Chapter Text
The small town of Musutafu was nothing like Tokyo. It was quieter, slower, and utterly unremarkable. The streets were clean, the people smiled too much, and the biggest crime this week had been a kid shoplifting a pack of gum. Bakugo hated it. He yanked open the front door of the Musutafu Police Department, the chipped wood creaking beneath his grip. Stepping inside, he was hit with the faint scent of coffee and old paper. His boots echoed in the sparsely populated space as a handful of officers gave him a quick glance before returning to their chatter. “Tch,” Bakugo scoffed under his breath. This place feels like a damn daycare.
Adjusting the collar of his freshly pressed uniform, he strode toward the front desk, where a man with fiery red hair was leaning over a stack of papers. The man looked up, beaming as if he’d been waiting all morning for this moment. “You must be Bakugo!” His voice was warm and unreasonably cheerful for someone on duty. “I’m Kirishima Eijiro—your new partner! Welcome to Musutafu!”
Bakugo frowned. “Don’t need the welcome. Just tell me where I’m supposed to sit.”
Kirishima laughed, unbothered by the bluntness. “Right, right. Guess you’re the ‘straight-to-business’ type, huh? Don’t worry, I’ve got your back!” He motioned for Bakugo to follow, leading him toward a small desk in the corner of the room. A chair with a squeaky wheel awaited him, along with a computer that looked like it hadn’t been updated in years.
“Great,” Bakugo muttered, slumping into the chair. He looked at Kirishima, who had plopped down on the desk next to him, grinning like an idiot. “You always this annoyingly cheerful?”
Kirishima chuckled. “Yup! Someone’s gotta balance out the grumpiness, right?”
Before Bakugo could retort, a low, gravelly voice interrupted. “Kirishima, stop harassing the rookie.”
Bakugo turned to see a tall man with disheveled hair and dark circles under his eyes. He wasn’t in uniform, just a black jacket over a wrinkled shirt, but the badge clipped to his belt made his authority clear.
“Aizawa,” the man introduced himself. “Chief of police. You’re Bakugo, I take it?”
“Yeah,” Bakugo replied, sitting up straighter. “Katsuki Bakugo.”
Aizawa gave him a slow, measured look before nodding. “Good. I’ve read your file. You’re talented, but you’ve got a short fuse. Keep it in check, and you’ll do fine here.” Bakugo scowled but said nothing. He wasn’t used to being sized up so quickly. “Your first patrol starts soon,” Aizawa continued. “Kirishima will show you the ropes. Try not to scare the locals, Bakugo. They’re not used to Tokyo-level intensity.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugo grumbled.
As Aizawa walked away, Kirishima leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t mind him. He’s all bark, no bite. Well… unless you really piss him off.” Bakugo didn’t reply. His eyes drifted to the window, where the quiet streets stretched out like a prison. This wasn’t what he’d imagined when he chose to transfer. He’d wanted a fresh start, sure, but this place felt suffocating in its simplicity. Still, there was no turning back now. “Ready to hit the road?” Kirishima asked, pulling Bakugo from his thoughts.
“Whatever,” Bakugo muttered, standing up. He grabbed his jacket, already dreading the day ahead.
The squad car was old, the kind that rattled if you went over thirty miles per hour, and the AC had two settings. Freezing or useless. Bakugo sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, jaw clenched, as Kirishima drove through the town at a leisurely pace. The redhead talked—no, rambled—as if he was trying to win a contest for most words spoken in a single shift. “…and that over there is Takada’s Diner,” Kirishima said, gesturing out the window with an excited wave. “Best pancakes you’ll ever have. Oh, and Mrs. Takada’s been running the place since the ‘80s. Nicest lady you’ll ever meet! Just don’t mention the health inspector thing last year; it’s kind of a sore spot—”
Bakugo groaned, leaning his head against the window. “You ever shut up?”
Kirishima glanced at him, grinning as if Bakugo hadn’t just insulted him. “Nah, not really! But you’ll get used to it. Trust me, man, this town’s got personality. You just have to look for it!”
“I don’t care about personality,” Bakugo snapped. “I care about not being bored out of my mind while sitting in this tin can.”
Kirishima laughed, undeterred. “Well, that’s just ‘cause you don’t know anyone yet. Like, okay, see that guy on the corner? That’s Mr. Okabe. Retired firefighter. Swears he saw aliens once. And over there? That’s the old community center. Used to be a library, but it’s mostly for bingo nights now. Oh, and the park up ahead—that’s where the festival happens every summer. They’ve got these fireworks that—”
“Seriously, shut up!” Bakugo barked, his hands gripping the edge of the seat. “I didn’t move here to play tour guide with you.”
Kirishima chuckled again, unfazed. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re a big-city guy. All business, no fluff. But hey, man, that’s why we’re a team. I do the talking, you do the scowling. Perfect balance!” Bakugo rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. He couldn’t believe this was his life now—stuck in a squad car with a red-haired chatterbox driving ten miles below the speed limit. “Speaking of balance,” Kirishima continued, “you’re probably wondering about the crime rate around here, right? Well, it’s pretty quiet most of the time. You’ll get your occasional domestic dispute or a kid shoplifting, but nothing major. Oh! Except last month, there was this weird string of break-ins. No one caught the guy, but—”
Bakugo finally snapped, sitting up straight. “What kind of break-ins?”
Kirishima blinked, surprised by the sudden interest. “Uh, houses on the edge of town. Weird stuff, though. They didn’t take any money or jewelry, just… random stuff. Books, kitchen utensils, one guy even said they stole his grandmother’s photo album. Creeped some folks out, but it’s been quiet since.”
Bakugo frowned, his mind shifting gears. “And no one thought that was worth looking into?”
“Hey, it’s a small town, man,” Kirishima said with a shrug. “People just figured it was some drifter passing through. Besides, nothing’s happened in weeks. Aizawa said not to waste time on it unless it starts up again.”
“Idiots,” Bakugo muttered.
Kirishima smirked. “See? You do care about something around here. I knew there was hope for you!” Bakugo ignored him, staring out the window at the sleepy streets. For all the useless chatter and mind-numbing quiet, there was something about those break-ins that didn’t sit right with him. The squad car rolled down another quiet street, the hum of the engine and the occasional chirp of birds outside the only sounds until Kirishima broke the silence—again. “So,” Kirishima began, glancing at Bakugo with a curious grin. “If you hate small towns so much, why’d you move here? I mean, no offense, but you seem like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
Bakugo didn’t answer immediately. His sharp crimson gaze shifted to the window, the town’s pastel houses and neatly trimmed lawns passing by like a picture book he had no interest in reading. His jaw clenched, his grip tightening on his arm. “None of your business,” he muttered flatly.
Kirishima let out a low whistle, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Man, you’re wound tight, huh? C’mon, it’s just a question. No need to bite my head off.”
“I said, drop it,” Bakugo snapped, his tone low but firm. His shoulders were tense, his gaze now firmly locked on the horizon outside.
Kirishima raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Sheesh.” There was a pause, but not for long. Kirishima’s voice was softer this time, almost teasing. “Damn, dude. Who hurt you?”
The question hit harder than Bakugo expected, and his reaction betrayed him. His jaw tightened even further, his fists curling. “Shut up,” Bakugo growled, though his tone lacked the venom from earlier. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat before finally muttering under his breath, “A lot of people, alright?”
The mood shifted slightly. Kirishima’s grin faded into something more understanding. He nodded slowly, tapping the steering wheel as if thinking of what to say next. “Yeah. I get that,” he said finally, his tone surprisingly serious. “We’ve all got stuff, y’know? People who let us down, messed us up, whatever. You’re not the only one.”
Bakugo didn’t respond right away. He stared out the window, the tension in his body slowly easing, though his scowl stayed firmly in place. “Doesn’t mean I wanna talk about it with you,” he said, but there was less bite in his voice now.
“Fair enough,” Kirishima replied with a small shrug. “But hey, if you ever do, I’m here. Partners and all that, right?” Bakugo didn’t reply, but his silence wasn’t as harsh as before. For the first time since getting in the car, he didn’t feel the urge to yell at Kirishima to shut up.
The house was dead quiet, the kind of silence that made Bakugo’s ears ring. He closed the front door behind him with a faint thud, locking it out of habit, though he doubted this town even had a need for locks. His bag hung limply from his shoulder as he stood in the narrow entryway, taking in the sight before him. It wasn’t much. A worn secondhand couch sat in the living room, the cushions faded from years of use. The wallpaper was peeling in some places, and the floors creaked no matter where you stepped. The kitchen was a cramped space just to his left, its countertops littered with unopened boxes of dishes and utensils he hadn’t bothered to unpack yet. There was dust on everything, settling in as if it had been waiting for him. The house felt hollow—unfinished. Like the life he was trying to rebuild here. Bakugo dropped his bag to the floor with a dull thud and leaned back against the door, letting his head tilt against the wood. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his sharp features cast in the dim light from a single bulb overhead. He stayed like that for a moment, silent and unmoving, as the weight of everything pressed against his chest. He hated this town. He hated its slow pace, its friendly faces, its complete lack of urgency. He hated the way people waved at him in the streets like they’d known him their whole lives. And most of all, he hated how much he missed the city—the noise, the chaos, the purpose. But he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—go back.
He clenched his jaw, the muscles tightening as his fingers dug into his arms. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t crawl back to Tokyo, not after everything. Not after he’d spent years clawing his way through that life, only to have it all fall apart. This was his choice, dammit. He’d made it. He had to live with it. Bakugo pushed off the door and stalked into the living room, his boots thudding against the floorboards. He dropped onto the couch, letting the sagging cushions swallow him up as he stared at the blank wall ahead. His arms draped over the back of the couch, his head tipping back as he closed his eyes. What the hell am I even doing here? The question lingered in the silence, unspoken but deafening in his mind. He let out a slow, shaky breath, his fingers tapping against the couch. No answers came, but he wasn’t really expecting any. After a long moment, Bakugo opened his eyes and looked around the room. The place needed work—paint, repairs, a good cleaning. He could start there. Keep his hands busy. Anything to distract himself from the gnawing ache in his chest. The wall in front of him was plain and lifeless, much like the rest of the house, but Bakugo’s mind was blank as he stared at it. He stayed there, slouched on the couch, feeling the weight of the day—of the last few months—pressing down on his shoulders.
Then his stomach growled, loud and insistent, snapping him out of his haze. “Tch,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Of course.” Reluctantly, Bakugo pushed himself off the couch, his joints stiff from sitting too long. The idea of making dinner wasn’t exactly thrilling, but it was something to do—something he was good at. One thing he could handle. The kitchen was a mess of unopened boxes and half-unpacked dishes, but Bakugo maneuvered through it with practiced efficiency. He yanked open the fridge, grimacing at its contents—or lack thereof. Some eggs, a few vegetables he’d grabbed from the grocery store yesterday, and a packet of meat that was nearing its expiration date. Great. Guess it’s stir-fry again. He pulled out what he needed, setting everything on the counter with precision. Cooking came naturally to him, one of the few things in life that didn’t feel like a damn uphill battle. He’d learned it young, mostly out of boredom, but it had stuck with him. At least in the kitchen, he had control. His knife moved quickly, slicing through the vegetables with a clean rhythm that echoed faintly in the quiet kitchen. For a brief moment, his focus narrowed to just this—chopping, seasoning, stirring. He didn’t have to think about the peeling wallpaper, the broken light fixtures, or the leaky faucet in the bathroom. He didn’t have to think about why he was here, in this dump of a house, instead of where he thought he’d be at this point in his life.
The stove hissed as the meat hit the pan, the scent of garlic and soy sauce filling the air as he worked. Cooking was second nature, but fixing up a house? That was a whole different story. He didn’t have the faintest clue how to handle the repairs it so desperately needed. A part of him wanted to just ignore it all, to pretend it didn’t exist. He wasn’t used to dealing with stuff like this—wasn’t used to not having someone else handle it for him. But that was his life now. No one else was going to come along and fix it. And honestly, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted them to. As he stirred the sizzling vegetables into the pan, his mind wandered. He hadn’t lived like this before—patching together meals, living in a house that felt like it might fall apart if the wind blew too hard. It was all new, and Bakugo hated how foreign it felt. He hated how he felt. Dinner finished quickly, the heat of the stove warming the small kitchen as he piled the stir-fry onto a plate. He grabbed a fork, standing at the counter instead of bothering with the table. His eyes drifted around the room, lingering on the little cracks in the corners, the scuffed cabinets, the stains on the linoleum floor. He shoved a bite of food into his mouth, chewing aggressively as if that might drown out the nagging thoughts circling in his head. This place needed a lot of work. A hell of a lot. And he had no idea where to start. But for now, he’d just eat his dinner and try to forget about it.
The week dragged on, each day blurring into the next with an exhausting monotony that Bakugo wasn’t used to. Patrol after patrol, the same sleepy streets, the same quiet, uneventful town. By the time Friday rolled around, he couldn’t decide if he was relieved or just more frustrated. Kirishima, of course, had been a constant thorn in his side, talking too much, cracking jokes that weren’t funny, and acting like they were best friends. At first, Bakugo had been sure he’d hate the guy—hell, he’d planned on it—but Kirishima was… different. Annoying, sure, but not unbearable. The guy wasn’t fake, and that was rare. Still, Bakugo wasn’t about to let himself get too comfortable.
It was late afternoon when their shift finally ended. The station was quiet as the two of them hung up their gear, the faint buzz of an overhead light the only sound in the locker room. Bakugo was finishing up, pulling his jacket on, when Kirishima clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Alright, man, it’s Friday!” Kirishima said with his usual enthusiasm. “You survived your first week. Congrats!”
“Don’t touch me,” Bakugo muttered, shrugging off the hand, though his tone lacked its usual venom.
Kirishima laughed. “C’mon, you gotta give me credit. I didn’t talk that much today.”
“Yeah, because I told you to shut up every five seconds.”
“Fair point,” Kirishima said, grinning. He leaned against the lockers, crossing his arms. “So, what do you say? You, me, and a couple of my friends hit up the bar tonight? First round’s on me. It’ll be fun!”
Bakugo shot him a glare, already shaking his head. “No.”
Kirishima raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t even think about it.”
“Don’t need to. I said no.”
Kirishima sighed, scratching the back of his head. “Man, you’re a tough nut to crack. But hey, I get it. Long week, right? Probably wanna crash or something.”
“Exactly,” Bakugo said flatly, grabbing his bag and heading for the door.
“Alright, alright,” Kirishima called after him. “But you’re missing out, dude! My friends are cool. You’d like ‘em!”
Bakugo snorted but didn’t look back. “Doubt it.” As he stepped out of the station and into the crisp evening air, Bakugo let out a slow breath. The week was finally over, but the sense of relief he expected wasn’t there. If anything, he felt… unsettled. Not because of the job or the town, but because of the damn redhead who had somehow managed to make himself less annoying over the course of five days. That didn’t mean Bakugo wanted to hang out with him, though. He didn’t need friends. He didn’t want friends. He’d had enough of that in the past, and it hadn’t gotten him anywhere good.
Saturday morning began with Bakugo standing in the middle of his kitchen, glaring down at the loose cabinet door that had been mocking him all week. He crossed his arms, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to his elbows, as if sheer intimidation might somehow fix it. The hinge was barely hanging on, the screws stripped and rusted. It was a simple enough problem—or so he thought. Bakugo crouched down, rummaging through the small toolkit he’d bought at the hardware store earlier that morning. The shiny, unopened box had seemed like a beacon of hope at the time. He pulled out a hammer, a screwdriver, and a packet of nails, setting them on the counter with a decisive thunk. How hard could this be? he thought.
Two hours later, the answer was painfully clear: hard as hell. The hammer hit his thumb before it hit the nail. “Son of a—!” Bakugo shouted, clutching his hand as pain throbbed up to his wrist. He bit down on a string of curses, shaking his injured hand and glaring daggers at the smug-looking cabinet door. Undeterred, he grabbed the nail and tried again. The wood resisted every attempt to get the nail in straight, and by the fifth attempt, Bakugo’s patience had worn dangerously thin. He pressed too hard, and the hammer slipped, sending the nail flying into the air. It hit the floor with a faint metallic clink before disappearing under the fridge. “Piece of shit,” Bakugo growled. He slammed the hammer onto the counter, as if punishing it for his own failure. His thumb throbbed, the faint sting of sweat pooling in his palm making it all worse.
After bandaging his thumb, he turned his attention to the bathroom sink. The faucet dripped endlessly, each drop a mocking rhythm that grated on his nerves. The wrench felt awkward in his hands, heavy and foreign, like a tool he was never meant to use. As he twisted it into place, the damn thing slipped, sending the wrench crashing down onto his bare foot. “Goddamn it!” Bakugo barked, hopping backward and almost crashing into the wall. He kicked the wrench across the floor, letting it clatter against the tile. His temper was boiling over now, every failed attempt tightening the knot of frustration in his chest.
By the time he’d moved on to hanging a simple picture frame, he was covered in small cuts and scrapes, a testament to his utter incompetence. His fingers were dotted with little pricks from the nails, and the frame wouldn’t hang straight no matter how many times he adjusted it. When it fell for the third time, shattering the glass across the floor, Bakugo officially gave up. He stood there in the middle of the chaos, breathing heavily as he surveyed the mess he’d made. A broken picture frame. A dent in the wall where he’d accidentally hit it with the hammer. Tools scattered everywhere like some amateur crime scene. He felt ridiculous. Bakugo leaned heavily against the counter, his hands gripping the edge as he stared down at the pile of nails he hadn’t managed to use. He was good at so many things—hell, everything . But fixing a damn cabinet? Tightening a faucet? Impossible. It was humiliating.
For a moment, he let his mind wander to his old life—back when he didn’t have to deal with this crap. Back when there were people who handled things like this for him, quietly and efficiently, without him lifting a finger. He scowled at the thought. That life’s gone, and I don’t need anyone’s help, he told himself. He’d figure it out eventually. He had to. Grabbing a broom to clean up the broken glass, Bakugo muttered under his breath, “Stupid-ass house.” The house didn’t answer, but the faucet kept dripping, as if to laugh at him. By the time the clock struck noon, Bakugo was done. Completely, utterly, done . He tossed the broom into the corner of the room, not even bothering to straighten it as it clattered against the wall. Every part of his body ached—his thumb still throbbed, his foot was sore, and his pride had taken a beating so hard it might not recover.
He groaned loudly as he threw himself onto the couch, his body sinking into the lumpy cushions. One arm draped lazily over his eyes, blocking out the dim light streaming through the curtains. The quiet house offered no solace, no reprieve from the bubbling frustration that churned in his chest. What the hell am I even doing here? His teeth ground together as the thought resurfaced, gnawing at him like it had all week. He hated this place. He hated this house. He hated how every day seemed to remind him that he’d gone from something to… this . It wasn’t supposed to be like this. When he left Tokyo— no, when he was forced to leave—he thought starting over would feel… different. Cleaner. Maybe not better, but at least like he was in control. Instead, it felt like life had flipped him off and shoved him into the dirt all over again.
He slammed his fist against the arm of the couch, the soft thud doing nothing to ease his frustration. He had left behind everything. His home. His career. The people who—Bakugo clenched his jaw, cutting the thought off before it could finish. There was no point in thinking about that now. Thinking wouldn’t fix anything. It wouldn’t get him back to the city, and it sure as hell wouldn’t fix this broken-down house. The ceiling fan spun lazily above him, creaking faintly with each rotation. He stared at it for a long moment, his scarlet eyes narrowing. It pissed him off how everything here seemed to mock him. The walls, the floors, even the stupid fan. None of it worked right, none of it felt like his.
“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath, though whether he was talking about himself, the house, or life in general was anyone’s guess. He shifted on the couch, throwing his arm back over his eyes as his thoughts churned. He could feel the anger simmering under the surface, a slow burn that he couldn’t quite put out. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. For a moment, he thought about texting Kirishima. The guy was annoying, but at least he wasn’t the house. At least he didn’t make Bakugo feel like a complete idiot. But the thought passed quickly—Bakugo didn’t need anyone’s help. He didn’t need anyone, period. Letting out a heavy sigh, Bakugo let himself sink deeper into the couch, the familiar weight of frustration settling into his chest like it belonged there.
Notes:
Did you miss me? I missed you 😭 as promised the fic I said I’d post in August! I’m working on another fic as well once I finish chapter 3 it’ll be up but that one will be written in real time. So unlike my other fics—all of which were done or almost done when I posted them—the chapter updates will be significantly slower.
Don’t fret I’ll be posting this weekly since it’s done so I’ll be back to my regular posting schedule! I hope you like it and thanks for reading bestie! See you next weeeeeek!
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Notes:
Izuku’s gaze shifted to Bakugo, his expression unreadable. For a moment, their eyes locked, and Bakugo felt a strange, unwelcome jolt in his chest. It was probably the tattoos—or maybe the stupidly pretty green eyes—but whatever it was, Bakugo decided then and there that he wasn’t going to be the one to deal with this.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The squad car hummed quietly as the end of the shift approached, the sun dipping lower in the sky and casting long shadows across the sleepy streets of Musutafu. Bakugo sat in the passenger seat, his arms crossed and eyes fixed on the road ahead. Kirishima was talking—of course—but Bakugo wasn’t really listening. It was the usual end-of-shift chatter, nothing important. Then the radio crackled to life. “All units, we have a domestic disturbance reported at 420 North Maple Ave. Neighbors report shouting and possible physical altercation. Respond immediately.”
Bakugo perked up, his gaze snapping to the radio as Kirishima reached for the receiver. But the moment the address was read out, Kirishima froze for a split second, his hand hovering in the air. He sighed heavily before grabbing the mic. “This is Unit 7 responding. We’re en route,” Kirishima said, his usual bright tone replaced with something quieter, more serious. He set the receiver down and turned the wheel, heading toward North Maple with a heavy air hanging in the car.
Bakugo frowned. “What’s with you?”
Kirishima let out another sigh, drumming his fingers on the wheel as they sped toward the address. “Look, when we get there, let me handle it, alright?”
“Like hell I’m letting you ‘handle it,’” Bakugo snapped. “What’s going on?”
“It’s… complicated,” Kirishima admitted, his voice unusually strained. “The guy who lives there… he’s, uh, someone I used to know. We were best friends in school. Haven’t talked in a while, but still…”
Bakugo’s frown deepened. His brain was already running wild, connecting dots. A best friend, domestic violence… it wasn’t hard to picture the worst. “So your buddy’s a piece of shit who beats on his girl?”
Kirishima slammed on the brakes at a stop sign, his hand tightening on the wheel as he turned to glare at Bakugo. “Don’t,” he said firmly. “Don’t assume you know what’s going on.”
“Then explain,” Bakugo growled.
Kirishima exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he pressed on the gas again. “Look, we’re not as close as we used to be, okay? He’s changed a lot, but he’s not—”
Bakugo scoffed, crossing his arms. “I’ve seen his kind before, sneaky, lying—”
“Bakugo!” Kirishima snapped, his voice rising. “You don’t know him, so shut the fuck up!” Bakugo blinked, caught off guard by the sudden anger in Kirishima’s voice. Kirishima sighed again, softer this time, his shoulders slumping. “Look, Izuku’s not the one raising his hand. It’s his girlfriend. She’s… she’s a real crazy bitch, okay? This isn’t the first time we’ve been called out there. She’s got a temper, and she’s not afraid to use it. On him.”
Bakugo frowned, his mind racing to process what Kirishima was saying. Domestic violence calls weren’t new to him, but he wasn’t used to hearing about it this way—where the guy was the one on the receiving end. “And you’re sure?” Bakugo asked, his tone quieter but still firm.
“Of course I’m sure,” Kirishima said, his grip tightening on the wheel. “I’ve seen the bruises. He won’t press charges or leave her because… I don’t know. He’s too good of a guy for his own damn good.”
Bakugo stared at the road ahead, the tension in the car growing thicker with every passing second. The idea of someone like this Izuku guy staying with a girl like that pissed him off for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. “Fine,” Bakugo muttered. “But I’m not standing in the damn corner while you play counselor.”
Kirishima shot him a look but didn’t argue. The squad car turned onto North Maple, and the house came into view—a small, slightly run-down place with a chipped picket fence. As they pulled into the driveway, Bakugo could already hear the shouting coming from inside. Kirishima put the car in park and glanced at Bakugo. “Just… let me take the lead, alright?”
Bakugo didn’t respond. His eyes were locked on the house, his jaw clenched tight. The shouting inside the house came to an abrupt halt the moment Kirishima knocked on the door. The last thing Bakugo heard before silence fell was a woman’s voice, sharp and venomous, yelling, “Oh, nice fucking job, Izuku!” Bakugo glanced at Kirishima out of the corner of his eye and immediately noticed the way his partner’s face had hardened. His usually relaxed features were stiff, and his jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like he was trying not to snap.
The door opened slowly, revealing a man who was nothing like what Bakugo had pictured. The guy standing in the doorway—Izuku—was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a confidence that didn’t match the situation. Tattoos peeked out from under the sleeves of his loose black shirt, trailing down his forearms and disappearing under the fabric. His ears were pierced, a small silver stud catching the light, and his green hair was slightly messy, as if he’d run a hand through it too many times. He had a sharp jawline, a natural pout to his lips, and a pair of emerald-green eyes that were almost unnervingly striking, even with the beginnings of a black eye blooming under his left one. Bakugo blinked. What the hell? This was not the image he’d had in his head. Izuku leaned against the doorframe and gave them a charming, almost sheepish smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He winced slightly, and both officers could see the telltale signs of swelling around his eye, along with the faint redness near his collarbone. “Hey, Kiri,” Izuku said casually, as if they were running into each other at a coffee shop instead of during a domestic violence call. “Long time no see.”
Kirishima sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as he stepped forward. “Izuku, man… what’s going on here?” His tone was softer now, not the usual bright cheerfulness but something more careful, more concerned.
Izuku shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing serious. Just a little misunderstanding. You know how it is.”
Bakugo scowled, crossing his arms but staying a step back. He wasn’t about to get in the middle of this mess—not yet, anyway. But the way Izuku brushed it off like it was nothing grated on his nerves. “Izuku,” Kirishima pressed, his voice quieter, “why don’t you just leave?” The question hung in the air for a moment, the weight of it pressing down on everyone. Bakugo watched as Izuku’s easygoing smile faltered for the briefest second, something raw and painful flickering in his green eyes. But then the smile returned, softer this time, almost wistful.
“Because,” Izuku said, his voice low but steady, “we love each other.” Kirishima’s face fell, his shoulders slumping slightly. He didn’t argue, didn’t say anything, and Bakugo could see how much it was eating at him.
“Love, huh?” Bakugo muttered under his breath, unable to stop himself. His tone was sharp, skeptical, and he couldn’t help the small scoff that followed. “Looks like it’s working out great for you.” Izuku’s gaze shifted to Bakugo, his expression unreadable. For a moment, their eyes locked, and Bakugo felt a strange, unwelcome jolt in his chest. It was probably the tattoos—or maybe the stupidly pretty green eyes—but whatever it was, Bakugo decided then and there that he wasn’t going to be the one to deal with this.
Kirishima sighed heavily, stepping closer to Izuku and lowering his voice. “Look, we can’t just ignore this. You’ve gotta let us help you, man. This isn’t okay.”
Izuku’s smile faltered again, but he shook his head. “It’s fine, Kiri. Really. We’re just… working through some stuff. I appreciate you coming by, though.”
Before Kirishima could argue, a voice called out from deeper in the house, sharp and taunting. “Are they gone yet, Izuku? Or are you too busy playing the victim again?”
Bakugo’s eyes narrowed at the sound, his arms tightening over his chest. The voice matched perfectly with the venomous yell from earlier. Izuku flinched slightly, his easy demeanor cracking for just a second before he plastered the smile back on. “I should probably head back inside,” he said, his tone light but strained. “Toga doesn’t like it when I leave her waiting.” Kirishima opened his mouth to protest, but Izuku stepped back and started to close the door. “I’ll see you around, Kiri,” he said quietly, avoiding his old friend’s gaze. And with that, the door clicked shut. Kirishima stared at the door for a long moment, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He didn’t say anything, but the frustration and helplessness were written all over his face.
Bakugo finally spoke, his voice sharp but quiet. “This is bullshit.”
Kirishima let out a heavy breath, his shoulders slumping as he turned to walk back toward the squad car. “Yeah,” he said softly, voice trembling slightly. “Yeah, it is.”
The squad car was silent as Kirishima pulled out of the driveway, his usual easygoing demeanor nowhere to be found. The faint rumble of the engine filled the air as they drove back toward the station, but Bakugo couldn’t let the silence sit. He wasn’t the type to sit on questions when they were burning in his chest. “Why hasn’t anyone done anything?” Bakugo finally asked, his tone sharp and accusatory. “If everyone knows, why hasn’t somebody stepped in? Hell, you’ve seen the bruises yourself.”
Kirishima’s grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white as he stared ahead. “You think I haven’t tried?” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “We all have, but there’s nothing we can do if he won’t let us. Izuku’s got an excuse for everything. Every bruise, every cut. He always covers for her.”
Bakugo frowned. “Like what?”
“His job,” Kirishima muttered, the words bitter in his mouth. “He’s a mechanic. Works at the only car shop in town. Says he got hit with a wrench, or banged himself up under the lift. Sometimes he blames it on stuff falling on him in the garage. It’s always something. And it’s not like we can prove he’s lying.” He paused, his jaw clenching as he gripped the wheel tighter. “I think she’s threatening him, though.”
Bakugo’s eyes narrowed. “Threatening him how?”
Kirishima exhaled heavily, his voice thick with frustration. “She’s always been like this. Even in high school, she had a temper. Everyone was afraid of her—teachers, students, you name it. Nobody wanted to get on Himiko Toga’s bad side. And for some reason, she had this weird obsession with Izuku. She followed him everywhere, like a damn shadow.”
“And he just let her?” Bakugo asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
Kirishima shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “At first? No. Izuku’s not the kind of guy to just roll over. He used to stand up to her. He’d tell her to back off, ignore her when she got too clingy. But she didn’t stop. She just… wore him down, I guess. And eventually…” He trailed off, his voice cracking slightly before he continued. “Eventually, he gave in. Started dating her, I think just to keep the peace.”
