbour who seemed lost in his thoughts, beyond the earth and countless galaxies.
“Iida.” He called him but got less than a breath for a response.
Izuku’s gaze fell back to the teacher and he silently watched as the man walked out of the classroom.
Izuku’s heart was in his arse but when his gaze fell on the familiar blond outside, walking past his classroom, his heart popped out of his body.
“Monoma —”
~~~
The wind swooshed and the sirens blared loudly from a distance. His body trembled hysterically and it wasn’t from the cold that bit into his skin. It was terror. Extreme terror wore him like a spirit and overlapped. Sticky warm red liquid cooled on his skin and dried almost immediately. Red painted hands trembled. Izuku opened his mouth for a choked gasp to spill out of his mouth.
A red painted blade clattered to the ground, the red paint— blood, accumulated at one side for the silvery side to beam into his eyes.
The man on the ground choked as blood kept on spilling out of him. More blood and more blood pooled around Izuku’s feet. The body trembled reverently until it just stopped.
Dead.
~~
***
Earlier ( Iida )
The hum in his head was still soft but it burned. It stung like wasps at the crack of his skull. The memory of the day before yesterday was blurred by the thickest of clouds. Laden before him like a thick white blank space. His jaw burned painfully each time he opened his mouth to say something.
What the fuck was in the beer they took?
Mortification dimmed present on his cheeks when memory of where he woke up earlier that morning. Shoto seemed unbothered when he looked at him sleeping in his bed.
Iida wasn’t.
Iida groaned internally at the memory and pushed to the library. The last thing he needed was meeting up with Shoto. He didn’t trust himself for keeping the least of composure next to Shoto, especially when he’s drunk.
Shit, shit.
He had assignments to finish and club stuff and programs to work on.
Fuck—
“Shoto…” a female voice seeped out of the room he was walking past, the name caused him to halt his trucks. “… you’re being ridiculous, don’t you think?” Iida glanced through the window and long, straight black hair. He just knew who it was. Momo. They were the only ones in the room and alarms blared in Iida’s mind. His chest constricted with a certain discomfort, a kind of anger heated underneath all that.
“Momo…” Shoto breathed, his voice soft, deep and calm, almost intimate. Iida visibly coiled.
“I came all the way from Italy for you. Not because of Bakugo. I want to make things work between us, Shoto. I love you, you know that don’t you?”
A silence passed. The kind that hit Iida in the guts like a punch. He didn’t even realize that his feet were rooted on the floor, his breath hitched and frozen.
“Yayurouzu.” Shoto said with a sigh and Iida felt a sight breeze sweep through the fiery storm that was building within him. “You know we—”
Someone coughed behind Iida. Iida stared back at the judging male. Startled and mortified, Iida stepped away.
“Momo, I think you guys should take this somewhere else. Walls have ears, you know.” Iida heard the guy say before he stepped out of ear shot. He’d never seen him around school so it made sense that he knew both Momo and Shoto.
His ribs constricted around his heart, giving his heart no room to pump conveniently, it hurt. His walk to the library turned to a walk to the classroom.
...
“Iida,” Izuku whispered for his attention.
A chill mixed with a shiver ran through his body when he looked at him. Forest green eyes looked dim and void of emotion— if not flooded with them. His skin pale, so pale it looked frozen, there were tears in his eyes, not the kind that exposed pain or vulnerability. It was terror
Izuku looked scared, shaken to the core. Like he’d seen a ghost or something worse. His fingers trembled as they grasped for his own.
“We did something terrible, Iida. I don’t know, maybe it’s me, Iida. I did something horrible.”
Iida’s blood ran cold.
“What?” he whispered back, almost scared.
“I think… I don’t know but maybe we killed Riku.”
Riku was dead?
Izuku looked Iida dead in the eyes. Iida shivered at the non-existent wind. His mind froze at Izuku’s words:
“I think I killed him.”
Chapter 11: The sun doesn't belong to the earth
Summary:
Flashbacks: Izuku finds out who Bakugo really is.
Notes:
Took me a while to upload this one .·´¯`(>▂<)´¯`·. Sorry the previous week was kinda heavy for me so I didn't get a chance to write but this one has been a little kinder... ಥ‿ಥ
Anyways, I'm glad you guys are still around (hopefully). Here's chapter 9 : 13.8k words!!Edit (2 days later): can someone tell me I did a great job with this chapter T-T
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The siren blared and he flinched out of his thoughts. The entire day was a blur, he couldn’t have done that to Riku, right? He would never! But the blood and the knife. It was only a fragment of a memory but it was so real and raw he could still feel the sticky liquid clinging to his skin. The man on the floor, stabbed and bleeding, painted on his front lob.
But he wouldn’t kill…
Izuku stepped out of his classroom, headed for the classroom right after his own. Erratic breaths ceased not at the sight of him. Blonde hair bobbed as he laughed, that laughter still sent chills up and down his spine. It still sounded the same. Like an impending doom, a fierce thunder clap in the midst of a storm. It really was him.
Monoma.
Still social as ever. A number of students surrounded him, eyes intent on him like he was straight out of a magazine or some sort of rich kid that would pay them for listening to him talk.
Izuku’s throat dried at the sight. He stared longer, waiting for some kind of shock wave to swim through his veins. For his body to tremble in fear. But nothing came. He didn’t understand why, he thought he would be surprised after seeing him again and taking him in. Like this wasn’t the first time he’d seen him in eight years.
His presence was familiar, lukewarm but unsettling, sizzling at the tips of his skin, itching; a bug crawling through his veins.
‘You deserve to die.’
The words suddenly sliced through him the longer he stared and rocked him to the edge. They lingered beyond his ears like a fretting whisper. His knees buckled so he gripped the wall for support, barely hanging.
‘You deserve to die.’
The voice slithered through him again. Foreign, husky and predatory. Izuku could feel fear crawl through him. Tendrils creeping on every inch of his skin and rooting him to the floor.
The source is indecipherable. Was it Monoma?! Monoma wasn’t that strong was he? That voice was from someone strong.
The thought of having lost a memory of two days was extremely jarring and frustrating but the thought of having ended a life was downright terrifying.
“Itsuka Kendo!” Someone called from the classroom door, the name snapped Izuku out of his thoughts. A silence swelled but it burst when she stood up and anonymous whistles erupted from her classmates. She walked out of the classroom, both middle fingers raised for her classmates.
“Slut!” someone yelled and Izuku flinched, for a moment he thought that attack was directed at him. But it wasn’t. Itsuka flinched at the insult but walked straight ahead.
In the hallways, their eyes met and his breath sputtered in his trachea. Izuku had never seen her like this. Eyes red and swollen, carrying a sadness that made Izuku’s heart ache. Golden orange hair disheveled, uniform a little out of place. The sorrow in her eyes morphed into hate the longer they looked at each other.
Izuku felt like saying something, anything. His words just withered in his throat.
“Fuck you.” She spat, venomous. Her tone was hot and wet. The sorrow in her eyes outweighed the gravity of her words. Izuku didn’t even feel angry when she brushed shoulders forcefully when she walked past.
“Midoriya.” He turned to meet Rody. He smiled at him and Izuku’s breath hitched when he took in the girl standing next to him. He knew her! Her beautiful black hair was striking and Izuku knew her.
«Tuesday night»
The sky spun softly above him. Izuku sunk into Iida’s back. Hands loosely holding onto his waist for support. The stars flickered into soft embers around the moon. Dusty grey light dressed Izuku’s skin.
The sun had deserted the earth yet again.
The longer he stared, the more he wondered.
Had it whispered it’s 'goodbye' or promised, 'I’ll be right back'?
Did the sun belong to the earth or was it only a visitor — a volunteer (a fleeting flame with borrowed time)?
Did it watch, helpless and pitiful, as the darkness swallowed the earth whole? Or did it always return… to protect what it called home?
Izuku’s eyes watered and looked down at the concrete that sped past them. His chest warmed at the oddity and stung.
The sun didn’t belong to the earth. Never to keep— only to borrow, to give warmth with no promises.
The wind that slapped against his cheeks caressed him when the motorcycle halted. Burnt cement and rubber lingered in the chilling wind that whistled through the leaves. A dog barked at a distance, the wind sighed as it bit into their skin, they jumped off the motorcycle. He took a moment to look. An old building loomed before them, dressed in differently colored graffiti.
“Do you know this place?” Izuku beckoned only for Iida to shrug. Iida grinned with mischief. Eyes droopy and lazy.
“Don’t you want to know?” Iida slurred at which Izuku shrugged. His body hummed from exhaustion, eyes painfully swollen. Limbs worn out from his previous cathartic episode. The ground seemed welcoming and soft.
“No.” he said, disappointed. He thought they would be heading home, for all he knew the sun would be setting soon.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do, plus I want to show you something.” Iida pressed, Izuku looked at his expectant gaze. Dark blue eyes warmed —almost black— and widened with mischief.
Izuku wanted nothing but to close his eyes or to just sit down and soothe the soaring between his knees.
“What do you want?” The question floated between them as they started walking to wherever Iida was leading them. A kinder darkness shrouded them as they started teetering.
Izuku felt eerie the longer they stepped further away from the motorcycle. Iida was silent, the question suspended and neglected. The silence swelled as they walked through cramped hallways, the sound of their footsteps echoing against the walls, Izuku filled with dread.
“Iida.” Izuku called, wary. They walked deeper into the labyrinth, further away from the city or maybe deeper into it. Izuku didn’t know. “Where are we going?”
Moonlight slapped across his frame when they emerged from the modern maze. The land before them stretched into a parking lot. Izuku’s breath hitched.
“I wanted to tell you this ever since Friday but I didn’t get the chance to.” Iida finally spoke, his calm expression a massive contrast to the surprise slacken on Izuku’s face.
“What’s this?” Izuku asked with furrowed eyebrows. Before him, numerous bikes were packed in organized rows and columns. Black cars aligned at the opposite side of the parking lot. Mostly were black vans and bigger vehicles, wagons and cruisers. The air around them vibrated with a soft hum of music that was blasting from the five story building before them. Mingled with muffled laughter and chatter. The air scented with nicotine, coming from a group of men smoking a couple of feet away.
A group of men, dressed in black or dark clothes, barricaded the area, there was nothing odd about everything but it just felt like it. They looked nothing like normal security guards, instead of batons they held nothing but Izuku noticed the knives buried in their waist pockets.
The two kept walking, him inching closer to his friend.
“Iida… I don’t think we should be here.” Izuku whispered, he felt his head lightened when he locked eyes with one of the men in the group. His breath hitched and he looked away, hoping he seemed like he belonged.
Iida was oddly calm— not calm— he wasn’t surprised, like he knew. But of course he knew, he brought them here! But why?
“Iida…”
“—Bakugo is not what you think he is.” Iida cut him off. “I don’t know how to explain it but there’s something wrong with him.”
The bitter taste in Iida’s words made something stir, mildly violent, in Izuku’s chest. We are both unsober, Izuku thought. Iida was just spilling nonsense.
“Iida, we need to leave.” Izuku whispered, the closer they made it to the entrance of the building the more the men that looked their way. Dread pooled his veins when one said something inaudible. To him.
“Don’t worry about them. They won’t hurt you.” Iida mumbled, unfazed. “They work for Bakugo or something like that.”
Izuku knew Iida wasn’t a big fan of Bakugo, especially what happened with Uraraka. But this was an absurdity. Or maybe it wasn’t wise to chug down bottles of beer after smoking.
“You sound stupid.”
“I know but…” Iida eyebrows furrowed, Izuku could feel the screws turning in his head, his cheeks were flashed as fixed his rectangular glasses at the bridge of his nose. “Remember Shigaraki?”
The senior from their freshman year who had an odd obsession with Izuku. The one who used to stalk him from the early days of his highschool? Of course Izuku remembered him.
Goosebumps arose on Izuku’s skin, his throat dried and he nodded his head. Why was Iida bringing him up now?
“It was odd, wasn’t it? When he randomly stopped making excuses to talk to you. He didn’t visit you in class and he stopped appearing in front of your house. It was weird, wasn’t it?”
There was nothing weird about someone giving Izuku his personal space but Izuku nodded lightly.
“Then one day he comes back with a knife, threatening to kill you because you abandoned him. That you sent people to threaten him and how that broke his heart.”
Izuku furrowed his brow but nodded. The memory was a terrible one. Of course Shigaraki was insane so him saying Izuku that Izuku sent people to threaten him was a little crazy but it was Shigaraki. He said a lot of pretty insane things.
“Yes, but why are you bringing this up?”
“How he suddenly stop coming to school?” Izuku nodded, it was odd but Izuku was also very glad he left.
“Because we reported him to the police and he was expelled.”
“Did you know that before he stopped coming to school he was hospitalized? Broken ribs, shattered kneecaps. Sound like police work to you?” Izuku hated this conversation.
“What does that have to do with anything? Why are we even here? How do you even know all that?” Izuku was practically hovering over his heels, he could feel their gazes scanning over them.
“Bakugo did it.”
“…”
Izuku looked at Iida and sighed, exasperated.
“Is that why we’re here?”
“Yes.”
“... Iida." Izuku sighed."Bakugo would never do that. He may be loud and a little aggressive with his words but he doesn’t hurt people. What are you even talking about Iida?” Izuku was getting impatient, “We have to go, Iida. Snap out of this. These men… they are coming over here.”
“What would you do if you found him here?” Iida challenged, unfazed by the approaching men.
“Hey!” An aggressive voice called.
“Iida, whatever you want to talk about we can talk about it later.”
“How about Ochako?! Don’t you think about what happened to her.”
“Iida.” Izuku breathed, a flame bursting in his chest. “Please don’t —”
“— I don’t think Bakugo is who you think he is. He’s … there’s something wrong with him. Don’t you see, he’s got some weird obsession with you.”
“He doesn’t even like me.” Izuku splattered, a weight plunged beneath his chest. The words sour on his tongue.
“I thought you stopped this.” He added, Iida had always been like this, adding remarks about Bakugo whenever he felt like. But this was just weird.
“Why is it that whenever something bad happens to you, whenever someone does something horrible to you, something really really bad happens to them. Always. Don’t you see that?”
“That has nothing to do with Bakugo.”
“Then let’s go see ourselves.”
“…”
Izuku foolishly agreed.
...
The inside was calm, the lobby stretched out in marble flooring; white and delicate. Their footsteps echoed against the high ceilings and throughout the room. The place looked anything but suspicious, the lady sitting at the reception smiled in greeting. Izuku tugged his lips upwards too. If anything, this place looked more like a hotel. The walls were decorated with paintings, potted plants sitting at the corner making the room have an earthy feeling.
Iida looked anything but convinced, he scrawled inspecting everything.
“What’s wrong, Iida?” Izuku whispered, a gaze boring holes into his skull.
“Does this look normal to you?”
“I think so. I’ve never been to a hotel before.” The men from outside walked in and sat inside the lobby, a chill rolled down his spine when he locked eyes with them.
“I think we look suspicious, Iida. Let’s get out of here.” He whispered, they stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, attracting attention from everyone in the air space.
“Let’s book a room.” Iida suggested, Izuku was feeling too exhausted to take another journey home. Plus, it was already too late, he wouldn’t want to wake up his mother for another spiteful argument.
“Fine.”
