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“Deku,” Bakugou called as he knocked on the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to the gym with us? We’re—”
“I already said no,” Deku cut him off, barely opening the door. His usually wide eyes were narrowed in a glare.
“I know,” Bakugou huffed. “I was double-checking since you never pass up an opportunity to train.”
“Well, I said no today. Thanks for inviting me, Kacchan.” Before Bakugou could say another word, the door was shut in his face.
“What the hell was that?” Kirishima whisper-yelled.
Deku had been, for lack of a better term, a bitch lately. Which was odd. “Bitchy” was a word people would use to describe Bakugou, never Deku. For someone who was usually the sweetest person ever, he had a temper lately.
“I told you, he’s been a complete dick,” Bakugou sighed, grabbing his shoes and heading out the door. On weekends, if he didn’t have patrol, he liked to spend the morning working out. Sometimes Kirishima or Deku would tag along.
“That’s not like Midoriya,” Kirishima frowned.
“Trust me, I know.”
“Especially with you… I’ve never seen him snap at you,” Kirishima continued.
“Half the reason I offered the gym was so he could let off some steam, but I guess he would rather sit up there and be angry,” Bakugou scoffed.
“I’m worried about him,” Kirishima admitted. “He’s been so unlike himself, and I don’t like it.”
“Me too,” Bakugou breathed.
Not far from the apartment was a private gym for pro heroes. It was within walking distance, which was also nice.
Cherry blossoms blew in the wind, a few landing on Bakugou’s face. Spring was in the air again, and Bakugou had a new appreciation for it. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but having Kirishima with him was comfortable.
April was a hard month for everyone, and he had a feeling it would remain that way for a while. Maybe that was what had Deku so upset. Although Bakugou had a feeling it went deeper than the time of year.
Deku’s anxiety didn’t present as anger like Bakugou’s often did. Deku would go quiet and become closed off. So, for him to be visibly angry and snapping at his friends was new, and Bakugou hated it.
“Do you think it’s the time of year?” Kirishima asked hesitantly. “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been on edge lately.”
“I thought about that. I don’t know. This seems different.”
“I get that,” Kirishima agreed. “It’s very different than the way he usually acts.”
“He probably slept on the wrong side of the bed,” Bakugou scoffed. “It’s probably just a bad morning.”
“Maybe,” Kirishima mumbled.
They stayed at the gym for a few hours, and Bakugou did his usual routine. He did get Kirishima to spar with him for a couple of rounds.
Kirishima said his goodbyes to Bakugou, and then Bakugou headed back home.
After they graduated U.A., Bakugou moved in with Deku. It hadn’t been his first choice, but it ended up working out. With most of his paycheck going towards Deku’s suit, he didn’t have much left over for rent.
Deku was a nice roommate most of the time, anyway. Except as of recent, he’d been a bit snippy and dare he say lazy.
When he opened the door, Deku was lying on the couch with his computer in his lap, likely grading assignments.
He went over to Deku, looking down at him. “Hey, pissy pants. Feeling better?”
Deku looked at him with the same narrowed eyes from before. “I’m feeling fine.”
Deku wasn’t fine, and Bakugou knew it. Something was wrong—majorly. But Bakugou wasn’t sure how to get Deku to tell him what was the matter.
“Oh come on,” Bakugou rolled his eyes. “You’re telling me you’d rather stay home than come to the gym with me?”
“I just didn’t want to today,” he said defensively. “Why is it such a big deal to you?”
Because I’m worried about you. “It’s not a big deal to me. Keep throwing yourself a pity party.” He threw his hands up in defeat and stormed away.
Why couldn’t Deku say what was wrong?
“Hey, the guys are all heading out tonight. There’s this new bar that just opened up downtown that I think we should check out,” Kirishima said excitedly.
“This could’ve been a text message,” Bakugou huffed, his phone pressed to his ear by his shoulder as he jotted down some notes for Deku’s suit. Hatsume wanted his input for an improved design.
“Yeah, but you would’ve ignored it.”
“Exactly.”
“I think it could be nice for Midoriya,” Kirishima reasoned, and that got Bakugou to pause.
“He’s not really a big drinker.”
“Well, yeah, but I mean, getting him out of the apartment could be good. Maybe he needs his friends?”
“I’d agree with you, but he’s been pushing everyone away lately.”
“Promise me you’ll at least try to invite him?”
“Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll ask, but you know he’ll say no.”
“Maybe not. Just let me know, okay?”
“Alright, fine. I will.”
The call ended, and he thought over the conversation. Deku hadn’t left the house much at all. He went to U.A. to teach, came home, and went to sleep.
Maybe he was getting depressed? But why?
It was a few hours into the afternoon, so he should probably ask Deku before it got too late.
Closing his notebook, he headed across the hall to Deku’s door and knocked.
When there was no answer, he knocked again. “Deku?”
Again, nothing. Slowly, he opened the door, wanting to give enough warning in case Deku was naked or something.
The room was dark, the blinds still closed, and Deku was curled up under the blankets.
Bakugou scoffed, rolling his eyes. Seriously? It was a bit late for a nap.
“Really, Deku?” He walked over to the bed. “You can’t be sleeping right now. It’s—” he cut himself off when he heard a quiet whimper.
He moved the blanket off of Deku’s face. His body was trembling, and his expression was pinched. It didn’t quite look like he was having a nightmare, but it was clear that something was wrong.
“Hey,” he called, subconsciously pressing the back of his hand to Deku’s cheek to check for a fever. “Deku, get up.”
Deku’s eyes opened slowly, and he blinked blearily. “Kacchan?”
“Hey,” Bakugou’s voice came out uncharacteristically soft, which surprised him. For some reason, he didn’t move his hand away from Deku’s face. “It’s a bit late for a nap.”
“Hm?” Deku turned his head to look at the clock on his desk, then a look of embarrassment crossed his face. “Oh.”
“Are you feeling okay?” He was worried Deku might be sick.
Deku sat up with a small sound of effort, rubbing his eyes and stretching. Bakugou tried to ignore the way the action made his chest squeeze. Deku was so cute—No. He shouldn’t think about his best friend that way.
“I’m just… um, tired,” Deku said, averting his eyes. “I must be overworked or something.”
It wasn’t like Deku to admit he was overworked, and he didn’t look Bakugou in the eyes when he spoke.
“Overworked?” Bakugou echoed. “You haven’t done shit lately.”
Deku’s expression hardened, and he pulled away from Bakugou. Shit. His words had come out harsher than he had meant, but they were true.
Deku hadn’t done anything lately. All he did was teach at U.A. and sleep. He barely went on patrols, which was rather annoying given the fact that Bakugou had spent years working on the suit for him.
So, Bakugou’s words were harsh, but maybe Deku needed to hear them in order to get his ass in gear.
“Did you come in here to ridicule me?” Deku asked dryly, staring at Bakugou blankly.
It was just weird. Deku having an attitude was damn near unnatural. Sure, Deku had always had some sass to him, and he could be sarcastic at times, but he was never outright rude.
“No,” Bakugou huffed. “Kirishima wants to go out for drinks tonight, and he wanted me to invite you.”
“Well, I can’t tonight.”
“Why not?” Bakugou pressed.
“Because I’m busy.”
“Busy doing what? Lazing around all day?”
“I don’t want to go, okay?” Deku snapped. “Maybe I don’t want to spend all of my time with you.”
What?
Bakugou wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be angry, hurt, or concerned. Deku had yelled at him, which was strange.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Bakugou asked
“I don’t want to spend every second of every day with you. You’re always showing up in my classroom, taking the same patrol route as me, going to the gym with me, and inviting me out with your friend group,” he complained.