Bakugo scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah, well, it’s Izuku,” Kirishima said with a shrug, his voice filled with quiet bitterness. “He’s always been like that. Always trying to make everyone else happy, even if it screws him over. I think he convinced himself that he could fix her, or help her, or… I don’t know. But after that, he started pulling away. He stopped hanging out with me, stopped talking to us. It was like he disappeared.” The weight of Kirishima’s words hung heavy in the air, filling the car with a suffocating tension. For once, Bakugo didn’t have a sharp remark to throw back. He leaned back in his seat, staring out the window as the streets of the quiet town passed by. Kirishima let out a shaky breath, his grip on the wheel loosening slightly. “I don’t know what to do, man,” he admitted softly. “I’ve tried talking to him, tried convincing him to leave her, but… he won’t listen. He just keeps saying he loves her. That it’s not her fault. And every time I see him like that, I just—” He cut himself off, his voice thick with frustration and sadness.
Bakugo didn’t respond immediately, his mind racing as he pieced together the story. He didn’t know Izuku, didn’t know what kind of guy he really was, but he hated this. Hated the idea of someone strong enough to handle themselves letting someone else tear them down. “Sounds like bullshit to me,” Bakugo muttered, his voice low but cutting through the tension in the car.
Kirishima shot him a glance, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”
Bakugo shrugged, his expression unreadable. “I mean, he’s gotta stop making excuses. Either he fights back, or he keeps letting her walk all over him. His call.”
Kirishima opened his mouth to argue but stopped, his shoulders slumping as he looked back at the road. “It’s not that simple,” he said quietly. Bakugo didn’t reply. The rest of the drive back to the station was silent, the weight of the conversation lingering between them.
When they arrived at the station, the air was heavy. Kirishima’s usual easygoing energy was gone, replaced by a quiet, somber determination. As they stepped into the station, Bakugo followed silently, his brow furrowed. Something about the way Kirishima carried himself told him this wasn’t going to be a routine conversation. The chief’s office door was open, and Aizawa was at his desk, slouched over a stack of paperwork. His hair was tied back messily, and his dark eyes were fixed on the forms in front of him. He looked up when they approached, setting his pen down and leaning back in his chair with a soft sigh. “What now?” Aizawa asked, his gravelly voice tinged with exasperation.
Kirishima glanced at Bakugo briefly before stepping forward and sitting in one of the chairs across from the desk. His shoulders were stiff, and his voice was low as he started. “We saw him.”
Aizawa’s entire demeanor changed. His slouched posture straightened, his tired expression replaced by something sharper, more alert. His brows furrowed as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “How did he look?” Aizawa asked quietly, his tone heavy with concern. The question made Bakugo’s brow furrow in confusion. Why did he sound so… personal?
Kirishima shook his head, his jaw tightening. “He’s got a bruise. Left eye. It looked fresh.” Aizawa exhaled heavily, his hands dragging down his face. His shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he looked older, wearier, as though carrying the weight of the world. Bakugo watched him carefully, noting the strange shift in his demeanor. Aizawa wasn’t acting like this was just another report. His concern felt too raw, too emotional. Then, Aizawa muttered something under his breath, so low Bakugo almost didn’t catch it. “That damn son of mine…”
Bakugo blinked, sitting up straighter as the words hit him like a punch to the gut. “Wait, what? ” he asked, his voice louder than he intended.
Aizawa’s eyes flicked to Bakugo, his usual sharp gaze dull with exhaustion. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck as he let out another sigh. “Izuku is my son,” he admitted quietly. “I adopted him when he was eight.”
Bakugo stared, his confusion quickly giving way to disbelief. “You’re telling me the guy letting his girlfriend use him as a punching bag is your kid?”
“Watch your mouth,” Aizawa snapped, his tone sharp and cutting as he pinned Bakugo with a glare. But then he sighed again, the fight draining out of him as he slumped forward slightly. “Izuku’s… he’s always been too loyal for his own good. Even when he was a kid. I thought he’d grow out of it, but…” He shook his head, his voice trailing off.
Kirishima leaned forward, his voice softer now. “Chief, he’s not in a good place. You know that.”
“I know,” Aizawa said, his voice tight. He rubbed his temples, staring at the desk in front of him as if it held all the answers. “I’ve tried to help him. I’ve tried everything . But he won’t listen to me. He won’t listen to anyone.”
“Why the hell not?” Bakugo demanded, crossing his arms. His frustration was bubbling over now, fueled by how personal this had suddenly become. “If you care so much, why hasn’t anyone forced him to get his head out of his ass?”
“It’s not that simple,” Aizawa said quietly, his gaze lifting to meet Bakugo’s. His dark eyes were filled with something Bakugo couldn’t quite place—guilt, sadness, maybe even anger. “Izuku’s an adult now. I can’t force him to do anything. And every time I try to step in, he just pushes me further away.”
Kirishima nodded solemnly, his expression heavy. “He’s always been like that. He won’t admit what’s really happening.”
Aizawa sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I thought I taught him better than this. I thought I raised him to know his worth. But…” His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat, his composure faltering for a brief moment.
Bakugo frowned, his arms tightening across his chest. This entire situation made his skin crawl. Izuku wasn’t just some random guy in a bad situation—he was Aizawa’s kid . And Aizawa, as tough as he was, looked like he was breaking under the weight of it. “You can’t just let this keep happening,” Bakugo said bluntly. “If he’s not gonna leave her, then someone’s gotta make him see reason.”
Aizawa’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze hardening. “You think I don’t know that?” he said quietly, his tone laced with frustration. “But until Izuku decides to accept help, there’s not much we can do. I can’t force him to leave her. And Toga… she’s dangerous. I don’t want him getting hurt any worse than he already has.” The room fell silent, the weight of the conversation settling heavily over all three of them. Bakugo leaned back in his chair, his crimson eyes flicking between Kirishima and Aizawa as his mind raced. For once, he didn’t have a sharp remark ready.
Izuku let out a long, tired sigh, leaning heavily against the counter in the kitchen as his girlfriend’s sharp voice echoed through the small house. Toga was pacing behind him, her movements frantic, her tone cutting deeper with every word. He wasn’t even sure what he’d done this time—if he’d forgotten something, said something wrong, or just happened to be standing in the wrong spot when she walked through the door after work. “Do you even listen when I talk to you?” Toga snapped, her voice rising. “Or are you just that stupid? Every time I ask you to do something, it’s like you purposely screw it up just to piss me off!”
Izuku closed his eyes, gripping the edge of the counter to ground himself. He’d stopped trying to argue back a long time ago. It wasn’t worth it—not when her words could cut sharper than any knife. He’d learned early on that trying to defend himself only made things worse. “I’m sorry,” he muttered quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for. Maybe she didn’t, either.
“Oh, you’re sorry ?” Toga’s tone turned mocking, dripping with venom. “That’s all you ever say! Sorry this, sorry that. You think that’s enough? You think I don’t see how useless you are?!” Her words hit harder than he wanted to admit, but he kept his face neutral, his green eyes fixed on the scratched countertop. He didn’t flinch when her voice got louder, didn’t react when she slammed her hand against the counter behind him. “Answer me when I’m talking to you!” she yelled, and he finally turned to face her.
“I’m listening,” he said softly, his voice steady but hollow.
Toga’s sharp eyes scanned his face, searching for something—defiance, frustration, anything she could latch onto. But Izuku had perfected the art of giving her nothing. No reaction, no fuel for her fire. “Pathetic,” she spat after a long moment, her voice dripping with disgust. She turned and stormed out of the kitchen, muttering under her breath about how he couldn’t even stand up for himself.
Izuku exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping as the tension in the room dissipated. He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing slightly when his fingers brushed the tender spot where her nails had dug in the night before. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep doing this—walking on eggshells, apologizing for things he didn’t even do, pretending everything was fine when it so clearly wasn’t. But leaving her? That wasn’t an option. Not for him. Despite everything, he still told himself that she loved him. That somewhere, buried under the anger and the venom, the woman he fell for was still there. She needed him—he was the only one who could help her. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. Izuku sighed again, running a hand through his messy green hair as he leaned against the counter. The house felt impossibly quiet now, but the weight of her words lingered in the air, suffocating him.
Hours later, it was almost predictable—the way her tone shifted, the storm clouds in the house clearing as quickly as they had rolled in. Toga came back into the kitchen, her expression soft now, her voice quiet and sweet, as if the shouting match earlier had never happened. “Izuku,” she said softly, her golden eyes wide and filled with what almost looked like regret. She held a first aid kit in one hand, her other reaching out to touch his arm gently. “I’m so sorry… I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean any of it.” Izuku didn’t respond right away. He was sitting at the kitchen table now, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. He stared at the floor, his green eyes tired, his body tense.
He’d heard this all before, more times than he could count. And yet, like always, he didn’t move. “I know I went too far,” Toga continued, kneeling in front of him now, the first aid kit placed delicately on the floor beside her. She reached for his hand, her touch light and careful. “Let me fix it, okay? Let me take care of you.” He hesitated for just a moment, the faintest flicker of something—doubt?—crossing his face. But then he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, allowing her to take his hand. She opened the kit and pulled out a bandage, her hands surprisingly steady as she began tending to the small cut near his temple. “I’ll do better,” she murmured as she worked, her voice soft, almost pleading. “I swear, I’ll do better, Izuku. I don’t want to lose you.”
He swallowed hard, his throat dry as her words washed over him. “You always say that,” he muttered quietly, though his tone lacked any real conviction.
“I mean it this time,” she said quickly, her golden eyes snapping up to meet his. Her voice broke slightly, trembling. “I love you. You’re the only person who’s ever been there for me, and I… I can’t lose you. You’re my everything, Izuku.” And there it was—the words that always broke him. Her voice cracked with emotion, her hands trembling as she finished bandaging the wound. She sat back on her knees, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes, and he could feel the walls he’d tried to build up crumbling all over again. “You’re all I have,” she whispered. “I’ll do better. I swear. Please… don’t give up on me.”
Izuku let out a long, shaky breath, his hand twitching slightly in his lap. He knew what this was but the part of him that still wanted to believe her, that still believed she could change, wouldn’t let him walk away. “I won’t,” he said softly, his voice barely audible.
Toga smiled through her tears, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his knuckles. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I love you so much.” Izuku closed his eyes, his jaw tightening as her words wrapped around him like chains. He knew how this would go—how it always went. This sweet, apologetic phase would last a day or two, maybe three if he was lucky, and then the storm would come again. And he would let it. Because no matter how many times it happened, no matter how many times she broke him, he couldn’t bring himself to leave.
When things were good between them, they were amazing . Toga had this way of lighting up a room when her mood was bright, her laughter infectious, her golden eyes sparkling with mischief. On those rare, blissful days, she would cling to Izuku like he was her entire world, showering him with affection, cooking his favorite meals, and laughing with him over stupid jokes that only the two of them found funny. Those days reminded Izuku of when they were younger, when everything felt simple. Back in high school, when Toga had first confessed her feelings, it was awkward and clumsy, but her smile had been so earnest, so bright, that Izuku had felt his resolve eventually crack. She wasn’t perfect, but she made him feel wanted—special in a way no one else had.
But when things were bad, they were very bad . The lows were steep, and the falls were brutal. The screaming matches shook the walls, her words like knives digging into his chest. Neighbors had the police on speed dial, the department all but knowing their address by heart. Each visit was more of the same: Toga’s sugary-sweet apologies to the officers, Izuku brushing it off with excuses about “misunderstandings” or “stress.” By the time they left, Izuku’s hands would be shaking as he locked the door behind them. And then there were the injuries. The “trips,” as Izuku called them, the bruises and cuts he brushed off with lies that even the doctors at the hospital didn’t believe anymore. His coworkers at the garage knew better than to ask, their sympathetic looks cutting deeper than any physical wound. But no matter how many times someone hinted, nudged, or outright begged him to leave, Izuku stayed.
Because when she was good—when she was kind, sweet, loving—it felt like the woman he fell in love with was still there. Those fleeting moments of peace, where she’d wrap her arms around him and whisper how much she loved him, were like oxygen in a drowning sea. He clung to them desperately, ignoring how quickly they slipped away. “Izuku,” she’d say on those good days, her voice soft and honey-sweet as she cuddled up beside him on the couch. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” She’d look at him like he was the only thing that mattered, her golden eyes shimmering with sincerity, and in those moments, Izuku believed her.
And when the bad days came, when the words turned venomous and her hands found him with more than just affection, Izuku told himself that it wasn’t really her fault. That she was just stressed, overwhelmed, dealing with things he couldn’t understand. That it wasn’t her. No matter how many times the cycle repeated, no matter how much it broke him, Izuku stayed. He stayed because he loved her—or at least the version of her that she was in those fleeting, beautiful moments. He stayed because part of him still believed she could change. He stayed because he was afraid to leave. And deep down, a part of him didn’t believe he deserved better.
Notes:
Hey it’s me on a random Thursday. Why? You ask because I FELT like it. 🫵🏻 And when I post a story I like to post the first three chapters all at once and I didn’t this time and it made my brain itch. 👉🏻👈🏻
Chapter two starting out strong with the angst 💪🏻 get used to that it’s kinda the theme around here, unless you’re from one of my other fics. Then, to that I say, are you quite well? Haven’t you suffered enough?
Well I gotta go edit the next chapter so I can post it see yall soon!
Thanks for reading ily bestie byieeeeeish
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Notes:
Izuku closed his eyes, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He wanted to say something, to tell her how much it hurt, how much everything hurt, but he didn’t. He couldn’t, because she was crying now, and her tears were like chains, binding him to her all over again. “I won’t,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
And just like that, the cycle began again. She smiled through her tears, her fingers brushing softly against his hair. “I love you so much, Izuku,” she said, her voice filled with relief. “I don’t deserve you, but I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be better. I promise.”
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The bar was loud, packed with the usual Friday night crowd that seemed to encompass the entirety of Musutafu. Laughter and conversation mixed with the sound of clinking glasses, creating a steady hum of chaos that Izuku had always found strangely comforting. It was easier to be here, surrounded by noise and people, than in the suffocating quiet of home. He sat at the small, battered table near the back, slouched slightly in his chair. His green hair fell into his eyes, the dim lighting hiding the faint bruising along his jaw from anyone who wasn’t looking too closely. Beside him sat his small group of ‘friends’—the only people left in his life who hadn’t completely drifted away. Mainly because they were Toga’s friends. Dabi leaned back in his chair, the smirk on his scarred face as sharp as ever as he nursed a glass of whiskey. Shigaraki sat beside him, one hand lazily drumming against the table while the other swirled his drink. Toga, as always, was tucked beside Izuku, her golden eyes darting between the group with a gleam of amusement that didn’t quite reach her smile. Izuku nodded at a few familiar faces as they passed by, old classmates or acquaintances who frequented the same bar every weekend. The nods were subtle, almost imperceptible.
It wasn’t much, but it was all he had left of the life he used to know. But beneath the table, Toga’s sharp nails dug into his leg, her grip tightening. Her polished fingers pressed into the fabric of his jeans, hard enough to send a clear message without needing to say a word. He didn’t flinch, didn’t make a sound, but the pain was a bitter reminder of the balance he had to maintain. Her reprimand wasn’t new—she didn’t like him acknowledging people she didn’t approve of, didn’t like the subtle nods he gave to those who used to mean something to him. “Stop it,” she muttered under her breath, her tone low and sharp as she leaned closer to him. Her voice was masked by the noise of the bar, but it sent a chill down his spine nonetheless. “You think I don’t see you looking at them? You think I don’t notice?” Izuku didn’t reply, his hands tightening around the cold glass of beer in front of him. He took a slow sip, letting the bitter liquid distract him as he kept his gaze fixed on the table. “Don’t ignore me, Izuku,” Toga pressed, her nails dragging slightly against his leg as she leaned in closer. Her breath was warm against his ear, her tone deceptively sweet now, but the sharpness lingered just beneath the surface.
“I’m not,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the din of the bar.
“Good.” She let go of his leg, leaning back in her seat with a satisfied smile as if nothing had happened. Her mood shifted as quickly as always, and she turned her attention to the others at the table, joining in the conversation with an ease that left Izuku feeling hollow. Dabi raised an eyebrow, his sharp blue eyes flicking briefly to Izuku before returning to his drink. Shigaraki, as usual, seemed uninterested, his focus somewhere far off as he lazily swirled his glass. Izuku let out a slow breath, his grip on his drink loosening as he forced himself to relax. He knew how to navigate these nights, how to keep things from spiraling. And for now, things were calm.
Izuku’s fingers tightened around his glass again as Kirishima’s loud, familiar laugh rang out across the bar, cutting through the background noise like a blade. He tried not to look, tried to keep his eyes fixed on the table in front of him, but his resolve crumbled almost instantly. He spared a glance in their direction. Kirishima was at a table near the center of the room, surrounded by their old group of friends. Denki was leaning back in his chair, grinning as he said something undoubtedly stupid, causing Sero to shake his head with a smile. Mina threw her head back in laughter, her pink curls bouncing, while Uraraka joined in, her own soft giggles blending into the happy chaos. They looked the same as they always had—loud, carefree, happy. It was like no time had passed at all. Izuku couldn’t help but wonder what his life would be like if he hadn’t started dating Toga. If he hadn’t let her pull him away from them, isolating him little by little until they were nothing more than familiar faces in a crowd. But then he felt the familiar ache in his chest, the same ache that always came when those thoughts crept in. It didn’t matter what could have been. He’d made his choice. Toga shifted beside him, her nails tapping lightly against the side of her glass as she laughed at something Dabi said. Her golden eyes sparkled in the dim bar light, and for a moment, she looked so… normal. So herself. The version of her that he loved, the one that pulled him in all those years ago, was right there, sitting beside him like nothing was wrong.
He let his gaze drift back to Kirishima’s table, catching the tail end of another loud burst of laughter. His heart ached in a way that was both familiar and foreign. There had been a time when that was his table, his group, his friends. When he laughed with them until his sides hurt and his worries felt a million miles away. But that was a lifetime ago. He tore his gaze away, and took a long sip of his beer, trying to drown the knot in his throat. Toga always told him that they didn’t need anyone else, that he didn’t need anyone else. She told him she was all he needed, that their love was enough. And she loved him—he knew she did. She showed it in her own way, in those tender moments when she looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. He loved her, too. He had to. Love was sacrifice, wasn’t it? It was about putting the other person first, about doing what made them happy, even if it hurt. And Toga needed him. He was the only one who understood her, the only one who could help her. He could fix her someday. At least, that’s what he told himself. That’s what he had to believe.
The bar was winding down, the noise beginning to fade as groups of people started to leave. Izuku shifted in his seat, finishing the last of his beer while Dabi and Shigaraki argued lazily about something he wasn’t paying attention to. Toga’s hand rested on his arm, her nails tapping idly against his skin in a way that was almost comforting—until it wasn’t.
As Izuku’s group stood to leave, he glanced toward Kirishima’s table one last time. Just for a second. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but their eyes locked, and Izuku froze. Kirishima was mid-laugh, but when he saw Izuku looking, his expression softened into something warmer, more familiar. A small, hesitant smile spread across Izuku’s face before he could stop it, and Kirishima returned it—a brief flicker of their old connection, something untouched by the years that had separated them, but then Toga’s nails dug sharply into Izuku’s arm, her grip tightening like a vice as she pulled him toward the door. “Come on,” she said, her voice low but commanding as she yanked him along. The smile dropped from Izuku’s face, and he flinched slightly at the sting of her nails against his skin. He looked away quickly, missing the way Kirishima’s expression changed. Kirishima’s face fell, his cheerful demeanor fading in an instant. A sad, pained look replaced the smile, and his shoulders sagged as he watched his old friend get pulled away like a shadow of the person he once knew. Toga kept her grip firm as they exited the bar, her nails leaving faint crescents in Izuku’s arm. She didn’t say anything until they were outside, the cool night air wrapping around them as she stopped abruptly on the sidewalk. “What the hell was that?” she demanded, her golden eyes sharp as they bore into him.
Izuku hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper. “It was nothing. I just… saw Kirishima. That’s all.”
“‘That’s all’?” Toga’s tone was venomous, her grip tightening. “I saw the way you looked at him. Are you seriously thinking about them again? About going back to them?”
“No,” Izuku said quickly, shaking his head. “I wasn’t thinking that. I swear.”
“Good,” she snapped, her expression softening slightly as she loosened her grip. Her fingers brushed over the faint marks she’d left on his arm, her touch suddenly tender. “Because you don’t need them, Izuku. You’ve got me. I’m all you need, remember?” Izuku nodded silently, not trusting himself to speak. As Toga’s mood shifted again, her smile returning like a mask, Izuku’s thoughts lingered on Kirishima’s face—on the look in his eyes when they’d shared that fleeting moment. He thought of the smile they’d exchanged, the warmth in it that he hadn’t felt in so long, and then, like always, he pushed the thought away.
Back inside the bar, Kirishima’s gaze lingered on the door long after Izuku and his group had left. His drink sat untouched in front of him, the condensation pooling around the base of the glass. His usually bright, carefree demeanor was gone, replaced by a sadness that weighed heavily on his shoulders. The rest of the table noticed immediately. Uraraka, who had been chatting with Mina moments earlier, let out a soft sigh. She glanced at Kirishima, her brown eyes clouded with concern, before finally speaking. “Kiri… you’ve gotta let it go,” she said gently, her voice filled with sympathy. “Izuku made his choice.”
Kirishima’s head snapped toward her, his fiery eyes narrowing in defense. “That’s not fair,” he said sharply, his voice tighter than usual. “You know it’s not his choice. It’s her—it’s all her. If it weren’t for her, he’d still be here. He’d still be with us.” He leaned forward, his hands clenched into fists on the table. His voice cracked slightly as he added, “I’d still have my best friend.”
The table fell silent at his words, the weight of them pressing down like a heavy blanket. Mina, sitting next to Kirishima, reached out and placed a hand over one of his fists, her touch soft but steady. “We know, Kiri,” she said softly, her voice calm but tinged with her own sadness. “We know it’s not really him. But… it’s hard. We’ve been trying for years to get through to him, to pull him out of this, and every time we do, he just pulls away more.”
Kirishima’s jaw clenched as his hands relaxed slightly under Mina’s. He shook his head, his fiery red hair falling over his eyes. “We can’t just give up on him,” he said firmly, his voice low but filled with resolve. “I know he’s still in there. He’s just… stuck. And she’s the one keeping him there. If she weren’t in the picture—”
Denki, sitting across the table, leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. His usual carefree grin was gone, replaced by an uncharacteristically serious expression. He ran a hand through his messy blond hair before speaking. “Our dude needs a hero,” Denki said simply, his voice quiet but certain. The rest of the table turned to look at him, surprised by the unexpected weight in his words. Denki shrugged, his golden eyes fixed on the table. “I’m serious. Izuku’s not gonna save himself. We all know that. He’s in too deep, and he’s not gonna get out unless someone pulls him out. Otherwise…” He trailed off, his words hanging heavily in the air.
Mina gave Kirishima’s hand a gentle squeeze, her expression soft but filled with determination. “We’re not giving up on him,” she said firmly. “But we can’t just push him. Every time we try, it just drives him further away. We have to be careful.”
Uraraka nodded, her brown eyes filled with worry as she added, “Izuku’s not as strong as he pretends to be. He’s probably more scared than anything, but… we have to hope he’ll realize we’re still here for him. That we always will be.”
Kirishima’s gaze returned to the door, his heart aching as he thought of the fleeting smile Izuku had given him. It was so small, so quick, but it was there—proof that some part of the old Izuku still existed, buried beneath the weight of his circumstances. He clenched his jaw, his fists tightening again as resolve hardened in his chest. “He’s not alone,” Kirishima said softly but firmly, his voice steady now. “Not as long as we’re here.” The group nodded in silent agreement, the unspoken promise shared between them clear.
The kitchen was filled with the sharp sound of Toga’s voice, each word cutting through the air like a blade. Izuku stood with his back against the counter, his hands raised defensively, his green eyes filled with exhaustion and silent frustration. “You don’t listen! You never listen!” Toga screamed, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her golden eyes burned with anger as she took a step closer, forcing him further against the counter. “You think you’re so perfect, don’t you? You think you’re better than me?”
“That’s not what I said,” Izuku replied, his voice low and steady, but the words only seemed to fuel her fury.
“Don’t lie to me!” she shrieked, her voice cracking as her hand lashed out, her fist slamming into his chest. Izuku grunted softly at the impact but didn’t move, didn’t push her back. He couldn’t—not when he knew what the consequences would be. Her fist struck again, this time grazing his face, and he turned his head to avoid the next blow. His hands hovered near his chest, ready to block her hits but never daring to grab her, to restrain her. He’d learned long ago what would happen if he even looked like he was fighting back. “You don’t care about me,” Toga spat, her fists landing against his arms and chest in rapid succession. “You don’t love me—you never have!”
“I do,” Izuku said softly, his voice trembling as he tried to keep it even. “You know I do.”
“Liar!” she screamed, her fist catching his jaw this time, the sharp pain making his eyes water. She stepped closer, her breathing heavy, her hands shaking as she raised them again. Izuku flinched, his body instinctively curling inward as he tried to shield himself. He didn’t fight back. He couldn’t. “Look at you,” Toga sneered, her voice dripping with venom as she stepped back just slightly. Her hands were still clenched into fists, but she didn’t strike this time. Instead, she pointed at him, her golden eyes wild with anger. “You’re pathetic. You just stand there and take it, like the weak coward you are. You look tough but you’re really just fucking pathetic!”
Izuku’s jaw tightened, his hands lowering slightly as her words struck deeper than her fists ever could. “Say something!” she demanded, her voice breaking. “Defend yourself! Do something!” But he didn’t. He just stood there, his green eyes locked on the floor, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady his breathing. Toga let out a bitter laugh, her voice laced with frustration. “That’s what I thought,” she muttered, turning away from him and running a hand through her hair. “You can’t even stand up for yourself. You’re useless.” Izuku swallowed hard, his throat dry as he forced himself to stay silent. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe too loudly, didn’t dare risk setting her off again. Toga slammed her fist against the counter, the loud bang making him flinch. “You’re lucky I even put up with you,” she said, her voice lower now but no less venomous. “No one else would.” Izuku didn’t respond. He couldn’t. And in the silence that followed, the weight of her words pressed down on him like a physical force. Izuku stood frozen in the kitchen, her words echoing in his mind like a drumbeat. Each syllable struck something deep inside him, a wound that had never had the chance to heal, ripped open again and again over the past five years.
Pathetic. Useless. Unlovable.
Of course, she was right. She had to be. Toga always was. Why else would she say it? Why else would she stay, despite how worthless he was? He swallowed hard, his green eyes still fixed on the floor as her voice rang in his ears. He could feel the ache in his jaw where her fist had connected, the dull throb in his chest from the blows he hadn’t been fast enough to block. But it was nothing compared to the words she hurled at him, the ones that lingered long after the bruises faded. He was useless. Just some low-life mechanic in a tiny, insignificant town. A guy who fixed other people’s problems while his own life fell apart. No one else would have stayed. No one else would have put up with him. She told him that every time, and every time, he believed it. Why wouldn’t he? Her words had been pounded into him—mentally, emotionally, physically—for so long that they felt like the truth. She’d taken every insecurity he’d ever had and carved them into his soul, shaping him into the shadow of a person he used to be. He didn’t even recognize himself anymore, didn’t remember who he was before her. “Useless,” he whispered under his breath, the word slipping out like a reflex as he stared at his hands. They were rough and calloused from years of work at the garage, oil and grease permanently embedded in his skin no matter how hard he scrubbed. What could someone like him ever offer anyone?
The life he had before Toga felt like a distant dream, something that belonged to someone else entirely. The laughter, the friends, the sense of purpose—it was all gone. Torn away piece by piece until there was nothing left but this: a man clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, if he tried hard enough, she’d love him the way she used to. Because she was right. She was always right. No one else would love him. No one else could. So he stayed. He stayed because leaving wasn’t an option. Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much her words and fists broke him, it was better than being alone. It had to be.
Hours later, the house was quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Izuku sat at the table, his arms crossed on the surface, his head resting against them. His body ached—the sharp sting of the bruises on his jaw and chest a constant reminder of what had happened earlier—but his mind was too clouded with exhaustion to care. The sound of soft footsteps made him lift his head. Toga emerged from the bedroom, her golden eyes shimmering with something that almost looked like regret. She was quieter now, her usual sharp edges smoothed over by the same guilt-laden tenderness that always came after the storm. “Izuku,” she said softly, her voice breaking as she approached him. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her head tilted slightly as she looked at him with those wide, sorrowful eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Izuku didn’t say anything, just watched her as she stepped closer. She knelt beside him, her hands hovering near his face like she was afraid to touch him, like he was made of glass. “You know I love you, right?” she said, her voice trembling as her hands finally settled gently against his cheeks. She winced as her fingers brushed the swelling on his jaw, her golden eyes filling with tears. “Let me make it better.” She left for a moment and returned with an ice pack, her hands trembling slightly as she pressed it against his jaw. The coolness made him flinch, but he didn’t pull away. She was careful now, her touch feather-light as she tended to the bruises she had left. “I love you so much,” Toga whispered, her voice breaking as a tear slid down her cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Izuku. You know that, right?”
He nodded faintly, the words washing over him like a familiar lullaby. “I know,” he murmured, his voice low and tired.
Toga let out a shaky breath, leaning her forehead against his shoulder as her hands rested lightly on his chest. “I’ll do better,” she promised, her voice thick with emotion. “I swear, I’ll do better this time. Just… don’t give up on me. Please.”
Izuku closed his eyes, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He wanted to say something, to tell her how much it hurt, how much everything hurt, but he didn’t. He couldn’t, because she was crying now, and her tears were like chains, binding him to her all over again. “I won’t,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
And just like that, the cycle began again. She smiled through her tears, her fingers brushing softly against his hair. “I love you so much, Izuku,” she said, her voice filled with relief. “I don’t deserve you, but I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be better. I promise.”
He nodded again, forcing a faint smile onto his lips as he looked down at her. “I love you too,” he said softly. And he forgave her. Again. Izuku sat at the table long after Toga had goneo to bed, the ice pack now melting into a damp cloth in his hand. The silence in the house was heavy, pressing down on him like a physical weight. He stared at the darkened window above the sink, his own reflection barely visible in the faint moonlight. Where else would I go? The thought churned in his mind, relentless and suffocating. He had nowhere to turn, no one to lean on. Over the past five years, Toga had made sure of that.
