The Psychoanalysis of Deku

by vision_in_black

Summary:

Aizawa turns to face them both.

“I would like you two to pair up for the assignment.”

Katsuki freezes, just for a moment. He can't contain the scoff that leaves his lips when he comes back online, eyes narrowing.

"And why the hell should I be forced to partner up with him?"

 

“What the hell did I do to you?”

-

University AU where Deku is traumatized and Katsuki is an asshole.

Chapter 1

Notes:

strap in, kiddies, and get ready for a university AU starring our favorite boys! :D

couple of warnings before we start:

-deku has PTSD in this fic and had a HORRIBLE childhood (domestic violence, drugs, homelessness, neglect, death, the whole nine) if that is not for you, DO NOT READ! the tags will spoil it, but please read them if you’re sensitive. take care of yourselves <3

-this is a slow burn, but there WILL be smut in this fic. mark my words >:)

and here we gooooooo!

Katsuki walks into the lecture hall, early as always. This lecture is one of his favorites. Professor Aizawa is a kickass teacher. He’s deadpan and has a way of explaining things so that Katsuki doesn’t need notes to remember. He takes them anyways, obviously, because that’s just the way he is.

Katsuki finds a seat in the front, pulling out his laptop and notebook with a signature scowl. The sounds of students filing in fill his ears, loud and grating. It’s too early for them to be this hyped up already. His scowl deepens but he keeps his gaze to the front of the hall, remembering his anger management. Ignore, don’t engage. Ignore, don’t engage, he chants to himself like a mantra.

The clock finally hits the time when the lecture is set to begin, and Aizawa walks towards the podium. Katsuki sits up straighter, ready to absorb any and all information Psychology 101 has to offer.

“Alright, settle down. Tuesday, we touched on how trauma breeds disorders. We are going to dive deeper into that and learn the certain disorders trauma can cause. This is not true in every case, but in most-“

The door slams open at that moment, Aizawa’s attention being stolen to the back of the room as he shoots his eyes towards the commotion. The push bar from the door clangs lowly through the hall and Katsuki grits his teeth. What D-list fucking extra had the goddamn nerve to show up late, let alone loudly at that?

He shoots his crimson eyes toward the back of the hall, following Aizawa’s gaze. A stocky man holding a to-go coffee cup stumbles into the room, wide, green eyes frantic as they land on the professor. He’s slim, shorter than Katsuki. His baggy black jeans cover his red converse, a large dark gray hoodie loose against his torso as his backpack strap pulls against the fabric. His sleeves are pushed up and Katsuki can see the tattoos that litter his right arm as he raises it in greeting, an embarrassed smile on his face. He wears a slim, silver chain on his neck that glitters in the fluorescents. His curly, green hair bounces as he makes his way to the front of the class. The man’s eyes nervously scan for a place to sit in the packed room. Katsuki’s scowl deepens, annoyed as he turns back to the front of the room. Who the hell does this dude think he is?

“Ah, Midoriya.”

Professor Aizawa greets him, eyebrow raising while hiding a smile. He’s obviously entertained with the man’s dramatic entrance. He nods to the open seat next to Katsuki, and Katsuki tenses.

“Go ahead and sit next to Bakugo so I can get started.”

Katsuki doesn’t look back to see his reaction. What he does do is full on glare at his professor. The spots next to him were empty for a reason, the extras in his class being too chicken shit to approach him. He liked it that way.

Aizawa gives him a blank look in return before turning back to the board. Katsuki grips his pen so hard, he’s sure it almost snaps.

Jaw clenched, Katsuki looks over as the man sits clumsily in the chair next to him, adjusting his backpack to fit under his chair.

“S-sorry.”

He breathes it out quietly, but thankfully, that’s all he says. Katsuki doesn’t respond, choosing to ignore him instead, and the professor continues the lecture. Aizawa begins to talk about the different disorders that can occur from trauma, and Katsuki locks in to his words. The man next to him shuffles as he grabs his notebook, starting to take notes. Katsuki doesn’t look, attention fully on the professor. He’s quiet after the entrance he just had, clearly embarrassed.

Good, Katsuki thinks to himself.

“And what are some disorders you think you would find in a household with violence?”

Aizawa asks, eyes landing on the lecture hall as he waits.

Katsuki’s hand shoots up, not even needing to think about it too much. Easy fucking work.

The professor points to him, leaning back onto the podium as he awaits his answer.

“Antisocial personality disorder, borderline—obviously—and PTSD. Trauma fucks with brain development, so emotional regulation goes to shit. Neglect or abuse early on? That’s the breeding ground."

Katsuki snaps off sharply, voice loud and impatient like he’s annoyed the question was even asked.

He doesn’t look at the man next to him, but he feels him shifting beside him. Probably scribbling down what he just said like he's some damn stenographer. Whatever. Keep fucking quiet and don't piss me off, he thinks to himself.

Aizawa suppresses a proud grin at his answer, hands clasping behind his back as he approaches Katsuki’s seat. He can feel that man—Midoriya, his mind supplies— has stopped writing, turning towards him slightly. He doesn’t look.

“And what if the violence is not directed towards the child? What if the violence is directed towards another person in the household, let’s say, parent on parent violence? Do you think the trauma response would be the same?”