“Fine. You want to rot away in your bed all day? Be my fucking guest,” Bakugou snarled. As he was leaving the room, he paused in the doorway and grumbled, “I remember when you used to be a hero.”
I don’t want to spend every second of every day with you. What an asshole. Bakugou tried to spend as much time with Deku as possible because Deku had once told him that having him near helped with his anxiety.
Deku seemed to be struggling with something, but Bakugou wasn’t going to help him if he was going to be a dickhead about it.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Deku hissed under his breath. His vision was blurry, and he kept staggering sideways, but he was so close to home.
He wasn’t even injured. That was the pathetic part.
Bakugou had left shortly after Deku yelled at him. Deku assumed he was out with Kirishima and the others, but he didn’t know for sure.
After Bakugou had accused him of being lazy, Deku had decided that he’d go on patrol. He wasn’t scheduled to, but he didn’t care.
He wasn’t lazy.
However, he was in a bad flare-up, and going on patrol was probably the worst thing he could’ve done for himself.
Being out in the sun had made him feel better briefly, but then the bone-deep ache began to spread throughout his entire body.
His hands trembled as he unlocked the door to his apartment, and he practically fell inside. It didn’t matter. Bakugou wasn’t home, so he didn’t have to pretend like he was fine.
No one was watching when he sank to the floor in the living room. No one saw the tears threatening to spill over. And no one saw the way he removed the hero suit as if it had offended him.
He removed the armor as angrily as he could with stiff hands, leaving him in only an undershirt and shorts.
Everything hurt. His hands were throbbing, sending sharp pains shooting through his arms. Muscles in his legs and back kept spasming, leaving him stuck on the floor.
He was angry. It was a different type of anger. It wasn’t rage, more like frustration. There was a lot of pent-up energy inside of him that was dying to be released, but he didn’t have an outlet.
He couldn’t run. He couldn’t train. He couldn’t write in his notebooks with the way his hands were cramping. He was stuck.
Even patrol had been borderline unbearable.
Bakugou and Kirishima had only been trying to help by inviting him out, but having people around him made him feel like he’d blow up, and he wasn’t sure if he’d explode by breaking down in tears or saying something he didn’t mean for the sake of being left alone.
Which was what he’d done earlier instead of telling Bakugou the truth.
Eventually, he managed to drag himself back to his room. Each step was torturous, but he did it.
He crawled back into bed despite it not even being dark yet and hoped he might be able to fall back asleep. If he were sleeping, then he couldn’t feel pain.
At one point, he’d been the world’s greatest hero. He’d been the best, and he’d had everything he ever wanted.
But that changed when he gave up One For All and when the pain started. He was pathetic compared to the person he used to be.
He had fought with a shattered arm at the sports festival in his first year just for the sake of winning. He had broken his bones without hesitation numerous times.
Pain was something he used to handle. But it was different from the way it used to be.
It started off small, random shooting pains throughout his arms, an occasional twinge in his side, things like that.
Then, muscles started spasming and cramping often. His hands would be stuck in fists, or he wouldn’t be able to move for a few seconds until the muscles in his back relaxed.
One day, he realized walking had become hard. It wasn’t impossible. He could do it, but each step was accompanied by painful pressure in his joints.
But that had only been for a day or two, so he assumed it was just muscle soreness or something else of that nature.
He wasn’t exactly sure when it had happened, but one day, the pain stopped going away.
Some days were worse than others. He called those flare-ups. But still, he wasn’t sure when the last time he didn’t hurt was.
He pulled his blanket over his head and hoped he’d fall asleep before it got worse.
“You sure you’re okay, man?” Kirishima checked.
“I’m fine,” Bakugou huffed. Kirishima had dropped him off, but was worried about him because Bakugou had made the mistake of mentioning that alcohol fucked with his heart sometimes.
“Okay, well…” Kirishima trailed off, anxiously drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Call me if that changes.”
“Alright, I will. Happy?”
Kirishima nodded, and they said their goodbyes.
Bakugou wasn’t drunk by any means. He’d only had a drink or two, but that didn’t stop his heart from racing uncomfortably fast.
When he entered the apartment, he noticed Deku’s hero gear was haphazardly scattered on the floor.
All the lights were off, and Deku was nowhere to be found, so he was probably asleep again.
Bakugou brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas. His heart rate hadn’t slowed at all, and he knew he was in for a long night.
When he left the bathroom, he paused in the doorway, staring at Deku’s closed door.
Deku was always there for him when his heart acted up. It was nice to have someone with him in case it became an emergency.
But did he really want to be vulnerable with Deku after the things he had said earlier?
I don’t want to spend every second of every day with you.
Calling Kirishima would be a bit ridiculous, though. As much as he trusted Kirishima, he didn’t exactly want to spend the night with him.
Bakugou reached for the door handle, but paused.
I don’t want to spend every second of every day with you.
What did he even mean by that?
Before he could keep thinking about it, Deku’s door opened, and Bakugou froze like a deer in headlights.
Deku’s hair was frizzy, and his shirt was twisted as if he’d been tossing and turning. His eyes went wide when he saw Bakugou.
“You’re sleeping with me tonight,” Bakugou blurted before he could stop himself.
“What?” Deku blinked as if he were trying his best to focus.
“You’re staying in my room tonight,” Bakugou said. There was no backing out anymore.
“Okay.”
“Listen, I’m having a—wait, what?” He hadn’t expected Deku to agree so easily.
“Okay,” Deku repeated, covering a yawn with his hand. He went back into his room to grab a pillow and his water bottle, then he followed Bakugou to the bed.
They had shared beds countless times throughout their lives. Whether it was sleepovers as kids, comfort from nightmares, or Bakugou needing someone to make sure his heart didn’t stop, sleeping together was something they were used to.
“Alcohol makes my heart race sometimes,” Bakugou said, breaking the silence. He felt like he owed Deku some type of explanation.
“Does it hurt?”
“A bit,” he admitted.
Deku leaned back against the headboard, staring at the wall. His eyes were red-rimmed, and it was hard to tell if he’d been crying or not. Bakugou wouldn’t ask.
Bakugou slid under the covers and looked up at the ceiling. He breathed out slowly, attempting to slow his racing heart down.
He could feel each harsh beat against his chest, and he felt a bit winded as if he’d just finished a jog.
“You can sleep, you know,” he said when Deku had yet to lie down.
Reluctantly, Deku lifted the blanket and mirrored Bakugou’s position. Neither one of them said anything, and Deku didn’t cling to him like he usually did.
Bakugou didn’t like it, but there was no way in hell he would admit to enjoying Deku’s touch, especially not after the shit he pulled earlier.
I don’t want to spend every second of every day with you.
Why wouldn’t those words leave him alone? They’d been on repeat in his head since Deku had said them.
Bakugou regretted bringing Deku into his room. The tension in the air was thick, and it was harder for him to sleep with Deku there.
Eventually, he fell asleep, the soft sounds of Deku’s breathing lulling him to sleep.
It felt like he hadn’t been sleeping long at all before he woke up. The room was dark, and it took him a second to figure out what had disrupted his slumber.
The mattress was shifting as Deku tossed and turned. He rolled onto his side, stayed there for barely a full minute before changing positions with an annoyed huff.
Bakugou closed his eyes, hoping to fall asleep before he was truly awake. But then, he heard a quiet noise that almost sounded like a sob.
There was no way Deku was crying, right?
Bakugou turned his head, noticing how Deku pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. His chest was heaving with shaky breaths, and his jaw was clenched.
Another sob escaped him, louder that time, and Deku slapped his hand over his mouth to cut the sound off.
Deku rolled onto his side again, and Bakugou could see his shoulders visibly shake with suppressed emotion.