She’d pulled him further and further away from the people who cared about him, convincing him that they didn’t understand him, didn’t accept their love, didn’t want him in their lives. And he’d believed her. Of course, he’d believed her—just like he always did. He thought of Aizawa, his adoptive father. The man who had taken him in when he was just eight years old, who had taught him what it meant to be strong and kind and brave. Aizawa had been his rock for so many years, the person Izuku could always count on, even when things got tough. But now… He resents you. He has to. Toga had told him that so many times that it had become an unshakable truth in his mind. She’d spun it so perfectly, so convincingly, that Izuku could almost hear her voice now, reminding him of every argument, every disappointment. “Why would he still care about you after everything you’ve done?” she’d said once, her words cutting deep. “You’ve let him down too many times. He’s done with you, Izuku. Just like everyone else.” And he’d believed it. He missed his family. He missed them so much it hurt. His brother Shinso, with his dry wit and quiet support, always had Izuku’s back no matter what. His little sister Eri, who used to cling to him like a lifeline, looking up at him with wide, trusting eyes. His Papa, though boisterous Hizashi was also kind and gentle.
It had been months—maybe almost a year—since he’d seen any of them. Toga never let him visit. She’d always found a reason to stop him. They didn’t like her, they made her uncomfortable, they didn’t want him anymore. And, like a fool, he’d let her convince him. The more time passed, the more he pulled away from them, the more isolated he became. And now, when he thought about reaching out, the idea felt impossible. He couldn’t imagine what they’d say to him, what Aizawa would say. He could already hear the disappointment in their voices, see the hurt in their eyes. Why won’t you leave? They’d ask. And he wouldn’t have an answer. Izuku’s chest tightened, his breath hitching as he clenched the damp cloth in his hand. He wanted to go back. He wanted to see his dads, his brother, his sister—just once, just to know if they still cared. But Toga would never let him, and even if she did, what would be the point? They’d moved on without him. You’re useless. You’re unlovable. No one wants you but her. The words pounded in his head like a drum, drowning out the faint voice in the back of his mind that told him to fight, to reach out, to try. Instead, Izuku sat there in the darkened kitchen, his hands trembling as he stared at his reflection.
Where else would he go?
Notes:
This fic is going to rip your heart out, stomp on it, then give it back to you. Just to rip it out and stomp on it again. On the bright side there’s an 9k chapter of smut somewhere in here 😈 AND there’s a happy ending tag 😇
So the update schedule will be Saturdays and maybe if I’m feeling like it a surprise drop. This fic is 32 chapters long not even I have that much patience especially when the fic is done and I have the urge to just post the whole thing. But I like making yall wait and suffer 😈
Anywho I hope you’re enjoying the fic so far! Thank you for reading! See you Saturday besties!! Drink water ILY BYEEEEE!!
Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Notes:
“Tch,” Bakugo muttered, crossing his arms. “People should just mind their damn business.”
That earned another laugh from Izuku, his grin widening. “Oh, I’m with you there. Trust me, it’s one of the worst things about this place. Everyone thinks they have a right to know your whole life story.”
Bakugo grunted in response, his crimson eyes narrowing. “Guess that includes you, huh?”
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Bakugo was already pissed off when the first signs of trouble started—an odd clunking sound under the hood, followed by a faint sputtering. “Don’t you dare, you piece of shit!” he growled, gripping the wheel tighter as the noise grew louder. The car had been his lifeline since he got to this backwater town, and for all its faults, it had always gotten him where he needed to go. Until now. The clunk turned into a loud bang, and a plume of white smoke billowed out from under the hood. Bakugo slammed the brakes and rolled to a stop on the side of the empty back road, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. “Oh for fucks sakes!”
He got out of the car, muttering a string of curses as he popped the hood. The smoke hit him like a wall, and he waved it away with his hand, coughing as he leaned in to get a look. Not that he had a clue what he was doing. He didn’t know the first thing about fixing a car, and judging by the way it looked like the engine was about to spontaneously combust, it didn’t seem like this was going to be a quick fix. “Great,” he muttered, stepping back and glaring at the heap of metal in front of him. “This is just fucking great.” As he stood there fuming, the distant sound of an engine grew louder, cutting through the stillness of the back road. Bakugo turned, squinting down the road as a motorcycle came into view. The rider slowed as they approached, the roar of the engine fading as the bike came to a stop a few feet behind Bakugo’s car.
The man who got off the bike was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a grease-streaked work shirt that clung to his frame in all the right places. His green hair was messy, falling into his striking emerald eyes that almost glistened from behind his visor, and a few tattoos peeked out from under his rolled-up sleeves. He pulled off his helmet, revealing a sharp jawline and a face that was… distracting. Bakugo froze, recognizing him immediately from the call he’d responded to with Kirishima weeks ago. It was him. The guy with the black eye and the charming smile that hadn’t quite hidden the pain. The guy who looked way too damn attractive for someone with so much baggage. “Need some help?” He asked, his voice warm and easy. He tucked his helmet under his arm, glancing at the smoking car with a raised brow.
Bakugo crossed his arms, his scowl deepening out of habit. “What does it look like? My car’s a piece of shit.”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he stepped closer. “Well, you’re not wrong,” he said, leaning over the hood to get a better look. “Looks like the radiator blew. That smoke’s probably coolant burning off.”
Bakugo blinked, caught off guard by how easily he had diagnosed the problem. He watched as the hot stranger bent over the hood, his broad shoulders flexing slightly as he reached down to poke at something. Seriously? He has to look like that? Bakugo thought, his scowl faltering for a split second. He tore his gaze away, annoyed with himself for noticing. “You’re the mechanic, right?” Bakugo asked, his tone sharp as he tried to distract himself. “Izuku or whatever?”
Izuku straightened, wiping his hands on the rag he’d pulled from his pocket. He gave Bakugo a small smile, the same one that had annoyed him during the call weeks ago. But up close, it was… different. “Yeah, that’s me,” Izuku said, his green eyes meeting Bakugo’s. “And you’re the new guy, Bakugo or whatever?”
Bakugo grunted in acknowledgment, his arms still crossed as he tried not to look at the tattoos on Izuku’s forearms. Or the way his shirt clung to him. Or the way he smiled like he didn’t have a care in the world. “So, can you fix it or what?” Bakugo asked, his tone gruff.
Izuku chuckled again, his smile widening just slightly. “I’ll have to tow it back to the shop to be sure, but I can take a look. You’re lucky I came by when I did.”
“Yeah, real lucky,” Bakugo muttered, glancing away as Izuku leaned back over the hood. His heart gave an annoying little thump in his chest, and he scowled even harder, trying to ignore it. What the hell is wrong with me?
Izuku slid his helmet back on, giving Bakugo a quick nod. “I’ll be back in about ten minutes with the truck. Just hang tight.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugo muttered, leaning against the side of his car as Izuku started his motorcycle. The engine roared to life, and with a quick wave, Izuku sped off down the road, leaving Bakugo alone with the smell of burning oil and his own mounting irritation. He crossed his arms and let out a long sigh, staring down the empty road as he waited. The sun was starting to set, casting an orange glow over the quiet back road, and the only sounds were the faint rustling of trees in the breeze and the occasional chirp of crickets.
Exactly ten minutes later, the rumble of an engine broke the silence, and a large tow truck came into view, kicking up a small trail of dust as it pulled up in front of Bakugo’s car. Izuku stepped out of the truck, his forearms glistening with a thin layer of sweat in the golden light of the setting sun, making him look way too good for someone who just rolled up in a damn tow truck. Bakugo shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the annoying little thump in his chest as Izuku strode past him with an easy smile. “Alright, let’s get this thing hooked up,” Izuku said, grabbing the chains and clamps with practiced ease.
Bakugo watched as Izuku worked, his movements smooth and precise. He crouched down to attach the chains to the car’s undercarriage, his forearms flexing slightly as he pulled them taut. Every movement was deliberate, every step efficient, like he’d done this a thousand times before. Bakugo hated how hard it was not to stare. He leaned against the tow truck, pretending to inspect the horizon, but his eyes kept drifting back to Izuku—how his green hair caught the light, how his broad shoulders moved as he worked, how his tattoos shifted with every movement. He let out a sharp breath through his nose, scowling at himself. Yeah, he’s hot. So what? Doesn’t mean anything. “You good over there?” Izuku called out, glancing up from his work with a raised brow and an amused smile.
“Mind your business,” Bakugo snapped, turning his gaze sharply to the ground.
Izuku chuckled softly, shaking his head as he finished securing the car to the truck. “Alright, all set,” he said, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “I’ll take it back to the shop. You wanna ride in the truck, or you got someone coming to pick you up?”
Bakugo grunted, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
Izuku gave him a small smile, jerking his thumb toward the truck. “Hop in. I don’t bite.”
“Whatever,” Bakugo muttered, following him to the passenger side. He climbed in, scowling at the faint smirk on Izuku’s face as he settled into the seat. As they pulled back onto the road, Bakugo crossed his arms and stared out the window, trying to ignore how annoyingly comfortable Izuku looked behind the wheel. Just a mechanic, Bakugo told himself, stealing one last glance at Izuku’s profile before looking away again. That’s all.
The tow truck rumbled along the quiet back road, the hum of the engine filling the silence between them. Izuku leaned casually against the steering wheel, his green eyes focused on the road ahead. His work shirt clung to him just enough to make Bakugo not look too closely. The small smirk tugging at Izuku’s lips only annoyed him more. “So,” Izuku started, throwing Bakugo a lazy grin. “What brings a city boy like you to a small town like this?”
Bakugo scowled, leaning his elbow against the window and glaring out at the passing trees. “How the hell do you know I’m from the city?”
Izuku laughed, the sound light and teasing. “Come on, man. It’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone’s business. Didn’t take long for word to spread about the new cop from Tokyo.”
“Tch,” Bakugo muttered, crossing his arms. “People should just mind their damn business.”
That earned another laugh from Izuku, his grin widening. “Oh, I’m with you there. Trust me, it’s one of the worst things about this place. Everyone thinks they have a right to know your whole life story.”
Bakugo grunted in response, his crimson eyes narrowing. “Guess that includes you, huh?”
Izuku shrugged, glancing at him briefly before focusing back on the road. “Can’t help it if I hear things. Besides,” he added with a slight smirk, “you probably know a thing or two about me by now, right?”
Bakugo stiffened slightly, his scowl deepening. He did know—of course he knew. Chief Aizawa’s son, the one tangled up in a mess with a girlfriend who was bad news. “Yeah,” Bakugo said, his tone clipped. “I know who you are.”
Izuku chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Figures. I mean, you work for my dad. I’m guessing Kirishima filled you in on the rest, huh?”
Bakugo clenched his jaw, his hands tightening where they rested on his arms. He didn’t want to have this conversation—not now, not with him. But the way Izuku said it, like it didn’t even matter, like it was just another fact of life, made something twist in Bakugo’s chest. “You mean your girlfriend?” Bakugo said bluntly, his tone sharp.
Izuku let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Yeah. That.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his green eyes fixed on the road. “Guess Kirishima told you all about that, too.”
Bakugo didn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting to Izuku’s profile. For someone who’d been dealt a pretty shitty hand, Izuku looked way too calm about it. Too put-together. Like he’d made peace with it—or maybe just buried it so deep it couldn’t get to him anymore. “Why do you stay with her?” Bakugo asked suddenly, the question slipping out before he could stop it.
Izuku’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel, but his expression didn’t change. “It’s complicated,” he said after a long moment.
“Doesn’t sound complicated to me,” Bakugo muttered.
Izuku glanced at him, his green eyes unreadable. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he said quietly, but there was no anger in his tone. Just… exhaustion. “And it’s not really your business anyway.”
Bakugo scoffed, turning his gaze back to the window. “Whatever.” For the rest of the drive, the silence between them was heavy, punctuated only by the occasional creak of the tow truck. But even as they neared the shop, Bakugo couldn’t shake the image of Izuku leaning over his car earlier—the way he’d smiled so easily, despite everything.
The tow truck rumbled as it pulled into the shop lot, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. Izuku smoothly brought it to a stop, shifting into park before leaning back in his seat. The small-town mechanic looked as relaxed as ever, that same easygoing energy radiating from him. Bakugo, meanwhile, was trying to figure out how to get the words out. His pride made it feel like pulling teeth, but he wasn’t an ungrateful bastard—at least, not most of the time. He glanced at Izuku from the corner of his eye, his scowl deepening slightly before he forced himself to mutter, “Thanks. For, you know… helping.”
Izuku turned his head, flashing Bakugo a grin that was nothing short of charming. “No problem,” he said easily, his voice warm and smooth. “That’s the perk of a small town—you help each other out.” With that, Izuku popped open his door and hopped out of the truck, grabbing his gloves and moving toward the back to unhook Bakugo’s car. Bakugo didn’t move right away. For a moment, he was just… stuck, staring at the now-empty spot where Izuku had been sitting. His heart gave an unfamiliar, unwelcome thump, and Izuku’s stupidly perfect smile replayed in his mind like a broken record.
What the hell was that? He blinked, shaking his head as though that could snap him out of it. He rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing. His heart had never done that before. Sure, he could admit the guy was attractive—he wasn’t blind—but this? This was something else, and it was pissing him off. Growling softly under his breath, Bakugo shoved the door open and got out of the truck, his movements a little stiffer than usual. He stood there for a moment, dazed and disoriented, as Izuku worked with practiced precision to lower his car from the truck bed. Get a grip, he told himself harshly, his jaw tightening as he shoved his hands in his pockets, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop the replay of that smile, or the way it made something twist in his chest in a way he couldn’t explain. With his pride already in tatters, Bakugo reluctantly pulled out his phone and dialed the one person he knew in this damn town who wouldn’t let him live this down. Kirishima. As expected, Kirishima answered on the second ring, his voice as bright and cheerful as ever. “Bakugo! What’s up, man?”
“My car’s busted,” Bakugo grumbled, his face twisting in annoyance. “I’m at the mechanic shop. Can you come pick me up or not?”
“Of course!” Kirishima said, practically beaming through the phone. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, tops. Hang tight!” Bakugo groaned as he hung up, already dreading the endless stream of good-natured teasing that was bound to come with Kirishima’s arrival. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket, leaning against the side of the shop with his arms crossed. Even as he tried to focus on anything else, Bakugo couldn’t help but glance at Izuku every so often. The guy was still moving around the lot, adjusting tools and tying things down with the kind of practiced ease that came from years of experience. He worked quickly but never seemed rushed, his calm energy drawing Bakugo’s attention no matter how much he tried to resist.
Then Izuku’s phone rang. The sound pulled Bakugo out of his thoughts, his eyes flicking to Izuku as he pulled the device from his pocket. Izuku didn’t even glance at the screen before answering, his voice soft but already sounding tired. “Yeah?” Bakugo wasn’t trying to listen. Really, he wasn’t. But the tone of Izuku’s voice and the way all the energy seemed to drain from him made it impossible to ignore. “I know I’m late,” Izuku said, sighing as he leaned against the truck, his broad shoulders slumping. His tone was strained, defensive, as if he’d already braced himself for the worst. There was a pause as Izuku listened to the person on the other end, his green eyes narrowing slightly as his grip on the phone tightened. “I wasn’t cheating,” he said firmly, his voice still calm but tinged with frustration. Bakugo’s eyes narrowed as he watched Izuku. He couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but whatever they were saying was clearly getting under Izuku’s skin. “There was a car broken down,” Izuku explained, pacing now as he ran a hand through his messy green hair. “I stopped to help. That’s it.”
The conversation went quiet again, and Bakugo felt his jaw tighten despite himself. The way Izuku’s shoulders hunched, the way his pacing grew tighter and more agitated—it wasn’t hard to figure out who was on the other end of the line. Izuku stopped pacing, his expression softening slightly as he sighed again. “Yeah, I’ll be home soon,” he said quietly, his voice almost forced. There was a pause before he added, even quieter, “I love you, too.” He hung up, shoving the phone back into his pocket as he stood still for a moment, his head bowed slightly as if he were trying to collect himself.
Bakugo’s scowl deepened, his chest tightening in a way he didn’t understand. He turned away quickly, pretending not to have heard anything, but the image of Izuku—his drained expression, the defeated slump of his shoulders—was burned into his mind. The crunch of gravel under Kirishima’s car pulled Bakugo’s attention, and he straightened up from where he was leaning against the building. When Kirishima climbed out, his usual grin faltered slightly, his red eyes widening in surprise as they landed on Izuku. For a moment, neither of them said anything. They just stood there, staring at each other like the world had stopped spinning for a second too long. It was awkward—so awkward that even Bakugo, who thrived in tension, felt the discomfort clawing at his skin. Izuku was the first to move, raising his hand in a small wave, his lips tugging into a faint, hesitant smile. “Hey, Kiri,” he said, his tone soft and careful.
Kirishima smiled back, the expression not as bright as it usually was. “Hey, man.” His voice was warm, but there was an edge of sadness to it, barely hidden under his usual cheer.
Bakugo watched the whole thing with narrowed eyes, leaning back against the side of the building with his arms crossed. The weird energy between them was so thick it was practically choking. He didn’t get it—didn’t want to. It was like being dropped into one of those stupid telenovelas his mom used to watch, where everyone had these long, dramatic stares and messy, unresolved history. And here he was, right in the middle of it, with no script and no desire to be part of the cast. Kirishima finally turned toward Bakugo, his usual grin returning as he shook off whatever weird cloud had settled over him. “So, this is where you ended up, huh?” he teased, gesturing to Bakugo’s busted car and Izuku’s tow truck.
“Yeah, real hilarious,” Bakugo muttered, his scowl deepening.
Kirishima clapped him on the shoulder, still smiling, but Bakugo could see the way his eyes kept flicking back to Izuku. The redhead’s usual brightness had dimmed, replaced by something softer—sadder—and it grated on Bakugo’s nerves. As the two of them headed toward Kirishima’s car, Bakugo’s mind was spinning. He didn’t understand it. If seeing Izuku like this clearly got to Kirishima so much, why the hell hadn’t they done more? Why hadn’t they tried harder to drag him out of whatever mess he was in? The guy was obviously stuck, obviously miserable, and it was clear Kirishima hated seeing him like this.
It annoyed Bakugo more than he cared to admit. If you hate it so much, then do something about it, Bakugo thought bitterly, casting one last glance over his shoulder at Izuku, who was still standing by the truck. His small, polite smile had faded, replaced with an unreadable expression as he watched them go. Bakugo turned away, shoving his hands in his pockets as he followed Kirishima to the car. The frustration burned under his skin, hot and restless, as he tried to shake the feeling off.
The house was dark when Izuku finally pulled into the driveway, the faint glow of the porch light doing little to soften the looming tension he already felt tightening in his chest. He sat on his bike for a moment, staring at the quiet house, trying to summon the energy to step inside. But he knew what was waiting for him. He always did. As soon as he opened the door, Toga was there, her arms crossed and her golden eyes sharp with barely-contained fury. She didn’t even wait for him to step fully inside before launching into it. “Where the hell have you been?” she snapped, her voice low and venomous.
Izuku sighed, already feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. He didn’t even bother taking off his shoes as he walked past her, heading toward the kitchen. “I was working,” he said simply, keeping his voice calm.
“Don’t give me that bullshit,” toga spat, following close behind him. “You were late, Izuku. Again. And don’t even try to tell me it was work.”
Izuku sighed again, more sharply this time, and turned to face her. “A guy’s car broke down,” he explained, his tone tired but firm. “The new cop’s. I stopped to help him. That’s all.”
Toga’s eyes narrowed, her expression twisting with anger. “Oh, right,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re just being a ‘Good Samaritan’, huh? Or maybe you’re just trying to play the victim again. Make the new guy feel sorry for you.”
Izuku froze, his patience snapping like a taut wire. His green eyes flared with rare anger as he turned fully toward her. “I don’t have to do shit to make people see me as a victim!” he yelled, his voice echoing through the small house. “The whole damn town knows how you treat me, Toga! They’ve known for years!” His chest heaved as he glared at her, his anger and frustration boiling over after years of silence. But instead of backing down, her face twisted even further, her golden eyes flashing with fury.
“That’s because you pretend to be a victim!” She screamed, her voice shrill as she stepped closer. Before Izuku could react, her hand lashed out, the slap landing hard against his face. The impact made his head turn, his jaw tightening as the sting spread across his cheek. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move, just stood there as her words tore into him again. “This is all on you,” she continued, her voice venomous as her chest rose and fell with anger. “You act so pitiful, like you’re this poor little thing everyone should feel sorry for. But you’re nothing but a liar, Izuku. You bring this on yourself!”
Izuku’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his composure. He wanted to yell back, to defend himself, but the words caught in his throat. He could already feel the fight draining out of him, the familiar exhaustion creeping in as her words pressed down on him like a weight, because no matter what he said, no matter how much he yelled or defended himself, it was always the same. It was always his fault. “I’m done talking right now,” Izuku muttered finally, his voice low and tired. He turned away, heading toward the bathroom to put some space between them.
“Don’t you walk away from me!” Toga yelled after him, but he didn’t turn back. Instead, he locked the bathroom door behind him and leaned heavily against the sink, his green eyes staring back at him in the mirror. The sting of her slap still lingered on his cheek, but the words—her words—cut deeper, as they always did. The bathroom door rattled violently as Toga banged on it, her fists slamming against the old wood with enough force to make it feel like it might splinter. Izuku pressed his back against the sink, his hands gripping the edge of the counter to steady himself as the shaking traveled through the frame and into his chest. “Open the door, Izuku!” she screamed, her voice raw with fury. “You think you can just walk away from me? You think you can ignore me?!”
Her muffled screams made his head pound, and his hands shook as he tried to block her out. All he wanted was some space, a moment to breathe, a second to gather himself. But that was never an option with her. “Just stop, Toga!” he yelled back through the door, his voice louder than it had been in years. He was tired, so damn tired, and the pounding in his head only grew louder with every slam against the door. “If you don’t stop, the cops are gonna get called!”
There was a moment of silence on the other side of the door, just long enough for Izuku to think maybe, just maybe , she’d back off. But then her voice came again, sharp and shrill, like nails dragging against his skull. “Let them!” she screamed, her voice cracking as she threw something—glass, maybe—across the room. Izuku flinched as he heard it shatter against the wall, followed by the sound of more things crashing to the floor. Plates, cups, furniture—anything she could grab, she was throwing it. “You think I care, Izuku?!” she yelled, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. “Let them come! I’ll tell them what a piece of shit you are, how you’re the one who’s crazy! ”
Izuku clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling as panic clawed at him. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this. He slid down to the floor, his back against the door, his hands clutching his hair as the sounds of breaking objects and her screaming filled the apartment. Every slam of her fists against the door, every crash of something breaking, made him feel smaller and smaller. “You’re nothing without me!” she screamed, her words cutting deeper than any broken glass ever could. “You think anyone else would want you?! You’re lucky I put up with you, Izuku!” He pressed his hands to his ears, trying to drown her out, but the words still broke through, each one digging into his chest like a knife. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it to end.
Notes:
Hellooooo y’all how is this fic at 100 hits already? Y’all are too good to me. Like I literally use your emotions as a punching bag 😭 and yet you just keep coming back. Ily, you sicko 🫶🏻🫰🏻
I can’t decide if I wanna post another chapter tonight. I was doing some math yall this fic won’t be finished for 7 months if I only post once a week, it didn’t even take 7 months to write 😭 so maybe two chapters a week??? Anyway you’ll know in an hour or two if I decide to post another chapter tonight!
Welp see you next chapter! Thank you for reading bestie! Ily byieeeee!
Chapter 5: Chapter 5
Notes:
“She loves me,” Izuku said quietly, his voice barely audible. “She does. I know she does. She just… she gets upset. But she doesn’t mean it.”
Aizawa let out a long, slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to steady himself. He hated this—hated seeing his son like this, so broken and convinced that he deserved to stay in this hell. “Please, Izuku,” Aizawa said softly, his voice almost pleading now. “Come with me. Just for tonight. Give yourself some space to think.”
Izuku shook his head again, his tears falling freely now. “I can’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “She needs me. I can’t just leave her like this.”
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku stayed on the bathroom floor, his back pressed against the door, his knees pulled up to his chest. The apartment was eerily silent now, the storm of breaking objects and screaming having stopped a few minutes earlier. The quiet was almost worse than the chaos—it was suffocating, pressing down on him as he sat there, unmoving. Then came the knock at the door. It was firm, authoritative, unmistakable. Izuku didn’t move, his body tense as his breathing hitched. He didn’t need to look to know who it was. He’d called it—someone must have heard the screaming or the crashing and made the call. He stayed where he was, his hands gripping his knees tightly.
From his spot on the bathroom floor, he could hear the sound of footsteps—Toga’s light, uneven ones—as she walked to the front door. There was the faint creak of the hinges as she opened it, followed by her voice, too low for him to make out what she was saying. He strained to listen, but all he could hear was the muffled hum of voices, the tone of Toga’s words shifting rapidly. First defensive, then soft, then… sobbing. Izuku froze, his stomach twisting at the sound of her crying. He couldn’t make out the words, but the sobs were loud enough to reach him even through the bathroom door. They were raw, broken, the kind of tears she’d shed so many times before, each one clawing its way into his chest like it belonged there.
He stayed where he was, his heart pounding as he listened to the muffled exchange. The voices on the other side of the door were calm, measured—probably the police trying to de-escalate the situation. And Toga? She was spinning her web, just like she always did. He didn’t have to hear the words to know the story she was telling, the version of events she’d crafted to make herself the victim. It’s not her fault, she’d say. She was upset. It was just a fight. Izuku was being difficult. She’d cry and twist the narrative until they believed her. She always did. Izuku stared at the tiles beneath him, his hands trembling slightly as the distant voices continued. He knew he should get up, should do something, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He was too tired, too worn down, too… defeated.
So he stayed there, listening to the faint hum of voices, the sound of Toga’s sobs filling the quiet of the apartment like the aftermath of a storm. The knock at the bathroom door made Izuku jump, his heart hammering in his chest. For a moment, he froze, his breath caught in his throat. Then came a soft voice, so familiar it hit him like a lifeline through the chaos. “Izuku?” It was his dad. Izuku, a grown man, scrambled to his feet like a scared little kid, fumbling with the lock before yanking the door open. His eyes widened as he looked up at Aizawa, who stood on the other side, his usually calm, tired face etched with worry. Behind Aizawa, the apartment was a disaster zone. Broken glass glittered on the floor, furniture was overturned, Izuku’s eyes darted over the destruction, panic bubbling in his chest, but his father’s steady voice pulled him back. “Please,” Aizawa said softly, his voice breaking just enough to make Izuku’s throat tighten. “Stop scaring me like this.”
Before Izuku could say anything, Aizawa pulled him into a rare hug, his arms wrapping tightly around him. Izuku’s chest cracked wide open as he clung to his dad like a child, his tears spilling over as he buried his face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Izuku sobbed, his hands clutching at Aizawa’s jacket as if letting go would make him disappear. “I’m so sorry, Dad.” Aizawa didn’t say anything at first, just held him close, his hand resting on the back of Izuku’s head. When Izuku finally pulled back, sniffling and wiping at his face, Aizawa gave him a long, searching look, his dark eyes filled with both worry and exhaustion. “Where’s Toga?” Izuku asked, his voice trembling as he glanced back toward the living room.
Aizawa sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “We’ve detained her,” he said quietly. “She admitted to destroying the apartment.”
Izuku’s knees felt weak, and he leaned against the doorframe for support. A part of him felt relief—real, tangible relief—but it was buried under a thick layer of guilt and fear. “What… what’s going to happen to her?”
“That depends,” Aizawa said honestly, his voice steady but firm. “But right now, I’m more worried about you. ” Izuku looked up at his dad, his green eyes still wet with tears. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do. He felt so small, so fragile, like the pieces of himself were scattered across the apartment, impossible to pick up. Aizawa sighed again, his tone softening as he placed a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight, Izuku,” he said gently. “Just… come with me. Let’s get you out of here.”
Izuku hesitated, his eyes flicking to the wreckage behind his dad. His chest felt heavy, his mind spinning, but he nodded. For the first time in years, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to face it all alone. But he wasn’t ready. Not yet. Izuku shook his head, tears streaming down his face as he choked out, “I can’t.” His voice cracked, and he hugged himself tightly, shrinking back against the doorframe. “This is my home. It’s… it’s a mess, but it’s still my home.”
Aizawa’s brows furrowed, his hand dropping from Izuku’s shoulder. “Izuku,” he said, his voice calm but tense, “this isn’t safe. You know it’s not safe.”
Izuku cried harder, wiping at his face even though the tears wouldn’t stop. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice trembling. “She’s not… she’s not a bad person. She just… has a hard time controlling her emotions. That’s all.”
“That’s not all,” Aizawa said firmly, though his tone stayed measured. He took a deep breath, visibly reining in his frustration, his jaw clenching as he stared at his son. “She hits you, Izuku. She destroyed your home. This isn’t just about her emotions—it’s about your safety.”
Izuku flinched, the weight of his father’s words pressing down on him. He shook his head again, his hands trembling as he gripped the edge of the doorframe. “I love her,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I can’t just… leave her. We’ll work it out. We always do.”
Aizawa’s dark eyes narrowed, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface, but he didn’t yell. He didn’t lash out. He just stared at Izuku for a long moment, his expression a mix of anger and heartbreak. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Aizawa said finally, his voice low but heavy with emotion. “You’re destroying yourself, Izuku. And for what? For someone who treats you like this?”
“She loves me,” Izuku said quietly, his voice barely audible. “She does. I know she does. She just… she gets upset. But she doesn’t mean it.”
Aizawa let out a long, slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to steady himself. He hated this—hated seeing his son like this, so broken and convinced that he deserved to stay in this hell. “Please, Izuku,” Aizawa said softly, his voice almost pleading now. “Come with me. Just for tonight. Give yourself some space to think.”
Izuku shook his head again, his tears falling freely now. “I can’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “She needs me. I can’t just leave her like this.”
Aizawa clenched his fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. He didn’t yell. He didn’t argue. He just stared at Izuku, his expression softening as the weight of the situation settled over him. “Okay,” Aizawa said finally, his voice heavy with resignation. “But you need to know this can’t go on forever. One day, it’s going to be too much, Izuku. And when that day comes, I just hope you’ll let someone help you before it’s too late.” Izuku didn’t respond. He just stood there, his head bowed, his shoulders shaking as silent sobs wracked his body. Aizawa sighed deeply, the lines on his face deepening as he stepped back. “You’re my son,” he said softly. “That’s never going to change. I’m always going to be here for you, Izuku. No matter what.” And with that, Aizawa turned and walked out of the apartment, leaving Izuku alone in the wreckage.