They walked to the receptionist, she smiled calmly, Izuku tried to smile but he couldn’t shake off the awful feeling he had the moment he stepped off Iida’s bike. Iida did all the talking as he scanned the place again, there was literally no other customers but them. It could be the fact that the place was so hard to find but he didn’t even see the entry to the place because him and Iida sneaked in.
The two men from outside sat in the waiting area, eyes nowhere but on them, cigarettes between their lips. They seemed calm and upon close inspection; they were not older than 25. Maybe they just worked around here and decided to take a break.
“Let’s go.” Iida cut him off,
“Wait-” the receptionist called after they took a few steps. She called over the two men that were sitted in the lobby. The first thing Izuku noted was the tattoos, peeping out of their clothes, stretching to their necks and behind their eyes. Cold fear crawled in his chest when their eyes met again and it settled at the pit of his stomach. “Hanami and Yoshi will help you to your room, I’m pretty sure you don’t know your way there, do you?”
The teenagers only nodded. Izuku felt eerily unsettled, they scanned them both oddly. It reminded him of those cliché action movies he used to watch with Bakugo. How the bad guys looked at the main leads that seemed to trust them before a disaster.
“Follow me.” One said, he assumed his name was Hanami, stepping in front of them. He looked less intimidating than the other, less tattoos, lighter hair color, lighter features. The other stayed behind, the two sandwiched the highschoolers and guided them to the second floor.
Unlike the lobby, the second floor looked like a place for residence. The hallway stretched into several rooms, numbers scribbled down on the wooden doors.
“Here’s our room.” Iida voiced, sharp but cracked at the edges. So unlike Iida. Was he scared, too? Because Izuku was on the verge of passing out. He needed these men to disappear!
They still stood, watching them silently.
Was this protocol?
The door creaked open and a little part of him settled, just a tinsy winsy bit. Izuku opened his mouth in awe at the sight before him
A pressure jabbed at the back of his neck before everything slowly enveloped into darkness.
***
It was almost 3am by the time they made it to the airport. The place bustled with people, lights bright and lively like the world hadn’t fallen into a slumber.
“Do you see him?” Shoto asked Sero who shook his head, eyes weaving through the crowds. Bakugo felt a grumble in his chest. Irritation sinking in each time someone walked past him— or worse, touched him.
“Watch where the fuck you are going!” He spat venom at the man who rubbed his suitcase roughly against his foot. “Shut the fuck up!” he yelled at Shoto and Sero who snickered at the intrusion.
“Katsuki, always flaring like a volcano.” The three turned to the redhead at that, he smiled at them.
“Shut the fuck up, Spikey hair.” Bakugo shot back, cheeks flaring in embarrassment.
“Now, now. That’s no way to treat your elders.” He called out, two suitcases at his sides. His grin was as bright as Bakugo remembered.
“We should get going, I have class tomorrow.” Sero announced with a yawn. Bakugo looked at Shoto, pale as ever. He was quite the big head. If he kept this up he would take longer to recover.
Kirishima shrugged his arm around Bakugo and pressed him closer, hands foundling with a lighter and lighting the cigarette between his lips. Bakugo sighed, slightly irritated.
“Bro, what the fuck?! It’s not even two minutes past and you’re already smoking.”
“Dude, cool your balls, it’s just a cigarette.” The red head interjected. Katsuki groaned, unhooking himself from him.
“Do that later, you piece of shit.” He spat with little to no venom. Kirishima cussed. “Shoto is sick, you asshole!” he conjured as he looked behind them, the red and white head had fallen behind, too fucking hotheaded to accept any pity service— not that Bakugo would offer any.
“Do that some other time.”
Kirishima hissed in response: “Whatever, little bitch.”
Katsuki’s left eyebrow twitched at the provocation.
“Shut your trap!”
“Who are you telling to shut up, you little nugget?” The older teased earning a throaty growl from Katsuki and he snickered, rubbing the tip of a cigarettel stick on the wall and throwing it in a trashcan. “I’m older than you, show some respect.”
“I’m not showing respect to a deadbeat with quarter brain cells.”
“Still older than you.”
“If you could please stop bickering like an old married couple, that would be great.” Sero interrupted and Bakugo’s pulse flamed.
“Shut it!” Sero rolled his eyes at Bakugo’s comeback.
A silence followed after until they made it to the packing.
“We’re meeting up with them tomorrow, 10:00 pm.” Bakugo announced, he stepped away snuffling back a yawn himself. Kirishima was old enough to take himself home, why bother the three of them for such a stupid task.
“I didn’t think you’d come.” Kirishima liked getting oddly comfortable, his arm slug around Bakugo’s shoulder again as they skimmed for their ride in a myriad of cars. His other hand was holding one of his two suitcases. Bakugo exhaled, trying not to react to the excess weight pressing him down. “Good job, Bakugo.” Kirishima teased, earning him an eye roll.
“Man, you should have stayed in the car.” Sero said from behind, Bakugo snapped his gaze at Shoto who was still falling behind, body slightly bent forward, arm cradling his left side.
“What the fuck? Give me that.” Bakugo grumbled, stepping back to pull the suitcase away from Shoto. “Shit. Didn’t I tell you not to come?”
“I’m fine.”
“Shut up!” Shoto’s skin was pale to the paper. A thin layer of sweat coated his entire face down to his neck, Bakugo frowned. “You look like shit.”
“What happened?” Kirishima asked.
“He got stabbed.” Sero replied into the silence.
“Shit!” Kiri exclaimed and nothing was said after that.
The ride back was as silent as the streets they drove through. Kirishima had his eyes glued to his phone , a menacing smile plastered on his lips. Shoto slept silently in the passenger sit. Bakugo’s chest tightened, guilt slipped in between his ribs, like black toxic fumes that left at thick soot coating on its wake.
He sighed.
Shoto would be fine if it weren’t for his incompetence. For his negligence.
Neon street lights flickered and painted his window, Bakugo sighed lightly as he looked at everything and nothing, his thoughts raced and one thing stood out in the midst of the ragging mist stirring like a hurricane inside him.
Izuku.
Big green round eyes glistening a dark shade as they watered. Pain stricken. That betrayed look decorated his thoughts like a darkness that painted the sky at night. His chest coiled and coiled and coiled until breathing became a task.
His own words plunged down his throat and choked him.
I hate you. I hate you, Katsuki.
The words became a mantra, a lingering whisper that slithered like a cold metallic liquid in his bones, an ugly rhythm of a song he can’t get it in his head.
I hate you, Katsuki.
Izuku didn’t mean those words, did he?
He sucked in a breath, he hated himself too. He hated himself because beneath all that was that image, glowing like a globe in the darkest pits of his thoughts. And it burned through his skin, itching like a decade old illness he couldn’t get rid of. He wanted to rip them apart. He was so angry at himself for not being around to stop it from happening, to beat that man into a pulp for daring to touch what’s his.
So angry that he now sat here, helpless. Useless.
His father was right, something definitely was wrong with him.
He pulled out his phone, bright pixels stared at him. The name Izuku looked at him and he stared back like a coward. He sighed and pressed the call button and let it ring.
“Why would someone pick up this late in the night?” Kirishima’s voice sliced through his thoughts.
“The fuck is it to you?” He spat, unintended. He sighed and looked at his friend. “I just thought…”
Kirishima watched him for a moment and broke the smallest of grins, sympathetic but also foreign. It was warm but it wasn’t. Almost... pained.
“You guys still don't talk?” he asked, phone abandoned.
“I don’t know…” Bakugo mumbled, were they still on talking terms?
“Hey, Hanta.”
Sero replied with a sound, looking back to meet Bakugo’s gaze briefly. “Stop the car.”
“Huh?” Kiri and Sero aired in unison.
“Stop the fucking car.” Bakugo said again, thrusting his phone in his pockets.
“Where the hell are you going, Bakugo? It’s so late.” Sero said, stopping the vehicle nonetheless.
“Are you going to see him?” Kirishima asked and Bakugo nodded, stepping out immediately. His cheeks heated at the confrontation. He knew what the other would say so he slammed the door shut and walked away.
“There’s no cars outside!” Kirishima yelled from the moving vehicle.
“I’ll walk!” Bakugo yelled back, he turned on his heels and walked to Izuku’s house.
***
The lights in Izuku’s room were out, nothing new there. He exhaled, heartbeat fluttering in his chest, body trembling lightly. The cold pierced right through his bones as he climbed up to his best friend’s room.
Maybe Izuku didn’t want to talk to him but that wasn’t a problem. Bakugo wanted to see him and wipe off that pained look. He just wanted to see him.
He tapped the glass window and waited for a silhouette to walk to him and let him in. He tapped several times and each time he was ignored, his heart sank.
But it was okay, maybe Izuku needed time.
Yet he waited, his back against the cold glass as he tapped it occasionally, the cold soaking his feet.
Izuku never responded.
***
«Wednesday»
Izuku blinked, his eyes opened and winced at the sharpness of the light that bled into his eyes. His head throbbed, the golden rays that pooled the room stabbed his eyes like daggers. He groaned with a pain that warmed at the back of his neck.
His left wrist throbbed, tied to the bed with handcuffs! He shot wider awake, sitting up only to be winced back to the mattress. He groaned, trapped.
Iida was still asleep, fully dressed, he laid uncomfortably with his shoes still on, right arm chained to the bed.
Dread pooled inside Izuku’s stomach. They were trapped, kidnapped?!
“You’re awake!” Hanami walked in, face as calm and taunting as from the night before. He smirked down at Izuku, crouching down to meet his gaze at the same level.
“Who sent you?” he asked, a smirk dropping like it never existed. His throat bobbed and Izuku’s eyes fell in the scar that traced his jawline to his collarbone. A chill spread through Izuku like a lightning strike.
He paled, fear slipping in as fast as his confusion.
“We only came looking for someone.” Izuku managed to find the courage to speak, he internally groaned. This was all Iida’s fault and yet he lay in bed like a princess in distress.
“Bakugo.” Izuku choked, and he tensed watching something flash between the man’s eyes. Hanami then cackled. Mockingly? Amused? Izuku couldn’t decipher.
The man wasn’t pleased with his answer.
Bakugo’s not who you think he is.
“Do you know him?” Izuku added, unnecessarily.
At the back of his mind he wanted Iida to be dead wrong— to prove him wrong. He hoped for confusion to strike Hanami’s face and for him to yell at Izuku for trying to stall by mentioning a name that didn’t exist to him. But Hanami knew Bakugo— at least he knew that name. Izuku could see it in his eyes.
Yet again, there’s that part of him, a thought that crawled through the darkness to the surface as a thin strip of white pure smoke that wanted it to be true. A part of him that entertained the thought of his best friend being obsessed with him. That desperately needed it to be true.
Actually the thought of Bakugo helping him from the darkness pleased him to no end. The source of the pure white smoke was a burning furnace that threatened to be consumed.
Izuku blurred it with layers and layers of darkness (but it still burned): it shouldn’t be true.
“Don’t play with me boy!” The man said in a low tone, mostly a threat. Izuku’s throat dried, he swallowed a choked gasp.
“I only wanted to see him.” He half-lied, and the man’s eyes bore into his soul, Izuku’s heart was in his ass.
There was a glint of excitement—amusement, in Hanami’s gaze and it rendered Izuku self-conscious. He smirked wide and sickeningly after a beat. Like he’d solved a riddle or proven something or worse.
Sheets shuffled from beside Izuku and a groan stretched out in the growing silence. Iida peeled his eyes open.
“You’ll see him at night,” Hanami mocked getting up, “that’s only if you’re still alive.”
***
Izuku’s breath shredded as it left his nostrils. The room was silent and he preferred it that way. The golden rays had turned dimmer and gentler. A breeze had replaced the heat and the damned painting in front of him glared through his soul, erupting an anger that later hummed through his chest because all he could do was stare back.
Izuku and Iida were still trapped in the damned hotel room and all they did was sit and stare and think about the doom that roamed through the tense air.
“Izuku. I’m sorry.” Iida spoke for the nth time that day. Izuku sighed tiredly.
“It's fine.” He said back. “I agreed to this too.” He muttered under his breath and fell back on the mattress. His stomach grumbled. They hadn’t eaten, not even a drop of water. Maybe they planned to starve them to death.
Izuku sighed again, weary.
Night fell, Izuku’s ragged breaths became wet and harbored. Exasperation bled through his calm façade. Iida was silent, body facing upwards with his free hand under his head, eyes glued to the ceiling, he was calm but Izuku could tell the terror brimming out of his body.
Izuku sighed, “Do you think they’ll let us go?”
Iida turned to look at him, even his thick glasses couldn’t hide the troubled look in his dark navy eyes. “Yes, hopefully, soon.”
He smiled and nodded, “So… um, about what happened to Ochako… I guess — I mean you don’t have to — but if you want to— I don’t know.” Izuku sighed, “About what you said earlier, do you really think it’s because of him?”
Izuku choked back a lamp in his throat as more formed in it.
“I— I think — I mean I don’t think but honestly, it can’t be him. He wouldn’t do that, would he?” Izuku couldn’t swallow the second one.
Izuku hoped it wasn’t, he really did. I mean they both found her in bed, almost gone. Body limp and almost lukewarm. She did that to herself. Yet Izuku couldn’t shake off the guilt that coiled between his bones and sprouted like weed.
“Bakugo said something to her the day before.” Iida spoke and Izuku felt relief settle in his being. He didn’t think he’d handle the thought of Bakugo playing part in Ochako’s suicide attempt. That was a burden only for him to carry because he’s the one that said something to her that morning.
Everyday, his words haunted him like a blood thirsty spirit.
Izuku breathed through his nose. And looked away from Iida, floral patterns on the ceiling blurred from his vision.
“Look, Izuku—”
“— it’s not him.” He cut him off and breathed again, tired. “Please stop this.”
“Look, I—”
The door slammed open and a relatively younger male walked in. He smiled sheepishly, movements sluggish, gaze droopy. He laughed when he looked at them and the thin scent of nothing was replaced by a reeking taste of alcohol.
“So you’re the lover boy.” He slurred, pointing at Izuku. “Broccoli head. Big green eyes.” Izuku shifted uncomfortably sitting up, so did Iida. “Lover boy’s friend?” the drunkard laughed looking at Iida.
“Have some water.” He stretched his hands to both of them. Izuku was hesitant but he grabbed the bottle, and gulped down the liquid that burned his throat seconds later.
“What the fuck?” Iida cussed, jaw clenched. The drunkard laughed.
“Sorry, we forgot about you guys, you can take that for now if you want to stay alive.”
“You can’t give us alcohol on an empty stomach!” Iida complained, Izuku clenched the bottle he was holding, exhausted.
“Next time carry a lunch box with ya.” The drunkard mocked and a vein popped in Izuku’s neck.
“Please, let us go.” He said calmly.
“I will, if you finish that bottle.” The drunkard challenged, and proceeded to sit down on the floor, legs stretched out. “I don’t have friends you see, and I can’t really let my friends be trapped in here can I? Drink that and we'll be be friends.”
“Are you sure?” Izuku asked and the guy nodded, leaning back with his hands as encouragement.
“How can we be sure?” Iida asked and the guy pulled out a bundle of keys.
“And if I don't— and you really know Bakugo like you say you do, then you’ll kill me once you get released.”
The air stilled and Izuku’s breath hitched.
“Bakugo’s really here?” Iida chided, alert.