His little hiccups and soft gasps for air sounded pitiful, and Bakugou wasn’t sure what to do.
Deku squirmed and writhed around, which must’ve been what woke Bakugou up in the first place. He aggressively adjusted the pillow, moved his legs, and shifted his hips.
Deku made another noise, and Bakugou didn’t know if it was a whimper, a sound of frustration, or what. But he was sick of it.
Bakugou leaned on one arm, reaching out with his free hand to grab Deku’s shoulder. “Hey, chill out.”
Deku’s body jolted as if the touch had startled him. “Sorry.”
“Why are you so restless?”
Deku didn’t answer him, which wasn’t surprising. Bakugou pulled Deku to him and draped his arm over him. Cuddling always seemed to make Deku feel better, so maybe he’d stop squirming around, and Bakugou could finally get some rest.
He could’ve asked what was wrong, but he knew Deku wouldn’t tell him, so what was the point?
Deku still wiggled around, his legs accidentally bumping into Bakugou’s. He leaned forward as if he was going to roll over, but then he’d fall back against Bakugou’s chest again, and Bakugou had to lean his head back unless he wanted to get head butted.
“Deku,” he hissed, squeezing his arm around him tightly in an attempt to keep him still. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Hurts,” Deku whispered.
“Huh?” He let up on the pressure but still kept his arm around him.
“It hurts,” Deku repeated, his voice so quiet that Bakugou almost missed the words. “I just want to sleep.”
“What hurts?”
“Everything,” he said, and Bakugou had an inkling that Deku wasn’t being dramatic.
Bakugou lifted his arm so Deku could turn over to face him. He didn’t get to look at Deku’s expression because the second he could, Deku shoved his face against Bakugou’s chest, hiding from him.
Bakugou froze. Deku was being so odd, snapping at him one moment, then clinging to him for comfort the next.
He hesitated for a moment, then wrapped Deku in his arms. “It’s… okay.”
Comforting people had never been his strong suit. He wasn’t good at being soft and tender. That didn’t mean he didn’t care. He cared a lot about his friends, more than people would think. He just wasn’t sure how to show it.
Deku didn’t stop squirming around every few seconds, but Bakugou quickly figured out it was easier to move with Deku than to try to hold him still.
In the morning, Bakugou woke up before Deku. He was on his back, with Deku half on top of him.
Deku was too close for comfort, and the way he was holding Bakugou definitely wasn’t how friends should cuddle.
His face was tucked under Bakugou’s chin, their legs were tangled together, and Deku had the fabric of Bakugou’s shirt twisted in his hands.
Anytime he tried to get out from underneath him, Deku would squeeze him tighter like a python.
Accepting his fate, Bakugou sighed and scrolled through his phone, hoping Deku would either wake up soon or roll off of him so he could get up.
After an hour, neither of those things happened, and Bakugou seriously needed to pee.
“Deku,” he huffed, nudging his shoulders. “You’re crushing me. Get off.”
Deku groaned, still half asleep, and rolled off of him. He buried his face in one of the pillows and didn’t say a word.
It wasn’t normal for Deku to sleep in, but Deku hadn’t been acting like himself at all.
He went to the kitchen, cooked breakfast, and had yet to hear Deku get up. How could he still be tired if all he did was sleep?
After placing the bowls on the table, he went back to his room to check on Deku. It seemed like Deku hadn’t moved much at all, still in bed. It wasn’t until he got closer that he realized Deku was awake. His eyes were open, but he was blankly staring at the wall.
“Deku?” he called, and he got no reaction from him. What the hell?
“Izuku,” he said louder than before, grabbing his shoulder. His hand had barely made contact, and Deku bolted upright. His arm shot out as if he were about to use Air Force, but of course, nothing happened.
Bakugou saw the moment the realization crossed Deku’s face. It looked like it physically hurt him, and Bakugou couldn’t even begin to imagine the kind of disappointment that came with trying to use a power that wasn’t there anymore.
“Um,” Bakugou awkwardly cleared his throat when Deku didn’t lower his arms. His green eyes were wide open, and it seemed like he hadn’t realized that Bakugou wasn’t a threat. “Chill. It’s just me.”
Deku blinked a few times, and he looked down at his hands like they were foreign objects. He looked confused, and Bakugou had no clue as to why.
“I made breakfast. It’s tamago kake gohan, so come get it while it’s warm,” Bakugou said.
Deku followed behind him silently as he went to the kitchen. Not a word was spoken as they sat down at the table.
It felt wrong. Deku was always so bubbly, so damn loud. Bakugou hated his silence, and the hollow look on Deku’s face was killing him inside.
How could he make that look go away? He wanted to know what the hell was upsetting Deku so he could destroy it.
Deku only stared at his food, not even reaching for his chopsticks. Bakugou nudged the bowl toward him and grumbled, “Eat.”
“Oh,” Deku said, looking around as if he’d been snapped out of a trance. Slowly, he began eating.
Bakugou knew he wasn’t imagining things. Deku’s cheeks seemed sunken in, and his shirt hung looser on his body.
Deku wasn’t concerningly skinny, but Bakugou didn’t miss the sudden weight loss. It would’ve made sense that it was because he’d started hero work again if he was gaining muscle. But he wasn’t. In fact, he was losing some muscle mass, which Bakugou didn’t like.
Not because he cared about how Deku looked, but because it meant something was wrong with him.
“Wanna play Call of Duty?” Bakugou suggested after finishing the last few bites of his food. He and Deku used to play it a lot when they were younger.
“No, thanks.”
I don’t want to spend every second of every day with you.
It took everything in him not to shake Deku by his shoulders and demand to know what was bothering him.
Instead, he clenched his jaw and took his dishes to the sink. He rinsed them off so he could load them into the dishwasher. While he had his back turned, Deku tried to sneak back to his room.
Bakugou saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. “Hey,” he whirled around, causing Deku to stop in his tracks. “Where are you going?”
“To my room?” Deku said exasperatedly.
Shit. What could he say to make Deku stay but not piss him off any more than he already had?
“Again? You just woke up. Don’t tell me you’re going to sleep more.” Well, that wasn’t the worst thing he could’ve said, but it one-hundred percent did not help his cause.
“You’re such an asshole, Kacchan.”
Bakugou had a feeling those words were meant to sound angry, but they came out monotone. Did Deku not have the energy to even sound angry?
Deku stormed down the hallway, and Bakugou didn’t call after him. There was only so much chasing he could do. If Deku wanted to rot away all day, there was little Bakugou could do to stop him.
He glanced at Deku’s half-eaten breakfast and decided to check something.
Symptoms of depression, he typed into the search bar on his phone, and he was greeted with numerous articles plus a help line.
Feelings of sadness, tearfulness, emptiness, or hopelessness. Well, that sounded familiar—especially the emptiness bit.
He continued reading down the article, paying close attention to the symptoms and signs.
Angry outbursts, irritability, or frustration, even over small matters. Definitely. Deku would never be mean to him unless he deserved it. Hell, even when he had deserved it, Deku had never been mean to him.
As he moved down the page, all the symptoms seemed to line up with what he’d seen from Deku. Then, one stuck out to him.
Frequent or recurrent thoughts of death, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, or suicide.
“You know, if you really want to be a hero that badly, there actually might be another way. Just pray that you’ll be born with a quirk in your next life and take a swan dive off the roof of the building.”
Swan dive.
Off the roof of the building.
Kill yourself.
It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, and Bakugou felt guilt slam into him like a ten-ton truck.
How to tell if someone is suicidal?
He should’ve known better. The first thing that came up was the help line again.
Scrolling past the hotlines, he kept looking. Each line he read only filled him with more dread and fear.