First thing Monday morning, Izuku rolled up the sleeves of his work shirt and got to work on Bakugo’s car. It sat on the lift in the corner of the garage, the same hunk of junk he’d towed in a few days ago. He popped the hood and gave it a thorough look over, wiping his hands on a rag as he inspected every inch of the engine. As he dug deeper, though, the problems started stacking up fast. The radiator wasn’t just shot—it had been leaking for god-knows-how-long. The timing belt was practically shredded, the alternator looked like it was on its last legs, and the brake lines were dangerously corroded.
Izuku sighed, running a hand through his messy green hair as he stepped back from the car. This thing is a disaster, he thought, grabbing his clipboard and jotting down a list of parts he’d need to order. It was going to take a lot longer than he’d initially expected. He’d thought maybe it’d be a day or two, but now? He’d be lucky if he could get it back to Bakugo before the weekend, assuming the parts arrived on time.
He glanced over at the parts catalog sitting on his workbench, thumbing through it to make sure the shop still had the connections to get what he needed. As he worked, the sound of the garage echoed around him—the hum of a nearby engine being tested, the clatter of tools hitting metal, the faint smell of oil and grease that always clung to the air. Izuku shook his head, muttering under his breath as he added more items to the list. “This guy must’ve bought this car for pennies,” he said to himself, chuckling softly despite the frustration. Still, there was something oddly satisfying about it. Fixing things—bringing them back to life—it was the one thing he was good at.
With the list finalized, Izuku grabbed the shop phone and started making calls to order the parts. He’d get it done, no matter how long it took. That’s just how he worked. Izuku sat at the small folding table in the corner of the garage, a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and his clipboard in the other as he chatted with Iida. Iida, as always, was pristine—not a single smudge of grease on his crisp uniform or his neatly combed hair. It was almost unnatural, considering the work they did. “I’m telling you,” Izuku said, gesturing with the sandwich in his hand, “this radiator was practically liquefied. I don’t know how the guy got it anywhere without the whole thing exploding.”
Iida nodded solemnly, his hands resting primly on the table. “That is concerning. It’s a miracle the vehicle hasn’t completely given out on him yet.”
Before Izuku could respond, the sound of tires crunching on gravel drew their attention. Through the wide-open garage doors, a police car pulled up, and Izuku’s stomach dropped. He froze, staring at the car, already bracing himself. Is it Dad? Did he come here to talk again? But then Bakugo rounded the corner, stepping out of the squad car alone, and Izuku let out a breath of relief. He quickly set down his sandwich and stood, brushing his hands off on his already grease-streaked pants.
Bakugo’s sharp crimson eyes scanned the garage before landing on Izuku, his usual scowl firmly in place. “How’s the car?” he asked, his tone direct as always.
Izuku grimaced, making a face that was half apology, half frustration. “Come on,” he said, motioning for Bakugo to follow him. “I’ll show you.” Bakugo followed him across the garage, his boots clanking against the concrete. Iida returned to his lunch with a polite nod toward Bakugo, his expression curious but neutral. When they reached the car, still up on the lift, Izuku gestured toward it with a sigh. “Well, here it is,” he said, turning to Bakugo. “It’s got… issues.”
Bakugo groaned, already dreading the answer. “How bad are we talking?”
Izuku leaned against the lift, crossing his arms. “A lot,” he said bluntly. “Radiator’s toast, timing belt’s shredded, alternator’s shot, brake lines are rusted to hell. Honestly, it’s a miracle this thing didn’t fall apart on you halfway here.”
Bakugo’s jaw tightened, his scowl deepening. “How much?”
Izuku gave him a long look, then shrugged casually. “For you? Seven-fifty.”
Bakugo blinked, his eyes narrowing. “That’s it? You’re not screwing with me?”
Izuku smirked, a teasing glint in his green eyes. “Nope. I figured with a piece of shit like this, you’d need a little help.”
Bakugo glared at him, his lip curling into a half-snarl. “Tch. It’s not that bad.”
That made Izuku laugh, a bright, genuine sound that echoed through the garage. “Come on, man,” he said, grinning. “You’re not seriously defending this thing, are you? It’s a disaster.”
Bakugo grumbled something under his breath but eventually sighed. “Fine. It’s a piece of shit,” he muttered.
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Izuku said, his smile widening. Bakugo tried to ignore how sweaty his palms were, how fast his heart was beating just watching Izuku laugh. It was infuriating. His brain screamed at him to get it together, but every damn time Izuku smiled like that, Bakugo felt like he was one step away from losing it.
“You done?” Bakugo snapped, his voice sharp as he shoved his hands in his pockets.
Izuku chuckled, pushing off the lift. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”
“Good,” Bakugo muttered, turning sharply on his heel before his stupid heart could do anything else. After work, Bakugo trudged toward Kirishima’s car, the frustration of his day evident in the tense set of his shoulders. He slid into the passenger seat with a scowl, tossing his bag into the back and slumping against the seat. “It’s gonna be a while,” Bakugo muttered, referring to his car as he stared out the windshield.
Kirishima grinned, his usual bright energy practically radiating from him. “No big deal, man,” he said, putting the car in gear. “I don’t mind giving you a ride. But…” He paused, throwing Bakugo a sideways glance, his grin turning mischievous.
“But what?” Bakugo snapped, already annoyed by the look on his face.
Kirishima’s grin widened. “The only payment I want is for you to come out with us Friday night. The usual spot. It’s gonna be fun!”
Bakugo groaned, leaning his head back against the seat. He wanted to say no, to shut it down immediately, but something about the way Kirishima said “fun” made him hesitate. He’d only been in town for a month, and while he hated the idea of meeting more people who already seemed to know all about him, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing. “…Fine,” Bakugo muttered finally, his voice begrudging.
Kirishima’s grin turned into a full-on beam. “Hell yeah! You won’t regret it, man, I promise!”
“Don’t make me regret it,” Bakugo shot back, his tone sharp.
Kirishima laughed, turning up the radio as they headed toward Bakugo’s place. “Don’t worry,” he said cheerfully. “You’ll have a great time. Trust me!” Bakugo grumbled under his breath, staring out the window. He wasn’t so sure about that, but for now, he’d let Kirishima have his moment.
By the time Friday rolled around and Bakugo’s car still wasn’t done, he’d resigned himself to his fate. Sitting in Kirishima’s passenger seat as they pulled into the bar’s small gravel lot, Bakugo let out a long sigh, already bracing for the social exhaustion he knew was coming. The bar was half-full when they stepped inside, the faint hum of conversation mixing with the sound of clinking glasses and a jukebox playing something low and familiar. Kirishima, ever the golden retriever of a human, immediately lit up, spotting his friends at a table near the corner.
“Yo, guys!” Kirishima called, waving them down as they approached. Bakugo followed, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets as his crimson eyes swept over the group. He recognized a few of them from around town—mostly in passing or from the stories Kirishima had already shared with him.
Mina, with her bright pink hair and equally bright smile, was the first to speak. “Oh my god, Blasty! You actually came!”
Bakugo blinked, his scowl deepening. “ Blasty? ” he repeated, his tone sharp.
Denki, lounging in his seat with a playful grin, leaned forward. “Yeah, you know—big personality, a little intimidating, probably explosive. It fits!”
Bakugo glared, crossing his arms. “Don’t call me that.”
“Too late,” Sero chimed in with a smirk, leaning back in his chair. “It’s already catching on.”
Uraraka, sitting next to Mina, gave Bakugo a warm smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said, her tone genuine. “Kiri’s been talking about you nonstop since you got here.”
“Of course he has,” Bakugo muttered, shooting a glare at Kirishima, who just grinned unapologetically.
“Hey, it’s all good stuff,” Kirishima said, clapping a hand on Bakugo’s shoulder before sliding into a seat. “You’re lucky, man—these guys are the best. They’ll treat you right.”
Mina gestured to the empty chair next to her, grinning as she looked up at Bakugo. “Come on, Blasty, take a seat. We don’t bite!”
Bakugo hesitated, his instinct screaming at him to bail while he still had the chance. But with everyone watching him expectantly, their smiles annoyingly warm and inviting, he sighed and dropped into the chair with a muttered, “Whatever.”
The group cheered like he’d just made some grand declaration, and Bakugo rolled his eyes, though a tiny part of him couldn’t help but feel the faintest hint of relief. “Alright,” Denki said, raising his glass. “To Blasty!”
“Stop calling me that,” Bakugo growled, though his tone was softer than usual, and this time, he didn’t really mean it. Bakugo hated to admit it, but he was actually having a good time. The group had this way of cracking through his usual armor, their easy banter and warmth slowly but surely making him feel… comfortable. It was annoying how quickly he found himself starting to relax around them, laughing at Denki’s dumb jokes, nodding along as Mina and Sero told some wild story about an old high school prank. For the first time since moving to this small town, he felt a little less like an outsider. But then the mood at the table shifted.
The door to the bar opened, and another group walked in. The energy in the room changed almost instantly, and Bakugo felt his chest tighten when his eyes landed on one person in particular. Izuku. He was being clung to by that woman. Her arm was wrapped tightly around his, her golden eyes scanning the bar as she laughed at something one of the men with them said. The two men trailing behind them were unfamiliar to Bakugo, but they didn’t matter. His focus was entirely on Izuku. Bakugo’s heart did that thing again when he saw him, skipping a beat like a traitor in his chest. But whatever spark he’d seen in Izuku before, in the garage or when he’d smiled at him, was dimmed again. His expression was flat, almost bored, his green eyes dull and distant as Toga laughed loudly and tugged him toward a table in the corner.
From where Bakugo was sitting, he had a clear view of Izuku’s face. Even as Toga chatted animatedly with the other two men, Izuku barely reacted, only occasionally nodding or murmuring a response. His eyes flicked around the bar, like he wanted to be anywhere else but here. Beside him, Mina let out a sharp scoff, her eyes narrowing as she glared in Toga’s direction. “Of course she’s here, dumb bitch.” she muttered, whipping her head away dramatically.
Uraraka wasn’t much better, crossing her arms and shooting daggers at Toga before looking away with a soft, annoyed huff. The guys grumbled quietly, Sero leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand. “Why does she always show up here?” he muttered under his breath.
“Because she likes people looking at her,” Denki replied, his tone laced with irritation. “And she loves making Izuku miserable.” At that, Bakugo’s eyes snapped back to Izuku, who was staring down at the drink in front of him like it might be the most interesting thing in the world. The conversation at Bakugo’s table had shifted into quiet murmurs, the group subtly exchanging complaints about Toga. Mina leaned toward Uraraka, whispering something that made both of them roll their eyes in unison, while Kirishima shook his head, clearly uncomfortable but too polite to say anything outright.
Bakugo, meanwhile, found himself stealing glances at Izuku. He wasn’t even sure why—maybe it was the lingering annoyance he felt every time he thought about the guy’s situation, or maybe it was just the way his stupid heart kept betraying him. Either way, he couldn’t stop watching. Why the hell doesn’t he just leave her? Bakugo thought bitterly, his jaw tightening as he watched Izuku take a small sip of his drink, his face still unreadable. The group’s quiet disdain for Toga swirled around him, but Bakugo stayed silent, his eyes flicking between Izuku and the woman beside him. Toga’s laugh rang out again, shrill and grating, and Bakugo felt that unfamiliar twist in his chest—the kind that made him want to get up and say something, even though he knew it wasn’t his place.
On the drive back to Bakugo’s house, the quiet hum of the radio filled the car as Kirishima’s grin practically lit up the cab. He drummed his hands lightly on the steering wheel, glancing over at Bakugo as they neared his place. “So,” Kirishima started, his tone casual but laced with a teasing edge, “you coming out with us next Friday, or is this a one-time thing?”
Bakugo sighed, leaning his head back against the seat. He hesitated for a moment before muttering, “Yeah, why not? You small-town hicks aren’t too bad.”
That sent Kirishima into a loud fit of laughter, his sharp teeth flashing as he shook his head. “Man, you’ve got a weird way of saying you had fun, but I’ll take it!”
“Tch,” Bakugo muttered, crossing his arms but not arguing. When they pulled up to his house, Bakugo opened the door and stepped out, waving Kirishima off with a quick “later” before making his way up to the doorway. The familiar creak of the floorboards greeted him as he stepped inside, the air heavy with the faint smell of wood polish and old paint. The house was still a dump—half the lights didn’t work, the windows were drafty, and the pipes groaned like they were alive—but tonight, it didn’t feel so bad. He stood in the doorway for a moment, his hand resting on the edge of the frame as he took in the small, cluttered space. Normally, the sight of it would make his chest tighten with frustration, but tonight, it felt… lighter. Like maybe, just maybe, he was starting to feel at home here.
The thought made him pause, his brows furrowing as he kicked off his shoes and leaned against the wall. He wasn’t sure when it had started, but the overwhelming hatred he’d felt for this place when he first arrived had dulled. And now, standing here in the quiet of his own house, he wasn’t so sure how he felt about that. For years, he’d built his identity around Tokyo—its noise, its speed, its chaos. But this small town? These people? They were starting to get under his skin in a way he hadn’t expected, and he wasn’t sure if he hated it or if it scared him more to admit he might not hate it at all. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he pushed off the wall and walked into the living room. The weight in his chest felt different tonight—less like the burden of starting over and more like… possibility.
Bakugo dropped onto the worn-out couch in his living room, the springs creaking under his weight as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a frustrated sigh. He’d been trying to shake it off the entire drive home, but no matter what he did, his thoughts kept circling back to him. Izuku. The guy had barely done anything tonight—just sat there, quiet and detached, while that girlfriend of his dominated the conversation, clinging to him like she owned him. But for some reason, it was all Bakugo could think about.
It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d seen Izuku. Hell, he’d even had a few conversations with him. And yet, tonight, there’d been something so… off about him. It wasn’t just how quiet he’d been, or how uninterested he’d looked sitting in that corner. It was the way his eyes had dulled, the way the energy Bakugo had seen before—when Izuku had flashed him that stupidly bright grin while talking about fixing his car—seemed completely snuffed out. That dimness, that emptiness, clawed at Bakugo’s chest in a way he couldn’t explain. Because he knew what Izuku’s smile looked like. He’d seen it—bright, easy, and just a little too charming for his own good. That smile was still burned into his mind, playing on a loop whenever he let his guard down. And now? Now, all he could think about was how much it bothered him not to see it.
Bakugo leaned back on the couch, glaring at the ceiling like it had personally offended him. He didn’t know why this was getting under his skin so much. He barely knew the guy, but the memory of that dim, distant expression wouldn’t leave him alone. What the hell is wrong with me? Bakugo thought, his jaw tightening. But no matter how hard he tried to push it down, the frustration gnawed at him. Because for some stupid reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong it had felt to see Izuku like that—and how badly he wanted to see him smile again.
Notes:
Heyyy miss me? I missed you pookie 🥰 ew. I apologize.
I’m exhausted y'all I worked 9 hours and my body is giving out. My store had a massive sale today and unfortunately I’m a manager. We were swapped—I mean in the trenches of war swamped 😭 and severely understaffed but us girlies pulled through, barely.
Deadass I’ve been debating on posting 3 chapters this week, so maybe two today because I’ve already planned on posting two today anyway so maybe one tomorrow???? Idk
Anywho I got a whole other chapter to edit so imma get to doin’ that. See you in an hour or see you in a few seconds. Depends when you’re reading this IF you’re reading this.
Ily bestie drink water byieeeee
Chapter 6: Chapter 6
Notes:
Izuku’s laughter slowed, and he straightened up, his grin turning into something softer but no less amused. “Oh,” he said, his tone playful. “A challenge.”
Bakugo frowned, caught off guard by the shift in Izuku’s expression. “What the hell are you talking about now?”
Izuku leaned closer, his green eyes locking with Bakugo’s as he smirked. “I like you, Bakugo,” he said simply, his voice calm but sincere. “You’re funny.”
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was just a car. Just a mechanic. That’s what Bakugo told himself as Kirishima pulled up outside the garage after work, giving him an exaggerated thumbs-up and a wide grin as he waved him off. “Good luck, man!” Kirishima called, practically bouncing in his seat.
Bakugo rolled his eyes, muttering a quick, “Shut up,” before slamming the door shut. He turned to face the garage, his heart inexplicably pounding in his chest. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. It’s just Izuku. The nice mechanic who fixed my car. That’s it. But even as he stepped toward the door, his nerves refused to settle. And when he finally walked in, the scent of grease and oil hitting his nose, he barely had a second to orient himself before—
“Hey, Bakugo!” That voice— that smile. Izuku was standing by the counter, a rag in one hand and his other resting casually on his hip. His green eyes lit up as soon as Bakugo entered, that same stupidly charming smile spreading across his face like it was the easiest thing in the world. Bakugo froze for half a second, his stomach flipping and his heart doing something that was way too close to skipping a beat. He cursed himself immediately, shaking off the moment and scowling like it was second nature. “You’re here for the car, right?” Izuku asked, tossing the rag onto the counter as he stepped forward, his grin somehow even more disarming up close.
“Yeah,” Bakugo muttered, his voice sharper than he intended. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, trying to ignore how warm his face felt.
Izuku didn’t seem fazed. “It’s all ready to go,” he said, nodding toward the back of the garage. “Want me to walk you through what I did?”
“Sure, whatever.” Bakugo grunted, following him across the garage. He kept his eyes on anything but Izuku—tools scattered across the workbenches, spare tires stacked in the corner, the car itself sitting up on the lift. But out of the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but notice the way Izuku moved, the easy confidence in every step. And then there was that smile. Bright, open, and genuine. Bakugo swallowed hard, his nerves prickling under his skin. It was just a smile. Just a mechanic. Just a guy who’d fixed his car. So why the hell did it feel like his whole world was tipping upside down?
As Izuku launched into an explanation about the work he’d done on the car, Bakugo nodded along, arms crossed, his usual scowl firmly in place. But if anyone had asked him what Izuku was actually saying, he wouldn’t have been able to answer. All he heard was blah blah blah, something about the radiator, the alternator, maybe the timing belt. He had no idea. He wasn’t even sure he cared. Because the truth was, Bakugo wasn’t listening. Not even a little. Instead, he was busy openly staring at Izuku.
His eyes traced the way Izuku’s hands moved as he gestured toward the engine, the faint streaks of grease on his forearms making the tattoos there stand out even more. His green hair was messy, as always, a stray strand falling into his eyes, which were so stupidly bright and animated as he talked. His smile came and went with every sentence, and even the faintest curve of his lips had Bakugo’s stomach doing things it shouldn’t. He pretended to listen, nodding here and there as Izuku rattled off terms that might as well have been in a foreign language. He even let out a noncommittal grunt at one point, hoping it sounded like he was paying attention. But the truth was, Bakugo couldn’t focus on a damn thing Izuku was saying. His brain was too busy cataloging every detail, every movement, every infuriatingly attractive feature of the mechanic standing in front of him.
“And then I replaced the timing belt,” Izuku said, pointing at the engine. “It was completely shredded, so I swapped it out for a new one. Oh, and the brake lines were corroded, so—”
“Yeah, sure,” Bakugo interrupted, his voice sharp as he tried to pull himself together.
Izuku blinked, looking at him with a hint of confusion before smiling again. “You sure? I can explain it in more detail if you want—”
“No,” Bakugo said quickly, waving him off. “I got it. It’s fine.”
Izuku chuckled softly, stepping back and tossing the rag over his shoulder. “Alright, alright. Well, it’s good to go now. Should run like a dream.” Bakugo nodded again, trying to ignore the way his chest felt way too tight and his palms were starting to sweat. It’s just a car, he told himself. J ust a mechanic. But as Izuku flashed him one last grin, Bakugo knew he wasn’t fooling anyone—especially not himself.
Bakugo slid into the driver’s seat of his car, adjusting the seat slightly as he turned the key. The engine roared to life smoothly, without the usual sputtering or grinding noises he’d grown so used to. He sat there for a moment, letting the sound settle in, then gave the steering wheel a light pat. “About damn time,” he muttered to himself, though there was no real bite in his tone.
Pulling out of the garage lot, he pressed down on the gas, the car responding immediately with none of the hesitations or hiccups it had before. The brakes were smooth, the steering tight—hell, it was almost unrecognizable. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it was better than it had ever been. He drove down the road, the late afternoon sunlight catching on the cracked windshield, and found himself smiling faintly as he rolled the window down. For the first time since he’d bought this hunk of junk, it actually felt… decent. Functional. Better than it had any right to be. As he turned onto the road toward his house, the smile lingered, small but real. Sure, the car still wasn’t great, but it worked now. And more than that, he had been the one driving himself home. No hitching a ride with Kirishima, no waiting around for someone else to help.
He tightened his grip on the wheel, the satisfaction settling over him. It was a small thing, but it felt good. “Guess that guy knows what he’s doing,” he muttered under his breath, his mind flicking briefly to Izuku and that damn grin of his. The smile on Bakugo’s face faded slightly, replaced with a scowl as he rolled his eyes at himself. He shifted in his seat, gripping the wheel tighter as he focused on the road ahead. Whatever, he thought, ignoring the annoying little thump in his chest. It’s just a car, but even as he pulled into his driveway and shut off the engine, the small, satisfied smile crept back onto his face.
The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains in Bakugo’s room as he sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing the back of his neck. For once, he felt… lighter. Relaxed, even. That in itself was strange enough, but what came next was even stranger—he actually wanted to go out. What the hell, he thought to himself as he got dressed. Might as well check out that coffee shop Kirishima wouldn’t shut up about. It was a bold move for someone who’d been doing everything he could to avoid unnecessary small-town interactions, but something about the idea felt right today. He shrugged on his jacket, grabbed his keys, and headed into town. When he pushed open the door to the coffee shop, the soft chime of the bell caught his attention. The warm scent of coffee and pastries hit him immediately, and he inhaled deeply, his scowl softening slightly. Not bad.
But as he approached the counter, he froze, his crimson eyes narrowing as two very familiar faces popped into view. “Hey, Blasty!” Mina called, leaning over the counter with a bright grin.
“Morning, Blasty!” Uraraka chimed in, her cheeks already pink as she waved at him cheerfully.
Bakugo smirked, shaking his head as he approached the counter. “Of course it’s you two,” he muttered.
Mina grinned wider, resting her chin on her hand. “Surprised to see us?”
“More like annoyed,” Bakugo shot back, his smirk widening as he crossed his arms. “But whatever. Pinky. ”
Mina’s grin turned into a laugh as she pointed at herself. “Pinky? Really? That’s all you got?”
“You’re the one with the pink hair,” Bakugo replied with a shrug, then turned to Uraraka, his smirk softening just slightly. “And you? Pink Cheeks.”
Uraraka’s jaw dropped, her cheeks turning even pinker than usual as she spluttered, “Wha—you—Pink Cheeks?! ”
Bakugo raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “What? You’re blushing all the time. Don’t act like it’s not accurate.”
Mina threw her head back in laughter, clapping her hands together. “Oh my god, Blasty, you’re hilarious. You’re lucky I like you.”
Uraraka, still flustered, shook her head and let out a small laugh. “You’re lucky you’re a cop, or we’d spit in your coffee.”
Bakugo barked out a short laugh, his smirk softening into something closer to genuine amusement. “Yeah, yeah. Now get me whatever’s strongest on the menu.”
Mina saluted dramatically. “One Blasty-approved drink, coming right up!”
As Bakugo leaned against the counter, watching the two work with their usual chaotic energy, he realized something strange. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t annoyed by people calling him by a nickname. If anything, it felt… fine. Maybe even good. After leaving the coffee shop, Bakugo took a slow stroll down Main Street. The bright sunlight warmed his face, and for the first time, he noticed just how comfortable the town was starting to feel. As people passed him on the street, they greeted him like he’d lived there his whole life—friendly waves, nods, and smiles that Bakugo returned with gruff mumbles or sharp nods. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that yet.
His aimless wandering eventually brought him to the rec center, its small but welcoming sign catching his attention. With nothing better to do, he strolled inside, the faint sounds of activity buzzing around him. The place was modest—air hockey tables for teens, a few worn-out arcade machines, a small lounge area—but what really caught his attention was the gym. More specifically, who was in the gym. Through the open doorway, Bakugo stopped in his tracks as his crimson eyes locked on a familiar figure. Izuku.
The mechanic was alone, completely absorbed in his workout. He wore a loose sleeveless shirt, the sides cut so low that they showed his entire torso—abs and all—and a pair of baggy sweatpants that hung just low enough to make Bakugo’s throat go dry. Izuku was in his own world, headphones on as he powered through a set of weights. His arms flexed with every movement, his expression focused and determined. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, catching the light in a way that made Bakugo’s chest tighten. He leaned against the doorframe, his heart thumping hard in his chest as he watched. He told himself it was just curiosity, just a coincidence that he’d found himself here. But as the seconds ticked by, he couldn’t bring himself to look away.
Izuku’s intensity was mesmerizing—each lift of the weights, each twist of his body, every focused exhale. There was a quiet strength to him that Bakugo couldn’t ignore, a raw determination that pulled him in. When Izuku finally finished his set, he racked the weights and reached up to pull off his headphones. It was only then that he noticed Bakugo standing there. Izuku blinked in surprise, then his face lit up with that same dazzling smile that made Bakugo’s chest feel like it was about to explode. “Bakugo!” Izuku greeted, his voice warm and breathless from his workout. He grabbed a towel and slung it over his shoulder, stepping closer. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Bakugo tried to will his heart to calm down, but standing this close to Izuku—shirt loose, sweat-soaked, and grinning like the sun—made it damn near impossible. He crossed his arms, forcing himself to smirk. “Didn’t think you’d spend your free time lifting weights, grease monkey,” he said, his tone sharper than he intended.
Izuku laughed softly, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “What can I say? It’s a good way to clear my head.” And to make me lose mine, Bakugo thought bitterly, his smirk faltering for just a second as Izuku’s smile hit him like a damn sledgehammer. Izuku wiped his face with the towel draped over his shoulder, his grin never fading as he turned back to Bakugo. “I’m here every day,” he said, his tone casual but inviting. “You should come work out with me sometime.”
Bakugo’s stomach dropped, his chest tightening like he’d just been handed an emotional death sentence. Not because he couldn’t keep up—he knew he could—but the idea of spending time with Izuku, just the two of them, sweating it out in this gym? That felt like setting himself up for disaster. Still, instead of brushing it off, Bakugo heard himself mutter, “Yeah, I’d do that. Or… whatever.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, avoiding Izuku’s eyes as he added, “Didn’t even know this town had a gym.”
That made Izuku laugh, a soft, breathy sound that made Bakugo’s stomach flip for reasons he refused to acknowledge. Izuku leaned casually against a nearby piece of equipment, his towel hanging loosely around his neck. “Most people don’t,” Izuku admitted, his green eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re probably the first person I’ve seen in here besides me. Everyone around here either works out at home or just… doesn’t bother.”
Bakugo raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “So what, you’re the only one keeping this place open?”
“Pretty much,” Izuku said with a shrug. “I like it, though. It’s quiet. No one bothers me.”
“Yeah, except now I’m bothering you,” Bakugo shot back, though there was no real bite in his tone.
Izuku shook his head, his smile softening. “I don’t mind. It’s nice seeing someone else in here for a change.”
That made Bakugo’s heart do another one of those stupid little flips, and he cursed himself silently, forcing his expression back into its usual scowl. “Tch. Don’t get used to it.”
Izuku just laughed again, leaning back against the equipment with an ease that made Bakugo’s chest tighten all over again. Izuku tilted his head, that ever-present grin tugging at his lips as he studied Bakugo for a moment. Then, with a soft laugh, he said, “You know… I think I’ve got you figured out.”
Bakugo raised an eyebrow, already on edge. “Oh yeah?” he muttered, crossing his arms defensively. “And what the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
Izuku leaned forward slightly, his green eyes practically sparkling with amusement. “You’re one of those guys,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “All rough and tough on the outside, but deep down? Big softie.”
Bakugo sputtered, his face heating up as he struggled for a comeback. “The hell I am!” he shot back, his voice louder than he intended.
That only made Izuku laugh harder, his shoulders shaking as he reached up to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. “Yeah, I knew it,” he said, his voice warm and full of that stupid charm that made Bakugo want to simultaneously punch him and melt into the floor. “I was right.”
Bakugo scowled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “At least I’m not a damn people pleaser,” he snapped, glaring at Izuku like it was some kind of victory.
Izuku’s laughter slowed, and he straightened up, his grin turning into something softer but no less amused. “Oh,” he said, his tone playful. “ A challenge. ”
Bakugo frowned, caught off guard by the shift in Izuku’s expression. “What the hell are you talking about now?”
Izuku leaned closer, his green eyes locking with Bakugo’s as he smirked. “I like you, Bakugo,” he said simply, his voice calm but sincere. “You’re funny.”
That sentence hit Bakugo like a freight train. He froze, his brain short-circuiting as his chest tightened and his face burned hotter than ever. “Tch,” he muttered, tearing his gaze away and crossing his arms again. “Whatever.” But Izuku’s grin only widened, and for a moment, the air between them felt lighter, easier, even as Bakugo’s heart continued to pound like a war drum in his chest.
Bakugo didn’t know what the hell had gotten into him. Maybe it was Izuku’s stupid grin from yesterday still replaying in his mind, or the way he couldn’t shake the challenge in those green eyes when he’d said, I like you, Bakugo. Whatever it was, it had him up earlier than usual, tugging on workout clothes, and heading out the door before his brain could talk him out of it. When he pushed open the door to the rec center’s gym, the faint clinking of weights already echoed through the room. Of course Izuku was here—bright and early, just like he said he’d be. Izuku was in the middle of setting up for his workout, stacking plates on a barbell with practiced ease. He wore another one of those stupid sleeveless shirts that showed off way too much of his torso and a pair of joggers slung low enough on his hips to make Bakugo’s jaw clench.
As Bakugo stepped inside, the faint squeak of his sneakers caught Izuku’s attention. He looked up, and the grin that spread across his face was so warm and genuine it made Bakugo’s stomach flip. “Bakugo!” Izuku greeted, his voice bright as he stood upright and waved. “You actually came!” Bakugo grunted in response, shoving his hands into his pockets as his heart raced. Why the hell does he have to look so damn happy to see me? Izuku chuckled, motioning toward the equipment. “You ready? I was just about to start.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugo muttered, glancing away as he scratched the back of his neck. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Izuku laughed again, his green eyes practically glowing with amusement. “It’s way too early for that attitude,” he teased, grabbing his towel and tossing it over his shoulder. You’re telling me, Bakugo thought bitterly as his heart continued to hammer in his chest. It was way too early for this shit.