The drunkard shrugged then laughed, “Who knows, it might not be your Bakugo.” Izuku was silent. There are just too many coincidences. Another Bakugo? In a place Iida thought Bakugo was? How did he even know?
Bakugo is not who you think he is.
Then there was that look Hanami threw his way..
“I’ll do it.” Izuku broke the tension. “But you'll have to show me how this Bakugo looks like.”
The man smiled and nodded, Izuku brought the plastic to his lips and chugged down the burn. The drunkard laughed menacingly as he clapped, Izuku’s eyes stung as he chugged down.
“Come on, now.” He gasped. “Come release me now.” Izuku said, throwing the bottle down. The drunkard smiled, getting up.
“Fine!” he said walking close to Izuku. “Sike!” he laughed in his face shoving the keys in his left pocket. Izuku’s head swum in anger and the man’s menacing laughter died down when he collapsed.
Izuku’s eyes widened, he turned to look at Iida . “When did you learn to do that?”
Iida shrugged. “I thought I could try it— let’s hurry and leave this place.” He added getting up from the mattress to rummage through the unconscious man’s pocket, once he got the keys he freed then both and they ran out of the room.
…
His heart thumped furiously, on the verge of bursting. His head floated like clouds in the sky. His breath came short — ragged, gasping for particles of air. His throat was dry, craving water, but his feet kept moving. Faster, faster, and faster.
“Hey! Come back you piece of shit!” One of the men hot on his tail yelled and Izuku squeaked, picking up his pace. They were so close and his lungs ached. His entire body throbbed but he pushed forward, harder.
“Shit.” The cuss burned through his lungs, the air inside them piercing like hot needles. Izuku couldn’t keep up. “fuck.” He cussed again, eyes fixed on Iida’s back.
“Izuku.” Iida called, momentarily turning back to check if he was okay. They both panted as they climbed the stairs. Iida was faster, sober. Unlike Izuku whose body was failing him. The men, tens of them were hot on their tail, yelling death threats and insidious cusses at them.
“Hurry!” Iida yelled. They meet a dead end. Izuku’s chest burned as adrenaline burned every inch of his veins.
“Hurry up, Iida!” Izuku’s voice cracked through his exhausted body as he watched Iida play with the steal door blocking them. His head throbbed when he tried to stand still, swimming in a sea storm of nausea.
“I’m trying!” Iida yelled back and thank heavens the door swung. Just as it opened, one of the men barely grabbed Izuku by the ankle.
Panic burst through him like a thunder clap when the door opened to reveal open space, the sky stared down at them and mocked, doomed is what they were.
Shit.
Thin needles of air pierced his nostrils when he stepped outside, he ran a few steps but the men were faster.
Izuku yelled in terror and fell on the hard concrete, falling on his shoulder blades, he winced in pain. The ground welcomed him with a hostility, his palms and knees burned at the impact, and just then, someone kicked his spine.
“Fucking bitch!” whoever they were sneered, landing more kicks to his body. Izuku lay limp on the rough concrete, helpless. Coiling his body to minimize the damage. He winced, and gasped for air when he was kicked to the gut. Blurry eyes burned as they tried to focus on his friend, on the ground, just like him. Rectangular glasses broken on the ground, nose red with blood, check bruised.
He was helpless, just like Izuku.
They were so fucked.
He closed his eyes and embraced more violence.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” A voice boomed, angry. The assault halted, Izuku kept his eyes shut. Not willing to comprehend what was happening around him. These men had weapons, terror crawled inside him like ants, painting him to the ground. Weak and miserable.
Fuck, I’m going to die. I’m going to die. The mantra in his head cut off any sound around him.
If only he didn’t listen to Iida. His blood boiled and he clenched his fists. If only… what?! There was nothing to reminisce about.
Something hot swelled inside his chest. Soft but hard and cold around the edges. If only what? Would he have any regrets if he were to die tonight? Did he want to say anything to anyone? Would anyone miss him?
Did any of that matter? He’d be dead anyway.
He coiled himself and braced for impact. The cold wind bit into his skin and swooshed through the silence, through him.
A warm hand grabbed his arm and he flinched. He quaked in terror and anger. He had told Iida it wasn’t okay to come here and now he’s going to die and it’s his fault!! Izuku coiled tighter, unwilling to get off the ground, not ready to face his death.
It’s Iida’s fault!
He hadn’t left his mother’s house. He didn’t know what freedom tasted like. He wanted to graduate high school and go to college. Make more friends and maybe get a boyfriend(someone that loves him).
He didn't want to die a loser.
He also wanted someone to be miserable when he’s gone.
“Izuku.” A voice called. Raw, husky and familiar. He whimpered louder, they knew his name and they sounded like Bakugo. He really was going to die!
“Hey!” the voice called again and the grip around his arm tightened, pulling him off the ground. Izuku tightened his eyes shut. “Hey, Izuku.” The voice called, soft and delicate. Of course it was delicate! It is always calm and beautiful before death embraces someone.
“Izuku, open your eyes.” The voice called, and the person holding him sat him up. Something warm settled on his cheeks and Izuku’s breath hitched at the delicacy. “Please.” The voice called again, gentle and oddly similar to Bakugo.
Izuku opened his eyes and a warm crimson birth pooled into his gaze. His breath hitched at the closeness, his heart was brutal against his chest. The wind swept past and Izuku let out a breath.
Bakugo smiled and Izuku took a moment to embrace his surroundings. He was outside, particularly at the rooftop. Neon lights surrounded them and the sky was dark, really dark, covered by a thick layer of white smoke and white light. The air was cold and he shivered at the submission. Everything was a little fuzzy, wobbly and unclear. Everything but him, Bakugo.
There were people around him, the men looked down on him, confused just as he was. Iida sat a few meters away, nose burst and red just like the bruises on his chest. Clothes disheveled, hair disheveled and Izuku assumed he looked just as bad, if not worse.
The sound of traffic and people below melted into his ears.
Shoto? Sero? Kirishima?
What were they doing here? What was Bakugo doing here?
Bakugo is not who you think he is.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” Izuku flinched at the tone. Was that directed at him? Bakugo wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at the men that were chasing him to the death earlier.
What the fuck?!
Bakugo is not who you think he is.
Izuku’s eyes darted to Iida who looked… content. Like a scientist that had just proved a theory that they’d been working on for ages after being burnt by chemicals and drugs. His face held that satisfaction, that says everything was worth it.
Then too Bakugo, who looked like he couldn’t face him. The men that threatened him earlier bowed and they all walked away.
Just like that?!
No one was fazed! Was this normal?!
It took Izuku a moment to return to his senses. To fully take everything in. Bakugo and the rest of them, apart from Izuku and Iida, were dressed so formally, so elegantly. Full suits, expensive ties in place.
What the hell?!
“Izuku…” Bakugo called again, oddly gentle. Extremely odd.
Green eyes fell on the hand that held him firmly, tightly and delicately. Bile rose up Izuku’s throat.
Remember Shigaraki? Did you know that before he stopped coming to school he was hospitalized? Broken ribs, shattered kneecaps. Sound like police work to you? Bakugo did it.
Were you that desperate? At least I don’t open my legs for a lowlife —
Izuku wanted to puke. Maybe from the pain that hummed through his entire body. Or the dry liquor he ingested after hours of starvation. From the memory of being trapped in that room, the terror that rocked him to the core. From shock or just pure disgust.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” Izuku spat through the resumed silence. The air between them thickened, taut and tense. He shrugged him off , Bakugo’s words from the morning before were still fresh and hot.
Bakugo flinched but he let go.
Izuku sighed, suddenly angry again.
The night was cold but it wasn’t as cold as that morning. Sitting alone outside was like hanging on a cliff by a thin thread of hopelessness. He looked into the blood birth and it looked just like it did that morning, hot angry words blasting against his skin like bombs, one after another. Relentless, ruthless, selfish.
Izuku was so angry. He was left alone when he wanted him most. He had the audacity to appear right when didn’t want to see him. Something clogged his throat, hot and heavy. His eyes burned just looking at him.
He could still see it, behind those crimson orbs, beyond his own reflection that it wasn’t him that Bakugo would choose. He could still see them, walking away and Izuku wanted nothing but gauge that image out.
His body hummed to the rhythm of his anger, blood hot as sulfur in his veins.
“Stop looking at me.” Izuku spat again, looking away. Unable to watch Bakugo look away from him. “Get away from me.” He continued, nails digging into his palms, the sting calming the storm that ragged from within.
Bakugo looked at him, eyes darting about his face, hesitant. Izuku’s heart was in his throat, he bit his lip and when Bakugo stepped away, his heart dropped. What was wrong with him?
Thirsty. He was thirsty.
Everyone was silent. Observing them. Watching him. Shoto smiled his way when their eyes met, Izuku didn’t spare him a second glance. (He’d made him look like a fool yet here he was. Fine and healthy.) Kirishima was completely unbothered, a ghost smile on his lips yet there was that gaze he always held that made Izuku feel… insecure.
Of course Bakugo was here with Kirishima.
The thought made Izuku a little uncomfortable just like it always did. He knew the kind of respect Bakugo had for him, how unlike Izuku, Bakugo trusted him in ways that baffled Izuku. In ways that Izuku silently pleaded for. That wretched feeling crawled through his bones.
He stood up and winced, Shoto was helping Iida get up and Bakugo was watching him, just like everyone else. His head swum through the air and his feet wobbled to move. Exhausted from an earlier outburst of adrenaline and literally everything else.
“Are you alright?” Sero asked. For some reason everything that everyone was saying was just pissing him off. Didn’t they have other things to look at? Like the stars or something?
“I’m fine.” Izuku spat, mouth watering at the sight of liquid in the bottle on top of the table he hadn’t noticed. Must be where the four were seated.
Quiet footsteps made it to the table and in one swoop he gulped the burning liquid down his throat. He sighed and for a moment he was alone, sounds of protests muffled by the sirens wailing behind his ears.
Wailing incorrect statements that seemed not to matter at the moment. All that mattered was the fact that they spared him from reality.
The moon was lonely.
Cheering rang through the air and Izuku turned his gaze to the building that he seemed to be facing. The bright room on the floor that aligned with his vision caught his attention. The wailing in his ears was dissolved by the sounds that were coming from there. Yellow light shone on the group of people. Maybe it was someone's birthday, he thought.
Izuku watched the woman in the middle of the crowd —or rather, her silhouette. She danced, her movements effortless, light like the song that she was dancing too. He couldn’t see their faces, but he could tell that everyone in the room was smiling. The sight tugged at his heart strings.
The cheering died down just as the music and lights dimmed. It was silent for a moment before flashlights decorated the atmosphere. A man walked in the middle to join the lady, there was soft cheering and a song started playing.
Izuku’s eyes perked at familiarity. He knew that song. He’d stumbled upon it one time in Bakugo’s playlist a few months earlier. It was one of those rare songs that Izuku found in Bakugo’s playlist that sounded nothing like Bakugo but at the same time much like Bakugo.
It could be the fact that each time he listened to them he thought of Bakugo.
The couple started dancing to the music, the lady’s arms around the man’s neck, his around her waist. There were soft happy cheers from the audience. Slithering right through his chest.
♪It must be more, than I need you. More, then I love you..♪
They swayed, Izuku couldn’t pry his eyes off. His chest swelled but it was hollow. Hollow but at the same time heavy. He remembered how he'd listened to this song over and over again. He’d lay in his bed playing with the words in his mind, wondering: did he think about me when he played the song?
.♪Be more than wishes on stars… high above you…♪
The crowd was silent, as if letting the lovers salve the moment.
Izuku would wonder, did Bakugo add this song in his playlist because he felt that way about Izuku. Izuku would play scenarios in his head,(such a fool he was), watching Bakugo confess to him with this song. He’d smile and Izuku would say that he felt the same way and they would hug and kiss. And Bakugo would tell him how he’d waited forever just to tell him that.
♪If words could just hold you, tell me you feel me. Oh just to know you, tell me you see me…♪
The couple shared a kiss and Izuku’s gaze blurred. Ribs clenching on his heart he could barely breathe.
♪Be more, be more, be more.♪
The people in the room cheered and the lovers broke apart. The wind swept past and Izuku’s head swum lightly through it.
♪Be more than dancing in raindrops, falling to touch you. Oh just to touch you…♪
The city shone brightly around and below them, Izuku walked over to the edge of the rooftop and he sat on it, legs dangling and ears blocked out from the sounds around him.
“Izuku!” Bakugo's voice slapped against his pinna, his presence hovering over Izuku’s back. His fingers grazed Izuku’s skin and he flinched.
“Don’t touch me!” Izuku gasped, for a moment he thought he’d drop to his death, “Don’t come near me!” he yelled again, never locking behind.
Everything stilled for a moment. The air settled around his frame and the noise from below floated through it. From the streets, a couple of high school girls giggled as they walked inside a karaoke house, a lady crossed the road with her white dog on a leash, people converged in a small corner of the street to watch a man dance with his speaker next to him.
Izuku wondered how they’d react if he just jumped off the rooftop and just laid there, dead.
Bet they’d never forget that.
A cackle ripped through his throat at thought. Could be the liquor talking, or maybe he’d just awoken a demon he’d buried away for quite a while. Did any of that even matter?
With wobbly feet he stood up and they struggled as they steadied themselves at the edge. The thrill of playing with dead arose another dry chuckle from him. The thrill blossomed in every inch of his skin as he finally found solid ground, the earth spun and the sky glistened like glitter. Goosebumps arose when a few gasps loamed over him.
“If you come any closer, I’ll jump off.” Izuku turned to Bakugo. He smiled, spreading his arms, worries dissolved by the liquor spurring through his veins. “Don’t come closer!” Izuku warned again.
Bakugo’s eyes widened, jaw clenched, eyes stricken with fear.
“Izuku, get down.” He said, hesitantly, frozen in place. Izuku wasn’t falling for this shit.
“I’ll do it, don’t come near!” Izuku warned again, stepping back, by centimeters. This heart thundered its cage by the thrill. He could hear everything from where he stood, see everyone. His feelings flared like lingering pheromones.
“You don’t care about me. Don’t act like you do when I’m about to die.” Izuku teased and giggled.
The words just spluttered out, like blood from a cut artery. Everyone at the rooftop kept silent. Izuku didn’t even care if they were even around, his eyes locked with Bakugo’s. A darker shade of crimson, narrowed, eyebrows furrowed.
“What are you talking about?” Bakugo asked, stepping closer and a vein popped.
“Don’t come close!” He yelled, not enough, voice carried away through the wind.
Izuku didn’t know what caused an outburst of emotions through him but he let them control him.
“What…?” Bakugo’s sigh was heavy, exasperated. Fisted hands uncoiled to brush ash blonde hair from his forehead. The wind wasn’t helping. “What the fuck?” it was a whisper but loud enough for Izuku.
“Leave me alone.”
Pathetic.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Izuku?” Bakugo yelled frustrated, not daring to step forward yet never stepping back. Izuku wanted him to move even if it were an inch. Closer.
“Don’t act like you care about me.” Izuku croaked, his fists clenched and his body trembled, “because you don’t.” something warm rolled down his cheek.
“I do.” Izuku shook his head, no. No he didn’t. “I really care about you.”
“You’re a liar.” Izuku whispered. The ground stiffened,
“I really do.”
“Then why did you say that?” tears were rolling down his cheeks as he spoke and fuck he was tired, he was so exhausted of feeling like this… of wallowing in this…
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“You don’t look it.”