He scoffs, like the question is the most obvious thing in the world.

"Not directed towards the kid? That's bullshit. Just seeing a parent hurt, or even screamed at, is traumatic. Kids get real attached to their parents, even if one sucks. And they can't regulate their emotions, so obviously it'd still be the same."

He snaps, eyes glaring at the professor in annoyance. Katsuki still keeps his eyes far away from the man next to him, but he can hear how he’s stopped his incessant scribbling. He can feel his creepy eyes on him.

The professor nods in thought at that, turning back towards the board.

“Hmm, okay. So you believe PTSD is a given in that situation? And do you think that’s appropriate? People struggle to believe that a person who grew up in a violent household would suffer from PTSD, as it is commonly only held to those who have been to war. What would you say to those people?”

Oh. Now that pisses him off. His eye twitches as he grips his pen, feeling the plastic creak under his fingers.

"Oh, those ignorant morons can kiss my ass. They have no right to invalidate someone's trauma just cause it's not what's "typical". You don't have to be a damn war vet to be traumatized. The human brain, especially a child's, is fragile. Anything at the wrong time at the wrong age can cause damage. Trauma is trauma."

He hears Midoriya’s pen hit his desk. He clearly dropped it, the dumbass. He can see him gaping at him in his peripheral, but he doesn’t turn. He keeps his eyes forward.

Aizawa looks over his shoulder at Katsuki, pleased. He turns his attention away from him, done with his interrogation as he faces the rest of the room.

“And what about the different forms of PTSD? Is one more prevalent for children who grew up in a violent household? Which one is it and what is the difference?”

Katsuki raises his hand to answer, but he’s beaten to the punch. Katsuki can see from the corner of his eye as the man next to him raises a shaky hand, clearly nervous after his bold entrance. The professor points to him anyways. Midoriya swallows before he answers.

“There are five different types of PTSD. Acute Stress Disorder, Complex PTSD, Uncomplicated PTSD, Comorbid PTSD, and Normal Stress Response. The most common form of PTSD in people who have ongoing childhood trauma is… Complex…”

He mumbles quietly, as if he’s talking to himself. His gaze is a bit shifty, not quite holding eye contact with the professor. Even though he’s sure there was no way Aizawa could pick up on the nerd’s mumbling, the professor nods at his response. He gestures with his hand to get the other to finish his question.

Midoriya takes a shaky inhale before he continues, a little louder this time.

“Complex PTSD, or C-PTSD is a form of PTSD that comes from prolonged trauma and abuse. That’s why it’s more prevalent in cases of childhood trauma, because abuse and neglect is rarely a one-off thing...”

He continues as the professor nods. Katsuki blinks. He almost turns to look at the other man, but he stops himself. The nerd sounds like a goddamn textbook and it surprised him, that’s all.

Professor Aizawa turns his back to the students as he faces the board. Midoriya breathes out a tiny sigh, slumping in his chair as he’s released from the professors line of questioning.

“What is the difference between C-PTSD and the other forms? Is it a significant?”

Katsuki finally flicks his eyes towards Midoriya, just for a split second—long enough to see his slumped shoulders and those stupid tattoos that trail down his freckled, right arm. The nerd looks like a damn sticker book. His eyes flicker towards the scribbles at the top of his page, scanning as he reads his name quickly. Deku? What kind of name is that? He shoots his gaze back to the professor, jaw tight and hand raised. He calls on Katsuki quickly.

"C-PTSD isn't just PTSD with extra steps. It's worse. Messes with your identity, your emotions, how you attach to people. Regular PTSD? You can try to avoid triggers—still function if you're lucky. C-PTSD? You don't even know who you are half the time because your brain spent years surviving hell."

He bites off each word like it’s a challenge—and yeah, maybe it is.

"So, yeah, dumbass extras can keep pretending trauma looks one way... But they’ve never had their whole goddamn childhood rot from the inside out."

Katsuki keeps his gaze forward, still refusing to look at the nerd next to him for more than a second.

Aizawa nods at Katsuki’s response before doing something that makes his eyes narrow in confusion. He glances at Midoriya—or rather, Deku—giving him a soft, almost pitying look. He stiffens and Aizawa turns away.

What the hell was that?

The lecture continues as Aizawa touches on the different forms of PTSD; their causes, triggers, symptoms. Katsuki take notes absentmindedly, trying to ignore that itchy feeling in his brain that he’s missing something. Deku’s pen scratches next to him as he types, lulling Katsuki into a bit of a trance. Soon enough, the lecture is wrapping up and Aizawa is speaking again, arms crossed over his chest.

“Next week, we’ll talk about personality disorders and what those look like. I want you to write me a psychoanalysis of a person with PTSD. It can be someone you know personally or someone you don’t. Submit it into the portal by midnight Monday. I’ll see everyone Tuesday morning, bright and early. And on time”

He finishes, looking at Deku. He flushes and begins to pack his belongings up.

Katsuki scoffs and starts packing away his laptop and notebook, ready to get the hell out of there.

The itch in the back of his mind hasn't left him the whole lecture, and it pisses him off even more. He still refuses to look at Deku—who is somehow managing to be more annoying and more quiet than anyone else in the class.