It didn’t take long for both of them to realize that they were evenly matched when it came to lifting. Bakugo didn’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed that Izuku could keep up with him—or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, it added a competitive edge to the workout that neither of them acknowledged but both secretly enjoyed. As they moved through their sets, Izuku’s energy shifted from focused to downright enthusiastic. His green eyes lit up as he started talking—first about lifting techniques, then about diets, protein intake, and optimal workout recovery. His words came faster and faster, his hands gesturing as he went off on tangents that Bakugo couldn’t keep up with.
It should have been irritating. Normally, someone rambling like that would have grated on Bakugo’s nerves in seconds. But this? Izuku’s muttering, the way he got lost in his own little world, was… adorable. Bakugo leaned against the barbell rack, his towel slung over his shoulder as he watched Izuku with a soft smile, barely hearing a word. There was something almost magnetic about how genuine the guy was—how his enthusiasm poured out of him, raw and unfiltered, like he didn’t know how to hold back. But then Izuku caught himself. He paused mid-sentence, his eyes widening as if he’d just realized how much he’d been rambling. His cheeks turned pink, and he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, glancing away. “Ah, sorry,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I… I get too excited sometimes, and I just start muttering. I know it’s annoying. Makes me look like a freak.” For a moment, Izuku’s light dimmed. The sparkle in his eyes faded, replaced by something smaller and sadder, like he was ashamed of himself for being the way he was.
Bakugo’s chest tightened, and before he even realized what he was doing, the words slipped out. “I think it’s cute.” The silence that followed was deafening. Izuku’s head snapped up, his green eyes wide with shock as his face turned a brilliant shade of red. Bakugo froze, his brain short-circuiting as he realized what he’d just said. “I—” Bakugo stammered, his own face heating up as he scrambled to backtrack. “That’s not—! I didn’t mean—!” Izuku stared at him, his towel slipping from his shoulder as his blush deepened. His mouth opened, but no words came out, and for a moment, the two of them just stared at each other, both looking equally dumbfounded. “Forget it,” Bakugo muttered finally, turning away sharply and crossing his arms. His heart was pounding in his chest like a drum, and he was pretty sure his face was as red as his eyes. But even with his back turned, he caught a glimpse of Izuku out of the corner of his eye. The blush was still there, but so was a small, shy smile—one that made Bakugo’s stomach twist all over again.
The week had been unusually peaceful for Izuku and Toga—no fights, no shouting, no smashed dishes or bruises to hide. It was the kind of week that reminded Izuku why he stayed, why he kept trying to make it work. They were curled up on their worn couch together, the soft glow of the television filling the small apartment. Toga had her legs draped across his lap, a bowl of popcorn resting between them. She laughed loudly at a joke on the show they were watching, tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth as she leaned against Izuku’s shoulder. Izuku chuckled softly, his green eyes focused on the screen as he reached into the bowl and grabbed a piece of popcorn. Toga turned to him, her golden eyes sparkling with amusement as she opened her mouth expectantly. With a small, playful smile, Izuku popped the piece into her mouth, earning a giggle from her. “You’re such a dork,” she said, her voice light and teasing as she reached for another handful of popcorn.
“Yeah, yeah,” Izuku replied, his tone equally playful. He grabbed another piece and tossed it into his own mouth, leaning back against the couch as the show continued. For once, the tension that usually hovered between them was gone. There was no yelling, no accusations, no storm brewing beneath the surface. Just laughter, popcorn, and the quiet hum of the television. Izuku let out a soft sigh, his body relaxing as he glanced at Toga. Moments like this—when things were good, when they were normal—made it so easy to forget the bad. To pretend that this was what their relationship could always be, if only they tried hard enough.
Toga leaned her head against his shoulder, smiling up at him. “I like this,” she murmured, her voice soft.
“Me too,” Izuku replied, his tone just as quiet. Everything felt… okay. The peace had lasted longer than usual, stretching into a few more days of laughter and calm. Izuku clung to it, savoring every moment of quiet smiles and soft touches, pretending that maybe this time, it would stick. But it didn’t. It never did. It started over something small—something that felt so insignificant in the moment that Izuku didn’t even realize it would trigger her. They were in the kitchen, the faint smell of dinner still lingering in the air. Izuku had just sat down at the table when Toga asked, “How’s dinner?”
“It’s good,” Izuku said casually, his tone light as he reached for his glass of water. Then, without thinking, he added, “I think the sauce could’ve used a little more salt, though.” The words had barely left his mouth before he realized his mistake.
Toga froze mid-motion, her golden eyes narrowing as the room seemed to grow colder. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, her voice sharp and defensive.
Izuku winced inwardly, his chest tightening as he tried to backtrack. “Nothing, Toga,” he said quickly, forcing a smile. “I just meant—”
“You don’t like it?” she interrupted, her voice rising.
“No, that’s not what I said—”
“Then what are you saying, Izuku?” she snapped, slamming her hand down on the table. The sound echoed through the small kitchen, making him flinch.
“It’s fine,” Izuku said quickly, his tone soft and placating. “It’s really good, Toga. I didn’t mean anything by it.” But it was too late.
Her expression twisted with anger, her cheeks flushing as she stood abruptly, knocking her chair back with the force of her movement. “You don’t appreciate anything I do for you!” she shouted, her voice cracking as it rose higher. “I try so hard, and you just sit there and criticize me!”
“I wasn’t criticizing—”
“Yes, you were!” she screamed, her fists clenched at her sides. Her breathing was heavy, her eyes wild, and Izuku felt that familiar wave of dread settle over him like a heavy weight.
He stayed seated, his hands gripping the edge of the table as he tried to keep his voice calm. “Toga, please. It’s not a big deal. I swear, it’s fine.” But his words only seemed to fuel her anger, and as her voice grew louder, that fragile peace they’d built over the past week shattered into pieces. The argument spiraled, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on. They weren’t shouting loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but every word was sharp, cutting deep. “I don’t get it,” Izuku said, his voice tight as he ran a hand through his messy green hair. His frustration boiled over, his usual calm cracking under the pressure. “Why are we even still together, Toga? All we do is fight!”
Toga’s face twisted with fury, her golden eyes narrowing as she stepped closer to him. “So you don’t love me anymore, huh?” she snapped, her voice dripping with venom. “That’s it, isn’t it? You want to leave me!”
“No!” Izuku said, his voice breaking as he threw his hands up in desperation. “I do love you, Toga! I wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t!”
“Then why are you saying this shit?” she yelled, her fists clenched at her sides.
“Because I can’t keep doing this!” Izuku’s voice cracked, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “I can’t keep fighting every day, Toga. I can’t keep being… being your punching bag! ” Toga froze, her breath hitching as his words seemed to land like a slap. For a moment, Izuku thought maybe she’d finally see what this was doing to him. But then her face darkened, her hands trembling as she stepped closer, getting right in his face.
Her voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper, the sharpness in her tone cutting deeper than any shout. “You think you can leave me?” she hissed, her golden eyes glinting with something wild and unhinged. “You think you can just walk out that door and leave me behind?” Izuku’s breath caught in his throat, his green eyes widening as she continued. “If you ever try to leave me,” Toga said, her voice trembling with emotion, “I’ll kill myself. And it’ll be your fault.”
The air in the room seemed to still, the weight of her words crashing down on him like a tidal wave. Izuku stared at her, his chest tightening as his heart pounded in his ears. “Toga,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do,” she said fiercely, her eyes blazing as she took another step closer. “You wouldn’t do that to me, wouldn’t you? You leave me, knowing what it would do to me.”
Izuku felt his knees weaken, the desperation in her voice pulling him in even as every part of him screamed to run. His hands trembled at his sides, his mind spinning as he tried to figure out what to say, what to do. Izuku stood frozen for a moment, her words replaying in his head. The weight of it—her threat, her anger, the suffocating control—was too much. His hands trembled at his sides, but then his expression hardened, his green eyes narrowing as he straightened his back. “You need help, Toga,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Serious help. Or I’m done.”
Toga scoffed, crossing her arms as she stared him down. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” she snapped, her voice filled with indignation. “You’re the one with the problem, Izuku!” He nodded slowly, almost sadly, then turned and started walking toward their bedroom. “Hey!” she called after him, her tone growing frantic. She followed him into the room, her steps quick and uneven. “What are you doing?”
Izuku didn’t answer right away. He grabbed an old duffel bag from the closet, throwing it onto the bed and unzipping it with sharp, decisive movements. He began pulling clothes from the dresser, stuffing them into the bag without looking at her. “I’m done,” he said finally, his voice even, though his heart was pounding.
Toga froze for half a second before stepping closer, her voice rising. “What are you talking about? You’re not going anywhere!”
Izuku zipped the bag halfway, finally pausing to glance at her. “If you hurt yourself,” he said, his tone calm but heavy, “that’s on you. Not me.”
Her eyes widened, her lips parting as if to respond, but no words came out. For once, she seemed at a loss, and Izuku turned back to his bag, grabbing a few more things before slinging it over his shoulder. “Izuku, stop!” she yelled, grabbing his arm. “You can’t just leave!”
He gently pulled his arm free, refusing to look at her. “I have to,” he said quietly.
Her voice cracked as she followed him to the door, her steps quick and desperate. “Izuku, please! We can work this out! You love me!” He didn’t respond, didn’t let himself look back. His heart was pounding, his chest tight, but he kept walking, heading out to the small driveway where his bike sat waiting. Toga ran after him, her voice frantic as she called his name. “Izuku, stop! Please! Don’t do this!” He straddled the bike, ignoring her as he shoved the duffel bag into place and started the engine. The roar of the motor drowned out her voice, but her face—her tears, her desperation—was burned into his mind as he pulled away. The cool night air hit his face as he sped down the road, her words still echoing faintly in his ears. His hands gripped the handlebars tightly, his mind spinning, but for the first time in years, he felt something else cutting through the fear.
Freedom.
Notes:
So how are we feeling emotionally I know it’s only chapter 6 but I’m just checking in. This fic does have some dark themes so uh… sorry about that?
See why I was thinking about posting tomorrow who knows what Izuku gonna do. I mean I know but like YOU don’t. Lmfao you have to wait and I don’t 😂
Anyway I’ll see you maybe tomorrow if I’m feeling it 😭 Drink water and eat a snack bestie! ILY BIYEEEEE 🫶🏻
Chapter 7: Chapter 7
Notes:
Kirishima grinned, but his expression quickly softened. “Look, man,” he said, his tone dropping slightly. “I know it’s messy, and I get why you don’t want to get involved. But… you’ve seen Izuku. You know he’s not okay.”
Bakugo clenched his jaw, his mind flashing back to the last time he saw Izuku—the dimness in his eyes, the forced smile that didn’t reach his face, and the weight he always seemed to carry. It pissed Bakugo off more than he cared to admit. “Yeah, I’ve seen him,” Bakugo muttered, his voice quieter now.
Kirishima nodded, his hands steady on the wheel. “Then you get it. Whether you’ve been here two months or two years, you’re someone who might actually get through to him. And right now? He needs someone.”
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Izuku didn’t get far before the tears blurred his vision, making the road ahead shimmer and bend under the faint glow of his bike’s headlight. His chest heaved, the weight of everything crushing him all at once. He pulled over onto the shoulder of a dark back road, the quiet countryside around him eerily still. He turned off the engine, the sudden silence making the sound of his ragged breathing and muffled sobs feel deafening. His hands gripped the handlebars tightly as he leaned forward, his forehead pressing against the cool metal. He couldn’t stop the tears. They poured down his face, dripping onto his arms as he sat there, trembling and gasping for air.
This wasn’t the first time he’d walked out. God knew it wouldn’t be the last. He’d left before, bag in hand, heart pounding as he swore to himself that this time was it. But it never was. And that terrified him. Because tonight had been different. Tonight, she’d threatened to hurt herself, and the thought of that made his stomach twist into knots. He wanted to believe it was just another manipulation, another way for her to hold on to him. But what if it wasn’t? What if she meant it? His fingers tightened around the handlebars, his knuckles white as his tears fell harder. He hated her for saying it, hated the guilt and fear that clung to him now like a second skin. But he hated himself more for the thought creeping into his mind. Maybe I should turn around. He closed his eyes, the sound of his own sobbing filling the empty road around him. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if he could actually leave her, if he could live with himself if she followed through on her threat. But staying? That felt like another kind of death.
Izuku leaned back, wiping at his face with trembling hands as he stared up at the night sky. His mind was a storm, his heart pulling him in a thousand directions. Izuku did exactly what he knew he was going to do. He turned his bike around, the wheels kicking up gravel as he headed back toward the apartment. The guilt, the fear—it was all too much. He couldn’t leave her like this. He had to go back, even if every rational part of him screamed that this wasn’t the answer.
When he got to the apartment, it was eerily quiet. The lights in the living room were still on, casting a dim glow over the mess they’d left behind. His heart pounded in his chest as he stepped inside. That’s when he saw her. Toga was on the couch, her body unnaturally still. An empty bottle of prescription medication sat on the coffee table beside her, the cap discarded haphazardly on the floor. Izuku’s blood ran cold. “Himiko?” he called, his voice shaking as he rushed to her side. He dropped to his knees, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her gently. “Himiko! Wake up!”
She didn’t move. Her skin felt colder under his hands, her chest barely rising with shallow, uneven breaths. “No, no, no,” Izuku muttered, his heart racing as panic overtook him. His hands trembled as he pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers fumbling to dial 911. When the operator answered, his voice came out frantic and broken. “I need help,” he said, tears streaming down his face as he cradled the phone against his ear. “My girlfriend—she’s not waking up. She—there’s an empty pill bottle—please, just send someone!” The operator’s voice was calm, guiding him through the steps as he stayed on the line. But Izuku’s mind was spinning, his chest tightening with every passing second. He stayed by her side, gripping her hand as he whispered, “Please don’t do this. Please, Himiko, stay with me.” The sound of approaching sirens in the distance was the only thing grounding him, but even then, the fear in his chest refused to let go.
The flashing lights of the ambulance illuminated the dark street, their bright reds and whites cutting through the suffocating silence of the night. Izuku sat frozen beside Toga, still gripping her hand as his tears fell freely. The paramedics rushed inside, but Izuku couldn’t move, couldn’t think, until another set of lights pulled up behind the ambulance—a police car. For a moment, Izuku tensed, unsure of what to expect, until the driver’s side door opened and out stepped the one person he needed more than anyone. His dad. Aizawa moved quickly, his dark eyes scanning the scene before they locked onto Izuku. He rushed over, crouching down beside his son, his usual calm exterior cracking with visible concern. “Izuku,” Aizawa said, his voice steady but filled with urgency. He placed a firm hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “What happened?”
Izuku’s breath hitched, his grip tightening on Toga’s limp hand as he broke down. “She—she took something, Dad. I don’t know what to do!” he sobbed, his voice trembling as his chest heaved with panic. “I left and came back, and—she wouldn’t wake up! I didn’t know what else to do!”
Aizawa’s expression softened as he squeezed Izuku’s shoulder, his other hand reaching to gently pry Toga’s hand from Izuku’s grasp so the paramedics could do their work. “It’s okay, Izuku,” he said firmly, his voice low and reassuring as he guided Izuku away from the couch. “You did the right thing by calling for help.”
The paramedics moved quickly, checking Toga’s vitals and preparing her for transport. Izuku stood back, his legs feeling like jelly as his father kept a steadying hand on his arm. “I-I didn’t know she’d actually—” Izuku choked out, his words dissolving into another sob.
“Hey,” Aizawa said, turning Izuku to face him. His hands rested firmly on his son’s shoulders, his tired eyes locked onto Izuku’s tear-streaked face. “Look at me.” Izuku’s watery green eyes met his father’s, and the weight of the moment seemed to hit Aizawa all at once. He softened, his voice losing some of its edge. “You did what you had to. I know this is scary, but they’re going to take care of her now.”
“But what if she—”
“Don’t go there,” Aizawa cut in gently but firmly. “Right now, we focus on what’s next. You don’t have to do this alone, Izuku. I’m here.” Izuku let out a shuddering breath, collapsing into Aizawa’s chest as the weight of the situation became too much to bear. Aizawa wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly as he whispered, “You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”
Izuku sat in the sterile waiting room of the hospital, the ticking of the clock on the wall somehow louder than the faint hum of voices and the distant beeping of monitors. His legs bounced restlessly, his hands clasped tightly in his lap as he stared down at the floor. The guilt was suffocating, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake. Beside him, Aizawa sat silently, his presence steady and grounding. He hadn’t left Izuku’s side since they arrived, his hand resting on his son’s shoulder every now and then, as if to remind him he was still there. “I should’ve stayed,” Izuku said quietly, breaking the silence. His voice was raw, cracked from crying, and barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have left her, Dad.”
Aizawa’s tired eyes softened as he turned to look at him. “Izuku, you did everything you could. You called for help. You came back. That’s what matters.”
“But if I hadn’t left in the first place—” Izuku’s voice broke, his hands trembling as he rubbed them against his knees. “She wouldn’t have done this.”
“You don’t know that,” Aizawa said firmly, his tone calm but resolute. “This isn’t your fault, Izuku. You can’t carry all of this on your shoulders. It’s bigger than you.” Izuku didn’t respond, his green eyes staring blankly at the floor as his guilt continued to churn inside him.
After what felt like hours, a doctor finally approached, her expression calm but serious. She explained that Toga was stable for now but would need to be transferred to a facility for extended treatment—somewhere she could get the help she needed over the next few months. Izuku let out a long, shaky sigh, leaning back in his chair as the words sank in. He ran a hand through his messy hair, his fingers shaking slightly. “She’s going to need me when she gets back,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
Aizawa frowned, his jaw tightening as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Izuku,” he said carefully, his voice low but firm. “She’s going to need help. Professional help. And so do you.”
Izuku’s eyes flicked to his father, his expression conflicted. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you can’t keep doing this on your own,” Aizawa said, his tone softening. “You’ve been carrying this for too long. You need to think about yourself, too—for once.” Izuku’s shoulders slumped, his head hanging low as he stared at the floor. He didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know what to feel. He loved Toga. He always had. But a part of him—deep down, buried under the guilt and exhaustion—wondered if his dad was right.
When Toga’s eyes fluttered open, the first thing she saw was Izuku sitting beside her. His hand was wrapped tightly around hers, his green eyes rimmed with exhaustion and worry as he watched her wake. His shoulders sagged in relief, and he let out a shaky breath when her lips curled into a small, tired smile. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice weak and scratchy.
Izuku’s grip on her hand tightened just slightly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Hey,” he replied softly, his voice steady but tinged with so many emotions he couldn’t name.
She blinked at him, her golden eyes hazy as she studied his face. “You came back,” she said, a faint hint of surprise in her tone.
“Of course I did,” Izuku said, his voice firm but quiet. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the edge of the bed as he held her hand between both of his. “But, Toga… we need to talk.” Her smile faltered, confusion flickering across her face as she tried to sit up. Izuku gently pressed her hand, a silent gesture for her to stay still. “The doctors,” Izuku began, pausing for a moment to steady himself. “They’re sending you to a mental health facility in Tokyo. You’re going to get help, Toga. Real help.”
Toga’s eyes widened slightly, her hand twitching in his grasp. “What? No, I don’t need—”
“You do,” Izuku interrupted gently but firmly, his green eyes locking onto hers. “You do need it, Toga. And this… this is your last chance.”
Her lips parted, her face shifting between defiance and uncertainty. “Izuku…”
“I’ll wait for you,” he said quickly, squeezing her hand again to emphasize his words. “I’ll be here when you come back. But only if you take this seriously.”
Toga stared at him, her golden eyes glossy with unshed tears. “You mean that?”
“I do,” Izuku said, his voice trembling slightly. “But I can’t keep doing this, Toga. I can’t keep fighting like this, and I can’t keep being…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath before finishing. “You know what I mean.”
Toga was silent for a long moment, her gaze dropping to their joined hands. She nodded faintly, her fingers tightening around his. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Izuku let out a soft sigh, his shoulders relaxing slightly. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt a glimmer of hope—small and fragile, but real.
Bakugo showed up at the gym early, as usual, slipping into his routine without much thought. He chalked it up to habit, to the need to burn off energy before the day began, but a part of him—a part he refused to acknowledge—had been looking forward to seeing Izuku again. But Izuku wasn’t there. The weights sat untouched, the air in the small gym quieter than usual, and Bakugo found himself scowling at the empty space where Izuku’s bike usually rested outside. He tried to shake it off, focusing on his lifts, but the disappointment settled in his chest like a dull ache. Whatever, he thought bitterly, racking a barbell with more force than necessary. He’s probably just busy. Still, something about it didn’t sit right.
Bakugo showed up at the station, falling into his usual rhythm of filing reports and half-listening to Kirishima’s chatter. But as the minutes ticked by, his bad feeling grew stronger. Chief Aizawa was late. When the chief finally walked in, Bakugo didn’t need to be told something was wrong. Aizawa’s face was pale and drawn, his tired eyes looking more sunken than usual. His hair was messier than normal, and his shoulders slumped under the weight of something heavy. The sight made Bakugo’s stomach twist. Aizawa was always composed, always calm no matter the situation, but today? He looked… broken. Kirishima noticed too, his usual smile faltering as he leaned closer to Bakugo. “Does the chief look… off to you?”
“Yeah,” Bakugo muttered, his sharp eyes never leaving Aizawa as the man shuffled into his office without a word. The bad feeling gnawed at Bakugo’s chest, his mind racing as he tried to piece together what could have happened. He didn’t know why, but his thoughts immediately jumped to Izuku. Don’t be stupid, he told himself. It’s probably nothing. But even as he tried to convince himself, the uneasy knot in his stomach refused to go away.
Bakugo and Kirishima were parked on the side of a quiet street, eating their lunch in the squad car. Kirishima was scrolling through his phone between bites, his usual cheerful energy keeping the otherwise slow afternoon from feeling dull. That was, until his phone buzzed with a new text. Kirishima frowned slightly as he opened it, and then his eyebrows shot up, his face twisting in a mix of surprise and concern. “Sero just texted me,” he said, his voice a little more serious than usual.
Bakugo, mid-bite, glanced at him, already suspicious. “What? What does he want?”
Kirishima hesitated for a second, his thumb hovering over the screen as he read the message again. “He said Toga’s in the hospital. Apparently, she tried to…” He trailed off, his voice dropping. “She tried to kill herself last night.”
Bakugo froze, his body going rigid as the words sank in. He almost choked on his food, coughing hard as he turned sharply toward Kirishima. “What?”
“Yeah,” Kirishima said, his expression grim. “Sero’s working his shift right now, and said it’s all anyone’s talking about. Toga got rushed to the ER late last night.”
Bakugo felt his stomach drop, the pieces clicking together in his head. The exhaustion on Aizawa’s face, the empty gym, the feeling that something was off… It all made sense now. He muttered before he could stop himself, “That’s why he wasn’t at the gym.”
Kirishima turned to him with a sharp, almost scandalized look, his eyebrows raising high. “Wait, he ? Who are you talking about?”
Realizing his slip-up, Bakugo’s face instantly heated up, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. “No one,” he snapped, a little too quickly. “It’s nothing.”
Kirishima’s grin returned, though it was laced with curiosity. “Wait a second. Are you hanging out with Izuku?”
“Shut up, shitty hair,” Bakugo growled, his blush deepening as he turned his face away.
Kirishima leaned closer, grinning like a kid who’d just caught someone sneaking cookies. “You are ! Oh my god, Bakugo! You’re hanging out with Izuku!”
“We’re not hanging out!” Bakugo barked, his voice sharper than intended. “We just… go to the gym at the same time sometimes. That’s all!”
Kirishima’s grin widened, but he didn’t press further, though Bakugo could tell he was filing this little discovery away for later. “Alright, alright,” Kirishima said, leaning back in his seat, though his smirk didn’t fade. “Just saying, I think it’s cool.” Bakugo scowled, his gaze fixed firmly out the window. But the knot in his chest remained, the thought of what Izuku must have gone through twisting his insides. Kirishima went quiet, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a thoughtful, almost heavy silence. For a few moments, the only sound in the car was the faint hum of the air conditioner and the crinkle of wrappers as Bakugo finished his lunch. Then, without saying a word, Kirishima turned the key in the ignition, the squad car rumbling to life.
Bakugo frowned, twisting in his seat to glare at his partner. “Where the hell are we going?” he demanded.
Kirishima let out a deep sigh, his grip on the wheel tightening as he pulled out onto the road. “To see Izuku,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious.
Bakugo blinked, his scowl faltering. “What? Why?”
Kirishima glanced at him, his jaw set as he focused on the road ahead. “Because,” he said, his tone firm, “this could be the only chance we have to save him. And someone has to start trying.”
Bakugo’s chest tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. “Save him?” he repeated, his voice quieter now.
“You’ve seen him,” Kirishima continued, his face unusually grim. “I mean, we all have. Izuku’s been stuck in this… this mess with Toga for years. And if she tried to…” He trailed off, his knuckles whitening on the wheel. “If she tried to take her own life last night, you know what that’s going to do to him.” Bakugo’s stomach twisted as he thought of Izuku—his bright smile, the way his green eyes always seemed to dim whenever Toga came up. He clenched his fists in his lap, his mind racing.
“So, what?” Bakugo asked gruffly. “You think just showing up is gonna fix everything?”
Kirishima shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. “No,” he admitted, “but it’s a start. And someone needs to remind Izuku that he doesn’t have to do this alone. He’s been trapped for so long, I think he’s forgotten that people care about him.” Bakugo turned his gaze out the window, his jaw tightening as Kirishima’s words settled in. “Besides,” Kirishima added, throwing Bakugo a quick glance, “I think you care about him more than you’re letting on.”
Bakugo’s face heated, and he snapped his head around to glare at Kirishima. “Shut up,” he muttered, his voice low and defensive.
But Kirishima just smiled faintly, his seriousness still lingering as he drove. “You can say whatever you want, man,” he said quietly, “but if there’s even a chance we can help him, we need to take it.”
Bakugo sat back in his seat, crossing his arms as he glared out the window. He hated that Kirishima was right. It clawed at him, gnawed at his insides, and made him want to punch something. But just because Kirishima was right didn’t mean Bakugo wanted to butt into someone else’s business—especially this business. “I still think this is a bad idea,” Bakugo muttered, his scowl deepening as they neared their destination. “What the hell do I have to do with this anyway? I’m just some random guy who’s been in this damn town for two months, and now I’m getting dragged into your small-town soap opera.”
Kirishima grinned, but his expression quickly softened. “Look, man,” he said, his tone dropping slightly. “I know it’s messy, and I get why you don’t want to get involved. But… you’ve seen Izuku. You know he’s not okay.”
Bakugo clenched his jaw, his mind flashing back to the last time he saw Izuku—the dimness in his eyes, the forced smile that didn’t reach his face, and the weight he always seemed to carry. It pissed Bakugo off more than he cared to admit. “Yeah, I’ve seen him,” Bakugo muttered, his voice quieter now.
Kirishima nodded, his hands steady on the wheel. “Then you get it. Whether you’ve been here two months or two years, you’re someone who might actually get through to him. And right now? He needs someone.”
Bakugo didn’t respond immediately, the words sitting heavy in his chest. He hated the idea of being thrown into someone else’s drama, but there was a part of him—a part he couldn’t ignore—that wanted to see Izuku. To make sure he was okay. “Fine,” Bakugo muttered finally, his tone sharp as always. “But don’t expect me to hold his hand or some shit. This is your idea, not mine.”
Kirishima chuckled softly. “Deal.”
As the squad car pulled into the driveway, Bakugo’s sharp eyes immediately spotted Izuku’s bike parked outside. His chest tightened slightly. At least he’s home, Bakugo thought, trying to ignore the small flicker of relief that came with the realization. Kirishima turned off the engine and climbed out, Bakugo following with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. They approached the door, the sound of gravel crunching under their boots the only noise in the quiet evening. Kirishima knocked firmly, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence. Bakugo shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the window like he expected someone to peek out. Then, after what felt like too long, the door creaked open slowly.
Izuku stood in the doorway, his green hair messier than usual and dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all, his face pale and drawn. His green eyes widened slightly at the sight of them, flicking between Kirishima and Bakugo in surprise. “Is… is something wrong?” Izuku asked, his voice quiet and a little raspy.
Kirishima shook his head, giving Izuku a small, reassuring smile. “No, nothing like that,” he said gently. “This is… a personal call.”
Izuku’s breath hitched, his hand tightening slightly on the edge of the door as he blinked at them. “I-I’m fine,” he said quickly, though the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. “Really. You don’t need to—”
“Stop,” Kirishima interrupted, his tone soft but firm. He stepped closer, his red eyes searching Izuku’s face with an expression of quiet concern. “Stop lying, Izuku. You don’t have to do this alone. Just… talk to me, okay?” Izuku’s lips parted, but no words came out. His green eyes darted to Bakugo, who was standing a little further back, arms crossed and scowling like usual, though his gaze lingered on Izuku with something softer than his usual intensity. For a moment, Izuku hesitated, his grip tightening further on the door as his chest heaved with an unsteady breath. Izuku slowly stepped aside, opening the door wider to let them in. He closed it softly behind them, the quiet click of the latch sounding heavier than it should have.
Kirishima didn’t waste a second. As soon as the door was shut, he turned to Izuku and pulled him into a tight, bone-crushing hug. Izuku froze at first, caught off guard. It had been years since Kirishima had hugged him like this—since anyone had, really. Toga hated it when he let anyone get close, especially Kirishima. But slowly, almost reluctantly, Izuku hugged him back, his arms wrapping around his old friend as he sagged slightly into the embrace. “You still have us,” Kirishima said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “You always have. We never stopped caring, Izuku. Not for a second.” Izuku’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as Kirishima’s words hit him like a sledgehammer. But even as his old friend tried to comfort him, all he could hear were her words. They don’t care about you. No one does. I’m the only one who loves you. The echo of Toga’s voice in his mind was so loud it made his head hurt. He pulled away from Kirishima’s hug, his green eyes clouded with doubt as he stepped back, putting a little distance between them. Kirishima looked at him, his red eyes full of quiet concern. “Izuku,” he said gently, “does this mean you’re done? With her?”
Izuku sighed heavily, his gaze dropping to the floor as his hands fidgeted at his sides. “I can’t,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Kirishima frowned, taking a step closer. “You can, ” he said, his tone firmer now. “You don’t have to keep doing this. You can let us help you.”
But Izuku shook his head, stepping further away. “Not now,” he said, his voice strained. “Especially not now. She needs me. After everything, I can’t just leave her. I won’t.” The room fell into a heavy silence, Kirishima looking heartbroken while Bakugo stood off to the side, his arms still crossed but his scowl deepening. And Izuku looking away, guilt and exhaustion clouding his features.