“I am, I’m sorry. I was an asshole.” Izuku stared into the crimson storm, it burned like hot larva.
He’s heard those words before and words were just words.
“No you’re not! You’re horrible!”
“Izuku…”
“No, don’t say that! Don’t say my name!” Words trembled out of his throat, a musty vomit.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t care about me. You never did.” he was going to regret saying this. But he couldn't stop, not with Bakugo poking him.
“Izuku…”
“You left me, alone. You never felt bad, you never came back.”
“I looked for you. I searched the entire fucking school and you weren’t there.” Bakugo defended, stepping closer. Izuku let him.
“No, you didn’t even try.”
“I did, I looked for you everywhere.”
“You never found me.”
A silence fell and a breeze swept through it.
Izuku’s voice cracked and he couldn’t hold his emotions back. The fall behind him was forgotten, Izuku’s tears rolled down his cheeks and blurred his eyes. Footsteps rounded close and arms wrapped around his body, pulling him off the edge.
“Don’t touch me.” He whispered between silent sobs. Bakugo only tightened his hold as he pulled him close till Izuku’s head was buried in his chest.
“I’m sorry. I should have looked for you.” Bakugo whispered back, tightening his hold.
“You left me.” He whispered as his body slowly became limp, his vision darkening.
“I’m sorry.”
***
Izuku laid in bed, gaze fixed on the plain white ceiling as he tried to decipher where he was.
Bakugo, rooftop.
shit, shit, shit.
Mortification hit him like a jab to the stomach, suddenly nauseous. He sighed, whatever. He’ll just give the excuse: I was drunk and whatever the fuck I said or did wasn’t me but the stupid subconscious that springs out whenever I’m a little tipsy.
You never found me.
Izuku coiled at his words, he buried his head under the covers as if he were being watched.
Fuck, he was so fucking embarrassing!
He groaned again and laid in bed. Eyes fixed on the plain ceiling. Unwilling to move a muscle. I’m sorry, Bakugo’s words swelled in his chest, leaving a lukewarm feeling inside his chest.
Sorry was not enough. But he was sorry for what though?
Each time he closed his eyes the image of Bakugo with Itsuka popped up, tattooed under his eye lids. And each time he felt it, that abandonment from two years ago, from the day before, that loneliness that stayed stagnant in his soul like still water. The memories that burned continuously and ceased not to exist.
Izuku huffed, throwing the covers off his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about that. He should be thinking of how he made a fool of himself earlier.
He was still filled with such rage that he couldn’t bring himself to forgive Bakugo. That resentment still lingered, like a spirit around a graveyard. Izuku couldn’t deny it even. That loathe slithered through him trapping him and rendering him a prisoner to his own actions.
**
Two, three, four bruises. Four fucking bruises on his face!
The bright white light did him no justice. Izuku stared at his reflection and sighed. They weren’t horrible but they were still there; glistening a dark shade of red— almost purple in the reflection. One his chin, two on the left side of his cheek and one that stood on top of the forming hill at the corner of his right eyebrow.
Great! He cussed; his back hurt like a bitch, too.
Thankfully he stumbled across the bathroom when he needed it. The floor of the room he was sleeping in was empty, a little more exquisite than that he’d been trapped in. White marble floors stained with brownish and purple decorations stretched along the hallway.
Izuku worried: he didn’t know where to go.
Maybe it would be better if he went back to the room he was in and waited for Kacchan.
A cuss ripped through his throat. Fuck he didn’t remember what room he was in.
He walked back inside the bathroom, if he finds some ointment he’d dress his wounds as he waits for someone to walk in.
Kacchan.
Bakugo is not who you think he is. Remember Shigaraki? He was hospitalized. Don’t you see it? Everytime someone does something bad to you, something bad happens to them.
Izuku groaned, why would he care what the hell happened to Shigaraki or anyone else for that matter? He stared at his green eyes and sighed, again. Maybe they found Bakugo in this… place but that didn’t mean he’s a bad person. In fact, he saved them.
Shoto and Kirishima were with him so that says something. Bakugo wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?
He wouldn’t.
Izuku held onto that hope, like he was hanging on a taut piece of thread at the edge of a cliff impending a1000ft drop. And even if he were the one, then he was right to some extent, those that were harmed him deserved what happened to them.
But that wasn’t Kacchan, he wouldn’t do that.
The bathroom door creaked open and shut. An intruder walked in and Izuku’s heart raced then dropped. His eyes widened in mortification.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” The girl spluttered out, her dark eyes skimmed Izuku immediately and widened lightly in recognition. Her gaze softened a little, so did her speech. “What are you doing here?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, um, this is the girls bathroom.” A strand of hair fell on her face and she pushed it back with her index, her cheeks reddened slightly and heat arose in Izuku’s cheeks when the words sunk in.
“Shit, really?” Izuku stumbled, mortified and dumbstruck. Her pale skin was a stuck contrast to her long black hair and her eyes as dark as midnight. She smiled and nodded.
“It’s fine. I can help you out if you’re lost. Just wait for me outside.” She smiled, again, and for a moment Izuku was taken back by how beautiful she was. She held a kind of familiarity that Izuku couldn’t pinpoint. Maybe because she was so beautiful?
…
“How did you even get up here?” Momo asked as they walked down the stairs. After they shared names Izuku felt a sense of comfort while being around her, maybe it was the fact that someone like her being in a place as such made everything seem a little bit normal.
“My friend, uh…”
“You're a friend? Katsuki? Or Shoto?” She cut in, a fondness itched to the way she mentioned Bakugo’s and Shoto’s names.
Intrigued, Izuku asked, “You know them?”
“Of course! No one really ends up here if they don’t know any of them.” Izuku nodded silently, so Shoto was involved too. They stood in silence as they waited for the elevator to arrive.
“Oh.” Izuku managed to respond, and he wondered: what type of relationship did she have with Bakugo? She looked calm and composed. Elegant. Her soft perfume lingered in his nostrils, it reminded him of flower fields and the ocean. Unlike him who probably reeked of sweat and dried liquor.
She definitely was Bakugo’s type.
“I can tell this is your first time here.” Momo continued and Izuku tugged his lips upward, nodding.
“Actually I’ve never thought- I didn’t even think this place existed.” The words felt heavy as they rolled off his tongue.
“Really?” Momo’s gaze brightened, her dark eyes glinted in surprise, oblivious to Izuku’s mood change. Izuku nodded. She smiled genuinely and Izuku felt bad. “You’re so lucky then, there’s a party tonight.”
The elevator dinged and they stepped in.
…
“I’ll be right back!” Momo announced after she guided him to the ground floor. Izuku opened his mouth to— she was already gone.
The room was warm — too warm. The air inside was thick and wet, coated with smoke, sweat, cologne and other toxic fumes that clung at the back of his throat, making him clasp his nose and gag. The lighting in the room was thin, flickering from red to blue and other colors that caused him a mild headache. The floor was polluted with bodies, male and women of all ages; loitering with bottles of cheap liquor in their hands, chattering, dancing and… screaming.
Izuku was a little surprised by the oddity. But that wasn’t all:
The people were divided in sections. I’m one, a group of mostly men huddled together, yelling disoriented at the two men at the center of it all, throwing fists and kicks and chairs and empty beer bottles at each other. Izuku popped his head through the crowd and when he took a closer peek at the gory sight, he wished he didn’t. A hand clamped his head and shoved him back.
The biggest group of the men cheered from the middle of the room— if not all of them. Three women were performing, barely dressed. Sensual music played and they danced professionally, throwing their bodies up and coming down on poles, each move erupting roars from the audience.
He looked around hoping to catch a familiar face but none.
From the corner he noticed a man looking at him intently, he turned to look at him but there was no one looking at him. It was a big crowded room, he was getting paranoid.
The last section was just a group of junkies, mostly teenagers. A few danced nonchalantly to the music that played, the others on the floor playing the clichés like spin the bottle, and smoking and inhaling all sorts of things. The strong scent of marijuana reeked through the air. A group that sat secluded just to smoke pot hollered him over. Izuku shook his head, feeling misplaced.
But certainly not alone.
“Hey!” A man appeared out of nowhere and placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked right into Izuku’s eyes, and smiled. “New here?” he asked, stepping closer.
Izuku shook his head, shrugging the hand off him as politely as he could. The male only smiled, he looked clearly older than Izuku, his beard looking decades older. He grimaced kindly then walked away, weird, but he assumed that in places such as these finding someone his age wasn’t quite common.
“I am, too. It’s a little weird, isn’t it?” The man persisted, his footsteps after Izuku’s own.
“Yeah.” Izuku agreed dismissively as they both weaved through the crowds. Green eyes scanned the crowd but it was too dark. Where was everybody?!
“I was honestly feeling so out of place, I don’t really know anyone and I don’t really know where to start. You see I’m so bad at making friends.” He persisted, his voice almost desperate. Izuku wanted to groan but that would be rude. Izuku didn’t want to be talking to strangers that could be decades— if not more— older than him at a thug party without a familiar face in sight. Especially not at a few hours past midnight on a school night. Where the fuck was everyone?!
Maybe he should have stayed in that bedroom.
The man smiled and nudged him, desperate for his attention. “So, um, tell me about you. How did you end up in such a place?” Izuku looked at the man, perplexed. Why would someone be so intent on making friends with him? Someone older than him at that!
“I don’t know, I’m just here.” Izuku replied truthfully, tone dipped in a thick passive venom. The longer the man lingered, the tighter anxiety coiled around his spine. Izuku took a moment to skim the man. His hands were empty, no bottle or cup in sight. He dressed appropriately— too appropriately— for the atmosphere, a smile perfect in place.
“Oh. Really that’s odd.”
Where did Momo disappear to?
“I have to go.” He announced when the uneasy feeling swelled.
“Really?” The man asked, tone hinting at disbelief. Sarcasm.
“Yes.” Izuku confirmed, taking a step away.
A strong hand gripped his shoulders.
“Could you lead me to the washrooms before you go?” Izuku looked at the man confused; surely there were so many bathrooms around, considering the number of people present.
“Sure.” He breathed, hopefully that would get him off his back. Showing someone around a building you barely knew isn’t such a stupid thing, is it?
The elevator was busy so the two used stairs. The silence peaked as they moved. The man’s odd silence left an eerie unsettling feeling in Izuku’s chest. Just moments back he was dying to tell Izuku all about his greatest great grandma; now suddenly quiet.
As they climbed the stairs, Izuku noticed Shoto standing outside on the balcony with a blonde, Izuku looked at them for a while, stopping in his tracks because he knew that face.
Monoma.
The man behind him poked his ribs and Izuku turned to complain. “Hey-”
A hand clamped to his lips, pressing hard. Something sharp jabbed his ribs.
“Move.” His heart dropped and Izuku froze. The knife poked harder and his knees buckled. “Open your stupid mouth and I won’t hesitate to kill you right now.”
The man retracted his hand from his lips. Izuku’s throat dried, mouth loosely hung open. He stood frozen in place.
“Move, stupid bitch.”
What a night…
The knife threatened to tear at his skin, his body jolted at the pain and he started (struggled) to move.
“Faster.” The man growled, and Izuku tried to quicken his pace, body trembling in cold terror. If he thought he was going to die earlier, then now he was on his road straight to hell.
Izuku turned white when he registered the path they were taking. He froze for a second and flinched when the knife sunk into his flesh. “Try anything stupid and I'll still your guts.”
The threat settled in his chest and caused tremors through every cell in his body.
The door to the rooftop loomed before him and Izuku’s doom impended.
“Open the fucking door!”
Izuku didn’t want to die. He wasn’t going to.
His hands trembled as he reached for the handle. In a split second, he turned and kicked the man in the gut, the perpetrator struggled and lost footing, falling on his back and down the stairs. He groaned painfully.
Izuku’s panic rose when he reached for the handle and swung the door open. He rushed to lock it behind him. He breathed shakily, the roaring in his skull matched that that came from behind the metallic door.
Shit. Shit
. Shit.
He cussed when the man banged on the door. “Open the fucking door, before I kill you!”
“Fuck you!” Izuku yelled back, an outburst of his frustration and relief. He wasn’t going to die, definitely not today.
He took a few steps further away as the banging became relentless. His eyes skimmed the ground for something, anything to hold onto, a weapon to throw in case the predator somehow managed to open the door.
Shit. Fuck!
There was nothing. Izuku’s panic peaked when the banging on the door blared louder through the icy air.
Fuck, fuck. Fuck!
He was going to die.
What did the universe even want from him? He did nothing wrong!
His eyes fell on the empty bottle of liquor on the table. He rushed for it and gripped it tightly, a safe distance away from the door and from the edge of the building.
This was better than nothing.
The banging on the door became slower, harder, calculated.
The beating of his heart swelled when he heard a creak, and another, and another and the door swung open. Izuku swallowed his breath and braced himself. The man surged forward.
Glass cracked at the skull of the attacker and Izuku fell backwards when a fist landed hard on his jaw. He winced painfully on the cold concrete.
He needed to leave.
Shit, the man was still standing, blood rolled down his face but he was still standing, unfazed, like Izuku had only scratched him.
Holy fuck!
Please.
Izuku groaned as he tried to get up and run but the man was quick. He grabbed him by the arm and yanked him up.
“Little fuck, you thought you could run away from me?!” he seethed and landed another punch on the boy, causing him to slither backwards and back to the ground. Izuku barely had the time to recoil when he was carried into the air by the collar, feet barely on the ground.
Izuku spat into his face and kicked him in the groin. The man stumbled and they both fell to the ground. Izuku winced falling on his left side, pain shot through him and he swore he broke a rib.
He needed to leave. He had to.
He teetered a distance and got up to sprint but a grab at his ankle forced him back to the ground, he groaned loudly in pain at the impact, something cracked inside his left side and he was sure this time he’d broken a rib.
Tears stung his eyes at the pain and the man was back on his feet. He seethed and pulled him up, slapping his hand across the face. Izuku tasted cooper and he spat the red liquid again in his face.
“You! Squeak!” the man yelled as Izuku desperately landed kick after kick from where he was raised.
A gasp croaked past Izuku’s throat when he was swung to the ground, he fell flat on his back and pain flooded inside his bones. He groaned painfully, unable to move, unable to process what was happening around him. The sky spun and the wind gushed through him. He choked on spit or blood, the man’s laughter fell on his pinna muffled by the breeze and blood pulsing through his ears.
“You deserve to die!” is all Izuku heard before fingers coiled around his throat and squeezed. Izuku gasped for breaths and his eyes burned. He laid limp, unable to move an inch. Energy drained from him with every strangled gasp he took. Fingers coiled tighter, nails digging deeper and deeper into his skin.
***
The door shut behind him, the room oblivious to the sound raging beyond the walls. Bakugo rubbed his sweaty palms at the sides of his pants as he bowed to the men inside. Kirishima, on the other hand, did too, introducing himself with a polite formality.
He skimmed over everyone in the room: decorated in articulate traditional paintings, fairly raised walls that made him a little claustrophobic. Food was perfectly aligned on lowered tables. Bakugo lost his appetite. The three men in the room were dressed in suits, seated with their legs crossed, backs stretched straight. They all looked older than him— older than his dad too.
“Bakugo Katsuki.” He introduced himself and the men got up, to shake his hands.