Once all of his things are packed up, he shoots out of his desk, ready to be the first person out the door. He needs some damn time to himself.

“Bakugo. Midoriya. A moment, if you will.”

Aizawa hums out, looking bored with his eyes set on packing papers away into his briefcase. Deku freezes, hands on his bag and eyes wide.

Great. Just... great.

Katsuki’s jaw clenches as he stops in his tracks, turning around. He shoves his hands into his pockets, shooting a glare at Aizawa. He better have a good reason to stop him—especially with him.

The nerd gave him a goddamn headache, and he wasn’t sure why.

Aizawa gestures them both closer. Deku stands awkwardly at the professor’s desk and waits for Katsuki to approach. Once the other students are gone, Aizawa turns to face them both.

“I would like you two to pair up for the assignment.”

Katsuki freezes, just for a moment. He can't contain the scoff that leaves his lips when he comes back online, eyes narrowing.

"And why the hell should I be forced to partner up with him?"

Katsuki points a rude finger at Deku, irritation obvious in every inch of his being. It's pretty damn clear he’s pissed off at him for existing—and even more pissed at Aizawa at the moment.

Deku’s brow furrows in irritation at Katsuki’s response. His chest puffs up as he turns to face the other man.

“What the hell did I do to you?”

He spits out with venom. It makes Katsuki pause, eyes widening in surprise slightly. Damn, this nerd’s got some balls on him.

Aizawa gives a rare chuckle at their back and forth, erasing the board and not looking at either of them.

“I think you could give each other some insight on this particular assignment.”

Deku stiffens and his hands shake. Aizawa gives him that strange, soft look he gave him earlier. Katsuki has never seen his professor wear that look before and it confuses him.

“You don’t have to go into depth, just surface level.”

Aizawa reassures him gently and he relaxes.

What the actual fuck is happening?

“You can write one paper and submit it together instead of two.”

Deku releases a shaky breath, eyes flickering towards Katsuki like he’s nervous he’s going to explode.

Katsuki scoffs again.

"Insight? I could give him insight. As if he could have anything to offer me."

Katsuki’s eyes narrow as he glares at Deku, taking note of the way his eyes keep flickering towards the pissed off blonde. Every new observation just pisses him off more.

"Are you seriously gonna make me do this, Professor? Can't I do it alone? I'm more than capable of doing work on my own."

Katsuki tries again, shooting an annoyed look at the teacher. But even though he hopes, he just knows he's going to say no.

Aizawa gives Katsuki a hard, no bullshit look. Like talking to a fucking wall.

“You know, try not to judge a book by its cover, Bakugo. People have more depth than you think. Pick his brain a little. Might give you some inspiration.”

Well, he thoroughly just shut him down. Not like he was expecting anything different. Aizawa was a stubborn fuck when he wanted to be.

Katsuki rolls his eyes. ”Pick his brain a little” What is this? A damn therapy session?

"Tch, whatever."

Katsuki grumbles, crossing his arms and shifting his glare to Deku. He’s pissed and it's all his fault.

"Fine. But he better not get in my way. Got it, Deku?"

It's more of a demand than a question, the bitter way he spits his name causing the other to flinch, brows furrowed in confusion.

Deku opens his mouth to speak before he probably thinks better of it and shakes his head, facing Aizawa instead. He nods at his professor, not looking at Katsuki before grabbing his belongings and making for the door. He seems a bit… hurt by Katsuki’s reaction. Before Katsuki can turn to leave, Aizawa grabs his arm. Katsuki tenses. He didn’t like people touching him.

“Bakugo. I know you want to help people. I see your interest in psychology, so go about this… gently. I think this will be good for both of you. Neither of you… attach to others well. Alright?”

Katsuki freezes, irritation clear on his face. The way he brought up the fact that he ’couldn’t attach to others’ pissed him off further.

"Don't treat me like a kid, Professor."

Katsuki’s tone is cold, teeth ground together. It's bad enough that Aizawa is forcing him to work with someone else, but now he's lecturing him? He’s not a goddamn kid that needs to be taught a lesson. He doesn’t attach to people because they all just end up disappointing him. Simple as that.

What the hell is the old man even hoping for?

Aizawa shakes his head, releasing his arm.

“I’m not. But he’s… he’s been through a lot. You could learn a thing or two about this specific assignment. Just… try. That’s all I’m asking.”

There he goes again. Talking about his damn trauma. Why should Katsuki care? Just cause he went through something bad, he needs to treat Deku special? That's bullshit.

But his grade was on the line. And the way Aizawa was looking at him was really starting to bother him.

“Tch.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking away.

"Fine. I'll do it. No promises that I'll learn anything."

Aizawa nods, seemingly pleased with his answer and no longer pushing the subject. Katsuki quickly turns and stalks out of the lecture hall without saying another word.

As he exits the room, he spies Deku standing off to the side of the hallway. He’s leaning onto the wall, oblivious to his surroundings as he types on his phone. The sight makes Katsuki’s blood run hot for some reason and he scoffs as he walks past. Deku’s eyes look up from his phone at the noise. They meet Katsuki’s and his body stiffens.

“Try not to be late again, idiot.”