What do you say to someone who is suicidal?
And Bakugou continued to spiral. He needed answers. He had to help him.
PTSD symptoms
PTSD linked to suicide
How to tell if someone is hurting themselves?
Symptoms of depression in men
Men’s mental health
And he just kept going. He couldn’t stop—until his phone rang with a call from Hatsume.
“Hello?” he answered.
“What are you doing? I’ve gotten like twenty warnings from your account in the last half hour.”
“Huh?” Bakugou thought for a moment. “Are you tapped into my fucking phone?”
“Not at the moment,” she chuckled. “But I do get security alerts. And right now, I’ve got plenty from you about dangerous searches.”
“I’m just researching something.”
“I doubt that,” she quipped. “But, I’m legally required to tell you that you matter and to tell a trusted adult if you’re having bad thoughts.”
“I am the trusted adult.”
“Debatable.”
“Excuse me—”
“Look, you and I have never been close, but I’m here for you,” she said, and it was one of the first times Bakugou had heard her speak seriously.
“I’m just worried about someone,” he sighed. “That’s what the searches were for.”
“You’re worried about Midoriya, aren’t you?”
“How’d you know?”
“Why do you think I programmed your devices to alert me when you search for something related to suicide?”
“Shit,” he cursed. It was worse than he thought if Hatsume had noticed.
Silence fell between them, neither one of them knowing what to say.
“Keep an eye on him,” Hatsume eventually said. “Oh, and send me your ideas for the upgrades. You were supposed to do that yesterday.”
“Alright, alright. I will.”
After hanging up the phone, he debated on what he should do. If he barged into Deku’s room and demanded to know what was wrong, Deku would get angry at him.
Babying Deku would likely make him feel worse, too. Deku didn’t need babying anyway. But “tough love” probably wasn’t the best way to get through to him either.
He swiped over to the messaging app and read down the list of names.
Bakugou: Hang out with Deku
Pink Cheeks: okay… why?
Bakugou: Just do it
Pink Cheeks: i will, but why are you asking me? can’t you hang out with him?
Deku didn’t need just Bakugou. He needed his friends, especially his close ones. Uraraka had struggled pretty severely after the war, and maybe she could offer Deku some helpful advice.
He left Uraraka on read. Whether he responded or not, she’d still hang out with Deku.
From the kitchen, he heard Deku’s phone ringing in his room. It must’ve been Uraraka calling. While he loaded the dishwasher, he could hear Deku’s muffled voice, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying.
Bakugou just hoped he’d actually go out with Uraraka and not stay home again.
Go out.
Shit. That wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want Deku to take her out on a date. Bakugou had thought Deku was finally over her, but then they both ran off hand in hand the night their class had their reunion.
The night Deku rejected Bakugou’s offer for a joint agency.
It wasn’t about him, though. It was about Deku, and maybe getting a girlfriend would make him feel better. Maybe he just needed to get laid or something.
His chest tightened at the thought of Deku sleeping with her—sleeping with anyone that wasn’t him.
Holy possessive. Deku wasn’t his and he never would be. And damn, that was a difficult thought to sit with.
He closed the dishwasher and started the cycle, admiring the newly empty sink. It was a Sunday, so there wasn’t much to do. He could’ve gone on patrol, but his heart was still being a bit finicky.
Bakugou was a stress cleaner, but he knew that about himself. There were worse habits he could’ve had. If a bit of stress caused the apartment to be perfectly spotless, then that was a fair price to pay.
He busied himself with cleaning up the kitchen, then he focused on the living room. His headphones were blasting music in his ears, but his eyes still caught Deku coming up beside him.
Deku was wearing a white button-up shirt and dark blue jeans, dressing as basic as he always had.
“Need something?” Bakugou asked, pushing his headphones back so they rested around his neck.
The pressure against the back of his neck made him tense, reminding him of the time Dabi kidnapped him. That was why he put the headphones there, though—Exposure therapy or something like that.
The collar of Deku’s shirt was wonky, one side folded and the other not. It was bugging Bakugou, but for the moment, he didn’t say anything.
“Uraraka and I are going out in about half an hour.”
That was fast. And there it was again. Going out.
“Okay,” Bakugou said slowly. “Why are you telling me? I’m not your keeper.”
“I just…” Deku faltered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Does my outfit look okay?”
“No,” he answered honestly. “One, you’re dressed basic as hell, and two, your collar is fucked up.” As he spoke, he reached out and fixed the collar, and he could’ve sworn he heard Deku sigh in relief.
“Oh,” Deku said with very fake surprise. “Thanks, Kacchan. I hadn’t noticed the, uh, collar.”
There was no way Deku hadn’t noticed the collar, and Bakugou wasn’t sure why he had gone out of his way to get Bakugou to fix it for him. It could’ve been Deku reaching out? But why would he use a shirt collar as an excuse?
Bakugou hadn’t stepped back, still invading Deku’s space. He felt like there was something he needed to say. Something to let Deku know that deep down, he did care. To show Deku that he wasn’t alone in whatever it was he was going through.
“I…” If he had spent hours looking at things to say to suicidal people, that was no one’s business but his own—and Hatsume’s for some reason. “You’re important to me.” The words felt foreign on his tongue, and they came out sounding unnatural, but they were true.
Deku’s eyes went wide, and his breath caught in his throat. “Oh, wow. Thanks, Kacchan. You mean a lot to me, too,” he laughed uncomfortably, cheeks reddening.
He acted like he was brushing off Deku’s shoulders, but he was trying to feel his muscles to see if he had lost too much weight. The firm squeeze he gave Deku’s arm hopefully seemed like a friendly reassurance and not Bakugou trying to see if he could feel bone.
“You’re meant to be here,” Bakugou added.
“Alright,” Deku said awkwardly, shuffling away from Bakugou when his hands lingered for far too long. “Thanks?”
“I’m… I’m here if you need to talk. I’d rather hear about your problems than something worse.” I’d rather hear about your struggles than hear about your death.
Deku gave him a quizzical look. “Something worse?”
“You know…” Bakugou trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “Worse,” was his lame attempt at an explanation.
“Uh-huh,” Deku nodded, not following at all.
Someone knocked on the door, and Deku’s phone buzzed. It must’ve been Uraraka.
“Oh, I’ve got to get going. Bye, Kacchan,” he said as he began to walk away, but Bakugou caught his wrist, hating the way his fingers easily wrapped around it.
“For the rest of our lives,” he reminded. Maybe the memory would spark something in Deku and make him remember how important he was to him.
He didn’t get the reaction he had hoped for. Instead, Deku’s smile fell, and he whispered, “What?”
“That’s what I said to you in the hospital after the Final Battle. For the rest of our lives.”
“I know, but why are you saying that now?” Deku seemed genuinely lost, glancing down at where Bakugou held his wrist.
“Because I want you in my life, damn it,” he snapped.
“I can stay here if you need—”
“No, no,” he huffed. “It’s not that. Just… go out with Round Face and have fun.”
“Kacchan, I can stay here if you’re having a bad day.”
“No.” He dropped Deku’s arm and began ushering him to the door. “You need to go outside and socialize.”
“But what about all of those things you just said?”
“It’s not about me.”
“Then who is it about?” Deku asked, anger slowly beginning to seep into his tone.
Fuck, Bakugou had messed it up.
He fought back the urge to scream, You. It’s about you.
Instead, he didn’t answer Deku and stormed to the door, yanking it open.
“Uraraka!” Bakugou said with fake enthusiasm. “So nice seeing you here. Oh, would you look at that? It’s Izuku!” Stepping aside, he revealed Deku to her with a dramatic gesture.