Don’t embarrass me, son. His father’s voice repeated in his head like a song playing on loop. His shoulders tensed, squared and he sucked in a breath, trying to give off the confidence he was meant to.
Kirishima was smoother, more experienced. It gave Bakugo some sort of reassurance. It could be the reason why his father insisted on having Kirishima by his side for his first business meeting.
Was he supposed to smile? He thought but smiled nonetheless. They flashed professional smiles, their wrinkles creased as they tried to hide the disappointment that flattered in their aged features. Well, if Bakugo was a fifty year old man with ambitions that could possibly ruin his reputation and his family’s, and a meer 18/19 yr old showed up to his long planned meeting then he would be fucking upset. Disrespected!
He only hoped the men did not think that way (or had an ego the size of his fucking toe). And if they were fucking despising him then he hoped to blow them away.
“Shall we start?” Bakugo broke the silence and the men nodded.
“Poll numbers are tighter than expected. And Yuji is gaining ground fast.” The man in the middle started.
“Which is why we're here. You stay in office, we stay in business.” Bakugo said, professionally, courage building as more words came out of his mouth.
“What are you offering?”
“We are going to fund your campaigns. We suppress his base. Protest permits. We’ll plant some dirt— old photos. His children.” Bakugo continued and they nodded, the conversation flowed naturally after that and by the time they came to an agreement, the men were smiling and giggling.
“Your father is quite a man, isn’t he?” the shortest one of the three asked, voice a little slurry, a porcelain cup to his lips and cheeks slightly tinted pink.
“Yes, he is.” Bakugo agreed, shifting slightly from where he sat.
“He did a great job. My son can’t read even if you paid him too.” Another chimed into the conversation, they laughed. “You’re a rare, young man.”
Bakugo, unsure how to react, nodded and tugged his lips upwards. His chest coiled from the inside.
His father… wouldn’t be elated.
Their laughter filled the room and Bakugo drew away, filled the white porcelain cup with the cold liquor and brought it to his lips. His father sure was different, he had a legacy to leave behind and a child to uphold it.
Other kids were different, too. They weren’t born with the legacy of their parents on their shoulders. With the cross of leadership heavy on their backs. A happiness to pay for their “almost perfect” life.
They had dreams and plans for the future. Bakugo was born to live dreams, not his. To accept and love what’s been prepared for him. Not to work for it but to prove his worth.
“My eldest son is always bringing women home and then there’s my youngest…” the man sighed. Bakugo listened quietly as he sipped on the sweet liquid to keep himself busy. A little intrigued by the conversation. Curious.
If the sons of such esteemed men lived just like him. Or if they lived normally, just like everybody else. If he was just built… different.
“… he says he likes boys.” The man finished and the air bubbled with laughter.
“There’s always one like that, I’m not surprised.”
Bakugo’s chest tightened and a weight blocked his throat.
He was different.
Porcelain clinked as he filled the cup after every sip, Kirishima sat quietly, eyes glued to his phone. Bakugo pulled out his phone too but just stared at it. Who was he even to talk to? He placed it back into his pockets.
“It’s getting late.” He said and the men groaned, completely wasted. Bakugo tried to keep a straight face,
“It’s not that late.”
…
After escorting the men, Bakugo felt like he could finally breathe.
“You didn’t have to do all that.” Kirishima mentioned when the vehicles disappeared behind the walls and into the traffic.
“Whatever.” He replied and walked past him to head back into the room they were in. He sat and poured more liquor into the cup and sipped on, legs crossed, getting comfortable.
The redhead sat across him and poured himself liquor too. They watched each other in silence.
“So, what are you going to do about your boyfriend?” Kirishima finally asked. Voice painting the ugly converse of the silence.
“He’s not.” Bakugo corrected the words sour, bitter and hot on his tongue.
“Didn’t seem like it.”
“He’s not.” Bakugo hated that he had to say it twice. Kirishima smiled, possibly to evoke an emotion out of him. Bakugo was too tired.
“You still like him.”
Bakugo flinched and the sweet liquor burned down his throat.
“You’re getting married, you know that.” Kirishima contorted and Bakugo placed the porcelain cup back on the table a little too roughly.
“Can we not talk about that?”
“I’m just saying.” Kirishima drained out. “You better not string him along.”
“…”
Bakugo knew that but how could he not have Izuku beside him.
“He won’t take it well if he finds out.”
“I fucking know that.” Bakugo snapped, he fucking knew that! Repeating it only made it more real. More present. “How about you and Mina?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“Fucking ass.” Bakugo contorted. “She has a boyfriend now.”
“Good for her.” Kirishima replied bitterly and Bakugo managed to crack his first smirk of the night.
“He’s pretty, too.” Bakugo laughed, cynical. “Very much your type.”
“Shut up, bitch.”
This time it was Bakugo’s laughter that burst inside the room.
***
Thin strips of white smoke slithered through the cold moist air. Bakugo sighed, smoke coating his lungs, as they walked through the silence. After what felt like hours of useless chatter, they both decided to head back to the hideout. Kirishima had whined but the thought of Izuku sleeping alone somewhere foreign with barely anyone he trusted felt like leaving priceless porcelain at the edge of a raised table.
After a few walks he was a little light headed, sweet liquor diluted in his system. Kirishima was calm but his side, quite and it was unsettling. Maybe because he brought up what happened at the rooftop earlier only for Bakugo to snap at him. Maybe because Bakugo had to cut their time together short because he was too worried about Izuku to pay attention to their conversations, dismissing them passively.
A scream rang through the air and it was muffled almost immediately.
Alerted, Bakugo’s gaze snapped upwards and his stomach dropped.
“Izuku.”
***
I’m going to die. I’m going to die.
Izuku chanted as his vision darken, stars bursting into black holes, and his body going limp, melting into the ground.
A wet gasp was muffled and a warm liquid spluttered all over Izuku. The grip around his throat loosened and the predator fell on his side with a loud thud.
Izuku gasped for breath, trembling hands tracing the warm sting on his neck.
“Come here.” Bakugo said, dropping the blade, Izuku stared at the body beside him. He calmed, his terror ceased when he looked at Bakugo’s hand stretched out for him. “You don’t have to worry about him, he’ll be dead soon.”
Dead? Izuku panted, the word a cold stream of water in a desert.
He glanced at the soon to be corpse, throat slit open and blood splattered all over, flowing to him and staining his clothes and skin.
“He’s dead.” Izuku said, frozen on the ground.
“It’s okay.” Bakugo’s hand was still stretched out, he smiled and Izuku had never felt so, so relieved. He held it and he was pulled to an embrace.
Bakugo’s bloody hand cupped the back of his head, the body on the floor trembled at its last breath and Izuku wasn’t scared. He closed his eyes and hugged his best friend. His heartbeat rang in his ears, his cologne mixed with a faint smell of cigarette smoke brought him comfort. Fear from seconds ago a distant memory, fleeting with the lifeless man’s soul.
Izuku was oddly calm. At least in that moment.
Bakugo’s not who you think he is. Izuku did not care.
He tightened his hold around his best friend and his chest swelled.
“Thank you.” He whispered and Bakugo kissed the top of his head, unwilling to let him go.
The rooftop door swung open and Kirishima groaned, breaking the two apart. He stared at the dead body and sighed again.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
…
The lighting was dim and the water was warm, softly caressing Izuku’s skin. The silence was stretched thick— almost uncomfortable. Izuku was still in the bathtub, hyper aware of his exposed skin. Bakugo didn’t seem to care though. He flashed Izuku a warm smile as his hands massaged his scalp.
Bakugo was gentle, like he was handling delicate— priceless pottery. Crimson eyes warmed into a warm blood-birth rendering Izuku speechless. He sucked in a breathy gasp as warm water cooled against his back, tracking the curve of his spine in its wake. Fingers followed, warm and careful, caressing his skin tentatively, tracing him like a secret.
Izuku warmed, every piece of his being blazed under the relatively warm soapy water. Lingering gazes and touches left his gasping and silently pleading for more.
Yet he never took his gaze off his best friend. The giddy feeling in his chest swelled —burned. His heart melted in the fury and it pained. He hated it.
Bakugo was so warm, careful. So familiar Izuku missed it. He missed strong hands gripping him to comfort. Lingering gazes that awoke butterflies in the depths of his stomach. Unbothered chatter. Thoughtless laughter. Kisses to his neck, to his chest, to his fingers, to his thighs, to his lips. He missed being held, being seen. He missed him.
Izuku missed his Kacchan.
“Hey!” Bakugo called softly, thumb caressing his salty stained check. Izuku sniffed and his heart hurt. He hated it, wanted it gone. “Hey.” Bakugo repeated softer and cupped his cheeks, slippery hands firm against his skin.
“I’m sorry. I should not have done that in front of you.” He whispered, closing in, their foreheads touched, noses an inch apart, lips an inch further.
It wasn’t that. Izuku was so angry, his chest was in pain, he sighed and breathed in Bakugo’s breath. His heart pained so much it could burst.
“Kacchan.” He breathed, a tear rolled down his cheeks. He held onto him like a lifeline. Like letting him go would shatter him completely. His pulse rising, wild and erratic, loud enough to break the silence. He breathed him in.
Izuku wanted him back. He wanted him back under his skin, under the tips of his tongue. In the depths of his soul.
Those eyes, Izuku wanted them for him, only his.
He didn’t know if he’d be forgiven. He didn’t know if he deserved to be
But he leaned in anyway.
“Izuku—”
He kissed him. Their mouths met in a collision of pain and longing and years of things left unsaid.
Izuku whimpered when Bakugo sighed into him—like he’d been waiting for this, terrified to hope. Cold fingers traced his cheeks, slid down his neck, and carved a home in his soul.
Izuku’s mind flared, he needed this, a tear rolled down his cheek when Bakugo matched his rhythm. He gasped breathlessly, a sound that cracked open something deep inside Izuku. The image of Bakugo and her disappeared like a paper under a flame in a black night; ashes disappearing into nothingness. All those days Bakugo missed his gaze evaporated like a mist when he grounded him, wet tongue slipping into his mouth.
His sanity thinned into a distant white noise as he stood from the bathtub and sat on top of his best friend. He moaned into him when Bakugo held his waist, wet skin against wet skin, and pulled him close with an urgency that left Izuku gasping a stuttering mess into him.
Bakugo’s moved up his soapy wet back, bursting every nerve in its wake, another tear rolled down Izuku’s cheek when all his anger, all his pain and frustration and grief burned at his best friend’s touch morphing into a thin smoke that he gasped out in a moan.
Izuku held onto him tighter, like the world would stumble over if he was a millimeter away, he didn’t care to breathe and he just let it out, into him.
As Bakugo’s lips salvaged him whole, Izuku dissolved—into nothingness, into everything.
Did it matter if the sun belonged to the earth? Either way, the earth would wither without it.
Notes:
That ending scene...
Honestly I didn't intend for Izuku to jump on Bakugo like that!! Lol but if they kissed with him in the bathtub it would be weird and I wanted that scene to be as intimate as possible.Fun fact: they only kissed, Haha. (My babies have so much to work on and I'm not a fan of being intimate with some unresolved feelings and stuff like that. To me that shit is basically torture and honestly not fun. I love intimate intimacy and we'll have to work for it. T°T)
Also, is my writing improving? I literally pulled my big one on this chapter. And in just a week for 4-5 hrs a day!
Low-key thought the AO3 curse had gotten me. Does it hit once or does it hit you simultaneously?
I had so much to say... Anyway let me know what you guys are thinking, I'll be glad to respond to y'all
Chapter 12: Clearer than daylight, darker than midnight
Summary:
New friends?!
Chapter Text
Chatter bounced off the walls of the classroom, the air was thick, scented with tens of different perfumes, body odor and a thin strip of kiki pollen. Thin particles of chalk power dusted the air, floating under the strip of sunlight that fell on top of his table.
“Well that really doesn't make sense, Itsuka has always been a little slutty but this is just crazy.” One of the girls in front of him said, leaning to her neighbour.
The name Itsuka had infested the classroom like an airborne infection, everyone had caught it.
Monoma thought it was a good thing. Being in a school with no drama sucks.
New school.
New beginnings.
His lips stretched into a grin, heart warm, settled in his chest. He was the guy. New people fawning over him. His seat was warm and each time he looked around, someone smiled, waved or blushed at him.
Just like it should be.
His new classroom was bigger than his old one; warmer, lovelier, and more cheerful than his old one. His classmates seemed to be friendlier too.
All except the one he was bound to call ‘neighbor’.
“Well she's likes fucking around. I'm not surprised she's into filming, too.” The girl dark brown responded with a snicker; a little colder for someone talking from the sidelines. The other girl chimed in, chuckles blossoming into full blown laughter.
“That video was nasty.”
“Very weird.”
"I heard she also did it with Riku."
"That's disgusting..."
Monoma breathed, leaning back, getting bored.
His heart breathed in warmth, he was in a new environment, everyone seemed to be interested in him, his class seemed to be fun and exciting. Dramatic, too. But there's that part of his chest that was cold, lain in freezing discomfort.
This wasn't the classroom he wanted to be in.
This wasn't Shoto's classroom.
He let out a hot breath, at least it was right before his own.
A breath swept past his skin, hot and swift; almost accidental. He snapped his gaze to the boy seated beside him. Mid long purple hair, fairly pale skin, bags —almost the color of his hair— under his eyes. He looked like missed a couple years of sleep. Odd, Monoma thought, watching as his hands fumbled to doodle cartoons at the side of his notebook.
He opened his mouth to say something but stopped remembering what had happened earlier when he tried talking to him.
Monoma clenched his pen and looked away.
This guy was… weird.
Weird and rude.
Everyone else was so welcoming… sweet, too. Yet he wasn't even bothered to say hi to his new neighbor?!! Monoma faked a yawn and nudged the guy by the hand causing him to form an angry line through his cute drawings. He smirked and looked away. Serves him right!
To his surprise, the purple head only sighed and placed his pen down with a miniature plop. Not bothering to spare Neito even a breath.
“Monoma? Right?” The brunet from his front turned to him once the teacher stepped outside the classroom. The girls from the front smiled wide and plastic, he smiled back and nodded. His neighbour scoffed as if menacing.
“Right!” He responded with fake enthusiasm, cheeks always burning from forcing them wide. “Monoma Neito.”
“You have such a nice name, too! Which school did you come from?” A girl who was walking around the classroom stopped and chimed into the conversation, smiling brightly like she belonged. A few others joined and in a matter of seconds he was surrounded by half of the class; both boys and girls. Asking him questions left and right like he was the son of Picasso.
“Itsuka Kendo!” A voice called, loud like a thunder clap, slicing through the conversations bubbling over the classroom. Silence fell heavy in the room and for some reason his heart started pounding. Whoever Itsuka Kendo was, was in for some kind of trouble.
Chairs creaked on the cold hard floor and the girl stood up. The air froze and some whispered “Slut!” from the opposite end of the classroom. The two girls who sat in front of Monoma snickered in whispers with a few that surrounded him.
“You're needed in the principal's office.” The woman said and the girl, Itsuka, nodded. As if in defeat, her red rimmed eyes scanned the crowd, almost like a silent plea; Is there anyone that feels bad for me? She looked disappointed, defeated as she stepped forward, shoulders slumped, skin pale. The pain in her eyes was replaced with resentment. And for some reason unbeknownst to Monoma, his heart throbbed.