Then Bakugo stepped forward. His boots thudded softly against the floor as he moved closer, standing just a few feet away from Izuku. He crossed his arms, his crimson eyes locked onto Izuku’s with a rare intensity—not the usual sharpness of his temper, but something quieter, something more honest. “Let them help you,” Bakugo said, his voice low but steady. Izuku blinked, startled by the sudden words. He glanced at Bakugo, confusion flickering in his tired green eyes. “I’m serious,” Bakugo continued, his tone firmer now. “I don’t know you that well. Hell, I’m just some outsider who got thrown into your goddamn soap opera bullshit. But even I can see it. These people—your friends—they care about you. Like, really care about you.”
Izuku’s lips parted, but he didn’t say anything, his hands clenching at his sides as he stared at Bakugo.
“I don’t give a shit what Toga told you,” Bakugo went on, his voice rising just slightly. “Whatever crap she’s been feeding you, it’s not true. They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t care. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t true.” The words hung in the air for a moment, heavier than Bakugo intended. He wasn’t sure why he’d included himself in that statement, but it felt right. He wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things, and he wasn’t about to start now.
Izuku’s chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths, his green eyes shimmering with emotion he was clearly trying to hold back. His gaze flicked to Kirishima, who nodded firmly, and then back to Bakugo. For the first time, Izuku’s defenses seemed to crack, just a little. “I…” Izuku started, his voice trembling. He looked away, his hands still shaking. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You can,” Bakugo said firmly, taking another step closer. “You just have to let them try.”
Izuku’s breathing hitched, and for a moment, it looked like he might say something else. But the weight of the conversation—and the years of Toga’s words—kept him silent. Kirishima stepped in, his voice softer now but filled with determination. “Izuku,” he said gently, stepping closer to his old friend. “Just one time. That’s all I’m asking.” Izuku looked up, his green eyes filled with doubt and exhaustion, the weight of his situation dragging him down. “You don’t have to do it right away,” Kirishima continued, his hands outstretched slightly, like he was trying to steady the fragile moment. “I’m not saying it’s going to fix everything, and I’m not asking you to do anything crazy. Just… come to the bar with us. One time. Let us show you that life without Toga—that life with us, with people who care about you—is worth it.”
Izuku’s hands clenched at his sides, his shoulders trembling slightly as Kirishima’s words cut through the fog in his mind.
Kirishima smiled faintly, his red eyes filled with quiet hope. “I know you love her,” he said softly. “I know that. And I’m not saying it’s easy. But, Izuku… just give us this one small window. Let us prove that there’s something better out there for you. Something healthier. ” Izuku’s breathing hitched, and he looked away, his chest rising and falling as the weight of the conversation settled over him. The echoes of Toga’s words still lingered in his mind, whispering doubts and fears, but Kirishima’s voice was louder now—persistent and unwavering. “One time,” Kirishima said again, stepping closer and placing a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “That’s all I’m asking. If you hate it, fine. But just give us the chance to remind you that we’re still here for you. That you’re not alone.”
Izuku closed his eyes tightly, his jaw clenching as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. His mind was a storm, torn between the love he still felt for Toga and the flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, Kirishima was right. After a long, heavy silence, Izuku finally nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Okay,” he said shakily. “Just… one time.”
Kirishima’s face lit up with relief, and he squeezed Izuku’s shoulder gently. “That’s all we need, man,” he said, his voice filled with quiet gratitude.
Notes:
When the orange man 💀 I will celebrate by posting 5 chapters (probably between two days) scouts honor 🤞🏼
Anywho this chapter took a bit of a darker turn—okay most of this fic has been pretty dark—and I want y'all to know if you’re going through or have gone through anything like this. I think you’re brave and amazing. 💕 I’m not sure what else to write for this. But I am sorry if this fic has triggered anyone at any point. Triggered myself at certain points oops.
Well on that note. Ily bestie! Drink water eat a snack and I’ll see you next week! Or in a few days if ykw happens. 😉 Okay byieeeeee 🫶🏻
Chapter 8: Chapter 8
Notes:
At one point, Izuku glanced over at Bakugo, his hands on his hips as he caught his breath. “Hey,” he said, his voice a little hesitant, “can you spot me? I’m going heavier on the squat rack today, and I’m not sure I’ve got it yet.”
Bakugo raised an eyebrow, but he nodded, stepping over. “Yeah, I got you.” Izuku positioned himself under the bar, his muscles already tensing as he prepared for the weight. Bakugo stepped close behind him, his hands hovering just near Izuku’s sides for support, his presence steady and reassuring. “Take it slow,” Bakugo muttered, his voice low but firm.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
That first night without Toga felt like a weight pressing down on Izuku’s chest, suffocating and relentless. The apartment was too quiet, the absence of her voice, her presence, deafening. He sat on the edge of the couch, his hands tangled in his messy green hair as his mind spiraled. This is my fault. The words looped in his head, over and over, louder than the silence around him. If I’d just stayed… If I’d just kept my mouth shut… If I hadn’t pushed her… He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as his breath hitched. She’d been right all along—about everything. It was always his fault. She wouldn’t be on her way to Tokyo right now, wouldn’t be locked away in some mental health facility, if he’d just been better. If he’d just loved her enough. Izuku’s chest tightened, and his throat burned as he fought back tears. The guilt was overwhelming, crashing over him in waves that threatened to drown him.
I should’ve stayed. I should’ve done more. The couch under him felt too big, too empty, the silence pressing down like a crushing weight. The echoes of Toga’s accusations played in his mind, her voice sharp and cutting. You don’t love me. You’re trying to leave me. No one else will ever want you. His hands trembled, and he squeezed his eyes shut, tears finally spilling over. He wanted to believe Kirishima, wanted to believe that there was something better, something worth fighting for outside of this endless cycle. But right now, all he could feel was the crushing guilt, the overwhelming sense of failure. She’d needed him, and he hadn’t been enough.
Izuku let out a shaky breath, curling into himself as the tears came harder, his mind refusing to quiet. Even as the guilt weighed heavy on his chest, pressing down with every beat of his heart, another thought lingered at the edges of Izuku’s mind. A thought that shouldn’t have been there, that he shouldn’t have even let himself consider, but it was there. And it bugged him. Because for the first time in years, the air in the apartment didn’t feel stifling. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but without Toga’s constant cloudy presence, the space felt… lighter. He could breathe. For once, he wasn’t walking on eggshells, waiting for the next storm to hit.
His hands loosened slightly from their tight grip in his hair as the realization settled over him. The guilt didn’t go away—it still clawed at his insides, whispering that this was all his fault, that he was a monster for even feeling the slightest relief—but he couldn’t ignore it. The apartment, as quiet and lonely as it was, didn’t feel as suffocating. The air didn’t feel so heavy, the silence didn’t feel like a ticking time bomb. He let out a shaky breath, his body relaxing just a little as he leaned back against the couch. His chest still ached with guilt, but there was something else now—something new, something foreign. Freedom. It wasn’t much, just a faint glimmer, but it was there. And it scared him. Because even though he still loved Toga, even though he blamed himself for everything, the thought that he might be better off without her made him feel… selfish. And yet, he couldn’t deny it. For the first time in years, he could breathe in his own home.
Izuku felt a wave of relief wash over him the moment he stepped into the gym and saw Bakugo already there. The guy was focused, racking weights with practiced precision, his usual scowl in place. Izuku had been worried—worried that all the drama surrounding him would’ve scared the new guy off by now. But here he was, as steady as ever, like nothing had changed. Bakugo looked up as Izuku entered, raising an eyebrow before smirking. “’Bout time you showed up,” he heckled. “Thought you were gonna flake.”
Izuku chuckled softly, scratching the back of his neck as he walked over. “Nah, just overslept a little.” He didn’t mention the tossing and turning, the way his mind refused to quiet down long enough for him to get any real rest. Bakugo didn’t need to know that.
“Figures,” Bakugo muttered, shaking his head as he turned back to his weights. Izuku smiled faintly, grateful for the normalcy of the moment. As they worked through their sets, the gym filled with the rhythmic clang of metal and the low hum of effort. The routine was comforting, grounding in a way Izuku hadn’t realized he needed.
At one point, Izuku glanced over at Bakugo, his hands on his hips as he caught his breath. “Hey,” he said, his voice a little hesitant, “can you spot me? I’m going heavier on the squat rack today, and I’m not sure I’ve got it yet.”
Bakugo raised an eyebrow, but he nodded, stepping over. “Yeah, I got you.” Izuku positioned himself under the bar, his muscles already tensing as he prepared for the weight. Bakugo stepped close behind him, his hands hovering just near Izuku’s sides for support, his presence steady and reassuring. “Take it slow,” Bakugo muttered, his voice low but firm.
Izuku nodded, his breath steady as he lowered himself into the first squat. The weight pressed down on him, but Bakugo moved with him, keeping close without interfering. Izuku couldn’t help but notice the heat radiating from Bakugo’s body, the strength and stability behind him like an unspoken promise of safety. He pushed through a few reps, his legs burning by the last one. With a final effort, he racked the bar back into place, stepping out with shallow breaths as his chest heaved. “Not bad,” Bakugo said, giving him a small nod of approval.
“Thanks,” Izuku said, trying not to sound winded. He turned away to grab his towel, using the moment to compose himself, because as much as he hated to admit it, a small part of him missed the heat of Bakugo standing so close behind him.
Izuku threw himself into his day at the shop, hoping the steady rhythm of work would drown out his thoughts. He hunched over his desk, filling out paperwork for parts orders and repair logs, the scratching of his pen loud in the otherwise quiet office. But no matter how hard he tried to focus, his mind kept wandering back to the gym. Back to the weight pressing down on him, the steady heat of Bakugo standing behind him, the way his hands hovered just close enough to catch him if he faltered. Izuku sighed, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck as if the motion could physically dislodge the memory. It was nothing, he told himself, his chest tightening. He was just spotting you. That’s it. But even as he returned to his paperwork, the thoughts crept back. There had been something about the way Bakugo’s presence felt—grounding, safe, solid in a way Izuku hadn’t felt in… he couldn’t even remember how long.
He shook his head again, setting down his pen with a frustrated huff. His green eyes flicked to the clock, then to the half-finished paperwork in front of him. He needed to focus. When a car rolled into the garage, Izuku practically sprinted to the workbench, desperate to get his hands on something physical, something distracting. But as he worked, twisting bolts and checking connections, his thoughts kept drifting back. The hovering hands, the warmth, the way Bakugo had been so steady and present behind him. Izuku’s grip on the wrench tightened, his jaw clenching as he tried to shove those thoughts away. What the hell is wrong with me?
The guilt clawed its way back in almost instantly, sharp and suffocating. Toga was in a mental facility because of him. Because he hadn’t been good enough, because he’d pushed her too far, because he’d walked out when she needed him. You don’t deserve to feel safe. You don’t deserve that warmth. Izuku’s hands shook slightly as he loosened a bolt, his breathing uneven. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the task in front of him. He didn’t have time for these thoughts—didn’t deserve to entertain them.
Izuku stood at the garage’s entrance, keys in hand, the clink of metal echoing softly in the quiet evening air as he locked up for the day. He was tired, worn out from the mental battle he’d fought all day, and all he wanted was to go home, collapse on the couch, and let the silence of his empty apartment swallow him whole. But as he turned to leave, a familiar sight made him freeze in place. A police cruiser rolled up to the curb, its engine rumbling low before shutting off. The door opened, and out stepped his dad. Aizawa’s tired gaze met Izuku’s wide, startled eyes, and for a moment, neither of them said a word.
Izuku felt his chest tighten. He hadn’t seen his dad since that night—since the chaos, the ambulance, the crushing weight of everything that had happened. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to face him, but Aizawa, as always, didn’t seem fazed. He crossed his arms, standing with the quiet authority that had always come so naturally to him. “You’re coming over for dinner,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Izuku blinked, his anxiety spiking instantly. “What?” he stammered, his voice trembling.
“You heard me,” Aizawa said, his dark eyes steady. “Your siblings miss you. Hizashi misses you. I miss you.”
Izuku’s breath hitched, his chest tightening even more at the mention of his family. He took a step back, shaking his head. “I-I can’t,” he said quickly. “It’s been too long. I—what if—”
“No ‘what ifs,’ Izuku,” Aizawa interrupted, his voice calm but firm. He stepped closer, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You’ve spent too much time pulling away. That ends tonight. Car. Now.”
“Dad, I—”
“Get in the car,” Aizawa said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Izuku hesitated, his mind racing with doubts and fears. It had been so long since he’d seen his siblings—since he’d sat at that table, surrounded by warmth and love. What if they didn’t want him there anymore? What if they resented him for staying away? But Aizawa’s grip on his shoulder was steady, grounding. “Get in the car, Izuku,” he repeated softly, his eyes softer now.
Izuku swallowed hard, his throat tight. After a long moment, he nodded silently, letting his dad guide him to the cruiser. He slid into the passenger seat, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped his knees. As Aizawa started the engine and pulled away, Izuku’s heart pounded in his chest, the thought of facing his family both terrifying and comforting all at once. When the cruiser pulled into the driveway, Izuku’s heart was pounding so hard he was sure Aizawa could hear it. The house looked exactly the same as he remembered, but somehow it felt different—like a place he no longer belonged. His stomach churned as he hesitated at the front door, but his dad’s firm hand on his back urged him forward.
The door swung open before they even got to it, and standing there, loud and full of life as always, was Hizashi. Izuku barely had time to process the sight of his other father before the man’s eyes welled up, his face lighting up in that bright, infectious way Izuku had inherited. “Izuku!” Hizashi cried, his voice booming as he immediately pulled Izuku into a crushing hug.
Izuku froze for a split second before relaxing into the embrace, the warmth and familiarity hitting him like a wave. “Hi, Papa,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion as he hugged him back.
When Hizashi finally pulled away, he kept his hands on Izuku’s shoulders, his watery eyes scanning his son’s face like he was trying to memorize every detail. “Look at you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly despite his usual loud tone. “It’s been too long, kid. Way too long.”
Before Izuku could respond, a small blur of silver darted out from behind Hizashi. “Eri!” Izuku exclaimed, his voice breaking into a laugh as his 14-year-old sister launched herself into his arms.
Her long silver hair caught the light as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, her red eyes sparkling with happiness. “I missed you so much, Izuku!” she cried, laughing as he lifted her up and spun her around.
“I missed you too, squirt,” he said, his smile softening as he held her close.
When he finally set her down, his gaze shifted to the figure standing quietly behind her. Shinso, taller and more composed than Izuku remembered, stepped forward. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets, his violet eyes steady as he gave Izuku a small, almost shy smile. “Hey, bro,” he said simply.
Izuku felt his chest tighten as he stepped forward, pulling Shinso into a brief but firm hug. “Hey, Shinso,” he said softly, the warmth of his brother’s quiet presence comforting in a way he hadn’t realized he’d missed. When he pulled back, he looked at all three of them—Hizashi with his bright, tear-filled grin, Eri with her laughter still echoing in his ears, and Shinso with his calm, steady expression. It had been close to a year since he’d seen any of them, but in this moment, surrounded by their love, it felt like no time had passed at all.
Aizawa stepped up behind him, his usual stoic expression softening as he looked at his son. “Come inside,” he said quietly, placing a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “Dinner’s almost ready.” Izuku nodded, his chest still heavy with emotions, but for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t all guilt. As the family moved inside, the warm smells of dinner cooking greeted them, and Izuku felt himself relax just a little. He hadn’t been in this house for so long, but the familiarity of it—the faint scent of Hizashi’s cooking, the soft hum of the overhead lights—wrapped around him like a comforting blanket.
Eri quickly latched onto Izuku’s side, her silver hair bouncing as she talked excitedly. She stuck close to him as they moved toward the dining room, her bright red eyes sparkling as she chattered away. “And then at school, we had this science project where we got to grow our own plants, and mine grew the fastest!” she exclaimed proudly, her hands gesturing animatedly. “Papa said it was because I watered it every day, but I think it’s because I talked to it too.”
Izuku chuckled softly, his green eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at her. “You talked to it, huh? What’d you say to it?”
“Oh, just stuff like, ‘Grow, little plant!’” Eri said, grinning up at him. “And it worked!”
“Sounds like you’ve got the magic touch,” Izuku said, ruffling her hair affectionately.
She giggled, brushing her hair back into place before continuing. “Oh! And guess what else? I joined the art club at school! Shinso helped me paint this really cool picture of a cat for the art fair, and it got second place! Papa said he’s gonna frame it!”
“That’s amazing, Eri,” Izuku said, his heart warming as he listened.
She kept going, bouncing from topic to topic with the unfiltered enthusiasm of a teenager who had so much to say. She told him about her favorite classes, a funny story about one of her teachers, and how Hizashi had tried to bake cookies for her class but burned the first batch. Through it all, Izuku smiled endearingly, his guilt and anxiety momentarily pushed to the back of his mind. Eri didn’t know what had been going on with him—she thought he’d just been busy, working hard at the shop, living his life. Her innocence, her warmth, it was a gift he hadn’t realized he needed. As they sat at the dining table, Eri tugged on his sleeve. “Izuku, do you think you’ll have time to come to my next art fair?” she asked hopefully, her eyes wide with excitement.
Izuku’s chest tightened slightly, but he forced himself to smile. “I’ll do my best, Eri,” he said gently.
“Promise?” she asked, holding out her pinky.
Izuku hesitated for a moment before wrapping his pinky around hers, the small gesture pulling a genuine smile to his face. “Promise.”
Dinner had been pleasant, with Eri carrying the conversation almost singlehandedly. Her cheerful chatter filled the room, bouncing between topics so quickly that even Hizashi struggled to keep up, though he laughed loudly and tried to follow along. Izuku listened with a faint smile, letting her words wash over him like a soothing—and chaotic—balm, but as the plates were cleared away and the meal wrapped up, Izuku noticed Aizawa’s posture shift. His dad leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he gave Eri a look—firm and unyielding. “Eri,” Aizawa said, his tone calm but resolute. “Go to your room.”
Eri blinked, her cheerful smile faltering. “What? Why? I don’t want to!” she protested, her voice edging on a whine.
“Eri,” Aizawa repeated, his sharp gaze meeting hers. “Go. Now.”
She huffed, crossing her arms with a pout. “But—”
“Eri,” Hizashi cut in gently, though his voice was no less firm. “Listen to your dad, sweetheart.”
Eri’s shoulders slumped, and she shot Izuku a pitiful look, as if asking him to save her. He gave her a small smile, but his heart was already pounding, the anxiety creeping back in as he realized what was happening. With a dramatic sigh, Eri pushed her chair back and stood. “Fine,” she grumbled, dragging her feet toward the stairs. “But this is unfair.”
Once she was out of earshot and her door clicked shut upstairs, the dining room fell into a heavy silence. Izuku’s eyes darted between his two dads and Shinso, who were all staring at him now. He felt trapped, his chest tightening as he realized there was no escaping this. Hizashi was the first to speak, his voice soft but serious. “Izuku,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. “We need to talk.”
“I know,” Izuku muttered, his hands clenching in his lap.
“You’ve been avoiding us for almost a year,” Aizawa said bluntly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “That stops now.”
Shinso, quieter but no less firm, added, “We’re worried about you, man.”
Izuku swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the table as the anxiety swirled in his chest. He knew this was coming, knew there was no way out of it. But that didn’t make it any easier. Izuku took a long, shaky breath, his green eyes drifting down to his trembling hands in his lap. The room was so quiet he could hear the faint creak of the house settling, the distant hum of Eri’s music from upstairs, but none of it could drown out the words echoing in his mind.
They’re faking it. Toga’s voice rang clearly, louder than his fathers’ concern, louder than the steady patience in Shinso’s quiet gaze. They’re only doing this to make me look bad. His stomach twisted, a sick feeling bubbling up as her words played over and over again, drowning out everything else. They don’t care about you. They’ve never cared. You’re broken, Izuku. Unloveable. I’m the only one who’s ever truly loved you. He felt his chest tighten, his breath hitching as he curled his hands into fists, trying to stop the trembling. Even now, surrounded by his family, he couldn’t quiet her voice. He couldn’t shut out the way she’d made him feel—like he was nothing, like he didn’t deserve the warmth and care sitting right in front of him.
“Kiddo,” Hizashi said softly, breaking the silence as he reached across the table, his hand hovering just over Izuku’s. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” Izuku flinched at the question, his fists tightening as he refused to look up. He couldn’t meet their eyes—not when Toga’s words felt so real, so sharp.
“I…” Izuku started, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t…” He stopped, swallowing hard as his throat burned.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” Aizawa said, his tone firm but not unkind. “Whatever she told you, whatever’s been keeping you away from us—it’s not true, Izuku. We’re here. We’ve always been here.”
Izuku’s breathing hitched, and he shook his head, his voice trembling as he muttered, “You don’t know what she’d say. What she’d do.”
Shinso’s quiet voice cut through the air. “Then tell us. Let us help.”
The room fell silent again, and Izuku’s hands shook harder as he clenched his eyes shut. He wanted to believe them, to let himself lean into the safety they were offering, but Toga’s voice wouldn’t leave him alone. They’re lying. They’ll never really want you. You’re just a charity case to them. Izuku’s breath trembled, his chest tight as he stared down at his hands. He couldn’t bring himself to say it—not to them, not even fully to himself. The words were trapped in his throat, heavy and suffocating, because no matter how much she hurt him, no matter how much pain she caused, he still loved her. Deeply. No matter how crazy she got, no matter what she did, there was a part of him that clung to her, to the love he thought they once had. The good moments—the laughs, the smiles, the way she’d bandage his wounds after she caused them—all of it was tangled up in his heart.
“I can’t,” Izuku said finally, his voice breaking as he shook his head. His hands were still trembling, and he clenched them tightly to try to steady himself. “I just… I can’t.”
Aizawa leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes softening as he studied his son. “Izuku,” he said gently, “whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”
But Izuku shook his head harder, his voice growing more desperate. “You don’t understand,” he said, his words trembling. “I love her. I can’t just—just let it go. She’s… she’s all I have.”
“That’s not true,” Hizashi said firmly, his voice louder than before but still filled with warmth. “You have us, Izuku. You’ve always had us.”
Izuku flinched, his head dropping lower as he squeezed his eyes shut. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he whispered. “You don’t know how it feels.”
Shinso, who had been silent until now, leaned forward slightly. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “We don’t know how it feels. But we know you don’t deserve it.”
Izuku’s breath hitched, his fists tightening in his lap. The words struck something deep inside him, something raw and buried beneath years of pain and self-doubt. “I can’t leave her,” Izuku said finally, his voice breaking again. “I can’t. Especially not now. She needs me. She’s in that… that place because of me.”
Aizawa exchanged a look with Hizashi, both of them clearly torn between frustration and compassion. “It’s not because of you,” Aizawa said, his voice steady and sure. “It’s because of her choices. Not yours.” But Izuku didn’t respond, the weight of his love for Toga and the guilt that came with it pressing down on him like a boulder.
Notes:
Hello beautiful people! Sorry for the filler chapter 😭 Can you tell I didn’t know how to wrap up my chapter so I stopped mid conversation? Yeah sorry bout that. 😬 Anywho this chapter took me like no time to edit I think it’s super short? Idk I check my word count once and that’s always the roughest of drafts. I deadass don’t know my official word count of anything until after I post it and I get the email. Yes I’m subscribed to my own stories because I’m delulu 😤
Okay I was going somewhere with that. So let’s get back on track since this chapter took no time I’m probably posting again tonight and honestly, tomorrow too. I just want to get past chapter 10 y’all. I’m bored and wanna get to the good stuff 😩
I’m gonna go do that thing with the chapter now see you soon bestie!!
Chapter 9: Chapter 9
Notes:
Something inside Izuku shifted at that. He didn’t know why, but the thought of Bakugo being there—of spending time with him, made the idea seem less overwhelming. He found himself smiling, a genuine, small smile that felt foreign on his face. “Okay,” Izuku said softly, nodding. “I’ll come.”
Bakugo raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised but doing his best to hide it. “Tch. Good,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Don’t forget, nerd.”
Izuku chuckled, the sound light and a little nervous. “I won’t,” he promised, though he couldn’t ignore the way his chest felt lighter for the first time in days.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Aizawa closed the door with a heavy sigh as he returned home, the quiet of the house amplifying the weight in his chest. He hung his coat on the rack and slipped off his boots before walking into the living room, where Hizashi was already seated on the couch. The man looked up with a soft smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Aizawa dropped onto the couch beside his husband, the exhaustion etched into his face as he leaned back, staring at nothing in particular. They sat there in silence for a while, the stillness in the house almost too loud, the faint hum of the heater the only noise. Finally, Hizashi let out a deep, tired sigh, breaking the quiet. “What more can we do for him, Shota?” he asked, his voice strained with a mix of worry and helplessness. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he ran a hand through his hair. “We’ve tried everything. We’ve reached out, given him space, tried pulling him back in… but he just keeps pushing us farther away.” Aizawa didn’t respond immediately, his tired eyes still fixed on the far wall. His jaw tightened slightly, his hands resting on his thighs as he mulled over Hizashi’s words. Hizashi turned to him, his green eyes filled with both hope and frustration. “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do legally?” he asked quietly. “You’re the chief of police, Shota. There’s got to be something.”
Aizawa let out a heavy breath, finally dragging his gaze away from the wall to meet Hizashi’s. “No,” he said firmly, though the word felt like a weight pressing down on him. “Not unless he reports the abuse himself. He has to admit it. And he hasn’t.”
Hizashi’s face fell, his shoulders slumping as he sat back against the couch. “And he never will,” he said softly, his voice filled with sadness.
Aizawa nodded slowly, his dark eyes clouded with frustration and helplessness. “I know,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “He loves her. No matter what she’s done to him, he’s convinced himself that she’s all he has. And until he lets himself see the truth…”
Hizashi swallowed hard, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “It’s killing me, Shota,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “Watching him suffer like this, knowing there’s nothing we can do unless he makes the first move. He’s our son. I just…” He trailed off, his eyes filling with unshed tears.
Aizawa reached over, placing a steady hand on Hizashi’s knee. “We’ll keep trying,” he said softly, his voice steady even as the frustration lingered in his tone. “We’ll keep showing up, no matter how many times he pushes us away.”
Hizashi nodded, though his expression didn’t brighten. “I just hope it’s enough,” he whispered. The two sat there in silence again, the weight of their worries settling over them like a heavy blanket.
Kirishima fidgeted with the small object in his hands, twisting it around nervously as he sat in the squad car next to Bakugo. The air was unusually tense, the kind of tension that came from unspoken words Kirishima clearly wanted to say but hadn’t worked up the courage to yet. Bakugo leaned his head back against the seat with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel Kirishima’s hesitation like a damn spotlight on him, and it was driving him crazy. He spent nearly every waking moment with the guy—he knew him almost as well as he knew himself. He knew when Kirishima was holding something back. Finally, with a low groan, Bakugo straightened up, shooting his partner a sharp look. “Spit it out, shitty hair,” he snapped, making Kirishima jump in his seat.
Kirishima sighed in defeat, setting whatever he’d been playing with onto the dashboard as he leaned back, his hands resting on his knees. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, sounding resigned. “I just… I wanted to ask if you’d talk to Izuku about coming to the bar.” Bakugo blinked, caught off guard, and opened his mouth to respond, but Kirishima kept going, the words tumbling out like he couldn’t stop them now that they’d started. “I know you don’t want to get wrapped up in all this small-town ‘bullshit’,” Kirishima said quickly, his tone almost apologetic. “And I get it, man, I really do. But right now…” He hesitated, glancing at Bakugo nervously before continuing. “Right now, you’re our best shot at getting through to Izuku.”
Bakugo’s scowl deepened as he stared at his partner, the words sinking in. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, his voice low but sharp.
Kirishima sighed again, running a hand through his bright red hair. “Look, I’m just saying—you work out with him, right? You see him outside of all this other crap. He trusts you, at least a little. More than he trusts the rest of us right now.”
Bakugo snorted, crossing his arms as he looked away. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do,” Kirishima said firmly, his red eyes steady as he looked at Bakugo. “He might not open up to us yet, but you? You’ve got a shot, man. And if we can get him out—just one night, just one moment where he’s not trapped in his own head—maybe it’ll remind him that there’s more out there than Toga.” Bakugo’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching against his arms. He didn’t like being thrown into the middle of this, didn’t like the idea of being some kind of bridge between Izuku and the rest of his old life. But Kirishima’s words lingered, tugging at something in the back of his mind. “I’m just asking you to talk to him,” Kirishima said softly. “That’s it. You don’t have to save the guy. Just… talk to him.” Bakugo’s chest tightened as Kirishima’s words settled in, but not for the reason he’d admit out loud. The thought of spending more time with Izuku tugged at something deep inside him, something he wasn’t sure he wanted to name. Even if it was with their—and he used the term loosely—“friends,” the idea of seeing Izuku again was enough to make his heart twist uncomfortably.
Against his better judgment, his mind drifted to the way Izuku’s bright smile had looked in the tow truck, so full of warmth it had damn near knocked the air out of Bakugo’s lungs. It wasn’t fair, really. Someone going through what Izuku was shouldn’t still be able to smile like that, and yet… Bakugo pulled himself out of the thought with a sharp mental shake, scowling as he turned back to Kirishima. He souldn’t let himself get caught up in stupid shit like this. “Fine,” Bakugo muttered, his voice gruff as he crossed his arms. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow morning. Happy?”
Kirishima grinned, his expression lighting up with relief. “Thanks, man,” he said sincerely, leaning back in his seat. “I knew you’d come through.”
Bakugo rolled his eyes, looking out the window to avoid meeting Kirishima’s gaze. “Don’t get used to it, shitty hair,” he grumbled, but deep down, he couldn’t ignore the faint flicker of anticipation in his chest at the thought of seeing Izuku again.
Bakugo didn’t know why he felt a little nervous walking into the weight room the next morning. It didn’t make sense. What was the worst that could happen? Izuku says no, and they both move on? This wasn’t about him—it was a favor for Kirishima, that’s all. Nothing more. But as he pushed open the gym door and stepped inside, spotting Izuku already stretching by the squat rack, his chest tightened ever so slightly. Izuku looked up when he heard the door, his green eyes lighting up with that warm, familiar smile that made Bakugo’s heart do that annoying thing again. “Morning, Bakugo!” he called, his voice bright despite the faint tiredness under his eyes.