Those green eyes narrow, his lips pursing in irritation as he slips his phone into his pocket. He pushes off of the wall, shrugging his backpack higher up his shoulder before turning away to walk down the hallway.

“Fuck off, Bakugo. You’re such a dick. Don’t worry about the assignment. I’ll tell him we paired up, but I’ll do it on my own.”

Katsuki blinks, not expecting Deku to say anything. Did he just? He did not just dismiss Katsuki like that. And him work on the assignment? Yeah, fucking right. Over his dead body.

Katsuki lengthens his strides to catch up to Deku’s, fists clenching to keep from decking the kid in the face.

“You fucking deaf, nerd? You can’t just ‘do it on your own’. Aizawa said it has to be together.”

Deku rolls his eyes, the little shit, avoiding Katsuki’s as he continues to stomp down the hallway.

“Yeah, but you don’t want to. So don’t. I’m not some fucking charity case and it pisses me off that he thinks so. I shouldn’t have told him…”

He looks irritated and hurt, like his trust was broken. He clears his throat, eyes forward.

“I’ve got it, though, so don’t worry. You’ll get an A. I know this shit like the back of my hand.”

That makes Katsuki pause, alarm bells going off in his head but he ignores them. No, fuck that. He ain’t working on this shit alone. Katsuki’s not going to fail because Aizawa finds out they didn’t work together. Deku’s pride could fuck all the way off.

Katsuki scoffs, anger rolling over him in strong waves, but he manages to keep his cool somehow.

"Tch, you're damn right you're not a charity case."

He picks up his pace to match Deku’s angry strides, now at his side. Damn, he's pretty fucking mad. He almost impressed.

"Don't be stupid. There's a reason he paired us up."

Why the hell is he even still arguing? He should just let him work on this damn thing on his own like he said. But something about the way he sounds... It rubs Katsuki the wrong way.

Deku snorts humorlessly, hand gripping the shoulder strap of his bag.

“Yeah, cause you need to learn some empathy and I’m a fucking train wreck. That’s it.”

Katsuki glares at him. It annoys him how close to the truth this sounds. He’s not unempathetic, damn it. He just didn’t like weak ass extras.

"Yeah? What's that supposed to mean? What, you think you're some poor little lost cause?"

Deku freezes, right in the middle of the hallway. Katsuki take a few steps before he realizes he’s no longer beside him. He turns to meet him with an arrogant smirk. It almost falls off of his face when he meets the other man’s eyes. He looks pissed. Like, pissed pissed.

Deku takes a step towards Katsuki. Then another. And another until he’s right in the man’s face. He tilts his head to the side, surveying Katsuki with his eyes narrowed, clearly sizing him up. He shoves one chipped black fingernail into his chest.

“Fuck you. You don’t know what the fuck I’ve been through. No, I’m not a lost cause. You know why? Cause I’ve never stayed down long enough to let anyone else get the upper hand. I get right back up. Every. Time. Fucking try me.”

He stomps away from Katsuki and he’s left in a daze, rubbing his sore chest where Deku’s painted fingernail was just digging into it. No one has ever stood up to him like that before. No one.

Katsuki turns and absentmindedly makes his way to his next class with a pissed off scowl on his face. His chest is bruised and so is his ego.

Notes:

so, uhhhhhhhh.

deku is a bit of a self-insert in this fic. needed to get a lot out, ya know?

not sure how many chapters this will have, come along with me for the ride :p

comment if you like it and see ya soon! <3

edit: you’re not supposed to like katsuki yet. it’s an enemies to lovers for a reason xD

Chapter 2

Summary:

Katsuki tenses for a moment, weighing his options. Call Deku’s friend and ask about him? Did he really give a fuck that much? Sure, the shitty nerd got on his nerves and pushed his buttons, but was that really enough to go snooping around and gathering intel? He thinks back at the way Deku blatantly defied him, ignoring him completely and blowing him off.

 

Yes, the fuck it was.

Notes:

Deku’s a little shit and Bakugo’s a brat :p

Katsuki floats through the rest of the day in a bit of a daze. Classes seem to drag, and he felt like he didn’t retain a goddamn thing. He would find himself rubbing at his chest absentmindedly. It stung. Not just where Deku jabbed him. No, it was something else.

Something deeper.

Katsuki ignores it, just like he always does. His resting bitch face did a good job at scaring off any extras or professors that tried to talk to him throughout the day. They gave him a side eye, but luckily let him pout in peace. He was quiet through Government, sulking through Forensics, and downright irritable through Contemporary Ethics.

Finally, the shit show of a day had ended and he pushes open the heavy wooden doors, stomping through campus to make his way back to his dorm. October was particularly cold this year, the overcast day matching his dreary mood.

Who the hell did Deku think he was, getting in his face like that?

“Tch.”

Dead leaves crunch under his boots with every step as he shoves his hands into his coat pockets to warm them. The campus is packed with students, mulling about and huddling together like penguins to keep warm as they chatter around him about everything and nothing. He keeps his scowl on as he marches down the middle of the sidewalk, forcing others to walk around him. Through the sea of people, he catches a dark blob in his peripheral and his shoulders stiffen. He already knows who it is without even having to look just by the way his body reacts on instinct.