For her.
“Slut!” Someone said, louder this time. The shit froze, only for a second. It was that voice again— but did it matter who had said it? Everyone broke into laughter. Mocking and demeaning. Monoma's heart throbbed, again.
“She's so evil, bro. To think that she's the one that set up Izuku with Mr. Riku…” A boy whose name he wasn't bothered to remember said disgust written all over his face.
“Karma works fast, bitch!” Another girl exclaimed and Monoma's gaze followed Itsuka, her face twisted from resentment to pure hatred when she met with someone in the hallway. Neito had to crane his neck to see who she was looking at: Izuku.
“Fuck you!” She spat, her voice low, guttural. It echoed. Monoma could feel her hatred spill out of her, pure as the deepest parts of hell, sprouting through him.
Izuku looked at her confused with those wide green eyes, pure and innocent as a polished jade, smooth and unblemished. Monoma wanted to gouge them out.
He should have died just as Monoma had planned.
“... all that because she was jealous of Izuku and Bakugo. It's weird, those two broke up years back but she's so obsessed with Bakugo she'd do anything to keep him away from anyone.” The group watched the girl with judging eyes.
“Girl, that's so fucked up.”
“Exactly. Poor Izuku. To think everyone was calling him all sorts of things in the group chat breaks my heart.”
“Right! I know this might sound bad but I'm so glad Riku died.” There were stretched gasps that followed that statement. A knowing silence followed before someone laughed.
“Girl you're so evil.” They snickered.
Something threshed violently in Neito's chest but he was still curious.
“Someone died?” He asked. The girls piped up, excitement and mischief bursting into flames in their eyes.
“Some hot math teacher—”
“Bitch, he wasn't hot!”
“Yes he was!”
“No, he wasn't.”
“...” Frustration slowly crawled under his skin.
“Well… that doesn't matter anymore. He was hot for a teacher I'd say… but anyway apparently him and Itsuka planned to ruin Izuku's image —i didn't even know that was his name until recently— because she was jealous of him for being so close to Bakugo. Apparently he and Bakugo have been friends since they were kids. Rumor has it that they are still in love with each oth—”
“—no they're not!”
“You don't know that!" The brunet snapped at her friend then looked back to Neito, "Anyway, some shit happened along the way and they stopped being friendly back in freshman year. Then out of the blue, Bakugo and Itsuka started dating —before that Itsuka had this massive crush on Bakugo( says her friends). It was so suddenly and apparently Bakugo did that to get back at Izuku for God knows what—” Another girl cut in.
“— Apparently, Bakugo was jealous of Izuku and some girl that left a few years back. But they weren't dating and they we're just friends. Bakugo miss took it for something else. He messed up, big time. Izuku was so hurt they never spoke to each other for years.”
“Girl, it was only two years, why are you exaggerating?!”
“I'm not! That's what I was told.”
“Anyway, a few months passed and the two broke up. It seemed like Itsuka was played but I think she was calm/ delusional since Bakugo and Midoriya never spoke to each other in those two years.
“But then, all of a sudden they are back together, being cosy and all, I think that upset Itsuka so seduced the math teacher and told him to harass Izuku—” the girl pulled out her phone and showed her screen in Monoma’s face. The picture of Izuku and a man, visually older than him, came as a shock to Monoma. “— looks can deceive, right?” She asked him, shoving her phone back into her bag.
Monoma nodded, the image was still corroding his skull.
“That's what we all thought until another picture leaked showing how that pedophile was forcing himself on the poor boy.”
“Shits been hectic the past few days.”
“Fuck.” Monoma said without any remorse or whatsoever.
Whatever happened to Izuku doesn't compare to what happened to him back in middle school. “That's so messed up.” He said, not meaning it.
“It is! And I haven't told you the best part yet!” The girl clapped her hands together, eyes glinting in excitement.
“A full blown sextape of Itsuka started moving around yesterday night. Everyone, and I mean everyone has seen it. And then, this morning you heard that a teacher was dead, didn't you?” Monoma nodded, the day had been lousy since most teachers were not around. At some burial.
“It's the same guy.”
“That's weird.” Monoma commented.
“Exactly!” The brunet agreed “Do you think someone planned it?”
“I'm sure, it's Bakugo.”
“You think he killed the teacher?”
“What?! No, I'm talking about Itsuka's bullshit!”
Monoma still remembers the way that girl looked at Izuku, with such a resentment that only he could understand.
“He's the one that sent it to Hinari.”
"Yeah, but I'm sure that man I don't know, just died. No one cares, honestly.”
“Right! Bakugo can be a little crazy but not that crazy. He wouldn't kill anymore.”
“Yeah, he's so hot, too.”
“Yeah, Izuku, that lucky bitch!” They laughed at that comment and Monoma’s thoughts trailed away.
They were still happy together. It sickened him.
He saw them, Izuku resting calmly in Bakugo's chest, being embraced like his life depended on it. Bakugo was still smiling even after everything he put him through. He hated it. How come he gets to be happy when Monoma silently rotted with envy and guilt? It was devouring him whole. Shoto didn't want to see him again because of him. Everything in his life fell apart because of Bakugo.
It wasn't fair that he was happy.
That's why Izuku needed to die.
It would be fair that way.
Monoma gripped his pen and wincing slightly when it cracked and sliced his palm lightly. Hot toxic liquid burned through his veins, heating up every cell in his body.
The back of his elbow itched, Monoma traced the scar around it in soft patterns, trying to resist the overbearing urge to scratch his skin off. It burned like worms under his skin, feeding on his flesh. He soothed the skin, ‘please stop, not now’. He wanted to drill a knife into his skin and cut the piece off but that meant another scar, bigger resentment. More worms.
It was all because of Bakugo.
Monoma still remembers being afraid, alone. Afraid of dying as he lay helpless in the middle of nowhere. Half of his limbs broken. It was cold, empty and wet. He remembers feeling everything and nothing. So ashamed, so helpless and heartbroken. He remembers the cold look in Bakugo's eyes, red and scotching like sulphur. His demeaning laughter that played on an endless loop in his nightmares.
Monoma knew Bakugo, he knew Bakugo had killed whoever that math teacher was.
Bakugo was a maniac. He would do anything if Izuku was involved.
Fuck, Monoma wanted to see him rage. He wanted to see him hopeless and stupid. He wanted to see him lose and cry and beg. He wanted him to pay so badly for the scars he left on his body. For the terrors that haunt him at night. Monoma wanted to take away whatever he had: Izuku.
He had failed, but not again.
Time flew by swiftly after that, slow and delicate like the flowers that wilted by the day outside his classroom window. From where he sat he could see everything in the pavilion. He was wondering where his neighbour had disappeared to but that question was answered when he noticed a familiar bob of purple hair. His neighbour jogged through the fields, dressed in the school's football jersey. Neito’s chest lightened for a second, the boy in the field looked nothing like his neighbour. A soft, cautious smile dancing around his lips.
The siren snapped him out of his trance. He startled and picked his belongings as a few students started walking up to him. He smiled at them when they were in close proximity.
“Do you want to walk with us, Neito?” Neito? Neito? The boy who asked smiled smugly. What the fuck? Were they assuming tightness already? This wasn't the kind of friends he wanted to make.
“Sure.” He forced a smile as he stepped away from his table. The group cheered as they walked out of the classroom.
“Class 3A might have gotten two newbies but we definitely got the prettiest one.” The guy from earlier, Fukidashi, said as he slung an arm around Monoma's shoulder. Monoma smiled in discomfort, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Too friendly.
From the corner of his eyes, he spotted a familiar bunch of purple hair, now standing outside a room looking so intently inside. Still in his football jersey. His stance, a little awkward, hands gripping tightly the straps of his backpack.
“What room is that?” Monoma asked, pointing where the purple head stood.
“Oh, that!” Fukidashi said, “That is the reading room or something like that. It's for the seniors like us. It's for personal reading, no one uses it —very soon teachers are going to force us to use it— though most people use it for making out since it's never supervised. Wanna check it out?” Monoma nodded, he wanted to see what got that grumpy ass neighbor of his looking so angry and withered.
The purple head turned and looked at them, eyes narrowing on Monoma before he turned on his heels to leave.
“Don't mind, Shinsou. He might seem rude at first but he's very nice.” Shinsou, huh? Tsuburaba said from his right as they changed course, footsteps thumping against the hard concrete.
“Slick, right?” Fukidashi commented and he nodded, taking in the sight before him. The room was huge, huge enough to fit the entirety of the senior class, tables aligned with chairs in rows and columns. The lighting dim, soft evening rays bled into the windows and caressed the furniture they landed on.
Monoma sought for what had caught Shinsou’s eyes and his heart dropped after he found it.
Shoto sat a few rows and columns away from the door of the room. His position was hard to locate at first sight. He was with that dude from that night of the party. The four eyes buff guy that was glued to him for almost the entire night of the party. Monoma had wanted to have a conversation with Shoto but that guy made it almost impossible.
They seemed close. Monoma's chest stung at the thought. Were they closer? He thought back to a few weeks back; after he had accidentally stabbed Shoto. Every time he went to the hospital to visit him, that nerd was with him. Every single time!
They couldn't be together. Shoto liked soft guys, just like him.
It still bothered Monoma that they were close. They were together most of the time.
Shoto looked up and smiled at Monoma. His heart leaped for a second, he smiled back and waved.
There was a distance between them. He'd created it, he walked away. Why did he think Shoto would be waiting for him? Was he? Why isn't he happy that Monoma now goes to school with him? He should've come to say 'hi'. His classroom was right next to his!
Monoma felt energy drain from his raised arm when the dude next to Shoto kind of glared at him. Huh?
“You know them?” Fukidashi asked after he peeped inside.
“Only Shoto.” He responded and they walked away.
The entire walk home felt like a draining spree, the conversations his new classmates tried to engage him into were muffled into a blur.
Spinner[5:05pm]: boss is back
Monoma read the text on his phone, over and over again, he closed his device and exhaled. Anxiety prickled over his skin.
Why now?
***
Asking his homeroom teacher to be Shoto's tutor might have been a terrible idea.
A pathetic one.
Yet Iida couldn't pass up the opportunity to spend more time with Shoto. His heart thudded low and deep, Shoto closed in, his cologne washed over Iida like a sweet nauseating wave. He sucked in a breath as the red-white head pointed at something in his notebook, worried it might come off as annoying or irritating.
Shoto looked up to meet Iida's eyes, lips curled into a small pout. Iida's chest could burst at how endearing that small gesture was. He could swim in Shoto's presence if he could.
“That's not the answer you got though.” Iida breathed out as he pointed the tip of his pen at the equation printed in the textbook.
“You mixed the principles a little in the beginning. When you differentiate an equation and then you integrate it, you get that very same equation with an arbitrary constant.” He spoke, heart grinding against his rib cage, fast and uncharted.
“Let's say we have an equation, sin²x, if you differentiate it then you'll have…” he started scribbling out the numbers on his page, “... let's say you are differentiating with respect to x…” Iida trailed off, watching as Shoto's attention drifted outside the room yet again.
Iida's heart lapsed, as if drenched in a pool of water. Was he hoping to find that girl that he was with earlier that morning? Bakugo's fiance? It seemed pretty serious what was going on between them. Did they love each other? Well he overheard her confess her feelings for Shoto but did Shoto have feelings for her?
“Todoroki…” Iida called, calmly. “You can't be doing this the whole time we're here.” He added once Shoto's eyes were on him, again. They drifted away for a second but they were back on him seconds later.
“Sorry, let's continue.” He mumbled looking from Iida to the textbook.
“Okay—” Suddenly Shoto shifted, he smiled, looking outside as he waved his hands enthusiastically. He beamed, staring at the blonde outside. He smiled like he'd been waiting to do so the entire day to do so. Iida could feel the corners of his heart crack, a flame flickering into dim embers. This was pathetic.
“Should we stop here for today?” Iida asked but he was already closing his notebooks. “Why? We haven't even started yet.”
“I know. Maybe you need someone else to tutor you. I can't.”
“But we've only begun.” Iida looked at Shoto, he sighed feeling exasperated.
“Why are you acting like this?” Iida asked, a lump swelling in his throat. Jaw clenching. “Do you just have sex with people and act like it's nothing a few days later?”
***
Izuku was in his head.
Funny how everything just took this drastic turn. Or maybe it didn't, maybe he was blinded to everything around him. Everything felt so hazy, like he'd just woken up from a heavy nap. He was still trying to process everything, it still felt so unreal and he was floating inside a thin bubble of delusion, swelling as it rose. Until it burst. And he just fell hard back into reality. Raw and disoriented.
Everything that happened, happened so fast. Kacchan. What was he? Who the fuck was he?!
The person he saw on Wednesday night wasn't the loud yet sweet boy he met in his elementary school. He wasn't the goofy hormonal teenager fell in and out of love with, back in his middle school. And he sure as hell wasn't the cold yet calm and composed boy that had returned to him a few months back.
It wasn't his best friend but he was still so much of his best friend.
Izuku's body still burned, a lingering pain. Evidence that the night from days ago wasn't just a spectacle, or some sick imagination of his. It was real.
He'd witnessed his best friend kill someone, a grown man much older than them with such ease, like it was a practice that accumulated into skill with time.
Those cold eyes that stared down at the dying human held no remorse that matched Izuku's own.
He could still see that man, the memory of him laying on the floor, throat open with blood spilling out of him, played like a video projected in his skull on a loop.
Izuku had looked at him, and looked and looked and looked, and he felt...nothing. No remorse, no guilt, no terror, not even disgust. Just relief. Sweet glorious relief that washed over him like triumph after a gruesome battle. And that demon whispered at the back of his mind saying ‘he deserved it.’
Yet his skin tingled as the memory from moments after that played out in his head. Clearer than daylight. Darker than midnight.
Kacchan had been so gentle, afraid to startle, scared to break. Like he'd been teetering about bobby traps. He'd looked at Izuku with gentle eyes, a blood birth as hot as a lava. Relief, terror, joy, anger and lust boiled into one. And Izuku had fallen in, drowned and burned.
Izuku ran a hand through his hair. Did that mean there was something wrong with him? What would that make him if he admitted that he wanted to go back? To scald every nerve in his system in the wake of his best friend's touch. Should he be worried? Should he be glad that he didn't? And then what the fuck?! Why did he do that? Why did they do that? Why did he want it again? So bad.
Shit. He wanted more.
He wanted his best friend against his body again. He wanted to be kissed like that again, like the world was crumbling. Like he was dying and the only thing that could save him was his touch. Cold wet fingers worshipping his body. Hot mouth desperate on his own. He wanted to hear his name leave his best friend's hot, wet lips like a mantra. Like a worship song he could never forget. He wanted him to cry for him, to need him. To make up for the two years they lost teetering around the edges of their egos, dancing to the tunes and melodies their demons played for them.
Izuku was sick of wanting it.
So little yet so much.
He just wanted his best friend to want him. To need him.
Damn, something was wrong with him.
How could they do that? How could he crave that? Especially after someone had died laying beside him.
Why did he like it? He liked it so much it was killing him.
The last siren of the day roared from outside the classrooms. There were soft mummers of joy from the students; it was time to go home. The teacher looked visually pleased as well. He summarized his lesson and closed the textbook he was holding and the gadgets then walked out. Everyone in the classroom sighed and chatter arose, booming through the room. Students flocked out of the classrooms, banter growing loud and louder, tables and chairs squeaked against the hard smooth floors. Giggles and laughter roared over everything else. Students grouped in duos and more whereas preferred to move alone. Couples, loners and groupies. They all left the classroom in under ten minutes.