“Mornin’, nerd,” Bakugo grunted, already walking toward the weights. They fell into their routine easily, the quiet clinking of weights and faint music from Izuku’s headphones filling the air. As they worked through their sets, the conversation started slow—small talk about the weights, about how crappy the equipment was. Somehow, though, they ended up on a topic neither of them expected: Adventures of All Might. “You watched that too?” Bakugo asked, raising an eyebrow as he finished racking his barbell.
“Of course I did!” Izuku said, his voice suddenly animated. His green eyes lit up as he straightened, pulling down his headphones. “I was obsessed with it as a kid. I even had the action figures—the really detailed ones with the interchangeable hands and accessories!”
Bakugo smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the rack. “I had those too,” he admitted, his voice low. “They were expensive as hell. My old man didn’t get why I wanted ‘em, but… yeah. They were cool.” Izuku beamed, the excitement bubbling out of him as he started muttering about his favorite episodes, favorite characters, even little trivia bits about the show. Bakugo found himself watching him closely, the way Izuku’s hands moved as he spoke, the way his words tumbled out in an unstoppable flow. His lips twitched into a smirk, and he couldn’t help himself. “Man, you’re such a nerd,” Bakugo teased, his tone light and filled with amusement.
Izuku froze mid-mutter, blinking at Bakugo in surprise. For a moment, neither of them spoke, and then Bakugo laughed—a low, genuine sound that echoed in the quiet gym. Izuku’s heart skipped a beat, his breath hitching slightly as he stared at Bakugo. Something about the way his laugh sounded—unfiltered, unguarded—made heat rush to Izuku’s face. He felt the blush creeping up his neck, and he quickly looked away, fumbling with his water bottle. “Nuh-uh,” Izuku mumbled, his voice quieter now.
“Yeah, you are,” Bakugo said with a smirk, his crimson eyes watching Izuku closely. And for some reason, Izuku didn’t mind the teasing. Not when it was Bakugo. Bakugo hesitated for a moment, scratching the back of his neck as he looked anywhere but directly at Izuku. The question felt awkward, forced even, but he knew he had to get it out. “So, uh,” Bakugo started, his tone gruff, “Kirishima wanted me to ask if you’d wanna come to the bar this Friday. With him and… his friends.”
Izuku froze mid-motion. The words hit him harder than they should have, dredging up memories of Kirishima’s earnest plea just a week ago. He thought about how both Kirishima and Bakugo had shown up at his home the day after Toga’s breakdown, trying to get through to him. And now here Bakugo was, extending the same olive branch. For a moment, Izuku didn’t know what to say. His mind raced, torn between the guilt still clinging to him and the small, quiet part of him that longed for something normal—something outside of Toga’s suffocating shadow, and then, before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out of his mouth. “Are you going?” The question hung in the air, and their eyes met for just a moment—brief but intense. Bakugo’s crimson gaze softened slightly, and he cleared his throat, breaking the tension as he looked away.
“Yeah,” Bakugo said, his tone quieter than usual. “I’ll be there.”
Something inside Izuku shifted at that. He didn’t know why, but the thought of Bakugo being there—of spending time with him, made the idea seem less overwhelming. He found himself smiling, a genuine, small smile that felt foreign on his face. “Okay,” Izuku said softly, nodding. “I’ll come.”
Bakugo raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised but doing his best to hide it. “Tch. Good,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Don’t forget, nerd.”
Izuku chuckled, the sound light and a little nervous. “I won’t,” he promised, though he couldn’t ignore the way his chest felt lighter for the first time in days.
Izuku stood in front of the mirror, his fingers nervously twisting his keys as he gave himself one last look. He’d thrown on the same thing he always wore—tight black shirt, dark jeans, and his leather jacket. It was his go-to outfit, but tonight, it felt… wrong. Like it didn’t fit the moment. His chest felt heavy as he stared at his reflection, tugging at the hem of his shirt and adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. This was the first time in years he’d hung out with his old friends—not just passing them in town, not just seeing them from a distance, but actually spending time with them. The thought made his stomach churn. It was funny, really. He saw them all the time—at the coffee shop, the market, even the bar. But over the years, they’d drifted so far apart they’d become almost like strangers. Not that they didn’t try. They did. More than once, they’d reached out, asking him to leave Toga when the rumors spread about things getting bad again.
They begged me, Izuku thought bitterly, the weight of those memories pressing down on him. But he’d ignored them every time, too tangled up in Toga’s world to see a way out. And when their attempts to help him failed, the communication stopped, replaced by quiet, distant concern. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Part of him wanted to turn around, to ditch this whole thing and stay home. What was the point? They didn’t know him anymore. Hell, he didn’t know himself anymore. But then he thought of Bakugo. The way he’d smirked at him in the gym, teasing him for being a nerd. The way his laugh—low, genuine—had echoed in the quiet space and made Izuku’s chest ache in a way he couldn’t explain. Izuku’s grip on his keys tightened as he forced himself to take a deep breath. He didn’t know why, but knowing Bakugo would be there made this feel… less terrifying. With one last glance in the mirror, he muttered, “Alright, let’s get this over with,” before stepping out the door and heading to the bar.
The bar seemed to pause for a moment as Izuku approached, his shy demeanor making him look smaller than he was. The group of friends turned toward him, their chatter falling silent as they took in the sight of someone who had once been such a central part of their lives. Uraraka was the first to move, her face lighting up with a warm, genuine smile. She closed the gap between them in seconds, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you,” she said softly, her voice tinged with relief and affection.
Before Izuku could even respond, Mina swooped in next, her laughter bubbling up as she pulled him into another hug. “Oh my god, finally!” she teased, squeezing him tightly. “We were starting to think you’d never come out of hiding!”
Then came Kirishima, his grin wide and full of unshakable joy. He clapped Izuku on the back and pulled him into a quick but firm hug. “Told ya you still had us.” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with warmth.
Just as Izuku started to feel overwhelmed, Denki and Sero joined in, practically lunging at him as they threw their arms around him from both sides. “Group hug!” Denki yelled, laughing as they all stumbled together.
“Don’t crush him, idiot.” Sero added, though he was laughing just as hard. Izuku couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from his chest, his green eyes crinkling at the corners as he found himself in the center of a chaotic, joyful dog pile. For a moment, it was as if the years of tension and distance had melted away, replaced by the warmth and familiarity of old friends. It felt like high school again—like he hadn’t spent the last few years pulling away, like they hadn’t spent those years worrying about him from afar.
Off to the side, Bakugo leaned against the table, arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold. His scowl was noticeably absent, replaced by a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The moment Izuku walked through the door, Bakugo’s heart had done that stupid flip thing again, and he hated it. Hated how easily Izuku’s presence could throw him off, how just seeing him surrounded by laughter and warmth made something in his chest tighten. He reminded himself, firmly, that he was just here because they had the same friends. That was it. Nothing else. He still didn’t love the word friends, but this wasn’t about him. Even so, he couldn’t take his eyes off Izuku, his quiet smile lingering as he watched him laugh like he hadn’t seen him do since they met.
As the group finally pulled away, the laughter dying down into quiet chuckles, Izuku’s green eyes flickered toward Bakugo, who was still standing off to the side. The warmth of his friends surrounding him made it easier to push down the nerves, but as their gazes met, his stomach did a small, unexpected flip. He gave a small, shy smile, tucking his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket as he said, “Hi, Bakugo.”
Bakugo grunted in response, arms still crossed over his chest. “Tch. Hey, nerd.” His voice was as gruff as ever, but there was no real bite to it—if anything, there was something almost… hesitant in the way he said it. Both of them stood there for a beat too long, neither quite sure what to say next. Their gazes darted away at almost the exact same time, and though it was barely noticeable in the dim light of the bar, both of them had a faint blush dusting their cheeks. Kirishima, ever the observant one, grinned to himself but wisely chose not to comment—yet.
The group quickly settled back into their seats, everyone eager to catch up with Izuku. As soon as he sat down, they all started talking at once, their voices overlapping as they fumbled to bring him into the conversation. It was almost overwhelming, but Izuku couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged at his lips as he listened. “Okay, okay!” Mina said, throwing her hands up to quiet the group. “One at a time, people! Let’s not scare him off after we finally got him here.”
Denki leaned forward, pointing at Izuku. “Dude, you would not believe the mess Sero and I got into with the mayor’s dog last week.”
“That was your fault!” Sero shot back, nudging him in the side.
“No, you’re the one who said it wouldn’t bite—”
Uraraka cut in with a laugh. “Anyway, Izuku! Did you see the rec center? They upgraded the air hockey tables.”
“About time,” Kirishima added, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “We used to destroy those things in high school.”
“That’s because you used to hit the puck like it owed you money,” Mina teased, earning a laugh from everyone.
Izuku chuckled, the nervousness in his chest loosening just a little. The energy of the group was infectious, and he couldn’t help but feel like he belonged there, even after all this time. Still, beneath the easy smiles and lighthearted conversation, he could sense the careful avoidance of one particular topic. No one mentioned Toga—not directly, anyway. It was like an unspoken agreement, each of them trying their hardest to keep things light and positive for Izuku’s sake. And he was grateful for it. As the conversation flowed, Bakugo stayed quiet, watching from his spot on the edge of the group. His sharp crimson eyes lingered on Izuku, taking in the way he relaxed more with each passing moment. A small part of him was annoyed at how seeing Izuku laugh made his chest feel warm, but he shoved it down, scowling at his drink instead.
Izuku wiped at his eyes, laughter shaking his shoulders as he tried to catch his breath. He had been laughing so hard for the past minute that tears pricked the corners of his eyes. Mina had just finished recounting some ridiculous story about Denki accidentally shocking himself while trying to fix a ceiling fan, and the whole group had lost it at her dramatic reenactment. He leaned back in his chair, his chest still heaving from the laughter, and for a moment, he let himself soak in the warmth of the moment. The easy banter, the genuine smiles, the way the group’s energy seemed to envelop him like a warm hug—it was something he hadn’t realized how much he missed. As he glanced around the table, watching Kirishima’s booming laugh and Uraraka’s playful shove at Sero, Izuku felt a pang in his chest. I missed this. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. How much he’d missed them. How much he’d missed this. The camaraderie, the inside jokes, the way they made him feel like he was a part of something bigger than himself.
It was like no time had passed at all. Izuku’s smile softened as he looked down at his hands, his heart heavy with both regret and gratitude. Regret for all the years he’d spent pulling away, for the distance that had grown between them. But gratitude, too—gratitude that they were still here, that they hadn’t given up on him. From his spot near the edge of the group, Bakugo watched Izuku quietly, his arms crossed as always. But his sharp eyes softened just slightly when he noticed the look on Izuku’s face, the way his green eyes seemed to shimmer with something deeper than just laughter.
The conversation had shifted again, and Bakugo wasn’t entirely sure how they ended up talking about house repairs. Maybe it had started with Mina complaining about her leaky sink, but somehow it spiraled into everyone roasting each other about how handy—or hopeless—they were. “My house is a damn mess,” Bakugo admitted with a huff, surprising the group by chiming in. “The whole thing’s falling apart, and I don’t have the time or patience to figure it out.”
Denki snickered, leaning forward with an exaggerated smirk. “Big, tough city boy can’t even fix a leaky pipe? Shocking.”
Sero grinned, nudging Kirishima. “He’s probably Googling how to use a hammer.”
“Shut it, extras,” Bakugo snapped, but his tone lacked its usual edge.
“You’ve been here what, two months?” Mina teased, laughing. “How’s the adjustment to small-town living treating you, city boy?”
Bakugo rolled his eyes but didn’t fire back, which only encouraged their teasing. Izuku, who had been quietly nursing his drink and listening to the banter, glanced at Bakugo before clearing his throat softly. “I, um…” He fidgeted with the edge of his glass, his voice a little hesitant but sincere. “I could swing by tomorrow. Take a look at your place. You know, if you want.” The table grew quiet for a moment as everyone turned to look at Izuku, who immediately blushed under the attention. “I mean, I have a lot of free time now,” he added quickly, his green eyes darting between Bakugo and his drink.
Bakugo blinked, caught off guard by the offer. He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze flicking to Izuku for a moment before looking away. “Uh… yeah. Sure,” he said gruffly. “If you think you can handle it, nerd.”
Izuku smiled shyly, nodding. “I think I can manage.”
Kirishima’s grin stretched across his face as he looked between the two, filing this interaction away for future teasing. Mina and Uraraka exchanged a knowing look, but to their credit, they didn’t say anything. The conversation moved on, but the faint blush on both Izuku and Bakugo’s faces lingered.
As the night came to an end, the group began to wrap up, gathering their jackets and tossing cash onto the table to cover their drinks. One by one, each of Izuku’s friends pulled him into a hug before heading out, their words filled with warmth and determination. “You have to keep coming out, Izuku,” Uraraka said firmly as she hugged him tightly. “Or I swear, we’ll drag you here ourselves.”
“She’s not kidding,” Mina chimed in as she wrapped her arms around him next. “You’re stuck with us now, babe.”
Kirishima was next, clapping him on the back as he hugged him. “I mean it, man. You’re part of this group. Don’t make us come knocking on your door.”
Denki and Sero, ever the chaotic duo, tackled him in a combined hug again, earning another round of laughter. “You don’t show up, and we’re blowing up your phone and totally stalking you.” Denki said with a grin.
“Every day,” Sero added, grinning as they finally released him.
Izuku laughed, his chest feeling lighter than it had in months, maybe even years. “Alright, alright,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll keep coming, I promise.” As they all filtered out of the bar, their laughter echoing behind them, Izuku stood outside, watching them leave with a small, genuine smile on his face. But as the night quieted and he began walking towards his bike, a familiar, unwelcome voice whispered in the back of his mind. They don’t really want you there. They’re just pretending. They pity you. You’ll mess this up, like you mess everything up. The voice was Toga’s—sharp and cutting, her words etched so deeply into his mind that they lingered even when she wasn’t there.
Izuku’s steps faltered, his hands clenching in his jacket pockets as his smile faded. The doubt crept in, wrapping around him like a suffocating fog, but then he remembered Kirishima’s grin, Mina’s teasing, Bakugo’s quiet nod of agreement. He held onto those small moments, trying to drown out the voice with the warmth he’d felt that night. Maybe they really do want me there, he thought, though the doubt still roared, tightening its angry grip on Izuku’s mind. Or maybe they don’t.
Notes:
Hi again! This one was also super quick to edit but I gotta make this short it’s 11:30 and I haven’t done my LADS dailies and I REFUSE to lose my streak EVER I’ve never missed a day I’m locked in on this game yall.
Anyway maybe see yall tomorrow??? It’s FINALLY getting good! I genuinely can’t wait 😭
Okay ily bestie! Drink water eat a snack byieeeee!! 🫰🏻
Chapter 10: Chapter 10
Notes:
At the mention of Toga, Mina’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a look of distaste. “Don’t even get me started on her,” she muttered. “We’ve known her forever, and she’s always been bad news.”
“Yeah,” Uraraka agreed, crossing her arms. “And Izuku deserves way better. He’s been through enough.”
Kirishima nodded again, his voice lowering slightly. “We’ve got a few months, maybe, before she comes back. That’s our window to help Izuku see there’s something better out there for him. And, honestly? I think Bakugo’s exactly what he needs.”
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Bakugo was not nervous. That’s what he told himself that as he paced back and forth in his living room, boots thudding softly against the worn wooden floor. This was just how he normally waited for people. Pacing was totally normal. It had nothing to do with the fact that Izuku said he’d come by today. And it definitely had nothing to do with the fact that his house was an absolute disaster. He crossed his arms, glancing toward the tools he’d pulled out earlier. Too bad Izuku didn’t know he was walking into a total home repair war zone. Everything in this old house seemed to need fixing—pipes that leaked, doors that didn’t close right, a whole shelf he’d managed to knock off the wall by accident. He scowled at the thought, running a hand through his hair. “Why the hell am I even thinking about this? It’s not a big deal,” he muttered under his breath. Then came the sound of a motorcycle pulling into the driveway, the deep rumble cutting through the silence of the house. Bakugo froze for a moment, his heart suddenly racing with anticipation. He rolled his eyes at himself, trying to ignore the way his pulse seemed to speed up. “Get it together,” he muttered, turning toward the door.
The engine cut off, and moments later there was the sound of boots on the driveway. Bakugo clenched his fists, forcing himself to look as casual as possible when he opened the door. Izuku stood there, helmet tucked under one arm, his green hair tousled from the ride. He gave Bakugo a small, shy smile, the same one that always seemed to throw him off. “Hey,” Izuku said, his voice warm but hesitant. “Hope I’m not too late.”
“Nah,” Bakugo grunted, stepping aside to let him in. “You’re fine.”
Izuku’s eyes darted around as he stepped inside, taking in the clutter and the obvious signs of half-finished repair jobs. He gave a small chuckle, setting his helmet down near the door. “Wow,” Izuku said, his tone teasing but kind. “You weren’t kidding about this place being a mess.”
“Shut up,” Bakugo muttered, though there was no real bite in his words.
Izuku wandered through the house with an old, slightly battered notebook in hand, jotting down notes as he surveyed each problem area. His green eyes scanned the space carefully, his brows furrowing in concentration as he muttered to himself about tools, materials, and possible fixes. “Door frame’s warped,” he mumbled, scribbling something down before glancing at the hinges. “Might just need to reinforce it. Or… maybe the wood’s rotted…”
Bakugo followed a few steps behind, arms crossed over his chest. He tried to act casual—like he wasn’t paying close attention—but his crimson eyes lingered on Izuku as he moved around the room. The way Izuku leaned down to inspect a crooked shelf, the muscles in his arms flexing as he adjusted the notebook in his hand. The faint crease of concentration on his forehead when he tilted his head to examine a broken pipe. The way his shirt shifted just enough to show off his shoulders when he reached up to touch a loose ceiling panel. Bakugo gritted his teeth, forcing himself to look away as heat crawled up the back of his neck. “What the hell am I even doing?” he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible. But every time Izuku moved, every time he mumbled something under his breath in that focused way of his, Bakugo’s eyes betrayed him, darting back to take him in. He hated how distracting it was, how his chest felt annoyingly tight the longer they spent in the same space.
Izuku, seemingly oblivious to Bakugo’s internal battle, flipped to a fresh page in his notebook. “Okay,” he muttered, crouching to inspect the bottom of a leaning cabinet. “This one’s gonna need more than just screws. The whole thing’s uneven.”
“You sure you can fix all this, nerd?” Bakugo finally asked, his voice gruff as he tried to mask his thoughts.
Izuku looked over his shoulder with a soft smile, his green eyes meeting Bakugo’s for a brief moment. “I think I can manage,” he said, his tone light and confident. Bakugo’s heart did that stupid flip again, and he immediately looked away, pretending to inspect a nearby crack in the wall.
As Izuku stood back up, brushing dust off his hands, Bakugo crossed his arms and gave him a pointed look. “So,” he started, his voice gruff, “how much do you want me to pay you for this?”
Izuku turned to him, blinking in surprise before his lips quirked up into a laugh. “Pay me?” he asked, his tone light but amused.
“Yeah, dumbass,” Bakugo grumbled, frowning at the look Izuku was giving him. “You’re doing a ton of work. I’m not just gonna let you do it for free.”
Izuku shook his head, his green eyes shining with something close to disbelief. “Bakugo,” he said, still chuckling softly. “I told you before—this isn’t the city. We help each other out here.”
Bakugo’s scowl deepened, his cheeks warming slightly at the sincerity in Izuku’s voice. “Yeah, well, I’m not some charity case,” he muttered. “I don’t want to owe anyone anything.”
Izuku tilted his head slightly, studying Bakugo for a moment before letting out a soft sigh. “Alright,” he said, still smiling as he tucked the notebook under his arm. “How about this—you buy the materials, and we’ll call it even?”
Bakugo hesitated, his arms still crossed as he mulled over the offer. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford the materials. And, honestly, it felt fair. “Fine,” he muttered, trying to sound indifferent as he looked away. “But you better not half-ass it.”
Izuku grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “Don’t worry,” he said lightly. “I don’t half-ass anything, Bakugo.” The words hung in the air for a moment longer than Bakugo liked, and he quickly turned his attention to a crooked picture frame on the wall, ignoring the way his chest tightened at Izuku’s smile. Izuku flipped back through his notes, humming softly as he went over everything he’d written down. He looked up at Bakugo, his expression thoughtful. “With everything that needs fixing, and depending on how fast we can get the materials… it’ll probably take at least a month or two to get it all done,” he said casually, tapping his pen against the notebook.
Bakugo’s stomach dropped and flipped at the same time. A month or two? Of having Izuku around this much? His first instinct was to throw his head into the nearest wall because the thought was both a dream come true and a goddamn nightmare all at once. On one hand, being around Izuku that much meant more of his shy smiles, more of that muttering he found way too endearing, and more time to admire him when he wasn’t paying attention. On the other hand, it meant more of the same—and that was exactly the problem. Bakugo could already feel his walls cracking under the weight of his own feelings, and two months of Izuku being in his space, fixing his shit and smiling at him like that, might actually break him. “That long, huh?” Bakugo muttered, trying to sound indifferent as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
Izuku gave him an apologetic smile. “Yeah, sorry,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “There’s just a lot to do, and I don’t want to rush it. But hey, at least your place will be in great shape when it’s done.”
Bakugo grunted in response, looking away before Izuku could see the faint blush creeping up his neck. “Tch. Whatever. Just don’t drag your feet, nerd.”
Izuku chuckled softly, the sound making Bakugo’s heart clench in that annoying way again. “Don’t worry,” Izuku said, his tone light. “You’ll have the best-looking house in town when I’m done.” Bakugo rolled his eyes but said nothing, silently bracing himself for what the next two months might bring. Izuku glanced around the house, deciding to start small. The kitchen cabinets were an easy enough fix, and he already had the tools with him. He set down his bag on the countertop, pulling out a screwdriver and a small level. As he began setting up, Bakugo leaned against the doorway, watching him with his arms crossed. Izuku was focused, crouching down to inspect the loose cabinet door. “This one’s not too bad,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “It just needs new screws and a little adjustment to sit level.”
Bakugo cleared his throat, pushing himself off the doorway. “Hey,” he said gruffly, “show me how to do it.”
Izuku blinked, straightening up as he looked over at Bakugo, clearly surprised. “You want to learn?”
Bakugo shrugged, trying to look indifferent even as he avoided Izuku’s gaze. “Yeah. Why not? Figure it’s better than calling someone every damn time something breaks.”
A grin tugged at Izuku’s lips, his green eyes lighting up with amusement. “What’s this? The city boy going country?” he teased, laughing softly.
“Shut up,” Bakugo snapped, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I just want to learn, alright? That’s all.”
Izuku chuckled, shaking his head as he crouched back down to the cabinet. “Alright, alright,” he said, his tone playful. “I’ll teach you. But no complaining if it’s harder than it looks.” Bakugo knelt down beside him, his scowl still firmly in place, but Izuku’s easy smile made it impossible to stay annoyed. That damn smile—so genuine and warm—it was like it had a way of pulling him out of his usual sharp edges. “Here,” Izuku said, holding out the screwdriver. “Start by taking out these screws so we can reset the hinges. Just keep the pressure steady, or you’ll strip them.” Bakugo grunted in acknowledgment, taking the screwdriver and getting to work as Izuku watched, occasionally giving pointers, and as much as Bakugo tried to focus on the task, he couldn’t help but glance at Izuku out of the corner of his eye, his heart doing that stupid thing again every time Izuku smiled.
When Izuku finally packed up his tools and left, Bakugo stood at the door, watching the green-haired man pull out of the driveway on his motorcycle. The low rumble of the engine faded into the distance, leaving the house eerily quiet. Too quiet. Bakugo scowled, shutting the door with more force than necessary. He didn’t like how empty the place felt now, how much he hated the silence without Izuku muttering to himself or throwing him one of those shy, stupidly charming smiles. He stormed into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water, trying to shake the feeling off. But no matter how hard he tried, his mind drifted back to Izuku.
By the time Bakugo climbed into bed that night, the frustration bubbling inside him was impossible to ignore. He stared at the ceiling, his arms crossed behind his head, his jaw clenched as his thoughts spiraled. He hated how his heart leapt at the thought of seeing Izuku tomorrow—not just at the gym, but at his house again, fixing something else that Bakugo couldn’t. It made him feel ridiculous. Like some lovesick idiot, waiting for their crush to notice them. I’m not some goddamn schoolgirl. Bakugo thought angrily, turning onto his side as if that would help him escape the swirling emotions in his chest.
But no matter how much he told himself it was stupid, no matter how much he scolded himself for acting like this, he couldn’t ignore the way his chest tightened at the thought of Izuku’s smile, or the way his heart raced when he thought about spending more time with him. Bakugo groaned, rolling onto his back again as he dragged a hand down his face. “This is so fucking stupid,” he muttered to himself, his voice muffled in the quiet room. But deep down, he knew the truth, he didn’t hate the way he felt. What frustrated him the most was that he couldn’t stop himself from wanting more.
Kirishima and Bakugo strolled into the small café just as the lunch rush had begun to settle. The familiar scent of coffee and fresh pastries filled the air, and behind the counter, Mina and Uraraka were chatting while restocking the display case. The moment they spotted the two cops, Mina’s face lit up. “Well, well, look who decided to grace us with their presence!” she called out, waving at them.
Uraraka grinned, leaning over the counter. “Hey, boys! Keeping our streets clean?”
Bakugo rolled his eyes, already grumbling as they approached. “The only dirt in this town is the dirt under my damn fingernails,” he muttered, holding up a hand as if to emphasize the point.
Kirishima barked out a laugh. “Man, you’re impossible!” he said, clapping Bakugo on the back.
Mina and Uraraka laughed as well, shaking their heads. “Classic Blasty.” Mina said, her grin wide. As the two cops placed their orders, the café door chimed, and Bakugo turned to glance at the new arrival. The sight that greeted him nearly made him drop his wallet. Izuku strolled in, his mechanic uniform slightly wrinkled and smudged with grease, a streak of it faintly visible on his cheek. His messy green hair glinted in the sunlight streaming through the window, and that same stupid, dazzling smile was plastered on his face as he looked around. Bakugo’s stomach flipped, and he clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the very real urge to drool. He turned back toward the counter, scowling hard enough to scare anyone who didn’t know him better.
Izuku spotted the group and made his way over, still smiling as he greeted them. “Hey, guys!” he said warmly, his green eyes bright as he stopped to talk. Kirishima immediately launched into conversation, grinning as he asked Izuku about his work and whether his bike was running okay. Mina and Uraraka chimed in as they bustled around the counter, throwing playful remarks and teasing comments whenever they could. Bakugo, on the other hand, sat stiffly in his chair, keeping his gaze fixed anywhere but on Izuku. He could hear Izuku’s voice, see his smile out of the corner of his eye, and it was driving him insane.
When the Mina called out their names, Kirishima grabbed his drink and clapped Bakugo on the shoulder. “Alright, we should get back to work,” he said, smiling at Izuku. “Catch you later, man!”
“See you around!” Mina and Uraraka added cheerfully.
Bakugo stood, fumbling with his drink as he turned to Izuku. “Uh… bye, nerd… see you later.” he muttered, his words stumbling over each other as his crimson eyes finally met Izuku’s. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, his usual sharpness replaced by something softer—something bordering on lovesick.
Izuku, oblivious as always, gave him a soft smile and a quick wave. “See you later, Bakugo!”
As the two cops walked out, Mina, Uraraka, and Kirishima all exchanged a single glance. Their knowing looks spoke volumes, silently confirming what they’d all just witnessed. But none of them said a word to Bakugo or Izuku, deciding to save their teasing for another time.
Kirishima walked into the café right after his shift, still in his uniform, the bell above the door jingling softly. He glanced around, relieved to see the place was empty except for the two people he’d come to see. Mina and Uraraka were cleaning up behind the counter, chatting casually as they worked. Without wasting a second, he marched right up to them, his face lit with determination. “Did you see that earlier?” he blurted out, planting his hands on the counter.
Mina and Uraraka exchanged a knowing look before squealing in unison, their excitement barely contained. “Oh my god, we saw it!” Mina said, throwing her rag down and leaning closer to Kirishima. “He was, like, totally lovesick. It was adorable!”
“Bakugo never stumbles over his words like that,” Uraraka added, her grin wide. “And the way he was looking at Izuku? Honestly, I didn’t think he could look at anyone that way!”
Kirishima nodded, his expression growing serious. “Exactly! He’s totally into him. And Izuku—he doesn’t even notice. Like, at all.” The girls nodded in agreement, their excitement bubbling as they leaned closer to him. “We have to do something,” Kirishima said firmly, looking between them. “Bakugo’s still new here, but he’s a good guy. He’d be so much better for Izuku than Toga ever was.”
At the mention of Toga, Mina’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a look of distaste. “Don’t even get me started on her,” she muttered. “We’ve known her forever, and she’s always been bad news.”
“Yeah,” Uraraka agreed, crossing her arms. “And Izuku deserves way better. He’s been through enough.”
Kirishima nodded again, his voice lowering slightly. “We’ve got a few months, maybe, before she comes back. That’s our window to help Izuku see there’s something better out there for him. And, honestly? I think Bakugo’s exactly what he needs.”
Mina grinned, her excitement returning full force. “So, what’s the plan, Kiri? How do we get Izuku to fall for the grumpy city boy?”
Uraraka leaned closer, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “And how do we make sure Bakugo doesn’t self-destruct in the process?”
Kirishima chuckled, leaning on the counter. “We’ll figure it out. But one thing’s for sure—this is gonna be fun.” Kirishima nodded firmly, his face set with determination. “We need to get Denki and Sero in on this,” he said, glancing between Mina and Uraraka. “But we’ve gotta be smart about it.”
Mina raised an eyebrow, already grinning. “Smart how? Like, sneaky-smart or ‘don’t be obvious’-smart? Because I don’t think Denki even knows what ‘subtle’ means.”
Uraraka laughed, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to spell it out for him. And Sero, too—he loves to tease. If they’re not careful, they might blow the whole thing.”
Kirishima sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s exactly why we can’t be too obvious. Izuku’s still fragile right now, and that bond he’s building with Bakugo—it’s still new. If we push too hard, we could scare him off. Or worse, make him retreat completely.”
Mina frowned, her playful demeanor softening. “You’re right. Izuku’s finally starting to come out of his shell again. We can’t mess this up.”
“Exactly,” Kirishima said, leaning on the counter. “We need to make it feel natural. Like we’re just… nudging them in the right direction. Letting them figure it out on their own.”