He turns his head anyway, and sure enough, there was Deku. He’s sitting cross legged on the metal bench, headphones on with a book in his lap. He still has on the same dark gray hoodie that he was wearing earlier, not nearly enough to combat the cold of late October.

’Dumbass is gonna catch a cold like that.’ Not that Katsuki cared.

He finds his feet moving on their own accord, and soon enough, he’s standing in front of the oblivious nerd with a scowl on his face.

He glares down at Deku, watching his eyes scan the page of his book, mouthing the words to whatever song he has playing in his ears. After a few moments, he seems to realize he’s not alone—that Katsuki’s looming over him. Katsuki can tell by the way his shoulders tense. Deku’s eyes flash to his, brows pinched together in irritation. He uses one hand to slip his headphones off to rest around his neck, heavy drums and vocals bleeding into the air once they were no longer muffled by his ears.

“What?”

Deku spits at him, obviously still pissed about their earlier encounter. The thought of Deku being pissy at him makes Katsuki smirk with pride.

I can get under the little shit’s skin, too. Good.

Deku’s eyes narrow at his arrogant expression as he snaps his book closed, tilting his head and leaning back onto the bench. They glare at each other for a few moments, some kind of weird pissing contest happening between them that garners some strange looks from passersby’s.

“Fuck you readin’?”

Deku’s annoyed expression falters into one of confusion, just for a moment, before he slips it back on his face. He looks like a pissed off bunny, and the imagery made Katsuki inwardly chuckle. Deku tucks one of his curls behind his ear and Katsuki can see various silver studs and hoops trailing up his ear.

“Why do you care? Don’t you have somewhere to be? ‘Assholes Anonymous’, or something?”

Deku’s eyes land back on his book again as he opens it once more. His gaze stays on the page, but his eyes don’t move. He’s acting like he’s reading. Trying to ignore Katsuki, but he can’t. Not really. Katsuki is too much to ignore, his brash energy oppressing Deku’s sense of calm.

“Tch. Fuck you, nerd.”

Katsuki almost turns around. Almost backs down and stomps his happy ass home, ready to scream into his pillow and punch something in the comfort of his own dorm. But something keeps him anchored in that spot. And that something had freckles and a shitty attitude.

“We need to work on this assignment. I ain’t gonna fail cause you’re a lazy asshole. Let’s go.”

Deku laughs humorlessly, keeping his eyes downcast as he flips a page. Katsuki narrows his gaze. He wasn’t even reading. His too-big green eyes weren’t moving to follow the words. Fucker wanted to brush Katsuki off so badly that he’s acting like he’s actually reading his shitty book. Well, he ain’t giving him the chance. Deku continues to avoid his gaze before he answers in a bored tone that grates on every one of Katsuki’s nerves.

He was trying to get a rise out of Katsuki. And it was working.

“Can’t. Busy.”

Katsuki scoffs, clenching his fists in his pockets while widening his stance like he’s ready to fight. He wants to throttle the damn nerd, but no. Too many witnesses.

“Doing what? Pretending to read? Get the fuck up, let’s go.”

Deku’s fingers twitch where he holds his book, black nail polish stark against the white pages. Hah, there we go. Get mad. He looks up at Katsuki finally and tilts his head, squinting with his cheeks flush from the cold.

“I have to work. Shift starts in 30.”

And then he looks back down at his fucking book. Ignoring Katsuki. Again. Katsuki’s teeth grind together and he can feel his nails digging crescent shapes into his palms. He takes a deep breath, walking himself back from the edge he was about to go tumbling off.

God, this little asshole got to him.

“What, you got a shitty part time job at McDonald’s or somethin’?”

Why was he asking? Why did he care? He should just go home to write the assignment himself, then throw Deku under the bus for making him do it alone. He doesn’t know why the thought of doing just that makes the sting in his chest flare.

Deku snorts while turning another page. Katsuki scowl digs a little deeper into his cheeks. Nobody can read that fast. He’s not fooling Katsuki.

“A bookstore, actually. Not everyone has a mommy or daddy to put them through school. Some of us have to work for what we’ve got, Kacchan.”

Katsuki freezes, mouth falling open and eyes widening. What the fuck? Kacchan? Kacchan?! Katsuki audibly snaps his mouth closed, glaring down at Deku while his body trembles with rage. Every calming technique he’s learned is about to go barreling out the window, shattering the glass on impact. Fucking Kacchan?

“Don’t call me that.”

Katsuki’s voice is cold and deadly, full of the promise of violence. Apparently, Deku is a man with no self preservation skills because he looks up at Katsuki and smiles. Fucking smiles. Bright and wide, stretching his cheeks and distorting his stupid fucking freckles. He laughs out loud as Katsuki simply stares at him. He sees a silver glint on his tongue. Tongue piercing.

Deku closes his book again, slipping it into his backpack before standing and adjusting the bag onto his shoulders. Still fucking smiling.

“Nah, I think I’ll keep calling you that. It suits you. It’s cute.”

Cute? What? Katsuki was not cute—angry, vicious, an asshole. But not fucking cute.

Katsuki just stands there, gaping at Deku like a dumbass as Deku beams up at him condescendingly. Yes, up. Katsuki has a good head on the nerd.