Everything still felt so surreal, almost eerie. Like the news about Riku’s death hadn't been passed. Well no one seemed to care about that man, especially not Izuku. It was almost relieving to know that he had nothing to do with the teacher's unfortunate end, which was funny because hours ago he'd been spiraling at the thought of it being him.
The atmosphere was a warm orangish gold. Izuku stayed rooted in his seat. He rested his arms on top of his table as he let the soft breeze caress him. It was only the middle of autumn and boy was he exhausted.
Izuku didn't want to go home, but he didn't want to be here either. At least now here, there was no one around. He looked at the phone now sitting at the top of his table and picked it up. He’d found it in his room the morning after he told Kacchan he wanted nothing to do with him. It seemed like Kacchan had come to see him the night before. He sighed and held it with caution, afraid it would fall, like it wasn't his— and it wasn't, he wasn't going to accept it.
It was the lightest shade of green, the kind he would've gotten if he had the money to buy one. Heavy in his palms, a burden.
After his small outburst, Izuku couldn't go back home. He knew Kacchan would be waiting.
He only wondered: what would he have said if he'd remembered what happened the night before? Would he fold like a pretzel? Or was it some kind of warning from the universe? Don't let his study words move you, don't let that stupid kiss that left you tingling all over change your mind. Don't give in! He'll leave you again.
A message in a bottle, sealed and left to float at sea for ages. A sweet message sent only to reach the shore when it's inconvenient. When lives have changed and the recipient has already moved on.
“Just fucking keep it.” A voice oh-so-familiar cut through the silence, bursting his thoughts into a jumbled mess. Izuku startled.
“Kacchan…?” Izuku lifted his gaze to the male towering over him.
“Keep it.” Katsuki pulled a seat and sat facing Izuku. Crimson eyes met emerald orbs. Izuku's heart skittered three beats— skipped four more. “I'd rather destroy it than keep it myself.”
“I don't want it.” Izuku pushed the device forward, Bakugo only stared at it, stoic.
He sighed, “Then do whatever the fuck you want. I don't want it either, stupid nerd.” He mumbled the last part looking away slightly, as if nervous. Izuku's cheeks reddened.
“You didn't have to get it.” Izuku mumbled, staring at the device.
“Yeah, and you can walk around school with that pathetic brick of a phone.” Katsuki snap with no malicious intent
Why are you doing this? Izuku wanted to ask but with Kacchan, there never will be answers to the whys.
“That's not your business, Kacchan—”
“—I'm always free after classes.” Bakugo cut in— his voice almost like a plea, Izuku's breath clogged his throat. “We can catch up on school work together. You don't need a tutor.”
“Kacchan, you don't have to do all that. I already told you…” Izuku trailed off, eyes fixed anywhere but Bakugo. A silence settled, warm and charged.
“Izuku… why are you doing this?” Bakugo said, voice low, almost broken like he was choking. His fists were clenched, knuckles white. Izuku felt something crack, somewhere deep.
He swallowed and exhaled, did he need to explain himself?
“I'm coming over tonight!” Katsuki spoke again,
“I'm not going to be—”
“—we need to talk.” Bakugo leaned in, chasing Izuku's gaze. There was an edginess in his voice. Soft and Unsettling. Izuku's stomach twisted into knots. “About that night. About what you saw. I know you have questions…”
“Bakugo you killed a man.” Izuku whispered, his voice trembled too low, heart hammering against his rib cage. Too scared to repeat the words he just said, what if someone was listening?!
“I had no fucking choice, did I?” Bakugo said, cold, angry and almost endearing. “You were going to die you dimwit hadn't I stepped in!”
“But what about you?” Izuku choked out before he could phantom the words in his mind. “What's going to happen? The police…”
“Don't worry about that.” Izuku's eyebrows furrowed, “I'll tell you everything later, okay?”
“Okay.” He nodded, hands fumbling with the device in his hands unsure of what else to do with them.
“And don't run away this time. I'll explain everything.” There it was, again. That odd calmness that melted him to a puddle.
“I won't.”
“Don't push me away either, Izuku.” Bakugo swallowed hard, eyes boring into Izuku. “I really—”
He didn't finish. Izuku sat as the silence swelled around them, waiting. ‘I really’ what?
“Izuku!” Someone called from outside the classroom but whoever they were didn't matter. He really what? He looked at Bakugo, eyes pleading; say it.
Momo’s head popped through the door frame, she froze a little when her gaze fell on Bakugo and then to Izuku again.
“You promised to show us around after classes ended.” She said, trying to sound indifferent. Bakugo pressed his lips and then sighed. He stood up, turning on his heels to walk away. Izuku watched him as his chest tightened, a cold breeze whooshing through the gaping hole in his chest.
He really what?
“Izuku…”
“Oh, Momo. Hi.” He tried to smile.
“It's okay if you don't want to, anymore. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I'm fine.” Izuku said getting up, bag slung over his shoulders. Momo smiled, long black hair tied back in a long ponytail, smartly dressed in school uniform, necktie fixed perfectly. Izuku never thought that a girl he found at a random party would randomly show up at his school as his new classmate.
“Boyfriend troubles, huh?” Rody asked once they stepped out of the classroom, taking Izuku by surprise. He pushed off the wall he was leaning on— possibly waiting for the two of them— hands nonchalantly buried in his pockets. His droopy eyes narrowed, lips stretched in a knowing smirk. The three of them walked through the hallways, taking the route opposite to that Bakugo took.
“B-boyfriend?” Izuku echoed the word, stumbling over it like a loose shoelace on uneven pavement. His face warmed to crimson. “W-what? Kacchan is not my boyfriend.”
“Kacchan?” Momo echoed with slight amusement.
“He's just a friend.” Izuku found the need to add. Four words tasted like thorns sewn into his tongue. Bakugo was his friend, always has been. Always will be.
“Whose Kacchan? Bakugo?” Momo asked with a cackle, probably enthralled.
“Yeah.” Izuku replied even though he didn't need to. He liked it, he was the only one that called Bakugo ‘Kacchan’. It made it feel like that name meant something, like he was special; to Bakugo. A word reserved just for him. He found pride in it, so much that if anyone else ever used it, it would shatter something inside him. Because it would mean Kacchan let them. And then… he must have let Izuku go.
But he didn't.
Izuku had done that. Just a few days ago.
Told him how much he hated him, how he wanted him out of his life. How he didn't need him anymore. How he was exhausted from being friends with him. Yet Kacchan still came back. He gave him this damned phone. He still wanted to talk. He really…
“That's not what we saw on Wednesday.” Momo said in a tease. Izuku flushed.
“What did you see?”
“I don't know, what were you guys doing?” She continued teasing, brushing his shoulders with hers in the process. Izuku flushed deeper thinking back, him on top of his best friend, wet and cold skin exposed, hot lips on his neck, mouth, chest… Did they see that?
“Nothing.” Izuku said immediately and Momo chuckled.
“Relax.” Her hands gripped the straps of her school bag. “I'm just playing with you, no need to get all bothered.”
“I'm not—” Izuku almost barked. He was getting flattered.
“You don't like him?” Rody asked, placing a cigarette stick between his lips.
“No—” Lies.
“—Rody… we're still in school.” Momo said as she snatched the stick away from Rody's lips. “Besides, I don't think Izuku wants to be around people that are addicted to smoking junk.”
“We're almost outside, Mom." Rody stretched the last word and Momo writhed. "It's not junk and I don't think Midoriya has a problem, right Midoriya?” Rody slung his arm over Izuku. His cologne washed over the green head like a soft tide.
“I don't mind.” Momo raised an eyebrow at his response. “Really.”
“Well… that doesn't matter, you delinquent!” She turned to Izuku. “You could've said no either way.”
“Being a goody two shoes doesn't look good on you, cousin.”
“I am.” She interjected then her eyes widened and her face flushed. “I'm not. Well, I'm a good person but I'm not a goody two shoes you little prick!”
Izuku snickered.
“Oops! There it is! The little freak!” Izuku laughed lightly watching Momo's face turn from cute, to aggressive real fast.
“Say that and I'll shove this bag inside your stupid big mouth!”
“Aww, I'm so scared!” He continued to tease and Momo was fuming. Izuku found it funny. “Shoto should never see this, he'll run away.”
“Rody, I swear. If you say that again I'll tell your mom what you did at her wedding.” Momo snapped and the air around them turned bitter, Rody's smile dropped. Momo's face turned from aggravated to guilty just as quick.
“What the fuck, Momo?” Rody's question hung in the air, his voice was low and light, but his words weighed heavy even to Izuku who was clueless to what was going on.
“Sorry, I got carried away.”
“You promised not to bring that up again.”
“I'm sorry.” The two emerged from the school gates, Izuku exhaled and Rody lit another cigarette, Momo didn't complain.
The air was still tense and it was getting even more uncomfortable by the minute.
“I'm going to join the soccer team.” Rody blew out a thick white smoke.
“Really?” Izuku asked.
“What? Why?” Momo sounded irritated and fed up.
“Because I'd love to. Do I need another reason?” Thin threads of white smoke danced under the golden light. People on the streets only looked on, not surprised by the sight of a high school student smoking cigarettes just outside school. Rody inhaled puffs of smoke and exhaled, Izuku only watched him. Did he not worry? “You should be happy because you can now come to soccer practice to see Shoto using me as an excuse.”
Momo blushed, “I would never.”
“Whatever you say, spoiled brat.”
“Shut up, man whore.”
“What?” Rody gasped dramatically, a hand to his chest feigning hurt. Eyes wide, grey irises even more striking under the evening sun. “Now, where is that coming from?”
“You're the one that slept with both my best friends in under a week.” Rody gasped again.
“That actually hurts my feelings, cousin. Have you ever even taken time to think that they are the ones that slept with me?”
“You're pathetic.” Momo said, kicking a pebble.
“My bad.”
“That was rude of you, actually.”
“We were just having fun.” Rody defended.
“That's what you think, now they all hate me because of you.”
“That's on them. You don't deserve people like that.”
“That doesn't mean you get to sleep with them.”
“They never really liked you though, they were using you because you're rich, pretty and boys swoon over you. They wanted to be like you. Plus, they wanted a taste of your gorgeous cousin, too.”
“Whorebag!” Momo exclaimed, a small smile on her lips.
Rody smiled, too. “Want a puff?” He extended a glowing cigarette towards Izuku, thin strips of smoke curled the air and danced their way to his nostrils. “It's okay if you don't want it.” He added immediately. Izuku only smiled as he held the thin stick between his fingers.
“I told you, I don't mind.” He then placed it between his lips. Guilt and promises pushed at the back of his mind. Smoking wasn't that bad. His classmates did it, too.
Rody's eyes were fixed on him the whole time, watching him in a way that made something stir in his chest. Something warm and warning. He smiled wide when Izuku exhaled, smoke leaving his parted lips.
“You're a natural, Midoriya.” Rody said, impressed.
“It's okay to call me Izuku, too.” Izuku felt the need to say, he returned the cigarette.
“Huh?”
“His first name you dimwit!” Momo nudged her cousin.
“Midoriya is not his first name?”
“God, you're so stupid!” Momo groaned and Izuku burst into laughter.
“Well, you're not as elegant as people think you are.”
“Does it look like I care?”
"Yes." Rody replied with a smirk.
“I think she's cool.” Izuku chimed in and Momo smiled brightly.
“Haha, sike!”
“You're being fooled, Midoriya. Izuku!” Both Momo and Izuku laughed.
“It doesn't matter, right?” Momo asked and Izuku nodded. “Okay give us a trip around town like you promised.”
***
Food stalls, malls, movie theaters, skate parks, amusement parks and abandoned buildings. The three walked past all of them. Conversations bounced from Izuku's commentaries to Momo's verbalized fascination to Rody's teasing to their bickering and Izuku's snuffled laughter.
Izuku sat in between them, Rody's arm framing his shoulders but from a distance. Momo in a slumber, her head on his shoulders. They were seated in a train leading to Izuku's home. The sky was painted black outside, the bulb above them flickering on and off. It was late, a late time for high schoolers to be heading home but that was the last thing on Izuku's mind. A calm smile claimed his lips, a few hours back felt like the best time he's had in a long time.
“What are you thinking about that's making you smile like that?”
“Nothing.”
“Really? Are you the smiley type then?” Rody teased, shifting his arm closer. Izuku could feel its warmth, spreading to the back of his neck.
“No. Do I seem like that to you?”
Rody shrugged, “I don't know. I've only known you for two days.”
“Two days?” Funny how he'd met them for only a few days but it felt like he'd been attending classes with them ever since he started high school.
“Well, we met before. A few years ago and today.” He said casually. Izuku felt his cheeks warm thinking back to that day three years back.
“You remember?”
“Of course! You stole my first kiss.”
“W-what?! That's a lie. There's no way that was your first kiss! You know, it seemed like you knew what you were doing.”
“Really? I was just following your lead.”
“You're such a liar!”
“I'm not— Don't tell me that was your first time, too!”
“...”
Izuku's words died in his throat. There's no way he was talking about that so casually.
“You were so good at it, though. I couldn't stop thinking about it for months.” Rody’s tone lowered and his gaze warmed.
“Rody...” Izuku's words melted in his chest, disoriented by the rapid thumping of his heart. “You can't be saying that.” He breathed, heat brewing between them.
“I'm telling the truth, though.” Rody's tone lowered, heat from his hand falling flat on Izuku's neck.
“Why are you telling me that? Why now?” Izuku met grey eyes and faced the floor again. Too close.
“I don't know… maybe I need something new to think about for the next couple of months.” A flame burst — liquid and hot— racing from his chest through his veins, searing beneath his skin. A finger grazed his skin and a shiver shuddered up and down Izuku's spine. Izuku looked at Rody, unsure what to say, what to do. His heart tripped over itself, skipping a beat after beats.
Momo's eyes snapped open.
“Oh please, stop it already!” she said to her cousin. “All you think about is sleeping around, isn't it?” She sat straight, gaze cold and angry. Rody retracted his hand from behind Izuku.
A cold breeze destroyed the flame just before it could even burn. Izuku sighed lightly, blowing the heat off his cheeks, trying to push off something heavy on his chest.
“You just can't say that, Momo.” Rody sounded upset, exasperated— Izuku felt exasperated too. What was he thinking just now? He clutched the fabric of his pants, and the train slowed down to a stop. The monotone sounds of the robotic lady sounded over the speakers, people started getting up as the doors slid open a distance from where the three sat. Chatter and bunter arose but it was muffled just when it peaked.
“I have to go now.” He said standing up, picking up his backpack. What was that just now? He was so embarrassed he couldn't face Momo.
“Oh,” Momo said, looking around then back at Izuku. “Is this your stop?” Izuku nodded, unable to form words.
“I'll see you tomorrow, I guess.” Izuku turned to leave. He exhaled heavily once he was out, shivering at a sudden chill that slapped across his face once he stepped out.
Rody stepped out. Momo followed after.
“Let's walk you home, then.” Rody said pocketing nonchalantly.
“It's fine, my home is only a few blocks away. Besides, how are you guys going to get back? The last train has already left.” Izuku argued, he still felt a twinge of embarrassment shimmering under his skin.