“Is he having a stroke?” Uraraka whispered to Deku, poorly shielding her mouth with her hand as she spoke.
“I don’t know,” Deku whispered back, glancing at Bakugou out of the corner of his eye.
“Now, go have fun,” he said through clenched teeth as he practically shoved Deku out of the house.
“But—” Deku began to protest, and Bakugou shut the door in his face, sighing heavily once he was alone.
His plan had mostly gone to shit, but Deku was out of the house, and that was what mattered. Maybe by the end of the night, Deku would forget his awkward speech and strange behavior. Bakugou wished he could forget it by the end of the night.
“Fuck,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. That was embarrassing.
What made matters worse was that not long after Deku and Uraraka left, Kirishima texted him.
Kiri: Confirm you’re not having a stroke please and thank you
Bakugou: I’m fine
Kiri: Idk man Uraraka said you were acting pretty weird
Bakugou: Can you call?
Kiri: Oh shit
Kiri: Yeah I can
Kiri: Give me like two seconds
Kiri: I’m lowkey in a sewer rn
Bakugou: ??
Kiri: Don’t ask
Incoming Call Kirishima Eijirou
“You never want to call,” Kirishima said the moment the call connected.
“Don’t make me change my mind,” he warned, partially joking.
“Are you okay?”
Bakugou didn’t want to air out Deku’s business. It’d be wrong to do so. Deku was being secretive for a reason. Telling Kirishima about everything going on would be wrong.
Unless he already knew.
“You know how Deku has been weird lately?” Bakugou said, ignoring Kirishima’s question.
“Yeah,” he answered. “Is he still acting grumpy?”
“He’s been back and forth with emotions,” he admitted. “Within the last twenty-four hours, I’ve seen him pissed, scared, dissociated, and happy.”
“Dissociated?”
“I swear he wasn’t here for breakfast.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“I—” he wanted to argue.
“More than a ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’ Have you actually told him that you’re worried?”
“I’m not worried,” he said defensively.
“Fine. Have you told him that you’re curious about his behavior?”
“No…”
“Talk to him before starting to worry.”
“I’m not worrying—”
“You are, and we both know it.”
Bakugou clenched his jaw. Kirishima was right. The bastard.
“Fine, I’ll talk to him,” he gave in.
“Good. Let me know how it goes, bro.”
“Sure,” he said sarcastically.
Deku was gone for most of the day with Uraraka, and Bakugou was glad that he was. Even if the idea of them being out on a date left a bitter feeling in him.
He thought about Kirishima’s words and tried to come up with a way to talk to Deku and get answers.
But what was he supposed to say? He couldn’t just go up to Deku and be like, Don’t kill yourself.
If he told Deku how he felt about him, how he loved him, Deku would feel guilty for not reciprocating his feelings. Knowing Deku, he’d probably guilt himself into thinking he loved Bakugou.
So, I love you. Please stay was off the table as well.
For the rest of our lives, hadn’t worked either.
The sound of the door being unlocked pulled him from his thoughts. Deku stepped inside, closing it behind him and stretching. His joints popped audibly, and he winced, sighing as he knelt down to untie his shoes.
Deku hadn’t spotted Bakugou in the living room yet. Bakugou didn’t say anything, watching him like a creep.
“Kacchan,” Deku said when he noticed him, and immediately, his guard was up. His expression changed from exhausted to a fake calmness, and he straightened his posture.
“We need to talk.” Damn it. Why had he said that? It only made Deku look afraid.
“Sure, what’s up?” he asked, anxiety clear in his voice as he walked into the living room and sat on the opposite end of the couch.
“I don’t know what’s been going on with you, but something is wrong,” he began.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Deku deflected.
“All you do is sleep. You woke me up last night because you were sobbing in your sleep. I’ve seen you dissociate I don’t know how many times, and I’m not talking about zoning out. I’ve seen you fully disconnect,” he pointed out. “And, you’ve lost weight. Enough for me to notice.”
“Oh, I’ve just had a lot going on,” Deku reasoned. “I’m sorry to make you worry.” He fidgeted with his fingers, eyes downcast at the floor.
“No. Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“This deflecting bull shit you always do,” Bakugou snapped. “Why can’t you ever say when something is wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” Deku’s voice rose to match his, and Bakugou knew he was royally screwing things up. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
Have you actually told him that you’re worried?
“I don’t want you to kill yourself,” he blurted, and the silence that followed felt suffocating.
Deku gawked at him. “What?”
“Please,” he said quietly. For someone who had come face to face with death and hadn’t been afraid of it, he couldn’t even look Deku in the eyes as he spoke. “Whatever it is you’re going through, you’re not alone. You’re stronger than it—whatever it is.”
“Kacchan.”
“I need you here,” he continued, wishing he knew how to voice every emotion he was feeling. “You matter to me. Fuck, what else do I need to say?”
“Kacchan.”
“What do I need to do to make you stay?”
“Kacchan,” Deku yelled, finally catching his attention. “Why on earth do you think I want to kill myself?”
Wait. What?
All he could do was stare at Deku dumbfoundedly.
“Answer me.”
“You don’t want to kill yourself?” Bakugou asked incredulously.
“No,” Deku stressed. “I don’t. Why would you even think that?”
“Because you—” he stammered, feeling like a complete idiot. “You were—”
“What? I was what?”
“You’ve been acting really weird lately, okay?” he huffed, running a hand through his hair. “Like, all depressed and shit.”
If there were an award for being bad at communicating, Bakugou would win it. Easily.
“Okay, fine. I’ve been a bit down lately,” Deku conceded. “But why would you assume I’m suicidal?”
“Because you’re not eating, you’re shutting all your friends out. You yelled at me the other night, and I just… I can’t lose you.”
“I’m eating,” Deku frowned. “I just got lunch with Uraraka. I didn’t mean what I said the other night, and I’m sorry I didn’t apologize sooner.”
“You’re still shutting me out,” he accused.
“How?”
“You’re downplaying it. I know you didn’t mean it, but you still told me that you didn’t want to spend time with me at all. And so what if you ate lunch today? You look fucking sick.”
Deku glanced down at his body self-consciously. “I don’t look sick?”
Bakugou reached out and grabbed Deku’s wrist, lifting it up to show how easily his fingers wrapped around it.
“Your hands are bigger than mine,” he sneered. “I shouldn’t be able to do this.”
“So just because you can touch your fingers together means that I’m sick?”
“No—” he cut himself off with a frustrated groan. The conversation was getting nowhere. “You’re pale, your cheeks are sunken in. Your shirts have gotten looser. I’ve noticed it all.”
Deku’s expression faltered, and he looked away. “I…”
“Talk to me,” Bakugou pleaded, resting his hand on Deku’s shoulder and lightly squeezing to get his attention.
Deku sighed softly, and Bakugou had a feeling the next words out of his mouth would reveal a lot. “My old injuries flare up every once in a while. It’s been on and off since my second year at U.A. Sometimes the flares can last for a while, and I’ve been in one for what feels like months. It makes patrol miserable, and even day-to-day actions are hard,” he rambled.
“So, I haven’t been able to do anything but sleep,” Deku continued. “Sleeping is the only thing that relieves the pain, and that’s if I can stay asleep. As for not eating, that hasn’t been intentional. You know how when you’re in a lot of pain you get nauseous?”
Bakugou nodded. Unfortunately, he was familiar with the feeling.
“Well, I’m in a lot of pain constantly, so I don’t really feel good or have an appetite. Plus, sometimes just walking down the hallway feels torturous, so even if I’m hungry, it’s not worth it.”
“Busy doing what? Lazing around all day?”
“Fine. You want to rot away in your bed all day? Be my fucking guest.”