“Well, I’ll be taking my leave now. See you later, Kacchan.”

Deku claps him on the shoulder hard with a laugh before he slips his headphones back on and downright skips down the sidewalk. And Katsuki doesn’t move from in front of the bench—frozen.

He’s unsure how long he stands there, trying to breathe himself away from a full-blown fit of rage. Eventually, the cold gets to him and he moves, heading in the direction of the dorms. Fuck, if he was stomping like a pissed off toddler before, he was moving like a man on a mission to murder now.

He makes it to his dorm in record time, his anger increasing his speed tenfold. He can feel his limbs defrost as he walks down the hallway, shoving his key into the lock and twisting all while grumbling under his breath. Something, something, killthatfuckingnerd, something, something.

He slams the door behind him—too loudly probably, neighbors are gonna bitch again—before toes his shoes off, setting them next to a pair of well-worn Timbs that are haphazardly shoved against the wall. Fuck. Kirishima’s home.

He rolls his eyes, frown pulling at his lips. The damn scowl he’s been wearing all day is beginning to make his cheeks hurt. All he wanted was a moments peace. That’s it. But apparently, the universe wanted to fuck him today. Go fucking figure.

Rubbing his hands together to bring some warmth back into them, he makes his way into the cramped dorm room. Now that the blood is no longer roaring through his ears in anger, he can hear Kirishima singing some fucking pop song too loudly while clanging around in the kitchen. Well, if you can call the corner where they shoved their microwave and mini fridge a ’kitchen’, that is. He shrugs out of his jacket, hanging it on the hook embedded into the wall before collapsing onto his bed with a groan.

“Hey, hey, Bakubro! Just in time! I’m making my signature ‘dorm room noodles’. You want some?”

Katsuki moans into his pillow in disgust. Fuck no, he didn’t want some. The MSG laden concoction would give Kirishima a heart attack soon enough. The bullshit his roommate called ‘food’ was scary at the best of times and downright heinous at the worst. He’d rather eat his nightstand. At least it came from the earth at some point. He turns his head to get his point across so that his words aren’t muffled into the pillow.

“Like hell I want that poison you call ‘food’. My arteries are clogging just thinking about it.”

He can see Kirishima pouting out of the corner of his eye and he turns his face back into the pillow to avoid it. His next words are a mumbled mess into cotton, but Kirishima picks them up anyway. Of course he does. Kirishima is the human embodiment of a goddamn golden retriever, hearing and all.

“Just shut the fuck up and let me sulk in peace.”

Katsuki can hear Kirishima’s footsteps as he approaches his bed and feels a weight sink down towards the edge. Fucking great.

“Whoa-ho. What’s going on with you? I haven’t seen you this grumpy since you slept through your alarms and were 5 minutes late to your first class last semester. What’s gotcha so pissy, man?”

Katsuki rolls over onto his back with a growl, crossing his arms over his face. The smell of Kirishima’s overly seasoned noodles hits him and he crinkles his nose. Gross.

“None of your fucking business, Shitty Hair. Go eat your shitty noodles on your side of the dorm.”

Katsuki snaps at him, but Kirishima doesn’t back down, too used to Katsuki in one of his moods.

“C’mon, bro. You can talk to me! I’ve known ya since our first year in high school. I won’t judge. Plus, showing your feelings is manly!”

Katsuki lowers his arms from his eyes to catch the tail end of some weird air-punch that Kirishima does, puffing out his chest with a stupid smile on his face. He snorts in response, lips twitching as they threaten to turn upwards. He catches himself just in time, slipping back on his scowl. He’s not some fuckin’ sap smiling at his dumb friend. He’s not.

It does make him wonder, though. Maybe he should talk to Kirishima about it. The shit with Deku, that is. Not about everything, of course not. But maybe he can weasel some information out of Rocks-for-Brains. Maybe he knows something about the little twerp that had burrowed his way under Katsuki’s skin. Deku’s been plaguing his mind all day. Not for any other reason other than annoyance, obviously. The sting in his chest is still festering as he sits up slowly. He clears his throat and Kirishima perks up at the noise.

“Fine. There’s this… fucking asshole in my Psych class.”

Katsuki spits out the words like they’re acid, burning his throat on the way out. The image of stupid fucking Deku crosses his mind. Him sitting there, legs crossed on the bench, glaring up at him with that defiant look in his eyes. Of Deku standing toe to toe with him, pushing his shitty, chipped nail into his chest with his freckled cheeks red in anger. That fucking face he would make when Aizawa looked at him like he was something that needed fixing. Like he was broken. Katsuki itches his chest to quell the sting.

“Fucking Aizawa partnered us up on this assignment. I can’t get a read on him. He’s so fucking annoying. Thinks he can talk back to me—like we’re equals or some shit.”

Katsuki realizes he’s saying too much, but he can’t stop. The words just keep tumbling out as Kirishima blinks in a daze. Katsuki’s absolutely unloading on him. He tells him about it all—about class, about their altercation in the hall, about the other altercation by the benches. The soggy noodles are long forgotten in their styrofoam cup as Kirishima balances them on his thigh with a blank look on his face.