“We'll take the taxi, don't worry about us.”
“We should've just taken that from the start.” Momo complained. She looked exhausted.
“I didn't think about that. Plus I wanted to take the train, too.”
“How long have you been living here, Izuku?” Momo asked as they walked.
“Eight years, I think.”
About twenty minutes later, ten minutes past 10 pm, they made it to Izuku's place. Izuku waved them goodbye. A black car oddly parked in their front yard caught his attention, he gave it a once over before he pushed the door open and stepped inside the house.
He only hoped his mother was in her bedroom asleep or else she'd continue from where she stopped earlier that morning: complaining about him spending nights outside home, or for being an irresponsible son, or something that she might have made up while he was away.
A warmth embraced him when he stepped inside, the air mixed with the aroma of a freshly cooked meal. Laughter filled the room but it halted the moment the door slammed shut behind him. Heads turned to look at him. A few extra heads.
“Izuku!” His mother called from a distance, in the kitchen when her hair tied in a messy bun. She looked exhausted and angry. “Where have you been all this time? I tried calling your phone and you never answered.”
Trying to call me? Izuku almost scoffed, when was that —oh. That phone died. Didn't she know that? Oh, of course she didn't. It's not like she ever called him before that either.
“Izuku, where have you been?” Yugi asked, getting up, a smile on his face. Yugi never smiled, not at Izuku. The male strode a few steps and he was towering over the younger. “Don't you think that it's rude to show up at this time on a school night?” He whispered, voice slithering with menace through Izuku's core. His smile twisted into a smirk. A promise of violence.
“I didn't know.” Izuku lied, he hated this place. And his brother in it made it a thousand times more unbearable. Izuku's throat dried and he fought to say, “We had a group project, we lost track of time.”
“You little prick,” Yugi hissed, “you know what happens to liars, don't you?” He threatened, voice low only for Izuku. His words a chilling discomfort in his younger brother's bones. “Don't you forget what you did the last time I was here.”
Izuku felt weak in the knees, as if a sour rain had started pouring inside him, soaking him to the bone. His heart jumped when his brother gripped his shoulder and squeezed tight. A twinge of fear in the pits of his stomach boiling up into terror.
“I didn't do anything wrong.” Yugi gripped tighter, ensuring Izuku was in pain.
“Mom told me you've been sniffing cocaine.” Izuku paled, Yugi gripped his shoulder tighter and he felt like he was sinking into the ground. “That better not be true, Izuku.”
“N-no. I d-don't…” Izuku stammered, his brother's gaze pierced like needles, ripping off the cloth that held all his secrets, all his insecurities, spilling them like grains on sand from the raised sack. Everything laid out, bare just for Yugi.
“Yugi! Is that your brother?” A female voice called, familiar like a faint whisper from a distant memory. Golden honey eyes that reminded Izuku of the summer sunrise brightened to meet forest green. Izuku's eyes widened in surprise when he took her in. Bakugo's sister smiled and walked over. Izuku took a few steps forward, too.
“Hi, Himiko-senpai?”
“Hey, you little brat! Look at how much you've grown!” She gushed and nudged him by the shoulder.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see your mom.”
“My mom? Why?”
“Because she's dating your brother. You would know that if you put effort into getting to know your brother on a personal level.” Inko walked into the leaving room after finishing whatever she was doing in the kitchen. Izuku clenched his fists.
Aizawa smiled from the couch he was seated on, the TV was still playing. Seems like they were watching something before he walked in. The air felt eerie and tense despite the smiles flashed his way. Well, the smile.
His mother looked at him sharp.
“I swear if you don't sleep home tonight, Zuku.” she said as loud, making sure Yugi was listening. She always did this, and it sickened him. She did this thing —Izuku didn't know how to explain it but he knew exactly what it was— wherever he did something wrong. She let Yugi ‘punish’ him for her. It left a rotten spot in his chest (that he wanted to scrap off) for both his mother and brother.
“Why is everyone standing?” A voice sounded, calm but loud. Peaceful but it resonated with resentment through Izuku.
The man looked at Izuku and his stomach dropped, bile rose up his throat and his body trembled lightly. Anger building up.
“Dad?” Izuku's voice cracked, thick with wetness.
His black hair had turned completely grey, a symbol of the years that swept them apart.
“Son—”
A voice so foreign, yet it reminded of that vehemently cold winter, that loneliness that crept through frozen air like a spirit. Hot miserable summers spent on empty stomachs. ‘People without fathers are cursed, we don't want to be like you.’ Foggy and grey mornings when his mother yelled at him for demanding so much, for not being enough. Telling him how she wanted to leave, too. How she regretted so much, him. Tantrums where he was called a disgrace, how he ruined her life. Yugi's abuse. Dark and long nights where he purposefully stayed away from home, knowing he'd be punished for staying out late but he still couldn't bring himself to go home because he was scared of that place and he hated it. He would rather be somewhere random than under his brother's scrutiny. Windy midnights when he cried himself to sleep because he didn't have anyone else to tell, because it was embarrassing, too.
All because the man in front of him woke up one morning and decided he didn't want to play house anymore.
Izuku didn't want to listen to whatever bullshit he had to say. He turned on his heels and peeled the door open and stepped out, not caring if he slammed it hard or not.
He breathed heavily as his footsteps quickened, fearing that the man might be coming after him. Tears welling in his eyes, throat tight. He pulled out his phone and dialed the number he came across. The phone rang impatient, anger, fear and frustration bubbling over each time the monotone voice directed him to voicemail. He rang the number, again, again and again. Still no answer.
Bakugo didn't pick up.
But he said he'd be there, he wanted to talk.
He rang again.
“Izuku?”
The person on the other end of the line sounded surprised. Izuku took a moment to breathe, listening to the sound of sirens and cars bursting through his phone.
“Rody.” He breathed. Voice cracking.
“Izuku? Are you okay?”
“That's Izuku?” Momo's curious voice sounded from the background.
“Can I come with you guys? You won't mind if I spend the night with you guys?”
***
Bakugo gripped the edge of the table trying not to drift into his thoughts.
“All we need to do is send some men over during the campaigns. To oversee what's happening.” Eijirou said, showing different slides of the presentation on the projector.
“Don't you think the police will do that? I mean it's just campaigns. They don't need us that much.” Sero spoke, twirling a pen in deep thought.
“We need to be careful, we can't really trust them. They need to rely on us for everything.” Eijirou countered.
Bakugo nodded, this was useless. His watch felt heavy on his wrist, 12: 05 am, it read.
Shit. It was already too late.
Their entire day had been exhausting, from extremely long classes to sparring practice. His body still hummed in ache, he'd been too distracted his partner used that to his advantage to land hard blows to his body. From there he had to attend meetings again, talking with old men about the same thing over and over again was exhausting. Discussing the same topic with people his own age past midnight was even more exhausting.
There were bigger things to be worried about. The recent raid left an itchy feelings in his chest. So much was happening and everyone seemed to be sweeping what's really happening under the dust, focusing on mundane things as such.
Bakugo knew his sister had pawns all over his school, some meandering amongst his men. Iida's stolen software had to be connected to her somehow. Katsuki didn't know what the fuck it was but it must've been something that could be of use. Knowing she was a step ahead was unsettling. No wonder she appeared out of the blue.
“That's all?” Katsuki asked and they all looked at him with furrowed eyebrows.
“We were just getting started.” Eijirou commented.
Katsuki's impatience swelled, he nodded, trying to act calm and composed.
He'd promised Izuku they would talk. Thought he'd get a chance to explain himself, to try to fix things. Everything was confusing. His mind keeps on going back to that night. Why did he let that happen? Of course Izuku would regret it the next day. Why would he kiss him? Why did he look at him like that? Like he had so much to say but just laid it all out for Katsuki to pick out what he thought he saw. Why did he try to end things the day after? He must've regretted it. Of course he did. Did he really hate him now? But he kissed him. How was he going to explain killing that man? He didn't really have a choice, though. That man deserved it. It just happened, he just moved. He couldn't hold back, he couldn't watch some stranger lady his hands on Izuku! He deserved worse.
Bakugo clenched his fists and fixed his eyes on Eijirou.
Should I kill him? His father had warned, but he couldn't be one behind the attack. He wouldn't do something so shallow. So amateur. If he wanted Izuku dead he wouldn't attempt something that Katsuki would stop. If his father tried to kill Izuku, Katsuki wouldn't know how, when or where. The thought gnawed at him like worms feeding on live flesh.
“That's all for now, I guess. Do you have anything to say, Bakugo? You've been quiet the entire time.” Kirishima’s voice sunk into his thoughts, snapping him back.
“No.” He replied then glanced at his watch.
12:55 am. Fuck
Izuku would be sleeping by now. “Then let's end here.” They all nodded, getting up after closing their devices and notebooks. Shoto's gaze met Bakugo's unbothered one. He dismissed it and walked out of the meeting room.
“Hey.” Kirishima gripped him by the shoulder, halting his tracks. “You need to get serious, man. This isn't some bullshit so stop acting like a pussy.”
“Get the fuck off, Eijirou.” Katsuki could only bark, because Kirishima was right.
“Get your shit together. This is real life, not some cheesy romcom where the snappy hero ends up with his dearest princess and they live happily ever after. I know what happened to him was fucked up but suck it up.” Kirishima then sighed. “And you can't go around killing people just because you feel like it. I understand the situation with that bastard from the rooftop but your teacher? That's some fucked up shit, even for you. You think he'll like you more once he finds out that you're like this?”
Oh, Bakugo knew. He knew so well. He couldn't shake off the look Izuku gave him two days ago in his car. Eyes wide, green irises swimming in terror, anger, and resentment. Izuku was overwhelmed. Bakugo just needed to explain himself.
“They both fucking deserved it.” Bakugo shoved his hand off. “What the hell do you know about anything?”
“I know you have responsibilities. Responsibilities way bigger than some stupid puppy love.” Katsuki clenched his jaw. Eijirou was right, he knew that. But every cell in his being said otherwise.
Once he was alone he exhaled. Why does everyone get to be happy but him?
He pulled out his phone. 1:09 am. The numbers glared at him. He was so late. His chest tightened when he slid the device open only to be met with numerous missed calls from Izuku. He sighed, somehow he always ended up making things worse. Always making promises he couldn't keep.
He pushed himself up and glanced at the package sitting at his table.
“I know you don't like this but at least try. Try to be nice to her. She did want this, too. At least try being friendly.” Bakugo picked up the package and walked to Momo's room. The door swung open after a few knocks.
“Bakugo?” She opened the door in surprise, she stepped out and closed it behind her. “What's this?” Her eyes widened a little when she looked at the package in his hands.
“You said you wanted a school bag. You said the one you had was too old and tacky.”
“Well, you didn't have to get me this one!” She gasped as she took the package he held out for her.
“This doesn't mean anything. I only got it because you asked.”
“Of course I know that. I'm not stupid.” She gaped, pulling out the bag in the package.
“Kirishima thought it suited you more. Thank him, not me.”
“Okay. I wasn't planning on misunderstanding anything! I know you don't like me. Geez.” She rolled her eyes as she pulled out the bag, her eyes sparkled. At least she liked it. It wasn't like her not liking it would've changed anything either.
“Are you really okay staying here? Mom said she doesn't mind if you stay home with us.” Katsuki added, Kirishima's words a loop echoing in his head.
“I'm fine here. It's much better. Plus, I don't want to leave my cousin here. I know you don't like him. I can only imagine what you'll do to him if I leave him here alone.”
“Why the fuck would I care about that dip shit?”
“See! I can't trust you with him.” She teased with a smile, red cheeks.
“Whatever you say.” Bakugo scratched the back of his neck, the silence between them growing uncomfortable.
“I'm leaving, don't go outside, it's late.”
“Yes, dad.” Momo teased before walking back inside her room, closing the door so fast not leaving room for Bakugo to sneak a peek.
1:45 pm.
Bakugo made it to Izuku's home. Heart thumping wild, skipping a beat after two. The breeze was rough, sinking into his bones. He shivered at the chill and the anxiety that rocked with adrenaline in his veins. Tree branches danced with the wind, casting shadows over Izuku's glass windows. The moonlight was so bright he could see his reflection on the glass.
Pathetic, that's what he looked like. He raised his hand and halted before his fist collided with the glass. Silence responded almost immediately. He sighed and knocked again, twice, thrice and many more times that he couldn't count. Silence bit back, violently.
He breathed and turned on his heels, ready to leave. He must be asleep.
The lights flickered on.
Katsuki felt a smile involuntarily claim his lips. His heartbeat quickened and the chilly wind sinking into his bones stilled into a warm bath.
“What do you— Bakugo!?” The person stepped into view and Bakugo's smile dropped. The wind outside ragged and the trees threshed violently, branches on the verge of breaking. “What could you possibly be doing here at this fine hour?” The man chuckled as he stepped closer to the window. “Are you looking for Izuku?” He asked in a menace, Bakugo's heart skittered, lips curling into a sneer.
What is he doing here?
He turned to walk away. For a moment he'd forgotten that he was Izuku's family. Shit, is that why Izuku wasn't home?
“If you are then that's pathetic.” The man laughed, Bakugo felt his anger bubble and burst into flames. The man slid the window open, his laughter mingling with the wind sending heat waves all over Bakugo's skin. “Izuku left hours ago with his boyfriend.”
Bakugo clenched his fists but decided to walk away. He should've killed him two years ago when he had the chance.
But he was family, Izuku's family.
Izuku would never forgive him if he hurt his family.
Boyfriend? Izuku? Lies. That's what they were, just lies.
He stormed out of the neighbourhood, fists clenched and footsteps pounding against the pavement in a rapid angry rhythm. He should've punched him, but that would be disrespectful to Izuku.
‘That boy's a weakness.’ His father's voice echoed between his ears. ‘A time will come when you will get rid of him with your own two hands.’ Katsuki would never do that! He'd rather die than lay his hands on Izuku.
Izuku left hours ago with his boyfriend.
But they were supposed to talk! He was supposed to fix things! Is that why he wanted to break things off with him? Because of someone else? But that isn't true. That man just wanted to mess with him. Boyfriend? Bakugo scoffed. What boyfriend?
The memory from earlier that morning played like a video evidence presented in a courtroom. Izuku was smiling at him. At Rody that piece of shit! He was too angry to care but he remembers then walking out of school together with Momo.
Momo?
Izuku left hours ago with his boyfriend.
Did they know each other? Did she know Izuku? But Izuku and Rody don't know each other. Neither did Izuku know shit about Momo.
For the time Momo's been in Japan, she always let him inside her room whenever he came to talk. Katsuki rushed back, and he walked straight to Momo's room and knocked on the door, not bothered if she was awake or not. The door swung open and Bakugo walked inside the room.
His heart was creaked by a notch, then it shattered. Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend. The word echoed in his head as a mantra, forming a melody of a static white noise.
The green head bobbed as he laughed. The sound lingered in his hollow chest.
“Izuku.” He called and Izuku looked up from where he lay cozy in the bed next to Rody. Bambi eyes under headlights.
“Kacchan…?”
Notes:
Kudos and comments are appreciated!♡♡
Let me know what you think, also thanks for reading.
*I miss your comments guys* T-T
Hello (Guest) on Chapter 1 Wed 14 May 2025 04:32AM UTC
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