Bakugou was such an asshole.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, trying to keep any anger out of his voice.
“There’s nothing you can do to fix it, so what’s the point in complaining?”
“It’s not complaining,” Bakugou stressed. “You think I like watching you be miserable? I meant what I said. I need you here.”
“I already told you, I’m not suicidal—”
“My point still stands. You think that what? Being in pain all the time makes you stronger? That you’re some kind of badass for not saying a word?”
“There’s no point in telling you if there’s nothing you can do to fix it.”
Bakugou could’ve strangled him for that logic. “Look at yourself,” he gestured to Deku’s body. “You look pitiful.”
Deku pulled back from him, his eyes narrowing and his expression becoming guarded again.
Holy fuck, he was so bad at talking. If it wouldn’t have made him look crazy, he would’ve banged his head into the wall from pure agitation.
“That’s not what I meant,” he backtracked. “You’re so… sad looking all of the time, and it’s killing me that I can’t do anything about it because I love you.”
“You what?”
“Damn it. Let me start over because this conversation is going nowhere.” He held a hand up to silence Deku, and he thought over everything he’d learned from the mandatory therapist Aizawa made him see.
“I am worried about you because you haven’t been acting like yourself,” he began, speaking slowly as he thought over the words he wanted to say. He had to get it right. “It makes me feel… uh, sad when you push me away.”
He clenched his fists, hating how raw and needy the words sounded. His therapist had encouraged him to use I feel statements, but it felt so unnatural.
“You’ve seemed really depressed lately, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed,” he continued. “Because of what I said—Actually, no, never mind. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself or maybe even run away like you did at U.A.”
“I understand that you’re in pain, but I wish you would open up to me more. You keeping it all to yourself makes me feel like you don’t trust me.” Oh, gross. Emotions. Vulnerability. He didn’t like it, but Deku needed to hear it said correctly for once.
“And I don’t know if I believe your excuses,” he added. “Not to sound like a broken record, but you look sick.”
“Oh, Kacchan,” Deku frowned. “I didn’t realize I was hurting you, too.”
“It’s not anything I can’t handle,” he said. “But yeah, it’s been bothering me.”
He leaned back against the couch cushions, wishing they would swallow him whole. At least he’d managed to back track and say what he meant. That didn’t change the fact that he’d accidentally told Deku he loved him.
“I know you don’t believe me, but I told you the truth. I’m not trying to lose weight or stop eating. I’m just not hungry,” Deku reasoned. “And I told you the truth about the pain, too.”
“Then what else are you hiding?” Bakugou asked, trying his hardest not to come across as demanding.
Deku bit the inside of his cheek, and he exhaled harshly through his nose. “On top of all this, I’ve been getting panic attacks. And I mean daily. So yeah, I’m kind of over everything at the moment. Is that what you wanted me to say? That everything sucks right now?” he snapped.
Got him.
“Yes, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Don’t yell back. Don’t snap back at him. He doesn’t need that. “I just want you to tell me when you’re hurting. Even if you’re screaming it at me.”
Deku seemed to remember himself, shutting his mouth and leaning back on the couch as shame washed over him. “I shouldn’t have yelled. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I keep doing that lately.”
“You’re stressed,” Bakugou pointed out. “You’re extremely overwhelmed, and you refuse to acknowledge your feelings, so it’s coming out as anger. I know exactly what that’s like.”
Deku sighed shakily, resting his head in his hands. “I can’t make it stop.”
“The pain?”
“Mhm,” he confirmed. “And the panic attacks, the nausea, the everything.”
“Give me your hand,” Bakugou said. Deku gave him a weird look, but held out his hand anyway.
Heating up his palms, he began working the stiffness out of Deku’s hand. Deku’s breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away.
It felt intimate, too affectionate for two friends. But if it would bring Deku even the slightest form of relief, he’d do it.
Deku broke the comfortable silence that fell between them, “I guess I’m still a little lost. You thought I would kill myself?”
“Think about how things looked from my perspective,” Bakugou said. “I didn’t know what was wrong, so I assumed the worst.”
“You were going to say something, but you cut yourself off?”
“When?”
“You said it was because of something you said, and then you didn’t finish your sentence.”
“I told you to end it in middle school,” he said dryly, refusing to look away from Deku’s scarred hands as he worked.
“Why bring that up now?”
“Because I didn’t want you to listen,” he said with his jaw clenched. “Not then, and not now either.”
“I promise you I won’t.”
“Have you thought about it?”
Deku inhaled sharply. “Some. I didn’t ever entertain the thought for long.”
“When?” he demanded.
“After you said it, I thought about it. For a moment, I thought you had a good point, but I didn’t have the guts to do it, so I didn’t.”
“I feel like there’s more you’re not saying.”
“Don’t freak out,” Deku said hesitantly. “I’ve thought about it recently. I’m not going to. I don’t want to, so don’t panic. But you asked if I’d thought about it, and that’s my answer.”
Bakugou’s hands froze, subconsciously squeezing Deku’s. He’d thought about it. Recently, too. Had Bakugou’s worry not been misplaced at all?
“Why?” he asked weakly.
“The pain doesn’t stop, but… there is one thing that would make it stop.”
“No,” Bakugou said quickly, looking him directly in the eyes. “No. Fuck no. It’s not the answer.”
“I know that, Kacchan. I was just answering your question.”
They fell silent again. The only sounds filling the room were their soft breathing and the occasional, quiet crackle from Bakugou’s quirk.
“Earlier, you said you loved me,” Deku said quietly.
Bakugou had really hoped he’d forgotten about that.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Izuku,” he warned. “Don’t. I shouldn’t have said it. So, forget about it.”
“I’m not going to forget about it,” he said, pulling his hand away from Bakugou’s. “You love me,” he accused.
“I do, but you don’t need to worry about it right now. Focus on getting better. Focus on you.”
“What if I love you, too?”
“You don’t”.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.”
“Clearly, you don’t because I love you.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t say it when you don’t mean it.”
“I mean it,” Deku said seriously.
“What about Uraraka?”
“She’s my best friend,” Deku frowned. “You didn’t think we liked each other, did you?”
Bakugou’s silence was all the answer he needed.
“We’re idiots,” Bakugou deduced.
“I don’t know how you didn’t know,” Deku said honestly.
“Know what?”
“That I love you.”
“Fuck, stop saying it like that.”
“Why? It’s true,” Deku insisted.
“You’re nice to everyone. I didn’t notice you giving me any hints or anything,” Bakugou said, not ready to acknowledge the fact that Deku had sworn it was the truth.
“You’re the reason Black Whip manifested the way it did. You’re the only one I’ve told about all of this that’s been going on. There are so many things I could name.”
“How was I supposed to know that stuff meant anything more than just friendly gestures?” Bakugou inquired.
“I thought you knew, but didn’t feel the same.”
“I swear I had no idea.”
“Well, now you do.” Deku sagged against the couch once again.
Despite having just confessed to loving one another, it felt like they had an argument. The conversation left Bakugou feeling drained, and if anything, he felt more confused than before.
Deku shifted on the couch, huffing and changing his position. His brows were furrowed, and his jaw was clenched.
“You’re hurting,” Bakugou pointed out.
“I know.”
“Stop being like that. It’s giving me a headache.”
“Like what?”
“So, passive and just… I don’t know. Tired? You’re acting like you don’t care about anything we just talked about.”
“I care, Kacchan. I don’t have the energy to show it, I guess.”
“Come with me.” Bakugou stood from the couch, motioning with his hand for Deku to follow along.
Deku took a bit longer to get up, but he walked with Bakugou to his room. It was strange not to hear him ask where they were going or what they were doing.