“And he called me fucking Kacchan. Can you fucking believe that?!”

Kirishima laughs at that, finally snapping out of his trance. He was clearly taken aback by Katsuki’s rambling. He doesn’t do that. Doesn’t fucking ramble. But today had been weird as hell and it felt good to let it out. Fucking sue him.

“Seems like you’ve met your match. What’s this dudes name? Maybe I know him.”

Katsuki scoffs, moving to sit on the edge of the bed with Kirishima. His eyes glare down at his lap as his fingers rip a stray string out of his comforter, needing to destroy something as he rips it into tiny pieces.

“Shitty Deku or some shit. Little short fucker with green hair, tattoos, piercings, and creepy ass green eyes. Got a fucking mouth on him, too. You know him?”

Katsuki’s eyes flicker towards Kirishima in curiosity as he finishes, seeing the look of utter confusion on the other man’s face. Kirishima furrows his brow as he thinks, trying to put the pieces together. His eyes light up as he suddenly seems to connect the dots.

“You mean Midoriya? I have Creative Writing with him! He’s actually real fucking cool, but kinda quiet. Keeps to himself. Writes in a little black notebook or reads most of the time. Damn, what did you do to get him so pissed off? He’s usually pretty chill.”

Katsuki ignores the perplexity he feels over the fact that Kirishima takes Creative Writing—what the hell?—before he sits up straighter, hands clenching into fists at his side.

“Fucking chill? That little asshole is anything but chill. He damn near shoved me, Shitty Hair! Got in my face and everything. He wants his goddamn lights knocked out or something.”

Katsuki grumbles quietly as he finishes his rant, anger slowly tapering off as he remembers the quiet nerd he saw sitting on a bench. That person definitely sounded a whole lot like who Kirishima was describing. He was stuck in his own little world, nose in a book while his music drowns out the noise around him. But then he remembers that same fucker laughing in his face as his gave him a cutesie nickname—fucking mocking him. His anger flares up again.

“I gotta work with him, though, so I wanna know what I’m getting myself into. What the hell’s his damage anyway?”

Kirishima thinks for a moment, chopsticks scooping up a bite of his noodles before shoving them into his mouth. Red stained broth drips down his chin and Katsuki grimaces in response. Fucking gross.

“Well, I don’t know him very well but I know he hangs around Uraraka a lot. They’re pretty tight. We could call her and ask.”

Uraraka?

“Who the hell is Uraraka?”

Kirishima blinks. And then laughs. Loudly.

“Bro, are you serious?! Short, brunette girl? You’ve had, like, 5 classes together. C’mon, man.”

Katsuki’s forehead scrunches as he wills himself to remember. It takes him a minute, but soon enough, a face appears into his mind.

“Round Cheeks?”

Kirishima looks at him like he’s the stupid one before he shakes his head.

“You and your weird nicknames. Yeah, I guess. ‘Round Cheeks’. Wanna call her?”

Katsuki tenses for a moment, weighing his options. Call Deku’s friend and ask about him? Did he really give a fuck that much? Sure, the shitty nerd got on his nerves and pushed his buttons, but was that really enough to go snooping around and gathering intel? He thinks back at the way Deku blatantly defied him, ignoring him completely and blowing him off.

Yes, the fuck it was.

Katsuki sighs, rubbing his eyes to will away the exhaustion as he tries to ignore Kirishima eating sloppily beside him. He gives him another side eye, in addition to a wrinkled nose of disgust, before he nods.

“Yeah, fuck it. Call her.”

Kirishima chews around a mouthful of noodles as he nods, putting his chopsticks into the cup of noodles to fish his phone out of his pocket. He clicks around for a few seconds before he sets his phone onto his thigh, bringing his attention back to his meal. A shrill ringing breaks the quiet and Katsuki’s heart jumps in his chest.

After a few rings, a soft, feminine voice cuts in, people chattering and clinking obvious in the background. She must be in public.

“Hey, Kiri! What’s up?”

Kirishima’s bright smile takes over his face and he swallows before responding.

“Hey, Uraraka! Whatcha up to? Workin’?”

The clinking grows louder, followed by the hiss from some kind of machine. Coffee shop, Katsuki’s mind supplies as he puts together the context clues he’s gotten from listening to the background noise.

“Yeah. Gotta caffeinate our fellow brethren. What do you need? You okay?”

Katsuki can hear her kind tone and he feels slightly guilty, just for a moment. Should they really be bothering her while she’s at work for this? But the sting in his chest burns some more, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“Yeah, I’m good, thanks for asking. Actually, my roommate is here with me and we were wondering if you had a second to talk? Bakugo, say ‘hi’.”

“Tch.”

Kirishima laughs and Katsuki can hear the background noise being to fade out. She’s probably moving to a more secluded area to finish their conversation.

“Oh, hey! Yeah, I’m due for my break anyway. What can I help with?”

Katsuki gives Kirishima a look as he twists a string from his bedding in his fingers. This was new territory for him. He wasn’t a ‘talk to get information’ type. He was more of a ‘punch first, ask questions later’ kinda guy. He hoped the look in his eyes was enough to convey that to Kirishima.