Uraraka smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “So, no matchmaking shenanigans? Just light manipulation?”
Kirishima laughed, shaking his head. “Exactly. Just enough to get them to spend more time together—without them realizing we’re doing it.”
Mina tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Okay, so we keep it low-key. We don’t tease Bakugo in front of Izuku, and we definitely don’t make Izuku feel pressured.”
“And,” Uraraka added, “we make sure Denki and Sero don’t blow it by being, well… Denki and Sero.”
Kirishima grinned, straightening up. “Alright, we’ll get them on board. But remember—subtle. We can’t push too hard. If this works, it’ll work because Bakugo and Izuku figure it out themselves.”
Mina and Uraraka exchanged a look, nodding in agreement.
“This is gonna be fun,” Mina said with a smirk.
Uraraka laughed. “Let’s just hope we don’t screw it up.”
Bakugo stood by the bench press, pretending to focus on his next set, but his eyes kept drifting toward Izuku. The guy was in his own world again, muttering softly as he adjusted the weights on the squat rack. His loose tank top clung to his shoulders in just the right way, showing off the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. His messy green hair was damp, sticking to his forehead as he pushed through another set. Bakugo swallowed hard and immediately looked away, scowling at himself. Damn it, not again. This wasn’t the first time he’d caught himself staring, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But as much as he hated to admit it, there was no denying the truth anymore.
He had a big, fat crush on Izuku. And maybe—just maybe—he’d had it the whole damn time. The realization hit him like a weight to the chest, making his scowl deepen. He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms as he forced his gaze away from Izuku. How the hell did this happen? He wasn’t some starry-eyed kid, falling for someone just because they were nice to him. He wasn’t the type to get caught up in stupid feelings like this. And yet, here he was—his heart racing every time Izuku smiled, his chest tightening every time Izuku muttered to himself, his damn brain refusing to shut up about how good the guy looked lifting weights. This is so goddamn stupid. Bakugo thought, running a hand through his hair. But even as he tried to scold himself, his gaze flicked back toward Izuku, watching as he racked his weights and wiped the sweat from his brow. Yeah, there was no denying it anymore. He was absolutely screwed.
The two of them walked out of the gym together, the cool morning air a sharp contrast to the heat from their workout. Izuku was talking about something—his words flowing as easily as they always did—but Bakugo wasn’t listening. He was too distracted. His eyes kept flicking to Izuku’s face, and no matter how much he tried to focus on what he was saying, his attention kept getting pulled to the faint freckles dusting Izuku’s cheeks and nose. How had he never noticed just how many there were? They were subtle, but now that he saw them, they were all he could see. The way they stood out against his flushed skin, the way they seemed to catch the light. Bakugo’s brain completely short-circuited, his thoughts a jumbled mess of oh no, he’s hot and stop staring, you idiot.
“Bakugo?” The sound of Izuku’s voice snapped him out of his daze. He blinked, realizing Izuku was looking at him expectantly.
“Huh?” Bakugo grunted, his tone more defensive than he intended.
Izuku tilted his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I asked if you wanted to grab something to eat,” he repeated, his voice light with amusement.
Bakugo froze for a moment, mentally scrambling to recover. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Sure,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide how clammy they’d gotten.
Izuku smiled again, and Bakugo cursed silently at how it made his chest tighten. “Cool,” Izuku said, adjusting the strap of his gym bag as they walked. “There’s this little diner not far from here. It’s nothing fancy, but they have the best breakfast sandwiches.”
“Whatever,” Bakugo grumbled, doing his best to sound indifferent. But inside, his mind was racing, already scolding himself for getting distracted again.
It was getting worse—this crush. And it was only a matter of time before he slipped up completely. Bakugo stared at his plate, trying desperately to focus on his food, but it wasn’t working. They were sitting in a booth at the small diner, the scent of coffee and freshly made breakfast sandwiches filling the air, but all Bakugo could focus on was him. Izuku sat across from him, smiling as he chatted easily, completely oblivious to the fact that Bakugo was giving him the lamest, most pathetic heart eyes known to man. It was driving Bakugo insane. Izuku was leaning slightly on the table, his green eyes bright and animated as he talked about some ridiculous story from his high school years. He waved his hands as he spoke, his voice full of energy, his words spilling out in that rambling, muttering way that Bakugo had somehow come to find endearing.
And the worst part? Bakugo wasn’t even mad about it. He barely heard half of what Izuku was saying, too busy taking in every detail—the way his freckles shifted when he smiled, the slight rasp in his voice from their workout earlier, the way he rested his chin on his hand for a second before realizing he was rambling and straightening up. It was pathetic. He was pathetic. But Izuku, as always, was oblivious. “So, what about you?” Izuku asked, tilting his head slightly as he sipped his coffee. “What were you like in high school? I bet you were the guy everyone was afraid of but secretly wanted to be friends with.”
Bakugo blinked, his brain needing a second to process that Izuku had asked him a question. He sat up straighter, scowling slightly to cover his nerves. “Tch. Something like that,” he muttered, shoving a piece of his sandwich into his mouth to avoid elaborating.
Izuku chuckled, clearly not put off by Bakugo’s response. “I can see it,” he said, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’ve got that whole ‘tough guy with a soft heart’ vibe going on.”
Bakugo nearly choked on his sandwich, coughing as he glared at Izuku. “What?” he sputtered.
Izuku laughed softly, waving his hand. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he said, though his tone still held that playful edge. Bakugo grumbled something under his breath, trying to shove down the heat creeping up his neck. But as Izuku started talking again, falling back into his usual rambling, Bakugo found himself staring again, his chest tightening with every smile and laugh. He was in so much trouble.
Notes:
Hello hellooooo my beautiful people! I’m so lazy I really didn’t feel like posting after work today but I’m here after procrastinating for an hour. I still have one more chapter to post😭 The things I do for y’all.
Someone has a big ol’ crush~ 😌 Stay calm when I say this because we have A LOT of story left but things are happening for our boysssssss ahhhh!!!
Okay see you soon bestieeeee drink water byieeee
Chapter 11: Chapter 11
Notes:
After a while, as Izuku was finishing up the last adjustment, Bakugo straightened and wiped his hands on his pants. “I’m gonna make dinner,” he announced abruptly, his tone gruff as he turned toward the kitchen.
Izuku looked up, blinking in surprise before a grin spread across his face. “City boy can cook?” he teased, leaning back on his heels with a playful glint in his eyes.
Bakugo rolled his eyes, already walking away. “You’ll find out,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll let you know when it’s done.”
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Kirishima sat at his desk, a stupidly smug grin plastered across his face as he occasionally glanced at Bakugo. The redhead didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to. His expression alone was loud enough to set Bakugo on edge. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Bakugo slammed his hands onto his desk and glared at his partner. “Alright, what the hell is your problem, shitty hair?”
Kirishima’s grin only widened as he leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. “Oh, nothing,” he said, dragging out the word in a tone that screamed he was absolutely up to something.
Bakugo narrowed his eyes, glancing around the room like Kirishima was setting him up for some elaborate prank. “Don’t give me that crap,” he growled. “You’ve been grinning like a damn idiot since we sat down. Spill it.”
Kirishima gave him an innocent shrug, but his smirk betrayed him. “So…” he started, his tone casual but dripping with mischief. “How was your breakfast?”
Bakugo froze, his scowl immediately deepening. “What?” he snapped, crossing his arms defensively.
“You know,” Kirishima said, barely holding back a laugh. “Breakfast. At the diner. With Izuku.”
Bakugo blinked at him, his brain scrambling for an explanation. That had been less than an hour ago—how the hell did Kirishima already know? “How the actual fuck do you know about that?” he demanded, his voice rising just slightly.
Kirishima leaned forward with a smug smile, clearly enjoying himself. “Jiro works there,” he said simply. “She texted Denki, and Denki texted me. It’s kind of impressive, actually—small town gossip travels fast.”
Bakugo’s eye twitched, his ears turning red as he glared at his partner. “That’s fucking ridiculous,” he muttered, crossing his arms tighter.
Kirishima chuckled, leaning back in his chair again. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” he said with mock innocence. “Jiro just said you two looked cozy. Real cozy.”
Bakugo bristled, his voice defensive as he snapped back, “It was just breakfast, you dumbass! We were talking. That’s it.”
Kirishima raised an eyebrow, giving Bakugo a long, knowing look that made the blonde’s skin crawl. “Sure,” Kirishima said, dragging out the word as he gave an exaggerated shrug. “Whatever you say, bro.” Bakugo growled under his breath, his hands clenching into fists as he glared at his desk, refusing to meet Kirishima’s smug gaze. Kirishima wisely didn’t push further, but the grin never left his face. It was later in the day, and the precinct had fallen into its usual afternoon lull. Kirishima sat across from Bakugo, absently flipping through a file, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. After a few minutes of deliberation, he finally made up his mind. Subtlety isn’t working. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and lowering his voice so no one else could hear. “Hey, Bakugo,” he said, his tone casual but edged with purpose.
Bakugo barely glanced up from his paperwork. “What now, shitty hair?”
Kirishima grinned faintly, but there was a glint of determination in his red eyes. “I know you’ve got a thing for Izuku.”
The words hit Bakugo like a slap, and his pen froze mid-sentence. He looked up sharply, his glare razor-sharp. “What the hell are you talking about?” he hissed, his voice low but defensive.
Kirishima smirked, leaning closer. “Don’t play dumb, man. You can deny it all you want, but your eyes say something completely different.”
“I don’t—” Bakugo started, his tone heated, but Kirishima cut him off with a raised hand.
“Save it,” Kirishima said firmly, his voice still hushed but serious. “You don’t have to say it out loud. I can see it every time you’re around him. You’re into him, and that’s okay.”
Bakugo’s mouth opened, ready to argue, but he couldn’t force the words out. Instead, he scowled and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered after a moment. “He’s got a girlfriend.”
Kirishima leaned forward again, his expression growing sharper. “Yeah, a girlfriend who’s a trash human,” he shot back. “You can’t argue that, Bakugo. Everyone in this town knows it. Toga’s bad news.” Bakugo’s jaw tightened, but he couldn’t deny it. Not when Kirishima was staring him down with that unshakable determination. “And you know what else?” Kirishima continued, his voice softening slightly. “I think you could show him there’s more to life than Toga. He doesn’t deserve to be stuck with someone like her. You could help him see that, Bakugo. You could be the person who shows him what real care looks like.”
Bakugo swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he looked away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual bite.
“Don’t I?” Kirishima countered, his tone gentler now. “You’ve got something real in front of you, man. Don’t just sit there and let it slip away because you’re scared. Izuku deserves better, and I think you know that better than anyone.” Bakugo’s grip on his arms tightened, his mind racing with Kirishima’s words. He hated how much they hit home, how much they echoed what he already knew deep down.
Bakugo leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling as Kirishima’s words settled deep into his chest. He hated how much they made sense. Hated that the way Izuku made him feel—the fluttery, light, ridiculous feeling he swore he’d never experience—but it was so real. He didn’t believe in love at first sight. That kind of crap was for movies and cheesy books, not for someone like him. What he felt for Izuku wasn’t love—not yet. But those feelings? They were the realest thing he’d ever felt. Izuku made him feel like a damn schoolgirl with her first crush, and it was stupid. Completely and utterly ridiculous. But at the same time, it was… addicting. The way Izuku’s smile could brighten a room. The way his muttering, something that should’ve annoyed Bakugo, somehow calmed him. The way his freckles made his chest ache in a way he didn’t know how to explain.
He let out a heavy sigh, finally dragging himself out of his thoughts. Kirishima was still watching him, his expression a mix of patience and barely-contained excitement, waiting for Bakugo’s response. Bakugo sat up, shooting Kirishima a look that made the redhead sit up straighter. Then, with a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, Bakugo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “You any good at being a wingman, shitty hair?” he asked, his tone gruff but laced with a rare hint of humor.
Kirishima blinked, caught off guard for a second, before his face split into a wide grin. “Wait… are you serious?”
Bakugo rolled his eyes, scowling. “Yeah, I’m serious. I’m gonna need a damn good one if I’m gonna pull the nerd, so don’t screw it up.”
Kirishima’s grin turned smug as he clapped Bakugo on the shoulder, his eyes practically sparkling. “Oh, bro, you have no idea what you’ve just unleashed. I’m the best wingman. Just wait—I’m gonna make this happen for you.”
Bakugo groaned, already regretting his decision. “Don’t make it weird,” he muttered, though he couldn’t help the faint smirk on his face.
Kirishima just laughed, his excitement practically bouncing off the walls. “This is gonna be so much fun.”
After their shift ended, Kirishima dragged Bakugo back to the café, practically shoving him through the door despite Bakugo’s loud grumbling. The little bell above the door jingled, and Mina and Uraraka looked up from behind the counter. Mina’s face immediately fell into an exaggerated look of disappointment, while Uraraka barely held back a laugh. “Kiri!” Mina scolded, planting her hands on her hips as she glared at him. “I told you to be subtle! Subtlety is, like, rule number one! It hasn’t even been a week!”
Kirishima raised his hands defensively, though his grin was wide and unrepentant. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said cheerfully. “But guess what? He’s in.” With that, he gave Bakugo a firm pat on the back.
Bakugo stood there for a moment, crossing his arms and glaring at the three of them as the pieces started clicking into place. “Wait a damn minute,” he muttered, his crimson eyes narrowing suspiciously. “How long have you idiots known about this?”
The three of them exchanged a quick glance, a silent agreement passing between them before they turned back to Bakugo. “Since the bar,” they said in perfect unison, their voices completely matter-of-fact.
Bakugo blinked, his jaw tightening as he stared at them. “The bar?” he snapped, his voice sharp with irritation and, if he was honest, a little embarrassment.
“Yup,” Mina said, grinning mischievously. “Your heart eyes gave you away in, like, two seconds. Seriously, you were so obvious.”
“And you practically tripped over your words saying goodbye the other day.” Uraraka added with a smirk. “That was when we knew.”
Bakugo groaned, dragging a hand down his face as his ears turned red. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he muttered, his tone laced with annoyance.
Mina pointed a finger at Kirishima, still glaring at him. “And this guy couldn’t even keep it under wraps for a week. Honestly, Kiri, I’m disappointed in you.”
Kirishima just shrugged, still grinning. “Hey, subtlety’s not my thing. And besides, I didn’t screw it up—Bakugo’s actually on board!”
Bakugo scowled, shooting Kirishima a glare. “Don’t make me regret this, shitty hair,” he muttered darkly.
But Mina’s grin returned in full force as she leaned forward on the counter. “Oh, this is gonna be so much fun,” she said, her tone practically dripping with excitement.
Uraraka nodded, her eyes twinkling. “Yup. Operation ‘Get Izuku to See the Light’ is officially a go.”
Bakugo groaned again, rubbing the back of his neck as he muttered, “This is gonna be a disaster.”
Kirishima clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh. “Nah, man. This is gonna be epic. Bakugo scowled as Mina and Uraraka started to exchange excited looks, already diving into some overly dramatic brainstorming session.
“Save the planning for later,” Bakugo cut in, his gruff voice pulling their attention back to him.
Kirishima raised an eyebrow. “What? You’re not gonna stick around and plot with us?”
Bakugo paused, his jaw tightening slightly as he glanced at the clock on the wall. His tone softened, almost hesitant, as he muttered, “The nerd’s probably on his way to my house by now.”
The room went silent for a beat, and then Mina’s face split into a wide, knowing grin. Uraraka clasped her hands together with a soft squeal, and even Kirishima’s expression turned smug as he leaned back against the counter. “Well, then,” Mina said, her grin growing impossibly wider, “what are you still doing here?”
“Yeah,” Uraraka chimed in, her voice teasing. “Go get your man, Bakugo!”
Bakugo’s face flushed faintly as he shot them all a sharp glare. “Shut the hell up,” he grumbled, his voice low.
Kirishima clapped him on the back, laughing. “Hey, we’re just saying. You’ve got this, bro.”
Bakugo rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as he turned toward the door. “You’re all a bunch of damn idiots,” he said, though there wasn’t much bite to his words. Despite his grumbling, he gave them a small, lazy wave over his shoulder as he pushed the door open.
“Good luck!” Mina called out after him, her voice sing-song.
“Don’t mess it up!” Uraraka added with a laugh. Bakugo didn’t respond, but the faint warmth spreading through his chest wasn’t something he could deny. As he stepped into the cool afternoon air, he let out a quiet sigh, his thoughts already racing.
Bakugo had just stepped onto his porch when he heard the low growl of an engine pulling up. He turned his head, expecting the familiar sight of Izuku’s motorcycle, but instead, a massive truck rolled into his driveway. The striking difference caught Bakugo off guard, though it didn’t make Izuku look any less attractive. Music thumped from the truck, the bass vibrating the air around it. Izuku’s tattooed arm hung lazily out the window, and that same damn grin Bakugo couldn’t stop thinking about was plastered on his face as he parked and called out, “Hey!”
Bakugo crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the porch railing. His eyes lingered for a moment too long on Izuku’s inked arm, the way the sun glinted off his skin. “Where’s the bike, nerd?” he asked, his tone gruff as always, though he couldn’t quite keep the curiosity out of his voice.
Izuku chuckled as he hopped out of the truck, his boots crunching against the gravel. “Oh, I’m a man of many surprises,” he teased, walking around to the back of the truck to open the tailgate. Bakugo watched as Izuku leaned against the truck bed, his messy green hair catching in the light, the smudges of grease on his arms making him look effortlessly rugged. Izuku grinned as he continued, “I use the truck for hauling stuff and in the winter. But other than that? It’s all about the bike.”
“Tch,” Bakugo muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stepped closer. “Guess you’re not a complete idiot, then.”
Izuku laughed, his voice easy and carefree. “Thanks, Bakugo. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Bakugo rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lips twitched upward before he could stop it. Watching Izuku like this—relaxed, confident, grinning like he had no care in the world—it was enough to make that stupid fluttery feeling in Bakugo’s chest return full force. “What’re you hauling, anyway?” Bakugo asked, his tone casual as he nodded toward the truck.
Izuku smirked, slapping the side of the truck bed. “A couple of tools I thought we might need for today,” he said, leaning in to grab a bag. “Figured I’d come prepared.”
Izuku crouched down by the broken cabinet, a screwdriver in one hand as he carefully adjusted the hinge. “See this?” he said, tilting his head toward Bakugo. “The screws here weren’t long enough to support the weight, so over time, the door started sagging. We’ll use longer screws and reinforce the other side too. Simple fix.” Bakugo stood nearby, arms crossed but eyes fixed on everything Izuku did. He nodded, soaking in every detail like a sponge. Not just because he wanted to be useful, though that was part of it—he hated sitting around while someone else did the work. But mostly, it was because he wanted to impress Izuku someday. To show him he could take what he learned and actually put it to use. Izuku continued, his voice soft and patient as he explained each step. Every now and then, he’d hand Bakugo a tool or ask him to hold something steady, and Bakugo would jump at the chance, eager to help even in the smallest way.
After a while, as Izuku was finishing up the last adjustment, Bakugo straightened and wiped his hands on his pants. “I’m gonna make dinner,” he announced abruptly, his tone gruff as he turned toward the kitchen.
Izuku looked up, blinking in surprise before a grin spread across his face. “City boy can cook?” he teased, leaning back on his heels with a playful glint in his eyes.
Bakugo rolled his eyes, already walking away. “You’ll find out,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll let you know when it’s done.”
Izuku chuckled softly, shaking his head as he stood and dusted off his hands. “Looking forward to it,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. Bakugo stood in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed, staring at the counter like it held all the answers. He felt a rare sense of uncertainty creeping in, something he wasn’t used to. He wanted to impress Izuku. No, he needed to. He wanted to see Izuku smile as he ate, to hear him hum happily with that stupidly charming grin on his face. But the question loomed in his mind—what the hell should I make? After a moment of indecision, Bakugo pulled out his phone and stared at his contacts. With a groan, he made the reluctant choice to text Kirishima. The guy used to be Izuku’s best friend, he reasoned. If anyone knows what Izuku likes, it’s him.
Bakugo: What’s the nerd’s favorite food?
It didn’t take long before his phone buzzed, and he opened Kirishima’s reply.
Kirishima: Katsudon! Always used to eat it when were kids. Why? 😉
Bakugo smirked, ignoring the stupid winky face. He glanced at his pantry and fridge, mentally ticking off the ingredients he’d need. Pork, eggs, rice, breadcrumbs, dashi… perfect. He had everything. He rolled up his sleeves, a small grin tugging at his lips as he set to work. This wasn’t just going to be any katsudon—it was going to be the best damn katsudon Izuku had ever had. “Oi, nerd,” Bakugo called from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel as he glanced toward the doorway.
A moment later, Izuku appeared, his boots clunking softly against the floor as he walked in. Bakugo had to work hard to keep his face unreadable as Izuku sniffed the air, his green eyes lighting up. “Wow,” Izuku murmured, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he took in the savory aroma wafting through the kitchen. “That smells amazing.” Bakugo didn’t respond, leaning casually against the counter as he watched Izuku’s eyes land on the table. There, in all its perfectly plated glory, were two steaming portions of katsudon. The golden-fried pork cutlet rested on fluffy white rice, topped with a perfectly cooked egg and garnished with a sprinkle of green onions. Izuku stared at the plates, his eyes going wide as if he were about to drool. “Is that… katsudon?” he asked, his voice almost reverent.
“Yeah,” Bakugo said, shrugging nonchalantly as he crossed his arms.
Izuku blinked, his gaze flicking to Bakugo, his expression a mix of surprise and delight. “Wait—did you know this is my favorite?”
Bakugo froze for half a second before recovering, raising an eyebrow and pretending to be surprised. “Huh? Nah,” he said, his tone gruff. “Just had all the ingredients on hand. Lucky guess, I guess.”
Izuku stared at him for a moment longer before breaking into a warm, genuine smile. “Well, this is… amazing,” he said, walking over to the table and taking a seat. “Thanks, Bakugo. Seriously.”
Bakugo turned away, muttering, “Yeah, yeah, just eat it.” But his chest felt lighter than it had all day as he grabbed his own plate and joined Izuku at the table. Bakugo picked up his chopsticks, pretending to focus on his own plate, but his sharp eyes flicked toward Izuku as he took his first bite. He watched closely, his heart beating a little faster than he wanted to admit, as Izuku brought the perfectly cooked piece of pork and rice to his lips. The moment the food hit Izuku’s tongue, his green eyes widened, and a deep, satisfied hum slipped out—borderline a moan. Bakugo immediately choked on his own bite, coughing as he grabbed for his glass of water. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, taking a gulp of water to recover.
Completely oblivious to Bakugo’s internal chaos, Izuku was already digging in for another bite, his expression glowing with pure delight. “Bakugo,” Izuku said, his tone filled with awe, “this is… this is the best katsudon I’ve ever had!” Bakugo froze, his mind screeching to a halt as those words echoed in his head. Best he’s ever had. A part of him—the ridiculous, needy, possessive part—immediately screamed, I’ll make it every damn day if you want me to! The imaginary beast inside him rattled the bars of its cage, roaring to break free and claim victory. But externally? Bakugo stayed cool.
He shrugged, taking another bite of his food like it was no big deal. “Tch. Thanks,” he muttered casually, though the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Izuku didn’t notice the barely-there smile as he eagerly devoured more of the katsudon, humming happily after each bite. Meanwhile, Bakugo sat across from him, every nerve in his body tuned to Izuku’s every movement, every sound, even as he fought to keep his cool exterior intact. As they ate, the conversation drifted to casual topics—work, the house, even the gym—but eventually, Bakugo found himself blurting out something he hadn’t fully thought through. “Hey,” he said, poking at his rice with his chopsticks. “You can call me by my first name, y’know. Katsuki.” His voice was gruff, like it had been dragged out of him, but he didn’t look up as he said it. “Since we’ve spent so much time together already—and are gonna spend more—you might as well.”
Izuku, mid-chew, froze for a moment. His green eyes flicked up toward Bakugo, wide with surprise. He quickly nodded, though his mouth was still full. Then, with a muffled attempt at speaking, he tried out the name. “Katsuki,” he said, though it came out sounding more like “Kacchan” through his stuffed cheeks.
Bakugo raised an eyebrow, setting down his chopsticks. “The hell’s a Kacchan?” he asked, his voice equal parts confused and annoyed.
That was enough to send Izuku into a fit of laughter. He quickly swallowed his food, covering his mouth as he tried not to choke, but the laughter kept spilling out. “I’m sorry!” Izuku wheezed, his voice light and breathless. “I didn’t mean to! It just… came out like that!” He tried again, saying “Katsuki” this time, but the memory of his slip-up was too much, and he dissolved into laughter all over again. Bakugo sat frozen for a second, watching Izuku laugh so hard his shoulders shook. His green eyes sparkled with joy, and the corners of his mouth curled into that impossibly warm smile. For a brief, unguarded moment, Bakugo stared at him with a dopey, lovesick expression plastered across his face. Then Izuku glanced up at him, and Bakugo snapped back to reality, quickly fixing his expression into a scowl. Izuku, still smiling, pointed his chopsticks at Bakugo playfully. “If you can call me nerd, then I get to call you Kacchan. It’s only fair.”
Bakugo frowned, bristling at the suggestion. “No, it’s not,” he snapped. “That’s not my name!”
Izuku tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Well, technically, it’s kind of close to your name,” he teased. “And I think it suits you.”
“Tch. No way,” Bakugo muttered, crossing his arms.
But Izuku just grinned, his voice steady and teasing as he said, “Sorry, Kacchan. I’m sticking with it.”
Bakugo opened his mouth to protest again, but the way Izuku was looking at him—with that stupid smile and those bright, teasing eyes—made the words stick in his throat. He grumbled under his breath instead, giving up the fight for now. “Whatever,” he muttered, picking up his chopsticks again. “Do what you want, nerd.” Izuku just chuckled, satisfied, as they returned to their meal.
Bakugo wiped his hands on the dish towel, walking over to the table to grab Izuku’s plate. Izuku was still sitting, chatting animatedly about something—Bakugo wasn’t even listening anymore. His focus shifted entirely the second he got close enough to notice the grain of rice stubbornly stuck to Izuku’s cheek. “You’ve got rice on your face, nerd,” Bakugo muttered, nodding toward Izuku’s face.
Izuku blinked, pausing mid-sentence. “Oh, I do?” He raised a hand to swipe at his cheek, completely missing the spot.
“Missed it,” Bakugo said, gesturing vaguely toward the area.
Izuku frowned and tried again, swiping higher this time but still nowhere near the rice. “Here?”
Bakugo sighed, his voice low and gruff but with no real heat. “No. Jesus. Higher.”
Izuku chuckled nervously, swiping again and clearly missing the mark once more. “I’m hopeless,” he muttered, laughing softly.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Bakugo muttered back. Without even thinking, he stepped closer and reached out, his hand moving toward Izuku’s face. It was meant to be a simple, thoughtless gesture. A quick swipe to get rid of the rice and move on. But the moment Bakugo’s hand got close, Izuku flinched. It wasn’t dramatic, but it was enough—a sharp, involuntary jerk of his shoulders and a small, audible gasp as his body stiffened. Bakugo froze mid-motion, his hand hovering just inches from Izuku’s cheek. His crimson eyes widened slightly, locking onto Izuku’s startled green ones. For a moment, the room went completely silent. Izuku’s laughter died in his throat, replaced by a fragile tension that hung heavy in the air. Bakugo’s chest ached, a slow, crushing pressure settling there as realization hit him like a brick. He knew flinches like that. He’d seen them before—on people trying to hide bruises, on people waiting for the next blow. And seeing it on Izuku made his stomach churn. “Hey—“
“Nah, it’s okay! Sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Izuku stammered, a nervous smile flickering across his face as he hurried to wave off his own reaction. “It’s just a reflex—really, don’t worry about it—”
“Don’t,” Bakugo said softly, his voice rougher than he intended.
Izuku froze, his words faltering as he stared at Bakugo. Without a word, Bakugo closed the small distance between them. Slowly, carefully, he reached out again, this time moving like Izuku might shatter under his touch. His thumb brushed softly against Izuku’s cheek, wiping the stray grain of rice away in a single, gentle motion. But he didn’t pull back immediately. His hand lingered, his calloused palm resting lightly against Izuku’s cheek. It wasn’t just about wiping away the rice anymore—it was an apology without words, an unspoken acknowledgment of the weight Izuku carried.
Izuku’s breath hitched, his green eyes wide as they locked onto Bakugo’s. His skin tingled under the warmth of Bakugo’s hand, and for a second, the tension in his chest felt like it might crush him. “I…” Izuku started, but his voice broke, his words faltering as his gaze searched Bakugo’s face.
Bakugo’s expression was unreadable—his sharp crimson eyes softened just slightly, but his jaw was tight, and there was something raw in the way he looked at Izuku. “Don’t apologize,” he said quietly, his voice low and rough, then even softer. “Not when you have nothing to apologize for.” Finally, he pulled his hand back, breaking the spell. Izuku blinked, startled by the softness in Bakugo’s tone. He watched silently as Bakugo grabbed his plate without another word and walked to the sink, his back turned as he began rinsing it off.
Izuku sat frozen at the table, his hands clenched in his lap, his heart pounding so loudly he could barely think. He raised a shaky hand to his cheek, brushing the spot where Bakugo’s hand had been, and his mind replayed the moment over and over again—the warmth of Bakugo’s touch, the way he looked at him like he was something fragile. Tears pricked at the corners of Izuku’s eyes, and he quickly blinked them away, his chest tightening with a mix of emotions he didn’t know how to name. He had no idea what to say, no idea how to process what had just happened. And Bakugo, standing at the sink, was no better off. His fists clenched around the edges of the plate he was washing, his mind racing as he replayed the way Izuku had flinched—the way that soft, startled gasp had sounded. It wasn’t just something small. It was a scar he couldn’t see but could feel, and it made him want to destroy whatever had caused it.
Notes:
Hello again!! I’m back! (It’s literally been an hour if that)
The end of this chapter *chefs kiss* just a sprinkle of angst to leave off the week 😏 I’m so excited for next week already! Like the deeper we get the more excited I am to post.
I don’t have much to say today my cat keeps bugging me to play fetch. Yes my cat plays fetch. No I didn’t teach her that. My cat has -100 IQ but I love her 😌
Anyway thank you for reading, leaving kudos, commenting, bookmarking and everything in between I hope you have an amazing week bestie 💕 ily byieee 🫰🏻
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