Bakugou got under his covers, ignoring the part of his mind that yelled at him to get up and not lie down while there was still daylight outside.
Deku got in beside him, and his eyes were full of confusion as he rolled on his side, facing Bakugou.
“What hurts the most?” Bakugou asked.
“Right now, it’s my back,” he admitted.
There were two ways he could go about it. He could pull Deku to his chest and hug him while massaging his back. Or, he could have Deku roll over and do it that way.
The latter seemed easier and more practical, but Deku looked like he could use some tender loving care.
So, swallowing his pride, he tugged Deku toward him until they were pressed flush together. He slid one hand under Deku’s shirt, feeling his muscles tense at the contact.
“Tell me if it gets too hot or if it hurts too much.”
“What are you—oh.” Deku practically melted the moment Bakugou’s quirk activated, letting his head fall to the crook of Bakugou’s neck.
Deku’s back felt like a fucking rock. All of the muscles were tight, and it was no wonder he was in pain.
Deku hummed in pleasure and nuzzled his face against Bakugou’s skin, and Bakugou would blame the sudden spike in his heart rate on his quirk if anyone asked.
Each noise Deku muffled against him made his face heat and his chest clench. It was hard to tell if some were from pain or pleasure. Either way, Deku hadn’t told him to stop.
“This is nice,” Deku mumbled, his words blending together.
“Is this putting you to sleep?” Bakugou chuckled.
“Mhm. Feels so good, Kacchan,” he moaned.
Heaven help him. Bakugou’s hand froze, and he had to remind himself to breathe. Part of him felt guilty for thinking about Deku saying those words in a different context. If Deku weren’t feeling so poorly, Bakugou might’ve entertained those thoughts.
But easing Deku’s pain was Bakugou’s top priority. Everything else could wait, and would wait.
Deku’s breathing evened out, and his eyes closed. It wasn’t the best time of day for a nap, but Bakugou was glad to have him relaxed.
He kissed Deku’s temple. They needed to talk about their relationship and what it meant. Were they dating, or were they just friends who happened to love each other?
Bakugou opened his eyes without having realized he closed them, and the first thing he noticed was that the room was significantly darker than before.
Crap. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, too, but apparently, he needed the rest. Deku was softly snoring against his shoulder. At some point during their nap, Bakugou must’ve rolled onto his back, pulling Deku onto his chest.
It was well into the evening, and he hadn’t eaten since lunch. Bakugou usually made dinner every night, but after learning what was bothering Deku, it was different. Cooking dinner became more than a simple task he did. It was a way he could help Deku.
He needed to make something full of protein and other nutrients, but also light enough that Deku could eat it without feeling sick.
Katsudon was Deku’s favorite, but it might be too heavy if he were feeling nauseous. And, if Deku’s eating habits had been going on as long as Bakugou thought they were, then he wouldn’t be able to eat much of it anyway.
Miso soup was fairly light and easy enough to make. Hopefully, Deku would eat it.
And luckily, Bakugou had gotten the ingredients for it earlier in the week, so he didn’t have to buy anything extra.
By some miracle, Deku didn’t wake up when Bakugou slid out from under him.
He was halfway through cooking dinner when Deku stumbled into the kitchen, covering his yawn with his hands.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked sleepily.
“You seemed like you needed the rest,” Bakugou shrugged.
“What are you making? It smells good.”
“Miso soup.”
Deku peered over his shoulder to watch him cook, and Bakugou gently nudged him away. “Get out of the kitchen. You’re a safety hazard.”
“I’m not even touching anything,” he frowned, but stepped back anyway.
“I’ve watched you burn water before,” Bakugou deadpanned. “So, yeah. You’re not allowed anywhere near the stove.”
Deku sat down at the table, and Bakugou could feel him staring.
“Earlier, you said nothing helps the pain, but what all have you tried?” Bakugou asked, genuinely curious but also wanting to fill the silence.
“Pretty much every single over-the-counter pain medication,” Deku answered. “Recovery Girl once mentioned a muscle relaxer, but I never got a prescription.”
“Have you tried any other methods?”
“Like heat?”
“No, like…” he trailed off. Was he seriously about to suggest that Deku of all people should try weed?
“I got some stuff from Sero when we were living in the dorms,” he mumbled.
“Oh? And what was that like?” he teased.
“Horrible, actually,” Deku said casually. “It messed with my anxiety really badly. I didn’t like it.”
“Ah.” It made sense. Deku was an anxious person, and being under the influence of literally anything seemed to freak him out.
He made two bowls of soup and brought them over to the table. “Here. Eat.”
“Thank you,” Deku smiled, and made a pleased sound when he tasted it.
Bakugou didn’t overload it with anything extra. For once, he stuck to the original recipe. In his opinion, it was rather bland, but Deku seemed to enjoy it, and that was all he wanted.
“This is really good, Kacchan.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m an amazing cook.” His chest swelled with pride. Deku was eating, and he was doing so happily.
If Deku’s pain was what made him feel too sick to eat, then Bakugou needed to figure out how to fix that first.
Well, Deku had also mentioned that on some days, the thought of walking to the kitchen seemed torturous. So, maybe some meals in bed were the solution.
His success was short-lived. His bowl was still over halfway full, but Deku had stopped eating, staring at the soup dejectedly.
“What?” Bakugou asked.
“I’m really hungry, and this tastes amazing, I swear. I just feel sick.”
“Take a break,” Bakugou suggested.
“Huh?”
“If you feel sick, then stop eating for a minute. Let your stomach chill out, then continue on.”
“I don’t know how long that—”
“You’re going to finish your soup tonight,” Bakugou said, and it briefly reminded him of dinners when he was a kid. “I don’t care if it takes hours.”
Bakugou wasn’t scolding Deku like his parents used to do to him when he wouldn’t finish his food. He was pushing him to get better. Just like he always had.
As expected, Bakugou finished his dinner before Deku. He took his dish to the sink to rinse it off while Deku continued to mindlessly fidget with his spoon.
“Have you taken anything for nausea?” Bakugou asked when he rejoined Deku at the table.
“No,” he said, seeming a bit embarrassed. “I haven’t.”
“I have some Zofran left over from that concussion I had.”
“Isn’t it illegal to share prescriptions?”
“Do you want to feel sick?”
“No…”
“That’s what I thought.”
After taking medicine for nausea and waiting about an hour, Deku finished his meal while watching a movie on the couch with Bakugou.
They had yet to talk about their relationship, and Bakugou sure as hell didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. The last conversation had been a disaster.
Deku set his empty bowl down on the coffee table and leaned against Bakugou’s side, resting his head on his shoulder.
“Hey,” Deku said hesitantly. “Do you really think I look sick?” His eyes were glued to the movie, not daring to look at Bakugou.
“Yes, but not in the way you think I meant it.”
“Then how did you mean it?”
“I know you, and I can tell when something is wrong. It’s not that you look bad or sickly, but rather I can tell when something is wrong with you,” he tried to explain.
“I guess that makes sense.”
“To me, you seem sick because you’re not at your best, and I know your best. But to everyone else, you look fine. If that’s what you’re worried about,” he added.
“It’s not that I’m worried about how I look, but you made it sound like I’ve lost a ton of weight.”
“I would’ve told you if it was enough to be dangerous.”
“So I have lost weight?”
“Yes, but you’re still an absolute tank of muscle,” he ribbed in hopes of lightening the mood. “So don’t worry about it. We’ll get you back on the right track.”
“You don’t have to pity me.”
“I want you to think about who you just said that to,” he huffed. “I don’t pity anyone.”
A small smile appeared on Deku’s face. “You’re right.”