Kirishima nods at him, understanding immediately, before he begins. Katsuki’s body relaxes slightly. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was grateful for his big, dumb oaf of a friend.

“So, my friend Bakugo was paired up with a friend of yours on an assignment. He wants to know…”

Kirishima freezes, eyes searching Katsuki’s as he tries to find the words to say. His mouth is hanging open like a dumbass, and Katsuki rolls his eyes before he snorts.

“Is Shitty Deku going to make this project difficult or not? He’s being an asshole.”

The line is quiet for a few beats, Kirishima gaping at him for his crude interruption. Katsuki ignores him, giving all of his attention to the shiny, black rectangle on Kirishima’s thigh.

“Um, Bakugo? Who’s ’Shitty Deku’?”

Katsuki groans as he thrusts his hands into his hair in frustration. Don’t scream at her, don’t scream at her, don’t scream at her. Luckily, he doesn’t, but his tone is far from nice.

“Green hair, tattoos, big ass green eyes. Fucking Midoriya.”

Katsuki spits out, leg beginning to bounce anxiously. He waits for her response impatiently, the irritation he feels beginning to make his skin feel itchy.

“Oh, Izuku? Izuku’s a sweetheart! What class do you guys have together? I bet it’s Psych 101, huh? That’s really his only Gen Ed class this year, so it’s gotta be that one cause something tells me your majors aren’t even remotely alike. Sorry if that was rude. What assignment are you working on?”

Katsuki grits his teeth at her bubbly response. She’s giving him a goddamn headache and he wants this conversation over so badly, he’s about to throw himself out the window to end it. His next words are pushed out through his ground teeth.

“Yeah, it’s fucking Psych 101. Aizawa partnered us up to work on some kind of psych analysis together, or some bullshit. I think I’m supposed to be analyzing him.”

It’s quiet after that. Too quiet. Katsuki almost thinks she hung up until a small voice cuts through the speaker.

“Oh.”

Katsuki swallows, brows knitting together in uncertainty at the different tone in her voice. She sounded so excited before—happy and giddy and every other emotion that made Katsuki want to throw up in his mouth.

Now she just sounds downright sad.

Kirishima shifts next to him nervously, like he’d rather be anywhere else than be on this phone call right now. Fucking ditto.

Uraraka finally continues after what felt like 5 minutes—it wasn’t that long, but hell, did it feel like it. Her voice is shaky, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. Katsuki’s heart squeezes at the sound.

“Um… That assignment might be a bit… difficult for him. I can’t tell you too much. It’s not my story to tell. But Izuku is… He’s been through a lot, alright, Bakugo? And if he’s coming across as an ‘asshole’ like you said, he’s probably just trying to protect himself. He’s been through so much. So much that I don’t even think I know it all. It was… really bad. So bad that I… Honestly, I don’t even know how he’s still here…”

Those words—those damn words. They slice right through Katsuki. That itchy sting he was feeling morphs into a full-blown gash, like a knife wound to the chest. He feels it so suddenly and intensely that it sucks the air out of his lungs—the room feeling too small, yet too big all at once. Katsuki floats like he’s outside of his body as he murmurs some semblance of a response.

“Still… here?”

Kirishima’s quiet. Katsuki’s quiet. Uraraka’s quiet. It’s just too damn quiet.

A tentative voice comes through the speaker.

“Listen… Be gentle with him, Bakugo. He may be a little rough around the edges at first, but he’s kind. And funny. And smart. He’d give anyone the shirt off his back without thinking twice about it. He loves to read and write. He likes music and anime. Loves anything to do with comic books. If you get him going about that, he won’t shut up. He’s… a good person, Bakugo.”

Katsuki swallows the lump that’s grown in his throat while he mulls over her words. Jesus, what the fuck happened to him to make her sound like that?

He clears his throat, but his voice is still a little shaky when it comes out. Goddamnit.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. He’s a goddamn angel walking on earth. What the fuck ever.”

His words are harsh, but they hold no bite. How could they after that? The phone is silent again, their words hanging in the air between them. Uraraka sighs, sounding more tired than she did at the start of their conversation.

“Listen, I gotta go back. We’re probably getting railed right now. Just think about what I said. Oh, and Bakugo?”

His ears perk up at his name but he doesn’t have enough energy to respond with more than a grunt.

“Ask him about his mom.”

The line disconnects, and Katsuki and Kirishima are left in silence, both of them staring at the phone like it’s about to grow legs and do a jig in front of their very eyes. Kirishima’s the first to move, slipping the phone back into his pocket before speaking the first words he’s said in minutes.

“Get what you need, bro?”

His voice is timid, so unlike Kirishima who is usually bustling with energy. He sounds tired, too.

Katsuki shifts before he lays back onto his bed, crossing one arm behind his head while staring at the ceiling. His other hand rubs his chest again, his brain consistently buzzing with one thing—over and over again like a goddamn broken record.

”Ask him about his mom.”

“Yeah… I got it.”

Notes:

ooooooooooo is that some character development i smell???

maybe :)

might post another chapter tomorrow, we’ll see how i’m feelin.

also, sassy alt deku gives me LIFE.

this fic will be relatively short, so if it feels like it’s moving a tad fast, that’s why.

comment if you liked it. pretty please? :c