“I love you, which means I’m here for your good moments and your bad ones.” There was his opening.
Deku tensed, and for a second, didn’t say anything. “I already told you, I love you, too.” Again, Deku’s tone was reserved.
“What are you going to do about it?” Bakugou challenged.
And finally, Deku looked at him. “What?”
“You heard me. What are you going to do about loving me?” He leaned closer enough that he could feel Deku’s breath ghost his skin.
“Kiss you,” Deku answered, and didn’t wait a second longer to press forward and connect their lips.
Deku continued to move forward, and Bakugou turned his body sideways so he could lean back against the arm of the couch and pull Deku on top of him by his waist.
Deku had one hand in his hair and the other cupping his cheek. As much as Bakugou would’ve liked to overpower him and have his way, he wasn’t sure how far Deku wanted to go.
Their bodies were pressed flush together, and Bakugou ran his hands up and down Deku’s waist. Eventually, he used one hand to hold Deku’s face, using it as an advantage to get a little more control over things.
Just when he was getting used to the slow pace, Deku bit his lip hard enough to make him groan. Deku didn’t waste a second to push his tongue into Bakugou’s mouth, which sent a wave of heat rushing through him.
Deku pulled back just enough to mumble, “Mine,” before diving back in. Fuck.
Saying, Yours felt a bit too vulnerable, so he hummed in confirmation. Yes, he was Deku’s.
Just like Deku was his.
Only his.
Bakugou didn’t let him have the upper hand for long, matching Deku’s intensity. It was surreal to be kissing Deku. He’d imagined it a thousand times, but the real thing was indefinitely better.
He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and he never wanted to stop. Even as his lungs began to scream for air, he didn’t want to stop feeling Deku’s lips against his own.
Deku was the one who pulled away first, and when Bakugou opened his eyes, his face was as red as a tomato.
They both were panting softly, neither one of them saying a word as they caught their breath. Deku’s hand moved from his hair to his shoulder. With their faces being inches apart, Bakugou noticed Deku’s pupils were as big as saucers, leaving only the slightest amount of green visible.
“Sorry if I got carried away,” Deku said softly.
“Don’t ever apologize for that.” Bakugou couldn’t take his hands off Deku’s body, fixing his ruffled hair and feeling his hips.
“How far is this going?” Deku asked.
“As far as you want it to,” Bakugou answered easily. “Wait, no. As far as you can handle,” he corrected.
“I can handle it,” Deku muttered, leaning down for another kiss.
Bakugou let him kiss him for a few seconds before lightly pushing him back, much to Deku’s dismay.
“How’s your back?” Bakugou asked, knowing the answer.
“It’s… fine. It’s fine. We can—”
“Nope,” Bakugou said, putting emphasis on the word as he pushed Deku’s face away again. “We’re not going any further until you’re feeling better.”
Deku looked devastated, and he even attempted to give Bakugou his puppy eyes.
“Don’t even try that look with me,” he said. “I’m trying to save you some pain.”
Deku groaned in frustration and disappointment, muffling the sound against Bakugou’s shirt.
He grunted when Deku’s full weight suddenly dropped on him, forcing some air from his lungs.
“Dramatic, much?” he teased.
Deku didn’t answer. Instead, he licked the underside of Bakugou’s jaw, causing him to shiver.
“I’ll have you know I’m a very resilient man. My self-control is impeccable,” he bragged, trying not to laugh at Deku’s attempts to persuade him to continue.
Deku’s attack on his neck didn’t last long, and he gave up with a long sigh.
“Aw, what happened?” Bakugou asked with fake sincerity. “Get tired?”
Deku nodded, and the action was cuter than it needed to be. But it made an uncomfortable feeling settle in his chest, replacing the heat that had just been there. Deku was exhausted.
“Alright,” Bakugou said softly. Without jostling Deku too much, he grabbed the remote from the table, rewinding the movie so they could catch up on what they missed. “Let’s finish this movie. You’re the one who wanted to watch it in the first place.”
“Well, yeah, but that was before I—”
“Watch the movie.”
“But I’m distracted.”
“Too bad.”
Deku opened his mouth to argue again, and Bakugou shut him up with a glare. “I’m going to spray you with a spray bottle next time you say something dirty.”
“I haven’t even said anything dirty!”
“You’re trying to.”
“Sorry, you’re a really good kisser and I want to fu—”
“Spray. Bottle,” he threatened half-heartedly.
Deku made a frustrated sound at being interrupted for the umpteenth time. “Why won’t you let me say it?”
Bakugou sat up slightly, getting up in Deku’s face. “Because I am trying so hard to hold back,” he said lowly, using Deku’s hair to tip his head up. “And so help me, if you keep teasing me.”
“I thought your self-control was impeccable,” he mocked, a playful smile on his face, but Bakugou hadn’t missed the way his breath hitched and how his eyes fluttered when he’d pulled his hair.
Bakugou didn’t tighten his grip. As much as he would’ve loved to, the whole reason he was denying Deku was because he was hurt, and he’d be damned if he added to that pain.
Without him having to say a word, Deku caved. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop making moves on you.”
Bakugou released his hair, and Deku rubbed at the back of his neck.
“Was that too much?” Bakugou suddenly felt shame was over him. He shouldn’t have pulled Deku’s hair like that for a couple of reasons. One, he wasn’t sure if Deku even liked rough treatment. And two, Deku was actively in a flare-up.
“Hm?” Deku looked at him without a trace of anger in his eyes. “No, that was… hot.”
Bakugou chuckled softly, and his shame was replaced with relief. Of course, Deku would like it.
“Can we watch the movie now?” Bakugou asked, rewinding it for the second time.
“We can,” Deku laughed, shifting so he could rest his head higher up on Bakugou’s chest.
Things weren’t always so smooth, but Bakugou had known that going in. There were days when Deku would fight his help, feeling as though he were stronger handling it on his own.
There were times when dinner turned into an argument. Deku feeling belittled by Bakugou’s behavior, and Bakugou being too stubborn to back down.
Deku never did admit to it being an eating disorder. Bakugou tried to get him to understand that it wasn’t simply “forgetting to eat,” but Deku never wanted to hear it.
Then, there were the nightmares that affected both of them, which made bedtime fun for everyone involved—yeah, no.
At first, when Deku mentioned having panic attacks nearly every day, Bakugou hadn’t believed him. He’d spend days with Deku and never witness the panic attacks he complained about.
That was until he realized they were silent. They weren’t the loud, gasping for breath and crying panic attacks that he was used to seeing. They were completely silent. Deku would seem zoned out, and the only sign Bakugou had was the way his hands shook.
When Deku began to gain weight back and look like himself again, he acted like it was a horrible thing, which only further proved Bakugou’s point about it being an eating disorder.
The flare-ups never stopped, and they never would. But with Bakugou to support him, Deku took more breaks. He was easier on himself, which made the flares much shorter and less intense.
Of course, the bad moments were only temporary. With each day that passed, Bakugou could see the light returning to Deku’s eyes and the color coming back to his cheeks.
Deku joined Bakugou’s agency—after a good year of him asking. Bakugou convinced him it was a better choice because he could take a day off at the last minute, and they’d have enough heroes to cover for him.
After all those years of longing, Bakugou could hug and kiss Deku whenever he liked. There was no more wishful thinking, only doing.
And maybe Bakugou never fully recovered from the scare Deku had given him, watching him like a hawk when he ate, interrogating Deku when he acted even slightly off, or things like that, but he knew he could trust Deku to trust him—trust in him.
Everything felt okay when he had Deku by his side, fighting villains, kicking ass, and saving the world.
Nothing ever stayed the same, but that was okay. If nothing lasted forever, then pain didn’t last forever.